Work Text:
[Text to: World ♡] [7:30 am] akaashi!!! did you see that pic i sent yesterday?
[Text] [12:45 pm] Yes, Bokuto-san. It was very funny.
[12:45 pm] I’m sorry I didn’t reply. My senpai put another manuscript on my desk.
[Text - delivered] [6:02 pm] that’s okay!!! i’m on the train now ((*^▽^*)) look at this funny poster [Image attached]
[Text] [11:37 pm] That is very funny.
[11:42 pm] Ah, you’re probably asleep by now. Good night.
Bokuto sighed. He’d woken up before his alarm again—it was only 5:50 am. He hadn’t seen Akaashi in over a month.
Sure, there were occasional facetime calls, and texts throughout the day. But it wasn’t the same. He didn’t hear Akaashi quietly sip coffee in the morning, or turn pages beside his pillow after midnight. It was only him in his Black Jackals dorm, accompanied by a creaky floorboard’s echo.
His and Akaashi’s place, back in Tokyo, was the fifth apartment on the fifth floor. (He often joked that it was perfect because the number was easy to remember.) They’d bought it together after Akaashi got hired at his first real editing job. It was in an old building in a quiet neighborhood, close to the city but safely tucked away from its noise and bustle. The window ledges lining the outside windows were full of greenery: mini herb gardens and plants with curtains of leaves like little waterfalls.
They’d started out cooking and eating nearly every meal together, the kitchen routinely filling with spicy smells and pleasant sizzles. Their life was perfectly symmetrical: two toothbrushes on the sink, two owl mugs on the counter, two bodies sharing warmth under a blanket. But then things became busier, and slowly, slowly, the beautiful lines on their canvas became splattered with red paint.
It had started out small. Bokuto would leave early and have breakfast on his own one day, the next Akaashi would take a rain check for dinner to finish with a manuscript. Little by little, their responsibilities stole their time together, until all they had left was the few minutes at night or in the morning when one, with sleepy eyes, would catch the other awake and steal a kiss.
One night after he’d come home from a long day of training, he found Akaashi sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee gone cold. And Akaashi said that they couldn’t keep doing this anymore, living together when Bokuto had such a long commute and they never got time together anyway. He hadn’t realized he was about to cry until the tears poured out in buckets, and Akaashi had tightly wrapped a pair of arms around him. He’d pretended to not notice the wet patch that had formed on his shoulder.
That was months ago.
Now, things were a little less tear-filled, though Bokuto would say that he still felt like one of his ribs was missing most of the time. At least he had pillows to pad his heart: good morning texts, memes and photos sent throughout the day, the occasional five-minute phone call that always ended with I love you, words that Bokuto meant more and more each time he said them.
Love was hard. That was a fact of life he’d been aware of since he was a little kid, watching some knight on TV battle a fire-breathing dragon to save a princess. But he’d always felt like that fact didn’t apply to him.
Because loving Akaashi was so easy. He couldn’t imagine looking into those sea-green eyes and feeling anything but love. Ever since they’d met, seeing Akaashi play volleyball made his lungs burst with admiration, feeling Akaashi’s touches filled him with warmth and security, and tasting Akaashi...well, it was better if he didn’t think about that for too long while sitting on the train.
[Text to: World ♡] i can’t wait to see you!!! (๑♡3♡๑)
No reply.
There was no reason for his heart to free fall into his stomach like that. After all, they were both busy. Of course Akaashi couldn’t check his phone all the time. But…Akaashi’s texts had been even more scattered than usual. The replies were shorter, distracted. Like texting Bokuto was just another item on his infinite list of things to do. It made Bokuto wonder if...if Akaashi even missed him.
He shook his head out of the thought. Of course Akaashi missed him.
But what if he missed Bokuto so much that it ached? And what if he got tired of that...constant longing?
In his mind, he always pictured Akaashi waiting for him. Akaashi, laying on his side in their bed, biting back a smile. Hands nestled between his thighs to keep them warm.
Maybe it was only in his imagination.
♤
The next day, Akaashi still hadn’t replied to his text. Which wasn’t that weird—after all, it was normal to miss a text once in a while. But something in his gut told him that it was different this time.
Did they get together too soon? Should Bokuto have not asked Akaashi out on his graduation day? Since they’d started dating, their dominos had never lined up: Bokuto pursued volleyball, Akaashi went to college and started working. They were always going in two different directions, lines on a graph that only ever seemed to cross by luck or sheer determination.
Did Akaashi even want their lines to cross anymore?
Well...why would he? When Bokuto had to be away all the time.
Did it even count as long distance when you were both in the same country? It should’ve.
[Text from: World ♡] [8:16 pm] I can’t wait either. You’re coming home this weekend, right?
[Text - delivered] [9:04 pm] yup! be ready for me
[Text] [9:05 pm] I definitely will be.
[9:07 pm] You only used one exclamation point. Is everything all right?
That Friday evening, Bokuto stood in front of apartment 505, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His weight shifted between his feet. Was Akaashi going to be mad? Was he even going to have time for Bokuto, with his huge workload? He didn’t want to be a distraction. And how should he even greet Akaashi? His boyfriend would immediately know if something was even slightly off.
His hand stuck the key into the lock, then turned it. As soon as he stepped forward, a large object slammed into his chest.
No—it wasn’t an object. It was Akaashi, who pulled him into a tight hug before he could even walk in the door.
Before he could say anything, he was hit with a kiss. Not that he minded—he melted against it, dissolving. Vanilla-infused coffee met his tongue and the scent of fresh linens filled his nose, his hand meeting the back of a woven cardigan. All of his worries vanished.
He murmured against Akaashi’s lips, “I’m home.”
Akaashi rubbed their noses together. “Welcome back.”
Forgotten texts, missing exclamation points—they meant nothing when he was home. All that mattered was this bubble that existed for just the two of them.
It took some time for them to detangle, but Bokuto eventually made it past the doorway and into the apartment. Expecting a night of cuddling and catching up, he hopped into the shower. But when he came out in nothing but a towel, he found Akaashi dressed in a fancy turtleneck.
“Do you have a meeting or something?”
Akaashi laughed. “No, we’re going out. Get dressed.”
He grunted in excited approval, padding into their bedroom. Laid across the blanket was a white T-shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of jeans that hugged the curves of his ass. Oh ho ho~ He’d have to make sure that he walked in front of Akaashi tonight.
Later, as they walked through neon-lit streets, Akaashi clicked his tongue. “Bokuto-san, will you stop trying to look at my phone?”
He whined, the spikes of his hair already threatening to droop. “Akaashi! Your GPS is on and I wanna know where we’re going.”
“It’s a surprise.”
When he tried to peek again, Akaashi gracefully slid his phone into his coat pocket. “We’re here.”
He gasped. It was a fancy restaurant he’d been wanting to try for months, but they’d never gotten the chance to go to. Even when they were together, they’d been too exhausted to leave the apartment.
Akaashi opened the door for him, and then he remembered his jeans, straightening up his back and feeling a small wave of victory when he felt Akaashi’s eyes lingering on his ass.
Their meal was amazing. Not just because of the food (though it was definitely A++) or the alcohol (which was also *chef’s kiss*), but because it was a meal they ate together. And even more so because they were on a date, a real date instead of eating takeout in their pajamas and watching variety shows. Which was fun, but it didn’t exactly keep the romance alive.
“Akaashi, let’s take a photo.”
They both leaned in closer to get in the frame. Bokuto put his arm around Akaashi, grinning, and Akaashi had his warm little smile. But just before pressing the “capture” button, he swerved his head around to place a sweet kiss on Akaashi’s cheek.
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi scolded, lightly hitting his shoulder.
The shot came out a little blurry, but there they were: Bokuto in his glory and Akaashi (the real star), eyes sparkling with pleasant surprise, the beginnings of roses forming on his cheeks. It was so perfect that Bokuto made it his new wallpaper.
“You don’t have to do that,” Akaashi said embarrassedly.
“But you’re the first thing I want to see every morning.”
“...All right then.”
That made Akaashi blush properly. Bokuto didn’t even know why his boyfriend would comment when his background was of Bokuto, all sweaty, in Black Jackals uniform.
Bokuto patted his pockets. “I’ll get the check.”
Akaashi shook his head. “No, I’ll get it. It’s your welcome home gift.”
He raised an eyebrow, playful. “I thought you’d be giving me that tonight?”
“Oh, you’ll be getting it.” Akaashi rose from his seat, going over to the front desk.
Bokuto had to keep himself from bouncing his chair. A month of late-night Akaashi fantasies had him craving the real thing. He was so distracted by it that when his phone rang, he answered without checking who it was.
“Hello?”
He was still staring at his screen, brows furrowed, bottom lip between his teeth, when Akaashi returned to the table.
A glass shattered on the floor, the product of another patron’s clumsiness. It must have been nearby—the shards embedded themselves in his heart.
Akaashi’s smile faded away. His voice took careful steps, word by word, as though walking the tightrope of his disappointment. “You...have to go, don’t you?”
He couldn’t look away from the harsh light of the screen, unable to meet Akaashi’s eyes. The call had lasted thirty-three seconds.
Thirty-three seconds had ruined their entire night.
His fist rested on the disgustingly smooth table. What could he say?
“I’m sorry.” He knew that Akaashi deserved more than that, but he had nothing else to offer.
Akaashi folded his arms, his voice becoming clipped in that way it did when he tried to not sound annoyed. “When?”
He looked up, grimacing at the answer he was about to give. “Tomorrow morning.”
They were supposed to have the whole weekend—just three days without last minute schedule changes or emergency practices—and he couldn’t even give Akaashi that much.
“Well.” Akaashi extended his hand. “At least I have you for tonight.”
Their lovemaking was different that night. Normally, the time apart would have turned them wild, and by the time Bokuto returned to the Black Jackals locker room, he’d have accumulated a collection of hickeys, bite marks, and bruises that had been a little embarrassing at first, but he’d eventually worn with pride. Akaashi’d also never managed to escape unscathed.
But tonight, they traced over each other with only the edges of their fingertips, as though they were each holding something delicate. Bokuto could have sworn that Akaashi’s fingers were trying to memorize his shape, to lock it away in his memory before it disappeared again. When they nestled against the pillows and he heard barely-there wet sniffles, he pulled Akaashi to his chest and would have thrown away his career right then if Akaashi asked him to.
But Akaashi would never ask him to.
♤
The next morning, Akaashi walked him to the station with arms folded. A frown was etched into his features and Bokuto knew why:
- It was morning. (That always made Akaashi grumpy.)
- It was cold. (He was pulling his cardigan over his chest over and over again. Why didn’t he just wear a jacket?)
- He was mad at Bokuto for leaving. (Bokuto couldn’t blame him for that one.)
- But he felt that he didn’t have a right to be mad when leaving wasn’t Bokuto’s choice. (Even though Akaashi could be as mad as he wanted to.)
- Being mad wasn’t helping and it would ruin the precious time he had left with Bokuto. (Though Bokuto didn’t mind, because being with Akaashi at all was a blessing.)
- ...Yet he couldn’t stop being upset. (He was a complicated guy.)
At least, that was the kind of circular thinking that Akaashi got himself stuck in. Bokuto’s solution was to steal one of the folded hands and lace their fingers together.
“Will you be able to come home again soon?”
That hopeful gaze he adored, that question that crushed him. They both knew that he didn’t know the answer.
“They’ll have to let me.” He wore his signature easy smile. “I’m going to throw a tantrum, and I think I can get Tsum Tsum to back me up.”
Before Akaashi could say anything, the PA system announced that his train was about to leave.
“You have to go.”
His eyes searched Akaashi’s, his feet rooted to the floor. “I-”
He was interrupted with a swift kiss. Catching him off guard twice in a row, Akaashi gave him a gentle push forward.
“Go! Or you’ll miss your train.”
His feet finally started moving, though they moved backwards, facing Akaashi as he walked towards his train. “I’ll miss you more.”
He could finally breathe when a smile graced Akaashi’s beautiful face. The doors slid closed, the train whisking him away once more.
He already missed Akaashi. Maybe he could text him? He pulled out his phone, breaking into a giddy laugh at the sight of his wallpaper. No matter what, he would see that smile again.