Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Off the Court

The café was warmer than the rainy street outside, but the air around their table felt tense, heavy in a way that coffee steam couldn’t soften.

Kenma sat with his hood pulled up, hands around his untouched drink. Bokuto fiddled with the corner of a napkin, his usual brightness dimmed to nervous silence. Kuroo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a frown tugging at his mouth. Akaashi, sitting between them all, could feel the unspoken words pressing down on his chest.

It had started two weeks ago.

Bokuto had promised Kenma he’d be at one of his rare in-person game launches — a huge milestone for Kenma’s career, the kind of event he normally hated but had agreed to because it mattered. Bokuto had sworn he’d be there early, cheering from the front row, as loud as always.

But he hadn’t shown.

Practice had run late, then Bokuto had gotten caught up in extra drills, and by the time he remembered, the event was over. He’d sent a stream of apologetic texts that night, but Kenma hadn’t answered.

Now, here they were, finally sitting down to talk.

---

“I said I was sorry,” Bokuto muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was smaller than usual, rough at the edges. “I messed up. I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s the problem.” Kenma’s voice cut through the air, quiet but sharp. His fingers tightened on his cup. “You didn’t mean to, but you still didn’t come. You promised, Koutarou. It wasn’t just any event. It was mine.”

Bokuto winced. His hands clenched around the napkin until it tore. “I wanted to be there. I just… I thought practice would end earlier, and—”

“You always think volleyball comes first,” Kenma interrupted. His voice didn’t rise, but his words carried weight. “Every time. I didn’t need you in the front row for the cameras. I just needed you. And you weren’t there.”

The table went quiet again. Rain streaked down the café window, muffling the sounds of the city outside.

Kuroo finally leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Koutarou, you can’t keep excusing this. It’s not just about practice. It’s about showing up when it matters. Kenma’s not asking for much. None of us are.”

Bokuto’s shoulders hunched. He looked down, unable to meet any of their eyes. “I… I didn’t realize it hurt that much.”

Akaashi finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “That’s because you don’t listen when you’re uncomfortable, Koutarou. You push it aside because it’s easier than facing it. But this isn’t about being comfortable. It’s about respecting the people you say you love.”

The words hit harder than he intended, but they needed to. He saw Bokuto flinch, saw his throat work as if he was swallowing back something heavy.

---

For a long moment, no one spoke. Kenma kept his gaze on the table, his expression unreadable. Kuroo sighed, running a hand through his hair. Akaashi folded his hands, steadying himself.

Then Bokuto finally raised his head. His eyes were bright, glassy, and his voice cracked when he spoke.

“I… I’m scared, okay? Every time I think about how much you guys mean to me, it feels huge, like I’ll screw it up if I’m not perfect. So I throw myself into volleyball, because at least there, I know what I’m doing. But with you guys… I don’t ever want to fail.”

Kenma blinked, startled by the sudden rawness.

“You already did,” he said softly. But then, after a pause: “…and you’re still here. That’s what matters.”

Bokuto’s lip trembled, and for once, he didn’t try to smile through it. He just nodded, looking every bit like the boy he used to be, unsure and searching for reassurance.

Kuroo leaned forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to be perfect for us, Koutarou. Just honest. That’s all.”

Akaashi let out a quiet breath. “Exactly. We don’t need the strongest ace. We just need you.”

---

The tension didn’t disappear instantly, but it cracked, softened. Kenma finally reached out, sliding his hand onto the table. Bokuto hesitated, then placed his hand over it, clutching like it was an anchor. Kuroo added his own a moment later, and finally Akaashi rested his hand on top, steady and warm.

The rain outside eased into a drizzle, and inside the café, the four of them sat in silence — not broken anymore, but rebuilding.

They weren’t perfect. They never would be. But like on the court, they didn’t need perfection. They needed trust, patience, and the certainty that even after mistakes, they’d choose each other again.

And that, they did.

Chapter Text

After the Rain

The rain had thinned into a mist by the time they made it home, their shoes squeaking against the apartment floor. None of them spoke much on the walk back — the air still felt heavy, thick with everything that had been said.

Bokuto lingered near the door, hands shoved in his pockets, hood still pulled up even though they were inside. His usual energy was nowhere to be found. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, as if he couldn’t quite believe the others would still want him there.

Kenma noticed first. He tugged the blanket off the couch and settled into his usual spot, curling into the corner. Then, in his typical quiet way, he looked at Bokuto and patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

Bokuto’s throat worked. “Are you sure?” His voice cracked, softer than they’d ever heard it. “I messed up so bad… you shouldn’t want me near you.”

Kenma shook his head. “I’m still hurt. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you here.”

That was all it took. Bokuto moved forward hesitantly, almost like he was afraid the invitation would vanish if he took too long. He sat down, tense at first, until Kenma pulled the blanket around both of them. Bokuto immediately buried his face against Kenma’s shoulder, trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

Akaashi appeared from the kitchen with mugs of hot tea, setting them carefully on the coffee table. He slid onto the couch beside Bokuto, his hand resting gently on Bokuto’s knee. “You don’t have to explain anymore,” Akaashi said softly. “We know. Just… stay with us tonight.”

Kuroo dropped down onto the armrest behind them, reaching forward to ruffle Bokuto’s damp hair. “You’re allowed to screw up, Koutarou. What matters is you came back — and you’re here now.”

Bokuto’s eyes stung, and his voice shook as he mumbled, “But I don’t deserve you guys.”

Kenma shifted just enough to bump his forehead lightly against Bokuto’s. “Stop saying that. You’re ours. End of story.”

Kuroo leaned over and smirked, though his tone was warm. “Yeah, try getting rid of us. Not happening.”

Akaashi’s hand squeezed his knee gently, grounding him. “You’re not loved because you’re perfect. You’re loved because you’re you. All of you. That includes the messy parts.”

Bokuto let out a shaky laugh, half-sob, half-relief. He wrapped his arms around Kenma, pulling him closer, then reached blindly for Akaashi until Akaashi let himself be dragged into the embrace too. Kuroo chuckled, muttering “make room, you owlet,” before leaning in, turning the pile into a tangle of arms and blanket.

The couch was too small for four grown men to fit comfortably, but none of them cared. Kenma’s hair tickled Bokuto’s cheek, Kuroo’s arm was squished awkwardly behind Akaashi’s back, and the blanket kept slipping off — but it was warm, and safe, and real.

“Don’t let me go,” Bokuto whispered, the words muffled into Kenma’s hoodie.

“Never,” Kenma said without hesitation.

“Not even if you wanted us to,” Kuroo added.

“Not even if you think you don’t deserve it,” Akaashi finished quietly.

The rain outside slowed to silence, leaving only the steady heartbeat of the city beyond their window. And in that little apartment, tangled together on one couch, Bokuto finally let the guilt ease from his chest. He didn’t need to be perfect. He just needed to be here, with them.

And they wouldn’t let him forget it.

Chapter Text

Morning After the Rain

Bokuto woke to the weight of something heavy across his chest — not crushing, but warm. For a split second, panic fluttered in his stomach, until he blinked his eyes open and realized what it was.

Kenma was curled against him, still wrapped in the blanket, his hair messy and falling into his face. Akaashi had shifted in the night, one arm draped loosely across Bokuto’s middle, glasses abandoned on the coffee table. And Kuroo was sprawled half off the couch and had a leg hooked lazily over Bokuto’s.

They were tangled together, a knot of limbs and blankets on a couch that was much too small for four grown men. It should have been uncomfortable. But for Bokuto, it was grounding — proof that they hadn’t let go, even in sleep.

“Awake?” Akaashi’s voice was low, soft from sleep.

Bokuto turned his head just enough to see him. “Yeah. Kinda.” His throat tightened. “I thought… maybe you guys wouldn’t be here when I woke up.”

Kenma stirred, eyes half-open. He didn’t even bother lifting his head, just muttered into Bokuto’s hoodie, “That’s stupid. You’re stuck with us.”

Kuroo let out a groggy laugh, stretching like a cat before dropping his head back against the armrest. “Seriously, Koutarou, you take up most of the couch. If anyone’s leaving, it’s you. But guess what? Not happening.”

Bokuto’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t guilt — it was relief so sharp it almost hurt. “You guys…” His voice cracked, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “You guys are the best.”

Akaashi reached up, brushing his fingers through Bokuto’s messy hair. “We’re not perfect. But we’re here. That’s enough.”

The room was quiet for a while, the kind of silence that felt safe. Morning light slipped in through the curtains, painting everything in soft gold. Kenma’s breathing steadied as he drifted back to sleep, Kuroo hummed low in his chest like he always did when he was content, and Akaashi kept his hand resting in Bokuto’s hair, calm and steady.

Bokuto closed his eyes, soaking it all in — the warmth, the closeness, the quiet reassurance.

The storm had passed, and the morning was theirs.