Archive of Our Own ^beta

NIGHT

Buildings are giants reaching up to touch neon stars that curl above the streets. They are bright and defiant against the midnight darkness. Bokuto’s head is spinning and spinning and spinning. He feels as if he’s a puppet stuck in a macabre carnival. To everyone else, he’s just another drunken college student who’s stumbling down the street. His hand is wrapped around his best friend’s shoulders.

“This is why we should never—ever go clubbing without Tsukishima,” Kuroo says. His breath smells of one shot too many.

“Agreed.”

“Hey, you know what might sober us up?”

“The realization that we’re wasting our lives and throwing our future into the void…?”

“What—No.” Kuroo wiggles out of Bokuto’s hold and his fine ass makes an unfortunate landing on the concrete. This doesn’t faze him. He pulls out his phone and swipes through it. His eyes are darting around like he’s having a hard time focusing. He soon finds what he’s looking for and holds up his phone for Bokuto.

Bokuto crouches and meets the same fate as Kuroo. He feels the warmth of the concrete through his jeans as he reads the text.

“Is this an app that notifies you of street races?”

“Yup,” Kuroo says with a grin that almost makes him appear sober. “There’s one two blocks from here. Wanna go?”

“Hell yes, how long has it been?”

“Too long,” Kuroo says. He puts his phone away when his expression turns grim. “Bokuto, if I’m on the ground and can’t get up, and you’re on the ground and can’t get up, how are we going to do this?”

Bokuto’s grin is lopsided. “I could call Tsukishima to help us.”

Kuroo is up on his feet within seconds. He spreads his arms in triumph as if he’s performed a miracle. “Works like a charm.”

They work their way down the streets. The air is different when they enter the industrial area near the highway. It’s easier to breathe and free passage of wind ruffles Bokuto’s hair. They follow the path until they reach a gathering of people. The traffic is closed off with fake ‘off limit’ signs. Races tend to be over before somebody notices what’s going on.  

Bokuto and Kuroo fight their way through the crowd until they’ve reached a railing that divides the walkway from the road. Kuroo rests his elbows on the railing and whistles.

“Check out these cars.”

The kinds of cars street racers drive are are painted in metallic-colors, revved-up, customized to boot and ready to leave their opponents in a long trail of dust.

Bokuto’s always admired the love and dedication put into creating a perfect vehicle monster. But the most he’d ever dare to do is play Burnout Takedown with Kuroo on lazy Sunday afternoons. He watches the racers standing next to their cars. There are only two of them: one is wearing a real racing suit and a frown that could freeze an entire country. The other has a quiet presence about him. He’s wearing a leather jacket and scanning the crowd. Nobody seems to cheer for him.

“HEY,” Bokuto calls to the lonely racer. “Come here.” Kuroo gives him a sideways glance but doesn’t intervene.

The racer approaches Bokuto with careful steps that seem to shake the earth. Then again, Bokuto isn’t any less drunk than he was ten minutes ago. Up-close, Bokuto notices that the racer is younger than his opponent. His eyes are as dark as his hair and they melt into the backdrop of the night.

“Yes?” The racer says, arching his brow slightly.

“I’m rooting for you.” Bokuto accompanies the words with a smile. He hears Kuroo chuckle and pokes him in the ribs.

“Thank you.” The racer tucks his hair behind his ear. He has a single spiral piercing on his helix that looks painful. Bokuto’s hands grip the railing and blood rushes to his head. 

“Can I give you a good luck kiss?” Bokuto asks.

The racer is stunned momentarily but then he shrugs and comes closer to the railing. His hands are shaking, and Bokuto knows it’s a telltale sign of nerves running rampant before a big race. This, and the fact that nobody’s cheering for him, are proof he needs something else to occupy his mind.

Bokuto doesn’t try to touch him. He keeps his hands firmly on the railing and lifts himself on his toes to reach over it. He kisses the racer lightly on the lips. The racer kisses back, hesitant and tender.

“What’s your name?” Bokuto asks.

“Akaashi. Just Akaashi.”

“Kick some ass, Just Akaashi!”

Kuroo guffaws next to him. Everything is funny to him when he’s drunk.

The race is about to begin and Akaashi leaves when the referee calls them to take their spots. Akaashi opens the doors to his car. The car is a gorgeous metallic-silver with tinted windows and a neon-purple streak splayed across the hood.

“What about your name?” Akaashi raises his voice so that it reaches Bokuto.

“I’ll tell you if you win!”

Bokuto catches a smile as it ghosts over Akaashi’s lips. Before he can appreciate it, Akaashi’s already seated in the car. The referee lifts his arms and the racers rev their engines. Bokuto bites his lip. He can’t tell if he’s feeling nervous for Akaashi or if he’s going to throw up. Both, maybe.

When the referee’s hands come down, the cars take off. They race down the highway, taking turns to overtake each other. A sharp turn comes up and Akaashi’s car slides effortlessly and takes lead. He moves the car in front of his opponent to avoid being overtaken again. Bokuto can’t see much from that point on. The highway swerves and they drive so fast that they appear and disappear at random.  

“I missed this,” Kuroo says. He’s staring in front of him with awe in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Bokuto breaths the response out and prays for Akaashi.

Four lights approach fast from the distance, head to head. Bokuto hears engines roar and reach their limit. The last stretch is the most demanding – it’s now or never. If the observers feel it, then it must be ten times worse for the drivers.

“Go Akaashi!” Bokuto yells for no reason but to be heard. A silver car takes lead and makes a last desperate run for the finish line. Bokuto lifts his hands up in the air and cheers.

Akaashi crosses the finish line first.

His opponent comes in 2 seconds later.

Once Akaashi leaves the car, he’s a champion. Bokuto hears his name being called over and over. Fame is a fickle mistress, no matter who you are. In an instant, people swarm around Akaashi to pet his hair or pat his shoulder. Bokuto can’t reach him but his eyes catch Akaashi’s.

“Bokuto, it’s Bokuto!” Bokuto tries to out-yell the crowd.

He hopes it works because Akaashi nods and gives him a smile that makes his heart jump.

DAY

Bokuto’s forehead is resting on the table when he hears the doors of the bedroom open.

“You two look like shit,” Tsukishima’s brusque retort causes Bokuto yet another splitting headache.

“That’s good. We feel like an entire dumpster, so what’s one little shit?” Kuroo says. He’s been lying on the couch in the same position since they’ve got home. Bokuto’s managed to go to the bathroom once.

He doesn’t have to look to know Tsukishima is rolling his eyes. “I’ll make you two some coffee.”

“I love you Tsukki, you’re all I need.”

“What you need is a shower and two tubes of toothpaste,” Tsukishima says and Bokuto hears him kiss Kuroo anyway.

Bokuto forces his forehead to part with the table. The room spins for a while but then it stops. That’s a start. He faces Kuroo. He looks just as pale as the morning light gracing his tired eyes and unruly black hair.

“Come here, my MVP,” Kuroo says and scoots over on the couch.

“Aw,” Bokuto coos.

“Most Valuable Pillow,” Kuroo elaborates with a drowsy grin.

Bokuto stands up slowly and walks over to the couch. He plops himself down and Kuroo is fast to cling to him. At the same time, Tsukishima has begun making their coffees. Mugs and spoons clang and lull Bokuto into a well-deserved feeling of content. He feels like might doze off again when he jerks so violently Kuroo almost kicks him off the couch.

“I. Kissed. A. Stranger.” Bokuto’s voice is tinged with horror. He slaps his hands to his face. “Why did I do that?!”

“Because he was hot,” Kuroo says.

“Very hot,” Bokuto confirms. “But still!”

Tsukishima sets two mugs of coffee down and sits on the coffee table. The smell quickly reaches Bokuto and he takes one mug for himself and hands the other to Kuroo.

“Bokuto-san, you’re growing quite bold with age,” Tsukishima says.

Bokuto takes a sip of coffee and pouts at Tsukishima’s sneer.

“So long as he doesn’t grow bald~” Kuroo teases. Tsukishima grins at him and Bokuto feels too dejected to retort back. He drinks his coffee and thinks about Akaashi.

NIGHT

The next two days Kuroo’s app doesn’t report any new races. Then, on Saturday night, they are out the moment the app pings them. Tsukishima declines the invitation to go in order to spend the night with a video game he’s bought.

The location of the race is on the same highway but a different entrance. They know they’re there when they see fake traffic signs that lead them to a crowd cheering and drinking. Bokuto, with Kuroo in tow, reaches the railing and he finds Akaashi in a second. Akaashi seems relieved when he sees him and he walks over with hurried steps.

He’s wearing the same leather jacket and there’s pride to his gait now. He looks as though there’s weight on his shoulders that he’s alleviating bit by bit. His hair is neater, pulled back by pins. He comes very close; so close that his thighs are touching the railing.

Bokuto’s head is clear tonight. When his heart lurches and stomach does a back flip, he knows it isn’t because he’s inebriated. Akaashi looks and sounds better when his edges aren’t blurry.

“I would like to apologize for the other night,” Akaashi says. “You were drunk and I knew it. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”

Bokuto grips the railing and leans over it, pulling the muscles of his bare bicep taut. “I’m sober now.”

Akaashi’s eyes show a glint of interest. They’re like two animals wordlessly deciding on a challenge. Bokuto’s never felt like this before. Akaashi’s hands reach for Bokuto’s face and pull him in for a kiss. It’s slower this time, less hesitant, and Bokuto feels it with every nerve in his body.

“What do I get if you win tonight?” Bokuto asks. He knows his eyes must be glassy and his voice just a tinge too excited, but he can’t be bothered to put himself in order.

“Shouldn’t you give me something?”

“What do you want?”

“Do you know Fukuro’s coffee shop?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow at 9 a.m.?”

Bokuto grins, almost reaches out to touch Akaashi’s face. “Don’t lose.”

Akaashi walks away with confidence. When the race starts, Bokuto doesn’t feel anxious like he did yesterday. They drive this race in a circular motion around the highway. There are many turns and the drivers overtake each other often.

Bokuto bites his lip until it bleeds when Akaashi’s car hits the fence. He steadies his car and catches up to the other driver. He often forgets that street-racing, like any other racing, is a high-risk sport. One mistake and your car can swerve off the road, taking your life with it. His nervousness is back and he grabs Kuroo’s palm for comfort. Kuroo squeezes his hand and doesn’t say a word.

Akaashi manages to overtake his opponent and finishes the race first, by a narrow margin.

Bokuto inhales the smell of gas and sweat and victory as if he’s breathing for the first time.

DAY

Bokuto is on his second latte when Akaashi walks in. His nerves may have led him to the café an hour early. Akaashi places an order and then comes to sit across Bokuto.

“It’s good to see you during the day,” Akaashi says. Light reveals the soft lines of Akaashi’s flawless face. His eyes are twice as mesmerizing when sunlight hits them under the right angle. It turns out, every angle is the right angle. Bokuto feels like voyeur for looking at him.

“Yes,” Bokuto says. He holds his cup with both his hands, thumbs tapping at the surface. “So, uh, last night was pretty dangerous.”

“I know the risks of street-racing.”

“Then, why do you do it?”

Akaashi opens his mouth to reply but the waitress brings him a cup of coffee. He thanks her and waits until she’s gone to speak. “It’s for private reasons. Perhaps not the best topic to discuss over a cup of coffee.”

“We’ve kissed twice already. I won’t be scared off that easily,” Bokuto says. Akaashi lets out a shaky laugh and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Well, if you’re so confident,” Akaashi says. “I’m doing it in the honor of my brother. He’s passed away during one street race and he’s left three racers undefeated. I’m finishing his job.”

“Do you think he’d want you risking your life doing what killed him in the first place?”

Akaashi smiles. “No, of course not. I’m doing it for myself, too.”

Bokuto leans back in his seat and sighs. Akaashi was right – this is not the right topic to discuss over a cup of coffee. He can tell that Akaashi’s the type who finishes things and does so with patience and persistence. He isn’t going to back down until he gets what he’s come for.

“That means you only have one racer left to defeat?”

“Yes,” Akaashi confirms. “And then I’m done.”

Bokuto’s relief is visible as he relaxes in his seat.

“So, my turn,” Akaashi says. “Do you always go to street races and kiss pretty boys, or am I an exception?”

“You are, without a doubt, an exception, Just Akaashi.”

Akaashi laughs. It’s a peculiar sound coming from a guy with a stoic face and posture. Bokuto is quite positively charmed beyond words.

“It’s Keiji. Akaashi Keiji.”

“Bokuto Koutarou.”

A smile flickers on and off on Akaashi’s face and he has a habit of looking down when he’s about to laugh. When he blinks, light slides off his dark, thick eyelashes. He tucks his hair behind his ear when he receives kind words. Everything about him is tender yet sharp at the edges. Most importantly, he’s here.

Bokuto doesn’t mind that they did everything backwards.

NIGHT

Bokuto sits in Akaashi’s racing car. He’s shoved his hands between his legs. He’s afraid he might break something is he flails around. The car smells like leather and lemon. The seat is hard but Bokuto melts into it.

“You’re nervous,” Akaashi says. He’s a calm, quiet driver and Bokuto didn’t dare speak out of fear that he might break his concentration. “This car is not made of glass.”

“This car never had me inside.”

Bokuto glances at Akaashi and sees that his frown of concentration has broken into a smile.

Akaashi follows a road that leads out of the city. Bokuto looks out the window as trees replace high-rise buildings.

“Is it too late to worry about you taking me into the forest to murder me?”

“It’s certainly too late. Unless you plan to jump out of a moving vehicle.”

Akaashi drives little ways out of the city, towards a winding path that ends on top of a hill. The hill overlooks the city. A thousand lights explode in front of them, neon yellow and blue and red. They make up for the scarcity of stars.

Bokuto exits the car and walks to the edge of the hill. He wonders how long the fall is. He doesn’t hear Akaashi leave the car. He only registers Akaashi’s still there when he calls his name. When Bokuto turns, Akaashi is sprawled on the hood of his car with a laptop on his lap.

“Come here.”

Bokuto is reluctant to climb on top of the hood but Akaashi waits him out without rushing him. Once he climbs, slow and careful, he sits next to Akaashi. He tries hard not to slide down.

“We’re watching a movie. Is that alright?”

Bokuto scoots closer. “Sure. But do you always watch movies in the middle of the woods? Isn’t there a natural order to these things?”

“Says a guy who kisses first and asks questions later,” Akaashi says.

“Akaashi.”

Akaashi chuckles. Behind them, Bokuto hears rustling of the trees. A branch snap. A bird takes flight.

“My brother and I used to do this before a big race. He’d take me here and we’d watch a movie.”

Bokuto’s chest feels hollow as if all happiness is squeezed out of his heart. Akaashi may appear fine now but there was a point in his life when he had to face the emptiness of loss all by himself. A wound that may still be gaping, open. Bokuto can’t do much, but he can stay.

“Let’s start the movie, then,” Bokuto says.

Bokuto’s enthusiasm dissipates fast. The movie Akaashi’s chosen is about a cursed car that kills its owners. He watches horror movies the best if he has a blanket to hide underneath. The light from the laptop occasionally illuminates Akaashi’s face. His lips are pulled into a weak smile and his eyes seem ready to spill tears. He’s looking at the screen but he's anywhere but in the present.

Bokuto holds his hand. He pretends it’s because he’s scared, not because Akaashi’s hand is shaking.

DAY

Bokuto sighs into his cereal. He ignores Kuroo and Tsukishima’s suspicious stares. He likes the crunchy sound cereals make before milk makes them soft so he chews with his mouth open.

“I just don’t click with people that fast,” he says.

“You clicked fast with me,” Kuroo says. His voice is blissful because Tsukishima’s hands are in his hair, massaging his scalp.

“Yes, but you’re Kuroo.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Kuroo deadpans. “You clicked with Tsukki, too.”

“Anyone who can shut you up is a friend of mine.”

Tsukishima grins and, just as Kuroo is about to return the jibe with something equally as mean, he leans down and presses a long kiss on Kuroo’s cheek. Kuroo’s mouth hangs open around a sentence that will now never be formed. Bokuto smirks.

“See,” Bokuto says.

“Damn it.” Kuroo sinks into his chair.

Bokuto stirs his cereal. Tonight is Akaashi’s last race. If he wins, he’s free of whatever burden he thinks his brother’s left him. Akaashi’s told him that his brother’s taught him how to drive a race car before he was old enough to drive at all. Akaashi’s never developed an interest in racing, but he was proud of his brother’s name in the world of street-racing.

“Tonight is Akaashi’s last race. Will you two come?”

“Sure,” Kuroo says.

“Why not,” Tsukishima confirms.

“Cool.”

Bokuto finishes his cereal even if they’re no longer crunchy.

NIGHT

The crowd is as thick as usual. To them, this is just another race they were notified of the night before. But in Bokuto, there’s a quiet storm that manifests itself in lip-biting and hopping on his feet. Kuroo and Tsukishima are by his side like a crutch he can lean on if necessary.

Akaashi arrives a bit late. Bokuto hears a person behind him use the term ‘fashionably late’ in a scornful manner. He’s too high-strung to care.

When Akaashi spots him, he smiles and approaches. His hands are in his pockets. They must be shaking. Bokuto makes a mental note to kiss them later, each knuckle and each finger.

Before Bokuto can speak, Kuroo says: “Good luck out there. I’ve seen you drive, you got this.”

Akaashi bows his head at him but he doesn’t pull his hands out of his pockets. “Thank you. You must be Bokuto’s friends.”

“Yes. I’m Kuroo, this is Tsukishima.” Tsukishima nods politely.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Akaashi.”

“Now we’ll let you have a touching moment with this nervous owl,” Kuroo says, grins as he does.

Bokuto kicks him lightly in the shin.

“That makes two nervous owls,” Akaashi admits. He turns to Bokuto. They’re separated by railing yet Akaashi feels miles away. He’s going where Bokuto can’t follow him and hold his trembling hand.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says. There’s no explaining the feeling in his gut. He figures it’ll always be there so long as Akaashi is on the other side of that damn railing. He’s close to kicking it when Akaashi speaks.

“Bokuto-san, can you kiss me for good luck?”

Bokuto laughs. It comes out nervous but he can’t help it. They’ve come full circle.

“Yes.”

This time, it’s Bokuto who reaches for Akaashi’s face. He cups his cheeks and kisses both corners of his mouth before he kisses him fully on the lips. He wonders if he can keep the kiss going long enough for Akaashi to miss the race. Akaashi sure seems to be into it, but the spell is broken when the referee calls the drivers to prepare for the race.

Akaashi gets in the car with one last wave of hand at Bokuto. When the race starts, Bokuto grips the railing and doesn’t let go. He hates that this race is also on a circular highway, driven in laps. Akaashi is losing in the first lap, unable to overtake the other driver. All he needs is one good turn but the opportunity doesn’t come.

Bokuto screams Akaashi’s name. He knows Akaashi can’t hear him, but he wants to keep his name up in the air. For good luck. So that other people know who he’s cheering for. At one point, he ends up holding Kuroo’s hand. He doesn’t know how it’s happened.

During the second lap, Akaashi makes a risky turn and overtakes the other driver. Bokuto is sweating. He’s sure his lip is so ruined that Akaashi will never want to kiss it again. He doesn’t care. His lip will heal.

Akaashi punches the gas and finishes the race first. The crowd screams. Akaashi leaves his car and somebody’s voice cuts through the noise. “Cops will be here soon!” The crowd begins running.

Kuroo clutches Bokuto’s arm. “You go with Akaashi, we’ll run.”

Bokuto nods, high on both adrenaline and fear and thrill.

“Go!” Kuroo pushes Bokuto and he jumps over the railing.

Akaashi’s already opened the doors for him. He begins to drive before Bokuto manages to close the doors. Bokuto doesn’t notice he’s grinning until his cheeks begin to hurt.

“You won!” Bokuto says.

“I did, didn’t I.” Akaashi seems completely out of it. He drives as if he doesn’t know where he’s going – he just goes. Whether it’s conscious or not, they end up on the hill that overlooks the city. Akaashi leaves the car and runs his hand through his hair as he climbs onto the hood.

“I feel lighter,” he says. He’s gazing at the city, tears spilling out his eyes in thin streaks. Bokuto doesn’t think he knows how beautiful he is when he does things openly but quietly. He takes Akaashi’s hand and kisses it like he’s been meaning to.

“What now?” Bokuto asks.

“Now, I repaint this car, remove parts. Make it scream less ‘I’m a racing car’ and more ‘pedestrian’,” Akaashi says. A tear is stuck on his upper lip. He doesn’t it lick it off. Bokuto wants to.

Akaashi says, “And then, if you’re willing, I’ll still take you out for movie nights here on the hill.”

Bokuto grins, reassuring. “I’m very willing.”

“Good.” Akaashi’s smile is tender, tired, but genuine. “Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

“You stole my line.”

“Here,” Akaashi says and plants a kiss on Bokuto’s lips. “You can have it back.”

“Can you not be so smooth? You’re making my heart race.”

“That’s kind of what I do.”

Bokuto pulls him down on the hood of the car. The night is still young.