Ship: tendou satori/semi eita Fandom: haikyuu Major Tags: none Other Tags: implied alcohol/drinking, emo poetry Word Count: ~38 lines
pls don't go swimming when ur drunk
***
you find him on the empty beach grains of sand slipping into your shoes grains of time slipping out of your fingers and you stand next to him, gaze disappointed and he stares out at the waters, gaze empty
“what are you doing?” you ask him, but you know he doesn’t have an answer, and you know you don’t have one, either so you crouch down next to him and hold onto your knees so you crouch down next to him and hold on
he peers at you, wide eyes familiar but instead of the sharp intelligence they are hazy and laced with something hollow (and hurt, but you don’t want to think about that) “you’re gonna catch a cold,” he says, and you don’t mention how his red hair is wet and smelling of sea-salt, and you don’t mention how it’s even colder in the apartment when he’s not there
there’s an empty bottle planted in the sand you watch as the tide rolls in and gently kisses the dirty glass before drawing back and putting distance between them before coming back and reaching forwards again
“come on,” you say eventually, when the sea-breeze has settled on your skin and he can’t hide his shivering “come on,” you say, holding out your hand, “let’s go home.”
you carry the useless bottle in one hand, a strangely docile tendou in the other, and with grains of sand swimming in your shoes and with grains of time swirling in your mind you bring him home and hopes this time he’ll stay
FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU, [G]
Fandom: haikyuu
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: implied alcohol/drinking, emo poetry
Word Count: ~38 lines
pls don't go swimming when ur drunk
***
you find him on the empty beach
grains of sand slipping into your shoes
grains of time slipping out of your fingers
and you stand next to him, gaze disappointed
and he stares out at the waters, gaze empty
“what are you doing?” you ask him, but you know
he doesn’t have an answer, and you know
you don’t have one, either
so you crouch down next to him
and hold onto your knees
so you crouch down next to him
and hold on
he peers at you, wide eyes familiar
but instead of the sharp intelligence
they are hazy and laced with something hollow
(and hurt, but you don’t want to think about that)
“you’re gonna catch a cold,” he says, and you don’t
mention how his red hair is wet
and smelling of sea-salt, and you don’t
mention how it’s even colder in the apartment
when he’s not there
there’s an empty bottle planted in the sand
you watch as the tide rolls in
and gently kisses the dirty glass
before drawing back and putting distance between them
before coming back and reaching forwards again
“come on,” you say eventually, when the sea-breeze
has settled on your skin and he can’t hide his shivering
“come on,” you say, holding out your hand,
“let’s go home.”
you carry the useless bottle in one hand,
a strangely docile tendou in the other,
and with grains of sand swimming in your shoes
and with grains of time swirling in your mind
you bring him home
and hopes this time
he’ll stay