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There are days that Konoha comes home with him to study. It's funny, he thinks, because Konoha is older than him, should be focusing on his finals and college entrance exams, but with the way he speaks, the way he acts, Akaashi knows that his head is too full of bad jokes and volleyball, with the occasional sappy thought, that it's hard for him to find room for the files of things he needs to know for school. Akaashi helps him because he's fond of him, fond of Konoha and Bokuto both, really, and doesn't want to see him fail when he's so easily capable of helping. He still brushes Konoha off sometimes with a 'figure it out yourself,' or a blank look, but the days that Konoha comes home with him after practice are happening more and more often, and Akaashi is finding himself less and less perturbed by his presence.
While they wait for the train, Akaashi watches the snow fall down in little tufts, the cold air nipping at the tops of his ears and he pulls his scarf tighter around his neck, ignores Konoha as he presses closer to his side, long fingers sliding up underneath the fabric of Akaashi's sleeve to seek warmth after he had forgotten his gloves that morning. Akaashi purses his lips but otherwise says nothing, thinking off-handedly of how well Konoha fits beside him, the curves of their bodies complimenting and contrasting one another somehow at the same time. His fingertips freeze Akaashi's arm while his cheeks burn a little warmer and Akaashi knows that Konoha's smiling smugly beside him while feigning innocence, knows that he would pretend that he's doing nothing wrong.
Akaashi wonders why he doesn't really mind Konoha's sudden need to be close to him, wonders if Konoha knows what he's doing—yes, of course he does, how could Akaashi even question it with the smirk lingering on the edge of his peripherals, the way his heart presses up against his ribcage a few dozen times when Konoha leans in close the way he is now—he turns his head slightly, cocked to the side just so and he stares at him, deadpan, teeth gnawing at the inside of his lower lip.
"If you're so cold, Konoha-san, maybe you should invest in a scarf," Akaashi tells him, "instead of trying to crawl inside of my jacket."
Konoha snorts beside him, fingers drumming on Akaashi's arm before he pulls free of his sleeve. The words 'no, don't pull away' knock against the inside of Akaashi's teeth but he says nothing. In front of them, the train pulls up soundlessly, everything quiet while it snows around them; Akaashi imagines the little tufts holding their fingers to the sound and shushing it.
They stand and wait for the doors to open, to let them on, and time seems to pass so slowly. Konoha is looking up, leaning forward just enough to watch the snow fall from the sky while safely under the overhang on the platform. A few flakes dust his nose when he rights himself and catches Akaashi staring at him. Their cheeks are pink with the cold and something more, and Akaashi reaches up, pushes Konoha's hair off of his forehead and drops a kiss there, lingering long enough to melt the snow on his nose, for the little water droplet to hang off of the end of his nose when he pulls back.
Konoha holds himself still the entire time, thinking that if he moves too quickly, he might scare Akaashi off, and he likes this, has thought about sweet, soft kisses from the younger boy for far too long to be considered the smallest of crushes. He's slack-jawed when Akaashi pulls back, tugs them onto the train and seats them, all without much thought to the action, because Konoha is sure that his brain boiled while Akaashi was so close to him.
"It might be a safe move to invest in a hat, too, Konoha-san. Your head is cold." His voice is even. Konoha gapes.
"Not after that it's not…!" he sputters back, and, this time, it's Akaashi who smiles smugly while he settles against the seat, against Konoha's side.