The place was packed. Frankly, Akaashi doubted Kuroo had that many friends. He wondered how many of them had been personally invited, and how many had been lured in by word-of-mouth – specifically, Bokuto's mouth. Bokuto certainly hadn't shut up on the phone about the party in the entire seven weeks of planning it with Kuroo, so if Bokuto was even half as forthcoming with his classmates as he was with Akaashi on the phone, surely all of Waseda University was aware that one of their volleyball team's middle blockers was turning twenty-one and hosting the party of the year at his apartment that evening.

Akaashi didn't go to Waseda. Akaashi attended the University of Tokyo, fifteen minutes away by car, thirty minutes by bus, and fifty-five by foot. It was incredibly simple, visiting Bokuto, and vice versa, to the point where they saw each other almost every day. It had been staggering, going from seeing him every day at Fukurodani to an entire year of only seeing Bokuto once every few months, then back to seeing him every day once he'd started attending Todai. And still, three years later, while they were closer than ever, Akaashi and Bokuto's relationship had hit a line that Akaashi was terrified to cross.

He liked Bokuto, and he was starting to suspect that Bokuto liked him, but Bokuto liked everybody, and even if he did like Akaashi, that way–

Akaashi was just Akaashi, a third year literature major whose greatest accomplishment was going to Nationals in High School.

Bokuto was the ace of Waseda University's star volleyball team, the winners of the All Japan Intercollegiate Volleyball Championship for four years running. He'd already been signed onto the MSBY Black Jackals professional team, scheduled to start training with them the second he graduated. He was incredible. Astounding. Amazing. So bright, sometimes it hurt Akaashi to look at him. He was bound for bigger things. National things. Eventually, even, international things–

And Akaashi was still just Akaashi. He was cold and dark and quiet and boring and just worth so much less–

"Did you get me something for my birthday?" asked Kuroo, voice raised to be heard over the pounding music as he sauntered over with a drink in his hand. If Kuroo and Bokuto were kicked out of their apartment the next day, Akaashi wouldn't be surprised.

"A hairbrush," said Akaashi, not moving from his secluded corner, as far away from the swath of dancing, drinking, sweaty bodies as he could manage.

Kuroo laughed and flung an arm around his shoulders for a one-sided hug. "Lighten up, Akaashi, it's a party!"

Akaashi glared.

"At least have a drink. You're here to have fun, aren't you?"

He wasn't. His idea of fun didn't typically involve more than three or four people at a time, nor did it involve copious amounts of alcohol, flashing lights, or rupturing his ear drums. He didn't even know most of the people there. He was there only because Kuroo was his friend, and because Bokuto had begged him to come.

Speaking of. "Have you seen Bokuto-san?"

Kuroo let out a long-suffering sigh. "Still with the honorifics."

"He is still my upper-classman."

"You're friends, though," said Kuroo, sipping his drink.

"And?"

"And I'm pretty sure he'd ask you to call him Koutarou if he thought you'd be up for it."

Akaashi flushed. "That's… He wouldn't… Have you seen him or not?"

"He's upstairs cleaning the bathroom," said Kuroo, snickering. "Some freshman puked on the floor. He's Party Mom tonight. One hundred percent sober, poor guy, which leaves me free to get one hundred percent smashed."

"Is Kenma here?"

"You're kidding."

Akaashi huffed. "Had I known staying home was an option, I wouldn't have come."

"Tetsu-chaaaaaan!" came a lilting call from the other room. "I think I broke your coffee machine!"

"Why the hell are you making coffee at this fucking hour?" came another voice, gruff with annoyance.

"The night is immortal, Iwa-chan! I never sleep!"

Kuroo grimaced. "Kenma's gonna kill me if I don't have coffee for him in the mornings. You gonna be okay here?"

Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah," said Kuroo, waving his hand. "If you're not gonna drink, keep Bo company. Nothing like two sober idiots in love."

Akaashi's face went hot and Kuroo cackled as he made his way through the mass of bodies to the kitchen. The thought of navigating his way through a mass of inebriated college students to reach the stairs and find Bokuto was repellent.

"Not a party person?"

Akaashi jumped. One of the partygoers had separated himself from the crowd, drink in hand, to join Akaashi in the corner. He was taller than Akaashi, though not by much. His hair was a familiar shaggy black. "Not really," admitted Akaashi. "You're on the volleyball team."

He perked up. "You recognize me?"

"I go to a lot of your games."

"I'm only second-string," he said, sheepish. "You're Bo's friend, right?"

"Akaashi Keiji."

"Ankoku Haru." His eyes did a quick, perfunctory flick down Akaashi's body. Akaashi stiffened. "You want a beer?"

"No."

Ankoku smiled knowingly. "Not a drinker, huh?"

"Not particularly."

"You know there's things other than alcohol in the kitchen, right?"

Akaashi hadn't known that. He hadn't had anything to drink since five-o-clock. He eyed the mass of bodies that blocked his way to the kitchen with a frown.

Ankoku laughed softly. "You're cute," he said. "I'll grab you something."

He disappeared into the masses.

That was… surprisingly kind. Akaashi may have been too quick to judge. Bokuto had always called him a harsh critic. Just because Akaashi gave constructive criticism on the majority of his spikes during their time at Fukurodani did not make him a harsh critic, it made him a good teammate.

Ankoku returned with a Pocari Sweat.

Akaashi huffed in amusement. Figures Bokuto and Kuroo would stock their party only with alcohol and sports drinks. He took the bottle with a grateful "arigatou."

Ankoku lit up at the thanks.

Akaashi opened the bottle and drank half of it.

"Akaaashi! You're here!"

Akaashi couldn't help the fond smile that came over his face before turning to greet him. "Bokuto-san."

Bokuto bounded over with his standard mega-watt grin and gravity-defying hair, arms outstretched for a hug.

Akaashi held up a hand, stopping Bokuto in his place. "Your hands, Bokuto-san."

Bokuto looked at his hands that were still encased in rubber cleaning gloves and laughed, loud and boisterous. He pulled off the gloves and dropped them onto the floor by the wall, ignoring Akaashi's look of annoyance to pull him into a hug. "I missed you, Akaashi!"

"I was here two days ago."

"So? I can't miss you?" Bokuto pulled back and noticed his teammate. "Anko-kun! Were you talking to Akaashi? He's pretty great, right? Right? He's the bestest, coolest, wonderfullest guy I know!"

Akaashi looked away, cheeks burning.

"He does seem pretty great," said Ankoku, amused, with another slow, appreciative look over Akaashi's body. "He looks like he'd be a lot of fun."

"He is!" cried Bokuto, oblivious to Akaashi's sudden discomfort.

Akaashi was used to people checking him out, but he didn't like it. People looked at him. They stared and flirted and made suggestive comments, and nothing Ankoku had done so far was out of line, per se, but still…

The attention was unwanted, and it made him uncomfortable. The fact that it all went right over Bokuto's head didn't help. The one person Akaashi wouldn't mind looking at him like that didn't even notice when he was getting blatantly hit on by someone else–

"Is he loud?"

Good God. Akaashi could feel his face burn. What the hell kind of question was that–?

"Nah, he's usually pretty quiet," said Bokuto, a brick wall of social awareness. "He only raises his voice if he's like, really really excited." He knew what Bokuto was thinking of: the match that they'd won during Nationals their first year playing together, when Bokuto had finally pulled off his straight shot in a match and Akaashi hadn't been able to hold in his excitement, his pride, his admiration–

It was a precious memory to Akaashi.

Somehow, he knew that Ankoku's thoughts weren't running anywhere along those lines at all. His grin was a little sideways, a little leery, and incredibly disarming. Warning signs flashed in Akaashi's head.

"Excited, huh?" said Ankoku, locking eyes with Akaashi. "I'd like to hear that."

"Right!?" cried Bokuto. "But I've only ever seen him get that excited once! You should've see his face! I wish I knew how I could make him yell like that again!"

"I think I have a few ideas. Hey, Bo-kun, your friend's got a pretty voice, don't you think?"

"The prettiest!"

"The sounds he would make…"

"I need some air," said Akaashi, grabbing Bokuto's wrist and pulling him away, out of the corner that no longer felt safe.

"I'll–"

"You'll stay here," said Akaashi, rounding on Ankoku with a glare. "We're fine on our own, thank you."

Ankoku shrugged and took a drink. "Suit yourself. I'll catch up with you later."

"I'd rather you didn't."

Bokuto's brow furrowed, having finally noticed something was wrong. "Akaashi, what's–"

Akaashi tightened his grip on Bokuto's wrist and shoved his way through the crowd, tugging a confused Bokuto after him. His skin was crawling. His heart was pounding.

Stupid. Stupid. Ankoku was just another asshole in a long line of assholes. He didn't know why he was so shaken up. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Bokuto had been right there, and hadn't done anything–

But that wasn't fair, and Akaashi knew it. Bokuto believed the best about everybody. He and Ankoku were teammates. Friends, probably. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't see his teammate was a slimy, creeping pervert when presented the opportunity–

Okay. So Akaashi might be a little mad at Bokuto.

He tossed his unfinished Pocari Sweat onto a table before they stepped outside into the cool night air, the front step lit only by a porch light, but Akaashi knew Bokuto couldn't stay. He was Party Mom, he had to babysit the drunkards and keep his apartment from being destroyed but god-fucking-dammit–

"Akaashi–"

"Did you not notice," said Akaashi, his voice shaking, "how uncomfortable your friend was making me? Did you not have the tiniest inkling that what he was saying might not be okay?"

The color leeched from Bokuto's face. "What!? No! Anko wouldn't–"

Akaashi's eyes were hot with tears and he hated it. "When he talked about how fun he thought I'd be–"

"But you are fun!"

"Or the way I sound? God, Bokuto, did you even know what you two were talking about?" Bokuto flinched at the lack of honorific. Despite Bokuto telling him to drop it for years, dropping it now did not mean what he wanted it to mean, and he knew it. "Did you see the way he was looking at me? Did you just not care–"

Now Bokuto looked angry. "You know that's not true, Akaashi!"

He did know, dammit. Akaashi wilted and leaned back against the wall of the apartment, the light overhead flickering. He felt the strength leech out of his body and he just felt tired. "I think I'm going to go home."

Bokuto's face fell. "But… it's late. You were supposed to stay the night–"

"I don't feel comfortable being here right now, Bokuto-san," said Akaashi.

"I'll tell Anko to leave–"

"That won't be necessary," said Akaashi, making his way down the steps.

"You shouldn't go on your own, Akaashi! The buses stopped hours ago! Let me drive you–"

"You need to stay to keep an eye on the party, right?"

Bokuto looked physically pained. "Akaashi–"

"I'll be fine, Bokuto-san. Tell Kuroo–" but Akaashi stumbled on the last step. He gripped the railing, catching himself.

Bokuto hurried to his side and steadied him with an arm on his shoulder. "Now I definitely can't let you go, Akaashi! You're drunk!"

"I…" Akaashi's mouth was dry. He felt dizzy. "I'm not drunk."

"You're not?"

"I didn't drink anything" said Akaashi, confused. It was getting hard to concentrate. "Bokuto-san. I don't feel well."

Bokuto watched as Akaashi spaced out, growing more worried by the second. "You're sure you're not drunk?" But Akaashi didn't seem to be listening. Instead, he threw up over the railing.

"Fuck," said Bokuto, wrapping an arm around Akaashi's waist and gently leading him back up the steps and inside. He sat him down against the wall next to the door where he slumped. "Stay here for a minute, all right?"

Akaashi didn't respond, staring at the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching.

"I'll be right back. I promise." Bokuto stood and hurriedly began clearing everyone out of the apartment. "I know, I'm sorry, but the party is over!"

"Bo!" called Kuroo from the kitchen. "Is it morning already? Why's everyone leaving?"

"How drunk are you?" asked Bokuto.

"Not drunk enough," he said, lifting his glass to his lips–

Bokuto grabbed it and dumped it down the sink.

Kuroo frowned. "What the hell, Bo?"

"Just, help me clear everyone out, okay? It's Akaashi. Something's wrong."

That seemed to sober Kuroo up a bit. "All right, everybody, you heard the man," he called, turning to the lingering guests. "Out!"

Oikawa approached, looking worried, Iwaizumi at his side, and Bokuto waved the unasked question away. They could stay, but everyone else needed to get the fuck out of his apartment.

The crowd dispersed, the music was turned off, leaving a graveyard of half-empty glasses and a stark silence in its wake. Bokuto hurried back to where he'd left Akaashi–

Only he wasn't there.

Bokuto spun around, his heart suddenly in his throat, panic constricting his lungs. Fuck. Fuck. Where was Akaashi? Where the fuck was Akaashi?

Bokuto ran through their apartment, dread dropping lower in his gut with each empty room.

"Jesus, Bo, slow the fuck down." said Kuroo when Bokuto nearly ran into him.

"Akaashi's gone."

Kuroo's eyes widened. "What?"

Bokuto slapped his friend's face a few times. "Sober the fuck up, Kuroo! Akaashi's gone!"

Oikawa looked to the door. "Did he leave with everyone else?"

Bokuto froze. He might have. He'd been a bit out of it when Bokuto had left. Confused. He might have just followed the crowd.

"Shit," said Iwaizumi. "Come on. We'll help look."

The four of them ran outside, scanning the faces of the crowd as everyone parted ways and headed back to their respective dorms and apartments.

"Akaashi!" Bokuto called. "Akaashi!" He could hear the others calling for him as well, but there was no sign of his friend.

He made his way back towards his apartment, tears in his eyes, his stomach rolling in on itself when he heard it. A shaking breath. Rustled clothing. With a furrowed brow, Bokuto made his way around the side of his apartment, behind the bushes–

And his heart stopped.

Someone had Akaashi pressed up against the wall of the building, not a centimeter of space between them. Hips to hips. Chest to chest. A knee placed strategically between Akaashi's legs. A face tucked into the curve of Akaashi's neck, sucking. Touching. Grinding. Hands wandering underneath Akaashi's clothes–

And Akaashi's arms, lax at his sides. His eyes blank and empty.

Bokuto had never been so angry, and so, so terrified.

He grabbed the lowlife by the back of their jacket and heaved them backwards off of Akaashi–

It was fucking Ankoku–

Bokuto slammed his fist into Ankoku's face, feeling the crack of his nose breaking and blood spurting down his lips and over Bokuto's fingers as he curled them into the front of Ankoku's shirt and shook. "What did you do to him?"

"What the fuck?" said Ankoku, his hands curled protectively around his nose, blood dripping–

"What did you do to him?" He was shouting.

"Jesus. I didn't do anything he didn't want–"

Bokuto thought of Akaashi as he'd turned to leave. 'I don't feel comfortable being here right now, Bokuto-san.'

He shoved him back and punched him again. "He didn't fucking want it!" He punched him again– and again– and again–

Strong arms curled around Bokuto's, restraining him from behind as Ankoku dropped to the ground, out cold. "That's enough, Bokuto." It was Iwaizumi.

"But he–"

"Akaashi needs you."

Bokuto froze. He wiggled out of Iwaizumi's grip, ignoring the horrified looks on Oikawa and Kuroo's faces, and scrambled to Akaashi's side who was still just standing there, face blank and empty, not moving.

"Akaashi?" he said tentatively.

Nothing. It was like no one was home.

There were marks down Akaashi's jaw and neck. Bite marks and hickeys, red and raw.

Bokuto grabbed Akaashi's hand gently, like he was afraid he would break. "Come back inside, Akaashi."

Akaashi followed easily.

Bokuto sat Akaashi down on the couch and brought him a glass of water. He took it, but made no move to drink it.

"Please drink it," said Bokuto softly.

Akaashi drank the whole glass, doing what he said without a second thought.

He was so, so pliant.

"Is he drunk?" asked Oikawa, quiet.

"He said he wasn't," said Bokuto, pulling at his hair, worried out of his goddamn mind.

"He didn't have any alcohol," said Kuroo. "Trust me, I tried."

Bokuto frowned, thinking back to when he'd found Akaashi after coming downstairs. "He… had a Pocari."

"He did?" asked Kuroo, brow raising. "When did he grab that?"

"How should I know?" said Bokuto, frustrated.

"No, Bo, when did he grab it? He didn't have it when I left him, and he never came into the kitchen."

Bokuto frowned. "You're sure?"

Kuroo jerked his head at Oikawa. "This idiot broke our coffee maker. I was in there trying to fix it right up until you kicked everybody out. He never came in."

A slow, creeping realization shrouded Bokuto. He felt sick. "Anko was… harassing Akaashi."

"What!?" cried Oikawa. "What did he say?"

"I don't–" Bokuto still didn't fully understand. He'd thought they'd been talking about how great Akaashi was. 'Did you not have the tiniest inkling that what he was saying might not be okay?' "He said Akaashi looked fun. And he… He asked if he was loud. Said he wanted to hear him. Akaashi was really uncomfortable. Said Ankoku kept looking at him weird…"

"Bokuto…" said Iwaizumi, his voice thick. "I think… I think we need to take Akaashi to the hospital. Get him drug tested. Call the police."

Bokuto's heartbeat was too loud. He felt lost. "What?" he asked. His hands were shaking. "Why? What are you– Why would–"

Oikawa hurried away, looking for something.

"If Akaashi's been drugged, we need to get him checked out," said Iwaizumi slowly, his voice low, calm.

"I–" Bokuto's voice broke.

"You're the only one of us who's sober, Bo," said Kuroo. "You're gonna have to drive."

Oikawa returned triumphant with an arm full of Pocari Sweat bottles, in various stages of emptiness. "These are all I could find. One of these must be his."

"I'll call the police," said Kuroo, pulling out his cell. "Get Akaashi to the car?" he said, walking to the other room as he dialed.

Bokuto wiped his nose on his sleeve as he sniffed and nodded. He grabbed Akaashi's hand and pulled him up. "Come on, Akaashi," he said softly. "We're gonna get you checked out, okay?"

Akaashi let himself be pulled forward. He hit his shoulder on the door frame on the way out and didn't even seem to notice.

He guided Akaashi into the back seat of his cheap Toyota. Oikawa and Iwaizumi sat in the back with him, Kuroo joining Bokuto up front after he'd finished talking on the phone.

"They're sending someone to pick up the dirtbag," said Kuroo, pulling on his seatbelt. "And someone will be at the hospital to get our statements when we get there."

The ride was quiet, filled only with Oikawa's soft voice quietly reassuring Akaashi over the hum of the engine, despite Akaashi not seeming to register anything he said.

They arrived at the hospital and tried to coax Akaashi out of the car. He stood, but he looked dead on his feet and his eyelids were drooping. Bokuto gathered him into his arms and carried him inside. Akaashi's eyes slid the rest of the way closed as he lay limp in Bokuto's grasp.

Nurses whisked Akaashi away as Bokuto and his friends were approached by two police officers to give their statements. Someone collected the bottles of Pocari to test them for drugs, and they were instructed to take a seat as they waited. It wasn't long before a doctor came out to speak to them– or, more specifically, Bokuto, who was Akaashi's emergency contact ever since Akaashi's parents had failed to show up at the hospital after he'd collapsed from overworking himself in his second year of college.

The doctor pulled Bokuto aside and told him that all the symptoms pointed towards a date-rape drug overdose, probably GHB, but that the test results to confirm wouldn't be back for a few hours. He said they'd just have to wait and see if Akaashi woke up.

"Wait," said Bokuto, his words shaky and weak. "What do you mean if he wakes up? Why would you say that? He's gonna wake up!"

"If the person who did this didn't know what they were doing," said the doctor, "Akaashi-san might fall into a coma, or his heart could stop. We're monitoring him extremely closely, and we should know within the next few hours if he's going to pull through. We've got him on fluids and a ventilator to help him with his breathing. I'm afraid all we can do now is wait it out."

Bokuto returned to the others, still in shock. "He… He might not make it… Doctor says it was a date-rape drug… an overdose. Akaashi, he could really… He could really–" Tears started pouring down his face. Kuroo leapt to his feet and pulled Bokuto into a hug.

"He'll be fine, Bo," said Kuroo, his own voice shaking.

Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa's cold, sweaty hand and squeezed it tight.

So they waited.

And waited.

The others passed out in their chairs, the alcohol still working its way out of their systems, but Bokuto was way too sober for his tired body to overcome his mind. He kept going over his interaction with Akaashi and Ankoku in his mind, trying to see the signs Akaashi had told him he missed.

It was… startlingly obvious, with the information Bokuto knew now. With hindsight, he could see how Ankoku's comments steadily grew to be more inappropriate, how everything Bokuto said only served to fuel him further.

To think, by that time, Ankoku had already made his move. Akaashi had the Pocari before Bokuto had even arrived, so that whole time they were talking, Ankoku knew what he'd done, and what he was planning, he'd already been thinking of Akaashi like that, had probably been excited, waiting to get Akaashi alone and pliable and lax so he could–

Bokuto put his head in his hands. He'd always thought Ankoku seemed like a good guy. He was a fourth-year second string wing spiker. They'd been practicing together at Waseda for almost four years, but never once had Bokuto noticed him being so brazen, so inappropriate–

But you didn't notice this time either, did you? Bokuto had been blinded by a filter of four years of history and only ended up finding out because Akaashi had been so angry with him.

'Did you not notice how uncomfortable your friend was making me? Did you not have the tiniest inkling–'

"Fuck."

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the image out of his head of Akaashi with blank eyes, pressed against the outer wall of Bokuto's apartment as Ankoku touched him and kissed him without his consent, without even the power to register what was happening or to fight back–

Bokuto ran to the nearest trash can and threw up.

Eventually, the doctor came out and led them to Akaashi's room. The last time Bokuto had visited Akaashi in the hospital, there hadn't been a ventilator breathing for him. Strange, what a stark difference that made. The sound of the air pumping filled the room. Bokuto didn't understand. He'd been breathing fine before, right? When had this happened? How did it get so bad, so fast?

Six hours after they brought Akaashi to the hospital, Akaashi woke up, and he woke up panicked.

"Akaashi, you're okay," said Bokuto, grabbing his hand as Akaashi thrashed, knocking the side table and tearing out his IV with his uncoordinated movements. The doctor rushed into the room, taking note of the irregular heart monitor as he removed the tube from his throat, leaving Akaashi's heaving for uneven breaths.

"I– I can't– I can't breathe," Akaashi gasped, his entire body wracked with tremors.

"Akaashi-san, you're all right. This is a side effect of your condition. It will wear off, you just need to give it time. I know it feels like you can't breathe, but you can."

Tears welled up in Akaashi's eyes. His hand trembled in Bokuto's grasp. "My– My body's not listening to me– What's wrong with me?"

"You were suffering from an overdose of GHB, but you're all right now. You've pulled through and we expect you to fully recover. You'll be okay, Akaashi-san," said the doctor as they set him up with another IV. "Use the call button if you need anything else at all, all right?"

Bokuto held Akaashi as he shook, all of his concentration seeming to go towards breathing. It took a long time for him to calm down.

"Are you all right now, Kei-chan?" asked Oikawa.

"I was drugged?"

Bokuto flinched.

"Who–" Then Akaashi's eyes darkened. "The Pocari."

Bokuto nodded, unable to meet Akaashi's eyes as shame enveloped him. "I'm sorry I didn't stop him, Akaashi. If I'd noticed… I should have–"

"It's not your fault, Bokuto-san," said Akaashi, his voice low and emotionless. "Did he… do anything? I don't remember anything after…"

"He– I wish I'd gotten there sooner, Akaashi–"

Akaashi's face lost all of its color. "So… he did, he… He forced me to…"

"No!" cried Bokuto. "No, I stopped him! "

Akaashi's slumped with relief.

"Bo beat the shit out of him," said Kuroo, unapologetic.

Akaashi looked to Bo with wide eyes. "You did?"

Bokuto reddened and looked away. "He… He was touching you, and you were just… you weren't…"

"Thank you, Bokuto-san," said Akaashi, voice broken and faint. He put his face in his hands as his shoulders began to shake. "Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you–"

Kuroo stood, motioning to the door and Oikawa and Iwaizumi followed. "We're just gonna be right outside."

Bokuto nodded as he crawled up onto the bed next to Akaashi and pulled him into his arms and Akaashi sobbed into his chest. "You're okay," Bokuto kept muttering, quiet as he ran his fingers through Akaashi's hair.

"Thank you–"

"You're okay, now, Akaashi."

Akaashi cried for a long time.

Bokuto wished he'd punched Ankoku a few more times. He wished he'd killed him.

When Akaashi asked Bokuto to tell him what happened after they went outside, Bokuto told him everything. It wouldn't have been fair to sugarcoat things, to leave things out when the control over his own decisions and his ability to remember them had already been taken from him.

"It was like you were there, but you weren't," said Bokuto softly. "You were awake and you would do things, but not on purpose? It was really scary. He could have done whatever he wanted to you and you wouldn't have been able to do anything–"

"But you stopped him," said Akaashi. "He… He could have, but he didn't, and that's because of you." He shivered and his voice dropped to nothing more than a breath. "I am glad I don't remember."

Akaashi was let out of the hospital later that day.

Bokuto dropped Kuroo, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi off before taking Akaashi back to his apartment near Todai. Akaashi retreated to his room to change, and when he came back he was wearing a black turtle-neck.

He must have seen the marks Ankoku left behind.

Bokuto hated this. He hated everything about it. He thought about what he'd been taught growing up, to not leave your drink alone or accept a drink from a stranger, but Ankoku wasn't a stranger, he was Anko-kun, a wing spiker who would join him and Oikawa after practice sometimes when he wanted to work on his spikes, he liked watching cheesy Japanese game shows and he gushed over his little sister–he wasn't supposed to be someone to be afraid of.

Akaashi hadn't known Ankoku well, but he'd known him by association. Trusted him by association.

And now Akaashi was wearing a turtle-neck.

"I'm sorry about the party, Bokuto-san," said Akaashi, straightening up the living room just so he had something to do with his hands.

"What about the party?"

"You and Kuroo were planning it for a long time," said Akaashi. "I'm sorry I ruined–"

"Stop talking, Akaashi."

Akaashi's mouth clicked shut.

"You're always apologizing for stuff that isn't your fault. You're– You never have to apologize to me, okay? You're perfect."

Akaashi's face reddened.

Shit. Fuck. He looked so cute– But that was not the time to confess. Not after everything that happened. What Akaashi needed was to feel safe, and Bokuto could try to give him that much, at least. "Want to watch a movie?"

Akaashi took a moment to consider, then nodded.

They curled up on the couch, close and touching, much more than friends but nothing concrete either. Their relationship remained hanging in the air, undefined and confusing.

Akaashi. I like you, and I think you like me too.

Akaashi was incredible. He was intelligent, and beautiful, and clever, and sarcastic, and his patience and support made Bokuto feel like the sun, bursting with light and joy because with Akaashi by his side he could do anything–

But Bokuto was just Bokuto, a student with zero volume-control and mediocre grades, mood swings that made him difficult for others to put up with, and whose only value was in volleyball.

After all these years, he still couldn't bring himself to cross the line that had been taunting him since high school.