Chapter Text
ONE: what they found when they followed the cracks in the pavement
Bokuto Koutarou’s legs are short, but when he makes a run for it, he’s unstoppable. His fingers are wrapped around his best friend’s wrist as he pulls him along. Kuroo Tetsurou can’t run that fast but Bokuto would never leave him behind. Behind them, a storm of footsteps is approaching fast.
Bokuto stops in front of a dark, narrow alleyway. “Here!” He exclaims.
Kuroo pulls his wrist so hard it sets Bokuto three steps back. Kuroo, ever the voice of reason, says, “No way. This is the street we’re not allowed to go through. There are cracks and holes in the pavement and—“
Bokuto sprints into the street with such force that Kuroo swallows his protests in a single gasp. He keeps his eyes glued to the ground and navigates around gaping holes in the pavement. He pretends there are spikes in the holes and it motivates his 8-year-old mind.
“They went here!” Bokuto hears one of the 5th graders behind him.
Bokuto stops abruptly and Kuroo slams into his back. In front of them is a kind of shop Bokuto’s never seen before. The entire front wall is lifted and hovering above it like a roof. Underneath, halfway out in the street, is a counter. A young man sits there and reads a book. He doesn’t spare them a glance.
Bokuto takes that as a sign. He pulls Kuroo inside and they crouch behind the counter. His pulse races with adrenaline and fear. Next to him, Kuroo is just as sweaty, mussed and out of breath. Kuroo pulls his knees to his chest and his curious eyes wonder around the shop.
The shop is small and dark. There are no windows and each wall caters to one long shelf. Each shelf is filled with various items whose use Bokuto can’t determine. In the middle of the shop is a silver table Bokuto’s only seen on TV. There are tools scattered all over it. A steady breeze that smells of soap and jasmine streams from the walls.
“I saw them go through here,” the voice of the same 5th grader approaches. Bokuto covers his mouth.
“There’s nothing here,” another voice says.
“Let’s check another street. They can’t be far.” That makes three voices.
Bokuto listens until their footsteps are an echo in the distance. He removes his hand from his mouth and lets his worries out in one, long sigh. Next to him, Kuroo sags down as if his spine has melted.
Immediately after, Kuroo tugs at Bokuto’s jacket. “Kou, your jacket is torn.”
Bokuto pulls at his jacket. Indeed, the corner of his pocket is split open and a few strings dangle from it. He doesn’t remember when it happened, but it must’ve been when he was running.
For the first time, the young man turns to them. His face is pretty. His dark hair is curly at the ends and his nose is small and snub. It’s his eyes that are scary, however, with their sharpness and mysterious glint. His expression is that of adults when they’re about to tell you not to run or eat candy before dinner. Bokuto can’t tell if he’s in awe or in danger. He swallows and waits.
“Show me your jacket,” the man says. Bokuto complies in an instant and gets on his feet. He turns to the man and shows him the hole in the jacket. The man touches it and turns the pocket inside-out, his eyes narrowing. “Take it off.”
Bokuto allows the jacket to slip off his shoulders. The man catches it with his swift, long fingers and spreads it on the counter. Bokuto blinks and, just like that, a thread and a needle appear in the man’s hands.
“Is there an animal you like?” The man asks.
“Owls,” Kuroo pitches in. He’s standing next to Bokuto as he wraps his hand around Bokuto’s shoulders. He seems to have recovered. “Doesn’t he look like one?” Kuroo punctuates his statement by poking the crease between Bokuto’s eyes. That only deepens Bokuto’s frown.
“Hey!”
The man’s facial expression remains dead serious. “Owls are the finest bird of prey.”
“This one is just a prey,” Kuroo says and ruffles Bokuto’s hair. Bokuto elbows him in the ribs.
“You seem to be in trouble,” the man says. He’s begun stitching the jacket with a black thread. His fingers deftly patch up the hole. He works faster than Bokuto’s mother.
“We’re not in trouble. The boys chasing us are in trouble!” Bokuto says and crosses his arms. He didn’t do anything wrong.
“How so?”
“They were bullying a cat in the street and we stopped them,” Kuroo explains. Bokuto knows he’s proud of this feat by the way he holds his chin high and his shoulders straight.
“Then they tried to bully us but they failed,” Bokuto says and offers his palm for Kuroo to high-five. “What’s your name, Mister?”
“Akaashi Keiji.” Akaashi speaks without looking at them. His eyes are focused on his fingers as they carefully work around the hole in Bokuto’s jacket. “May I know yours?”
“I’m Bok—“ Bokuto begins but Kuroo kicks him in the shin. Bokuto stops and remembers every lesson his mother’s ever taught him.
Akaashi glances at them and his lip is curled slightly upward. “Good. I’m a stranger.”
Bokuto purses his lips but Kuroo ignores him.
“Feel free to look around the shop and take whatever you’d like,” Akaashi says. Bokuto forgets about his almost-slip-up and ventures into the shop. Kuroo stays behind to watch Akaashi.
At the end of the shop there are doors illuminated by an overhead blue light. Bokuto tries the doorknob but the doors don’t budge. He then meanders around the table and observes items on each shelf that surround it. He can’t see some because the shelves are too high. When he comes closer, he notices that most items are moving as if they’re breathing. Most of them have a purple, blue, red or green glow about them. Bokuto keeps his hands locked behind his back fearing he’ll break something.
Faintly, he hears Kuroo speak to Akaashi. “They said there’s nothing here. Why?”
“They don’t need me.”
“We needed a place to hide.”
“Yes.”
Bokuto turns around as if stung by a bee and knocks over a tin can with his elbow. A myriad of tiny items scatter on the floor, like marbles. Bokuto falls to his knees to collect them. The items are cold in his hands. A few of them catch his fancy – a ring that changed from purple to blue when he picked it up and a silver dice. He looks up to see Akaashi and Kuroo staring at him.
“Did you find something you like?” Akaashi asks.
Bokuto opens his palm to show a dice and a ring.
“Are you sure? Check what it says on the can.”
Bokuto picks up the can and brings it closer to his face. Then, he notices a scrap of paper taped to it. It says, junk. Bokuto puts the can back on the shelf and returns to stand by Kuroo’s side.
“Yes. I like these,” he says.
Akaashi nods and Bokuto slides the ring and the dice in his pocket.
Kuroo fidgets with his fingers, his eyes set on Akaashi’s face. When Kuroo fidgets, Bokuto is tempted to fidget too.
“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou!” Kuroo blurts out. He seems shocked by his actions, his eyes blown wide, and so is Bokuto.
“Traitor!” he exclaims.
Akaashi smiles as he bites off the last piece of thread. A sticker of a grey owl sits proudly where the hole used to be. He holds the jacket up for Bokuto to take. Bokuto slips it on but he doesn’t forget about Kuroo’s betrayal.
“I’m Bokuto Koutarou.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Akaashi says. “It’s best that you go now. You’ll worry your parents.”
Bokuto and Kuroo nod in unison. On their way out, Bokuto says, “Thank you for hiding us!”
“Anytime,” Akaashi waves at them.
Kuroo and Bokuto make their way down the street. They jump over the cracks and holes in the pavement that seem to grow larger the deeper they go. Kuroo glances back once and his face fills with horror. Bokuto feels dread sneaking up his spine – are the bullies back? He turns around but all he sees are doors of Akaashi’s unusual shop hovering like an awkward roof.
Bokuto’s pocket is heavy with two small items.
TWO: the first time Akaashi reads to Bokuto
Bokuto is nine when he first sneaks out of the house. His parents are in the kitchen, making enough noise to cover his footsteps as he slips out the front door. He runs and runs and doesn’t know where he wants to go until he finds himself jumping over holes in the pavement. Buildings are giants, closing in on him, until he sees a familiar patch of dark hair leaning over a book.
He runs inside, alarming Akaashi as he storms past him. He rests his open palms on his knees and takes some time to catch his breath. He hears a book close gently and the scraping of the chair as it turns.
“Bokuto?”
Bokuto takes another deep breath and lifts his head, his lips splitting into a wide grin. “’Sup Akaashi.”
Akaashi leans back in his chair, smiling lightly. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt today and a round, silver earring adorns his earlobe. “Did something happen?”
Bokuto shrugs. He gives the shop a perfunctory glance but not much has changed since the last time he’s been here a few weeks ago. “I wanted to go somewhere quiet.”
“How so?”
“Mom and dad talk to each other real loud.” Bokuto shakes his head as if to forget about it. He comes closer to Akaashi and peers over his shoulder at the book he has been reading. “What are you reading?” The book is thick and half of the pages are stained dark yellow. Bokuto can’t read what it says on the cover.
“Nothing you’d like,” Akaashi says. His chair creaks as he turns it back around.
“Read me something I’d like then,” Bokuto says and cracks a smile. He hopes it will work. It usually does, with adults. Akaashi gives him a look that is difficult to decipher. A first drop of rain falls on the concrete. One drop turns into ten and then the sky splits open and cries all over the pavement. The cracks and holes are brimming with water in a matter of minutes.
Akaashi absentmindedly touches the cover of the book, his gaze fixed on the wet pavement. He caresses the cover three times and it changes. Bokuto still can’t read what it says.
“Alright,” Akaashi says. “Pull up that chair.”
There’s a chair in the corner that looks even less stable than the one Akaashi’s sitting on. Bokuto feigns ignorance and plops on Akaashi’s knee. That way, he ran reach the counter and rest his elbows on it. He feels Akaashi grow still and cold as stone. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done it and now Akaashi will kick him out.
Akaashi doesn’t.
He opens the book and begins reading from the start. Bokuto listens not so much to the story but to Akaashi’s voice. Against the padding of the rain, the soft cadence of Akaashi’s words is like a lullaby to him. He closes his eyes against it. It’s the kind of silence and peace Bokuto doesn’t have a word for yet.
THREE: the only secret Bokuto keeps from Kuroo
“The one who rolls a six has to go buy us juice,” Bokuto exclaims and gives Kuroo the dice. He looks less suspicious if he rolls it second. Kuroo raises an eyebrow in a condemning way not fit for a ten-year-old. He takes the dice anyway.
“This better not be a trick,” Kuroo warns and blows on the dice in his palm.
“Would I ever?” Bokuto crosses his arms and falls back in his chair.
Kuroo rolls the dice in his closed palms and then opens it. The dice falls out and lands on a four. Kuroo clicks his tongue. Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows and Kuroo kicks him underneath the table.
Bokuto takes the dice and repeats Kuroo’s little ritual to mock him. He knows how this will end; he’s witnessed it a million times. Bokuto releases the dice and it rolls and rolls and rolls until it lands on a perfect six. Bokuto grins.
“This is the seventh time,” Kuroo says and his tone is accusing.
“I guess I must be lucky.”
Kuroo lets it slide with a sigh, as he tends to do, and leaves to buy them juice. Bokuto picks up the dice and brings it in front of his eyes. Every time he wins, he expects the dice to glow or show him a sign it’s not an ordinary dice. But the dice remains silver and small and cold just as it was the day Bokuto’s got it from Akaashi’s shop. He hides the dice in his pocket and waits for Kuroo’s return.
When they go home from school, he and Kuroo have a habit of skipping every second tile on the pavement. Kuroo is better at it. His legs are long, and keep growing longer, and by now he can skip two tiles without breaking a sweat. Bokuto has more power in his arms and can win any game of arm-wrestling – even against sixth graders. Still, he likes jumping over tiles.
“Hey, Tetsu,” Bokuto says. He’s just skipped over a tile and watches Kuroo skip over two. He lands as nimble as a cat. Bokuto’s never seen him fall.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you ever come with me to visit Akaashi?” Bokuto asks, like he’s been meaning to for a while. He still remembers the look on Kuroo’s face when he looked back on that day two and a half years ago.
Kuroo stops skipping stones. He keeps his hair trimmed but some disobedient strands stick up on the top of his head and the back of his neck. He turns away from Bokuto and his hair does a cute bouncing motion Bokuto sometimes teases him about.
“Tetsu?”
When Kuroo faces Bokuto, he’s grinning. A cat-like grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually does.
“Let’s go,” Kuroo says.
“Yeah!”
Bokuto leads the way. When they enter the narrow street, Bokuto navigates the cracks and holes in the pavement. He’s made a game of it. He pretends a nasty, otherworldly hand will grab his ankle if he comes too close. When they near the shop, Bokuto prepares to call for Akaashi. Kuroo grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him behind a garbage container.
“Tetsu?”
Kuroo’s fingers are thumbing the back of Bokuto’s shirt, trembling. Bokuto can’t turn around like this. Kuroo doesn’t let him.
“Kou, I can’t see it,” Kuroo says. Bokuto goes cold. He doesn’t understand. “You can see it, right?”
“It’s right there,” Bokuto says and peeks at the shop. It’s there, with its weird hovering wall-roof and protruding counter and Akaashi and full shelves.
“I can’t see it.”
Bokuto fights against Kuroo’s hold and turns around. He smiles, as wide and reassuring as he can, and puts his hand on Kuroo’s shoulders. Kuroo is only a few centimeters shorter, but just enough for Bokuto to have an upper-hand.
“Let’s go to my place and play video games.”
Kuroo’s eyes light up behind his messy fringe. “Yeah.”
FOUR: Akaashi tells Bokuto something he doesn’t want to hear
Bokuto leaves the house early that morning and runs to Akaashi’s shop. The sun hits the back of his head and he feels dizzy and hot by the time he reaches it. He’s surprised to find another person inside, perusing one of the books from the shelves.
Akaashi is working on something on the table and he greets Bokuto with a smile. Bokuto drops his school bag on the floor and walks deeper into the room; the deeper he goes, the cooler the air gets. He welcomes the opportunity to breathe.
The lady puts the book down and comes to stand next to Akaashi. She’s tall and has a shiny hair that reaches her waist. When she leans down, her hair falls in golden waterfalls over the table. Bokuto is breathless with her beauty and looks away before she catches him staring.
Akaashi works, undisturbed by two shadows hovering above him, on a bookmark. His fingers leave a dust of purple wherever they touch the glossy surface. Bokuto finds himself wishing Akaashi would touch his hair and make it glow red or silver. After a while, Akaashi finishes the bookmark and lifts it to his face for a final check-up.
“There,” Akaashi says and hands the bookmark to the lady. “It will never fall out of your books. And it will memorize every page or quote you like.”
The lady’s lips are pink and lovely when she smiles and takes the bookmark. “Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
“You owe me only to use it well,” Akaashi says. He doesn’t smile often, and he doesn’t smile now, but the way he talks often feels like a smile. And his intentions carry.
The lady gives Akaashi a quick peck on the cheek and even ruffles Bokuto’s hair on the way out.
“Whoa! You can make a bookmark like that? Can you make me a pencil that solves my exams 100%?” Bokuto jumps around Akaashi. He eyes the tools on the table but there’s nothing magical about them. The magic is in Akaashi’s fingers. Or so Bokuto believes.
“Yes, I can,” Akaashi says. Bokuto beams hopefully. “But I won’t.”
Bokuto purses his lips and presses the pads of his fingers together in a subtle pleading gesture. “Aw, Akaashi.”
Akaashi crouches and ruffles Bokuto’s hair with both his hands. “You have to study.”
“You sound like Kuroo.”
Akaashi stops ruffling Bokuto’s hair. “How is he…? Kuroo?”
Bokuto stops pouting. There’s a hollow ache in his chest that he can’t explain. But it’s familiar. He’s felt it when Kuroo told him he can’t see the shop.
“He’s fine,” Bokuto says. “His hair does that thing though.” Bokuto performs a couple of weird gestures that are meant to represent Kuroo’s wild hair. This would make Kuroo smile. It should make Akaashi smile too, but Akaashi’s eyes are keen and beckoning. Bokuto’s hands fall to his sides. “Why can’t he see your shop?”
Akaashi sighs. Bokuto’s glad he doesn’t stand up. Something about adults being on the same eye-level as him feels less condescending.
“He doesn’t need me for anything,” Akaashi says. “That’s not a bad thing.”
Bokuto bites his lip. “But I can always see your shop.”
Akaashi opens his mouth as if to say something but then his eyes fall behind the curtain of his eyelashes. He lifts himself up and leaves to sit at the counter.
“You’ll be late for school,” he says.
Bokuto just stands there for a couple of seconds. Then he runs for his bag, grabs it and keeps sprinting all the way to Kuroo’s house.
FIVE: hugs are meant to be a cure
Bokuto and Kuroo had grand plans for middle school. After Destiny’s intervention, they would end up in the same class as they always do. They debated which sports club they’d join and opted for either volleyball or soccer. One of them will be the new team captain. Kuroo said they would not throw dice for it. They would both grow at least 10 centimeters before high school.
All plans fell through and Bokuto is once again awake before the dawn. He doesn’t sneak out of the house. He storms out of it with anger and sadness in him that he doesn’t know how to express.
He jumps over the cracks in the pavement, trips over his own feet and lands face first. His chin stings and when he touches it, there’s blood on the pads of his fingers. He wipes his fingers on his shorts and keeps running.
Akaashi lifts his head as if alarmed by Bokuto’s desperate last sprint.
“Bokuto, you’re bleeding,” Akaashi says. His pupils swallow the color in his eyes.
Bokuto enters the shop and walks around the counter until he stands right in front of him. Akaashi clenches and unclenches his fist. Bokuto’s seen adults do this – it means they don’t know what to do.
That is alright, Bokuto thinks, because he knows what to do. Akaashi is sitting which makes it easy for Bokuto to wrap his arms around Akaashi’s neck and hug him. He’s never done this with Akaashi. He never needed to. But he likes hugs. Except when they mean ‘goodbye’.
Akaashi doesn’t return the gesture but he doesn’t attempt to push Bokuto away either.
Akaashi smells clean, like soap and jasmine. Bokuto realizes that it’s not Akaashi who smells like the shop but the shop that smells like Akaashi. He buries his nose in the crook of Akaashi’s neck and sobs. He didn’t mean to, but his throat is young and betrays him easily.
“Bokuto, are you crying?” Akaashi’s voice is tender and careful and it only makes Bokuto hurt more.
“No,” Bokuto lies. He feels bad for staining Akaashi’s skin and shirt with his tears and snot.
Akaashi’s silent for a while, then he says, “Are your parents still talking loud?”
“No,” Bokuto says. “Because I’m going to live with my mom in Hokkaido.” His mother mentioned returning home to her roots, putting distance between a broken relationship and a new start. Bokuto forgot half of it.
When he broke the news to Kuroo, Kuroo cried. Then Bokuto cried. Kuroo’s mom hugged him a lot and told him it’ll be okay, that adults can’t see eye to eye sometimes but it doesn’t mean they don’t love their children. Bokuto hopes Akaashi won’t tell him the same thing.
Akaashi doesn’t say anything. He pats Bokuto’s hair and stays silent for the longest time.
On the day of his departure, the winter is in full bloom. When Bokuto breathes, air freezes on his lips. Kuroo’s wearing his silly blue jacket with a snickering black cat. And he doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Bokuto’s glad. He hasn’t been crying for days now either.
Bokuto’s mother is packing the last of their things in her car. Bokuto’s father is helping her.
Bokuto takes this opportunity to hug Kuroo one more time. He’s aware that 12-year-old boys don’t often hug so often or for so long, but Bokuto doesn’t care. And neither does Kuroo.
“Don’t grow taller than me,” Bokuto says.
Kuroo, the sneaky bastard, wraps his hands on the inside of Bokuto’s unbuttoned jacket. This gives him an opportunity to tickle Bokuto’s sensitive sides. Bokuto wiggles and laughs but doesn’t break the embrace.
“I’ll be three times taller than you the next time we see each other,” Kuroo promises.
“You wish.”
Bokuto doesn’t like long rides in confined spaces. He falls into a dreamless sleep and doesn’t wake until they arrive at their new home.
SIX: making friends when you’re loud
Bokuto’s not nervous on the first day of middle school. Sure, some people may know each other but most of them will be in a new environment surrounded by new people. He marches into the classroom and shouts an enthusiastic “HEY”. He earns a couple of grins, a couple of raised eyebrows and a couple of whispers.
He’s seated in the last row between a boy with glasses and a blonde-haired boy. Neither of them talk to Bokuto. During recess, he texts Kuroo.
Me
hey hey still joining the volley club?
Kuroo
du’h you better join too so I can kick your ass one day (=ↀωↀ=)✧
Me
you wish!!!!!
Bokuto applies to a volleyball club and finds practice refreshing. He plays a few matches with other first years and finds spiking the ball the greatest thrill of all. The team captain is a tall, broad-shouldered boy who smiles like Kuroo. It scares other first years, but to Bokuto it's a hint of home.
Me
I think they’ll let me play in matches soon
Kuroo
let me guess: you were loud
Me
I am meant to be heard
Kuroo
(*ΦωΦ*) you’re meant to be defeated by one and only Kuroo Tetsurou
Me
you wish!!!!!!
Akinori Konoha is one of few classmates Bokuto dares to call his friend. At this point, he misses Kuroo to the point of madness. He texts him about it and Kuroo tells him to stop being sappy (and then he texts him that he misses him too).
Akinori often frowns and smirks at the most inappropriate of times. Bokuto is sure he would get along well with Kuroo. Both he and Bokuto become regular players in their second year. Bokuto is named the vice-captain of their team. But Bokuto is yet to play Kuroo in an official match. They made a vow: they will only face each other on the court once they’re third years and captains. It will make their final showdown that more dramatic.
Bokuto tells this to Akinori once. Akinori raises an eyebrow over his perfectly-made lunch box. He tells Bokuto to “do something about his lame receives before dreaming about epic showdowns.” Bokuto pouts about it for days, but stays late after practice anyway.
SEVEN: missing and needing
Bokuto often thinks about Akaashi, especially when he’s running. It’s like his legs know where they’re supposed to take him. He grows into a habit of running a lot, just to keep that feeling going. Cracks and holes in the pavement aren’t fun to jump over if the final reward isn’t seeing Akaashi’s face. He’s never asked for Akaashi’s number. When he thinks about it, he’s never seen Akaashi with a cell phone. He probably doesn’t have one.
He makes a mental note to ask Kuroo for a favour when he gets home from practice.
Evenings are reserved for Kuroo. Bokuto eats, showers, kisses his mother goodnight and then plops on his bed. Every muscle in his body is buzzing with exhaustion as he dials Kuroo’s number. Kuroo picks up fast, he always does.
“Meow,” Kuroo greets.
“Kuroo, I have a favour to ask,” Bokuto says. He twirls that old, color-changing ring around his finger. Right now, it’s dark blue. Bokuto attached it on a thin, silver chain because it wasn’t wide enough for his finger. He never takes it off. During practice, he tucks it under his shirt.
“Whoa,” Kuroo says. His voice is deeper over the line. “No hooting? This must be serious.”
“Kuroo.”
“Yes, go ahead.” Kuroo’s tone abandons playfulness and goes into serious-mode.
“Have you been to Akaashi’s lately?”
An awkward pause wraps around them. As if Kuroo knew what Bokuto would ask but didn’t prepare an answer.
“Sometimes I walk by. But I don’t see the shop. I often wonder if he notices me.”
Bokuto sighs. “He does, I’m sure.”
Another stretch of silence.
“Could you, maybe, go there and say ‘hi’ to him for me. Ask him how he’s doing?”
“Will that work?”
Bokuto opens his mouth and a string of incoherent ‘thinking’ noises leaves it.
“I need you to go see him,” Bokuto says.
“Yeah,” Kuroo says. Bokuto hears him smile. “Okay, that could work.”
The next day at practice, Bokuto is restless. He spikes a lot of balls and receives praise but he doesn’t feel good about it. Perhaps Kuroo is right in calling him simple-minded. But Kuroo should never be notified of being right.
Akinori makes him drink a bottle of water because he’s convinced Bokuto’s over-heating.
The evening couldn’t come faster. Bokuto skips dinner, kisses his mother twice to make up for it and jumps on his bed with a phone pressed to his ear. Kuroo answers after three rings.
“Good evening my dearest owl,” Kuroo greets.
“’Sup, Kitty,” Bokuto says in his usual tone when he’s, in fact, about to leap out of his skin.
“I have good news,” Kuroo says. Bokuto fights back the urge to scream a victorious ‘yes’. “I’ve been to Akaashi.”
“And, and—?“
Kuroo guffaws on the other end of the line. Something’s put him in a good mood. “Well, the shop looks exactly as I remember it. So does, Akaashi. He does have some swirly black tattoos on his arms that made me all hot around the collar.”
“Wow,” Bokuto says.
“Shut up,” Kuroo says. “Anyway, he told me to tell you to ‘study hard’.”
“Typical.”
“And that he misses you.”
Bokuto’s rendered speechless. He has to say something before Kuroo teases him about it. “Cool.” He wants to kick himself for his impeccable choice of words.
“I told him you miss him too.”
Bokuto laughs nervously. “And what did he say to that?”
“Nothing. He pretended to be all cool and flipped the page of his book. But he smiled, he totally did.”
“Cool.”
“Everything is cool to you today, isn’t it?”
Bokuto jumps out of his bed. A surge of energy fills his limbs. He feels like going for a run. “Sometimes, things are cool, Kuroo.”
“Right.”
EIGHT: family hair-dyeing
Bokuto is a third-year and named the captain of the team. He texts Kuroo about it only to learn Kuroo’s become a captain too. The promised day is approaching fast. His mom, a hair-dresser that took over her family business, tells him she’ll dye his hair. It’s a reward Bokuto is eager to accept.
She’s a perky woman, Bokuto’s mother. Bokuto’s been worried that she would lose her smile after the divorce. She did, for a while. But Bokuto understands, now that he’s older, that she and his father had disagreements. They split on peaceful terms and Bokuto didn’t blame either of them. Bokuto’s father visited them on every holiday. He brings gifts for both Bokuto and his mother. His parents simply didn’t love each other anymore. Perhaps that’s why Bokuto’s never heard them argue in those few days they were together.
“What colour is ‘pale pavement’?” She asks Bokuto when he sits in the chair.
“It’s pavement. But pale,” Bokuto says.
“So grey-silver?”
“Yeah, but leave black streaks in it.”
His mother begins combing his hair. “I can’t wait to see your father's reaction to pale pavement.”
“Me too.”
His mother laughs. Bokuto ranks her laugh number one in his books. Kuroo’s is number two. Akaashi’s is third and Bokuto feels guilty about it. Akaashi deserves to be somewhere between Kuroo and his mother, for the rarity of his smile alone.
Bokuto closes his eyes and doesn’t open them until his mother’s finished. When he opens them, his entire face lights up with a grin. The mirror is either very kind to him or this hairstyle was meant to grace his head.
“I look like I’ve been poking a socket,” Bokuto says and touches his hair. It’s soft but sticks upwards.
“Is that a good thing?” His mother asks through a smile.
“Yeah!” He gets out of his seat and turns to his mother. “You should dye your hair too.”
His mother puts her hands on her hips. “Oh, really? Which colour?”
Bokuto strokes his chin and thinks about it. The first thing that comes to mind is one particular morning a couple of years ago. He says, “A golden waterfall!”
“Blonde?” Says his mother as she touches a strand of her dark hair.
“I dare you,” Bokuto says and taunts her with his eyebrows.
“I’m not Tetsurou.”
“I double dare you.”
“Fine!”
Bokuto pumps his fist in the air, and that’s when it happens. His mother loses balance and comes falling forward to her knees. Bokuto jumps to catch her. She’s conscious but completely limp in his arms. Bokuto’s heart freezes with worry. She has been overworking herself.
“Mom?!”
“It’s okay,” she says, weakly, and grabs for his shirt. “I’m just tired.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, help me up.”
This doesn’t happen again for a few months.
NINE: epic showdown
“KUROO!!” Bokuto’s yell carries across the court. On the other side of the court, Kuroo lifts his chin with pride and cracks a Cheshire grin.
“You’re going down, annoying owl!” Kuroo points a finger at him.
“COME AT ME!”
The entirety of supporters and players stare at them in silence, mouth hanging open. Bokuto doesn’t care. He hasn’t been to Tokyo in years and he’s been waiting for this just as long. His mother and his father are sitting in the bleachers, face palming.
Bokuto approaches the net at the same time Kuroo does.
“What happened to your hair?” Kuroo asks and points at Bokuto’s head.
“What happened to your hair?” Kuroo’s head is messier than ever. Almost as if it has its own will.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” Kuroo teases. He tangles his fingers in the net. “Come here and hug me.”
Bokuto looks around him as if somebody can hear them. “I’m dying to. But we have a reputation to keep. We’re enemies now.”
“Damn, you’re right.”
“Plus, I’ll hug you once you lose. You can cry on my shoulder.” Bokuto sticks his tongue out and tugs the skin under his eye.
Kuroo’s eye twitches. “You’re on.”
Kuroo’s team is good. When Bokuto says good, he means that they gave him a run for his money. Kuroo did grow taller than Bokuto. Not by much, admittedly, but he’s a scary presence in front of the net. His team flows around him like water and he controls that flow like a musician.
But Bokuto’s better. He’s fire where Kuroo’s water. Together, they fight the steamiest battle Tokyo Middle School Championship has ever seen. Bokuto’s team wins two out of three sets and, as promised, he and Kuroo hug it out right there on the court. Kuroo doesn’t cry, as Bokuto’s dream scenario entailed. As revenge, Bokuto musses Kuroo’s hair and Kuroo can’t stop laughing.
TEN: when it rains
After the match, Bokuto splits with his team which returns to Hokkaido. He goes with his and Kuroo’s family for dinner. The idea of running towards Akaashi’s shop crosses his mind more than once but he decides against it. If he sees him now, he could lose his resolve.
They dine at a small family diner that serves the best teriyaki and beef bowls. Bokuto orders more than he can eat but neither of his parents chastises him for it.
“Next year, I’ll beat you,” Kuroo promises.
“You can meow at the moon all night, but you’ll never win.”
Kuroo lightly kicks him under the table.
Their parents are involved in their own conversation. Bokuto feels like he’s home again. He’s quick to adapt, so life in Hokkaido hasn’t been a nightmare. But moments like these remind him of how good it has been before. And he wants it back. He never voices these thoughts; they sound selfish in his head. He’s only allowed himself to make one promise – one day he will return to Tokyo.
It gets late and Kuroo yawns first. It’s been a long day for both of them. Kuroo pulls his team’s jacket over his shoulders and Bokuto rubs his full belly.
Bokuto’s mother excuses herself to go to the restroom before they leave. Bokuto feels like he’s about to fall asleep but he doesn’t want to live with the shame of being carried to the car. He’s fourteen, after all.
The blissful night ends when his mother doesn’t make it to the restroom at all. She doesn’t make five steps before she collapses. This time, she falls unconscious. Bokuto realizes with dread and guilt that he should’ve told dad about this earlier.
ELEVEN
Bokuto doesn’t know much about diseases and conditions beyond flu and chicken-pox. So, when his father tells him that his mother has a benign tumour, he only understands that it’s bad. Bokuto’s father insists his mother stays in Tokyo where he can be the doctor in charge of her and get the best treatment possible. He’s worried like Bokuto’s never seen him worry before. He explains, using as few big words as he can, that his mother’s condition can get worse. She needs to have the tumour removed. After that, she needs rest. A lot of it.
Kuroo squeezes Bokuto’s hand in the waiting room. Bokuto only realizes he’s crying when one of his tears falls on the back of Kuroo’s hand.
His father is strapped in his impeccable white uniform after he’s performed another set of tests on his mother. He brings Kuroo and Bokuto something to eat, but they set the food aside. His father sits next to Bokuto and strokes his hair. The gesture is soothing because Bokuto is jagged around the edges with acidic guilt.
“I spoke with your mother,” says his father. “And we both agreed it would be best if you moved back to Tokyo. If that’s okay with you.”
Bokuto gives a wordless nod.
On the verge of turning fifteen, Bokuto returns to Tokyo. Just not how he imagined he would.