Stargazing
For the second time, Bokuto watches as Akaashi pulls out the smooth, jade pendant, his pale fingers gently, almost tenderly, tracing its every detail, every intricate pattern carved onto it, with soft eyes. “But I know this is important.”
He wakes with a gasp. It’s loud and broken and hoarse, and there’s sweat pouring down his neck, his brow, his back. He’s trying to breathe and gather his wits about him; Bokuto’s vision clears gradually as he drags himself back to reality. Away from the surging storms of his mind, from the crashing sea that nearly drowns him. He takes a deep breath, then another as he waits for himself to settle. To calm down and gather his bearings.
His head hurts again, but no more than a dull ache; it’s a stark contrast to the agonising migraine he’d had the day before, which is, of course, a welcome change(though he isn’t sure if he should be concerned or not. He brings a shaky hand to his face, rubbing his palm over it tiredly, before it falls back onto the bed. He doesn’t notice the soaked sheets beneath him, the way the mattress sinks with his weight.
And then he looks over.
Something in him calms as soon as he sees Akaashi’s now-familiar form on the bed. His long, curled hair cascades over the bedsheets in a fluid, gorgeous pattern. The afternoon light brings his soft but sharp features into relief as it filters through the gap between the curtains, bringing out the darkness and thickness of his long lashes, his pale figure. He’s wearing little but his inner robes, and good gods, he is breathtaking. A piece of art, the epitome of beauty that Bokuto could stare at for fucking ages and still never tire of te sight of him. And the former athlete flits his eyes over his form, trying to shove a bruised and damaged Akaashi Keiji out of his mind as he makes sure the one before him is perfectly fine, safe and sound, on the bed next to his in this room, separated only by the bedside tables with their little lamps on them.
He blinks.
How did he and Akaashi end up in the same room? They’re in some apartment complex or something, for gods’ sake. There should be plenty of vacancies to accommodate two people. So why is he here? With him?
Why hasn’t he thought to question it?
Why hasn’t Akaashi thought to question it?
Perhaps the immortal is already accustomed to Bokuto’s presence. But, still, the fact that neither Hinata nor Kageyama questioned it either…
He shakes his head in an attempt to clear his noisy thoughts and looks up again. He nearly falls out of the bed; luminescent eyes meet with gunmetal-blue ones flecked with green, and Bokuto sucks in a breath. Their gazes hold for several tantalising, agonising moments. Neither of them blink. Neither of them speak. There’s an ambiguous sort of tension in the air; suddenly the room is too hot. Too suffocating. Is the air-conditioning working?
Then the immortal blinks, looks away, breaking the silence. “Bad dream?”
Bokuto’s expression says it all. His bewildered eyes meet with Akaashi’s calm ones as the latter glances back at him again. “How did you know?”
The other male’s delicate features frown ever-so-slightly. “How could I not? You were tossing and turning around and whimpering like a wounded cub. You were saying something, too, but it was too soft. Not even I could hear it. And you sounded…” He tilts his head to the side, then sits up, gathering his long hair over his shoulder and blowing a few locks hanging before his face to the side, long fingers deft and gentle. “Scared.”
Bokuto blinks and tears his eyes away from the pale hands. “What?”
Akaashi raises an elegant eyebrow. “I said you sounded scared, Bokuto-san. Scared and worried. And very sad.”
“... oh.”
“Do you want some tissue?”
“Why would I need tissue?”
Akaashi’s lips curl ever-so-slightly. “You were crying.”
Hurriedly, Bokuto reaches up to touch his face. True to the immortal’s word, it's still wet with tears, and, embarrassed, he wipes them away quickly as he shakes his head. “I’m good! I’m good. No need for tissue, thanks.”
Silence falls between the both of them like a blanket again. Bokuto opens his mouth to say something when Akaashi interrupts him. “What was it about?”
“Huh?”
“The dream—well, nightmare, I suppose. What was it about?”
It was about you.
“Uh…” I can’t fucking say that! “It was about… um.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Akaashi says gracefully, ending Bokuto’s dilemma. “It’s just…” He frowns. Again, that pale hand reaches for the pendant tucked securely in his clothes, and he shakes his head. “Someone told me that talking about your nightmares can help sometimes. But don’t force yourself.”
The small grain of guilt slaps the former athlete in the face and he can’t help but struggle to reassure him. And thank him for this small kindness. “It’s fine! It’s fine, Akaashi.”
“Why are you apologising to me?” His voice is soft, a little teasing as he shakes his head. “You’re allowed to keep your secrets.” Now, he frowns, then sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Sometimes, some things are better left unknown.” Something about the way he talks is bitter, but only for a moment. When their gazes meet again, the deity’s eyes have once again returned to their usual calm, calculating coldness.
“What time is it, by the way?” Bokuto glances around. “I don’t see a clock anywhere.”
“It should be about four in the afternoon,” comes the reply. Akaashi waves his hand once, checks the little watch in his hand, then nods his head in confirmation. “Yes. It’s a little past four in the afternoon.”
“Damn,” Bokuto says. “I slept for a while.”
“I suppose you needed it.” With a flick of his wrist, the watch disappears. “After that fight with the ghoul, I’m surprised you didn’t sleep longer.”
“What time did you sleep, then?” Bokuto asks; the words leave his lips before he can stop them.
Akaashi raises his eyebrows. “Eleven in the morning, I believe. Or a little past that. You woke me up half an hour ago.”
He blinks. “Me? I did?”
“With your tossing and turning and whimpering, it was a little hard not to.” Akaashi taps his fingers on the bed. “I called out to you a few times, but you didn’t hear me. Then you just woke up on your own. And then you started staring at me.”
He reddens. “... oh.” The silence lingers for a few moments before he speaks again. “What were you doing?”
“I was discussing the case with Kageyama and Hinata.” Akaashi casts his gaze to the window, the afternoon light filters through its gaps. The elegant curl of his mouth, as always, draws the spirit’s attention as he sighs. “I knew it would be complicated, but not this much. We can’t even tell where the head or the tail is, what more their leader?”
“They look happy together,” Bokuto offers. “Hinata and Kageyama, I mean.” He finds himself playing with his fingers in the manner that Akaashi often does, but doesn’t move to stop himself. Instead, the spirit glances down at them, watching the subconscious way his fingers pull at each other with a sort of detachment. There’s a wistfulness in his tone he doesn’t hear until he finishes talking.
On the bed adjacent to his, the pale-skinned immortal lets out a sigh as he casts his gaze to the bed, picking at the pale sheets. “... yes. They do.”
Before he can stop himself, Bokuto finds himself asking, with a sort of apprehensiveness, “Have you ever had that sort of thing before? A lover, I mean.” His ears redden at this and he can’t help but tear his gaze away from the immortal, finding the carpeted floors much more interesting now as he feels the heavenly official’s weighted, cool gaze on him. His fingers tighten around themselves and he tentatively meets Akaashi’s gaze just as the latter begins to look away, eyes glazing over in thought.
“... maybe.” He shakes his head here, then sighs. “I don’t know, to be honest. If I did have a lover, they’d be my only one. But if I can’t remember them, I’m fairly certain the answer is no.” Pale fingers gently close around the jade pendant; unexpectedly, he pulls it out, and its smooth surface catches the light. Bokuto is struck by how familiar it is to him, how its every detail is something he’s remembered right. “But I did have people important to me.” With a sigh of resignation, the jade pendant once more disappears into the folds of Akaashi’s robe as he says, with finality, “No, I’ve never had a lover. And I don’t intend to find one.”
Oh.
“Oh.” Something about the way the word leaves his lips is uncharacteristically bleak, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth even as he says it. Akaashi Keiji has never had a lover and will never think of having one. Sure, that’s fine. Totally fine. Understandable, too; being an immortal and all, he must be busy, right? There’s no way he’d find the time to hang out with his lover if he had one at all. And he’s already said that the Heavens don’t like him save for a select few. And he can’t possibly find a lover in the Lower Realms or this one what with the current situation and the vastly different lifespans, right? So it’s fine. Completely and utterly fine.
But his heart hurts a little, throbs a little, all the same. It’s like being rejected before a confession has been made, he thinks in self-deprecating amusement, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. Besides, you’ve only known him for a few days! What are you getting all carried away for?
But then some part of him thinks, we were lovers once, Keiji. Don’t you remember?
And, as always, Bokuto wonders how and why and what.
Gods, Koutarou, get your shit together already.
——————
They run into Kageyama the moment they step out of the room. Literally. Akaashi nearly bumps into him, and the younger male stumbles backwards in surprise. Unlike the gunmetal-blue-eyed immortal who elegantly regains his footing, this one flails for a few moments before regathering his bearings with his ears red and eyes cast to the ground in embarrassment. Bokuto bursts out laughing, further exaggerating Kageyama’s “please just let me die” expression while Akaashi, mercifully, doesn’t comment, apart from the ghost of a smile that plays across his thin lips before disappearing in the next moment as he clears his throat, saying, “Apologies.”
“It’s fuc—fin— fine!” Kageyama stumbles with his words, further increasing Bokuto’s laughter as he doubles over in amusement for the briefest of moments. Kageyama’s expression is severe, but with that flush on his face, it’s hard to take him seriously. So he clears his notes and ruffles his feathers, straightening his posture in an attempt to gather his lost dignity. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are!” Bokuto replies. “You’re so fine you’re red!”
“Bokuto-san! I am not red!” Kageyama cries, reddening further, but not continuing his sentence for fear of disrespecting the amused spirit in question. Then his expression changes to one of bewilderment and he blinks, squints, and tilts his head to the side. “Bokuto-san, you’re… solid?”
“What? No I’m not. I literally just walked through the wall , Kageyama-kun.” To further prove his statement, Bokuto shoves an arm towards said wall, only for it to pass right through before he pulls it back out. “See?”
“No, I know that.” Kageyama frowns, then squints like an old grandma. “I mean you’re not flickering or fading on and off last night when you were attacked by the ghoul. You have a form.”
“Well, yeah. I’m here, aren’t I?” Bokuto raises an eyebrow as he uses his hand to gesture at himself. “Why do you sound so surprised? Is something wrong? It’s always been like this.”
Kageyama and Akaashi blink as one abruptly. “What?” The latter’s cool voice is laced with a hint of surprise and incredulity, perhaps even a disbelief as he frowns gently. “Explain.”
Geez, Bokuto thinks in mild, helpless amusement. Demanding, aren’t we?
The spirit crosses his arms, frowning. “It’s always been like this. I got attacked a lot by, uh, the ‘demons’—” he uses his fingers to gesture air quotation marks at the word he’d only acquainted himself with not long ago “—when I was on the road. It wasn’t that bad at first, but they found me eventually.”
“What kinds of demons attacked you?” Akaashi asks before Kageyama can speak, frowning as his eyes examine Bokuto with a newfound, calculating interest that sends a thrilling chill up the spirit’s spine. “You were unscathed and unharmed when we first met. There wasn’t a single trace of essence on you. Only that you were unusually powerful.”
“To be honest, I don’t remember myself who or what attacked me. I just know they kept coming for me for a time and that it wasn’t fun. Like, at all, especially since I can’t fight to begin with,” Bokuto replies, shrugging sheepishly. “All I can do is throw a few punches. It was real nasty because I kept getting beat up. I healed pretty quickly, though. I’ve always been fast with recoveries. I rarely got sick when I was alive.”
“Beaten up how?” Comes Kageyama’s curious question, his eyes keen. “Like. punches? Were there any weapons? Or was it just plain wild fighting?”
Bokuto frowns here. “All of the above? Most of them couldn’t even speak. But there were some with weapons that came for me. They said some nasty shit.” Bokuto carefully lifts up the back of his shirt and turns around to reveal a scar running from his left shoulder blade to his right hip; it’s a pale grey colour and it looks like it’s been there for months. Though, of course, it doesn’t bother Bokuto one bit. Over his shoulder, he says, “I don’t really remember what the guy said, but he said something like, ‘You’re missing a scar or two’ and he just went for it. We fought for a long time.”
“Who won?” Akaashi asks, frowning as he turns his gaze back to Bokuto as the latter turns around.
“I did. I snatched his sword—shit’s heavier than it looks, I’ll tell you that—and stabbed him with it or something.”
The two immortals in front of him exchange a silent look, but something about Kageyama’s expression is slightly more complicated than Akaashi’s. Either way, they’re both silent, even as the cool-headed immortal steps forward to speak again. “Let me see the scar.”
“Sure,” Bokuto replies, too fast, too eager, as he turns around like an excited dog with his tail wagging so severely it might go bald. He lifts the back of his shirt again and, though Akaashi doesn’t touch him, the familiar weight of his cool gaze almost brings him to his knees. Fuck, is he supposed to have this much power over him? He can’t stop reveling in his attention.
“That’s not right,” the immortal murmurs softly beneath his breath. “This isn’t an ordinary wound. That was a sword demon.” Akaashi’s gaze hardens as it meets with Bokuto’s. “A new spirit like you wouldn’t have survived this cut.”
“But I did,” Bokuto replies. “And I have no fucking idea how either.”
The immortal steps away, shaking his head. “What are you, Bokuto Koutarou?”
“I would have thought you of all people would know that,” comes the spirit’s thoughtful reply from a place that is not his own. Surprised, he closes his mouth, but the words have already left his lips. Akaashi narrows his eyes.
“What?”
Kageyama clears his throat. “The point is, Bokuto-san’s an unusual spirit. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you are solidifying.” The blue-eyed immortal tilts his head to the side in thought. “You’ll have an actual form in a few days’ time, at the very least.”
“Is that weird, too?”
“Maybe,” Akaashi replies finally. But his gaze is thoughtful. “But being weird, in your case, Bokuto-san, is not necessarily a bad thing.” Then he looks over at Kageyama. “Where’s Hinata?”
“He went out to look for more backup,” comes the reply. “Just in case Iwaizumi-san doesn’t take matters into his own hands, or in case something goes wrong even if he does.” The young immortal purses his lips, then frowns. “I just don’t get how this was covered up for so long.”
Akaashi folds his hands together beneath his sleeves; he’d gotten dressed just before they left the room. “Beom is too far away to know of this matter in detail. I can’t ask him right now, anyway.”
“Beom?” Kageyama blinks, blanking out for a few moments, before recognition flashes in his eyes. “Ah! The snake demon, right? He’s an informant?”
Akaashi frowns. “Among other things, yes, but his information always comes at a fair price. Apart from me and a few others, he always charges, and not necessarily with money. But he’s reliable.”
“He’s a flirt,” Kageyama laments bitterly. “He has no shame, and he’s smug as fuck. I don’t like him.”
Akaashi’s smile is a little helpless. “Yes, he’s all of that. But he’s fair in judgement, and he knows to separate work from personal matters. And he’s… been through a lot. He’s a Sakurai, you know. Sakurai Shun’s cousin.”
Silence, for a moment. Then Kageyama’s expression changes from disdain to shock to disbelief, then pity, even, before he speaks again. If not for how severe his tone was, Bokuto would have laughed from the ever-changing colours of his face. “Wait. He’s that Sakurai-sensei’s nephew? ”
“Yes.” Akaashi gives a pained nod. “But he doesn’t like to tell people. His name—Beom—was given to him by his mother, who was Korean. She… was of Dong He* as I was.”
*doesn't actually exist. 冬荷 is one of the names of the kingdoms. The first character means winter.
Dong He is in the East. The Chinese character for East is also pronounced "dong", with the same tone. ;D
“You’re not from Dong He,” Bokuto says quickly, then frowns. Surprised, the other two turn to him and Akaashi speaks up again, his voice uncharacteristically sharp and hoarse and bitter.
“And how would you know that if you weren’t even alive, then?” He asks softly despite his scathing tone. “You don’t even know where it is.”
He’s right, Bokuto knows, but still, he shakes his head in stubborn refusal. “You’re not from Dong He. You’re not.”
Akaashi’s eyebrows furrow together and he opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by Kageyama, who intercepts. “He’s right, Akaashi-san.” His voice is soft, coaxing, though the spirit fears that it’s to no avail when the cold deity before them’s expression crystallises further. “You’re not from Dong He. You were born in Yao Long*—you said so yourself.”
*also doesn't actually exist. 耀龙. Means something like Honoured Dragon.
“It makes no difference in the end,” Akaashi snaps, glaring. “Both have never repaid me for what I have done to them and what they have done to me.”
“Akaashi-san—”
“You weren’t there when the wars were happening, Kageyama,” Akaashi bites out his harsh reply, effectively cutting him off. “You don’t know what it was like, and you don’t know what I went through for the sake of my home country, which took everything from me in the end, too, anyway. At least I spent most of my time in Dong He.”
“But you were happier in Yao Long, weren’t you?” Kageyama’s voice is guilty, soft, as he casts a fleeting glance at Bokuto. For a moment, he wonders if the latter knows how he looks right now; pained and sympathetic, torn between the urge to comfort Akaashi Keiji and just let him be, like a secret lover who doesn’t know his place or what to do, only that he’s concerned and sad.
But no. Akaashi scoffs coldly. “Me? Happier there, when they couldn’t even trust me and treated me the same way I was treated when I was forced into the brothels and Bai Ze when I was young and in Dong He? No. At least I was respected there after I started doing my jobs. I’ve never had a home, Kageyama Tobio.” Whether unconsciously or not, neither of them but Akaashi himself knows, but he reaches for the pendant tucked beneath his robes all the same. “The word ‘home’ has long been cast from my dictionary. I no longer understand it, and I no longer know how it feels to have it.”
Bokuto realises something.
The war between two kingdoms, so many years ago, has long since ended.
But Akaashi Keiji…
Akaashi Keiji has never stopped fighting the war with himself.
——————
Bokuto finds himself on the roof.
It’s never struck him how truly tall this building is until now. It’s so high up that even the lights of Miyagi can scarcely be seen beneath the clouds. Instead, the fake stars below make way for the real ones above him, and Bokuto is completely and utterly mesmerised by them. The vastness of it, too; the shining, twinkling, little things set against the dark sky, spanning far before him, yet looking as though it’s within an arm’s reach.
He rather likes the stars.
Today is decidedly more peaceful than the other ones since he’s come here. How long has it been since he’s met Akaashi? He’s lost track of time. It’ll be six days, soon, once the sun rises(because with Bokuto, it hasn’t really been a new day until the sun comes into view). He’s struck by how quiet the world around him is; save for the occasional, faded sounds of a too-loud motorcycle or the honking of a car horn, there’s hardly anything else.
A sense of tranquil falls over him. The spirit, with his legs dangling over the edge of the roof, leans back on his arms as he cranes his neck upwards to trace the patterns of the stars above him.
He’s always liked the stars. The sky, in general. The vastness of it, the way it stretches before you, yet seems so close at the same time, is mind-breaking. Sometimes, Bokuto tries to see whether he can see its end, only to find himself staring endlessly into its abyss, staring up, up, up, until the only thing on his mind is, wow, holy shit. He wonders if those of the Upper Plane know how the sky ends. Wonders if they have the power to cover it with their very palms.
Bokuto finds himself thinking of his conversation with Akaashi and Kageyama. The astonishment and disbelief on their faces when he’d told them what happened. To be fair, those months of his wandering, to him, are a blur. He can only vaguely remember being constantly on the run from this and that, that they wanted to eat him or whatever. He remembers being barely able to walk, his essence so faded he feared he’d disappear forever, and so tired he’d faint if he closed his eyes for too long.
Now that he thinks about it, how did he survive?
He frowns, leans forward. No, he can remember fighting. He can remember fighting back and always losing, so how does he always come out victorious in the end? And the thing about healing—it’s clear now that his rate of it is abnormal even by powerful spirit terms, so how? Akaashi told him something when they’d first met. That he was ‘powerful, but weak’.
He didn’t understand at first. He still doesn’t. But Bokuto thinks he’s starting to get it, even just a little.
He frowns. How do people sit in thought for so long? He feels like he’s going to go crazy with all this thinking. He’s never been good at connecting dots, and he sure as hell won’t start now.
“Bokuto-san?” A soft voice abruptly pulls him from his reverie. Startled, Bokuto lets out a yelp as he jumps and turns so fast he gets whiplash. Luminescent eyes meet with gunmetal-blue ones, with delicate eyebrows scrunched together and elegant, thin lips gently pulled down into a frown. “What are you doing here? How did you even find this place?”
“Uh…” Surprised, Bokuto clears his throat and tries to reel in his embarrassment. “I asked…?”
“And they just… let you?”
“Why?” Bokuto tilts his head to the side in curiosity, frowning. “Am I not supposed to be on the roof?”
Akaashi blinks once then sighs, shaking his head. “No, it’s just—not many people have access to the roof. It’s… a very private place, I suppose.”
“For brooding?” He can’t help the teasing lilt his voice takes as he flashes the immortal official before him a charming, broad smile.
Akaashi looks away, but the slight curl of his lip doesn’t escape the spirit’s notice. “... yes. Brooding. I suppose that’s a good word for it.” He turns his gaze back to Bokuto, then raises an eyebrow as he steps forward, quietly taking a seat next to the spirit. He leaves a safe amount of space between them; one that Bokuto is tempted to close without any regard for the other, only to stop himself before he gets too carried away. He fights down the impulse just as the heavenly official speaks again. “You didn’t answer my other question. What are you doing here?”
To think about you and myself, Bokuto thinks quietly. Us, maybe?
But he says, “I wanted to see if I could see the stars from here. I can, by the way.” He gestures at the vastness before him, above him. “It’s really pretty.” Like you. But I already told you that.
Akaashi raises an unconvinced eyebrow before speaking again. “What were you thinking about?”
Aw, man, he got me. So he chuckles and returns his gaze skyward, reaching out his hands and using his thumbs and forefingers to form a rectangular frame. He closes an eye and looks through it, at the stars, as though he intends to sear it into memory. That, and this moment, with Akaashi Keiji by his side. “It’s nothing much. Just weird dreams, I guess.” Sighing, he puts his hands down, then frowns. “I just think they’re important. I don’t know how yet, but they’re important.” He glances over at Akaashi, who nods thoughtfully, and he’s suddenly grateful that the latter think he’s a little screwed up in the head. Since, well, he would, if he heard someone prattling on about how dreams are important and might be more than just dreams. “It’s not that important.”
“It is if you make it to be,” comes the calm reply. Unlike Bokuto, whose gaze is focused on the sky above, Akaashi stares ahead. “You don’t look like the type to think about things like that unless they’re really important. In detail, anyway. Unless it was something stupid that made you think you were high on something, I can’t see you taking apart the puzzle pieces for a dream unless it really struck a chord.”
Bokuto flinches back, surprised. I feel called out. “Eh…”
Akaashi says nothing, but the raised eyebrow he gives the spirit is enough. Am I wrong?
And, no. He’s not. So he sighs and huffs out a laugh. “What’s this, Akaashi? Suddenly, it feels like you know me so well.”
“I’ve spent six days wandering about with you,” Akaashi reminds him. “That’s plenty of time to learn about someone. I’ve picked up enough things.”
He frowns. “But it’s only been six days.”
“And for six of those days, you and I have been together for every second,” Akaashi reminds. “You’ve spent your life with friends in bursts of hours or a few days, but have you spent all twenty-four hours of one with them?”
He supposes he has a point. So Bokuto laughs, shakes his head as he leans back to accommodate the weight being thrown about by his shaking shoulders. “Alright, fine, you got me, smartass.” When he calms down, he fixes his gaze on Akaashi, not missing the slight amusement twinkling in the other’s eyes. “So I’ll ask you something now instead. Do you dream?”
The twinkle fades somewhat, and Bokuto nearly smacks himself for extinguishing it. Akaashi breathes out a small sigh as he casts his gaze downwards, at the sprawling buildings below, at the artificial lights that serve to make the view below akin to a sea of fake stars. “... sometimes.”
“Sometimes? What of?”
The deity frowns. “Of… things. I don’t know. I see glimpses, mostly. But I never remember them.”
For one reason or another, Bokuto’s heart skips a beat, and he sidles closer to Akaashi. To his surprise, the latter doesn’t move away; their bodies are so close their thighs are almost touching, and still, the dark-robed immortal doesn’t move away. A thrill runs through Bokuto’s body, but, like a coward, he stops himself from moving any closer for fear of scaring him away. “Glimpses?” His voice is soft. Softer than usual, and low. Akaashi sucks in a small breath.
“Glimpses,” he affirms, voice a little hoarse, a little quiet. “Of things I’ve forgotten before, but they’re never clear enough for me to understand anything.” For the second time, Bokuto watches as Akaashi pulls out the smooth, jade pendant, his pale fingers gently, almost tenderly, tracing its every detail, every intricate pattern carved onto it, with soft eyes. “But I know this is important.”
His heart warms. “Important?” He’s inching forward every-so-slightly. Just a little more, and they’ll be touching. Bokuto’s tense and ready to move away so long as Akaashi voices or shows any dissent or discomfort, but he isn’t showing a thing. He’s as cool and unruffled as ever. He doesn’t even seem to take notice of their decreasing proximity.
“Important. To me, and… in general.” Finally—finally—he looks up and their gazes meet. Bokuto finds himself short of breath. “I don’t know how or why, but it is.”
“Is that why you keep it?” Closer.
“Yes.” Their gazes hold; Akaashi’s grip around the pendant tightens, but he doesn’t look away. His breathing grows shallow. “I feel like it’s… I don’t know. It feels like it’ll come in use in the future.” His voice softens. “And… someone important gave it to me.”
“Important how?”
“To me, I think.” Pulling his gaze away, he looks at the jade thing in his hands. “And to the country I was under.”
“Yao Long?”
“Yes.” He frowns, here. “But why?” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. Bokuto doesn’t understand what the question means, but he feels pained all the same. And he has a feeling Akaashi is asking himself more than anything. “But they were important. To everyone.”
His heart warms a little. “That’s nice.”
Akaashi smiles a little. “Yes. It is.”
There’s a bout of silence. Then, surprisingly, Akaashi, who is always ever-s0-quiet, is the one to break it. “You asked me earlier—about lovers.” He tucks the pendant away. “I’ve never had one. I don’t—” Akaashi hesitates, cuts himself off with pursed lips before he continues again “—I don’t know how it feels. To love. Or to be loved.” He meets Bokuto’s gaze, hesitantly, and Bokuto is struck by the absolute vulnerability in them. Somewhere, deep down, Akaashi Keiji longs for it, he realises. For love. For warmth. For companionship.
For someone to keep him company in the world he thinks to be so very lonely.
He continues. “What Hinata and Kageyama have—I won’t ever have that.” Silently, Bokuto scooches ever-closer, and finally, finally, their thighs touch. And Akaashi doesn’t pull away. In fact, he almost… leans into it. “And I don’t deserve it. I’ve done too many things in this long life of mine.”
Unable to help himself, he blurts, “Like what?”
Akaashi pauses. Then he sighs and pulls away completely. Bokuto sees the change as it happens; the way his eyes dim, harden, the way the soft lines of his face harden. The way he pulls away and goes back into himself as he once again puts a little distance between them.
It’s like he’s driven a knife through Bokuto’s heart, really.
“Why am I telling you all of this?” Akaashi asks softly, shaking his head. “I must truly be tired. I don’t even know you.”
And, just like that, the second knife drives itself home.
“But you do,” he insists. “You do know me.” The same way I know you.
“I don’t, Bokuto-san,” comes the cool retort. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t make any sense.”
And he’s right. So he says something else instead. “Fine. But tell me anyway.”
“Why do you want to know? It was a long, long time ago.”
He crosses his arms. “Exactly. It was a long time ago. So why are you still letting your past dictate your present, your future? Why are you letting it tie you down?”
Akaashi’s gaze hardens. There’s silence for a few tense moments. It’s only when he sighs that Bokuto realises he’s been holding his breath. “The first time I killed someone, I was twelve. On my birthday, I think.” He rubs his hands over his arms, closes his eyes in an attempt to steady his breathing. Bokuto stays silent, and he waits. He doesn’t notice the way Akaashi’s hands shake ever-so-slightly. “He was a patron.”
Bokuto blinks. “A patron?”
“I worked in a brothel as a courtesan. I was tossed in there the day I turned ten,” Akaashi bites out harshly. “He was my client for the night.”
The way he says it sends a chill down Bokuto’s spine. “... Oh.”
“He was a noble.” Akaashi’s fingers fiddle with themselves. His nails scratch down the back of his hand, but he appears wholly indifferent to the pain. “An old man, I think.” His fingers press in. Hard enough to draw blood. “I killed him. Killed him before he could put it in. And then they sent me away.” Red, on his hands. Red, on his face. Someone howls at him, begs for mercy. Red, red, red, red. The skin beneath his nails break and blood flows.
“Where?”
“To Bai Ze Academy. They taught me how to kill better and how to cultivate.”
Bokuto finally notices the shaking, the bloody nails and his bloody hand. Alerted, the spirit asks, “Akaashi?”
“Bokuto-san.” He sounds distant.
“Akaashi!” Unable to help it, he seizes Akaashi’s hand, and, startled, the deity jumps, then shoves him away in the next second before he can stop to think about what he’s doing. Bokuto topples to the ground in surprise, but he scrambles up. Akaashi Keiji looks as composed as ever, but his eyes are glazed. Taking a gentler approach, he keeps his hands at his sides, his expression pained as he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”
Akaashi doesn’t acknowledge him. So he continues. “Look at me.”
He doesn’t.
Gently tapping Akaashi’s shoulders, he puts himself in his line of sight. “Akaashi, look at me. Can you see me?”
Akaashi blinks once, twice. Slowly, he nods.
“Okay. Okay, listen to me. Breathe with me, okay? In and out. In and out.” He keeps his gaze wholly on the immortal before him. “Um. Uh, okay, look at me and tell me where you are right now.”
“Roof,” Akaashi utters. “Of Hinata’s complex. On a roof, watching the stars. Talking to you.”
“Talking to me, yes.” Gently, he raises a hand, and Akaashi takes the smallest step backward. He pauses his movements. “Akaashi, I’m putting my hands on your shoulders. Is that alright with you?”
The deity hesitates, then nods. Bokuto does just that as he meets the deity’s slowly clearing gaze. “Okay, good. Good. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It won’t happen again, yeah? And it’s over now. I’m sorry.”
There is always more to the war within oneself than meets the eye.
They stand there for a few moments more, quietly, matching their breaths. Finally, Akaashi pulls away. The blood on his hands has dried, but he doesn’t bother to clean it up as he breathes out a slow breath. “Sorry. That normally… I thought it wouldn’t happen again.”
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have made you talk about it.” He feels terrible.
Akaashi waves a hand and opens his mouth to speak, only to pause as his eyes catch onto a black figure flying its way to the building. It’s a crow; around its neck, there’s an orange colour, with something fastened to it.
“What’s that?”
“Hinata’s messenger.” Akaashi is already making his way to the door. “Let’s go see what the Heavens have to say.”
——————
“You’re not going to open it?” Bokuto asks. Akaashi’s hand is devoid of any wound or blood now(it was a small scratch, after all). He clutches the scroll in it.
“No,” the deity replies, shaking his head. “It’s best that Hinata and Kageyama read it first. Let’s go.” The deity is already winding through the halls and floors of the building. Bokuto hurries to follow in his steps.
“But how do you know where they are?”
Akaashi lets out an uncharacteristic snort. “Where else could they be?”
The doors of the lift open and they step into the suite once more. Akaashi raps his knuckles against the wall—hard—thrice, and says no more as he continues to walk into the room. He stops before a door and, again, knocks before opening it.
And they find Hinata and Kageyama hurrying to dress, cheeks flushed and hair a mess. Bokuto catches a glimpse of—is that a hickey?—on Hinata’s chest, and looks away, eyes wide and face flushed. Like a champ, Akaashi remains unmoving and unperturbed as he patiently waits for the couple caught in spicy action to gather their shattered dignity and wits. “What’s up?” Hinata squeaks, when they’ve finally been dressed.
Akaashi wordlessly hands over the scroll. “Your messenger came back with this.”
That seems to be enough to snap the two out of it. Kageyama and Hinata exchange a look and the former reaches out. He unfurls the scroll after undoing the ribbon tied around it to keep it in place, and together, the couple read through it.
They suck in a breath. Hinata and Kageyama look up. “They’re sending help,” Kageyama says.
“When?”
“He should be on his way right now. He’ll be arriving—”
Kitsu barges into the room after knocking haphazardly thrice. “Hinata-sama! Kageyama-sama! He’s here—!”
The couple’s grins are identical. Hinata finishes his boyfriend’s sentence. “Now.”
A new set of footsteps reaches their ears; rhythmic and forceful, the sound of heavy leather boots colliding with the ground. The five of them collectively turn around to meet with harsh dark eyes set against tanned skin and black, spiky hair.
Iwaizumi Hajime tilts his head to the side. His voice is rough, deep, impressionable.
“Yo.”