Archive of Our Own

Bokuto leaned an elbow on the receptionist counter, squishing his cheek onto his hand. He spun a pen around with the other, flicking it from pinky to index finger and back again. Okay...surely it had been ten minutes since he’d last looked at the clock. Scrunching his nose up, he took a lightning-quick glance at the corner of the computer screen. Nope. Only three minutes.

He sighed gustily, clicking the pen on the desk. It was two hours into his shift and he was bored out of his mind; his coworker Yukie had called in sick, and he was also jealous of the commotion he could hear from the uni’s volleyball club on the courts. Not that he’d be able to join them, anyway—his Friday shift at the fitness centre saw him sitting at the front desk until closing.

Spin, spin, went the pen. It made Bokuto think of those helicopter propeller hats. He’d had one of those last year, until Kuroo tossed it over the river to see if the propeller would carry it across. Bokuto had lost his favourite hat that day.

Speaking of Kuroo, Bokuto wondered when his friend would be turning up for his club’s practice. Kuroo had said he’d be bringing his boyfriend today, and maybe one of his boyfriend’s friends. Bokuto was particularly interested in meeting this fabled Akaashi Keiji—from the way Kuroo went on and on about him, you’d think the guy had descended from heaven itself. Soft dark hair; a dry, sharp wit; eyes that changed from green to grey to blue; how he chewed his lip when he was lost in a book—then Bokuto had to cut Kuroo off, because from the look in Kuroo’s eyes he was about to deliver an extended TED Talk, and Bokuto had a client to get to in the gym.

Spin, spin—clatter. With a groan, Bokuto stretched down from the stool and grasped for the pen with the tips of his fingers. He’d just retrieved it when a shadow fell over the desk. Bokuto jumped, an apologetic greeting rising to his lips, but as soon as he looked up and met the stranger’s eyes his voice died in his throat. The pen fell back to the floor.

Because surely the guy standing in front of him had to be one of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen in his life. He was tall and slender and pale, with dark golden eyes that scrutinised Bokuto from behind a pair of browline glasses. The angles of his jawline and cheekbones would have appeared sharp but for the softness of his blonde hair, which was just long enough to curl under his ears. One hand was wrapped around the bag strap on his shoulder. Bokuto couldn't help noticing the length of his fingers.

“Hi,” he said dumbly.

“Um. Hello.” The beautiful stranger pulled out his wallet, flicking it open. “How much is it for visitors? I’m here to play with the volleyball club, but I’m not a member.”

He looked expectantly at Bokuto, whose mouth had gone all dry. Holy shit, even his eyelashes were blonde, a light gold honey colour. They were delicate and long—Bokuto had never seen such long eyelashes on a guy.

“Uh...how much for—”

“No fee,” Bokuto blurted.

The guy frowned, finally leaning back to squint up at the pricing board. “So, a thousand yen? Because of the student discount, of course.”

“No, it’s— well—” Wow, his lips were the nicest shade of pink Bokuto had ever seen. “No fee,” he repeated as he stared at them, even though there very much was a fee.

Unexpectedly, that earned him a derisive grin. “Do you let just anyone walk through here?”

“No,” Bokuto said honestly.

The glass doors hissed. Bokuto straightened automatically, but he was still unable to tear his eyes away from the guy’s face until he heard a “‘Sup, Bokuto!”

Bokuto started, looking toward the entrance. Kuroo was striding in, hand-in-hand with a shorter, dark-haired man. His boyfriend, Bokuto assumed. He was about to force his voice box to return the greeting when Kuroo went, “Hey, Tsukki! You’re early!”

The blonde guy had already turned around. “Hi, Akaashi-san. Kuroo-san,” he added, a touch coolly.

“Tsukki?” Bokuto murmured under his breath.

‘Tsukki’ shot him an unamused glance. “It’s Tsukishima.”

“Tsukki suits you better,” Kuroo said firmly. “Plus it’s easier to say.”

Tsukishima shot Akaashi a look, but Akaashi simply shrugged. “He’s got a point there.”

Kuroo's entire face lit up. Bokuto had the wild urge to laugh.

“You used to be on my side,” Tsukishima said tiredly. 

"He chose the winning side." Kuroo pressed a kiss to Akaashi's temple and turned to Bokuto, letting go of his boyfriend’s hand to fist bump Bokuto across the desk. "How've you been, man?"

"Same old, but my afternoon appointment was cancelled so it was desk work all day...but who cares about that!" Bokuto leaned forward with interest as Kuroo draped his arm around Akaashi's shoulders. "So you're Akaashi Keiji!"

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. "I'm Akaashi Keiji."

Bokuto grinned. He was very good looking, Kuroo hadn't been lying about that. He also came off as pretty stoic, which was an interesting foil to Kuroo’s brashness. "It's kinda surreal to finally meet you. Kuroo never shuts up about you. One time we were at this house party—"

Kuroo coughed. "He doesn't need to know! Anyway, Bokuto, Akaashi Keiji. Keiji, Bokuto Koutarou, personal trainer, muscle man extraordinaire, and ride-or-die bro, although that last one," he narrowed his eyes, "is hanging by a thread."

"Tetsurou-san has told me a lot about you, too," Akaashi said, inclining his head politely. "It's nice to meet you."

First name basis already? Kuroo had asked Akaashi out only about a month ago; Bokuto knew he was remembering correctly. Kuroo had angsted about it for a solid five months beforehand. "Likewise," he grinned, offering his fist. Akaashi bumped it with a bemused look in his eyes.

Tsukishima cleared his throat quietly but pointedly, raising an eyebrow when Kuroo turned to him. “What? It’s only polite,” he said.

"You haven't made your introductions?" Kuroo shook his head in mock disappointment. "You need to work on those social skills, Tsukki. Anyway," he smoothly cut off Tsukishima's retort. "This is Tsukishima Kei, a freshman who played volleyball in high school. I’ve recruited him into our ranks."

"I haven't said I'm going to join yet."

"Sure thing, Tsukki," Kuroo said easily.

"Tsukki, huh?" Bokuto tried it out again, liking how the nickname sounded. Tsukishima scowled a little, but seeing him through the lens of that nickname made him...cute.

"Tsukishima," he reiterated. Akaashi patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

"Whe—what position?" Bokuto asked him clumsily. "I mean. Do you play."

"Middle blocker."

Yeah, his height was perfectly suited to that position. Those hands especially. Although his wrists were kind of bony...how well could they handle spikes? Bokuto didn’t have the same volleyball form he’d had in high school, but he still could hit powerful straights and cross-shots. Could Tsukishima take one of those?

"Bo here also played in school,” Kuroo told Tsukishima and Akaashi.

"I was pretty good," Bokuto bragged, mock-flexing his arm. 

"Mm hm," Tsukishima hummed, not meeting his eyes.

“What did you play, Bokuto-san?”

“I was the ace!” he told Akaashi, grinning broadly. “Well, the position I had was outside hitter. But ace sounds so much better, yeah?”

“On second thoughts, don’t talk more to him about it, his head will get so big it’ll explode,” Kuroo warned, reaching out to ruffle Bokuto’s hair. Not that it could be messed up any further—it was already sticking out in all directions. “You can demo for ‘em on Monday, Bo. We've got to go now otherwise I'll be subjecting these two to Ennoshita's disappointed dad face."

Akaashi made to step up to the counter, wallet in hand. “The visitor fee, Tetsurou-san,” he reminded Kuroo.

Kuroo waved Akaashi off, his ears bright red. “It’s just a thousand, I’ll pay for you. Have you finished up here, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima paused, his amber-gold eyes sliding over to Bokuto. Their gazes held for a beat too long. The corner of Tsukishima’s mouth tilted up in a delicious little smirk.

“Yeah, I’m finished,” he said. Bokuto felt his face burn impossibly hot.

Kuroo looked between them, his grin turning sharp and curious. "Hey, Keiji, the locker rooms are just down the hall around the left. Why don't you and Tsukki go ahead?"

Akaashi looked back at him just as thoughtfully. "Sure. Come on, Tsukishima-kun. It was nice to meet you, Bokuto-san."

That finally got Tsukishima to move aside, his absence leaving Bokuto slightly dizzy; suddenly he was able to breathe properly again.

“See you,” Tsukishima said.

As soon as they had vanished around the corner (Bokuto watching Tsukishima’s long legs as he walked away), he whirled on Kuroo. "What was that?" he whisper-screamed.

Kuroo leaned on the counter, leering. “You are so into him.”

“Dude. Dude, he remembered my name.”

“We only said it about a hundred times,” Kuroo snickered. “And you’re wearing a name tag.”

Fuck, he was. But he hadn’t seen Tsukishima look at it. Or had he? “Holy shit.” Bokuto fisted his hands in his hair, staring in the direction Tsukishima had gone. “Holy shit. Why didn’t you tell me your friend was gonna look like that? I couldn’t think!”

“Oh, that was super obvious,” Kuroo snickered into his hand. “You were a total mess; I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Shut up, you’re a hypocrite, you were so much worse over Akaashi—”

“At least I knew him for more than ten minutes!”

“Oh please, you were stressing over it from day one.” A worrying thought struck Bokuto. “Wait, please don’t tell me Tsukki’s straight.”

“Nah, I happen to know he’s pretty damn gay. Lucky for you.” Kuroo waggled his eyebrows, but Bokuto nodded fervently in agreement.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s lucky.” He chewed on his lip, thinking. “Can you tell me anything else about him?”

“Hm… He’s Keiji’s friend from before uni. I only met him at the beginning of this year ‘cause Keiji introduced us; turns out he’s in the science department with me—”

“Agh, no, I mean—” Bokuto flapped his hands uselessly. “More about him. Like, uh…" His brain was coming up short. "His favourite colour, does he prefer dogs or cats, what dessert does he like—"

Kuroo started laughing. "You sound like you're in primary school. You'd have to ask him that stuff yourself."

"Oh my god, you think he'll talk to me again? I'm gonna talk to him again," Bokuto decided in his next breath. "I'm gonna ask for his number."

"Look, I don't know Tsukki as well as Keiji does, but I'm not sure he's the type of guy to give his number to someone he just met… I'd give it a couple more meetings? So you have something to go on besides, like, intense eye fucking."

"No way, he was checking me out?" Bokuto burst out, then clapped a hand over his mouth, glancing toward the hall. No blonde head looked around the corner, and he relaxed.

Kuroo snorted. "Try flexing a few more times around him." He slid a thousand yen bill across the counter. "See ya after practice."

“Night, Aone,” Bokuto called out, pausing his wipe down of the gym equipment to give the man a wave as he left. He received a wave and a grunt in return, which was basically Aone’s version of an enthusiastic farewell. If Aone ever smiled at him, Bokuto thought he’d feel like he was being enveloped in a warm and fuzzy hug.

With Aone gone, the gym was finally empty. The late night regular liked to come at a time when the place was almost vacant and leave at the last possible minute, but he always cleaned up after himself. Bokuto was left with only a couple of (the heaviest) barbell weights to disinfect and lug back to their spot by the wall, and then he was finished.

“Finally,” he exclaimed, dusting off his hands. The clock on the wall ticked closer to 9 PM, the time when the sports teams would finish up on the courts. He flicked off the lights as he left the big room, locked the door behind him, and hurried down the hall. If he was in time, he could catch the volleyball guys before they packed up.

He had wandered over to watch the team a few times during his shift, but was never able to stick around for long as he’d had to keep an eye on the lobby and its adjoining fitness gym. As a result, he’d only caught a few glimpses of them practicing, but he hadn’t had the chance to see Kuroo or Tsukishima playing properly. Kuroo had taken Akaashi off to the side and was teaching him basic tosses and receives, with a lot more touching than strictly necessary. Tsukishima had been standing on the sidelines, fingers triangled at his waist as he watched the other players.

His volleyball shorts revealed a lot more of his legs, which were rather well-muscled. Lean, kind of like a runner's legs. They were just as pale as the rest of him—and that was when Bokuto stopped analysing, because Tsukishima's legs were really fucking long and really, really nice. He would have stayed there for god knew how long, but someone rang the bell at the receptionist desk and he had to hurry back to the front, unable to remove the image of those calves, those slender thighs, from his mind's eye.

His skin looked impossibly smooth. Bokuto had wondered if he shaved.

Closing up duties meant Bokuto was supposed to be doing a cursory sweep of the spectator stands, but when he passed the door and saw the remaining players rolling up the nets, impulse overtook him and he jogged straight into the courts.

"Hey hey, Kuroo!" he hollered, energetically waving his hand even though Kuroo was five feet away. "Quick, lemme hit a few!"

"Ha, but I'm beat," said Kuroo, lazily stretching his arms out behind him.

Bokuto rounded on the next person, who happened to be Tsukishima, and tried not to ogle the thin bead of sweat trickling down the side of his neck. "Tsukki?" Bokuto wheedled.

The sweat crept under Tsukishima's collar. 

"You're joking," Tsukishima said dismissively, his voice cool despite his tired, flushed face.

Bokuto pouted. “Just one toss!”

“I’m beat,” Tsukishima echoed Kuroo’s excuse, adjusting the towel over his shoulder.

“I could try if you’d like, Bokuto-san,” offered a smooth voice behind him.

Bokuto turned so fast his neck cricked. He grinned at Akaashi through the tears. “Seriously?”

“Keiji, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Kuroo warned.

"I want to try setting to someone else," Akaashi said, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’ve almost got receiving down, so.”

“Yeah, you’re a really fast learner,” Kuroo acknowledged proudly. “But ‘just a few’ never means ‘just a few’ with Bo.”

"Tetsurou-san." Akaashi turned to look at him.  “I’ll make sure it’s just a few.” Bokuto couldn’t see whatever expression he had, but it made Kuroo kind of...melt.

"Okay," Kuroo grumbled.

For all his big, confident talk, Kuroo sure was a softie. Bokuto sent him a wide toothy smile of triumph over Akaashi’s shoulder. Kuroo scowled at him.

“You can’t wait until Monday?” Tsukishima sighed at Akaashi, uncapping his water bottle.

Whatever answer Akaashi gave was lost on Bokuto, because Bokuto's attention had diverted to Tsukishima, tilting his head back to take a drink of water, throat bobbing as he swallowed, a trickle escaping the corner of his mouth—

“Don’t you wanna get started, ace?” Kuroo snarked right in his ear, making Bokuto jump.

“Yes!” His response came out an octave too high. Without waiting to see if Tsukishima noticed that, he turned on his heel and jogged to the one court that still had the net up.

Kuroo and Akaashi followed him, the former spinning the ball in his hands. He put it down to guide Akaashi into position, pointing out the best foot placement for a solid receive-and-set.

“Remember what I told you, yeah?” Kuroo said lowly, standing behind Akaashi to adjust his elbows. It was almost like he was caging him in, but Akaashi leaned into it.

Bokuto felt himself turn faintly pink at the sight even though it was completely innocent. He bounced on the balls of his feet to distract himself, doing a couple of stretches and a few springing jumps his school volleyball team had favoured. He was in the middle of going through a few spiking motions when he caught Tsukishima's eye. The middle blocker was standing on the sidelines of the other side of the net, head tilted very slightly to one side.

"How's my form?" Bokuto called, flashing a double thumbs up.

Tsukishima scrunched up his nose a bit, looking away. “Acceptable,” he said.

"Now you've got Tsukki's approval, how about we get moving?" Kuroo said, his catlike smirk suggesting he was seconds away from making some inappropriate comment. Bokuto stuck his tongue out, jogging to the end of the court.

"Ready when you are, 'Kaashi!"

Kuroo sent an easy ball to Akaashi, who positioned himself under it and set into the air. It was shaky, but had good height, just begging to be spiked. Bokuto dashed forward, leapt up, and brought his arm smashing down to hit—air. 

He landed flat on both feet. The ball bounced off his shoulder.

"Agggghhh," he groaned, half-bending over in emotional agony. His hand was still tingling with the expectancy of connecting with the ball. He had been so sure he'd hit it!

"Don't mind, Bokuto," Kuroo gasped in laughter. "Don't—" he broke, slapping his knee in mirth.

"That was a warm up!" Bokuto insisted, vibrating with resentment. 

A light snickering mingled with Kuroo’s laughter, making Bokuto’s ears prick up. It was Tsukishima who was laughing, and the amused, mocking glint of his eyes made Bokuto feel lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with indignance. But, shit, missing that spike—that must’ve looked so uncool.

“I’ll show you, Tsukki,” he said, jabbing a finger at Tsukishima to hide his embarrassment.

“Show me what?” Tsukishima smirked, sharp and cutting.

Bokuto was no stranger to challenges—he could smell them coming from a mile off. He whirled to Akaashi, who had retrieved the ball and was frowning at it in his hands. “Okay, second go!” 

“Sorry about that, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi, pressing the ball with his fingertips. “That wasn’t a very good toss.”

“Whaddya mean? The aim and the height were awesome, ‘Kaashi. Can’t believe you’re a beginner,” Bokuto said. “You’ll do even better on the next one!”

“The last one,” Kuroo reminded him. “Oh, and about the toss, Keiji…”

After Kuroo had given Akaashi some quick pointers, they returned to their spots. Akaashi’s set was actually a bit smoother this time, less high than before, but Bokuto remembered enough of his past training to adapt to it. Or try to—he hit the ball, but it bounced off his hand at the wrong angle and went wide, just barely staying inside the court lines. It would have been received easily.

“Agh, that felt so off,” Bokuto muttered, flexing his fingers. Before Tsukishima could open his mouth, he said hurriedly, “Still just a warm-up!”

“Were you just trying to show me how to be uncool?” Tsukishima drawled.

“Warm-ups, that’s what they were.” Bokuto put his hands on his hips.

“I hope so, that last one could’ve been picked up by a baby,” Kuroo interjected.

“I’m gonna make both of you eat your words,” Bokuto threatened.

“No can do, that was your last of the ‘few’,” Akaashi said, although he still looked a little miffed about his tosses. And yet he was still sticking to his word...god, the inner strength of that guy. Bokuto could hardly relate to that restraint.

Akaashi was turning to go—ah, shit. "One more!" Bokuto pleaded. "I'll get it right, I swear, please please please!” He couldn’t stand it if Tsukishima went home thinking of him as lame, even if he had laughed that one time.

“Sorry, Bokuto-san, I made a promise,” Akaashi said, only slightly apologetic. Kuroo cackled unsubtly behind his hand.

Ugh. Bokuto drooped, his hand itching with the lost potential. He had been so close to getting that perfect hit. He’d have to wait until Monday to pull off something to impress Tsukishima...if Tsukishima even came on Monday. He had implied he was on the fence about joining the team. Bokuto scuffed the ground with his shoe, wallowing.

“...Okay, fine. Just one.”

Bokuto perked up instantly. Akaashi wasn’t pulling his leg, right?

“Keiji, nooo.” Kuroo sounded horrified. Tsukishima made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort.

“Akaashi, you’re awesome!” Bokuto enthused, and grinned victoriously at Tsukishima. “Make sure you’re paying attention!”

“Hmm,” was all Tsukishima hummed in response, but somehow that sounded like a challenge. And this time Bokuto sure as hell wasn’t going to fail it.

He jogged back into place, stretching his arms out in front of him. His muscles felt nice and warmed up now, and he was going to wow Tsukki just like the blonde guy had wowed him. Granted, Tsukki mostly just had to stand there to wow him, but whatever. Eye for an eye kinda thing.

Kuroo heaved out an exaggerated sigh and sent the ball to Akaashi, whose posture had markedly improved since the first toss—then the ball was in the air and Bokuto was fixated on it. His feet slapped into the ground as he ran forward and swung his arm just— there— the entire curve of the ball smacked solidly into his palm and he released all the pent-up power in his arm, smashing it dead in front of him on the other side of the net.

“Aw, yes!” he hooted, clenching his stinging hand into a fist. The adrenaline was bouncing through his veins, making him feel he could take on a thousand more tosses. He beamed at Tsukishima. “Betcha couldn’t have blocked that one!”

And because a large part of him was prepared to receive a dismissive scoff in return, he was more than a bit thunderstruck when he saw how Tsukishima’s eyes had widened and lips parted in surprise. He snapped his mouth closed within the next second, but Bokuto had freaking owl eyes, he saw everything, okay, and he definitely hadn’t imagined that. And Tsukishima couldn’t erase his reddened cheeks that easily.

“Were you paying attention?” Bokuto asked him slyly.

Tsukishima just narrowed those gorgeous eyes at him and said nothing.

“Net down, now,” the club captain Ennoshita called over. His arms were crossed. "Bokuto-san, remind me to collect my pay for doing your job."

“Are you sure there’s no time for one more—”

“Sorry, ball’s gone,” Kuroo said as he lobbed it to a teammate on the other end of the room. Akaashi already had one side of the net unfastened and was starting to roll it up.

Bokuto sighed mournfully, but that was more for show than anything. He was feeling pretty proud of himself, brimming with a confidence that landed him next to Tsukishima as Kuroo and Akaashi packed up the net.

“Really, what did you think?” he prodded, smiling up at him.

Tsukishima fiddled with his glasses, readjusting them even though they were the kind that strapped firmly around the head. “It was good,” he said, watching the players clean up the courts.

“It kinda feels unfair, dontcha think?” Bokuto sidled more in front of him so Tsukishima had to meet his eyes. “I’ve shown off my spikes, but you haven’t shown me your blocks.”

“Weren’t you lurking around earlier? Surely you would have seen something.” 

“Oh, you noticed?” What an interesting bit of information. Bokuto edged a millimetre closer, just shy of Tsukishima’s personal bubble. “You guys were on the sidelines when I came by.”

You should try flexing a few more times, Kuroo had said. Well, it wasn’t quite a flex, but it wouldn't hurt to try it out, right? He extended his arm across his body, languidly stretching it out.

“I will see you next week, won’t I?” he continued. “You’ve gotta show me your blocking.”

“You’re not part of the team, are you?” Tsukishima glanced at him sidelong—and didn’t look away.

“Nah, but Ennoshita’s chill—well, about non-members joining, he’s not that chill if they slack off and get in the way. And Kuroo’s been my friend since first year, so that’s a point in my favour.” Bokuto switched arms in his tricep stretch, pulling the muscle taut. “I don’t have to work desk on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I’ll usually join the later half of practice when I’m done with clients.”

"Ah," Tsukishima said. Wow, Kuroo had been right. He was staring. Bokuto felt his stomach do a giddy little dance.

Unfortunately, the team had finished with the cleaning and were trickling out to the change rooms. Ennoshita cleared his throat at Bokuto, making him deflate. “Duty calls,” he muttered unhappily, leaving Tsukishima’s side to go lock up the storeroom. The few remaining members left as he did the rest of the checks, then he turned off the lights and returned to the lobby.

The stragglers trickled out of the locker room, saying their goodbyes as they went out into the warm night. Kuroo, Akaashi, and Tsukishima were the last of them. Bokuto came around the receptionist counter as they walked up, having just finished shutting down the computer system.

“You guys better come on Monday!” he exclaimed. “I’ll actually have time to play. Time to show you who’s boss,” he added, dragging Kuroo into a headlock and viciously rubbing his rooster hair. Of course it didn’t flatten it in the slightest.

“Who’s the one in the actual club?” said Kuroo, trying to wriggle out of the hold. “Dammit, Bo, let go of me before I suplex you.”

Laughing, Bokuto released him, and turned to the other two. “I’m not joking! I hope you guys come back.”

“I’ll probably be,” Akaashi said, giving him a small smile, and turned to his friend. “What about you, Tsukishima-kun?”

Tsukishima ducked his head, eyes trained on a spot near Bokuto’s feet. “Mhm. I’ll think about it.”

Agh, not a definite answer.

Bokuto pouted at Tsukishima’s back as they headed to the doors. He truly did want to see what the aloof middle blocker was like as a player; if he relied on instinct or analysis, if that same smug attitude Bokuto kept catching hints of shone through in his playstyle—oh, and how his legs would look when he jumped up to block, or how his fingers would be shaped to stop the ball—

Bokuto suddenly wasn’t sure if he wanted to play with Tsukishima, or against him. 

He tugged sharply on Kuroo’s sleeve to hold him back a few paces. “It’s ‘cause of you I didn’t ask for his number, so you better make sure he comes on Monday,” he hissed, attempting to sound threatening.

“I’ll make sure to drag him along,” Kuroo promised in an undertone. “Just ‘cause I actually do feel sorry for you now.”

“I was gonna say you’re the best, but you actually suck,” Bokuto said, kicking the back of his knee.

It was Monday evening, and Bokuto was restless. Through the glass walls of the fitness gym he was helping his new client in, he had seen several members of the volleyball team troop in over the past hour. Every time Bokuto saw someone enter the lobby out of the corner of his eye, he’d whip his head around, then deflate a little when it wasn’t the three people (one person) he was waiting for.

Usually he was pretty good at keeping his impulses bottled up while on the job, because that was what his clients deserved. If a personal trainer wasn’t focused on personally training, then what was the point in having that job title? Tonight, though, he kept getting sidetracked from keeping count of Himekawa’s reps every time someone walked by.

That weekend had been the longest of his life; he was certain he’d been Groundhog Weekend-ed somehow. He hadn’t been able to get Tsukishima and his long legs and curling hair—Bokuto really wanted to touch it—out of his head, hadn’t been able to stop replaying how Tsukishima had smirked at him in the lobby, how he’d taunted him on the courts. He’d been mercilessly nagging Kuroo about him all weekend, but Kuroo had been radio silent all of today, probably as payback. Bokuto felt like he was going to die.

Focus, Koutarou, focus, he told himself sternly, tapping himself sharply on the head with his clipboard.

“Are you okay, Bokuto-san? Am I doing something wrong?” Himekawa asked anxiously.

“No! No, not at all—you’ve got good form. That was your last rep, I think,” Bokuto said, even though he had no idea where Himekawa was at on the leg press machine. The poor kid looked half-dead.

They moved onto the next area of the gym, Bokuto giving Himekawa a moment to massage his legs and get the shakiness out. He resolved to pay closer attention, and turned so his back was firmly to the glass outer wall.

“Okay, this one’s the lat pulldown machine. This targets the, well, lat muscles on your back, which go from there to here.” He patted behind his upper arms. “Really good for back support. Want a demo?”

Himekawa nodded, his eyes big. Bokuto reached over to increase the weights and hopped into the seat, adjusting the padding that would press down on the user’s thighs. He had to raise it quite a bit.

“Okay, watching? You stand like this, grab it, now— pull down to your chest; don’t yank it or pull it behind you because that can injure your neck and rotator cuffs.” He felt his back muscles bunch up as he pulled the handles down steadily. Himekawa was nodding avidly to all Bokuto’s pointers, making him feel quite proud of himself. He’d really landed a great student.

“Okay, your turn,” he said, readjusting the machine so the weights were significantly lighter and stepping back to let the freshman try.

After a few moments, he became aware of a prickly sensation between his shoulder blades, the feeling of being stared at, so he turned, and—oh! A jolt of giddiness bounded through his stomach, making him feel a bit winded. Tsukishima was on the other side of the glass, his head turned to peer inside.

“Tsukki!” Bokuto called, hardly noticing the strange looks he was getting from the people around him. He waved enthusiastically, unable to resist smiling as wide as his face would allow. Tsukishima had actually come!

He had started a little when Bokuto zeroed in on him, and now there was colour appearing on his cheeks. If he wasn’t so pale, maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious… Bokuto kinda liked it. 

Kuroo and Akaashi walked over with drinks in hand from the vending machine. Akaashi waved. Kuroo pulled down his eyelid and stuck out his tongue, then ushered the two away.

“Were those your friends, Bokuto-san?” Himekawa puffed out, pulling the lat machine handle down to his chest. 

He thought of Tsukishima, standing there with only a wall of glass between them. Looking a little lost but also oddly intent. Bokuto knew he hadn’t imagined the feeling of being watched.

“Yup. Friends.”

After Himekawa had gone, Bokuto was finally free to throw in the towel and hurry over to the courts. Nervous, eager energy was carvoting through his limbs because he was going to be able to see what Tsukishima was made of, finally.

“Hey hey hey!” he boomed, barging inside and spotting his chosen three immediately, standing on the sidelines of the nearest court. There was a game underway; they were waiting their turn.

"Took you long enough," Kuroo said, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "Do a warm up or two otherwise Ennoshita'll evict you."

"I'd never risk Captain's wrath," Bokuto responded cheerfully, waving at Ennoshita, who was supervising one of the five-on-five matches in the corner court.

"How was your work, Bokuto-san?" Akaashi asked as Bokuto started a few stretches. He was already warm from walking Himekawa through the gym machines, so he didn't need to push that hard.

"It was great! I had this client who never stepped foot in a gym until today. I've got this feeling he's gonna be my new disciple."

"Do you run a cult?" Tsukishima asked dryly.

"He doesn't have a single manipulative bone in his body," Kuroo snorted as Bokuto did a few mock-jumps. "A Bokuto cult would be centred around, like, puppies and medicine balls."

"I should definitely start a cult."

The match in front of them soon wrapped up, 25 to 20.

"How are we dividing the teams?" Tsukishima asked.

"I want to go with Keiji," Kuroo said instantly.

"If I’m on Tsukki’s side, how am I supposed to spike past him?" Bokuto demanded. 

"Who says you're getting spikes through?" Tsukishima said, affronted.

"I want to go against Tetsurou-san," Akaashi spoke up. His eyes crinkled in amusement at Kuroo's expression.

"That decides it," Bokuto said. "Me and 'Kaashi, Kuroo and Tsukki."

The other team members that would make up their five-on-five moved onto the court as the others left, so Bokuto nudged Akaashi over before Kuroo could protest. He greeted the others with raucous high-fives, laughing at how one of the guys exaggeratedly shook his reddened hands out. Akaashi deftly avoided Bokuto when he advanced on him, tucking his hands behind his back.

“You’ve sure got a big head, Bo,” Kuroo taunted loudly. "Think you can go up against the guys who've actually been keeping up with the sport? "

“Akaashi and these guns,” he patted his arms, “are gonna crush you.” He flexed them a bit as an afterthought, hoping Tsukki was watching.

“Speaking of Keiji.” Kuroo’s brows drew down in a way that might have been trying to be threatening, but was just—no, it was all smouldering. He was really so far gone for this guy. “I’m not going to show you any mercy, traitor.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Akaashi said mildly.

“God, just shut up,” Tsukishima groaned into his hand.

Their game started off, smoothly at first as the other three guys on Bokuto’s side handled most of the flow, and then got shaky when Bokuto tried a spike with all of the power and none of the finesse. It bounced off the rim of the net, careening into the air—and thank god it landed on Kuroo and Tsukki’s side. Tsukishima didn’t seem too annoyed about losing the point, however, but managed to look supremely unimpressed with Bokuto. Bokuto grinned back; a promise.

A promise he followed through with as the game progressed, using Akaashi’s simple but straightforward sets to spike, now actually getting past the blockers thanks to his strength rather than any refined technique. Whenever Tsukishima got up front he was horribly good at getting in one-touches, though, so when Bokuto finally spiked past him he couldn’t hold back the triumphant, “Yeah!” that burst through his chest, and pumped his first in the air.

Tsukishima just huffed, quickly turning away. Kuroo reached out and tugged him over, muttering something into his ear.

The next round turned into a rally, both sides stubbornly keeping the ball in the air. Then Kuroo’s side fumbled the receive and it turned into a chance ball, sending adrenaline rushing through Bokuto’s body. Set to meee, he thought-wailed at Akaashi, because if anyone knew telepathy it’d probably be him.

One of Bokuto’s teammates bounded to the left side, drawing Kuroo over, but Akaashi—blessed! Wonderful! Akaashi!—set toward Bokuto instead. His blood sung, hot and excited, muscles bunching under him as he jumped up—

Tsukishima's long, broad hands entered his field of view. In that instant Bokuto felt a cold prickle of shock under his skin. His arm was already swinging.

There was a loud slap. Tsukishima landed solidly on the ground. It took a moment for Bokuto to realise the ball had hurtled right back past his ear.

He looked over his shoulder, dumbstruck. The volleyball had smacked off his side of the court and hit the far wall.

"What—" he began, then rounded on Tsukishima. "You kill blocked me!"

"It wasn't hard, Bokuto-san, you were wide open," Tsukishima informed him.

He was looking down on Bokuto with the smuggest, most contemptuous expression Bokuto had ever seen. Eyebrows arched, corners of his mouth mercilessly quirked up. All his cockiness distilled into one single smirk.

Fuck, step on me, Bokuto thought.

There was a deafening silence. Tsukishima’s face went slack with shock.

Kuroo collapsed, laughing so hard he was likely about to cough up a lung. “Fu— oh my g— You really just went there, huh?!”

“Went where,” Bokuto asked, even as realisation hit him. Holyfuckingshit had he said that out loud—

Akaashi looked at him pityingly. Bokuto’s cheeks felt as if someone had slapped a grease fire onto them. Tsukishima was still staring at him like he was from a different planet.

“I didn’t go anywhere!” Bokuto squawked.

Kuroo put his hands up in mock-surrender, maybe more for Tsukishima’s sake than Bokuto’s, because Tsukishima looked faintly stupefied. “Wherever—heh—you went, it’s our turn to serve. Get ready, musclehead.”

One of Bokuto’s teammates tossed the ball over and they all began to move back into position—except for Bokuto, who was rooted to the spot. Maybe Tsukishima hadn’t heard him properly. That was why he looked confused. Because he had totally looked confused. It would kill Bokuto if he didn’t know for sure, so: “Oi, Tsukki,” he hissed through the net. “What did you hear?”

Tsukishima had recomposed himself in the few seconds of Bokuto getting ridiculed. His face was carefully blank, but as Bokuto waited for his answer, he frowned, a single line between his brows.

“...I didn’t hear anything,” Tsukishima said eventually. As soon as he spoke, a blush crawled across his face as if all his mental energy had been devoted to holding it back.

Huh.

Bokuto licked his lips. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” said Tsukishima flatly, the red showing up beautifully on his pale skin.

He'd had to leave after a few more games, thanks to his coworker Yukie coming to collect him for client paperwork he'd forgotten to fill out, even though he wasn’t on the clock. The team finished their session in the meantime, and were in the process of exiting the locker rooms when Bokuto had almost finished all his tasks.

He was leaning over the side of the counter, hunched over a sheaf of papers—ugh, numbers and lines—when Kuroo came up behind him.

"Thanks for the game, bro," Kuroo said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "And for the food you're gonna treat us too later."

"Hey, I never agreed to that!" Bokuto straightened in indignation, even though he'd have said the same to Kuroo if he and Akaashi had won.  

"Loser treats winner," Kuroo said smugly, reminding him of their unspoken agreements ever since they started those arm wrestling contests back when they'd first met. "Winners, in this case." 

"Fine, fine, I get paid this weekend," Bokuto grumbled. After beating Kuroo in arm wrestling consistently over the past year, he supposed he could be generous this once.

The three of them left after saying their goodbyes, Tsukishima avoiding Bokuto's eyes the whole time. Whatever had passed between them on the court had just not been addressed, and Bokuto wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

(Because Bokuto could be kind of dumb at times, but he wasn't an idiot, and he knew Tsukishima had told a big fat lie.)

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he finished up the last page. Maybe if he got reading glasses the words would stop swimming so much—surely that was why his head was hurting, not because he couldn't stop turning over today's interactions with Tsukishima in his mind.

He was torn—maybe if he’d been on a team with Tsukishima, he’d actually have had the chance to talk with him before shoving his foot in his mouth, but then he wouldn’t have been able to feel what he was like as an opponent. And Tsukishima was quite an intimidating volleyball player, even if his claims of slacking since high school graduation were true. Bokuto’s initial assumptions about Tsukki’s bony wrists had been quite inaccurate.

Yukie had mooched off to the back office again, probably to raid through her snack stash, so Bokuto was left alone as he gathered up the files to chuck away into the cabinet. Maybe he could go bug her for some chocolates as a form of overtime payment.

The doors buzzed open softly. Bokuto raised his head, interest kicking through his chest when he saw Tsukishima coming back inside.

"What's the matter, Tsukki?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"I left something in the locker rooms," Tsukishima said shortly, hastening through the lobby.

Bokuto watched him go, feeling both a little hurt and a little guilty. Maybe what he’d accidentally said before had really made Tsukishima uncomfortable. He made up his mind, and followed where Tsukishima had gone.

The locker room door clicked shut behind him as he walked inside. Tsukishima’s bag was dumped on the bench nearest to the entrance. The first few rows were empty, but Bokuto heard clanking from further in. When he reached the sounds he saw Tsukishima snap a locker shut and open the one next to it, irritation scrawled across his face.

“Hey hey, Tsukki. What’re you looking for?”

Tsukishima poked his head around the locker door; he looked faintly alarmed at Bokuto standing there. “Just my sports towel,” he said. “It’s not in the locker I used though.”

Bokuto shifted his weight on his feet, considering what his next move should be. Tsukishima didn’t seem pissed off or anything. “Need any help?” he offered.

“...I’m fine,” Tsukishima said, after a brief silence, shutting the door. “It’s not a huge deal if I can’t find it.”

“Two is better than one,” Bokuto said cheerfully, swinging open a few of the bottom lockers. “You wouldn’t want to lose a treasured possession to the sweaty vortex of a gym locker room, would you?”

“It’s not a treasured possession, but when you put it like that...”

The lockers Bokuto looked in were all empty. Oh, except for that dead cockroach. “Yuck,” he said, shutting the door firmly.

“Bokuto-san…” Tsukishima’s sigh was edged with resignation as he opened the next locker, but he tensed as Bokuto squeezed past, the tips of his ears red. 

It occurred to Bokuto that maybe he was overstepping again. He halted, turning back to Tsukishima. On this side of him, there was no locker door for either of them to hide behind. “Tsukki?”

“Yes?”

Bokuto chewed his lip. Tsukishima had also stopped his search, hands still on the edge of the locker cavity. His golden eyes were again not meeting Bokuto’s.

“About before. During the game. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Bokuto said openly, gamely ignoring the embarrassment that coursed through him upon acknowledging the incident. 

"It's not that." Tsukishima said. He made as if to say something else, but closed his mouth again, pressing his lips together. A pause. "It's not that."

“Huh? Then what is it?” Bokuto blurted, then mentally kicked himself. “Don’t answer! Don’t answer if you don’t want to,” he babbled, then hopped up on the benches that ran lengthways between the rows of lockers.

“What are you doing, Bokuto-san?”

He hadn’t been expecting Tsukishima to have a sort of disbelieving smile flitting around his mouth—it made Bokuto a bit breathless. And relieved; he hadn’t fucked anything else up.

“Sometimes people chuck things up here. You’d be surprised at what we’ve found.” He tore his gaze away from the blonde to peer up on top of the metal boxes. “Once there was this giant purple—” A flash of colour caught his eye. “Is your towel orange?”

“And black.”

“I think I got it. It’s on top of that one.” He pointed to a locker a few spaces to the left, jumping down to go over and reach for the towel. His finger just grazed fabric, but try as he might he couldn’t grab it. “Get over here,” he muttered at the towel he couldn’t see, smushing his body against the locker and rising up onto his tiptoes to find purchase on the cloth.

Suddenly it went from brushing his fingertips to sweeping across his arm. Bokuto unstuck his cheek from the metal door in surprise. Tsukishima was towering next to him, his sports towel in hand.

“Thank you,” he said, that familiar smirk back in place. 

“You tall guys sure have the ego to match,” he groused without any real annoyance, thinking that if Tsukishima was Kuroo, Bokuto would have already stolen the towel to whip at him.

“Surely you’re not jealous, Bokuto-san?” 

He scoffed. “As if! Who cares if you’re taller, I bet I could bench press you,” he said confidently, sweeping his eyes over all 195-ish centimetres of Tsukishima before him. Sure, his body was all long limbs and rigidness, but Bokuto had no doubt he’d be able to pick him up. Carry him. Maybe hold him against something.

He suddenly was very aware how close they were standing.

There was an infinitesimal shift in the air. At this proximity, he could feel the warmth of Tsukishima’s body—or maybe that was just himself, because Bokuto had become hot all over. His heart was picking up speed, banging against the inside of his chest. Tsukishima’s smirk had faded halfway, as if uncertain if it should stay or go. His eyes were half-lidded, dark, and most definitely trailing down Bokuto’s face to his mouth.

All at once, Bokuto was suffused by a heady compulsion to reach out, not to kiss the rest of that smirk off Tsukishima’s face, but to kiss it and feel it against his lips. Just one inch forward, and he’d—

Tsukishima twisted the towel in his hands, stepping around him. The sudden lack of him was like a shock of cold water to the face. Bokuto felt himself gaping, not unlike a fish. What, he thought dumbly. Where. What.

“It’s late, I should be leaving now,” Tsukishima said from behind him. “Thank you for helping me.”

His footsteps echoed down the corridor. Bokuto shook his head sharply to regain his bearings and followed him to the corner, where he could only stare speechlessly as Tsukishima picked up his bag and opened the locker room door. He looked back over his shoulder and offered the barest smile, which only served to rocket Bokuto’s heart into wildly thumping confusion.

“Goodnight, Bokuto-san,” he said. Then he was gone.

It came in a series of fleeting impressions, coalescing out of shadow and collapsing into mist. Slender, strong fingers digging into his cheek. A hand wound around the back of his neck, pulling. A hot gasp of breath against his ear, sending a wave of awareness and arousal crashing through him.

A pale throat flushed—

—pliant—

—back arching, legs wrapped around his hips, caging him in just as his arms were caging the person underneath him—Tsukishima, Tsukishima, all molten gold and honey dripping into dark crevices, sharp teeth soundlessly biting out his name and fingernails carving fire into his back—

Bokuto woke up.

Kuroo was trying to tie tiny braids into Akaashi’s hair. The tip of his tongue was poking between his teeth as he maneuvered sweaty strands between his fingers, muttering swear words when they slipped away. He would have had better luck trying to wrangle his own fringe.

Where he had gotten the hair ties from in the first place, Bokuto had no idea. He was also surprised at Akaashi’s tolerance for being fussed over in what must have been a painful manner—Kuroo kept losing his grip on the elastic bands and flicking them into his boyfriend’s scalp.

But Akaashi didn’t seem grumpy, in fact he was kind zoning out. Probably to do with tiredness, since they’d just had a pretty tough five-on-five where he’d been put through his paces as a newbie setter. So maybe that was why he was standing there all listless, towel over neck and water bottle in hand, allowing Kuroo to create woven porcupine quills on his head.

Tsukishima still hadn’t turned up, even though the evening was well underway. Akaashi had said it was because he was working on a group project and would be running late, but Bokuto was catching himself looking toward the court’s double doors every now and then, as if by the power of staring Tsukishima would step through. Every time they were empty, and every time it added another big unwieldy butterfly to the ones already tumbling over each other in his stomach. The waiting game was truly the most aggravating part, and it filled him with a nervous energy that had him jumping more erratically and yelling more loudly than usual.

And it didn’t help that every time he thought about Tsukishima, heat rolled up from the pit of his belly, making his palms sweat. It was an odd sensation; not unpleasant, but rather like something had happened, something that went beyond that tension in the locker room, that was teetering on the very edge of his memory, slipping away every time he tried to grasp it. 

A tiny elastic snapped off Kuroo’s fingers and hit him on the forehead. Bokuto yelped, splashing water from his open bottle everywhere. “What was that for!”

“Stop moping, it’s weirding me out,” Kuroo said with a cackle.

Bokuto scrambled to pick up the band and flicked it at his friend’s arm, where it left a bright red mark behind. “Can you blame me?” he shot back, not bothering to deny it.

“To each their own,” Kuroo cackled, abandoning his hairdressing project to squirt a stream of water up Bokuto’s nose.

“He’s still planning to come,” Akaashi said as Bokuto spluttered noisily and unscrewed his bottle’s lid to prepare a counterattack. “Don’t worry.”

“Stop making a mess!” Ennoshita yelled over, causing both Bokuto and Kuroo to freeze up like guilty children.

Bokuto slowly retracted his weapon, which had been poised to mock-waterboard Kuroo. Kuroo lowered his arsenal of hair ties. They both pulled identical faces at each other.

Bokuto broke first, flopping down beside the court with his legs propped out in front of him. “I just wanna play with him on the same team,” he grumbled, mostly to Akaashi, because he was closest. He hadn’t known the dark-haired guy that long, but had found he was startlingly easy to talk to—not that Bokuto had much of a problem talking to anyone, but Akaashi was an equal mixture of calm and weird that made Bokuto feel he was truly being listened to.

“I’ll be sitting the next set out, so you’ll have a space on your team,” Akaashi said, fiddling with a braid dangling over his eye. “You wouldn’t happen to have any scissors, would you?”

“The front desk probably—”

“Don’t you even think about it, Keiji,” Kuroo said, lunging to squirt some water down Akaashi’s back. With barely a flinch, Akaashi twisted and snapped his towel at Kuroo, hitting the exact same spot that Bokuto had stung before.

“I think I’m going to sit the rest of the night out, actually,” Akaashi commented, resting against the net post and watching dispassionately as Kuroo nursed his assaulted arm. His eyes flickered behind his boyfriend and he casually added, “Oh look, he’s here.”

Bokuto choked on the mouthful of water he’d just downed, his face turning purple with the effort of holding back a coughing fit. Yup, that was Tsukishima who had just walked inside, blonde hair ruffled around his ears from the sports glasses strapped around his head. He nodded to them, going over to speak with Ennoshita before dumping his bag to begin a quick warm up.

The guys they’d been playing with wandered back again, slapping high fives before switching to the opposite sides of the court. “Tsukki’s gonna replace Akaashi,” he heard Kuroo tell his team; Bokuto looked over his shoulder to see if Tsukishima was coming over yet.

He was still doing a few overhead tricep stretches, bending sideward as he did so. He wasn’t facing the court, so Bokuto took the brief opportunity to take in the lines of his back, his slender waist (would fit so well in my hands). When he felt his ears start get hot he took a swig from his bottle as a distraction, but his gaze drifted back to see Tsukishima stretching out his legs in a totally innocuous way—

—back arching, legs wrapped around—

Bokuto choked on his water again.

The game was going smoothly, much better than the first set had been. Bokuto had gotten into the groove of things and Kuroo apparently had too, if the way he was lunging around in receives and blocks was anything to go by.

But the steady pace was thanks in no small part to Tsukishima. Even though the middle blocker claimed he hadn’t thought much about volleyball after graduating high school, his instincts didn’t seem to have dulled. He reacted readily to all sorts of attacks, and the couple of times he’d kill blocked alongside Kuroo, Bokuto had the niggling feeling that Tsukishima had seen the course of the ball from the very first receive. How else could he have directed it so well? It was clearly infuriating the other team, and it was amazing.

Tsukishima seemed pretty self-satisfied with the results too—well, satisfied with how he was making his opponents grind their teeth. Bokuto remembered what it was like to be on the receiving end of that twisted smirk and suddenly, inexplicably, he was jealous of the losing side.

Pride was eclipsing the jealousy, though.

“Tsukki! That was awesome!” he raved after one such kill block, bee-lining over to pat Tsukishima on the back with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.

“It hit my hand too,” Kuroo put in, amused. Bokuto ignored him.

Instead of looking pleased with the praise, Tsukishima seemed nonplussed. “It wasn’t that amazing.”

Bokuto seized him by the shoulders, giving him a tiny shake. “Don’t get all self-deprecating! Accept the compliment!”

“I’m not—” he squirmed. “Let go of me, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto obliged him, but didn’t step back. “I wanna see more of that!” he said, grinning up at him.

Tsukishima blinked at him, his lips parting slightly. They looked pink and soft—and Bokuto was only thinking that because he was staring at Tsukishima’s mouth instead of his eyes. Oh.

“You’re holding up the game,” Tsukishima sniffed, walking around him.

“Someone needs to teach Tsukki how to say thank you,” Kuroo commented behind his hand. Maybe he wasn’t quiet enough, because Tsukishima shot them a scowl.

They continued racking up points, always keeping a few ahead of the other team. Toward the last quarter of the game, Akaashi expressionlessly blew Kuroo a kiss, which fired him up even more. That spelled their opponents’ doom.

They reached match point. Serve, counter, defend; their setter tossed the ball high in the air and Kuroo spiked it down handily. The game was theirs.

“YES!” he cheered, throwing his arms in the air.

“BRO!” Bokuto yelled into his ear; they whacked their hands together in a full force high-ten, then because that wasn’t enough Bokuto picked him and hoisted him bodily onto his shoulder, spinning in circles.

“WE WO-O-O-O-ON,” he shouted happily. Kuroo hooted, sticking out his arms and legs like he was pretending to be an aeroplane.

“It was literally a single set,” he heard Tsukishima say as they spiralled around. Bokuto staggered to a halt, his head reeling.

“You’re just jealous!” Kuroo told Tsukishima, resting his elbows on Bokuto’s back. Bokuto could hear the insolent smile in his voice.

“Of what?” Tsukishima snapped. “We did win.”

“Of me,” Kuroo sing-songed.

Bokuto looked over his shoulder as best as he could—Tsukishima had lifted his chin, spots of red high on his cheekbones. Bokuto felt Kuroo waving his hands about; whatever he motioned had Tsukishima blustering, hands fisting by his sides.

“You’re a shithead,” he said to Kuroo, eyes flicking toward Bokuto for an instant.

He was cross, and he was flustered, and it was the perfect combination of the two that had Bokuto’s heart stuck in his throat. Fuck, he wanted to kiss him. He really, really wanted to kiss him.

Instead, his arms forgot they were holding someone.

“Yeeaarghh!” Kuroo yelled as he dropped, landing with an “oof” on his side. “Bo!” he groaned from the ground. “Victory doesn’t mean you get to break my neck!”

Bokuto started a frantic apology, but Tsukishima had a fist over his mouth, and as he met Bokuto’s wide and worried eyes he started laughing. 

Whoa. Okay. Okay okay okay. Bokuto was definitely going to be dropping Kuroo on his ass a lot more from now on. 

With their set wrapped up, Bokuto had to rush back to the front to start his next P.T. session. Once that was over, he and Semi, his last client of the night, walked back into the lobby to schedule the next appointment. Semi was currently rambling about a date idea he was putting together that involved backstage passes and balloon animals.

"So what do you think? Would it impress him?" Semi finished, drumming his fingers anxiously on the counter top.

Bokuto wasn't too sure how Semi's boyfriend would react, but to him it was a fantastic idea.

"I think it's great!" he said enthusiastically. “And you’re an awesome guy, Semisemi, there's a reason why he's stuck with you this long!"

Semi looked conflicted at that, but still nodded. "Thanks...I think? I'll be off now; have a good night."

"Good luck! Tell me how it goes!" Bokuto called as he left, the glass doors sliding shut and leaving Bokuto in the quiet of the lobby, his coworkers having gone to do their checks around the fitness centre.

Semi Eita had been one of his clients for about half a year, despite not even being a student at the university. His boyfriend of two years was, though, and had recommended the gym facilities to him—by ‘recommended’, he’d actually said something like “you’re going to start looking like your guitar neck if you don’t work out”, sat on Semi when he tried to do a pushup, and laughed snidely when his arms gave way immediately.

Ah, love was a beautiful thing.

Semi had taken that guy’s words to heart, though, as evidenced by his progress charts. Bokuto examined them as he leaned down to the filing cabinet, nodding with admiration at the increases in weights and measurements.

“Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. Tsukishima was leaning over the side of the receptionist desk, his hair adorably mussed around his ears. The resulting flash of déjà vu Bokuto experienced promptly tipped his thoughts onto the floor.

“‘Sup?” he said, valiantly trying to recall what coherency was. 

Tsukishima propped his forearms on the counter, wrists drooping elegantly over the edge. Bokuto eyed them, thinking about how nice they would look arching over an armrest, or with his fingers wrapped around them, or pressed up against the headboard of his bed—

A one-thousand yen note hovered in front of Bokuto’s nose. "I forgot to pay when I got here,” Tsukishima said, proffering the money. "And, well, unlike you, your coworkers haven't explicitly let me in for free."

Bokuto flushed as he took the note, unable to form a comeback. "I'm not on desk tonight, but I'll give it to them," he said, running a hand through his hair. Then, "Hey, why are you still paying a visitor fee? I thought you joined the club."

“I’m going to join next week. Don’t tell Kuroo-san,” he added swiftly, derailing Bokuto’s train of thought before it even reached the station. He guiltily realised that would’ve likely been the first thing he would’ve asked Kuroo as soon as he saw him, but Tsukishima had been a step ahead. 

Tsukishima started to lean back from the counter, but he pressed his fingertips together while doing so, drawing Bokuto’s attention again. He was reminded of something he’d wondered during practice, and reached for Tsukishima’s hand to boldly fit their fingers together. As he’d thought, Tsukishima’s fingertips poked over his own. 

“What are you doing?” Tsukishima had tensed slightly, but hadn’t pulled away.

“Your hands are bigger than mine,” Bokuto said, stating the obvious. His left hand was wrapped firmly around Tsukishima’s wrist, keeping it in place. “Why don’t you practice spikes more?”

Some part of Bokuto knew exactly what he was doing—and it relished in it. Tsukishima’s palm was very warm against his.

“Hand...size...isn’t the only thing that counts for a spike,” Tsukishima said, his cheeks red. “I don’t have arms the size of tree trunks.”

“You think I have tree trunk arms?” He grinned, rather pleased.

“Shut up.”

The skin of Tsukishima’s wrist was smooth and delicate to touch. Despite the acidic retort, his pulse was fluttering light and fast under Bokuto’s fingers.

The sound of a door being opened echoed down the hall. There was a mutter that sounded like Kuroo, followed by a laugh.

“You should probably let go of me,” Tsukishima said lowly.

Bokuto swallowed.

—a hand winding around the back of his neck—

Tsukishima settled his free hand over Bokuto’s where it was encircling his wrist, and slowly lifted his fingers off one by one, each touch lingering. It felt drawn out. Deliberate. 

They separated just before Kuroo and Akaashi emerged. Tsukishima was leaning with his back against the counter by then, and Bokuto had plopped back down onto the swivel stool at the desk, tingly all over.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Tsukki,” said Kuroo. “Had a good chat?”

“Yes. Enlightening.”

Bokuto could see the gears in Kuroo’s brain whirring as he tried to figure out if that was sarcasm or if the words were loaded with double meaning. He ended up not commenting on it, but his eyes narrowed at them all the same. Behind him, Akaashi looked heavenward.

“It’s pretty late,” he said. “Let’s get going?” 

Kuroo breathed out noisily through his teeth. “O-o-okay.” He dug something out of his pocket and Bokuto felt a sharp sting on his forehead—another freaking hair tie. “Later, Bo! Catch you Friday.”

“Have a good night, Bokuto-san.”

Tsukishima was quiet. The corner of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smirk.

“See ya,” Bokuto croaked.

Contact: kurootetsurooni 😼

B: hey

B: hey hey hey

K: fk bo its like 2am

B: gmorning

B: so uh...i forgot 2 ask tsukki for his number

B: do u have it

B: pls say u have it

K: yeah ofc lol

B: please give it to me!! Plsplspls

K: taking the easy way out? lol

K: if u txt him at 2am he might murder you. then me

B: i won't do it right now!!

K: ok but itll cost u what can u pay

B: um

B: I'll buy u a heap of grilled mackerel and call u kuroo, kaptain of my heart for a month

K: oho?

B: so pls se

B: WAIT

B: ACTUALLY DONT

K: ??

B: DONT SEND IT

B: IM GONNA DO IT

B: IM GONNA GET IT MYSELF

K: lmaoooooo

K: kaptain of my heart had a nice ring to it :( 

K: but YOU GOT THIS BRP

K: bro*

K: keiji says go to sleep

“Who wears a hat indoors?” was the first thing Tsukishima said to him on Friday evening.

Bokuto leaned back in the front desk chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He was dressed in his usual work polo shirt, but today he also had a baseball cap crammed backwards over his hair, flattening it over his forehead.

“My fashion choices are always on point!" he argued. He was confident he was pulling it off—bar the fact he’d actually forgotten he was even wearing it—and anyway, if he removed the hat now he’d have some pretty funky hat-hair.

“It looks dumb.”

Unfazed, Bokuto tucked his hands behind his head, even though it made his shirt stretch uncomfortably over his chest, and grinned up at Tsukishima. “Is that your way of saying it suits me?”

Tsukishima’s lips twitched, but he schooled his expression into indifference. “Not at all.”

Bokuto squinted at the top of Tsukishima’s head, trying to imagine him wearing a backward cap. He would make it work, since he was the kind of person could dress in a trash bag and still look stupid hot. But then his fluffy hair would get squashed, which would suck.

Tsukishima was pulling out his wallet, saving Bokuto from unthinkingly reaching out to see how soft his hair was. When he passed over the money their fingers grazed together, a brief flash of warmth. Tingles rushed along Bokuto's hand. As he tucked the money into the secured drawer the prickling on his skin remained. 

Back on track, get back on track. Tsukishima’s number. He'd sworn to get it by himself. Bokuto opened his mouth to ask when a voice interrupted him, sending a fizzle of frustration through his tongue.

“Ah, Tsukishima." Ennoshita had just come in. “It’s good to see you again! Evening, Bokuto-san."

"Yo, captain."

“Hello, Ennoshita-san.” Tsukishima bowed politely to the club captain, the weight of his full attention vanishing from Bokuto. Ugh, Bokuto wanted it back.

"How are those application papers going?" Ennoshita asked cheerfully.

"I have them with me." Tsukishima indicated his bag.

"Good, good. Visitor fees really chew up the budget, don’t they? Come on, we're both running a little late."

Ennoshita ushered Tsukishima along, giving Bokuto a friendly farewell. It was good that both their backs were turned, because Bokuto was starting to sulk, pouting childishly at the blank computer screen. Failure was a bitter taste he refused to be familiar with, so when it got in his mouth it made him want to crawl under a desk and yank a jacket over his head and just. Stew.

A younger him would have done so right then and there; in fact, present-Bokuto would have been on the verge of it if the front desk had a cavity beneath it. A younger him would also have demanded Tsukishima’s number even with others present, but present-him had had a brief inkling someone like Tsukki wouldn’t take to that so kindly.

Bokuto huffed at the fact his subconscious had actually clamped down on his impulses. He pillowed his chin on his hands, his lower lip jutting out. 

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Yukie had popped out of the back office. She spoke in a lazy drawl as if she’d been napping, but Bokuto knew that was just her regular voice.

He said nothing in response, exhaling noisily through his nose. 

“Ugh, you’re a headache when you’re like this,” she sighed.

Bokuto heard some paper tearing, then a scrunched up ball of it bounced off his head. He turned ever so slightly so he could squint, disgruntled, at Yukie. Crumbs were sticking around her mouth.

“I don’t wanna spend night shift dealing with a sulky potato,” she chided. “Y’don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but if you’re good, I’ll keep an eye on the front so you can go gawp at your volleyball friends.”

Bokuto brightened a bit, straightening. “I would’ve gone anyway!” he informed her freely.

“D’you want me to change my mind?”

He shook his head fervently, then eyed the office door. Food would help mask the taste of doom and despair that was still stuck behind his teeth, even though Yukie’s offer had alleviated it somewhat. “You got any snacks left, Yukippe?”

“Ha! Like I’d share my precious sustenance with you.” She shook her head with exaggerated disbelief, walking away.

Bokuto bounced his leg in his seat, watching her intently as she left. When she was out of sight…

Yukie turned, pinning him with a look that was keen despite the sleepy tilt of her eyelids. “Eyes ahead, Bokuto-san. And keep your butt on that chair. I’ll know if any of my stash goes missing.”

As dragonlike as Yukie was over her food, she was generous when it came to pretty much anything else. True to her word, she came back to the desk later into the evening, a chocolate bar poking out of her mouth.

Bokuto jumped up immediately when he saw her. "See ya in a few, Yukippe!"

"No playing or you'll be there all night," she reminded him, yawning around the candy.

"Awww." 

He half-jogged to the courts, taking the stairs to the second floor two at a time. There was nobody else up there, which wasn’t unusual, but sometimes Kuroo would pop up to observe games from a different angle and call out different things to the players. Some of them called it “heckling”. Kuroo called it “constructive criticism”.

He headed to the balcony, which gave a nice sweeping vantage of both courts. Kuroo, Akaashi, and Tsukishima were on the one closest to him—well, Kuroo was playing, Tsukishima and Akaashi were on the sidelines. Bokuto guessed that even though Tsukishima’s game sense hadn’t dulled from the period he hadn’t played, his stamina might have.

Kuroo was still going strong, by the looks of it. A difficult ball went flying toward him and he received it solidly, but it sailed over to the other side. Bokuto's mouth formed an anxious “o”; Kuroo quickly followed up with an impressive block. Nice!

“Yeah! Go Kuroo!” Bokuto shouted, waving his arms like a proud parent at their kid’s sports carnival.

Some of the players jumped. As one, Tsukishima and Akaashi turned to eye him. Kuroo was the only one unsurprised, raising both fists in a victory pump. “Thanks, Bo!”

That seemed to be the point to mark a break, because the players were jogging off the court to grab water bottles. Kuroo took the one Akaashi offered him, the latter dodging the sweaty hand reaching to ruffle his hair in thanks.

Tsukishima was still looking at him as if puzzling through something. Bokuto wasn’t sure why, he wasn’t that complicated of a guy.

“You aren’t coming down?” Tsukishima asked him, his brow arched. God, but did Bokuto want to stare at his eyes forever.

“If he does, he’d be on the court in two seconds flat,” Kuroo said, then addressed him. “Yukie-san set rules, didn’t she?”

“Ugh, sometimes I hate having responsibilities,” Bokuto whined. “I can only watch for like, twenty minutes, so get your butts back in the game!” That was aimed more toward Akaashi and Tsukishima.

“We were going to,” Akaashi stretched his arms out with a wince. “We’re taking rotations.”

After a few more minutes of rest time, they trooped back into position. Tsukishima was on one side with four other guys, Kuroo and Akaashi on the other. Tsukishima, who was quietly talking with some of his teammates, didn’t seem particularly fussed about not playing with his friends.

As they began to play, Bokuto rested his elbows on the railing and sank his chin onto his hands, forgetting to follow the path of the ball and watching Tsukishima with an almost singular focus. He thought Tsukishima was playing better than usual—not that Bokuto had much of a frame of reference to go by, but his blocks had gotten stickier and he seemed to be moving with more...awareness? His reaction time had definitely improved, in any case. Bokuto cheered as Tsukki one-touched yet another spike.

Kuroo’s side was barely maintaining its lead.  Tsukishima’s remained close on its tail, only remaining a point or two behind. If the amount of sly jabs Kuroo made at Tsukishima was anything to go by, that tenacity was stressing him out. Yet Tsukishima ended up biting the bait more often than not, scowling and throwing back cutting remarks of his own. Bokuto was impressed; not many people were able to keep up with the master of provocation.

The ball soared into the blonde’s side of the court. As soon as it was received, Tsukishima and another member of his team both started a run up, splitting their opponents’ focus. Kuroo headed for the other guy while another two tall students marked Tsukishima, even though it wasn’t clear where the ball would go. As he ran up to the net, the two-man block leapt up, arms arching over to form a wall that would be difficult to avoid even with a cross.

Bokuto frowned and leaned forward, expecting Tsukishima to collide head on with the block and the ball to be sent to the other player, but even though his legs bent—he didn’t jump. “Huh?” Bokuto mumbled as the blockers began to fall. The setter tossed the ball to Tsukishima, quick and sure. Then Tsukishima spiked the damn thing.

Bokuto's mouth hung open. Why don't you practice spikes more, he'd naively asked, while Tsukki had this tucked up his sleeve the whole time.

"Tsukki! THAT WAS INCREDIBLE," he whooped, cupping his hands around his mouth for Maximum Volume. How else was he gonna express his amazement? 

Tsukishima tensed up, yet met Bokuto's eyes even though he was furiously red. When he was embarrassed his face screwed up, making Bokuto want to tease him even more. But there was something to the tilt of his chin, like he was shoving embarrassment aside just to glare at Bokuto. It made his heart lurch in his chest.

Tsukishima flexed the fingers of his splayed-open hand. “I learned a fair bit in school.”

Look, I can spike, that hand said. Bokuto was riveted.

“Where’s that fire when we’re on the same side?” Kuroo snickered. “Who would've guessed what you were hiding in that skinny frame…" 

“No need to get frustrated because you can’t keep up,” Tsukishima said tightly.

Akaashi hid a laugh; Bokuto didn’t bother being coy, guffawing loudly. Kuroo flipped him off, but Tsukishima looked rather pleased. Bokuto rocked back on his heels, feeling a fascinated grin break across his face.

Tsukishima was so interesting. 

The clock on the wall of the judo room had ticked well past 9 when Bokuto finally finished cleaning up. A student had decided to train too hard after a big dinner, resulting in a biohazard that Yukie absolutely refused to go near. She had gone a steady shade of green at the sight, so Bokuto supposed her refusal was justified. He didn't want her adding to the mess, and he’d just managed to stop himself from offering a sympathetic contribution.

He threw out the garbage in the bin, stripping off his rubber gloves and mask and tossing them too. His clothes had been thankfully untouched, and a quick spray of deodorant in the staff bathrooms erased any remaining whiff of grossness. All tidy and vomit-free, he hustled to the lobby, hoping he'd be in time to catch his friends—Tsukishima especially—as they left, but it was empty. There was no sound apart from his own footsteps.

Bokuto wilted. Closing up was always lonelier when he missed seeing friends or acquaintances off, even if Yukie was pretty good company herself. But more importantly, Tsukishima’s number was out of his grasp again. For an instant Bokuto wanted to throw himself on the floor.

He ground his teeth instead, shuffling around the counter to swipe his phone out of the desk drawer. Harassing Kuroo over text would go a long way to making himself feel better… But he wasn’t going to back down on his declaration to get Tsukishima’s contact info personally. He had his pride, after all!

Yukie sauntered down the hall, munching a different chocolate bar, a set of keys swinging from her fingers. 

“There you are," she said around the candy. "I’ve just locked up. Something wrong?”

“Everyone’s gone?” he had to confirm.

“Yeah. Your phone was going off before, by the way. What the heck's up with that new ringtone?"

Last week it had been a single caterwauling "YE-E-E-AH" he'd recorded from a Western pop song, now it was goat screams from an mp3 file Kuroo had found. Bokuto choked back at a laugh at the thought of how his ringtone must have been blowing up, serenading Yukie with its shrieks.

"Angel music," he said mischievously. She rolled her eyes, going into the back room without comment.

Bokuto scooped up his phone, finding a string of notifications there. The messages were timed from about ten minutes ago.

Contact: kurootetsurooni 😼

K: sorry we didnt catch u! had to go on ahead.

K: K2 have tests tomorrow 

K: remember the food u promised us when u get paid

K: lmao i can hear ur phone screaming on the desk

K: butts

K: butts

K: butts

K: ok now we’re too far away, lame

Bokuto snorted and typed up a quick reply, happy Kuroo had texted him to begin with.

B: its all cool bro!

B: K2?

The read tick mark popped up instantly.

K: keiji and kei, txt wont let me make the tiny 2

B: kk

K: LOL

Movement flickered out of the corner of his eye, coming from outside. Bokuto stiffened, ignoring the buzz of an incoming text, when a sharp knocking made him nearly jump out of his skin.

A dark figure loomed outside. Bokuto broke into a nervous sweat. Was that a thief; were they going to be broken into? Or was it a demon? A ghost?? 

The ghost knocked again and he abruptly realised it was Tsukishima standing there. Yukie must have already turned the doors’ outside sensor off.

He hurried over, his nerves now jangling for an entirely different reason. “Tsukki! Forgot something else?” He was impressed his voice came out reasonably unruffled.

“...Yes. It’s likely in the locker room," Tsukishima said. He had his fingers pressed together, a little line creasing his forehead.

“Your memory’s going, gramps,” Bokuto chortled as Tsukishima came inside.

“You’re the one with grey hair—my, could that be why you’re still wearing the hat? Or are you getting bald spots?"

"I'll have you know my hair is luscious," Bokuto said, snatching off his cap and immediately regretting it when Tsukishima's eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline.

Yikes, Bokuto's hair was probably more flattened than he'd thought—and it didn't have the staying power of Kuroo's. He scrubbed his hands through it furiously, giving up when Tsukishima began to snicker.

"Mock me all you want, but I'll have the last laugh," he said mulishly, cheeks flushed, cramming the cap back on his head.

"If you say so, gramps. I've got a few years of youth on you," Tsukishima said smugly.

Bokuto gave him a friendly shove in retaliation, unable to fully ignore how the contact made his stomach swoop. He quickly marched on to the back room, telling Tsukishima to wait by the desk in a much louder and higher voice than necessary.

Yukie was sitting inside at the desk, shoes kicked off and chin resting on her knees, clicking away at her phone. One hand rifled around inside a bag of popcorn.

“Hey, Yukippe? My friend left something behind in the lockers; I’m gonna grab the keys.”

“Oh? There wasn’t anything there when I did checks…” She shrugged and tossed them to him. “Don’t forget to lock up after you’re done.”

“Gotcha!” he snapped a salute, swinging the keys ‘round his finger and heading back. "What did you leave behind this time, Tsukki?"

"My glasses. The sport ones," he clarified, adjusting his current pair on his nose.

"Never took you for the careless type," Bokuto teased as they walked together down the hall.

"Oh? What type did you take me for?"

He paused at that question, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hmm, prickly? Sarcastic? Not in a bad way; you’re really funny!”

“Funny?” Tsukishima said incredulously.

Bokuto still hadn’t hit on the word he wanted. “The kind that’s not good with praise...” It was something Kuroo had taught him about….Ah! He snapped his fingers victoriously. “The tsundere type!”

Tsukishima looked like he was considering snapping Bokuto in half, thus proving he’d hit the nail on the head. Instead he just violently tsk’d, glaring off to the side. “Don’t be so juvenile.”

“Am I wrong?” Bokuto bared his teeth in a grin, fitting the key into the locker room door.

Tsukishima shut his eyes tightly, obviously struggling to compose himself, and then opened them and fixed Bokuto with a look so stupendously flat it could have crushed the earth and made a million conspiracies true. “Yes.”

“Uh huh, okay, okay.” Bokuto waved him in, the door swinging shut behind them. He wasn’t sure which of Tsukishima’s expressions were his favourite: that singularly unimpressed one, or when his mouth curled up smugly, or when he got all flustered and strawberry-red... 

Tsukishima strode past the rows of benches. As Yukie had said, the place was clean and devoid of forgotten items. Swinging a couple of lockers open at random also showed they were empty.

He came to a stop in the middle of the locker room with his back to Bokuto, arms crossed. He stood like that for several seconds, as if lost in thought. Unsure of what to do, Bokuto popped open a locker to look inside; the sound seemed to shake Tsukishima out of whatever daydream he was in and he followed suit, his movements robot-like. Bokuto glimpsed his downturned mouth, lips pressed thin in dissatisfaction.

They checked in a few more lockers, even those far away from the one Tsukishima had used, but they were all cleared out. Bokuto climbed up on the benches to scan above—nothing. He hopped off, hmm-ing in thought. Tsukishima sighed and snapped the door of his current investigation shut.

Bokuto leaned back against metal, his arms behind his head. “Didya find the glasses, or...”

Tsukishima opened another locker door half-heartedly. “I’m sure I didn’t leave anything behind,” he said slowly. “I clearly remember putting my glasses in my bag.”

Bokuto wasn’t sure why he was still hunting then—by the sounds of it, he hadn’t misplaced anything? So there was no reason for them to be hanging around here.

Tsukishima suddenly swore under his breath, his ears turning red even though Bokuto hadn’t said or done anything. “...definitely Akaashi-san,” Bokuto heard Tsukishima mutter.

Akaashi? Bokuto didn’t really get it, but, “Uh...so you’re saying…?”

Tsukishima glanced back at Bokuto and froze for a moment, eyes flicking up and down the length of his body before he forcibly turned himself away.

Oh.

Maybe this was his favourite of Tsukishima’s expressions—when he looked at Bokuto with that fleeting, curious sort of hunger. It made heat coil low in Bokuto’s stomach, an animalistic urge that made his palms ache with the need to touch. To hold. Take.

He straightened, stepping closer. "What did Akaashi do?" he heard himself ask, even though he really wanted to just say look at me again, look at me that way again.

Tsukishima’s fingers tightened on the edge of the locker as Bokuto came up beside him. “I didn’t leave anything behind.”

Bokuto nudged the door shut, noting with a quiet thrill that Tsukishima simply...let him, looking at him sidelong with shadowed eyes. He hardly recognised his own voice when he spoke—it had gone all rough and low. “Even though you said…”

Bokuto wet his lips, his next words winking out of existence as Tsukishima’s gaze dropped to his mouth.

Just that little flicker, that miniscule shift—and the entire quality of the atmosphere changed. A familiar heaviness resolved itself out of the air, an intangibility that hadn’t been there a moment ago; it pressed down on Bokuto’s chest; he could hear his heart thumping in his ears. He was suddenly aware his shoulders had tensed, goosebumps prickling up and down his arms.

He met Tsukishima’s eyes, feeling himself wordlessly demand to be acknowledged. Tsukishima held himself very, very still. A deer in the headlights.

Bokuto took a deliberate step forward.

All of a sudden he was very much inside Tsukishima’s personal space, having to tilt his head up slightly to maintain eye contact. Tsukishima’s pupils were blown wide and dark, thinning out the rings of honey-gold iris. He had the faintest freckle near his eyebrow.

Bokuto leaned forward an increment, feeling Tsukishima’s breath ghosting over his face, over his mouth. His eyes tracked down to find his lips, plump and pink. “You’re really pretty, Tsukki,” he breathed. 

“Don’t call me that,” Tsukishima whispered.

Bokuto kissed him.

Soft, was the thought that flitted through his mind. Tsukishima was all sharp angles and cutting remarks but his mouth was soft, pressing deliciously against Bokuto’s own. The warmth of it was intoxicating, sinking into every inch of his awareness. He could taste him on the very tip of his tongue.

He pulled back slightly, looking up through his lashes. Tsukishima’s eyes had fluttered closed, neck bent as if he’d followed Bokuto unconsciously when they’d separated.

So Bokuto kissed him again, pulling him closer by the waist—just as slender as he’d imagined, fit even better in his hands than he’d hoped. He felt more than heard Tsukishima’s breath catch when their bodies pressed together, sending desire shooting through him like a lightning bolt. And then the dam broke.

Tsukishima was kissing him back, his hands sliding up to hold onto Bokuto’s shoulders, fingertips digging into the muscle there. His lips were only slightly parted but that was enough for their tongues to brush, a shudder rolling through Bokuto at the contact. Knees weak, he pushed Tsukishima up to the lockers and licked a little deeper into his mouth, a tiny whine burgeoning in his own throat. Tsukishima was slowly setting every inch of his body on fire apart from the wet heat of their kissing, the sensation of him eclipsing any iota of intelligible thought Bokuto might’ve possessed before.

Tsukishima’s fingers tightened on his shoulders when Bokuto made those sounds, because Bokuto wasn’t and never could be quiet. Every groan, every choked breath, echoed through the empty locker room, punctuated by the metallic clacks of the locker as they pushed against it. It bounced around them, making him seem much louder than he was actually being—making him want to hear Tsukishima make those sounds too, because Tsukishima was somehow keeping his moans to breathy little stutters.

Not that those exhales didn’t do anything to Bokuto by themselves. He was definitely starting to get hard.

“I’ve thought about this,” Bokuto gasped into Tsukishima’s mouth, making the kiss go all messy. “Thought about you. Touching you.” One hand reached down, sliding around Tsukishima’s thigh, just below his ass. “Thought about kissing you so fucking much. Is that okay, Tsukki?”

“If I,” Tsukishima hissed shakily, “If I didn’t think it was okay, would I be letting you do this?”

“Ha, that’s—” He hiked Tsukishima’s leg behind him, causing the blonde to jolt in his arms. “Tha’s true, you’re super smart, y’know, haven’t even known you that long but I think you’re kinda ‘mazing—”

“You talk a lot,” Tsukishima said, strangled.

Bokuto kissed him deeply, feeling a surge of arousal when Tsukishima’s grip changed from tight to clinging. “Yeah—” he got out, “I—” another eager, open-mouthed kiss, “do.” Their tongues slid together and finally, finally, he heard Tsukishima whimper, and immediately turn an even deeper shade of red, if that was even possible. He was blushing so heavily already.

“You sound so fucking good, Tsukki,” he said, then tucked his hands under Tsukishima’s thighs and lifted him right up, bracing his back against the lockers.

Tsukishima moaned right into his mouth, but enough sound escaped that it rang around them. He tensed up and yanked away, dropping his head onto Bokuto’s shoulder to hide his face. Bokuto let him, having been rendered temporarily speechless. His brain was still struggling to process it because that had been so fucking sexy.

“What are you doing,” Tsukishima bit out, even though his legs had automatically wrapped around Bokuto’s waist, making them rub together in an entirely different way.

“D’no,” he mumbled, laser-focused on the fact that Tsukishima was obviously turned on too. He licked along his ear, making him gasp and lock his arms tighter around Bokuto’s neck. “Going with the flow?”

Tsukishima raised his head, eyes slightly teary and lips kiss-swollen. “You’ll drop me,” he said, sounding unconvinced of his own words.

“Wouldn’t drop you,” Bokuto assured him. “Feels too good carrying you.”

Tsukishima looked inexplicably furious at that and bent to kiss him, likely just to shut him up. Bokuto wasn’t fussed though because the movement meant he could shove Tsukishima further against the locker and grind their hips together, chasing that heat he found himself craving. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. The friction was driving him insane, turning his technique all sloppy and biting; his teeth caught on Tsukishima’s bottom lip, making him grunt.

“Sorry,” Bokuto got out, drawing back to brush a feather-light kiss there. He slid his mouth away from Tsukishima’s, kissing down his cheek to nose at the crook just behind the curve of his jaw, feeling at the patch of skin with his lips and tongue. Tsukishima’s head fell back with a thump, panting heavily as Bokuto kissed down his throat. 

“I think I dreamed about you,” Bokuto babbled against that pale stretch of neck, sucking wet red circles into it at random, the flutter of a hummingbird pulse underneath his tongue. “Dunno what it was but it was hot, ‘cause you’re super hot. Your hands, your back, your eyes, your long fucking legs,” he gave his thighs a squeeze, massaging his fingers in, rolling his hips forward, “this, this feels really good, does it feel good for you, Tsukki?” 

“Stop— ah— talking so much,” Tsukishima panted, his eyes shut tight, tremors rippling through him.

“Tsundere,” Bokuto teased, pleased he’d remembered the word.

Tsukishima’s eyes flew open, bright with lust and irritation. He violently canted his hips forward, the friction causing Bokuto to moan loudly, eyes going out of focus. But he was still close enough to see Tsukishima’s smirk. So of course he kissed it.

“Ugh,” Tsukishima mumbled against him.

Bokuto breathed out a laugh. “What else am I gonna do when you look at me like that?”

Tsukishima repeated the motion as revenge and it was just as effective as before, perhaps even more so because he also fisted his hands into the hair at the nape of Bokuto’s neck, tugging on it sharply. That burning almost-pain, when combined with how their dicks were most definitely rubbing against each other through their clothes, had Bokuto shaking, licking and sucking desperately at Tsukishima’s lips—was it even kissing at that point? He didn’t know, didn’t care, the only thing that mattered was that Tsukishima was still clinging to him and matching his rhythm perfectly, stubbornly. 

Bokuto revelled in it, but there were still too many layers between them—he wanted to be closer, skin-to-skin. “Tsukki,” he groaned, all stuttery and stilted, “Can I— fuck— touch you?”

Tsukishima stilled for a moment in his arms. “You mean…”

“If you don’t want to that’s alright,” Bokuto said in a rush, worried he was pushing too far, too fast. “I’m fine with just kissing, wait, saying ‘just’ sounds rude, I really like kissing you, and—”

“Shut up and let me answer,” Tsukishima said, cutting his babbling off. He took a deep breath, looking down to the side. “...Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Tsukishima nodded jerkily, that embarrassed-yet-determined glint in his eyes again.

“Cool,” Bokuto breathed.

He loosened his grip so the taller man could stand on his own and unbutton his trousers with shaking fingers, pushing the waistband over his hips. When that business was done Bokuto picked him right back up again, this time caging him closer against the locker. When he was sure he was braced there firmly, he adjusted his hold and took his left hand away, supporting Tsukishima with one hand and the pressure of his legs.

Tsukishima made a small sound of alarm when Bokuto changed his grip. “It’s okay, I got you,” Bokuto said, feeling a shiver pulse through Tsukishima’s entire body. “I got you,” he repeated, dropping a chaste kiss on his nose. 

"Hurry up," Tsukishima said snippily, his fingers digging into Bokuto's shoulder blades. He seemed to like touching his back like that quite a bit.

“Aw, no need to rush.” But he brushed his hand over Tsukishima’s erection as he spoke, rubbing his fingers down the clothed, damp bulge.

Tsukishima swore viciously. “Hurry up,” he said again, his venomous demand betrayed by the breathy neediness of his tone.

He was so fucking cute. Bokuto was turned on beyond belief.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely,” he said, and slipped a hand down Tsukishima’s underwear, bringing him out.

Bokuto’s mouth watered at the sight and feel of him, hot and heavy in his hand, already slick with precome. None of that could compare to the way Tsukishima reacted to his touch, though; his head dipped forward, chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to control his breathing.

“How’s this, Tsukki?” Bokuto murmured, sliding his hand down Tsukishima’s dick and back up again in a quick, smooth motion. Tsukishima just about convulsed at that, his teeth biting into his lower lip so hard it went white. “D’you like it when I do this?” Another pump, another choked off swear word. “Said you were pretty before, you’re even prettier now, how are you even possible—” 

“Shut— nn—”

“Fuck, you’re really something,” Bokuto murmured, kissing him full on the mouth.

His toes were curling when he pulled back, a string of saliva hanging between them. Tsukishima scrubbed it off with a disgusted sound that quickly hitched when Bokuto pumped him again, turning into a strangled whine that made Bokuto see stars. God, but Tsukishima was absolutely perfect in his arms, glasses askew and sweat sticking his hair to his forehead and neck, dick growing more slippery by the second as Bokuto worked it and shit, Bokuto was so hard he thought he might be able to come from just this alone, impossible as it seemed. Tsukishima and his long sweaty limbs and swollen spit-shiny mouth were so damn incredible, “don’t deserve this,” Bokuto rambled mindlessly, “you’re too fucking good, way too good, Tsukki, Tsukki…”

He started in surprise when he felt Tsukishima move his hand down between them and hook a finger on the waistband of his track shorts. No way no way no way.

"Can I," Tsukishima forced out.

"Hell yeah," Bokuto responded, trying and failing not to sound stupidly eager.

He sprang out all too easily when Tsukishima tugged down his shorts, thick and throbbing. Tsukishima stared down for a moment, looking faintly annoyed, but Bokuto didn’t have it in him to be offended after Tsukishima wrapped his long fingers around him, the whiteness of his skin contrasting with the flushed red of Bokuto’s cock. God, that’s nice.

His arm definitely shook when Tsukishima began to stroke him, but that made Bokuto more determined to keep the taller man pinned well up against the lockers. He shifted his grip, the lifting movement making their fingers collide together, wet and slippery and filthy. “Tsukki,” he moaned, knocking his forehead gently against Tsukishima’s, their breath mingling hotly, “m’gonna fucking die,” and he changed the angle of his hand so their dicks slid together, shooting electricity through every nerve ending in his body.

"Bo— ku— to—"

Tsukishima’s head thudded back against the lockers again, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open as he let out a whole litany of choked, whimpering sounds that sounded like fucking music to Bokuto’s ears. Tears were matting his long lashes together, sweat running down the curve of his neck. 

Shit. Maybe it was this. Maybe this expression was Bokuto’s favourite.

He increased the pace, entangling his fingers with Tsukishima’s and moving their hands together. Tsukishima was devolving by the second into a trembling mess in Bokuto’s arms, but his legs were still wound tight around his waist and he hadn’t lessened the pressure of his strokes. Each tug brought strings of nonsensical words pouring out of Bokuto’s mouth—he didn’t even know what he was thinking, much less what he was saying, other than Tsukishima’s name.

When Tsukishima came with a violent shudder it tipped Bokuto over the edge too, an endless “Tsukki, Tsukki, Tsukki,” on his lips as they spilled into each other’s hands. He covered him in messy kisses, all over his lips and cheeks and chin, both their bodies shaking as they slowly came down from that cloud of euphoria.

Tsukishima sagged and Bokuto had to put him down, arms suddenly weak and quivering. He tugged him over to one of the benches and sat him down before he fell over—because Tsukishima looked just as dazed as Bokuto was feeling—then quickly went to the storage cupboard by the sinks to grab some towels.

Tsukishima still seemed a bit hazy when Bokuto returned with a damp cloth, but clarity returned to his eyes as he accepted the towel and began to clean himself off, wrinkling his nose with disgust at the mess. Bokuto sat down beside him, feeling pleasantly boneless but also a bit uncertain. What did someone even say after a locker room hookup? He hadn’t even meant to do that.

“Uh...was that good?” he tried.

Tsukishima snorted, doing up his trousers and balling the towel in his hands. "Seriously?" he muttered, his ears red. "You tell me. Actually, wait, you were telling me.”

“Well, it felt good for me!” Bokuto said earnestly. “I liked it! I, um, like you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“But I want to.” He settled more comfortably against Tsukishima's side, leaning into him and delighting when Tsukki didn't push him away.

Tsukishima cleared his throat. “I. Well. It was good,” he said, horribly awkward and stiff and it outright warmed Bokuto’s heart.

“Go on a date with me,” Bokuto said suddenly.

“I—what?”

“A date,” he said, turning a bit so he could look at Tsukki properly. Despite having straightened his clothes out, with his residual flush and disheveled hair, Tsukishima still clearly looked like he’d been pressed up against a hard surface and kissed extremely thoroughly. Bokuto was drinking in the sight when it occurred to him what he’d been intending to ask for the past week. "Oh! And your number. I meant to ask for your number."

Tsukishima cracked a half-smile. “This is all happening out of order,” he said.

“Order? What order?”

He let out a hmph. If Bokuto hadn’t had laid a hand on his arm, he might’ve crossed them. “Isn’t it usually a date first? And then, you know. That.” He jerked his head in the direction of the lockers, sounding both grumpy and embarrassed.

Bokuto thought for a moment, rubbing the back of Tsukishima’s wrist with his thumb. “Out of order? I guess it depends. Would you go out with me?”

Tsukishima bit his lip, staring down at where Bokuto was tracing circles on his skin. Slight goosebumps were prickling outward from that point of contact. “...Okay,” he said quietly, then blushed.

Bokuto’s heart sang at that; he couldn’t stop the giant idiotic grin that took over his face. “And give me your number?”

“Well, obviously,” Tsukishima grumbled.

“Then it’s all perfectly in order,” Bokuto concluded happily, pressing a kiss to the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth.