Chapter Text
"it's happening again, akaashi."
he hugs his knees close, his hands shaky and sweaty as he clutches at the fabric of his loose pajamas. his face is smushed against his knees and he feels sweat dripping from his temples, despite the blast of airconditioning.
"is that why you're hiding under the dining table, bokuto-san?"
akaashi's voice is calm and even as always, unruffled no matter what happens. it's what makes him such a great guy and an even more amazing doctor. he always looks like nothing can ever surprise him.
"...yes."
"what happened?" akaashi's voice maintains the same inflection even though he hears him shuffle closer to the dining table, pads of his feet against the tatami deliberately loud to alert him of the approach.
"the reporter who wrote that mean article, he. he. he---"
he chokes on in his own saliva, in his own guilt. while it's true that he's felt sad - he didn't cry, because he's an adult now, a pro volleyball player, he doesn't cry at the drop of the hat, at each and every sign of crique - he's felt lonely and depressed, but only for a few hours because akaashi had brought him cherry ice cream then, and he's been sad, but he didn't. didn't want the reporter to actually.
die.
he didn't wish for the news while he's eating the pizza he ordered from the new italian place two blocks down - akaashi told him yesterday that he can indulge himself, so the number of calories and greasiness aside, he can eat pizza as long as he completes twenty more minutes of cardio. so, he didn't really feel anything great when he sees that news about some reporter found dead inside his own office, mouth stuffed with clippings of the pieces he's penned, mostly critiquing the influx of new players to the pro volleyball world.
while it's true that he remembers slurring some words and phrases against the mugs that kuroo kept supplying him two weeks ago - words and phrases that say something about making the reporter eat his words. he didn't mean it literally, he didn't mean it at all.
and the thing is.
it's not the first. or even the tenth time this has happened. people who have done something to send him to his depressed mode, they've all perished one way or the other.
and it's. it's terrifying, since he has times when he doesn't remember anything. when he wakes up covered in sweat like he's ran 42 kilometers. when he looks down at his own hands and finds them exhausted and tired and feeling like they're not a part of himself.
"...bokuto-san, take deep breaths." akaashi's voice is so lovely. he's never heard him raise his voice. he's never heard him say anything with an inflection that's not so matter-of-fact - wait, when they were in high school, akaashi had times when he sounded so fed up with his antics, but it was still affectionate, in a way, like akaashi's surely remembering and marking down all the times he's done something so wild it's illogical, but still supports him in the end. like akaashi's fond of him, like in his craziest dreams.
"akaashi, he---"
"can i sit beside you?" akaashi peers at him, bent at the waist as he lifts the veil of the table cloth so he can see him. "bokuto-san, can i sit beside you?"
"anything, akaashi, you can, but he, you know, the reporter---"
"you were great today." akaashi tells him when their thighs are touching, akaashi's legs slim and toned from all the walking he does up six flights of stairs to his office in his hospital, from all the running he does alongside him to keep him motivated and awake during his early morning runs. "that spike you did at the end of the third set was stronger than ushijima's."
akaashi is really wonderful - he's busy with his own patients who gladly wait on a queue of more than two weeks just to consult him. he's busy, but he finds time to get daily updates on his practices. he's busy, but he finds the patience to sit with him underneath dining tables as he wrestles with his own demons.
"really, akaashi? i did well, right??? hinata managed to block one of my shots with that one insane jump, but---"
"you were great." akaashi's hand is warm against his thigh, nudging his legs to a more relaxed pose, unwinding him bit by bit. "you're always great, bokuto-san."
akaashi's really great, isn't he?
"even if i'm not able to be within the top 3 spikers?"
"even so."
"...even if i can't finish my training?"
"...even so."
"akaashi---"
"even so, bokuto-san." akaashi's finally been able to coax him to lift his face from his knees. akaashi's hands on his cheeks are really, really warm, almost feverish, almost pinkish, almost sticky. but that's because he's been sweating up a storm, right. "let's go to bed?"
"okay," he agrees slowly, crawling out of the dining table with akaashi. "hey, akaashi, your hands are---"
"it's fine, bokuto-san."
"but---"
"let's go to bed, early, so you can rest."
akaashi's always so thoughtful. it's really nice.
"okay. let's go, akaashi."
("Kuroo-san, I heard you had a fight with Bokuto-san."
"Ah, you know how it goes." Kuroo rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Kenma's been giving me the cold shoulder because of my stupidity, so you can cut out that glaring, Akaashi. I'll make up with that noisy owl, okay?"
"I'm afraid that's not enough, Kuroo-san."
"...Hey, wait, you---!"
"Everyone who gets in the way of Bokuto-san must be removed, after all.")