Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I know it’s hard and difficult

To come into me

I know you’re afraid

And don’t wanna be hurt anymore”

Seven years. Eighty-four months. Two-thousand five-hundred and fifty-six days. Over sixty-one thousand hours. For seven long years, Bokuto had been trapped inside that prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Yes, he was a hitman, and yes, the Fukurodani oyabun had asked him to kill that particular person, but Bokuto hadn’t been the one who beat the guy to death and left evidence laying around everywhere. He was a professional, and professionals didn’t leave murder weapons behind. Someone from Fukurodani must have had it in for him, though, because the entire clan let him take the fall, banishing him from their group and severing all ties with him. Too many nights Bokuto had spent sitting awake in his cell, listening, waiting for whichever hitman they sent inside to sneak towards his cell; that happened on more than one occasion, and luckily Koutarou hadn’t gotten in trouble because he killed the “inmate” in self-defense.

Hitmen weren’t really the problem. Bokuto was the best in Japan, and no one else could even compare themselves to him. Hitmen were the least of his problems on the inside. What Bokuto really had to worry about was regular inmates, the ones without yakuza backgrounds or even violent crime records. The person he supposedly murdered was a popular politician, a do-gooder who helped clean up the city, who was known to visit inmates and get their advice on certain issues. It wasn’t often that criminals liked politicians, but Bokuto quickly learned that this was an exception. For seven years he honed his survival skills even further, watching over his shoulder every second of every day, making sure his back was to the wall, never entering a room without knowing exactly who was inside. Dozens of inmates who rarely caused trouble died during Bokuto Koutarou’s time in prison because of their thirst for revenge, poor choice of victim and weak battle skills.

Now, those seven-years were up, a shockingly short sentence for someone who committed murder. Bokuto left the prison with his back tattoo ink dull, his trust non-existent, and his heart determined to make a change. Getting revenge for whoever framed him could wait many lifetimes. Koutarou wasn’t over it, but he had wasted enough of his life in a cell to realize that lifestyle was no longer an option (like it had ever been) if he really wanted to be happy. Fucking up the best thing that ever happened to him was lesson enough, if the prison sentence and betrayal of his yakuza family wasn’t enough.

“Excuse me, sir, could I get a grilled saba?”

“Coming right up.”

So Bokuto’s new job as a fish cook at Yukie’s Sakana didn’t have as glamorous benefits as being Japan’s top hitman did. So what if he always smelled like fish guts when he went home? So what if he made a meager 1,180 yen an hour? Bokuto could have easily lived off his savings for several lifetimes, but he was teaching himself another lesson; while he got many offers from gyms, sports teams, bodyguard hirers and even other yakuza clans, Bokuto accepted Yukie’s offer because he wanted a change of pace. Frying fish and cleaning kitchen utensils was definitely a different pace than sniping victims, crawling on rooves and strangling enemies to death. Yukie was one of his only true friends left after Fukurodani left him to hang dry. He liked her casual attitude, and even more so, he liked her honesty; there was no double-edged sword with Yukie. What you saw was what you got.

“Since it’s slowing down, I’m going to head home,” Yukie sighed, taking off her apron in the small cart parked beside a public courtyard. “You’ll be okay, won’t you?”

“Course. I’m sure your fiancé is waiting up for you,” Bokuto teased, trying to get her to blush.

“Duh.” Yukie never blushed. “I’ll see you Monday afternoon, okay? Have a good weekend off.”

“You too, Yukie. Love you!”

Yukie exited the cart and headed towards her car, driving off into the night and leaving Bokuto alone; he leaned his elbows on the counter and peeked through the window at all the people strolling by, exhaling a deep sigh. Bokuto had missed seeing a variety of people, families and old ladies and kids running around…whenever he was the closer he liked to sit and observe everyone that walked past their cart, curious about their lives and their relationships. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find amongst the thousands of people, but every night, Bokuto Koutarou found himself doing the exact same thing: watching and waiting.

Why am I doing this? Bokuto asked himself for the millionth time since getting out of prison a few months ago. Why aren’t I going after the bastards who set me up? Why didn’t I go to Fukurodani and demand they let me back in the family? Ugh. Why am I even considering that…idiot. I don’t want anything to do with them. I’ll eat fish every day for the rest of my life before I went back to them!

A woman’s giggle interrupted his thoughts. Bokuto glanced over to where a young couple was walking, arms linked together, cheeks bright with joy and eyes deep with affection. The man looked young, maybe fresh out of university, but he looked elated, smiling over at his girlfriend happily. He would probably do whatever she said, hell or high water. Koutarou was like that, too, once upon a time, which brought him back to the question he still did not have an answer for.

…You know why, a voice cruelly reminded him as Koutarou’s golden eyes watched the couple. Akaashi.

Akaashi Keiji. That was a name Bokuto hadn’t dared say out-loud for seven-years. (Well, except when he was jerking off in prison, but that was beside the point.) Akaashi, the ballet student with beautiful black hair that sat messily atop his head, the seventeen-year-old working at the lavish clothing store where businessmen and yakuza alike shopped, the attendant who stole Bokuto’s heart the minute he walked in to buy a new suit, the man he devoted his life to for four incredible years until that fateful spring day seven-years ago…

“Hey, old man!”

Bokuto didn’t know he was being spoken to until he saw hands waving at him from below the cart; he stuck his head out a little further, spotting an elementary aged boy with wild black hair and cat-like eyes trying to get his attention.

“Oh, you’re not old—your hair is grey, so I thought you were,” The little boy continued like he was thinking out-loud. “May I have a grilled salted mackerel pike, please?”

“You got it, buddy,” Bokuto nodded, grabbing a fresh fish from the cooler and slapping it down on the grill.

“Can you cut it up into little pieces, too? I’m special, so Yukie-san always does that just for me.”

“You’re a spunky little one,” Koutarou snorted. “Your parents must smack you over the head a lot, huh?”

“My mom says he wants to sometimes, but that physical punishment results in nothing but an increase in determination, repressed emotions and an untrusting child.”

Bokuto’s cackling laugh echoed through the entire courtyard, getting a grin out of the little boy as well.

“Oh man, I haven’t laughed in a long time,” Bokuto chuckled to himself, cutting the grilled fish up into smaller pieces. “You’re a hoot, kid.”

“I’m Tetsurou!” The boy introduced happily, pleased he had impressed someone with his knowledge. “Did you use the word ‘hoot’ because you look like an owl?”

This kid is brutal! I’m not sure whether I should scold him or laugh again, Bokuto wondered.

“I get that a lot.” Used to, anyway. “Here you go, Tetsurou: one grilled mackerel pike, cut up into small pieces.”

“With salt sprinkled on the top?”

“You got it.”

“Yum!” Tetsurou accepted the bundle of fish and took a big whiff, nodding at the succulent scent that filled his nostrils. Bokuto thought he would pay and be on his way, but the child kept standing by the fish stand, staring up at the cook. His yellow eyes were piercing and playful, blinking up at Bokuto innocently, like he was waiting for something else to happen. He reminded the ex-hitman of himself at a younger age, except this kid probably had a stable home life and money to pay for his meal.

“Can I get you anything else, buddy?”

“No,” Tetsurou answered simply. “I’m just looking at you.”

“Okay,” Bokuto snorted. “Find anything interesting?”

“Hmm...” The messy-haired boy looked him up and down. “You work at a fish cart, which says you’re desperate for a job, but looking at your face and physique, I’d say you actually have a lot of money. You don’t look like a fry cook, but you kinda look like a bodybuilder, so maybe you did that before you worked here. Obviously you’re single, because everyone who works at food carts must be single and antisocial.”

“Antisocial? No way!”

“Yeah huh!”

“Well, you wanna know what I think when I look at you?”

“What, what?!” Tetsurou asked excitedly.

“You’re about the size of a third grader, but you’re actually around six or seven,” Bokuto theorized, narrowing his eyes at Tetsurou like he was focusing very hard. “You came to the stand alone because you were taught to be independent, and you’re confident in yourself enough to ask for exactly what you want. Your jacket and nice sneakers tell me your home life is comfortable, and one or both of your parents care about you, because someone attempted to comb your hair this morning. That being said, you being here alone is suspicious, because someone must be missing you; either you hurried away because you enjoy making them worry, or your impulsive childish instincts took over and led you here because you really wanted grilled mackerel pike for dinner. Am I right?”

Yellow eyes blinked dumbly up at Bokuto, whose golden ones sparkled right back.

“Wow,” Tetsurou said in awe. “I’ve never met a psychic before! Do you know what color my underwear are?!”

Koutarou laughed again, shaking his head at how hilarious this kid was. He must give his parents a run for their money.

“I’m no psychic, kid. Just a fish fryer, nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s not true! You must have had special training to know all those things about me.”

Hitman training probably doesn’t count.

“So I was right?” Bokuto smiled. “About what, exactly?”

“Well, I’m six years old, but I test two levels above my grade. I’m super confident in myself, and my bed is really comfy, but my hair never wants to cooperate. I accidentally ran away from my babysitter Kaori because I saw that your stand was open and I wanted fish for dinner—my mommy is at his show right now, but he really loves me,” Tetsurou confirmed with a nod. Man, this kid could talk. “Was I right about you, fish fryer-san?”

“It’s Bokuto. I did do some bodybuilding of sorts before I worked here, but I’m not that desperate for a job. I am single, but I wouldn’t consider myself antisocial.”

“Oh…I was way off, then. Dang.”

Koutarou smiled at the boy again, getting one in return as they observed each other for a minute longer, both equally curious about the other. It was fairly dark out, now, and Bokuto didn’t want the kid to get lost, so he figured he better send him on his way before the drunks came stumbling out for the night.

“Enjoy your fish, Tetsurou-chan,” Bokuto said. “You better get going, before your babysitter calls the cops.”

“Yeah, she gets really dramatic whenever I do stuff like this,” Tetsurou shrugged like he didn’t understand her agony. “Thanks for the mackerel, Bokuto-san! Bye!”

“See you later, kid.”

Tetsurou was the only interesting person Bokuto served that night—only half an hour later did he realize the child had forgotten to pay for his fish. Oh well; Bokuto had a couple extra bucks to make the register even. Another dreary half-hour passed after that, a few customers here and there, and finally it was time to close at ten. Bokuto did the dishes mindlessly, tucked the register away in its safe and cleaned the outside cart; the courtyard was nearly empty by the time he was locking the cart up, but a pair of footsteps alerted him to the presence of someone new. They were arguing, if their tone was anything to go by, and Bokuto’s instincts observed carefully as the footsteps got closer and closer.

“…How many times do I have to tell you, Tetsurou, you cannot keep scamming fish carts into giving you free meals!”

“But Mom, I couldn’t help myself! I was trying to save money!”

“By stealing?”

“That’s not stealing! It’s taking advantage of a situation!”

“You took something without paying for it. That is stealing.” Koutarou could hear the boy grumble to himself. “Now, take this money, give it to the man and say you’re sorry. Let’s hope we don’t get banned from this cart, too…”

Bokuto had just finished putting the tarp over the cart when the footsteps stopped behind him; they were too light to be malevolent, and not light enough where they could have belonged to a hitman, so Bokuto felt himself to be in no danger. What a mistake that was.

“Excuse me, fish fryer-san.”

Turning around, Bokuto spotted Tetsurou, the odd child from earlier standing before him looking sheepish.

“Hey hey, Tetsu-chan! Sorry bud, but I’m just closing up for the night.”

“I know. I just wanted to give you the money I owe you for the mackerel.” Tetsurou held the money out with his little hands towards Bokuto. If he didn’t know Tetsurou’s true personality, he would almost believe with those guilty eyes and pouty lips that he was being sincere. “I’m sorry I took it without paying.”

“Ah, forget about it—I’ve gotten ripped off for way more than 430 yen,” Koutarou brushed off, kneeling down to Tetsurou’s level. Like that job in China that one time…there’s 30 million yen I’ll never get back. “You keep that. Consider this your one freebee of the month.”

Kuroo’s eyes flickered left, then he subtly motioned for Bokuto to come closer. He did, and the boy leaned in beside his ear and whispered.

“Listen, I really want to keep this money, too, but my mom won’t let me! Just take it so it looks like I’m being a good kid, okay?”

Bokuto couldn’t hide a snicker again. This kid was just too much. He slyly accepted the bills and slid them into the pockets of his jeans, winking at Tetsurou as he stood back up.

“Pleasure doing business with you, sir,” Tetsurou bowed dramatically. Bokuto couldn’t help but play along, bowing to him as well.

“And with you, sir.”

Bokuto smiled at the boy as he straightened up, and that was when he noticed someone standing a ways behind them, presumably Tetsurou’s mother. The streetlights were just bright enough for Koutarou to notice the long nose, flawless pale skin covered in glittery makeup, messy obsidian hair with a few bangs falling over a smooth forehead, straight, ever-so-serious lips, feathery eyelashes and a pair of stunning bluish green eyes that were more familiar to Koutarou than his own mother’s. His legs were lean, strong as a horse’s, his throat elegant and pale, so kissable it almost hurt, and a perfume that smelled like fresh fruit drifted through the night air, breaking through the scent of fish grease and barreling directly towards Koutarou’s nose. Before he could even think, the ex-hitman’s heart began racing, his blood pressure rose, his eyes dilated, and his lips opened.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto breathed.

The world froze around them, air turning so tense you could cut it with a knife. Akaashi’s eyes widened with shock and disbelief, lips opening so a quiet gasp could fall through them; Bokuto was no better, practically gaping at Keiji, unable to move or think or breathe as he came face-to-face with the love of his life after seven brutal years.

“Bokuto-san.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not involved with anything…illegal, are you?” Akaashi asked as he trailed a delicate finger up Bokuto’s forearm.

“…No.” Koutarou lied. Even now, he still wasn’t sure why he lied.

“You swear?”

Bokuto grinned at his boyfriend, leaning over to plant a big kiss on his cheek.

“I swear.”

Bokuto remembered their first kiss in the alleyway of the boutique, how much he had surprised Akaashi by drawing him close and pressing their lips together. He remembered watching Akaashi practice ballet, how graceful and utterly perfect he was gliding across stage, how he liked to do street dancing for fun—for four years they were happy together. That seemed like a lifetime ago, a different world, even. Bokuto almost felt like crying, seeing how far Keiji had come, and how he wasn’t there to see it or support him. It still hurt, even after all this time, the sting of Akaashi’s betrayed gaze as he watched Bokuto be taken away by the police in the middle of their date…

Akaashi didn’t look different, and yet he was completely different: the teenager Koutarou knew dressed lazily, spunky tank-tops, baggy dancer pants, sneakers, maybe a headband or bracelet once in a while—the only time he dressed-up was for work at the boutique and during ballet recitals. But this Akaashi…he was a fashionista if Bokuto ever saw one. Tight black pants, off-white high heels with a small bow on the ankle strap, a thin white scarf thrown around his slender neck, topped off with a pale lavender double-breasted jacket tied around that same bending waist that put many supermodels to shame. Akaashi had underwent a 360 turn from hipster to diva.

What was going through his mind right now, Bokuto wondered? His eyebrows were raised, showing how equally shocked he was, and Koutarou could only watch and force himself to not run over and take Keiji into his arms just like before.

“Tetsurou,” Akaashi addressed shortly, cold tone shattering Bokuto’s daydream. “Come here.”

The boy skipped back to his mother, who pulled him as close as possible while never taking his dazzling eyes off Bokuto. If looks could kill, Koutarou was certain he would be dead already—but that wouldn’t be such a bad ending. After lying to Akaashi for all those years, Bokuto felt like he deserved it.

“What are you doing here, Bokuto?” The beautiful man from Koutarou’s dreams asked nearly in a whisper. His tone was harsh, sharp, unrecognizable from every other tone he used towards Bokuto before everything fell apart. Bokuto hadn’t expected their first conversation after “the incident” to start any better than this, having imagined it a million times, but he still needed a moment to collect himself. Where do I start? Koutarou thought, swallowing tightly. There’s so many things I want to say, but…

“I work here,” He motioned back to the cart aimlessly. “Yukie got me a job.”

“Mommy, you know fish fryer-san?” Tetsurou asked curiously. “Why did I have to pay him back, then?!”

“Come on, Tetsu,” Akaashi said suddenly, dismissing them with his hands wrapped tightly around his son’s shoulders like a cheetah protecting its cub. “Let’s go.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto called desperately, quickly taking steps towards them as they began walking away. “Keiji, wait! I want to t—”

Akaashi whipped back around when Koutarou got within one step of them, long finger pointing aggressively at him—his face was now hateful, angry, hurt all in one expression.

“Do not call me that.” Akaashi’s voice was filled with so much venom it was a wonder Bokuto hadn’t died on-sight. “You lost the right to call me that seven years ago.”

“I know,” Bokuto stressed, tried to stress so hard he hoped Akaashi could feel his agony. “I know, Akaashi, but—”

“I’m sorry Tetsurou tried to cheat you. Goodbye.”

Keiji and his son hurried away hand-in-hand, getting as far as the courtyard’s edge before Bokuto’s instincts kicked in, sensing a situation that could result in a loss. Koutarou couldn’t afford to lose anything else, especially not a second chance. Not that Akaashi had said that in so many words, but still—Bokuto had been reenergized, electrified being that close to Keiji after so many lonely years apart. One of his best assets (and also greatest flaws) was his inability to give up, and sometimes it got him into a bit of trouble.

Before Akaashi and Tetsurou could get out of sight, Bokuto began following them.

Bokuto used his abilities as an ex-hitman to follow Akaashi through the city of Tokyo, down the street towards a bus station, hopping on with them and blending in effortlessly like he had been taught. Akaashi and Tetsurou were sitting together near the front, oblivious to Bokuto’s presence—the little boy was babbling about something, and although his mother nodded, Koutarou knew he wasn’t listening. His eyes were staring off into the distance, mindlessly, numb to everything around them; despite that, Bokuto knew Akaashi was thinking deeply. No, not thinking—remembering. There was a certain dose of pain, the way Keiji’s lips were held tightly shut…sometimes he did that when he was close to crying. His eyebrows were trying to be their usual straight, intimidating yet pretty arch, but they too were having difficulty staying that way.

Of course, what Bokuto was doing now was definitely a violation of his promise to Keiji all those years before, but to be fair, these were more of stalking skills than hitman skills. Yes, typically the stalking resulting in murder, and yes, this was what Bokuto did to get to know his victims, but he was being a bit lenient towards himself on account of being shell-shocked by Akaashi’s sudden reappearance in his life. His original plan was to wait a few more years until he was had a respectable job, a big house for them to live in, and, most importantly, proof that he hadn’t murdered that man seven-years ago. Fate wasn’t much for waiting around, it seemed, and now, Bokuto was creeping through the shadows of Tokyo following after the love of his life and his young son.

Man, the things I wouldn’t do to change that expression back in the day, Koutarou shook his head, having to look away for a minute. It’s too painful, being this close to him so suddenly. What the hell am I doing, anyway? I can’t follow them home, that’s insane!

Despite his reasoning, Bokuto peeked back over at Akaashi, who had now lowered his head some, as if he were trying to control his emotions. Tetsurou was oblivious, talking up a storm in a loud enough voice where everyone on the bus probably heard him.

“…And Kenma doesn’t even like fish, even though he’s basically a cat,” Tetsurou explained, swinging his legs that weren’t too far off touching the bottom of the bus. “Do you think he’s allergic or something?”

Keiji didn’t respond, staring into oblivion. His son glanced over and waved his hand in front of Akaashi’s face wildly.

“Hellooooo! Earth to Mom!”

“Sorry.” Akaashi glanced back up, swallowing whatever emotion had bubbled up and shot his son a fake smile Bokuto had never seen before. “What about Kenma-chan?”

“Do you think he’s allergic to fish, or do some cats not like fish?”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“I will,” Tetsurou nodded certainly. “If he’s allergic, that’s cool, but if he’s not, I’m going to go back to Yukie’s fish stand and buy him some mackerel.”

“Are you going to actually buy it this time?” His mother teased. Tetsurou’s cheeks burned red and he nodded shortly, mumbling an assurance under his breath. “Good boy.”

Keiji put an arm around his son and pulled him a little closer, planting a light kiss to his messy hair. It was cute and agonizing at the same time to Bokuto—cute because it was Akaashi and an equally adorable child, and agonizing because if fate hadn’t fucked them over, it could’ve been their child.

“I am a good kid, aren’t I, Mommy?” Tetsurou agreed.

“You are,” Akaashi smiled, a real one this time. “You just have a mischievous side.”

Tetsurou’s mother grabbed his nose gently, wiggling it and earning a laugh in response; everyone else on the bus was too tired to appreciate the scene, but Bokuto continued watching with hawk-like vision from the back crowd. The first stop was almost near.

“The fish-fryer man said I’m confident because I was taught to be independent; he also said I must have a good home life, because he could tell someone tried to comb my hair this morning.”

“…I did try to press it down a bit.” Akaashi visibly hesitated to join in on this touchy topic, playing with his son’s hair as a distraction. “You get that from me, unfortunately; do you know how much hairspray it takes to make my hair look good for the shows?”

“A lot,” Tetsurou agreed. But he wasn’t letting the topic go so easily. “Mom, did you know that guy?”

Bokuto adjusted his stance behind several other passengers so he could read Keiji’s expression better; a flash of emotion went through his eyes, and for a long minute, he didn’t respond. Tetsu looked like he was about to drop it when his mother spoke.

“I did,” Akaashi nodded stiffly. That was all he wanted to say, but upon getting an answer Tetsurou pressed for more information.

“Where did you know him from?”

“Hmm…we knew each other when I was seventeen. Remember when I told you about how I worked at the Leclair Boutique on 72^nd Street?”

“Yeah.”

“I met him there. He was one of my customers.”

Tetsurou pondered this for a moment, looking up at his mother to try and decode his current expression and the strange tone of his voice.

“You didn’t sound very happy to see him again,” The boy pointed out. “How come? Was he mean to you? Was he a rude customer who came in last minute?”

Every other sleepy citizen riding the bus jolted when it came to a stop, but Bokuto remained stiffly standing in the corner, watching and listening intently as Akaashi took Tetsurou’s hand and walked them to the exit.

“It doesn’t matter, now,” Keiji said quietly. “It was a long time ago.”

Bokuto was familiar with the sensation of his heart falling to his stomach, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less the hundredth time. After Akaashi, his son and a few other passengers got off the bus, Koutarou snuck out the opposite exit, skillfully hiding behind the bus’s shadow until it drove off; they were in a different part of town, a densely packed but noticeably more high-class than the one Bokuto lived near. Akaashi and Tetsu were walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, unaware that an ex-hitman was sneaking around behind bushes and other houses hardly fifty-yards behind them. Bokuto didn’t make any noise, hardly took a breath the entire time he followed the pair, stopping when he saw Akaashi turn them towards a fenced-in yard with a sleek black Lexus GS parked on the street in front of it.

This place seems familiar, Bokuto thought to himself, ducking behind a different car and peering over the top so he could make sure Tetsurou and his mother got inside safely. I don’t think I’ve ever been here before, though…but why does it seem like I know this pl—

Oh.

Bokuto had never seen this house in person before. He had seen it online, however, on a real estate website he and Akaashi once looked at when they were planning on moving in together. It was a beautiful white home with a rooftop garden, a contemporary design with white furniture, high ceilings, a balcony, two sitting rooms and it was located a few blocks from two parks and a convenience store. Akaashi had said that was important for him because whenever Bokuto wasn’t around, he had nothing to eat (despite his many, many talents, Keiji was a terrible cook). It was also just outside of Fukurodani territory, six blocks from the boutique where Akaashi worked as a teen, where he met Koutarou—to think, Akaashi had bought this house after they broke-up, the house they were supposed to buy together, to live in and raise their children there…a new kind of hurt filled Bokuto’s chest, though he knew no one was to blame except himself.

Akaashi already had a family, it seemed, and Koutarou was no longer a part of it.

Tetsurou was babbling about something again as they entered the front door; Bokuto stared at Akaashi, memorized his new face as he glanced around the block, making sure there was no danger before stepping inside and shutting the door behind them.

Bokuto didn’t go home for a long time. He was frozen in place, mind racing as he stared at the house, then the nice car, then the house again, wondering what was going on inside, if Akaashi’s husband was home, if that was his car or Keiji’s, maybe a present from his husband, what his husband did for a living, and did he love Akaashi as much as Koutarou did? Not possible. Bokuto sat in a bush and thought about theories until the last light in the house went out for the night, at which point Koutarou turned himself around and began the long walk back to his apartment.

I can’t fucking believe this. How did things get so messed up? Bokuto wondered in frustration, shaking his head. Akaashi’s living in the house WE picked out with some other dude? I mean, I know he’s spiteful, but is he really THAT spiteful? Yeah, it’s super sexy, but how mean! Just because I supposedly murdered someone seven years ago?

To be fair, you killed a lot of people before that, a voice reminded him. You lied about that throughout your entire relationship.

…Yeah. I don’t need to be reminded of how badly I fucked up.

Bokuto stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. A nagging question kept itching at the back of his mind, the sensible part of him demanding to know why he was doing this to himself again. Hadn’t he done enough wallowing and blaming in prison for seven-years? Why when he finally got out was he still trying to come up with ways to change everything? The damage had been done. Instinct was telling him to get over it, but for a long time, now, Bokuto’s feelings had been causing his hitman instincts to stray from the beaten path. That time was gone. Bokuto didn’t have to worry about those skills anymore. He was a fish fryer, a regular citizen trying to get by, a lower-middle class blue-collar guy who was starting over. Why was Bokuto still obsessed over trying to fix the past?

“Because I love him,” Koutarou whispered to himself. “I can’t let go, because…I still love him just as much as before.”

I made the wrong choice then. Fuck, I made a wrong choice the day I met Akaashi and told him I was attending business school, the ex-hitman shook his head angrily. But I’m making a different choice, now. A better choice, a choice of change.

Bokuto Koutarou the fish fryer took out his cell phone and dialed a number; they didn’t pick-up until nearly the last ring, it being well past eleven at night.

“Yukie,” Bokuto said. “I need to speak to Komi.”

~~*~~

The next morning, Bokuto was waiting outside the fish cart for someone he had grown-up with, had entered the yakuza with, but hadn’t spoken to in over seven years since “the incident.” Komi Haruki was still in the Fukurodani clan, as far as Koutarou knew, and Yukie said it had taken some convincing, but he would be here in a few minutes. Their history was probably the only reason Komi agreed to come in the first place, if not because Yukie begged him to. Honestly, Bokuto wasn’t expecting much—maybe a short greeting, cold words, most likely a refusal, but it was worth a shot. Koutarou’s old informant was long gone, run off to China somewhere, so this was all he had right now.

A minute to twelve, Komi came around the corner of the courtyard, dressed in his deep navy suit, silver tie and black shoes, a yakuza if Bokuto ever saw one. He hadn’t grown at all, but he looked stronger, more experienced in his role, and his aura was calmer, cooler. Bokuto couldn’t help the grin that came to his lips when Komi spotted him and stiffly walked over.

“Hey, Komi,” Koutarou greeted cheerfully. “You’re looking sharp—married life suits you.”

“Not married yet,” Komi reminded him, flashing his engagement ring. His eyes lingered on Bokuto for a long minute before he blinked hard, glancing away. “We better hurry. I can kiss my balls goodbye if anyone catches me talking to you. What do you want?”

Right. Sometimes Bokuto forgot the clan thought he was guilty and still hated his guts. He was more preoccupied with Akaashi hating him than anything else.

“I just need your information guy’s number,” Bokuto clarified, gazing off into the distance. No one was watching them, that he could tell. “That’s all.”

“You could’ve just told Yukie that. Saved us this little…whatever this is.”

“Come on, Komi, I know you missed me!” His old friend teased, nudging Haruki’s elbow playfully. Hazel eyes lightly glared at him, but there was a spark of friendliness inside them. They didn’t spend ten years growing up together for nothing. “Besides, I know you’re the one who agreed to let Yukie hire me. She may be your fiancé, but I know you’ve always had the hots for me.”

“Shut up,” Komi rolled his eyes. “I thought prison would change you, but you’re still the same doofus you always were.”

Both men laughed under their breath, distracted by the current image of the other—seven years before, Bokuto had been the stylish one, Komi not yet far up enough in the ranks to buy such expensive suits. He was there on the day Koutarou met Akaashi, however, which is probably why it hurt so much for Haruki to look at his best friend now. Things were so different then…at one time, Komi thought Akaashi and Bokuto would get married, and that one day he might be the most famous hitman in all of Asia, bold enough to get the attention of every yakuza or Triad leader. Today, Bokuto was wearing baggy jeans, work boots and a plain white t-shirt. He hadn’t shaved this morning, but his stupid hair was the same as always, as were his toned biceps, powerful thighs and athletic torso.

Bokuto knew he was being checked out, but it didn’t bother him because he was doing the same thing to Komi. When they were kids, Komi didn’t give a damn about fashion; whatever he could afford that fit him was good enough, and now he was wearing a suit worth around eight-hundred thousand yen. He was still a shorty, though. Good to know one thing hadn’t changed over the years.

“Listen, Komi—I know the clan doesn’t want anyone talking to me. I know you could get in serious high water for helping me out, but we’ve been friends since we were street brats, remember?” Bokuto reminded him. “Besides…you and I both know someone in the clan set me up. I don’t take betrayals lightly, but I’m holding out on getting revenge because I want the life I promised Akaashi.”

The mention of Akaashi Keiji caught Komi’s special attention; his eyes widened a bit, surprised to hear that name flow from Bokuto’s lips after all these years. He was still hung-up on a teen romance even after spending seven-years in prison? It was as impressive as it was pathetic.

“You and I also both know the clan wouldn’t stand a chance against me if I really wanted to find out who fucked me over. Catch my drift, Komi-kun?”

“…Yeah, I get it,” Haruki exhaled. “You’re still trying to win Akaashi back? After all this time?”

“Um, duh,” Koutarou rolled his eyes. “Don’t you remember how head-over-heels I was for him?”

“Well, yeah, but in case you’ve forgotten, you lied to him about being a hitman and also got put away for murder after you specifically told him you weren’t involved in anything dangerous.”

Komi watched the stinging pain go through Bokuto’s golden eyes and felt a little bad. He didn’t like hurting his best friend, but a lot had happened in seven-years. Komi still had doubts about whether or not Bokuto actually committed the murder—besides…the likelihood of Akaashi forgiving Bokuto was slim to none. He had a kid now, plus he was famous around the world; he had so much going for him. But…Komi also knew how deeply Keiji loved Bokuto, how much he probably still loved him despite everything.

Maybe that’s why this is so painful…

“You don’t have to remind me, Komi. Trust me,” Bokuto laughed without humor. “I remember the mistakes I made every minute of every day. That’s why I’m starting over—I’m going to make things right, live life the right way. And I’m going to win Akaashi back if it kills me. So? Are you going to help me get my fairytale ending or not?”

Haruki sighed again, then glanced around before taking a slip of paper out of his pocket and scribbling out a number. He handed it over to Koutarou and sighed once more.

“His name’s Kenji. Call him, tell him what you want and he’ll have some documents delivered to your door.”

“Thanks, Komi!” Bokuto grinned, accepting the paper. “And congratulations, by the way! Who would’ve thought Yukie would ever say yes this time?”

“Hey, I only had to ask four times!”

“Sure, sure. You’re not counting the two times you asked her out on dates when we were twenty?”

“No,” Komi hissed. His expression softened, suddenly, and he became serious. “And…I’m sorry, Bo.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Koutarou pretended to think. “Sorry for not standing up for me, sorry for not visiting me, or sorry for letting me take the fall?”

Bokuto knew it wasn’t Komi’s fault. It wasn’t either of their faults that life had driven them apart, broken their oath brother bond without as much as a goodbye. Haruki’s pained eyes told Bokuto it hurt him just as much.

“For all of the above,” He confessed in a sigh. “And…I’m sorry you can’t come to our wedding.”

“Yeah…we would’ve had a hell of a time, huh?” Koutarou gave a sad little smile. “Oh well. I’ll send you the best present, so watch out!”

“I’ll make sure we have metal detectors when we open the gifts,” Komi almost laughed. “I gotta get going.”

“Right, right. Lots of responsibility and shit.”

“Yeah. But…it’s great to see you again, Ko.”

He held his hand out to shake, and after Bokuto fought down his urge to hug his best friend, he accepted.

“Yeah,” He agreed. “Good to see you, Komi-chan.”

Bokuto did call Kenji, and by the next evening, there was a packet sitting by his apartment door. He hurriedly stepped inside and opened it, amazed at how many pages of information there was; Bokuto knew all the basic information, so he skipped those pages and went right to the most recent events in Akaashi’s life. There was a beautiful picture of him dancing on stage with another dancer, decorated in sparkling makeup, a golden lace tutu and elegant gloves to match.

“Prima ballerina Akaashi Keiji…what?!” Bokuto nearly shouted, hurriedly scanning through the rest of the article. “Akaashi-san has been the lead attraction for Sana’s Ballet for the past four years and has become one of the most popular and well-known ballerinas in the world. He has portrayed and captivated the dance world playing the titular characters in Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, Giselle, La Bayadére and many others…he has even been a guest ballerina in the French ballet scene and is known for his collaborations with Russian photographer Lev Haiba. He is currently performing in Tokyo as the role of Odette in Swan Lake, taking time off from touring to spend time at home with his young son.”

Koutarou needed a minute to let that sink in, staring at the paper without really reading anymore.

“That little shit…I told him he’d be famous someday,” Bokuto murmured to himself, sifting through the papers. “What else, what else…”

There were insurance quotes, proof of Akaashi purchasing his expensive house, his nice ass car, his contract with Sana’s Ballet, some photographs he took with Lev Haiba, but Bokuto couldn’t find a marriage license anywhere. There was nothing that under another person’s name, no co-signers, no one sharing the mortgage or taking the car to change the oil. Maybe they never got married, Bokuto theorized, frowning as he scanned pages and pages of information. Ha. He still eats a lot of takeout. And still shops at Leclair’s Boutique. There are a lot of people who post pictures with him on social media, but he only has a handful of pictures on his own account…just him and Tetsurou.

But who’s Tetsurou’s father?

Thinking Akaashi’s live-in-boyfriend or secret husband’s name would be on Tetsu’s birth certificate, Koutarou went to the back of the folder and found a copy of the document; but finding it only stirred up more questions than answers.

AKAASHI KUROO TETSUROU

Born to AKAASHI KEIJI and ___________

On November 17^th, 2013 at 2:55 a.m.

Weight: 7 lbs. 3 ounces

Length: 23 inches

At East Tokyo Hospital in Tokyo Prefecture, Japan

Bokuto leaned back against his chair quietly, staring a hole through the certificate. After all this time, he thought he would have been the only one to change—but Akaashi had purposely left every detail concerning the identity of Tetsurou’s father out of official documents, and to what purpose? To keep Bokuto away from him? To make sure Bokuto wouldn’t kill him when he got out of prison? Koutarou swore Keiji had more faith in him than that. They dated for four years! Sure, Bokuto lied about his job and whether or not he was involved in anything dangerous and did go to prison for a false murder charge…

But then, why does it feel like Akaashi has more to hide?

The ex-hitman didn’t have an answer for that. He glanced through the rest of the papers, relieved to find out that Akaashi still couldn’t cook, still enjoyed pale yellow roses and was subscribed to every movie provider that had the Step Up movies on it. Judging on his credit card records, Keiji hadn’t forced Tetsurou into entering any dance programs, but had sent him to a “Business for Tykes” camp for one week in March. That was so like Akaashi, trying to give his son a head-start in life by refining the boy’s knack for making (or cheating) money. Bokuto was relieved to know that Tetsurou didn’t attend school in the Fukurodani region—in fact, he currently attended Nekoma’s Advanced Grade School Academy: basically a test-in grade school for child prodigies that had an acceptance rate of 13%.

“The kid’s an evil genius or something...”

On the final page, Kenji had circled Akaashi’s home phone number as well as his cell phone number. That was the usual creepy but incredible work done by informants, but what was stored in a separate envelope disturbed Bokuto far beyond his usual distrust of informants—dumping out the envelope’s contents, over a hundred copied photographs fell out. And they were all of Akaashi and Tetsurou.

“What the fuck?” Bokuto said out-loud, slowly scanning over the badly copied pictures. It was one thing to have a normal picture someone took on the street for reference, but these were something else entirely. The detail, the zoom and the scenery were that of someone who was stalking Akaashi and Tetsurou. “Akaashi in his bedroom…at the ballet studio, in his car—is that him at the boutique? And, that’s…”

There were over a dozen pictures of little Tetsurou getting picked up from school, him sitting in class, him playing outside with his friends: these were not pictures an informant took. Someone had hired a professional to watch Akaashi and Tetsurou, to intrude on their lives, to figure out their routine. Informants didn’t do that unless…

Chill the fuck out, Bokuto, the fish fryer chided himself, shaking his head and shoving the pictures away. Akaashi’s a celebrity. It’s probably just paparazzi pictures! Those little freaks don’t understand personal boundaries. Yeah, that’s it. Kenji probably just got these off magazine articles or something.

Despite Koutarou’s thoughts, there was a strong doubt itching the back of his head, and that was when he decided it was time to confront his ex.

~~*~~

“Tetsu, are you ready?”

“Almost, Mom!”

“I have your bento ready to go, so let’s get your jacket on and head out.”

Tetsurou came hustling out of his bedroom with one shoe on and one shoe off, hopping around on one leg trying to get the other on; after almost bashing his head into the kitchen island he succeeded, and Akaashi swooped down to help him tie them quickly.

“Okay, we’ve got our shoes on, tie’s on, and here’s your jacket,” Keiji said, holding out his son’s spring coat.

“Mom, when are you going to buy me a Prada jacket?” Tetsurou asked, sliding his arms inside.

“Never.”

“What?!”

“Why do you need a Prada jacket?” Akaashi rolled his eyes, nudging his son towards the front door and snatching his keys.

“Um, because then I can sell it for profit, duh.”

“You’re so evil sometimes, Tetsu…”

“Wonder where I get that from?” His son grinned up at him.

Keiji flicked his ear and grabbed his own bag, making sure he had his ballet slippers, tights and…something else was missing, and Akaashi looked around for a solid thirty-seconds in confusion before Tetsurou realized he had two bento boxes in his bag and gave one up. They hadn’t had a morning rushed like this in a long time, and although Keiji knew why, he ignored that reason and blamed it on the America’s Next Top Model marathon he watched until one in the morning.

“Car keys, bento, jacket…okay, that’s everything. Come on, Tetsurou.”

“But Mom, what about my hair?!” Tetsu whined, pulling at his black strands. “It’s a mess again!”

Akaashi gave a quick sigh. This was always the biggest battle they faced getting ready for school. Keiji was content with his own messy hair, but Tetsurou’s was longer and thinner, which meant whichever way he slept on it, the hair was going to stay that way unless some serious combing was attempted. Akaashi grabbed a nearby comb and some hair gel from his own bag, lathering Tetsu’s locks up before whipping the comb through it, trying to at least sweep the bangs to one side. After three-minutes of stroking and fluffing, Keiji stepped back and looked his work over.

“…That doesn’t look so bad,” He lied. Tetsurou’s head looked like it had shrunk two-sizes, the back was still sticking straight up, and the front bangs were already slipping onto his forehead.

“Ugh!”

“It looks fine, Tetsurou,” Akaashi chuckled softly, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. The boy immediately toyed with his hair again, letting its natural messy look reign for today. “Let’s get going, so we don’t hit traffic on the way.”

The pair finally got into the car and took off towards the Nekoma district, where they had to pick up Tetsu’s school friend along the way. Traffic was light, and Tetsurou was singing some Korean pop song he knew, making it easy for Akaashi’s thoughts to drift away into a daydream. As hard as Keiji tried, he couldn’t keep his thoughts away from his ex-boyfriend—running into him the other night had to have been some horrible trick of fate. For seven years, Akaashi had been on his own with Tetsu, and he was happy to live the rest of his life that way. He hadn’t expected to see Bokuto ever again, much less, run into him at ten at night because his son stole a mackerel pike.

What are the chances of him just showing up like that, after seven years of being locked up? Akaashi wondered, shaking his head in disapproval. What are the chances of him meeting Tetsu before running into me? That’s absurd. I knew I should have bought Kaori a leash when she babysits…what’s he doing working as a fish fryer, anyway? Doesn’t getting charged for murder make you more popular on the streets?

Akaashi didn’t like thinking about the past, but lately it seemed he couldn’t ignore the ache coursing through his chest whenever something reminded him of his life seven-years earlier. Not that he had entirely erased his past…he still talked to Yukie, still shopped at Leclair and met with some of his old street dancer buddies for coffee in Fukurodani once a month. It was easy to be distracted with the present, then, but Akaashi didn’t make a habit of going places where he and Bokuto used to have dates.

“Hey, Mom?”

…I wonder how he fared in prison, Keiji wondered, biting his lip. He didn’t seem to have any scars. I hope he didn’t get into too many fights, that dumb owl bastard—does he still like owls, anyway? Probably not. But what do I care?

“Mom.”

Akaashi could faintly hear someone calling him, but on the other side of this row of tall buildings was Fukurodani, and Keiji remembered when Bokuto gave him a piggyback ride after he danced and drank a bit too much at a street event…

“Mom!”

“Hm? Did you forget something at the house?”

Tetsurou opened his mouth, but closed it and glanced around just to make sure he had everything.

“No. I was just going to tell you, you missed Kenma’s house.”

“Shit,” Keiji mumbled under his breath, hurriedly whipping into the right turn lane. “Sorry.”

“I’ll let it slide this time,” Tetsu joked. “But just remember that distracted driving is what causes over fifty-thousand car accidents a year.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Kenma Kozume, Tetsurou’s best friend from school was waiting outside his house on the steps when they pulled up. He slid his video game away and hurried to the car, sliding in beside Tetsu and giving them a quiet greeting. There were no more missed turns or distracted driving, and Akaashi pulled up to their school right on time, helping the boys out of the car and making sure they had everything.

“Bye Kenma-chan. Have a good day.”

The boy nodded behind his long dark hair, whispering a goodbye and waiting beside the car as Tetsurou gathered his things; he messed with his hair in the car reflection one last time before turning to his mom and letting her give him a once-over. He had his mother’s narrowed, lidded eyes, the only difference being the wildly contrasting color—sharp gold, like a tabby cat, full of mischief, confidence and curiosity that collided with Keiji’s deep blue, calm, collected, mystical ones. It was a miracle Tetsu had yet to ever ask about his father.

“Be a good boy and learn lots, okay?” Akaashi said warmly, running a hand through Tetsurou’s hair one last time.

“I will! Well, about the last part, anyway.”

Keiji shook his head and leaned down, laying a sweet kiss onto Tetsurou’s soft forehead. It was the only thing that could deter the boy’s playfulness.

“I love you, Tetsu.”

“Love you too, Mommy,” The boy gave a small smile. “I gotta go—Ken-chan is waiting for me.”

“Alright. I’ll come pick you up around six, okay?”

“Okay.”

Keiji watched Tetsu take Kenma’s hand and lead him towards the school doors just as the first bell rang. Sometimes he wished he had more children, but Tetsurou was a handful—maybe if the kid was more like Kenma. More like Akaashi, less like the father figure. Yeah. That would be nice, one day…

Thankfully Akaashi was able to snap himself out of his funk by the time ballet practice began, because he had tried dancing while his head was in the clouds, and it almost always resulted in an injury. By early afternoon he was more focused, stretching during their break and having a drink, but he didn’t sit with his usual friends; instead, he chose to sit alone in the left corner of the stage, where he was suddenly cornered by his irritatingly talented dance partner, Suguru Daishou.

“Are you feeling okay, Akaashi-kun?”

Akaashi glanced up at the dancer, hating how Suguru was the only one observant enough to notice his strange mood. Suguru had started this company the same year as Keiji, and although they had butted heads right away, Akaashi had learned to live with Daishou’s love of stardom, and Suguru had learned the hard way that Keiji was never going to date him, and so finally stopped flirting with him. Mostly. Today he was frowning, and he only frowned when his senses told him something or someone was in danger of ruining the show.

“I’m fine, Suguru-kun. Why do you ask?”

“Hmm…you look distracted,” Suguru hummed suspiciously, walking a circle around his partner. “You were dazed when you came in, your dancing was flawless, as usual, but as far as your acting goes, it seemed…distant.”

“It’s difficult for me to pretend I’m in love with you when you’re not in costume,” Keiji retorted, standing up to stretch his arms.

“Rude. I look like a swan all the time, thank you very much.”

“Suguru-san, Akaashi-san, the director says we’re going again,” Another ballerina interrupted, motioning them to the stage. Suguru followed after his partner, not letting the topic go—he expected answers when he pried into other people’s business. Tetsurou called him the Heir of Slytherin behind his back and often tried to trick him into speaking Parseltongue.

“You wanna talk about him?” Daishou prompted.

“What?”

“It’s so obviously about someone you’re dating. You can’t slip that past me, Akaashi.”

“Oh right, I forgot you’ve dated every prima ballerina in Europe.”

Suguru glared at him and stuck his tongue out like a child, nearly bumping into another group of dancers along the way.

“Let’s take it from the very top!” The director hollered.

“I’m not dating him,” Akaashi clarified stiffly. Suguru looked over at him with a cocked eyebrow as they took their positions. “And I won’t date him ever again.”

~~*~~

Aside from Suguru’s annoying, prying conversation, Akaashi’s day went well, and he was in a better mood by the time he picked Tetsu up from Kenma’s house. They bought some Indian food along the way (although Keiji promised to try and cook something later in the week) and hurried inside to eat; Tetsurou told his mom all about his day, from the game they played during recess to the peeing contest he and Kenma had in the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, did you say…peeing contest?”

“Yeah, Mom. Keep up!”

“Okay, I’ll bite—why did you have a peeing contest, Tetsurou?” Akaashi laughed as he grabbed two plates for their food.

“Cuz I told Kenma I could pee faster than him, but then he started to pee faster in the next stall over, so then I started to pee faster, because we had the same amount of pee in us, and even though I pushed really hard, we still tied!”

“Forget I asked.”

“How was your day, Mommy?” Tetsurou asked, eyes widening with hunger as he watched Keiji open the takeout boxes. “Did you have to dance with snake boy again?”

“Yes, I danced with snake boy again. But his leotard ripped as we were practicing the second act, so that was pretty funny.”

“Haha! Classic. Can I have a lot of the chicken Tikka Masala, please? It’s my favorite.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Their dinner was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, making Akaashi raise an eyebrow. As far as he knew, they weren’t expecting any visitors.

“I’ll get it!” Tetsurou said, hopping off his seat.

“Make sure you look through the peephole before you open the door,” His mother reminded him, dishing the food out onto plates.

“Yup!”

Tetsu paddled away to the door, pulling up his stool to peek through the peephole. Akaashi heard him give a small gasp, followed by him hurriedly pushing the stool aside.

“Mom, it’s that one guy!”

“What guy?”

The fork in Akaashi’s hand slid from his grip when his son spoke again, colliding with the table and hitting the floor.

“It’s fish fryer-san!”