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It all happened so achingly slow, yet so frighteningly fast. It felt right, as if this is how it was meant to be. As if it was planned out from the beginning. It felt so comfortable, the switch from friends to lovers. The natural progression of their relationship. In his arms, it was home. It had been home, since the start. It felt wrong, being without. He only wanted to spend his time with him. Listen to him ramble about his new interests, watch his animated expressions, breathe in the same air. There was so much all the time, always so many things going on. This was where he was meant to be. With him. Early mornings in his arms, afternoons on the beach, evenings at the dinner table, late nights on the road. That was his home.
He was loud and boisterous and utterly unstoppable. A tidal wave of so much, so fast. It was everything Akaashi loved. He let Bokuto wash over him, let him slide off his skin and soak his hair. He felt the sand under his toes give way as he surrendered to the currents. He felt himself turning, turning, turning, before being delivered to the shore. The water caressed his skin, as if in apology. Akaashi wanted, no, needed more. So he dove right back in. It was gentler, or maybe he was just accustomed to the force of it all. He saw the life underneath. The fish zipping around one another, the sand swirling into the crashing wave. He washed up. Again. Again and again and again and again, until he found his footing. Digging his heels into the sand, bracing himself for the full force of energy, of body-crushing hugs, of loud voices and of too-hard pats on the back. That immeasurable and overwhelming whole of Bokuto’s love. It was all so raw and unrestrained. Akaashi felt the small tug in his core, the feelings he had been fostering for years now. The unconditional warmth that was reserved for Bokuto alone. He was so incredibly special.