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“Akaashi! Akaashi!”
Akaashi catches the ball she’d been setting against the wall in her hands. Bokuto dashes through the doorway of the gymnasium without looking and gets caught in the netting. Akaashi sighs, sets the ball down, and crosses the small distance to free Bokuto’s arm from a hole she’d managed to rip in her haste. She’s bouncing on her heels, practically vibrating with excitement. “Akaashi,” She repeats again, “d’you notice anything different about me?”
Akaashi carefully dislodges the netting from a button on Bokuto’s shorts before pulling back to survey the sight in front of her. Her voice lodges in her throat. “Oh. Who did that for you?”
“I did, of course,” She’s free from the netting now and is standing proudly with her hands on her hips, hair a dishevelled mess, and smile brighter than the sun. Akaashi had always known Bokuto has long eyelashes but being so pale they never stood out. Now, her eyes are like beacons in the sea, colour intensified with the black shaping them. There’s thick liner flicking from the corners of her eyes, too, accentuating the shape of them, tapering at the inner-corner of her lid. The skies above part. Angels begin singing. Akaashi is momentarily floored.
Kuroo lifts the net above her head as she follows behind Bokuto. She stares in exasperation at the hole in it. “No one’ll believe that. You can hardly write your name on paper without missing the line.”
“Whㅡnot true.”
Kuroo rolls her eyes and drapes her arm across Bokuto’s broad shoulders, flashing Akaashi a lazy grin. “I’m kinda jealous. I need to wear fake eyelashes to have mine look as long as yours.”
Akaashi takes a tentative step closer to the two, dumbfounded at the sight. In all three years of knowing Bokuto not once had she seen the other wearing makeup because it was never in Bokuto’s character to do so. Most days Akaashi has to carry around extra chapstick for her.
“What? Fake lashes? That’s gross, Kuroo.”
When she blinks the length of her lashes cast shadows on the high points of her cheeks. Bokuto turns from Kuroo to Akaashi, pinning her in a stare so intense it punches all air from Akaashi’s gut. “Who did your eyeliner, Bokuto-san? It looks very nice.”
Bokuto looks incredibly proud of herself with the compliment. Kuroo slides her arm off of Bokuto’s shoulders to toss is over Akaashi’s instead, who sags under the weight. She can’t even bring herself to look unimpressed. “Me, of course. I tried to get Ken to do it for herㅡyou know how she is with makeup and allㅡbut she wouldn’t. Think I did a pretty good job myself, right?”
Bokuto’s disappeared off to the right to admire herself in the netting pole’s reflection. She pulls at the skin below her eyes, then touches the liner and jumps with surprise when it stamps on her finger. Kuroo eases some weight off of Akaashi’s shoulder and watches her from the corner of her eyes. “Well?”
“Of course,” Akaashi says, “She looks great.”
“I knew you’d say that,” Kuroo says. She presses their cheeks together before scooting off Akaashi, flashing that lopsided grin again, and tugging her towards the net by the hand, “Come on. Let’s play.”
✧
For the third time that afternoon Akaashi finds herself setting the ball so fast it ends up flying across the court and completely missing Bokuto. Both teams on either side of the net stare at her peculiarly.
Akaashi pauses, looks down to her hands, and colours from the neck up. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Konoha says, patting her on the back over her bib, “You sick, or something? You’re kinda red.”
“Woah, Akaashi’s sick? Call an ambulance! Get a stretcher!”
“Bokuto-san, I am fine.”
Bokuto tugs at the hem of Akaashi’s bib with furious worry in her eyes. Akaashi is painfully reminded as to why her world is so off-kilter.
It’s just makeup. Hold yourself together, Keiji.
“Woah, look at her. Even her ears are red.”
“I. Am. Fine,” Akaashi repeats. Bokuto whimpers in protest.
Komi holds up a T with her hands. Someone blows a whistle and the other team clears off into a circle. The rest of Fukurodani migrate to the benches. Bokuto stumbles over her own feet in her haste to get there first and thrusts a water bottle against Akaashi’s chest so fast she nearly walks into it. She murmurs a thanks and takes it, pulling the lip of the bottle up with her teeth and taking a swig.
“Are you really sick, Akaashi?” Bokuto says, invading her personal space in a way most inappropriate. Akaashi has to avert her gaze so she doesn’t look directly at her face.
“Perhaps I’ve got a slight cold, but other than that, I am fine.”
“Captain! Stop terrorising our setter.”
Bokuto huffs and stands back to her full height, looking thoroughly offended. “I’m not terrorising her! Tell them I’m not terrorising you, Akaashi.”
Akaashi remains quiet and sips at her bottle before setting it aside. Bokuto flubbers and begins fiercely tugging at Akaashi’s bib once again, apologies flowing out of her mouth like daisy-chains. She catches Bokuto’s sweat-warmed face between both of her hands and renders it still, forcing herself to look into her eyes. They’re bright and so, so gold, highlighted only by the long curl of her eyelashes and the flick of eyeliner. Bokuto snivells. “Stop crying. You’ll smear your makeup.”
Bokuto draws in a shuddery breath and tosses her arms around Akaashi’s neck, sputtering even more apologies into the collar of her shirt. Akaashi stumbles with the weight in her arms and awkwardly pats Bokuto’s shoulder.
When she pulls back there’s faint black smeared beneath her eyes, wet with tears. Akaashi swipes at it with her thumbs. Her chest aches fiercely.
“Come on, time out's over. Let’s go.”
✧
The diving drills were brutal. Whenever Akaashi turns a little too far to the right a muscle in her obliques twinges. There’s a bruise the size of a plumb on her knee, too, that aches when touched. Bokuto’s speaking with enough food crammed in both cheeks she’s more likely to choke more than she isn’t, and Akaashi is too tired to deal with having to do the Heimlich maneuver on her for the third time this month, so she parts quietly from their table and moves to get herself more to eat.
She’s spooning her third bowl of rice when Kenma comes up next to her in the queue.
Akaashi’s always liked Kenma in a way she never vocalises. Kenma’s never meddlesome and favours silence. More often than not when she finds herself being dragged around by Bokuto, Akaashi will retreat to sit with Kenma to finish her book or study. She is quiet and reserved in her own special way the rest of Nekoma doesn’t seem to be. Unfortunately, she isn’t any less perceptive.
Kenma tucks a long strand of blonde behind her ear, carefully peering up at Akaashi out of the corner of her eye, subtle enough that Akaashi has to look at her to notice it. “Are you alright? Kuro said you caught a cold.”
Akaashi knows full well that Kuroo didn’t say that. There’s a twinkle in Kenma’s eye that leads Akaashi to believe she’s a lot more meddlesome than she lets on. “I’m alright. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix. How are you finding the week so far?”
Kenma makes a contemplative sound that blows a small section of her fringe from her face. Akaashi stifles a small smile of her own. “Tiring.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
She dishes a few pickled vegetables the managers had prepared from a tray and places them on the outskirts of her bowl. Kenma hesitates before patting Akaashi gently on the arm in what’s meant to be a reassuring gesture but comes across as slightly awkward and stiff. “Be bold, Akaashi.”
Her hand pauses in the middle of reaching for a dish of breaded chicken. Kenma has that see-all gaze of hers peering at her that leaves Akaashi feeling bare; laid out for evaluation, and easy to read. Akaashi makes a quiet noise and avoids Kenma’s line of sight, turning her head so she’s looking at the table in front of them. Dark hair from behind her ear blocks the flush on her cheeks. “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”
“Hm.” The side of Kenma’s mouth twitches. She regards Akaashi with scrutinising eyes before parting and returning to her table. Akaashi ponders over the buffet before adding a few more servings of chicken because she knows Bokuto will end up picking at her plate either way.
✧
“You’ll develop a crick in your neck if you hold your bag like that.”
Bokuto looks over at Akaashi with surprise on her face. The strap of her bag falls from her forehead to her neck, where she momentarily chokes, before readjusting it to her shoulder. “No way. Will I really?”
“Yes. It’s dangerous.”
“Good thing you’re here then, Akaashi! ‘Cause I would have walked with my bag like that for miles, and no one would have said anything, and then I’ll develop a crick and die.”
It would have been sarcastic coming from anyone else’s mouth. Akaashi knows it’s pure honesty coming from Bokuto.
“Of course.”
They’d stayed behind later than other Fukurodani members to play 3v3 with a few Nekoma and Karasuno players. Akaashi is rendered tired on the daily from having to think ahead for Bokuto, but having to do it for Lev and Hinata has brought her to her knees in exhaustion. Most of the dorm’s occupants are asleep. Akaashi takes her turn in bathing, dressing into baggy nightwear, and Bokuto follows suit. She’s halfway to drying her hair on her way back to the sleep room when a frightened shout echoes down the hallway.
Akaashi stumbles back into the bathroom with adrenaline coursing so violently her knees nearly give out. “What? What is it?”
Bokuto turns, comical, from her stance at the mirror. Her face is bleached of all colour and her eyes are wide and terrified. “Oh my god. Akaashi. What happened? What’s happening to me?”
Silence. Akaashi sighs from her nose.
“Stay there.”
“What? No, I can’t! They’ll come to get me! The shadow people!”
“No one’s coming to get you. I’ll just be a second, Bokuto-san. Please, sit.”
Bokuto’s bottom lip wobbles. She sits on the edge of the bath, knuckles white around the cotton of her bed-shorts, fists resting over her thighs. Akaashi returns a minute later with her bag of toiletries. She drags a shower stool from one corner of the room and sets it just a few feet away from the lip of the bath. “Sit here.”
Bokuto does. She settles onto the stool while Akaashi takes her place on the lip of the bath. Bokuto watches with unabated curiosity as she pulls out a small, half-empty bottle and a few cotton rounds. “Do you have any allergies I don’t know about?”
“Erm, only to kiwi fruits. But, I don’t think that’s an allergy; I just really hate ‘em.”
Akaashi uncaps the bottle and tips it upside down on the cotton pad, soaking it, before capping it and setting it to the side. “Lean forward for me. Close your eyes.”
Bokuto does, with little to no hesitation. Akaashi holds her by the jaw with her left hand and presses the cotton pad to one of Bokuto’s closed eyes with her right. Bokuto jumps at the contact, hissing slightly at the coldness. Her hands reach out to rest on the skin just above Akaashi’s knees for balance. “Oh. It was the makeup, wasn’t it?”
Akaashi gently swipes the pad along the blotchy blackened surface of Bokuto’s eyelid and takes off half of the smeared eyeliner. “Yes. Most brands won’t come off with just water. I’m going to clean it up for you, alright?”
“Yeah, okay.” Bokuto says. Akaashi tilts her head up ever so slightly for better leverage and begins cleaning the aftermath of Bokuto’s shower and Kuroo’s clever handiwork. “Do you really think it looked nice, Akaashi?”
“Of course I do,” She says, honest, re-pressing the cool surface of the damp cotton pad to Bokuto’s closed eyes. Her lids flutter at the contact. She tips forward a little into Akaashi’s pressure, completely still, shoulders giving a few inches. “Did you like it?”
“Yeah,” Her voice is quiet. She’s totally relaxed, mouth slightly open, fingers splayed and warm on Akaashi’s thighs. Akaashi blames goosebumps on the coolness of the room. Bokuto’s index fingers do windscreen-wiper motions across the tiny bumps. “Y’know, I could only really take your word for it, Akaashi.”
“Is that so.”
“Mhm. ‘Cause you’re the only one who’d be honest about it.”
Akaashi turns over the pad and makes do of wiping the mascara from Bokuto’s eyelashes with little zig-zag motions. She purses the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she works across the silverskinned surface of her eyelid and the petal-thin skin beneath her eye, touching with utmost care, afraid that any pressure more than this would bruise it. It was softer than peach-fuzz. A lock of grey hair falls onto Bokuto’s forehead. Akaashi brushes it away with her free hand and pulls the cotton pad back. She places it to the side and picks up a clean one, dousing it in cleansing oil. “Is it burning?”
“Don’t think so. Feels kind of tingly.”
Akaashi’s brow furrows. “Well, please let me know if it increases. We don’t want you to get an allergic reaction.”
“Feels nice, though.” Bokuto doesn’t open her eyes, instead waiting patiently for the press of the cotton pad again. “Like I could fall asleep.”
Akaashi presses the fresh cotton pad to Bokuto’s other eye and lets the oil settle into the skin before moving it. The liner smears up to her browbown, which Akaashi wipes with the dry part of the cotton pad, before cleaning off the rest of the mascara. With a final cotton pad and a touch of cleansing oil Akaashi wipes away the grey smears and leaves her dewy and clean. “All done.”
“Aw.”
“Is it burning?” Akaashi stacks the three cotton pads and rises to her feet. Bokuto’s hands slip from her thighs and skim the floor, watching Akaashi toss the rubbish into the bin.
“Nope. Feel really cleansed. Rejuvenanated. No, rejuvenated.”
“Good. Now, come on, let’s get you to bed. We can’t have you being tired for tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Practice.”
“Oh, yeah!” Bokuto pushes to her feet. Her hair from the bath is still damp from just a towel try and curls around the nape of her neck, sticking flat to her forehead. Akaashi wants to dry it with a hairdryer but knows it’s already late and doesn’t want to risk a sleepy Bokuto in the morning. The corridors at night are silent and dark. Bokuto shifts closer so she doesn’t get lost. “Hey, Akaashi, could you do that again tomorrow for me?”
“Do what?” She asks. They slide the door open to their room. Akaashi holds up a finger to her lips because everyone else is mostly asleep and Bokuto has a habit of not using her inside voice when she’s inside.
Bokuto gestures vaguely to her face. “The cleaning.”
“Well, there’s no need to clean unless there’s makeup there. Are you planning on asking Kuroo-san to put some more on you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”
Bokuto settles into her futon. Akaashi treads across the room to the window where she carefully brushes her hair free of what little knots gathered after her shower in the reflection of the glass. She runs two different types of oil through the damp ends with her fingers. Bokuto lays propped up in her futon, watching quietly. “Hey, Akaashi.”
“Yes, Bokuto-san?”
“Did it really look nice?”
“Of course it did. You have very long lashes. I think you look great either way.”
“Oh. Okay.” A pause. “Really?”
Akaashi hums her confirmation. She puts her hairbrush back into her bag and crosses the room to her futon to the left of Bokuto’s and slides in. Bokuto rolls over under the blankets to face Akaashi, eyes shining like sweet honey in the dim lighting. There’s still the tiniest bit of black lining her eyes. Akaashi wants to reach out and smudge it away with her thumb but refrains. Bokuto shuffles a little closer and pushes a damp curl from Akaashi’s sight, tucking it loosely behind her ear, before shuffling back and closing her eyes. “G’night, Akaashi.”
“Goodnight, Bokuto-san.”
The warmth of the touch lingers.