Quiet is Violent

by Fictiondust

Summary:

Haunted by the shadows from his past as a former addict and the choices he once made to survive, Akaashi Keiji has spent years trying to heal from a friendship he never expected to lose. Now rebuilding his life in Tokyo with the help of his fiercely loyal roommate, Iwaizumi Hajime, Akaashi believes he’s left his past behind. Yet when a message arrives from Bokuto Koutarou, the best friend who abandoned him a decade ago, everything he’s fought to overcome resurfaces. Forced to confront memories of their fractured friendship, Akaashi is drawn back into a painful history neither of them could fully leave behind.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi wrestles with his own remnants of trauma as his past re-emerges in the form of Oikawa, his charismatic best friend who, despite years of distance, still lingers painfully in his memory.

Together, all four men search for forgiveness and the courage to rebuild from what’s broken.

Chapter 1: Friends-turned-strangers

Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along. - Rumi.

Bokuto slammed the door of his high-rise apartment behind him. The force caused an echo bouncing off the tall empty walls. His muscles screamed from the intense practice, Atsumu’s teasing jabs about him missing the perfect sets clang to him. He felt like a deadweight… What a mess… It didn’t just feel like an off day, it hit different. His body was fine, but his mind… something was deeply wrong.

The empty apartment greeted him in silence, as it always did. The sleek luxury around him—a testament to his success as a pro volleyball player—felt cold and lifeless. No matter how many trophies he earned or matches he won, that part never changed. The only thing in worthwhile in his apartment was his cat, Milo. Bokuto absolutely adored and was completely smitten with the fluffy little creature who padded over and brushed against his leg. He gave Milo some good scratches, extracting satisfied purrs.

His gaze drifted across the room and settled on a small wooden owl statue, sitting on the shelf by the window, barely noticeable among the trophies and other tokens of his career. It was a gift from Akaashi back in high school—a little thing that gave Bokuto joy, something his best friend brought back from a family trip, saying it reminded him of Bokuto. It was the last reminder of a friendship he’d long buried, something he couldn’t let go of even as he tried to pretend it didn’t matter.

 

Bokuto headed to his kitchen next and grabbed a cup of instant ramen, the same flavor he’d been eating for the past week. He couldn’t remember the last time he made an actual meal. Maybe that’s why I’m not doing good. He thought. Athletes needed to take care of themselves better. Nevertheless,  he poured boiling water over the noodles and waited, staring at the steam as if it might give him answers to the questions swirling in his head. The smell made his stomach churn, but he forced it down anyway. The taste was bland, but it didn’t matter. Food was just another task to complete, another routine to follow.

The steaming hot noodles burned his throat as he swallowed, and for a moment, he welcomed the pain. At least it was something, something to break the numbness. When the last bite was gone, he put the empty bowl into the sink. He didn’t even need to clean it. His maid would get to it tomorrow morning.

He stepped into the shower, hoping to wash away the worries and maybe revitalize, but the hot water only reminded him how tired he felt. It wasn’t physical exhaustion—it was the kind of tiredness that came from within, the kind that sleep wouldn’t fix. The kind that sat heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

He towel-dried his hair, padding back to his bed, and collapsed onto the mattress. The sheets were cool against his skin, but he couldn’t get comfortable. His body was worn out, yet sleep evaded him. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of them making sense. Atsumu’s words rang in his ears, that teasing tone was digging deeper, striking a nerve. What's wrong with me?

He tried to shake it off, grabbing his phone from the nightstand in a desperate attempt to distract himself. Scrolling aimlessly, his mind still wouldn’t settle. His fingers moved on autopilot as he browsed through the web, looking for something to occupy his mind—anything to fill the empty space in his head.

As the minutes ticked by, he found himself gravitating towards some adult entertaintment, opening tabs he hadn’t thought about in months. He just needed a release. Yeah, a release…One hand inside his pants caressing himself, other hovered over thumbnails, scrolling through little images of the videos, he completely went into autopilot. It was mindless, just an attempt to feel something, to release the tension that knotted his chest. Bokuto’s autopilot decided to click on amateur, then, brunettes, then blue eyes.—nothing specific, just some material.

One thumbnail caught his eye—A cumshot. For some reason, the idea of cumming on a blue eyed brunette’s face was so tempting to Bokuto. He had a type, he would admit that much. Although, that was not an easy combination to find in Japan. When he saw the video, he viciously clicked on it anyway, his brain too tired to care, hungry for that dopamine. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t paying attention, until the video began to play, and his world came crashing down around him.

A face appeared on the screen. Not just any face. His face.

Akaashi.

The breath left his lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. His heart started pounding in his chest. He blinked, hoping—praying—that he was wrong, that this was some cruel trick his mind was playing on him. But there he was. Akaashi, staring back at him through the screen, doing things Bokuto never thought he’d see. He immediately closed the browser and threw his phone on the bed, feeling ashamed. What the actual fuck?

The air in the room felt heavy. His vision blurred, and he had to blink again, harder this time, but the image wouldn’t go away. It was real. I just saw Akaashi with a cock inside his mouth. It was happening. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. How had this happened? Why?

His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone again, his fingers moving before he could even process what he was doing. His lawyer. He had to call his lawyer.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times before the sleepy, irritated voice of his lawyer picked up on the other end. “Bokuto, it’s the middle of the night—what’s going on?”

Bokuto's words tumbled out in a rush, incoherent, frantic, trying to explain what he’d just seen, the disbelief still tightening his throat. “Semi, I… It’s my friend.” Bokuto gulped. He didn’t want to share his identity. He didn’t want anyone to know Akaashi’s body was online for everyone to see. “He’s—he’s in a video. Revenge porn. It’s online. He has no idea, and we have to stop it. You have to get them to take it down. Make a file or something. Please. It’s important.”

The lawyer sighed, half-exasperated, half-concerned. “Bokuto, I can’t do anything unless he comes to me himself even if it’s revenge porn. You don’t have a case without him. And you don’t even know whether he consented to it—

“Of course he hasn’t!” Bokuto retorted indignantly. “I know him. He’d never do that!” He was offended Semi was even suggesting this. The lawyer took an audible breath and paused a a moment.

“Have you asked him?” He reiterated.

“No, but I already know that he didn’t consent to it.” A fury was growing inside his chest. Was Semi deaf or something?

“Well, the law doesn’t work that way Bokuto.You know that. You need to talk to your friend. He’s the one who has to come forward, not you.” He spat the truth on the phone and ended the conversation quickly.

The words hit him like a slap. Talk to Akaashi? It had been ten years since they’d spoken. Ten years of silence, ten years of distance, ten years of pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t. How could he reach out now, after seeing this? Especially after the way he left things with him? The way he cut him off?

His heart pounded in his chest, the anxiety clawing at his insides as he stared at his phone. His thumb hovered over the message screen, the contact for Akaashi still saved, but untouched. He hadn’t changed his number… right?

He typed the message slowly, his hands trembling as he formed the words, unsure if they’d ever be read.

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It was the hottest night of the year in Tokyo. Akaashi Keiji had woken up in the middle of the night covered with sweat. Jesus Christ. He thought to himself and reached to his nightlight on top of his bedside table.  Pressing his palms, he rose slightly and sat up. Instinctively, he touched his forehead. The hair slightly tracing his nape was wet. He woke from a bad dream.

 

Young man sighed deeply. “It’s been 10 years, Keiji.” He groaned to himself. He hasn’t seen Bokuto in 10 years. Of course, it was hard to forget all about him. He would be lying if he said he didn’t reminisce their friendship here and there… Or that he didn’t grieve it when it was over… But… It didn’t make sense. How could he still have the same effect on him? After all these years? After everything… All that therapy… He was nearing 30 now and for him to dream about Bokuto was just unacceptable. 

 

It wasn’t even a good dream. He had dreamt a memory. A bad one. Now that he thought of it, he didn’t even see Bokuto’s face. It was just the memory of him texting with Bokuto one last time. There was nothing special about it, really…

 

Akaashi was just in his bedroom, trying to reach his former best friend. They made plans all year long for Bokuto’s graduation. It would be only one year for Akaashi to come along. They would go to the same university, keep playing ball together, be roommates… Bokuto would explore the area first so that Akaashi would know all the best places to go when he arrived. Except, none of that happened.

 

After Bokuto left for college, everything changed. He started replying to his texts less and less. He wouldn’t even pick up his calls anymore. Akaashi didn’t even know why. He never got any closure on it. The only thing he knew was, one particular bad day he called his best friend to his crappy behavior and it backfired.

Do you ever fucking think that the world does not revolve around you? Do you fucking think I have the time to message you all the time? I don’t know why you’re so clingy with me dude. I don’t know what you want from me. Leave me alone.”

 

He remembered Bokuto’s last text word to word. He’d never forget it until the day he died. It was just hard how someone could be so loving one second and hateful next. But Akaashi just did what Bokuto asked him to do. He never sent him another text except the time when he…

Young raven gulped. His eyes were burning and glistening with tears. There was a pit forming in his stomach. I’m pathetic. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. His life was just getting on track and he was sabotaging himself with all his past baggage. He picked up his phone from under his pillow to browse through the web. The raven just wanted find something occupy his mind —Anything really else then Bokuto. Huh… A new message, Did I wake up to buzzing? He saw that his phone showed a notification from an unknown number. Who in the world would message him in the dead of the night? He clicked on the message curiously.

 

Bokuto…That’s who…

 

He jumped out of the bed and nearly fell. There was only one new message. A message from Bokuto… What the actual fuck?

 

Hey Akaashi, it’s Bokuto. I hope you’re still using the same number and I’m not messaging anyone else… Also, I hope you’re good. I know this seems out of nowhere, but can we talk?”

 

At that moment, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Years worth of resentment flew through his tears and bodied in his screams. It had to be a cruel joke.

Chapter 2: The Reckoning

Notes:

Trigger Warning: Drug Abuse

“Akaashi? You in there?” The raven haired man heard his door being knocked. Akaashi knew there was no escaping Iwaizumi Hajime, his roommate, best friend and sometimes his drill sergeant. He didn’t even have the strength to get out of bed anyway. He texted his boss at work that he wasn’t going to be able to make it, picked the covers on top of his head and stayed there, cathartic.

 

“I’m coming in.”  His roommate let him know beforehand before barging in. “Oh no…” He murmured, sat right next to Akaashi and picked up the covers. “Hey, what happened?”

When the bright light hit in his icy blue eyes, Akaashi felt the agony. Iwaizumi had a concerned look on his usually stoic face. Akaashi watched Iwaizumi as he pushed his hairs back from his forehead. “What’s wrong?” He asked in a softer tone this time.

 

His tears answered before his voice could. He could only be so vulnerable with Iwaizumi. That guy, had a specialty in this. His non-judgmental style was the only reason Akaashi was able to open up as much as he did in the first place. And it saved his life. Iwa basically helped pick Akaashi up from the streets, go into rehab and get his life into order. Akaashi didn’t trust anyone else as much as he trusted him. “I’m sorry, Iwa…” He started sobbing. “I really am…

“What are you sorry for?” Iwaizumi blinked. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “For being like this… I’m just… I’m so pathetic. You’ve done so much for me and I feel like I’m letting you down.” He clang into Iwaizumi’s shirt and sobbed even more. “Take a deep breathe and tell me what happened, okay?” Iwaizumi placed a kiss on his temple. It was not like him to be physically affectionate most of the time. When he was doing a gesture like that out of the blue, Akaashi knew he was serious.

 

“It’s B-bokuto.” Akaashi wiped his tears sniffling. “He texted me last night after 10 years.“Really?” Iwaizumi’s jade eyes widened as he pulled the young raven’s arms and forced him on his feet. “You’re going to tell me all about it, after you put something in that stomach of yours.”

 

Before he knew what happened, he was dragged to the kitchen. His stubborn roommate filled the kettle with tap water and placed it on the stove. “Beef or chicken?” He asked as he reached in their snack cabinet.  Iwaizumi may be a lot of things, but a cook wasn’t one of them.

 

“Beef will do.” Akaashi murmured and watched him on the job. He had gotten taller since high school, but he was still a little shorter than Akaashi by a few centimeters. Now that he was a personal trainer, he was even more muscular than he was in high school. Funny… A considerably attractive man was making him dinner in his kitchen and Akaashi couldn’t be less interested. But a text from Bokuto sent his circuits haywire. It didn’t make any sense, it’d been 10 years. He couldn’t understand how that was possible. And that alone was eating him in the inside.

Iwaizumi placed the bowl right in front of him when it was ready. Instant ramen or not, getting something in his stomach made him feel considerably better. For that he was grateful to his stubborn roommate. “Tell me, what’s going on?” Iwa asked him with a worried face.
“I don’t really know to be honest.” Akaashi decided to be candid. “10 years of silence and I just got this text from him in the middle of the night. I spiraled into a bad episode.” He pulled out his phone and showed him the text he got from Bokuto.

 

Hey Akaashi, it’s Bokuto. I hope you’re still using the same number and I’m not messaging anyone else… Also, I hope you’re good. I know this seems out of nowhere, but can we talk?”

Iwaizumi ended up reading the message a few times and rubbed his forehead. “That’s it?” He blinked. Akaashi felt his cheeks blush as blood rushed to his face.“I’m sorry.” He said with genuine embarrassment on his voice. “I know it doesn’t make any sense for me to—

 

“No, idiot…” Iwaizumi waved his hand in the air with furrowed brows. “He just texted you this in the middle of the night with no context after 10 fucking years? There is nothing else? I mean… NADA?” He asked trying to comprehend what was going on. Akaashi nodded softly. “It was just one text.”

“What an asshole.” Iwaizumi sighed. “I mean, I didn’t interact with you guys a lot when I was in high school, but he seemed to be nicer than that at least.” He shook his head from one side to another. “I’m sorry Akaashi. This is just cruel and unfair.”

 

“You think so?” The raven was surprised to see that kind of reaction. He always thought he was being unnecessarily dramatic after how Bokuto cut his ties with him. “Of course.” His roommate assured him. “What did you even reply to that?”

 

“I didn’t.” Akaashi said with a sigh. “Not yet at least. I didn’t know what to say.” His breath was low and shallow.

 

“You know, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Blocking his new number and getting on with your life is always an option.” Iwaizumi reached for his hand. Akaashi squeezed it tightly. “I know that’s the better, safer option. But…” He pulled his hand back to himself and escaped his chocolate eyes. “I’ve never gotten any closure. Part of me wants to talk to him just to see if I’ll get any. Another part is just afraid of getting more hurt in the process. And Maybe I’m reading too much into this. This is Bokuto we’re talking about. He could just want to meet to drop something I’ve lent him over 10 years ago.”

Knowing how true it was, Iwaizumi grimaced in response. “He is a little unpredictable, I’ll give him that.”A little?.. Akaashi couldn’t help but think. Back then he was the only one who could not only understand but predict Bout’s antics. Now, he didn’t know what the silver headed former friend of his was capable of. What scared him was, he wouldn’t be able to read him. Not anymore at least… “It doesn’t make sense to meet him, right?” Akaashi looked at his feet. He was making too much of a deal out of this.

“It doesn’t need to make sense, Akaashi.” Iwa gently patted on his hand. “You don’t have to listen to that big brain of yours all the time.” He ruffled his raven hair in an affectionate manner. “But you don’t have to do everything on his terms either.”

“What do you mean?” Akaashi asked his icy blue eyes widened.

 

“Well, he hasn’t spoken to you in all these years. You can tell him to spit it out over text or you’re not interested. At least then, you’d have some buffer, right?”

Young man carefully weighed Iwaizumi’s suggestion in his head. It did make a lot of sense. If Bokuto just gave and stopped replying, it would save Akaashi from a lot of hurt. If he were to spit out what he had to say, there would be no way he could blindside Akaashi. That was a good plan. “Okay. That sounds like a good idea.” He picked up his phone from the table and replied.

 

“Please tell me whatever you want to say via text. I’d rather not meet.”  Akaashi typed out and hit send. He tried to make it sound as neutral as possible. Like he hasn’t been holding his feelings cooped up in 10 years.

Bokoto saw the text instantly. Three dots replaced his contact. He was typing. Akaashi felt his heart racing. Bokuto typed for a long time but then just stopped. Suddenly his phone started to ring, making both Iwaizumi and Akaashi jump at the same time. What the… Bokuto decided to just call him instead.

 

His voice… Akaashi gulped. He wasn’t ready to hear it. He couldn’t even bear to hear it on the TV. He would watch Japan’s national volleyball matches without audio just for that reason. It was hard to remember what he sounded like. When Akaashi did not pick up the phone, Bokuto was back to texting.

 

“You’re not going to pick up?” He sent another text.

 

Everything was signaling Akaashi to think Bokuto considered this to be a casual encounter with the past. The silver did not seem to have any intention for closure. Akaashi couldn’t do it to himself. Whatever it was, he wasn’t interested.

 

“No. I have no intention to meet you either. Please take care of yourself.” He replied swiftly. He put his phone aside thinking this was it, and that it was for the best. But Bokuto was relentless.

“I’m sorry for calling and texting all of a sudden. I just can’t do this through text. I panicked. Please Akaashi, it’s extremely important. I don’t know what to do.” Another text came to his way.

Akaashi gave up. His curiosity got the best of him. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. With trembling fingers he typed.

 

“Saturday, 4:30. Tully’s Cafe in the Shibuya Center Gai.”

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Saturday came before Akaashi knew it. The raven sat restlessly in his spot. He had arrived to Tully’s cafe early and got his coffee beforehand. He wanted to mentally prepare himself for what was coming, but he didn’t know how he would do that. The sun was melting his skin and he felt his heart could leave his chest any time.

 

Even getting ready to get out of the house was stressful. Akaashi forgot how much he changed after high school. He was definitely taller and he wanted to think he was a little more muscular. He definitely looked much more intimidating than he did in high school. And that was mostly due to his body being covered in tattoos. He considered wearing a long sleeved top, but Iwa talked him out of it pointing out how hot it was outside. He didn’t even know why he cared for the most part. He wasn’t ashamed of his appearance. As the time got closer, he got even more rattled. He was chain smoking cigarettes.

 

“Akaashi?” A male approached him from the behind. Ten years had done nothing to erase it from his brain, he’d recognize that voice anywhere… When he turned his head, he saw Bokuto. Fuck…There he was, standing right in front of him with a coffee in his hand. It looked like he didn’t put any effort to his appearance or clothes, but the silver looked amazing regardless. It was just the effortless charismatic look he had. Akaashi knew he was still a professional volleyball player, but Bokuto outgrew himself. He could be an actor. His silver hair was now combed sideways and more tamed. His tanned skin was highlighting his muscular body and his golden eyes brighter than the sun…  It was hard looking directly at them. How are they so golden? All of a Sudden Akaashi had the goosebumps. He was holding his hand out for a friendly shake. I can’t…

 

“Bokuto.” He acknowledged his formed best friend with a nod instead and pointed the chair across himself for him to sit.

 

“You used to call me Bokuto-san…” The silver seemed slightly disappointed that Akashi didn’t take his hand. However, he pulled the chair and sat. “God, It’s been so long…” Bokuto flashed a pained smile. “You’re smoking now?” He quickly realized the cigarette in his hand.

“Trying to quit.” Akaashi murmured and put his cigarette down after taking one last puff. For some reason, Bokuto pointing it out made him feel ashamed for his behavior. Funny. He’s done so much worse.

 

“And those tattoos…” Bokuto’s eyes trailed from his cheekbones to his arms. “Wow… I could barely recognize you. You look so different now. I could never, needles scare the hell out of me.” He trailed off like they were just talking about weather.

 

Akaashi looked at his arms momentarily and shrugged. Unfortunately, he had tried all kinds of needles out there. Ink was the least harmful out of all. He kind of expected Bokuto to talk about them. It was not exactly common in Japan to have large tattoos, but he liked them. They covered his dark past and turned him into a human canvas. It shouldn’t matter what anyone else thought.

 

“A-anyway.” Bokuto cleared his throat to change the subject seeing how unresponsive he was. He flashed an awkward smile. “How are you? What have you been doing all these years? What do you do for work?”

 

Is this an interrogation? Akaashi couldn’t help but think. Was there any point to even meet him?
Was he really asking him about his work? Didn’t he say this was important? Nonetheless, Akaashi entertained him. “I’m good, Bokuto.” He replied stoically. “I work as an editor for the weekly shonen magazine.”

 

“You’re kidding.” Bokuto slammed his hands on the table. “Really? I still read a lot of manga. In fact my favorite mangaka is—

 

“Bokuto…” Akaashi cut him off rather rudely. Rage boiling inside him was taking over. “Have you asked me to come here to talk about my job and mangas?”

 

“Oh…” Bokuto scratched the back of his head. “You want to go straight into that… I thought we would maybe catch up a little bit.”  He made an audible gulp.

 

“You had ten years to catch up.” Akaashi spat, his voice cold and sharp like a knife.“Get on with it.” It was different than how Akaashi would prefer to speak to people. He didn’t like the rude and impatient tone of his voice. But it wasn’t his fault. The wasted years took up enough of his time already, he had none left for niceties or kindness.

 

“I suppose I did, huh?” Bokuto looked down. Damn it… Akaashi knew that look. He had kicked the puppy. He was confused of what to feel. Seeing Bokuto has brought up such a bright side of his past that he could barely remember how it felt… The raven realized he resented him much more than he thought he did. The silver couldn’t bear to look at him again but decided to spit it out.

 

“S-something happened. And I thought you should know and… so that…” He gulped and took a pause. “It’s bad, Akaashi.”

 

“What is it?” Akaashi was starting to get worried, he started tapping his fingers on the table instinctively. 

 

“I…” Bokuto briefly faced him and then looked down again. “I was on the internet surfing for some… material…” His cheeks were completely scarlet. “ Well… I’ll just be blunt here. I came across your sex tape… I think one of your exes might have posted it for revenge…”

 

“H-huh?” Akaashi looked at him completely frozen. Bokuto did not realize the look on Akaashi’s face and kept going. “I… I swear I haven’t watched it after I realized that it was you…” He tried to explain himself. “But it’s still online and I didn’t want you to get hurt because of it…” Bokuto balled his fist in an animated way. “I already talked to my lawyer and he thinks we can fight it if you come forward. I’m fully prepared to help you fight this.”

 

“Stop.” Akaashi couldn’t help but let out a pained laugh. He couldn’t let him carry on any longer. “Please stop.” His cheeks were burning with a passion. He was embarrassed but that was his past. He was furious Bokuto would come here and try to save him. His noble prince with his white horse… After all those years… Akaashi could swear he could punch him. “You’ve come across my porn, Bokuto. Not my sex tape.” He spat at the silver. 

 

“Huh?” Bokuto was taken aback. For a second, the flame in his golden eyes dimmed. He seemed to be in quite in a state of shock. “What do you mean Akaashi?” 

“I mean those videos are up there with my consent. Well, former consent that is. I used to do porn. There are more where they came from. You can watch them if you want.” He took a brief pause anger fueling the glare in his icy blue eyes the whole time. Akaashi knew he didn’t have the upper hand here, neither socially nor morally, but he stared down at him. “I don’t give a damn on what you do.”

 

“W-what? Why? I mean… Why would you do that?” Bokuto asked still trying to make sense of things for himself, yet his voice trembled. Akaashi saw that he crumbling but he didn’t care. It was a great afternoon. Now, he was going to be judged for his past by his former friend.

 

“For a means to an income.” The raven deadpanned. “Are you satisfied? Was that all you wanted to talk about?” He was ready to get up.

 

“All?” Bokuto gaped at him. “ALL?” He repeated much louder than last time, his eyes wide and filled with an emotion Akaashi couldn’t quite make of. “AKAASHI YOUR BODY IS OUT THERE ONLINE FOR EVERYONE TO SEE AND YOU’RE JUST OK WITH THAT?” He was so loud that heads started to turning. Akaashi could start to hear whispers coming from other tables. He placed his trembling hands inside his pockets to hide them.  “Did you hear? The handsome one said the other was a porn star.” “No way.” “Did you hear his name? I wanna google him.”

“What’s someone like him doing with a porn star?”

 

He couldn’t handle being there anymore. It was obvious he would never get any closure from Bokuto. He obviously thought he hand’t done anything wrong. He thought by being here, he was doing Akaashi a huge favor. Fuck this shit. Akaashi couldn’t bear listening to Bokuto anymore.

 

“Oh god… That was loud, wasn’t—”

 

“I’m done here.”  The raven pushed his chair away and quickly rose to his feet.  Bokuto jumped after him.“Akaashi, wait.” He said as he held onto the raven’s bicep.

“Get your fucking hand off of me.” Akaashi gritted his teeth. Angry couldn’t even describe what he was feeling. He wouldn’t repeat himself twice. “Just listen, please.” Bokuto pleaded not letting go of him. Something came over him. It destroyed everything he built over the years. His identity fell apart and a monster broke out. Time stopped. Everything did. Akaashi swung at Bokuto with all he had.

People next to them started screaming in shock. Bokuto had fallen back with the impact, blood was dripping from his nose. His golden eyes, now looking pale like ash lost their color. I haven’t been violent in years… His heart was racing. Not knowing what to do, He didn’t even make it to the gates. Instead, he jumped the fence they were sitting next to and started running. He heard Bokuto calling for him but he didn’t care. He had to run.

“AKAASHI!” Bokuto quickly got up and yelled running behind him. “WAIT!”

Akaashi knew he would never be able to catch up.  If there was one thing he still was, that was fast. He had a past with running from the law, he knew his way around the city pretty well. If he wanted to lose someone, he was going to. When Bokuto started to get sloppy, he made a quick turn to the alley in his right and took the second left. That should have been enough to get someone like Bokuto off his trail.

 

He rested his back on the wall and tried to take a breathe. Right across him there was a homeless man shooting heroin. Akaashi gulped. He recognized the area pretty quickly. He instinctively ran into one of his old scenes. Fuck… It was so painful already. Just seeing it, brought back a lot of memories. Tremendous amount of pain started to radiate from his shoulders. He knew he had to get out of there. But then again… Seeing the substance in that man’s hands… The orgasmic smile he had when the drug made contact with his veins. Akaashi knew all too well. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch away.

t’s not worth it Keiji… He told to himself. He tried to move but his feet were glued to the ground. He knew where to find his old dealer. I’ve been clean for five years. He told to himself. Those five years, there wasn’t one day he hasn’t thought about heroin. It was a constant battle from the start. But the difference was, he hasn’t thought about shooting it.

Fuck me. Akaashi knew he had to get out of there fast. His body was unresponsive. Even though he parted his ways with the drug for five years, he was still its prisoner. The pain was taking over. He knew what would stop it. Don’t. He debated in his head. You’re going to kill yourself. He knew he was thinking about all the right things. But none of them were important. Nobody afraid of death would start heroin in the first place. How can you disappoint Iwa? His roommate was the one to find him and place him in rehab in the first place. If it weren’t for Iowa, Akaashi would never turn his life around again. He was the one who showed Akaashi things could better. How can you do this to Iwa?

His phone was vibrating in his pocket constantly. Bokuto must have sent a thousand messages. Just once. He told himself. Iwa doesn’t have to know. Akaashi balled his fists. He was fighting for so long. He deserved a little break, didn’t he? I won’t ever do it again. Confidently, he walked right around to his corner. He knew what he was getting for.

Chapter 3: Actions Have Consequences

Notes:

Trigger Warning: Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Drug Abuse.

I CAN’T BREATHE! Akaashi woke up to bright fluorescent lights in a strange place. He tried to get out of his place but noticed all the cables and tubes coming out of him. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? He was fighting the remove them.

 

“NURSE!” He recognized Iwaizumi’s voice. “NURSE HE IS AWAKE!”

Suddenly, the room was surrounded with people telling him to calm down and trying to hold him down. The tubes were removed out of him quickly. Now, he was finally able to breathe on his own. “Sensei Tadashi will be with you shortly for examination.” The nurse bowed before leaving the room. Akaashi was only now realizing he was in a hospital room. From the look of it, Iwaizumi had spent the last night on his bedside. Dark circles were showing under his eyes and his short spiky hair was messier than usual.

 

“Akaashi…” Iwaizumi teared up. He sat right next to him on the bed and hugged him until the time stopped. Akaashi was speechless. A sudden rush a warmness surrounded his body. He had no idea what happened, but it was obvious it was related to his drug bender and bad decisions yesterday. He thought Iwaizumi would hate himself, but instead he was merely embracing Akaashi. “I thought I lost you.” A sob came out of his lips. “I thought I did.” He whispered in his ear. When he finally let go, his eyes were blood red. It wasn’t a common sight to see Iwaizumi crying. Akashi’s heart sank in his chest. “How are you feeling?” He asked wiping his tears with the back of his hands.

 

“Okay. I feel okay.” Akaashi assured him.

“How much do you remember?” Iwaizumi asked. “Do you know what happened?” His voice was trembling.

“I only remember getting heroine. I know I was stupid and…” When Akaashi saw the glaring look Iwaizumi gave, he couldn’t continue. Guilt and shame filled his heart. “You were.” Iwaizumi shook his head. “You were a fucking a dumbass.” He got off his bed and turned his back against the raven. He was facing the window, looking outside. “You OD’d.” He simply explained. “I found you with a needle poking out of your arm. You’re lucky to be alive.”

 

“Iwa…” Akaashi gulped. His cheeks were burning. He was mortified. He was ashamed of himself and hated himself.  “I’m so sorry.” He looked down at his legs. He knew what Iwaizumi meant. After five years of being clean, he must have overestimated his tolerance and almost killed himself. “I’m so sorry I let you down, Iwa… I’m a terrible person for doing this.” Akaashi gulped. “Five years, and I fucked it up for nothing. I’m so sorry for wasting your time. You must hate me.”

 

“Of course I don’t hate you.” Iwa turned back facing him. “I am disappointed. I am… But you’re not the first addict to relapse Akaashi. I’ll forgive you and help you back on your feet as long as you want to keep staying clean.”

 

“Of course I do!” Akaashi gulped. “I’m so sorry, Iwa. For everything. I was so stupid. I was overwhelmed. I thought I could just do it this once and quit forever.”

 

“It doesn’t go that way Akaashi.” Iwaizumi whispered compassionately. “I know. Trust me I know. I fucked it up. I should never have touched that stuff. I don’t know why I did.” The raven confessed.

“Because of me.” Iwaizumi looked at his feet. His cheek were getting scarlet. “I pushed you to meet Bokuto. Obviously you associate him deeply with your past and it brought back bad memories.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Iwa. Not at all.” Akaashi shook his head vehemently. “I’m not gonna lie and say it went well. But, it’s not your fault at all. I wanted to meet him. But even so, it’s not on him either. It’s not on anyone but me. I did this, because I was weak. I should have known better.”

 

Before they could finish their conversation the door rolled to the side and his doctor walked in. “Hi, my name is Tadashji Shinji and I’m your doctor.” He was a middle aged man with a round face and greying hair. He picked up Akaashi’s chart hanging from his bedframe and took a look at his vitals. Iwaizumi and Akaashi desperately watched him as he took his time. “You were extremely lucky to be found in time.” The doctor murmured. “Your vitals seem to be okay, but I’m still going to keep you here overnight for monitoring.” He placed the chart back in his place.

“How long have you been using?” His doctor sighed.

 

“I was clean for five years until yesterday.” Akaashi looked down. “Unfortunately, getting off drugs is not as easy as starting.” The doctor placed a couple pamphlets next to his bedside.

“Even if you think you’re not going to use again, please consider utilizing these resources.”

Akaashi and Iwaizumi was once more left alone after the doctor made his way out of the hospital room. Iwaizumi took a nice deep breath. He really needed to hear these good news.

“I’m just…” The male looked at ceiling and shook his head. “I’m just glad you’re here. Seeing you like that, almost made me…” He took a big gulp. Tears fell down from his big chocolate eyes. “I almost relapsed into an episode too, Akaashi.”

 

“Iwa…” Akaashi blinked at the guy in front of him. Iwaizumi had been the most put together person he knew hiding his skeletons at the closet. Since they’ve met he had never lost it, but Akaashi knew himself how his roommate needed to attend court mandated therapy for his rage induced behavior. The shelter they’ve met was one of the places he needed to volunteer in order to prove he could be a useful member of the society.  When Akaashi was found by a former friend he was deeply ashamed. However, in time Iwaizumi was actually honest with him. Iwa told Akaashi about his past, how he had been sexually molested as a child which rooted in anger issues that got progressively worse as he grew older. He never mentioned what resulted in his court mandate, but he did say his former behavior had been borderline psychotic. And that he had been in therapy. They had bonded over how they’ve been broken people in one way or another. That and how they lost their best friends…“Did you do something?” He asked softly.

 

“No.” Iwaizumi simply muttered. “But I was going to kill Bokuto. I really was…” There was fire in his brown eyes.“Iwa….” Akaashi couldn’t find any words to offer his friend. It was the first time Akaashi was seeing Iwaizumi in this kind of spiral.

“Akaashi, you’re the only person who can keep me in check after him…” His voice died in his throat. “The thought of losing you… The thought of being all alone in the world again…”

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Akaashi grabbed his hand tightly. He must have been referencing Oikawa. “I’m so sorry I’ve been stupid, but I’m here now.” He squeezed his hand harder. “And don’t discredit yourself. You’ve kept yourself in check. I’ve just been your friend.”

“I’m sorry for dumping my issues to you in a time like this as well.” Iwaizumi shook his head. Don’t apologize, Iwa. Please. I wish you were always this honest.” Akaashi sighed. He didn’t have to be so strong all the time. He still didn’t know what went on between him and Oikawa except that they grew apart and that Iwa didn’t like talking about it. Akaashi realized it was something grim earlier on and never pressed despite being honest himself.

“I’m not good at talking.” He took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry… I’m not trying compare you to him or anything.”

 

“I know that.” Akaashi said. “But I still don’t even know what went down between you. And you get so emotional that you can barely speak his name. I’m in a hospital bed. I have nothing but time to kill. Do you want to tell me now?” Akaashi asked sheepishly.  He desperately wanted to know more about Iwaizumi, but he didn’t want to scare him off.

 

“There isn’t much to tell. Honestly.” Iwaizumi shook his shoulders but his eyes told a different story. “It stems from me, my family, the chain of abuse and the anger within. Grew up in a fucked up environment and did fucked up things.”

 

“You never struck me as a person who’s done fucked up things in high school. You were like a role model to most people who knew you.” Akaashi said softly.“That’s because back then, Oikawa was the one who kept me in check, just like you did. Until he couldn’t anymore…” His voice was deep and heavy again. “Iwa…” Akaashi gently patted his arm. “What happened?” He repeated his question. 

“Fine.” Iwaizumi muttered and cleared his throat. “Fine.” He repeated and wiped his jade eyes. He took a brief pause. It seemed like he was trying to think where to start or what to say. So he started from the beginning. “Oikawa and I met in kindergarten.” He said and tried to choose his next words carefully. “Even then I had such a short fuse that I didn’t have any friends. I had it rough at home. I was the lonely kid. Just once, I saw some kids teasing him for looking pretty enough to be a girl. I beat them up and told Oikawa to man up. To my surprise, he wasn’t scared of me like everyone else. He just seemed happy. He was on my tail everyday afterwards.” Iwaizumi gulped.

 

“We were basically glued together. He was everything I wasn’t and I was everything he was not. So we were a good team together. He was the social butterfly who got me accepted, and I was the brute who protected him and got into physical fights. He liked me the way I was, but the thing is I didn’t know any better. It was sort of what I was taught at my house. You’re either prey or predator. That sort of mentality. My father was an abusive drunk homophobe who would rather die than to have “sissy ass son” who couldn’t stand up for himself.” Words were flowing Iwaizumi’s mouth. He wasn’t lying. It was obvious he was telling this story for the first time in his life and already he was squeezing his balled fists, fighting off tears. It broke Akaashi’s heart. Iwaizumi was the strongest person he met. But sometimes, those people had the toughest backgrounds.

 

“Beatings were always frequent in our house.” His voice suddenly got smaller. “I was pretty used to it by the time I got into high school. I mean thought it was normal. I thought violence was a normal part of life. But I remember a particular time it was…” Akaashi saw how he started to shake. This was taking a darker and darker turn any minute. He reached for his roommate’s arm. “It’s okay, Iwa. We’re safe here.” He murmured trying to ease Iwaizumi’s worries a little bit. The male nodded and closed his eyes.

 

“I realized I was gay when I started high school. Locker rooms were getting overwhelming after volleyball practice. And because I never talked about girls, my old man usually insulted me about how I wasn’t enough of a man. But I don’t think he ever considered the possibility of me being gay, that was just far too gone for him. One day, he found my stack of porn while I was in school. I remember how it was just supposed to be an ordinary day. I was at school, we had volleyball practice and then went to Oikawa’s to do homework, had some dinner. It was a good day until I went home.” Iwaizumi couldn’t sit anymore. The nervous energy in his system made him get up and move around until he found himself in a comfortable position again. Akaashi was even more nervous. This sounded like a horror movie.

 

“He confronted me, right then and there. The moment I stepped in. And I froze. I couldn’t say anything. He was screaming murder about me being a faggot and a disgrace. He couldn’t have that kind of son, no. So he started beating me bloody. Worse than I ever experienced. I remember he was choking me. I couldn’t breathe. I thought it was the end, and that I was going to die. Normally, my mom wouldn’t dare interfere, but this time he was killing me, so she threw herself between him and I. It only angered him more. He threw her aside and said if I wanted to be a girl that bad, I was going to get it like a girl.” That sentence right there, Akaashi felt his blood freeze. No. No parent would ever do that. Iwaizumi was strictly facing the wall. He couldn’t look Akaashi in the eyes anymore. A sob came out of his mouth.

 

No… Akaashi realized what was going on. His best friend hugged his own body tightly, shaking with sobs. “I know I told you I was sexually molested as a child… But it’s so much worse. My own father raped me.” His tremoring body almost made him sound incoherent. “H…H-h…H-He took my pants off and bent me over.” Iwaizumi held on to the window pane. “I couldn’t fight, I had no strength left and he was a lot bigger than I was. I remember trembling, I remember begging him not to do it. I remember him pushing himself without warning and blood dripping on my legs. A lot of it after that was blank. I remember waking up on the living room floor covered in blood and semen and my own vomit.”

“Iwa…” Akaashi heaved his sinking chest. “Iwa…” Tears were dropping from his eyes. He thought his life was hard, but never knew what his roommate had been going through.

 

“I completely shut down. I couldn’t eat, drink or sleep. I didn’t go to school for days. I somehow thought it was my fault, that I deserved it. Meanwhile my father was telling me to get over myself. It was what I wanted after all. Oikawa showed up with my pile of homework after a week of not answering his texts and they somehow let him in my room. He knew my father was abusive, but not the extent of it. We looked at each other. He saw my bruised face and started crying. He knew it was my dad. I didn’t have to say anything. He just sat next to me and hugged me, sobbing into my shoulder saying how sorry he was as if he had done anything. Then he asked me whether he had done it because I was gay. I was just petrified. I had never told him, but he knew. Probably before I knew myself, he was just that smart. I asked him why he never said anything, but he sort of shrugged and said it didn’t change anything between us. He didn’t care who I wanted to fuck. Then he started making plans for us to move away from my dad and start our volleyball careers. I think, it was the first time I felt hope in years. And that was probably the day I fell for him.” Iwaizumi took a pause to gather his thoughts. He seemed to be searching for the best way to explain what happened after that.

 

“He never made a big deal about me being gay. He was the fucking chick magnet, so he lost his virginity pretty quickly and picked up a new girl every week. He already had a smart mouth to begin with, and that made his mouth even smarter and more annoying. He would pester me about getting laid and getting a boyfriend all the time even though he knew it wasn’t possible. Then one day, he tells me he took pity in me and that he was going to give me my first blowjob. Because apparently, no one should have gone through high school without some form of sex. I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t. I mean, I did at first. But Oikawa always got what he wanted. And it all went downhill from that. He held it over my head and teased me all the time about how he could get me hard. I usually wouldn’t respond to his antics, and we wouldn’t have any problem with our friendship. Until we graduated that is…” Iwaizumi bit his lips.

 

“I remember us hanging out at his parents place. They were out of town so we had it all to ourselves. We were just drinking and fooling around. Then he started teasing me a little bit. I don’t know why, but he was coming on to me a lot harder than he usually would that day. I was already overwhelmed. Then all of a sudden, he takes his top off and says that he knew I wanted to fuck him. I just decided to leave at that point, but he grabbed me from behind, pressed himself against me and asked whether I wanted him to fuck me instead. I just lost it, man. I shouldn’t have. I should have left, but I lost it. I turned around and swung at him. I took a swing at my best friend…And just didn’t stop. He was begging for me to, but I didn’t. I took years worth of anger out of him right then and there. It was what my own father did to me… There was blood everywhere. His face was unrecognizable. I only stopped when he lost consciousness.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “I called an ambulance for him, wrote him a note saying I was sorry and fled. I skipped town and never looked back. I couldn’t. We never talked again after that.”

Akaashi felt the weight on his shoulders for the first time. “Iwa…” He murmured while his roommate silently cried. “I’m so sorry.” He pulled the other male into a hug. “I really am. There are no words. Sometimes that’s just… I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi nodded. “I already know you know.” He murmured. His jade eyes were painted to crimson and hands were shaken. “I’m sorry too, I… didn’t mean to bombard you while you’re trying to recover, but…”

 

“Don’t.” Akaashi shook his head interrupting. “Now all I can do is to hope you understand and forgive me…” Iwaizumi sniffled. “For the last time, you didn’t do…” This time Iwaizumi pressed his palm against his mouth. “Not for Oikawa you idiot… for Bokuto.”

“What’s going on?” He wasn’t making any sense. Akaashi didn’t want to play any games. “You were unconscious and my blood was just boiling. I wanted to kill Bokuto, I wanted to hit him until he stopped breathing.” He looked away. “He kept calling you, nonstop. Your phone never stopped ringing. And it was driving me crazy, so I picked it up.” He bit his lips.

 

“I didn’t let him talk and just let my anger out.  I told him you hated him. I told him you were in the hospital because of him and if I ever saw him around you again, I’d kill him.”

 

“That’s it?” Akaashi was surprised. “Yeah.” Iwaizumi looked at his feet. “I shouldn’t have meddled. I’m sorry.”

 

“Jesus, I thought you’ve actually done something.” Akaashi giggled for the first time. “That’s okay, Iwa. I don’t care about that.”

 

“But he stopped calling after that.” Iwaizumi couldn’t face him. “If you wanted to talk…”

 

“I don’t.” Akaashi quickly said settling everything. “I really don’t. I had a bad day. And I’m better off without seeing him again. So if you scared him, that’s all better for me.” Seeing Bokuto had been one of the worst days he  had experienced in years. Akaashi had no intention to pursue a relationship with his former ace. It was just a relic from his past.

 

Iwaizumi looked at his watch thoughtfully and stretched his muscular arms. “You really need to try to get some sleep while you’re feeling okay. Once the withdrawal hits…”

 

“I know.” Akaashi interrupted him. He already knew how hard it was going to be. “I’ll try.” He agreed obediently. His roommate hit the lights for him. “Give me one of your pillows.” Iwaizumi commanded nonchalantly. “Pardon?” Akaashi was surprised. “You’re going to sleep here?”

“Well, what did you think?”

“Iwa, there is nowhere to sleep here.”

“There is a couch.” He argued.

 

“I would barely call that a couch.” Akaashi argued back.

“I’m gonna sleep here and that’s final.” Iwaizumi grunted and dropped himself on the couch. “Now shut up, or I’ll kick your ass.”

Chapter 4: Bridging Broken Bonds

Notes:

Trigger Warning: Drug Abuse

The sky over Tokyo was thick with clouds, casting a gray light over everything. Akaashi had no desire to be outside, and thankfully, he didn’t have to be. He’d finally been discharged from the hospital, earning himself a miserable but quiet week of rest at home. At least he had a doctor’s note for work, so he could set his edits aside without worry.

As he and Iwaizumi stepped out of the elevator in their apartment building, Iwaizumi groaned, rolling his shoulders.“My back is killing me.” I

“Well you should have listened to me and went home.” Akaashi sighed as he muttered the words matter-of-factly, feeling more guilty by minutes.
“You owe me a massage.” His brunette roommate declared abruptly. Akaashi blinked, momentarily flustered. He could hardly picture Iwaizumi laid out naked on a table, covered in essential oils, waiting for a massage, especially not from him. Wouldn’t that be just awkward? “I’m not exactly great at massages.” He shrugged.

“Who said I wanted one from you, pretty boy?” Iwaizumi chuckled. “You’re buying me one.”
“Oh…” Akaashi was blushing. Why did I even assume THAT? STUPID… “Y-yeah…” He tried to fix it. “That can be arranged.” He tried to recover quickly. His embarrassment came to a halt when he noticed there was a figure, sitting right on their doorstep—a tall, muscular man hunched forward, arms draped over his knees. Even from a distance, Akaashi could tell who it was. The silver hair and broad shoulders were unmistakable, though the baseball hat and sunglasses did a poor job of hiding his identity.

“Iwa.” He squeezed the bicep of his roommate to warn him. Iwaizumi halted, his gaze hardening. “Hey… There’s someone at our door.” Akaashi nodded, his voice a low whisper. “It’s Bokuto.”

Iwaizumi’s jaw tightened, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Akaashi did not know what got inside Iwaizumi. Maybe a cheetah at that time. But he flew over Bokuto, held the collars of his shirt, picked him up and slammed him against the wall. That by itself was saying something. Bokuto was towering above him. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HERE?” A growl came out of his throat.

“I…I’m just here to… I’m just…” Bokuto’s voice was shaky, barely able to get the words out. “Please, listen—”
“LISTEN TO WHAT? I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.” Iwaizumi spat, shoving him harder against the wall. Bokuto’s sunglasses fell from his face, revealing the nasty bruise forming around his cheekbone. Doors creaked open around them as neighbors peeked out, whispers rippling through the corridor. Is that Bokuto Koutarou? What’s he doing here? Isn’t he the famous volleyball player? Woah, are they fighting?

Akaashi’s patience snapped. He’d had enough of being the center of attention.“Both of you, inside. NOW.” He commanded sternly. Hearing Akaashi order something, Iwaizumi seemed to regain a sliver of control, loosening his grip on Bokuto. He begrudgingly let go of him and rushed inside. Akaashi closed the door firmly behind them all.

Inside, the tension thickened. Iwaizumi rounded on Akaashi, fury blazing in his eyes. “Both of you, inside? Are you insane?” he demanded. His gaze swung to Bokuto, filled with pure loathing. “And you—you’ve got some nerve, showing up here.”

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto said, his voice barely a whisper as he bowed, a gesture of respect. “I really am sorry, Iwaizumi. But I needed you both to hear me out. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”
“Hurt?” Iwaizumi let out a cold laugh, his voice dangerously low. “You think ‘hurt’ even covers it?”
“Iwa, enough.” Akaashi stepped between them. It was getting scary to watch. But Iwaizumi’s rage was hardly soothed.

“I can’t believe you let this piece of shit into our apartment,” he snapped, jabbing a finger against Akaashi’s chest and pushing him. Apparently his next target was Akaashi. He desperately needed to calm down.

Akaashi’s patience wore thin. “Too fucking bad.” he replied, slapping Iwaizumi’s hand away. “If you hadn’t put on a show for the entire building, maybe I could have told him to leave. But we’re past that. Get over it.”

Iwaizumi’s jade eyes were fiercely burning with fire. “Fine.” He rolled his eyes, obliging. “Whatever. I’m going to go clean your room.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Akaashi said, blinking in confusion. He was perfectly capable of handling his own messes.

“No, I do.” Iwaizumi insisted, his voice softening just slightly. Akaashi realized what he meant then. His room must have been a drug scene.“Just tell me if there is anything I need to know?” He must have been referring to a secret stash.

“No, thank you, Iwa.” Akaashi shook his head.

“Yeah, you better.” He muttered as he shot a final glare at Bokuto before slipping into Akaashi’s room. Akaashi took a deep breath as the tension inside the room significantly decreased. However, when he turned. He saw that Bokuto was still standing there, looking dazed, as if waiting for permission to breathe. Akaashi sighed and gestured for him to sit.

“Why are you here Bokuto?” He asked bluntly.

Bokuto hesitated, eyes glancing down. “I… I needed to see you. Iwaizumi told me you ended up in the hospital, and… I couldn’t let it go. I had to apologize. I was worried.”
Akaashi looked at his golden eyes. Usually they were warm, but now they were just bloodshot which indicated that he had been either crying or not sleeping. He tried to clear his throat but was unsuccessful. “I’m sorry, can I have some water? I’ve been waiting outside your apartment all night, I think I’m dehydrated.”
“You’ve been out there all night?” Akaashi repeated him surprised.

“Well, I came in the afternoon, but I guess that’s not important.” He started blabbering. Akaashi sighed, walking over to the kitchen which was combined with their living space. He took a large glass from the cabinet, filled it with water before handing it to Bokuto.

“Thank you,” Bokuto mumbled before gulping it down in one go. Then, before Akaashi could react, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor in a deep bow.

“B-Bokuto, what are you doing?” Akaashi asked. He had seen people do these type of things in cartoons, mangas or movies maybe. Not in real life. Nobody bowed for him like that before.

“Akaashi, I am so sorry.” Bokuto raised his head, eyes glassy with unshed tears. Oh no… “I… I have so many issues to begin with… The reason I’ve never contacted you wasn’t because I forgot you. It was because I was actively trying trying avoid you.”

“Avoid me?” Akaashi was surprised. “It’s not like I was stalking you.” He muttered. He didn’t know what he could have done to Bokuto that he wanted to avoid himself for the rest of his life. He did what he was told. He stayed away. He only messaged Bokuto once in ten years when his parents died, hoping for some comfort. And, Bokuto never replied back. That’s when Akaashi knew. He stopped following Bokuto on socials and stopped looking at his pictures, deleted his number and started looking ahead. Concentrating on his miserable life instead…

“No, it’s not because of that. It’s because I was running from myself.” He wiped his tears with the back of his thumbs and sat on the floor.

“I’m sorry, you’re not making any sense to me.” Akaashi’s expression softened, caught off by the honest in Bokuto’s voice.

“I know, it’s hard to explain. But I understand how much hurt I’ve caused. I was being naive.” He closed his eyes and took a moment to breathe. “I assumed everything was wonderful with your life, because it was you… Akaashi, you’re perfect. You’re a genius. So when I saw that particular video… I was very emotional. I wanted to contact you and make it right by you. It never occurred to me that you might have been doing it with your consent.” He shook his head left to right violently.
“God, I sound like a self righteous asshole.” He said, sniffling. “There is no way, I can begin to understand why you had to make the choices you’ve made. I know you’d make the best of whatever’s coming at you, so that scares me, Akaashi. I stayed up all night thinking how could porn be the best source of income for you at a time. The answers I could come up with were not good. Akaashi, I don’t know what happened. But I know it’s nothing good. I’m so sorry, I judged your life before I even began to understand it.”
Wow… That was mature. Especially coming from someone like Bokuto. Akaashi remembered him to have the attention span of a gnat. It must have taken some serious effort for him to come into this conclusion. He was a man of a clever comebacks, but for the first time in years, Akaashi was speechless. He didn’t know what to say or do. He just knew that, Bokuto was being genuine. He believed that with all his heart. The best thing he could do would be to be candid.

“Thank you, Bokuto. It was nice to hear that from you.” He gently said. Their eyes crossed for a second but the silver did not dare hold his stare.
“Akaashi…” He murmured. “I don’t know if there is ever coming back from what I’ve done to you… But I want to.”
“I don’t know, Bokuto.” Akaashi sighed. “I accept your apology and I believe you’re genuine, but it’s been a long time. A lot has happened since. I’ve changed. I’m not the person you think I am. I’m sure, you’ve changed too. I don’t think it’s a good idea to linger in the past, trying to find people who are not there anymore.” The raven countered. He was afraid of getting hurt again. For the first time in years, he had stability in his life. Bokuto on the other hand had the tendency of being unpredictable.

“I have changed.” Bokuto cleared his throat. “I hope for the better.” He cracked a smile next, trying to lighten the mood. But Akaashi was not going to budge. When he didn’t answer the silver, Bokuto took a deep breath. “I know, we’re different people now Akaashi. I know that I’m just someone you used to know. But… At some point in our lives we were friends. We were best friends. I’m just hoping you’ll like me again.”
Akaashi felt like the whole world was on top of his shoulders. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. He knew the words coming out of his mouth made sense. But for some reason… Even thought he didn’t want to admit, he just didn’t want Bokuto to leave again. But what if they ended up not liking each other? What was going to happen then? What was going to happen to his stable life? What was going to happen to Akaashi? Would he crumble and have another episode with drugs? Was he that weak? He didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. His breath wavered.

“Why even try?” Akaashi asked asked softly. “It’s been ten years, Bokuto. We’re fine. You’re doing well. Why go through this now?”

“Do I look fine from there?” Bokuto offered a grim smile. For some reason, Akaashi felt it stung in his heart. He used to be able to tell anything Bokuto wanted to say from one look as if he were a mind reader. Was that a jab at that? The silver sighed. “Well, I’m not fine. I haven’t been for the longest of time. I just… Akaashi, I miss my best friend.” He took a deep breath. “I missed you a lot. I know I was the one to cut you off. I know I didn’t give you any reason… I know I didn’t reach out… Because… I couldn’t for the longest time. I was just so ashamed of myself. Until I found you know what online… That was the only time I thought it would be okay to contact you.”

His heart fluttered. I missed you a lot… Those words stung. They were a different source of torture to his heart. He desperately wanted his best friend back, but it was going to be on his terms just like Iwa said. He didn’t want to be abandoned once again after his dirty laundry gets aired out. He didn’t know how Bokuto would honestly react after hearing about his past. Right now he sounded mature, but that was the Bokuto who had been forced to do some serious thinking on his doorstep. He wanted to see his natural reaction.

“Okay.” Akaashi agreed quietly. “On one condition.”

Anything.” Bokuto nodded vehemently in agreement.
“We can be in each other lives only after you hear my past from me and agree that you can handle it.” Akaashi folded his arms. “And you’ll tell me on the spot if you can’t handle it.”
“That sounds fair enough…” Bokuto said maturely. “I promise.” He said. “I would like you to hear my past as well. There is some missing context why I’ve cut you off, and I’m not sure if you can get passed it. I want to be honest and you’ll tell me on the spot if you can’t handle it.”

There. Another grim smile. Akaashi had been through enough to see pain, and that was pain in his golden eyes. He did not like the blue hue they’d been painted. They were much more endearing when they were warm.

“Alright.” Akaashi agreed. “I need you to go home now, though.” Akaashi murmured. “We both desperately need to rest, and we can have this conversation later.”
“Can I come tomorrow?” Immediately his eyes turned to their puppy form.
“That wouldn’t be a good idea.” Akaashi rejected him politely. He would be probably in pain, feverish and pissing from his ass tomorrow.

“Please, Akaashi? I’ll even help take care of you.” Bokuto bowed respectfully. The raven sighed. He was going to talk about drugs anyway. What was the worst thing that could happen?

“Fine.” He shrugged. “You can come in the afternoon.”

Bokuto’s face softened with relief, and as Akaashi watched him leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had shifted between them. But whether it would heal or harm, he didn’t yet know.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Akaashi opened his eyes to an overwhelming ache, pain radiating through his entire body. Now that significant time had passed, he was feeling the effects on his body. Fuck. He rolled around in the bed and tried to find his phone to check the time. It was almost noon. At least I slept through the night. That was a good thing. His bed was soaked in sweat, and he cringed at the smell. A hot shower would help ease the tension in his muscles, especially his sore knees.
Alright, time to get up. He forced himself off the bed and started stripping the bed out of the sheets. Oh god. Something was happening inside of him. Suddenly he was so nauseated that he thought he would pass out. He made a run to his bathroom. Oh my god. He started throwing up yesterday’s meal in the toilet violently. As soon as he cleared all contents of his stomach, he started feeling a hot sensation in his gut. Explosive diarrhea followed next. Gross. Everything was horrifying about it. The fact that he was shitting on top of his vomit… The fact that he was pissing out of his ass… The smell… The sounds… I’m gross.

He took all of his clothes right there on the toilet. His skin was soaked with cold sweat. His eyes were tearing. How many times he had been through this already? He hated heroin, everything about it… Why can’t I just quit? I was doing so good. He balled his fists let the tears run. I was doing so good.

After cleaning up, he jumped into the shower. The hot water did wonders on his aching bones and erased the stink of sweat, puke and diarrhea off of him. He was not feeling good, but when he looked himself in the mirror, he saw that his cheeks had some color. He put on some shorts, socks and a t shirt and did his bed. Then he tried to go about his day. His plan was to just lay lazily on their couch in the living room and binge watch some cheesy TV shows. He found a note taped to their TV.

I know you wanna just lay down and watch TV all day, but you have to eat. I’ve prepared some oatmeal and cut up some fruit. Please eat them. You need the energy. - Iwa.

Akaashi rolled his eyes but felt a twinge of gratitude. Iwaizumi knew him too well. He begrudgingly went to the kitchen and took the oatmeal bowl out of the fridge. The raven put in the microwave for a minute and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, he also knew Iwaizumi too well. He knew the only reason Iwaizumi chose this specifically was because it was hard to mess up. It was never to a ride to the park to try Iwaizumi’s cooking.

When it was done he took the bowl out of the microwave, put his feet on top of the coffee table and turned on their TV. Some bad daytime TV could take his mind off things. Soon enough he found a dating show where 16 contestants were all sharing a house and trying to find their soulmates. Perfect.

He took a spoonful of the oatmeal. Big mistake. He almost choke down on it. Iwa, how could you mess this up, for fucks sake? Akaashi was barely able to swallow it. This is a health hazard. His eyes were watering. Shaking his head from side to side, he pushed the bowl further away. Even the sight made him nauseated. He took his phone out of his pocket to shoot a text for his worried roommate. Iwaizumi already texted him from work asking how he was feeling.

“Better. No thanks to your oatmeal from hell though.” He typed and pushed sent. Iwaizumi saw it soon enough.

“Was it that bad? Well nvm. Shut up or I’ll make you eat the whole thing when I’m back. Rest well.”
Akaashi couldn’t help but laugh. Iwaizumi would always get frustrated about his cooking at first, and then he would get defensive. If it weren’t for Akaashi, he’d be eating out everyday. He saw another message notification. Bokuto… Akaashi gulped. This guy really wasn’t kidding about wanting to reconnect. He tapped on the message on autopilot:

“Hey Akaashi! I hope you’re feeling better. I just wanted to say that I’m in the area and can come whenever you tell me it’s okay. No pressure!”
In the area? That was a little weird. They said they’d meet in the afternoon and it was a lot earlier than that. Akaashi wondered why he was here. Was he just waiting for him to say yes so that he could come earlier? No way Keiji, he has things to do… But then again, this was Bokuto.

“Hi Bokuto, thank you. I’m not doing a whole lot better but I’m going to get better. You can come now if you want.” He texted back.

Bokuto saw the message and replied instantly, which made Akaashi a little bit anxious. There was a chance he might be right about Bokuto. “Great! I can be there in 10 minutes. Do you need anything?”

He really was closeby. Akaashi sighed, he would learn the truth from him when he arrived anyway. He looked at the oats on top of his coffee table. He really needed to eat something but had no strength to make anything.

“Actually, do you mind grabbing something to eat?” He quickly shot a text to his old friend.

“What would you like?” Bokuto responded. Akaashi didn’t actually know. Anything he thought about made him gag inside his mouth. Nothing sounded appetizing in his head. He only realized he hasn’t answered Bokuto in a while when the silver shot another text. “Or I can cook something! I’m a good cook.”
Akaashi couldn’t help but chuckle. It was a little hard to imagine Bokuto in the kitchen with dangerous and sharp equipment and next to the hot stove. Did he really want to push his luck today? On the other hand, it was really hard to make something worse than Iwaizumi prepared, so anything would be an upgrade. “Sure, if you feel like it. You’re more than welcome to use our fridge.”
“I’ll pick up some ingredients anyway. Be there in 10!” Bokuto replied.

Smiling to himself, Akaashi leaned back, letting the dating show drone on. Before he knew it, a knock sounded at the door. When he opened it, Bokuto was there, beaming with a bag of groceries.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Akaashi heard Bokuto exclaim Bokuto exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. He still said that? His face fell slightly when he got a good look at Akaashi. He dropped the groceries. Jeez, I must look like a ghost. Akaashi couldn’t help but think. His cheeks started burning with embarrassment. He had done this to himself.
“Fuck, I’m sorry!” Bokuto picked the groceries up from the floor. “I act such like a tool sometimes.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting to see more tattoos…” He cracked a smile. “I was startled.”
Akaashi raised his left eyebrow at him. Startled? From tattoos? So it wasn’t exactly the fact that he looked ill, but he looked intimidating with tattoos? Huh…
“N-n-not that I mean that they’re ugly… Be-because they’re beautiful….” Bokuto started stuttering. Akaashi realized his silence made him more anxious. “N-not that my opinion m-matters or anything…”

“Relax.” Akaashi raised his palm at him, signaling him to stop. Now, It was obvious Bokuto just didn’t expect it. “It’s okay. I get it. Come inside.” The raven dropped himself back to the couch.
Bokuto took a deep breathe and followed him back inside the apartment. “Is Iwaizumi at home?” He asked tentatively while taking his shoes off.

“At work.” Akaashi said, and noted that Bokuto let out a small breath of relief.

“I’m gonna start with this right away.” Bokuto raised the bag again and walked to their kitchen. “Do you mind if I just help myself around?” The silver asked but did not wait for Akaashi’s permission. He was in search of pots, pans and whatever he needed at the moment like he owned the place. Akaashi in fact didn’t mind. At least, he didn’t have to worry about him all the time. However, he was a little curious. He turned down the volume of his show and started watching Bokuto, amused by the fact that how naturally he navigated the space.
“And what are you going to make so fancy that you needed to pick up ingredients on the way?” Akaashi asked leaning back.

“Pancakes.” Bokuto said gleefully. His face lit up. “American style.”
“What’s different about them?”

“They use buttermilk instead of milk to make them more fluffy and airy. They also top it with maple syrup.”
“Butter-what now?” Akaashi blinked at his silver friend. Bokuto showed him the bottle he picked up from the market on the way. “See?” He asked presenting it. “I picked it up on my way. It’s a fermented dairy product.

“Huh?” Akaashi mused quietly. “You learn something new everyday.”
Bokuto smiled at him in response and went back to creating his recipe. He was weirdly serious about it. Now that Akaashi thought about it, the whole thing was weird. A couple days ago, Bokuto had no idea whether he lived or died. Now, he was cooking in his kitchen and it felt like how it’s always been. It felt natural.
Akaashi was pleasantly surprised. Bokuto obviously knew his way around the kitchen. From the way he threw sausages to the pan, the way he used a knife to the way he effortlessly flipped the pancakes without a spatula.. Akaashi could tell he liked spending time in the kitchen.

“Would you like me to bring it to you? Or do you think you can move towards the table?” Bokuto asked emphatically.
“I’m coming.” Akaashi murmured and pushed himself on his feet. Wow… “They look really good, Bokuto.” Akaashi blinked. He really did not expect a lot from his old friend. The pancakes alone looked really appetizing. He sat down on the chair as Bokuto served the food.

The raven cut himself a piece of the pancake and tasted it. Oh my god. His mouth rejoiced. “This is what heaven must taste like.”

“It’s just pancakes…” Bokuto smiled sheepishly, cheeks getting blushed. He didn’t seem too sure whether Akaashi was poking fun at him or serious. The raven was beyond serious. Akaashi rarely got excited about food. But these pancakes… They were the lightest, the fluffiest pancakes he had ever had. The sugar ratio was damn perfect, and the syrup… He couldn’t get enough of it. Forget the eggs and sausages, he could just eat this.

“They are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.” Akaashi tried to smile but his mouth was so stuffed that he failed. Bokuto blinked at him and burst into laughing. “What?” Akaashi felt a burning sensation around his cheeks. “Nothing.” Bokuto shook his head. “I’ve just… I’ve never seen you stuff your face like that before. It was a sight.” He ruffled his silver hair and sighed. “Man…”

“Thanks, Bokuto.” Akaashi bowed his head slightly. “I really needed to eat, but I was feeling very nauseated. If it weren’t for these, I don’t think I could stomach anything.”
“Really?” The silver blinked at him. “Here.” He moved the pancakes out of his plate to Akaashi’s plate. “Please, have mine too.” He said beaming.
“No, that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to do that.” Akashi said embarrassed. He didn’t say it to steal Bokuto’s food. “I know.” Bokuto kept his smile. “Don’t worry about it. I ate a ton before coming here anyway.”

They ate the rest of the food in peace, which Akaashi appreciated. He had to regain just a bit of his strength before they would have their supposed talk with each other. He didn’t even know where to begin with it anyway. When they finished, Bokuto quickly put the dishes in the washer and made them some tea. Akaashi curled into the sofa and cozied under the blanket. Bokuto followed him but preferred to sit on the floor and instead rest his back against their wingback chair.

“Thanks for having me over, despite everything.” Bokuto bowed graciously once again. Akaashi didn’t know what to say, so he preferred to stay silent. “Which one of us should go first?” Akaashi asked bluntly. He really didn’t know where to begin and he didn’t want to waste his time trying to small talk him. “I can, if you want me to…” Bokuto murmured. “I don’t even know where to begin but—”

“You can begin with why you suddenly decided to cut me off.” Akaashi interrupted him rather rudely. He didn’t realize he would still be angry about it after all those years. Interesting. He probably buried his feelings about it, but never truly faced them before. “Jeez, you really don’t like beating around the bush.” Bokuto scratched the back of his neck. “Fair enough…” He took a deep breath and looked into his eyes.

“I didn’t.” He said. “Not at first, not consciously anyway. When I was younger, I was much more impressionable… College was different. Going to Kyoto that school without you kind of crushed me. I didn’t have any other of our teammates to support me either. I had to find myself, be myself and socialize. But I couldn’t.”
Akaashi didn’t really know where he was going with this. It didn’t make any sense to why he would cut him off. Not yet.

“Well… You’ve met my parents a couple times… I know you’re observant and probably have your own impression of them anyway. But I’ll tell you, they are very traditional. My pops is the guy who proudly believes in toxic masculinity. And my mom is the type who thinks women should be wives, moms and submissive housemaids, that kind of shit. So when I became successful in sports, they were extremely happy for me. My pops was just so proud when I got a sports scholarship.” He took a deep breath and looked away. “Despite their views, they’re not bad people. I’ve had a good childhood. I love them. I was terribly afraid of disappointing them. So I think, I always repressed some part of me, or didn’t want to realize who I really was.” Bokuto took a sip of his tea.

“This is really hard to put together…” He took another deep breath and massaged his temples. “It’s all really scattered and I’m trying to make it make sense to you.” The silver gulped.
“You can take your time.” Akaashi shrugged. He knew sometimes things weren’t always what they seem, and everyone had layers. He just patiently needed to peel them. “You’re kind.” Bokuto smiled grimly. “As always.” He murmured and looked at the ceiling.

“I just… I mixed myself with the wrong kind of people. The people my dad was proud to call my friends, but… It, just… It wasn’t me. We were a couple frat bros, nothing more. It was nothing like the friendship like we had… The only thing they would talk about was girls, sex or games. At first, I told them about you… Like I had this awesome friend back home but… I don’t know… They didn’t get it… How could a guy care about another guy back home? That was stupid to them. They acted weirded out. So I started talking about you less and less. That also led me to talking to you less because I was afraid of being overheard. We still texted… But not being able to talk to my best friend…” Bokuto gulped. “You know how I was… I just started crumbling under the pressure… And I didn’t even know what the big deal was… So one day…” He cleared his throat.
“I thought I was alone in the dorm and had my headphones on. I didn’t hear anyone. I was feeling down and just crying. I was looking at out high school pictures from my phone. Just reminiscing the good days at high school you know… It was perfectly normal until one of my roommates apparently entered the room and I got caught. He laughed at me so hard and before I knew what was happening all my roommates were back in the room making fun of me, calling me gay.” Bokuto looked at the floor.

“I tried to tell them it was not like that. But one of them snatched my phone was taunting me to send you a rude text to prove I wasn’t gay or something. It was so fucking stupid. But at that time, you messaged me and they saw…” He took a pause.

“I messaged you the wrong time and you lashed out.” Akaashi completed for him.

“Yeah…” Bokuto bowed. “You messaged me when they were holding phone hostage. It wasn’t even something bad. You just said that it sucked without my spikes and that you missed me and felt like we didn’t talk much anymore. But it was enough for those idiots. They left my room roaring telling everyone I was gay. And I just… I don’t know I exploded. I couldn’t be gay. My dad hated gays. I almost got expelled for what I’ve done to them which only increased the rumors. That led to my parents hearing everything about it. My life fell apart right in front of my eyes. My dad wouldn’t even look at me anymore. He would just say things like he knew he should have put a stop to our friendship. So, I thought I was doing everything wrong. And decided to get rid of the only right thing in my life. I cut you off… I was so stupid. I was drinking heavily… I didn’t even know who I was. I was sleeping with any girl who threw herself at me just to prove a point which made things worse…” He gulped.
“The more I explored, the more I realized who I really was. I didn’t even think about it before… I always went for girls with small breasts, short hair. I thought about muscular guys during sex, but I always lied to myself and said that was to keep me for going longer.” His cheeks were dyed to scarlet and he couldn’t keep any eye contact anymore. “Jesus, I was a moron.” He rolled his head from left to right. “I’m gay.” He said looking at the ceiling.
“I probably always was… But when I realized it, I was just about done with everything even with volleyball. And you weren’t there to pick me up, because I fucked that up too…” The silver look at Akaashi’s eyes briefly. “I was going to end it.” He said in a whisper. “I really was… Kuroo talked me into transferring into his school, coming back to Tokyo. It was Kuroo who managed to turn my life around. I owe everything to him.” He couldn’t hold his tears anymore.

“He’s been pressuring me to make amends with you this whole time. And I’ve been too much of a chicken for that. Until I saw that… For years. I’m so sorry for everything, Akaashi.”

Akaashi took some time to digest what he had just heard. It sounded so immature and absurd, but then again… This was Bokuto. He knew how his mood swings came and went… And this time, he seemed to be completely honest. But what he didn’t understand was… Why he was afraid to make amends? He knew Akaashi, didn’t he? The worst he could do was to be mad at him for being so stupid, but Akaashi would forgive him. He always did.

“Bokuto…” He hated that he sounded so defeated… “I understand. All of that. I really do…” He took a pause and stared deep into his golden eyes. “But why were you afraid to contact me for the past 10 years? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You were perfect…” Bokuto smiled. “I knew that I had to tell you who I was now that I discovered it. I knew I owed it to you. But I was so afraid. I didn’t know how you’d react. And I didn’t know whether you’d still want me as a friend… My parents rejected me. I was so afraid of getting rejected by you as well I ran from it. In my head, while you didn’t know it was still ambiguous, and there was still hope. I know it’s stupid now.”
“It really is. It must be the stupidest thing to come out of your mouth. How could you even think that I would reject you? And for being gay for fuck’s sake. All I cared about was you, Bokuto.” Akaashi spat at him, his eyes were filled with tears.

“I’m really sorry.” He looked down. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Now that I know what I know, I don’t hold it against you.” Akaashi sighed. But it’s just utterly stupid, Bokuto. It hurts.”
“Really?” Bokuto jumped out of the floor. “Really Akaashi? You understand? You mean it?” His eyes were the size of golfballs.

“I mean it.” Akaashi couldn’t help but laugh at his demeanor. Apparently, somethings never change. He was jumping up and down like a small child. “Can we hug it out?” He asked out of the blue holding his arms out in the open.
“S-sure.” Akaashi said without even thinking. How the hell did he get me to agree to that? Akaashi just hoped he didn’t smell of puke. The larger male wrapped his arms around him tightly. “I missed you a lot, Akaashi.” He murmured. God… He smelled good.
I missed you too… Akaashi wanted to say it back, but he couldn’t. Instead he just awkwardly hugged back. He tried to squeeze with all his might. Whatever he had left after the overdose. He didn’t know how long they’ve stayed like that but it felt for a little eternity. He felt a chuckle on his neck when he let go.

“What were the chances that you were gay this whole time as well?” Bokuto laughed out loud as he sat back on the floor.

“I’m not gay.” Akaashi corrected him matter-of-factly still in shock with the news. He was looking on ceiling, trying to evaluate everything.
“H-huh?” Bokuto gulped. “B-but the porn?”
“Oh… right…” Akaashi had forgotten about the porn Bokuto has found. “Sorry, I was in a bit of shock.” He tried to smile at the silver. “I didn’t really know what you really talked about when you mentioned the video to be honest. Like I’ve said… There are quite a few videos out there. Some of them are straight, some of them are gay and there even a couple threesomes. Gay porn pays more, so I think there are more of those.”

“H-huh?” Bokuto’s jaw was about to hit the floor.

“Was that too much information?” Akaashi realized he was trailing off.
“N-no… Not really. I mean… Kind off… You managed to crush my expectations so many times today, I was kind of in shock…” He mumbled and immediately closed his mouth. “That came out so wrong!” He tried to correct himself. “What I mean is… I expect something and you hit me with something else not that you disappoint me…”

“Breathe…” Akaashi laughed. “It’s okay. I know you mean well.”
“I meant that it’s funny.” Bokuto finally said in relaxed state. “First there were more tattoos… And when I saw the gay porn thought you were gay, but you turned out—”

“Bisexual.” Akaashi interrupted realizing where he was going. “I swing both ways.” He laughed holding his stomach.

“Jeez, I really should stop making assumptions, Huh?” Bokuto joined him on laughing.

“Yes.” Akaashi nodded his head. This is fun… How he managed to crack Akaashi open, he didn’t know… But it was just like the old days. He never wanted this to end. But unfortunately, he knew it was going to. He didn’t know what Bokuto would do after hearing his end… He knew some parts deserved forgiveness while some didn’t. He knew it was not for everyone. And he wasn’t sure how mature Bokuto was.
Their fun time didn’t run for long. Oh no… Akaashi felt his stomach fold. Immediately he ran back to his room. Fuck. He barely made it to the bathroom and started letting it all out. There goes the pancakes… He was throwing his insides out. I’m disgusting. He couldn’t help but think. It was impossible for Bokuto to not hear the sounds he made, especially if he followed him.
“Akaashi?” Bokuto knocked the door. “Are you okay, do you need help?”
“No, Bokuto, don’t…” Akaashi gagged and his guts spilled out all over the toilet. “Oh my god.” He heard Bokuto but even then he couldn’t stop heaving. This is so embarrassing. When he finally stopped, he realized Bokuto was sitting right next to him and gently patting on his back. He was panting. The putrid smell of fresh vomit in the toilet was the only thing he could smell. Fuck me. Bokuto got on his knees and hit the flush.

“How are you feeling?” He asked Akaashi carefully. “Sorry you had to witness that…” Akaashi murmured and escaped his eyes. “Nonsense.” Bokuto patted his shoulder. “What are friends for?” He said as if they haven’t seen each other for 10 years. How he could be so natural with Akaashi, he didn’t know. But the raven sure did appreciate it.

Bokuto tore some toilet paper and wiped the corner of his lips.“You had a little something there.” He explained himself doing it. “I’m sorry for the pancakes… I didn’t realize they would be…” “No.” Akaashi stopped him waving his hands in the air. “They were one of the best things I’ve had in weeks. It’s just my stomach. It’s not really in the mood to accept anything right now. I was surprised I was able to eat the whole thing in the beginning.”

“Okay, if you say so…” Bokuto seemed a little relieved after hearing that. “We’ve got to get you a new shirt.” He said next pointing at the vomit at his collar. Kill me. Akaashi thought. It couldn’t get any more awkward. “Would you like me to fetch it for you?” The silver asked cautiously.

“Sure, thank you. I’ve got clean shirts in my wardrobe. You can pick them up from there.” He pointed back at his room. While Bokuto went to get his shirt Akaashi pushed himself on his feet, threw his dirty shirt in the laundry basket and washed his face. He was in the process of wiping himself when Bokuto made loud thump.
“Jesus Christ!” The silver was rubbing the back of his head. Apparently he jumped back and knocked it on the wall. “What, more tattoos?” Akaashi asked. He was almost exasperated.
“No dude, I expected more tattoos this time.” Bokuto sounded equally exasperated. “It’s the nipple ring.”
“Oh…” Akaashi had forgotten all about it. He looked down at his chest and saw the shiny little barbell looking at him back. “That’s reasonable.” He mumbled as Bokuto threw him the t-shirt.

“You really are full of surprises.” Bokuto chuckled to himself. “You couldn’t pay me to do that to myself… I can’t imagine how painful that was.” The silver shivered with the thought of piercing his nipple.“Well, it wasn’t a ride in the park. But it wasn’t that bad.” Akaashi decided to be honest. “Not that bad?” Bokuto was roaring with laughter. “I’ll take your word for it…” He said giggling. “It’s cool though…” He quickly added to his initial critique. “I mean, you’ve changed a lot, but you look really cool.” Bokuto openly admired him.

“You like the new look?” Akaashi grinned asking him.

“Yup, very much so!” Bokuto nodded fervently. They were chatting inside the bathroom. It was getting kind of awkward. Akaashi quickly wore the new t-shirt. “I need a smoke.” He led Bokuto to the balcony. His nerves weren’t made of steel.
“Would you like me to cook something else to you? I mean, it all came out.” Bokuto tentatively asked following him.

“Thank you, maybe later. I’m very nauseated right now.” Akaashi quickly sat on one of the chairs in the balcony and pointed Bokuto to sit on the other. He lit the cigarette and took a puff feeling an immediate sense of comfort. That’s one thing an addict tried to do. Replacing one addiction with another… He knew he had to quit eventually.

“The only thing I don’t like about the new you, is this.” Bokuto confessed. His face looked a bit sullen now that he’s seen Akaashi with a cigarette on his hand.

“Who knew smoking wasn’t cool?” Akaashi tried to joke to lighten the mood but it didn’t really help… Well… Bokuto was an athlete. His body was a temple… Akaashi on the other hand… He gulped thinking about this… If he reacted at a cigarette like this, how would he react when Akaashi told him the truth about his past? Maybe I should wait Iwa… Akaashi thought. It might have been nice to have someone if Bokuto loses it. But then again, he seemed awfully mature today. They didn’t really owe each other anything anymore. This could be just another day. Akaashi didn’t reject him, but Bokuto had the right to reject Akaashi, right? He could leave without making a mess. Or, so Akaashi hoped.

“What are you thinking?” Bokuto asked gently.
“Do you want me to be honest?” Akaashi asked looking deep into his golden eyes. When Bokuto nodded for yes, he sighed and took another deep puff.

“Well, it’s been all great catching up with you. But I’m just thinking when you’ll explode on me.”

“Explode?” Bokuto repeated Akaashi looking confused.

“Yeah… I do believe you’ve matured. But you seem judgmental. You’ve lost it at me for the videos, you are definitely uncomfortable with me smoking cigarettes. I mean… It’s probably because you still have a moral compass, but I’ve lost mine a long time ago and I’m only getting myself on track. Think baby steps.”

“Woah…” Bokuto started waving his hands fervently. “I’m not judging you.” He quickly interrupted Akaashi’s speech and met with a single raised eyebrow.

“I’m not!” The silver doubled down. “I’m worried about your health. I never joke about smoking or any health related topics. I’m too sensitive for that. You have to remember that.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“I’m the guy who thought he’d die when got the common cold… You don’t remember that?”
“I remember you being a baby about being sick.” Akaashi chuckled.

 

“Exactly!” Bokuto hit his fist into his palm. “It’s a serious subject for me.” Their conversation was interrupted when he heard Iwaizumi calling for himself.

“AKAASHI! Are you here?” His roommate must have been searching for him in the apartment.

“Balcony!” He slid the door enough to yell back at him. Iwaizumi followed his voice. He stepped in and immediately furrowed his brows. “What the hell are you doing here?” He asked Bokuto.

“Well…” Bokuto escaped Iwaizumi’s demanding orbs. “Akaashi said I could come again today.” He honestly told the truth.

“Really?” Iwaizumi crossed his arms around his chest. “Is that so, Akaashi?”
“It is.” Akaashi said calmly. He was not trying to make Iwaizumi mad again. Frankly, he was the fuse of this bomb.

“What, are you guys friends again now or something?” Iwaizumi rolled his jade orbs.

“I wouldn’t say so.” The raven decided to go all out. “We have done some catching up, but I haven’t told him about my past, yet.”

“Oh…” His roommate seemed a little taken aback. He raised both his eyebrows. “And, are you going to?” He asked just to make sure. Akaashi knew he already had the answer to his question.

“Yes, Iwa. I will.”
“Okay, then.” Iwaizumi seemed a little dazed and ruffled his own hair. “Man… Okay, I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He stepped out and turned back in. “By the way, I saw that you haven’t eaten your oats. Care to explain?”

“With all due respect, Iwa… That was not up to human consumption…”
“Smartass.” Iwaizumi hit him in the head and went back to the living room muttering about how wonderful his oat-making skills were.

“He really does care about you, huh?” Bokuto asked with a pained expression which Akaashi couldn’t give any meaning to.

“I care about him as well.” He answered Bokuto’s question curtly. It wasn’t a one-sided egotistical relationship.

“Is he y-your boyfriend?” Bokuto asked and looked away. His cheeks were once again scarlet. Jeez… Why do you have to make everything so awkward?“No, he’s my roommate and best friend. I’d say he’s my only family now.”
“Well… Are you ready to hear my side now?” Akaashi asked and took his last puff in. Bokuto nodded yes and they went back inside the living room to sit down. The silver was already engaged and ready to hear every syllable that was about to come out of his mouth. Akaashi on the other hand nervous. He didn’t even know where to start.

“Just to give you a brief context… It’s just one shitty thing that happens after another and me making the worst decisions of my life combined. It took a lot to get where I am now even though it’s not much…”
“That’s alright… I’m not going to interrupt you… You can just take your time and let it flow. Just like I did.” Bokuto patted on his knee and sat back on his old spot.

“Alright.” Akaashi took a deep breath. “But, you’re not going to interrupt me. And you’re not going to feel bad for me. Because I just can’t if you do. Okay?”
“I’ll try my absolute best.” The silver cracked a smile.

Fair enough. Akaashi thought. “Well, I tried to respect your wishes. Even if you didn’t mean them at the time and I didn’t message you again. Until my second year and your junior year in college. I’ve been to a horrific car accident which took my parents away from me. I was the sole survivor. I barely made it anyways. I broke several bones, including my ribs, collarbones, legs and right knee. I had to spent a lot of time at the hospital and I was still grieving. That’s the only time I tried to texted you with no luck.”

“I never got it.” Bokuto immediately shook his head. Akaashi realized he was squeezing his balled fists. “H-huh?”

“I swear, I never got a message.” Bokuto repeated for him again. “Bokuto…”

“If I did, I would have never… ever… ignored it. Never, Akaashi… Do you understand it?Never.”
“Let me finish.” Akaashi tried to defuse him.

“I need you to understand, I didn’t get the message.” Bokuto’s eyes were tearing up. “I really didn’t. I changed my number right around my junior year and it must have happened the same time… I’m an idiot… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

“Bokuto, it’s been years. It’s okay, I believe you.”
“You do?” Bokuto kneeled right in front of him tears streaming down his cheeks. “You have to, Akaashi. I swear, I wouldn’t do that…”
“I do.” Akaashi whispered. “I didn’t tell you this just to upset you, it’s just part of my story, and now I need you to listen.” He wiped the silver’s tears with his thumbs and tried to give a brave smile. “Okay.” The silver took a deep breath and sat back again.

“Whatever happened happened.” Akaashi murmured. “I found myself spending a lot of time in the hospital both grieving and healing. It took a long time until they let me go. And things only went downhill from there. My coach in the university was supportive at first. But I couldn’t make any progress when I returned. I wasn’t there mentally or physically. My knee never returned to its condition before the accident. So my form was awful, my blocks were lacking and I could barely even jump. I first got demoted to second string and then I got dropped off the team. I lost my sports scholarship and had to drop out of the school. I was living at the dorm for free so when I dropped out, I was homeless. My parents rented, so unfortunately I wasn’t left with anything. I didn’t really have anyone or know anyone to be honest and I started living on the streets. It’s easy to get mixed in with wrong folks especially if you’re in a dangerous environment. I did get a job, immediately… But I was in so much pain… Chronic pain from my knee and I was a mental wreck. Some people I considered friends at the time convinced me there were some stuff that could take my pain away.” Akaashi cleared his throat. It was getting harder and harder to tell. He could tell Bokuto was growing more uncomfortable by the second and he was about to drop the bomb on him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter how. It was me in the end. I made the choices. I got addicted to heroin.” His voice was trembling. It’s been years since he had to voice this for someone again. “It got progressively worse. At first, it was just a couple of hits and sudden euphoria. I thought I would just use it when I’m at my worst and when I started getting better I could quit… It didn’t work that way. Pain never subsided without the drugs. And then, I had such a high tolerance that… I was a junkie Bokuto. I couldn’t even keep my day job anymore. When I got fired, one of my street friends suggested I do porn since I was pretty. And that’s how those videos got online. Back then, I would have done anything to buy some crack.”

“Jesus.” Bokuto started massaging his temples. But Akaashi kept going.

“For me, it was Iwa who turned my life around. Iwa volunteers at shelters regularly. He coincidentally found me and managed to recognize me. I’ll never forget the shame I felt when he asked me whether I was the setter from Fukurodani at first sight. He never gave up on me, so I started believing in myself again. I went into rehab. Finished my degree, got a job… Iwa and I became really good friends along the way and moved in together… I’d been clean for five years until yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Bokuto repeated softly.

“Heroin destroys everything. It becomes your fucking world. I fucking hate it but there is not one day I don’t miss it. I’m still an addict Bokuto, I just know how to manage my addiction better. Or thought I knew. I was overwhelmed yesterday. I thought I could just… Well… I relapsed yesterday and overdosed. That’s why I was in the hospital yesterday. That’s why Iwa has been really upset.” Akaashi took a deep breath.

“I know it’s a lot to take. You don’t owe me anything. So if you don’t think you can handle it, you can just walk out and we can act like we never even—”

“Akaashi.” Bokuto glared at him. He could see the flames with his golden eyes. “Don’t you dare say that to me.” He spat and there was a pregnant pause between them.
“I-it’s because of me…” Bokuto laid on the floor. There it goes, his mood swings were still there.

“It’s not because of you.” Akaashi sighed. “It’s easy to say that. It was me who made the choice. You didn’t hold me at gunpoint. You just showed up all of a sudden.”
“If I didn’t…”

“Maybe I still would, who knows? Don’t worry about it. The choices I make, are my responsibility. Not yours.” Akaashi shrugged.
“I can’t believe this was your life.” Bokuto was merely lying on the floor. He almost seemed lifeless. “All the time, I thought I had it bad and…” He shook his head. “God, I’ve been so fucking stupid.”

“How could you have known?” Akaashi shrugged.

“I don’t know. I should have been a psychic for all I care. I should have been there for you. I wasn’t because I was busy being a piece of shit.”

“Bokuto…” Akaashi blinked at him. He couldn’t believe he thought Bokuto was being hard on himself. “Just because we were in different levels of deep, doesn’t mean you weren’t hurting. Pain is pain nonetheless.” He said and glanced in his golden eyes.“If you want to be here, we’re in the present now. Let’s worry about now.”
“I don’t know what to say. Nor how to make you feel better.” Bokuto confessed, his eyes were tearing. He could barely hold himself together.

“Good, because I don’t need you to do that.” The raven sighed. “Nothing you can say or do at this moment will make me feel any better about my past. I wish it could, I wish it would be that simple, but it isn’t. I know you feel guilty about it, but you shouldn’t.”
“How can I not? I chose to let you go because I was afraid you would abandon me first. That doesn’t even make any sense… You were my best friend.” He was still lying on the floor, now his forearm was covering his forehead. “I’ve been an absolute fucking asshole. How can you ever forgive me?”

“I don’t know.” Akaashi decided to be honest. “But I will. In time, I will. Okay?” Akaashi sat right next to on the floor him and glanced at his golden eyes one more time. Bokuto did not even attempt to move. “I’m not angry anymore.” They couldn’t talk to each other for a minute or two. Akaashi reached and squeezed Bokuto’s balled hand. Then he heard Bokuto sigh audibly. “MAN…” He squeezed back.

“It’s a lot…” Bokuto half heartedly gave him a smile. “So… heroin… huh?” He rose and looked at Akaashi’s icy blue eyes. “I guess, cigarettes really weren’t the issue.”

“No.” Akaashi started laughing. “But I still am trying to quit, because it’s not a great habit.”

“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it.” Bokuto closed his eyes. “I’m…” His cheeks were getting scarlet… “You know… You were younger than me, but I looked up to you. But the fact that, even you got caught up with drugs just shows me it’s not about knowing what’s good or bad… It’s just about the timing of our choices sometimes…”

“The first time I used, I just thought I would use it one time and I’d be over it.” Akaashi confessed him.

“But it wasn’t,right?”

“No. Everyone overestimates their ability to give it up. It made me feel nothing, I constantly wanted to be in that state after trying it once. I convinced myself I’ll just use it a couple more times… And then, I just thought I had it under control and I didn’t have to stop… And all of a sudden I was shooting heroin in a back alley with a bunch of junkies like me.” Akaashi shook his shoulders. “You wanna know why I have so many tattoos now?” He held his arm closer for Bokuto to look at. “I have scars, everywhere…”

“Scars?” Bokuto blinked at him but regardless he gently held his arm and searched for them.

“There are couple methods of using, and the fastest way to get high is to inject the drugs direct into your bloodstream through your veins. When you use as much as I did, you cells start to break down. You veins, everything. I had maybe a thousand needles broken on me and it gets frustrating. Then you start injecting. Wherever you find. Skin, muscle, fat… And drugs kill every bit of you leaving nothing but scars.”
“I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it could get so gruesome…” Bokuto murmured .“Your tattoos look great though, I would have never noticed you had scars if I didn’t held your arm upclose.”

“Thanks.” Akaashi grinned at him. “That was the intention.”

“Unlike the nipple piercing.” Bokuto grinned back surprising him. When Akaashi rose his left brow at him he got red again. “Well, that’s not about hiding anything, right?”
“Oh…” Akaashi started laughing. “No… I don’t think so…”

“I know you’re too noble to let me to accept responsibility for yesterday. But I’m still extremely sorry that I was a factor which influenced your choices, ‘Kashi.”

“Aww… Aren’t you guys romantic?” Akaashi recognized Iwaizumi’s voice coming from the kitchen.
The raven turned around and saw his roommate’s butt sticking out of the open fridge door. “That’s mature, Iwa. Thank you.” He rolled his eyes at him. “Thought you didn’t want to hang around.”

“Well, I got hungry. I need to eat.” Iwaizumi scoffed.
“GREAT!” Bokuto jumped from his place. “I’ll cook!”

“I’m not letting you in my kitchen.” Iwaizumi jumped in front of him. “Get out of here.” He shooed a confused looking Bokuto out of there as if he was a wild a animal.
“He was already in your kitchen this morning. I let him cook.” Akaashi grinned. “He’s a good cook.”
“Really?” Iwaizumi didn’t look so sure. “What can you do?”

“Well, what do you want to eat?” Bokuto asked him honestly.

“I like the sound of that.”

Chapter 5: Just When It All Seemed Perfect

The next morning, Akaashi Keiji woke to a lingering pain, leaving him to wonder if the events of the previous day were real or a hallucination. It certainly wasn't an ordinary day at the office. The evening had been a blast. After cooking dinner, Bokuto, Iwaizumi, and he had delved into light-hearted conversations about their lives—just the kind of distraction Akaashi needed.

 

He rose and stretched his muscles. He knew the pain wasn’t going to get any better staying in the bed, he might as well eat something. At least, It wasn’t as bad as yesterday. When he walked in their living room he found Iwa sitting in his underwear on a barstool, eating some oats and watching TV.

 

“Oh, hi!” He noticed Akaashi quickly. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better than yesterday,” Akaashi replied, rubbing his temples before sinking onto the couch. “You didn’t go to work?”

 

“It’s my day off today.” Iwaizumi said with a carefree sip of his coffee. Despite his job as a trainer for the PL Foxes volleyball team, he somehow never bumped into Oikawa, who was in the same professional circle. With Iwa, Akaashi mused, anything seemed possible.

Iwaizumi hopped off the barstool and happily prepared another bowl of oats, topping it with yogurt and berries before handing it to Akaashi. “Iwa, I really don’t want to disrespect but—”

 

“I didn’t make it.” Iwaizumi rolled his jade eyes. “Bokuto did. It’s good. Eat up.”

 

“When?” Akaashi accepted the bowl with a confused look on his face.

 

“Yesterday, when he was preparing the dinner. He also made sure to make some oats for breakfast.” Iwaizumi proceeded to go back and fetch his own bowl and sat right next to him. “So…” He cleared his throat loudly. “Wild night yesterday, huh?”

 

“Tell me about it.” The raven shook his head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I had a great time. But even I’m a bit surprised. I wanted to kill him before and we just started chilling. It was weird how comfortable I was around him. I’m not comfortable around others easily.”

“He always had that kind of effect.” Akaashi admitted, a mix of annoyance and admiration in his tone. “Never even tried, just his natural charisma.” It was almost dangerous, how many heads he could turn. Akaashi himself gathered attention when they were in the volleyball club. He was the looker of the team. But Bokuto, he was a star. And he had a gift to make people feel at ease.

 

“So, what did he even tell you?” Iwaizumi looked at him tentatively. “I’m dying to know.”

 

“I mean, if I’m being honest it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, Iwa.” Akaashi confessed.

“What do you mean?”  Iwaizumi furrowed, trying to understand.

“The short version is, he’s gay.” Akaashi shrug his shoulders. “Huh?” Iwa seemed to be interested. “And he’s in love with you?”

 

“W-what?” Akaashi almost fell from the couch. “No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Why on earth would you even think that?”

 

“I don’t know.” Iwaizumi said. "it wouldn’t be so weird, would it?”

Akaashi took a deep breath. Right… Wouldn’t be so weird. He couldn’t even imagine Bokuto having feelings for someone like himself. No, they used to be best friends. That was it. It was nothing like what Iwaizumi and Oikawa had.

“Anyway…” The brunette gave Akaashi the side eye. “Why did he tell you that then? Why was it important to know?” At least that question was easy to answer.

 

“Bokuto grew up idolizing his dad. His family is very traditional and he was afraid of disappointing them. He suppressed who he was and got himself mixed with some homophobic jock crowd in college. He talked about me so much that they made fun our relationship. One day, I message him wrong day, wrong time and he explodes. I guess I let him go too easily and he was too afraid to reach out once he realized who he was. Apparently, things did not go well with his family and He thought I would maybe reject him as well. So he never did.”

 

“I think it makes sense…” Iwa said thoughtfully.

 

“How?” Akaashi almost dropped his bowl laughing. “Iwa, I don’t want to be mean, but think about yourself… You had a traditional family as well but you never did…”

 

“Yeah, but you just said yourself he idolized his dad growing up. I sure didn’t. I hated his guts.” Iwaizumi shrugged. “So I didn’t have any problems with disappointing him.”

“You really think, this makes any sense?” Akaashi raised a brow at him.

 

“Love doesn’t always have to make sense in the most logical way.” Iwaizumi mumbled, words fell out of his mouth.

 

“Iwa…” Akaashi took a deep breath. “I’ve heard some bullshit in my life but what you’re saying doesn’t even have any semantics anymore.”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m not the best with words.” The brunette started laughing. “What I mean is… I get him. He lost you because of his actions, he wanted to turn it around but he was fragile. He didn’t have the guts to make it right even though he wanted to. People are of  afraid getting broken, Akaashi. I mean, I was the same way with Oikawa, right?”

“Yeah… I get that…” The raven sighed. He looked deeply into Iwaizumi’s jade orbs. “I hope you know that it’s not right.” He whispered to his roommate.

 

“I know…” Iwaizumi looked away. “There isn’t one single day I don’t miss him. But, he moved on. He has a life, Akaashi. I can’t just barge back in and ruin everything he has. It’s better this way. Now, I’m just glad to have known him.” He shook his head from side to side and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, this isn’t even about me. So please don’t turn it around.”

Akaashi sank into his spot a little. “It just feels so simple after all these years. I guess I just wanted it to be more complicated.”

“From what you’ve been telling me… It wouldn’t be Bokuto if it were.” Iwa replied softly which for some reason made the raven laugh. That’s true.The unexpected knock on the door made them both jerk at the same time. Weird. They wouldn’t have any visitors during the week, would they? “Expecting someone?” He asked Iwaizumi curiously.

 

“Well, I ordered some supplements online, it could be a package.” Iwaizumi scratched the back of his head. “If so, could you sign it for me? I don’t wanna wear pants.”

 

“Yeah, yeah…” Akaashi giggled and opened the door. He was surprised to see there was no package. Only Bokuto…

 

“Kashi!!! Good morning!” He immediately let himself inside without even asking. Akaashi had no time even ask what on earth he was doing in their apartment unannounced. He went through the hall and took a deep breath when the fresh breeze of air conditioning hit his face.

 

“Man, It was hot outside today!” The silver exclaimed and cooled himself down in front of the machine a little bit. Both Iwa and Akaashi were too awestruck to say anything. They went through an uncomfortable silence which Bokuto wasn’t aware of until Akaashi could gather his thoughts and ask the reason of his visit.

 

“Bokuto, what are you doing here?” Akaashi asked as calmly as he could.“Huh?” The silver turned around quickly. “What do you mean?” He retorted as if it was as obvious as daylight.

 

“Is he always this dense?” Iwa’s mouth dropped to the floor. “More or less.” Akaashi laughed. It was just Bokuto, being himself. Apparently, he didn’t even think twice about coming here after yesterday.

 

“We mean that we didn’t know you were coming, Bokuto.” The raven calmly explained himself to his brazen former best friend.“Well… I said see you later, didn’t I?” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s later now.” He said grinning.

 

“You could have called and asked if we were available.” Iwaizumi grunted. “I could have put some pants on.” He grumpily continued eating the oats Bokuto made. “Well, I didn’t know I needed an invitation.” Bokuto scratched the back of his head timidly. “I used to drop by Akaashi’s house all the time so I guess If I imposed… I’m sorry.” His cheeks were slightly blushing now that he understood he made Iwaizumi uncomfortable.

 

“But hey, no need to put pants on at all. You’ve got great legs! You should show them off.” He exclaimed happily and made Iwaizumi choke on his food. The poor guy nearly died trying to expectorate the chunk of oats out of his airways. Akaashi quickly filled a glass with some water, handed it to his roommate and patted his back. Iwaizumi stormed off to his room after drinking some, muttering about manners.

 

“Did I mess up?” Bokuto asked blankly after watching everything quietly from the sides.

 

“I would say a little after you flirted with him.” The raven giggled shaking his head. He didn’t know why, but this was the most fun he had for months, maybe years.

 

“I DID NOT FLIRT WITH HIM!” Bokuto gasped. “No… I just told the truth… Man… I wasn’t like coming on to him.” Bokuto was deeply scarlet now. “Do you think…. He thought I have?”

 

“Seemed like it.” Akaashi kept laughing and threw himself back to the couch. 

 

“IWA!” He yelled following him to his room and knocked on his door. “IWA! I swear I was just making an observation! I wasn’t hitting on you dude!”

“Alright, just stop. Will you?” Iwaizumi opened the door with a matching scarlet face and now wearing sweatpants. “I swear… You are so fucking awkward.” The brunette rolled his eyes. “And aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” He asked in an accusing tone.

 

“No, I’m just doing my usual training. We’re off this week since next week we’ll start training for the international cup. I’m so pumped.” He raised his arms towards the ceiling. “We’ll crush everyone this year.”

He sat right next to Akaashi and crossed his legs. It was odd, but this did not feel unnatural. It was just like how he was back in the days. The silver absent mindedly looked at the ceiling. “Oh yeah…” He murmured. “I forgot…” He said turning his eyes towards Iwaizumi once more. “Tooru is coming next Friday.”

 

When Iwaizumi heard his former best friends name he flinched ever so slightly and his face turned into Ash as if he had just seen a ghost. “Oh…” His voice was unusually soft. “Right.” He tried looking away from both of them. It seemed like he wanted to move to any direction, but his body was frozen.

“I’m so excited to tell him I found his Iwa-chan when he gets here.” Bokuto kept going merrily not being able to read the environment.  Akaashi bit his lips. Iwaizumi looked more uncomfortable by the second.“Bokuto…” Akaashi cleared his throat to intervene but Iwaizumi politely raised his hand. “We’re not friends anymore. We haven’t been in a long time. It’s best if you don’t tell him anything.” Iwaizumi muttered, his voice cold and firm.

 

“I know you’re not.” The silver shrugged his shoulders. “Tooru and I used to talk a lot about how we both managed to lose our best friends. He always talks about you in a great way, you know. It’s always Iwa-chan this and Iwa-chan that.” The silver smiled.

“He talks about me?” Iwa blinked at him.

“Well, people kinda got sick of it after a while when they couldn’t see this great Iwa-chan at all. So he learned to keep his mouth shut, I guess. But he talks about you nonstop whenever he’s drunk.”

 

“He should hate me.” The brunette looked down.“Why would he? You sound like a great person from the way he tells it. He misses you a lot.” The silver shook his shoulders.

 

“Bokuto, sometimes things aren’t as simple as they seem.” The raven intervened once more.

“Well, they should be. I’ve been an idiot for a long time and look we reconnected. Tooru misses Iwaizumi.” He murmured and looked at Iwaizumi. And you look like you miss him too…”

 

Iwaizumi sighed loudly. “Bokuto, how is he?” He asked with a serious tone. “He’s doing good. He’s matured quite a bit. So he’s not sharing much in the interviews anymore. Oh…” He stopped awkwardly. “You probably don’t know…” Akaashi and Iwaizumi both looked at Bokuto waiting for him to reveal the information.“Tooru has a kid.” Bokuto finished, a sheepish smile forming on his lips.

“HE HAS A KID?” Both Akaashi and Iwaizumi chorused to which Bokuto blinked. “Why so surprised? I mean… We’re 28 now, guys.” He shrugged coolly. Akaashi couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t imagine Oikawa being a father amongst all of them. Interesting. Bokuto kept talking about the child nonchalantly. “S-so he’s married?” Iwaizumi asked barely able to spit out.

 

“No.” Bokuto shook his head. “It wasn’t even a relationship. The mom’s not in the picture. Tooru is a single father and an amazing one at that.”

 

“Here is your reason.” Iwaizumi murmured getting up on his feet anxiously. “He has a kid…”

“What are you talking about?” Bokuto knitted his brows. “What does Hajime do anything with this?”

“W-what?” Iwaizumi looked at him in disbelief. It took a second until Akaashi connected the dots as well. “Bokuto.” Iwaizumi said as calmly as possible. “What did you just say? What’s the kid’s name?”

“Oh? Hajime?” Bokuto mused. “He’s 3 years old and the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. He looks just like Tooru, except he has his mother’s green eyes.” Bokuto started blabbering probably not even knowing what Iwaizumi’s first name was, and how much of a revelation he was making… Akaashi looked at his friend’s glistening eyes.

 

“His name is Hajime?” Iwaizumi asked after a pause. Akaashi noted the slight hesitation in his voice. “Yup.” Bokuto said as he stretched his arms.

 

“I… I just can’t.” Iwa shook his head and headed for the door. “I can’t.” He was on the verge of crying. Akaashi followed his friend suit but Iwaizumi did everything he could to put distance between them. “Akaashi, don’t.”

 

“Iwa!” Akaashi called out to him when he grabbed the door handle but the other slammed the door behind himself. “Fuck…” Akaashi cursed loudly and desperately threw himself right next to Bokuto who was watching them looking stunned.

“What’s happening?” He asked Akaashi. The raven thought there was no way to let him know kindly. “Hajime is Iwaizumi’s first name, Bokuto.” He said and watched the glimmer die in Bokuto’s eyes. “Oh…” He blinked at Akaashi cursing back. “Fuck.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

After Iwaizumi left, Bokuto had profusely apologized for making things worse, but it wasn’t his fault. He just talked about his friend who happened to be Oikawa who happened to have a kid named Hajime..

 

Bokuto did not stay for long after he left. He was feeling too guilty to do so. So Akaashi was left alone for the most of the day which he didn’t mind. He spent it sleeping, trying to forget about the pain. But when Iwaizumi didn’t return after the sunset, he started calling his friend.

Iwaizumi finally arrived home drenched in sweat around 9. “Where have you been?” Akaashi asked him worried out of his mind.

 

Iwaizumi looked at him as if he asked the most obvious question.“Running.” He muttered as he grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and downed it in one go. “Iwa, please, I’m—

 

“I need to take a shower.” Iwaizumi said matter of factly and brushed passed Akaashi.  He seemed to be still processing Bokuto’s news about Oikawa. Frankly, someone they know having a kid was a shock enough… But Oikawa, naming his child after Iwa… That was something… Especially after what Iwaizumi told Akaashi. The raven heard the shower running. It was a given he needed that shower, however Akaashi would talk to him. He had to.

 

Iwaizumi took his sweet time in the shower. When he finally came out, he rushed to his room before Akaashi could say something and closed his door. The raven sighed. He gave his friend a little bit of time to put something on himself and then knocked on his door. He waited for a while without an answer and knocked again. Is he asleep? He thought to himself. It wouldn’t be so surprising if he went straight to sleep after a marathon. Is he pretending to be asleep? That was the real question. Akaashi knocked a third time. “Iwa, I’m coming in.” He let him know.

Inside, Iwaizumi was sitting on his bed, still towel-wrapped, staring at the floor, entranced. His left hand was notably injured, knuckles raw and bloody. “How?” Akaashi tried to decrypt, suppressing a grimace at the sight.“Iwa…” He said softly and sat next to his friend. “What did you do to yourself?”

 

“Punched the bathroom wall…” Iwa murmured. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I tried to clean it, but it’s still bloody.”

 

“Nevermind that.” Akaashi shook his head. “This looks pretty bad. Let’s go to a hospital and get it checked out.”

 

“No.” Iwa shook his head. “I’m not going.”

 

Akaashi sighed. He didn’t want to argue and further shut him in. “Can I at least clean it for you then?” He asked for permission.“I… I don’t deserve it.” Iwaizumi’s voice faded.

 

“Of course you do.” Akaashi was awestruck. “Iwa…” He gulped trying to suppress his own tears. “Why do you think that?” The silence filled the air around them. “Iwa?” He repeated his friend’s name softly. His jade eyes were sad, almost muted. “Because you’ve done it to yourself?” Akaashi asked. He knew the answer when Iwaizumi looked at his feet with shame.

 

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve done it to yourself. You still cared for me despite the things I’ve put myself through. Let me take care of you just this once.”  He murmured and patted on his friend’s shoulder. “Try to put something on, and I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

 

When he returned, Iwaizumi was dressed in shorts waiting for him to come back. Akaashi sat in front of him and wetted the gauze with some disinfectant.

“It’s going to sting.” He warned before pressing it as gently as he could to the wound. Iwaizumi jerked backwards with pain, but endured it. Akaashi quickly wrapped and closed his wound.“Thank you.” Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around Akaashi and started sobbing.

“It’s okay.” Akaashi placed a kiss at the back of his head. “It will be okay.”

 

“I can’t believe he has a kid, Akaashi.” Iwaizumi choked. “Why would he name him after me? How could he?”

“I think you already know the answer, Iwa.” Akaashi sighed.

 

“No, after everything I’ve done… He can’t…”

 

“You’ve run.” Akaashi interrupted. “You’ve run and never talked to him. You’ve never heard his side of the story. You’ve never known what he has been through these years. You’ve run because you hurt him, but you never stopped to think you were hurt too.”

 

“So what If I’m hurt? That doesn’t change anything. Oikawa never deserved what I did. I couldn’t even tell him the truth. I wanted him but instead I just… I wanted to tell him to be serious instead of playing for a while, but I knew that would be a conversation so I didn’t. ” He gulped and looked away.

 

“Why do you think you’ve done that?” Akaashi asked him gently.

 

“He was the only good thing I had. I didn’t want things to change, even for the better. I was content.”

“Do you realize how awful that sounds?” Akaashi took his face in between his hands. “Not even being able to choose happiness for yourself? To be that afraid?”

 

“I didn’t know any better…” Iwaizumi wiped his tears. “And I’ve never got to apologize for what I’ve done.” 

 

“Iwa.” Akaashi sighed. “Have you considered what Oikawa-san might have been thinking this whole time, did you?”

 

“What do you mean?”

“You told me, Oikawa-san was the one who was forward and then you attacked, right? Since you never told him about the actual abuse you’ve been through, I’m guessing he speculates it was only physical violence. What you’ve been through is so fucked up Iwa, it is not possible to guess the actual aspect. And I’m sorry for that. But, since this is the case with Oikawa-san… I don’t think he would ever be so forward with you if he knew how much he could hurt you or how it could trigger you… He himself probably feels like a predator with you and has been blaming himself for all these years.”

 

“No… That doesn’t make any sense… Why would he blame himself?” Iwaizumi’s eyes widened.

 

“Doesn’t it?” Akaashi shook his shoulders. “Why on earth would he take the abuse and talk about you in a good manner if he second guessed you for a minute?” Akaashi took a deep breath. “I think, you shouldn’t stop Bokuto from telling Oikawa-san who you are. It might give you both the closure that you need.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

After leaving Akaashi’s place, Bokuto went back to his own apartment and tried to take off his mind off of things. It was proven impossible. Akaashi had dropped the bombshell on him and now he had to think. And Bokuto hated thinking…

 

Hajime… He didn’t know why he didn’t remember before. Of course it was Iwaizumi’s first name. He just assumed Oikawa liked the name.

 

“You asshole!” He messaged Oikawa. “How could you not tell me your kid is named after Iwaizumi?” But his insides squirmed. Stupid. Now he was on the edge. There was no way he could keep this to himself. Iwaizumi must have thought he did it on purpose. No one was that stupid… The only person who would understand him was Akaashi… the old Akaashi that is. This new Akaashi… He changed…

 

Bokuto took a deep breath and pushed his silver hair back. What am I even saying? He thought to himself. How can I expect him to stay the same when I was the first one to change? He knew he wasn’t being fair but he longed for his high school best friend. Now, this person only resembled faintly of Akaashi. It wasn’t just the tattoos, or the piercings. Underneat it all, he  was broken on so many levels, guarded and cold…

 

The way he walked, talked or even looked at people, it felt different. He wasn’t as kind anymore… He used to call me Bokuto-san… The silver mused quietly. Back then, he wanted Akaashi to drop the honorifics, badly. But now… He would give anything to hear it from his soft spoken voice. It doesn’t make any sense.

 

The old Akaashi wouldn’t curse, he wasn’t loud… Now, he had pretty much a foul mouth. He used to be calm and level headed, keeping Bokuto grounded all the time, now he got violent when triggered. He wasn’t the person who kept Bokuto in check anymore. Maybe because I haven’t been there for him for 10 years.

 

Bokuto practically inserted himself to his and Iwaizumi’s life and ruined it in various ways. His eyes were tearing. How can I be this stupid? They were going to hate him forever now, and he wasn’t going to get another chance to redeem himself. He was distraught. He was angry. He decided to call Oikawa instead of texting. Oikawa’s phone rang for a while before he answered. “Bo?” He answered groggily. “It’s 2 in the morning here.”

 

“I don’t care.” Bokuto hissed. “I needed to talk to you.”

 

“Is everything alright, Bo?” He still sounded sleepy, but was more alert now.

 

“How could you not tell me your kid is named after Iwaizumi?” Bokuto asked accusingly. There was a pregnant pause between them.

 

“I assumed you knew his first name, you idiot.” Oikawa said indignantly. “Is that all?”

“You assumed I knew?” Bokuto repeated. He was feeling like a jackass now. It wasn’t Oikawa’s fault he had a big mouth.

“Bo, where on earth is this coming from? Did you call me at 2 in the morning to discuss my child’s name? Are you drunk?”

 

“No, I’m not drunk.” Bokuto murmured.  “Just forget it. I’m…”

 

“Bo, you woke me up. Might as well tell me what’s going on.” Oikawa said sternly.

“Tooru…” Bokuto let out a small sob. He hoped Oikawa didn’t hear it from his end. The silver held his throat and gasped for air. He felt like he was drowning. “Just forget I said anything.” He said and promptly hung up. Tears streamed down his face. He wanted to think he had grown over the years, but nothing has changed. He was still the big stupid idiot he was back then.

 

First it was Akaashi… He ignored everyone’s advice and ran from him. He didn’t even think what his friend might have been going through. Selfish… That was what he was… It was always had to be about himself. And when he found out about Akaashi’s videos, he decided to come back to his life like a savior. As if someone like Akaashi would need a savior. As if Akaashi would ever need him. He couldn’t be the samaritan he hoped to be, instead made his ex best friend nearly kill himself. He was honestly amazed how Akaashi could still talk to him.

And now with Iwaizumi… They told Bokuto, it was complicated. Both him, and Akaashi.. I just wanted to help… But instead, he had just stirred everything up, and ruined everything for Oikawa and Iwaizumi. And one again, he was on the phone with Oikawa about to blurt out that he met Iwa despite being told not to… Why am I so impulsive? Bokuto took a deep breath and decided to listen to Iwaizumi this time. It wasn’t his place to step in… Just like how Kuroo never stepped in for me with Akaashi.

 

That’s why nobody liked him. Not really. Bokuto knew that. He knew, he was overbearing and he couldn’t contain himself. He would try to overcompensate by being helpful… But it wasn’t really helping when he wanted people to like him for it… Everywhere he went… He was either respected because of talent or seniority… But no one could stand him.

 

When he was in high school, his teammates would have to take the burden of making him feel better. He didn’t really get it back then, but it was pretty obvious they only hung out with him because they had to. Because they were teammates… When he started college, Akaashi was the only one who was answering his texts. He was the only person that truly liked him for him. And I turned my back on him.

 

It was sort of eerie. Bokuto did not talk much about it because on the surface he seemed popular. It wasn’t as if he was bullied. Everyone was nice. To his face. But apart from the team gatherings practices, no one would invite him to hang out one on one. He was surrounded by people, but he was lonely. Oikawa was one of the few who managed to get him, but he was so far away in Argentina… And now after what he’d done, he would hate Bokuto too… Kuroo on the other hand, while antagonizing most of the time, was a good friend to him. It had been a while since they talked the last time. Bokuto just didn’t want to bother him between his job an Kenma. And Akaashi… I’ve hurt him so much. I’ve changed him forever. It hurt his every fiber, but that was the truth.

 

His breath stirred. His phone was ringing in the background. Probably Oikawa… Bokuto ignored it. Why can’t I get anything right? His heart sank into his chest. At times like this, the silver usually contemplated death. How easy would it be to just jump out of the balcony and end it all? There was no one that would miss him. God damn it… Bokuto arched with pain. A couple of paws were digging on his stomach. His dear cat, Milo had just climbed on top of him.

 

“Hey there, Milo…” He said with a smile. Milo dig his paws deeper into Bokuto’s stomach sending him in hell. After he got comfortable, he sat there and started purring. “Hi baby…” Bokuto petted his head. Funny… At that time, he forgot everything else. “I love you too.”

Chapter 6: Heavy Dirty Soul

 

“BOKUTO KOUTAROU!” A man with untamed black hair was thumping on the door and calling for his friend. “FOR THE LAST TIME, DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL THE POLICE?” He sighed and tried Bokuto’s phone one more time briefly pausing his thumping. Come on Bo…

 

Inside the apartment, Bokuto Koutarou was just woken up from his slumber rather rudely. He recognized the voice at the door. Kuroo… Barely feeling alive, he combed his hair with his fingers and got out of his make shift bed in his living room.  Why is Kuroo here?”

 

He walked to the front door and let his frantic looking friend in. “Bo, man…” Kuroo finally took a deep breath when he saw him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I was sleeping.” Bokuto answered honestly.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for three days. Have you been asleep for three days?” The black haired man asked sounding exasperated.

 

“More or less.” Bokuto shrugged. “And my phone died.” He pointed his cellphone on top of the coffee table.

“And you didn’t feel like charging it?” Kuroo blinked at him. “You worried me.” He shook his head. “And Oikawa too. He’s been worried sick.”

“So he sent you?” Bokuto asked looking down. Why would Kuroo come on his own otherwise…

 

“Don’t insult me.” Kuroo glared at him. Of course, he didn’t send me, you idiot. He called me to let me know you’ve been acting weird. We’ve been in touch but I have a mind on my own, you know. I don’t need to be sent by someone to go check one of my best friends.” He opened some windows in Bokuto’s rather stuffy apartment. Suddenly, the silver felt a rush to his cheeks. I’ve been an idiot. He sat down on the sofa while Kuroo took care of the surroundings.

 

“What’s going on, Bo?” He asked after plugging Bokuto’s phone in the charger. “Why have you disappeared on us for seemingly no reason? It hasn’t been like this in years? I called your coach, he said you haven’t been to practice either.”

 

Bokuto looked down and did not want to immediately answer. “Oikawa also mentioned you called him at 2 in the morning just as his son’s name? Now, tell me what’s going on.” When Kuroo mentioned that, Bokuto’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I fucked it up…”  He said. “I’m just an idiot.”  He shook his head from left to ride vehemently. At that time, his phone decided to light up and they both jerked involuntarily with the sound of notifications coming through. He looked through the screen and saw the countless message notifications from both Oikawa and Kuroo. But one message, lit up bright on top.

"Are you alright? Last time I saw you, you left in a rush and you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet for the last few days.” It read. His heart started racing. It’s from Akaashi. Kuroo must have noticed the text the same time as him.

 

“Bo…” He cleared his throat. “Have you been talking to Akaashi?” Bokuto could only nod in agreement not knowing what to do. “Akaashi Keiji?” Kuroo repeated. “Your setter from high school?”

“That’s the one.” The silver mumbled indistinctively.

“Okay…” Kuroo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You’re going to tell me everything that’s happened for the past three days.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Sorry for being quiet. Could you come over to talk?” Akaashi read the text over and over again at his desk. He took off his glasses and massaged his temples. A mountain of manga sitting right in front of him, waiting to be edited. However, he wasn’t able to concentrate at all after getting that text from Bokuto. Isn’t he being a little forward? He couldn’t help but think. It was a simple enough ask… But they hadn’t even met outside yet. All it was, Bokuto showing up to his apartment a bunch of times, mostly uninvited. He didn’t know why he was hesitating. It should be normal for friends to go over their apartments. Except we’re not friends. We are trying to be.

He was overthinking again. Bokuto probably sent the text without even thinking twice. His address was right below as if he knew Akaashi would say yes. He looked at the time and sighed. It was almost 6. His shift had ended an hour ago. A part of him wanted to say yes and see what he was up to. But he knew he should go back home and finish working on those manga. When he finally answered, he wanted to leave the door open for another invite.

 

“I can’t today. I need to work overtime. I’m heading home.” He quickly typed and started tidying his desk before he left. Soon he received another message from Bokuto. Curiously, Akaashi clutched his laptop in hand and read th text.

 

“You can work here, can’t you?” He looked at the text and blinked. That was a bold assumption. Nevertheless he was right. As long as Akaashi had his laptop, he could work from anywhere. He looked at his address for the first time on the map. Bokuto’s apartment was right in the city center which was a walking distance from work. It was much closer to his work than his own apartment. He must be loaded.

“Fine.” He found himself typing. “My office is fairly close. I’ll be there around 10 minutes.” The raven slipped the laptop into its case, put his glasses back on and started walking. On the way to Bokuto’s apartment, he almost gave up a few times. Why is this so overwhelming? When he stood in front of the high rise residence, Akaashi gulped. Yup, he’s loaded. Akaashi went inside, bowed to the security guard and headed for the elevators. 12th floor. That was where his apartment was. He walked the long hallway before reaching to his place. Apartment 1264. The raven took a deep breath. Calm down. He pressed doorbell.

Bokuto took a while before he answered the door. Akaashi almost left. What surprised him the most was the astonished look on Bokuto’s face when he opened the door. “A-Akaashi…” The silver stuttered. His golden eyes widened. “I wasn’t expecting you.” He managed to utter. “How do you know where I live?” He seemed completely blindsided by Akaashi’s appereance, which was odd considering it was him who invited Akaashi.

 

The raven calmly took his phone out of the pocket and showed him the messages. “Are you alright? You literally called me here.” He was getting at Akaashi’s nerves. Was he accusing Akaashi with stalking him? Or was this supposed to be a prank? When Bokuto saw the messages, his whole face went red. “KUROO!” He yelled in anger while ushering Akaashi inside. Before he could understand what was going on, Akaashi was in Bokuto’s living room greeted with a snickering Kuroo on the couch. Wow. They were surrounded by glass, he could see Tokyo right beneath his feet. What an amazing view. “Have you been on my phone?” Bokuto asked blatantly.

“I might have.” Kuroo grinned once again as he turned his eyes to Akaashi. “Welcome, Akaashi.” He said. He was still a pain in the ass it seemed.

 

“Hi, Kuroo-san.” Akaashi greeted him rather coldly. He didn’t appreciate being played, and now he felt like he was imposing. “Not sure what the end goal here was, but I’ll be going home.” He bowed both of them and turned his back. It was getting embarrassing.

“Wait!” Bokuto grabbed on his shoulder. “You’re already here, can’t you stay?”

“I’ve got to work.” Akaashi said plainly.

“You can work from here. You said so in the messages!” Kuroo giggled from the background. He turned back and saw Bokuto’s puppy eyes.

“Fine.” He dropped his bag right next to the couch gritting his teeth at Kuroo. Bokuto was eyeing him from head to toe. “You look so different with you work clothes.” He said with a painful smile. Now that he was wearing a suit, all Akaashi’s tattoos were covered and he was wearing his glasses.  Kuroo jumped off the sofa and wrapped Akaashi into an unsolicited tight hug. “What do you mean, Bo? He seems like the same old Akaashi plus the glasses.You haven’t changed at all, Akaashi.” He grinned. Wrong… Bokuto’s face said it all. Now he was looking like how he used to look in high school. Kuroo ignored the silence, stretched his arms and pointed at Bokuto.

 

“Apparently, this idiot went full emo on us and went completely offline over his big mouth the other day. I didn’t know he was talking to you. When I charged his phone, I saw the messages.” He said with a soft smile which was genuine this time. “Forgive me for meddling. I thought talking to you might help, since he was too anxious to even text you.” He bowed to Akaashi. “I’ll be taking my leave now. I hope we can hang out, Akaashi.” He said and patted Bokuto’s back.

 

“See you later.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Akaashi and Bokuto were left alone in his apartment after Kuroo’s abrupt leave. Pain in the ass Kuroo-san. He’s the one who hasn’t changed. Akaashi looked around in the huge apartment which obviously professionally decorated. Akaashi took in the large space with its elegant decor, the touch of a professional clear in every detail. Loosening his tie, he sank into the plush L-shaped sofa, instantly realizing so this is what luxury feels like.

 

As Akaashi’s eyes drifted around the room, something familiar caught his attention—a small wooden owl statue sitting on a shelf by the window. No way, his heart stirred with a mix of nostalgia and warmth. He remembered giving it to Bokuto after a family trip during their high school days, laughing about how it reminded him of Bokuto’s wide, curious eyes and boundless energy. He still had it, after all those years. A part of him wanted to ask why, but he didn’t think it would be appropriate.

 

He closed his bored looking eyes and relaxed for a second. It was a little awkward at first, but he was getting used to it. Bokuto on the other hand, seemed to be on a mission to make it awkward. “Are you just going to watch me from afar?” Akaashi asked causing the silver jump unintentionally.

 

“Oh… Sorry…” he mumbled, scratching his neck. “I just—I don’t know. I’ve dreamed of hanging out like this for a long, long time. It’s surreal having you here.” He gulped, and Akaashi felt a flicker of something warm, seeing his old friend so clearly vulnerable. It’s good to be here too, he thought. It’s been ages since I went to a friend’s place, let alone his.

 

“You’ve got a beautiful place,” Akaashi commented, looking around once more. “It’s just like those in movies—big, luxurious, tastefully artsy.” He leaned back against the cushions. “And this couch is ridiculously comfortable. Like sitting on a cloud.”

 

Bokuto’s face lit up. “Thank you! Yeah, my salary went up in the last few years, so I might have indulged myself a little. Had to hire an accountant just to keep me from messing things up.” He laughed, sounding a bit sheepish. “Everything was so tempting at first.”

 

“For some reason, I don’t find that hard to believe.” Akaashi grinned. He got up and walked to the wall adorned with paintings. One in particular caught his eye. “I love this one.” He smiled. Interesting. “It reminds me so much of Van Gogh.” Who was one of Akaashi’s favorite artists. He never thought Bokuto would have a similar taste.

 

“Yes! You have a good eye.” Bokuto beamed. “It is a Van Gogh.”

 

“Huh?” Akaashi was surprised. He thought he knew all his paintings by heart now. “Really?” He blinked. “I swear, I’ve never seen this before.” He scratched his head and studying the brushwork. “I never thought you were the artsy type. Thanks for teaching me.” Akaashi mused, his eyes still over the beautiful painting.

 

“I’m not.” Bokuto grew scarlet… “I only know a couple artists. But Van Gogh is special.” He murmured.

 

“Why Van Gogh?” Akaashi asked, raising an eyebrow. There were a ton of artists out there, and he was curious what he found in Van Gogh’s post-impressionist strokes on the canvas.

 

“You don’t remember?” Bokuto asked him not being able to mask the disappointment in his tone.

 

Akaashi furrowed his brow. “Remember what, exactly?”

 

“Well, you’re the reason I like it.” Bokuto admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “My second year, we went to one of the art museums in Tokyo with the school. It was mandatory. Everyone was talking about paintings, how famous they were, the techniques and everything. I stood there like an idiot, bored out of my mind. I was in front of a Van Gogh painting. It was the sunflowers, I believe. Couldn’t see what the big deal was. I felt out of place, and didn’t see any beauty around me at all. But you… you noticed.”

 

Akaashi was taken aback, the memory flickering to life. I noticed…?

 

“You asked what was wrong, remember?” Bokuto continued, the memory clearly vivid for him. “I told you I didn’t get it, expected you to laugh like everyone else. But you didn’t. You told me it was okay.” He chuckled, almost embarrassed. “Then you explained why you liked it—how it wasn’t realistic, but beautiful in its own world. You told me why exactly it was not realistic and told me about post-impressionist paintings. You even took me to look at impressionist paintings so I could compare. After that, I saw the painting in a new light. It felt… rebellious, courageous and beautiful.” He escaped Akaashi’s eyes. “I loved Van Gogh ever since.”

 

Akaashi took a step back, feeling a little overwhelmed. To have such an impact on someone’s life was intimidating. It left him momentarily speechless. A warm feeling filled inside his hollow body. He didn’t know whether it was love or compassion anymore. Through it all, he managed to smile. “I had no idea.” He murmured, adoring the painting even more, now.

 

“Yeah.” Bokuto grinned and scratched the back of his head, a bit bashful. “That’s why it was the first thing I splurged on when I started making a decent bit of money.”

 

“This is an original?” Akaashi started coughing. He had nearly choked in his own spit out of surprise. No wonder he didn’t know the painting. He must have gone to a private collector… Something Akaashi couldn’t even dream of thinking. How stupid am I? He’s a superstar…

 

“Well, yes! What did you think it was?” Bokuto asked as if it was the most obvious thing.

 

“Bokuto, this must have cost you a fortune.” Akaashi blurted out. It wasn’t like him to blunder but you didn’t see a Van Gogh painting everyday at a friend’s house.

 

“A small fortune.” He offered his toothiest smile. Akaashi shook his head laughing out loud. So, he hasn’t changed after all.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Bokuto insisted on making Akaashi dinner afterward, a prospect Akaashi didn’t hesitate to accept. It was a treasure to have Bokuto cook, so while Bokuto busied himself in the kitchen, Akaashi caught up on work. Udai-sensei was finally wrapping up his latest manga, and Akaashi felt the familiar excitement. Now that he was feeling more grounded, he wanted everything to be perfect.

 

Bokuto made him another dish from world cuisine. This time, it was Italian. Risotto al Funghi. Akaashi was impressed by the savory, earthy aroma filling the kitchen, and he could barely believe it when Bokuto emerged with a wooden spoon, asking him to taste a sample. “Just to check if the rice is cooked right,” Bokuto said, looking slightly anxious. “It’s risotto, so I’ve been stirring it constantly… it has to be just right.”

 

Akaashi tasted the creamy, perfectly cooked risotto, letting the flavors melt on his tongue. He was genuinely surprised at how delicious it was. “It’s perfect,” he said, and the sincerity of his words made Bokuto beam, his face lighting up in a way that Akaashi couldn’t help but find infectious.

 

Satisfied, Bokuto plated the risotto, garnishing each dish with a bit of freshly grated Parmesan. “I hope you like it!” he said as he set the plates on the dining table. “I also have some wine—would you like some?”

“Sure, thanks.” Akaashi sat on the chair Bokuto pointed him to.

 

“I feel like white will make a better pair. I’ve got Pinot Grigio, pinot gris, vermentino and sauvignon blanc. Which one do you prefer?”

 

“I’ve got no idea about the differences to be honest. Please pick anything you like.” Akaashi was surprised with the bombardment of information. Apparently, Bokuto was a wine enthusiast. While, he on the other hand, more of a beer and chill type of guy.

 

“I’d never imagine a day I’d know more about something than you.” Bokuto giggled and pondered over the wine. “Why not Vermentino then? It will be somewhere in the middle.” He poured their glasses with care, and sat down. He waited until Akaashi took the first bite of his pasta. “Well?” Bokuto asked barely containing his excitement.

 

When Akaashi took his first bite, he couldn’t help but let his guard down, savoring the rich, creamy texture and the depth of flavor from the mushrooms. “It’s delicious Bokuto,” he said, meaning it. “One of the best meals I’ve ever had.” The last part made Bokuto so happy that, Akaashi could swear he saw all 32 of his teeth.

 

They finished the meal bantering about the old days. Akaashi was surprised at how easy it was to be there, how natural everything felt at Bokuto’s apartment. For a moment, they just looked at each other, enjoying each other’s company. It was just as if Bokuto hasn’t made things awkward in the past few days and cut the communication again. Apparently, Akaashi should learn not to mind it.

“Bokuto-san, can I ask you something?” He said not realizing he started to call him with the honourific like the old days.

 

“Yeah, anything!” Bokuto replied, swallowing the last of his risotto.

“So you actually got upset because you blundered with Iwa, and completely shut down?” He was trying to understand the silver and get into his headspace again. Akaashi liked it when he was the only one able to guess Bokuto’s next antics.

 

“Yeah…” Bokuto escaped his eyes. “I know it sounds stupid. I was overwhelmed. I thought I was over doing dumb shit like that.” His bottom lip trembled slightly. “Tooru is one of my closest friends.” His voice was smaller. “You have to hear how he talks about Iwa… I completely fucked up his chance to reconnect with him by running my mouth unnecessarily. I don’t know how I’ll break the news to him. He’ll completely hate me and—”

 

“Let me stop you there…” Akaashi interrupted him shaking his head from left to right. “None of this is true. You didn’t ruin anything, Bokuto-san. If anything, I think you helped Iwa realize how he was interpreting things.”

 

“H-huh?” Bokuto blinked at him in full surprise.

 

“After you left, we talked. I told him what Oikawa-san might have been thinking this whole time. And I think this realization has hit him the hardest. So, I’m going to ask you to refrain from mentioning Oikawa-san anything right now. But I believe if you give Iwa some time, he’ll come around.”

 

“Really?” Bokuto couldn’t believe his ears. “B-but how much time?”

“You said Oikawa-san is coming next Friday, right?” Akaashi asked to which the silver nodded vehemently.

 

“Until then.” The raven concluded. “We can keep trying to convince him. If he decides to be an idiot after then, I’ll knock the sense into him.” Akaashi playfully raised a fist, making Bokuto’s eyes widen in mock alarm

 

“I believe that.” He laughed instinctively rubbing his cheekbone, which still held the faintest bruise from a past encounter with Akaashi’s punch. “You really do know how to take a swing.” He commented under his breath making Akaashi laugh.

 

“Then you have nothing to worry about, right?”  Akaashi said, giving him a reassuring smile.“Right.” Bokuto grinned. “Besides, it is the same as you said. You should hear the way Iwa talks about Oikawa-san. He misses Oikawa-san every day, I promise you. He is just afraid.” 

 

“Jeez… Why are people so afraid all the time?” Bokuto exhaled, his face contorted into something Akaashi couldn’t make of. “I can’t believe how afraid I was to live my life. I nearly lost everything that mattered to me. and ‘Kashi…” His voice dropped, his words quiet but firm. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me. You always were.” He filled their glasses with wine simultaneously.

Akaashi felt the words settle heavily, unprepared for the depth behind them. He raised his glass with a light chuckle, trying to deflect. “Trying to get me drunk now, Bokuto-san?” he teased, his tone light despite the weight in his chest.

 

“Well…It’s not my fault if you’re a lightweight.” Bokuto grinned right back at him teasingly. It didn’t work, huh?

 

As they continued their meal, the evening grew warmer, their laughter echoing through the apartment. Bokuto looked at Akaashi, his gaze hopeful, almost vulnerable. “Hey…” He reached for his hand. He was slightly buzzed from the wine. “Next week… If we win… Come to the afterparty with me?”

 

Akaashi felt the hair on his nape erect with the touch. He pulled his hand back to himself softly trying not to upset the silver owl. This was one of the few times he was having a hard time reading a person right before his eyes. There was something about Bokuto’s demeanor.

 

Confessing finding his porn online, confessing he was gay and now confessing he was always the most important thing in his life? What was Akaashi supposed to think? With anyone else, it was clear as day… But with Bokuto…

 

Nevertheless he took a deep breath and calmed himself down.“Bokuto-san.” He gulped. “You mean as friends, right?” He felt the need to ask considering all the signals Bokuto was giving him at the moment. He needed clarity, even if the question stung a little. Bokuto could be painfully oblivious, and Akaashi wasn’t about to misinterpret things.

 

“Of course as friends, ‘KASHI!” Bokuto replied, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward laugh. “What did you think it would be?”

 

Akaashi shrugged, playing it cool, though his heart felt heavy. “Sure. I’ll come. So… make sure you win.”

“I promise.” Bokuto’s smile was bright enough to light up the entire universe.

After the meal, they migrated to the couch, each holding a half-filled glass of wine. The evening air was warm, the lights dimmed just enough to feel cozy, intimate. Akaashi stretched one arm over the back of the couch, while Bokuto leaned back, staring into his glass with a pensive look.

For a while, they talked about nothing in particular—volleyball, the risotto, the way the city lights flickered through the window. But Akaashi could tell that something was on Bokuto’s mind. Every now and then, Bokuto would shift, glance at him, as if deciding whether to say something or let it go. Finally, he cleared his throat, with a voice a little unsure. “Hey, ‘Kashi?”

“Hmm?” Akaashi turned his face towards him, curious.

“Could I, um... ask you something?” His voice was softer, almost hesitant. Akaashi noticed that he wasn’t meeting his eyes. “Something honest?”

Akaashi’s brow lifted, intrigued. Bokuto was rarely this tentative. “Of course.”

 

Bokuto took a breath and a quick sip of wine, as if for courage. “I just… I know this might be out of line, and please tell me if it is.” He hesitated, tapping his fingers against his glass. “But, does it bother you? That, well, you know… those videos are still online?”

 

Akaashi froze, his wine glass halfway to his lips. The question hung between them, weighty and raw. He hadn’t expected Bokuto to ask him this, not in the warmth and quiet of Bokuto’s apartment, where they’d just laughed and shared dinner There… He thought. All my mistakes, catching up to me.

 

Seeing Akaashi’s reaction, Bokuto immediately backtracked, his cheeks flushing. “Oh god, sorry, Akaashi, I didn’t mean to intrude. I swear, I didn’t mean—

 

“No, it’s alright,” Akaashi interrupted gently, shaking his head from left to right. He lowered his glass of wine and exhaled slowly. “It’s just… complicated.” He glanced down at his lap, his fingers fidgeting slightly with the stem of his wineglass.

 

Bokuto’s face softened, and he scooted a little closer, his attention unwavering. “Complicated how?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

Akaashi took a moment, choosing his words carefully, then flashed him a grim smile.“Sometimes, it feels like another lifetime.” His gaze drifted to the glass, watching the wine catch the dim light. “You know me, you know how reserved I am…Or at least, I was.” He hesitated, his voice growing even smaller. “It wasn’t an easy choice.”

 

He looked down at his hands, searching for the words. “I started doing porn at the lowest point in my life. My addiction had stripped everything away—I was expelled from school, I was fired from my normal job. There was nothing left but… me… It seemed simple, just… offering my body for a paycheck.” He let out a dry laugh, though his expression held no humor. “Except it wasn’t — it never is. Sex work is work, Bokuto-san. Each of those scenes you see in the videos, take so much more than it shows— hours, several excruciating takes, things you don’t want to do, moments that test you, physical exhaustion.”

 

He paused, gathering his thoughts, his voice quiet. “The videos themselves… they don’t really mean anything, I guess. They’re just there. I mean, it’s fair—I got paid for them. And like I said, I don’t think sex work itself is shameful. It’s just… that period of my life. The person in the videos was different… He was someone you wouldn’t have liked. I barely recognize him now. Those videos hold parts of a time, and a version of me, that I’d rather forget..  ”

 

Akaashi looked down, his fingers tracing the stem of the wineglass. “So to answer, your question… Sometimes I’m fine with it, and other times… well, I’m not.”  He let out a deep sigh, revealing all the weight he had been carrying in his heart.

 

Bokuto’s hand, warm and tentative, came to rest on his shoulder. “I can’t pretend to understand, but… I’ve always seen you as Akaashi. Just…Akaashi. And you can say these things about yourself, I just wanted to say none of it changes how I feel about you.” He fumbled a bit, as if unsure if he was making sense.

Akaashi didn’t know what to say for a moment. He felt something soften in his chest, the tension easing.They held each other’s gaze for a beat too long, the air between them thick and fragile. Akaashi could feel the edges of his heart soften, the invisible walls he’d kept up easing slightly in Bokuto’s quiet, understanding presence.

Bokuto chuckled lightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go so deep,” he said, a bit of his usual playfulness slipping back in. “Maybe the wine’s getting to me.”

Akaashi smirked, lifting his glass in a toast. “Maybe so. But it’s okay.” He took a sip, the warmth of Bokuto’s hand still lingering on his shoulder, grounding him. “Thanks, for listening.”

Bokuto blinked, his expression one of mild disbelief. “Are you kidding?” He shook his head, his voice tender and genuine. “Thank you for telling me.” He hesitated, his hand still resting on Akaashi’s shoulder. “Honestly, I was kind of worried I’d overstepped…”

 

Before Akaashi could respond, Bokuto pulled him into a quick, almost impulsive hug, patting his back as he pulled away with a grin, a gesture so natural it made Akaashi’s chest ache.

Akaashi pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, realizing, perhaps for the first time, how easy it was to speak without guarding himself. “I don’t mind when it’s with you, Bokuto-san,” he said softly, the words slipping out without inhibition. Only after they hung in the air did he notice the heat rising to his cheeks, a warmth that only grew as Bokuto’s face lit up with an open, relieved smile.

 

“Really?” Bokuto asked, his eyes widening in surprise. “Really, Kashi? You mean it?” His heart began to race, a familiar, nostalgic warmth flooding his chest. It was just like the old days, back when everything between them felt simple and right.

 

Akaashi gave a small, almost shy nod, his gaze softening. “I like it when you’re comfortable with me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though it were a fragile truth that had only just emerged. Bokuto’s face lit up once more, his eyes full of something tender and bright.

 

Bokuto leaned forward, his eyes earnest. “Okay, one last question, then. Is it… even possible to take them down? Like, from the internet?”

 

Akaashi took a slow sip of his wine, considering. “Well, I signed my image rights over. So I don’t technically own the videos anymore.” He set his glass down, his fingers tracing the rim absentmindedly. “I’d have to buy them back, and… well, that would cost a lot of money.”

 

Bokuto’s eyes softened with quiet understanding. “I see.” They fell into a companionable silence, each lost in thought, until Bokuto tilted his head, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.

“Multiple takes though, really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Akaashi burst into laughter, relaxing. “Yes, Bokuto-san,” he replied, still grinning. “It’s not filmed in one go. And it can actually get pretty physically demanding after a while.”

 

They shared a laugh, Bokuto chuckling as he shook his head. “Well, I learned something today,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

 

They lingered on the couch together and talked, letting the night drift on in that relaxed way, the wine flowing easily between them as they shared stories—some light, some difficult. The room grew warmer, the city sounds fading as they slipped into a quiet world of their own. By the time they looked at the clock, it was well past midnight. When Akaashi glanced at the clock, he blinked. “Wow, we really let time get away from us…” he said, chuckling softly.

 

Bokuto shifted, a bit reluctant to break the spell between them and end the magical night that had been unfolding. “It is late… Why don’t you just stay here? I’d like that.” He asked, trying to sound casual.

 

Akaashi looked at him, his heart unexpectedly moved. “Thanks Bokuto-san, I wish I could,” he said softly. “But…” he sighed, half-laughing, “I need fresh clothes for the morning, and there’s no way I’m making an appearance at the office in yesterday’s outfit.”

Bokuto chuckled, nodding in understanding. “I’ll call you a cab then.”

Bokuto came downstairs and waited for the cab together with him. They lingered at the apartment door, sharing a few quiet words as Bokuto’s eyes softened with each glance, neither quite ready to end the night. When the cab arrived, Akaashi turned back to him.

 

“Thanks, Bokuto-san,” he murmured, his voice almost too soft. “Tonight was… exactly what I needed.” He added quietly. It was the truth. Tonight had been the best night he had for a long time.

Bokuto’s smile was warm, filling the space between them. “Anytime. Kashi.”

As Akaashi settled into the cab and it pulled away, he glanced back once and saw Bokuto waving in the rearview mirror. A warm feeling arose in his chest and stayed with him all the way home.

Chapter 7: Cruel Welcome

Akaashi sighed, his gaze drifting toward the quiet streets outside the window. He had tried—more than a few times—to talk to Iwaizumi, hoping to break through the wall he’d put up. But each time, he’d hit that familiar, unyielding barrier. Iwaizumi would nod politely, maybe even grunt an acknowledgment, but then he’d brush off the conversation, always closing himself off just before the words could settle.

Akaashi could tell it wasn’t a lack of understanding that held Iwaizumi back, but something deeper—an unwillingness to let down his guard. Frustrated and at a loss, Akaashi had decided he’d need reinforcements. So here they were, him and Bokuto, waiting in his apartment to catch Iwaizumi off-guard before he could retreat behind his defenses again.

 

“Thanks for coming over,” Akaashi said, handing Bokuto a beer as he joined him on the couch. “He should be back soon, and… maybe we can reach him if it’s both of us.”

 

Bokuto took the beer with a nod, flashing a warm smile. “Hey, anything for you, ‘Kashi,” he replied, settling into the cushions. “If anyone can get through to Iwaizumi, it’s still you. I’m just here as backup muscle.” He grinned, taking a sip of his drink.

 

Akaashi smirked, but his mind drifted, his eyes flicking toward the clock every few seconds, as though he could somehow make time to move faster. Bokuto noticed and leaned forward, his tone light.

 

“So, we’ll go in strong,” Bokuto said, playfully trying to soften the tension. “Iwa’s probably just being Iwa about this. All we have to do is catch him off guard and not give him a chance to dodge the topic.”

 

Akaashi nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “He shut me down so many times, but I think he’ll listen if you’re here too, since you’re Oikawa-san’s best friend. He’ll know you won’t lie to him.”

 

Bokuto nodded, his gaze warm and understanding. “Exactly,” he said, voice warm and understanding. He watched Akaashi, admiring the patience he’d shown, the steady persistence that marked every part of him. Just then, Akaashi’s phone chimed, breaking their comfortable silence.

 

Akaashi glanced down, his face suddenly serious, as he tapped the notification.

 

"Hey, something up?" Bokuto asked, noticing Akaashi’s intense expression.

 

“It’s an email.” Akaashi muttered and his eyes scanned over the paragraphs, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief as he read. Dear Mr. Akaashi… All Videos associated with your name… Purchased and scheduled for removal…  Sentences echoed in his mind. He froze, his pulse quickening as the words sank in.

My videos… He thought. They’re gone. The weight of his past seemed to dissolve over a few lines of formal text without any explanation. How? Akaashi’s heart thudded. His eyes darted to Bokuto, the pieces suddenly coming together. How could he? Akaashi clenched his jaw… Why would he? He gritted his teeth. Of course… Bokuto, with his bright, eager smile and quiet determination. Bokuto, who would do anything to make things right. How much money did you spend on this? Now, Akaashi was in his debt,  forever.

“Did you do this?!” He looked at him seething, his voice tense, barely keeping his emotions in check as he threw his phone into Bokuto’s lap. Bokuto caught the phone in midair, and looked at the text in the screen, realizing what the email meant. He stopped a moment and looked up meeting Akaashi’s gaze, clearly surprised by Akaashi’s reaction.

 

“Yeah,” he said, almost shyly, like he’d expected a different response.

Akaashi gritted his teeth as he looked at Bokuto, barely able to process it. “You… bought the rights to all of them?” His voice was barely a whisper, tinged with disbelief.  “Why would you do this? Spend all this money? This is insane.”

 

Bokuto looked away, scratching the back of his neck, his voice quiet. “I thought… I thought it’d make you happy.” He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the floor. “I just wanted to do something that would help you let go of all that weight.”

 

Akaashi’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Happy?” he repeated, his voice still frustrated. “Bokuto, you just—without asking—you spent more money than I’ll ever be able to afford.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of it settling over him. “How could you just…?” Akaashi’s face flushed. He took a breath, steadying himself. “I’m paying you back. Every yen. I don’t care if it takes the rest of my life. It was never your responsibility.”

 

Bokuto’s expression shifted, a fierceness rising in his gaze. “Don’t you dare” he almost growled. Akaashi jerked back, startled, maybe afraid of Bokuto for the first time.“You’re not paying me back. This isn’t up for debate.  As you said, I’ve never asked you. This wasn’t a loan, or a favor. This was something I did because it mattered to me.”

 

Bokuto’s eyes held Akaashi’s with an intensity that made Akaashi’s heart pound. “I worked hard to be where I am. I have more money than I’ll ever need, and how I spend it is my fucking business. What good is money for If I can’t use it to make the people I love happy?”

 

Akaashi stood silent, his chest tightening as he tried to respond. But Bokuto didn’t stop. His voice dropped in intensity, though his gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t need your permission to make you happy. And if you try to pay me back… well, I won’t forgive you.” The words hung between them, heavy, filled with a finality Akaashi hadn’t expected. He could only stare, torn between gratitude and a raw vulnerability he hadn’t felt in years.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper with a hint of gratitude.

Bokuto immediately shook his head, raising a hand as if to stop Akaashi from going any further. “Don’t. Please,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I don’t want to make it a big deal. It was just something I wanted to do.”

Akaashi held his gaze with a nod, with a slight discomfort knotting in his chest. He understood Bokuto’s intention, but the weight of what he’d done—it wasn’t something Akaashi could just brush off. But the quiet plea in Bokuto’s eyes was enough to convince him to let it go, for now. “Alright,” Akaashi said finally, his lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. He took a sip of his beer, feeling the coolness of it against the warmth creeping up his neck. “I’ll try to let it go.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Bokuto’s fingers tapping absently against the side of his bottle. The air between them was lighter, a quiet understanding settling in the spaces where words might have failed. Just then, the apartment door clicked open, and Iwaizumi’s voice called out, “I’m home.”

 

Bokuto and Akaashi exchanged glances, a shared smirk flickering between them. Iwaizumi walked into the living room and paused, visibly surprised to see Bokuto there. A slow, genuine smile crossed his face as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and joined them. “Didn’t know I’d be walking into a full house,” he said, settling onto the couch with a relaxed sigh. “What’re you guys up to?”

Bokuto shrugged, giving a lighthearted grin. “We were just talking about volleyball… and a few other things,” he added with a playful glance at Akaashi.

Akaashi leaned back, smirking. “You know how it is. Bokuto-san can’t stop talking about practice. I’m basically getting a play-by-play of every set.”

Iwaizumi chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were born with a volleyball in your hands, Bokuto.” He mused.

“Busted.” Bokuto laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “And anyway, Iwa, I’m not the only one with a one-track mind. I heard your training schedule’s intense too. I’m glad you’re not my athletic trainer.”

 

“Someone’s got to keep standards up,” Iwaizumi replied, crossing his arms with a half-smile. “Can’t let the pros be just all play.”

 

They settled into a comfortable rhythm, bantering about whatever came to mind. Bokuto launched into an animated story about a recent practice, his eyes lighting up as he mimicked one of his teammate’s dramatic reactions to a missed spike. Iwaizumi listened, a rare smile on his face as he chimed in with teasing comments here and there.

As the conversation drifted, they fell into a natural quiet, the kind that comes from knowing one another well enough to be okay with silence. After a moment, Iwaizumi glanced over at Bokuto, a slight tension returning to his gaze.

 

“Listen… Bokuto,” he began, his voice a bit softer. “I didn’t get a chance to say this last time. About how I acted… it wasn’t cool.”

 

Bokuto looked up, a bit surprised, but Iwaizumi’s expression was genuine, his gaze steady.

“I know you were just trying to help,” Iwaizumi continued, a bit more composed now. “I let my temper get in the way. You must have been shocked. It wasn’t fair to you.”

For a moment, Bokuto simply stared, processing the unexpected sincerity. Then he nodded, a quiet smile spreading across his face. “Thanks, Iwa. But, really, you don’t have to say anything. I have a big mouth sometimes too… I’m prone to blunder…”

Akaashi watched the exchange with quiet satisfaction, feeling the tension that had lingered between them begin to dissolve.

Iwaizumi raised his drink, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, here’s to… Friends.” He raised a his glass to both of them.

“Cheers to that,” Bokuto grinned, clinking his bottle with Iwaizumi’s, and Akaashi joined in, smiling. They didn’t need to say much more; the ease between them spoke enough. Akaashi watched Iwaizumi closely, it was time.

 

“Iwa,” Akaashi began, keeping his tone measured and soft, “I wanted to talk to you about Oikawa-san, but… well, I thought it might help to have someone else’s perspective too.”

 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, a hint of annoyance flickering in his gaze as he turned to Akaashi. “So this was just a setup then?” he asked, his tone dry, his hand pointing at both Bokuto and Akaashi.

 

Akaashi gave a small sigh. “Not a setup, Iwa. We’re genuinely worried about you. I’ve tried talking to you on my own, you know that…” He let the sentence drift, watching Iwaizumi’s expression as he said, “I wanted you to hear from Oikawa-san’s best friend, too.”

 

The phrase seemed to land hard. A brief shadow crossed Iwaizumi’s face, his eyes dropping as he processed Akaashi’s words. Best friend. The words echoed in his mind. There was a time when he’d been the one to hold that place, the one Oikawa shared everything with, the one who knew his every thought. But now, unintentionally, Bokuto occupied that space, and the realization hurt in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He felt like a stranger to Oikawa’s life, cut off from the intimacy they once shared..

 

Both Akaashi and Bokuto noticed his expression, a raw vulnerability breaking through the usual guard in his jade eyes. Bokuto shifted closer, his gaze warm and understanding. “Iwa,” he began gently, “I know what that feels like.” Iwaizumi looked up, confused.“You’re Akaashi’s best friend, now.” Bokuto continued, his voice soft, as though coaxing the words out carefully.

 

“Iwa, it’s not like I replaced you, or anything… The only reason we’re saying this to help you see things from a new angle. I can tell you just a few of the things he’s shared with me. Just some of it, so you’ll understand.” He paused, giving Iwaizumi space to absorb this.

 

Iwaizumi’s eyes softened, the flicker of resistance in them fading as he exhaled slowly, his hands loosening their grip on the bottle. He nodded, reluctant but willing, his gaze steady on Bokuto, waiting.

 

Bokuto took a breath, organizing his thoughts before he began. “Tooru, he… he blames himself for everything that happened between you. He thinks he took advantage of you in a way.”

 

“Why would he? I don’t understand—“ Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed, his posture growing rigid.

 

“Just listen” Bokuto held out his hand for him to stop. “He told me… He knew you cared about him in ways that went beyond friendship,” Bokuto continued, his voice growing softer, his eyes fixed on Iwaizumi’s. “But he was young, confused and pretty arrogant too. He was wrestling with his own identity too but instead of being careful, he pushed boundaries. Even though he knew it hurt you… He went out with people, dated around, a lot from what he told me.” Bokuto swallowed, his voice thickening. “ Yet, he still came back to you. He played with you. He took you for granted. He knew how to get what he wanted from you. He knows he was torturing you.”

 

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw, the flash of old hurt surfacing, though he kept his gaze on Bokuto.

“The night you two parted…” Bokuto trailed off, his gaze softening. “He felt like he had finally pushed you too far. Like he’d finally done what he always feared—hurt you enough that you’d walk away. He thought you finally pushed back, gave him what he deserved… for playing with the one person he valued most, the one person who mattered.” Bokuto took a breath, the words almost painful to say. “And he’s never stopped blaming himself for it. It’s one of the biggest regrets of his life, Iwa.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered, his expression betraying a struggle between disbelief and something more tender, a hidden wound that Bokuto’s words had somehow reached. The anger that once colored his memories of Oikawa softened, replaced by a new understanding that settled deep.

“He said these things to you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bokuto nodded, his gaze unwavering. “He did. And he hasn’t stopped thinking about it. Or… you.” He took a deep breath. “That’s why we’re asking you to meet him. Whatever you’re blaming yourself for, he thinks he deserves it. He’s always going to blame himself for it.”

The silence that filled the room was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was as if something old, buried, was finally allowed to come up for air. Akaashi, watching the exchange quietly, could see that his words had finally reached Iwaizumi in a way he hadn’t expected.

 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi said, his voice barely more than a murmur. He looked away, as though the words had somehow slipped out against his will, but there was no mistaking his resolve. “I’ll meet him.”

Bokuto and Akaashi exchanged a stunned glance, barely able to contain their excitement. Bokuto’s mouth broke into a grin, his voice poised to break the silence with a loud cheer, when Iwaizumi cut him off with a raised hand. “But it’s going to be on my terms.”

The room stilled. The two of them, caught mid-celebration, blinked at Iwaizumi, their grins fading as they absorbed his sudden condition.

Bokuto cleared his throat, nodding slowly. “Uh… sure, Iwa. What are the terms?” he asked, his voice a little more cautious than before.

Iwaizumi leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze intense. “Here’s how this is going to go.” he said, fixing him with a hard stare,

 

“You’re not going to tell Oikawa anything beforehand. No warnings. No hints. Not until he lands to Japan. Then you can tell him how you met me in your apartment, or wherever you want.  If he’s interested… He can have my number, and we’ll meet somewhere public. Somewhere neutral. No expectations, no pretenses. If he’s serious, we’ll talk. I’m not giving him anything he doesn’t ask for.”

 

Akaashi and Bokuto shared a quick, concerned glance. The idea of springing this on Oikawa without so much as a warning seemed unfair, and they both knew Oikawa would need time to process, to prepare. They’d come so far just to get Iwaizumi to this point—meeting him like this, with no warning, would only make things harder. But even as they tried to gather their words, Iwaizumi’s expression grew more resolute.

 

“Come on, Iwa.” Akaashi began, choosing his words carefully. “That’s a lot to ask of him. Oikawa-san deserves some warning, some time to understand what he’s walking into. You can’t just spring it on him, especially before olympics. If he’s caught off guard—”

 

Iwaizumi shook his head, his eyes firm. “This isn’t up for negotiation, Akaashi. Either we do this my way… or we don’t do it at all.”

 

Akaashi opened his mouth, searching for a counterargument, but the determination in Iwaizumi’s gaze made him pause. Bokuto sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, catching Akaashi’s eye with a helpless glance. They’d worked so hard to get Iwaizumi here, and now they had to balance it against Oikawa’s heart as well.

 

Finally, with a resigned nod, Akaashi exhaled, his voice softening. “Alright. But I’m telling you, you’re cruel.” Bokuto sighed, with a thread of worry in his gaze. “Yeah. You have my word, Iwa. Just… let’s hope this goes how we want it to.”

 

Iwaizumi gave a single, resolute nod, a flicker of something unspoken softening his gaze. The three of them fell into a quiet stillness, the weight of the choice sinking in. Akaashi and Bokuto exchanged a glance, feeling the tension. In the silence that followed, there was only one thing that was clear: whatever came next was beyond their control.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

The sound of the bustling airport faded into a pause as Oikawa stepped through the sliding doors of the arrival hall. Outside, the air was thin and crisp. Home sweet home. He thought as he took in the dewy glow of an early Tokyo sunrise. A bright orange McLaren 720S waiting at the curb that captured his attention, gleaming under the sun.

His best friend, Bokuto was leaning casually against the sleek body of the convertible, waiting. His face lit up with the biggest grin as he spotted Oikawa.  “BO!” Oikawa shouted upon seeing him, hurried towards him.. “I missed you!” He said as they shared a brief hug. "You've changed your car!" He exclaimed with wide eyes, his voice echoing his broad smile.

"Yeah, got it a couple of months ago," Bokuto beamed, popping the trunk for Oikawa's luggage. “It’s totally impractical but so fast and fun to drive . What do you think?”

 

"It’s stunning," Oikawa admitted, running his hand along the smooth lines of the McLaren as he placed his bags inside. "This car is all you, Bo.”

 

“Hop in. We’re heading to my place first—too early to check into your hotel.” Bokuto's invitation was met with a swift nod as Oikawa slipped into the plush leather seat. Bokuto fired up the engine to life. A deep, resonant sound promised of the power beneath the hood. He maneuvered out of the parking with practiced ease, the car’s responsiveness on display as they merged onto the expressway heading into the city.

 

Oikawa's eyes widened feeling the rumble beneath them as Bokuto drove. With a grin, he turned to Bokuto, "Man, this feels unreal. What kind of beast are we dealing with here?”

 

"It has a 4.0L twin-turbo V8, can you believe it?" Bokuto started with a boyish glee, his enthusiasm bubbling over as they picked up speed. "Zero to sixty in just under three seconds. Truly a monster on the road.”

 

Oikawa laughed, his eyes wide as he felt the subtle pull of acceleration. “Wow, I’d love something like this, but practicality always wins with a dad," he sighed, then his smile returned as an image of Hajime flashed in his mind. It was so worth it.

 

"Yeah, I guess that's part of the whole parent package, huh?" Bokuto said, glancing at Oikawa with a grin. “Yeah,” He hummed a little bittersweet. “That’s what being a parent is. Making sacrifices, right?"

 

“I guess.” Bokuto agreed hesitantly, navigating through the light evening traffic with a confident hand. "But hey, when you're here, we can enjoy the ride together, right?”

When you’re here… Words echoed in Oikawa’s mind as he nodded. For a moment, he felt a touch of nostalgia inside his chest. The city skyline, skyscrapers, the streets, lights, even the notorious Tokyo traffic, it was home. He looked at his best friend in the driver seat and in the moment it hit him how lonely he had been feeling. He had moved to Argentina for a change of scenery, for a fresh start. And for a while, it worked. Right until the novelty wore off… Maybe it’s been enough time. He thought, feeling his heart sink into his stomach.

 

“You know, Bo…” He mused watching the skyscrapers pass by. “Seeing you, driving this incredible car, being back in Tokyo… I just feel so at home… I guess I really miss it here.” He admitted to his best friend the thoughts in his mind.

 

“Is it bad that this makes me happy?" Bokuto replied with a small chuckle. “Seriously though…” He cleared his throat next. “You know you've always got a place here. Whenever you’re ready to come back.” 

The rest of the drive was quiet after Oikawa’s honest confession for return. Bokuto parked the car in hist apartments garage and together they went upstairs. When he opened the door,  a welcoming aroma of freshly baked delights hit their noses. “Smells, amazing in here.” Oikawa commented, inhaling deeply as they entered the living room.

 

“Really?” Bokuto replied, his face lighting up with a mix of pride and slight nervousness. "I've gotten into baking lately. Made some orange chiffon cake—thought it'd be a nice treat for your visit.”

 

“Really.” Oikawa nodded as he sunk into the plush couch. “I can’t wait to try it.” He said, clearly excited about the treat.  Bokuto quickly disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two plates of orange chiffon cake and a pot of tea.

 

"Here we go," Bokuto announced, his tone proud but slightly nervous as he poured the tea. "I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

 

Oikawa picked up a fork and took a bite, his eyes lighting up as the flavors melded together perfectly—sweet, with just a hint of citrus tang. "Bo, this is delicious!" he exclaimed, genuinely impressed. "It’s light, airy, and perfectly sweet. You could seriously open a bakery with skills like these.”

 

Bokuto laughed, visibly relieved by the praise. "Thanks, Tooru. I’ve been watching those baking shows lately," he admitted, taking a sip of his tea. “They are strangely calming, you know? A good way to unwind.” He mused, a satisfied look on his face as he leaned back. "So, how's everything in Argentina? How is the dad life going?"

 

"It's a wild ride.” Oikawa chuckled softly, savoring another bite of cake. You wouldn’t believe the toddler energy—I spend most days just trying to keep up. Like last week, Hajime decided the living room needed redecorating. Our living room wall now features a unique mural courtesy of his artistic phase.”

 

Bokuto laughed loudly, a hearty sound filled the room warmly. “Sounds like a little hellion. But I bet you're a great dad.”

 

"I'm learning as I go," Oikawa replied, his smile tinged with a soft pride. "It's rewarding, though. And exhausting. Every day is something new, something unexpected. Makes you appreciate the little things, you know?”

 

"Yeah, I can imagine," Bokuto said, though his smile briefly waned as he toyed with a napkin. A brief silence filled the air which Bokuto was quick to interrupt. "How about the food? Missing Japanese cuisine yet?”

 

“You have no idea.” Oikawa sighed, a hint of longing in his voice. "The food there's good, but nothing beats a proper katsu curry or a late-night ramen run. I've tried cooking some dishes at home, but it's just not the same.”

 

Bokuto nodded, his gaze drifting slightly. "We should grab some sushi while you're here, hit up our old spot.”

 

"Absolutely," Oikawa’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. "It's a date." He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth as he noticed Bokuto fidgeting with the fork in his hand. "Everything alright, Bo? You seem a bit…” He paused for a moment, as if trying to find the right word. “Agitated.”

 

Bokuto hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of his tea cup slowly, almost unwillingly. Each second seemed to stretch as he gathered his thoughts, taking an unusually deep breath. The cup clinked softly as he set it down, his gaze flickering up to meet Oikawa's. "Tooru..." His voice was tentative, each word heavier than the last. "I've found Akaashi... We've been talking again.”

 

Oikawa’s reaction was immediate; his fork clattered onto his plate, his face lighting up with joy. "Bo, that's great news! I'm so happy for you!" His voice was genuine, filled with warmth and excitement for his friend.

 

Bokuto's gaze dropped to his hands before slowly rising again, a visible struggle in his expression. "It's more than what I expected… It's everything and more.” he confessed, his tone a mix of joy and something pained. "But there's more, Tooru. Through Akaashi, I met Iwaizumi. He's Akaashi's roommate.”

The air seemed to thicken around them as Oikawa processed the information, his elation quickly turning to shock. The name 'Iwaizumi' echoed in his ears, a wave of emotions crashing over him. "What?" he breathed out, his joy fading into a mix of confusion and hurt. "Bokuto, how could you not tell me sooner?”

Bokuto’s face fell, regret etching into his features. "I wanted to, Tooru, really. But Iwa made me promise... He was very specific about not saying anything until you got here.  Akaashi and I tried everything, I promise we tried. At first, he outright rejected meeting you… Now, he’s open to meeting you, in a neutral, public place if you’re interested. He wanted it to be your choice.”

Oikawa’s mind raced, the initial joy of reunion overshadowed by the sudden weight of the revelation. His heart pounded with a blend of anger and desperation. "You should have told me, Bo! I could have prepared... I could have—" His voice broke, the sense of betrayal slicing through the fondness they shared.

 

Bokuto’s eyes welled up with tears, his usual composure crumbling under Oikawa’s harsh words. "It was the only way Iwa would agree to meet, Tooru. I’m so sorry.”

 

A silence ensued after Bokuto’s confession. Oikawa’s breathing grew heavier, each inhale sharp as if trying to draw in not just air but reason, an attempt to calm the storm brewing within him. Iwa made me promise—Bokuto’s words echoed in his head, the secrets kept from him. The more he thought about it, the more he felt betrayed, deceived by the two people he had once trusted implicitly. He was completely blinded by anger.

He stood abruptly, his heart thumped wildly, erratic, as if it might break free from his ribcage. "Fuck this shit," he spat, the words slicing through the tense air, a raw, unfiltered declaration of his refusal to be sidelined any longer.

Oikawa knew that in a fair fight, he stood little chance against Bokuto's size and strength. Rational thought was eclipsed by the complete sense of betrayal and urgency. He was compelled to level the playing field in the only way he saw fit—by playing dirty.

Without a second thought, Oikawa lunged across the space separating them, driven by a surge of pure fury. His head connected with Bokuto’s, an unexpected headbutt that sent Bokuto reeling backward, a hand flying to his face in shocked pain. In the chaos of the moment, Oikawa’s hands were quick and sure, snatching Bokuto’s phone with a swift motion.

The phone secured in his grasp, Oikawa turned on his heel, every line of his body rigid with anger and determination. He locked himself in the bathroom, frantically scrolling through Bokuto’s phone for any clue. His heart raced as he found a selfie of Bokuto in an unfamiliar apartment, the location stamped on the photo. He sent the address to himself and emerged from the bathroom.

 

“Here. Have your phone back.” Oikawa threw Bokuto his phone. “I know where to find him," He declared, his voice cold.

"Wait, Tooru, please, let's talk about this—" Bokuto caught his phone midair as he talked, but Oikawa cut him off.

 

"Just give me the apartment number, I sent myself the address through the location stamp in your selfie.” he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

 

Bokuto hesitated, pain and reluctance clear in his expression. “I can’t.” He finally said, pain filling his voice.  Oikawa's patience snapped. He stepped forward, aggression clear in his posture as he loomed over Bokuto. "Bokuto, don't make me force it out of you," he threatened, his voice low and dangerous. The pain in Bokuto's expression deepened, not just from the threat but from the weight of his promise. Nevertheless, he remained loyal to his promise and stayed silent.

 

Oikawa, driven to the edge by desperation and betrayal, acted on a raw impulse. He lunged forward, grabbing Bokuto sharply by the balls, his grip tightening unforgivably with the intent to cause pain. The sudden, brutal grip forced a pained shout from Bokuto as his face contorted in agony.

 

Oikawa's eyes burned with a wild fire. The air was thick with tension, the only sounds were Bokuto's pained gasps and the menacing tone of Oikawa's threats. "Let go, Tooru!" Bokuto finally managed to yell, his voice strained with pain. "I made a promise, dammit!” Bokuto spat at him through gritted teeth, his body buckling under the brutal assault but his resolve unyielding.

At Bokuto's pained declaration, Oikawa's grip loosened instantly—his rage paused by the realization of his friend's loyalty and pain. Bokuto fell on the floor, freshly tortured and writhing in pain. He stepped back as a wave of regret washed over him. “Okay.” He said, his voice calmer but full of frustration.  “I'll go knock on every door in that building myself!”

 

“You can’t do that!” Bokuto scowled in pain. “Do you know how many people you’d bother—

 

“Do you think I care?” Oikawa shot him a look. If looks could kill, Bokuto would be dead.
Realizing the futility of further resistance and the potential chaos Oikawa could unleash, Bokuto relented, still clutching himself in lingering pain. “Fine!” He said sharply “It’s apartment 302,"

 

Oikawa, now with the information he needed, snatched his phone from the table and stormed towards the door. His steps were heavy with the weight of his actions and the anticipation of what was to come.

 

As the door slammed shut behind Oikawa, Bokuto remained on the floor, cradling himself against the sharp throb of pain. The silence of the apartment was heavy, broken only by his labored breathing. With great effort, he pushed himself to a sitting position against the couch. He picked up his phone again, his hands trembling as he dialed Akaashi’s number, the urgency and fear palpable in each press.

The phone rang unanswered, echoing through the quiet apartment like a siren. “AKAASHI PICK MY CALL” He texted quickly. He tried again, desperation coloring his tone, "Come on, Akaashi... pick up..." But the silence on the other end was a stark reminder of his isolation.

 

He sat there for a moment, phone in hand, the silence engulfing him. Bokuto sent a single, heavy-hearted text—I'm sorry—before setting his phone down. He leaned back, eyes closed, swallowed by silence and uncertainty.

Chapter 8: Pieces Lost and Forged Anew

Next few days were as mundane and ordinary as it could get for Akaashi. After his evening with Bokuto, he threw himself back into work. However, he had something to look forward to n a way he hadn’t in a while… If they win, that is… Otherwise, he’d have a sulking Bokuto to deal with. Although, Akaashi wasn’t sure whether he minded that.

 

On the other hand, his roommate—Iwaizumi had been on edge all week. At first, he completely trashed the Akaashi’s idea that Oikawa might feel guilty. It was always him. It had to be him. He had spent years painting himself to be the villain. But after countless talks with both Bokuto and Akaashi, he’d reluctantly admitted it was possible that Oikawa carried guilt of his own. He’d finally agreed to meet him, though strictly on his own terms.

Akaashi, however, wasn’t a fan of those terms. Iwaizumi had made Bokuto promise not to tell Oikawa anything until he’d landed.He asked Bokuto to explain everything in his apartment calmly, and if Oikawa wanted to meet, to pass along his number so that they could meet in a neutral location. While Iwaizumi thought this was fair, Akaashi found it endlessly cruel—years of pent-up feelings weren’t going to unfold neutrally, no matter where they met. His protests fell on deaf ears. The terms were set, and all they could do now was wait for the ticking time bomb to go off.

The Friday Oikawa was supposed to land the Akaashi was working from home. Everything had been perfect. He was stretched over his bed, just in his shorts and looking at his computer with what felt like 110% productivity. Not having to get up an hour earlier for commute was putting him into a much better mood. Not having to hide his tattoos with long sleeves in the scorching Tokyo heat was an added bonus. At home, he was just himself.

 

The sudden vibration of his phone snapped him out of his focus. He glanced at the screen, his lips curling into a small smile when he saw Bokuto’s name. It felt like high school all over again. He declined the call. Now that they were friends again, Bokuto would call whenever he felt like it, and Akaashi was trying to set boundaries with working hours. Usually the silver would get the hint and apologize. However, if he was really excited about something, he’d call repeatedly. Sure enough, Akaashi’s phone buzzed again a moment later. He rolled his eyes. Classic.

 

A text came through immediately after. “AKAASHI! TAKE MY CALL!” . Akaashi put his phone on silent and turned it screen down to avoid any more distractions.. He would make it up to Bokuto later.

 

His peak productivity could only last for maybe fifteen more minutes before the doorbell rang. Seriously? He raised an eyebrow, momentarily annoyed. Did Bokuto really show up here because I haven’t answered? It was too early for it to be Iwaizumi and he had his key anyway. The raven dragged his feet to the door. His fury was like a seething inferno, determined to boil Bokuto alive, but the moment he opened the door, it was as if hell itself had frozen over.

Standing in the doorway was Oikawa Tooru, with all his glory. Akaashi was astounded, his mouth gaped open. He remembered the star player just like yesterday. Oikawa had always been a looker. But, years weren’t rough on him at all. If anything, he was even more refined, even more handsome. His beautiful brown curls framed his face, his hair slightly longer than he had in high school. His eyes still sparkled like diamonds, rich and deep as molten chocolate. Stubble now roughened his chiseled jawline, adding a rugged edge to his features.

 

Oikawa had an anxious expression etched across his face, complemented by a noticeable red spot blooming on his forehead. It was impossible to overlook, contrasting his beautiful features. But why is here? Akaashi thought before Oikawa even opened his mouth. Did Bokuto send him here? No he wouldn’t do that… Bokuto would come with. Then..  Where the fuck is Bokuto? Akaashi’s thoughts were racing.

 

Oikawa took a step back, his gaze shifting as he registered Akaashi’s tattoos. His expression flickered with something unreadable, perhaps suspicion or surprise. “Sorry,” he said, hesitating. “I think I might have the wrong apartment.” He was about to turn away when he paused, squinting at Akaashi with renewed curiosity. “Wait… Akaashi?”

 

“You remember me?” Akaashi blinked, surprised to hear. They had only played a couple games together when they were in high school and it wasn’t as if Akaashi was the star of the team. Akaashi didn’t remember anytime they had talked to each other personally.

 

“I never forget someone’s eyes.” Oikawa answered matter-of-factly. “You were an annoying setter.” He commented under his breath. Akaashi’s eyes widened. He barely suppressed his laugh. Oikawa must have had some balls to come to his apartment and call him annoying. Nonetheless, when Iwa would describe him to Akaashi this was the exact word he would be using. Annoying. Oikawa escaped his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. “I…” He bit his lips and took a pause. “I’m looking for Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Akaashi’s thoughts scrambled in his brain. How had Oikawa found their place? Did Bokuto break his promise? But the calls meant that he was trying to warn Akaashi, right? A quick glance at his phone showed a string of missed calls from Bokuto, followed by a final message: “I’m sorry.” He clenched his jaw, anxiety bubbling in his chest. How will Iwaizumi react to this? He’d seen the pain Oikawa’s name alone could trigger in his friend—the same Iwaizumi who’d punched a wall so hard he broke the skin, the same Iwaizumi who’d once confessed he left Oikawa unconscious. Akaashi couldn’t shake the fear simmering in his gut.He stared into Oikawa’s beautiful brown eyes. I don’t know if you’re in danger. What am I supposed to say?

 

“Akaashi?” Oikawa asked his silky voice trembling this time. The raven realized he was taking his sweet time and making the poor guy wait on the door.

 

“Right…” Akaashi nodded. “He’s my roommate.Why don’t you come in?” He pulled the door wide open for him.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Akaashi quickly showed his new guest the way to the living room and just stared at him blankly for a moment not knowing what to do. Oikawa sat himself down eyeing him back. “You always walk around naked?” He asked nonchalantly. Only after then Akaashi realized how exposed he was with the only thing covering him being his shorts. “To be fair, Oikawa-san… You weren’t really invited.” He retorted excused himself for a moment. What a shitshow. He quickly threw on a good shirt and returned to the living room. Oikawa’s curious eyes were taking it all in, researching their living quarters thoroughly for every bit of information. Akaashi didn’t blame him. That’s exactly what I would have done.

“Can I get you anything to drink Oikawa-san?” He asked the guy. Beautiful as he was, he seemed disheveled.

“Any tea to calm my nerves would be great. I’ve just gotten off a fourteen hour flight.” Oikawa answered honestly. “And please just call me Tooru. No need for honorifics either. We know each other for far too long.”

 

Akaashi didn’t answer that. They might have, but it wasn’t as if they were ever friends. However he seemed like a stand up guy. He walked to the kitchen and put some water inside the kettle.

“I have to ask, how did you find where we live?” Akaashi was curious. There was still no sign of Bokuto.

“I’m guessing you know about his genius plan since you’re his roommate.” The hurt he had in his voice was way too familiar for Akaashi. He felt his chest sank.

 

“I tried telling him it was unfair.” His icy eyes were filled with nothing but compassion.

“Honestly, I did. Bokuto really tried too. We wanted to let you know before you came here. If it were up to me I would have never sprung this on you.”

 

“Bokuto said he promised.” Oikawa’s eyes started filling with tears.

“He did.” Akaashi vouched for him. He returned back to the kettle and put the tea to brew.

“Well, we fought.” Oikawa sniffled into his sleeve like a child. “I might have to apologize from Bo-chan.” Akaashi quickly got him some tissues with a raised brow.  “What happened?”

 

“After he told me what I-Iwa…. Said… I told him I couldn’t wait. I had to see him and if he knew where he was, he had to tell me. We went back and forth a little bit until I got really heated and got a little physical.” He pointed at his forehead.

 

“I kinda got him by surprise when I headbutted him… We trashed around a bit but I snatched his phone and locked myself into the bathroom. I knew he would give it away somehow. I found the address through the photos. He had his location stamped on some selfies here.” Oikawa took a deep breath. “ Then I just asked him for the apartment number, but he still wouldn’t. I tried torturing it out of him. He only gave it away when I practically threatened I would try all the apartments in the building.” Oikawa sighed. “He might be on his way over here when he recuperates.”

Akaashi blinked at the guy. Recuperates? When Bokuto recuperates? Bokuto the relentless? What have you done to him? He didn’t know whether he wanted to know. He anxiously looked at his phone and opened his texting app. “Bokuto-san, are you okay?” His kettle started whistling in the kitchen. Akaashi rushed back to the kitchen and put out two mugs. He was pouring the tea into the mugs when their doorbell rang a second time in the same day. Akaashi nearly jumped in his place. Bokuto? He ran to the door.

Seeing his familiar face right before him, Akaashi took a deep breath and just wanted to hug the silver close. He didn’t. “Come in, please. Oikawa-san…” He stopped and corrected himself. “Tooru is already here.”

Bokuto nodded and walked awkwardly inside the apartment without saying much. He sat as farthest apart from Oikawa as he could. “You’ve come in the right time for tea.” Akaashi put out a third cup and served the tea.

“Akaashi, actually… Do you have an icebag or something?” Bokuto asked with a pained expression on his face. He himself had a similar looking spot on his forehead with Oikawa. Was he getting a headache?

 

“Yeah, of course.” He said and quickly moved back to the kitchen. “Do you want some pain medicine as well?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Bokuto responded back from the living room. Akaashi went and grabbed some anti-inflammatories from medication cabinet. He could hear Oikawa and Bokuto bicker in the living room.

“Tooru shut the fuck up.” Bokuto raised his voice killing the conversation. Akaashi never heard him talk in that tone before. It’s possible to anger you too, huh? “Consider yourself lucky that I haven’t done something back to you.”

Akaashi hurried and filled their ice bag with ice and returned back to Bokuto. He didn’t need any more fighting or tension on his hands.

 

“Thank you.” Bokuto gulped down the medication and took the ice bag from Akaashi’s hands. To his surprise, he didn’t put it on his head. Nope. Instead, the silver pulled the waistband of his sweatpants and put the icebag right on his crotch. What the? Akaashi looked at Oikawa in complete disbelief. “What did you even do to him?”

 

“Not even a fucking word out of your mouth.” Bokuto raised his pointing finger threateningly at Oikawa which shut both Akaashi and Oikawa up quickly.

“Drama queen.” Oikawa clicked his tongue and turned his back against Bokuto. 

 

“Tooru, I swear!..” Bokuto gritted his teeth raising his balled fist in a threatening manner. Akaashi put a stop to it quickly. “Bokuto-san.” He said calmly shaking his head left to right and lowered the silver’s hand.

 

“When will he get home?” Oikawa asked trying to change the topic. Akaashi looked at his watch.

“We have a couple hours to kill.” He answered. He didn’t know what Bokuto was thinking nor Oikawa was thinking… But he didn’t want Iwa to be overwhelmed with seeing all of this at home. He knew if he let him know Iwa would not show up. That was not an option anymore. However, he had to be there to support his friend. He understood Oikawa might want to be alone to talk. It was delicate. He was trying to think of the best way to break Oikawa the news that he might have to stay. He rubbed his temples and looked at Bokuto. What do you think? He asked as if he could hear him telepathically. Tension was building in the room. Akaashi decided to be honest with Oikawa.

 

“Tooru… Iwa and I are really good friends.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to impose at all… But I know know what happened between you guys when Iwa left. He told me…” He said as bit his bottom lip. “I know he feels a lot of guilt. I know he hates himself everyday for it. But this is not my piece to say, it is his.” Akaashi took a deep breath. “I just… I just don’t want you to get hurt. Do you mind if Bokuto and I stay here while you guys talk? We won’t get in the way… Just to offer support if—”

 

“Yeah…” Oikawa didn’t let him finish. He was looking at his feet in a knowing manner. He understood what Akaashi said well enough. “I appreciate that.” He himself was acknowledging the element of danger here.

“You’ve said you had a fourteen hour flight here. If you actually want to get some shuteye, I don’t blame you. You can rest in my room. I can wake you when Iwa comes back.”

 

“R-really?” Oikawa’s voice trembled. His eyes teared once more.

“Yeah of course.” Akaashi nodded. Oikawa got on his and gave him an unsolicited hug.“Thank you.” Akaashi could feel how hard he was trying to supress a sob. He was not a physical person, he ended up gently hugging the brunette back. It was not unwelcome. “Come on.” He led him to his room. Funny…According to Bokuto, this guy was a parent. Yet, Akaashi ended up feeling maternal towards someone for the first time since he went to high school with Bokuto. Oikawa was peculiar indeed. From the look of him, you’d think he was completely full of himself. Instead, Akaashi saw someone sassy, fussy at times, but down to earth and endearing at the same time. He returned back to Bokuto after Oikawa cozied up in his bed.

 

“Thank you Akaashi for being so kind and awesome as always.” Bokuto murmured, pain still visible from his face.

“I haven’t done anything, Bokuto-san. I’m sorry for talking for your place as well… I mean, you still don’t seem too well. I was just trying to look out for him. Iwa can get scary when he’s mad.” He tried to explain without exposing his friend.

 

“I’m fine.” Bokuto waved his hand in the air. “And I noticed it first hand.” He pointed himself with his thumb. “It’s not easy to throw me around.”

They shared a grim look reminiscing about their first encounter. “I had the same idea anyway.” Bokuto said after a long pause. “It’s either sink or swim at this point. If they are swimming, great… But we may as well stay be a life line if they are sinking.”

 

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi smiled. “And you say you’re not good with words.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Akaashi and Bokuto chilled in the living room while Oikawa got some rest. At least they tried to. It was like waiting for a storm. They tried to watch some good old trashy TV but it didn’t work. Especially when Akaashi started stopping the TV every ten minutes for another for another smoke, Bokuto asked for another alternative.

Got anything to drink? Akaashi really didn’t like getting drunk when he was feeling this way. It felt too similar the way he used drugs to escape his problems. However, realizing they didn’t have something better to calm their nerves, Akaashi agreed. And if he was going to drink now, it wasn’t going to be just beer. Why not stick to big guns? He looked at their alcohol rack. It was not something impressive, not too terrible considering their small space.

“I’m not really much of a wine person. But we do have some good tequila and whiskey. Do you want to do straight shots or cocktails? I’m told I make a mean Margarita.”

 

“Oh really now?” Bokuto hopped off the couch and followed him to the kitchen. Thanks to the extensive icing, he was walking much more normally now albeit one hand still inside his sweatpants holding the icebag. “Let’s put it to the test.” He was beaming. He took a seat in the barstool. Akaashi was truly feeling like a bartender now.

 

He took his margarita glasses and reached for the salt but his hand came to an abrupt stop. He had no idea how Bokuto liked it. Some people didn’t enjoy the salt on the rim. “Salt or no salt?” He asked the silver who was watching his every move like an owl.

 

Bokuto gazed at his icy blue eyes for a second. “Surprise me.” He said so softly that it could pass as a whisper. The raven felt the hair on his back of his neck erect again. This time they hadn’t even started drinking. Was Bokuto flirting with him? No way. He stayed quiet and escaped the predatory gaze. Why did this feel so intimate? He felt just like the last time they were inside Bokuto’s apartment. The raven salted the rims and turned back to their fridge and opened their freezer compartment, filled their glasses with ice and added a couple to his shaker.  “Um… Akaashi?” He turned his head back to see Bokuto wiggling uncomfortably. “Do you mind refilling my ball bag?” He took the icebag out of his pants.

 

There it goes. I’m definitely reading too much into it. “As long as you don’t call it that Bokuto-san.” He replied almost robotically. It was just Bokuto’s classical sheenanigans.

“What? It’s sitting on top of my balls. So it’s my ball bag.” They hadn’t been each others lives for a long time. It would be a tough adjustment.

“Well Bokuto-san, I’m not gonna want to touch it when you call it your ball bag.” Akaashi sighed. Nevertheless he took the bag out of Bokuto’s hands, drained the water, and put some new ice.

 

“Thanks!” Bokuto chimed, tucked the ice inside his pants and went back on watching him. Good thing Iwa loved cocktails, they never ran out of ice. “I don’t know what the big deal is. The ice is making my junk hide into my body anyway. I’m like a Ken doll down here.” Akaashi couldn’t help laughing when he was skillfully mixing their margarita and giving the shaker a good shake.. “That’s way too much information, Bokuto-san.” He said and poured the drinks into their glasses. “Cheers.” He raised his glass at him.

“Cheers.” Bokuto beamed and took a big sip out of his drink. It was Akaashi who was doing the watching this time. His icy blue eyes focused on Bokuto’s lips.  “Verdict?” He asked playfully.

 

“It’s delicious.” Bokuto said taking another sip. Akaashi felt a sort of relief as if he was trying to impress him. He only took a sip then. He’s not lying. It’s delicious.

 

They heard the door opening and keys jingling. Iwa. You could cut the tension with a knife in that moment.

“I’m home!” They heard Iwa’s voice. His roommate quickly kicked his shoes off and came inside. “Oh, drinking are we?” He grinned at them when he spotted Bokuto and Akaashi in the kitchen.

“Yup.” Bokuto answered for both of them. “Come do a shot with us.” Bokuto waved him over. Well played, Bokuto-san. A shot or two to loosen him up was a good idea. Iwaizumi happily took up the offer and sat next to Bokuto. Akaashi started salting the rims of their shot glasses this time. Iwaizumi’s jade green eyes hovered curiously over Bokuto and he raised his brows. “The hell?” He pointed at Bokuto’s hand inside his pants.

 

“Just icing.” Bokuto replied nonchalantly shrugging his broad shoulders.

“What happened?” Iwa holding back a laugh.

 

“Rough sex.” Bokuto played him. Another good cover. At least he wouldn’t dig deeper right now.

“Ugh…” Iwa groaned. “Don’t even wanna know.”

Akaashi laughed at their antics and filled three shot glasses with tequila. “Cheers.” He raised his glass at his friends.“Cheers, barkeep Akaashi.” Iwa grinned.“Cheers.” Bokuto tried to match Iwa’s grin.

 

They counted to three and took their shots. “Woah, that’s some strong stuff, huh?” Iwaizumi grinned at them. Akaashi agreed. “One more?” Bokuto asked and Akaashi quickly filled all of their glasses again. Considering he had just finished a margarita too, he was getting too much alcohol into his system too soon. They needed to talk to Iwaizumi right after this shot. The way Bokuto looked at his eyes were telling. The silver also wanted to cut it short. After their second shot. Akaashi quickly closed the bottle and put it away.

“Aww, no…” Iwa protested. “We were just getting started guys.”

“Iwa, I promise we will drink another time. But right now, we need to talk to you.” Akaashi said cutting to the chase. He tried to stay as serious as he could. Bokuto was following his lead this time.

 

“About what?” A worried look formed on Iwaizumi’s face. “Why are you getting all serious all of a sudden?” 

 

Akaashi took a deep breath, gazed into the golden eyes of Bokuto and bit his lip. He needed a little more help. The silver understood. “Iwa…” He cleared his throat. “Tooru is here.” Bokuto explained.

“Oh…” Iwaizumi gulped. He was starting to get agitated. “He already landed, huh?” He turned his face to the kitchen counter looking thoughtful. “Have you talked to him?”

“No, Iwa.” Akaashi sighed. He didn’t need to answer his question.  “We mean, here.” Akaashi pointed to their environment making a circle. “He’s in my room, waiting for you. And in a moment I’m going to go grab him. He wants to talk to you.”

“Y-You’ve set me up?” Iwa looked at both of them with disappointment in his jade eyes. Akaashi did not appreciate being accused with betrayal.

 

“No, you idiot.” He gritted his teeth. “Bokuto-san has done everything he could to prevent from this happening. But it happened anyway, because your heartless plan was doomed to fail. It was fucking cruel. What happened was Oikawa-san…” Akaashi paused and thought about Oikawa’s request. After everything, he respected the latter’s wishes enough to honor it. “What happened was Tooru was determined to talk to you after he heard everything and hunted us down.”

 

“So, you’re in first name basis now huh?” Iwa smirked. “It’s okay for you throw away our years of friendship for…”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just honoring his request.” Akaashi glared at him. “I’m doing the exact opposite.”

 

“Oh but no one is respecting my fucking wishes.” Iwaizumi slammed his hands on the kitchen counter. “Oi.” Bokuto got in between them. “Calm down.”

 

“You don’t fucking understand a thing. You don’t know what I’ve done… You have…”

 

“Yeah I do.” Bokuto cut him off. “Do you honestly think Tooru never told me?” Bokuto glared into Iwaizumi’s jade eyes.

 

“Then…” Iwaizumi’s jade eyes were tearing. “You have to understand why I have to stay away…”

 

“Iwa.” Bokuto shook his head from side to side. “Why are you so afraid? You only have one life you know…” He tugged the brunette’s arm harshly until he sat down. “ Tooru is a grown man. He can make his own choices. He wants to see you, you don’t get to choose what’s best for him.” The silver sighed. “Take it from me… I wasted 10 fucking years worrying, hating myself and just being afraid, running scenarios in my mind. And for what? I don’t even fucking know honestly. It fucking burns thinking about that.” The silver gulped audibly. “I’m trying to say… I didn’t even know what I would run into… But I’m finally happy. I’m not going to force you if you want to keep running. Just know, we’re telling you: Tooru wants to talk to you.”

 

“He should hate me.” Iwaizumi closed his mouth holding back a sob.

 

“He doesn’t.” Bokuto assured him. He turned his golden eyes to Akaashi. “Go get him.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Oikawa froze the moment he saw Iwaizumi in the kitchen, his usual confidence faltering. His face became white as ash, leaving him looking like stone statues. He looked like the ground had been taken out from under him. Iwaizumi, gripping the countertop with white-knuckles, met Oikawa’s gaze just long enough to feel his own emotions unraveling. Before he could speak, he downed his whiskey in one rough gulp. The tension was increasing between them.

 

“It really is you.” Oikawa was the first one to break the silence. His voice was laced with something unspoken. “I found you.” He said, almost in disbelief. His chocolate eyes carefully observed Iwa’s face. The same face he’d last seen ten years ago full of rage before everything went black. His heart started racing in his chest, but it wasn’t fear, it was the uncertainty.

 

“You feel accomplished now or what?” Iwaizumi was breathing through his nose, clutching his whiskey glass. His tone was cold and bitter. He clicked his tongue and Akaashi saw his jaw was tense, muscles in his neck tighten as if holding back something ready to explode.  Bokuto must have noticed as well. He and Bokuto exchanged anxious looks. Oikawa however, he wasn’t fazed.

 

“Iwa.” Oikawa looked at his jade eyes. Akaashi hated how his voice trembled. How could Iwa be so cruel? His chocolate eyes were now covered with tears, yet he did not let them go. He did not yield. He was still standing. Iwaizumi on the other hand directed his gaze on the floor, not even able to face his old friend.

 

Oikawa was the one who clicked his tongue this time. The silence between them was almost violent. Oikawa finally stepped forward, breaking the distance between them as he folded his arms across his chest, forcing Iwaizumi to acknowledge him. “What?” Oikawa’s voice was biting. “You can’t even look at me? That’s it?” He let out a snort.

 

Iwaizumi’s head shot up, eyes filled with pain and shame. He made an audible gulp, looking completely drained. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

 

“Iwa.” Oikawa said in a much softer tone this time. Now content, Iwaizumi was looking into his eyes. “You told Bo you wanted to talk to me too.”

 

“In a neutral location where there would be other people god fucking damn it.” Iwaizumi exploded and turned his back against him. He put the whiskey glass back on the counter with trembling hands. “Not my home where we’d—” His voice died softly.

 

Akaashi was less worried now. Iwaizumi seemed to be getting under control. He consciously walked towards Bokuto, to the barstool to be out of his best friend’s peripheral. They didn’t need the audience. He squeezed the silvers bicep signaling him the balcony. They were about to get up but something in Oikawa exploded, leaving them glued to their place.

 

“NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS NEUTRAL!” Oikawa screamed his lungs off to the brunette in front of yourself. “Are you hearing yourself?” Fury was fueling the fire in his brown eyes.

 

Iwaizumi filled his whiskey glass and took another shot as if he didn’t hear him. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you just stay away? After everything I did—”  His voice was barely above a whisper as if he didn’t even believe his own words.

 

“You think that shit scared me?” He marched to the kitchen and stood right before Iwaizumi’s eyes. He grabbed his left arm. “You think you scare me?”

 

“Get away from me.” Iwaizumi hissed at him and pushed him away forcefully nearly knocking Oikawa over. “No.” Oikawa approached again and grabbed him by both arms this time and pinned him against the wall. “You think this scares me?” He breathed through his nose giving Iwaizumi a look from top to bottom. “Get over yourself.”

 

“Get away.” Tears started falling from Iwaizumi’s eyes, he had completely lost his demeanor from a minute ago. “Get away from me.” He repeated trying to get out of Oikawa’s grasp. But Oikawa was determined.

 

“You should hate me. You should be as far as—”

 

“I’ve never hated you.”

 

“You should.”

 

“Don’t ever tell me what to do.” Oikawa glared at him as he slammed him against the wall.

 

“Tooru, I broke you.” Iwaizumi spat out in a sob. “I put you in a hospital. You were in a coma. Who the fuck does that? What kind of monster—”

 

“Stop.” Oikawa commanded, interrupting Iwa’s self pity session. “Just stop.” Disgust formed on his face. “Do I look broken to you?” He asked, his voice low but full of unshakable strength. “Do I look like someone you could break?” Iwaizumi’s face contorted as he struggled to speak, his own guilt too tangled to voice. Oikawa’s furrowed brows finally softened. “I’ll give it to you though. You broke us. After I repeatedly tried to mend things between us… You broke our friendship into pieces.”

 

“Fuck…” He finally let go of Iwaizumi and turned his back. “I tried Hajime.” He put his hands on top of his head. “Fuck.” He swore under his breath again. “I know I wasn’t the best person in high school. I know I was an asshole…” Oikawa gulped. “But you were supposed to be my best friend.” Tears were streaming from his brown eyes. I tried to make things right. I tried to apologize. I tried my hardest. Didn’t I deserve that much of a chance?” He broke out in a sob. “So there it goes. I’m sorry. I truly am… For taking advantage of you.. For everything.”

 

“STOP.” Iwaizumi shook his head left to right vehemently interrupting him this time. “You didn’t take advantage of me.” He exhaled realizing Akaashi was right all along. “I don’t know what you’ve been telling yourself, but that part is not true.” He gently turned his old friend towards himself wiped his tears away.”

 

“Fuck…” This time Iwaizumi was the one to curse. “’I’ve never done anything I haven’t wanted with you. Even that night…” He admitted as he backed away. “It was fucked up… I was fucked up and I fucked up, because I never told you the whole story… It happened because of me… I just exploded. I don’t know what came over me, I didn’t mean for it to go so far. I hated myself, Tooru,” he said, voice barely holding steady. “I hated myself more than I could ever explain. You have no idea what it’s like to look in the mirror and see somone… I didn’t want to be.”

 

Oikawa’s eyes were fierce, unwilling to let Iwaizumi’s shame win.“I don’t care about that… You were supposed to be my best friend. Do you know how many times I tried to make things right?”

 

Iwaizumi clenched his fists, eyes brimming with self-loathing as he looked away. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice choked. “What I did, it wasn’t something I could just talk about. I hurt you because I… My father…” He stopped, swallowing hard as he struggled to continue. He realized Akaashi and Bokuto were still with them, and this wasn’t something he could just blurt out.

 

“Tooru, it was always me.” Iwaizumi let out in a murmur. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. You weren’t the one that needed to apologize. I never thought you had something to apologize for.” Both were crying now. “It was me all along.” He finally pulled Oikawa towards himself and embraced him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered. Two of them found comfort in their trembling bodies in silent sobs pulling strength from each other.

 

Akaashi looked at them and took a deep breath. He was almost feeling guilty for watching them reconciliate. It wasn’t so often that people were honest with how they were feeling which left them completely exposed and naked to the watchers. He glanced at Bokuto’s golden eyes. Usually warm and joyful, he also seemed hesitant not knowing what to do. Their eyes connected for a moment. Akaashi knew they were thinking the same thing. Iwaizumi and Oikawa needed space.

 

“Guys… I hate to interrupt.” He said in a soft murmur and gained their attention. Oikawa and Iwaizumi now realized Bokuto and Akaashi were in the same room with them.  “I think you need to talk to each other alone. We should get out of the way.”

 

“Oh, Akaashi… No…” Oikawa came forward. “You guys really don’t have to. I’ve already been enough of a burden to both you and Bokuto.” His cheeks were getting scarlet. “I am sorry, I was desperate.”

 

“No need to be sorry, we’re good.” Bokuto beamed at him despite still having the icebag inside his pants. He wrapped his arm around Akaashi’s shoulder. “Kashi and I can have a sleepover in my apartment tonight. It’ll be fun.”

 

“Bokuto-san, I didn’t mean that.” Akaashi jerked under his touch. He was completely caught off guard. “What, you don’t wanna come?” Bokuto pouted at him.

 

“No, I didn’t say that. But don’t make these decisions for me on the moment.” He sighed. “In any way, it’s a good idea. I’ll gather a couple of my things.” Akaashi smiled at his friends. “You guys just take a seat and wait, okay? I’ll take a couple minutes then make you some margaritas before I leave so you can relax.”

 

“Really Akaashi?” Iwa grinned at him. “Okay, Well who am I to say no to your margaritas?” He chuckled and threw himself in the living room couch with big smile on his face just like Akaashi asked him to do.

Notes:

Hi Y'all, thanks for reading this story so far! I love writing but this is the first time I have felt the courage to share it with the internet lol. If any of you have something to say, or any feedback to give. I'd love to hear.

I know this story handles a lot of mature themes around your favorite characters, so it might be upsetting. But that's how I usually look at things, people are just people. Bad things happen to everyone. I just wanted to explore different settings. I'm trying to include trigger warnings in front of each episode just in case.

There is going to be smut in this story, don't worry about that lol. I've had a lot of trouble writing about sex in the past but I've had a lot of help this time and its's coming. It's just more of a slowburn.

Thanks!

Chapter 9: Of Flesh and Time

Notes:

This is smut lol. Here goes nothing.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi sat across from each other, each holding Akaashi’s margaritas and sipping the drinks quietly in the living room that was filled with raw tension moments ago. The initial shock and heaviness of their reunion had passed, but the silence held a gentleness, like the first few quiet moments of dawn.

 

Oikawa was the first one to break the silence. “Damn. Akaashi really knows his margaritas, doesn’t he?”

 

Iwaizumi nodded, managing a faint smile. “Yeah. He’s got some hidden talents.” The faintest trace of nostalgia passed between them, a reminder of the years they spent discovering one another’s quirks in much the same way.

 

A small smile crept onto Oikawa’s face, his gaze dropping to his glass. “You know,” he began with a soft chuckle, “I may have been a little rude to Akaashi when I first arrived here.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrow lifted, genuinely surprised. “Really?” He shook his head with a smile. “He’s one of the kindest, most easygoing people I know. What happened?”

Oikawa’s cheeks reddened slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered. “I… remembered him from high school, of course, back when he was setting… He was a solid setter, you know… And—well, then he opened the door. Topless.” He laughed, letting out a slightly exasperated sigh. “I felt like I was back in high school myself, all jealous and defensive. He was just standing there like he belonged, and I—I don’t know, I guess it got to me. I felt like I should have been there instead.”

A faint smile tugged at Iwaizumi’s lips. “I know what you mean…” He murmured. “ But he’s not your replacement. It was a total coincidence how we ended up good friends, honest.”

Oikawa smiled back, his tone softer as he met Iwaizumi’s gaze. “Oh, I know. But I think… I think I’m not the only one who feels that way. I’m sure Bo feels the same.”

Iwaizumi blinked, slightly taken aback. “Bokuto? Really?” He glanced down, fiddling with his glass. “Well, If he does, he hides it well.”

Oikawa leaned back, crossing his arms as a warm, thoughtful smile lit his face. “That’s because he’s like an angel.” he said. “In every sense— all he wants is to bring people happiness. I’ve never seen him say something bad behind someone.”

They shared a look, the room filling with a comforting warmth as they exchanged soft, knowing smiles. The weight between them started to lift just a bit.The night was settling into a more natural rhythm. They sipped their drinks again, the sweetness of the margaritas giving their words a softer edge. The silence felt safe now, almost grounding, and after a moment, Iwaizumi spoke up.

“So…you have a kid, huh?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa’s eyes softened, and a proud, gentle smile formed as he fished his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his photos before holding up the screen, revealing a small boy with an unmistakable resemblance to Oikawa—same smile, same lively expression, same brown locks— except for his eyes. Eyes as green and bright like emeralds kissed by the the first light of the morning.

Iwaizumi stared at the screen for a long moment, taking in the boy’s playful smile and lively eyes. “He looks a lot like you… but his eyes. They’re—”

“His mother’s,” Oikawa finished, a warm pride in his voice. “He’s got her eyes. But don’t let that fool you—he’s got my sass.” he added with a soft laugh. Iwaizumi returned a slight smile, but there was an ache in his gaze as he continued looking at the picture. “You… named him Hajime?” He asked softly. Bokuto had already revealed this information and Iwaizumi had been thinking about it since.

Oikawa’s smile faded into bashful look and he stared into Iwaizumi’s jade eyes.“Yeah. After you.” He said quietly. “He reminded me of you the moment he was born—stubborn, loud, and so determined. It just felt right.”.

Iwaizumi’s throat tightened, a mix of humility and guilt clouding his expression. He looked down, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass, unable to meet Oikawa’s gaze. “Tooru… I don’t know if I deserve that. After everything I did… after the way I left, I—”

Oikawa reached over the couch and placed his hand on top of Iwaizumi’s and shook his head sideways.“I didn’t name him that because you’re perfect, Hajime. I did it because you’ve always meant something to me, whether you believe you deserve it or not.” He paused, his voice gentler. “I wanted to carry something of you with me.”

Iwaizumi swallowed, his emotions too raw to hide. He looked up finally, his eyes misting, yet carrying a sense of wonder he hadn’t felt in years. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely steady. “Thank you for… for giving me that.”

Oikawa nodded, squeezing his hand lightly. “Just promise me you’ll meet him one day. That’s all I want.”

“I promise.” Iwaizumi said as his lips curved in a faint smile, looking down at the boy in the picture. The kid’s smile had Oikawa’s charm, but there was a fierce glint in his eyes that he could only describe as familiar. “He looks like a handful already,” Iwaizumi murmured, a trace of pride softening his voice. “He’s lucky to have you as a dad.”

The compliment caught Oikawa by surprise, and he laughed a little too quickly, brushing it off. “Sometimes I wonder,” he admitted quietly, a hint of doubt in his voice. “But…he’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

The moment lingered, and for the first time, they both felt a sense of peace, as though the gap of ten years was finally starting to close, slowly binding old wounds. Oikawa took a deep, unsteady breath and moved from his seat across the room, settling beside Iwaizumi on the couch. Neither were able to look directly at the other with the new closer proximity. Gently, Oikawa placed his hand over Iwaizumi’s, anchoring them both to the moment. “Hajime,” he murmured, his voice low but unyielding, “it’s your turn this time. Ten years have passed, and I need you to tell me everything… —What you’ve been keeping secret and what led to this mess —all of this.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers clenched around his empty glass, his breathing uneven as he wrestled with how to begin. Words stumbled through his mind, clashing in chaos. How did you begin to talk about wounds so deep they seemed part of your bones? How do you describe the darkness that lingers from things that should have never happened? How do you explain being broken by the very person meant to protect you? Every part of him wanted to spare Oikawa this hurt, but he knew he had to be honest, if he had a shred of chance of getting his friendship back. He swallowed, eyes flickering everywhere but toward Oikawa.

 

After a shaky breath, he started. “It’s not something I’ve ever known how to talk about, Tooru.” He paused, swallowing. “My father…You knew him… You knew how he was… He ruined so many things.” He could feel himself trembling, the memories sharp, cold and full of shame. “But it was worse… And I didn’t know what to do with all that pain, with the anger and shame, so I tried to lock it all away… tried to make sure no one ever got close enough to see it.” He took a deep breath. “Part of me still doesn’t want to tell you. I’m scared of what it’ll do to you.”

 

Oikawa’s hand found its way to Iwaizumi’s, steady and warm. “Hajime, please,” he said, voice tight with emotion. “Stop worrying about me and let me be there for you just once.”

 

Iwaizumi’s throat felt like it was closing up, the words barely forming. He’d only spoken the words once again to his roommate before. It was not easy. “My father,” he started again but his voice faltered. “He…he took things from me. Things that no one should ever lose that way.” Words choked in his throat. He took a deep breath.

 

“Do you remember the night when you found me black and blue? You came our house looking for me, because I hadn’t been to school for a couple days. To my surprise, you were actually allowed up. Do you remember asking me if he did it because I was gay?” He shivered, unable to meet Oikawa’s gaze, feeling raw and vulnerable.

 

“Of course, I do. Like yesterday.” Oikawa answered with confidence.

 

“He didn’t just beat me, Tooru…” Iwaizumi took a deep breath. “That day, he found my stack of porn while I was in school. I remember how it was just supposed to be an ordinary day. I was at school, we had volleyball practice and then went to your place to do homework and our own shenanigans… I even remember having dinner with your family. It was a good day until I went home.” Iwaizumi felt his chest tighten. Nervous energy was leaking outside his body in tremors. Fuck… He cursed under his breath, his arms covered in goosebumps, he needed to push through.

 

“He confronted me, the moment I stepped back in the house. And I fucking froze. I couldn’t say anything. I’d never ever said out loud that I was gay until then, and now it was getting revealed like this. It was like I was watching myself out of my body… I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything. He was screaming about me being a faggot and a disgrace as a son.” Iwaizumi gulped and escaped his best friend’s chocolate eyes.

 

“You already know he beat me black and blue. It was the worst one I experienced up until that point. I’m pretty sure he almost killed me. My mom would be too afraid to interfere, but she threw herself between him and I. She didn’t know it would just anger him even more. He pulled her away from me and slammed her head to the wall until she passed out. I couldn’t do anything. I could barely breathe on the ground.” His bottom lips started to tremble. “T-tooru… H-he said…If I wanted to be a girl that bad, I was going to get it like a girl.”

 

“No.” Tears were falling from Oikawa’s eyes. “No, that can’t…” he shook his head and looked into Iwaizumi’s jade eyes. And he knew the answer. Yes. Some parents were just not cut out to be parents. And some people were straight up not human. He felt like his heart was being squeezed in his ribcage.

 

“He raped me.” Iwaizumi confessed in a whisper, holding onto his friend’s hand with dear life. “My own father…” His tremoring body almost made him sound incoherent. “H-He took my pants off and bent me over. I couldn’t even fight, I had no strength left. I remember begging him not to do it. I remember all the blood. A lot of it after that was blank. I remember waking up on the living room floor covered in blood and semen and my own vomit.

 

“Hajime…” Oikawa sobbed. Tears were dropping from his beautiful chocolate eyes. He’d never known… All those years and he’d never known. He pulled Iwa into a tight embrace. “Hajime…” whispering in his ear softly this time. “If I had known…” He kissed Iwaizumi’s temple. Iwaizumi hugged back with the same intensity.

 

“I know.” He said… “I was so deeply ashamed. You were my best friend… You still made it a lot better though… Whether you knew it, or not…”

 

“How?” Oikawa let him go and stared into his jade eyes, his expression hardening with a fierce compassion. He was silent, absorbing the weight of Iwaizumi’s words, but the tears welling in his eyes spoke of the sorrow that he felt for his best friend.“I… I was a brat—“

 

“No.” Iwaizumi shook his head from left to right. “I completely shut down after that. I couldn’t eat, drink or sleep. I didn’t go to school for days. When you showed up with my pile of homework even after I didn’t answer your calls… When you looked at my bruises and started crying… When you asked me if he’d done it because I was gay… I was just… You knew before I knew myself. You were so fucking smart… I felt cared for, for the first time in my life… When I asked you why you’ve never said anything,  you were so cool saying you didn’t care who I wanted to fuck. Then you started making plans for us to move away from my dad and start our volleyball careers like I’ve revealed nothing. I think, it was the first time I felt hope in years.” Iwaizumi flashed a grim smile, silent tears falling from his jade eyes.

 

“You helped so much, even when you didn’t know. And I fell in love with you.”

 

Oikawa’s mouth gaped open which was a rare sight for someone as sharp-witted and prepared for him to be caught off guard. His beautiful face contorting as the realization settled in. He couldn’t say anything, simply sat there, steadfast, a turmoil of emotions sweeping him away. When he opened his mouth again to say something Iwaizumi shushed him softly.

 

“Don’t say anything. Please. Just listen.” He said and took a deep breath. Iwaizumi tried to avert his gaze, ashamed, his hand trembling in Oikawa’s. He flinched slightly but continued, his voice barely a whisper. “And then you… you’d get close, you’d tease… and it wasn’t that I didn’t want it—” His breath hitched, and he forced himself to look at Oikawa, his gaze raw and open. “I wanted it more than anything. You have no idea how much I wanted to be close to you. But you were messing with me 99% of the time, or just helping me out of pity. It was… It was too much for my fucked up mind. And I should have never given in from the beginning. I made a mess of things…” His voice cracked. “You didn’t know, and that was my fault. I know if I told you, you’d never done it… The day we parted… When you suggested what you did… I wasn’t ready. I blacked out, Tooru. I couldn’t stop myself. I was always terrified of hurting you, and I almost killed you. I unleashed all my anger on you and destroyed everything. I’ve never forgiven myself for that.”

 

A deep silence fell over them, but Oikawa’s gaze held a strength that surprised Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s own breathing was unsteady, but his voice remained steady. “I can’t believe...that all this time, you carried this burden alone. I thought my teasing was innocent. I thought you were just too shy or—” He paused, his face twisting in pain.

 

“I didn’t know what was going on inside of you.” He repeated desperately. “All those times I was pushing you, trying to get a reaction...I was just seventeen, Hajime. I was confused too. I pushed because I thought that if I kept trying, even if it meant joking around… Maybe then, you’d finally see me. Maybe even care about me the same way I…” He looked away, biting his lip. He couldn’t finish his sentence, swallowing hard.

 

The words hit Iwaizumi like a tidal wave. He had never, in all the years since, considered the idea that Oikawa might’ve felt anything beyond friendship. “You...you felt that way too?” His voice was barely a whisper, stunned by this revelation. All the years of uncertainty and missed opportunities replayed in his mind, the puzzle pieces clicking into place in a way he’d never thought possible.

 

Oikawa let out a short, bitter laugh. “Of course I did, you idiot. I didn’t know what to do with it, but it was there. I just...I didn’t think you could feel the same for me. I mean, you barely even looked at me most of the time.” He shook his head from left to right. “No one in their right mind would suck their best friend’s cock just because they were pitying their wasted boning potential in high school.”

 

They sat there in silence, both breathing heavily, as the truth of their tangled emotions and painful memories came to light. The years of unspoken words and hidden pain seemed to dissipate between them, leaving something fragile but unmistakably real. When their eyes met again, both males burst into laughter.

 

“I guess we were pretty dumb, huh?” Iwaizumi murmured, silent tears still streaming his jade eyes. Oikawa chuckled back, wiping his face. “The dumbest,” he agreed, his eyes bright. They sat together, sniffling, laughing, and finally breathing, both feeling lighter than they had in a decade.

 

As the last notes of their laughter fade, the room fell into a profound silence. Iwaizumi’s soft gaze caught a stray tear that clang to Oikawa’s cheek, a reminder of everything they’ve just uncovered. Instinctively, he reached out, his fingertips brushed against Oikawa's porcelain like skin, and he gently wiped it away. But his hand lingered —more than it should have— the warmth of Oikawa's face was reeling him in.

Their eyes met once more, unspoken words hanging in the air. A strange electricity settles between them. Iwaizumi’s gaze shifted, from Oikawa's tear-stained cheek to his cherry colored lips. Oikawa’s held his breath with that. “Hajime…” He said with a voice barely a murmur.

Iwaizumi felt his heartbeat surge… That sultry voice…  He couldn’t run anymore. Leaning closer he slid his hand behind Oikawa’s neck, fingers brushed the soft hair at his nape. It’s time. Iwaizumi inched forward until his lips met Oikawa’s in the gentlest of kisses, tasting the warmth and softness. Oikawa responded without resisting.

Iwaizumi’s hand tightened, pulling Oikawa closer, a possessive, unmistakable need growing. More… Their breaths quickened, each press of their lips got more fervent, until no space was left between them. More…

 

As they deepened their embrace, fingers traced the paths their eyes wandered first, exploring years worth of hunger. Clothes fell away in hurried motions, the thrill of baring skin quickening their movements. Oikawa's hands moved lower, fingers grazing Iwaizumi’a abs before catching on his waistband. He took his time, sliding it down, a smirk playing on his lips revealing Iwaizumi’s hard arousal. He paused after that, eyes widening with surprise—and a hint of amusement—as he noticed the unexpected glint of silver. 

"Well, that’s new," his laugh filled the room, breaking the tension with genuine joy and a hint of mischief. His fingers lingered just above the piercing, tracing around it as if in awe, unable to resist his fascination.

Iwaizumi’s cheeks turned a shade darker, laughing along. “Let’s just say I had a moment.” he said, running a hand through his hair, a sheepish grin crossing his face. Oikawa’s curiosity got the best of him. “Well, tell me about that moment.” He grinned back. “What possessed you to get this?" he asked, his tone equal parts amused and genuinely interested.

"I guess I have Akaashi to thank—or blame—for this one.”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow. "Akaashi? You have to explain that." His hand remained resting against Iwaizumi, a touch both grounding and teasing.

With a chuckle, Iwaizumi explained. “Akaashi has pierced nipples” He said thinking Oikawa must have already seen it today. “When he first got them, I was making fun of him saying it was all for show and that it made no sense.  Well… He let me in that some piercings could be about, you know… pleasure.” He shrugged, laughing softly at himself. “I don’t know what came over me, but it intrigued me. Next thing I knew, I was booking an appointment. Healing was a nightmare, though."

“Is that so?” Oikawa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took in Iwaizumi's confession. "I have to admit," he murmured. “It’s kind of hot.” He leaned back in and licked Iwaizumi’s hardness from bottom to the tip. A sudden pleasure came over Iwaizumi and he let out a small moan.  Oikawa must have liked the sound he was making, he put Iwa completely inside his soft, warm and inviting mouth. He couldn’t handle it, more than a few minutes. It was overwhelming. He pulled Oikawa back, straddling on top of his lap. Oikawa's breath hitched as Iwaizumi's fingers traced the curve of his spine, sending shivers down his back. “Hajime…” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I want to feel you inside me."

Iwaizumi's heart pounded in his chest, the weight of Oikawa's words settling heavily between them. He hesitated for a moment, his hand stilling on Oikawa's skin. He had never heard Oikawa having another relationship with a man before. And to jump straight into this… It was something else… Plus, his own hole was aching with the desire to be filled. ”Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

 

Oikawa nodded, his eyes opening to meet Iwaizumi's gaze. "Yes," he said firmly, determination shining in his eyes. “I want to feel all of you.” He said. “Even your piercing.” He continued with a whisper.

 

That was enough for Iwaizumi. With a sudden move, he lifted Oikawa and ran back to his room. He threw Oikawa on his back to the bed, making him chuckle and climbed on top of him. Their gazes locked, the intensity of their connection palpable. Oikawa reached up, his hands cupping Iwaizumi's face, guiding him closer. Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss, the kind that spoke of years of friendship and unspoken longing finally coming to fruition.

 

As they kissed, Iwaizumi's hands roamed down Oikawa's body, exploring every curve and line. He could feel the heat radiating from Oikawa's skin, His hand reached down, his thumb tracing the V of his pelvis before dipping lower.

 

Oikawa gasped into the kiss breaking it short, his hips arching slightly at the touch. He looked up at Iwaizumi and gazed into his eyes. “I love you.” he whispered, his voice thick, filled with desire, grief, and the sweet love. “I love you.” Iwaizumi responded nearly choking with a sob. You are so perfect.

 

Iwaizumi swallowed hard, his heart racing as he prepared himself. He reached for the lube that lay within arm's reach. Carefully, he coated himself, his movements deliberate and slow. He positioned himself between Oikawa's legs, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation.

 

He leaned down, capturing Oikawa's lips in another searing kiss before breaking away to trail kisses down his neck, along his collarbone, and further down, nipping at the sensitive skin just above his nipples as he rubbed his arousal with the other hand. Oikawa moaned, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him, his body tensing in anticipation.

 

"Ready?" Iwaizumi asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Oikawa nodded, his eyes filled with trust and desire. "Yes. Please.”

 

With a deep breath, Iwaizumi pressed forward, his tip breaching Oikawa's tight entrance. Oikawa gasped, his nails digging into Iwaizumi's shoulders as he adjusted to the intrusion. Slowly, Iwaizumi pushed deeper, his piercing brushing against the sensitive walls of Oikawa's insides, sending sparks of sensation through both of them.

 

When Iwaizumi was fully inside Oikawa, he paused, giving them both a moment to adjust to the overwhelming sensations. Oikawa's eyes fluttered open, meeting Iwaizumi's gaze. "It feels so good," he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion.“You have no idea…” Iwaizumi responded. “How much I’ve dreamt of this…” 

 

With that, Iwaizumi began to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in. Oikawa cried out, his body arching off the bed as the pleasure coursed through him. Iwaizumi set a slow, steady pace, his thrusts deliberate and controlled. He wanted this to last, wanted to savor every moment they had together.

 

Oikawa's hands clenched around Iwaizumi's biceps, his nails leaving shallow marks in his skin. He could feel the fire building inside him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. "Harder," he begged, his voice breaking.

 

Iwaizumi complied, increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, with the ragged breaths and moans of pleasure. Oikawa's head fell back, his mouth open in a silent scream as waves of ecstasy washed over him. "Tooru," Iwaizumi groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his own release. "I'm so close."

 

Oikawa's eyes snapped open, locking onto Iwaizumi's. "Come inside me," he panted, his voice filled with urgency. "Fill me up with your cum.”

 

That was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, Iwaizumi buried himself deep inside Oikawa, his orgasm crashing over him. His muscles clenched and released as he spilled inside his lover. Oikawa climaxed right after that, screaming Iwaizumi’s name his body convulsing with pleasure as he came between their bodies, covering both of them with delicious juices.

 

For a long moment, they were frozen in time, their bodies joined in the aftermath of their shared ecstasy. Iwaizumi withdrew slowly, he licked Oikawa’s release off of him, teasing him once more before collapsing beside him. “Damn.” Oikawa barely muttered, both their chests were heaving with exertion. They lay there, panting and sweat-slicked, their limbs tangled together. “I love you so much.” Iwa murmured as Oikawa turned his head, pressing a tender kiss to Iwaizumi's lips. “I love you, too" he replied, his eyes filled with love and contentment.

 

Notes:

Soooo, this chapter has actually been one of the hardest to write. This is not my element at all, I'm trying to get into it, ideas are all mine but I've gotten a whole lot of help with the... language. (How lame am I lol?) Sex scenes are not my forte, but I've been trying my hardest. And I've put a lot of research into gay relationships, dynamics etc. I didn't want to simplify characters, I wanted them to be complex. If you guys have any feedback on this, I'd love to hear it.

Chapter 10: The Margarita Incident

Notes:

Well, gets kinda weird. Don't say I didn't warn you.

“Welcome to Bokuto’s.” Bokuto unlocked the door and opened the door in an animated fashion making Akaashi chuckle. It was nice inside Bokuto’s cool apartment leaving the all the tension behind Akaashi’s apartment.

 

“MILO!” Bokuto picked up his cat who came to greet him at the door. “Look who’s here.”

 

Akaashi offered his hand for the furry creature to smell first. Milo took a suspecting sniff but approved him, rubbing his cheek on the side of Akaashi’s pointer finger. Okay, that’s cute. Akaashi scratched behind his ears and Milo purred happily. He wasn’t around much when Akaashi was last here. He must have been one of the shy ones.

 

“Aww…” Bokuto looked at him like a proud parent. “He loves you. He can be a little timid sometimes.” Bokuto kissed the top of Milo’s head and put him on the ground. “Good boy.” He said as Milo rubbed against Akaashi’s legs.

 

“He’s really cute.” Akaashi smiled at Milo in a loving manner. “How old is he?”

 

“He is going to be five in December.” Bokuto chimed happily. “Man…” Bokuto sighed as he lead Akaashi to the kitchen. “They’ll work it out… Right?” He asked Akaashi running his hand through his silver hair.

“I hope so.” Akaashi honestly answered. His voice sounded calm, but there was a slight hurt hiding behind which Bokuto was able to masterfully catch.

“10 years is a long time, huh?” He asked with a soft smile. His eyes gave out the truth though, haze covered his golden eyes. Zero movement, no relaxation. Akaashi only gazed at him. He didn’t know whether Bokuto expected an answer. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to cheer him up. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to be honest. Bokuto’s smile faltered at that. “I guess, for moments it feels like perfect strangers. Iwa didn’t even know Tooru has a son. He had to learn that from me when I blurted it out. They used to be best friends. But now, they don’t know anything about their life. And sometimes the damage is irreversible.” He spoke softly and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Is that what you feel?” Akaashi asked Bokuto bluntly. “Like perfect strangers?” His own voice trembled at that.

 

“Nah, of course not!” Bokuto realized his mistake and shook his head vehemently. “I’m talking about them Akaashi.” He put his hand behind his head in a rather embarrassed fashion. “Bokuto-san.” Akaaahi sighed desperately. His icy blue eyes were observing him to the core, trying to understand. You’re not telling me the truth. Bokuto escaped his eyes and took a deep breath.

 

“Fine.” He said. “I get jealous.”

“Jealous?” Akaashi repeated? This was not something he expected to come out of Bokuto’s mouth. “What do you get jealous for?” Akaashi asked him curiously.

 

“Your friendship with Iwa.” He closed his eyes. “And before you even say anything. It’s not what you think.” He covered his face with his palms to cut the contact. So all these times you’ve seemed to be flirty were my interpretation. It had been a relief to learn that. Bokuto could be so oblivious to the signals he was giving sometimes.

 

“I meant… I know you like your coffee black with just a drop of milk. I know you don’t wear a shirt when you’re sleeping. I know you start cracking your knuckles when you’re nervous. I know lavender makes you sneeze. I know all of your old habits… But I didn’t know you worked as an editor until a couple weeks ago. It makes me sad. I should have been there. But I wasn’t… I changed, you changed, but your place in my life in ten years never changed.” Bokuto took a deep breath.

 

“I didn’t know you knew these things about me.” Akaashi couldn’t help but smile. Bokuto clapped his hands in the air. “Hey. Enough of this.” He said sounding much more determined this time. “I don’t want to get sentimental. Let’s do something fun.” He turned his back to him and slided the kitchen wall laterally, revealing a secret cabinet filled with alcoholic beverages, displaying his collection. It was enough to compete a small bar. Akaashi almost gasped. It reminded him of the days he worked as a bartender. “Have you become a drunk, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi teased him.

 

“Not yet.” Bokuto chuckled. “We never got to get wasted together in high school. Let’s do that.”

 

“You want to get wasted?” Akaashi was surprised.

 

“Yeah, I want to see you wasted.” The silver snickered.

 

“I knew you were trying to get me drunk the last time I was here.” Akaashi teased him softly. Bokuto ignored him and took out his unopened tequila bottle. Akaashi noted the brand was much more expensive than the one that they had at home and had many more layers. It was only one time Akaashi got to try it, when a gentleman ordered one for himself and asked Akaashi to take a shot with him.

 

“Will you make more Margaritas? You truly make a mean one.” Bokuto grinned at him.                         Akaashi grinned at him. He wasn’t going to say no to this opportunity. He made his way next to him and started preparing.“This is really good tequila.” He praised his taste.

 

“Is it?” Bokuto asked non-chalantly. “A fan gifted it to me.”

 

“Really?” Akaashi blinked. “It’s really expensive.” Akaashi was amused at the fact that Bokuto had just brought a gift back home because a fan gifted it to him, without even trying to look up its price. It was sweet.

 

“I had no idea.” Bokuto kept on smiling. “You’ll taste the difference.” Akaashi said as he poured the drink to the margarita glasses Bokuto pulled out of the cabinet. “Let’s see.” Bokuto raised a brow and tasted the drink Akaashi just prepared. He looked at the drink and blinked a couple times after that. “Wow.” He said. “Makes that much of a difference?” He was surprised.

 

“Of course.” Akaashi laughed. “And the stuff we had home wasn’t bad either. This is just really top shelf.” He murmured. Bokuto took the bottle on his hand and raised it so he could read the label. “Huh…” He seemed surprised. “Take a shot with me?” He half asked half pleaded with Akaashi. It was nice that he recognized there was limits to what he could be doing. But Akaashi liked that Bokuto was relaxed around him. It made him relaxed. And Akaashi, he was never relaxed.

 

“Sure.” He nodded to which Bokuto beamed and grabbed his shot glasses.

 

“Cheers.” Both chimed and drank it on the count of three. The golden liquid smelled notes of caramel, vanilla and dried fruits and burned Akaashi’s throat while it went down, but left a pleasant aftertaste of cooked sweet agave accompanied by hints of chocolate and well seasoned toasted oak. Man… Akaashi thought. That’s fine tequila right there.

“This is really good..” Bokuto looked at him in disbelief. He bit his bottom lip. “Let’s go out on the balcony.” He suggested. Akaashi didn’t mind. He followed him to the balcony, the breathtaking view of Tokyo was right behind their feet. The air crisp and cool, alcohol slowly fueling the fire in their bodies, everything felt perfect in that moment. Bokuto leaned his arms against the railing, his shoulder brushing against Akaashi’s. He stood and just watched the Tokyo Skyline for moment. Another moment of a silence. This time, quiet between them wasn’t heavy; it felt lighter now.

Bokuto let out a deep breath, his voice softer. “You ever think about how things could’ve been different?”

Akaashi glanced at him, not needing to ask what he meant. There were so many ways their lives had taken unexpected turns— just thinking about the car accident, the loss of his parents, the time he was homeless, the time he was a sex worker… If a drunk asshole didn’t decide to drive that day, would he still be playing volleyball today?  The way Bokuto had chosen to walk away all those years ago… If he had seen his message in his junior year, would they even have this conversation. Whatever, happened happened. There was nothing they could do to change it.“I do,” Akaashi replied after a moment. “But I try not to dwell on it.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, nodding slowly. “Doesn’t do much good, right?”

Akaashi hummed in agreement, keeping his eyes on the skyline. Dwelling on what might have been had never helped him. It wouldn’t help now, either. But that didn’t stop the occasional flicker of regret from sneaking in. Bokuto straightened, his tone suddenly lighter. “You know what? I think we need to lighten this mood. Let’s make a pact—no more heavy talk tonight. Deal?”

Akaashi looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Bokuto-san, you were the one who brought it up.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “Well, I’m an idiot.” He held  out his pinky to him. “Come on, No more heavy talk. Just us having a good time. If I do it again, Smack me in the head.”

Akaashi looked at the offered pinky and laughed. “You’re ridiculous.” He said, but took the offering. “Deal.”

“See?” Bokuto laughed as he pulled back. He seemed much more relaxed. “Already feeling better, he beamed at his old best friend. “We would be just like this. Chilling on balconies, talking about life. Me being charming as always.”

Akaashi gave him a deadpan look, though he barely controlled the twitched the smile in his lips. “Charming is not the word I’d use. But sure.”

“Bokuto pouted pretending to be offended. “What? You don’t find me charming?” He asked and pointed himself with his thumb beaming. “Come on, I’m a catch.”

“You are something, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi laughed agreeing him. In this moment, Bokuto was just so sweet. And Akaashi wished he knew how sweet he was sometimes. He was a danger to himself. Bokuto nudged him playfully, and Akaashi felt his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. “I have an honest question.” He said sneering.

“Who do you think is the hottest pro volleyball player?”

“Where on earth did that come from?” Akaashi blinked at him with the sudden shift of the conversation. “Bokuto-san, are you fishing for compliments?” He gave Bokuto a side glance.

“Well. I dunno.” Bokuto laughed. “Maybe.” He admitted guilt-free. Akaashi chuckled softly, shaking his head from left to right. He was relentless. “Okay.” He said. “I’ll bite. Let me think, the hottest pro volleyball player, huh?” Akaashi bit his lips and thought.

Was he supposed to say you, Bokuto-san? Would that be too forward? Asking this question to Akaashi himself felt forward as well. However, he did asked for honesty. Akaashi closed his eyes and visualized the pro volleyball players he knew. There were a lot of good looking fit people playing volleyball. However, when Bokuto said hot… There were a couple who stood forward. Bokuto was an obvious one for Akaashi. He always thought Bokuto was gorgeous. On the other hand, Bokuto’s teammate Atsumu was a treat for the eyes… and Oikawa himself whom they left behind Akaashi’s apartment had features that felt like they were drawn meticulously by someone. He realized he was making Bokuto sweat.

“I don’t know.” He said. “Atsumu, maybe?” The raven hummed and went with the safe choice.

“Atsumu?” Bokuto’s jaw dropped. He clutched his chest as if he’d been stabbed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That jerk? Really?”

“He’s not bad looking. I always thought he had an aura. He can be charismatic.” Akaashi shrugged.

“Not bad-looking? Charismatic?” Bokuto blinked at him. “This is a betrayal on a level I never expected from you, Akaashi.”

“You asked for honesty.” Akaashi raised an eyebrow supressing a laugh. Bokuto was pacing back and forth in the balcony. He finally gulped down his margarita and pointed his finger at him. “You just said that to mess with me. I know it.” He accused the raven. Akaashi was amazed at how offended he was from just one tiny comment. He decided to play along.

“Maybe.” He flashed Bokuto a grin. 

“I knew it.” Bokuto finally breathed and threw his head back, releasing the tension on his neck. “Man… For a moment, I thought you seriously thought Atsumu was better looking than me.” He seemed much better now. Akaashi decided to entertain him a little bit for being a good sport.

“You are definitely in my top three, Bokuto-san.” He mused.

Bokuto jerked slightly, not expecting to hear those words Akaashi’s mouth. “I’ll take that as a win.” He smiled gently. “You can mess with me all you want, but you’ve got good taste.” He admitted and showed Akaashi his empty glass. “I’m in need of more margaritas.” He grinned at him. “Please, Akaashi?”

The raven didn’t mind. He didn’t know whether it was the alcohol buzzing in his veins, but his inhibitions were slowly being lifted. It was the most he enjoyed himself over a long time. “Sure, Bokuto-san.” He said as he picked up the silver’s glass from him. Bokuto followed him to the kitchen like an oversized puppy.

“Where did you learn to make these?” Bokuto asked curiously.

“I worked as a bartender for a while after I had to quit volleyball to be able to afford college.” Akaashi murmured shaking their drinks. “I know other cocktails if you want to try one.”
Bokuto said on the barstool in front of his kitchen island. “Wasn’t that hard?” Bokuto asked softly. “Doing everything all at once.”

“Are you kidding?” Akaashi laughed salting the rims of their glasses. “Of course it was. I was in school all day and working all night. And I was constantly in pain because of my knee. That’s around when I started heroin.” He took a deep breath. “Got expelled when I couldn’t keep up anymore.” The raven turned the glasses and poured the drinks inside. “That’s what led to me being a homeless heroin addict doing porn to support his addiction.” When he was done he pushed the drink on top of the kitchen isle, sending it to Bokuto sitting across in him. The silver, nearly missed it, catching it in the last moment. Pure shock was on his usually carefree face. Akaashi felt blood rushing to his cheeks. Damn it. Alcohol was talking for him. Why was he telling these things to Bokuto anyway?

“S-sorry.” He tried to play it off. “That was too much information.” He put his hand behind his head. “It must be all the tequila we’re—

“I wish you were always this honest.” Bokuto said softly without letting him finish. He didn’t make any other comment. He knew Akaashi well enough not to. He just appreciated the information flow. Bokuto grabbed the remaining tequila and their shot glasses. He put them right on top of the coffee table before the L shaped cloud-soft couch. “Bring the margaritas, will you?” He asked. Akaashi listened obediently and threw himself to the couch. “I know what we need.” Bokuto jumped and hurried off the pantry again. He was holding a box in his hands which said premium brownies.

“No thanks, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi knitted his brows. “I’m not really a fan of overly-sweet things.”

“I know, I know.” Bokuto grinned and opened box. He sat right next to Akaashi, took a brownie out of the box. “Just try it, will you? I promise you it’s insanely good.” He sat right next to Akaashi folding one leg under the other and just leaned in, holding it in front of Akaashi’s mouth. Akaashi glanced at his bright golden eyes for a second. You expect me to eat this from your hand while being completely friendly? For a moment, he wanted to slap his hand away for even attempting this when they were strictly friends… For another, he wanted to lean back and bite the brownie that was offered. He didn’t know whether Bokuto was testing the waters. It was possible to interpret Bokuto both ways almost all the time. Sometimes, it was a little too much.

Akaashi, opted for reasonable route and gave into Bokuto while holding to his terms. He reached for the piece with his hands, but Bokuto pulled back furrowing his brows. “Nah-uh.” He shook his head in a childish manner and raised the piece right in front of his mouth one more time. How can you do these things as if they mean nothing? Exasperated, Akaashi leaned in. He glanced into Bokuto’s eyes while taking the bite and did not cease eye contact. Bokuto was completely caught in his gaze. It didn’t even seem like he was trying to escape. When he pulled away, Bokuto froze momentarily before pulling back his hand. He seemed completely under Akaashi’s spell to which Akaashi barely surpassed his laugh. That’s what you get. He had to give it to Bokuto though, those were damn good brownies.

“When you’re right, you’re right.” Akaashi shrugged nonchalantly. “Delicious.”

“Told you.” Bokuto said warmly. He took his thumb to the corner around Akaashi’s mouth and wiped it. Akaashi could feel the hair on his nape erect unintentionally. Especially when Bokuto absent-mindedly licked his thumb clean. How are you doing this?

“You had something there.” His lips curled into a smile explaining. He took another brownie from the box and stuffed himself this time. “They are so good!” His smile was as bright as a thousand suns. Akaashi felt it inside his chest at that moment. The familiar feeling he had felt when he was in high school whenever he was with Bokuto. The feeling of uncertainty. Bokuto was the uncertainty himself, the unpredictable. His mind constantly worked when he was with the silver. Akaashi was absolutely mesmerized with Bokuto.

Bokuto shifted on the couch, swirling his drink as a devious grin curled at the corners of his mouth. He glanced over at Akaashi with his golden eyes. “You know.” He leaned a little closer. “I never really figured you out in high school.”

Akaashi blinked at a few times before answering. He raised a brow, not sure where Bokuto was going with it. “Figured me out how, exactly?” He asked. Were they thinking the same thing at the same time?

“Well…” Bokuto chuckled warmly. “You were always so… Composed. Even now… I feel like I’m missing half of what’s going on in that head of yours.” Bokuto tapped on his temple.

“I really doubt I’m that complicated, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi smiled back softly as he took a sip from his Margarita.

“Oh, I think you are.” Bokuto’s grin widened. It was obvious alcohol was buzzing in his veins, setting off his inhibitions. “You’ve got layers, Akaashi. You don’t show all your cards. Even with just what you said about not being complicated… Were you being sarcastic, were you being kind? Sometimes you can be both. It’s hard to decode, I don’t really know what you have in your hand.”  He trailed off honestly. Margaritas had loosened his tongue. Akaashi was surprised he was thinking about this, his heart picked up speed slightly. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but didn’t know how successful he was.

“Is that a problem for you, Bokuto-san?” He asked wondering.

“Not a problem Akaashi…” Bokuto waved his hand in the air. “Never a problem. Just curious. I’m dying to know what’s in that head right now.” He pointed at Akaashi’s head.

Akaashi met his gaze, feeling the shift in the air between them. He could sense Bokuto’s playfulness, but there was something else there too—something that made his heart pound just a little harder. He considered deflecting, brushing it off with a joke, but the alcohol was making it harder to resist the subtle pull of the moment.

“Right now?” Akaashi repeated, his voice measured. Bokuto nodded gently sipping his drink.

Akaashi glanced away for a moment, as if the view out of Bokuto’s window of the Tokyo skyline might offer some sort of clarity. But the buzz in his head and the warmth of Bokuto so close made it difficult to think clearly. When he turned back, Bokuto was watching him, eyes slightly hooded fixed to his lips.

“I was thinking how oblivious you could be sometimes, and that you were too sweet.”

“Oblivious?” Bokuto blinked. “Oblivious, how?”

“That’s exactly my point, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi laughed heartily, not elaborating his answer.

“Fair enough.” Bokuto accepted defeat. There was a beat of silence. Bokuto must have realized the air between them was getting thick with the tension that was building again. “Let’s play a drinking game.” He suggested.

“That sounds dangerous.” Akaashi shook his head without even giving it much thought. He had less and less control over how much he wanted to reveal, that was not like himself.

“KASHI, look at you!” Bokuto cried out. “You are the danger!”

Realizing, Bokuto was pointing out how much he had changed, Akaashi broke out in laughter. This was the guy who contacted him after 10 years because he’d stumbled upon Akaashi’s porn online. It made sense… Of course he’s curious. He didn’t know why, but he felt more at ease after that. He didn’t have to be perfect. Bokuto had already seen one of the worst things he’d done, and he was sitting right before him. Maybe it was okay to be himself. Or maybe it was the alcohol talking. At that moment, Akaashi didn’t know. All he knew was Bokuto was genuine. He wanted to be the same. “Alright. What are we playing?”

“Truth or drink.” Bokuto suggested. “It’s really simple. I ask you a question, any question really… And if you don’t want to answer you drink. I can’t ask the same question again. Then it’s your turn. But you know, don’t make it boring… Try to make me drink. I sure damn will.” Bokuto grinned and filled their tequila glasses. “Alright, you can go first.” He told Akaashi excitedly. “Shoot.”

Akaashi tried to think of a question first. He wasn’t really sure what to ask. Bokuto said, he could ask anything, right? He decided to start with a volleyball question and follow Bokuto’s lead.

“Who’s your favorite setter to work with? Tooru or Atsumu? Or maybe Kageyama? Akaashi asked circling his ring finger on the rim of the margarita glass.

“Jeez, Akaashi… That’s your question?” Bokuto asked sounding half disappointed. “Well, the answer isn’t any of them. It’s you of course. Who else would it be?” Bokuto blurted out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Bokuto-san, I’ve never played in a professional setting and they are much more talented than me…”

“Well, I call bullshit to that.” Bokuto rolled his eyes. “It’s hard work, Akaashi which you’re capable of. You’re smarter than any of them. You had the most potential to be the greatest. You were unfortunately the most humble. I don’t mean to dwell on the past and upset you, but when you were playing it was hard to take my eyes off of you.” He answered honestly.

Akaashi didn’t know he could feel these feelings anymore. A sudden warmth filled him to the core. How could he be so sure about everything? How could he not even doubt him one bit? The way Bokuto talked about himself… The way Bokuto believed himself… Akaashi desperately needed that in his life. “Thank you.” He was able to spit out of his mouth. “You really are one of a kind Bokuto-san.” He patted the latter on the knee. He wanted to dissipate the tension in the air though.

“Except for me then? In a professional setting.” He repeated his question curiously.

“I don’t know.” Bokuto exhaled taking a sip of his margarita. “Kageyama can be really robotic sometimes, it’s hard to get along. I love Tooru, but he’s a total slave-driver. He’s really disciplined and can be scary. Atsumu sends easy sets, but can be hard to unpredictable in the court and borderline weird.” He scratched his chin. “I guess, I’d still say Tooru… he’s hard on me and everyone else. But he keeps us grounded. He is dependable, and when in the court we know he’s not going to mess up.”

“That’s a good answer.” Akaashi smiled taking a sip of his margarita as well feeling satisfied.

“Now you’ll see a good one.” Bokuto giggled childishly. “What’s the worst thing you’ve done on a date?” He asked the raven. Akaashi exhaled and gave it a little thought. Worst thing I’ve done… He hadn’t done anything malicious or rude to anyone on the surface. He had always been perfectly kind whenever he went on a date with someone. There was something that was gnawing at his conscience still. There was a period where he would go out with anyone with a little bit of silver hair, just because he was missing Bokuto. He didn’t even know why he did it himself. Maybe because he wasn’t getting any attention from Bokuto anymore, he wanted to find it from a knock off. Of course they never led anywhere, because they weren’t Bokuto and Akaashi wasn’t fair to them. He hesitated on whether telling him or taking the shot. Considering, Bokuto would get harder on him if he stayed silent he decided to be honest.

“I went out with someone just because they were reminding me of someone else.” Akaashi explained simply, escaping his gaze.

“Really?” Bokuto sounded surprised. “What happened?”

“It didn’t go anywhere, obviously. I wasn’t fair to them. It was selfish.” Akaashi sighed. “I’m not proud of it.”

“I’ve done things I wasn’t proud of either.” Bokuto shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just life.” He murmured. This time it was him who was patting Akaashi’s knee. “Your turn.” He said softly. Akaashi took a deep breath. Maybe it would be more fun if he made less calculations. He decided to go with the first thing that came to his mind from now on.

“Alright.” He grinned at the silver. “What’s the weirdest thing someone told you in bed?”

“OH!” Bokuto nearly jumped. “I have one that stuck with me.” He said and sipped his margarita. “Someone told me, I looked like I could benchpress them.”

“What?” Akaashi broke out in laughter. “Well, could you?” He raised a brow at the silver.

“Obviously, Akaashi.” Bokuto pushed the short sleeve of his t-shirt to the brim of his shoulder and flexed his muscles for display. How can obviously be such an understatement? He left Akaashi thinking to himself.

“Do you have something that’s totally normal to other’s and maybe  unconventional but you’re attracted to it anyways?” Bokuto looked into his eyes.

“Are you asking me if I have a fetish?” Akaashi grinned at him.

“Not necessarily.” Bokuto clarified looking at the ceiling he was knitting his silvery brows. “Just something that turns you on except for seeing someone naked.”

“I would say exposed thighs.” Akaashi said without even thinking. “Something about muscular thighs drive me insane.” He admitted guilt free. It was the truth. Akaashi liked nice legs on his men and women… Something about grabbing them, splitting them open and being between two of them was exhilarating. Bokuto’s eyes grew. “AKAASHI!” He laughed as he pulled his legs to his body and hugging them. “Should I be concerned about my thighs around you now?” The silver asked jokingly.

“I’m not an animal, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi grinned back. “But yeah, you do have nice thighs.” He decided to give Bokuto a taste of his own medicine. Oblivious flirting. He liked the idea. To be able to pull back if things don’t go his way. It was safe. After all, Bokuto was a star. It was stupid to think he was interested in Akaashi when Bokuto had been like this his whole life. Just sweet. Sweet enough that you want to taste it sometimes. Bokuto’s cheeks were getting flushed. “I like the drunk Akaashi.” He mused to himself, waiting for Akaashi’s question.

“What’s something you’ve never told me?” Akaashi asked him. It sounded like a simple question, but it was not. Akaashi knew everything there was about the old Bokuto, and for the new one he only knew the things Bokuto revealed yet. Bokuto must have realized that as well.

“Huh…” He took a deep breath as he escaped Akaashi’s eyes. “You wouldn’t want me to tell you.” He bit his lips.

“But that doesn’t matter, does it? What I want…” Akaashi replied. “It’s about what you want.”

For some reason, the air between them was getting thick and heavy. Bokuto reached in for his tequila shot. “Cheers.” He said as he gulped down the golden liquid. Really? Now, Akaashi was curious. He rose a brow, but didn’t say anything else. That would be against the rules. Bokuto knitted his brows for a second. He seemed hesitant whether to ask the question or not and Akaashi wanted to encourage him.

“You can ask me, Bokuto-san. Answering part is up to me. Right?” He gave an encouraging nudge to the silver who returned a warm smile.

“Did you have any idea I was gay in high school?” Bokuto asked hesitantly. “Like, Tooru used to tell me he knew before Iwa… You were so much more smarter than me… So I was wondering… before I knew… Did you know?”

That was indeed a question. It wasn’t something Akaashi would be afraid to answer, but it also did not have a clear cut answer. Their relationship wasn’t like Oikawa and Iwaizumi. In high school, Akaashi himself wasn’t exactly sure of his sexuality either. He stared into Bokuto’s golden orbs and took a moment. There were times, he thought whether it was normal for two straight boys to do the things Bokuto and he did… Like… How Bokuto would sometimes sleep on Akaashi’s lap when he was doing homework. Or… How they shared the bed together and Bokuto would sometimes cuddle on his chest… Maybe he knew it wasn’t totally normal back then, but they were just being themselves so it never bothered him. Similarly, Akaashi remembered catching Bokuto look at boys when they were changing in the locker room, but it wasn’t enough to make a case.

“There were times I thought, huh… Maybe.” He admitted to Bokuto. “But then again, I wasn’t even sure of my own sexuality back then. Sometimes I thought, maybe Bokuto-san is interested in boys… Especially when you wanted to cuddle on my chest or when I caught you looking at the guys in the locker room. But I didn’t think it was enough to make it a case. I thought we were just being us.” The raven shrugged at the end. Bokuto looked horrified with his answer though.

“I used to do that, right?” He gulped audibly. “The cuddling thing.” His face was completely dyed to scarlet now. “I’m sorry, I had no idea how creepy that was. You must have felt violated and —“

“It was not creepy.” Akaashi cut him off. “It never bothered me. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to, Bokuto-san.  Like I said, I always thought we were just being ourselves and there was nothing wrong with that. We were young.”

“Damn, you were always so mature.” Bokuto had a pained expression on his face. “I had no idea you caught me looking at boys.”

“Well, like I said. You are a little oblivious Bokuto-san. Subtlety was never your strong suit.”

Bokuto laughed this time, the sound was warm and full. “Alright, your turn.”

“Ever hooked up with a fan?” Akaashi asked raising a brow. He wondered the lines Bokuto dared to cross.

“Nah…” Bokuto shook his head left to right. “Not my thing at all. The power dynamics is all weird.” He leaned towards the table and stuffed another brownie in his mouth. “Good question.” He flashed Akaashi a chocolatey grin. Bokuto glanced at Akaashi’s icy blue eyes for a moment.

“Ever been in love?” He asked gently, almost in a whisper. Akaashi felt goosebumps everywhere. His neck, his arms, his thighs. Why did this question feel so intimate when it sounded so innocent? His mood deflated a little bit. He really didn’t expect Bokuto to ask himself such a serious question. Their eyes were locked in each other. Akaashi was the first one to break the gaze. “Bokuto-san…” He tried to deflect. “I thought you wanted to have a fun game. You ask vexing questions.” He said and reached for his tequila shot for the first time.

“Really?” Bokuto blinked at him finding it hard to understand as Akaashi forced the shot down his throat. “You’re taking the shot now?” Bokuto gaped at him as he laughed. Akaashi shrugged. He didn’t need to explain his reasons. That was the beauty of the game.  “Alright, sorry.” Bokuto took a breath and grinned. “I’ll try again, and make it light-hearted this time. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”

“Give me your worst shot.” Akaashi dared at him grinning.

“What’s the most awkward thing that happened to you during sex?” He asked Akaashi with a devious grin forming on his face. Akaashi knew the exact moment too well, he didn’t even have to think.

“I got peed on once.” He said. “And no, it was not agreed upon.”

“W-what?” Bokuto blinked roaring with laughter. “You’re full of surprises tonight. How did that happen?”

“Everything was going normally and then she started to get louder. I took that as a positive sign and kept at it, but in hindsight she couldn’t communicate anymore. She had a really intense orgasm, lost control and well… It was like what you see in porn. There was pee all over me, her and the bed… We were both in shock. She was really apologetic about it.”

“Wait, are you telling me, you rocked her world so hard she couldn’t hold it together?” Bokuto said with a huge grin on his face. His dramatic summary made Akaashi cringe; it sounded like he was hyping himself up in a way that felt embarrassingly over the top.…

“No, what I mean—

“Be careful there, stud.” Bokuto laughed as he patted Akaashi’s back. “That’s some story.” He smacked his lips together. “Since you answered, I’m letting you off the hook. It’s a judgement free zone here. Ask me your question.”

Interesting… Bokuto was playing this game in a mild pace. He was asking Akaashi questions that he’d otherwise never reveal about himself… He knew where to stop and when to push. You’ve really matured. In all ways, it was impressive. Akaashi was feeling much hotter than they started. He didn’t know whether it was the spicy talk, the alcohol or both.

“Ever…”Akaashi gulped glancing Bokuto from the side. Since the last question became about performance, he wanted to keep at it. “Ever… had someone not keep up with you?”

Bokuto paused a moment and never broke his gaze. “What do you think?” He asked Akaashi raising a brow in a flirtatitous manner.

“I’m thinking, that’s not an answer.” Akaashi beamed at him not entertaining the silver.

“You’re no fun.” Bokuto rolled his eyes. “I have.” He said shamelessly. “More than once.”  He looked at Akaashi.

Bokuto lounged back, watching Akaashi with a grin that grew lazier as the alcohol settled deeper. His knee pressed casually against Akaashi’s, but he acted as if he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and kept at it. Either way, the buzz of their margaritas and tequila shots were making everything easier—bold, even.

“Tell me about your wildest time.” The silver murmured. Akaashi blinked, his heart giving a small jolt. He wasn’t surprised by the question—it was Bokuto, after all—but the casual boldness made his pulse quicken. He took a slow sip from his glass, letting the silence stretch just enough to irritate Bokuto.

“Define wild.” He said at the end. Bokuto already knew personal things about himself that a lot of people didn’t know. What did he try to get out of here?

“Well, I already know you had threesomes from the time you’ve done porn. I mean, you told me so. But was that the craziest thing? I doubt the craziest thing would be on screen.” He was talking to himself not realizing how much he was making Akaashi blush. He already answered a lot of questions today. Akaashi thought, it would be fair if he avoided this one.

“Not answering that,” Akaashi replied smoothly as he took the tequila shot, keeping his expression neutral despite the heat crawling up his neck.

Bokuto groaned, slumping dramatically into the couch. “Why not? Oh come on Akaashi, I bet you’ve got some stories.”

Akaashi gave him a sideways glance. “You’re fishing again Bokuto-san.”

“And you’re dodging,” Bokuto shot back, a grin splitting his face. “Come on! Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ve got to give me something. I left you alone with the one I thought was personal.”

Akaashi sighed. “I already took a shot.” He said. “If you want me to tell you, you have to take two shots now. It’s a penalty.”

“Gladly.” Bokuto took a shot immediately, and filled his glass another time. He gulped down the second shot in seconds like a good sport. Akaashi side glanced at him once more.

“I’ve tried DVP.”

“DVP?” Bokuto repeated. “I’ve never heard about that. What is it?”

“Well, I’m not telling you that. Google it.” Akaashi felt blood rush to his cheeks. How was he supposed to say those out loud? How crude would they be? Would Bokuto be grossed out? His heart was pounding in his chest. Bokuto listened to him and took his phone out, carefully typing the abbreviation. Bokuto started reading a few explanations and looked at Akaashi again with eyes widened. “Nah…You’re fucking with me.” He said blinking rapidly. Akaashi sighed. He didn’t know what to say. Bokuto looked at his phone one more time and turned his eyes to Akaashi.

“You fucked a girl in the pussy with another dude?..” Bokuto was trying to understand.

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi sighed, but Bokuto waved his hands in the air. “I am genuinely curious on what led to it and how it works. I’ve never heard of something like that before. I mean, I’m gay, I haven’t thought of vaginas in years, but it even sounds hot to me. You truly are remarkable.” He said making Akaashi laugh. He felt more relaxed now.

“I don’t know what led to it, honestly. Three horny intoxicated college students, maybe?” Akaashi shrugged. “But it turned out to be an extremely sensual experience. It only works in one position, really. Maybe because I’m bi, it felt even better for me. I was feeling her, and him at the same time. To this day, I don’t know if the feeling itself was good, or it was the moment, or just the idea of it… We kind of synched with each other and finished at the same time which felt really hot to me at the time. It was messy.”

“I had a feeling you were wild.” Bokuto grinned. “But never imagined this much. That’s actually very impressive.” He murmured. “That goes into my bucket list.” Akaashi stared into his golden eyes with his icy blue orbs.

“What about you then? What was your wildest experience?” He asked wondering. If he revealed something embarrassing about himself, it was only fair Bokuto would too. “Me?” Bokuto was taken aback. “I think I’m actually pretty vanilla compared to you… I haven’t got to explore that much.” He scratched the back of his head. “Although there was this guy, who was into putting objects into his cock. At first I was totally weirded out, but he assured me it was okay and that it didn’t hurt… And well, then he showed me how he did it and asked me to fuck him that way.” Bokuto’s cheeks were getting scarlet.

“He had a really good time. It was kinky, but it really turned me on. Especially when he came with the rod still inside his cock. It was a view.” Bokuto took a deep breath. “I mean, I wish I could be more like him, I guess. But yeah, for me usually no objects or anything else… Just your normal sex…”

“What do you mean no objects?” Akaashi blinked. “How do you do anal play then?” Words came out of his mouth before he even realized he was asking for a lot of information. He couldn’t help it. Bokuto looked surprised with his sudden outburst and a little embarrassed on the side.

“Sorry, Bokuto-san…” Akaashi tried to smooth it out. “I spoke without thinking. You don’t have to answer that. I just never heard of a gay man without toys, so I was curious…” His voice got smaller at the end. The moment words left his mouth, Akaashi knew he wasn’t making anything better. Why am I still talking? He wanted to hit his head against a wall.

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s actually quite comforting seeing you slip up.” Bokuto laughed after a silence between them. “You’re usually so in control of your thoughts.”

“We’re drinking.” Akaashi sighed shaking his head. “I should have been more careful.”

“You’re fine. Don’t get all nervous now. We’re having fun.” Bokuto patted on his back and handed him a brownie as a peace offering. Akaashi accepted the brownie and stuffed his mouth. It was actually a quite nice palate cleanser after the shots. He was already feeling better, Bokuto on the other hand was squirming in his spot. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. Akaashi wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to probe, and he opted for waiting. The silver took his time to spit out.

“To answer your question… I guess I just don’t.” He smiled awkwardly. “I’m a top…”

For a moment, Akaashi didn’t know what he was going to say. He had seen a couple gay guys who said they were strictly topping before as if bottoming was shameful itself. He didn’t think Bokuto would be one to do that, especially after discovering his identity under the circumstances he had. “Huh…” A surprised sound escaped his lips. That was enough to make Bokuto nervous enough to wonder whether he said something wrong.

“I…” He said and knitted his brows. It seemed like he was carefully trying to select his words. “I thought you were a top too, since you’re bisexual… Why were you surprised?”

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi said softly and took a brief pause. He didn’t know whether Bokuto still had some lingering shame from being raised in such a traditional household. “You do know… Topping and bottoming are acts, not identities. Right?” He tried to ask as gently as he could. Who knew Bokuto’s idea of a drinking game would lead to discussion about a heteronormativity in queer relationships? When Bokuto stared at him head on like a deer in the lights, Akaashi tried to clarify it with an example of himself.

“I’m neither a top or a bottom.” He said. “Those are acts I choose to do when I’m having sex. Those are not my identity, they don’t define me. I’m a bisexual man. I like both men and women. A hole is a hole… And how to explore that hole is completely up to you… It doesn’t matter whether you’re a man or a woman… Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah…” Bokuto scratched his head. “I didn’t know it could be like that… I just… I don’t know I always…” He took a deep breath. “I mean, no one ever really asks.”

“It might be your body language, maybe dominating?.” Akaashi thought out loud. “But what I meant is… You really haven’t thought about bottoming? Ever?” His voice turned into a whisper dying the cheeks of his silver headed friend in a dark shade of crimson.

“There were times, I did… A lot… But It never really happened… I was too nervous, I guess… And now I don’t even know how that’s pleasurable even…” He confessed, just barely. Bokuto was always full of confidence… Hearing this kind of vulnerability helped Akaashi see the silver in a new light he haven’t looked before. It was unexpected but welcome.

“That’s why we have toys.” Akaashi’s lips curled into an encouraging smile which couldn’t hide his amusement. “I mean, you can both use them at your pace and discover what you like and they are fun to collaborate as well. And good thing about them is, you don’t have to be nervous about them. There is no rush. It’s important to get to know yourself and your body comfortably.”

“Wow, Akaashi… You are so knowledgeable in this.” Bokuto escaped his eyes. There was brief pause and Bokuto glanced at him from the side once more, a small spark of hope in his golden eyes.

“Would you help me?”

“What?” Akaashi nearly choked on the margarita he was sipping. As he tilted upwards Bokuto tried to fix what he just said…

“I mean… You seem knowledgeable… So… Just to get the toys and stuff… I’ve got no idea where to go or what to look for even…”

“Bokuto-san, you’re not asking me to go to a sex shop with you.” Akaashi said in complete disbelief. He couldn’t even believe what he was hearing. What am I going to do? Just choose your toys? How do you expect me not to visualize this? His heart picked up a pace. The thought was dirty yet innocent.  The line between friendship and romance was getting blurry. Bokuto-san always did this… Right? Akaashi mused. Even in high school, when they were platonic friends, sometimes Akaashi thought whether there could be more.

“Oh… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry.” Bokuto apologized now grief written through his face.

“I’m not uncomfortable, I just think it will be weird since we’re friends.” Akaashi sighed.

“It would only be weird, if we make it weird.” Bokuto shrugged not even understanding an ounce of the things Akaashi had been thinking. In the end, the raven gave in.

“You really want me to guide you through all of this?” He asked to make sure, because once they got there they wouldn’t be able to take it back.

“Yes! I trust you, and you’ve got far more experience with it than I have.”

Akaashi shook his head as he laughed nervously. “This really wasn’t my idea of a fun night, when you invited me.”

“Come on!” Bokuto pleaded, practically bouncing on the couch. “It’ll be fun! We’ll just go check out some stuff, you can give me advice, and… who knows? Maybe I’ll learn something new.”

Akaashi stared at him for a long moment, clearly debating whether to give in or not. The combination of Bokuto’s infectious enthusiasm and the alcohol was making it harder to refuse. Eventually, Akaashi sighed, shaking his head.

Akaashi muttered. “Fine. I’ll help.”

Bokuto lit up, jumping to his feet. “Yes! This is gonna be great!” He grabbed Akaashi’s arm and pulled him on his feet too. “Now?” Akaashi was taken aback. “You want to go now?”

“Why wait?” Bokuto shrugged. “You’re relentless.”Akaashi groaned softly but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as he got up from the couch. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Notes:

I've been literally in the kink communities thinking, ok... What should his wildest experience be as a former porn star lol... It has been weird guys, kinda learned things I wish to forget lol, no shaming intended though. Anyways... that's how I settled on DVP, if I scarred you for life, sorry about that! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 11: The Cascade Beneath Neon

Notes:

Forgot to mention when I posted, this chapter includes a lot of smut details esp in the beginning. If you’re uncomfortable you might wanna skip to the middle.

“You know… I’ve never been to this part of Roppongi before. It’s so lively here.” Bokuto said looking around. “I heard there are some wild places.” He was talking fast his voice filled with excitement. The air was buzzing with people’s voices. Neon lights surrounded them.

“You could say that.” Akaashi replied as he led Bokuto into a dimly lit back street. Too sweet… He thought. You’re too sweet. Sex shops were usually not in the main street to be discreet, however the gaudy displays gave them away quickly. When they arrived, Bokuto paused for a moment at the entrance, eyes widening at the display of neon lights and suggestive advertisements.

“This… this is where we’re going?” Bokuto asked, his voice suddenly quieter. Akaashi was amused. He told Bokuto that it’d be weird but it seemed it was only dawning upon the silver.

“What? You’re getting shy now?” He teased Bokuto. “We can always go back.”

“No, I want to go in!” Bokuto puffed out his chest and shook his head. “Let’s do this.”

The dimly lit space inside was separated with aisles and sections and crammed with sex toys. They could see rows and rows of brightly colored toys, ranging from tame to absolutely wild. Bokuto’s eyes went wide as he took in the sight.

“Whoa…” He looked around. “This place is… Something else…”

“You’re like a kid in a candy store.” Akaashi laughed as he led Bokuto towards the anal section. “I know it can be a bit overwhelming at first.” He said and started looking around for beginner toys. Bokuto scratched the back of his head, clearly out of his element. “I wasn’t expecting there to be this much stuff.” He leaned closer to Akaashi, as if the shelves were listening. “So, what exactly do I get?”

Akaashi smiled slightly at Bokuto’s hesitation. “Well, if you're just starting, you’ll want to keep it simple. You don’t need anything too… advanced. Maybe Anal beads and butt plugs.”

Bokuto furrowed his brows as Akaashi started pointing out some options, explaining them with calm, expert precision. “You might want to start with something like this,” Akaashi said, holding up a small set of basic anal beads. “Nothing too large. Work your way up.” He reached up and handed it to Bokuto, who looked at it like it was some kind of alien artifact.

“Anal beads.” Bokuto read the packaging and looked back at Akaashi. “How do you… y’know use them?”

“Patiently with plenty of lube.” Akaashi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Has Bokuto never seen porn either? Nonetheless, he wasn’t judgmental. “They are pretty straight forward. They add intensity to your orgasm. You insert them before and pull them out during, or… You know, just before…”

Bokuto’s eyes flicked between Akaashi and the box in his hand. “Huh. I didn’t know that.” He blinked at him. “Like even when you’re just by yourself?” He asked innocently. Akaashi had not expected this to turn into a sex education lesson, but here they were. “Men have prostates, Bokuto-san, and it’s pleasurable to stimulate the prostate. You can only do that through anal play… So yeah, even if it’s just you, you can try and see how you like them, or the pace you like.” Akaashi explained as clearly as he could.

“Have you used these before?” Bokuto blurted out, managing to dye Akaashi’s cheeks red.

“I’m not going to answer personal questions, Bokuto-san.” He said trying to draw a line.  Fuck… He breathed through his nose… What am I even doing here?

“Right… Sorry, I didn’t realize.” He quickly placed the box in his shopping basket and avoided eye contact. “Okay, uh… what about those?” he asked as he changed the subject, pointing toward the display of butt plugs on the next shelf.

“Butt plugs are a good option if you’re looking to get comfortable with the feeling and stimulation. Start small, work your way up.” Akaashi explained calmly once again and was surprised how he turned back to normal at an instant himself.

Bokuto scanned the various sizes and colors. His hand hovered over a medium-sized plug, but Akaashi gave a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“That’s too big for a beginner,” Akaashi said, reaching for a much smaller one. “This is more your speed for now. Trust me.”

Bokuto took the plug from Akaashi, his face still tinged with embarrassment. “This is so weird,” he muttered, looking at the item in his hand.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird, Bokuto-san. Didn’t you say so?” Akaashi said coolly, his calm demeanor making it seem like they were shopping for groceries rather than sex toys.

“I know. You were right.” Bokuto laughed heartily this time. “But I’m still glad we’re doing it. I had no experience and you really know all about this stuff.”

Akaashi shrugged, nonchalant. “You pick things up over time.”

After a few more minutes of browsing, Bokuto had gathered a modest collection of toys—small enough to not feel overwhelming, but enough to satisfy his curiosity. They approached the counter, and the cashier rang up their items with a neutral expression, though Bokuto’s ears were burning with embarrassment.

“Do you think people will recognize me?” Bokuto whispered urgently as the cashier bagged their purchases.

Akaashi snickered. “Not unless you announce your name. You’re fine.”

Once they left the shop, Bokuto exhaled loudly, clutching the bag like it contained something far more illicit than a few toys. “Well, that was… interesting.”

“See? It wasn’t that bad,” Akaashi said, amused by how flustered Bokuto still seemed.

“I don’t know how you’re so calm about all this. You’re so manly.” Bokuto mumbled, glancing at Akaashi with a mix of admiration and disbelief. Stepping back out into the night air, Bokuto took a deep breath. “I feel like I just learned more in an hour than I ever did in school.”

Akaashi snorted softly. “It’s a very different kind of education, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto chuckled, glancing around. “Alright, what’s next? I’m not ready to head back just yet.”

Akaashi considered for a moment. He wasn’t typically one to indulge in long, drawn-out nights, but something about Bokuto’s infectious energy and the way they’d been reconnecting made him soften.

“You want to keep going?” He still asked half hoping this was enough to satisfy Bokuto. He knew himself Roppongi was interesting. And now, Bokuto was in a territory he had never been before. One which Akaashi was unfortunately familiar.

“Of course!” Bokuto grinned, his energy seemingly boundless as they walked back to the main street. He looked around again, his eyes landing on a bar across, lit up with neon lights. “What about that place? It looks interesting.”

Akaashi followed his gaze, his stomach twisting slightly when he saw the sign. “Bokuto-san…That’s… a boys bar.”

Bokuto blinked, curiosity lighting up his face. “A boys bar? What do you mean? Only boys can enter?”

“No.” Akaashi sighed shaking his head to the sides. “A bar where bartenders talk to you and you pay for their company. It’s not like the one’s where there is someone sitting personally with you, you don’t need to pay for their orders or anything… But you pay for a certain service still. Hence the prices are much more expensive than your regular bar.”

“You mean… like where the bartenders talk to you like they know you in a sexual way and stuff?” His eyes widened.

Akaashi nodded, his expression cautious. “Yes and no. It doesn’t have to be sexual either. All kinds of people go. You pay for company and talk. Sometimes more than that.” Akaashi’s chest tightened as the familiar weight of past memories settled on top of his shoulders.

“I used to work in a place just like this…” he admitted.

“Wait… So the place you bartended—“ Bokuto made the connection, his golden eyes were hazy now with the big revelation.

“Yeah.” Akaashi didn’t let him finish. “It was after the accident. I was looking for a regular job, but someone referred me as I look a certain way. It’s not as crazy as it sounds. It paid well.”

Bokuto stared at him for a long moment, his excitement dimmed now. “I didn’t know that.” he said quietly. “That must’ve been… tough.”

Akaashi shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It was a job I learned a lot from.” He said softly. “Like, not to be judgmental and that sex work is work, you just use your body instead of your mind.”

“Sports is like that too…” Bokuto murmured. “I don’t have a desk job like you where I use my mind all day. I use my body to get paid as well. And I know you can only do it a certain number of years.”

“I agree, it is similar in that sense.” Akaashi nodded. “Nonetheless, sex work is much more mentally taxing and much less respectable.” He smiled faintly. Bokuto noticed the tone of Akaashi’s voice. “Hey… Let’s go back…” He murmured but Akaashi hesitated, the memories of past swirling in his mind. It felt like reopening a part of his life he hadn’t wanted to show Bokuto. But seeing Bokuto’s excitement, his genuine curiosity, and his non-judgmental attitude… He didn’t want to deny him the experience if he really wanted to see it. If they were going to continue drinking, it might as well be here. It didn’t matter if they went home or somewhere familiar from Akaashi’s past. It was just a place to drink after their… shopping experience.

“There’s nothing wrong with exploring it,” Akaashi finally said, though his voice carried a hint of something else—something a little more personal. “We can go.”

“Are you sure?” Bokuto’s eyes widened. “Like, absolutely sure?” He asked Akaashi sweetly to which the raven nodded and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

With Bokuto’s enthusiasm urging them forward, they made their way through the boys bar across the street. The entrance was quite sleek and unassuming. The sign above the door gave no real indication of what lay inside, but Akaashi knew what lay behind well. “Here we are.” Akaashi pushed the door open.Bokuto looked around, clearly mesmerized by the unfamiliar environment.

Inside, the atmosphere was intimate, with low lighting, plush seating, and an air of quiet sophistication. The dim lights cast a soft glow over the sleek counters.The good looking bartenders moved frequently, flirting casually with the customers. Bokuto’s eyes were wide, taking everything in like a kid in a theme park.

“Do you want to sit directly at the bar? That’s the place with the most action. Otherwise you won't get much conversation.”

“Can we observe from a table first?” Bokuto asked. It must have been overwhelming which Akaashi understood. Still, it was quite a show for someone coming in for the first time. They found seats at a table across the bar where  the atmosphere around them warm and intimate enough to observe and enjoy but calm enough to be left alone. Bokuto glanced around, his curiosity still burning bright.

“This place is incredible,” Bokuto whispered. 

Akaashi nodded, his calm demeanor unchanged. “Yeah, it’s definitely… unique.”

Soon a waiter was at their side, offering drinks and a charming smile. “What can I get you two gentleman? If you sit at the bar, I would love to talk to you.” He tried to direct them to the bar where he was thinking he could get them to order more drinks. “Maybe later.” Akaashi smiled politely and ordered a beer.  Bokuto, still a little wide-eyed from the entire experience, just muttered the same and stared at their waiter the entire time.

“They are really forward!” He leaned into Akaashi and whispered as if he heard something scandalous.

“It’s how they make money, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi laughed.

As they settled into their seats after the waiter came back with their drinks, the night stretched on, and Bokuto’s fascination only grew. They drank, they laughed, and with each passing moment, the line between teasing banter and something more grew thinner. Bokuto’s knee pressed against Akaashi’s under the table, and Akaashi didn’t move it away. He didn’t want to. No… He wanted to just press it further… Reach out. Have fun. Live a little.

Right then, out of nowhere bells started ringing, and Akaashi lost his train of thought. A swarm of handsome guys rushed to the front from the back of the bar, “What’s happening?” Bokuto blinked completely unaware of what was going on. Akaashi realized almost immediately, it was too familiar once again. It was not something he had personally done, but he had watched a lot of guys do it before.

“It’s apparently the boys hour.” He let Bokuto know. “They’ll strip and pole dance.”

“No way.” Bokuto blinked at him, but it became apparent when the first one jumped on the pole with the announcement of his name. Akaashi looked at the dancer on the pole and felt shudders in his spine. “Terushima…” He recognized the dancer. They used to be colleagues bartending together. Terushima had always been one of the wildest people he knew, he always got the highest tips. And He was just… Gorgeous. He was not into stripping when they parted ways.

The dim lights of the back area shifted as Terushima took the pole at the center, a focused spotlight highlighting his form. He started with a sly grin, his eyes flashing with confidence as he unbuttoned his shirt, each movement slow and deliberate, calculated to draw every eye in the room. The music pulsed with a steady, hypnotic beat, and Terushima let it guide his pace, peeling off his shirt to reveal toned muscles that glowed under the dim lighting.

Bokuto’s eyes were wide, both amazed and slightly bewildered, as Terushima dropped the shirt to the floor. He turned and gave a girl in the audience a wink and placed a hand on the pole, his other hand running through his hair as he cast a smoldering gaze over the audience. He began slowly, letting the beat guide him as he curled his body around the pole, displaying the practiced elegance and control of each move. His form was fluid, every muscle working in graceful harmony as he spun, rolled, and slid with practiced finesse, eyes scanning the crowd with a knowing, almost predatory look.

Bokuto was transfixed, unable to look away as Terushima hoisted himself up the pole, extending one leg out in a perfect horizontal line, his body arching gracefully. The crowd cheered, and even Akaashi, found his gaze drawn to Terushima’s effortless control.

After a final, dramatic spin, he dropped from the pole with a twist, landing on the stage in a flourish. He flashed a grin, then took a slow lap around the audience, accepting cheers and tips with a teasing smirk. As he approached the back of the room, his eyes caught Akaashi and Bokuto. Terushima’s face lit up with recognition, and he made his way over.

“Akaashi?” Terushima’s eyes lit up with recognition, a teasing smile curling on his lips. “Long time no see, stranger.”

Akaashi swallowed, trying to keep his cool. “Hi Yuji” Akaashi greeted him back with his first name. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” He wasn’t working at this bar when Akaashi left.

Terushima chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Well, yeah things change. I’ve moved into… different areas, as you can see.” He winked playfully. “It’s been a while. I heard you’ve been busy.”

Bokuto, sitting next to Akaashi, looked between them, his curiosity piqued. “Wait… you guys know each other?”

Akaashi nodded, his voice carefully neutral. “Yeah. We worked together.”

Terushima grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, the stories I could tell about Akaashi…”

Akaashi shot him a warning look, but the Terushima only laughed. “Relax. I won’t embarrass you in front of your friend.”

Bokuto, however, wasn’t letting it go. Stories about Akaashi’s past was just something Bokuto loved hearing. “Hey, I’m all for stories! And I could use a good distraction. Shows are so heated here. You were really impressive.”

Terushima’s grin widened. “Well, if you’re looking for a distraction…” He gestured toward himself, turning Bokuto’s face back from the pole where another dancer was performing to his handsome face. “I could set you up with a lap dance. How about that?”

“Oh come on, Yuuji.” Akaashi rolled his eyes at his old friend’s cheap tactic. Terushima chuckled. “I couldn’t help it.” He looked between the two, one brow raised. “I had no idea Akaashi would come let alone bring someone this interesting.” He was a smooth talker. Akaashi’s expression remained calm, though he could feel the warmth rising in his face. He tried not to say anything and reveal his changing demeanor. “Well,” Terushima winked, “I’ll go around a bit, then come back… I think he can tell me himself when I’m back.” With a last knowing smile, Terushima drifted back into the crowd, leaving Bokuto looking both thrilled and slightly overwhelmed, and Akaashi with a feeling he couldn’t quite place.

“That was intense.” Bokuto was completely red. “Is he serious about that stuff or was he just joking? Is he really coming back? What am I supposed to say? I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

Akaashi tried to maintain his demeanor. “He will.” He said calmly yet a storm has gathered at the web of his heart. “It’s just part of the job, Bokuto-san. You’re not going to be disrespectful to him.”

Bokuto’s eyes lit up, and he turned to Akaashi with a look of giddy excitement. “What do you think, Akaashi? Should I go for it?”

Akaashi felt like someone was clutching his heart between their palms… His heartbeats were getting heavier. It was as if resentment replaced the oxygen in his lungs. On one hand, this was all part of the experience. It was completely normal. Terushima was doing what he was doing every other day. But something about the idea of Bokuto getting a lap dance made Akaashi feel… off. Something about that sweetness and innocence being taken away from him right before his eyes was jarring. Yesterday, he had no idea what any of these were… And today...

Bitterness sank deep into his heart. He wanted to go back to the moment they came inside and take it all back. However, he was the one saying they could explore. The raven caressed his hair and took a deep breath to regain his composure. He forced a smile, trying to sound nonchalant.

“It’s completely up to you, Bokuto-san.” He said. “Like I said, it’s just… part of the job.” He reiterated hoping Bokuto would realize Terushima’s attention was a transaction.

Bokuto didn’t notice the slight hesitation in Akaashi’s voice, too wrapped up in his own excitement. “Alright!” He said and beamed at the raven. “This is all too exciting.”

Terushima was true to his word. He came back to their table after visiting his other customers, dollar bills sticking from his waistband. “So…” He bit his bottom lip and looked at Bokuto directly. “Have you thought about it?”

“Let’s do it!” Bokuto beamed at the gorgeous guy. Terushima sneered almost knowingly. Another dancer was already on the pole, moving seamlessly with music’s rhythm. Terushima turned Bokuto’s face towards himself, and climbed on top of his lap. Too much. It was all becoming too much. Akaashi got up and walked to the bar and ordered a shot. He wasn’t going to just sit next to them and watch.

He gulped down the shot as soon as the bartender gave it to him, however he still found himself watching. He tried to shake off the feeling that had settled in his chest, telling himself that it was nothing. But as he watched Terushima’s perfect body press against Bokuto’s, a flicker of jealousy stirred inside him. He ordered another drink -a cocktail that would let him stay there for a while- and kept watching with a carefully composed face, his fingers gripping his cocktail glass a little tighter. He’d seen Terushima flirt before, but this had a different intensity where he felt more free.

Just as Akaashi thought Terushima eased down, the gorgeous male pulled Bokuto back into the dance, as he slowly rolled his hips and moved closer, finally lowering himself onto his lap with a seductive smile. Bokuto was completely under his spell. His face was completely scarlet by now but his expression was still utterly captivated by the performance. Terushima leaned close, whispering something into Bokuto's ear that left him grinning even wider, his cheeks tinged redder than before. Something Akaashi thought wasn’t possible before.

Finally, as the song reached its climax, Terushima gave a teasing flick of his hips, flashing a wink to the silver, then rose, leaving Bokuto stunned and beaming in his seat. Bokuto was too busy to even realize Akaashi wasn’t next to him. Terushima strutted back towards the bar and made his way to Akaashi, shooting him a look of amusement.

“Your friend is fun.” He grinned. “Come see me again whenever.”  Terushima teased, glancing back at the now thoroughly entertained Bokuto, who seemed to have really enjoyed his first brush with the boys' bar. With a last knowing smile, he drifted back to the crowd.

Akaashi forced a small smile at his old friend. His gaze was now empty and meaningless. He had the kind of look of someone drifting somewhere far away, seeking refuge in the corners of their mind—a place where the present couldn’t reach them. Something he desperately needed at the moment.

Bokuto now realizing his friend was over the bar, waved at him completely beaming. Akaashi sighed, took another deep breath and tried to maintain himself as best as he could. “AKAASHI! Where did you go?!” Bokuto questioned him.

“I just went to get a drink, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi pointed his drink. The silver grinned at that. “You missed everything. It was awesome!” He said with a voice filled with excitement. That’s Bokuto for you. Akaashi reminded himself. It was becoming clear again. That was the Bokuto he used to deal with in high school.

I must be a masochist. He thought helplessly. How could he be best friends with someone who made their lines so blurry and then carried on like nothing happened? Because he doesn’t realize. Akaashi knew, Bokuto didn’t. If there was something Bokuto was, that was pure. Everything he did was genuine and maybe he was too honest for the world sometimes.

“Can we call it a night tonight then?” He asked with a forced smile. It made sense to leave the night at the climax, right? He forced his last drink down his throat as if medicine while Bokuto contemplated.

“Fine…” Bokuto nodded. “This was so much fun. We should do it more often. Come on let’s get a cab.” They left the bar together and walked on the main street until they saw a cab. Bokuto waved one over and gave them his apartment’s address. The ride back home was surprisingly quiet, something Akaashi deeply appreciated.

As they walked into the apartment, Akaashi took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Would you mind if we just… went to bed? I’m actually really tired.” he asked softly, hoping his tone would be enough to signal he needed space.

Bokuto looked over, still brimming with his post-bar energy. “Of course not! Just go to my bed—I’ll come in after I feed Milo,” he said, flashing that familiar grin as he waved Akaashi toward the bedroom.

Akaashi clenched his jaw. “I’m fine on the couch,” he replied, his voice tighter than he intended. But Bokuto didn’t catch the edge.

“What? Don’t be silly, Akaashi!” Bokuto insisted, his tone bright but with a faint hint of concern. “We’ve shared a bed before. You’re overthinking it. The couch is not big enough. You can stretch out and get comfy in the bed.” He smiled wide and stretched his arms in the air as if it’s an example.

Akaashi’s patience snapped. Does he really think it's that simple? He felt the words tighten in his throat.“Bokuto-san.” He shot the silver a threatening look. “I said, I’ll take the couch,” Akaashi said firmly, his frustration clear. Bokuto’s surprise was evident. His energy dimmed as he registered the shift in Akaashi’s mood.

“Sure…If that’s what you want,” he said softly. He disappeared into the hallway and returned moments later with a blanket and pillow. Akaashi took the bedding with a quiet “Thanks” and laid down on the couch, facing the cushions. Bokuto went to kitchen to feed Milo just like he said. Akaashi just had to bear it a couple more minutes.

Soon, Bokuto’s footsteps retreated into the bedroom, leaving Akaashi alone in the living room. The turmoil of emotions began to spill over. Bokuto’s carefree, familiar gestures, his ease with the past… Akaashi felt like he was drowning. He clutched the blanket tighter, his breath coming in shaky waves as he tried to keep himself composed, but the tears came, silently and steadily, falling onto the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body was trembling with silent sobs. Fuck… Akaashi thought not being able to escape the feelings he’d been holding back slipped free, overwhelming him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Notes:

I was absolutely Bokuto when I accidentally walked into a girls bar in Roppongi, trying to translate things with my phone, lol.

We're slowly getting there. But far from over.

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 12: Push, Pull, Laugh, Repeat

Bokuto groaned as he woke to the sharp ring of his alarm. The silver  reached over to silence it. It wasn’t just loud, it felt like it was cutting into him, jarring him awake not just from his restless sleep but from the painful weight of last night’s events. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying the details of their night out, his thoughts heavy with confusion and disappointment. It had felt so good at first—like he and Akaashi were best friends again, slipping back into a natural rhythm almost effortlessly. Akaashi had been there, right next to him, seeming open—laughing, even joining in—but just as Bokuto thought they were close again, it was like Akaashi would pull back. It was nothing overt, nothing he could pinpoint. Just a small movement, or a glance that said, Back off. He hadn’t meant to overstep, but there it was: an invisible boundary that only Akaashi could draw with a single look.

 

Bokuto had tried to make it light, even teasing, hoping to bring down some of Akaashi’s walls. And it was successful at first.  But somewhere along the line, as they’d joked and laughed, the invisible boundary appeared. Akaashi had always been reserved, yes, but Bokuto had thought that with him, things were different. It was like Akaashi would lean in, close and vulnerable, but just as Bokuto leaned back, there’d be that look. A slight shift in Akaashi’s gaze, a small signal to back off. And then, he’d be left wondering—What’s too far? What was wrong this time?

 

Bokuto didn’t even know what it was that crossed the line. One minute they were drinking at his apartment, being vulnerable… Next they had gone shopping for adult toys. That was the place things started going downhill, wasn’t it? Admittedly, asking Akaashi whether he ever used them was a personal question… But it was pretty obvious at the moment anyways… After everything he told Bokuto, the silver thought it’d be okay. But Akaashi had looked at him with that careful expression, the one that said, “You’re going too far.”

 

His mind drifted to the moment at the boys bar… How Akaashi revealed that he worked in one in the past, and how he just wanted to go back to home, not wanting to cause Akaashi any hurt. However, the casual way Akaashi had explained things,  the way he acted so nonchalant about everthing, and even suggesting exploring it together… Bokuto didn’t know what to do. He thought, maybe, Akaashi was offering some hint with that, a sign he could interpret. But he was wrong… Akaashi was so…distant, so matter-of-fact even about the lap-dance… Bokuto had wanted to make him jealous, maybe test if Akaashi could feel the same uncertainty he felt --hell— Maybe he would even distract himself  . But when he’d actually gone through with the lap dance, he hadn’t felt distracted from the turmoil growing inside. He only felt lonelier, the distance hurt more than he wanted to admit.

 

The real blow came when they got back home. When Bokuto suggested sharing the bed, just like old times... Platonically, really… It wasn’t about anything more than the comfort of familiarity. Why was that too far? he wondered. It was something they had done a thousand times before. But Akaashi had looked at him with something like irritation—no, it was almost anger—and had shut him down. Bokuto felt like he was right back in high school, always wanting just a bit more of Akaashi’s time, his attention, his warmth, only to feel it slip away.

 

The silver jumped off the bed, and saw from the door ajar the living room was cold, empty, and Akaashi’s bed was made. Akaashi had gone without a word. He hadn’t even said goodbye. He must have left at dawn considering how early Bokuto was up for training. Bokuto shut his eyes, hoping he could rewind to last night and somehow do it differently. His thoughts spiraled through the same insecurities he’d felt back in high school: the yearning to be close to someone who pulled back just as hard. No one did. Bokuto knew. Akaashi was always special, because at least he tried. Everyone else always thought Bokuto was too much to handle.

 

Even now, Bokuto felt he didn’t have true friends. He joked around with his teammates and they were usually good to him… But he’ wouldn’t get invited to the outings. Not really… Only to parties where everyone went. Only to feel lonely inside a crowd.  Kuroo and Oikawa had a special place in his heart too… But Kuroo was a married man, whom Bokuto barely saw anymore… And Oikawa was just too far away. The loneliness bit him, his golden eyes losing their spark.

 

Bokuto’s chest ached as he dressed. Every piece of clothing felt heavier, a reminder of how he’d tried to connect, only to be met with more silence. Was it something he’d said or hadn’t said? His mind kept replaying each moment with Akaashi, the highs and the lows. Even then, despite the hurt he was feeling, there was that familiar warmth they’d shared. Bokuto couldn’t help but admire the way Akaashi managed to make things look effortless. Akaashi had a quiet strength about him that Bokuto had always respected. No one else quite held him to a standard the way Akaashi did, even if he never said it out loud.

 

Sure, there were moments that felt like a knife twisting his heart, especially when Akaashi shut him down. But part of Bokuto still held onto the belief that they could find their way through this distance, no matter how many invisible lines Akaashi drew. His hurt didn’t erase the years they’d shared, nor did it dampen the admiration he felt for Akaashi. Maybe, Akaashi didn’t need to pull him as hard as he did. Maybe, people didn’t show their love the way Bokuto did. Or maybe, he was right and he was completely lonely. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t an excuse for him to lose himself. We only have one life… He said to himself. He had to try and make the most of it.

With that thought, a sliver of warmth settled in his chest, and Bokuto felt lighter.He closed and locked the the door behind himself, his mind lingering not on the hurt but on the possibility of getting his friend back, even if it it was just a maybe.

When he arrived at the gym, there was a slight slump on his usual swagger. However, the burden on his shoulders was lifted even more when he was met by Atsumu’s loud, familiar voice echoing across the gym.“Bo-chan!” Atsumu called, with his usual grin, while Hinata jogged up beside him, already brimming with energy.

“Bokuto-san!” Hinata beamed, waving Bokuto fervently. “You look like you need a pick-me-up. Big night?” He asked curiously. Bokuto chuckled to that. “You could say that,” he replied, forcing a smile.

“Oh, we’re so gonna bring in the heat with this team!” Atsumu declared, nodding toward Sakusa, who stood nearby, stretching with a slightly exasperated look. “Omi-Omi is ready to blow our minds with his killer spikes!” Atsumu kept going not caring about Sakusa’s usual demeanor. Sakusa on the other hand, barely raised an eyebrow. “As long as you two don’t get in the way.” He said with a sassy tone, looking at Hinata and Bokuto.

“Ha!” Bokuto glared at his old teammate, still grateful for the normalcy of their banter. “I’d like to see you try to keep up!”

Just then, Oikawa walked into the gym with a huge grin on his face. Bokuto immediately exhaled of relief guessing everything went smoothly with Iwaizumi. The brunette left his gym bag in the stands and waved at all of them clearly amused by their quarrel. “Already rallying the troops there, Bo?”

“Always, Tooru.” Bokuto replied, grinning. “But I didn’t think you’d be here so early.” He grinned, hinted at the fact that his friend had spent the night in Iwa and Akaashi’s apartment. Bokuto thought, he could be a little late from spending time with Iwa. Oikawa shrugged, feigning innocence. “Just wanted to make sure everyone remembers who’s calling the shots here.” He shot Atsumu a threatening look.

“Well, we’ll see today, won’t we Tooru-chan?” Atsumu piped in, throwing an arm over Oikawa’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a few pointers for next season so you can try again.” He laughed as Oikawa pushed his arm away, rolling his eyes. A few feet away, Ushijima entered the gym. His steady, focused gaze reminded Bokuto of every time he’d heard praise for Ushijima’s relentless discipline and straightforwardness—qualities coaches valued, sometimes, it seemed, more than Bokuto’s own spontaneity. A brief flicker of jealousy crossed his mind, but he kept his tone upbeat.

“Oh, hey Ushijima! Finally showing up to join the fun?”

Ushijima’s reply was characteristically calm. “I am here to win, Bokuto. I hope you are too.” He said paying no mind at Bokuto nor anyone else. He immediately dropped his bag and started his stretches. Professional fun-sucker… Bokuto couldn’t help but think. He didn’t reply back, there was no need to. He just needed to let the court do the talking instead, per usual. Ushijima glanced at Oikawa next to Bokuto and acknowledged him with a nod. For reasons unknown, Oikawa was the lucky winner of his rare and precious approval.

“Welcome back to Japan, Oikawa.” He said, his voice deep and gaze locked to the brunette. Oikawa simply thanked him but leaned in to Bokuto. “Didn’t think Ushijima could get more intense, did you?” He whispered in his ear, barely holding a grin.

Bokuto grinned back, his spirit a bit lifted by Oikawa’s familiar sarcasm. “Captain No-fun’s here to keep us all in line,” he joked, though a part of him couldn’t help feeling the tiny bit of rivalry with Ushijima.

The room was bustling with energy as the coach stepped forward and called everyone to gather. The hum of voices quieted, and everyone’s focus shifted. “Alright, team, listen up. This year, we’ve got one focus: bringing home gold. The main roster is as follows: Oikawa, Bokuto, Sakusa, Ushijima, Kageyama, Atsumu, with Yaku as libero.”

The team exchanged looks, some surprised, some excited. A few murmurs broke out… But one question was on everyone’s minds, voiced first by Atsumu.

“Uh, coach? Three setters?” He scratched his head, looking at Kageyama and Oikawa.

The coach crossed his arms, smirking slightly. “You’re all skilled enough to play multiple roles. Oikawa will take the main setter position, but if he can’t get the ball, be ready. You’re all trained to spike, block, and adapt. Changing positions doesn’t mean that you’re not the best at your current position. It means I think you’re one of our most talented players who deserves a role in this roster. And I want the setter to be able to work with each and everyone of you all. You’re right—it’s untraditional. But I’m counting on you all to make this the strategy that sets us apart.” The coach said and met their gazes with confidence.

Bokuto caught Oikawa’s eye, seeing the sheer thrill there. His chocolate brown eyes sparkled and  grin widened. “Guess I’m in charge,” he teased, enjoying the moment a little too much.

Kageyama gave a half-smile. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” Atsumu muttered, but still smiling at the compliment he just received. Bokuto flashed a grin, feeling the challenge but more determined than ever. Their path to the Olympics had just begun, and he was ready for it.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Bokuto and Oikawa strolled into a nearby ramen shop after practice, the warm, comforting scent of broth and noodles enveloping them. They slid into a booth, Bokuto sighing as he stretched his legs, clearly still recovering from a mix of emotional exhaustion and training. Nevertheless, he forced a grin, masking the lingering hurt of the morning, and nudged Oikawa with his elbow. “So, how did things go with Iwaizumi?”

Oikawa’s entire face lit up at the question, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Bo, it was unreal, totally insane for Iwa’s standards,” he began, leaning forward, voice dropping to nearly a whisper. “We actually had a full, honest conversation! Like, he didn’t try to deflect or hide anything. We talked about everything—all the things we never said back in high school. He apologized. I learned a lot from his past that I didn’t know. A lot of trauma unfolded…” His face fell at that and he escaped Bokuto’s eyes. “It…It’s better now.” He stammered, his voice unusually soft and took a deep breath.

Bokuto blinked, obviously there was something behind his words. But based on Oikawa’s expression, he didn’t want to press. Instead, he only reached in for his friend’s hand for quiet support which Tooru gladly took and gave a gentle squeeze. His eyes lit up momentarily. And then…” He trailed off, the flush in his cheeks deepening as a satisfied grin spread across his face.

Bokuto smiled, genuinely thrilled to see Oikawa so happy, despite the weight settling in his chest. He pushed it aside, letting Oikawa have his moment. “Yeah? And then what?” He said flashing his now scarlet friend all thirty two of his teeth.

Oikawa let out a small laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well… I’m not saying everything was magically fixed, but we reconnected.” he grinned in a bashful way which was rare on him… “We hooked up.”

Bokuto blinked as his mouth dropped, his eyes widening slightly. Then he broke into a grin. “Whoa, so you guys…Really?”

Oikawa nodded, his gaze softening as he spoke. “Yep, we’ve been at it like rabbits since.” Oikawa giggled turning back to his devious self. “ And, Bo, it was out of this world. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. It was like finding something I’d lost a long time ago.”

“Tooru, that’s amazing! I’m really happy for both of you.”  Bokuto said despite his own recent disappointment. He meant it, seeing Oikawa so happy eased his spirits. He forced  smile, but inside, he couldn’t help the sting of his own night—the invisible walls he’d felt growing thicker between him and Akaashi.

Oikawa caught the flicker of something behind Bokuto’s smile. “Thanks, Bo, but something’s definitely on your mind,” he pressed, genuine concern in his voice. “Come on, out with it.” He reached for the silver’s hand. “Did something happen with Akaashi?” He paused, his brows knitting with curiosity. “I… well.. When I left, I ran into him on my way out. I thought maybe… did you ask him to leave or something?”

Bokuto’s expression faltered, and he let out a heavy sigh. “Nah, I didn’t ask him to leave. I mean, I thought we were gonna hang out, you know? Just like old times. But…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to his bowl as he gathered his thoughts. “Everything went off-track. We played a drinking game, and it got a little wild, we went out, had some fun, but it felt like he kept pulling away. At first, it was fine, we were even joking around, but then... I guess I started overstepping without realizing it. I kept hitting this invisible line with him. One moment he’s there, and then… I don’t know.”

He rubbed his hands together, struggling to find the right words. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like every time I felt like things were good between us, like we were both getting comfortable, he’d just… pull back. We’d be laughing, but somewhere along the line, he’d just give me this look. You know, that look that says ‘too far’ without saying anything at all?”

Oikawa nodded, already piecing things together. “I can picture it. He’s careful with you, Bo. You push his boundaries.” The brunette sighed. “From the things you’ve been telling me, and from the things I’ve seen myself in high school, I always thought you two had the whole ‘we’re more than friends but we’ll never admit it’ dynamic perfected.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s the problem,” Bokuto muttered, tracing a finger along the edge of his bowl. “I don’t even know where the line is with him,” He looked up, hesitant. “One minute, we’re in my apartment, and we’re laughing about everything. Next thing I know, we’re out shopping for, uh… sex toys. I’ll admit, asking him if he’d ever used—

"Woah there, Bo…” Oikawa blinked at him then burst into laughter. “Did you say you guys went to shop for sex toys? That’s exactly what I meant… How on earth did that even happen? You’re my best friend. I love you but there is no way I’m going to a sex shop with you.” He kept laughing looking Bokuto in complete awe.

 

“I know.” Bokuto sighed with a sheepish grin. “I mean… We were playing the drinking game, it just came up with one of the questions. He was surprised I didn’t have any toys. So we started talking about them, I got curious and asked him whether he’d guide me through. And he did…” Bokuto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I think asking him whether he used them was probably pushing it. But he was the one who brought everything up and right there with me. It was pretty obvious, you know. I thought it’d be okay.”

 

Oikawa studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowing in concern. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “I’m guessing he didn’t take that well?”

 

“Nope.” Bokuto shook his head, sighing again. “He just… it was cold. I knew I crossed the line.” He bit his lips. “ I tried to make it better, I asked him if we could go to a bar to get more drinks… I thought that’d do us some good. But you know how I am with these things, and the bar I selected turned out to be a boys bar…”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Oikawa’s eyes widened as he listened, feeling the pain his friend was feeling. Bokuto nodded, his gaze drifting as he continued. “Tooru, he insisted that it was okay to explore. So I listened to him. And then, at the bar, it got even more confusing. There were dancers everywhere. One of them came and flirted with me, and Akaashi actually encouraged me to get a lap dance like it was nothing. I had no idea what that was about, I just wanted him to be clear for once. So I did it.  But honestly, it just made me feel so empty.” His golden eyes were fixed on his bowl,. Unable to meet Oikawa’s gaze.

 

Oikawa’s expression softened, his brows knitting together with understanding. “So, you were trying to get a reaction from him?”

 

Bokuto nodded, looking down at his hands. “Yeah. I thought, maybe if he saw that I could look at other people, he’d show me a sign, give me something, be jealous. But after I went through with it, he just looked so… indifferent. And when we got back, he just…” Bokuto took a deep breath. He didn’t want to tell Tooru he asked Akaashi to sleep with him on the same bed. It wasn’t relevant anyways. Akaashi was mad and gone by the time he woke up. “It doesn’t matter.” He said. “This morning, he was already gone before I even woke up. Not a word, no goodbye—nothing.”

 

Oikawa sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on Bokuto’s arm. “Bo, he’s not indifferent—trust me, I saw how he looked at you. He cares, probably a lot more than he’s letting on. But he’s got his own walls, and if I had to guess, he’s just as scared of crossing a line as you are.” He caressed Bokuto’s arm compassionately.Bokuto’s eyes lifted, a hint of hope flickering there. “You really think so?”

 

Oikawa’s brows knitted in empathy. “Akaashi is complicated. He lets you get close, but he never lifts his walls. You two are in this endless dance.” He took a deep breath.“Maybe last night, things just got a little overwhelming for him. At least that’s what I gather from what you’re telling me.”Oikawa said with a small smile. “Maybe, he wasn’t just running away this morning, Bo. He probably just needed time to think. I know he’s got that quiet, careful way about him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things deeply. In fact, I’d bet he’s holding onto more than he’s letting on. You’ve always been intense, and sometimes that means he needs a little space.”

 

Bokuto let out a breath he’d been holding, feeling lighter. “I guess that makes sense. It’s just… hard, you know? I keep feeling like I’m one step behind, always pushing too hard or not enough.”

 

Oikawa gave him a reassuring grin. “Bo, you’re one of the best people I know. But you know your friendship suffered… I mean, you know how many nights we just spent drunk, crying with each other thinking about what went wrong with both our friendships. I think at some level, it’s traumatic.” He let out deep sigh. “Everyone is different. I’m ready to forget the past and move on, but maybe Akaashi needs time. But don’t think that means he doesn’t care. And if it’s anything like what I went through with Iwa, sometimes you have to trust that the people who matter will come around, in their own way.”

 

A small, grateful smile broke through Bokuto’s worried expression. “Thanks, Tooru. Really. I guess I just needed to hear that.”

 

“Anytime, Bo,” Oikawa replied with a warm smile. “Just act like how you always are with Akaashi, without giving it much thought. I’m sure that’s the Bokuto he needs right now.”

 

For the first time in a while, Bokuto felt that maybe he hadn’t messed up completely.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Bokuto sat alone in his dimly lit apartment with the TV glow, stillness surrounding him. Akaashi had already left in the morning to return to his own place, but the remnants of the evening were still scattered around. The TV volume was on low, just background noise to fill the emptiness, his thoughts were louder.

The night before replayed in his mind, bittersweet memories of their time together mixing with unresolved feelings. He took Oikawa's advice to heart, deciding maybe it was better not to chase answers from Akaashi for a while—to just let things be. He sighed and threw himself to the comfort of his bed.

Restlessness drew his attention to the small box he’d tucked away on a shelf, a collection of toys he’d only half considered exploring. Truth was, he wanted to go to the sex shop with Akaashi more than anything. But now,  he wasn’t sure whether he would ever use them. Akaashi’s words lingered in his mind, about pleasure not being confined to one way of doing things. Maybe it was okay to let himself explore something different.

Curiosity won out, and he took the box down, heart pounding as he looked at its contents. Anal beads—a toy he hadn’t even considered until now—lay there, an invitation to explore something new. He sat down, running his fingers over the beads. He wasn’t exactly embarrassed —he was alone after all— but there was a feeling apprehension mixed with excitement. He’d always thought of himself as a top, the strong one, the initiator. It wasn’t an identity he’d chosen so much as one he’d fallen into—maybe because of some of his dad’s opinions on “strength,” or maybe just out of habit. But Akaashi’s words about acts not defining someone, stayed with him. Maybe it wasn’t about having just one role.

“What does it even mean to be a man?” he thought, gripping the beads nervously. The question felt silly and heavy all at once. Would exploring this change how he saw himself? And did it matter? What if this didn’t change anything? he wondered. Just because he might enjoy something different didn’t mean he’d be any less him. But he still felt the pull of those ingrained doubts, his dad’s views clashing against his own curiosity. It was hard to shake the feeling, but he tried to push past it, he was about to explore uncharted territory.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered, his voice barely audible. He set the beads aside and grabbed a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers, he spread it over the beads, ensuring they were slick and ready. His other hand moved to the waistband of his sweatpants, hesitating for just a moment before pulling them down, exposing his erection.

He stroked himself gently, his arousal twitching in response. The sensation was familiar, comforting, but there was something more urgent driving him tonight. His fingers toyed with the first bead, positioning it against his entrance. With a steady hand, he pressed forward, feeling the it slide against his skin.

The initial pop of entry was surprising, a sharp contrast to his gentle strokes. Bokuto gasped, his eyes closing as he adjusted to the sensation. It felt foreign, strange, yet undeniably intriguing. He pushed the beads in further, inch by inch, until they seated completely inside him. A shiver ran down his spine, mingling pleasure and unease.

But the discomfort quickly gave way to a new kind of thrill. Bokuto's hand returned back to himself, stroking with renewed vigor. Each pump brought a fresh wave of sensation, blending with the subtle pressure of the beads inside him. He could feel every curve, every ridge, as if his body was attuned to this new form of intimacy.

His breathing grew ragged, punctuated by soft moans that escaped his lips. "Fuck," he whispered, his hips thrusting into his hand. The beads shifted perfectly with each movement, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through his core. He could feel his orgasm building, a powerful tide that threatened to sweep him away.

Desperate to intensify the experience, Bokuto reached for the beads and with a hesitant grip, he threaded the first bead out of place, feeling the stretch as it slipped past the entrance. Fuck… What were these sensations? He pulled another, then another, each one adding a layer of intensity to the mix. By the time he reached the last bead, Bokuto was panting, his senses overwhelmed. He tugged the beads finally free.

A symphony of pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave, his body convulsing. His cock throbbed, pulsing with release as he came, his cum splattering onto his stomach and chest. He was grabbing the beads tightly in one hand, a reminder of his journey. Breathless, Bokuto collapsed back onto the bed, his body trembling with aftershocks. He stared at the ceiling, his mind reeling from the intensity of the experience. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined such pleasure could be found in such an unexpected place.

As he lay there, utterly spent, a thought crossed his mind. If this was what he felt like alone, what might it be like with someone else? The possibilities were endless, and the anticipation was intoxicating. Bokuto smiled, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. He couldn't wait to find out.

Bokuto reached for his phone, typing out a simple, honest message to Akaashi, fingers hovering over the keys before he pressed send.

“Thanks, Kashi.”

For the first time that night, Bokuto felt a sense of peace, like he’d allowed himself to become just a little more whole.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Akaashi lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as sounds from the next room filtered through the walls. It was Sunday night, and he had work in the morning, yet sleep felt like a distant hope with the passionate reunion happening just a wall away. He’d agreed to let Oikawa stay with them, genuinely happy for Iwaizumi, but this part… this hadn’t crossed his mind.

It wasn’t just the occasional noise—no, it was intense, vivid with their voices amplified in the quiet apartment. He turned on his side, pulling his blanket up as if it might shield him from the situation. "This’ll be a sleepless week," he muttered to himself, almost amused despite his growing frustration. He hadn’t anticipated this level of enthusiasm.

He tried turning his eyes to the faint blue glow of the TV, hoping to find distraction, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the previous night with Bokuto. His words echoed in his mind: “You’ve got layers, Kashi.” The sentence was so casually thrown out, yet it hit him with unexpected weight. It made him wonder what Bokuto truly saw when he looked at him—if he even realized how much his casual flirtation pushed Akaashi’s carefully kept boundaries.

What was he supposed to make of that? Akaashi clenched his jaw with frustration. Bokuto was all about spontaneity and bursts of energy. He often walked the line between friendship and something more—only to leave Akaashi questioning everything.

There was a part of him that wanted to push back, to flirt with the same carefree energy Bokuto did, to see what would happen if he threw his own feelings into the mix. What if I didn’t hold back? The thought sent a rush through him, but then he pictured Bokuto’s reaction—the wide eyes, the laughter turning awkward, the sudden distance—and the urge withered away.

 

Akaashi knew his friend’s intensity worked both ways. And that was the reason he’d always held back. Bokuto might be casual, even oblivious, but whenever he got thrown off, he retreated far and fast. It could ruin the friendship he valued more than he wanted to admit.

 

Still, the thought deeply troubled his mind. He was so used to thinking the best of Bokuto, to rationalizing every mixed signal, every instance where Bokuto seemed obliviously close one moment and distant the next. Sometimes, it was exhausting.

 

He sighed, wondering if it was time to accept things as they were. Maybe it was time to accept that he’d always care for Bokuto more than Bokuto would ever care for him. He pictured his friend with his boisterous laugh: a dazzling, unreachable star, oblivious to the fact that Akaashi kept orbiting around him. Perhaps the best thing he could do was move on, find someone who could care for him in the same way.

Akaashi’s thoughts were interrupted by the faint glow of his phone lighting up. He blinked, refocusing on the screen, and there it was—a message from Bokuto. “Thanks, Kashi.” That was it. Just two simple words, in the middle of the night with no context.

His brows knitted together as he reread it, wondering Thanks? For what? A moment later, it clicked. A soft laugh escaped him, and he found himself grinning at his phone. Of course, Bokuto would text him now—of all times—to thank him for something as random and awkward as the sex toy advice.

Akaashi stared at the message on his screen “Thanks, Kashi”. It was radiating with Bokuto’s usual nonchalance which made him pause; he wanted to respond in a way that acknowledged their connection without overthinking things. But what could he say? For a moment, he considered leaving it unanswered. But knowing Bokuto, the silence might just make him worry, something Akaashi didn’t want either. They didn’t part on the best note, and he didn’t want to let Bokuto think he was angry.

 

He tapped out a quick response and tried to be light-hearted. “Glad to help. You owe me. Drinks on you next time.” He hit sent. There. That way Bokuto would know he still wanted to hang out. Akaashi set his phone aside with a slight smile, thinking that was the end of it for the night. But almost immediately, his phone buzzed again.

 

“You’re still up? Thought you’d be asleep by now! Aren’t you working tomorrow?”

 

Akaashi felt a small smile tug at his lips. Bokuto’s timing was so… Bokuto. “Hard to sleep when I’m sharing a wall with Iwa. They’ve been at it like a couple of horny high schoolers.” He typed playfully.

 

Bokuto’s reply came with surprising speed: “Want me to come get you?”

Akaashi’s eyes widened slightly. Come get me? he thought, staring at his screen. He could hardly believe it. Was Bokuto suggesting what he thought he was? “You drive?” he replied, hesitantly, his mind filling with the unexpected image of Bokuto behind the wheel. No… He was imagining things. No one in their right mind would give Bokuto a driving license.

“Of course, I drive!” Bokuto messaged back. “I’ll be there in ten. Just say the word,” came another message seconds later.

The exchange left Akaashi’s chest feeling warm, surprised by Bokuto’s unbothered generosity. A part of him wanted to take him up on it, and for a moment, he imagined Bokuto actually pulling up outside. Akaashi sat upright in the bed and typed out his reply quickly, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks even though he was alone.

“Bokuto-san, it’s fine. It’s really late. I’ll manage, don’t worry.”

But Bokuto was undeterred, “Come on, Kashi. It’ll be fun! Plus, you won’t get any sleep there.”

Akaashi took a breath, still feeling surprised that Bokuto would go this far just for him. He typed back one more time, “You’re gonna drive across the city at 1 a.m.? Don’t you have practice?"

“Yep!” Bokuto replied with his usual enthusiasm. “You need sleep too.”

Akaashi hesitated one last time, thinking how ridiculous this all sounded, but the warmth in Bokuto’s messages made it impossible to say no. “Alright, if you insist.” he finally typed. “I’ll get ready.” He set the phone down, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he gathered his things. The thought of Bokuto coming all this way for him made his chest feel light. Akaashi couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for the spontaneous moments Bokuto brought into his life.

He quickly folded a set of work clothes, tucking them neatly into a bag and put on a shirt —he couldn’t come downstairs topless— before glancing around his room one last time. Still in his pajamas, he gave a small sigh, but there was an undeniable warmth blooming in his chest.

Moments later, Bokuto was outside, waving fervently at Akaashi from the driver's seat with a huge grin on his face stretching from ear to ear in a bright orange flashy convertible.

Akaashi fought the urge to laugh and climbed into the car, his face a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Bokuto-san… a convertible?” Akaashi let a chuckle slip. “You really went all out with the car.”

 

Bokuto gave the steering wheel an affectionate pat. “Right? Isn’t it great?” He beamed, oblivious to any sense of luxury or flashiness. “It’s all about the wind in your face, you know? Makes you feel… I don’t know, alive!”

 

Akaashi couldn’t help but smile, charmed by his friend’s unassuming enthusiasm. “I have to admit, it suits you,” he said, settling into the passenger seat. They exchanged smirks, Bokuto pretending to rev the engine exaggeratedly as they pulled away.

 

As they hit the road, Akaashi relaxed and watched Bokuto coolly navigated the streets, a bit faster than he’d prefer, but with surprising confidence.“You’re actually not bad at this,” Akaashi said. “Though, I did half-expect you to show up on a bicycle or maybe with hitchhiking.”

Bokuto let out a loud laugh, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Akaashi, Keiji! Do you have so little faith in me?” He said shaking his head side to side. “You wound your senpai. But trust me, I’m a natural.” He said reminding Akaashi casually of their high school days. The good old days.

 

Akaashi chuckled as they rode, in a comfortable silence for a few more moments, Bokuto focused on the road while Akaashi took in the sights, the wind, the city lights casting a soft glow over the streets.

Bokuto parked the car in his condo’s garage and gave Akaashi a little nudge when they were walking to the elevator. “Home sweet home,” he announced, looking proudly at Akaashi “Thanks, Bokuto-san. Really.” Akaashi said, his voice soft with gratitude. It was in moments like this that he realized just how much he valued these simple, warm moments they shared.

“Anytime, Kashi,” Bokuto replied with a wink and opened the apartment’s door, and immediately pointed at his bedroom door. "Hey, you can take the bed tonight. I, um… I even changed the sheets," he said with a soft voice. “I mean, I don’t mean together or anything… It’s just for you.” He quickly added fidgeting nervously.

Akaashi was struck by Bokuto’s kindness but felt his heart sink into his stomach. How can you be like this? “Bokuto-san…” he began, struggling to hide the ache in his voice, “it’s alright, really. I’ll take the couch.” But Bokuto was relentless, shaking his head. “C’mon, Kashi. You’re my best friend—I know what you need.” He gave Akaashi a bright, endearing grin.

The word “best friend” echoed in Akaashi’s mind. The forbidden word Bokuto had been hesitating to say since the day reconciled, meant something. It was a different kind of comfort hearing Bokuto securely refer Akaashi like that. But at the same time, with those words Akaashi knew, finally, that no matter what, Bokuto saw him in a certain light, a specific role he couldn’t ever transcend.

For a moment, he wondered how he could ever deserve Bokuto. The affection Bokuto gave so freely, expecting nothing in return, stung in a way that Akaashi couldn’t ignore. It made him feel guilty and dirty in a way that was hard to explain in words. It was as if Bokuto was the angel and he was the demon, taking advantage of his kindness. “Thanks Bokuto-san.” He murmured.

Before he could think twice, he stepped forward, wrapping Bokuto in a brief but sincere hug.  Bokuto froze, and stiffened slightly before wrapping Akaashi back. He must have lingered a moment too long. “Uh, you okay, Kashi? I mean, I’m not dying or anything, am I?” Bokuto asked, a bit taken aback.

Akaashi managed a small, awkward laugh as he pulled away. “Actually… how about we just share the bed, like old times?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, but he forced a calm expression, willing himself to keep it casual. He knew he would be hurt in the long run, however, Bokuto’s friendship was worth more than the risk of heartbreak.

Bokuto’s face lit up in disbelief. “You mean it? You sure?” He sounded genuinely taken aback, as though he couldn’t believe his own good fortune.

Akaashi gave a small nod, forcing a neutral smile. “Yeah, I… I don’t mind,” he said, almost too softly.

Relieved, Bokuto let out a happy laugh, climbing into bed and settling in without a second thought. Akaashi joined him, trying to act nonchalant as he pulled off his shirt and slid under the covers, though his heart was racing.

As they lay there, the silence was filled with a mix of ease and unspoken tension. Bokuto’s bright smile was the last thing Akaashi saw before closing his eyes.

Notes:

The volleyball roster scene made me cringe a little bit. I wanted to put all my favorite peeps in the team but it sounds a little stupid. Probably not realistic, but oh well. Not my finest moment.

Akaashi is a damn overthinker and I'm not sure if I should tone it down.

I hope you like this chapter. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 13: The Heartbreak Born in Celebration

It had been a week since Oikawa arrived from Argentina, and the days leading up to this moment had been a blur of preparation and anticipation. The Tokyo Olympic arena buzzed with energy, the crowd’s excitement like a low current humming in Akaashi’s chest. He sat in the stands, surrounded by familiar faces—Iwa on one side, Kuroo and Kenma on the other—but his attention was fixed firmly on the court. The Japan National Volleyball Team was about to make their Olympic debut, and the weight of the moment pressed against him, both exhilarating and surreal.

Akaashi could hardly process how quickly his life had shifted. A month ago, this would have felt impossible. His days had been consumed by routine: editing mangas, replying to authors with carefully chosen words, and spending his evenings having quiet meals. Life had been predictable, safe even, but dull in a way Akaashi had come to accept as normal. He hadn’t even spoken to Bokuto in over a decade—ten years of silence that he had carefully accepted as reality. They had been something once, but strangers now. Or so he’d thought. And yet, here he was, heart pounding as he watched Bokuto stand among his teammates, brimming with the energy and confidence that had always set him apart.

Bokuto had come back into his life as if no time had passed at all, forcing Akaashi to face emotions he hadn’t even realized he’d buried. It wasn’t just the conversations or the casual moments of friendship that had returned—it was the way Bokuto’s presence stirred something raw in him, a part of himself that he had lost, and had gone quiet over the years.

Akaashi gripped the edge of his seat, trying to steady himself. He couldn’t let his thoughts spiral here, not now. This moment wasn’t about him—it was about Bokuto, about the team, about everything they had worked for to get here. But the pride swelling in Akaashi’s chest was overwhelming, nearly suffocating in its intensity. Bokuto was here, on this stage, where he had always belonged. And somehow, against all odds, Akaashi was here too.

The court below was alive with movement as Japan squared off against their first opponent: Canada, While the Canadian team was a formidable presence, they lacked the polished cohesion and unyielding intensity that defined Japan’s roster. The air inside the stadium felt heavy with anticipation, the sound of the crowd sizzled like fireworks. Akaashi could feel the vibrations of their excitement in his chest synchronize with the rapid beat of his heart.

Above the court, the stadium lights shone with a blinding clarity, illuminating every bead of sweat, every subtle shift in posture, every fleeting expression of determination on the players’ faces. Each of them had fought to stand here, to wear the red and white jerseys of their nation, and the weight of that responsibility hung in the air like a storm cloud, ready to break. The referee’s whistle sliced through the tension, and the crowd hushed in unison.

Japan won the coin toss and had their pick. As the teams took their positions, Oikawa —their most powerful server— stepped up to serve, his presence commanding and self-assured. Akaashi leaned forward, unable to tear his eyes away. Even from the distance of the stands, Oikawa’s intensity was palpable, his movements precise and deliberate as he held the ball in his hands.

With laser focus, Oikawa tossed the ball high, snapping his wrist with precision. The powerful serve flew across the net, veering just over the court line and landing squarely on the boundary—an ace. The crowd roared as the ball thudded onto Canada’s side, unable to be returned. “Oh I missed seeing this.” Iwaizumi grinned wide at Akaashi reminiscing the past.

Japan moved seamlessly, their plays rotating with the precision of a finely tuned machine. Every movement felt deliberate yet effortless, a testament to the hours of practice and the years of trust built between the players. It was mesmerizing to watch. Oikawa, as the primary setter, commanded the court with charisma and skill, each of his sets a perfect balance of precision and creativity. His skill wasn’t just technical—it was magnetic, drawing his teammates into an almost hypnotic rhythm.

But the magic didn’t falter if Oikawa missed a ball. If a dig strayed too far or the timing slipped, Atsumu or Kageyama would step in, their hands shaping the ball with an ease that bordered on instinct. The transitions between the three were flawless, a quiet reminder of just how devastating Japan’s offense could be. Watching them work in perfect harmony was like witnessing the inner workings of a masterpiece, every cog clicking into place without hesitation.

And then there was Sakusa. His spikes weren’t just powerful—they were methodical. The angle of his arm, the controlled whip of his wrist, the way the ball seemed to slice through the air before slamming onto the court—it was all precision, cold and calculated. Ushijima, by contrast, was a force of nature, his attacks like cannon fire that threatened to deafen their ears. The sound of his spikes echoed long after the ball had landed, a physical reminder of his strength.

But for Akaashi, none of them compared to Bokuto. There was something about him that stood apart, like a wildfire that could not be tamed. Bokuto didn’t play volleyball so much as he became it—every swing of his arm, every leap into the air… There was a gravitational pull to his presence, something so compelling it was impossible to look away. It wasn’t just his talent, though that was remarkable on its own. It was the way he radiated passion with every movement. On a court filled with some of the best players in the world, Bokuto still shone brighter, not because he outclassed them, but because he brought something only he could.

Akaashi’s gaze followed Bokuto as he rotated to the front row, his movements unrestrained, yet precise in their own way. He couldn’t stop the swell of pride that rose in his chest, warm and all-consuming. Seeing Bokuto in his element on this grand stage was breathtaking.The moment felt almost surreal, as if Akaashi were witnessing a dream that had finally come to life.

Bokuto soared high above the net, his approach timed perfectly, every muscle in his body working in harmony as he smashed the ball past Canada’s blockers with devastating precision. The impact was undeniable, the ball ricocheting off the court before anyone could react. The point was awarded to Japan, and Bokuto turned to his team, his signature grin lighting up his face like a burst of sunlight cutting through storm clouds.

“That’s him,” Akaashi thought, his lips curving into a wide grin. Bokuto wasn’t just playing volleyball, he was claiming his place, proving to the world what Akaashi had always known: he belonged here.  But alongside the pride, a quiet ache settled in Akaashi’s chest. Watching Bokuto like this—so vibrant, so alive—made him wish, just for a moment, that things had turned out differently. He could imagine himself standing next to Bokuto on that court, the two of them moving in perfect sync, as they had so many years ago. He missed the connection they had shared, the unspoken understanding between a setter and his spiker.

Yet, even as that longing lingered, the pride he felt overshadowed it. Akaashi’s gaze stayed fixed on Bokuto as the game continued, his heart swelling with every point earned. There was no doubt in his mind: this was where Bokuto was meant to be, and he was grateful—more than he could put into words—to witness it.

Play continued at an unrelenting pace, each rally more intense than the last. The court was a blur of movement, players diving, blocking, and attacking with unwavering focus. In one particularly grueling play, Atsumu flung himself low to dig a near-impossible ball, his outstretched arms sending it spiraling toward the net. Kageyama was there in an instant, his hands shaping a perfect back set despite the awkward angle. The ball sailed through the air, and Bokuto was already moving, his timing impeccable as he leapt high above the net.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bokuto unleashed a devastating spike, the ball slamming into Canada’s blockers with a resounding crack before spinning out of bounds. The referee’s whistle signaled another point for Japan, and the stadium erupted in cheers. Bokuto landed gracefully, his grin wide as he turned to his teammates, his voice cutting through the noise as he shouted, “Let’s keep it going!”

Akaashi’s eyes followed the play with laser focus, darting between each player on the court. He couldn’t help but feel mesmerized by their unity—the way they moved together, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place.

Japan finished the match with a decisive lead, their dominance on the court undeniable. Each set had been a showcase of their relentless momentum, the team’s coordination and skill leaving Canada with little room to recover. As the final whistle blew, signaling Japan’s victory, the arena seemed to explode. The roar of the crowd was deafening, cheers, applause, and chants echoed through the stadium, shaking Akaashi down to his core.

Akaashi found himself clapping wildly, his hands moving on instinct as his gaze stayed fixed on the court. Iwaizumi let out a loud cheer beside him, Kuroo pumped a fist in triumph, and even Kenma, who had spent most of the match absorbed in quiet observation, allowed a small, satisfied smile to escape. Akaashi didn’t care how loud or unrestrained he looked—pride was swelling in his chest, a warmth so intense it felt as if it might spill over.

The players on the court huddled together in celebration, their grins wide, their voices carrying over the noise of the crowd. Bokuto was at the center of it all, laughing and throwing an arm around Sakusa while Atsumu playfully jabbed him in the side. Bokuto’s energy seemed boundless, his sheer joy radiating outward like sunlight.

Akaashi’s throat tightened, and he felt an unexpected sting in the corner of his eyes. He quickly blinked it away, trying to compose himself. Akaashi could feel it in the air, in the sound of the crowd’s chants, in the light reflected in Bokuto’s eyes when he turned to wave up at the stands. This wasn’t just a victory; it was a triumph years in the making, and Akaashi couldn’t be prouder to witness it.

One of the perks of being friends with the players was the premium seats—close enough to feel the vibrations of the court, to hear the echo of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, and to catch the subtleties in each player’s expression. As the players lined up to thank the crowd, bowing in unison to the thunderous applause, Akaashi’s gaze lingered on Bokuto.

Then, as if sensing it, Bokuto turned and waved toward the stands. His eyes locked on Akaashi’s with startling clarity, and his grin—wide, unabashed, and so purely Bokuto—cut through the noise of the arena, making everything else fall away. It wasn’t the kind of grin you wore for the cameras or the crowd; it was genuine, warm, and unguarded, as though meant for Akaashi alone.

In that instant, everything else seemed to blur—the chants, the bright stadium lights, even the swell of pride radiating from Iwaizumi and Kuroo beside him. All Akaashi could see was Bokuto, standing there on the court where he had always dreamed of being, basking in a moment that was entirely his. And despite everything—the years apart, the regrets, the unspoken words—Akaashi felt a profound sense of happiness settle over him.

This was Bokuto’s moment, his best friend… It was everything he had worked for, everything he deserved. And Akaashi was here, watching it unfold. No matter what came next, he thought, this was how it was meant to be.

As the applause began to wane and the stadium lights dimmed slightly, signaling the end of the match, Akaashi found himself still looking at Bokuto. Even as the players began to retreat toward the locker rooms, Bokuto’s figure remained vivid in his mind—grinning, triumphant, larger than life. Akaashi let out a slow breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions that had taken root in his chest.

“Earth to Bo’s biggest fan, you’ve been staring at the court for five minutes now.” Kuroo teased, nudging Akaashi lightly with his elbow. “Are we hitting this rooftop party, or are you staying here to write him a love letter?”

“Why write a love letter when I can just edit yours?” Akaashi replied snapping out of his thoughts as he stood up and brushed off his pants. Although, the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. The sudden remark reminded him of his big mistake. There was no turning back now—he’d promised Bokuto that if they won, he’d go to the afterparty. And, of course, they’d won with absolute style.

Iwaizumi chuckled from Akaashi’s other side, clapping him on the back as they stood to leave. “Careful, Kuroo. He might just write it better than you.”

Kenma, still focused on his phone, added quietly, “Definitely better than you.”

Kuroo groaned, tossing his hands up as they began to make their way down the stairs. “You’re all lucky I’m emotionally secure.”

“Are you?” Kenma asked without missing a beat, glancing at him with a grin briefly before returning to his screen.

The four of them weaved through the thinning crowd, their steps in sync as they navigated the bustling arena. Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying with the faint buzz of post-match excitement. Kuroo slung an arm over his shoulder. “You promised us a good time, Akaashi,” He said with a sly grin. “Don’t let us down.”

“I said I’d go,” Akaashi deadpanned. “I didn’t say it would be a good time.”

Kenma glanced up briefly, his expression as impassive as ever. “It’s a rooftop party in Shibuya. There’ll be free food. It’ll be fine.”

“Free food,” Iwaizumi echoed with mock seriousness. “See? That’s the kind of optimism I like.”

The group exited the stadium, stepping into the crisp night air. The sound of Tokyo’s streets greeted them immediately—cars rushing by, the distant chatter of fans still buzzing about the game, and the occasional shout of a street vendor calling to late-night customers. Akaashi glanced over his shoulder one last time at the glowing silhouette of the arena before following the others toward the curb.

“Cab’s here,” Kuroo announced, waving to a sleek black car idling by the curb. He opened the door and gestured dramatically. “After you, Editor-san.”

Akaashi sighed, sliding into the backseat without comment. Kenma followed, tucking himself into the far corner, his phone already lighting up his face. Iwaizumi climbed in next, settling between Akaashi and Kuroo, who slid into the front passenger seat with a contented sigh.

The car pulled into traffic, the city lights streaking past the windows. Inside, the taxi buzzed with lively chatter. “You ready for this?” Kuroo asked, turning in his seat to throw Akaashi a teasing look. “Going to be a very different night for you once people recognize you, ink and all.”

Akaashi smirked faintly, leaning back against the seat. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

Kuroo’s grin widened, clearly enjoying himself. “I mean, Bo wasn’t wrong though. Now I get why he said you looked different in work clothes. No kidding. You’ve got this mysterious, brooding editor vibe during the day, and then you show up at night like this.” He gestured toward Akaashi’s forearms, where the bold lines of tattoos peeked out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. “It’s like Clark Kent, but with ink. I’m impressed.”

“Clark Kent?” Iwaizumi echoed with a snort. “More like Bruce Wayne. Quiet, brooding, but actually a menace underneath.”

Kenma, seated in the corner with his phone, finally glanced up. “Clark Kent isn’t even a good comparison. It’s just Akaashi in different clothes. Why are we overanalyzing this?”

“Because it’s fun,” Kuroo quipped, giving Kenma a mock-offended look. “And also because it’s true. Look at him! He looks cool, right?”

Kenma’s eyes flicked briefly toward Akaashi, his expression unreadable before he returned to his phone. “Better than your grunge phase in college.”

“What?” Kuroo said, affronted. “I’ll have you know I was ahead of my time with those ripped jeans and vintage band tees!” Kenma shook his head, muttering under his breath, “You were a mess.”

Iwaizumi laughed, turning to Akaashi. “You might want to prepare for questions, though. Tats like that are conversation starters, and this is a rooftop party. You’ll have people asking all night.” Akaashi shrugged lightly, his gaze shifting to the window. “I’ll manage. It’s not the first time.” 

“Good,” Akaashi replied dryly. “I’ll tell them I play bass in your imaginary band.” Laughter filled the cab, and Kuroo clutched his chest in mock devastation. “And this is why you’re my favorite.”

“Isn’t Kenma your favorite?” Iwaizumi teased, raising an eyebrow. Kenma glanced up, deadpan. “Don’t drag me into this.”

The cab rolled to a stop in front of their destination. The party was held on the rooftop of one of Shibuya’s trendiest skyscrapers, a buzzing hub for Tokyo’s nightlife elite. Its sleek glass exterior glowing under the neon lights of the city. Music and laughter spilled faintly from the rooftop above, promising a lively scene.

Kuroo stepped out first with a stretch, muttering something about the crowd, while Iwaizumi followed, nodding in agreement. Kenma slipped out quietly, his hands in his pockets, and Akaashi exited last, adjusting his sleeves as his gaze lingered on the glowing rooftop edge. Without a word, the group moved toward the entrance, the faint pulse of music growing louder as they stepped through the lobby doors and toward the elevator.

On the rooftop, music was thumping through the walls. flashing neon lights illuminated the dance floor filled with pro athletes, models, influencers. Everyone was having fun either clinking glasses as people danced, shouted, or reveled in the night’s excitement.On the rooftop, the bass of the music thumped through the walls, vibrating in time with the energy of the crowd. Flashing neon lights cast shifting hues of blue, pink, and gold across the expansive dance floor, where pro athletes, models, and influencers moved effortlessly.

The air was thick with the scent freshly poured champagne. Glasses clinked as laughter and shouts of excitement rippled through the night. Some danced with wild energy under the strobing lights, while others huddled by the bar, swapping stories and reveling in the intoxicating buzz of the celebration. The Tokyo skyline stretched out beyond the glass barriers, its shimmering lights a perfect backdrop to the night’s electric energy.

Bartenders at marble counters were pouring endless drinks — premium sake and champagne. The stars of the day were easy to spot, laughing and dancing in a rare moment of total freedom. Bokuto was, of course in the center of it all, his infectious laughter almost echoing above the music as he pulls people onto the dance floor, clearly high on victory. Sakusa was standing off to the side at the bar, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a drink in hand. Atsumu and Hinata were challenging each other to an impromptu dance battle, much to the crowd’s delight. Ushijima, surprisingly, seemed to be engaging in conversation with a couple of models, his usually stoic expression softened by the night's contagious energy.

 

Oikawa nudged Bokuto the moment he spotted the four coming in and Bokuto waved fervently at them, signaling to come near. “Akaashi!” Bokuto shouted, waving them over with both arms, his grin so wide it seemed to light up the space around him. He was standing right in the thick of the team, surrounded by familiar faces. The moment Akaashi got close, Bokuto swept him into a crushing hug, practically lifting him off the ground.

 

“You actually made it!” Bokuto exclaimed, his energy sparking like electricity. He clapped a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, his excitement spilling over. “This is gonna be amazing!”

 

They were attracting curious glances due to the fact that Akaashi was just casually lifted in the air by Bokuto. Akaashi tried to ignore others and laughed, brushing off the attention. “Someone’s already drunk,” he quipped, though the warmth in Bokuto’s grin made it hard to be annoyed.

 

“I’m not drunk!” Bokuto said, affronted. “I’ve only had…” He paused, counting on his fingers. “Uh, maybe two?”

 

“Or five,” Kuroo quipped, stepping up beside Akaashi with a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, we all know you’re naturally this loud.”

 

“Oi, Kuroo!” Bokuto spun, hands on his hips. “I’m not loud. I’m… expressive!”

 

“That’s one way to put it alright,” Iwaizumi muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from Akaashi, Oikawa nudged Iwaizumi, tilting his head toward the scene. “Be nice, Iwa-chan!”

 

Before Iwaizumi could respond, someone from the crowd gasped. “Wait… Iwaizumi? Iwa-chan? The Iwaizumi Oikawa talks about?” Within seconds, murmurs spread like wildfire, and a small group began to circle, whispering excitedly. “That’s him? I thought Oikawa was just making him up!”

 

Unfazed, Oikawa turned, flashing a smug grin as the attention shifted to him and Iwaizumi. “What? Don’t be stupid. You’ve played with Iwa before,” he said, with a wink. “Did you think I was lying all these years?”

 

Iwaizumi, however, looked mildly embarrassed, glancing at Akaashi with a sigh. “I knew this would happen.” To which Akaashi chuckled. “If there’s anyone who enjoys a spotlight as much as Bokuto-san, it’s Tooru.” He said softly. Before Iwaizumi could respond, someone from the group dragged him further into the conversation, now peppering him with questions. Akaashi sighed in relief as the attention diverted elsewhere. He wasn’t quite ready to deal with the spotlight himself—not yet.

Akaashi was actually kind of relieved that no one paid attention to him. It was probably due to his tattoos, he wasn’t as easily recognizable as Iwaizumi. He was banking on the endless drinks and hoping no one would make the connection. Meanwhile, Kuroo wasted no time nudging Akaashi benefiting from the crowd’s sudden interest in Iwaizumi.“So, I haven’t had the chance to ask before… You’re back in Bokuto’s life, huh?” he asked with a smirk, folding his arms as he gave Akaashi a teasing look. “I wonder how that happened.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’d say so,” he said simply, his tone calm but pointed. “Maybe you just haven’t been paying attention, Kuroo-san. Some of us know how to keep life interesting.”

 

Kuroo let out a low chuckle, folding his arms. “Still sharp, I see. You haven’t changed a bit.”

 

“Neither have you,” Akaashi replied smoothly, giving Kuroo a sidelong glance. He couldn’t help but think how little time had softened Kuroo’s talent for digging under people’s skin.

 

The raven realized, now satisfied with meeting Iwaizumi, Bokuto’s teammates were diverting their gaze at Akaashi, trying to understand where this stranger came from. Before his exchange with Kuroo could continue, Sakusa wandered closer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Akaashi. “Hmm…” He tilted his head. “Were you a setter in high school by any chance?”

 

“Yeah!” Bokuto interjected before Akaashi could reply. He jumped in and threw his an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders with a laugh.“He was my setter, but he’s even cooler now—big-time editor!” He said grinning wide. Bokuto’s pride was palpable, his grin radiating warmth as he looked at Akaashi. Akaashi raised a brow, half-amused and half-surprised by the admiration in Bokuto’s voice.

“HOLY SHIT!” Hinata cursed loudly, his brown eyes open wide. “AKAASHI-SAN?” He almost spilled his drink from surprise. “It is you! I thought you looked familiar, but I didn’t recognize you.” He quickly gave Akaashi a hug that he wasn’t expecting. Atsumu’s mouth gaped open. “Of course you didn’t” He retorted. “Hell! Look at those tattoos.” He grinned wide. “Those are most definitely new. Definitely way cooler than high school.”

“Mysterious editor with tattoos.” came a deep voice from behind. Akaashi turned to find Ushijima standing tall, holding a glass of wine. The wing spiker was studying him thoughtfully before raising his glass in what seemed like a rare attempt at friendliness. “Smart and sexy. I approve.” He said in his usual calm demeanor yet the words sounded foreign as if they didn’t quite belong to him. Akaashi felt goosebumps on his spine. Weird… He only had a few encounters with Ushijima before when he was in high school, and he seemed to be someone always proper.

Atsumu nearly choked on his drink, bursting into laughter. “Ushiwaka, are you drunk?”

Ushijima looked puzzled, glancing at his drink. “No, I just had one drink. Just… thought it would be polite.”

Bokuto, standing nearby, glanced sharply at Akaashi, his smile slipping. “That’s… interesting coming from you.” He said, with a laugh that sounded a little forced. He draped an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, pulling him in with a bit more enthusiasm than usual. Akaashi could only watch what was unfolding in front of his eyes.

Kuroo leaned in, chuckling, “You’re getting quite the fanbase, Akaashi. First, we had you down as the quiet one, and now… look at you, the mysterious editor.”

Akaashi laughed at that softly. “Didn’t know I’d be causing a scene,” he said, feeling a small flush of embarrassment. It was more attention than he was used to, but the positive energy in the air made it easier to handle.

As the night went on, Bokuto mingled with everyone being the center of the attention. Akaashi on the other hand, chose to sit at the bar, taking in the lively atmosphere around him. The rooftop sparkled with city lights and laughter. Every now and then, his gaze drifted to Bokuto, laughing loudly with teammates and friends, just being himself. Akaashi knew he needed to let go; their friendship had settled into something obviously steady. But it was not as easy at it sounded, instead he kept watching.

On the dance floor, Bokuto moved like he belonged there, his laughter loud and free as he drifted from group to group, pulling people into the moment with him. Of course, he didn’t let Akaashi just sit at the bar either. Bokuto’s first attempt to include Akaashi came casually. He approached with Atsumu and Hinata in tow, their expressions animated as they argued about something Akaashi couldn’t catch.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto called, his energy sparking as he reached the bar. “You’ve got to come with us—Hinata’s claiming he can moonwalk better than Atsumu, and I need someone to back me up when I tell them they both suck!”

Hinata whirled on him. “I do not suck! Akaashi-san, tell him!”

Akaashi smiled faintly but shook his head. “I think I’ll stay out of it. I’m fine here.”

“Come on,” Bokuto tried, leaning closer. “One dance! Or just watch—at least come closer.” Akaashi glanced at the crowded dance floor, then back at his drink. “I’m good here,” he said evenly, his tone kind but firm. 

Bokuto hesitated, his grin faltering for the briefest moment before he clapped Hinata on the back, redirecting his focus. “Alright, your loss! But don’t blame me when Hinata starts busting moves you’ll regret missing.”

The three of them disappeared into the crowd, and Akaashi exhaled softly, thankful for the reprieve. He could feel Bokuto’s energy tugging at him, that magnetic pull that had always been hard to resist. But tonight, Akaashi wasn’t ready to follow. Not there. Not now.

Bokuto returned to the dance floor, throwing himself into the music wild and carefree. He spun Atsumu around with dramatic flair, pulled Hinata into a playful battle, and even managed to get Sakusa to crack a reluctant smile. But his thoughts didn’t let him be.

I thought he’d come closer tonight, Bokuto thought, catching a glimpse of Akaashi still seated at the bar, steady and unmoving. It’s a party… Who wouldn’t let go?.. Why is it so hard to tell when he’ll let me in? The thought lingered, tugging at the edges of his usual brightness. He shook it off, diving back into the crowd with renewed intensity, but his gaze kept drifting back to the bar. Akaashi sat there, steady and calm, his silhouette framed by the distant glow of the skyline. Maybe I’m overthinking it, Bokuto thought. He’s always liked the quiet. I’m just… worried. He doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying this.

Akaashi, meanwhile, swirled his drink absently, his thoughts pulling him inward. He could feel Bokuto’s worry, see it in the way his gaze flickered over every time the music shifted or someone laughed too loudly. He shouldn’t be worried about me, Akaashi thought. I’m fine.

Was he really? Sitting at the bar felt safe, yes, but it wasn’t just about avoiding the noise or the crush of bodies on the dance floor. It was about something deeper. He needed to draw a line, a boundary. Bokuto’s presence was too overwhelming, too much, too good. He’s too good for me, Akaashi thought, his grip tightening on his glass.

The truth was, he didn’t trust himself. Not with Bokuto pulling him into the center of the chaos, his laughter in his ear, his hand at his waist, their movements stumbling in sync as the alcohol loosened their steps. Akaashi didn’t know how his heart would survive it, not when it was already on the edge of breaking. So he stayed at the bar, quiet and still…

Bokuto’s second attempt came back to the bar a while later, this time with Kuroo and a handful of teammates this time. While they were ordering up drinks, Bokuto sidled up again, his grin as wide as ever. “Akaashi,” he said, resting an arm on the counter beside him. “You’re missing out. Even Kuroo’s on the floor, and you know he has the rhythm of a drunk giraffe.”

Kuroo, mid-sip, raised a hand in mock protest. “Excuse me, I’m a vision on the dance floor. Right, Akaashi?” Akaashi arched a brow. “I wouldn’t know.”

Bokuto laughed, his voice warm but tinged with something unspoken. “Well, let’s change that. Come on—just one song!”

“I’m fine here,” Akaashi said again, his voice soft but resolute. Kuroo smirked, nudging Bokuto. “Tough luck, man. Some people just like to sit back and judge.” Bokuto laughed it off, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re missing out, ‘Kashi,” he said as he moved away, his arm brushing the edge of the counter.

From his seat at the bar, Akaashi watched as Bokuto rejoined the dance floor. Bokuto didn’t stop moving—he danced with Atsumu, Hinata, and Kuroo. He was loud and magnetic, pulling everyone into his orbit, but Akaashi noticed the way Bokuto’s gaze kept drifting back, lingering for a fraction of a second too long.

Bokuto didn’t head back to the bar immediately after Akaashi’s second refusal. He stayed on the dance floor, throwing himself into the music with an energy that felt almost performative. His laughter was louder, his movements bigger, as though he could dance his way out of the gnawing sense of defeat that had settled in his chest.

Bokuto lingered near the edge of the dance floor, laughing and cheering as Atsumu tried to coax Ushijima into dancing. But even in the midst of the noise and movement, his attention kept drifting. His eyes searched the room until they landed, once again, on Akaashi, still seated at the bar, his posture relaxed but distant, his focus somewhere far from the music and lights.

He hasn’t moved all night, Bokuto thought, his chest tightening. Akaashi looked fine—calm, composed, sipping his drink like he belonged exactly where he was. But Bokuto couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong, or that something between them had shifted.

Bokuto turned his back to the bar, suddenly feeling too visible, too obvious. The last thing he wanted was for Akaashi to notice the way his gaze kept wandering over. He slipped out of the crowd and toward a quieter corner of the rooftop, where the music was softer and the city lights stretched unobstructed beyond the glass railings.

He was surprised to find Oikawa already there, leaning casually against the railing with a half-empty glass in hand. Oikawa raised an eyebrow at Bokuto’s approach but said nothing until Bokuto slumped beside him with a heavy sigh. “Taking a break from the spotlight?” Oikawa asked, his tone light but curious.

Bokuto chuckled weakly, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that.” Oikawa glanced toward the crowd, his sharp eyes catching the way Bokuto’s attention flickered briefly back to the bar. “Ah,” he said knowingly, swirling the ice in his glass. “Let me guess. Akaashi?”

Bokuto froze, his grin faltering. “…What makes you say that?”

Oikawa smirked, sipping his drink. “You’ve been staring at him all night. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, Bo.”

Bokuto groaned, leaning against the railing with a hand over his face. “Am I that obvious?”

“To everyone but him,” Oikawa replied dryly. They fell into a brief silence, the distant noise of the party behind them blending with the soft rustle of wind across the rooftop. Bokuto exhaled heavily, letting his gaze drift back toward Akaashi. From this angle, he could see the way Akaashi’s fingers curled lightly around his glass, the way his shoulders rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He looked so cool, so unapproachable.

“I just wanted to dance with him,” Bokuto admitted quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Just once. But he keeps saying no, and… I don’t know. He looks fine, but I feel like—like he’s pulling away.”

Oikawa tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Maybe he is. Or maybe you’re not asking the right way.”

“What do you mean?” Bokuto asked, frowning.

“Bo, I’ve seen you… You’ve been trying to drag him onto the dance floor all night. With Atsumu, with Hinata, with anyone who’ll join you. You think he’s going to say yes to that?”

Bokuto looked down at his hands, his fingers tightening around the railing. “I just thought… maybe it’d be easier in a group. Less pressure, you know?”

“For you or for him?” Oikawa asked laughing. Bokuto blinked, startled. “I…” He opened his mouth but the words did not come out.

“Listen,” Oikawa said, his tone shifting to something quieter, more serious. “If you want him to dance with you, don’t make it a spectacle. Just ask him. Just you and him.” ‘

“What if he says no?” Bokuto muttered, his voice barely audible. “Then he says no,” Oikawa replied simply. “But at least you’ll know. And for what it’s worth,” he added, glancing toward the bar where Akaashi sat, “I don’t think he’ll say no. He’s been watching you, too. You just haven’t noticed.”

Bokuto’s head shot up, his eyes widening. “He has?” Oikawa chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.” He clinked his glass lightly against Bokuto’s shoulder. “Now stop moping and go ask him before I change my mind about rooting for you.”

Bokuto laughed despite himself, the sound quieter but more genuine than before. He straightened, his gaze locking onto Akaashi once again. This time, there was something steadier in his chest—a quiet determination he hadn’t felt before. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Oikawa said, his smirk returning. “And don’t forget to thank me when it works out.”

Bokuto grinned and raised his glass to him, his confidence sparking back to life. His pace quickened as he wove through the thinning crowd, the determination Oikawa had sparked in him carrying him forward. He had a plan now—a clear idea of what to do, what to say. He would approach Akaashi, quietly, no grand gestures, no chaos. Just the two of them, the way it should have been all along.

His eyes locked onto Akaashi, still seated at the bar, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his glass. Bokuto’s heart raced. He was just a few steps away now, rehearsing the words in his head. Akaashi, will you dance with me? Just once. No one else, just us. But before he could reach him, Bokuto saw her.

Alisa.

She slipped gracefully onto the stool next to Akaashi, her golden hair catching the light in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly. She turned toward Akaashi with an easy smile, her confidence and beauty radiating in a way that turned heads wherever she went. Bokuto froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat.

He knew Alisa. Lev’s older sister, the model. She was striking, magnetic, the kind of person who commanded attention just by existing. And now, she was sitting with Akaashi, her gaze fixed on him like he was the most interesting person in the room.

Bokuto’s chest tightened as he watched them. Akaashi turned to her, his expression shifting from its usual reserve to something softer, more open. Alisa said something, leaning in slightly, and Akaashi chuckle.  Bokuto could feel the genuity from where he stood.

His mind raced, unbidden thoughts spilling over each other. Of course, Alisa would talk to Akaashi. She’s beautiful, confident— perfect —and Akaashi… Bokuto swallowed hard, the memory of Oikawa’s words echoing faintly in his mind. He’s been watching you, too.

Had he been wrong? Bokuto knew Akaashi was bisexual—it wasn’t something Akaashi hid. And now, seeing him like this, leaning into a conversation with someone like Alisa, Bokuto felt a sharp, unfamiliar pang in his chest. I shouldn’t interrupt, he thought. He stood rooted in place, watching as Alisa and Akaashi laughing together as a fire started in his chest.

The sound of the stool scraping beside him drew Akaashi’s attention, and he glanced up to strikingly gorgeous blonde woman settling into the seat next to him with a dazzling smile. Her jade gaze was magnetic and her tall figure was framed perfectly by the evening glow of Tokyo. She pulled him back to the party from his thoughts and quiet musings when she spoke.

"Well, if it isn't the man with the most intense gaze at this party.” She offered him a teasing smile. She had that bold confidence that made it hard to look away. “Akaashi, right?” She grinned.

"I'm Alisa," she added with a warm smile, extending a hand. “But everyone seems to remember my brother Lev from Nekoma."

Akaashi’s brows lifted in recognition, and he took her hand. “Well, Lev was quite memorable.“ he replied, thinking back to her brother’s towering height and enthusiastic energy on the court. Alisa’s handshake was firm but light, lingering just long enough for Akaashi to notice.

"And here I was thinking I'd be making a splash as a hot-shot model tonight.” She teased, her eyes bright with amusement. "Seems I’m still ‘Lev’s sister,’ even here."

“Sorry about that," Akaashi replied, a slight smirk appearing on his face. “Though I have a feeling you leave your own impression just fine.” He stared at Alisa from head to toes.

“Oh, we have a smooth-talker here, don’t we?” she responded, her tone dropping ever so slightly, a hint of intrigue playing at the edges. Akaashi found himself holding her gaze a little longer than usual, surprised at how effortlessly she matched his energy. It had been a while since he felt this spark of mutual interest.

"So, is it volleyball that brought you here?" she asked, leaning in a bit closer, her voice loud enough to cut through the music but soft enough to make their corner of the room feel private. “Given those tattoos and the smooth talk, I’d guess our worlds aren’t too different. I like it.”

"Actually, no," Akaashi replied but feeling the chills down his spine with her not so subtle compliment. “I edit publications now. Just here as a guest."

“An editor? Really?... Fascinating!” Alisa said, her gaze steady on him. “You’re not like what you look like. It’s mysterious. I like that."

Akaashi’s heart gave a faint skip. She was bold in a way that was disarming yet refreshing. Most people he met at events like these stuck to easy conversations, flattery, or surface-level jokes, but Alisa seemed to take an interest that was both playful and unexpectedly genuine.“Oh? And what do you like about mysterious?” Akaashi found himself asking, a bit more intrigued than he intended.

“It keeps things interesting,” she answered with a wink. "And you seem like someone who has more going on than they show." She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the ink peeking out from under his sleeve. "Those tattoos don’t particularly scream innocent."

Akaashi looked down at his arm, feeling exposed yet intrigued. "They’re just things I enjoy,” he admitted. It was almost unsettling how quickly Alisa could peel back layers he had spent so long building.

Alisa smiled, tilting her head slightly as though she were studying him. "I like that answer. Not everything has to be an open book, right?"

The conversation felt easy but alive with subtle currents. The way she looked at him—openly, with curiosity and a hint of attraction—made him feel like maybe, just maybe, there was something he was allowed to explore outside of his carefully guarded walls. She was direct but in a way that invited him to engage, and Akaashi felt his usual reserve loosening.

"You know," she said, a hint of mischief glinting in her eye, "I actually came over here to ask if you’d dance with me."

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, a bit caught off guard. He wasn’t exactly the type to dance at parties, especially not in a crowd like this, but something in her gaze made him reconsider. He liked dancing after all, it was the crowds he disliked. “Is that so?” He asked, his voice lower.

“Mhm.” she grinned, undeterred. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “I promise, I’ll go easy on you…” Her boldness sent a thrill through Akaashi, and he chuckled, feeling his usual defenses start to waver. He jumped from his seat and extended his arm to Alisa. “Let’s go then."

She raised her glass in a playful toast before downing the rest of her drink and left her glass at the bar.

They moved to the edge of the dance floor. The music was pulsing around them. They began to move, and Alisa completely captivated Akaashi, her energy lively and infectious. She moved closer, Akaashi felt his heartbeat fasten.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” she murmured, leaning in close enough that her breath brushed his ear.

“No, it’s pretty good.” Akaashi admitted smoothly.  This time, it was Akaashi who moved closer, his hand resting at Alisa’s waist as he smoothly turned her around, pressing her back against his body. Her warm body felt like pure ecstasy. Their bodies shifted perfectly in sync. He couldn’t help his hand sliding up her smooth thigh. Each step effortlessly drew more curious glances from around the dance floor. Each roll of her hips against his felt deliberate, blurring the lines between dance and something more.

From across the crowded dance floor, Bokuto's gaze was fixed intently on Akaashi and Alisa. His breath suddenly caught in his throat as he watched them start to dance. He elbowed Oikawa, a flicker of confusion and concern crossing his face. "Is that... Akaashi? Or have I had too much to drink?”

Oikawa sighed, his arms folding across his chest as he followed Bokuto's gaze. "Looks like it. Quite the dancer, isn’t he?” His voice was light, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing.

Bokuto couldn't tear his gaze away from Akaashi, whose usual reserved and measured demeanor was replaced by an unsettling intensity as he danced. There was something different in the air around him. It wasn’t a fun, casual dance. It felt suggestive and sensual. Each move he shared with Alisa pierced Bokuto’s chest like a knife, his heart sinking with each beat.

Bokuto turned back to Oikawa, forcing a smile. His eyes were searching for something, anything, that might ease the sudden tightness in his chest. “You’re sure he’s not indifferent toward me?” he asked in a whisper. The words were laced with a vulnerability Bokuto seldom allowed others to see.

Oikawa’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on Bokuto's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I don’t know what to tell you, Bo," he confessed, his voice a mix of honesty and sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

Bokuto felt a surge of regret. He should have been the one out there with Akaashi, drawing out those smiles, feeling the warmth of his laughter. Instead, he had held back, too afraid of pushing too hard, too fast. And now, watching Alisa with him, a wave of jealousy washed over Bokuto, dark and bitter. He had always liked Alisa—her boldness, her clarity, her infectious energy. But now, those qualities seemed to mock him, highlighting what he had missed, what he might never have.

"I need a moment alone," Bokuto murmured abruptly, the words almost lost to the music. "I can’t watch this anymore." Without waiting for a response, he moved away, his steps carrying him toward the bar where the lights were dimmer and the crowd less dense. Oikawa watched him go, a mix of concern and helplessness in his eyes. He knew better than to follow. Bokuto needed this space to sort through his feelings.

Bokuto leaned heavily against the bar, his gaze fixed on the array of bottles in front of him, seeing none of them. The sounds of the party became muffled, distant, as if he were underwater. All he could think about was Akaashi’s laughter, that free, uninhibited joy that he wasn’t a part of. Tonight, the distance between them felt like miles.

As Akaashi and Alisa floated back toward the bar, their laughter trailing behind them like a vibrant echo, Bokuto’s gaze was fixed, unblinking. He watched every step, every gesture, his heart shattered to pieces. Each laugh, each shared glance between them was a shard of ice in his veins. Akaashi and Alisa were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t even notice him.

The dance had left them both breathless, cheeks flushed with excitement. Alisa's eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned closer to Akaashi, her voice a seductive whisper that cut through the din of the party. "So..." She bit her lip playfully, her gaze burning with intent. "Do you want to get out of here?"

A visible shiver ran through Akaashi as the immediate world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them. This was different, something he hadn’t felt in a while. In that moment, the room, the party, all faded into a backdrop as her words sank in, just a suggestion, but perhaps also a hint at something more. “Absolutely.” He said, his voice low and sure, his icy blue eyes alight with a fire that hadn’t burned in quite some time. He was ready.   

Bokuto, from his seat the bar, felt each word like a personal blow. The sight of Akaashi, the hidden suggestion behind the words… His whole world was crumbling down. He gripped his drink tighter, knuckles whitening. There was a crushing sense of finality in watching Akaashi agree so readily to leave with someone else, in realizing that the connection he longed for was maybe not meant to be.

He remained seated, lost in a whirl of thoughts, until the figures of Akaashi and Alisa became just two more shadows blending into the hotel's entrance. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Bokuto stood, the weight of lost possibilities pressing down on him. He didn’t follow but instead moved towards the edge of the rooftop, where the cool, night air felt like a balm. Below, the city continued unabated, lights twinkling indifferently. As he looked out over the skyline, the party behind him carried on—a world he no longer felt part of, a scene from which he had already exited.

Notes:

This has been hard to put together. Apologies in advance if there are any mistakes I've made. I read it over and over again, it started not to make sense, haha. Thanks for reading.

Chapter 14: The Proxy

Notes:

This is more or less smut lol. feel free to skip if you're uncomfortable.

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing in Alisa’s apartment. For Akaashi and Alisa, the real party had just begun. Alisa's blonde hair fell around her face as she turned to him, her eyes smoldering with desire. Without a word, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, their lips meeting in a fierce kiss that left no room for hesitation.

Akaashi responded immediately, his hands sliding down her sides, feeling the curve of her waist before settling on her hips. She tasted like champagne and mischief, and he couldn’t get enough. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as she deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth with a hunger that matched his own.

“Don’t go easy on me. I like it rough.” She whispered against his lips. Her low and sultry voice sent shivers down his spine.

He didn’t need to respond to that; his actions spoke in volumes. He caressed her beautiful thighs and lifted her effortlessly, pressing her back against the wall, pinning her there as his tongue danced with hers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer, their bodies grinding together in a desperate attempt to satiate the fire burning between them.

Alisa broke the kiss, gasping for breath as she nipped at his jawline, her teeth grazing his skin lightly before moving lower to his neck. Akaashi groaned, tilting his head to give her better access. He could feel her hot breath against his pulse. “Bed.” she demanded. “I want more.”

Akaashi needed no further encouragement. He carried her with ease to the room she pointed, threw her on the bed and climbed on top of her. His hands roamed over her body, finding the hem of her dress and yanking it upwards. Alisa lifted her arms, allowing him to strip the fabric away, revealing the black lace bra that barely contained her impressive chest. He paused, his eyes tracing the curves of her breasts. She caught his lustful gaze, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “Like what you see?”

“Immensely,” he admitted, his voice thick with desire. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the exposed skin of her shoulder, following the trail to her neck and collarbone with his tongue. Alisa shivered, her fingers digging deeply into his back.

Her hands were not idle either. She reached down, unbuttoning his shirt, her nails scraping against his abdomen as she pushed the fabric off his shoulders. Akaashi shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor as she continued her exploration, her fingers trailing down his chest slowly, yet her hand lingered before she pushed for the last destination.

He captured her hand in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles reverently. “Tease,” he accused, though there was no real heat in his voice.“Guilty,” she replied with a laugh. With her free hand, she unbuckled his belt, her fingers deftly working down the zipper. Akaashi’s breath hitched as she cupped him through his pants, her touch firm and confident.

“I want to see all of you,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper.

He complied, stepping back just long enough to remove his pants and boxers in one fluid motion. Alisa’s eyes widened as he sprung out, fully ready for her. She knelt before him, her fingers wrapping around his shaft, stroking him slowly as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“You’re carrying some serious equipment there.” she mused aloud, her voice filled with admiration. “But I think I can handle it.”

With that, she took him in her mouth, her lips sliding down his length. Akaashi’s head fell back, his eyes closing as he surrendered to the sensation. Her tongue worked in coordination with her hands,, drawing moans from deep within him.

She varied her pace, sometimes slow and others quick and urgent, always keeping him on the edge. Akaashi’s hands found her hair, threading his fingers through the golden strands as he guided her movements, encouraging her to take him deeper.

The tip of his cock was already dripping with excitement, and Alisa hummed appreciatively. The sound alone was enough to drive him wild, but when she suddenly pulled back, he let out a frustrated groan.

“Not yet,” she assured him, a mischievous glint in her eye. She reached into her nightstand, pulling out a condom. With a playful grin, she bit off the wrapper, using her mouth to roll the latex down his throbbing erection.

“Now it’s my turn, and I want it all.” she declared, standing up and straddling him once more. She rubbed his cock against herself, letting him feel her wetness, driving him wild. This time, she guided him inside, her warm, velvety walls enveloping him completely. Akaashi let out a shuddering breath as he filled her, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he murmured, leaning forward to capture her lips in another searing kiss. Alisa rocked against him, her movements slow, but full of intent. She was in control now, and she relished every moment of it.

They moved together, their bodies syncing in a rhythm that felt both frenzied and intimate. Akaashi thrust upward, meeting her downward presses with equal fervor. The friction built between them, sparking electric jolts of pleasure with each movement. Alisa gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode him harder. “More,” she panted, her voice breaking with desperation. “Ruin me.”

Akaashi turned her around with a force that bordered on violent, pinning her beneath him. His thrusts were becoming increasingly aggressive, driving deeper with each stroke. The bed creaked beneath their frantic movements, the sound barely audible over Alisa’s breathless cries. He was so close…Her nails raked down his back, leaving sharp trails of fire that only pushed him closer to the edge.

“Fuck… don’t stop,” she gasped, her head tilting back as her body arched beneath him. He couldn’t even have stopped if he tried.

A flash of a grin, wild and bright. Laughter, loud and unrestrained. Bokuto…

Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, every collision between them sparking hotter, harder. Every sensation was heightened, every kiss, every touch amplified by the heat of their bodies.

And yet—goddamn it—he couldn’t stop thinking about him. Bokuto’s face wouldn’t leave his mind—the brightness of his smile, the rough timbre of his laugh. Akaashi clenched his jaw, biting down on the moan clawing at his throat as the thought hit him with brutal clarity.

What would it feel like with Bokuto instead?

The question seared through him, burning the thin barrier he had tried to build around his heart. His rhythm faltered for the briefest moment before he pushed harder, deeper, as though trying to fuck the thought out of existence.

"Akaashi,  I'm so close," Alisa gasped, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. Her words snapped him back to reality, and he met her gaze, locking eyes with her as they continued their frantic dance.

“Fuck!” she cried out, her body arching as she came apart beneath him. Her inner muscles clamped down, milking him for all he was worth. He followed her over the edge, his release crashing over him in waves. For a moment, they simply clung to each other, their breaths mingling as they struggled to regain composure.

But even as her nails digged lightly across his back and her legs relaxed against him, a part of him remained distant, fractured. The thought slithered back into his mind, impossible to suppress now—Bokuto. Would he let Akaashi lose control like this, or would it be something else entirely? Would he let him be this rough, this desperate? Or would it be something that unraveled him in ways he couldn’t prepare for? What would it feel like with him instead?

He rolled over, trying to rid the thoughts of his mind. Before he could dwell on it further, Alisa’s hand traced his bare chest, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “Oh, no.” she shook her head pressing her lips against his. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easily, did you?”

Chapter 15: Three Hearts, Two Truths, One Lie

Akaashi had been seeing Alisa for a little over a week now, and every day with her felt like stepping into a different world. She was dazzling in a way that was impossible to ignore—confident, unfiltered, endlessly fun. With Alisa, everything was effortless. She made him forget himself, pulling him into her orbit without apology. It was intoxicating, almost too much, but he wasn’t ready to stop. 

Every day with her felt a little louder, a little freer than the last. For once, Akaashi didn’t feel the weight of overthinking, didn’t feel the pull of his own thoughts dragging him down. With Alisa, it was easy to let go. Maybe that’s what made her dangerous—the way she turned his careful world into something chaotic and wild, yet somehow, he craved it.

Tonight was no different. As he followed her into a retro bar tucked away in a Shibuya alley, he wondered how she managed to find these places. The glowing neon sign overhead promised of her classic mischief. The sound of laughter and music spilled out as Alisa held the door open for him, her grin electric. “You’re going to love this place,” she said, grabbing his hand to pull him inside. “I’ve been coming here for years. It’s got a vibe, you know?”

The bar was a blend of vintage charm and buzzing energy. Vinyl records and faded posters covered the walls, while a jukebox played in the corner. Old arcade machines blinked invitingly near the back, their lights a colorful backdrop to the warm sound of conversation. The air smelled faintly of citrus and aged wood, a mix that was oddly comforting.

Akaashi let Alisa guide him to a booth near a dartboard, the leather seats worn but inviting. He slid in across from her, his gaze briefly scanning the room. It was the kind of place that felt alive, like it carried the stories of everyone who had ever walked through its doors.“What’s the plan tonight?” he asked, watching as she flagged down a waiter with effortless ease.

“The plan,” she said, grinning as she leaned back against the booth, “is for you to unwind. Completely. And I’m not letting you leave until you do.” He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “I thought I was already doing that.”

“Not enough,” she replied, her tone playful but insistent. “Two Sazeracs,” she told the waiter, handing over the menus without so much as glance before Akaashi could object. “You’re not even going to let me choose my drink?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Nope. Just trust me.” She said with a wink.

The drinks arrived quickly, and Alisa took a long sip, sighing contentedly before turning her attention to the dartboard. “Alright, Mr. Editor,” she said, sliding out of the booth with purpose. “Time to see what you’ve got.”

“This is where you bring people to impress them?,” Akaashi asked with a wide grin. “Your big plan was darts?”

“Aren’t you too cool for fun?” Alisa teased grinning. “Don’t knock it till you try it.” she shot back.

“Darts,” he repeated, his tone dry. “Really daring.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to take you bungee jumping instead? I didn’t realize you were such a thrill-seeker.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, meeting her gaze. Unfazed, Alisa rolled her eyes. Her laugh was bright, a sound that cut through the bar. “No way you’re getting out of this. I’m about to destroy you.” She said as she grabbed a set of darts for them.

She spun a dart lightly in her hand, her grin taking on a mischievous edge.“Alright,” she said. “Here’s how it works. Loser buys the next round. If you hit the wall instead of the board…” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “You owe me two.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d miss,” Akaashi replied, his tone even as he took a sip of his drink while she threw her darts. Her first throw landed in the second ring, and she turned back with a triumphant grin. “Beat that, Mr. Editor. I’m just warming up, by the way.”

Akaashi lined up his shot, his throw deliberate. It landed in the middle ring, slightly better than hers but not by much. He glanced at her, his expression neutral. “Is this where I pretend I’m just warming up too?”

“Smartass,” she muttered, grabbing her next dart. “It’s so on now.” The game unfolded with a playful intensity, their scores staying neck-and-neck. Alisa played with loud confidence, taunting him at every opportunity. He wasn’t sure what was more satisfying: landing a better shot or watching her exaggerated reactions when he did.

“You’re annoyingly calm under pressure,” she remarked after a particularly close round, her voice half-admiring, half-exasperated.

“Is that a compliment?” Akaashi asked, arching an eyebrow.

“An observation,” she replied, her smirk returning. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

For a moment, Akaashi let himself wonder why this felt so easy. With Alisa, there were no expectations—just the next drink, the next laugh, the next game. It wasn’t that she made things better, exactly. She just made him forget they weren’t.

By the time they finished, Alisa had won by a narrow margin, though she didn’t let him hear the end of it. As they slid back into the booth with fresh drinks, the energy between them shifted into a calm.

“Admit it,” she said, leaning back against the booth. “You had fun.”

“It was tolerable,” Akaashi replied, his tone perfectly even. Her laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained. “You’re such a pain.”

“And yet, her you are,” he said, his tone matching hers, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Akaashi’s phone buzzed against the table, the soft vibration barely audible over the chatter. He glanced down, noticing Iwaizumi Hajime lighting up the screen. He wondered what it was about and clicked on it, reading the text:

“You coming back tonight?” The message was short but cryptic enough to give Akaashi pause. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back. “Why is this your concern?” He hit sent.

The reply came almost immediately: “No reason. Just asking.”Akaashi frowned, tilting his head slightly as he stared at the screen. His thumbs moved quickly: “That’s suspicious. What’s going on?”

There was a brief pause, three dots appeared indicating Iwaizumi was typing, then they disappeared.  He took a minute until he sent his next message. “Tooru wants to expand the territory…” It was again brief and cryptic, yet crystal clear to Akaashi this time.

Akaashi groaned softly, running a hand through his hair. Of course. His roommates—reunited after years apart—had been attached at the hip lately, and apparently, their enthusiasm was spilling into new rooms. He could already hear Iwaizumi’s nonchalant tone behind the words, and it only made the situation more absurd. He typed back: “For the love of god, not the kitchen.”

The three little dots of Iwaizumi typing appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. Finally, another message arrived, short and unapologetic: “So… you coming back?” Akaashi rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a faint, exasperated smirk. “No. Go nuts”, he replied, locking his phone and setting it back on the table.

“Who’s got you rolling your eyes like that?” Alisa asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts. She leaned forward slightly, her blonde hair catching the glow of the neon light overhead. He shook his head, still amused despite himself. “My roommate.”

“Why?” Her eyebrow arched, intrigue sparking in her expression. “What’s he doing?”

“It’s not just him,” Akaashi corrected, the faintest smirk creeping onto his face. “It’s him and his boyfriend. Or, more accurately, him and his very enthusiastic boyfriend… Apparently, they’re planning on… expanding their territory.”

Alisa tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly. “Enthusiastic how?”

“They’ve recently reunited,” he explained, his voice calm but edged with dry humor. “And let’s just say they’ve been… making up for lost time. A lot of lost time.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion for a brief second before realization dawned. “Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in shock. “Wait, wait. Are you saying—”

“They’re trying to christen every room in the apartment,” Akaashi confirmed.

Alisa blinked at him, then burst into laughter so loud it turned a few heads from nearby tables. She clutched her stomach, leaning back against the booth as she tried to catch her breath. “Oh my god. No.Way”. She shook her head sideways.

“Oh, yeah… They can’t keep their hands off each other. It’s so annoying.” Akaashi replied, his smirk deepening.

“Like, constantly?” she pressed, leaning closer as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Like bunnies,” he said flatly, taking a sip of his drink.

“Oh my god.” That sent Alisa into another fit of laughter. Akaashi watched her with a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Her laughter was contagious, filling the small space between them with warmth.

“And you’re just dealing with this?” She managed to ask between breaths, wiping the corner of her eye as her laughter began to subside.

“Well,” Akaashi said, tilting his head slightly, “I kind of have to. We do share a wall.” He muttered which he realized could be a mistake after set her off again. “What? You can hear them?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice tinged with sheepishness. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time at your place?”

Alisa’s laughter softened into a seductive smile, and she leaned forward to match his posture. “I dunno,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “I thought you liked me or something.”

Akaashi’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he met her gaze without hesitation. “That too.” Alisa’s grin widened at his response, a small warm laugh escaping her lips. “Good answer,” she said, leaning back against the booth and swirling the last of her drink.

“You thought I’d say something else?” Akaashi asked, raising an eyebrow, though his faint smile betrayed the hint of amusement he felt.

“Well, I half-expected you to make some smartass remark about needing a break from all the chaos in your apartment,” she teased.

“Technically, that’s true too,” he admitted, his tone dry but light. “It’s not exactly peaceful.”

“Peaceful is boring,” Alisa replied, setting her glass down with a confident clink. “And let’s be honest, you like the chaos. You wouldn’t hang out with me if you didn’t.”

Her light words struck with unexpectedly heavy impact. He felt his heart sank inside his chest, a pang made his breath hitch for just a moment. Chaos. She said it so casually, but the word hit deeper than he wanted to admit. Because when she said chaos, all he could think about was Bokuto.

The realization surprised him, sneaking in before he could shove it away. Bokuto was chaos—unapologetic, unafraid, boundless, and entrancing. And yet, Akaashi had always loved being around him, even when it exhausted him. Maybe especially when it exhausted him. Bokuto’s chaos had always been uniquely his own, a kind of brilliance that made Akaashi feel alive in a way he rarely let himself acknowledge.

Bokuto’s grin, wide and untamed, the way his laugh could fill an entire room,.. It left a strange ache behind, like a whisper of something he wasn’t ready to confront.

“Akaashi?” Alisa’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, her head tilted slightly as she studied him. He blinked, realizing he’d gone quiet. “What?”

She smiled, a touch of teasing warmth in her expression. “You spaced out for a second. What were you thinking about?” He hesitated, then shook his head with a faint smirk. “Nothing important.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, unconvinced but letting it slide. “Anyway, as I was saying—chaos suits you.”

“Does it?” Akaashi asked, his voice returning to its usual evenness. He tried to push his thoughts aside, gazing into Alisa’s eyes, trying to pull himself back to the moment.

“Absolutely,” Alisa said, setting her glass down with a confident clink. “And you know I’m right. You wouldn’t hang out with me if you didn’t secretly love it.” Her grin softened as  she said, standing up and offering him her hand. “Come on, Mr. Editor. Let’s see if you’re any better at pool than you are at darts.”

“I let you win at darts,” Akaashi said smoothly, sliding out of the booth and taking her hand. “Sure you did,” Alisa shot back with a laugh, pulling him toward the next adventure. As they weaved through the lively crowd, Akaashi let himself be drawn into her orbit once again, the bar fading into the background. Yet, the ache in his chest lingered, subtle but present, like a whisper he couldn’t quite ignore.

*************************************************************************************

Bokuto sat on his couch, staring at the phone resting on the cushion beside him like it was some kind of cursed artifact. The quiet of his apartment was suffocating, pressing against his ears in a way that Bokuto thought his eardrums would rupture as if he was at a loud concert. Outside, the muffled sounds of city life drifted through his window—a distant car horn, faint voices, footsteps—but inside, it was just him. Him and the gnawing emptiness that had been his constant companion for days now.

His thumb hovered over Akaashi’s name in his message app. Again. The screen blurred slightly as his vision swam, but he blinked hard, forcing himself to focus. The same chat thread he’d been obsessively opening and closing for the past week stared back at him, cold and lifeless.

What are you even doing, Akaashi? Bokuto thought, his heart twisting painfully. His thumb hovered for a moment longer before he swiped out of the app with a frustrated sigh. He tossed the phone onto the other end of the couch, raking both hands through his hair.

It had been over a week since they last saw each other, over a week of curt replies that felt more like rejections than conversations.  Before Alisa, they’d been inseparable— random coffee stops, late-night walks through the city where Akaashi’s quiet presence grounded him. Bokuto clung to those moments. He thought they were building something again, something real. Now? Now it felt like he was the only one who remembered any of it.

His phone buzzed, making him jolt. He scrambled to grab it, his chest tightening with a flicker of hope, but it wasn’t Akaashi. A promotional message flashed on the screen, mocking him with its irrelevance. He tossed the phone back down, harder this time, and buried his face in his hands. The last message he’d sent to Akaashi was still there, unanswered.

“Hey ‘Kashi! Wanna grab dinner? Hope you’re doing okay!”

It had been two days since. No response. “God fucking damn it,” Bokuto muttered into his hands. His voice cracked slightly, the weight of everything finally catching up to him. He leaned back into the couch, letting his head fall against the cushion. His cat, Milo, jumped up onto his lap, curling into a soft, warm ball against his stomach. The sensation was a small comfort, but it wasn’t enough to quiet his thoughts.

“Why doesn’t he want to see me, huh, Milo?” Bokuto asked softly, running his fingers through the cat’s fur. Milo purred in response, a steady vibration that reminded him at least someone needed him. “I thought we were good again.”

The tears he’d been holding back started to sting the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to push them down. “He doesn’t even care anymore, does he?” Bokuto whispered. His voice cracked, and he bit his lip, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape. He has her… He picked up his phone again, opening the chat with Akaashi. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, the same way it had a dozen times before. He typed out a message. “Hey, did I do something wrong?”

He stared at the words for what felt like an eternity, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel Milo shifting in his lap, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t hit send. It was pathetic. He deleted the message. Instead, he opened Kuroo’s contact. “You free?”

He needed to talk to someone. And he didn’t want to bother Oikawa with his problems. Not right now. Not when Tooru only had a limited time with Iwaizumi before he went back to Argentina. At least one of them had gotten what they wanted, and Bokuto was genuinely happy for him. He wasn’t going mess it up. Thankfully, Kuroo replied quickly. “Always free for you, Bo. Come over. Bring snacks if you want.”

Bokuto let out a shaky breath, grateful for Kuroo’s effortless reassurance. He looked down at Milo, who had turned to stare at him with those big, unblinking eyes. “At least there is Kuroo, right?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Milo meowed softly, nudging his hand as if to say, I’m here too.

For a moment, Bokuto let himself cry quietly, his fingers tangling in Milo’s fur as the tears fell. It was the kind of heartbreak he couldn’t explain, a hollow ache that sat heavy in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, the truth was undeniable: he missed Akaashi.

Milo purred louder, nuzzling against him as if sensing his despair. Bokuto wiped at his face, taking a deep breath. “Alright, Milo,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Let’s go see Kuroo.”

He scooped Milo up, holding him close for a moment before setting him down gently. As he grabbed his car keys, he felt the weight of his phone pressing against his leg, a constant reminder of the unanswered messages. He still hoped, even now, that Akaashi would text back. He hopped in the elevator and hit G for the parking garage.

The roar of the engine echoed through the underground parking garage as Bokuto slid into the low driver’s seat of his orange McLaren 720S. The convertible gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, screaming fun. Something Bokuto usually carried with him so effortlessly. But tonight, the sleek curves and the confident sound of the engine felt like a thin mask over the ache in his chest.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather, and  backed the car out of the garage and into the night. The Tokyo streets were a blur of neon lights and bustling pedestrians.  They barely registered in his mind. The roof was down, the cool night air rushing past him as he navigated through the city. It felt like freedom, yet there was no relief.

The farther he drove, the more the city thinned out, the bright lights replaced by quieter roads. Bokuto glanced at the dashboard; the navigation guided him toward Kuroo’s place, a place that always felt too big for Bokuto. A family’s house, he thought. A home.

The thought clung to him, heavier than he wanted to admit. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he accelerated.The wind whipped at his hair, stinging his cheeks, but it didn’t drown out the voice in his head.

A home, he thought bitterly. Kuroo and Kenma had built something like that together. Sure, they bickered, and Kenma’s love for solitude sometimes drove Kuroo mad, but at the end of the day, they came home to each other. They had someone waiting for them. Someone to share their highs and lows. Someone to lean on.

Bokuto swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He wanted that, too. He wanted someone waiting for him after a long day, someone to laugh with over dinner, someone to just be with. No… It was more than that, he wanted to come home to Akaashi.

His grip on the wheel faltered for a moment as his heart twisted painfully. The tears came before he could stop them, hot and relentless, blurring his vision. He blinked rapidly, but it was no use. They streamed down his face, leaving tracks of raw emotion he couldn’t hide.

I wish I never met him, the thought came, sharp and painful. It wasn’t fair—it wasn’t true—but god, it hurt too much. Loving Akaashi felt like a wound that wouldn’t heal, an ache that carved itself deeper every day. He didn’t know how to make it stop.

The car beeped sharply, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the speedometer and cursed under his breath. The car’s system had flashed a warning, urging him to slow down. He eased off the accelerator slightly, but his mind was still racing. For a brief, flickering moment, the thought crossed his mind: What if I just crash?

His eyes flitted to the empty road ahead, and his breath hitched. But the image of Akaashi’s face—Akaashi’s smile, the quiet warmth in his eyes—pushed its way into his mind, scattering the darkness. He clenched the wheel harder, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breathing. Try harder. He muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He forced his focus back to the road, his tears subsiding but leaving him raw and vulnerable. The city gave way to quieter streets lined with trees and large homes. Kuroo’s house came into view, a sprawling two-story building with warm lights glowing in the windows.

Bokuto pulled into the driveway, the sound of the engine cut off as he killed the ignition. For a moment, he just sat there, gripping the wheel. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to compose himself, He took a deep, shuddering breath before stepping out of the car.

The front door opened before he could even knock. Kuroo stood in the doorway, his usual teasing grin already in place. “Bo! You really can’t go anywhere without making an entrance, huh? I swear I heard that engine from two streets over.”

“Hey, Kuroo.” Bokuto forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His voice was hoarse, and he hoped Kuroo wouldn’t notice.

Kuroo’s grin faltered slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. He noticed everything. His gaze lingered over Bokuto’s face, taking in the tension in his jaw, the slump in his shoulders. He didn’t comment, though. Instead, he stepped back, gesturing Bokuto inside with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Come on in. Beer’s cold, and Kenma’s... well, Kenma’s being Kenma. So, nothing new there.”

Bokuto chuckled weakly as he stepped into the house, the warmth enveloping him immediately. It smelled faintly of coffee and something sweet—probably whatever Kenma had been snacking on.

The living room was as familiar as ever: a cozy mix of clutter and comfort, with Kenma’s gaming setup dominating one corner. Kenma didn’t even glance up as Bokuto walked in, his hands flying over the controller. “Hey, Bo,” he said flatly, his eyes glued to the screen. “Hey, Kenma,” Bokuto replied, his voice faint. Kenma gave a brief wave without turning, and Bokuto felt a kind of gratitude for the normalcy.

Kuroo patted him lightly on the shoulder, steering him toward the couch. “Sit. Relax. I’ll grab the beers. You look like you need one. Or three.” Bokuto sank into the couch, the cushions giving way beneath him in a way that felt almost too welcoming. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as Kuroo disappeared into the kitchen.

When Kuroo returned, he handed Bokuto a beer, cracking open his own with a practiced ease. “So,” Kuroo said, flopping into the armchair across from him, “Kenma’s got some big gaming tournament coming up. He’s been glued to that console all day. I think the only time he’s moved is to grab snacks or yell at the screen.”

Kenma snorted faintly from his corner but didn’t respond. Bokuto managed a small smile, his fingers curling around the cold bottle. “That seems to confirm itself.”

“Right? It’s ridiculous,” Kuroo continued, leaning back and taking a sip of his beer. “He says it’s training, but I’m pretty sure he’s just grinding at this point.” Kenma flipped him off lazily, still not looking up. Bokuto chuckled, a genuine sound this time, and Kuroo smiled to himself.

The room settled into an easy quiet as they drank. Kuroo didn’t push, didn’t pry. He just talked—about his day, about work, about the neighbors who somehow managed to back their car into their own mailbox. Bokuto listened, letting Kuroo’s steady voice fill the void in his chest, the ache easing just slightly. It wasn’t until they were halfway through their beers that Kuroo finally leaned forward, “So,” he said, his voice casual but edged with curiosity. “What’s going on, Bo?”

Bokuto hesitated, his fingers tightening around the bottle. “What?,” he mumbled quickly, taking a sip of his beer. “Nothing.” He said, choosing to play dumb. Kuroo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Bo. Come on.”

“I’m fine, Kuroo. Nothing—

“Bullshit,” Kuroo interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’re not fine. And that’s okay. But you’ve gotta talk to me. What’s going on?”

Bokuto stared at the floor, his throat tightening. He tried to find the words, but they felt tangled, too heavy to say out loud. Finally, he set his beer down on the coffee table, his hands trembling slightly.

“It’s Akaashi,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think… I think he’s seeing someone. Alisa.”

Kuroo leaned back slightly, his expression shifting into something softer. “Alisa? Lev’s sister?”

Bokuto nodded, his shoulders slumping further. “Yeah. I saw them together at the party, and… I haven’t seen him since. He doesn’t text back much anymore. And when he does, it’s like… he’s just being polite.” He laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. “We used to hang out almost every day, you know? And now it’s like I don’t even exist to him.”

Kuroo didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze steady. Then he reached out, patting Bokuto on the knee. Bokuto swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “I just… I thought we were good again. I thought…”

He trailed off, his voice cracking. “I thought he cared.”

Kuroo leaned back, his beer forgotten on the table. He didn’t know what to say. Akaashi had always been hard to read, but the way he watched Bokuto—like Bokuto was the center of his universe—it had seemed so clear. He’d always thought reconnecting with Akaashi was exactly what Bokuto needed. He never imagined it would break him like this. “That doesn’t sound like Akaashi,” Kuroo said carefully. “I mean… you’ve seen how he looks at you, right? Like he’s analyzing every word you say, every move you make.”

“Yeah, well, everybody keeps saying that, but I don’t get it.” Bokuto said bitterly. “Because he doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

Kuroo felt a pang of guilt inside his chest. All these years, he’d pushed Bokuto to go after Akaashi. He always believed they were meant to reconnect. Now, sitting here, watching his best friend unravel, he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing. “Bo,” Kuroo said after a long pause. “If Akaashi is really seeing Alisa, maybe… maybe it’s time for you to go out, too. Meet someone. Take your mind off things.”

Bokuto frowned, his shoulders tensing. “I don’t know…” He said, unsure. Kenma, still focused on his game, chimed in flatly. “Kuroo’s good at being a wingman. You should take him with you.”

“Kenma! I’m your husband, you should be at least a little jealous.” Kuroo protested, though his grin was quick to follow. “But yeah, I am. And hey, Kenma’s got a tournament coming up anyway, so I’ll have plenty of time to devote to Operation Bo’s Big Night Out.”

Bokuto let out a shaky laugh, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“But you’re smiling,” Kuroo pointed out. “So we’re not that ridiculous.”

Bokuto smiled faintly at Kuroo’s remark, but the expression didn’t last. His gaze drifted to his beer swirling in the bottle as the room around him faded into the background. Bokuto’s mind wandered to his days with Akaashi before Alisa once more. Akaashi had slipped through his fingers so easily, and Bokuto didn’t understand how it had happened. Or why.

Was he not enough? The thought clawed at his chest, sharp and unforgiving. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve, always given everything he had. But maybe that wasn’t what Akaashi needed. Maybe he was too much—too loud, too overwhelming, too… Bokuto.

He hated the way Akaashi consumed him even when he wasn’t there. He wanted to stop caring. To stop hurting. But the thought of letting Akaashi go completely felt like tearing out a part of himself. Kuroo’s suggestion lingered in the back of his mind.  I don’t know if this will help, he thought. Meeting someone else? Forgetting Akaashi? It felt impossible. Akaashi was woven into him now, stitched into the fabric of who he was. How do you forget someone like that?

And yet, what other choice did he have? He couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t keep waiting for messages that wouldn’t come, couldn’t keep hoping for a sign that things might go back to the way they were. Bokuto exhaled shakily, lifting his head to meet Kuroo’s gaze. “I’ll… I’ll think about it,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Kuroo nodded, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. He didn’t push, didn’t press for more. Instead, he leaned back, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin. “That’s all I’m asking, Bo. Take your time.”

The tension in the room eased as Kuroo shifted the conversation back to lighter topics, steering them away from the raw edges of Bokuto’s heart. He started telling a story about a disastrous team-building exercise at work, complete with impressions of his coworkers that had Bokuto chuckling despite himself. Kenma chimed in occasionally from his corner, his dry commentary adding a layer humor that only he could pull off.

By the time they’d finished their fourth beers, the weight on Bokuto’s chest had lessened slightly. The ache was still there, but it felt more like a dull throb than an open wound. Kuroo stood, stretching dramatically before declaring the end of the night. “Alright, superstar, I’m cutting you off. You’re not driving tonight. Guest room’s yours.” Bokuto nodded, too tired to argue. “Thanks, Kuroo.”

“Anytime,” Kuroo said, his grin softening into something warmer. “Go get some sleep. Don’t let Kenma’s muttering keep you up.” Kenma waved a dismissive hand, still glued to his screen.

Bokuto made his way to the guest room, the familiar space both comforting and foreign. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands for a long moment. The room was quiet, but his thoughts weren’t. They churned endlessly, circling back to Akaashi no matter how hard he tried to redirect them.

He laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The ache was still there, gnawing at him, but he forced himself to focus on something else. His next match. The second game of the Olympic tournament. It was the one thing he had control over, the one place he could channel everything he was feeling into something productive. Focus, Koutarou, he told himself, his jaw tightening with determination. This is what you’ve worked for. This is what matters now.

He repeated the thought like a mantra, clinging to it as sleep slowly pulled him under. At least he still had Volleyball. Something was waiting for him on that court to be ready. Something that didn’t depend on anyone else but him.

*************************************************************************************

The streets of Tokyo were louder than usual with Olympics energy as Akaashi walked alongside Oikawa and Iwaizumi toward the stadium. The looming structure ahead buzzed faintly with an already-gathered crowd, and the air felt charged with anticipation. It was Japan’s second Olympic match, and the stakes were palpable even from the outside.  The walk was filled with light chatter—Iwaizumi teasing Oikawa about his game-day routine while Akaashi listened quietly. 

It had been over a week since he’d last seen Bokuto after meeting Alisa at the party. He couldn’t shake the feeling that wishing him luck over text wouldn’t have been enough. It didn’t feel right since they didn’t see each other, nor talked a lot this week except for a couple polite exchanges. They were closer than that, he wanted to show his support to his best friend. As they neared the entrance to the players’ area, he turned to Oikawa.

“Can I come with you guys to the locker room?” he asked, his tone casual, almost too casual.

The request hung in the air for a moment, and Akaashi caught the subtle change in Oikawa’s posture. The national setter stopped mid-step, his usual easy expression replaced with seriousness, his eyes narrowing slightly. Akaashi blinked, taken aback. Oikawa had been kind to him after their first interaction. They weren’t best friends but they had fun, their dynamic filled with light teasing and sly comments which never felt cutting. So, the fact that Oikawa seemed to be considering his simplest request seemed baffling. He felt a biting sensation that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

You broke his heart, and now you want to see him before one of the biggest matches of his life? Oikawa’s mind whirred with a quiet frustration he masked behind his narrowed eyes. He wanted to say no. He wanted to shield Bokuto from whatever this encounter might bring. But one look at Iwaizumi’s calm, steady expression softened his resolve. Be the better person, Tooru. For Bo. For Iwa.

“Sure,” Oikawa said finally, his voice tight. His lips curved into a thin smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Akaashi’s heart sank at the clipped tone. He nodded, unsure what else to do, and followed them toward the locker rooms. What just happened? The question looped in his mind, each step closer to Bokuto only amplifying his confusion. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t think of anything, but the tension in Oikawa’s response lingered like a bad taste.

What’s his game? Oikawa wondered as they walked. He hadn’t confronted Akaashi about Alisa, hadn’t even brought it up with Iwaizumi. It wasn’t his place—not really. But seeing Bokuto spiral over it had been enough to stir his protective instincts.

When they reached the locker room, Oikawa turned to Iwaizumi with a smile that felt more genuine than the one he’d given Akaashi. He leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to his temple, murmuring something soft that made Iwa chuckle. Akaashi looked away, his unease deepening.

Oikawa lingered in the doorway for a moment, his sharp eyes flicking between Akaashi and Iwa. “I’ll see you later,” he said to Iwaizumi, his voice warm, before stepping in and letting the door swing shut behind him.

Akaashi stood in the hallway and said goodbye to Iwa. He wanted to take a breath and compose himself before he went inside. Just then, his focus zeroed in on the figure pacing across the locker room. His breath caught. Bokuto.

He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath as he paced. His hair was slightly disheveled, his usually vibrant eyes dimmed with an intensity. He didn’t seem to notice Akaashi at first, too lost in his own world. “Bokuto-san,” Akaashi called softly, stepping closer.

Bokuto froze mid-step, his head snapping up. His golden eyes locked onto Akaashi, and for a moment, there was something there—surprise, hope, relief. But it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharpness that Akaashi wasn’t used to seeing on Bokuto.

Bokuto stared at him, his mind a storm of emotions he couldn’t untangle. You barely said anything to me in over a week, and now you’re here? His thoughts crashed him like a truck. Why? Why now? I was just starting to feel like I could breathe again.

His heart twisted painfully as he watched Akaashi step closer, his familiar calmness only making the ache worse. He wanted to yell, to demand answers, but the words caught in his throat. “What are you doing here?” Was all he managed to ask, his voice was low.

Akaashi blinked, startled by Bokuto’s exhausted tone.“I wanted to wish you luck,” he said, trying his best to be steady despite the growing tension. “In person, since we couldn’t see each other this week.”He offered a small smile, hoping it might soften the moment.

Bokuto’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicking to the floor, then back to Akaashi. His silence stretched long enough that Akaashi’s smile began to falter. “Guess I’ll need it,” Bokuto said finally, his tone clipped, almost biting.

Akaashi flinched inwardly, afraid of the worst — offending Bokuto right before his big game. “Of course not. You’ll be amazing as always,” he said softly, trying to bridge the widening gap between them. But Bokuto’s gaze darted away again, his shoulders stiff with unspoken tension.

The locker room door creaked open behind them, and Oikawa stuck his head out. “Bo, they’re calling for you.”

“Coming.” Bokuto nodded stiffly. His golden eyes turned back to Akaashi momentarily. “Akaashi,” he said, his voice was a little softer but still edged a little with the resentment he couldn’t hide. “Means a lot.”

Akaashi was caught off guard by change in Bokuto’s tone. “You’ll do great,” he said, his words genuine, managing a smile.

Bokuto’s gaze relaxed, just slightly. Despite everything, despite the confusion and the pain, he couldn’t bring himself to push Akaashi away completely. “Thanks for coming,” he added after a beat, his voice more genuine and gentle than the last time.

Akaashi nodded, some of the angst in his chest easing at Bokuto’s words. But as he stepped back, giving Bokuto space to prepare, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something between them had shifted.

The locker room door opened again, and Oikawa’s voice cut through the tension. “Bo, you coming in, or are you staying out here?” he asked, his tone light.

“Alright, alright.” Bokuto sighed and glanced at Akaashi one last time before heading inside. Akaashi watched him go, not quite sure what happened nor how to make it better.

Akaashi made his way back to the stands alone, the muffled roar of the crowd grew louder with each step. The anticipation was palpable, the kind of energy that could make your skin buzz. He found his seat easily, sliding in beside Iwaizumi, who gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment. Kuroo was leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, already invested in the pre-match atmosphere, while Kenma sat back, his ever-present console in hand, barely glancing up.

Akaashi let himself sink into the seat, his heart still heavy from the exchange with Bokuto. The stadium lights dimmed slightly, signaling the start of the team introductions, and he forced himself to focus as the booming voice of the announcer echoed through the arena.

Both teams emerged onto the court, their strides confident, their presence commanding. Japan’s players jogged to their side of the court in their crisp white-and-red jerseys. The crowd erupted, a wave of cheers and applause washing over the arena. Akaashi’s eyes instinctively sought out Bokuto. His figure was as familiar as ever, standing tall in front of the lineup, his head held high. Even from a distance, Akaashi could see the intensity in his golden eyes, the determination etched into every line of his face.

“Man, this is going to be a good one,” Kuroo said, his voice carrying a mixture of anticipation and admiration as he leaned toward Iwaizumi. “Poland’s no joke.”

“They’ll have to bring their A-game,” Iwaizumi replied, his focus already locked on the opposing team. “But if anyone can handle them, it’s this squad.”

Kenma, still tapping away at his console, murmured, “Don’t underestimate Poland’s blockers. They’re brutal.”

Akaashi barely registered the conversation, his attention glued to Bokuto. As the teams lined up for the pre-match rituals, Bokuto glanced toward the stands, his eyes scanning briefly before returning to the court. Akaashi exhaled, feeling a strange mix of pride and longing settle in his chest. This was Bokuto’s stage, his moment. And despite everything, Akaashi was here for it.

The game unfolded in a blur of athleticism and strategy, the court a battlefield of spikes, blocks, and impossible saves. Japan played with precision and fire and seamless teamwork. Bokuto was everywhere—soaring for spikes, diving for saves. His energy knew no bounds. The crowd roared with every point Japan claimed, the atmosphere was drowning Akaashi in its intensity.

But Akaashi’s focus wavered. His eyes followed the game, his hands clapping automatically with each score, but his thoughts drifted. They circled back to Bokuto’s biting tone, the flicker of pain behind his golden eyes. He replayed their brief exchange outside the locker room, dissecting every word, every glance. The tension between them felt unbearable, like a thread ready to snap.

"That block was incredible," Kuroo said, nudging Akaashi with his elbow as Japan secured a critical point. Akaashi nodded, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Kuroo didn’t press, his gaze lingering on Akaashi for a beat before returning to the game.

By the time the final whistle blew, signaling Japan’s victory, the crowd had erupted into deafening cheers. Players swarmed the court, their faces alight with triumph. Bokuto was at the center of it all, his grin wide, his energy uncontainable as he high-fived his teammates.

“They did it,” Iwaizumi said, his voice edged with pride. Kuroo let out a sharp whistle, clapping enthusiastically, while Kenma offered a quiet nod of approval. Akaashi clapped along with them, his chest tight. The win was exhilarating, a testament to their hard work and unity. And yet, it felt distant to him, like he was watching from behind a glass wall.

As the crowd began to disperse and the players retreated toward the locker rooms, Akaashi stayed seated, his gaze fixed on the court. The tension in his chest hadn’t eased; if anything, it had deepened. He needed to fix this. Whatever this was.

Rising from his seat, Akaashi followed Iwaizumi and Kuroo toward the exit, his resolve hardening with every step. Whatever it took, he was going to make this right. He owed it to Bokuto—and maybe, just maybe, to himself too.

Notes:

It' s been a little longer than I wanted it to be. Life has been so busy. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm already working on the next chapter and will publish it ASAP.

Chapter 16: Rinsing off the Chaos

Bokuto sat alone inside his apartment, the distant murmur of the city brushing against the silence like a ghost at the edges of the living room. Shadows casting in the dim lighting formed a fragile stillness that seemed to echo the emptiness within him. He felt hollow, as if something vital had been carved out of him, unsure how to rise above the ache that had rooted itself so deeply in his chest.

 

The sharp, stabbing pain of Akaashi’s absence hurt more with each passing day. Quiet was violent. This time though, he didn’t try to reach out. He couldn’t. After the game, after that tension-filled encounter, he’d done something he never thought he would: he muted their conversation. It had felt like cutting away a piece of himself, like severing a limb. But it had to be done.

 

Bokuto stared at his phone on the coffee table. The dark screen felt like a reminder of everything he was trying to forget. Akaashi didn’t want to talk. Not in the way Bokuto wanted to. He wouldn’t engage unless it was Bokuto. Bokuto saw that clearly now. And if Akaashi didn’t want to engage, then maybe Bokuto shouldn’t either. He couldn’t keep staring at the little “seen” marks without a reply. He couldn’t keep hoping for a response that wouldn’t come. And he didn’t even want to know anymore if it ever did. It was self-preservation—or at least that’s what he told himself.

 

Muted. He wanted to laugh at the word and the irony—Akaashi had muted him first, hadn’t he? Not literally, but in every other way that mattered. Now it was Bokuto’s turn to pull away, to create space he should have ages ago. I should have blocked him, he thought. But he couldn’t. He knew blocking would sever their bond completely. He couldn’t do that. There was no life without Akaashi. He needed to learn how to be just a friend. And then, they could go back to being normal. Only then, maybe —just maybe— he could finally breathe.

 

It was not as easy as it sounded.  As the minutes slipped by, all Bokuto could feel was the slow, unrelenting ache of fading. He’d always been bright, loud, the one person who lit up every room he entered. Now, he felt like a shadow of himself, his brightness dimming with every passing day.

 

He wanted to call Oikawa desperately. But, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when Oikawa was over the moon with Iwaizumi… He didn’t want to drag him into this heavy, tangled mess. “It’s fine.” he whispered to the emptiness, though it sounded anything but convincing.

 

Each day, the ache in his chest grew sharper. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It couldn’t be. It was something, darker. His very sense of self was unraveling. He didn’t know if it was the loneliness, the silence, or the slow realization that the one person who used to steady him was gone—but the emptiness was suffocating.

Dangerous thoughts whispered at the edges of his mind, ones he didn’t dare linger on for long. Life felt dingy, small and  heavy, like everything had shrunk to the four walls of his apartment. He had to get out. Staying here, trapped with his thoughts, felt like a slow descent into something he couldn’t pull himself out of.

 

Kuroo’s words echoed faintly in his mind. “If Akaashi is seeing Alisa, maybe you should go out too. Meet someone. Take your mind off things.” He’d brushed it off at the time, but now it lingered, stubborn and unshakable. The idea felt wrong and foreign—how could he just go out and meet someone when Akaashi still consumed his every thought? But Kuroo had sounded so certain, so earnest, like it was something Bokuto needed.

 

For a fleeting moment, he considered calling Kuroo. His friend had always been his safety net, the person he could count on to pull him out of his spirals. But the thought of asking Kuroo to play wingman felt ridiculous. Kuroo was married now, his life settled in a way that Bokuto couldn’t imagine for himself anymore. What right did he have to drag Kuroo away from Kenma for something as trivial as this? No, he couldn’t do that—not to Kuroo, and not to himself. This was something he’d have to face alone.

 

He grabbed his car keys from the counter and shoved them inside his pocket. But where would he go?

He only knew that he had to get out. A bar? Maybe just being around people would help, even if they were strangers. His mind drifted to the boys’ bar he and Akaashi had gone to before.

 

A bar where bartenders talk to you and you pay for their company.

 

Akaashi’s voice almost echoed in his mind. Maybe that was what he needed, Even if it was transactional, even if he had to pay for it. Just company…A reminder he wasn’t alone. It was better than feeling alone in his own thoughts.

 

The thought didn’t comfort him, but it gave him direction as he left his apartment. It was a quick drive to Roppongi, Tokyo’s nightlife district.. The city’s buzz wrapped around him, a stark contrast to his internal quiet. When he arrived, the bar’s neon sign glowed warmly against the cold night, and he stepped inside, inhaling the scents of smoke and faint cologne.

 

The familiar setting greeted him: dim lighting, plush booths, low laughter melting into the music. It was as if he had stepped back in time to that night with Akaashi. Except, I’m alone this time. He looked around and didn’t know where to sit. Directly at the bar? Akaashi had said that was the place where he would get the most attention. Yet, he didn’t know whether he could do it without getting a couple drinks into his system first. He chose to sit in the exact same table he shared with Akaashi, this time alone.

 

When a handsome server greeted him, he ordered a Japanese whiskey, neat, his voice barely audible above the background noise. His server came back with generous glass, and Bokuto stared into the amber liquid for a long moment before taking a sip. The burn of whiskey grounded him a little. He felt the warmth spread through him, but it did little to lift the heaviness in his chest. His gaze drifted around the room, lingering on the different groups of people, their laughter, their easy conversations. For a moment, he imagined being part of that. Just simple company, something to ease the ache, even if it was only for an hour.

 

As time drifted by, Bokuto gradually eased into his second whiskey, feeling the edges of his initial discomfort blur. He swirled the amber liquid absent-mindedly, watching the way it caught the light. Minutes felt like they were slipping by slower, his gaze trailing from one lively group to another. Just as he settled back, letting the drink’s warmth seep through him, the familiar ringing of bells broke in the air, snapping his attention. He knew what this meant this time—boys hour was about to begin.

 

He glanced up and saw Terushima striding onto the stage, his smile effortlessly charming. His shirt was already coming off to a chorus of cheers. Terushima was magnetic just like last time, his body moving seductively to the beat, each move designed to captivate. Bokuto watched the dancer, his hips moving with the rhythm, his hands gripping the pole as he twirled and arched his body with an artistry that blended seduction and fun.

 

He was, undeniably gorgeous, but Bokuto felt nothing as he watched. The lights perfectly highlighted his toned frame and his wild energy, yet not even a flicker of excitement stirred in Bokuto. Even as Terushima executed a sharp spin around the pole and leaned back, flashing his seductive grin, Bokuto felt nothing beyond a distant admiration for Terushima’s control and confidence. He was completely and utterly numb.

 

Terushima wrapped up his performance with a flourish, striding off the stage to a chorus of applause. As he went through the tables, giving flirtatious winks to people, his gaze fell on Bokuto, and his smile shifted into something more familiar. He walked over with a devious look in his eye.

 

“Well, well, if it isn’t my most interesting guest…” Terushima teased, leaning one hand against the table. “It’s very nice to see you here.” He said seductively. “Are you alone? Thought you’d be here Akaashi, again.” His voice had a playful edge, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity too.

 

Bokuto tried for a smile but it fell short. He couldn’t fool anyone. “Yeah…not tonight.” He shrugged, eyes dropping to his glass, swirling the amber liquid once again.

Terushima’s brow lifted as he hummed. “Just ‘not tonight,’ huh? That sounds like there’s more to it,” he pressed lightly, leaning in with a bit more interest.

 

Bokuto forced a small laugh. “Yeah… you could say that.” He said not meeting Terushima’s gaze. “It’s… complicated,” he mumbled, as he took a long drink, his voice quieter than usual.

 

Terushima’s teasing smile faded, replaced by something more sincere and thoughtful. He studied Bokuto a moment longer. “Hey,” he said, voice quieter, “You sure you’re… okay?”

 

Bokuto looked up at his chocolate eyes, caught off guard by the genuine question. He managed a weak smirk. “Define okay.” he murmured, his tone half-joking, though the emptiness in his eyes gave in his answer honestly.

 

“Alright, big guy, let’s cut the crap.” He said almost scolding him. “I am pretty good at figuring people out, and you are a genuinely nice person. I hate the look on your face.” He sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to go back to work, but I’m done at midnight. Stick around, okay? You look like you could use someone to listen. We’ll talk.”

 

Bokuto looked up and blinked a few times, taken aback by the sincerity in Terushima’s eyes. For a moment, a flicker of warmth broke through him. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, really. Don’t sound so shocked. I’m not just shallow teasing, you know.” Terushima replied with a small grin, patting Bokuto’s shoulder in a reassuring way. Then he walked Bokuto to a corner seat of the bar and gestured to the bartender nearby. “Hey Daisuke, Can you keep an eye on Bokuto? He’s one of the gentle souls,” he murmured.

 

The bartender nodded, casting a warm glance in Bokuto’s direction. “You’re in good hands here,” Terushima said, resting a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.” As he walked off, Bokuto watched him go, feeling the smallest spark of comfort in the presence of people who, even just for tonight, understood. 

 

Bokuto sat down on the seat Terushima pointed and finished his second whiskey quietly. The music from the jukebox played softly in the background, mixing with the faint chatter of the patrons. It could have been a nice, but it felt distant, like white noise muffled by the chaos in his head.

 

He caught himself glancing at the entrance every so often, half-expecting Akaashi to walk in. But of course, Akaashi wasn’t coming. He didn’t even know Bokuto was here. He probably wouldn’t even care. The thought stung more than he’d like to admit as he played with the glass on the bar.

Daisuke, the bartender, noticed the empty glass and approached with smooth movements. “Another?” he asked, his tone quiet but observant. Bokuto hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Please,” he murmured in the end.

 

The third whiskey came, and Bokuto drank it slower this time, letting the burn linger. His thoughts wandered, drifting back to Kuroo’s words. Go out. Meet someone. Take your mind off things. He tried. It felt meaningless now, sitting here alone, surrounded by strangers who didn’t notice him, didn’t care.

 

The glass emptied quicker than he realized, and Daisuke replaced it without a word, sliding the fourth whiskey in front of him with a small nod. Bokuto didn’t resist. He was grateful for the unspoken understanding.

 

By the time he started his fifth, the room was blurring at the edges. The steady rhythm of the bar—voices, clinking glasses, muted laughter—washed over him, almost comforting in its constancy. But the ache inside him remained, deeper now, heavier. He swirled the whiskey idly, his thoughts circling back to Akaashi like a needle stuck on a record.

 

Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t he just let go?

 

A sudden warmth pricked at the corners of his eyes, and before he could stop it, a tear slid down his cheek. He brushed it away quickly, hoping no one noticed. But Daisuke, stationed nearby, caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he moved closer, topping off Bokuto’s glass without a word. Bokuto gave him a faint, grateful nod. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to explain. Just wanted the drinks to keep coming, to fill the hollow ache that nothing else could touch.

 

The alcohol did its job, loosening the tight coil of pain in his chest just enough for him to breathe, to lean back into his seat and let the numbness take over. He didn’t notice when the bell above the bar rang again, signaling last call. He was too far gone.

 

When Terushima returned around midnight, dressed down and looking more like himself, the first thing he saw was Bokuto slumped over a table in the corner, his head resting on his arms — clearly more than a little tipsy. Empty glasses were littering the bar counter. Terushima’s easy smile faded into a frown as he crossed the room. He shot a look at Daisuke, eyebrows raised. “This was your idea of ‘keeping an eye on him’?” he asked, half-joking but unmistakably concerned.

 

Daisuke had an apologetic smile on his face. “He looked pretty down, you know? There was this moment—he got teary-eyed, and I figured he needed another drink. Then I wasn’t sure if it was worse to cut him off. Was I not supposed to give him more?”

Terushima sighed, placing a reassuring hand on Daisuke’s shoulder. “Nah, I get it. He’s got that look, doesn’t he?” Turning back to Bokuto, he patted him on the back. “Hey, big guy.” He said softly, crouching slightly to meet Bokuto’s eye level. “You still with me?”

 

Bokuto stirred faintly, lifting his head just enough to reveal tear-streaked cheeks and glassy, unfocused eyes. “Teru,  Teru-shima” he mumbled, his voice thick. “You… you came back.”

 

Terushima’s frown deepened, but he forced a small smile. “Of course, I came back. I said I would, didn’t I?” There was a small silence as Terushima and Daisuke exchanged glances.  “Alright champ.” Terushima reached out. “Think you can walk?”

 

“Yeah, sure can!” Bokuto said, his voice slightly slurred. He tried to stand, wobbling as he held the table for support. Terushima’s eyes narrowed slightly with concern, and he guided him by the arm. “Come on. Let’s get you home, yeah? You’re gonna feel this in the morning. Just need the address.”

 

Bokuto gave a blank stare, blinking a few times as though the answer had slipped from his memory.“Um… Mind’s kinda… blank.” he admitted, laughing weakly.

 

Suppressing another sigh, Terushima patted his shoulder. “Alright, guess you’re coming with me then. Let’s get you somewhere safe.” He pulled out his phone, and was about to call a taxi when Bokuto stopped him.

“No…” Bokuto placed a hand on his own pocket, fishing out keys and shaking his head with sudden conviction. “Can’t leave my car…”

“Well, give me those,” Terushima said with a forced patience, holding out his hand. “I’m driving us then. You can have your car back when you’re sober. Deal?” Reluctantly, Bokuto handed over the keys, muttering something incoherent. 

Terushima jingled the keys in his hand as he approached Bokuto’s car—a bright orange McLaren 720S convertible parked outside the bar, gleaming even under the dim streetlights. He paused, eyebrows raising. “Of course, it’s the McLaren,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Flashy car for a flashy guy huh, Bokuto?”

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Terushima took a moment to adjust to the luxurious feel of the car. The leather interior was spotless, the controls more complex than anything he’d driven before. “Alright, Yuuji, no pressure,” he murmured, gripping the wheel. “Just don’t scratch the ridiculously expensive car of a ridiculously drunk volleyball player.”

The engine gave a low growl when he started it up, making him pause. He glanced over at Bokuto, slumped against the passenger door, mumbling incoherently. “You good over there, Bokuto?” Terushima asked, trying to keep his tone light.  “Mm… fine,” Bokuto slurred, waving a hand weakly. He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. “Just tired.”

“Alright,” Terushima muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”  He said as he adjusted the mirrors, shifted into gear, and pulled onto the road.

The drive started smoothly enough. The night air rushed past them cool and crisp, as Terushima maneuvered the car through the quiet streets. “Okay, so far, so good,” he muttered, his grip on the wheel firm. “I could get used to this—smooth handling, powerful engine—nice.”

He stole a glance at Bokuto, who seemed calm, his head falling slightly as he murmured something Terushima couldn’t make out. “You holding up okay?” Terushima asked, his tone lighter now that the initial nerves were fading. Bokuto raised a hand in a half-hearted thumbs-up, not opening his eyes. “Good…” he mumbled.

This really is actually pretty sweet. Terushima thought, relaxing slightly. He even reached over to turn on the radio, letting a soft tune fill the car. For a brief moment, he almost felt proud of himself for handling the situation so smoothly. But then, as he rounded a corner, Bokuto jerked upright with a sharp inhale. His hand clamped over his mouth, a soft groan escaped him — a sound that immediately set Terushima on edge.

“Oh no. No, no, no—don’t you dare puke in this beauty,” he said, half-serious, half-desperate, his grip tightening on the wheel as he glanced between Bokuto and the road.

Terushima reached over to grab a tissue from the center console, but before he could do anything else, Bokuto leaned over the side and emptied his stomach violently. Terushima winced instinctively, trying to keep the wheel steady. The wind whipped most of the mess back into the passenger side of the car, splattering the door, the seat, and—unfortunately—Bokuto himself.

Bokuto groaned miserably, his head drooping forward. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment, his words still slightly slurred.

“It’s alright, man,” Terushima said, glancing at him with genuine concern. He exhaled slowly through his nose, his voice remarkably steady as he said, “Well, at least I didn’t get any on me.”

Bokuto’s glassy eyes filled with tears as he looked at the mess on the door, his voice cracking again as he slurred, “I ruined the car.”

Terushima just stared ahead, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Forget the car. The car can be cleaned. Are you okay?” Bokuto nodded faintly but didn’t look convincing. The car beeped softly as Terushima navigated a turn, the motion making Bokuto groan again. Terushima glanced over and frowned. “Hey, stay with me. No more surprises, okay?”

Bokuto gave a weak thumbs-up, but his face was pale, and his eyes were glassy. Terushima exhaled deeply, his mind racing. When they finally pulled into the driveway of Terushima’s small, colorful house, he parked and turned off the engine. “Alright,” he said, stepping out and hurrying to Bokuto’s side. “Let’s get you out of this car before you ruin those fancy seats of yours.”

Bokuto let out a weak laugh, his voice hoarse. “Already… ruined,” he slurred.

“True,” Terushima said with a wry smile, carefully helping Bokuto out of the car. He winced as he saw the state of the passenger side—vomit smeared across the door and the seat, with Bokuto himself not faring much better. “Alright, let’s get you to the shower first, and then we’ll figure out the rest. Come on.”

He looped an arm around Bokuto’s waist, guiding him up the steps and into the house. The smell clung to them, but Terushima didn’t complain. He was more focused on Bokuto, who leaned heavily against him, his steps unsteady. “You’re gonna be okay,” Terushima said softly as they crossed the threshold. “We’ll get you cleaned up and sorted out.”

The door shut behind them, the warmth of the house contrasting sharply with the cool night air outside. “Alright, this way.” Terushima guided Bokuto toward the bathroom, one arm securely around his waist to keep him from stumbling.  Bokuto mumbled incoherently, his steps uneven and heavy.

When they reached the bathroom, Terushima flipped on the light, revealing the small but tidy space. He leaned Bokuto against the counter, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, we’re gonna get you cleaned up. You reek,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “No offense.” Bokuto blinked blearily, his head falling forward. “None… taken,” he slurred.

Terushima sighed, already rolling up his sleeves. “Right. Let’s get this started.” He turned on the shower, the sound of rushing water filling the room, and adjusted the temperature — as cold as he could to wake him up without freezing Bokuto.

“Arms up,” Terushima said, reaching for the hem of Bokuto’s shirt. Bokuto didn’t resist as Terushima tugged the damp, puke-stained shirt over his head, revealing his broad, muscular chest. Terushima paused, raising an eyebrow. “Well, damn. What have you been hiding? Didn’t know you were this jacked under the layers.”

“Volleyball…” Bokuto mumbled, blinking slowly. “I play volleyball.”

“Is that so?,” Terushima teased, his lips quirking into a grin. He turned back to the shower, testing the water with his hand. “Alright, head under. Let’s sober you up.”

Terushima grabbed Bokuto by the shoulders and gently maneuvered him toward the running water. Bokuto let out a surprised yelp as the water hit his face, his hands flailing briefly before he leaned against the tiled wall. “Teru!” he protested weakly, his voice muffled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Terushima said, keeping him steady. “You’ll thank me later. Just let the water do its thing.” For a moment, Bokuto stood there, the water streaming over his hair and down his face. His breathing slowed, and some of the haze in his eyes seemed to clear. Satisfied that Bokuto was coherent enough, Terushima stepped back. “Okay, you good to handle the rest?”

Bokuto nodded faintly, his movements sluggish but cooperative. “Yeah… I can… do it.” Terushima gave him a nod, then turned toward the door. “Cool. I’ll grab you some clean clothes and—”

The sound of fabric rustling made him glance back just in time to see Bokuto shoving his pants down, completely oblivious to the fact that Terushima was still in the room. The sight of Bokuto’s very naked form was enough to make Terushima freeze, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Terushima yelped, turning on his heel so fast he nearly tripped over himself. He grabbed the pile of discarded clothes from the floor in a hasty scoop and bolted for the door. “Clothes off when I’m gone, man! What the hell?!”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Terushima leaned against it, his face hot as he muttered to himself. “Of course. Of course, I see Bokuto freaking Koutarou naked tonight. Akaashi’s going to kill me.” He shook his head, his lips twitching into an grin. “Well, at least the guy’s got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Terushima brought a set of clean clothes for Bokuto and put them on the bathroom counter before heading downstairs. He carried the volleyball player’s dirty clothes to his small laundry room, tossing them into the washing machine with a grimace. “This is love, man,” he muttered to himself. “Or stupidity. Definitely one of those.”

As the machine rumbled to life, he grabbed a cleaning spray and rag, heading out to tackle the puke-splattered passenger side of Bokuto’s car. The smell hit him immediately. After what felt like an eternity, the car was passable—not great, but at least not a biohazard.  By the time he finished cleaning, he was thoroughly exhausted. He glanced at the clock. “Please, for the love of all things holy, let this guy be okay.”

When Terushima finally made his way back upstairs, he found Bokuto sitting on the couch. He was dressed in the borrowed clothes looked comically out of place on him. His cheeks were bright red, and he refused to meet Terushima’s gaze. “You okay there, big guy?” Terushima asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

Bokuto sat on the edge of the couch, staring down at his hands as they fidgeted in his lap. His damp hair kept clinging to his forehead, and the clothes he had borrowed felt ridiculous. Worse than that, he felt ashamed. The events of the night flashed through his mind in vivid, mortifying detail now that he was feeling more like himself: puking in his car, stripping in front of Terushima without realizing it, and now sitting in a stranger’s—no, not a stranger’s—Terushima’s apartment like a lost puppy. At least he had alcohol to blame.

His gaze drifted upward, scanning the room for the first time since Terushima had left him there. The place felt almost alive. Eclectic, chaotic, yet somehow comforting. A tapestry hung on one wall, vibrant and intricate, alongside a framed poster for a Parisian art exhibit. A small shelf overflowed with trinkets—tiny carved elephants, a miniature globe, a crystal that caught the light and scattered rainbows across the room. On the coffee table in front of him, a half-burned candle sat next to a stack of magazines with titles in languages Bokuto couldn’t read. 

His chest tightened. He didn’t belong here. Not in this warm, colorful space, not in Terushima’s space. He had barged into the man’s life tonight with nothing but his mess, and Terushima had met it all with patience and humor. Bokuto didn’t know why. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it. Terushima cleared his throat, catching his attention. “Bokuto…” He repeated. “Are you okay?”

Bokuto hesitated, his gaze dropping back to his lap. His throat felt tight, but he forced himself to answer. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice rough from earlier. “I’m okay. Just... embarrassed, I guess.” He laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t have gone out of your way for me.”

Terushima shrugged, stepping into the room and dropping into the armchair across from him. “And What? I was supposed to let you sleep in your car covered in puke?” He rolled his eyes. “We all need some help sometimes.”

Bokuto glanced up, his cheeks burning. “Still. You didn’t have to.”

“But I did anyway,” Terushima said simply. “You’re nice, Bokuto. And I don’t mind helping good people.” He grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Relax, okay? Your clothes are in the wash, so you don’t have to wear those forever. Once they’re dry, you can change back into your fancy volleyball star wardrobe.” The hint of humor in Terushima’s voice made Bokuto’s lips twitch into a reluctant smile. He felt a little less like a burden, though the embarrassment still lingered.

“And,” Terushima added, standing up and stretching, “I’m gonna make us some coffee. You need something to help you sober up a bit more before we talk.” Bokuto blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. “Talk?”

Terushima shot him a look over his shoulder as he headed toward the kitchen. “Yeah, talk. I said, I’d  listen, remember?” He paused, glancing back with a raised eyebrow. “You okay with that?”

Bokuto’s throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t from shame. It was something closer to gratitude. He nodded, his voice soft. “Yeah. I’m okay with that.”

“Good,” Terushima said, flashing him a grin before disappearing into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and closing, the clink of mugs, and the faint sound of a kettle filled the air, blending with the noise of the washing machine downstairs.

Terushima returned with two steaming mugs of coffee and a tall glass of water balanced expertly in his hands. “Here,” he said, setting the water down in front of Bokuto first. “Drink this. You need to hydrate—it’ll help you feel human again.”

Bokuto hesitated, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of the glass before he nodded. The cool water slid down his throat, soothing some of the dryness left by the alcohol and embarrassment. He drained half of it in one go and set the glass down. He managed a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks, Terushima,” he said quietly,

“Don’t mention it.” Terushima shrugged, with a knowing smile on his face. “And call me Yuuji. That’s what my friends call me.” He offered an endearing smile which Bokuto returned. “Koutarou.” He replied feeling a flicker of gratitude, his voice softer than usual. “But you can call me Kou for short too.”

Terushima studied Bokuto’s face almost profoundly, who was hunched over and lost in thought. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should pry, but the weight in Bokuto's eyes held so much pain, he couldn’t ignore it. “Koutarou” he started carefully, his voice unusually soft. “Now… Tell me. What happened with Akaashi?”

Bokuto’s shoulders stiffened as if bracing a for a blow, his gaze dropped to his lap. He looked away from his eyes struggling to keep himself together. His breaths came shallow and jagged, a tremor beginning to rise in his chest. He was on the verge of something—a collapse, a release—teetering between them.

“You don’t have to keep it together here,” Terushima murmured, giving his knee a light, reassuring pat. “It’s just us. Let it out.”

Bokuto’s breath hitched, and he couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over “Yeah…” He choked.  “I don’t even know how to talk about it anymore. It just… hurts. It hurts all the time.” His voice was a whisper, but the rawness in it spoke volumes. Terushima didn’t move, just listened, leaning in close enough to show Bokuto he was there.

“I love him, Yuuji” His voice quivered as the words fell out. “I’ve loved him for so long…Since high school. Before I even understood what it meant to feel this way. Before I even understood who I was. He was… he was everything. The only person who ever really saw me for who I am.” He paused,  as he choked back a sob.

“It’s always been him. He’s… he’s the one who got away. And it’s all my fault. Completely my fault.” His voice broke, and the sobs came hard and fast that he was barely coherent anymore. His hands were clenched so tightly on his sides that they trembled.

“My fault…” Bokuto repeated as his hands abruptly shot up to his head, gripping his hair to anchor himself. He yanked at the strands, hard. “It’s my stupid fault…”

“Hey!” Terushima sprung on him immediately trying to get a hold of him. “Hey, stop it. Please.” He pried Bokutos hands from his head but the damage was done. The silver locks fell out in pieces. “Let’s take a breathe, okay?” Terushima rubbed his back, his tone soothing but firm.

Bokuto’s hands went limp in Terushima’s grasp, his gaze turning vacant, lost in an ocean of regret. “You don’t understand… I cut him off, Yuuji. I’m the one who told him to stay away. Just because I cared about what people thought… My family and everything… Just because I was stupid and easily manipulated. Because I didn’t know who I was.” His voice dropped, filled with shame and sorrow.

 

“I was so lost, and he was the only one who understood me. The only one who would listen, no matter what. He was the only one who could tell me.” Bokuto’s hands shook in Terushima’s hold, his words almost a plea. “I wish he hadn’t listened that time. I wish he’d kept calling, kept pushing… then maybe I would have realized everything sooner.”

 

His voice fell to a whisper, weighed down by regret. “Now… He has someone else. He’s further away than he’d ever been. I’d give up everything I have just to close that distance, just to make him look at me like… like I matter to him as much as he does to me. And I know it’s not fair.”

 

Bokuto’s voice cracked, and his face crumpled, silent tears streaming down his face. “I let this happen, and I have no say in it anymore.” He was out breath and words to ramble. Terushima could only sit with him, his heart breaking for the silver. He placed a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, grounding him as best he could.

“You don’t have to keep this all inside, Kou.” He whispered. “Love like that… it deserves to be shared, even if it’s painful. You need to tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t.” Bokuto shook his head as he wiped his face with the back of his hands. “If I did, he would leave.” The confession came out broken and raw, his words catching in his throat. “I know Akaashi, he wouldn’t let me suffer in silence next to him. He would end this, thinking it was kindness. And I can’t risk that.” His bottom lip quivered as his face twisted with a bitter laugh. “How pathetic is that? I’d rather have all this pain than… than nothing at all.”

 

Terushima’s expression softened, his voice barely above a whisper. “Koutarou, you deserve more than just pain.”

 

Bokuto shook his head again, the tears beginning anew. “I just try to be there for him. But I can’t stop loving him. I thought I could, that I could just be his friend again, but… every time he’s near, it’s like all of that just comes rushing back.” His whole body shook with tremors. “And, I’ve tried everything, you know? Every time I tell myself, ‘Being best friends is enough,’ All it takes is one look, and it’s like I’m back in high school, I’m falling for him all over again. Then, I start chasing him, and sometimes he reciprocates and takes my breath away, others, he pushes me away with one look, building these invisible walls between us. I can’t take it anymore, Yuuji.”

 

Bokuto let out a raw, broken laugh through his tears. “It just feels like I’m stuck, you know?” he looked at Terushima, eyes full of so much pain it was hard for Terushima to bear. But he stayed put, letting Bokuto’s grief fill the room, showing him through his quiet presence that he was seen, that he didn’t have to carry it all alone.

 

Terushima sat back, reflecting for a moment before speaking. “You know… “He used to talk about you when he was drunk.” he said, a hint of a smile crossing his face.

Bokuto’s eyes widened, caught off guard, and he leaned forward. “He… talked about me?” he asked, barely above a whisper, as if afraid speaking too loud would shatter whatever Terushima might say next.

 

Terushima nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Yeah, not a lot. But every so often, your name would slip in. He’d talk about ‘a friend’ from high school who could bring energy to any room, or this ‘old teammate’ who’d always turn the game around, even when all seemed lost.” Terushima paused, a soft, sympathetic smile forming as he caught Bokuto’s breath hitching. “Sometimes, have I ever told you the time Bokuto-san did this…” He chuckled.

 

Bokuto swallowed hard, his heart caught between disbelief and a glimmer of hope, but Terushima’s gaze grew somber. “But, Koutarou, You hurt him, deeply. Do you realize that?” He stared directly into Bokuto’s golden eyes. “He wouldn’t want me to tell you this. But the whole time we’ve worked together, he never let anyone got too close to him. He would go on a few dates, and always end things before they got serious. I think it might have been because of what happened between you two.”

 

Bokuto’s head dropped, and he pressed his fingers to his temples, feeling the weight of Terushima’s words settle heavily. “God, I never wanted that for him,” he whispered, pain thickening his voice. “I wanted him to be happy, to feel free. And instead—”

 

“You know,” Terushima interrupted Bokuto gently, before he could spiral further, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I think those walls you’ve talked about… they’re not just about keeping people out.”

Bokuto’s golden eyes glistened, a tear slipping down his cheek as he turned his face away, trying to hold himself together. His voice came out raw, childlike in its vulnerability. “What do you mean?”

 

“Terushima’s gaze softened. “Maybe those walls are there because he’s protecting something inside,” he said carefully, his voice quiet but steady. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to let people in without breaking something in himself. You don’t just get over someone you talk about years later, Kou. Believe me.”

 

Bokuto swallowed hard, the words striking a nerve. He blinked down at his lap, his hands twisting together as he spoke, almost too softly to hear. “But… He has someone now.” His throat bobbed as he struggled to say it. “He’s seeing a gorgeous model.”

 

Terushima’s expression didn’t falter, though his tone became more resolute. “So?” Terushima asked nonchalantly, his hand firm on Bokuto’s shoulder. “That doesn’t mean you can’t tell him how you feel. You need to let him decide that, Kou. You can’t make that choice for him.”

 

Bokuto’s breath hitched, the thought terrifying and soothing all at once. He looked at Terushima, his eyes filled with so much pain it was hard to bear. “But… what if it ruins everything? What if I push him away for good? What if I ruin his relationship and…”

 

“You’re already hurting, man,” Terushima said, his voice carrying a gentleness that belied his usual playful demeanor. “And if there’s one thing I know about Akaashi, it’s that knowing you’re in pain would wreck him. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, you deserve to be heard. You won’t ruin anything. And I bet he’d want to hear it too. You mean too much to him for him not to.”

 

Bokuto let out a shaky breath, nodding faintly as Terushima’s words began to sink in. Then Terushima’s grin returned, a glint of mischief lighting up his features. “Besides,” he added, “have you seen how he looked at us the night I gave you a lap dance? I swear, I thought he was going to go apeshit on me.”

 

Bokuto blinked, his tears momentarily forgotten. “W-what?”

 

Terushima smirked, leaning back with a shrug. “Oh yeah. I immediately recognized you when he introduced you. I told you, he mentioned you before.” His smirk widened. “Akaashi is just so fun to mess with, I can’t stop myself from pushing his buttons when we’re together. I mean, that night… It was all the same… I was just messing with you guys and all, and I thought he knew… But Akaashi had this look, like he was five seconds away from storming and yanking me off of you.” He chuckled softly. “It was kind of refreshing seeing him like that, honestly.”

 

For the first time that night, a faint smile tugged at Bokuto’s lips. The thought of Akaashi being jealous—even slightly—eased the ache in his chest just a little. “You really think he…?”

 

“I’m just saying,” Terushima said, holding up his hands innocently. “The guy doesn’t exactly look indifferent when it comes to you. Even if he’s with this model you’re talking about that doesn’t mean he’s over you. And even if he is over you…” He softened again, meeting Bokuto’s gaze with quiet sincerity. “You still have the right to tell him how you feel. That’s your truth, Kou. Don’t keep it bottled up. It’s not fair to you—or him.”

 

Bokuto sat there for a moment, processing everything Terushima had said. The pain hadn’t disappeared, but there was something else now—a small, fragile thread of hope that he hadn’t felt in weeks. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “I… I really don’t know how to thank you for this.”

 

Terushima grinned, standing up and stretching dramatically. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, Kou, I’m glad I could help. But now, you need to rest. Take my bed—I need the living room anyway.” 

 

“What? No, I can—”

 

“Not a chance,” Terushima interrupted with a playful wink,  jumping out of the couch and already grabbing a blanket for himself. “I told you, I need the living room. And hey,” he added, his grin widening as he turned away, “Leave Akaashi to me. I might think of something.”
Bokuto let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he wiped the last remnants of his tears. “What? Yuuji, you’re being cryptic.”

 

Terushima’s grin turned mischievous. “Good. I like to keep things interesting. Now, go. We both had a long night, I need rest too. Leave me alone.” He shooed him with his hand. Bokuto hesitated for a moment, watching as Terushima flopped back onto the couch. His carefree energy felt like a lifeline. He nodded, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. “Thanks, Yuuji. For… everything.”

 

Terushima waved him off, already wrapping the blanket around himself. “Stop with all the thanking dude, seriously. Now go. Sleep. That’s an order.”

 

With one last glance, Bokuto made his way to the bedroom. The space was small but cozy—another tapestry hanging on one wall, mismatched pillows on the bed, and a faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. It was worlds away from his apartment, and yet it felt… inviting. Safe.

 

He sank onto the edge of the bed, his body heavy with exhaustion but his mind oddly lighter. The ache in his chest hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it had dulled, replaced by something—hope, maybe, or just the simple relief of being heard. Yuuji had given him space to grieve, to say the things he’d been holding back for far too long. And, somehow, without judgment or pity, he’d made him feel like he wasn’t completely alone in it.

 

As Bokuto lay back, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted to Akaashi. The pain was still there, but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel all-consuming. He let out a long, shaky breath, his fingers curling loosely around the blanket. Maybe Yuuji was right. Maybe there was still a way to face Akaashi—not with expectations, but with honesty. To lay it all bare and let Akaashi decide what came next.

 

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he thought about Terushima’s teasing grin and cryptic words. Leave Akaashi to me. What did that even mean? Bokuto didn’t know, but for once, he felt okay letting someone else take the reins. Just for a little while.

 

As his eyes drifted shut, a quiet sense of gratitude washed over him. For Yuuji. For this strange, unexpected night. For the possibility that things might not be as hopeless as they seemed. And with that thought, he let sleep take him, the faintest flicker of hope easing the weight that had been crushing him for far too long.

Notes:

Hi All, I hope you like this chapter. We're slowly getting there.

Chapter 17: The Line

Akaashi lay comfortably in Alisa’s bed, the early morning light filtering softly through the curtains. Alisa was right beside him, her arm draped casually over his chest, her breath slow and steady. The room smelled faintly of her lavender lotion, the sheets cool against his skin. For a moment, he tried to focus on the calm—the muted city sounds outside, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing, the soft warmth of her body against his. It should’ve been enough to lull him into peace, but instead, it only sharpened the restlessness clawing at his chest.

 

He hadn’t slept properly in days. Not since the Olympic game. Not since the moment he saw Bokuto’s golden eyes turn cold, his words clipped and distant. The memory had haunted him every night since, filling his mind with questions that refused to settle. He replayed the memories between them in his mind endlessly, trying to figure out what went wrong. They had been fine—or so he thought. Before he got together with Alisa, they saw each other almost daily. Their conversations sometimes stretched long into the night, the rhythm between them easy. Now, it felt like he didn’t know where they stood.

 

Akaashi reached to his phone on the nightstand, his fingers brushing against the cold metal. He hesitated for a moment before unlocking it, the screen casting a faint glow against the dim room. His thumb hovered over the conversation with Bokuto, his chest tightening as he opened it. Nothing new. Just two unanswered messages staring back at him.

 

Complete silence.

 

The feeling was just too familiar to the way he was abandoned a decade ago. Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid the thought off of his mind. Just look at the messages. He told to himself. Maybe if he analyzed them enough, he would find out what he had done wrong.

His first message came after Bokuto had asked to go for dinner in the conversation. “Hi Bokuto-san, Can I come over after work?” He had sent it the day after the game, the words carefully chosen to sound casual, nonintrusive. But the message was neither seen nor answered. He’d sent another one two days later. “Want to grab a bite this week? Let me know.” He hadn’t seen that one either. What could Akaashi make of that? Best case scenario for Akaashi’s sake would be him losing his phone.

 

Akaashi let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He didn’t know why he kept checking, he didn’t expect any change. He just kept hoping, kept waiting for some sign—any sign—that Bokuto would reach back out. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, the urge to try again almost overwhelming. But what would he even say? Why are you ignoring me? It felt childish, desperate. And yet, the silence was maddening.

 

His gaze lingered on the screen, his mind swirling with questions. Why wasn’t Bokuto answering? Had something happened? Was he angry? Hurt? The tension during their last encounter flashed through his memory—the clipped tone, the way Bokuto wouldn’t meet his eyes.

 

Alisa stirred beside him, her arm slipping slightly, and he glanced at her. She looked so peaceful, her golden hair messy against the pillow, her face softened in sleep. For a moment, guilt crept in. He cared about her, truly. She made him feel free in ways he hadn’t felt in years. And yet, even now, his thoughts weren’t here with her. They were somewhere else—somewhere they shouldn’t be.

 

With a heavy sigh, Akaashi set the phone back on the nightstand and pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to compose himself. He had to stop thinking about it. Had to stop letting the silence eat away at him. But then, the phone buzzed again, the vibration rattling loudly against the wood, breaking the fragile quiet and jarring him from his thoughts.

 

Akaashi grabbed his phone back quickly, his heart stuttering in his chest. For a fleeting second, he thought it might be Bokuto, but the name on the screen stopped him short.

Terushima Yuuji…

 

Akaashi frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion. Why was Terushima calling him in the crack of dawn? They haven’t worked together for a very long time. Akaashi had seen him last by pure coincidence. His stomach twisted as he swiped to answer, sliding carefully out of bed so as not to disturb Alisa.

 

“Morning, Akaashi,” came Terushima’s bright, almost mischievous voice on the other end. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

 

Akaashi straightened, his grip on the phone tightening. “Hi Yuuji. To what do I owe your wake up call?”

“Oh, nothing too serious,” Terushima replied, his voice practically dripping with feigned innocence. “But I’ve got someone here who needs a bit of a rescue mission this morning.”

Akaashi froze. His pulse quickened, a faint unease prickling at the edges of his mind. “Bokuto-san?” He asked,  recognizing immediately. His voice was calm, collected, but something in his stomach twisted, feeling strangely on edge.

 

Terushima chuckled, and Akaashi could practically see the playful glint in his eyes. “Bingo.” He replied. “Your boy went hard on the drinks last night. Pretty sure he’s gonna wake up hating life, but he’s still out cold for now. Thought maybe he could use a lift home.”

Akaashi’s grip tightened on the phone. He forced his tone to stay neutral. “I see. And you’re calling me because…?”

“Well, apparently he drove. I already did the heavy lifting last night. Took care of him, got him home…” Terushima paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to imply more. “Plus, my license is still suspended, so I figured, who better to call than his best friend?”

 

The words landed like a blow, each one peeling back another layer of Akaashi’s composure. His mind raced to fill in the blanks Terushima’s vague explanation left wide open. Bokuto had been with him all night? “I see… Did he stay with you?” He asked, his voice stayed steady, but there was a rising pressure building in his chest.

 

“Oh, yeah.” Terushima’s voice was infuriatingly casual. “He really went all out last night.” There was a pause, just long enough for Akaashi’s thoughts to spiral further.

 

Akaashi’s mouth went dry as he processed Terushima’s words, each one weaving a scenario he wished he could unhear. Terushima’s tone was intentionally vague, almost playful, leaving Akaashi’s mind to fill in every blank with the worst possible assumption.

Bokuto stayed with him all night. Terushima took care of him. He really went all out.

The words hung in the air, and Akaashi felt his pulse quicken, a flare of irritation sneaking under his skin. “I see.” He forced his voice into a steady tone, but he could feel the heat rising in his chest. “I appreciate the call. I’ll be over soon.”

 

“Oh, take your time,” Terushima replied smoothly, his words laced with a hint of amusement that grated against Akaashi’s nerves. “Fuzzy bear is not going anywhere anytime soon. Still knocked out—guess he really needed the rest.”

“Thank you,” Akaashi replied, a touch more clipped than he intended. He ended the call and lowered the phone, his pulse pounding in his ears. It was ridiculous to let this bother him, wasn’t it? He told himself that this was none of his business, that Bokuto was allowed to make his own choices. He was here with Alisa himself. But his rational mind was no match for the images of Bokuto sprung in his mind, at Terushima’s apartment, maybe even on the couch or—no, he stopped himself. He felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, a surge of unfamiliar jealousy that stung sharply.

Alisa stirred slightly as he leaned over to retrieve his shirt. She blinked sleepily, reaching out to touch his arm. “Where are you going so early?”

“Just… helping out a friend,” Akaashi murmured, brushing a hand through his hair to steady himself. He tried to smile but it fell short. His mind was still tangled in thoughts of Bokuto.

“Bokuto, right?” she asked with a knowing smile, propping herself up on one elbow. “Yes,” he admitted, forcing a polite smile this time. “I’ll be back soon.”

He didn’t even know how he got out of Alisa’s apartment and got himself in a Taxi. The ride to Terushima’s apartment felt unbearably long. It felt completely unfair to have these emotions. Just as he thought he would be moving on, just as he thought he found someone, just as he thought he locked away any lingering feelings for Bokuto…  The image of him with someone else, of him needing someone else, clawed through his defenses. What am I doing? He couldn’t even believe the feelings he was having, considering he was just in the arms of someone else. Make it make sense.

 

When the taxi pulled up to Terushima’s place, Akaashi paid the fare mechanically, his stomach twisting as he approached the door. He took a steadying breath before knocking on the door, the sound loud in the quiet morning. Terushima answered, looking all too pleased with himself. He was wearing an old band shirt with a fading logo, his expression smug and welcoming,.. “Akaashi!” He greeted. “Thanks for coming. Hope I didn’t drag you out of bed too early.”

 

Akaashi’s jaw tightened. He forced a polite nod, his voice calm but clipped. “It’s no trouble. Where is he?”

 

Terushima leaned casually against the doorframe, tilting his head like he was savoring the moment. “Passed out in my bedroom,” he said, his tone light but with a deliberate edge. “Come in,” he said motioning for Akaashi to follow him to the living room. He sat casually on the side of the armchair and grinned. “I’d offer you coffee, but I’m guessing you’d rather just get him out of here. Although…” he trailed off, his grin widening as his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I have to admit, he was great company last night. Really knows how to let loose when he’s had a bit of whiskey.”

 

Akaashi’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure what Terushima was hinting at, but each word felt like a deliberate jab. He kept a neutral impression, refusing to let the turbulence inside him show in his face. “I’m sure he was,” he replied coolly. “Thank you for calling me to pick him up.”

 

Terushima’s grin didn’t waver. He crossed his arms, leaning forward with an air of lazy confidence. “Of course. You’re a good friend, you know that?”

 

The words carried an undertone Akaashi couldn’t quite place. They felt too loaded, like there was something unspoken woven into them. It was the way Terushima said it, his tone, his movements, everything… He met Terushima’s gaze, his own sharpening. “That’s what best friends do, isn’t it?” His voice was cold, calculated, each word a deliberate retort.

 

“Sure, sure.” Terushima said with a kind of smirk that begged for a reaction. “Though,” he said, as he leaned in, lowering his voice as if confiding a secret, “it seemed like he needed something more than that yesterday.” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air like a live wire. “Good thing he had me.”

 

Akaashi felt something snap inside him, His grip on his emotions faltered as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His pulse thundered in his ears as his voice dropped dangerously low. “Yuuji,” he said, his tone laced with venom, “I’m warning you. Enough.”

 

But Terushima only shrugged, unfazed by Akaashi’s tone nor switching of his name. “Just my two cents. You seem pretty rattled for a ‘best friend’, don’t you think?”

 

The words were a direct hit, driving a crack straight through Akaashi’s composure. He could feel his control slipping, and before he could stop himself, his hand shot out, grabbing Terushima forcefully from the collar his shirt. His voice tore through the apartment, louder and sharper than he intended. “SHUT UP!”

The unexpected physical force knocked the smirk off Terushima’s face, his eyes widening in disbelief. From down the hall, a rustling sound broke, followed by a groggy, disoriented voice. “What’s going on?”

Akaashi turned sharply, his heart still pounding as he saw Bokuto stumble into the living room, his hair disheveled and his golden eyes half closed with sleep. He was wearing nothing but his boxers. Bokuto blinked, taking in the scene—the palpable tension, Akaashi’s hand gripping Terushima’s shirt, barely contained fury on his best friend’s face. His expression shifted from confusion to shock, golden eyes widening.

 

“Akaashi…?” Bokuto murmured, his voice soft and uncertain. He looked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing right before his eyes.

 

Akaashi released Terushima instantly, stepping back as if burned. But the damage was done. Bokuto had seen everything. Bokuto’s gaze turned to Terushima next, disbelief in his eyes shifting to momentary anger. “Why would you call him? “ He asked almost accusingly, as though the very act was a betrayal.

 

Akaashi’s stomach twisted at the words, each syllable cutting into him with unexpected cruelty. His chest tightened as the implications of Bokuto’s reaction sank in. He had rushed across the city, leaving Alisa, letting himself be tangled up in emotions he barely understood, only for Bokuto to look at him as though he were an outsider, as though he had intruded on something private. Fuck this. Fury was fueling his actions now.

 

“Why would he call me?” Akaashi echoed, his voice low and barely restrained. His jaw clenched, a fire was blazing in his eyes as he fixed his gaze on Bokuto. “Why the fuck not, you idiot? Am I not your best friend?” The words tumbled out, sharp and raw, echoing through the quiet of the room.

Bokuto froze, stunned, caught completely off guard. “I—Akaashi, I didn’t mean…” he stammered, searching for words.

But Akaashi wasn’t done. The dam had broken, and everything he’d been holding back spilled out, raw and unfiltered. “I drop everything and come running across the city, and for what?”His voice rose, dripping with all the resentment, jealousy, and frustration that had been brewing beneath his calm exterior. “For you to act like it’s some goddamn inconvenience that I’m here?” His voice cracked, raw with the hurt he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now. “You look at me like I’m some stranger who’s crossed a line. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Bokuto flinched, his hands trembling at his sides. “Akaashi, I—”

“Enough,” Akaashi snapped, his voice cutting through Bokuto’s weak attempts to explain. He turned to Terushima, his glare icy. “And you,” he said coldly, “enjoyed every second of stirring this up, didn’t you?”

Terushima held up his hands, the smirk back on his face but softer this time. “Hey, I just thought someone should come get him. Mission accomplished, right?”

Akaashi turned away, his hands trembling as he forced himself to calm down. “Go.” he said to Bokuto, his voice firm with the storm raging inside him, “Go, get ready. Now.”

Bokuto hesitated, his eyes searching Akaashi’s face for any sign of softness, any indication that things could go back to normal. But there was only fire there, burning, too hot to touch. “I—”

“Did you not hear me?” Akaashi’s voice was sharper than he intended, and he stepped forward, his eyes flashing with an intensity Bokuto wasn’t used to. “I said, go, get ready. Right now.”

The command hung in the air, startling Bokuto into silence. There was a weight to Akaashi’s words that left no room for hesitation, and, feeling the depth of Akaashi’s unspoken hurt, he finally turned and left the room to gather his things. When he disappeared down the hallway, Akaashi allowed himself a brief, trembling breath, the intensity of his emotions were overwhelming him.

Terushima raised his eyebrows, an amused smile playing at his lips. “Didn’t know you had that in you, Akaashi.”

Akaashi’s chest rose and fell sharply as he tried to rein in his emotions. His eyes flicked to Terushima, sharp and unyielding. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Yuuji,” he said, his voice ice cold. “And right now, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make this worse.”

Terushima didn’t flinch. Instead, his grin only widened, his eyes glittering with that infuriating blend of charm and mischief. “Fair enough,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. But then, as Akaashi’s attention shifted back to the hallway, Terushima added, almost too casually, “Guess I’ve just never seen you care so much before. It’s… interesting.”

The words hung in the air, light as a feather but sharp enough to prick. Akaashi refused to give Terushima the satisfaction of a response. Instead, he turned his eyes to the bedroom door as he forced himself to calm his racing heart.

When Bokuto emerged,  he was dressed but visibly shaken. He handed Akaashi his car keys without any argument. Akaashi gestured toward the door in silence. Bokuto followed, casting a glance back at Terushima, who winked as they left, leaning in the doorway. He chuckled, the sound low and maddeningly amused. “Drive safe, Akaashi,” he called after him, taunting Akaashi one last time, his tone as sweet as syrup.

When they reached to the car, Bokuto hesitated, casting a anxious look at his friend. The anger still simmered just beneath Akaashi’s calm exterior, and for the first time, Bokuto found himself uncertain, feeling as though he was seeing a side of Akaashi he’d never known existed.

 

“Get in,” Akaashi said firmly, not looking back. The command was direct, final, and Bokuto, heart pounding, climbed into the passenger seat. The silence was heavy, and Bokuto fumbled with his seatbelt, his hands shaky, glancing nervously at Akaashi out of the corner of his eye.

 

Akaashi started the car smoothly. As they pulled out onto the street, Bokuto noticed how clean the car was—almost suspiciously so. His heart sank a little further, realizing that Terushima must have taken care of it. A faint pang of guilt twisted in his chest. He fished his phone out of his pocket and shot a quick message to Terushima. “Did you clean the car? Didn’t expect that! What were you thinking? I owe you. Thanks for everything.”

 

A faint, fleeting smile tugged at Bokuto’s lips as he hit send, a small moment of comfort in the otherwise unbearable silence. He could feel Akaashi’s gaze flicker toward him briefly before returning to the road. “What are you doing?” Akaashi’s voice cut through the quiet, low and tight. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little harder.

 

Bokuto blinked, startled. “Uh, just thanking Yuuji.” he said, holding up his phone as though it would explain everything.

 

Akaashi said nothing, but the air in the car grew colder. Bokuto shifted in his seat, glancing nervously at Akaashi’s profile. His jaw was clenched, his focus fixed firmly on the road ahead.

 

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the silence between them thick and impenetrable. Bokuto bit his lip, unsure if he should try to say something, anything, to break the unbearable awkwardness. But the tension in Akaashi’s posture made it clear. It was not the time. Yet, as they approached a turn and Akaashi maneuvered the car in perfect motion, Bokuto couldn’t help blurting out, “You’re really good at this.” He said, genuinely. “Driving, I mean.”

 

Akaashi’s eyes flicked toward him for the briefest of moments before returning to the road. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone sarcastic. But Bokuto didn’t care, at least he responded, so he carried on with sincerity.

 

“Yeah,” Bokuto gave a small, nervous chuckle. “Didn’t even know you could drive. And handling my car like this? Not bad.”

 

Akaashi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. He didn’t respond, and Bokuto’s attempt at breaking the ice turned into heavy silence once more. The rest of the drive passed in agonizing quiet. Bokuto stared out to the city, his stomach churning with unease.

 

When they finally pulled into the parking lot of his apartment, Bokuto let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They stepped into the elevator, and he kept shifting uncomfortably as Akaashi stood rigid beside him, his gaze fixed on the glowing floor numbers.

 

“Thanks for, you know, driving me,” Bokuto murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Akaashi’s only response was a slight nod of his head, his eyes never leaving the numbers.

 

When the elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open, Bokuto exhaled a quiet breath of relief. He followed Akaashi silently down the hallway, the sound of their footsteps the only thing breaking the quiet. When they reached the door, Bokuto hesitated for a moment before unlocking it, glancing nervously.

 

As they stepped inside, Akaashi moved with mechanical precision, his movements sharp and cold. He led Bokuto to the sofa and set down a glass of water with a force that made the liquid ripple. There was none of the usual warmth, none of the quiet patience Bokuto had always relied on.

 

Right after giving Bokuto the glass, he retreated to the kitchen, and leaned against the counter, creating a safe distance between them.  It was as if Akaashi wasn’t staying, but he wasn’t leaving either. Bokuto sat stiffly, the glass of water untouched in his hand. He looked at Akaashi.  Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“I… I’ve never seen you like that, back at Yuuji’s,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Why were you yelling at him in the first place?”

Akaashi’s shoulders tensed, his voice clipped. “Oh, so it’s ‘Yuuji’ now, is it? When did you get on first name basis?” He asked, his voice ice cold.

Bokuto blinked, taken aback by the edge in Akaashi’s tone. “He just asked me to call him that, it’s not a big deal. What’s with the attitude?”

Akaashi’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have an attitude.” He said sharply.  “Go ahead, do whatever you want, be friends with whomever you want. It’s not like I’m here to interfere with that.” He rolled his icy blue eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Bokuto felt frustration rising. “Seriously, Akaashi, what’s your problem? I don’t understand. You’re acting like I did something to you!”

Akaashi’s eyes flashed, cold and sharp. “Oh, you don’t understand?” He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Maybe you’d understand if you took responsibility for once in your goddamn life.” He spat, each word a knife meant to wound.

Bokuto stood abruptly, the glass in his hands shaking. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me.” Akaashi’s tone was cutting, cold. “Look at yourself.” His words were sharp, each one opened another fresh wound. “You have a game tomorrow, you have teammates that depend on you, you’re representing your country. And where were you last night? Getting wasted at some stranger’s place!” His voice grew louder. “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”

The words landed like a physical blow. Bokuto’s jaw clenched as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “I don’t believe this. You’re seriously judging me for going out and having a good time?”

 

“‘A good time,’” Akaashi echoed mockingly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Is that what you call it?” A shrill laugh came out of his mouth. “ I had to come all the way from Alisa’s apartment to clean up your mess.” He spat, seething with years of resentment. “Please,” Akaashi continued, rolling his eyes looking at him with absolute loathing. “Do you care about anything other than keeping your fragile little ego afloat?”

 

Bokuto’s hands curled into fists, his whole body trembling with barely-contained fury. “Take that back,” he said, his voice shaking, his golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You don’t mean that.”

 

Akaashi took another step closer, his eyes blazing. “Of course, I do.” His voice was sharp enough to cut. “So desperate for attention, so desperate for validation, so self-obsessed. You can’t even see what you’re doing to the people around you.” He paused a moment, a deadly venom seeped into his words. “No.” He said, shaking his head. “You have no regard for what happens to people around you.”

 

Bokuto opened his mouth, and then closed it. He stood tall, fists clenched. “Akaashi,” the name rolled off his tongue almost carefully and paused. His golden eyes were losing their brightness by the second. “You don’t get to stand there and say that to me.” Bokuto finally said, his voice low and icy cold.

But his tone did not reach out to Akaashi. “Truth stings?” The raven asked in retaliation, his lips twisting into a wry smile, each one of his words intending to hurt.

 

“SHUT UP!” Bokuto’s face twisted with fury, hurt cutting through his voice.

 

“No.” Akaashi breathed through his nose, his voice low and dangerous. “ It’s true. You ARE desperate for attention, Bokuto. You are hungry for validation. You just take and keep taking. Do you even know how to give back? Do you realize how fucking exhausting it is to stand next to you sometimes?”

 

The words hung heavy in the air. Bokuto’s chest heaved, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled to find words. “GET OUT!” Finally, he shouted with all his might, his voice cracked with pain, his control shattering.

 

Akaashi froze, his breath catching in his throat as the impact of Bokuto’s words hit him. He took a step back, his composure faltering for a second. Bokuto’s chest rose and fell as he struggled to calm down.

What am I doing? The regret was immediate, but the damage was done. Akaashi opened his mouth, trying to take everything back, but Bokuto’s face was set, his expression unyielding. “Boku—

“I said, get out!” Bokuto screamed as he reached into the shelf next to him and grabbed the nearest object he could. A small wooden owl statue that was gifted him in high school from Akaashi. “GET OUT!” Bokuto’s scream tore through the air, his voice breaking as he threw the statue with everything he had, his vision completely clouded by thundering rage.

 

Akaashi barely registered the motion before the statue struck him hard across the cheek, leaving a sharp, painful gnash as it fell to the ground. He stumbled, the force of the blow knocking him back a step as he raised a hand to his face, feeling the sting and wet warmth of his own blood.

 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Bokuto’s fury almost instantly melted into horror. “Akaashi… I…” he stammered, stepping back, eyes wide with regret, reaching out as if to take back the action. “I’m so—”

 

Akaashi didn’t give him a chance to finish. His gaze fell to the statue on the floor, his fingers trembling as he bent down to pick it up.  His thumb brushed over the tiny chip on its surface, and his face tightened, his jaw clenching as tears spilled over, silent but raw. Without a word, Akaashi straightened, and clutched the statue tightly between his hands. He didn’t look back. He turned toward the door, his steps unsteady but determined.

 

Bokuto opened his mouth, reaching out to stop him, guilt and regret flashing in his eyes, but it was too late. He had crossed a line he hadn’t even known was there, and he knew, as he watched Akaashi walk away, that he couldn’t take any of it back.The door slammed shut behind Akaashi. Bokuto squirmed with its loud thud, standing, trembling in the empty apartment. The air itself was filled with the echo of everything they’d said, everything they wished they hadn’t.

Akaashi stumbled out of Bokuto’s apartment, his vision swimming slightly, feeling the sting on his cheek with a numb, detached awareness. The morning light was glaring and harsh. It snapped him partway back to reality. His head throbbed severely, not only from the injury but from the everything that had just happened. He instinctively reached into his pocket and found a crumpled napkin, pressing it against his cheek to stop the bleeding. Warm blood sept into the thin paper. He moved slowly toward the curb, his mind replaying the scene that had just unfolded.

He raised his hand and managed to hail a cab, barely registering the driver’s concerned glance as he muttered his address.. The drive was a blur. All he could feel was the ache in his chest and the faint throb of his cheek as he clutched the statue tighter.

Akaashi slipped inside his apartment quietly, hoping to avoid any questions. The sound of a movie drifted from the living room, and he moved toward his room, each step feeling heavier than the last. Just as he thought he’d make it, Iwaizumi’s voice called out.

“Hey, Akaashi, where’ve you been? Getting lucky?” He asked teasing. Akaashi’s shoulders tensed, and he turned, meeting the surprised eyes of his friends.

He saw the shift in their expressions immediately as they noticed his disheveled state—the blood-stained napkin pressed to his cheek, the owl statue held tightly in his hand. Iwaizumi and Oikawa exchanged a glance, their playful demeanor replaced with immediate concern.

“What the hell happened?” they demanded almost in unison, voices filled with alarm.

Akaashi just stared at them, dazed and silent, the enormity of what had happened still settling over him. Iwaizumi wasted no time, springing to his feet and heading toward the bathroom for the first aid kit. Oikawa, however, stayed seated, frozen in place, eyes fixed on Akaashi as if trying to decipher what could have led to this.

Oikawa’s gaze shifted to the object clutched in Akaashi’s hand. His brows furrowed as recognition dawned on him. “Wait… isn’t that Bokuto’s…?”

“No.”Akaashi’s head snapped up, his voice sharper than he intended. “It’s mine,” he replied, his tone defensive. He held the statue tighter, as if it might slip from his grasp. “I gave it to him… Now, I took it back.”

“Here,” Iwaizumi murmured, returning with the kit and motioning for Akaashi to sit down. With a steady, practiced touch, he dabbed at the wound, cleaning away the blood. Akaashi barely flinched, his gaze unfocused, his mind somewhere else entirely.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room. Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked to Oikawa’s, a silent exchange passing between them. They knew Akaashi well enough to sense that something serious, something painful, had happened.

Iwaizumi finished cleaning the cut, pulling back to assess the wound with a deep frown. He exchanged another worried glance with Oikawa before turning back to Akaashi, his voice gentle but firm. “Akaashi, you need to tell us what happened.”

Akaashi sat still for a moment. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, eyes downcast, as if he were ashamed to even meet their eyes. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “I… I was at Bokuto’s apartment.” The words stuck in his throat, coming out in fragments. “He was… hungover. I was just supposed to help him. I don’t know what happened.”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi looked at each other again, but neither spoke, sensing there was so much more lurking beneath the surface.

“It turned into… something ugly. We… argued.” Akaashi’s voice cracked, and he looked away, trembling slightly as he forced himself to continue. “I said things—things I didn’t even mean.” He paused, it was not easy to be honest. “Nasty, cruel things. Things that…” He trailed off, his chest heaving as he tried to gather himself, visibly fighting to keep his voice steady.

Iwaizumi leaned forward, his eyes filled with worry. “What kind of things?”

Akaashi’s face twisted, caught between anger and regret. “I don’t even know. I can’t even remember half of it, just… words. Words intended to hurt. I was so angry—so fucking angry. I don’t even know where it came from.” His shoulders shook, the weight of everything sinking in, feeling like he was coming apart at the seams. “And then… I made him snap.” He held up the owl statue, its chipped surface a stark reminder. “He threw this, right at me.” His fingers brushed over the damaged surface, his hands trembling.

A stunned silence filled the room as his words sank in. Oikawa’s eyes went wide. Iwaizumi’s jaw tightened, a mix of anger and worry flashing in his eyes. “He threw it… at you?” His voice was low, barely concealing the fury simmering beneath. He picked up the owl statue with careful hands, inspecting the slight damage as though it were a piece of evidence in a crime. His knuckles whitened as he gripped it.

 

“Yeah,” Akaashi whispered, his voice raw, barely audible. “I don’t think he meant to.” he added softly, almost to himself, as if convincing himself of that fact. “I don’t think it would have happened if I hadn’t been—

 

Oikawa reached out, resting a hand gently on Akaashi’s arm. “Don’t make excuses for him.” His voice was gentle but insistent. “There is a line, Akaashi. He crossed it.”

 

“That bastard…” Iwaizumi muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he raised his gaze, his eyes fierce, sharp. “I don’t care what went down in that apartment—there’s no excuse for this. None.”

Akaashi winced, shifting uncomfortably under Iwaizumi’s gaze, but Iwaizumi continued, his words rough with suppressed rage. “If he thinks he can just—” He stopped, clenching his fists even tighter, visibly wrestling with the urge to say something he’d regret. Iwaizumi’s knuckles whitened around the statue.

“Do you have any idea how your cheek looks right now?”he asked Akaashi after a beat, voice coarse, eyes blazing. "This isn’t some misunderstanding, it’s not something you can just ‘move past.’” He shook his head with disdain. “He’s supposed to care about you, best friend and all. Not hurt you.”

Akaashi shifted uncomfortably, he was about to protest, and maybe say it wasn’t as big of a deal as Iwaizumi was making it to be. But one look from Iwa made him shut up,  Iwa wasn’t done yet. “You might need stitches, do you get that? And this is your head on top of that…” he took a steadying breath, trying to keep his voice calm but failing.

 

“Bokuto’s a athlete. He is an outside hitter with the power to spike balls across a court at insane speeds. I see this at my job… A hit like that… You might have a concussion, or worse.” Iwaizumi exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself.“You need to see a doctor.”

 

Akaashi shook his head when he finished, brushing him off. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” he muttered, his tone clipped. Iwaizumi was overthinking, it was just some blood. He wasn’t dying.

Iwaizumi gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep his tone steady. “I’m serious. If you think for one second I’m letting you walk away without getting this checked out…”

 

Oikawa placed a gentle hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, his voice softer, almost pleading. “Keiji, you have to see a doctor. Just go. For us.” His gaze held a mixture of concern and something deeper, something Akaashi couldn’t quite place.

 

Akaashi swallowed, feeling the weight of his friends’ worry. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, exhaustion setting in. “I’ll go.”

“If he ever tries something like this again…” Iwaizumi muttered, the threat unmistakable, left unfinished but sharp as steel. He shook his head trying to gain his composure. “Come on,  let’s go.” He pulled Akaashi upward.

Akaashi let Iwaizumi and Oikawa guide him out of the apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last. He barely registered the ride to the hospital, his mind still swirling in fragments of what had happened. Iwaizumi kept a steady hand on his shoulder, his expression firm, though his jaw clenched every time he looked at Akaashi’s cheek.

 

At the hospital, the fluorescent lights felt too bright, harsh against the quiet exhaustion settling over him. The doctor’s voice drifted in and out of focus as she examined him, her words slowly piecing together the damage— mild concussion, stitches needed.

Akaashi sat back, numb, as reality pressed in with each new word, diagnosis echoing in his mind. The sterile walls closed in around him, making the reality hard to ignore. It didn’t feel real. Not the injury, not the diagnosis. Not that it was Bokuto who had done this.

Pressing a tentative hand to his cheek, he winced, feeling the sting ripple through him. Somehow, the pain made it sink in deeper. What they’d broken between them was more than skin-deep, more than either of them could fix with just words. Akaashi knew the the aching feeling in his cheek would fade with time, but he feared the ache in his chest might not go away so easily.

Notes:

I've been trying to figure out what's going wrong with my formatting here. But I guess I'll never figure out, because my spacing just seems all over the place once pasted here.

Hope you guys don't mind.

I love reading your comments/suggestions. This is the first time I've ever felt courageous enough to publish my writing haha and I'm very open to all your feedback!

Thanks a lot for reading!

Chapter 18: The Big Bang

Bokuto woke to the muted gray of early morning light seeping through the blinds of his bedroom. He laid motionless, the weight in his chest was pinning him to the mattress. The image of Akaashi’s wounded face flashed in his mind—the way Akaashi had stumbled back, the crimson streak of blood trailing down his cheek… Bokuto shut his eyes tightly, as if the darkness behind his eyelids might swallow the memory whole, but each blink only etched it deeper into his thoughts. I’m an excuse of a human being, he thought, the words a never ending echo in his mind.

When he finally dragged himself out of bed, his body felt rigid, as if he was held down by invisible chains. The silence of the apartment pressed in on him. The absence of Akaashi’s presence magnified the hollow ache in his chest. In the bathroom, he lingered longer than necessary, just staring into the mirror in front of him. It wasn’t that bad… Was it? He touched his own cheekbone feeling the same spot. His reflection stared back at him pale, disheveled, and full of regret. He splashed cold water on his face, but it did nothing to shake him from the fog of last night.

Breakfast was a silent, mechanical affair. Each bite turned progressively worse in his stomach. His thoughts spiraled endlessly, replaying the same argument over and over again. And the sharp sound of the wooden statue striking Akaashi… It can’t be that bad. It’s a soft spot, it can lacerate easily… Yeah.. A scratch. He’s fine. He tried to tell himself, but the returning image of the blood dripping down Akaashi’s pale cheek made it impossible to believe.

Bokuto's stomach churned as he tried to piece together how the injury had even happened. How had he managed to throw it so hard? Why would he even throw something in the first place? How had he let his anger take over like that? His pride whispered weak excuses, but they crumbled under the weight of his guilt.

When it came time to leave for the stadium, Bokuto hesitated. He stood by the door, keys in hand, staring at the knob. Today was the semifinals and they were playing against Italy. His team needed him. His country needed him. But all he could think about was Akaashi. His mind was fractured into pieces, and each piece kept replaying different parts where he managed to hurt Akaashi, torturing him endlessly. Nothing else seemed to matter despite how hard he tried.

The drive to the stadium was a blur. The radio played faintly in the background, but Bokuto couldn’t make out the words. He fought the urge to pull over and text Akaashi, or to call him and make sure he was okay. But both his pride and fear kept his hands on the wheel. Bokuto didn’t know what he would do if he called and Akaashi did not pick up. He’s fine, he repeated to himself, though the mantra grew weaker each time he repeated.

As he walked into the stadium, the lively buzz of the crowd and the sound of his teammates’ excited chatter should have energized him, but instead, it felt alien. He went through the motions of warming up, his movements stiff and uncharacteristically off. His teammates noticed the change, their glances lingering on him, but no one said anything. They knew better than to push Bokuto in a spiral when he was in his head.

He tried to focus desperately on the task ahead. Italy. Semifinals. Win this, and you’re in the finals. The stakes only made Akaashi’s absence more glaring. He’s my best friend… He should be here. He scanned the stands out of habit, searching for the familiar raven black hair. His chest tightened when he didn’t see him. Why would he come? Bokuto thought bitterly, his hands balling into fists. After last night… After what I did… Can I even call him my best friend?

The thought sent a painful a jolt to his spine. His sense of self was unraveling. The guilt coiled tighter around his throat, making it hard to breathe. Focus, damn it, he told himself as he bounced the ball with more force than necessary. You have a job to do. Don’t let them down. The sound of the violent thud attracted questioning looks from his teammates, but again, no one interrupted.

The team gathered, at the edge of the tunnel, waiting for the signal to step onto the court. The stadium was buzzing with anticipation, amplifying the pressure that clung to Bokuto’s chest. He didn’t feel like himself. His breathing was uneven, his hands were sweaty. I wish you were here, he thought, scanning the stands again, desperate for a glimpse of Akaashi’s familiar figure. His golden eyes stayed glued until he caught Oikawa's questioning gaze. 

 

“Bo,” Oikawa’s voice pulled Bokuto from his spiraling thoughts. “Do you really expect him to show up?” The uncharacteristic sharpness in his tone made Bokuto physically cringe. But, it was his next words that hit like daggers: “You gave the guy a concussion.”

 

“What?” Bokuto stammered, his heart racing inside his chest. It burned, searing through him as if scalding water poured down from above.

 

“You heard me,” Oikawa said, folding his arms with a somber look. “Akaashi. He has a concussion. What the hell were you thinking?”

 

“T-Tooru, I…” Bokuto stammered, his voice breaking as the color drained from his face. “I…I didn’t mean…” His voice trailed off, and he couldn’t finish his words. His hands started trembling. “Where is he?” He weakly asked.

 

“At home,” Oikawa replied, his tone softening briefly as he saw the genuine shock and the pain etched into Bokuto’s features. Then, he straightened, his expression tightening, and a stern edge returned to his voice. “Resting. Where else would he be after what you pulled?”

 

The revelation shattered what was left of Bokuto completely. His knees weakened under the weight immense guilt and everything he’d done—the argument, the hurtful words, the moment when he threw the damn statue. He despised himself. His stomach twisted painfully as a wave of nausea crashed through him, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. He gripped the bar on the wall for support. What have I done?

 

He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t play—not like this. The game, the semifinals, the Olympics—it all felt meaningless in the face of what he’d done. He had to fix it. He had to do something. If I’ve lost him… The thought was too painful to finish. With a sudden burst of determination, Bokuto stormed toward his coach, desperation written all over his face. “I have to go,” he blurted out without context. The words just tumbled out of his mouth in a flood, his voice thick with urgency. “I can’t do this. Not today. I can’t be here. I—”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” his coach barked, interrupting him, with an annoyed look that said: I don’t have time for your antics.

 

Bokuto took a deep breath. “I have to go,” he repeated, slower this time. “I have something important. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay,” he added, his voice firm with resolve. He didn’t have the time to explain everything, nor did he want to. He just needed to get out of here. And if his coach said no, he didn’t care. He wasn’t asking for permission—he was letting his coach know.

 

“The fuck you are.” the coach shouted, his eyes blazing, attracting looks from everyone. “You can’t just walk out on your team! This is the semifinals! You can’t expect me to replace you the last second.You owe this to your teammates, to this country. And if you think you can throw all of that away, I’ll make sure your career is over before you— ”

 

“I don’t care!” Bokuto snapped. His scream tore through the air like a shockwave, leaving the room momentarily stunned. “Go ahead!” His golden eyes burned with wild defiance, his chest heaving as though the sheer force of his voice had drained him. “I’d rather lose my career than lose him.” He spat, his voice sharp and seething. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m leaving. Try and stop me.”

 

The room was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the faint shuffling of feet or the occasional sharp intake of breath. Every player either stared at the floor or exchanged wary glances, unsure whether to intervene. The coach stood frozen for a moment, the remnants of Bokuto’s defiance still in the air. He hadn’t expected this. His threat with the career should have been enough to bring anyone to their knees. But Bokuto had tossed it aside as if it meant nothing. 

 

His arms uncrossed slowly, the hard line of his mouth faltering into something softer, almost unsure. It wasn’t everyday that a player screamed back at him. For the first time, the man who usually commanded the room seemed thrown. His voice softened and he tried to reason with Bokuto. “You’re not thinking straight—”

 

"Let him go," came a voice, cool and detached, cutting through the heated exchange like a breath of fresh air. The team turned in unison, startled to see Sakusa speaking. The coach’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a thin, disbelieving line as he shifted his focus to Sakusa. “Unbelievable.” he muttered to himself under his breath. His next words were louder, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Please, Sakusa, by all means, explain why I should let him abandon his team? Enlighten us.”

 

Sakusa exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on Bokuto. His voice was calm, measured, as though explaining something self-evident. "Because he’s a liability like this. You think he’s going to be any use to us on the court today? Look at him." He gestured subtly toward Bokuto, who stood trembling, his golden eyes filled with exhaustion and guilt. "He’s already checked out. We’d be playing with one less player if he stayed.”

 

The coach opened his mouth to argue, but Sakusa pressed on, his tone unwavering. “Besides, it’s going to ruin the dynamic now, everyone will worry about him. If you want to salvage any chance at winning this tournament, let him go and deal with whatever’s eating him. You need to have more trust in the team. We’re more than capable to hold our own without him.”

 

The bluntness of Sakusa’s words made Bokuto flinch, but there was no malice —just cold, hard truth. Sakusa’s gaze flicked back to Bokuto, his voice quieter but no less firm. "Fix whatever’s distracting you and get back here for the finals. You owe us that much.”

 

The coach hesitated, his frustration flickering into a deep battle within himself of understanding versus principles. His gaze fixed on Bokuto, taking in the raw desperation etched into every line of his face, the trembling hands, the sheer resolve radiating off him. Yet, everything about this moment felt wrong. Letting a player walk out now defied every principle he stood for. But as much as he wanted to stop Bokuto, something in the young man’s eyes swayed him. This wasn’t a tantrum. This was something deeper the coach couldn’t fight.

 

The coach took a deep breath. “Fine,” he said, the word heavy with resignation. “Go.” He paused, his jaw tightening as if the decision physically pained him. “He’s right. You’re no good to us like this anyway.” His tone softened as his gaze lingered on Bokuto. “Just... make it worth it.”

 

Bokuto barely registered the words as relief flooded through him. He bowed to his coach in silence, then  straightened and turned to Sakusa, gratitude flickering in his tear-brimmed eyes. "Thank you, Sakusa," he murmured, his voice uneven. Sakusa waved a hand dismissively, already turning back toward the others. "Don’t thank me. Just fix it.” 

 

Bokuto stood frozen for a moment. He glanced around, his golden eyes meeting the uncertain stares of his teammates. He could feel the judgment, the disappointment, and the unspoken questions hanging in the air. His chest tightened as he forced himself to speak. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “To all of you. I know how much this game means—I know how much this team means—and I’m letting you down.” He swallowed hard, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear I will. You just have to win this one for me.”

 

The room fell silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. Bokuto’s gaze darted from one teammate to another, his heart pounding as he braced for their reactions. He half-expected someone to call him selfish, to tell him to pull it together for the sake of the team. Instead, it was Hinata who stepped forward first, his bright eyes filled with understanding.

 

“It’s alright.” Hinata said gently, a small smile breaking through the tension. “We’ve got this. Go do what you need to do.”

 

Bokuto glanced up, his breath catching at Hinata’s compassionate expression. Before he could say anything, Atsumu chimed in, his tone warm mixed with his trademark cockiness.“It’s our time to shine, anyway,” he said, though there was a softness in his voice that almost whispered tenderness. “Don’t worry about us. We can handle this one.”

 

Oikawa stood off to the side, his gaze steady as it met Bokuto’s. Without a word, he pointed toward the exit nodding, his eyes calm and resolute. His hand lifted slightly in a subtle gesture, and he whispered, “Go.” Bokuto didn’t need him to say anything more. In that brief moment, he understood, everything would be fine. Oikawa believed in him, and that was all he needed.

 

Bokuto looked around at the rest of the team, who didn’t say a word but exchanged subtle nods, their expressions ranging from understanding to quiet determination. The silent gestures spoke volumes, and Bokuto’s chest tightened with gratitude. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he bowed.

 

Without another word, Bokuto turned and bolted out of the locker room, his footsteps pounding against the floor, echoing through the hallway. He drove to Akaashi's apartment, his thoughts racing with the speed that could match the car he loved so much. The drive was a blur of streetlights and muted colors of the city. Every red light clawed at his patience, each turn felt like an endless stretch of time, pulling him further from where he needed to be.

 

Bokuto pulled up outside Akaashi’s apartment, parking haphazardly. The back wheel grazed the curb, but he barely noticed.He was out of the car in an instant, sprinting toward the building. It loomed ahead—familiar, yet unbearably far. The elevator wasn’t an option. He couldn’t wait. He took the stairs two at a time, his breath hitched with every step, his chest tightening as his heart pounded in his ears.

 

He had to fix this. He had to see him. He had to make things right. He had to try.

 

By the time Bokuto reached Akaashi’s floor, his chest burned, his shirt damp with sweat and clinging to his back. The hallway stretched ahead, anticipating him with uncertainty. For a moment, he froze, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he slams the door in my face? The thought lingered for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, and took a step forward. The door felt impossibly far, but he moved with purpose.

 

His heart kept pounding in his chest as he raised his hand and knocked. The seconds dragged, each one carving deeper into the pit forming in his stomach. Every tick of his watch felt like a reminder of the distance between them. Finally, a faint shuffle of movement from the other side of the door broke the quiet. His breath hitched, his chest tightening with a flicker of hope until the door opened. Slowly, it creaked, revealing not Akaashi, but someone he hadn’t expected to be there at all.

 

Alisa.

 

Bokuto froze, his breath caught in his chest. Of all the possibilities that had raced through his mind during the drive, this wasn’t one of them. Alisa stood in the doorway, tall and poised, her frame relaxed but her expression seemed equally surprised. She leaned casually against the doorframe, her hand still resting lightly on the doorknob as if deciding whether to let him in or shut him out.

 

For a long, charged moment, silence filled the space between them. Bokuto felt like he couldn’t breathe as words failed him. His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. His throat was dry. Every attempt to swallow caught on the lump that had formed there. Of course, she’d be here… The thought hit him hard, sinking deep into his stomach. How stupid can I be? His gaze faltered, his confidence slipping away like sand through his fingers.

 

Alisa shifted slightly, with a graceful confidence that he envied. She tilted her head, her curious gaze sweeping over him, as if piecing together a puzzle. Finally, she broke the silence. “Bokuto,” she said, her tone measured. “What are you doing here?”

 

The question held no malice, only quiet curiosity. Even so, it knocked the wind out of him. Bokuto’s lips parted, but no words came. His thoughts spun. His brain was utterly useless, every possible response slipped through his grasp. He wanted to explain himself, to say something, but her presence completely threw him off balance.

 

“I…” he stammered, his voice cracking as he forced the word out. He cleared his throat, trying to sound less desperate than he felt. “I came to see Akaashi.”

 

Her brow lifted, a subtle arch that punctuated her otherwise unshakable composure. She glanced over her shoulder, a fleeting motion that hinted at something—or someone—beyond the door. When her gaze returned to him, there was a faint curve to her lips. It wasn’t quite a smile. It carried an air confidence, as though she were measuring him. “Did you, now?” she murmured, her voice light but tinged with something Bokuto couldn’t quite place.

 

Bokuto’s fists clenched at his sides, not out of anger but in a desperate attempt to steady himself. He couldn’t afford to fall apart now.  He’d come too far to let doubt take over. Yet, as Alisa’s eyes held his, unbothered and quietly curious, the space between him and Akaashi stretched wider. It wasn’t just a hallway or a door—it was an abyss, and Bokuto wasn’t sure if he could bridge it.

 

Then, suddenly her gaze drifted downward, landing on the bold letters of "Japan" printed across his jersey. Her eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crack in her composed exterior as realization dawned. “Wait,” she said with disbelief. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the game?”

 

The question struck him like a bolt, her words cutting through the haze in Bokuto’s mind. Bokuto’s own gaze dropped to his chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the uniform he was still wearing.  The bold letters and the colors representing his country seemed to glare back at him. The jersey symbolized everything he had worked for, everything he was supposed to represent and focus.

 

Bokuto opened his mouth, then shut it again, the words slipping away before they could form. He wanted to explain her everything, but the sight of her here, close enough to touch Akaashi, just made him bitter. A flicker of jealousy stirred in his chest, tight and unwelcome, but he forced it down. There was no place for that now. He could feel Alisa’s eyes on him, waiting.

 

“I… I just…” His words faltered, scrambling for something coherent. “I need to make things right.” His voice broke, and the words tumbled out in a mess of desperation. “ The game doesn’t matter, none of it does. I left it. I have to see him, to apologize.”

 

Her eyes softened, a flicker of admiration passing through her otherwise unreadable expression. “You left the game,” she said, her voice quiet, almost as if speaking to herself.She let the words hang in the air. Bokuto could feel her searing gaze observing, waiting, daring him to explain further. Yet, she was so kind.

“Well,” Alisa’s murmured, “he’s here. Resting. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Bokuto’s breath hitched, and he exhaled shakily. The knot in his chest loosened just enough to let him nod, and guilt pressed hard after that. He couldn’t lift his back up to meet her gaze.

 

Alisa shifted gracefully, her movements deliberate as she leaned slightly closer. She crossed her arms, her fingers tapping lightly against her elbow, her gaze softening in a way that felt almost tender. For a moment, she studied him, her eyes glinting knowingly. “Bokuto…” she said, her voice soft and quiet. She hesitated, as though deciding whether to speak the next words. Then, with a careful deliberation, she asked, “You love him, don’t you?”

 

The question struck him harder than anything he could have prepared for. Bokuto froze, shoulders tensing as he searched for something to say. Words failed him. His thoughts and emotions tangled in a mess he wasn’t sure he could ever untangle let alone speak aloud.

The truth he had tried so terribly to avoid, now hung in the air, spoken so easily in the dim hallway by the last person he’d ever expected to say it. His chest tightened, his heart sinking under the crushing realization: I’m a coward. The tension between them grew but it did not faze Alisa.

“It’s okay,” Alisa murmured, her voice soft, barely above a whisper. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his forearm before settling there gently. Her touch was warm, steady, kind. She offered a small smile, one that didn’t feel forced or pitying but genuine. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bokuto felt like someone truly understood.

Bokuto’s chest tightened, shame burning through his veins. Of all people, it had to be her—Akaashi’s girlfriend—offering him this comfort. The irony twisted inside him like a knife. Bokuto’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, his breath unsteady, his heart heavy with guilt. He felt like a thief caught red-handed, a villain undeserving of the kindness she gave so freely. When he finally mustered the courage to meet her eyes, his vision blurred with unshed tears. He wanted to say something. But what could he say, really?

“It’s okay,” Alisa repeated, her tone kind, threaded with a quiet understanding. She didn’t try to rush him, didn’t demand answers. Her fingers remained on his forearm, their warmth a quiet reassurance that she wasn’t pulling away. “I’m not judging you. I just want to understand.”

The softness in her tone, the way her words seemed to carry no hidden agenda, no blame—it unraveled something inside him. For a fleeting moment, the tension in his chest eased, though the guilt still clawed at his insides. Bokuto’s shoulders slumped as a tear slipped down his cheek. “It’s… it’s really not, Alisa,” he choked out, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why you’re being so kind to me.” He confessed, his voice broken.

Alisa blinked, her brows knitting together slightly, a flicker of confusion in her expression. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She replied as though the answer were the simplest truth in the world. “Bokuto, you’re a good person,” she continued, her voice steady but gentle. “You can’t help who you love. And just because you love the same person I do doesn’t make you my enemy. It just makes you human.” She shrugged her shoulders as if what she said was nothing interesting.

Bokuto’s breath hitched again, his throat tightening as her words hit him with unexpected gentleness. “But I hurt him,” He choked out, his voice cracking. “I’ve messed up so badly. I ruined everything. I don’t know if I can ever… if he’ll ever…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought, the words choking in his throat. “I don’t even deserve to be here.”

 

Alisa studied him for a moment, her expression soft and understanding.“You’re here because you care, Bokuto,” she said gently. “And if you care this much, then you deserve to be here. Showing up, even when it feels impossible—that’s what matters.” Her hand slid down his arm, her fingers giving his a gentle squeeze in a gesture of quiet reassurance. “He’s going to be fine.” She added, her voice full of warmth.

 

Then, after a brief pause, her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. Her head tilted slightly, a playful glint sparking in her eyes.“And for the record,” she said, her tone light yet confident, “I’m not afraid of a little competition.”

 

“Competition?” Bokuto echoed weakly, blinking from the unexpected words, caught between disbelief and a faint amusement.

 

“I think you understand.” She offered a small smile. her gaze searching his face as if trying to convey something beyond words. “But whatever you have to say, say it with your whole heart. After that, it’s up to Akaashi to decide.” Her voice softened again, carrying an earnestness that steadied him. “Don’t leave things unsaid to be considerate. Not with him. He deserves to hear you. And you deserve to be heard, right?”

 

Her words settled deep into his chest, and before he could respond, she stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. It was brief but warm, the kind of comfort he hadn’t realized he needed until he felt it. When she pulled back, she met his gaze with a knowing look. “Come on,” she said, motioning toward the apartment as she turned to lead him inside. “Let’s go see him.”

 

Bokuto followed her through the familiar apartment, steps filled with anticipation. When they reached Akaashi’s bedroom, Alisa stepped inside first, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Bokuto lingered in the doorway, his breath catching as his eyes fell on Akaashi.

 

Akaashi laid curled under the blankets, his pale face barely visible, half-buried against the pillow. The soft rise and fall of his breathing filled the quiet room, a fragile rhythm that made Bokuto’s heart swell.Alisa moved to his side, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. She reached out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that sent an ache to Bokuto’s chest. “Akaashi,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing, pulling him from the edges of sleep. “Hey, you’ve got a visitor.”

 

Akaashi’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep , blinking as he slowly registered her face. His gaze settled on Alisa first. She smiled warmly, leaning in to press a light kiss to his forehead, the gesture tender and lingering for a single heartbeat before she pulled back. He stared at her in drowsy confusion, brows faintly furrowing, and then his gaze landed on Bokuto. The confusion in Akaashi’s eyes only deepened, uncertainty flickering across his face.

 

Alisa glanced between them, then she gave Akaashi’s hand a gentle squeeze, her thumb brushing over his knuckles, and rose gracefully to her feet.  Taking a step back, she turned to Bokuto, her eyes meeting his with quiet insistence. “Be honest,” she mouthed, her lips forming the words silently. With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone in the stillness.

 

In the quiet that followed, Bokuto stood frozen, every word he’d rehearsed seemingly erased from his mind. Akaashi laid motionless on his bed, his face angled toward the ceiling, eyes closed. Dark lashes rested against his pale skin, interrupted by the harsh stitches marking the cut on his cheekbone.The sight carved through Bokuto’s chest like a dull knife. The guilt was unbearable.

Bokuto’s gaze shifted, catching on the owl statue on the nightstand, now stained with dried blood, He felt like it was watching him, its eyes accusatory, a physical reminder of everything he had done wrong. Bokuto swallowed hard, the motion rough and jagged, as if even breathing itself had become a struggle. He wanted turn his head, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t escape it.

Akaashi stirred, the faint rustle of blankets breaking the silence. His gaze still heavy with sleep drifted across the room, and it landed on Bokuto again. For a moment, his expression was blank, caught between somewhere waking and dreaming. Then, slowly, his brow furrowed. He turned his head, gaze shifting to the glowing numbers on the TV screen, to the clock casting its dim light into the room. His head tilted backward with a thoughtful expression. His eyes flickered with a mix of disorientation and disbelief.

 

“This isn’t real. It’s just a dream,” Akaashi murmured, almost to anchor him to reality. His tone carried a need to convince himself of the impossibility of what he was seeing. “It’s the concussion.” He told himself and closed his eyes, turning his head towards the ceiling. “Bokuto’s at the game.” Last words were faint, barely audible, tinged with resignation. Slowly, he pulled the blanket higher, the fabric brushing against his jaw as though shielding himself from the vision before him. As if Bokuto’s presence were nothing more a figment of his own imagination that would vanish if he closed his eyes tight enough.

 

Bokuto’s chest tightened, the ache spreading as he watched Akaashi, who seemed determined to reject the reality of his presence. His feet carried him forward instinctively, closing the distance until he reached the edge of the bed. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered himself onto it. The mattress dipped under his weight, the soft creak breaking the stillness. Akaashi’s eyes snapped open at the shift, the haze of disbelief in his gaze giving way to clarity.

 

Bokuto’s voice trembled, low and unsteady, thick with the weight of guilt he couldn’t yet name. “It’s not a dream, Akaashi,” he murmured, the words barely above a whisper. “I’m really here.”

 

Akaashi blinked, his gaze drifting, as though he were still searching for something to hold onto—some proof of what was real. His eyes moved from Bokuto’s face to his hands, then to the floor, lingering there for a moment. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze traveling back to Bokuto. He studied him, taking in every detail. His golden eyes, always so bright, were bloodshot and swollen, indicating he had cried. His broad shoulders sagged under an invisible weight that seemed to crush him, the proud stance Akaashi had always known was completely gone. Every detail screamed of a man unraveled, someone on the verge of collapse. It was devastating. And it was absolutely real.

 

Bokuto looked broken.

 

The sight of Akaashi, so uncharacteristically lost, had been the final blow to Bokuto. Akaashi, who always knew everything, who never needed anything spelled out, now looked utterly bewildered, as though the ground beneath him had shifted. Bokuto’s breath faltered, and his fragile composure crumbled in an instant. His chest heaved as tears spilled freely, streaking down his face. He was the was who had reduced Akaashi to this, and his heart couldn’t take it. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking.

 

His gaze fell to Akaashi’s cheek, to the harsh line of stitches that marked his mistake. “Fuck… you have stitches…” he whispered, the words trembling as they left his lips. His throat tightened, and his hands shot up to cover his face, as if trying to shield himself the painful reality. A desperate groan escaped him. “No one told me…” he choked out, his voice breaking.

 

Slowly, his hands lowered as his golden eyes darted back to Akaashi’s face. For the first time, he forced himself to really look, to take in every detail he had avoided before. The stitches stood out cruelly, each one like a whip of guilt across his heart. He’d done this. He’d hurt the person who mattered most to him, left a scar on the one face he never wanted to see anything but whole. “I did that to you…” he whispered, the words barely audible, thick with self-loathing. His voice cracked, raw and uneven. “Akaashi… I—” He faltered, unable to find the words, because no apology would ever feel like enough.

 

His breath hitched again as he fought to bring his thoughts into words. He knew it wouldn’t be enough—nothing could undo what he had done—but he had to try. He had to ask for forgiveness, even if he knew he didn’t deserve a grain of it. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “I don’t even know what came over me.” His shoulders shook as the words poured out, desperate and raw. “I know I don’t have the right to ask for forgiveness, but… I need to say it. I need you to know how much I hate myself for what I did.” His voice wavered, breaking completely as he continued. “I wish I could take it all back. I would do anything to undo it.”

 

He swallowed hard, his throat burning, as his eyes searched Akaashi’s face for a glimmer of understanding, of something he didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop hoping for. Each second that passed felt like an eternity, the silence pressing down on him like a punishment he couldn’t escape. Still, he waited, because this was Akaashi. And even if he was turned away, cursed at, or just met with silence, Bokuto had to try.

 

Akaashi blinked, the moment crashing down on him like a tide he couldn’t escape. His fingers rose to his cheek, grazing the stitches absent-mindedly, the faint sting grounding him. He knew Bokuto was real—there was no doubting it. But the reality of why he was here refused to settle. The clock on the television screen glowed quietly, mocking him with its reminder of the time. The game. Tooru had already left for it hours ago. Bokuto should have gone too. He should be there.

 

The thought swirled, growing louder and sharper, drowning out every other sensation. Why isn’t he there? This was one of the most important nights of Bokuto’s career, a stage he’d bled and sweated for, everything he’d worked so hard to reach. Akaashi’s mind couldn’t make sense of it. He came here to… apologize? His fingers lingered on the stitches, but the injury barely registered. This could have waited.

 

Bokuto’s face swam in and out of focus, his guilt-ridden features framed by disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes. Akaashi’s mind circled back, unable to untangle the knot of confusion and disbelief. He didn’t understand. It wasn’t rational. None of this was rational. His fingers fell from the stitches, dropping limply to his side. So why is he here? The instinctive thought rose louder. Bokuto’s game—his everything—should have mattered more.

 

Akaashi’s voice finally broke the quiet. “But… you have a game,” he murmured, his voice hollow, almost automatic. “You should be there.”

 

Bokuto’s chest tightened at Akaashi’s words, and he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as though trying to ground himself. “Forget about the game,” he said softly. “I had to come and see you. I needed to make things right.”

 

Akaashi didn’t respond but his blue eyes bore into Bokuto, unrelenting, questioning him. He didn’t need to say anything, yet he was demanding an answer. The silence stretched like a tight thread between them, ready to snap any moment. Bokuto took a deep breath, trying his best to control his trembling voice. “Tooru told me…” He admitted, his voice quiet with guilt, swallowing the lump in his throat. “About the concussion. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

 

His next words were almost a whisper, raw and broken. “Is everything… going to be okay?” He glanced up again, his face etched with desperation, like the answer held the weight of the world.  “Are you okay?”

 

It was just so Bokuto—to defy reason and expectation, to show up here for something that could have waited. Akaashi couldn’t quite fathom it, and yet, it was exactly what he should have expected. The sheer audacity of Bokuto’s actions, driven by a heart too big for its own good, warmed him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

 

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi’s voice was soft, barely more than a breath. The words came slowly, unsteady but sincere. “I’m fine.” He glanced down at the blanket draped over his lap, then back up at Bokuto, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile, as though he were trying to offer reassurance, to ease the weight pressing down on both of them.

 

Bokuto’s golden eyes were pained, unconvinced. He moved closer, his hand reaching out before he could stop himself and resting gently against Akaashi’s cheek right below the stitches. “I have no idea what came over me last night,” he murmured, his voice breaking with remorse. “That’s not who I am. I’m so sorry, Akaashi. I can’t believe I hurt you like that.”

 

Akaashi flinched ever so slightly beneath the unexpected gentleness of Bokuto’s touch, his body stiffening for a moment before he shook his head. “It’s just a mild concussion,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the emotion lingering beneath. “Think of it like a bad fall. I’ve had worse.”

 

Bokuto’s brow furrowed, his fingers curling against his thigh as he clenched his fists. “A bad fall,” he repeated,  the bitterness in his voice sharp enough to cut. “Don’t do that. Don’t downplay it.”

 

His chest heaved as the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered.  “I threw a wooden statue at you.” he said, the admission heavy, speaking it aloud made it even more unbearable. “I—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, ashamed. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I should’ve left. If I was that angry, I should’ve just walked away.”   

 

Akaashi’s heart tightened at the raw sincerity in Bokuto’s voice. The rawness of his words left him momentarily speechless and unsure of what to do. Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly over Bokuto’s clenched fist before settling there. “Mistakes happen,” he said softly. “I should’ve stopped, but I didn’t. I’m really sorry for what I said.”

“Please don’t apologize.” Bokuto said, his voice trembling. is gaze dropped to their hands, to the way Akaashi’s rested lightly over his own, steadying his trembling fingers. “You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I was the one who lost control. And you—” He faltered, his gaze lifting to meet Akaashi’s. “You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

 

For a moment, the room held nothing but the fragile quiet between them that neither dared to disturb. Bokuto’s hand tightened slightly around Akaashi’s, his eyes shimmering with tears. “I’m just so sorry,” he whispered. “For all of it.”

 

“I forgive you.”Akaashi nodded, the words steady and certain, realizing this was what Bokuto needed to hear most. He returned the gentle pressure of Bokuto’s hand, his touch speaking what words couldn’t. The pain from the night before lingered, but the sharp edges had dulled by Bokuto’s sincerity.

 

Bokuto’s golden eyes searched Akaashi’s face for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a grim, almost hesitant smile, one laced with both relief and regret. Without another word, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Akaashi in a firm embrace.

 

Akaashi stiffened briefly, caught off guard, but the tension melted almost instantly. His arms rose, settling around Bokuto’s back as he returned the hug, his head resting lightly against Bokuto’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, neither rushing to pull away, letting the moment sink in.

 

When they finally let go, their gazes met. Akaashi offered a small smile, and Bokuto grinned back. Neither spoke, but they didn’t need to. They sat like that for a while, simply smiling at each other, the weight of the past lifting just a little more with every moment that passed.

 

Then, Akaashi’s gaze drifted downward, his eyes landing onto Bokuto’s jersey again. The bold “Japan” lettering was impossible to ignore, and his brows furrowed. The game. His thoughts spiraled once again. Bokuto said he came because of the concussion, that Tooru told him—but that meant he was at the stadium. Then he should have still been there. Why would he leave? The pieces didn’t add up.

 

Was he hurt? His stomach churned with the thought. His eyes scanned Bokuto from head to toe. He didn’t look injured. Then.. Was he benched? The thought hit him like ice water, shocking and cold. Was it because of me? His breath caught as guilt surged. Did I push him so far that he couldn’t perform? Did I break him? The questions piled up, each one heavier than the last, dragging him down into a pit of guilt and dread.

 

He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze back up to Bokuto’s face. His heart pounded inside his ribcage, searching Bokuto’s expression for an answer that might ease the suffocating ache. His voice cracked slightly when he finally spoke, worry bleeding into every word. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly, the words trembling, tinged with confusion. “Bokuto-san… what happened to the game? Why aren’t you there now? Seriously…”

 

Bokuto’s jaw tightened, a wave of anger surging through him. The game. Was that all Akaashi could think about? Really? Bokuto’s gaze lingered on Akaashi, on how he was sitting there with stitches on his face because of Bokuto. His anger twisted into a devastating, overwhelming sorrow, crushing his heart under its weight.

 

Does he think I don’t care?

 

The thought gutted him, the pain spreading through him like wildfire. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening as he fought to keep himself steady. How can he not not know how much he matters? The questions clawed at him, one after another, relentless. How can he not see how much more important he is than some stupid match? Heartbreak seeped into every inch of his being when the next question came, his fears surfacing. Does he really think I would choose anything over him?

 

Akaashi wasn’t just part of his life—he was his life. And yet, Akaashi didn’t know. He didn’t see it. And that realization broke Bokuto more than anything else. His frustration surged to the surface, spilling out in a tremor that shook his body.

 

Bokuto's face tightened, his golden eyes pierced through Akaashi's with an intensity that stripped away all pretense. “Fuck the game,” His words spilled out in a torrent he could no longer hold back. “I left the game—I don’t care if the whole team hates me for it. I don’t care if I lose my career over it, I don’t care if you call me irresponsible, or if anyone does.”

 

He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Akaashi with a rawness that left nothing hidden. “The game doesn’t matter.” he said, his tone softening. He paused, his voice trembling as he continued, each word filled with sincerity. “None of it matters if I don’t have you by my side.”

 

Akaashi blinked, disbelief flickering in his gaze. He looked at Bokuto like he’d just spoken in a different language, struggling to process what he just heard. Then, Bokuto gently pressed his palm over Akaashi’s mouth, the touch sudden, intimate, and almost jarring. Akaashi’s eyes widened in shock, his breath catching as the warmth of Bokuto’s hand settled softly against his lips. For a heartbeat, he froze, his usual composure slipping away. His gaze darted to Bokuto’s face, searching for an explanation—some sign that he wasn’t imagining the intensity of the moment.

 

“Just listen,” Bokuto murmured, his voice low but firm, carrying an urgency that demanded attention.His golden eyes locked onto Akaashi’s, burning with an unyielding determination that left no room for argument. He couldn’t afford to be interrupted—not now.  The chance to say what he needed was as fragile as glass, and he knew deep down he might never get another shot. Everything rested on this moment. He had to make it right.

 

“If I lose you because I was too scared to say it, then… I’m nothing. Do you understand? Nothing.” Bokuto’s voice cracked on the final word, his golden eyes ablaze with an intensity that made Akaashi’s breath hitch. His unwavering gaze pressed down on Akaashi, pinning him in place. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Akaashi nodded, a small but certain movement that spoke of understanding.

 

Bokuto drew in a shaky breath, his chest rising as though summoning the courage to speak. His hand remained steady over Akaashi’s mouth, not to silence him, but to hold the moment in place—long enough for himself to say what his heart had been screaming all along.

“I love you, Akaashi Keiji.” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “Since high school. Since before I knew what it meant to feel like this. You’re the single most important thing in my life. And I’m so hopelessly in love with you.”

 

He felt Akaashi tense beneath his touch, his eyes widening, searching Bokuto’s face for answers. But Bokuto couldn’t falter now.  His truth was clawing its way out now.“It doesn’t matter what I feel, okay? It doesn’t have to change anything between us.” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard, the pain evident in his gaze.

 

“Look, you were right about me.” He kept his hand over Akaashi’s mouth, almost as if protecting himself from any response, his voice soft and cracked. “I am selfish. I am irresponsible. I love attention. I seek validation. I only know how to take, and I’m not even going to pretend I have any qualities that make me a decent—”

 

Suddenly, Akaashi pulled back, his movement abrupt and forceful as he broke free from Bokuto’s hand. “Stop,” he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, sharp and trembling with a mix of anger and pain. His eyes shone with an intensity that made Bokuto fall silent. “Please, just stop.”

 

“I never meant those things,” Akaashi whispered, his voice unsteady, but fierce. “I regretted them the second they left my mouth.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears, his gaze stayed locked on Bokuto, unwavering as if trying to reach through the hurt, the brokenness he saw before him.

 

“I was angry and hurt,” he continued, his voice cracking with the difficulty of his confession. “I just… I wanted you to feel a fraction of the pain I was feeling. But I didn’t mean any of it. Not for a second.” He shook his head slowly, his tone softening as shame crept into his posture. “I’m sorry if I ever made you believe that was true.” He glanced away unable to meet Bokuto’s gaze, lips trembling, as if he had more to say.

 

A brief silence fell between them, charged and heavy. Akaashi could feel his own heartbeat, as he tried to collect himself. He looked at Bokuto—at his lowered gaze, his trembling hands, and the way his broad shoulders seemed to bow under the crushing weight of regret and self-doubt. His chest tightened painfully. He sat motionless, feeling beat. Bokuto’s confession crashed into him like a tidal wave.

 

An ache spread through his chest, intensifying with each passing second. All the times he’d tried to deny his feelings, tried to bury his longing, convinced himself that Bokuto couldn’t ever feel the same—how could I have been so stupid? All the times spent pretending, all the moments he could have made this easier… He could have been just honest, given them both what they needed…Why was I so afraid?

 

Anger surged within him, spreading like a wildfire. I’ve been so damn blind. Why couldn’t I just admit it? Why couldn’t I let myself have this? Bokuto had always been there—waiting, hoping, offering everything in the way only he could. And what had Akaashi done? Pulled back. Convinced himself that friendship was enough, that it was safer to stay behind the walls he’d built. But it wasn’t. It never had been. He knew, looking at Bokuto now, that he was only ever truly complete with him. Nothing else mattered.

 

In a desperate attempt to bridge the aching distance, Akaashi reached out, his fingers wrapping around Bokuto’s hand with slight hesitation. Bokuto looked up into his icy blue eyes. His golden eyes were as bright as the sun, entirely open, vulnerable, and honest. This isn’t some dream, Akaashi realized, he really means it. The truth of it burned away the doubts, the fears he’d clung to for years. It’s now or never, Keiji.

 

Without hesitation, Akaashi moved, his hand lifting to gently cup Bokuto’s jaw. His fingers brushed against warm skin, and he caught the flicker of surprise in Bokuto’s golden eyes.There was no turning back now. Before doubt could creep in, Akaashi leaned forward. His lips met Bokuto’s in a soft, tentative kiss—innocent, gentle, vulnerable—as if testing the fragile connection between them.

The world seemed to still in that moment, all their angst faded into nothingness. All that mattered was the warmth they finally shared in that kiss. The touch was gentle at first, hesitant, like a spark waiting to catch flame. But as Bokuto responded—a soft sound slipping from his lips—something in Akaashi broke. His restraint shattered like glass, giving way to a flood of longing.

The kiss deepened, turning desperate, hungrier with every passing second. Akaashi’s hand slid up, his fingers threading into Bokuto’s hair, pulling him closer, needing to close every gap between them. Years of silence, of unspoken words and buried emotions, poured into each kiss, each touch, as though they could finally say everything they’d been too afraid to admit.

Bokuto’s hands slid to Akaashi’s waist, gripping him tightly, possessively, as if afraid to let go. He pulled him closer, their bodies pressing together in a way that left no space between them. Akaashi gasped into Bokuto’s mouth, his fingers curling into the fabric of Bokuto’s shirt, clutching it like an anchor.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were left breathless. Neither could fully bring themselves to step back, their foreheads still touching, barely able to keep from leaning in again. Akaashi’s entire body trembled, his heart pounding in his ears and his fingers still tangled in Bokuto’s hair.

Akaashi’s chest tightened. “Bokuto…” he began, voice rough, vulnerable. He struggled for the right words. “I… I wanted to say something, but…” He trailed off, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I don’t have words for… everything I feel.”

Bokuto’s gaze softened, a small smile forming as he brushed his thumb across Akaashi’s cheek, his eyes filled with understanding. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered back. “I know.”

They lingered there, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, bodies trembling with the force of their connection. And in that quiet, both of them knew—they had finally found each other, and there was no going back.

Then, without warning, Akaashi reached out, grabbing Bokuto’s arm and pulling him down to the bed in one swift motion. Bokuto stumbled, caught off guard, and let out a surprised laugh as he landed on the mattress, his golden eyes wide with disbelief. Before he could react, Akaashi climbed over him, stretching out along his length and resting his head on Bokuto’s chest. The gesture was so natural, so effortless, that it left Bokuto speechless.

For a moment, Bokuto laid motionless, completely stunned, his heart pounding as he looked down at Akaashi’s dark hair splayed out over his chest. It was this easy? He’d never imagined seeing this playful, unguarded, utterly at ease side of Akaashi, and it made his heart swell. He instinctively wrapped his arm around Akaashi, pulling him close, his fingers brushing lightly against Akaashi’s back. “Comfortable?” he asked, his voice laced with fondness.

 

“Mm,” Akaashi murmured nodding on his chest slightly. “Perfect.”

For a while, Bokuto couldn’t quite tell if this was a dream or reality. Akaashi, lying on his chest, one arm draped casually around him—it was everything he’d ever hoped for, everything he’d dreamed of. Yet, the absurdity of it all wasn’t lost on him. No awkward dates, no fumbling courtship. They’d just shared their first kiss moments ago, and now here they were, comfortably cuddling together like they’d done this a hundred times before. It was strange, surreal even, but also… perfect.

He supposed years of friendship had their perks, smoothing the edges of what might otherwise have been clumsy and uncertain. Funny. Beautiful and funny, all at once. Bokuto couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, his chest rumbling beneath Akaashi’s weight. He tightened his arm around him, smiling to himself. Yeah, it was definitely funny—but it was also everything he’d ever wanted.

Akaashi tilted his head up slightly, catching Bokuto’s eye, and in that shared gaze, something broke. A grin spread across Akaashi’s face, and, as if on cue, they both burst out laughing—loud, genuine, unrestrained. The sound filled the room, laughter rolling over them as the tension and distance of years seemed to melt away, replaced by this incredible, almost giddy joy.

Their laughter finally softened, but Akaashi’s eyes were still sparkling, a small, playful smile lingering as he murmured, “This is… weird, right?” Akaashi asked, reading his mind.

Bokuto chuckled, his hand coming up to pat Akaashi’s back as he grinned down at him. “A good kind of weird,” he replied, his voice warm and full of wonder. “It’s kind of hard to believe there’s a side of you I didn’t know, after all these years. But here it is, and… I love it.” He felt his chest tighten with a rush of emotion, his hand gently stroking Akaashi’s back as he added softly, “You really do take my breath away.”

 

He leaned down, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the top of Akaashi’s head, savoring the warmth and simplicity of the touch. Akaashi nestled closer against Bokuto’s chest as if he’d always belonged there. Bokuto laughed quietly, still feeling a bit stunned. “So… I’m allowed to do this now?” he asked, his voice playful, as he looked down at Akaashi with a grin.

Akaashi rolled his eyes slightly, but there was a fondness in his gaze that he couldn’t hide. “Yes, Bokuto.” he replied, his tone soft but full of affection. “You’d better. Don’t make me regret it.”

Bokuto grinned, a mischievous spark lighting up his eyes as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, playful murmur. “Alright. But you can’t call me ‘Bokuto’ anymore. Definitely not ‘Bokuto-san.’ No more of this keeping me at arm’s length bullshit, okay?” His voice softened at the end, a hint of vulnerability showing through, as if he were asking for something more than just a name.

 

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden change. “Oh?” he asked, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What do you want me to call you then?”

 

“My name, of course.” Bokuto’s grin widened, his voice growing warm. “Koutarou… or Kou for short. If you really have to, Bo. Whichever you prefer.” He paused, a hopeful glint in his eyes, his expression softening. He’d dreamed of this moment for so long, of hearing Akaashi say his name, his name, like it was something precious. “Now let’s hear you say it,” He tried to keep his tone casual, but there was an unmistakable anticipation in his eyes, his gaze fixed intently on Akaashi’s face.

Akaashi’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. He tilted his head slightly, letting the silence hang between them for a moment longer than necessary, just enough to make Bokuto’s breath catch. Then, with a glint of mischief, he leaned in, his voice soft and silky. “Koutarou.”

 

The name rolled off Akaashi’s tongue with an innocent tone, but there was a teasing light in his eyes. Bokuto’s heart skipped, and he felt his cheeks heat—like it was something intimate, something meant only for the two of them. A smile as bright as a thousand suns curled on his lips. Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely steady. “That’s… perfect.”

 

After a moment, Akaashi tilted his head, his gaze curious, a faint smile still lingering on his lips. “So,” he asked, his tone playful, “does that mean you’re going to call me Keiji now?”

 

Bokuto paused, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he considered it. He leaned back, studying Akaashi’s face, his own expression softening. “If… if that’s what you want.”

Akaashi shrugged gently, his expression calm but his eyes warm with unspoken affection. “I don’t really care,” he murmured, a slight smirk forming as he met Bokuto’s gaze. “As long as it comes out of your mouth.”

The words hit Bokuto like a shock, sending a warm thrill down his spine. He felt his face flush, his heartbeat quickening as he processed Akaashi’s response. A wave of heat filled him, and he tried to keep his expression steady, but he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. “Oh… uh, good,” he stammered, swallowing hard, trying to keep himself from grinning like an idiot.

 

Akaashi gave him a sly look, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having. Bokuto ran a hand through his hair, his grin widening as he glanced away briefly to regain his composure. But when he looked back, his gaze was filled with something softer, more vulnerable.

 

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Akaashi’s ear, letting his fingers linger a moment longer than necessary. “Keiji,” he whispered, savoring the way it felt on his tongue, like a secret he’d been carrying for years. Akaashi’s eyes softened, his expression melting into one of quiet joy, and Bokuto knew he’d never get tired of saying it.

 

Akaashi glanced up, catching Bokuto’s gaze, a slight furrow in his brow as he hesitated. He’d always been comfortable and casual in relationships, usually content to let things develop naturally, without the need to define them. But this was different. They’d spent so long in a tangle of unspoken feelings, near-misses, and misunderstandings, that not knowing where they stood now felt strange—unsettling, even.

 

Akaashi cleared his throat, his voice low and uncertain. “So… what are we now, exactly?” he asked, struggling to find the right words. “Are we just… best friends who happen to have feelings for each other?” He winced inwardly, realizing how odd it sounded, but he couldn’t shake the need for clarity. “Or…?”

 

Bokuto blinked, his eyes widening in surprise as he processed the question. For a split second, he looked almost offended, and then, in true Bokuto fashion, his expression shifted, his lips curling into a confident smile that sent a wave of warmth through Akaashi.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re my boyfriend now. And I’m yours.” His words were calm but resolute, leaving no room for doubt. “It can’t be anything less than that. Not after everything.” He tilted his head, giving Akaashi a look that was both tender and completely certain. “You’re mine, Keiji. And I’m not letting you go.”

 

Akaashi felt a warmth spread through his chest, melting the last remnants of uncertainty that had lingered there. Bokuto’s words held a conviction that made his heart ache in the best way, a promise that he knew Bokuto would keep without question. For a moment, he just looked at him, studying the earnestness in his gaze, the strength of his expression.

“I love you, Kou.” Akaashi whispered, his voice soft but unwavering.

Bokuto’s face softened, his eyes filling with a happiness that was almost overwhelming. Without a word, he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, capturing Akaashi’s lips in a tender kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, Bokuto looked at him, beaming. “I love you, Keiji,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “More than anything.”

They shared a final, lingering kiss before settling into each other’s arms, the quiet of the room wrapping around them. Bokuto’s arm tightened around Akaashi, their fingers entwined, A gentle warmth spread between them. As their breaths synced and sleep pulled them under, they were finally at peace. Finally home.

In this moment, nothing else mattered. They were indestructible—a bond reborn from the ashes of all they had almost lost.

___________________________________________________________________________

 

The door clicked shut behind them as Iwaizumi and Oikawa stepped into the apartment, their footsteps soft against the dimly lit hallway. Oikawa let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders as he stretched his arms over his head, his exhaustion showing in the slight slump of his posture. “Another win.” He said, his eyes sparkling with a tired, triumphant grin as he looked over at Iwaizumi.“Can’t believe we pulled it off.”

 

Iwaizumi gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand. “I can. You were amazing out there.” His voice was soft, a quiet pride underlying his words. “You always are.”

 

Oikawa’s grin grew, and he tilted his head to look up at Iwaizumi, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “Does that mean I get a reward?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi muttered, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the fondness in his voice. He glanced toward Akaashi’s room with visible concern in his eyes. Oikawa’s grin widened at Iwaizumi’s response, but softened as his gaze followed Iwaizumi’s to Akaashi’s door. “I hope Akaashi’s okay,” he murmured, biting his lip, glancing up at Iwaizumi. “He’s probably asleep, but maybe we should check on him, just to be sure.” “

 

Iwaizumi’s expression tightened slightly, a trace of protectiveness flashing across his face. “Yeah. After everything he’s been through, the least we can do is make sure he’s alright.”

 

They stopped right before Akaashi’s door when Oikawa hesitated, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You think… Bo came?” he asked quietly, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “He practically ran out when I told him. But still… Oikawa glanced at Iwaizumi. “Do you think he actually made it?”

 

Iwaizumi’s expression shifted, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face. “If he has any sense, he’d stay away. Not exactly a fan of him showing up unannounced after what he did.” His voice held a trace of bitterness, though it softened when he met Oikawa’s grieving eyes. “But… maybe… Maybe he finally did something right.” He wasn’t ready to let go of his anger entirely, but seeing Akaashi safe was all that mattered right now.

 

Oikawa gave Iwaizumi’s hand a reassuring squeeze before Iwaizumi carefully turned the handle. The door creaked open, and they peeked inside, both of them falling silent at the sight before them.

 

There, on Akaashi’s bed, laid both Akaashi and Bokuto, tangled together in a quiet, peaceful embrace. Akaashi’s head rested against Bokuto’s chest, one arm draped protectively over him, while Bokuto held him close, his hand resting on Akaashi’s back. The two of them looked completely at ease, the gentle rise and fall of their breathing the only sound in the room.

 

Oikawa felt a smile tugging at his lips, a quiet joy filling his heart as he glanced up at Iwaizumi, his eyes shining. “Finally,” he whispered, his tone soft with a hint of amusement.

 

Iwaizumi’s expression softened despite himself, the corners of his mouth lifting with a hint of begrudging fondness. “Finally,” he echoed, his voice laced with a reluctant tenderness as he carefully closed the door, leaving them undisturbed.

 

They walked to Iwaizumi’s bedroom, each step lighter, their hearts a little fuller. And as they settled into the quiet of their own space, Iwaizumi knew he’d have to come to terms with Bokuto—but for now, he felt a quiet contentment, knowing that, at last, their friends had found their way to each other.

Notes:

Here we are! Finally!

An early holiday gift from me haha

I hope you enjoy reading!

This is not the ending of the story btw, I've got more ideas for this.
Merry Christmas and happy new year to y'all!

Chapter 19: To Better Days

Bokuto stirred awake to the early morning light filtering through the curtains. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, until his eyes fell on the figure beside him. Akaashi lay nestled in the sheets, his features relaxed and softened by sleep, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. His lashes cast delicate shadows against his cheeks, and his hair fell in messy waves that only made him more beautiful.

Bokuto’s chest tightened. He almost didn’t want to blink again, afraid that if he did, this moment might vanish. Is this real? The thought crept in unbidden. It felt like a dream. Everything he had ever wanted was finally within reach. I confessed, Bokuto thought, the memories of the night resurfacing vividly — the way Akaashi had kissed him, touched him, held him, whispered his name like it was sacred.

Bokuto exhaled softly. This is real. Akaashi was here, lying beside him. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through him as he looked at him. He’d never felt so happy, so at ease, so… complete. This was everything he had ever wanted. He was all he ever wanted. It wasn’t just love—it was completion.

As his gaze lingered on Akaashi’s sleeping face, a fleeting thought shadowed his joy. Alisa. Her kind voice echoed in his mind. She had encouraged him to follow his heart him despite their clashing interests. For a moment, guilt flickered, and he felt like he was stealing Akaashi from her. Alisa’s face flashed behind his eyes, and he snapped his eyelids shut as if to shield himself with the darkness.

Akaashi stirred slightly in his sleep, a quiet sigh escaping from his kiss-swollen lips. The sound made him open his eyes again. He glanced back at Akaashi, his chest rising and falling in a serene rhythm, and the guilt faded, replaced by certainty. This isn’t theft, Bokuto thought, his chest swelling with warmth. They’d never belonged to anyone else but each other, he and Akaashi. This is how it’s meant to be.

Bokuto could stay there forever just watching him, taking it all in, but another idea crept into his mind. He deserves to wake up to something special, he thought, the corners of his mouth quirking up. If he was already awake, he could at least do something to make Akaashi’s morning brighter.

Careful not to wake him, Bokuto slipped out of bed, the cool air brushing against his skin as he moved. He reached for a pair of shorts and a shirt from Akaashi’s drawer. The fabric was soft, carrying traces of Akaashi’s scent, and putting it on felt like a tangible piece of evidence— Akaashi was his.

He found his way to the kitchen and cautiously began gathering ingredients, determined to make breakfast. Once in the kitchen, he moved with practiced ease, reaching for ingredients, slicing vegetables, and cracking eggs in a steady rhythm. He loved cooking for Akaashi, for friends—something about the ritual of it, the joy of sharing what he made, filled him with contentment. He was humming softly to himself as he worked. The scent of coffee and sizzling butter filled the entire living space. After a few minutes, Bokuto heard soft footsteps behind him and turned to see Akaashi leaning against the doorway, his eyes amused, his lips curled in a sleepy smile.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Akaashi teased, crossing his arms as he watched Bokuto expertly flip an omelet.

 

Bokuto grinned, his eyes bright. “Breakfast is serious business. Figured, I’d start the morning off right.” He winked and turned back to the stove.

Akaashi’s smile lingered as he watched Bokuto work. He decided to take a seat on the barstool. Bokuto tossed a look back over his shoulder, delighted to see Akaashi looking so completely at home with him.

Down the hall, Iwaizumi blinked awake, stretching as Oikawa stirred beside him, letting out a sleepy yawn. They shared a brief, tender kiss, shaped by mornings spent together and those lost to time. Oikawa’s nose twitched happily as he picked up the faint aroma of cooking.

“Smells like someone’s making breakfast,” he murmured, a lazy grin spreading over his face. He nudged Iwaizumi playfully. “Guess we got lucky.”

 

Iwaizumi hummed in response, rolling out of bed. Oikawa stretched, relaxing his muscles, before swinging his legs over his side of the bed. Neither of them were in a rush as they rose. Oikawa was trailing behind Iwaizumi as they followed the scent of cooking and the faint clatter of someone working in the kitchen.

 

Iwaizumi’s steps faltered the moment they entered the living space. His gaze landed on Bokuto, standing in the kitchen, and Akaashi watching him from the barstool, looking completely entranced with his presence. The sight struck Iwaizumi like winter’s first blizzard, an icy vicious cold spreading through his chest. He stopped, his expression hardening, jaw clenching as he took in the scene. Akaashi looked so openly enamored, so at peace as he watched Bokuto, and it made Iwaizumi’s insides twist.

 

Oikawa, noticed the shift in Iwaizumi’s posture instantly, and gently squeezed his hand, trying to ease him. But anger flickering in Iwaizumi’s eyes was unforgiving, barely restricted, waiting to ignite. Iwaizumi pulled his hand back almost instinctively, clenching his fists.

 

Bokuto noticed them first, his smile faltering as his gaze met Iwaizumi’s. There was an unspoken apology in his eyes, a tentative plea for acceptance. It was clear that Iwaizumi’s patience was wearing thin. His angry gaze shifted from from Akaashi to Bokuto and back again. Unspoken tension was in the air, until Iwaizumi snapped, his words filled with nothing but disdain.

 

“So, that’s it?” Iwaizumi’s voice was low, strained. “After everything you’ve done, you waltz in here like everything’s fine?”

 

The words knocked the air out of Bokuto, leaving him momentarily frozen. The spatula fell out of his hand onto the counter with a soft thud. Akaashi’s expression shifted, worry flashing in his eyes. He rose swiftly from his seat and put his hand Bokuto’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. He turned toward Iwaizumi, eyes blazing, ready to step in, to defend Bokuto. But before he could respond, Bokuto raised his hand in front of him, stopping him, silently asking for his chance to explain. Akaashi glanced back at Bokuto, searching his face. The determination in Bokuto’s gaze softened the tension in Akaashi’s grip. He nodded in quiet understanding.

 

“Iwa, I know I fucked up,” Bokuto began, his voice steady but filled with remorse. “I’m not trying to pretend everything’s okay. I know it’s not. I just… wanted to make things right.”

 

A sneer twisted into Iwaizumi’s lips. “By making breakfast?” His words were like ice, killing the warmth in the kitchen. “You think everything is fine now, because you decided to play nice?

 

Oikawa reached out again, placing a gentle hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Hajime…” He said, sounding slightly alarmed but continued with grace. “Maybe it’s time to take a breath. He’s trying—”

 

“Trying?” Iwaizumi shook off Oikawa’s hands upon hearing his words, but his gaze never left Bokuto’s face. “Trying doesn’t mean shit, Tooru!”

 

The sharpness of his voice cut through the room, the tension rising like a storm. Akaashi’s jaw tightened as he stood, his calm exterior cracking at the edges. He knew Iwaizumi was being protective—he knew his best friend’s anger came from a place of loyalty and care. And he loved him for that. But this? This wasn’t it.

He took a step forward, positioning himself between Iwaizumi and Bokuto. When he spoke, his voice was authoritative, and cut through the rising storm with a single word. “Enough.”

There was a brief pause, eyes turning to Akaashi. The restraint in his body felt more dangerous than any outburst. There was a defiant look in his blue eyes when he spoke. “I asked him to stay. He didn’t force his way. He’s here because I wanted him here, Iwa. End of story.” The sharpness of his tone was startling, and sliced through Iwaizumi’s anger. He wasn’t going to let him walk all over Bokuto now that everything was just getting better.

Iwaizumi’s gaze shifted to Akaashi, and the fury cracked momentarily, a mixture of frustration and hurt flashing in his eyes. Akaashi’s words felt too much like a betrayal. But the hurt evaporated in an instant, leaving room for anger to roar back even more destructive than before. His expression darkened, his voice rising with each word. “You realize how stupid you sound, right?” He asked Akaashi with sprouting venom out of his mouth. His hand shot out, pointing toward Akaashi’s stitches,“Look at your face, god damn it! Do you actually think this is fucking normal?”

His wrath turned back to Bokuto swiftly, like crack of thunder following lightning. “And you,” He spat, his voice dropping, nostrils flaring in pure rage, “You think you deserve to come back into his life? Just like that? No consequences? Like you didn’t do this to him?”

Oikawa’s gaze shifted between them: Akaashi, firm and resolute; Bokuto, wrapped in remorse; and Iwaizumi, whose wrath blazed like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. But Oikawa knew this anger wasn’t entirely about Bokuto. It hadn’t been from the start.

The anger radiating from Iwaizumi came from a darker place. Deep inside, guilt shackled Iwaizumi down at his core and refused to let go. It hasn’t since their fallout years ago. Oikawa had long since forgiven him, truly and without reservation. But Iwaizumi had never forgiven himself despite all the grace Oikawa tried hand him over.

Taking a quiet breath, Oikawa stepped forward. His voice was soft but resolute as he broke the silence. “Hajime,” he said each word measured with care, "forgiveness isn’t about who deserves it. It belongs to the hurt, to offer if they choose.”

 

The words were gentle but landed heavily, their meaning unspoken but obvious between the two of them. For a moment, Iwaizumi froze, his shoulders stiffening as his anger faltered. The guilt he fought so hard to bury clawed its way to the surface. A flash of self-loathing flickered in his tormented eyes.

 

But why?.. Why would you give it so easily? His thoughts spiraled, the questions striking deeper than Oikawa probably intended. His eyes flicked toward Oikawa, and he felt a quiet defeat settle over him. How could you even look at me after everything I did to you? The thought cut deep, resurfacing an ache he had been suppressing. But he quickly forced it back down, burying it beneath years of restraint.

 

This isn’t about me, he reminded himself, his focus shifting sharply back to Bokuto. This is about Akaashi. Iwaizumi took a deep steadying breath. His expression shifted to a cold, impenetrable hardness. It felt as if all emotion had been locked away behind a fortress of composure. A chilling calm settled over the living room like the calm before a storm. When he turned to Oikawa, his tone carried an icy finality. “This isn’t the place for this.”

 

Iwaizumi’s jade eyes darkened, and he turned to Bokuto next. His expression held a terrifying restraint, as if he was containing something monstrous. He raised his hand, pointing toward the balcony calmly, yet it felt like a threat. “You and me. Balcony. Now.”

 

The command was absolute, leaving no room for argument. The room was filled with unspoken tension. Akaashi, Bokuto and Oikawa exchanged brief, uncertain glances. Behind Iwaizumi, Oikawa gave a subtle nod, his expression grim but supportive with the faintest hint of a smile. The gesture seemed to settle something in Akaashi, who squeezed Bokuto’s hand. “Go,” he whispered, his voice quiet but firm. Bokuto knew there was no point in arguing anyway. He hesitated only a moment longer, before following Iwaizumi out to the balcony.

 

The two stepped onto the balcony, the sound of the city below filling the heavy silence. Iwaizumi turned back, his hand gripping the sliding door as he shut it firmly behind them, cutting them off from the warmth of the apartment. For a moment, neither spoke. The morning breeze was cool and crisp, but Iwaizumi’s gaze was searing. Bokuto stood frozen, his breath shallow as he waited, bracing himself for what was to come.

 

Then, like a dam breaking, Iwaizumi’s voice shattered the silence. “Do you even realize what you did to him? What we went through seeing him hurt like that?” His voice was barely controlled, each word cut Bokuto deeper than the last. His fists clenched at his sides, trying to steady himself.

 

Bokuto swallowed, the weight of Iwaizumi’s words pressing down on him. “I know, Iwa. I know I messed up. I know, I don’t deserve forgiveness—”

 

“You don’t.” Iwaizumi’s voice was harsh, his words like a daggers. “He’s choosing to forgive you, but let’s be clear: you don’t deserve it.”

 

Bokuto’s jaw tightened, and something in him finally snapped. He took a small step forward, his voice raw and unfiltered. “So what?” Bokuto asked, his hands trembling but his gaze unwavering. “I already know I don’t. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m going to keep trying anyway. Because trying is all I can do.”

 

Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as Bokuto continued. “I love him. I’ve loved him since I was seventeen… Maybe even earlier… And that hasn’t changed. I know I screwed up—I know I hurt him. But I can’t stop trying, because if I do, I’ll lose him forever. And that’s not something I can live with.”

 

Bokuto swallowed hard, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “You’re Akaashi’s best friend now, I get that. And I want to get along with you. You’re important to him, and you’re Tooru’s boyfriend too, so you’re important to me. But I was his best friend first. I know him better than anyone else, and I’m not walking away from him. Not now. Not ever.”

 

Iwaizumi’s gaze bored into him, his eyes, distraught. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice dropping. “This isn’t just about trying. You hurt him. Do you know how close you were to doing something that couldn’t be undone?”

 

Bokuto stepped closer, his chest heaving as he spoke with a desperate intensity. “You think I don’t know that?  You think I don’t hate myself for it every second? I’m not proud of what I did. But I’m still not going to stop trying to make it right. You can’t possibly punish me more than I already punish myself but..” His voice trailed off, and he took a pause searching for the right words.

 

The silence between them was charged. Finally, Bokuto spread his arms, his voice steady but broken. “If you think I need to pay for it, then go ahead. Hit me. Do whatever you need to do. Just get it over with, because I’m not stopping. He is the love of my life, I’m not giving up.”

 

Iwaizumi’s fists tightened, his knuckles white, but he didn’t move. His voice, when it came, was quieter, more vulnerable. “You really love him?” he asked, the words almost tentative. Bokuto nodded, his golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I do. More than anything.”

 

Iwaizumi turned away, gripping the railing tightly. He stared out at the city, the morning light casting harsh shadows across his face. “Do you know why I’m so protective?” he said, his voice low and distant. “Why I can’t just… let this slide?” Bokuto watched him silently for a while trying to decide whether to speak his mind, or not. In the end he decided to be honest.

 

“Are you talking about Tooru?” He asked softly. He knew Iwaizumi and Oikawa had been in a bad physical fight when they were in high school which resulted in Iwaizumi leaving town. Oikawa had always said that it was his fault, and always shared that he got his ass kicked. However, he never really elaborated more than that, saying it was not important.

 

Iwaizumi exhaled shakily, nodding, his shoulders stiff. “You know how his nose is slightly crooked, right?” He asked Bokuto, jade eyes hazy. “It almost looks like it’s betraying his perfect face, doesn’t it?”

Iwa asked again, his voice quieter this time.

 

It was an odd thing to ask, especially now, and it caught Bokuto’s attention almost instantly. His gaze shifted inside. Bokuto narrowed his eyes, focusing on Oikawa who was now sitting next to Akaashi at the kitchen island. The morning light traced the contours of his face, and he saw it — the faint curve in Oikawa’s nose. He’d never even noticed it before. He was still gorgeous, of course, but now that Iwaizumi had pointed it out, it was there. A flaw, subtle but just there.

 

Iwaizumi noticed Bokuto’s staring and didn’t wait for an answer. His voice lowered, quieter now, yet still as striking. “His nose didn’t always have that curve. Not until I put it there.” The confession came out quietly, almost lost to the morning breeze, but it swept Bokuto like a landslide.

 

Bokuto blinked, completely stunned. “What…?”

 

Iwaizumi’s voice cracked as he continued. “I hurt the one person I was supposed to protect, Bokuto. My best friend. The love of my life. I don’t know what else I can say, he’s the most important person in my life. He always has been. I was seventeen when it happened. I lost my temper, I lost everything about my sense of self and I hurt him. I could have killed him. It was brutal, cruel and inhumane. I tore him apart, Bokuto. And I can’t undo it.” He let out a bitter laugh, his grip on the railing tightening. “Every time I look at his face, I see it. That curve in his nose? That’s me. That’s what I did. I swore I loved him, and I still hurt him like that.”

 

Bokuto’s throat tightened, and he glanced at Iwaizumi. His stomach churned with a mix of shock and understanding.

 

Iwaizumi exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he looked down at his hands. “And you know what scares me the most?” His voice cracked, emotions spilling over. “That I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself. No matter how much he says he does, no matter how happy we are now, I’ll never forget that I was the one who broke him.”

 

Iwaizumi took a shaky breath, his voice raw before continuing. “Every night when I’m in the bed and I close my eyes, I keep wishing how I could take it all back.” He exhaled deeply. “But you can’t take those moments back. No matter how much you hate yourself, no matter how hard you try. They stay with you. And they stay with the person you hurt too.” 

 

Bokuto swallowed hard, the vulnerability in Iwaizumi’s words slicing him alive. Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked up, meeting Bokuto’s with a fiery intensity. “So when I look at you, Bokuto, I see someone on the edge of making the same mistake I did.”

 

Bokuto’s chest tightened, and his own voice cracked as he spoke. “Iwa…” He didn’t know what to say for a moment. The raw hurt and vulnerability in Iwaizumi’s voice spoke in volumes before his words. They carved into Bokuto’s heart what it truly means to hurt someone you love.

 

Iwaizumi took another shaky breath, his gaze softening but no less serious. “Maybe you don’t think it’s my place to say anything. And, maybe it’s not. But Akaashi is like a little brother to me. He’s already permanently marked by a scar now. I can’t watch him get hurt like that again.” He swallowed hard, his gaze meeting Bokuto’s. “I wish someone had stopped me before I hurt Tooru. And, I won’t let you come back into Akaashi’s life if you hurt him again.”

 

Bokuto’s voice was soft but resolute as he replied, “I won’t.” His golden eyes burned with conviction. “I swear, Iwa. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of Iwaizumi’s confession and Bokuto’s promise hanging between them. Finally, Iwaizumi sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’d better mean that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Because if you don’t…”

 

“I do,” Bokuto said, his voice steady. “I love him too much not to.”

 

Iwaizumi studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly, though the tension in his expression didn’t fully ease. Bokuto nodded back his heart pounding with determination. “I won’t let you down.”

 

For a moment, they stood there, the morning air cooling the tension between them. Iwaizumi exhaled, as if trying to let it go, before his gaze flicked toward the horizon. The lines on his face softened, yet he couldn’t hide the anguish surfacing in his eyes. “Bokuto,” Iwaizumi began, his voice quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Do the same for me.”

 

Bokuto blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

 

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, his voice faltering slightly. “If I ever hurt Tooru again… don’t let me come back.”

 

The vulnerability in Iwaizumi’s words struck Bokuto. It was heavier than anything he had said before. He felt his heart sinking inside his chest. His golden eyes searched Iwaizumi’s jade ones and saw the torment there, the guilt still lingering like a ghost.

 

“You won’t,” Bokuto said firmly, his voice filled with certainty. He didn’t even need Iwaizumi to say it. He could see how much he loved Oikawa. They didn’t need to have this conversation. 

 

Iwaizumi shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Just promise me,” he pressed, his voice raw. “I need you to promise.”

 

Bokuto hesitated, realizing how deeply this mattered to Iwaizumi. He met his gaze, the green of his eyes shimmering with pain and sincerity. Finally, Bokuto nodded. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady. “If you hurt Tooru, I won’t let you come back.”

 

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi said after a beat, his voice quiet and sincere. Bokuto nodded silently, his gaze lowering. He didn’t know what to say. How do you respond to a thank you for promising to keep the person you love apart?

 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Iwaizumi took a step forward and—unexpectedly—wrapped his arms around Bokuto in a brief, fierce hug. It wasn’t the kind of hug exchanged between close friends, but one born of a shared understanding of burdens and fears.

 

Bokuto froze, caught off guard, before returning the embrace just as tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, the words barely audible.

 

When Iwaizumi stepped back, his gaze was still stern but maybe understanding at the same time. “Don’t make me regret this,” he grunted with an obstinate look.

 

“You won’t,” Bokuto promised, a small smile curled on his lips. Iwaizumi nodded, patting his back one last time. “Good,” he said simply, before stepping back inside.

 

Back inside, Akaashi and Oikawa sat next to each other, wide-eyed, like they’d just witnessed some rare, mystical event. Akaashi glanced at Oikawa, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and Oikawa’s lips slowly curled into a grin, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Well,” Oikawa whispered, leaning over to Akaashi with a chuckle, “that was… unexpected.”

Akaashi let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah,” he murmured, unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… actually kind of sweet.”

Oikawa chuckled, nudging Akaashi. “Maybe we should get them matching bracelets while we’re at it.”

 

As Bokuto and Iwaizumi stepped back inside, they found Akaashi and Oikawa standing near the counter, wearing identical, mischievous grins.

 

“Well, look who’s back,” Oikawa spoke, his voice practically dripping with mischief. “We were just saying, you two could really use a set of matching bracelets.”

 

Akaashi nodded, face serious but eyes bright with amusement. “Something tasteful, of course. Maybe with ‘Best Friends Forever’  engraved in cursive?”

 

Bokuto’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson. He rubbed the back of his neck as he mumbled, “Very funny, guys…” but he couldn’t quite hide his relieved smile.

Oikawa unexpectedly jumped from his seat, his face lit up as if he’d had the best idea of his life. “Okay, hear me out—monogrammed leather jackets. With ‘Best Buds’ across the back in silver lettering. Picture it: Bo and Iwa-chan, side by side in matching outfits!”

 

“That’s an amazing Idea, Tooru!” Akaashi chimed in, trying to hold back his laughter, but not doing a very good job of it.

 

“Tooru!” Bokuto scowled, face growing increasingly scarlet. He turned and looked at Akaashi as if he had been betrayed. “A-Akaashi,  don’t encourage him—”

 

But before he could finish, Iwaizumi cut in, his voice low and laced with warning. “Keep going,” he said, looking between the two of them, “and I’ll give you both something real memorable to wear.” His gaze lingered pointedly on Oikawa, who had the nerve to look delighted by it all.

Oikawa just smirked, undeterred. “Relax, Iwa-chan. We’re just admiring all this newfound bromance.”

 

Iwaizumi shot him another glare, muttering under his breath, “Tooru, I swear…”

 

“Oh, come on.” Oikawa grinned, hugging him from behind. “Just admit it—you’re friends now.”

 

Iwaizumi sighed in defeat, his face was bright red. “Fine.” He muttered. “We’re good now.” He started rubbing his temples.

 

Akaashi gave Bokuto a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Guess that balcony talk was worth it after all?” he asked playfully.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto mumbled, shaking his head, though a bright smile broke through. “Now, everyone grab a seat. Breakfast’s getting cold.”

They settled in, with Bokuto eagerly serving everyone, the tension from earlier replaced by an easy warmth. Laughter filled the room as they dug into the meal, exchanging stories and gentle jabs. It was as though a storm had passed, and their bonds solidified over mutual hardship.

As they finished up, Oikawa leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “So, are we making this a tradition?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Heartfelt talks with Iwa-chan, followed by Bo’s special breakfast?”

“You really are pushing it, Thrashy-kawa.” Iwaizumi rolled his jade eyes, pushing Oikawa who was clinging to his arm, playfully. But he couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face.

Oikawa raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m saying it’s nice! I have to say, Hajime… it’s rare to see you… sentimental.”

Iwaizumi let out an exasperated huff, muttering, “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

 

A gentle warmth filled the room. It was almost funny how all of them had circled back to each other through heartbreak and and years of silence, but now, finally, they had found their way back.

 

All of them were right back to where they belonged.

 

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

After breakfast, Oikawa stretched dramatically, his arms arching over his head as he leaned back in his chair. “So,” he began, a sly grin creeping onto his face. “What now? Are we doing something exciting,  how are you planning to entertain me?”

Iwaizumi gave him a flat look, collecting plates from the table. “How about we start with cleaning up?”

Oikawa groaned. “Oh, come on, Iwa-chan. You’re such a buzzkill.” Nonetheless, he got up and gave Iwaizumi a hand with the dishes. “Well, Bo cooked, so we’ll clean. It’s only fair.” He said as he put the dirty dishes on the sink. Then, he stopped abruptly, turning toward Bokuto, clapping his hands together as if presenting a grand idea. “What about a movie marathon? Are you guys up for it?”

Bokuto perked up with the idea, already heading for the couch. “Absolutely! Lazy Sunday vibes, right? It’ll be fun.”

Oikawa grinned, clearly pleased. “Perfect. Let’s pick something ridiculous, dramatic and fun. Your call Bo!”

Iwaizumi stopped mid-step, with a suspicious look on his face. He gave Oikawa a sidelong glance. “You’re trusting this guy to pick the movie?” He asked pointing Bokuto with a nod, miffed. “Really?”

“I trust him more than I trust you,” Oikawa quipped, sticking out his tongue at him.

Akaashi rolled his eyes but a faint chuckle escaped his lips as he carried his own plate to the kitchen, setting it right next to the dishes in the sink. “Hey… Play nice.”  He patted his friends shoulder and joined next to Bokuto on the couch.

Settling into the soft cushions, Bokuto and Akaashi scrolled through options the sounds of clinking dishes and running water filled the apartment. Akaashi found his gaze drifting toward the kitchen while Oikawa and Iwaizumi cleaned. He couldn’t help but notice how Oikawa found every excuse to touch Iwaizumi—a hand on his arm while passing a plate, a playful nudge with his shoulder while drying a glass.

Akaashi couldn’t help but smile faintly. It was subtle, playful, and entirely Oikawa. Iwaizumi huffed in annoyance each time, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, one he seemed determined to hide. There was something disarming about seeing him like this—unguarded, almost tender.

Bokuto noticed his gaze drifting. “They’re something, huh?” He murmured beside him, eyes glancing at the Iwaizumi and Oikawa in kitchen momentarily, and back to the screen. Akaashi hummed, a small smile forming. “They are.”

When Iwaizumi turned to hang the dish towel, Oikawa slid up behind him, wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist and leaned up to whisper something in his ear. Whatever it was, it made Iwaizumi freeze, gulping visibly. His face immediately turned crimson as his gaze darted toward the living room. Akaashi pretended to focus on the screen, but Bokuto stared openly, his curiosity obvious.

Iwaizumi sighed heavily in defeat. “You’re going to be the end of me,” he muttered quietly, though his voice was warm with affection.  “Good,” Oikawa said grinning wide, giving him a quick squeeze.

“On second thought…” Iwaizumi cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, and turned toward the living room. “We’re, uh… We’ll be busy. Movie’s all yours…” he announced, the tips of his ears still red.

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. Bokuto looked at them blinking, confused. “Busy?What does—”

Before he could finish, Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi’s hand, dragging him toward their bedroom. Just as the door was about to close, Akaashi yelled behind them perfectly deadpan: “Don’t forget to use protection.”

The door froze mid-close before creaking open just enough for Iwaizumi’s head to reappear, his expression a mix of irritation and mortification. “You’re lucky you have a concussion,” he grumbled before slamming the door shut.

Bokuto stared after them in disbelief. “Seriously?” he exclaimed, gesturing toward the hallway. “They ditched us?”

Akaashi biting back laughter, nodded, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Don’t you remember the time you had to pick me up at two in the morning because they wouldn’t let me sleep?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bokuto groaned, shaking his head although a small chuckle escaped his lips. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” They settled onto the couch, shoulders pressed close, as Bokuto kept scrolling through the movies, his brow furrowed in concentration. Eventually, he landed on an old, over-the-top action film.

With just the two of them left, they started the movie Bokuto had chosen. Bokuto’s eyes were practically glowing as opening credits rolled, already captivated, while Akaashi’s attention strayed elsewhere. The movie didn’t matter, not when Bokuto was beside him, so close he could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

Akaashi couldn’t help the spark of inspiration blooming in his chest. The way Iwaizumi and Oikawa, so unapologetically lost in each other, sharing a private look and a quiet laugh before they disappeared into their room, lingered in his mind. It was as if nobody was watching—so bold, so effortless, so cosy— something he hadn’t realized he envied until now. It gave Akaashi plenty to think about. Maybe even to act on.

He glanced at Bokuto beside him, utterly engrossed in the absurd action movie blasting across the screen. The light of the explosions flickered against Bokuto’s face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the brightness in his eyes. He laughed at some wildly exaggerated explosion, and Akaashi couldn’t help but smile, feeling his heart kick up a little. Bokuto was adorable like this, wide-eyed and lost in something. But Akaashi wasn’t thinking cute thoughts. He was thinking about how easy it would be to pull Bokuto into his lap, to kiss him senseless, to let his hands roam, to let his mouth trail down his neck and over his chest… He wanted Bokuto more than he ever had.

Careful, almost tentative, he let his fingers play through a lock of Bokuto’s hair, brushing down to trace along the back of his neck. He felt Bokuto shiver slightly under the touch, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. How do I get him away from this movie? Akaashi’s mind raced, searching for any excuse to get Bokuto somewhere private, somewhere he didn’t have to hold back.

The excuses started to roll through Akaashi’s head. I could say I’m tired and want to lie down, but he’d probably say I could lie down here an cuddle with him. Or I could just pretend it’s boring... no, he’d defend it to death.

His eyes flicked back to Bokuto, who was leaning forward slightly, completely enthralled. Akaashi suppressed a sigh. Maybe I could just say I need help with something in my room… I could say my window is jammed, right?.. No… That’s pathetic. God, what am I even doing?

Bokuto laughed, loud and boisterous, interrupting his thoughts. And Akaashi realized, he was overthinking. He didn’t need excuses to get Bokuto into his room. Not when Bokuto was his boyfriend. He reached over, his fingers brushing Bokuto’s arm, drawing his attention. “Kou?” Akaashi said, voice gentle.

“Hm?” Bokuto turned to him, his golden eyes wide with curiosity. Akaashi’s lips curved into a small knowing smile. “Pause the movie for a bit.”

Bokuto frowned in confusion. “Pause it? Why?”

Akaashi stood, extending his hand toward him. “Because… I want to show you something in my room.” He paused, his voice even but layered with intent. “I think, you’ll love it.” He added, quieter now.

Bokuto blinked, surprised, an excited grin forming . “Oh? Yeah, okay!” he said as he took Akaashi’s hand. Akaashi led him down the hallway, his heart beating faster with every step.

Once inside the room, Akaashi gently closed the door behind them, and before Bokuto could ask any questions, he pressed his lips to Bokuto’s in a sudden, heated kiss. Bokuto gasped softly, startled, but quickly melted into it, his hands rising to Akaashi’s shoulders, holding on as Akaashi deepened the kiss. He nudged Bokuto backward, guiding him to the edge of the bed until they both tumbled down, Bokuto sat beneath him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “Keiji…” Bokuto whispered, sounding breathless and a little dazed.

Akaashi didn’t listen. He quickly shifted, straddling Bokuto’s hips, pinning him down as he leaned in for another kiss, rougher this time.  And, suddenly Bokuto was responding even more eagerly beneath him. He let his lips trail down Bokuto’s throat, catching every hitch in Bokuto’s breath, savoring the feel of Bokuto’s skin under his fingers. He slipped his hands under Bokuto’s shirt, pushing it up over his shoulders, and Bokuto lifted his arms, letting it slide off completely. Akaashi paused, taking in the sight of him—flushed, warm, and completely focused on him.

As he shifted slightly, Akaashi felt Bokuto’s unmistakable arousal pressing against him, hard beneath the fabric of the shorts. A smirk played across Akaashi’s lips. He rocked his hips down, earning a gasp from Bokuto.

“Well, well,” Akaashi murmured, his voice a teasing whisper. “Someone’s excited.” He said, sliding his own shirt off of himself.

Bokuto’s face flushed an even deeper red, and he let out a shaky laugh. “Keiji…” he managed, half-laughing and half-breathless, his hands settling on Akaashi’s waist, fingers digging in as he pulled Akaashi closer. The small, desperate gesture only spurred Akaashi on. He leaned down, capturing Bokuto’s lips again, his own need pulsing hotter with each passing second. “Don’t worry.” Akaashi whispered, his voice sultry. “I’m excited too.”

Akaashi pressed closer, feeling their bodies align, his hand drifting down, fingertips skimming the edge of Bokuto’s waistband, ready to go further.

But just as his fingers started to slip lower, Bokuto’s hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him with a soft, almost regretful chuckle. “Keiji… You have no idea how much I want this…” Bokuto’s voice was gentle, his cheeks still flushed. “We’re not alone, remember?”

Akaashi blinked, glancing down in surprise.“What?” Akaashi asked, a playful grin quirking his lips. “So? I mean… Iwa and Tooru aren’t exactly shy. They won’t care.”

Bokuto’s face softened, and instead of answering, he pressed his forehead to Akaashi’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. For a moment, they just stayed like that, close, hearts racing together. Akaashi could feel Bokuto’s heartbeat under his palm, and his arousal beneath himself, but Bokuto’s grip on his hand didn’t loosen.

“It’s not about them,” Bokuto murmured, his voice soft but certain. He reached up, brushing Akaashi’s hair back from his face, his eyes full of something deeper, and intense. He took a deep breath.

“I want our first time to be perfect.” He said softly. “Bokuto’s hand settled warmly on Akaashi’s cheek, his eyes softening as he thought aloud. “I’ve waited so long for this. I don’t want it to happen here, with people in the next room, or just… casually.”

He gave a small, almost shy smile. “I want it to be somewhere where it’s just us. Where there’s no one else around, no distractions. Just you and me. I want you to feel how much you mean to me… and I want to be able to show you without holding back.”

Akaashi’s heart softened and his grin faded as he took in Bokuto’s expression. There was something in those words that hit him in a way he hadn’t expected, a sincerity that made him pause, suddenly aware of how much this meant to both of them. How are you always so sweet?, Akaashi thought. You are too sweet…  The urge was still there, but Bokuto’s eyes shone with so much care that it was replaced by something more. “Okay,” he whispered, giving in with a gentle smile. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to Bokuto’s lips, feeling a quiet thrill at the thought of what was to come.

“Also…” Bokuto murmured, brushing Akaashi’s hair back, golden eyes soft yet brimming with emotion. “There are two things we need to handle first.”

Akaashi tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his blue eyes. “Two things?” he asked softly.” Bokuto nodded, exhaling deeply. “Yeah.” His voice dipped, quieter but steady. “Alisa, First.”

Akaashi blinked, the name catching him completely off guard. Of all the things he expected Bokuto to say, Alisa wouldn’t even be the last one. “Alisa?” he echoed, his voice uneven,  unsure where Bokuto was going with this.

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, his voice firmer now. “You have to tell her. Before anything else happens between us. She deserves that much.” He hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment. When he looked back up, there was something raw in his expression. “I don’t want you to cheat on her.”

The words made Akaashi freeze, his shoulders tensed for a moment. He had no idea Bokuto was thinking about Alisa’s feelings this whole time. His heart sank in his chest. “Kou,” he began, trying to think of words to describe his relationship with Alisa. “We weren’t… we haven’t been anything serious. She knows that. I’m not—”

“I mean it,” Bokuto said, cutting him off. “When you were sleeping, we talked. She loves you.” He paused escaping his gaze. His voice dropped lower. “She’s been good to me, Keiji. She’s been good to you too. I don’t want to hurt her. Please, promise me.”

Akaashi opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped. She loves you. The words echoed in his mind. Funny, Alisa never said those words to him before. Guilt crept up on him. If Bokuto never confessed… Akaashi knew he and Alisa could have gone somewhere. And hearing Bokuto say it— that she loved him—made everything feel heavier, sharper. Bokuto was right. She deserved it. He owed her that much for the good times at least. It was about respect and about doing things right.

Akaashi’s chest ached at the sincerity in Bokuto’s eyes, the quiet insistence in his voice. He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the space between them before flicking back up to Bokuto’s. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll text her today asking for a time to meet.”

Bokuto nodded, relief flickering briefly across his face before another tension settled there. He shifted slightly, hesitating. Akaashi noticed it instantly, the way Bokuto’s fingers twitched against his own, the way his gaze flicked away briefly before returning. He already mentioned there would be two things. “What’s the second thing?” He prompted gently, his curiosity piqued.

Bokuto swallowed hard, his golden eyes clouding. “Well…” he began, his voice faltering slightly before he took a deep breath. “That’s me. The game. Everything.”

Akaashi’s brow furrowed, confused. “The game? You’re worried about the championship?”

Bokuto shook his head quickly, his cheeks tinging pink as his gaze darted down. “No, not the game itself. I mean—Coach is pushing me hard, and I’m exhausted, Keiji. I’m worried that… that I won’t be able to give you everything you deserve. That I’ll be too tired to—” His voice broke off, his frustration and vulnerability painfully clear.

Akaashi frowned, his heart twisting at the vulnerability in Bokuto’s voice. He reached up, cradling Bokuto’s cheek, forcing him to look at him. “Kou,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, “you don’t have to be perfect. Not for me. You’re already more than enough.”

Bokuto shook his head slightly, his eyes glimmering with unshed emotion. “But it’s not enough for me.”he whispered, voice trembling. “I’ve waited so long for this, Keiji… For us… And I want to to show you how much you mean to me.”

Akaashi’s lips curved into a small, tender smile, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Bokuto’s. “Kou…” he whispered, “Fine, we’ll wait.”

Bokuto’s hand settled at the back of Akaashi’s neck, pulling him down for one more kiss, slow and tender, before he pulled back, his grin warm but determined. “Not for long,” he promised. “Just until the game. Then we’ll have all the time in the world.”

 

Akaashi felt his heart skip, and he found himself smiling, surprised by the emotion surging with the anticipation. He brushed his fingers along Bokuto’s jaw, his own voice turning unexpectedly soft. “I don’t care if it takes forever,” he said, his eyes full of warmth as he held Bokuto’s gaze. “As long as it’s with you, I’ll wait. Just knowing I’ll get to feel you… that’s enough.”

 

Bokuto’s eyes softened, and he exhaled, visibly moved. “You’re too good for me.” He pulled Akaashi into a tight embrace, burying his face in Akaashi’s neck as they held each other, the quietness of the moment settling around them. They stayed like that, content and wrapped in each other’s warmth, feeling the promise of something worth waiting for.

Notes:

Did I make Iwa a drama queen? I don't know haha.

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 20: Heliocentric

Notes:

Happy new year!

I was totally struck by writer’s block. Then I ended up writing too much and everything became a mess. I’ve been trying to untangle the mess I created for a while. Sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy!

The morning sun was casting a gentle glow over the city as Akaashi sat at café in Shibuya, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee radiating a subtle warmth. The soft murmur of conversation and the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine faded into the background. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip, the warmth spreading inside his mouth pleasantly comfortable. Funny, he was anything but: sitting here, right before the biggest game of his boyfriend’s life, about to break someone’s heart… She’s late, he thought as he raised his arm to take a look at his watch. It wasn’t by much, but the anticipation made him all the more restless. Maybe it’s just the caffeine, he thought as he took another sip.  He wasn’t even sure anymore. The tangle of events happening in the past couple of days had left him with a kaleidoscope of emotions which managed to crack his composure of steel.

Akaashi set the coffee down, and let his gaze drift. Days had passed since Bokuto’s confession, but the chaos lingered. How the hell did everything get so complicated? Though, the answer was easy. Bokuto… Chaos didn’t just follow him; it thrived around him, spun from his laughter, his drive, his boundless energy. Of course… Loving Bokuto meant welcoming the chaos with open arms. Akaashi’s lips twitched into a faint smile involuntarily. It wasn’t just Bokuto’s chaos anymore; it was theirs now—messy and intense and dazzling. As he waited, he reflected on the whirlwind Bokuto brought in his life, so much happening in such a short span of time.

He glanced toward the counter, and watched as the barista poured steaming milk into a cup, frothing it into a delicious foam. His thoughts drifted to the morning Terushima called him to pick Bokuto up. The intensity of the jealousy he’d felt in that moment was startling, even in hindsight. He could still remember the heat rising in his chest as he rushed there, leaving Alisa behind in the bed with barely any explanation. It wasn’t fair to her—he knew that—but he hadn’t cared. In a way, maybe he had gotten what he had deserved later on. That morning had unraveled into something he hadn’t anticipated. He could still see the look of disdain on Bokuto’s face when he closed his eyes. He had never looked at Akaashi that way before. And that cut, deeper than any words did.

He unconsciously reached up to touch his face, right below the cheekbones. The faint ache made him physically wince. It was a reminder of how close they’d come to losing everything. His hand tightened slightly around the cup of coffee as the memory returned, still sharp — the owl statue falling to the floor, the blood dripping from his cheek, Bokuto’s guilt-stricken eyes as he realized what he’d done. The concussion had been worse than he’d let on, and yet... somehow, he was almost grateful. He was grateful that Bokuto had taken an action. He was grateful because it brought them together in the end.

The door chimed faintly, and Akaashi glanced up reflexively to see whether it was Alisa. When he saw that it was an elderly man coming in, He let out a slow breath, his gaze falling to the steaming swirl of coffee in his cup.  In the midst of it all, there was Alisa, completely blameless. Just last week, Akaashi thought things really could go somewhere with her… She was good to him—fun, thoughtful, and open in a way that made her hard not to adore. Most important of it all, she was kind, endlessly so… She had been a balm when he needed it most, softening the unseen scars on his heart. Yet, despite everything, deep down he had known. He had always known. She wasn’t the one. I shouldn’t have gone out with her… Not when I wasn’t ready… Akaashi sighed, gaze looking up at the ceiling. He was returning her kindness by telling her something that would inevitably hurt. How awful am I?

Guilt drained the nervous energy inside him leaving room for sadness. Bokuto had revealed to Akaashi that she loved him. It reached through to Akaashi from Bokuto’s voice, not her own. Why didn’t she ever tell me that? Akaashi wondered for a moment. They were casual, and hadn’t really define anything yet. But… she was bold, confident, cheeky… She didn’t seem like someone who would be afraid to admit their feelings if she wanted to pursue someone. He lifted his coffee to his lips again but paused, setting it back down untouched. She didn’t want to scare me. It dawned on him only then, suddenly obvious. She couldn’t because, Akaashi wouldn’t know what to do with it. Because it was too soon. 

He exhaled, closing his eyes briefly, the warmth of the coffee comforting against his fingers. Bokuto had told him everything in vivid detail— how Alisa smiled at him kindly, and encouraged him to take the leap, because Akaashi deserved to know. Akaashi couldn’t stop thinking about it ever since he heard it. His fingers tightened around the cup as he struggled to understand. The sheer generosity of it. Caring for someone, enough to risk losing them… Enough to push them toward someone else… What kind of person did that? How kind would you need to be? He had no answer, only the painful realization that he might never repay her for it.

He stared out the window, watching as pedestrians wove through the crowded streets of Shibuya, looking for a sign of her. He’d sent Alisa a simple message, only asking if they could meet for a coffee to talk — no indication of anything else at all… Could she guess? Did she even know what was coming? Would she still come if she knew?

The bitter consequences of his decisions tormented him, yet he would choose the same, time after time, without end. There were no easy words for it, no clear justification, only that it was Bokuto— A longing cultivated over years of suppressed feelings. His mind circled back to memories of her. The time he’d spent with Alisa had been a welcome escape, but that was it. An escape. What they had was a flame, a steadfast fire that kept the darkness at bay. Now, the sun had risen, brilliance beyond compare. What need was there for a flame when the sun illuminated everything?

Akaashi took a deep breath, his fingers drumming softly against the table. Great, he was getting poetic now… What are you going to do next Keiji? Compare your coffee to the bitter depths of despair? The door chimed again, sparing him from himself. Akaashi’s head snapped up. There she is, he thought as Alisa stepped into the warmth of the café. Her golden hair fell in soft waves around her face, cheeks slightly flushed. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, and when they found him, she smiled—not the confident, teasing grin he knew but something much softer. She walked toward him with a deliberate poise, and their eyes met. She knew. Of course, she knew.

Alisa stopped right before him, her hand rested on the back of the chair. For a moment, she simply stood there, her smile lingering. “Hey,” she said, her tone more quiet than usual almost as though she was testing his reactions.

Akaashi straightened in his chair, his fingers twitching slightly against the cup. “Hey,” he replied, his voice soft. “Please.” He pointed at the empty chair for her to sit down, a gesture oddly formal given their history.

Alisa’s gaze dropped to his coffee, her smile turning almost playful. “I should grab myself a cup first,” she said, tilting her head toward the counter. Before she could move, Akaashi stood up abruptly, his chair scraping softly against the floor. “Let me,” he said, the words spilling out with more urgency than he intended. It was instinctual—an impulse to do something, anything, to repay her. Yet, everything he was doing now added to the awkwardness of the situation. 

“Oatmilk latte, triple espresso, with hazelnut, no sugar?” he asked, the memory of her order coming effortlessly to mind.

For a moment, Alisa seemed caught off guard, her lips parting slightly before she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “That’s it.”

Akaashi gave a small nod before walking to the counter, his heart pounding in his chest. The barista greeted him warmly, but his thoughts were elsewhere as he repeated Alisa’s order whilst pulling out his wallet to pay. He stood at the counter, watching as the barista poured the espresso, steamed the oat milk, and added the drizzle with practiced ease. The moments stretched, his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. He thanked the barista when the drink was ready, and returned back, setting the cup down in front of her with a slight smile. “Here,” he said, his voice soft.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her fingers brushing briefly against his as she took the cup. It wasn’t much, he knew that. But still, it was something. A beginning, perhaps. For a moment neither of them spoke. It was Alisa who finally broke the silence, her usual breezy smile finding its way back to her lips.

“Well, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” she teased gently, her gaze flickering over the faint scar peeking from his cheek. “The color’s finally back in your face. At least you look less like someone who just lost a fight with a brick wall. How are you feeling?”

Akaashi exhaled a laugh, grateful for the humor, and touched by her immediate concern. “A lot better, actually. No more dizziness, nor headaches. Pretty sure the worst of it is over.” He traced a finger absentmindedly over the fading line on his cheek, his voice softening. “Just a scar I guess.”

Alisa gave a sympathetic nod, and her gaze softened. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said quietly. “You had me worried. That night… when I came over, you were pale as a ghost. I thought you might pass out and I would have to call an ambulance.” She paused, a light smile tugging at her lips. “But you still spent the whole time insisting you were fine.”

Akaashi hesitated a little, his eyes dropping briefly to his coffee cup. “I might have underestimated how bad it was. I don’t think I would have gone to the hospital at all if Iwa didn’t insist…” His expression turned more thoughtful. “You didn’t have to take care of me, but you did anyway. Thanks for that.”

“Please,” she waved it off playfully but with genuine warmth. “It was no trouble. I didn’t mind taking care of you, you know. You needed someone, and I was happy to be there.” She paused momentarily. “Besides,” she added with a teasing glimmer in her eye, “you were actually pretty good company — even with a concussion and all.”

The corners of Akaashi’s mouth lifted, but the lightness between them was fleeting. Both of them aware of the real reason they were here. A slight smile tugged at her lips in return though. She paused for a moment, before meeting his gaze. “It’s good to see you out and about again.” Alisa shifted slightly, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “So,” she said, her voice quieter now, “what’s up? I’m guessing you didn’t call me out here just to chat about your recovery.”

Akaashi felt his breath hitch inside his chest. His smile faded, and he set his coffee down carefully, glancing down to the liquid inside, gathering his thoughts. “No,” he said after a pause. “I wanted to see you because… I owe you honesty.”

Alisa didn’t move, her expression unreadable, but her eyes stayed on him, steady and knowing. He took a breath, searching for the right words.

“Alisa, you’re… incredible,” he began, his voice low but firm. “You’re kind, and fun… and you made me feel like myself again. I really didn’t expect to meet someone like you,” He glanced up, his throat tightening. “But…”

She tilted her head slightly, and her lips curved in a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But…” she echoed gently.

Akaashi hesitated, then pushed forward. “But there’s someone I’ve never really moved on from,” he admitted. “I thought I could bury those feelings, but I can’t. Not anymore. And it wouldn’t be fair to you for me to try. I’m sorry.”

Her gaze didn’t falter, though he saw the flicker of something in her eyes—disappointment, maybe, or understanding. “Bokuto,” she said softly, almost in a whisper.

“Yes,” Akaashi said, gulping audibly. “I didn’t know how he felt until recently, and… now that I do, I can’t ignore it. I’m so sorry, Alisa. You deserve better than this.”

For a moment, Alisa said nothing. Then she leaned back slightly, her fingers tightening around her cup. “I already knew,” she said quietly. “You know… Bokuto showed up at your apartment…And when I didn’t hear from you after that, well…” She exhaled softly. “I figured this was coming.”

Akaashi’s heart clenched, and he looked down at his coffee. He was completely drenched in guilt. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” she said simply, her voice steady. “And I don’t blame you, Akaashi. I told Bokuto to go for it, you know. When he told me how he felt about you, I told him you deserved to know. And you do.” She smiled and reached across the table, her fingers brushing his briefly. “You deserve to be happy.”

Alisa placed her hand over his, her fingers warm and steady as she gave a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice carrying a calm sincerity that made Akaashi’s chest tighten. She withdrew her hand slowly, her gaze lingering on his for a moment before continuing. “I really thought we had something good,” she admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I thought… maybe this could have gone somewhere.” She gestured between them with a small motion, as she spoke. “But,” she went on, her voice softening, “when Bokuto showed up at your apartment that night with that look in his eyes… I knew.” She paused, shaking her head lightly, her expression somewhere between knowing and wistful. “I could see it, clear as day. And, honestly, it makes sense.”

Her smile shifted, tinged with something bittersweet, as if she were trying to make the moment easier for both of them. “I had hoped we’d get to see where this could lead,” she said quietly, “but that’s just how life works sometimes, isn’t it? Don’t feel guilty, Akaashi.” Her voice lowered, almost a murmur, but her words stuck. “You ending this doesn’t mean I won’t find happiness for myself again.”

Akaashi’s smile was gentle, but carried a shadow of sadness. “You always seem to know the right thing to say,” he murmured, with genuine admiration. A soft chuckle escaped her, lightening the moment. He hesitated, his gaze meeting hers, steady and earnest. “You’ve been so kind, Alisa. Thank you for being exactly who you are.”

A flicker of warmth passed over her face, and she gave a slight nod. “I’ll be okay,” she assured him, her voice steady. “Besides, I think I’ve found a pretty good friend in you, even if things have changed.” She paused, then added with a gentle smile.

Relief flickered in Akaashi’s eyes, and he nodded, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Always.” His voice voice dropped to a gentle murmur, the words carrying his sincerity. “You’ve been nothing but good to me. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

The conversation drifted into silence. I wasn’t uncomfortable at first, but as the moments stretched on, Akaashi found himself fiddling with his coffee cup. Alisa just stared out the window, contemplating with her gaze unfocused as though she were lost in some private thought. Akaashi cleared his throat, unsure of what to say next, when Alisa suddenly turned back to him, her eyes glinting with mischief, as if she was struck by an idea.

“You know,” she began, her voice dropping to a teasing tone, “Bokuto’s… yummy.”

Akaashi blinked, caught completely off guard. “I—what?”

Alisa’s grin widened, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. “I’m just saying, we’ve already had our fun, you and me,” she continued casually. “So, if you and Bokuto ever feel like… mixing things up, just…” She gave a playful shrug, her golden hair falling over one shoulder as her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You know where to find me.”

Akaashi blinked, heat rushing to his cheeks. “Alisa…” he said in protest, although he didn’t know what he was protesting for. For a moment, he was utterly speechless, his mind scrambling to process what she’d just said. Was she serious? Did she actually mean that? Or was this just another one of her jokes?

Alisa burst into laughter, clearly delighted by his wide-eyed shock. “Oh, you should see your face! Relax, Akaashi—it’s a joke. Well… mostly.”

Relief spread across Akaashi’s face, at first. The moment he heard her say “Well…mostly”, Akaashi’s brain all but short-circuited, the heat suddenly coming back. Was she testing him? Trying to seduce him? For a second, the idea—the sheer audacity of it—sent a faint thrill down his spine. There was no denying Alisa’s allure, her confidence, her charm. Bokuto’s magnetic pull was already enough to drive him to the brink. The thought of the two of them, together, entwined with him…. No. He pushed the thoughts away, his pulse in his ears. No… she’s just fucking with me. She has to be…

Akaashi sat back in his chair, crossing his arms as he raised a brow at her. “You like getting a rise out of me, don’t you?”

Alisa’s laughter spilled out, warm and unrestrained. “Busted,” she admitted, raising her arms in fake surrender.

Akaashi shook his head, biting back a grin as he took a sip of his coffee. “That was a little evil, I’ll tell you that.”

“Oh come on! You’ve got Bokuto now,” she said breezily, taking a sip of her coffee. “You should be thanking me for spicing things up in your imagination as my parting gift.”

Akaashi’s mouth went dry. His lips parted, but the words refused to come out. Damn it. She played him perfectly, and he couldn’t even manage a witty comeback. This is just sad, Keiji. Alisa stretched lazily, the faintest smirk lingering on her lips as she pushed her chair back and stood. She picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with the kind of effortless grace that seemed to come naturally to her.

“Anyway,” she said, her voice casual but carrying just enough weight to draw his full attention. “I should go now. But…” She leaned down, her golden hair falling softly as she patted his arm. “Just make sure he treats you well, alright?” Her grin sharpened, her tone dipping into playful territory. “Or I’ll come find you both and give him a piece of my mind.”

Akaashi laughed softly, still trying to recover from everything. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

With one last smile, she gave him a small wave, turning to leave. The door chimed faintly as she left, the sound marking the end of them like a period marking the end of a sentence. Akaashi sat frozen for a moment, watching her golden hair vanish into the street outside. She was a spark of brilliance rushing past his life, leaving him with an entirely different kind of chaos… one that he wholeheartedly embraced… Bokuto. His laugh, his energy, his golden eyes lighting up when they looked at Akaashi… A love, that was messy and imperfect and yet entirely his.

Akaashi exhaled slowly, a faint smile pulling at his lips. Alisa was gone, but she had left him with a parting gift indeed — clarity, closure, and the certainty of a choice well made.

Chapter 21: The Battle for Gold

The stadium was a living thing, heartbeat vibrating through the walls. Outside, the flags of Japan and Brazil fluttered in the evening breeze, and inside, the seats were a sea of color, banners everywhere, voices rising and falling in unison. Everything felt magnified with the anticipation of what was about to unfold.

The Olympic final had a way of swallowing everything else. Years of blood, sweat, and sacrifice —a collision of dreams— led to this moment. The collective hope of two nation rested on the shoulders of twelve players on the court. Thousands in the stadium and millions watching at home held their breath, united by what was at stake. The air inside felt heavy with expectation, a palpable tension that lingered in every corner of the building.

In the corridors leading to the locker room, the noise from the crowd felt distant but insistent. The overhead lights cast a sterile glow, reflecting off the polished floors and highlighting the faint scuffs from sneakers worn by countless players who had walked this path before. Yet, this wasn’t just any game—it was the game. Gold was on the line, and nothing short of perfection would do.

Bokuto paced the length of the corridor, his shoes squeaking softly with every turn. He couldn’t stay still more than a moment. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling as though they could somehow grasp at control. He kept anxiously chewing his lower lip as he walked, his brows furrowed. He could feel Akaashi’s eyes on himself, but refused to look at him, though Akaashi’s calm, steady presence stood just a few feet away.

Akaashi leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely, gaze following Bokuto’s restless paces quietly. He wasn’t sure when to interrupt—he knew Bokuto well enough to let him work through the storm of nerves in his own way. Still, there was something about this. Bokuto’s pre-game energy was usually loud, fiery, and infectious even when he was anxious. Right now, it felt almost suffocating.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Akaashi said finally, his tone light but deliberate, pulling Bokuto’s attention for the first time.

Bokuto stopped mid-step, his chest heaving as he looked up. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of speaking, but he shook his head and resumed pacing. “I can’t screw this up,” he muttered, half to himself, his voice tight. “It’s too big. Missing the last game was bad enough, but this…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more.

“You’re not going to screw this up,” Akaashi said simply, stepping forward. His voice was calm— a stark contrast to Bokuto. He reached out, catching Bokuto’s wrist as he passed. The silver came to a halt this time, gazing into Akaashi’s icy blue eyes.

“You’re ready.” Akaashi whispered, one hand reaching up to cup his jaw. “You’re going to be amazing. I know it.”  He didn’t pull his gaze away from Bokuto’s eyes for a moment, giving his hand a squeeze. For a second, relief flickered in Bokuto’s golden eyes, and he finally stopped moving, his breathing uneven as he let Akaashi’s words settle over him. His fingers twitched against Akaashi’s grip.

“I hope so,” he murmured, his voice dipping, a wry smile curling on his lips. “I just…” Golden eyes darted away momentarily, voice breaking off. “I wish you could be out there with me.” He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to look back into Akaashi’s eyes. “It feels like I’m missing a part of myself.”

Akaashi’s gaze softened, the corridor around them faded into a blur. He didn’t speak right away, he couldn’t. His heart ached in his chest, quiet but violent. I wish I could. he thought, his best memories resurfacing before he could push them away. He felt a sharp pain in his knee, a remnant of the accident that resulted in the end of his volleyball career. Still, this wasn’t about him. This was about Bokuto, and Akaashi wanted to help him more than anything. Say something, Keiji.

For a moment, Akaashi just stood there, his fingers loosening on Bokuto’s wrist, his own breathing shallow. And then the thought came to him—not in words, but in action. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer anything more. Instead, he knelt down. Bokuto’s brow furrowed in confusion as Akaashi reached for his shoe. “Keiji, what—”

Akaashi shushed him as he shook off his head, silencing him promptly. His hands moved with precision, unlacing Bokuto’s shoe with a swift motion. Bokuto watched, puzzled, as Akaashi did the same with his own, then swapped their laces with calm, deliberate hands.

When he stood again, brushing his hands against his thighs, he met Bokuto’s gaze with a small, knowing smile. “Now you won’t have to miss me,” he said tenderly. “A part of me will be with you with every step.”

Bokuto’s face softened, his eyes wide and glassy as he stared at Akaashi. A soft, grateful smile curled on his lips, breaking the tension. “Keiji,” he murmured, the name carrying more emotion than he could say aloud. He reached out, his hand brushing against Akaashi’s cheek before pulling him into a kiss. It was steady, full of quiet assurance — everything he ever needed. When they pulled apart, Bokuto lingered, their foreheads nearly touching.

“Oi, lovebirds!” came Atsumu’s teasing voice, as his footsteps echoed down the hall.“Gettin’ some last-minute encouragement, are ya Bo?” He strolled up, grinning. “Hope that’s enough to keep ya from runnin’ off again.”

Bokuto groaned, his hand dropping from Akaashi’s face as he turned to glare at Atsumu. “One time,” he muttered, cheeks flushed. “You were the ones who said it was okay!”  Atsumu did not answer back, and instead just slid inside the locker room, shrugging his shoulders innocently in return.

Akaashi chuckled softly, his shoulders relaxing as the tension in the air began to ease. Bokuto turned back to him, and for the first time that night, his grin had the sharp confidence that Akaashi had been waiting to see. “Thanks, Keiji,” Bokuto said again, quieter this time, just for him.

Ushijima appeared after Atsumu, walking with his usual slow pace. He acknowledged Bokuto with a brief nod, face neutral until his eyes landed on Akaashi standing next to him. He stopped mid-step, blinked in confusion, and his gaze lingered just a moment too long. He furrowed his brows as if he was trying to make sense of something. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face—not quite recognition, but far from indifference. At most, he looked a little troubled. In the end, he just turned and headed into the locker room without uttering a word.

Bokuto glanced at Akaashi, then back at the door, tilting his head slightly, face contorting with mix of confusion and curiosity. “Well,” he said, breaking the brief silence, “that was weird. Even for him.

Akaashi’s brow lifted, but his tone was calm. “It’s nothing.”

Bokuto adjusted the tape on his wrists but kept his eyes on Akaashi. “It’s the second time he’s been weird around you.” He said, voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t know what his deal is.”

Akaashi hesitated for just a moment before brushing him off with a light shrug. “I think he just didn’t expect to see me here. That’s all.” He said quickly, hoping to refocus Bokuto’s attention where it needed to be. But as the words left his mouth, doubt settled in the back of his mind. He remembered Ushijima’s strange behavior from the opening party as well. There’s something off. But this wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Bokuto needed his head in the game, and so did Akaashi.

Bokuto studied him for a moment longer, his brow furrowing slightly, “Fine,” he sighed, “you’re probably right.” He continued, rolling his shoulders.

More footsteps echoed down the corridor as Japan national team players began arriving one-by-one. Iwaizumi had come with Oikawa just like Akaashi to say goodbye right before the locker room. He nodded to Akaashi in passing, his expression steady as always, while Oikawa seemed to be in a world—maybe a universe— on his own. His signature smirk was still there, but it carried a sharper edge now, shaped by a determination that transformed him from playful to utterly commanding. The intensity in his gaze was unsettling and mesmerizing all at once, his focus so unwavering it seemed to spin the world around him. He looked like someone who was born for this moment.

He didn’t utter any word, and only lingered long enough to press a brief kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips. When he finally turned to Bokuto, his voice was cool, precise. “See you inside.” He gave Akaashi a quick nod in acknowledgment before stepping into the locker room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Akaashi couldn’t help but stare at the closed door, caught off guard by what he’d just seen. Tooru. Usually, he was sharp-tongued and loud, sometimes sarcastic but often more amusing than anything else. But this… this was different. He looked like an entirely different person.  There was no performance, no excess. Just sharp, focused intent which left him surprised—and strangely impressed.

“I should go too,” Bokuto’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Akaashi blinked, turning just as Bokuto stepped closer. Before Akaashi could reply, Bokuto leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Akaashi’s gaze followed him as he walked toward the locker room. Bokuto glanced back once, meeting his icy eyes, a brief moment of connection before the door swung shut behind him.

Iwaizumi stepped up beside Akaashi, and their eyes met. “Ready?” he asked, his voice calm.

“Ready,” Akaashi replied with a small nod.

They turned together, walking toward the stands where Kuroo and Kenma were already waiting. The corridor felt quieter now, though the sound of the crowd’s anticipation, grew louder with each step they took.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Inside the locker room, Team Japan were scattered around, each absorbed in their own rituals. Ushijima sat at the far end, methodically adjusting the tape on his fingers, his movements slow and deliberate. Atsumu was leaning against the wall, spinning a ball lazily in his hands, though eyes sharp, already analyzing the game ahead. Kageyama was sitting on the bench, bent over, tying his shoes with precise motions while Hinata stretched on the floor nearby. Despite his best efforts to focus, the energy coursing through him matched his bright orange head of hair in wildness and intensity. His squeaky voice was the only thing breaking the otherwise quiet room.

“We’ve got this,” Hinata muttered under his breath, his hands flexing as he bounced lightly on his heels. “One point at a time. Quick sets. Good jumps. Eyes on the ball. Quick sets. Good jumps—”

“Shoyo,” Kageyama interrupted him mid chant. His brows furrowed as he glanced down at Hinata, clearly annoyed. “Breathe.”

Hinata froze, his wide eyes snapping up to meet Kageyama’s. For a moment, he looked like a deer caught in headlights before letting out a sharp exhale. “Right. Breathe. Got it.”

Kageyama rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he went back to lacing his shoes for the hundredth time. “Idiot.”

Atsumu grinned as he watched the exchange, stopping to spinning the ball momentarily. “Lookin’ like nervous little bird, Shoyo,” he teased, his voice light but biting. “Don’t go flappin’ too hard before we’re in the court.”

“Hey! I’m not nervous!” Hinata shot back, puffing his chest out slightly, though his trembling hands betrayed his words.

Sakusa, perched on a bench a few feet away, didn’t bother looking up as he adjusted his elbow sleeve. “You’re practically vibrating.” He said prompting a few laughs from the teammates. Ushijima spoke from his corner, his tone as calm and measured. “Hinata, focus your energy where it matters.” Hinata huffed softly and turned back to his stretches, muttering his mantra again, though quieter this time. 

At another corner, Oikawa was sitting quietly, arms folded, leaning back against the wall, his posture deceptively relaxed. His sharp eyes were scanning the room, picking up on every word, every movement. A faint devious grin was curled on his lips. His mind was already in the match, plotting openings, anticipating shifts. He didn’t speak, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes.

Bokuto, sitting nearby let out a thoughtful hum before glancing around the room. “Man, everyone’s all locked in,” he said, his voice lower than usual but brimming with emotion. “I love it. This is what it’s all about, right? Being here, together, fighting like this. It’s—” He stopped, grinning sheepishly as though his thoughts had run too far. “Never mind. Let’s just make it count.”

Atsumu smirked, tossing the ball lightly. “Gettin’ all sentimental, Bo? You’re gonna make me cry.”

Bokuto laughed, his usual energy returning in full force. “Well, you can cry all you want if it’s about winning!”

The door opened suddenly, and the coach stepped in clipboard in hand. The buzz in the room stopped immediately as the players straightened and turned their attention toward him. The coach stood before the whiteboard, and cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Alright, listen up,” he said, his tone sharp and determined. “Brazil is fast, aggressive, and relentless. They’ll push tempo from the start, but we’re not letting them dictate the game. We play smart, stay disciplined, and make them react to us.”

He tapped the whiteboard with his marker, drawing their attention to the rotations. “Their outside hitter is their biggest weapon—fast, strong, and precise. But we’re better. Bokuto, Sakusa, Ushijima—you’re leading the attack during the rotations. Keep their blockers on their toes. Hit hard, hit smart, and don’t give them time to adjust.”

Sakusa nodded curtly, his focus sharp. “Understood.”

Ushijima’s response was equally steady. “Yes, sir.”

Bokuto inhaled deeply, his usual energy tempered by focus. “Done.”

The coach shifted to the next phase of the plan. “Atsumu, you’ll play a dual role. We’ll need you in both transitions and at the net. Be aggressive when attacking but stay sharp on coverage. Read their setter and be ready to adjust. Keep your eyes on me when you’re serving, I’ll give you my opinion with signals. ”

Atsumu’s grin widened slightly, the ball spinning effortlessly in his hand. “I’ll be their worst nightmare.”

“Kageyama, Hinata,” the coach continued, “your speed and defense are critical. Stay aggressive at the net, but focus on coverage and transitions. Their setter is going to try to pull you out of position—don’t bite too early. Force them to earn every point.”

Hinata rocked on his toes, his grin wide. “I’m ready!”

Kageyama’s nod was short but resolute. “Understood.”

The coach turned to Yaku. “You’re the anchor of our defense. Their setter’s quick, deceptive. He’ll try to bait us into overcommitting, especially on fakes. But you’ll keep us steady. Control the court, cover the gaps, and set us up for quick transitions. Trust your instincts.” He turned his gaze back to everyone else. “And you all, trust Yaku to cover any gaps.”

Yaku nodded sharply, his voice calm but certain. “I’ve got it.”

Finally, the coach turned to Oikawa. “You’re running everything. Brazil knows you’ll be setting, but we’ve got the tools to keep them guessing. Use whatever you see. If you need to adjust, Atsumu and Kageyama are ready to step in. Don’t hesitate to call for them if the opportunity arises. Keep switching the tempo. Listen to your instincts, and trust the team. We have trained for this, everyone will follow.”

Oikawa’s smirk was sharp, confidence radiating from his posture. “I’ll make sure they’re chasing us the whole time.”

The coach stepped back, his gaze sweeping the room. “This isn’t about individuals. It’s about trust. Cover for each other, communicate constantly, and make them adapt to us. One rally at a time.” He clapped his hands once, his voice rising slightly. “Finish your prep. Five minutes.”

The players dispersed, their focus sharpening as they completed their routines on their own. Bokuto sat on the bench, tightening the tape on his wrist one last time. His fingers brushed over the laces of his shoes—the ones Akaashi had swapped for his own—and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He exhaled slowly, standing as his teammates began to gather near the door.

Oikawa leaned over the whiteboard, looking at the rotations one last time. He straightened, stretching his arms lazily as he walked past his teammates. “Alright, so…” he began, his voice light but carrying an edge. He stopped just before the door, turned his head back to them, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp like a blade. His lips curled into a smug grin like a predator sizing up its prey, “I believe in all of you.”

But this team wasn’t prey. They were all predators, each one more bloodthirsty than the other.

The air shifted, the tension rising each passing second. Each player felt it, their own intensity rising to meet it, creating a storm of competing energies. It wasn’t fear he provoked. It was hunger —the hunger to strike first, to strike harder, to dominate. The silence vibrated with it until even the stillness felt like movement.

Satisfied, Oikawa turned back to the door and pushed it open. They moved as one, a force barely restrained, every step brimming with purpose. The roar of the crowd surged even into the corridor growing louder as they stepped out. The court lay ahead, vast and unforgiving, ready to test their hunger.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The stadium erupted as the players emerged, the cheers rising in a deafening wave. The lights above were almost blinding, blazing across the polished court floor. Flags and banners waved in the stands, streaks of color blurred in motion. The energy in the arena was alive, crackling with expectation.

Brazil and Japan lined up at the net, their captains stepping forward. Oikawa’s sharp gaze swept over the opponents, taking in every detail—the casual manner their libero flexed his hands, the confident intensity in the eyes of their setter, and then the captain himself, their outside hitter. His dark hair gleamed under the harsh lights, his features sharp and striking, the kind of face that belonged on a magazine cover. He was tall—taller than Oikawa— broad-shouldered, and muscular, the very definition of physical perfection. And their most formidable opponent on the court too…

Seriously, Oikawa thought with faint irritation, his smirk pulling tighter, his pride in his own appearance taking a hit. What’s next? He’s got a great personality too? If I find out he’s volunteering at soup kitchens, I’m going to puke.

But the thought vanished the moment the Brazilian captain extended his hand. His grip on Oikawa’s hand was firm, as his eye’s me Oikawa’s head-on, his gaze steady, piercing. He had a confident grin on his face. It wasn’t smug, there was nothing mocking about it. It was the kind that only came with experience. Oikawa felt the challenge in those eyes, clear as daylight: Keep up.

Oikawa tightened his own grip just slightly, eyes intensifying, smirk widening. The faint flicker of his earlier annoyance was replaced by a sudden spark of competitiveness. It lit brighter than ever like a match struck in the dark. Their handshake lingered a fraction longer than necessary, the challenge between them unspoken but tangible. The Brazilian captain finally released his grip when the referee stepped between them, holding up the coin between two fingers.

“Alright gentleman, Call it,” he said, his gaze landed on Oikawa.

“Tails,” Oikawa replied, his tone measured, almost casual.

The coin spun high, catching the glare of the lights before landing flat in the referee’s palm. “Heads.” The referee announced and looked at the Brazilian captain —the winner— this time.

The Brazilian captain gave a slight nod. “We’ll serve,” he said, his tone unhurried and calm, as if there had never been another choice and stepped back towards his team.

Oikawa’s smirk sharpened as he turned back to his team. “They want the first shot,” he said, his voice sharp. “Let’s make them regret it.”

The whistle pierced through the arena, and the players shifted into formation, their focus unrelenting. The match had begun.

On Brazil’s side, their server stepped into position, rolling the ball between his hands as he glanced over Japan’s setup. He tossed the ball into the air, his arm swinging through with punishing force. The serve streaked across the net, a blur of speed and precision.

Yaku tracked it instantly. His steps were quick as arms absorbed the force of the serve with the precision of countless hours of practice. The ball arced high and clean, settling into position for Oikawa at the net. The Japanese captain moved with with ease, his hands already raised, expecting the ball, eyes scanning the court. His sharp eyes flicked toward Sakusa for the briefest moment —no, they’re on him— before he sent the ball sailing toward Bokuto.

Bokuto was ready. His approach was explosive, his steps a blur of raw energy. He soared above the net, his body twisting mid-air as his arm powered forward. The sound of the impact was thunderous, the ball streaking past Brazil’s libero and slamming into the floor. The crowd erupted, their cheers crashing over the court as the scoreboard lit up with Japan’s first point.

Bokuto landed lightly, his grin infectious as he turned to his teammates. “That’s how we start!” he shouted, his voice a spark that seemed to ignite the team .Oikawa took a deep, steadying breath, a confident smirk curling on his lips. Indeed, it is, he thought, happy with his decision as they rotated.

“Give ‘em hell, Bo!” Atsumu cheered Bokuto on, as the Silver headed player strode to the service line,  rolling the ball between his palms. The crowd’s cheers swelled as he set his stance, his focus narrowing to the court before him. Float or jump, he thought as he took a deep breath. They’re expecting me to hit them with everything I’ve got, he realized from the intensity of their gazes. The whistle blew and his time started. Might as well try to be smart. Bokuto jumped, tossing the ball high as he struck with precision, sending it just over the net. The ball curved, its roll unpredictable. 

Brazil’s libero managed the receive, but the ball floated too close to the net. Their setter scrambled to adjust, tipping it hastily to their outside hitter. The spike came fast, but Hinata was faster, his body a blur as he dove and lifted the ball into play. Oikawa claimed it, and sent the ball to Ushijima with steady hands in a perfect set. The spike landed cleanly, the sound thundering off the court just inside the backline. Another point for Japan.

“I can’t believe it, you actually decided to use your brain for once.” Atsumu grinned at Bokuto as the teammates cheered Bokuto on for one more. Bokuto did not argue, only a smirk appeared on his lips. At that moment nothing was bigger than the team. He returned to the serving line with laser focus, only one thing in his mind. One more.

The score inched forward with each rally. The rhythm of the game felt like a steady push and pull. Points became harder and harder to take as Brazil clawed back with calculated attacks, finding small gaps in Japan’s formation. The rallies stretched as the teams battled for control.

At 8–6, Japan held their lead, but Brazil followed them closely. Their captain fired a series of punishing spikes, testing Japan’s back row. Yaku dove low to save a particularly sharp cross-court shot, his arms absorbing the impact as the ball floated toward Oikawa. Without hesitation, Oikawa flicked his hands toward Sakusa, who drove the ball cleanly past the blockers. The crowd erupted, the scoreboard flashing 9–6.

Atsumu stepped into the service rotation next, his hands light against the ball as he lined up his shot. His jump serve went like a missile, cutting through the air and forcing a shaky receive from Brazil. Their setter still managed a high ball to their captain whose spike met Ushijima and Hinata’s perfectly-timed block. The ball ricocheted. Point, Japan.

The score climbed steadily, the tension palpable with every rally. At 13–10, Brazil called for a timeout, their coach pulling the team into a tight huddle. On Japan’s side, their coach shared was unworried as the his players gathered.

“They’re picking up speed,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Tighten the blocks and watch the corners. Yaku, keep tracking their captain—he’s carrying the momentum. Oikawa, I already like what you’re doing. Keep it up.”

Oikawa nodded silently. “Got it”, Yaku replied, his expression steady. 

The whistle blew, and the players returned to the court. Brazil came back with renewed intensity, their outside hitter slipping through Japan’s block to score a clean point. But they didn’t let him keep it up, answering back with a point on their own.

By 18–16, the game was neck-and-neck, every rally a fierce exchange of power and precision. Hinata’s agility at the net forced Brazil’s setter into quick adjustments, while Sakusa’s sharp spikes kept the pressure on their defense.

Japan edged closer and closer to set point. Oikawa’s sharp serves and creatively deceptive sets created openings, but Brazil refused to back down. Their captain delivered a blistering spike, cutting Japan’s lead to one.

Bokuto stepped to the service line at 24–23, the arena deafening as the set hung on the edge. This is it, he thought as he spun the ball in his hands. His usual cheerful expression was replaced by something completely different. There was a fire behind the his golden eyes. Get this point, and the first set is over. He knew this could change the whole momentum of the match, giving them the confidence they need or breaking the one that was in the building. He wasn’t going to falter either way, but he damn wanted this point. For his nation, for his teammates, for himself.

The whistle blew. Bokuto ran towards the line, he jumped like an explosion and tossed the ball high. His hand hit the ball like an explosion, sending it over the net with a speed that drew gasps from the stands.   

The ball slammed into the left back corner completely untouched. The sharp sound was deafening as it hit the floor. For a heartbeat, the stadium held its breath. All eyes on the referees. The silence was charged, crackling with anticipation. Then the referee’s flag shot up, signaling the ball was in. “In.” 

The arena erupted, cheers cascading as the scoreboard lit up: 25–23, Japan.

Bokuto caught Akaashi’s eyes in the stands. For a moment, the noise of the arena seemed to fade. Akaashi’s lips curved into the faintest smile, one that carried both pride and reassurance. Bokuto felt his shoulders ease slightly, his chest filling with a warmth that words couldn’t touch.

Next thing he knew, his teammates swarmed him. Atsumu was the first to leap onto him, throwing an arm around his neck. “What the hell?!” he shouted, his grin wide. “How could you make us sweat like that?”

Hinata was next, jumping on Bokuto’s back. “That was insane! I thought my heart was going to stop!”

Bokuto’s grin was wide and triumphant, as he let out a laugh that echoed over the noise. “Why would you even doubt me?” he shouted back, his golden eyes blazing with excitement.

Oikawa approached more composed but couldn’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips. “You like cutting it close, don’t you?” he said, clapping Bokuto on the shoulder. Even Ushijima nodded once, his expression steady but approving. “Good start,” he said simply, his words carrying weight.

Bokuto couldn’t reply back anymore, he only smiled, chest heaving as the adrenaline pumped through him.

The team huddled briefly on the bench, their energy still buzzing from the win. Bottles of water passed from hand to hand, the sound of quick, hushed instructions mixing with the deafening cheers of the crowd. Oikawa leaned back and gestured toward the court as he spoke. “That was solid guys, but they’re not going to let us take the next one that easily. We’d better stay sharp and not give them a chance to shift momentum.”

“Easier said than done,” Atsumu muttered, though his smirk softened the edge of his words. “They’re coming in hot next set I’ll tell ya.”

Bokuto took a deep breath, his grin fading into a look of fierce determination. “Let’s not give them anything to work with,” he said, his voice low but firm. His eyes flicked briefly to Oikawa, then back to the court. “We take this set, no excuses.”

The whistle blew, calling the teams back to the court. As they stood and made their way toward their positions, the stadium’s roar surged once again, a wave of energy crashing over the players.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The second set began with Japan serving. Oikawa stepped to the line, spinning the ball idly in his hands, his smirk sharp and confident as his gaze swept over Brazil’s formation. His fingers tingled as he tossed the ball high, his form a picture of precision. His strike sent the ball with a wicked curve, a calculated masterpiece that seemed destined to disrupt Brazil’s carefully crafted reception.

Brazil’s libero moved with the grace, stepping in smoothly to absorb the serve. The ball arced into their setter’s hands, his fingers deftly flicking it wide to the outside hitter. The spike came fast but Sakusa was already airborne for it, his fingers brushing the ball just enough to dump it back to their court. Point, Japan.

The scoreboard flicked to 1–0, and Japan’s bench erupted in cheers. It was a good feeling to start with a point. Oikawa moved back to the service line, the ball already spinning in his hands as he surveyed Brazil’s formation again. They won’t immediately expect a side shot after Bokuto’s near miss. His smirk widened, sharp with intent, as he tossed the ball high and struck. The ball curved dangerously toward the edge of the court.

The crowd held its breath as the serve streaked toward the line. The referee pointed their flag outward, signaling that it was their loss. “Out.” A sharp whistle sound ended Oikawa’s serve streak decisively. Point, Brazil.

Oikawa’s smirk faltered briefly as he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He shot a quick glance toward the bench, where his coach gave a small nod, signaling for him to shake it off. Brazil’s players clapped and exchanged encouraging words as their setter stepped to the service line.

Brazil’s setter tossed the ball high, his jump serve slicing through the air like a knife. The ball spun dangerously, but Yaku stepped in, his movements calm and precise as he absorbed the serve with his forearms. The ball floated cleanly toward Oikawa, who flicked a quick set to Sakusa.

Sakusa’s spike was blistering, but Brazil’s blockers read the play perfectly. The ball ricocheted back off their hands and fell to the floor on Japan’s side. Point, Brazil.

That seemed to be one of the defining moment’s of the match, momentum beginning to shift in Brazil’s favor slightly. Japan’s players regrouped quickly, their focus sharp as they prepared for rally after rally. At 3–3, the rhythm settled into a punishing back-and-forth. Brazil’s setter varied his plays, sending quick balls to the middle and sharp sets to the outside. Japan’s block shifted seamlessly, but Brazil continued to find gaps, attacking relentlessly. The captain’s spikes were especially sharp and cutting, each one like a knife through Japan’s formation.

By 6–5, the lead had swapped hands multiple times. Bokuto rotated into the front row, his presence immediately electrifying the court. His energy was contagious, a fire that burned brighter with every play. In the next rally, he exploded toward the net, meeting Oikawa’s perfect set with a spike so ferocious it echoed through the arena. Point, Japan.

Bokuto turned to his teammates, his grin wide and infectious. “That’s how we do it!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the crowd. His energy lifted the team, confidence coming back to attacks.

The match intensified as the score inched forward. Ushijima stepped to the service line next, his stance completely calm and deliberate. He tossed the ball high, his swing slicing through the air. The ball hurtled toward Brazil’s outside hitter, who fumbled slightly, forcing their setter to scramble. The hurried play resulted in a predictable spike, which Sakusa blocked cleanly at the net. Point, Japan.

At 10–9, Brazil’s libero made a diving save, keeping the ball in play long enough for their setter to deliver a precise back set to their outside hitter. The spike found the floor just inside the back corner. Point, Brazil.

Japan’s coach took a time-out despite their lead at 13–12 . His tone was calm but carried an edge of urgency as he addressed the team. “They’re testing your patience. It’s become a push and pull. Don’t overcommit to their feints. Be confident. Watch their setter’s shoulders—they’re giving away more than you think. Stay sharp.”

The whistle blew, pulling the players back into formation. Brazil returned with unrelenting aggression, their captain delivering a cross-court spike that barely grazed the line. Point, Brazil.

Japan responded fiercely. Hinata’s speed at the net disrupted Brazil’s rhythm, forcing their setter into awkward adjustments. At 15–14, Bokuto delivered a blistering spike that cut through Brazil’s blockers and landed untouched. The sound of the ball hitting the floor echoed through the arena, a clear declaration of Japan’s determination. Another point for Japan.

At 18–17, Bokuto’s energy drove Japan forward. Despite the long, drawn-out game, the way he leapt into action, the power and height of his jump felt almost surreal. His spike hammered past Brazil’s defense, slamming into the floor with such force the sound echoed above the crowd’s roar. Point, Japan.

Despite their determination, by 20–19, Brazil clawed their way back. The captain carried on most of the attacks, but the entire team had a different intensity in their eyes now. Brazil’s setter feinted a quick to the middle, —succesfully tricking Kageyama— before sending the ball to their captain. His spike was sharp and devastating, grazing Ushijima’s block before finding the floor. Point, Brazil.

At 23–23, Brazil seemed poised to take the set. Japan fought back fiercely. Yaku dove to save a blistering cross-court shot, his arms trembling from the force. Oikawa moved with practiced ease, sending a perfect set to Sakusa. His spike was sent with precision, threading the blockers and hitting the floor just inside the line. Point, Japan.

Turn this around. Oikawa took a breath as he stepped into position behind the serving line. It was their chance. He was their best server. This is our moment, his eyes narrowed as he focused on the court ahead. The whistle blew. Eyes laser sharp, Oikawa jumped and he served with precision, forcing Brazil’s libero into a difficult receive. The ball floated outside the line and the Brazilian setter ran with all he had to receive. The set to Brazil’s captain was sharp, not perfect, but the spike itself was an explosion. It cut cleanly through Japan’s middle blockers, Atsumu dove in time to receive it yet it ricocheted from his arms, flying outside the line. Set point, Brazil.

Damn it. Oikawa wanted to slam his head to the wall, but there was no time to waste. He quickly came back into position, ready for the ball. The final rally was a whirlwind of movement. The Brazilian player served and Hinata dove low to save, his body hitting the floor with a thud. Oikawa, sent the ball soaring to Bokuto. His spike thundered towards the left line, but Brazil’s libero managed an incredible save, sending the ball spinning high into the air.

They didn’t even know what hit them. The whistle blew. Set to Brazil, 25–23.

The crowd’s cheers dimmed in the background as the Japanese team returned back to their bench, heads down, shoulders slumped, not engaging with each other. The silence hung heavy in the air, suffocating, as if the match had already been lost.

Oikawa sat quietly, his head lowered, his mind clouded with his mistake—the missed serve. His fingers twisted the tape around his wrist, his eyes strictly on the ground, grinding his teeth. Why couldn’t I get that point? The ball had been in his hands, and he couldn’t make it count. It felt like everything was on him. His pride stung, but it was more than that—he couldn’t help but feel that if he had done his job, they would have had the set. He felt like he let his team them down. 

No one spoke. Each player was too wrapped in their own thoughts to break the quiet. The usual chatter, energy, strategic talking—gone. It was rare that they felt this deflated. And it stung.

Bokuto didn’t sit. His sharp gaze swept across his teammates—Kageyama, Hinata, Yaku—all of them looking down, heads low. Their silence only fueled his anger. They looked defeated. They looked like they’d already given up. And that—that—was something Bokuto wasn’t going to tolerate. He couldn’t stand the quiet anymore. Not with everything at stake.

He snapped.

“What the fuck is this?!” His voice cut through the silence like a knife. It was sharp, full of frustration. “Why are you acting like it’s over already?”  His eyes burned with intensity as he moved from one teammate to the next, none of them speaking. “It's just one set!” he continued, his voice rising with every word. “Why the hell is everyone so quiet? We’ve lost before, we’ve bounced back. And this is what you’re gonna do? Sit here sulking?” 

Bokuto glanced at Oikawa —his best friend— at the edge of the bench, desperate for his support. “Tooru,” Bokuto said, his voice biting, as he walked in front of him. “Aren’t you even gonna say something?”

Oikawa flinched at the sharpness in his voice but didn’t raise his eyes. Instead, he let out a breath, one that felt too heavy, and muttered, “I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten that serve. If I had gotten that point….”

Bokuto’s fists clenched. “Stop that,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “Stop that bullshit.”

Oikawa looked up, surprised. “What—”

“I don’t need you apologizing to me,” Bokuto cut in, his voice rising. “The ball came back to us. We couldn’t return it. So is it my fault because I couldn’t read the block? Or Yaku’s fault because he couldn’t get the ball? Who are we going to blame here? If we start pointing fingers, then we’ve already lost. It’s never about one person’s score. It’s about connecting the ball.”

The team remained silent but the atmosphere shifted. The tension wasn’t hostile now, it was a shared feeling. Bokuto was right. The truth was there, plain and simple. It wasn’t just about one player. This wasn’t a solo mission. They all had a part to play. Everyone was in this together.

Bokuto opened his mouth to break through the silence, about to rally his team again but Kageyama beat him to it with his usual bluntness. “Except for service aces.” He said, completely deadpan. “That’s when you can individually score.”

Bokuto groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Seriously?” His voice was a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Kageyama, do you even get the point?”

Before Kageyama could respond, Sakusa, who had been watching quietly, spoke up. “Nobody can score aces all the time. You think Oikawa is the only one who’s going to miss?” His voice was calm, but there was a clarity in it that settled over the team. “Volleyball isn’t just about perfect plays. We’re all playing a part. Bokuto is right, we win or lose together.”

Bokuto blinked with the sudden support coming from Sakusa. He had been expecting Oikawa to help him light a fire in their hearts but this was even better. “Right,” he said, his voice steady, but a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.“We’re all in this together.” He clapped his hands together, addressing all of them this time. “If you fuck up, then fine, but don’t go all quiet. We’re supposed to be a team, have each others backs, not... whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely to the tension in the room. 

Ushijima, his demeanor as steady as always, gave a short nod in approval looking at Bokuto. “Nobody expects perfection.” He added simply. “No one’s perfect.”

Just then, their coach, who had been standing quietly off to the side, watching the exchange unfold, took a step forward. He slapped Bokuto firmly on the shoulder—a little too forcefully, perhaps—and a small grin appeared on his face. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he said, his voice brimming with confidence. “Now, get your heads back in the game. Mistakes happen. We don’t dwell on them. We bounce back. Next set will be ours.”

He met their eyes one by one, and despite the tension that still simmered beneath the surface, there was a sense of understanding now. The team stood in unison. No more doubts, no more apologies. Just the game ahead.

With a sharp nod from the coach, they made their way to the court, the noise from the crowd surged around them once again. There was a fire in their chests now, a desire to prove to that they could regain control.

1-1. It was only the beginning.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the third set. Brazil’s captain stepped confidently to the service line, the ball spinning idly between his hands. His gaze swept over Japan’s formation, sharp and calculating. He tossed the ball high and struck it with a powerful jump serve, sending it slicing through the air.

Yaku was ready for it. His movements were fluid and precise, positioning himself perfectly to receive the serve. The ball connected with his forearms and floated cleanly toward Oikawa at the net. Oikawa’s hands moved with practiced ease, sending the ball soaring to his left. An orange blur. Hinata launched himself into the air, and spiked the ball with incredible speed. The ball sliced through the Brazilian blockers and crashed onto the floor with a resounding thud. Point, Japan.

Hinata landed lightly, his grin wide and infectious. “Let’s go!” he shouted, clapping Bokuto on the back as the players rotated positions. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound traveling like a wave that washed over the court.

Brazil didn’t let the early loss shake their focus. Their setter shouted instructions as they prepared to receive the next serve. The tension was palpable, the air charged with unspoken challenges.

At 3–2, Japan began to find their rhythm. Atsumu stepped to the service line, his trademark smirk firmly in place as he spun the ball between his fingers. His serve launched like a bullet, cutting through the air with a vicious spin. Brazil’s libero stumbled slightly in his attempt to receive it, but it fell into their court with a sharp thud. A service ace. Point, Japan.

The scoreboard flicked to 4–2, and Japan’s bench roared with approval. Each point built their confidence, their movements becoming sharper and more cohesive with every play.  Brazil refused to cower. They responded fire with fire, not letting them gain a lead.

Everything changed when the score hit 8-6.

Oikawa rotated to the service line holding the ball tightly in his hands. The roar of the stadium washed over him, a deafening sea of sound that almost drowned his focus. His fingers flexed around the ball as he steadied his breathing. The memory of his earlier mistake lingered at the edge of his mind, a ghost of a moment he couldn’t allow to haunt him now.

Forget it, he told himself as Bokuto’s words echoed in his mind momentarily. “We win together, we lose together.” He glanced at all his teammates one by one, saw the determination in their eyes and felt better. He had his back covered. He took a deep breath. Forget everything but this. 

Oikawa rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension as his eyes scanned Brazil’s formation. Their libero was ready, crouched low with a focus that rivaled his own. His sharp gaze darted toward their captain, then the blockers, reading the subtle shifts in their posture. His mind worked like clockwork, calculating angles, spins, trajectories.

He inhaled deeply, the air sharp in his lungs, and took three deliberate steps back. Then, he took off. His feet pounded against the court as he surged forward. Near the line, he tossed the ball high, and leapt. Time seemed to slow as he launched in the air. The ball, weightless in the air, hung in its arc. Oikawa’s arm swung forward, striking the ball with a force that resonated like a gunshot in the stadium. The sound echoed, sharp and visceral, turning the crowd’s roar into surprised gasps.

The ball blurred across the net, a streak of blue-white deadly precision. It travelled with a speed that seemed to defy physics, impossible to track. The Brazilian libero lunged desperately out of instinct, arms outstretched, but it was futile. The ball struck the court just inside the far corner, untouched. A perfect ace. For a moment, there was no sound—just the stunned silence of thousands holding their breath. Then, the scoreboard lit up.

The crowd erupted. Cheers rolled across the arena in waves, shaking the very walls. Oikawa landed lightly, his chest heaving, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then, his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. He turned to his team, his eyes gleaming with quiet triumph.

Bokuto was on him in seconds, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him wildly. “Tooru!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. “Are you serious?! That was insane!”

“Insane?” Atsumu called, throwing up his hands in mock despair. “It’s show-stealing, and completely unreasonable.”

In the stands, Akaashi’s calm demeanor cracked as he leaned forward, eyes locked on the scoreboard. 136 km/h. The new record. It said. “There’s no way,” he muttered under his breath as he tugged Iwaizumi’s arm a little more aggressively than he intended. “He broke the record.” He pointed at the scoreboard gathering all of their intention. 

Kuroo leaned closer, his brows raised. “What? No—”

“He did,” Iwaizumi confirmed, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Of course he did. I always knew he would do something like this.” His eyes found Oikawa on the court, and for a moment, their gazes locked. Iwaizumi’s grin widened, pride unmistakable. That’s the Tooru I know.

The serve had stunned the arena into a momentary hush. On the other side of the net, Brazil’s captain exchanged a quick, frustrated glance with their teammates, scrambling to reset. The atmosphere had completely shifted as the players rotated, their morale visibly shaken. Japan’s side was a completely different story, everyone brimming with confidence.

When the scoreboard highlighted the speed of the serve and the new world record, “GUYS LOOK!” Hinata’s voice rang out, arm shooting up. His wide grin was practically glowing as he jumped in place. “TOORU-SAN BROKE THE RECORD!”

“What?!” Bokuto’s head snapped up, following Hinata’s gaze. His golden eyes locked on the glowing number: 136 km/h. For a split second, disbelief flickered across his face before it gave way to complete joy. “TOORU!” he bellowed, his voice ringing through the arena.

Without hesitation, Bokuto sprinted toward Oikawa, grabbing him mid-step and pulling him into a fierce, celebratory hug. “UN-REAL!” he shouted, laughter spilling from his chest. “YOU’RE A MONSTER. AN ABSOLUTE  FUCKING MONSTER!!”

Hinata was next, practically leaping onto Oikawa’s arm, his words spilling out in an excited rush. “That was insane! Totally insane! How did you even—”

The compliments poured in, each one layered over the last. His teammates’ awe, their unrestrained excitement, and voices tumbling over each filled him with a surge of pride, lifting the corner of his lips into that familiar confident, smug smirk. How could Oikawa ever resist it when their energy fed into him like that? But then his gaze caught on something in the stands. It was almost instinctual, when his eyes found Iwaizumi — his fiercest supporter maybe.

Their eyes locked. In that fleeting exchange, Oikawa saw the pride shining in Iwaizumi’s steady gaze, his grin so wide it felt like it could reach the court. Even across the chaos of the arena, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Oikawa forgot everything else. His heart stuttered, his smirk softening into something more genuine as he gave the faintest nod, acknowledging the one person who had always believed in him.

“Oi, Tooru!” Atsumu’s voice snapped him back, sharp and just a touch jealous. Oikawa turned to face him, the smugness flooding back and his smirk returning to its full strength. “What now?”

“How the hell are the rest of us supposed to live up to that?” Atsumu gestured toward the scoreboard, his words a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration. “Quit hoggin’ all the damn glory, will ya?” he crossed his arms, half joking-half serious.

Oikawa straightened, a smug smirk firmly in place as he brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder. “What can I say?” he replied smoothly, shrugging. “Some of us are just built different.”

Even Sakusa, who usually held himself aloof, gave a small shake of his head, muttering under his breath.“Built infuriating,” he said, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Ushijima stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor unshaken. “Exceptional serve,” he said, nodding toward Oikawa. “Now, we capitalize on this momentum.”

The referees exchanged glances, momentarily stunned themselves, before a sharp whistle reminded everyone to keep the game moving.

The Brazilian team, now visibly rattled, struggled to regain their composure. Their usually sharp movements carried a slight hesitation, an uncharacteristic falter in their confidence. Japan wasted no time capitalizing on the cracks. At 9–6, Oikawa’s clever set found Bokuto, who launched a blistering spike that cut through Brazil’s blockers, slamming just inside the backline. The crowd erupted in cheers as the scoreboard ticked up in Japan’s favor.

By 13–9, Brazil already called for a timeout, their coach pulling the team into a tight huddle. On Japan’s side, their players gathered with a different energy—focused and sharp, their cohesion palpable. Their coach stood at the center, and gestured toward the court. “They’re trying to reset,” he said. “Let’s not give them the chance.”

The whistle blew, and the teams returned to their positions. Brazil came back with renewed determination, managing to score on a cross-court spike from their captain at 13–10. But Japan didn’t let them build momentum. Hinata responded with a quick attack, his timing with Kageyama still perfect like they were in high school, bringing the score to 14–10.

As the set progressed, the gap only widened larger. At 23–16, Atsumu—another great server— stepped to the service line. The earlier record-breaking serve still hung in the air, a reminder of the damage Japan inflicted. The energy Atsumu gave off was no different than Oikawa, and Brazilian team knew that,  already expecting the worst. “Alright,” Atsumu muttered, eyeing Brazil’s formation, spinning the ball in his hands confidently. “Let’s wrap this up.”

The whistle blew, and Atsumu launched into motion, his sprint fluid, his jump explosive. His hand struck the ball cleanly, sending it hurtling over the net. The ball struck the line at the back corner, just out of reach of Brazil’s libero. The referee’s flag shot up, signaling “in.”

The arena erupted in cheers as the scoreboard ticked to 24–16. Set point for Japan.

Atsumu though, barely celebrated, already moving back to the line. His gaze swept over Brazil’s side, their formation visibly shaken—understandably so with a service ace at 24. “One more,” he said as he spun the ball in his hands again, his expression unreadable.

He repeated the motion—a sharp, calculated jump serve. Brazil’s libero managed the receive, but it was far from clean. Their setter scrambled, tipping it to their outside hitter, who sent a rushed spike toward Japan’s side.

Yaku was ready. He dove low, his arms absorbing the impact as the ball floated high into the air. Oikawa moved in, his hands steady as he sent the ball to Bokuto, who soared above the net, his arm slicing through the air as he slammed the ball past Brazil’s blockers.

The whistle blew, and the scoreboard flashed: 25–16. Set to Japan.

The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers, their excitement shaking the arena to its core. Japan’s players swarmed Atsumu as he stepped away from the line, their energy infectious.

Atsumu turned to his teammates, arms spread wide. “Did ya’ll see that? A service ace at 24th. You’re welcome!” 

Bokuto threw an arm around Atsumu’s shoulders. “It was unbelievable!”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Sakusa muttered, though grinning wide.

Oikawa clapped Atsumu on the back as they made their way to the bench. “Nicely done,” he said as he sat with a grin on his face. He leaned briefly on Bokuto’s shoulder, his chest still heaving. “We’ve got them rattled guys,” he said, his voice steady despite the sweat dripping down his temple. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Bokuto grinned and nodded in approval, his golden eyes gleaming. “No mercy.”

The coach approached, his sharp eyes meeting each of his players in turn. “This is it,” he said, his tone measured. “Play like there’s no tomorrow. Keep your heads clear. No second-guessing.” He took a pause, his eyes bright. “Come on guys. One point at a time.”

The tension in the air shifted again. The referee’s whistle pierced through the crowd’s noise, signaling the start of Set 4.

It was time to end this.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

When the players walked onto the court, the whole arena erupted into deafening cheers, the crowd shaking the very walls with their excitement. This wasn’t just any set. The stakes weighed heavier now. For Japan, it was everything—the difference between gold and heartbreak, between celebration and regret. For Brazil, it was survival.

Team Japan stood on the court, movements deliberate, shoulders set, eyes sharp. The roar of the crowd was just background noise now, quiet compared to the storm inside each player’s mind. The floor beneath them bore the mark of thousands of hours of practice, stained with their blood, sweat, and tears poured into it. Their DNA was etched into this wood, wiped away daily but never truly erased.

They were ready. It was their moment.

Sakusa stepped to the line, the ball resting in his steady hands. He turned it slowly, his fingertips brushing over its seams as if calibrating for perfection. Above him, the stadium lights blazed bright, but Sakusa didn’t flinch. Noise thundered in waves around him—cheers, chants, the occasional jeer—but it might as well have been silence. He exhaled slowly and tuned it all out, honing his focus with perfection in sight.

This was the first strike, and Sakusa wasn’t going to waste it.

Three steps back. His posture rigid, controlled. His teammates shifted behind him, readying themselves for what came next, but Sakusa barely noticed. The pressure that had loomed over their bench moments ago was gone. Here, in this exact moment, nothing else mattered but execution.

Sakusa exhaled sharply, then tossed the ball high into the air. The world seemed to slow for an instant as he snapped into motion, every muscle in his body tightening like a spring. He jumped, measured yet explosive. His hand struck the ball with surgical precision, sending the ball over the net. It cut through the air like a blade.

On the other side, Brazil’s libero moved instantly, his body reacting on instinct alone. He dove low, arms outstretched, and managed to dig the ball up. The ball sailed into their setter’s hands, but the hurried receive left little room for options. The set went wide, forcing their outside hitter and captain to approach at an awkward angle.

He spiked anyway, the ball cutting toward Japan’s court with a speed that sent a ripple of tension through the crowd. Ushijima and Bokuto were already in position. They rose together, their timing flawless, hands pressing over the net like a solid wall. The impact was immediate. The ball collided with their block and ricocheted back into Brazil’s side, slamming into the floor untouched.

Point, Japan. 1–0.

The stadium went crazy on the Japanese side, cheers rolling in waves. Japan’s bench players leaped to their feet, fists pumping in the air. Bokuto turned, his grin wide and infectious, throwing an arm around Ushijima’s shoulder. “That’s how we start!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

Sakusa didn’t so much as glance at his teammates as he moved back to the service line. His focus was already ahead, his mind resetting for the next serve. One point down. Twenty-four to go.

Next serve was just as sharp, forcing Brazil into another rushed play. Their setter scrambled to tip the ball over, but Yaku was ready. He lunged, arms outstretched, sending the ball high toward Oikawa. Oikawa’s hands moved like clockwork, setting up a perfect quick for Hinata. Hinata soared above the net, spiking the ball with incredible speed. 2–0, Japan.

 

Their stride didn’t last long. From the sidelines, The Brazilian coach barked orders, pushing his players into position as they prepared to receive. Brazil was quick to adjust. Feet skidded across the polished court, sneakers squeaking as they shifted to close the gaps and tighten their formation. The tide began to turn, points didn’t come as easily now. The tension was rising in the charged air with every play, the energy crackling on the court like a storm about to break.

When the score was 5–4 in Japan’s favor, The Brazilian captain delivered a punishing spike that glanced off Ushijima’s block, landing just inside the backline. The score evened at 5-5, with Brazil finally closing the gap. Their sharp defenses and masterful decoys started to disrupt the rhythm of the game.

Japanese team didn’t falter. They pushed back, determined to stay in command.

Oikawa’s sharp eyes spotted openings in Brazil’s formation. Taking the initiative, he began pushing boundaries with a spark of creativity, taking risks and mixing in daring plays that tested Brazil’s defenses. At 8–7, he delivered a perfectly disguised set to Sakusa, who smashed the ball cleanly past Brazil’s blockers. The ball struck the floor with a resounding thud, and Japan edged ahead again.

Great things rarely last forever. Their momentum broke at 10-10, undone by a decisive error.

Akaashi’s sharp eyes were glued to the court, watching the game, following each play. He hadn’t looked away since he arrived. He wasn’t player anymore, but his mind still worked like a setter, dissecting Brazil’s every move through and through.

No… Akaashi leaned forward sharply, his typically composed expression darkening with uncharacteristic intensity. He had been tracking the Brazilian’s setter’s every move up until then like a hawk. There was a pattern there—a tell. It wasn’t overt, just the slightest hesitation giving away the setter’s thoughts. And just now when he was about to set, his head tilted subtly toward the captain on the outside but Akaashi saw how his feet betrayed his disguise. But Tooru didn’t.

“They’re baiting him,” Akaashi said suddenly, his voice low but clipped, tension rippling through each syllable.  Kuroo, sitting beside him, furrowed his brows, barely able to glance over. “Baiting? Who—”

The ball slammed into Japan’s court with a deafening thud, cutting off Kuroo mid-sentence.

“Tooru,” Akaashi finished, his knuckles whitening against the armrest. His jaw clenched, gaze still locked on the court. The whistle blew sharply, and the scoreboard ticked to 10–11. The Brazilian middle blocker landed with confidence, ready to rotate to formation. The sound of the Brazilians cheering echoed through the arena.

Kuroo leaned forward, eyebrows shot up as he looked between the scoreboard, Akaashi and the players. “You read that before it happened,” he said, a note of curiosity breaking through his usual confidence “How the hell did you know?”

“Watch the replay,” Akaashi said as he exhaled, gesturing toward the screen as the replay began. His voice was tight, his frustration barely contained.

 

In the large oversized screen, the replay showed how the trap unfolded in painful detail. The Brazilian setter’s deliberate head turn, the faint glance toward their captain, it was a masterful decoy. Oikawa shifted immediately to cover the outside attack. But the setter’s feet, angled inward towards the middle-blocker, told the truth. It was a split-second decision—one Oikawa made wrong.

 

Akaashi pointed to the screen, his voice lower now. “The glance sold it, but look here—” His finger pointed at the setter’s feet on the replay. “He was always going to the middle. Tooru couldn’t see it.”

 

Kuroo, silent now, watched the screen with narrowed eyes. Iwaizumi shifted beside Akaashi, his jaw tightening. “He’s going to kick himself for not seeing this one,” Iwaizumi muttered, his voice low. His fingers curled and uncurled against his knee as he stared down at the court, eyes fixed on Oikawa, a flicker of worry crossing his face. 

 

“He’ll get it back,” Akaashi responded quietly, as much to himself as to anyone else. But his fists remained curled, his body tense as he waited for the next play to unfold.

 

On the court, Oikawa stood frozen at the net, his breath catching in his throat. The ball rolled lifelessly to the far corner of the court, a dull echo of another mistake he couldn’t undo. His eyes locked on Brazil’s setter, who wore smug sneer as he moved into rotation. The sight made his blood boil, hands clenched into fists, the tape around his fingers digging into his skin. That look. It wasn’t just confidence—it was a silent admission of victory, a taunt that dug under Oikawa’s skin.

 

How the hell did he fake me?

 

His thoughts raced, he replayed the sequence in his head, over and over again—the glance, the fake, the split-second decision to cover the captain. He had read the play perfectly—or so he thought. The setter’s feet, now crystal clear on the overhead screen, had given the truth all along. He’d been played.

 

You goddamn idiot. His teeth ground together as he tried to shake off the surge of rage. He had always been sly, a master manipulator. Now? He had fallen for a trick so basic it felt like an insult. He wanted to charge across the net and wipe the smirk off the setter’s face himself. His pulse throbbed in his ears, his frustration rose dangerously close to the surface.

 

“They’re testing your patience,” came a low, steady voice.

 

Oikawa turned sharply, meeting Kageyama’s unflinching gaze. The younger setter stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, strangely insightful in a way that Oikawa wasn’t used to see. “Don’t give them the satisfaction,” Kageyama added deliberately, his voice calm, soothing almost.

 

For a moment, Oikawa could only blink, his anger displaced by surprise. Of all people, Kageyama was the last person he’d expect to say something like that. The obvious truth of his simple words cut through the storm in his head.

 

He let out a sharp breath, closing his eyes briefly as the tension in his shoulders began to ease. “You’re right,” Oikawa said quietly, his voice low but steady. When he opened his eyes again, the fire in them still burned bright but now under control.

 

He turned back to the net, his mind racing. Calm down. Don’t let them get in your head. Mistakes happened. He wasn’t about to let them define this set—or this match. The game wasn’t over. But if he let his frustration control him, it might as well be. We win together, we lose together.

 

Bokuto clapped his hands together, gathering their attention, his voice cutting through the tension. “Shake it off everyone!” He said eyes blazing with determination. “One point at a time. We’ve got this!” It quickly reset everyone in the court, their expressions tense but not defeated.

 

Oikawa’s usual smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady. “We do.”

Brazil served, their captain’s jump serve sharp and precise. The ball sliced through the air, fast, vicious and unpredictable like a shrapnel in flight. Yaku managed to read it, positioning himself below the perfect point to absorb the impact. The ball flew to Oikawa, who adjusted his footing and sent a quick set to Sakusa. The spike was brutal, his arm slicing the air with pinpoint accuracy as the ball slammed into the corner of Brazil’s court. It was clean, untouched.

 

The scoreboard ticked to 11–11. Point, Japan.

 

If the tension before had been stifling, now it was suffocating. Every move, every breath, felt heavier. The stakes pressed down on Japan like a storm cloud, and each player could feel it. Every rally became a battle, every point earned through tireless effort and resolve. The air buzzed with the crowd roaring, but on the court no one heard. All eyes were locked on the ball. In this moment, a single blink could mean losing it all.

 

At 15-15, Ushijima delivered a monstrous spike, his arm a blur as the ball thundered past Brazil’s libero. The point brought a surge of energy to Japan’s bench. Brazil responded instantly, their captain countering with a thundering cross-court shot that slammed on the floor just inside the line.

 

The intensity on the court reached a breaking point. Japan, so close yet so far, felt every rally stretch into eternity. Their dream of gold was an oasis in a vast desert, the only relief from the scalding heat of exhaustion. They would crawl through burning sand, their bodies screaming in agony, if it meant reaching that oasis. To them, there was no other choice. The oasis was the only answer, because the alternative was death. And if they were to die anyway, they would die fighting for every inch.

 

Brazil on the other hand, nothing to lose, was wild, primal, feral ; a cornered animal— unpredictable, vicious, and deadly in their defiance. With no escape, they fought back with savage precision, their ferocity fueled by the tension on the court, refusing to yield an inch.

 

At 18–18, the exhaustion was beginning to show. Players stumbled slightly before recovering, their movements still sharp but chests heaving, breaths heavier. Even at that moment, Brazil’s setter pulled off a stunning feint, sending the ball to the opposite hitter when Japan had shifted their blockers outside again. It was another masterpiece of deception. The opposite spiked the ball skillfully, the ball flying towards the floor on the Japanese side.

 

Oikawa clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the Brazilian setter’s toss to the opposite. The fake from earlier still burned in his mind. Not this time, he thought, shaking the tension out of his fingers as he took his position. He dove forward, saving the ball last second. “ATSUMU, COVER!” He yelled managing to send the ball flying toward him in a high arc. Atsumu set his pass perfectly to Hinata in the inside who launched into action, quick as lightning, and spiked the ball over the blockers’ hands. Point, Japan. 19–18.

 

At 20–20, the pressure each point put on their shoulders felt like an avalanche. Bokuto soared for a spike, burning with willpower and slammed the ball. The Brazilian libero deflected it, but the ball skittered out of control, forcing a desperate scramble. Oikawa capitalized, setting a perfect ball to Ushijima, who finished the rally with a punishing spike. The scoreboard flicked to 21–20, but Japan couldn’t celebrate for long. Brazil equalized in the next rally in an instant, their opposite hitter slamming a straight through Japan’s blockers, silencing Japan’s side of the crowd momentarily.

 

The game swayed like a relentless tug of war, neither side giving an inch. As it drew closer to the end, the stakes soared. Hard-fought points traded back and forth mercilessly, cruelly brief in their victory. Japan would edge ahead by a point, only for Brazil to claw their way back. Every misstep threatened to shatter the momentum, forcing them to channel every ounce of strength and focus into each play. It was punishing and endless—a brutal trial, not just for their bodies but for their minds as well.

 

When the scoreboard hit 24-23—match point for Japan— time seemed to slow down, every spectator frozen in breathless anticipation, the suspense maddening. This was it—the point where all their effort, all their sacrifice, could come to fruition or fall apart. One point, and Japan would seize gold, turning their dreams into reality. One mistake, and Brazil would strike back, dragging them into uncertainty. The players on both sides adjusted their positions, like pieces on a chessboard, waiting for the serve that could make or break everything.

 

Oikawa stood at the back line, the ball resting in his palm, his gaze sharp as it swept over Brazil’s formation. His breaths were controlled, but his mind raced with calculations. This wasn’t just any serve; it had to set the tone for the point, to unsettle Brazil just enough to give his team the edge. He spun the ball in his hands, pressing his lips into a thin line. For the win.

 

On the front line, Bokuto crouched into position, gaze razor-sharp on Brazil’s side. His thoughts raced in chaos. We need this. Now. He didn’t dare glance at the scoreboard. He didn’t need to. The moment pressed down on him like a physical force. Lose this, and it was 24–24. Back to square one. The thought was unbearable. Brazil would seize the momentum, and the psychological edge they’d gained through the match would be shattered.

 

No. That’s not happening. We end this here.

 

He exhaled sharply, trying to focus. Trust Tooru. Trust the team. His gaze flicked briefly to his left, to Sakusa, his fellow wing spiker. Sakusa’s focus was unyielding, his body ready to strike. Behind him, Hinata radiated his usual unshakable energy, his grin tight with determination.

 

His attention returned to Oikawa, standing still, expression unreadable at the back line. He had complete faith in his friend. Oikawa wasn’t just any teammate—he was the strategist, the brain behind their plays. If anyone could deliver the serve they needed, it was him.

 

Oikawa’s fingers flexed once, twice, around the ball. His eyes narrowed, and he took three deliberate steps back. With a sharp inhale, he tossed the ball high and launched forward for a vicious jump serve. The sound of his palm meeting the ball tore through the court like a grenade going off.

 

Brazil’s libero scrambled but managed to absorb the impact with practiced skill, sending the ball high toward their setter. Bokuto tensed as the ball rose, watching the setter’s movements carefully. His mind raced, trying to read the play as best he could. The Brazilian setter rolled his shoulder as he darted his eyes toward their captain, a flash of intent that Bokuto caught immediately. He adjusted his stance, already moving to cover the outside hitter. This was it—the moment they needed to block, to seal the game. Every muscle in his body screamed with anticipation.

 

The ball flew into the setter’s hands, and his movements were deliberate, measured. His shoulders turned toward the outside hitter, his body selling the play with masterfully. Bokuto followed, reading the movement, preparing to shift his block.

 

But from the stands, Akaashi saw something else.

 

His eyes hadn’t left court since the the match began, analyzing with a precision bordering on unsettling. Like a forensic analyst, he searched the scene for the smallest anomalies and faintest clues. Every detail, every action, every micro-movement, all of them were cataloged, and filed away in Akaashi’s mind, building a meticulous map of intentions. He pieced together patterns from fragments of information others might overlook or dismiss as inconsequential.

 

And now, at 24–23, with the stakes at their absolute peak, Akaashi saw it.

 

The setter rolled his shoulders. Just a fleeting, almost subconscious motion. It was so casual, so unassuming that even the setter himself didn’t realize he’d done it. Most would miss it amidst the chaos of a game, but Akaashi knew better. It wasn’t to relieving tension; it was a tell. The setter only ever did it when he was about to pull off something bold, something risky. Akaashi had seen it in the second set, then again in the third, always just before a decisive play. This wasn’t a set, it was a trap.

 

Everything clicked. Akaashi’s breath caught as he saw Bokuto edging toward the outside blocker. No, he thought, panic flaring in his chest. He doesn’t see it.

 

Without thinking, Akaashi sprang to his feet. “BO! JUMP! IT’S A DUMP!” His voice cut through the noise.

 

On the court, Bokuto’s body moved before his mind could catch up. The moment he heard Akaashi’s voice, he sprang into action. He didn’t question, didn’t hesitate. He just trusted Akaashi—always had. His feet pushed off the ground, and he soared into the air, arms outstretched, hands raised. The Brazilian setter flicked his wrist, tipping the ball toward the net in a meticulously calculated dump. But Bokuto was already there. The ball struck his hands and ricocheted back toward Brazil’s side. It hit the court with a final, resounding thud.

The whistle blew.

 

The scoreboard flashed: 25–23. Match to Japan.

 

For a split second, the arena was silent. Then the crowd exploded into deafening cheers, shaking the very foundation of the court. On the court, Japanese players froze, the realization washing over them in waves.

Bokuto landed, his chest heaving, his golden eyes wide. Slowly, he turned toward the stands, his gaze locking onto Akaashi. Their eyes met, and in that moment, all the chaos faded. With a soft smile he pressed his lips against his fist, holding it in front of himself as though offering it to Akaashi. He mouthed the words, "For you."

 

Akaashi’s lips curved into wide grin, pride and relief etched across his face. He returned the gesture from the stands, raising his own fist, a silent acknowledgment that passed between them. Bokuto’s grinned even wider as the crowd’s roar intensified, and with a triumphant shout, he raised his fist high. “WE DID IT!— GOLD BABY!”

 

Then his teammates were on him, shouting, laughing, pulling him into a chaotic embrace. Atsumu was the first to grab him. “BO, YOU CRAZY BASTARD!” He yelled, shaking him by the shoulders like he was trying to wake up from a dream. “WHAT WAS THAT?!”

“That reaction speed—” Sakusa began, his usual monotone cracking with disbelief. He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost frustrated. “Ridiculous.”

“Try unreal.” Ushijima muttered, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decode the mechanics of Bokuto’s play. 

“You didn’t even flinch!” Hinata chimed in, his voice animated as he stared at Bokuto like he was something otherworldly.

Atsumu shook his head in disbelief. "How the hell did you even know that was a dump?!"

“Yeah!” Hinata agreed nodding vehemenly. “How did you even see—”

“It wasn’t me,” Bokuto interrupted shaking his head, grin stretching wide enough to almost split his face. He pointed toward the stands. “It was Akaashi.”

The team followed his finger, attention turning to stands. Akaashi blinked, startled by the sudden sea of players across now staring at him. His lips parted slightly, and with a faint flush creeping into his cheeks, he raised a hand in a small, almost apologetic wave.

Oikawa’s mouth dropped open, his expression one of pure disbelief. "I can’t believe it. Really?" he said, as if the words were dragged from him, unfiltered awe lacing his tone.

Without a word, they bowed in unison. It wasn’t rehearsed—it didn’t need to be. A silent acknowledgment, a gesture that caught Akaashi completely off-guard. His hand hovered awkwardly in midair, his cheeks darkening further as his posture stiffened, clearly unsure how to respond.

Back on the court, Bokuto turned to the team, his voice snapping the moment back to life. "That’s how we do it!" he shouted, throwing an arm around Oikawa, pulling him into the celebration. "We’ve got gold, baby! Teamwork! That’s how we win!"

The gold was theirs. Together.

Notes:

Damn, I struggled with this one! Initially, I thought it would be one of the shorter chapters but then I just kept writing. At some point I considered diving this to chapters… I hope the breaks were enough for an easy read.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 22: Pre-game

Notes:

Hi everyone,

I'm back. Sorry for taking so long! It's been a while. I've been dealing with chronic health issues and been in and out of the hospital. I'm much better now. Hopefully I'll be able to finish this story soon! I hope there is still people willing to read :)

The parking lot carried the fading remnants of the game’s energetic victory… The occasional burst of laughter or shout echoed through the crisp night air, while stadium staff wheeled carts past rows of cars. The neon orange McLaren belonging to a certain volleyball player stood near the edge, glowing like a firework frozen mid-burst under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Bokuto leaned into the open trunk, a gym bag slung over one shoulder, hauling a smaller one into place. The gold medal around his neck caught the light as he moved, throwing flashes that danced across the car’s polished surface. His hair spiked in every direction, still damp with sweat from the match. It didn’t bother him. If anything, the lingering heat of the game made him feel more alive.

 

Beside him, Akaashi worked silently to fit another bag into the narrow space, though his hands weren’t as steady as usual. They weren’t clumsy—Akaashi never was. It was his focus that had wandered. He kept looking at Bokuto next to himself. He wasn’t subtle. Not even close. He couldn’t be if he tried. His icy blue eyes locked onto Bokuto’s chest, the medal hanging there, gleaming like it was made of sunlight. Akaashi’s lips curved upward, his expression soft, his usual composure completely absent.

 

It wasn’t embarrassment. It wasn’t hesitation. It was love, so pure and unrestrained that it felt almost uncharacteristic, as if some invisible wall inside Akaashi had crumbled. His smile widened every time he looked at Bokuto, and he didn’t bother trying to stop it.

 

After a while, Bokuto caught him staring and paused, one hand resting on the edge of the trunk.“What?” he asked, his grin brightening as he straightened up. “Do I have something on my face?”

Akaashi didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He just smiled back even wider, almost stupid in a way that made Bokuto’s chest tighten. When he finally spoke, his voice came low, warm, and certain. “You’re wearing gold,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the medal before settling back on Bokuto’s eyes. “I knew you would.”

Bokuto froze for a moment, the grin on his face faltering. He’d heard congratulations from teammates, from the coach, from fans screaming his name in the stands. None of it felt like this.

It was such a quiet way to congratulate someone, so subtle others might dismiss, but to Bokuto, it was everything. Akaashi’s intensity lived in the smallest details, a language only he could decrypt. Standing in front of him now, Akaashi wasn’t just proud of the win—he was proud of him. It shone in his icy blue eyes in the way he looked at Bokuto, like he was the most extraordinary thing in the world. And, that hit Bokuto square in the chest.

“Keiji…” Bokuto’s voice came out softer than he intended, almost a whisper. He swallowed, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. Akaashi stepped closer, his movements measured, and lifted his hand to the medal. His fingertips brushed the cool surface, his touch so light it was almost reverent.

“I’m so proud of you,” Akaashi continued, his voice low but steady. His thumb lingered on the edge of the medal as his gaze flicked upward, meeting Bokuto’s, smile still lingering. “You earned every bit of this.”

Bokuto’s breath caught in his throat. The words hit harder than anything else that night. His eyes burned with the sharp sting of tears pressing at the edges. He dropped his gaze briefly, his hand rising to rake through his hair, trying to steady the wave of emotion crashing through him. “Stop,” he murmured as he exhaled, his voice rough at the edges but laced with a small, shaky laugh. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna start crying in the damned parking lot.”

 

Akaashi’s lips finally formed the knowing grin Bokuto was so used to see, taking him back to present. “I’d say I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m not.”

 

The laugh that broke from Bokuto was uneven but full of warmth, his shoulders shaking as he let it out. He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, the grin breaking through again as if he couldn’t help himself. ““You’re a dork,” he muttered, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

Akaashi shrugged, not even pretending to be offended. “As long as you still love me.”

Bokuto stepped closer, his grin softening. “Always,” he said, the word without hesitation, as natural as breathing.

Before Akaashi could respond, Bokuto leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t tentative. It was steady and certain, their lips fitting together like they’d been doing this forever and still couldn’t get enough.

They moved the last few things into the car, their movements easy and synchronized.  Bokuto felt Akaashi’s gaze every time he moved, steady and shameless, and and so full of affection it was almost too much. He didn’t mind. If anything, he wanted Akaashi to keep looking. He could feel himself smiling back, helpless to do anything else.

“You know, you’re staring again,” Bokuto teased as he shut the trunk with a satisfying thunk.

“I am,” Akaashi replied crossing his arms, his tone even.

“And?”

“And I don’t care,” Akaashi said, his voice unwavering, his icy blue eyes fixed on Bokuto’s golden. “Not even a little.”

Bokuto blinked, caught off guard by the ease of the answer. Akaashi didn’t wait for him to catch up. He simply reached for his backpack from the passenger seat, his calm composure slipping back into place.“I’ll catch a ride with Iwa,” he said, throwing a strap of his bag over one shoulder.

“You sure?” Bokuto asked, frowning slightly as he leaned a hand against the car. “I could—”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Akaashi waved him off with a flick of his hand. “Stop worrying about me.” The raven pressed his lips to Bokuto’s softly one last time. “Go home.” He whispered in his ear. “ I’ll come and drop my stuff off at your place in a couple of hours.”

The McLaren’s engine growled to life as Bokuto slid into the driver’s seat, the car’s roar echoing off the concrete walls of the lot. He glanced once in the rearview mirror before pulling away, catching a last glimpse of Akaashi standing under the fluorescent lights, still watching him with that stupid, perfect smile.

He rolled onto the main road, the neon orange car glaring in the bustling Tokyo streets like a streak of fire. The city was alive with celebration—fans waving flags spilling out of bars onto the sidewalks. Bokuto cracked his window down. The cool night breeze carried the victory songs chanted by the crowd inside the car.

 

Traffic was a mess, as expected. Post-Olympics chaos at its finest. Cars were bumper-to-bumper. Brake lights stretched in an endless chain of red down the street. Bokuto sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel with the beat of a song on the radio, though he wasn’t paying much attention to it. Nothing to do but relax now. The least I can do is find good music.

 

He glanced at the car’s screen, fingers turning the radio button, skipping through the static and finding channels until he landed on an after-game commentary. The commentator’s voice crackled through the speakers, recounting the final point.

 

“And let’s talk about that final point, folks! What a game! Gold medal came down to one of the most incredible blocks we’ve seen in Olympic volleyball history. Bokuto Koutarou—what impeccable timing and instinct against that dump! That decision, that execution—nothing short of genius.”

 

His co-host agreed vehemently,“And that final point sealed the win, brought us gold. Who knew what would happen if they didn’t get the point? Bokuto Koutarou, Japan’s captain, proved once again why he’s the backbone of this team.”

Captain? Bokuto froze. His hands stilled on the steering wheel, his mouth hanging open for a beat as the commentator continued his praises. Tooru’s the captain. His brows furrowed as he sat there in silence for a moment, Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—wide, sharp, and full of mischief.

Oh, Tooru’s so going to lose it. Laughter started bubbling up from his chest. He could already picture it. The image was too good—Tooru’s perfectly combed hair out of place as he ranted about journalistic incompetence and his stolen glory. The thought sent Bokuto into a fit of laughter, his shoulders shaking. Captain, het thought, an amused look on his face. Sure, why not? I’ll take it.

But then his mind circled back to the words. Impeccable timing. Nothing short of genius. Instinct. His thoughts shifted, drifting to someone who had been at the center of it all without even stepping foot on the court.

Akaashi.

The block might have been his, but the impeccable timing, the split-second decision? That was all Akaashi. His genius. His instinct. Bokuto had only been the instrument, the one to carry it out.

No… It was far more extraordinary than that. What Bokuto achieved with that move defied reason. In the chaos of the Olympic game with the deafening roar of thousands, the very notion of recognizing a single voice,—let alone trusting it, acting on it, and leaping without hesitation—was absurd, almost laughable. No one would risk it, trust it, not when everything was on the line. Yet, Bokuto did. That’s what set it apart. Could others have done it? No. Could Bokuto have done it if it had been any other voice, even his teammates? Absolutely not. So, how did he do it?

Because it wasn’t just the years of training, countless hours of practice or the shared victories and failures on the court. The bond between them surpassed that. Akaashi could read him, not just his movements, but his very being—the shifts in his energy, the moments when he hesitated, the moments when he needed someone to believe in him more than he believed in himself.

It was the way they trusted each other, more than anything in the world.

That trust was why Bokuto could jump without hesitation, why he could throw himself into the moment with everything he had. Because he knew with certainty that Akaashi had already accounted for it.

He let out a slow breath as he flipped the radio again. Soft pop tunes drifted through the speakers, replacing the commentary. The easy rhythm seemed to settle into the space left by his thoughts, his hand returning to the wheel as the sound filled the cabin. Just then his phone buzzed on the console. Bokuto glanced back down and saw the name: Mom.

 

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the screen. He wanted to answer. He always wanted to hear her voice. But he knew, she wasn’t the only one… The thought of his dad listening nearby was enough to give him pause on its own. Even if he weren’t on the line, his presence was still there, like a shadow cast over everything —an unavoidable reminder of the distance between them. Bokuto sighed as the phone rang once more. Things weren’t always like this.

 

He exhaled sharply and tapped the button on the car screen to answer. “Hi Mom,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

“Koutarou!” Her voice came through, bright and filled with warmth. “I’m so glad you picked up.”

 

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he leaned against the window, the city stretching out in slow-moving streaks around him. “Of course I did. What’s up?”

 

Before his mother could respond, her voice grew distant as she turned to someone else in the room. “Kou-chan picked up, Hiroshi!” she called, her tone playful but carrying a note of pride. Bokuto stiffened slightly, his smile faltering. He didn’t need to hear his father’s response to feel the familiar weight settle over him.

 

“Kou-chan!” her voice burst through the speaker again, full of unrestrained excitement. “You were incredible! I screamed at the TV when you scored that last point!”

 

He grinned despite himself, the corners of his lips pulling upward at her energy. “Yeah? You didn’t scare the neighbors, did you?”

 

“Who cares?!” she laughed, her voice bubbling over with pride. “You guys won gold! Gold, Kou-chan! I can’t believe it. And you better bring that medal when you visit. I need pictures with it. Oh, I can wear it. What do you think?— Yeah, I’m definitely wearing it in pictures. ”

 

“Mom, it’s not a toy,” Bokuto said, trying to sound serious but failing when a laugh bubbled out. “You’ll have to be careful, though. It’s heavier than it looks. Can’t have you dropping it.”

 

“Oh, please! I’m stronger than I look.” his mom fired back,“I handled you as a baby, didn’t I? You weren’t exactly light, Kou-chan.”

 

“Are you calling me fat?” Bokuto shot back, his voice rising in mock betrayal.

 

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” she laughed. Her tone turned playful as called out over her shoulder, her voice lifting. “Hiroshi, did you hear that? Kou-chan’s going to let me wear his medal!” 

 

The mention of his father’s name froze Bokuto mid-grin again. He heard faint shuffling on the other end. “Enough with the merrymaking, Akemi.”  His father’s low, clipped voice replaced his mother’s jolly tone as the phone was passed over. “Good game, son. You made us proud. You did the whole country proud.” He said next, addressing Bokuto directly this time. 

 

The words hit harder than Bokuto expected. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. His chest tightened, and something unfamiliar flickered there—a pang he hadn’t felt in years. The little boy inside him, the one who had spent years chasing his father’s approval, would have leapt with joy. And yet, Bokuto didn’t leap. Not anymore. Still, it did something. It always did.

 

“Thanks, Dad,” Bokuto said, his voice quieter now, unsteady in the edges. The pause that followed was brief but loaded with potential. Bokuto waited, hoping for more, hoping for something real.

 

But then his father’s tone shifted, practical and detached, as though the moment hadn’t even happened. “You’ll get plenty of interviews now, I assume. Make sure you’re prepared. Don’t let them trip you up.”

 

Bokuto’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the pang from earlier twisting into frustration. That’s it? Thats the only thing you’re going to say? Of course, his father turned the one meaningful thing he had said in years to a conversation about obligations. “Yeah, of course.” Bokuto replied. “I’ve got it covered,” his tone kind but distant now.

 

The phone shuffled again, and his mom’s bright voice returned, cutting through the tension.“Your dad clapped during the last point! He was on his feet. You should’ve seen him—he had tears on his eyes.”

Bokuto scoffed under his breath, barely loud enough for the phone to catch. “I’m sure he did.”

“Kou-chan, I’m serious! Would I ever lie to you?” his mom scolded lightly, “He really clapped. That’s a big deal, you know.” Her mock indignation managed a small chuckle out of him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto muttered, shaking his head as a small smile crept back onto his face.

 

“We’re so proud of you, Kou-chan.” His mom’s voice was still bright but softer, as if trying to smooth the rough edges left behind by someone else. “Don’t forget to eat something when you get home, okay?”

“I won’t,” he replied softly. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too!”

The line went dead and Bokuto exhaled. The traffic crawled forward, occasional honk breaking through the city’s post-Olympic celebrations. The call pulled him somewhere far from the crowded streets of Tokyo. He shifted in his seat as his mother’s words echoed in his mind. Her voice left warmth in its wake, a comfort that lingered like a soft blanket draped over his chest. But his father’s words…

Good game, son. You made us proud. You made the whole country proud.

The sentence replayed in his mind. Fingers flexed against the wheel, the tension growing in his chest. Those simple words, spoken with the intent to praise, exposed the deep wounds he had fought desperately to conceal. He wanted to feel joy in them. But he couldn’t. Bokuto felt his heart sank deep inside in his chest, a quiet ache that made his throat tighten. Tears glistened in his golden eyes. He blinked rapidly, unwilling to let them fall.

Because he didn’t forget.

He couldn’t forget the way his father had looked at him the day he came out—silent, rigid, his disappointment sharper than any words he could’ve spoken. He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t said much at all. But that look… it had stayed with Bokuto, etched into him like a scar that refused to fade. He wasn’t proud then. Coming out? That was the line his dad couldn’t handle. To him, being gay was the ultimate failure. The ultimate betrayal.

From that point on, their relationship had never been the same. His dad didn’t confront him directly. Instead, the jabs became sharper. The silence heavier. The distance wider.

Bokuto’s inhaled deeply as his grip on the wheel tightened. He wanted to feel the way he used to when his dad praised him. Back then, things were easier. They used to be close, even if his dad’s version of “close” wasn’t exactly affectionate. He used to think I was like him, Bokuto thought, his jaw clenching. Strong, confident, like a man. But his father had never really understood him. He had only seen what he wanted to see. Strong? Maybe Physically. Mentally, he had never been what his father would deem as confident or manly.

The relationship had been fine when Bokuto was younger. As long as he played sports, worked hard, and fit neatly into his dad’s image that is. Had he wanted to wear his hair longer, the answer would be, What are you a girl? But Bokuto didn’t think much of it then. His dad even came to his games back in high school, standing at the edge of the court with an approving nod when Bokuto spiked the winning point. 

But my dad was always like that, Bokuto thought, the memories cutting through him. Any time someone didn’t act the way he thought a man should—quiet, soft-spoken, sensitive—he’d call them girls. Or gay. Like that’s an insult. Like being soft or emotional made you less of a man.

Then there were the jabs. They were always there—subtle at first. Not against Bokuto. Not at first. Just his dad’s quiet judgement against the people he deemed not masculine enough. Like the ones he did to Akaashi, Bokuto winced with the thought. “You should stop hanging around that setter, what’s his name? Akaashi?” his dad had said one night after dinner. “That kid’s soft. A fag if I’ve ever seen one.”

Bokuto had waved it off back then, laughing it off as his dad being his usual narrow-minded self. Akaashi was my teammate, my friend, and I didn’t care what you thought, he remembered thinking. The memories clawed their way to the surface, unbidden. University. The strained conversations. The day Bokuto had mentioned he wasn’t speaking to Akaashi anymore. His father had smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and said, “Good. You should’ve ended that friendship long ago.”

Bokuto gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Would you still be proud if you knew? he wondered, the thought cutting through him like a blade. If you knew we won today because of Akaashi? If you knew I was with Akaashi?

The memory of his father calling Akaashi a fag bubbled up again. A sudden feeling of disgust filled him completely, not just against his dad, but himself too. For never saying anything back… Bokuto shook his head, trying to force it away, but it lingered, anger rising inside his chest. He wasn’t just talking about Akaashi, Bokuto thought bitterly. He was talking about me too. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

He gritted his teeth, thoughts spiraling further. His dad’s idea of masculinity had always been clear. Men were supposed to be strong. Tough. Hard. They didn’t cry. They didn’t bend. Anyone who dared to step outside that narrow mold was labeled, mocked. The memory sat heavy in his chest, like a shadow he couldn’t quite outrun. They had shaped him in ways he hated, put him in that mold he tried to run from, and carved out parts he’d spent his whole life trying to reclaim.

An unexpected screech of brakes jolted him forward as the car in front of him suddenly came to a full stop, pulling him out of his thoughts and sending his heart racing. His body reacted instinctively, foot slamming the brake pedal. The momentum threw him forward slightly before the seatbelt caught him, snapping him back in place. The abrupt motion shook more than just the car. It seemed to dislodge a thought buried deep, one he hadn’t even realized he’d been avoiding, but could no longer suppress.

His mind drifted, unwillingly, to his past relationships, to the rules he had imposed himself without even realizing. I’m a top, he once said to Akaashi. And,  at the time, he believed it. Talking to Akaashi about it—someone so secure, so comfortable in his own skin—had shifted something in him after. Akaashi’s matter-of-fact way of dismantling rules made him think, really think, about why he’d been so quick to box himself in and he experimented, for the first time ever. Before that talk, he wouldn’t have even considered the idea. The thought of putting anything near his butt? He’d laughed it off. He wasn’t a—

Oh god. I did it to myself.

The realization hit like a blow to the chest, and Bokuto’s grip on the wheel faltered for just a second. His pulse quickened, pounding in his ears as his thoughts unraveled, spiraling faster than he could control. “Even when I knew better, I couldn’t escape it.” words fell from his lips without even realizing.

He exhaled sharply, the air inside his lungs disappearing, and he nearly choked on the bitter truth. His heart raced as he tried to push it away, but it was no use. I had always been happy to give but never to give in. I never wanted yield. Never vulnerable. As if anything else would’ve made him less. As if it would’ve made him weak.

He always made up these arbitrary rules in his relationships and followed them. Why did I do that? It wasn’t because he wanted it that way, but because some part of him still listened to his father’s voice like an idiot. Those rules he’d carried in every relationship so far were his father’s. They weren’t his.

“Not Anymore.”

Bokuto gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. I don’t care what he thinks anymore, he thought, his chest rising with a deep breath. It’s not about what’s ‘masculine’ or not. There is no yielding. It’s not a war. It’s love. It’s about being with someone who sees all of you and says, ‘I want that.’” He swallowed hard. I don’t care what anyone else thinks but Akaashi.

His mind shifted to Akaashi—the way his boyfriend looked at him, the way he knew him better than anyone else ever had. With Akaashi, Bokuto didn’t have to prove anything. He could just be. With Akaashi, I can be soft and strong and everything in between. He loves me in a way that makes me feel like I can do anything.

Bokuto had always held back from his relationships. But with Akaashi, he couldn’t. There was no possible way he could somehow hold back. He wanted to give himself to him—completely, without hesitation. No walls, no limits. He wanted to take Akaashi in his entirety, to understand every layer, every moment of vulnerability and strength.

I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About what it means to love him so much that I want him to have all of me. And loving him so much at the same time that I want to have all of him.

A rush of determination coursed through him, steady and certain. Tonight. Tonight, he would.

The promises had been kept. He’d delivered on the court, and Akaashi had closed whatever lingering chapter there had been with Alisa, laying it to a rest. There was nothing left to stop them now.

Bokuto could feel it, the anticipation thrumming in his veins. He was going to explore Akaashi wholly and without reservation. Every inch of him. The thought sent a surge of energy through him, and as traffic began to thin, he pressed his foot harder on the accelerator.

By the time he reached his house, the decision was alive in him, coursing through every thought and every breath. He shoved the door open, tossing his bag inside with little care for where it landed. His body buzzed with nervous energy, almost restless. He headed straight for the shower, peeling off his clothes and letting them fall to the floor in a careless trail.

The bathroom filled with mist as the hot water poured over him. He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the cool, slick tiles as the hot water worked its way into his muscles, loosening the tension from the game. Droplets clung to his hair, dripping slowly down his face and neck, tracing paths across his chest before disappearing. Every inch of him felt renewed by the time he was out.

 

Bokuto stepped into his room, towel slung low on his hips, damp hair sticking up wildly. He dropped onto his bed with a satisfied groan, spreading out on the cool sheets. He stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He felt clean, refreshed, alive.

 

His thoughts drifted to the party. The team. The gold medal. Tonight was a celebration, a night for laughter and memories with everyone he cared about. But even as the excitement for the party built up, another thought crept into his mind again, making his lips curve upward. One, he couldn’t stop thinking about. Tonight wasn’t just the party. It was Akaashi. Them. Together.

 

He could feel the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a goofy grin, his heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about this moment before—he had, plenty of times—but now, with the decision to give himself to Akaashi as a whole, it felt almost overwhelming. He wanted to talk to someone about it. Bokuto sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. Usually, when he wasn’t sure about something, Akaashi was the first person he’d turn to. But now, Akaashi was the reason for his nervousness. He wanted tonight to be special, to surprise him, to show him just how much he cared.

 

His mind wandered to Kuroo. Bokuto snorted immediately at the thought. Absolutely not. Kuroo would spend the entire party teasing him relentlessly, making sly remarks every chance he got. He could already hear it: “Nervous, Bo? Don’t worry, I’m sure Akaashi will be gentle.” Nope. That wasn’t happening.

 

Tooru then? Bokuto frowned, considering. Huh… Bokuto then realized, they didn’t usually talk about this kind of stuff. Sure, he’d told him about hook-ups before, but that was different. Never, in detail. Bokuto paused, trying to remember the last time they’d talked about anything like this.

 

A memory surfaced—him telling Tooru about the time he asked Akaashi to go to a sex shop with him, and Oikawa frowning as he listened, saying he’d never go one with Bokuto even though they were best friends. Why was that again? Bokuto wondered, his brow furrowing. He pushed the thought aside. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter now.

 

He stared at his phone on the nightstand, the idea of calling Oikawa nagging at him. Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed the phone and hit the call button. It rang twice before Oikawa’s voice burst through, bright and buzzing with energy. “Bo! Are you ready for tonight? The rooftop’s going to be amazing! Are we getting wasted and taking over the dance floor? I’m not letting Iwa-chan stop me from having a good time tonight.”

 

Bokuto blinked, caught slightly off guard by the enthusiasm. “Uh… yeah, I’m ready,” he managed, though his voice lacked the same conviction.

 

“You’d better be! This is going to be legendary. We’re celebrating gold, Bo!We’ll dance, drink and party it up.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Kashi and I pregamed. I’m already buzzed.”

 

“I ALREADY KNOW YOU ARE THRASHYKAWA. WHISPERING DOES NOT HIDE IT!” came Iwa’s booming voice from the background.A laugh burst out of Bokuto, his earlier nervous energy easing for a moment. “You call him Kashi now?”

 

“Yeah, he doesn’t mind,” Oikawa replied smoothly. “He actually thinks it’s cute.”

 

Bokuto grinned at the thought, warmth blooming in his chest. The image of Akaashi tolerating Oikawa’s antics—not just tolerating, but actually getting along with him—was oddly comforting.  It made him happy, in a way he couldn’t quite put into words.

 

“That’s nice,” Bokuto said after a beat, his voice quieter now but full of genuine warmth.

 

“What’s nice?” Oikawa asked, curiosity piqued.

 

“Just… it’s good you and Kashi get along.” Bokuto said quickly, shaking his head even though Oikawa couldn’t see him, still smiling.

 

Oikawa paused, and Bokuto could practically feel him smirking on the other end. “Why wouldn’t we? I’m incredibly charming, in case you forgot.”

 

Bokuto laughed, his earlier nerves easing slightly. “That you are, Tooru.”

 

The line settled for a moment, Oikawa’s usual chatter giving way to something more perceptive. “There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?” he asked, his tone softening just enough to catch Bokuto off guard.

 

“What? No,” Bokuto replied, maybe a bit too quickly to sound convincing. Although he didn’t know why he lied. His nerves did not let him speak so freely.

 

“Bo…” Oikawa’s tone carried the barest edge of concern beneath the teasing. “Come on, you called me. I can hear it. What’s up?”

 

Bokuto exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “It’s dumb,” he muttered.

 

“It’s you. Of course, it’s dumb,” Oikawa replied with a small laugh. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it. Spill.”

 

Bokuto opened his mouth, the words forming but faltering before they could come out. He stalled instead, trying to deflect. “You think Akaashi likes rooftop parties?” He asked, and closed his eyes cringing. I’m an idiot.

 

Oikawa paused for half a beat, then let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Do you want me to get Kashi on the line to pry it out of you? Because I will.”

 

“No, Tooru. Don’t say anything to him.” Bokuto blurted quickly, his voice rising slightly in alarm.

 

“Then tell me,” Oikawa replied, his tone turning slightly amused. “I’m not going to call him. Yet. But seriously, what’s going on? You’re all over the place.”

 

Bokuto hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his towel. “Fine. I just… I was thinking about something. It’s not a big deal.” He paused, thinking how to form his words, his free hand running through his still-damp hair, and sighed, “Tooru… you like guys, right?”

 

There was a beat of silence before Oikawa laughed, sharp and sudden. “You’ve deducted this after how many years I’ve told you I’ve been in love with Iwa now?”

 

Bokuto rolled his eyes in silence on the other end while Oikawa continued. “Well, I’m certainly not with him for his cooking skills.” Bokuto heard a soft thud like a pillow hitting something solid followed with Oikawa’s indignant voice, “Iwa-chan! Careful!”. There was a brief shuffling sound before Oikawa returned, his tone as breezy as ever. “Sorry, Bo. Had to get myself safety from Iwa. We won’t be interrupted again. You can go on now.”

 

“Forget it,” Bokuto mumbled, shifting to sit upright, his towel slipping slightly. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have called.”

 

A sharp exhale came through the line, followed by Oikawa’s voice, tighter now and edged with frustration. “Bokuto, you speak in cryptics. I get myself alone so that you can speak freely. and now you’re upset with me? Just spit it out already!”

 

“I just… I was wondering about something, okay?” Bokuto gulped. “Tooru… You and Iwa…” he hesitated, fingers fidgeting. “Did you… I mean, with Iwa… uh, did you ever, like, you know, not… um, top?

 

There was a pause so long it made Bokuto’s heart pound louder in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, already regretting the words the moment they tumbled out. When Oikawa finally spoke, his voice was sharp, tinged with disbelief and irritation. “Bo. Are you seriously asking me about my bedroom preferences now? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

 

Bokuto winced, pulling his legs towards himself and burying his head between as though Oikawa could somehow see his embarrassment through the phone. “I—I didn’t mean it like that!” he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his panic. “Just… forget it, okay? I shouldn’t have called—”

 

“Don’t you dare hang up!” Oikawa snapped, cutting him off. His tone wasn’t just irritated anymore—it was downright indignant. “You don’t drop a question like that and vanish. What the hell is going on?”

 

“I don’t know!” Bokuto shot back, his voice rising as he flopped backward onto the bed and pressing a hand over his face. “I just… I was curious.” He added quietly.

 

Oikawa let out a sharp breath, and Bokuto could practically feel the weight of his glare through the line. “Curious about what exactly? Are you writing a research paper on my love life or something?”

 

Bokuto groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face in the pillow this time. “No, Tooru, it’s not about you. It’s about me.”

 

There was another pause, shorter this time, before Oikawa’s voice softened slightly, suspicion laced with curiosity. “...What do you mean, it’s about you?” Then Oikawa’s sharp intake of breath filled the silence, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost its earlier edge. “Wait. Bo… you’ve never…?”

 

“No,” Bokuto muttered, his face burning.

 

“And you’re thinking about it? With Akaashi?” Oikawa asked his tone soft this time. The shift was so sudden it was almost jarring. There was no anger nor teasing now, only a strange mix of surprise and understanding.

 

“Yeah,” Bokuto admitted, the word slipping out before he could stop it. For a moment, there was nothing but the faint crackle of the line between them. Then Oikawa let out a long sigh, his voice softening further. “Why didn’t you just say that from the start, you idiot?”

 

“Because it’s embarrassing!” Bokuto exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. “I didn’t know who else to talk to about this! I ask these things to Akaashi, but I can’t exactly ask him if I want to surprise him, can I? And Kuroo would never let me hear the end of it. I couldn’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t ask you. It was a mistake.” He stopped talking and muttered under his breath. “Should have called Kuroo.”

 

For a moment, there was silence. Then Oikawa spoke, his tone unusually gentle. “Bo, it’s not a mistake.” He paused, the silence stretching for a moment before he let out a quieter sigh. “I’m sorry. I was… harsh earlier. I didn’t get what you were trying to say. I misunderstood. You can talk to me, Bo… So… What do you want to know?”

 

Bokuto blinked, momentarily stunned. Tooru doesn’t apologize. It wasn’t something he did. Ever. The realization softened something inside him, enough that he forgave the earlier outburst without a second thought. He leaned back against the headboard, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know… what it’s like, I guess. Bokuto said finally, his voice quiet. “You know, for the first time. What to expect.”

 

The line went silent again, and Bokuto felt a fresh wave of regret crash over him. His face burned as he closed his eyes, half expecting Oikawa to start teasing. Instead, Oikawa sighed again, his voice carefully measured when he spoke.

 

“Well… I’m not going to lie, Bo. I don’t know what it’ll feel like for you. Everyone’s different,” he started. “I enjoy it, but it depends on the person. It might hurt if you’re not relaxed. I don't think I have to tell you this, but prep will be necessary. It's not like you're a virgin, you know the drill.”

 

“Right,” Bokuto muttered, feeling his cheeks grow hotter.

 

“But listen,” Oikawa continued, his tone softening again. “It’s not just about the physical stuff. It’s about trust. And you and Akaashi? You’ve got that. He’s so in love with you. You don’t have to worry about him rushing you or making it weird. He’s going to make sure you’re okay.”

 

Bokuto swallowed, the weight in his chest loosening a little at Oikawa’s words. “You think so?”

 

“I know so,” Oikawa said firmly. “And look, it’s normal to be nervous. Everyone is the first time they try something different. Just take it slow. Communicate. Don’t stress yourself out over it. It’s supposed to be fun for both of you.”

 

Bokuto exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thanks, Tooru. I… I think I just needed to hear that.”

 

Oikawa chuckled softly. “No problem, Bo. And hey, one last thing.” Then, with a teasing edge, he added, “Next time, try not to open with something that sounds like you’re writing an erotic exposé on me and Iwa. My poor heart can’t take it.”

 

Bokuto laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that. See you at the party.” He didn’t wait for Oikawa’s reply before hanging up, letting the call end with a decisive tap of his finger. He felt considerably lighter, as though the conversation had peeled away the layers of tension. He sank back against the headboard, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

Prep, he thought, his lips pressing together as his gaze wandered the room.  What can I do to make this easier? He exhaled a quiet breath, his gaze drifting aimlessly around the room. And then his eyes landed on the nightstand drawer.

 

His chest stilled for a beat, his attention locking onto it. The buttplugs. The thought clicked into place so suddenly, it almost made him laugh. Could they help? His lips twitched at the idea, the corners curling upward as he propped himself up on his elbows. That’s what they’re for, isn’t it? His grin deepened as the idea took shape, his body already buzzing with a mix of nerves and excitement.

 

“Oh, that’s kinky,” he chuckled to himself. He couldn’t help it. The idea of wearing one to the party—a secret only he would know—sent a jolt through him. It was stupid. It was embarrassing. But there was something thrilling about it. At least, it’s hot. He quickly stoop up and walked over to the dresser, opening the first drawer. He eyed over its contents, quickly spotting the buttplug he and Akaashi had bought together.

 

Just looking at it stirred something in him: a mix of curiosity, defiance, and an uneasy flutter of nerves. Tonight was it. He wanted Akaashi. He wanted to feel him in places he had never been touched before. All his life he’d played by a set of unspoken arbitrary rules, ones he’d never questioned until recently. He was done with them. And, he wanted to be ready.

 

“Alright,” he muttered with a determined nod, feeling both brave and wildly nervous. You already tried the beads. How hard can this be, really? He squared his shoulders, mentally hyping himself up. Come on, Kou. You’ve just played an olympics championship game in a full stadium. You’ve done scarier things than this! He grinned at his reflection, trying to summon his usual bravado. It’s just… a little different.

 

He took a deep breath, picking up the small plug with one hand and a bottle of lube with the other. Here goes nothing, he thought grinning as he applied a generous amount of lube on the plug.

Positioning himself, he slowly began to press the plug in. Feeling the stretch and pressure made his heart race faster than he’d expected. The discomfort was sharp at first, surprising. A reflexive urge to pull away flared up, but he resisted, letting the unease settle. He worked through the sensation until it was fully in place.Yep. Definitely feels like… something. It had been easier than what he had been expecting. He could feel it, but it wasn’t overwhelming.

 

Bokuto paused blinking, registering the odd fullness, turning back to test how it felt to sit up. The plug shifted inside, pressing his prostate sending little jolts to his body. He stirred with the sudden stimulation, blinking trying to grasp whether what he just felt was pleasurable. Guess, that’s mission accomplished. His lips quirked into a grin. Ridiculous? Yes. Kinky? Definitely. But it was so undeniably him that it made him laugh.

 

He got dressed, starting with a fitted white dress shirt, the crisp fabric bright against his sun-kissed skin. The suit he chose for the night made a statement without saying a word. It was a warm, sunset blush linen ensemble, perfect for the summer evening. The jacket, relaxed yet impeccably tailored, featured slim lapels that moved effortlessly with him. The wide-legged trousers, pleated with a high waist, balanced the casual elegance with a touch of daring. On his feet, he slipped into tan leather loafers, casual but polished enough for the occasion.

When he glanced at himself in the mirror, he saw a confident, daring glint in his own eyes, a mischievous spark. His grin widened. He could hardly wait to see Akaashi’s reaction.

Just as he finished putting on his jacket, he heard a knock on the door. His heart gave an excited jump—Akaashi had arrived, right on time. He took one last look in the mirror, smoothing his jacket with nervous excitement, before opening the door.

Akaashi was leaning against the doorframe casually waiting for him, and for a moment, Bokuto forgot to breathe.

His white silk shirt was unbuttoned to his midriff and rolled around his arms, revealing his toned frame and tattoos that traced his skin. A long silver necklace hung low against his chest, catching the light with every subtle movement. Black flowy pants, tailored yet loose, accentuated his natural poise, giving him an effortless elegance that only he could pull off.

 

“You look like you’re ready to take on the world,” Akaashi laughed, taking in Bokuto’s excited grin with a faintly raised eyebrow, as if he sensed that something was up. Bokuto grinned wider, the anticipation bubbling up as he tried not to laugh. “Oh, you have no idea.”

 

“Alright.” Akaashi eyed Bokuto curiously but let it go. “Ready to go?” He asked stretching his limbs as he dropped his night bag on the floor. 

 

“Oh, yeah,” Bokuto replied, a spark in his eye, determined to keep his secret. “Let’s go!”

Chapter 23: Gold and Glitter

Notes:

Get ready for a long ride. I couldn't divide this chapter. It's a whooping 30K piece.

Bokuto and Akaashi stepped onto the rooftop terrace, instantly struck by the scene before them. Under the canopy of a midnight-blue sky, the entire rooftop had been transformed into a space of sparkling luxury. Soft, ambient lighting illuminated the terrace, casting reflections off the glass railings, and the city’s lights stretched infinitely in every direction, as if Tokyo itself was part of the celebration.  The rooftop felt alive.

 

The decor was simple yet extravagant—crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting a warm glow over bistro tables adorned with white orchids. Bright white plush seating areas were scattered across the terrace, each offering a perfect view of the city skyline or the mirrored dance floor. Mixologists worked their magic, crafting bespoke cocktails with fresh, exotic ingredients in several bars made out of marble. The air was filled booming music, soft murmur of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter.

 

Bokuto stepped out first, his wide golden eyes darting around like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out as if he could hug the whole scene. “This is unbelievable! Keiji, look! Look at the lights! The chandeliers! Look at—”

 

Akaashi followed a step behind, as he adjusted his sleeves. “I’m looking, Kou,” he replied coolly, stepping up beside him. His eyes swept over the terrace, taking in the elegantly dressed crowd and the lively atmosphere. “It’s a lot,” he murmured, tone measured.

 

“What?” Bokuto turned to him with a scowl. “Keiji!” He protested nearly pouting like a kid who didn’t get what he wanted. “It’s perfect!”

Akaashi let out a soft laugh, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite himself. “It is,” he admitted. finally. Bokuto threw an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, pulling him close. “That’s more like it!” he said, leading them onto the terrace. Together they looked around, watching their friends and teammates scattered across the terrace, each lost in their own slice of the night’s excitement.

 

By the bar, Atsumu and Osamu were in the middle of what appeared to be a cocktail standoff, each daring the other to drink something even more absurd than the last. Atsumu held up a glass filled with a swirling blue liquid, his expression full of exaggerated disdain. “Osamu, this looks like something you’d clean the toilet with,” he declared, waving the drink dramatically.

 

Osamu raised an eyebrow, sipping calmly from his own drink, a deep red concoction garnished with what seemed to be rosemary. “At least my choice doesn’t taste like regret and bad decisions,” he shot back, earning a laugh from the small crowd gathered around them. Atsumu ignored his brother and moved onto convince the poor bartender to add wasabi to cocktail, while Osamu feigned horror at his brother’s lack of "culinary integrity.”

 

Near the sushi bar, Hinata and Kageyama were locked in an intense discussion over the abundant choices, their voices rising above the general noise as they argued. “I’m telling you, maguro is better!” Hinata insisted, jabbing his chopsticks at a piece of tuna with so much enthusiasm he nearly knocked it off the plate.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kageyama retorted, crossing his arms. “Uni is objectively better. It’s rich. It’s complex. It’s—”

 

“Disgusting,” Hinata interrupted, scrunching his nose. “It’s like eating weird, salty pudding.”

 

“Then you have terrible taste buds,” Kageyama replied flatly.

 

Further along the terrace, Lev and Alisa stood by the railing, their laughter ringing out. Lev was gesturing wildly as he recounted a story, his long arms slicing through the air. Alisa leaned on the railing, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement as she listened to her brother. “You did not,” she said, shaking her head, though she was already laughing. “There’s no way you actually said that!”.

 

Right next to them, Kuroo and Kenma -of course- were using the gaming station on a plush sofa, drawing in a curious crowd. Suna and Aran lingered nearby, chuckling at Kuroo’s over-the-top commentary, while they exchanged knowing looks, each too cool to admit they’d probably be joining the game as soon as the crowd cleared.

 

Yaku, Ushijima, and Sakusa were deep in conversation, though the topic seemed to veer toward the absurd. When they were passing by them, Akaashi caught the words “soil acidity” and “tomato yield,” From the snippets of their discussion, causing him to arch a brow. “Are they… talking about gardening?” he asked, glancing at Bokuto.

 

Bokuto stopped, turning his head, squinting in their direction. “Looks like it.” He said and shrugged. “With Ushijima and Sakusa, nothing surprises me anymore.”

 

Yaku’s hands animatedly sliced through the air as he recounted his doomed attempts at balcony gardening, painting a tragicomic picture of wilted leaves. Ushijima was actually listening with genuine concern, nodding as if each plant were a dear friend. Sakusa, normally unmoved, looked grim with his arms crossed.

 

Akaashi shook his head to the sides, chuckling as he clung to Bokuto’s arm. As they drifted through the crowd, Bokuto stopped abruptly, his golden eyes lighting up as he spotted someone familiar, and started waving in a frantic motion. “Yuuji! Hey Yuuji!”

 

Akaashi’s head snapped toward the direction Bokuto was looking. Sure enough, Terushima Yuuji was leaning casually against the bar, a toothy grin splitting his face as he raised a hand in greeting. His blond hair was slicked back, though a few strands had escaped to fall across his forehead. With his signature sly smile, he started walking toward them without hesitation.

 

“Yuuji?” Akaashi echoed, his voice quieter, tinged with confusion. He turned to Bokuto, his brows furrowing. “Why is here? You invited him?”

 

“Yeah!” Bokuto replied cheerfully, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I? I like Yuuji. He’s great. We’re friends now. Plus, he’s your friend too, right?”

 

Akaashi’s chest tightened, and he swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. His thoughts raced back to that phone call he had with Terushima, the way his teasing tone jolting him out of the bed.  He still didn’t know the full truth—whether something happened between him and Bokuto, whether that night had crossed a line. The uncertainty gnawed at him. But he forced himself to keep his composure. “Right,” he said softly, his voice betraying nothing.

 

Before Akaashi could say anything else, Terushima was there, his smile as dazzling as ever. “Kou! Akaashi!” he greeted, his tone warm and full of ease. Without hesitation, he threw his arms around both of them in a sudden, exuberant hug.

 

“Yuuji!” Bokuto laughed, hugging him back easily. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You think I get to party with an olympic champion everyday?” Terushima replied laughing, his voice warm and sincere as he pulled back slightly. His eyes swept over the rooftop, taking in the lights and the lively atmosphere. “This party is amazing. Thanks for inviting me.”

 

“Of course!” Bokuto said, his grin unwavering. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

 

Terushima turned to Akaashi, his expression softening. “Congratulations,” he said warmly, voice laced with genuine affection, then gave him a quick nudge. “Kou already told me the good news. I’m so happy for you both.”

 

Akaashi stiffened at the use of the nickname—Kou. It wasn’t meant to sting; he knew that. It was his name after all… But hearing Terushima say it, so casually, felt like a prick to an already sore wound. He forced a polite smile, his voice steady but distant. “Thank you.”

 

“Congrats on the gold too!” Terushima added, turning back to Bokuto with a bright grin. “You were amazing out there. The whole team was.”

 

“Thanks,” Bokuto said, beaming under the praise. “That means a lot.”

 

Terushima clapped him on the shoulder one last time before stepping back. “Alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to mingle. Seriously, can’t think of a better duo.” With a quick wave, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Bokuto and Akaashi standing together.

 

The moment he was gone, Bokuto turned to Akaashi, concern flickering in his golden eyes. “Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, his voice dipping just enough to cut through the noise around them. “You’ve gotten kinda quiet.”

 

Akaashi hesitated, the his heart sinking deeper in his chest. He wanted to say something—to voice the questions, the unease, the resentment he didn’t know how to contain. He wanted to know. He needed to know what happened between them so he could move on. He didn’t like being taken for an idiot. But now, with this celebration taking place, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to Bokuto. It was not the place nor the time. It’s your night to shine. Instead, he shook his head, forcing a small smile onto his face. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, his voice steady but detached. His gaze darted across the terrace, landing on a familiar pair by the railing. “Look, there’s Tooru and Iwa. Let’s go say hi.”

 

Bokuto hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push further. “Alright,” he said, his tone still soft. He followed Akaashi as they made their way toward the two, but not before glancing back over his shoulder, his brows furrowing slightly as he watched Terushima fade into the crowd. Akaashi kept his face carefully neutral, as thoughts swirled in his mind. Terushima’s warmth hadn’t been an act—it had been genuine, even kind. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of that, the knot in his stomach refused to loosen.

 

As they made their way across, Akaashi clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside. This was supposed to be a night of celebration, and he wasn’t going to let his insecurities ruin it.

 

The Tokyo skyline shimmered in the distance, countless lights reflecting off the railings. At the edge of the terrace Oikawa and Iwaizumi stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning casually against the railing with drinks in hand, in the middle of what seemed to be a low, teasing exchange. Oikawa’s toned frame was draped in a stylish blazer over a black shirt, his hair styled in an effortless tousle. Beside him, Iwaizumi’s solid build was framed by a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showcasing his well-toned arms. His no-nonsense expression softened only slightly in the presence of his closest friend.

 

“Honestly, Hajime,” Oikawa was saying in his usual casual tone, “I don’t understand why you’re so resistant to the idea of enjoying yourself. We’re at a party, live a little.”

 

Iwaizumi scowled, though there was no real bite behind it. “I’m enjoying myself just fine,” he retorted muttering, taking a sip from his drink. “I don’t need to eat five desserts like someone, to prove it.”

 

“But you could,” Oikawa quipped, flashing a grin. “Wouldn’t that be more fun?”

 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, giving Oikawa a look that was more amused than annoyed. “Have you heard of a thing called balance?”

 

Oikawa opened his mouth to fire back, but his sharp eyes caught Bokuto and Akaashi approaching. His scowl immediately melted into something brighter, and he broke into a wide grin. “Bo! Kashi!” he called out waving. “Look at this guy!” he exclaimed, clapping a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, “Can you believe he tries to lecture me about my diet here in the party? Some things never change!”

 

Iwaizumi chuckled, giving Oikawa an affectionate look, shaking his head side to side. “I just said maybe you'd have some energy left if you didn’t eat your body weight in desserts.”

 

“Oh please, you missed me, sugar cravings and all. Just admit it, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa replied, he leaned closer to Iwaizumi, nudging his shoulder with a teasing grin. Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi glanced at Bokuto and Akaashi with a smirk. “Do you see what I’m dealing with here?”

 

Bokuto’s booming laugh cut through the noise, “You two are exactly the same as always,” he said, his grin wide. “Arguing about nothing half the time.”

 

“It’s not nothing,” Iwaizumi snorted, shaking his head. “Just trying to get this idiot to take care of himself.”

 

“Oh my god, it’s dessert, you lunatic,” Oikawa rolled his eyes this time, turning to Bokuto with a conspiratorial grin as if he finally found his partner in crime. “Bo, come on, tell him.”

 

Bokuto hesitated momentarily, his golden eyes darting between them, trying to decide whether to be loyal to his friend or voice his opinion. He grinned and raised his hands in mock surrender. “I mean, I do think Iwa has a point…”

 

“Traitor!” Oikawa cried out, clutching his chest dramatically before spinning toward Akaashi who was next to Bokuto. His eyes softened slightly. “Akaashi,” he said, his tone almost pleading, “you’re a man of culture. Surely you understand my point.”

 

Akaashi tilted his head thoughtfully, his expression calm. “Dessert is an important part of life,” he said simply. “Especially if you’ve earned it.”

 

“Ha!” Oikawa gasped triumphantly, clearly delighted, and stuck his tongue out to Iwaizumi. “See? I knew Akaashi would get it.”

 

Iwaizumi groaned, his head tipping back. He turned his exasperated gaze to Akaashi crossing his arms, and “Nice support roommate,” muttered under his breath, barely audible.

 

Bokuto nudged Akaashi with his elbow, his grin widening. “You’re just saying that because you want to mess with Iwa.”

 

“What?” Akaashi raised a hand to his chest as if he’s shocked. “I’d never,” he replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement. Oikawa burst out laughing, delighted by the dynamic shift. “Oh, I love how Akaashi gets it.”

 

“Sometimes I don’t know if I like it that you guys are getting along, or hate it.” Iwaizumi muttered.

 

“Neither.” Akaashi grinned as he wrapped his arm around his friend’s broad shoulders in an attempt for reconciliation. “You love it.” Iwaizumi wiggled under his arm but gave in. Before he could retort something Atsumu called out to them loudly, waving one hand, a champagne flute in another. “Oi!” He sauntered over with his signature cocky grin and golden hair gleaming under the terrace lights. “What’s this? Y’all havin’ a reunion and nobody invited me?”

 

“You’re too late,” Oikawa said airily, waving his hand in dismissal. “We’ve moved on to dessert and life lessons already. You missed all the best parts.”

 

Atsumu snorted, sliding into the group with ease. “Life lessons from you?” Oikawa arched an eyebrow, already preparing to counter, but Atsumu held up a hand, his accent warm and teasing. “No, wait. Let me guess—yer tryin’ to drag people on your side about somethin’ dumb, and Iwa’s been patiently explainin’ why it doesn’t work.”

 

Iwaizumi burst out laughing, covering his mouth as if to hide it, while Akaashi’s lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. Oikawa looked between them, offended. “Iwa-chan! Akaashi!”

 

“Sorry, Tooru,” Iwaizumi said between chuckles, “It was a pretty good guess.”

 

Bokuto laughed, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned closer to Akaashi. “Sharp tongue tonight, Atsumu.”

 

Atsumu winked, clearly enjoying the attention. “Just calling it like I see it.” Oikawa turned to him, his arms crossed. “Well, I’m not dragging anyone anywhere. I don’t have to—my logic speaks for itself.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Atsumu replied, nudging Iwaizumi beside himself. He raised an eyebrow, grin widening. “Your logic, huh? Like that time you said stretching in front of the net during warm-ups would ‘intimidate’ the other team?”

“What?” Iwaizumi blinked, mouth dropping agape looking at the group for an explanation. “Oh god!” Bokuto burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “He said it made him look dominating or something like that.” He managed to say between laughs.

“It did!” Oikawa shot back, crossing his arms. Iwa next to him groaned, looking embarrassed for him, rubbing his temples while Oikawa continued fervently, pointing his finger to the group. “It’s called psychological warfare. Not that any of you’d understand.”

“Mate, the other team probably thought you were tryin’ to find your yoga class.” Atsumu said, his grin growing. He lowered his voice as if he was whispering behind him, “He looked like a confused flamingo.” He said, his tone dry. The group dissolved into laughter, Bokuto nearly collapsing as he wiped at his eyes. “Pretty sure, the only people intimidated were the refs, wonderin’ if you were lost or just batshit crazy.”Atsumu said innocently as he shrugged.

“It was strategic!” Oikawa snapped, his face growing pink as he turned to Akaashi. “Tell me you get it. You’re smart.” Akaashi faced him with a perfectly calm expression. “Tooru, I’m not sure anyone could get it.”

The laughter doubled as Oikawa groaned, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You’re all terrible.”

“Yeah, well… And yer delusional,” Atsumu added, clapping him on the shoulder. “But hey, that’s what makes ya fun.”  He said then turned his eyes to Akaashi. He swirled his champagne, pointing the glass at the raven haired editor with a grin that was both playful and impressed. “Speakin’ of smart…” he began, curiosity obvious in his teasing tone.“What kinda mind-reading witchcraft was that in the match? You didn’t call that dump—you saw it was comin’. Felt like yer three seconds ahead than the rest of us. Freaked me out a little.”

Akaashi shifted slightly, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “It wasn’t anything like that,” he said softly, his tone calm and modest. “I wasn’t on the court—it’s easier to see patterns when you’re watching from the stands.” A perfectly reasonable explanation fell out of his lips.

“Quit bein’ humble, man,” Atsumu cut in with a laugh, shaking his head. “ I said somethin’ nice. Just take the win—own it already.”

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” Oikawa cut in smoothly, his tone casual but laced with a flicker of something else—something that might have been jealousy. A smile, halfway between amused and exasperated played on his lips as he took a sip of his drink, then leaned on the railing, rolling his eyes. “Being that damn smart and acting like it’s no big deal. Honestly, it’s sickening.”

Bokuto shifted beside Akaashi clearly uncomfortable. The fire in his golden eyes threatened to burn anyone near . His lips parted slightly, as though he were about to respond but before he could, Iwaizumi’s voice cut through, low but firm. “Tooru.”

Oikawa paused, glancing at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye, his brows lifting. “What?” he said, his tone innocent, though there was a deliberate pause before his expression shifted into a full, sly grin. He swirled his drink lazily, turning back to Akaashi. “He was like that in high school, too,” he continued, tone dripping with mock exasperation. “So annoying. He’d make these ridiculous plays and then act like it was nothing. Drove me crazy.”

“Oh, I remember that,” Atsumu chimed in, his grin growing sharper. “The ‘run-of-the-mill’ act. Doubt anyone with a brain bought it though.” He leaned back, turning to Oikawa with a laugh. “Yer right. It was so damn annoyin’. When ya do somethin’ genius, ya gotta brag a little. Yeah?”

Akaashi, who had been quietly enduring the teasing, straightened slightly, the faint pink on his cheeks darkening as his eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t even on the court,” he said, his voice rising with irritation. “It was an observation. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it actually was.”

Oikawa’s eyes flicked to Bokuto, catching his gaze and holding it for a moment. His grin widened, knowing and deliberate, the corners of his mouth curling in satisfaction as if to say, You see what I’m talking about now? Without breaking eye contact, he spoke, his voice was sharper, enough to ensure everyone heard it. “An observation that brought us gold, mind you.”

Akaashi’s lips pressed into a tight line, his frustration flickering in his eyes. He glanced away, as if to hold back another retort. Bokuto leaned closer to Akaashi, his golden eyes glowing with warmth and whispered in his ear. “See? You really don’t give yourself enough credit. That play was genius. Everyone knows it.” Akaashi turned his head toward Bokuto, gaze softening though the blush on his cheeks lingered. Before he could say anything, Atsumu broke in with a laugh, “If it were me, I’d never let anyone hear the end of it.” 

“Thank god it wasn’t you, then,” Iwaizumi muttered under his breath. The dry comment drew a burst of laughter from the group, finally breaking the tension.

As the laughter began to fade, Atsumu tilted his head, swirling the drink in hand, face turning thoughtful. “Y’know,” he mused, voice uncharacteristically soft. “I can’t really decide if I’m glad you’re not still playin’ or not.” His eyes were fixed on his drink, brows furrowed as if he were genuinely mulling it over.

The words were lighthearted on the surface, but stroke deep within Akaashi. For a moment, the noise of the rooftop dulled to the edges of his awareness as his vision swam. The game. The fight. To stand shoulder to shoulder with Bokuto again, to share victories, hearts pounding in unison. To build something greater than yourself… He missed it too much. Time didn’t change anything. It still hurt the same. But nights like this, surrounded by the glow of what he’d lost, made it all the more unbearable. A sudden twinge in his knee made him jerk involuntarily — a ghost of the injury that had taken it all away. It was as if his body, too, remembered the ache of being left behind, of what he left behind. 

Akaashi didn’t realize how quiet he’d gone until Atsumu lifted his head from the drink. The sharpness in his eyes had softened, picking up on trouble he hadn’t intended to stir. He leaned forward slightly wearing his signature grin, his voice lightening, and he let out a short laugh.“Oh well. Guess I’ll never know.” He raised his glass higher and looked around at the group. “But tonight still deserves a toast, yeah?”

Bokuto’s grin returned, wide and bright, as he raised his own glass. “Damn right it does,”

Atsumu chuckled, lifting his glass toward Bokuto. “Now that’s the spirit.” He turned toward the rest of the terrace, his scheming eyes scanning around. He spotted Kuroo at the bar and waved at him. “Oi, Kuroo! Bring Yaku with ya—get over here!”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow but smirked, complying and dragging Yaku with him. Atsumu called again, pointing toward Ushijima and Sakusa. “Wakatoshi! Omi! Quit lurkin’ like statues and get over here!” Ushijima tilted his head and started walking their direction no questions asked, while Sakusa muttered something under his breath before reluctantly following. Atsumu turned toward the other side, catching Hinata and Kageyama still arguing. “Oi, shrimp and Kageyama! Wrap it up and c’mere, you brats!” The two froze mid-bicker before hurrying to join the growing circle. Lev’s towering frame appeared through the crowd, his bright voice cutting through. “What’s going on?”

“We’re havin’ a toast.” Atsumu explained grinning, and clinked his glass loudly, drawing attention from the rest of the terrace. “Alright, everyone. Glasses up!” he called out, raising his glass high, voice booming.

Conversations faded as the group gathered closer, their faces reflecting the glow of the Tokyo skyline. Everyone’s attention was focused on him, listening closely on what he was about to say. Atsumu grinned, and looked out at the sea of faces, letting the silence stretch for just a moment. “To the Japan National Team,” he said, his voice brimming with pride. “the gold medalists, and the best damn volleyball players in the world! Cheers!”

A round of applause erupted, cheers echoing through the terrace as glasses clinked together. Atsumu waited until the noise began to settle before continuing, his grin widening. His gaze shifted, landing on the person standing next to him. “This next one’s special,” he said, his tone dipping slightly as he turned to Oikawa.” Without hesitation, he threw an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders, pulling him closer. The sudden gesture caused Oikawa to stiffen slightly, but Atsumu kept going, his energy undeterred.

“To Oikawa Tooru, our captain,” he declared, his voice carrying over the rooftop. “The guy with hands so sharp and precise, he makes every spiker look like a damn genius. And—” Atsumu’s grin grew sharper—“the man who broke the serve speed record this year. You’re a nightmare for receivers, Tooru—and thank god you’re on our side.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the group, followed by another round of applause as Oikawa tipped his glass with a bashful smile. Atsumu paused for a beat, letting the weight of the words settle before he stepped back, dropping his arm from Oikawa’s shoulders. “And while we’re at it,” he continued, his voice picking up momentum again as his gaze swept across the group, “how ‘bout we give it up for Wakatoshi? I mean, the guy hits so hard, I swear the ball’s scared of him.”

The crowd laughed as they raised their glasses in cheers, and Atsumu pressed on. Ushijima inclined his head in acknowledgment, his lips curling in a rare expression of delight. “Don’t forget Omi” Atsumu continued, gesturing toward the wing spiker. “Too cool for school. Only you can hit from anywhere and still make it look easy.”  This time, the applause was joined by a few knowing smirks including Sakusa himself.

Atsumu’s grin softened as he turned toward Yaku. His voice dipped slightly, drawing the group’s attention.“To Yaku,” he said, lifting his glass slightly in the libero’s direction. “I’m half convinced, guy’s made of rubber. If there’s a ball hittin’ the floor, it sure as hell ain’t on his watch.”

The crowd erupted into loud cheers and applause, but Yaku’s reaction drew more attention than the praise. Atsumu’s genuine words painted him in a deep shade of crimson. The red flush reached to the tip of his ears, and he quickly looked away, muttering something under his breath. His reaction did not go unnoticed, a murmur passed through the crowd. Somewhere in the mix of voices, the word cute emerged, drawing a ripple of laughter that only worsened Yaku’s predicament.

“To Shoyo,” Atsumu continued suppressing the noise and, the energy in his voice lifting once more. “The guy with wings. No one jumps higher, and no one’s got more fire.” Hinata’s grin stretched wide as the applause carried on, his excitement mirrored in the cheers from the group. “And to Kageyama,” Atsumu said, turning to his fellow setter. His grin sharpened. “What can I say? He’s cool, calm, and annoyingly perfect every damn time.”

The applause came quickly with a few shared laughs. Faintest flush crept up Kageyama’s neck. He jerked, nearly tipping his drink, startled by the sudden attention. Yet, his face brightened as he gave a nod back to Atsumu lips curled in a small smile with pride.

Atsumu paused for a moment, gaze shifted toward Bokuto, his grin widening slightly as he raised his glass higher. “And finally,” he began, the words carrying the weight of everything the night had meant, “to Bokuto Koutarou— the game finisher, and the star of the day.”

The words landed like a final note, but Atsumu wasn’t done. He paused, paused, clearing his throat as if preparing for something important. The group was hanging on his words, attention locked on him. “Bokuto,” he said, addressing him directly now, “Your game is flawless. But I’m not gonna talk about that tonight.” His grin softened, as he went on. “You fucking light up the room, man. You pull us up when we’re down, push us harder when we need it, and make us believe in the game—and in ourselves. Without you, there’d be no gold.”

Atsumu’s words landed cleanly, no need for extra embellishment. Bokuto stood there, his golden eyes wide and fixed on Atsumu. The grin on his face faltered slightly as emotions took over. For a moment, he seemed almost unsure how to respond, the praise sinking in heavier than anything he could have prepared for.

The rooftop erupted into applause, louder than any cheer before. The energy rippled through the group, voices calling out Bokuto’s name in celebration. Bokuto’s grin returned in full force, his chest rising as he let out a laugh that seemed to fill the rooftop. As the noise reached its peak, Bokuto raised his hands, motioning downward to quiet them, his laughter still lingering in his voice. “Alright, alright, calm down,” he said, his grin turning sly as he looked directly at Atsumu. “If we’re talking about people who made this happen, there’s no way we’re skipping you.” His voice carried across the rooftop.

“You’re an animal on court,” Bokuto continued, pointing at him with a grin. “You’re the guy everyone hates to play against and loves to play with.” His grin turned sharper, “Let’s be honest though,” he said, golden eyes alight with something mischievous. “You’re annoying as hell, but we’d be lost without you.” He added, earning a ripple of laughter from the group. Bokuto raised his glass in Atsumu’s direction. “To you, Tsum-Tsum. The loudest, cockiest, and most unstoppable force out there.”

The rooftop filled with cheers as the group lifted their glasses for Atsumu and applause echoed into the night. Atsumu blinked, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected toast. For a moment, his grin faltered into something less performative. He raised his glass in return, nodding once before letting his usual smirk slide back into place. “Guess I’ll drink to that,” he said, his voice light but carrying an unmistakable undertone of gratitude.

Oikawa stepped forward, raising his own glass with a deliberate grace that caught everyone’s attention. His signature smirk was firmly in place, but there was a something in his gaze. “Alright, alright,” he called out, his voice cutting cleanly through the chatter. The sound around him softened as heads began to turn. “Before you all drink yourselves into oblivion, there’s one more toast that needs to happen.”

The murmurs quieted, and a ripple of curiosity passed through the group. Oikawa’s smirk widened slightly as he waited, ensuring all eyes were on him. Then, with a glance toward Akaashi, he spoke again.

“We have an unsung hero amidst us.” he began, his voice tinged with a playful edge. “Someone who, I’ll admit, probably outsmarted all of us.”

The group’s attention shifted gradually, drawn by Oikawa’s raised glass and deliberate words. Slowly, faces turned toward Akaashi, curiosity and recognition lighting up in equal measure as they realized who the toast was for. Bokuto, standing tall beside him, grinned immediately, his pride radiating as clearly as the rooftop lights. Akaashi wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground and let the moment pass over him unnoticed. But at the same time, there was something else beneath the flustered rush—something quieter, heavier. Gratitude.

“To Akaashi Keiji,” Oikawa raised his glass to Akaashi’s direction, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge. “You managed to change the game without even stepping on the court. That dump you called?” He tilted his head slightly, raising his glass higher. “It won us gold.”

The rooftop stilled for a beat as the weight of his words sank in. Then, as if on cue, applause broke out, the sound swelling as the group raised their glasses to Akaashi. Faces lit with admiration and affection, their cheers genuine and loud. Akaashi’s cheeks turned a deep red. He glanced down briefly, as if to escape it, his fingers tightening slightly around the glass in his hand. But the applause didn’t waver—it only grew louder. The chorus of affection and respect left him no choice but to endure it. When he finally dared to lift his head again, the faintest smile broke through his lips.

Oikawa, clearly enjoying the moment, let the applause continue for just a second longer before lifting his glass again. “To all of us!” he shouted, his tone bright and commanding. The energy spilled into the group, drawing them into his orbit like it always did. Glasses clinked, the sound carrying into the night, and the Tokyo skyline stood witness to a bond forged by gold and camaraderie.

____________________________________________________________________________________

The party continued in full force after the toasts. The rooftop brimmed with life, conversations growing louder and filling with laughter, as everyone around them radiated the fun. Akaashi made his way to the bar, weaving past familiar faces. The bartender took his order and began working skillfully. Moments later, two beautifully crafted Corpse Reviver No. 2s were set in front of him, pale yellow liquid in the coupe glass garnished with a orange peel roll. With a quiet thank-you, he picked up the glasses and turned back toward Bokuto.

 

Bokuto was lounging in one of the white plush seats near the bar, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his arm draped casually over the backrest. His grin brightened the moment he spotted Akaashi approaching. “What’ve you got there?” he asked, sitting up slightly as Akaashi handed him one of the glasses.

 

“Corpse Reviver Number Two,” Akaashi said evenly, settling into the seat beside him.

 

Bokuto raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he stared at the drink. “Corpse Reviver, huh? Morbid.” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin before he took a sip. His eyes lit up in surprise, and the grin stretched further across his face. “Oh, this is good!” He said in excitement as the flavors hit his tongue. “Strong, but good.” He added and leaned back, taking another slow sip, savoring the complex citrusy taste. “Wait.” He said, eyes suddenly playful. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

 

Akaashi set his glass down on the low table in front of them, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Depends.” He said, shrugging him off. “Are you saying you’re a lightweight?” Bokuto groaned dramatically, tipping his head backward. “Keiji,” he drawled, his golden eyes narrowing playfully. “You could at least play along.” His voice dipped slightly. “You’re so unflirty, you know that?”

 

At first, Akaashi’s face remained composed, his gaze fixed on Bokuto with that calm, unreadable look. But then, a deep laugh spilled from him without restraint, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back into the seat, hands on his stomach. It was so startlingly rare for Akaashi that Bokuto froze in place, just blinking and watching, stunned into silence.

 

When the laughter finally faded, Akaashi shook his head, a smirk playing across his face. The playful glint in his eyes from earlier was gone, now razor sharp. His icy blue gaze pierced through Bokuto’s eyes, sweeping over Bokuto completely. Akaashi leaned forward, and closed the space between them. He placed his hand on Bokuto’s thigh in a motion that looked casual. A jolt shot through Bokuto that he couldn’t hide, and he shuddered under the light touch. There was no mistaking the intent behind those eyes… those fingers…

The silver headed volleyball player’s expression shifted. The light, playful grin he’d been wearing faltered, replaced by wide eyes and the faintest flush creeping up his neck. He swallowed, his posture stiffening slightly, and Akaashi caught every moment of it. The corners of his lips curved upward further and he tightened his grip, giving a deliberate squeeze. “No,” Akaashi murmured, voice dropping to a seductive note that Bokuto wasn’t used to hearing.

 

Before Bokuto could question it, Akaashi’s hand left his thigh, gliding upward to brush his hair back, his fingers threading through the strands with unhurried motions. “I just don’t think I need alcohol to seduce you,” he said, his voice softer now, smooth and laced with quiet confidence.

 

The words hit Bokuto like a train. Heat rushed to his face in an instant, painting his cheeks a deep scarlet. He was right of course, but he hadn’t expected it to be presented with the fact. He knew he would jump on top of him if Akaashi let him. His lips parted, but no words came out. Akaashi watched the reaction with satisfaction, his smirk deepening his icy gaze never leaving Bokuto’s wide eyes. Then, he leaned in.

 

The raven closed the remaining space between them with deliberate slowness. His breath ghosted over Bokuto’s ear before his lips pressed against his earlobe, soft but lingering just long enough to leave an impression. The warmth sent a shiver racing down Bokuto’s spine, leaving him completely still.“See?” Akaashi murmured against his skin, his tone impossibly calm, teasing. “I’m not unflirty.”

 

And just as effortlessly, Akaashi pulled back, slipping into his seat with the faintest smirk lingering on his face. He picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip, his calm composure back now as if nothing happened.

 

Bokuto sat frozen, his drink untouched as he stared at Akaashi, his brain scrambling to process what had just happened. The heat in his face was unbearable, and his chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. He could still feel the weight of Akaashi’s touch, the ghost of his lips against his ear. A couple moments later, he finally exhaled, and grabbed his glass, downing the entire cocktail in one go.

 

Akaashi blinked, momentarily stunned as he watched the glass tip higher and higher. His lips parted slightly, and his voice came out more sharply than he intended. “Kou—stop! That’s a hard cocktail! Don’t down it! It has absinthe—”

 

The empty glass hit the table with a soft clink before Akaashi could finish. Bokuto wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his head, his grin returning as he leaned back into his seat. Akaashi stared at him, completely floored, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to process what he’d just witnessed. Bokuto shrugged, his grin turning sheepish. “Well, how do you expect me to cope if you’re gonna do stuff like that?” he asked, his tone half teasing, half earnest. The words hung in the air for a second before Akaashi burst into another laughter, warm and unguarded.

 

“You’re unbelievable,”Akaashi said, shaking his head, though there was a fondness in his gaze that softened his tone.

 

Bokuto sat up straighter, his grin widening. “I need a new drink now,” he said, and pointed at the empty glass in front of him.“This one’s gone now, thanks to you” he added, voice still tinged with that playful energy.

 

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, his laughter fading into a faint, amused smirk. “I think that’s on you,” he said evenly, “You’ll have to slow down, Kou. You’re not going to make it through the night if you keep this pace.”

 

“Oh, I’ll make it,” Bokuto said breezily, waving a hand in mock dismissal. Then his eyes lit up as if he had the greatest idea of the night.“Hey, why don’t you pick my cocktails tonight? You’ve got good taste. That last one was great. I like trying new things”

 

Akaashi let out a quiet sigh, but the tug at the corner of his lips displayed all his fondness. “Fine,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “But maybe take a moment to breathe first.” Bokuto grinned in response, content with his small victory. 

 

Meanwhile, Akaashi leaned back in his seat, lifting his glass for a quiet sip. Just as he set it back down, something beyond Bokuto caught his attention. His posture shifted, his head tilting slightly, gaze focusing past Bokuto’s shoulder and narrowing slightly. “What is it?” Bokuto asked, twisting in his seat to follow Akaashi’s line of sight.

 

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi said, tone thought. He nodded toward the DJ booth, where Kuroo stood, his grin sharp and his hands gesturing animatedly at the DJ. The DJ appeared skeptical but ultimately nodded, offering a faint smile as he reached for the equipment. Whatever Kuroo was planning, it was clear it involved more than just the music.

 

“Wanna bet he’ll do something ridiculous?” Akaashi asked, voice edged with dry humor as he reached for his glass again. “Knowing him?” Bokuto followed his gaze, taking one look at Kuroo and laughing. “Absolutely,” he said with no hesitation, already bracing for chaos.

 

They shared a quiet laugh, and as if on cue, Kuroo caught their eye and made his way over, flashing a grin that said he was already ten steps ahead. “Ah, there you are,” Kuroo said, coming to a stop just before them. “Tell me, lovebirds,” He said and looked over his shoulder as if avoiding anyone. Then, he leaned in, corners of his grin sharpening, voice low and conspiratorial. “Care to lend a hand with some… impromptu entertainment?”

 

Bokuto perked up immediately, eyes gleaming, energy sparking like a live wire. “Entertainment?” he echoed, already on board despite having no idea what it was.  Akaashi, on the cautious side however, raised his brows at Kuroo with a cooler gaze, setting his now-empty glass down with deliberate ease. “What are you planning?” he asked, half-amused, half-wary.

 

Kuroo’s smirk deepened. “Glad you asked.” He said, and cleared his throat. He slid a hand out of his pocket, tracing the air with his palm as if setting a scene like a salesman about to pitch the deal of a lifetime. “Imagine this,”he said smoothly, letting the words settle before turning slightly, arm outstretched, his palm finally landing. “Our beloved star,” he gestured toward Oikawa with his brows subtly, eyes gleaming with a devilish spark. “finally under the deserved spotlight tonight.”

 

Akaashi blinked once, and Bokuto’s brows shot up. He leaned forward, completely drawn in. “Go on.”

 

Kuroo, pleased with their reaction, tipped his head toward the DJ booth next, movements slow exaggerated, savoring every moment of the reveal. “Had a little chat with the DJ. With my signal, he’s going to cut the music. Complete Silence.” He lifted his hand for effect, then gestured toward the dance floor. “The light guy is on it too. He’ll drop the spotlight. Guess who’s going to be standing right in the middle of it?”

 

Bokuto grinned immediately. “Tooru.” he answered, already vibrating with excitement. Kuroo clicked his tongue, finger-gunning him approvingly. “Bingo.” Akaashi exhaled quietly, shaking his head, but there was no denying the glint of amusement in his eyes. “And,” Kuroo continued, drawing out the moment, “when that happens…” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a microphone.

 

Bokuto’s eyes widened slightly, but his expression was more puzzled than anything, his head tilting as if waiting for the catch. Akaashi, however, let out a breath, unimpressed. “Really?” He asked dryly. “Your big idea was to make him give a speech?” 

 

Kuroo’s grin faltered just a fraction, and he scoffed. “No. My big idea is—” he leaned in pausing slightly,“—I’ll announce he’s going to sing for us.” Bokuto burst into laughter, throwing his head back before clapping a hand on his knee. “Oh, this is evil.” Kuroo placed a hand over his chest, feigning innocence. “Evil? No, no, no—this is justice. The guy loves attention. I’m just giving everyone what they want.”

 

Akaashi blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the audacity. His gaze flickered between Kuroo and Oikawa, as if trying to picture the moment unfolding, before exhaling through his nose. “It is evil.” He agreed with Bokuto but his lips curved in a reluctant smile. “Though, I’d pay to see it.” 

 

Bokuto was giggling, his hands gripping the edge of his seat as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. “This is gonna be amazing.”

 

Kuroo clapped his hands together once. “Glad you guys think so!” He said with a satisfied grin. “Because I need backup.”

 

Bokuto blinked. “Wait—backup?”

 

Kuroo nodded in response and gestured vaguely at the space around them. “He needs to be completely surrounded. No escape routes. Kenma already bailed on me—shocking, I know—so we need more bodies.” He hid the microphone back in his pocket and looked at both with expecting eyes. “Got anyone who could help?”

 

Bokuto rubbed his chin, hummed in thought before his eyes lit up. “Oh I know!” He said, back with full energy. “Shoyo would.” Akaashi and Kuroo looked at each other as if weighing the idea before nodding, granting approval. Bokuto wasted no time. He looked around trying to find his red headed teammate. When he spotted him, he put his hands around his mouth, and called out, “Shoyo! C’mere!”

 

It took barely a second before Hinata reacted, his head snapping up from the conversation. He blinked, eyes searching for his caller. His big chocolate eyes lit up when he saw Bokuto waving over. He weaved through the crowd, moving fast despite the drinks starting to show in his steps.

 

By the time he reached them, his expression was already expectant, eyes bright. “What? What’s happening?” he asked, breathless like he’d sprinted over. Bokuto threw an arm around him, pulling him in with the same energy he used for game-winning huddles. “We need you for something huge.” Hinata, without missing a beat, straightened. “I’m in.” He said, completely sure, no hesitation in his voice. 

 

Akaashi blinked once, not sure whether to laugh or to be impressed. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

 

Hinata grinned, unbothered. “Doesn’t matter.” Kuroo laughed loudly, clearly entertained, before clapping a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “You’re gonna love this, trust me.” He laid out the details to Hinata once more. As he explained, the scheme grew more vivid, perfect, already unforgettable. When Kuroo finished, Hinata was completely starstruck, jaw dropping slightly. “I’m so in,” he whispered, and grinned, practically vibrating, hands clenched into excited fists at his sides.

 

“Well, is everyone ready then?” Kuroo grinned, eyes flicking between each of them, gleaming with amusement. “Hell yeah.” Bokuto spoke for all of them, giving a firm decisive nod. Kuroo smirked, pleased. “Then let’s move.” 

 

The moment had come. With their plan set in motion, Kuroo led the charge toward their target, smoothly walking passed the lively crowd with Bokuto, Akaashi, and Hinata in sync behind him.

 

Oikawa was standing at bistro table, talking to Iwaizumi next to him, looking slightly buzzed, one elbow propped against its surface, head resting lazily on his palm. He was watching the people on the dance floor, a faint, almost absent-minded smirk tugging at his lips, as if he was debating something.

Kuroo, his signature smirk plastered across his face, casually slid in between them. He put his hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and grinned. “Excuse me, Iwa,” He said smoothly, tilting his head with exaggerated politeness. “Mind if I steal your boyfriend for a moment?”

 

Iwaizumi stiffened beside Oikawa, his grip tightening around the base of his glass. His brows furrowed, the first flicker of suspicion flashing across his face. Before he could so much as open his mouth, Akaashi, Bokuto, and Hinata made their move, forming a subtle circle around Oikawa. The realization dawned on Oikawa in stages. His questioning gaze flicked from Kuroo first, then to the others, reading the amusement in their faces. A trap? He was too slow to catch it before it happened. A confident smirk curled at his lips, though suspicion flickered behind his eyes.

“Oi,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his words lazily drawn out. “What’s this about?” He gestured vaguely, attempting to step aside as if he was trying them, but found his way blocked. “I need space to—y’know, exist?”

 

Kuroo only grinned. “Manage it.” He shrugged, then raised his fingers in the air, snapping them.  All of a sudden, the music cut out into complete and utter silence. The people on the dance floor hesitated mid-step, their momentum thrown off as they glanced around in confusion. The whole rooftop, which had been alive just seconds ago, stood frozen in an unnatural stillness trying to figure out the disturbance.

 

Then, the spotlight hit. A stark, blinding white glow swallowed Oikawa whole. Akaashi, Bokuto, and Hinata moved at the last possible second, slipping out of its reach like they had rehearsed it, leaving him alone in its center. Oikawa squinted against the glare, reflexively lifting a hand to shield his face. “The hell—?” he muttered, his buzzed mind struggling to catch up. Before he could take another breath, an arm landed heavily across his shoulders. Kuroo?

 

Kuroo cleared his throat and reached into his inside jacket pocket, revealing a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” He spoke onto it. Kuroo’s voice rang through the rooftop speakers, smooth, carrying that unmistakable air of satisfaction, too pleased with itself.

 

Oikawa’s brain clicked into place. Oh. An impromptu speech? That was it? He exhaled slowly, his smirk curling back into place automatically. Classic Kuroo, he thought resisting the urge to shake his head. Interrupting the night just to put him on the spot… It was predictable. Maybe a little annoying. But hardly a problem.  Rolling his shoulders back, he settled into the moment, his natural charisma sliding into place. He was already turning his thoughts toward what he’d say. Something charming, something smooth… He had it covered. Easy enough. Just a few good words could turn this whole thing into a moment for himself.

 

“I present you, Oikawa Tooru,” Kuroo continued, squeezing his shoulder slightly, his tone dipping into something just a touch more wicked, “Tonight, he will be singing for us. Give it up for the great king himself!”

 

The rooftop erupted in cheers and Oikawa’s brain stuttered for half a second. Not a speech. A song. His thoughts raced in panic, and he stiffened in his place. Kuroo had him. Well played. His smirk deepened despite his situation. People loved a good spectacle, and Kuroo had just delivered it to them on a silver platter. Oikawa exhaled through his nose, already adjusting, the second of surprise replaced with calculation one more time. Fine. He wouldn’t let anything faze him tonight.

He lifted his chin proudly and dragged the mic from Kuroo’s grip. He turned his gaze toward the crowd, observing the eager, expectant faces. “Alright, you peasants,” he pointed at them. Laughter broke out, scattered and eager. He let the moment stretch, let them lean into it before flicking his wrist dismissively, adjusting his stance like the spotlight had belonged to him all along. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Oikawa turned and strode toward the DJ booth, cheers echoing in his ears. The spotlight followed, tracking him as he leaned over to talk to the DJ. The DJ listened, brows lifting slightly before he let out a low chuckle and nodded. He reached for another mic.

 

Oikawa stepped forward on the dance floor, spotlight following his every movement. His expression shifted momentarily, the easy smirk, the confident showmanship softening. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching through the blur of neon lights and familiar faces until they found Iwaizumi. Here you are. The corners of his lips lifted involuntarily, a genuine, endearing smile. He stopped just short of Iwa, and slowly, extended a hand. His fingers stayed open, palm up—an invitation, nothing more.

 

“Join me?” He asked, eyes full of love and brimming with expectation. His velvety voice was soft and enticing. The ask wasn’t a part of a scheme. No pretense. It was just an attempt to make memories with his best friend, his lover, and he hoped Iwaizumi would see it.

 

Iwaizumi stiffened on instinct, his shoulders tensing, his brain already rejecting the idea before it fully formed. No. Absolutely not. No way in hell. His face went scarlet, burning with the heat rushing in. “Uh… N-no…” He stammered as tried to take a step back, but something inside him blocked him from doing so. “No…. I can’t. No way. I don’t sing.”

 

Oikawa leaned closer. He didn’t rush, he simply waited, gaze piercing Iwa’s jade eyes with quiet insistence. “Just trust me,” he murmured softly. His smile never wavered. Iwaizumi hesitated, his heart of stone melting under Oikawa’s warm brown gaze. How can I say no when you look at me like that… He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. His body already knew what his mind hadn’t accepted yet. “…Damn it.” He muttered, and took the hand reaching out to him, reluctantly letting himself be pulled into the spotlight. 

 

Oikawa’s smirk returned with satisfaction as their fingers met, but there was something else there too, something warmer beneath the mischief. He curled his hand around Iwaizumi’s, pulling him in. “You’ll remember this one.” He said, and whispered something in Iwaizumi’s ear.

“You can’t be serious.” Iwaizumi looked at him in shock, when he pulled apart. But Oikawa only gave him a casual shrug, as he turned back and signaled the DJ to play the music.

 

The music surged back to life.

 

The opening chords of Come On Eileen burst through the speakers, instantly igniting a new wave of energy across the rooftop. It was a song made to screamed at the top of your lungs, and everyone on the rooftop got caught up in it.

 

Oikawa swayed his shoulders, already moving with the rhythm, twirling the microphone in his fingers like he was born to be on stage. Iwaizumi, meanwhile, looked like he stopped breathing. If there was ever a moment he wished the earth would swallow him whole, this was it. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t even pretending to enjoy himself. His grip on the microphone was stiff, his shoulders locked up like he was bracing for impact. The lights, the expectant stares, the knowledge that there was nowhere to go…

 

Oikawa leaned in, just close enough that Iwaizumi could hear him over. “Relax, Iwa-chan,” he murmured, teasing, his voice dripping with amusement. “You look like you’re about to be sent to war.” Then, he lifted the mic to his lips, and launched into the first verse alone, voice smooth, sliding into the song like he’d rehearsed this moment in a dream. “Poor old Johnny Ray, Sounded sad upon the radio…”

 

He moved with the music, spinning to tease the crowd, flashing a grin before turning his attention back to Iwaizumi. He waited until the last second—until the next verse was right there—before nudging Iwaizumi’s arm, just lightly. Iwaizumi’s stomach clenched. He opened his mouth, and somehow words left, strained, unwilling, but there. “Our mothers cried…”

 

“Sang along, who’d blame them?” Oikawa sang back in a higher pitch drawing cheers. Iwaizumi tensed at the noise, heat flashing up the back of his neck, but for the first time since this started, he moved. It was just a shift in his stance, a small side step, not able to resist the rhythm. Oikawa noticed, flashing him a grin, still completely in tune with the audience.

 

“Come on Eileen!” Oikawa sang happily when the chorus hit. Now, it was his element. He danced around Iwaizumi, moving in and out of his space as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times. He used Iwa like a stage prop—appearing at his left, then his right, ducking behind him before popping up again for the high notes. The crowd ate it up, cheers rising.

 

“Toora loora toora loo rye aye” Iwaizumi’s deep voice harmonized with Oikawa’s flawless showmanship as they continued. Everyone on the rooftop clapped along with the beat, captivated by the performance. Laughters rose asas Iwaizumi got into the song despite himself.

 

“Come on, Eileen...” Oikawa he sang, his voice exaggeratedly smooth. By the final chorus, they were in sync. When the last note rang out, Oikawa rushed to grab Iwa’s wrist, yanking his arm up into the air along with his own, locking them together in a victorious, over-the-top finishing pose.

 

The audience went wild.

 

The whole rooftop roared, hands clapping, whistles cutting through the air, voices calling their names. The energy was overwhelming but, perfect.

 

Oikawa finally dropped their locked arms and bent slightly at the waist, an after-performance bow. Beside him, Iwaizumi bowed too, dragged into it against his will. The rooftop clapped once more, still chanting."I hate you.” Iwaizumi muttered through his teeth, just loud enough for Oikawa to hear, completely red-faced beside him, looking like he’d never live this down—but, just maybe, enjoying it too. Oikawa, entirely unbothered, still smirking, didn’t even hesitate before answering back. "I love you too.”

 

Bokuto and Akaashi exchanged amused glances, both entertained by the rare sight of Iwaizumi being drawn into Oikawa’s theatrics. As Akaashi observed Oikawa in action, his soft smile deepened with admiration. It was astonishing how effortlessly Oikawa could pull anyone into his orbit— even the most reserved. Even Iwa… Akaashi mused, knowing full well his obstinate roommate would never do this for anyone else, even if his life was on the line. It wasn’t a simple matter of charm; it felt like Oikawa had an uncanny knack for drawing people in before they realized they were already part of it.

 

Watching him, Akaashi felt a brief flicker of envy, wishing he possessed that same pull, the weightless confidence. If only it came that naturally for him. His gaze drifted to the right. Bokuto was clapping along, laughing. He couldn’t help but smile. The silver was exactly the same — an undeniable force that pulled him along, made him step into things he might have otherwise let pass. He was everything that Akaashi wasn’t. Akaashi loved him for that. And maybe, more than anything, he was thankful—for Bokuto.

 

As the applause faded slowly, The DJ wasted no time pulling the night back under his control, layering a deep, rhythmic bass. The crowd shifted, bodies fell into rhythm, and the dance floor reignited with motion by instint alone. Iwaizumi and Oikawa rejoined the group. Oikawa slipped between Akaashi and Bokuto with a smirk, his eyes flicking toward the aftermath of the moment they’d left behind. "Well, that was something,” he mused, “Didn’t think we’d end up putting on a show tonight. Iwa might want to kill you though.”

 

Bokuto laughed in response, shaking his head in both directions, clapping Iwaizumi on the shoulder. “You know, Iwa, you’ve got a surprisingly decent voice.”

 

Iwaizumi shook his head, still looking mortified, but the faintest smile broke through. “Whatever…” he muttered and turned his gaze to his lover. “Next time, you’re on your own Thrashy-kawa.”

 

Oikawa merely grinned, slipping out from between Akaashi and Bokuto, and throwing an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Yeah? Admit it, Iwa-chan—you loved every second.” Iwaizumi scoffed, opening his mouth to protest, but Bokuto cut in before he could. “No, no, he’s right,” he said, nodding sagely. “You were into it, Iwa. I saw it. Passion. Emotion. A star is born.”

 

Akaashi let out a quiet laugh, watching as Iwaizumi rubbed a hand over his face, torn between fighting back and just accepting his fate. The music surged around them, the beat kicking back into full force. Before they could even settle into the moment, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Bo! Akaashi! Hi!”  Alisa came sweeping in with a drink in her hand, throwing her free arm around Bokuto in an over-the-top hug, knocking him slightly off balance. Bokuto let out a startled laugh, holding her waist to support her weight as Akaashi raised a brow, unsure whether to be amused or mildly concerned.

Alisa pulled back just enough to glance at Iwaizumi and Oikawa, her eyes lighting up. “You two were great, by the way,” she added, still clinging to Bokuto’s shoulders with seemingly no intention of letting go. Iwaizumi, still recovering from his own public ordeal, muttered a simple, “Thanks.” Oikawa, on the other hand, flourished a playful bow. “Naturally.”

The song switched, and the opening notes of another upbeat song started pulsing through the rooftop speakers. Alisa gasped dramatically. “Oh, I love this song!” She announced to all of them loudly, and spun on her heel facing Akaashi with a mischievous look. “Be a dear and hold this for me.” She said before pushing her drink into his hands, not even giving him a moment to refuse. The corners of her mouth lifted into a wicked grin. “And watch me steal your boyfriend.”

Bokuto blinked, entirely unaware what was going on. “Huh?” But Alisa was already dragging him toward the dance floor, her energy practically exploding. “Come on, Bo! You owe me a dance!”

 

Bokuto shot Akaashi a quick, uncertain glance, trying to understand what his boyfriend was thinking. Akaashi just chuckled, mouthing “go”, waving him on with a small shake of his head. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had just witnessed, but he supposed it didn’t matter. With that, Bokuto fully surrendered, letting himself be pulled inside the crowd. 

 

Iwaizumi and Oikawa exchanged glances, clearly surprised by the sudden display. Oikawa tilted his head, intrigued. “Uh, you’re sure you’re okay with that?”

 

Akaashi exhaled, suppressing a smirk. “Well, if she asked me to dance, that might have been weird,” he admitted. “But I think she’s just trying to annoy me a little, so that’s fair.” Iwaizumi let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Well, at least you’re a good sport about it.”

 

Akaashi shrugged, watching as Bokuto spun Alisa around on the dance floor, already lost in the moment. He could already tell Alisa was going to milk every second of it. As soon as she landed on her feet, Alisa turned her back, facing away from him. She ran her fingers through her golden blonde hair before tilting her head back onto Bokuto’s shoulder, laughter spilling out like she was having the time of her life. She pressed her hips against Bokuto, moving to the beat without missing a step. Bokuto, caught up in the rhythm, moved with her, matching her energy without thinking.

 

Akaashi exhaled, lips pressing together slightly. Yep, she’s milking it. He turned his head back to Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “I’ll go refresh our drinks,” he said, voice even. “I’ll be back.” Neither of them looked particularly convinced. Oikawa raised a brow, amused. Iwaizumi gave him a quick glance, as if gauging whether Akaashi was actually unfazed or just acting like it. At least they both knew him enough not to say anything back. 

Akaashi wove through the bodies on the dance floor and reached the bar. The air here smelled of lime and liquor, muddled by sweat and lingering perfume. The bass from the speakers rumbled beneath his feet, but the music faded into the background as he heard a familiar voice nearby.

 

“What is it with Fukurodani men?”

 

Akaashi turned his head to see who it belonged to. It was Yaku. He stood a few feet away, leaning one elbow against the counter, his fingers idly tapping against his glass. His gaze flicked toward the dance floor, sharp yet distant, as if watching something he wished he wasn’t. He lifted his drink, gesturing vaguely toward the movement of bodies, toward Bokuto and Alisa.“First Akaashi, now Bokuto?” He sighed deeply.“I thought we were over high school.”

 

Kuroo, smirking over the rim of his glass, barely looked up. “Yeah, you clearly are over high school.”

 

Yaku stilled for half a second. He wasn’t defensive, not really, but his grip on his glass tightened as if he wanted to push back but couldn’t quite form an argument. His jaw tensed. Akaashi exhaled, realizing he had been an intruder to their conversation. It was too late to turn back now. He cleared his throat, an attempt to make his presence known. “Bokuto’s as gay as it gets,” he interrupted, simple and smooth.

 

Yaku turned to him, startled, only just realizing Akaashi had been close enough to overhear. Heat crept up to his ears, painting him scarlet. His mouth parted, an apology already forming, but Akaashi shook his head before he could say anything. “It’s fine,” he said casually as if this were just another passing conversation. “I’m saying, whatever’s on your mind, you don’t need to worry about it.”

 

“…Right.” Yaku exhaled, fingers loosening around his glass, but he didn’t look entirely settled. His gaze flickered back toward the dance floor, where Alisa leaned into Bokuto’s space. The electricity between them was obvious to anyone watching. Kuroo, still watching the scene with barely concealed amusement, let out a low chuckle. “God, Yakkun, I’ve seen people pine before, but this is tragic. What’s next? Standing outside her window with a boombox?”

 

Yaku groaned, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I hate you.” Kuroo merely shrugged, his grin growing deeper. “You hate that I’m right.”

“Shut up.” Spat the star libero in a scowl.Akaashi watched him shift his weight, tension still lingering in his stance. It wasn’t annoyance, not really. It was hesitation. It was the quiet yearning he was just feeling moments ago. Akaashi lifted his fingers, signaling the bartender as he weighed his options between staying silent, and giving his two cents. “Two Moscow mules.” He ordered, then glanced toward Yaku once again. The defeated look on his face gave Akaashi the push he needed. “She likes confidence.” He finally said, tone quiet, measured as if he were simply stating a fact. 

 

“Huh?” Yaku blinked at him, visibly thrown for a moment. Akashi let his words settle before continuing, his icy gaze on Yaku the entire time. “She’s not looking for someone to match her energy. Just someone who doesn’t let it knock them over.”

 

The bartender slid the fresh drinks toward him. Akaashi picked them up, fingers curling around the cold glasses as Yaku exhaled, rolling his shoulders slightly. Then, without another word, he lifted his drink and downed the rest in one go, setting the empty glass down with a quiet, final clink. “Fuck it,” he muttered. “I’m asking her to dance.”

 

Kuroo grinned, leaning back. “Attaboy.”

 

Akaashi, mildly amused, couldn’t say anything. Just watched as Yaku straightened, inhaled once, then pushed away from the bar, disappearing into the crowd. His gaze drifted toward the dance floor, scanning for the familiar silver of Bokuto’s hair. The space where he and Alisa had been was empty now. Where are they?

 

He spotted them slipping through the crowd, Alisa’s fingers wrapped loosely around Bokuto’s wrist as she pulled him toward the next bar over. Bokuto let himself be led, his laughter unguarded, carried easily over the music. Akaashi exhaled, then stepped forward, following them without a second thought.

 

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

On the other side of the rooftop, Bokuto stumbled a step back, catching himself on the edge of a high-top table as he tried to catch his breath. His pulse still pounded from the music, his body almost vibrating with the lingering rush of movement. Across him, Alisa was just as breathless, hair damp at the edges, though she was grinning like she could go another round without hesitation.

 

“Bo, that was incredible,” she said, laughter still shaping her voice. “You’re a great dancer.” Bokuto let out a short, laugh. “You think so?”

 

“Absolutely.” She flicked a few loose strands of hair away from her face, eyes gleaming. “And here I thought Akaashi was the one killing it on the dance floor. You’re something else.” Before he could respond, she grabbed his wrist, tugging him away from the dance floor and to the bar. “Come on, let’s do some shots.”

 

He blinked, digging his heels in just a little. “Shots?”

 

“Yes. Shots.” She turned, walking backward so she could grin at him. “Don’t be a chicken.”

 

“I’m not a chicken,” Bokuto muttered, “I just—”

“Oh my god, Bo,” she groaned dramatically, tightening her grip on his wrist and practically dragging him the last few steps. “Don’t get boring now!” Bokuto sighed but let himself be pulled, because honestly, it wasn’t like he could say no when she was this determined. They reached the bar, and Alisa, still buzzing, flagged the bartender down immediately.

 

“Two vodka shots,” she ordered not giving him choice, then turned back to him with a devilish grin. “Please tell me you’re not a lightweight.”

 

Bokuto scoffed at the idea, slightly offended. “Of course not.”

 

“Good.” She chimed happily, as the bartender slid two shot glasses toward them, clear liquid catching the neon lights overhead. She handed him one and raised her own. “On three,” she said. “we’re doing this properly.” Bokuto tightly gripped his drink, glancing at her warily.

 

“One,” she counted, already grinning. “Two,” he echoed with her.  “Three—go!”

 

Together, they tipped their heads back, downing the shots in one motion. Bokuto winced as the burn spread down his throat, eyes closing shut for half a second before exhaling sharply. Alisa laughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She set her empty glass down with a small clink, then turned to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You know,” she mused, tilting her head, “I’m really happy for you.”

 

Bokuto blinked, still adjusting to the warmth of the vodka spreading through his limbs. “Huh?”

 

“You and Akaashi, I mean.” She smiled, nudging his shoulder with hers. “You look right together.” Bokuto stilled a moment, her words, the genuineness of her voice catching him off guard.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think they belonged together—he knew what he felt, and he knew Akaashi felt the same. But to hear it, unprompted, from someone who had no real reason to say it… Especially after getting hurt the way she did. It was different. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter than before. Then, shaking his head slightly, he let out a breathless laugh. “I don’t get how you can be this graceful after everything. You’re truly extraordinary, Alisa.”

 

The smile on her face flickered for half a second. She smoothed it over, though something wry had already settled behind it.“Well,” she murmured, swirling her index finger on the the rim of her empty shot glass. “I’m not.” She confessed, voice much quieter now.

 

Bokuto frowned, trying to understand how she could say she wasn’t. He opened his mouth in an attempt to protest, but before he could say anything, she straightened, pointing at him with a teasing glint in her eye.“This,” she said, gesturing between them, “was his punishment for breaking my heart.”

 

“I was messing with Akaashi,” she admitted. The smirk on her face softened, but it didn’t disappear entirely—more like it had nowhere to go. Silence settled between them, moments stretching too heavy and too long. She swallowed, stopping herself before saying anything else. Her gaze flickered down, as if she had said too much, let herself be unguarded. Her fingers curled briefly at her sides, then released. For the first time that night, she looked like the energy had drained out of her.

 

Bokuto froze, and his golden eyes widened with the realization dawning upon him. His lungs felt out of breath inside his chest like he was wearing something two sizes too small. He had been caught up in her teasing, in the ease of her presence, but this was different. The shine in her voice, the glint in her smile, all of it had been curated. And standing here now, face-to-face, with no crowd—he saw the real her. He wanted to reach out, wanted to say something to make it feel better. His lips parted, but nothing came out. Would it do anything, coming from the man who stole her love story? 

 

When Alisa lifted her eyes again, she caught the look on his face. Her posture stiffened immediately. The hint of vulnerability disappeared. She exhaled sharply, pushing the moment like an after thought. “Well,” she blurted out, voice lifting into something too light, as if the last few seconds had never happened. “At least he was a great lay.” A playful grin snapped back into place like a flip switching in her, resetting the mood. She chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. “I mean, he’s an animal in bed.” she added, winking. “Amirite?”

 

“W-what?” Bokuto stammered, his entire brain short-circuiting at the sudden shift in conversation. His body went rigid and he flinched back, hands lifting slightly as if to physically shield himself from the conversation. Heat crept up his neck in a way that had nothing to do with the vodka he’d just gulped down. “I— I wouldn’t—”

 

He closed his eyes, and exhaled, biting his bottom lip. Her words hit him in layers. Fuck. His stomach turned—not from anger, not from jealousy, but from something he couldn’t name. What did you expect? It wasn’t a surprise. Of course, they were together. This wasn’t a revelation, nor a betrayal. It wasn’t even a problem. So why did it feel like one?

 

Bokuto swallowed, trying to push past the strange, misplaced tightness settling in his chest. His mind scrambled for logic, for reason, but nothing helped. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t as if he expected Akaashi to be a virgin. The whole reason they started talking again was the fact that he found Akaashi’s porn online. We even talked about it. He had never once assumed Akaashi hadn’t been with anyone before him. And yet, standing here now, listening to it said aloud, something about it stung.

 

He opened his eyes back, and exhaled slowly to steady himself, to let it go before it could settle any deeper. “I wouldn’t know.” He admitted, his voice quieter than before.

Alisa blinked at him first, the realization catching up with her. Her face flushed. “Oh god.” She groaned, covering her face with her hands. She peeked at him through her fingers, looking genuinely horrified at herself. “You guys haven’t…” She suddenly stopped talking, leaving it at that.

 

Bokuto exhaled sharply. “No.” He said simply. His voice sounded nothing like himself, too even, too controlled. He was struggling to say anything else. This wasn’t a great conversation topic to have with Akaashi’s ex-girlfriend.

 

Alisa winced. “I wasn’t thinking,” she said quickly, mortification hitting her. “Shit, I wasn’t thinking—Bo, I am so sorry.” She said,  physically cringing, looking embarrassed— a rare sight.  Bokuto gave the smallest shake of his head in an attempt to dismiss. The silence between them stretched, neither of them sure what to do with it.

 

Alisa shifted her weight, thumb idly tracing the rim of her empty shot glass. Then, past his shoulder, something caught her attention, and relief washed over her face. “Oh, thank god,” she muttered, already stepping back.

 

Bokuto turned his head just in time to see Akaashi, drinks in hand, heading straight for them. When he glanced back, Alisa was halfway gone, waving over her shoulder with a sheepish smile, leaving nothing behind but the scent of perfume and the awkward echo of her words.

 

Bokuto stood still, face scarlet, trying to recover from the last thirty seconds of conversation when Akaashi finally reached him. He handed Bokuto his drink, eyeing him with mild suspicion, already aware something has happened. “You okay?” He asked, raising a brow.

 

Bokuto knew he had to pull himself together, knew Akaashi would catch onto anything out of place. He took a sip, let the burn settle before forcing a grin. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Akaashi sighed. It was obvious, he was upset. “Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He said, gaze flicking past Bokuto, tracking Alisa. She moved in a hurry like she wanted to put as much space between them as possible. “And, she’s running.” He said, pointing at the blonde.

 

Bokuto exhaled, shaking his head as if the question wasn’t worth asking. “You know how she is.” He waved his hand.  The words came out smoothly, dismissive but not too much—just enough to steer the conversation elsewhere. Akaashi didn’t challenge him, not outright, but there was a pause. He let the silence stretch between them, weighing, testing. Bokuto held onto his easy grin, but he could feel Akaashi’s gaze on him, measuring his reactions.

 

Bokuto sighed deeply. Maybe, there was no avoiding it. The glanced around, searching for somewhere else to be, and his eyes landed on the far edge of the terrace, where the skyline stretched endlessly below. The hum of voices still drifted through the air, but there was space there, a place to breathe. He nodded toward it. “You wanna get out of the crowd for a bit?” Akaashi studied him for a second longer before nodding. “Yeah.”

 

They stepped away from the noise, slipping toward the railing. Bokuto pressed his forearms against the metal, and let the cool air settle against his skin a bit. Next to him, Akaashi was studying him, trying to find meaning in his actions, quietly demanding to know his thoughts.

“It’s nothing really.” Bokuto started, dragging a hand through his hair, feeling the strands stick slightly from sweat. “She just… said something weird.”

 

Akaashi’s gaze sharpened slightly, now completely alert. “Weird how?”

 

Bokuto exhaled, trying to gather his thoughts. “She got vulnerable for a second,” he admitted. “I don’t think she meant to. It was small, you know? Just—one of those moments where someone lets something slip, and they don’t even realize it until it’s too late.” His fingers tapped against the the railing absent-mindedly. “Then she backtracked so fast I almost got whiplash.” He muttered shrugging. “Made a joke about you.”

 

Akaashi’s brow lifted slightly. “Me?” He asked, repeating.

 

Bokuto nodded, lips pressing together before he continued. “She said—” He cut himself off. There was no way he would say the exact words out loud. He swallowed, then settled on a basic version. “She made a joke about you in bed.”

There. He’d said it. He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a small laugh. “Obviously, I know you’ve been with people before.” Bokuto said, voice much higher than he intended. He shrugged, but the movement was off, like it didn’t quite belong to him. “But when she said it out loud…” He exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

 

Akaashi didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on Bokuto, steady but intent, as if examining a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. “It’s not stupid.” He finally said, restraint lifting off his words. “It’s not so strange to feel that way.” He said, escaping his eyes from Bokuto to the sprawl of the city before continuing. “And, you’re not the only one feeling that way tonight.”

 

Bokuto blinked, the words pulling him from his own thoughts. His head tilted slightly, frown deepening as he tried to decipher Akaashi’s tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Akaashi’ fingers tightened just slightly around his drink, not enough to suggest tension, but enough that Bokuto noticed. He didn’t say anything else, just shrugged in response, a small, nonchalant motion. Bokuto’s frown only deepened. “No, seriously. What do you mean?” He asked again, more insistently this time.

 

Akaashi inhaled through his nose slowly. His expression remained unchanged, but there something behind his icy gaze that he’d been holding back. “Well, at least I didn’t invite Alisa, Kou.” He muttered, words pointed in a way that Bokuto couldn’t ignore. “What were you thinking, inviting Yuuji here?”

 

Bokuto scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “What, am I not allowed to invite people now?” He didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this coldness coming from Akaashi, especially since Terushima was his friend as well.

 

Akaashi, turned his icy gaze towards Bokuto. He wasn’t rolling his eyes, wasn’t sighing in exasperation like he usually did when Bokuto said something stupid. He was just looking at him. And somehow that was worse. “That’s not what I said.” He spat. He didn’t raise his voice, but the words were biting.

 

“Then tell me what you are saying.” Bokuto said, tone almost pleading.

 

Akaashi took a moment, then set his drink down to the railing, narrowing his eyes. “You think one-night-stands are different?”

Bokuto’s mouth dropped. “What?”

 

Akaashi tilted his head with disdain. “Don’t act dumb. What are you going to tell me now?” He asked, tone almost mocking. “That it didn’t mean anything?”

 

It all fell into place. The words set a motion in Bokuto’s mind like dominos he couldn’t stop. That morning—Akaashi’s hands on Terushima’s collars. The silence in the car. The way he wouldn’t look at him, jaw tight, fingers flexing around the steering wheel the whole drive home. The fight in his apartment, the sharpness in his voice. He wasn’t just irritated, or frustrated. He had been angry. And they had never talked about it.

 

Bokuto’s grip tightened around his glass with the sudden realization. “Wait—you think—” He let out a breath, his stomach twisting. “Keiji, nothing happened.” He spat hurriedly. He took a deep breath, and stepped closer, putting his hand on top of his. “I was upset. I went to the bar because I felt like shit, and Yuuji was…” He hesitated, shaking his head. “He was nice to me. That’s all.” Bokuto held his gaze. “I swear to you, nothing happened.”

 

“Oh.” Akaashi’s lips parted. “I thought…” Fuck… He bit his lips and stopped talking. “Sorry.” He said quietly, cheeks turning pink. Though embarrassment hit him, his shoulders still relaxed considerably. The tension from a moment ago just disappeared completely.

 

Bokuto just watched him a moment, the way Akaashi’s expression shifting, as if he wasn’t sure how to process this new information. Then, his lips curved, his grin returning in full force. “Well.” He tilted his head. “Good to know I can make you jealous.”

 

Akaashi blinked, his face heating. His mouth opened, probably to retaliate, but before he could, they were pulled from the moment.

 

“There you two are. I’ve been looking for you, everywhere.” Kuroo hooked his arms around both their shoulders, effortlessly slipping in between them. “If you two think you’re sneaking off and skipping the best part of the night, you’re out of your minds.” He said, grinning wide. Bokuto managed a short laugh. Akaashi let out a small breath of relief. The conversation was cut short, and he could not wish for a better way out.

 

He had a lifetime ahead to be embarrassed with Bokuto, and this could wait. Right now, the party was calling.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Kuroo, with a firm grip on Bokuto’s shoulder and a casual hook of his arm around Akaashi’s wrist, pulled them through the shifting bodies on the rooftop, leading them back to the plush booth they were sitting before Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s unforgettable duet. “C’mon, you two,” Kuroo said, tone light but insistent. “VIP seating for my favorite couple.”

 

Akaashi barely had time to protest before Kuroo shoved him down into the long, curved booth right next to Iwaizumi, and Oikawa. Bokuto sank into the seat beside him. The booth was already packed with today’s stars, everyone pressed close in the cramped space. On the low table in front of them was a massive Jenga tower, its blocks defiled with bad intentions in permanent ink. Kuroo braced a hand on top of the tower like a showman about to unveil his greatest performance.

 

“Alright, listen up you degenerates,” he said, grinning. “Tonight, we play King’s Tower. Think Jenga, but cursed.”

 

Atsumu, wedged between his brother and Sakusa, eyed the tower with suspicion. “Cursed how?” Kuroo plucked a block from the top at random, and threw it to Hinata, sitting next to Kageyama. “Read it, dear Chibi-chan.”

Hinata ignored his comment about his height and flipped the block reading it: “Grind on the person across from you or take a drink.” He made a face halfway between horrified and disgusted before throwing the block back to the game mastermind.

 

Oikawa scoffed, nearly tipping his drink over. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’d say a lot,” Kuroo replied airily, entirely unbothered as he caught the block mid-air and placed it back onto the pile. “Rules are simple. You pull a block, you do what it says. If you refuse, you drink. If you knock the tower over…” He gestured toward the empty glass sitting in the middle of the table. “…you drink the King’s Cup.”

 

Osamu raised an eyebrow. “You realize it’s empty. Right?”

 

“For now.” Kuroo flashed a grin at the group. “Some of these are King tiles. If you pull one marked with a crown symbol, you pour some of your drink into the cup. The more Kings that get pulled, the worse it gets.”

 

Atsumu chuckled. “That’s actually evil.”

 

“No, that’s just balance,” Kuroo corrected. “All games need it.” Sakusa, watching from the edge of the booth, let out a short, unimpressed breath. “I already hate this game.”

 

“Perfect,” Kuroo said, utterly delighted. “That means it’s a good one.” Without missing a beat, he turned to Kenma, who had been watching from where he was curled into the booth beside him, scrolling idly on his phone. “Baby, please start the game?”

 

Kenma didn’t even look up. “No.” Kuroo sighed dramatically, then turned to Akaashi instead. “Fine. I’ll start.” He reached for the tower with no hesitation. Kuroo’s fingers brushed the first block, the anticipation settled over the group like a held breath. He pulled his fingers back with a devilish grin, the kind that screamed trouble. He moved deliberately, testing their reactions. His fingers ghosted over the edges of several blocks before settling on one near the middle. He pushed it slowly, and moved it with ease. The tower barely wobbled. When he flipped the block over, his grin widened.

 

“Gift” he said curly. “Give a shot to your favorite person in the circle.”

 

Atsumu groaned, already leaning back into the plush booth. “What a boring-ass start.” He muttered. Akaashi agreed, he was sitting and waiting in dread to see how much trouble Kuroo was about to inflict, but this was pretty tame compared to what he had in mind. 

 

“Patience, Miya,” Kuroo said, reaching across the table. He plucked a shot glass from the scattered selection of drinks, rolling it between his fingers before setting it down in front of Kenma without hesitation. “For my beloved.”

 

Kenma, still half-focused on his phone, picked up the glass with little ceremony and drank, seemingly uninterested. The liquor disappeared down his throat in one go, and when he set the glass back down, it was with the same absentminded ease as before. Kuroo watched him, something amused flickering behind his expression. “Your turn.”

Kenma exhaled, tilting his head back slightly before reaching forward as if he was hoping Kuroo would skip him. His fingers barely hesitated as he slid a block from the tower, the motion so effortless it looked practiced. He turned it over, scanning the writing. “Never Have I Ever.”

 

A few groans rumbled through the group, realizing they might be in for deep. Kenma ignored all of them reading the rule on top. ““If no one’s done it, I take a shot,” he said, voice flatly. “If you have done it, you drink.”

 

Oikawa perked up, though. “Oh, we’re going classic? Make it good.” Kenma barely gave it a second of thought. “Never have I ever been late to practice because I was making out with someone.”

 

There was a pause, a brief beat before laughter started rolling through the group. “Who even does that?” Sakusa rolled his eyes. Meanwhile, Bokuto, unbothered, lifted his drink and took a slow sip. Atsumu followed with a grin so wide that he could show all thirty two teeth. A smug grin curled across Oikawa’s lips as he shrugged before swallowing his own. “Should have known” Sakusa muttered under his breath, though a small smile betrayed him.

 

Kuroo looked at the circle with expectant eyes for others. Akaashi didn’t reach for his drink. Instead, he glanced at Bokuto, shaking his head slightly. A small, private reaction, almost like an afterthought, but the longer he watched, the more something familiar stirred. Instead, he glanced at Bokuto, shaking his head slightly with an amused expression, lips curled in a tired smile.

 

The moment pulled him years back to a moment he hadn’t intended to remember.

 

It was his second year. He had been looking for Bokuto because he was late to practice. It wasn’t all that unusual that he was late. Even then, Bokuto had a habit of forgetting the time, of getting caught up in conversations, of slipping away without telling anyone. But that time was different. Akaashi remembered how he looked at everywhere— the hallways, the empty classrooms, checking the places he usually disappeared to when he wasn’t lingering in the gym. He had known exactly where to check, yet, he was nowhere to be found.

 

Akaashi had found him when he stepped behind the storage building by accident. He wasn’t alone.  The image flashed in his mind momentarily. Bokuto’s back was turned, pinning a girl between himself and against the wall. Her fingers were curled into the fabric of Bokuto’s jersey, leg was wrapped around his waist, and Bokuto’s hand was on her thigh, caressing her bare skin.

 

Akaashi had never seen him like that before. He had turned around before either of them noticed him, walking back to the gym as if nothing had happened. He hadn’t brought it up later, hadn’t thought about it much at all. Until now. He couldn’t stop his smile. For some reason, he wasn’t jealous. The memory felt completely warm.

The noise of the party pulled him back. Bokuto set his glass down on the table with a quiet thunk, exhaling through his nose, completely unaware of Akaashi’s thoughts. Atsumu groaned, dragging the moment forward. “Alright alright, can we keep going? I need my moment of glory.”

 

Kuroo smirked. “Go on. I hope you don’t embarrass yourself.”

 

Atsumu cracked his knuckles, stretching his arms out before reaching for the tower. He hesitated over a few blocks, fingers grazing the edges before finally sliding one free. He flipped it, scanning the words before his mouth stretched into a grin. “Hacked! Choose a player and post something on their Instagram story.”

 

A few reactions came all at once—a groan from Oikawa, a sharp fuck from Sakusa, and an immediate sense of wariness from the rest of the table. Atsumu, practically glowing, scanned the group. His eyes flicked to Oikawa, and his grin turned dangerous. “Alright, Tooru-chan. Hand it over.”

 

Oikawa exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Like hell I will.” He said, drawing chuckles. “The rules say you gotta,” Atsumu sing-songed, shrugging his shoulders. “Or would you rather take two shots instead?”

 

Oikawa gave him a long, unimpressed look but reached into his pocket and handed over his phone. Atsumu cracked his knuckles dramatically, extended his arm and took a selfie winking. He tapped on the Instagram application, and typed something, face lighting up in unconfined amusement. Everyone in the circle waited patiently, watching slightly in horror. Seconds later, he leaned back, sliding the phone across the table. “Done.”

 

Oikawa narrowed his eyes, tapping the screen. The moment he saw the post, his entire face dropped. The screen displayed Atsumu’s selfie in his Instagram story with a caption: “Miya Atsumu is the most talented setter I have ever met. I fear him.”

 

The booth erupted in laughter. Oikawa let out something between a scoff and a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.” Atsumu grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. “Oh well.” He turned to Sakusa, giving him a pointed look. “You’re up.”

 

Sakusa barely moved at first, his eyes skimming over the tower—scanning the blocks as if calculating the safest possible option.The group watched in silence, waiting. Atsumu grinned. “C’mon, Omi, just pick one. We don’t got all night.”

 

Sakusa shot him a sharp look but didn’t respond. His fingers hovered for a second longer before he finally slid a block free. The tower wobbled slightly, the slightest shift in weight, but it held. He turned the piece over in his palm, glancing at the words. “Waterfall.” He said, brows furrowing, voice unimpressed.

 

“Oh, shit,”  Bokuto chuckled, sitting straight, already reaching for his drink. Kuroo grinned. “You know the rules. Sakusa starts drinking, and nobody can stop until the person on their left stops.”

 

Sakusa didn’t say anything—just reached for his glass and lifted it to his lips. Everyone, followed, heads tilting. Sakusa didn’t put them through much, only taking long, slow sip. Atsumu, following him wasn’t so merciful, dragging the moment. The chain followed with Iwaizumi through a controlled pace, until it got to Bokuto, who escalated the moment into a competition. He kept drinking, challenging Kageyama on his left more and more until he was forced to chug the rest of his drink. “You’re horrible.” Akaashi laughed, shaking his head.

 

Kageyama, tipped his head back as he chugged the remainder of the glass, finishing with a sharp, strained exhale. He slammed it onto the table, blinking hard, chest rising with the effort. Hinata, watching from beside him, burst into laughter. “Holy shit, dude, are you okay?”

 

Kageyama blinked, barely hearing him. He took another breath, eyes unfocused, voice rougher than before. “More drinks.” He pushed himself up from the booth, unsteady, limping slightly as he moved toward the bar. A few chuckles followed him, the group watching as he stumbled his way through the crowd. Somehow, miraculously, he returned with a fresh drink in hand. The game moved on while he was gone with Kuroo nudging Oikawa. “You’re up.”

 

Oikawa stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders like an athlete warming up before a match. His eyes flicked toward the Jenga tower, a slow smirk creeping onto his face as he leaned forward. Despite all his earlier complaints, he seemed to be enjoying this.

 

His fingers ghosted over a few blocks, testing for loose ones. He worked methodically, carefully shifting his grip between pieces until one finally slid free with little resistance. Oikawa turned the block over in his hand and read the words. He paused momentarily, then his smirk widened. “Baby Got Back—slap someone’s ass.” He moved reading the rule underneath. “If they refuse they take a shot. Don’t give up! next person to refuse takes two shots.”

 

Atsumu let out a loud laugh. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” Oikawa nodded in agreement, relishing the attention. His eyes darted to his lover, immediately. “Well, well, Iwa-chan.” He said sniggering. “Get up, it’s spanking time.”

 

Iwaizumi, who had been leaning back comfortably against the booth, didn’t even blink. Instead, without a word, he grabbed his drink and threw back a shot. The table erupted into laughter. Bokuto grinned. “That was fast.”

 

Oikawa huffed, setting the block down on top. “Coward.”  He rolled his eyed and then turned to Bokuto without hesitation. “Sorry Bo.” He said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Get up.”

 

Bokuto froze. For the briefest second, his shoulders went rigid, his entire body locking up. The hell I will. His mind caught up in an instant, heat prickling at the back of his neck. He could already picture it—Oikawa winding up with all the enthusiasm, taking far too much joy in making it as painful as possible. And normally—normally, Bokuto would’ve played along, laughed it off. But right now, in this exact moment? Absolutely not. He couldn’t risk it. Not with the surprise he had for Akaashi. “Nah-uh. No way.” His voice came out too fast, too abrupt. “Pick someone else.”

 

Oikawa’s brows shot up. “What? What’s wrong with you?” He said blinking. “Come on, You either get up, or you take two shots.”

 

Bokuto hesitated, mind spinning too fast to land on a good excuse. If he played the game with this pace, there was no way he’d be sober enough for what he planned tonight. That’s when Akaashi noticed the rigidity in his posture— the way his back straightened—not just out of reluctance, but something more guarded. He didn’t know what it was, but he still didn’t give him a chance to scramble for an excuse. He exhaled slowly, and put his drink aside. “I volunteer as tribute.” He said, rising from his seat. 

 

For a full second, there was silence. Then—laughter erupted. Kuroo shook his head barely able to contain his laugh. “What the?.. Akaashi, are you secretly a masochist or something?” Akaashi, completely unbothered, tilted his head slightly and shrugged his shoulders innocently. “No, but I have always fantasized about Tooru spanking me.” He deadpanned, to which the booth completely lost it.

 

Oikawa grinned, all too delighted. “‘Kashi, if you wanted me, you could’ve just said so.” He cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Your wish is my command.”

 

Oikawa wound up. Hard. His palm cracked against Akaashi’s butt with a force nobody expected. The sound carried over the noise of the party, loud enough that people outside their circle turned to look. Akaashi regretted his choice immediately, feeling the burn. He clenched his jaw slightly, his pride not allowing him to react more than necessary, but the heat of it lingered. He exhaled slowly, sliding back into his seat with his usual composure.

 

“Was that everything you hoped for?” Oikawa teased, shaking out his hand. Akaashi reached for his drink again, fingers wrapping around the glass. “I don’t know,” he mused without even a pause, swirling the liquor lazily before taking a sip. “I expected more from you.”

 

The table exploded. Hinata nearly choked on his drink, Atsumu smacked the table, howling with laughter, and Kuroo threw his head back, laughing. They were entirely too loud now, suppressing the music for people nearby. Oikawa on the other hand, gawked at him. “Excuse me?”

 

Akaashi tilted his head slightly. “Well, you know, you talk a big game.”

 

Oikawa blinked, deeply offended. “I—I went easy on you! Because I like you.”

“Mm.” Akaashi took another sip. “If you say so.” He said with a casual shrug, although he couldn’t help thinking: That was you taking it easy because you like me? He didn’t even want to think what would have happened had Oikawa disliked him.

 

Everyone at the table was having a great time except Oikawa who was muttering under his breath about “ungrateful little shits,”. He nudged Iwaizumi on his left, pointing the tower. “Alright, it’s yours.”

 

Iwaizumi exhaled sharply through his nose, adjusting his position before leaning forward. His hands were steady as he ran his fingers over the tower before settling on a block. He slid it out smoothly, barely shifting the structure. The moment he flipped it over and read the tile, his jaw tightened slightly. “Strip.”

 

There was a brief pause, then cheers. “Oh, hell yeah!” Atsumu smirked, sitting up straighter. “Finally, someone’s losin’ some clothes.” Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered toward a shot glass first, fingers twitching slightly toward the escape route before Hinata cut in. “You’re taking a shot? Again?”

 

Hinata was laughing when he said it, but the words stopped him on his tracks. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but if kept refusing to play along, it seemed that wouldn’t last. His jaw tightened slightly as he weighed his options. He was wearing a black button-up with white patterns, sleeves rolled up neatly to his forearms, dark slacks that were tailored well, resting just right over his sleek leather dress shoes. He hadn’t thought much of it when getting ready, just something put together. Now he was regretting that he didn’t wear a jacket. He reached down, fingers hooking under the back of his heel—

 

“Noooo.” Oikawa groaned, sulking like a child being denied a treat. “Come on, Hajime, don’t be lame.”

 

Iwaizumi cut him a dry look. “You want me to strip?” Oikawa huffed dramatically, crossing his arms. “I wanna see some skin.”

 

Laughter rolled through the table, Atsumu slapping the booth. Iwaizumi crossed his arms, scoffing at his boyfriend. “Where’s your sense of jealousy? Shouldn’t you be covering me up instead of trying to get me naked?”

 

Oikawa grinned. He didn’t even hesitate, propping his chin on his palm. “What’s the point of having a hot boyfriend if I can’t show him off?”

 

The table hollered with more uprising laugher. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, already regretting everything. “You’re the actual worst.” He muttered. Still, he wasn’t one to back down. He kicked off his first shoe. Then the second. Kuroo groaned, flopping back against the booth. “Boo.” Iwaizumi smirked slightly, leaning back in his seat as he grabbed his drink. “You want to see skin? Be my guest and show some.”

 

Kuroo held his hands up immediately. “Alright alright. I didn’t say anything.”

 

Oikawa, still smirking, leaned in just a little closer. “Next round, I’m making you take off that shirt.” He whispered in Iwaizumi’s ear. He tensed slightly, before turning to Akaashi. “Your turn.”

 

Akaashi exhaled softly, fingers grazing the rim of his glass as the game shifted to him. He had played along, answering when necessary, avoiding when convenient. But the longer the game went on, the less room there was to stay in the background. His gaze flicked toward the tower, scanning for a block that wouldn’t make a spectacle of him. He hesitantly traced his fingers over the surface of a few before he settled on one with minimal resistance. He slid the wood block free with careful and controlled motions and flipped the block over. “Fuck, marry, kill.” He read out loud, already regretting.

 

There were no laughters this time. Instead, the anticipation grew. A few exchanged looks. Oikawa smirked, already in the moment. Atsumu straightened, his grin widening in anticipation. Kuroo tapped his fingers against his knee, clearly enjoying the moment more than he should. Akaashi sighed. He might as well get it over with. “Fuck Atsumu-san.” he said first. “Marry Bo.” He didn’t hesitate as he glanced toward Kuroo, his grip on the block steady. “Kill Kuroo.”

 

Kuroo’s jaw dropped, people roaring with laughter. Atsumu grinned, stretching his arms out along the booth, completely at ease. “No need for san with the type of intimacy you just mentioned.”

 

Akaashi ignored him. Bokuto, on the other hand, could not. For the briefest moment, his shoulders tensed. His fingers curled just a little tighter around his glass, jaw tightening. He remembered the conversation they had in his apartment too well when Akaashi casually mentioned that Atsumu was attractive. It’s just a game. He told himself, readjusting his grip against the drink. He sat up straighter, actively trying to push the thoughts aside, and flashed a wide grin. “So, ‘Kashi, what I’m hearing is—you’d marry me?”

 

Akaashi smirked as he was setting the block down. “Well,” he mused, gaze steady, “given my choices.”

 

The laughter from earlier doubled, rolling through the booth, spilling into the space around them. Oikawa, however, was staring at Akaashi, blinking slowly like he had just witnessed something surreal. “Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head as he took a sip from his drink. “Since when have you become this... brutal?”

 

“Since always.” Iwaizumi answered in place for him instantly. Akaashi smirked, satisfied as he was settling back to his seat. He leaned in, one hand brushing against Bokuto’s thigh, and pressed his lips to his cheek, shaking the silver to his core.  The laughter lingered, but Bokuto barely heard it. He knew which words Akaashi meant now. Heat spread up Bokuto’s neck, pooling at the tips of his ears. He tried to play it cool, but his grin broke wide, bright and genuine, warmth spreading in his chest. “My turn!” He jumped off his seat, too eager. 

Bokuto stretched his arms overhead, still riding the warmth of Akaashi’s kiss. He rolled out his shoulders before leaning forward toward the tower. His fingers hovered over the blocks, eyes scanning for a safe choice. His fingertips pushed against the wood, and the block slid free with surprising ease. The tower gave the slightest wobble before settling again, the wooden pieces finding balance. He flipped the tile over in his palm, glancing at the words.

 

“Hacked! – Let the next person read your last five Google searches or take three shots.” 

 

Bokuto swallowed visibly. His stomach tightened. For a second, his body didn’t move. His fingers remained pressed against the block, the grip firm but unmoving, as if holding it in place would somehow undo what he had just read. His search history. His last search. Why is it always me? It wasn’t bad bad—wasn’t anything illegal, wasn’t anything that would ruin his life—but fuck. A slow, creeping heat crawled up the back of his neck, settling heavy in his chest. He closed his eyes, and the moment he typed his last search flashed behind his eyes too fast, too vivid—How long can you wear a buttplug comfortably?

 

Bokuto’s throat locked up. His body made the decision before his brain even caught up. He reached for a shot. The glass barely lingered in his grip before he tipped it back, swallowing the burn in a single motion. It hit his stomach fast, warmth spreading outward as he placed the empty glass down. His fingers had barely left it before he was reaching for the second. Akaashi blinked beside him, turning slightly, eyes flicking from Bokuto’s face to the shots. His brows pulled together. “You okay?”

 

Bokuto didn’t answer. He took the second shot. The warmth from the alcohol had turned into heat now, spreading across his skin. The table had gone quiet, everyone watching in quiet shock. Atsumu’s voice broke through the silence, hesitant but still laced with curiosity. “Damn, Bo, what the hell was in your search history?”

 

Bokuto barely let him finish the sentence before he grabbed the last shot, throwing it back just as fast as the others. The glass hit the table harder this time. He forced a grin, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the weight pressing into him. “Nothing. Just—y’know, stuff.” His voice came out too fast, too casual, as if speaking quickly enough would smooth over the obvious tension. “Boring stuff.” He added sheepishly, then pointed to Kageyama with his brows. “My turn’s over.”

 

Kageyama exhaled through his nose and sat up, scanning the tower. His fingers skimmed a few blocks before settling on one with the slightest give. Carefully, he pressed against the wood, easing it out in slow increments. His movements were deliberate but not as steady as before. There was a slight wobble in his reach, the lingering effects of the waterfall round still working their way through his system. When he tried pulling the first time,  the tower shifted dangerously, everyone sucking their breath.

 

Kageyama stilled, fingers tightening slightly, before he carefully adjusted the angle of his pull. His grip remained firm, every small movement controlled despite the sluggish feeling in his limbs. He eased the block out completely, his hand lingering for a second, waiting to see if the tower would hold.  When it settled, he gave a breath of relief and flipped the block. “Swap seats with someone you’d fuck.”

 

Kageyama’s stilled, staring at the block. The muscles in his jaw twitched. His eyes flickered toward the drinks waiting in the center of the table. He looked like he was debating whether to actually do the dare, or just do the shots. Atsumu caught it immediately, a smirk creeping onto his face. Oikawa, already watching too closely, tilted his head slightly, clearly waiting.

 

He set the block on top of the tower, then took a small wobbly step towards the drinks. He stopped before he fell over, and turned his head back to the tower, looking at the blocks grimly. He exhaled in resignation, and without acknowledging anyone, he started walking. He stopped directly in front of Hinata. The redhead was still grinning about something, half-leaning into Ushijima’s space next to him, completely unaware—until Kageyama spoke. “Get up.”

 

“What?” Hinata blinked, head jerking up and eyes wide, catching up to the fact Kageyama was standing over him, looking down with an expression that was too blank for his request. 

 

“Get up.” Kageyama’s voice came out more decisively when he repeated.

 

“The hell?” Hinata’s voice spiked, his eyes flickering toward the tower. His whole body went red, matching his hair. “Why me?”

 

“The tile didn’t say I had to explain.” Kageyama spat, glaring at him in an expression that looked too much like “Really?”.

 

“Dumbass, you have to actually pick someone!” Hinata argued either completely oblivious or playing straight up dumb. Kageyama said nothing, he just stared until Hinata had nothing but to accept. The redhead gaped, looking around the table. The smirks were everywhere—Atsumu was nudging Kuroo with a smirk, Oikawa had his chin propped on his hand, eyebrows raised in interest, and Bokuto’s grin was stretching wider by the second. Hinata inhaled sharply, too flustered to argue. With a grumble, he stood, shoving past Kageyama as he dropped into the now-empty seat.

 

Kageyama took his spot, planting himself in Hinata’s previous chair like it was the most normal thing in the world. His posture was stiff, arms crossing over his chest, gaze fixed anywhere but at Hinata, who was still glowering at him. Nobody spoke at first. Bokuto broke the silence with a whistle. “Damn, Kageyama. Didn’t expect that.”

“Really Bo?” Atsumu asked smirked widening. “Couldn’t be more obvious.”  He cackled next to Kuroo. “I applaud the way you walked over with zero hesitation my man. Deadass committed.”

 

“Shut up,” Kageyama muttered. Across the table, Hinata scowled. His entire face was still too warm, his fingers twitching slightly against his glass. He shifted in his seat, clearly agitated, before grumbling under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

 

It was Ushijima next, and he reached for the tower slowly without speaking, taking over the moment quietly. His fingers trailed over the wooden blocks with a measured touch, testing for any that might slide free with ease. When he found one, he pressed his thumb against the smooth surface and pulled, his grip steady, controlled. The tower shifted slightly but settled again without issue. He turned the block over read aloud in his steady, neutral voice.

 

“Rank three people in this circle you find attractive. If you refuse, drink three shots instead.”

 

A silence settled over the group, and they waited with expectant faces. Ushijima’s eyes flicked over the words again, as if to double-check, silently processing. He remained still like a statue but color started creeping up his face, starting from ears and spreading to his cheekbones.

 

Oikawa was the first to notice. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched with a knowing look. “Huh.” He raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.” Atsumu let out a quiet laugh, pointing the obvious. “Wait, are you blushing?”

 

Ushijima didn’t entertain him with a response. His fingers tapped against the block once before he set it down. His gaze moved over the group, pausing here and there, considering. Akaashi watched him with quiet curiousity. Oikawa was right. It was interesting. It would have been easy to name three people. There was no real consequence to it. But the way he hesitated made it clear that he had already thought of names before. And, apparently he had no intentions to just say them.

Ushijima escaped their gaze and turned his attention to the shots on the table just as quickly. He reached for the first shot, making Atsumu groan. “Oh, come on.” Kenma, who had barely been barely participating finally glanced up. “It’s not even that bad of a question,” he said, tone flat. “It didn’t ask for details—just to rank them” Oikawa let out a loud laugh, his eyes catching Atsumu’s who immediately burst in laughter, choking on his cocktail in the process. Ushijima on the other hand, downed all three of the shots. He set the last glass down with quiet finality, and gave a small, indifferent shrug. “Pass.” 

 

The second round began with Kuroo. He leaned forward, fingers brushing against the tower until a piece shifted under gentle pressure. He guided it out, reading the text scribbled across the wood: “Dare - person on your right comes up with one, drink one shot if you refuse.” He snorted dismissively, and then raised a shot glass instead. Atsumu groaned about his lack of commitment, calling him the worst, and the group agreed with him, complaining about him killing the fun. Kuroo laughed like a hyena in response, shoulders shaking as he held his stomach. “Not my fault you’ve got no game.” He replied, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

Next was Kenma, who slid out another “Hacked!” Tile. He shook his heads left and right vehemently muttering “nope.”,  and silently opted to down a shot rather than letting anyone meddle with his phone. His expression didn’t change, and he barely glanced around as he passed the tower on. Nobody even tried to argue, since he was at least participating.

 

Sakusa ran a hand through his hair as he eyed the tower, taking a moment to gauge which block might slide free. Eventually, he pressed a thumb against one near the edge, felt it give, and guided it out with careful precision. The tower wobbled for a second. He held his breath, steadied it, then turned the block over. “Confess something embarrassing or drink.”

 

He set the block on the table, gaze drifting to the row of shot glasses. Everyone watched, waiting for a sign of what he’d do. Sakusa exhaled, massaging his temples. He didn’t look eager to share, but there was a certain resignation in his eyes—like he knew the group wouldn’t let it go if he stayed silent. “Fine.” He muttered. “You want a story? I’ll give you one. He walked back to his seat and sat down, paused a moment and cleared his throat. “I, uh… accidentally scheduled two dates for the same time, same restaurant.”

 

The table just went wild, people doubling over with laugher. Bokuto nearly fell off his seat. “You, of all people, dating two people at once and blundering?”

 

“I was jet-lagged!” Sakusa protested, color creeping into his cheeks. “Had a crazy schedule. I honestly thought one was set for the next day.”

 

Oikawa pressed a hand to his mouth, barely stopping his laugh. “And then what happened?”

 

“They both showed up,” Sakusa answered honestly, nose wrinkling at the memory. “I was standing at the entrance, waiting like an idiot. They arrived almost at the same time, one right after the other one. It was excruciating to watch. They kind of locked eyes, looked at me, and realized what was happening before I did.”

 

A chorus of laughter followed, Atsumu gripping the table for balance. “Omi you’re killing me!”

 

Sakusa let out a humorless laugh. “I tried to apologize, but the words came out all wrong. Then I became the common enemy. Before I knew what was happening, They had teamed up to roasting me. I was told I wasn’t half as smooth as I thought. I stood there, not even able to say anything back, experiencing an out of body moment. Last thing I saw was them sharing a cab, probably bonding over how much of a jerk I was.”

 

Hinata wiped at tears of laughter. “Oh my god, they left you alone at the door? Did anyone see?”

 

“Are you kidding? Everyone saw,” Sakusa groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Half the restaurant was staring. I just… went home. Didn’t even eat.”

 

Atsumu gasped for air between laughs. “Omi, you gotta teach me how to sabotage myself so perfectly!”

 

“Shut up,” Sakusa muttered and pushed Atsumu sitting next to him forward to the tower.  Though, the faint curve at the corner of his lips suggested he wasn’t entirely miserable sharing the story. Atsumu selected a random block, and slid it free. He lifted it, gave it a quick read, then clapped his hands in mock delight.

 

“Strip—make a person lose clothes,” he announced with a mischievous grin, turning the block towards the group for them to read. “If they comply, I drink a shot. If they refuse, they do.”

 

A ripple of interest moved through the group. Oikawa shifted forward, eyes gleaming, while Bokuto exchanged a glance with Akaashi. Atsumu on the other hand, did not even give it a thought. “Alright, Ushiwaka, how ‘bout you?”

 

“Boring.” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “You just picked him to avoid a shot.” However, Ushijima proved him wrong, slipping from his seat to his feet. His hands lifter over the collar of his shirt, and he started unbuttoning, revealing lean, chiseled muscles as he slid the fabric down his arms. He set the shirt aside as if it was no more significant than a towel.

 

He put the entire table into shock. Hinata let out an incredulous shout, eyes wide, while Bokuto burst into disbelieving laughter. Kuroo slapped the table, leaning back in surprise. Even Kenma looked up from his phone to take in the sight, a small “Nice,” spilling from his lips. Atsumu blinked, trying to process how readily Ushijima had complied. “Holy—didn’t think you’d actually do it!”

 

Ushijima gave a small shrug. “I don’t look bad naked,” he said, voice steady, analytical. “No reason to refuse.”

 

Atsumu barked out a laugh, fumbling for one of the shot glasses. “Worth it,” he declared, knocking it back. He grabbed another on impulse and emptied that too, prompting an uproar of cheers and teasing from the others. He set down his second empty glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your turn, I guess,” he said, nudging Oikawa.

 

Oikawa wasted no time pushing one of the middle blocks. He squinted at the block he’d just freed, lips curling into a mischievous smile the moment he read the words. “Punished,” he announced, sounding far too pleased. “Says I have to sit on the lap of the person next to me until the circle completes.” He sat the piece on top and walked towards Iwaizumi, who sighed in anticipation.

 

“Sorry, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa said in a rushed apology, but the grin on his face suggested he wasn’t too sorry. He settled himself on Iwaizumi’s lap, draping an arm around Iwa’s shoulders for balance. Iwaizumi let out an exasperated breath but looped an arm around Oikawa’s waist to steady him. “Seriously?” Iwaizumi muttered, cheeks warming. “What are the odds…”

 

Oikawa shrugged, leaning back against his boyfriend’s chest. “I didn’t write the block. Don’t blame me.”

 

“How am I supposed to play like this?” Iwaizumi scowled at Kuroo pointing at Oikawa on his lap. Kuroo flashed him a grin and cleared his throat with an air of mock formality. “Sorry, man. I guess, you lose your turn.”

 

A smattering of laughter passed around the table. Akaashi next to Iwaizumi, rose and walked to the tower. He scanned the blocks with a calm, measured gaze, and found one near the middle that slid free easily.  “Lick it or drink it — Lick ear or neck of the person sitting left of you, or drink a shot.” He read it calmly,  then set the block on top of the stack in a single smooth motion.

 

A few eyes followed Akaashi, expecting him to hesitate, but he didn’t even pause. Instead, he walked back to his seat without even a glance to the shots, sat down, and leaned in toward Iwaizumi’s neck in a nonchalant motion. Iwaizumi managed a slight, startled blink before Akaashi dragged tongue across the side of his throat.

 

Iwaizumi cringed, shoulders jolting, cheeks going red at the sudden contact. “You’re gross.” He groaned, wiping his neck with his hand immediately, and the table erupted in scattered laughter and exclamations. Kuroo let out a cackle, while Hinata covered his face, half-laughing, half-gaping in disbelief. Bokuto’s grin flattened for just a second, but no one seemed to notice in the confusion except Oikawa.

 

Oikawa, perched on Iwaizumi’s lap, felt his pulse kick a little faster. His chest tightened in a way he didn’t like to acknowledge. It was Akaashi of all people — cold, steady, always borderline logical. He wasn’t the type of person to thrive on games like this.

 

Oikawa found himself watching Akaashi retracting back to his space without ceremony, hardly looking flustered at all. The worst part was how casual it seemed. As if licking someone else’s boyfriend was just another harmless dare. His own boyfriend is sitting next to him, he thought, anger burned hot inside his veins. He swallowed, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. You’re overthinking this, Tooru, he told himself silenly.

 

He glanced to his left, catching Bokuto’s eye. When his best friend escaped his gaze, Oikawa knew instantly he wasn’t the only one bothered. His easy smile was there, but it looked forced, the corners of his mouth tight. He didn’t even have to guess, he knew exactly what he was feeling—annoyed, protective, a little jealous. Neither of them said a word about it.

 

After settling back, Akaashi threw a look of disdain at Iwaizumi who was physically cringing next to him. “I agree.” He said, taking a big sip out of his glass as if to wash the taste away. “You know, you’re not exactly a delicacy Iwa.” He muttered, releasing any tension that had built up around the table. Bokuto, who had been quietly upset moments ago, threw his head back, laughing loudly as he got up, and made his way toward the tower for his turn.

 

The tower stood in front of him, the blocks stacked high, slightly uneven from the previous pulls. Bokuto placed a hand on the edge of the table, his fingers tapping absently as he studied the pieces, his gaze scanning for the right one. His fingers hovered over a few, then he settled on a center piece, sliding it out with his index finger.

 

“Who’s the Alpha?" His brows knit together as he read the first word under his breath. He looked uncertain for a moment, his expression briefly flickering with confusion. Then as he read the rest, his grin spread wide. “Oh, this is good.” He said, the corners of his mouth tugging up in pure satisfaction. He turned the block towards the others for them to see. “It’s a push-up contest. First to drop drinks one shot, second drinks two, third drinks three, and so on.”

 

Atsumu’s grin stretched just as wide, and he jumped to his toes immediately. “Finally. Somethin’ real.” He cracked his knuckles with satisfaction. “Ya better be ready, Bo, ‘cause I ain’t losin’ this one.”

 

Hinata exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes gleaming. “Oh, hell yeah.” His hands pressed against his knees, barely containing his excitement. “This is perfect.”

 

Energy spiked at the table—at least among the competitors. For everyone else, the reaction was a little less enthusiastic. Oikawa, still draped over Iwaizumi, reached for a shot without even giving a thought. “Yeah, no. Absolutely not.” He threw it back in one fluid motion, setting the glass down with an air of finality. Kenma, unsurprisingly, followed suit, lifting his glass too his lips and shaking his head left and right, completely against participating in something so physically exerting. Sakusa exhaled through his nose, already reaching for a shot. “Yeah. I’d rather die.” Kuroo, all amusement, leaned back against the booth, stretching out comfortably. “You know what? I think I’ll sit this one out and enjoy the carnage.” One by one, the non-contestants tapped out—Akaashi, Kageyama, Ushijima—all reaching for their drinks without hesitation.

 

Iwaizumi reached for his own shot, fingers wrapping around the glass, fully prepared to drink, and let the chaos unfold without himself. Before he could even lift the glass, Oikawa turned toward him with an unimpressed stare. “Really?” He asked, voice edged with disbelief. “You’re going to drink instead of competing?” He asked, arching his brow. “You know you’d win.”

 

Iwaizumi snorted, shaking his head, and kept his fingers wrapped around the glass. Bokuto clicked his tongue, his smirk widening just enough to touch a nerve. “Smart move.” He said, golden eyes glinting with amusement. “I mean, I wouldn’t wanna embarrass myself in front of my boyfriend either.”

 

Akaashi, watching the exchange unfold, lifted his glass to his lips to conceal the faint tug on his lips turning into a knowing smirk. He escaped his eyes, and stayed out of it. He loved Bokuto, but he already knew how this would end.

Iwaizumi’s fingers stiffened around the rim of the glass. A small muscle ticked near the hinge of his jaw, a barely perceptible clench, like he was biting down the first response that threatened to leave his mouth. His brows twitched together, and his eyes flickered toward Bokuto. Irritation, challenge, restraint, all layered beneath the impassive mask he wore. “Fine,” he muttered, standing up, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. “If I do this, you all better actually try.”

 

Atsumu scoffed, already rolling out his shoulders. “Oh, do try to keep up.” Bokuto grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

 

They moved toward an open space, anticipation settling around the group. Even the surrounding people turned their heads, drawn in by the sudden contest. Kuroo leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows against the table. “Alright, gentlemen. Hands on the floor.” He said pointing downwards.

 

Bokuto, Atsumu, Hinata, and Iwaizumi all dropped into position, palms pressing against the cool surface, backs straight, muscles tensing in preparation. Oikawa, still seated, stretched his arms over his head before lazily raising a hand. “Three… two… one… go.”

 

They moved as one, arms bending, bodies lowering in perfect sync. The first twenty were effortless. Their breathing remained steady, their pace perfectly matched, as if this were nothing more than a warm-up. This was the kind of exercise that had been drilled into them since high school, a challenge that felt more like muscle memory than strain.

 

At thirty, the energy shifted. Bokuto’s jaw clenched slightly, his shoulders rolling as he pushed through. Hinata kept up with impressive focus, though his exhales were starting to quicken. Atsumu, held up with his mouth set in that sharp, cocky smirk, determined to make it look effortless, but the strain was creeping into his form. He wasn’t struggling yet, but his arms were locking just a little too long at the peak of each push-up. Iwaizumi, meanwhile, looked unbothered like he could go all night. His pace didn’t change, his breathing stayed steady, his form identical to the very first rep.

 

By thirty-five, Atsumu’s rhythm broke further. He adjusted his stance, trying to shake out the tension mid-motion. His elbows buckled around forty. With a sharp exhale, he dropped onto his stomach, groaning against the floor. “Jesus fuckin’—” He rolled onto his back, chest rising and falling heavily as he blindly reached for a shot glass, knocking it back like it would erase the burn in his muscles.

Hinata pushed through, gritting his teeth, but his body started trembling. His pace stuttered, his elbows locking at the peak of each push-up. “Nope—nope—” he gasped, collapsing onto his stomach by fifty. “I’m out.” He said, then rolled around and knocked over two shots like a good sport.

Bokuto and Iwaizumi were the only ones left. Their breathing was heavier now, but neither slowed. They moved in sync, neither willing to break first. At sixty-five reps, Bokuto’s arms burned, trembling under the pressure. Every push-up felt heavier, but he refused to give in. When Iwaizumi saw that, a smirk crept into his face. He lifted one hand from the floor, tucking it behind his back as he continued lowering and rising on just one arm.

 

Atsumu, still sprawled out on the floor, swore loudly. “Man—What the fuck?”

 

Hinata next to him sat up, gaping. Oikawa nearly fell out of his seat, laughing so hard he had to grip Akaashi’s shoulder for balance. “That’s my boyfriend!”

 

Bokuto’s breath hitched, nearly freezing mid-rep. His mind scrambled to process what he was seeing, the sheer insult of it. Iwaizumi’s smirk widened, not a hint of strain in his expression. “What? Givin’ up?” He taunted between the reps.

 

Bokuto gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move again. He wouldn’t lose like this. No way. He adjusted his stance, inhaled through his nose, and pushed. He forced out one more. Then another. The exhaustion in his muscles screamed back at him. His body dipped lower than he meant to, and his arms gave out. He

collapsed onto the floor with a harsh exhale, chest heaving, forehead pressed against the cool surface.

 

Iwaizumi pressed out one last push-up for good measure before standing, rolling his shoulders out as if the entire challenge had been a light warm-up. The moment Bokuto hit the floor, all the noise died. No laughter, no jeers, no triumphant celebrations—just a brief, stunned silence hanging in the air, stretching longer than it should have. Slowly, he turned onto his back, throwing an arm over his face with a groan. “Motherfucker.”

 

Laughter erupted around him, not just the kind that came from amusement, but the full-bodied, uncontrollable kind that stole the breath from their lungs. Atsumu rolled onto his side beside him, clutching his stomach between gasps. Hinata tipped his head back, shaking with laughter, smacking a fist against his knee. Kuroo barely managed to stay upright in his seat as he wheezed.

 

Bokuto, still catching his breath, let out a rough breathless chuckle, joining the group. “Alright,” he admitted, shaking his head, voice lighter now. “That was actually kinda cool.”

 

Iwaizumi, still standing over him, finally smiled—not the smirk he had worn during the contest, but one with genuine amusement. Without a word, he extended a hand downward. Bokuto blinked, then reached up, letting Iwaizumi pull him upright. The ache in his arms protested the movement, but his body felt lighter somehow.

 

Iwaizumi turned, reaching for the three untouched shot glasses waiting at the center of the table. He took two, leaving the last one where it was, and passed one to Bokuto. “Together,” he said simply, lifting his own glass. Bokuto’s grin widened, his fingers curling around the shot. He didn’t hesitate either. They tossed the drinks back, the alcohol burning hot down their throats. The third glass remained untouched. No one mentioned it. 

 

They returned back to his seats, laughter still echoing around the booth. Bokuto ran a hand through his hair sitting down. The last traces of exertion clung to his limbs, the dull ache in his arms settling into something manageable. Across from him, Iwaizumi sat back, stretching one last time. With increasing shots in all of their system, everyone loosened. But the night wasn’t slowing down. Kuroo smirked, nudging Kageyama toward the tower. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

Kageyama stood, his movements even less coordinated than before, the last few drinks clearly sinking into him. He didn’t say a word as he made his way to the tower, his fingers brushing over the blocks, searching for one that would slide free without resistance. It took him a few seconds, his brows furrowing as he focused, but then he pulled one out miraculously and turned it over.

 

“Most likely to…” His voice trailed off as he scanned the rest of the text, his lips parting slightly in shock. After a beat he read it aloud almost flatly, “Make an adult film.”

 

The table lost it, even the most composed roaring with laughter. “Delightful.” Kuroo said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain as he leaned forward, grinning mischievously. “Alright, full honesty, no shame. Votes in.”

 

“Atsumu.” Oikawa said, without hesitation before pointing his index finger toward Atsumu.

 

Atsumu gawked, pointing at himself. “Me? What the hell?”

 

“Are you kidding?” Oikawa blinked at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You scream amateur porn,” Oikawa explained, matter-of-fact, making everyone throw in a fit of laughter again.

 

Hinata, still catching his breath from laughing, nodded. “Yeah, I second that.” Kenma, without lifting his gaze from his phone, lazily raised a finger. “Atsumu.”

 

Atsumu made an incredulous sound. “What the fuck, Kenma? Why is everyone picking me?”

 

“I dunno,” Kenma murmured, a grin settling on the corners of his mouth. “I just know it’s not me.” Kuroo smirked, stretching his arms over the back of the booth. “Yeah, gotta say—you do have the kind of energy that’d land you on some real niche websites.”

 

“What does that even mean?” Atsumu asked scowling back at him.

“It means you’d eat up the attention,” Oikawa cut in, surpassing a laugh. “Whatever he says.” Iwaizumi said shrugging his shoulders, agreeing with his boyfriend. 

 

Ushijima, who had remained quiet for most of the game, scratched his chin, thought for a moment, then with all the certainty of someone stating a simple fact, said, “Miya.”

 

Sakusa exhaled sharply, nodding in agreement. “It’s obviously you.” 

 

Names were getting thrown across the table in quick, easy laughter, and the conversation was light but Akaashi’s felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. It stung, the way they spoke about it—like it was absurd, impossible, the most ridiculous thing any of them could imagine for themselves. A joke, nothing more.

 

He curled his fingers around his glass, the cool condensation against his palm grounding him, but it did nothing to quiet the rush of thoughts creeping in. Because for him, it wasn’t a joke. He had been that answer before. It had been years since he had walked away from it, left it buried behind him. And yet, in moments like this, he felt it crawling to the surface, dragging him down to the pit it came from—one he couldn’t climb out out of. 

 

Would they still be laughing if they knew? Akaashi forced his shoulders to relax. He knew he wasn’t being fair. This wasn’t the same. They weren’t laughing at him. But it didn’t matter. It never did. Because no matter how much distance he put between himself and that part of his past, he still felt the echo of it in his skin, in his bones, in the way he sat a little too still now. He had to say something. He had to keep the moment moving, to make sure no one noticed. So he forced a grin, and lifted his fingers slightly. “Atsumu-san.” He said, agreeing with the common vote.

 

Next to Akaashi, Bokuto shifted uneasily in his seat. He managed to keep his grin, but it didn’t feel quite right on his face anymore, stretched over too tight, too aware. The second the vote started to be cast, Bokuto had tensed, his gaze turning to Akaashi before his mind even caught up. Akaashi had smiled when he cast his vote, his voice had been light, perfectly smooth. No one else would have noticed the difference. No one else would have known there was one at all. No one except Bokuto that is…

 

The corners of Akaashi’s mouth had lifted just enough to look natural, but not enough to actually be natural. His posture was calm, composed—but too composed, the kind of stillness that came from holding something in. And Bokuto knew exactly why. His stomach twisted, his hand twitching slightly against his thigh. The impulse was immediate—to reach out, to cover Akaashi’s hand with his own, to do something to break that stillness, to remind him he wasn’t alone. But if he did, the group would notice. He knew too well, Akaashi didn’t want that. Instead, Bokuto sat there, his fingers curling against his leg instead, forcing his body to stay still even as everything inside him told him to move. He forced a grin just like Akaashi’s and said, “It’s you Tsum-Tsum.”

 

Atsumu groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine, whatever. You’re all a bunch of assholes.” He grabbed the shot that had been pushed toward him, tilting it back in one motion before slamming the empty glass onto the table with a sharp thunk. The table roared, the teasing only intensifying, the game rolling forward like nothing had happened.

 

Hinata pushed himself up from his seat, bright-eyed and eager, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he scanned the tower. His gaze sweeping across the blocks like he was looking for the perfect one. Akaashi, who had remained quiet through the last round, took the opportunity. He reached for his glass, and downed the rest of his drink in one smooth motion. The burn hit fast, a welcome distraction, spreading warmth through his chest as he set the empty glass down with a soft clink. “Oops,” he murmured. “Looks like I need more drinks.”

 

He was already rising from his seat before Bokuto could react. Bokuto turned toward him, mouth parting slightly, a second away from saying something. But Akaashi had already stepped away from the booth, weaving through the crowd with hurried motions. Bokuto hesitated, torn between calling after him or letting him go. Before he could do either, another voice cut in.

 

“Me too.” Oikawa said after him. He still had half a drink left, but that didn’t stop him from pushing himself up, stretching his arms over his head with far too much enthusiasm. He immediately pushed passed the crowd in the same direction Akaashi had gone. He had barely taken a few steps when a sudden, loud crash rang out behind him. His head snapped back toward the table, brows furrowing as he instinctively tracked the source of the noise. 

 

The Jenga tower was gone. Wooden blocks lay scattered across the table, some rolling onto laps, others bouncing onto the seats, and some toppling onto the floor. Hinata stood frozen in place, hand hovering in the air, eyes wide with sheer, unmistakable horror. For half a second, silence clung to the group, the reality of the disaster settling in.

 

“HINATA! YOU KNOCKED IT OVER!”

 

The dreaded King’s Cup was shoved to Hinata, the group offering no escape, no mercy. Hinata let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a protest and a plea. “Noooo, come on—!”

 

Oikawa almost laughed, almost stayed to watch the full display of Hinata’s suffering, but his mind was already elsewhere. He turned his head back toward the bar. Akaashi wasn’t there. His smirk dimmed slightly as his chocolate eyes scanned past the counter, the crowd, until they landed on a solitary figure at the farthest edge of the rooftop. Akaashi stood there, leaning against the railing, a cigarette between two fingers.

 

With newfound determination, Oikawa made his way through the crowd. As he walked, the raucous sounds of the party gradually diminished, each step drawing him into a quieter sphere.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Oikawa stepped up in the quiet corner of the terrace beside Akaashi, resting his forearms against the railing, ensuring he was close enough to share the space without crowding him. Below them, the city stretched endlessly, a sea of lights flickering in the dark. The party’s laughter and music faded into the background, Oikawa took a deep breath, the relative calm helping him to collect his scattered thoughts.

 

He glanced at Akaashi who was looking ahead as if watching the city view, and studied his delicate features. He is bothered. Oikawa could see it in the way Akaashi’s icy blue eyes weren’t truly focused on anything, just fixed on a distant point. A softness crept into his demeanor before he could help it. It had been jealousy that had propelled him to come here. That jealousy had driven him without conscious thought—from his seat to Akaashi's side in an almost instinctual motion, his emotions leading before logic could intervene. But now? Looking at the raven haired man next to himself, all he wanted to do was to ask what was wrong. To make sure he was okay. Although, Would Akaashi even confide in him?

He clenched his teeth, irritated for a second. Minutes ago, he had been mad at Akaashi for licking Iwaizumi’s neck. For being so damn casual with my boyfriend. Akaashi had done it like it was nothing. Of course he had been pissed. Rightfully so. So why was he standing here now, feeling like this? Fuck.

Despite all Oikawa’s bratty attitude, snide remarks, and petty jabs, Akaashi had been infinitely kind. It had annoyed Oikawa even more at first, the way Akaashi never seemed to react. But over time, he had realized it wasn’t because Akaashi was indifferent. It was because he chose to let things go.

Oikawa had spent the last few weeks invading Akaashi's space, treating the apartment as if it were an extension of his own life despite having a perfectly suitable hotel room to himself. Yet Akaashi had never complained, never made him feel unwelcome. No, he had done everything he could to make him feel at home, to accommodate… Just today, Akaashi had even suggested he would stay with Bokuto until Oikawa's departure back to Argentina, offering them the space to themselves for the final days.

It was both frustrating and humbling. Fuck. The realization hit him harder than he expected. He started caring about the raven. And he cared about Akaashi more than he was willing to admit. How could he not? He was impossible not to like. It made his chest tighten with a mix of emotions he wasn't prepared to unpack tonight. Taking a deep breath, Oikawa managed to push aside his racing thoughts, and forced that familiar, confident grin, masking the turmoil underneath."You didn’t actually need a drink, did you?” He asked, teasing, leaning towards Akaashi. His eyes, though twinkling with humor, searched Akaashi's face for some sign of the trouble clouding his thoughts.

Akaashi’s lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something, but then then he opted for silence, and took a slow drag from his cigarette instead. Oikawa did not fill the space with chatter. He held back this time, allowing the quiet to stretch between them comfortably. He merely watched as Akaashi exhaled a stream of smoke, patiently waiting for a response. Akaashi exhaled, tapping the ash off the end before resting his wrist against the railing. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet, even. “Neither did you.”

Oikawa huffed, and studied him for a moment longer before looking away, letting his gaze drift over the rooftop, the blurred outlines of people moving through the party. From here, it was easier to forget the noise, to feel separate from it. He turned his head forward again, watching the city stretch far beyond the haze of liquor and laughter. “Busted…” he said, his voice quieter now. “Are you gonna tell me what’s actually on your mind, or are we gonna stand here pretending we just really like the view?”

Akaashi smirked, the expression subtle but real this time, something just slightly amused flickering at the edges of his lips.“I really do like the view.”

Oikawa let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. “Figures.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. It was a comfortable quiet, free from the strain of expectation or the urgency to speak. Oikawa didn’t didn’t push, yet his gaze remained on the raven, still quietly watching.

Akaashi was momentarily unsettled by the unexpected softness in Oikawa's gaze. When he turned his head, instead of the customary mischievous smirk, he was met with a gentle concern. The usual spark in Oikawa’s chocolate eyes had mellowed, replaced by worry etched in his features. Akaashi shifted, adjusting his grip on the railing. He didn’t know why, but it completely threw him off. Maybe because it was Oikawa—the man was nosy, invasive, relentless in his pursuit of information. Yet now, he wasn’t pushing, he was patient.

Akaashi exhaled, turning his gaze back toward the railing. “I’m okay,” he said simply. It wasn’t an excuse, wasn’t deflection—just honesty. A simple truth. Oikawa didn’t look away. He didn’t scoff, didn’t call him out for keeping things to himself. He kept watching, brows still slightly drawn, expression unreadable, reflecting a mix of respect and contemplation.

Akaashi sighed, tapping his cigarette against the railing once more, the ember at its tip briefly flaring before fading. "Nothing I want to talk about," he stated, his voice level and composed. There was a brief pause, a moment of silence filled only by the distant sounds of the city. Then, his tone warmed slightly, softening as he added, "But... thanks for asking." The sincerity in his words were unmistakable.

Oikawa exhaled, giving Akaashi a side glance. “Alright, alright,” he muttered softly, a gentle surrender in his tone. He offered a small, reassuring smile, “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Akaashi hummed in quiet acknowledgment, tapping the last bit of ash from his cigarette before pressing it out against the railing, extinguishing it. The silence stretched again, but this time, it was different. It felt easier, like they weren’t holding anything.

As Oikawa stood beside Akaashi, the cooler night air seemed to clear his head, allowing him to step back from the immediacy of his earlier feelings. He pondered over the rush of jealousy that had surged through him. Why had he felt that way? He had done more dubious things during drunken games in the past. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice, yet it was all in good fun, part of the game's stupid dynamics.

His gaze lingered on Akaashi, contemplating the complexities of their situation. It wasn't just the game that had sparked his jealousy. He felt a sudden shudder down his spine as it dawned on him that his feelings had little to do with Akaashi’s actions tonight and more with his own unresolved fears. Oikawa sighed, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to echo his growing realization.

Ten years. Akaashi had been there. With Iwa. For all those moments Oikawa had missed. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his side, yet it made little difference. He simply wasn’t there. His ribcage started feeling like it was getting smaller, pressuring his heart and lungs. Fuck. Few days, and Oikawa would leave again. Fuck. Yet, Akaashi would remain, continuing to share those everyday moments with Iwa that Oikawa could only imagine from afar. The fact that Akaashi was so attractive, and how much Iwa valued him only rubbed salt to the wound. I truly am horrible. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to release tension that had risen with the sudden rush of guilt.

“Are you sure you’re okay though?” A simple question made him jolt out of his thoughts and he turned his eyes back towards the raven who was now observing him silently. Akaashi paused a moment, allowing him to recuperate, and then continued in the most Akaashi manner he could. “You seem… preoccupied.”

Oikawa sighed. He hadn’t done a decent job handling his feelings. He bit his lips after a while as he wrestled with the words he needed to say.  “Akaashi,” he started, voice unusually low, hesitant, “can I be honest about something?”

Akaashi, caught slightly off guard by Oikawa’s seriousness and hesitancy, nodded. “Of course,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “What’s on your mind?”

Oikawa let out a short, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he wrestled with his thoughts. How could he ever say this without sounding like a five year old? “I’m jealous…” he shook his head admitting, “… of you.” His voice revealed a raw vulnerability when he spoke that Akaashi had rarely heard. “It was really rough when we first met. I acted horribly, and it wasn’t fair to you.” He paused, his gaze drifting downward as though the confession itself was uncomfortable to hold. “All because, I felt… so out of my league and so threatened.”

 

Akaashi’s brow furrowed slightly in surprise. “Threatened?” He repeated. “By me?” He added as if he understood correctly. His eyes widened as he blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror?”

 

The sheer confusion in his voice extracted a genuine laugh out of Oikawa, but at the same time he couldn’t help being annoyed. “I didn’t think you would be so oblivious.” Oikawa protested in disbelief, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “I could ask you the same question.” He managed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Good looking, sharp-witted… I mean—talk about unfair competition.” He sighed.

 

Oikawa's expression softened as he continued, despite the lingering irritation in his tone. “But it’s more than that, Akaashi…” He escaped his chocolate eyes, looking back to the crowd for a moment. His voice dropped. “Iwa is everything to me… The fact that you guys are so close…  It’s nerve-racking sometimes.” He hesitated, glancing away, “It made me feel… insecure. Sometimes still does…” He looked down, fingers tightening slightly around railing. “Like I’d lost him even before even I had a chance to try… Like he was already yours and I’m just…” His voice became smaller, and he couldn’t continue. He didn’t need to. Akaashi didn’t want him to. Silence filled the void between them.

 

Akaashi's initial surprise deepened into genuine astonishment. "Tooru," Akaashi began, his voice calm but carrying a note of urgency as he addressed the visible tension in his friend. “Where on earth did this come from? Is this because of what happened in the game?" Akaashi asked, his tone filled with concern.

 

Oikawa momentarily escaped his eyes, a mix of discomfort and somberness crossing his features as he processed Akaashi's question. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before meeting Akaashi's gaze once more. His eyes held a deep, unsettled look. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. A flush of embarrassment tinted his cheeks a faint scarlet, and he sighed in resignation.

 

Akaashi’s expression softened with understanding. “Tooru.” He said taking a deep breath. “Iwa and I are close, but it’s never been that way,” he reassured gently. “Not even for a drunken moment. I swear.”  He placed his hand on top of Oikawa’s, and locked his eyes with him.  “Never.” He reiterated.

 

A genuine, sincere smile tugged at Oikawa’s lips. Before Akaashi could pull his hand away, Oikawa moved forward, pulling him into an unexpected hug that almost caused them to spill their drinks. “Thank you,” Oikawa murmured, his voice low but filled with emotion. “For being so kind to me, for taking care of Hajime, and for being everything my best friend dreamed of. You have a special place in my heart, Akaashi.”

 

As they embraced, Akaashi spoke softly, his voice sincere. “Tooru, you’ve been far kinder than you realize.” he said softly “You have this warmth that feels effortless, both welcoming and inspiring… It makes everyone feel valued. it’s something rare.”

Oikawa froze, the words catching him off guard. He pulled back just enough to see Akaashi’s face, surprise mingling with something deeply touched. Then, with a warm smile, he hugged Akaashi tightly once more, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know how much that means to me.” 

As they pulled apart from the embrace, the air around them felt noticeably lighter, the previous tension dissolving into the night breeze. They flashed grins at each other, beaming.

A sparkle mischief returned to Oikawa’s eyes, his smile stretching even wider. “You know,” he started teasing, “There was the piercing incident too.” He said his tone a mix of playful honesty and drunken boldness, “I mean, that really rattled me.” He laughed, shaking his head, leaning casually against the railing.

Akaashi, slightly puzzled by the sudden shift in topic, raised an eyebrow. “What piercing?” He asked.

“The piercing,” Oikawa replied vaguely, gesturing with his free hand like that explained everything.

Akaashi blinked, initially furrowing his brows in confusion, then a small “Oh..” escaped his lips as realization seemed to dawn. “You mean my nipple piercings?” he asked, catching on with a faintly amused expression. He pulled the collar of his shirt, and looked down to as if to confirm it for himself. “You saw them the first time we met, right?”

Oikawa froze for a fraction of a second before snorting a laugh, the alcohol from the evening making his thoughts a bit fuzzier than usual.“Why would I be rattled by that?” he asked shaking his head. “Please, I’m not that fragile.”

Akaashi, now thoroughly confused, looked at Oikawa with a bemused expression. “Then… what are you talking about?”

Oikawa was already caught up in the moment and did not notice Akaashi was not following. He blurted out without thinking, his filter thinned by drinks. “Iwa’s dick piercing, of course—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto Akaashi’s expression of pure, wide-eyed shock. The realization hit him like a train as the words left him. “Which… you… didn’t… know…” His voice slowed to a crawl, each word sounding more horrified than the last.

As silence fell between them, Oikawa slapped his palms over his face, his cheeks blazing with heat. “Oh my god,” he groaned, his voice muffled through his hands. “Iwa is going to kill me.”

Akaashi blinked, clearly stunned, before his lips twitched into a grin that quickly erupted into full-blown laughter. “Wait, wait,” he gasped, leaning on the terrace railing for support. “Are you saying—Iwaizumi, Mr. No-Nonsense—has a dick piercing??”

Oikawa appeared to be wrestling internally, a brief skirmish of emotions playing out on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habitual gesture when confronted with uncomfortable situations, and let out a resigned breath. Oops… Oikawa nodded with a faint smile on his face, his hand half-covering his mouth. “Yup,” he admitted. “Might as well out with it now.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably thin. Then, as if on cue, both of them burst into laughter, the sound loud and unrestrained against the backdrop of the terrace.

Akaashi’s laughter finally subsided, though his lips still twitched with amusement. “How exactly,” he asked, holding his stomach, “did you expect me to know something this… personal?”

 

Oikawa scratched the back of his head, avoiding Akaashi’s sharp gaze as his eyes flickered toward Iwaizumi. “Well,” he started hesitantly, “he said he got the inspiration from you. Apparently, you explained how some piercings were for… you know, pleasure.”

 

Akaashi blinked, his expression shifting from amusement to disbelief. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand as if to stop the train of thought barreling toward him. “The only reason, I even did that because he would make fun of my nipple piercings constantly.” He said crossing his arms. “And I mean non-stop,” he added with emphasis, his brows furrowing as he recalled the memory.

 

Oikawa winced, letting out a sheepish laugh. “Yeah… he mentioned that too.”

 

“That idiot.” Akaashi rolled his eyes, but the mischievous glint stayed. After a moment he asked, presumably out of respect for Oikawa, “Do you want me to pretend like this never happened?” Though his expression made it clear he was already entertaining other ideas.

 

Oikawa paused, studying Akaashi’s face. That subtle gleam of mischief, the way his lips twitched as if holding back a smile—it was a look he knew all too well. He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if resigned to his fate. “You know,” he said, shrugging, “Iwa really should’ve been clearer about this. Oh well.”

 

Akaashi’s grin widened, his tone dangerously playful. “So… I get to make fun of him for it?

 

Oikawa giggled, patting Akaashi’s back in approval. “Bring your worst.” They exchanged scheming looks, their silent agreement sealed as they stood. “Drinks first?” Akaashi suggested with a smirk, tilting his head toward the bar. “Absolutely,” Oikawa replied, his grin wicked. They headed for the bar, each wearing smirks that hint at the fun and strategy about to unfold.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

After the drinking game had reached its climactic finale with Hinata having to swallow the contents of the King’s Cup, drawing applause and some sympathetic chuckles from the group; the mood shifted from rambunctious competition to laid-back conversational atmosphere once again.

 

Bokuto and Iwaizumi, now untethered from the excitement of the game, naturally gravitated toward each other, each missing their boyfriend. A lingering silence settled between them, not entirely uncomfortable , but definitely awkward. Iwaizumi, kept his gaze on the crowd, arms crossed, while Bokuto shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers tapping against his glass, too aware of his own movements. Finally, to break the quiet, Bokuto let out a breath and chuckled, “Man, that game was brutal.” His voice held its usual warmth, but there was a hesitation in the way he spoke, as if testing the waters.

 

Iwaizumi nodded, a smile breaking through his usually reserved demeanor. “Yeah. Never dull with this crowd.” He rolled his shoulders, his stance loosening, but no follow-up came, and the silence returned. Bokuto glanced around, searching for something to latch onto and keep the conversation going.  His gaze ended up landing on the far edge of the room, spotting familiar figures. Akaashi and Oikawa were standing next to each other, further from everyone, appearing to be deep in conversation. “Hey!” Bokuto shook Iwaizumi’s arm to get his attention. “There they are!” He said, rising his arm to point at their direction. 

 

Iwaizumi frowned at the sudden contact but his jade eyes turned to the direction Bokuto was pointing at. Moments later, Oikawa pulled Akaashi into a quiet, heartfelt embrace. It lasted a second too long just to be just polite. Bokuto raised an eyebrow, tilting his head toward Iwaizumi with a look of pure confusion. “Did… did I miss something here?” he whispered, half-laughing.

 

Iwaizumi squinted, watching Oikawa pull back slightly, a tender smile lingering on his face as he met Akaashi’s gaze, only to lean in again with even more warmth. It shouldn’t have come as a shock to Iwa, but it did. He knew first hand that they were in good terms now. He saw their interactions in the apartment daily. However, Iwaizumi had been under the impression that Oikawa had been trying for Iwa’s sake, to keep peace.

 

He turned shook his head to sides and raised his eyebrows. “Beats me,” he muttered, completely bewildered at the unprompted display of affection. It was one thing his boyfriend pulled Akaashi into a deep hug, but it was a whole another thing when Akaashi accepted it so easily. His roommate was a lot of things: smart, funny, caring… Physically affectionate wasn’t it. “I mean,” he added scratching his chin, “It’s normal, right?” He asked Bokuto for confirmation. “Tooru told me before he was an ass to Akaashi when he first got here, but they get along pretty well now.”

 

Bokuto’s gaze drifted back to Oikawa and Akaashi, an amused smile playing on his lips as he recalled that first day in the apartment. “Oh, I can vouch for that.” He chucked, shaking his head to both sides. “He was being a bit of an ass both to me and Akaashi the first day in your apartment,” he said in a murmur, almost to himself, though Iwaizumi caught it.

 

“Really?” Iwaizumi asked, frowning, a bit puzzled. “To you too?” He repeated thoughtfully. He paused momentarily, thinking what reason Oikawa could have to be a jerk to Bokuto. The guy was his best friend. His curiosity won in the end, “Why though? He loves you.” he asked, eyebrows raised.

 

Bokuto laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as he replayed that awkward, tense and torturous moment in his mind. “Well Iwa… your whole plan of not telling him anything kind of backfired.” Bokuto said barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “And, uh—” he paused, and took a deep breathe then swallowed. “I ended up taking a good amount of heat.” He shrugged, a soft smile playing on his lips.

 

“Heat?” Iwaizumi’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? What happened?”  A mix of surprise and realization dawned on his face. It was kind of astonishing he hadn’t given it any thought until now.

 

“It’s okay, Iwa.” Bokuto tried to evade, waving his hand dismissively.“Really —

 

“No, it’s not.” Iwaizumi cut him off, irritation peeking through his features. He didn’t know who to be angry with, himself or Oikawa. How could Akaashi not tell him what happened? How could Bokuto hide it? Feeling indebted, he pressed. “Why am I only learning this now?” He asked, voice low and on his wits end. “What did he even do?”

 

“Well, you didn’t know because I didn’t even tell Akaashi.” Bokuto confessed laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck, heat creeping in now. “It’s fine.” He repeated. “He was distraught. It was sort of brutal but we’re good now.” He added, trying to explain, although he didn’t know what he was explaining. He just hoped it brought some clarity.

Didn’t even tell Akaashi? Iwaizumi’s head jerked backwards, brows furrowing as he tried to put the pieces together. What the hell is going on? His patience finally snapped. “Enough dancing around,” he said, his tone firm. “Just tell me—what did he do? Now.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense, almost daring Bokuto to keep holding back. “You’re going to tell me exactly what happened.”

 

Bokuto sighed, knowing there was no escaping Iwaizumi. “Fine.” He exhaled in defeat. “but I’m never repeating this again, so keep up.” He huffed rolling his eyes, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. For a moment his eyes darted to the far edge of the rooftop where Oikawa and Akaashi were still standing.  “Well… your boyfriend can be a real pain in the ass,” he said with a faint smile, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying it. “Tried to get the apartment number out of me by… uhm…” He took a pause carefully searching his words. “Tortured me, sort of.” He settled on the words, closing his eyes shut, physically cringing.

 

“What?” Iwaizumi blinked, eyes wide, head jerking back. “What do you mean?” He asked, “How? I mean why would he? What did he do?” A million questions crossed his mind at the same time. He didn’t know which one to voice.

 

Bokuto seemed more surprised than he was. “What do YOU mean? You want me to give you specifics?” The memory flashed through his mind again, completely unwelcome. He wrinkled his nose, a sudden shudder running through his entire body. Words started spilling before he could help it. “Well, he crushed my balls—”

 

“STOP.” Iwaizumi said with wide eyed disbelief, his voice sharp with a hint of anger, raising his hands in the air as if to physically shield himself from what he was hearing. “That idiot…” His fists clenched reflexively as he shook his head, muttering under his breath, “You’ve gotta be joking…I swear, I had no idea…”

 

Bokuto laughed softly, trying to wave it off. “Iwa, it’s fine. I survived. I mean… It was pretty bad, but it’s… kind of funny now. Tooru knows he can’t beat me in a fair fight, so of course he played dirty to get what he wanted.”

A flicker of guilt crossed Iwaizumi’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said, a bit ashamed, suddenly remembering the night Bokuto spent in their apartment with an icebag inside his pants. “I didn’t think he would go batshit. You went through all that because of me.”

 

“Oh, I absolutely knew he would.” Bokuto laughed heartily, brushing it off with his usual easygoing warmth. “It’s fine. Really. All that mattered to me was that you two finally got here. You’re together, and if I had to endure some… questionable tactics to make that happen, oh well.”

 

At that moment, Iwaizumi felt an unexpected understanding settle over him—like what Oikawa meant when he’d called Bokuto an angel, or when Akaashi would smile softly and say Bokuto was “too sweet for his own good.” Whether it was dealing with someone’s bad mood, carrying emotional weight that wasn’t his to bear, or enduring teasing that would make anyone else bristle, Bokuto always gave his all. It quietly amazed Iwaizumi, and he felt a deep sense of respect. For someone like himself who didn’t typically indulge in gestures of touch—especially in crowds—an unfamiliar urge struck him. He wanted to pull Bokuto into a hug.

 

Bokuto, who had been laughing moments ago, noted his silence, raising his brows. “Uh… Iwa? You okay there?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

Iwaizumi realized he’d been staring and snapped out of his thoughts, coughing awkwardly as he shifted his weight. “Yeah, yeah, just... uh... thanks, Bokuto,” he muttered, reaching out to pat Bokuto on the shoulder in what was meant to be a quick, manly gesture. To his horror, his hand lingered a moment too long, his brain still half-lost in his thoughts. Bokuto’s gaze dropped to Iwa’s hand on his shoulder, his eyes widened in surprise, his expression delighted as he asked, “Aw, Iwa,  you want a hug? That means a lot.”

“Absolutely not,” Iwaizumi barked, trying to yank his hand back. His cheeks flushed red, his tough-guy façade crumbling entirely. But before he could let go, Bokuto leaned in with a smirk pulling him into a brief hug.

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan,” he teased, borrowing Oikawa’s nickname with perfect timing, “You know, maybe we should think about getting those matching jackets. You don’t have to hide your feelings anymore.”

 

Iwaizumi’s face turned redder as he muttered, “Bokuto,—don’t push it.”

 

Bokuto couldn’t resist on the other hand, throwing an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders with a hearty laugh. “Just admit it! You care about me!”

Iwaizumi gave a resigned sigh, hiding a small smile. “Yeah, alright, but I swear if you start bragging, I’m out.”

“Too late! I’ll take that as a win.” Bokuto said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. As Bokuto’s laughter filled the space, Iwa couldn’t help but think—this idiot really was becoming one of the best parts of his life.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Akaashi and Oikawa approached to Iwa and Bokuto their hands full of drinks. Oikawa looked positively thrilled, holding up a bright pink drink with a garnish so elaborate it could have been a bouquet.  “‘Kashi picked these out,” he announced, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “‘Lychee Rose Fizz.’ Never tried it before, but it looks amazing, doesn’t it?”

Bokuto and Iwaizumi each reached for their glass. Iwaizumi frowned, noticing his drink was different than others.“Wait, why does mine look different?” he asked, giving Akaashi and Oikawa a questioning look.

Oikawa took a sip at the same time, his face lighting up with approval before he let out a soft laugh. “Oh, this is dangerous. It tastes like candy. If I’m still on my feet by the end of the night, it’ll be a miracle.”

 

Akaashi chuckled, already anticipating this reaction. He pointed to Oikawa with a nod, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Exactly why I got you an Old Fashioned instead.”

 

Iwaizumi chuckled as he looked back at Akaashi. “You know me too well,” he said, raising his glass in a silent toast of appreciation.

 

Meanwhile, Bokuto took an eager sip of his Lychee Rose Fizz, his eyes widening at the unexpected flavor. “Whoa, this is amazing!” he exclaimed. “Seriously, Kashi! You’ve outdone yourself.” His excitement was contagious enough that Iwaizumi, despite himself, leaned over to try Oikawa’s drink out of curiosity.

 

The instant sweetness caught him off guard, and he pulled back, wrinkling his nose. “Yeah, definitely candy.” He grinned. “Thanks, Akaashi, I’ll stick with my drink.” he said, returning to his Old Fashioned with a grateful nod.  He took a first sip of his Old Fashioned, his brows furrowing slightly as he tasted something just a bit unexpected. He swirled the glass, then leaned in for another sip, thoughtful. “Wait a second…” he muttered, glancing at the drink.  “Is this smoked?” He glanced at Akaashi, a flicker of curiosity and surprise in his tone.

 

Akaashi’s lips curled into a faint smile, his expression perfectly composed. “Good palate,” he said smoothly. “I was wondering if you’d notice. You like it?”

 

“Well, it’s interesting. It adds a depth, I think.” He swirled the drink in his hand, bringing it to his nose for a sniff and taking another sip. “Yeah, definitely an enhancement.”

 

“It suits you.” Akaashi tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes gleaming. “I mean, you strike me as someone who appreciates unique enhancements.” he said, with the faintest undercurrent of mischief. Oikawa snorted unintentionally mid-sip hearing Akaashi’s words. He immediately reached for the appetizers on the table, stuffing his mouth with one hand as he tried to stifle his laughter, but the damage was already done.

 

Iwaizumi’s head snapped up, his sharp gaze narrowing in suspicion. “Huh?” His eyebrows raised slightly. It was obvious Oikawa could barely contain himself, and Akaashi…  He knew that look—a sly, calculated spark that meant Akaashi was up to something. His gaze jumped from Akaashi to Oikawa then Akaashi again. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, voice firmer now.

 

Akaashi sipped his drink, his composure utterly unshaken. “Oh, what could it mean?” he replied smoothly. “Just an observation. You’ve always had a knack for noticing the little things that add... flair.”

 

Next to him, Oikawa had made the mistake to return to his drink. Just as he was taking another sip, the words registered and he choked, nearly spitting his drink back into his glass. His eyes widened as he glanced at Akaashi, then at Iwa, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

 

“What?” Iwaizumi demanded, his tone edging toward irritation as his gaze darted between them. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing!” Oikawa gasped, waving a hand even as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “It’s... nothing.” But another laugh bubbled out of him, undoing any pretense of seriousness.

Bokuto, perched on the barstool beside them, blinked at the scene unfolding in front of him. He had utterly no idea of what was unfolding, yet the energy was enough to extract a small chuckle out of him. “What’s going on? Why are we laughing?” he asked, a grin plastered on his lips, but his tone genuinely puzzled.

“It really is nothing.” Akaashi raised his glass as if to deflect, the corner of his mouth quirking upward just enough to betray his satisfaction. “To enhancements,” he said simply, his tone the picture of innocence. Bokuto raised his own glass, his smile beaming. “Cheers!”

 

Oikawa, however, shook his head, still laughing as he waved a hand dismissively. “You are absolutely horrible,” he said to Akaashi, his tone laced with amusement, though he made no move to join the toast.

 

Iwaizumi frowned, his gaze shifting between Akaashi and Oikawa again. Something wasn’t adding up. He’d been on the receiving end of plenty of their teasing before to understand when they thought they were being subtle. “What are you two on about?” he muttered under his breath, his mind beginning to replay the conversation.

 

His confusion deepened as he tried to connect the dots. He first looked at Akaashi, who had prompted everything, then turned his gaze to Oikawa, trying to understand whether it was his own words that set him off. His mind went into overdrive. What did I say? What’s so funny? He replayed the conversation in his head, searching for the thread he’d missed. Different? No. Enhancements? Enhancements… His brows furrowed further, confusion mounting.

As he was thinking, out of the corner of his eye he caught Oikawa’s gaze flickering downward for the briefest of moments—toward his crotch. Iwa’s stomach dropped, and a jolt of realization hit him like a truck. His face turned scarlet, heat rushing to his cheeks and ears as everything clicked into place. Enhancements? What does that—oh no. No, no, no. This is about...

 

His entire body stiffened, his face turning an alarming shade of red as his wide eyes darted to Oikawa. His voice was low but laced with sheer panic. “Tell me you didn’t…”

 

Oikawa bit his lip, glancing away with a sheepish expression. “Might have blurted something out,” he admitted, his words rushed and barely audible. Iwa shook his head in disbelief. “You didn’t,” he repeated, almost in a plea. His eyes darted to Akaashi this time, desperation settling in his features.. “What the hell did he tell you?”

 

Akaashi took a deliberate sip of his drink, his face utterly calm as he replied nonchalantly, “Oh, nothing much. Just that you have a dick piercing.”

 

The silence that followed was electric, broken only by the faint clink of ice in their glasses. Bokuto’s eyes went so wide that, they were swallowed in black. His drink almost slipped from his hand. “WHAT?” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and awe. “IWA! IS HE SERIOUS? YOU SERIOUSLY HAVE—”

 

Akaashi moved like lightning, covering Bokuto’s mouth with his hand before he could finish the sentence loud enough for the entire rooftop to hear. “Koutarou,” he said calmly, his lips twitching into a grin, “Let’s not traumatize Iwa in public.” Bokuto blinked at him, grateful for the intervention, and muttered a muffled “Thanks” through Akaashi’s palm.

 

Meanwhile, Iwa who seemed to be beet red now, facepalmed, feeling desperately mortified. “This is a nightmare,” he muttered under his breath. Then, turning on Oikawa, he snapped, “Why would you go and tell him?”

 

Oikawa raised his hands in mock surrender, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. “Well, because I thought he knew. You should’ve been clearer. You literally said you got it because of him.”

Akaashi’s lips curled into a grin, his eyes twinkling with delight. “I’m never going to let you forget this,” he said, his voice dripping with glee. “Here we go,” Iwa muttered, shaking his head, resigned to his fate.

 

But before anyone could say more, Bokuto, who had been standing in stunned silence, suddenly blurted out, “Wait I have questions, Iwa—Did it hurt? How much? When were you able to have sex again? How does it feel? Can I see it?” Iwa stepped back instinctively at his last words. “I need to see it.” Bokuto grabbed his arm with the utmost seriousness.

 

“Akaashi, get your boyfriend off of me!” Iwaizumi barked, his voice high-pitched with panic.

 

Akaashi was doubled over laughing but managed to wrap his arms around Bokuto from behind, pulling him back. “Kou,” he said, his voice still shaking with amusement, “you can’t just go around and ask to see people naked.”

 

“Why not?” Bokuto asked, undeterred. He craned his neck toward Iwaizumi, his curiosity still blazing. “Iwa, dude, just let me see it once. We’re both guys. Like, what’s the harm?”

 

Oikawa and Akaashi erupted into uncontrollable laughter, nearly spilling their drinks as Bokuto’s earnest plea hung in the air. Oikawa clinked his glass against Akaashi’s, his voice trembling through the laughter. “To enhancements,” he managed to say, grinning from ear to ear.

 

Bokuto blinked at them all, his face scrunched in confusion. “What’s so funny guys? I’m serious!”

And that, of course, only made them laugh harder.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

The night went on. DJ had completely taken over, skillfully mixing an energizing beat, and gathering the the crowd to the center of the rooftop. People were dancing with everything they had on the dance floor, which was glimmering beneath the dazzling lights. The whole party seemed to pivot toward the growing, wild energy there.

 

Oikawa's eyes gleamed as he took in the scene. “Looks like the real party’s just getting started,” he said, nudging Akaashi. “Ready to show everyone how it’s done?”

 

Bokuto’s face lit up. “Oh, absolutely!” He was already tapping his foot to the beat, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head at Oikawa’s enthusiasm. “Go easy on them, Tooru.”

“Oh, please, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replied with a wink. “You’re coming with us!” He latched onto his boyfriend’s arm and practically dragged him to the dancefloor. Bokuto followed suit, grabbing Akaashi’s hand and rushing behind them. Yet, Akaashi’s steps slowed as they got closer to the center, his gaze darting to the crowd swaying under the strobe lights. He wasn’t one to dance in crowds. The last time he’d been on the dance floor, he’d moved with an almost careless energy—half to catch Bokuto’s attention, and half to drown out his own thoughts.

But now…now he had Bokuto, he no longer had any reason for that careless energy. The thought of being watched by everyone else felt different. He didn’t want anyone’s eyes on himself anymore. I need a drink. His eyes shifted towards the bar. An out. He tugged at Bokuto’s hem, pointing to the marble counter silently before drifting toward the bar to order a drink.

Bokuto realized, Akaashi was breaking away. A hint of confusion flickered across his face before he followed, weaving through the crowd until he slid into the seat next to him. They both leaned back, watching their friends lose themselves to the beat. Across the dance floor, Iwaizumi was awkwardly moving with the rhythm, looking half-determined and half-mortified as Oikawa playfully egged him on.

 

Bokuto chuckled at the sight, then turned to Akaashi “What’s up, Keiji?” He asked softly. “I thought we were going to dance.”

 

At that moment, the bartender set a fresh Old Fashioned in front of Akaashi. He nodded at the glass, offering a small smile. “I just… wanted another drink,” he said, his voice casual. “We will.” He took a sip, letting the bourbon burn a little warmth into his chest, but Bokuto’s gaze lingered on him.

 

Bokuto’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of disappointment there too, the kind that barely touched his smile but lingered in his eyes, a quiet sadness that Akaashi couldn’t ignore. Bokuto knew he was lying, and it stung—not because of the lie itself, but because of what it implied. Akaashi could tell Bokuto’s mind had wandered back to Alisa, to the memories they’d both tried to leave behind. As if Bokuto wasn’t special to Akaashi… As if she were more important… And it couldn’t be any less true.

 

Akaashi’s heart sank, and he glanced down at his drink, fidgeting with the glass. The words he’d tried to avoid came spilling out, his voice barely above a murmur. “It’s not that I don’t want to dance with you,” he started, stealing a quick glance at Bokuto’s face. “I do. I just…” He hesitated, feeling Bokuto’s steady gaze on him, gentle but undeniably wounded.

With a sigh, Akaashi continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate dancing in the crowds. Last time, when I was out here with Alisa, I did because… well… I was just trying to move on. And I just thought… Maybe I’d get your attention, too. And now, it’s different… You’re here, and… I don’t want anyone looking anymore. I have everything I need.”

 

Bokuto’s lips curved into a playful smile, the sadness melting away. “That was to get my attention?” He laughed softly, giving Akaashi’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, it definitely worked. Pure torture, you know,” he teased, and Akaashi felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

 

But Bokuto shook his head and only leaned closer, brushing his lips over Akaashi’s knuckles. “It’s fine. Now you’re mine.”

 

Akaashi felt a warmth blossom in his chest, the uncertainty giving way to a deep, quiet joy. Bokuto’s eyes softened, his thumb still tracing Akaashi’s hand. “Well,” he murmured, “dance with me anyway? Because I want everyone to watch. I want everyone to know you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

 

How could he ever say no to that? A soft smile curled into his lips. “I love you,” Akaashi murmured, leaning in to press his lips softly against Bokuto’s before he could say another word. Bokuto responded with the same eager warmth. In that moment, Akaashi let go of every lingering insecurity.

 

As the opening beats of the new song pulsed through the speakers, Bokuto and Akaashi found themselves being swept into the energy of the track. The fast-paced beat had a magnetic pull to the center of the dance floor. Bokuto’s face lit up as he shot a playful, daring grin at Akaashi, as if to say, “Now or never.”

 

Akaashi nodded, all hesitation melting away in the bold rhythm. He let Bokuto pull him close, their movements fluid and perfectly in sync, almost instinctual. They moved effortlessly, leaning into each other with a confidence that felt natural, the music amplifying the subtle but undeniable chemistry between them. The energy was electric—each beat pulling them closer until every subtle shift, every sway of their bodies felt like it was scripted just for the two of them.

 

With every step, Bokuto’s hand found Akaashi’s waist, guiding him. Akaashi, feeling his own confidence grow, let a soft smirk tug at his lips as he matched Bokuto’s movements. The crowd around them became a blur. Akaashi’s gaze stayed locked on Bokuto’s, every beat heightening the thrill. He didn’t care about anyone else anymore.

When the song ended, they broke into laughter, breathless and content. “Thank you.” Bokuto pressed his lips into Akaashi’s ear, beaming.

 

Before they knew what happened, The DJ dropped Kendrick Lamar’s HUMBLE. like a bomb on the dance floor. The opening beat exploded over the speakers, and the entire crowd buzzed with energy. Sakusa’s head shot up, his usual reserved expression giving into an uncharacteristic, slightly tipsy —or borderline drunk— grin.

 

“OH MY GOD—THIS IS MY JAM!” Sakusa’s voice rang out, louder than anyone had ever heard him. His declaration turned everyone’s heads. What was even stranger was the way he elbowed his way toward Ushijima, a wild, almost reckless grin lighting up his face.

 

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the energy of the night, but Sakusa pointed at Ushijima and raised an eyebrow, his challenge clear. “Wakatoshi,” he called, his voice carrying over the music. “Think you can keep up?”

Ushijima blinked in surprise, processing the unusual challenge, but after a second, he gave a solemn nod. “I accept.”

 

In seconds, the crowd circled around them, clearing space as the two serious players faced off. Sakusa started, jerking his shoulders to the beat in stiff but precise, almost robotic movements, executing a shuffle that had everyone laughing as he focused with an intensity usually reserved for the court. He broke into a surprisingly smooth spin, pointed at Ushijima with one hand and mouthed, “Bitch, be humble.”

The crowd and his teammates erupted in laughter, even Ushijima broke a grin. Not to be outdone, he stepped forward, his face serious as ever but his movements slightly looser, clearly fueled by a fair amount of liquid courage. He mirrored Sakusa’s spin and threw in a half-decent body roll that left the crowd roaring. When he finished, he crossed his arms, giving a nod as if to say, “Your move.”

Sakusa tilted his head, undeterred. “Not bad,” he said, his voice barely audible over the music but somehow carrying the weight of the challenge. Without breaking eye contact, he threw in a dramatic slide, finishing with an unexpectedly smooth lock it down move that had people clapping along.

Ushijima, catching the crowd’s energy, answered by attempting a stick and roll, his movements hilariously rigid despite his impressive body but still undeniably committed. He ended with an awkward yet proud shimmy of his shoulders, staring Sakusa down with a competitive fire.

Sakusa and Ushijima held their final pose for a beat, and then, with exaggerated seriousness, gave each other a solid handshake. The crowd erupted in laughter and applause. Sakusa allowed a tiny, satisfied nod, while Ushijima offered a rare, slightly awkward smile.

As they moved off to rejoin their friends, Bokuto and Akaashi exchanged a wide-eyed look, Bokuto’s face alight with excitement.“Did we just witness… that?”

Akaashi laughed, shaking his head. “Only in our wildest dreams.”

Bokuto grinned in response. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of these two,” he whispered, barely able to contain his laughter. “Let’s follow Omi, I need to congratulate him on his victory.”

Bokuto, still grinning ear to ear, grabbed Akaashi’s hand and guided him through the lively crowd toward the bar, where Sakusa and Ushijima had settled in, each looking remarkably unfazed.

 

“Omi!” Bokuto called out, clapping a hand on Sakusa’s shoulder with enthusiastic pride. “I didn’t know you had moves like that! Honestly, you crushed it, man.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes but allowed himself a small, amused smile. “It was…an unexpected moment,” he admitted, nodding as if the whole thing had been some strategic decision he’d thought over.

 

Akaashi laughed softly as he leaned against the bar, signaling to the bartender for a shot. Bokuto on his left,  was reliving the dance-off with Sakusa. Bokuto’s laugh was booming, his energy contagious, and Akaashi found himself smiling as he leaned over the bar to accept his tequila shot. Until a deep, calm voice broke through…

 

“One for me too.”

 

Akaashi’s eyes widened, recognizing the voice. He turned his head to see Ushijima standing at his side with his classical intensity in his gaze. Really, what’s his deal? He was rattled by the presence, but managed to hide it well.

 

The bartender, poured another shot and slid it toward Ushijima, who lifted it expressionless. He held Akaashi’s gaze for a beat, eyes flickering with something Akaashi couldn’t quite understand. Then, with a surprising hint of friendliness, he raised his glass to Akaashi. So he wanted to drink with Akaashi?

 

“Cheers,” Ushijima said simply, his deep voice steady.

Akaashi raised his glass, trying to keep a straight face. “Cheers.”

They downed the shots, the liquid burning its way down, and Akaashi felt like he was under the microscope under Ushijima’s unblinking gaze. Just as he set his glass down, Ushijima nodded slowly, a glint of what might’ve been satisfaction in his eyes.

 

“Do you normally drink tequila?” Akaashi asked, trying to break the unexpected tension.

“Not often,” Ushijima replied, his voice as serious as ever. “But tonight’s special. I challenged Sakusa.”

Akaashi bit back a grin, nodding. “I think everybody saw that.”

Ushijima continued, “And I thought—since I was victorious, I should… celebrate.” There was a brief pause as he turned his gaze Akaashi’s back—to Sakusa and Bokuto celebrating Sakusa’s victory—  Ushijima’s mouth curved in what might pass for a smile. “Well… I believe I won... in spirit.”

“In spirit, huh?” The absurdity of it made Akaashi laugh. “Well then,” he ordered two more tequila shots, and lifting his glass in a toast, “here’s to victories—in spirit.”

Ushijima broke in a rare grin, accepting the drink. Together they took another shot. As they set their glasses back on the bar, Ushijima remained uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze fixed on the empty shot glass in front of him. He paused, as if weighing his words, then finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “Well… I actually owe you an apology.”

 

Akaashi blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things he’d expected Ushijima to say, this was not one of them. “An apology?” he repeated, his brows knitting together in mild confusion. “For what?” Ushijima could be weird, but as far as he could remember, he had never done anything remotely warranting an apology.

 

For a moment, Ushijima didn’t respond; he simply looked around the bar, his expression growing oddly intense, as if he were scanning for eavesdroppers. Then, with a quick gesture, he motioned for Akaashi to lean in closer. Intrigued and slightly amused, Akaashi obliged, leaning forward as Ushijima continued in a hushed tone. “I didn’t know you were with Bokuto…” He said.

 

Akaashi’s expression flickered with recognition, and a laugh almost escaped him as he realized what Ushijima was hinting at. He remembered their first interaction—Ushijima’s blunt “smart and sexy” comment, the way he’d seemed both awkward and oddly confident at the same time. So that’s what this was about. Akaashi couldn’t help but smirk, waving a dismissive hand.

“It’s fine, really,” he said. “That was before Bokuto and I even—”

 

But Ushijima, his face uncharacteristically flushed, shook his head, his tone dropping lower. “No, you don’t understand,” he insisted. He leaned in closer, looking almost haunted. “I thought… you were with the influencers. I… mean, it was an assumption. I assumed…” His voice trailed off as he swallowed, clearly pained by the memory.

 

Akaashi’s brow furrowed, his amusement fading. He leaned back, meeting his gaze, trying to decrypt his words. “An assumption?” He repeated, his voice firmer now.

Ushijima nodded, looking down at the bar as though gathering courage. “I’d… seen you before. On… certain websites.” He glanced around again, as if someone might overhear, then continued in a voice barely above a whisper. “So,  when I heard you were an editor there… That’s what I meant by smart and sexy when we first met. I thought I was being sleek.” He sighed. “When I saw you again right before the locker rooms today, I was really confused. I asked Oikawa who you were and well… I didn’t realize everyone else knew you from high school. I’m mortified.”

It took a moment for the full meaning of Ushijima’s words to sink in, and when it did, Akaashi felt his face grow hot. Oh. So that was why Ushijima had looked so bewildered yet oddly starstruck at their first meeting. And, the weird glance he gave Akashi today… It all made perfect sense.

 

Realizing the deep embarrassment etched across Ushijima’s usually composed face, Akaashi let out a small, genuine laugh, trying to ease the tension. “It’s okay, really,” he said, his voice gentle yet distanced. “If anything, it sounds like it was an honest mistake. And anyway, you’re not the first to recognize me… from that.”

Ushijima blinked, his intense gaze softening as he processed Akaashi’s calm response. “Still, I wanted to apologize,” he said. “Feels… disrespectful. I didn’t tell anyone anything if you’re wondering. And I don’t plan to.”

 

Akaashi shook his head, a warm smile softening his features. “Don’t sweat it, really,” he reassured, patting Ushijima’s shoulder. “But I appreciate you telling me. And— Ushijima-san, thank you.”

 

Ushijima let out a long, relieved breath, his usual stoicism returning. “Thank you, Akaashi,” he said, nodding solemnly. “I... feel better now.” Ushijima’s quiet sincerity filled the small gap between them, easing Akaashi’s lingering discomfort. Just as Akaashi parted his lips to reply, he felt a familiar presence slide comfortably next to him, accompanied by the subtle scent of cologne and a confident warmth brushing his shoulder. “Akaashi!” Terushima exclaimed loudly, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” He asked smoothly, his tone effortlessly charming, eyes gleaming playfully.

 

Akaashi glanced sideways, a grin breaking through his initial surprise. "Yuuji," he replied with mild amusement, arching an eyebrow knowingly. "Impeccable timing, as always.” Terushima leaned closer, his voice dipping into a teasing whisper near Akaashi’s ear, low enough that only Akaashi could catch his words clearly. "Are you kidding? Have you seen his abs? I've been waiting for this moment all night," he chuckled softly, eyes bright with mischief as he pulled back slightly, allowing Akaashi space for introductions.

 

Suppressing his laughter, Akaashi turned back to Ushijima, who waited patiently but appeared mildly puzzled by the quiet exchange. “Ushijima-san, this is Terushima Yuuji," Akaashi offered politely, still fighting the tug at his lips. “An old friend of mine.”

 

Terushima extended his hand with practiced ease, expression open yet edged with unmistakable interest. "Pleasure," he greeted warmly, holding Ushijima’s gaze confidently.

 

Ushijima returned the handshake, formal and careful, though the slight tilt of his head indicated he was still processing Terushima’s sudden appearance. "It’s nice to meet you, Terushima-san.”

 

“Oh, please.” Terushima smiled slowly, effortlessly charismatic, not bothering to conceal the appreciative way his eyes lingered just long enough to be noticed. “Call me Yuuji," he said, voice smooth and assured. "You know, seeing you dance earlier was quite the highlight of my night.”

 

Ushijima paused, considering this carefully. “Oh?".

“I thought, you had remarkable form.” Terushima clarified easily, eyes sparkling with amusement at Ushijima’s genuine confusion.”

“Thank you," Ushijima responded softly, nodding seriously, entirely unaware of the flirtatious undertone.

 

Terushima tilted his head slightly, a playful expression crossing his features. “Well… If you're up for another dance," he offered confidently, "I'd love to join you.”

Ushijima considered briefly, his serious eyes thoughtfully meeting Terushima’s bold gaze. After a beat of contemplative silence, he nodded politely. "Certainly," he agreed earnestly, "I'd like that.”

 

Terushima flashed Akaashi a subtle, triumphant glance, lips curled with quiet satisfaction. "Catch you later, Akaashi," he said, guiding Ushijima smoothly toward the lively heart of the party.

 

Akaashi watched the pair for a moment, quietly amused by the ease with which Terushima handled Ushijima’s gentle bewilderment. A voice from beside him broke the comfortable silence—Bokuto, appearing thoughtful, his golden eyes fixed curiously on the pair as they moved in unexpected synchrony.“Was that Yuuji?” Bokuto asked blinking, trying to make sure he was seeing right. “You know… They… actually look kind of good together?" Bokuto murmured uncertainly, clearly surprised by his own observation.

 

Akaashi smiled slightly, nodding in agreement. "Surprisingly," he said quietly, watching the two disappear into the rhythm of the crowd, "they really do.”

He squeezed the Bokuto’s hand next to himself, grateful for every moment together.  “Hey, Kou…” he said, his voice bright, as he extended his hand. “Let’s dance.”

 

Bokuto took Akaashi’s hand With a grin, and together they melted into the beat. Their movements became an effortless rhythm, hands grazing and holding, finding each other naturally as they swayed. Laughter bubbled up between them as they spun and leaned in close, their world shrinking to the music, the energy pulsing around them.

They were lost to the crowd but found within each other, glancing around to see their friends joining in, creating a circle of familiar faces, laughter, and warmth. It was a night of pure, unguarded joy.

Notes:

This was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did reading it.

Chapter 24: At Last

Notes:

This is Lemon, just in case some of you might want to skip it. Pure smut.

The door clicked shut behind them, muting the sound of the city outside. Akaashi and Bokuto walked inside Bokuto’s quiet apartment hand in hand, buzzing with laughter, bringing the energy of night themselves. Akaashi slipped off his shoes and set them neatly by the door, while Bokuto kicked his off with the usual lack of care, letting them land haphazardly. The apartment felt warm, a comforting contrast to the crisp night air.

“What a night,” Akaashi murmured, a tired but happy smile on his face as he looked at Bokuto. “I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a long time.”

 

“Me neither,” Bokuto replied, his eyes shining bright. “I still can’t believe Tooru and Iwa actually sang a duet,” Akaashi said after a pause, shaking his head as he padded toward the kitchen. Bokuto let out a low chuckle, as he followed Akaashi into the kitchen himself. “They nailed it though. Iwa has a nice voice. Who knew?”

“He does,” Akaashi agreed, reaching for a glass from the cupboard. “He sings in the shower a lot. But I can’t believe Tooru was able to convince him with just a glance. He never does things like that in public. Still, Tooru was the star.”

Bokuto grinned, leaning against the counter. “It was art, Keiji.”

“Let’s not push it that far,” Akaashi replied with a faint smile. He pushed his glass into the water dispenser of the refrigerator, filling it water.  Bokuto crossed his arms, watching him. His grin widened as a new memory lighted up his golden eyes. “Okay, not gonna lie, I was impressed and all. But it was still not the wildest thing I saw tonight.”

Akaashi nearly choked on mid-sip of his water. “The dance-off?” He asked chuckling into his glass.

Bokuto nodded, his grin widening. “Oh man, that dance-off. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Could you believe those moves?”

“I know. Neither could I,” Akaashi admitted with a hint of amusement in his tone. “Ushijima-san got a little stiff at the end though.” He added a moment later, his face thoughtful as if he was analyzing the whole thing.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto groaned his voice laced with exaggerated exasperation. “Don’t call that knucklehead Ushijima-san!” He rolled his eyes dramatically, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of the thought. “You’re giving me goosebumps just saying it.” He shuddered in mock extracting a hearty laugh from Akaashi. Smiling to himself, Akaashi stepped closer and slipped his arms around Bokuto from behind. He pressed a soft nuzzle to Bokuto’s neck.

“Still,” Bokuto murmured, his voice softening as he shifted slightly under Akaashi’s embrace. A faint flush crept across his cheeks, but he ignored it. “It was… incredible to watch. Both of them.”

Akaashi nodded, releasing Bokuto and stepping to his side, leaning casually against the counter beside him. “Agreed,” he said with a slight grin, his eyes flicking toward Bokuto. He didn’t seem to notice the faint flush on Bokuto’s cheeks as he continued, a spark of enthusiasm creeping into his tone. “But even that doesn’t top the highlight of the night.”  He said with the widest grin.

Bokuto tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his features. “The highlight?”

Akaashi’s gaze flicked to him, faint amusement playing at the edges of his expression. “The piercing.”

“Oh, come on.” Bokuto groaned, covering his face with both palms and dragging them down. “That was brutal. Poor Iwa.” He said but laughing all the same.

“Well, Tooru gave me his blessing to do my worst,” Akaashi said, setting the glass on the counter. “I couldn’t exactly disappoint him.” 

Bokuto let out a bark of laughter, tipping his head back. Then he looked at Akaashi with a mix of fear and admiration. “You two are dangerous together. He didn’t even stand a chance. I don’t know what was funnier— the moment he realized you knew, or the way he just looked at Tooru, like, ‘How could you?’, or how casually you dropped it like it was nothing. I mean, I was right there but I still can’t get over it.”

“Neither can Iwa, probably,” Akaashi said deadpan, reaching for his glass again.

That tone right there. So calm, so dry, and yet so perfectly cutting. So perfectly Akaashi. Bokuto’s chest swelled with warmth, laughter spilling from his lips again. He couldn’t help it—he loved this man. Loved the way Akaashi didn’t need to try to be funny, didn’t realize how effortlessly captivating he was.

 

Akaashi just kept going, oblivious to the effect he had, his focus back on the conversation about the night. “Anyway, as far as I’m concerned—”

 

The words evaporated mid-sentence.

 

Bokuto’s hand curled around Akaashi’s waist, turning him swiftly. Before Akaashi could even react, Bokuto’s warm lips captured his in a kiss. Words died in his throat as Bokuto pressed him against the counter.  The glass teetered in Akaashi’s hand before he set it down hastily, his breath catching at the sudden contact. He froze momentarily before melting into the kiss.

 

When Bokuto finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against Akaashi’s, his breath warm against Akaashi’s cheek. “Keiji,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with emotion. Akaashi opened his eyes, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he searched Bokuto’s gaze.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about this,” Bokuto said, his words rushed, almost breathless. “About you. All night.”

Akaashi stared at him, his mind blank for a moment. Then, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Bokuto’s. His fingers slid up, brushing Bokuto’s neck before tangling lightly in his hair. The kiss deepened instantly, raw and all-consuming. Their bodies pressed together, the air around them thickening with heat. The chaos of the night was forgotten, the only sound in the apartment the soft press of lips and their breaths mingling in the still air.

Bokuto groaned softly into the kiss, his hands clutching Akaashi, desperate to keep him close, to keep tasting him.He didn’t want to stop, didn’t even know how to, but desire surging him demanded more. His lips parted from Akaashi’s with a soft, shuddering gasp. He pressed them against Akaashi’s ear and whispered words that sent shivers down Akaashi’s spine.

"Keiji, I want you. Now.”

 

The urgency in Bokuto's voice was impossible to ignore. Akaashi's heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the heat radiating from Bokuto's body, the intensity of his desire almost palpable. “Bedroom,” Akaashi murmured, the word barely audible, in complete surrender.

 

Bokuto didn’t waste any time. His hand slid down Akaashi’s arm, fingers curling lightly around his wrist, guiding him back to his bedroom with a sense of purpose. When they reached the doorway, Bokuto paused just long enough to push the door open. He turned on his heel, pulling Akaashi inside the room with him, then immediately closing the distance between them. His hand left Akaashi’s wrist to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss—deep, searching, almost desperate.

 

Akaashi’s hands moved instinctively, seeking the buttons of Bokuto’s shirt. He had been waiting for this moment so long that his fingers were uncharacteristically clumsy, trembling as they worked. Bokuto chuckled softly against his lips, “Here,” he murmured, his hands covering Akaashi’s in a steadying manner, turning Akaashi back to himself immediately. Together, they slid the shirt from Bokuto’s shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor in a careless heap.

 

Bokuto’s hands moved next, finding the buttons of Akaashi’sshirt. He unbuttoned it quickly, and peered it off of Akaashi. His shirt joined the Bokuto’s shirt on the floor, and for a moment, they both stilled, gazes locking as they took each other in.

 

Bokuto’s hands trailed down Akaashi’s sides with deliberate slowness, fingertips skimming over the curve of his abs, the dip to his V-line. Akaashi shivered under the touch, his own hands rising to explore Bokuto’s chest. His palms were steady now, gliding over the planes of defined muscle, tracing their lines as though committing them to memory.

 

“Keiji…” Bokuto’s voice was almost bashful, as his hands slid lower, finding the waistband of Akaashi’s trousers. He fumbled with the button for a moment, his breaths growing heavier. Akaashi leaned forward, understanding how overwhelmed Bokuto was feeling. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Bokuto’s mouth.

 

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands replaced Bokuto’s, deftly undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. Akaashi eased the trousers over his hips, letting them fall to the floor. Before he could even straighten, Bokuto’s hands switched to the waistband of his own pants. He tugged at his belt buckle, his urgency making the motions clumsy. Akaashi’s gaze flicked down, and without a word, he reached forward, his hands steadying Bokuto’s. “I’ve got it,” he said, his fingers quickly unzipping Bokuto. The pants slid down, and Bokuto stepped out of them, leaving their clothes on the floor in one big messy heap.

 

Skin met skin, and the heat between them intensified. Bokuto's hands roamed over Akaashi's back, while Akaashi's fingers traced the curve of Bokuto's biceps. Their hungry lips found each other again, a dance of exploration and need. “Keiji…” Bokuto gasped into Akaashi’s mouth. “I want to feel you inside me."

 

Akaashi pulled back, his eyes wide with surprise, his breath catching in his chest. “Kou,  he murmured, his voice low and unsure. “I thought you were always the top…”

 

Bokuto's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but he didn’t waver. He held Akaashi’s gaze, his golden eyes burning with determination. "I've been experimenting," he admitted, his voice raw with vulnerability. "I was wearing my butt plug all day long. I want to feel you— every inch of you."

 

The confession hit Akaashi like a bolt, sending heat coursing through his veins. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. Without a word, he sank to his knees, his hands finding the waistband of Bokuto’s boxers. He hesitated for just a moment before he slowly pulled them down, the fabric sliding over Bokuto’s hips. The motion was unhurried, almost reverent.

 

Bokuto sprang free, hard, thick and perfect. Akaashi’s lips parted involuntarily, his breath hitching as he stared. He’d caught a glimpse or two of Bokuto before, in the locker room changing. But this was different..  They were kids then, and… He had never seen Bokuto like this. Completely vulnerable and desire coursing through his veins... And the sight made his head spin.

 

Bokuto had always been his best friend, the person he trusted more than anyone else. But he had also been the source of so many of Akaashi’s late-night thoughts, the quiet fantasies he never allowed himself to dwell on for too long. Now, he wasn’t just some distant dream. He was here. Real. Wanting him back with undeniable proof.

 

Akaashi’s eyes took every detail, his pulse quickening. Bokuto was gorgeous—broad and strong. He looked like a Greek statue under the low lighting of the bedroom, the lines of his body shining perfectly. Each detail was so elegant, so refined as if he was hand drawn. Akaashi swallowed, a rush of heat coursing through him. The sight of his erect cock stirred raw and primal thoughts in himself. A strange sense of relief washed over him simultaneously, completely irrational, at how perfect it was—at how Bokuto it was. And with that relief came hunger. He wanted to touch him, to taste him, to feel every inch of him until nothing else existed.

 

For a moment, Akaashi’s thoughts tangled. This was Bokuto. His Bokuto. And yet it was more. It was the man he had wanted for so long, standing here, offering himself in ways Akaashi never thought possible. He exhaled shakily, as his gaze flicked up. Bokuto’s golden eyes looked back at him burning with intense desire. Akaashi’s throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed. He wanted to give Bokuto everything. He wanted to take everything Bokuto was offering. And more…

 

Akaashi didn’t waste any more time. He shoved Bokuto toward the bed with a little more force than he’d intended.  The bed hit the backs of Bokuto’s knees as he tumbled back, a surprised gasp escaping from his mouth.  He watched Akaashi with a curious gaze as Akaashi pushed his legs apart, and settled in between them.

 

With deliberate slowness, Akaashi leaned forward, his lips brushing against the tip. He closed his eyes as he took him inside his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste him, savoring the warmth as he slid further down. Bokuto’s eyes fluttered shut the moment Akaashi’s lips wrapped him around. A sharp gasp filled the air, a sound that made Akaashi’s stomach twist in the best way.

 

His hands settled on Bokuto’s hips, as his mouth worked. Akaashi’s thoughts quieted, overtaken by sensation—by the taste of Bokuto, the way he filled Akaashi’s mouth, and the way his body trembled beneath Akaashi’s touch.

 

Bokuto’s hands flew to Akaashi’s hair, his fingers curling tightly into the soft strands. “Keiji,” he choked out, his voice trembling. His head tipped back, his eyes fluttering shut as the sensations overwhelmed him. Akaashi’s rhythm was slow at first, almost teasing, but with each soft moan from Bokuto, he pushed further, his lips sliding along the length with growing intensity.

 

“Fuck…” Bokuto gasped, his voice cracking as his hips thrusted forward involuntarily on instinct. Each motion of Akaashi’s head sent jolts of ecstasy through Bokuto. His hands tightened in Akaashi’s hair, his chest rising and falling in shallow, frantic breaths. “You’re so good at this. God, you’re—” His words broke off into a low moan, his body trembling as pleasure rippled through him.

 

The praise sent a spark through Akaashi, fueling his determination, his movements growing frantic. His tongue swirled around the underside of Bokuto’s tip as he moved his head, drawing more broken gasps and curses from Bokuto. The tension in Bokuto’s body was palpable, ready to snap any moment, and Akaashi could feel it in every shudder, every involuntary thrust of Bokuto’s hips.  “Kei—” Bokuto whimpered, his voice strained and desperate. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

 

Akaashi didn’t pull back when he heard. Instead, he pushed forward, his lips sealing Bokuto as he shot his load into Akaashi’s mouth. Bokuto cried out, his body arching as his release surged through him. Akaashi swallowed without hesitation, relishing the taste of Bokuto, his own cock throbbing with need. Bokuto collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving, his face was flushed, his golden eyes glazed with satisfaction. “I’m so sorry,” he panted, his voice hoarse. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t hold back.”

 

Akaashi’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile as he wiped the corner of his mouth, still in between Bokuto’s legs. "Don't apologize,” he said, looking up at Bokuto, his voice soft but laced with heat. "I loved it."

 

Bokuto's heart raced, a mixture of relief and renewed desire coursing through him. He let out a shaky breath as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His golden eyes locked on Akaashi, still kneeling between his legs, his lips slightly swollen, his hair disheveled. He had never seen Akaashi like this before, his usually dismissive, calm eyes burning with a passion that left Bokuto completely speechless.

 

Bokuto reached down, his hand trembling slightly as it curled around Akaashi’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Bokuto couldn’t take his eyes off him. His gaze dropped, almost unconsciously, to the thick outline pressing insistently against Akaashi’s boxers. For years, he’d imagined moments like this—fantasized about them in the quiet, lonely spaces of his life. The memory that led to all of this flashed through his mind, completely unwelcome—the day he stumbled upon that video.

 

It had been just a couple months ago, a complete chance discovery—Akaashi, naked and on his knees, his lips wrapped around another man’s cock. He had closed the video within seconds, his stomach twisting in knots. Aside from genuine concern for his friend,  it felt too much like jealousy, too much like yearning.

 

He could have gone back to it after they made up. There had been nights, thoughts came to his mind—when he felt confused, desperate and lonely. But he hadn’t. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it felt wrong. He didn’t want to take from Akaashi in secret, didn’t want to indulge in something that wasn’t given to him. Bokuto had wanted him like this… Standing before him, offering everything on his own terms.

 

And now that it was happening, it felt unreal. Surreal, even.

 

Bokuto’s focus snapped back to the present when Akaashi’s hands found his chest, steadying him. His blue gaze pierced through Bokuto, soft but blazing with passion. For the first time, Bokuto truly understood what everyone meant when they said, Have you seen the way he looks at you? It was everything —vulnerable, full of desire, and so unmistakably in love. Bokuto’s chest tightened all over again. Without hesitation, his hands moved to the waistband of Akaashi’s boxers. Slowly, he tugged them down, the fabric dragging down Akaashi’s legs until his cock slipped free, and for a moment Bokuto completely froze.

The sheer size of Akaashi took Bokuto’s breath away. He was utterly and completely awestruck. Akaashi was just massive. He blinked for a moment. He didn’t know what he had expected, this was… Bigger than anything he’d imagined—not that he’d given it any thought or anything. Blood rushed to his cheeks, painting them to a deep crimson.  No wonder he’s been in porn. The thought rushed through his mind, and for a moment, he didn’t know whether to laugh or be impressed—or terrified for himself.

 

“Keiji,” Bokuto murmured. His fingers brushed against Akaashi’s hips, his touch hesitant but curious. He met Akaashi’s gaze again, his own eyes wide with disbelief, and a small chuckle escaped from his lips. “Are you sure you’ve put this thing in anyone else?” He asked, half-joking, half-serious.

 

Akaashi chuckled back at him, shaking his head. He reached out a hand and brushed it against Bokuto’s cheek. “Kou, We don't have to," he said, his voice gentle. "This is your first time. We can take it slow. I’m versatile. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

 

Bokuto’s heart swelled at Akaashi’s words, the gentle care in his tone washing over him. That was just so Akaashi. Always thinking of him, always making sure he was okay. And God, it only made Bokuto want him more. His grin softened, “I know,” Bokuto said, his voice warm. “But I am ready. I’ve been ready for you for a long time.”

 

The conviction in his words sent a flicker of surprise across Akaashi’s face, but he didn’t get the chance to respond. Bokuto rose on his feet and leaned closer until their bodies were pressed together. He kissed Akaashi deeply, his fingers curling around Akaashi’s undeniable arousal as he broke away just enough to murmur, “I want this. I want you.”

 

With no hesitation, Bokuto lowered himself onto his knees, his hands moving with certainty as he guided the tip of Akaashi’s cock to his mouth. He didn’t look away, his golden eyes locking with Akaashi’s as he parted his lips and took him in. Akaashi gasped sharply, his hand flying to Bokuto’s hair as Bokuto’s mouth enveloped him.

 

“Kou…” Akaashi breathed, his voice breaking as Bokuto worked him, his tongue tracing deliberate circles along the underside of his shaft. Each flick and motion sent jolts of pleasure coursing through Akaashi, his body trembling with the effort to stay upright. But just as Akaashi felt himself unraveling, Bokuto pulled back with a wicked gleam in his eye.

 

Bokuto backed onto the bed, his movements fluid as he spread his legs wide, leaning back against the pillows. Akaashi’s gaze flicked downward, catching the glint of the butt plug still in place. The sight sent a wave of heat rushing through Akaashi. “Come on, Keiji,” Bokuto whispered, his voice filled urgency, golden eyes burning with desire. “I want you.”

 

Akaashi hesitated only for a moment before climbing onto the bed, his hands settling on Bokuto’s thighs. He reached for the plug. The little hair on his neck erected as he gently pulled the plug out of Bokuto, feeling the resistance and the give as it slid free. Bokuto moaned, a sound that sent shivers down Akaashi's spine.

 

Akaashi paused, his gaze fixed on Bokuto’s entrance, now slightly gaped and glistening in the low light. The trust and vulnerability in the sight made Akaashi’s chest tighten with tenderness. He reached out, brushing his fingers along Bokuto’s hip. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. He needed to hear it, he needed to know Bokuto would be okay.

 

Bokuto nodded, his eyes heavy with lust but filled with warmth. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice steady. “Come on, I want you.”

 

“You can tell me to stop and I will.” Akaashi’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he settled between Bokuto’s thighs. He started with gentle kisses along Bokuto's inner thigh, working his way up to his balls, teasing and loving every inch of skin. Bokuto's breath hitched as Akaashi's tongue swirled around his entrance, preparing him for what was to come. “Keiji,” Bokuto murmured, his voice trembling with need.

 

Akaashi didn’t rush. He took his time, his mouth and hands exploring every inch of Bokuto’s skin. When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, he reached for the lube, coating his own erection with steady hands. Bokuto’s golden eyes followed every movement, his breath caught in his throat when he saw how hard Akaashi was, dripping with anticipation. The reality of what was about to happen sent a rush of heat through him, nerves buzzing with a mix of anticipation and excitement.

 

Akaashi positioned himself, his cock hard and throbbing, the tip just brushing against Bokuto's entrance. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This was uncharted territory for both of them, and he wanted to make it perfect. “Relax for me, okay?” Akaashi murmured, his voice a soothing balm to Bokuto's anxious mind.“Just take a deep breath.”

 

Bokuto nodded, his eyes closed. “I trust you,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his breath. Akaashi captured his lips in a tender kiss. “Look at me,” He said softly as he pulled back, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing. “I want to see your eyes.”

 

Bokuto met his gaze, his golden eyes wide, filled with a mixture of trust and longing. With deliberate care, Akaashi pressed forward, the tip of his cock breaching Bokuto’s entrance. Bokuto gasped, his back arching slightly as the initial burn hit, his muscles clenching reflexively around Akaashi. "Shh," Akaashi whispered, his voice soothing as he paused,"Just breathe. Let me in.”

 

Bokuto exhaled shakily, his breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as he adjusted to the sensation. The burn began to ease, replaced by a warmth that spread through his body. Akaashi didn’t move right away; he stayed still, letting Bokuto get used to the feeling. When Bokuto finally relaxed beneath him, Akaashi pushed in a little deeper, leaning down to kiss his temple. “You take my breath away,” he murmured, his tone thick with emotion. He pushed in further, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against Bokuto’s. They both let out a shuddering breath, their bodies trembling with the intensity of the connection.

 

At first, Bokuto thought it was mostly discomfort. It was something unfamiliar, a sensation of fullness he wouldn’t completely describe as unpleasant. He’d never felt so… aware of his own body before. But despite everything, there was also a primal satisfaction in feeling Akaashi so deeply embedded within him.

 

Then Akaashi moved.

 

The first pull back was slow, so careful it almost felt hesitant. But when Akaashi pressed back in, Bokuto felt it—a jolt of pleasure rushing through him like lightning. Akaashi’s cock rubbed against a soft spot deep within him, one he didn’t even know could feel like this. His toes curled involuntarily, and a low, breathy sound escaped his lips.

 

Pleasure spread outward, lighting up every nerve, every inch of his body. It wasn’t just the stimulation. It was the way Akaashi’s hips pressed against his own, the way their bodies fit together, the way Akaashi’s voice sounded when he murmured against Bokuto’s skin. It was everything at once, and it left Bokuto trembling beneath him.

 

“Keiji…” Bokuto gasped, his voice cracking as his hands reached for Akaashi’s shoulders. He clung to him, his nails digging into Akaashi’s skin as his body shuddered. “God, Keiji, I didn’t—” He broke off with a moan as Akaashi thrust again, hitting that same spot, sending him another wave of pleasure.

 

Akaashi stilled briefly, leaning down to brush his thumb on Bokuto’s cheek. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Bokuto nodded quickly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice trembling but steady. “Yes, don’t stop. It feels so good.”

 

Relief softened Akaashi’s expression, and the corners of his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He shifted his hips slightly, pressing deeper just enough to pull a gasp from Bokuto. When he spoke again, his tone carried a new edge—playful, teasing, and dripping with intent. “Feels good, huh?,” he murmured, his breath hot against Bokuto’s ear. “Then tell me, Kou… how do you want me? Slow and sweet? Or maybe something a little more intense?”

 

Bokuto’s entire body shuddered at the words, his mind stalling for a moment. This—this wasn’t something he expected to hear from Akaashi. Not Akaashi, who was always so calm, so measured, so caring. His desire became even more overwhelming than it already was. His hands found Akaashi’s face, pulling him down into a kiss, pouring every ounce of his need into it. When Bokuto finally broke away, his voice came out low, trembling, and almost desperate as he looked directly into Akaashi’s eyes. “More,” he whispered, “Don’t hold back. Please.”

 

Akaashi gulped audibly, as his composure finally slipped. Bokuto, laid bare beneath him, looking at him with complete trust, complete want, and something so visceral it left Akaashi breathless. “Kou,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

 

And then, he gave Bokuto exactly what he asked for.

 

Akaashi shifted as he snapped his hips forward with a force that made Bokuto cry out, his head tipping back against the pillows. He poured everything he had into each thrust, his movements becoming faster, wilder, hitting that spot Bokuto loved with precision. The bed creaked under their combined weight. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, mixed with Bokuto’s increasingly desperate moans and Akaashi’s low, shaky breaths.

 

“Keiji, you’re amazing.” Bokuto gasped, “Fuck—yes, just like that—don’t stop.” Akaashi leaned down, capturing Bokuto's mouth in another searing kiss as he continued to pump into Bokuto. He pulled back slightly and groaned, “Kou,” his voice low and raw. “You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

 

Hearing Akaashi moan his name felt intoxicating, making Bokuto even more desperate for release. Bokuto’s nails dug deeper into Akaashi’s shoulders, his head tipping back as a loud moan tore from his throat. “Keiji,” he gasped, his voice breaking, “I’m so close. Please—don’t stop.”

 

“I’m close too,” Akaashi admitted, his breath ragged. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“Inside me,” Bokuto choked out, his voice trembling with desperation. “I want to feel you. Please— Don’t hold back.”

 

Akaashi groaned at Bokuto’s plea, the raw need in his voice spurring him on. His hands gripped Bokuto’s hips tighter as he thrust harder chasing his release. Bokuto’s body tensed beneath him, his moans escalating, and with one final, deep thrust, Akaashi came. He spilled inside Bokuto, his orgasm triggering an explosion of pleasure that left him shuddering.

 

The sensation of Akaashi’s release inside him pushed Bokuto over the edge. With a loud, broken cry, his body arched, and his own climax came in spurts between them, coating both his and Akaashi’s chests. Bokuto’s fingers gripped Akaashi’s back tightly, holding him close as his body shuddered with the force of his orgasm.

 

For a moment, they stayed like that, locked together in shared ecstasy. Then, slowly, Akaashi withdrew, collapsing beside Bokuto and pulling him into a tight embrace. They laid there, tangled together, breathless and spent, their bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of their passion. Bokuto’s chest rose and fell against Akaashi’s, and a soft laugh escaped him as he turned his head to look at Akaashi.

“You were inside me,” Bokuto said, his voice quiet but filled with wonder. A wide grin spread across his face, his golden eyes bright even as his body still struggled to catch up with his breathing.

 

Akaashi turned his head in response, looking slightly surprised. He stared deeply inside Bokuto’s golden eyes with hint of warmth in his gaze. “I was.” He confirmed, his voice full of tenderness. 

 

“So… that’s how it feels, huh?” Bokuto mused, his tone growing softer. “I get why you’d switch now. The feeling of you inside me was… priceless. And I’m not just talking about the pleasure.” He paused, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Different kind of vulnerability, I guess. Even now, I’m… dripping with you. It’s like you’re a part of me.”

 

Akaashi’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his gaze remained steady. “Are you trying to turn me on again?” he teased lightly, his voice warm but laced with affection. “Because if that’s the case, it’s working.”

"I love you," Bokuto laughed in genuine joy as his body relaxed further into Akaashi’s arms.

Akaashi smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I love you too, Koutarou."

They shared a tender kiss, their hands finding each other’s, intertwining as they drift off into a contented silence. The room fell completely quiet now, except for the sound of their breaths slowly evening out. Their bodies remained tangled together as they lay in the dim light. Akaashi’s fingers lazily traced patterns along Bokuto’s chest, the quiet intimacy settling around them like a soft blanket.

Bokuto’s eyes fluttered, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. “That was… incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and drowsy.

Akaashi’s lips quirked upward as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Bokuto’s temple. “It was,” he agreed, his voice warm, steady. “You were incredible.”

Bokuto’s chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, his muscles softening as he melted into the bed. His golden eyes fluttered shut, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. The warmth of Akaashi’s embrace and the weight of their shared intimacy seemed to lull him toward sleep, leaving him utterly content.

Akaashi watched him, a faint smile playing on his lips as he took in the peaceful expression on Bokuto’s face. For a moment, he considered letting Bokuto drift, his fingers idly trailing over the lines of his chest. But then, Akaashi tilted his head, his eyes glinting with mischief as he propped himself up on one elbow.“What’s this?” he murmured, his tone light and teasing. “Are you falling asleep already? Not ready for round two?”

“Huh?” Bokuto’s eyes snapped open at the words, his brow furrowing slightly, blinking at Akaashi as if trying to make sure whether what he heard was real or a dream. A faint blush crept across his cheeks. “What?” he muttered, his voice low and thick with drowsiness.

Akaashi’s smirk widened as his fingers continued tracing lazy patterns across Bokuto’s chest. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you heard me there, Bo,” he said, his voice mischievous.

Bokuto let out a soft, breathy laugh, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. The way Akaashi was still full energy and hungry for more as if he hadn’t just given Bokuto the best sex of his life blew his mind away. A huge grin appeared on his lips.“You’re insatiable,” he muttered, but there was no real complain in his tone, instead it was edging to admiration.

Akaashi chuckled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to Bokuto's collarbone. "I want to feel you this time," he murmured against Bokuto's skin.

Bokuto's eyes locked onto Akaashi's with a mixture of surprise and desire. For a moment, he could only stare. “Yeah?” Bokuto asked softly, his voice thick with anticipation. He swallowed, his hands instinctively finding Akaashi’s hips. “Are you sure?”

Akaashi laughed softly to the question, his fingers brushing gently over Bokuto’s chest as he nodded. “I’m sure,” he replied, with a mischievous edge. His voice dipped into a whisper, his words becoming a challenge. “Are you?”

Bokuto's mind reeled from the question, his body growing in excitement before his brain could fully process what was happening. Without waiting for a response, Akaashi shifted, straddling Bokuto's hips and pinning him to the bed with a predatory glint in his eye. "Guess that's a yes," He said with a smirk as he positioned himself over Bokuto's throbbing erection.

Bokuto couldn’t say anything else. He simply let his hands settle on Akaashi’s sides, steadying him. Akaashi leaned over, reaching for the lube he placed on the nightstand earlier. He uncapped it with ease and squeezed a generous amount of lube into his hand before coating Bokuto’s length. Just the preparation alone drew a groan from Bokuto widening Akaashi’s smirk even more .

With one hand bracing himself against Bokuto’s chest, Akaashi positioned himself, guiding Bokuto’s length to his entrance. Bokuto's breath caught in his throat as he felt his tip brush against Akaashi's entrance. The initial press sent a shiver through both of them, and Akaashi paused, his lashes fluttering as he took a slow, measured breath. Then, he slowly began to lower himself down, taking Bokuto inside.

Bokuto let out a shaky groan, his fingers tightening on Akaashi’s hips as he watched, completely mesmerized. “Keiji,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Akaashi stilled for a moment once he was fully seated. The sensations were overwhelming —Bokuto filling him completely, the warmth of his body beneath him, and the intimacy of their connection. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure; it was the knowledge that this was Bokuto, the man he loved. The memory of being inside Bokuto earlier surged through him, making this connection even more profound. Now, Bokuto was inside him, and Akaashi’s chest swelled with emotion.

To have this, to give and take—it was everything Akaashi had ever wanted.

Akaashi took a deep breath, steadying himself, and then began to move. His body lifted, deliberate and unhurried, before sinking back down onto Bokuto. The motion was smooth and fluid making Bokuto’s hands tighten on his hips. Akaashi repeated the motion, gradually picking up the pace, his thighs flexing with each rise and fall. The wet, rhythmic sound of their connection filled the room, mingling with Bokuto’s soft, uneven breaths.

Bokuto’s golden eyes stayed locked on Akaashi, his gaze helplessly drawn to the way his lover moved. Akaashi’s cock bounced slightly with every descent, dim lighting of the bedroom highlighted his perfect features. Bokuto was mesmerized with everything —Akaashi’s lean frame, his focused expression, the controlled power in his movements. “Fuck Keiji," Bokuto gasped with strained voice, nails digging into Akaashi's hips. Just the sight of Akaashi riding him alone was enough to make Bokuto feel like he might come undone right then and there.

Akaashi only grinned down at him, his eyes sparkling with wicked delight. "Enjoying the view?” he taunted, without breaking his rhythm, riding Bokuto fluidly. His eyes locked onto Bokuto's, watching the way his expression twisted with each thrust. "You like that, don't you?" he asked, voice dripping with satisfaction. "You love feeling me around you."

Bokuto could only nod, his vision blurring slightly as Akaashi picked up the pace. He rode Bokuto expertly, every downward motion grew sharper, and timed perfectly to drive Bokuto wild. “Not a talker anymore, huh?” Akaashi asked, a hint of amusement on his voice.

Bokuto's jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain control. He tried to focus on anything other than the way Akaashi's walls were clenching around himself, the way his lover's body moved. "You... I’m losing my mind, Ke..." he panted, his voice breaking halfway through.

Akaashi's smile softened slightly, though the fire in his eyes remained. "That's the idea," he murmured, his hips snapping down with renewed vigor.

The pleasure was almost unbearable. Bokuto loved the intensity, yet something felt incomplete. It didn’t feel enough. Not with Akaashi. Bokuto’s fingers tightened on Akaashi’s hips, his breaths ragged as he fought to process the strange ache threading through his chest.

This was new. Different. Bokuto had always enjoyed sex—the physical rush, the intensity—but this? This went deeper. With Akaashi, it wasn’t just about how good it felt. It was the way Akaashi looked at him, the way every touch carried something words couldn’t capture. But right now, as much as Bokuto’s body burned with pleasure, something was missing— he couldn’t touch him. As Akaashi rode him, the teasing distance between made Bokuto feel like he was watching from too far away. It was maddening. He wanted to feel every inch of Akaashi against himself.

His golden eyes flicked up to Akaashi’s face, taking in the sparkle of mischief in his blue eyes, the way his lips parted as he gasped softly. Gorgeous, perfect, unattainable—for anyone else. But not for him. Bokuto’s chest tightened, and he finally understood. Of course it felt different. It was Akaashi. The man who knew him better than anyone else ever could. The one person who could make him feel completely understood with a single look.

“Keiji,” Bokuto murmured, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. “Come closer. Please.” He gave in to the overwhelming need to touch his lover. "I need to hold you, please…”

Akaashi froze mid-motion, his smirk faltering as the desperate look in Bokuto’s eyes hit him like a jolt. It wasn’t the kind of desperation Akaashi expected. No, it was almost vulnerable. For a heartbeat, Akaashi’s confidence wavered. He thought Bokuto was completely enjoying himself, the way his cries filled the room and his body responded, but now… Doubt crept in. Had he gone too far? Had his teasing tipped into something controlling? The thought left a heavy weight in his chest.

Then, Akaashi complied without hesitation, shifting his weight so that he was sitting fully atop Bokuto, their bodies pressed together. The change in position brought them chest-to-chest, and Bokuto’s arms wrapped around him instantly, pulling him close as if letting go wasn’t an option. “Better?” Akaashi murmured, his lips brushing against Bokuto’s cheek. His hands slid gently over Bokuto’s shoulders, fingers threading into his hair as he held him.

"God, yes," Bokuto breathed, burying his face into Akaashi’s neck as he finally allowed himself to relax. "Just... stay like this for a second… I love you so much.”  His voice was raw but filled with an unmistakable sincerity.

Akaashi’s heart stuttered at the words, and the faint smile tugging at his lips finally broke free. Too sweet… his chest warming in a way that made him feel almost exposed. You are too sweet… He pressed his lips to Bokuto’s ear. “I love you too,” he whispered. His hands slid along Bokuto’s back, his touch slow and unhurried, as if mapping every inch of him. “You’re everything to me.”

The words lit something in Bokuto, like a match striking in the dark. His golden eyes flicked up to Akaashi’s face, wide and gleaming with an emotion too intense to name. Without thinking, he surged forward, capturing Akaashi’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. When Bokuto pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against Akaashi’s, his golden eyes were dark with desire.“You’re everything to me too,” Bokuto whispered, his voice trembling with sincerity but layered with hunger. “Let me show you.”

Bokuto’s shifted, and he began to move. He lifted Akaashi slightly, adjusting the angle before guiding him back down onto his length. The motion was smooth but deliberate, Bokuto’s hips thrusting upward as he drove himself deeper. Akaashi’s breath hitched, his lashes fluttering as a low moan escaped his lips.

At first Bokuto took it slow. Their bodies stayed close, chest to chest, the friction building between them as Bokuto’s hips snapped upward, meeting Akaashi’s descent. Akaashi’s nails dug lightly into Bokuto’s shoulders, his head tipping back as he let himself sink into the pleasure. Then, Akaashi’s lips parted, his voice, low, almost commanding, cut through the haze of pleasure surrounding them. “Harder,” he gasped, his tone edged with desperation. “Fuck me harder.”

The words sent a shockwave through Bokuto, freezing him for the briefest second, His golden eyes darkened with raw hunger, and his restraint frayed. Bokuto obliged instantly, thrusting upward with renewed intensity.

Bokuto’s movements became more aggressive as he kept pounding into Akaashi. He thrusted harder, faster. The sound of their bodies hitting each other filled the room. Akaashi's cock rubbed against their abdomens with each thrust, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. He drove into Akaashi relentlessly, and Akaashi’s cries spurred him on. It was a chaotic cycle. 

Bokuto’s golden eyes locked on Akaashi’s cock as it rubbed between them, wetting them with his excitement. “You’re gorgeous,” Bokuto groaned, his voice rough, nearly breaking. His hands slid up Akaashi’s waist, tracing his abs before gripping his hips again. “God, Keiji… You’re—fuck—perfect.”

Akaashi didn't respond with words, instead chose to arch his back, grinding down onto Bokuto with even more force.

Bokuto could feel his orgasm coiling tight, just waiting for the right moment to explode. He groaned, his voice fraying. “Keiji,” he gasped, his voice trembling. “I can’t— I’m so close.”

Akaashi’s lips parted, his own breath hitching as he leaned down, his forehead pressing to Bokuto’s. “Let go,” he whispered, his voice a breathless plea. “Come inside me. All I want is to feel it.”

The words sent Bokuto spiraling. With a final, desperate thrust, Bokuto’s entire body seized, and a cry tore from his throat. He came inside Akaashi as Akaashi’s own orgasm spilled through between their chests. They clung to each other as the waves of pleasure washed over them, their bodies shaking with the intensity of their shared climax. For a long moment, they stayed like that, locked in a tight embrace, too lost in the afterglow to do anything but hold on.

Finally, Bokuto pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Akaashi's face. "Was that... okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

Akaashi smiled, a soft, tender smile that made Bokuto's heart ache. “It was everything I could ever want and more," he said, his voice filled with genuine affection.

“Really?” Bokuto murmured, his voice soft with wonder. “I didn’t mean to, you know, mess up the rhythm. I just… wanted to be as close to you as possible. I can’t get enough of you.”

Akaashi chuckled, a warm, satisfied look in his eyes. “Hopeless romantic,” he teased lightly, his voice both gentle and amused, brushing his fingers along Bokuto’s jaw. “I loved every second of it.”

Bokuto felt a surge of relief, followed by a wave of warmth that spread through his chest. He leaned in, pressing lips against Akaashi's, a gesture of gratitude and love. As he slowly withdrew out of him, Akaashi exhaled a soft, contented sigh and let himself sink onto the mattress beside him.

Akaashi shifted closer, eventually settling his head against Bokuto’s chest, his hand resting lightly on Bokuto’s side. Bokuto’s arm wrapped around him instinctively, his thumb tracing gentle circles along Akaashi’s shoulder. Their breathing slowed, matching in rhythm, and the room settled into a deep, shared quiet.

 

With Akaashi’s eyes closed, Bokuto found himself gazing at his peaceful expression, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he ran his thumb along the curve of Akaashi’s cheek, savoring the warmth and closeness. “Hey,” he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from Akaashi’s forehead. “Still with me?”

Akaashi’s eyes opened, a lazy, contented smile spreading as he gazed up at Bokuto. “Barely,” he replied, his voice soft but amused.

 

Bokuto’s gaze softened, his hand tracing gentle circles on Akaashi’s back as he looked into his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he whispered, sincerity lighting his features.

 

Akaashi’s expression softened to match his, a rare vulnerability in his smile as he replied, “Me neither, Kou.”

 

They stayed like that for a moment, letting the feeling settle, until a playful glint crept into Akaashi’s eyes. “How are you making me this happy again?” he teased, his fingers tracing light circles on Bokuto’s shoulder.

 

Bokuto’s grin spread, his eyes brightening. “Guess I’ll just have to remind you, huh?” he chuckled, brushing a stray hair from Akaashi’s forehead. “Good thing you’re staying over. I’ve got all night.” he replied, leaning in to press a kiss to Akaashi’s cheek. “More reminders in the morning,” Bokuto added, his voice dropping slightly as his lips hovered near Akaashi’s ear. “After lunch… maybe once more before dinner. You know, Just to make sure you really get it..”

A genuine laugh broke from Akaashi as his fingers curled tightly around Bokuto’s hand. “You’re relentless.” He smirked. “Good thing I don’t mind one bit.”

 

The room settled into a comfortable stillness, their breaths evening out as they lay tangled together. Bokuto’s hand traced idle patterns along Akaashi’s back, his golden eyes heavy but full of warmth as he murmured, “You’re my everything, Keiji.”Akaashi tilted his head slightly, his gaze meeting Bokuto’s, the faintest curve of a smile playing at his lips. “And you’re mine,” he replied softly.

 

They drifted into silence once more, their bodies pressed together in the kind of closeness that felt more natural than anything else in the world. As the faint glow of moonlight brushed over them, they stayed entwined, the world outside forgotten. In this moment, they were infinite.

Notes:

Moment we've been waiting? Well some?

I normally suck at smut. You have no idea how many times I write/delete/write/edit to get these scenes. Hope I've actually gotten something.

I actually want to focus on Iwa and Oikawa for a while in the next chapters. We'll see. I don't know when those will get out :)

Chapter 25: Home

Notes:

Hi All!

Long time no see! I know it’s been ages since I last updated. Life kept getting in the way for a while, and i kept getting myself into messes :D. But I’m back with this new chapter. If you're still reading, thanks for sticking with it. Hope you enjoy it!

08/10/2025 - Minor editing to improve the text

 

The morning light slipped quietly through the curtains casting long streaks of gold across the bed. It spilled across the skin of two men lying next to each other, and lit the mess of tangled sheets in uneven, delicate patterns.

Bokuto was the first one to stir awake. He wasn’t sure what pulled him from sleep. Maybe the faint noise of the traffic beyond the windows? Or maybe just the warmth in his chest that hadn’t faded since last night. He stretched his shoulders with as little movement as he could. His body ached in the best way, with the kind of exhaustion that didn’t want fixing.

Bokuto shifted on his side in a lazy motion, and the sheets rustled beneath him. The other side of the bed was still warm. Akaashi lay facedown beside him, arm curled under his pillow, legs tangled with the sheet. The covers had slipped so low they barely clung to his hips, leaving most of his back exposed. The morning light danced over the ink along his spine, and illuminated the soft love bruises from last night. His breath was steady, lips swollen, face relaxed, with sleep. Dark silky locks spilled across his brow, half hiding his eyes.

Bokuto felt a grin spread across his face, slow and helpless.He couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t stop staring. Once his eyes found Akaashi, they stayed glued. His cherry red lips, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint impression of Bokuto’s fingernail marks from yesterday just above his hipbone. He looked like a renaissance painting.

Bokuto reached out instinctively, half to reassure himself this was real, half to indulge himself born out of pure admiration. His fingers brushed gently against Akaashi’s temple, easing a few strands of hair back from his face, tucking them away so he could see him more clearly. He was careful not to wake him, but Akaashi’s eyelids fluttered. His lashes twitched. And then, with a drowsy inhale, his eyes opened—slow, unfocused at first, until they found Bokuto hovering above him. There was a quiet pause, just the length of a breath before his lips curved into a smile. Not the wry, closed-lipped one Bokuto had seen across countless rooms. Not the polite one he gave to friends and coworkers. And not the sharp one that appeared when he was teasing. This one was soft, warm, and unfiltered. It was for him, and only him.

Something in his chest pulled tight.

“I love you,” he said. Just like that. No preamble. There was no need to.

Akaashi blinked once, that rare smile still clinging to his mouth. “I love you too.” He murmured with no hesitation.

Bokuto didn’t stop looking. Akaashi looked undone in the quietest way, and completely at peace. Bokuto didn’t know if anyone else had ever seen him like this. Not this relaxed. Not this real. He didn’t even realize how long he’d been staring until Akaashi blinked again, gaze sharpening slightly as he woke a little more. “You’re staring,” the raven said quietly.

Bokuto smiled, caught but unfazed. “How can I not?” he said, letting his gaze fall slowly down the length of him. “It’s honestly kind of rude how attractive you are first thing in the morning. I mean, seriously. You’re a masterpiece.”

Akaashi let out a quiet laugh, cheeks blushing faintly as he turned toward Bokuto. He didn’t bother hiding the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I think you’re still half asleep.”

Bokuto didn’t answer at first. He only scooted closer, the sheet shifting between them, and leaned in to kiss Akaashi’s cheek slow, unhurried. Then he pressed his lips to Akaashi’s, still warm with sleep. “Do I look asleep to you?”

 

“Mmm.” Akaashi’s eyes fluttered half-closed. “Might need more proof.” He replied playfully extracting a small chuckle out of Bokuto. “Be careful what you ask for.”

 

Bokuto leaned in and started pressing kisses wherever he could reach, his jaw, his throat, the edge of his collarbone. It was messy and over-affectionate. Akaashi started to laugh again, breath hitching. “Okay, okay,” he said, trying to push Bokuto off. “You’re like an overgrown puppy.”

 

Bokuto gave him one last kiss on the shoulder before pulling back, eyes still shining. Akaashi reached up to brush the hair from his face, fingers slipping through the strands. Bokuto stayed still beneath his hand, looking at him like he was trying to memorize everything.

“I still can’t believe I get to look at you like this,” the silver said, voice soft. Akaashi didn’t reply, but his hand didn’t move. He was watching him too. Then Bokuto tilted his head, eyes drifting downward. “Actually… hang on.”

Before Akaashi could even react, he pulled the sheets covering Akaashi up, and looked underneath without even trying to be subtle. He paused a second, taking his sweet time.

“Damn,” he muttered playfully, not even bothering to hide the admiration in his voice. “You’re lucky you didn’t scare me off last night.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “Really Kou?”

“What? I’m serious,” Bokuto said, glancing down and back up at him with wide eyes. “Look at the size of that thing.”

“Koutarou.” Akaashi groaned in protest, pulling the sheets back to cover himself but Bokuto laughed, unashamed. “Honestly though, how do you even function with it? Is it ergonomic? Do you have to declare it at customs?”

Akaashi grabbed a pillow and smacked him across the face. “I think we’re ready for breakfast.”

 

He rolled out of bed, reaching for his clothes out of the night bag , the sheet slipping off him completely. Bokuto’s eyes followed him, lips parting a little at the sight of him fully exposed in the soft morning light. Can’t believe this is all mine. It still hadn’t quite sunk in yet.
Akaashi paused at the doorway, already dressed, one hand braced casually against the frame, and glanced back. The soft gray shirt he had hung loose over his frame, hem brushing the waistband of the dark drawstring pants he’d pulled on. “You coming?” He asked, completely aware that he’d been watched.

 

Bokuto pushed himself upright, hair a mess, smile immediate. “Yes, sir.”

He sprung out of the bed and put on the first pair of sweats he got his hands on, and went after Akaashi barefoot into the kitchen down the hall, following the faint clatter of mugs.

 

By the time he reached the counter, Akaashi had already set out two mugs, filled the kettle, and was choosing tea from the tea drawer. He was moving with that same quiet, unthinking grace Bokuto had always admired. He closed the drawer with a soft thud after picking out the tea. He didn’t ask Bokuto what he’d like. He already knew.

Bokuto cracked his knuckles once, combed his hair back, and opened the fridge. There weren’t many options for this morning. He decided tamagoyaki would be nice. He took out eggs, bread and some fresh fruit. He got to work immediately, heating the pan, and cracked eggs into a bowl one by one, adding dashi, a dash of soy sauce, and a pinch of sugar without second-guessing. The whisk moved quickly in his hand, the mixture turning smooth and pale gold.

When the pan was hot enough, he oiled it lightly, poured in the first layer, and waited. Once it set, he rolled it neatly with chopsticks, then added another layer. He worked humming softly, focused but relaxed, until the tamagoyaki held its familiar shape.

 

On the counter, toast had popped up in the meantime, still hot. He set the slices on two plates, added a pat of butter to each, a spoonful of jam on the side. Fruit was already in plates—mandarin oranges, grapes, and pineapple. As Bokuto plated the tamagoyaki, Akaashi moved in beside him, lifting the teapot and filling their cups. The scent of roasted green tea rose between them, mingling with the quiet warmth of the kitchen.

 

They each picked up a plate and moved to the table. The chairs gave a faint scrape as they sat across from each other.  Akaashi glanced down at his plate. The tamagoyaki was golden, folded with care, paired with neatly cut fruits. He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite, pausing mid-chew. “It’s delicious,” he said after a moment, as if surprised.

 

Bokuto let out a quiet huff, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You always say that. It’s just tamagoyaki, Keiji.”

 

Akaashi shrugged, lifting his cup. “A delicious one.” He paused, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth hiding behind the mug. “Have you ever seen Iwa’s attempt at it?”

 

That earned a short laugh from Bokuto, eyes gleaming and shaking his head to the sides. “Okay, fair.” 

 

Their eyes met—and in the next instant, laughter took hold of both of them. It started as a spark, that grew bright and loud. They laughed until the kitchen fell quiet again, leaving only gentle smiles and sunlight lingering between them. Bokuto leaned back, content, still grinning as he picked at a slice of mandarin.

 

For a while, conversation wandered nowhere in particular. Bokuto rambled about a movie he wanted to see, and some new recipes he wanted to try out. His words tumbled over each other out of excitement. Akaashi listened to him with dry amusement flickering in his eyes, and just enjoyed the unhurried rhythm of a lazy morning after a long, chaotic night.

 

When Bokuto finally took a pause, Akaashi glanced at the window, watching a bird land on the railing outside. “It’s nice to be home to a lazy morning after last night,” he murmured. Bokuto nodded, pouring a second cup of tea. “Could get used to this.”

 

“To what?” Akaashi asked, half a smile returning, taking a sip out of his tea. “Waking up late?”

“Waking up with you,” Bokuto replied, as if it were the easiest answer in the world.

Akaashi looked up from his mug, caught off guard. His lips parted slightly, and a breath caught behind them. A faint pink crept up his neck, brushed over the tops of his cheeks. The icy blue eyes searched Bokuto’s face. He wasn’t unsure, just surprised. Not because he didn’t believe it, but because Bokuto’s words had landed so gently and so completely without warning.

For a second, neither of them said anything. The room had gone still around them except for the birds singing beyond the windows. Bokuto didn’t flinch under the attention. He just smiled faintly, like he already knew what Akaashi was thinking. Akaashi took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, his voice ready to rise.

Before he could say anything, a sharp buzz against the table startled the quiet. Akaashi jolted slightly and glanced down to see his phone dragging across the wood. It vibrated another time,  the sound too loud for the quiet of the kitchen. Akaashi exhaled, and reached for the screen as he haphazardly saw his roommate’s name on the notification. “Sorry,” he murmured, thumb swiping to check the message. He was expecting something mundane but his brow creased as he read the message on-screen:

“So... I’m going to Argentina with Oikawa.”

 

Akaashi blinked once, then again, genuinely surprised. He lowered the phone, a smile curling on his lips, and met Bokuto’s curious stare. “Apparently, Iwa’s going to Argentina.”

Bokuto stopped mid-chew, eyes wide. “Wait—what?”

 

“With Tooru,” Akaashi clarified, almost amused by his own words. Bokuto swallowed quickly and leaned in closer, grinning already. “You’re joking. No way! Call them. Video call, right now.”

Akaashi huffed a quiet laugh, but did as asked, tapping the screen and letting it ring. It barely completed the first chime before Oikawa’s face crowded the camera. His chocolate eyes were bright, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Got the news? Got the news?” Oikawa demanded eagerly. His face was close enough that Akaashi saw nothing but his flushed cheeks and tousled hair. “Tell me you got the news!”

“We have,” Akaashi replied calmly, fighting the urge to sneer. “Gotta ask though… How the hell did this happen overnight after Iwa saying no the whole week?”

Behind Oikawa, Iwaizumi appeared partially in frame, clearly flustered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… Tooru was persuasive…” He said smacking his lips. “He… Uhm… made some good points.”

The implication wasn’t lost on Akaashi or Bokuto, who both exchanged a quiet, knowing glance, mouths twitching into smiles neither felt the need to voice. Bokuto straightened, placing his cup down decisively. “Alright then… You two are getting a proper send-off. No taxis or anything. I’m driving you myself.”

“What—Bo, that’s not necessary,” Iwaizumi started. “You don’t have to—”

“He can’t anyway,” Oikawa shook his head interrupting him. “There is no way we’re fitting in his Mclaren with all that luggage.”

Bokuto dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about the luggage. I’ve got everything covered already. Just leave it to me.”

“But Bo— Oikawa was in the middle of a protest when Bokuto said, “Sorry, Tooru! There is static. Can’t hear ya. Don’t forget to send me your itinerary.” He hung up before either could object again.

 

“You’ve got it covered already, huh?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow at him, clearly suspicious. “So?What’s this grand plan?”

 

“Yup!” Bokuto leaned back, casual and confident. “My uncle has a reliable van and I’m his favorite nephew.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Bokuto confirmed, grinning. “He owes me a favor for helping him move anyway. I’ll call him after I clean the dishes. It’s been a while since I saw him last, it’s a good excuse to visit as well.”  Bokuto suddenly sat up straighter, eyes lighting with an idea. “Wait—I know! Why don’t we visit him together? He’d be thrilled to meet you.”

The suggestion landed on Akaashi with a weight Bokuto didn’t anticipate. A quiet tension settled around Akaashi’s mouth, and his eyes flickered downward to his half-empty teacup, fingers gently tightening against the handle. The warmth from moments ago faded just enough for Bokuto to notice.

 

It wasn’t that Akaashi didn’t want to meet Bokuto’s family. It was just… complicated. He hadn’t met anyone from Bokuto’s family since high school, and even then it had only been in passing, as a friend. Things had changed since then. Bokuto himself told Akaashi all about his strained relationship with his family after coming out, and the silence from his parents that followed. Akaashi could still recall the tenseness in Bokuto’s voice when he’d told him about it. What exactly would they say to his uncle now? Friends? Partners? Lovers? The thought alone brought heat to his face.

 

Akaashi cleared his throat lightly, gaze still fixed on the tea. “I don’t know, Kou… Maybe you should go alone this time.”

 

Bokuto blinked, momentarily taken aback, smile slipping into confusion. “Why? You’re my boyfriend. I want him to meet you.” He watched Akaashi carefully, concern softening his tone. When Akaashi still hesitated, Bokuto’s face cleared with realization.

 

“Oh…” Bokuto shook his head vehemently. "My uncle’s nothing like the rest of my family. Mom always called him the rebel. He was literally the only person who didn’t freak out when I came out.” A smile tugged at his lips again, gentler, trying to coax Akaashi out from behind his uncertainty. “Seriously, he’s the coolest. Once he crashed our New Year’s dinner wearing a kimono because he liked the designs, and gave the whole family a lecture about being too uptight when they gave him looks. You’ve got to meet him.”

 

Despite Bokuto’s efforts, Akaashi remained quiet, still hesitant. He rubbed his thumb over the rim of his cup, thinking carefully before responding. “I appreciate it. But… maybe next time. You mentioned you haven’t seen him in a while. You should spend time catching up first.”

 

Bokuto’s shoulders dropped a fraction, clearly disappointed, but he didn’t push. “Are you sure? I think we’d have a lot of fun.”

 

“I’m sure,” Akaashi said, lifting his gaze again, voice softer now. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

 

At that, the disappointment faded from Bokuto’s face, replaced by an immediate warmth. “Alright,” he said, smile returning easily. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

They stood up together and cleared the table quietly, shoulder to shoulder at the sink. After drying his hands, Bokuto picked up his phone, dialing his uncle’s number. It barely rang before the older man picked up, his voice cheerful and faintly muffled on the other end. Bokuto grinned, immediately relaxing into the familiar warmth of his uncle’s presence. They spoke for only a few minutes before Bokuto hung up, turning back to Akaashi with satisfaction. “He said I can come tonight,” he said brightly. “Looks like I’ve got a van. Told you it’d work out.”

 

Akaashi nodded, relief washing across his face. Bokuto leaned against the counter beside him, shoulder brushing Akaashi’s gently. “I’ll tell him about you anyway, though. And when he finally meets you, he’s gonna love you.”

 

Akaashi’s eyes softened at that. He didn’t reply right away. He just let the words sit between them, eyes dropping for a second before lifting again. His fingers flexed lightly against the counter, like he was weighing something. Finally, he exhaled, voice lower. “Okay.”

 

Bokuto’s mouth curved into a soft, relieved smile that always gave him away. He leaned in and brushed a quick, warm kiss to Akaashi’s temple before pulling back. “I should get going before traffic turns hellish.”

 

Akaashi nodded, crossing his arms loosely. “Text me when you get there.”

 

“You know I will.” The silver said, and headed back to the bedroom. He quickly threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, and grabbed his car keys from the night drawer. When he came out, he saw Akaashi with with that somber look when he was lost inside his thoughts. Bokuto already knew Akaashi was stressing about what they might talk about. He couldn’t help but smile. “Hey,” he said catching his attention. “Don’t you dare overthink shit while I’m gone.”

 

Akaashi grinned at him. “No promises.” He said with his usually dryness.  Bokuto returned the grin with a bigger one. “Figures.” He murmured. He hesitated just a second longer, then stepped back in and closed the distance to press a quick kiss to Akaashi’s lips, melting Akaashi away. When Bokuto pulled back, the raven murmured low, “Go on. Before you’re late.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Bokuto chuckled, and walked to the front door. He tossed the keys once in the air out of habit before catching them again, and took the elevator down to the garage. The air was cooler there, lit by bright overhead lamps. He spotted his bright orange Mclaren immediately and walked straight to it, unlocking it with a beep. Sliding in, he started the engine, and waited for the rumble to settle before pulling out.

The city traffic was as bad as usual. He crawled through crowded lanes, and stopped at every damn red light. Once he was out in the country, the traffic eased up; the streets got wider, the buildings lower. The city fell away gradually, replaced by fields divided into neat squares, water reflecting the afternoon light. He cracked the window for air as he passed older houses, small shops with faded signs, kids biking along. He drove lazily, enjoying the cool breeze on his skin. He turned onto the old country road by memory. Grass crept along the cracked edges. There. His Uncle’s house appeared ahead. Low-roofed, broad, built to last. Tile darkened by years of weather, wood siding worn to a soft gray, panels uneven but sturdy… Wind chimes hung under the eaves moved with the breeze, clinking softly.

Bokuto parked the car to the front in his uncle’s driveway. He got out slowly and just took in the view. The yard was a careful mess. Flowerpots lined the steps to the front door in mismatched terracotta, some cracked, a few spilling herbs outside. Firewood stacked loosely against one wall. An old bicycle rested half-fallen against the railing. A sense of calm settled around him. How quiet… He couldn’t help but think. The silence was filled only by the soft sounds out of wind chimes, and cicadas droning in persistenly. He stood there a second longer, listening.

The screen door squeaked open before he could even ring the bell. “Oi! You plan to stand there all day?”

“Uncle Koji!” Bokuto felt his mouth tug into a smile. His uncle leaned against the frame, wearing a faded indigo yukata from too many washes. His long silver hair was tied back at the nape, barely contained. He was waving at Bokuto a little too enthusiastically with a beaming smile, the kind that made it clear he was happy to see him.

 

Bokuto barely made it up the steps before his uncle closed the distance and wrapped him in a crushing hug. Arms locked tight around his back, one big hand patting hard enough to sting. Bokuto let out a small grunt before let himself sink into it, arms coming up to return the grip.

 

“Koutarou!” His uncle said voice booming, “It’s good to see you, son. I missed you!”

 

“I missed you too, Uncle,” Bokuto managed, words muffled against his uncle’s broad shoulder. When they finally pulled apart a little, Bokuto glanced down, sheepish. “Sorry I can’t visit more.”

 

“Nonsense,” his uncle scoffed immediately, waving a dismissive hand even as he held Bokuto’s shoulder. “You’re a star volleyball player. Of course you’re busy.” His grin widened, showing deep creases at the corners of his mouth. “With Olympic gold, even.” He gave Bokuto’s shoulder another firm clap. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

 

For a second Bokuto couldn’t speak. Something in his chest tightened, a knot rising in his throat. His thoughts trailed to his own father, who only talked to him on his mother’s insistence. Why can’t you be like this, dad? He swallowed hard, pushing that thought away. Not today.  “Thanks, Uncle,” he said quietly, managing a crooked smile.

 

His uncle didn’t miss a beat. He shoved him lightly but firmly toward the doorway. “Come on. Don’t just stand out here. Get inside.”

 

Bokuto let himself be herded into the living room. The space was the same as he remembered: low shelves stacked with books, cushions around a low wooden table that had seen better days. They sat down without ceremony, Bokuto folding his legs under the table, shifting once to get comfortable on the old cushion. His uncle dropped across him with a satisfied sigh, leaning back on one arm. “So,” Bokuto said, rolling his shoulders. “How’ve you been?”

 

Koji perked up immediately. “Busy. I finally fixed that leak in the roof—well, mostly. And got roped into helping the neighbor rebuild his shed, which was a disaster by the way. His kid’s in Tokyo now, studying law, so we had to manage as two old men. Oh, and I even replaced that old pump out back. Damn thing nearly took my hand off last time.”

 

Bokuto’s eyebrows went up, a smile tugging at his mouth. Koji paused, caught the look, and snorted, realizing he had been going nonstop. Bokuto was sure his uncle was the only person chattier than himself. “All right, enough about me.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What about you? How’s life now that you’re a national hero?”

 

Bokuto opened his mouth to speak, but his uncle cut in, squinting a little.“Actually, wait—why do you need the van? Going camping or something?”

 

That earned a short laugh from Bokuto. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the silver strands back. “No, nothing like that. I’m driving two of my best friends to the airport tomorrow to send them off...  They’re going to Argentina and have a lot of bags. And, well… My car’s not exactly great for luggage.”

 

“Argentina?” His uncle raised an eyebrow. “One of my favorite destinations. Your friends have good taste!“

Bokuto blinked, caught off guard. “Uncle, when have you ever been to Argentina?”

His uncle shrugged, lips twitching. “Eh?.. I did a lot of traveling when I was young.”

That made Bokuto grin. He nudged the old man’s arm with his elbow. “You’re still young.”

“Ha!” His uncle gave him a look and smacked his shoulder lightly, laughing loudly. “Suck-up.”

They both chuckled, the sound settling into the quiet of the old room. His uncle let out a small sigh, gaze flicking to the low table between them. Then he looked back up, his expression softer.

“You can do all that,” he said, voice lowering, “but you’re staying the night, right? It’s been too damn long since I’ve seen you.”

“Unfortunately not,” Bokuto shook his head sideways. “They have an early flight. I’ll have to drive the van today to wake up in the morning in time.”

His uncle raised an eyebrow. “Ah. I see..” He said, voice turning conspiratorial. “So, you just planned to steal my van and vanish, huh?”

Bokuto barked a laugh. “Uncle, come on. It’s not like that. I wish I could stay, but I can’t. But I’ll come back after dropping them.”

His uncle’s brows drew together, the grin fading just slightly. He let out a small huff, then jabbed a finger in Bokuto’s direction. “Well. Okay… It’s obvious I can’t talk you into sleeping over tonight. But you’re not leaving this house without having some sake with me. We haven’t even had a proper celebration.” He twisted on the cushion and pointed dramatically at a ceramic bottle sitting on the sideboard. “That’s my prized sake. Been saving it for a real occasion.”

Bokuto groaned quietly, leaning his head back. “Uncle. I’m driving.” Sometimes, he couldn’t believe he was the responsible one out of two.

“Just a cup or two,” his uncle insisted, eyes twinkling with mischief, and with the look on his face that had gotten him into trouble since he was a kid. “Not much. You’re a big guy now. You’ll metabolize it in no time.”

“Uncle,” Bokuto protested again, voice warning.

“Come on. I’ll even say please,” his uncle pleaded, giving him big, ridiculous puppy eyes for a man his age. Bokuto broke first, laughing and shaking his head. “Fine.”

“Yes!” his uncle exclaimed happily, already pushing himself up to grab the sake. Bokuto watched him shuffle over and come back with the bottle and two small cups. He set them down with deliberate care, pouring slowly so the clear liquid shone in the light. “Here,” he said, pushing one cup forward. “Here,” he said, pushing one cup forward. “To gold medals,” he said with a brimming smile. Bokuto clinked their cups gently. “To gold medals.” They drank. The sake went down smooth and warm, settling in Bokuto’s stomach like a small fire. He set the cup back down, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease a fraction. His uncle poured them both another round without asking.

They were halfway through their second cup when Koji set his down with a quiet clack and looked at Bokuto, tilting his head with a glint in his eye that had trouble written all over it. “So,” he said, deliberately casual, “anyone special in your life these days?”

Bokuto was mid-sip when the words landed. He inhaled sharply in surprise, the sake catching wrong in his throat. He started coughing, and tried to swallow quickly, the burn going all the way up to his nose. His eyes watered as he thumped his chest once with his fist. Heat rushed up his neck to his ears. He set the cup down a little too firmly.

 

Koji didn’t even try to hide the grin spreading across his face. “Ah.” He said, eyes twinkling. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

Bokuto felt his face go even hotter. He didn’t say anything at first, shoulders hunching a fraction as he wiped at the corner of his mouth. It was stupid how flustered he felt. He wanted to tell him. He’d even promised Akaashi he would. But here he was choking like he was sixteen and getting asked if he had a crush. It felt like high school all over again. The question asked so simply, so normal, like it wasn’t even a big deal… It stripped him of whatever careful words he thought he’d use.

 

Koji didn’t let him off. He just leaned in slightly, eyes brimming with joy, and started pouring more sake into Bokuto’s cup. “Come on,” he coaxed, grin turning downright mischievous. “Don’t leave me hanging. Tell me, who’s this lucky guy?”

 

Bokuto looked down, and watched the liquid rise in the cup. He realized it was his third now, but he picked it up anyway. He took a careful sip this time, trying to buy a moment to breathe. His fingers curled tighter around the ceramic. When he finally lifted his gaze, he saw Koji just patiently waiting, eyes warm. The knot in his chest loosened. His lips curved into a crooked, almost shy smile.

 

“Akaashi,” he said quietly. Then, repeated himself a little louder because it mattered. “Akaashi Keiji.”

 

Koji blinked once, letting the name sit in the air. He leaned back a little, looking thoughtful. “Akaashi Keiji,” he repeated slowly, scratching his chin. “That sounds familiar.” His eyes narrowed just a bit, searching his memory. For a moment he was quiet. Then something seemed to click, and a slow smile spread across his face.“Wait,” he said, snapping his finger. “He was your high school team’s setter, right? ?”

 

Bokuto’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He hadn’t expected instant recognition. “You… remember him?”

 

Koji gave a small snort, his mouth curving slowly into a smile. “Of course I do. Smart kid. Polite, but sharp as a blade. Didn’t let you get away with shit. You actually listened to him back then.”

Koji’s expression softened even more. He nodded slowly, voice dropping. “He had a good head between his shoulders. I always liked him. You found yourself a gem, Koutarou.”

Bokuto felt his chest squeeze tight at his uncle’s words. The way Koji remembered Akaashi so clearly… The quiet approval in his voice.. Something twisted in his gut, warm and painful all at once. He didn’t trust himself to speak immediately. Instead he lifted his cup and downed what was left in a single swallow, the sake burning all the way down. He set it back down with a quiet clink, breathing a little harder. His vision blurred faintly at the edges, the heat rushing to his face. He blinked heavily, eyes getting hazy.  “Uncle,” he said, rough around the edges, “he is the one.”

Koji had been reaching for the bottle again, halfway through pouring. At Bokuto’s words, he actually paused, eyes flicking up sharply. “Oh?” he said quietly. He waited a beat, then kept pouring, slower this time.

Bokuto grabbed the cup and took another big sip. His shoulders slumped, mouth twisting in a crooked, desperate smile. “I love him,” he said, voice breaking slightly. He nodded once, then again, more forceful, as if trying to make the point stick. “I love him so much. I’d marry him right here right now if he’d take me.”

Koji blinked at that, the mischief in his eyes fading, and replaced by gentle warmness. He tilted his head, expression careful.“Kou…” he said softly. "You’re making it sound like he wouldn’t.”

Bokuto let out a low chuckle, a little bitter, a little resigned. He took another drink before answering, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, he wouldn’t.” He exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “Not right now.” He shook his head. “I have no doubt in my mind that he loves me with everything. But Akaashi…” He drew in a breath. “He has his own processes. He’d… freak out if I asked him now. He needs time. I don’t want to mess that up.”

Koji’s expression relaxed, mouth curved into a quiet, knowing smile. “There is nothing wrong with that.” He said, leaning back, studying his nephew for a moment. “It sounds like you know him well,” he said gently.

Bokuto’s grip tightened around his cup. He nodded once, slow and deliberate. “It’s different with him,” he said quietly. His gaze stayed low, words hanging in the warm, quiet room. Koji didn’t push. He just let the silence settle, the only sound tthe wind outside dancing with the wind chimes.

Bokuto drained the last of his cup without even thinking, the warmth blooming in his chest now roaring like a bonfire. When he set the empty cup down, he realized the room was starting to sway a little. He squinted in desperation, head tipping slightly as he tried to steady his vision.

“Uncle,” he slurred, voice filled with sudden outrage and complete betrayal, “you got me drunk.”

Koji didn’t even flinch. He lifted his brows, all wide-eyed innocence. “Hey, I just did the pouring. You’re the one who kept drinking.”

Bokuto tried to glare at him, but it was ruined immediately by the way his mouth twitched. He ended up snorting instead, trying to hide the grin forming. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled, muffled. “How the hell am I supposed to drive now?”

Koji’s grin returned in full force, unapologetic. “Well, maybe…” he drawled, voice dropping just a touch more serious, “you should stay the night, then?”

Bokuto shook his head sideways, a little too fast, making the room spin worse. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady it. “Can’t,” he muttered. “I’ll have to… I’ll have to call ’Kashi to pick me up.”

Koji’s eyes lit up immediately, his entire face brightening. “Perfect!” he declared, clapping his hands once. “I’ll get to see him too.” Bokuto groaned softly, rolling his eyes. “Uncle…” He fumbled for his phone, staring at the screen until it came into focus. He found Akaashi’s name immediately and pressed call, dragging a hand over his face as it rang.

______________________________________________________________________________

Akaashi Keiji was at Bokuto’s apartment, lounging on the couch with one leg tucked under him, the glow of the TV casting shifting light across his face. A cooking show played at a low but attentive volume, the TV chef’s voice calmly explaining knife technique while Akaashi watched with careful interest.

He tracked the chef slicing a fish open with calm precision, noting the clean movement of the blade, the way the fillets lifted away without tearing. He’d been quietly planning to try something like this himself one day, maybe surprise Bokuto with something properly made.

It wasn’t that he loved cooking or cooking shows. It was that Bokuto always did the cooking. Always. And not just well, but ridiculously well. Akaashi wanted, privately, to be able to treat him one day. To make something that wouldn’t earn a politely hidden wince or an overly generous “It’s good!”. He already knew the bar was high.

He rested his chin on one hand, taking in the segment on cleaning the bones, when his phone lit up beside him. He glanced at it, and saw Bokuto’s name on the screen. Huh… He thought quietly as he picked it up. Isn’t he at his uncle’s? “Kou?” He spoke, pressing the phone next to his ear.

There was a shuffle, the sound of someone shifting clumsily, then Bokuto’s voice came through—low, slurring slightly, not quite clear. “Kashi... I need help!”

The words hit with enough force to straighten Akaashi’s spine. His hand tightened around the phone.“Kou, what happened?” His voice sharpened. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No, no… I’m okay.” Bokuto mumbled, dragging his words and paused. Silence stretched for a beat too long, Akaashi felt his pulse thudding at his throat. Then, Bokuto finally let out a heavy, guilty groan. “Uncle got me drunk,” he confessed in one miserable rush. “I can’t drive back. I’m so sorry.”

 

Akaashi’s shoulders dropped a fraction as he let out a breath. Relief crashed through him so quickly it made him dizzy. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a second. Before he could help it, a quiet, incredulous laugh escaped his mouth.  “You… Got drunk?”

 

There was another pause on the line. Bokuto sounded like a child caught sneaking sweets.

“…Yes.”

Akaashi pressed his lips together, trying to suppress the grin forming, but it pushed through anyway. He shook his head once, slow, fond. “It’s fine, Kou. Really.”

Bokuto let out a quiet whine. “Kashiiii…”

“Shh,” Akaashi said, still smiling. “Just text me the address. I’ll come get you.”

“...Okay,” Bokuto mumbled. Then, in a rush: “I love you.”

Akaashi felt the words warm all the way to his chest. He softened immediately. “I know,” he murmured. “I love you too. Now hang up and send me the address.”

The call ended with a quiet beep. Seconds later, the address lit up on his screen. Akaashi tucked the phone inside his pocket, then stood up and stretched. His muscles felt a little stiff from too much time on Bokuto’s couch. He walked into the bedroom, knelt by his duffel bag, and pulled out a pair of dark wash jeans and a short-sleeved shirt with thin stripes. He dressed quickly and smoothed the hem of the shirt.

As he moved toward the door, the hallway mirror caught his reflection in a clean band of light. He stopped, realizing both of his arms were exposed. His eyes traced the ink that curled and along his forearms. His fingers  instinctively brushed the edge of one tattoo. Bokuto’s uncle didn’t really know him. Not yet. No matter how casual Bokuto was about everything, Akaashi didn’t want to risk making the wrong impression, especially since in Japan tattoos still raised eyebrows. He didn’t want the tattoos to be first thing Bokuto’s uncle noticed about him.

 

Akaashi exhaled slowly and returned back to Bokuto’s bedroom, opening the door to his closet. The closet was crammed with colorful tees and prints. He ignored them all, reaching for a light grey hoodie. It was soft and worn, front pocket stretched out slightly. It smelled like Bokuto. Akaashi pulled it on despite the stifling summer heat, and rolled his shoulders to settle the fit. The sleeves slipped over his forearms easily, covering every mark. He turned back to the mirror.

Good… He felt relief upon seeing his reflection. No tattoos, no marks. Just a slightly oversized hoodie and clean jeans. He checked his phone inside his pocket, grabbed his wallet, and headed for the door, shutting it behind him with a quiet, solid click.

Outside, the hot and humid summer air pressed against his face immediately. He felt the sleeves of the hoodie clinging to his perspiring skin, but he didn’t let himself fuss with it. He walked down to the main street and lifted a hand for the first cab he saw.

The driver nodded him as he slid in the back seat. Akaashi gave the address Bokuto had sent. It took the driver a second to recognize as it was out in the country, even past the last train stops, and he gave Akaashi a small, knowing grunt before pulling away from the curb.

The city blurred past in slow, halting sections of traffic and bright neon. Akaashi shifted once, resting an elbow against the door, watching the lights streak across the glass. Convenience stores, vending machines, apartment blocks layered on each other, all familiar and strangely impersonal. Bit by bit, the scenery loosened its grip. Buildings thinned. Streetlights spread out. The city gave way to older homes with tiled roofs, small family gardens, shops with faded signs.

Akaashi let himself watch without thinking too much. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but there was an edge to it. It was Bokuto’s beloved uncle whom he was going to meet. He wanted to be liked more so than anything else. Finally, the cab turned onto a narrower lane, and Akaashi caught sight of the house even before the driver slowed to a stop.

Low-roofed, wide, old… Wooden siding darkened by age, roof tiles catching a bit of stray moonlight. A yard that looked busy but not neglected—pots with herbs and flowers arranged unevenly on the steps, wind chimes stirring in the breeze. It wasn’t pristine, it looked lived-in. Comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected.

He paid the driver and stepped out, pulling the hoodie sleeves once more over his wrists and just took a deep breath inside the beautiful yard, listening to cicadas buzzing for a moment. Come on, you can do this. He climbed the steps towards the door, and lifted a hand to knock but the screen door slid open before he even touched it.

A middle-aged man stood in the doorway wearing a faded indigo yukata belted carelessly at the waist. His long silver hair was tied loosely at the nape. He had broad shoulders and a big grin that wrinkled the corners of his eyes immediately. Akaashi could immediately see the resemblance.

“Akaashi! Welcome!”

Akaashi blinked, trying to straighten, he hadn’t expected this warm of a welcome. “Ah—good evening. I’m—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Koji’s arms wrapped around him in a sudden big, crushing hug. Akaashi went stiff, startled. But after half a heartbeat he found himself relaxing , arms lifting to return the hug, the warmth of it impossible to resist.

Koji gave him a last squeeze before pulling back just enough to look him over. “I’m Koji, Bokuto’s uncle.” He said pointing towards himself with a thumb. “You haven’t changed much since high school! Though your hair’s longer.”

Akaashi blinked at that, genuinely surprised. He hadn’t expected to be known, let alone remembered at all. “You… remember me?”

Koji let out a quiet, dismissive huff, waving one hand. “Of course I do! I was at half of your high school games. Don’t think I didn’t see you keeping our knucklehead in line.”

Akaashi felt his mouth twitch despite himself. Bokuto had mentioned his uncle was cool, but seeing it was something else. It felt strangely good, he was at ease already. Koji didn’t give him time to linger in the doorway. He clapped a broad hand on Akaashi’s shoulder and turned, steering him inside with surprising force for a man his age. “Don’t just stand there looking polite. Come in, come in,” he insisted, pushing Akaashi along the hall.

Akaashi hesitated to take a step before Koji’s grip tightened, directing him through the house. They passed a small entryway with neatly lined shoes, a stack of old mail on a low shelf, and turned into the living room. It was cozy but cluttered—low wooden shelves crowded with books, a few framed photos, the walls lined in darkened timber that glowed a bit in the lamplight.

Bokuto was sitting at the low table near the center of the room, legs folded messily under him, hair sticking up in silver tufts. His face lit up the second he saw Akaashi. “Kashi! You’re here!” he beamed, voice warm but slightly slurred. His grin was wide enough to show every tooth, and he made no move to hide the flush on his cheeks. Akaashi barely had time to register the sight before Koji pressed both hands onto his shoulders and gave a firm push, making him sit down on the cushion next to Bokuto.

“Come on now! Don’t be shy. Sit, sit,” Koji said brightly, as if he hadn’t manhandled him there himself.

Akaashi shot Bokuto a look that landed somewhere between exasperated and amused before settling on the cushion. He straightened the hoodie around his arms automatically, tugging the sleeves once more over his wrists out of habit.

Koji wasted no time. He dropped down opposite them and reached for a small ceramic cup without even asking, placing it squarely in front of Akaashi. Before Akaashi could protest, Koji was already filling it from the tall bottle at his elbow, the clear sake catching the light as it spilled smoothly into the cup. “Join us!” He said happily, “We’re celebrating Olympic gold tonight!” He announced, the words ringing with an irrepressible pride.

Bokuto tried to lean in, half-pouting. “Uncle—he’s driving.”

Koji’s eyes cut to him, looking offended. He snorted, waving one dismissive hand. “Koutarou, it’s rude to turn away a drink that’s poured for you! Don’t you know that?” He scolded Bokuto before turning back to Akaashi. “Besides, one cup won’t kill him.”

Akaashi glanced between them, feeling a prickle of awkwardness. He could see Bokuto’s worry in the tight line of his mouth, the slight hunch of his shoulders, but he didn’t want to offend or disappoint Bokuto’s uncle. He let out a breath and gave the smallest of nods. “It’s fine, Bo. Really. I can handle a cup or two. Then we can leave, okay?”

Bokuto’s expression didn’t clear entirely, but his eyes softened a fraction. He let his head dip in a small, if reluctant, nod. Koji’s grin widened like he'd just won a small victory. He clapped his palms once, satisfied, then nudged the sake cup closer to Akaashi’s fingers. “Good man,” he said warmly. “To gold medals!”

Akaashi glanced at Bokuto, who was already lifting his own cup, eyes shining despite the slight unsteadiness in his posture. “To gold medals,” Bokuto echoed.

Akaashi let a small, real smile slip onto his face. He lifted his cup and clinked it gently against Bokuto’s and Koji’s. “To gold medals.”

He brought it to his lips and took a careful first sip. The taste surprised him immediately—smooth, soft on his tongue, a subtle sweetness that settled with warmth in his chest. He blinked once, genuinely caught off guard, then tipped the rest back in one steady go. He set the cup down quietly on the table. “This is delicious,” he admitted honestly, wiping a thumb at the corner of his mouth.

Koji’s eyes went wide, delighted. He slammed one palm on the table with a sudden, barking laugh. “RIGHT?” He practically shouted it, making Bokuto flinch and Akaashi jolt in surprise. “I love a man who knows his sake!”

Before Akaashi could even think of a polite deflection, Koji was already leaning forward, grabbing the bottle, and filling his cup to the brim again. Akaashi blinked once at the generous pour, half-amused, half-dreading where this was going. He wasn’t really surprised by the outburst, though. Not after meeting Koji. Honestly, it was almost funny. Bokuto was such a clear copy of his uncle that it felt like watching someone age 30 years in fast-forward. He was just reaching for the newly filled cup when Bokuto’s attention seemed to sharpen on him.

“Hey,” Bokuto said, eyebrows pulling together in mild confusion. “Why are you wearing that?” He gestured vaguely at the thick grey hoodie. “It’s like a million degrees. You’re gonna overheat.”

Akaashi tried to be dismissive. “It’s fine.” He said quickly, hoping Bokuto would let it go. But Bokuto was already shaking his head stubbornly. “No, seriously. Take it off. We’re drinking, you’re gonna get hot.” His hand reached out, fingers hooking under the edge of Akaashi’s sleeve to tug. “Koutarou—” Akaashi tried to protest, but Bokuto just pulled the sleeve without thinking. The stretched sleeve gave immediately, rolling back in one motion, exposing the full length of his ink. The black designs stood out harsh against the pale skin in the lamplight.

The room went quiet.

Akaashi wanted to dig himself a hole and bury his head in the sand. He didn’t even know whether to be mad at Bokuto for being so pushy or at himself for not stopping him. His pulse thudded in his ears, and he felt the silence claw at him. Great first impression, Keiji. He thought bitterly. In desperation, He grabbed the cup Koji had just poured and downed it in one go, the sake burning as it went down. He swallowed hard, willing himself to breathe evenly. When he set the cup down, the silence still hadn’t quite broken. He risked glancing up.

Koji was staring at his arm, eyes narrowed. Although, they didn’t seem to hold judgment. If Akaashi had to guess, it looked more like fascination. “Woah…” Koji exclaimed in a manner a child would. “Those are nice tattoos,” he said, voice dropping into open admiration. He tilted his head, eyes tracking the lines. “Those must’ve hurt like hell though.”

Akaashi blinked, completely caught off guard. He couldn’t think of a word to say for the first time all night. His mouth opened, but nothing came out immediately. Before he could figure out a reply, Koji pushed his yukata’s sleeve to his shoulder, revealing a large, traditional dragon snaking up his bicep in black ink.

“I cried like a baby when I got this one,” Koji said with a wicked little grin, voice crackling with amusement.

Akaashi just stared at him. His mouth actually fell open, no polite mask in place this time, completely floored. He shut it once, swallowed, then blinked again, feeling the heat in his face for an entirely different reason. He’d spent the whole ride over rehearsing ways to be careful, worrying about first impressions—and here was Bokuto’s uncle casually showing off his own tattoo.

Akaashi couldn’t hold it in any longer. The tension that had locked up his shoulders broke all at once, and a quiet, relieved laugh slipped out before he could stop it. It was small at first, but it deepened enough that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Koji’s grin went even wider at the sound, practically beaming, eyes shining with triumph at having cracked him open. Akaashi shook his head once, trying to recover, still smiling. “That’s a sick tattoo, Koji-san,” he managed, voice lighter than it had been all night.

Koji’s brows drew together in mock offense, though his eyes were warm. “Oi. None of that ‘-san’ stuff with me. It’s either ‘uncle’ or just ‘Koji.’ Pick one.”

Akaashi blinked at the correction, a little surprised, then nodded once, the smile settling more genuinely on his face. “Alright. Koji.”

Koji beamed at that, clearly delighted with the answer. Akaashi let out another small breath, this time steady and easy. He reached up to tug the other sleeve of the hoodie off properly, letting it bunch around his hips so both arms lay bare on the table, tattoos fully exposed at last without hesitation.

Bokuto watched all of it with a slightly dazed, happy expression, his grin spreading until it nearly split his face. He didn’t say anything, but he looked like he was holding himself back from throwing his arms around Akaashi then and there.

The sake didn’t stop flowing after the first few cups. Koji poured generously, never asking before refilling, and Akaashi found himself accepting it without a second thought. Conversation flowed easily once the initial awkwardness had burned away. 

Akaashi noticed quickly that Koji loved to talk. Not in the hollow, bragging way some people did, but in the way Bokuto did: eager, colorful, unguarded. It was all small details delivered with broad gestures, snorting laughter at his own jokes, the occasional sigh when a story turned on him.

He launched into everyday nonsense that somehow held Akaashi’s attention. Fixing the leak in the roof—“well mostly”—and ending up with half the kitchen soaked. Helping a neighbor rebuild his shed, losing his phone in a rice field once and needing two teenagers to help him find it, and of course endless stories about Bokuto…

Akaashi sat back a little, legs tucked under the low table, fingers curled around his cup as Koji talked. He listened, shoulders loosening a little more with every story, every sip.  He even added his dry commentary here and there when the conversation turned to Bokuto, from his tendency to sulk after losses or the over-the-top pep talks he’d given their team. Koji’s eyes sparkled as he laughed, delighted at every new detail, slapping Bokuto’s arm when he tried to protest or revise the story in his favor.

 

It was a different evening. Akaashi kept watching the way Koji’s eyes shone when he got worked up, the way Bokuto chimed in with teasing corrections, and the way they bickered… For some reason, it was strangely mesmerizing.

 

Akaashi let himself smile, just a little. He wasn’t sure the heat in his face was from the drinks or from the warmth inside the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just… sat like this… with family… The word lodged somewhere low in his chest, heavy and wistful. He tried not to show it. Instead, just took another measured sip of sake, letting the mellow burn slide down.

 

He missed this.

At some point, Koji noticed that he wasn’t talking anymore, and refilled their cups again. He handed Akaashi’s over, hesitated for half a second, squinting thoughtfully. “So… your folks? How are your parents these days?” He asked in small talk.

It was such a simple, well-meaning question, just to get him to talk, yet Akaashi took moments to process it. The air shifted in his lungs. His fingers tightened around the cup. He didn’t move. Bokuto noticed immediately. His grin slipped away. “Uncle—” he started, voice low and cautious, leaning forward a fraction. But Akaashi lifted a hand, silencing him without looking over. He kept his eyes on the sake, watching the clear liquid tremble just a fraction in the cup.

“Dead,” he said quietly. His voice didn’t crack, didn’t falter. It just sounded flat. Maybe tired in that way old grief was. “Car accident. Eight years ago.”

The words landed like bricks, demolishing the joy that was built all night long.

Koji’s face fell. He blinked once, face stricken with guilt, mouth opening and closing like he was searching for something to say. “Ah—Akaashi, I—” He faltered, voice catching. He cleared his throat and tried again, slower, softer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… mean to pry. I wasn’t thinking. It was just—” He eventually cut himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose.

Akaashi shook his head immediately. He forced himself to meet Koji’s eyes. “It’s okay. Really. You didn’t know.” He exhaled once. “It was an innocent question. Just a hard answer.”

Koji’s eyes trembled a little at that. He looked like he wanted to get up and hug him again but was holding back, fingers flexing once on the table before going still. “...Right,” he said, almost to himself.

Akaashi didn’t want it to get heavy. He didn’t want to spoil a night filled with joy. Yet, he didn’t know what to say. Koji raised his cup to Akaashi. Akaashi joined his silent toast, and tipped the cup back in one quick motion. The sake burned a straight line down his throat. He winced just slightly at the intensity, then set the empty cup down.

Koji grabbed the bottle almost automatically, pouring them all another round. Silence lingered for another beat.

Then, he drew in a breath, shoulders squaring like he was bracing himself, and lifted his eyes to Akaashi with a small, sad sort of smile. “Well,” he said, voice warming deliberately, even if it was a little hoarse. “Did Kou ever tell you about the time he got stuck on my roof?”

Akaashi blinked. The shift was so sudden, so jarring in its normalcy, that it took him a second to process.  “What?” he said confused, the word punching out before he could stop it.

Koji grabbed the bottle once again and poured g them all another round. His mouth twitched at the edges. The lines around his eyes softened. He turned towards Bokuto, eyes glinting with mischief. “Mm,” he hummed. “Didn’t think so.”

Bokuto groaned immediately beside them, voice low and desperate. “Uncle—don’t.”

Koji ignored him entirely, dismissing him with a hand gesture, finally letting the small grin bloom properly. “I think he was fourteen,” Koji began smoothly, tapping a finger once against the table as though counting the years. “I was out shopping, so of course there was no one around to stop him. He apparently looked out the window and saw the neighbor’s cat perched up on my roof. Naturally, he decided that it needs rescuing.”

Akaashi’s brows lifted, he wondered how this story got to Bokuto being stuck on the roof. His eyes turned slightly towards Bokuto, who was glaring at his uncle for telling the story. Koji kept going, his voice casual but colored with fond exasperation. “Well… he goes straight to my shed, somehow drags out the ladder on his own… Climbs up there, absolutely determined to save this cat. Except the moment he gets up there, the ladder tips down onto the ground.”

Akaashi’s lips twitched. Everything about this story is just…  so Bokuto… A sudden warmth bloomed inside his chest.

Koji suppressed a laugh to be able to continue his story. “Of course, he’s stuck. He starts yelling for help so loud half the street probably heard. But no one comes to check. The neighbor decides something horrible must be happening and calls the police instead.”

Akaashi raised his eyebrows. Koji’s grin deepened just a fraction, eyes twinkling. “I get home from the store and there are two squad cars in my driveway. I hurry up in complete panic to see what’s going on. And what do you think I see?” He asked Akaashi with uncontained joy. “Police officers are propping the ladder back up, and holding it in place so this one,” he pointed at Bokuto with his thumb, “can climb down.”

Akaashi let out a small, startled noise. His chest hitched once as he tried to hold it in, but the image was too much. A shaky laugh slipped out. He turned his eyes to Bokuto, who was sulking visibly now, face a furious shade of pink. “Really?” Akaashi managed, voice cracking around the laugh.

“His face was beet red, just like now!” Koji chimed in with the brightest grin. Bokuto lifted his head just enough to glare at them both, ears on fire, then he let out a huge, exasperated sigh.

“The worst part is…” Bokuto muttered, voice dripping low with wounded pride, “That infernal cat didn’t even need rescuing. When I got up there, it just hopped off to a tree branch and ran off.”

Akaashi cracked completely. He laughed so hard his shoulders hunched over, eyes squeezing shut, breath tearing out in sharp, ungraceful bursts that he didn’t even try to hide. His fingers pressed to his mouth, but it did nothing to stop the sound.

Koji snorted, and joined the laughing too—loud and completely delighted, his face crinkling with joy at having pulled it off.

Bokuto tried to hold the scowl, but it melted the longer they both laughed. Finally, his mouth twitched. He dropped his head into one hand with a defeated groan, shoulders shaking as he let out a reluctant laugh of his own.

Akaashi finally set his cup down carefully on the table, fingers splayed as if steadying himself. He licked his lips, felt how warm they were, how sluggish his tongue felt in his mouth. He turned his head slowly toward Bokuto, meeting those bright, hazy eyes watching him so openly.

“Kou,” Akaashi said quietly, voice cracked, and a little too honest. “I’m not driving anywhere tonight. Not… possible.”

 

Bokuto broke into a wide, lazy grin. “I tried to step in,” he slurred cheerfully. “Uncle’s sneaky.”

 

Koji snorted from the other side of the table, arms folded comfortably over his chest, the bottle resting by his elbow. “Good,” he said, voice rough but undeniably pleased. “There’s no reason you both can’t stay the night.” Then he shrugged his shoulders, voice taking a responsible tone for the first time tonight. “It would’ve been criminal to let you go off after all that sake anyway.”

 

Akaashi huffed out something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. They lingered there a while longer, the mood mellow. When Koji finally clapped his hands and declared they should “stop being useless and help clean up,” both of them obeyed with the dull, happy compliance.

 

Together, they collected empty bottles, Akaashi hadn’t even realized they opened other bottles while they were drinking. Bokuto, clearly intoxicated, kept bumping into Akaashi’s shoulder, mumbling “sorry” every time. Akaashi tried to glare at him for the first couple times, and failed miserably. There was no way he could be mad at this overgrown puppy.

 

Koji watched them with narrowed, delighted eyes, offering extremely unhelpful directions until everything was stacked in a corner with questionable neatness. Finally, he pointed down the short hall.

 

“Come on,” Koji said, voice softer now, a little rougher around the edges. “I’ll show you where you’re crashing.” He slid open the old door at the end of the corridor to reveal a traditional room laid out with tatami mats. The futon had already been set up neatly in the center, extra blankets folded at the foot.

 

Akaashi stopped at the doorway and blinked at the sight. “You… already had this ready, huh?” he observed, voice dry.

Koji gave him an unapologetic grin, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Figured I’d save time. Was pretty sure once Kou called, he wasn’t leaving tonight.”

Bokuto just shook his head, not approving, but not saying anything either. Once Koji left the room to themselves, they peeled off clothes in lazy, drunken fumbling. Bokuto’s shirt landed in a crumpled heap by the door. Akaashi set his folded almost perfectly, before sinking onto the futon.

The floor was firm under the thin bedding, and Akaashi let himself sink back with a quiet groan. He turned his head, heavy, to look at Bokuto rolling in beside him, blanket half-tangled. “I’m sorry,” Akaashi mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow. “I should’ve been more careful.”

Bokuto cracked a grin, eyes half-lidded but shining. “Likewise.”

Akaashi huffed, mouth twitching. “Your uncle’s… cool.”

“Mm,” Bokuto hummed in agreement. “Told you so.”

Akaashi let himself smile properly at that. He put his arm under the pillow to support his head better, and turned away from Bokuto. He glanced at the old wall clock above the door and squinted.

“We’re need to be up in four hours, if we’re getting them to the airport in time.” he muttered with deep, put-upon resignation. Bokuto let out a lazy, content noise and slung one arm over Akaashi’s waist from behind, pulling him closer, breath warm on the back of his neck. “We’ll manage,” he said, voice all sleepy confidence.

Akaashi sighed, low, amused, eyes slipping shut despite himself. They didn’t say anything else after that. Bokuto’s arm stayed draped over Akaashi’s waist, warm and heavy. Akaashi shifted just enough to get comfortable, let his eyes fall shut. Their breathing slowed in quiet sync. This was home.

______________________________________________________________________________

The morning came far too quickly. They woke to Akaashi’s alarm while it was still dark. The old house was silent around them, shadows deep in the corners of the tatami room. Bokuto’s arm was heavy across Akaashi’s waist until he finally stirred, groaning low in his chest.

 

Neither of them spoke much. They sat up stiffly, moving slowly to avoid making too much noise, dressing back to their clothes from night before. Thankfully, Akaashi didn’t look like he got beat up, but Bokuto’s hair was a hopeless mess, silver tufts sticking out at odd angles as he raked fingers through it.

 

When they slid the door open, they saw that Koji was somehow already up, waiting in the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea. He didn’t say much either, he didn’t have his energy from the night before. Bokuto hugged him, muttering “thank you” quietly. Akaashi offered a bow, and a low thank-you, which Koji accepted with a genuine smile.

 

They slipped out into the chill pre-dawn air, breath fogging faintly. Bokuto unlocked the borrowed van and they both climbed in without a word, the doors shutting with a thud in the sleepy yard.

 

Bokuto drove them back to Tokyo. At first it was pitch black outside the windows, the road ahead caught only in the harsh glare of the headlights. Akaashi leaned his head against the passenger side glass, feeling the cool against his temple and watched the sky beginning to pale.

 

By the time they hit the main highway back toward the city, the first blush of dawn spread across the horizon, washing the sky in diluted pinks and soft grays. Buildings and fields emerged from the dark, shape by shape. Inside the van, both sat there quiet, tired, but content—saving whatever energy they had left for when they’d need them most, for the two friends waiting to be sent off at the airport.

 

Bokuto finally turned onto the quieter street in front of Akaashi and Iwaizumi’s apartment building. He pulled the van up to the curb and killed the engine not to disturb the neighbors. Akaashi straightened slowly in his seat, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness. He pulled out his phone and typed out a short message to Iwa. “We’re here.” It wasn’t two seconds before the screen lit up with a reply: “Coming down now.” Akaashi exhaled quietly, thumb hovering over the screen before he locked it and slipped it back into his pocket, and pushed the door open.

 

Akaashi stepped out of the van, taking a detailed look at it. Now that morning lights filtered through the streets , he could see the old thing clearly. It was a classic family van that looked like it had seen a few adventures of its own. It was slightly dented along one sliding door, patches of the paint dulled by years in the sun. The bumper had a faint scrape at one corner, and the front grille looked like it had been nudged back into place more than once. Akaashi felt his mouth twitch, just faintly. Bokuto was right. It was perfect for a send-off.

 

Akaashi leaned gainst the van, folding his arms, the metal cool against his back. Bokuto joined him a moment later, stepping in close enough that their shoulders brushed lightly. They stood together, both watching the apartment entrance. Across them, the apartment building’s door opened slowly and Iwaizumi came out. He had a duffel bag on his shoulder and with his other hand tugged a wheeled suitcase behind him.

 

Bokuto’s face lit up immediately. “Iwa!” he called, voice too loud in the early quiet.

 

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows, taking his pointing finger to his lips and shushing Bokuto. “Keep your voice down,” he muttered. “It’s too early.” He walked straight next to them.  Bokuto ignored his scolding completely as he saw Oikawa emerging behind him, wheeling two suitcases. He immediately slid open the side door with a grin, giving it an exaggerated pat.

 

“Feast your eyes, gentlemen! Got this from my uncle. Roomy, dependable, and it only squeaks a little when you turn left!” He gave the van a warm look. “But hey, it’s got personality.”

Akaashi, leaning next to the passenger door, rolled his eyes fondly and smiled. “Beats taking a cab,” he said to Iwa, voice calm but amused. “Bo insisted we give you two the ‘full send-off experience.’”

Iwaizumi let out a half-sigh, half-laugh as he loaded his luggage into the back, where Oikawa was already shifting his own bags to make space. “Leave it to you to make us travel in style.”

 

Oikawa chuckled, eyeing the van with amusement. “It’s perfect for a proper send-off, Bo. How’d you convince your uncle to part with it?”

“Well, he owed me for helping him.” Bokuto replied, waving his hand as if it were nothing. “Plus, I couldn’t miss seeing you two off. Who else is gonna make sure you don’t turn back last minute?”

As he climbed into the van, Akaashi gave a slight nod confirming Bokuto’s excitement. “He is right, you know.” He said shaking his head knowingly. “We couldn’t let you go alone.” Once the last bag was shoved into place, Bokuto clapped the side of the van twice like it was an old friend. “Alright, all aboard! We’re on a clock here.”

They all settled in quickly—Akaashi in the passenger seat, Iwaizumi and Oikawa squeezing into the back. Bokuto twisted the key, and the engine rumbled to life. With a gentle jolt, the van set off. They pulled away from the curb, the van bumping over the uneven asphalt, and settled onto the main road.

The city was still waking up around them—traffic lights blinking from yellow to green with no one waiting, shop shutters rattling open, early delivery trucks weaving through narrow lanes. Inside the van, Bokuto kept the mood light.“You guys got any sleep?” he asked, voice warm but tired around the edges.

“Barely,” Iwaizumi muttered from the back, adjusting his seatbelt still. “Finished packing at two.” Oikawa let out a small huff. “Speak for yourself. I was done before midnight. Spent the rest of the night making sure he didn’t forget anything.”

Bokuto glanced at the rearview mirror with a sheepish smile. “Well,” he said, voice just a little rough with sleep, “you guys still beat us. Akaashi and I only got about four hours of sleep.”

Iwaizumi shifted in his seat, crinkling his nose. “Ew, Bokuto. Gross.”

Bokuto blinked, puzzled. “Huh?”

Akaashi’s voice cut in, perfectly dry. “Don’t get us confused with you two.” He said, extracting a chuckle out of Oikawa. “Bo’s uncle got us drunk.” He explained. “We couldn’t drive back last night, so we had to leave from his place this morning.”

Oikawa perked up immediately from the back, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “He got you drunk? How?”

Bokuto let out a low, embarrassed groan but couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “He’s a sneaky bastard, that’s how. Got me first. I had to call Akaashi for help, and then he got Akaashi too.”

“You?” Iwaizumi snorted, eyes on Akaashi. “Mr. Responsible? You got drunk? Really?”

Akaashi didn’t even look at him. “Yep.” He said, rolling his eyes faintly. “He was annoyingly good at sneaking the sake, honestly.”

A laughter bloomed inside the van, and rippled around. Oikawa shaking his head with clear amusement. When it was silent again, Bokuto turned his attention back to Iwa and Oikawa. “So,” he glanced at them from the rearview mirror, grinning. “What’s the plan, Iwa? Are you ready for a 30-hour journey?”

Iwaizumi sighed, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I guess I’ll have to be. Never had a flight like this before, so… yeah, pretty nervous.”

Before Iwaizumi could say more, Oikawa patted his arm, leaning in with a grin. “We’ll be fine. We have snacks. And, I’ll make sure you do your leg stretches.” He flashed a charming smile that had Bokuto shaking his head.

“Right, the Oikawa flight experience,” Bokuto teased. “Poor Iwa,” he chuckled, eyes sparkling. “Just don’t let him talk your ear off, alright?”

“Right, right. Laugh now,” Oikawa replied, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “But don’t be surprised when Iwa-chan comes back with rave reviews.”

 

“Well, you heard him, Iwa,” Akaashi chimed in with a light tease. “Brace yourself.”

 

Bokuto glanced over his shoulder again, with a huge grin on his face. “When he’s done driving you nuts, you can give me a call for a distraction.”

Akaashi chuckled at that. “Actually, Bo, Iwa might be better off with Tooru as a distraction.”

The air in the van was filled with morning joy. When they finally reached Haneda, the terminal’s busy energy replaced the air. Bokuto pulled into the parking area, expertly finding a spot and switching off the engine with a contented sigh. “Alright,” he said, jumping out. “Everyone, luggage check!”

 

The four of them piled out, gathering around the back of the van as Bokuto ceremoniously checked each bag. “All here.” He said with a grin. Together, they walked into the terminal, the excitement settling into a more focused energy as they maneuvered through the bustling crowds. Bokuto and Akaashi walked with them until the security checkpoint. For a while, it felt like they were just four friends on a casual outing.

 

At the security checkpoint though, the reality of the goodbye finally hit them and everything felt suddenly real. Oikawa turned to Akaashi first with a playful smile. He didn’t know whether to hug him or shake his hand, especially since Akaashi didn’t seem to enjoy physical touch a lot. In the end, he opted for extending his hand, only for Akaashi to pull him into a hug instead, making Oikawa’s lips curl into a smile.

 

"Take care of Bo, alright?” Oikawa murmured, his tone soft but sincere. "The guy’s a handful on the best of days.”

 

Akaashi gave a small chuckle, nodding as he pulled back. "I’ve got it covered. You just focus on having the best time with Iwa.” He offered Oikawa a knowing smile, his gaze steady. "He’s been looking forward to this more than he’s letting on.”

 

Oikawa’s face softened, and he gave Akaashi’s shoulder a grateful squeeze before stepping back.

 

Bokuto turned to Iwaizumi, reaching for his shoulder but ending up pulling him into a fierce hug. "You’re gonna do great out there.” Bokuto said, his voice quiet but heartfelt. “Look after him, okay?”

 

Iwaizumi’s expression softened, and he gave a small nod and squeezed back. "You have my word.” Bokuto leaned back, still gripping his shoulders with a fond smile. “Oh, and make sure you give Hajime a hug from Uncle Bo!”

 

Iwaizumi grinned, rolling his eyes. “Fine, but only because he’s not old enough to question it yet.”

 

Akaashi stepped up to Iwaizumi, a gentle smile on his face as he placed a steadying hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Have an incredible time with him, okay?” he said, his voice low but sincere.

 

Iwaizumi nodded, his usual tough demeanor softening. “I will.” He glanced over his shoulder at Oikawa, then back at Akaashi, his gaze filled with gratitude. “Thanks, This trip wouldn’t happen without you or Bokuto.”

 

Akaashi gave him a brief, understanding smile and then pulled him into a tight, solid hug.“Enjoy every moment.” he murmured in Iwaizumi’s ear, “You both deserve that.” His voice held a touch of warmth that was rare on him. Iwaizumi gave him a quick kiss on top of his head as he pulled away.

 

Oikawa turned to Bokuto, his confident smile faltering slightly as the weight of the goodbye settled. Bokuto stepped forward, his grin wide but his voice tinged with emotion. “So, this is it, huh?” he asked, his eyes searching. Oikawa nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he looked at his friend. “Yeah… but don’t get soft on me now, Bo. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Bokuto chuckled, but the laughter faded as he reached out, pulling Oikawa into a strong hug. “You better come back,” he said, his voice low but fierce. “You’re too important for us to let you stay away too long. And when you guys get a chance, check in with us, yeah?”

Oikawa hugged him back tightly, the weight of the goodbye finally hitting him. “I promise,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. He managed smile as he turned toward Iwaizumi, his hand lingering on Bokuto’s shoulder for a moment longer before he finally let go.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchanged a look, then turned to Bokuto and Akaashi with warm smiles.

“Take care of each other for us, alright?” Oikawa said, his tone earnest. “Love each other, don’t sweat the small stuff… you know, all that important stuff.” His eyes sparkled with a mix of sincerity and mischief. “You two are everything. Don’t forget that.”

Iwaizumi nodded, his gaze turning serious as he looked at them both. “Yeah, he’s right. You two are made for each other.” His usual straightforward tone softened. “Don’t you dare fall apart while I’m gone, alright?”

Bokuto and Akaashi looked at each other, a little stunned, then back at Iwaizumi and Oikawa with quiet awe. The weight of Iwaizumi’s blessing settled warmly between them, and for a moment, none of them spoke. Then, unable to resist, they shared a soft laugh. Akaashi felt his eyes watering, and he muttered, “You’re really going to make us cry right here, aren’t you?”

 

Iwaizumi chuckled, glancing down. “It’s just a trip. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, and you’re going to have the best time. So go,” Bokuto insisted, his voice thick with emotion, waving his hand as though to shoo them off. “Before we all get weepy here.”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi shared one last look with them, then with a final wave, turned toward the security gate. As they walked away, Akaashi and Bokuto called out in unison, “Have a safe trip!”

They stood there for a while, watching the two of their friends through the security gates, bags slung, heads tilted in quiet conversation even as they disappeared from view.

The airport noise filled in around them, boarding calls, the low rumble of rolling suitcases, murmured conversations.

Bokuto let out a long, slow breath. His shoulders dropped, the tension finally leaking away. Akaashi glanced at him, eyes soft. He didn’t say anything, just reached out to Bokuto’s hand, fingers brushing against each other. Bokuto locked his fingers into his almost immediately, squeezing his hand. “Come on,” he muttered, voice low but steady. “Let’s go home.”

Akaashi nodded. “Let’s go home.”

At that point Akaashi knew. It wasn’t really about the city, or the apartment waiting. Home was just being next to him.

They walked together without hurrying, side by side, leaving the terminal behind.

Notes:

P.S. :Not sure if it's already obvious, but the next chapter will be in Argentina from Oikawa and Iwa's POV. Stay tuned!

Chapter 26: Nadie como tu

Notes:

Back with over 30K words. Buckle up, it's a ride.

Had a lot of fun writing this, often tried to make it shorter, but ideas kept popping up. Hope you don't mind!

Title is inspired by Nobody New by The Marías. I was listening it while writing the final scene.

Iwaizumi Hajime shifted in his seat and stretched his legs as far as they’d go. Not far at all.. He thought as he tried to get comfortable. The flight to Argentina had been long. Too long. His back ached, his neck was locked up on one side, and the cabin started to smell like too many hours of people and old air. He couldn’t wait until they landed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now preparing for landing. Please return your seats to the upright position, fasten your seatbelts, and raise your window shades.” The captain announced, first in English and then Spanish. Finally. Iwaizumi took a breath of relief. A few clicks followed the announcement, seatbelts being fastened through the rows. Next to him, Oikawa reached forward and slid their shade open.

 

Light poured in, pale and harsh, making him flinch in his seat. He instinctively forced his eyes half-shut, blinking to adjust. Out the small oval window, the city was already in full view, vast and unfamiliar… Densely built buildings broken by clusters of green fields, long roads veining out in every direction… Buenos Aires…

“You alive?” Oikawa asked, noticing Iwa shift. His voice was still hoarse with sleep but eyes clear. He didn’t have his usual put together look, Iwaizumi could see Oikawa had been through the same hell he did, hoodie creased, pillow marks on his cheek, but he was grinning anyway.

“Barely,” Iwaizumi muttered. He straightened in his seat and kept glancing out the window. “It’s bigger than I thought,” he added, quieter than before. Oikawa reached across the space between them and gave his hand a squeeze.

The plane dipped lower. Iwaizumi felt the gravity shift in his stomach. He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, and tried to calm himself down. Yet, it didn’t help. What the hell am I doing here? Doubt started creeping in.

He didn’t speak the language. He didn’t know the city. He hadn’t even asked what kind of place Oikawa lived in. He had just said yes because it was Oikawa, and now he was thirty-five thousand feet over an unfamiliar country, about to step into a life that wasn’t his.

What was I thinking? Oikawa was a dad. He had a kid and a whole routine now. What if the kid didn’t like him? Worse, what if he hated his guts? What if he said something wrong? What if he spent the whole trip being some awkward guest who didn’t belong?

He adjusted the seatbelt tighter. Didn’t need to. Just needed something to do with his hands. Beside him, Oikawa yawned and stretched. “Hey,” he said a moment later side-glancing him.“Stop worrying, it’s going to be fine. I’ll translate everything for you.”

Iwaizumi froze for a half-second. What are you, a mind reader? He bit his tongue from saying it out loud.  Instead, he forced a breath and muttered, “I’m not worried.”

Oikawa smiled back. “Liar,” he said with a voice full of joy. He didn’t buy it for a second.

The plane touched down a few minutes later, harder than he expected. Iwaizumi barely kept from jerking forward. The brakes screeched. A jolt ran through the cabin as the plane slowed, the runway rushing past in a blur. And just like that, they were there.

Iwaizumi released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Beside him, Oikawa lit up like a switch had flipped. He turned to Iwa with eyes shining, “Welcome to Argentina, Iwa-chan,” he said, practically bouncing in his seat. 

The overhead bins creaked open, passengers already on their feet before the seatbelt sign faded. Iwaizumi chose to stay seated a moment longer, stretching one leg as far as the cramped space would allow. He watched someone nearly elbow a woman in the face, struggling with their oversized bag. The line ahead inched forward.

When it was his turn, he stood up and reached up for his carry-on, sliding it on his shoulder. His muscles protested the movement, but there was relief in it too. Oikawa followed him quickly, reaching for his own bag.

As they exited the aircraft, Iwaizumi’s gaze roamed over the terminal. Unlike the streamlined, minimal feel of Haneda, Ministro Pistarini Airport had a warmer, livelier air.

The terminal was bright. Glass stretched high above their heads, structured in clean lines and broad panes that bathed the space in natural light. It reflected off the pale floors and softened the sharp edges of metal and concrete. The filtered air was faintly touched by the scent of coffee drifting in from somewhere down the concourse.Overhead signs pointed the way, customs, immigration, baggage. Spanish printed in bold, with English printed just below. The sound of Spanish surrounded them: fast, fluid, musical with full of words he didn’t know.

They followed the slow-moving crowd toward customs. Oikawa walked ahead with confidence of someone who’d done this a dozen times, already flipping open his passport as they moved. Iwaizumi adjusted the strap of his bag and mirrored his motions, his steps quiet, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar space without letting it show.

Customs was surprisingly quick. A few questions, and they were given their stamp. They headed towards the taxis near the exit. Iwaizumi couldn’t wait to get out the airport. It was a long journey. 

Outside, the morning light poured over the streets, casting a golden glow on the airport. Oikawa hailed a taxi, and greeted the driver in smooth, confident Spanish. His tone bright and easy, like it cost him no effort at all. Iwaizumi couldn’t help but marvel at Oikawa’s fluency, the way he switched so easily to the local language. Oikawa pointed him the door, and they settled into the back seat.

 

He must’ve stared longer than he meant to, because Oikawa turned and caught his expression with a smirk. “Iwa-chan, don’t look so shocked,” he said, teasing, settling in the back seat. “I told you, I’ve been here a while.”

“Yeah, but…still…” Iwa replied, taking a moment to gather his words. “I didn’t realize you could speak Spanish this well,” He murmured, a mix of awe and surprise in his tone. “When did you even have time to learn?”

Oikawa grinned, waving a hand modestly. “You pick things up over time. And trust me, it makes getting around a lot easier.” He gave a playful wink. “Don’t worry, though. I’m still fluent in Japanese.”

 

The taxi drove through streets that grew livelier with every block. Cafés spilled out onto sidewalks with trendy shops in between.Voices carried through their open windows—a mix of morning conversations in Spanish and laughter, layered with music playing somewhere nearby.

They passed a stretch of narrow streets lined with brightly painted houses— bold reds, deep blues, yellow walls… Murals wrapped entire façades, some on the cheerful side, some feeling strange. Oikawa leaned slightly toward his window, pointing outside. “That’s La Boca,” he said. “Kind of a tourist spot, but it’s famous for its art and street performers. We can check it out.”

The car entered a wide boulevard, and Iwaizumi spotted a tall white monument rising in the middle of it. Clean lines, sharp against the blue sky. “Oh Iwa-chan, look! That’s the Obelisk,” Oikawa pointed out excitedly, tapping the window like a kid spotting something for the first time. “They light it up at night. It’s really beautiful.”

 

As the taxi merged onto the freeway, Iwaizumi looked out at the passing scenery. The outskirts of Buenos Aires were filled with tall, lush trees lining the highways and sprawling green spaces. When they entered back to the city center, the view shifted. Elegant, old-world buildings with European architecture began to appear. Ornate iron balconies, grand wooden doors, and vintage streetlights lined the streets, blending with the vibrant energy of street art.

“There’s a lot more greenery than I expected,” Iwaizumi murmured, almost to himself.

Oikawa followed his gaze, a smile appearing on his face. “That’s Parque Tres de Febrero. It’s massive, tons of little lakes and gardens inside. A favorite for all.” He flashed a grin. “We’ll go sometime if you want.”

 

Not long after they passed the park, they arrived at a quiet, affluent neighborhood in the Palermo district. Rows of large houses, each with its own personality, stood behind fences draped with ivy and flowers. Oikawa’s house came into view—a spacious two-story home with a neat garden and a small yard, much larger than anything Iwaizumi expected.

 

“This… this is your house?” he asked, eyes widening, unable to mask his surprise.

Oikawa gave a sheepish shrug as he paid the driver. “Yeah, it is.” He said quickly. But after spotting the look on Iwa’s face, he explained. “Don’t be too impressed though. The housing market here is different. It’s Palermo, not Tokyo. Space comes with less zeroes.”

They stepped out, and Iwaizumi took in the ornate iron gate and the grand doorway framed by climbing roses. “Looks pretty damn impressive to me,” he admitted with a laugh, still taken aback.

“Well, don’t worry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replied with a smirk. “I’m not secretly multi-millionaire or anything.” he added, glancing at Iwaizumi with a soft smile, “But…I do alright.”

He led the way through the gate and up to the house. Inside, the decor was luxurious yet warm, with high ceilings, exposed wooden beams. Handcrafted furniture, tall windows, and scattered live plants filled the rooms with a sense of life, not just style. Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked toward the open living room archway, specifically to a wall where a cluster of photo frames stretched in uneven rows. He saw flashes of smiles, maybe a few he recognized. He looked away before he could fall into it.

 

They were met by a short, brunette woman with kind eyes who must have been in her early thirties. She greeted Oikawa with a warm, familiar smile and a stream of rapid Spanish. Oikawa responded smoothly, his words flowing with an ease that left Iwaizumi feeling slightly dazed.  Although he couldn’t understand a word, it was hard not to be impressed. He already knew Oikawa was fluent in English, but hearing him speak Spanish this naturally was something else entirely.

Once their exchange was over, Oikawa handed her an envelope with her pay. She smiled, took it, and tucked it away behind her back before turning to Iwaizumi. “Welcome Iwaizumi-san,” she said in English, her accent thick but clear. “My name is Anna. I’m Hajime’s babysitter.” She reached out for a handshake.

“Thank you.” Iwaizumi said, quickly taking her hand. “I hope you have a lovely time here. I must head home now.” She said before giving him a friendly wave and stepping out.

Iwaizumi blinked after she left, momentarily speechless. He looked at Oikawa and sighed, “Still blows my mind when you start speaking Spanish like that.”

Oikawa chuckled, shrugging modestly in a way that didn’t suit him. “I’ve been here for a while, Iwa-chan. You’d be picking up a few words yourself in no time.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Iwaizumi huffed, shaking his head, but his expression softened as he looked at Oikawa with a hint of admiration. “You really are amazing, you know that? Is there anything you can’t do?”

Oikawa’s eyes sparkled as he turned back to Iwaizumi. “Talk sweet like that again and I’m taking my shirt off.” He teased, voice laced with mischief.

Iwaizumi barely suppressed a chuckle, and met his gaze without flinching. “Talk dirty like that again and I’m taking your shirt off.”

For a moment, Oikawa just stared, caught mid-step, his mouth open, one eyebrow raised. It was rare for Iwaizumi to meet him at his own game, rarer still for him to do it so smoothly. Then the surprise broke into a laugh, sharp and delighted.

“Well damn,” Oikawa said, grinning as he raked a hand through his hair. “Look at you, all dangerous and flirty in my turf.” He stepped closer, brushing their arms together, still beaming. “I should probably give you a tour before one of us ends up naked.”

The two shared a laugh before Oikawa led him further into the house, their footsteps echoing on the polished floors. “You know,” Iwaizumi said thoughtfully, taking in the surroundings, “I never pictured you in a place like this. But it… fits you.”

Oikawa grinned, watching Iwaizumi with a fond look. “Well, I’m glad it’s Iwa-chan approved.” He murmured as he led the way to his bedroom, a cozy but elegant space with tall windows letting in soft light, casting a warm glow over the room.

Setting their suitcases down, Oikawa turned to him with a little more seriousness. “Hajime’s still napping,” he explained. “We have a bit of time to relax before the whirlwind of introductions.”

Iwaizumi nodded, his gaze drifting around the room. It was surreal being here, in Oikawa’s world—a place Oikawa had built and shared with his child. The bed looked inviting after such a long journey, but he hesitated, a hint of nerves making him shift his weight.

 

Oikawa noticed immediately, his lips quirking up in a teasing smile as he kicked off his shoes and sat back on the bed. “Alright, out with it. What’s got you acting like you’re about to face an interrogation?”

 

Iwaizumi sighed, looking away briefly before muttering, “Well…It’s… your kid. I mean, meeting him. What if he doesn’t like me?”

Oikawa laughed loudly, and propped himself on one elbow. “Oh, you’re right. He’s a tough critic, sure, but I bet you’ll pass. Might have to earn it, though. You know, break a little sweat.” His grin widened. “Hajime’s got standards, after all.”

 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his concern. He hesitated before joining Oikawa on the bed, sitting down a little stiffly. “I’m serious, Tooru. I don’t usually care about what people think, but… with him, it’s different.” He frowned, the vulnerability clear in his eyes. “I just want to… get it right.”

 

Oikawa’s teasing softened, and he reached over, patting Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “You’ll do just fine. He’s a good kid, really. A bit cheeky maybe, but he’s got a good heart. Just be yourself, and he’ll warm up to you.”

 

Iwaizumi nodded, visibly relieved, but a sudden thought made him sit up straighter, eyes wide with panic. “Wait… does he even speak Japanese? How am I supposed to talk to him?”

 

Oikawa stared at him, expression deadpan for a moment before bursting into another fit of laughter. “Seriously, Hajime?” He asked shaking his head. “Yes, he speaks Japanese…and Spanish. You’re going to be able to talk to him just fine. Honestly, I’ve never seen you so worked up over something like this.”

 

Iwaizumi’s face turned a light shade of pink. He shot Oikawa a steady, almost annoyed look. “Gee, I wonder why.” He asked in a mock tone. “Could it be because your kid’s the most important thing in the world to you?” He muttered, crossing his arms. “You’re the most important thing to me Tooru, and that makes him pretty damn important to me too.” His voice softened, his eyes sincere. “Of course, I want him to like me, you idiot. This… it’s new. It’s a first.”

 

Oikawa’s teasing expression melted into something tender, his eyes almost shimmering. He reached over, gently cupping Iwaizumi’s face. “Hajime,” he murmured, a hint of emotion in his voice, “you’re going to do great. And Hajime’s going to adore you. You’ll see. Trust me.” He leaned forward, pressing a soft, heartfelt kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips. When he pulled back, he smiled warmly. Iwaizumi sighed, the relief from moments ago turning into dust.

 

“You know, you sounded so weird just now.” He mused, a hint of awkwardness coloring his expression. “Both me and your kid are named Hajime. Guess I didn’t really think about it until now.”

 

Oikawa’s lips curved up in a soft smile, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you left me hanging all those years ago.” His voice was teasing, but the look they exchanged carried a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. They shared a small, knowing smile, letting that brief, unspoken memory linger between them.

After a beat, Iwaizumi cleared his throat. “Actually… After you introduce me to him, maybe refer to me as Iwa or Iwa-chan—whatever you want. Just don’t call me Hajime, unless maybe we’re alone. I want him to know he’s the number one. No confusion about that.”

 

Oikawa’s expression softened, the glint in his eyes fading into something tender. “Hajime, you’re really sweet,” he murmured, giving Iwaizumi’s shoulder a light squeeze. “But… if you’re worried about confusing him, we could just ask him how he’d like to call you. Might be fun to see what he picks.”

 

Iwaizumi blinked, slightly taken aback but then nodding, a small smile growing on his face. “Yeah… that actually sounds perfect. Let him decide.”

 

Oikawa shifted comfortably on the bed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “So, Iwa-chan,” he began, his voice warm and a bit teasing, “want to know a little about him before he wakes up?”

Iwaizumi’s face lit up, his nervousness melting into genuine excitement. “Yeah, I’d like that. What’s he like?”

Oikawa leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Well, for starters, he’s a bit of a handful.” he said, fondness clear in his voice. “He’s got this boundless energy, especially when he’s doing something he loves. You should see him when he’s playing with his favorite toy, a t-rex. He’s obsessed. Carries it everywhere like it’s his best friend.” He chuckled. “Reminds me of someone else I know who used to carry a toy dinosaur everywhere.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widened with surprise. “You remember that? I thought I was stealthy.”

“Please,” Oikawa scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I remember everything about little Hajime. You and that triceratops were inseparable.”

They both shared a laugh, then Oikawa continued. “His favorite color’s green, just like his dad’s. All his clothes, blankets, and even his toothbrush are green. His favorite movie is anything with superheroes, and he’s always the hero saving the day.” Oikawa glanced at Iwaizumi with a smirk.

Iwaizumi grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Sounds like a kid with taste. What else?”

Oikawa thought for a moment, eyes brightening. “He loves running around barefoot. It drives the sitter and me crazy, but he insists he can ‘feel the ground better.’ Sometimes he’ll go on about how he can run faster without shoes. And… okay, confession time, I let him get away with it sometimes. I can’t say no to him.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Reminds me of you, always insisting you were ‘training’ when you were just barefoot in the dirt.”

Iwaizumi laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I guess, he lives up to the name. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

 

Oikawa took a deep breath, his tone softening. “He’s got this gentle, thoughtful side. He’s little but he’ll pause and listen when someone talks to him, like he’s really taking it all in. I’m really not sure what’s going on in his mind, and I can’t wait to find out.” Oikawa’s eyes grew tender. “It’s one of my favorite things about him.”

Iwaizumi’s heart melted a little at that. “You were like that as a kid too.” he murmured. “Always listened, always observed. Smarter than everyone.” Oikawa’s eyes widened at his obvious compliment. Iwaizumi tried to fix it before it got to his head. “We can just hope and pray, he doesn’t have your cockiness too.”

“Funny,” Oikawa rolled his eyes at him. They shared another quiet moment before Oikawa’s face brightened with another thought. “Oh, and his favorite food? You’ll never guess.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asked, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

“Takoyaki,” Oikawa announced, laughing. “He’ll eat plate after plate if you let him.”

“Takoyaki?” Iwaizumi repeated, unable to hide his surprise. “No way. That was my favorite when I was a kid!”

Oikawa grinned. “I know, right? When I saw him devour it the first time, I couldn’t believe it. He even makes the same little scrunched-up face when he burns his tongue trying to eat it too fast.”

They both laughed, the warmth of the conversation making Iwaizumi’s nerves settle even more. After a moment, Oikawa glanced at him with a smile, his gaze filled with reassurance.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur, “are you ready to meet him?”

Iwaizumi exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back. His heart was pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation. His hands had gone still in his lap. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice filled with quiet conviction. “Just don’t let me screw it up.”

Oikawa didn’t tease this time. He reached over, resting his hand gently at the back of Iwaizumi’s neck and brushing his thumb against the edge of his hair.

“You won’t,” he said, quiet and certain. “I promise.”

Oikawa let his hand linger for a moment before pulling away. He stood, stretching his back, then offered Iwaizumi a small smile as he motioned toward the hallway.

They walked side by side through the house, their footsteps soft against the cool floors. At the end of the hall, Oikawa stopped in front of a pale door, his hand resting lightly on the handle. He glanced at Iwaizumi, eyes warm. “Take a deep breath.” Oikawa whispered with a smile. “I’m going in first. I’ll wake him up, get him ready for the big debut. It’ll be fine.”

Iwaizumi managed a nod, feeling extremely out of place in this setting. The fact that he was in a foreign country… The fact that he was in Oikawa’s home after 10 years of silence… The fact that he was about to meet his son…This is Tooru’s world, he thought as he took a calming breath. A world he would do anything to be apart of again.

 

With a gentle smile, Oikawa slipped quietly into the room, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor. Afternoon sun glow slipped through the soft curtains in little Hajime’s room, casting gentle, golden light over the toys scattered on the floor and the small bed where he slept, curled up with his beloved stuffed T-Rex.

 

Oikawa approached the bed, gazing down at his son with a look of pure adoration. For a moment, he simply stood there, his eyes taking in the tiny features of the boy who had come to mean the world to him—the messy brown locks, the longest eyelashes, the little hand resting on his T-Rex, and the peaceful rise and fall of his chest.

 

Carefully, Oikawa leaned down, brushing a tender hand over Hajime’s hair. “Hey, champ…” he murmured, his voice soft as he gently woke his son from sleep. “Guess who’s home?”

 

Little Hajime stirred, his eyes scrunching up briefly before they fluttered open. As his vision cleared, his face broke into a delighted smile, his tiny voice full of sleepy excitement. “Daddy!”

 

Oikawa chuckled softly, pulling his son into a warm embrace as the boy wrapped his arms tightly around his neck, still half-asleep but already clinging to him with fierce affection. Oikawa pressed gentle kisses over his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere he could reach, making up for the time they’d spent apart.

“I missed you so much, little man,” Oikawa whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he squeezed Hajime close. “Did you have fun with Anna-chan while I was gone?”

 

Hajime nodded, his tiny hands clutching the fabric of Oikawa’s shirt. “Yes! We had a secret cookie party, and she let me watch two movies before bed!” he exclaimed with a mischievous grin, his eyes bright with excitement. “Oh! And did you win, Daddy? Anna-chan said you’d win for sure.”

Oikawa’s chest filled with pride as he ruffled his son’s hair. “I did! Brought home a shiny gold medal and everything, just like I promised. I’ll show it to you later, okay?”

 

Hajime’s face lit up, and he clapped his hands together, his little legs kicking in excitement. “Yay! Anna-chan was right! Can I hold it, Daddy? Just once? Please?”

 

Oikawa laughed, nodding. “Of course, you can champ. I wouldn’t let you miss out on that. But first, I want to hear all about your adventures. What else did you and Anna-chan do?”

 

At this, Hajime’s eyes sparkled with a fresh burst of enthusiasm, and he immediately launched into a detailed recount of his recent days: the make-believe battles with his T-Rex, the special fort he built in the living room using every pillow and blanket he could find, and the time he pretended to be a superhero, leaping off the couch to “save” Anna-chan from imaginary villains.

 

Oikawa listened with full attention, his eyes never leaving Hajime’s face, his own expressions mirroring every twist and turn of his son’s story. The pride and love in his gaze were unmistakable, and he occasionally laughed softly, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

 

When Hajime finished, his little chest puffed out with pride, Oikawa gave his nose a gentle tap. “Sounds like you’ve been having quite the adventures without me! But guess what? I have a surprise for you.”

 

Hajime’s eyes widened, curiosity flickering across his face as he tilted his head. “A surprise?”

Oikawa nodded, smiling as he took Hajime’s small hands in his. “While I was back home, I met up with someone very special—my best friend from when I was a kid like you myself. And he’s here right now. He wants to meet you.”

 

Little Hajime’s face lit up in pure wonder, his eyes going wide with excitement. He bounced on the bed, clutching his T-Rex to his chest. “Really, Daddy? From when you were my age?”

 

Oikawa grinned, nodding as he brushed a stray lock of hair from his son’s forehead. “Really, kiddo. He’s waiting just outside the door.”

With that, he stood up and, with a quick glance toward the door, called softly, “You can come in now.”

As Iwaizumi took a steadying breath and stepped into the room, a wave of nervousness settled over him. This was it…The moment he’d thought about, worried over, and anticipated since Oikawa first invited him here. This was Oikawa’s son, a piece of Oikawa’s world he’d never been part of until now.

 

He walked slowly toward the small bed, his footsteps soft on the floor, and each step seemed to brought back his worries and fears. What if he doesn’t like me? worse, what if he hates me?As he neared the bed, he felt his heart skip a beat when he finally saw the little boy’s face. So much like Tooru… It was as if he were looking at his best friend from years ago in his childhood. The only thing that grounded him was those green eyes, shimmering like emeralds catching light.

 

He knelt down, bringing himself to the little boy’s level. His heart pounded with a mix of excitement and apprehension, wondering what this little version of Oikawa would be like. Would he be the playful, carefree kid Iwaizumi remembered? Or maybe something new altogether?

 

Oikawa’s hand rested on his son’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before smiling down at him “Hajime,” Oikawa said warmly, “this is my best friend, from when we were kids. His name is Hajime too. Isn’t that funny?”

For a moment, little Hajime stared, his gaze wide and unwavering. Then, suddenly, his face lit up with a kind of delight only a child could muster. “Dad!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing in place. “Dad, I know him!”

 

Both Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchanged looks, equally caught off guard by the certainty in his voice. Oikawa tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, you do, do you?” he teased gently, humoring his son. “And, how do you know him?”

 

Little Hajime gave a determined nod, his face alight with pride as he reached for Oikawa’s hand. “Come on, come on, I’ll show you!” he declared, dragging Oikawa with surprising strength down the hallway toward the living room. Oikawa looked completely clueless, shooting glances back at Iwaizumi as if to make sure he was still following. Iwaizumi followed, barely able to keep up, laughing as the boy towed them along with enthusiasm.

 

Stopping in front of a wall decorated with framed photos in the living room, little Hajime pointed with conviction at a small picture of Oikawa and Iwaizumi from high school, arms slung around each other with wide, carefree smiles.“See?” Little Hajime pointed at the photographs, his voice rising in excitement. “He’s everywhere!”he announced proudly, as if he’d uncovered a hidden treasure.

 

Iwaizumi’s cheeks reddened, caught between laughter and a strange feeling of nostalgia. He felt a kind of warmth bloom in his chest as he looked at the photos, a bit of embarrassment, and maybe something more tender. The photos, each capturing a different moment, a different stage in Oikawa’s life, were sprinkled throughout, with Iwaizumi a constant presence in many of them.

 

Oikawa unexpectedly blushed as well, scratching the back of his head in an uncharacteristically sheepish gesture. “Well… when he’s right, he’s right,” he murmured, trying to hide his own smile as he glanced at Iwaizumi.

 

Iwaizumi shot him a teasing look, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know I was such a celebrity in your house, Tooru,” he murmured with a mock sense of awe, his eyes shining with amusement. Deep down, his heart swelled a little, realizing he’d been there in more ways than he knew. What a smart kid… To be able to recognize Iwa from the pictures at his age was pretty wild.

 

Oikawa raised an eyebrow at him, as if silently telling him to keep it down. But before he could respond, Iwaizumi crouched down next to little Hajime, nodding with an approving smile. “You’ve got a sharp eye, don’t you?”

 

Little Hajime beamed, proud of his discovery, his small chest puffing up with delight. “Yep! I knew right away when I saw you,” he said crossing his arms confidently.

 

Oikawa, watching from a few steps behind, chuckled and shook his head in slight embarrassment. “He’s too observant for his own good,” he muttered, mostly to himself.  Iwaizumi barely surpassed his laugh. You weren’t much different.

Just then, little Hajime’s eyes went wide with a fresh realization. He tugged excitedly at Oikawa’s sleeve. “Dad!” He said gazed fixed on Iwaizumi with childlike wonder. “Dad, we have the same name!”

 

He looked between them as if it were the most astonishing fact in the world. “You have the same name as me!” he exclaimed to Iwaizumi this time, his excitement bubbling over. “And, and look—” He leaned in close, pointing up with grin. “You have green eyes just like me too!” His amazement was genuine, as if he’d stumbled upon some secret club meant just for the two of them.

 

He tugged at Oikawa’s sleeve again, bouncing on his feet. “Dad, look! He has green eyes too!”

 

Oikawa, slightly flustered by his son’s outburst, let out an exasperated laugh before flashing a mischievous, flirtatious grin at Iwaizumi. “What can I say, I guess I have a type.”

Iwaizumi burst into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. He crouched down to Hajime’s level one again, ruffling his hair with a gentle smile. “You know, I think it’s pretty cool we share a name. But don’t worry. You’re always going to be Hajime Number One.” He gave the boy a playful wink, glancing up at Oikawa for confirmation.

 

Oikawa grinned, nodding in agreement as he looked back at his son. “Yeah, you’re the original Hajime in this house,” he said warmly. “And you can call him by his last name if you want—maybe ‘Uncle Iwa’ or ‘Iwa-chan.’ Whatever you like best.”

 

Little Hajime’s face scrunched up in thought, his fingers tapping his chin in a way that made Iwaizumi smile. After a moment, his eyes lit up with a new spark of excitement. “Uncle Iwa!” he declared, his voice full of pride.

“Uncle Iwa it is, then,” Iwaizumi replied, chuckling as he gently bumped fists with the boy. “Sounds good to me, kiddo.”

Just then, Oikawa hesitated, glancing between the two of them with a slightly uncertain look. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Hey, champ, is it okay if I keep calling him Hajime? Or is that too confusing?”

 

Little Hajime tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he looked at Oikawa like he’d just said something completely silly. “Dad… isn’t that his name?” he asked, clearly baffled by their concern.

 

The simplicity of the boy’s logic struck both Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and they exchanged a look, realizing they might’ve been overthinking the whole situation. After a beat, they both burst into laughter, a warm and genuine sound that filled the room and put everyone at ease.

 

Oikawa shook his head, ruffling his son’s hair with a grin. “You’re right, buddy. We were just being silly.”

Iwaizumi looked down at little Hajime, his smile softening. “Guess you’re smarter than us, huh?”

Little Hajime nodded solemnly, then broke into a mischievous grin, clearly proud of himself. “Yep! I’m always the smartest.” He puffed out his chest with pride, making both adults chuckle again.

 

The three of them settled into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, Iwaizumi felt a deep warmth and belonging, like he’d finally come home. Oikawa gave him a gentle nudge, his gaze full of gratitude, and Iwaizumi smiled back, the two of them sharing an unspoken promise to cherish this newfound bond.

Just then, little Hajime tugged on Oikawa’s sleeve again. “Dad,” he said with a grin, looking up at Iwaizumi, “can Uncle Iwa come play dinosaurs with me?”

Oikawa shot a teasing glance at Iwaizumi. “Oh, I don’t know… Uncle Iwa might be scared of dinosaurs.”

Iwaizumi scoffed, rolling his eyes in mock offense. “Scared? Bring it on, kid,” he said, giving little Hajime a determined grin. “Let’s see if your T-Rex is a match for Uncle Iwa.”

Oikawa chimed in, grinning. “You heard him, little man. Show Uncle Iwa what a real T-Rex can do!”

 

Little Hajime cheered, grabbing his toy T-Rex and tugging Iwaizumi by the hand toward his bedroom. As Oikawa watched the two of them disappear down the hall, his heart swelled, filled with a deep, quiet joy.

 

For the first time, everything felt just as it should be.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first day back home had been long but perfect. Oikawa lay in bed, still glowing from the sight of Iwaizumi and little Hajime’s playtime together. He’d watched them run around, laughing and shouting, with Iwaizumi growling like a T-Rex while Hajime counterattacked with his own high-pitched roars, wielding his toy dinosaur with fierce determination. The two had been a blur of laughter, tumbling across the living room, and for Oikawa, it felt like seeing his own childhood reflected in the present. Only now, it was his son, sharing in that joy with the man he loved.

Winding down for bed, Oikawa couldn’t help but feel how perfectly whole it all was. His eyes darted towards the bathroom where Iwaizumi was brushing his teeth, his toned shoulders bare and his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. Watching him, Oikawa felt an affectionate smile tug at his lips, unable to resist calling out, “You know, it’s a miracle I still find you sexy after today. All that roaring and running around … very intimidating.”

Iwaizumi’s laugh echoed from the other side of the door. “All I’ve heard is that you found me sexy,” he said, rinsing his mouth. The sound of him spitting and washing his hands followed promptly, sending a a shiver down Oikawa’s spine. He stared at the ceiling, feeling far too aware of every sound, every movement Iwa was making. It was so normal, and yet, for Oikawa, it wasn’t normal at all. It was Iwaizumi. In his room. Moving through his space as if it had always belonged to him. It felt so natural, so right that it was almost surreal. He sighed, contemplating how simple everyday actions could make his heart skip a beat. Get a grip, Tooru, he scolded himself, shaking his head lightly.

 

“Although,” Oikawa called out, clearing his throat. “Do you really think T-Rexes roar?” He teased, his voice light with humor.

 

Iwaizumi stepped out of the bathroom, his hair tousled and chest exposed. He was one of those people who somehow looked better the less they tried, hotter in simplicity, unintentional yet captivating. Now, standing in front of Oikawa like this, he was making it hard to breathe. Completely oblivious to the effect he had, Iwaizumi scoffed as he threw himself onto the bed, his brows furrowing.“Of course they roar, Tooru. What else would they do, chirp?”

 

Oikawa swallowed hard, his heart stumbling over itself as he watched Iwaizumi sink onto the mattress beside him. The way Iwa sprawled out, so casual, so completely unaware of how stupidly hot he looked, made it so damn difficult to think straight. Well… Why am I even trying?

 

Oikawa climbed into Iwaizumi’s lap with a suddenness that startled him.“Hajime…” a desperate whisper came out of his lips, putting an end to their banter. Iwa’s eyes widened and he was silenced, his train of thought derailing entirely. Oikawa's hands found Iwa’s jaw, trembling slightly as they cupped his face with more urgency than tenderness. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, a spark igniting in the silence before Oikawa closed the distance, pressing their lips together with a hunger he could no longer contain.

 

The kiss was all-consuming, charged with a heat that neither could hold back, lips moving together in perfect rhythm . Oikawa’s hands slid into Iwaizumi’s hair, fingers curling in dark locks. He rocked his hips to the front. The motion sparked a low moan from Iwaizumi, and in turn sent Oikawa into a spiral. He shifted above him again, pushing his own shirt off this time and sending it to the floor. Iwaizumi looked at him breathless for a moment, just taking it all in. Then, he pulled Oikawa’s waist, his hands roaming across his lover’s bare skin, relishing the warm.

 

Oikawa rocked his hips backward this time, his fingers tracing the lines of Iwaizumi’s chest. Without breaking the kiss, his hands slid down from Iwaizumi’s chest, inside his pajama bottoms. Iwa gasped into his mouth when he started caressing his arousal. “I want you.” He whispered to Iwaizumi’s ear. For a moment, they stood close, breaths mingling. Then, Iwa pulled Oikawa back with a rough urgency, crushing his lips against his, hand sliding inside Oikawa’s pajamas.Their breaths were hot and ragged, lost in each other’s touch.

Just as Iwaizumi was tugging the pajamas, the door swung open. In the doorway stood little Hajime, tears streaming down his face, clutching his T-Rex tightly. “Dad,” he sniffled, “I had a nightmare.”

Oikawa practically threw himself off of Iwaizumi while Iwa cursed inside. The brunette setter scrambled to sit upright and steady his breathing, his face flushed as he tried to compose himself. “Of all times…” he muttered under his breath, his hand brushing through his messy hair. Should have locked the door. He thought painfully. Clearing his throat, he quickly shifted into dad mode. “It’s okay, champ,” he said, voice breathy but gentle, patting the bed beside him. “Come here, come here.”

 

Iwaizumi’s face burned, still reeling from the shock, not to mention the… other physical reaction that hadn’t quite gone away. He pulled up the blankets to cover his lower half, a little forcefully, his heart pounding with embarrassment as he fought to calm down. Fuck my life, he thought, biting back a groan. This is just—damn… This is a nightmare too… With a deep sigh, he started counting from a hundred by sevens.  His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket as he continued mentally berating himself. What the hell am I doing? Hiding under the blanket, counting like a teenager, looking like damn fool…

 

As Hajime climbed onto the bed, his face turned from tearful to bewildered. “Dad,” he asked, wiping his nose, “why is Uncle Iwa on your bed?”

Oikawa stammered, face red as he fumbled for words, realizing this wasn’t a conversation he’d been prepared to have just yet. Clearing his throat, he pulled Hajime onto his lap, smoothing his son’s hair and trying to keep his tone calm. “Uncle Iwa is… well, he’s a special friend. You remember the talk in the morning, right?”

Hajime’s brow furrowed in confusion as he looked up at Oikawa, clutching his T-Rex a little tighter. “But Uncle Bo is your best friend, and he doesn’t sleep in your bed. Isn’t he special?”

Damn it, Iwaizumi thought, this couldn’t get more embarrassing.

Oikawa winced at the innocent logic, at a temporary loss for words. He looked down, desperate to think of anything to say. Of course he’ll bring up Bokuto at a time like this, Oikawa thought, feeling his heart speed up. He wanted to make an explanation that was simple but meaningful.

Sensing Oikawa’s hesitation, Iwaizumi leaned forward, gently resting a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “Hey, little man,” he began softly. he hesitated a moment, searching for the right words. He wanted to be honest but gentle. “Remember how you were telling me about Spider-Man earlier?”

Hajime’s face lit up, his worries momentarily forgotten as he looked at Iwaizumi with excitement.“Yeah! Spider-Man’s the coolest!”

Iwaizumi chuckled, nodding. “He really is, isn’t he? So tell me… who does Peter Parker live with?”

“Aunt May!” Hajime answered immediately, eyes bright.

“That’s right,” Iwaizumi continued, nodding in encouragement. “And do you think Peter Parker loves Aunt May?”

Hajime nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!”

Iwaizumi glanced at Oikawa, then back to Hajime, his tone gentle but serious. “That’s correct. Aunt May is family. She’s like a mother to Peter. That kind of love is strong and unbreakable, right? It never changes. Like the love you and your dad share.”

Hajime nodded slowly, his gaze softening as he leaned against Oikawa. “Like how I love you, Dad?”

Oikawa squeezed him gently, his eyes warm. “Yeah, exactly like that, buddy.”

“But,” Iwaizumi went on, his voice softening as he tried to make his point clear, “if I asked you who Peter Parker’s true love is, who would you say?”

 

Hajime thought for a moment, then said confidently, “Mary Jane!”

“Exactly, smart guy.” Iwaizumi chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Mary Jane is special to Peter in a different way. He loves her just like he loves Aunt May, but it’s… a different kind of love. Does that make sense?” Hajime nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. Iwa took this as an encouragement and continued after taking a breath. “That’s just like how I feel about your dad, and how your dad feels about me.”

There was a beat of silence as Hajime took this in, glancing between his dad and Iwaizumi with wide, curious eyes. “You love uncle Iwa like Peter loves Mary Jane, daddy?” he asked eyes finally settling on Oikawa, his voice full of wonder.

 

Iwaizumi glanced at Oikawa, a small, soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.” Oikawa said, a warm smile curling to his lips. “We love each other like that.” Iwaizumi felt his heart beat a little faster as Oikawa said it, acknowledging just how much they meant to each other out loud. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for how quick Hajime was to understand—so much like his dad.

There was a pause as Hajime absorbed the explanation, looking between them with his wide, curious eyes. Then, as if the final piece clicked into place, he beamed as he snuggled closer to Oikawa, eyes turning to Iwa this time. “So you’re like… Dad’s Mary Jane?”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchanged a look, barely able to contain their laughter. “Yeah,” Oikawa said softly, unable to hide his smile, “something like that.”

Seeming satisfied, little Hajime settled down between them, clutching his T-Rex tightly. He looked up at Oikawa, his voice drowsy but content. “But, I can still call him Uncle Iwa, like Spider-Man calls Aunt May ‘Aunt May,’ right?”

Oikawa brushed a gentle hand over his son’s head, his voice filled with warmth. “Of course, buddy. Uncle Iwa is here for you, just like Aunt May is there for Peter.”

Hajime yawned, nodding sleepily as he mumbled, “Good… ‘cause Uncle Iwa’s cool…”

As he drifted off, his breathing softened. Oikawa glanced at Iwaizumi, his expression a mix of gratitude and, quiet adoration. Iwaizumi’s heart swelled, feeling more at peace than he had in years. With Hajime’s small hand still clutching his, he glanced at Oikawa, a smile tugging at his lips.

 

“I really didn’t think we’d have to explain anything to him so soon,” he whispered with a chuckle, still slightly embarrassed.

Oikawa snickered softly, squeezing his hand. “Well, he acted like it was just another Tuesday… I think we might have been overthinking this one.” He shot Iwaizumi a playful grin. “At least he didn’t ask why we were out of breath.”

They shared a look, filled with quiet laughter and warmth. For a long moment, they simply watched Hajime sleep, his peaceful expression reminder of how complete their lives had become with him here.

 

Oikawa’s gaze softened as he looked at Iwaizumi, a flicker of tenderness crossing his features. He reached over, brushing his fingers lightly against Iwaizumi’s brown locks, a silent gesture of gratitude. Thank you, he thought, his chest filling with quiet affection. For stepping in when I couldn’t find the words. For loving me enough to love him too. For making it feel all so natural. For always being there.

 

With Hajime nestled between them and Iwaizumi by his side, Oikawa realized that, he finally had his perfectly imperfect family together.

______________________________________________________________________________

By the fourth day, Iwaizumi no longer felt like a guest. The stiffness had completely worn off, replaced by a rhythm that felt eerily natural. He knew where the mugs were now. He didn’t hesitate before opening the fridge or tossing a blanket over little Hajime at night when he fell asleep in front of the TV. The little boy had warmed to him fast, faster than he’d ever dared hope. Their days had started blending together with surprising ease—long walks, touristy afternoons, a few lazy hours spent watching TV or chasing Hajime around the garden. It felt good. Strange, but good.

 

That morning, over a quiet breakfast, Oikawa sipped his coffee and glanced across the table with that plotting look he always got. “Hajime,” he said casually, eyes flicking toward his son. “What do you say we take uncle Iwa to Tres de Febrero today?”

Little Hajime’s head snapped up from his plate like he’d been waiting his whole life for that suggestion. “Yay! I’ll play soccer!” he shouted, bouncing in his seat with a half-eaten strawberry still in his hand. Then, he turned to Iwaizumi, eyes wide with excitement. “Uncle Iwa, do you know how to play?”

Iwaizumi, mid-sip of orange juice, swallowed and smirked. “Of course I do,” he said quickly. “We’ll play together.”

Across the table, Oikawa resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn’t that he minded soccer, but he couldn’t help the sigh that stirred in his chest every time his son walked past the volleyball with the same enthusiasm he showed for brushing his teeth. “I’ll pack the volleyball anyway,” he muttered, more to Iwaizumi than the kid. “Just in case someone feels like converting.”

Minutes later, shoes were on, both the volleyball and soccer ball were packed, and a cooler bag was filled with snacks and bottles of water. Hajime tolerated the sunscreen with only a few exaggerated groans. Oikawa insisted on taking a small first-aid kit with—“I know how he plays”, he said, tone dry but fond.

The sun had climbed higher by the time they stepped outside, warming the interior of the car waiting in the driveway. Beyond the gate, the streets of Palermo stretched ahead, quiet and tree-lined, brushed in green..

It was a short drive to Parque Tres de Febrero from Oikawa’s house. The warm morning rays bathed the park in a soft golden glow, casting playful shadows across the lawns and pathways lined with blossoming jacaranda trees. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the faint aroma of violet flowers.  Iwaizumi leaned against the car door for a moment before stepping out. It felt surreal, like stepping into a postcard.

 

He glanced around, taking in the idyllic scene, and couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of pride and joy. He’d crossed continents to be here. And there he was, standing next to Oikawa, and met the little boy who had stolen his best friend’s heart—and shared his name.

 

Hajime, practically bounced off his feet, gripping a slightly worn soccer ball like it was his greatest treasure. His big curious eyes were taking everything he saw from the park. His energy was infectious, and he stole Iwa’s gaze on himself. He was a carbon copy of the little Oikawa that he knew. It almost felt like he traveled back to past.

 

“You’re staring, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teased, a volleyball under his arm. His voice cut into Iwa’s thoughts. A familiar, playful smirk tugged at his lips, though there was warmth behind it. “Someone’s getting sentimental.”

 

Iwa scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets to mask his embarrassment. “Yeah, right. Just surprised you managed to raise a kid this cheerful. Thought he’d be sulking like you half the time.”

 

Oikawa placed a hand over his chest, feigning mock offense. “How dare you?! Hajime is a perfect reflection of his father. Isn’t that right, Hajime?”

 

The little boy grinned up at them, too caught up in his own excitement to fully follow their banter. “Can we play now, daddy?” he asked, bouncing on his toes, his small hands gripping the ball tightly. “Can we?”

 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi said, his lips twitching into a smile. “So, what do you want to do first, Hajime?” He asked, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. “Volleyball or soccer?"

Hajime’s face lit up, his big green eyes sparkling. “Soccer!” he exclaimed, his voice bursting with enthusiasm.

 

Oikawa, standing beside them, let out a dramatic groan and rolled his eyes. “Of course. His dad is one of the best volleyball players in the world, but no, soccer is what he loves. How is this fair?”

 

Straightening up, Iwaizumi couldn’t stop the smirk from curling his lips.“You live in Argentina, Trashykawa. What did you expect? They’re practically born with soccer balls at their feet. Course he thinks it’s cool.”

 

“He called you Trashykawa.” Hajime pointed at Iwa and then covered his mouth with his palms giggling endlessly as if he’d just heard the world’s funniest joke.

 

“Hey!” Oikawa turned sharply, his glare landing on Iwa before pointing an accusing finger at him. “Don’t call me that in front of my child!” Ignoring Hajime’s bubbling laughter, he added, “This is your fault somehow. If you’d stuck around, you could’ve taught him the joys of volleyball!”

“Yeah, because nothing screams ‘fun’ to a four-year-old like practicing your approach jump,” Iwa deadpanned, crossing his arms. Then he nudged Oikawa with his elbow. “Come on, Tooru, try it for your kiddo. We’ll just kick the ball around, you can manage that.”

Oikawa made a face, as though Iwa had asked him to run a marathon barefoot. “It’s not like I don’t try.” He huffed. The truth was… he had. Several times. And every time, it ended the same, his foot catching the ball at the wrong angle, the aim wildly off, Hajime staring up at him wide-eyed, with slightly betrayed look of a kid realizing his dad might not actually be cool. It was frustrating. Embarrassing, even. He was a world-class athlete, damn it. But something about soccer made his coordination short-circuit. The ball never did what he wanted it to. “…Well,” he muttered, shoulders lifting in reluctant surrender, “you’ll see yourself.”

 

Hajime darted onto the grass, clutching his soccer ball with eager hands. Without hesitation, he placed it on the ground and lined up his stance, his little face scrunched up in concentration. With a big swing of his leg, he kicked the ball. It didn’t go far, but it rolled steadily. he spun around, his face glowing with pride, earning cheers from both adults.

 

“Nice one!” Iwaizumi said, clapping his hands.

 

“Good job, Hajime!” Oikawa chimed in, his voice full of genuine pride.

The ball slowed to a stop a few feet away. Hajime looked up at his dad expectantly. Oikawa stepped forward like he was about to defuse a bomb, not kick a soccer ball. His brows were drawn, and he took his time lining the ball— too much if Iwa was honest. Without a word, he tapped the ball back toward Hajime, smiling warmly at his son’s delighted laughter. The ball stumbled awkwardly forward, its path far from smooth.

 

Hajime chased it down, his next kick carrying a little more power. The ball rolled to Oikawa’s feet again, and he stepped up to return it — to Iwa this time. Iwa watched, expecting at least a decent kick from someone with Oikawa’s athleticism. Instead, the ball wobbled awkwardly, veering slightly off to the side.

Iwa raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He asked half in disbelief, half amused, trying not to laugh. “What?” Oikawa responded, his tone defensive, cheeks faintly pink as he walked over to nudge the ball back again. This time, his kick was slightly better, but still clumsy enough to make Iwaizumi stifle a laugh. Oikawa Tooru, a professional athlete, a master of precision and grace on the volleyball court, was stumbling through a simple game of soccer. The best way to describe it was that it felt surreal. It was endearing though. His awkward kicks were a sharp contrast to the flawless setter Iwaizumi knew, and yet Oikawa was clearly giving it his all for Hajime.

“Nothing,” Iwa said appreciating his enthusiasm. The ball rolled toward him, and he stopped it with a quick motion. “Alright, little man, let me show you something cool.” Iwaizumi expertly dribbled the ball between his feet, rolling it smoothly in circles, then flicked it up into the air with a casual motion. He started bouncing it on his thighs, keeping perfect control as Hajime watched in awe. “Whoa!” Hajime exclaimed. “Uncle Iwa, that’s amazing!”

 

Even Oikawa froze, his jaw dropping. “When the hell did you learn to do that?” Iwa gave him a nonchalant shrug, still bouncing the ball. “What do you mean? I always played.”

“No, you didn’t!” Oikawa protested, scrunching his face, crossing his arms. “I’d remember. You were in volleyball and baseball! You’ve never played soccer!”

 

“Well, not in a club,” Iwaizumi clarified, catching the ball under his foot. “I didn’t have time. But I play casually sometimes. It’s fun.”

 

Hajime piped up, his expression full of awe. “Uncle Iwa, you’re so good! You don’t suck like Dad!” To which Iwaizumi barked out a laugh, while Oikawa groaned loud enough to startle two passing joggers.

“How did I not know this about you?” Oikawa muttered, narrowing his eyes at Iwa. Iwa shrugged, handing the ball back to Hajime. “Well…Have you ever asked? Besides, you know I’m somewhat decent at sports. It’s not that big a deal.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, waved his hand and stepped back. “Yeah, yeah. Show-off.”

 

Iwa ignored him, turning his attention back to Hajime. For the next little while, he taught the boy how to dribble, explaining the basics in simple terms and cheering him on as he practiced. Hajime was a quick learner, and his laughter filled the air every time he managed a small victory.

 

Oikawa sat a few feet away, watching them from his spot on the grass. He sulked a little at first but couldn’t hide the warmth in his gaze as he watched them, and cheered his son’s every move from the sidelines.

 

When Hajime finally ran out of energy, Iwa crouched down beside him. His eyes, however, weren’t on the little boy. They were fixed on Oikawa sitting on the sidelines.

 

Oikawa was smiling, but there was a wistful air about him, one Iwa recognized instantly. It wasn’t about soccer; it was something deeper. He realized then that Oikawa wanted more than just to cheer his son on. He wanted to be seen as Hajime’s hero, the way Hajime had just lit up for Iwa. Iwa’s brow furrowed slightly as the thought struck him: Did Hajime even know what Oikawa could do on the court? With Oikawa’s relentless schedule and how young Hajime was, had he ever truly watched his father play? “Hey, little man, can I ask you something?” Iwa asked gently, turning his attention back to Hajime.

 

Hajime nodded, his cheeks flushed from exertion. “Have you ever seen your dad play volleyball? Like, really watched him?” Iwa asked, eyes still fixed on Oikawa. Hajime tilted his head. “Not really. He’s always working when he plays.”

Iwa smiled softly, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Well, you should. Your dad… when he’s on the court, he’s kind of unbelievable. I can’t take my eyes off him when he’s playing. The way he moves, how fast his brain works—it’s amazing. He’s the best.”

Hajime’s eyes widened at that, and he turned to look at Oikawa, who was now watching them curiously from a distance. “Dad’s the best?” His voice was full of pride already. “The very best,” Iwa confirmed. “You’ll see it one day, and I bet you’ll think it’s the coolest thing ever.”

Hajime grinned, his admiration for his father shining through. “I wanna see him play!” A smile formed on Iwa’s lips, his suspicions confirmed. He stood up, brushing off his knees, and held out a hand to Hajime. “Well, come on then.”  Together they picked up the soccer ball and walked back to Oikawa.

As they walked back, Hajime still bouncing with excitement. Oikawa raised an eyebrow at them, clearly amused at them cutting the soccer time short. “What’s this? Done already? I thought the great Iwa-chan would have more stamina.”

Iwa waved off the jab with a smirk. “ Yeah, yeah. Unlike you, I’ve been doing the actual running instead of lounging around and whining.”

Oikawa gasped, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “How dare you accuse me of such behavior in front of my own child! Hajime, tell Uncle Iwa he’s being mean to your amazing, hardworking father.”

Hajime giggled, hiding his face behind his soccer ball but saying nothing, his mischievous eyes darting between the two men. Before Oikawa could launch into another over-the-top defense of his dignity, Iwaizumi extended a hand toward him. “Get up.”

Oikawa blinked. The smirk faded, not entirely, but enough to show he wasn’t sure what Iwa was up to. “Why?”

Iwaizumi didn’t explain. He just kept his hand out, steady and sure, like the answer was obvious. “Just get up.”

There was a beat, small, but enough to hang between them. Then Oikawa slid his hand into Iwa’s and let himself be pulled to his feet.

Hajime, already swept up in the moment, tugged on his father’s other hand. “Dad! Uncle Iwa said you’re the best!”  Hearing that, something shifted in Oikawa’s face— an almost shy smile, fleeting but undeniably there,  a flicker of pride. His fingers tightened slightly around Hajime’s small hand.

Iwaizumi took a step back, and smirked. He pointed across the field, just a bit down, where the grass flattened in an open patch. “Now go over there.”

Oikawa stared at him like he’d been slapped. “What?” He blinked at him, completely caught off guard. “Seriously? You made me get up to exile me?”

“Just do what I say.” Iwa rolled his eyes.

Oikawa scoffed, muttering something under his breath as he toward the spot Iwa had pointed at. He wasn’t subtle about it, his footsteps heavier than necessary, the occasional glance thrown over his shoulder like he expected betrayal at any moment.

Once Oikawa was a good distance away, Iwaizumi crouched down beside Hajime. The boy was still grinning, bouncing lightly on his toes.“Hey, champ,” he said softly, “Ready to see how incredible your dad is?”

“YES!” Hajime nodded eagerly, dropping his soccer ball to the ground.

Iwaizumi ruffled Hajime’s hair affectionately. “Alright then. Take the ball, and throw it as high as you can. Try to aim it over my head, but don’t worry about it. I’ll set it up for your dad. You just watch what happens.”

Hajime’s face lit up with excitement. He crouched down and picked up the volleyball. After a moment’s hesitation, he threw it with all the strength his little arms could manage. The ball curved awkwardly, but Iwaizumi moved in time. His hands rose instinctively, palms open, and in one smooth motion, he pushed the ball upward in a perfect set. “Go!” Iwa barked, his voice carrying across the court.

 

Oikawa’s body responded before his mind even had a chance to catch up. Years of training took over, and he surged forward, leaping into the air with grace. His arm swung down in a powerful arc, and the ball cracked against his palm, rocketing over with a sharp thud. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, everything in slow motion, in complete quietness.

“WHOA!” Hajime’s shout shattered the silence. He spun to Iwaizumi, his hands flailing in excitement. “Did you see that, Uncle Iwa? The ball went like WHAM!” He was bouncing up and down with joy. “Dad, you were flying! It was AWESOME!”

 

Oikawa landed lightly, brushing a hand through his hair with exaggerated nonchalance. His chest heaved just slightly, but his grin was wide as he turned back toward Hajime. “Well, of course. Dad’s the best, right?”

“That was so cool!” Hajime yelled, his face a picture of awe.

Oikawa kept grinning, spinning the ball loosely in one hand. His gait was casual, but his eyes betrayed him, bright, shining with quiet delight. He looked back at Iwaizumi, a teasing lilt already in his voice. “That set was lousy,” he said, smirking. “But I guess it worked.”

Iwa rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “You spiked it, didn’t you?”

 

“And who in their right mind makes a world-class setter spike?” Oikawa added, raising an eyebrow as he gestured toward himself.

 

Iwaizumi shrugged, deadpan. “You wanted to look cool for your kid, right? Spiking is cooler. Mission accomplished.”

 

Oikawa’s fingers faltered. The ball he’d been spinning slipped from his fingertips, dipping through the air before he caught it in a smooth motion, as if it had been part of the plan all along. But it hadn’t. For a moment, something stirred inside him—tender, unsteady. Of course Iwaizumi had known without needing to be told. He always had. He knew Oikawa inside out.

 

Oikawa looked down, just briefly, a smile curling at his lips, softer this time, without sharpness of teasing. His chest felt warm in a way that made him feel like he was in high school again. He gathered himself quickly, and turned to Hajime, crouching to his level and ruffling his hair. “Alright, buddy,” he said gently, voice touched with something quieter now. “Let me show you how your uncle Iwa and I used to play together.”

 

Hajime blinked up at him, his expression full of wonder. “You and Uncle Iwa played volleyball together?” Oikawa’s grin softened. “All the time. We were in the same team in high school. And trust me, uncle Iwa is pretty amazing when he’s on the court too.”

Standing up, Oikawa tossed the ball back to Iwaizumi, who caught it effortlessly. “Come on, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa called, jogging to his side of the net. “Let’s show him how it’s done. Iwaizumi smirked, spinning the ball in his hands. “You sure you can keep up?” Oikawa shot him a look, his grin widening. “Just don’t embarrass yourself.”

 

Hajime sat cross-legged on the side, his soccer ball now forgotten beside him. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as Iwaizumi and Oikawa took their positions. The air around them shifted, the easy banter giving way to a quiet focus that only years of teamwork could create.

 

Iwaizumi tossed the volleyball lightly in his hands, his gaze steady on Oikawa. “You ready?”Oikawa rolled his shoulders, a small, confident smirk tugging at his lips. “I was born ready.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwa muttered, stepping back to serve. He tossed the ball into the air with practiced ease before sending it over the “invisible” net with a strong, precise jump serve.

Oikawa’s feet moved before the ball even came close, his steps light and deliberate as he tracked its trajectory. With effortless grace, he received it, the ball floating upward in a perfect arc.

“Nice,” Iwaizumi called, jogging forward. He crouched under the ball, hands poised as he set it high into the air.

The moment the ball left Iwa’s fingertips, Oikawa was already moving. His body coiled like a spring, every motion fluid yet charged with power. Hajime’s breath hitched as he watched his dad leap into the air, seemingly defying gravity once again. With a sharp, resounding crack, Oikawa’s hand connected with the ball, sending it rocketing down onto the opposite side of the court.

 

“DAD, you were flying again!” Hajime shouted, his eyes sparkling with admiration. Iwaizumi stood on the other side, crossing his arms as he watched Oikawa grin at his son’s praise. “This is all gonna go to your head.”He muttered under his breath yet his expression amused.

Oikawa playfully stuck his tongue out of him and retrieved the ball and turned to Hajime. “Spiking is usually not what I do in court, though.” he admitted, his tone playful. “That’s something Uncle Iwa’s really amazing at.”

 

Hajime tilted his head, confused. “Then what do you do?”

 

Oikawa crouched down, bringing himself to Hajime’s level. His eyes softened, but there was a gleam of excitement in them as he prepared to explain. “Well, Hajime, spiking is what happens when you hit the ball really hard to score points, like what I just did, right?”

“Yeah!” Hajime nodded eagerly.

“But someone has to make sure the ball is in the perfect spot for the spiker to hit it,” Oikawa continued, balancing the volleyball on one hand. “That’s my job. I’m the setter. I’m like the control tower. I make sure the ball is where it needs to be so the spiker can do their thing. Without me, there’d be no spike.”

Hajime’s brows furrowed as he considered this. “So… you’re like the boss of the ball?”

Oikawa blinked, then broke into a delighted laugh. “Exactly, Hajime! I’m the boss of the ball.” He winked, ruffling his son’s hair. “And when I do my job right, it makes everyone else look amazing.”

“That’s so cool!” Hajime declared, his admiration for his dad deepening.

Oikawa straightened, tossing the ball to Iwaizumi with a sly grin. “If you want to see what a setter really does, watch closely. Uncle Iwa’s going to spike this one.”

Iwaizumi caught the ball and snorted. “You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”

“Just shut up and look cool,” Oikawa shot back, already moving to his position under the net.

Iwa rolled his eyes but moved to his side of the court, his stance steady as he tossed the ball into the air. Oikawa tracked its trajectory, his feet light, his hands rising with the kind of precision that spoke of years of practice.  And then he set the ball.

 

The motion was seamless, his hands brushing the ball upward with practiced ease. It hung in the air for a heartbeat, weightless and controlled, exactly where Iwaizumi liked it—high, clean, and just far enough from the “invisible” net that was only obvious to them, giving him room to swing.

 

Iwaizumi’s feet left the ground almost instinctively. Time seemed to slow down. It had been years—nearly a decade—since he’d last spiked one of Oikawa’s sets, but it felt like no time had passed. Like the years of distance and life changes hadn’t dulled their connection at all… The rhythm, the trust—it was all still there, untouched. How does he still remember? Iwa thought, his heart tightening slightly. He still knows exactly how I like my sets. Damn, he’s good.

 

The ball cracked against Iwa’s palm, the sound sharp and satisfying as it shot over the net and slammed into the court with a thunderous thud.

 

Hajime’s breath hitched as he watched Iwaizumi spring upward. His body moved with a coiled strength, powerful yet controlled, and his arm swung down in a clean arc. The crack of the ball echoed across the court as it slammed into the ground with a force that made Hajime stumble back in awe.

 

“WHOA!” Hajime screamed, his voice ringing out across the court. He spun to face his dad, his arms flailing in excitement. “Dad! Did you see that? Uncle Iwa hit it SO HARD! That was AWESOME!”

Oikawa straightened, brushing his hair back with a flourish as he strolled toward the net. “Of course it was awesome,” he said, his smirk firmly back in place. “That’s what happens when you have a perfect setter like me.”

 

“You’re really good at setting, Dad!” Hajime exclaimed, his face lighting up. “And Uncle Iwa, you’re amazing at spiking too!” Then for a moment he paused, his little face face scrunching thoughtfully. “But… you were really good at spiking too, Dad! So why do you set instead of spiking?”

 

Oikawa grinned. “Well, I’m good at everything, Hajime. That’s what makes me me.” He ruffled Hajime’s hair affectionately before standing. “Volleyball is a team sport, no one can do spiking by themselves. Setting is just my preferred spot. I’m the play maker.” He explained as Iwaizumi walked back toward them, shaking his head with a faint smile. “You’re unbelieavable.”

 

“Hey,” Oikawa said, standing and crossing his arms, “I was just stating facts and explaining the game.”

But Iwa didn’t respond with his usual banter. His gaze lingered on Oikawa for a moment longer than usual, a quiet appreciation flickering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice softer. “You were always the best at this.”

Oikawa blinked, his smug expression faltering into something more genuine. Then, quickly recovering, he spun the ball in his hands and turned back toward Hajime. “Alright, Hajime,” he said, his voice light. “Let’s show you what we’re really capable of.”

For the next few minutes, they fell into a rhythm, Oikawa setting and Iwa spiking with an ease that spoke of years of trust and teamwork. Hajime’s cheers grew louder with each play, his hands clapping wildly as he tried to mimic their movements from the sidelines.

By the time they stopped, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the court. Oikawa walked over to Hajime, who was practically vibrating with excitement.“Did you have fun?” Oikawa asked, crouching down again.

Hajime nodded so hard his hair bounced. “That was the coolest thing ever! Volleyball is cool! You and Uncle Iwa are so awesome!”

Iwaizumi trailed a few steps behind, his expression thoughtful but warm as he watched them. For a brief moment, the ache of years spent away from this kind of connection softened, replaced by a quiet pride in knowing that some bonds, no matter the time or distance, were unshakable.

The park had grown quieter, giving way to the soft chirping of distant birds. Golden sunlight stretched long shadows across the grass, painting the landscape in hues of amber and green. Hajime skipped ahead, his soccer ball tucked tightly under one arm. His humming filled the space between him and the two men walking behind, his boundless energy somehow untouched by the long hours they’d spent at the park.

Oikawa’s gaze followed his son, the edges of his mouth curving into a soft, almost wistful smile. His heart felt light—rarely did he get days like this. “He did well today,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if saying it aloud might break the moment. “Better than I expected.”

“Yeah,” Iwa agreed, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m beat, but the kid’s got energy for days,”he said, voice affectionate. “He was all over the place—soccer, volleyball, running. Didn’t even look like he got tired.”

 

Oikawa perked up instantly. “Well, I still have energy left as well,” he said, stretching his arms overhead with a smug smile. “He takes after his dad. Endless stamina.”

 

“Right,” Iwaizumi snorted. “I’d have stamina too if I spent the whole day lounging around like you, cheering and clapping.”

 

“Hey,” Oikawa said with mock offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Cheering is a delicate skill. Besides, I was conserving energy. It’s called balance, Iwa-chan. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

 

"Interesting choice of words," Iwaizumi remarked dryly, his smirk softening into something closer to amusement. "Not exactly the first thing I’d associate with you, Tooru."

“What?!” Oikawa protested, though the glimmer in his eyes betrayed how much he was enjoying himself. “I’ll have you know I’m the very picture of balance. Just look at today—cheering, playing… I carried the team, Iwa-chan.

 

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “I’m pretty sure Hajime carried the day, Tooru.”

“Well, yes. Hajime was incredible,” Oikawa admitted, his grin softening briefly as he glanced toward his son skipping ahead. The boy’s humming had turned into a cheerful tune. “But don’t act like I was just slacking. Maybe you’d have some energy left if you tried strategic pacing like me.”

“Strategic pacing, huh?” Iwa repeated flatly. “You didn’t even know we were heading to the volleyball courts, Trashykawa.”

“A true athlete is always ready,” Oikawa said smoothly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. Then added with a smirk: “Your stamina would be thanking me if you followed my methods.”

Iwaizumi stopped walking momentarily, looking at Oikawa in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“What are you so shocked about?” Oikawa said, his eyes narrowing but glinting with humor, “I outlasted you in volleyball. I mean, who was sweating first? It wasn’t me.”

“You’re imagining things,” Iwa replied, though his smirk faltered for just a second.

“Really?” Oikawa asked, leaning in slightly, sensing an opening. “That’s not what your face is telling me.” His grin sharpened even more.

 

“Right,” Iwa said, his voice flat but with hint of irritation. “Could it be because you literally hit two spikes before you sat down again?”

“They were perfect spikes, thank you very much,” Oikawa replied, flipping his hair back with a flourish.“Quality over quantity. I conserve energy for when it counts.” His grin grew wider. “Strategic pacing, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa repeated, a little too smugly. “Saving energy, delivering results. Honestly, if you listened to me once in a while, maybe you could keep up.” He said, his voice was playful yet daring.

“I’m sorry.” Iwa said, voice getting low, almost dangerous. A vein popped up on his forehead. “Did I hear you right? Did you honestly said, keep up?”

“Mm-hm.” Oikawa replied, his grin now razor-sharp. “I mean, I am the professional athlete now. I think it’s time you should face it. I have more stamina than you. So you need to pace yourself. That’s just basic logic.”

Iwa’s smirk faded, replaced by a tightening in his jaw. His broad shoulders squared, and his fists clenched at his sides, his fingers flexing like he was physically holding back from snapping. “Alright,” he said, his glare cutting sharper than a blade. His voice low but authoritative, the kind of tone that meant he was done messing around. “Call it. Pick your challenge.” He said, as he locked eyes with Oikawa.

Oikawa froze mid-step, spinning back to look at him. “What?” he asked, his voice softer, almost uncertain, He blinked at Iwa with eyes wide open, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected Iwa to take the bait so seriously.

“Pick. Something,” Iwa repeated, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “If you’re so sure you’ve got more stamina, let’s settle it.”

 

Oikawa’s lips parted, and he let out a quick, nervous laugh. “Oh, you’re serious.” He studied Iwa for a moment, watching how his broad frame radiated calm intensity—too much intensity. His grin returned as he bought time, tapping a finger to his chin. “Hmm… a challenge, huh?…” His eyes flickered briefly to the grass, to the grass field, then to the running track nearby. His mind raced, calculating.

 

Endurance… He frowned slightly, keeping his expression subtle. If they did something purely endurance-based, like planking, Iwa might actually have the edge. He’d seen Iwa train with relentless discipline through the years. His strength wasn’t just raw power; it was consistency. No, no… He needed something more in his favor. Something fast, where he could leverage his agility and quick reflexes. Something to win.

Oikawa’s grin widened, a little sharper now. “Alright, I’ve got it,” he said, snapping his fingers. “A sprint. One lap around the track. Winner takes the bragging rights.”

 

Iwa frowned, tilting his head slightly. “How’s that a stamina test? That’s just a test to see who’s faster.”

 

“So?” Oikawa shot back, his grin playful but his eyes narrowing. “What’s the matter? You scared?”

 

“Scared?” Iwa repeated, his smirk sharpening as his arms uncrossed. He leaned forward slightly, his broad shoulders angling closer to Oikawa’s space, eyes widening in an intimidating manner. “You don’t make any sense, but that’s fine. Though, you might want to look up what ‘stamina’ actually means before I wipe the track with you.”

Oikawa waved him off, taking a step back with exaggerated nonchalance. “Don’t bore me with details. We’re talking overall athleticism here. And besides,” he added, “you wouldn’t want to back out now, would you?”

 

Iwa narrowed his eyes, the tension in his jaw returning as he exhaled through his nose. “Nope,” he muttered, already moving toward the track. “Just don’t complain when you lose.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Oikawa said, clapping his hands together as he followed.

Hajime, who had been observing from a few feet away, dropped his soccer ball and rushed toward them, his excitement bubbling over. “You’re racing?” he asked, his wide eyes darting between them. “Like, for real?”

“That’s right,” Oikawa said, crouching to his son’s level with a confident grin. “Your dad’s about to show Uncle Iwa what true speed and grace look like. You better keep your eyes open, Hajime—it’ll be over before you know it.”

Iwa snorted, crossing his arms. “Speed, maybe. Grace? Keep wishing.”

Hajime giggled, bouncing on the balls of his feet, but his gaze darted to Iwa, curiosity flickering across his face. “But Uncle Iwa looks really strong… Are you sure, Dad?” Iwa smirked, his arms still crossed as he looked at Oikawa. “Smart kid.”

 

Oikawa turned back to Hajime with mock offense, his tone conspiratorial. “Hajime,” he whispered loudly, leaning in, “sometimes people who look strong aren’t actually fast.”

 

“I’m right here, you know,” Iwa deadpanned, not able to hide his annoyance.

Hajime clapped his hands, his laughter bubbling over as he darted toward the track. “Let’s go, let’s go! Line up!” Oikawa brushed off his sleeves theatrically before walking toward the starting line, tossing a glance back at Iwa. “I’d say try to keep up, but I don’t want to give you false hope.” Iwa snorted as he followed, his strides steady and deliberate. “Just try not to trip, Tooru. I’d hate to win because you faceplanted halfway through.” He said flexing his arms.

They reached the track, where Hajime was already standing at the starting line, his small figure brimming with authority. The late-afternoon sun had turned the surface of the track warm beneath their feet, the golden light stretching their shadows long behind them.

 

“Okay, you have to stand here,” Hajime instructed, pointing to the painted white line as he waved his soccer ball dramatically. “And when I say ‘go,’ you run really fast.” Hajime stepped back, lifting his soccer ball high like a referee about to blow the whistle. “Ready?”

 

They crouched slightly at the starting line, their teasing falling away as their focus sharpened. Iwa’s shoulders tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring. Oikawa tilted his head, his grin softening into determination. The air around them seemed to still as Hajime’s voice rose with excitement. “GO!”

 

Both men launched forward, their feet pounding against the track in near-perfect unison. Iwaizumi’s powerful strides ate up the ground beneath him, his focus locked on the stretch ahead. Oikawa wasn’t far behind, his longer legs carrying him with surprising speed as his breath came in steady bursts. The rhythmic thuds of their steps by the pure determination to win filled the track.

 

Oikawa pulled ahead slightly, a triumphant grin breaking across his face. He glanced back as if saying, Catch up Iwa-chan, though his breath was starting to hitch.

 

Iwa’s smirk widened as he pushed harder, his muscles burning with effort. With a surge of energy, he closed the gap, his shorter strides gaining precision and power.

The finish line loomed closer. Both gave it everything they had, their feet kicking up faint clouds of dust as they barreled forward. For a moment, it was impossible to tell who would cross first. Then, with one  final burst of speed, Iwaizumi edged ahead, crossing the line before Oikawa.

 

“Uncle Iwa wins!” Hajime shouted, his voice breaking into delighted giggles as he jumped up and down. “He’s so fast!”

Iwa staggered a few steps past the line before collapsing onto the grass beside the track, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Oikawa followed suit, dropping down beside him with a dramatic groan, his arms flopping out at his sides. “I hate you,” Oikawa muttered between gasps, his voice muffled by the grass.

Iwa chuckled weakly, staring up at the sky as sweat trickled down his temple. “Hate losing, more like.”

In the distance, Hajime was running laps around them, his small legs pumping with excitement. “I’m gonna run that fast when I grow up! Faster than Dad! Faster than Uncle Iwa!”

 

Oikawa let out a tired laugh, turning his head slightly to watch his son. “He’s gonna wipe the floor with us someday, isn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Iwa replied, his tone softening as he followed Oikawa’s gaze. A quiet moment stretched between them, the sounds of Hajime’s laughter and distant birdsong filling the space. Oikawa finally broke the silence, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. “How the hell are you even that fast? I thought I’d have the edge. It doesn’t make sense.”

Iwa turned his head, his smirk returning. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious!” Oikawa said, pushing himself up onto one elbow, his cheeks already tinged pink. “It’s embarrassing! I’m a professional, I should’ve won!”

Iwa laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made Oikawa’s blush deepen. “You idiot,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m an athletic trainer. I literally train guys like you for a living. What did you think I do all day, sit at a desk?”

 

Oikawa blinked, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as realization dawned. His cheeks turned scarlet as he flopped back onto the grass, throwing an arm over his face. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “I’m so stupid.”

 

“Yeah, you are,” Iwa said, his voice still warm with laughter.

Oikawa groaned but couldn’t stop a small smile from tugging at his lips. After a moment, he peeked out from under his arm, his tone more serious. “Still… you were amazing. I mean it.”

Iwa’s laughter quieted, and he turned his gaze back to the sky. “You weren’t so bad yourself,” he admitted, his voice softer. “You gave me a run for my money, Trashykawa.”

Oikawa chuckled, his eyes crinkling with a genuine smile. “Guess we’re not completely washed up, huh?”

“Not yet,” Iwa replied, his tone carrying a quiet fondness. Before either of them could say more, a small blur of energy came flying toward them. Hajime launched himself onto the grass, landing squarely between them with an enthusiastic, “Incoming!”

They barely had a moment to react before Hajime dove onto them, sprawling across their chests with all the force his small frame could muster. Iwa let out a startled grunt, his head jolting back against the grass, while Oikawa flailed dramatically, clutching his sides.

“Hajime! You traitor!” Oikawa exclaimed, flopping onto his back like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’ve turned against your own father!”

“No mercy!” Hajime shouted, his giggles spilling out as he flung his arms wide, trying to pin them both down.

“Alright, you little monster,” Iwa said, his smirk creeping back as he shifted his weight. “Think you can take us both on?”

“Yeah!” Hajime declared, his face scrunched in determination.

Oikawa propped himself up on one elbow, brushing grass off his shirt. “Oh, you’re in for it now, Hajime. Uncle Iwa and I? We’re an unbeatable team.”

“What?!” Hajime squeaked, his grin faltering for just a moment. “No fair! You can’t team up!”

“Too late,” Iwa said, grabbing Hajime by the waist and flipping him gently onto his back. “Ready, Tooru?”

“Ready,” Oikawa said, his grin matching Iwa’s as he lunged forward. Hajime let out a high-pitched laugh as they began to tickle him, Iwa’s large hands lightly squeezing his sides while Oikawa went for his feet. “No! Stop!” Hajime shrieked, squirming and twisting on the grass. “I surrender! I surrender!”

“You think you can just jump on us like that and get away with it?” Oikawa teased, his fingers relentless. “You started it!” Hajime managed to gasp between fits of laughter. After a few more moments, Iwa pulled back, his breathing steady but his grin wide. “Alright, alright, let the kid breathe.”

Oikawa flopped onto his back again, throwing an arm over his forehead. “Fine. You’re lucky Uncle Iwa is merciful. I would’ve kept going.” Hajime sat up, his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess, but his grin was as bright as ever. “I win anyway!” he declared, puffing out his chest.

“Win what?” Iwa asked, his tone skeptical but playful. “Everything!” Hajime shouted, jumping to his feet and darting a few paces away. “I’m the fastest, the strongest, and the best boss!”

Iwa shook his head, a rare chuckle rumbling low in his chest. He let himself relax fully onto the grass, his eyes drifting toward the sky. Oikawa let out a  sigh, propping himself up to watch his son. “He’s full of confidence. I wonder where he gets it sometimes.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine,” Iwa replied dryly, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

For a moment, the two men sat in silence, watching Hajime race invisible opponents around the track — a tiny streak of fire. “You’ve done good, Tooru.” Iwaizumi said in a murmur. “He’s a good kid.”

Oikawa turned to him, surprise flickering across his face. He wasn’t used to compliments from Iwa, at least not ones this sincere. “Thanks,” he said softly. “He’s got good people around him. That makes it easier.” A genuine smile appeared on his lips.

 

Iwa glanced at Oikawa, his tone quieter now. “He’s got a lot of you in him, though. That energy, that drive to win. It’s you.”

For a moment, Oikawa didn’t respond, his gaze lingering on his son as he slowed his imaginary laps. Then he leaned back, letting his head rest fully against the grass. “Careful, Iwa-chan.” He said voice quiet, warm. “I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“What a shocker would that be,” Iwa replied, rolling his eyes fondly at Oikawa. It was all so endearing. In the distance, Hajime shouted in victory, his arms raised triumphantly as he crossed another imaginary finish line. A content sigh escaped Oikawa as he watched his son.

“You know,” he said after a moment breaking the silence between them, “Not a bad day.”

“Not bad at all,” Iwa replied, his voice calm but full of tenderness.

As the light faded into twilight, Hajime darted back toward them, his face flushed and glowing with joy. He collapsed between them, his triumphant grin outshining the fading sun.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The late afternoon sun stretched low across the hardwood, lighting the floor in soft amber streaks that made the whole house feel warmer than it was. A trace of lavender hung in the air—courtesy of Anna-chan’s diligent cleaning earlier—mingling with the faint, happy sounds coming from the living room.

Oikawa leaned against the living room archway, arms crossed, already dressed for the night ahead. He was wearing a linen button-up shirt over brown high waisted flowing trousers and polished leather loafers, ready for his date. His expression softened as he glanced inside the living room. Inside, Hajime was flat on his stomach, surrounded by toy cars. He let out a shriek of laughter as his small hands reenacted an elaborate car chase.

He looked at his watch, wondering why Iwaizumi was taking so long to come down. His fingers lingered at the cuff a moment longer, but his mind had already drifted. It was strange how quickly the days began to pass.

In the space of a few mornings, routines with Iwa had formed with frightening ease. Most evenings, Hajime would insist on dragging Iwa into playtime after dinner—building pillow forts, or running wild in the backyard until it was too dark to see. Oikawa watched them from the doorway more often than not, heart stretched thin between joy and something quieter, heavier. It melted his heart, of course it did. Seeing Iwa laugh until his eyes crinkled, letting Hajime climb over himself like a jungle gym, and keeping patient even when soaked from an unexpected garden hose ambush…It made Oikawa fall a little more in love each time. Yet it was bittersweet. The more beautiful these small moments became, the more obvious their absence in Hajime’s earlier years felt. If Iwaizumi had been here from the beginning… if Oikawa hadn’t done it all alone… things might have looked so different.

He hated himself for thinking it, hated the way resentment crept in, no matter how hard he tried to be better than it. It wasn’t fair to Iwa— Iwa was here now. Everything had gotten easier. But easier now didn’t erase all the years he had been alone. No… Those memories stayed hidden, tucked behind the new ones forming with Iwaizumi, waiting for the right moment to bleed through. And now, as days slipped past, as the calendar edged closer to Iwa’s inevitable departure, they came crawling back. Familiar and cruel.

Fuck. He had only just remembered how to breathe. How to laugh without guilt. And Iwa was going to leave again. That was the ultimate problem.

Maybe not tomorrow, or the next day. But soon. The thought made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t exactly describe. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that just as he remembered what it felt like to not be alone, and the countdown had already begun.

He shut his eyes, swallowed and exhaled slowly. Focus, Tooru.

Tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight was supposed to be simple, just him and Iwa. A date, finally. He’d wanted this for so long. And now it was here. Don’t ruin it. Don’t spiral. He’s here now. That’s what matters. He still had time. He wasn’t going to waste it.

A clatter of toy cars colliding, and Hajime’s giggles derailed his train of thought.

“Vroom, vroom!” Hajime’s voice carried over. “BOOM! Dad, look! The bad guy crashed!”

“Gosh wow, Hajime,” Oikawa called out, immediately slipping to a light and teasing tone. “But maybe save the explosions for outside, okay? I’d rather not have to explain a living room disaster to Anna-chan.”

 

Hajime scrunched his nose, pouting in exaggerated defiance. “It’s not the living room—it’s a police station! And the bad guys got caught!”

 

Anna-chan chuckled as she walked next to Oikawa in the archway. “He’s got a whole world going on in there,” she said fondly, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

 

“He always does,” Oikawa replied, his grin softening. His gaze lingered on Hajime a moment longer, a strange mix of pride and tenderness blooming in his chest. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Anna-chan. We shouldn’t be too late.”

 

“No problem,” she said, waving him off. “Go enjoy your date.”

 

Oikawa’s lips twitched upward at the word. Date. Hearing it out loud sounded almost surreal, like something plucked from their teenage years. He was going on a date with Iwa. Instinctively, he checked his watch again. They were going to be late if Iwa didn’t come down soon. “I’ll go check on Iwa.” He informed the baby-sitter, and climbed the stairs. Hajime’s giggles and exclamations echoed behind him, a comforting background to his thoughts. He could still hear the boy yelling something about “bad guys” and “hero dads,” and he found himself smiling as he reached the bedroom.

 

Oikawa paused at the doorway, and leaned casually against the door frame, his smirk already forming as he took in the scene before him.

 

Iwaizumi stood in front of the mirror, his broad back to the door, tugging at the collar of a green plaid shirt. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing the tanned, muscled skin beneath. His raw denim jeans fell just over a pair of rugged brown boots that had clearly seen years of loyal service. It was Iwaizumi through and through. Unpolished but sturdy. Reliable.

Oikawa tilted his head, his smirk growing. How did this man survive so many years without me? The sight sparked a flicker of nostalgia, a memory of Iwa grumbling about the team jacket in high school, the same stubborn frown etched on his face. Some things never changed, except… now, it felt endearing.

“Iwa,” he let out a desperate sigh, breaking the silence. “Tell me you’re not seriously planning to wear that to dinner.”

 

“Huh?” Iwaizumi glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong with this? It’s fine.” Although he looked a slight bit of hesitant after Oikawa mentioned.

 

“Sure,” Oikawa said, stepping into the room, his voice laced with faux sympathy. “If we were heading to a hardware store, not a date.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, his hands dropping from his collar. “You’re so full of it. It’s fine.” He muttered. But he was already starting second-guess himself. Oikawa caught the flicker of self-consciousness in the way he tugged at the hem of his shirt, his smirk sharpening. He didn’t miss the chance to intervene. “No, it’s tragic,” he countered as he walked to his closet and scanned its contents, his fingers brushing past a few hangers before triumphantly pulling out a crisp white button-up shirt. “Here,” he said, holding it up like it was a sacred artifact. “Put this on.”

 

Iwa took the shirt with a frown. “It’s just a white shirt.”

 

“It’s not just a white shirt,” Oikawa said, as if talking about a prize. “It’s called fashion. It’s timeless. It’s elegant. It says, ‘I actually tried.’”

 

Iwa muttered something under his breath but took off the plaid shirt, sliding his arms inside the white button-up. His hands moved self consciously as he began buttoning it down. “This already feels tight. It’s choking me.”

Oikawa glanced up from where he was hanging Iwa’s plaid shirt back onto a hanger, his movements slow and deliberate. “Don’t be a baby,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “We’re the same size. If I can manage, so can you.”

Iwa’s scowl deepened as he struggled to work his way down the buttons, his fingers fumbling slightly on the crisp fabric. “Yeah, but you’re used to this stuff. I don’t go around in clothes that feel like straitjackets.”

“Because you don’t wear your shirts properly.” Oikawa countered, placing the plaid shirt back inside the closet before turning back to him. “When’s the last time you wore something that wasn’t halfway unbuttoned?” He sighed, his voice full of disapproval. “Here, let me.” Before Iwa could protest, Oikawa brushed his hands aside and deftly buttoned the rest of the shirt for him. “Honestly, Hajime. You’re hopeless.” His voice was soft but carried a hint of a smile as his fingers moved efficiently down the shirt.

Iwa watched him with a mix of irritation and grudging admiration. His eyes drifted to Oikawa’s face, noticing the small furrow of concentration in his brows, the graceful way his hands worked. After all these years, he still moved like this—fluid, focused, as if even simple motions were an art. It suddenly warmed Iwa’s chest.

“There,” Oikawa said, stepping back to inspect his work. “Now, tuck it in. Properly, please.”

Grumbling under his breath, Iwa did as he was told, tucking the shirt neatly into the waistband of his raw denim jeans. He glanced up at the mirror, expecting to feel ridiculous. But instead… The reflection staring back at him caught him off guard. He hadn’t looked this polished since… ever, really. Oikawa always had a way of pulling the best out of him. The clean lines of the shirt, the way it fit snugly, and the contrast against his dark jeans—it all looked… good. Better than good. Well, he thought grudgingly, He’s right again… Iwa admitted silently, though he’d never say it aloud.

Behind him, Oikawa leaned against the wall, watching with an almost lazy grin. His sharp eyes took in every detail—the way the shirt curved against Iwa’s back, the raw denim settling perfectly over his frame. He’d known it would work, of course. But seeing it come together? That was something else. “Damn,” Oikawa murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You clean up nice.”

Iwa turned, startled by the rare, unguarded tone in Oikawa’s voice. His eyes widened, and to his own horror, he felt heat creeping up his neck. The faintest blush spread across his cheeks. Oikawa’s grin widened at the sight. “What’s this?” he teased,  leaning forward. “Are you blushing?”

 

“Shut up,” Iwa muttered, his hands moving awkwardly to adjust his cuffs of his shirt, though his ears were now a telling shade of pink. Oikawa let out a delighted laugh. “Oh my god, you totally are! What are you, a schoolgirl?”
“Tooru… Enough,” Iwa said firmly in an attempt to to protest. “Alright, alright.” Oikawa said, still laughing. He crouched down in front of Iwa, reaching for the hem of his jeans. “Hold still.”

“What are you doing now?” Iwa asked, glancing down as Oikawa grabbed the fabric of his jeans. “Fixing you,” Oikawa said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “If you’re going to wear raw denim, wear it properly.” he said as his fingers moved with that same effortless precision, rolling the raw denim into neat, fashionable cuffs.

Iwa looked down at the cuffs, then back at Oikawa, who was still crouched on the floor. His expression softened despite himself. The way Oikawa took this so seriously—how he focused so intently, even on something as trivial as cuffs—was endearing in a way Iwa couldn’t quite explain.

“There. Much better.” He said standing with a flourish. He stepped back, surveying Iwa one final time. “Now you’re officially date-night ready.”

Iwa turned to the mirror again. He looked noticeably better. The clean lines of the shirt, the polished cuffs against his rugged boots, it all came together. His reflection felt polished, confident, almost like someone else entirely. “Admit it,” Oikawa said, beaming with pride. “I’m a genius.”

Iwa’s lips twitched into a faint smile. He knew the banter and playful bickering was their thing, and how they expressed love. But sometimes —moments like this— it didn’t feel enough to convey what he really meant. “You are adorable.” He said, voice low and unguarded with a rare honesty.

Oikawa froze, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t decide whether to protest or tease. “H-Hajime…” Oikawa stammered, and a faint blush crept up his cheeks, blooming into an unmistakable pink.

“Oh, who’s the schoolgirl now?” Iwa said with a laugh, his tone teasing but warm. He draped an arm casually over Oikawa’s shoulder, shaking his head.

Oikawa melted into the touch for a moment, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. Then he caught sight of his watch and realized time was getting away from them, gesturing the door urgently. “Come on, we don’t have all night. The cab should already be here. Anna-chan’s already keeping Hajime entertained. And I’m starving.” He slipped out from under Iwa’s grasp, walking ahead with a purpose.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwa said, rolling his eyes with a chuckle as he followed Oikawa out of the room. In the kitchen, Hajime was perched on a stool, happily munching on some empanadas Anna had prepared. When he saw them enter, his face lit up. “Dad! Uncle Iwa! You look so cool!”

Oikawa swept into the room with exaggerated flair, ruffling Hajime’s hair as he passed. “Of course we do,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “Your dad especially. Right, Hajime?”

Hajime nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with admiration. “Yeah! You’re like… a movie star or something!” Iwa grinned as he ruffled the boy’s hair after Oikawa. “Alright, kid. Don’t get carried away.”

Oikawa laughed, grabbing his jacket. “We’ll see you later,” he told Anna with a wink, his voice dipping into playful charm. “Be good, Hajime. And save some of those empanadas for us!”

“Goodnight, guys!” Anna called after them as they headed out the door, the laughter and warmth of the house following them into the cool evening air. Oikawa turned out to be right, the cab had been waiting right in front of the house. Quickly, they slipped inside and Iwa listened to Oikawa exchange a few words of Spanish with the driver.

The cab hummed softly beneath them as they drove through the glowing streets of Buenos Aires.The evening air filtered in through the partially open window, scented with grilled meats, car exhaust, and the faint sweetness of jacaranda trees

Iwaizumi sat in the backseat, his posture slightly stiff as he glanced out at the passing scenery. His eyes tracked the mix of colonial and modern architecture, the buildings illuminated by warm streetlights. “So, this is San Telmo?” he asked, his voice neutral but tinged with curiosity.

“Mhm.” Oikawa hummed, turning to him, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. “The heart of old Buenos Aires,” he said. “You’ll love it. It’s got character, history, and—most importantly—amazing food.”

 

Iwa raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his gaze shifting back to the cobblestone streets. Lantern-like streetlights cast long shadows on the walls of colonial buildings, their wrought-iron balconies adorned with vibrant hanging plants. The charm of the area was undeniable, even to someone as indifferent as Iwa.

 

The cab came to a stop in front of their restaurant, a high-end parrilla nestled on a quieter street corner. Its warm glow spilled out onto the sidewalk through large, inviting windows. Oikawa stepped out first, adjusting shirt, and offered a hand to Iwa. “Come on, Iwa-chan,” he said smiling. “Time for one hell of a steak.”

 

Iwa snorted but took his hand briefly, stepping out onto the cobblestone street. “Bold claim. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype.”

 

Oikawa’s grin widened, his eyes glinting in the soft light. “Oh, it will. Trust me.” He gestured toward the restaurant, leading the way toward the entrance.

 

The host greeted them with a warm smile, ushering them inside. Dark wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, and the tables were dressed in crisp white linens. Soft lighting bathed the place, creating an intimate atmosphere that was enhanced by the rich aroma of sizzling steaks and freshly baked bread. As they were shown to their table, Iwaizumi took in the scene, his expression softening just slightly. “Fancy,” he muttered under his breath.

Oikawa slid into his seat with practiced elegance, his smile lingering as he watched Iwa take his own seat. “Only the best,” he said, his voice softer now. “For the occasion.”

“What occasion?” Iwa asked, his tone skeptical.

Oikawa leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “The rare chance to wine and dine my boyfriend and best friend,” he said, his gaze steady and warm. “You being here—it’s a big deal, you know?”

Iwa hesitated, the words settling over him with an unexpected weight. His lips twitched into a faint smile as he reached for the menu. “Well, let’s make it count then,” he said, clearing his throat.

As they opened their menus, the soft clinking of wine glasses and low murmurs of conversation filled the air. Another waiter approached next with a polite smile, presenting them with a wine list. Oikawa didn’t miss a beat. “We’ll start with the malbec,” he said smoothly, glancing at Iwa. “It’s non-negotiable. You can’t leave Argentina without having this one.”

Iwaizumi arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. His posture relaxed slightly, though his eyes were still scanning the room, taking everything in. The waiter nodded, disappearing into the quiet hum of the dining floor. “When have you become this bossy?” Iwa asked, his tone teasing but his lips quirking into a faint smile.

Oikawa leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. “When it comes to good wine and good company? Always.”

Their menus lay forgotten for a moment as the waiter returned, pouring the deep red wine into their glasses. Oikawa swirled his glass before taking a sip, his expression immediately softening. “See? Perfect,” he declared, setting the glass down.

 

Iwaizumi took a cautious sip, the bold flavors unfolding on his tongue. He let out a small hum of approval, nodding slightly. “Not bad.”

 

“Not bad?” Oikawa repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s practically a love letter coming from you.”

Iwa smirked, shaking his head as he reached for the menu. “Don’t push it.” He replied, his tone flat but his lips curving slightly. He took another sip, this one less cautious. Inside the menu, the descriptions—English beneath the Spanish of course— of the dishes were almost poetic, and he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at some of the elaborate phrasing. “Charred cauliflower with ajo blanco and fresh herbs vinaigrette…” he muttered under his breath. “What does that even mean?”

Oikawa snorted, reaching across the table to tap the menu with a finger. “It means you’ll love it and pretend you didn’t.”  Iwa pretended he didn’t hear the jab, and they settled on their orders. As they waited, they fell into the the familiar, comfortable rhythm of their banter.

“You know,” Oikawa began, twirling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers, “I never thought I’d see the day where I’d get you to sit in a place like this willingly. I always imagined you’d complain about it being too fancy.”

 

Iwaizumi shrugged, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. “Still might, but I’m here, aren’t I?” He muttered, though there was a warmth to his words that didn’t go unnoticed.

 

Their meals arrived with impeccable timing, the plates arranged with artistic precision. The steaks glistened under the soft light, the aroma enough to make even Iwa pause. He picked up his knife and fork, cutting into the perfectly cooked meat, his expression unreadable until he took the first bite. “Well?” Oikawa prompted, watching him closely.

Iwaizumi chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and nodded. “Alright. I’ll admit it. This is damn good. Thanks for bringing me here.”

Oikawa raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You’re welcome.”

As they ate, the conversation strolled through familiar territories. Oikawa teased Iwa about his reluctance to get out more often, while Iwa fired back about Oikawa’s flamboyance. The banter was easy, their words rolling off each other like they’d never been apart.

Iwaizumi took a sip of his wine, leaning back slightly in his chair. He watched Oikawa savor his steak with a smug grin, the dim light catching the warm brown of his eyes. After a pause, he cleared his throat “So, Tooru…” he started, his voice casual but probing, “About Hajime’s mom… I mean… You’ve never mentioned her.”

Oikawa’s fork paused mid-air, and he looked up, arching a brow. “Curious, are we?” he teased, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

 

Iwa shrugged, his expression neutral but his tone persistent. “You’re the one who always made a big deal about knowing everything about me. Seems fair to ask.”

 

“True that,” Oikawa replied, setting down his fork with deliberate slowness. His fingers drummed on the edge of the table as he studied Iwa, a playful glint in his eye. Then, without a word, he pulled out his phone. He tapped on Instagram, scrolling for a moment before turning the phone to Iwa.

 

The screen displayed the profile of a striking woman with piercing green eyes and cascading dark brown hair. Her posts were a mix of high-fashion editorials, glamorous red carpet appearances, and exotic travel destinations. Her name which Iwa instantly recognized, was displayed prominently at the top with a blue check mark next to it.

 

“No way,” Iwaizumi’s mouth fell open, his gaze flicking from the screen to Oikawa’s face and back to the screen again. “You’re joking,” he said, his voice flat with disbelief. Oikawa laughed, a soft, genuine sound as he locked his phone and tucked it back into his pocket. “Nope,” he said, his grin widening.

“You’re telling me Hajime’s mom is her?” Iwaizumi leaned forward, lowering his voice as though the entire restaurant might overhear. “She’s a supermodel, Tooru. Isn’t she the face of Dior or something? I see her literally everywhere in Shinjuku. ”

 

“The very same,” Oikawa replied, his tone light but his expression faded from playfulness to something sort of unreadable. “And for me, she was just Valentina, not the supermodel. Just a fun and chaotic girl who happened to stumble into my life.”

Iwaizumi shook his head, still trying to reconcile the image in his mind, his mouth still slightly agape. “How the hell did that even happen?”

 

Oikawa swirled the wine in his glass, his smile softening into a nostalgic one as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “We met right after a big game. She was there as a guest of one of our sponsors. A big promotion thing, you know how it is. Apparently, someone thought having her there would make a splash with the media. Which, obviously, it did.”

 

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “So, what? You just walked up to her and introduced yourself? And you guys hit it off?”

“Not exactly,” Oikawa said, waving his hand. “I was trying to escape a particularly chatty journalist when one of the sponsors introduced us. At first, I thought she’d be… I don’t know… unapproachable? But she turned out to be really talkative and fun.”

 

As he spoke, his gaze grew distant, as though he were replaying the memory. He could almost hear the laughter they’d shared that night, the way her voice had softened when she spoke about her brother’s love for volleyball. “We ended up talking for hours,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Turns out, her little brother was a huge volleyball fan. She said she only came to the event because he begged her to take pictures for him. That’s when we hit it off.” A chuckle escaped him. “We spent a fun week together before she went back to the United States for work. That was it, really.”

 

Iwaizumi tilted his head, watching Oikawa closely. “What happened then?” He asked, his expression turning thoughtful.

 

Oikawa’s smile faded slightly, his hand returning to his wine glass. He took a sip, the rich red liquid lingering on his tongue before he swallowed. “We both returned to our lives and busy schedules. And a while later, she called me. Said she needed to talk. She flew out here the next day.”

 

Iwaizumi leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “How did that go?”

 

“Ugh…” Oikawa exhaled, scrunched his face with weight of the unpleasant memory. “She was a mess.” He said a deep sigh escaping him, his gaze fixed on the tablecloth. “She told me she was pregnant. She was completely terrified. Said she wasn’t ready to be a mom, that her career couldn’t handle it, but…” His voice softened, his hand tightening slightly around the glass. “She couldn’t bring herself to let go, either.”

 

Oikawa felt the nostalgia running through his veins. The memory of that day was still vivid, the way her hands had trembled as she spoke, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “She was honest about it, though,” Oikawa added, his voice steadier now. “She didn’t try to sugarcoat anything. She just couldn’t stick to a schedule, do the bare minimum. It had to be on her own terms… She wasn’t a monster or anything, just selfish. Which, coming from me, is saying something.” A wry smile appeared on his lips.

Iwaizumi studied him for a moment, the weight of the story settling over the table. “And you offered to step up?”

Oikawa’s lips curved into a small, rueful smile. “Yeah, I told her I would take care of him. No questions asked. But if she wanted to be in his life, she had to commit—no halfway measures. She couldn’t just drop in and out whenever she felt like it. He’d need more than that.”

 

“What did she say?”

 

“She agreed,” Oikawa said simply. “Said she wasn’t cut out for it and didn’t want to confuse him by being in and out of his life. She signed away her parental rights, and that was that.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. The clink of glasses and murmured voices around them faded into the background, leaving only the quiet stillness of their unspoken thoughts.

 

Iwaizumi’s gaze softened as he looked at his friend. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Oikawa admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “For either of us.. But… I don’t regret it. Not for a second.” He glanced up, his eyes meeting Iwa’s with a quiet intensity. “Hajime’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

Iwa nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I can tell.”  The moment lingered, heavy with understanding, before Oikawa leaned back.“You know, Captain Reliable…” His usual smirk returned to his lips as he continued, “you’re taking this pretty well. No lectures? No sarcastic comments?”

 

Iwaizumi snorted, shaking his head. “No, Tooru. Just… respect. ” he murmured in admiration, the words were simple but their weight lingered in the air, wiping the smirk off of Oikawa’s face. “You’ve built a good life here.” Iwa said, his tone quieter. He gestured vaguely to the restaurant, the city beyond it. “It suits you, honestly.”

 

Oikawa’s fork paused mid-air, and he looked up, his eyes catching Iwa’s in the flickering candlelight. “You think so?”

 

Iwa nodded, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. “Yeah I do. You’ve done well for yourself. For Hajime too.”

For a moment, Oikawa didn’t respond. His gaze dropped to his plate, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks,” he said softly. “That… means a lot.” The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that spoke of years of understanding, of things that didn’t need to be said aloud.

Oikawa leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his wine in the glass. “You know,” he began, his voice light but his expression contemplative, “If you asked me just a couple months ago… I'd never thought we’d end up like this. Sitting in a fancy restaurant in Buenos Aires, catching up. Feels a little surreal, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yeah.” Iwa admitted. He took a slow sip of wine, his gaze drifting to the window where the glow of the streetlights painted the cobblestone streets. “But in a good way.” Oikawa’s smile softened. “In a good way,” he echoed, raising his glass for a quiet toast. Iwa mirrored the gesture, their glasses clinking softly in the warm light.

 

When their plates cleared, Oikawa grabbed the dessert menu. His eyes lit up, scanning the options like they held the secrets of the universe. “You’re getting dessert?” Iwaizumi asked, a fond smile tugging on his lips, leaning back in his chair.

“Of course,” Oikawa replied, his tone making it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. He tapped the menu, a grin tugging at his lips. “It’s a fun night, Iwa-chan. Don’t ruin it with your anti-sugar agenda.”

 

“I don’t have an agenda,” Iwa said, his brow furrowing slightly. “I just don’t get what’s with you and desserts.”

 

“Right.” Oikawa paused, peeking over the menu. “Says the man who ate half my cake at the olympics party after muttering the same things.”

 

“That’s not—” Iwa started, then stopped, scowling as he crossed his arms. “It wasn’t half.”

 

Oikawa’s grin widened. “It was definitely half. Don’t lie to me. I saw you.”

 

Iwa sighed, muttering under his breath as Oikawa returned to his menu, far too pleased with himself. After a moment, Oikawa clapped his hands softly, clearly having made his decision. “We’ll share. You can’t complain if we share.”

 

“I wasn’t planning to eat any.”

 

“Sure, you weren’t.” Oikawa waved the waiter over, ordering the dulce de leche flan in a tone that suggested it was the highlight of his night. When the dessert arrived, its glossy surface gleamed under the low light, the caramel sauce shimmering like liquid gold. Oikawa leaned forward, his grin softening into something almost reverent as he picked up his spoon. “Look at this,” he murmured. “Perfection.”

 

Iwa shook his head but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. “You talk about food like it’s a game-winning strategy.”

 

“Because it’s just as important,” Oikawa said matter-of-factly, cutting into the flan with his spoon. He took the first bite, his eyes fluttering shut as he hummed with satisfaction. “Oh, this is good. So good.” Iwa watched him, leaning his elbow on the table. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“And you’re missing out,” Oikawa replied, already holding out a spoonful toward Iwa. “Here. Try it.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Hajime,” Oikawa interrupted, fixing him with a look that was both commanding and teasing. “Try. It.”

 

With a sigh, Iwa leaned forward, his mouth closing around the offered spoon. The smooth custard melted on his tongue, the caramel rich and sweet without being overpowering. He swallowed, sitting back as Oikawa waited expectantly. “Well?” Oikawa prompted.

 

Iwa hesitated for a moment before letting out a quiet breath. “It’s… good.” Oikawa tilted his head, his smile softening into something quieter, more affectionate. His eyes lingered on Iwa for a beat too long, as if he were savoring this rare admission as much as the dessert.

 

“I knew it,” Oikawa said softly, his voice free of teasing for once. He reached across the table, brushing his fingers briefly against Iwa’s—a light touch. Iwa’s lips twitched, and he shook his head as if to ward off the moment’s weight. “You’re impossible.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment and burst into laughter. “Come on.” Oikawa patted his hand, picking up his spoon, motioning him to do the same.

 

They didn’t speak much after that, settling into the easy rhythm of sharing the dessert. The silence was comfortable, punctuated only by the clink of spoons against the plate and the occasional glance exchanged across the table. By the time they’d scraped the plate clean and the check arrived, Oikawa leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied Iwa with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ready for the next part?”

 

Iwa raised an eyebrow, setting his glass down. “You’ve got something else planned?”

“Of course,” Oikawa laughed, grabbing his own jacket as they headed for the door, the warm glow of the restaurant fading as they stepped into the crisp evening air. “You think I’d let you off that easy?”

 

The crisp evening air greeted them as they stepped out of the restaurant, the warmth of the parrilla fading behind them. The faint hum of the city surrounded them—a quiet buzz of distant laughter, the occasional bark of a dog, and the faint strains of music from a nearby café.

 

“This is nice,” Iwaizumi murmured, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets as they began walking. His gaze swept over the colonial-style buildings, their wrought-iron balconies shadowed in the soft light. The streets were quieter now, the hustle of the day giving way to the stillness of night.

“Of course it is,” Oikawa replied with a smirk, his voice light but carrying a hint of pride. “I don’t pick boring places, Iwa-chan.”

 

Iwaizumi snorted softly but didn’t respond. Instead, he let his eyes wander, noting the way the shadows played against the aged brick walls, the way Oikawa seemed to belong to this vibrant, lively city in a way that made sense. They walked side by side, their pace unhurried, the cobblestones uneven beneath their feet.

 

A small group of street performers lingered at the corner, their violins weaving a melancholy melody that seemed to float through the air. Oikawa paused for a moment, tilting his head to listen. “San Telmo always feels like a time capsule,” he said softly, almost to himself.

 

Iwaizumi glanced at him, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light. “Fits you,” he said after a moment. Oikawa turned to him, one brow raised. “Oh? How’s that?”

 

Iwa shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “You’ve always liked places with stories, right? This place has layers. You can feel it.” For a second, Oikawa didn’t respond, his gaze lingering on Iwa’s face. Then he smiled, softer this time. “And here I thought you weren’t paying attention all these years.”

 

They walked in silence for a while, the rhythm of their steps syncing as they moved down Pasaje San Lorenzo. The narrow alleyway seemed to stretch endlessly, its cobblestones gleaming faintly under the lamplight. A few couples passed them, their murmured conversations blending with the soft sounds of the city. An iron balcony jutted out above them, its shadows spilling onto the walls.

Oikawa stopped beneath it, resting against the wall, his expression unreadable. “I used to walk here a lot,” he said, his voice quieter now. He glanced up, the vines casting shadows across his face. “Back when I first moved Buenos Aires I mean.”

“Yeah?” Iwa asked, his gaze shifting to the buildings around them.

 

Oikawa nodded. “It was... grounding,” he said after a moment. “I’d walk these streets late at night, just to clear my head. It was neither quiet, nor lonely. At least, not completely.” He glanced at Iwa, his smile turning a little sheepish. “I guess it made me feel like I wasn’t so far away from everything.”

The air around them seemed to shift. Iwaizumi turned to Oikawa, his lips parting as though to speak, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he took a step closer, his hand lifting slightly before falling back to his side. “Tooru…” His voice was low, thick with the weight of something unspoken. His throat tightened as he met Oikawa’s eyes.

 

Oikawa’s brow arched, his expression unreadable for a moment before he laughed lightly. The sound carried a strange edge, sharp enough to cut the tension. “Yes, Captain Reliable?” he asked, his voice lilting with forced humor. “I mean, you must have something important to say if you’re using my name like that.”

Iwa remained frozen, watching him. He knew he wasn’t doing himself any favors by not speaking, but nothing he could say make this any better. He was surprised Oikawa had welcomed him with open arms after everything… He was completely within his bounds to be mad, Iwaizumi had broken his heart. Not only his… Iwaizumi had broken his own heart as well. Iwaizumi had broken everything. His jade eyes remained fixed on the Oikawa’s brown, begging him to understand everything he was feeling.

After a beat, Oikawa simply closed his eyes. He let out a sigh, glancing over his shoulder to the street. “You know why I call you that, don’t you?” His voice was softer now, lacking the teasing edge from before.

Iwa shook his head slightly. “Why?”

“Because you were always the dependable one,” Oikawa said, his gaze fixed on the cobblestones. “The responsible one out of the two of us. The one who never lost sight of what mattered.” He said, meeting Iwa’s eyes. “I could’ve used that kind of guidance back then, you know? I was so lost here. I didn’t know what I was doing—if I was making the right choices, if I could even make it work. And then everything with Hajime—” his voice choked at the end.

Iwa’s breath hitched, the weight of Oikawa’s words settling over him. “Tooru,” he said again, his voice steadier this time. “You’ve come so far.” He stepped closer, his expression softening. “I’m so proud of you… I’ve always thought your determination was admirable. You’ve always been a lot more dependable than you give yourself credit for.” Iwaizumi took another hesitant step towards Oikawa. “Always.”

Oikawa’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Always, huh?” he echoed, his tone quieter now.“Always,” Iwa said firmly. Yet, it didn’t have the desired effect on Oikawa. The faint smile faded from his lips as he clenched his fists.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you think.” Oikawa began, his voice wavering, low, but weighted with unspoken emotion. He didn’t look at Iwaizumi, his eyes glued to the ground as if the words he was about to say had to be extracted from his very soul. “I still need you in my life.” His lips twitched. “More than you think. More than I ever let on.” His voice cracked. “So much…” he started choking on his words. “ So much that it hurts.”

 

Iwaizumi froze, the quiet vulnerability of Oikawa’s words landing with the weight of a thunderclap. His chest ached in response, guilt and love knotting together in his throat. Without thinking, he took a final step, closing the distance between them. His hand gently squeezed Oikawa’s trembling one.

 

“I’m here,” Iwa said simply, his voice low but steady, trying to anchor Oikawa to him. His thumb brushed over Oikawa’s knuckles, grounding them both.

Oikawa glanced up at him, his eyes shimmering in the streetlight. “It’s hard, you know? Ten years, Hajime. Ten fucking years without you. And now you’re here, and everything feels... right again. But then you’ll leave. Just in a couple days you’ll leave.” His shoulders shook with the weight of the words he’d held back for so long. “How many times can we keep finding our way back to each other?”

 

Iwa didn’t hesitate, his grip on Oikawa’s hand firming as he looked into his eyes, unwavering. “It’s temporary, Tooru,” he said, his tone resolute, his own voice thick with emotion. “We’ll figure it out. I’m not letting you go again. Never.” Oikawa blinked, more tears spilling over his cheeks. He shook his head as if trying to argue, but Iwa reached up, cradling the back of his neck. “No… I mean it… Not you,” Iwa continued, his voice softening but no less certain. “Not Hajime. You’ll always have me. Always.”

 

Oikawa’s breath hitched, and before he could say anything, Iwaizumi pulled him into a tight embrace. Oikawa’s fingers fisted into the fabric of Iwa’s shirt as he buried his face against his shoulder. He let the tears flow, soaking into the fabric as the walls he’d spent years building finally crumbled. Iwa’s hand moved soothingly over his back, his hold strong but tender.

Their breaths mingled in the chill, and Oikawa pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Always?” he whispered, searching Iwa’s face for any sign of hesitation.

Iwa smiled softly, his eyes warm and unwavering. “Always.”

Oikawa leaned up then, capturing Iwa’s lips in a kiss that was as raw as the emotions between them. It wasn’t perfect—messy and wet from tears—but it carried everything unspoken between them. Iwa kissed him back with the same fervor, his hand cupping the side of Oikawa’s face, his thumb brushing away the stray tears as if to erase the pain that had lingered between them for years.

They rested their foreheads against each other, as the moment settled. A faint smile crept onto Oikawa’s lips, shaky but genuine, as if tethering himself back to normalcy. “Hajime,” he murmured, his tone quieter now but with a familiar teasing. “You’re the worst. Making me cry like this—on our date night, no less.”

Iwa’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of Oikawa’s neck. “You’ll survive,” he replied softly, his words carrying just the faintest edge of affection.

Oikawa leaned back slightly, wiping at his damp cheeks with a dramatic sigh. “Barely. Honestly, what kind of a boyfriend are you? No tissues, no comforting words… just letting me fall apart in public?”

 

Iwa’s lips twitched into a faint grin. “You didn’t exactly give me much warning.”

“That’s no excuse,” Oikawa shot back shaking his head as he punched Iwa’s shoulder playfully. Their banter carried them down the street until they saw the faint glow of cab headlights from afar. Oikawa raised his hand hailing down the cab. “Ready to call it a night?” He asked Iwaizumi as the taxi approached.

 

Iwa nudged him gently toward the cab, his voice low but warm. “Let’s go, drama queen.”

 

The cab ride back to Palermo was quiet, the hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of the city filling the space between them. Oikawa leaned his head against the window, his features relaxed, a contented smile playing at his lips. Iwa stole a glance at him, his gaze softening as he took in the peaceful expression on Oikawa’s face.

By the time they arrived home, Anna was waiting by the doorway. “Hajime’s sound asleep,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Oikawa said warmly, his voice sincere as he leaned in to give her a quick hug. “For everything. I hope we didn’t keep you too late.” Anna waved him off. “Not at all. Have a good night.”

When she left, the house fell into a gentle quiet. They sat together in the dimly lit living room, each with a glass of wine in hand.Oikawa stretched his legs out on the couch, letting his head fall back against the cushions. “It was a good night, Hajime.” he said, “Despite everything, I mean.”.

Iwa nodded, taking a slow sip of his wine. “I know.” he agreed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

They sat in a comfortable silence, the occasional clink of glass against the table punctuating the stillness. It was enough to simply be there, the weight of the night settling into something warm and steady between them. Oikawa leaned into Iwa’s shoulder, his voice a soft hum in the quiet. “You’re not half bad at this romance thing.”

Iwa chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “You bring it out of me, I guess.”

The quiet stretched between them, warm and heavy, wrapping around their shared glance like a blanket. Oikawa’s fingers brushed against Iwaizumi’s, a hesitant, almost shy touch, before he intertwined them fully. He tilted his head, searching Iwaizumi’s face, the flicker of unspoken words in his eyes.

 

“I love you,” Iwa said, his voice low but unwavering. Oikawa froze a moment, his breath hitching. “I love you too, Hajime…” he whispered. It was funny, how he could freeze in moments like this like they didn’t know each other since they were children. It wasn’t the first time they were saying it either. But each time Iwa said those words, he felt like he discovered new effects they hold. Sometimes they woke something playful in him, sometimes warm and safe, sometimes longing, and sometimes just raw and carnal.

 

Iwa leaned forward, his lips capturing Oikawa’s in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, pulling them both into its gravity. The wine glasses sat forgotten on the table as Oikawa rose, still holding Iwa’s hand. Without a word, he led him toward the bedroom, their steps unhurried but purposeful.

 

Oikawa closed the bedroom door behind himself and turned to face Iwaizumi, his hands lifting to his jaw. Their lips met again, and this time, it was hot and desperate, a clash of mouths and tongues as they gave into everything they’d been holding back for years.

 

Iwa’s hands worked on Oikawa’s buttons efficiently unbuttoning them. When he was finished, he pulled both sides aside and pushed it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor quietly. Oikawa’s fingers worked deftly next, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing his muscular chest. He paused for a moment, his palms brushing over Iwa’s shoulders, biting his lips with lust.

 

When Iwa pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together, Oikawa felt the tremor in Iwa’s touch—an edge of vulnerability that mirrored his own. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Instead, he kissed him harder, leading him toward the bed. They moved in sync, losing the last layers of their clothes.

 

Iwa sank onto the mattress first, his hands reaching for Oikawa.  Oikawa climbed over him, his fingers tracing the lines of his abs, his kisses pressing against every inch of skin he could reach. He started gliding back and forth, rubbing their arousals into each other, extracting small moans of both of them. Their breaths mingled, their touches slow but deliberate.

 

Iwa’s hands slid to Oikawa’s waist, gripping him firmly, Oikawa stilled a moment. He looked down, his gaze locking with Iwa’s. “Tooru,” Iwa murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with so much need it made Oikawa shiver. “I want to feel you this time.”

Oikawa gulped, his breath catching in his throat. Memories of the past flooded his mind—of how Iwaizumi had left him ten years ago when he mentioned something similar, nearly destroying him in the process. His heart sank in his chest. Why are you doing this now? He looked into his lovers jade eyes, looking back at him with desire and need.

Normally, Oikawa would have jumped to the opportunity already. Yet, he was still as a stone statue. The silence was getting louder, ringing in their ears. He knew he had to speak soon. Iwaizumi’s eyes looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. His fingers gripped on to Iwa as if to stop him from escaping this time. ”Are you sure?" Oikawa asked,  not being able to mask the panic in his trembling voice. "We don't have to... I'm perfectly content. I… I don’t want to lose you again, Hajime. I couldn’t—”

Iwa reached up, his hand cupping Oikawa’s cheek as he pulled him down into a kiss. It was soft, lingering, filled with reassurance. When they parted, his forehead rested against Oikawa’s. “That’s what you’re afraid of?” He asked in a whisper shaking his head. A sigh escaped him, he pushed Oikawa’s brown locks off of his face. “Tooru, It was different back then. It was never because I didn’t want you, it was because I wanted you more than everything in the world. It was because of the scars I carried. I didn’t know any better.” A stray tear escaped his eyes. He placed a kiss on his forehead. “You won’t. You’ll never lose me again. I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time—I want this. I want you. I want all of you. I want to feel all of you.” His breath hitched a moment. “I love you. I’m so in love with you.”

 

Oikawa’s eyes fluttered shut, trying to force his tears back inside, his lips were twitching, emotions running high. “Hajime,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. He kissed him again, this time slower, pouring everything he felt into it. His mind was racing, memories of old wounds resurfacing, but he pushed them aside. Iwaizumi's eyes held his, steady and unwavering, and Oikawa was sure then, he wanted this.

 

He reached up, cupping Iwaizumi's cheek, his thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "Then show me," he said softly, his voice full of promise. "Show me how much you want this.”

Iwaizumi did not say anything back. He didn’t have to. His lips curled into an enchanting smile that made Oikawa's breath hitch. He started kissing Oikawa once again, and carefully laid him down the bed, changing their positions. He reached for the small bottle of lube first coating both himself and Oikawa. Then he straddled Oikawa, his weight pressing down just enough to keep Oikawa from moving. Oikawa twitched at the sensation, hard and aching, and he knew Iwaizumi could feel it, could sense his readiness. He still couldn’t believe this was happening.

In one fluid motion, Iwaizumi reached down, guiding Oikawa's length to his entrance. Oikawa's eyes fluttered closed, his breath catching in his throat as he felt his tip brush against Iwaizumi's rim. The sensation was overwhelming, thrilling, and Oikawa bit back a moan. His hands gripped Iwaizumi's hips for support as he began to lower himself down.

Oikawa moaned, his hands clutching at the sheets beneath him as he felt the incredible tightness of Iwaizumi's body enveloping him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, because it was him… It was Iwaizumi. He watched, mesmerized, as Iwaizumi's face contorted with a mixture of pain and ecstasy, his head tipping back as he took more and more of Oikawa inside him.

"Fuck, Hajime," Oikawa groaned, his voice thick with desire. "You feel so good.” Iwaizumi's eyes snapped open, locking onto Oikawa's with a fiery intensity. Iwaizumi's grin was slow, triumphant, and he leaned down, capturing Oikawa's lips in a passionate kiss. Their tongues tangled, tasting and exploring, as their bodies moved together.

"Hajime," Oikawa breathed, his voice choked with emotion. "You're amazing."

Iwaizumi’s heart swelled with affection at that, his lust growing. He loved being able to connect to Oikawa, being able to make him feel this good. The only thing he wanted was more, more pleasure, more passion, more love, more of him. Iwaizumi pulled back, taking full control, and began to ride Oikawa.

Oikawa's vision swam with lust, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to the man who was taking him so fiercely. He could feel Iwaizumi's muscles clenching around him, milking him for every drop of pleasure, and it was intoxicating. He gripped Iwaizumi's thighs, holding him steady as he matched his rhythm.

"Tell me please,” Oikawa demanded, his voice ragged with need. "Tell me how it feels.” Iwaizumi threw his head back, his eyes clenched shut. “Like I’m finally complete.” he admitted, his voice trembling.

Oikawa's heart ached with love, his soul laid bare in that moment. He pulled Iwaizumi down for another searing kiss, their tongues dancing together in a frenzy of passion. Their bodies moved as one, a perfect harmony of give and take.

And then, without warning, Iwaizumi's movements stuttered, his breath hitching as he approached his climax. Oikawa felt the coil of tension within him snapping in his body. He wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi, holding him close as they rode out their final moments together. They stood entwined, panting. It was raw, vulnerable, and unlike anything they’d ever shared before.

Oikawa leaned down, pressing his forehead to Iwa’s. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of it. Iwa smiled through the haze of heat and emotion. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice steady, his eyes holding Oikawa’s in the dim light.

They lay there, their breaths and heartbeats gradually syncing. The questions of tomorrow hung in the air, unspoken but not unwelcome. For tonight, they’d found their way back to each other, and in the quiet aftermath of their reunion, it was enough.

 

______________________________________________________________________

Buenos Aires had been kind to them. Too kind, maybe.

The days moved fast, one folding into the next before either of them noticed time catching up. The dreadful day had finally arrived.There was no avoiding it. No hiding in bed, no stretching the morning thin.

Iwaizumi was leaving today.

 

Morning sunlight filtered into the kitchen, casting lazy shadows of the furniture. The room was quiet, too quiet compared to its usual noise and motion. The air smelled faintly of butter and syrup as Oikawa stood by the stove flipping pancakes—Hajime’s favorite— onto a plate.

Iwaizumi moved in silence, setting out the plates and utensils. He was too careful, too smooth—like keeping the morning routine was the only way to stay composed. He felt Oikawa’s gaze flick toward him more than once, the unspoken weight of the day pressing down on both. When their eyes met, Oikawa offered a tight, fleeting smile. Neither of them spoke.

 

Hajime sat at the table, unusually quiet. His small hand pushed a toy car back and forth, his other hand resting limply on the table next to the plate of pancakes he hadn’t touched. His brows were furrowed, his bottom lip pushing forward in a sullen pout.

 

“Not hungry, Hajime?” Oikawa asked lightly, glancing over his shoulder as he reached for the syrup. “Or are you saving your appetite for something else?”

 

Hajime’s small face crumpled, and before either adult could respond, he blurted out, “I don’t want Uncle Iwa to leave!”  The words hit the air like a hammer, the crack of emotion echoing through the room. Oikawa froze mid-reach, his fingers brushing the edge of the syrup bottle. For a long second, no one moved.

 

“Hajime…” Oikawa began, his voice softer now, but Hajime’s eyes had already filled with tears, his small fists clenched tightly. Iwaizumi stepped forward, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he pulled it out. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, his voice calm but warm. “Come here for a sec.” He reached out a hand, but Hajime didn’t move.

 

Oikawa crouched beside Hajime’s chair. His smile was forced but gentle as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Come on, champ,” he said softly. “Let’s talk about this.”

Reluctantly, Hajime slid off the chair and into Iwa’s arms. Iwaizumi lifted him easily, settling him on his lap as he sat down.

Hajime buried his face against Iwa’s chest, his small body trembling with suppressed sobs. Iwa rubbed his back in slow circles, his voice steady. “Hey buddy, listen.” He said softly, gently caressing the brown locks. “I know you don’t want me to go, and trust me… I don’t want to leave either. But I have to.” Hajime’s voice came as a muffled retort against his shirt. “Why?”

 

“Because I have a job in Japan,” Iwa explained gently. “And Japan’s my home, remember? It’s where my friends are, where everything is. Where I grew up.”

 

Oikawa lowered himself onto the chair beside them, his hand brushing lightly over Hajime’s hair. “Japan’s my home too, Hajime. You know that, right?” His voice carried an intentional lightness, but his eyes betrayed him, transparent to the depth of his emotions. Hajime sniffled and looked up at Oikawa, his tear-streaked cheeks flushed. “But you live here.”

 

“I do,” Oikawa said, smiling faintly. “But it’s where uncle Iwa and I are from, where I was born. So Japan will always be a part of me. And you know what? You have a part of Japan in you too.”

 

Iwaizumi nodded, lifting Hajime slightly so they were eye level. “And it doesn’t mean I won’t see you again, okay? I promise, I’ll come back to visit. And you…” He smiled, his hands squeezing Hajime’s gently. “You and your dad can visit me in Japan too. Would you like that?”

Hajime’s teary eyes widened, a glimmer of hope flickering in their depths. He turned to Oikawa, his small hands clutching Iwa’s shirt. “Really? Can we?”

Oikawa swallowed hard, forcing a grin that felt almost real. He was resisting his own tears from falling out. He reached out to ruffle Hajime’s hair, his fingers brushing Iwa’s briefly in the process. “We sure can, champ. Maybe we’ll even see some of the places I grew up. How does that sound?”

“Okay…” Hajime sniffled again, nodding slowly. “But you promise you’ll come back, Uncle Iwa?”

 

Iwaizumi’s voice was firm as he responded, “I promise, Hajime. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

 

Hajime leaned against Iwa again, his small arms wrapping around his neck. The room fell into a poignant silence, the three of them holding the moment as if afraid it might slip away too quickly. Finally, Oikawa clapped his hands together, breaking the stillness with a forced cheerfulness. “Alright, we’re not going to let this ruin our day, right? We’ve got pancakes to eat, and maybe we can figure out something fun to do later. What do you say, Hajime?”

 

Hajime nodded again, his grip on Iwa loosening as he sat back. “Okay,” he said softly. Oikawa smiled, standing and scooping a pancake onto Hajime’s plate. “Good. Now, eat up. We’ve got a big day ahead.”

 

The mood in the room shifted slightly, the tension easing. They returned to their breakfast, but the bittersweet undercurrent of the day’s impending goodbye weaved through every smile, every glance, every word.

After breakfast, the day unfolded quietly, the three of them gravitating toward the comfort of home. By the time the dishes were cleared and the morning sunlight switched to glaring noon, they found themselves retreating to the living room, drawn to unhurried moments together.

 

The living room was a cozy mess by the time the three of them settled in. Plush blankets were thrown across the couch, pillows piled into a makeshift fort on one side. Hajime sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, flipping through movie options with the remote without understanding the words on the screen, his little brows furrowed in concentration.

 

Oikawa sprawled across one end of the couch, his long legs stretched out and a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on his stomach. Iwaizumi sat at the other end, leaning against the armrest with his coffee mug in hand, his gaze flicking between Hajime and the screen.

 

“What about this one?” Hajime asked, stopping on an animated movie with bright, colorful characters. Oikawa immediately gasped, leaning forward and pointing dramatically at the screen.

 

“Yes, it’s a great one. I haven’t seen it in forever,” Oikawa said, leaning back against the couch with a relaxed smile. He glanced at Hajime. “Are you ready, buddy? Monsters, Inc.” is a masterpiece of cinema. You’re gonna love this one.”

 

“Monsters?” Hajime echoed, his brows furrowing as he clutched the remote tighter. “Are they scary?”

 

“Scary?” Oikawa gasped, feigning disbelief. “Are you scared, Hajime?” His voice teasing as he leaned toward his son. “I mean, if you are, we can just watch something like—oh, I don’t know—“Cocomelon.’”

Hajime’s eyes widened in outrage. “I’M NOT SCARED!” he declared, his voice loud and indignant.

 

Iwaizumi shot Oikawa a pointed look, the kind that said, Seriously? Then he turned to Hajime, his tone calm and reassuring. “No, champ. They’re not scary at all. It’s funny. You’ll like it, I promise.”

 

Hajime’s pout eased slightly, though he still cast a suspicious glance at the screen as the movie began. When the opening scene rolled, grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl, hopped on the couch and leaned against Iwa, clutching his arm tightly as though bracing for the worst. His small body fitted perfectly into the curve of Iwaizumi’s side. “Comfy there?” Iwa asked, draping an arm loosely over Hajime’s shoulder, and giving a reassuring squeeze.“Mhm,” Hajime mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn, his eyes glued to the screen.

 

As the movie unfolded, and the door to the monster world burst open with Boo’s arrival, his hold to Iwaizumi loosened. A giggle bubbled out of him as Sulley panicked and Mike tripped over himself.

“See?” Oikawa piped up, grinning smugly. “Told you it wasn’t scary. You’re practically braver than Uncle Iwa now.” Hajime didn’t even glance at him, his giggles turning into outright laughter as Boo called Sulley “Kitty.”

 

By the time the credits rolled, Hajime was squirming with excitement, climbing onto Iwa’s lap with popcorn still stuck to his shirt. “That was the best movie ever!” He declared, his face lighting up with innocent, unrestrained joy. “The monsters were funny! And Boo is like me! Right, dad?”

 

Oikawa and Iwa exchanged a look before both burst into laughter, their chuckles blending into the cozy hum of the room. “I think you’re a little bigger than Boo,” Oikawa said, ruffling Hajime’s hair. Hajime leaned forward, resting his chin on Iwa’s chest and looking up at him with wide, sparkling eyes. “Uncle Iwa,” he said, his voice sweet and serious. “You’re my kitty.”

Iwa blinked, startled. “Your... kitty?” He asked trying to comprehend for a moment as Hajime hummed on his chest.

Oikawa, who had been lounging back on the couch, sat up at that, his smirk softening into a warm smile. “He’s got a point,” he said, his teasing tone subdued by genuine affection. “You kinda are like Sulley. Big, strong, dependable.”

Iwa looked at him as if a lightbulb just went on inside his head. Oikawa barely suppressed his laugh. She called him kitty the whole time, are you kidding me? Now content with the explanation, Iwa chuckled, patting Hajime’s back. “Well, then I guess you’re my Boo, huh?” Hajime nodded with giggles, his grin wide and toothy.

 

Oikawa leaned his head against the couch, watching the two of them with a quiet smile.“Alright, Boo,” he said, standing and stretching his arms above his head. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one morning, don’t you?”

 

Hajime shook his head vigorously, still perched on Iwaizumi’s lap. “Nope! Let’s watch another one!” His grin was wide, but the way he yawned right after gave him away.“Another one?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, resting his hand on the boy’s back to steady him. “You’re barely awake as it is.”

 

“I’m awake!” Hajime insisted, but his voice wavered, yet his small hands rubbed at his eyes, the telltale signs of sleep creeping in. Oikawa smirked, leaning down to pick up the now-empty popcorn bowl. “Sure you are,” he said lightly, his tone almost sing-song. “But you’re looking awfully cuddly there for someone full of energy.”

 

“I’m not tired!” Hajime declared, though the words lacked their earlier conviction. His pout deepened, his gaze flickering between the TV and Iwa. “I don’t wanna miss anything fun.” Iwaizumi chuckled softly, brushing a few stray crumbs from Hajime’s shirt. “You won’t miss anything, I promise. Just a quick rest. Recharge a bit, and we’ll do something fun later. Deal?”

 

Hajime hesitated, his tiny hands clutching at Iwaizumi’s sleeve. “You promise?”

 

“Cross my heart,” Iwa said, his voice steady and reassuring. He ruffled Hajime’s hair lightly. Hajime’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay,” he mumbled, already leaning more heavily against Iwa’s chest. “That’s my boy,” Iwa murmured, scooping him up with practiced ease. Hajime clung to him, his head finding a comfortable spot on Iwa’s shoulder as his body relaxed.

 

Oikawa followed as Iwa carried Hajime to his room. Inside, Iwa laid him down gently, tucking the blanket snugly around his small frame. Hajime stirred, his hand reaching out instinctively to grab Iwa’s fingers. “Uncle Iwa,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

 

“Yeah, buddy?” Iwa replied, leaning down.“Don’t go yet,” Hajime whispered, his grip tightening briefly.“I’m right here,” Iwa said softly, staying by his side until Hajime’s breathing evened out, his small form sinking deeper into sleep.

 

“Didn’t think you’d be able to leave,” Oikawa teased, leaning against Hajime’s doorframe, though his expression was far from smug. There was a warmth in his eyes, a gratitude that he didn’t voice out loud. Iwa huffed a soft laugh, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, well… it’s not easy.” Oikawa reached out, patting Iwa’s arm lightly as they turned to head back toward the living room.

Oikawa sank back into the couch, his gaze softer now. “You’re good with him,” he said quietly, his usual teasing edge absent. “He trusts you.” Iwa glanced over, settling right next to him, draping his arm over Oikawa’s shoulders. “Yeah, I know,” he said simply, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

 

“You know,” Oikawa started, his voice soft and teasing, “He really isn’t like that with everyone. He only clings to one other person like that.” “Oh?” Iwa replied, quirking an eyebrow.

 

Oikawa smirked. “Bokuto. And Bokuto’s… well…” He paused, his grin widening into something fond but exasperated. “Bo’s practically a child himself. I swear, he and Hajime are like two peas in the same pod.”

 

Iwa chuckled softly, “That checks out,” he murmured, though a flicker of curiosity stirred in his chest. Bokuto had mentioned Hajime before—called him "the sweetest little guy" on one occasion—but the distance between Tokyo and Buenos Aires had always seemed insurmountable. How had Bokuto known Hajime that well?

 

Oikawa had launched into one of his stories—something about Bokuto letting Hajime bury him at the beach until only his head stuck out, lying there for nearly an hour while Hajime narrated the entire plot of The Lion King. His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, his eyes alight with fondness and amusement.

 

The words blurred around the edges, muffled by something more persistent. Something uncomfortable. Jealousy wasn’t the right word—not exactly—but whatever it was, it tugged at him, subtle and insistent, just like an itch beneath the skin.

Bokuto was loud, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. He was warm in a way few people could manage—disarmingly open, endlessly affectionate. The kind of person kids gravitated toward. The kind of person Hajime had clearly already let in.

As Oikawa continued, the question only pushed to the surface. And suddenly, Iwa couldn’t hold the thought back any longer.

 

“How does Bokuto know Hajime so well?” he asked, cutting in mid-sentence. His voice wasn’t sharp, but it was quieter, more serious. It felt almost like something had slipped out that he didn’t entirely mean to reveal.

 

Oikawa blinked, caught off guard, suddenly silent. Iwa didn’t look at him, eyes fixed on a vague point across the room.“I mean,” he cleared his throat, trying to smooth it out. “You’re halfway across the world.”

 

Oikawa’s grin from before softened, his smile turning quieter, almost wistful. He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as if recalling a distant memory. “Bo’s…” He started, voice softer than usual. “ Well… he’s a good friend. Better than I deserve sometimes.” His voice dropped slightly, a note of gratitude threading through his words. “After Hajime was born, and things got really tough... he made a lot of effort.”

Iwaizumi’s curiosity only deepened, his gaze steady on Oikawa. “What do you mean?”

 

Oikawa turned to face him fully, one leg tucked beneath the other on the couch. “I mean, he showed up. Whenever he had a break, he flew out here to visit. Hajime saw him a lot when he was little. Over the years, it got harder with schedules and everything, but... even when he wasn’t physically here, he made sure I wasn’t alone. He called, texted, sent stupid videos of himself doing ridiculous things. Once, he even recorded himself singing a lullaby for Hajime. And the dumbest part?” Oikawa laughed softly, shaking his head. “It worked. Bo practically considers Hajime as his nephew. They FaceTime a lot.”

 

Iwaizumi blinked, his lips parting in surprise. The thought of Bokuto’s voice—loud and vibrant—singing to a newborn Oikawa’s son was almost absurd. But at the same time, it was so undeniably Bokuto. The one Akaashi always talked about. And now, the one Oikawa talked about too… And the one right in front of Iwaizumi’s eyes. Sometimes it was infuriating how charming he could be without even trying. “FaceTime?” he asked, his tone caught between amusement and disbelief.

Oikawa grinned. “Yeah. Every week like clockwork. Sometimes twice. I never even had to ask. He just... knew I needed someone, and Hajime needed someone. So yeah… He’d make silly faces on the screen, do impressions of Hajime’s favorite cartoons, and tell me I was doing great even when I wasn’t.” Oikawa said his voice softer, dripping with clear admiration. They didn’t speak a moment, and then with scheming eyes he stared into Iwa’s jade ones.

“He’s actually been leaving us alone so that you guys could bond. He asked me to tell Hajime a little white lie and that he was going on an intense training camp for a while, and that he’d call after.” He admitted, lips curling into a fond smile.

“What?” Iwa stammered. “Why would he do that? I don’t understand.” He swallowed hard, blinking, trying to understand Bokuto’s intentions. They never talked about Hajime together before. Did he think he was doing him a favor? How was he in Bokuto’s debt now when he never even asked for it.

“Well, he’s Hajime’s favorite person. Right?” Oikawa shrugged. “He wanted to give you the best chance, because we thought Hajime may feel like we’re replacing Bokuto or something. We didn’t want him to go and complain to Bokuto about you or something else.”

 

Iwaizumi’s chest tightened, his heart aching at the thought of Oikawa trying to raise Hajime, alone in a foreign country. And another part ached with unnecessary, illogical jealousy, imagining Bokuto selflessly on his side with his chaotic energy bridging the gap when it should have been Iwa in the first place. Guilt hit heavy afterwards, Bokuto had been everything he hadn’t been. He should have been thanking him for being here for the first place, and for the things he was still trying to do for Iwa… Yet here he was like a green eyed monster. “I didn’t know,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

 

“You weren’t supposed to. That wasn’t on you, Hajime. It never, was.” Oikawa shrugged, though his smile didn’t falter. He exhaled slowly, his eyes dropping to his lap where his fingers toyed with the frayed edge of a pillow. “You asked, and I answered. That’s all. I’m just... glad Bo was there.” His voice softened. “He’s a good friend. One of the best.”

 

The room fell quiet, the weight of unspoken memories lingering between them. Iwaizumi leaned back, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers tapping absently against the fabric. His gaze stayed fixed on Oikawa, watching the way his expression softened, his smile quiet but tinged with something deeper—something that lingered in the shadows of his words about Bokuto.

 

The thought had been nagging at Iwa for a while now, ever since Oikawa had started talking about Bokuto…Not just what he said, but how he said it. It didn’t add up in his head. Bokuto’s energy, his warmth, his obvious care for Oikawa and Hajime—it all sounded like too much for just friendship. And if it wasn’t from Bokuto’s side… He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. His eyes stayed fixed on Oikawa for a moment longer before he finally spoke.“How the hell did you not fall for Bokuto?” The words came out lower than intended, threaded with disbelief, maybe even something a little closer to insecurity.

Oikawa blinked, clearly caught off guard. He turned to face Iwa fully, brows lifting in sharp disbelief.“Seriously Hajime?” he said, his voice cool but unmistakably defensive.A flush was already creeping up his neck, staining his cheeks scarlet. It was not from flustered affection, but something much closer to indignation. He looked half-exasperated, half-wounded, like Iwa had touched a nerve he hadn’t meant to expose.“What are you, twelve?” he snapped sharply, eyes narrowing.“Why didn’t you fall for Akaashi, then? Should I ask you that next?”

Iwa scoffed, shaking his head with a huff. “I could give you a million reasons why I didn’t fall for Akaashi.” His voice was laced with exasperation too, as if the very idea was absurd.

 

“Oh, please, do share,” Oikawa said, crossing his arms and leaning forward, his tone dripping with mock interest. “Because from where I stand, Keiji looks like a million bucks, he’s so fucking sharp that he could cut, and always has your back.” He paused, long enough to make it sting. “He’s your closest friend.” He said emphasizing every word. “Oh wait, you’re roommates too. Should I continue? Still Not enough for the almighty Iwaizumi?”

 

Iwa ignored the bait, rolling his eyes as he settled deeper into the couch. “He’s like a little brother to me, Tooru. He’s sarcastic, he’s sharp-tongued, and honestly, he’s been through too much shit for me to ever see him that way.” Oikawa’s brow ticked up at that, his curiosity flickering just beneath the surface, but Iwa continued before he could even ask.

 

“I respect him,” He went on, voice quieter, more thoughtful. “But…” he paused, his brow furrowing slightly as his thoughts drifted back to Bokuto. “But you…” His voice trailed off, his jade eyes locking with Oikawa’s. “Everything you’re saying about Bokuto…It’s a lot. I mean, if someone had done all that for me…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The implication was left in the air.

 

Oikawa’s teasing expression faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sat up straighter. “Hajime,” he said slowly, his tone carrying a note of warning. “Don’t.”

 

“What?” Iwaizumi replied evenly, acting innocent. “It’s just…” He exhaled. “It sounds like a lot. If someone did all that for me…” He hesitated, then added, “I would’ve.” His voice had softened without meaning to.

 

Oikawa stared at him, his brown eyes narrowing first, flickering with something unreadable—defensive, almost offended. Then, slowly, his posture sagged. He let out a long breath, rubbing at his temple like the question had finally worn him down.“Fine,” he muttered, dropping his back against the couch. “You want the truth?” His voice was tight at first, almost bitter. 

 

“Sometimes I did think about it. Late at night, maybe after a few too many drinks. Stupid, fleeting thoughts.” He paused. His eyes dropped to his lap. And when he spoke again, his voice had shifted, lower, softer, guiltstricken.“It never went anywhere. Bo was just being Bo. And I—he shook his head, as if to clear it. “It was always just… thoughts. No lines were crossed, ever.” His final word landed with weightHis final word landed with weight, and when he looked up again, the fire had returned to his eyes.

 

“Why?” Iwa asked, his voice low, careful. “If you thought about it… If he was always there for you…Why didn’t it go anywhere?”

 

Oikawa’s smile turned bitter, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Because I already lost my best friend once,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “And Bo was… the second-best thing to that.” He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Maybe it would’ve worked. Maybe it wouldn’t have. But I didn’t want to risk it. My heart wasn’t ready to be broken again.”

 

Iwa’s chest tightened, a slow ache spreading behind his ribs, guilt gnawing at him. “Tooru…”

“And besides,” Oikawa cut in, his voice trembling slightly  he lifted his gaze back to Iwa. “Bo’s too oblivious to figure these things out on his own. He has always been in so utterly and desperately in love with Akaashi.” He laughed, sound was unlike him, almost shrill, cold.

 

“It would have to be me.” He said with a deep breath. “I would’ve had to take the step. And I never wanted to. It was always just friends. Platonic. We bonded over a lot—losing our best friends, trying to find our place in the world—but that was it.” He paused, his gaze searching Iwa’s face for judgment. He hesitated momentarily, then asked the question with disarming softness.“Do you hate me now?”

 

“Hate you?” Iwa said, startled. He reached out, cupping Oikawa’s cheek and forcing him to meet his gaze. “Tooru,”His thumb lingered at the edge of Oikawa’s jaw, grounding him. “I don’t hate you.” He let the silence stretch for a breath. “I love you.” He said, voice soft, The words hung in the air like a confession long overdue.“I love you even more for telling me this.”

 

Oikawa blinked at Iwaizumi’s words, his lips parting, but no immediate reply came. Instead, his brows furrowed, and his voice dropped to a quiet, vulnerable tone. “How?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Why would you say that? I feel like I just betrayed you. How can you say you love me even more now?”

 

Iwa’s expression softened, his hand still cradling Oikawa’s cheek. “Because, Tooru,” he said, his voice steady, “you can be honest with me…Even when it’s hard. And I admire that. You didn’t have to tell me any of this. You could’ve kept it to yourself, and I never would’ve known. But you trusted me enough to share it, even if you thought it might hurt. That means something to me.”

 

Oikawa’s lips trembled, but Iwaizumi continued before he could interrupt. “And besides,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile, “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Bokuto has Akaashi and, you have me. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to. I don’t have anything to worry about.”

 

The faintest laugh escaped Oikawa, soft and shaky, but warm. “You’re a perpetual worrywart, though.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Iwa replied, his thumb brushing lightly over Oikawa’s cheekbone, “What do worrywarts need? Reassurance, right? He paused, letting their eyes meet fully. His next words were simple, but full of weight. “And you just gave me that, too.” A beat of silence passed, soft but certain. “We’re okay, Tooru. More than okay.”

 

Oikawa let out a soft, shaky breath, his smile returning, this time brighter and steadier. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Iwa’s. “You always know what to say, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice tinged with affection. “I love you, Hajime. I really do.”

 

“And I love you,” Iwa replied, his voice equally soft. They stayed like that for a moment, the quiet hum of the room settling around them, their breaths mingling in the close space. Finally, Oikawa tilted his head, brushing a kiss to the corner of Iwa’s mouth, his grin turning playful. “You’re still a worrywart, though.”

 

“And you’re still a pain in the ass,” Iwa shot back, though the warmth in his tone defied his words. Oikawa chuckled, the sound light and genuine, as he pressed another kiss to Iwa’s lips. This time, it was less playful and more lingering.“Guess we’re stuck with each other, huh?” Oikawa murmured as they finally pulled apart.

“Yeah,” Iwa said, his hand sliding to the back of Oikawa’s neck, holding him close. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They didn’t move right away. The moment lingered, stretching sweet and slow between them, until eventually, without a word, they both sank deeper into the couch, pulling each other closer. Iwaizumi’s arm stayed looped around Oikawa’s waist, while Oikawa curled in, letting his forehead rest against Iwa’s collarbone. The TV played something neither of them paid much attention to, a soft, moving backdrop to their silence. No more confessions, no more questions.

The hours passed in a gentle lull, the house bathed in soft, golden afternoon light. They remained tangled together on the couch, half-watching whatever played on the TV, though neither paid much attention. Iwaizumi’s gaze wandered lazily across the room, his fingers absently tracing slow circles along Oikawa’s arm, while Oikawa, legs sprawled across Iwa’s lap, flipped through channels with idle flicks of the remote.

 

For a while, neither of them spoke, the quiet filled with unspoken thoughts and the rhythmic tick of the clock. It wasn’t until Oikawa let out a dramatic sigh, breaking the spell, that Iwa glanced over. “Alright,” Oikawa said, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. “We’ve done the relaxing thing long enough. Time to get moving.”

Iwa smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “Last I checked, you were the one glued to the couch.”

Oikawa waved him off with a lazy flick of his hand. “It’s almost time for dinner, and we’re cooking.” He shot Iwa a pointed look, his lips curling into a grin. “Together.”

“Together?” Iwa raised an eyebrow, the word laced with mock skepticism. “You’re trusting me in your kitchen?”

“Nope,” Oikawa replied breezily, standing and tossing a cushion at him. “But I’m supervising, so it’ll be fine.”

Iwa caught the cushion with ease, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “Guess I don’t have a choice, huh?”

“You guessed right,” Oikawa called over his shoulder as he disappeared toward the kitchen. “Now come on. Time to put those biceps to good use.”

With a faint smile tugging at his lips, Iwa stood and followed him to kitchen that was bathing in the warm glow of the evening lights. Oikawa handed Iwaizumi a knife and a cutting board with all the precision of a general delegating orders. “You’re on vegetable duty. Thin slices, consistent sizes. Got it?”

Iwaizumi frowned at the pile of carrots, onions, and green onions. “Thin? Okay. I can do that. Got it.” Oikawa gave him a skeptical look, tapping the edge of the counter with his fingertips. “You sound confident but… Let me remind you: thin does not mean ‘random chunks in varying degrees of chaos.’”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Iwa grumbled.He picked up a carrot and began slicing. Oikawa turned back to the stove, stirring the broth with a wooden spoon, humming quietly to himself. Yet, it didn’t take long for his attention to flicker back. A quick glance over his shoulder was all it took for him to let out an audible gasp.

“Wait, wait, stop!” Oikawa practically lunged to Iwa’s side, staring in horror at the uneven slices scattered across the cutting board. “What are you doing?” Iwa blinked, knife poised mid-air. “Uh… cutting vegetables?”

Oikawa snatched up one of the unevenly sliced pieces and held it up accusingly. “This isn’t cutting. This is butchering. Look at this—thick on one end, paper-thin on the other. They’re not even close to uniform.”

Iwa set the knife down, crossing his arms. “They look fine to me. They’re just carrots, Tooru.” He said with a sigh. “Why does it matter anyway? They’re all going to end up cooked and in our stomachs.”

Oikawa’s jaw dropped slightly, as if Iwa had said something scandalous. He shook his head and shot Iwaizumi an exasperated look “It matters because it’s not just about putting something in your stomach—it’s about cooking them evenly and properly. Otherwise, the thin ones will turn to mush, and the thick ones will still be crunchy… It’ll completely ruin the soup.”

Iwa shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “I thought the point was just to cut them so they fit in the pot. Oikawa blinked at him raising his voice this time. “Fit in the pot? Are you kidding me? Hajime! You’re unbelievable.”

Iwa exhaled, shaking his head as he picked up the knife again. “Alright, alright. Show me how you want it, then.”

Oikawa grabbed a fresh carrot and demonstrated, slicing with practiced precision, each piece falling in perfect, uniform thickness. He held up the cutting board triumphantly. “See? Like this. It’s not hard. Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes at the carrot slices. “Alright, I’ll give it a try,” he muttered, and started cutting again. This time, the slices were more even, though not as pristine as Oikawa’s.

Oikawa leaned closer, inspecting his work like a strict teacher grading a test. “Better,” he admitted grudgingly. “Still not perfect, but passable.” He gave him a firm nod before turning back to the stove. “Just focus, Iwa-chan. Precision is key. Think of it like training—consistent effort leads to consistent results.”

“Training, huh?” Iwa muttered, shaking his head with a faint smile. “You really know how to make everything sound like volleyball.”

“And you really know how to make everything harder than it needs to be,” Oikawa quipped without missing a beat, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Keep going. You’ll get there.”

Time seemed to slip by as the kitchen filled with the rhythmic clinks of knives, the gentle bubbling of soup, and the occasional banter between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The savory aroma of miso and dashi wafted through the room.

“Alright, that’s done,” Oikawa declared, wiping his hands on a towel as he stepped back from the stove. The pot of miso soup sat steaming, rich and inviting. “Grab the bowls, Iwa-chan. Let’s set the table.” Iwa nodded, moving with practiced ease to gather the dishes. Within minutes, the table was neatly set—three bowls of steaming soup, small plates of pickled vegetables, and a mound of rice served with precision only Oikawa could manage.

“Not bad, huh?” Oikawa remarked, stepping back to admire the spread. His voice carried a note of satisfaction, the earlier tension from cooking long forgotten. “Now, let’s go get the little monster.”

Iwaizumi chuckled, following him down the hall. “You call him that, but he’s an angel compared to what you were like at his age.”

Oikawa shot him a mock glare. “He’s four. Give him time.” They found Hajime still curled up in his bed, his face nestled against his favorite dinosaur toy, his small form barely stirring even as Oikawa sat down beside him. “Hey, buddy,” Oikawa murmured, his voice soft as he brushed a strand of hair from Hajime’s forehead. “Dinner’s ready.”

Hajime mumbled something incoherent, burrowing deeper into the blankets. Iwa leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the exchange with an amused smirk. “Want me to try?”

Oikawa shook his head, leaning closer. “Hajime,” he tried again, this time with a teasing lilt, “if you don’t get up now, Uncle Iwa is going to eat your rice.” That earned a sleepy squint from Hajime, followed by a muffled groan. “Uncle Iwa wouldn’t do that,” he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Don’t be so sure,” Iwa teased, stepping into the room. “I’m pretty hungry. And your dad is a pretty good cook.” Hajime finally stirred, his small fists rubbing at his eyes as he sat up. “Okay, okay,” he mumbled, his pout softening as Oikawa ruffled his hair. “That’s my boy,” Oikawa said warmly, scooping him up. “Come on, dinner’s getting cold.”

The three of them gathered around the table, Hajime snug between Oikawa and Iwa. Hajime picked up his spoon carefully and took a small sip of his soup. His face immediately lit up, bright and full of wonder. “It’s yummy!” he exclaimed, his earlier grogginess forgotten. Oikawa’s eyes softened as he glanced at Iwa. “See?”

Iwa chuckled, picking up his own bowl. “Guess even your nagging has its benefits.” Oikawa smirked, nudging Iwa’s foot under the table. “It’s called guidance. You’re welcome.”

The soft laughter around the table blended with the sound of clinking bowls and cheerful chatter. Hajime’s giggles bubbled through the room as he happily slurped his soup with a level of enthusiasm that made Oikawa smile.“Uncle Iwa.” He suddenly piped up, his legs swinging under the table, “Daddy says everyone was scared of you in school.”

Iwaizumi paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “Scared of me?” He asked in disbelief. Oikawa smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh, absolutely. First years would practically jump to follow your orders. I mean, you were their Iwaizumi-senpai.” He made a dramatic gesture, his voice dripping with teasing.

Iwa snorted, shaking his head. “That’s not true.“ He waved him off with a hand gesture. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not,” Oikawa protested, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “They listened to you without question.” He turned his face to Hajime this time, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I was the captain, Hajime. And yet, they barely listened to me half the time.” He pointed his finger back to Iwa. “But you? You’d just stand there, arms crossed, and they’d start running laps before you even opened your mouth. All it took was one look.” His voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned towards Hajime. “Although, he yelled sometimes too.”

Hajime giggled, his wide eyes darting to Iwa. “Did you yell at Daddy too, Uncle Iwa?”

“Only when he deserved it,” Iwa said, glancing at Oikawa with a teasing smirk. “Which, let’s face it, happened a lot.”

“Hey!” Oikawa cried, his hands gesturing indignantly. “I was an excellent captain! I led our team to victory, I kept us together, I—”

“—gave off suspicious vibes,” Iwa interrupted casually, his tone light but laced with humor. “That’s why they didn’t listen to you. You didn’t exactly give off ‘trust me, I have your best interests at heart’ energy.” He leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes.

Oikawa’s jaw dropped, his hands flying to his chest in mock offense. “Suspicious vibes? Are you serious?” he spluttered, his voice rising. “I was the heart of that team!”

“No.” Iwaizumi scoffed flicking his head. “You were the heart of you.” He followed with a snort.

Oikawa glared at Iwa, his lips twitching as if he couldn’t decide whether to stay annoyed or laugh. “You’re unbelievable, Hajime.”

“I’m honest,” Iwa replied with a shrug, his smirk widening. “But… You were the leader, Tooru. They didn’t always see it, but they knew it.”

Oikawa blinked, his gaze softening slightly as he tilted his head. “Huh,” he murmured, his voice quieter. “You actually mean that.”

“Yeah,” Iwa replied simply, turning back to his soup. “You drove them crazy sometimes, but you held them together.” He finished, making Oikawa smile. The former captain leaned back in his chair and ruffled his son’s hair.

Hajime tilted his head, looking up at Oikawa. “Daddy, were you really the boss?”

Iwa chuckled, shaking his head. “He was the boss... sometimes,” he added with a wink. Oikawa groaned, but the playful air lingered as Hajime’s giggles echoed around them.

The conversation at the dinner table began to settle as they finished their meal. Hajime leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on his small belly, clearly content. “That was so good,” he said with a satisfied sigh, his voice small but sincere.

“Glad you liked it, champ,” Iwa said, gathering the empty bowls from the table “You cleaned your bowl like a pro.”

Oikawa stood and stretched his arms above his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s always better when we eat together,” he said, his voice softer than usual as he began stacking plates.

Hajime beamed up at him. “Daddy, you’re the best cook.”

Oikawa chuckled, his gaze dropping to meet his son’s sparkling eyes. “Thanks, buddy. But I had some help today,” he said, glancing at Iwa. “Uncle Iwa did more than just chop vegetables, you know.”

Iwa shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he wiped the table. “Let’s not go overboard. I mostly just followed your orders.”

“That’s teamwork for you,” Oikawa teased lightly, his tone warm rather than smug.

Hajime giggled as he hopped down from his chair, his little legs swinging as he looked between them. “Uncle Iwa, can we watch another movie?”

Iwa smiled in response, nodding his head as he started wiping down the table. “Alright, Hajime. Why don’t you pick something to do while we clean up?”

Before Hajime could move, Oikawa turned from the sink, drying his hands on a towel. “Actually,” he said, his tone scheming, “I have a better idea.” He crouched to Hajime’s level, his grin widening as he tapped a finger against the boy’s nose. “How about we look at some pictures instead?”

“Pictures?” Hajime repeated, tilting his head in curiosity. “Like the ones on the wall?”

“Better than that,” Oikawa said with a small smile. “We have albums full of photos. From when you were tiny, and even before you were born. You’ve never seen those, have you?”

Hajime’s eyes widened in excitement, his curiosity bubbling over. “Really? There’s more?” He turned to Iwa with an expectant look. “Uncle Iwa, did you know?”

Iwa shrugged, setting the damp cloth on the counter. “I had no idea, champ. Sounds like your dad’s been keeping secrets.”

Oikawa stood, winked at his son then motioned towards the living room. “Come on then, buddy. Let’s dig them out,”

Hajime scrambled out of his chair, already buzzing with excitement as he followed Oikawa to the living room. Iwa trailed behind, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched the two of them. The warm light from the dining room spilled into the cozy living space, where plush cushions and blankets awaited them welcomingly.

Oikawa pulled a box down from one of the bookshelf cabinets, setting it on the coffee table. “Here we go,” he said, lifting the lid to reveal the stack of neatly organized albums inside. He flipped through the first few before holding one up triumphantly. “Ready to see the world, Hajime?

Hajime nodded eagerly, climbing onto the couch and sitting cross-legged, ready for whatever treasures the albums held. Iwa settled beside him, his broad shoulder brushing Oikawa’s as they leaned closer together. The comforting weight of the moment wrapped around them all as Oikawa opened the first album.

The first photograph showed a tiny Hajime, wrapped in a bright blue blanket, his fists raised as if mid-protest. His face was scrunched up, red and wailing. “There he is,” Oikawa said softly, his voice carrying an edge of wonder. “Your very first day, champ.”

Hajime scooted closer, his small hands resting on the edge of the coffee table. “That’s me?” he asked, his voice hushed with awe.

“Fresh out of the oven,” Oikawa replied with a teasing grin, though there was a tenderness in his tone. “You made sure everyone knew you’d arrived. Loud and proud.”

Hajime giggled, then pointed at the photo. “Why am I so red?”

Iwa chuckled, leaning over to get a better look. “Babies are like that, champ. You were working hard just to let the world know you were here.”

Oikawa glanced at Iwa, his expression softening. “He really did have strong lungs. I thought the nurses were going to kick us out of the hospital to get some peace.” He murmured, turning the page. The next page revealed a new image: Bokuto cradling baby Hajime in his arms, his broad grin as bright as the sunlight streaming through the window. Hajime’s tiny hand was curled around Bokuto’s thumb, his eyes barely open.

“Uncle Bo!” Hajime exclaimed, pointing excitedly. “He’s holding me!”

“He sure is,” Oikawa said, his smile turning fond. “Bo always said you were the lightest thing he ever held, but carried the heaviest weight in his heart.”

Iwa leaned closer, his gaze fixed on the photo. “He looks so proud,” he said quietly, his tone laced with admiration.

“He was,” Oikawa admitted and ruffled Hajime’s hair. “Bo was one of the first to hold you, buddy. He came all the way from Japan just to meet you,. Spent the whole visit babbling about how you were going to grow up to be strong like him.”

Oikawa flipped the page, revealing a photo of himself holding a baby Hajime close to his chest, his expression soft and protective. Hajime looked at the picture, his eyes wide. “Is that me too, dad?”

“Sure is. You loved being held, I couldn’t put you down for five minutes.” Oikawa said, his voice quieter now, his fingers brushing the edge of the page. Iwaizumi leaned closer to get a better look at the photo, his gaze lingering on Oikawa’s younger face. There was something in his eyes. Exhaustion, but also determination. Everything they talked about was coming into reality now through the pictures: Oikawa, alone in a new country, pouring everything he had into being both a father and himself. Iwa felt a pang in his chest, guilt coiling tight.

 

The next page featured Bokuto, Oikawa, and Hajime together, seated on a park bench. Bokuto held Hajime high in the air, his grin infectious, while Oikawa leaned against the bench, laughing at the antics. Hajime’s tiny hands were outstretched, his face lit up with delight.

“Uncle Bo again!” Hajime exclaimed, his excitement bubbling over. “He was always so silly!”

 

“He was,” Oikawa agreed with a laugh. “He loved making you laugh.”

 

Iwaizumi’s eyes lingered on the image, his lips pressing into a thin line. The three of them looked so at ease together, so natural. For a moment, it was easy to imagine them as a family—a thought that left a bitter taste in his mouth. He forced himself to push the jealousy aside, to focus instead on the truth in front of him: Bokuto had been there. Through every milestone, every important moment, every step of Hajime’s young life, Bokuto had shown up.

 

It wasn’t just about his presence, either. Bokuto had been a constant source of joy, of support, of stability when Oikawa must have felt anything but. Iwa felt like he had been too hard on Bokuto before, particularly in Akaashi’s place. Now, looking at these photos, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. Bokuto seemed exceptional. Stepping up, even when it wasn’t his responsibility…

 

Iwa’s thoughts turned to Akaashi for a moment, to the quiet pain his friend had carried for more than decade. Akaashi had never confessed his feelings to Iwa, not directly. Sometimes Iwaizumi would have a hard time understanding why Akaashi would feel the way he did, considering Bokuto cut him off abruptly and never gave him closure. He never undermined Akaashi’s pain. No, he never did that. But, it only made sense now. Bokuto was impossible to forget. He wasn’t just someone you got over. He was someone who left a mark, whether you wanted him to or not.

 

Oikawa’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet,” he teased, glancing at Iwa with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re already bored of looking at baby pictures.”

 

“No, I love it.” Iwa shook his head, forcing a faint smile as he leaned back into the couch. “Just… thinking.”

 

“What about?” Oikawa asked curiously. Iwa hesitated, his gaze flickering to the photo of the three of them again before he answered. “Just… Bokuto. I guess. He’s a good guy.” He said simply, though the words carried more weight than he let on.

Oikawa only then realized that this trailed back to the earlier conversation they were having, and he felt his chest tighten. “He is.” He agreed quietly. He didn’t know what else to say, to make it better.  Not feeling the tension between them, Hajime turned the page himself, excited to see more pictures. Oikawa took a deep breath, silently thanking his son for the distraction.

The next photo showed Oikawa and Hajime playing with colorful blocks on the floor. Oikawa’s hair was much longer than it was now, giving his face a softer, almost feminine look. It was tied up in a messy bun on top of his head.

 

“Daddy, you look so funny!” he giggled, his tiny hand covering his mouth. Oikawa gasped in mock offense, leaning closer to inspect the photo. “Funny? Excuse me, young man, I was a very stylish dad back then. Look at that hair!”

Hajime giggled harder, shaking his head. “No, it’s silly! Like a bunny butt!”

 

Iwa burst out laughing, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You do have a man-bun,” he said, grinning at Oikawa’s glare.

 

“Well, clearly you both don’t know a thing about fashion.” He huffed as he turned the page.

 

Next page revealed another picture of Bokuto. He was crouched on the floor, hands raised high in mock surrender as a small Hajime charged toward him, his expression gleefully determined. “This one,” Oikawa said, his laughter bubbling up, “was when you decided Uncle Bo was your wrestling partner.”

 

Hajime giggled. “Did I win?”

“Of course,” Oikawa replied with mock seriousness. “You always won. Uncle Bo didn’t stand a chance.”

Iwa chuckled, shaking his head as he studied the photo. “You were right calling Bokuto a big kid himself.” He reached out to ruffle Hajime’s hair a little bit more confidently this time. “No wonder you two get along so well.”

Hajime tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “When will Uncle Bo come visit me again?”The question hung in the air for a moment, Oikawa’s fingers stilling on the page. “He’ll visit when he can, champ,” he said gently. “You know how busy he gets, but he always finds time for you.” He gave Hajime’s back a small pat.

“I miss him. Uncle Bo likes to play,” Hajime said, a wistful note in his voice. “He’s fun.” His little head dropped, gaze fixed on the floor. 

“He is,” Oikawa agreed with a nod. “Uncle Bo’s great at playing.”He paused for a moment, then leaned closer to Hajime, his voice softening. “But you know what, buddy? Uncle Iwa’s been waiting to have fun with you for a long time too.”

The subtle comment caught Iwa by surprise, a warmth spreading through his chest and a since smile curling on his lips. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck seemed to prickle as Oikawa’s words settled. It wasn’t necessary.Oikawa didn’t have to say that, but he had. It was moments like these that reminded Iwa just how much Oikawa was trying, how much effort he was putting into building this connection.

Hajime tilted his head, studying Iwa with a thoughtful expression. “Hmm,” he hummed for a moment, then grinned. “Yeah! Uncle Iwa’s fun too!”

 

Iwa raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Wow, thanks for the glowing endorsement, champ.”  He ruffled the little boy’s hair again, but his chest swelled with joy.

 

Oikawa burst out laughing, his hand resting briefly on Iwa’s arm as the moment dissolved into easy warmth. “Don’t take it personally,” he teased. “I told you… Hajime’s loyalty to Bo runs deep.”

 

“I see that now.” Iwa murmured, his faint smile lingering. He made a mental note of thanking Bokuto for not calling while Iwa was in Argentina the moment he landed. As they reached the end of the first album, Hajime leaned his head against Oikawa’s arm. “What’s next?” he murmured, his voice soft with curiosity.

 

Oikawa set the finished album aside, pulling out another one. “This one,” he said, patting the cover, “is from when Uncle Iwa and I were your age… well, almost.” He opened the second album, and pointed to the first photograph. The image showed two small boys sitting at a table, Iwa was mid-laugh, his head thrown back, while Oikawa sat with his arms crossed, a pout on his face. A pile of brightly colored blocks sat between them, scattered and half-finished.

 

“Wow,” Oikawa murmured, a nostalgic smile spreading across his lips. “Look at this, Hajime. This was when Uncle Iwa and I were your age.” Hajime leaned in, his small face lighting up with curiosity. “That’s you and Uncle Iwa?” he asked, his finger hovering over the picture.

 

“Yup,” Iwa confirmed, his gaze softening as he studied the photo. “I’m thinking we were supposed to be playing, but clearly your dad had a different idea.” He trailed off, glancing at Oikawa with a smirk. “He found a whole lot of reasons to pout when we were little.”

 

“I did not,” Oikawa said with a huff, though his cheeks colored slightly. “I was trying to make something symmetrical, and you were just smashing everything pretending to be a dinosaur.”

 

“You were so serious, I was just having fun.” Iwa grinned as Oikawa rolled his eyes.The following photo was of a group of kids playing on a jungle gym. Iwa was climbing to the highest point, his grin wide and unbothered, while Oikawa stood at the bottom, holding onto the bars and looking unimpressed.

“Why weren’t you climbing dad?” Hajime asked curiously, his eyes wide open. Iwaizumi couldn’t hold his laugh anymore. “Well champ, your dad was allergic to fun.” He quipped.

“I was not.” Oikawa protested a second time. “I just had higher standards, buddy.” He patted the top of Hajime’s head and flipped the page again. The image showed two small boys sitting on a park bench, each clutching an ice cream cone. Oikawa, barely more than four, had a mischievous grin smeared with chocolate, while Iwa, just as young, frowned down at his melting cone. Hajime leaned closer, pointing at the picture. “Uncle Iwa, why do you look so mad?”

 

Iwa chuckled, his gaze softening as he studied the photo. “Because your dad convinced me to get chocolate ice cream even though I didn’t like chocolate,” he said, shooting Oikawa a look. “And then he ate half of mine when I wouldn’t finish it.”

 

“It was going to waste!” Oikawa protested, grinning. “And, for the record, I was trying to refine your palate.”

 

“But uncle Iwa…” Hajime blinked at him with disbelief. “Chocolate ice cream is the best.” Oikawa and Iwa shared a glance with each other before bursting into laughter. “Like father, like son.” Iwa muttered, his grin widening.

 

As Oikawa flipped through the pages, the photos began to shift. The awkward school uniforms and classroom smiles gave way to images of jerseys, kneepads, and volleyball courts. The timeline of their friendship unfolded like a storybook, each snapshot another chapter in their lives. Practice sessions, team huddles, and blurry action shots captured their youth.

 

Then, Oikawa’s hand stilled on a page, his lips curling into a soft, nostalgic smile. “Here it is,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against the edges of a photograph. It was a photo of their first official match. Oikawa stood in the center, his face a mixture of determination and excitement, his arms raised mid-set. Iwaizumi was a blur of motion nearby, his muscles tense as he prepared to spike. The court lights cast dramatic shadows around them, highlighting their youthful intensity.

 

Hajime leaned closer, his eyes wide with wonder. “Daddy, that’s you? You look so cool!” he exclaimed, pointing at the image. Oikawa chuckled, his gaze lingering on the photo. “It was our first real game as a team,” he said, his voice quiet almost reverent.

“Were you the best, Daddy?” Hajime asked earnestly, his wide eyes brimming with curiosity. Oikawa let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh no, buddy. I wasn’t the best. Not by a long shot.” He glanced at Iwa with a small smile. “I wasn’t a genius or anything. I had to work hard. I stayed after practice, watched hours of footage, drilled the basics until my hands hurt.”

Iwa nodded, his expression softening as he chimed in. “Don’t let him fool you though. He wasn’t the fastest or the strongest back then, but he had something special. He saw things no one else could—how the game flowed, where everyone should be. He turned chaos into plays that worked. He turned us into a team.”

 

“And Uncle Iwa?” Hajime asked, tilting his head. “What about you?” Oikawa’s grin turned playful as he looked at Iwa. “Oh, your Uncle Iwa? He was the muscle. Like I said, tough, scary and loud.”

 

“Hey!” Iwa protested, his brows furrowing. though his lips twitched into a smile. “I was only tough when you needed it. Need I remind you the days I had to stop you from pulling three-a-day practices until you dropped?” He scoffed.

“That’s different!” Oikawa protested, though his voice softened. “I was just... making sure I could keep up. I had to work harder if I wanted to match some of those guys talent.”

 

“And you did,” Iwa admitted, his tone dropping into something warmer, quieter. “No one worked harder than you, Tooru. But sometimes, you needed someone to tell you to take a break, and to remind you that volleyball’s a team sport.” He turned to Hajime with a smile. “That’s how your dad got a lot of yelling. Someone had to keep your dad in line. If I hadn’t, he’d have tried to win every match all by himself.”

 

Hajime giggled, his small hands resting on the edge of the table. “Daddy, you tried to do it all by yourself?”

 

“Not all the time,” Oikawa admitted in defeat. “But I learned. Eventually.”

 

“Yeah, because I was yelling at you every practice,” Iwa added, his voice warm with fondness. “But hey, he listened. And once we found our rhythm, we made a pretty good team.”

 

“The best,” Oikawa said, ruffling Hajime’s hair. He looked into Iwa’s eyes lovingly. “Your Uncle Iwa was dependable. If I gave him the ball, I knew he’d score. He always had my back.” There was a moment of silence between them, warmth blooming like a steady flame.  “We didn’t win everything, but we always gave it everything we had.” He whispered.

 

“And sometimes,” Iwa added, his tone softer now, “that’s more than enough.”

 

Oikawa glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking growing louder in the quiet moments between their words. “It’s getting late,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the stillness. Iwa followed his gaze to the clock, his smile fading just slightly as reality settled back in. “Yeah…” He murmured, a weight settling on his chest.

 

Oikawa brushed a hand through Hajime’s hair. He looked down at his son, his expression softening. “We should get going. Don’t want to keep Uncle Iwa from his flight.” Hajime sat up a little straighter. “Already?” he asked, his voice small but heavy with disappointment.

 

Iwa smiled, ruffling Hajime’s hair. “Yeah, champ. But you’re coming with me to say goodbye, right?”Hajime nodded, his expression a mix of determination and sadness. Oikawa stood, his movements brisk but careful as he offered Hajime a hand. “Let’s get our shoes on, okay? We’ll make sure Uncle Iwa gets there safe.”

 

Iwa watched as they moved toward the door, his chest tightening with a familiar ache. He took a deep breath, rising to follow them. The photo albums, the laughter, the memories—all of it felt like a tether he didn’t want to cut, but the clock didn’t stop for anyone.

 

It was time.

 

They slid into the car, the doors clicking shut with quiet finality. Oikawa drove, his hands steady on the wheel as he guided them through the dimly lit streets of Buenos Aires. The rhythmic swish of tires against the pavement filled the silence, blending with the sound of the engine.

 

Hajime sat in the backseat, his head resting against the side of his booster seat as he gazed out the window, his expression thoughtful but quiet. Iwaizumi stole a glance from Oikawa whose usual gleeful features had been replaced with something calmer, quieter.

 

For a while, no one spoke. It wasn’t until the glow of the airport lights appeared in the distance that Oikawa finally broke the silence. “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice soft but steady. He kept his eyes on the road, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

 

Hajime shifted in his seat, his little hands clutching the edges of the armrests. “Uncle Iwa,” he said quietly, his voice breaking the stillness. “Do you have to leave right away? Iwaizumi turned slightly in his seat to meet Hajime’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, champ,” he said, his tone warm but tinged with regret. “But we’ll see each other again soon. I promise.” Hajime nodded, his lips pressing into a small, determined line. “Okay,” he said simply, though his voice wavered just enough to betray his feelings.

 

Oikawa tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his fingers flexing and releasing as he turned into the airport’s parking area. The bright terminal lights flooded the car, chasing away the shadows of the night. Iwa took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was coming next.

 

Oikawa pulled into the parking lot, navigating to a space near the terminal entrance.The car slowed to a stop, the engine fading into silence. The stillness felt heavy, the finality of the moment sinking in. “Alright,” Oikawa said finally, his voice quiet but resolute. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Let’s get moving.”

 

Iwaizumi stepped out, the cool night air hitting him as he circled to the trunk. Oikawa joined him, lifting the hatch and pulling out the neatly packed suitcase. They worked in silence, the sound of the wheels clicking into place breaking the stillness.

 

Hajime clambered out of his seat, his little feet hitting the pavement with a soft thud. He hugged a small stuffed dinosaur to his chest—a last-minute grab from the living room—and stuck close to Oikawa’s side as they walked toward the terminal.

 

Inside, travelers hurried by, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors of the airport, announcements being made in several languages. Oikawa led the way, his hand resting lightly on Hajime’s shoulder, while Iwaizumi wheeled the suitcase beside him.

 

The line at the baggage drop was short, and they reached the counter quickly. Iwa placed the suitcase on the scale, the attendant checking his ticket and attaching the luggage tag with swiftly. Hajime watched the process intently, his big brown eyes tracking every movement.

 

When the suitcase disappeared down the conveyor belt, Hajime frowned, his little brows furrowing. “Where’s it going?” he asked, tugging on Iwaizumi’s sleeve.

 

“They will place it in the same plane as me,” Iwa explained gently, crouching to meet Hajime’s gaze. “So when I get back to Japan, it’ll be there waiting for me.” Hajime nodded slowly, his grip on his stuffed toy tightening.

 

Oikawa’s gaze flickered to Iwa, a flicker of emotion crossing his face before he glanced away. A small sigh escaped his mouth, as he placed a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “Let’s walk uncle Iwa to security, champ.” Hajime nodded again, his small feet padding alongside them as they made their way through the terminal.

The walk to the security line was quiet, the moment suffocating them like a heavy blanket. Oikawa kept his hand on Hajime’s shoulder, as they neared the inevitable goodbye. Oikawa’s chest felt tight, his throat constricting as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, his jaw set in determination. He wouldn’t cry.

 

When they reached the edge of the security checkpoint, Iwaizumi crouched down to Hajime’s level. His hands rested firmly on the boy’s small shoulders, steadying him. “Alright, champ,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve got to go now. But we’ll see each other again soon. I promise.”

 

Hajime nodded, his lips pressed into a small, brave line. “Okay, Uncle Iwa,” he said quietly, his voice trembling just slightly. He leaned forward, wrapping his small arms tightly around Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwa pulled him close, kissing the top of his head with a tenderness that made Oikawa’s chest ache. “Be good, alright?” Iwa murmured.

 

“I will,” Hajime whispered, his voice muffled against Iwa’s shoulder. 

 

Reluctantly, Iwa released him and stood, his gaze shifting to Oikawa. For a moment, neither of them moved, their eyes locked in an unspoken exchange of emotions too heavy for words. Then, Iwa stepped closer, his hands sliding to Oikawa’s waist as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he whispered against his ear, the words carrying a promise, a reassurance.

 

Oikawa nodded, his hands gripping the front of Iwa’s jacket. “I love you too,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. He pulled back just enough to look into Iwa’s eyes. “You’ll come back.”

 

“I will,” Iwa said, his voice steady. “This time, it’s temporary. You know that.” Oikawa nodded again, his lips trembling. “I know.” He pulled him into a tight hug, burying his face against Iwa’s shoulder as he fought to keep the tears at bay. They held on, clinging to each other as if letting go would shatter them both.

 

Finally, Iwa pulled back, his hands lingering on Oikawa’s arms as he gave him a small, reassuring smile. He looked down at Hajime, ruffled his hair one last time, and then turned toward the security line.

 

Oikawa stood frozen, watching him go. His vision blurred as tears welled up, slipping free despite his best efforts. Silent sobs shook his shoulders as he crouched down and picked Hajime up. The little boy looked up at him, his small hand reaching out to wipe a tear from Oikawa’s cheek. “Don’t cry, Dad,” Hajime said softly, his innocent words gentle and sweet.

 

Oikawa kissed the top of Hajime’s head, holding him close as he pressed his cheek against the boy’s soft hair. “I’ll try, buddy,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He realized Iwa had turned to look at them from the security line. He waved at him with Hajime and tried to force a smile but it fell short.

Ahead, Iwa had turned just before entering the line. His eyes fell on Oikawa, Hajime in his arms, tears streaking his face as Hajime wiped them away. The sight made Iwa stop in his tracks, his heart clenching painfully. For a second, he just stood there. Then, with sudden determination, he stepped out of the line and started walking back.

 

Oikawa looked up, startled as Iwa approached back at them. Iwa said nothing, only pulling them both into a tight embrace. Hajime squeaked as he was squished between them, but he giggled, his small arms wrapping around Iwa’s neck. “I love you both so much,” Iwa said, his voice trembling as he kissed Hajime’s cheek, then Oikawa’s temple. He pulled back just enough to kiss Oikawa again, this time slower, more deliberate. “No crying, okay?” he whispered against Oikawa’s lips. “I promise, we’ll be okay.” Oikawa nodded, a small smile curling on his lips.

 

Iwa turned to Hajime, his expression softening. “Take care of your dad for me champ, alright?” Hajime nodded solemnly, his small chest puffing up with determination. “I promise, Uncle Iwa!” he declared. “One last hug,” Iwa said with a grin, scooping them both into his arms. Oikawa laughed despite himself, the sound warm and shaky. “Alright, alright,” he said, his voice lighter now. “Go, before you miss your flight.”

 

This time, as Iwa stepped away, they stood together, watching him with smiles instead of tears. Hajime waved enthusiastically, and Oikawa managed a small, genuine smile that reached his eyes. Iwa turned once more at the security line, raising a hand in a parting wave. They waved back, their silhouettes framed by the warm light of the terminal.

 

As he disappeared beyond the checkpoint, Oikawa wrapped his arms around Hajime, holding him close. “We’ll be okay,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. For the first time in a long time, he let himself believe it.

Chapter 27: The Inkscription

Summary:

Some marks fade. Others are written deep, permanent, deliberate. This is one of those.

Notes:

Welcome to another 21k-word ride lol.

I tried bolding the words I thought they'd emphasize speaking in this chapter. Not sure if it actually works, but hey, worth a shot.

Have fun reading!

The day after Iwaizumi left, Bokuto found himself strolling through the quieter streets of Tokyo after practice. His muscles ached pleasantly, the kind of soreness that came with a good day on the court, and he decided to treat himself to something warm to drink. The crisp autumn air nipped at his cheeks, but he didn’t mind. Tokyo in autumn was one of his favorite things.

 

It had been a good week. No, a great week. Between practice, spending time with Akaashi, and seeing Iwa off, life felt…right. His chest swelled at the thought of Akaashi, his first love, somehow rolled back into his life without Bokuto even realizing it. And everything felt just natural.

 

As he turned a corner, the faint scent of coffee caught his attention.Spotting a familiar café, Bokuto stepped inside and ordered his go-to drink and settled into a seat by the window.

 

The ache in his muscles settled into the background as he leaned back, cradling the hot drink in his hands. Outside, the city was lively—cars honking, people moving briskly under the crisp autumn sky. It was one of those rare moments where he didn’t have anywhere to be or anything demanding his attention. He could just be.

 

Bokuto pulled out his phone, his fingers scrolling through messages until he landed on his thread with Akaashi. His lips quirked into a smile as he reread their exchange from earlier: "Just finished practice! Hope your day’s going great!” Akaashi’s response was as understated as always:

 

"Thank you. You too.”

 

Short and polite, Bokuto could almost hear Akaashi’s voice saying it. He didn’t need long texts to feel close to Akaashi. The guy could say so much with so little. It was just one of the things Bokuto admired about him. Smiling to himself, Bokuto typed a quick update before taking a sip of his latte:

 

"Grabbing coffee. Don’t work too hard, okay?”

 

He didn’t expect a reply—Akaashi was probably neck-deep in work—but sending the message made him feel better. Satisfied, he slid his phone into his pocket and let his gaze wander. Across the street, something caught his eye: a tattoo shop. Bright pink led shop sign stood out against the surrounding storefronts. As Bokuto watched, a customer walked out, their arm bandaged, adjusting the jacket they were carrying, and turned down the street.

 

His thoughts drifted to Akaashi once again. To Akaashi’s tattoos specifically. The tattoos that marked his boyfriend’s skin were intricate and beautiful. They were small works of art that seemed almost at odds with Akaashi’s quiet, composed, understated nature. His quiet boyfriend did not give off the vibe of a tattooed individual. The first time Bokuto saw them, he had been in complete shock.

 

Akaashi had explained Bokuto that he had gotten them to hide the scars left on his skin. Before, Bokuto liked the designs, but learning that only made him love them more. He admired Akaashi’s choice to carry his pain so gracefully and turn it into something beautiful.

 

Tattoos were permanent. They were a commitment etched into the skin. Akaashi wouldn’t have taken that decision lightly, especially considering the troubles he got living in Japan as a tattooed man. He would still wear long sleeves in the excruciating summer heat going to work. Bath houses were really rigid about them. He couldn’t even go to public gyms with Bokuto without running into problems. After hanging out with him enough, Bokuto realized he found solutions to most everything he had encountered. Nonetheless, the determination it took was something else. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, the way Akaashi’s tattoos seemed to belong to him, like they were a part of his story and the way Akaashi committed to this story.

 

And then the idea hit him. What if I got one?

 

His pulse quickened. A tattoo. Something meaningful. Permanent. The thought made him sit up straighter. What would I get? It had to be something he wouldn’t regret, something that mattered more than anything. Something he could commit.

 

The answer came almost immediately. Akaashi.

 

Bokuto grinned, his heart thumping in his chest. Of course. It wasn’t even a question. Akaashi was the most important person in his life. He was his best friend, the love of his life and just a piece of him now. A tattoo of Akaashi’s name wasn’t even a romantic gesture. It was right.  Without hesitation, Bokuto stood, tossing his empty coffee cup into the trash as he crossed the street.

The glass door jingled softly as Bokuto stepped inside. A tattoo machine buzzed from somewhere deeper in the shop, blending with the a lo-fi playlist playing over the speakers. The air smelled sharp, like antiseptic , and the space was cleaner than Bokuto had expected. The polished floors and neatly arranged designs on the walls were giving it a professional feel.

 

Behind the counter, a tattoo artist looked up. She was in her thirties, her arms sleeved in vibrant, intricate ink that disappeared beneath her rolled-up shirt. Her hair was cropped short and dyed a fiery red, and her sharp eyes flicked over Bokuto, sizing him up. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice light and calm.

 

“I want to get a tattoo,” Bokuto said, his grin wide and unmistakably excited.

 

The artist’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze moving over his arms and neck, which were bare and obviously not tattooed. She artist raised an eyebrow. “First one?”

 

“Yeah,” Bokuto admitted, his grin softening as a touch of nervous energy crept in. “Okay,” she said slowly, crossing her arms. “What are you thinking?”

 

Bokuto hesitated. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. “Uh… well, I don’t know…  Maybe an owl?” He seemed to talk to himself for a second. “Yeah… I could get that for the gift he got me in high school.” He trailed off talking to himself, unsure how to explain the thought swirling in his head.

 

The artist blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You don’t know?” she repeated in clear disbelief. Bokuto looked at her for a moment, as if trying to gauge her reaction, but before he could respond, she continued.“I can’t tattoo you.” She said, her voice carrying a warning tone. “This is your first tattoo, and it shouldn’t come lightly. If you don’t even know the design yet, you should go think about it. And if you’re serious, come back. Otherwise…” She shrugged, her voice firm. “You’ll regret it.”

 

“I won’t regret it!” Bokuto said, his voice loud and sudden enough to make the artist flinch slightly.

 

He slammed both hands on the counter, his golden eyes bright and filled with conviction. “It’s for the most important person in my life.” His voice softened just slightly as he added, “He’s my best friend and my heart and…”

 

For a moment, Bokuto trailed off, his expression faraway. And then, like someone had flipped a switch, his face lit up with a grin so wide it seemed to brighten the room. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. “I want his name! Right here!” He tapped his chest, over his heart. “Akaashi Keiji. Across my chest. On top of my heart.”

 

The artist blinked, clearly stunned by the sudden outburst. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “You want his…name? On your chest?”

 

“Exactly, It’s perfect!” Bokuto said, nodding enthusiastically.

 

“You’re sure?”she asked, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter.

“Completely,” Bokuto said without hesitation. The artist narrowed her eyes again, studying him carefully. “You don’t think you’ll regret it in, say, five years? Or if you break up?”

 

“I’ve spent years finding my way back to him. He means everything to me.” Bokuto said, his voice steady now. “There is just no way I’d regret it. It’s right. I know it is..”

 

The artist let out a soft sigh, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the faintest hint of warmth. “Alright.” she said, shaking her head. “You’re a total trip, dude.”

 

Bokuto grinned, undeterred. “So… you’ll do it?”

 

“I’ll do it,” she said, motioning for him to follow. “But don’t blame me if you end up in tears.”

 

Bokuto followed her to a chair in the back, his excitement bubbling over again. The artist pulled out a sketchpad, sitting down across from him. “Let’s start with the design,” she said. “What are you thinking for the font?”

 

“Something elegant,” Bokuto said thoughtfully. “But not too fancy. Like something timeless. Something that’ll always look good.”

 

She nodded, her pencil moving across the paper with practiced ease. Bokuto watched as the letters began to take shape, a beautiful, flowing script. His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the needle he was about to endure.

When she turned the sketch toward him, Bokuto’s breath caught. “That’s perfect,” he said softly. “You’re sure?” she asked again, her voice gentler now. “Completely,” he said, his grin returning.

 

“Okay,” the artist said as she pulled on a pair of gloves. “Take off your shirt and sit back in the chair.” Bokuto nodded, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the nearby counter. The cool air brushed over his skin, and he leaned back, feeling a little exposed. The artist glanced at him, her sharp eyes taking in the defined muscles across his chest and shoulders.

 

“Damn dude,” she said sounding surprised. “You’re ripped. Are you in the gym nonstop?”

 

Bokuto grinned, the compliment cutting through his nerves. “Volleyball,” he replied proudly. “I play professionally for the MSBY Jackals.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “No kidding? Really?”

 

“Yep,” Bokuto replied, puffing out his chest a little. “Been playing since high school.” The artist nodded, turning to her station to prepare the machine. “That explains the build. Volleyball, huh? Must be intense.

 

“It is,” Bokuto said, his grin widening. “But it’s worth it. Best sport in the world.” She chuckled softly, pulling out the tattoo gun and attaching the needle. The buzzing of the machine filled the room as it powered on, and Bokuto’s grin faltered slightly. His eyes fixed on the buzzing needle with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “All right, big guy,” she said, her tone playful. “You ready?”

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Bokuto replied, trying to sound confident even as his heart raced a little. The artist moved closer, gently pressing her gloved hand against his chest to stretch the skin taut.  Bokuto held his breath as the needle came closer. The buzzing grew louder, and the first prick of the needle sent a sharp jolt through his chest. He flinched, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair.

 

“Not so bad, right?” she said, glancing up at him with a smirk. Bokuto exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ve felt worse.”

 

As she worked, Bokuto started to adjust to the steady rhythm of the needle pressing into his skin. The pain was sharp but manageable, and he distracted himself by talking. “So… how long have you been doing this?” he asked, his voice lighter now that he wasn’t focused on the sting.

 

“About ten years,” she replied, her eyes fixed on her work. “I’ve done a lot of pieces, but I’ll admit, this one’s a little unusual. You don’t see a lot of guys coming in asking for a name without even knowing what to get or where to get it.”

 

Bokuto laughed softly. “Yeah, well, he’s worth it. He’s my best friend and…” He paused, his smile softening. “My everything.”

 

The artist glanced up briefly, her expression unreadable. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

 

“You have no idea,” Bokuto said with a chuckle. They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the buzz of the tattoo gun filling the space. Then, suddenly, the artist stopped, her head tilting as she looked at him more closely. A slow grin spread across her face.

 

“Wait a second,” she said, her tone teasing. “I thought you looked familiar. I think I might have seen you on the TV. Did you play for the national team? Man, that was a hell of a game.”

 

Bokuto blinked, his grin turning sheepish. “Uh… yeah. I did. Played as a wing spiker.”

 

“You were incredible!” She said and paused glancing down to her work momentarily.  “This is gonna give you trouble in Japan. Especially since you’re in front of public eye and all that. You know that, right?”

 

Bokuto shrugged, completely unfazed. “I don’t care about any of that,” he said. “This is for Akaashi. Nothing else matters.”

 

The artist glanced up at him this time her expression softening. “How sweet..” She said softly before resuming her work. The gun buzzed steadily as she worked, the needle pressing into Bokuto’s skin with precise movements.

 

He focused on the rhythmic movements of the artist’s hand, the way she wiped away ink and blood with practiced ease before continuing her work. The sensation was strange—sharp, constant, vibrating. Occasionally, she leaned back to check her progress, pausing the gun and resumed. Bokuto kept his breathing steady, refusing to show any sign of discomfort.

 

When the buzzing finally stopped, the artist leaned back and wiped the fresh ink clean one last time. “All done,” she said, setting the machine aside. She handed him a mirror, her expression calm but satisfied. “Take a look.”

 

Bokuto sat up slowly, his chest still stinging as he took the mirror in his hands. His breath caught as he stared at the script etched over his heart: Akaashi Keiji. The letters were elegant yet bold, perfectly capturing the strength and beauty he associated with Akaashi. “It’s…” He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s perfect.”

 

The artist gave him a small smile. “Let me put the second skin and get you the aftercare instructions.”

Bokuto listened carefully as she applied the adhesive film on his chest, and explained how to care for the tattoo, nodding along and committing every word to memory. When he finally stepped outside into the crisp autumn air, his chest ached from the fresh ink, but his heart felt full.

 

This is for you, Akaashi Keiji, he thought, a grin spreading across his face. I hope you love it as much as I do.

 

Bokuto’s heart was racing inside his chest from the thrill of imagining Akaashi’s reaction. It had to be perfect. Tonight had to be perfect. On a whim, he decided to make a special dinner and headed to the market to pick up fresh ingredients.

 

He chose a beautifully marbled cut of wagyu beef, delicate mushrooms, and asparagus to finish with. For dessert, he picked up a jar of golden yuzu curd, already envisioning the tangy cheesecake it would become. And, he splurged on a full-bodied Shiraz, hoping it would complement the richness of the meal. With his bag full and excitement bubbling in his chest, Bokuto set off for Akaashi’s apartment, a grin tugging at his lips.

 

Bokuto fished the key out of his pocket as he reached Akaashi’s apartment door. The key turned smoothly, and he stepped inside. The familiar scent of old paperbacks and jasmine tea embraced him like a warm welcome. He set the bag carefully on the counter, his grin widening as he surveyed the cozy space. It felt like home—or at least, the closest thing to it.

 

He tied a borrowed apron around his waist and got to work, starting with the cheesecake. He wasn’t a pro baker, but the baking shows he had been watching lately had been inspiring lately. He mixed crushed crackers with melted butter for the crust, pressing it into a small springform pan with the back of a spoon until it was smooth and even.

 

Satisfied, he moved on to the filling, carefully whisking cream cheese until it was smooth before adding the rest of the ingredients, and the golden yuzu curd. The tangy citrus aroma filled the kitchen as Bokuto poured the mixture over the crust. Setting the pan on freezer to cool, he couldn’t help but stare at it for a moment, a swell of pride in his chest. “Cheesecake check,” he murmured to himself, grinning.

 

With the hard part done, Bokuto had some time to breathe before Akaashi’s usual arrival. He leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone for a bit before standing straight again, energy bubbling back to the surface. He rinsed the asparagus, patting it dry and setting it aside. The wagyu glistened as he laid it on the cutting board, seasoning it lightly with salt and pepper. Slicing through the mushrooms, he felt the tension of the day melting into focus. Everything was coming together.

 

As the clock ticked closer to Akaashi’s return, the apartment was alive with the scents of fresh ingredients and warm candlelight. Bokuto opened the bottle of wine to let it breathe and set the table with care, folding napkins neatly and arranging the plates just so. Stepping back to survey the setup, he felt a rush of pride. Grinning, Bokuto glanced at the door, his chest thrumming with anticipation. You’re going to love this, Akaashi.

 

The sound of a key in the lock made Bokuto’s heart leap. He hurried to the door, tugging nervously at the apron strings tied around his waist. When the door opened, Akaashi stepped inside, his posture weighed down, his shoulders slumped, and a faint weariness shadowing his usually calm expression. He looked drained, as though the day had been more than just long.

 

“Welcome home,” Bokuto said softly, his voice carrying the kind of warmth he reserved just for Akaashi.

 

Akaashi blinked at him, his tired gaze slowly lifting to meet Bokuto’s. For a moment, he didn’t speak, his eyes scanning the sight before him—Bokuto standing there in an apron, the faint scents of charred asparagus and something rich coming from the kitchen. And then his gaze drifted further, landing on the softly lit dining table behind him. The flicker of candles reflected in Akaashi’s eyes as his brows lifted slightly.

 

“Did you… do all this?” Akaashi asked, his voice quiet but touched with surprise. Bokuto grinned, his hand waving dismissively, though his chest swelled with pride. “It’s nothing. Just wanted to do something nice for you.” He leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss against Akaashi’s lips, a gesture full of affection and quiet devotion.

 

Akaashi exhaled softly, his features softening as the tension of the day began to slip away. “It’s not nothing,” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of gratitude.

 

“Well, everything’s ready and waiting,” Bokuto said brightly, his hands moving to Akaashi’s shoulders in a comforting squeeze. “You just go take a quick shower, and I’ll put the wagyu on the grill. By the time you’re out, dinner’ll be perfect.”

 

Akaashi nodded, a small smile finally tugging at his lips. “Thank you, Kou,” he said simply, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the quiet. Bokuto grinned wider, his golden eyes lighting up. “Go on, I’ve got this.”

 

Without another word, Akaashi headed toward the bathroom, and Bokuto turned back to the kitchen, already moving with practiced efficiency. His heart felt lighter knowing that the weight Akaashi had carried in with him was already starting to lift. This is going to be perfect, he thought, his excitement bubbling up again as he laid the steak onto the preheated pan.

 

Akaashi emerged from the bathroom with the warmth of the shower washing away the weariness of the day. He’d changed into something simple but thoughtful, a crisp shirt and his linen pants. He walked into the dining area, his damp hair falling lightly over his forehead, and found Bokuto plating the final touches of the meal. Bokuto looked up as Akaashi approached, his face lighting up instantly. “Keiji, you look great!”

 

Akaashi smiled, warmth softening his expression as he approached. Bokuto glanced down at himself, suddenly self-conscious. “Now I feel underdressed. I’m literally wearing what I wore to practice.” His voice carried an awkward edge, like he regretted not putting in more effort.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You could wear a burlap sack and still look good.” Akaashi said smoothly, pulling his chair to sit down. “I’ll admit you kinda look your sexiest in sweats.” He added, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly.

 

Bokuto blinked, caught off guard, his chest loosening into a grin. “Really?”

 

“Really,” Akaashi confirmed simply, slipping into his chair.

 

The candlelight caught Bokuto’s relieved smile as he straightened up a little taller. He brought the plates to the table, arranging everything with care. “Dinner is served,” he said, stepping back with a theatrical bow.

 

Akaashi glanced at the beautifully plated wagyu, rice, and charred asparagus, the aroma alone making him exhale in quiet appreciation. But before he could pick up his fork, his gaze drifted up to Bokuto, standing beside him, watching with a mix of anticipation and joy. Akaashi’s lips parted slightly, as though the words had slipped out without him thinking.

 

“I love you,” he said softly.

 

Bokuto froze momentarily, his eyes widening. Akaashi rarely said those words first, but when he did, it hit Bokuto like a hurricane. Inside his chest, his heart skipped a beat. “I love you too,” Bokuto said, his voice uncharacteristically tender before it bubbled over with joy. “So much! You have no idea.”

 

The sheer enthusiasm in his tone made Akaashi laugh softly, the corners of his lips curling into a rare, genuine smile. Bokuto tapped on the table expectantly. “Well, you gotta eat and tell me if it’s good!”

 

Bokuto practically buzzed with energy as Akaashi picked up his fork and took a bite. Akaashi chewed thoughtfully, his expression calm but unmistakably pleased. “Tastes like a piece of heaven,” he deadpanned such poetic words but his tone sincere.

 

Bokuto’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his chest swelling with pride. “That’s the best feeling ever!” he said, practically bouncing in his seat. He poured Akaashi a glass of the Shiraz. The meal unfolded leisurely, the wine flowing smoothly and their conversation following an easy rhythm. 

 

“How was work today?” Bokuto asked, his tone soft but genuinely curious. “Exhausting,” Akaashi admitted, his fingers tracing the stem of his wineglass. “There was a last-minute change, and I ended up rewriting an entire section. The deadline’s close, and the author…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Let’s just say they have a unique style.”

 

“Sounds rough,” Bokuto said, frowning slightly.

 

“It’s not so bad,” Akaashi replied. “I think they’re starting to trust me more. That helps.”

 

“Well, they’d better trust you! You’re the best.” Akaashi shook his head with a small smile. “Flattery won’t get you out of dish duty, Kou.” Bokuto laughed, holding his hands up. “Fair enough. But I’m serious. You’re amazing at what you do. I don’t know how you juggle all that.”

 

“I could say the same about you,” Akaashi replied, his voice thoughtful. “How was practice?”

 

“Oh, it was great!” Bokuto said, his eyes lighting up. “We ran drills all morning, and Sakusa actually said my blocking was solid today. Can you believe that? And Hinata—he’s like a human firecracker right now. But man, I was on. If we play like this next week, no one’s stopping us.”

 

Akaashi’s smile grew a little wider, his gaze steady. “I don’t doubt it for a second. You’re in top form lately.”

 

“That’s ‘cause of you,” Bokuto said, his voice dropping slightly. “You keep me steady, I can perform when you’re around.” He continued, his golden eyes shining with sincerity. For a moment, Akaashi looked like he didn’t know how to respond, the weight of Bokuto’s words sinking in. Finally, he gave a small nod. “I think you give me too much credit. It’s all you.” he said softly.

 

“Not possible, it’s always been you. Even in high school.” Bokuto said, grinning.

 

Akaashi set down his glass of wine. “Kou, you were remarkable back then too… You had the power within yourself. I was just next to you.” He said, a faint smile lingering on his lips as he glanced across the table. 

 

Bokuto shook his head vehemently as if Akaashi said something scandalous.  “Do you remember that match against Itachiyama?” Bokuto asked, grinning wide. “You know, the one where I completely lost it before the game even started?”

 

Akaashi tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking in a faint smile. “Which one? That wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence.”

 

“Hey!” Bokuto scowled a moment. “Okay, fair, but you know the one I mean,” Bokuto said, leaning forward slightly. “The regional quarterfinals. I served three balls straight into the net during warm-ups. I was pacing like a madman on the sidelines, freaking out about losing my rhythm. I was already spiraling. You remember?”

 

Akaashi nodded with a grin. “Yeah, I remember that,” he said simply.“You were pacing so much I thought you were trying to wear out the gym floor as a strategy.”

 

Bokuto let out a loud laugh, clutching his chest.“ Yeah! But, then you came over,” Bokuto continued, his grin faltering slightly as his voice grew quieter. “You didn’t yell at me. You didn’t tell me to ‘get it together’ or anything.You just stood there with that look. You know the one. The ‘I don’t have time for this, Bokuto-san’ look and then talked me out of it.”

 

“I think I just said, ‘If you keep pacing, you’re going to give yourself a leg cramp before the match even starts,’” Akaashi replied, deadpan.

 

“Yeah, yeah, exactly!” Bokuto said, slapping the table. “And it worked! I stopped. Just like that.” He paused, his laughter softening into a fond smile. “I don’t know how you did it. But you always pulled me back into my senses before I spiraled.”

 

“Well, I thought about letting you spiral once or twice, but then I realized we’d still be in that gym to this day.” Akaashi replied without missing a beat, taking another sip of wine.

 

Bokuto froze for a second, staring at Akaashi. Then he burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. “Akaashi Keiji, you are so mean to your senpai!” He protested still laughing. “But seriously, you were always there. No matter how bad it got, you always snapped me out of it.”

 

“Kou, I’d just say something that would distract you.” Akaashi said, setting his glass down with a faint smile. “It was nothing.”

 

“See, that’s the thing!” Bokuto said, his voice softening as he leaned back. “You always made it sound so simple, like it was no big deal. But it was. It absolutely was…” He said his grin widening. “You didn’t just keep me grounded during matches… you were always there. Outside volleyball too… Still, making it sound so simple at the same time… I don’t know how you did, but you never gave up on me when no one else could stand me.”

 

Bokuto reached for his glass, swirling the wine thoughtfully before setting it down again. “I don’t think I ever said it, but… thank you. For sticking with me, always. Friendships don’t come easy to me.”

 

“What?” Akaashi tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing faintly. “That’s the first time I’m hearing this. You’re charming. Everyone loves you.”

 

The grin faded from Bokuto’s face, his golden eyes lowering as his fingers brushed against the stem of his glass. For a moment, he was silent, the shift in his mood settling heavily in the room. Finally, he looked up, his expression softer, more resigned. “No,” he said quietly, shaking his head.  “They don’t. And that’s okay.”

 

Akaashi’s confusion deepened, his voice firm but puzzled. “Please, enlighten me.”

 

Bokuto let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “People like me,” he said. “They like having me around in group settings, when I’m the guy bringing energy to the room. But that’s all it ever is, really. Close friendships? Intimacy?” He shrugged lightly, his voice softening. “I never really had those. Not really. Not before you.”

 

Akaashi’s chest tightened as he stared at Bokuto, his calm expression faltering at the quiet resignation in his voice. “ Kou,” Akaashi murmured, leaning forward slightly, “why would you think that?”

 

“Because it’s true.” Bokuto met his gaze, a grim expression appeared on his face as he forced a grin. “There is something deeply wrong with me.” Bokuto gave a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head.“You think I haven’t thought about this?” He followed almost immediately, his voice low, almost bitter and took a deep breath. “I know how I am. I’m loud. I’m overwhelming. People like me at first. They laugh, they have fun, but no one stays. No one asks me to hang out one-on-one. No one invites me to the quiet things. Just the parties, the big group stuff. That’s all I am. Fun in small doses.”

 

Akaashi’s chest tightened, his fingers curling lightly around the stem of his glass. “That’s not true,” he said firmly, his voice calm but insistent. “You mean so much to—”

“Akaashi.” Bokuto interrupted, his voice sharper than Akaashi had ever heard it. He had a look that said  said I dare you to finish it. The sudden change to his last name hung in the air for a moment, then Bokuto’s golden eyes, now dimmer than usual, pierced Akaashi’s eyes. “Don’t,” he said simply, his tone quiet but resolute.

 

The sudden change in the momentum stopped Akaashi in his tracks. His breath caught as he registered the shift. Bokuto was trying to create a barrier, a signal he rarely sent.  I was invalidating his feelings. Akaashi swallowed hard. He realized if he kept pushing, he’d only make it worse.

“You’re serious about this.” He said, his voice unusually quiet. His usual calm was gone, replaced by uncertainty.

Bokuto nodded, his expression unreadable but his eyes flickering with something that looked a lot like resignation. Akaashi watched Bokuto carefully, his fingers resting lightly against the stem of his wineglass. He let the silence linger for a moment, then he exhaled softly, setting his glass down.

 

“Kou,” Akaashi began, his voice calm but firm, “I hear you. I do. I realize this is something you’ve been carrying for a long time. But can I tell you how it looks from my perspective?”

 

Bokuto blinked, startled by the shift in Akaashi’s tone. “Of course,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly.

 

“For me,” Akaashi said, folding his hands on the table, “it’s always been the exact opposite of what you described. Whenever I talked about you to someone—whether it was teammates, friends, or even my parents—I’d always tell them the same thing. That you were the person who brought everyone together.” 

 

Bokuto tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Together?”

 

“Yes,” Akaashi said with a small nod. “You led by example, even when you didn’t realize it. On the court, you didn’t just give your best; you inspired the rest of us to give our best too. It wasn’t just about volleyball. It was the way you carried yourself… always so full of energy, so full of life. I always thought you were a star. Bright and out of reach. You guided people. everyone relied on you.”

 

Akaashi tilted his head slightly, his expression turning thoughtful.“And I think it’s precisely because you’re a star, you’ve been feeling this.” he said simply.

 

Bokuto blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’re larger than life.” Akaashi continued, his voice steady but warm. “You’re so nice without even trying, so caring, so charming—” he emphasized the word with a faint, teasing smile, “—and on top of that, you’re successful. You shine so brightly, and that kind of light is hard for people to stand next to.”

 

Akaashi grinned with a small shake of his head. “Think about it. Volleyball is a competitive sport. A lot of people around you are just as ambitious as you are, and they’re fighting to make their own mark. But then there’s you… The one who does it all so effortlessly. The one who’s not just good, but kind, funny, charismatic and all that. That’s rare. It’s rare to see someone as good as you who’s also as genuine as you are. And only people as rare as you can handle that without feeling overshadowed. Like Kuroo, or Tooru.”

 

Bokuto frowned trying to understand Akaashi’s point. “Kuroo and Tooru, huh?” He repeated.

 

“Yeah,” Akaashi said, his smile widening slightly. “Kuroo for example… He doesn’t care about anything. He’ll push through any dynamic to get what he wants. And Tooru? He’s the opposite. He’s open, honest, just as successful and also bold enough to speak freely. That’s why they’ve stuck around. They’re part of that rare group of people who can keep up with you.”

 

Bokuto blinked, his golden eyes wide. “I’ve… never thought about it like that,” he admitted quietly.

 

Akaashi reached across the table, resting his hand lightly over Bokuto’s. “You’re not too much, Kou. You’re just you. And the people who really care about you… they don’t want less of you. They want everything. Just like I do.”

 

For a moment, Bokuto stared at Akaashi, his breath catching in his chest. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile broke across his face. “You always know what to say, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

 

Akaashi’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Not always. But I mean every word I said.”

 

Bokuto exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing as he gave Akaashi’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” he said, his voice steady. “Really. For always being here.”

 

“Don’t thank me for that,” Akaashi replied simply. “I’m here because I want to be. And if all else fails, I always will be.”

 

Bokuto stared at Akaashi for a long moment after his words hung in the air, his golden eyes soft and searching. Then, slowly, he leaned across the table, his fingers brushing gently against Akaashi’s jaw as he pressed a kiss to his lips.

 

It wasn’t rushed or urgent; it was deliberate, tender. Bokuto lingered just long enough for Akaashi to feel the warmth of his breath, the gentle pressure of his lips. The kiss wasn’t deep, but it was intimate in a way that sent a shiver down Akaashi’s spine, making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His breath caught before he could stop it, his chest tightening at the quiet intensity in Bokuto’s touch.

 

And then, just as easily as Bokuto had leaned in, he pulled away, his fingers trailing lightly across Akaashi’s cheek as he stood. “Stay right there,” Bokuto said, his voice soft but teasing. “Dessert’s coming up.”

 

Akaashi was frozen, still caught in the weight of that kiss, his lips parted as he watched Bokuto clear the plates. The clink of porcelain against the counter barely registered in Akaashi’s ears; all he could hear was the soft pounding of his heartbeat in the sudden quiet.

 

Bokuto returned a moment later, a triumphant grin lighting up his face as he carried two plates of the cheesecake he had painstakingly prepared. He set one in front of Akaashi before taking his own seat, then picked up a fork and cut a small, delicate bite from Akaashi’s plate. “Here,” Bokuto said, his grin softening into something almost shy. “First bite’s for you. Tell me how it is.”

 

Akaashi blinked, and opened his mouth, allowing Bokuto to feed him the bite of cheesecake. The flavors hit his tongue—creamy, rich, just the right balance of sweet and tangy. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring it, and then paused, searching for the right word.

 

When he opened his eyes again, there was the faintest hint of something mischievous in his gaze. “Orgasmic,” he said evenly, his tone so calm it almost sounded factual.

For a second, Bokuto froze, trying to comprehend what Akaashi had just said. He looked like he didn’t know what to do, blinking, cheeks flushing faintly. Then, he let out a laugh, shaking his head as he finally took a bite of the cheesecake. “You’re something else,” he said, his voice warm with affection. “Orgasmic, huh? I’m honored.”

 

They grinned at each other, a quiet understanding passing between them as they finished their dessert. When the plates were clean, Bokuto stood, gathering both their dishes as Akaashi followed him to the kitchen. They moved in sync, clearing the table and setting the dishes in the sink. Their hands brushed once or twice each time lingering a little longer, the tension between them simmering just below the surface.

 

The last dish clinked into place as Akaashi wiped his hands dry. The quiet rhythm of cleaning after their meal was comforting until Bokuto shattered it entirely.

 

Without warning, Bokuto stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Akaashi from behind, his broad chest against Akaashi’s back. The suddenness of it knocked Akaashi’s breath away as Bokuto’s hips pressed firmly into his. Bokuto buried his face in Akaashi’s neck, his lips grazing the sensitive skin there as a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat.

 

“Koutarou,” Akaashi breathed, his voice soft, but a tremor ran through it when Bokuto kissed the spot just below his ear. The sound that escaped Akaashi—a faint, involuntary mmph—sent a jolt of heat straight through Bokuto. His breath hitched, his arousal pressing unmistakably against Akaashi.

 

Akaashi stilled for a fraction of a second before he turned sharply in Bokuto’s embrace. His usually calm and measured eyes burned now, pupils blown wide. Without a word, he grabbed Bokuto by the face, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that was nothing like the tender one from earlier. This was just raw, demanding and almost primal as Akaashi backed Bokuto toward the kitchen island.

 

The countertop pressed against Bokuto’s lower back, but before he could process it, Akaashi’s hands were on his thighs, gripping him with enough force to make him gasp. Akaashi lifted him, his strength catching Bokuto completely off guard.

 

A startled laugh escaped from Bokuto’s lips,“Keiji!” He managed between gasps, his voice a mix of surprise and arousal as Akaashi set him down on the cool surface of the countertop. Bokuto’s legs parted instinctively, his hands gripping Akaashi’s shoulders for balance as their mouths crashed together again.

 

Bokuto’s hands fumbled for the buttons of Akaashi’s shirt, with increasing urgency. With each reveal of Akaashi’s tattooed chest and abs, his breathing grew more ragged, his golden eyes flickering with a mix of awe and desire. By the time the last button came undone, the shirt hung open, framing Akaashi’s lean, defined torso. Bokuto's hand lingered briefly, his thumb brushing over Akaashi’s abdomen as if committing it to memory.

 

He barely had a second to admire everything before Akaashi’s hands were at his waist, pulling his own shirt up and over his head. The fabric hit the floor with a soft thud, and Bokuto’s chest was bare, revealing the fresh ink etched over his heart.

 

For a moment, everything stopped. Akaashi froze, his hands still resting against Bokuto’s sides as his eyes locked onto the tattoo. The elegant script of Akaashi Keiji was etched across Bokuto’s chest, directly above his heart, the skin still slightly reddened from the fresh ink.

 

Time seemed to slow as Akaashi stared, his expression shifting from surprise to something deeper, something unreadable. His breath hitched audibly. “Koutarou,” Akaashi whispered, his voice hoarse. “What… is this?”

 

Bokuto swallowed hard, his golden eyes flickering with both nervousness and pride. “It’s you,” he said simply, his voice trembling slightly. “I wanted you with me. Always. So… I got it.” Akaashi’s chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his eyes never leaving the tattoo. He blinked at it a couple times as if trying to convince himself it was real.

 

“You’re unbelievable,” Akaashi said finally, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

Bokuto’s grin faltered slightly at Akaashi’s tone, his golden eyes searching Akaashi’s face for something—anything—that resembled the reaction he’d been hoping for. “K—Keiji?” he stammered, his voice wavering. It was a less-than-stellar response. Bokuto’s stomach twisted as doubt crept in, his thoughts spiraling. What’s wrong? Does he hate it? Did I spell his name wrong? Oh god, I spelled his name wrong, didn’t I? I’m horrible—

 

Before Bokuto could even voice his concerns, Akaashi stepped back sharply, his hands dropping to his sides as his calm demeanor crumbled. “What is wrong with you?” He snapped, his voice sharper than a knife.

Bokuto blinked, his mouth opening and closing, not able to find words. “What?” he managed, his voice trembling. “Keiji…What do you mean?”

 

The obliviousness of him only angered Akaashi more and raised his voice even higher. “We’ve been going out for two weeks! Two weeks! Why would you get my name tattooed on your chest?”

 

Bokuto flinched as if the words physically struck him. “I—I thought…” He faltered, his voice cracking. “I thought you’d love it.”

 

“Love it?” Akaashi repeated in cold disbelief. “Why would I love it?” He shot back. “Do you know how ridiculous this is? This is permanent! It’s not some joke or some… some grand romantic gesture. This is your body!”

 

“I know it’s my body!” Bokuto yelled, his voice rising in desperation. “That’s why I wanted your name on it. Because you’re the most important person in my life!”

 

Akaashi shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Kou, that’s the problem. We’ve barely started dating, and you’re acting like—like—”

 

“Like what, Keiji?” Bokuto interrupted, his voice raw. “Like I’m in love with you? Because I am! We know each other from high school for god’s sake. You’re the one acting like we just met.”

 

Akaashi froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly, but the shock quickly morphed into frustration. “That’s not the point! You don’t just… just do something like this without thinking it through. Did you even think about the consequences?  Do you have any idea what this is going to mean for your career? For how people see you?”

 

Bokuto stared at him, completely blindsided, not expecting Akaashi to say this out of everything. “My… career?” he echoed, his voice faint.

 

“Yes!” Akaashi said, throwing his hands up. “People will scrutinize you for this. You’ll have sponsors, fans, even your own team questioning it. And tattoos—visible tattoos—aren’t exactly accepted in Japan, Kou. This isn’t just about us; it’s about you. You’ve put yourself in a position where—”

“I don’t care about any of that!” Bokuto interrupted, his voice rising. His golden eyes burned with frustration as he leaned forward slightly, his chest heaving. “I don’t care what people think, Keiji. I don’t care about the sponsors or the fans or any of it. All I care about is you.”

 

Akaashi flinched slightly, but his resolve didn’t waver. “It’s not that simple. This is your life. You’re throwing everything away. You can’t just—”

 

“Why not?” Bokuto cut him off again, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You said you’d still be here when all else fails, didn’t you? You said you’d always be here. So why are you being like this now?”

 

Akaashi’s lips parted as if to respond, but the words caught in his throat. For the first time, uncertainty flickered in his usually steady gaze. “This has nothing to do with that,” he said finally, his voice quieter but still firm.

 

“Doesn’t it?” Bokuto said, his tone turning bitter as he swung his legs off the countertop. “Because it sure it feels like it does.”

 

“Koutarou…” Akaashi tried to interject.

 

“No,” Bokuto said, cutting him off with a raised hand. His voice trembled as he bent down, snatching his t-shirt from the floor. “I get it now. I really do.” He yanked the shirt over his head, his movements hurried and jerky.

 

The air in the room turned heavy, almost suffocating, as Akaashi’s body stiffened. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, his jaw tightening as he watched Bokuto’s every move. His voice, when it came, was low and razor-sharp, each word deliberate and laced with warning.

 

“If you’re insinuating what I think you’re insinuating…” Akaashi began, his tone dangerously calm yet the threat implicit. His eyes darkened, and the muscles in his jaw flexed as his hands curled into fists at his sides. “Say it to my face.”

 

For a moment Bokuto didn’t respond. His glare burned into Akaashi, unblinking and seething with quiet fury. Then, his voice came low and venomous. “I’m out of here.” He turned sharply, his footsteps heavy as he made his way to the door, grabbed the knob and yanked it open.

 

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the apartment like an aftershock. Akaashi stood frozen in the kitchen, his hands trembling at his sides, his chest tight with a mix of anger, hurt, and disbelief.

 

His gaze drifted to the dishes they just cleaned, the soft flicker of candlelight reflecting off their edges. What had once been warm and inviting now felt hollow, the air heavy with everything unsaid. Akaashi exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he tried to steady his breath.

 

Their first fight hung in the silence, oppressive and unshakable.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

The world didn’t pause for heartbreak. Morning came all the same. Life always carried on blind to the heaviness left behind in its shadow. For Akaashi Keiji, there was no avoiding its pull. Work awaited despite the sharp ache in his chest. Responsibilities loomed even though his thoughts were fragmented to bits. And, time marched forward, no matter how desperately he wished it might stop.

Sleep had eluded him the night before, arriving only in restless intervals. Each fleeting moment of respite was shattered by the memory of the slamming door and golden eyes looking at him filled with betrayal and hurt. By the time dawn broke through the curtains, exhaustion had already settled deep in his bones.

He rose with the same mechanical precision he’d honed over the years, his body moving out of habit rather than intent. His morning shower did little to ease the tightness in his chest or clear the fog clouding his mind. The motions of his morning—shaving, dressing, tying his tie—felt detached, like watching someone else live his life.

By the time he arrived at the office, the heaviness in his chest had yet to lift. The soft sound of the conversations, the click of keyboards, and the faint aroma of coffee brewing should have been comforting in their familiarity, but today they only added to the dissonance. His screen glowed at him, the cursor blinking expectantly on a blank document. Akaashi’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to type, but nothing came. He stared, willing the words to surface, but his mind was a storm of fragmented thoughts and emotions. His chest tightened as he struggled to find focus, the memory of golden eyes filled with hurt replaying in his mind like a cruel echo.

“Akaashi-san?” The voice startled him, and he looked up to see a junior editor standing at his desk, her expression tinged with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked, her tone tentative.

Akaashi straightened slightly, forcing a faint smile. “I’m fine, thank you,” he replied, his voice steady but distant. It was a reflex, a well-practiced response that deflected attention. The junior hesitated, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before nodding and walking away.

He turned back to the screen, his fingers tapping out a few tentative sentences. The words felt hollow, lifeless, and he deleted them almost immediately. This process repeated over and over—a few words typed, then erased—until frustration built in his chest. He clenched his jaw, his hands still hovering over the keys, before finally forcing himself to continue.

Then came the big mistake.

While reviewing a draft, he accidentally forwarded an unedited version of the manuscript to the client, complete with internal notes and unfinished comments. He realized his error too late, his stomach dropping as he stared at the sent notification on the screen. Panic surged through him as he scrambled to send a follow-up email, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts.

Moments later, his manager appeared at his desk, her tone neutral but firm. “Akaashi-san, did you mean to send this?”

The question struck like a jolt, and he nodded quickly, his cheeks heating as he stumbled through an explanation. “It was an error. I’ve sent a correction,” he said, his voice measured but tight.

“Please be more careful next time,” she replied, her words carrying a weight that sank into him despite their lack of severity. She walked away without further comment, but Akaashi felt the sting of her scrutiny long after she was gone.

He didn’t know whether he was glad when it was time to leave. The cool evening air greeted him as he stepped outside, the city bustling around him in its usual cadence. Akaashi stood for a moment, gazing at the horizon where the last traces of daylight bled into the glow of streetlights. He adjusted the strap of his bag and began walking, his thoughts trailing behind him like an unwelcome shadow.

When Akaashi stepped into his apartment, he was greeted by a silence so absolute that it felt oppressive. The absence of Bokuto’s vibrant energy, his laughter, his voice filling every corner, left the space hollow. Without Bokuto, the walls seemed to press inward, amplifying the stillness until it was almost unbearable. With a soft exhale, Akaashi moved to the living room and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV. The low murmur of a drama filled the air, and while it didn’t truly soothe him, it at least made the space feel a little less empty.

He skipped his routine shower and walked to the kitchen instead. He just wanted to get some food in his system and feel something else than emptiness. Akaashi opened the fridge to look at the ingredients he had for a simple for dinner. His hand stilled when he saw it—the cheesecake. Bokuto had made it the night before. It was sitting neatly on the shelf, still perfect. The smooth surface seemed to mock him, remnant of the perfect evening that had completely soured.

Akaashi’s appetite vanished. He stared at the cheesecake, his chest tightening, the ache beneath his ribs blooming sharper. For a moment, he stood there without knowing what to do before reaching in and pulling the dessert out.

Something substantial would have been the practical choice. But practicality didn’t seem to matter right now.  That was the only thing he was drawn to.  He placed it on the counter and he hesitated. For a fleeting moment, the thought of throwing it away crossed his mind. The idea of erasing it, of erasing Bokuto’s touch. It was painful, but so was keeping it.

He made this for me. Before he could second-guess himself, he picked up the plate, and grabbed a fork. Balancing the cheesecake in one hand, he moved to the couch. He sank onto the cushions, letting the plate settle on his lap as he dug in.The creamy richness filled his mouth, a bittersweet reminder of the person who wasn’t there to share it with him.

He hated how good it was. He hated how perfectly it melted in his mouth, how it made him feel something close to pleasure. Guilt twisted in his stomach as he swallowed, the memory of golden eyes searing into his mind. He could see them so clearly, their brightness dimmed, their warmth clouded by hurt.

He stared blankly at the TV to see something else. The images moved across the screen, but none of it registered. No matter how hard he tried to shake the memory of Bokuto standing in his kitchen last night, their fight, his storming out, he couldn’t do it. How did this happen?

Unable to suppress the gnawing ache in his chest, Akaashi reached for his phone, hoping for any interaction from Bokuto. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the screen before unlocking it. His heart sank as his home screen revealed nothing. No notifications. No missed calls, no texts, nothing. He opened his messaging app, clicking on Bokuto’s name. His breath caught as he stared at their last exchange, a message from Bokuto:

“Grabbing coffee! Don’t work too hard!”

He hadn’t even replied. He had seen the message in the rush of his workday and set it aside with the vague intention of replying later. But later had never come. And now... now Bokuto was gone. The message stared back at him, bright and unforgiving against the dark screen. He swiped up instinctively, checking Bokuto’s status. His heart sank further when he saw nothing, no sign that Bokuto was online. The absence felt more suffocating than he expected.

He tossed the phone onto the table angrily, then stood up abruptly. The tension in his body had nowhere to go, and he found himself pacing the living room. How did this happen? The question buzzed in his head, accompanied by an avalanche of emotions too tangled to unravel.

And then, the anger struck down.

Like lightning spark ablaze, it ignited into a wildfire that consumed him. The image of Bokuto, sitting in that tattoo shop with his phone in hand, smiling as he typed that stupid message flashed in Akaashi’s mind. He stopped in his tracks within the moment of realization and his jaw clenched. The text—a harmless, cheerful afterthought— now felt like a slap in the face. Coffee, my ass… he thought bitterly, the words surging unbidden.  How could he send it so care-freely as if nothing monumental was happening?

Akaashi ground his teeth unintentionally. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to hit something. Instinctively, he grabbed the nearest cushion from the couch and hurled it across the room. It struck the wall with a muted thud, falling lifelessly to the floor.

His breath came fast and shallow as he glared at the cushion. It wasn’t enough to extinguish the fire burning in his chest. His thoughts raced, each one darker and more venomous than the last. How could he think this was okay? Akaashi’s fists clenched tighter, his nails biting into his palms. How could he think it would make me happy? The memory of the tattoo resurfaced in vivid detail, his name, etched in letters over Bokuto’s heart, was supposed to feel like love, but all Akaashi could feel now was suffocation. Overwhelming suffocation. 

It was too much. Too soon. The weight of what that tattoo represented—the permanence of it—crushed him under its enormity. Bokuto had plunged headfirst into this reckless, thoughtless display. Yet he had so much ahead of him, so many things that mattered far more than Akaashi: his life, his career, his future…

The anger burned so hot it made his head spin, but just as quickly, it faltered. He sank onto the couch with a new sensation creeping in. The fire in his chest was extinguished, replaced by a glacial numbing cold. Bokuto’s eyes flashed in his mind one more time. Those wide, golden eyes that had always been so full of light, dimmed and clouded with hurt.

He thought he was doing a good thing, Akaashi realized, the weight of it slamming into him all at once. Fuck. His hands trembled as he buried his face in them. I hurt him so badly. The memory of Bokuto’s voice cracked through him, raw and uneven: I thought you’d love it.

Akaashi exhaled shakily, his breath hitching as the guilt swelled, sharp and suffocating. How could I let things get this bad? The thought clawed at him, dragging him down until he felt like he might suffocate beneath its weight. What’s wrong with me? His head fell between his hands, his fingers threading through his hair as guilt completely flooded him. He got it for me, and I was so ungrateful.

He kept sitting there, looking at the television intently as if he was watching, but he saw nothing, he heard nothing. His thoughts, circled back to the fight—not just the tattoo, and his reaction but the choice of words Bokuto had left him with.

I get it now. I really do.

Bokuto’s voice rang in his head, trembling yet steady, each word cutting deeper than the last: uncalled for, cruel, vicious… When the realization came, he turned the television off. The faint glow and distant noise wasn’t comforting anymore, it only bothered him now.  How could you think that about me?

Bitterness crept through him. After everything they’d been together, how could Bokuto look him in the eye and insinuate that his feelings were driven by anything so shallow as money or fame?

The image of Bokuto’s face flashed in his mind again—those golden eyes darkened with disbelief and hurt—and for the first time in years, Akaashi felt shame. Not guilt, not regret, just raw shame. The memory of his past clawed its way to the surface: nights spent shivering under a thin blanket, mornings spent brushing dust off his knees after doing things he swore he’d never do again. His stomach turned, he felt like he could spill what he had of cheesecake anytime.

The life he had now had come after years of struggle. He had climbed out of rock bottom, fought for every inch of his peace. He had never, not once, used anyone for their money or status. And yet, Bokuto, of all people, would think that of him? After abandoning him for more than a decade when he was supposed to be his best friend? It stung. He couldn’t escape the heat suddenly taking over his body. He tugged at the neck of his t-shirt in order to get some relief with no avail. The pain stuck to his skin like a scorching branding iron.

Bokuto’s words made him feel like a worm, small and vile, writhing in the muck of a past he thought he’d buried. Those words had changed everything.  The balance between them had shifted, irrevocably, and Akaashi wasn’t sure it would ever return to where it had been.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away furiously. What if… What if he was trying to buy my affection all this time? The thought hit him like a knife to the chest, twisting his insides. The memory of the email he had received—when Bokuto bought all his porn—flashed unbidden in his mind. The embarrassment, the guilt, the crushing weight of that moment came back. What did he think? That I’d be grateful? That I’d stay because of it?

He hated himself for even thinking it. But the shame had rooted itself deep, twisting tighter with every passing second. Am I nothing without him? The thought clawed its way up, brutal and unforgiving. Is that what he thinks? That he can keep me with money, with gestures? That I’d stay because he bought me?

Akaashi shot up from the couch, his hands shaking. He needed to breathe. He needed space. In a rush of urgency, he moved to the balcony, the cold air struck him like a whip. His fingers fumbled with the pack of cigarettes, desperate to ground himself in the only way he knew. He lit one, then another, chain-smoking as his mind raced. His thoughts clashed together until they settled on one unbearable truth: he had never been so insulted in his life.

The fight drained out of him all at once. His limbs felt heavy, his body folding in on itself as the anger gave way to something darker. He didn’t want to feel it anymore. He didn’t want to be anymore. For a brief moment, as he stared at the street below, the urge to throw himself over the edge washed over him. It would have been just so simple. It would be over. The thought was a fleeting, desperate itch, but it felt real. It felt sharp.

He didn’t though, he couldn’t.

Instead, he stood there for what felt like an eternity, the cold air biting into his skin. His breath came out in visible puffs, his body trembling with a mixture of cold and panic. He hadn’t even realized how cold he’d gotten until the goosebumps on his skin prickled sharply, a reminder how exposed he was.

He hesitated a moment before turning back inside. His phone still sat on the table inside, taunting him with its silence. He was drawn to it, almost against his will. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he reached for the device, feeling a strange compulsion to check it again. Even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to stop, to move on, he couldn’t. His fingers swiped across the screen instinctively, expecting something—anything—to be there.

But there was nothing. Still no message.

Does that mean it’s over? He stared at the screen, the empty space between them feeling as vast as the distance of a thousand miles. It was Bokuto after all... What if he just... disappears again? Tears welled in his eyes, panic settling in. He abandoned Akaashi once. He could do it again. Right?

Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but they wouldn’t stop. His legs felt like they could give out anytime now. For a moment, he wished Bokuto had never texted him in the first place. Maybe it would have been easier to if nothing had changed in his boring old life. Had they had never reconciled…  Never tried to rebuild what had been broken…

But as quickly as the thought surfaced, a flood of memories surged in its wake. The sound of Bokuto’s laughter echoed in his ears… The feel of his large, calloused hands on Akaashi’s back during quiet moments… The way he could make a room feel brighter just by stepping into it. Each memory hit him like a wave, crashing over him, leaving no room to breathe. It was suffocating and comforting all at once.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a cruel voice whispered, What if he finds someone else? Someone who could laugh with him, keep up with his energy, and maybe even make him forget Akaashi ever existed. No, it wasn’t even a question of what-if. It was a matter of when. And why wouldn’t he? Who would want to stay tethered to someone like Akaashi—reserved, controlled, and so goddamned difficult to love? He couldn’t even appreciate a tattoo of his own fucking name across his lover’s chest….

Suddenly, he could hear the silent in his apartment again, so loud that it terrified him. Would this be the only thing he heard now? Just emptiness… An utterly violent emptiness… No, he thought, clenching his fists. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.

Akaashi closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to steady himself. His mind began to race again, the panic never fully dissipating. How could he fix this? How could he show Bokuto that he was there, no matter what? How could he prove that, despite the things said, he still wanted this to work?

His pride clawed at him, a desperate, stubborn thing that refused to let go. He had already bent so much, given so much, and now it felt like this was all he had left. The last scrap of himself that hadn’t been stripped away. But what did pride matter when it came to Bokuto?

Screw it. Fuck it. Fuck my pride. Fuck everything.

His eyes landed on the tattoos on his arms, his fingers brushing over the black ink. The answer came to him then—sudden, reckless and maybe a little insane. But it felt right. If Bokuto could do something so bold, so chaotic, so permanent for him, then maybe... just maybe... he could do the same.

He could rework a tattoo on his chest, perhaps black it out and add new layers of white ink. He could make it new. He could make it for Bokuto. Something that matched the urgency and significance of what he had just done. Something to show that they mattered. That Akaashi wasn’t willing to let this end without a fight.

But then doubt flickered. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if I go through with this and he tells me to get lost anyway? Akaashi stopped in his tracks, the weight of the thought pressing down on him. He stared at the empty cheesecake platter on the counter, memories of the night before flashing in his mind—the warmth, the laughter, the sweetness of it all. The fleeting thought brought a brief moment of comfort, but it quickly passed.

The truth settled in deeper, though, quieter but more resolute. Nearly all the good memories Akaashi had in his life were with Bokuto. And no matter what happened, no matter what Bokuto said or did, it would still be worth it. Bokuto was a part of him, with the good and the bad. He would carry this gesture, this choice, with him, even if it ended in heartbreak. It’s worth it.

Akaashi picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts, his fingers moving with surprising ease. He stopped when he saw the name of an old friend—someone he’d trusted before with ink, someone who would understand the gravity of his request. He hesitated only for a moment before sending the message: “I need an urgent tattoo. Tomorrow. I know how it sounds, but it's important. It's going to be something small. Can you help?”

He waited, heart hammering in his chest. The seconds dragged on, the silence pressing down on him. But then, the reply came. “For you? Anytime.”

Akaashi exhaled, his breath shaky but steadying. The decision had been made, and with it came a strange, reluctant peace. He didn’t know if this would fix anything. He didn’t know if Bokuto would even care. But at least he was doing something. At least he was trying.

For the first time in what felt like hours, his body began to relax, the tension unwinding slowly. The exhaustion of the day—of the turmoil, the anger, the uncertainty—began to creep up on him, pulling him toward the silence he had despised earlier. The next steps were clear now, even if they were uncertain.

For tonight, he could rest.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Two days without Bokuto felt like a limb being ripped from his body while he was still awake to feel it. Every movement since felt wrong, his balance off, his muscles tight and clumsy. He was barely standing, his knees ready to give out any second. How is this real? The question gnawed at him with every living moment where Bokuto wasn’t there next to him.

The silence was the worst part. Louder than any argument. Violent. Traumatic. It filled everywhere and everything until his lungs gave out. He drowned, surrounded by oxygen his body refused to use. And yet, somehow, despite all the pain, he still moved. He had gone to work, done every edit, sat through every meeting, smiled when people expected him to. It felt mechanical, hollow, but he’d done it. When no one was looking though, his eyes lingered too long on empty spaces, fingers kept hovering over his phone, just to see Bokuto online.

He wasn’t. He hadn’t been.

Today will be different. The voice inside him chanted inside a mantra. No hesitation, no waiting, no wondering if he had already ruined everything. Today was about action, about making a tangible mark of the emotions he couldn’t articulate.

His day had already been long—too long— and he carried it in his shoulders, in the tight set of his jaw. When the clock hit five, he rushed out of work. He couldn’t waste a second. He wouldn’t. His grip on his bag tightened as he approached his friend’s tattoo shop, his heart steady, his mind clear. The bell above the door chimed as Akaashi stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic and ink wrapped around him like an old companion.

The space hadn’t changed. Walls were adorned with art and framed pictures of completed designs. Old hardwood floors creaked under when stepped on, and photos pinned to a board near the counter were showcasing tattoos on bare skin. Akaashi’s gaze lingered on a familiar image: a sleek, dark sleeve that curved around a muscled arm—his arm.

The buzzing of a tattoo machine from a back corner seeped faintly into the front room. Behind the counter, a man with long black hair tucked under a red bandana sat hunched over a sketchpad, totally absorbed.  Reo… His hand was moving with a precision born of countless hours of practice.  At the sound of the bell, he looked up. His sharp eyes caught Akaashi instantly, and a slow grin spread across his face, wide and genuine.

“Keiji,” Reo called out. His voice cut through the noise of the machinery with ease. “My favorite canvas.” He gestured with an exaggerated flourish, beckoning Akaashi forward. “Long time no see.”

Akaashi’s lips twitched upward. He walked forward, his dress shoes clunked against the floor. “Reo,” he greeted, voice even, yet carrying an undercurrent of familiarity.

Reo gestured broadly toward the wall to his right, where photos of Akaashi’s sleeves were displayed prominently in his portfolio collection. “Did I tell you I show off your sleeves to every client who walks in here? Most think you designed the whole thing yourself. I keep telling them I had to work magic with your half-baked inspiration and vague descriptions, but you know how it is.”

“I didn’t realize I’d become part of your sales pitch.” Akaashi grinned as he replied dryly, as he glanced at the wall. “Besides, I seem to remember you calling me ‘visionary.’”

“Visionary, sure.” Reo chuckled, standing and crossing his tattoo-covered arms.“But you drove me nuts with how vague you were. You owe me for the caffeine I burned trying to crack your code. But hey, look at us now. Masterpieces, both arms.”

Akaashi’s gaze slid over to the photo wall again, his tone quieter this time, realizing his old friend is serious. “You really show those off?” 

“Damn right, I do. One of the best work I’ve done in years.” Reo leaned on the counter, his grin softening into a genuine smile. “They should be shown off. Not just because how well they turned out either. You wear them well.”

“Thanks,” Akaashi murmured, his fingers brushing the edge of the counter as he let the compliment settle. He walked toward the chair in the back corner, turning around himself, taking in the whole space before him.“Also for agreeing to take me in last minute.”

“Well, I told you. I always have time for you.” Reo straightened, grabbing a clipboard with a blank intake sheet, his expression curious but teasing. “What are we working on today? More intricate detail on the legs?” He stopped a moment and his gaze turned towards the blank spaces in Akaashi’s skin, his throat and hand specifically. “Hands, maybe?” He asked, talking to himself. “Or are we finally hitting the throat?” He scrunched his face, thoughtful, still going despite Akaashi not getting a word in yet. “But I thought hands and throat were off limits for work reasons.”

A small chuckle escaped out of Akaashi as he he shook his head in amusement. “Nothing like that.” He paused, his hand brushing over the strap of his bag. “I told you, it’s small.” He took a deep breath. “It’s.. a name.”

Reo froze mid-step, his expression shifting rapidly between confusion, surprise, then something akin to horror. “A name?” he echoed, blinking like he hadn’t heard right. “Like, a person’s name?” When Akaashi silently nodded, he made a face, half-disgusted, half-dramatic. “No more artsy shit for me to design?” He clutched his chest. “Keiji, I’m hurt.”

“It’s important,” Akaashi replied, voice steady but quieter, as though the words carried more weight than he wanted to let on. Reo’s teasing grin faltered, replaced by curiosity. “Important, huh?” His eyes narrowed as he studied Akaashi’s expression, giving Akaashi a speculative look. “Alright, I’ll bite. Whose name?”

“Bokuto Koutarou,” Akaashi said, the name slipping out with a rare intensity, every syllable deliberate. He didn’t shy away from Reo’s gaze, even as the words hung in the air between them.

“Bokuto Koutarou…” Reo repeated leaning back. “I’d never imagine you getting a name tattooed, and calling it important.” His tone carried the faintest trace of disbelief, but his eyes were searching, trying to read Akaashi. “Didn’t you once say names on skin are the ‘permanent mistakes of bad decisions’?”

Akaashi’s lips pressed together briefly before he spoke. He’s right. He had. He weighed in on what to say quietly, and ultimately decided to be blunt. “He’s neither a bad decision nor a mistake,” he said, voice fierce. “It’s not just a name. It’s… him. He’s a part of me.”

“Deep.” Reo grinned, his tone sarcastic, Though his eyes softening at the edges betrayed his tone in a very obvious manner. “And just to be clear since you messaged me dead in the night— This isn’t a whim, right?”

“No,” Akaashi said, meeting Reo’s gaze evenly. “It’s not.”

Reo crossed his arms and gave Akaashi a long, appraising look. "You know this shit’s permanent, right?”

Akaashi didn’t flinch.“Really? Thanks for the heads-up.” he said dryly. “And here I was thinking why any of mine didn’t wash off in the shower.” He rolled his eyes sarcastically then cut off Reo Before he could sneak in any more comments, “That’s the whole point, Reo.” His voice didn’t waver.

Reo tilted his head, studying Akaashi for a moment longer. “Alright, then. I’ll shut up about it.” He pointed toward the back of the shop with a nod and led Akaashi towards the hallway, into his tattoo station. “Let’s figure it out where it’s going. I hope you’ve got some space left.” He asked as he pointed the chair for Akaashi to sit.

“Over my heart.” Akaashi said, his voice quiet, almost bashful. He felt like he was sharing the most intimate details of his life. Yet, he didn’t care at the same time. He would scream it from the top of his lungs if he had to.

Reo raised a brow, his expression torn between skepticism and admiration. “Chest?” He laughed softly. “Strip then, Let me see what I’m working with here.”

Akaashi shrugged off his bag, setting it neatly by the wall before moving to the chair. As he unbuttoned his shirt, the air of the shop settled cool against his skin. Reo circled him, his gaze scanning Akaashi’s chest with the practiced eye of an artist sizing up a blank canvas—or, in this case, the last unclaimed territory.  He was inspecting the space right over Akaashi’s heart, then paused. “Are you dead set on about the placement?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There’s barely an inch left. If we’re not careful, it’s going to look cramped. And I don’t do clutter.”

“Actually,” Akaashi interrupted Reo’s thought process. “I was thinking we black out a section and layer it in white ink. Something new and clean.” He sounded much less sure than he meant to, waiting for confirmation that it was possible.   

Reo froze, blinking as though trying to process what he’d just heard. “Blackout your existing one?” He hummed and stepped back, grabbing his sketchpad and a pencil. “Alright. I can see it now. We’ll blackout a section here.” He paused momentarily, tapping a spot over Akaashi’s heart. “A clean banner as the background, framing the name. Then we’ll use white ink for the lettering so it pops against the black.”

Akaashi nodded. “That’s exactly what I want.”

“Cool,” Reo said, his voice lighter as he grabbed his tools. “Let’s sketch it out.”

Reo’s pen moved swiftly over the page. He glanced up occasionally, his sharp eyes measuring Akaashi’s chest against the design taking shape on the paper. After a few minutes, he spun the sketchpad around, holding it up for Akaashi to see. “Well?” Reo asked, his voice light but carrying the weight of unspoken curiosity.

Akaashi’s eyes scanned the rough design. The banner was bold, the lines crisp, and the name—“Bokuto Koutarou”—stood stark in clean white ink against the black background. His chest tightened for a moment, the weight of the decision settling over him, but then he nodded. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly.

Reo’s grin returned, wide and genuine. “Of course, it is. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.” He set the sketchpad aside, his movements quick and deliberate as he began preparing and sanitizing his tools. “Alright, Keiji. Let’s make it official.”

Reo hopped on his stool and adjusted it. He placed the sketch with careful precision, right over Akaashi’s heart and started his tattoo machine. The buzz of the needle filled the room. When it hit Akaashi’s skin for the first time, the vibrating sensation was biting yet familiar, a blend of pain and comfort that felt grounding in its consistency. Reo worked with the calm focus of an artist, his movements fluid and precise.

Akaashi sat motionless in the chair, his back straight and his hands resting loosely on his thighs. The leather creaked faintly beneath him with each slight shift of weight, but otherwise, he barely moved. His breathing was steady, his gaze fixed somewhere on the shop’s ceiling. The space felt smaller now, almost like walls closing in under the intensity of the moment.

Reo’s voice cut through the noise, low and casual. “You know, you’re probably the calmest client I’ve ever had. Chest pieces? They make most people flinch or at least swear a couple times.”

The faintest twitch of Akaashi’s lips hinted at a smile, though he didn’t lower his gaze. “I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Reo snorted softly at that, the sound barely audible over the buzz. “You’ve definitely been through some brutal sessions with me,” he said, his voice lighter now, tinged with amusement. “This has a different intensity to it though. It feels different. Just... a name. Not like you at all.”

Reo leaned back for a moment, his hand hovering over Akaashi’s chest as he inspected the early lines of the piece. His brow furrowed, though his tone stayed casual. “So, this Bokuto,” he said, pausing as though testing the name on his tongue. “Must mean a hell of a lot if you’re going through all this.”

Akaashi blinked, the question drawing him back to the room. His chest rose and fell in a slow, deliberate breath, the air cool against the freshly inked skin. “He does,” he said, the words deliberate, though softer than he intended.

Reo didn’t press further immediately; he worked in silence for a while, his hand steady as he darkened the blackout frame that would surround the name. “Must be nice,” Reo murmured eventually, his voice so quiet it was almost lost beneath the buzz of the needle. “Having someone you’d mark yourself for.”

Akaashi couldn’t answer right away words stuck in his throat. Reo’s voice echoed in his ears. Must be nice. Was it? His chest tightened as his thoughts spiraled inward. It wasn’t nice when Bokuto abandoned him. It wasn’t nice when his world felt hollow, when every step forward seemed futile because Bokuto wasn’t there. No, definitely not… His life had felt meaningless without him. Every good thing turned gray, every joy muted. Bokuto had been the warmth, the laughter, the light in his life, and when that light vanished, Akaashi was left stumbling in the dark. And now, even with Bokuto back, there was fear. An infinite, all-consuming fear that he might lose him again.

No… It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t easy. It was hard work, every single day. But Akaashi wouldn’t change it for the World. Bokuto wasn’t just someone in his life, he was his life. The joy, the chaos, the steady presence that made everything worth it. Loving him wasn’t simple, but it was everything. “I don’t know if it’s nice,” Akaashi said at last, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “But he’s everything. I can’t imagine my life without him.”

Reo paused, the needle lifting from Akaashi’s skin as he looked up, his gaze meeting Akaashi’s icy blue eyes. His expression was softer now, touched by something that looked like curiosity... and quiet sadness. The sharp edges of his usual sarcasm had dulled. “Why do I feel like you’ve done something to this guy?” he asked, voice low, nearly a murmur. They stared at each other for a moment that lingered, too quiet, too honest to pass as casual. Akaashi didn’t even part his lips to speak. Reo didn’t expect him to. The grief in his eyes said everything.

The minutes stretched on, each one punctuated by the steady buzz of the machine. When Reo finally stepped back, wiping down the freshly inked skin with practiced care, a strange stillness settled over his skin. Hot, tender, and raw where the needle had been.

“All done,” Reo said, his voice breaking the silence. “Take a look.”

He held up a mirror, angling it carefully so Akaashi could see the finished piece. The design was simple. Clean. The name stood stark in white ink, etched across the blacked-out banner like a declaration. Akaashi stared at it. Seeing his decision come to life made his chest both heavy and light at once.

Bokuto Koutarou. A name that once meant absence, now inked in permanence.

Not out of forgiveness. Not even certainty. Just the unbearable truth that even when it hurt, he still loved him… That life without Bokuto was hollow. Bleak. Cold. Dark. Colorless. And if this was goodbye, then Akaashi would carry this scar as proof he hadn’t let go.

His throat tightened slightly as the reality of it settled over him. His lips curled into a small, genuine smile. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than he’d intended.

Reo’s grin was faint but genuine. “Damn right it is. You’re lucky I’m as good as I am.” He set the mirror aside, wiping down his tools with the precision of someone who knew their craft inside and out. “Alright, let me put the second skin on. We’ve got to make sure this heals right.”

As Reo talked through the aftercare—words Akaashi had heard a dozen times—he barely listened. His eyes stayed on the ink, on the way it sat over his heart, already feeling like it had been there forever. This is for me, he thought, the words ringing in his mind with quiet certainty. Whatever happens now… Koutarou still belongs in my heart.

Always.

His resolve burned even brighter now, spreading outward like sunlight breaking through a clouded sky. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he had made the right decision. Akaashi’s movements were steady as he pulled his shirt back on, the fabric sliding over the fresh ink with the faintest sting. Reo watched him from across the room, leaning against the counter with a satisfied grin. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said, his tone lighter now, “And hey, good luck.”

Akaashi picked up his bag, slinging it over one shoulder with a measured motion. He glanced at Reo, his lips curling in the faintest hint of a smile. “Thanks. For everything.” Reo nodded, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Anytime, Keiji. You know where to find me.”

Akaashi stepped out into the cool evening air, the familiar chime of the shop’s doorbell marking his exit. The streets were quieter now. He paused just outside, one hand brushing the strap of his bag while the other rested briefly over his chest, where the ink lay hidden beneath the fabric. When he departed from the shop, Akaashi’s steps felt lighter.

The feeling dissipated as he walked from the shop to Bokuto’s apartment. Each step brought him closer to the inevitable. When he reached to Bokuto’s building, he stood before the glass doors, staring at his faint reflection in their surface a moment. He straightened his shoulders, shaking the tension from his hands before pulling the door open. The lobby smelled of citrus scented cleaner, and jazz music was playing faintly in the background.

He pressed the elevator button, the metal cool beneath his fingertips. As he waited his nervousness grew, his heartbeat replacing the jazz music in his ears. The ride up felt endless. He adjusted the strap of his bag again— a nervous habit he couldn’t get rid of. When the doors opened with a soft ding, he stepped into the hallway with a deep breath. He paused at Bokuto’s door, staring at the familiar numbers on the surface. His hand hovered over the doorbell for a moment before he pressed it. The sound echoed faintly inside, followed by the muffled shuffle of footsteps.

The door opened a crack, then wider, and revealed Bokuto. His usually wild and untamed hair hung limp flattened. Dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes were stark against his pale face.He looked smaller somehow. His T-shirt loose at the collarbones, hanging off his frame like it no longer belonged. Like he’d lost weight in the short time they’d been apart. There was nothing left of vibrant, radiant force of nature Akaashi knew. Instead, he looked fragile, hollow maybe.

Akaashi froze. His breath caught mid-inhale as his eyes locked onto Bokuto’s face. He had spent the past days buried under the debris of his own mind, yet the sight of him—Bokuto—didn’t invoke anything close to the emotional turmoil cycled through him. Not the anger that flared hot and self-righteous. Not the sorrow that followed like fog. Not the shame that stripped him out of his clothes. Nothing. Only self-recognition because he understood, all at once, and with painful clarity: I did this to him.

Bokuto opened his mouth to speak, but no words came, just a rasping breath. “Keiji,” Bokuto finally managed, his voice hoarse.

Akaashi’s hands trembled at his sides when he heard his voice. He steadied himself. “Can I come in?” he asked, his tone calm but deliberate.

Bokuto blinked as if surprised by the formality, then nodded quickly, “Y-yeah… Of course.” He said, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

He stepped aside, letting Akaashi pass. The apartment was pristine, unnervingly so. Every surface gleamed under the warm light, and not a single thing was out of place. It was almost too clean.  The perfection of the space clashed painfully with the disheveled man standing in its center, like an elaborate mask failing to conceal the chaos beneath.

Bokuto hovered awkwardly by the door before gesturing toward the kitchen. “Do you want tea or something?” His voice cracked, and he looked down, his hands clenching the fabric of his shirt again. Akaashi studied him for a moment before nodding. “Sure.” He said softly, not for the tea, but to break the silence between them, and followed Bokuto to the kitchen.

Bokuto’s hands trembled slightly as he filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to remember how to be a person, how to do small, normal things. Akaashi watched from a barstool, his gaze fixed on Bokuto’s back. The sight of Bokuto’s fragile frame made his chest ache with concern. “You haven’t been eating,” Akaashi said, the observation slipping out before he could think twice.

Bokuto flinched, his hand hovering over the burner momentarily. He didn’t answer, didn’t nod, nor deny. Just reached silently for two cups, setting them on the counter with methodical care. Akaashi’s fingers curled against the countertop. “Koutarou,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You can’t do this to yourself.” Still, Bokuto said nothing.

When he handed Akaashi the tea, their fingers brushed briefly. Bokuto pulled his hand back quickly, avoiding Akaashi’s gaze as he picked up his own cup. Akaashi stared at the steaming tea in his hands, exhaling slowly. He glanced at Bokuto, who leaned against the counter, his shoulders hunched, the cup trembling faintly in his grasp. “Will you eat if I make you something?” Akaashi asked, his voice quiet but steady.

Bokuto looked at him, startled. The question had caught him  completely off guard. A flicker of relief lit up in his tired eyes. For a moment,  he hesitated, unsure how to respond, his lips parting slightly before he closed them again. Finally, he nodded, his head dipping in quiet acceptance.

Akaashi set his tea down on the counter and shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp shirt. Without a word, he moved to the fridge and opened it, scanning its sparse contents: a carton of eggs, a small bottle of soy sauce, and little else. Opening the freezer, he found some frozen rice.  He could make tamagoyaki and serve it over rice with these ingredients— quick, easy, tasty.

Bokuto watched silently as Akaashi worked, his movements efficient but unhurried. He cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisking them with soy sauce and a dash of sugar. As the pan heated, he thawed the rice in the microwave. The air around them started feeling lighter, almost normal. Bokuto leaned slightly against the counter, his tired gaze fixed on Akaashi as he poured the egg mixture into the pan, tilting and rolling it with practiced precision. The kitchen filled with the warm, savory aroma of cooking eggs, and Bokuto’s shoulders seemed to relax for the first time since Akaashi had arrived.

When the food was ready, Akaashi plated the tamagoyaki with a neat mound of rice and set it in front of Bokuto at the counter. He poured a fresh cup of tea for Bokuto and reclaimed his own, sitting across from him. Bokuto stared at the plate, his lips trembling faintly as he picked up his chopsticks. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice thick. He hesitated, then added, “It looks… really good.”

Akaashi gave a small nod, his expression calm. “Eat,” he said simply.

And, Bokuto did. The first bite was tentative, but it soon gave way to quicker ones as he ate with a hunger he hadn’t realized he had. Akaashi sipped his tea and watched Bokuto with quiet care. He didn’t try to make conversation and just let the silence between them stretch into comfort. The familiar rhythm of this small act grounded both. Something they both desperately needed.

When Bokuto finished, he set his chopsticks down and looked at Akaashi, his eyes shimmering faintly. “Thanks.” He said softly. “It was delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” Akaashi replied, his tone gentle but firm. “And, please don’t neglect yourself like that again.”

Bokuto nodded. He bit his lips and swallowed, his throat working as if he wanted to speak. “Keiji… I—“

“I need to talk.” Akaashi said cutting him off, his voice calm but firmer than intended. He took a deep breath. “And, you need to listen.” Bokuto’s mouth shut at once, the beginnings of a breath caught in his throat. The fear in his eyes was instant, sharp, visible even in the dim light. Akaashi’s chest tightened. He softened. “Please,” he added quickly, his voice gentler now, eyes holding Bokuto’s. “Let me finish. You talk, and I forget what I’m trying to say.”

Bokuto’s shoulders loosened just slightly, like he’d been holding a breath and could finally let it go. He nodded, small, but certain. Akaashi set his tea down with trembling hands. The faint clink of porcelain against the surface was the only thing breaking the stifling silence. Across from him, Bokuto sat motionless, golden eyes wide and waiting.

Akaashi inhaled deeply, the breath shaky in his chest. He’d thought about this moment a hundred times but nothing had prepared him for the actual moment of speaking it aloud. The words felt stuck in his throat. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said quietly, almost to himself, more honest than he’d ever been. “I had it all mapped out…what I was going to say, how I’d say it. And now I’m sitting here, and it’s all just—”

He exhaled sharply and pushed his head back, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like it might help him focus, might remind him who he was before all of this. “Fuck,” he cursed, quiet, raw, full of pain. He lowered his head, eyes landing back on Bokuto, unguarded now. “I was half-ready to scream at you.” he admitted, a breathy, bitter laugh catching at the end of the sentence. “But now…” his voice faltered, and he took another moment escaping the golden gaze. 

When the hell had he so much trouble finding his words? He was an editor for fuck’s sake. Words were his livelihood. His entire life. But no word felt right. None of them big enough to hold this. So he stripped it down to the smallest truth.

“Well…” Akaashi hesitated, then met Bokuto’s gaze with quiet finality. “You hurt me.” He said, voice trembling. “In ways I didn’t think you could.” His breath hitched, but he forced himself to continue.  “In ways I never thought I’d let you.”

Bokuto opened his mouth, instinct tugging at him to speak, to explain. But the look in Akaashi’s eyes stopped him. He remembered the promise he’d given with a silent nod moments ago.His jaw tightened. Slowly, he closed his mouth and said nothing, letting Akaashi go on.

“You didn’t have to say the words outright, but you may as well have.” Akaashi muttered, his voice sharp, his chest still burning with the memory. “Do you even understand what that did to me?” He ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming faster. “You, of all people, should know me better than anyone else.”  His voice caught, and he shook his head sharply, frustration overtaking him.

“How could you look me in the eye and call me a gold digger?” Akaashi said it out loud now, his voice raw, his composure unraveling with every word. “You should know who I am. You should’ve known what—

“WHAT?” Bokuto’s voice rang out sharp and loud, like glass cracking. “WAIT. NO. Just… STOP.”

Akaashi stilled, lips parted mid-breath, but only for a moment. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat. Instead, his eyes lifted slowly, settling on Bokuto with something colder. Colder than anger, colder than heartbreak. It wasn’t fury that laced his voice when he spoke again just precision. 

“You,” he said, not loud, but deliberate. He inhaled slowly, the silence stretching taut. “You shattered me.” Another breath. His voice sharpened like a blade drawn from its sheath.“You shattered everything I spent years building.”

“STOP!” Bokuto shoved back his chair with a violent scrape and slammed both hands onto the counter. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet kitchen. The teacups rattled violently in its wake.“NO.” He said it again, lower now, but no less cutting. It ripped from his chest like it had been clawing to get out. “You don’t get to turn this into something it wasn’t.”

His golden eyes lifted, fury blazing, yet beneath the fire something cold simmered. Hurt. Devastation. Disbelief. “A gold digger?” He spat the words like they were ash on his tongue. “You think I called you a fucking gold digger?” His chest rose and fell in sharp, broken breaths, like he’d collided with something.

“You’ve known me for ten years. Ten fucking years. And this is what you come back with?” Bokuto said, voice breaking. “You must think I’m really stupid.” He hissed shaking his head. “Forget that you think I could ever call you something so vile… You honestly believe I think you’re here for my money? For my image? You think I’d let you stay in my life, let you into my home—into me—if I thought you were using me?”

Akaashi looked at him stunned for a moment, lips parting for an answer but Bokuto’s voice broke even louder, his hands curled tight on the edge of the counter. “Are you out of your GODDAMN mind?” 

The question hung in the air like a slap. Silence followed like a shadow. Akaashi didn’t know what to say or even to say something. Bokuto’s breathing slowed. His jaw tightened, and his throat bobbed as if working a hard swallow. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped, quieter now, but it didn’t soften. “God, you're such a fucking idiot sometimes,” he exhaled. The words weren’t said to wound. They were just true.

“I didn’t say that.” He took a step closer, his gaze fierce, unwavering, like a dare. “I would never say that.”  Each word came out deliberate, biting into Akaashi’s skin, syllable by syllable, until the accusation bled out. Tension radiated off Bokuto like a quiet storm barely contained. Akaashi felt it, noticed it, but he couldn’t stop. The storm surging inside him was far greater, unraveling him word by word, and once he began, there was no holding it back.

He rose to his feet before he even realized he’d moved. The last words detonated under him, propelling him upright. He leaned into the counter. “Then what?” he demanded, his voice high and sharp enough to cut. “ What the fuck did you think it meant?” The words were a challenge, a dare, flung across the narrowing space between them.

Bokuto didn’t flinch at the challenge. If anything, it seemed to anchor him, his shoulders squaring, his breath drawing deeper as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” he said, voice tight, clipped. “You spent twenty minutes reminding me of everything I could lose. My career, the life I’ve built… Every damned thing I’ve worked so hard for.”

He stopped there, breath heavy, running a hand back through his hair like he was trying to ground himself before the next words came. “You rattled me, Keiji.” He admitted softly. “What?” his gaze sharpened, “you think I’m made of stone?”

His voice dropped, but no less fierce. “All I wanted in that moment was reassurance. That the single most important thing in my life wouldn’t walk away if I lost everything else. Even if I lost myself. I just needed to know you’d still be there.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened, a flicker of understanding breaking through his guarded expression. He could feel it, the dissonance between how he’d remembered that day and how Bokuto had lived it. His head dropped, gaze falling to the floor as shame started pooling inside his chest.

Bokuto didn’t give him space to retreat. “You chose not to answer.” He stepped out from behind the counter, closing the distance in a slow, steady stride. He stopped in front of him, close enough that Akaashi could feel his presence pressing in, and let the pause stretch. “And now you’re here,” he went on, quieter now, “tearing me apart for something I’ve never said. Something you made up in your own head.” He exhaled slowly. “It was you, Keiji. It was your own voice. Not mine.”

Akaashi’s gaze fell, catching on the counter’s edge before drifting to the floor, anywhere but Bokuto. Tears welled in his icy eyes, blurring the edges of his vision. He forced a slow breath through his nose as if sheer will could keep the tears from falling. His fingers curled against his palms, grounding himself in that small, sharp pressure. “I’m sorry,” words fell from his lips at last, quiet, voice trembling.

Bokuto’s hand came up without hesitation, his warm fingers curling under Akaashi’s chin. The touch wasn’t rough, but firm, leaving no space to retreat. He lifted Akaashi’s face upward until those icy blue eyes were forced to meet his.

“I love you.” He said, steady, words spoken as if they’d been sitting on his tongue the whole time, waiting for a gap to slip through. His thumb stayed pressed to Akaashi’s jaw, holding him there. He took in a slow breath, gaze locked. “But this overthinking shit has to stop. Please don’t make me walk on eggshells.”

Bokuto didn’t let go. His eyes didn’t waver for a second, yet when he spoke again there was hesitation. His tone had softened, but his voice carried a faint tremor threaded with fear. “You can’t keep fighting with a version of me that doesn’t exist.”

Akaashi’s lips parted, but nothing came out at first. His throat felt tight, the words snagging somewhere deep, caught between pride and the gnawing ache in his chest. When he finally managed them, they were quiet, stripped of all the sharp edges from before.

“I know,” Akaashi said, jerking uncomfortably in his place, Bokuto’s hand keeping him from moving away completely. His voice came steadier the second time. “I didn’t come here to fight. I…” his voice faltered, and he swallowed. “I came here to win you back.” His gaze dropped again, the faintest crease forming between his brows. “But… you’re right. I was spiraling.”

Bokuto’s hand shifted from between them, brushing along Akaashi’s cheek before settling at the side of his neck, the warmth of his palm steady against the rapid beat beneath. “You don’t need to win me back,” he said, steady but quiet. “You never lost me.” His voce was barely above a whisper,

His free hand hand rose to his own torso, tapping two fingers against his chest where the his ink lay hidden. “You’re right here.” He said, a gentle smile forming on his lips. “Always.”

Akaashi’s gaze lingered on the spot over Bokuto’s heart where his name lay in black ink beneath the shirt. “So are you,” he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. His eyes drifted downward this time,  settling on his own chest. For a beat, he just stood there, too embarrassed to go through with the reveal of his new ink. Then, he drew in a slow, sharp breath. His fingers rose to his shirt buttons, slipping one free, then the next.

Bokuto’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering through the gold of his gaze. “Keiji?”

Akaashi didn’t answer, only continued unbuttoning, and slipped the shirt from his shoulders. He folded it over the back of a chair, silent. His chest was a canvas of ink, layers of intricate designs telling a story only he knew completely. But one part stood out now, a newly darkened section near his heart, the negative space filled with clean, white ink spelling Bokuto’s name.

“Always,”Akaashi said, barely above a whisper. It rippled between them like a stone disturbing still water. His eyes stayed locked on Bokuto’s, holding him there, deliberate and unyielding, as if daring him to look anywhere else.

Bokuto went still. For a beat, all he could do was stare, as if his mind had been pulled blank. “W–what?” The word came rough, stumbling out. Confusion flickered across his face, then broke into recognition. His lips twitched, and a sudden, startled huff escaped him, breaking into a low, disbelieving chuckle. It built quickly, spilling out into unrestrained laughter, the kind that shook his shoulders. “Oh, god… you’re more insane than I am.”

Akaashi felt the warmth flooding a frozen room, thawing something he hadn’t realized had gone cold. This was Bokuto, his sun, back in the sky where it belonged. His own lips curved without thought, a small smile easing into place, carried there by the warmth Bokuto poured into the room.

When, the laughter softened into lingering breaths. Bokuto’s brows drew together again, his voice lowering, hesitant now. Guilt struck his chest like a pang. “Keiji…” he shook his head slightly, golden eyes glimmering. “I never asked you to do this,” Bokuto said, his voice faltering. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to. I wasn’t expecting—”

“Shh.” Akaashi cut him off stopping Bokuto before he could say anything more. He reached up, pressing a single finger to Bokuto’s mouth, not to silence him entirely, but to anchor him. “I know,” he said simply. “I wanted to.” His hand shifted, brushing against Bokuto’s cheek. “You’re the best part of me, Kou.”

Bokuto’s hand lifted almost on instinct, his fingertips brushing the tattoo over the second skin as though he couldn’t believe it was real. His breath hitched audibly, he leaned forward, capturing Akaashi’s lips in a soft but fervent kiss.

When he pulled back, he stayed close, their foreheads touching. “I love you,” he murmured, low and unshaken. “More than I’ve ever loved anything.” His gaze dropped to the tattoo again. “And I’ll spend every day trying to be the man who deserves this.”

Akaashi’s lips curled into a small smile. “You already are,” he whispered, his voice soft and certain.

They stayed close, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. Then Bokuto chuckled again, shaking his head. “You really are full of surprises.” Before Akaashi even realized, a quiet laugh of his own slipped out, soft at first, then building until it filled the space between them.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t some grand resolution. But it was real. It was them.

When the shared laughter died down, silence settled in its place. Akaashi rested his hands lightly on Bokuto’s forearms, his gaze flickering to the shirt folded over the back of the chair. Reality crept back in. He had work tomorrow, responsibilities awaiting for him. “I should get going,” he murmured, reaching for the fabric.

Bokuto’s frown was immediate.“What? No.” he said as if Akaashi had just announced something absurd. The response was so blunt, so unyielding, that Akaashi blinked, caught off guard. “No?” he echoed, raising a brow. “I have work tomorrow. I need clothes, Kou.”

“You have clothes!” Bokuto protested pointing to the shirt. “You didn’t show up here naked.”

Akaashi paused, fingers brushing Bokuto’s silver strands softly. “Kou, I can’t exactly show up in the same clothes.” he explained, his tone calm but matter-of-fact.

Bokuto’s head arched back as he crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. “Then…I’ll figure it out.”

“Oh?” Akaashi blinked at him, his lips twitching into a faint smile despite himself. “And what exactly is your grand plan here?”

Bokuto straightened, puffing out his chest slightly. “I’ll..” He paused, trying to think of something. “Well, I’ll just wake up early and go to your apartment to grab your clothes. Problem solved.” He said as if it was the most logical thing in the world, eyes gleaming.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi said flatly, his brow arching in disbelief. “You’re going to drag yourself out of bed at crack of dawn just to fetch my clothes?” Bokuto took a step closer, his expression unwavering. His hands dropped to Akaashi’s hips. “I’ll do anything. You’re not leaving.”

Akaashi tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as he studied Bokuto. “You’re serious?” Bokuto’s lips quirked up. “Yeah. I’m serious.”

For a moment, Akaashi didn’t respond. A warm feeling filled his chest. His heart swelled just seeing how far Bokuto was willing to go to spend a couple more hours with him. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost bashful. “You really want me here that much?”

Bokuto rolled his eyes, shaking his head, though the faintest blush crept to his cheeks. “Keiji,” he said, his voice exasperated but warm, “you seriously can’t tell by now?”

Before Akaashi could reply, Bokuto shifted back slightly, tugging at the hem of his own shirt. He pulled it off in one motion, letting it fall to the floor with a quiet rustle. “Ring a bell?” he said, motioning to the ink over his heart, the elegant lettering of Akaashi’s name.

Bokuto stepped closer, his golden eyes determined. His arms caged Akaashi on either side. His palms pressed against the counter, trapping Akaashi between the solid edge and the warmth of his bare skin. It was an innocent, impulsive act of stubbornness.  “Don’t leave,” he murmured again, his voice low but steady. “Not tonight.”

Akaashi blinked, his breath catching at the intensity radiating from Bokuto. He was close—too close. His bare chest brushed against Akaashi’s, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He swallowed, hard, a desperate attempt to ground himself. “Okay.” was all he managed to utter.

Bokuto tilted his head, his lips quirking into a small, mischievous grin, catching on something in Akaashi’s tone. “You’re holding back,” he said, a quiet tease, almost careless.

Akaashi’s gaze deepened like a predator sizing up its prey,  a subtle change Bokuto didn’t fully register. A playful spark flickered in his icy blue eyes, hinting at something menacing stirring beneath his calm exterior. His lips curved into the faintest smirk, the kind that only came out when he’d decided not to let something slide. “Holding back?” Akaashi repeated softly, his voice deceptively calm. His icy-blue gaze swept over Bokuto in a slow, deliberate pass, the kind of look that made Bokuto’s chest tighten. Then, his smirk turned wicked, a promise of trouble. “No, Kou. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” Bokuto asked, a playful grin plastered on his face, curiosity flickering in his golden eyes.

Akaashi didn’t reply. His smirk deepened, and before Bokuto could fully process what was happening, he moved. In a swift, decisive motion, Akaashi gripped Bokuto’s wrists, peeling his hand off the counter and spun them around, switching places with commanding force. Akaashi pinned him against the counter, one hand braced beside him and the other resting firmly on his thigh. Bokuto gasped as he leaned in and whispered in his ear, “whether I should fuck you here on the counter… or up against the wall.”

Bokuto’s golden eyes went wide as his brain tried to process the sheer audacity of what Akaashi had just said. “K-Keiji!” he spluttered his voice cracking, his cheeks flaring crimson. “You—you can’t b—” 

“Can’t what?” Akaashi asked, stepping forward. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, but his voice dropped lower, carrying the weight of a challenge.

“Can’t lift you?” Without warning, his hands gripped Bokuto’s thighs, and he lifted him onto the counter with almost alarming ease. He slipped between Bokuto’s legs and earned a startled sound from him. Bokuto’s jaw dropped, a small gasp escaping his lips as he scrambled to hold onto Akaashi’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to balance himself.

“Can’t make you lose focus?” Akaashi continued not even close to being done, his hands firm on Bokuto’s thighs, wrapping the silver’s legs around his waist with perfect control. His icy-blue eyes never left Bokuto’s golden, darkened with an intensity that sent a shivers down Bokuto’s spine. He pulled Bokuto even closer. Their bodies were completely flush now, no space was left in between. Bokuto’s breath hitched as Akaashi leaned in, the warmth of his lips brushing against his ear. “Can’t make you mine?” Akaashi’s voice dropped to a near whisper, every syllable dripping with teasing intent.

Slowly, Akaashi shifted, just enough for his lips to hover near Bokuto’s, brushing against them in maddeningly brief teases. The proximity, the heat, the sheer dominance in Akaashi’s presence left Bokuto frozen, his heart hammering so loudly he could hardly think.

Time seemed to stand still. Bokuto’s world narrowed to nothing but the feel of Akaashi’s grip, the press of his body, and the unbearable tease of his lips so close yet maddeningly out of reach. His golden eyes fluttered shut for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. His body felt like it was on fire, every nerve alight under Akaashi’s touch. For a moment, all he could do was stare at Akaashi, completely flustered and utterly at a loss. Then, as if a dam broke, Bokuto let out a loud chuckle.

The sound was so sudden and unrestrained it startled even Akaashi. It quickly turned into a breathless, disbelieving laugh that shook his chest. He tried to speak through it, but the words stumbled over the edges of his amusement. “Who—” another laugh, “—who are you, and what have you done with Akaashi Keiji?” He gasped between laughs, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement.

Akaashi tilted his head, watching Bokuto’s laughter with an amused glint in his eyes. Then, his smirk softened into a loving smile, and he leaned in without hesitation, capturing Bokuto’s lips in a kiss that silenced his laughter in an instant. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but firm, assured, and all-consuming in its simplicity. When he pulled back, his breath ghosted over Bokuto’s flushed skin as he murmured, “I just don’t take challenges lightly.”

Bokuto stared at him, his cheeks still flushed, his lips slightly parted in awe. Then, a playful grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah? What kind of challenges are we talking about here?” he teased, his voice breathless but laced with humor.

Akaashi’s grin returned immediately, glint in his eyes sharpening, turning predatory once more. He leaned closer. “Hey,” he murmured in warning, his lips brushing against Bokuto’s in a tantalizing tease. “Push me, and you won’t be leaving this counter for hours.”

His words sent a shiver down Bokuto’s body, his playful grin faltering as his breath caught. Akaashi’s lips claimed his again with urgent intensity. The kiss deepened, growing hotter and hungrier with every passing second. Bokuto’s fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer like the rest of the world fell away.

Akaashi’s hands roamed across Bokuto’s bare skin, igniting sparks with every touch. The heat between them was palpable. Desire filled their whole beings. Then, just as Bokuto thought he’d lose himself entirely, Akaashi broke the kiss and stepped back. The sudden absence made Bokuto blink in confusion. “What—what’re you doing?”

Akaashi didn’t answer. He was already crouching. He yanked open a cabinet, and began rummaging through its contents. His movements were almost frantic, as if driven by sheer instinct. Bokuto stared, his golden eyes wide. “Keiji?” he asked, still breathless. “Did I… do something?”

Akaashi’s hand closed around a jar, his fingers curling tightly around the smooth surface as he straightened up with a triumphant grin. “Just improvising,” he said simply, placing the jar on the counter beside Bokuto with a soft clink.

Bokuto stared. “…Coconut oil?”

Akaashi’s smirk grew as he stepped closer, bracing his hands on either side of Bokuto again. His icy-blue gaze burned with playful lust. “You use it for baking,” he murmured, his voice low, velvety. “Apparently, it’s great for cookies…” He leaned in, his lips brushing against Bokuto’s ear. “…and other things.”

Bokuto threw his head back, laughing loudly. The sound was warm, unrestrained, and utterly endearing. “You’re a menace. You know that?” he said, his golden eyes bright with affection.

Akaashi’s smile softened, his hand moving to cradle Bokuto’s cheek with a tenderness that stole Bokuto’s breath. “Maybe,” he replied quietly, his icy-blue eyes warm now, melting into Bokuto’s gaze. His thumb brushed against the corner of Bokuto’s lips, his expression fond. “But I’d only ever be one for you.”

Akaashi’s words hung in the air, a soft declaration that seemed to ripple through Bokuto, leaving him undone. His breath hitched as his hands, trembling but determined, reached for Akaashi’s waistband. “I want you,” Bokuto whispered, his voice low and desperate, a plea that sent a rush of heat through Akaashi’s veins.

Akaashi’s lips twitched into a faint smile. He watched Bokuto’s hands fumble with his belt for a moment before his own fingers found the waistband of Bokuto’s sweats. With a smooth, decisive motion, he tugged them down. His touch lingered briefly on Bokuto’s hips before sliding back up, his palms mapping the planes of Bokuto’s skin.

Their breaths mingled, quick and shallow, as they stripped each other. Bokuto finally managed to unbuckle Akaashi’s pants, pushing them down along with his boxers in one swift motion. Akaashi stepped out of them without hesitation. They stood there for a moment, completely bare to each other, their chests heaving.

Akaashi’s cock pressed against his abdomen, his need etched across every inch of him. Bokuto was dripping with anticipation under his intense gaze. Bokuto’s hands found their way to Akaashi’s inked chest, his fingers brushing over the nipple piercings, his voice cracked with raw need. “I want you.” He repeated one more time.

Akaashi’s breath hitched. The way Bokuto looked at him, wide-eyed and vulnerable, yet burning intensely, made him nearly lose all his sense. He stepped back and reached for the coconut oil on the counter, and dipped his fingers into the jar, the solid oil softening instantly under his warmth.

He coated himself first, slow and deliberate, the low kitchen light catching the slick sheen along his length. Then his attention shifted, and his fingers found Bokuto. He traced the curve of his entrance before circling it with careful pressure, easing the oil over him with a gentleness that contrasted the heat in his eyes.

Bokuto’s head tipped back, a breathy moan slipping free, his fingers curling into Akaashi’s shoulders. “Keiji…” he gasped, the sound raw and unguarded. His golden eyes fluttered shut, his chest rising and falling as every nerve lit under Akaashi’s touch.

Leaning in, Akaashi’s lips brushed his ear. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, low and steady, letting the words wrap around Bokuto’s pulse. His fingers worked with precision, firm enough to prepare, soft enough to coax, while his mouth left a trail of kisses along Bokuto’s jaw, down his neck, and across the sharp line of his collarbone.

When Akaashi finally drew back, the air between them felt charged, brittle with anticipation. Bokuto’s chest heaved, his eyes dark and molten. Then, with a sudden burst of need, Bokuto’s hand wrapped around him, firm, unapologetic. “Fuck me. Already.” he rasped, his voice low, desperate, and filled with fire.

The demand hit Akaashi like a spark in dry tinder. His gaze sharpened, the corner of his mouth curving with something dangerously close to satisfaction. “If you insist.”

Without warning, Akaashi pressed Bokuto back onto the counter, the cool surface meeting the warmth of his bare skin. Bokuto let out a soft gasp, golden eyes wide as Akaashi leaned over him, their faces inches apart. His hands slid down, fingers brushing his thighs before grabbing them firmly. Then, he lifted Bokuto’s legs, guiding them over his shoulders. Akaashi’s lips quirked into a faint, wicked grin as his gaze trailed slowly over Bokuto’s flushed form. “But don’t expect mercy, Kou.” He said, voice soft but laced with humor and hunger.

Bokuto’s lips twitched into a grin despite his flushed cheeks. “I wouldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams for you to even know what that is,” he shot back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Akaashi replied, his tone maddeningly even, “would you prefer I enroll in sensitivity training… or fuck you instead?”

Bokuto blinked, his cheeks flaming as the words sank in, but his lips curved into a small smile. “You’re unbelieavable,” he said, shaking his head, his golden eyes gleaming with both exasperation and amusement.

Akaashi leaned in, pressing closer, his body flush against Bokuto’s. “And you,” he said, his voice dropping to a velvety murmur, “are mine.”

Their eyes locked, blue and gold holding fast in the tension-heavy air. Akaashi positioned himself, the tip of his cock brushing against Bokuto, teasing. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, softer now, almost careful. Bokuto nodded, his lips parting in a shaky breath. Akaashi pressed forward, his hips tilting in a measured motion.

There was a moment of resistance, a tightness that made them both still. Then, Akaashi pressed forward again. This time, the tension gave way, and he slid in, the tight heat enveloping him inch by inch. The sensation was breathtaking, overwhelming in its intensity, extracting moans out of them both. For a moment, they stood still, bodies adjusting to the sensations taking over.“Fuck,” Bokuto gasped, his eyes rolling back. His fingers curled around the counter’s edge, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. “You feel so good.”

Akaashi couldn’t respond, too consumed by the feel of Bokuto surrounding him. Instead, he began to move, starting slow, hips rolling in deliberate strokes, each one measured, deep, letting Bokuto feel every inch. His breath came heavy against Bokuto’s ear, his low groans vibrating through both of them.

Bokuto’s head tipped back, a broken sound escaping him with every push, his body arching to meet each thrust. The drag, the stretch, it was maddening. He needed more. “Harder,” Bokuto begged, his voice raw, almost shaking. “Please, faster.”

A spark lit in Akaashi’s gaze. Without a word, his pace shifted, sharper now, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one driving in with a force that stole Bokuto’s breath. His grip on Bokuto’s hips tightened, fingers digging in to hold him exactly where he wanted him. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed through the kitchen, as if the room itself was bearing witness to their unyielding passion. Bokuto’s screams tore through the kitchen, his voice joining Akaashi’s in a symphony. He loved every inch of Akaashi, every bruising grip, every rough thrust. This was what he needed—what they both needed.

Bokuto’s voice rose into choked cries, his chest heaving as pleasure burned through every nerve. “Yes! God, yes, Keiji! Don’t stop…don’t stop!”

Akaashi answered with even more force, each thrust a deliberate claim. Bokuto’s muscles clenched around him, drawing a grunt from deep in Akaashi’s throat. The pressure was building fast, the coil inside winding tighter with every movement. Bokuto couldn’t hold on anymore. He wanted Akaashi with his whole being. “Keiji… I’m so close,” He panted, his voice trembling. “Hold me. Please.”

Akaashi stilled for a heartbeat, his eyes locking onto Bokuto’s as though committing every detail of him to memory. Then, without a word, he reached down, his strong arms wrapping around Bokuto’s waist and lifting him off the counter with a sudden, rough motion. Bokuto barely had time to brace himself before Akaashi slammed him against the nearest wall. He gasped, his breath hitching as Akaashi pressed him flush against the cool surface, his nails digging into Akaashi’s shoulders.

“Forever.” Akaashi murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he nuzzled against Bokuto’s ear. “I’ll hold you forever, like this.”

Bokuto’s reply dissolved into a strangled moan as Akaashi pushed into him again, his thrusts uneven now, urgent, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through their bodies. Bokuto wrapped his legs around Akaashi’s waist tightly, holding him closer, wanting more of the relentless pressure, more of the friction driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“Keiji…—” Bokuto panted, a whine escaping him His eyes snapped shut, his voice was barely audible over the sound of their harsh breaths and the slapping of their skin. “Look at me,” Akaashi asked gently, despite the animalistic rhythm of his thrusts. “Don’t look away.”His mouth grazed the curve of Bokuto’s neck. “Let me feel it.” He said in a whisper.

Bokuto cried out as pleasure surged through him. His vision blurred as his release spilled over between their bodies and down to the floor. Bokuto’s body convulsed, his legs tightening around Akaashi’s waist as the intensity of his climax left him trembling and gasping for breath.

Akaashi came soon after, his thrusts stuttering as his own orgasm surged through him. He buried himself deep inside Bokuto. His fingers digged into the silver’s hips as he spilled into him ferociously.

For a few breaths, they stayed pressed together, both trembling in the aftershock, their chests heaving in sync. Then Akaashi pulled back just enough to press a tender kiss to the side of Bokuto’s neck. It was soft, gentle and a complete contrast to moments ago.“I love you.” Akaashi whispered, the words unguarded, almost reverent.

Bokuto turned his head, pressing his lips into Akaashi’s hair as he struggled to catch his breath. “I love you more.”

Akaashi pulled back a little, his hands sliding down to Bokuto’s thighs as he carefully guided Bokuto down. But the instant Bokuto’s feet hit the floor, his legs buckled beneath him. Akaashi’s arms shot out instinctively, catching him just in time before he could stumble. “Koutarou!” Akaashi exclaimed, his voice laced with concern as he steadied him.

Bokuto let out an awkward laugh, his golden eyes gleaming with warmth despite the wobble in his legs. “Whoa… okay… okay, yeah. That’s a first,” he managed, his tone light, though his cheeks flushed as he leaned heavily into Akaashi for balance.

Akaashi blinked, his lips twitching slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. Shaking his head, he slid an arm around Bokuto’s back and another under his knees, lifting him off his feet. “I’ve got you,” Akaashi murmured, his tone softer now, carrying a warmth that settled between them. “You always do.” Bokuto murmured back.

Akaashi carried Bokuto through the kitchen and into the dimly lit bedroom. Their shadows stretched across the walls as he gently lowered Bokuto onto the bed. He pulled the covers on top of him before sliding inside himself. Bokuto turned to his side and draped his arm over Akaashi’s torso, resting his head against Akaashi’s chest where he could hear the steady rhythm of his lover’s heartbeat. Akaashi instinctively wrapped his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on Bokuto’s muscular arm.

Bokuto sighed, his body melting into the warmth, but a flicker of awe lingered in his voice as he tilted his head up to look at Akaashi.“Keiji…”

Akaashi paused, his fingers halting mid-pattern as his gaze flicked downward to meet Bokuto’s.“Yes?”

“How the hell are you so strong?” Bokuto asked, the words tumbling out as his brows furrowed with disbelief. “I’m not really easy to lift. Let alone hold… Or carry… And You kinda do it—like it’s nothing.”

Akaashi blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment before his lips twitched upward. A small, tired exhale escaped him, almost a laugh. “Try working out with Iwa,” he replied, his tone as calm and matter-of-fact as ever. “He’s a nightmare in the gym. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

Bokuto’s mouth opened slightly, his golden eyes wide, an “ouch” escaped him. His grin followed soon after. “Iwa, huh?” he mumbled, his voice quieter now, faint and drowsy as as he relaxed back into Akaashi’s chest. “Well… that explains a lot.”  Akaashi didn’t say anything. His lips curled into a faint smile as he hummed in response, and kept tracing his fingers on Bokuto’s arm.

They stayed like that for a while, then suddenly Bokuto shifted, propping his chin against Akaashi’s chest so he could look at him, even though his eyelids were already drooping. “Hey…” He said drawing Akaashi’s attention one more time. The raven looked down, gazing into Bokuto’s golden eyes.

“Since I’m the one getting up at some ungodly hour to fetch your clothes for tomorrow,” Bokuto began, voice warm but threaded with stubbornness, “I’m bringing some of your clothes here.”

Akaashi blinked, mildly taken aback. “You are?”

“Mm-hm,” Bokuto mumbled, burrowing closer into Akaashi’s chest. “A couple shirts. Maybe a hoodie. Oh… And work clothes, of course. Enough so that you can’t ever tell me you can’t stay because you don’t have clothes.”

Akaashi’s brow arched faintly. “You’re just… deciding that?”

“Deciding it, planning it, enforcing it,” Bokuto said, his grin lazy but certain. “You don’t get a say. End of discussion.”

Akaashi’s lips quirked, but the warmth in his eyes softened even further. “Okay,” he said simply, the word carrying an ease that told Bokuto there was no resistance in him to begin with.

“Good,” Bokuto murmured, his voice fading into the edges of sleep. His breathing gradually slowed, soft and steady against Akaashi’s chest, his weight settling fully into Akaashi’s hold. Akaashi didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t let a single inch of space creep between them. He stayed still, his fingers curled lightly around Bokuto’s arm, holding on to him as if he could hold on to this moment, too.

The world could tear itself apart, cities could crumble into nothing, and everything he knew could turn into dust. And none of it would matter. All he ever needed was here, in his arms.

Let it all burn.

He’d still be here, holding onto Bokuto.

Notes:

Sooo, why the fight?

Honestly, I asked myself that too. I feel like they’ve already been through so much. So I wrote this chapter, scrapped it and then came back to it. In the end, I decided Bokuto needed to be more assertive. Especially when Akaashi starts spiraling like this. Before, Akaashi always held the ropes and Bokuto would follow him anywhere, but now it felt right to put them on equal ground. Akaashi needed to learn when to retreat.

I was rooting for Bo the entire time, even while writing Akaashi’s dramatics, lol. Hopefully no one’s too mad at him for it.

Thanks for reading!

PS: The title’s exactly as intended.

Chapter 28: In too deep

Notes:

Hi! Back with a new one. Not as long as the last chapters but here.

This might feel a bit like a summary. And I guess in some ways it is. Would you miss something if you don't read it? Probably not. But I felt it needed to be done.

I think the point of this chapter is to be a mess. Life is messy, and it's ok. Somethings aren't perfectly polished and they don't shine. But they still work.

Akaashi Keiji, waited by the carousel with his hands in his pockets, watching the rubber band tremble before a forest green suitcase was eventually spat out. He sighed, and checked his watch on his wrist. He had been there a while, yet there was still no sight of Iwa.  He wondered where his roommate could possibly have been, and watched the airport move around him in silence. Cool night air drifted inside each time the automatic doors opened, people leaving with their bags one after another. His eyes wandered back to the conveyor belt.

 

A family with a small child stood near the edge of the belt, the little boy spinning himself dizzy until his mother caught his hood and reeled him in. A couple argued softly about whether the handle on their suitcase was always bent. A young group of girls compared photos, the screen light striking their faces a cool blue.

Akaashi kept scanning for the familiar shape he was expecting. He knew how Iwaizumi carried fatigue, the slight tilt forward, the tight set of his jaw. When he finally spotted him, a well-earned smile crept on his lips.

Iwaizumi, with his duffel-bag strap digging into his shoulder, hair pressed flat on one side from sleeping leaning towards the window, saw Akaashi, and the set of his jaw shifted. A bright smile appeared on his lips, tired eyes creased at the edges supporting its genuineness. He waved at Akaashi in a hasty motion.

 

They met in the middle with hurried steps and embraced in a wordless tight squeeze until the last piece of distance dropped away. Iwa exhaled against Akaashi’s shoulder, the sound small and grateful.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for picking me up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Akaashi said, stepping back to take him in. Up close, he caught the raw red along Iwa’s jade-green eyes. Usually stubborn and steady, tonight they looked thinned out, worn from either sleeplessness or crying. He tried not to make a face, and smoothed his expression into the gentlest smile he could manage. “You look like Argentina asked for extra time.”

“It kind of did,” Iwa admitted, the words slipping out easier than he probably meant them to. A soft sigh left his lips, tired and low.

Akaashi didn’t answer right away. It was tough. His roommate had just reunited with the love of his life, and now he was coming back empty. Akaashi understood how it felt, but understanding itself did not compose the magical words to make it all better. He watched instead, keeping his expression even.

Before he managed to say something, Iwa rolled a shoulder, already glancing back at the carousel like he hadn’t said anything at all. “Let’s go find my bag.”

“The one that looks offended by the concept of travel?” Akaashi asked, sniggering.

Iwa rolled his eyes, shaking his head and walked to the correct carousel. Bags shuddered past in the conveyor. Iwa pointed when his suitcase limped into view, worn and possibly black at one point of its lifespan. He hauled it off the belt in one clean move and let it drop to the floor. He gave the handle a few sharp yanks, swore under his breath when it refused to budge, and finally gave up. He grabbed the side handle instead, and shot Akaashi a glance that very clearly said don’t even start.

Akaashi pressed his lips together, trying to suppress his laugh. A quite snigger still broke through which he hid by turning his head away. He didn’t say a word, only adjusted his pace and followed Iwa as they headed for the sliding doors.

 

The doors opened with their usual sigh, and cool night air slipped in around them. Outside buzzed with taxis pulling in and out, headlights washing over pavement. They walked together to the parking lot, passing through rows of cars, until the neon orange caught their eyes. Bokuto’s McLaren was still half a lot away, yet it made itself known— glossy and loud even in the shadows, drawing every eye.

“I can’t believe Bo lets you drive this ridiculous thing.” Iwa stopped and gave a short laugh. “Guess he really trusts you, huh?”

Akaashi’s ears warmed. That’s how normal people would react around something that was this expensive— wary, cautious. Yet Bokuto treated it like a beat-up old sedan, tossing him the keys without a second thought, never once saying be careful. It was amazing, overwhelming, and so entirely him all at once.

“I’m wondering,” Iwa said, catching the fluster and shifting the subject, “why didn’t he pick me up himself though?”

Akaashi thumbed the fob and the car blinked awake, lights winking across its glossy skin. He let a small smile slip. “He’s cooking. He wanted to have dinner ready when you got home.”

That landed in Iwa’s chest before he could shield against it. For a heartbeat the warmth spread, lips curling. He masked it with a crooked smirk. “Cute,” he said, voice light, before dropping to a teasing tone. “He’s living the domestic life?”

“Something like that.”

They, managed to fit both Iwa’s suitcase and duffel inside the trunk. Akaashi slipped into the driver’s seat and, pressed the ignition button. The engine came alive low and smooth. “Alright,” Akaashi said simply, hands steady on the wheel. “Let’s go home.”

The McLaren eased forward, and they slipped out of the parking lot into Tokyo’s busy streets. From the passenger side, Iwa let the city filter in. Even at night Tokyo was sharp and orderly, every reflection neat in the puddles, vending machines glowing like tiny lighthouses on the corners. Buenos Aires had been different, warm and disarming. Music spilled from open windows, stray dogs padded alongside buses. Where Tokyo stood, Buenos Aires breathed. It was messy, alive, and so endearing.

He pressed his shoulder lightly against the door, watching buildings slide past in tidy rows. Being back felt strange. He had only been in Argentina once, yet, he felt as if he’d lived there for years. The thought pressed at his ribs, suffocating him, like he’d left something vital behind. No… Someone behind… Someone named, Tooru…

Iwaizumi could still see the setter waving him in from a lit doorway. An image of Oikawa standing in the kitchen, turning a pancake with too much flourish rushed inside his mind. He could still hear Hajime’s bubbly laugh when they were wrestling like dinosaurs. And, the quiet that had wrapped around them their last night. Fuck. He knew leaving would hurt. He just hadn’t expected it to hit like this.

He swallowed hard and shifted his gaze back to the windshield. He leaned his head into the seat, letting Akaashi’s careful driving hold him steady. His chest ached, but silence seemed easier. Nothing he’d say would change the fact he was here, not there.

The city tightened into neighborhoods he recognized. They turned onto the residential street. It was quiet at this hour, a neat row of cars sleeping under a stretch of trees. Akaashi eased the car into a spot next to their building and killed the engine. The McLaren —of course— did not blend. The orange paint stuck out like an exclamation mark against the muted street, glowing almost violently under the streetlamp, and making it impossible to look elsewhere.

Iwa stared, then turned in his seat. “Wait. We’re just… leaving this thing here?”

“That’s what he does,” Akaashi said, already unbuckling.

Iwa blinked completely floored, then let out a soft laugh of disbelief. “He really doesn’t care, does he? Just parks this thing on the street like it’s a bicycle.”

Akaashi’s laugh slipped out quick, and he found himself joining Iwa. “I think he cares about dinner more.”

They got out together, shutting the doors carefully. A man walking a small dog slowed to glance at the McLaren, then at them, curiosity brief and polite. Akaashi pressed the fob and the locks clicked. He slipped the keys into his pocket in a quick motion. They gathered the bags — Akaashi taking the duffel, Iwa the suitcase — and crossed to the entrance.

The building’s light flickered above the door, throwing a pale circle across the pavement. Iwa tilted his head at it. “Home sweet home.” He murmured softly, not being able to mask the quiet sadness in his voice.

“Come on,” Akaashi said, turning the key. The lock gave and the door swung in.

Warmth drifted all the way down to the stairwell greeting them. When they arrived in front of their door, Iwa could smell the hint of ginger in the air.

Inside, Bokuto was standing in front of the stove, apron tied in a loose knot at his back, hair damp and sticking out at odd angles from the steam. He turned when the apartment door opened, eyes lighting up, and dropped the spatula onto the counter without a thought. He came running for them.

 

“Iwa!” His booming voice filled the room, and before Iwa could so much as set down his suitcase, Bokuto had him in both arms in a bone-deep, crushing embrace that knocked the air out of him. Iwa’s suitcase slipped out of his hand onto the floor, and he stiffened momentarily. He was still not used to that kind of warmth. Then something in him gave, and he hugged back just as hard.

 

When Bokuto let go, Iwa drew a deep breath, glanced back at the silver, and noticed the apron. He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Volleyball’s wildest ace’s gone domestic, huh?”

Bokuto’s smile held, wide enough to crease his eyes. “For Keiji?” He said and gave a small shrug. “I’d give up anything.” He said it like a simple fact as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the air.

Heat climbed the side of Akaashi’s neck and he tried his hardest not to make it obvious. He said nothing, lips twitching into a small smile. Iwa and Akaashi traded a look, fond and a little awkward. Both knew by now how intensity slipped out of Bokuto unchecked, almost like a reflex. Then, Iwa turned his head away, shaking his head, smile wide and warm.

Bokuto took a step towards Akaashi, closing the space between them without ceremony. For a moment, he seemed conflicted almost as if deciding what to do next. “Welcome back,” he said in the end, greeting his boyfriend with his gentle smile. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost shy.

 

He snapped back to his bubbly self quick enough. Bokuto clapped his hands once, the sound bright in the small apartment. “Alright. You guys go wash up. Table’s already set. I’ll plate everything.” He was already turning back to the stove, untying the apron hastily, and reaching for the pan.

They washed up and came back to Bokuto putting the last plate to the table. Three lacquer bowls of perfectly mounded rice breathed thin threads of steam that kept rising, curling and vanishing. Beside it, the shogayaki was carefully plated, thin slices fanned out and glistening with the sauce. The entire apartment smelled of ginger and soy with a whisper of something sweet.

Iwa paused with a hand on the chair. How the hell did you know this was what I wanted? For a second he wondered if Bokuto was a telepath. The thought was ridiculous, but the plate was too exact to be luck. He gave up thinking, and eagerly took a seat. “Did you know this is my favorite?” he asked finally, half a question, half a statement.

Bokuto looked up, grin still living at the edges of his mouth. “Keiji told me.”

Iwa shot Akaashi a brief glare that had no heat. Akaashi gave him a calm, unreadable look that still managed to say you’re welcome.

“Thanks,” Iwa said, turning his glance back to Bokuto, voice lower. “I appreciate this a lot. But you guys really shouldn’t have.”

“Of course we should,” Bokuto said, like it was the simplest math in the world. “You’d do the same for us.”

Akaashi picked up his chopsticks gently. “Well… I Doubt you could cook this without poisoning us,” he said, deadpan, “but yes.” He added with a snigger. “You get the idea.”

“Smartass,” Iwa muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitching slightly upward, betraying his words.

They sat around the table. Bokuto slid the plate closer. Iwa laid a slice over rice and took the first bite. Ginger came bright and clean, then the warm depth of soy, the sweetness folded in at the end. The pork was tender, the onions soft enough to fall apart on the tongue. He went in again without thinking, finding all the comfort he was desperately searching in the food that was prepared with love.

“Good?” Bokuto asked, not hovering, just checking.

“It’s delicious, Bo,” Iwa said, simple and true.

Bokuto took a breath of relief, and they all dug in. Akaashi reached for the rice, topped off Iwa’s bowl, eating at his own pace. Somewhere in the middle of the plate, the tightness behind Iwa’s eyes loosened. All the grit from the travel faded. Heat settled in Iwa’s chest in the good way, the kind that made his shoulders drop and his jaw unclench.

When the plates were mostly clean, Bokuto and Akaashi stacked the dishes and carried them into the kitchen. Akaashi put them inside the dishwasher while Bokuto wiped the counter clean. Both worked quietly side by side while Iwaizumi sank in his usual spot on the couch inside the living room. When Bokuto was done he went and joined him, Akaashi put the kettle on, deciding to make some tea, the lid ticking as the water warmed.

When he returned back with the tea, he found Iwa and Bokuto sprawled, sunken to the two couches —Bokuto on the one facing the kitchen, and Iwa the one facing TV. He set a cup in front of Iwa, another for Bokuto then sat where Bokuto was sitting, sinking to the corner. The apartment felt different now, quiet in a way that could only be described by something missing. Someone missing. For a while no one talked. The window showed a slice of the streetlamp and the orange reflection of the car outside.

Akaashi wrapped his hands around the cup for a moment, letting it warm his palms. “So,” he said evenly, “how was Argentina?”

Iwa rolled his finger on the rim of the cup and looked at the table. “Loud,” he said, and the word came with a small smile. “Good. Messy in the best way.” He took a sip. “I met Hajime.” He paused, escaping his eyes from Akaashi, a quick flash of embarrassment. “God, it feels so weird saying his name out loud like this.”

Akaashi’s mouth tipped, patient. “Go on.”

“He’s something else,” Iwa said. “Sharp. He watches everything. He took me back to my childhood. He’s the exact way Tooru used to be as a kid, just more honest about it.” He exhaled, a short breath that almost counted as a laugh. “Can you believe he recognized me the second I walked in? Said he’d seen me in photos.”

Akaashi looked up. “Tooru put up photos?” He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice but did not quite manage. Out of all of them, Oikawa would be the one he’d least expect to put up pictures. He would have guessed Oikawa would be particular about his home decor.

“Only everywhere,” Bokuto said, a laugh caught in his throat.

 

“Yep.” Iwa nodded in confirmation. “Everywhere. Old games. Old friends. I was in some.” He said and turned to Bokuto, mouth curving. “Bo, you were in a lot.”

 

Bokuto’s ears went warm. He scratched at his cheek like that could hide it. “He picks my worst angles.”

 

Akaashi set his cup down carefully, the porcelain clicking against the coaster. There was a sudden tight pull under his ribs. It was strange. Oikawa’s walls were crowded with Bokuto’s face. His own were bare. It shouldn’t sting, but it did, a sharp little wound in his ribs. It’s normal, he tried telling himself. A decade long friendship, entire seasons and milestones shared. Compared to that, Akaashi was still new. And that—God, that hurt.

 

He shouldn’t have been new. He should have been there from the start. Instead, he had been somewhere else, hurting, silent, forgotten. Replaced.

Stop it. His jaw tightened. He wasn’t replaced. He knew that. He knew Bokuto loved him, knew Bokuto had been thinking of him all along, too scared to reach out. Still, knowing didn’t stop the pit forming in his stomach. Didn’t stop the image of Bokuto flying across continents between practices just to be there for Oikawa, to shoulder him, to help with his kid. The kind of devotion that was… insane. The kind of loyalty that was hard to give. Harder to ignore. And Akaashi couldn’t help but think, he hadn’t been given it.

 

He took a deep breath. So what? It didn’t matter. None of it did. Not when Bokuto was here now right beside him. Some wounds healed ugly, scar tissue pulling tight long after the pain was gone. This was one of those. Akaashi was still breathing. Breathing with Bokuto next to him. And that was enough.

Iwa watched the little shift in Akaashi’s face, the way his icy blue eyes drifted unfocused, and recognized it instantly. He had felt the same thing in Buenos Aires. It was a quick, clean cut. A sharp pain. No real fix for it, only time and patience. He turned his cup in his hands, decided to spare the raven the feeling of being seen, and let his voice slide to something lighter.

“Anyway,” he said, almost casual, “Hajime is apparently a soccer kid. It drives Tooru out of his mind.” He paused, remembering playing at parque Tres de Febrero. A fond smile formed on his lips. “We played once in the park and I learned..” He paused just long enough to drink, reeling Bokuto and Akaashi in. “…Tooru is terrible at soccer.”

 

Bokuto choked on a laugh. “No way.”

“Oh yes,” Iwa said, settling deeper into the cushion.“You know Tooru, right? On court he is a machine. Quick feet. Center of gravity in the right place. You know how he moves. Body in the right place before the ball even knows where it’s going.” He sighed and looked both in the eye, shaking his head left to right. “We start playing, and he can’t even hit the ball straight. Sends it sideways every time.”

Akaashi blinked, surprised in spite of himself. “You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I was,” Iwa said. “Apparently, he is only good for volleyball.”

Bokuto and Akaashi laughed hard at that, and they started trading stories back and forth. They talked about small things from the trip, how Buenos Aires was, how different life was, the touristic places, things to see. Bokuto participated more, nodding vehemently and adding his own commentary about Buenos Aires’ specialties while Akaashi listened with a fond smile. After a while, when they were out of small things to talk about, Iwa went quiet. He seemed like he was debating internally whether or not to let something out.

“There was one… situation.” He finally said, voice dropping into a suspicious tone.

“Situation?” Akaashi echoed, worry immediately setting to his icy blue eyes.

Iwa nodded, trying to find the correct words. “Hajime almost caught us…well…” He muttered, and dragged a palm over his face, hiding behind it. “…you know.”

 

Both Bokuto and Akaashi froze. Their mouths fell open almost at the same time, no sound coming out, disbelief written clean across their faces. Akaashi’s eyes turned sideways to Bokuto, who shot the look straight back, like neither wanted to be the one holding the first reaction.

 

Akaashi dragged a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering low, “For the love of god, Iwa.”

 

Bokuto didn’t bother with restraint. He lunged forward in his seat, eyes blown wide, a laugh threatening to break out in the middle of his words. “How the hell did you guys mess up so badly?”

 

Iwa met both their eyes without blinking, his expression flat. He drew in a long breath through his nose, exhaled through his teeth, and let the single word fall. “Tooru.”

 

He leaned back against the couch, and let the memory play itself. “He forgot to lock the door. It was late, quiet, and we weren’t exactly… paying attention. Next thing I know, the door creaks open and there is Hajime, crying, clutching his dinosaur plushie. Said he’d had a nightmare.”

The room seemed to still around his words.

“Tooru rolled off me so fast I barely had time to think,” Iwa said, voice dipping lower. “One second we’re going at it hot and heavy, the next second he’s sitting up in the bed, asking Hajime to come. It happened so fast it almost gave me a whiplash. Thank god we weren’t fully undressed. I just—” his mouth twisted with almost disgust, “—I yanked the covers up to my chin like a goddamn idiot, frozen.”

Despite everything, playing the memory in his mind pulled a softer curve into his mouth. His tone shifted, lighter, warm. “Tooru is an amazing father.” He blurted out, voice dripping with admiration. “He just jumped to dad mode. Scooped Hajime up, no hesitation. Sat him on his lap, caressing his hair, telling him he’s okay, safe, that it was just a dream.” His gaze dropped briefly to his cup, eyes gone far away. “Everything else just fell away for him. Didn’t matter what was happening a second before.”

 

He let that hang, then huffed, sliding back into self-mockery. “Problem is, it worked. Hajime calmed down. And then he noticed me in the bed.”

 

Akaashi couldn’t hold it. A small snigger slipped out before he caught himself, his hand brushing at his mouth like it could hide the grin. “Does it get any more embarrassing than that?”

 

Iwa groaned low, ears heating pink as if the memory itself still burned. “Unfortunately… yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, resigned. “Tooru tried to spin it. Told him I was a special friend. Which just made it worse. Kid stares me down, then looks at Tooru, completely unconvinced.”

 

His eyes flicked to Bokuto, and he glared at the silver, sharp but not serious. “And he says,” he raised his voice into an imitation of Hajime. “Uncle Bo’s your best friend. He never sleeps in your bed. Isn’t he special?”

Both Bokuto and Akaashi cracked at once, laughter bursting out so sudden it shook the quiet out of the apartment. Akaashi bent forward, hand pressed to his stomach. Bokuto was doubled over, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, his whole body rocking with the force of laughter.

Iwa sat back, arms crossed over his chest, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He muttered, his voice back to his normal tone now. He sighed, long and sharp through his nose, the sound of someone who’d already lost the battle. “We had to tell him then. No easing in. No practice. Nothing.” He pointed his finger toward Bokuto, motion hard and accusing. “All because of you.”

“Hey!” Bokuto lifted both hands like the defense might save him. “I’m not the idiot who forgets to lock the door when there’s a kid in the house!”

Akaashi collapsed harder into the couch at that, laughter breaking free all over again.When he managed to catch his breath, he rolled upward. His eyes found Bokuto, clearly amused, mouth twitching into a sly grin.“Can’t believe you’re the control group in a four-year-old’s logic.”

Iwa smirked, but it didn’t hold. His expression faltered, just as quickly. Each time he mentioned something about Bokuto it was bittersweet. It was like rubbing salt onto a wound that never stopped bleeding. Bokuto was there when he wasn’t. And there was nothing he could do about it. He let himself sunk into the cushions more, voice taking a quieter, darker edge. “Well… he thinks the world of Bo.”

It was a simple praise that felt anything but. The air inside shifted so fast Akaashi almost felt the spin of it. He traded an anxious look with Bokuto, both of them a beat behind, not sure how they’d gotten here.

Iwa’s mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to find the correct words. Then he let out a breath, tired and unguarded. “Tooru told me what you did.” His jade eyes pierced Bokuto’s golden, demanding all his attention. “Lying to Hajime about training camp so he wouldn’t get upset when you didn’t call. To give me a chance to bond with him.”

 

Bokuto froze, ears heating so quick it felt like they’d gone bright red. “Damn it, Tooru,” Bokuto groaned, running a hand through his hair. His voice dropped, flustered. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

 

Iwa’s eyes dropped to the floor momentarily, taking a pause. Then, he lifted his head, staring into Bokuto’s eyes again. “You could’ve just called, you know.” He said, his own eyes sharp but filled with gratitude. “ You didn’t have to do all of that. But… thank you.”

 

“Stop.” Bokuto met his gaze steady, almost like daring for him to say one more word. “Don’t thank me for that.”

It could have ended there, but the ache didn’t let Iwa from stopping. His chest tightened as the images he hadn’t asked for came back. Oikawa’s walls were adorned with Bokuto’s pictures. He had entire photo albums full of his face: Bokuto grinning, Bokuto squinting into sun, Bokuto holding baby Hajime, Bokuto with his arm slung around Oikawa’s shoulders like it belonged there.

Iwa had stood there in Oikawa’s living room where Bokuto’s warmth clung to every corner, trying to get passed the harrowing truth: Bokuto had been there to take the pictures he wasn’t.

Iwa’s shoulders slumped. His mouth tipped, almost a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He swallowed once, as if pushing the words through something tight. ‘Thanks for being there for him too,’ he said, quiet and reluctant but true. ‘When I couldn’t be.’”

Bokuto stammered, words catching, chest tight in a way no laugh could shake loose. He opened his mouth, shut it again, panic spiraling loose. Then, he felt a weight pressed against his knee. He looked down and found Akaashi’s hand there, steady. Anchoring him back to the moment.

Akaashi said nothing. He didn’t need to. The softness in his eyes was enough, the quiet acknowledgment of something bigger than any of them had put words to yet.

Iwa could feel the air shift after his thanks, like he’d dropped a stone into still water. The ripples spread, each more awkward than the one before. It was his own choice of words that clung every inch of the small living room like weights a hot air balloon needed to drop before it can soar. It hit him suddenly how quiet the other two had gone. Jeez, I’m making everything so awkward. He knew he needed to be the one take initiative to stop this from getting any more pathetic. He let out a short laugh with no humor in it and rubbed a hand over his jaw.

“I’m making everything heavy, aren’t I?” He said massaging his temples, voice was rough around the edges.

Akaashi and Bokuto both started to answer no, mouths opening together, but Iwa cut them off with a shake of his head. “Don’t bother.” He stared down into his reflection in the tea cooling in his cup, tired eyes staring back at himself. “Sorry, Akaashi.” He mumbled rising without dramatics. “I think I need something stronger today.”

He started walking to the kitchen adjacent. Tired as he was, he held himself in that stubbornly dignified way, spine straight, shoulders squared. Weariness wasn’t allowed to touch him unless he let it. The floor creaked under his steps as he crossed into the kitchen. He reached for the top shelf over the fridge where he kept his beloved whiskey—the good one he splurged on Christmas—, and opened the cupboard next to it. The glasses inside clunked as he stick his fingers between the rims.

 

He returned back from the kitchen with three old fashioned glasses and the bottle of whiskey. He set the glasses down to the low table with care. “I hope you won’t make me drink alone.” He murmured, hand already on top of whiskey cap.

 

“Never.” Akaashi rose quickly a small smile on his face, and reached out before Iwa could twist off the cap. He plucked the bottle from his hand, and motioned Iwa to sit down.

Iwa eased back into the couch as Akaashi poured with the precision of the ex-bartender he was, sliding each glass to its owner with practiced ease. The amber liquid caught the overhead lamp glow, warm brown shifting with every move.

 

“This one,” Akaashi said, raising his glass, voice calm, though something tight curled underneath, “is for Tooru.” His mouth twitched faintly, betraying the jealousy he tried to keep buried. His tone stayed even, because he cared about Tooru just as he cared about Iwaizumi. “To his comeback. Because he will.”

His words held a ton of feelings beneath, but it didn’t crush them, instead steadying the air. “To Tooru.” Bokuto and Iwa echoed together, lifting their own glasses.

Iwa’s throat tightened spitting the name out. It was either a pain or a blessing, having people who knew himself better than he did. Tonight, it was a bit of both. But that was good. Because even he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to ache or to soothe. Whiskey helped when he took a big sip out of his glass, and swallowed the burn. The warmth curling in his chest after was both the bruise and the balm, inseparable and just right.

 

The three of them drank, together and in silence. The quiet wasn’t empty. It was full of the things they weren’t saying, the way grief and comfort tangled until it was impossible to tell them apart. When the glasses came down soft against the table, Akaashi filled them at once. They didn’t even need to ask.

Bokuto shifted in his seat, shoulders rolling once, restless. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, a jarring contrast to his usual thunder. An unfamiliar smile tugged at his mouth, raw and fractured. Not wide, not warm, not the kind that reached his eyes. Not Bokuto. It was the kind of smile worn by someone who had carried their share of pain, the kind that surfaced when there was nothing else left to offer. And through the cracks, grief bled plain.

“You know,” he said, glancing between them, “I’m not worried anymore.”

Both Iwa and Akaashi turned toward him, brows drawn in faint confusion. Bokuto’s golden eyes settled on Iwa first, steady. “Tooru’s lucky. He’s got you waiting for him. That’s the healing he needed.” He stopped momentarily. “His family is already complete, Iwa.”

Iwa’s chest dropped sharp. Damn it. He swallowed, hard, throat bobbing. His grip on the glass tightened, the simple words pressing him from all sides.

Bokuto gaze shifted to Akaashi on his left next. The second the raven head of hair hit his peripheral, golden eyes softened. They had never held anything but love and admiration for him. He still wore that fractured smile. He didn’t often look like this, completely stripped of lightness, stripped of the bravado shielding his entire being. Tonight, he was naked and exposed. Only the barest truth.

“So is mine.” He whispered, the tremor in his voice obvious despite how low it was.

Bokuto’s bare truth had the strange effect of peeling everything else away with it. It was impossible to sit there fully clothed in armor, in silence, when he was stripping himself down so willingly.

Akaashi’s mind went blank of wit, of careful distance, of the practiced politeness he usually reached for. He moved before he thought, reaching across the space between them to catch Bokuto’s hand. He lifted it deliberately, and pressed his lips to the back of it. No sarcasm. No defense. Just the truth in its simplest form.

“I love you,” he said. Out loud. In front of Iwaizumi. Words leaving his mouth even drove himself to disbelief. For Akaashi, that was almost obscene in its boldness. He never said it where anyone could hear. He never once made a show of anything private. Yet here it was, stripped bare in the open.

Iwa’s eyes widened. It felt like the world stopped moving for a second. It wasn’t that he didn’t know— of course, he did. But this? Watching Akaashi lean toward Bokuto with no hesitation, dropping the words without even thinking them out…  It wasn’t measured. It wasn’t the careful distance he clung with his dear life. It was not Akaashi.

Or maybe it was.

Maybe—just maybe—for once, Iwa saw his friend not hold back. Yeah… He just let his feelings finally take the lead.

It struck Iwa deep. Akaashi had never come undone like this, not even in his lowest. His friend always held himself steady and proper, dignity running through his veins. Pride swelled in his chest, unexpected and fierce. It took guts to do this. To demolish the walls he’s carefully built over the years.

His gaze shifted, landing on Bokuto. This is because of you. Before he even knew, a rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, bashful, the kind he reserved only for Oikawa. In that moment, Iwaizumi finally understood. Akaashi was in too deep, and it was irreversible.

Bokuto wasn’t just important to his best friend. He was it. The one. Always had been.
Bokuto was home.

The sight and realization all at once carved something into him. It ached, but it also awed, leaving him quiet, unable to look away.

Bokuto felt Iwa’s eyes on him. Damn it. His body trembled as if he was going to debut his first official match. His heart was beating so fast that it could burst free anytime. Fuck. You’re a world class athlete, damn it. So what if Iwa was watching? That was the thing he was built for, to perform under pressure even when the crowd was loud and all eyes were on him. Why did Iwa watching matter now then?

It wasn’t the first time Bokuto heard those words. He heard them disguised under banter with soft laughter. He heard them desperate, whispered against his throat between ragged breaths. He’d heard them in quiet like a secret meant only for him. But not like this. Never like this. Never out in the open, in front of another, given without fear, or hesitation.

The edges of his eyes started to sting. Pull it together. He wanted to say it back. To shout it, to press himself into Akaashi and never let go. But he knew if he opened his mouth, if he gave in, he’d completely fall apart.

So he didn’t. He held on. He squeezed Akaashi’s hand, hard, desperate, every ounce of feeling pouring through his grip. Then he let go, dragging his hand back to himself in a rush, forcing air into his lungs.

Akaashi didn’t care. He never needed the words. He’d always known.

Bokuto’s palm felt suddenly, achingly empty. He reached for his glass instead, lifted it in a quick motion and chugged the rest of the amber liquid in one go. The whiskey burned its way down inside his chest. By the time he set the glass back on the table, his face had already changed. A grin pulled his mouth wide that it bordered on ridiculous. Too bright, too sharp, though completely deliberate. It was his way of patching over the cracks, of holding himself together by sheer force of will.

 

“Plus,” he said, turning toward Iwa’s way with almost theatrical gusto, “I’ve got you now. You’re family too. What more could I ask for?”

He might as well have spiked Iwa directly in the head. Iwa reckoned the effect would have been the same. Probably. Bokuto’s words hit Iwa in blunt force, straight across face. His throat closed, eyes stinging before he even knew why.

“To family then,” Akaashi raised his glass one more time, “the one we get to choose.” He said quiet but resolute. “Ours.”

Iwa and Bokuto joined Akaashi’s toast, taking a small sip and setting the glasses down to the table. It was quiet after that, words still sinking in.

“Man,” Iwa scoffed abruptly, dragging a palm down his face to hide the mess there. “You guys are gonna make me cry.” He shook his head hard, reaching for his own whiskey and knocked back a mouthful in defense. “You weirdos.”  He muttered at last.

Akaashi had been watching the whole exchange for a while in silence, Bokuto getting flustered from his affection and trying to deflect, Iwa getting sentimental. Cute. He kept his lips pressed flat to keep from laughing. It was pointless. His shoulders gave him away, shaking once before the sound slipped out—small, sharp, amused. He reached for the bottle, quickly topping off their glasses, all the while completely unbothered by the thick air his two companions were choking on.

Iwa shot him a side glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, shaking a fist in mock threat, though his ears were burning too red to be convincing.

Beside him, Bokuto’s eyes narrowed. “I think I agree with Iwa for the first time.” He muttered. “Somehow you manage to talk too much without uttering a single word.”

Akaashi didn’t flinch, not even remotely intimidated by either of them. He slid the glasses back to their owners, then arched a brow. “Did I miss the memo where you two became best friends?”

Both Iwa and Bokuto rolled their eyes in perfect unison.

In the end, that rare moment of openness turned out to be only a short burst. Gone almost as soon as it surfaced. And just like that, all three of them were back to themselves.

Iwa took another sip of the whiskey. “You two are lousy distractions,” he muttered, shaking his head. His eyes narrowed, but there was a glint behind them that didn’t quite match the gruff tone. “Come on. Enough about me. Tell me what you’ve been up to here.”

He pointed a finger to Bokuto. “Was this menace…” he turned the finger towards Akaashi this time. “…good to you while I was gone?”

Bokuto didn’t answer right away. He leaned back a little, eyes catching on Akaashi across from him. For a beat, the room blurred. Flashes of last week slipped quick through his mind. They had their first real fight, voices raising over the tattoo, and silence following after that. He thought he had done it if he were honest. He thought maybe he’d pushed too far this time. Too far gone.  But then, Akaashi came back despite everything. He was softer somehow, letting him in where he used to keep every door locked tight. Different. Changed. Vulnerable in a way he’d never allowed himself to be before.

Bokuto’s chest pulled tight. He smiled, the kind that curved slow and fond. “He was perfect,” he said simply. Not because it was true. It wasn’t. But because in his eyes, it might as well have been. What could be more perfect than that?

Akaashi, without missing a beat, deadpanned, “No, I wasn’t. He’s lying.” His voice was flat, but his eyes didn’t waver. “I did mess up. He had to forgive me.”

For a moment, he paused, gaze locking with Bokuto’s. His mouth softened, the edges of his tone loosening just slightly. “But we’re good now.”

 

Bokuto snorted to that before he could stop himself. The sound slipped out sharp, sudden, and Iwa’s eyes turned to him at once, narrowing. “What’s so funny, Bo?”

Bokuto waved a hand, far too quick. “Nothing, nothing—” But Akaashi’s gaze pierced his, cool and cutting, a silent don’t you dare. That was all it took. Bokuto cracked under it like glass, his grin faltering into sheepishness. He rubbed the back of his neck, guilty as sin.

Iwa’s brows drew together. He didn’t miss the look between them. “What the hell did you guys do now?”

Akaashi pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling as if the weight of Bokuto’s entire existence was suddenly on his shoulders. “Go on.” He motioned Bokuto. “Might as well show him.”

Bokuto practically beamed. “Okay!”

They lifted their shirts in unison, and Iwa’s mouth fell open. His glass nearly slipped from his hand. Matching name tattoos stood proudly, declaring their love louder than anything Iwa’s heard.

Bokuto’s was impossible to miss. Clear as day. Akaashi’s name carved into his chest with reckless certainty. Dark black ink sat proud on skin that had never known a needle before. Akaashi’s took longer to notice, lost between the intricate tattoo work spanning across his chest. But there it was, unmistakable: Bokuto’s name, stark in white ink against the banner of black.

Iwa could only stare a while, jaw dropped, words failing him.“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He barked in disbelief.

His eyes darted between the two of them, as if he looked fast enough the tattoos would disappear. “Where the hell were your brain cells, on vacation?” His voice sharpened, exasperation bleeding into every syllable. “I’d expect it from this tattooed idiot—” he jerked his thumb toward Akaashi, “—he’s already covered. But you, Bo? Hell of a commitment for your first tattoo.”

“Guess who got his first.” Akaashi said, voice matching in exasperation yet fondness bled through.

Bokuto, unbothered, was grinning so wide it almost split his face. He sat there, obvious that he’d been waiting for this exact reaction, pride radiating off him in waves.

Iwa groaned, scrubbing a palm down his face. His whiskey glass clunk against his teeth when he drank. “You realize normal couples just buy rings, right? Like sane people.”

 

A beat passed. His shoulders relaxed. His chest ached with something almost tender, watching the two of them beam at each other. His mouth curved despite himself. “But somehow, it suits you. Both of you.”

Bokuto’s grin was at full force. “Knew you’d like it in the end,” he said, completely carefree. He leaned forward, golden eyes sparking with mischief. “So…when are you getting Tooru’s name inked across your chest?”

Iwa laughed, tipping back his glass like the whiskey might wash the very idea away. “Over my corpse, maybe.”

Bokuto roared a laugh then launched into the story how he’d decided on the tattoo, how the idea came to him sitting in a coffee shop. He described the studio, the smell of antiseptic, the buzz of the needle and how much it hurt (“way less than I expected, Iwa, I thought I would cry”), and how the artist almost refused him, then recognized him from the TV mid-tattoo and nearly stopped tattooing. His voice spilled over the room like a tide, washing away the heavier things Iwa was carrying.

 

Iwa listened with a grin plastered on his face, the whiskey softening the sharp edges of his expression. He laughed at all the right moments, but his glass emptied faster than the others. Every time Bokuto’s story grew more animated, Iwa’s hand tilted his glass back, almost desperate, until the amber ran out. Akaashi noticed it, yet he refilled each time without comment. He knew this was what Iwa needed tonight, and he would let him have it.

 

The bottle drained quicker than expected. Bokuto leaned back in his chair, cheeks warm, grin loose, while Akaashi rose to fetch another from the kitchen—a cheaper one this time. The second bottle opened with a hollow pop. It was sharper on the tongue, but none of them cared. The night pressed on, their voices weaving between laughter, teasing, and stories.

 

By the time Iwa finally stopped reaching for his glass, he had drunk more than Bokuto and Akaashi combined. His grin had escaped along the way. Silence was now settling around them. Akaashi caught the way his eyes drooped as he sank deeper into his sunken spot on the couch. He walked over, voice even. “Still here?”

 

“I’m fine,” Iwa slurred, not even lifting his head to face him. “Leave me alone.”

Akaashi extended his hand anyway. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Iwa didn’t take his hand. He stayed glued to the cushion, jaw tight, as if gravity itself had set its claws in him. Akaashi leaned closer, voice firmer this time. “Iwa?” He raised his chin, just enough to catch his eyes. Iwa’s eyes, jade-green, usually steady, sharp and intimidating, tonight they were anything but. Tears he refused to let fall, pooled over the edges. Wet and red, they refused to break even as they were drowning.

“No.” He finally said. The word came hoarse, pulled from someplace too far down. He swallowed, throat bobbing, and whispered again, a tremor in his voice. “Please.”

“H-he’s everywhere,” Iwa said, voice splintering low. He blinked hard, trying to fight against it but the first tear slipped free anyway. “His scent. His touch.” Another pause, another tear. “I can’t. Please.”

Akaashi’s chest ached at the sight. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he reached out and smoothed Iwa’s hair back from his forehead, gentle, like he might have done to a restless child, an attempt to brush away the fragility. “Okay,” he said softly, steady, even when the ground underneath them wasn’t.

The touch undid Iwa. His arm shot forward and hooked around Akaashi, dragging him down with drunken strength. Akaashi lost his balance, and nearly toppled, catching himself at the last second. One hand braced against the cushion, the other still in Iwa’s hair, he was bent at an awkward angle across the couch. His shoulder caught Iwa’s face, and tears broke loose at last,  dampening his shirt, the fabric clinging to his skin where tears had fallen.

 

Harsh, muffled sobs shook both of them with their force. Akaashi’s balance wavered, knees aching from crouching, but he kept holding so he wouldn’t crush him. He let Iwa cry, one hand still smoothing through his hair in slow, careful strokes.

Across the room, Bokuto froze, pulse hammering in his throat. Iwa clung to Akaashi, face buried in his shoulder, tears soaking through fabric. Akaashi bent to him, patient, gentle, his hand smoothing Iwa’s hair.

Every instinct in Bokuto screamed to move, to step in, to hold, to help. That’s what he always did. Always. But another voice howled just as loud: get out. Don’t watch. Don’t see another man wrapped all around his boyfriend, even in grief. The two instincts tore him in half, leaving him trembling where he sat.

His hands curled into fists against his knees. It burned, even though he knew it wasn’t the slightest bit wrong, even though it meant nothing but sorrow. He finally pushed himself up before he could break.

Bokuto rose without a word, the wood floor creaking under his weight. He moved quietly, careful not to draw their attention, careful not to disturb the fragile break Iwa was clinging to. The balcony door slid open with a groan, and the cold night air rushed inside, cutting through the smell of whiskey as he stepped outside.

He pressed his palms against the railing. The metal was cold enough to sting. He filled his lungs with air in an attempt to sober up. When he exhaled, his breath clouded the chilly night air. He looked down. The orange of his car glared from the street below, absurdly bright under the lamps. Windows around them glowed faintly with lives still moving.

 

Behind the glass, muffled through the pane, Iwa’s broken sounds carried on, low, jagged. The soft murmur of Akaashi’s voice threaded through them. Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the ache clawing up from inside.  He didn’t want to resent it—God, he hated himself for even feeling the sting. But he couldn’t stay inside. Not right now.

So he stayed outside, shoulders hunched against the night, letting the city breathe for him while his own lungs faltered.

When he turned his head, he saw Akaashi from the corner of his eye, carrying a pillow and a folded blanket — the pale blue one Bokuto knew lived at the foot of Akaashi’s bed. Bokuto’s chest pinched when he realized: he hadn’t brought Iwa one that smelled like Tooru.

 

Akaashi walked next to Iwa with the set of blanket and pillow he brought from his own room to spare him from the ones nestled with Tooru’s scent. He set them down by the couch, and crouched by Iwaizumi, lifting his legs carefully, laying them flat on the couch.

 

Iwa didn’t fight him. He let his body move like dead weight, drunk and pliant. Akaashi slid the pillow beneath his head, fluffing it until he deemed comfortable. He picked up the blanket, shaking it open, and covered Iwa, tucking the edges against his sides until he Iwa lay cocooned, softened against the couch.

“Feels okay?” Akaashi asked quietly, lowering himself to sit at the edge.

Iwa let out a long exhale, eyes already half-closed, and gave the barest nod. Akaashi leaned in, eyes tracing the lines of fatigue etched deep into his face. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, feather-light. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he promised when he pulled away.

Iwa’s brows pulled together. His jade eyes cracked open, watery and clouded. There was something almost childlike in the way his face twisted.

 

“Not you,” he slurred, voice low, stubborn.“Go away. I want Bo.”

 

Akaashi blinked, silent for a moment. Then a small chuckle broke through. He nodded, and smoothed Iwa’s hair again. “I’ll go get him.” He said as he rose.

 

He crossed the room in silence, each step soft against the wood. The balcony door loomed, his reflection flashed in the glass, city lights swimming behind it. He slid the door open, the track groaning softly, and stepped into the chill.

He found Bokuto slumped over the railing, shoulders rounded, looking uncharacteristically tired. “You okay?” Akaashi’s asked, voice gentler than usual.

 

“Yeah,” Bokuto managed, though the word was a breath more than a sound. His chest rose, fell. “He asleep?”

 

Akaashi shook his head once, stepped close, and wrapped himself around him from behind. His chest pressed firm into Bokuto’s back, arms looping around his torso, cheek resting against the curve of shoulder. It startled Bokuto, but the warmth was just what he needed in the cold air. He pressed his hand on top of Akaashi’s.

 

“He actually asked for you,” Akaashi murmured, the words warming the shell of his ear. “Told me to go away. Said he wanted Bo.”

Bokuto stilled, jerking slightly. His head turned a fraction, golden eyes wide with disbelief, searched through Akaashi’s, almost as if to check whether he’d heard right. “Me?” His voice cracked. “Why?”

Akaashi’s mouth curved. His shoulders lifted in the faintest shrug, and he pressed a kiss to the slope of Bokuto’s neck. “Beats me.”

Bokuto’s eyes flicked back to the window. Through the glass, Iwa was only a bundled shape on the couch, a shadow swallowed in blue. Guilt clawed up his throat. His hand curled against the railing, the cold metal biting into his palm until his knuckles ached.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay,” he said, voice roughened by shame. “I know it’s nothing. But I hated watching someone else draped all over you.”

Akaashi’s laugh slipped quiet against his ear, gentle and warm. “It’s okay,” he said, arms tightening around him. “Makes you human.”

He leaned his cheek deeper into Bokuto’s shoulder. “What do you think I felt when I heard Tooru’s house was covered in pictures of you?” He shook his head once, faint and bitter. “The lost years get heavy sometimes. But it’s okay. We’re okay. We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”

Bokuto’s throat locked around a thousand things at once. He pushed past them, words spilling without second-guessing. “I love you.”

Relief washed over him the instant they were spoken. The tightness in his lungs loosened, breath spilling out in a rush he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Akaashi stilled, then turned him gently, pulling him away from the railing. He looked up into his face, eyes clear, soft, and without hesitation leaned in, lips brushing his with a tenderness that made the world drop away. When they parted, he whispered: “I love you too.”

Heat flushed Bokuto’s face instantly, spreading across his ears, ridiculous in the cold. But his grin broke wide, helpless. He exhaled a laugh, shaky and alive, then turned his gaze back toward the couch. “I’ll go check on him,” he murmured.

Akaashi only lifted his hand in a quiet wave, a subtle dismissal, before reaching for the cigarette pack left on the balcony rail, placing one between his lips.

 

Bokuto softly slid balcony door again, closing it back as he stepped inside. He padded back into the living room. The air inside felt heavy compared to outside, close with whiskey and exhaustion. Iwa lay sunk deep into the couch, swallowed by the pale blue blanket. His lashes clumped, cheeks streaked with tears that hadn’t dried yet. Bokuto hesitated, then lowered himself carefully to the edge of the cushion.

“You asked for me?” he said softly.

Jade eyes flickered, then opened, red-rimmed and raw. They found his, and the sight made something pinch hard in Bokuto’s chest. Since the day he’d met Iwaizumi, he’d been tough and rough around the edges—unyielding, grounded, responsible. The guy who carried everyone else. He’d never once pictured him like this, stripped down, fragile, undone, as if sorrow had pried every defense from his bones.

Iwa’s head tipped the barest nod. His gaze didn’t waver even through the haze. He just stared, glassy-eyed, straight into Bokuto’s gold. “You’re…” he slurred, trying hard to smooth his voice. “…really special, you know that, right?”

Heat rushed to Bokuto’s ears, his face burning crimson before he even registered it. His instinct screamed to deflect, to laugh it off. “You called me over just to tell me that?” His voice pitched higher than intended, awkward.

But Iwa didn’t blink. His glassy stare held, too steady for someone this drunk, as though he’d been waiting years to say this one thing, and now alcohol was undoing all his inhibitions. His voice dragged, slurred, but every word hit with clarity. “I’ve never seen him this way. Not with anyone. Not for anyone.”

 

Bokuto froze. Iwa’s words spoken in a drunken haze wiped the grin off his face.

 

Iwa swallowed, his lip trembling as he forced the words out. “He loves you. So much.” His tone softened, uncharacteristically tender. “I know you love him too. But…” His throat bobbed hard, and for a moment, silence stretched taut between them. “Don’t break his heart, okay?”

 

The plea sat between them like an elephant. Bokuto’s chest caved, but he smiled, small and earnest. It was sort of endearing that Iwa had pulled him close just to say this, when minutes ago he’d been drowning in his own sorrow.

 

“I won’t,” he promised.

 

Something eased in Iwa’s face at that. “Good,” he muttered. Then his hands clumsily pawed at his collar, tugging. “And… get me out of this. Can’t sleep in it.”

 

Bokuto huffed a laugh, barely contained. “Sure.” He leaned in, gentle, fingers moving over the buttons until Iwa was free of the shirt. He tugged the blanket higher, tucking him in. “Better?”

Iwa gave the faintest nod, eyelids heavy. “Goodnight, Iwa,” Bokuto said quietly.

“…’Night.”

Bokuto rose, slipping away from the couch. Iwa turned onto his side, sinking deeper into the cushion, the blanket folding around him. His body stilled, but his mind did not.

Behind his swollen eyelids, a picture formed…Oikawa’s smile, Oikawa’s hand resting warm against his shoulder, and Hajime, laughing between them. I won’t ever feel like this again. The ache sharpened so much that it nearly buckled him, but he clung to it. Only thing in his mind a single vow that carved into him as clear as ink:

I won’t ever let you go.

Notes:

With this, we are getting really close to the ending. I have three more things planned, but I'm not sure how I'm going to divide those into chapters.

Thanks for being here this whole time!

Chapter 29: An End and a Beginning

6 MONTHS LATER

Akaashi sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes fixed on the scattered boxes around him. Some were sealed tight with neat strips of tape, labeled in his careful writing. Others were half-packed, things spilling from them like thoughts he could not contain. It had been weeks since he promised Bokuto he would move in. He should have put order into this by now, should have made lists, stacked boxes, assigned every object to its place. He should have been done days ago. Yet, there he was, sitting with the tape roll loose in his lap, a sharpie in hand, unable to make his mind settle on what belonged where. Why didn’t I get through this yet? He frowned at the boxes as though they were mocking him.

Shaking his head, he placed the sharpie on top of a box labeled as “Coats”. He pushed himself up, stood in the middle of the room and looked around. His shoulders slumped, hair stuck up at odd angles from running his fingers through it too often. What a mess. He exhaled, hard, and dragged his hands down his face. Enough. He would get this done, one way or another.

Akaashi leaned forward at last, and reached for the box that said “Clothes”. He pressed the flaps down with both hands. He was already finished with those. Folded, stacked, tucked in with a precision that felt more like him. He tore a strip of tape, pressed it across the seam, then reached for the next one. “Toiletries”,  also done. He taped that shut too, the sound of tape tearing loud in the quiet room. For a brief moment, closing those boxes eased something in his chest, bringing a piece of order he desperately needed.

He reached for a fresh box next, folded the bottom, and carried it to the bookshelf by the wall. He crouched low, fingertips brushing the spines of the books. One by one, he slid each book free, setting them carefully inside. A history book still scribbled with his notes. A poetry collection Iwa had given him on his parents’ anniversary of death. The cracked novel that had carried him through nights he thought he would not survive. Pick up, place, repeat. When the box was full, he shut it tight and sealed it with tape. He reached for the sharpie he had left on top of the box with coats, and labeled it “Books”.

He stayed crouched there for a moment, staring at the word. Then he let his eyes wander across the room again, to the furniture this time. The bed pushed into the corner, worn both from sleepless nights and the nights full of deepest of slumbers. The television propped on its stand, shining its blue light back at him. The desk beneath the window where he had hunched over endless drafts in nights that blurred into dawn. He looked at the furniture where he worked himself to death, where he collapsed drunk, where he rested cozy, safe and sound. Five years folded into four walls. None of it would follow him. Bokuto’s apartment was already furnished. Akaashi did not need these pieces of furniture. Still, leaving them behind left a strange hollow ache.

His gaze drifted back to a one particular box that was still yawning. The real trouble was not the sweaters, his perfume or even the furniture he was leaving behind. It was the rest. The things that belonged to the house as much as to him. His mugs in the kitchen, the frames he’d hung in the living room, the stack of coasters on the coffee table, his reading lamp by the wingback chair, and so much more… Every object was tethered to a memory, and his hand froze each time he reached for one. That’s probably why he had been in his room, wasting time when he could have finished hours ago.

Akaashi clasped at his hair, fingers digging into the sides of his head. Why am I this way? The question looped without answer. He had said yes to Bokuto with no hesitation, his heart overjoyed, filled with nothing but love. Not once since had he regretted it. He did not doubt Bokuto, or the yes he had given him.

He wanted this. To wake up to the faint lemongrass clinging on Bokuto’s skin tangled with crisp linen and warmth, press his nose to his throat and breathe until the scent drowned him. To come home to the clatter of Bokuto in the kitchen, singing whatever song was stuck in his head in front of the hissing pans. And, nights that ended with Bokuto’s arm slung over his side. He wanted the noise, the warmth, all of it.

And yet, he had been procrastinating this move all month. Why? He kept circling the question, trying to make sense of it. The answer struck him all at once, so sharp it nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

Because leaving meant walking away from the only home he had made for himself since everything had collapsed. Leaving meant, parting from Iwa— the only family he had left, the hand that kept him upright when he couldn’t stand on his own.

He closed his eyes for a beat, exhaled, and pressed his hands against his hips until the bones ached. Get it together, Keiji. Iwa wasn’t dying. They were just not going to live together anymore. That was all. He would still see him tomorrow, and the day after, and the week after that. The walls would change, not the people. He repeated the thought like a mantra until the anxiety inside his chest dissipated.

When he opened his eyes again, he reached for the last box, the one half-filled with household items. He could at least take the personal things. A handful of mementos that were his. And, maybe thread this apartment to the new one. That would be enough.

He carried the box into the living room, padding across the floorboards. His reading lamp by the wingback chair caught his eye first. He unplugged it carefully, winding the cord into a neat circle, and carried it by the door. It wasn’t going to fit in the box, but at least it was ready.

Iwa’s voice drifted from the couch, low, even. “Wow. You’re making progress.”

Akaashi glanced over. Iwa hadn’t moved from where he was sprawled, one leg kicked up on the armrest, eyes on the television. He didn’t offer to help, just sipped at the can of soda in his hand, and watched some late-afternoon talk show that filled the apartment with background laughter.

“Shut up,” Akaashi muttered, though his voice lacked any bite.

Iwa snorted, taking a lazy sip from the can in his hand. “I was starting to think you were gonna rot in there until Bokuto showed up with a forklift.”

“Hilarious.” Akaashi rolled his eyes. He let his gaze wander across the room. The frames by the entrance caught his eye, black borders lined neatly against the pale wall. He hesitated, box shifting in his hands. He could take them, but they looked right where they were. And Bokuto’s apartment was already decorated, too polished for him to know where these would even go. Oh well. He ended up leaving them.

He crossed the room, set the box down by the couch, standing next to Iwa. His hand brushed the blue blanket tossed over the backrest, soft and worn from years of use. He picked it up automatically, ready to fold it into the box, then paused. The fabric still smelled faintly of Iwa, the faint spice of his cologne. He must have slept in it not long ago. Akaashi’s fingers curled into the fabric, and memories came rushing. The night Iwa returned from Argentina, broke down on the couch, tears streaking his cheeks as he cried against Akaashi’s shoulder. And all the nights before that too… Countless times he had passed out in front of TV, and Akaashi wordlessly draped the blanket over him.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips before he realized Iwa was right there beside him. He stopped it at once, composure sliding neatly back into place. He turned his face away and laid the blanket back on the couch instead of packing it. Let it stay. Maybe Iwa would remember to cover himself next time.

“Careful, Akaashi, you’ll make me think you actually liked living with me,” Iwa drawled, side-eyeing him from the couch.

“As if. Don’t flatter yourself,” Akaashi shot back, voice calm, almost bored.

“Please. You were just about to get all misty-eyed over a blanket.”

“You might wanna get your eyes checked.” His reply was clipped, perfectly level, but the blood rushing his cheeks betrayed him.

Before Iwa could get another word in, Akaashi turned on his heel and escaped to the kitchen. He put the box onto the counter with a thud and pulled open the cabinet above the sink. Rows of mugs stared back at him. He began taking the ones that belong to him down one by one, lining them neatly in the box. His hand froze on one particular. A white mug he was gifted at work that had Weekly Shōnen printed across the side, chipped at the rim. It wasn’t anything special. In fact, it was ugly compared to the rest. Yet it was the one Iwa reached for every morning, even when there were half a dozen better mugs waiting. Why he liked this old thing, Akaashi had no idea. His lips twitch upward again. With a small shake of his head, he set the mug back on the shelf instead of packing it. Some things belonged exactly where they were.

He looked at the drawers. Most of it were filled with kitchen items they owned jointly and Akaashi didn’t care for. The bottom one though, he didn’t even remember the last time he opened it. There could be something important tucked inside and forgotten.

Akaashi crouched down, pulling the drawer handle. It caught onto something, stuck and stubborn from years of never being touched. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath, giving it another yank, harder this time. It slipped off track, the wood screeching as the whole drawer came out of place. A spill of batteries, screws, and stray junk scattered across the floor.

Great. Just what I needed. He sank onto his knees, gathering the mess into his palms, tossing the useless bits back inside.He picked the drawer up and leaned forward to slide it back to space. What’s that? He realized there was something responsible for the drawer being stuck. Curious, he narrowed his eyes trying to identify the object.

Wedged against the bare wood at the back, was a small plastic bag. Cloudy, yellowed at the corners, filled with white dust inside.

His breath stopped.

No. He bit down hard on his lip, unable to move. It must have been an old stash. A ghost he thought he had gotten rid of haunted him once more. Every muscle in his body went rigid, hands shaking so hard that he dropped the drawer onto the floor. His entire body followed, tremors crawling through his chest, his legs.

His hand moved before he realized it, reaching toward the bag. He caught himself inches away, fingers hovering, frozen mid-air. His lungs clawed for air, dragging too fast, too shallow.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away as if someone was pressing his head down, forcing him to look.

Calm down. Calm down. Think about what you’re doing.

But the calm didn’t come. A thousand thoughts rushed him at once, vivid, vicious and relentless. He could cook it. He could shoot it up. Wait… Did he even have a needle? Forget that. He could just tear the bag open, press it to his nose, and let it carry him under. Faster, easier. He could forget everything by tonight. The old rush surged in his mind, phantom heat prickling his arms, his veins aching with memory.

And the bag just sat there, patient, waiting.

“IWA!” A shout jolted through the apartment. It was loud, ripped straight from panic. Pure instinct. His body called for help while his mind drowned. The force of it scraped his throat, and left it burning.

Footsteps pounded the hall. Iwa was off the couch and into the kitchen in one motion.

“What, what happened?” His voice was tight, pitched for danger.

Akaashi sat folded on the kitchen tiles, the drawer toppled beside him, breath hitching, unable to form words. His mouth opened, then closed, useless. He raised a hand, pointed with his finger that wouldn’t stop shaking, into the hollow space under the cabinet.

Iwa bent in a hurry, saw the cloudy plastic wedged against the wood, and his face went ashen as if he had seen a ghost. “Damn it.”

He crouched down immediately. “Don’t look.” he ordered flat and final. Without pause, he reached across, his hand gripping the side of Akaashi’s jaw, fingers pressing against bone as he turned his face away in a sharp motion. The grip was rough, almost startling, but not cruel. It pulled his gaze from the one thing he couldn’t stop staring at. With his other hand, Iwa reached into the hollow, grabbed what had been hidden there for years.

Akaashi’s neck followed the pressure. He stared at the cabinet face instead. Lines in the wood swam. He heard the bag scrape against the frame, the rustle of Iwa rising, and the rush of footsteps retreating down the corridor. The bathroom door slammed. The sound of the flush of a toilet echoed through the apartment a second later.

Akaashi winced at the sound. Relief came in a rush. In the same breath something inside him cracked, grief hollowing him out at once. The tremor running through him turned into a full-body shiver now that infernal thing was gone. He wrapped his arms tight around his torso, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt to hold back the ache. He bent forward until his forehead touched against the cold kitchen tile, trying to keep himself from splitting open. The part of him that had screamed for it still thrashed, frantic like an animal caught in a snare. Tears slipped free before he realized.

What am I doing?

The words slammed through his head. His chest clenched and a sob tore loose before he could bite it back. He pressed his teeth down hard and still another came.

What the hell am I doing?

Images of tomorrow came quick in brutal clarity, each one cutting as they arrived. Boxes marked with his handwriting across the sides lined up in Bokuto’s apartment waiting to be opened. Bokuto’s kitchen, neat in its own chaos, the rice cooker steaming. Two toothbrushes leaning against each other in a cup. Every picture already stained by the one thing he wanted.

I am an addict.

No matter how long he stayed clean, no matter how much distance he tried to put between himself and that past, it was still there, patient, waiting. He hadn’t even thought, hadn’t even fought. His hand had reached for the damned thing like muscle memory, like his body had been waiting all along to betray him.

I’ll ruin him.

His forearms tightened around his ribs in an attempt to ground himself, but the tremors just deepened. Bokuto with his medals, his discipline, his entire career balanced on the body he cared for like a temple. And him. Kneeling on the floor, forehead pressed to cold tile, body trembling over a bag that no longer existed. Ready to throw himself back into the dirt at the first chance.

I’ll ruin him. I’ll ruin everything.

The tears kept coming, wet and salty, staining his cheeks.

He deserves someone normal, someone whole, not this. Not me.

The box on the counter stood open, his mugs lined neatly inside as though nothing had happened. The sight made his stomach twist. What was he even doing here, taping boxes, pretending like he could move into a life that wasn’t built for him? Pretending he could fit inside Bokuto’s bright world without staining it?

I can’t do this. I can’t move in. I shouldn’t.

His chest heaved, the sobs breaking loose harder with every breath.

The bathroom door opened with a hollow thud against the wall. Iwa came back down the hall and stopped dead at the sight of him. Akaashi was folded on the tiles, arms locked around his ribs, forehead pressed to the floor. His shirt clung with sweat, his shoulders jerking with every sob.

His heart dropped to his stomach heavy as stone. He sat on his knees, and slid his hands under Akaashi’s arms, pulling him upright. “It’s gone,” he murmured, quiet but firm. He pulled him in close, wrapping both arms around him, pinning him to his chest. He cupped the back of his head, fingers running through the raven black hair. “It’s gone. You’re okay.”

A sob broke out, muffled against his shoulder. “Iwa—”

Iwa felt the sound shake through his ribs. He pressed his lips on top of Akaashi’s head, tightening his hold, continuing caressing his hair. “You’re okay,” he said again, softer. “I’ve got you.”

“Iwa…”

The way Akaashi said his name—thin, weak—pulled him back. Iwa loosened his hold just enough to see his face. Akaashi pushed even further, hands braced against Iwa’s chest, forcing distance between them. His red-rimmed eyes met Iwa’s, sharp and wet.

“I can’t.” Akaashi managed, his voice completely broken.

“Can’t what?” Iwa blinked, trying to make sense.

“I can’t!” Akaashi screamed, shaking his head hard, wet strands sticking to his cheeks. His breath sped until it came in frantic gasps, faster than his lungs could carry. “I can’t m-move in with h-him,” he spat, words breaking. “What the hell was I thinking? I’m an addict. Look at me—”

“Keiji—”

“I’ll ruin him,” he gasped, voice climbing higher. “I’ll ruin everything.”

“Stop, please.”

He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. “Don’t you get it?” He asked frantically. “L-look at me.” Words tangled with sobs, spilled faster and faster, his body rocking forward and back, shaking. “He deserves someone normal, someone whole. Not this. Not me. Not a fucking junkie—

A blast of sound echoed through the kitchen, sharp and brutal, skin on skin. Iwa’s palm connected hard with the side of his face, snapping his head to the left. The world blurred with the jolt. Heat surged at once across his cheek, a rush of blood so hot it burned.

The sobs cut off. His mouth hung open, breath hitched, no sound escaping. Tears still clung heavy at his lashes, but the spiral broke in a single instant, ripped clean away by the shock of impact. His hand lifted without thought, fingers pressing against the sting. Slowly, he turned back.

Iwa sat in front of him, arm lowering at his side. His gaze held, but it flicked down once, before locking on Akaashi again. His chest rose and fell with a single deep breath, then stilled. “Are you back with me?” he asked. The words were quiet, firm, but a tremor was apparent at the edges.

Akaashi gave a small, shaky nod, hand lowering back to place.

“You are not a Junkie.” Iwa said, stern. “Not anymore. I won’t let you call yourself that.” Another breath came out through his nose, long and controlled as if he held back until now. He reached over and lifted Akaashi’s chin.

“Akaashi, you are not going to ruin anything.” Iwa said, his voice softer now. He pulled his hand back to himself, gazing into Akaashi’s eyes the whole time. “Just—just look at yourself. Look where you are. What you’ve become.” He shifted his weight, still sitting close, though voice rougher now. “You called for me. You asked for help. You could’ve taken it. I’d never have known. But you didn’t. That—” he broke off, jaw working once, then pressed on, “that speaks volumes.”

Akaashi’s lips parted. “But—”

“No,” Iwa cut in firmly. “You’re worrying because—What? you struggled? Of course you struggled. We both know it’s a lifelong fight.” He swallowed, the sound audible, then steadied his breath. “But you’ll win every time with Bokuto at your side. And I’ll be watching too. Just in case you need me again.”

Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears streaking hot. “He’s an athlete, Iwa. If anyone found out. He could lose everything.”

“Akaashi.” Iwa leaned closer. “The guy says he’d give up anything for you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Don’t—” he caught himself from raising his voice, exhaled hard again before continuing, “don’t do this to him. Or yourself. You’re being unfair.”

Akaashi went still. You’re being unfair. Iwa’s words hung in the space between them, echoing inside his ears. For the first time since the drawer split open, he felt sense of calm. His chest rose and fell in uneven pulls, but the frenzy was gone, clarity seeping in slowly.

“...Thank you.” Akaashi murmured at last, voice was low, rough. He dipped his head, then lifted it again, nodding once as if to confirm the admission.

Iwa eased back onto his heels, hands braced on his thighs. “Come on.” He offered a hand. His tone was gentle yet with authority. Akaashi took it, dazed, and let himself be guided to the living room couch.

Iwa glanced toward the kitchen. “That, the last one?” He pointed at the open box on the counter.

 

Akaashi sat, rubbing his cheek once more, feeling the skin burn still, and gave a short nod. “Yeah.” His voice had gone flat with exhaustion.

 

Iwa turned back to the kitchen wordlessly, pulled the flaps of the box tight, and taped it shut. He set the box down, then turned the kettle on. Steam rose within seconds, hissing low.

 

“Here.” He came back to the living space with two mugs at hand, placing one on the coffee table in front of Akaashi. The tea curled with the sweet, grassy scent of chamomile.

 

Akaashi reached for it, murmuring, “Thanks.” The ceramic was hot against his palms. He cupped it tight, letting the warmth sink into his bones. He raised it, sipped, and the let the heat spread down his throat. Iwa said nothing, only lowering himself to the wingback chair.

 

They drank the tea in silence for a while. The chamomile scent settled comfortably in the room. The sting of the slap had dulled now but still insistent. Akaashi lifted his gaze sideways, studying Iwa slouched in the wingback chair next to him, mug balanced in his hands. The image was ordinary, almost peaceful, a sharp contrast to the memory of his palm connecting to Akaashi’s cheek.

 

“Iwa.” His voice was quiet, almost testing the waters.

“Mhm.” Iwa hummed without looking up, eyes still on the tea.

 

“You bitch-slapped me.”

 

The mug tilted in his grip, liquid sloshing near the rim. He jerked it upright in time, muttering, “Shit—” before setting it back down on the table too quickly. His ears flushed red. “Yeah… sorry. You were spiraling. I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

Akaashi let out a breath that turned into a dry laugh, more snort than chuckle. “It worked.” He said shrugging.

That pulled a reluctant smile out of Iwa, small and crooked. He rubbed the back of his neck, still not meeting Akaashi’s eyes. “Well…Don’t make me do it again.”

 

Akaashi raised his brows, deadpan. “If you try, you’ll meet the same fate.”

 

For a beat, Iwa stared at him, his face contorted like he was trying to picture it, then barked a laugh. He shook his head, grinning despite himself, and reached for his tea again. They drank in silence, the warmth settling into them like a truce. 

 

The doorbell rang. Iwa set his mug down with a soft clink and pushed to his feet. He crossed the room, pulled the door open.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto’s voice full of its usual noise and brightness rushed through the apartment before he was inside. He stepped in with a grin stretched wide across his face, shoulders squared with too much energy for the narrow hall. “Are we ready to move or not?” he called, not even waiting for an answer.

He stopped short after his eyes landed on Akaashi who was sitting stiff on the couch with a flush on one cheek, and eyes blotched with red. Bokuto’s grin slipped away immediately. His volume dropped with it, voice softer now. “Hey.” He murmured taking a step closer to Akaashi. “What happened?”

 

Iwa shifted where he stood, too fast, startled by the question. He lifted both hands, waving fervently in dismissal. “Oh! Nothing.” His voice came sharp, pitched higher than usual. He tried again quickly, the words running together. “We just got a little emotional about the move.” He forced a smile after, teeth bared, stiff at the edges.

 

Bokuto didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched. His jaw tightened, teeth gritted hard enough to jump the muscle along his cheek. His eyes stayed on them, moving between the two suspiciously, lingering on Akaashi, then on Iwa.

 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” He spat at Iwa. His hand lifted, finger stabbing the air toward Akaashi. “Obviously, he’s been crying.” His eyes turned on Iwa, glare sharp, unblinking. “And you—with your creepy fake smile. That’s not you.” His eyes jumped between them one more time. “I’m only going to ask this once again—what the hell happened?”

 

Iwa’s mouth opened, ready to defend himself.

“It’s fine.” Akaashi’s voice cut in, quiet but with presence. He drew in a breath, and set the mug down on the table with care. His gaze stayed low for a moment before he lifted it to meet Bokuto’s eyes.

“I found an old stash,” he said, each word deliberate, pulled clean through his teeth. “It shook me up. But I’m better now.”

Bokuto blinked once, utterly lost for words. His jaw relaxed, the hard edge of his glare falling away, replaced with worry. His chest swelled with a sharp breath, but he didn’t let the silence stretch.

“You’re serious?” His voice came gentle. Akaashi nodded.

“Fuck.” Bokuto exhaled hard and sat down onto the coffee table in front of him, leaning forward until their knees touched. “I’m so sorry.” His hand reached out, finding Akaashi’s and holding it firmly. His thumb traced the knuckles once. “Do you want to get some air? Forget the move. We can do it later, doesn’t matter. Whatever you need.”

“No.” Akaashi said flatly, no mask, no smile to soften it. He looked Bokuto in the eyes. “I told you. I’m better. Iwa got rid of it. I just want to keep moving. Carrying boxes downstairs actually sounds good right now.”

 

Bokuto studied him for a beat, then nodded. “Alright then.” He stood, squeezing Akaashi’s shoulder on the way up. “I won’t worry. And we won’t mope around either.”

 

The grin came back, crooked but real. He glanced between the two of them. “Now—are you two gonna sit here sulking, or are we actually gonna move some boxes?”

 

Iwa snorted. “You first, hotshot.” But he walked over to the box in the kitchen anyway. He bent, hooking his hands under the top box in the stack and lifting it with a grunt, muscles tight under his shirt. The tape creaked as he adjusted his grip.

 

Bokuto lunged for the next two at once, balancing one against his hip and another under his arm. “Watch and learn.” His voice carried down the hall as he shouldered the door open, the edges of the boxes bumping against the frame.

Akaashi followed, slower, wrapping his arms around the one marked Work. The cardboard rasped against his forearms, corners digging into the bone as he shifted it higher against his chest. It was heavy, but it gave his hands something solid to hold.

Bokuto’s uncle’s hand-me-down van waited at the curb. The body was dented, the paint dulled to a tired gray. Rust spread in patches along the wheel wells, and the bumper was scarred with a long scrape down one side. The sliding door shrieked when Bokuto dragged it open, catching halfway before it jerked back on track.

Iwa carried his box straight in, setting it down against the ridged floor. He tapped the dented wall once with his knuckles, expression dry. “You should help out your uncle with a new van. This thing really looks like it’s one pothole away from falling apart.”

Bokuto grinned over his shoulder, already stacking his load. “Hey, don’t insult her. She’s got character. He loves it.”

Akaashi slid his box into place, careful to fit it flush against the others. The scrape of cardboard echoed in the hollow space. He pulled his arms back, wiping his palms against his thighs.

For a moment, they all stood in the open air by the van. It was excruciatingly hot outside, sweat began to bead along their temples, shirts sticking at the shoulders. Bokuto stretched his arms overhead until his back popped, grin widening. “Only a dozen more trips to go.”

______________________________________________________________________________

 

The afternoon sun hammered the pavement until false pools of water glinted where the asphalt warped under the heat. Akaashi stood before the rusty-old van, sweat sliding from his hairline to his brow, stinging his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, sighed once, then bent to grip the box marked as “Books”. The cardboard sunk against his palms, edges biting as he lift it up and pressed the weight against his chest.

He stepped closer to the van, bracing the box tighter, shoulders strained. Exhaustion started catching up. His arms trembled as he tried to lift it high enough to slide onto the van’s floor. The box tilted backward, slipping from his grip, threatening to topple him.

Before it tipped, a pair of hands caught the underside. “Careful.”

Next to him, Iwaizumi pushed upward, his shoulder braced against the load. With both of them pushing, the box scraped over the metal floor and slid into place with the others, snug and flush in the tight row Akaashi had made.

Akaashi straightened, rolling his shoulders, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He turned to Iwaizumi, whose hands still rested against the cardboard as if to make sure it stayed put. “Thanks.”

The sound of footsteps across the pavement interrupted their conversation. Bokuto came into view with a box against his hip, sweat plastering his shirt to his chest and arms. He looked half-drained, but his smile was bright enough cut through the weariness.

“All clear!” he said, dropping the last box into the van with a hollow thud.

Akaashi knitted his brows, eyeing the label along the side, and pushed his raven black hair to the back. “I thought there were still some left by the fridge.”

“Nope!” Bokuto straightened, chest heaving, and flashed a brighter smile. “I got them all.” He drew in a deep breath, chest rising and falling. “Why don’t you guys head upstairs?” he said, glancing between them. “We can rest a bit. I’ll lock up and be right behind you.”

Iwaizumi and Akaashi exchanged a brief look before both nodded. They turned toward the stairwell, climbing side by side. Their footsteps echoed against the narrow walls, surrounded by the silence between them. It wasn’t the quiet they were used to, the easy kind they had shared countless times before, content in each other’s company. This time it was just awkward, laced with something unsettling they didn’t have words for.

The apartment greeted them with its usual pale light through the balcony glass, but it felt different. They hadn’t touch the furniture, but the walls seemed wider and the rooms felt emptier, as though the space already knew it would witness a farewell.

“We need something cold,” Iwaizumi said, breaking the silence as he walked towards the kitchen next to the living space. “Want some lemonade?”

“Lemonade would be good.” Akaashi nodded, lowering himself onto the couch, cushions slumping beneath his weight. For a moment he stayed still, palms pressed flat against the fabric. Iwaizumi returned from the kitchen carrying three glasses of lemonade, condensation already sliding down their sides. He set one on the table in front of Akaashi, another beside his own chair, and kept the third ready for Bokuto.

Akaashi reached for his glass. The chill against his fingers made him realize how hot his hands had been. He took a slow sip, the tart bite of lemon cutting before the sugar softened it. For a while, they drank in silence. Iwaizumi set his glass down, jade eyes edged with something Akaashi couldn’t make, and exhaled. “Feels so weird.”

Akaashi’s gaze drifted from him, skimming along the walls as though committing them to memory. “Yeah,” he murmured. His eyes caught on the painting hung above the television. The koi. Red and white, painted so large it that it seemed to swim straight out of the frame, scales gleaming against a flat black backdrop.

He remembered the day Iwaizumi carried it through the door under his arm, face lit with triumph like he found treasure. Akaashi had laughed until his stomach hurt, unable to believe how tacky it was. When he realized Iwa planned to hang in the living room, he had argued, bargained, and pleaded. Iwa had nailed it dead center anyway. Back then, Akaashi thought it would swallow the room whole.

Now, in the quiet apartment, the koi looked different. Still ridiculous, yes, but no longer something he wished gone. Akaashi’s mouth curved faintly, a warmth catching in his chest at the thought that this, too, was part of what he would miss.

Iwaizumi caught the look on his face. His own expression softened, a quiet recognition flickering there. He leaned back in his chair, glass balanced loosely in his hand, and let out a slow breath that carried the trace of a smile.“It’s the end of an era, huh?”

Akaashi nodded, his gaze lingering across the walls. “I’ll miss this apartment,” he said softly.

Iwaizumi scoffed, shaking his head at the deflection. He understood not being in touch with emotions. He wasn’t particularly good at expressing himself either. Yet, it bothered him that Akaashi would escape the simplest of words. After everything they’ve been through, and having lived under the same roof for the last five years—he’d rather sit there and pin sentiment to things rather than people? He set his glass down and looked at him squarely. “Damn it, man. Say it to me, not to the walls.” He said, voice harsh. “Because I’ll miss you.”

The words unfolded Akaashi. His eyes dropped to the pale surface of his lemonade, then lifted hesitantly to meet Iwaizumi’s steady jade-green gaze. “I’ll miss you Iwa,” he admitted, voice quieter than he intended, blood rushing to his cheeks.

For a beat, they sat without speaking as two men who would never say such things twice. The silence between them was softer than before, warm instead of strained. A faint smile pulled at Iwa’s mouth. Akaashi let the corners of his lips curve, just enough to answer it.

The front door opened with a click. Bokuto hurried inside, cheeks flushed from the sun, silver hair damp where sweat clung to his temples. He kicked shoes off in a rush before stepping into the living room.

Iwaizumi cleared his throat. “Bo, come here. We’re having lemonade.” he said, lifting a glass, slipping back into normalcy like he hadn’t just lived through the peak of all bromance moments two minutes ago.

Bokuto’s face lit up. “Perfect.” he said,  with the relief in his voice. He crossed the room in quickly and dropped onto the couch beside Iwaizumi, leaning in to the glass as though he’d been waiting for this pause all afternoon.  When the cold touched his fingers and he let out a long sigh, “Man, it’s hot outside,” he muttered, sweat still tracing lines down his flushed face.

He drained half his glass in one go, then let out a breath that turned into a laugh. “This reminded me of summer camps in high school. He turned towards Akaashi with a nostalgic look on his face,  “Remember those drills we did at Shinzen?”

“I remember you passing out,” Akaashi said grinning, gesturing toward the glass in Bokuto’s hand. “If you’re not careful, you will pass out like you did in Shinzen.”

Iwaizumi’s brows lifted. He leaned forward in his chair, interested in the story, lips twitching to a grin. “You passed out?”

Bokuto scoffed at Akaashi. “Context matters.” He said, turning his eyes back to Iwa, and started explaining, both hands animating the air in big vertical movements. “It was so hot! And, If you lost, you had to run up and down the hills until your legs stopped feeling like legs. Every step felt like running with a boulder tied against your back.”

Akaashi took hold of his story before Bokuto could defend himself. “So, the coach told him to hydrate well. To drink every fifteen minutes or so.” He said snickering, and pointed a hand toward Bokuto. “But of course, he thought that was too much trouble, so he chugged an entire bottle in one go. Made it about twenty steps before he collapsed flat.”

Bokuto threw back the rest of his drink in a few greedy gulps until there was barely a sip left in his glass. A sheepish grin spread his lips as he shrugged. “Well, Hydration is hydration.”

The sound of the chugging alone made Akaashi’s lips twitch before a soft laugh escaped him. Iwaizumi laughed, shaking his head, the sound warm. “You haven’t changed one bit, Bo.”

The grin on Bokuto’s face lingered, then wavered. He rolled the glass between his palms as if he needed something to do with his hands. “This feels strange, doesn't it?” he admitted, quieter now. “Sitting here. It feels like a goodbye.” His eyes flicked to Akaashi and back to Iwaizumi, the brightness in them shadowed with apprehension. “I keep thinking I’m stealing ‘Kashi from you. Leaving you here by yourself.”

Iwaizumi’s laugh from a moment ago faded into a small, crooked smile. He set his glass down, leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, and looked at Bokuto until the words stopped. “You’re not stealing anyone,” he said, voice even. “Stop worrying about me.” He patted Bokuto’s thigh. “You two were always going to end up together. It was inevitable.” Then he leaned back and shrugged. “And I don’t plan on being alone for long anyway.”

Akaashi caught the last line immediately. He turned, studying the set of Iwaizumi’s mouth, the way color rose high on his cheekbones when he said it. “Oh?” He said, curiosity pushing forward. “Does this plan have anything to do with Tooru’s trip next week?”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks darkened to a scarlet as if he were a teenager asked about a crush. He tried to look bored and failed, eyes sliding away to the far wall where the koi stared back at them. “Maybe.

Bokuto sat up so fast the cushions shifted under him. “Oh come on,” he said, delight breaking through his earlier worry. “What’s this plan then? Tell us the details.” He said nearly bouncing like an overgrown child.

Iwaizumi sighed, and reached for his phone inside his pocket without looking at either of them. The screen lit in his palm. He put it on top of the coffee table, displaying his plan clear as day in a photograph.

A ring in a jeweler’s tray stared back at them across the face. Iwaizumi’s eyes stayed on the photo a moment longer before he spoke. “For him,” he said simply. “It’s being made for his size right now.”

Akaashi’s mouth parted, the words leaving him before he could form any. The band was gold, slim and pale, its surface etched with bold arcs and angled shapes. Small diamonds glimmered where the patterns crossed like tiny sparks trapped inside the metal. Iwa had done his homework well. The pattern was clean and a little showy in a way that could only be Tooru. 

For a moment, he only stared. The tightness that had lived in his chest all day gave way, leaving room for air to move again. Warmth rose to fill the space until he could feel it in his ribs. Iwa had loved Oikawa for years, maybe for a lifetime already, and now he was finally on the edge of binding that love into something permanent. A choice made in metal, sized to fit a hand that had crossed an ocean and still reached back. A future.

His pulse quickened, not with panic but with delight, beating fast enough he almost laughed. He could already see Tooru with the ring glinting on his hand, his laugh carrying across the room. The thought of it grew inside him—anticipation, affection, something close to pride. They were just right. He couldn’t wait. If Iwa was family, then Tooru would be too. This was the best thing that could happen to Iwa.

Bokuto’s eyes went wide, his whole body jolting forward as if a current had run through him.“YOU’RE GOING TO PROPOSE?” The words burst out of him before either of them could breathe. His voice boomed in the quiet room but he couldn’t rein it if he tried.

“You’re really—OH MY GOD, that’s amazing!” He slapped a hand on Iwa’s shoulder. “That’s just incredible, Iwa!” His words tripped over each other, tumbling faster than his mouth could shape them like a child who couldn’t contain himself. “I’m so happy for you guys!” He reached over and pulled Iwaizumi to a hug that knocked the breath out of him.

Iwaizumi’s glass nearly slipped from his hand, ice rattling against the rim as liquid sloshed close to the edge. “Bo—” he started, but the protest died in his throat. Bokuto’s joy was too much to resist. Iwaizumi froze a second, then exhaled and gave in, lowering the glass onto the coffee table, arms returning the hold. Gratitude swelled through the embarrassment. When Bokuto finally pulled back, Iwaizumi cleared his throat. “So,” he said, voice quieter, steadier than he felt, “what do you think of the ring?”

“He’s going to love it,” Bokuto blurted immediately, slapping his palm against the table so the phone jumped. “No question about that. He’ll flip.”

Akaashi did not answer right away. The photograph held him. “It’s him,” he said at last. “Couldn’t be more him.” A quiet pause stretched, and then curiosity tugged at him.“But… how did you even know his size? Tooru doesn’t usually wear rings.”

Color rose along Iwaizumi’s cheekbones. “Anna-san helped,” he said. “She measured his smart ring. She was kind enough to pretend not to know why.”

“You recruited Anna-san? That’s genius!” Bokuto breathed, delighted.

Akaashi’s mouth curved in a sly, pleased line; the look had mischief in it, but the softness underneath gave him away. “You planned this well.”

He watched Iwaizumi quietly. The color across his cheeks was still warm, the unguarded softness came with it. For a while now, since he decided to move in with Bokuto, he had worried about leaving him here, about what it would mean to walk out of this apartment and into something new. But looking at Iwaizumi now, he understood. This wasn’t only his goodbye. Iwa had his own beginning, something he had chosen with both arms open. What they were leaving behind was real, but they both had great things awaiting for them.

Bokuto clapped his hands together. “Wait, wait,—So, how are you going to do it?” His voice climbed higher with each word, momentum carrying him forward.. “Oh, this is going to be so great. He is going to be so happy.” The words tumbled faster, turning into a breathless monologue. “Where are we doing it? Are you going to be alone with him, or should we all be there? You know what? Kuroo and Kenma should come. We could do it near the water. Oh forget that! Mountainside! There could be lanterns. NO! Fireworks. YES! Definitely fireworks—”

Iwaizumi’s head snapped up, his glare sharp enough to cut through Bokuto’s stream. “Definitely no fireworks.” His voice was final, leaving no room for argument. He pressed his palms over his face with a groan, dragging them down. “I haven’t thought of any of this.” He confessed and repeated: “How did I not think of any of this?”

Akaashi couldn’t hold back the laugh that rose in his chest. It slipped out, sharp and amused, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back against the couch. “Seriously?” He asked, not able to help himself. “You wanted to propose, so you just picked out a ring and never thought about how you’d actually do it? Who does that?”

Color climbed higher in Iwaizumi’s cheeks, and he turned a glare on him.

Bokuto waved a hand toward Akaashi in dismissal. “Not helping ‘Kashi.” He threw the raven a disapproving look, and patted Iwa on the back.  His eyes were still wide, still buzzing from his own excitement.“Don’t worry about anything, Iwa. I’ll help plan everything. No fireworks, okay, fine. But it’s still gonna be awesome.” He clapped his hands once, and then pointed himself with his thumb. “You just leave it all to me.”

Iwaizumi shook his head, a helpless sound caught between a groan and a laugh. “I do not know if I should be relieved or afraid.”

“Relieved,” Bokuto said, grinning so broadly it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Definitely relieved.”

Bokuto’s eyes shone back at the phone, then at both of them, glimmering with hope. “You know what’s going to be great?” he said, words gathering speed again. “When you get married, you can both come over all the time. We’ll cook, we’ll do double dates. Tooru back here, the four of us together like it should be. I miss Hajime too. He can run around my place and drive me crazy and I will love every second.”

“Bo.” Iwaizumi’s voice gentled him without hardening. He turned his glass a quarter turn on the table, condensation trailing behind his fingers. “He has to accept first.”

Bokuto blinked, as if the idea had not occurred to him until now.“What are you talking about?” His brows pulled together. “Of course he will.” He muttered, the certainty returning back in an instant. “Tooru has been waiting for this his whole life.”

The words landed heavier than Bokuto likely meant them to. Iwa’s mouth pulled into a faint smile, reluctant at first, then full-force. The conviction warmed him in a way his own hope never managed to. Bokuto had been there when he hadn’t. If anyone would know, it was him. Hearing it said so plainly, with no hesitation, eased the tightness that had been grinding at his chest since he made the purchase. For the first time, he let himself believe it might really go that way.

But the warmth didn’t last long. The questions returned, the ones that had been circling him for weeks. He shifted in his seat, thumbs rubbing together once before he spoke. “Bo, I really want those things too. But…”

He drew a breath, gaze dropping to the floor, the words harder to push than he expected. “Let’s say he accepts,” he said, the hope naked in his words. His eyes flicked back to Bokuto.“I don’t know where we would live. I can’t ask him to walk away from the life and career he built in Argentina, can I?” His voice dipped low, edged with resignation. “Maybe I’ll be the one who leaves.”

Bokuto’s brightness dipped. “You can’t be serious.” His voice trailed off.

He knew Iwaizumi wasn’t wrong. Argentina was Oikawa’s life now, his career, his home, his kid. It made sense. But the thought of Iwa packing his bags, of one more person he loved slipping oceans out of reach, tore at him like old scar tissue. It wasn’t fair. It never felt fair, how the people he needed kept slipping away, for reasons he couldn’t hold against them but couldn’t bear either.

The fight drained out of him, shoulders sagging as he looked down at his feet. His voice came softer, raw around the edges. “He should come here.” He murmured. His eyes lifted, first to Akaashi, then to Iwaizumi, almost pleading. “I already miss him. I don’t want to miss you too.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi said, voice soft, gentle, almost as if he were talking to a small child. His head dipped as he exhaled, long, tired. He did not speak for a breath. When he did, the words came steady, without theatrics. “I know it makes more sense for him to come here. And, I am hoping he will.” He lifted his eyes back at them. “You said once you would drop anything for him,” he said to Bokuto, pointing toward Akaashi. “It’s the same for me. I would give up anything to be with Tooru.”

Akaashi felt the truth of Iwa’s words overwhelm him. His roommate had been completely honest, It sat in his posture, in the way he did not pretend it would be easy.

It wouldn’t be easy for him either. Bokuto could spill his heart out in an instant, he wore his emotions on his sleeve bare without hesitation. Akaashi wasn’t like that. He deflected. He teased. Sarcasm was easier than candor. Honesty crushed his chest under its weight. It was painful, and more often than not he chose to avoid it. But he still felt it.

The happiness that had lifted in him dimmed, shadowed by a sudden grief he hadn’t seen coming. Of course Iwa might leave. It should have been obvious from the moment he saw the ring, and yet it struck only now. The thought dragged at him like a stone in deep water, but he straightened, refusing to sink. If it came to that, he would support it. He’d go anywhere for Bokuto without question; he understood what it meant to follow the person you loved. As long as Iwa was happy, he would give his blessing with his whole heart.

He drew a quiet breath, pushing back to steadier ground. It wasn’t the time to circle fears. The proposal hadn’t even happened yet. There would be time enough to sort out the rest, where they’d live, what they’d give up. No need to spoil this moment with worries that didn’t belong to it yet.

“Then let’s not sour it before it happens,” Akaashi said, voice low but sure. “Save the hard choices for after he says yes. Today can belong to the good part.”

“Right.” Bokuto nodded, relief rising again to the surface.

Iwaizumi exhaled, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward. The three of them sat in that easy quiet for a little while longer. Then, Bokuto looked at his phone screen and he was up on his feet again. “Oh man, look at the time.” He shook his head. “It’s getting late. If we’re going to start unpacking tonight, we should head out.”

Akaashi stood with him, setting his empty glass on the table. “You’re right.” His gaze swept the apartment one last time, quiet, but he gave a small nod.

Bokuto stretched and turned back to Iwaizumi, pointing his finger at him. “Anyway you—” his voice brightened forgoing all the worry from before, finger pointing straight at him “—you just be on the lookout for my messages. We’ll set this whole thing up.”

Iwaizumi huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Alright.”

Bokuto’s grin widened as he rushed to the door, his voice still buzzing with promises. “Don’t forget to check your phone, Iwa!” He yelled back to the living room.

Iwaizumi shook his head, smiling despite himself, and lifted his glass in a mock salute. “Go. Before you start planning fireworks again.”

Bokuto laughed, already putting his shoes on in the entryway.

Akaashi followed more slowly, pausing at the threshold of the living room. His eyes drifted over the space one last time. The koi still glared proudly down at him from wall. The couch slumped in the middle of the room, its cushions worn to the shape of them both. A faint ring from his glass stained the coffee table, already drying to a stain in the afternoon heat. He let his eyes rest on Iwaizumi. The warmth in his jade eyes gave him away. And, in that moment, Akaashi knew his friend would be okay. It was the end of an era, Iwaizumi had been right. But it was also a new beginning. Loss, fondness, excitement and gratitude all twisted together in a knot in his chest. Nothing mattered. Only the good awaited them now.

“See you soon,” he said quietly. Then he turned, stepping after Bokuto into the hall, leaving the apartment behind.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was fun writing it.

I debated including Bokuto’s “move in with me” moment, but decided a time-skip did the job better.

Anyway, now we have a wedding to prepare for lol.

Obviously, big things are happening for Iwa and Tooru. But don't worry, I'll make sure I do justice to Akaashi and Bo.