The first time Bokuto met him was at the Ministry.
It was a comfortable spring, Bokuto seated at his desk, leafing through documents advertising the sale of the latest, rarest magical creatures all over the world. To an outsider, the documents would look like nothing more than official looking Ministry documents he had been given, but to the charmer, they saw leaflets upon leaflets of advertisements of magical creature sales, all tucked away neatly on a corner of Bokuto’s desk.
Despite it being the Ministry of Magic, simple concealment charms worked tremendously.
As he highlighted a good deal on a group of Bowtruckles, the door to his private study opened. Disturbed, Bokuto looked up, immediately meeting the eyes of Kuroo as he walked in.
“Kuroo,” Bokuto greeted with a nod. His superior nodded back, not even stopping for a greeting before he placed a sealed document on his table.
“What is this supposed to be?” Bokuto asked, picking up the document in his hands.
“You won’t be able to look inside until you actually open the document,” he pointed out. “The seal’s for you to rip; I already know what’s inside it anyway.”
Impatiently, Bokuto ripped open the seal on the envelope, throwing the piece of paper that had been tripped along the envelope line to the side. Quickly, he shuffled the papers inside out of the envelope, eyeing them curiously, before turning his gaze back to Kuroo questioningly.
“Is this some sort of mission?” Bokuto murmured, flipping the papers to the correct side.
It didn't seem like the mission assignment papers Bokuto was so used to seeing. They always came with an official Ministry of Magic seal on the top, written in invisible ink that he would have to charm in order to be able to read. Instead, the paper Kuroo had given him was merely a profile, a black and white photograph of a man with neat black hair and pretty eyes pinned on the front of the heavily blacked out text.
“No,” Kuroo murmured. “It’s more of an… assignment.”
“Assignment?” Bokuto repeated, confusion evident in his tone. “This is just… a profile, and it doesn’t have much information to begin with.”
“Akaashi Keiji,” Kuroo offered, pulling up a seat to rest himself while he faced Bokuto. “He’s being contained within the Ministry of Magic. No one other than you, me and the minister, along with the people who captured him in the first place, know of his existence.”
“Captured him?” Bokuto repeated, eyes bugging out. “Why would you do that to someone? What crime did he even commit? Was it so bad that you obliviated everyone who knew him?”
“Not a crime,” Kuroo mumbled, feet shuffling uncomfortably under Bokuto’s questioning gaze. “He… didn’t commit a crime.”
“Then?”
“His existence,” Kuroo began, “is a crime in itself.”
“His… existence?” Bokuto asked, staring at him.
“Akaashi Keiji,” Kuroo murmured. “Obscurial, class five under the Ministry of Magic’s official scale. He’s a threat.”
Bokuto tossed the papers onto the table, staring at Kuroo. “You know I failed defense against the dark arts at school; I can’t deal with something that requires defensive technique. Why come to me? You should’ve asked Sakusa, or Atsumu for that matter; those two are aurors way beyond their years.”
“Because,” Kuroo said, each syllable punctuated, “you’re the world’s best magizoologist, compared to even Newt Scamander himself.”
Bokuto frowned. “Please don’t tell me—”
“Akaashi Keiji is set to be euthanized,” Kuroo murmured, “if no one can fix him.”
“Kuroo, don’t—”
“And you’re the only one who can do that.”
And so, Bokuto found himself, standing outside a barred, guarded room with trembling fingers and a notepad in hand.
Is this what prison therapists feel like?
With a deep breath and nod to the guards, they opened the door, slowly letting him slip in, before sealing the doors again.
Possibly forever.
But the Akaashi Keiji sitting in front of him wasn’t what he expected to see.
Coming into the room, despite having seen the blurry printed photo of the obscurial, he imagined a tall, brooding man. In his mind’s eye, he half expected to see a depressed recluse in the corner of the room, knees hugged to his chest.
But what he saw couldn’t have been the complete opposite of what he’d imagined.
Akaashi Keiji sat in the middle of the room behind a desk, nose deep into a book with words on the cover so complex that Bokuto could barely read it. It was some form of ancient runes Bokuto had never bothered to pick up whilst at Hogwarts and yet the obscurial, in the center of the room, seemed to understand every word that was written in it with perfect literacy.
Akaashi Keiji was tall and even prettier than Bokuto had made him out to be from the picture. He was lean, nose perfectly shaped as he continued to read, paying no mind to Bokuto’s entrance into the room. His eyes, intense with concentration, were gunmetal blue, Bokuto’s heart skipping a beat as he watched it glaze across the paper, taking in every word he read.
“You must be Akaashi Keiji,” Bokuto murmured.
Finally, he looked up. He stared at Bokuto, not a single emotion betrayed in his eyes as he stared at Bokuto, eyes completely emotionless.
“Akaashi Keiji, yes,” he repeated, politeness lacing his tone. “And you are?”
“Bokuto Koutarou,” he replied, reaching forward to shake his hand. “Magizoologist.”
“You’re… him,” Akaashi mumbled. “I know of you. Your book, your update of Newt Scamander’s initial work, was impressive.”
Bokuto’s eyes widened. He knew of him?
“Thank you,” Bokuto nodded, smiling brightly at Akaashi. “I’m here to—”
“You’re here because of me,” Akaashi responded, voice plain. “Or at least, what I am.”
Bokuto narrowed his eyes, confusion glistening in his eyes. “What you are?”
“You were assigned here because I’m an obscurus, or an obscurial, whichever form you’d prefer,” Akaashi continued to speak, voice perfectly even. “You don’t need to dance around the issue; I know why you’re here.”
Bokuto frowned, crossing his leg over his other. “You’re right. I’m here because you’re an obscurus.”
“And they’ll kill me if you don’t cure me.”
Akaashi’s tone was completely flat, even as he spoke of his impending demise. There was no emotion, no fear even as he spoke those words, completely calm, collected.
It almost scared Bokuto.
“You won’t be able to do anything about it,” Akaashi dismissed, turning back to his book, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There are no known cures to a manifested obscurial.”
“What makes you think so?” Bokuto challenged, looking at him evenly.
“Books,” Akaashi responded, words simple. “There are no known cases of an obscurial surviving after having manifested in someone. Either the person completely turns into an obscurial before getting killed by the ministry, or the obscurial kills its host; it’s no stretch to believe that I have a year left, with or without the ministry.”
“You’re wrong,” Bokuto retorted. “There are instances of obscurials surviving, and even theories that suggest it’s a sickness that can be cured.”
“A sickness that the Ministry believes is irreversible,” Akaashi responded. “They’ll kill me, unless the obscurial does so first.”
Silence.
“Albus Dumbledore.”
Akaashi looked up at him, eyes questioning as he looked at Bokuto, curiosity filling his gaze. “Albus Dumbledore?”
“Albus Dumbledore once proposed a theory,” Bokuto spoke, voice even as he looked at Akaashi in the eye, “that if an obscurial is given reason to revert and be destroyed, it would cease to exist and cure the victim.”
“What?”
“Obscurials are born of neglect,” Bokuto continued, eyes narrowed. “Albus Dumbledore proposed that it could be reverted.”
“That’s impossible, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi responded, voice gentle. “Please stop, it won’t change the situation. The ministry will kill me by next week whether or not you’re here to witness it; leaving now would be the best option.”
“No.”
Akaashi looked up at him. “No?”
Bokuto rose from his seat, clutching his notepad, staring at the obscurus defiantly. “I’m not going to leave.”
Akaashi stared at him.
“Just you wait, Akaashi Keiji,” he proclaimed, stepping closer to him. “You will be cured.”
Bokuto sat opposite Akaashi.
Bokuto had successfully bargained with Kuroo for a couch, allowing Akaashi a more comfortable living space. Bokuto now sat on a sofa opposite to Akaashi’s, watching carefully as he traced his fingertips across an ancient book, slowly reading it, eyes as concentrated as it had been the previous day.
“Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto looked up, nervousness churning in him. “Hm?”
“Did you go to Hogwarts?”
Bokuto looked at Akaashi, smiling. “Yeah, I did go to Hogwarts. Did you?”
Akaashi paused, something crossing his eyes at Bokuto’s words. Immediately, Bokuto clamped a hand over his mouth, a slight gasp escaping him.
“I’m so sorry, I forgot that—”
“That I can’t do magic?” Akaashi asked, a small smile coming over his face. It was forlorn. “You’re a top magizoologist, Bokuto-san. I would’ve thought that inability to conduct magic would be the first thing you learned about an obscurial.”
Anxiety gnawed in Bokuto. “I’m so sorry I just… forgot, momentarily.”
“It’s… alright,” Akaashi smiled, looking at him.
Silence.
“I got a letter, though.”
Bokuto tilted his head, looking at Akaashi. “A letter?”
He smiled sadly. “I was invited to Hogwarts, a long time ago. They sent it through the most beautiful snowy white owl.”
“Mine came in a gray owl,” Bokuto smiled, laughing slightly. “It banged its head against our window several times until it realised where the door was.”
A small chuckle rose from Akaashi’s lips, eyes distant, as if he was imagining the bumping of an owl on a hard window. “I expect that you probably took the owl in?”
Bokuto smiled, chuckling. “Yeah. I took it in and used my mom’s things to treat its cut before I sent it back to Hogwarts.”
“All on your own?”
Bokuto smiled.
Akaashi mirrored him. “No wonder you’re the greatest magizoologist of our time.”
“I’m pretty sure that treating owl window bruises doesn't count as magizoology, Akaashi.”
Before their conversation could continue, a ministry worker walked into the room, a silent signal for Bokuto to end the conversation. As he did, hesitance gnawed through Bokuto, blossoming in his gut as he stared at Akaashi, unsure of what to do.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi smiled. It was radiant amidst the darkness of the room.
Bokuto smiled. He was perceptive as always.
“Tomorrow, then.”
The next day, Akaashi asked him about Quidditch.
“Were you on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, Bokuto-san?”
And before he knew it, Bokuto hit him with Quidditch stories like a freight train.
He told Akaashi everything about Quidditch. He told them of the expanses of rolling emerald fields in the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, about the team he’d worked so hard to train during his years as a Hogwarts player. He recounted his matches, telling Akaashi the impossible ways in which he’d won a certain match, animatedly describing his various scores and goals as a chaser, even conjuring images in the air, animating the game for him.
“Chaser must’ve been pretty tiring,” Akaashi smiled, enthralled. “Were you captain?”
“Of course I was the captain!”
Akaashi paused. “Why didn’t you play professionally?”
Bokuto frowned, placing his hand on his chin, brows furrowing in concentration.
“I don’t… know,” he decided, smiling. “I was scouted and everything, but I never decided to sign onto a team.”
Akaashi tilted his head. “Do you regret it?”
“Why would I?” Bokuto smiled, teeth showing. “After all, if I did play, I would’ve never met you, Akaashi.”
And for the briefest moment, Akaashi let out a smile.
“Bokuto-san, your time is up,” the guard called out.
Bokuto nodded towards the guard, pulling one last smile at Akaashi before he began his walk out of the room, content bubbling in him as he watched Akaashi smile back.
The following day, Akaashi asks him about Hogsmeade.
“Have you never been to Hogsmeade, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks, chewing on a bar of chocolate he had decided to bring with him that day. Akaashi nibbled on a square that he had taken from the portion offered to him by Bokuto, gentle even as he ate the sugary treat.
Akaashi shook his head. “What is it like?”
“It’s like…” Bokuto said, waffling around for a word, “... magic!”
Bokuto watched as Akaashi smiled, watching intently as he pulled up trick after trick in front of him, contentment rising in him as Akaashi’s gaze followed the animations he rose into the air with his wand, twisting shapes in the air deftly, light rays emitting from the tip of the cherry wood.
“You got to go every weekend?” Akaashi asked, entranced.
Bokuto smiled. “Maybe someday, I’ll bring you there, Akaashi.”
That day, he sat closer to Akaashi. He didn’t sit on the sofa opposite of him anymore, choosing to sit on the opposite end of the sofa Akaashi had claimed as his own, casting magic spells into the space between them. Each time he did so, Akaashi watched the shapes dance in the air with much fondness, tracing them carefully with his eyes, taking in each and every spell he performed in the air.
“Do you want to try, Akaashi?” Bokuto asked, watching as the obscurial traced the movements of his wand.
Immediately, Akaashi shook his head. “I don’t want to risk anything.”
Bokuto reached forwards, pulling Akaashi’s hand into his own, dragging him to his feet. “I promise it’s really easy, Akaashi. C’mon, I’ll help you!”
And so, Bokuto, pulling Akaashi to a standing position, placed his own wand into Akaashi’s hand, directing his hand to hold it up in the air. From behind him, Bokuto guided Akaashi’s hands, practicing a swirling shape in the air several times, getting Akaashi’s hand used to the foreign movements of magic. Each time he traced the shape in the air, he murmured the incantation into Akaashi’s ear, a constant repetition of the soothing magical words.
“Ready?” Bokuto asked.
“I don’t know if I should—”
“I’ll be here,” Bokuto murmured, holding Akaashi’s wand hand in his own. “Don’t be scared.”
Akaashi nodded.
And so, with a deep breath, he flicked the wand in the air, murmuring the incantation that Bokuto had told him, words barely a whisper.
Almost instantaneously, sparks flew from the wand, purple light emitting from it, encasing itself around the book Akaashi had pointed the wand at. The book rose gently into the air, levitating in a mess of sparkles and magical glimmers, the light gently flowing to the floor, as if it was glitter from a craft project.
Gently, Bokuto guided Akaashi’s hand, gently allowing the book to move through the air, settling it carefully on the floor. Under his, Akaashi’s hands were shaking, trembling as he watched the book move at his command.
“That’s cool, right?” Bokuto enthused, tilting his face to check Akaashi’s expression.
Simultaneously, Akaashi turned his head, mouths opened in a half formed word. As he did, he brought their faces together, only centimeters apart from each other.
He looked at Akaashi, breath hitching in his throat as he felt the other’s breath fan gently across his face, heating his face in the slightest. His hand was still over Akaashi’s, heart fluttering as he stared at the other, dark gunmetal eyes staring into his own.
A voice behind them. “Bokuto-san, your time is up.”
Bokuto jumped, pushing himself away from Akaashi as he heard the voice. “Yes, I understand.”
“I believe that Kuroo-san has also called you to his office,” he continued, watching through narrowed eyes as Bokuto took his wand back from Akaashi. “Please find him in his office immediately after this.”
Bokuto nodded. “I understand.”
And with a quick goodbye, Bokuto found himself dragged out of the room, helpless as he watched the door shut behind him.
In moments, Bokuto found himself seated in front of Kuroo, the guard that had dragged him out of the isolated room standing next to him. Kuroo had an apprehensive look on his face as he stared at Bokuto, observing something else on a paper in front of him simultaneously. Bokuto stared at him expectantly, not a word leaving his own lips, thoughts completely empty.
“You let him use your wand,” Kuroo finally said. He flung the papers onto the table, folding his arms in front of him. “You were meant to fix him, not teach him magic that he could potentially use against the ministry.”
“I am fixing him,” Bokuto seethed, eyes narrowing as he heard Kuroo’s strained tone. “Obscurials are born of repressed magic, it would only make sense that the best way to cure him is to expose him to basic magic. He needs to learn to embrace his own magic, not repress it like he has before!”
“Bokuto,” Kuroo growled. “If Akaashi does indeed manifest into an obscurial, knowledge of magic compounds the danger he brings about to us. What if he manages to obtain a wand from a wizard he kills? There are a plethora of possible curses that could cause the return of a dark lord; it’s not inconceivable to think that something like such would happen, don’t you think?”
“Then I won’t let him turn into an obscurial!” Bokuto shouted, voice raised and tight. “I’ll teach him magic like how I was taught magic after coming from a muggle household, I’ll teach him the wonders of it. I’ll make sure he doesn’t turn on us, because clearly, the Ministry has already failed to prevent the formation of the obscurial in him in the first place.”
“The existence of the obscurial in Akaashi is not the fault of the Ministry,” Kuroo snapped, voice equally as strained as Bokuto’s. “He’s that way because of the way he was brought up by a wizarding community that repressed his magic. If he learns magic, he’ll grow far too strong for us to control—”
“You don’t need to control him,” Bokuto snapped, rising from his seat. “You don’t need to control something that has individual thought; Akaash is capable of fighting off whatever parasitic obscurial resides in him, I’m certain.”
“Bokuto,” Kuroo spoke, voice low, “I’m afraid you’re growing attached to your client.”
“Does it matter?” Bokuto seethed. “An obscurial needs to be cured with pure love that they’ve never experienced themselves. It was a theory that Dumbledore himself created before his demise. What better way is there to complete this impossible task you’ve given me than to give him the only known cure to heal an obscurial and extract it from him?”
“Providing him with the cure is perfectly alright,” Kuroo snapped, “but growing attached to the test subject is a different matter. If you fail and Akaashi turns into an obscurial, you will most definitely get in the way of—”
“He is not a test subject.”
Kuroo sighed. “Bokuto—”
“You work under the assumption that he will turn into whatever parasitic force you assume has taken over him,” Bokuto growled, “but there is no confirmation on whether that will happen or not. Admit it, Kuroo, the Ministry just wants to do away with him so that you won’t have another publicity issue on your plate.
Kuroo slammed the table. “Watch your words, Bokuto Koutarou.”
“You called me here as an expert in magizoology, shouldn’t it be my decision on how to cure the client?” Bokuto asked, eyes sharp. “I should have the best knowledge on how to cure such an impossible problem; why is the Ministry so intent on meddling?”
“Because in the end, you’re going to be the one who gets hurt,” Kuroo frowned, voice dark. “Bokuto, you know better than anyone else what will have to happen if Akaashi turns.”
“He won’t.”
“There are no known cases of obscurials surviving,” Kuroo spat. “Drag your head out of whatever cloud you’re in and face the truth! Akaashi’s chances of survival are close to none.”
“And I’ll do everything I can to ensure that his chances of survival are higher than any obscurial has ever experienced.”
Bokuto sent the chair screeching against the floor, grabbing his briefcase from the floor. Kuroo simply stared as he stalked towards the door, eyes dark.
“We’ll be assigning guards outside of the room, as well as surveillance,” he threatened. “You won’t do anything that will endanger anyone, Bokuto Koutarou!”
The only response Kuroo would get to his words was the slamming of the door in his face.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmured, watching him. “You’re acting differently.”
Bokuto was back to seating on the sofa in front of Akaashi rather than sharing the longer couch with him, notepad in his hands again. He was silent as he observed Akaashi, taking in his appearance like he was a portrait, perfect in every stroke.
Akaashi looked the same as he always had. His gunmetal eyes, gaze strong, had become a constant in their daily counselling sessions, Bokuto fixated on their intensity. Yet, despite the familiarity of Akaashi’s face, Bokuto noticed the difference. The slight paleness of his skin, the dark tendrils that were beginning to snake across his skin, the one glowing skin now slightly sallow in portions of his face. In a room with no mirrors, Akaashi had no knowledge of what he looked like.
But Bokuto, having sat in front of him daily, noticed every tiny difference.
It killed him.
“Is the Ministry still intent on their agenda of killing me?” Akaashi asked, taking a book into his hand and leafing through the pages to find where he had left off. “Is that why you’re looking at me weirdly?”
Bokuto paused, considering his words before he spoke.
“They… aren’t,” Bokuto murmured, wincing slightly at his bold faced lie. At his answer, Akaashi quirked up an eyebrow in suspicion, but commented nothing, deciding to recline his legs on the remainder of the sofa to lay down across the soft cushions.
The silence between them was deafening, a stark contrast to their previous sessions, full of life and comfort with hours of endless talking between them. But now, Bokuto was all too aware of the blinking surveillance that surrounded the room, keeping track of his every action. He watched through the one way windows, even if he couldn’t see anything. He could imagine guards flitting through the windows in shifts, surreptitiously keeping track of everything that Bokuto was doing.
“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, pulling Bokuto from his thoughts.
“Hm?” Bokuto murmured, unconcentrated.
“Do you believe that obscurials can be cured?”
His tone wasn’t apathetic. It was curious, a gentle question posed at Bokuto as he stared into space, his eyes forcing indifference, yet the tenderness was evident in the gunmetal. His tone was cautious, lip bit as he waited for Bokuto’s answer.
Bokuto paused, taking in Akaashi’s gaze, mind running with answers. He stared at the softer, kinder eyes, a far cry from the apathetic, stern ones he saw the first time he walked into the counselling room.
Bokuto thought he saw them glisten for the briefest moment.
For a moment, his eyes dragged across the blackened tendrils across Akaashi’s skin, heart gripping tightly.
It was growing.
“Yeah,” Bokuto smiled, voice soft as he looked at Akaashi. “I believe they can be saved.”
Akaashi pondered on Bokuto’s words, placing his book down to sit up. His hands were rested on his knees, ever so polite as he stared at Bokuto, eyes distant, contemplative, eyes filling with conflict as he stared at Bokuto, torn.
“Bokuto-san,” he murmured, barely a whisper.
“Akaashi?”
“Do you think,” he murmured, voice soft. “Do you think you can… save me?”
Bokuto’s eyes trailed across the dark expanse that was beginning to cover Akaashi’s skin, the sallow hollows of his face, the paleness of the smooth skin. He looked into those gunmetal eyes, the only part of him that remained unaffected.
His heart gripped as he smiled at Akaashi, vision blurry with tears as he looked at Akaashi.
“Of course, Akaashi,” Bokuto smiled. “I’ll save you…
Whatever it takes.”
Bokuto held his breath as he exited his office, eyes narrowing as he tried to look through the darkness of the ministry hallways. It was completely silent, completely different from the bustling atmosphere that the Ministry always emanated. He didn’t even dare to emit a spell to allow him to see better in the dark, cautiousness trembling through him as he made his way through the hallways of the ministry, footsteps dead silent as he made his way through the hall.
Finally, he found the room he was looking for.
Gently, he murmured alohomora into the lock, sending a silent prayer in the air that it wasn’t enchanted.
To his luck, the door clicked open, fingers quickly going over the handle to twist the door open.
“Bokuto-san?” a voice murmured through the darkness.
Bokuto entered the room, closing the door with a silent click before he relaxed, settling him onto the couch. Akaashi, roused from his slumber, was covered with a blanket, hair slightly messy from his sleep.
“Morning, Akaashi,” Bokuto teased, tension escaping from him as he watched Akaashi smile in confusion.
“Is it time for the counselling session?” he murmured, blinking his eyes sleepily. “I just fell asleep though… how many hours has it been?”
“It’s not time for the counseling session,” Bokuto murmured. “I snuck in, it’s 1 am right now.”
Akaashi’s brows furrowed in confusion, nose scrunching up. “We’re meeting tomorrow; why would you need to sneak in?”
“Because,” he murmured, dropping his voice even if he knew the surveillance wouldn’t be available this late at night, “it’s the safest time to be here.”
“What?” he mumbled, still lethargic from having been woken from his sleep.
“They monitor the room,” he murmured, “during the counselling sessions.”
“It would be idiotic for them not to,” Akaashi murmured, unsurprised expression settling on his face as he dragged up his blanket to cover more of his body in the coldness of the room. “I’m a ticking time bomb; I doubt they’d want to leave me unwatched.”
Bokuto didn’t miss the way his voice strained at those words.
“Why are you here, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, voice piquing in curiosity. “It is the safest time to be here, but why?”
Bokuto fumbled for an answer that he didn’t have.
“Is it so wrong for me to want to check on the person I’m supposed to be taking care of?” Bokuto settled on, sending another smile towards Akaashi. “I think doctors check on their patients at night too.”
Akaashi frowned. “True.”
“And so, you’re my patient for tonight,” Bokuto smiled. “Or for the morning, since it’s dawn already…”
Akaashi smiled. “It’s like a sleepover.”
Bokuto smiled back at him. “Exactly like a sleepover.”
Akaashi lifted his blanket from his limbs, placing it across the two of them as Bokuto scooted closer to sit next to him. Silently, Akaashi rested his head on Bokuto’s shoulder, short hair gently brushing against his jaw, warm and comforting. Bokuto gently moved his hand towards Akaashi’s, bracing as he waited for Akaashi to shove his hand away. He didn’t, letting it stay under the weight of Bokuto’s own hand, breaths gentle, controlled as Bokuto traced circles across the skin, gentle in his ministrations.
“What do you want to do when you get out of here?” Bokuto asked, staring into the blank ceiling. “If you could do anything that you could do, what would you do?”
Akaashi paused, shifting slightly.
“What would you do, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, tone cautious.
Bokuto frowned in thought, before turning his lips again into a smile. “I would travel the world and find new magical creatures. I would want to find a new species, and get a page for it in Newt Scamander’s book.”
“Then,” Akaashi mumbled, angling himself to rest on Bokuto’s chest, “I would travel the world with you.”
Bokuto’s heartbeat quickened, Akaashi’s breaths growing softer as he slipped in and out of sleep, barely awake as the silence extended.
“Why are you not scared of me, Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto traced another circle over Akaashi’s hand. “Is there any reason to be scared of you?”
“I have the capability to destroy the entire Ministry if a single thing goes wrong,” he mumbled, “and I can also probably kill everyone in it. It isn’t a leap in conclusion to think that when they brought me here in an enchanted metal case, like I was some sort of bomb.”
“That’s why they’re scared,” Bokuto mumbled. “I have no reason to be scared, Akaashi.”
“And why so?”
Because the only thing that would scare me is your rejection, Bokuto’s heart whispered.
But instead, he whispered: “Because I trust you, Akaashi.”
At those words, Akaashi leaned closer.
“You trust me not to kill you and blast the door open to escape?” Akaashi mumbled. “Considering me, it’d be pretty dangerous to be here alone with no one to save you.”
Bokuto paused, face contorting in confusion.
“Akaashi—”
Akaashi chuckled, breaking the tension. “Don’t make that kind of face, Bokuto-san; I'm not going to kill you.”
Bokuto scoffed, letting out a sigh. “Don’t make those kinds of jokes.”
“It makes you smile, though,” Akaashi mumbled. “You rarely ever do so nowadays.”
And so, the silence between them continued, simply leaning close to each other. They said nothing, content with each others’ warmth, gentle breathing the only thing breaking the silence. Akaashi’s fingers now curled around his hand, hold gentle as he gently rubbed circles back onto the skin of Bokuto’s hand, legs curled closer towards the tangled mess that were them two.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi mumbled. “If I die—”
“You’re not going to die,” Bokuto cut in. His voice emanated more confidence than he felt.
“That’s why I said if” Akaashi pointed out. Despite the nonchalance of his voice as he spoke, something was lodged in his voice, barely peeking through the confines of his forced calmness.
“Okay,” Bokuto murmured. “I’ll entertain your hypothetical.”
“If I die tomorrow,” Akaashi continued, “will you grant me a final wish, like how a prisoner is granted a last meal before they’re executed?”
Bokuto’s heart stopped.
“Anything, Akaashi.”
“But,” Akaashi mumbled, “I doubt anything would be able to be fulfilled in the high of the moment before my execution.”
“You talk as if you’re already dead.”
Akaashi shifted, staring at Bokuto with watery eyes. The tears in his eyes glistened, glimmered like diamonds in the darkness as he stared at Bokuto, soft gunmetal peeking through his sadness.
“Am I not already, Bokuto-san?”
“Not yet, Akaashi,” Bokuto mumbled, gently raising a hand to stroke Akaashi’s hair. “Never as long as I live.”
“So—”
“Make your wish now then, Akaashi,” Bokuto spoke, voice silent, filling the space between them. “Make your wish now so neither of us will have any regrets about unfulfilled promises.”
Akaashi paused, biting his lower lip. “Are you sure?”
“Confident,” Bokuto smiled, gentle.
“Can you close your eyes then, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, voice cautious as he looked at Bokuto. “Just for once, until it’s all over?”
“Anything for you, Akaashi.”
And so, Bokuto closed his eyes, letting the darkness overcome him, waiting in the silence for what was to come.
He expected a flick on the forehead, the gentle tenderness of a hug, or the gentle touch of the face.
He did not expect warm lips to press on his.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Akaashi’s lips were on his, soft and gentle as he held Bokuto, seated gently on his lap. His touch was gentle, slowly moving to cup his face in his hands, thumbs gliding across Bokuto’s cheekbones. It took several moments for Bokuto to react, but when he did, it was instantaneous.
His hands travelled to hold Akaashi by the waist, pulling him closer, bodies touching each other as the press of lips continued. It began softly, only the peppering of kisses across the lips, Bokuto’s hands firm on the small of Akaashi’s lower back, gentle. They pressed close, yearning for more warmth, gentle in every way possible.
Then, the kiss began to grow, slowly heating at the gentle brush of the tongue, silent sounds rising into the air between them, hands moving, wandering. As they separated, lips red and bruised from kissing, no words were shared between them, simply moving back to press their lips together again in a graze of teeth and feathery touches.
And as their lips broke apart again, Bokuto held Akaashi’s face, breathing heavily as he stared into the blown back gunmetal eyes, gaze intense.
“I love you, Akaashi,” he breathed. “I love you so much.”
And before Akaashi could reply, Bokuto brought their lips together again, pressing him against the couch, and bringing to Akaashi the meaning to his words.
Bokuto entered the counseling room, sitting across Akaashi. His legs were crossed, book in hand as he looked at Bokuto. His jacket was zipped up fully today, a knowing smile crossing Bokuto’s face, deciding not to comment on the decision. Comfortably, he made his way to the sofa opposite of Akaashi, settling himself onto the chair.
“Good morning,” Bokuto began, voice formal. His skin prickled, still uncomfortable at the eyes he knew were watching him from behind the one way mirror.
“Good… morning, Bokuto-san,” he smiled back, eyes crinkling into a genuine smile. “What are you here for today?”
“To ask you… some questions,” Bokuto began, flipping open the notepad he had brought with him. “To… diagnose you.”
“Is there anything to diagnose?” Akaashi asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“You were accepted into Hogwarts,” Bokuto began, standing up to settle into the sofa seat on the opposite end of where Akaashi was sitting, “yet you didn’t go.”
Akaashi’s fingers stiffened for the briefest moment, placing the book in his hands away. “Correct.”
Bokuto swallowed. “Why?”
Akaashi looked at him. “Why?”
“Best school of magic and witchcraft in the whole world,” Bokuto murmured, “and yet you turned it down. Why?”
“That… isn’t relevant,” Akaashi mumbled, averting his eyes away. “I chose to attend muggle school; is there an issue with that?”
“No one ever just turns down a Hogwarts letter,” Bokuto pressed. “If they do, Hogwarts hunts them down and forces them to accept it. Clearly, they didn’t do that to you. Why?”
“Does it matter why?” Akaashi challenged, eyes steeling. “‘Why’ isn’t the matter, the outcome of my decision is. How does this relate to diagnosing me?”
“An obscurial is born of repressed magic,” Bokuto shot back. “You should know that, considering that you’re one yourself. I need to know what happened to cause that.”
“You don’t need to know what caused that, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi responded, tone strained as he drawled out Bokuto’s name. “You don’t need to know why I am the way I am. You were sent here to cure me, not to ask me questions.”
“Akaashi—”
“There are reasons for everything, reasons that wizards who lived a normal life cannot understand,” Akaashi continued, tone dark. “Please drop the topic, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto tensed his muscles. “I can’t drop the topic. I was assigned to cure you, and to be able to do that, I need to know why this manifested—”
“As I said before, the why does not matter.”
“The ‘why’ matters so I can find a way to help you!” Bokuto snapped. “Don’t you realize it, Akaashi? You’re getting paler, you have black tendrils growing on your skin. Whatever I’m doing isn’t working!”
“Do you think I don’t know that, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, voice dangerously low. “I live in this body, I know that whatever you’re doing isn’t working. I still sit here in every counseling session, listening to you and letting you diagnose me with whatever you’re trying to cure me of. I haven’t complained once.”
“Akaashi—”
“I know I’m dying, Bokuto-san.”
Akaashi’s words were choked out, strained as he said it. His gunmetal eyes sheened with tears, glimmering under the low light, pained as he stared at Bokuto. Immediately, regret captured Bokuto, tearing at his heart as he stared at the paling, helpless man. His hands were trembling, tendrils glowing black as he stared at them, fear shaking through him.
“I know it’s not working,” Akaashi cried, tears trailing down his face. “I know nothing you’re doing is working, and I hate it.”
Bokuto’s fingernails dug crescents into his palm. “Akaashi—”
“Why is it that,” Akaashi mumbled, “when I’m finally so close to the death I wished for, I finally found a reason to live?”
Bokuto’s heart gripped.
“I spent so long wishing that I would just die along with whatever’s in me,” he murmured. “And yet when a force so strong comes to take me, I finally found a reason why I don’t want the inevitable anymore.”
Bokuto stared at him, unsure of what to say.
“So before that happens, Bokuto-san,” he spoke, words clear amidst his tears, “please leave.”
“Akaashi, you know that I can’t—”
“It’s a request of your patient,” Akaashi pressed. “Please, Bokuto-san; please leave.”
“You can’t—”
“You’ll just make it harder,” Akaashi spoke, voice strained. “If not for you, for me.”
“I won’t—”
“If you won’t leave, I will,” Akaashi murmured, stepping up from where he sat on the sofa.
And as per his words, he slowly walked towards the door, steps pinstraight and unwavering, the fear that had trembled through his body gone, completely replaced by silent resolution, slowly making his way to the door.
“Akaashi, they’ll kill you if you leave that door,” Bokuto warned, voice low. “Don’t open that door.”
“Then it’ll simply speed up the impossible, will it not, Bokuto-san?”
And frame by frame, Akaashi’s hand lowered onto the handle.
Bokuto leapt from his seat, running towards Akaashi, heart hammering as he did. He gripped Akaashi’s hand, yanking him backwards, stumbling as he did so.
“Akaashi, don’t you dare—”
“Bokuto-san, please let go.”
Akaashi’s voice was low as he said those words, devoid of emotion as he stared at Bokuto. The tears were missing from his eyes, gunmetal emotionless as he stared, not a trace of emotion on his face.
“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmured, lifting his other hand up to brush the hair away from his face. “Akaashi, are you—”
“Let go, Bokuto-san.”
Each word was punctuated with a pause now.
Unrelenting, Bokuto raised his hand, brushing the hair from Akaashi’s face.
But before he could touch him, he felt it.
Bokuto flew back, thrown back by an invisible force, slamming into the wall of the room, a crack sounding upon impact. His chest burned with fiery pain, muscles screaming as he tried to stand up, only to fall back onto the ground.
Akaashi turned, staring at him.
His eyes weren’t gunmetal anymore.
They were black, something swirling in them as they stared at Bokuto, harsh and unrelenting. The tendrils on his arms trailed up them, missing under his sleeves, a hint of red glowing from them. Around him, fog seemed to swirl, kicking up clouds of dust around him.
“Akaashi—”
Before Bokuto could call out his name, the door to the room burst open, guards breaking into the room, wands high in the air, trained at Akaashi. At their lead, an auror Bokuto knew not stood, Kuroo stationed behind him.
“Kuroo?” Bokuto mumbled, staggering up, pain shooting through him. “What… what are you doing here?”
“Men,” he mumbled. “You know what to do.”
And Bokuto understood.
He dragged himself to his feet, flinging himself in front of Akaashi, collapsed on the floor, barely strong enough to even hold himself up, legs weak, muscles splitting apart.
“He’s not dangerous!” he choked, stumbling up, hands poised defensively in front of Akaashi. “He’s not dangerous!”
“Please restrain him,” Kuroo ordered. In moments, they had Bokuto in their grasps, kicking and screaming as tears spilled down his face.
“Akaashi isn’t dangerous!” Bokuto begged, pulling against the restraints of the men. “He’s human. He’s human! He can be saved, Kuroo. He can be saved!”
And at that moment, a bolt of black flashed at Kuroo.
“Protego!” Kuroo yelled, swishing his wand into the air. “Open fire!”
“No!”
Bokuto could hear nothing.
He could hear nothing as he watched the men fire, arms raised high as bombards of red spell after spell shot themselves at Akaashi, a flash of green jolting from Kuroo’s wand every several moments, Akaashi crumpling onto the ground at each shot of it. He writhed, mouth open in what would be a guttural scream, contorting, pain in every moment of it.
Bokuto couldn’t hear himself screaming.
He could feel himself open his mouth. He could feel the burn of his throat, the soreness of his voice as the tears spilled down his face. He could feel the clawing of his heart as he fought against the human restraints, dragging his way forward. The burn of his muscles, the salty tears running down his face, the torture of Akaashi. He couldn’t hear any of it.
And yet, he could feel it as clear as day.
Finally, they ceased.
The binds on Bokuto released, the contortions of pain stopped. Bokuto fell forward, Akaashi collapsing onto the ground as he did so. His ears rang, pain raw as he gripped his wand, clambering forward, gripping onto Akaashi. He gripped onto his still warm body, fingers flying to his neck, feeling. He closed his eyes, hot, salty tears trailing down his face, dripping down his chin, falling onto Akaashi’s pale body.
He felt no pulse.
“Somebody, get the medical department!” Bokuto cried out, panic gripping him as he pressed Akaashi’s wounds, desperate to stop the bleeding. “Somebody, please!”
And yet, as Bokuto sat there, gripping Akaashi, no movement was made.
Bokuto gripped his wand in his hand, shaking as he pointed it at the wound, mumbling softly under his breath, voice breaking.
“Tergeo,” he spoke, voice trembling, hands shaking. “Tergeo!”
None of the wounds closed.
“Why isn’t it working?” Bokuto yelled, eyes raw from tears. “Kuroo! Kuroo, please, call the nurse!”
“Bokuto, nothing will happen,” Kuroo murmured, voice soft as he placed his hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. “Bokuto, he’s gone.”
“He’s not gone!” Bokuto yelled, holding Akaashi in his hand, pointing his wand at the wounds. “Tergeo! Episkey! Tergeo!”
“Bokuto—”
“No,” Bokuto replied, a strangled cry. “He’s not dead. He has to survive, he has to!”
“Bokuto—”
“He…” Bokuto choked, tears trickling down his cheeks. “He… he has to.”
And so, Bokuto held him. He held Akaashi tighter than he’d ever before, tears trickling down his face as he murmured charm after charm, pressing his fingers desperately against his pulse, only to feel none. He held Akaashi tighter than he had the previous night, tighter than he ever would again. He held Akaashi as tears traced his cheeks, as the pain gripped his heart.
He held his face, caressed his hair, and gripped him tighter than he’d ever before.
“Please…” he begged, the only witness to his voice the silence of the air.
”Please don’t leave me.”