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The harsh sound of pattering rain is deafening. Should have brought an umbrella. Everything is gray. Some people say that when it’s raining, the colors surround you would enhance. The green of wet grasses, the black of pooling asphalt, the red of roofs. How can he forgot about the umbrella? Everything is gray. Heavy curtain of rain draped everything around him. Should have brought an umbrella.
He really likes the rain, isn’t he? is something people have said more than Akaashi could count. He’s so childish, is something usually followed. Akaashi never bothered to reply, because as long as Bokuto knows his limit, he is allowed to do anything he pleases. And if he really likes the rain, Akaashi will let the man embrace it.
“Shouldn’t you call him by now?” Kuroo asks him, hands idly tapping a volley ball on his lap.
Akaashi glances at the clock hanging on gym wall. It has been fifteen minutes since Bokuto went out the gym and to the pouring rain, abandoning his teammates with a grin, saying I’ll be back. Other than confused first years of Fukurodani and some members of Nekoma, they all have been accustomed to Bokuto’s antique, even his childish and sometimes selfish acts, like runs out the gym every time it’s raining and let it pouring down on him. “He’ll be back,” Akaashi says. More to himself.
Kuroo hums as he stares at the swaying tree outside the window. The silence stretch for a while until he muses, “does he really like the rain, though?”
He can feel water filling his shoes. The soaked material of his shirt weighing him down. His hair sticking to his temple. Everything is gray. Some people say that when it’s raining, colors would enhance. Yet, all he can see is gray.
“Can I ask you something?”
Akaashi turns to Kuroo. His face is all but humor. The only time Akaashi ever see him this serious is whenever he’s in the middle of a match. Akaashi nods. “Sure, Kuroo-san.”
“Do you know anything about Bo’s family?”
“I heard that his parents are abroad for business. He lives alone here.”
“You’ve ever been to his house, right?”
Akaashi’s heart flutters, remembering the brush of fingertips, caress of clothes. Lips a few inches from his but never touched. “Yes,” he says, still maintaining his poker face despite the rushes of blood he feels creeping down his neck and ears. If Kuroo notices, he ignores it, for once.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Kuroo lifts the ball on his lap and swirls it on one hand, “all the photos there.”
Akaashi frowns. “I don’t remember any photos there.”
“Exactly.”
Akaashi glances at the man beside him. The sound of rain filling in the air between them. A harsh melody, yet strangely calming. Just like Bokuto.
“He’s not stupid, you know. Sometimes I wonder if it all just an act,” Kuroo continues when Akaashi stays quiet. “Sometimes I wonder if I really know him at all.”
Some people say that when it’s raining colors would enhance, and Akaashi finally understand. Soaked hair a darker shade of silver, drops down to his scalp, covering his forehead. His practice shirt a darker shade of blue, clinging to his skin, accentuates his figure. It’s not just the colors that enhance, it’s his presence. Bokuto looks more real under the shower of rain. Yet he feels more foreign. A fragment of someone Akaashi doesn’t know.
Sometimes I wonder if it all just an act.
Bokuto turns around even before Akaashi could call out his name, and he wonders how Bokuto could hear his footsteps under the harsh sound of pattering rain. “What are you doing here?” Bokuto asks as Akaashi walks up to him, closing the gap between them. When Akaashi stops right in front of him, a merely inch from his chest, he tentatively shoves a strand of wet hair from Akaashi’s temple and tucks it behind one ear. “Where’s your umbrella?” because Akaashi is a meticulous person and never out wandering without his umbrella when it’s raining.
“You didn’t come back,” Akaashi murmurs, knowing that Bokuto can hear him, even under the harsh sound of pattering rain.
Bokuto chuckles, but no humor in it. “I’m sorry, I forgot about the practice. I think I lost time under the rain.” Bokuto never forget about practice. He loves volleyball more than anyone does. Or so Akaashi thought.
He really likes the rain, isn’t he?
Akaashi looks up, noting every detail of the man he loves. They never talked about their feelings, though Akaashi knows it’s mutual, from the discreet light brush of skins, the sound of his voice calling Akaashi’s name when it just the two of them, the way he looks at Akaashi when he thinks no one notices. He knows how much Bokuto loves him, just as much as he loves the man.
Akaashi put his hand against Bokuto’s cheek as he stares at him. A pair of golden eyes staring back at his green one. There is red smudging at the rims. It was faint, but as people say, when it’s raining colors would enhance.
Does he really like the rain, though?
Gently, Akaashi pulls Bokuto into his chest, wrapping his arm around Bokuto’s broad shoulders. There is a brief surprised gasp, then a content sigh. “It’s okay,” he whispers to Bokuto’s ear, “everything’s okay.”
He tightens his embrace as he feels rain is no longer the only thing soaking his shirt.