Archive of Our Own

“What prompted this?” Akane asks, adjusting the center of his glasses. He stares at Teru through the fake lens, and he internally curses the blonde for not allowing his glasses to actually see things clearer —his eyesight is a perfect 20/20 vision as his doctor says, so he really doesn’t need it to, but he thinks that it’d be nice if he had the power to see things better- because maybe then, he’d be able to see through that composed smile of his and understand the blonde better.

“I just wanted to write,” Teru says casually. He rests his head on his hand as he stares at Akane with what the latter prefers to be a blank look (because a Teru Minamoto who isn’t void of any emotions isn’t something he can handle just yet). “I needed you to review it.”

‘Right, sure he did.’

Akane restrains himself from scoffing because what could he ever point out to the boy whose best subject is English (and everything else for that matter)? Regardless, Akane sighs and studies the piece of literature before him. He was never fond of reading, but he always seems to get immersed in Teru’s works —though he’d rather be tied up in the ceiling than admit that out loud. Teru’s writing was always careful, as though much thought was given to each sentence. He describes situations so clearly that Akane feels like he’s part of the story. He includes just the right details and doesn’t trail off like most writers who often try to be too descriptive. Worst of all, Teru never makes grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, even though he’s aware that writers get a pass for breaking the rules of English grammar.

“It’s like a license for writers,” Akane argued one time when he defended his incorrect use of tenses in one sentence. “I can let the readers feel like they’re in the present one second, and then the past the next!”

“You read too many John Green novels,” Teru retorted, his annoying smile present on his face (the one where it’s wide enough to seem polite, but the corners aren’t really high enough to reach his eyes to appear genuine). “I can abide by the rules and make the reader feel complex emotions.”

And fuck Teru Minamoto for that, because he’s right. Whenever Akane reads the paragraphs Teru constructs with gentle clicks on his keyboard, he finds himself experiencing a plethora of emotions. Anger, disappointment, fear, love— scratch that last part, hate. Despite that range of negativity, there seems to be one that remains constant in his writing: loneliness.

“It’s good,” Akane finally comments. “Didn’t expect you to write about an artist of all things. You’re not particularly invested in painting and whatnot, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Teru confirms. Akane tries to control the bubble of satisfaction trying to reign in his chest at the approval of his inference. He dismisses it as the pride of being validated as an observer, and definitely not because it’s good to know that he still knows Teru best. The boy in question hums in thought. “I just think it’s interesting that whenever humans feel the need to let out their own emotions, they turn to art.”

Akane looks up from the glaring screen of his laptop to meet Teru’s gaze (not like he could because the boy’s attention always seemed to be elsewhere —and it’s mostly either the view or a stray supernatural). He finds himself furrowing his brows at the sight of Teru’s distant stare because what’s with that? Sure, Teru occasionally shows hints of vulnerability from time to time, but even then he’d dismiss the thought almost as swiftly as it was brought up. This time, however, he stays quiet —almost as if he is waiting for the other to respond. Akane clears his throat, and he lets out a soft mutter that almost sounds like a grumble.

“Don’t say it like that,” he says, the sharp tone contrasting the softness in his volume.

Teru turns to him with a questioning hum, and now Akane wishes he spoke quieter because, of course, Teru heard him. He always does, as though his ears were trained to pick up on the slightest of sounds the redhead makes —as though all his senses were heightened just to see through him like it was second nature. Teru finally speaks, voice gentle and patient, and it almost almost sounds pleasant. “Like what?”

Akane huffs, eyes averting from Teru who is now looking at him. Perhaps Teru’s more-than-often dazed state isn’t the only thing hindering them from ever actually looking at each other. With a hesitant tone, he responds. “Like you’re not human too.”

‘Because you are,’ he mentally adds, biting his tongue to prevent him from actually saying it. The statement would be too comforting, and their relationship was anything but. Teru Minamoto and Akane Aoi weren’t close enough to be friends, nor were they too distant to just be referred to as coworkers.

‘Partners, then?’ Akane dismisses the thought. ‘No, not with him of all people.’

Teru smiles (and mind you, he had already been “smiling” moments before, but that is not Akane’s definition of it), and had Akane not known better —not been made aware of the nature of their relationship from the start- he would’ve thought Teru was grateful for that half-baked statement. Akane lets himself think it for a split second though, unconsciously liking the idea of Teru thanking him. He’s broken out of that delusion when Teru hums in thought. “I suppose you’re right.”

And he was. Because Akane Aoi never makes a mistake when it comes to Teru Minamoto, whether he likes it or not. Because Teru Minamoto who sits beside him in the council room with his shit-eating half-hearted smile and his kind voice that he loathes to have directed at him (because why would he act so shallow with him?) is the same Teru Minamoto who he’s forced to deal with alongside his lose-lose bets and his murder threats that he never really commits to. Because Akane Aoi knows Teru Minamoto better than anyone, and because on nights like this, he finds himself toeing the line between partnership and friendship.

The air from the window hits the side of his head, making him turn away and catch sight of Teru still looking at him. Their eyes meet for the first time that night, blue eyes boring into auburn (as Teru had described it before) ones. Akane’s breath hitches at the sight, and ah, there it is. For a moment, he thanks his glasses’ lack of ability to see through Teru fully, because it saves him from the burden of being torn from the inside out. Teru is staring at him with a solemn expression, giving light to his internal despair —too worn down to guise it behind his sadistic facade.

Teru looked even more human than before, and Akane couldn’t find the will in himself to look away. Instead, he gazes into the boy’s features, truly seeing him for all that he is. With a begrudging groan, he looks away. “When was I ever wrong, President?”

Teru laughs at the statement —even though it wasn’t really funny and it was clear enough that he had already read it on Akane’s features minutes before he said it-, and he sighs in resignation. “Touché.”

Akane lets himself smile, letting down his own guarded walls, and basks in the sound of Teru’s laughter. Much like him, it was loud yet carried a sense of softness behind it, but he’d never tell that to Teru. Perhaps one day, when he finds himself unable to control the emotions swelling in his chest, he’ll turn to the art of writing as well. Perhaps then, he’d be able to voice out his true thoughts to the man before him and reach to him in the same manner.

Until then, he’ll settle for staying behind the line between them, and be the closest thing Teru can call a friend.