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Akaashi’s not the biggest fan of needles. He’s spent most of his life avoiding shots and shying away from piercing shops. There, standing by Bokuto’s side as the tattoo artist buzzes away, he feels as if he’s going to be sick.
Five hours in and the ink has spread from the owl in the center of of his chest, blackened lines spanning wings across twin surgery scars. Just another hour left. Akaashi hadn’t known Bokuto was capable of sitting still for so long, but despite all the discomfort and the cold sting of air conditioning chilling him too his core, he’s immensely happy for Bokuto.
“You should get a tattoo, Akaashi-kun,” Kuroo says in his ear, smirking deftly at the glare Akaashi gives him. “Maybe a tiny snowflake to match your icy personality.”
“Fuck off, Kuroo-kun,” he replies, shifting in his chair and the tattoo artist, some guy named Kawanishi, looks up from his work.
“You could get something small,” he suggests, plain and blunt, then leans down over Bokuto’s back. Akaashi is about to say no, shut this down before it even starts, but Bokuto has heard.
Bokuto shifts his head around. “Oh gods, Akaashi!” he yells, startling the silence of the shop. “You totally should.”
Akaashi shakes his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Absolutely not. No way, there’s nothing on this earth that can convince him to put a needle on his skin and repeated stab it into himself. Not even Bokuto’s round golden eyes, pleading and pouting, could sway him.
“Please, Akaashi,” Bokuto pleads. “Please. Get a tiny owl with me!”
“So basically matching tattoos,” Kuroo drones on with a roll of his eyes. “My my Akaashi-kun, should I be worried for poor Ennoshita-san?”
“I’m not getting a tattoo,” Akaashi replies.
“Pleeeeeaaase, Aggashee! I’ll pay for it!”
Kawanishi gives Bokuto’s head a light tap. “Quit moving,” he growls. The whine Bokuto lets out in response is endearingly cute. Akaashi’s in trouble.
“Please, Akaashi,” Kuroo mocks in Akaashi’s ear. Bokuto has stopped his yelling, but the constant drone of “Please Akaashi! Just a little owl!” is enough to get into his head and cloud his poor judgment.
He wonders if he’ll ever be able to say no to Bokuto.
“Fine.”
Kuroo’s mouth drops. Kawanishi’s buzzing stops. Bokuto, for his behalf, just lets out a victorious hoot. He pumps his fist and earns another smack on his unoccupied arm.
“I can have Kyoutani do it,” Kawanishi drawls, popping a bubble of gum before continuing. “Only if you’re serious about it though. It wouldn't take long or cost a whole lot.”
Second thoughts, maybe even third and fourth ones, begin to fill his mind. What if it turned out bad? What if his grandparents made a surprise visit and found their ambiguously homosexual grandson with a tattoo? What if he was allergic to the ink and broke out into a bunch of hives and had to go to a h-
“Akaashi-kun, you’re killing my hand,” Kuroo groans. “When did you get so strong?”
Akaashi ignores Kuroo, there are more pressing things to worry about. “Don’t I have to make appointments and fill out forms?” His question comes out rushed, grappling for an excuse that does not come.
“Naw, you just have to sign a consent form. We’ve got a few cutsey owl designs already if you’re going small, so it’s no big deal,” comes a gruff voice from a spot just across the parlor. He seems to have appeared from thin air, covered in tattoos and piercings, intense dark eyes making Akaashi grip Kuroo’s hand harder.
“Don’t get one if you can’t handle it.” This man, presumably Kyoutani, says it flippantly, put passive aggressive for Akaashi to know it’s a challenge.
And if there’s one thing Akaashi won’t back down from, it’s a good, old fashioned challenge.
Kuroo turns his head to give him a look. “Akaashi do-”
“Where are the forms?” Akaashi practically shouts. He’s stood straight up, gaze unwavering as Kyoutani grins from across the room. What a damn prick.
Bokuto for his part can’t seem to stop vibrating, yelling out encouragements as Akaashi sits at the table out near the window, browsing the various “cutsey” owls from a book labeled “small designs” in script so condescending, Akaashi wants to rip the sticker off. He will get a tattoo and it will be cutsey and small, but that doesn’t matter because he’s getting the damn tattoo.
He ends up selecting a simple design, one of those minimalist drawings with a few lines that make up a Great Horned Owl. Akaashi’s well aware that he might as well be tattooing Bokuto’s name over his heart, but he ignores those feelings like he has been doing for years. He signs the forms, Kyoutani explaining all the particulars, the price, the location, the risks, basic tattoo care, and sooner than Akaashi can process it, he’s sitting in a chair, shirtless with his heart about to beat out of his chest.
“Relax,” Kyoutani commands in a voice that does anything but relax him.
Akaashi squeezes his eyes closed. At some point, Kuroo had left Bokuto’s side to stand next to Akaashi and murmur soothing things while Kyoutani preps him. He may despise Kuroo sometimes, but in this moment, he’s never been more grateful for his friend.
“It’ll be so cool Akaashi,” Bokuto yells, right as Kyoutani hovers over his clavicle, gun buzzing in all it’s mechanical horror. “You got this!”
As it turns out, Akaashi does have this. Kyoutani makes the first mark on his skin, a few centimetres above his left pectoral, far enough away so that it’s technically not over his heart. It’s an itching, scratching type of pain, subtle enough to brush off.
The next few marks hit closer to his collarbone, and that decidedly does hurt, but Akaashi bites his lip and squeezes Kuroo a little tighter.
After that, it’s smooth sailing. In twenty minutes, it’s done and Akaashi’s looking down at his chest like he can’t believe what just happened.
He spends the rest of the appointment in a trance. Kyoutani puts a few layers of gauze over the ink and gives him instructions on how to apply this cream that gets shoved into his hands at some point. Bokuto looks like he’s fighting sleep on the chair, dazed expression smiling drowsily back at Akaashi.
“Just a little bit more,” Kawanishi says.
Akaashi walks over, sees the beautiful linework, solid kanji right under the owl’s fearsome talons standing out start against tanned skin. Fly On it reads, and Akaashi holds a hand against the bandages on his chest.
Fly on indeed.