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Ordinarily, it doesn’t take much for the trained eye to recognize the signs of a coming storm. Within moments, there’s so many clues that hint to it — a sweltering humidity, something that most likely hangs in the air for hours until after the rain passes; the distortion of colors in the sky, two different palettes colliding in battle; but there’s just that simple feeling of an impending thunderstorm that lingers in the mind. Depending on the circumstances, it could be dangerous, with arsenal that ranges from a heavy downpour to a powerful whirlwind accompanied by a symphony of lightning, or sometimes, it just releases its load and moves on.
In Akaashi’s case, it’s all too familiar to him. He observes the gray within clouds swell and advance across the skies, conquering the timid and blue skies. In moments, a layer of gray covers the air, consuming the area whole. It’s intimidating and threatening, making any witness tremble at the sight. It encourages its fearful image by occasionally spitting out a lightning bolt, although it's rare for actual harm to be done.
As the storm approaches, Akaashi knows better than to flee from it. The only way he can advance forward and grow stronger is to face it head on, but there’s still some fear that lingers in him. He curses himself for cowering in fear, because how someone march forward if there’s a fear of being hurt? He knows the risks involved.
Like a shadow, dark gray casts itself over the setter. Akaashi won’t let it capture him, won't let himself be trapped in someone’s shadow. — With his back to the net, he can’t directly see his opponents, but he can feel their presence tearing at his. All three blockers have their eyes on him, shading him in what’s supposed to be fear but the setter thinks it’s absolutely exhilarating as he goes for the toss.
The skies taunt him as lightning darts from cloud to cloud. Akaashi doesn’t know exactly when the sky will decide to strike down at him, but he’s prepared [as much as he possibly could be] nonetheless. — There’s moments in a match when an opponent happens to pull off a successful quick, one that leaves the crowd in awe and fascination. He won’t lie, it does catch him off guard, but it’s not the first time he’s seen such a demonic quick. If anything, he’ll pick himself back up and let his spikers slam more points in their face.
And now the rain approaches. Rain. It cascades down in sheets, and without an umbrella, a protection , he feels Mother Nature unleash everything on him. It hits him at all once, feeling battered by pressure. — So many of his sets have been blocked, followed by the harsh teases from the other side. Still, he tries to not let the pressure take him over. Even with the small gap of points that separate them, he wants to take them all back and even more. His eagerness mixes with pressure, and everything just feels overwhelmingly heavy.
[It’s his own fault for comparing his fears and struggles as a setter to thunderstorms. Seriously, it’s not that deep.]
Unlike him, Bokuto is unwavering. Storms don’t scare him, because he enjoys tackling the skies as if they were nothing, like a challenge. It’s brave, but it’s not easy. The way he slams at the gray that threatens to swallow him whole is recklessly admirable. With each simple step, he advances further into the storm.
Akaashi could laugh at how simple minded the boy is, but it’s something he admires deep down. While his own mind is calculative and precise, fearful of any backlash, Bokuto charges in impulsively with little care. All these worldly feelings tie him down to the earth, but Bokuto flies so freely, seemingly unbound. Part of him admits it as jealousy.
His knowledge is limited — his knowledge of both Bokuto and the skies. He has yet to fully understand both sides, and he knows he might never achieve that. Still, watching the way Bokuto tackle things his way makes him want to advance. He wants to follow, despite how bold and dangerous it is, but it’s so Bokuto at the same time that he can't help but feel swayed.
He knows a bright smile would always be there to reassure him. “Don’t be scared! Let me handle this.” Akaashi ties those words to Bokuto so fondly, knowing he can put his trust in what he says. Even if he’s the one clearing the way for the spiker, truthfully, it’s Bokuto who leads him. His legs might give out at any moment, he could collapse at any time, but for Bokuto, he wants to try again and again.
Akaashi knows sunny skies aren’t promised. He understands there’ll be days where he’ll be drowning in darkness. He’ll face storm after storm, because that’s something Mother Nature seems to order after a long lifetime. A whirlwind could easily toss his life up, throw him into disarray like it was nothing.
But something about Bokuto inspires him to tackle that storm himself, not let anything hold him back. Maybe it's inspiration to press forward, he doesn't know.
[...]
“Akaashi,” he hears a voice call out to him. He doesn’t even realize he’s in a trance until reality hits him all at once: the layer of sweat that covers his forehead, accumulated after hours of practice; the sound of movement screeching across the floor, because everyone else seems to be moving except him; and the echoed slam of volleyballs across the court, which is probably his favorite sound. But more importantly, the person standing before him.
His voice nearly cracks at he speaks. “Ah. Bokuto-san.” At his feet, he recognizes the volleyball planted there. “Where were we?”
Bokuto tilts his head quizzically. “We were just wrapping up, but you seemed like you were daydreaming.” For a moment, Akaashi thinks he might be ill. The spiker stretches his hand out towards the boy, towel in hand, which he graciously accepts without a word. He wipes the sweat away, along with the thoughts he was trapped in. He won't let it slow him down.
“Also,” Bokuto starts, staring out one of the gymnasium windows. The setter follows his view, both boys gazing at the rapidly darkening skies. “Do you have an extra umbrella on you?” His face blushes in embarrassment. "I completely forgot mine today."
“Together. Let’s go home.” He suggests a little too quickly, and now it’s his turn to feel his face blush. “I don’t have a spare, sorry, but I can take you home, since you don’t live that far from me.”
“Akaashi, you’re the best!” Bokuto cheers. Although he’ll never openly admit it, Akaashi delights in the way the boy can smile in such a carefree way. “Alright then, let’s go!” He nearly charges out of the gym immediately if it weren’t for the warning Akaashi calls out.
It doesn’t take long for the sky to darken to its scariest tone, and rain is already pouring down by the time they’ve cleared out for the day. Before Bokuto can race into the rain, Akaashi stops him and reminds him of the agreement they made earlier. Together, they crowd under the shared umbrella, although Akaashi makes sure most of it covers the other boy. They’re walking at an awkward pace, because the setter is doing his best to keep up with the joyful spiker, but it’s a happy trip nonetheless. If Bokuto’s smiling like that , none of the dreary weather bothers him.
So, Akaashi doesn’t need to fear the storm, because he has his own sunshine next to him. He’ll run out into the rain, unafraid, because someone inspired him to advance forward.
Of course, he'll be holding onto Bokuto's hand along the way. Because how could he ever let go of his hope?