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today, bokuto wakes up before akaashi.
“aren’t you the pretty boy on the volleyball team?”
akaashi rubs the sleep from his eyes and smiles wearily at his husband. he’s just like he was in high school, even with the heavy eye bags. “you think i’m pretty, bokuto-san?”
bokuto blushes a deep red all the way to his ears. “of course i do! i-i mean—“ he’s stuttering again, this time from nerves. a few years ago, akaashi would laugh and ask him why he’s acting like a schoolboy with a crush. maybe then bokuto would pull him in for a kiss, or stick his tongue out and tell akaashi to stop teasing.
“it’s just that, well, i think you’re really cute, and you’re a good setter, and--” akaashi fiddles with his wedding ring beneath their shared duvet. it’s been more than a decade since he was a setter. he feels his stomach drop a bit, even though he should be used to this by now.
“thank you, bokuto-san.” akaashi smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. he stares down blankly at their bedspread. “i appreciate it. i really do.”
it’s the same routine he dreads every day. bokuto’s still slightly pink, but his eyebrows furrow together as he takes in the room around him. there’s a few moments in the morning, after bokuto wakes from sleep but before he’s fully alert, when he forgets what akaashi is to him but recognizes him still. akaashi’s just happy he remembers him at all, cherishes these moments before he forgets him completely.
bokuto must be fully awake now, because he’s rubbing his eyes and cautiously turning to look at akaashi beside him, confusion evident on his face.
“um, where are we?”
“our bedroom.” honesty is best.
“our bedroom?”
“yes.”
and now he’ll ask akaashi why they’re in bed together. he’ll be crying soon. bokuto was never a crier before his diagnosis.
akaashi suddenly turns away. he can’t bear to look at his husband in this state, no matter how used to this type of behavior he is.
“akaashi, are you okay?” bokuto says, confusion and hurt evident in his voice. akaashi laughs wetly. of course. no matter how sickly bokuto is becoming, he’ll always care about others before himself.
“i’m fine. it’s not me you should be worrying about, bokuto-san.”
“can you please just tell me what’s happening?”
akaashi turns to bokuto, biting his lip when he sees how hurt he looks. no, not hurt. he looks desperate more than anything; desperate to know why he’s waking up in the same bed with his favorite setter, desperate to know why his favorite setter is crying, desperate to know why he doesn’t know--or maybe remember--the answer to any of these questions. “please, akaashi. just tell me what’s wrong.” akaashi’s eyes burn with unshed tears. for the millionth time, he’s reminded he should be used to this now.
this is what he wakes up to every morning: a confused bokuto trying to piece together all the clues around him. it hurt when it began, and it still hurts now, maybe even worse.
akaashi swallows the lump in his throat in preparation and brings his left hand to wipe away fresh tears. after he answers all of his questions, bokuto will be crying too. for being such a strong, resilient personality, he’s never been able to cope with his memory loss. his once bright and cheery demeanor is something only reserved for every heartbreaking morning when akaashi wakes up next to him. even then, it’s only for a few minutes until he’s inconsolable again. every day akaashi spends taking care of bokuto is both different and sickeningly predictable.
“hey, what’s that ring on your finger?”
akaashi’s stomach drops. he forgot to take his wedding ring off last night.
“no. it’s nothing.”
“nothing? akaashi!! you grew up! you got married!” bokuto is temporarily distracted from reality. he’s beaming, clearly so proud of his underclassman. he has no idea. akaashi’s heart breaks a little more.
he usually keeps the ring on all the time so he doesn’t forget that he’s bokuto’s husband first and his caregiver second. with how much time he spends taking care of bokuto, sometimes it’s easy to forget their love for eachother. if bokuto forgets, akaashi remembers.
things are so different now. sometimes, it’s nice to have that reminder that he promised to stay with him, through sickness and through health. (as if he’d ever need to be reminded.)
of course, he takes the ring off around bokuto to avoid moments just like these.
“so? who’s the lucky guy?”
akaashi can’t stop the ugly sob building its way up his throat. bokuto’s smile is gone in an instant as he gapes at his husband. akaashi is never the first one to cry every morning, it’s always bokuto, always, always bokuto. he can’t believe himself. how could he be so selfish? this is bokuto’s battle, not his.
bokuto rests his hand on one of akaashi’s shaking shoulders in a futile attempt to comfort him. instead, his breathing only becomes more erratic, tears streaming down his face.
“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have--”
bokuto abruptly goes silent. for about a minute, the only noises in the room is bokuto’s breathing (he’s still breathing, that’s what matters,) and akaashi’s soft sobs as he attempts to calm himself.
“am i-- am i the lucky guy?”
akaashi turns his head sharply, heart dropping when he sees bokuto’s expression. his eyes are impossibly wide as he stares straight through akaashi.
it’s clear on his face that there’s a million thoughts racing through his head. akaashi likes him back? better, they got married? if they’re married, who proposed? and why did he forget something as important as this? why can’t he remember? why can’t he remember?
bokuto lifts his hand off of akaashi’s shoulder and studies his matching wedding ring. akaashi can only watch on helplessly as realization dawns on his face. akaashi feels as though he might be sick.
“i forgot again, didn’t i?” koutarou looks as though he’s seen a ghost.
akaashi nods, sobbing once again. finally, koutarou’s tears build up. it was only a matter of time.
this is his least favorite part of being koutarou’s caregiver: the rare and few moments where koutarou remembers.
the first time koutarou remembered, akaashi had foolishly believed that everything was magically better. he took him for a walk in the park nearby, sunlight dappling through the dying autumn leaves. it was like they were newlyweds again; gloved hand in gloved hand.
of course, it was only a matter of time until koutarou forgot again. akaashi can’t remember much afterwards. chances are, he forgot the horrors of that day subconsciously as a way to protect himself. sometimes ignorance is bliss.
in the present, koutarou sniffs loudly, clearly trying to hold himself together. then, he’s on top of akaashi in an instant, unsteady hands wiping akaashi’s hot tears away with a slight shake. “how long do i have until i forget again?” his stare pierces akaashi’s heart. koutarou has always been able to tear him apart with a single look.
“a couple hours at most. it changes every time.”
he’s only remembered a few times since that day in autumn, but that’s enough for akaashi to recognize the patterns.
it always goes the same when koutarou remembers. he comforts akaashi, uncaring of his own feelings. “hey, it’s okay. it’s all going to be okay,” then koutarou will start crying for real. when he remembers, the process is different, but the result is always the same. “i’m sorry.”
akaashi clears his throat and tries to ignore the shake in his voice. “i’ll go make you breakfast.”
“i’m so sorry—“
“please wait here, koutarou.”
akaashi finds it hurts less if he spends very little time with him in this state, lest he get attached again to the koutarou he fell in love with. it’ll all be over soon.
until then, he’ll make koutarou’s favorite breakfast food alone in his empty, sterile kitchen. usually, when akaashi brings him steaming stacks of fresh omurice, koutarou gasps and asks him how he knew his favorite. akaashi would just smile and tell him “i’m psychic,” and koutarou would laugh like they were young again.
akaashi isn’t in a joking mood today. he attempts to calm his racing heart as he waits for the chicken to marinate in the pan. this is koutarou’s kitchen--at least, akaashi still likes to think it is. before his diagnosis, he and akaashi had a system. akaashi would clean, and koutarou would cook. after all, akaashi was always such a terrible chef, and since koutarou hated cleaning, it just makes sense. they fell into their roles with ease.
akaashi adds the rice to the pan early, as to make the chicken the perfect texture for koutarou. he’s learned how to cook in the last two years. if he wants koutarou to live as long as he can with early onset alzheimer’s, it’s best that he eats as healthily as possible.
he doesn’t exactly know when koutarou began fading. a few years ago, not long after koutarou’s thirty-first birthday, he started having lapses in his memory. it started small: sometimes he’d forget simple things, like his acquaintences’ names, or where he put his laundry after folding it. at the time, akaashi had foolishly chalked it up to koutarou’s naturally airheaded nature. after all, he always was a bit clumsy.
it only became a real issue when he became moody again. it was like in high school again, when the smallest thing would set him off. the return of koutarou’s famed “emo mode” spurred akaashi into action. in the present, akaashi scowls. of course he only noticed koutarou’s suffering when it inconvenienced the people around him.
eventually, he had to retire early after he began forgetting the people around him. including akaashi.
the omurice is ready.
when koutarou retired, akaashi easily accepted the fact that he’d have to become his caregiver. he’d do anything for him, until their lives ended. (when koutarou dies, akaashi thinks his own life will be over as well.)
koutarou is staring blankly ahead when akaashi re-enters their bedroom. he doesn’t even notice akaashi’s presence until he sits down on the bed next to him, holding out a large serving of fresh omurice. bokuto hasn’t been eating as much recently, and it’s akaashi’s job and devotion to make sure he isn’t malnourished.
“oh, thank you.” koutarou takes the plate from akaashi, smiling vacantly. he doesn’t seem very hungry, but he still tries his best to bring the fork to his lips.
he eats in silence, loudly swallowing every bite of his food. akaashi watches, frowning. he’s probably still trying to comprehend everything.
he sets down his fork and doesn’t pick it back up. there’s still heaps of uneaten omurice waiting on his plate.
“you should really eat it all, koutarou--”
“how long has this been going on?” koutarou is looking at the beautiful summer scenery outside the window. chances are, he’s probably just now remembering how he’s the one that chose this house just outside of tokyo for the beautiful suburban scenery and the nearby walking trail.
he was so adamant on this location. it had to be perfect. after all, this is where they’d spend their lives together in domestic bliss.
“it’s been two years.”
koutarou turns to face akaashi so quickly that his neck cracks. “you’ve dealt with me for two years?” he clutches his plate tightly, knuckles white. he looks paler than usual.
“i don’t deal with you, i take care of you.” akaashi takes off his glasses to stop the lenses from fogging. “and i’ll continue to do so for the rest of our lives.”
“our lives?”
it’s important to again mention how akaashi’s life may as well be over after bokuto inevitably dies. as depressing as it sounds, caring for koutarou has given his life purpose that he’d thought he’d lose after koutarou’s diagnosis. he’s happy to spend the rest of his life with his beloved husband, even if koutarou will eventually grow bitter and distant.
koutarou shakes his head, as if that will dispel the implications of akaashi’s words. he sits up straight, uneaten omurice still in his lap. “i love you so much.”
akaashi smiles, genuinely. “i love you too, of course.” he reaches for his glasses again, now unafraid of the tears streaming down his face.
“wait!” akaashi looks up in surprise, setting his glasses down once more. “don’t put your glasses back on!”
akaashi narrows his eyes and tilts his head in confusion. “huh?” he says intelligently.
before akaashi can fully reply, koutarou’s on top of him again. he cradles akaashi’s face in both of his large hands, squishing his cheeks together. “you look so young!”
“are you implying i usually look old?” akaashi pouts as much as he can with his cheeks squished together. it’s not very intimidating.
“keiji!!” it’s like they’re young again. for these few precious minutes, keiji is blissfully forgetful of the crushing reality surrounding the two.
“keiji, can you stop pouting so i can kiss you?”
“huh?!” keiji only has a few moments to process his words until bokuto’s lips are on his. it’s been months since they last kissed. his lips are chapped, but otherwise it’s just like they were high-schoolers again. keiji can feel tears well up for the umpteenth time this morning. he kisses just like he used to.
koutarou is the first to pull away, even as keiji clutches to his t-shirt. “how long do i have until i forget now?”
“let’s try not to think about it, koutarou.” an hour, at most.
keiji pulls him in again. he’s getting attached, he knows it. but sometimes, it’s nice to pretend.
it’s nice to pretend this is their morning routine. it’s nice to pretend the reason they’re kissing is because koutarou will have to leave for practice a few minutes, and keiji will miss him for five hours until he comes home and showers him in love again.
it’s nice to pretend that koutarou won’t die in a couple years.
keiji holds koutarou’s body closer to his, taking in his warmth and joy before it’s sucked out of both of them. it’s nice to pretend.
“keiji,” koutarou’s voice is muffled slightly with his face smushed into keiji’s neck, but his voice is as clear as a bell to keiji. “can we dance?”
keiji pulls away at that, looking down at his husband with an eyebrow cocked. “is this what you want to do?”
koutarou fidgets with his hands where they’re wrapped around keiji’s waist. “well, we don’t have to if you don’t want to, i just thought--”
keiji places his hands on top of koutarou’s. “of course i want to.” he’ll do anything for koutarou if it’ll make him stay a bit longer.
with that, they walk out to their living room, hand in hand. keiji’s always thought this room was frozen in time; no matter how much koutarou forgets, this room is an eternal reminder of what koutarou was--of what he is now.
back before koutarou’s diagnosis, their living room was never the same day by day. there was always something new about it, whether it was a new pillow strewn across the already soft couch or maybe a different rug to brighten up the room a bit. to balance it out, keiji would usually put something in storage so that the room wouldn’t get too cluttered. with so many things being brought in and brought out and replaced, the only thing that was constantly exponential was the pictures lining the walls. every memory they made together, every moment keiji and koutarou spent with each other, loving each other, a new photo would be hung up. it was a beautiful little system they had.
now, keiji and koutarou twirl around their unchanged living room. it’s just like it was two years ago. when koutarou stopped bringing things in, keiji stopped bringing things out. the room is more than just a living room, it’s a museum, a monument to the life they had built together before it all came crashing down.
there’s an old song playing on the record player that keiji forgot the name of. “i’ve always loved this song, keiji,” koutarou says, rocking in time with the music and holding keiji in his arms, “it reminds me of you.”
keiji blushes like a schoolboy with a crush. this is the side of koutarou keiji misses most, when he would be so uncharacteristically sweet and tender. it’s not a side of koutarou that anybody but keiji had ever seen, and perhaps there’s a part of keiji that always really liked that.
“it reminds me of when we were in high school, when we were still just two pining idiots.” keiji reminisces. koutarou giggles at that, and keiji can’t really blame him. it’s hilarious how he spent so many years worrying what koutarou felt about him instead of truly cherishing him in the moment. he clutches his t-shirt a bit tighter and breathes in, trying to soak in the sound of their heartbeats in sync. there’s only so many moments like this left in his life. still...
“i wish we could carry on like this forever.”
koutarou falters slightly. “you know that’s impossible, keiji.”
“koutarou--”
“but when i forget again,” koutarou’s voice is a mere whisper now, as if being quieter will keep his disease a secret, and the secret will eventually be forgotten by time. “when i forget again, i want you to remind me. again and again.”
though still swaying in time with the music, they’re hardly moving. “koutarou, two years ago, we had this conversation and you said you want it,” he clears his throat, trying his best to avoid saying the a-word, “that you wanted it to take you as calmly as possible. you didn’t want to put up a fight.”
“but now i do.” koutarou holds keiji’s chin in his left hand, and stares deep into his eyes. “i don’t want to forget this. i know we don’t have much time left right now, but i want to have as many moments like this as i can have.”
keiji allows a small smile to form on his lips, despite the tears flowing freely down his face. “i always thought it was strange how you didn’t want to fight this.”
koutarou and keiji begin dancing again, in tune with the soft voice crooning from the stereo. koutarou had always been an astonishingly good dancer; his ability to adapt to the rhythm of any song was something keiji had always marvelled. now, he turns elegantly in time with the music, twirling keiji in his arms. keiji falls in love a little more.
eventually, keiji’s tears dry on his face, having been wiped by koutarou’s steady hand. the tear tracks still stain his face, serving as a reminder of the events that led him here. keiji buries his face into the juncture of koutarou’s shoulder and neck and stays there for as long as he can. he takes in the scent of their detergent and his sweetly scented shampoo in an attempt to imprint the memory of his husband in his memory.
of course, that’s not to say this is easy for the two of them. the threat of koutarou’s memory failing at any moment is a threat that looms heaving over the lovers. soon, koutarou will forget where he is and who he’s dancing with, and the moment will come crashing down on the two of them. it’ll be like this never happened--like they never happened.
keiji isn’t sure exactly what he’ll do when that moment comes, and he’s not sure he wants to think about it either. he buries his face deeper into koutarou’s shoulder, as deep as he can while his husband dances and twirls and giggles. for now, he’s content with swaying in the arms of the man he loves as time hangs around them, unmoving, yet unyielding.