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When had Akaashi become so wound up? His shoulders were raised in a constant semi-shrug. Eyebrows furrowed in a quiet scowl. His breathing disrupted, holding in breaths and forgetting to release. His stress would always pile on as the day progressed, and seemed to peak as practice drew to a close, and the inevitable fate of returning home approached. At this point, tension headaches were a regular hindrance, and no amount of digging Akaashi’s fingers into his forehead could make a difference. His slow change in demeanor hadn’t been noticed yet by the rest of his teammates. Akaashi was always a bit stiff and reserved, afterall. It wasn’t until a constant twinge of pain formed in the base of his neck did he notice the shadows of stress were creeping upon him.
The team was changing back into street clothes, and choosing to carry their winter jackets rather than dawn them, bodies still heated from practice. The locker room was quiet and calm, with most members too tired out to maintain boisterous conversations. Well, excluding Bokuto. He was always exclaiming and talking about his performance in practice. No one minded, it was good for them to reflect on what they needed to work on the following day. Everyone else seemed so unbothered and relaxed. It made Akaashi envious. He missed that workout afterglow, the dreamy sleepiness and sense of accomplishment he felt after a long day of doing his best. It was all tainted now, and nobody understood.
“Akaashi, are you coming?” Bokuto called from the front door of the locker room. The entire team always left the campus together before parting ways to their respective homes. It was a ritual of sorts, for them to bond ever-closer. Akaashi wished he could do everything in his power to delay their progress, but keeping his exhausted team from their awaiting warm meals and beds felt selfish. The setter responded with a nod and hurried out the door, last to leave.
“You seem a little more down today,” Konoha observed, “are you catching a cold?”
Akaashi shrugged, “Didn’t sleep well.” It was partially true. The nightly stress has taken a toll on his sleeping habits. Ironically, he’s been going to bed much sooner than usual. Sleeping was spent mostly entangled in sheets and startling dreams.
The group walked together to the exit gates, enjoying the crisp early winter air as it cooled them off. They paused at the crossroads, to utter simple goodbyes and final quips at each other before breaking into smaller groups. Akaashi is always left alone. His home was a short distance from the school, but in a direction no one else was walking. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. But now, Akaashi could feel every heavy footfall without the buffer of another person’s presence.
“Be sure to get enough sleep Akaashi!” Bokuto ordered, and ruffled his friend’s messy dark hair in an effort to tease him.
Something felt strange. The moment Bokuto’s hand made contact with Akaashi’s head, it was like his entire attention was drawn to the sensation. Akaashi became hyper focused on the warmth of Bokuto’s hand, and the small scritches delivered to his scalp from the tips of the ace’s calloused fingers. His body became wracked with a new sensation he hadn’t felt before. A sort of craving that filled every tense muscle in his body, and a squeeze in his chest. And once that short half-second of contact ended, he was swallowed with a dizzying sense of loneliness.
Akaashi delayed his reaction, causing a beat of awkward silence between him and Bokuto. He blinked and responded, “you too,” before turning his back and walking away briskly. Bokuto was left a bit puzzled, but moved ahead to his home, urged by the rest of the team already walking.
‘What on earth was that?’ Akaashi pondered. So many times he had been messed with, poked, prodded, high-fived. Normally physical contact was rather unremarkable. It was a mere way to show some support and closeness to his teammates. But now? After that small instance with Bokuto, it was all he could think about. It was a reprieve from the bitter stress gnawing at his limbs. It was like the constant firing dopamine in Bokuto’s mind transferred directly to Akaashi, and he wanted more. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.
Each step home was a countdown. It felt childish to dread coming home, because nothing ever happened. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Nothing happened.
Akaashi opened the front door. He slipped his street shoes off, hung his school bag, and announced his presence to the empty hallway in front of him. The only sound to greet him was the gentle clattering of dishes in a sink. His mother busied herself with cleaning up the dishes used to make dinner. Akaashi knew she heard him when he entered the home, but expecting a response was foolish. It was the new unspoken ritual. Akaashi would come home and wait for his mom in the front hall, pretending he was occupied with his phone. His mother would finish a chore, or shut off the tv, or mark her place in a book, and shuffle to her room. Akaashi only moved when he heard the sound of his mom shutting her bedroom door, where she would not emerge for the rest of the night.
Leftovers were always on the counter or in the fridge for him. The food left for him felt like the only acknowledgement of his existence anymore. Without it, he might as well be a ghost, silently haunting his own home.
Eating was harder than it used to be. Akaashi often resorted to watching mindless videos online to distract himself while he ate. Otherwise, his stomach would be gripped uncomfortably. Tonight, Akaashi didn’t open his laptop. He ate while busying his mind with trying to understand what he felt when Bokuto touched his head. And the more important question: how can he get Bokuto to touch him again. Would a handshake have the same effect? How does one get another to touch them without it being strange? Akaashi wasn’t a touchy person, and didn’t express much desire for platonic affection. Suddenly asking Bokuto for hugs would be a sure-fire way to raise eyebrows. Does forcing physical contact for the purposes of chasing a high cross some sort of personal boundary? Would that be considered using someone? Akaashi followed these strings of thoughts for far too long. He was left to retire to bed, early as usual, and attempt to push these thoughts from his head in an effort to sleep.
The following day brought the first winter chill. Akaashi rose from bed, having to release the blanket ensnared around his torso and replace the haphazardly tossed pillows thrown during the fitful night. Purple shadows began to contrast his green eyes. With sluggish fingers, he fastened his uniform shirt. To combat the chill, he donned a red scarf, the one he used each winter to keep his neck warm. Leaving his home in the morning was swift. Akaashi skipped breakfast and hurried down the stairs in a still-dark home. His mom was still locked in her room.
Mornings were when Akaashi felt lightest, looking forward to immersing himself in academics and happy conversations. The first of the day was Bokuto’s remark about a red scarf.
“Akaashi! I didn’t check the weather. Can you lend me your scarf?” Bokuto whined. He held his arms in his hands and chattered his teeth. Bokuto has a body that normally runs inhumanely warm, so this dramatic display of how cold he was garnered no pity from his friend.
“We’re about thirty meters from entering the school building. So no,” Akaashi responded. Inevitably, Bokuto wouldn’t accept that answer.
“Your scarf looks so warm, please my nose is running!” Bokuto exclaimed.
“Even more of a reason not to,” Akaashi shot back.
His remark was met with further protest, and Bokuto quickly descended on Akaashi to unwind the scarf from his neck. Normally, Akaashi would strong-arm him, pressing a palm to Bokuto’s cheek to keep him at bay. This time, Akaashi sighed in feigned exasperation. He unwound the scarf and placed it on Bokuto, wrapping it with exaggerated sloppiness over his dumb owl face. Bokuto was taken aback by the sudden compliance, but quickly clasped Akaashi’s hand in thanks.
And there it was again. That tingling, burning, straining crave that tore through Akaashi’s body. Endorphins shot through his veins and the hand being held felt like it was buzzing. His fingers, numbed from the cold, felt like they were being scorched to the bone. Once again, the feeling was short-lived. And as soon as the warm touch was removed, so was the comfort Akaashi felt. Like a warm blanket being ripped from him in a chilly room.
“Thank’s Akaashi! I’ll give it back to you later,” Bokuto grinned from behind the scarf. A twinge of doubt flashed in Akaashi’s mind, wondering exactly what Bokuto meant by ‘later’.
---
There were exactly three instances Akaashi saw Bokuto during school before practice. The first, he already experienced, was the brief moment he and Bokuto met at the front gate before heading into school. That usually involved exchanging pleasantries, any random morning complaints, and changing into school shoes.
The next instance will be at 10:30am, when Bokuto waves to Akaashi through the hallway window of the classroom while passing by. Each day, Bokuto would ask to be excused from his own class, make his way to the stairwell, down one floor, and past Akaashi’s classroom under the guise of going to the bathroom. Whether Bokuto actually had to use the restroom like clockwork everyday was a question Akaashi didn’t care to explore. This pattern of actions had been carried out since the first day of the school year. Admittedly, Akaashi was incredibly embarrassed by it at first. It was quite disruptive to have the upperclassman volleyball ace wave frantically to him during lecture. The teacher scolded Bokuto a number of times, but eventually gave in and chose to ignore it. Eventually, the other students grew accustomed to it as well, and stopped gawking so much.
Today, Akaashi decided to ask to use the restroom at 10:28am. His teacher didn’t take notice of the coincidence in time. He excused Akaashi without a thought.
On schedule, Bokuto marched down the stretch of hallway, cheery as ever, to wave to Akaashi. He quickly noticed his friend missing from his seat, and the first instinct of duress set in. His friend has disappeared! Was he sick? Did he go home?
“Bokuto,” Akaashi quietly called from the door to the bathroom. Confusion slid across Bokuto’s face for a moment, but he followed quickly. The two ducked in to the bathroom and let the door shut behind them. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone else inside with them.
“Akaashi? Did you have to pee too?” Bokuto asked plainly.
His friend returned the odd question with a crinkle of his nose and a look of distaste, “Not particularly, I was just bored in class and wanted to chat to fill the time.” Bokuto squinted at Akaashi in doubt. It is just a tad suspicious of him to lose focus in class like that.
Bokuto suddenly lifted his hands to hide his face in mock embarrassment, “You’re just going to listen to me pee? That’s so lewd!” He raised his voice to a high pitched-squeal, to mimic his best impression of a flustered anime school girl. Akaashi grimaced. This plan was severely backfiring. Without word, he paced back toward the door to head back to class. Laughter filled the air as Bokuto held his shoulder to stop him. The touch and the laugh reverberating in the empty bathroom felt like an assault to Akaashi’s nerve-endings. His neck flushed.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Bokuto chuckled. He moved toward the bathroom sinks, lifting himself up to sit on the counter, “Come watch these dumb videos.”
Bokuto always had things to show Akaashi on his phone. It became a regular habit for him to scroll through video after video, shaking from laughter while Akaashi dead-panned through most of them. Watching Bokuto cry and double over in pain from laughing was often more entertaining than the videos themselves. Akaashi moved to stand beside Bokuto, back facing the counter and leaning against it. Bokuto scooched closer to show his phone screen to the both of them. The close proximity between them was nothing remarkable. Friends huddled together over small screens all the time. but now Akaashi was so, so painfully aware of the feather-light contact between their clothes, and the warmth emanating from his friend. Tiny static shocks fired between the sleeves of their uniforms, and it charged Akaashi. It gave him energy.
It took exactly one video, the first video, for Bokuto to already be roaring with laughter, and clinging to Akaashi in an effort to not fall off the sink counter. Akaashi laughed and chided about the sudden weight and struggle to remain balanced, all the while his head was swimming with glee. And it only got worse with each swipe. Bokuto’s laughter is infectious, and coupled with his desperate pleas to not fall from the counter (a dramatic, deathly, two-foot drop) had Akaashi grinning from ear to ear.
Unfortunately, their time was swiftly cut short. Another boy entered the bathroom. Akaashi’s classmate paused at the door to make weary eye-contact with the two of them. At that moment Akaashi was painfully aware that they were hanging out in a dirty public restroom. He swiftly stood up and shrugged Bokuto’s grip from him. The sudden absence of laughter and clinging felt so cold his body could shiver.
“Sorry Bokuto, show me the rest during lunch,” Akaashi said, and left the bathroom to return to class. In spite of how quick their meeting was, Akaashi felt himself fuzzy-brained and just a slight giddy as he returned to his seat. Instead of listening to the ongoing lecture, he continued to puzzle over this strange effect Bokuto now had on him. He wondered if anyone else would have that effect.
Once lunch period rolled around, Akaashi removed his food and left the rest of his belongings to rendezvous at the usual meeting spot. He and Bokuto met, sometimes with other teammates and friends, outside in a covered area by the vending machines. Who knew why they chose that spot. It felt particularly ludicrous given they were constantly exposed to the changing weather, but it had become Akaashi’s favorite place.
As usual, the fast-paced setter was the first one there. He bought himself a coffee before settling down a few paces away from the machines. The cold ground and wall behind him was less-than pleasant, but none of them ever seemed to mind too much. Bokuto and Konoha rounded the corner shortly after, greeting their friend. They soon took seats as well, one boy sitting on either side of Akaashi.
Interesting. Akaashi might be able to test the parameters of this strange new feeling he’s been getting. After some short conversations, Bokuto pulled his phone out of his pocket to show the remaining saved videos he had to the other two. Akaashi quickly found himself in a sandwich, being the designated holder of Bokuto’s phone so that each boy could have the best ability to view the small screen. Akaashi scrolled, not paying attention to a single thing shown on the phone. Instead, he was hyper aware of every bit of contact either Konoha or Bokuto created. A shoulder brush here, a bump there. Nothing was actually affectionate or personal. Quite annoying and jostling really, as Akaashi was still trying to eat with one hand. But, there was a clear difference, and Akaashi couldn’t deny it. He was leaning closer to Bokuto. He could feel the magnetic pull on himself. He could feel himself relishing their contact. Konoha had no effect.
This realization only triggered a new waterfall of thoughts on Akaashi’s mind. He only feels this way for one particular person. Wouldn’t that be what someone would describe as a crush? Was feeling sensations from physical contact some sort of weird sexual impulse? Akaashi’s mind wracked through the embarrassing health classes he had to endure. It had been years since he hit puberty. So having feelings for someone isn’t all that surprising, but he had never formally felt attraction before. Is this what it was?
Why now? And for the love of god, why Bokuto?!
“Hey!” Konoha waved a hand in front of Akaashi’s face to snap him from his stream of consciousness. Akaashi startled and prayed that neither of his friends would notice the blush that had creeped up his neck and filled his ears. He muttered out a small apology and scrolled on the phone once again.
---
Getting changed in the locker room that day was… strange. Akaashi had never felt the need to glance at any of his teammates while they were changing. Even now, there was no actual drive to do so. But having a crush on someone meant that he’d be attracted to them physically, right? So, logically, sneaking a peak at Bokuto while he was changing into his jersey would make Akaashi feel some type of way. This is for science. This was an experiment, and therefore Akaashi was not being a pervert. Yeah, as if that was a good defense.
Praying that he doesn’t get caught acting suspicious, Akaashi turned his head ever-so-conspicuously to steal a brief glance at Bokuto. And just as quickly, he snapped his view right back to his own locker, and considered what he saw. While admittedly, Bokuto has a conventionally attractive physique, Akaashi didn’t feel the need for a second look. He didn’t feel that same warmth and longing by just looking at Bokuto, and that confused him even more.
Akaashi did his best to shake those thoughts from his head. Today’s goal for practice was the same as most days: prepare for the coming spring nationals, and wrangle in Bokuto’s antics. Despite his best efforts though, Akaashi couldn’t fully immerse himself in his actions.
His body was on auto-pilot, and he performed at the same level he usually did. While his body worked with the muscle-memory, his mind chewed through thought after thought. Akaashi’s usual ability to analyze his team, the opposing team, and the trajectory of the ball were all muddied with the agonizing reminders that he’d be home in a few hours. And when he broke away, for just a moment, he was distracted further by the thoughts he had on Bokuto, who was currently demonstrating his monstrous strength with ease. Akaashi’s movements began to falter, and he made rookie mistakes.
The next set flew over Bokuto’s head. He was in perfect form, ready to hit the ball as always, and Akaashi missed entirely. The team never reacted negatively of course, mistakes happen in this fast-paced sport. But while they were already in the motions of resetting, Akaashi was stuck staring down at his own palms. Why couldn’t he just get it together and enjoy practice like he used to? The failure to perform ate at the rest of his psyche. If he wasn’t fixated on home, he was screaming in his head about failing to give his team the ball.
Bokuto gave Akaashi a sharp slap to the back of his shoulder. Akaashi turned to him, dumbfounded and lost in the moment. Bokuto clapped his setter’s face between his hands, pulling full attention to him.
“Just focus on me Akaashi!” Bokuto declared, and turned to ready himself for the next set. Akaashi stood, processing the ghost of Bokuto's rough hands around his face. He shook his head, physically resetting himself and deciding to do exactly as Bokuto said. He watched Bokuto’s eyes as they followed the ball. It was received and floated high into the air. And when their gaze met, Bokuto called for his setter. The next set was perfect, and Akaashi felt the whisper of relief quiet his mind just a little bit. They celebrated with cheers and high-fives when Bokuto landed the next spike. The elated smile Bokuto gave Akaashi enough motivation to keep focus.
At the end of practice, Akaashi knew he had done well. Bokuto was bouncing with exuberance, and was going on and on about how great he was in practice. Akaashi listened as he changed back into his day clothes, and determined then that it didn’t matter what label he gave to how he felt about Bokuto. At this point, he knew that making Bokuto happy was the one thing that still made sense in his world.
---
Akaashi was emboldened when he arrived home that evening. The interactions he had with Bokuto today gave him that baseline of assurance and energy to confront his homelife. This time, when Akaashi stepped through the front door, he was less careful. He called out a hello just a bit louder. Yet again, there was no response. But that was to be expected. Once Akaashi had relieved himself of his book bag and jacket, he stepped toward the kitchen, but his mother wasn’t there. It was as spotless as when he left it that morning.
Instead, his mom was in the living room, crouched over the table she sat at and clutching a paper between tight fists. Akaashi noticed a small wooden box next to her on the floor, left open with various notes, letters, and photos. It was clear what they represented: memories of his father. Hot coals fell in Akaashi’s stomach, and his throat strained.
“Mom, have you eaten today?” He gently asked, offering a caring voice. He’d be happy to make the food for them this time. His mother didn’t audibly respond. She remained hunched over the table in a stony silence that Akaashi had grown accustomed to. Slow and sluggish, she shifted along the floor to start putting the scraps of memories back into the small wooden box. Akaashi felt helpless and unsure of what he should do. He fidgeted his weight between his feet in the silence, and fruitlessly rubbed at his aching neck. He hoped that with patience, his mother would finally answer. Instead, she rose from the floor, box in hand, and began to shuffle past Akaashi to return to her room. Her ghostly appearance was easy to see now. She was pale, her eyes sunk and red from crying. She seemed so small and lifeless. It made Akaashi sick.
“Mom. You really need to eat,” Akaashi tried again.
“Don’t talk to me,” his mom muttered back. This was the only warning he’d get. By now, he knew better than to further provoke his mom. It only leads to rebuke and more heartbreak. She was in such a delicate headspace, and Akaashi wanted to do everything in his power to keep it from getting worse. But, just a moment ago, Akaashi felt courageous. He knew that he was capable of helping someone and making them happy. Bokuto was walking proof of that. There was nothing more in this world that Akaashi wanted now, then to extend that same talent to his mom.
He cracked. He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned and held his mother’s shoulder to stop her from leaving him alone again. He wished his fingers didn’t tremble.
“Please, mom. I don’t understand. What can I do-” His mom whipped around then, shaking his grasp. Her face came to life to stare into Akaashi’s eyes with a burning fury.
“Don’t touch me. I can’t stand you!” his mother hissed, voice dripping with venom, “You look and sound just like him. It makes me sick.” The last sentence came out with such intense disgust that Akaashi felt it like a punch to his gut. Without a chance to respond, his mother turned and hurried back to her room, and locked herself inside. Akaashi stood where she left him. His head sunk to the floor. Any trace of the happiness and assurance he felt earlier today has evaporated. Was he ever going to have his old life back?
Left in the deadened silence of the living room, Akaashi took a seat on the couch and rubbed his palms along his face. He pushed fingers through his hair and gripped the strands in tight fists. An overwhelming frustration threatened hot tears in Akaashi’s eyes. What can he do? He needs to fix this. He needs to make things better.
Akaashi peered up to the wall in front of him. Photos were still framed and hung there. An old jacket hung in a closet, a clay ashtray on the table, slippers in the front door way. Remnants of his father having lived with them still existed. Despite his betrayal, he was still able to leave his presence as if he still had a belonging to this home. The thought of it filled Akaashi with rage. He stood, picking one of the frames up off the wall. He made the mistake of glancing at the photograph. Just a simple, unassuming family portrait. It was after a sports event when Akaashi was about seven years old. He sat on his father’s shoulders, proudly displaying a ribbon for first place.
A loud shattering of glass cut through the silence of the home. Akaashi smashed the frame on the floor. He did it again with another still hung on the wall. He took the last, and threw it as hard as he could against the far wall, reveling in the destruction. The pottery ashtray, too, was destroyed. Akaashi rushed to retrieve the garbage bin from the kitchen, and threw everything in haphazardly. His hands received cuts from the broken glass, small trickles of blood flowed to whatever he touched, and Akaashi did not notice. He scoured the home, as much as he could access, and gathered every piece of evidence. Once everything he could find was in the bin, he threw it all outside.
This was the first time Akaashi had allowed himself an outburst of emotion since his Father left three weeks ago, never to be seen or heard from since. He thought it would be cathartic, but it wasn’t.
Akaashi did not eat that night. The nausea was too intense. Instead, he sat in his bed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and staring to the opposite wall of his room. Every small movement on his palms set them alight with stinging pain. Delicate fresh clots were being ripped and his blanket began to stain. An emptiness filled his mind and his stare. He couldn’t even allow himself the relief to cry, stuck in a state of shock and numbness. The quiet ticking of the clock and the gentle wind against his window were the only things to keep him company. Akaashi wanted to sleep. He felt so tired. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t begin to understand how he could unwind his tightened muscles and relax enough to lay down. Anytime his eyes closed, he shuddered back awake. There was only one thing he thought could help him.
With clumsy fingers, Akaashi held his phone and typed a message to Bokuto.
A simple, ‘Are you awake?’
Bokuto replied quickly, ‘of course, it’s only 6pm lol’ and then, ‘what’s up?’
Akaashi hesitated. He typed the first sentence he could think of, ‘I need help.’ but he held down the backspace. Instead, he sent a different message, ‘it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. Don’t forget an umbrella.’ and touched send.
Another quick response from Bokuto, ‘Ooohh thanks! See you tomorrow Akaashi! :)’
Tomorrow. Yes, that was right. Akaashi would be allowed to spend another long day at school. He’d be able to see Bokuto again, and will himself to banish his troubles for a little while. The thought was enough for Akaashi to breathe just a little more steadily. It took time, but he was able to settle in to bed and get some rest.
The following day, Akaashi was awake before his alarm went off. Sleep was elusive. Stress dreams and nightmares plagued him the entire night. Akaashi winced at the fresh scabs on his hands, and the red stains on his bedding. He made careful effort of cleaning and bandaging his cuts and then hiding the evidence with gloves. There was less haste to leave the house this morning. His feet dragged as he walked to the front gates of school. Holding the umbrella above his head was painful in palms, and switching between grips didn’t help. As predicted, rain was pouring this morning. Despite Akaashi’s delay, he was still the first to arrive at school. He waited like usual at the gates for Bokuto to show up. With only a few minutes before they would be considered tardy, Bokuto came running up to the gates, clad in the red scarf he borrowed, bag over his head, and soaked from the rain. He panted when he finally met with Akaashi.
“Akaashi! I woke up late and ran out of my house without an umbrella. Can I stand under yours?” He begged. Akaashi sighed, resisting the urge to once again mention that they were both merely a thirty-second walk from the front door of the school. He held the umbrella aloft to cover the already wet Bokuto, exposing himself partially to the rain. He was rewarded for the sacrifice though, as Bokuto threw his arm around Akaashi’s neck and pulled him into an awkward side embrace. It was enough to make Akaashi forget the pain in his hand for a moment. Once they made it inside, Akaashi shook the water from his umbrella before putting it away, and felt soft fabric wrap around his neck.
“At least I had this to keep me warm,” Bokuto grinned, before turning to rush off to class. Akaashi stood in place, revelling in the feeling of the warm scarf around his numb nose. It smelled like Bokuto. He decided against putting it in his locker with his overcoat. The scarf was going to stay with him throughout the day. It might be enough to help him stay calm and forget about the dull pain that now resides in his body permanently.
During class, Akaashi did his best to not draw attention to the bandages on his hands. He kept them folded under his desk, often with the red scarf wound around them. It felt nice keeping them wrapped in something soft. The comfort of the scarf along with the quiet classroom started to lull Akaashi. It didn’t help that what his teacher was lecturing about was abhorrently boring. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. Akaashi willed himself not to yawn.
When Bokuto walked by the hallway windows at 10:30am, waving excitedly, Akaashi didn’t wave back in his usual small, embarrassed way. Bokuto grumbled at the rudeness of not receiving a wave back from his friend, but soon took notice of the way Akaashi’s eyes were closed, head tilted back, mouth slightly ajar. Bokuto couldn’t mask his shock. Akaashi, the smartest and most studious guy he knew, was sleeping in class! The team captain laughed, perhaps a little too loud, because now other students were taking notice. A couple of them started to giggle and whisper as Bokuto moved closer to the window to take a photo of his sleeping friend. Before the teacher could take notice, a classmate was kind enough to tap Akaashi’s shoulder to wake him. Akaashi sat up with a start and glanced around. He caught the sight of Bokuto grinning widely and waving, and returned the gesture with a nod.
---
Akaashi couldn't wait to be able to buy a coffee from the vending machine during lunch. He punched the buttons with heavy fingers and practically drank the entire can in one go.
“Hey sleepy!” Bokuto greeted as he came around the corner. Today, it was just him, “I think I have a new favorite picture of you.” Akaashi glanced wearily at Bokuto before tossing his empty can in the recycle bin. He sat down on the concrete flooring, the cold wall and ground somehow more inviting than before.
He forgot to keep his hands in his pockets. Bokuto startled and crouched down beside Akaashi, taking a bandaged hand into his own.
“What happened to your hand?” Bokuto demanded. Akaashi sighed and showed his other hand as well. Bokuto gasped and carefully took the other one, studying the varying sizes of mismatched bandaids along his palm and fingers. On large patch in the center of his left palm was particularly concerning
“I accidentally cut my hands on some broken glass,” Akaashi answered. He couldn’t really bring himself to outright lie to Bokuto, but lying through omission was possible. He did his best to ignore the pulsing warmth in his ears and fingertips. Bokuto was still blissfully unaware of the effect he had on his friend.
Bokuto stared at Akaashi with bewilderment, “Did you get in a fight with a glass monster? How does someone just accidentally cut their hands a bunch of times?”
Akaashi didn’t care to explain further, with a nonchalant yawn he responded, “It’s fine, I’ll be able to practice like usual. It’s no big deal.” He retrieved his hands from Bokuto’s grip, and motioned for him to calm down and have a seat. Bokuto remained weary, but changed his attention to yet another notable issue. Bokuto brought out the lunch he was about to eat, and noted Akaashi had nothing for himself.
“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked.
Akaashi groaned in exasperation, “You’re asking a lot of questions today.” Normally he would handle situations like this with more tact. But goddammit, he was just too tired. He scooted close to Bokuto, hearing the sound of protest about to escape his team captain. Akaashi leaned against his arm, and rested his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. This is all he wanted.
“Let me sleep for a few minutes,” Akaashi asked.
Bokuto hesitated. It was evident in the way he held his breath and kept his shoulders rigid. The sudden closeness cut his concern short and shoved his mind abruptly to a sheepish place he rarely felt. Akaashi didn’t instigate closeness like this often. It was an absolute treat when Bokuto had the chance to experience it. He grumbled to himself but obliged, relaxing his body to be a more comfortable pillow. With the lull of the rain masking most sounds in his ears, and the comforting warmth of his friend, Akaashi dozed off immediately.
The time before he woke up again felt short. Too short. What woke him up though, was Bokuto’s gentle hand brushing through Akaashi’s hair. Akaashi dared not move, pretending to remain asleep. Bokuto studied the deep shadows under Akaashi’s eyes. He saw the way that his friend struggled to stay awake in class. And now his hands were hurt, and he was refusing to eat. Bokuto knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what he could do to help yet. So for now, he decided that comforting Akaashi was the best approach. He hoped what his friend told him was the truth: that he was just having a hard time sleeping, and accidentally cut himself on some broken glass. Hopefully his setter would have a good night sleep tonight, and come back tomorrow better than ever.
The two stayed huddled together for the remainder of the lunch period. Akaashi feigned sleep, not allowing himself to fall back to unconsciousness and miss basking in the rarely-seen gentle and careful side of Bokuto. He had shifted his weight to further lean on his friend, and now Bokuto was practically holding him and petting his head like a mother trying to sooth her child. He eventually moved to gently grasp Akaashi’s battered hands, and held them like they were delicate butterflies. Akaashi felt a pang of guilt. He’s making his friend fret over him now, and that was the last thing he wanted. But in the same breath, Akaashi couldn’t be happier at this moment. Every brush of Bokuto’s hand along his skin sent shivering pulses down his spine. Listening to Bokuto’s steady heartbeat steadied his own rhythm. His tense muscles felt like they could melt for the first time in weeks. Akaashi never wanted this time to end.
Painfully, and inevitably, the school bell rang to signal the next period, and Bokuto was forced to gently ‘awaken’ Akaashi. He rose slowly, and made a show of yawning and stretching. On the inside, every part of Akaashi’s mind and heart was screaming to go back to resting. He felt like he was being torn from the dream he had ever experienced.
“You really need to get some sleep tonight,” Bokuto breathed in a half-chuckle. His tone was so odd that it gave Akaashi pause. He caught a glimpse of golden eyes before Bokuto turned his face from Akaashi’s gaze and stood abruptly. “See you at practice!” Bokuto called, and rushed out of view.
Akaashi must be delirious from exhaustion. He must have imagined that blush on Bokuto’s face.
---
At practice, Akaashi knew he was being treated differently. Maybe it was the evidence of deep rings under his eyes, or his hunched posture, or the numerous visible bandages on his hands, but the rest of the team seemed to be taking it easy on Akaashi today. Even Bokuto, who was usually so demanding of Akaashi and needed constant support, went out of his way to rely on other teammates instead. Akaashi wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not. His sets were sloppy today, that was certain. The sting of his cut fingers was distracting, and his reflexes were slow. It was humiliating. He felt pitied.
Never at any point did Akaashi want to feel like he wasn’t in control. He was supposed to be the person that fixed problems, not create them. And now his family drama was bleeding into his studies and to his teammates. And the reality of it all frustrated Akaashi to no end.
“Bokuto!” Akaashi called, signalling he was setting the ball to his ace. If his teammates thought they could just let him flounder, they were dead wrong. He’d just need to work harder. Bokuto flinched at Akaashi’s sudden vigor, but muscle memory took hold and he landed a cross-court shot with ease. He landed on the ground and let out a trademark ‘Hey hey hey!’ as Akaashi went in for a high-ten.
Bokuto raised his hands to return the gesture but stopped, “Akaashi, your hands.”
Akaashi clenched his jaw in frustration and held firm, “It’s fine!”
This high-ten was no longer being done in happy spirits. Bokuto meekly raised his hands and clapped them against Akaashi’s, who in turn kept a straight face and pretended that it didn't hurt like hell. The rest of the team witnessed this exchange, and it was cringe-worthy to say the least. Akaashi continued to push himself throughout practice. He ignored the gnawing at his stomach from not eating. He ignored the creaking resistance in his joints as he jumped again and again.
Bokuto couldn’t help but pick up on his setter’s energy. The team fell for it too. Akaashi was practically manic, but he continued to run as fast as he could. He could feel it, his focus and attention and reflexes hyper-focusing. He was losing himself in the moment.
And when they wrapped up, Akaashi collapsed. Heavy lead arms hit the wood beneath him, and they no longer responded. Heated lungs desperately pulled air within to quell the burning pain as he laid in a pool of his own sweat. Bokuto and the rest of his teammates gathered around and stood over Akaashi, checking to see if their setter had died. What they were met with instead, was a giggling mess. It was probably a tired-high at this point, approaching delirium, but Akaashi felt breathless and full of endorphins and happy with himself for the first time in a long time. He was able to focus entirely on practice and give his all, and most importantly, be the useful team leader he was supposed to be. His chirps of laughter struggled in between gasps for breath, and the utter ridiculousness of it all kept spurring his fit. Grins forced their way on to his teammates’ faces as they succumbed to the sheer infectiousness of it all. Seeing his friend having such an out-of-character bout of laughter made Bokuto feel conflicted. Akaashi rarely laughed, and the sight of it was beautiful. The sound of it was an anomaly, he never laughed like this before. It was sweet, gentle, carefree.
“Bokuto,” Akaashi gasped out between laughs, “I don’t think I can move my legs anymore.”
Hearing his name ring out with such a bubbly tone made Bokuto’s heart skip. He couldn’t help but laugh too. Akaashi willed his hands in to the air, opening his palms toward Bokuto in a wordless request for help. Bokuto knelt and took one hand around his shoulder. He paused as if to debate something, his other arm tensed between decisions. With a devious grin, Bokuto decided to scoop his arms under the setter and lift him with ease, as if he was filled with helium. Akaashi assumed he was just going to be shouldered, his ace helping him to hobble back to the locker room. Nope, Bokuto bridal carried him like a damsel in distress. The sudden romantic gesture was too much, and Akaashi’s face blossomed with blush. He might have felt a little more wooed if they both weren’t so sweaty and overly hot from working out. Despite the impressive display of strength, Bokuto sounded as though he was out of breath. How he mustered enough energy to carry Akaashi after practice was beyond him. The rest of the team were laughing along, teasing Bokuto about being the prince in a fairytale of some sort. He carried Akaashi all the way to the locker room like that, despite some protests from the setter.
Even though Akaashi protested out of principle, he guiltily relished in this moment. If he had felt a strange high from any point before now, it was paled in comparison now. Bokuto cradled him with strong unfaltering arms, and Akaashi dared to tighten his grasp around his ace’s neck with both arms. Bokuto seemed to stutter in his step a moment, perhaps flustered by the embrace. Akaashi wondered if he was blushing, but couldn’t bring himself to look. Seeing Bokuto’s face like that would be too overwhelming.
Finally, and yet too soon, they reached the locker room.
“Can you stand?” Bokuto asks, bending down slowly.
Akaashi nods, his weight falling to his wobbly legs. He was able to steady himself with Bokuto’s help. Once he was Akaashi would be able to stay upright on his own, Bokuto turned away to cough and drink water.
“Are you alright? You shouldn’t have pushed yourself for something silly like that,” Akaashi fretted.
Bokuto dismissed it with a wave of his hand as he finished coughing. Then flashed one of his trademark toothy smiles, “totally worth it.”
Akaashi’s heart failed to beat for a moment.
In higher spirits, Akaashi was able to change his clothes and prepare to set home. The tendrils of dread were ever-present, but Akaashi planned to face the night with a kindness he owed to himself. He’d eat some food, and get some well-deserved rest. He’d have to shelf his concerns for his heart-broken mother for just one night. As the team left and headed to the front gates, many of the members stopped to order that Akaashi take care of himself.
“Go to bed right away!” One instructed. Akaashi laughed gently and promised he would.
“Are you going to make it home okay? Do you need Bokuto to carry you home?” Another teased. Akaashi and Bokuto shared a glance briefly and looked to the ground in embarrassment. Akaashi awkwardly laughed it off with a ‘no’. But oh how amazing would it be if Bokuto did carry him home?
They all split ways at the gate once again, and Akaashi waved cheerfully to them before turning on his heel. His legs felt like jelly now, so walking along the bright streetlights was a slow and clumsy process.
Tonight, Akaashi did not intend to interact with his mom. He knew if he did, she would only be furious about the destruction that had occurred the night prior. As he approached his front porch, he noticed there were no illuminated windows. He stepped inside quietly, into a pitch dark and silent home. There was no reasonable explanation for it, but adrenaline began to tickle at the base of Akaashi’s stomach, and his palms grew clammy.
“Mom?” Akaashi called out. He didn’t want to provoke her, but his concern was outweighing the potential consequences. Akaashi flipped the lights on and checked the kitchen. There was no sign that she had been in there at all. No food made or missing, nothing moved, sink bone-dry. This wasn’t normal. Mom, despite how she felt now, still maintained a routine. He checked to see if she had watered any house plants, if her shoes were moved, if the garbage bin of memorabilia had been fussed. The car was still parked in the garage. Her keys were still on the hook. There was no other sign in the house that she emerged from her room today. She never left.
Akaashi rushed up the stairs to her room, his hand flying to rattle a locked handle.
“Mom, are you okay?” Akaashi asked, gently knocking on the door. No response.
Every second ticking by sent fear creeping further and further up his spine, seeping into his skin and making hairs rise. His heart beat hammered against his chest and his breathing grew more frantic. He knocked more sternly.
“Mom, can you please answer?” Nothing. He couldn’t catch his breath now. The aching silence in the house screamed in his ears. Akaashi went from constant knocking to beating on the door with his fists. Still nothing.
“Please!” he begged.
All at once the door unlocked and flew open. His mom stood, anger pulsing in her veins. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she wore an oversized t-shirt that clearly wasn’t hers. Akaashi sighed with intense relief, and he blinked back the tears that were pooling in his eyes.
“Didn’t I tell you to not bother me?” His mother yelled. She didn’t mince any more words, simply slamming the door back in his face. The sound of the lock clicking followed quickly after.
Akaashi’s hands shook at his sides. He slipped into the nearby bathroom across the hall and shut the door behind him. Bile was threatening to rise in his throat. Large gulping breaths forced down the sick, and the abrasive bandages felt wet in his hands. Akaashi turned on the cold tap, and removed the bandages on his hands to reveal bloodied broken scabs once again. Whether this was from volleyball or from hitting his mom’s door just now, he wasn’t sure. He washed his hands off and splashed the cold water to his face. A regretful glance up at the mirror in front of him showed the pale shaking ghost looking back. He felt like he was going to faint.
Akaashi sat down on the bathroom floor, leaning his back against the tub. He subconsciously pulled his phone from his pocket, dripping a mix of water droplets and trickles of blood along the screen. Without thinking, he dialed Bokuto’s number.
Bokuto picked up within two rings, “Akaashi?”
Akaashi swallowed another round of bile back down and stuttered out a greeting, “Bokuto- hi-”
“Are you okay?” Bokuto asked with a tone of alarm. Akaashi kicked himself mentally. Of course, calling out of the blue like this and not being able to speak would concern anyone.
“I’m fine, I just wanted to chat,” Akaashi responded, working hard to keep his voice even. He felt drops of liquid rolling down from his hand to his arm.
Bokuto did nothing to contain the excited noise he made, “You never call! Dude, did you see what was in the news though?” His babbling began. And for once in his life, Akaashi was so incredibly grateful for Bokuto’s ability to hold a conversation with minimal input. While Bokuto explained some insane thing a crook did to break into a local store, Akaashi was responding with small grunts of affirmation, and doing his best to not hiccup as his tears flowed. Halfway through his story, Bokuto paused to cough.
“Oh, right, Akaashi I forgot to say- I might not be able to go to school tomorrow.”
“What?!” Akaashi asked, genuine shock and agony ringing from his voice.
Bokuto made a groaning noise, expressing his exasperation at the situation as well, “Yeah, it’s just a stupid cold. I should have taken your advice last night and grabbed an umbrella. This totally sucks! A game is coming up. I need to practice more!” At this point, Bokuto’s words were falling on deaf ears. They were being silenced by the overwhelming thoughts that flooded Akaashi with anxiety. His body shook with tremors from the stress. How was he going to face tomorrow? Tomorrow is Friday, too. Would he not be able to see Bokuto the entire weekend? Akaashi couldn't bear the idea of being stuck in this silent, suffocating home.
“Akaashi?” Bokuto asked, hearing his friend breathing rapidly through the phone.
Akaashi snapped back to the moment, “I’m sorry that you’re sick. I hope you get well soon. Should I bring your homework for you tomorrow?”
“Oh, Washio was going to do that. But thanks!”
It made sense that someone in the same year as him would bring school work, but Akaashi felt devastated regardless. Trying to mask the pain in his voice, he replied curtly, “I see. Well, sorry I bothered you. Get some rest.”
“Not a bother. Thanks for calling me!” Bokuto responded cheerfully.
Akaashi hung up and dropped his phone to the floor. Talking to Bokuto was a mistake. He wished he could have blindly held on to the idea that Bokuto would be at school tomorrow, to at least get himself through tonight. Akaashi stood on shaky legs, wiping his tear-stained face with the back of his dirty hands. He moved to start a bath, in a desperate attempt to soothe himself.
He’d just have to do his best to get through the day.
Sleeping that night was wishful thinking. Akaashi laid in bed, tossing and turning and battered by unending thoughts. The idea of handling tomorrow was hard enough. But thinking of tomorrow only bled to how he would get through the weekend. And then the week after that. How long would Akaashi have to live like this before things go back to normal? The crushing thought comes back every time: It won’t. It’s not going to end.
And with his alarm beeping only once before he shuts it off, Akaashi rises from his bed. He was so exhausted. His mind was numb and his body was on autopilot. And that’s how he was for the entirety of school. He shambled to class and unabashedly rested his forehead on his desk. Sleep wasn’t kind enough to grace him even then. Students and his teacher alike gave him a wide berth usually, and today was no different. It was easy for him to get away with this behavior for most of the day. During lunch, he left the classroom to go hunker down in some quiet corner of the building. He dare not go toward the vending machines, where he’d just be reminded by the lack of Bokuto’s presence.
Pretending to be okay only became troublesome when Akaashi had to attend practice. He thought of excusing himself, claiming to be sick. But the idea of his day ending earlier, and having to start the weekend of isolation was dreadful enough for him to continue. Inevitably though, his teammates noticed his inability to play.
“Akaashi!” one of them called for the ball.
Akaashi moved to get under the falling volleyball, lifting his hands above his face and placing his fingers in the same position as always. It was automatic. Yet, as the ball fell back down, it slipped right through his fingers, and crashed directly into his nose. For the third time today. The first time, everyone laughed and told Akaashi it was okay. The second time, they asked what was going on with him. This time, everyone was concerned.
“Hey dude, I know you said you were just tired, but what’s going on?” Konoha asked. Other teammates were surrounding Akaashi and echoing the same question. The sudden attention and the humiliating failure made Akaashi’s stomach lurch. If it wasn’t for their coach calling him over, he might have crumbled at that moment. Coach demanded that Akaashi sit on the bench. He was clearly not in a good mind to be playing right now. And despite his Coach prodding for an explanation, Akaashi continued to dismiss it. He’s just tired.
As practice wrapped up and everyone headed back to the locker room, Akaashi felt ready to vomit. He slowly changed out of his uniform, moving as if every joint in his body was swollen and painful. And with feet made of cement, he left to walk with the team out the front gates.
Before their last split though, Washio placed a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder and handed him a small tote bag, “This is Bokuto’s homework. Can you take it to him? Something came up and I can’t spare the time to drop it off.” It sounded like such a flimsy excuse. Akaashi stared down at the tote bag, slow to understand, but he nodded. And with that, the team went ahead, leaving Akaashi to stand at the gates.
Akaashi waited at the gates. He turned his head side to side, overwhelmed by the simple question of where he should go.
His first voice told him he should check on his mom.
The louder, stronger voice in his mind screamed that he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go home. And that voice made Akaashi’s throat tighten with unfallen tears. He turned in the direction of Bokuto’s place, and walked.
Hesitantly, and quietly, Akaashi tapped a knuckled to the front door of Bokuto’s house. So quiet in fact, that it was likely no one would hear it. Akaashi wasn’t sure why he was feeling so shy at this point. All he needed to do was drop off some homework. Just before he was about to knock again with some more resolve, Bokuto’s mother answered. She opened the door, and a large grin spread across her face.
“Oh, Akaashi! It’s been awhile,” She greeted. Akaashi gave a small bow and held the tote bag in front of him. Bokuto’s mom took it in her hand with a look of puzzlement on her face.
“This is Bokuto’s homework for the weekend. I hope he’s doing well,” Akaashi muttered. Bokuto’s mother didn’t respond at first. She shifted her weight and hummed an unspoken question. She brushed her soft black hair out of her face, and held a finger to her chin as if to consider something. It carried on a bit too long, and made Akaashi feel awkward.
“He wants to see you, you know. Why are you talking like you aren’t going to come in?” She asked in earnest, “Do you need to hurry home?”
A flicker of hope bloomed in Akaashi. Bokuto wants to see him. Did he mention something to his mom? “Would that be okay? I don’t want to make him feel worse since he’s sick.”
Bokuto’s mom tutted and stood back to open the front door wider and invite Akaashi inside. “It’d probably make him feel better!”
Akaashi took a slow step inside, and put on slippers that were offered to him with a thanks. Before Akaashi was given back the tote bag of homework, Bokuto’s mom guided him in the living room.
“Have a seat, you’re going to eat some dinner first before you see him,” She ordered, gently pushing Akaashi’s shoulder to urge him to sit.
Akaashi did as he was told, but protested verbally, “Please, I don’t want to be a bother-”
“Not a bother!” She cut him off, and swiftly left to the kitchen. She made sure to hold on to the tote bag, holding it as ransom in exchange for Akaashi eating the meal. Food was brought back in an instant: two large plates of curry. She had just finished cooking for herself and Bokuto when Akaashi arrived. Luckily, she always made way too much.
Setting one plate in front of Akaashi, and another for herself across the table, Bokuto’s mother took a seat and flipped on the tv to a news channel, volume playing quietly. She watched tentatively as she took the first few bites. It was quickly evident that Akaashi was hesitating to eat. He didn’t want to be impolite, but eating at all today felt like an impossible task.
“How was practice today without Bokuto?” She asked.
Akaashi glanced up at Bokuto’s mom. Her golden eyes shifted from the TV to Akaashi. She sat with a relaxed demeanor, and smiled gently to Akaashi. She waited patiently for him to respond.
“The team usually gets more done when Bokuto isn’t around,” Akaashi began. He looked down toward his plate in embarrassment, “But I kept getting distracted and the ball hit my face.”
Bokuto’s mom laughed, loudly, filling the room with happy giggles, before she asked, “is your nose okay?”
A small smile broke across Akaashi’s lips, “It was at first, until the third time it was hit.”
She let out another round of laughter, and it sounded so similar to Bokuto’s laugh, that Akaashi couldn’t help but laugh with her too. He took a bite of his food. And for the first time in a long time, he could taste it. The two of them carried on with their conversation. Akaashi could feel himself being prodded to talk more, but there was a sense of ease when he spoke. Having Bokuto’s mom sit across from him and sharing a meal reminded Akaashi of a happier time. He continued to eat. Once they both started joking about Bokuto’s antics both at school and at home, it was hard to stop the conversation. Akaashi finished his plate. And then asked for seconds. And once their meals were finished, Akaashi was given the tote bag.
“Go see him. I’ll call your mother to let her know you’ll be home a bit late.”
“Don’t worry about that. She probably won’t care,” Akaashi dismissed, pausing after to cringe at the fact that he let that sentence so carelessly slip.
Bokuto’s mother flashed a frown for only a second, but she smiled once again, “I’m going to get some extra bedding for you. Please, stay the night.”
Akaashi wanted to deny the offer. But he stopped himself. Maybe he could be selfish, just this once. He thanked her again, giving a deep bow, and turned to head upstairs to Bokuto’s room. He knocked gently on the door.
“Hey I’m finished eating mom!” Bokuto called from inside his room.
Akaashi snorted and opened the door, “Sure you don’t want me to get some more?”
Bokuto sat up quickly in his bed, opened manga falling from his chest, “Akaashi!” He preened at his hair and pulled his blanket more over his lap. As if Akaashi hadn’t seen his hair unstyled and in boxers a million times before.
Akaashi approached Bokuto and handed him the tote bag, “Washio said he was too busy to give you your homework, so I went instead. You’re mom forced me to eat dinner while I was here.”
Bokuto let out a raucous laugh, “I thought I heard something. She must have been glad to get someone to eat all the leftovers.”
“How are you feeling?” Akaashi asked, having a seat on the floor and leaning his back against the bed. He didn’t want to get too comfortable, in case Bokuto needed to kick him out early.
Bokuto clicked his tongue in distaste, “What are you doing sitting on the floor? I feel fine, so get up here!” he slapped the empty side of his bed in invitation. Akaashi obliged, sitting in his usual spot beside Bokuto. Bokuto in turn, draped half of his blanket over Akaashi’s legs. It had been quite awhile since Akaashi came over for a visit, but this is how they usually hung out. They’d sit like this, and kill time either watching movies or playing games.
“You’ve never been one to stay sick long,” Akaashi said.
Bokuto didn’t respond, instead taking the opportunity to lean forward and get a close look at Akaashi’s face. Akaashi wasn’t sure what was going on, so his eyes darted around the room in discomfort. He was acutely aware that the dark bruising under his eyes was raising some eyebrows at this point. It was only exasperated by how pale he’d grown from stress and not eating. After an intensely uncomfortable stretch of silence, the ace sighed and leaned back, folding his arms in disappointment, “Yup, Washio was right.”
“About what?” Akaashi asked.
Bokuto pointed a finger at Akaashi’s face, “You look like a damn ghost! He told me you were basically a walking zombie at practice today.” Akaashi frowned. So this is why Washio gave him the tote bag. He knew if there was anyone in the world to get the team setter to open up about himself, it was Bokuto.
“So, why haven’t you been sleeping?” Bokuto asked outright. Akaashi shook his head stubbornly and stared ahead to the TV that was turned off, willing his friend to drop the conversation and just put on a movie. Instead, Bokuto scooched closer and poked Akaashi’s side in silent insistence. He flinched in response, the ghost of contact remaining on his skin.
Akaashi sighed, “Things have just been stressful at home lately.” That was all he was willing to let out. Bokuto considered his words carefully. He knew his friend well enough. He knew that whatever bit of truth Akaashi spilled, the reality of it was often far more devious. It took so much for Akaashi to crack. And based on all the evidence on his face, Akaashi had cracked.
Bokuto scooted even closer, and closed the spaced between them, He put his arms around Akaashi in a bearhug and swung his upper body back to force the two of them to lay down on his bed.
“What are you doing?!” Akaashi asked, completely flustered and squirming for freedom.
Bokuto maintained the vice grip in his arms, knowing that he would always win in the battle of strength. He let out a deep sigh and spoke softly, “You shouldn’t always deal with things on your own.” Akaashi stopped trying to resist all at once. He felt himself deflate. Those words took all the energy out of him. Feeling that Akaashi was no longer struggling to break free, Bokuto loosened his arms from a trapping bear hug to a gentle cuddle.
The feeling of being held was too much. Akaashi felt everything he was working so hard to keep at bay. His exhaustion, his aching muscles, and his beaten heart. It was all still a raw wound, and Bokuto’s embrace was peeling back the broken skin. The pain and fear mixed with the fireworks of oxytocin that surged to his brain. It felt too overwhelming. The blanket that was around their feet was pulled up and over his shoulders, further wrapping him in the warmth. Tears started to pool in Akaashi’s eyes. Bokuto’s steady breathing was the only thing he could hear past the pounding blood in his ears.
Bokuto lifted a hand and started to brush it along Akaashi’s back to comfort him. The first swipe down his spine instantly sent Akaashi back to a memory. It was a feeling that he had forgotten. His mom used to greet him with a hug every day when he came home. She always spoke softly and lovingly to him, and wrapped her arms around him in a way that spoke constant assurance and comfort. She would always place her right hand between his shoulder blades, standing on her toes for better leverage. If that day was particularly difficult, she always knew when she hugged him. She’d gently rub circles into his back.
When Akaashi’s father tore their home apart, when he broke their hearts, his mother stopped hugging him. It was such a regular habit that Akaashi didn’t notice the missing piece in the midst of the flurry of everything else crashing down in his life. But now that it was at the forefront of his mind, Akaashi’s heart ached. He shifted and reached his arms slowly to hug Bokuto back.
“It’s not a big deal-” Akaashi mumbled weakly.
Bokuto chuckled dryly, “It is to me.”
Tears fell from Akaashi, dripping past his nose and to the space between his cheek and Bokuto’s shirt. They fell heavily and quickly, and the only thing Akaashi could do was cling to Bokuto’s shirt harder. He felt his friend’s hand rub his shoulder, smoothing his hair back, and hold him closer. Bokuto didn’t push Akaashi to say anything more. Despite his loud personality, he knew sometimes that Akaashi needed quiet moments to allow himself the space and freedom to let himself go.
About an hour later, Bokuto’s mother softly knocked and opened the bedroom door with bedding in hand. Bokuto held a finger to his lips, signalling his mom to stay quiet. Akaashi was still cuddled up to him, the blanket cocooned grasped in his hand and tucked under his chin like a little kid. He was finally able to get some sleep.