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The first time Akaashi Keiji sees Bokuto Koutarou is in his “Introduction to Modern Japanese Literature” when he sits down next to him. Bokuto rushes in just a few minutes before the professor had started talking.
The seat next to Akaashi usually remains empty for the entire lesson, and he would have remembered seeing a man like Bokuto in his class; He sticks out. Not just because of his hair, wildly sticking up in the air, black and white blending together.
It’s not his size either, though Akaashi spends a second letting his eyes linger on his bicep poorly contained in his tight t-shirt.
Bokuto’s leg is bouncing up and down, he looks like a person that should always be seen in movement, not sitting in a class.
What really makes Bokuto stick out in the crowd of university students is the light radiating from him. He’s smiling, and his eyes sparkle in a way that Akaashi hasn’t seen before. Akaashi feels warmer just by sitting next to him, he can’t help but hope that Bokuto will sit next to him for all his classes forever, and maybe just all the time.
The professor starts talking, and Akaashi must tear his eyes away from the man next to him.
Just before he can do so, Bokuto turns his head and sends Akaashi a blinding smile. The warmth he feels centers on his cheeks, and he finally pays attention to the professor.
The professor drones on and out of his peripheral vision, Akaashi sees the smile fall from Bokuto’s face, frowns form on his brow, and Akaashi could swear his hair even deflates slightly.
Bokuto springs up from his seat with a loud “WAIT!” successfully drawing the attention of everyone, including the professor.
“This isn’t cognitive psychology,” Bokuto yells, before all but sprinting out of the classroom, leaving Akaashi in the wake of the hurricane that Bokuto is.
The first time Akaashi speaks to Bokuto comes a few weeks later, when Akaashi is sitting in the coffee shop working on a paper. The coffee shop is warmly decorated with brown and gold, he loves studying at the café, everything is soft, and the coffee is good. He’s managed to get himself a booth in the unusually crowded shop.
Akaashi is staring at a blank page when he feels a presence next to him. He looks up and into the eyes of Bokuto, the golden eyes of the man who he had shamelessly stared at in class.
“Uhm,” Bokuto says. “Would you mind if I sit here? There aren’t any seats left,” Bokuto asks. His voice fits him perfectly, warm and just deep enough to be felt in Akaashi’s chest.
Akaashi could point out at least three free seats, but tells Bokuto yes anyway. The smile that follows hits Akaashi’s chest and makes him feel the same warmth as the first time Bokuto sat next to him.
Bokuto slides into the booth opposite of Akaashi.
“I’m Bokuto Koutarou,” Bokuto introduces himself. “I don’t know if you remember, but I accidentally sat next to you in a class that wasn’t mine?”
“Akaashi Keiji,” Akaashi reaches his hand forward, “and how could I forget?” He smiles and Bokuto laughs.
“Yeah, not my best moment.” Bokuto rubs the back of his neck. “So, what are you working on?”
Akaashi starts explaining the paper and the theories he’s applying to what texts, stopping halfway in to make sure he’s not boring the other to death, but Bokuto looks at him with wide eyes and a small smile so Akaashi continues.
After he finishes explaining, Bokuto asks more questions, some relating to Akaashi’s field of study, some just about Akaashi.
The sun sets, and Akaashi looks at the 13 words that have appeared on his previously plank page. He also looks across the table at the friend he made in the same time and decides that whatever time he’ll have to work on this extra is worth it.
“I have to go, but do you think I could get your number?” Bokuto is halfway out of the booth before asking, like he hadn’t planned on doing so but couldn’t help himself in the end.
Akaashi gives this yes, and his number, faster than the previous.
The first and last time Akaashi kisses Bokuto is on a cold evening under the streetlights. The stars are barely visible from the bright city. Their breaths are hanging in the air as they breathe out.
When Bokuto had offered to walk him home after their date, or at least what Akaashi had thought of as a date, he had imagined a walk full of warm conversation instead of frosty breaths.
Akaashi thought it had gone well, they had been talking, and Bokuto had made some really corny jokes, still every one of those made Akaashi laugh.
The walk isn’t long, and Akaashi can already see the front door to his apartment building. He doesn’t want to part from Bokuto. They arrive at the front door.
“Well, this is me,” Akaashi says, but Bokuto barely looks up at him. Akaashi turns to unlock the door.
“Wait!” Bokuto says loudly, Akaashi turns back around. “I had a really good time tonight, and I know I didn’t say much on the walk here, but I really, really liked tonight—and you. Yeah, I like you, and I want to do this again, but I don’t know if you liked it or me? The last one is probably the most important one,” Bokuto rambles on.
Akaashi steps off the step in front of his door, so that he’s on the same plane as Bokuto.
“Do you like me? Also, there’s this other thing, but… do you like me?” Bokuto continues.
Akaashi looks him in the eyes, the gold pulling him in, and steps closer. He reaches out and grabs onto Bokuto's coat and pulls Bokuto down to meet him.
He plants his lips on Bokuto’s.
Their noses bump together before they turn their faces just a little bit. Bokuto’s lips are warm and surprisingly soft.
Bokuto wraps his arms around Akaashi and pulls him even closer. Akaashi feels Bokuto’s tongue sliding over his bottom lip, softly. Akaashi’s cheeks glow red, not just from the cold.
As their lips part, Bokuto’s hands grip Akaashi tighter. Bokuto rests his forehead against Akaashi’s.
“Yes,” Akaashi whispers, “I like you.”
The last time Akaashi speaks to Bokuto is on a dark evening.
He sits alone in his apartment, the clock has long since passed midnight, but sleep hasn’t come to him yet. The only light in the apartment comes from the light of his computer screen, an empty page open on it.
Akaashi’s phone lights up next to him, the ringtone tearing the silence apart. The name on the screen tugs at Akaashi’s heart, and he can’t stop his fingers from answering it.
“Hello?” Akaashi says quietly into the phone, still not sure the person on the other end is really there.
“Akaashi?” Bokuto asks. “You answered...” A sigh follows, relief Akaashi hopes.
“You call me in the middle of the night,” Akaashi mumbles. “I couldn’t ignore that.”
However much he had wanted to, the sight of Bokuto’s name on his phone’s screen had awakened something in Akaashi that he had hoped to have buried.
“You’re right,” Bokuto says, voice thick. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Akaashi’s heart skips a beat.
“What are you sorry for?” Akaashi tries to keep his voice monotone, but the pitch rises slightly on ‘sorry,’
“Akaashi…” Bokuto whines. You should know is implied.
“I’m sorry for kissing you and then ignoring you, I’m sorry that I just left you,” Bokuto sniffles, “I have a reason, I promise you. I just, I can’t tell you.” Bokuto sobs, the sound echoes out into the empty apartment and surrounds Akaashi. Bokuto sobbing is something Akaashi had never imagined, and the sound nearly swallows him whole.
“Bokuto, why are you crying?” Akaashi whispers.
“Everything is just a lot right now,” Bokuto mumbles in between teary breaths. “And then I remembered what I did to you, and it’s just too much, and then I called you, and I didn’t think you’d pick up, because if I was you, I’d hate me, and I really don’t want you to hate me.” Another sob echoes, it ricochets into Akaashi’s chest and splinters his heart into a million pieces.
“I don’t hate you, Bokuto,” Akaashi says, holding back tears. “I could never.” A single tear escapes and rolls down Akaashi’s cheek and onto the phone.
“Really?” Bokuto takes a deep breath. “I’m really happy to hear that.” He sighs again and this time, the relief is clear.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Akaashi asks while taking a deep breath.
“Could you just tell me about your day or something?” Bokuto’s voice is uncharacteristically small, and so Akaashi complies.
He talks about university, the new books he’s read, a new coffee he tried, and he talks until he can hear faint snoring from the other end, and even then, he doesn’t hang up. He falls asleep to Bokuto’s snores and wakes up to a thank you message.
The last time Akaashi sees Bokuto is on a grey day.
Akaashi’s black suit feels too tight, and his tie akin to a noose, but he walks in, one step at a time.
The other people watch Akaashi carefully as he steps up to the casket.
Akaashi sees him lying there, and he’s so still, so very still. His muscles have gone, and his hair lies down over his forehead. The warmth that Akaashi has come to associate with Bokuto is gone, Akaashi shivers. Bokuto’s eyes are closed, and Akaashi thanks whoever, that he doesn’t have to see them lifeless and without sparkle.
Akaashi keeps standing there, just looking, not really grasping that this Bokuto, this still and cold Bokuto, is the same as his Bokuto, his warm and always moving Bokuto.
Someone, Akaashi has never seen them before, tells him to sit down please, and Akaashi walks, one step at a time, to a row where there’s still space. So many people came to see Bokuto one last time, so many people who don’t know Akaashi, so many people that Akaashi doesn’t know. He can’t help but wonder if things had been different, would Bokuto have introduced him to some of these people? Would they have heard about Akaashi?
But things aren’t different.
Someone starts talking, then someone else, but Akaashi can’t listen. The words mean nothing. Someone closes the casket; he won’t see him again. The people stop talking and then Akaashi is walking out again, one step at a time.
They lower it, Bokuto, Akaashi reminds himself, into the ground. They lower it, reality and Akaashi’s heart, into the ground, and Akaashi walks home, one step at the time, eyes never lifting.
When Akaashi enters his own apartment, he explodes. He screams. He yells. He bursts into tears; they fall, and they fall. Akaashi falls to the floor and he stays there. The tears fall as the sun sets and they fall as he falls asleep next to his phone, one contact open on the screen, “Bokuto”.