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So after Love has led us, till he tires
Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,
Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze
- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
and isn't it odd? for in rooms full of
strangers my most tender feelings
writhe and
bear the fruit of screaming. Put out your hand,
isn't there
an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside
the bed? And someone you love enters the room
and says wouldn't
you like the eggs a little
different today?
And when they arrive they are
just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather
is holding.
- Frank O'Hara
After the crowd departs at dawn on the very first day of the new year, Atsumu lingers near the door and Bokuto wonders why he won’t just come in.
It was a big party - music and sweaters and memorable faces, people from various arenas of Bokuto’s life intermingling as strangers. Talk! Intrigue! A whole table of crumbling snacks and hard-hitting drinks near the window.
And usually it's his kind of thing. Usually it's exactly the kind of situation in which Bokuto’s genuineness strikes everyone right in the heart and emphasises him like he’s the centre of the world.
But he saw it play out without himself today.
He stood around, he watched things.
The smiles bursting on his friends’ faces, the soft glow of night lights caressing their shapes, the unthinking gladness of their movements in rooms so old with familiarities.
It was amazing, it really was. Bokuto was running through all the happy thoughts he faithfully expects when he’s around his favourite people. The mood was warm and syrupy, and the alcohol untethered his sense of time and place so easily that he almost felt like he had walked into a painting of a happy, golden period in his own life.
But for whatever reason, Bokuto was never propelled into joy by either the thrill of the company or the pace of his ambience.
He felt a little nervous, instead. Kind of sad, maybe. Hinata asked him to dance like twelve times and he didn't say yes even once.
The windows were fogged up from a mismatch in temperatures and people slung their coats up carelessly, calling to each other in sharp voices that cut through the apartment with delight.
And everybody knew that Bokuto could have thrown his voice farther than anybody else at the party. That he could have made any person feel like the occasion was all about them if he so chose.
But he just couldn't feel it in himself today. He sipped on sweet alcohol, he blinked against the wind, he swallowed a few feelings without ever pointing them out.
Most of all, he worried about Kuroo.
Bokuto is well aware of how intense and evasive Kuroo can be when he's mulling over something. When his true feelings have to stay a mystery so he can prepare to face them in the trusting eyes of his friends.
“It’s a process,” Kuroo always says. “I swear I’ll tell you when I know what it is.”
He definitely had that uneasy look about him while he mixed into the crowd tonight. That clipped nervousness in his smile, those jitters in his haywire arms.
And when the clock struck 12, marking the end of the year, Kuroo held Bokuto’s face in both his hands and knocked their foreheads together. He whispered “happy new year, Kou” with conflict in his eyes. People screamed in celebration around them but he said it so quietly that nobody heard.
Bokuto was caught off guard.
He looked for company in his confusion, but Akaashi couldn't come over because of work today. It would have helped to have a friend to exchange a concerned glance with, but for all it was worth, Bokuto managed to give Kuroo a big, generous hug. He crammed into it all his hopes and affections, like even though he didn't know what was up with either of them, he wasn't going to hold back from offering everything he had.
Here, dude. Whatever this is, take all of it.
When Kuroo had hugged him back just as hard, just as complex, Bokuto had felt suddenly and unfathomably sad. Tears had welled up in his eyes as Kuroo patted the back of his head.
Then Kuroo had said that he had to go home urgently. Punching Bokuto’s chest lightly, winking at him once from across the room, stepping out of the front door like he wasn't the first one out.
And Bokuto had stood there marveling at how a whole year ended before his eyes and the first feeling he felt right after its demise was an aching, overwhelming disorientation.
Friends rushed past him, music louder than his heartbeat, and he just frowned and frowned.
When he was younger it was all so obvious. Things made him sad like a bucket of ice cold water dunked over his head. One moment he was alright and the next his skin was drenched and he was shivering with a piercing feeling and a single-minded understanding of what had happened to him.
Now his thoughts are a lot more cryptic. Every once in a while the ice bucket still tumbles over him with its inevitabilities, but on most days, the air just gets mysteriously damp instead - lukewarm, stale, sluggish against his skin like the rub of dull memories.
And Bokuto can't stand the boredom of his own sadness sometimes. He embraced the worst of his feelings in his teen years, letting them whisk him away in a hurricane of rousings, but the best he can do now is shove the headache of their lull aside and try his best to just be there.
For anyone who needs him. For anyone he cares about.
Bokuto’s heart has never been good at responding to ambiguous intensities, to half-feelings. He wants to inspire joy, he yearns for simple vitality.
But his friends are adults now and their stories are incomplete and he hugs them the best he can but it won't ever be enough again.
And who even is Bokuto without the shock of concentrated feeling in the hearts of others? How is he to be understood without a jolt up someone's spine?
He wilts at the thought and then realises that Atsumu is still watching him.
“Tsum-tsum,” he starts petulantly, deciding to do something about Atsumu instead of letting himself think any further into a hole. “If we’re having sex today, then you’re doing all the work.”
Atsumu jerks against the doorframe at the mention of his name. Then he cocks his eyebrows and folds his arms over his chest. “Jeez, Bokkun. Could ya be any louder.”
That annoys Bokuto enough to forget everything else for a second. He pouts and inhales deeply. “TSUM-TSUM IF WE’RE HAVING SEX YOU-”
“Alright, yeah, I heard ya,” Atsumu grumbles, walking over in a few alarmed strides. “ ‘Course I’ll do all the work. Fuckin’ hell.”
“Okay, great,” Bokuto says. The mug he is holding is red like an apple and he places it down on the kitchen counter slowly.“Um. Do you want to eat something?”
“You're all weird today, aren't ya?” Atsumu muses, ignoring his question. "So grumpy."
Bokuto realises that he doesn't have the stamina to pretend any different. “Yeah,” he replies glumly. “I’m all weird today.”
“Shoulda known when I didn't hear ya shoutin' during the countdown,” Atsumu clicks his tongue and roughly squishes Bokuto’s cheeks with a hand, throwing a heavy arm over his shoulders. “What the hell are ya thinkin’ up with a dumb face like that?”
“Nothing,” Bokuto’s mouth slurs under the grip of Atsumu's fingers. “Cleaning tomorrow, I guess,” he lies uselessly.
Atsumu looks around, taking in the crumpled paper cups and sparkling confetti on the floor. Bokuto stares at the turn of his neck blankly. “Big mess, huh?”
Bokuto nods. “Lots of cleaning.”
“Loads,” Atsumu agrees. “Do ya want me to help ya with it?”
Bokuto meets his eyes in awe. He hadn't been thinking of cleaning, but there's still a comfort in the offer. “Really?”
Atsumu shrugs, straining to sound casual as he turns away. “ I mean. I’m here already, aren't I?”
And woah, yeah, he really is. Bokuto watches him closely and feels warm all over because Atsumu is his friend and he’s here in his flat and everything is at least a little nicer when that's indisputably true.
An ember sparks in his heart and he feels relieved at its familiar heat.
“Cool!” he says, grinning wide. Then he circles his arms around Atsumu’s neck and hugs him tightly, nuzzling his face on his skin and feeling the sudden urge to tell him every little thing on his mind until he runs out of breath. “Kuroo had to go home early, Tsum-tsum. Because of work, maybe.”
“Yeah? Sucks to be him,” Atsumu’s voice sounds muffled against Bokuto’s t-shirt. He stands very still.
“Yeah. He usually cleans with me, you know. Whenever parties happen at my place.”
“Are ya mad at him for goin’ then?” Atsumu’s hands hover around Bokuto’s waist. He lets Bokuto cling on to him with no resistance but there is an edge of hesitation in his form.
“Nah, he loves me,” Bokuto automatically guides Atsumu’s arms to fit snugly around him like he has a thousand times. “He’s just busy is all.”
“I see,” Atsumu’s tone is fragile, breathy. “That’s nice.”
Bokuto doesn't say anything to that. He senses a tension but he gets too absorbed in thinking through his own words and feeling distraught about them.
Because Kuroo loves him, and he looked so tired and upset today, and why must anyone Bokuto holds so dear to his heart ever experience anything less than pure euphoria at all times? Why can't he just fix every inconvenience for him? He winces and pushes the length of his face into Atsumu’s skin, holding him harder and hoping it does something. “Fuck, I’m really weird today, Tsum-tsum,” he whines.
“You’re always really weird, Bokkun,” Atsumu says, mimicking his tone half-heartedly. His voice is thin and serious under the veneer of his words and Bokuto wonders what his face looks like perched on his shoulder so gingerly. “Would ya forgive me if I had to leave too? If I didn't stick around like Kuroo didn't today?”
That gives Bokuto pause.“Do you have to leave right now?”
Atsumu shakes his head so his soft bleached hair tickles Bokuto’s cheek. “Nah, I’m just askin’.”
“Huh.” Something about the question makes Bokuto feel drained of all energy. “I don't know.”
“What, cuz I don’t love ya like Kuroo does?”
“No?” Bokuto pulls back, puzzled at the random accusation in Atsumu’s words. “Because I don't want you to leave.”
“Oh.” Atsumu’s hands slide off Bokuto’s waist and his face flushes pink. “Well, like I said. I’m still here. So.”
“So it’s all good, yeah,” Bokuto nods, watching Atsumu thoughtfully. His eyes are big and brown, thick eyebrows contorting under the careful fall of obnoxiously styled hair.
He looks really pretty, like always. Pretty and formidable and safe.
Some days Bokuto thinks that Atsumu’s face has magical powers. The first time they hooked up, it was purely because Bokuto stared at him for far too long and leaned in to kiss him without thinking. He was lucky enough to not get rejected, but it never fails to surprise him just how much of a pull Atsumu can have over his impulses.
He had it even at the start of it all, back when Bokuto took him under his wing as a 19 year old boy with everything in the world ahead of him.
A slight change of angle makes Atsumu’s eyes sparkle just then and something folds in Bokuto’s chest.
“Everyone else has to go, anyway,” he murmurs, the words settling on his shoulders as he speaks them into existence. “I’ll get so bored if you leave too, Tsum-tsum. I’ll have no fun ever.” He lowers his voice unconsciously. “And what's the point if I'm not having fun?”
Atsumu frowns and tilts his head slightly. “You're havin’ a lot of thoughts today, huh?”
“I can't stop them!” Bokuto complains. “But I’m not saying you have to stay, okay? It would just be nice if you did.”
“I’ll stay, though,” Atsumu interjects quietly, stepping closer. His hands start tugging at the ends of Bokuto’s t-shirt. “I like it where I am just fine.”
Bokuto feels his heart skip a critical beat.
“Yeah?” He smiles openly and tries to catch Atsumu’s eye, a simplicity unfurling inside him. “Wow, Tsum-tsum. You must really like hanging out with me.”
When Atsumu does meet his eyes again though, he looks a lot more collected than the defensiveness Bokuto was expecting. “We’re talkin’ about the team, right? This isn't just about staying for a bit after some party?”
Bokuto blinks and cocks his head to the side.
He was talking about life, actually. About people moving past him to chase ambitions they pick for themselves without him in the picture.
And the absurdity of time too, the weird cynicism in everyone else’s pursuit of happiness, the sheer impossibility of a tantrum big enough to capture the grief of all this shallow impermanence.
He shrugs anyway. “Sure, I guess.”
Atsumu nods, the shadows of the night softening the shape of his jaw. “Figured,” he mutters, as his hands continue pulling at Bokuto’s t-shirt and he gets lost in a silence.
And Bokuto wonders if maybe he likes Atsumu a little too much.
If he shouldn't latch onto people so easily that the mere idea of them existing in his absence clenches a fist in his gut.
He stares at him with a hard locked innocence in place, teeth set seriously around the catastrophe of his personality.
See Bokuto might be a popular person, but the situation is this: his best friends live in a different city, his family is almost never home, he has feelings too small to hold his attention sometimes, and Miya Atsumu has been a part of his everyday life for four entire years.
To think of him not being a series regular in the drama of Bokuto’s existence is honestly confounding. Sobering, even, like somebody is trying to steal the thunder that is meant to accompany Bokuto’s lightning.
It doesn't sit right with him. It feels like betrayal.
Especially after Hinata has decided to not stick around. When Bokuto is already going to be lonely from another friend.
“I’m gonna miss Shouyou-kun too, ya know,” Atsumu says just as Bokuto curbs the tremor of Hinata’s upcoming departure and focuses on him. Atsumu's eyes sharpen and start blazing with meaning, like he’s annoyed now that he thinks he knows what everything is about. “Ya think you're the only one who's sad about him goin’ off? Cuz let me tell ya, Bokkun, you're not.” He suddenly lunges forward to catch Bokuto’s head in his hands to loll it side to side, the rough grip of his fingers in the thickness of Bokuto's hair driving the half-playful, half-violent motion. “What, ya think you're the only one with feelings in the world? Ya don't think he’s ditchin’ me too?”
Bokuto groans in annoyance and pushes at Atsumu’s chest. “It’s not about you, Tsumu,” he whines.
“And why the hell is it not?” Atsumu asks as he attacks him again. “If it’s gonna be about you, it's about me too. I ain't your fuckin’ sidekick.”
And there's that defensiveness.
Bokuto pulls away with a wounded expression. “It’s not the same at all,” he says, just to be petty. “Hinata and I go way back.”
“He’s my fuckin’ spiker!” Atsumu exclaims, taking the bait like he was born for it. “God, can ya stop being the centre of the world for one goddamn second? I won't have him around either. I won't see him every day either. Ya think I’m not annoyed? What will I rub in Tobio-kun’s face now, huh? And who the fuck is gonna get us Adlers gossip? It fuckin’ sucks and ya best believe it's got nothin’ to do with ya.”
Bokuto glares at Atsumu with his mouth curved into a pout.
Why are they fighting about this?
He doesn't even know if he’s acting the way he is today because Hinata is moving to Brazil and still Atsumu is coming for his neck.
“I never said you won't miss him,” he grumbles. “I know what you think I’m doing, but it's not that.”
Atsumu scoffs and ruffles Bokuto’s hair - frustrated, fond. “Ya sure about that, Bokkun?”
And yeah, okay, Bokuto is grown up enough to acknowledge that he has insane tunnel vision with his memory sometimes. It can be genuinely hard for him to remember the rest of the world when he zooms in on someone, when he gets stuck in the rut of a particular frequency of attachment.
He knows that Atsumu knows this about him too.
But well, it’s stupid of him to think that he is ever in danger of that kind of treatment.
Some people are permanent fixtures in Bokuto’s consciousness and Atsumu demands an audience even when it’s just inside his head.
There’s no substitute for his rough, calloused hands on Bokuto’s skin. His childish loyalty, the dare in his affection.
“I could never make you an extra, Tsumu,” Bokuto says sincerely. “You're in every scene, I swear.”
“Right, sure, I believe ya,” Atsumu rolls his eyes sarcastically and rambles on. “Fuck, Omi-kun is probably gonna miss Shouyou-kun the most cuz they’ve been roommates for two years. Ya weren’t even thinkin’ about him, were ya? Unbelievable.”
“You're soooo wrong right now,” Bokuto says as he pulls Atsumu close and presses their cheeks together to shut him up. “ I know you're gonna miss him too, okay? Hinata is the best. Our favourite. We’ll both be so lost without him, won't we?”
The speed at which Atsumu shuts up is comical. He stares, he stutters, he deflates and sighs.
“Ugh. Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
Bokuto squeezes him hard, knowing it's not unwelcome.
“It does, Tsum-tsum. I know it does.”
Atsumu goes limp and presses his head against Bokuto’s neck, throwing the whole preceding fuss away like an outdated toy. “Can't believe he’s runnin’ off on us like this. I know it was always gonna happen, but still.”
“Yeah,” Bokuto says wistfully. “I’m going to take so many pictures with him before he goes.”
“He’s already half your social media.”
“So? You're the other half.”
“Not true, I’m like. One-third,” Atsumu mutters against Bokuto’s throat. “But go crazy. I’ll take the pictures if ya ask nicely.”
Bokuto smiles and leans back to stroke Atsumu’s cheekbone with his thumb. He marvels at the soft skin under his wide, affronted eyes.
For a second, he feels soft and gooey and simple.
“What?” Atsumu asks.
Pretty, Bokuto thinks, smiling, and kisses him easily.
Atsumu makes a surprised noise even as his hands slide over Bokuto’s waist on instinct. He catches up quickly and deepens the kiss with a practised heat.
“If it's not Shouyo-kun, then what is it?” he asks between kisses, touching him all over with gentle hands. “Are ya not happy, Bokkun? Did someone upset ya?”
His voice is quiet and worried, the way it only gets when they are in bed together. When he has shaken off the last vestiges of his self-consciousness.
The night lights glow orange and there are dishes in the sink.
Bokuto feels a crease form on his forehead as he kisses Atsumu, but he doesn't stop. The skin under his hands feels hot and special and he wants to hold on to every inch of it forever.
And whatever else goes on, Bokuto feels glad that they can interlock their bodies and whisper whatever they likes.
Atsumu's arms circle him like he’s easy to grasp and he knows, without a doubt, that it's not the end of the world as long as that's possible.
*
An hour later, as they lie around on Bokuto’s twin-sized bed in sweaty, post-coital nakedness, Bokuto grows pensive and restless again.
“Hey, Tsum-tsum,” he says. “Did you hear Ushiwaka might be moving to Poland permanently?”
Atsumu shifts his head on Bokuto’s chest to face him and snorts. “Gonna be fun watchin’ Omi-kun invent reasons to go see him, huh?”
Bokuto considers him curiously when he says that. “How come you never think about leaving?”
“Uh, cuz I don’t wanna?” Atsumu huffs. “Told ya already, I like it where I am. You're here, Samu’s close. I’m good.”
“And if I left?”
“Then I’d like it a lot less.”
Bokuto’s eyes go wide. Atsumu never says things like that, but he doesn’t seem bothered by his words today.
“Inunaki-san is your friend now, though,” Bokuto points out. “And Omi-Omi has learnt to tolerate you just fine.”
“Really? Damn, I had no idea,” Atsumu scoffs. “Come on, Bokkun. It’s not like ya and ya know it.”
Bokuto just moans dejectedly and lets his head fall back so he can stare at the ceiling in anguish.
“What the hell’s the matter with ya?” Atsumu says, grabbing Bokuto’s face to make him look into his eyes again. “Talk for real now. No bullshit.”
He looks determined and furious and Bokuto feels shy under his scrutiny.
“I think,” he says with an odd, embarrassed flush. “I think I really don't know how to cope with being left behind.”
“Fuckin’ knew it was about Shouyo-kun,” Atsumu yells. “How was I wrong about that? I wasn’t wrong at all, ya liar!”
“It’s not about Hinata the way you think it is!” Bokuto counters adamantly. Then he runs his hand through his hair and makes a loud, disgruntled noise. “It’s just. I’ve been playing for MSBY for five years now, right? And I love it! But… everybody else is so… they keep moving around like it's normal when it's just… not normal? Like. Poland?!” He says it like he can't believe it. “I would hate living that far away from home! I wanna meet my friends every weekend and find out what they did all week. Even if it's nothing new and even if stupid Kuroo is acting strange.” He pauses. “But I should want more than that, right? I’ve always wanted more so far.” He rubs at his eyes with both of his hands. “I don't understand. Feel so stupid about it.”
“That's cuz ya are stupid, Bokkun,” Atsumu says reflexively. When Bokuto juts his jaw out in annoyance, Atsumu cackles and flops his head down on Bokuto’s stomach. “I get it, though, seriously. Four years on the same team and I don't wanna move my ass either. Ignorin’ all these fancy fuckin’ European offers like they’re junk mail when Samu opened a whole new Tokyo branch and Aran-kun went off to Italy .” He shakes his head in disgust. “Like why can't everybody just sit the fuck down for a second, right?”
“Yeah, exactly!” Bokuto reacts with his full body. “Why can't they just do that!”
Atsumu’s voice quivers with a laugh but he suppresses it for the sake of drama. “We went to the Olympics too, ya fools,” he scolds the fictional audience of their collective friends. “Stop this international insanity!”
“Yeah, Tsumu, you tell them!” Bokuto says as he sits up. “What’s so wrong with staying right here!”
“Nothin’s wrong, they're dumb! We don't even need to learn new languages.” Atsumu brags.
“We don’t!” Bokuto agrees excitedly. “And we get free onigiri from Myaasam whenever we want.”
"Exactly." Atsumu grins at him so bright that Bokuto feels all of his brain fog wither away at once. “What else do we need.”
And it's almost like a light flickers under his skin.
“I get to play with you too,” Bokuto adds fondly. “The best setter in the whole league!”
Atsumu preens under the praise. “I’m tellin’ ya, Bokkun. They don't even know what they're missin’ out on.”
Bokuto laughs raucously as he suddenly flips them around and pins Atsumu under the full weight of his body.
“MSBY forever!,” he announces.
“Well not forever, probably-”
“Foreverrrrr, Tsumu,” Bokuto insists, rubbing his nose against Atsumu’s cheek. “Lie if you gotta, but say it with me.”
“Fine, MSBY forever,” Atsumu relents. His hands grip Bokuto’s biceps as they balance on either side of his head. “And even if it’s not, you're never gettin’ rid of me at least.”
Bokuto feels a whooshing feeling. “I’m not? Ever?”
Atsumu frowns. “Stop actin’ like ya didn't know that already.”
“I didn't,” Bokuto says quietly. “It’s good to know.”
He leans forward to kiss Atsumu and doesn't stop for a whole minute.
“Can I say something that’s definitely going to make you super awkward now, Tsum-tsum?”
Atsumu stares at him suspiciously with big brown eyes, breathing heavy in a state of startled arousal. “Uh. No?”
“Please?”
“No!”
“I want to so bad.”
“Why’d ya even ask if-”
“Tsum-tsum,” Bokuto cuts Atsumu off decisively. Then he looks down at him with every inch of feeling in the whole of his heart and hopes it shows in the warmth of his smile. “I love you.”
Atsumu gasps, squirming under him like a dying fish. “Oh my god.”
“I love you very much,” Bokuto continues unperturbed, even as he lets him go and rolls over. “And I’m glad you're my friend. My best friend! Who always understands me.”
Atsumu looks tortured. “Thanks, Bokkun,” he grits out.
“You're welcome!”
“Ugh,” Atsumu looks at him like he's about to choke him. “I was havin’ so much fun and then ya just had to do that.”
“It’s fine, we're having fun again now.”
“No we're not.”
“It’s not my fault I have feelings, Tsum-tsum!”
“Fuck off,” Atsumu pushes at his chest lightly and tries to hide his persistently blushing face. “Can ya turn off the light so we can go to sleep now?”
“Already?”
“It’s six in the morning.”
“Woah, really?!”
“Yup.”
“Okay, we’ll just clean when we wake up.” Bokuto bends to the side to reach the switchboard and flicks the lights off.
But while he’s in the process of pulling back in the darkness and settling into bed, he is ambushed with a kiss so insistent and wet that it makes him jump. His head gets pushed into the pillow roughly as he feels Atsumu climb over him, the hot grip of his thighs strong on Bokuto’s hips.
“Tsum-ts-”
“Shut up,” Atsumu orders into Bokuto’s lips, one hand intertwining in his hair deftly.
Bokuto feels a heat building inside him at an impossible speed. “Okay,” he whispers. “Is this-.”
“Stop talking,” Atsumu breathes. His other hand slides into Bokuto’s boxers as he sucks at the side of his jaw. “Not another fuckin’ word or I stop.”
Bokuto smiles deliriously and crosses his arms over Atsumu’s back as he goes on kissing him.
Then he squeezes him in an innocent embrace, eyes closed tight and lips pursed.
He isn't sure if Atsumu notices him doing it, but it doesn't matter.
He does it for his own sake.
*
Early in the afternoon, Bokuto texts Akaashi as soon as he wakes up. He finds the red cup sitting on the kitchen counter just as he left it.
The dishes are still in the sink. The sun is out. A fresh new year stretches before him.
Atsumu wakes up cranky as usual. He yells at Bokuto for hogging the blankets before storming into the bathroom and then emerging a few minutes later, far more put together both emotionally and physically.
They eat a protein bar each for breakfast and talk about a celebrity scandal, agreeing that they both are capable of much worse impulsiveness than what constitutes the meat of the story.
Then Atsumu mops the floor wordlessly while Bokuto dunks all the bottles and paper cups he can see into huge garbage bags. They play anime openings in the background to stay immersed in the chore, smacking each other's asses whenever they cross paths.
An hour and a half later the apartment is clean enough. Atsumu lets out a dramatic huff and collapses on a sofa. Bokuto falls right over him.
“It’s done!” Bokuto says, sprawling over Atsumu’s body like a giant dog.
“Kita-san would not agree but it’s passable,” Atsumu notes, barely reacting to Bokuto’s squirming weight. “Ya owe me one, Bokkun.”
“In a buying you a pack of gummy bears way or in a sexy blow job way?”
“I’ll take either,” Atsumu says lazily, throwing his head back on the headrest of the sofa and looking at Bokuto from a slant. “Ya feelin’ good now?”
Bokuto thinks about it. “I don't think I’ve had any real thoughts all morning.”
Atsumu snorts and slaps the back of his neck. “That's my guy. Love it when your head’s empty.”
“I like you stupid too,” Bokuto says, and then feels an excruciating need for more physical contact.
He starts trying to take Atsumu’s t-shirt off.
Atsumu slaps his hands away and leans back. “What are ya doin’?” he asks. “I don't want a blow job right now! I wanna sit around.”
“Just take it off,” Bokuto insists. Atsumu sighs and obliges, throwing the t-shirt over his head.
Bokuto immediately wraps him up in his arms and inhales hard, hanging on like a koala bear with super strength.
“Okay, then,” Atsumu says awkwardly. “Guess this is what we are doing today.”
He acts nonchalant but his fingers tap a relaxing rhythm on Bokuto’s thigh. He places his own head in the crook of Bokuto’s neck and snuggles in.
Sunlight falls over them from a half-open window and the weather gets warmer as the day moves on.
Every so often, one of them tightens their hold on the other, shifting and grasping as a symptom of high energy even in their shared state of repose.
“Tsumu,” Bokuto says eventually, resting his cheek on Atsumu’s clavicle, absorbing all of his body heat in the middle of the winter day. “I can still make you feel good, right?”
“Huh?” Atsumu mumbles. “Like, sexually?”
“No, like… if you're feeling stressed about something. I can make it better?”
Atsumu doesn't say anything for a few seconds so Bokuto grows impatient. Then he bites at Bokuto’s shoulder and pinches his ass so abruptly that he yelps. “I’m really gonna kill Kuroo someday,” Atsumu says. “He was mopin’ again, wasn't he?”
“Yeah, sort of,” Bokuto admits, stretching all over Atsumu’s body again. “It was nothing. He probably just had a bad day at work.”
“Just let Akaashi-kun handle it when he gets like that next time. I don't think he realizes how worried ya get.” Atsumu pauses to grimace. “He thinks he’s so mysterious. It's so lame. ”
“It’s not lame, he just needs time!” Bokuto defends. “I wasn't talking about him anyway. I was talking about you.”
Atsumu stares at him with furrowed brows for a second and then groans. “‘Course ya make me feel good, Bokkun. What is this question? Imagine if Samu asked me if I liked his food every time I ate it. What would I be expected to say? That I do? I’d rather die.”
Bokuto glowers at him and starts untangling their bodies.
“No, wait, dammit,” Atsumu grabs hold of him and slams their bodies together, crushing him so hard that Bokuto’s breath catches. “It's just-, you’re a really good friend. Okay? Really good. Everybody feels better because of ya, I promise ya that.” His voice gets gravelly as he continues. “Life’s just hard sometimes. Ya can't make it all better, come on. That’s not possible.”
“Why not?” Bokuto whimpers, feeling a tantrum building in his chest. He slumps down again. “Everyone keeps leaving or getting sad. It just keeps building and building and I don't know how to make it go away.”
“That’s cuz ya can’t!” Atsumu says, exasperated. “It’s not your damn problem. I know ya think you’re the main character of the whole fuckin’ universe, but sometimes all ya can do is… I don’t know, help clean up after a party, maybe?” He exhales harshly. “Just. Stop thinkin’ it's all your fault, alright? Ya make people feel as good as they can feel. The rest is up to them.”
“Yeah,” Bokuto scrunches his nose in distaste. “I still hate it though.”
Atsumu flicks his forehead and laughs. “I know, ya big baby. I can tell.”
Bokuto closes his eyes and burrows into Atsumu’s shoulder.
His nerves slowly unwind with the sway of consolation. He feels grateful to the point of exhaustion.
They don't talk much for a while.
Eventually Atsumu gets so sweaty, he claws his way out from under Bokuto.
He accepts a call from Osamu and screams into his phone until he’s hung up on.
“Gotta go, Bokkun. Samu needs me to do somethin’ he can totally do on his own but hey, why the hell would he when he’s got free labour.” He punches Bokuto on the shoulder, all manly. “See ya tomorrow?”
Bokuto leans forward and kisses his cheek. “Tonight, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Atsumu flushes, shoving his hands in his pocket. “I’ll call ya.”
“Okay!”
When Bokuto opens the door to see Atsumu out, he’s startled to find someone already at the door.
Kuroo stands before them, wearing sweatpants and about to ring the doorbell.
Atsumu immediately stiffens and starts scowling. Kuroo frowns at him in bewilderment and then turns to Bokuto with a shy, nervous look on his face.
“Hey,” he says. “Going somewhere?”
“Just me,” Atsumu says reproachfully. He turns to Bokuto and stares deep into his eyes. “Call me over if ya feel weird again, yeah?”
Bokuto nods, mesmerised by his sudden intensity. Atsumu squeezes his hand once and gives Kuroo a very dirty, very suspicious look before he goes out the door.
They watch him leave in a stunned silence.
“What crawled up his ass and died?” Kuroo asks once Atsumu can be heard bounding down the stairs.
“You, I think,” Bokuto replies.
Kuroo shakes his head incredulously. “Why do all your boyfriends hate me so much?”
Bokuto laughs, loud and happy, something loose and content in his chest. “It’s because they love me,” he says. “And you look like a scammer.”
“It’s the smile,” Kuroo shoves him affectionately as he steps into the apartment. He stops in his tracks as soon as he gets a good look at the place. “Wait, what the fuck? You cleaned without me?”
“Yeah!” Bokuto says, pleased with how it looks. “Tsum-tsum stayed back after the party and helped me out all morning.”
“Damn,” Kuroo says. “Have I ever told you how much I love being replaced?”
Bokuto giggles and smacks the back of Kuroo’s head. “You two need to become friends before I force you to kiss.”
“He’s cute I wouldn’t mind,” Kuroo says. “Bet he’d rather rip his tongue out, though.”
“You just freak him out,” Bokuto defends. Then he sinks into the sofa seat and looks up at Kuroo expectantly. “Are you ready to talk about whatever’s wrong now?”
Kuroo flinches and glances at him from the corner of his eye. “That obvious, huh?”
“Dude, you always are.”
“Fuck, I’m so annoying,” he curses. "I swear it's nothing big or real, just-, I don't know. Kind of boring and random."
"Yeah, okay," Bokuto says. "Tell me about it then."
Kuroo pulls at his permanently fucked up hair for a second and sighs in exaggerated anguish.
"So there’s a dumb romance thing, firstly," he starts, looking at his hands as he speaks. "And an unrelated work thing as per usual. Oh, and I forgot to tell you but I had to go home last night to call my sister? She broke up with her boyfriend on Christmas and was feeling pathetic about spending New Year’s alone.” He looks away guiltily. “I came over as soon as I woke up, though. To help you clean like we always do.” His gaze flicks up. “I’m sorry?"
Bokuto feels a blade of relief slice into his gut as soon as Kuroo finishes talking.
He tackles Kuroo and suffocates him in a violent embrace. “It’s cool,” he says in a choked-up voice. “I love you a lot, man.”
Kuroo touches him carefully when he hugs him back.
“I made you worry,” he realises sadly.
“Yeah,”Bokuto confesses. “But it’s fine. Tsumu knows how to make it better.”
Kuroo nods and scratches his hair soothingly. “I’m really glad he does.”
Soon after, they fall into conversation. Kuroo talks much more openly and Bokuto listens with full attention.
The day goes on at a natural pace, laughter threading through its softer gaps.
Slowly, everything that was nebulous and hurtful in Bokuto’s chest turns into a trivial, manageable mess.
Like traffic, or loud construction noise.
Easy as breathing.
Slowly, he feels light and immortal. Seen and understood by people who know him unquestionably.
People he needs to be seen by for anything to hold meaning.
At around 7 pm, he gets a call from Akaashi.
“Bokuto-san.”
“AKAASHI!”
“Hello. Happy New Year, once again. I called to say that I ran into Atsumu-san at Onigiri Miya. He told me to call you and tell you that his phone is dead and he is bringing food in an hour or so.” Akaashi pauses stiltedly as Atsumu’s voice rings garbled in the background. “He’s asking me to come along with him.”
Kuroo raises an eyebrow as Bokuto grins deviously. “Of course Akaashi, come right over! Kuroo’s already here.” Kuroo’s eyes go wide with horror and he makes erratic swipes at his neck to make Bokuto cut the call. Bokuto struggles to keep his voice level. “We should get drunk too, since you couldn't come yesterday. I didn't drink much either. Tsumu also didn't, I think? And Kuroo fucked off at midnight. So this is perfect!”
Kuroo pounces on Bokuto to take the phone from his hand but Bokuto dodges with ease.
“Alright,” Akaashi says, Atsumu yelling loudly in the background in some hellish argument with his brother. “I’ll tell Myaasam to double the order, then.”
“See you soon!” Bokuto crows joyously.
When he hangs up, Kuroo glares at him with pain in his eyes.
“It’s too soon,” he mourns. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Bokuto pats his shoulder. “Face your feelings, dude,” he says wisely. “It’s just Akaashi.”
“You’re punishing me,” Kuroo accuses. “And I can't even leave now because I already ditched you yesterday.”
“It’s true, you have no rights today,” Bokuto says. “But don't worry. I’ll make it so fun.”
They do the dishes in the sink while Bokuto hypes Kuroo up for the rest of the evening.
When Atsumu and Akaashi finally arrive together, Akaashi looks murderous and Atsumu stares defiantly into the distance.
Bokuto exchanges a glance with Kuroo. They stifle a laugh.
“Good to see you didn't kill anyone on your way over, Akaashi,” Kuroo teases.
“So happy to see you alive, Tsum-tsum,” Bokuto adds.
Akaashi takes off his scarf and hands it to Kuroo, giving him an icy look before he steps up to hold Bokuto in a hesitant embrace. Kuroo looks like he is about to melt as he watches them, but then he quickly focuses his eyes on Atsumu and grins smarmily.
“I see you’re back to take my rightful place,” Kuroo jibes.
“Joke’s gettin’ old, ya know,” Atsumu nettles, shoving the bags of food in his hands. Then he leans his cheek close to Bokuto’s face, over Akaashi’s shoulder and without breaking eye contact with Kuroo. Bokuto kisses him reflexively and he smirks, strutting into the apartment right after with an air of smugness and not sparing Kuroo a second glance.
Kuroo mouths “I love him” at Bokuto while pointing at Atsumu as he follows him backwards into the flat.
Bokuto huffs and steps away from Akaashi.
“Do you hate Tsumu too?” he asks warily.
“No,” Akaashi says, observing Kuroo and Atsumu lounge as far away from each other as possible. “But I do like his brother a lot better.”
“That’s mean, Akaashi,” Bokuto scolds. “Don’t say that to him.”
“Sorry, Bokuto-san. I kind of already did.”
Bokuto gawks as Akaashi walks straight into the kitchen to make himself tea.
He follows him in with a thrumming sense of being alive.
Soon, they’re tipsy and full of food.
Soon, the rest of the world is far away.
“Hey, did you guys hear that Ushiwaka might be moving to Poland permanently?” Bokuto says at some point in the night.
Kuroo and Akaashi glance at each other.
“Poor Sakusa-san,” Akaashi comments.
“I wish him the best in this difficult time,” Kuroo nods solemnly.
Atsumu coughs to hide a laugh and leans his face into Bokuto’s shoulder.
Soon, the clock strikes midnight again. Kuroo and Akaashi argue about something or the other as Bokuto reaches out to hold Atsumu’s hand.
“Did you have a good time?” Bokuto asks softly, nosing the side of his drooping head.
“Better than yesterday,” Atsumu mumbles drunkenly. “Kuroo sucks.”
Bokuto laughs in surprise. “Sorry you hate my friends, Tsum-tsum.”
“I don't hate ‘em, Bokkun,” Atsumu slurs in disagreement. He lolls his head onto Bokuto’s shoulder so his lips brush against his ear. “‘Course I don't. They love ya.”
Bokuto beams and feels like the point of the whole entire world. He ruffles Atsumu’s hair and shifts so he can sleep more comfortably.
Time passes without scrutiny.
Tomorrow, there will be practice again. Atsumu will accompany him on trains back to Higashiosaka and life will start over.
Hinata won't turn up for practice and it will hurt.
Akaashi will drink too much coffee in the morning and text Bokuto about menial things.
Kuroo will try his best to be a person and make his friends worry.
Everything will feel impossible until it doesn't.
Over and over again.
Bokuto watches Akaashi mediate cold fury as Kuroo gets on his nerves.
He holds Atsumu’s hands tight, tighter.
And for a brief moment he feels ageless. Contained.
Childhood and death and everything in between.
All in one place.
Where people he loves can see him.