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Chapter Text

Muted neons and soft plastics melt together under the summer sun, blisters promising to rise at a mere touch. Beneath a technicolor sky dotted with off-white clouds, the sounds of screaming children ricochet off paint-chipped metal.

The two young boys have veered off from each other, no longer glued to one another's side. But even lost in the sea of runny noses and ruffled hair, they could find each other with their eyes closed. Or, in their cases, while one tangles themself at the top of the jungle gym and the other propels themself further and further on the metal chains of the swing.

Akaashi stares up at the open sky, the floor whizzing by his feet with no concern of his. The metal is sun-warmed under his touch, hands curled tight around the chains as he kicks himself ever higher. The world is a blur around Akaashi but Bokuto's face atop the mess of bars, hands swinging excitedly in the air as he waves to Akaashi, is crystal clear.

"Watch this, Bo!" Akaashi shouts giddily out through the wind that whips against his pink cheeks. Even though the ground is far away, his heart hammers in his chest at the prospect of showing off to his best friend. It's a split-second decision to push himself forward off the seat as he is flung from the highest point of his arc into the big, blue sky above.

Akaashi's cry is exhilarated as he soars through the sky, the golden glow of the sun, of Bokuto's enthralled eyes, warm on his skin. Until he realizes the ground is startlingly close and panic oversets him. His cry quickly transforms into a screech of fear as his body collapses into the gravel with a heavy thump, crumpling in on himself with a shout.

A sob rips through Akaashi, heavy tears and snot beginning to bubble down his chin as he stares numbly down at his knee. Raw and red and angry, a skinned knee glares back, unforgiving. A small hand cradles his cheek, soft and warm and reassuring. The hand is unbothered by the damp tears that slick chubby fingers.

“‘Kaashi?”

Bokuto’s golden eyes are bright, something greater than the sun as he peers up at Akaashi. A sweaty palm gently pats Akaashi’s forehead and Bokuto smiles lopsidedly, “Don’t worry, ‘kaashi. I know how to make you feel better.”

The warmth of Bokuto’s breath washes across Akaashi’s knee before he can register what’s happening. A hand brushes against Akaashi’s, comforting and equally as small and shaky as his own. Nothing about the act of Bokuto pressing a short kiss to Akaashi’s bruising knee feels familiar. 

His lips are rough and Akaashi can feel where Bokuto picks at them; so distinctly, viscerally different than when his mother kisses his accidental scrapes. The bump of teeth on his open flesh makes Akaashi suck in a shaky breath but it gets stuck in his throat, the meeting of their eyes is the soft horizon when the sun sinks devotedly, unbothered into the depths of the ocean. Bokuto smiles and pats the top of Akaashi’s head, palms damp when he rears his head back.

The tears upon Akaashi's face fail to fall further as he stares, dumbfounded, down at Bokuto who gazes happily up at him. A dull throb lingers inside of Akaashi but he isn't confident if it's because of his knee any longer as Bokuto pushes himself to a stand.

A hand is extended to Akaashi, still slicked with Akaashi's tears and snot. Even in the clouded skies, there is no brighter sun in Akaashi's life than that found haloing Bokuto's big eyes as he locks hands with Akaashi, hoisting him from the ground with a huff and a smile. Bokuto clasps his other hand atop where their hands join, holding Akaashi for a moment. Their faces are inches apart and Akaashi can feel the sweat that gleams on his friend's forehead, the warmth is a welcomed distraction from the tightness in his chest.

"We should get you to the nurse's, you might need a band-aid, 'kaashi." Bokuto's voice is matter-of-fact, leaving no room for argument as his breath fans effortlessly across Akaashi's warming face. Transfixed, Akaashi feels numb and powerless with a lump in his throat as he nods. When Akaashi flutters his eyes close, he can almost feel the rough texture of Bokuto's lips against his nose. He's pulled out of his wandering thoughts as Bokuto gives a firm tug on his hand.

Akaashi opens his eyes to find Bokuto already trekking off towards the nurse's office with Akaashi faithfully in tow. The blacktop runs together under his feet as he trails Bokuto, eyes burning holes into the back of his friend's head. The feathery locks of hair tickle the nape of Bokuto's neck and Akaashi wonders for a moment if Bokuto's hair is as crunchy as it appears, tempted to reach out and touch it but not wanting to release the hold he has on Bokuto's hand.

The familiar warmth of Bokuto's shoulder bumping into his own shocks Akaashi from the sanctuary of his thoughts, walking jaggedly through the playground attached to Bokuto's side. Akaashi makes a small noise as he stumbles forward, only for the warmth settling across his cheeks to deepen as he locks eyes with Bokuto, the adoration burning bright as he smiles at Akaashi.

When Bokuto's heavy-handed knock results in an open door and a neutral command, it's easy for the two boys to comply. Akaashi feels lightheaded with the weight of Bokuto's hand in his. The nurse's office is clinically clean, with yellowing walls that proclaim the building's age and outdated posters that look like they should stay in the '80s. The nurse smiles up at the pair from behind a pair of thick reading glasses that sit perched on her nose, dark hair pinned back in a messy bun.

Under their combined weight, the bed groans in protest. Bokuto nudges his hip closer to Akaashi, still maintaining the constant points of contact that have Akaashi's head spinning. Idly, Bokuto plucks at Akaasi's ring finger, picking it up before letting it slip from his grasp and tap against the sheets. Despite being the same size as Bokuto, Akaashi feels impossibly small when Bokuto sidles closer yet; their hands interlace, Bokuto's resting atop Akaashi's and squished between their swinging legs.

"What seems to be the issue, boys?" Her voice is soft as she swivels in her chair, addressing the pair and assessing them behind her glasses with kind eyes. The gaze lingers on their faces for a moment before sliding between them, taking in the way their fingers tangle effortlessly together and Akaashi can't understand the heat that rages across his cheeks. Her lips purse together tightly as her eyes finally fall, landing on the specks of gravel and sand that dust stick to Akaashi's skinned knee.

Before Akaashi can open his mouth to give an answer, Bokuto's grip tightens unexpectedly around his hand as he blurts out earnestly, "My best friend 'kaashi got hurt and I need to make sure he's okay." The way Bokuto proudly puffs out his chest makes something swell inside of Akaashi's. Sneaking a sideways glance at Bokuto alerts Akaashi to the tears pinpricking in the corners of Bokuto's eyes, a sincerity glowing upon his face.

"Such a good friend," she clicks her tongue as she rises to her feet, walking over to a nearby cabinet and shuffling through it. Bokuto grins at Akaashi, a mouth full of teeth and the bubble gum pink of his tongue peeking through the gap from where he recently lost a tooth. He gives Akaashi's hand a reassuring squeeze. So focused on the kindness illuminating Bokuto's face, blinking away the tears, Akaashi jerks when a hand gently cradles his knee, the nurse murmuring quietly, "It might sting a bit."

True to her word, it does sting a bit as she applies a cleaning solution to the scrape. Akaashi's eye twitches as he stamps down a cry of stilted pain. There's a lump stuck pitifully in Akaashi's throat as Bokuto makes a poor attempt to comfort him, patting the back of his hand with a sweaty, sticky palm. His thrown from the moment by the sharp crinkle of a wrapper being torn open, a bandage smoothed as evenly as it could be over Akaashi's bony knee.

"Next time," the nurse gives a tender smile as she gently pats Akaashi's knee, "please be a little more careful. I'd hate to have you break a bone." Akaashi merely nods, instead choosing to focus on the tears that have returned to the halo of Bokuto's eyes. He flexes his fingers beneath the soft weight of Bokuto's hand, Bokuto's own fingers slipping easily between the spaces created. "You can stay for a few minutes but then you'll have to head back out."

Akaashi gives a curt nod in understanding. He peers curiously between himself and Bokuto, experimentally spreading his fingers and watching how fluidly Bokuto melds against him. Akaashi watches as Bokuto kicks his legs off the edge of the bed, content at the moment with Akaashi at his side. The lump in Akaashi's throat does not go away.

Bokuto extends his pinkie, a goofy, sweet smile painted across his face as he rests his head upon Akaashi's shoulder. As Bokuto's hair threatens to poke his cheek, a quivering laugh falls from Akaashi and the sound is echoed through Bokuto. The squeaky vibrations of the laugh rattling up through Bokuto's arm as it rests against Akaashi is a comfort.

“Best friends?”

Akaashi wishes desperately he could stare out of the corner of his eyes at anything else than the dots of his blood, scarlet against the pale cherry blossom pink, on Bokuto’s lips. Akaashi wishes dearly that the air in his tightening lungs didn’t feel stagnant as he loops his pinkie into Bokuto’s, skin ignited at the lingering, subtle contact. Akaashi wishes dreamily for the weight of Bokuto’s hand to remain laced in his for the eternity that he could not visualize living without his childhood companion. Akaashi wishes decidedly that his voice didn’t tremble when he gives a toothy grin to Bokuto, his best friend returning it in earnest and without reserve. 

“Forever.”

Chapter Text

“Do you ever think about where we’ll end up when we’re older?” 

“I don’t really care where I end up, ‘kaashi,” Bokuto smiles listlessly as the cigarette is pulled from his lips. Smoke billows easily from them; he no longer picks at them, Akaashi notices. The sun reflects in the gleaming amber of Bokuto’s eyes as he rolls his head back over broad shoulders, looking assuredly at Akaashi. His voice is confident as he stares up at the cloudless sky through thick lashes. “Because I know wherever I end up, I’ll have you by my side.”

Akaashi flicks the ashes from his own cigarette, dying embers raging red in the grass. The sincerity in Bokuto's admission makes his heart flutter, jumping to his throat. He focuses on how the clouds of smoke pillow the comfortable silence between them. Bokuto rolls out on his back, hand tangled behind his head as he watches the cotton candy clouds drift above. Akaashi watches how the muscles in Bokuto's throat tighten and relax as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette.

Despite the short distance between them and the faint breeze, Akaashi can still catch the lingering scent of Bokuto's cologne. The warmth of the spring day seems unnecessary when next to Bokuto. Akaashi places the cigarette between his lips and takes another drag, the achy sensation swirling in his chest as he centers his vision on the steady rise and fall of Bokuto's chest.

"Akaashi. Bokuto." A whip-like voice cracks through the silence and the pair shield their eyes from the sun as they turn to face the voice. A teacher purses her lips, disappointment clear as the sky above as she cants her hips, staring the pair down with glaring eyes. "Detention, now. You two have both," she pointedly narrowed her eyes as she twisted her gaze between the pair, "been told multiple times that smoking is not allowed on school grounds."

"Whatever," Akaashi mutters, grinding the live end of his cigarette into the cement before pushing himself to a stand on shaky legs. With calculated effort, the cigarette butt sinks into a nearby trashcan. He brushes off the straggling grass nibs that stick to his pants legs. The weight of his backpack seems pathetically small, minuscule in comparison to the weight of Bokuto's lax gaze that lingers on the back of his head.

"Help me up, 'kaashi," Bokuto gives a brilliant smile as he extends a broad, open palm to Akaashi. His skin is slick with a familiar sheen of sweat as Akaashi grasps his hand, hoisting him up with a pointed flex of his bicep. 

Bokuto's prized grin is coupled with a sharp clap of Akaashi's shoulder. "Thanks, 'kaashi, don't know what I'd ever do without you.” The words are said with a humorous lilt but Akaashi truly isn't sure what he'd do without Bokuto. The wave of sadness crashing over Akaashi at the thought is interrupted by the click of a tongue.

"Quickly now, no dawdling," she barks, though her bite could be much worse if rumors were true. Akaashi sighs, begrudging, as he slips alongside Bokuto at a leisurely trot. She continues berating them for their delinquent behaviors as they pass through the entryway doors but all Akaashi can really hear is the low rumble of Bokuto's barely labored breathing just inches away from him. Some distant part of Akaashi knows that they could easily outrun her if they wanted to escape, but Akaashi is realizing slowly his desire to fight is quickly waning as he nearly runs into Bokuto's back.

"If you wanted a hug," Bokuto jests, jostling the doorknob until it finally gives. "You just have to ask." A sea of heads barely twitch when the pair enters the room, the only head that seems to give them any regard is the teacher perched disinterestedly at the front, directing them towards the middle with an impartial wave of his hand.

Bokuto seats himself first, unperturbed by the cliche etchings on the desk as he is quick to slap a notebook on top. Akaashi reaches into his bag to retrieve a novel, sliding silently into the empty seat to his left.

The first few pages are indulging enough, keeping his focus until he mistakenly peers inquisitively over at Bokuto. The sharp line of Bokuto's jaw melts into his palm as he digs his hand into his cheek, brow furrowed as he messily sketches into his notebook. Soft honeyed eyes stare expectantly down at his page while he scrawls furiously.

"What are you drawing, Bo?" Akaashi whispers across the aisle, eyes flickering forward to where the teacher peers over his crinkled nose, hawk-eyed as she stares down Akaashi. He flashes a friendly, innocent smile as he readjusts his posture in his seat, pretending to conversationally point something in his own book to Bokuto.

Bokuto beams proudly after a few more moments of scratching his pencil across his notebook paper. Sun-warmed amber eyes meet Akaashi's with the familiar, child-like excitement that Akaashi has become accustomed to. A breath catches in Akaashi's throat. He raises an eyebrow at the crude drawing he's presented with.

Two stick figures stand beside one another, both with noticeably spiky hair. Their names are scribbled haphazardly and the arrows denote that Bokuto is the taller one, hair nearly as big as its head. Akaashi takes a small pleasure in the effort the other took in drawing his eyes. The two stick figures have what Akaashi could only assume were cigarettes in their hands, judging by the misshapen clouds that are attached to them. A smile graces the face of the sun that sits in the corner of the page.

"Gotta immortalize the moment we both got dumped in detention together," Bokuto jests, sun-warmed honey eyes glazing over as he smiles dreamily down at what could potentially be his artistic magnum opus. His laugh sounds like a distant boom of thunder, sudden and rolling, and Akaashi lets the noise wash over him.

For some reason, Akaashi’s throat tickles, as if something was trying to crawl out. Awe lingers upon his face as his fingertips ghost against the cords of his throat, feeling the dull press of something sharp caught. Akaashi swallows and his eyes flicker to Bokuto, once again lost in the pages of his notebook, big, golden eyes lidded as he doodles religiously. The sting in his throat throbs.

Akaashi ignores it, choosing to lose himself in his novel.

Periodically, he steals glances over at Bokuto. His nose is scrunched, deep in thought as he scribbles maddeningly across the paper. Thick eyebrows knot together but his smile is loose, easy and relaxed. Akaashi licks his lips but returns his attention quickly back to his book; some idealistic part of him wonders if high fantasy was merely just him escaping his racing thoughts. Bokuto hums, off-key, to himself, head bouncing back and forth to a rhythm made up on the fly.

The sound of Bokuto's foot tapping manically under the desk would drive some people mad, but it provides the ideal white noise for Akaashi to lean back in his chair, nose buried in his book. Letters into words, pages into chapters, Akaashi realizes none of it really matters when he blinks up over the edge of his book and finds Bokuto staring at him with big, molten honey eyes. Akaashi lifts an eyebrow, pointedly lowering his book to peek over at Bokuto's notebook.

Every nerve in Akaashi's body ignites.

Bokuto is by no means a professional artist, but the intensity and care he puts into each line and curve could be practically felt. The heat threatens to burn like a raging wildfire across Akaashi's face as he stares at the likeness Bokuto has attempted to recreate of him. Sure, the proportions are off and Akaashi's ear isn't really that big, he hopes. But Bokuto put genuine effort into the delicate curl of Akaashi's fingers and the slant of his head as it's tucked between the pages of his book.

"Detention's over, you're all dismissed," his voice sounds like a knife on a chalkboard in the silence. Pointedly he adjusts his glasses, eyes slanted as he scans the room. The annoyance in his voice is palpable as he gaze lingers on the mostly empty desks, "Hopefully you've all learned something here and will behave in a more becoming manner in the future."

A cacophony of chairs screeching follows like a chorus the moment she stops speaking. Books and phones hastily shoved into pockets and backpacks slung haphazardly over shoulders. Akaashi takes his time slotting a barely-read novel in his bag, uncomfortably aware of Bokuto lingering at the edge of the desk. Waiting for Akaashi. Their knuckles brush together when Akaashi grips the edge of the desk and pushes himself to a stand.

"Walk home with me?" Akaashi's words feel suddenly foreign on his tongue despite the normalcy of their routine; Akaashi's place was on the way to Bokuto's. Once more Bokuto's brassy laugh washes over Akaashi, Bokuto playfully punching the other in the shoulder. 

“I’d walk anywhere with you,” Bokuto laments as he readjusts his backpack. An awkward cough escapes Akaashi, trying to cover it up with a chuckle as a blush promises to bleed across his cheek. Bokuto cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed, “You okay, 'kaashi?” He smirks and puffs his chest out, “I can carry you home if you’re not feeling too well.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes and sighs, Bokuto never changes. He jokingly punches Bokuto in the chest but the touch lingers for a moment longer, his balled-up fist cemented to that addicting warmth. They lock eyes and Akaashi feels something rising in the back of his throat, the kindness he’s accustomed to from Bokuto still ever-present. 

“You’re so damn weird” bluffs Akaashi, drawing his hand back to his side.

The sun has begun setting when they finally make it outside, coating the world in a hazy, candy-colored palette. Springtime breezes tickle Akaashi's face as he trudges onwards, eyes searching for anything in the passing greenery to distract him. Silence feels too loud but Akaashi wouldn't trade it for anything as he keys in on the low murmur of Bokuto singing some out-of-tune words to himself. Hands shoved in his pocket, Bokuto has a demure look glossing his eyes as he sways in the gentle wind.

Warmth radiates off of Bokuto, a beacon for Akaashi to come back to. Their shoulders bump together and Akaashi is suddenly brought back to the reality that Bokuto towers over him, a maniacal smile on Bokuto's lips. He tilts his head to the side, eyes shining like a cluster of stars as he claps a hand around the gentle curve of Akaashi's shoulder.

"Where would you go," Bokuto swings his arm in front of his chest in a broad arc, pulling Akaashi against him, "if you could go anywhere?"

Akaashi stares ahead, blinking unsteadily as he distractedly chokes on the heat wafting off of Bokuto. "I'd go wherever you go, obviously." The answer is swift, confident but everything inside of Akaashi is anything but, fighting back the tremble in his voice.

There's comfort in the crackle of Bokuto's laugh as it booms through the mostly empty streets. Bokuto purposefully bumps his shoulder into Akaashi, making him stumble a bit while latching onto Bokuto's forearm to steady himself. "Akaashi, I'd go anywhere with you too, but I wanted to know what places you wanted to see." Subtly is not suited for Bokuto and this is no different as he curiously peers over at Akaashi with shining eyes, unperturbed by the soft hands that cradle his forearm for a moment longer than necessary.

Akaashi smiles, placidly. He flexes his hands at his side. "I don't know," he muses quietly, mostly to himself as he gazes at the flowering bushes in the yards they pass. A dreamy sunflower catches his eye and he wonders why the world is filled with so many reminders of Bokuto. Akaashi's voice is smaller yet as he turns to look at the road, "I don't really know, Bo, maybe Australia?"

"Australia?" Bokuto ponders before guffawing, the barrel of his chest rumbling with the sound. Akaashi focuses on a crack in the pavement. "Then I'd definitely have to go with you then," Bokuto catches Akaashi's sideways glance with a beaming grin full of teeth, jokingly flexing his bicep. "Who else is going to protect you from those giant spiders and kick-boxing deer?"

"Kick-boxing deer? What are y- do you mean kangaroos?" Astonishment colors Akaashi's face at the brilliant smile gracing Bokuto's lips, blissfully content. Akaashi mockingly rubs at his temples as he knocks his own shoulder into Bokuto's. He can feel the mirthful shake of Bokuto's body as he laughs, boisterous. "You're ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous," proclaims Akaashi as he struggles to keep his eyes from lingering too long on the soft features of Bokuto's face.

Bokuto preens as he closes the already barely-there space between the two of them, gold-rimmed irises blown wide and he grins, breathtakingly wide, "And you love me for it, 'kaashi."

Around Akaashi, the world seems infinitely small as the air in his lungs seems to get stuck as he stares at the softness of Bokuto's cheeks. The image of that sunflower glares deviously in Akaashi's mind, seeking the eternal comfort of the sun, as Bokuto watches Akaashi with his large, honeyed eyes. It's a struggle to not make his swallow noticeable as Akaashi gives a shaky, noncommital hum.

The looming silhouette of Akaashi's family home stalks closer with each step. A distant sanctuary and a regretted severing from Bokuto, Akaashi is unsure of his footsteps as he keeps close to Bokuto. The pair remains in silence, Bokuto resuming his child-like sway to his own beat and Akaashi was thrown into turmoil by his own thoughts.

Akaashi lifts the latch and slips inside, turning back to face Bokuto. Behind Bokuto, the sun glares in Akaashi's oceanic eyes. With an earnest smile, Bokuto pats Akaashi's shoulder. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow then," Bokuto quips as he makes to pivot on his heel, but Akaashi lurches forward, breath stuck in his throat as he grips Bokuto's hand protectively. The silence is welcoming as Akaashi runs his thumb along the ridges of Bokuto's knuckles, each bump like a story he knows by heart.

Between them, the air is stagnant, pregnant with uncertainty as Akaashi flings his arms around Bokuto. Akaashi buried his face in Bokuto's neck, inhaling sharply with a faint smile on his lips. For a moment Bokuto hovers his hands, entirely unsure as to the situation before he strokes his hand down Akaashi's back. Still and frozen, Akaashi pauses, trying to think of a reason for this but his mind fails him, fuzzy and hot. Something is stuck in Akaashi's throat as he gives a quick squeeze before retreating.

Bokuto's hand lingers on the back of his neck for a heartbeat that pounds in Akaashi's ear like a bassline. His golden eyes glow but he's not looking at Akaashi, he's staring just past his shoulder. Akaashi struggles to swallow as he pulls back, a half-hearted smile loosely threaded on thin lips. Bokuto pulls the strap of his backpack back over his shoulder.

"Feel better, Akaashi," Bokuto's voice is surprisingly quiet when peers at him, an unfamiliar sadness prominent in honey-sweet eyes. Bokuto's hand lingers on the gate for a moment, gaze flicking to the ground for a split-second, almost unsure, before rising with the head-turning confidence he knew Bokuto well for, "for me."

The gate thunks shut, heavy, as Bokuto turns on his heels, waving back to Akaashi. That achingly familiar scratchiness claws up Akaashi's throat as he waves goodnight to Bokuto, the setting sun a hazy halo around the thick spikes of gray and black hair. Desperate to loosen whatever was in his throat, Akaashi coughs into his elbow. Akaashi blinks away the brightness then realizes with a choked sound that maybe the sun wasn't in his eyes- tears were. 

A single cherry blossom petal drifts to the ground, no longer lodged in tired lungs. But Akaashi doesn't feel like he can breathe any easier.

Chapter Text

Obnoxious and loud and filled with too many mistakes that leave a vile taste that lingers on the back of Akaashi’s tongue- clubs were never his favorite thing. Hazy like a distant dream, the only redeeming feature of this evening is Bokuto as he’s hunched over the bar top. The suit fits him like a glove, hugging the sharpened lines of his body and cloaking the carved muscles. He’s long since lost the patterned tie that was knotted around his neck, Akaashi thinks he could see it on the back of the chair next to him if he could bear to look anywhere else but at Bokuto.

While Akaashi nurses his second bottle of beer, Bokuto has gulped down his sixth drink in two hours like it would run away if he let go. But Bokuto’s laugh that rings out like a bell as he snorts at his own awful jokes sounds so much like Bokuto that Akaashi doesn’t say anything. His smile is bright, unbothered and charismatic as always as he runs a hand through his hair, thick fingers lost in the two-toned hair. A chunk has begun to deflate, slowly losing its hold as it sinks down to Bokuto’s head. 

It may have been a pretty packed club but it might as well have been just Akaashi and Bokuto. 

Akaashi drums his fingers along the counter, making a conscious effort to not go along with the heavy bass that thrums around him through the speakers. The drunken glow that lingers around Bokuto is not one that new to Akaashi, they spend most of their weekends together after all. But the way he smiles to himself, like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to share, it’s an electric sensation when Bokuto turns to look at Akaashi with those big, bright honey eyes.

Bokuto licks his lips, a slow movement that makes Akaashi raise his eyebrow. That dopey, pleasant smile graces his face once more as he pushes his face across the bar, putting his face just inches from Akaashi’s as he nods to himself. The faded smell of Bokuto’s cologne burns in Akaashi’s nose, it’s a welcome sensation.

“You know,” Bokuto hums, staring dreamily down at his half-full glass of beer. Akaashi wonders if he just imagined the twitch of Bokuto’s fingers. Eyebrows knit together, lost in thought, Bokuto blinks slowly before turning his head ever so slightly, amber lidded eyes dancing like glass fire in the low light of the barroom. His voice is low, whispered almost despite the loud music thumping just feet away; it sounds increasingly loud in the silence cloaking Akaashi. “I do love you, ‘kaashi,” a small hiccup erupts from Bokuto and a fairy dust of pink scatters across his cheeks, “you’re my best friend in the world and you mean everything to me.”

Akaashi makes a noncommittal hum, eyes heavy as he watches the way Bokuto’s throat jumps with each swallow. A soft rosy blush sinks across Bokuto’s face as he stares with a giddy laziness into his hands that lock around his bottle. His grin is tilted, like he’s just shared some damning secret but couldn’t care less about the consequences. Honeyed eyes sweep sideways at Akaashi and they ignite, combusting under the kindling of the small touch of their fingers when Bokuto dances his fingers across the tabletop to brush them across Akaashi’s knuckles.

“Come on,” abruptly starts Bokuto, lacing his fingers into the hand Akaashi had set precariously atop the bartop. His smile is blinding, even in the low light. Akaashi arches an eyebrow, amused but unmoving as Bokuto tugs on him. He’s already half turned when he speaks his mind. “I wanna dance, ‘kaashi,” there’s an unfamiliar smallness to Bokuto’s voice as he stares longing at the cramped dance floor.  “Please dance with me, ‘kaashi. I didn’t get this promotion at work to not celebrate it.”

The corners of Akaashi’s mouth quirk into an accepting smile and Bokuto knows he won, even though Akaashi was never going to put up a fight- never with Bokuto. 

It’s everything Akaashi wishes it wouldn’t be. Fog sinks low to the floor, flashing lights practically screaming through the semi-transparent clouds that swirl around the sea of legs that cut through it. Heavy bass pounds like a heartbeat in Akaashi’s head. Too many people and his chest is tight as Bokuto leads him through the crowd towards the back. Hands that wander across his back and far lower than Akaashi would tolerate if he weren’t two drinks in and here with Bokuto’s grace.

Until it’s everything Akaashi dreams it could be. Bokuto’s hand slips from Akaashi’s, a lazy smile tilting Bokuto’s lips as he settles his face right in front of Akaashi’s; although he’s screaming in Akaashi’s ear, Akaashi can’t hear anything when Bokuto draws his fingers up his forearm. There’s an obvious drunken incoordination to the sway of Bokuto’s hips as they box against Akaashi’s.

“Aren’t you so glad you came out with me tonight, ‘kaashi?” Bokuto shouts, body rocking against Akaashi’s in an off-kilter rhythm to the music. Akaashi can only manage a dumb nod, head fuzzy as Bokuto’s hands grasp his shoulder with enough force to make him wince in any other situation. Except, all Akaashi wants to remember is the pressure of the hands that scale his arm, cupping his shoulder with an affection that sends Akaashi’s pulse skyrocketing. 

His laugh reminds Akaashi of everything he’s never admitted out loud. The tiny touches that left a tingly sensation in their wake that they shared in their childhood together; the dumb inside jokes they made together in high school and the trouble that clung to them like a shadow. The way Bokuto’s eyes lit up like fireworks in the blanket of the night sky when he had some ridiculous idea; the memory of Bokuto pulling him along on any adventure, even though Akaashi would have faithfully trotted along right beside him. 

Bokuto’s body is comforting, welcoming as it curls around Akaashi. The stiff suit cannot mask the curve of Bokuto’s arms as they wrap around Akaashi’s waist, a confident weight in his unsteady hands. Akaashi can barely hear the sound of Bokuto mimicking the sound of the bass swarming around them but it sounds heavenly. Bokuto rests his chin on Akaashi’s shoulder, Akaashi can feel the heat of Bokuto’s breath on his neck as the large hands cup his waist. 

Slow is the roll of Bokuto’s body against Akaashi, following the thready pulse of music in earnest. Akaashi can feel the intoxicating heat of Bokuto’s body, carved like marble and molded by the gods and unfairly close behind him. Akaashi isn’t sure if it’s the music in his ears or the sound of his heartbeat pounding. He isn’t sure if it’s a fever dream when Bokuto settles his hand on Akaashi’s hip, the pressure blindingly strong and persuasive. 

The warmth of Bokuto’s body slotted against Akaashi is suddenly ripped away, a cruel intimacy with the frigid loneliness that follows. For a moment, Akaashi is stunned, certain that Bokuto will merely return to him as he always has. Except, Bokuto doesn’t. There’s a chill up Akaashi’s spine as he cranes his neck backwards, the dreamlike blush that dusted his cheeks quickly fading.

Bokuto flutters his hands over the waist of some girl, bodies pressing violently close in a mocking mirror of how Bokuto had been with Akaashi just moments ago. His lips trail along her neck, maybe even chatting to her as his hands roam her body in slow movements. Her fingers crawl beneath the edges of Bokuto’s suit, pulling him impossibly closer. Her head is thrown back, hair tumbling down her back when Bokuto holds her hips with a bruising grip.

Akaashi doesn’t apologize when he shoulders his way through the crowd, ignores the knotted brows of annoyance when he gets chastised for pushing through a group of girls getting dangerously close to the level of drunkenness that Bokuto has entered. He has to bite his tongue, tears in his eyes when a hand falls upon his hip, calloused and warm and so strikingly alike to Bokuto’s but the weight is not the same. He pushes his way back to the bar, a familiar scratchiness rising to his throat. 

Some part of Akaashi is thankful when the same spot he left was open, his jacket still slung over the back of the chair. His eye twitches as he slips into the chair, sucking in a battered breath that catches on his teeth. He pushes the mostly empty bottle to the edge of the counter, staring numbly at his clenching fingers.

“You should talk to him,” a voice pipes up, the click of a bottle hitting the bar top causing Akaashi to swivel in his seat. The bartender offers him a kind smile as she pointedly looks out into the crowd of people. Akaashi squeezes his eyes tight- he doesn’t have to look to know what she sees. He still can see it in his head, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. 

Akaashi takes a drink from the bottle, it’s bitter and awful and it takes his thoughts from him just long enough for him calmly reply, “And why would I ever do that?” Even though it’s colder than he intended, her expression softens as her gaze flicks to the counter before dragging back out to the packed floor.

She gestures to the bottle she had just placed in front of him, the one Akaashi had just drunk from. Many cherry blossom petals are suspended in the frothy drink, slowly sinking to the bottom just like the heaviness in Akaashi’s stomach. Her eyes are compassionate as she turns to face Akaashi, voice filled with a knowledge Akaashi already knew, “You can’t just ignore it and pretend things are okay how they are.”

“I’m not ignoring anything,” Akaashi seethes through clenched teeth as he glares at the bottle clasped in his hand with white knuckles. The petals have settled at the bottom, a precarious tower that threatens to topple over with the slightest twitch of Akaashi’s hand. His furrowed brow relaxes and he takes in a shaky breath, “And everything is fine as it is now.”

It’s an awful gambit to play, one that has him losing regardless of the outcome. But, nonetheless, Akaashi gazes out to the crowd once more with tired eyes. Through the tangle of limbs and needless fog, Bokuto is a vision to spot. 

Under the soft glow of the pulsating lights, Akaashi can see the drips of sweat clinging to Bokuto’s forehead and the slip of tanned skin exposed on his broad chest, the top buttons having been undone in Akaashi’s absence. His lips move in some cultish fashion, a sly, lopsided smile tugging across the corners of his mouth. Bokuto’s fingers sloppily scale the outside of some girl’s thigh, teetering on the edge of her short skirt. Akaashi’s mouth is dry, scratchy when he finally forces his gaze away.

If Akaashi gripped the bottle with any more force, it would surely fracture. Akaashi senses it climbing, crawling up his throat, that queasy need to vomit. Only it’s not the watery vomit he’s used to, it’s a collage of off-white and pastel pink cherry blossom petals wetly stuck together upon the counter. It smells rancid, a sickly mess of beer and regret. Hot tears burn in his eyes as Akaashi stares numbly down at the mess, barely registering the gentle hand on his shoulder. 

The bartender smiles kindly at him, pushing Akaashi’s trembling hands out of the way to clean up the petals. She says nothing but follows the longing gaze that Akaashi has, tracking down Bokuto in the crowd with his body slotted effortlessly against a different woman than before. Her hand is on the back of Akaashi’s for a moment, a poor attempt at comfort, before he wrenches it away, clawing at a petal that’s stuck to his tongue. 

Akaashi slaps a number of bills on the counter, enough to cover his and Bokuto’s drinks and then some for good measure, and runs out of the bar, jacket on his arm before he’s out the door with the loud music still booming when the door swings shut- leaving behind Bokuto and the nagging jumble of emotions Akaashi has nursed for too long. The night air stings on his face but not nearly as much as the tears and snot beginning to bubble down. 

Panic sits in as his feet pound numbly against the sidewalk, surprise and hurt are just one conjoined emotion as he dashes down the street. It’s a fuzzy blur of neon and disjointed calls of confusion as he brushes past groups of people, unsteadily pulling his jacket over his colorful chest. Akaashi’s cheeks puff up, swollen as he chokes on the petals swelling over his tongue and threatening to explode from his mouth as the echo of his trampling feet rings loud in his ears.

The door slams shut behind him and Akaashi winces, feels a tiny bit bad for his neighbors. It’s a violently gross affair when Akaashi opens his mouth, a pastel tornado spilling haphazardly over his quivering fingers and drifting to the floor. A trembling, shattered sob pillows from Akaashi’s lips as his back connects with the door, sliding down until his knees cradle his chest. Akaashi hiccups sadly, a flurry of petals sticking to his pants and shirt as he wraps his arms around his legs. With a dull thump, his phone slips onto the floor.

Akaashi buries his face between his knees, desperately hoping it will muffle the broken cries. Tears stain his clothes, petals like silk settling pathetically in the small crevice between his legs. There’s a tightness in his chest, throttling Akaashi viciously as he tries to squint the flow of tears out of his eyes, choking on shaky hiccups.

It’s a heart wrenching and soul-rending half an hour in the dark for Akaashi as he dumbly watches his quivering hands. The silence means nothing when all he can hear is the snap of his heartstrings in his chest like a melancholy harp. A rattling echoes in his apartment as Akaashi’s phone vibrates, bathing the entryway in pale yellow light that makes his chest ache maddeningly. Akaashi is ever aware of the weight of cherry blossoms that cling wetly to his shirt and puddle in his trembling palms. 

getting a taxi with this babe, thx for paying, pay u back tmr :)

Chapter Text

She’s a vision in white that cascades off of her like foam on a waters’ edge; Akaashi’s vision is somehow blurred red. She’s known Bokuto for a few years before Bokuto decided to ask her to marry him; Akaashi’s been at Bokuto’s side for his entire life. She’s part of the dream Bokuto has built for himself; Akaashi’s lost in the nightmare he’s allowed himself to drown in.

It was a magical affair to watch them announce their love for one another in the rosy afternoon sun, Akaashi could admit that much as his stomach was churning the entire time- choking on something more pink than the blush high on her cheeks. Despite the grossly wet petals that had been climbing on his tongue, Akaashi wore an unfaltering smile because he couldn’t not when he saw the bright golden eyes of Bokuto peeking back at him in excited pride.

Honestly, the entire evening has been a giant blur to Akaashi, struggling to suppress that burning scratchiness that clawed its way up his throat each time he turned to smile and offer encouraging words to Bokuto. It was a twisted mess of black and white and grey and it became some aborted riot of unfinished trains of thought each time Akaashi saw Bokuto, consumed wholly by the imagery of Bokuto staring at Akaashi with heavenly soft eyes like the sun- eclipsed with a love that made something burn like acid on the back of Akaashi’s tongue. 

How Akaashi made it through his best man speech is a feat beyond his wildest comprehension. With the syrupy eyes that followed him, drunken on mirth and far too much alcohol, Akaashi took it like a bitter pill. The entire time he couldn’t bear to meet the glassy eyes like crystal clear topaz watched him so faithfully, listening to the heartfelt speech Akaashi had painstakingly drafted time and time again because no matter what he wrote nothing felt appropriate. Nothing conveyed the moments they shared and the memories bridging their lives together acceptably. Perhaps it was because a moment could never be enough to describe Bokuto or maybe it was because Akaashi didn’t want to share the moments he held so dearly to his heart. 

Champagne flutes clink merrily under the twinkling fairy lights strung across the ceiling. Dashing and something out of a magazine, Bokuto butts his shoulder against Akaashi's as he barks out a sharp, bassy laugh that echoes through the small hall. Even though it’s right next to Akaashi’s ear as he sinks back into his chair, it sounds almost distant even though he’s ever aware of the warm presence Bokuto affords him. Akaashi feels devotedly suffocated as Bokuto’s thigh bounces just shy of Akaashi’s. 

"Ahem!" The DJ hollers into the hall, dozens of faces expectantly turning to face him as he taps the microphone, grimacing at the static feedback he receives. He throws his arm out to the open space before the big table at the front of the room, beckoning towards the center. "If the husband and wife would care to join us for the first dance of the evening!" His hand shakes as he waves them over.

Akaashi claps Bokuto on the back, a faux exchange of excitement as he scoots back out of the way. The happy couple slides in front of him, scurrying towards the makeshift dance floor. She waves to her bridesmaids beside Akaashi but all he can focus on is the jittery thumbs-up that Bokuto throws his way and the flash of teeth in his big smile.

Akaashi watches the way Bokuto tenderly lays his palm atop her waist, remembers how softly Bokuto held him when they were children and how he wishes he cherished the moments more. Akaashi watches the sunrise eyes full of mirth gaze adoringly at her while he spins her on the floor, remembers how Bokuto looked at him the same way back in high school when they would get lost in smoke clouds under the gym bleachers. Akaashi watches the way their bodies pressed together under the low light and the bittersweet lullaby of music filling the hall, remembers how it felt to have Bokuto close to him and the stench of alcohol on his neck in dark clubs with heady music.

The champagne stings his throat as he gulps it down, burns like hell when he coughs it back up. Akaashi's knuckles bleed white around the champagne flute as he stares, dumbfounded, at the pale pink petals that swirl around his drink, taunting. His eye twitches dangerously. He sighs, begrudging. 

Bokuto throws his head back, laughing at something she said to him. The broad expanse of his chest jumps with each mirthful bellow of laughter, a wondrous sound that echoes happily in Akaashi’s numb ears. In his hand, Akaashi can barely see the lively glimmer of bubbles in his champagne as he takes another daunting sip. 

He spins the petals in his drink, watching them hit the glass before slowly sinking in the carbonation. Peeking up at the floor, Bokuto has his face buried in her neck with a balanced smile painted on his lips. Their bodies move together as one, a synchronized harmony between the two. Akaashi peels another petal from his tongue and sticks it into his champagne. 

Though the music thumps with a soft melody, the only noise that makes it to Akaashi is the sound of his own uneasy breathing. Some part of Akaashi is thankful that no eyes are on him, instead focused on the happy couple just as Akaashi himself is. Another part of him wishes Bokuto would just look at him, that he could see that warmth and feel like things will work out just the same as they always had between the two of them. 

The music is slow, pulsing through the room with methodic harmony yet Akaashi can only hear the rattling of his brain against his skull. Akaashi dreams of days filled with happy memories like this, but somehow he knows that they’re out of reach in this reality. Akaashi doesn’t remember when he started crying, quickly rubbing the backside of his hand on his cheek to remove the evidence of his distress.

Akaashi doesn’t even register the bounding warmth of Bokuto, like a dog returning to its owner's side faithfully. He hears the sound of Bokuto speaking, can hear the familiar dulcet sound of Bokuto calling his name like usually does with such intensity. Akaashi does, however, pull his petal clouded drink into his lap with urgency that causes a momentary shadow of confusion to cross Bokuto’s face. It’s quickly replaced with a broad smile and a winning laugh, Bokuto forever unshakable in Akaashi’s presence. 

“What did you think, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto doggedly asks, eyes shining like golden haloes in the low light as he leans over the table. Akaashi can peer just over Bokuto’s sloped shoulder to see her wrapped up in conversation- she’s everything Akaashi ever wanted to be and he has to bite his tongue when Bokuto tilts his head, laughing brassily, “That bad, huh?” 

“Nothing about you has ever been bad, Bokuto,” Akaashi replies, perhaps a bit too hastily despite his calculated words. 

Bokuto shakes in his laughter, a brilliant grin beaming down upon Akaashi as he swirls his foggy drink in his lap. “I wouldn’t say nothing,” Bokuto scratches his chin, thoughtful. Akaashi’s thoughts are fuzzy as he stares at the flowers pinned to Bokuto’s chest- he’s never cared for baby’s breath. 

There’s a quiet moment between them, a radiant smile draped dreamily on Bokuto’s face as he sneaks a peek over his shoulder. Akaashi can feel the branches of his agony scratching at his tongue the longer Bokuto looks away from him. If Akaashi closes his eyes, he can almost feel the glass in his palm begin to fracture just like the last of his thinning restraint. 

“So,” Bokuto starts with a curious glint to his eyes as he turns back to Akaashi that openly watches him with a glossy gaze. The table, decorated with a lacy runner that has now been subsequently decorated in wine stains and cake crumbs, groans softly when Bokuto leans down on it, pressing his face disastrously near to Akaashi’s. “What did you think of it? You know how much I value your opinions on things.”

The sting of cologne burns Akaashi’s nostrils as he gazes absently up at Bokuto, staring up into the golden irises he’s known since he knew he could remember anything. Gelled hair has begun to deflate under the long day and excitement but the smile on Bokuto’s face is enigmatic, unchallenged in its certainty. The familiar, reassuring warmth of Bokuto's body rounding on his own puts the relaxation back in Akaashi's tense shoulders. His eyes are inviting, comfortingly memorable as is the hand that claps his shoulder. 

Pastel pink erupts out of Akaashi's parted lips before he can think to respond, so lost in the softness of Bokuto's eager eyes as he wiggles into Akaashi's personal bubble with little care. A hiccup of fear escapes Akaashi, staring, lost, at the cherry blossom petals floating lazily down to the ground. Tears burn in Akaashi's eyes as the petals stick without worry to Bokuto's suit, masking the boutonniere of lilies and baby's breath that is clipped to Bokuto's broad chest.

Bokuto cradles a few petals in his palm, gazing flabbergasted at the sight. The stillness of the room sounds like the crashing of thunder in Akaashi's floundering hearing. His head pounds furiously against his skull, the violent force killing the small voice of reason in his head. Panic seems only natural when Bokuto reaches out to him with a shaky hand, painted vibrant pink with petals.

Akaashi runs, the chair screeching as he bolts out and the faraway shatter of his champagne glass a laughable mockery of Akaashi’s inability to keep it together. 

Reason feels far more intimidating than the faces that gape at him, stumbling out of the way as Akaashi hastily bolts past them. He can feel the slickness of the petals that stick to his chin and tuxedo like a cruel mockery of second skin, a shame brazenly etched into him. Akaashi can feel the weight of his heart as it thumps maddeningly against his throat, trapped behind his teeth as a last line of defense. His breath is ragged as he rushes through the stunned crowds, ignoring the shouts of his name that track him down like an Achilles heel. 

The heaviness of rampaging thoughts makes Akaashi stumble as his shoulder slams into a door frame. Pain like a sudden fire rips through Akaashi but it sends a comfort to his raging mind, something else to focus on as he continues on his mindless weaving. Hands ghost along his sides and vicious whispers penetrate the fog of Akaashi’s mind, nails sinking into what surely must be his coffin.

The ground is a blur beneath his feet as they carry him anywhere but that room, the featherlight caress of petals against the backs of his teeth making him want to retch. Eyes shut tight, the world is dark but, finally and blessedly, so obvious to Akaashi as he hears what must surely be the pounding of his shoes on concrete. Part of him wants to stop when he hears his name being screamed across the parking lot, knows only one person ever calls out his name like that; part of Akaashi wants to never show his face to Bokuto ever again. Shame is a second to Akaashi.

The outside air bites at Akaashi’s cheeks as the door slams shut behind, leaving a wake of bewilderment. His cheeks are wet, slicked in spit and tears and petals and everything Akaashi hated in the moment. Everything that kept Akaashi tethered to this reality, this moment tearing him apart from the inside. Akaashi chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares up at the sky. 

A setting sun graces Akaashi with it’s dying comfort, something that seems like a crude tease as he turns down the side of the building. His knuckles scrape along the brick and Akaashi savors the way the metallic scent of blood replaces the musk of Bokuto that lovingly haunts his thoughts. Akaashi squeezes his eyes shut once more when he hears the door swing open with a bang behind him, a shaky whimper like a kicked puppy escaping him. 

Akaashi could be senile with old age but he doesn’t think he could ever forget they way his name sounds on Bokuto’s tongue. His chest stiffens at the thought, pushing off of the wall and falling into a wavering sprint that dances his feet in and out of the bushes and over the rocks. Branches reach out for him and branches crawl out of him as Akaashi tries to ignore the pathetic way Bokuto calls to him. 

Around Akaashi, the world spins violently as his feet pound into the ground, now even underneath him. Maybe his eyes are squeezed shut, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the dull ache in his chest as he keels over slightly, another nauseously pink bouquet spilling forth from Akaashi’s aching chest. It paints the sunset lit road in vibrant pink and drenches his hands in the feelings he has meticulously fought for ages. Akaashi sobs loudly as he crushes the wet petals in his trembling hands, stumbling forward with his eyes jammed closed in a pathetic attempt to halt the tears that begin to flow freely down his face.

A peaceful silence is a cruel precedent to something Akaashi could never fathom.

It’s a sudden pressure of a hand on his back and the taste of dirt stuck between his teeth that makes the screech of wheels feel like the purgatory between heaven and hell. It’s the first syllable of his name being cut short from Bokuto calling out to him and the violent snap of what surely must be bones beneath a mechanical beast that makes Akaashi wonder just what separates a miracle from a disaster. It’s the sound of screaming and a wetness that splatters around Akaashi in a crimson veil that violently reminds him that loneliness is a circle and not a straight line with a clear end. 

Akaashi doesn’t even have to lift his head to know that the sirens he hears off in the distance will not save Bokuto. 

Chapter Text

The coroner said he was confident it was a quick, nearly painless death. Akaashi knew it was mostly for his own benefit that it was said, he clocked the sideways glances that were sent his way when he had stood numbly at the side of the road, crimson spatters smattering his tuxedo and his heart in his throat. Akaashi knew he should have been grateful for getting away with just a sprained rib and fractured wrist; he’s never lost so much though. 

While the petals have been less frequent, paler and wilting as they settle in Akaashi’s numb hands, the thoughts of Bokuto have never left- they linger and weigh cruelly on his mind. Reality tastes like death on Akaashi’s tongue, like a constant and cruel reminder that Bokuto is really truly gone but never forgotten. Akaashi feels eternally numb, not from the fact, but because Bokuto was the one thing that made him feel alive, real. 

Walking through the days felt like a burden Akaashi could never have imagined, everything around him impossibly heavier without Bokuto by his side. The first days were a wretched flurry of Akaashi screaming into a pillow, choking on his spit and drowning in a brilliant storm of near fluorescent petals- he shut off his phone because he couldn’t bear the sight of Bokuto as his lock screen. Floating through life is what Bokuto did, far more fitting to belong amongst the clouds; it felt grossly dismissive for Akaashi to steal that from him too.

It’s a closed casket funeral, it’s what Bokuto’s mother insisted on. 

It doesn’t stop Akaashi from remembering the screech of tires, the dull glassy eyes that stared, unblinking, up at Akaashi- something scared fossilized in amber eyes. The shriek of his name or the weight of the hand on his back, shoving him forward into the side of the road. Nothing can erase the blood-curdling howl just as it cut short, just like the roar of the engine that trampled over him. Blood never looked so grotesquely crimson even in the low light and Akaashi may have washed it off of his body but he could never cleanse it from his mind. 

The suit is uncomfortably scratchy and the tie around his neck is too tight and Akaashi definitely should not be here right now but one last moment with Bokuto is all Akaashi needs. Because the ache in his chest burns like a wildfire and his body is a pantheon unattended without Bokuto; he knows all too well what the taste of death is these past few days. Akaashi clenches his fists around the wadded tissue filled with dead petals.

Akaashi doesn’t even meet the glacial glares that linger on him as he enters the garden. A sprawling dream of vivid flowers explodes around Akaashi. Blues and greens as deep as the ocean and oranges and yellows that rivaled the sun. People mingle and chat, small smiles that betrayed the sorrow behind them. 

He doesn’t mean to ignore Bokuto’s mother, he can feel the heat of her eyes following him as he waits patiently in line to get up to the casket. Akaashi’s heart swells dumbly in his throat as he shoves his hands in his pockets, like a petulant child desperate to be grounded. Voices chatter around him but all Akaashi can truly hear is the thump of his pulse that jackhammers in his ears.

A menagerie of photos surround the casket, memories of Bokuto captured in technicolor that could never truly express how lovely he was or the amazing things he was capable of. It’s still frames of a soul that was never meant to be contained, someone meant to be larger than life itself. 

Bokuto smiles up at Akaashi, childish and young with a gap in his teeth. An iridescent party hat sits crookedly on his head and cake smeared on his cheeks, a boisterous boy ramped up on too much sugar. Akaashi remembers that birthday well, remembers the way Bokuto dragged him around the house by the hand and introduced him to his family. Belonging never felt so right when Bokuto was made to stand out. 

It was a flurry of sugar-induced speed runs through the house, Akaashi ever the faithful shadow to Bokuto. The night came quick but sleep didn’t, not for the two of them as Akaashi recalls. Instead, it was a sloppily made pillow tent lit up by too many flashlights and Bokuto’s head resting on Akaashi’s shoulder while they read a book that Bokuto had been gifted. Akaashi can’t remember if it was about bugs or if all his heart knows is true is the butterflies that warmed his stomach when Bokuto had laughed in his ear all those years ago.

Another photo, this one of a deceptively well-behaved Bokuto, is a few years older. He’s in a neatly pressed tuxedo, a grim smile laced on his tightly closed lips- Akaashi remembers the day well. The day Bokuto’s mother remarried, it was a gorgeous event and Akaashi was honored to be invited to, though guilt now bites at him like a starved beast. The glint of Bokuto’s eyes in the picture should have given him away, but Bokuto’s mother always thought the best of Bokuto. Not that she should have ever thought anything less, not that Akaashi will ever think anything less. 

Akaashi remembers the cake, a beautiful centerpiece that seemed too pretty to eat. But what he remembers more is the way Bokuto’s hand fit into his, a bit heavy and his fingers starting to already get thicker and sit awkwardly between Akaashi’s- but he still held Akaashi’s hand proudly, eagerly. He led Akaashi to the stage, weaving between the musicians to clamber up to the microphone. No amount of money could trigger the memory of whatever it was that made Bokuto’s new step-dad chase after them, howling like some animal, but Akaashi would say the memory of running beside a giggling Bokuto that peeked back over his shoulder to make sure Akaashi was still by his side would surely be priceless.

In the next photo, Bokuto is pockmarked with the throes of puberty. Acne dots his skin but it never scarred, Akaashi was always envious of that as he was ever aware of the lingering marks on his jawline from his youth. Akaashi doesn’t know if it was intentional, but he can see the body cropped out of the image, only because he recognizes the arm slung over Bokuto’s shoulder as his own. 

It was their last day of middle school. It was the mark of something grander than the two of them, something new and special. Bokuto went to a summer camp that year, something about training for something, Akaashi couldn’t ever remember because he was so focused on the soft tan lines that kissed Bokuto’s toned arms and thighs that Akaashi stupidly forgot to listen to Bokuto’s giddy spiel. Akaashi never forgot how rough and calloused Bokuto’s hands felt when Bokuto led him up to his room to show Akaashi the souvenir he brought back for him. Akaashi still has the postcard with the splotchy watercolor-esque sky emblazoned with a gaudy, “Wish you were here!” Bokuto wrote “I miss you, Akaashi,” on the back and it’s never left Akaashi’s bedside table since he got it.

A graduation cap covers most of Bokuto’s face in the next photo, his smile wide and infectious even when captured in a still frame. The sun is in his eyes but his hand casts a shadow over his face, the warmth on his face betraying his excitement. While the photo is from the shoulders up, Akaashi can still see the soft curves of Bokuto’s throat and the faint sunburn that they had both gained the weekend before when they had gone to a nearby beach with some friends. Akaashi can only remember Bokuto though.

Akaashi has only known Bokuto’s mother to truly get mad at him once, and the night of graduation was that one time. Bokuto had convinced Akaashi to go driving to their local spot. What Akaashi had not accounted for, was the three full bottles of vodka Bokuto had produced when they got there. Truly, Akaashi wishes he could remember what happened that night because all he had to memorialize it was faint bruises on his neck and waist. That, and the lingering scent of cigarettes that still haunts Bokuto’s car to this day because it rained and they refused to roll the windows down and stayed to watch the rising sun. Akaashi doesn’t regret that he took the blame, and couldn't stand for her to think Bokuto would do something so reckless on his own accord without coercion. Maybe her disdain towards Akaashi had started then, truly believing he was a bad influence; maybe Akaashi was bad for Bokuto, just not as an influence. 

Of course, there are more photos, memories that Akaashi was never worthy to be a part of- not that he was ever worthy of Bokuto, he realizes. There are trophies and awards that Bokuto swore meant nothing because it’s always a group achievement. Akaashi wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, grossly aware of the wetness he finds waiting for them. Akaashi ignores the cold eyes that track him as he wanders through the gallery of Bokuto, ignores the fact he has no right to feel the way he does. He bites down on the wilted petal stuck to his tongue, chewing it as if he could beat the anger he feels towards himself. 

Akaashi reaches towards a gilded frame, a sappy and broken smile dripping off his lips. Chubby baby cheeks vibrantly red and shiny with spit giggle up at Akaashi in the still image. They didn’t know each other as babies, didn't really have memories back then. But Akaashi knew he would never forget the gleam in Bokuto’s sunshine eyes like they lit up the whole world. A quiet warble of a sob sticks to Akaashi’s teeth. 

Indistinct chatter bubbles up behind Akaashi and he lowers his hand back to his side, clenching his fist absently. Akaashi steps falter as he rounds the edge of the memory table, the spindly grey-haired woman waiting at the end making his stomach twist further in on itself.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto’s mother’s voice is calculated, measured and calm as she greets him. Her eyes are wet, so remarkably similar to the eyes that Akaashi wanted to see just once more, but they are set so steely and frigidly towards Akaashi in a way Bokuto never would show him. 

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi murmurs, nails sinking into his palms. He doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for, not truly anyways. It could be any number of things. For being here today, for not being a better friend. Akaashi knows he has no right to say anything but his gaze is downcast, sullen and heavy. “He was the best thing that ever happened,” Akaashi muses softly, mistily gazing at the handkerchief dotted in mascara in her balled-up hand. Akaashi recognizes it as a project they made in a home ec class, Bokuto had sewn a lopsided star into his, Akaashi’s mouth tips into an equally lopsided smile, “to me, to anyone. To everyone.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” Her icy exterior cracks as she nods, almost mystified as she dabs at her face with the handkerchief. Her voice lowers, eyes flickering around to the floating groups that meander about. “I knew he meant a lot to you, Akaashi,” her tone is bordering accusatory as Akaashi picks a lifeless petal from his inside cheek, shoving it unceremoniously into a tissue in his pocket. Her eyes darken, “I didn’t know he meant that much to you though.” 

Akaashi shrugs. “He was destined for things greater than me,” a harrowed, empty laugh echoes out of Akaashi but there are true emotions laced in them. “I never wanted to hold him back from what he wanted,” Akaashi continues with a small smile that seems unearned, “I was always content to just be with him, along for the ride. It was always enough for me.” The smile falters with a timid quiver and tears well in his eyes, “Why wasn’t it enough anymore?” 

There’s a flash of kindness in Bokuto’s mother’s eyes, something that gives just a passing glimpse of Bokuto himself, as she wipes the corner of the handkerchief on Akaashi’s wet cheek. “You were always the collected one,” her comment is cool, gentle as she worries the fabric in her weathered hands, thumbing over the uneven star with a motherly, distant smile. “Bokuto wore his heart on his sleeve so proudly,” the corners of her eyes crinkle with her age as she peers up at Akaashi with a familiar smile, one he knew well in his youth. She chokes down a small sound, “you two couldn’t have been more different and yet you two made it against all odds.” 

Akaashi nearly stumbles, shifting his weight back and forth because he’s not ready to hear this truth. Not from her of all people. He opens his mouth to respond but words fail him, he doesn’t need them though because she continues without giving him a chance. 

“The odds were never in his favor,” her voice is once again bitingly cold and her knuckles betray the underlying anger as they grip the handkerchief. “Akaashi,” the pain in her voice as she seethed his name like a venomous snake makes his heart stop, the ache in his throat burns as her hardened gaze fully meets Akaashi’s for the first time, “you were supposed to be the strong one, you were everything he wasn’t able to be and he needed you to be.”

The accusation doesn’t need to be said out loud and all Akaashi can do is nod along dumbly because, in his truest heart, she’s right. Akaashi coughs, the wet slide of cherry blossoms sickening as it sticks to his throat. “I know,” Akaashi is unenviably small at this moment. 

A chill runs down Akaashi’s back in the silence that promises to swallow him whole- part of him wishes it would. A hand presses into his shoulder, sudden and warm. One of Bokuto’s sisters smiles at him, unnervingly kind as she interjects with a bold hawk-like laugh, “Akaashi, it’s always so nice to see you. I’ll take it from here, mom.” 

Her eyes narrow cruelly but nods as her daughter takes Akaashi aside, leading them to a nearby table. She looks nothing like Bokuto, her long hair tied back in a ponytail with a few stray strands framing her face. But her smile is a mirror of Bokuto as she tilts her head, hand cupping Akaashi’s affectionately, sisterly. “You’re family, Akaashi, don’t forget that,” her fingertips graze against his ears and there’s a lingering comfort in her warm touch. 

“Family doesn’t love like I do,” Akaashi hiccups softly, eyes misting over as she strokes his cheek. “Like I did,” Akaashi corrects himself brokenly, catching the knowing glint in her eye, “I want to stop loving him but I can’t, no matter what I do.” A shaky cry escapes Akaashi as she brushes away the tears. “I think part of me doesn’t want to stop loving him, like,” Akaashi stares over her shoulder to gaze longingly at the plethora of photographs that surround the casket, “like if I do stop loving him, the memories we had will fade to nothing.”

“But family does love unconditionally, eternally,” her words are thoughtful as she drops her hand, fishing into her purse as she continues quietly, “You never get over losing someone this close to you, Akaashi. We won’t and I know you won’t either.” Her fist is loosely closed as she pulls it out, she patiently extends her hand and waits for Akaashi to do the same. “His love for you was no different, Akaashi, believe me. A different type, maybe,” Bokuto’s sister muses sweetly, her fingers brushing against Akaashi’s as their hands meet, “but he loved you so much too.” 

Unfurling his fingers slowly, like once lively cherry blossoms that he associated with the one person that brought him such immense joy, reveals a small object. Confusion drifts across Akaashi’s face as he slowly turns it in his palm.

It’s a smooth stone decorated in paint, splashes of color dashed across the rock. Akaashi recognizes the shaky letters written across the rock face, his initials and Bokuto’s, accompanied with a great big smile in yellow paint. It is identical to the one Akaashi has next to his laptop in his room. He stares at it, a memento of the first day he met Bokuto. Fat tears bubble out of Akaashi’s eyes, snot beginning to drip from his nose as he peers up at Bokuto’s sister. 

Akaashi squeezes his hand shut tightly, the weight of the rock like a burden relieved as he pushes his palm to his chest. “Don’t you ever think he didn’t love you back, Akaashi,” her hand delicately drapes over his wrist as he wistfully sucks in a breath. “You meant everything to him in every way,” she smiles kindly at Akaashi, something sadly familiar in her eyes as she allows her hand to drop. 

The stone in his hand is like returning home, like Bokuto has come back to him. Not just the sweet and boisterous boy he was when they made their pair of stones together, but the man that had given his life up to save Akaashi’s. Akaashi turns the small stone in his hands, runs his fingertips across the small bumps and ridges. His voice is infinitely small, hoarse as he smiles at the painted rock in his palm, “Thank you, really.” 

“I’ll be down at the bar later tonight if you need someone,” she comments, adding a gentle smile as she turns on her heels. 

“No, no,” Akaashi murmurs to himself as he wanders his fingers across the first and last memento he’s ever had of Bokuto. He smiles, dreamily, sadly. “I think I need some time to myself,” he pockets the small rock, sliding it along the tissue filled with dying cherry blossoms, “I have my own things I need to tell Bokuto but I don’t think I can do them here.” 

“Well, you know where to find me.” Her laugh sounds like a pitched-up version of Bokuto’s and it makes Akaashi’s chest twist. 

The bitter wind bites at his cheeks, yet there are no tears as he turns out the gate. Akaashi tries his damnedest to ignore the heated stares that linger on his back as he walks away. He knows he can’t go home, he shouldn’t go home to that familiar loneliness, not now anyway. 

It’s a long walk, one steeped in warped silence that was accompanied by the cruel whisper of wind in Akaashi’s ear. Akaashi pulls his jacket tighter around himself, both for warmth and protection. Maybe he should have gone to a restaurant but the idea of being around others leaves a pit in Akaashi’s stomach as he approaches the weathered building. It’s been years, a few decades even, since the last time Akaashi has stepped on these school grounds. The long exhale that leaves Akaashi’s mouth is shaky at best, distracted at worst. 

A warm feeling swells in Akaashi’s chest as he rounds the familiar play area. Rust has begun to set on the metal monkey bars and plastic has been torn away by curious hands through the years. Akaashi affectionately draws a hand along the bolted-down metal frame of the old swing set- his fingers almost reach the top if he stands on his tiptoes. A faint smile poises itself on his face for a moment.

The metal chains give a weary, aged creak as Akaashi sits on the cracking seat of the swing. His knees press uncomfortably high up, his feet pushing against the pebbly gravel. Rocking against the ground, an ache overwhelms Akaashi as he blinks up at the night sky. Faceless, the moon silently passes judgment on Akaashi as he watches the fading, twinkling blanket of stars.

“I know it’s my fault, I do,” Akaashi’s voice is weak, a tremble weighing heavy to each word as he links his fingers around the chains and kicks his feet into the gravel. It’s a confession heavy in Akaashi’s heart, weighing like an anchor as he closes his eyes. He can almost feel the soft glow of the moon on his face.

The leaves rustle around him, a brutal reminder of the lonesomeness he endures as he swings about. Akaashi does not open his eyes. He sucks in a sharp breath, the cool air stinging his lungs. 

“I should have told you, that is my fault. But could you blame me?” The world is suddenly so small around Akaashi as he admits to the night what he could never say to Bokuto, not now not ever. “You were the entire world to me, you made everything okay and I would rather die than ruin that.” Akaashi’s voice quickly grows icy, tears slicking his chin and throat as he frowns. “I guess I did ruin everything in the end though, for you, for me. For us.”

Akaashi’s forced laugh is hollow in the calm night. 

“The worst part, I think,” the smile that ghosts across Akaashi’s lips is fragile, clipping on the corners of his mouth as he blinks up at the twinkling stars above. Tears pinprick at the corner of his eyes as he sways back and forth on the swing, digging his heels into the ground; Akaashi wants to say it’s just the nighttime breeze but even with no one around to convince of the lie, it still feels wrong. Akaashi watches the moon, hung high in the last pastel sea of the sunset. “The worst part is that I also know you forgive me.”

Akaashi coughs into his hand, eyes misty as he stares, broken, at the pale, wilted off-pink petal cupped tenderly in his palm. It’s dying inside of him, a disgustingly unconvincing thing when the feelings that Bokuto created inside of him refuse to go away. A small whine trips against the back of Akaashi’s teeth as he tilts his head back, the gentle coolness of the nighttime making a delicate flush pirouette on his cheeks. 

“I know you loved me in your own way,” he continues, confessing to an unmoved audience of stars, drifting a hand towards his pocket and gently tracing the outline of the rock, of the memories he would eternally cherish. Tears float down his cheeks, free and fast and he hiccups numbly. Digging his feet into the gravel, Akaashi watches the moon with a fracturing smile falling to pieces as quickly as it crosses his lips. His voice is so far from himself, distant as the feathered weight of damp lashes kisses his cheeks. “But I could never imagine asking so much from you, to ask someone like you to love me the way I loved you.” 

If Akaashi closes his hand, the dying flower petal crushed in his fingers, he could almost pretend it’s Bokuto’s hand he feels brushing against his knuckles.