#hqss18

Right now, he’s sat right next to him. But they’re not alone, and it’s no kind of date. Because on Kuroo’s other side is Oikawa. On Bokuto’s other side is Futakichi, then Nakamura, and Kita. Across the table are Saito, Tanaka, Terushima and Honda. It’s boisterous, loud, and Kuroo, while normally enjoying this kind of thing, just wants to go home and mope with ice cream. No matter that it’s snowing outside, he’s got a big tub of chocolate brownie ice cream with fudge bits in that he’s been saving for a special occasion. Moping about Bokuto sounds like a perfect one.

However, good backstreet ramen will have to do. It’s easing his sorrows well enough, and nobody’s noticed he’s quieter than usual, because as long as he keeps stuffing his face with ramen, no one notices that he’s not opening his mouth to do anything other than that.

The lot of them are having an extended discussion about girlfriends, more specifically who wants to be whose boyfriend. As deep in this as Tetsurou is, he’s got nothing to add – he hasn’t really noticed any girls at all, and he never really does notice people in the way everyone else seems to unless he’s friends with them first. It’s a right pain at times, because since he’s already established a friendship, he doesn’t want it to get in the way. It hasn’t happened too much, but he’s lost middle school friends over his having to emotionally retreat because of new feelings, and a few from high school. The only person who’s found out so far has been Yaku, which lasted about three seconds after he found out and then realised it would not work at all, not as a romantic relationship. It had been more of an ideal than anything else, he thinks.

Although more than being annoyed he has nothing to contribute to this conversation – he wouldn’t really want to anyway, even if he felt like talking – he’s dreading anything Bokuto adds. Luckily, it hasn’t been anything. Yet. Bokuto can never stop himself from wading into any conversation, and glancing sideways, it doesn’t look like his rapidly emptying plate is going to hold his attention for too much longer.

Bokuto catches him looking, and grins with a menacing hint. Quick as a flash, he whips his chopsticks over to steal the egg from Tetsurou’s ramen, although equally as quick, Tetsurou defends it, anticipating the move.

“Awwww, man, but the egg is the best bit!” Bokuto whines. Tetsurou feels himself start to lose this fight, not having the energy to really win, but since what Bokuto said is true, he also can’t take that kind of thievery lying down.

“Yeah, that’s why I was saving it for last, idiot.” Tetsurou grouses, and turns away so he’s not affected by the pouting face Bokuto then makes. “Why didn’t you get one with an egg if you wanted one, airhead.”

Bokuto makes an exaggerated humph, and Tetsurou can, unfortunately, picture his face exactly even without looking. “But I already ate mine…” Yup, eyebrows raised in the middle, lips pouting, eyes wide in innocence as if it’s a reasonable request. In fairness, they do this all the time, sharing bits of food that they want from the other.

“Half,” Tetsurou concedes, suddenly aware that the table has gone quiet, “But I want a piece of meat in exchange.” He finally looks back at Bokuto, who nods profusely, grinning wildly. Tetsurou dutifully picks a piece of meat and starts to split his egg.

“You two are so married.” Terushima says, a proud tone to his voice. Tetsurou has never quite been able to get on with him off the court – probably his faintly predatory ways of trying to get women. Sadly with his looks, he’s more successful then he has any right to be. Tetsurou does his best to challenge the worst shit that comes out of his mouth. Sometimes, he even thinks it’s going in.  

“No we’re not.” He defends tiredly, and deftly drops Bokuto’s half of the egg on his plate. It stays there for a mere fraction of a second before being hovered up.

“You really are, though. I could only dream of this level of marriage if I lived with Iwa-chan~” Oikawa states, overly pleased with himself. “Maybe if you didn’t go through girlfriends like water, he wouldn’t mind living with you?” Tetsurou says, and chews on the beef he traded Bokuto for. The rest of them laugh in Oikawa’s face. Oikawa just looks mock-offended. “I do not ‘go through them like water’, Tetsu-chan!” He replies indignantly, nose in the air. “Besides, that means nothing from someone who moves like ice.”

“Glaciers move actually, Oikawa. And what is outside falling? Frozen water. So ice.” Tetsurou takes a large mouthful of noodles to stop himself digging a further pit. Oikawa wears a smug smirk, as does most of the table. “So you’re saying you go through girls, Tetsu-chan? Then how come we don’t know about this?” Futakuchi chimes in.

“You can’t get a girlfriend Kuroo! What would happen to movie night?!” Bokuto shouts, and Tetsurou winces slightly at the volume. And that he’s really not helping at all. Dear lord, even if he was with someone, he wouldn’t tell this group, far too involved in other people’s business for their own good. They could gossip for the whole university, most of them.

He recognises he’s just in a bad mood at the moment, head full of thoughts of what he doesn’t have and yet wants. He gets on pretty well with most of them usually, but really, he shouldn’t have come out today.

“I think you mean, he can’t get a girlfriend because they all know he’s already married to you, Kou-chan.” Oikawa says, as though he’s speaking to a child.

Maybe Tetsurou is getting a cold. This banter is getting to him more than it normally would, a headache building behind his eyes, a sadness growing in his chest.

“What’s wrong with that?” Bokuto demands, disarming them all, like usual. Count on Bokuto to be unpredictable. Tetsurou can’t help but smile, especially when they all start spluttering. Honda rapidly changes the subject to their upcoming game, and Tetsurou chews slowly on his half of the egg, savouring it slowly. Bokuto leans in closer.

“You alright?” he asks, weirdly quiet. Tetsurou nods, which seems to sate Bokuto, but he doesn’t fully lean back out of his space, leaves their arms pressed up against each other. Tetsurou puts it down to the lack of space – he’s not sure if Bokuto had been impinging on Futakichi’s space before, but Oikawa keeps brushing him, certainly, so it seems likely. Now though, he just wants to fold into that touch, feeling tired and worn out, lectures and exams and emotions a heady mix equalling exhaustion.

He resists, but only just. He lasts another fifteen minutes, and decides since he’s not contributing nor wanting to, that he’s going to head home for sleep. The chair makes an irritatingly loud screech as he pushes it back, catching everyone’s attention, which was definitely not his intention. Sometimes, he thinks it’d be cool to be able to just leave without notifying everyone, and pop up again seemingly out of nowhere. Sadly, he’s yet to discover these powers, and so he murmurs an excuse he barely thinks about and heads out into the snowstorm.

Snow normally looks pretty, but not when it’s blowing in his face, and is being polluted by the slow stream of traffic trying to get home. Still, he throws his hat on and pulls his gloves on tightly, and braves the wind. It’s not as bad as it has been, but it’s still unpleasant to walk in, being careful of each step so not to slip, and remembering the direction he needs to go, too.

Bereft of other thoughts to wonder to, his mind returns as it usually does nowadays to Bokuto. He’d never denied or shown any protest about the comments of being married – was that weird for Bokuto? He doesn’t really know, considering he’s never seen anyone accuse Bokuto of being in a relationship he wasn’t in. Maybe he just didn’t get it, but then, how blunt to you have to get? He’s dumb, but not that dumb. He’s way better with people than he is with studies, anyway, not that that’s saying too much, in any case.

The only thing he had protested was the idea of Tetsurou having a girlfriend he didn’t know about. Or just, a girlfriend at all.

Tetsurou sighs heavily. Bokuto, king of mixed signals. What did he even mean by that? Just worried about movie night? Or worried about losing him in total? Who even knows. Bokuto is a mystery, even to himself it sometimes seems.

Tetsurou really, really needs to get control of this thing, right now. He’s got to package it up and put it away and just move on. Ship it off to Okinawa or something. It’s pissing him off how it just won’t die, no matter how many times he walks in on Bokuto taking a shit, or making the kitchen messy, or finds him creeping over to sleep in his bed at 3am ‘cause he had a nightmare. Living with someone should be the final straw, not making him fonder. It’s ridiculous. Tetsurou is actually torn between being desperate to live with Bokuto as long as possible and wanting to move out right now to save himself mid-fall.

Not, with Bokuto on the team, that it would stop his fall at all. At this point, he thinks he’s irredeemable. This thing is irretrievable, he’s just gotta wait until he hits the bottom so he can start swimming upwards again. This, he thinks morosely, could take a long time.

“Kuroo!” Tetsurou stomps across a crossing and starts distracting himself thinking about the ice cream he’s got at home. Now he’s cold, it feels less appealing, but equally, he has secret hot chocolate sachets too, and he’s been meaning to try the caramel one. He’s heard it’s not too sweet, just a little bitter, and if that isn’t a mood right now.

“Kuroo!” He blinks, feeling like he heard a shout, and then thinking that it couldn’t have been to do with him. With the wind in his ears, he’s probably just hearing things. He makes his plans, to get a hot chocolate, pile as many blankets as he can physically get on his body and stare into the snow. Maybe listen to music. He’d listen to lecture notes but he knows none of it would go in right now-

A hand on his arm jolts him right out of fantasy land and back to reality. He twists, all ready to fight back and give whoever caught him some stern words, but then his eyes land on an achingly familiar face smiling at him, coat only half done up and owl hat hastily shrugged on. His anger melts into a pleasant confusion.

“Oh, hey Bokuto-” he halts as Bokuto gets closer, and tries to decipher what this is – probably a hug, but then it’s the wrong angle, and their faces are going to collide, he probably overbalanced, he’s done that before-

But then their lips touch and any accidental reasoning goes out of Tetsurou’s mind. It’s too soft, too gentle to be a fall, and it doesn’t end when it should, if it was an accident. Tetsurou, in his tired tired mind, presses back, because he’ll think about this later, the fact that-

That Bokuto is- kissing him. In the middle of the pavement in Kyoto. He’s cradling Tetsurou’s face now and he’s going for the kiss with the exact vigour Tetsurou would expect from Bokuto.

Bokuto is kissing him.

Bokuto. Is kissing him. In real life.

No, that thought is so far from what he expected, it stuns him out of it, hovering backwards. Bokuto follows him briefly, then seems to realise he means to stop it. His thoughts are racing too much with why to fully enjoy it right now, which he may well hate himself for later.

“Uh,” Bokuto starts. “I. didn’t mean to. Um. Ha?” he tries. Tetsurou just gives him a blank stare, borne of having not a single fucking clue what just happened. Bokuto, only stubborn when it comes to volleyball, caves easily. “You just looked so cute, I had to…” he’s pouting again. Tetsurou takes a moment to attempt to think about it and comes up with the mental equivalent of a blue screen of doom. Error 404, Kuroo Tetsurou’s brain is not found.

“What?” is all he can think of to say. Bokuto backs off a bit, which does help with the thought processes, not having him approximately two inches away.

“I was only followin’ ya ‘cause you didn’t look alright, but then you turned around and I just been wantin’ to do that for ages, I couldn’t stop myself…”

It takes an embarrassingly long time for the meaning of that to sink in. He’s still restarting.

“Whaddya mean, ages?!” Tetsurou yelps. Bokuto puffs his cheeks out, crosses his arms and looks off to one side. “I was sending so many signs, I can’t believe you didn’t catch on. I don’t even get that many nightmares!” Bokuto protests, indignant. The implication of which just making Tetsurou splutter, face going ever redder.

All this time? How could he not have seen it? But then, was he expecting Bokuto to just outright tell him?

Although… “Geez, act more disgusted, will you. I’ll go sleep at Teru’s, I get it.” Bokuto huffs, and Tetsurou can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Still, he’s present enough of mind not to let this one go. Bokuto will be a pain if he’s moping, and especially if it’s Tetsurou’s fault and for absolutely no reason because Tetsurou literally dreams of this about every other night.

Tetsurou practically slaps his hands around Bokuto’s face, and wants to laugh at the pufferfish-like expression it induces. “Don’t you dare go sleep at that womaniser’s house.” Bokuto nods. “I’m shocked. But behind that I’m exultant. Believe me.” “Exulta-?!” Bokuto starts. Tetsurou will not pretend he’s any type of skilled at kissing. It’s probably awful, technically, considering there have been about five people in his life where he’s considered kissing them would not be repulsive, but if there are marks for effort, he’s sure to be picking them up. Bokuto seems to respond, anyway, which is usually a pretty good indicator. He’s awful at lying.

When they separate, Tetsurou grins at him. “Exultant: joyous, triumphant, ecstatic, the happiest this guy has ever felt.” “Psssh. Show off.” Bokuto says, only sounding incredibly fond. Tetsurou’s heart feels like it swells, like he can barely speak. “A show off with hot chocolate and an open bed back at home, though.”

Bokuto grins so wide, Tetsurou thinks it must hurt. “Let’s go, then! What you waitin’ for!”

Levity of heart, he thinks, is a wonderful thing. He feels like laughing forever. “You, dumbass. Let’s go.”

But Akaashi’s favourite part of the season is the tradition that he and his friends have shared since his first year of high school– they’d gather together on Christmas eve and partake in Secret Santa. It had only been Akaashi, Bokuto, Kuroo, Kenma, and Yaku at first, but Sugawara and Sawamura had recently been added into the mix, while Yaku had moved away to Fukuoka for a scholarship. The eight of them had grown closer after Nationals two years ago, especially after the former Karasuno captains moved to Tokyo for university. The two meshed well with their odd foursome, fitting right in, and Akaashi finds one or both of them around his and Bokuto’s shared apartment in Sumida more often than not.

They’ve assembled at Kuroo and Kenma’s apartment this time– it’s spacious, and Kuroo always goes all out with decorations.

They’re all huddled around the kotatsu, bellies full from their dinner of (pre-preordered) fried chicken when Sugawara rubs his hands together and asks, “Should we get on with Secret Santa?”

“Of course we should!” Bokuto hoots, ambling down beside the Christmas tree. “Who doesn’t want presents?”

Akaashi retrieves his own gift from the hallway and follows suit, sitting beside him cross-legged. Kuroo has decorated the tree lavishly with shiny tinsel and various silly cat ornaments. It isn’t life-sized, there simply isn’t the space for such a thing in a double bedroom Tokyo apartment, no matter how spacious.

“Since you’re so impatient, you can open yours first.” says Kenma, retrieving a star-spangled lump of a thing from beneath the tree. He hands it to a restless Bokuto. “I’m your Secret Santa.”

“Oho! Is everyone here? I’m going for it!” Bokuto tears off the wrapping paper like an excitable kid in a Disney commercial and gasps, “IS THIS WHAT I THINK IT IS?” He lifts up what appears to be a fuzzy owl onesie to the heavens, as if he were Rafiki christening newborn baby Simba, “I HAVE TO PUT IT ON RIGHT NOW!” Akaashi doesn’t expect him to strip down to his boxers right then and there, smack in the middle of the living room, but he’s also not terribly surprised, because it’s a very Bokuto thing to do. Plus, Bokuto Koutarou’s got the body of a Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure protagonist, so there aren’t any complaints. Kuroo heckles him, “Woo, presents and a gun show!” He whistles even louder when Bokuto yanks off his jeans and tosses them to the floor in an abandoned heap. He’s wearing boxers with little red hearts all over them. Once onesie-clad, Bokuto tackles an unsuspecting Kenma to the floor in a hug. “Thank you sooooooooo much!” Purple in the face, but thankfully not squashed to death, Kenma pats him gently on the back. “You’re welcome.” he chokes out, “Can I breathe now please?” “Nope! I gotta hug you for at least five more minutes!” They forgo Sawamura’s proposal for an organized Secret Santa system and just give their gifts in a random order, one-at-a-time. Bokuto plops a messily wrapped box onto Sugawara’s lap. Sugawara is delighted to discover its chock-full of funky Australian snacks. “I haven’t eaten a TimTam in years!” Karasuno’s former vice-captain sighs dreamily, reminiscing his brief time spent overseas in Melbourne. He passes the box around for everyone to have a taste, so Akaashi pops one of the cookies into his mouth. The chocolate melts velvet-sweet on his tongue. “Oh my goodness, is this Vegemite?!” Sugawara laughs, pulling out an unassuming yellow jar. “Bokuto, do you know how gross this stuff is?” “The madman actually likes it!” Kuroo points an accusatory finger at his fellow captain, who just blinks owlishly at the allegation. “He bought a second jar, said it looked like chocolate– I saw him eat it with a spoon, as if it were pudding or something! Meanwhile Akaashi and I had to scrub our tongues after one lick.” “I was smart enough not to even try it.” adds Kenma, and Akaashi has to agree with him there. He’d rather not remember the taste of that awful black sludge.

“Stop judging me, it’s good.” Bokuto huffs. “Wrong, it’s disgusting.” Sugawara corrects him. “And also, I don’t believe you ate it with a spoon.” “That a challenge, Sugawara Koushi?” he raises an eyebrow, and Sugawara grins. “I guess it is.”

Because he’s not-so-secretly a little sadistic, Kenma gets up to fetch a spoon from the kitchen. Akaashi decides its best to just watch these events unfold– he knows this is one challenge the former vice captain of Karasuno won’t win. Over their years of friendship he’s seen Bokuto eat some really weird stuff, like cod milt, and construction paper. And even his own hair that one time.

“You have to keep a straight face.” says Kenma, handing Bokuto the spoon (and it’s a tablespoon! Not a teaspoon. Maybe he’s more than a little sadistic).

The eight of them watch with bated breath as Bokuto dips the spoon inside the jar and sticks it in his mouth, sucks all of the black, greasy looking goo off of it, completely indifferent, until the spoon is shiny clean one again.

“You’re all weak!” he declares, smacking his lips. Sugawara and Kuroo gag, Kenma looks disappointed, Sawamura confused, and Akaashi regrets not making a bet on Bokuto’s stomach of steel. His best friend really is a force of nature.

They continue on with Secret Santa after that. Kuroo opens a neatly packaged set of liquid eyeliners and shiny nail polishes from Sugawara. Ever since he’d moved out of his parents’ house he’s been experimenting with his look, Akaashi has noticed. He bleached the tips of his hair and has been dyeing it all sorts of colours– he seems to have his hair a different shade of the rainbow every time Akaashi sees him. Right now it’s red, matching his red nails and red Christmas sweater. Maybe Kuroo likes Christmas so much because it gives him a viable excuse to deck himself in his favourite colour.

Next, Sawamura gifts Kenma a retro video game called EarthBound for the SNES Kenma’s parents had bought him for his birthday back in October. Akaashi notices his fellow freshman’s fingers twitch toward the console, which is sitting innocently below the TV, positively dying to play it.

He decides it’s as good a time as any to slide his own Secret Santa gift to its recipient. “Merry Christmas, Daichi-san.” he says, fidgeting with his now-empty hands.

Sawamura inspects the handmade wrapping paper, bringing it up close. “Wow, Akaashi– this is beautiful! Just the wrapping looks like it came from one of those arts and crafts magazines. I don’t even want to open it.”

Akaashi is quite pleased with his gift, and the cherry on top is that it barely cost him a penny. He found some extra linoleum in his university’s printmaking studio and decided to carve it into a stamp of a volleyball. The brown wrapping paper he used is just the stuff they lay out on the floor when spray painting, and the ropey twine he used for the bow was something he found in a drawer. He stamped the paper and it all came together– but what Akaashi is most excited for and simultaneously anxious about is whats inside. “I kept the stamp, if anyone ever wants me to put little volleyballs on anything.” he mentions.

“Good to see they’re Mikasa volleyballs.” Kuroo points out, “You have taste, my friend. They are the superior volleyball brand.”

“Thank you, Kuroo-san.”

Carefully, Sawamura peels off the wrapping, revealing an 18 by 22 inch acrylic painting of a group of crows flying into a sunset. The warm browns and burnt umbers of the sunset are contrasted perfectly against the inky silhouettes of the crows. Dozens of gnarly trees and strategically placed telephone wires frame the composition, leading the eye diagonally up to a sliver of moon which dangles low in the sky. Akaashi is proud of this one– especially considering he’s only been studying art for half of a year.

Sawamura audibly gasps when he sees it, hand jerking up to clamp over his mouth. “Akaashi… did you paint this?”

“I did, yes.”

“It came out INCREDIBLE!” Bokuto screeches, grabbing Akaashi and rattling his shoulders. “You’re like a Japanese Michelangelo! The new Yayoi Kusama!” Bokuto had brought him bubble tea while he was slaving away in the art studio, witnessing him in action a few times, but he hadn’t yet seen the finished painting.

“This is amazing, Akaashi.” Kenma agrees, feline eyes wide and starry. “You really have a natural talent.”

“Can you make one just like this but with cats for my birthday next year?” requests Kuroo, “Because seriously, this is freaking awesome.”

“I can do that.” Akaashi says, preening with all the praise. He’s also quite certain that he’s blushing. He thinks he understands why Bokuto loves getting praised so much– it reminds him that his friends are nothing but supportive of his new passion, of his 180 degree turn in life. It makes his skin seem tight, his heart too big. He doesn’t know how to deal with these feelings, but he can barely contain them.

After graduating from Fukurodani, Akaashi had given up volleyball to study fine art, of all things. It was the most spontaneous decision he’d ever made, and he still doubts himself sometimes when he watches the rest of his friends from way up in the stands, far from the action. But he’s never been more proud of himself for following his heart. Bokuto had taken the team to a Paint Night event in Shinjuku after their big win at the Spring High Preliminaries and Akaashi had enjoyed it so much that he showed up with an apron and paint brushes every month that followed.

He has never experienced relaxation quite like applying colour to canvas. He empties his mind and lets the image in his head gradually manifest itself in tangible actuality– there is something so satisfying about creating something that lasts. He’d become hooked on the feeling before he knew it– the sheer elation he felt opening his acceptance letter from Geidai, an arts university in Ueno, truly rivalled that which he felt after winning a volleyball game. It definitely surpassed the happiness he felt winning Nationals in his third year, after his best friend had already graduated and begun post-secondary before him.

“Thank you so much, Akaashi.” Sawamura collects himself enough to give him a tight hug, which warms him right up, because Sawamura’s bearhugs are the best, “It’s wonderful, I’m going to put it up as soon as we get home.”

“It was no problem. I’m glad you like it.”

“Fun fact: did you know that a group of crows is called a murder?” asks Sugawara cheekily. Akaashi wonders if Sugawara knows as many crow facts as Bokuto knows owl facts. He used to tell the team at Fukurodani a new one every day.

“Well, that would explain the outcome of Nationals.” comments Kenma, which earns him a collective “Ooooooooooh!” from the rest of the peanut gallery.

“Too soon, Kenma!” Kuroo winces, as if physically wounded.

“It was two years ago!” Kenma barks at him.

“Still too soon.” Bokuto concurs, shaking his head.

“Are you serious? You’re all on the same team now anyways!”

"Kenma, you’re being insensitive to our guests. Sawamura, you’re pretty father-like, can you back me up here?”

Sawamura squawks, “Sorry, I’m what?”

“Father-like. Like, you’ve got an air of authority to you.” explains Kuroo, “A captain of life, if you will.”

Sawamura sighs, then puts a hand on Kenma’s tiny shoulder. “Kenma, you’re being insensitive.”

Kenma sputters, “Are you fu-”

“Anyways!” Sugawara bellows, breaking up the argument, “Kuroo, isn’t your gift the last one left?”

“Yes, mother.” the former Nekoma captain siddles on over toward Akaashi, the only person yet to receive a present, and offers him a small bag. “Merry Christmas, I’m your Secret Santa.”

Within the bag is a new wooden paint palette, a set of brushes, and perhaps the most intriguing gift of all– several cone-shaped tubes which Kuroo has to explain to him are henna.

“I guess the henna was a tad self-indulgent,” Kuroo shrugs, “Because I really want you to paint me a sleeve.”

“Ooh! I want one too!” Bokuto coos excitably. “One with feathers and volleyballs!”

Similar concessions erupt all around.

“Do you think you could do a Triforce tattoo, Akaashi?”

“Hey Daichi, I bet you I can convince Asahi that a henna tattoo is real.”

“Suga, there’s no bet to be made. He’ll totally believe you.”

Akaashi is floored that all of them want his art on their body. Not just at all, but semi-permanently.

He gawks at everyone sitting around the Christmas tree, adorned in cheesy sweaters and Santa hats. Something warm permeates his gut, like hot cocoa. Like holiday spirit. Like unadulterated affection for his ragtag group of friends. 

Akaashi has always been a little awkward, has had difficulty expressing himself, forming his words into sentences. But he’s certain in this moment that this way is just as effective. It’s his own way of communicating his feelings to them, and his friends all know it– he can tell, because when he says, “I’ll tattoo whatever you guys like.” he’s met with whooping noises and back pats and half-hugs.

Everyone is chattering excitedly when Kuroo whispers in his ear, “Do you mind if I borrow it to draw semi-permanent dicks on Bokuto’s forehead while he’s asleep?”

The apartment still smells like chestnuts, and his ugly yellow sweater is itching him around the neck. Saint Young Men is playing on the TV in the background, and Akaashi replies,  

“I’ll help you.”

Because yeah, he loves Christmas.

There’s no doubt about it.

❄