ꜰᴜᴋᴜʀōᴅᴀɴɪ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ | ʜᴀɪᴋʏū
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The noise of the after-party buzzed around the small, cozy bar the Fukurodani team had chosen to celebrate their win. Tables pushed together, clinking glasses, and spirited laughter filled the room as the team reveled in their hard-fought victory. Bokuto was already standing on his chair, declaring himself the "MVP of the century," despite everyone rolling their eyes.
“Come on, (M/N), loosen up!” Bokuto grinned as he slid a glass across the table toward him. “Bet you can’t outdrink me!”
(M/N) leaned back in his chair, expression calm as ever. He gave a slight smirk, tilting the glass in his hand. “That’s a bold challenge, Bokuto. You sure you want to lose tonight too?”
“Lose? Me?” Bokuto's incredulous tone sent a ripple of laughter through the team. Akaashi sighed from beside him, already resigned to what would likely follow.
The drinking began. Bokuto, always competitive, threw back his drinks with enthusiasm, his boisterous energy only growing louder with each passing round. Others joined in, either egging him on or quietly watching the chaos unfold.
(M/N), however, remained unfazed. He drank steadily, his movements measured, the alcohol seemingly having no effect on him. Even after the fifth round, his expression didn’t change—calm, cool, and collected.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Konoha interrupted, leaning over the table and pointing at (M/N). “How are you not drunk? That’s, like, scientifically impossible!”
“Seriously!” Bokuto slurred, his face now red, eyes half-lidded. “You’ve had as much as me! How are you still—hic—not even tipsy?”
“Good genetics?” (M/N) teased, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Or maybe you’re just weak, Bokuto.”
The table erupted in laughter, Bokuto sputtering indignantly. “Weak? I’ll show you weak! Akaashi, another round!”
“Bokuto-san, maybe you should—”
“Another round!”
Bokuto’s insistence carried, and the drinks kept coming. By the time Akaashi finally managed to cut him off, Bokuto was slumped over the table, mumbling incoherently about “flying owls” and “being the best ever.”
(M/N) leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand as he regarded Bokuto with an amused look. “Told you you’d lose.”
Akaashi gave him a tired but appreciative nod. “Thank you for not encouraging him further.”
“I’m not that cruel,” (M/N) said with a small chuckle.
The rest of the team slowly tapered off, the once-boisterous room now quieter as the alcohol caught up with everyone. Konoha had fallen asleep with his head on the table, and Sarukui was half-heartedly humming the school fight song.
(M/N), still composed, stretched and stood, gathering empty glasses from the table. Akaashi looked at him, slightly astonished. “How are you completely fine?”
(M/N) shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t feel it,” he admitted. “I just handle it better than most.”
“You’re going to be everyone's designated drinking buddy now, you know,” Akaashi said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Better me than Bokuto,” (M/N) replied with a faint smile, glancing at their loud captain who was now being propped up by two teammates. “Otherwise, we’d never make it back to campus in one piece.”
As the night wound down, (M/N) helped guide the others back to their dorms, Bokuto clinging to his shoulder and muttering something about “the next drinking tournament.”
“Let’s save that for when you can actually hold your liquor,” (M/N) teased softly, earning a garbled protest.
Despite the chaos, there was an undeniable warmth in moments like these. Victory, camaraderie, and laughter—even if it came with a drunk Bokuto leaning on him for dear life.
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