Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji had it all. A loving, wealthy family. Good looks. And enough talent to dance for a living.
He couldn’t remember a time without dancing. Ballet was a part of him. Sometimes, even all of him. He breathed it. He felt it in every pore. But from time to time, it wasn’t enough. A part of him screamed internally and left him empty inside. It made dancing occasionally painful. Akaashi never gave up but he’d been close before.
Today was one of those days. He was a storm with lightning in his lungs, thunder in his head, and rain in his heart. However his outside was as calm as a soft breeze.
At the moment it was early evening, and Akaashi had just left practice. It had been awful. They were going to perform “The Nutcracker” which was one of Akaashi's favourite ballets. He played the role of the snow prince, a role that he usually enjoyed. But not today. Nothing seemed right. The music was too loud and his pointed shoes felt wrong.
He didn't mess up but he wasn't at his best either.
Akaashi sighed, his breath visible in the cold air. He’d hoped the busy city would cheer him up, but this late there would be no street performers around. He continued his trek with slow, delicate steps. Unexpected claps, shouts, and faint music floated towards him, making him stop.
“At this time-?” He wondered.
With faster but still graceful strides, the young man walked towards the noise. He could see a small crowd standing around the source of the music. He moved through the crowd, and soon he was in the front row. He tugged up his scarf to cover the lower half of his face, a bad habit that he’d never kicked.
As he looked towards the noise he saw a street performer, just as he’d thought. At this point, he’d seen a lot of street performances, both good and bad. But never something like this. Never someone like this. Just looking at this man's performance made him feel better. He could feel the thunder stopping and the clouds drifting away. The rain stayed but it was softer.
The dancer's smile was blinding. Every movement was fluid. You could see with just one glance that he loved what he was doing. The moves seemed natural for him. As if he wasn’t able to stop. Like he could only breath properly when he was performing. Like he was more a part of dancing than dancing was a part of him. Just like Akaashi.
The dancer noticed him watching and smiled at him. It was embarrassing to be caught staring, but Akaashi didn't stop. He wasn’t able to. Even after the performance was done he still didn't move. He just stared, trapped in his own mind. Something, probably the same thing that made the storm vanish, would not let him go. The man noticed as well and approached him.
“Hey, hey, hey. You're still here, did you like my moves that much?” The young man gave him the biggest smile Akaashi had seen in a long time. It took a while for Akaashi to register the actual words. He had a nice voice, if a little loud.
Akaashi looked into the sparkling golden eyes, pulled up his scarf again, and gave a small smile in return. “Yes, I really enjoyed your performance.”
"Really? What did you like the most?” The way his entire face lit up showed that he was really pleased with the compliment. It made Akaashi feel strangely satisfied.
“Well, I liked all of it really, but maybe your windmill or your flare. Your balance seems really good.” Akaashi said.
Now the young man looked like a five year old on Christmas. Although instead of looking weird, he looked rather endearing. “Well, well, well, you're not just gorgeous, you also know things about dancing!”
Not expecting the compliment, Akaashi is left speechless. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to compliments. Truth be told, he got at least a few every day. But never like this. They never seemed so innocent. Never so pure. The tips of his ears turned red.
“T-Thank you-it's getting dark. I have to move on now. Have a nice evening.” Maybe he was running away, maybe not. Akaashi didn't know but it really was getting darker and therefore colder. He couldn’t afford to catch something right now.
The stranger seemed disappointed for a quick moment. “Oh right, well, thanks again! I hope we'll meet again, pretty boy. My name is Bokuto by the way! Bokuto Koutarou!”
Yeah. Definitely not running away. He was just hurriedly walking away with a red face.
What has he done?
“Bokuto... Koutarou.” He whispered.
The name felt right in his mouth. Like it belonged there. Almost like his voice was made for this name.
He was so doomed.