The door that slammed in his face wasn't a surprise. The click of the lock, however, was.

They'd locked him out.

They'd locked him out.

The bite of the winter night air settled into Keiji's bones, his thin, cotton pajama pants and tee doing nothing to protect him from the cold.

His fingers shook as he tried the door.

He felt numb.

Where was he supposed to go?

Should he… Should he wait outside? Would they let him back in, eventually? His homework, his clothes, his phone, his wallet, everything he owned, it was all upstairs in his room.

How was he supposed to go to school?

How was he supposed to sleep?

Where was he supposed to go?

His eyes stung.

His bare feet burned from the cold. How low was the temperature supposed to drop tonight?

Keiji hugged his arms tightly around himself and knocked. "O-Okaasan," he called for his mother through the door, his voice wavering. "Okaasan!" Nothing. "It's cold," he whimpered, leaning his forehead against the wood.

Keiji wasn't sure what his mother thought about the whole situation, but she hadn't tried to stop her husband, not when he'd shouted, not when he'd raised a hand against her own son, not when he'd shoved him bodily out of the house, and not now, as said son pleaded through the locked door.

He couldn't stay there. He'd freeze.

But where could he go?

He couldn't call anyone. He couldn't look up directions. He didn't have shoes, for Christ's sake.

His body started moving, muscle memory taking over when the panic rendered his mind useless. Rocks bit into his feet as he jogged along the cold, wet pavement, but the longer he ran, the more the pain of it dissolved into numbness as shivers wracked his body.

It was late enough that the streets were mostly empty. If Keiji had been in his right mind, he might have been scared to be out past midnight without a phone, but the haze of cold softened his panic to the point that he wasn't sure what mattered at all anymore. Not volleyball, not school, and certainly not himself.

Light surprise was all he could garner when he found himself standing at the Bokuto family's doorstep. It made sense. There was really nowhere else he could have gone. There was no one else he would have gone to.

Keiji raised his hand to knock–

And stopped.

It was late. The Bokutos were most definitely sleeping. Bokuto's parents had to work in the morning. His siblings had school. Bokuto himself had gone to bed hours ago–Keiji knew, because Bokuto had called him, half-awake, to tell him about the spider that had been in his bathroom, and that he couldn't sleep, because he was so fast, Akaashi, he could be anywhere, he could be in my bed, Akaaaaashi! Keiji had stayed on the phone with him for over an hour, convincing him the spider is not in your bed, Bokuto-san, he's probably gone back to his own home to sleep for the night, which had led to a talk about whether the spider had a family waiting for him, and whether his spider-wife had caught a fly that day. Bokuto had named the spider Haruma, and his spider-wife Kayo, and his spider-son Ren had a web-weaving contest coming up and they were all so proud–

Bokuto had fallen asleep on the phone.

He was probably happily dreaming and Keiji was loath to wake him, to put a worried frown on that face that should always, always be smiling.

Keiji choked on a sob. He wondered how long he'd been crying.

He raised his hand to the door again. It was all right, wasn't it, for him to be selfish, just this once? To need Bokuto?

Just this once…

Keiji knocked hard, afraid that if nobody heard him, he wouldn't have the courage to knock again.

He waited, violently shivering, teeth chattering, breaths hitching–

A light turned on inside. Footsteps. The door opened, revealing Michiko Bokuto, Bokuto's mother. Any signs of lingering tiredness vanished as she saw Keiji, and her eyes widened. "Akaashi-kun?" she said, horrified.

Akaashi tried to apologize for intruding, but all that came out was another hoarse sob.

"Oh my goodness," she said, ushering him inside. "Jiro!" she called. "Kou!"

Bokuto's father was a big man, but a gentle giant. He ran into the room in his pajamas, frantic at the sound of his wife's voice.

"He's like ice," said Michiko-san as she wrapped an arm around Keiji's shoulders, rubbing them to warm him up.

"Blankets!" Jiro-san announced before racing around the house, having seemingly forgot where they kept the blankets, or indeed, anything at all, as he opened various cabinets and cupboards, swearing when he came up with anything and everything except blankets.

"The bedroom closet," said Michiko-san, pulling Keiji to the couch. Jiro took off.

A familiar whine came from down the hall. "What's going on?" The third-year caught sight of Keiji and froze. Then, "AKAAAAAASHII!" Bokuto, his hair limp from sleep, scrambled forward, vaulting over the arm of the couch, getting all up in Keiji's personal space as he touched his face and flinched back at the cold. "You're freezing! What happened? What's wrong? Are you okay? You're crying! Akaaaaashii!" He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, his hands flitting around him, like he was afraid to touch him.

Jiro ran back in, his arms full. "I've got blankets!"

A mound of blankets was dropped over Keiji's head.

" You buried him!" cried Bokuto. "I'll save you, Akaashi!"

Bokuto dug Akaashi out of the blankets and tucked him to his chest, arms wrapping protectively around him and Akaashi let himself be held (just this once), selfishly craving the warmth.

Michiko wrapped the blankets around them, cocooning them in a burrito of soft, heavy fabrics.

It took a long while for Akaashi's shivering to calm down, even with Bokuto's intense body heat and the hot tea Michiko brought him thawing him from the inside.

Keiji had managed enough of a grasp on his emotions that he was no longer crying, but the shame welled up inside him, nonetheless. He turned his face into Bokuto's chest.

"Kou," said Michiko softly, "we'll be in the kitchen. Call us if you need us, okay?"

Keiji felt Bokuto nod and heard their receding footsteps. He slumped slightly once they were alone. "Gomenasai, Bokuto-san," he said, quiet. "I'm okay now."

"Akaashi," said Bokuto, his voice wrecked. "You're scaring me. You're not okay. What happened?"

How could he tell Bokuto, whose parents loved him so much, that his own parents had kicked him out? He sat up straight, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Bokuto-san."

"That's not what I meant!" Bokuto reached up and ran his fingers feather-light over Keiji's cheek where his father had hit him. It was tender to the touch. "Your face, Akaashi…"

Keiji wondered how bad it looked. "I'm sorry for the trouble, but could I stay here? Just for tonight. Please," he said, looking down, fiddling with his fingers.

"Of course, Akaashi!" said Bokuto. "Whatever you need! Stay a week! Stay forever! I'll take care of you, I promise!"

Akaashi managed a small smile. "I'm not sure your parents would agree to that."

"Of course they would! They love you!"

At this point, Bokuto's parents might love Keiji more than his own parents did. Shit. That was depressing.

A tear escaped, and Bokuto looked heartbroken. "Akaashi… I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

"My parents..." said Keiji, not sure where the words were coming from, or why they were falling out of his mouth without his permission. "They kicked me out."

Bokuto started crying. "Why would they do that?"

Keiji hesitated. He knew Bokuto wouldn't judge him, but hadn't he thought his parents would love him, no matter what? Sure, they weren't open or physically affectionate like the Bokutos, but he'd thought they'd loved him. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe they'd never loved him. Maybe he'd never been a son they could love, and this had been the last straw. The last brick of disappointment on the pile.

"I don't like girls, Bokuto-san," said Keiji. If Bokuto had a problem with it, best to be kicked out now, before his body had completely thawed from the cold.

Bokuto stared, confused, his brow furrowed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Keiji felt himself relax. "Everything."

"You mean they kicked you out because you don't like girls?" Bokuto asked. "Akaashi, is that why they hit you?"

Keiji nodded. He didn't tell him that the reason the subject had come up at all was because of his hour-long phone call with Bokuto. His father had asked questions and made accusations. Akaashi had only been honest.

"But they're your parents," said Bokuto, struggling to wrap his head around it. "They're supposed to love you."

"Well, they don't," said Keiji, dropping his face into his hands. "Bokuto-san, I don't know what to do. I can't– I can't–"

Strong arms wrapped around him. A string of gentle murmurs paraded in his ears, not stopping even when Keiji had calmed down enough to hear it. "–got you. It's okay, Akaashi. You have so many people who love you. The team loves you. My parents love you. I love you. We've got you. You'll be okay, Akaashi."

Keiji didn't have the energy to cry anymore. He didn't have the energy to do anything, so he just settled into Bokuto's warmth and kind words because in the morning, he'd have to deal with everything for real and just for now, just this once, he was going to be selfish and enjoy this moment.

"–love you too, Bokuto-san," he muttered, his energy waning as exhaustion took him.

So he didn't see Bokuto's face turn bright red.

Akaashi looked so sad, even asleep. Bokuto wiped his eyes, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart because now was not the time–

Except–

Except–

'Love you too, Bokuto-san.'

Bokuto carefully disentangled himself from the bundle of blankets and gently lowered Akaashi's upper body to the couch. He made his way into the kitchen feeling the strangest mix of elated and devastated.

"How is he?" asked his mom.

"Do we need to call someone?" asked his dad.

"His parents kicked him out," said Bokuto, "because they're homophobic assholes."

"They're the ones who hit him?" Anger was such a rare look on his dad's face.

Bokuto nodded.

"He can stay as long as he needs, Kou," said his mom.

"How could they do that?" he asked. "It's so cold out, and they just–they just kicked him out! What if he didn't make it here? What if he got lost? He could have froze! Someone could have hurt him!"

His mom hugged him and rubbed his back. "Sweetheart… Kou, he's okay. He's here where it's warm, with people who love him."

"Should we call the police?" asked Bokuto into his mom's chest.

"You let your father and I worry about that. Your only job is to take care of Akaashi-kun. You can do that, right?"

Bokuto nodded.

"That's my boy."

Bokuto returned to Akaashi's side. He heard his parent's low murmurs in the kitchen, discussing what to do about the situation and logistics and whether the police needed to be involved and what was best for Akaashi–

But Bokuto decided to listen to his mother and let them worry about that.

He sat down next to Akaashi and brushed a curl of hair from his forehead. Swirling on top of everything were Akaashi's last words. He hated himself for getting hung up on it when there were so many other things to worry about, but…

Had he meant it? In the way that Bokuto had meant it?

That morning, Bokuto hadn't even considered Akaashi returning his feelings a possibility, and now… The possibility was there, real and tantalizing.

But even if Akaashi didn't mean it like that…

He was Bokuto's best friend. And he'd be damned before anyone made Akaashi feel like he wasn't loved. Like he wasn't worth loving. Like he wasn't Bokuto's most favorite person.