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A drafty cathedral at sundown, stained glass washing a plethora of colors over Bokuto, Akaashi finds himself breathless.
The two had decided to come, every other student was at dinner or in their rooms, nobody ever decided to come, except for the pair.
They sit in silence, even with Bokuto's unreserved nature, he finds himself blissful and at peace in the white noise of the air conditioner humming and the wood creaking every few times they adjust their positions.
Bokuto sometimes prays, pulling down the hassock and kneeling against the plush material, hands clasped and eyes closed, not screwed shut, but gently closed as eyelashes rest against his cheek.
Akaashi never does the same, but he likes to watch Bokuto and act like the other doesn’t know he’s staring at him.
He’s undone, and it’s devastatingly gorgeous. His jacket is on the pew as his sleeves are rolled up, his tie is loose and there a few buttons undone. His skin is soft and radiant, but there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t.
He wonders what Bokuto is praying for. Maybe that they’ll go to nationals, or maybe that they’ll serve barbeque at dinner tomorrow night, or for really anything else.
Akaashi knows God wouldn’t want to hear what he prays for.
He always comes back up, never facing Akaashi until he’s sat up and took a deep breath. It never changed.
“Akaashi, what’s your greatest sin?” He asks, eyes on the cross above them. Akaashi too is looking at it, he cocks his head to the side at the question.
Bokuto would never take him seriously, even if he says it with every drop of genuity he has to offer.
“I think it’s loving you, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto lets out a laugh through his nose, the younger doesn’t want to see what kind of face he’s making.
“You’re funny, Akaashi.”
Akaashi knows he’s meant to love girls. He’s meant to love their long hair and compassion, their light voices and their curves, he should get excited at the sight of a girl wearing a nice dress or when their hair twirls around their finger when they talk to him.
And yet, he can never see himself being happy with girls in pretty dresses, he can never be happy with their voices, or their hair, or their curves, or their compassion. He will never love any single thing about a girl, no matter how many times the idea is drilled in his head.
He can feel his skin buzzing with warmth when Bokuto gets a little too close, when their hands brush against one another when passing something to the other, when Bokuto talks forever and forever about anything, Akaashi would never dare tell him to stop.
God was always more of a question than a being in the mind of Akaashi.
Even when he’s been surrounded by nothing else than the smell of wine at communion, or the body of Him being hung on the cross in every single room, with every prayer they can manage inside his brain, it still remains a grey area.
He found some kind of religion within Bokuto Koutaro, although it wasn’t one the church would approve of, it was something to bring him out of bed in the morning, something that made it worth getting through every day, a belief that with him by his side, he could do anything.
Was it love? Akaashi ponders, and he has no clue what the word means. Does he love Bokuto the way people love their gods?
Does he love Bokuto the way he’s meant to love God?
The first commandment:
“You shall have no other gods before me.”
Bokuto wasn’t a god, but he’s damn close in Akaashis book.
He’s a heavenly sight, bestowing pure beauty upon anyone who sets their eyes on him. His voice is silk and his movements are grace, his dispositions are never ill-intentioned and he treats every thing in his life with gentleness.
If he wasn’t a god, it would be a great surprise.
Although Akaashi is soft spoken, he always has a few thoughts rolling through the fog of his mind. There is still so much he doesn’t know, and he never stops thinking about it.
Why doesn’t he like everyone else?
What exactly is he being punished for?
One day in that drafty cathedral, while Bokuto is silently praying, Akaashi decides to join him.
Would he finally get the answers he’s had for so long? Would touch him with his spirit and make him normal like he’s so desperately wanted.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Dear God, how do I start out a prayer to you? What do I say to you?
I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I need answers. I need to know why you made me this way.
Did I do something wrong? Is it a punishment?
I’ll wait for a sign, if you decide to give me one.
He crosses his hand across his body, he opens his eyes and stares at the altar before him. He’s looked at it so much, so many masses performed on that very altar. Did it ever get tiring, well, Akaashi never gets tired of praising Bokuto.
Out of his peripheral, he fails to see a pair of knees besides him. He cranes his neck and looks to Bokuto, who sits above him in the seat.
He stops breathing as the elder gives him a soft smile.
“You prayed, Akaashi.” His voice is so gentle and unlike him, Akaashi wants to turn into a puddle of all of his love for Bokuto at his feet. And yet, he is still kneeling, sadly in his human form.
“Yeah… I prayed.” He replies with the same softness. He sits back up and pushes the kneeler in. He looks up to the cross above their head, the stained glass shining on that instead.
Are you the god I should devote myself to instead?
He turns his head, looking to Bokuto, who is looking at him.
What a strange turn of events.
“What is your greatest sin, Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto smiles, mouth closed but nonetheless, it still radiates.
“Nothing you should ever worry about, Akaashi.”
They leave it at that.
Everyone always applauds Akaashi for taking care of Bokuto the way he does. How he knows exactly how to treat him during a certain mood, and how he knows what sets off these moods, and almost everything about the other.
How he wakes up earlier than usual to gel his hair, or how on competition days he prays the rosary, or how he only likes to use a specific type of soap because it was the only kind his mother bought during childhood.
Bokuto wasn’t a hard book to read, so Akaashi read him more than once, cover to cover, memorizing every word, every paragraph, every single thing his eyes would land on would imprint inside of his brain.
Did Bokuto know him like this too?
He might, but Akaashi wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t. He wasn’t worth it the way the elder was, deserving of every praise, deserving of every smile given to him, deserving of everything and more.
When Bokuto brings him strawberries, or when he falls asleep on his shoulder on the bus ride back from a match, or when he lends him a jacket, Akaashi feels whole. Even when it means nothing to Bokuto, it gives Akaashi a breath of relief, he thinks maybe this isn’t so bad.
Bokuto was worth the damnation, this he was sure of.
Akaashi finds himself at the cathedral once more. The night is deep and solemn. The stained glass doesn’t present a tint over anything, only candles lighting up the room.
Akaashi pulls down the hossock, kneeling and making the sign of the cross.
He doesn’t know what he’s praying for. There has been no sign, nothing to tell him exactly what he is meant to do or why he is this way.
I don’t need your sign. I understand that you don’t want to give it to me, and that’s okay.
I love Bokuto. You don’t have to tell me why.
I’ll never know why, but it’s easier to bear now.
He decides this is enough, he’s not in much of a mood to sign off with God, so he simply does the sign of the cross once more, and sits back up.
The doors open, Akaashi turns his head, ready to be reprimanded for sneaking out of his room in the midst of the night.
Instead, a tuft of white appeared, even if the face wasn’t clear, Akaashi didn’t need it.
He smiles and turns back around, looking at the same altar he’s been staring at for years, the white cloth with a cross adorning it, candles on all corners.
Bokuto takes a seat in the pew across from Akaashi.
“You couldn’t go to bed, ‘Kaashi?” His voice deep and rich, laced with sleep.
“No.” He answers simply.
“I woke up, something told me to come here. I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad you did too, Bokuto-san.”
The silence drowns them, it seems better than saying anything at the moment.
“I had a weird dream,” He starts off, they both continue to stare forward. “I was at a fork in the road, I could see you running off one way. It was a dangerous forest, filled with vines and huge roots and animals. I was so close to missing you, I’m glad I looked when I did. I couldn’t let you go alone, so I ran after you.
“The other way was obviously safer, but you still went. It was more something I would do than you. But anyways, I caught up to you, taking your hand. Right in that moment, all the dangerous things in the forest went away. The roots and vines disappeared, the animals turned kind and there was a clear path for us to go.”
“Did we go down the path?” Akaashi asks.
“I don’t know. I woke up before we went anywhere.”
It’s quiet for a few moments, letting everything settle in Akaashis head.
“Will you go down the path with me, Akaashi?”
The younger turns his head, looking to Bokuto.
He looks to Akaashi, and for the first time since he’s met him, his face is unreadable.
He swallows down his thoughts, even as his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton, he finds the words.
The candles are going to burn out soon, the room gets dimmer and dimmer, almost swallowing the two into complete darkness.
The moon shines through the stained glass, casting an array of colors of Bokuto's face. Akaashi can see the soft rising and falling of his chest, the way his hands rest in his lap.
This is his sign, It was the clearest it’s ever been, as Bokuto sits in front of him, godly as ever.
There are so many words running through his mind, so many things he has to say to the other, things he’s never said to a single soul. For the first time in his life, indulging in his sin didn’t fill him with disgust. If this will send him to hell, it is well worth it.
“Always, Bokuto-san.”