Archive of Our Own

“Breaking News; There's been an escape at Fuchu Prison!” Morishita’s face popped up on the screen and Bokuto’s mind froze. He stared at the television, and his hand ceased stroking Akaashi’s sleeping head. He blinked a few times, trying to see if it wasn’t just his imagination.

“He’s on the run, but we’re not exactly sure where he’s gone off to. He’s found some way to keep himself off the grid, and he may have altered his appearance. Be watchful, and be careful, Tokyo city!”

Then, the story changed to Morishita’s past crimes. Images of Akaashi were shown. His tears, his injuries, his grief were all projected to the screen. Pictures of Watanabe were thrown up there too, the anchorwoman explaining and speaking about the story from that time. It had been about a month since Akaashi was saved, and he was just starting progress in therapy. He was even planning on going alone tomorrow, but now, he’d never be able to leave the house without panicking. 

Bokuto knew how scared Akaashi got every time he saw someone that even looked a smidge like his past abuser. He’d been there when Akaashi broke into tears after a memory. He’d been there when Akaashi screamed and awoke the entire household during a nightmare. He had seen it all, and he despised it. So now that the one person who needed to be behind bars escaped, Bokuto was terrified. 

Akaashi mumbled something against Bokuto’s stomach, slowly looking up and cracking his eyelids open. “Your hand got cold,” he repeated when he realized Bokuto didn’t hear him. “You okay?” He tensed, and Akaashi sat up to rub his eyes. “Kou?” 

“Kaashi, please don’t freak out,” Bokuto gently took those soft palms into his own and squeezed them. “But… look at the television.”

He raised an eyebrow, then turned to see the screen as well. “Huh? Why are they reporting about me again?”

“Because, Kaashi, he’s escaped,” Bokuto whispered, and Akaashi’s cheeks paled immediately. 

“He’s escaped?” his fingers curled around Bokuto’s, trying desperately to keep himself from shaking or breaking down into frantic sobs. However, even with his attempts, the latter occurred as soon as Bokuto barely nodded.

“Shh, shh, I’ll keep you safe, I promise,” Bokuto hushed the male, regret trickling into his mind as Akaashi’s entire body was rocked by his sobs. 

“No! No! He can’t have escaped!” he wailed, panic rising in his voice and tears running down his face. “He can’t have! Please, tell me it isn’t true, Koutarou!” He sheltered his face in the crook between Bokuto’s neck and shoulder, desperately trying to escape. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I wish I was lying, Kaashi, I really wish I was.” He hesitated for a moment, looking between the television and Akaashi. “Police will catch him, Kaashi, he’ll be put behind bars once again where he belongs.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Koutarou!” he shook his head, fingers only tightening in his shirt. “I’m scared about why he broke out! He’s after someone, Koutarou! I’m terrified knowing that it’s going to be me!”

“Oh Kaashi…”

You shouldn’t have to live in fear any longer. This was supposed to be long behind us. But, now here you are once again, crying while I’m sitting by helplessly.

He held onto Akaashi, with only the faint flicker of hope in his heart. Hope that this monster of a man would be captured once again, for good.

The police launched an almost country-wide manhunt for Morishita, but to no avail, even after two weeks. No new leads, no new details. Bokuto was thrown into memories of how this was the same exact thing, for an entire year, before Akaashi was finally found. He just wondered, how long would it take to find this criminal?

Would he even be found in time before he hurt Akaashi again? Or worse-

No! Bokuto shook his head furiously, his fingers clenching the steering wheel with newfound despair. We are not thinking about the worst-case scenario!

 He all but floored the gas pedal, his eyes determined slits that scoured the roads and sidewalks for anyone suspicious, anyone like Morishita. Of course, there was absolutely nothing. At least, none that he could see with the naked eye. 

The light ahead of him turned red, and he eased the car to a stop right in front of the crosswalk. He double-checked that his doors were locked, and yeah, they were. He breathed a small sigh of relief at the uninteresting street, then leaned back in his seat to wait for the light to flash green. He raised a hand to his head, massaging his forehead to concentrate on driving. But, with the impending image of Akaashi being hurt again pressing through his mind, it was rather difficult.

There was blood, screaming, and so much pain flowing through his head, seemingly on repeat.

But for some reason, it seemed all too real.

All of a sudden, a horn honked at Bokuto, but he couldn’t respond. Something felt wrong, something felt awful. His head shifted, and his eyes went wider than his car door, which was ripped open by a different figure. Their shouted words were sent through oceans before reaching Bokuto’s ears, muffled and unrecognizable.

His fogged eyes found their frantic face, with a few others behind them. Their lips were all moving, but not angrily. Bokuto tilted his head towards them even more, and finally, words became clearer.

“Kid! Kid! Wake up!” Hands were at his shoulders, slightly shaking him. “Don’t worry, we’re calling you an ambulance!”

When Bokuto looked behind them, he saw three people crowded around one single phone, all of their mouths moving in broken unison. “Why..?” he coughed, but as soon as his lips opened, pain shot through his entire body. “What…”

“Don’t talk, kid! It’ll all be okay!”

Wailing came from the distance, and Bokuto laid his head back, only to be scared by the person’s sudden gasp. “No, don’t lean back!” They shoved their hand between the back of his head and the headrest, keeping him upright. “I know, I know, you’re hurting, but it’ll all be okay, alright? Just don’t move, and paramedics will take you to the hospital!”

“Ji…” he tried, whimpering at the pain spreading from his chest right to his brain and back again. “Keiji..?”

“Hold on, we’ll bring you to the hospital, then call your family,” they turned to face the oncoming ambulance, but then Bokuto’s vision faded. The last thing he heard was one final cry of the ambulance, and the words pleading for him to hold on.

Paramedics wheeled a cot over to the car, cutting the seat belt from place and carefully extracting Bokuto from the seat, with the large shard of windshield still sticking out of his chest. He was carefully lifted into the back of the ambulance, with proper anesthetics to keep him sedated and hopefully, numb. 

The ride was bumpy, but Bokuto wasn’t affected by the roads’ condition. The paramedics, however, were silently panicking. One of them was struggling to keep Bokuto from bleeding out, and the other was desperately attempting to properly assess the damage without harming him. Alas, blood was spilled. Their gloves were lined with Bokuto’s blood, and it wasn’t getting any better.

They exchanged terrified looks, their eyes locking with each other in panic. The same exact thought was on their minds.

If this boy continues losing blood like this, he’ll be dead before we even reach the hospital.

But, they were trained for this, and wouldn’t just give up that easily! This was a human’s life on their hands, and they would not fail until the doctors could confirm his safety and life. This boy, he had an entire life ahead of him, and it would not be stolen away by an accident and the failures of two senior paramedics.

The ambulance weaved in between traffic, closing into the hospital faster than before. It seemed the driver understood the direness of the situation as well as the paramedics in the back. With one final swerve, the ambulance slowed to an abrupt stop. The doors were flown open, with a small crowd of people on the ground, including a doctor with a clipboard and plenty of nurses ready and waiting for their directions.

The cot was generously lowered to the floor, the clack of the wheels underlying the chatter of his condition and what would be necessary.

“Doctor, he’ll be needing emergency surgery, and possibly an immediate lung transplant,” one of the paramedics reported, almost jogging to keep up with the doctor leading Bokuto down the halls of the hospital. People were quickly stepping aside at the sight of the bleeding boy comatose in the cot, who had one nurse on each side pressing heavy cloths against the open wound in his chest.

“And someone, call this boy’s family!” a different nurse yelled at the front desk, who began frantically working to find whatever information and numbers they could from the wallet extracted from Bokuto’s pocket. Keyboards tapped letter after letter, and soon, voices were explaining the situation to a terrified mother on the other line. But, little did the front desk know, the one person that didn’t need any more heartache was listening in.

Akaashi heard every single word of that conversation, and nearly fainted on the spot. His head got dizzy, his vision blurred, and his knees went weak. He felt as though his world were crumbling down before him again and again, with no clear source for his destruction. He was caught in an earthquake, and it triumphed over him.

He collided with the floor, and his world ended for the…

How many times had it been since this all began?

Too many, far too many.

Bokuto’s mother was too slow to react, and the collision left Akaashi unconscious, and the mother to wonder what the hell went wrong in this life. She wondered where it truly began, and how it had gotten so awful. She sank to her knees, pulling Akaashi close to her chest, and cried.

Her boy, her young, kind, clever boy, was in the hospital, fighting for his goddamn life. And Akaashi, tender, caring, fragile Akaashi, was paying the price for this unexpected horror.

Her tears wouldn’t save her son, nor comfort Akaashi, but God, she needed to release every single pent up emotion, and be strong for both of her sons. She held Akaashi closer, and began to pray. 

She never used to pray.

The doctor could finally rest his weary eyes, and he tossed his glasses to his desk as he ran his hands down his entire face. He groaned into his palms, the exhaustion catching up with him. He could see the surgeons hard at work through the window to his right, but the sight of the boy’s blood was too much for his tired mind. He closed his eyes, his lab coat acting as a poor excuse for a blanket as he leaned back in his desk chair.

There came a knock on the door, and a nurse entered without even waiting for his response. “We’ve found a proper lung donor for Bokuto-kun,” she reported, her eyebrows shifting as she read from her clipboard. “As well as blood transfusions.”

“Perfect, so now we just wait for the surgeons to finish his procedure. Did you contact his family?” he asked, fixing his glasses back onto his face.

“Yes, and his mother said they would be arriving within the hour,” she sighed, leaning on the desk to keep herself stable. “We’d better prepare for their arrival, she’s going to want the details.”

“Most likely,” he sat up, selecting a pen from the edge of his desk and a sheet of information from the other. “I’ll get to work on that.”

She nodded with a hum of affirmation, as though the words were stuck in his throat. She didn’t speak any longer, just gave another silent nod, then her feet led her out of the office and into the hallway. As the door opened and closed, the doctor caught small chatter before it was sealed away again. He almost slammed his forehead on the desk, but stayed focused on his current task.

The surgeons will get their job done correctly, and I’ll be able to send this boy back home, safe and sound.

He made himself believe those words as he scribbled on the information sheet. He wouldn’t let a young boy get ripped from his future.

It was a job well done, it seemed his sharpshooting skills hadn’t faded even after a long time of shelving them. His hands didn’t fail him for once in his life, the same ones that let go of his most prized possession, the boy who would have given him thousands, maybe millions if he played his cards right, in riches. His trophy boy, who had been stolen from him right under his nose.

He despised the one that took him away, that dual-haired brat. That child had been the one keeping his trophy away, even when Akaashi was in his firm grasp. The name that had been whispered countless times throughout the night until it drove Morishita completely insane.

He wanted to own Akaashi, that way no other man would be able to even touch him without gifted permission. Even a mere glance in Akaashi’s direction would cost them dearly. Hell, being in the same room-!

He shook his head, looking down onto the scene he had caused in the street. He would think about this more once he had Akaashi back in his reach, back where he belonged.  

But now, Morishita heard the wails of the ambulance, and he scowled. Someone had called them all too soon, and he thought traffic would have been more congested than this. He had made sure of that! Multiple of his men were on the road going to and from the hospital, clogging up the road like muck in a drainpipe. But, it turned out that they had failed. Morishita would be reprimanding them afterwards.

He overlooked as the dual-haired boy was lifted onto a cot and wheeled away, but then his initial smirk returned. His chest was bloody, his face pale, and a shard of his windshield sticking out of his flesh. Morishita assessed the damage he could see, and almost burst into maniacal laughter.

He might not even survive the ride to the hospital!  

It was the best feeling he had ever felt! At least, for as long as he had been in prison and since he had escaped. He giggled evilly to himself, stifling them behind the back of his hand. He slid his sniper back inside the window, making sure no one saw him as he packed up and soon left. 

Both of the damaged cars were left on the street as he passed by, and his face pretended to be concerned for whoever was in this terrible accident. A tow truck was pulling up, but no one seemed to notice the blown tire on the front of the teenager’s vehicle. They were all too frantic about making it to work on time, even with this awful delay. His duffle bag was slung over his shoulder, decorated like a gym duffle. Little did these people know, he was the cause of this. And, they would never know.

This was all to get his trophy back, his dear Keiji.

You’re going to regret running from me, he mused with a hidden smirk. The plan was all coming together in his head, and he knew just the thing to make sure that the child would die.

He walked almost proudly as police passed him on the sidewalk, taking in the damage of the accident. They didn’t even bat an eyelash at him. Yeah, this plan was working down to the very last letter.

Bokuto’s eyelids were heavy, as well as his entire body. His fingers were limp, unable to wiggle. The air around him was stuffy, until a cool breeze caressed his cheek, and a raindrop pattered onto his forehead. His eyes finally opened, and he found himself in the same field of flowers he always saw Akaashi in during their time separated.

The pathways were overgrown with rose thorns, but the flowers were just as beautiful. The clouds above were drizzling down on him, drops of rain forming and falling right before his waking eyes. He felt so exhausted.

His limbs were tucked under the brush, soft vines wrapping around them tenderly, almost like kind protection. His fingers twitched to feel a velvet petal of a rose, and the thorns shifted to give him access to the flower. He plucked the rose from the bush, bringing it close to his face to breathe in the gentle scent. The aroma filled his nostrils, tranquilizing him into a state of restful ease.

The pain in his chest was somewhat gone, only a dull ache by now. However, there was a yearning in his heart, for one particular person. He was the only thing missing from this perfect dream, this false vision. Akaashi wasn’t there, and the field of flowers had never seemed so relaxing, yet lonely at the same time. Bokuto much preferred Akaashi over the tranquility.

His lips parted, and a hushed plea escaped under his ragged breath. “Keiji..? Where…” He didn’t get to finish his question, but it seemed to be answered when he heard a sob from beside him, and the rain began to fall harder.

“Kou, Koutarou,” a familiar voice cried, a sudden grip on his hand strong and unwilling to release. “I’m here, please, just-” A gasp for breath, then more words. “Just don’t let go, keep holding on, please!”

He wanted to embrace Akaashi, to hold him and assure him that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, but his throat couldn’t manage anything else. With one particular inhale, a sharp pain was sent from his lung to his brain, and he whimpered in response. His numb fingers gained some form of strength, and he latched onto Akaashi’s hand like his last lifeline. “Kei- ji.”

There came a beep, and suddenly, Akaashi’s hands jerked away, but returned after a second with the distant sound of a relieved-washed sigh.

“He’s going to need more rest in order to fully recover,” an unrecognizable voice explained, and Bokuto heard Akaashi exhale a small breath. 

He leaned his head back against the pillow, but kept his hands firm on Akaashi’s. “Be… kay,” he whispered, then fully returned to the field of flowers, knowing that Akaashi was there, even if he couldn’t see.

The boy still awake, however, was not as relaxed and calm. He was fidgeting uncomfortably in the hospital chair, and the room seemed to close in on him with each and every glance at Bokuto. His thoughts were all curling intertwined, mushing into inaudible fragments of despair and prayer. 

His head spun with each beep of the machines around the room, his ears tricking him into believing each and every one of them resembled flatlines. However, Bokuto was still breathing, the mask fogging up with each inhale and disappearing with each exhale.

He knew he was alive, but oh God, he was so terrified. He thought, for a split second, that he would be alone again. But, it would have been ten times worse. There would have been no hope, with Akaashi being hopeless for the rest of his life, succumbing to despair for years to come. If Bokuto died here and now, Akaashi would be left unprotected. He was the one making sure he was always safe from whatever remnants of Morishita there were, and even now, when he knew Morishita was out there once again, it was so awful.

Stress and anxiety clawed their way into Akaashi’s heart over and over, unstoppable waves of unwanted words and scenarios flooding his mind. He began to cry all over again, and curled up in his seat. He thought the horrors were far behind him now, he thought they were going to be safe, happy, but he was wrong.

He had to learn how to survive all over again, but this time, he’d be alone for a while. Until Bokuto awoke, Akaashi had to take care of himself.

Bokuto’s car was brought to the police station for some further examination after a bystander loudly exclaimed how odd the front left tire seemed. When studied, an officer remarked the same thing. It looked as though it had been blown, but not by the impact. All of the other tires were completely intact, but this one had been popped. 

They dissected the tire, and made an utterly shocking discovery. There was a crushed bullet round inside of the tire, which had been shot through one side and completely ruined it. 

They gathered evidence from witnesses to the crash and all of them had the same story: “The car suddenly spun out of control, and crashed into an oncoming car.”

The hospital noted that Bokuto was absolutely not drunk or under the influence of any drugs, so they had ruled that out. But, with his newly unveiled evidence, they knew this crash was planned by an outside force. So, they decided to dig deeper.

Officer Smith, a transfer from America with an excellent record in solving issues such as these, took it upon himself to study Bokuto’s background. He found the connection between Bokuto and the Akaashi Keiji case from about a month or so prior, and pieced a few other things together. He piled all of his findings into a portfolio, and brought it to the chief officer.

“Sir, I believe I’ve already found the culprit,” Smith reported, placing the portfolio on Chief Officer Takahashi. His Japanese was still shaky, but it got the point across. Either way, he was phenomenal in his work, and officers had wished he was there for the Akaashi Keiji case. He would have found him in at least a third of the time he was missing. Alas, he was not in the vicinity. 

“Who?” Takahashi asked simply, so that way Smith could comprehend his words.

“Morishita Katsu, the one who kidnapped Akaashi Keiji all that time ago,” he answered, showing a picture of his suspect. “He had escaped from Fuchu prison, and it is most likely that he is going after Akaashi Keiji once again.”

“Understandable. Could you go to the scene of the crash and look for any sort of clues that he was there?” he looked between the portfolio and Smith, who nodded in understanding.

“Should I take a team?”

“One other, but that is it,” he ordered, and yet again, Smith showed his affirmation.

He bowed his head before exiting the office and collecting his gear. He made for one of his colleagues who didn’t seem busy, and requested he join him.

They set out roughly ten minutes later, with lacking conversation besides the occasional question and answer relating to the case. They reached the area of the crash, and parked their car nearby before walking the few blocks to the street. People were bustling around, chatting to others or on their phones, but it certainly wasn’t quiet and orderly. However, that did not matter. 

Smith approached a bystander who was standing off to the side, tapping something on his phone. His partner, Officer Sato, silently decided that he would do the talking, and spoke up first. “Excuse me, sir, were you around this area during the crash of yesterday?”

The man looked up from his phone, then tucked it into his pocket. “Not me, personally, but my brother was here.” He blinked at the officers, a little confused. “Why? What can I do for you?”

“We would like some information about the aftermath of the crash, so could you please get your brother on the phone so we can ask him a few questions?” Sato requested, his thumb finding his pocket and slightly fiddling with the fabric.

“Oh, uhm, sure,” he furrowed his brows, but pulled his phone out once more and dialed a number. He held it to his ear as it rang, then began speaking. “Toshi, some police want some information about the crash you saw yesterday.” There was a short beat of silence, then the man handed the phone over to Sato.

“Good afternoon,” he began, and the ‘Toshi’ on the other line bid a greeting as well. “First of all, what did you notice after the crash? Did any suspicious figures emerge from any nearby areas?”

‘Toshi’ thought for a moment, then exhaled a short breath. “I wasn’t sure at first, but there was a guy. He came out of the building across the street, holding a bag. I knew that the building was mostly vacant, nobody lived there. When he walked past the cars, I was just a few feet in front of him, but I swore I heard him laugh. I know it isn’t a lot to go off of, and he could have been on the phone, but who would laugh right next to a scene where a kid could have lost his life?” He went quiet, and Sato assumed he was finished with his explanation.

“Did you catch any glimpses at the man’s face, or where he went?”

“He had blonde hair, but it seemed faded and fake for some reason, and I think he had blue eyes? He was heading towards a car, then threw his bag into the trunk and drove off.”

Smith tapped Sato on the shoulder, then pointed to the building across the street, motioning that he would be going to check it out. Sato nodded as he continued speaking to the man on the phone. Smith took the crosswalk, his hand finding his gun holster but not making any moves to extract the weapon. He pushed the door to the vacant building open, and it squeaked but flew ajar with ease. He had expected it to be locked, if he was honest. 

He examined the door, but it wasn’t damaged in any way, not even the locks. He frowned at it, but continued inside. He searched the first floor, only to find dusty boxes without labels, but when he peeked inside, they were building supplies. He guessed this place was going to be renovated, but the project was abandoned. He shrugged it off and moved onto the second floor.

All of the windows were shut and locked, with more renovation tools scattered around. This floor, however, looked as though the project was halted in the middle of it. Wallpapers were fixed on the walls, but only on half of them. Door frames were partially taken down, with only a few planks nearby as replacements. The lights flickered, and a bulb dropped from the ceiling, shattering to pieces a few feet away from Smith. His eyes only glazed over the shards before moving onto the third and final floor.

This one was fully renovated, strangely enough. He would have expected it to be the other way around, but no. The floor was tile, with empty boxes all around. However, there weren’t just boxes. There was a crate as well, and a pillow by the window facing the street. He extracted his flashlight, while the other hand landed on his gun holster once more, and he kneeled to examine the box. His eyes widened, then narrowed at the sight of bullets, the same kind found in Bokuto’s tire.

It was confirmed, the car accident was forced to happen, but what was the motive?! 

Smith wracked his brain, and information flooded into his mind, realizations of his investigations filling his mind. He had heard from a different officer that Morishita had shot and killed the man who had contacted the police in the first place, and it was all to keep Akaashi within his grasp. His blood ran cold at this thought, but it was the only explanation. 

Morishita was going to kill Bokuto, because he was the one separating him and Akaashi. As long as Bokuto was in the picture, Akaashi would never ‘truly be his’. Smith whipped out his notepad and scribbled the hypothesis down, then stuck it back into his pocket. 

This means we need to protect Bokuto Koutarou as well as Akaashi Keiji. Or, the better alternative. Find Morishita before he can make another move. But in the meantime, I’d better request some officers to watch over Bokuto and Akaashi. Then, we’ll find this monster of a man.

He took a glance at the pillow near the window, and noticed a few stray strands of hair. He extracted his tweezers from the evidence kit in his back pocket, and placed the hairs in a small plastic bag. It may not have been Morishita’s, but there was a chance it was, and he was going to take it. It might help them find out where he had been and when, so they would be able to thoroughly track him and bring him back to justice.

Smith stepped back then stuck his head outside of the window. Sato was waving him back over, and he nodded in affirmation. He turned around to get moving down the stairs, but then he came face to face with a hooded figure. He reached for his gun once he saw they were armed as well, and moved the other hand towards the radio on his shoulder.

“Don’t even bother,” the figure hissed, their voice revealing them as male. “You’d be dead before you uttered a word.” His hooded head shifted between looking at Smith’s hands on his gun, and his face. “Step away from the window, and bring your hands to the head.”

Smith’s eyebrows furrowed, and his glare narrowed. “You, you’re the one who’s trying to kill the child, aren’t you?”

“What if I am?” He laughed like a maniac, a hand coming to his forehead. “What if I am?!”

“You’ll be put behind bars for the rest of your life,” Smith hissed as his feet brought him out of sight from the window. 

“Funny, that’s what many people threatened for me, and oh, how pitiful it was,” he hummed, his gun now facing Smith, his finger on the trigger. “Especially that look Keiji gave me when I was being arrested, I could never forget that sweet grief.”

The police officer bit his tongue to keep from shouting at this man and alerting Sato outside. But, something needed to be done. He couldn’t just run free! It was a policeman’s job to protect and serve, and right now, he was acting selfish as he raised his hands to his head, saving his own goddamn life. He exhaled, and prayed the bullet-proof vest proved useful. His right hand forced itself towards his holster faster than the man could react, and a gunshot rang throughout the air. 

Suddenly, there are worried exclaims from the outside world, and shouts from a familiar voice. Sato would be up there soon, hopefully with backup on the way.

“Oh, you bastard!” the man snarled, and unloaded four bullets towards Smith, but then the weapon caught, and malfunctioned. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” 

Smith held the arm that got shot, thankfully only once, and glowered at the man. “You’ll rot in Hell for hurting those kids.”

“Heh heh heh, you think I don’t know that?” he rasped painfully as footsteps thundered up the stairs nearby. “But, you’d better watch yourself as well, officer. There aren’t just bullets in that crate you’re standing next to.”

“What do-”

Without even finishing his question, Smith’s ears popped with the scream of an explosion right behind him. He flung, face first, into the wall on the opposite side of the room, and he couldn’t even gasp for air, or exclaim his pain. He choked on his own saliva, falling to the floor in a limp pile. All he saw before he blacked out, or died for that matter, was the smirking face of a faux-blonde man, with blue eyes. 

With the ringing of the explosion still in his ears, making his fight-for-life state extremely uncomfortable, Smith couldn’t help but lose the battle. He laid on his back, blood soaking through his clothes and rushing atop the grout between the tiles.

His last hope?

He prayed that the other officers would understand his concerns about Bokuto’s safety, and save him. He despised it when young people were murdered. He had seen it all too often.

All too often… 

Sato was too late in his ascent up the stairs, and all he saw was Smith’s lifeless body facing the darkest part of the room, where there was a doorframe, but they could not see beyond it. He would have made his way through the crumbling frame, but he refused to leave his fallen comrade until backup arrived.

He assured himself, as well as Smith’s soul that remained in the room, that he would receive a proper burial. He bowed his head, his hands clasped together in prayer for his soul to find peace in the afterlife. When he looked to the left, he could see the clear blue sky, with a patch of it obscured by smoke from the explosion. He mulled over what Smith could have possibly done to deserve such a premature death, and his mind began to reminisce over the relatively short time Smith was here, but all he could remember were the smiles he showed to everyone he greeted. 

It was back when the transfer officer didn’t fully understand Japanese, so he would always smile and nod if it sounded like a question for a request. The entire department laughed at this once, when Smith agreed to take on a ‘missing pencil’ case around the office. Chief Takahashi had taken obvious advantage of his misunderstandings, and gave him an entire list of evidence for this missing pencil. They had watched him walk out the door, only to return five minutes later asking why the kanji read ‘pencil’.

That had been a good day.

But now, the serious, unwillingly hilarious yet hard working officer was gone. Sato would never be able to hear him butcher Japanese again.

He shook this awful feeling of dread from his shoulders, and requested an ambulance to properly escort him away. He radioed the backup, asking how the situation was down on the ground.

“No injured, besides a couple scrapes from falling over and taking cover, but no fallen debris have hit the people,” Officer Suzuki reported, her voice sounding almost strained as she explained. “And, Officer Smith? He was in the building when the bomb went off, correct?”

“He’s…” Sato trailed off, and Suzuki exhaled a sharp breath.

“I understand.” She paused, and a siren wail entered the vicinity. “Stay with him, backup is coming.”

“Alright.”

Little did they all know, Sato would be crying himself to sleep that night, filled with nothing but despair and regret.

The explosion was all over the news the next morning, as well as the reports of the killed officer. There was a small get-together with the department, as well as the members of Smith’s family. There were a few pictures of the event projected to the news, and Akaashi watched it with wide eyes. The anchorwoman explained that the culprit was none other than Morishita Katsu. He tilted his head at the screen, eyes opening and fluttering shut in flurries of emotions.

“Oh, Koutarou,” he whimpered, taking Bokuto’s hand firmly, yet his palms shook. “I don’t know if I can take this.” A fingernail lightly scratched at Akaashi’s knuckles, and he found the tiniest sliver of joy in the action, knowing Bokuto was still with him in that moment.

“He’s at large, and we don’t know when or where he will strike next!” she was saying, but Akaashi drowned her out by focusing on Bokuto’s sleeping features.

“You can hear me, even like this,” he muttered, taking Bokuto’s hand to his mouth to gently kiss his skin. “Are you awake?” That received a slight frown on Bokuto’s lips, and Akaashi felt himself release a sigh of relief. “Sort of awake.”

“Mneh,” he mustered through parted lips, and Akaashi let out a short giggle. Now, he was smiling, and his eyes twitched. “Kei…”

“I’m here, Kou, if you want to take up, I’m here for you,” he reassured him, holding his hand with both of his own. “Just please, don’t leave me for too long.”

He saw Bokuto lightly shaking his head in response, and his face scrunched up as his eyelids struggled to flick open. Akaashi stroked his cheek, soothing his attempts to wake himself up and look upon the one he called love. A sliver of his golden irises flashed beyond his eyelids, and Akaashi’s own filled with sudden tears. Finally, he was keeping strong eye contact with Bokuto, and his heart rose.

He brought a smile to his face, but didn’t sit up. He winced at the jolt of pain in his chest as he tried to move, then sighed and leaned back against the pillow. “I hope you weren’t waiting for too long,” he rasped, mentally cursing the IV needle in his opposite forearm. Without it, he would have thrown his arms around Akaashi and never let him go.

“Not at all,” he tilted his head, a calming smile brightening Bokuto’s world and kind eyes that trick him into a trance. Akaashi was just too gorgeous. “As long as you’re alive, that’s all I need.” He nuzzled Bokuto’s hand closer to his face, his cheeks warm to the soft touch.

There came a knock at the door, and Akaashi turned to face it with a tilted head. “Come in.”

The door swung open, and a man wearing a labcoat entered, with a clipboard and pen. “Ah, he’s awake?”

“Just woke up, yes,” Akaashi answered, looking down as he dropped Bokuto’s hands. He kept his own in his lap now, clenching his fingers together. “When do you think he’ll be released?”

“Well, he’ll still have to fully heal from his surgery, and we have to keep monitoring him to make sure his ribs heal correctly, so it’ll be a while,” he responded, taking the seat by the computer and tapping on the keyboard. He clicked on a few links to examine Bokuto’s progress, and a small smile pulled at his mouth. “But, his progress is steady, so you won’t have to worry about many future problems.”

“Oh, that’s-”

“However, it’ll take a few years of rehabilitation and therapy to fully get used to your new lung, so I’d stray from sports for a while, as well as any sort of extreme exercise.” 

Those words made Bokuto’s face clearly pale, and his hand frantically searched for Akaashi’s, which he found and squeezed. “For how long, though?” Akaashi asked the question evident in the injured boy’s eyes, and there was sheer guilt in his tone.

“Oh, I’d say two or three years, and you’d have to take it easy even then, but you’d be more free than now. The hardest part about the injuries are the limitations, trust me, I know,” he shifted his eyes from the screen to Bokuto’s rigid figure underneath the blanket. He sighed quietly, his gaze now hooded and remorseful. “But, you’ll still be able to do what you love.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Akaashi whispered, even though the words Bokuto wanted to scream were drastically different.

“Also, I will have to warn you,” he began, standing and taking upon a serious aura. “There will be police here, and they’re going to be here to protect you two from,” he pointed to the television screen. “Him.”

“Oh.” The dark haired male didn’t fidget like he used to. “I understand.”

Bokuto raised an eyebrow at the surprisingly calm response. He would have thought Akaashi would be in tears by now, whimpering and praying for everything to be okay. But, that didn’t come, even as the doctor left the room. Instead, the younger boy faced Bokuto with a minute smile. “I’ve had to build up strength for that, Kou. I’m getting stronger on my own.” He let out an almost forced chuckle, but his eyes shone with hidden determination. “Hah, I hardly even slept last night trying to gather my wits together.”

“Keiji,” his voice was distant, yet somehow so strong at the same time. “I’m so proud of you.”

He tucked a lock of dark hair behind his ear, shrugging. “It’s what I should have been doing long before this happened, but the thought of being alone, it made me think. I need to be strong on my own.”

“You will be strong, but you won’t ever be alone,” he promised, and there was no lie in those golden eyes that Akaashi repeatedly drowned in, surrounded by love and comfort.

“I love you, Koutarou.”

“I love you too, Keiji.”

“A-ah, I hope we’re not interrupting something?” A meek voice poked his head through the door, followed by a huge, booming one.

“Why is it that we always visit you in hospitals?!”

“Kuro! Quiet down!”

“Ehh, sorry, Kyanma.”

Bokuto would have burst into laughter if his lungs didn’t kill him with each shudder, but his smile showed it all. Akaashi faced the two incoming visitors, and took Kenma in for a hug while Kuroo sat across from the two setters. 

“I heard what happened, bro,” Kuroo sighed, leaning his head on his hand which was propped up by his elbow.

“I would certainly hope so, or else you wouldn’t be in this goddamn hospital!” Bokuto coughed with his words, and Kuroo broke into a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, that was stupid to say, wasn’t it?”

“Everything you say is stupid, Kuro.”

“Kyaaaanmaaaa!” he wailed, reeling back in his seat from the words of abuse, his hand over his chest in false hurt.

Akaashi observed as Kenma retorted on each of Kuroo’s random statements, every one winning a wail of retaliation, but to no avail. He could feel his soul lifting with ease, he was happy, despite this situation.

No, Morishita could never hurt him anymore, and he would never take him away from Bokuto ever again, nor vice versa. They would be safe, happy, living in their own world of joy and love, with their friends with them through the whole ordeal. Akaashi would find his purpose once again, and discard these awful memories.

He would be strong again.

This newfound strength came into play as Akaashi rode the bus home, insisting he re-integrate himself into society without Bokuto by his side. He knew the risks with Morishita still being at large, but there were plenty of people around, and he knew that he wasn’t the mob boss’ target. He sighed to himself, taking a seat on the bus and folding his hands in his lap. He closed his eyes, ignoring all other noises besides his breathing and the humming of the bus on the road.

A child began crying, wailing for their mother, and Akaashi’s immediate reaction was to comfort the young one, but he made no move towards them. He heard a soft hush of a mother, and the child began to calm. He exhaled a breath to himself, then turned his head to stare out at the shifting landscape. Empty streets and countrysides ran rapidly beside the bus, and the sun set, casting a golden glow across the scene. He smiled to himself, the beauty of it all oddly satisfying.

He faced back around and saw the child from earlier now smiling as they gazed out of the window, remarking on how fast the bus was speeding, which wasn’t actually that fast, but for a child, it was magical. The mother patted their back and agreed on their amazement. Akaashi was always soft for domestic family life, and he felt his heart warm at the sight. He wanted a family like that, where he would hold his child close and nod as they squealed with excitement at the simplest things such as the speed of the train. In light of this, he also thought of Bokuto, and his mind found itself wandering to how wonderful a father he would make. 

He dropped his head to look at his hands, then closed his eyes and traveled into that reality.

Bokuto, holding a small baby in his arms, all five of the child’s tiny fingers grasping onto only one of his own. Akaashi was beside them, looking over Bokuto’s shoulder with life in his eyes. The dual-haired male stroked the baby’s cheek, and the small eyes scrunched up before relaxing and two hands reached for Bokuto.

Akaashi nearly burst into tears at this sight, but held his composure, but hardly even by a thread. He reopened his eyes, ripping himself from the achingly sweet possibility and replacing himself in the present. There was no one with him to hold his hand, but he was not lonely. 

Someone sat beside him, but he did not flinch.

The bus took him just a couple blocks from his house, so once the doors brushed open, he stepped out into the evening air and took a few steps away to let others off as well. He held onto his bag, slipping it over his shoulder and grasping onto the strap to keep it in place. He began walking, and the sun continued to set around him, the last rays of light fading behind the rows of houses. 

He extracted his key from his bag’s front pocket and unlocked the front door, placing his foot on the hardwood and pulling himself inside. “Mom, I’m home.”

“Oh, Keiji,” she nearly gasped, her figure emerging from the living room, a concerned gaze following him. “You’re alone? And it’s so close to dark, what if-”

“It’s fine, Mom, nothing happened,” he interrupted before her fear could rub off on him. His normal apathy returned, and it had never been so relieving to both him and his mother. “And, Koutarou’s doing great,” he added softly, removing his shoes and fully entering the house. He placed a quick peck to his mother’s cheek as a greeting, then sighed. “But, he won’t be able to play volleyball for a while.”

She stiffened, then her shoulders relaxed. “How did he take it?”

“Couldn’t even speak,” he drew a hand to his face, wiping away at the ghosting tears that neglected to escape from his eyes. “I could tell he wanted to scream.”

“That poor boy,” she shook her head in disbelief, then stroked Akaashi’s hair. “I bet you’re tired and hungry, let me fix you up with something to eat. Your father and I already ate, but we didn’t expect you to be home from the hospital tonight.”

He took her hand and held it with both of his own, and conflict entered his features. “It’s alright, let me cook for myself.”

“Keiji, what’s gotten into you..?” her voice was soft, caring, but something felt amiss.

“I need to learn how to be independent again, Mom,” he explained, and she pulled her hand away from him. 

“Oh, alright, I understand.” She kissed his forehead, then stepped back and watched as he crossed over to the kitchen, placing his bag on the floor beside the counter. Her heart was filled with differing emotions, but she settled on leaving her son alone for the time being. If he wishes to be independent, then that is just another step in recovery. Everything will be alright, of course it will be. She assured herself with these words, then disappeared upstairs.

Akaashi pulled up a simple recipe from his phone, and extracted the necessary ingredients and materials. He hummed quietly to himself as he worked, the cooking instruments clinking together somewhat nicely. He kept himself company in that kitchen, following the recipe down to the last letter to create the meal.

The smell wafted through the kitchen soon, and Akaashi took that as a sign it was completed. He sat alone at the table, holding chopsticks as he said a quiet “thank you for the meal.” He took a bite, and hummed in appreciation. He finished off the food quickly but quietly, cleaning up his dishes as well. Then, he scooped up his bag and headed to his room upstairs. 

He unpacked his things, tossing whatever needed to be washed inside of his basket, and the others hung up in his closet. He selected his phone charger from the bottom of the bag, then plugged it into the outlet on the wall by his bedside table. He made a quick trip to the bathroom, changing into pajamas and brushing his teeth before crawling into his bed. He laid atop his blankets, staring up at the ceiling. What was it about ceilings he found so interesting?

Akaashi rolled over, curling into a loose ball, his forehead pressed up against the wall. It cooled his skin, calming him. He pulled his phone to his face, swiftly checking the time and his messages before shutting it back off. Nothing interesting, just a weather report for the next day.

Suddenly, he blinked, and the next time he checked his phone, multiple hours had passed. It was now nearing midnight, and Akaashi sat up, rubbing his eyes. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep, or whatever that passage of time was, when he heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. He narrowed his eyes, and latched onto his phone once again.

He knew exactly who it was, and he was determined to never be touched by those filthy fingers again.

He dialed three numbers, and his phone was immediately connected to the police hotline. “What is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked, sparing no time.

Akaashi lowered his voice to a careful whisper, and cupped his hand around his mouth and the phone. “Someone just broke into my house.”

“Alright, stay calm, and what is your address?” He spouted off the answer, and the dispatcher scribbled a few things on a sheet of paper. “We will send officers at once, try to hide for as long as you can, and stay on the line until the police are there.”

“I understand.” There was no sound of an ended call, so Akaashi stood from his bed and tip-toed into his bathroom, grasping onto a particular object and holding it tight in his hands. He slid into the darkest corner behind the cabinets. The shower curtain curled around him, hiding him from view, but also obscuring his sight of the door. He clenched his fingers around the object, attempting to trick himself into thinking Bokuto was holding his hand.

He heard footsteps from the opposite side of the wall. They were so awfully familiar, and it confirmed his suspicions. Morishita was here, looking for him. The object began to become slick with Akaashi’s sweat, but he still held it tight. There came the quiet hum of sirens, but also the whisper of a monster. “Oh Keijiii, you called the police, didn’t you?” He remained silent, and even the dispatcher hushed themselves.

The sirens grew in strength, and Morishita clearly got more desperate. “Keiji! Come out, right now!” Something crashed outside the bathroom, and the bathroom door smacked into the wall. Akaashi stiffened against the side of the cabinet, and his eyes sealed themselves shut. 

There were stomps nearing the cabinet, and the terrifying aura slapped Akaashi across the face. He dropped the phone as he came face to face with the man of his nightmares, the cause of all his pain and suffering. His hands began to shake, and his shoulders tensed. He stared up at Morishita with terror evident in his face, but he couldn’t even move a muscle as a disgusting hand clasped his shoulder. 

“Come along, I am bringing you back where you belong. ” His eyes were stern, furious, and his unwillingness to negotiate shone through the glare.

“No,” he mustered, shaking his head and jerking the hand off his shoulder. “I’m not going back with you.”

“You have. No. Choice!” he roared, snatching him by the forearm and dragging him from the hiding place. “You belong to me! You are my property !”

“No, I am not!” Akaashi screamed, taking the object in his hands, flipping it around, then using it to plunge right through Morishita’s bicep. He shoved him back, then took off running towards the stairs. 

He heard shouting threats, as well as two more sets of hurrying footsteps. He heard his mother gasp at the sight of him, yet she assured them all downstairs. “Keiji! What happened?!”

“It’s him, Mom,” he trembled under his words, but then there was a boom at the front door. 

“Police, open the door!” a male voice demanded, and Akaashi’s mother rushed to yank the door open. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs,” Akaashi answered, pointing to the room nearest to the stairs. “In that room.”

Two officers with their firearms stalked up the stairs, with backup right behind them, whilst Akaashi and his parents were ushered from the house. “Step away from the house in case he’s armed,” an officer advised as she radioed the ones inside, asking for the situation. Static answered her, then the screams of gunshots from both the radio and the house. 

Akaashi flinched back into his father’s arms, who turned him away from the sight, covering his ears tightly. “It’s alright, Keiji, it’s alright,” he whispered to his son, holding him close, protecting him from the noises all around.

A flash of Watanabe overtook Akaashi’s mind, but he had to constantly remind himself that he was already gone, and that he was going to be safe. 

“It’s too late!” the voice Akaashi never wanted to hear again cackled evilly. “I’ve already killed the one standing in my way!” When Akaashi turned with a pale face and unsteady hands, he could see that cocky smirk, breaking wide into maniacal laughter. “He begged for his life, Keiji! He begged for you, too!”

“LIAR!” Akaashi wailed, shaking his head vigorously into his father’s chest, his tears finally snapping free from their prison and tumbling down his cheeks. “You’re lying!”

“The sight was truly beautiful!”

“SHUT UP!” He ripped himself from his father, rage overtaking every nerve in his body. But, with the wall of police, he wasn’t able to get very far. Strong arms held him back, and the pitifully soft cries of a mother brought him back down to earth. “He-he can’t be! He’s lying!” A moment of quiet. “Right..?”

Even more thundering footsteps, and one final gunshot. A thud made Akaashi look past the officers, and he saw a bleeding man on their driveway. The sticky red liquid was seeping through the cracks in the concrete, traveling down to the street. Akaashi stopped and looked at the scene, and for a split second, he thought he saw Watanabe standing over the body. But, it was just another unfamiliar man. However, he definitely heard Watanabe’s voice above him.

“You’re safe now, Akaashi. And your friend, Bokuto? He’s alive too.”

“Watanabe,” he breathed, his gaze fixated on the night sky above, and the comforting rhythms disappeared into the stars. 

The cold twilight breeze made Akaashi shiver underneath his pajamas, but he didn’t hate it. He felt another soul depart from the scene, and it made his heart ease. There was blood on his hands, as well as a few splatters on his cheek, but it could easily be washed off, just like these horrendous crimes. He would be even stronger, because his main source of fear…

Was finally gone, for good.

A few years had passed with no serious events occurring, besides the long-awaited marriage proposal between Kuroo and Kenma, but their wedding was planned for much later when both were fully financially stable. But, other than that, there was nothing.

Bokuto had fully recovered and gotten accustomed to the lung transplant, and Akaashi watched as he spiked a ball right into the line, unblockable and unstoppable. He clapped gently, a smile overtaking his lips. He adjusted his glasses as he looked up and down the court where the MSBY Jackals were practicing. Bokuto had requested he stop by, and Akaashi complied, bringing some small snacks for the team as well. Sakusa was obviously wary at first, but then with a backslap and teasing from Atsumu, he aggressively took the snack and ate it ruthlessly.

However, there was one certain teammate missing; the jumping tangerine. Akaashi had assumed he was just late, but now that it had been about an hour, the rest of the team began whispering about it on the sidelines. Akaashi pulled out his phone to check the time, when a news report suddenly caught his eye.

The headline was a car accident just a few minutes down the road from this gym, and the description of the victim was oddly similar to Hinata. When Akaashi clicked on the full report, his blood ran cold. Without a word, he beckoned the team’s coach over, but kept the rest of them away. He showed the report to him, his hand over his mouth. The coach stiffened visibly, and Bokuto tried to bound over to see what the issue was, but Akaashi shook his head once, and he stayed away.

“Well, there is nothing we can do but hope he will be alright,” the coach whispered to Akaashi, who nodded in agreement. “Everyone, practice is ending early, because there was an accident.”

“What do ya mean?” Atsumu piped up, sneaking from behind Sakusa with a snack in his hand, as well as between his lips.

“Hinata was in a car wreck,” he responded, his brows furrowing as the words tumbled from his mouth. It was as though the truth was actually hitting him, or perhaps striking him for the second time within that minute. “Pack and clean up, then go home. I’m sure we will receive more information via the news later tonight.”

The team nodded slowly, saying silent prayers in groups of two or three. Bokuto padded over to Akaashi and pulled him into a tight embrace, but then let him go without another syllable and went to change. Akaashi collected his things, heading towards the door, but then he stopped to wait for Bokuto.

There weren’t many things to say in situations like these besides “I hope he’s okay,” but those were running short. So, words were neglected all together. The silence wasn’t very agonizing, but it was painful. Especially since Bokuto was normally so energetic and optimistic, even when things seemed grim. Now, he was silent.

Akaashi hadn’t heard this silence in years.

And as it turned out, Hinata was pronounced dead on the scene.

It had been a short while since the unfortunate accident, and the funeral held many tears, yet laughs and jokes about the good times back in high school. Bokuto found himself tearing up a little bit as he got up to speak about his ‘student’, then collapsed into Akaashi’s arms once he was finished. 

But, time went on, and he surely was not forgotten. Akaashi made sure to check in on Bokuto every once in a while, for the latter was prone to waking up in the middle of the night, crying. That continued for about three months, while the Jackals took a break from practices and games as well. 

As the days ticked by, Bokuto was growing more and more stable, his progress neatly monitored by both his therapist and Akaashi himself. He eventually stopped waking up to cry, and he slept peacefully throughout the night, feeling refreshed enough in the morning to make pancakes for breakfast. 

Akaashi awoke to the sweet smell of warm syrup and sizzling bacon, as well as a rather heavy human bouncing on the bed to wake him up. “Come on, we don’t want breakfast to get cold!” The dark haired male sat up, rubbing his eyes as he sloppily reached for his glasses, then met Bokuto’s gaze. 

“I’m comin’,” he yawned, pulling the covers back to stand on his own. He played with the hem of his shirt, technically Bokuto’s, as he exited the room after the bounding male. “Smells good,” he commented, still walking the sleep off as he paced towards the kitchen counter.

“Eat up while they’re still hot!” He piled three pancakes and two pieces of bacon onto Akaashi’s plate, handing him a fork and gesturing to the table. “I’ll join you in just a moment!”

He nodded, his head still a little foggy as he made for the table, taking his seat before eventually being joined by the chef of this wonderful-smelling meal. He leaned into Bokuto’s arm, kissing his cheek as a thank you before slicing up a pancake and placing the piece into his mouth. He heard Bokuto’s victorious giggle as he scarfed down his food, taking chugs of milk in between as well.

“Slow down, Koutarou you’re going to choke,” he sighed, shaking his head as he chewed slowly. A random memory from long ago popped into his head, but he shoved it away. It did not matter any longer.

“Sorry, Keiji,” he responded, his voice muffled by the pancake in his mouth. 

They ate in a comfortable quiet, with the clinking of forks against plates being the only sounds in the apartment they shared. Speaking of which, Akaashi needed to pay the rent. He made a mental note of that, nodding once to himself.

He heard Bokuto clear his throat, but didn’t pay much mind until the sound was repeated, and he turned his head, facing him with a confused expression. “Do you need something, Kou… tarou..?”

The scene before him was baffling. Bokuto had a serious look on his face, with his hands behind his back. There was no fidgeting like every other time he wanted to tell Akaashi something, instead he was much more confident.

“Keiji, I would like to ask you something.”

“Y-yeah?”

He knelt to one knee, extracting a box from behind him. He opened his mouth to speak, and Akaashi felt the world light up for him once more.