Ship: Aone Takanobu/Futakuchi Kenji Fandom: Haikyuu!! Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: Hanahaki disease, and all the things that come with it, not graphic though Word Count: 510
I'm not sure if this is what you were looking for when you said 'angsty boys' but here you go
***
Kenji doesn’t think he’s ever been this scared before. Not when Koganegawa lobbed a serve straight at Sakunami’s unprotected head, not when he went to the dentist alone to get his wisdom tooth removed, not when he got a grade in the low twenties for his Physics prelim and almost retained a year (he shaded the whole optical answer sheet off by a question, not because he was dumb, no matter what his sister might say).
Right now, the only comparison he can draw to this is when he asked Aone after their Inter-High semifinal match whether he would stay on for Spring High, since they’d just lost against Karasuno. Aone had been silent for too long, long enough for it to be considered hesitation, and Kenji had felt his heart fall into the pits of his stomach, dreading the possibility that this had been their last match together, and that maybe he should have done something better, tried even harder, just to make the most of what little time they still could hold between their hands.
But Aone had said yes in the end, with a small smile that Kenji rarely saw, but the sight of which was enough to make Kenji’s heart clench every time.
Perhaps in some roundabout way it would make sense that the reason for soothing his fear back then would become the reason for the terror that has him sitting on the floor of his bedroom, doubled over the trash bin, dangerous silkiness in his hands and the taste of flowers in his mouth.
If he were a braver person, Kenji knows what he should do. See a doctor, get the surgery done, all hush hush and fast. Aone would be none the wiser.
If he were an even braver person, Kenji knows what he could do. Tell Aone about it, straightforward and brusque, just the same as always, let Aone do with the information what he will.
But that’s unfair to Aone, because it’s not his fault that Kenji has fallen off the deep end, and it’s not his fault that he has no lifebuoy for Kenji to catch.
Besides, Kenji knows: he is not that brave. He is neither brave enough to give up his feelings, nor brave enough to risk his best friend.
His hands clutch at his throat, run ragged and raw by the smoothness of poppy petals. What an apt irony then that poppies should signify peace, because Aone is and has always been the peaceful, stoic rock to the swirling tempest that Kenji is, but their mere existence is doing the exact opposite in calming Kenji’s raging heart, their stem a noose around his neck.
Aone gives him a concerned look the next day when he shows up in class, voice hoarse as he croaks, “Morning, Aone.”
He waves it off.
“It’s just a sore throat.”
Then he coughs, feeling the softness of petals against his tongue, and he swallows them back down like he would any words that might threaten to slip out from his traitorous mouth.
FILL: Team Grandstand, G
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: Hanahaki disease, and all the things that come with it, not graphic though
Word Count: 510
I'm not sure if this is what you were looking for when you said 'angsty boys' but here you go
***
Kenji doesn’t think he’s ever been this scared before. Not when Koganegawa lobbed a serve straight at Sakunami’s unprotected head, not when he went to the dentist alone to get his wisdom tooth removed, not when he got a grade in the low twenties for his Physics prelim and almost retained a year (he shaded the whole optical answer sheet off by a question, not because he was dumb, no matter what his sister might say).
Right now, the only comparison he can draw to this is when he asked Aone after their Inter-High semifinal match whether he would stay on for Spring High, since they’d just lost against Karasuno. Aone had been silent for too long, long enough for it to be considered hesitation, and Kenji had felt his heart fall into the pits of his stomach, dreading the possibility that this had been their last match together, and that maybe he should have done something better, tried even harder, just to make the most of what little time they still could hold between their hands.
But Aone had said yes in the end, with a small smile that Kenji rarely saw, but the sight of which was enough to make Kenji’s heart clench every time.
Perhaps in some roundabout way it would make sense that the reason for soothing his fear back then would become the reason for the terror that has him sitting on the floor of his bedroom, doubled over the trash bin, dangerous silkiness in his hands and the taste of flowers in his mouth.
If he were a braver person, Kenji knows what he should do. See a doctor, get the surgery done, all hush hush and fast. Aone would be none the wiser.
If he were an even braver person, Kenji knows what he could do. Tell Aone about it, straightforward and brusque, just the same as always, let Aone do with the information what he will.
But that’s unfair to Aone, because it’s not his fault that Kenji has fallen off the deep end, and it’s not his fault that he has no lifebuoy for Kenji to catch.
Besides, Kenji knows: he is not that brave. He is neither brave enough to give up his feelings, nor brave enough to risk his best friend.
His hands clutch at his throat, run ragged and raw by the smoothness of poppy petals. What an apt irony then that poppies should signify peace, because Aone is and has always been the peaceful, stoic rock to the swirling tempest that Kenji is, but their mere existence is doing the exact opposite in calming Kenji’s raging heart, their stem a noose around his neck.
Aone gives him a concerned look the next day when he shows up in class, voice hoarse as he croaks, “Morning, Aone.”
He waves it off.
“It’s just a sore throat.”
Then he coughs, feeling the softness of petals against his tongue, and he swallows them back down like he would any words that might threaten to slip out from his traitorous mouth.