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The gym erupts in a fanfare at the sound of the match's final whistle marking their victory. The women's volleyball team just secured their tickets to the Intercollegiate Nationals, a stage on which Bokuto Koutarou, outside hitter and vice captain, will shine brighter than ever before.
Akaashi pours all her joy into her screams from the high up in stands. And the crowd resonates with her, their exhilaration bouncing off the gym walls. The rest of the team embrace each other, laughing, smiling, leaping into the air. Bokuto, however, turns to the crowd and welcomes their praise with her arms swung wide open. She then does a brisk lap around their half of the court, punctuating it with an emphatic “Hey, hey, hey!”. The whole world echoes her exuberance in response and Akaashi’s hoarse voice melts into its orchestral chant.
Pride is too mild of a word to describe what she feels right now.
Witnessing Bokuto’s victory procession sparks a not-so-distant memory in Akaashi: her first year match where they won against a rival school and solidified Akaashi's spot at National’s for the first time. Excitement burned so hot in the air that Akaashi could feel its sting on her ruddy cheeks. Bokuto then too ran a lap around the court, chanting to the crowds and basked in the glory.
Up until then, Akaashi had never seen such a display from Bokuto, and its oddity had sent her into a fit of bewildered laughter. But what followed immediately afterwards had stunned her even more.
Bokuto had galloped towards Akaashi, barrelling down the court like a one-woman stampede. Akaashi, too swept up in the emotions to listen to what little remaining rational thoughts, mirrored her, gunning for Bokuto until they clutched at each others’ jerseys, so close they were almost one body, helpless to pull away.
So much was shared in that embrace. Beyond a renewed love for volleyball, in that hug was an understanding Akaashi had previously never been privy to. No words had been exchanged then, yet a new depth of Bokuto had been reached, one that nobody else, as far as Akaashi was concerned, knew.
Pride is much too little a word. Even now, Akaashi is drawn to Bokuto.
She fixates on Bokuto from the stands, waiting for her to look back, wondering if Bokuto is the feeling same. But Bokuto is occupied by the rest of her team and the student body, of whom have made their way to the barricades just to stand as near to their victors as they are permitted. Bokuto laughs, welcoming hugs from people with a familiarity Akaashi hadn’t expected.
And she doesn’t appear the slightest bit concerned that of none those she takes into her arms are Akaashi.
Akaashi pauses, becoming a static pixel amongst the vibrant crowd. The tension in her chest slackens into a flaccid, plaintive weight. What was once warm sweat on her skin goes clammy, and her heart races sickeningly quick. Akaashi tries to quell its pace by taking some slow breaths, but the sight of Bokuto whispering in the ear of people who are complete strangers to Akaashi spikes it back up.
Carefully, Akaashi takes one step back. Then another, and another, until she’s made it to the doors, opening them to head into the twilight.
***
Akaashi chooses to walk all the way home that evening.
Akaashi brushes past swathes of city-goers, salarymen retiring for the night, others just getting their night started, switching back and forth between picking at the lint collected in the pocket of her oversized hoodie and fiddling with the straps of the book bag hung on her back. Prior to the game’s start, she didn’t have enough time to stop off at her place following her last lecture and arrive on time. Akaashi opted instead to head to the gym immediately after her class ended. The weight of the various Japanese and English classics she’d no doubt spend the weekend poring over were nil in comparison to how light the anticipation of watching Bokuto’s biggest game made her feel.
And she hoped to find that same relief during the venture to her apartment. Yet nothing arrives. Tokyo’s dusky summer breeze does little to bring her respite. Clear orange skies and the glittering building lights all wash grey beneath her ongoing inner tempest. The distance between Akaashi in the stands and Bokuto on the court now seems greater than ever before.
Bokuto along with Konoha are the only two of her high school seniors that attend her university. While Akaashi never let other people dictate how she conducted herself, she would be amiss if she denied that their being here didn’t influence her first choice of higher education even a smidgen. Her dull final year of high school contrasted starkly to what was a technicolour of emotions in the year prior, and the prospect of once again being in the circle of those responsible for its vibrancy was too enticing to turn away.
In typical Bokuto and Konoha fashion, when Akaashi informed them that she would be attending their university, Bokuto was beyond enthusiastic, promising her a year full of excitement and wonder, whilst Konoha reeled her expectations in, telling Bokuto rather bluntly that Akaashi would carry on the tradition of helping her senior with her assignments until the day that they die.
Either way, Akaashi had been looking forward to it.
But now that Akaashi particularly considers it, Bokuto perhaps did set her expectations too high. Between her volleyball practice, lectures and increasingly challenging assignments, there hasn’t been enough time for all that she had promised. Or maybe, Akaashi considers again, she was the one to misunderstand things.
So far, Akaashi’s time here hasn’t been entirely dissimilar to her final year at high school; the solo study library sessions, the quiet walks home, the silent apartment. Of course, she never holds it against Bokuto. She’s busy. And it’s not as if they never see each other. Akaashi’s been invited around to hers and Konoha’s apartment for the occasional dinner or failed study session (Akaashi realised very soon that no amount of extra reading would make her capable of explaining human physiology to a caffeined-up Bokuto), and Akaashi cherishes those fleeting moments. They are in both parts the source of what is getting her through an otherwise tepid year and the reminder of her self-pity.
Akaashi stops in the streets, clutching on her bag straps. She pays little mind to the crowd brushing against her, focussing instead on settling her breathing.
Akaashi exhales carefully. Then, she checks her phone to find not a single message, not from Konoha, not from Bokuto, not from anybody. She texts Bokuto a quick congratulations, cites something about reading due and hides her phone in the depths of her bag before walking all the way to her apartment, alone.
***
Her studio apartment welcomes her with a quiet ennui with which she has become well acquainted over the year. Akaashi makes work of her backpack, relegating it to her bed’s corner before collapsing into her desk chair. Swivelling around, the four plain walls, decorated with nothing but the paint job it came with, comes into her view.
Akaashi realises she’s now expectant, and that she’s been that way for a lot of her life.
Waiting for something exciting to appear before her, be it with her middle school volleyball team or with colleagues at university. Akaashi is by no means a recluse. Though her reticence precedes her, she is not incapable of meeting people where they are—she perfected that skill in middle school, after all.
But, having had a taste of what it means for someone to be equally as indulged in your presence as you are theirs, she fears she’s been hooked. So now, sitting here in a sullen apartment that has had a total of only two guests, of whom the gap between their visits increase with the progression of the academic year, she ponders whether there is a tangible difference between her presence and absence in Bokuto and Konoha’s life.
Akaashi recalls the swell of pride that almost consumed her barely an hour ago. She remembers how content Bokuto seemed with that crowd and how she slot in the arms of her teammates like a puzzle piece, whispering things Akaashi would have once been able to glean from a glance a little under a year ago. Now, her expressions foreign. Yet Akaashi had still been reaching out.
Evening static echoes off her four walls, ringing loud in Akaashi’s ears, revealing in it nothing but an exegesis of all the emotions coursing through her. She’s but an innocuous footnote in her friends’ lives, foolish for expecting to be more. How childish must she be to cling onto these benign moments as if they are anything greater than a simple evening with a junior.
It’s all a bit pathetic.
Akaashi lifts herself up. She walks towards her bed. The book bag still lies dormant by the corner, but she still collapses onto the mattress and closes her eyes, even though she’s not the least bit tired.
A couple of hours later, when the sun has nestled beneath the horizon, Akaashi’s phone buzzes. She had assumed a fetal position the moment her body hit her mattress and hadn’t shifted since, so it clicks and pops as she turns to pull her phone out her pocket. Blue light assaults her retinas. Then, with her vision focusing, the notification that shows she received a text from Bokuto shakes out any remaining fatigue from her bones.
Her thumb strokes over the phone’s edge. She briefly considers shutting off the device entirely. However, that option is swiftly pulled away from her as the pad of her thumb brushes the notification and opening Bokuto’s message:
Bokuto
Akaashiiii! I know you have smart people book stuff, but I didn’t even get see you after the game :(
Akaashi regards the text for a moment, before replying:
Akaashi
Sorry about that. You seemed caught up with your team celebrating and thought best not to interrupt. Congrats again, by the way.
Not a second later, Bokuto messages back.
Bokuto
First, thanksss!
Second, Interrupt? Never!!! I wanted you to meet my teammates, properly!
It’s true that Akaashi has never been formally introduced to the university’s women’s volleyball team. But what’s also true is that she had a lot of essays to write this year, which left little room for excursions to the gyms situated at the other end of the city. Meaning that, in spite going to many of Bokuto’s games, Akaashi only knows her teammates by sight and through vague anecdotes shared by Bokuto during their increasingly infrequent meet-ups.
And a pettier part of Akaashi is loath to acquaint herself with them at all. Any introduction would quantify how little she knows of this new Bokuto: the apparent campus darling. She’d be too busy wondering what they know that she doesn’t.
Akaashi
I’m sure there’ll be other chances for me to meet them, Bokuto-san
Bokuto
Well duh! Me and konoha are going to one of theirs for a house party to celebrate our win. And you’re coming!!
Akaashi balks at the message. Her back stiffens straight and she peers at the words on her screen, making sure that they are what they say.
Akaashi
???
Bokuto
Cmon akaashi , it’ll be really fun! makoto’s parents have a huge house so we can go crazy. Nobody’ll care about your age. i already asked her and she said itd be fine if you come. And I reeaaaaally want you to come with us. Please?
Even though the message is simply words on a screen, Akaashi can hear the genuine plea in Bokuto’s voice, a voice that comes when she’s serious about something. It softens Akaashi.
Akaashi
Okay . I’ll go
Bokuto
Great :D !!! Come to mine so we can head there together <3
***
Fifteen minutes later, Akaashi’s stood in front of Bokuto’s apartment block door. Her finger hovers over the bell to their complex. Trepidation was never a word Akaashi attributed to herself but it’s what keeping her from buzzing in.
Perhaps Bokuto is only inviting her out of pity as consolation for all their missed time. If that’s the case, it’s only right Akaashi pardons herself. It’s may be a one-eighty from the her of ten minutes ago, but she only had the time on the train journey here to think through all she hadn’t when she initially accepted. She could turn and walk back. It’d be like she had never left her apartment.
The door opens, revealing Konoha who’s only a second short of registering Akaashi’s presence.
“Oh, you’re here,” she smiles, and gives Akaashi a quick hug.
Konoha is dressed up nicely, Akaashi assesses. She dons a very low cut, cropped, lacy black tank top paired with an equally short, stone-washed grey skirt. Her hair has a little more volume to it than normal, too. Konoha zips up the leather jacket hanging from her shoulders, stepping aside to usher Akaashi—who is now realising she may be underdressed—into the building.
“I’m just heading out to buy us some drinks. I’ll get you the stuff you like,” Konoha informs. She fixes her headphone into her ears. “The front door is open. Bokuto’s just getting dressed. I’ll see you guys in, like, half an hour.”
Konoha doesn’t spare Akaashi a second glance before she walks off into the busy streets. With all hopes of a brisk escape gone, Akaashi resigns to get the lift up to their apartment.
She lets herself into the quiet abode and takes a moment to soak in her surroundings. It has been a while since she’s been here. The warm, yellow spotlights of the front room allow no shelter for the clutter to hide in. Various books litter the coffee table, as well as days-old plates. Neither Konoha nor Bokuto were sticklers for cleanliness.
However, new, unfamiliar trinkets accent the mess. Some medals hanging on the walls. Pictures, too. Most of them look as though they were taken at parties. Bokuto and a group of people Akaashi have never seen before.
Trepidation returns heavy in Akaashi’s chest.
To her left, from the direction of Bokuto’s room, she hears some shuffling—no doubt from Bokuto who’s probably sitting, in a pile of clothes still pondering on what to wear.
“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi calls out. “I’m here.”
Bokuto replies, “Akaashi?! Come in, come in! I need serious help!”
Akaashi chuckles, her heart feeling mildly lighter, and lets herself into Bokuto’s room.
She finds Bokuto mostly as she expected: sat in a pile of clothes, pondering on what to wear. What Akaashi hadn’t expected was Bokuto being towelled, with her body still glistening from the shower she evidently just had.
Akaashi’s heart races and she’s quick to turn her gaze to anywhere but in front of her.
“Akaashi! What should I wear?” Bokuto desperately pleads.
“Bokuto-san, you’re practically naked,” Akaashi says, though it’s mostly air than actual words.
“Yeah, because I can’t find an outfit to wear.”
“Why did you call me in?”
“Because I need help picking an outfit? Keep up, Akaashi!” Bokuto claps with her words, glossing over her outstanding near-nakedness. “See, I’m really leaning towards this outfit here ‘cause it’s comfy but with how Konoha’s dressed, I feel like I have to match. And you know I don’t own anything as sexy as hers, so I’m stuck.”
Does she, now? Maybe Akaashi would have agreed at the beginning of the year but she can’t be confident in Bokuto’s assertion anymore.
With her eyes still turned away, Akaashi mumbles, “Why didn’t you ask Konoha for advice?”
Bokuto groans emphatically. “She would have said all my outfits are ugly without even looking at them. Konoha thinks I gotta to be more decisive, and I looked up what that word meant the other day, so I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of admitting to her that she’s right.”
This implies to Akaashi that Bokuto’s asked Konoha for help before. Maybe to look sexy. But sexy for who? Perhaps for the people smiling and laughing with Bokuto in the photos scattered on her walls.
To Akaashi’s chagrin, Bokuto stands up and walks towards her. Akaashi cowers into herself, fastening her eyes on the Cinnamoroll plush toy lying askew on Bokuto’s drawer.
“Hey, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks with an almost childlike curiosity, hesitant but longing. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter, Bokuto-san. I’m just trying to be respectful,” Akaashi replies. But as she stand here now, she’s reminded of how disrespectful she’s been for the years she’s known Bokuto. Akaashi has pictured her, more naked than she is now, in more compromising positions. “I’m not your teammate anymore, so it’s different.”
Bokuto, however, isn’t convinced. She steps back, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Why didn’t you come see me after the game?”
“You were occupiedwith your team and all your other friends,” Akaashi supplies; it comes out pathetically. “I didn’t want to impede.”
“That’s what I don’t get, Akaashi,” Bokuto says. “You said it in your text, too, and I can’t for the life of me figure out where you got the idea that you’d “interrupt” or “impede” me.” Bokuto visibly shrinks. “Did I make you uncomfortable, somehow?”
Akaashi gaze snaps up. “No. Never.”
“Then why do you hardly look at me?” Bokuto’s voice skirts on the edge of petulant.
“I didn’t take my eyes off you during the game, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. She fiddles with the string of her hoodie. “You were amazing—are amazing—but, it’s different now, isn’t it? Maybe I’m just meant to look at you from the stands...You have all these new friends that you’re caught up with, and when I see you with them, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I don’t know. I shouldn’t be clinging desperately to what we had in high school. It’s unfair to you.”
Akaashi watches as Bokuto soaks in her words. By nature of being herself, Bokuto is never subtle in her reactions, so figuring out her mood-tells wasn’t a massive learning curve for Akaashi. Bokuto’s expression cycles through confusion, hurt, conflict before arriving to something subdued, as if she’s settled an internal bargain.
“You feel you don’t know me?” Bokuto asks carefully. “Or that others know me better?”
Bokuto takes a few paces back. The wood-panelled floor creaks under her bare feet, painfully loud in Akaashi’s ears.
Then, to Akaashi’s shock, Bokuto releases her towel, revealing to Akaashi her completely naked body. Akaashi gapes but is unable to close her eyes to the sight before her. Her face runs hot, no doubt flushing three shades darker.
“Bokuto-san, what—?”
“Are you uncomfortable?” Bokuto asks, voice low and quiet.
If eyes are truly the window to one’s soul, then Akaashi’s may as well be a confessional. Their inability to choose whether to fix on Bokuto’s somehow placid face and her breasts are giving Akaashi away as the worst friend on the planet.
Akaashi stammers, “No – I’m – It’s not uncomfortable. I’m fine. I shouldn’t. I just shouldn’t look.”
“‘Shouldn’t’ isn’t the same as ‘not wanting to’,” Bokuto says. “Do you want to look?”
It’s as though Akaashi’s the naked one. Bokuto’s stare bores right through her, reading her every thought. Akaashi is unable to lie under her gaze.
When Akaashi doesn’t supply a response, Bokuto takes a step closer.
“I want you to look at me,” Bokuto confesses. “You know me, Akaashi, more than anyone else. All the good and all the bad. Towel on or off, I’m always naked to you.” She steps forward, a small smile on her face and her gaze half-lidded. “I like it. I want you naked for me, too, in more ways than one. But sometimes you get so in your head and when that happens, you push me away.”
“You’ve been so busy this year, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi whispers, looking nowhere except at Bokuto’s eyes. “I didn’t want to come onto you—not with everything going on. I just figured it would be best if I removed myself than…”
“Than what?”
“Than to be pushed away.”
Bokuto smiles gently. “I’d never do that. No matter how busy things are, Akaashi, I’m all for you.” Bokuto reaches for Akaashi’s hand with her own, sliding their fingers between each other, and leans her head in. “And you don’t need to make up these roundabout reasons for why you think that's not true. Just trust me when I say it: this much of me is only for you.”
Akaashi’s hand tremors. The nerve endings tucked in the webs of her fingers spark alight from the erogenous light touch of Bokuto’s thicker, calloused fingertips. Bokuto’s blunt nails softly scrapes the Akaashi’s palm, mapping the topography of its ridges and dips. Bokuto then cups its dorsum. She draws close to Akaashi, lips nearly brushing her pinna.
“If you want me to stop,” Bokuto says huskily, “tell me to stop.”
Akaashi bites her lips shut.
With her hand still fixed behind Akaashi’s, she draws it down to her breast, pressing Akaashi’s clammy palm to its soft mound. Akaashi shudders, as she’s goaded to clutch the flesh beneath her fingertips.
Bokuto exhales a shaky sigh. “All of this is yours. Only yours.” Akaashi feels the warmth of Bokuto’s breath travel through her ear’s meatus, and it pleasantly dissipates throughout her body, from the top of her head where it makes her mind swim, down to the tip of her toes. Every part of her is sensitised to Bokuto.
Akaashi runs a thumb over Bokuto’s nipple. It hardens from the stimulation, inviting Akaashi to pinch it between her index and thumb. Bokuto’s voice hitches ever so slightly but her smile remains, slightly wider than before. Her golden eyes are both lucid and dazed.
Bokuto, whose hand still rests on Akaashi’s, drags that hand down, allowing Akaashi relish in each rivet of her damp, toned abdomen until they arrive between her legs. Bokuto encourages Akaashi’s fingers into her folds, gliding back and forth as their fingers become increasingly wet. Bokuto hardly makes a sound, content with keeping her eyes locked on Akaashi’s expression.
“Akaashi,” she hums. “There are parts of me only you can understand.”
“Yeah,” Akaashi breathes back. Like velvet beneath her fingertips, Bokuto prods Akaashi’s fingers further, navigating it towards her clitoris and increasing her pace.
“How I feel, how I react to you touching me,” Bokuto says, mouth dangerously close to Akaashi’s neck, “It’s all for you, Akaashi. Only you.”
Akaashi’s engages in autopilot, applying her movements with a vigour as she would onto herself.
Inside her is a renewed conviction. Akaashi etches Bokuto’s every micro-reaction into her retinas: how the pale hairs on her arm erects when Akaashi flicks the pads of her fingers over her nipple, the way her eyes dilate when Akaashi slows down the pace briefly only to quicken her movement over her clit. How Bokuto momentarily leans in impossibly closer when Akaashi fiddles with the short, shaggy hair clung to the back of her neck.
Akaashi can tell Bokuto’s close from the way her breath hastens and shallows out. She closes her eyes, putting Bokuto’s hypothesis to the test, to see if their odd telepathic connection still is viable even now.
Bokuto passes with flying colours. She presses her mouth against Akaashi’s, prodding her velvet tongue through the seam of Akaashi’s lips. Like everything else about Bokuto, it’s warm and utterly disarming. Akaashi should feel embarrassed that she’s the one this flustered despite not even being touched. But there’s not an ounce of shame within her.
When Bokuto comes, it’s with a silent shudder into Akaashi’s mouth. After the longest minute in Akaashi’s life, they separate, and Bokuto rests her forehead against hers, staring into her eyes.
“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, seemingly for the its own sake.
“Bokuto-san—” Akaashi is cut off by the sound of the front door jostling open.
“Yo, I got us some drinks. And actually invoice me what you owe in a reasonable time!” Konoha’s voice rings out from the front room. “Where even are you?”
Bokuto laughs breathily and pecks Akaashi once more before stepping away to don her towel, seemingly unperturbed by what just went down. Bokuto’s moisture still lingers on Akaashi’s fingertips. She scrubs away any evidence of what happened against her hoodie.
Bokuto calls back, “We’re in here! Just picking an outfit!”
“Still? I already called us a taxi. I swear to God if you make us late—” Bokuto’s room door swings wide open with Konoha peering through. She’s entirely unfazed by Bokuto’s current state of undress, instead eyeing between Akaashi and Bokuto wordlessly.
“How long will you guys be?” Konoha asks flatly.
“Nori-Nori!” Bokuto giggles. “Akaashi just needs to pick what she wants to borrow from my closet. I’m still stuck though. Which outfit should I go with?”
She gestures to the outfits strewn on her floor, but Konoha doesn’t even look at them before saying, “They’re all ugly. Why don’t you ask Akaashi for some help or make up your own damn mind so we can go”—Bokuto throws Akaashi a look that yells ‘See?’—“The taxi’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Aye aye, Nori-Nori!” Bokuto salutes.
Konoha closes the door behind her, leaving Akaashi and Bokuto once again by themselves. Akaashi, who’s still buzzing from fingering Bokuto not up to five minutes ago, watches dumbly as Bokuto strips her towel to begin dressing up.
“You definitely should wear my shorts, Akaashi,” Bokuto says. Akaashi can hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve always thought they’d look so cool on you.” Bokuto then hands her a pair of oversized, flared denim jean-shorts, watching Akaashi expectantly.
“Okay. Thank you, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi smiles back. But, for some reason, Bokuto shrinks again. “What’s the matter?”
“I still don’t know what to wear. All of my clothes are so good, but which one do you like best?” Bokuto pouts.
Realisation hits Akaashi like a bullet train.
Ah. So Bokuto wanted to dress sexy for her.
Something giddy colonises Akaashi’s senses and she grins.
“As long as it’s not what you wore for Onaga’s eighteenth,” Akaashi says.
Bokuto gawks at her, affronted. “Hey! It was a good look. It’s not my fault some grandma got preachy on me.”
“It was hardly an outfit for a public park, Bokuto-san.”
“Well, I’m sure you loved it," Bokuto bites back, moody.
Akaashi chuckles at her childish display. “I think...I like that outfit the best.” She points to the outfit displayed on the floor nearest to the window. Bokuto’s woes instantly vanish and she beams once more, bounding for the garments and hastily adorning them. Akaashi watches the whole affair with mirth.
Once Bokuto’s dressed, she turns and walks up close to Akaashi. Without any words, she tugs at the hem of Akaashi’s hoodie. Akaashi lifts up her arms to allow Bokuto remove it, shivering as her fitted t-shirt does little to protect her from the cool air between them. Bokuto then picks at the button of Akaashi’s jeans.
“I meant it when I said I want you naked for me. In more ways than one,” Bokuto whispers. “You believe me, don’t you?”
Akaashi flutters her eyes shut and nods. She allows Bokuto to unfasten the button and undo its zip. The jeans fall slack by her ankles.
“I believe you,” Akaashi whispers back.