Chapter Text
Easy mind, light heart. A mind that is too easy hides a heart that is too heavy. Franz Schubert
♬♬♬
It was the first time Bokuto stepped into the concert hall of the university Kuroo’s boyfriend attended, and he couldn’t say he regretted it. Though he was a musician himself, he had never really dared visiting a concert at Kuroo’s school, lest he end up in one of his moods again. It was hard not to, when there were so many prodigies around at other schools.
Bokuto did admire them all ardently, but it also made him a little queasy, as if he was very much inferior to them. He knew it was ridiculous––he was a fantastic pianist, and Bokuto was very well aware of that. All those thoughts about him being inadequate compared to everyone else disappeared when Kuroo came over to greet him, though some of the self-doubt still seemed to linger at the back of his mind, like it always did.
“Are you as excited as I am?” Kuroo greeted him, and Bokuto nodded back in return, trying not to laugh at how Kuroo had visibly tried – and failed – to fix his everlasting bedhead.
Bokuto was anticipating the concert, but he was painfully aware of the fact that Kuroo was even more elated. Not because of the concert itself, not because of the music, not per se, at least, but because he would be seeing Kenma in action.
Bokuto had heard way too much about Kuroo’s boyfriend, and while he had met him plenty of times prior to today, Bokuto was sure he knew way more about the violist than any of them were comfortable with. It was obvious how in love Kuroo was––how in love he had always been, judging from how he sounded when talking about his longtime childhood best friend.
Hearing the stories of the two growing up and falling in love tucked at Bokuto’s heart. While he was happy for them, he wanted what they had. It was hard not to yearn for that kind of relationship, when all his friends from high school had always taken to abandoning him at any given opportunity. Bokuto never figured out why they left him all alone, nor why they had never addressed any issues between them. They all just got up and left, one by one, until he was left with no one but himself.
So, yeah, he wished he could have someone who looked at him the way Kuroo looked at Kenma, and vice versa.
They took their seats and Bokuto’s mind was preoccupied with these thoughts, the way he so often was. He wished he could just get rid of them, but instead he practically felt his hair deflate, but Kuroo didn’t seem to notice. He was too entranced by the concert hall and too busy reading through the evening’s program to realise that his friend wasn’t having a good time.
Bokuto didn’t blame him. Kuroo wasn’t his caretaker, nobody was. Not even his parents had ever been able to pull him out of his moods, so why would his best friend be able to do that? Bokuto would have to find a way to, one day, be able to properly take care of himself in that regard.
It was nice, though, to imagine that there was one person on this planet that could help him, and was willing to do it, too. Bokuto just didn’t know that he would meet that exact person that night.
When the stage was finally illuminated by warm lights, Bokuto practically held his breath as his eyes scanned the rows of musicians that filed in to take their seats. Kuroo was eager to point out Kenma as he took his seat, his blond hair standing out in the crowd. He was clutching his viola, and he looked anxious, but Bokuto hardly registered any of that.
His heart felt like it had been struck with an arrow and it was currently bleeding out inside his chest as he stared at that one boy on the cello, who was only now sitting down, placing the instrument before him in a smooth and elegant way. Bokuto couldn’t look away as the boy placed his sheet music in front of him, black hair falling down his forehead in mild waves.
Even from afar, Bokuto could make out the blue of his irises that matched the blue of his tie. Kuroo was saying something to Bokuto, probably (most likely) something about Kenma, but Bokuto couldn’t focus on his words. He was entranced, mesmerised even, by the sight of the boy on the cello.
The conductor walked in, another student, and the musicians all stood up, holding their instruments in front of them. Bokuto clapped along with everyone else, but his eyes were still locked on the cellist. He’s beautiful, shot through his head.
Everyone took their spots again on stage, and positioned their instruments, ready to start playing. Bokuto had read the program of the evening before, but he already couldn’t remember it. It was as if he’d been bewitched, body and soul, and he’d gone completely rigid, while he was relaxed at the same time.
His mind raced in a thousand directions, but his eyes were fixed on one person, who was currently playing the most beautiful introduction to one of Bokuto’s favourite symphonies. The low notes seemed to travel through the air on long waves that lured Bokuto in, and it just so happened that the person who had won Bokuto’s attention from the start happened to play right at the beginning.
More of the players joined in, the clarinet taking on the melody. Bokuto was a little ashamed that it took him so long to realise that it was Konoha playing the solo, but in his defence, that boy on the cello truly was enchanting to look at, especially when he was so focused on the music.
And then Bokuto’s heart leapt into his throat. Yes, he knew this piece, almost knew it by heart, but he wasn’t prepared for the cello-theme that made him feel lightheaded, the way he’d felt at Kuroo’s apartment when they’d both drunk a little too much. Only this kind of dizziness was wonderful, unlike the kind of fuzziness you get from intoxication, and Bokuto relished the feeling of it. It was a completely baseless feeling, and he was aware of it, but that knowledge did nothing to slow down his racing heart and raging thoughts.
“Look at Kenma, he’s playing so well!”
Bokuto only hummed in response, guilt creeping up on him for not once thinking about his friend who was literally on stage at this very moment, sitting only a few chairs away from that beautiful boy on the cello. Upon realising that, Bokuto instantly felt too hot, and he prayed that Kuroo wouldn’t look over at him, because he definitely would be nosy and ask why Bokuto was looking so flustered.
How could he explain that he was pretty sure he’d just developed a major crush on someone who, quite literally, didn’t even know he existed? Someone that he didn’t even know, not even close?
At this point, Bokuto didn’t even know where the goosebumps were coming from. There might have been a mild stream of air in the room as someone opened a window, or it might be because the music was so beautiful, or…something else entirely. Or someone.
Bokuto really needed to get a grip. In order to do that, he curiously scanned the orchestra, trying to make out a few more people he recognised. There was a grey-haired boy on a flute whom he didn’t know, but who stood out in the crowd with his bright hair and light smile whenever he wasn’t playing.
Though Bokuto didn’t miss how he observed the conductor’s every movement with a certain look that had Bokuto smiling softly. Nobody ever looked at the conductor like that. Hell, nobody ever even so much as glanced at the conductor––it was a common complaint that many conductors uttered during practice and after concerts such as this one. It was an unspoken rule in orchestras that Bokuto was very well aware of – no one looks at the conductor, ever.
As the violins took over the melody from the cellos, Bokuto couldn’t help but admire the beautiful tone they had––the first violinist was very obviously extremely talented and he’d definitely worked hard for his position. He had a natural stage presence that demanded he stand out.
So why, why was Bokuto staring at the blackhaired cellist again? He was so much more lowkey than the violinist, kind of like Kenma, and he had a rather expressionless face, though the concentration and dedication were clearly visible on his features. It was more than obvious that he didn’t feel the need to stand out, that he was more than fine with blending in.
Maybe that was what made him stand out more, albeit contradictory. But Bokuto couldn’t tear his gaze away. He wasn’t sure he was able to even try. The music was only fleeting, the notes and emotions constantly changing around him. The ephemeral tunes faded into new ones, but Bokuto’s attention was unwavering.
He needed to know who this boy was. Otherwise he would never be at peace. Never in his life had Bokuto felt such a strong pull towards one person, and that said a lot, considering how he always sought out people and attention at any given opportunity. This was different. It was weird, but in a good way. Bokuto would argue that it was weird in the absolute best of ways.
Bokuto was immersed in the music, but even more so, he was completely drawn in by the way the boy on the cello played, his long and slender fingers darting across the board with such precision, it made Bokuto gawk at him in wonder. Kuroo noticed and he said something, at least Bokuto thought he did, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying.
All that existed right now was the music and the boy that Bokuto so desperately wanted to meet.
It was embarrassing, really, how little attention Bokuto had actually paid to the music until it was over. It was only when Kuroo shook him slightly that he snapped out of his daze, blinking away the confusion as if he was awakening from some spell. Kuroo laughed at him, and Bokuto wanted to defend himself, but he didn’t even know what Kuroo was laughing about.
Something was majorly wrong with Bokuto, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not even as the musicians left the stage did this feeling of wonder leave him, even as the blackhaired boy disappeared from sight along with his instrument.
“Kenma!” Kuroo’s voice was loud next to him, and Bokuto flinched at the sudden volume. The boy in question strolled over, his viola safely tucked away in its case, strapped to his back. “Here, let me carry this.”
“It’s a viola, not a goddamn cello,” muttered Kenma, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that heavy.” He shrugged out of the straps nonetheless, and Kuroo took the light case without a second thought, a fond smile stretching across his face as he stared at his boyfriend lovingly.
“You were great,” said Bokuto, when it was clear that Kuroo was currently unable to speak because he was awestruck by his boyfriend, whom he saw every day. They were sickeningly adorable, and Bokuto couldn’t help but grin and a soft laugh escaped him.
“I didn’t play much,” said Kenma instantly, waving his hands in front of him, dismissing every compliment thrown at him.
“Kitten, you really did great,” Kuroo pitched in after finally having found his voice again. “You played well.”
“I’m only playing the viola, it’s not like I am anywhere near Tooru’s level of playing,” Kenma objected.
“Don’t compare yourself to Oikawa, of all people,” said Kuroo, rolling his eyes with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Exactly,” said Bokuto. “You are so different,” he went on at the same time as Kuroo said, “You are so much better and less annoying.”
Kenma only rolled his eyes at their words, clearly bothered by their antics, but there was love and appreciation hidden under the gesture.
“Ken-chan!” said Oikawa in his obnoxious tone that had Kuroo muttering something under his breath that Bokuto couldn’t quite make out. He was really looking forward to seeing Kenma and Oikawa interact, because they couldn’t be any more different, and Kuroo couldn’t possibly be any more annoyed at Oikawa than he already was. Though he certainly wasn’t the only one annoyed at the violinist, judging from the silent glare a spiky-haired grumpy-looking guy shot at Oikawa.
Bokuto wanted to comment on that, tease them in return, but someone in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
It was the boy on the cello again. He was carrying his instrument in a case that resembled the colour of forget me nots, and there were a few stickers of sunflowers stuck onto it that stood out in contrast to the blue.
Bokuto felt the urge to go after him, but in that moment, Konoha stepped in front of him with a huge smile on his face, momentarily blocking his view. Bokuto pushed past his friend to see where the boy had gone, but he had disappeared already. There was no trace left of him.
“Thanks for being so happy to see me,” said Konoha from behind him, and Bokuto could hear the smile in his voice. He turned around on his heels just to make sure he hadn’t actually vexed his friend, but Konoha only seemed curious about his behaviour.
“I am happy,” said Bokuto, and he meant it. A smile forced its way past the thoughts of the boy that preoccupied his mind and he clapped Konoha on the back. “You played great.”
“Coming from you, that surely means a lot,” said Konoha, tightening his grip on his instrument.
“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Bokuto, raising a brow. “I only play one instrument, you play, what? How many?”
“Four,” said Konoha begrudgingly. “But you know what the people say. Jack of all trades, master of none, all of that crap. So, thanks. For the compliment.”
Bokuto smiled, though it was mixed with a pout. He truly wished his friends could see just how talented they were instead of having an inferiority complex at all times. They were all great, and for a brief moment, Bokuto wondered if the boy on the cello knew how talented he was. He must have known, his technique had been absolutely splendid, even though Bokuto didn’t know nearly as much about cellos as he would have liked.
“So, who were you looking for when I arrived?” asked Konoha, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
“No one,” said Bokuto so quickly his voice cracked.
“Very convincing.” Konoha definitely didn’t sound very convinced, but Bokuto was glad he’d gotten his point across. His friend was silent for a while, squinting at him as if deep in thought, before adding, “You realise I was being sarcastic, right?”
Bokuto gulped, and he felt like he was choking on air.
“So, who were you looking for?”
“Who is that guy on the cello?” Bokuto blurted out, his filter long gone. He needed to know.
“Which one? We have a few guys on the cello.” This time, Bokuto heard the sarcastic tone, but he decided not to acknowledge it.
“The one with the black hair. Blue eyes. Blue cello case.” Bokuto was hardly able to contain his excitement.
“You mean Aka-chan?” said Oikawa in a sing-song voice.
“His name is Keiji,” said Kenma, and Bokuto blinked at them. He wasn’t sure he wanted too many people involved in this conversation, and this was getting a little out of his comfort zone.
“His name is Akaashi Keiji,” said Konoha. “He’s in the same year as Kenma, a year below Tooru and me.”
Bokuto nodded, taking in the information. He didn’t know why this was so important to him. It wasn’t like he would ever see him again, unless he came to watch another concert of the orchestra they were in. Bokuto was absolutely willing to do that, if it meant catching just another glimpse of Akaashi.
“Why are you so interested in some random guy?” asked Kuroo, crossing his arms as he scrutinised his friend. Bokuto felt like he was shrinking beneath Kuroo’s calculating gaze, but he forced himself to rise up to the pressure. He’s not just some random guy, Bokuto thought. But before he could say anything, though, Oikawa intervened,
“I mean, he is hot.”
“What?” asked Kuroo, his attention directed at the violinist instead.
“Have you seen him, Kuro?” It was Kenma’s turn to tease his boyfriend, who, to Kenma’s delight, turned bright red.
“Why did you never mention that there was someone so good-looking in your orchestra?” asked Bokuto.
“Because I’m already in it, and clearly I am way more important than anyone else,” said Oikawa before Kuroo said, “Because Kenma already has a boyfriend, so he’s not staring after other guys.”
“Excuse you,” said Kenma, punching Kuroo in the side. By the looks of it, it wasn’t a very forceful punch. “I am allowed to stare.”
“Kitten, are you staring at that Akaashi-guy?” Bokuto knew that Kuroo was joking, but part of him wondered if there was not a spark of sincere worry hiding beneath it all.
“No, but it would be fine if I did.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that.”
“Jealousy is an ugly colour on you, Tetsu-chan,” smirked Oikawa, and Kuroo only shot him a glare that was only reserved to this violinist in particular.
Bokuto decided to tune out their bickering, already used to it. Kuroo and Oikawa were constantly arguing, and Bokuto didn’t know if they actually got along or not. He guessed yes, though he doubted they even knew where they really stood.
His mind drifted back to the boy on the cello who now had a name. Akaashi Keiji. What a beautiful name for such a beautiful person.
“So, Akaashi?” asked Konoha beside him, and Bokuto nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want to be teased about his sudden crush, not when he didn’t yet know what to do about it. Konoha placed a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder and squeezed lightly.
“Listen,” he said, and Bokuto turned around to look at him. “None of us really know him that well. He’s nice enough, and I mean we talk to each other at practice, but he’s never around for when we hang out. He’s kind of secluded, not the most social guy around. He puts Kenma to shame, really.”
Bokuto didn’t know why any of that mattered. His confusion must have been visible on his face, because Konoha elaborated. “What I mean is, don’t get your hopes up of forming a friendship with him. None of us have really succeeded on that front outside of the orchestra. And we did try, you know.”
That wasn’t what Bokuto cared about, though. Even the most private person had to have friends, and Bokuto was sure if he could get close to him in some way, he would be able to break through that stoic exterior and bring to life what rested underneath.
The only problem with that plan was that he had no way of doing that as he knew virtually nothing about Akaashi, other than the fact that nobody really knew him well enough to help Bokuto out. There was no way Bokuto would be able to see him again, not with what he knew now.
Besides, if Akaashi really was that much of a private person, then it wouldn’t be smart of Bokuto to actively seek him out, lest he appear as a total stalker. And he didn’t want to scare Akaashi off.
It was best to just forget about him altogether. If Bokuto could just forget Akaashi, then he could just move on and pretend it never happened. He was only a stranger with a name attached to him, that was all there was. Nothing more.
Yes, that was a plan. Bokuto would just forget all about Akaashi Keiji, and then he could go on living his life.
It was a good plan in theory, forgetting Akaashi. In practice, not so much, because as it turned out, Akaashi had become a permanent resident in Bokuto’s brain, and it was impossible to not think about him.
It was like love at first sight, which Bokuto didn’t really believe in, not when he so often managed to scare people away with his enthusiasm. But there was something about Akaashi that he couldn’t quite shake off, and it ruled his mind at all times.
Bokuto considered calling Kenma, or Oikawa, or Konoha, just to get more information on Akaashi. But every time he dialled their number, he decided not to call after all. He didn’t need people to think he was being possessive and obsessive without any reason to. Nor did he want people to tease him and bully him (no matter how friendly that might be in reality). Besides, Kenma was not the most enthusiastic person in the world, which wasn’t a bad thing, but not what Bokuto needed. Konoha was too sarcastic for his and Bokuto’s own good. Oikawa was too nosy, always ready to jump at the opportunity of gossip, and while Bokuto liked him a lot, he didn’t want to engage in that.
So he would just stay quiet and wait until the wave had finished crashing down on him, pulling him under and leaving no opportunity to breathe. He might have been a little dramatic, Bokuto realised, but he couldn’t stop it. He just couldn’t get Akaashi Keiji out of his head. But the sooner he forgot about him, the better, right? Chances of running into him again were slim, and it didn’t do good to chase after an unrealistic dream. Bokuto sat down at the piano and began practising his scales halfheartedly, which he hated, but knew were necessary. His mission was to forget that Akaashi guy.
And he almost succeeded, until the day they ran into each other again for real, and met each other and talked. It seemed like Bokuto’s little adventure with instant crushes and love remained unfinished after all.
♬♬♬
It wasn’t like Akaashi wanted to pack up his things as soon as the concert was over. Deep down inside him, he knew that he wanted to stay and engage in conversations with the people he would very much like to be friends with. Instead, he loosened the hairs on his bow, secured it on the inside of the lid, slid in the end piece of his cello, made sure his instrument was attached safely in its case.
It was a miracle, really, that he had even been allowed to decorate it a little bit. While the stickers on the case were subtle, the yellow contrasted the soft blue quite a lot, and Akaashi had expected his parents to confront him about it, but they hadn’t. Maybe, after agreeing to buy him a blue case instead of a plain and boring black one, they had started to loosen up a little and give Akaashi the freedom he so desperately wanted.
But that was a fool’s hope, and Akaashi realised that quickly. It hadn’t been long since he’d joined the orchestra that his hopes were crushed under the weight of his parents’ icy stares. He didn’t understand why his parents were so adamant on him being so disgustingly antisocial––while it was certainly no lie to say that Akaashi wasn’t the most extroverted and outgoing, he didn’t mind being around people. But his parents did mind, and no matter how often Akaashi spoke to them about it, they shut him down until he didn’t try to confront them about it anymore. It was no use anyway, and Akaashi wasn’t sure the people in his orchestra were even worth the effort.
They did seem nice, and he did get along with them. That wasn’t the issue. The problem was that he simply didn’t know any of them, really, thanks to his parents. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if he was even worth all of that trouble. But that was a thought he very much preferred to avoid, so he went back to handling his instrument again to keep his hands busy, pretending that the action kept his mind busy as well to keep himself from overthinking, the way he usually did. Letting out a sigh, Akaashi closed his case. Allowing his mind to go places wouldn’t help him, and he knew that––it was just hard getting out of his own head when he was all alone, without having a single person to talk to. He truly was on his own at all times.
His cello case felt unusually heavy as he carried it on his back to leave. No one really acknowledged him––apart from a few interested looks, nobody seemed to truly mind him leaving early. Akaashi didn’t blame them. He was always the first one to leave, he was the only one to not socialise with the others, to always stray away from the others, even though he didn’t want to. They simply couldn’t go on expecting that would change anytime soon, not when Akaashi wasn’t sure it would ever change at all.
All he could do was obey his parents, just like he’d been taught, that was all there was to it. Obey his parents, do not disappoint them any further, not after being labelled the family disappointment anyway, courtesy of his mom one night when things had gotten heated. Akaashi would do anything to avoid hearing those words again, not when his heart was still in pieces.
The hall was bustling with people and excited chatter, and Akaashi longed to join them, even for just a second. There was one voice he couldn’t pinpoint, but it rose above the cacophony of words as if it was the soloist, drawing attention as if to announce its presence in the most gleeful and heartwarming way.
Akaashi wasn’t sure why a stranger’s voice made him feel so elated, but he felt drawn to the person, so he dared a quick look around, but he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. The stranger was hidden among the crowd, but the voice was there, clear as day, and the strange pull tugging at Akaashi to beg him to find this person grew stronger with each syllable the man spoke.
“There you are,” a female voice interrupted Akaashi’s racing thoughts, and the warmth in Akaashi’s chest faded quickly until the last remnants fully disappeared, leaving no trace behind. His mother loomed in front of him, her blue eyes scrutinising him.
“Let us go home.” His father emerged from behind his mother, his hair as neat as ever. Akaashi could only nod and follow them out, the stranger long gone from his mind, overcome by thoughts of his parents and the pressure they exerted on him without needing to use words. Their mere presence was enough, and Akaashi could do nothing but follow them in silence, the merry crowd being left behind and soon fading into distance until there really was nothing left but booming silence.
The car ride was the exact way it usually was, quiet and uncomfortable. Akaashi didn’t typically mind being silent, since he was not one to talk much unprompted anyway, but whenever he was in a confined room with his parents, it was simply uncomfortable, with the quiescence brooding and looming between them, enveloping him in a cold hug that he seemingly could never shake off entirely. He could barely suppress a shiver that ran down his spine when he realised just how uneasy he felt.
Akaashi didn’t like that this had become his norm, and he yearned for the times when it was all easier, until he had messed it all up a few years ago. While everything that had happened was a necessity, more or less, he profoundly wished for it to come to an end and go back to how things once used to be.
His parents had never been overly affectionate, but this level of coldness and hardness was much bigger than what it had been like when Akaashi was still a child, and not a young adult. But perhaps that was simply his brain tricking him into believing that things had once been alright. Because somehow that made it more bearable now.
“The concert was nice,” said his father as he didn’t take his eyes off the road while driving. That was fair, but his mother didn’t look at him either as Akaashi sat in the back of the car. Was it really so hard for her to just smile at him and give him a look that wasn’t cold and hard for once? Akaashi tried to remember when his parents had overtly shown affection towards him, but he couldn’t recollect it. He wasn’t even sure if they’d ever shown affection towards anyone, really, but their coldness bothered him and got under his skin in the most uncomfortable way.
“Thanks,” muttered Akaashi, not daring to say any of his thoughts out loud because what purpose would they serve, apart from aggravating this already frustrating situation?
This entire thing with his parents was a never ending thing, and Akaashi needed someone to talk to, but he couldn’t talk to his parents. Whom could he turn to, if his own parents weren’t even there for him? There was simply no one. Akaashi could feel his thoughts tumbling out of control again, somersaulting and cartwheeling through his brain in a messy fashion. This feeling of helplessness happened much too often. Akaashi wanted to get rid of it. He needed to get rid of it. The problem was that he simply didn’t know how. It was reassuring, being aware of the problem, but it was equally stressful not knowing how to deal with it in a healthy, proper way.
The rest of the car ride was spent in silence again, and Akaashi did his best to ignore his racing thoughts. Overthinking his situation wouldn’t do him any good. And yet he wanted change. A friend. Just one real friend that he could talk to would be more than enough. To give him the opportunity to get away from his parents just a little. To have someone to talk to, to listen to, to laugh with.
But that was wishful thinking, and Akaashi knew it. He felt it the way people looked at him in the orchestra, with him being so closed off and not allowing anyone to get close to him. Akaashi knew all of their names, he listened to them have conversations together, but he was never part of it.
Couldn’t be part of it, thanks to his parents forcing him to shut himself off from the world. And yet Akaashi didn’t want to give up. Because there had to be someone in this world who would love him for who he was, without him having to change anything about himself. Maybe one day he would be able to get below surface level with someone––even if it happened to be possible with only one person, Akaashi would take it. There had to be someone out there who wouldn’t treat him the way his own parents did.
For a second, he braced himself, wanting to confront his parents about it. He thought out a smart comment about how he would have wanted to socialise with the people in the orchestra, at least for a little while. He wanted to comment about how much fun they seemed to be having, and ask if it would be such a bad thing if he joined in from time to time. He wanted to ask why it was so important for him to go home with them right away, when he was almost to be considered an adult in Japan.
Akaashi wanted to say that, if his parents had wanted to leave, then someone else could have given him a ride home. Hell, he would have walked the entire way carrying his cello if he had to. He wanted to ask if he could stay a little longer the next time, frustrated that he even had to ask for permission for such a trivial thing. He could make his own decisions, but he never got the chance to. Not that he kept trying to convince his parents otherwise. He wasn’t sure when, but Akaashi had given up at some point in his life.
Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure where this newfound determination was coming from, but he practised all of it in his head a few times, went over the possible scenarios that could unfold from then on so he wouldn’t be surprised. He had made the mistake once of not accounting for every single possible reaction he could evoke in his parents, and he would never make that mistake again. Especially with his mother around––his father was more lenient, but his mother was a whole different story.
When he was convinced that he could confidently articulate all of his thoughts without stumbling over his words, which was inappropriate and embarrassing, he started, in as loud a voice as he could muster, “I have––”
But right that second, just when Akaashi had started speaking, his father said something to his mother, successfully drowning out Akaashi’s feeble attempt at speaking. The boy in the back of the car swallowed thickly, trying to find an opening to sneak in the words he had practised over and over in his head for the past few minutes. But there was no opening, not one chance for Akaashi to speak, because his father was going on a rant about traffic being busy, and Akaashi didn’t understand how that could possibly be more important in comparison to what his son had to say.
Akaashi shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, messing up his curls in the process. Of course his mother noticed that and shot him a glance, her lips pursed. Akaashi was completely certain that she would have reprimanded him had his father not been going on about the driver in front of them still. He suppressed the urge to visibly scoff at his mother’s attitude, so he opted for silently shouting at her in his mind while a strange mixture of frustration and disappointment filled his chest to the brim.
At least being silent and thinking whatever he wanted to think was something he could do without suffering the consequences. His thoughts drowned out the sound of the car’s engine purring, they drowned out the icy voice of his father, the noises of the cars around them, the honking. All of it was drowned out by Akaashi’s brain which simply did not seem to be able to calm down.
At some point, Akaashi did realise that his father’s rambling had stopped, but Akaashi didn’t feel like interrupting the silence anymore. He knew anyway how the conversation would end, so what was the point in bringing it up? This way, he could sit in silence without having to listen to either of his parents. Akaashi had learned a long time ago that staying silent was almost always the best option. Arguing was never worth it.
And he wasn’t about to go against that knowledge and do something that would result in him feeling even worse than he already did. So he silently followed his parents up the stairs to their front door, his father carrying his cello case, a nice gesture from him for once.
Though it wasn’t like his parents asked him if he’d stay up a little, Akaashi didn’t feel like sticking around anyway and he walked up the stairs, tired and defeated. He excused himself in an almost mechanical way and headed to his bedroom, avoiding his parents’ scrutinising looks. This entire thing was never going to change, and there was not one person who could possibly help him.
But maybe, just maybe, Akaashi would be so lucky and meet someone who could help him out, who would choose to be there for him when his parents had chosen not to. Maybe someone was out there, waiting to meet him. Maybe someone was in a similar situation, waiting for Akaashi to appear on their doorstep.
And maybe Akaashi was a fool for trying to hold on to the last threads of hope he had left. Maybe his parents were right, in their cold and distant treatment of him. Maybe they were good people, and he wasn’t. Maybe he was only trouble after all. Maybe he didn’t deserve his parents to love him, no matter how much he yearned for a simple hug from his mother.
Akaashi buried his face in his pillow and fell asleep, the sadness overwhelming him, covering him like his blanket, only this one he couldn’t shake off.