Work Text:
Mid February
The Christmas gifts from his brothers had been perfect, and Keiji was terribly excited that the weather was finally decent enough to get to use them—still cold, but not frigid. He carefully packed the bag he was taking, with plenty of padding so nothing would get damaged on the trip, and closed it up neatly before swinging it over his shoulder.
He had everything he needed, and the night was clear and perfect. There was only one problem—Koutarou.
Normally his boyfriend was the opposite of a problem—sure, he could be a little overbearing in his excitement, and when he and Kuroo were together they were no better than children—but generally speaking he was great.
This particular event, though, was what troubled him. Keiji couldn't see Bokuto doing well with his personal hobby, even if he was going up into the mountains to go owl spotting. Birding took a lot of sitting still and being quiet, two things Bokuto was distinctly terrible at.
But the night-vision goggles were "so cool" and the new lens for his camera that let him take photos in the dark was "freaking awesome" and they were "going to see owls, Keiji, owls!"
So, Bokuto had insisted on coming. And he was...hard to say no to, when he was excited about something, even though Keiji was certain he was going to end up hating it when he realized what exactly was entailed.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he picked it up.
From: koutarou
Time: 21:16
Message: r u ready??? the owls await!!
Seconds later, it vibrated again, a new message displayed.
From: koutarou
Time: 21:16
Message: also help im outside ur building but the doors locked and no one will let me in
Keiji grinned and pocketed the device, pausing one last time to grab a knitted hat for Bokuto on the way out the door—doubtless he'd be under dressed to be in the mountains at night in mid February—and stuffing it into his coat pocket.
As Keiji opened the door to his building, Bokuto straightened up and brightened, smiling at the sight of him. After all this time, he still seemed happy simply to see Keiji, a fact that was...incredibly endearing.
"Hey," Keiji said, bumping shoulders with him affectionately.
"You going to leave it at that? We haven't been together in ages!" Bokuto pouted.
"I literally just saw you this morning," Keiji said, rolling his eyes, but leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips regardless. The grin he received was worth it.
Bokuto wrapped an arm around Keiji's waist as he turned them in the direction of the train station. Keiji smiled softly and didn't protest.
Bokuto kept up a near-constant stream of chatter during the walk, telling Keiji about the weird ukulele-playing guy he'd seen on campus with 3 loaves of bread sticking out of his backpack, the dog he'd gotten to pet, and his lunch with Kuroo and Kenma.
Keiji was happy to let the words wash over him, nodding occasionally to let Bokuto know he was listening, but not having much to say himself. He liked it well enough that way—if he had something interesting to say, he'd say it, but he didn't have Bokuto's gift of turning even the most mundane happening into a dramatically entertaining tale.
The train, however, was a different story. The compartment was empty, save for them, and Bokuto, lulled by the train's rumbling motion, fell asleep almost as soon as they left the station, slumping over onto Keiji's shoulder. He rolled his eyes; Bokuto went from zero to one hundred, then back to zero, in a flash. It was actually kind of impressive.
Keiji kept an eye on the stops for the both of them, to make sure they wouldn't end up stranded in the middle of nowhere.
Bokuto stirred as the train came to a halt at a station on the edge of town, making a soft questioning noise.
"Not there yet," Keiji replied, and Bokuto nuzzled back against his shoulder and dozed off again.
At length, the train pulled into a remote station at the foothill of a heavily forested mountain. Keiji nudged Bokuto's side with his elbow, causing him to wake with a start.
"We're here," he said simply, and Bokuto stretched languorously, rolling his neck from side to side with audible pops.
Then, they were outside, the train moved on to its next stop, and everything was dark. And quiet. And bitterly, bitterly cold. Bokuto was shivering in seconds, trying to burrow into the collar of his coat to protect his ears. Keiji rolled his eyes fondly and pulled the hat he'd been saving for this moment out of his pocket.
The look of unadulterated gratitude and adoration he received in reply was worth a million pocket-hats. Bokuto pulled the hat on and down over his ears, looking instantly less miserable.
Keiji took the lead, having been to this nature preserve a few times before, birdwatching. He used his flashlight to illuminate the trail, while Bokuto insisted on holding his other hand, "for safety."
They came to the fork in the trail, the left branch sloping gently down into scrubby trees and brush. Keiji had gone that way to find and photograph a black-naped oriole several months back. This night, however, he took the right fork, a steeply inclined trail going into the heavily forested mountains.
The way was narrow and rocky, and in under a minute, Bokuto had released Keiji's hand in order to balance himself. They were both silent, intent on picking their way over the rough ground in the meager light of Keiji's torch.
By the time they got to a rocky promontory, trees behind them, darkened valley stretching out before them, they were both out of breath.
"This is a good spot," Keiji declared, bending down to rest his hands on his knees.
"Oh, good," Bokuto replied, looking like he might not have made it much farther. Keiji didn't blame him—he felt it too. Hiking up a mountain was very different than running after a ball or jogging on a flat track. Constantly being on edge so as to not fall down the mountain and die had also worn him out.
Keiji stood up and directed them to a hollow between an ancient tree and a large rock, thoroughly inspecting the area for snakes or any other unpleasant surprises. Bokuto sat down and patted the spot in front of him for Keiji.
He rolled his eyes again, but acquiesced. It would be warmer, he thought, settling in between Bokuto's legs and leaning back against him.
Bokuto wrapped his arms around Keiji's waist, wiggling his ungloved—and icy—hands into the inner folds of his coat. Keiji hissed at the cold fingers, unpleasant even through the thick fabric of his shirt, but didn't complain, instead pulling his camera case out of the bag on his lap and attaching the new nighttime lens—a gift from one of his older brothers.
"What now?" Bokuto asked in his ear.
"Now, we wait," Keiji replied. "And hope the birds show up."
"That's what you do when you go birdwatching?" Bokuto sounded dismayed.
"I told you that you wouldn't like it," Keiji reminded him.
"No, no. It's fine." He was pouting again. "It's fine. Fine, fine, fine. I love this."
Keiji snorted in amusement, and rummaged around in his bag some more, finding the night-vision binoculars his oldest brother had gotten him and turning the power on. Through them, the world was thrown into bright green display, the shaded terrain now standing out in stark relief. He grinned. Awesome.
"Can I try?" Bokuto asked after Keiji had put them back down. He silently placed them in Bokuto's hands which had just vacated his coat to pick up the proffered device. In their absence, Keiji switched to his camera. The view of the star-strewn sky and shadowed forest was fantastic. He focused and took a warm-up shot of the sky through the barren limbs of the tree they were settled under. He checked it on the small display screen. Impeccable quality. He was really going to have to do something nice for his brothers, to thank them for this.
Bokuto, meanwhile, had been looking in all directions with the binoculars, gasping and ooh-ing, until he couldn't hold it in any longer.
"This is amazing!" He exclaimed, voice impossibly loud in the night stillness. Immediately, an affronted hooting sounded in reply, and an even-darker shadow left their tree.
"Oh, no," Bokuto said, returning to a murmur, "I scared her."
Keiji swallowed the twinge of annoyance he felt, and replied, just as softly, "Well, at least we know that there are owls here. Not going to be a waste of time."
Bokuto sheepishly handed the binoculars back, and Keiji looked in the direction the owl had flown. He could see it in a tree near the cliff's edge, but it was half-hidden behind a group of twigs, and too far away, even if he zoomed the camera in as far as it would go. The image would be terrible. Unless he could sneak around to a different angle.
"I'm going to go around and try to get a picture," He whispered to Bokuto, "Stay here?" Bokuto nodded, and released Keiji's waist.
He got up and silently brushed himself off, picking a path through the trees that would get him a better view of the owl. He went slowly, careful not to make a sound and scare it off, checking the way with his binoculars, and stopping a few times because the night was perfect and, birds or no birds, he couldn't resist taking a few shots of the moonlit forest with his spectacular new lens.
Keiji completely lost track of time, and when he was almost where he thought he'd be able to see the owl, he heard a shout. His insides turned to ice. He'd forgotten about Bokuto.
Disregarding his earlier stealth, Keiji rushed back into the rocky clearing, ready to fight the snake, bear, or whatever was attacking his boyfriend.
What he saw, instead, was the owl—presumably the same one—swooping at Bokuto's head, screeching. It landed, seeming to get its claws stuck in the fibers of the knitted hat, and struggled, flapping wildly.
"Koutarou!" He called. This was an opportunity he couldn't miss, he realized, and moved his camera up to his face. "Don't move."
"Keiji?!" He replied, panicked, ducking to get as far away from the talons and flapping wings as he could. "I just got up to stretch my legs and...I...I think I upset her!"
Keiji snapped a picture of the owl snatching the cap off of Bokuto's head and a few more of her flying off over the ridge and away with it. At least one of the shots was bound to turn out well.
Photos taken, Keiji carefully made his way over the uneven ground to where Bokuto was still standing, seemingly in shock.
"Are you okay?" It occurred to him to feel bad about taking pictures of his boyfriend being attacked by a wild animal instead of trying to help.
But Bokuto was grinning. "That! Was! The coolest!" He shouted, flinging his arms into the air with enthusiasm, and bringing one down to rake through his freshly-exposed hair, wincing a bit. "I think she took a chunk of hair along with the hat, though—oh no, your hat." His face fell.
Keiji laughed in relief. "Don't worry about the hat. That was a once-in-a-lifetime photo opportunity."
"I'm glad I could do that for you," Bokuto said. "Man, Keij, you never told me birdwatching was so metal. What's next, fighting an eagle?"
Keiji chuckled again, and shook his head. "Everything's always a little more intense with you, Koutarou." Bokuto beamed at the presumed compliment, and he went on, "Anyway, that's what we came for. Want to head back? It's too cold to stay out here much longer.”
Early April
Koutarou had his hand down Akaashi's pants when the phone rang.
"That's not important, right?" He whined, furrowing his brows at the interruption. This was a new development, Akaashi only recently having become confident enough to let Koutarou touch him, and he was really enjoying watching his oh-so-composed boyfriend come apart under his fingers. He'd been building up the courage to ask if he could use his mouth—which was literally watering at the thought—when this had happened.
Akaashi sighed and placed a hand on Koutarou's to stop him. He looked vaguely put out, but resigned.
"No, that's my mom's ring tone. She wouldn't call unless it was something important."
"So important that you can't call her back in a bit?" Koutarou grumbled, but withdrawing his hand regardless—the entrance of Akaashi's mom into the scene (even just via phone call) had thoroughly killed the mood.
With a sigh, Akaashi rolled off of Koutarou and picked up his phone, sitting up on the edge of the dorm bed, facing away, as he answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Keiji, I'm really sorry to bother you like this, but something just happened that I think you should know about." The voice on the other end was loud enough to be heard clearly from where Koutarou was sprawled—Akaashi started and pulled the phone away from his ear.
"Okay," he replied, "What happened?"
Koutarou couldn't see his boyfriend's face but he did notice shoulders stiffening, a hand moving to clench the edge of the mattress in a white-knuckled grip. Bracing himself.
"First of all, are you okay? Your voice sounds a little hoarse—you're not getting sick, are you?"
Akaashi's posture didn't change, but Koutarou saw the tips of his ears go red. He grinned, reaching out and running a finger down Akaashi's spine, making him stiffen further before answering.
"Uh, no, that's just the...hormones..." He blatantly lied. "Anyway, what did you need to tell me?"
"Please go to the doctor if you need to..." Akaashi's mom said reproachfully, apparently unwilling to drop the subject.
Koutarou had some soft quip on the edge of his tongue, light and teasing, but he forgot it when Akaashi's mother spoke again.
"It's about your father."
"Oh." Akaashi's reply was terse, almost grudging.
He didn't get along with his father, Koutarou knew. From what he understood, it had been over five years since they'd even spoken.
"He was in an accident." The words fell like bricks, but Akaashi's posture didn't change a bit. "He's going to be okay but...he wants to talk to you, Keiji."
At that, Akaashi stood up abruptly, stiffly walking to the other side of the room. Did he want privacy? Or was he just unable to sit still, hearing that? He hadn't asked Koutarou to leave...
"I don't want to talk to him. I'm not going to put myself through that again just so he can feel better about himself." Akaashi turned around and Koutarou saw his face for the first time since he had picked up the phone. His jaw was set, tense and unhappy. He leaned on the bare bed frame on the opposite side of the room, then stood up again almost immediately, pacing the length of the tiny room.
It was far enough away that Koutarou couldn't hear the reply on the other end of the line, but he could make out the tone: weary and not without reproach.
"No." Akaashi said shortly, and hung up the phone, not saying goodbye. Koutarou hated the look on his boyfriend's face, restrained anger, teeth clenched so tightly that it must hurt.
He didn't know what to do. But he knew that he wouldn't want to be alone, in a similar situation. Carefully, Koutarou got up, took the few steps over to Akaashi, and took him into his arms. Akaashi was stiff for a long moment, but finally, he relaxed into the embrace, squeezing him back so tightly that Koutarou was worried about his ribs bruising.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that."
Koutarou didn't reply for a while. Akaashi had always acted like his dad leaving didn't mean anything to him—that he was over it. Koutarou should have known better...but he wasn't the best at picking up subtext, subtleties, and reading between the lines.
"It's okay," he finally said, "I just...didn't realize it upset you that much."
Akaashi pulled back, looking him in the eye. "I was trying hard not to let it."
Koutarou caught Akaashi's hand and squeezed. He understood that feeling. His own family....they weren't close, and he felt like he'd never really been seen. All his physical needs had been seen to, but his emotional needs had been neglected. It had left some lasting scars, even though he pretended it was okay.
"Are you okay leaving it like that?" The words were out of Koutarou's mouth before he'd really considered them—something he did too often, he acknowledged.
Akaashi stiffened again. "As okay with it as he was with leaving me and Mom when I was twelve. She may have forgiven him but…" He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air as clearly as a shout. Akaashi hadn't forgiven his father. Not even a little bit.
Koutarou winced; Akaashi was looking away from him, glaring at the family portrait on his dresser. The one where his father wasn't.
He didn't know what was going on in Akaashi's head. He cared about him, wanted more than anything for him to be happy, but he couldn't read his mind, and he wasn't sure if he could help. He needed to say something—but he didn't know how to start.
What he did know, however, was how he felt about his own—admittedly, very different—family situation. He understood bitterness and resentment. He could only remember how he'd spent his entire childhood longing for the sort of close family bond so many of his friends had had. How he still wanted that from them, even now, no matter how unlikely that was.
"Are you sure...just...you might not get another chance and...I know I'd regret it." Koutarou stumbled over the words, almost certain he'd crossed a line, bracing himself against the anger he was sure to be on the receiving end of.
But if anything, Akaashi's face softened. When he finally replied, his voice was quiet, unsure, but devoid of its previous anger.
"I need some time to think."
It was a dismissal, one Koutarou took with grace. He squeezed Akaashi's hand a final time, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and let himself out.
He slept in his own bed (for once) that night, trying not to worry too much about his boyfriend. When he woke, it was almost noon, and he panicked for a moment that he had missed class before realizing it was Saturday.
He also had a series of texts from Akaashi.
From: Keiji~ <3
Time: 23:11
Message: sorry if this wakes you up. i texted my mom to give him my phone number.
From: Keiji~ <3
Time: 10:37
Message: he called me earlier. he seems to really be sorry. i don't know if i can forgive him yet but. it's a start. i told him about you, too.
From: Keiji~ <3
Time: 10:39
Message: thank you koutarou. you were right. i would have regretted not talking to him.
He held the phone to his chest for a moment, smiling, an indefinable mix of emotions pressing down on him. Relief, happiness, and something that wasn't quite jealousy, tinted with melancholy. Well. He wasn't about to let his own familial issues get in the way.
He replied with a series of exclamation points and bird emojis to let Akaashi know how thrilled he was for him.
Late April
That Sunday afternoon was a lazy one; it was the day after a match—they had won—and warm, for early spring.
Keiji and Bokuto were at the apartment Kuroo shared with Kenma. Keiji leafed idly through a scientific article he was supposed to be reading for class, and Bokuto didn't even pretend to be busy, instead watching a cartoon (about volleyball, of all things) with Kuroo on the couch, the both of them aggressively cheering for the their favorite team during a match.
Keiji and Kenma were seated at the small dining table directly behind the sofa, Kenma alternating between a game on his phone and the textbook in front of him.
After a particularly loud shout of anguish from the two on the couch—the team having lost a set in their show—Keiji sighed.
"Why are they like this? And why do I like him so much?" The words were exasperated, but he couldn't hide the fondness in his tone.
"A mystery, and I ask myself the same question on an hourly basis," Kenma replied, answering both rhetorical questions without looking up.
The episode came to an end, and Kuroo leaned back on the couch so that his head was mostly upside-down, looking back at the two of them at the table.
"Hey, Akaashi, are you going to do any cool setter moves like they do in the show during our next game?"
"Kuroo-san, I'm pretty sure the majority of those moves are impossible outside anime." After a moment, he added, "Also, I won't be at the next scheduled game. You'll have to ask Oikawa."
That made Kuroo sit back up and turn around to face him properly.
"Aww, why not?" He asked.
Keiji deliberated a moment, unsure how to phrase it without inviting more questions.
"He's having surgery earlier that week," Bokuto answered for him, and Keiji winced. That—though true—wasn't what he had been going to say.
But Kuroo only grinned—and was it Keiji's imagination or did his eyes flash down to his chest for a split second?—and gave him a thumbs up.
"Congrats, dude," he said.
Keiji went very still. The only reason that he would have that reaction was if he knew. And the only way he would know would be if Bokuto had told him.
Keiji leveled his boyfriend with a dark stare.
"You told him?"
Bokuto shrank back, looking like he was trying to become one with the cushions.
"I specifically told you that I wasn't comfortable sharing this with everyone," Keiji admonished him, his voice soft, but frosty.
The look on Bokuto's face was pained, but he didn't say anything in his defense. Kenma and Kuroo both stared, one in confusion, one in dawning understanding.
Keiji, deeply upset, and feeling a bit betrayed, went on, "I've told you what other people have done after finding out about me—I really thought you would understand, or at least—"
The person who interrupted him wasn't Bokuto, but Kuroo.
"Akaashi, it was an accident."
Keiji's attention snapped to Kuroo, who took a breath and went on. "Koutarou came over to ask my advice about 'some guy' his 'friend' liked who was transgender and he didn't want to be a jerk." He put some of the phrases in finger quotes for emphasis.
Immediately, Keiji's anger cooled to a simmer.
"Oh." He began, but Kuroo wasn't done.
"And when I figured it out—because of course I did; Koutarou is the least subtle person ever—he looked like he'd just kicked a puppy by accident and made it cry. It really upset him to have outed you, even by accident. Even when I promised not to be an ass about it."
"I." He trailed off, still irritated, still feeling a little violated, even if it was just Kuroo, who he knew wouldn't be an ass about it. He still wished Bokuto had told him it had happened, at the very least. He was shaking now, sick to his stomach, out of control—and that's what it boiled down to. He wanted control over who knew, the way he hadn't had in high school. Still. "I should have known better than to think Koutarou would have said anything maliciously."
"Koutarou doesn't have a malicious bone in his body." Kuroo said it as a joke, but he could hear the reprimand in his voice.
That rubbed Keiji the wrong way—he did think he had a point, even if he may have overreacted a tiny bit.
"That doesn't mean I'm happy about it," Keiji snapped. "You have no idea how it was for me, when everyone and their mom knew. What I've had to go through to avoid that, here."
Kuroo didn't reply, though his frown deepened.
"I really didn't mean to," Bokuto said into the resulting silence, his voice uncharacteristically soft, melancholy. "I wouldn't do that to you."
"I know," Keiji said with a sigh, deflating a little bit. It was hard to put into words—he wasn't mad, not really, not anymore, but it was something he was sensitive about, and he was...upset. Hurt. Something else he didn't quite have a name for.
"I am really sorry," Bokuto said, when the silence grew long again.
"It's okay," Keiji replied, a lie, but a small one. It wasn't okay, not right that second, but it would be, given a little time. Bokuto had had nothing but good intentions, he had to acknowledge. And he was terribly hard to be upset with.
Bokuto tentatively reached over the back of the couch, taking Keiji's hand almost shyly, and drawing it to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. Keiji sighed again, letting out more tension. Terribly hard to be upset with. He squeezed Bokuto's hand back before letting go.
"So, uhh," Kenma said after watching everything go down, and breaking the silence at last, "You're trans, Keiji?"
Kuroo burst out laughing, and Keiji lowered his face into his hands with a groan.
Early September
Koutarou felt it coming on, but he had hoped that if he denied it with enough ferocity, he would be able to make it stop. This hadn't happened in a long while—not like this. He should have known, suspected. It was just a fluke, of course. He wasn't getting better.
What grated on him the most was that there was no fucking reason for him to be feeling this way. Everything had been going well. A new term was just starting, and he'd moved into an apartment with Akaashi not a full week before. New students were joining the volleyball club—a little orange-haired first year looked up to him as his senpai the way he had hoped Akaashi would, a year ago.
Everything was going great, and yet there he was, lying in bed at three in the afternoon, all the lights off and the curtains drawn.
He was angry, and sad, and ashamed, and frustrated, but all of those were drowned out by an overwhelming emptiness, so hollowed out by apathy that it hurt. It was like he knew he felt those emotions—or at least that he should be feeling them—but they were very far away, indistinct like the silhouettes of trees through a heavy fog.
His boyfriend was worried. He hadn't said anything, but Koutarou had caught enough sidelong glances, Akaashi's brows furrowed with concern when he wasn't excited about food, or practice, or cat memes from Kuroo, or...anything, really.
He felt bad for making him worry, but the emptiness swallowed that up, too.
Presently, the front door to the apartment opened. Akaashi must have finished up his last class. Koutarou hadn't been able to force himself to class that day. Guilt writhed within the aching apathy that had taken him over.
"Koutarou?" Akaashi called softly. There were no lights on to show any indication he was there. He felt like a ghost, haunting his own apartment.
Koutarou replied with what he intended to be, "I'm here," but it was sluggish and slurred against the pillow his face was half-buried in.
Akaashi opened the door to the bedroom and took the few steps over to the bed.
"It's really bad right now, isn't it," he said, a statement more than a question, sitting down next to Koutarou. Akaashi placed a careful hand on his shoulder.
For some reason, that simple gesture of acknowledgment, of understanding, was enough to break through the numbness. A lump formed in his throat, and he couldn't fight back the tears that started to form, no matter how tightly he screwed his eyes shut.
Neither of them said anything while Koutarou shook with silent sobs. Some distant part of him really appreciated Akaashi's quiet support, the solid hand on his shoulder, stroking his arm—he didn't know if he could handle empty platitudes, being told that he was fine, what did he have to be upset about, anyway?
Akaashi wasn't the type to do that, anyway. He knew this sort of thing happened to Koutarou from time to time, even if this was the first time he'd had to see it. And it wasn't enough to scare him off.
After a few minutes, Koutarou stilled, catching his breath after his emotional outburst. He still didn't know what to say. Akaashi's hand on his shoulder was a slight, comforting weight, keeping him tied to the real world, pulling him back from the spiral of senseless thoughts that kept circling around in his head.
"Do you...want to talk about it?" Akaashi asked, his voice whisper-soft, but still loud in the silence of the darkened room.
Koutarou didn't. But he didn't want to do much of anything, and he felt like he owed Akaashi this much.
"It's just stupid," he said, voice cracking, and those words were like the breaking of a dam. It all started spilling out. "This sort of thing, these...episodes...haven't happened in so long, and I really thought they were over; I thought I was better, Keiji. I'm useless and broken and I don't know what I'm doing."
He kept going, airing thoughts that were only half-formed in his own mind, given fullness in speech, "I'm taking all these sales and marketing classes, but I don't care about them, or about any of this. I don't want to work in an office promoting some company. But I don't have a clue what I want to do for the rest of my life. Not like you do."
He took a deep, shaky breath, and kept talking, tears threatening again. "And now something like this happens for no reason and it's no wonder I can't figure out what I want to do when I can't even be emotionally stable when nothing is going wrong."
Akaashi listened to all of this silently, only moving to card his fingers through Koutarou's hair, which had to be gross. He hadn't managed to shower in two days. But Akaashi didn't give any indication, if he'd noticed.
It was another moment before he spoke, and Koutarou was almost certain that he'd said too much, showed how pathetic he really was, that Akaashi would tell him he was being stupid, or worse, he'd just leave.
But when Akaashi did speak, his words were soft, measured, unsure but sincere. "I can't...pretend to know how you feel right now. But I know, from my own experience, how bad it feels...to measure yourself up to someone else, and find yourself lacking."
That was right. Akaashi had had to fight tooth and nail to be recognized as the man he was. Koutarou often felt like he wouldn't have been able to make it through, had he been in Akaashi's shoes. When Akaashi was faced with adversity, he just seemed to give it a disgusted look and become stronger in the spite of whoever what trying to keep him down.
Koutarou, on the other hand, fell apart.
He looked up, feeling the indents of the pillow on his face. Akaashi was looking away, rubbing his chest under his shirt with his free hand, where the new, tight surgery scars were. He'd been through so much, and yet he was dealing with Koutarou's problems so patiently.
"I guess what I'm trying to say," Akaashi went on, "Is that I think you're doing great. Whether or not you have your life figured out at twenty years old, you're...amazing. It's not easy to live with..." he trailed off, but Koutarou knew what he meant. His disorder. Manic-depressive. Bipolar.
"But you're doing a great job," Akaashi finished, somewhat uncomfortably.
As his words sank in, Koutarou's mouth formed a small 'o.' Akaashi, brilliant, composed Akaashi, didn't look down on him at all. He hadn't realized fully, until that moment, how much he had been measuring himself out against other people—his boyfriend included.
"Also, I guess I love you or something," Akaashi mumbled after another moment had passed, looking down.
"You do?" Koutarou said, incredulous. It was enough to snap him out of his fog, into the present. He'd never said that before. Neither of them had.
Akaashi nodded, looking embarrassed. "Why else did you think I've put up with your terrible puns for the past year?"
"My rock-hard abs and beefy thighs?" Koutarou asked, finding the strength to joke weakly.
"Those...help," Akaashi replied, a look of sheer relief passing over his face at the joke.
Koutarou dug his hand out from under the blanket and covered the one that was still on his shoulder.
"Thanks for taking care of me, Keij. I...kind of love you, too. A lot."
"Yeah, well," Akaashi muttered, clearly not comfortable with such a frank discussion of feelings. It almost made Koutarou smile. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do."
Koutarou nodded. He didn't know how tomorrow would be, if the numbness would be back full-force, but he was feeling a little better right that second. He'd always struggled alone before, with illness and with uncertainty. He didn't have to, not anymore. The thought was...comforting.
"Oh, yeah," Akaashi said, standing up, "Please text Kuroo-san. He's sent me no less than fifty cat memes and twice that many worried texts since you missed practice and stopped replying to him."
Koutarou grimaced. He was in for an earful from his best friend.
But it was nice to have people that cared about him so much.
Late September
Keiji knocked on the door and Bokuto looked like he might faint.
Honestly, he'd been like that the whole train ride over, and then on the walk from the station, too. Anything Keiji had said to reassure him had only seemed to make it worse.
He didn't understand, honestly. Usually, Bokuto was social to the point of being exhausting. Not even twenty-four hours previously he had managed to become more friendly with the two girls in line behind them for coffee than Keiji generally was weeks or months after meeting a person.
Keiji couldn't discern why meeting his mom and brothers terrified Bokuto so much. The idea of them not liking his boyfriend was so preposterous to Keiji that he legitimately had trouble imagining it.
The door opened and, impossibly, Bokuto's posture stiffened even more.
But Keiji's mom was smiling broadly. “Come in! Come in! It's a little chilly outside; I don't want either of you catching cold.”
The weather was actually just fine—pleasant, even. Keiji was just wearing a light jacket and Bokuto was, reluctantly, in a short sleeved henley. Keiji had had to talk him out of wearing a dress shirt and tie. As nice as it had looked on him (and it had looked nice), he would have been overdressed and uncomfortable.
He led Bokuto into the house's entry way, and they both took a moment to shed their shoes.
“Hi, mom,” Keiji said.
“You didn't tell me he was so handsome!” She said in reply, and Bokuto somehow managed to blush and blanch at the same time.
He seemed to recover his wits a moment later, and Keiji smiled to see his boyfriend stammer an introduction and shake hands with his mother.
“Hi, uh, ma'am—I'm...I'm Bokuto Koutarou.”
“Yes, it's so nice to finally meet you! I've heard...well, not a lot, but I have heard about you. You know how Keiji is. Anyway, I'm Shikako. Can I call you Koutarou?” She was aggressively shaking Bokuto's hand through all of this, so much that his whole body was bouncing slightly with the force of it.
“Yes, please, ma'am,” he replied with a miniscule grin, gaining confidence, “Though Keiji didn't until after we started dating.”
She laughed, finally releasing his hand to close the door behind them, and said, “That's my son for you. I'm surprised he managed to reel in such a lively boy. He's always been such a quiet child.”
“To be frank, ma'am, have you seen Keiji? He's gorgeous.” Bokuto's smile was wide and unabashed, now.
Keiji felt the tips of his ears go hot and rubbed his neck. Maybe this had been a bad idea, though not for the reason Bokuto had feared. He could already tell: his mother and his boyfriend were going to get along famously and conspire against him.
“It's not like you gave me much of a choice,” Keiji mumbled at Bokuto. For the first few weeks after they'd met, Bokuto had been constantly asking Keiji to stay after practice to toss to him, to hang out with the team on weekends, to be on his team when they were playing three-on-three. He was hard to say “no” to, enthusiastic as he was about everything. It had even worn down Keiji's defenses after a while.
“You could have told me to leave you alone at any time,” Bokuto defended himself.
“Yes, but then you would have gotten sad, and made that face...” Keiji grumbled.
“I'm irresistible,” Bokuto announced proudly.
His mother was smiling at them, clearly pleased, and motioned them out of the entry way and into a comfortable living room.
“Come on in, sit down,” she said, directing them to the couch. “I'm just finishing up dinner. Michio, Takuya, and Kotone should be here any minute.”
Keiji nodded, and let his mother disappear into the kitchen.
“Michio is my oldest brother,” Keiji explained for Bokuto. “Ten years older than me. Takuya is two years younger, and Kotone is his fiancee.”
“What are they like? Will they want to beat me up for touching their precious baby brother?”
Keiji rolled his eyes. “Michio is a chemist, and Takuya is a meteorologist. They're both skinny nerds; you can take them.”
Bokuto laughed at that, though he didn't look entirely convinced.
"Kotone,” Keiji went on, “on the other hand, teaches high school math, so she's kind of scary.”
Bokuto paled.
“But she also loves embarrassing me, so you'll probably get along well,” He finished, thinking back to his visit over winter break. Kotone had marveled at his camera and all its accessories, only to insist that he was wasting an opportunity if he didn't have some steamy nudes of his boyfriend on there.
(She had checked, and she had been disappointed, to Keiji's vindication.)
Bokuto was smiling a little wistfully, an odd expression that made Keiji frown in puzzlement.
A knock on the door kept him from thinking too hard on it, though.
“Keiji? Would you get that?” His mother called. He didn't need to be told—Keiji was already up and halfway to the door.
He opened up to see his oldest brother, tall and lanky as ever, smiling and waving, a bottle of champagne in his free hand.
“Good to see you, Keiji. Takuya and Kotone just pulled up behind me.”
“Good to see you, too,” Keiji replied, “Mom's in the kitchen.”
Michio nodded and went on through, just as Takuya and his fiancee appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, little brother,” Takuya said with a grin, and Kotone ruffled his hair. Keiji glared at her. She laughed.
When everyone was inside, Keiji shut the door and returned to the living room, where Bokuto was standing, now, and looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Family,” Keiji announced, “This is Bokuto Koutarou, my boyfriend. Koutarou, this is my family.” He pointed out each of them in turn for Bokuto's benefit.
Michio soberly shook Bokuto's hand, and Takuya slapped him on the back before pulling him into a one-armed hug. Bokuto looked startled, but there was a smile on his face.
Kotone, on the other hand, had sidled up to Keiji, and began whispering conspiratorially in his ear.
“Goodness, he's built. Can he crush a watermelon with those thighs? I bet he can crush a watermelon with his thighs.”
“I wouldn't know, Kotone-san,” Keiji replied with a sigh. “He's never tried.”
He wasn't actually sure of this. Bokuto and Kuroo got up to some dumb antics, and for all he knew, watermelons were involved. But he wasn't about to let his future sister-in-law know that.
“And those arms,” Kotone went on, ignoring him, “Must be nice to be pinned down by such big, strong arms.”
“Again, I wouldn't know,” Keiji replied, and smirked. “I'm usually the one on top.”
She let out a soft shriek of surprise, and ruffled Keiji's hair again. “Get it, little brother, get it.”
Bokuto looked over at the noise, and Keiji hoped his blush wasn't noticeable. Kotone had made her way to where he stood and before Keiji could do anything about it, she was enthusiastically shaking his hand. She leaned in and said something into his ear that Keiji couldn't make out, and Bokuto blushed, then laughed.
Keiji joined his boyfriend, ostensibly to protect him from his brother's fiancee, but also because...he just liked being close to Bokuto.
At the stern look Keiji gave her, Kotone threw her hands up in a gesture of innocence, and went to the other corner of the room, where Takuya and Michio were talking.
“They're nice,” Bokuto said, slipping his hand into Keiji's and squeezing.
“They are,” he agreed, as they observed the conversation his brothers were having. Michio, with his severe haircut and glasses, always so polite, and Takuya, hair wavy like Keiji's own, animatedly gesturing to punctuate his sentences.
They had always been closer to one another than they were to him—it was a simple fact of age—but they'd never been cruel to Keiji, the way some brothers were to younger siblings. As he'd begun his transition, and their father had left, they had grown fiercely protective of him, as well.
He was glad that they were finally meeting Bokuto. All the people in the world who he loved were in one place.
He didn't have more than a few minutes to contemplate this, however, because his mother was ducking her head out of the kitchen to announce that dinner was ready.
“Please, grab a plate and serve yourselves,” she said, and they all filed toward the kitchen. Kotone saw Keiji's hand linked in Bokuto's and waggled her eyebrows at him. He rolled his eyes in reply.
The kitchen seemed very small, with six people packed in it. It had felt so much bigger when he had been little, 'helping' his mother make dinner, though he'd been too small to reach the cabinets.
Now, he was able to look down on the spread, mouth watering. His mom had always been a fantastic cook, and he'd missed this since he had moved out for college.
One glance at Bokuto's face and he could tell that he was terribly excited, as well. They all got their plates, and gathered at the low table in the adjacent nook, a tight fit with so many of them. Keiji would be bumping elbows with Bokuto and Takuya all night, but he didn't mind.
Shikako was the last one to sit down, and gave them a stern mom look. “What are you all waiting for? Let's eat!”
Keiji smiled, and picked up a dumpling, happy to oblige that command.
For a few minutes, there were no words other than exclamations of delight and compliments on the food—the most enthusiastic of all coming from Bokuto. Keiji's mom beamed in response.
As immediate hunger was satisfied, though, more chatter started up. Michio and Takuya sounded like they were finishing up the conversation they'd been having in the living room. As they trailed off, Kotone spoke up.
“I want to know more about Bokuto-chan.”
Takuya grinned over at them. “I'm with her. You've never brought one home before.”
Keiji grimaced. He hadn't exactly had good luck before Bokuto—a few dates and flings in high school, and they had all ended badly.
“What do you want to know?” Bokuto asked, having swallowed the bite of bok choy he'd been working on.
“How did you and Keiji meet?” Takuya asked.
“I already told you during winter break,” Keiji said, “Volleyball.”
“There has to be more to it than that,” his mom said.
“Yeah, give us the deets,” Kotone agreed.
Keiji sighed, but Bokuto rose to the challenge. “Well, a few weeks after he joined the team, I asked Keiji out. He said no.”
“You were drunk,” Keiji reminded him.
“You are very pretty, and I was very nervous,” Bokuto replied nonchalantly, to laughter. Michio clapped him on the shoulder.
“But clearly something else happened?” Michio prompted him after a moment.
Bokuto grinned. “I spent the next few months getting to know him, and I guess he decided to take a chance on me.”
“Oh, Koutarou,” Keiji sighed. “You know I liked you from the start. I just needed to get to know you.”
Bokuto smiled and squeezed Keiji's knee under the table.
“That's sweet and all,” Kotone said, “But I call bullshit. You can't sit here and tell me his muscles weren't at least part of it.”
“Kotone, please,” Takuya said, but Keiji spoke at the same time.
“I never said they weren't.”
This elicited another whoop of surprise from Kotone, who put up a hand for a high five over the table. Keiji reluctantly met it, making Shikako smile.
“Now that that's out of the way,” Michio said, “I have a very important question for you, Bokuto-san.”
“Oh?” Bokuto replied, looking nervous.
“What are your intentions toward my brother?” He asked darkly, and Keiji sighed in exasperation.
“Mostly, I just want to make him happy,” Bokuto answered, so earnestly that Keiji blushed.
Michio smiled mildly. “That was the correct answer. Mom, do you want to open the champagne I brought?”
She got up, saying, “That sounds wonderful,” and went to the refrigerator to procure the bottle. Michio got up a moment later to get glasses for everyone.
They returned, and began pouring glasses.
“None for me, please,” Kotone said, when Shikako tried to pass her one.
“Oh?” Keiji asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Why's that?”
Takuya was smiling fit to burst, and answered, “Well, let's just say that we're having to move up the wedding so that her dress will still fit.”
Huh. He was going to be an uncle. He had figured that would happen sooner or later, but the inevitability was daunting...and exciting.
“Congratulations!” Bokuto was the first to get over the shock the words had given everyone, shaking both expecting parents' hands in turn, which made them grin widely.
The rest of them caught up, Keiji patting his brother on the back with a smile.
The rest of the evening went without any more big announcements, comfortable, warm. Bokuto had been accepted into the family without restraint, and when it came time for Keiji's brothers and Kotone to leave, he got a hug from each of them, despite having met them only a few hours ago.
He got a few unexpectedly serious words of advice from his sister-in-law to be as she was on her way out the door.
“Keep him,” Kotone said, pulling Keiji into an embrace. “I knew I would marry Takuya when started looking at me the same way Bokuto-chan looks at you, now.”
Keiji flushed, and thanked her, making his goodbyes.
At last, it was just him, Bokuto, and Shikako. It was too late for them to catch a train back to their apartment, and she was insisting that they stay the night rather than pay for a cab.
“I haven't found the time to do anything with Keiji's room since he moved out,” his mom was saying, “You can stay there tonight.”
“Oh, uhh, I'll get the guest futon. It's still in the hall closet, right?,” Keiji asked, and Shikako gave him a knowing look.
“I've had three sons; you don't have to preserve my innocence. I'm certain you don't have separate beds in your apartment.”
He blushed again—his family was good at doing that to him—and just nodded. He'd been glad that Bokuto was out of earshot for that.
He helped with the last bit of cleaning up from dinner, washing dishes with his mom while Bokuto hovered nearby; Shikako had refused to let him help on the basis of him being a guest.
With that, she retired for the night, and Keiji and Bokuto did too, going down the hall to the room that had been his all his life.
It was exactly as it had been when he'd moved out. Tidy and spare, like Keiji had always preferred, sports trophies and academic honors displayed on the small set of shelves in the corner. The bed was still covered by the blue-and-yellow quilt his grandmother had made for him when he was small. His dad's mother. The one that had cut contact with him when he had come out.
“I hope they weren't too overwhelming,” Keiji said to Bokuto when they were in the room, voice muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head.
“No, no, no,” Bokuto replied immediately, “They're amazing. I...” he paused, and Keiji straightened up to look at him.
“I guess I didn't know that having a family could be like that.”
“Oh, Koutarou,” Keiji said, immediately dropping the shirt in his hands to pull him into a long hug.
“When my family had dinner together...which almost never happened,” Bokuto said, the words spilling out of him like water too long held back by a crumbling dam, “It was so formal and quiet. No one laughed, or made jokes. They would ask if I was doing well in my classes and...that was about it. This...tonight...this was so nice.”
Keiji held him tighter. “Well. This is your family now, too, if you want,” he said softly, hesitantly. But he meant it. He wouldn't have brought Bokuto to meet his family if he hadn't been serious about their relationship. About Bokuto. And his mom, his brothers...they had adored him. Bokuto might be a lot like a puppy, in his excitement and earnestness, but he could be charming, too. And it would seem that being charmed by Bokuto ran in the Akaashi family.
“I'd like that,” he replied, a smile in his voice, and released Keiji. “A lot.”
Keiji finished undressing for bed, stripping down to his boxers and neatly laying out his clothes, since he'd need to wear them again for the train ride home tomorrow.
Bokuto was already on the bed when he was done, sprawled out in an inviting pose.
“So, you wanna do the pickle tickle in your childhood bed?” He asked with a terrible grin.
“Oh my god, Koutarou, my mom is literally across the hall.”
“It's okay; I have earplugs,” Shikako said with a laugh from outside the door, having apparently picked that moment to walk by. Keiji was certain he'd never be able to look his mother in the eye again.
“She says it's okay,” Koutarou said in a tone that he probably thought was convincing and reassuring.
“I say you're sleeping on the floor.”
“Keiji, no,” Koutarou whined, “I'll be good.”
He took a deep breath, thinking again about his life choices, terrifyingly unable to regret anything.
“You'd better,” Keiji demanded with a stern look, and climbed into the bed beside his boyfriend.
Late November
Autumn deepened into winter in a fury of storms, the rain turning every patch of grass into a muddy pit and overflowing ponds and gutters. And it showed no signs of abating. Dark clouds roiled in the sky overhead, crackling and rumbling with thunder, almost as dark at noon as it was at midnight.
And it was the worst. Koutarou was bored, alternating between listlessness and being filled with frantic energy, cooped up in the apartment as he was by the awful weather. It wasn't enough to go to class, to work his shift at the chocolate shop down the street. He didn't even have volleyball practice to burn off energy—the gym had flooded with the first round of storms, and the floor was still being repaired.
He looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was after six; Akaashi should be home from his shift at the pet store where he worked around this time. He shifted to a new position where he was lying on the bed again. Good. It was a restless evening, and Akaashi was the only cure.
As if the thought summoned him, Koutarou heard the sound of the front door being unlocked, and opened. Akaashi's footfalls sounded just inside the front room.
"Hey honey bunches, how was work?" Koutarou called, rolling again so that he was on his back, with his head hanging off the edge of the mattress. The room was at once familiar and bizarre, upside-down.
"I forgot my umbrella and I'm soaked and freezing," Akaashi grumbled, and Koutarou did hear the unmistakable sound of a wet coat slapping against the wall at it was hung up on its peg to dry.
"Well, I know one good way to warm up," Koutarou said, putting an edge of suggestion in his voice.
"Yeah, I'm about to jump in the shower," Akaashi replied, and there was the muffled thump of him setting his backpack on the small table in the kitchen.
"That's not what I meant and you know it," Koutarou said, sing-song, as his boyfriend finally stepped into the bedroom. His hair was damp where the rain had soaked through the hood of his jacket, and the rest of him was even worse off. The expression that crossed his upside-down face was one of bemusement.
"Why are you naked?" Akaashi asked with a long-suffering sigh.
"Incentive."
Akaashi just looked at him, expression unchanging.
"Is it working? Are you feeling super seduced?"
"Were you just lying there, waiting for this?"
"No!" Koutarou half-lied, "I was watching cake decorating videos on Youtube." He flailed at the screen of his laptop on the nightstand next to him, where there was, indeed, a baking video paused. He didn't mention that it had been paused for over fifteen minutes. That wasn't important.
"Uh-huh," Akaashi agreed skeptically, and another moment of silence and staring followed.
"So," Koutarou wiggled his eyebrows, finding it inexplicably harder to do with the blood rushing to his head from his position, "How about it?"
Akaashi rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess."
"'Yeah, I guess?' That doesn't sound like, 'oh yes, Koutarou-sama, please have the sex with me posthaste.'" He said the last part in an impression of Akaashi, who paused where he was starting to unbutton his wet shirt.
"I have never, in my life, sounded anything like that," he said, moving onto the next button. "And don't push your luck."
His words were severe, but he had the same smirk on his face that Koutarou only saw in two situations: when he'd gotten in a fantastic dump shot in a match, and when he was about to do something to Koutarou that would make his toes curl. Seeing it made heat coil in his belly.
He finally rolled off his back, lying on his side with his head propped up on one hand to watch his boyfriend undress.
Akaashi peeled the wet button-up shirt off his body, making eye-contact while he did it. Koutarou swallowed, suddenly salivating.
However, the wet jeans didn't come off so smoothly, and Akaashi nearly tripped stepping out of them, making Koutarou laugh.
"Shut up," Akaashi grumbled, picking up the offending pants and laying them over the back of the desk chair to dry out.
He was in boxer-briefs and a thin tank-top, toying with the shirt's hem. Koutarou didn't say anything, knowing that sometimes he was still uncomfortable taking his shirt off, even though it had been half a year since his surgery.
He watched Akaashi bite his lower lip, worrying at it for a few seconds, then he tugged the tank top over his head, exposing a smooth expanse of skin, stomach and ribs and chest and scars, starting to fade now. Koutarou swallowed again, having to remember to breathe.
"Well?" Akaashi asked, taking a step toward the bed.
"I want you so bad," was the only thing that Koutarou could say. It seemed to be the right thing, because there was that smirk again, and then Akaashi was pressing his shoulders, turning him to lie flat on his back, and swinging a knee over his hips to straddle him.
When Akaashi's lips met his they were still cold from the rain and wind, his hair chill and damp when Koutarou carded his fingers through the short, wavy strands.
It didn't take him long to remedy the chill. Akaashi had Koutarou pinned to the bed, smooth friction of skin against skin, growing warm, then hot where they were pressed together. Koutarou ran his hands across Akaashi's body, at first reverential caresses to his arms, shoulders, back, but quickly devolving into something more demanding, almost frantic in intensity, grasping his thighs and ass.
Akaashi liked to be in control, Koutarou knew, and he was more than happy to submit while his boyfriend spoiled him, moving his mouth along his jawline and throat, kissing, gently sucking and nipping.
Involuntarily, he let out a needy sound halfway between a moan and a whimper, and he felt the lips on his pulse form a smile.
Akaashi shifted to slot one of his legs between Koutarou's, grinding a thigh against his erection and silencing the groan of pleasure with his mouth.
It was almost too much not to roll his hips up, seeking more friction, and any other day he would have given in, but not this evening, not when he had something special planned.
In a swift motion, Koutarou flipped them so that he was on top, looking down at Akaashi's face where it was framed by his hands, holding him up off the mattress. The look he was giving Koutarou was an expectant one, seeming to say, 'well, now what?'
"I want to go down on you," Koutarou said breathlessly, in answer to that look.
"Thought you were the one all raring to go," Akaashi replied, voice gone rough in a way that went straight to Koutarou's cock.
"I think you really underestimate how much I enjoy this," he replied, beginning to move down.
"I don't; I think we might need to stage an intervention."
Koutarou snorted out a laugh. "What kind of intervention would that be? 'My boyfriend enjoys giving me head too much; it's a problem and it needs to stop?' Will all my family and friends be there?" He peppered his words with kisses across Akaashi's stomach.
"I never said anything about stopping, I'm just concerned that—oh." Whatever reply he was going to make was bitten off with a sharp inhale of breath as Koutarou finally reached his goal, mouthing the front of the boxer-briefs Akaashi was still wearing.
Koutarou's fingers traced patterns on Akaashi's inner thighs before hooking onto his waistband, silently seeking permission.
Obligingly, he lifted his hips from the mattress, and Koutarou tugged the fabric down around Akaashi's thighs, to his knees, excruciatingly slowly, leaning down to kiss every inch of exposed skin.
After enough of this, Akaashi huffed and kicked the boxer-briefs off and onto the floor, a clear sign to get on with it, already.
Koutarou grinned cheekily up at his boyfriend, who glared at him half-heartedly.
Even then, he took his time, mouthing at the soft skin of Akaashi's thighs, savoring the shiver that ran through his body whenever teeth scraped over sensitive flesh.
"Are you ever going to get started?" Akaashi asked, the faux-annoyance in his voice rendered completely ineffective by his harsh breathing.
"How is it you're so patient in every other aspect of your life, but this—"
"Stop talking," Akaashi demanded, and Koutarou relented, burying his face in the wet heat between his boyfriend's legs and taking him into his mouth.
He honestly, truly, really did enjoy this. They had come so far from the first time Akaashi had tentatively let Koutarou touch him, rolling his fingers over the hard nub, the testosterone therapy having made it more like a small dick than any diagram of a clitoris he'd ever seen in biology class.
He was familiar with it, now, and he worked his mouth with finesse, swirling his tongue around the head. Akaashi let out a grunt—about as vocal as he got, in bed—and opened his legs wider.
Koutarou flattened his tongue, running it up and down, then closing his lips around his clit and teasing with light flicks of his tongue.
The musky scent and taste of him were driving Koutarou wild, the slickness of his saliva and Akaashi's own wetness on his mouth just about too much. It took everything he had not to reach down and palm his cock, to grind against the sheets, desperate for some sort of touch. But this was about Akaashi, and making him feel good. Buttering him, up, even, so that he'd be agreeable and pliable when Koutarou pitched his idea—he had to push that thought aside, even considering it was almost painful, as aroused as he was.
Akaashi was shaking, his breathing hard and heavy. When Koutarou came up for air, he saw that he had one arm thrown over his face and the other was clenching the sheets like a lifeline. He grinned, and went back to work, leaving his teasing aside for now and kissing, sucking, stroking so that Akaashi—involuntarily—bucked his hips up. Koutarou had to use an arm to hold him down before one of them got hurt, letting the fingers on his other hand trail, feather-light, over the skin of Akaashi's stomach, hips, thighs, feeling his muscles tense up—he was getting close, breathing gone ragged, letting out tiny, breathy, not-quite moans with every exhale.
Koutarou knew this body well, almost as well as his own, and knew exactly what buttons to press. He kept moving his lips and tongue over Akaashi until he went so stiff that it felt like he would shatter at any moment. His hands were carding through Koutarou's hair, grasping, but not quite hard enough to pull. A couple more swirls of his tongue, and the tension broke, Akaashi shuddering and gasping as he came, his whole body curling in on itself with pleasure.
Koutarou mouthed him through his orgasm, letting him ride it out as long as it would last, until he went still, limp and heavy-limbed.
His own body was screaming for release, his dick dripping with precome, and the sight of Akaashi's pleasure had almost been enough to make him come untouched—but not quite, and he was determined to stick to his plan.
He wiped his face off with the back of his hand and moved to kiss Akaashi, who curled an arm around his neck with the languor of a sleepy cat and returned his kiss in a lazy post-coital, blissed out sort of way. One of his hands was stroking Koutarou's arm, his chest, and down across his stomach, clearly intending to return the favor of getting him off—it was really difficult not to give in.
"Hey," he said, pulling back, "I've got something for you."
Akaashi opened one dark eye. "Something else?"
"Well, it's really for me, but..." he trailed off, rolling over toward the edge of the bed, and feeling underneath for the box he'd concealed. He couldn't see Akaashi, but he could feel him watching him.
Koutarou found the package and lifted it onto the bed, opening the lid and presenting it to Akaashi. He looked at it with trepidation, then back to Koutarou's face.
"What exactly do you expect me to do with that?"
"Ideally, me," Koutarou answered blithely. "In the butt," he clarified. The box contained a strap-on harness fitted with a realistic dildo.
The silence stretched on, and Koutarou was suddenly worried he'd done something to make Akaashi uncomfortable, or dysphoric.
"I mean, if you don't want to, it's fine, I was just—"
"I'm not...opposed to the idea," Akaashi admitted, cutting him off. "I'm just worried I won't have a clue what I'm doing."
"Literally anything you do will be perfect, honestly," Koutarou said in a rush, unable to focus on much else besides his raging hard-on.
Still looking unsure, Akaashi sat up and picked up the device from its cardboard nest and appraised it, looking like he was trying to figure out how it worked.
Koutarou watched him stand up, holding the strap-on out at arms' length.
"I don't suppose it came with instructions?"
Koutarou laughed.
"I'm serious, Koutarou; I don't want to mess this up and hurt you."
He sobered, offering, "It'll be fine, Keij. I, uh, really want this."
Akaashi visibly swallowed, and without another word stepped into the harness, managing to get all the straps in the right places, and tightening them as needed. When it was on, he looked down, then glanced at the mirror, a small half-grin on his face.
"Did I do good?" Koutarou asked, in response to the smile.
"I'm...okay with this," Akaashi admitted, and took a jaunty step towards the bed.
"Awesome, now please stick it in me before I literally die from being too horny."
Akaashi paused, "Don't you need preparation or—"
Koutarou flopped back on the bed, dick bobbing toward his stomach, and answered, "Nope, took care of that before you got home."
Akaashi's eyes narrowed. "You told me you were watching cake decorating videos."
"That's not all I was doing," he grinned. Truth be told, it had been a little weird to lube up his fingers and stretch himself open while a nice middle-aged American lady talked about making fondant decorations, but it had kept him from getting too into it, at the same time.
Akaashi, rolled his eyes and shook his head before joining him on the bed kneeling, taking the lube from the nightstand and applying it to the toy, then going still, unsure.
"How do you want to do this?" Akaashi asked, and really, Koutarou didn't care as long as he did it soon, but he patted the sheets between his thighs anyway.
Akaashi moved, settling in between Koutarou's legs, the strap-on dildo sliding against his own dick, that small amount of friction enough to make him whimper. He felt Akaashi take his legs, hooking them around his arms, and obligingly lifted them.
"You sure you're ready for this?"
"As ready as I'm not for my history exam next week," Koutarou answered.
"That's pretty ready," Akaashi said with a smirk, and at any other time, he would have had a retort to that. However, fingers probed his opening as soon as Akaashi had finished speaking, still loose and slippery from his earlier adventures, and the words died in his throat.
"You weren't kidding," he muttered, removing his fingers and lining up the dildo. He took a breath to steel himself, and pushed in, tortuously slowly. Finally.
Koutarou swallowed, his body adjusting to the foreign object. Fingers were one thing, but it had been a long time since anything substantial had entered him, either toy or flesh-and-blood dick. He'd almost forgotten how much he liked it.
"Go on, move," he pleaded, when Akaashi had pushed all the way in and he had had a moment to get used to the sensation again.
Obligingly, Akaashi began to move shallowly, and Koutarou closed his eyes, uttering a low groan mixed with a sigh, as he reached up to hold onto Akaashi's shoulders.
He felt Akaashi's confidence grow, thrusting more deeply, leaning in to kiss him. Koutarou opened his eyes, and saw that his boyfriend's eyes were open too, pupils blown wide. So he was getting off on it, too. The thought was a heady one.
Just then, Akaashi tried a new angle, and the toy hit his prostate, causing Koutarou to let out a near-shout and jerk.
That smirk of Akaashi's returned, and he kept that angle, hitting that spot again and again until Koutarou's whole body felt white-hot with pleasure. He really liked being fucked, and being fucked by Akaashi was almost too much to handle.
The incoherent, half-formed thought had barely crossed his mind when Akaashi unhooked one of his arms and curled his now-free hand around Koutarou's cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts.
All of it together was too much, and he keened, clutching harder at Akaashi's shoulders to pull him down into a deep, sloppy kiss as he came, semen coating his belly and Akaashi's hand in spurts. Akaashi kept pumping him through his orgasm, thrusting more shallowly, until Koutarou was too sensitive to take any more.
Just when he was about to have to plead with him to stop, Akaashi let go of his cock to curl his fingers in the sheets, the unmistakable shudder of his own release coming across him. He pulled out, leaving Koutarou feeling empty by comparison, and rolled over to lay beside him. Koutarou curled his arm around Akaashi's shoulders, grinning with pleasure and adoration.
"How was that?" Akaashi asked him, looking up through his lashes.
Koutarou gestured at the mess on his stomach, and answered, "Perfect." His mouth twisted into a lopsided smirk, "And I see it worked for you, too."
"Yeah, well," Akaashi started, but the words went nowhere; he was still breathing hard, drawing absent designs on the arm around him with his fingers. Koutarou let the comfortable silence stretch, a heady sleepiness coming over him. They'd have to get up and clean off, soon, but not right that second, not right away.
"So, good purchase?" He finally asked, wanting to know, for sure, that it had been as good for Akaashi as it had been for him.
"Yeah," he answered simply, cuddling more closely against Koutarou.
"Awesome," he began in a rush, saying the words so quickly he half-hoped Akaashi wouldn't be able to understand them. "Because that was half my grocery money for the month; I hope you're feeling instant noodles until next payday."
"What the fuck, Koutarou."
4 Years Later, August
When the invitation had come several months back, crisp and elegant on snowy vellum and written in gilded ink, Keiji hadn't even been remotely surprised.
If anything, it was about damn time. Someone had to make an honest man out of Oikawa Tooru.
The photo inside showed the two of them, Oikawa and Iwaizumi, fashionably dressed with the Tokyo skyline behind them. The photographer had even managed to catch Iwaizumi smiling.
Bokuto had seen the invitation a few hours later, when he had gotten home from work, and had been so excited that he'd woken up the neighbor's baby (for which Keiji had had to apologize while he sulked).
And now, the day was finally at hand. Keiji had to admit that he was excited to see two of his friends get married, and the ballroom had been decorated exquisitely in turquoise and white. On the way in, he and Bokuto had run into Kuroo, and immediately the two of them became teenagers again. Kenma walked in a moment later to see Kuroo having Bokuto in a headlock, giving him a noogie, and rolled his eyes before joining Keiji.
They had given each other silent long-suffering looks, and had gone on in to find seats, leaving the overgrown children behind. Keiji hoped that roughhousing with Kuroo wouldn't ruin Bokuto's suit. He'd made him get it custom-fitted and the results were...worth the effort and expense. He looked forward to showing him off to all their old friends almost as much as he looked forward to taking the suit off later.
In the meantime, Keiji chatted idly with Kenma, catching up. He complimented the shorter man on his hair, which had been freshly dyed for the occasion and was longer then he'd ever seen it, tied back neatly in a bun. Kenma complimented him on his tie, which had a tessellating pattern of songbirds and fish.
Eventually, Bokuto and Kuroo made it into the ballroom, arms thrown around each other's shoulders.
They sat down in the two empty chairs Keiji and Kenma had left them, only reluctantly letting go of each other.
"If I didn't know better," Kenma said, "I'd think you two were the ones getting married."
Kuroo grinned raucously at Bokuto. "That's a great idea. Bro, will you bro-marry me?"
Bokuto placed a hand over his heart, pretending to tear up. "Bro, I'd be honored...Our wedding cere-bro-ny would be beautiful. But...my heart belongs to another."
Kuroo mimed sobbing into his hands, and Keiji rolled his eyes before giving his boyfriend a once-over. He was fine (in more ways than one), and his suit, by some miracle, wasn't even rumpled. His hair was a mess from the roughhousing, though.
"Oh, Koutarou," Keiji said softly, beckoning him to bend forward, to which he complied. He fussed with the strands, getting them back into place, and lingering maybe a little longer than was strictly necessary. It was almost completely white now, only a few remaining streaks of black. Keiji loved it. It was bright, unique, and striking. Just like Bokuto. He'd gotten a corporate job and had to start wearing it in a reasonable style, but it didn't take well to being tamed.
Satisfied, Keiji removed his fingers.
"Better?"
"Better."
From the other side of Bokuto, Kuroo was done pretending to be distraught.
"Hey, Kenma," he said, "Why don't you ever fix my hair?"
"No point," Kenma replied shortly.
"I am wounded," Kuroo gasped, "Betrayed again."
"Oh, hush," Kenma said, without rancor.
It wasn't long until the string quartet took their places in the front corner of the room and began playing a tune, lilting and familiar, but one Keiji was unable to name.
The chatter fell silent and, moments later, the wedding party began coming down the aisle: A handsome woman who could only be Oikawa's older sister, locked arms with a young man bearing a strong resemblance to Iwaizumi—though Keiji wasn't sure if he was a younger brother or a cousin.
Those two were followed by two men he had briefly met once, old high school volleyball friends of the grooms'; their names were...Keiji searched for a moment before they came to him. Hanamaki and Matsukawa, if he wasn't mistaken. He had no idea which was which, though.
After them, the music changed, becoming more stately and jubilant, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi themselves entered the room, hands linked.
Iwaizumi's tux was reasonable, distinguished from the wedding party's only by the bright turquoise waistcoat he wore peeking out from under the jacket. He managed to look irritated, nervous, and happy all at the same time. It made Keiji smile to see it.
Oikawa, on the other hand, looked simply ecstatic, a wide grin suffusing his face, real and uninhibited, not like the fragile, teasing things Keiji had seen so often at school. His tux, however...the whole thing was that bright, eye-searing turquoise color. And somehow he made it work.
The actual ceremony was brief, no lengthy religious trappings extending it. The officiant, a young woman with a pleasant, clear voice, thanked everyone for being there, honored both grooms' parents, and launched into reading passages picked out by the two of them.
Iwaizumi had chosen a really beautiful romantic poem.
Oikawa's selection was a (remarkably apt) passage from a science fiction novel.
She briefly went over the couple's history, and then it was straight into the vows.
Iwaizumi went first.
"Tooru. Before anything else, you're my best friend. I promise to love you through whatever comes our way, no matter what. I promise to comfort you when you read those sci-fi novels you love, and to watch as many terrible movies as you want. Even at three in the morning. I even promise to enjoy letting you annoy the ever-living hell out of me for the rest of our lives. We're in this together."
Oikawa smiled beatifically, and answered. "Hajime. I love you more than anything. You've been my partner through thick and thin, and I promise to be there for you, too. I vow to not complain when we listen to your awful music, watch Godzilla with you whenever you want, and buy you that beer you like, even though it's disgusting. I also vow not to leave you for a hot alien when they finally come to Earth."
"What the shit, Tooru?" Iwaizumi replied, and the whole room bubbled with laughter. That must have been improvised, Keiji thought, based on the startled looks from the wedding party and officiant.
She quickly steered the ceremony back on track, and when she announced that they were married, and to kiss the groom, Oikawa literally leapt into Iwaizumi's arms, so that the other man had to stumble backwards a few steps to regain his balance.
Keiji grinned, looking over at Bokuto, who had taken his hand at some point. It had been a nice ceremony.
The officiant announced that the reception would be held in the hotel restaurant/bar, just down the hall from the ballroom, and after the wedding party had departed, they all began filing out.
The reception area was lovely, tables draped in crisp linen and studded with lit tapers. Keiji found the place cards for Bokuto and himself—they had seated Kuroo and Kenma at the same table, but had been wise enough to not seat Kuroo and Bokuto next to one another.
Bokuto had parted from Keiji on the way into the room, claiming a need to use the bathroom, and he was taking a while. Keiji was about to give up on waiting for him and go get some of the hors d'eouvres from the table along the back wall—or at least one of the delicate flutes of champagne that the hotel staff had floating around, when abruptly, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
From: koutarou
Time: 18:51
Message: keiji look at all these cool mystery birds i found
Attachment: IMG5681
With a sigh, Keiji opened the picture. As usual, common city birds, clustered around what looked like a dropped ice cream cone.
To: koutarou
Time: 18:52
Message: sparrows, a pigeon, and a white wagtail. And i thought you were going to the bathroom??? why are you outside???
Bokuto didn't reply to his text, but entered the room, not a minute later, waving gleefully at Keiji. He took the seat with his name-card in front of it.
Keiji raised an eyebrow at him.
"I got lost," Bokuto shrugged.
"This is the man you have chosen to love," Kenma remarked.
"I know," Keiji replied resignedly. Kenma had Kuroo, so he was really in no place to be talking.
"Is that food?" Bokuto bounced up again, spying the table of snacks, which had already attracted a crowd. He joined them, and Keiji followed after more sedately, with Kenma and Kuroo in tow.
They returned, food and drinks in hand, and spent a while catching up. The four of them still got together pretty frequently, but it wasn't as easy now that they had graduated from college, and didn't have the luxury of seeing each other almost every day.
At length, the newlyweds entered the room, having changed into more casual clothing, to much applause all around and no few suggestive shouts.
"Don't be gross, Makki; we were with the photographer," Iwaizumi said to one of the catcallers.
"It wouldn't have been that quick if it had been what you were thinking," Oikawa interjected, sing-song, winking. More cheers arose at that, and Iwaizumi pressed a hand to his forehead.
With that, the two of them found their places, at a larger table with both of their parents and close family. Keiji smiled, seeing Oikawa's mother proudly embrace him, and Iwaizumi's father ruffle his hair.
The reception was nice; alcohol flowed freely from the open bar, the food was excellent, and the music playing over the sound system was a mix of upbeat pop (Oikawa's) and crooning folk-rock (Iwaizumi's) that both somehow encouraged dancing.
Several toasts were made, each sillier and more inebriated than the last. Cake was served—the cake was shaped like the spaceship from some sci-fi television series that Keiji had never seen. He wondered what Oikawa had had to do in order to get Iwaizumi to agree to that—until he saw the smaller, Godzilla-themed cupcakes that ringed the big cake.
Keiji only managed to talk to the couple once, and briefly.
"Congratulations," he said to Iwaizumi, sidling up to him at the bar, where he was alone for the first time Keiji had seen all evening.
"Thanks, Akaashi," he grinned back. "You know, Tooru wanted to ask you to be the photographer."
Keiji blinked. "I would have been honored, but I'm a wildlife photographer."
"You've met Tooru, right? I'm pretty sure he counts as wildlife," Iwaizumi replied, and Keiji grinned at the joke. "Anyway, that's what I said, and that someone would have to babysit Bokuto."
"Also true," Keiji acknowledged.
They chatted for a few minutes, about their jobs and what had happened since graduating.
Oikawa joined them eventually, wrapping his arm around Iwaizumi's waist and looking a little unsteady, with liquor or giddiness, or a mix of the two, Keiji wasn't sure.
"What are you and Iwa-chan talking about, Keiji?"
"You'll call him by his given name but not me?" Iwaizumi grumbled.
"I can't call you by your name; it's too intimate!" Oikawa protested, despite leaning heavily on his husband as he said this.
"We're married, dumbass. You call me by my name unless you want to go back to being Shittykawa."
Oikawa grumbled but didn't protest, wrapping his other arm around Iwaizumi, too. Definitely a little bit tipsy, at least.
Keiji nodded at Iwaizumi and dismissed himself. "I'll leave you to your husband. Congrats again."
Back at his own table, Bokuto was in no better state than Oikawa was.
"Drink some water, Koutarou," he reminded him.
"I don't want to drink water. I want to dance," he insisted. Keiji sighed—he'd already been coerced into dancing once that evening.
"Dance with Kuroo," Keiji replied with a sigh.
"Nooooo," Bokuto whined, pulling at Keiji's sleeve.
"Oh, alright," he gave in, getting out of his chair again. For as much as he'd had to drink, Bokuto was remarkably steady on his feet.
Thankfully, by the time they got to the dance floor, the song had switched over to something ponderous and slow, a touch melancholic. Not something he'd put on a party playlist, but this was the kind of music Iwaizumi liked, apparently.
Bokuto pulled him into his arms, holding him close, and Keiji relaxed enough to rest his head on the broad shoulder. He felt Bokuto press a soft kiss into his hair.
He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to dance at his own wedding. His mother and brothers would be there. Would he invite his father? The gulf of anger Keiji felt towards him had dried up, for the most part, over the past few years, but...they weren't close, and never would be. He supposed he'd invite him regardless.
Would Bokuto even want his family there? In the six years they'd known each other, Bokuto had only gone to visit them once, when an uncle he hadn't really known had passed away, and Keiji could count on both hands the number of times he had spoken to any of them on the phone.
He liked to think that they would at least care enough about him for something like this. Close or not, he eventually wanted to meet his boyfriend's family. His family loved Bokuto like one of their own.
Keiji thought he'd like an outdoor wedding. A nighttime garden lit up with lanterns and fairy-lights, and—
"What are you thinking about?" Bokuto asked him, interrupting his train of thought. Keiji started—maybe he was a little more buzzed than he'd thought he was, to get so lost in thought. He was also a little embarrassed. He and Bokuto had never discussed marriage, and here he was, thinking of it as a sure thing.
"Nothing," he lied. "You?"
"Oh. Uh, me neither. Not thinking a thing," he said.
Keiji lifted his head to give him a look of obvious disbelief, but Bokuto smiled prettily and he dropped it.
The song finished, and Keiji dragged Bokuto back to the table before he could get drawn into another dance, and got water for both of them.
The reception was winding down, most of the food eaten, guests gone from tipsy to boisterous to sleepy.
Keiji was feeling it too.
"Do you want to head up to our room?" he asked Bokuto, who looked like he might be about to doze off in his chair.
He started to alertness at that, and agreed. Quite a few people had already gone.
However, he seemed to gain energy as they walked the long hallways to the hotel lobby, and then piled into the elevator with a few other guests.
His shoulders were back, and his foot was tapping the tile floor, loud in the tile-lined elevator.
And yet, he was silent in the hall, on the way back to the room. Wordlessly, he unlocked the door to let them in.
"Do you want to know what I was really thinking, earlier?" He asked, once they were inside and the door closed back.
"Sure," Keiji replied, prepared to hear his latest theory on the drama he was watching, or another commentary on how weird it was that he never saw baby pigeons, and what if all pigeons were babies, the spawn of a gigantic master pigeon, hiding somewhere in the deep wilderness, or—
"I was thinking about how nice this whole thing would be. But...if it were me and you."
Keiji stopped in his tracks. Dropped his hands from the jacket they'd been unbuttoning. Lifted his head to look Bokuto in the eyes.
"Are you saying..." Keiji began, but trailed off, unsure of his words.
"I've known for a long time that I want to spend the rest of my life with you," Bokuto said, with a nervous chuckle. "I guess...making it official would be..."
Keiji cut him off with a kiss, chaste but passionate, and realized that he was shaking, but he didn't care.
He pulled away, still holding Bokuto's face, a little embarrassed at his reaction.
Keiji tried to take a step back, but Bokuto only laughed, and pulled him in closer, arms wrapped around his shoulders in an embrace.
"So that was a yes, right?" Bokuto asked.
"I want to talk more about it, maybe tomorrow when we're both sober," Keiji said, but couldn't keep the smile off his own face. "But yes. It was."
He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Bokuto look so happy. He was light, giddy, butterflies dancing in his stomach, in love, and maybe a little drunk. He was sure, though, that he also wanted to spend the rest of his life with this man.
Another 4 Years Later, May
Akaashi's bags were packed, and he would be leaving before the sun rose the next day. This was becoming routine, though Koutarou always missed him when he was gone.
Within a year of graduating college, Akaashi had been accepted into an international ornithological society—or as Koutarou put it, his bird nerd club—and had been on several trips to all corners of the world, studying and photographing parrots, hawks, penguins, and everything in between.
He'd be going to Botswana for the next week and a half to photograph some weird birds—Koutarou couldn't remember what they were called, but he'd laughed upon seeing a picture, not believing they were a real thing. The metropolitan zoo in their city—a large, well-respected zoo, that took good care of its animals, Akaashi had assured him—would be getting some of those weird birds, and they wanted to promote the new exhibit with pictures of them in the wild. Akaashi had been hired as their photographer.
Koutarou was incredibly proud of his husband, who wasn't yet thirty and was out there accomplishing everything he'd set out to do.
He, on the other hand...Koutarou shook his head at the thought. He wasn't comparing his own achievements to Akaashi's.
But he couldn't help but wish he found his own work as fulfilling as Akaashi did.
"Koutarou?" Akaashi called softly to him. "Are you coming to bed?"
He jumped. He'd been staring at the packed bags, thoughts racing. Beginning to spiral. He hadn't had a Really Bad Day in over a year, now. He hoped he could pull himself out before it got worse.
"Coming, Keij," he answered, shucking his clothes onto the bedroom floor. Akaashi pursed his lips at the mess, but he didn't say anything. Koutarou would always pick them up in the morning.
They both slipped under the covers, Koutarou laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't actually tired, but he had work the next day. He didn't want to be sleepy and cranky on top of being in a low mood.
"You have everything you need for your trip?" he asked. Akaashi didn't look tired, either. He never was, before his expeditions.
"You know that I do."
"Right..." he said, turning his head to look at Akaashi. He was lying on his side, face in shadow, but Koutarou could tell that his eyes were open, watching him.
"I can cancel the trip, Koutarou. It's not too late; they can send someone else."
Koutarou winced, curling in on himself a little. Was he that pathetic? Was it that obvious?
"Keiji, no," he insisted. "You're so excited to go see those weird crane-eagles."
"Secretary birds," he corrected.
"And anyway, you've been gone before. It's fine. I'll be fine." Koutarou went on, trying to assure himself as much as his husband.
Even in the near-complete darkness he could see an unconvinced eyebrow raise. "It's true," Akaashi said, "But I've never been gone while you were…” He hesitated, as if unsure of how to say it, and went on, “not in a good way."
Koutarou flinched. But he shouldn't have been surprised. They'd been together for ten years; of course Akaashi would know the signs of his depressive episodes by now.
"Really, Keij." Koutarou lowered his voice, trying to sound confident, assured. He didn't feel that way. "Don't put your life on hold for me. I'll be okay."
Akaashi let out a held breath, some of the tension leaving the line of his body. "Okay. But...call Kuroo-san or someone if you need to talk, please? Don't bottle it all up."
"Okay," he agreed. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Akaashi replied, and Koutarou smiled a little. He always said it with such gravity, never a by-rote reply. He always sounded like he meant it.
After that, he closed his eyes, trying to get to sleep.
Eventually, he must have succeeded, because he awoke suddenly to the blaring of the alarm on his phone, and Akaashi was gone.
There was a note taped to the bathroom mirror in his husband's cramped, precise hand.
Koutarou,
Sorry I didn't wake you up to say goodbye. You didn't sleep well last night and I thought you could use the extra hour. I'll see you next Sunday.
Under that, the words 'I'll miss you' were written, scratched out, and written again. He smiled wanly at the note and got ready for work.
It was a chore to make it through the following few days, talking animatedly to clients on the phone, typing his friendly-yet-professional emails, managing to have amiable conversations with his coworkers. Faking, faking, faking.
He didn't hate his job, but the thought of doing this for the rest of his life filled him with dread.
But Bokuto Koutarou, at age thirty, had no more idea what he wanted to do than he had a decade ago.
He spent the weekend in a stupor, watching a crime drama with no real interest. He didn't put pants on for the full two days he was off.
But then it was right back to the daily grind, and it was no easier than it had been last week.
Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough. He finished up entering a last few bits of data, typed a few responses, and was out the door.
The building where Koutarou worked was technically within walking distance of his house, but it was a pretty long walk, and he usually preferred to take the bus, excited to get home quickly after work and see his husband.
This evening, though, he decided to walk. Maybe it would wear him out enough that he'd be able to sleep better that night.
There was a row of shops, restaurants, and cafes between the city center and the residential area where Koutarou lived. It was about this point that he began to regret the walk—his shoes, while really nice, weren't meant for this, and he was sweating in his shirt and tie.
An iced coffee sounded fantastic, he thought, and ducked into the nearest cafe. To his relief, the line was short, and within a few minutes, he had his sweet, cold drink, and was sitting at a small table to enjoy it.
Or, he would be, if the guy at the table by the window didn't keep looking at him.
Koutarou raised an eyebrow, making unashamed eye contact with the guy when he looked over again. He glanced away quickly, whispering something to the other, larger, man with him, and then they were both looking, and the first one was getting up, walking over to him.
"Can I help you?" Koutarou asked, halfway between annoyed and curious.
"Are you...Is your name Bokuto?" The first staring man asked, his short ash-blond hair tickling Koutarou's memory, now that he was looking at him more closely.
"Yeah," he answered. Come to think of it, both of those guys looked kind of familiar, but it wasn't coming to him.
The man smiled broadly, warmly. "I thought that was you. We played each other in college a few times, volleyball."
That was the connection. "Suga, right?"
At his recognition, Suga's smile widened.
"And is that Daichi?"
"It is," the other man answered, raising his drink in salute.
"Come sit with us and catch up!" Suga invited him, and by the sheer force of his magnetic personality, Koutarou felt himself getting up and taking the unoccupied third chair at their table.
They hadn't seen each other in a long time, and they hadn't been that close to start with, having gone to different schools, but Koutarou found himself genuinely enjoying talking to the two of them. They showed pictures from their wedding, and he showed pictures from his own. There were belated congratulations all around, and laughter at the fact that the couples had actually gotten married within a week of each other.
They asked after his absent husband, and he told them about Akaashi's job, and how he was in Africa right now to take pictures of silly snake-eating birds, and they were suitably impressed.
He was more reticent about his own job. Once he'd been so proud of his achievements, no matter how minor. What had happened? Maybe it was his low mood, or maybe it was just dissatisfaction with his career.
It was there that the conversation got really interesting.
"We're actually starting a nonprofit. It's opening next month," Suga said, when he'd asked about their jobs.
"Oh?" Koutarou replied.
"It's like...a safe place for LGBT kids," Daichi explained. "Somewhere they can come after school, hang out with other young people like them, talk to adults that will be supportive and understanding. No worries about being bullied or invalidated."
"We might do some outreach, seminars and educational stuff, put kids in contact with friendly health care professionals if they need them," Suga finished up the explanation.
Koutarou was exuberant in his response. "That's amazing! I wish something like that had been around when I was growing up."
Daichi smiled tightly. "Me, too. That's why Suga and I want to make it a reality. It'll be rough running it with just the two of us, but hopefully we'll be able to get it off the ground, and then find a few more staff members."
He went still, hearing that. They would need help, doing this amazing thing. He thought about it briefly, just for a second, but in his gut he knew: this was something he would be happy to wake up and do every day. He was great with kids. Kuroo had told him more than once that it was because he was basically just a big kid.
He took a deep breath and asked, point-blank, too excited for subtlety, "Would someone like me be a good addition? If you'll have me, I think I'd like to help."
They both blinked at him in surprise.
They tried to talk him out of it. It would be full-time, a nonprofit wouldn't pay well—certainly not as well as his current sales position did, there would be a lot of red tape to work around, but he just grinned.
He didn't know how to explain that this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for—probably his whole life.
"Please take a couple of days to think about it," Suga insisted, typing his phone number into Koutarou's cell so that he could contact them.
"Don't get me wrong," he continued, handing the phone back, "We'd love to have you on the team, and we really do need the help. But only if you're sure you want to do this."
“I don't think I'll change my mind,” Koutarou assured him, “But I do want to talk to Keiji.”
They didn't linger long after that, and Koutarou walked the rest of the way home with a spring in his step, earlier gloominess having dissipated in the wake of this opportunity.
He could hardly wait to tell Akaashi—he hadn't been so excited about an opportunity in a long time. He cursed that Akaashi's phone wouldn't work in Botswana—but maybe it was for the best. Koutarou would want to talk to his husband face-to-face about this.
He had only one more workday before Akaashi came back, and it dragged. The minute hand on the clock moved as if through molasses, but five eventually came, and Koutarou was out the door, onto the bus, and on his way home.
He couldn't sit still that evening, and he put the house to rights in a fury of mops, cleaning sprays, and feather dusters. He knew Akaashi liked to come home to a clean house—and Koutarou wasn't sure it had been this clean when they'd bought it.
He was a little worried that his brain, in lieu of the depressive episode he'd been so close to falling into, had flipped the switch the other way, into mania, but he was able to calm down, eventually, and fall asleep at a reasonable hour. That was good.
He'd awoken with the sun. The early morning light was filtering into the kitchen when Koutarou heard the zoo-provided taxi pull up to the curb and stop. He set his half empty mug of coffee down, and jogged to the door to help Akaashi with his bags.
The face that greeted him on the doorstep was exhausted, but quietly jubilant. Koutarou grabbed the last bag from the cab and followed Akaashi into the house.
“Is that coffee I smell?” Akaashi asked longingly.
“It's that hazelnut brew you like,” Koutarou confirmed, and Akaashi abandoned his bags in a pile to rush into the kitchen. By the time Koutarou had gently set the final bag—the camera bag—down and joined him, Akaashi already had a mug out and was filling it.
Koutarou picked up his own lukewarm mug and took a sip, smiling fondly at the man who meant the world to him, and was currently not-quite-inhaling the scalding coffee he'd poured.
“Jetlagged?” Koutarou asked.
“It wouldn't be so bad,” Akaashi replied, “if I could sleep on airplanes.”
“You want to go up to bed for a while? I'll take care of your bags for you,” he offered. He was dying to tell his husband about the job opportunity he'd gotten, but thirty years had given him some modicum of restraint.
Akaashi shook his head. “Not just now. Once this caffeine kicks in I'll be fine. Besides, I'm starving.”
“Oh, let me, uhh...” Koutarou trailed off, getting a skillet and pulling the eggs out of the refrigerator.
He coaxed Akaashi into talking about his trip while he cooked, scrambling the eggs with tomatoes and mushrooms, and popping some bagels into the oven to toast. He spoke haltingly, often with long moments of silence to take a sip of his drink, none of the grace of a natural storyteller—but that was just another thing that Koutarou loved about him, really.
The national park where Akaashi had spent the bulk of his trip was sparse but beautiful; he hadn't seen so much open space in one place before in his life, he said. He had been working with one other photographer and a team of park rangers—communication had been hard. English was the only language they had all had in common, but he'd had trouble with the others' accents—as they did with his own, probably.
Akaashi went on, saying that they'd seen the birds the first day out in the park, but it had been two more days before they were close enough to get some good shots—and they had gotten some really good ones. Not just of the secretary birds, but of elephants, zebras, he had even snapped a shot of a cheetah.
By the time Akaashi finished his abbreviated retelling, he'd refilled his coffee twice more, and the food was ready.
Koutarou set the plates on the table, where Akaashi joined him, looking much more awake.
There was silence for a few minutes—not uncomfortable, but the silence of two hungry people presented with food.
“Did you clean while I was gone?” Akaashi asked, taking his seat. The table shone with wood polish, and still smelled faintly of lemon cleaner.
“Oh, yeah,” Koutarou laughed softly. “I got some good news while you were away and needed to burn off some energy.”
Akaashi made an inquisitive noise around a final bite of egg that was in his mouth. He swallowed it and chased it down with the remaining coffee in his mug before going on. “Looks nice. I'm glad you're...feeling better, too.”
Koutarou grinned at that. “It's a job,” he couldn't hold it in anymore. “Something I want to do.”
Akaashi was looking right at him across the table, listening intently. So he launched into it, recounting meeting Suga and Daichi, explaining about the program they wanted to start.
“It would be a pay cut from what I'm doing now, but—”
“That's fantastic,” Akaashi said. “I don't care about the money. I just want you to be happy.”
Koutarou smiled down at his empty plate. “I think this would make me happy.”
“That's all that matters.” Akaashi was looking at him, and Koutarou wondered all over again at how much he saw, even if he didn't let on that he knew. Of course Akaashi had realized that he wasn't happy with his current job.
Unsure of what else to say, but almost desperately happy with the way things had turned out, Koutarou took their dishes to the sink—he'd wash them later.
When he turned around, Akaashi was standing, leaning against the door frame, waiting for him. He enveloped him in a hug, thrilled to be able to do so after a week and a half.
“I missed you,” Koutarou admitted.
“Yeah,” Akaashi replied, lips moving against his shoulder, “Me too.”
He shifted, and Akaashi pulled away, just far enough for their mouths to meet, long and sweet and slow.
When they separated, Akaashi wrinkled his nose. “Coffee and egg.”
Koutarou could only laugh. “If I brush my teeth, can we do it again?”
There was an answering snort of laughter. “I was thinking more along the lines of shower and bed, honestly.”
“Even after three cups of coffee? Wow, you must be tired.”
“What?” Akaashi asked, looking him in the eye. “I didn't say anything about sleeping.”
Koutarou's mouth formed a small 'o' as he caught the innuendo, and gleefully followed his husband up the stairs.
He turned in his two weeks' notice at work the very next day.
Koutarou was about to start a career that he really wanted, and he had the support of the man he'd been in love with for ten years. He wasn't sure how things could get any better.