Work Text:
Two months. That’s how long he’s had writer’s block. His editors have given him a strict deadline to get the next chapter of his book written so it can be reviewed and redrafted, but for the past couple of months, all he’s been able to do is stare at the blank screen in front of him.
Today’s no different.
Taking the laptop off his lap, he rests it on the coffee table in front of him and takes off his glasses. He slowly rubs the bridge of his nose as he feels a small headache start to form from staring at the bright screen for too long. His elbow falls onto his knee, and he lets himself lean forward so his head is resting in his open palm. He received an e-mail last night from his publishers, they want the next chapter in two days.
He lifts his head to glare at the laptop screen, where underneath the chapter number is the word ‘The’ and nothing more. That one four-letter word is all he has. Exhaling, he throws his glasses onto the table – breathing a sigh of relief when they don’t skid across the surface and fall onto the floor – and clicks the space bar until the word is no longer there.
He scrolls up and lets what he’s already written wash over him. Writing is weird, one day you can write thousands of words, yet you can also go weeks without writing anything. His eyes dart away from the black text and focus on the digital clock on the bottom corner of the screen. It’s almost 3pm which means he’s been here for five hours already.
Not bothering to save the document as he hasn’t written anything, he closes the lid of the laptop and leans back against the sofa. Staring at the ceiling, he twists his fingers together and picks at the ends of his nails; a habit that goes back to his high school days. He lets his eyes flutter closed as he gets lost in his thoughts, picturing scenes that he’s previously written and trying to plan in his mind what he’s trying to get across with his words.
A soft buzzing sound comes from his small kitchen space, and he opens one eye to glare in the direction of the noise. When it refuses to go away, he groans as he forces himself to get up. A couple of muscles in his body click as he stretches, and he winces at the sound.
Realising the consistent buzzing is the sound of his phone ringing, he picks up the small device and frowns when he reads over the name flashing on his screen. Accepting the call, he puts the phone to his ear and leans against the kitchen counter.
“Kenma? You don’t usually call me, especially when you’re at work. What’s going on?”
“I figured you’d be staring at your laptop, and I know you wouldn’t notice a text message, Keiji.” Akaashi bites his lip, he hates how his friends know him so well. “Anyway, can you go to the coffee shop that the three of us usually meet up at? It’s kind of important from what I’ve been told.”
Eyebrows furrowed, he releases his lip from its place in between his teeth to reply. “Is Kuroo going to be there as well?” Kuroo was the third guy that made up their little trio. Akaashi met them both in college and they’ve been close ever since. Even with them all having different careers, they still spend most of their spare time together. A lot of people presumed their friendship wouldn’t last due to Kuroo being so different from Kenma and himself, but with said friendship almost reaching the five-year mark it’s fair to say that things worked out just fine.
“He’s the one that actually wants you there. Something about him needing your help because he’s desperate and running out of options.”
“So why isn’t he the one calling?” Akaashi runs a hand through his black curls.
“You don’t think I asked?” A small scoffing sound is heard from the other end of the line. “He said and I quote ‘because you’re better at manipulating Akaashi to do things than I am’.”
It’s Akaashi’s turn to scoff but the tips of his ears tinge red in embarrassment when he realises that Kuroo is spot on. He’d never admit it, but he sees Kenma as the brother he never had and he knows that no matter how much he refuses, in the end, he’ll give in to what Kenma asks of him. On the other hand, Kuroo is the annoying cousin that tries to force him out of the house and into his crazy shenanigans. Hopefully, this isn’t one of his attempts.
His eyes flick to the clock hanging from the wall, whatever Kuroo is wanting can’t take more than a few hours. It’s not like he was getting any work done anyway. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll let him know.”
“Tell him that he’s buying my drink to make up for not asking me directly.”
“Got it. Kuro owes me for this too, I think he forgot that I was staying in the office this weekend to catch up on some unfinished work.” Kenma grumbles quietly and Akaashi feels a smile make its way onto his face. He knows how crazy his friend’s working hours often are but if anyone can handle running their own gaming business then it’s Kozume Kenma. “I’ll talk to you soon Keiji, good luck with your book writing and whatever Kuro needs you for.”
“Thanks, I’ll update you on what happens.”
“Much appreciated.” The line goes dead and Akaashi stares at the black phone screen before shoving it into his trouser pocket. He grabs anything else he might need then goes to the front door to slip on his shoes. He also throws on his coat due to the weather not being as warm anymore.
He locks the front door behind him and steps into the elevator that is installed in the block of apartments. He presses the button for the ground floor and makes his way out of the building. The wind nips at his pale skin and he immediately regrets not bringing a scarf or gloves at least. Stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his coat, he walks the short distance to his local coffee shop. It’s not a big place, it’s owned by an old married couple, but they don’t enter the shop that often; mostly leaving it to the small group of college students that work there for a bit of extra cash.
The soft jingle of a bell echoes around the space as he enters, the warmth quickly returning to his features as the smell of coffee overpowers his senses. It’s a smell that he’ll never get tired of. Not many people occupy the space. There’s one person stood at the counter ordering, two people sitting near the entrance sharing a headphone as one of them glances at what’s on the other’s phone screen, and right at the back of the room in their usual seat is Kuroo.
At first glance, it looks like he’s sitting there with his face turned to the side whilst looking out of the window, but as Akaashi steps closer he realises that there’s someone else sitting next to the spiky bed-headed boy.
Someone who he’s never met before.
A small wave of panic rushes through him and he fights the urge to chew on his already bitten-down nails. Instead, he takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down – he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of whoever it is. ‘A warning would have been nice’ he thinks to himself, his friends know how much he hates being spontaneously introduced to new people, so he wonders what Kuroo is planning to achieve from this.
His thinking ends abruptly when Kuroo sees him standing there and quickly raises his hand to wave him over. “Akaashi!” Akaashi gives him a tight-lipped smile in return as he steps closer to the table. “Kenma told me to pay for your drink, so I got you your usual.” He gestures to the empty chair next to him that has a brown disposable cup in front of it. His mind registers that that means that he’ll be sitting directly in front of the stranger which does nothing to calm his nerves.
Avoiding look at the unknown guy, he takes off his coat and sits down in the empty seat, hanging his coat over the back of it. On the side of the cup, he sees the letter ‘A’ with a messy drawing of a book next to it. He smiles at that, knowing his friend would have asked for the people at the counter to draw it on for him. Kuroo was always doing unnecessary things like that to him and Kenma. For Akaashi it varied from book-related images to owls, for Kenma it was gaming-related doodles and cats. He wraps his hands around the cup and revels in the warmness that it emits.
“I’m sorry for using Kenma to ask you.” Kuroo grins sheepishly as Akaashi takes a small sip from the cup. “And before you ask yeah I did forget he was working this weekend, but I’ve already planned to buy him an apple pie to make up for it.”
“You know how he hates being interrupted when he’s deep in work.” Akaashi mentions, not meeting the eyes of anyone at the table. He can feel the unknown guy looking at him but can’t find it in him to meet his gaze.
“He loves us though, so no harm done.” Kuroo shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. As soon as the cup hits the table his eyes widen, and he glances at the person sitting to the other side of him. “Oh! I haven’t introduced you two have I?”
Akaashi finally decides to risk it and glance up at the man in front of him. The first thing he’s hit with is round golden eyes that cause his breaths to falter. “Akaashi, this is Bokuto Koutarou. He’s an old friend from high school that recently moved into the area. We bumped into each other and I’m helping him get his bearings of the place. Bo, this is Akaashi Keiji. We met in college and have been friends ever since.”
Akaashi swallows as he continues to take in Bokuto. His hair is two-toned and is spiked up so much that he wonders how much hair gel has been used to keep it that way. His features are striking, and he can’t find it in himself to look away.
Bokuto is the first one to break the silence. “It’s nice to meet you!” A wide grin forms on his face and Akaashi finds himself blushing.
“Nice to meet you too.” Akaashi replies, his voice wavering slightly as he tears his eyes away from the sight in front of him and focuses back on Kuroo. He coughs to clear his throat, not wanting his voice to come out wavering again. “So why did you need to see me? Kenma said it was urgent.”
Kuroo laughs awkwardly and rubs the back of his head. “I might have exaggerated slightly.” Akaashi glares at his friend. “Don’t look at me like that! I promise it’s nothing bad! I just figured since you’re a writer that you’d be good with creative stuff.”
“I guess it depends, you do realise I’ve not written anything for months because I’ve had no creative ideas, right?”
“Maybe this will help you. The thing is this guy right here” – he leans to the side and throws his arm around Bokuto who is still sitting there with a huge grin adorning his face – “is an artist and asked if I’d be willing to give him ideas for a project he’s working on. As a high school science teacher I’m useless at that sort of thing and then I remembered that I have you as a friend!”
“I’m sorry, I don’t much about art.” Akaashi admits, fingers playing with the outside of the cup.
“You can say no if you don’t want to, you’re probably busy with your own stuff but having an extra opinion will be pretty helpful.” Bokuto adds, removing Kuroo’s arm from around him and leaning forward so he’s closer to Akaashi. “But if you say yes I might be able to throw in a few embarrassing stories from Kuroo’s high school days.”
“Dude! Not cool!” Kuroo exclaims, hitting Bokuto on his shoulder.
“I’m just trying to get him to agree. So ‘Kaashi, will you help a friend of a friend out?” Akaashi doesn’t miss how his name is mispronounced but decides that there’s no point in pointing it out. Both pairs of eyes are now him and he swallows nervously.
“Um, sure I’ll help out.” At his words, Bokuto cheers and throws his arms in the air. Akaashi nervously glances around to see if anyone is paying them any attention but finds the shop to be almost desert.
“Great! Are you free to do it right now? That way I’m not taking up your whole weekend.” The more Akaashi looks at Bokuto, the more he finds the male to be growing on him. Whilst he is still cautious with his enthusiastic and playful personality, he has concluded that he’s basically a more hyper version of Kuroo. No wonder they’re getting along even though they’ve not communicated in years.
“I can do it now. I’ll just have to get all my writing done tomorrow.” The thought of that makes him anxious but he knows that he’d rather do this than be staring at his laptop for hours on end.
“Let’s go, my car’s outside! Talk to you later Kuroo!”
“Later Bo, have fun Akaashi.” Kuroo gives him a not so subtle wink which causes Akaashi to scrunch his face up.
Both of them leave the shop, Akaashi abandoning his half-drunk cup of coffee at the table. Bokuto leads them to a small silver car, and they fasten their seatbelts once they’re sat inside. Akaashi looks up and notices that there are two brown and white owls hanging from the rear-view mirror.
“Do you like owls?” He asks. Bokuto hums as he turns the engine on. Akaashi points to the owls hanging between them and Bokuto’s eyes light up.
“I love owls!”
Akaashi finds himself chuckling, something he doesn’t do often. “I like them too. My favourite is probably barn-owls.”
“Horned owls are much better! I’ve even been told by some people that I look like one.” Akaashi twists his head to take in Bokuto’s features again. Strangely enough, he can see the resemblance.
For the rest of the ride, they exchange small talk. Akaashi talks about the book he’s currently writing and how everyone working on it thinks that it’ll grow to be a huge success if he keeps on going the way he is. Bokuto happily rambles on about why he wanted to become an artist in the first place and some of the pieces he’s been commissioned to do in the past. As the minutes tick by, Akaashi finds himself growing more comfortable around the owl-lookalike.
When they arrive at Bokuto’s rented apartment, he leads Akaashi up two flights of stairs and to one of the doors at the end of the hallway. He’s been told that certain parts of the apartment will be a mess since he’s not fully unpacked everything, but as he steps through the threshold, Akaashi finds it a lot neater than he originally thought.
It’s only when they take off their shoes and he is quickly led into a spare room that he understands what Bokuto was talking about when he said that it was messy. Canvases of various sizes, paintbrushes of different thickness and empty paint pots litter the floor. Pages of old newspapers have been placed randomly around the room, covered in splotches of red, blue, yellow and pink. Most of the canvases are empty but the odd one has half-finished pieces of art decorating them.
One, in particular, draws his attention. It’s the only one standing on a wooden easel in the back corner of the room. Walking closer to it – being careful to dodge everything on the floor – his eyes widen as the colours begin to tell him a story of love and heartbreak. The colours all blend perfectly together, all the lines are crisp and smooth, and he finds himself unable to look away.
He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder and shoots his eyes to Bokuto who is assessing his facial expression. “So, what do you think?” His usual giddy personality has disappeared, instead replaced by a more serious one.
Akaashi’s eyes subconsciously go back to the painting. “I think it’s beautiful.” He whispers.
“Be honest ‘Kaashi.” Akaashi ignores Bokuto’s comment and instead lightly traces the outline of the woman’s darkened face. The only feature that has been drawn is the lips which are a deep shade of red. His finger then hovers over the tendrils of colour that leave the woman, the reds and blues intertwining together to create a path of purple where they cross.
“I know I said I don’t know much about art, but I do know that you have a lot of talent.” His voice remains hushed as he speaks.
“This is the one I needed help with.” Bokuto brushes a sheet of newspaper away and sits down on the wooden floor, hands resting behind him to keep him propped up.
“Why? It looks amazing the way it is.” Akaashi sits down next to him cross-legged, not liking being the only one who is standing up.
Bokuto raises one of his hands and waves it around in front of him. “There’s too much black and it makes it look…. meh.” A weird sound leaves Bokuto’s mouth and the corner of Akaashi’s mouth tilts up in amusement. Resting his elbows on his knees, Akaashi examines the picture from an artist’s perspective as best he can to try and figure out where Bokuto is coming from with his critiques.
Just like with his writing, he hits a dead end. “I’m sorry but I’ve got nothing.”
“It’s okay! I’ll just go hunt for some artistic people around and see if they have any ideas.” Instead of getting up, Bokuto lies down; not even caring that his hair is dangerously close to going into a palette of paint. Checking behind him first, Akaashi follows Bokuto’s actions and lies down so they’re side by side. They lie in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Bokuto turns his head. “Hey ‘Kaashi?”
“Yes Bokuto?” Akaashi is aware of the close proximity they share and for some unknown reason, he feels his heart start to beat faster in his chest.
“Do you want to stay a bit longer? I could teach you some painting techniques and you could give me some writing tips as that was never my strong point in school.” The close proximity also makes it so that he can hear Bokuto breathing. He bites the inside of his cheek twice, then moves his head so his blue eyes meet a pair of golden ones.
“That sounds like fun.”
That night, after Bokuto drops him back at his apartment with the promise of them hanging out again soon, he writes three new chapters for his story. Who knew a certain white and black haired artist would be the one to pull him out of his writer’s block?
With the e-mail containing the chapter drafts he had written sent off to his editors, he takes pleasure in shutting down his laptop and putting it away. He reaches for his phone and immediately clicks on his list of contacts. There, under the letter ‘B’, sits one contact.
Clicking on the name, he smiles as a picture of himself and Bokuto pops up as the profile picture. It was a selfie that Bokuto insisted he took to personalise his contact information. A small smile appears on his face as he looks into those golden eyes that are so focused on the lens in front of him, his signature wide grin making another appearance.
Taking note of the time, he is about to turn off his phone and head to bed but a notification from his phone causes him to pause his actions.
FROM: BOKUTO KOUTAROU
Good night Kaashi!!!!! Can’t wait to see you again!!!!
Aware that it would be rude not to reply, he types out a response back; his mouth beginning to hurt from the amount he’s smiled today.
TO: BOKUTO KOUTAROU
Good night Bokuto, I hope to see you again as well