nice receive•haikyuu oneshots

bokuto koutarou•akaashi keiji (fluff)

It was Friday night, and by all means, a normal man of his age should have been out drinking with his old friends like he'd been invited to; but Akaashi, instead, was lounging on the couch in his pajamas.

Gameshows. Click.

Soccer. Click.

Doremon. Click.

He pushed the buttons on the remote control, flipping through various channels before finally just switching the television off. He rolled off the sofa and sprawled onto the floor with an alarming thud. The former pretty setter stared at the ceiling just waiting for something, anything, to cure his restlessness. He watched the lights from the window dance on the ceiling from the cars on the street below. A police siren wailed in the night, and he could also hear the steady rhythm of an analog clock ticking.

Akaashi could almost fall asleep, right there on the thin rug. Despite the risk of getting a cold, he almost did. Until a lazy pounding on the door echoed through his apartment. Using the couch as a support, he pulled himself off the floor and called out a muffled "Coming". Akaashi didn't know what to expect to find when opening the door, no, he wasn't even expecting anything. In his half-awakened state he forgot to check the peephole for any danger. He unlocked the deadbolt as he yawned.

The spectacle from the other side of the door rushed through him like a scalding hot shot of pure espresso. "Akaashi~." A voice called out. A familiar and rather nostalgic face staggered in the doorframe, with a rather wasted friend perched on his shoulder.

"What the hell happened?" Akaashi demanded, his gaze snapped into a rather stern and cold expression.

"Well, you see, he wouldn't stop drinking, and I couldn't just leave him there because the pub was closing... I can't take him over either, I'm staying at a friend's place tonight." Kuroo, even in his intoxicated state, was intimidated and avoided Akaashi's gaze. Akaashi sighed heavily, pushing the door open and slinging one of Bokuto's deadweight arms onto his shoulders, bidding goodnight to Kuroo, he dragged the man over to the couch and rather roughly tossed him onto the furniture.

Bokuto groaned and opened his sticky eyes. His throat burned and everything felt warm and fuzzy. In his position, he had exactly one coherent sentence to set things right. The pale-haired man could have sputtered anything, he could have muttered an apology, or greeted the scowling caretaker in front of him. Of course, being Bokuto, he said something completely uncalculated. "Akaashi~ do you think I'm pretty~."

More than anything else, Akaashi wanted to abandon Bokuto at that moment, to leave him in a drunken stupor to fend for himself. He rolled his narrowed eyes and smirked. "Do you know where you are right now?"

"Our...apartment?" He rasped groggily, trying to scan the dim room.

Bokuto weaved his fingers through his feathery locks. Asking him questions like that when he was sober was hard enough, but since he was plastered... "Akaashi~," he whined "just tell me I'm pretty!" In order to spare further conflict from the emotional drunkard, he relented.

"You're very pretty Bokuto-san."