akaashi’s touches don’t linger and their contact doesn’t last. he pulls his hand away when their fingers brush against each other by mistake, flinches when bokuto gives him a cheerful bump in the morning to say hello. bokuto doesn’t pride himself on being the best people-reader, but he knows that he’s good at picking up the things that others might overlook. now it feels like there’s a thin barrier of cling film pressed between him and akaashi. soft, transparent, and one that only they can see; stretched so thinly that it feels as though the film, like his heartstrings, could snap at any moment.
it hasn’t been the same since the day bokuto said no.
bokuto remembers tugging lightly on akaashi’s shirt that day after practice, hollering at him about a secret he’d been hiding. akaashi had been somewhat quiet, skittish for the last few weeks: but at the same time he’d been more affectionate, more forward, leaned in further when he rested his head in the crook of bokuto’s neck. his teammates had been whispering that akaashi was different now. the aura of someone who was in love, konoha had shrugged, giving bokuto a wink. “why don’t you go and talk to him?”
akaashi brought bokuto to the rooftop like a schoolgirl in a manga, and admitted the truth. akaashi was in love with him.
bokuto had flushed, and sputtered. love? he had asked. because he loves akaashi, has always loved akaashi in a way that nobody else has. he savored their contact, their banter, the way akaashi would bring him tea and energy drinks after practice, and knew akaashi appreciated it when bokuto walked him back from school. if someone were to ask him how he felt about akaashi, the word would have been love—bokuto adored him with his entire heart and soul. but akaashi meant something different.
akaashi wanted the kind you could taste on your lips, not just feel on your skin. he wanted the kind that could make flowers grow in your hearts and veins.
“sorry,” bokuto had said, for he could never love anyone that way.
they’d walked home together that night after practice, side by side instead of one trailing behind the other. on good days, akaashi would fight to keep up with bokuto’s dancing spirit, while he would have to physically drag bokuto home on the bad. it was rare to have them standing parallel to one another, without one of them catching up. that, in the strangest way, would have been kind of nice, if it wasn’t for the silence.
they reached the front of akaashi’s house, and he gave bokuto the saddest smile.
“you make it easy to forget,” he said, turning around and closing the door behind him.
FILL: Team Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, G
454 words
akaashi’s touches don’t linger and their contact doesn’t last. he pulls his hand away when their fingers brush against each other by mistake, flinches when bokuto gives him a cheerful bump in the morning to say hello. bokuto doesn’t pride himself on being the best people-reader, but he knows that he’s good at picking up the things that others might overlook. now it feels like there’s a thin barrier of cling film pressed between him and akaashi. soft, transparent, and one that only they can see; stretched so thinly that it feels as though the film, like his heartstrings, could snap at any moment.
it hasn’t been the same since the day bokuto said no.
bokuto remembers tugging lightly on akaashi’s shirt that day after practice, hollering at him about a secret he’d been hiding. akaashi had been somewhat quiet, skittish for the last few weeks: but at the same time he’d been more affectionate, more forward, leaned in further when he rested his head in the crook of bokuto’s neck. his teammates had been whispering that akaashi was different now. the aura of someone who was in love, konoha had shrugged, giving bokuto a wink. “why don’t you go and talk to him?”
akaashi brought bokuto to the rooftop like a schoolgirl in a manga, and admitted the truth. akaashi was in love with him.
bokuto had flushed, and sputtered. love? he had asked. because he loves akaashi, has always loved akaashi in a way that nobody else has. he savored their contact, their banter, the way akaashi would bring him tea and energy drinks after practice, and knew akaashi appreciated it when bokuto walked him back from school. if someone were to ask him how he felt about akaashi, the word would have been love—bokuto adored him with his entire heart and soul. but akaashi meant something different.
akaashi wanted the kind you could taste on your lips, not just feel on your skin. he wanted the kind that could make flowers grow in your hearts and veins.
“sorry,” bokuto had said, for he could never love anyone that way.
they’d walked home together that night after practice, side by side instead of one trailing behind the other. on good days, akaashi would fight to keep up with bokuto’s dancing spirit, while he would have to physically drag bokuto home on the bad. it was rare to have them standing parallel to one another, without one of them catching up. that, in the strangest way, would have been kind of nice, if it wasn’t for the silence.
they reached the front of akaashi’s house, and he gave bokuto the saddest smile.
“you make it easy to forget,” he said, turning around and closing the door behind him.