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flyingraijin · 3 years

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From Me To You | K. Bokuto

Summary: The strip club isn’t the kind of place you’d usually go to meet people. Really, you’re just there to do your job. And even after you do run into a kind of nice guy one night, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again... right?

(In which you fall flat on your face for Bokuto as he begins to teach you that you are, in fact, truly beautiful)

Pairing: ProVB player!Bokuto x chubby!fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, body insecurity, stripper!reader, this story is very pro-sex work, also artist!reader, also barista!reader, a sprinkling of a coffee shop au, mid-timeskip!bokuto ig, (he’s 23), implied depression and anxiety, bokuto is a dork, mentioned derogatory terms used against reader, overuse of the word “beautiful”, bokuto is a feminist, weird and random painting metaphors, reader has past trauma, misunderstandings, mild descriptions of a broken bone, reader has a cat, jealousy, simpful thoughts of bokuto’s back, self-deprecating thoughts, clothes shopping, i did not steal the plot of blue period what are you talking about, sakusa’s career may or may not be over, but who cares this story isn’t about him, SMUT, suggestive themes, lots of kissing, multiple orgasms, some dry humping, thigh riding, oral (both receiving), cunnilingus, bokuto is packing, vaginal sex, fluffy aftercare, overall chaos.

Word Count: 41.04k... (welp)

Available on AO3 here

Note: This was written for the Stay Soft Collab, hosted by @touyaspeach. I apologise that it’s so late - I got a little carried away with the length of the fic and then forgot that editing actually takes time. Still, I had a lot of fun writing this! It’s an idea that I’ve had bouncing around my head for a while and I finally had an excuse to actually bring to life!

I’m also gonna apologise in advance because this has not been beta read so I’m not even sure if it’s coherent.

In your years of adult life, you’ve come to learn that things can swing one of two ways. There are Good Days and there are Bad Days, and not really anything in between.

On Good Days, you can get out of bed. You can wash your face and get dressed into clothes you like. You can make yourself a nice breakfast and then sit and eat it while you watch the city wake up from the vantage point of your high-rise apartment. And then you can either go to your part time job at the nearby café, where you smile and chat and act friendly while you make people’s coffee. Or you can take the train to your university campus and go to class and be the happy, smiley, cheerful art student everyone there knows you as.

Bad Days don’t work that way. On Bad Days it’s a struggle to open your eyes and allow yourself to be awake. On Bad Days you throw on whatever clothes cover you the most completely and then leave your apartment after bypassing breakfast all together. And then you have to fake a smile and pretend everything’s okay for hours on end when, really, you want nothing more than to climb back into bed and sleep away your life.

And that’s not even the worst part. Because whether it’s a Good Day or a Bad Day, you always have work in the evening. Always. And while your evening job is tolerable, and even fun sometimes, on a Good Day, on a Bad Day it always feels like hell on earth. Always.

Today is a Bad Day.

You do your make-up before you go to the club. You prefer it that way - the calm quietness of your apartment helps you focus and you feel more at ease when you sit cross-legged in front of your mirror than you ever have in any of the three dressing rooms at work. You can spread out all your products like this, order your eye shadow palettes and arrange your lipsticks properly, instead of having to dig around in your make-up bag. It’s calm, meditative almost, and you’ve grown to rely on it before work like you rely on sleep.

It doesn’t help on the Bad Days though. Even now as you lean in close to the glass - which really needs a clean - your hand shakes as you put your lashes on and there are tears beading in the corners of your eyes. Your entire body feels weak, possibly because you haven’t eaten yet today and probably because everything has been a struggle. Your work bag still sits open and unpacked at the foot of your bed, despite the fact that you need to leave in less than ten minutes, and your phone is buzzing with unread messages that you can’t bring yourself to open. And all you can focus on right now is this stupid-fucking-false-eyelash-and-why-it-won’t-stay-put-

You sit back on your heels with a long sigh and stare up at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself not to cry. There’s a weight deep inside your chest that’s pressing you down into your carpeted bedroom floor and you want to succumb to it. Unfortunately, you know - from personal experience - that if you do, there’s no way you’ll be able to pull yourself back up. At least not in time for work.

Thankfully, before the temptation can grow any more, your phone jumps into life, the screen flashing brightly as a familiar ringtone begins to play out. You reach over and swipe it up from where it’d been lying abandoned on the floor and answer the call before you have a chance to overthink it. The blaring voice of Ayame rings out through the quiet room as you press the button to switch the call to speaker.

“Dude, you will literally never guess the rumour that’s going around right now!”

You can hear thumping music in the background of the call - Ayame is another dancer who usually works the same shifts as you and from what you can tell, she’s already at the club. She sounds excited, as usual, and you can hear the smile in her words even through the phone. It’s a welcome distraction from your own head and you manage to take a deep breath before leaning forward and trying to fix your eyelash once again.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, using your Good Day voice. “What’s everyone saying?”

“Apparently,” Ayame begins - you hear a door slam and the volume of the music drops substantially, telling you she’s stepped outside - “We’re having some real special guests coming to watch tonight.”

Your stomach drops. “Special guests?”

“I heard this from Emi, who said she heard it from Haruto, so take it with a grain of salt but…” Ayame pauses dramatically. “There’s supposed to be a whole group of athletes coming tonight.”

You pause to pick up your lash curler before leaning back towards the mirror. “Athletes?” you ask her, one eyebrow quirking up. “What kind of athletes?”

“No clue!” she replies cheerfully and you have to suppress a disappointed huff. “I think they play, like, basketball? Or something, I don’t know. I just heard that they reserved a table - seriously, who the fuck makes a reservation at a strip club? - and that they’re gonna be arriving sometime before nine-thirty.”

You glance at the time on your phone. 21:08, it reads, and you frown. Your own shift begins at nine-thirty and if they’ll be there before then that means… they’re gonna end up watching you all night. You heave a long sign and begin to lather your eyelashes in mascara. Great, just great, especially on a Bad Day of all days. That’s just when you want a bunch of athletes ogling you.

Still, you put on your Good Day face and joke and giggle along with Ayame as she continues to babble about the supposed special guests - wondering if they’re famous, wondering if they’re hot, wondering if they'd be interested in a private show – as you finish up your makeup. You keep her on the call even as you throw a few outfits into your bag and climb into a pair of sweats and the biggest jacket you can find. It’s only once you’re locking the door to your apartment, bag slung over one arm while you hold your phone between your shoulder and your ear that you say a cheery goodbye to her, promising to see her soon, and leave yourself to walk the rest of the way to the club in silence.

It only takes fifteen minutes to get there. The walk is quiet since by now you’ve learned what paths to take in order to avoid the main nightlife of the city, and the few people that you do pass simply duck their heads and carry on. You’re grateful for it – you’ve had your fair share of experiences with unpleasant passers-by and you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to handle it today of all days. When you finally reach the club, it takes no more than a nod at Haruto, the bouncer, before the doors are opened for you and you’re able to duck into the lively familiarity of the strip club’s interior.

Odd as it sounds, you heave a long sigh of relief once you’re swathed safely in the low lights and pounding music. It’s familiar to you and while it’s stressful and stuffy and loud, it’s a place you can be you.

It’s Thursday today and so the club is less packed than usual – still busy, but you can move easily between the throngs of people without having to get the elbows out. The atmosphere is also nice today, with happy chatter and giggling, and the general warmth of people who enjoy being here surrounding you from every direction. It soothes you as you slip silently around the back of the room, towards the dressing rooms, and reminds you of the fact that while it’s still a Bad Day, you might actually be able to have a little fun.

It’s as you’re walking past the bar that it happens. Your head’s down – as usual since you’re trying to draw the least amount of attention possible to yourself before you actually get up on stage – and so you’re not properly looking where you’re going. Someone steps backward and you don’t have enough time to react – one second he’s leaning by the bar and the next he’s right in your pathway. The pair of you collide, not with much force, but it’s enough to knock the glass of liquor he’s holding and have the liquid within it slosh up and over the sides. Right down your front.

You stand frozen for a moment, blinking in shock. Then the realisation begins to trickle in just as the amber liquid is soaking through the front of your hoodie. You back up immediately, going to apologise but when you look up at the guy, he’s already giving you a once over with a disapproving frown curling on his lips. Your words falter.

“O-oh, sorry,” you barely managed to stammer out, your face flushing with heat under the weight of his judgemental gaze. “I should’ve been looking where I was going…”

The guy snorts, rolls his eyes to the ceiling and then begins to turn away. “Yeah, you should have,” is all he grunts in reply and then turns his back on you completely to step back towards the bar. You blink after him, still stunned, before turning to look down at yourself again. His drink has left a large damp spot right down the front of your hoodie and, while it’s not any kind of catastrophe, it does put the cherry on top of an already Bad Day – you’re not looking forward to the idea of coming off your shift and have to change back into clothes that stink of booze.

You’re so preoccupied with staring down at the mark that will surely stain that you almost don’t notice a new figure approaching. It’s only when a pair of feet stop close enough for you to notice them out of the corner of your eye, and a hand reaches out to tap you lightly on the shoulder that you look up. And when you do, your jaw almost drops.

He’s tall. Like really tall. Enough that he towers over you with a presence that in all other circumstances would probably be terrifying. And he’s built. With broad shoulders, bulging arm muscles and pecs that you can see the outline of even through his dark shirt, he’s probably the buffest guy you’ve ever seen in real life.

And he’s smiling. At you, no less.

Butterflies.

The hand on your shoulder remains, a soft gentle presence that almost doesn’t match his hulking figure, and his eyes – at least, the brief flashes you get of them through the multi-coloured lights – are kind. You blink back up at him, still stunned, even when he leans down to say something in your ear.

You have to shake your head and ask him to repeat it when you miss his words the first time.

“I said,” he speaks again and you have to resist the shiver of pleasure that rushes up your spine at the low growl of his voice, “Are you alright?”

You stare at him for a few moments before your brain returns to you and you realise he’s asking about the guy you’d just walked into. Your cheeks flush immediately in realisation that he saw all that.

“Oh,” you say, already beginning to nod your head. “I-I’m alright, thank you.” You cringe inwardly at the way you sound, already too flustered to function. The guy, on the other hand, just gives you a skeptical look.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, leaning in again. “I was gonna say something to him but…” he makes a nondescript gesture with his hand before raising his head to glare over your shoulder. You realise quickly he’s looking at the guy you’d bumped into.

“That was pretty uncool,” he continues with a shake of his head. “He didn’t even apologise.”

Before you can protest he points down at your hoodie. “It’s a shame about that. You should probably wash it quickly, so it doesn’t stain.”

You look down at it yourself, at the patch of darkness that mars the otherwise crisp white cotton. It is a shame, you think sadly, considering this is your favourite hoodie. And also your newest.

However, ever the people-pleaser, when you look back up at the guy, you force a soft smile. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “This isn’t anything fancy anyway. I don’t mind if it gets dirty.”

He gives you a long look and you wonder briefly if he’s seen through your lie. Then he shrugs and drops his hand from your shoulder, reaching back to rub along the back of his neck instead. His fingers muss through his thick silver striped hair almost absentmindedly. “If you’re sure,” he says eventually.

You expect him to leave after that. After all, he’s done his duty as a ‘nice guy’ and checked on you after you’d embarrassed yourself. He has no obligation to stay and talk with you any longer. However, to your great surprise, he does. His feet remain rooted to the ground facing yours and when he gestures around at the club, it’s relaxed, not awkward in the slightest, as if he’s not forcing himself to be here. As if he wants to stay.

“So, what’re you doing here?” he asks you, curiously. Genuinely, as if he actually wants to know. “Thursdays don’t really seem to be… standard when it comes to coming to these kinda places, huh?”

“Oh.” You wonder for a moment if you should lie to him. Then you wonder if you can – you’re not exactly dressed for a club and there aren’t all that many alternatives for you to slip into on the spot. And, well, it’s always been a policy for yours, to tell the truth about your evening job, if you’re asked, if only for the sake of de-stigmatising it.

It’s with this in mind that you say, “I, uh, I actually work here.”

You gesture quickly to one of the brightly lit stages as you speak. The guy’s gaze follows your hand and then his eyes widened briefly before jumping back to you.

“Oh!” he exclaims and then pauses, giving you a second to think ‘here it comes’. But it doesn’t. Instead, his expression breaks into one of genuine wonder and … admiration?

“Whoa,” he continues, now looking back and forth between you and the stage. “That’s really cool!”

You stare at him, shocked. “Cool?” you manage to ask, trying to figure out what he means. There must be something else in your voice as well because he colours instantly, glowing pink under the rolling lights.

“Well, obviously not like… well… I just mean…” he stutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The stuff with the pole. It’s really impressive. I-I remember reading somewhere that you gotta have, like, crazy core strength to hold yourself up like that!”

You continue to stare at him as his sentence dies out, even more shocked than you were before. Anytime you’ve admitted that you’re a dancer to someone other than fellow dancers – especially men – you’ve been faced with either polite tolerance or outright disdain. Never… enthusiasm.

It feels odd to be praised in this way by a complete stranger and yet… you can’t help but look up at the guy with wonder in your eyes.

The guy himself is looking increasingly embarrassed now, still rubbing his hand along his neck. “Sorry,” he begins, oblivious to your warming heart. “I didn’t mean to… make you uncomfortable or anything. I just-“

“No, it’s okay,” you cut him off before you can stop yourself. Your gaze drops to your toes once again. “I was just caught off guard because… well, no one’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“Oh?” He grins then, some of the tension dissolves from his shoulders. “So you’re not, like, angry or anything?”

“No, of course not,” you tell him with a hurried shake of your head. The warmth in your chest is spreading. “I actually really appreciate it. Most people… well, they don’t really understand.”

He almost looks sad as he peers down at you through the dim light and you avoid his gaze hesitantly, not quite knowing what to say. For a moment you almost think that he’s going to reach out to you again, his hand hovering in the air like he wants to touch your shoulder as his mouth begins to open.

And then your phone, which is stuffed deep in the pocket of your sweatpants, vibrates angrily.

You jump, not at all expecting the feeling, and then blanch dramatically. The sudden awareness of your phone in your pocket brings you crashing back to reality and you remember with a sickening twist in your gut that you’re supposed to be getting ready for your shift – there can’t be more than two or three songs to go before it’s time for the dancers to switch out.

The guy seems to realise this too because his hand drops immediately and he takes a step back, eyes wide. You meet his gaze for a quick second before dropping your head again, ducking away from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you start to say, quickly. “My shift’s about to start. I gotta-“

You start to move past him, blushing furiously. But, to your surprise, he catches the crook of your arm before you can disappear into the crowd completely. “Wait-“ he starts and you turn back to him, eyes questioning.

“I, uh, didn’t catch your name.”

You blink, surprised, before your blush intensives even more. Quickly ducking your head, you pray that the darkness is enough to hide your flustered expression as you quickly tell him what he wants to hear. He seems to process it for a moment before a grin catches at his mouth, turning the corner of his lips upward.

“Wow, that’s really pretty!”

He’s trying to kill me, you think wildly as your heart goes on an absolute rampage in your chest. You almost want to cover your face with your hands just to make sure he won’t be able to feel the physical heat from your flushed cheeks.

“T-thank you,” you managed to stutter out before taking a breath. “Uh… what’s yours?”

“Oh.” His grin widens. “Bokuto. Koutaro Bokuto.”

You can’t help the smile that begins to curl across your own face as you drop your head in a bow in his direction. “Well, nice to meet you, Bokuto. I’ll see you around.”

“See ya,” he replies, and then you’re off, diving into the throngs of people before he can look any more at your embarrassed face. Your heart doesn’t stop racing until long after you reach the door to the back rooms and slam it shut behind you.

Ayame is in an absolute frenzy when you finally walk into the dressing rooms. You barely have time to blink before she’s rushing at you, all glittery, netting bikini and pink, strappy heels. When she grabs your hand and pulls you in close, you notice that she’s got her expensive perfume on.

“I saw one of them!” she tells you giddily as she tugs you through the throng of girls all getting ready. “They’ve got one of the big tables at the back, the ones that are raised. I passed by them as I was coming in and oh god-!” She forces you down into your usual spot, a small section of counter that is already covered in all her things. “He was gorgeous! I swear, I’ve never seen a man like that in my life!”

You blink as your head spins, struggling to keep up with her. “Wait… Who?” you ask, as you begin to pull an outfit out of your bag, along with the first pair of shoes you’d chosen for the evening.

Ayame gives you an exaggerated eye roll and reaches over to flick lightly at your forehead with her perfectly manicured nails. “Our special guests,” she tells you and the ‘duh!’ is very much implied. “Those athletes I told you about? They’re here.” She shakes her head. “Sheesh, you’re spacey tonight.”

You don’t bother to tell her that the reason for said spaciness is because your head is full with thoughts of the man you’d just met. Instead, you just manage a simple nod and mumble out an, “Oh right,” before you begin to switch out your comfy sweat set with your chosen outfit of the evening.

Ayame helps you get ready, still babbling. Apparently, the guy she met was super tall, and had really pretty dark curly hair. You hum along as she describes him, only half listening as you secure the straps of your black and silver bikini before leaning down to begin putting on your shoes. Your thoughts are elsewhere, the memory of Bokuto’s large warm hand on your shoulder still simmering in the back of your mind, and you have to bite your lip briefly to keep from smiling as you recall the way his eyes had sparkled.

The call comes for the next set of dancers to be ready and you give your appearance one last check over in the mirror. On a Good Day, you might’ve thought you looked hot. But it’s a Bad Day, and so you can’t help but critique everything about your appearance. Your stomach twists up with nerves in the way it always does before you step out towards the stage and you hastily force your attention back to Ayame, who’s still talking as she straightens out her own outfit one last time.

She looks good, as she always does, with the fair skin of her toned, flat stomach glowing in the harsh lighting and her long dark hair silky as ever. You feel a brief twinge of jealousy as you stare down at her – as much as you love Ayame, being on the same shifts as her always makes you feel a little sick inside, especially on a Bad Day, since she’s so pretty and small, while you are… less so. Even as you turn away from her and begin to head towards the doors just as the faint thrumming beat of the music begins to dim, you can’t help but think briefly that she’s the kind of person Bokuto would want to watch dance.

You push the thought down immediately, frowning inwardly at yourself because what does Bokuto have to do with anything? And when Ayame moves up behind you, waiting for the song to end completely so the pair of you can step out into the club proper, you reach out to grab her hand. “Good luck,” you tell her in the way you always do before she goes out to dance. She gives you a smile and squeezes your hand back with the familiarity of years of practice.

“You too,” she mouths as the door opens and the dancers coming off shift begin to stream into the room as the beginnings of the next song start to reverberate through your feet. You take one last deep breath, centring yourself and putting on the persona you’ve created just for these moments. And then you follow the girl in front of you out into the pounding darkness of the club,

Someone whoops from somewhere in the back of the room and you have a feeling it’s for Ayame when you see her giggle and wave out of your peripheral vision. Your stomach drops but you do your best to ignore it as you climb the steps up to your designated stage, making an effort to sway your hips as much as possible as you do. It’s routine at this point, the step-by-step process of reaching the stage, wiping down the pole as sexily as you can and settling yourself into your position as the crowd’s next spectacle. There are eyes all over you, you can feel them. The way they glide up and down your figure, taking you in as their owners decide if you’re the girl they’re going to throw their money at tonight. And you do your best to give them what you know they want – your body already instinctively rolling in time for the music as you pause, waiting for the drop before throwing yourself into the familiar feeling of the dance.

And you’re able to lose yourself in it, somehow. Despite the flash of Ayame’s long slender leg in the corner of your eye, despite how uncomfortable you feel within your own body, despite the fact that it’s a Bad Day. You do it and you enjoy it, as slowly – as you always do – you begin to remember you actually like this part of the job.

You’re so engrossed in what you’re doing that you don’t notice his eyes on you until halfway through your second song. It’s always difficult to pinpoint faces in the crowd anyway, with them hidden in shadow and the lights all focussed on you. And your constant movement, the spin of the pole, and the rush that comes along with it, all of it often leaves your vision unfocussed and your head unbothered. However, when you catch his gaze for the first time, it hooks you and you can’t not notice him after that.

It’s Bokuto. He’s lounging at the back of the room, seating at a table with four other guys, all of whom seem just as built as he is. His head is tipped back just slightly and from what you can see through the dark, his arms are crossed over his broad chest. He seems to be studying each dancer, his golden eyes glinting every time one of the moving lights happens to flash his way, and you feel a shiver pass up your spine every time you catch a glimpse of his expression.

You can’t help but put on even more of a show, now with the confirmation that he is in the crowd, especially when his gaze finally finds you and your eyes lock with his for the briefest of seconds. He seems to shift then, his head tilting forward a little more and – although it might just be a trick of the light – the smallest of smiles traces his lips.

You feel yourself blush deeply, and then throw in an extra provocative move to try and regain control over yourself once more.

He watches you for the rest of your time on stage. You can feel his gaze like a physical touch against your skin, even when your own eyes close and even when your back is turned. It’s a little intoxicating, if you’re honest with yourself, and, much to your surprise, doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable in the same way the stare of someone else might. Quite the opposite even – when his eyes are on you, you feel beautiful.

Still, as you continue to dance and twirl, you try your best not to stare back at him whenever you’re facing in his direction. Partly because he’s incredibly distracting and partly because you’d like to keep some semblance of professionalism. He is a customer, of course, and the idea of appearing needy to him makes you gag just a little. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Your song ends not long after and you do your best to leave the stage gracefully. A couple of hands reach out to touch you as you go, always the desperate ones who sit right at the foot of the stage and throw money at anything with a pair of tits. You’re used to it by now and give them a simple flirtatious smile as you dart out of their reach and back through the door into the hallway outside the dressing room.

Ayame, as it turns out, is right behind you, and the moment the door closes, she’s talking again, gushing about the athletes. You nod along, agreeing to whatever she says and not feeling at all inclined to mention that you hadn’t even remembered they existed, with your mind so preoccupied.

Things are much the same the rest of the night. You do a total of six dances up on stage and each time Bokuto’s gaze is on you like a blanket. You can’t help but revel in it, coming off the stage giddy each and every time. And when your shift eventually comes to an end, the giddiness returns and you leave the club with an almost-smile on your face and the thought in your head that maybe this isn’t such a Bad Day after all.

There’s another thought in there as well, one which wonders if you’ll ever see Bokuto again after tonight. But you don’t let yourself acknowledge it until much later, when you’re curled up in bed and right on the brink of sleep.

It’s a Good Day the next day and somehow everything seems better for it. You wake up early, get to work at the café on time and then spend hours chatting and laughing with your co-workers and regulars. Your mood is light, happy, and even once you get off your shift, and head to your afternoon class, you can’t help but feel that all is right with the world.

You’re actually looking forward to going to the club that evening. And you put extra effort into your hair and make-up when it’s time to get ready, the giddiness from the previous night returning to prance through your gut like an excited pony.

You’re still in a good mood when you get to the club. But you don’t bump into anyone on your way in and there are no deep golden gaze hanging over your shoulders when you get up on stage. And so you leave work that night with an undeniable feeling of disappointment sitting like a brick in your gut.

The day following is a Bad Day and it’s made even worse when you arrive at the café only to find out that your favourite co-worker is off sick for the day. You have the earliest shift too, and opening up shop is a drag without him yapping your ear off the whole time.

Customers are slow to arrive, as they usually are on a Saturday. Your first few orders of the day are simple and then you sit on the spare stool hidden behind the bar with your chin propped in your hand and your eyes dull and downcast. There’s a lot weighing on your mind – you have a theory paper due for uni tomorrow, which you’re not confident about in the slightest, and your favourite pair of heels broke when you went to clean them the night before. Not to mention the fact that today is probably the busiest day of the week for your club and while you’re sure to make enough to pay rent for the next few months, you’re probably not going to have the greatest time.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes in your pocket. After checking to make sure your manager isn’t hanging over you like a hawk, you pull it out and open your text messages. There’s a new one from Ayame; a reminder that she can’t join you tonight at the club because of some obligatory family function she needs to attend, as well as an invitation to grab dinner together on Sunday evening once her shift at the club is over (you have a feeling the latter is an apology of sorts for ditching you on the most intimidating night of the week).

As you type back a response to her – a “no worries :)” and a “I’d love to get dinner!” – you hear the sounds of a talkative crowd passing by the large window at the front of the shop. Then the door itself is pushed open, the old hinges squeaking in a way that you’re used to. You hastily stuff your phone back into your pocket before anyone can spot it and slide off the bar stool, eyeing the new customers cautiously.

It’s a group of four young men. They sidle in one after another and it’s impossible to mistake them for anything but being together for the fact that they’re all wearing matching back tracksuit jackets with white embroidered words stitched across the front. They’re all also ridiculously tall, apart from one, and you can’t help but feel intimidated as they approach, towering over you like trees. One of them is grinning – smirking, really – as he chats idly with another guy behind him, whose face you can’t see, and the shorter guy is pouting sulkily at his much taller, older looking companion, who sports a shock of curly dark hair and a black dust mask.

You put on your Good Day smile and offer the group a generic, polite greeting, which a few of them reciprocate. Then you drop their eyes again and try not to draw any more attention to yourself as they begin to discuss the menu, which is printed in swirly black font on two large boards on the wall behind your head. They’re not the kind of customers you enjoy serving on Bad Days, especially in such a big group and you find yourself hoping they make their decisions quickly so you can go back to your silent sulking.

They don’t. It takes at least five minutes before they stop their joking with each other and then another five for them to actually decide what they want. You almost want to roll your eyes when you hear one of them wondering about the caffeine content of the drinks and what it’s could do to one’s metabolism – seriously, it’s just coffee. However, you hitch your smile right back on your face when finally the short one with bright red hair steps forward towards the counter.

“Hi! How can I help you today?” you ask in a voice so practiced it’s almost funny. He gives you a real genuine smile in return, one that’s so easy it almost makes you jealous, and then says, “Hello! Could I get the iced gingerbread latte with extra whipped cream?”

Your progression through the rest of the orders is slow after that, since they get increasingly more complicated. But you keep up your smile as you ring each one up, your mood brightening substantially when each one of them stuffs some cash into the tip jar sitting on the counter.

It does take you some time to make all their drinks, even longer than usual because you’re the only one behind the counter today. Thankfully they don’t seem too bothered and after hanging around the counter, checking out the rest of the menu for a few minutes, they each accept their coffees with a smile and then make their way over to one of the empty tables that sits by the large window. You breathe a sigh of relief when you’re able to go back to your sulking, letting your smile drop as you slip back into your seat to begin discretely going through your phone once again. You’re so distracted by it that you almost don’t notice the door opening a second time. It’s only when there’s a cheer from the group that your attention is grabbed and your eyes flicker upwards for a brief moment to see what the commotion is about.

“Bokuto!” the guy with red hair yells out, and at the same time you catch a glimpse of the new guy’s face. Your entire body freezes up.

Bokuto? But…

There’s no doubt when you look up at him properly – it is him. You recognise the broad shoulders and thick arms, and the hair – although it’s much lighter than you’d originally been able to make out in the club. He’s grinning as he moves across the room, his stride long, confident and relaxed. His face too, lacks any tension and it seems so effortless as he reaches out to fist bump a few of the guys.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you hear him say, although he really doesn’t sound too bothered. “I ran into a couple of fans…”

You duck your head back down before you can listen anymore and stare down at the wooden counter-top with burning cheeks. It’s not like you know him, not really, and you shouldn’t be listening in on a customer’s conversation. You doubt he’d remember you anyway, especially as you are now, not dolled up and dressed in sparkly underwear in the darkness of some club.

It’s because of this conclusion you’ve come to that when he begins to head towards the counter himself, obviously on his way to get his own drink before joining his friends, that you don’t shy away from going to meet him on the opposite side. He definitely won’t recognise me, you think, far too confident. I doubt he even remembers my name.

(You don’t let yourself acknowledge how sad the thought makes you feel)

You realise your misjudgment when you raise your head to smile at him and say, “Good morning!” only to see his entire expression freeze up.

For a long moment, the pair of you just stare at each other. He must be struggling with the idea that some stripper he’d met days earlier in a club is now the one taking his coffee order, however all you could manage to think is… Shit, he’s really attractive.

Because he is. Like… really attractive.

He’s tanned in a way that reminds you of a surfer; even and natural. His hair is an even mix of silver and black, and lies fluffy against his forehead, looking just a little damp. The v-neck shirt he wears beneath his black tracksuit jacket shows off the contours of his collarbones and the lines of his jugular, something you’ve never looked twice at on anyone else before, but now can’t seem to stop eyeing up. And his eyes – god, his eyes – are just as bright as they’d been in the club, golden and shining as his gaze flicks across your face.

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards just slightly. And then he says, “It’s you.”

You’re not entirely sure how to reply, too engrossed in staring up at him. So all you say in return is, “It’s me.”

“You…” He says your name softly then and it’s a surprise to you how good it sounds in his voice. You didn’t think he’d remember it, but he does, with confidence. It makes you smile.

“I, uh…” he continues with an awkward rub at the back of his head. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“Well, I do,” you say before you can stop yourself and then blush deeply. Hastily, you drop his gaze. “I mean… um…”

You look up again at the sound of his chuckle however, your heart leaping at the sight of his big, goofy smile. “I’m glad,” he says then, and then rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “I, uh, wanted to come find you once your shift was over but… I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me again.”

I did, you think but you don’t say it out loud, instead just pursing your lips as your heart pounds in your chest. Bokuto looks a little sheepish.

“I thought… you were really good in there. When you were on stage, I mean,” he tells you, blushing. “I-I mean… well, you looked… really good.”

Your stomach swoops. “You mean that?”

“Yeah” He offers you a shy smile. “I thought – I thought you were really beautiful!”

Beautiful.

Not pretty. Not hot. Beautiful.

It’s not a word you hear used to describe you a lot and for some reason the way he says it now makes your heart ache in your chest. It sounds so genuine and real. So raw, if you had to sum it up. And for some reason, it almost makes you want to cry.

“I…” you mumble and then shake your head, unable to keep your watery smile off your face. “Thank you. That… that means a lot.”

He shrugs modestly but you can tell he’s a little embarrassed too. “It’s just the truth,” he tells you, before quickly changing the subject. “So, you work here too?”

You nod, trying to force down the butterflies that are raging inside you. “Yeah, only part time though. Just doing what I can to pay for uni.”

His eyes widen a little. “Oh, you’re studying? That’s really cool. What course are you doing?”

“I do oil painting at Tokyo University of Arts,” you tell him, bashfully. “It’s not really anything special but …”

“Whoa!” Bokuto exclaims. “So you can, like, paint and draw, and stuff?”

You can’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm, and raise your hand to cover your mouth quickly. He grins back at you, his eyes sparkling and you feel a warmth bloom in your chest. “Yes, I can paint and draw,” you tell him, chuckling. “I’m actually pretty good at it.”

“Wow,” Bokuto says and he sounds genuinely awed. “That’s so cool. You’re cool.” His eyes suddenly brighten even more and he looks so excited that you’re reminded of a child on Christmas. “It that, like, what you want to do after you’re done with uni? What kind of stuff do you paint?”

Your eyes widen a little because no one has ever taken an interest in the art you do, especially not someone outside of your university class. My god, this kid, you can’t help but think to yourself as you stare up at Bokuto, feeling the warmth in your chest spreading even more. He’s gonna make me fall for him.

Still, you tuck some of your hair behind your ear, and try your hardest to control your wide smile. “I-I mean , oil painting isn’t too much of a career, but I do want to go into fine arts in some way, Maybe as an art teacher? And I’ll paint anything, really, as long as it inspires me.”

“Oh really?” he replies enthusiastically. “I’ve actually always really admired artists. N-not that I know much about art at all!” he adds hastily, looking flustered. “I just… I don’t know, it’s interesting.”

He’s so cute! You want to squeal but obviously hold yourself back. Still, you can’t stop staring at the way his blush tints the apples of his tanned cheeks.

“I was never all that good at… well, academic stuff,” he continues slowly, running a hand through his hair. “College was never really in the cards for me. And I guess -“ he gestures back to the group of guys sitting at the table in the corner, all of whom seem to be watching the pair of you with interest, “- volleyball was all I ever kind of thought about.”

“Volleyball?” you ask, glancing between him and the group. Then your eyes widen as you remember their matching jackets. Bokuto is close enough to you for you to read the writing on his and as you squint at it things start to fall into place.

MSBY, is what is embroidered over the left side of his chest, with a little design of a jackal head beneath it. Your eyes widen further.

“Oh, you’re-!”

“Yeah,” Bokuto grins, looking proud. “I’m actually a professional volleyball player.”

This time it’s your turn to look awed. “Wow!” you say, now looking over to study the faces of what you assume are his teammates. You’d never been a huge volleyball fan but you know enough about it to realise this is kind of a big deal. Even as your eyes pass over the group of guys in the corner, you realise you actually recognise one of them – the shorter, red-haired dude is someone you remember from years earlier, when you’d been bored and decided to watch the national high school volleyball championships on TV one afternoon. If you remember correctly, he was actually in the same year as you, back in high school. As your gaze rakes over his face, he smiles brightly at you and you blush.

“We actually ran away from our coach, that’s why we’re here,” Bokuto admits and your gaze snaps back to him. You can’t help but snort at how sheepish he looks, messing with his hair again. “He, uh, gets kinda scary sometimes.”

“I see,” you giggle. “Well, I’m not gonna snitch on you, so you can hide in here as long as you need.”

Bokuto laughs with you then, an easy chuckle that fills your insides with bubbles. “Thanks,” he says. “I might take you up on that more often.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you tell him with a soft smile and then catch yourself. You’re flirting with him. And, unless you’re totally misreading the situation, he’s flirting back.

Hastily, you look away, blushing furiously. “So,” you say, clearing your throat. “H-how long have you been playing volleyball?”

“Since I was really little,” Bokuto replies. He grins and you can’t help your own smile because it’s so obvious he loves talking about it. “One of my older sisters got me into it. It’s quite a funny story actually – she was supposed to be babysitting me but she wanted to go hang with her friends so she dumped me off at a local volleyball club. After that, I was hooked.”

“That’s really cool!” you tell him, grinning. “My high school had a volleyball club and one of my friends had a huge crush on the team captain, so she dragged me along to a few matches.” You wince, remembering. “The stuff they did looked super intense, and that was just high school volleyball. I’m sure your games are even worse.”

Bokuto chuckles “Yeah, things can get pretty crazy. Especially with some of the monsters we’ve got on our team.” He jerks his head back in their direction. “I love it though.”

I can see you do, you almost say but don’t for fear of sounding rude. In truth, you think it’s adorable, the way he gushes over volleyball. You’re about to open your mouth, wanting to ask him more questions, however you’re startled at the sight of an arm draping itself over Bokuto’s shoulders. A head peeks around him, bright golden-brown eyes observing you blankly from beneath a pair of drooping eyelids. A new voice rings out.

“Whatcha doing?”

It’s one of Bokuto’s teammates, although not the one you recognise. He’s shorter than Bokuto by a few centimetres and more lanky, with a shock of bleached hair and a dark undercut. Bokuto doesn’t react at all even as the new guy leans comfortably against him, however you find yourself shifting uneasily with the weight of his blank stare.

Bokuto turns to look at the guy with an apologetic smile. “We were just talking,” he says, running a large hand through his hair, messing it up a little more. “Sorry, was I holding you guys up?”

The blond guy turns to give him a long thoughtful look. Then he shrugs one shoulder. “Nah, it’s good. We’re not leaving any time soon, ya know how Samson gets.” Then he swivels his head back to you, his eyes roving up and down you in curiosity. You’re reminded, quite suddenly, of the keen eyes of a fox, and a shiver passes briefly up your spine.

Then, suddenly, the guy smirks and leans forward. “You wouldn’t happen to be Kou’s little mystery girl, would ya?”

It’s difficult for you to conceal your surprise when he says your name smoothly, your eyes flickering from him to Bokuto and then back to him again. Bokuto himself goes red as soon as his teammate speaks and hastily shoves the guy off his shoulders, looking embarrassed. The guy himself laughs out loud.

“From that reaction, I take it you are,” he says, tilting his head to the side. His tongue pokes out to swipe across his lower lip and his smirk widens. His hand slaps against Bokuto’s back. “You were right. She’s a real stunner, Koutaro.”

And just like that, he turns around and saunters back to the table, leaving both you and Bokuto blushing messes.

“S-sorry about him,” Bokuto mumbles, looking at his feet. “That’s Atsumu, he’s… well, he’s like that.”

You can’t help but laugh at that because it makes sense. And even in your flustered state, you find yourself peering up at Bokuto from under your lashes, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“So… you told them I was pretty?”

He flushes even more but meets your gaze head on, his own eyes sparkling. “I told them you were beautiful,” he says and you suck in a short breath because it’s that words again. The word you’re always going to associate with him from now on.

Beautiful.

You duck your head to hide your giddy smile.

“H-hey,” Bokuto says suddenly. “Um, could I ask you something? O-of course, you can say no, I just thought…” He trails off, looking at you shyly.

“Ask away,” you tell him, ignoring the butterflies swarming through your veins.

“Could- Could I get your number?” he says very fast and then blushes violently. “I just… well, I really like talking to you and… only if you wanna though…”

You giggle. You can’t help it, not when he’s so flustered over you. “You’re so cute,” you mumbled out before you can stop yourself and then slap a hand quickly over your mouth. Bokuto’s eyes widen at your admission, and then he’s the one laughing, shaking his head slightly.

“Well, I hope that’s a good thing…”

“Yep,” you squeak, wishing you could hide under the counter. “Really good.”

The pair of you stare at each other before a moment longer before you let out your breath in a rush. “And, yes, you can have my number,” you say hastily, suddenly feeling like an actual blushing teenager and not a grown adult.

Bokuto blinks, as if not immediately registering what you’ve just said. Then his eyes widen and his face breaks into another goofy grin. “Whoa- really? O-oh, that’s great! I-I mean…” he looks away as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Thank you.”

You brush off his thanks with a smile as you take the phone from him. After making yourself a new contact, you enter all your information and then save yourself as your name with the cutest blushy face you dare to use. When Bokuto take the phone back, his smile widens at the sight of it.

“Thank you,” he tells you again, looking a little giddy. “This… I… Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” you say back quietly, feeling incredibly giddy yourself.

It occurs to you suddenly that maybe today isn’t so much of a Bad Day after all.

You spend the better part of an hour talking to Bokuto. His teammates remain in the corner, throwing you occasional curious looks, however, apart from Atsumu’s initial appearance, they leave you and Bokuto alone to chat. Which you’re honestly happy about – you’ve come to learn that you actually really like Bokuto. Like a lot. And you appreciate the chance to get to know him without interruptions.

Unfortunately, the time does come when he and the rest of his team have to leave once again, and when it does the pair of you part with exchanged soft smiles and the knowledge that this won’t be the last time you speak.

You spend the rest of the day floating through life, a giddy smile on your face and your whole body feeling light as air. Even as you’re getting ready for work in the evening, your mood barely drops and you find yourself marvelling at Bokuto’s ability to turn a Bad Day into some semblance of a Good Day without even knowing what either of those was.

You make more than you’re expecting to at the club that night, and then walk home whistling merrily, bag slung over your shoulder. Your apartment building is quiet as you climb the steps to your floor and when you slip inside, Yuki comes running to say hello.

You dump your bag on your counter and then crouch down to stroke one hand along the cat’s silky tabby fur. “Hi,” you coo to her and she purrs in return, slipping from beneath your hand to rub along the side of your legs.

It’s already very late, with your Saturday shift being one of the longest of the whole week, and once you manage to gulp down some dinner, you head to bed like a zombie. Your nightly routine is mechanical; shower, skin care, hair care, brush teeth – and your eyelids are drooping by the time you tumble into your big comfortable bed and turn your light off. Yuki jumps up beside you and snuggles in herself, curling in a tiny ball by your side. And after giving her a final stroke, you close your eyes and prepare to go to sleep for the night.

Unfortunately for you, the universe has other ideas.

Your mind is buzzing far too much to allow you to relax properly. After spending what must be at least ten minutes tossing and turning, and kicking the blankets away and pulling them back on, you let out a long sigh and open your eyes properly to stare up at the dark ceiling.

You’re awake. And despite your good mood, you’re not very happy about it.

Huffing out an annoyed breath of frustration, you sit up properly in bed. Yuki has managed to fall asleep and so you do your best not to disturb her as you reach out to swipe your phone from where you’d left it to charge on your bedside table. You’re not sure what exactly you’re planning to do with it, since there are very few options besides mindlessly scrolling through your social media, but you snuggle yourself back down into your pillows and switch it on anyway, wincing at the brightness of the screen.

The hours stretch on as you do nothing but – surprise, surprise – scroll blindly through Instagram, liked posts you barely look at and clicking through stories. Ayame has posted a couple of new pictures and you pause briefly to stare at them. She’s smiling happily at the camera, with two younger teenagers who you assume are her cousins sitting beside her. Your eyes rake up and down the photo and you’re reminded once again of how pretty your friend is, and even more so, how thin. A small pang shoots through your chest, growing stronger when you notice how prominent her collarbone are, sticking out prettily over the collar of her blue satin cocktail dress. Hastily, you swipe away from the photo as your thoughts take a darker turn.

Damn, you guess you forgot today is a Bad Day after all…

Still, you can’t stop thinking even as you swipe out of Instagram and switch over to Pinterest instead. You try to distract yourself by searching for new art inspiration among the millions of pictures but your negative brain is stronger. You doubt that being tired and swathed in the darkness of the late night helps either.

She’s pretty. She’s skinny. She’s better.

She’s better, she’s better, she’s better…

You bite down on your lip hard, enough to snap yourself out of the thoughts. That’s not nice, you try to tell yourself even as something deep within your chest burns. Ayame has all sorts of her own problems, it’s not right to idolise her like that. Besides…

And finally, the ache eases just a little.

Bokuto says I’m beautiful.

Bokuto. You can’t help your giddy smile as you think about him, think about the way he’d looked at you. Like you were worth something…

Unconsciously, your fingers close the Pinterest app and go right back to Instagram. You blink and realise suddenly that you’ve typed Bokuto’s name into the search bar. A blush burns at your cheeks.

Okay, this is kind of creepy.

Still, when his Instagram pops up, you don’t shy away from clicking it. It’s not difficult to know which is him – there’s a small blue check mark next to the first user @_koutarobokuto__ – and when you click it, you’re bombarded with volleyball photos.

You can’t help the smile that grows as you swipe through his page. If it’d been obvious he loved volleyball earlier when you’d spoken to him, it was practically being screamed right in your face now. Almost all his pictures involve his teammates somehow, whether they are gym selfies, silly photos of the back of someone’s head, or simple action shots from either their practice or a game. It’s like you can feel Bokuto’s aura seeping out of your phone screen and it makes a warmth blossom in your chest, one very similar to earlier in the day.

You go through his Instagram slowly – being careful not to like the pictures obsessively because that really would be stalker behaviour – and take in the way Bokuto chooses to advertise his life. Something in the back of your mind reminds you that a lot of this is probably run by PR but you don’t even care as you find yourself engrossed in all the photos. There are an awful lot with some shy-looking guy with black hair and glass and you can’t help but snort a few times whenever you come across one, taking in the way he always looks like he’s wishing he could be anywhere else.

One of the few pictures without him in in it sticks out to you, however, and you pause, your fingers hovering over it. And then, when you click it and the picture enlarges, you have to stop a short gasp from escaping your lips.

It’s more likely than not a sponsored post – the aesthetic is way different from most of the other pictures - however, it’s still undeniably Bokuto. You feel the dance of butterflies rush through your stomach as you blink at it.

He’s… shirtless. Not only that, but he has his back to the camera and… Fuck, you realise, biting your lip hard. You don’t think you’d ever been this attracted to someone’s bare back in your life.

Most of the photo is dark, with only Bokuto illuminated in the centre. The light source is above him while everything else around him is dark, creating a beautiful contrast between his golden tanned skin and the inky background behind. Not only that but the light being cast down throws the contours of his back and shoulder muscles into sharp relief, accentuating each dip and curve in his skin in a way that almost makes you drool. His head is turned away, his face hidden so that only is sharp jawline is on display and this thick hair looks slightly damp.

He’s…

“Beautiful.” You whisper the word out loud to the darkness of your bedroom. He’s beautiful.

Like me.

Even with no one is around to see you, you blush furiously. Then you sit up and throw your legs over the side of the bed. With your phone in hand, the picture still open and glowing where you hold it against your chest, you rise to your feet and head out towards the living room without even bothering to turn the lights on. There’s something gnawing deep in the pit of your stomach, almost like an instinct, and you can feel your fingers beginning to itch.

You flick on the kitchen lights once you reach it and snatch up the first pencil you find. A piece of paper is more difficult and you end up ripping one out of the sketchbook that lives permanently in your bag. After getting everything situated on the kitchen island, you hoist yourself up to lie flat on your stomach on its cool surface and then, without any regard for the fact that it’s almost two in the morning, you begin to draw.

As you do so, there’s only one thought rushing through your mind.

I want to make something beautiful.

You spend the next day thanking fuck, the universe, and every deity you can possibly think of that it’s a Sunday. Sunday’s are your only free day the entire week – the café is closed, there aren’t any classes and you only have to work the late shift at the club if you really need to, which, fortunately, you don’t this week.

Your ministrations last night had continued late into the morning, and you didn’t stop your work until the sun was high in the sky and your piece was completed in all its glory. It was still just a pencil drawing, and you’re sure there’s far more you’ll be able to do with it in oil paint, but for now, you’re satisfied.

After stuffing it carefully between the pages of your newest sketchbook, you stumble back into your bedroom and pass out immediately on top of your soft bedcovers, only waking up six hours later when golden afternoon sun angles itself right through your open bedroom window and blinds you, even through your closed eyelids.

For a few seconds you lie still, blinking confusedly at the room around you. Then your phone, which has been put back on your nightstand to charge once again, buzzes.

You sit up, blinking blearily around for a second as you try to get your bearings. Then you reach over to grab the phone off your nightstand. The screen has flashed on with its buzzing, however it darkens again before you can get a look at the notification. And so you flop back down on your back, laying flaying out across your bedsheets and unlock your phone properly. As it turns out, there are a few texts that you’ve missed; one from Ayame, gushing about her family dinner and how adorable her cousins are, one from your mom, asking when you’re next going to come visit her, and one from an unknown number.

You have a funny feeling about the last one and when you open it, your suspicions are confirmed.

Unknown:

Hey hey hey, it’s Bokuto! Just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing! :)

A sleepy smile grows across your face as your read it once, twice, and then a third time just to be sure. Even over text he’s adorably bubbly – usually, so much energy would probably annoy you quite a bit, especially so if you’d only just woken up, but there’s something incredibly endearing about his message that does the exact opposite.

Your fingers hover over the lit screen of your phone before you begin to type back a reply, chewing your lip shyly between your teeth as you do so.

Me:

Hey Bokuto! Thanks for checking in, I’m good! How are you?

After saving his number to your contacts, you expect to put your phone down and not hear from him again for at least a couple of hours. However even as you’re stretching out your arm to throw the device back onto your nightstand, it vibrates again in your hand, the screen lighting up and making you jump in surprise.

Hastily, you open up the chat again and find that he’s replied almost immediately. It makes you smile because, while it doesn't necessarily mean he was waiting for you to respond to his original message, he did consider you valuable enough to reply to immediately.

Bokuto:

I’m great! I just got done with practice!

Your smile widens and your fingers are practically a blur as you type out your reply.

Me:

Oh? How was it?

The message is read immediately, however, no reply comes. You sit with bated breath, squinting at your screen as your fingers hover uselessly above the glass in anticipation of him sending you back a reply. As the minutes drag on, there’s an odd tightening of nerves in your stomach and before you can stop yourself, you scroll back up to read what little conversation you’d had with him so far. You couldn’t have said something wrong, surely? There is barely the backbone of any kind of conversation between you two, have you seriously managed to mess things up in the space of just a few words?

Your breath hitches in your throat as you purse your lips, frowning slighting.

However, it comes back in as a sharp inhale moments later, when you see the three little dots to indicate he’s typing something. They seem to mock you as you stare at them, your heart in your throat, for what feels like an eternity.

But when his message finally comes through, it’s short.

Bokuto:

Can I call you?

...

Could he call…?

You bite down on your lip, hard, and try to hold yourself back for a few seconds before you begin typing your reply. You don’t want him to think you’re desperate - even though you are - and your fingers shake slightly as you force yourself to think carefully about your reply.

Of course, he can call you. In fact, you’d love for him to call you. Despite the way nerves twist in your stomach, it’s butterflies that swarm within you at the idea of hearing his voice again.

Slowly, you suck in a long breath, puffing out your cheeks in an effort to hold it in. Then you release it with a huff and begin your reply, willing your hands to be steady as you type.

Me:

Of course!

You stare at the words for a second, reading and re-reading them over and over in every possible tone you can think of. It seems okay – you don’t sound too eager, but your tone isn’t disinterested either. At least, that’s what you hope. Your finger hovers over the send button for a few seconds as you second-guess yourself, before you close your eyes and slam it down.

You don’t open your eyes until you feel your entire phone begin to vibrate in your hand, and even then you only crack your eyelids just open enough to see Bokuto’s contact name now displayed much bigger on your screen as it registers an incoming call.

You answer it before you could lose your nerve and then snuggle back down into the warmth of your pillows, unable to stop the smile that flickers across your face as the sound of his now-familiar voice fills your room.

“Hey hey hey!” he says immediately, and you can tell just by the intonation of his voice that he’s smiling. “Thanks for answering my call, gorgeous!”

The term of endearment makes you blush violently and you almost have to bury your face in the soft cotton of your duvet cover as your insides fizz with excitement. “Hey, Bokuto,” you mumble back, grinning. “Of course I answered. I like talking to you!”

He laughs and it’s a warm sound, if a little scratchy as it comes through your phone’s speaker. “Sorry if it’s kind of outta the blue. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

You almost squeal out loud but hold yourself back because you don’t want to freak him out. Still, your cheeks are beginning to hurt with how hard you’re smiling as everything inside you goes “Awwww!”

“I wanted to hear your voice too,” you tell him, embarrassed. And then before he can think too much about what you’ve said, you ask him, “So, how was your practice?”

“It was great!” he begins and it’s the launch point for a long description of everything he and his team had gotten up to during their training. You sit back and listen quietly as he talks, smiling all the while as you snuggle yourself deeper into your bed. His voice is soothing as ever, warm and bright, and just like when you’d spoken to him in the café, you can feel his love for what he does through his words. His enthusiasm is infectious and you find yourself getting hooked on what he’s saying, hanging on to every single word and becoming incredibly invested in the team’s progress.

At one point, Bokuto starts talking about Hinata and some incredible spike he’d pulled during a three-on-three match. You take this as the perfect opportunity to mention the fact that you actually remember the kid from high school, to which Bokuto replies with, “No way! That’s so cool!”

You giggle. “Yeah. I think his team at the time had some pretty intense rivalry with the one at my school. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I saw him play in a few practice matches that I went to watch too.”

“Which school did you go to?” Bokuto asks curiously. “I-if you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

You chuckle. “No, it’s okay. I went to Aoba Johsei High School, in Miyagi prefecture.”

There’s a long pause from the other end of the line once your voice dies off and you wonder briefly if he’s heard you. But then, before you can even think to ask, he starts speaking again, his voice loud ad excited.

“Wait, so you went to school with The Great King?”

“’The Great King’?” you ask, confused. You’re pretty sure there hadn’t been anyone at your high school with a name like that.

Bokuto chuckles sheepishly. “Oh, yeah, sorry. It’s Hinata, he gives everyone nicknames and it’s kinda rubbed off on me. I, uh, meant Oikawa. Toru Oikawa?”

“Oh yeah!” you laugh out loud as the name jogs recognition in your memory. “Yeah, I did. Although, only for a year – he was a third year when I was a first year.”

“Wooooah,” Bokuto exclaims, sounding awed. “That so cool! Did you ever get to see him play? I always wanted to play him, all the way through high school but he never got to nationals so I didn’t get a chance…”

He trails off in disappointment and you get the sudden strange urge to pet his head like some kind of upset puppy. “I did see him play, a few times actually,” you say, in answer to his question. The memory makes you snort. “My best friend at the time had a huuuuuge crush on him, so she dragged me along whenever they had a practice match.”

“So cool,” Bokuto says again and you can’t help but giggle.

“I never even got to watch one of his games,” Bokuto tells you. “I just saw videos. But even then, his serves were –“

“ – insane!” you finish for him, remembering the utter shock that had taken over your body that first time you’d ever seen the guy play. Even now it stays with you, the memory of the pure power he’d been able to put into a serve even at just eighteen years old. Despite the fact that you’ve never actually played volleyball yourself, you’ve kept up with it even once you’d left high school, and you’re sure that’s partially because of the impression he’d had on you.

“I don’t even think I can serve like him now,” Bokuto admits, sounding a little jealous. “My jump serves are pretty good but nowhere close to his.”

“What is your specialty then, if not serves?” you ask him and it’s like you can feel his energy brightening once again, even through the phone.

“I’m a wing spiker!” he says proudly. “Spiking has always been my thing, even back in high school.” He pauses for a moment before saying, “I was in the top five high school spikers in the country.”

His tone says clearly that he’s hoping you’ll be impressed, although deep within you, you know that it’s not in a cocky way. In fact, it’s adorable, and you can’t help but grin widely into the fluff of your pillow.

“Wow, that’s amazing Bokuto,” you mumble, feeling giddy. “I’d really love to see you play sometime.”

“Come watch the next time we have a game!” he says almost immediately. “I’m sure I’d play extra well knowing you were watching.”

You would’ve screamed wildly into your pillow case if you could as your chest bursts with butterflies. He wants me there, is all you can think wildly, a giddy smile spreading across your face. He wants me there, he wants to see me!

“Well, let me know when you’re playing and I’ll come,” you say, trying desperately hard to keep your voice steady.

“Will do,” he replies back and you can hear the grin in his own voice. Then he laughs aloud. “You can be my new lucky charm! Akaashi always did say I play better when I know someone specific is watching.”

“Akaashi?”

“Oh, right.” You can picture him rubbing at the back of his neck as he talks. “Akaashi is my best friend.”

“He wouldn’t happen to be the guy with dark hair and glasses all over your Instagram, would he?” you ask knowingly, before you can stop yourself. Then you gasp and slap your hand over your mouth, something that Bokuto must hear because he bursts out laughing on the other end of the call.

“Yeah, he is,” he confirms. Then his tone drops to a teasing one and you squeeze your eyes tight shut, wishing the earth could open and swallow you up. “So, you stalked my Instagram, huh?”

“No!” you try to backpedal immediately, your face burning with utter humiliation. “No, no, no stalking! Just… research.”

“Research?” he asks, and you cringe inwardly at yourself because it sounds so bad. “Hm, yeah okay.” And then there’s only a brief pause before he’s laughing again. “Don’t worry,” he tells you through his chuckles. “If it makes you feel better, I stalked your Instagram too.”

You keep your face buried in your pillow as your furious blush dies. However, something insides you shrieks joyously at his confession.

“Oh, you did?” you ask him, trying to sound calm but your voice comes out far too weak for your liking. As you wait for his reply, your brain combs through what you can remember of the content of your Instagram page, hoping to god there’s nothing particularly compromising on there.

Bokuto makes an “uh huh” noise. “I saw some of your art on there by the way.”

Right, you remember as your stomach drops. You do have art on there. Not as much as on your account dedicated specifically to your work, which you use as your digital portfolio. But some.

“Oh?” you ask, trying to appear nonchalant. “You saw it?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto replies. “Your stuff is amazing! I love that one painting of the koi fish in particular!”

You know exactly which one he’s talking about and it makes your chest feel warm and fuzzy. The koi fish is a piece you’d done a couple months back, after being inspired by a children’s story you’d read online. It is a huge piece, a 75 x 100cm oil painting of three of the fish swimming together, all flashes of white and red and pink while surrounded by brightly coloured bubbles. It’d taken you over a month to complete and was one of your personal favourites of your entire portfolio, now hanging up on the wall in your living room.

“I’m glad you like it,” you tell him, blushing all over again. There’s a slight thump from the other end of the line and it makes you think he’s nodding his head enthusiastically.

“I’d still like to see some more, if you’d let me,” he says, a little sheepish. “I-in person. Your stuff is… really good.”

“I’d like that too” you tell him quietly. “I actually have a few things in particular I think you’d probably like, if you want.” Your mind flickers back to the drawing you’ve done, still rough and hidden away in your sketchbook like some kind of secret. You won’t show it to him yet, you decided then. Not until it’s complete and truly beautiful. Hopefully, he’s still be interested in seeing it when that point eventually came.

“Please,” Bokuto says and his voice sounds a little softer now. “I’d love to.”

The conversation continues goes on for at least another forty minutes after that, right up until you glance at the time and start when you realise you have less than an hour until you’re supposed to meet Ayame at the restaurant the pair of you had settled on. Your mind flashes through the multitude of things you have to do before you even leave the apartment, including shower and get dressed, and hastily you begin to excuse yourself to Bokuto.

“Do you have work?” he asks you when you tell him that you need to go. You shake your head and then remember that he can’t actually see you.

“Not tonight,” you tell him. “But I’m getting dinner with a friend. Between us, I think she’s apologising because she ditched me last night.”

He chuckles. “Well, okay then. “

“We’ll chat another time, right?” you ask, trying to assure yourself that it’s okay to hang up now, and he’s not just gonna disappear. Bokuto hums on the other end of the call.

“Of course,” he promises. “I’m not letting you forget about me just yet.”

“As long as you don’t forget about me then,” you reply with a laugh. You hear his snort through the call.

“Never. So... see you soon?”

“See you soon,” you reply. “Bye Bokuto.”

“Bye, beautiful.”

And then you have to end the phone call because you know if you let yourself get any more distracted, you’ll end up cancelling on Ayame just to keep talking to him.

Bokuto is on your mind for the rest of the evening, as you shower and get dressed, and then leave your house to meet Ayame. You feel almost like a teenager with a crush, your cheeks flushing and a sappy smile returning to your face whenever you think about him, and despite the fact that you’re supposed to be rushing, you float through your routine without a simple car in the world as his voice replays over and over again in your head like a mantra. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…

It makes your heart do backflips every time you think about it, and unfortunately has you spacey enough for Ayame to notice as the pair of you finally meet up and go to take your places at the counter in her favourite kaiten sushi restaurant. You can feel her narrowed eye on you the entire time, the deep brown of her irises looking almost black under the bright lights. However, you try to ignore it as you swipe a plate of gankun-maki off the conveyer belt and set it down in front of you. She’ll say something eventually, even without a prompt from you, that is something that you know for sure. It is almost funny though, waiting to see just how long it takes her.

She does surprisingly well in the end, and the pair of you get through your full greetings and a rundown of both your weekends before she brings it up.

“What’s got you so smiley anyway?”

You almost snort into your food because, despite how much you love Ayame, she’s so predictable. Still, you’re happy to answer the question as you look up at her with sparkling eyes.

“Oh nothing. I just... met someone.”

Ayame just about drops her chopsticks, her eyes going wide as she scans your face for any sign of trickery. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope!” you say and then burst into giggles as the bubbly feeling that’s been stirring in the base of your stomach for the whole day begins to rise again. “Not kidding at all!”

“Ohmigod shut up!” Ayame squeals and drags you into an incredibly violent hug. “That’s amazing!”

You know if anyone else were to hear her, they might take her shock and disbelief as offensive. But you can’t help but appreciate it. Your past few years of being an adult have been spent decidedly alone – something Ayame, with her slew of boyfriends, had picked up on very quickly. And when she’d asked you about it quite a while back, for the very first time in your life, you’d admitted to your crippling fear of relationships in front of someone other than yourself.

Because, in truth, you’re terrified of them. Enough so that you’ve all but sworn them off since leaving high school. There are too many traumatic memories floating around in your head, of years spent being asked out as a joke, of hearing people snickering behind your back, of being seen as some kind of conquest. It’d all but destroyed your self-esteem during your teenage years and you’re still healing to this day. Which is why you’d promised yourself not to let people in without being 100% sure of their intentions.

It probably isn’t the healthiest way to live, you figure. Being so guarded and distrustful – it makes things difficult. But it’s also spared you a lot of heartbreak and honestly, you’ll take this closed off existence over the humiliation and grief you’d dealt with before any day.

Ayame knows all of this and it’s why you can see the absolute joy in her eyes as she pulls away from you to gently hold your face with both hands. To be honest, you’re not sure if it’s justified – as nice as things are with Bokuto, you’ve surprised yourself by how quickly you’ve opened up to him. And there’s still every possibility that he’ll rip your heart out and stomp as soon as your back is turned. Although you’re about 90% sure he won’t.

“That’s so great!” Ayame tells you with the world’s brightest smile. “You need to give me all the details. What’re they like?”

“He’s nice,” is all you can say as you break out into your own wide and happy grin. “He’s really, really nice.”

“Nice? That’s it?” She snaps her fingers impatiently. “Come on, give me more. I want everything.”

And so you tell her. About Bokuto, and the way you met, and how he treated you. You tell her about the way he talks, how much he likes volleyball, how he makes you feel bubbly and warm inside. You even tell her about the drawing.

All the while, you can see her smile growing and growing until it curls across her whole face. And when you’re finished talking, she practically throws herself on you again, laughing hysterically as she shakes you back and forth.

“I’m. So. Happy. For. You,” she practically shrieks, punctuating each word with a shake of your shoulders and, causing more than a few heads to turn in your direction. You don’t even care though, hugging her right back and laughing just as hysterically as you let the tingly feeling in your chest spread through your body. You’re happy, you realise. Like, really, really happy. It’s an odd sensation because for so long, you haven’t been. Your life has been a constantly flip-flop between Good Days and Bad Days and now…

Ayame grabs your face then and kisses both of your cheeks before pressing her forehead to yours. “Seriously,” she tells you, still smiling. “You deserve it. All of it.”

You’re not entirely sure if she’s right but you take it anyway and start laughing again like an excited child. Ayame follows suit and then you’re both in tears, grabbing at your stomachs as you wheeze for absolutely no reason. People are still staring and you’re sure that you probably look insane. But for once you really don’t care about what they think. It’s just you and Ayame, and your unconditional happiness in this moment.

Once both of you have calmed down a little bit, Ayame beckons you closer hurriedly with the instance of “seeing some visuals so I know what we’re dealing with”. And so, you pull up Bokuto’s Instagram, and then the pair of you spend the next three hours giggling and nudging each other over pictures of him.

It’s a little stalkerish but what can you say – any time you see his face in a picture your own heart jumps and your stomach explodes into a new wave of butterflies.

You got to bed that night with an uncontrollable smile on your face and a bright, burning warmth in your chest that you’re almost inclined to believe is hope.

You see Bokuto again the next week. Despite the fact that you’ve been texting him back and forth every day since you’d exchanged numbers, you’ve been missing him. And you don’t expect it at all when he comes sauntering through the door of your morning job just a little bit before your shift ends, dressed in his MSBY jacket once again with a large duffel bag swung over his arm. You can’t help the way your face lights up when you lift your head to see him shouldering the door open, and you don’t miss the way your expression is mirrored on his own face.

“Hey hey hey!” he grins as he moves closer, hitching his bag a little higher on his shoulder. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

You smile back at him and shake your head a little. Today is another Bay Day but you can barely even tell as your heart pounds in your chest and your stomach flutters with excitement. Causally, you lean against the counter – thank goodness there aren’t many customers in today – and tilt your head a little to the side.

“Aww, have you been missing me?”

He meets your gaze head on and tilts his own head, mimicking you. Then he smirks.

“Of course, beautiful.”

You try your best not to blush. But you fail. So you turn away from him, trying to hide your face as you busy yourself with fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Is your practice over?” you ask, not making eye contact. Bokuto nods in answer, and runs a hand through his hair – which you now notice is slightly damp.

“We got done early today,” he explains. “Atsumu’s sets were a bit off and he kept throwing tantrums so Coach figured it’d be best to take a rest day.” He shrugs. “I’m not complaining though. It means I got to come here.”

He’s shameless and it makes you blush even more. But it also makes you unbelievably happy.

“What time do you get off?” Bokuto asks, thankfully allowing you an out from your furious embarrassment. “I can walk you home, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen. You check the time quickly and try to ignore the furious swoop of your heart. “I’m done at 11:30?”

Bokuto checks his own watch and you can see the grin spread across his face. “Hey hey hey,” he chuckles, looking very pleased with himself. “Only ten minutes? I really got the timing perfect, huh?”

“You really did,” you laugh with him. Usually getting off your morning job is one of the parts of your day that you dread most, because it means your justification of your procrastination of your school work has run out and you’re forced to return home and get yourself stuck in. But today, the ten minutes can’t go by any faster. Your walk from work back to your apartment is less than fifteen minutes in and of itself, and it’s highly doubtful much will come from it in the long term. But you look forward to it anyway, the idea of getting to spend more time talking with Bokuto being completely enough for you.

Thankfully, you don’t get any more customers within the next ten minutes and so you can spend the time chatting to Bokuto about god knows what. And when your co-worker who’s taking the next shift ducks under the counter, you’re free to leave with a final goodbye in their direction. Bokuto holds the café door open for you when you go to leave, and you think him with a soft smile as you step out onto the street.

It’s a warm day, warmer than one might expect for February, and the air tastes clean and fresh as you suck in a deep breath. The sun beats down on your face as you tilt your head skyward just a little and your smile grows. It may be a Bad Day, you decide to yourself, but all in all, things are pretty good.

Bokuto falls into stride beside you as you begin to lead the way in the direction of your apartment building. His steps are long, much longer than yours, and yet he seems to be making an effort to walk slowly, so as to keep perfect pace with you. “So,” he asks, glancing at you sideways out of the corner of his eye. “Are you working tonight too?”

“Yeah,” you nod your head, marvelling briefly at the way the thought doesn’t fill you with dread the way it usually might. “But I’ve got a shorter shift at the club today so it’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad,” Bokuto nods. “I was thinking about it and… you do a lot of stuff, don’t you?”

“Well, kinda,” you shrug. “It’s just work and university, really. I’m sure you’re way busier.”

“Well, I guess,” he answers, his head tilting a little to the side. “I have practice every day except Sundays but, it’s kinda just volleyball, you know.”

“Well, volleyball’s hard,” you point out to him. “I know I’d die if I played it all day, every day.

Bokuto snorts at that. “Maybe,” he says, grinning. “I can barely survive my teammates sometimes, never mind actually playing.”

That makes you laugh and you think back to the first time you’d met Bokuto at the café and the way the guy Bokuto had called Atsumu had approached you, as well as the group of young men who’d huddled like pre-teen girls in the corner, gossiping.

“Anyway,” Bokuto continues. “I know I could never do all that stuff you do.”

“Stuff I do?”

“On the pole?” he prompts and your eyes widen. Your cheeks warm again as you remember that he has actually seen you dancing at the club.

“This is gonna sound so creepy,” Bokuto mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I… when I was at the club, I watched you and... you’re really good.”

“Oh?” you ask him with a smirk. You’re embarrassed, yes, and flustered but… he seems even more so. And knowing he’d watched you that night – out of all the girls, he’d looked at you… it makes your heart do backflips.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers out, avoiding your eyes. “You looked… really nice and, all the stuff you were doing was… it was pretty cool.”

“You think so?”

He nods his head assuredly and you feel a genuine grin crack over your features. Brushing some of your hair back from your face, you glance at him shyly out of the corner of your eye before staring down at the cracked pavement beneath your feet.

“I’m actually pretty surprised to hear you say that,” you admit to him, playing with your fingers gingerly. “Most of the time people just… tell me I’m worthless and call me names and stuff.”

“Names?” he asks and you don’t miss the way his expression darkens just the slightest bit.

“’Slut’. ‘Whore’,” you say with a shrug. “’Dirty’. ‘Used’ – that’s one I get from a lot of men.”

“That’s…”

“Pretty disgusting, yeah,” you say, reading what he’s thinking with ease. “But I’m used to it. Honestly the stuff that I get is pretty tame compared to some other things I’ve seen.”

Bokuto shakes his head and his eyes look… sad. “I’ve never really understood that whole mindset,” he admits. “People are still people, ya know, no matter what they do. And saying that stuff… it just doesn’t sit right with me at all.” He shrugs absently and rubs at the back of his neck. “One of my sisters… she used to work at one of those maid cafés. Just as an odd job to make some money of her own while she was in high school. And I remember doing to see her there once and… some of the stuff people said to her, just because she was wearing a maid outfit…” he purses his lips and narrows his eyes are the ground. “I’ll never forget it. And I can’t even imagine what it must be like a job that has the kind of stigma dancing does.”

Despite the dismal topic, you feel your heart warm a little as you look up at him, pure because of the fact that he seems so… genuine. Not to mention the fact that he’s the first non-dancer you’ve ever heard something like this from.

“It does get pretty hard,” you admit after a brief pause. “It’s not like I’m embarrassed or anything. The job pays well and I get to dance, plus I’ve met a lot of amazing people at the club too. But… it’s tiring, you know? Especially the looks I get from people when they think I’m not looking.” You sigh and kick at a small stone that’s sitting on the pavement. It skids across the concrete, bouncing a few times before hitting the wall of one of the buildings that line the street and coming to a stop. “So, I’ve just stopped talking about it at all.”

“Does your family know?” Bokuto asks. Then his eyes shoot wide and he quickly holds up his hands, like he hadn’t meant to say it. “I-I’m sorry if that’s too personal.”

You chuckle, touched by his concern, and shake your head fondly. “No, it’s okay,” you assure him, to which he relaxes once again. “I don’t mind talking about this stuff. To be honest, it’s kind of nice.” You look down, fiddling with the hem of your jumper for a second. “My family does know, for the most part. I try not to give them all the details since that’s just… kind of awkward. But they do know that I strip. And they’re cool with it.”

“I’m glad,” Bokuto nods. You nod back.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you say. Then you frown. “But it also makes me kind of sad too, sometimes. There are quite a few people who I know just from my club whose families completely rejected them when they found out. And it’s just so stupid, because it’s just a job, right? Honestly, I way prefer it to having to sit in an office all day. And people still…”

You trail off when you realise your voice is getting heated, ducking your head once again as embarrassment overcomes you. It’s rare for you to get upset with the reality of your situation, having come to terms with it long ago when you’re first gotten involved with the clubs. But you can’t deny that it still frustrates you, especially so when you know for a fact that Ayame, after her family dinner on Saturday had ended, had gone home to cry herself to sleep because of a comment her aunt had made about her job.

It doesn’t seem fair to you. Not in the slightest. But you’ve learned to keep quiet about it because more often than not, the voice that agrees with societal standards tends to drown yours out.

Which is why you’re so genuinely surprised now, that you’re having this conversation with Bokuto. Not that you’d ever thought in any way that he was some misogynistic, sexist bastard who wouldn’t be supportive. But just because… it’s so rare that you hear opinions like his, being spoken in a voice like his. It makes your heart warm.

Stop it, you tell yourself quickly. Don’t start fawning over a guy just because he’s not an asshole. Have some standards.

Although it’s very difficult when Bokuto turns to flash you a soft smile.

“You know, you do that a lot.”

“Do what?” you ask him, confused. He continues to smile.

“Cut yourself off when you think you’re getting too passionate about something.”

Your eyes go wide as you stare up at him in shock because how the fuck did he even notice? It’s not like you even do it on purpose anymore, it’s more of an instinct at this point. A refusal to conform to stereotypes, you suppose, that you’d probably developed as a coping mechanism after being made fun of in middle school. Or maybe you’re just tired of no one actually caring about what you have to say. Either way, your eyebrows shoot up as you give Bokuto a quizzingly look.

He shrugs in response, his cheeks turning a little pink. “It’s just something I’ve been noticing recently,” he admits. “You do it quite a bit. Probably more than you think, actually. Its’ been bugging me.”

“Oh.” Your expression falls immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” He chuckles, waving his hands in the air. “No, don’t apologise! I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…” he pauses, sighs and runs a hand through his hair, almost thoughtful. “It makes me a little sad that you feel like you can’t speak your mind. For whatever reasons you might have.”

When you don’t say anything in reply and just continue to stare up at him, he shrugs again and goes on. “Just cuz, well… I like hearing you talk. I mean, I’m interested in the stuff you have to say.” He’s purposefully avoiding your gaze now, although his blush is prominent. “I think… Well, I think you have a lot of really cool ideas about stuff and it makes me sad to hear you don’t… feel like you can express them… or whatever. Also, I… well… I like how your voice sounds.”

Your eyes are practically bulging out of your head because… he likes the way your voice sounds? Your voice?

You’re not quite sure what to say in reply. But as you continue to watch him, noticing the way he’s suddenly become very interested in his shoes as he tries, and fails, to hide his blush from you, something inside you melts.

You let out a short chuckle and then reach up to ruffle up his hair with your hand. “Aw, don’t get so flustered, Bokuto,” you tell him cheerily. “I…actually really appreciate hearing you say that.”

He looks up immediately, his eyes bright once again. “Really?”

You nod in affirmation. “Yeah. I… well it’s not often that I have people tell me that. Honestly, I don’t think anyone cares enough to notice that much.” You smile secretly to yourself then. “You know, it’s actually kind of funny… I used this topic that we’re talking about as my main inspiration when I did my entrance exam piece for my university.”

“You’re kidding,” Bokuto says and you laugh, shaking your head.

“Am not,” you tell him with a smile. “I wasn’t really too happy with the final product, since I didn’t really have enough time to do everything that I wanted to. But I guess the examiners liked it because I got in.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Bokuto says, grinning back at you. “Do you have the painting? Or did they keep it?”

“They kept the original,” you tell him. “The one I actually had to do in the exam time. I haven’t seen it since the day I handed it in. But I’ve got a recreation that I painted of it afterward, which I actually think I like better than the original.”

Bokuto gives you a look of burning awe. “That’s so cool!” he exclaims again, his face bright and joyful. “Can I… see it some time?”

You give him a knowing look. “Maybe,” you muse, teasingly. “If I feel like it.”

“Hey,” he whines back, giving you a pair of puppy dog eyes that make your chest ache. “You promised you’d show me your art.”

“And you promised you’d let me watch you play volleyball,” you shoot back at him. “A trade is a trade, Bokuto. I’m not just going out showing off my art for free here.”

“But we haven’t had any games yet,” he says, all but stamping his foot like a toddler. “Please?” You look away when he fixes you with a pout, shaking your head.

“Okay, what if,” he starts, waving his hands in the air, “next time we saw each other, I got you yakitori from that place you said you really like? Would you let me see your art then?”

That makes you pause. Because damn him and his weirdly accurate memory – you’d brought up the yakitori one time when you were absolutely starving after work and now it’s being used as a bargaining chip against you. Still. the offer is tempting. Very tempting, especially considering you haven’t been able to go to said yakitori place for a while since all of your extra money has been going into fresh vegetables. You pause in your step, thinking hard about it because, if you’re honest, you would actually really like for Bokuto to see your art. Even if it makes you incredibly nervous too.

“Maybe…” you start slowly, eyes narrowed as you look up at him. “What if… you threw in a coffee too?”

And without even thinking about it, he nods. “Deal”

You chuckle when he holds out his hands to you. And you laugh even more when you take it and give it a playful shake, thereby sealing your deal for the rest of eternity.

“Fine,” you tell him, “You can see my artwork. But remember, if you think it’s shit, you don’t get to back out of your side of the bargain. Got it?”

He practically rolls his eyes at you and then nudges you playfully with his ship. “I won’t think it’s shit,” he tells you confidently. “I mean, I already saw the stuff on your Instagram, didn’t I? That wasn’t shit.”

(You refuse to acknowledge how happy it makes you to hear him say that)

“I’m just saying,” you tell him, holding up your hands. “Yakitori, or else.”

“Yakitori, or else,” he repeats with a cheeky grin. Then he holds out his arm, letting you loop yours through it playfully. “From me to you, yakitori.”

You laugh over how dramatic he makes it until there are practically tears running down you face. And as the pair of you continue to walk in the direction of your apartment, you point your finger at his face and say, “And from me to you, my art.”

It doesn’t really make sense and you sure that if someone passing by were to hear the two of you talking, they’d probably think you were both insane. But inside the little bubble in which you exist with Bokuto right now, it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t make sense. What it does make, is you incredibly happy, and if you’re honest, that’s all you need right now.

Bokuto is supposed to be the one escorting you home but it feels more like you’re taking him. Even once the pair of you reach the entrance of your apartment complex and ride the elevator to your floor, and then pause outside your door, it doesn’t feel like the end. It doesn’t feel like the right time to part.

And so, without even a second thought, you invite him inside.

You see the awe on his face the moment he steps into your space. It’s in the way his eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches upward just a little as he toes off his shoes and then follows you a little deeper inside. And in all honesty, you understand what he’s feeling. Because your space is very – for lack of a better word – you.

Light and airy, with flashes of green and brown in the curtains and couch cushions and décor. There are plants everywhere and little ornaments. And paintings. So many paintings.

“Wow,” Bokuto says as he lets his gaze trail up and down each wall. “It’s so…”

“Messy?” you offer with a small, sheepish smile. Because it is. For every neatly placed piece of décor, there’s at least one pencil laying out, one paint brush. Four sketch books stacked on the coffee table, a jar rimmed with dried paint on the kitchen island.

Oddly enough, you’re not embarrassed about it at all. Usually, you’d take at least four hours to give your home a thorough cleaning before any other person stepped foot inside. But with Bokuto… somehow, he fits with the slightly messy, slightly cluttered energy of your place. And you can see when he turns to shoot you a grin, that he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“I was gonna say ‘alive’,” he tells you with a short chuckle. “But I guess that works too. Whoa-“

You look up from where you’re dumping your bag down on your kitchen island to see that he’s stopped short in the centre of your living room. Your entire apartment is open plan in a way that the kitchen connects to the dining room which connects to the lounge. And you can see exactly what he’s staring up at with such an awestruck expression, his entire body freezing up as he stops literally mid-step. Your face flushes immediately.

“Oh, yeah,” you murmur, rubbing at the back of your neck as you go to stand next to him. “That’s, uh, that’s it.”

It’s your painting of the koi fish. The huge canvas hangs on the wall over one of your couches, the shimmering blue of the background in stark contrast to the white brick of the wall. In the bright morning light that’s streaming through the large windows, the fish seem even more vibrant, as if they’re swimming through the canvas rather than on it, tails flashing and scales dancing as they twirl with each other in elegant pattern of swirls and bright bubbles.

“I don’t really like to hang my own art up,” you admit as the silence stretches on. “But this one… I’m pretty proud of it and I hated the idea of just dumping it in storage so -“

“It’s amazing,” Bokuto breathes, cutting off your awkward rambling. The expression on his face is almost comically entranced and you think for a moment that you can actually see the colours of the paint reflected in his wide eyes, like he’s being sucked into the painting itself. He takes a short step closer, taking in everything you’ve done, all the tiny details and specks of colour. “It looks even better in person.”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling like a loon as your heart does backflips in your chest. You’ve been complimented for your art before – in fact, almost anyone who sees it that’s not your art professor tends to shower you in endless praise – and yet, hearing it from Bokuto makes it somehow more meaningful. Like everything that anyone else has ever said to you was a lie, but he’s only telling the truth. And it makes you giddy.

“I didn’t actually mean to paint koi fish when I started it,” you say. You step forward, leveling yourself with Bokuto so you too can stare up at the very brush strokes of the painting. “It was actually supposed to be wildflowers but when I started over there -“ you point at the tail of the uppermost koi fish, which is curved in a way that it almost looks like a petal, “- I realised that I didn’t really want to paint flowers. So, I turned it into fish.”

Bokuto follows your explanation with rapt attention, his eyes tracing the path your finger makes as you point out the ghosts of where the flowers had been. “I prefer painting animals and plants to people,” you say, although it’s just as much to yourself as to him. “There’s something freeing about it. People come with a lot of rules. They always need to look a certain way, or make a certain expression, wear a certain thing. And if they’d don’t, then the art has to be making some kind of statement. I don’t like the pressure of that, so I paint other stuff instead.” Your hand follows the curve of the middle fish’s body, the fluid way its tail curls outwards from its head. “It’s like… there’s nothing telling this fish it has to swim a specific way,” you murmur. A sudden memory comes to the mind of when you’d painted the fish originally; the way you’d shut your eyes and just let your wrist move, going the way the fish took you. “It just swims. I really like that.”

When you turn to glance back at Bokuto, you find that he’s already looking at you. And there’s something hiding deep within his bright eyes, a certain understanding that you don’t think you’ve ever seen on anyone else’s face before.

It flusters you immediately and you drop your hand and step away from the painting. “T-that’s just what I was thinking when I painted it,” you say, embarrassed. “But it’s kind of open to any interpretation.”

Bokuto steps back a little too, although he doesn’t look away from you. “I really like that,” he admits. “I’m not really, uh, the kinda guy who thinks about this stuff a lot. But…” he turns to look back at the painting and you watch the way his eyelashes flicker as his gaze follows the movement of the fish again. “I can see that in the painting.” He looks back at you and his expression is warm and soft. A pang shoots through your chest. “It’s really beautiful.”

That word again. Beautiful. Coming from his lips, it’s like a spell and a curse all at the same time. And it makes you want to show him everything, all of your art, all of your world, all of you.

And that should really scare you. But, much to your surprise, it doesn’t.

Bokuto stays with you for the rest of the day and after reiterating your threats over the yakitori, you end up showing him almost your entire portfolio. You get out some of your completed sketches to let him see your drawings. And once those have been thoroughly explored, you open up your Instagram account that doubles as your digital portfolio, and let him browse his way through it while you go to your storage cupboard and haul out the five completed oil paintings that have been collecting dust in there, each covered with its own sheet.

(You don’t show him the sketch you’d done of that photo from his Instagram. Something inside you twinges at the thought and you remember that you’re not quite ready for him to see it. Not until it’s exactly the way you want it to be.)

And then, once he’s seen everything, you make coffee for the pair of you. And you talk – about anything and everything even as the hours stretch on and the sun begins to sink. And suddenly it’s almost six, and you realise with a start that your shift at the club starts at eight. So you rise from where you’re tucked up on the couch, empty coffee mugs in hand, and begin your usual rush of getting yourself presentable for work.

And as weird as it seems, Bokuto still stays. He remains in your lounge when you rush into the shower, entertaining himself by flipping through your sketchbooks yet again. And once you step out, warm and dewy and dressed in your sweats and a hoodie, he joins you in your bedroom, sitting cross legged on the floor as you do the same in front of the mirror, all your make-up and hair products spread out around you as you begin your usual ritual of putting on your face for the night.

You talk to him as you work, giggling and laughing as he makes jokes and banters with you. You also explain to him the process of what you’re doing as you blend your foundation and brush on your highlight, and he watches it all with a child-like innocence in his expression. It makes you wonder if he’s ever done this before – sat with someone as they got ready, watched a person do their makeup. It’s a simple process for you but for him, it’s an elaborate puzzle. And it makes you think that… he hasn’t don’t this before.

For some strange reason, knowing he’s here watching you now, makes you feel oddly triumphant.

You really don’t need his advice. You’ve done this for years after all, night after night until the point where you’re confident you could complete the whole process blindfolded. However, you want to ask it of him, if just for the sake of getting to talk to him even more than you already have. So, you hold up an eyeshadow palette, showing him the multitude of different colours and shades in the dishes. And you ask, “Which colours?”

You half expect him to be thrown by the question, since it’s so random and out of nowhere. And you’re even more sure he’ll choose at random, throwing together whatever colours his eyes land on first.

But he doesn’t. You can practically see the cogs turning behind his eyes as he looks at all the colours, looks up at your face, and then looks at the colours. He’s actually thinking about it, properly, like he wants to make the best choice. And it only adds to the warmth that’s growing in your chest, and strengthens the little piece of him that’s somehow lodged itself so deep in your heart.

When his finger comes up to point, you sit with bated breath, as if you’re waiting for the announcement of something monumental, something great.

Something beautiful.

His finger wavers only slightly as he points first to one, then a second, and then a third dish in the palette. And a smile stretches over your face when he drops his hand again because those are really good colours.

A deep matte black that looks bottomless in the low light of your room, a bright off-white that shimmers and sparkles with even the slightest twitch of movement, and a sunshine gold that’s so bright, it’s almost yellow.

Yeah, those really are good colours.

Your eyes meet his again and you grin even wider as you pull the palette back towards you. “Good choice,” you tell him over your shoulder as you lean towards your collection of brushes, fingers dancing in the air for a moment before you select one.

Bokuto smirks proudly, however you don’t miss the little sparkle of relief in his eyes. “The best for you, gorgeous,” he says cheekily and then ducks away when you swat at him with your free hand. You shake your head briefly, giving him a stern look that doesn’t reach your eyes before shuffling just a little closer to the mirror. “You’re a child,” you mumble as you pat the tip of your eyeshadow brush into the pan and then move it towards your eyelid.

“I’m older than you,” he counters and you bit down on your bottom lip to stop your smile.

“Whatever,” you say back. And then the pair of you fall into a comfortable silence as you focus on your makeup in the mirror and Bokuto focuses on you.

You’ve never done this before, you realise as you work with his presence a constant at your side. As much as you were thinking about him earlier, you’re just as new to this experience as he is. No one has ever been with you as you get ready for work, no one but yourself and Yuki know the process it takes you to get into the right headspace to go to the club. And you’ve never before suspected that you’d be okay with someone else seeing it. Not even Ayame, who’s been your ally against the rest of the world for so long, has witnessed you do this.

And yet, Bokuto being here feels perfect. Especially so when Yuki, who’s been fast asleep on your balcony for the whole day, comes strolling into the bedroom and curls up on Bokuto’s legs without a second thought. It’s like the last straw for you, the last doubt about him fading from your mind because above all else, you trust Yuki’s judgment. And she’s judged Bokuto fairly. So you allow yourself to feel fully, to experience this sensation of utter calm and tranquillity as the pair of you continue to sit and exist together in silence.

Bokuto himself seems amused and a little surprised by Yuki’s appearance. However, he doesn’t object to having the cat stretch herself out across his legs – in fact, he reaches a hand down to stroke smoothly along the silky soft fur of her back. You have to force yourself not to smile at the way his large hand just about dwarfs her entire body.

You let Bokuto sit with you right until you have to get changed. Then you kick him out of your room, sending him to go get his shit together the pair of you can leave. And once he steps out and the bedroom door clicks shut behind him, it’s like you can feel the way Yuki is watching you, her big green eyes staring up at you in a very knowing look.

You shake your head at her as your throw open your cupboard and go straight for the outfit you know will look stunning with your makeup. “I know what you’re thinking,” you tell her because you do, just about. And it makes you shake your head and roll your eyes, unable to banish the giddy smile from your face. Because if you’re honest with yourself, you’re thinking it too.

Once you’re dressed and have pulled your sweats and hoodie back on over your chosen outfit, you go to meet Bokuto back in your living room. By now it’s almost seven thirty, giving you enough time to make it to the club before your shift begins. You half expect Bokuto to rush off then, once you’d pulled on your own shoes and are locking your apartment door behind you, your work back hung over your shoulder and his duffel bag hooked over his. But he doesn’t. He walks with you all the way to the entrance of your apartment complex. And then even further, strolling through the streets with you, mapping the familiar path from your home to the entrance of the club. Because even now, hours after bumping into him at the café this morning, it still doesn’t feel like the end. Not until the club is in sight and your shift is approaching, and you finally have to turn to say your goodbyes.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you admit as the pair of you stand a little away from the bustling of the club entrance. “Thank you. For walking me home, and walking me here. And just spending time with me, I guess.”

Bokuto smiles down at you and it’s that happy, infectious smile that you’ve grown to crave. “You don’t need to thank me,” he tells you earnestly. “I wanted to. I had a lot of fun today too. It was nice to get to hang out with you properly.”

“Yeah, you agree in a soft voice, your smile punctuating your words. “Yeah, you too Bokuto.”

“And I really loved seeing all your art,” he says. “It’s amazing, really. All of it, although my favourite is still the koi fish.”

You chuckle just a little at that, your insides feeling light and fluffy as clouds. “I’m really glad you like it,” you admit. “I… Really glad. I guess, I just... really appreciate what you said about it all.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he says and you realise suddenly that either you or him must have stepped closer at some point because the toes of his shoes are barely ten centimetres from yours. “If you paint something new, promise you’ll show me, okay? I’ll get you more yakitori?”

And like a child, he holds out his pinky finger towards you.

And like another child, you reach out and hook your own around it.

“If you get me yakitori then I promise,” you say quietly, smiling softly. “You’ll be the first to see it.”

The pair of you stand like that for a long moment, just looking at each other. He’s really close, you think as you stare up at him. Although you don’t mind it in the slightest. You can see the flecks of his eyes shining brightly, even in the blotchy light of the nearby street lamp, the sprinkles of gold and hazel and brown mixing together in a kaleidoscope within his irises It’s mesmerising and you can’t help but want to stand and stare at it forever. And you think he might be thinking the same thing because his head ducks just the slightest bit, coming just the tiniest bit closer. A rush shoots up your spine when you feel his breath on your lips.

And then –

And then the moment is broken by a cry of your name, the voice calling out from somewhere behind you as you become aware of the sound of thumping footsteps on the hard pavement.

“Hey-!” there comes a choked yell as a new figure flashes in your peripheral vision. It forces you to pull back from Bokuto, far quicker than you’d like to, as you untangle your finger from his and step away so you can turn in the direction of the yelling.

Only to find that it’s Ayame, who’s stopped now, doubled over with her hands on her knees as she wheezes. She chokes out your name again, although it’s raspy and scratched through her ragged breaths, and then when she finally looks up at you, you see that her eyes are watering.

“There you fucking are,” she huffs out, reaching out to grab onto the sleeve of your hoodie. “Thank fuck you’re here. I thought you’d abandoned me for a second, which is really not cool because there’s some really hot guy who I saw when I came in and I wanted to-“

But she cuts herself off when, for the first time, she notices Bokuto standing with you. It’s almost comical, the way her eyes find his feet first and then slowly travel upwards, growing wider and wider as her gaze moves up his body until she’s finally staring up into his face and looks like her eyeballs are about to bulge from her head.

Bokuto gives her a slightly awkward smile and reaches up to run a hand up the back of his neck. “Uh, hello,” he says politely.

Ayame chokes. “It’s you!” is all she manages to get out. “You’re the guy-“

But you realise within that instant what she’s about to reveal all your gushing and giggly thoughts about Bokuto, to Bokuto. And so you jump at your friend, slapping a hand over her mouth before she can absolutely mortify you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you say quickly as Ayame makes a noise of surprise. “Ayame, this is Bokuto. Bokuto this is my friend, Ayame.”

Bokuto looks from you, busy as you are with glaring at your friend, to Ayame, who’s glaring right back from beneath your hand. His amused smile grows and then he lets out a short chuckle.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ayame.”

Ayame mumbles something from behind your palm but you don’t remove it, still untrusting of what exactly she’s going to say to him. This makes Bokuto laugh even more, his eyes sparkling.

“You probably need to get to work,” he says knowingly. “So, I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nod at him, suddenly flustered because you have a feeling he knows exactly what you’re trying to prevent Ayame from blurting out. He’s too observant, you grumble inwardly as you watch his gaze flick from you to Ayame and back again. He’s too perceptive, why couldn’t Ayame just-

But your thoughts die out completely when Bokuto leans in to press a soft kiss right to the apple of your cheek.

“We’ll chat later, okay?” he asks you quietly when he pulls away and you barely have it in you to nod slowly as your eyes go wide and the skin of your face begins to blaze, starting from the point where his lips had touched you.

Bokuto gives you a final smile after that and then turns, sauntering off happily – you catch a glimpse of his expression as he goes and your heart jumps a little at how pleased with himself he looks. It’s only once he’s a good fifteen metres away that you let Ayame wrestle her way out of your grasp, spluttering and whining frustratedly.

“That was soooo unnecessary,” she groans at you, massaging at her jaw. “I swear, you were trying to strangle me!”

But you don’t pay any attention to her, your gaze still fixed on Bokuto figure receding into the darkness. Your stomach is swarming with butterflies and you can feel your heart pounding in your throat. And when you do finally turn to meet Ayame’s gaze, you’re sure you must look gazed as all hell.

She laughs when she sees your expression and reaches out to pat you good-naturedly on the cheek. “I see why you like him,” she tells you, fondly, and you catch a strain of something warm and soft in her tone. “Just don’t get yourself hurt okay?”

I won’t, is what you think to yourself. I promise. Although you don’t have it in you to say it out loud.

And just like that, you fall into a routine. Bokuto, true to his word, gets you your yakitori, and, in the process, starts to come round more regularly, usually in the evenings so he can be sure to walk you to work when it’s time for you to go. You learn that his house is in the same direction as the club, although on the opposite side of the district, and that the gym where he trains is also close by. You also learn that he has practice from six to twelve in the morning, his favourite food is yakiniku and that he has two older sisters who work in fashion and investing, along with a multitude of other things.

(A multitude of other things that are absolutely useless to know for your day-to-day life, however, you know deep in your heart that you’ll never, ever forget them)

Along with his flood of personal information, Bokuto also becomes more and more affectionate. Along with the walks, the kisses on the cheek also become a habit, as well as gentle hand-holding and a casual arm thrown around your shoulders.

He never says anything about it though, and neither do you. Because you don’t want to – you don’t need to. You’re content, you’re happy, For the first time in a long time. And with that comes the reminder that when it comes to Bokuto, you have all the time in the world.

It’s this that helps you to get up the nerve to actually go out and buy the paints and the canvas and the brushes that you need in order to start your new painting. Because the more time you spend with him, the more the itch grows inside you, and you find yourself thinking of your drawing, over and over and over again until you can’t stand it anymore.

And so, when your next day off rolls around, you pick up your brush. And you paint until it feels like your fingers are going to fall off.

In late in that evening, when you’ve finally collapsed for the day and are snuggled up in your own bed, hair when from your shower, curtains drawn against the darkness of the night sky, with Yuki tucked up into your side, that you get your second phone call from Bokuto.

He doesn’t ask over text this time – your phone screen just lights up with his name and icon. And you don’t hesitate this time – you just swipe to answer and then smile when his voice rings out through the speakers.

“Hey hey hey, gorgeous!”

You don’t have it in you to suppress your smile. “Hey, Bokuto.”

“How are you today?” he asks, like he always does. “You didn’t have work, right?”

“I didn’t,” you affirm. “It’s my free day today, so I got to relax a bit.”

“I’m glad,” he says and you can hear the smile in his tone. “You seemed exhausted yesterday.”

“I was. But I feel a lot better now.”

“Promise?” he asks and you smile. It’s like you can feel the way he’s extending his pinky finger through the phone.

“Promise,” you reply, your own pinky finger stretching towards nothing.

There’s a beat, a pause, and despite the fact that you’d don’t actually know, it feels like he has something to say. Like there’s a reason that your body is straining to hear, something you’re yearning for that can only come from him.

And so, you ask him.

“Is there any particular reason why you called?”

And he answers.

“I wanted to ask you… on a date?”

I wanted to ask you on a date.

It’s simple, sincere. Just eight words put together in an understandable question.

And yet it somehow means the whole world as you feel your mouth drop open and your eyes widen, your grip on your phone tightening. You can’t do much else for a second, other than stare across at the wall as your stomach churns wildly.

He wants to go on a date with me. Me!

Your heart is singing. It’s not like it’s come out of nowhere, you’re sure the attraction has been mutual since the start. And yet the relief and physical joy you feel coursing through your body, and the way you can heart your own heartbeat, it all takes you back to being a teenager once again.

And so, without even thinking, without even hesitating to consider what you’re doing or why you’re doing it or what could happen as a result of your doing it…

You say yes.

You plan the date together. It feels unreal at first, the both of you just giggling and joking and throwing out ideas at random. Because, as Bokuto admits right after asking you, he actually has no idea what this date might entail.

The ideas are simple and put together at first.

(“Dinner?”

“A movie?”

“Bowling?”

“Mini-golf?”)

And then Bokuto suggests a roller rink. And you throw in a cat café. And after that the conversation spirals until both of you are in fits of laughter over the phone, for no reason other than the fact that you’re giddy. With happiness, with excitement, with relief.

(“A luxury cruise?”

“Robbing a bank?”

“A trip to Paris?”

“A trip to the moon?”)

(You’ll never admit just how relieved you actually are.)

And it’s only once silence falls again, and the pair of you sit on two opposite ends of the call, basking in the fact that the other is just there, that you realise for the first time…

I’m going on a date with Bokuto.

“How about a picnic?” is what comes out of your mouth, quiet and small and probably unintelligible through the call.

But somehow Bokuto hears it. And he says, “A picnic would be really nice.”

“We could go to a park,” you continue, not giving yourself time to overthink. You just speak, just let the words come because you know if you try to think, you’ll ruin it. “That really pretty one near the café where I work.”

“I’ll get food from Atsumu’s brother,” Bokuto adds. “He makes amazing onigiri.”

“And I’ll bring the drinks,” you say. “And a picnic blanket. I can also make mochi.”

“I love mochi,” he says and his voice is so much quieter, so much calmer, that you feel your stomach drop. “And watermelon. Do you like watermelon?”

“I love watermelon,” you breathe back to him. “I love…”

But you cut yourself off as your stomach does a wild flip. And then a smile is spreading back over your face and you roll onto your back to stare up at the whine panels of your ceiling, your entire body tingling with warmth.

“I… I’m really excited, Bokuto.”

It’s like you can feel him smiling, feel the warmth that he’s radiating even through the phone call. “I’m excited too,” is what he says. “Really really excited, actually. I’m really happy you said yes.”

“Of course,” you tell him softly. “There wasn’t really ever a chance of me saying no.”

Maybe saying too much just yet but it feels right that he knows. And when you hear him sigh, dreamy and giddy and happy, you realise that you did the right thing.

There’s a shuffle on the other end of the call, shifting sounds like he’s rolling over in bed. Another long sigh, and then a small chuckle.

And then he says, “I’ve actually… kind of wanted to ask you out since we first met.”

“You have?”

“Yeah,” he says. You press your phone closer to your ear, wanting to reach for every word he gives you.

“I just thought,” he says to continue, his voice soft and warm. “Even when we first ran into each other that the club, you… I remember thinking that I’d never met anyone like you.” And then when you danced… I was addicted.”

His words are slowly setting your heart ablaze, each a little spark to add to the flame, and it fills your chest with warmth. He’s being honest, you’re sure of it. The way he speaks, the way he’s stumbling over his own words, it’s endearing. And it makes you wish that you were with him more than anything in the whole world.

“I wish you were here right now,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

And he sighs, and it sounds exactly like what you’re feeling, that deep ache that has you clinging to every little piece of him that he has to give.

“I wish I was there too,” he breathes back. “I know it’s only been a day but…”

“I miss you,” you finish for him. And it’s in that moment that you realise, you –

You’ve fallen for him. Totally, completely, with everything you have in you.

And it’s all you can do to hope he feels the same.

The date is scheduled for the following Sunday afternoon, and you spend the whole of the next week rushing around like an excited child before a birthday party, the giddy smile not once dropping from your face.

Your talk with Bokuto over the phone that night had been… enlightening, for sure. And it’s helped you realise that you really like him. Like, really like him.

Which, if you’re honest, is a pretty damn scary revelation for you to make, given that the last time you’d let yourself feel genuine feelings for someone was way back in high school.

Still, it’s not enough to put you off and your whole being feels lighter because of it. With the anticipation of Sunday building continuously, you don’t mind going to work or to class. You don’t mind the process of getting ready for the club in the evening, or even the way you’ll stumble home once your shift is over, feet sore from your heels and eyes dropping. You don’t even mind how long the painting is taking, the one of Bokuto that you’re still keeping hidden away from him. You’re working on it almost every day now, whenever you get the free time, and as frustrating as it is sometimes, when the skin tones down look quite right or the shadows aren’t sitting as they’re supposed to, you’re enjoying it.

Ayame notices all of this and she teases you relentlessly for it. Particularly when you drag her out to the mall after you decide to treat yourself with a nice outfit for your date.

“You need to wow him,” is what she tells you as the pair of you browse idly through one of the clothing stores. “You need something that’s gonna show him just enough to get him interested but not enough that he gets the whole package right away.”

You blush violently at her words and hide your face quickly behind a rack of skirts. “I don’t think that it’s gonna be… like that,” you say as you busy yourself with searching through the different fabrics and styles. “He’s never… Well, he’s hasn’t said anything to make it sound like he wants to do that.”

Ayame turns to give you a quizzingly look over the sunglasses she’s in the midst of trying on. “Well, of course he hasn’t,” she says, pointedly. “It’s not like he’s actually going to tell you, ‘I want to fuck you,’ to your face. You’ve gotta read between the lines, babe.”

You blush even harder.

“I could see it for myself,” Ayame continues as she turns back to check herself out in the little mirror. Her nose scrunches just a little and she hastily pulls the sunglasses off, discarding them with a flourish. “He’s a respectful one, but I could see it in his eyes. That kid is dying to get a taste of you.”

“Ohmygod, Ayame,” you mumble, covering your burning cheeks with your hands. “You need to stop.”

Ayame bursts out laughing at your embarrassment. “It’s just an observation,” she tells you with a shrug. “And hey, if you don’t wanna fuck him, that’s fine.”

She must be doing this on purpose, you think as you hastily shake your head at her words. She has to be, she’s too smart for that not to be the case. Because your whole body is growing hot with thoughts of what she’s saying, and no matter how much you try to banish the idea from your mind, it just keeps floating back.

Does Bokuto want to fuck you?

Thankfully, Ayame lets out a loud gasp and dives towards another rack, effectively distracting you from whatever dark place you were about to spiral into. You give her a curious look over the skirts in front of you, watching the way her high ponytails bobs as she flings a number of hangers to the side to expose what she wants. When she finally gets her hands on it, she lets out a small squeal and then her head pops back up, a sly smile on her face.

“I have the perfect thing for you.”

Your stomach drops a little because if you’re honest, the clothes the Ayame wears and the clothes that you wear are very…different. Not that she doesn’t have good taste but, you’re just… bigger.

Still, you make your way over to her, trying to catch glimpses of whatever she’s got in her hands as you do so. From far away, it just looks like a violent bunch of colour but when you get closer and she holds it up properly, you realise it’s actually a dress.

Ayame spins to face you when you round the last wrack of clothes and come to stand beside her. And before you have a chance to think, she’s holding the dress up against your body.

“Oh my goodness, it’s perfect!”

You blink at her, struggling to look down at yourself with her arms in the way. Then you reach up ads take the dress for yourself, holding it a little away from your body so that you can get a proper look at it.

And, you’ll have to admit, you give props to Ayame. Because it really is gorgeous.

The fabric is pale pink and so soft it almost doesn’t seem real. It flows like liquid between your fingers with wide, loose sleeves that go to the elbow and a skirt that reaches your mid-shin. The neckline dips low, a V-shape down the front of the dress and the back mimics it. Thin laces tie across the front, bringing the waist in and looping together in a loose bow, which droops prettily against the front of the dress. It’s very summery, very light and floaty, and makes you think of the fairy tales you used to read as a young child, about pretty girls who twirl through forest clearings wearing dresses like this.

Your only quell is… will it fit?

Ayame is still gushing as she fluffs at the sleeves and pulls at the skirt, pinching the edges to bring it up and out to get the full length. “It’s good quality fabric,” she muses, rubbing it between her fingers. “And it’s so light! I’m sure it’s really comfortable! And the price…” she checks the tag and squeals like a teenager. “It’s not even that much! Only ¥2600! Oh, you have to buy it!”

You smile at her. “Well, I need to try it on first… But it is very pretty!”

“Then go try it on!” She practically shoves you in the direction of the changing rooms. “I promise you, if you wear that, he’s not going to be able to take his eyes off you!”

You don’t admit it out loud, but you do like the sound of that. So, you go, giggling a little at her enthusiasm. Thankfully, the four fitting rooms that the small shop has are all open and you’re able to duck inside the first one quickly.

After shutting and locking the door, you turn around to observe the space. It’s small, even for a fitting room, with just one mirror on the wall opposite the door. Bright artificial light shines down on you from all angles and even as you got to hang the dress up on the hook in the wall, you make as much of an effort as you can to avoid looking at yourself in the mirror.

You hate fitting rooms. Scratch that, you despise fitting rooms. You doubt they flatter anyone, but for you, they feel like a genuine nightmare. Like they’re mocking you, showing you all your insecurities at once while bathing you in harsh, bright light. It’s even worse when the clothes you’re trying on don’t look nice, or don’t fit, and you don’t think there’s ever been a single time in your life when you’ve left a fitting room feeling good about yourself.

You’ll push through it now though, because you like this dress. And because you know Ayame will throw a fit if she finds out you didn’t actually give it a chance. And also, because you have a feeling Bokuto will like the dress, just as Ayame says. So, you do it for them.

That doesn’t make it any easier though.

You stare at the ground as you slowly discard the clothes you have on. Your jumper falls to the floor with a muffled thump!, and then your comfortable jeans follow. You haven’t got nice underwear on today, having gone for comfort over visuals this morning when you’d chosen what to wear. And you suddenly regret that choice when you turn to reach for the dress and catch a flash of your reflection out of your peripheral vision.

Your stomach drops like a stone and you snap your eyes closed immediately. But it’s already there, burned into the back of your retinas for good, refusing to be shaken away.

You bite down on your lip, hard.

Why do I have to look like that?

The rest of the process happens with your eyes shut. You step into the dress and then pull it up over yourself, before reaching around the back to grasp onto the zip. It goes up smoothly without getting stuck or needing to be tugged at, which in itself is a sigh of relief for you. And when you smooth the fabric out, over your body, you’re happy to find that it seems to hang how it should, with no weird bunching or awkward stretching anywhere.

Still, it takes you a few seconds of deep breathing before you can work up the courage to turn back to the mirror and open your eyes.

Please look nice please look nice please look nice please-

The light is a little blinding at first and you have to squint for a second as your eyes adjust. And then your gaze widens, eyes bulging when you see your reflection in the mirror properly for the first time that afternoon.

Because, thank god, the dress does look nice. It looks good, you look good.

Really, the word that comes to your mind -

It’s beautiful.

I look beautiful.

And suddenly, your smile is back.

After snapping a few pictures to show to Ayame, you get changed back into your own clothes and then head to pay for the dress. Then the pair of you go get boba and walk back towards your apartment along the promenade, talking the whole time.

After that, all that’s really left to do before your date is wait. You opt not to go to work on Saturday night, for the sake of being well-rested for Sunday. Although, you don’t sleep much and instead toss and turn in your bed, your mind rampaging with ideas of what will happen tomorrow.

And when tomorrow comes, you’re even more antsy.

Thankfully, Bokuto seems the same way. You text him throughout the earlier hours of the morning, joking back and forth smoothly, but then put your phone on silent three hours until the scheduled time. You’ve set these hours aside to get ready, which includes a shower, your full skin and hair routines, make up and last but not least, the dress.

You look gorgeous. Objectively. To be honest, you’re not even sure you’ve ever looked this pretty before in your whole life. More importantly, you feel gorgeous. Like it’s glowing from right inside your chest, the warmth and happiness and confidence that makes you feel like you could take on the whole world if you had to.

You’re beautiful. And you can say it without a single doubt.

It has you practically skipping from your apartment when the time finally comes, bag slung over your shoulder with a wicker basket full of all the things you had promised to bring hooked in your opposite elbow. It’s quite heavy but you don’t even notice it as you ride the elevator from your floor down to the foyer of the apartment complex.

Bokuto had promised to meet you outside the main doors of the building. However, when you get there and push them open to step out into the early afternoon sun, he’s nowhere in sight. A small bubble of disappointment pops in your throat, although it goes away quickly as you make your way to stand at the bottom of the steps. You shouldn’t expect him to be perfectly punctual anyway, not with the crazy life he leads. Not to mention, you yourself are a few minutes early.

Which means that he’s no doubt on his way and all you need to do is wait.

And so, you do. For five minutes, then ten, then fifteen, and then twenty.

Only, he never comes.

You give up waiting after two hours have gone by with not a single word from him. No texts, no calls, no sign of him anywhere. The sky has long since clouded over, turning your world of bright, vibrant colours dull and gloomy. Even when the rain does eventually start to fall and you rise from where you were sitting on the steps leading up to your apartment complex, you don’t hurry to get beneath cover. Your makeup is already ruined anyway and your dress doesn’t feel as pretty anymore, not with the way your heart sits in the pit of your stomach and your eyes continue to water.

And they are just watering, you’re not crying. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

It was stupid anyway. A stupid dream by a stupid hopeless romantic, about a stupid, stupid boy. As you make your way back up the steps towards the door, everything about your presence now thoroughly soaked, you scrub aggressively at your eyes. You shouldn’t have expected anything else. Because, as you’ve always known, people –

People aren’t like that.

You’re probably jumping to conclusions far too quickly. After all, any number of things might have happened. But it’s your teenage self that rises in your chest as the feeling of abandonment overwhelms you and all the memories start to come rushing back.

You wonder how much money his friends had paid him to hang out with you, how much he’d won when he got you to agree to the date. You wonder if they’re all laughing right now, tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces as they no doubt go through the entire string of messages you and he had shared. All while he himself sits back with that generic smug smirk on his face, feeling triumphant about the whole experience as he’s praised like a god by his friends.

You’ve seen it all before. You’ve experienced it all before. Your walk back to your apartment now feels horribly familiar and then suddenly you’re sixteen years old again, walking home from school with your heart shattered and your cheeks marred with tears, after yet another stupid boy had thought it would be funny to ask you out on a dare, or as a bet, or a prank, just so he could laugh with his friends afterwards while you broke down in front of everyone.

Funny how it hurts just as much now as it did back then, even when you’re older, and more mature, and supposedly more confident in yourself.

Still, you had liked Bokuto. A lot. Probably more than you had liked those boys back in high school. And the pain is terrible; burning in your chest like someone has run a spear right through your heart and is twisting it over and over while you can only watch on helplessly.

You’re humiliated too. So fucking humiliated, because you’d really thought you’d protected yourself. All those fucking promises you’d made late at night, about keeping others at a distance, about making sure you wouldn’t open up to someone unless you were sure they weren’t going to hurt you. Unless you knew they weren’t going to hurt you. It all makes you feel like an absolute fool now because you couldn’t even live up to your own fucking standards. You’d broken every single one of those promises, all because you’d thought Bokuto was different.

God, you really are stupid, huh.

You drop all your stuff on the floor as soon as you get back into your apartment. Close the door, lock it, throw your keys on the counter. You don’t even care that you’re dripping water all along the floor as you kick your shoes off and then go to trudge down the hallway, towards your bedroom.

You just want to sleep. That’s all. You’re emotionally exhausted and wet and shivering. And your only hope now is that the world of the unconscious will provide more comfort than that of the conscious.

You pause, however, when you pass through your living room, eye-catching on something that stands by the window, and it feels like your heart sinks even further.

Because it’s the painting. That stupid fucking painting, that you’d made all for him, just because he’d called you beautiful one fucking time, like the love-fucking-sick idiot you are.

You hate it. You hate it with every fibre of your being and it’s made even worse by the fact that the painting itself…

It is beautiful.

It’s ironic how it feels like you’ve finally achieved your goal, only for it to be the thing that turns your stomach the most.

All your paints are still out, spread over the floor at the base of the easel you’ve set up. You’re almost tempted to open one of the tubes, to smear it over the surface of the canvas and destroy whatever evidence you have of your shattered feelings.

But even as you think of it, you know it’ll never happen. Because you’re still too damn soft and even now, there’s warmth inside you as you look at the painting.

You turn away from it quickly and hurry towards your bedroom once again, as tears well up again in your eyes. Yuki looks up when you throw open your bedroom door, her bright eyes curious and concerned. Then she rises from where she’s curled into a ball on your bed and jumps to the floor, following you as you move into the en-suite bathroom.

You run a bath for yourself this time, and as you wait for the gushing water to fill the tub, you sit on the cool floor tiles and hold Yuki in your lap. The cat doesn’t seem to mind your soaking clothes and hair as she snuggles against you, rubbing her head comfortingly on your arm again and again. You know what she’s trying to tell you – It’s okay, I love you – but you still can’t bring yourself to smile. Your hand shakes just the slightest bit as you raise it to rub your palm down her back, feeling the warmth and comfort of her soft body.

“I…” you mumble and it’s the first thing you’ve said out loud in hours. Your voice comes out scratchy and strained and weak, so weak that you hate it. But you can’t help it. So you say, “I’m such an idiot.”

The tears return, harder this time. And it’s all you can do to curl up with Yuki in your arms and cry, hoping that maybe the pain with leach from your eyes along with your tears.

You cry until the bath is full. Then you cry some more as you sit in it, staring down at the way your body distorts beneath the surface of the warm, steaming water. It’s all your fault, you want to tell yourself as you stare down at your legs, your thighs, your hips. If you looked like Ayame this wouldn’t ever happen.

But you don’t let yourself say it out loud. Because this is all you’ve ever known. And it’s childish to believe things might’ve ever been different.

You sit in the bath until the water turns cold. Then you stand up and step out, wrapping a towel around your body and purposefully avoiding looking in the mirror as you leave the room to go find yourself a pair of comfortable pyjamas. After you’ve got them on and you somewhat warmer and cosier, you let yourself collapse down onto your bed. Yuki follows you, jumping back up to the little indent she’s left in the blankets. She curls up beside you, still comforting, still loving, even as you reach for your phone.

Still no texts, no phone calls, not a single thing from him. He hasn’t read the few texts you’d sent him either, the ones you’d fired off about after fifteen minutes of waiting, back when you were just wondering where he could be.

You’re not sure if this soothes or hurts you more, the fact that he hasn’t even acknowledged you at all. You’re not sure if you really want a text from him right now. After all, there aren’t many possible excuses that he could give which would make you feel any better about the situation.

Still, the silence is suffocating. You can’t help but turn your phone off and then turn it back on, almost immediately, going to check the chat again. But nothing magically appears, no apologies or excuses or explanations.

You check his social media too, as embarrassing as it is to say. His Instagram, his Twitter. Neither have any updates from within the last three hours. The most recent thing is a repost of some sports magazine on his Instagram story, the title screaming about his and his team’s latest achievements.

You even check the news – maybe there’s been an accident, something he can’t control? Maybe there’s been a road closure or some emergency with the team?

You don’t allow yourself to think about the way you’re mindlessly searching for excuses that might just make this whole thing makes sense. Because the most obvious answer is still staring you right in the face.

It was a joke, a prank, a bet, a dare. Some way to make fun of the chubby girl, some way to seek validation from friends who’d all stand around and laugh while he tore another person’s heart out. All because that’s what people – men – like to do.

Bokuto isn’t like that, another voice in the back of your mind says.

But you shove it away as hard as you possibly can. Because as much as you want to believe it, and believe that this is all just some big misunderstanding, you can never know for sure. You’ve never known if someone is like that or not because you’re naïve and they’ve always been so damn good at hiding their true selves.

You put your phone down after that, and bury yourself back in your blankets. It’s barely evening, still early afternoon really, but you can already feel yourself drifting off of sleep. You’re exhausted, mentally and physically, and sad.

So you don’t fight the sleep that reaches for you. Instead, you welcome it with open arms.

There’s someone banging at your door. In your throws of sleep, you can hear it, very faintly, almost not enough to register. You’re warm and comfortable, wrapped in your land of syrupy dreams and even as the noise continues to tug you further out of sleep, you clutch at it. There’s something in your gut that tells you nothing good is waiting for you back in the land of the awake.

Something shifts beside you then. A small body, a warmth that disappears. Yuki, you think, haphazardly, although you’re still not conscious enough to know for sure.

The knocking persists and then comes a buzzing sound. Your eyebrows furrow, your face scrunching into an expression of discomfort as you roll over, trying to get comfortable once again. But your body doesn’t settle as it should and then your eyes crack open. You blink once, twice, three times in the light that streams through your window. The curtains aren’t closed and the light is strangely orange, not quite looking the way it should for early morning.

And then your mind sharpens and your stomach sinks as you remember.

Oh, you wish you could go back to sleep.

The knocking hasn’t let up in the slightest. Still, you ignore it in the hopes that eventually whoever it is will get tired and leave. Instead, you reach for your phone, which is still sitting on your nightstand. You assume that’s what was buzzing and, when you pick it up and double-tap at the smooth glass, your suspicions are confirmed by the multitude of new messages that you have.

Your eyebrows furrow as you swipe to unlock your phone. You don’t have any idea who’d be trying to contact you so frantically, especially not right it. It’s not like you have any place you’re supposed to be or someone you need to be meeting. There’s only one person who might actually be the culprit and you highly doubt it’s him – still, you can’t stifle the spark of hope that grows in your chest.

Hope that burns brighter when you open your messages and find that every single one of the new notifications is from Bokuto’s chat.

Bokuto

Hey.

I’m so sorry.

You’re probably really mad right now.

Something came up. I would’ve told you immediately but I got held up. I promise, I wouldn’t have ditched you unless it really was an emergency.

My phone died, so I couldn’t call you when it happened.

Can I call you now?

Missed call from: Bokuto

Hey, Y/N. Please understand that I’m really really sorry. You have every right to be mad but please can you just let me know you’re okay?

Please, Y/N. I’m sorry.

Missed call from: Bokuto

I’m kinda worried, Y/N. Can you just send me a message or something?

Please?

I know you don’t want to talk to me right now. But I’m coming over, okay.

I just need to make sure you’re okay. Even if you’re angry.

You sit in perfect silence, staring down at your phone with wide, blank eyes. Never in your life would you have expected this kind of response after being ghosted, not at all. The last message had come through at 17:12, and when you check the current time on your phone, you find that it’s 17:34.

Which means that the person at the door…

Your phone falls to your carpeted floor with a thud as you haul all your blankets back and leap from the bed. Yuki, startled by your sudden movements, jumps too and then follows after you as you hastily make your way out of your bedroom and back towards the front door of your home. Around you, your apartment is beginning to darken – there are no lights on since you’d fallen asleep long before you might need any, and outside the sun is setting, casting a glow of deep orange and red through the large windows in your living room and through the rest of your space. You don’t stop to fix this, however, allowing the darkness to remain as you rush to the front door, because honestly, you don’t care. Your heart is in your mouth, your mind racing with everything he’d said in his text messages, as well as everything he didn’t say. As hurt as you still are, his words seemed earnest. And already, this is more than you’ve ever received in terms of dates, so you are inclined to give him a chance.

“Something came up” were his exact words. You can’t help but dread finding out what.

When you finally reach your entrance hall, you almost trip and fall flat on your face. Your shoes, bag and picnic basket are all still strewn across the floor from where you’d left them earlier, and it takes you a couple of moments to shove them all to the side in an attempt to clear a pathway to the front door.

And then, finally, you reach it. Grasping the handle, you throw the door open mid-knock, not bothering to check through the peep-hole and not caring that you probably look like a mess, dressed as you are in sweatpants and a hoodie, with your hair still ruffled from sleep, and yours eyes tired and sad.

“Bokuto.”

Before you even get a chance to look at him properly, before you can take in the way he’s standing on your doorstep, one arm raised to knock against the wood of the door, with a shocked expression on his face and wide, surprised eyes, he –

He steps for and wraps you in a hug.

You stand rooted to the stop, one hand still gripping the door handle. The other hangs limply at your side as your nose is buried unceremoniously in his broad shoulder, his own arms coming up to hold you tight against his warm body. You can feel his hands, one curved around your waist, the other pressed to your back, between your shoulder blades. His smells envelopes you, warm and musky and familiar, as well as his energy. He feels like Bokuto, even as he squeezes you so tightly and presses his face into your neck.

A shiver rushes up your spine when he breathes your name softly, so softly you almost miss it. “You’re okay,” he whispers out and it’s impossible not to feel the relief in his voice. “You’re …”

You don’t know what to do. On one hand, you’re still angry. You’re still hurt and upset and you want him to know. You need him to know how you’d felt when he didn’t show up because you need to know if it was for the same reason as everyone else. Even after his texts and his missed calls, you’re doubtful. Because you haven’t known anything else but to be made fun of and treated like a joke by the people you like.

On the other hand, however, you don’t want to leave his warmth. His arms are comforting, despite it all, and you want to snuggle further into them, closer, deeper. You want to let him hold you together, heal the cracks that have begun to form. You want him, so very badly.

It almost makes you cry.

Thankfully, you don’t get to make the choice. Because Bokuto pulls away before you even have time to really acknowledge your own emotions. And then you’re staring up into his face properly as his hand cup your face, your gaze finding and holding his as he blinks back at you with wide, apologetic eyes.

“I…” he begins, softly. There’s no trace of his usual confidence or the bubbly energy that comes with it. Instead, he seems small, subdued. Like he’s a child being scolded. Like he feels guilty.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he says all in a rush. “Something happened this morning and I know I should’ve let you know but my phone was dead and everything was such a rush, I didn’t even have time to stop and think. I… God, I’m so sorry, beautiful.”

There it is again – that word. You try your best to ignore it as you pull the tiniest bit away from him, shuffling backward until there’s a respectable distance between you two. You try not to notice the way his expression seems to fall just a little.

“What happened?” you ask, quietly. Your voice is just as groggy as before and much colder than you intend, but you don’t let yourself feel guilty. No, he’s going to explain before you start to blame yourself. Because this isn’t your fault. And it may not even be his.

Bokuto sighs and rubs at the back of his head. “We were having an extra practice session,” he begins. “Not proper training or anything, we were just messing around. Doing a three-on-three match.”

You nod, understanding.

“I’m not entirely sure how it happened but, when Sakusa went to spike, I think his jump was a bit off. He came down at the wrong angle and his ankle…” He trails off, his face twisting in a wince as he seems to replay the scene in his head. “It’s broken. Pretty badly, actually. We had to rush him to the hospital and... well, it was all really chaotic.” He pauses at the sight of your wide eyes and lets out a short chuckle. “Oh, he’s okay, don’t worry. They got everything sorted and he should make a full recovery. Obviously, he can’t play volleyball for a while but… between you and me, he needed a break. That guy has always worked himself way too hard when it comes to volleyball. And-“

But he doesn’t get to continue because you suddenly throw your arms around him in another hug and pull him right back to you, so you can bury your face in his chest.

Your insides are churning. Because now you suddenly do feel really guilty. Not just about the way you’d acted but also what you’d been thinking. About Bokuto, and his friends. You’ve spent your evening moping, wallowing, while Bokuto’s teammate has been in hospital, in pain. Suddenly all your issues seem futile and insignificant.

Although, it still hurts. Not much but enough to remind you that it had, that the pain you’d experience had been real.

You forgive him though, immediately, when he tugs you close again and buries his face back into the crook of your shoulder. Your lip begins to tremble as everything wells up inside you and then your eyes are stinging again. Your fingers dig a little tighter into the fabric of the shirt Bokuto is wearing as you sniffle, struggling to hold in your tears.

“H-hey-?” you hear mumbled against you. Then Bokuto pulls back once again to look properly at your face. You try to shy away from him as his eyes rove across your flushed cheeks and trembling jaw, all concern and worry and sympathy. But he holds you steady, keeping you looking at him with a gentle hand on your chin.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asks. And it’s the last crack in the dam wall that you need before everything spews forth. The first tear breaks from your waterline and trickles down the roundness of your cheek.

“I-“ you mumble, sniffing. “I just… I thought that you didn’t – That you didn’t-“

“That I didn’t want to go out with you anyone?” Bokuto fills in for you, reading between the lines.

You nod as another tears tracks its way down your face. “I thought you asked me on a dare, or as a prank or…or something,” you mumble out, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I thought it was all a joke and you didn’t really… like me.”

You feel humiliated, and it’s even worse admitting it to his face. And Bokuto-

Bokuto looks flabbergasted, disgusted even. He’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head, like he doesn’t understand what it is you’re saying.

And that makes warmth bloom in your chest. Because that’s irrefutable proof that he’s not that kind of person.

“Hey hey hey,” Bokuto says desperately as yet another tear escapes your eye. He holds your face gently between both of his hands, his palms warm and solid on either side of your cheeks. You can feel the roughness of his thumbs as he rubs them beneath your eyes, catching the tears that fall there. “Listen, I would never ever do that. Not to anyone, and especially not to you, okay?”

He leans forward and for a heart-stopping second you almost think he’s going to kiss you. But doesn’t. Instead, he just presses his forehead against yours as his warmth envelops you once again.

“I really like you,” he says then and his voice is much softer than before. “A whole lot. And I’m so sorry I made you think…” He sighs. “The fact that I hurt you, even if it was all an accident… I hate it. So, I promise, I’m never ever going to make you feel like that ever again, okay?”

You can’t help yourself. “Promise?” you ask him, eyes opening so you can blink up into his.

And he gives you a soft smile in return, his gaze warm and comforting. “Promise.”

He’s not lying. He’s not, he promised. Your heart is rejoicing, practically singing in your ears. And the smile grows easily on your face, even through your tears, as you reach up for him, hands going to his shoulders, to the back of his neck. And then –

And then, you kiss him.

It’s soft at first. So, unbelievably soft, like neither of you are brave enough to push further. Bokuto stays frozen beneath your touch for barely a second before reciprocating, still cupping your face. His lips are warm and only slightly chapped, and there’s something almost aggressively perfect about the way they fit with yours. You don’t even have to try – your placement is perfect, your rhythm is perfect, everything about this moment is just perfect. Bokuto handles you like you’re made of gold and jewels, and in his arms, you almost feel like you are. The spark in your chest grows and burns bright, rushing through your veins and bones until you feel like your whole body might be glowing.

You’re not sure who pulls away first. But it’s only for a moment. A brief lull in your movements where you can just stare up at Bokuto, and watch the way he stares back down at you. You can see all the emotions you feel mirrored right back at you in his bright eyes; the anxiety, the trust, the desire…

The lust.

No, you’re not sure who pulls away first. But it’s him who pulls you back in for another kiss, with a large hand cradling the back of your head to guide you upwards until your lips can meet his again.

And this time, it’s like you’re both a little braver. Like you’ve reached an understanding together and can now move forward as one. Because Bokuto’s mouth is hot against your own and his lips are demanding, and firmer than before. He moulds them with yours in a tighter seal, like he needs to feel all of you, and you let him without a single doubt. And when his lips part and his tongue darts out, you allow it access to your own with an eagerness that could also be described as desperate.

He tastes like… watermelon? You wonder about it as you let him invade you further, tasting his tongue between against your own. It’s… really nice, actually. Perfect. You haven’t kissed too many people in your life, although it’s enough to be able to make a judgment and this kiss…

Well, you might not put it right at the top of your tier-list just yet because that’d be a bit precocious of you. But it’s definitely up there.

As if Bokuto knew just what you’re thinking, he lets out a low and muffled sound from deep in the back of his throat – maybe it’s a groan, or a growl? Either way, it’s electric and sends sparks shooting across your skin. A breathy sigh of your own escapes you as you bury your fingers deeper into his thick hair. And then he’s pushing you back, his huge body dwarfing yours in terms of strength. He has you up against the door frame in no time, which presses a little uncomfortably into your back. But you honestly can’t bring yourself to care as his hand slides from your jaw to your neck and then to the juncture of your collarbone, where he rubs his thumb tenderly over the skin that’s available through the collar of your hoodie.

Okay, scratch that, you think hazily as he somehow presses even closer. This is definitely the best kiss you’ve ever had.

And just like that, it’s over. Bokuto pulls away from you, his lips leaving yours with a wet sound that makes you blush. And then he’s pulling you inside your own apartment, not even giving you a second to think.

The door swings shut behind you and then the pair of you are standing in your hallway in complete silence, staring up at each other. Although, for some reason, everything seems more real now, when you’re here in your own home, just the both of you, with no chance that there could be anyone else around. And the fact that Bokuto looks visibly flustered, with kiss-bruised lips and messy hair, and hazy eyes that look like they’ve seen the light… it makes you blush probably far more than it ever should.

“I…” you begin. But then you trail off, because now that the pair of you are here, together, and alone, and you’re in your pyjamas and he’s just in his sweats and a t-shirt, it…

Well, it sends your mind off to places you’re not sure it should be going to.

Thank god, Bokuto seems to understand. Because he pulls you into another, shorter hug. And you get to close your eyes and bury yourself in his warmth once again.

“Can you…” Bokuto mumbles into your hair from where his mouth is pressed to your temple. “Can you explain to me… what you were feeling? I wanna…understand.”

You don’t really want to tell him. But that’s only because you’re so embarrassed. And when you pull away from him just a little to look up into his face, you catch sight of his eyes once again. You see how earnest he is, how curious, and it makes you think that, even if you are embarrassed, he needs to know. If for nothing else than to satiate his own curiosity.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. Then you pull out of his arms completely and take a stay away from him. “But let’s sit first. I don’t really want to talk about all this right here.”

“Right,” Bokuto agrees.

You wait for him as he toes his shoes off and then take his hand to lead him deeper into your apartment. Then the pair of you walk towards your living room, switching lights on throughout the apartment as you go.

It’s only once you reach it and Bokuto draws up short behind you, that you realise you’ve left the painting out. It stands proudly by the window still, bathed now is the warm orange glow of the overhead lamps, and while it doesn’t look nearly as impressive as it usually does in natural lighting, it still manages to showcase its subject matter beautifully.

Your eyes go wide and you look nervously from Bokuto to the painting and back again. You’re not ready for this yet – you’d wanted to unveil it to him properly, when you thought the time was right and you’d checked and rechecked every detail of it to make sure it was exactly how you wanted it to be. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, with Bokuto stumbling in on the thing, in all its raw and natural glory.

“Is… Is that me?” Bokuto asks and his voice is quiet. You feel your stomach do a wild flip and suddenly, you’re terrified.

He’ll probably think I’m a creep, or a stalker, your mind shrieks wildly. He’s going to be so freaked out, he’s going to leave and not come back!

Still, you can’t exactly lie, not when it’s so obvious that it is him. So, you purse your lips, straighten your back and say, “It is.”

Bokuto blinks again, still looking. Then he steps forward moving to stand a little closer to the painting. You watch the way his eyes rove across its whole surface area, taking in every dip and contour you’ve so painstakingly created. He must recognise the reference photo in it, you’re sure, because he doesn’t immediately ask when the fuck you’ve seen him shirtless. And then relief floods your body as you see the corner of his mouth beginning to twitch upwards.

He turns to look at you and there’s a brief pause during which his eyes roam your face. Then he asks, “Why?”

And your reply. “Because I wanted to make something beautiful.”

“Something beautiful?”

You nod. Then you step closer to join him. A sudden feeling of déjà vu hits you and you’re taken back to the first time you’d invited Bokuto into your apartment when the pair of you had stood in front of your koi fish.

“You…” you start, tripping a little over your own words. “You call me that. Beautiful, I mean. And I…I guess I thought that you were beautiful too, only I couldn’t really express it in words. So, I… made this.”

“It’s…” Bokuto paused, swallows. Looks between you and the painting again. “It is beautiful.”

“You think?” you can’t help the way you must sound desperate, tentative. Like you need his validation or you’ll die.

Bokuto's smile grows just a little and then he looks back at you properly.

“I do,” he confirms with a nod of his head. And then his hand is reaching out for yours, enveloping it. Your fingers are dwarfed by his and you love it. Somehow, just this simple touch of his hand to yours makes you feel like everything in the whole world is okay.

“I-“ Bokuto continues, “I want to you tell me about it…later. I wanna know. But first…” and then he turns away from the painting to face you properly. “I want you to tell me about earlier and… about everything you were feeling.”

You look up at him for a long second, taking in his face, his eyes, the way his gaze finds yours. And then you nod slowly and squeeze his hand once. “Okay.”

The pair of you move to sit down on your couch. You pull your legs up in front of you to hug your knees and Bokuto twists so he can sit facing your direction totally. His hand never once leaves yours.

And then you tell him. About everything. About high school, and what had always happened. About how you felt, about yourself, about him, about everyone else. About the Good Days and the Bad Days and the way they’d controlled you for so long. And the way they suddenly hadn’t since you’d met him. About how excited you’d been earlier, and then how bad you’d felt when he didn’t come. And finally, about how guilty you feel now, after finding out the truth.

And Bokuto listens through all of it, with a soft expression on his face, and his hand in yours. And when you’re finished he leans forward and pulls you right against his chest in the longest hug yet.

“I understand…” you mumble into the warmth of his t-shirt as he holds you. “I understand if you don’t really want to see me anymore. It’s a lot and it isn’t really fair to dump all of it on you.”

You say it but… you don’t really mean it. Because while you might understand, your heart is screaming for him to stay, to accept you despite it all.

You can feel Bokuto smile softly into your hair.

“You’re pretty dumb, you know,” he mumbles as his arms around you tighten even more. “If you actually think any of that’s going to change my mind.”

You try to lift your head to look at him but he places a hand on the back of your scalp to keep your face pressed into his shoulder.

“I get it now,” he mumbles to you. “But please remember what I promised before. I’m not ever gonna think of you that way. I never have and I never will. I care about you, I like you. A whole lot. I think you’re gorgeous and amazing and super talented and… and even if you don’t believe me now, I’m gonna prove it to you, okay?”

You feel your eyes beginning to well up with tears again, so you press even closer into him. Your arms come up to slide around his shoulders and then you’re actually crying. But, it’s happy tears this time, so you let them fall.

“I… really like you, Bokuto,” you murmur into his shoulder. You feel his chuckle in response.

“Call me Koutaro,” he tells you quietly. “And I really like you too, gorgeous.”

“Koutaro,” you whisper, testing it out. He finally lets you pull away from him then and you sit back a little so you can look him properly in the face.

“Koutaro,” you say again, and it’s perfect. He smiles back at you in response as one of his hands comes up to cup your cheek. You revel in the feeling of his thumb rubbing back and forth against your skin for a moment. And then he’s pulling you forward, kissing you again. And you kiss him back with no hesitance at all, one hand going to his shoulder and the other tangling on his thick, soft hair.

The pair of you stay like that for a moment, so close that your energies mix and you’re not quite sure who’s who anymore. Bokuto’s lips mould yours to fit their shape while his tongue teases your own, soft but hot and needy. And then, as his hands slide down your body to hold you securely at the hips, you feel it for the first time; that spark igniting inside you, deep in your abdomen.

It’s faint at first, but the longer Bokuto kisses you the more it grows. And it makes you whimper into his mouth and tug at his hair, desperate for anything, for more.

And then, all of a sudden, he’s got you properly. And he’s pulling you – lifting you, really – onto his lap, until your thighs are settled on either side of his and you can press even closer into him, chest to chest as you let him devour you.

He pulls away from you then, though only the slightest bit, and his nose brushes yours as he stares up at you. And you stare back as your chest heaves, your lips swollen and tingling, a bright look of wonder in your eyes.

“Koutaro,” you say again, only your voice is barely there, just a breath against his lips. At the sound of it, he grins up at you, his eyes shining with joy and excitement and awe. You watch his hand come up, then feel it along your hairline as he strokes down your face. And when he whispers your name, it’s just as soft as your own voice was, just as breathy. It’s tender too and you feel your heart squeeze at the sound of it, the fire deep within you singing loudly as his touch continues to travel, down your face, down your neck, and then to the collar of your hoodie.

It pauses there, thumbing at your skin that’s peeking out from under the fabric. And then he looks up at you, from beneath long dark eyelashes, and gives you a puppy dog smile.

“Can you take this off for me?”

Something sparks wildly inside you, something that you’re not entirely sure of. Maybe it’s nerves, maybe it’s excitement, maybe –

Maybe it’s lust.

Either way, you like it. It’s warm and tingly and spreads throughout your entire body as you slowly reach down, your hands going to the hem of your hoodie so you can do as Bokuto has asked. For a second you pause there, taking in the way he’s looking at you, as well as the way you feel entirely comfortable with him. And then you begin to tug the hoodie upwards, pulling it over your head and revealing yourself to Bokuto as you do so.

You don’t have much on underneath it. Just a thin black top with spaghetti-strap sleeves and a low neckline, that crops just below your ribcage. It’s not something you’d usually ever let anyone else see you in, the kind of clothes that are reserved for when you’re lounging around the house, completely alone. And yet, as Bokuto stares at you, stares at the curves and dips of your body that are put on display by the shirt, at your stomach, at your breasts, at your shoulders and your arms, you feel just as pretty in that stupid tank top as you did earlier, in your dress.

Bokuto swallows visibly, his adam’s apple bobbing. And then he leans forward to press his face into the crook of your neck as his arms encircle your waist again. “You’re stunning,” he whispers into your skin before pressing a light kiss to it. Your breath hitches in your throat at the feeling, something Bokuto must notice immediately because he lets out a low chuckle. And then he kisses your skin properly, one hand traveling up to hold your head steady as he does so.

You let your eyes fall closed as you enjoy the sensation. Bokuto’s mouth is hot against your neck, his tongue slipping out every once in a while, to flick across your skin. He even sucks a few times, not hard enough to leave marks but enough so that you’re choking back soft moans and sighs. At the same time, his hands explore your skin, tracing the curves of your body with a feather light touch as he moulds you to how he wants to. And you let him, your breaths becoming weak and shallow as your head falls back, giving him more excess to your neck as the sensations overwhelm you.

“I want you,” Bokuto whispers against the shell of your ear, his voice rough and scratchy. “Fuck, I – I need you.”

“Koutaro,” is all you can whine in return as his hands dip down to grip your hips securely. Without really thinking, you roll your body against him, searching for more. And he obliges, guiding your hips with his hands so he can slot you better against his own lap. You feel the first prod of the bulge growing in his pants and bite down hard on your lip to suppress another moan.

Bokuto groans in answer. Then he pulls away from your neck to fit his mouth back to yours, his lips and tongue searing hot. You reciprocate the kiss with as much enthusiasm as he gives, as your hands sink into his thick hair. When you tug a little at the soft strands – an attempt to ground yourself – you feel a shiver run through Bokuto’s body. Then he whines against your mouth once before pulling back to look up at you with hazy eyes.

“Is this – Is this okay?” he asks earnestly, watching your expression carefully. “We… I mean, I don’t wanna pressure you-“

A smile pricks at the corner of your mouth as your expression softens, and then you lean forward to press the softest of kisses to his forehead. He closes his eyes and hums at the contact, holding you close when you begin to pull away, and it almost makes you laugh.

“This is fine,” you whisper to him softly, sweetly. “This is great.”

Something passes through his eyes and he licks at his lips before mumbling a soft, “fuck”. And then he pulls you back down to him, sealings his lips to yours once again as he uses his grip on your hips to gently rock your body against him.

You whimper at the feeling, a flurry of sparks popping in your veins as you feel him rubbing right up against the crotch of your sweats. The bulge at his crotch is more prominent now and it makes your head spin just a little as your mind wanders to places that make you blush. Still, you continue to roll your hips and then smile into the kiss when you hear Bokuto let out a series of soft whimpers.

“You – You – fuck!” he mumbles out, words which you swallow immediately. “Shit, baby.”

And then his head falls back properly as a full moan escapes him when you slip your hand between his body and yours to place your palms flat against the stiffening tent of his cock.

You can’t help the way you smile to yourself, or the way your chest burns with excitement and need as you watch his eyelids flutter. You’ve done this all before, sure, but not ever with someone that you actually care about. Most times it’s just been causal hook-ups, who you’d leave before you could let yourself feel something. Because of that, you’d thought you were experienced in the whole sex thing. But now as you stare down at Bokuto, watching the way his face contorts in pleasure as you give him a languid stroke over the front of his pants, you can’t help but feel like a blushing virgin all over again. Because this time, it’s completely different.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Bokuto slurs as his hips jump up to meet your hands desperately. “Feels… Feels so good, baby, fuck.”

You lean in closer, taking advantage of the way he’s falling apart under you to kiss tenderly up the column of his throat. It has Bokuto letting out a long groan at the feeling. And suddenly his hand jumps down, long fingers wrapping around your wrist. And then he pulls it up and away from his cock, his chest heaving up and down as he does so.

You pull away from his neck to give him a pout, disappointed. He gives you a soft kiss in return, and murmurs, “Not yet, gorgeous. If you’d kept going I would’ve cum right here.”

You giggle a little and quirk one eyebrow. “So soon?”

To which he chuckles, a little embarrassed, as his cheeks glow pink.

“It’s okay,” you mumble to him, leaning in until your lips are brushing the shell of his ear. He visibly shivers at the feeling and his eyes fall closed again as you whisper, “I like it.”

Because you do. A whole lot.

Bokuto mumbles something unintelligible. And then he’s grasping at your hips again, and lifting you like it’s nothing. You squeal as you’re transferred from straddling both his thighs to just a single one. And then your eyes go wide when you feel the muscle of his leg press right up against the heat of your core. Your gaze meets Bokuto’s again and you bite hurriedly at your lip, entranced by the way his eyes scan up and down your body.

“Is this okay?” he asks, as he settles you across his leg. And it’s all you can do to nod in reply, suddenly finding the feeling of him between your legs very, very distracting. Cautiously, you give just the gentlest roll of your hips. And then the both of you fall into light moans and you feel your heat rubbing up against the firm muscle of his thigh.

Bokuto’s hands tighten just a little around your hips. And then he goes to rock you again, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling slack as you whimper. “Shit… Keep going, okay?” he mumbles to you and you do, taking the initiative to roll your own hips and begin riding his thigh at your own pace.

The material of your sweatpants is relatively thick, and yet it’s like you can feel everything right through it. Your cunt throbs as you grind your clit into his leg, fiery warmth pulsing up from the place of contact, and you have to wonder if your panties are soaked through by now. You’re so wet, you can feel it against your own inner thighs, your syrupy slick that leaking from you. The thought crosses your mind of what if you soak right through your own pants and into his? But Bokuto doesn’t seem worried at all as he begins rock his thigh, bouncing it just slightly in order to rub it more firmly up against you in time with your own hips, and, in doing so, gives your clit the most friction possible.

Your head falls back and you moan as pleasure spikes suddenly through your lower abdomen. Your muscles tense up and you feel your pussy clench against nothing as a shudder runs through your body. Your clit had rolled right over his thigh oh so perfectly, and not only did it make you see stars, but it also triggers the beginning of the incline, the build-up, towards your first orgasm of the night.

Honestly, you’re not sure how you’ve gotten here so quickly. But as your pace quickens a little and you continue to grind yourself on Bokuto’s thigh, you realise you could never complain. Not with the way he’s making you feel as warm, gooey pleasure floods your body like hot syrup, turning your mind hazy and making your eyes roll back in your head.

Below you, Bokuto’s moans harmonise with yours, his eyes wide and dazed as he watches the way you get yourself off on his leg. He looks almost as spent as you probably do, with his mouth hanging open slightly and his eyes fluttering with each roll of your his, and you wonder briefly if he’s getting just as much out of this as you are, if he’s just as turned on.

The thought only works to heighten your pleasure, and then you let out a high squeal as Bokuto leans forward to tongue feverishly as your neck. At the same time, his hands slip around your body to knead at your ass, increasing your rocking and making you arch your back into him. You feel your muscles spasm again as a much deeper spike of pleasure rushes through you, reminding you that your climax is fast approaching.

“Kou-“ you choke out as your thighs clamp around his and your hands claw at his shoulders desperately. “F-fuck, Koutaro, I’m-!”

“Let go,” he whispers back, barely a mumble against the skin over your jugular. “Cum for me, please, gorgeous. You’re doing so well, so good, baby.”

He sounds barely coherent like his head is just as hazy as yours, and it makes you moan with delight. Your fingers dig deep crescents into the back of his shoulders as you grip them tightly, and then your breathing is turning ragged and your body is tensing up as you reach your crest.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble, feeling like you’re hanging right on the edge of the cliff of your orgasm. “S’close, fuck, fuck!”

And thank fuck Bokuto seems to know exactly what to do, otherwise, you’re scared you might just stay hanging there forever. With one smooth hand on your back, he eases your body forward just a little. And then he slips his other hand down, between your pussy and his thigh so you’re grinding down on his fingers instead of his leg. “Good girl,” he whispers when you whine at the feeling of his thumb on your clit, even through your sweats. “That’s it, fuck, you look so pretty like this. It’s okay, cum for me.”

And it’s enough to make you let go, to have your whole body shuddering as your orgasm rips through you, hot and blinding.

You slump against Bokuto then, muscle spasming occasionally from brief aftershocks and tingles of overstimulation. And Bokuto rubs softly at your back, cooing to you sweetly as he places soft kisses all along your neck and shoulder.

“You did so good,” he mumbles to you, pulling your body so you’re straddling his lap properly again. His hand remains on your thigh, fingers rubbing soothing circles into the warm flesh, and you can’t help but relax totally against him, eyes sliding shut as you bask in the warm post-orgasm haze. Bokuto kisses your temple again, and then you feel him grin smugly into your hairline. “You’re so pretty when you cum,” he tells you in a low voice. “So fucking gorgeous.”

It makes you blush furiously and turn to hide your face in the confines of his shoulder. Bokuto laughs at this, a deep rumbling sound that you feel vibrating through his chest. Then he leans down to press a sweet kiss to your cheek.

You raise your head before he can land it though, and meet his mouth with your own instead. For a moment, the pair of you kiss softly, languidly, like you have all the time in the world – Bokuto places a gentle hand on the side of your face to hold in in place while he licks teasingly against your bottom lip. And you reciprocate with a soft smile, nipping at his in turn, which has him groaning into your mouth.

When you pull away, the both of you are breathless, chests heaving and cheeks flushed. Bokuto’s eyes travel across your face for a second, taking in your expression. Then the corner of his mouth twitches, quirks upwards, and he says, “So… you wanna continue?”

You can’t help but grin back at him. “Definitely.”

And then before he can protest, you’re giving him the lightest of kisses on the cheek before pushing yourself off his lap and slithering to the floor.

Bokuto blinks down at you for a second, his surprised expression almost comical as he takes in the way you sit kneeling between his hulking thighs. Then realisation flashes across his expression and his mouth drops into a small ‘o’. “Oh fuck,” is all he can say, and even then, his voice sounds weak and shaky.

You smile up at him innocently and reach up to rub one of your hands up and down the length of his long thigh. His legs are beautiful, you think as you observe the way his muscles tense and relax beneath your touch. Powerful. They remind you of what he does with most of his time, of the physical strain it must put on his body. And then your mind wonders to what his body must actually look like, beneath all those clothes. You’d gotten a small taste already, from the reference picture you’d used for your painting. But you’ve yet to see the real thing, and it’s making you a little desperate.

Without really even thinking, your arms creep up and your thumb slowly at the hem of the hoodie he’s wearing. “Take this off,” you mumble, watching him from beneath fluttering eyelashes. And he does so without missing a beat. The hoodie falls to the floor just beside you and is then followed by his t-shirt. And then you’re staring up at a very shirtless Bokuto, with all of his beautiful body out on display for you to see.

You realise now that your painting probably hasn’t done him justice at all. Because Bokuto is, well –

He’s breathtaking.

All wide, muscled shoulders sloping into arms that could probably crush your head with ease. A defined chest, large, round pecs that you’re much tempted to bury your face in, and chiselled abnormal muscles that ripple deliciously with each breath he takes. He’s huge, a true giant of thick muscle mass. And you have to snap your mouth closed very quickly in order to keep from drooling.

Bokuto reaches up to brush a hand through his hair as you continue to stare up at him in awe, with just the slightest blush tinting at the slopes of his cheeks. “I, um…” he begins to mumble out, averting his eyes from yours. But you don’t let him finish because you rise from your place on the floor to place a long, hot kiss to his lips.

“You’re… beautiful,” you whisper to him when you pull away. And your heart does a backflip at the sight of his answering smile.

“Yeah?” he mumbles out and you nod, staring down into his eyes with an expression of pure admiration.

“So beautiful,” you breathe and then you lean back in to trail kisses down the column of his throat. He tilts his head back as you go, his hands doing to run up and down your body once again. You shuffle downward, kissing your way down his collarbone and then between his pecks, pausing for just a second to swirl your tongue languidly around one of his nipples. He whines aloud at the feeling and when you glance up, you get to watch his adam’s apple bob as he gulps. Feeling smug, you nip at his skin lightly before continuing along your chosen path, pressing your lips along the searing skin of his abs before finally, you’re on your knees again, lips hovering just above the band of his sweats.

You don’t even have to take his pants off to know that he’s fucking huge. The bulge of his hard cock stands proud before your eyes and you take a brief second to admire it. Then you lean forward and press a kiss to its peak. Despite the fact that it’s still over the fabric of his sweats, Bokuto moans aloud.

“Fuck, baby.”

You hide your smile as you reach up to curl your fingers into the thick waistband of his sweatpants. It’s like both of you are holding your breath as you begin to ease them down, waiting and watching in awe as slowly the grey material is pulled away, just enough for the bulge in his boxers beneath to come free. You notice a damp spot on the dark blue fabric and again, you muffle your smile. It’s an odd sense of power that comes with seeing something like that, and knowing that it’s you who’s got him so desperate. Nevertheless, you enjoy it, and hearing the way he whines when you begin to pull his boxers down too makes your chest flower with warmth.

You don’t bother taking his clothes off properly, just shimmy them down enough for his cock to spring free. And oh fuck, when you finally get to see it, you can’t deny the way your gut twists with undiluted need and the heat between your thighs throbs even hotter.

As you’d thought, he’s huge. Not only that but he’s pretty. With veins curling their way up his full length, a girth that practically has you drooling, and the prettiest pink tip that matches the flushed colour of his lips almost perfectly, you’re inclined to say he has the nicest dick you’ve ever seen.

You’re almost too eager when you drop your head down to press a soft kiss right to its tip. It’s leaking precum, which you lick up immediately before wrapping your lips around the head completely and giving a soft suck. Above you, Bokuto whimpers at the feeling and lets his head fall back against the back of the couch. At the same time, his hips give a distinctive jump, forcing a few more inches of himself into your mouth. You take it happily though, hollowing out your cheeks as you explore his length with your tongue. His hand comes out to press against the back of your head, guiding you gently as you test things out and take note of what makes him moan or whine.

“Shit,” Bokuto whispers when you pull back to run your tongue all the way up the underside of his cock. “Shit, do that again.”

You do and his mouth falls open in a moan as his fingers curl against your scalp. “Oh fuck!”

You moan against him in turn, your eyes remaining fixed on his face as your take him into your mouth once again. One of your hands remains on his thigh, fingers digging into the material of his sweatpants to claw at the thick muscles beneath, while your other goes to the base of his cock. You pump as it as you angle your head to take as much of him in as you can. His chest heaves at the feeling and then he chokes when his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag around him. His hips give another languid thrust and then you have to pull back as tears begin to bead at the corners of your eyes, your throat tingling.

“Shit, I’m sor-“ he begins to mumble. But you don’t let him finish when you dive back in to lick against his balls, pumping his cock in your hand as you do so. His words trail off into a whine and his eyes roll back again, his breathing going ragged. You glance up to watch as his abs begin to visibly tense up, his dick twitching in your grip. Hastily, you go to suck on it again, listening lazily to the way his voice raises an octave as the feeling of your mouth around him again.

“Baby,” he whines between pants, his fingers tightening just a little in your hair. “S’good – fuck - you make me feel so good! Your mouth feels so good around my cock – s-shit! Shit, you’re gonna make me cum!”

The last part is little more than a whine as his body tenses even more. Your pace increases in desperation at the sound of his voice as your pussy clenches around nothing yet again. Desperately, you rub your thighs together as your head bobs faster, your own breathing growing shallow. Bokuto lets out more whines and whimpers above you, mumbled curse words and moans of your name. And you have to marvel at how turned on it has you – never before have you enjoyed sucking someone off so much.

Then, suddenly, Bokuto’s cock twitches in your mouth. His thighs tense up on either side of your head and you all but slam his entire length down your throat, taking as much of him as you can as you swallow thickly around him. “Oh god,” Bokuto chokes, thrusting up into your mouth again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum – I’m gonna – I’m gonna cum… fuck!”

You feel him hit his climax as his hand falls away from your head, giving you room to pull back if you want to. But you don’t want to – you stay with his cock buried down your throat, your eyes practically rolling back as you feel the warm loads of his release begin to fill your mouth.

It’s only once you’ve swallowed down all that he has to give that you pull back. Your tongue comes out, licking over your lips for any leftover residue of him as you look back up to meet his eyes again. He’s staring down at you in awe, as if you’re some kind of goddess. And in truth you feel like one as you rise to climb back onto his lap again, entwining your arms around his shoulders and letting him cup your face with a soft hand so he can draw you down for another smouldering kiss.

He must taste his own release when your tongue tangles with his because he groans into your mouth. And then you feel his large hands grip your thighs, massaging at the flesh for a second before securing them around his waist.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers against your lips when you pull back just slightly to breathe. “That was the best blowjob I’ve ever had.”

You can’t help but giggle at that, your expression lighting up with joy. And he smiles in return, before leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Seriously,” he mumbles as his head drops down so he can bury his nose in the crook of your neck once more. “You’re… fuck, you’re amazing.”

You purse your lips, flushing at his adoring words because you can tell he isn’t lying. Not in the slightest. And when he raises his head once again to blink up at you lovingly, you meet his gaze head on.

“Can I…” he starts, his eyes just the slightest bit hazy. “Can I return the favour?”

Your heart jumps, your own eyes widening a little bit. The butterflies are back, swarming through your body. But at the same time, your cunt throbs, reminding you how wet you are, how needy. For him. And a single thought of what he might be able to do to you, how he could make you feel… it has you biting down on your own tongue to suppress a whine.

You nod your head at him, even though your cheeks are burning in embarrassment. “Please,” you mumble.

He smiles. “Thank you.”

And then he’s hoisting you up, lifting himself and you up off the couch with ease. You squeak in surprise and your legs wrap around his waist a little tighter as a million thoughts flash through your head at once, things like ‘I’m too heavy’ and ‘he’s not going to be able to lift me’. But all of them are proven wrong as he begins to walk towards your bedroom, with you still in his arms, as if it’s the easiest thing he’s ever down.

Your bedroom is empty when you get there, with no Yuki in sight – thank god, because you know she’d know exactly what was going on if she ever saw it – and you let out another small squeak when Bokuto drops you down onto your back on the bed. The blankets press into your shoulder blades, still rumpled from when you’d so hastily jumped from them earlier, but you find you don’t even care as you get to watch Bokuto discard his sweats and boxers properly before crawling up over you.

He pouts at you like a small child as he paws at your tank top. “Off,” he mumbles and you oblige with little hesitation, ripping the flimsy piece of cloth up and over your head as fast as you can. Bokuto helps you with your own sweats next and then, before you know it, you’re completely naked in front of him.

And, funnily enough, you’re completely comfortable.

Bokuto lets out a low whine at the sight of you before pressing you flat down to the bed again. Your eyes slide closed as his head descends to your chest, and then you let out a moan of your own when you feel his lips graze over the soft skin of your breast. He kisses over its curve for a few seconds, sucking a few deep bruises into the supple flesh before taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp as his tongue laps at it, little sparks of pleasure shooting right down to your abdomen as your back arches upward towards the feeling. Your hand snakes into his hair, your fingers stroking through the thick strands as you desperately search for a way to ground yourself. It’s all you can do to whimper out his name, your tone whiny and needy and so desperate it’s almost embarrassing. “Koutaro!”

And then he’s pulling away far too quickly. You raise your head, ready to start complaining. But your words stick in your throat when he shuffles his body downwards, his broad shoulders parting your thighs and then settling beneath them. You watch him with hazy eyes as he runs one large hand up your inner thigh, squeezing it, kneading at the flesh. And then he hooks it over his shoulder and does the same with the other one. And suddenly you can feel the warmth of his breath right over your bare pussy.

It makes you realise how wet you truly are, the air that sweeps across your skin. You feel your slick dampening your thighs, feeling it practically leaking from your cunt. And it makes your cheeks flush because if you can feel it, Bokuto can definitely see it. You almost want to clamp your legs shut, but unfortunately, his head is in the way.

A fact you soon realise he’s very proud of as a joyous smirk curls over his face. His eyes flicker up to meet yours for just barely a second before he looks back down at your pussy and it’s like you can sense the way his energy brightens completely. “Shit, you’re so pretty here too,” he mumbles to you and then turns his head to the side to press a kiss to the softness of your thigh. You whine when you feel his teeth nip at it, only to hear him let out a low chuckle. “So pretty…” he coos again, glancing back up at you. Your eyes meet and he holds your gaze for a few seconds, his expression filled with so much love and need that it almost makes your head spin. You reach down to him, your fingers stroking lightly along the swell of his cheek and then down to his jaw. And then up into his thick hair, where they stay even as he drops your gaze and leans down to kiss the curve of your pubic bone.

“I’m gonna make you feel real good, okay?” he mumbles against your skin, eyelids fluttering shut as he seems to bathe in your warmth for a few seconds. “I’m gonna make you feel as good as you deserve. Promise.”

“Kou…” you breathe out his name again, fingernails massaging softly at his scalp and he groans.

“I promise,” he repeats. “So just relax for me, okay?”

You try to heed his words, forcing all your limbs to go loose against the bed. And at the same time, he drops his head down to lick his first stripe right up your centre.

The moan that escapes you is pornographic as your back arches upwards and your fingers dig deep into his hair. It shouldn’t feel this good, not so quickly. But it does and it almost makes you cry. You realise now just how neglected you’d felt, just how much your cunt had ached for his touch. And now that his tongue is finally exploring you, swiping up to tease at your clit before dipping right inside you –

You feel like you’re going to lose your fucking mind.

“Oh god, Koutaro!” you squeak out as he holds your hips down by the juncture of your thighs, preventing you from grinding upward into his. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, please-!”

You don’t really know what you’re pleading for. But it seems to encourage Bokuto anyway because he continues on, slurping at your slick arousal before leaning forward to suckle gently at your clit.

Your thighs tremble on either side of his head, and your back arches as your eyes roll back. You feel like you’re on cloud fucking nine, as your limbs turn to jelly and your breaths turn into shallow gasps. It’s pure, blinding pleasure that rushes through your body like electricity, making you moan and squirm. It’s almost too much really, especially as Bokuto presses your hips even more firmly into the mattress only to flick his tongue against your clit. The muscles in your abdomen tense wildly at the feeling as your free hand buries itself in your bedsheets, gripping as hard as you can at the fabric. Your hips jump, struggling against Bokuto’s grip, and then, suddenly, he lets them free. You moan again as you grind yourself against him for the first time and, in turn, he forces his tongue even deeper inside you.

“Holy fuck,” you whimper at the feeling. And then an almost-scream leaves you when Bokuto unwinds one of his arms from around your thigh only to thrust two fingers up into your quivering opening. They slide in easily, the slick that practically gushing from you doing its job. And then your breath catches in your throat and you choke for a second as they reach knuckle deep and he crooks them upwards, pressing right into that perfect sweet spot. Your hips jump wildly as your pussy clenches, tears beading in your eyes as your face scrunches up. It feels so good, so fucking good, and you honestly don’t even know what to do with yourself anyone. Your second orgasm of the evening is approaching, much faster than you ever thought it could, and you reach for it desperately.

Thank fuck Bokuto seems to want it just as much as you do. He pulls away from your clit for a moment to blink up at you with large dreamy eyes. “You taste amazing,” he mumbles, his words slurring together like he’s drunk off your arousal. “Shit – it’s fuckin’ addicting. Are you getting close, baby?”

“Ngh- so close,” you whimper back and he smiles into your skin, looking delighted.

“Fuck,” is what he says, looking back down at the way his fingers are thrusting into you again. “I – shit – I need you to cum on my tongue, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nod desperately because you need it too, so fucking badly. And when Bokuto returns to slurping languidly at your clit, you can barely form a coherent thought, your brain clouding up as the pleasure overwhelms you again.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, feeling the fingers of your orgasm beginning to reach for you. “Shit, Kou, please, it’s – fuck – so close! I’m so close!”

“Cum for me,” he chokes out to you in return, his tongue lashing against your clit desperately. “Cream on my tongue, baby, that’s it…”

“Shit,” you mumble, feeling warmth rushing up your body. “Shit, shit, I’m gonna – I’m gonna – oh fuck – oh-!”

And then it hits you like a fucking train. You don’t think you’re ever cum this hard in your whole life, with the white-hot pleasure forcing your eyes shut as your entire body seems to ripple. At the same time, Bokuto seals his mouth over your cunt, slurping up all the arousal that gushes from you as he watches you with adoring eyes. You feel him pull his fingers out of you once the pulsing of your inner walls has slowed down just a little and it's reason enough to peek your eyes open. Although the sight that greets you makes you want to cum all over again.

His face is practically covered in your slick. His lips glisten, his chin glistens, and his eyes sparkle as his gaze meets yours. You watch him, completely enraptured, as he pops the two fingers that were inside you into his mouth, licking every last drop of your taste from them. And then, as he pulls his hand away, you reach for him desperately, pulling his back up your body so you can fit his mouth to yours.

He tastes of you and it makes you whine into the kiss. His arms lean on either side of your head, supporting his upper body as he continues to mould his tongue with yours. And then, teasingly, his hips give a languid roll. You whimper at the feeling of his still very-hard cock dragging against over-stimulated clit and your own hips jump in return.

“You…” Bokuto mumbles out as your legs come up to wrap tightly around his hips. “You really are… so fucking pretty when you cum.”

You can only whine in response. Every inch of his body is pressed into yours now and you’re not even sure where you end and he begins anymore. But you’re addicted to it, it has your eyes rolling back in your head, even as he begins to trail soft, warm kisses from your cheek down your neck to your shoulder.

“Baby,” he mumbles as he goes and his voice is ragged, raspy. He sounds just as needy as you feel, even after anything, and it has joy sparking in your chest because this isn’t over. Fuck, it feels like you’re only just getting started.

“Baby,” Bokuto says again and then he pulls away to look into your face properly. You look back and see the question in his eyes. One of your eyebrows quirks, but he still seems to stumble, pursing his lips for a second. “Can you…” he starts, then cuts himself off. “I-I mean, do you want… Will you…”

You reach up to cup his face with your hand and then lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “What do you need, baby?” you ask him when you pull away, staring up into his eyes adoringly. “Just ask.”

“Will you… ride me?” he mumbles out, blushing.

Your breath hitches in your throat because that – that’s something you haven’t done before. You’ve never let yourself, too scared of what could happen, scared you’d be too heavy or you’d look back on top of them or you wouldn’t do it right.

But Bokuto –

Bokuto looks so desperate, so needy for it as he stares down at you with wide pleading eyes. And as your own gaze traces down his body, over his thick biceps and rippling abs and his powerful thighs, you… god you want to. The idea of having him under you, needy and whiny, something you’d got a taste of earlier when you’d sucked him off… you want it so bad.

And so, slowly, you nod up to him.

Bokuto’s face lights up immediately, his eyes brightening as a smile graces his face. “Fuck,” he mumbles quietly before leaning down to kiss you again, long and hot. “God you – you’re so perfect.”

“Kou,” you whisper back to him and he just groans, one of his long arms sliding beneath your body to wrap around your back. And then he rolls over, taking you with him, until he’s leaning back against your pillows and you’re straddling his hips once again. Only this time you’re both completely naked and his cock is right fucking there, so fucking close to where you need him.

He stares up at you adoringly, his eyes wide and full of awe. And because you crave his touch like it’s a drug, you reach forward to grab his hands and put them on your body, encouraging him to explore you completely.

“Fuck,” Bokuto mumbles as he traces the contours of your torso. His hands are rough and calloused against your skin but they’re incredibly gentle too. He caresses the softness of your body like it’s designed to be worshipped, like he is blessed to even be allowed to touch you in this way. And it feels so good – good enough that you let your head fall back and your eyes fall closed as you give the gentlest rock of your hips. His cock brushes up against the softness of your inner thigh and the both of your whine at the feeling before Bokuto’s hands slide down, going from your stomach to your hips. And then he grips there, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Please,” he whispers, his eyes wide and needy. “I can’t wait… please baby, lemme –“

He cuts himself off when you reach down to grasp his cock, his voice trailing off into a soft whine. You pump him a few times, spread the precum that’s breading at his tip down the rest of his length once again. And then you position yourself, rising up onto your knees slightly in order to line him up with you. Bokuto helps, taking most of your weight in his hands as he raises you above him. And then, as finally, you start to sink down, taking his cock inside you for the first time, you feel his fingers dig even deeper into your hips. Both of your moans are practically pornographic this time round.

“Shit,” Bokuto whines, his eyes fixed on the view of your cunt slowly swallowing up his cock. “Shit – fuck – fucking hell!”

You have to agree with him as your mouth falls open, your eyes bulging as you feel him pressing into you. He’s so fucking big that just the head of his cock alone has you seeing stars. And as you continue to sink down, taking in more and more of him until he’s completely bottomed out and your hips are pressed snuggly to his once again, you honestly feel like you can’t breathe. You feel so fucking full. And it’s amazing.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Bokuto chokes. His hands are trembling slightly where they grip your hips, and when you peek down at him you see that his eyes are screwed shut, his mouth hanging open in an expression of pure ecstasy. “God, baby.”

“You’re so big,” you mumble back to him. “M’so full.”

“C-can I-?” he asks you and you feel him beginning to raise you on his cock just slightly. In answer you push yourself up, pulling away from him only to sink right back down in a move that makes both of you let out long whines of pleasure.

There’s so much of him, you think as you repeat the movement, your heart feeling light it’s in your mouth. You can feel him everywhere like there’s not a single space within you that’s not filled by him. And it’s fucking delicious, it’s the most pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life.

You start up a steady rhythm, raising and lowering yourself on his cock again and again. Moans tumble from your lips over and over, as each time he manages to hit that perfect spot inside you. His own whines mix with them as his head tilts back against your pillows and his chest heaves. His body looks so beautiful below you, just as you thought it might, his muscles rippling with each thrust he gives up into you, and you can’t help but lean forward slightly to run your hand up and over each dip and curve of his skin.

“Shit,” he mumbles as his eyes flutter back open at the feeling and he looks down to see the way you’re touching him. “You’re…”

“Beautiful,” you breathe out before he can finish, your gaze flicking up to meet his with eyes wide with admiration. “You’re so beautiful, Kou.”

You see warmth flood his expression. And then before you really know what’s happening, he’s reaching up to put his hand behind your head and pull your down into a long kiss. You halt your movements for a moment so you can focus on his lips, however, Bokuto is having none of it and continues to thrust up into your gushing cunt even as he sucks on your tongue. You can’t help but moan breathily into his mouth, the new angle at which you’re sitting driving stakes of pleasure right through your body, and Bokuto mimics you.

“You – fuck – you…” he chokes out, pulling away briefly to blink up at you in wonder. “You… I…”

But you pull him back into another kiss, far too desperate and needy to allow him to be even millimetres away from you now. He groans at the feeling as his hand fists in your hair for a moment before traveling the length of your spine, and when he gives the flesh of your ass a playful squeeze you squeak and pull away from his lips. He grins at you when you pout down at him.

“You’re really pretty.”

You shake your head at his blatant attempt at flattery and sit back up again, making an effort to grind yourself down with more precision this time. It works as you want it to because Bokuto’s mouth drops open and he whimpers, eyes going starry as he stares up at you in awe. In return, you tilt your head to the side a little and smile at him, as teasing as he was before. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he whispers and it comes out slurred. His hands return to your hips and then suddenly he’s rocking you against him again, drilling his cock even deeper. “So fucking pretty. Your look so good, taking my cock like that.”

His praise makes you keen and instinctively you try to exaggerate your movements even further, eager to please him on a subconscious level. And he reciprocates eagerly, eyeing your body up in adoration as you practically use his cock for yourself. It still all feels overwhelmingly good, and you practically scream when Bokuto reaches out with one hand to place his thumb against your aching clit. A ripple rushes up your spine immediately and your head falls back, your rocking getting lazier. Your oncoming climax is clouding your mind, making your movements uncoordinated and before long you’re relying almost completely on Bokuto to raise and lower you along his cock.

And then suddenly, he stops altogether. You open your eyes again, going to look down at him questioningly. But before you can even move, your entire world is flipped and then your back is being pressed back into the mattress with Bokuto hovering over you once again.

“Wha-?” you start to mumble out but he silences you for a quick kiss as he positions himself between your thighs.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles when he pulls away, looking down at you apologetically. “I just… fuck, I need you so bad. Can I-?”

Can he what? Rail you? You almost want to laugh that he’s even asking. But still, it’s sweet and it makes your heart squeeze with joy. So you pull him back down for another short, sort kiss before nodding at him idly.

“Go for it.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I fucking love you.”

And then before you even have a chance to react, he thrusts his hips forward. Hard. And any thoughts you might’ve had in your head dissolve completely.

It’s not to say that being on top didn’t feel good. But this angle – oh god, this angle – it has you almost climaxing on the spot. Bokuto seems to have figured your body out completely because he angles his hips just right almost immediately and begins to pound into you at a god-like pace. The tip of his cock hits your g-spot squarely each time and your back is arching upwards violently before you can even register what you’re feeling, your head lolling back as your eyes roll closed. You scratch at the back of his shoulders in desperation, anything to ground yourself as Bokuto takes you practically off fucking planet earth. Because fuck, you’ve never felt like this before. Not even once.

Your moans ring out rhythmically through your bedroom, mixing with the sound of Bokuto’s groans of pleasure, and you take a second to thank fuck for the fact that your apartment walls are thick. You doubt your neighbours would be less than impressed with you right now if they weren’t. Still, you try to muffle your cries a little out of pure embarrassment by tilting your head forward to press your mouth hastily to the warmth of Bokuto’s shoulder and begin to leave a trail of kisses there in an attempt to distract yourself so you don’t orgasm way too fast.

It’s coming quickly though. You can feel the building of the tension for the third time this evening, the way your muscles begin to squeeze and your body floods with heat. And you’d like to hold back, you really would, for Bokuto’s sake. But… You honestly don’t think you can.

“Shit,” you mumble into his neck, your eyes squeezing tight shut. “K-Kou, I think I’m-“

He only groans low in return as his hips stutter against yours. And then you feel one of his hands trailing down your body to grasp your thigh, pulling it up to hook over his hip so he can drill you even more squarely into the mattress. “Fuck, I know,” he mumbles to you, his voice shaky and dazed. “Me too, baby.”

You moan when he presses a kiss to your neck, the hot feeling of his mouth on your skin almost too much for you in combination with the feeling of his cock dragging along your inner walls. It’s like you’re rising now, racing up a steep incline towards the cliff that is your orgasm. And it’s fast approaching.

“Koutaro,” you choke as dig your fingers into his shoulder in desperation, hard enough that they’ll probably leave scratch marks. “I’m so close, Kou!”

“It’s okay,” he tells you, barely a whimper into your skin as how own body trembles. “Fuck – it’s okay, gorgeous. Cum for me, okay? Please – oh shit – please, baby, I need it, yeah?”

As he talks his other hand moves to thumb across your puffy clit again. He circles it, rolling it over the pad of his finger languidly. And it feels like your entire body shrieks in pleasure at the feeling, as your cunt starts to clench rhythmically around him in your third orgasm of the night.

“Koutaro,” is all you can whine out softly before it finally hits you and your body goes slack in his arms. The pleasure is completely blinding, taking out all of your cognitive processes for a good few seconds even as Bokuto continues to thrust into you deeply. He’s still chasing his own high, and you don’t even care that he’s pushing you into over-stimulation as you continue to grab at his shoulders. It’s like you need him to cum as much as he does, like your own desire won’t be fully satiated until that happens. And so, you trail a hand up to grip at his hair, tugging it lightly and rocking your hips with his as best you can as you coo softly into his ear.

His entire body gives a few rhythmical shudders after a few seconds, and you hear him curse softly into the skin of your neck. And then he pulls away quickly, looking down at you with wide, desperate eyes. “M’so close,” he mumbles to you. “Fuck – where d’you – where d’you want me?”

You don’t even need to think about it before you say, “Inside. Need you inside.” Because you do. And it seems like it’s what Bokuto needs too because his expression crumples as soon as he hears your whispered words. At the same time, you feel his cock give a few twitches within you as his thighs shake. And then, with one last powerful thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go and releases, filling you to the brim with ropes of warm cum.

You stay like that for a second, clinging to him as you whine over how fucking full you feel. And then he collapses right on top of you, his heart pounding hard enough that you can feel it through his chest. His body heaves, completely exhausted, and you unwind your fingers from his hair to massage gently at his scalp, you best attempt to soothe him as you leave languid, loving kisses against his temple.

“You did so good,” you mumble to him, half-dazed yourself. “You did so well.” And when he raises his head to look at you again, you place a slow hiss on his slack lips.

He smiles against your mouth and kisses you back softly. And you let yourself bask in the warmth of the moment as both of your heartbeats finally begin to slow their incessant pounding, and the adrenaline begins to dissolve away, leaving just you and him and the afterglow.

After a few minutes of slow, sloppy kissing, Bokuto finally pulls away again. “That was,” he mumbles, staring down at you with a soft smile on his face. “That was so fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” you breathe back, a smile of your own making your eyes crinkle upwards. “Yeah, it really was.”

“Shit,” he chuckles, pulling away from you slightly so he can begin to peel your sweat-slicked bodies apart. You shift a little unformattable when he pulls his softening cock from within you, immediately feeling the sticky remnants of his release beginning to trickle out of your aching pussy and leak down onto the bedsheets. But when Bokuto goes to roll onto his side, his hands reaching out to wrap around your back and take you with him, you decide that you can ignore it, at least for now.

“When I came here earlier,” Bokuto continue, reaching one hand up to gently cup your face as he studies your express in all its entirety, “I did not think that I’d be... Well, that we’d be… you know.”

You snort as he starts to blush and go to brush your own fingers across the few strands of his hairs that have fallen in front of his forehead. “Yeah, neither did it,” you say, smiling a little. “I mean, I was crying about three hours ago.”

Bokuto frowns slightly. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

But you shake your head and lean forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek and then to the tip of his nose. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, because it really is. “It’s not your fault, remember?”

“I still feel bad though,” he begins to mumble out. But you silence him with another kiss and a shake of your head.

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “And you made it up to me, didn’t you?”

He smiles at that and snuggles a little closer to you. “I guess I did, huh?”

You laugh softly at his enthusiasm as your hand returns to stroking at his sweat-slicked hair. The pair of you fall into a comfortable silence then, just basking sleepily in each other’s company for a few moments. You allow your mind to wander as you continue to run your fingers along his scalp, replaying the past hour or so in your head a few times. It’s like a dream come true, more than you ever could have hoped for. Although, you do realise, with a slight flush in your cheeks, that you’re going to have to let Ayame know she was right at some point or another.

But not for a while, you promise yourself. Because you know she’ll be absolutely insufferable about it if you tell her within the next three months at least.

Still, you can’t help but smile as your mind wanders back once again to everything Bokuto had made you feel. Everything he said, everything he did, everything he-

And then you falter. Because suddenly remember what you’d forgotten in your lustful has at the time.

I love you.

You open your eyes to blink up at Bokuto for a few moments, wondering if you should ask him about it. Wondering if he’s meant it or if…

You bite your lips as you think, still staring at him. You don’t really want to think about how you might feel if he says that he didn’t mean it. Although you’re not really sure how you’ll react if he says he did.

You love him too, a small voice calls to you in the back of your mind. But you push it away because it’s far too early for that.

Right?

A soft sigh escapes through your nose as you think ‘fuck it’. And then your stroking of his hair halts, your hand moving instead to his cheek as you say quietly, “Hey, Kou?”

He blinks an eye open, observing you lazily for a second before he lets out a hum of acknowledgment. ”Yeah?

“About… about that thing you said,” you mumble out, not quite able to meet his eyes “Uh, earlier? Did… did you mean it?”

“What I said?” Bokuto repeats back to you, his eyes narrowing for a second as he thinks. Then his expression goes slack as recognition flashes through his gaze. “Oh.”

“Uh, yeah,” you say because you know he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Did you mean it? Or… or was it kind of like a, uh, a spur of the moment kind of thing?”

He’s silent for a long moment, licking at his lips thoughtfully. Then he shifts a little, shuffling his body so he can get a more direct view right into your eyes.

“What would do you do I said that I meant it?”

Your breath hitches in your throat and your stomach tightens up. But your heart –

Your heart sings in joy.

“I, um…” you start out, suddenly feeling incredibly flustered. “I might just have something to say back to you then.”

He understands you perfectly, you can tell as a slow smile begins to stretch over his face. “Okay,” he starts then, leaning a little closer until his nose is brushing up against yours. “Okay, then… I meant it.”

“You meant it,” you repeat slowly, not quite sure if you want to sing or scream. Because this means… this mean he fucking loves you.

And I love him.

There’s nothing holding you back from telling him but your own self-consciousness. And you push it down because you’re sick and tired of being its stupid victim. So, you lean in too, and now your lips are almost brushing his, and you say, “Then… I love you too.”

The grin that he gives you is breathtaking and before you know it, you’re drawn into a bone-crushing hug. One that you reciprocate with a giggle of your own because you just feel so incredibly giddy. He loves me, your heart sings loudly in your ears, in joy, and in triumph. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

And I love him.

You honestly think you might cry.

“I’m so fucking happy right now,” Bokuto mumbles to you then, his chuckles a little muffled in your shoulder. “You make me so fucking happy.”

And you can’t help but agree with him, something which you tell him with a joyous laugh of your own. And then he pulls back to pepper your face with feather-light kisses, which only makes you laugh more, until the pair of you are rolling all around the bed, laughing and squealing and acting like stupid teenagers.

When you finally calm down again, he’s back on top of you, staring down at you with loving eyes. And you don’t hesitate to raise your head to kiss him, your fingers tangling in the shorter strands of hair at the base of his neck as you let yourself just enjoy the feeling of him.

Bokuto seems to share the same sentiment because he chases your lips when you go to pull away. And then he drops his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes slipping closed as a happy sigh leaves his lips.

You take a moment to admire his face, eyes gliding over each one of his features in turn before you speak again.

“Wanna go shower?”

He nods without opening his eyes. And then, rather unceremoniously, he rolls off you, leaving you with the room to haul yourself up into a sitting position. You’re still completely naked, you remember suddenly, and so is he. But for some reason, it doesn’t bother you at all. Even as you shuffle to the edge of the bed and stand, allowing Bokuto to stare up at you in all your naked glory, you feel completely comfortable.

Bokuto lets out a low wolf whistle as you begin to walk towards your bathroom. And it only makes you laugh and stuck your tongue out at him. “Are you coming or not?”

“I just did. Like, twice,” he mumbles. And then he hurriedly dives after you as you make to shut the bathroom door in his face, your cheeks burning red hot. You let him pull you into another kiss once you’re both in the confines of the bathroom, however, whining low as his hands caress you again. And when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, staring deep into your eyes as he does so.

“I love you,” he tells you sweetly. And you smile.

“I love you too.”

“And I think you’re beautiful.”

That makes you blush, and you almost want to hide your face from him. But you don’t and instead continue to stare right up into his eyes as you say, “I think you’re beautiful too.”

He smiles then and it’s so stunning you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. “Hs that gonna be our thing now,” he asks teasingly.

“Maybe,” you reply, just as cheeky. “From me to you, you’re beautiful.”

He leans in to give you another languid kiss and you relish in the feeling for a few seconds before he pulls back. The energy within the bathrooms has somehow softened suddenly and all elements of mischief seem to evaporate between you as he stares down into your eyes once again.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs then. “From me to you.”

And you believe it.

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