Chapter Text
It’s dark when he opens the door, so he really can’t be blamed for muttering a curse when he nearly walks into something.
When his eyes finally adjust to the light, or better the lack of, he is met with the image of his best friend, soaked to the bone with puffy eyes and shaking hands.
“I’m sorry, uh, can I crash here tonight?”
Koutarou wonders if he’s having a bad dream because Kuroo never sounds defeated, maybe resigned or angry, but never crushed like he seems right now.
“Kuroo? Yeah, sure come in.” he quickly says, grabbing him from his arm and hauling him inside.
The idiot is wearing only a thin long sleeved shirt and sweatpants.
“Koutarou?” whispers sleepily Keiji from behind him, his presence announced only by the sound of bare feet padding down the corridor.
“Everything’s okay, Keiji.” he hurries to reassure him, remembering how disoriented his boyfriend feels right after waking up.
He realizes that he doesn’t know if everything is okay, because Kuroo should be in his and Kenma’s flat, preferably in his warm bed, instead of soaking wet, dripping on his parquet flooring.
He turns the light on and as soon as he catches sight of Kuroo’s face, desperate, scared and so lost, he drags him towards himself, shushing his attempts at warning him of his wet clothes, and enveloping him in a tight hug.
His heart clenches, feeling how he shakes against him, probably from the cold. After a few seconds of remaining unresponsive, Kuroo wraps his long limbs around him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck and sobbing loudly, his shoulders shaking.
Keiji moves fast, closing the door and crouching to untie Kuroo’s shoelaces.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry-“ it’s the mantra spilling from his lips, his fists tight around the fabric of Koutarou’s shirt.
“Kuroo-san?”
Keiji’s voice is gentle and kind, it makes Koutarou relax immediately and part of the tension in Kuroo’s shoulders decreases.
“You need to take a shower, otherwise you’ll catch a cold.”
Koutarou hides a smile in Kuroo’s shoulder. His Keiji, always a caretaker, always practical.
He waits for Kuroo’s dismissals, he can hear them already “ you guys don’t need to worry, just go to bed, I’ll just take the couch, okay?” , some joke to laugh it off.
He feels his blood run cold when they don’t come.
Kuroo squeezes his bicep in a silent thank you before moving away from him.
And how weird is that? Kuroo, so communicative and expressive, who suddenly decides to interact with quiet gestures and whispers.
He apologises under his breath for intruding, neatly putting his shoes next to the door, and following Keiji to the bathroom in silence.
“I’ll leave some of our clothes that might fit you out of the door. We’ll wait for you on the couch, with some warm tea, okay?” instructs Keiji, murmuring as if talking to a started animal.
Instead of dismissing the help as he usually would or encouraging them to go to bed, insisting that he caused them enough trouble as it is, Kuroo, selfless, stubborn Kuroo, nods, whispering his thanks, keeping his eyes on his wet socks.
Koutarou can only stare as he grabs the handle with a shaking hand, closing the door behind him.
“Koutarou,” Keiji places his hand on his cheek gently, grounding him immediately “can you start the tea? I’ll go look for some clothes for him.”
“Keiji-“ he doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing looking in his boyfriend’s eyes that he shares his concerns.
He closes his eyes when he leans in to kiss him, probably knowing how shaken he feels at seeing his best friend in those conditions for the first time.
“We’ll be okay.” breathy, reassuring against his lips, before he turns to walk into their bedroom, their bed still warm and unmade.
He goes into the kitchen, starting the kettle and taking out three mugs. He goes through the motions absent-mindedly, trying to remember a time when Kuroo was that devastated. He thinks back to lost matches, Yaku’s injury, graduation, every emotional moment of Kuroo’s life and he can’t remember seeing him in those conditions ever.
It was no surprise to anyone who knew him to realize that Kuroo was a crier: he cried at films, videogames and books. He got emotional on his birthday and when he was drunk, declaring his love for everyone in the room several times, with happy tears streaming down his smiling face.
When stressed, he became determined, unstoppable and ambitious, a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t back down from a challenge and if he ended up failing, he would maybe doubt himself, but in the end, he would recover quickly, learning from the experience. Kuroo was balanced, reliable, rational and kind.
Unpredictability was simply out of place in his behaviour.
However, the Kuroo he had just met was a complete stranger.
The desperation and defeat in his stance, as if had been crushed by some insurmountable weight, his fragility were incredibly unsettling.
He realises he is staring at nothing, when Keiji’s hand rests in the middle of his back.
“I’ve never seen him like this.” he manages to say, voice scratchy from the lack of use, pouring the warm water into the mugs.
“I know. We’ll see if he wants to talk about it.”
They move to the couch, the vapour from the tea drawing intricate designs into the air above them.
When Kuroo finally emerges from the bathroom, he’s wearing Keiji’s dark blue sweatpants, a bit too tight on the thighs and showing too much ankle, and Koutarou’s soft grey sweatshirt, his torso swimming in fabric and his wrists exposed more than usual.
He collapses on the couch, and it’s so unsettling, Kuroo as graceful, quiet and stealthy as a cat, landing so loudly on their piece of furniture, cradling the warm mug in his hands, holding it close to his face bask into its warmth.
“You guys could have gone to bed. Sorry, it’s-“ his voice shakes, making Koutarou’s heart clench with pain so strong he’s surprised he doesn’t groan “ so late. Damn it, you guys like to go to bed early, you were probably sleeping already.”
It feels so wrong, the exhaustion in his voice, the weariness, so Koutarou blurts out the first thing he can think of.
“Owls are nocturnal, you know?”
And of course Kuroo knows, everybody does and they have left high school by now, Koutarou hasn’t been the captain of Fukurodani for years now, but still, that silly comment manages to get Kuroo to laugh.
It starts quiet, until it becomes loud, echoing in the flat. It’s hysterical and different from Kuroo’s genuine laugh, loud, hideous and contagious, but Koutarou is still surprised when it rapidly turns into loud sobbing, so violent that Keiji moves and gently pries the mug from Kuroo’s hands, that hurry to cover his face in shame, while Koutarou puts his down and grabs him once again, pushing him until his face is pressed against Koutarou’s chest and he’s lying on the sofa, shaking and sobbing until his throat is raw.
He bites his wobbly lip, petting Kuroo’s hair and sharing panicked glances with Keiji.
His boyfriend sighs, resting his head on the nearest cushion and sipping his tea in silence.
The only noise is the sound of Kuroo breaking.
***
Koutarou wakes up with a crick in his neck, which is unusual. Sleeping limbs and a weight on his chest are common since he moved in with Keiji but their bed is comfortable, so he is perplexed about the pain in his back.
When he opens his eyes he realises several things: firstly there is a lot more light than usual and that’s because he is not in his room but on the couch.
Secondly, Kuroo is sleeping on him, completely relaxed with puffy eyes and dark purple half moons under them.
Lastly, Keiji is curled on the other end of the couch, a book resting open on his chest and his bare feet pressed against Koutarou’s lime green socks.
The mugs are still on the coffee table, two of them, his and Kuroo’s, filled with cold tea.
Koutarou’s hand is buried in Kuroo’s dark locks from the night before and he decides to stay still despite how uncomfortable he is, not to wake up anyone else.
Keiji’s face is scrunched up, probably because even in his sleep he’s aware of his uncomfortable position, with his legs messily folded and curled up as close to his body as possible. However, the couch has left some lines on his cheek, meaning he must have slept heavily anyway. His curls are messy and they look so soft, suddenly again out of his reach, like they used to be in high school.
Kuroo looks uncharacteristically small. He feels an overwhelming wave of protectiveness, staring at his messy hair.
Koutarou stares warmly at the figures of his boyfriend and best friend resting for a while, before Keiji slowly blinks his eyes open, his gaze immediately finding Koutarou’s.
He huffs a quiet laugh, stretching carefully, making sure not to accidentally bump into Kuroo.
“Do you think he would wake up if you carried him to bed?” whispers Keiji, his voice weak from disuse but his eyes already vigil.
“Nah, he is too exhausted. Just open the doors for me and we’ll be fine.” he answers, trying his best to be quiet.
Keiji nods, stumbling sleepily off the couch and walking towards the corridor. Koutarou cradles Kuroo’s body as gently as he can, lifting him with the quietest grunt he can manage. Keiji stifles a laugh in his hand next to him, following him though the dark corridor and moving the blankets away from the mattress.
Kuroo whimpers for a second before burying his face between their cushions and sighing, falling back asleep right away.
They tiptoe out of their room, shutting the door and leaving Kuroo to rest in complete darkness, save from the ray of light that always manages to escape their blinds.
“You could have gone to bed, ‘eiji.” yawns Koutarou, following his boyfriend in the kitchen as he starts the coffee machine.
“It’s okay,” Keiji grabs the juice for Koutarou and the milk from the fridge, “Kuroo-san’s not only your friend you know. I-“ he sighs sadly, pouring milk in both of their bowls, while Koutarou adds the right amount of cereal, “I care about him as well.”
He accepts his mug from Koutarou with a small smile, concern still evident as he sips his coffee.
“What do you think happened?” he asks, knowing Keiji is usually good at reading people.
“Do you think,” the former setter looks conflicted, talking after considering carefully his next words “that he and Kenma might have fought?”
Koutarou blinks, before laughing at the absurdity of the concept.
“Keiji, that’s impossible!”
However, when he stops to think about it, it seems the only plausible answer.
It would explain why Kuroo would leave his flat and walk under the pouring rain and his reaction. Him and Kenma are joined to the hip, possibly telepathically connected, at least according to high schooler Keiji after losing a particularly frustrating point to them during a match.
Everyone always thought they would end up together.
But they never did. They share a flat, their lives revolve around each other, they own a pet together and they are comfortably intimate and affectionate with each other. However, they are just friends. That line had never been crossed and no one dared to ask about it.
Their close friends were painfully aware of Kenma’s fond expression around Kuroo or Kuroo’s inexplicable decision to simply not date anyone since a messy affair in university. They seemed sad at times when Daichi talked about Suga’s new job or Noya reached for Asahi's hand. It was fleeting, but their faces would crumble and the parts of their bodies touching, thighs pressed together under a table, shoulders or arms, would recoil away from each other as if burned.
“Also,” Keiji sighs again, “someone called him the whole night. I didn’t check who but… the screen kept lighting up.”
Koutarou sighs, sending a look at the closed door of their room, hoping everything will be okay.
***
Keiji hurries to answer the phone, hoping the noise won’t wake Kuroo-san, moving quickly from the couch.
“Hello?” he asks, looking at Koutarou, who has emerged from the bathroom. He’s about to leave for his morning run, but he stops in front of the door, looking at him with raised eyebrows.
“Keiji.”
It’s clearly Kenma’s voice, but it’s breathier than usual, relief and pain present in equal measure.
“Kenma.” he manages to say despite his surprise, seeing Koutarou’s eyes light up with recognition.
“I was worried you would still be sleeping.”
It’s weird for Kenma to call and even weirder for him to initiate small talk, especially with Keiji, since they always valued the possibility to just be straightforward and to cut to the point in their friendship.
“You know that Koutarou and I are early risers, contrary to you and Kuroo-san.”
He knows it’s a low blow mentioning Kuroo so early during the call, but it is needed.
The effect is immediate: Kenma inhales sharply, staying quiet a bit too long.
“Speaking of Kuroo,” he sounds terribly concerned, and Keiji can guess why, remembering the awful weather they’ve had the whole night and Kuroo’s lack of a jacket “is he with you?”
Kenma doesn’t stutter, ever, because when he chooses to say something it is because he thought about it for a long while, however this is the closest to hesitant that Keiji has ever heard him be.
“Yes, he is. He arrived in the middle of the night, drenched and he passed out on the sofa. Do you know if something happened? He was a bit shaken.”
More like, crying his eyes out, but the whole event had been so heartbreaking and raw that Keiji feels the need to sugarcoat it. For everyone’s sake really.
“You are being cruel, Keiji.”
Kenma’s voice cuts like a knife, freezing the blood in his veins.
Yes, he had been admittedly cruel, suspecting that the reason for Kuroo’s tears was an argument with him, but he didn’t expect Kenma to call him out on it.
They have a habit of teasing each other, pushing each other to better themselves and Kenma usually plays along.
“I just-“ the ragged breath sounds too much like a sob and Keiji realises his mistake too late “I just wanted to know if he was safe. Thank you.”
The line goes dead before he has the chance to reply, dread spreading through his chest at the knowledge that he might have pushed Kenma to tears, and he can only slowly lower his phone in shock, while Koutarou calls his name to make him snap out of it.
“Did he tell you what happened?” asks his boyfriend, now gently putting his hand on his bicep.
“No but… something bad must have happened. I’ve never heard Kenma that emotional. I think we should talk with Hinata.” he says.
“Keiji, if they don’t want to tell us what happened, I don’t think we should pry…” argues Koutarou, ever loyal and genuine.
“No, of course. I just think that Kenma shouldn’t be alone right now.” he explains, worry for his friend already forcing him to imagine the worst scenarios.
“You’re right. I’ll talk to Hinata right after my run, since I’m seeing him anyway. Let me know if Kuroo wakes up before I’m back, okay?” Koutarou places a small kiss on his forehead, already typing to Hinata with his right hand.
The rest of the morning is pretty uneventful, as he expected. Kuroo is not an early riser and he looked like he really needed rest the night before, so he does not emerge from the room.
Keiji loses count of the number of times he refills his mug with coffee, struggling to remain concentrated between the terrible writing he has to review and the concern still present in the back of his mind.
He takes a small break when Koutarou messages him –“at the gym, now!! also Hinata says he’s already on it and that we shouldn’t worry”- watching in awe how the light from the window changes during the day.
It’s nearly noon when he hears the sound of Kuroo walking down the corridor and going to the bathroom.
After a few minutes he reaches the kitchen.
“Good morning, ‘kaashi.” he mumbles, sitting as quietly as possible on the chair facing Keiji.
His posture and his behaviour painfully remind him of someone trying hard not to intrude, attempting to not attract any attention.
“Good morning Kuroo-san. I was just finishing reading this manuscript,” he chuckles, noticing how Kuroo’s eyes light up. They always shared a mutual interest in books and poetry and Keiji was glad he had someone outside of his work to talk about his passion with.
“I think you’d like it, even if the writing really needs improvement.”
He sighs thinking about Monday morning, when he’ll have to tell his writer that he needs to write once again a new version. He is young and impressively skilled for his age, but Keiji believes that he can do better.
“Is Bo at the gym?” wonders Kuroo, his eyes analysing the flat and seeing, more importantly hearing, Koutarou’s absence.
“Yes, the team spends Saturdays training there. He’ll be happy to know you’re awake.” confirms Keiji, quickly sending Koutarou a text, letting him know Kuroo is awake.
“You guys don’t get days off, do you?” mumbles his guest, looking at the sheets of paper on the table and the coffee mug next to them.
“I don’t think you can judge, considering you’re the biggest workaholic I know.” reminds him Keiji, managing to make the smallest smile appear on his face.
“You must be starving! Let me see what we have-“
“It’s okay Keiji, I already intruded enough. How about I cook some lunch for all of us?” suggests Kuroo, already standing up and walking towards the fridge.
“If it were anybody else I would instantly say no, but since I know your incredible cooking skills, I will accept the offer.” he says, removing his glasses and relaxing back in his chair.
The sound of Kuroo cutting the vegetables is soothing, satisfying and for a second Keiji can ignore his concern and the tense atmosphere that despite everything lingers in the kitchen.
He manages to keep his mouth shut for around ten minutes, before he realises that he has been reading the same line for the seventh time.
He allows himself a moment of peace, listening to the sound of food sizzling in the pan behind him, inhaling deeply the smell of spices.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he decides on saying, not turning around and keeping his eyes fixed on the words in front of him.
The sounds behind him cease immediately while Kuroo stays very still for a couple of seconds.
An exhale.
“Would it change anything?” he says, resuming his activities.
Sounds of ceramics and glass clinking cheerfully echo in the small kitchen.
“I feel like I made both of you worry enough.”
It’s sharp, self loathing clinging horribly to the syllables, making Keiji’s blood boil in his veins.
“Stop making assumptions about other people, it’s what is making you miserable.” he replies, deciding to abandon kindness.
Kuroo is going to snap at him if he thinks they are treating him like glass.
“Like you’re doing? You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
He sounds bitter and unhappy, masking his real emotions behind that snarking tone and smug smile he never grew out of, even after high school.
“It’s pretty clear what is causing you pain.” he states, knowing he is walking on thin ice.
“You are doing this on purpose. You want me to snap, so that you can put me together yourself, while figuring out what’s wrong.” he is banging loudly now, taking his anger out on the kitchen utensils.
“Well, I’ve got bad news for you Akaashi,” he huffs, pouring something in a pot that makes a delightful crackling noise, “I am not Bokuto.”
Keiji waits, knowing that something more is coming, that maybe he managed to break the dam. He doesn’t care if he ends up a bit wet from it: Kuroo needs to take it out on someone and both him and Keiji know that it cannot be Koutarou. They both love him too much.
They both enjoy teasing, nudging in search for the truth and Keiji accepts his role gracefully.
“So what? You figured out I argued with Kenma? Literally anyone could have guessed that considering I’m here and not in my flat.”
His voice is low and dangerous now, no longer hiding his annoyance.
“If you just stopped bottling things up, maybe you would be back there.” he replies, knowing his words are hurtful but also knowing they are what he needs.
“I-“ his voice is loud now, bordering on screaming “I don’t expect you to understand, with your stupid perfect life and perfect flat and perfect relationship-“
He tries to calm himself down with a deep breath because at the end of the day he’s Kuroo. He’s kind and generous, he doesn’t lash out at his friends no matter what the situation is.
That is when Keiji knows when to strike.
“If you want something so badly, you need to be ready to be vulnerable for it, if you just keep hiding and walking on eggshells around him, you’ll never be happy!” he argues, desperately trying to find Kuroo’s exposed nerve, so he’ll finally let himself burst.
“Why do you even care!” growls Kuroo, grabbing his chair and turning it towards him.
Keiji’s heart aches at the sight he is faced with.
Kuroo is red-faced, shaking with anger and confusion, looking desperately into his eyes trying to find answers.
“Because I’m your friend, Kuroo.” he murmurs gently, standing up.
That does it.
Kuroo deflates instantly, hiding his face in his shaking hands.
Keiji hesitates only for a second before putting his arms around him. He smiles when Kuroo melts against him, finding comfort in the rare display of affection.
“Shit, I must be an actual mess to make you admit we’re friends and hug me.”
His voice is muffled against Keiji’s sweater.
Keiji giggles, shaking his head and gently patting his back.
When they part, they don’t mention the fact that Kuroo’s eyes are a bit wet and Keiji sighs deeply, as a warning to let him know that he’s going to actually talk to him now.
“I won’t pretend to know what it feels like, to love someone so much for so long and to keep quiet about it. I did my fair share of pining back in the day and it was painful, it was disastrous. But for once Kuroo, you need to be selfish. You need to put yourself first, your needs and your wishes.”
“Akaashi, he-“ his face crumbles “he doesn’t love me. Not in that way. I know Kenma like no one else and I’ve seen that something has changed. He must have figured out how I feel because he keeps avoiding me, moving away when I’m close to him.”
Keiji debates telling him.
Kenma never admitted anything, but his feelings were painfully clear. The way he would give in as soon as Kuroo asked him something, the fondness in his eyes when he looked at him, the way his hands twitched to reach out to touch but they never did.
He had been caught several times staring at his flatmate. Their eyes would meet from across the room and Keiji would simply raise an eyebrow, as if daring him to walk to Kuroo and do something. Keiji knows Kuroo’s feelings are required, but it’s not his place, or the place of any of their friends -no matter how frustrated they get with the quiet mutual pining- to tell Kuroo.
“Maybe,” he fidgets, choosing carefully his words, while Kuroo patiently waits, slumped against the counter “maybe you are jumping to conclusions. Maybe because you’ve known him for so long, you are not being objective. He could have another reason for acting distant. All I can tell you is to stop torturing yourself and talk to him. Fight for your happiness for once.”
“I can’t promise you anything. I’ll think about it okay?” says Kuroo, after a moment of consideration.
“I’ll take it. You can both be incredibly stubborn.” smiles Keiji.
“Sorry, if I said you could never understand and for assuming everything was easy for you two. I know well it wasn’t.” he adds quietly, looking ashamed and regretful.
This is why everyone loves Kuroo, because he is looking directly into his eyes to make sure that his message is getting across with genuine regret.
“It’s okay. I was trying to make you angry so that you would talk.” he admits, gathering his sheets of paper and moving them away from the table, as if Kuroo doesn’t know this already.
“And Keiji?”
He blinks at the use of his first name, turning to look at him after setting down the documents on the counter and grabbing a tablecloth.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for being my friend.”
This smile is the first looking like the traditional Kuroo smile, warm and fond.
“Of course. You are welcome with me and Koutarou for as long as you want.”
He finds that he actually means it, despite his known dislike for the disruption of routine.
They set the table in silence, apart from some comments about the food Kuroo cooked.
They both smile when they hear the door open.
“Hey, hey! Keiji, lunch smells great!”
Loud, energetic, it immediately adds something to the room that makes warmth blossom in Keiji’s chest.
“That’s because Kuroo cooked for us!” he explains, laughing when strong hands grip his waist and lift him in the air, before pressing him against Koutarou’s chest.
His boyfriend’s hair is still wet from the shower he must have taken in gym, so it falls on his forehead, unstyled and soft, how Keiji loves it because it reminds him of their quiet times at home, of the soft, subdued version of Koutarou only he gets to enjoy.
His eyes are bright gold, honey and sunny days at the beach and he shines brighter than ever in his arms, just like when he’s on the court.
Keiji realises that they have been staring at each other for a while, his hands pressed against Koutarou’s warm cheeks.
He turns embarrassed to look at Kuroo, terrified for a second to have hurt his friend’s feelings with that display of affection but when he sees his face, his expression is fond and happy, no traces of envy at all.
“C’mon, let’s eat before it becomes cold, lovebirds.”