Archive of Our Own ^beta

Spring, present

Akaashi spent a lifetime not believing in love, two years barreling head first into it, and then three more years experiencing the molasses thick pain of watching it dissolve before his eyes. At first, he thought he was thinking too hard about it and simply decided to let life move the way it chose. But when nothing had changed a full year later, he felt his heart slowly break into pieces the same way fruit decays from one point of contact over time.

How did they find themselves here? Two hearts beating for different things but trying to force them to beat for each other?

Bokuto looks sad, sitting on the edges of Akaashi’s sofa as if he’s trespassing. Akaashi knows the feeling.

“I screwed up, Kaash,” Bokuto whispers, hands twisted tightly together between his knees. “God, it’s not like you didn’t give me a million chances to start over, either. I just…I guess I just counted on the fact that you’d always be there without taking into account what that would mean for you. That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry. I don’t expect this to change anything but I just need you to know how important you are to me. No matter what.”

Akaashi has been falling out of love for 24 months but his chest still burns with Bokuto’s words. A part of him also thought they would eventually work it out, however dwindling.

“I appreciate you telling me that. But I spent 2 years being the only person who could hold us together. And I just can’t do it anymore. We both deserve better than that. I want you to be with someone who helps you burn brighter than ever before, Kou. And that’s never been me.”

“That’s not true!” Bokuto cries, body leaning so far forward that he’s on the tips of his toes. “You were always my inspiration, Kaash.”

Akaashi smiles at him. It’s warm and soft, the smile he used to only give to Bokuto.

“I know.”

“I don’t know who I am without you, without us.” Bokuto says quietly through a shuddered breath.

Akaashi takes his hands gently.

“You’re Bokuto Koutarou, the best guitarist in the world. It doesn’t matter where life takes you, that’s who you’ve always been. I’ve always been jealous that you’ve just always known what you wanted from life.”

“I wanted us to be together forever,” Bokuto whispers.

Akaashi nudges Bokuto’s legs aside so he can sit next to him.

“I also wanted that at one time. But what I want even more is for you to be happy. And I don’t think we make each other happy anymore, Kou. Not like we used to. Not the way being in a relationship should.”

“I can change, I can fix things. I promise,” Bokuto says, but there’s no fire behind it anymore. It’s a conversation they had once before. But back then, the script was different. They were young. There was room for error. They had hope. There wasn’t anything else to distract them from each other. Not other people.

Akaashi drops his head onto Bokuto’s shoulders and closes his eyes.

“I never wanted you to change. I just wanted to be as important to you as your music.”

Bokuto’s voice trembles. “Kaash,” he says.

Akaashi keeps his eyes closed and sighs.

“Remember when you kept dropping your phone behind the bed because you had to have it beneath your pillow?”

Bokuto coughs out a wet laugh and Akaashi memorizes the feeling of his body moving with it beneath his head. This was the last time. 730 days of distance, of rushed hellos and goodbyes, of cold dinners eaten alone, none of it had hurt as badly as this did. But he knew that trying to fit in more days would only hurt worse.

“Remember when you tried baking cookies for me and I ended up getting food poisoning because they were underdone?” Bokuto says with an audible smile.

Akaashi flushes at the memory but smiles as well.

“Remember when you came over to the dorms and my roommate walked in on us?”

Bokuto laughs, arm curling around Akaashi as he rests his head on Akaashi’s. “Oh man, I swore I was never gonna be able to look him in the face again.”

They both fall into silence, absorbing the feeling of being close.

“Remember the day we met, Kaash?”

Akaashi sometimes wishes he could forget. But he opens his eyes and looks up at Bokuto with a smile. “You made quite the first impression.”

Bokuto smiles and brushes the hair off Akaashi’s forehead, a touch so gentle it makes Akaashi want to cry.

“I was gonna be late to practice!”

“So you barreled me over and sprained my wrist.”

“It was an accident!”

“That you later made up for by taking me out for ice cream.”

“I genuinely felt bad! I carried your books for a month!”

Akaashi sighs something fond, warmed by the memory.

“We were good in the beginning.”

The silence is thicker this time, more suffocating than warming.

“Kaash, what happened to us?”

Akaashi sits back just enough to be able to look at Bokuto. He looks younger, softer with his hair down. It’s a sight that used to be private, something only Akaashi got to see on early mornings and late nights after a shower. It meant Bokuto was there for him and they wouldn’t have to see the rest of the world for a while. His golden eyes are questioning, shining with the threat of tears. His lips are pressed tightly together. It’s a rare image of Bokuto. Akaashi doesn’t want it to be how he remembers him. So he offers him a wan smile and gently nudges him, taking Bokuto’s hands in his own.

“We grew up, Kou. Growing up means changing. And we just couldn’t change together. It happens.”

“I never wanted to make you feel like you were second rate to anything.”

“And I never wanted to make you choose between your passion and me. But dragging this out isn’t healthy.”

“Is it…,” Bokuto starts and then stops, looking away. He takes a shuddering breath and grips Akaashi’s hands a little tighter, still not looking at him. “Is there someone else?”

Akaashi has dreaded this question for the past three weeks, worrying about what he would say when it came up. Because there might have been distance between him and Bokuto, but there were never lies. He certainly wasn’t about to start.

“There could be if I let them.”

Bokuto is silent, lips white around the edges as he presses them tighter together, blinking rapidly.

“Do you hate me for that?” Akaashi asks, unsure for the first time in a long time.

Bokuto shakes his head so rapidly that Akaashi is certain he hears a crack in his neck.

“I could never hate you, Kaash. You know that. I think…no, I know, that I hate myself for letting this ever get this far. Deep down I knew things weren’t right. I knew there was distance between us. I just thought we’d eventually come back together again.”

Akaashi gently untangles one of his hands to run it through Bokuto’s hair and then gently cups his cheek.

“I’ll still support you, Kou. I’m still rooting for you. I want you to succeed. I just…I can’t be by your side while it happens anymore.”

Bokuto laughs but it sounds hollow. “Yeah, the pit wasn’t ever really your style, huh?”

“I’ll still come to your shows.”

Tears finally drop from Bokuto’s eyes. He pulls Akaashi into a breath stealing hug. Akaashi can feel the rapid beating of Bokuto’s heart through his chest. He feels his own bruise just a little bit more. He hugs him back tightly regardless.

“You were always too good for me, Kaash.”

“We were good for each other for a while there.” Akaashi pauses. Breathes. Continues, “It’s okay that it didn’t work out.”

Bokuto simply hugs him tighter, tucking his face into Akaashi’s hair.

Akaashi memorizes the feel of this, too. It will be a while until they can touch each other like this again without the pain they’re both feeling right now.

Eventually, whether it’s minutes or hours later, it’s Bokuto that breaks the silence, slowly unwinding his arms from Akaashi. He presses their foreheads together, eyes still closed.

“Do they make you happy?” He asks quietly.

Akaashi thinks of long lunch breaks and the sudden appearance of late night deliveries. He thinks of warm meals shared together and of active listening. He thinks of gray eyes focused solely on him, attention never split between two things. He thinks of a stern country accent telling him that he is important, that there will always be time for him.

“Yeah,” Akaashi whispers, more than a little scared to admit out loud a thought he’s had circling in his head for days.

Bokuto nods, a sharp inhale the only sign of distress. He pushes himself back. His eyes are wet, just as red as the tip of his nose and the blotches on his cheeks. But he offers Akaashi a watery smile.

“I wish you the best of luck then, Keiji. You deserve to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

Akaashi thought he knew what heartbreak felt like. He thought it was cold dinners and missed calls. He thought it was canceled plans and a cold bed. He thought it was slowly drifting apart, watching as someone you love actively loves something else more. But it is none of those things. It’s knowing that perhaps in a different world, on a separate timeline, that things could have worked out. It’s knowing that if he had maybe spoken up sooner or louder, that they wouldn’t be having this conversation. But life was never so simple as to piece together different universes until they created the timeline most convenient. Life is the way you make it. And Bokuto and Akaashi were currently lying in the bed they made together.

Still, he’s surprised by the tears that roll down his cheeks.

“We’ll talk soon, right?” He asks, though he knows it’s unfair.

Bokuto laughs again, but this time there's fondness in it. “Yeah, Kaash. You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

Akaashi fell in love with Bokuto in the spring, so it makes a sort of cosmic sense that they let go of each other in the spring, too. After all, it’s the season of change.

Spring, one year ago

“Kaash, I’m sorry but the tour is only a few weeks!” Bokuto’s voice is distant, like he’s talking on speaker phone. Akaashi tries to not let it bother him. It does anyway.

“I already have the tickets, Kou. What am I supposed to do? Throw them away?”

Bokuto groans and then his voice is crystal clear, like he’s right behind Akaashi.

“I know, Kaash. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I forgot this is the week you said you wanted to go.”

Akaashi grips the flowers in his hand tightly, ignoring the sting of thorns in his fingers. Blood wells on his skin, red and angry, before falling to the ground and splattering on the white tile underfoot. He takes a deep breath and swallows his feelings. When it comes to music, he knows he will never take precedent. That is how things have always been with Bokuto. It’s nothing malicious. It’s simply the way he is. Akaashi knows this. Has always known this. Still hates it.

“I understand. I’ll figure it out. Good luck on tour, Bokuto.”

“Kaash, I-,” Bokuto starts.

“I’m sorry, but work is calling. I’ll talk to you later.”

Akaashi hangs up before Bokuto responds. It’s been happening a lot. He takes the flowers and throws them in the trash can. Then he washes his hands and bandages the fingers that were pricked before cleaning the floor. The tickets stare at him from the counter. The date circled in red on the calendar feels like a slap in the face.

March 5th - Anniversary Trip!!

He picks up the phone and sends out a text. Seconds later he gets a response.

To: Kenma
I have a pair of tickets to Nara with your name on them. I’ll drop them off shortly.

From: Kenma
Do you want to talk about it?

To: Kenma
Nothing to talk about. Just a trip I thought you would enjoy. Feed a deer for me.

Akaashi walks to Kenma’s apartment and tries to slide the envelope with the tickets beneath the door. The envelope is halfway through when the door swings open.

Kenma is standing there with his arms crossed and brows raised. Akaashi freezes like he was caught stealing instead of gifting.

“It’s the 5th.” Kenma says.

“I know.” Akaashi responds, eyes locked on the carpet.

“We’re going.”

“Huh?” Akaashi says, finally looking up. Kenma’s eyes are flinty.

“You’re going to feed the damn deer yourself.”

Akaashi’s chest hurts. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s sad or because he feels blessed to have such a good friend.

Kenma leaves him in the doorway and begins gathering items.

“Give me a few minutes to pack. And then we’re leaving.”

The views are social media worthy and the deer are as entrancing as Akaashi had imagined. And yet that pain in his chest grows as the sun begins to set, dousing the area in a golden light. Kenma takes his hand and squeezes.

“He’s missing out.” He says.

The train ride home is silent.

Autumn, 1 year ago

Onigiri Miya is the only thing that gets Akaashi through his days lately. Editing a horror manga is exhausting, especially when Akaashi thought he would be editing non-fiction or novels. But work is work, and Akaashi has never been a quitter. So he orders his lunch and dinner from the restaurant and works until the sun begins to warm the horizon.

It is after a grueling week of editing and just barely meeting a crucial deadline that Akaashi once again finds himself in line at Onigiri Miya. He’s surprised, however, to find a familiar face working the register.

“Myaa-sam,” he greets.

Miya Osamu’s eyes widen, very briefly, gaze flicking up and down Akaashi’s form, and then his smile melts into a frown.

“Akaashi, you look like you just got back from hell.”

Akaashi, more than a little delirious, laughs, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. He’s glad when he remembers this event that no one else was in the restaurant. It was 10 minutes to closing after all.

He runs a hand through what he knows is atrocious bedhead and grins ruefully.

“Yes, well, Udai has had me on a carousel of doom this past week so that sounds about right. I apologize for my appearance but this is my first meal in about two days.”

Editing had become so frantic that Akaashi had found himself skipping meals and sleeping instead.

Miya scowls and clicks his tongue and Akaashi is afraid that he’s just ruined his open invitation to his favorite restaurant. Miya holds up a finger and says, “Wait right there,” before turning sharply and shouting someone’s name in the kitchen. Akaashi has half a mind to just turn around and never show his face in public again when Miya exits the kitchen without his hat and apron.

“Come on,” he says brusquely, brushing past Akaashi with one arm in his jacket.

“Huh?” Akaashi says.

Miya huffs in frustration at the front door and power walks up to Akaashi. Up close he can see a faint dusting of freckles along Miya’s nose and cheeks. Cute.

Miya grabs his arm gently and tugs him toward the door.

“We’re going to the store, come on.”

Akaashi, feeling as if this is some type of dream, follows behind like a shadow. The walk to the grocery store one block away is silent, but it’s not tense. Akaashi is struck by the tenseness in Miya’s posture as he walks half a step faster. They enter the store and Akaashi follows silently as Miya picks up vegetables and meat. They check out in silence and then Miya turns to him as they exit.

“Follow me,” he says and then he starts walking. Akaashi simply nods and trails behind. He’s gotten exactly 1.5 hours of sleep every night the past week and a half and he’s beginning to feel it.

They arrive at a condo less than five minutes later. Miya unlocks the door and ushers Akaashi inside without fanfare. He places guest slippers out for Akaashi and says, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Akaashi sits on what is possibly the most comfortable couch in existence and blinks. He is presumably in Miya Osamu’s home, sitting on his couch, while Miya cooks him a meal. The strangeness is so overwhelming that Akaashi categorizes it as something to deal with later.

He must drift off because suddenly he startles and blinks a room doused in gentle lights into view. His glasses are folded and placed on the coffee table in front of him and there is a soft blanket draped over his shoulders. His neck feels stiff but his cognition no longer feels out of reach.

“You woke up just in time. Food’s ready. Go wash up.” Miya says.

Akaashi, brain still fogged with sleep, gets up and washes his hands. When he returns, there is a steaming bowl of curry at the table with pickled vegetables and salad on the side. He takes a seat and waits for Miya to join him. As the other man picks up his chopsticks, Akaashi clears his throat.

“Myaa-sam, why am I here?”

Miya scoffs and levels him with an unimpressed look.

“You’re here because you clearly aren’t taking care of yourself. I can’t in good conscience let you subsist off of onigiri, even if they are a large step above convenience store food.”

Akaashi flushes, unused to someone chiding him. Bokuto simply provided him with take out or cuddles and called it a day. He knew Akaashi just went through these phases with his job. But Miya…Miya looks ready to skin him alive. Something in his chest flutters uncertainly at the prospect.

“So don’t complain and start eating. I’m packing the leftovers up for you to take home. I’d better not see you at the restaurant for a few days.”

Akaashi opens his mouth but finds he has nothing to refute. And yet-

“Myaa-sam, not that I don’t appreciate this, but I don’t see what this has to do with you.”

Something flashes on Miya’s face, there and gone in an instant. That frown returns.

“You wouldn’t get it. Just eat, Akaashi. Please. It hurts my heart when people skip meals.”

And then he goes back to eating his food, letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction.

Akaashi picks up his own chopsticks and says a quiet prayer of thanks before digging in. The flavors that burst on his tongue are so surprising that he lets out a groan of pleasure. He notices Miya staring at him and feels his cheeks heat.

“It’s incredibly good, Myaa-sam.”

Miya smiles and the brilliance of it nearly makes Akaashi choke. Has Miya always been this handsome?

“I’m glad you like it. Now, less talking and more eating. A strong breeze could bowl you over.”

Akaashi laughs and feels the last of his tension leave his shoulders.

The night sky is dark and overcast when Akaashi finds himself outside of Miya’s residence again.

“Hey, Akaashi,” Miya starts, suddenly looking at Akaashi’s shoulder instead of his eyes. “If I give you my number, will you text me when you get home?”

Akaashi must be dreaming. He hands over his phone wordlessly and if Akaashi wasn’t so sure that none of this was real, he’d read more into the redness at the tips of Miya’s ears. But he’s not, so it’s something he catalogs in passing.

But he finds himself smiling when he gets home and places the bag of packaged up food on his counters. He pulls out his phone and sends out a message.

To: Miya Osamu
I’m home now, Myaa-sam. Thank you for your hospitality.

Instantly, his phone buzzes.

From: Miya Osamu
I’m glad. Please go get some rest. And stay away from the restaurant!

Akaashi is laughing when another text comes in.

From: Miya Osamu
Not that I don’t want to see you.

Akaashi’s heart flutters again, this time a little more certain in its activity.

The text sits in his inbox right on top of a message to Bokuto.

To: Koutarou
Finally submitted the chapter. Are you free for dinner?

It remains unanswered and unopened four hours later.

Spring, five years ago

Akaashi doesn’t mind cleaning duty. It gives him time to decompress before going home. He’s on his way to put the cleaning supplies back in the janitor's closet when a flash of white and black barrels into him and sends him sprawling. He’s only able to catch himself on one hand and he can feel an immediate twinge.

“Oh god I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there at all! Are you okay?!” A very loud voice shouts at him.

Akaashi flinches a bit and there’s suddenly two very large, golden eyes blinking worriedly down at him. Then gentle hands are helping him stand and evaluating his wrist with a frown. Akaashi jerks his arm back when the boy tries to pronate his hand.

The boy bites his lip and then looks at the clock on the wall. “Can you give me a second?” he says with pleading eyes.

Akaashi nods and finishes locking up the closet while the boy steps away to make a call. The boy was just a smidge taller than him but he was much bulkier. There was a guitar case strapped to his back and his hair was a spiked up mix of black and white strands, likely grown out a bit at the roots. The boy is gesticulating wildly and Akaashi tries not to listen as his voice carries in the empty hall.

“...cancel! I know! I know!...an emergency!”

Moments later, the boy returns, face flushed from yelling but otherwise smiling.

“Sorry about that. Here, let me carry your bag. We gotta get you to the nurse, I think that wrist is sprained.”

Akaashi blinks owlishly as the boy reaches down and grabs Akaashi’s bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Oh, Bokuto Koutarou, by the way! Come on, we don’t want her to leave.”

“Akaashi Keiji,” Akaashi says, because his brain is still trying to process whatever the hell is happening.

The nurse confirms a bad sprain in Akaashi’s left wrist and sends him home with a brace that he’s supposed to wear all the time unless in the shower. Bokuto insists on walking Akaashi to the train station, claiming that he’s the one at fault in all of this.

“I really am sorry. I was finishing up an assignment and didn’t realize how much time had passed. Before I knew it I was late for practice and I was scrambling to get out of the school. Not that rushing ended up helping me.”

Akaashi stares at the boy again because he is so full of life and energy and Akaashi is still unsure why the boy is helping him. However, the boy takes Akaashi’s silence as a question.

“Oh! I’m in a band! It’s just something small but I get to play guitar on the weekends at local cafes. Plus, we get weeknight gigs sometimes and I get to play on real stages at venues. It’s awesome!”

“Do you like being in a band?” Akaashi asks, because it seems safe.

Bokuto lights up and something in Akaashi’s chest flutters at the sight of him. Akaashi rubs his chest in hopes it will make the sensation stop. It doesn’t.

“I love it! I want to be in a band that everyone knows about someday and tour the world! You should totally come see us play sometime, Akaashi!”

Akaashi is nodding before he realizes it and Bokuto’s smile is so brilliant that he can’t bring himself to take it back. So at the train station he exchanges numbers with Bokuto and finds himself waving goodbye as the boy bounds to a different connecting line.

Akaashi Keiji doesn’t believe in love. But in the spring of his final year of high school, he finds that stance changing.

Summer, two years ago

“I think you should just tell him how you feel,” Kenma says through a shoddy connection. For being an island resort, the cell service is horrendous.

“Things have been getting better,” Akaashi murmurs, glancing at the door that Bokuto should be coming back through any minute.

“Things always get better when he’s home, Keiji. And then they go to shit when he leaves. Talk to him about it. Maybe he’ll be more amenable if he’s in a good mood.”

“I-,”

“I’m back!!!” Bokuto shouts, throwing the door open.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Akaashi whispers and hangs up.

He’s tucking his phone away when Bokuto comes into the bedroom. His skin is already bronzed from the sun and he looks so damn happy.

“You ready to go, Kaash? I have everything all settled.”

One more day won’t hurt.

“Yeah, Kou. I'm ready.”

They spend the day riding horses off the beach and luxuriating in room service. They spend the night soaking in the outdoor onsen.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” Akaashi remarks, eyes locked on the multitude of stars in the sky.

“We could live out here, if you wanted,” Bokuto says.

Akaashi’s head snaps towards him. “You’re joking.”

Bokuto’s head is resting on his arms as he stares out at the city below them.

“I’m serious, Kaash. If that’d make you happy then we should do it.”

Akaashi slides closer to him.

“But would it make you happy? You’d be so far away from everyone and everything.”

Bokuto picks up his hand and presses a kiss to his wrinkled palm.

“I’m happy when you’re happy, Kaash.”

Then you must be miserable often. The thought sucker punches him despite the day they’d spent together. Akaashi was getting tired of being alone.

“Let’s sleep on it, okay?” He says instead.

Bokuto seems to relax, just a minute shift in his posture, but Akaashi knows he’s made the right choice. It seems like he wasn’t the only one pretending after all.

The next day, Bokuto receives a call from the band about an emergency show, something they didn’t think they had qualified for that suddenly gets cleared. The train ride home is silent. Things between Akaashi and Bokuto were never strained like this. So when they’re about fifteen minutes away from home, Akaashi decides to say something different.

“Hey Kou? I think…I think maybe we should keep our own spaces for right now. Is that okay with you?”

Bokuto looks at him with a warm smile and reaches out, hand enveloping Akaashi’s own.

“That sounds perfect, Kaash. As long as you’re sure.”

Akaashi remembers the last three dinners he’s had to package up and redistribute and nods, smile tight.

“I’m sure.”

Winter, 5 months ago

“Order up!”

Akaashi has been sitting at his usual table at Onigiri Miya for nearly an hour now. People keep coming by with fresh waters and pickled vegetables, always careful around the manuscript he has spread in front of him.

But Akaashi isn’t looking at the panels, he’s remembering the conversation that preceded his arrival.

“The tour got extended for another three months,” Bokuto says, excitement tucked behind apprehension.

Akaashi had told himself to be silent. To say nothing. To wait to talk in person. Instead he finds the words spilling from his mouth.

“I think we should take a break.”

“What?” Bokuto asks, confusion bleeding through the line.

“I think we should take a break in our relationship, Kou. I…I’m not happy right now. I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think you have either.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s hold off on talking to each other until you get back. And from there we can see.”

“I don’t wanna stop talking to you, Kaash.” Bokuto whispers. And Bokuto never whispers.

Akaashi feels his heart fall to the floor, an apple dropped from a cart, bruised but still useful.

“I know,” he whispers back.

“I’ll…I’ll be back soon and we can talk about all of this. Together.”

“Okay.”

“Shit, I gotta go. I’ll talk-uh. Um. Fuck. Okay. Night, Kaash.”

“You okay there?”

Akaashi blinks back to the present, eyes feeling wet. He quickly wipes any trace of tears away and looks up at Miya.

“Just a little worn down, I'm afraid. I apologize if you were trying to get my attention.”

Miya’s brow is furrowed as he places a plate of onigiri that Akaashi is certain he did not order on the table. Again, he is overly careful to not let the plate touch Akaashi’s work.

“Look,” he finally says, shoulders hitched around his ears, “this might be overstepping, but are you okay? You just seem…down. And not in a ‘my mangaka won’t turn in his submissions’ type of way.”

Akaashi huffs out a laugh. Why does everything feel so fragile right now?

“I suppose you could say that. Things have been a bit…rocky lately in my life.”

There is an ever present pause whenever Miya speaks to him and it rears its head again now.

“Do you-,” he starts. But Akaashi is certain that if he speaks right now about what has been happening lately that he will have a full mental breakdown in the middle of his favorite restaurant.

“Are you free later tonight, Miya-san?” He interrupts.

Miya’s eyes widen comically and he blinks several times in a row. Someone in the kitchen shouts his name and that seems to bring him back to the present.

“I-uh, yeah. Yes. I am.”

Akaashi smiles at him, something small.

“Then I’ll come by at closing.”

Someone shouts Miya’s name from the kitchen again, this time louder. Miya curses and looks back to the kitchen and then at Akaashi, one foot extended in the opposite direction.

“I’ll be here,” he says. And then he’s being dragged back into the kitchen by a man with short gray hair and Akaashi has to cover his mouth because it’s stretched wide in a smile.

However, six hours later, standing outside Onigiri Miya as the sun sinks below the horizon—breath puffing out in clouds and hands frozen—his smile is all but gone. He fights against the urge to run as he waits for Miya to finish locking up. And far too suddenly, Miya is flashing him a crooked grin, keys hanging off his fingers.

“So, where to?” Miya asks.

And isn’t that the question of the century? Because where did you go when you came to a crossroads? Where could his feet take him that wouldn’t remind him of Bokuto? Who was Akaashi Keiji if not a man in a relationship with his high school sweetheart?

“Your place?” Akaashi suggests before his filter can kick in.

Akaashi feels as shocked as Miya looks, and doubly as embarrassed. He’s grateful the sun is already set, knowing his burning ears are more honest than he’s prepared to be.

The keys around Miya’s fingers nearly fall to the ground, but he grabs them the moment they slip.

“Okay. Follow me. I doubt you remember the way. You were pretty out of it that day.”

Akaashi might not remember the exact steps, but his heart remembers too well the exact day that Miya is talking about. How could he forget the very first time in two long years where he felt cherished?

“Udai is a good man but he is horrendous at time management.”

Miya chuckles. “I’ve been told that artists are at the whims of their muses, never in control of when inspiration will strike. Tsumu’s convinced you can’t force those things.”

Akaashi hums. “Well, the muses should be willing to speak to my bosses on Udai’s behalf because my pleading certainly isn’t changing anything except the amount of wrinkles on my forehead.”

Miya is suddenly far too close, nose nearly touching Akaashi’s as he scrutinizes him. Akaashi is holding his breath, eyes unsure whether to stay open or flutter shut. And then Miya is back to walking in front of him as if nothing had happened. Akaashi is still too afraid to breathe.

“I don’t see any wrinkles, Akaashi. I think your youth is safe.”

A laugh bursts from Akaashi’s lips, unbidden and startling. But it relaxes him enough to ease his shoulders from his ears.

They arrive at Miya’s condo faster than Akaashi anticipates, a cold sweat coating his hands. Miya opens the door and leads them inside, placing guest slippers down for Akaashi.

“Have you eaten yet? I can whip something together for us if you haven’t.” Miya says, flipping on the same soft lights that Akaashi remembers from that night many months ago.

“I haven’t,” he says, but leaves out that he had refrained more out of nerves than anything else.

“Then make yourself comfortable wherever you want. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Miya begins busying himself in the kitchen and this time Akaashi chooses to seat himself at the bar. Akaashi has never gotten the opportunity to watch Miya work up close. He’s always hidden behind swinging doors or small windows in the restaurants.

“So what seems to be troubling you, Akaashi?”

Akaashi flushes, having thought his offer might have at least been misconstrued as interest. But Miya watches him with the same relaxed gaze as usual, hands moving at speeds that would certainly injure Akaashi were he to try them himself.

“I…Bokuto and I,” he takes a steadying breath, “Bokuto and I have decided to take a break.”

The sound of chopping ceases. The release of steam from the rice cooker is the only noise in the kitchen. Akaashi meets Miya’s gaze and can’t identify the emotion he sees swimming there. A little bright but guarded, a question sitting on his lips.

“When did you decide that?” He asks after a minute of silence.

“Today. Earlier today, right before I was at the restaurant. It’s the reason I was so distracted.”

Miya hums and slowly resumes chopping the vegetables.

“He told me the tour got extended another three months.” Akaashi rambles, unsure what prompts him to justify his actions. “He’s been gone for six months already. And when he’s home he’s practicing or working with the band to write new music and when he’s with me…when he’s with me it always feels like a part of him is still somewhere else.”

Miya grabs a bowl from the fridge and turns on the stovetop, placing a large frying pan in place.

“That sounds unfair to you, Akaashi.” Miya says after a pause, his words colored with the tension clear in his posture.

“It’s not that I don’t want him to be successful. I want him to be happy and I’m so proud of him for making it so far in a career that he adores. Just…sometimes I wish he adored me, too. When we first met he was just a kid in a band and I didn’t think much of it. And then I went off to college and he threw himself into different gigs and bands until he finally found your brother, Hinata, and Sakusa and they made it big. I just,” he pauses to take a grounding breath. “I didn’t realize how much of him it would take to make it this far. I didn’t realize how little it would leave for me. And perhaps that’s selfish. But god if I haven’t tried to work with it for years. And I just can’t do it anymore.”

Akaashi thought the words would hurt more when he said them. He’s been worrying them over and over for weeks now. They’d certainly hurt to say to Bokuto. But repeating them now only brings a sense of catharsis.

He meets Miya’s gaze and flushes, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t ask to hear all of that.”

“I’m glad. That you told me. That you feel comfortable telling me. I’m glad that you’re prioritizing your happiness, Akaashi.”

Akaashi has to swallow the sudden emotion that rises in his throat. Miya is not the first person to praise him on this decision. However, it surprises Akaashi just how much he had been expecting the opposite reaction. Perhaps he’d been worried that Miya would have been concerned for his brother’s band or that he’d tell Akaashi that he should have known what it would be like to date a musician. He had expected someone to be disappointed in him or to accuse him of giving up. Someone to echo his own inner turmoil.

Miya sets a plate of grilled salmon with rice and fried vegetables in front of him and leans against the other side of the bar. Akaashi is still lost in his thoughts.

“You seem disappointed,” Miya says. “I told you it’d be something quick.”

Akaashi huffs out a laugh. “I’m very grateful for the food, Miya-san. It smells incredible. I suppose I’m just having second thoughts. What if I messed up the upcoming shows? What if he gets into one of his depressed moods and refuses to go on stage? What if I just made a big headache for the rest of the band? For your brother?”

Miya rests his hand on top of Akaashi’s. It’s softer than expected.

“What if Bokuto took responsibility for his own actions for once? Don’t worry about things you can’t control, Akaashi. And definitely don’t waste your time worrying about my idiot twin. He’s been leading that pack of psychos for years now. He’ll figure out a way to get him on stage come hell or high water. But you shouldn’t have to suffer in order for Bokuto to flourish.”

Akaashi mulls this over. Yet there’s still a nagging thought at the back of his head.

“What if I’ve been holding him back?”

“What if he’s been holding you back?” Osamu counters.

Akaashi doesn’t have an answer to that.

Winter, 5 years ago

Akaashi Keiji knows three things for certain in this world: socialization drains him, pickled vegetables are the best food in the world, and finally, that he’s going to murder whoever got him sick. He’s currently nestled beneath what should be a stifling level of blankets but he’s still shivering. His parents are away on another business trip so he’s been subsisting on random things he found in the pantry. His throat is dry but just the thought of escaping his cocoon of blankets is exhausting so instead he contemplates how long he could go without fluids before dying. He’s certainly halfway there by now.

He feels more than hears the vibration of his phone and slaps his hands around halfheartedly until he comes into contact with it.

“What,” he snaps because he’s 99% certain it’s Kenma and Kenma knows what he’s like when he’s sick.

“Kaash! You must be sick! You didn’t answer my messages and you sound all raspy.”

Akaashi now knows four things in this world and the newest fact is that it must be possible to die of mortification. This fact is proven when his voice cracks as he tries to sit up.

“Bokuto-san! I apologize. I thought someone else was calling. I’m sorry if you need me for something because I’m currently out of commission.”

Bokuto makes some sort of unintelligible screech and then the line disconnects. Immediately five text messages flood his phone.

From: Bokuto-san
OMG

From: Bokuto-san
KAASH

From: Bokuto-san
IM SO SORRY

From: Bokuto-san
I LITERALLY WALKED INTO THE WRONG HOUSE

From: Bokuto-san
Can you please open your door?

Akaashi’s brain is struggling to make sense of the messages beneath his fever. So he slides out from beneath his blanket lair and trudges towards the door, swinging it open. And then immediately slamming it closed.

His heart is racing and he’s clearly in the delusional stage of his fever because there is no way that was just-

“Kaash!? Are you okay?!”

“Oh my god,” Akaashi murmurs and desperately searches for a face mask. When he cracks open the door, Bokuto is absolutely standing there in a thick puffer jacket and a blinding yellow scarf. He’s carrying a folder in one hand and a steaming bag in the other and Akaashi very well might be dreaming.

“Not a dream because I’m definitely freezing my balls off right now,” Bokuto says with a smile.

If fate is going to take him, Akaashi hopes they do it as soon as possible. He’s never felt so embarrassed in his life. He stifles a cough and waves Bokuto inside. He struggles to find the guest slippers right in front of his face and sets them down for Bokuto. However, instead of stepping into them, Bokuto’s face begins to turn red.

“Uh, are your parents not home?” He asks, fastidiously not looking at Akaashi.

Akaashi shakes his head and begins to trudge back to his blanket fort, the cold air from outside settling in his bones like ice.

“Business trip. Been by myself for a few days now.”

When he wraps himself up again he notices that Bokuto is still frozen by the entryway.

“Wait, you’ve been sick all alone for days? Kaash! Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been telling myself you had your parents to take care of you so you certainly didn’t need me and my lack of volume control and my inability to cook.”

“I always need you,” Akaashi mumbles, sleep weighing heavily on his eyes.

Bokuto lets out a squeak and then clears his throat, finally coming into the living room. He looks around in awe and then snaps his gaze to Akaashi’s cocoon.

“I brought some soup. Well I mean, I bought some soup. But I thought you might be cold! Do you want me to bring you some now or pack it for later?”

Akaashi misses hot food but he’s also certain that he needs real liquids and not liquid food.

“Could you bring me some tea?”

Bokuto smiles and Akaashi smiles back, forgetting he’s still wearing a mask.

“Anything you want, Kaash.”

Akaashi slips in and out of sleep as Bokuto eagerly tells him about his day and what Akaashi has missed. He rouses to the scent of jasmine tea. Bokuto has pulled over the nearby armchair to be able to sit next to Akaashi without crowding him. Akaashi can see him nodding his head to a beat as he digs through his backpack.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto drops his bag and turns to him with a blinding smile.

“You know you can count on me, right, Kaash?”

Akaashi knows five things for certain in this world. He can’t quite believe it, but he can say for certain that love is real.

“I love you,” he says.

Bokuto nearly falls out of his chair. His cheeks are red but his eyes are bright and he reaches out to brush Akaashi’s hair off his face.

“I love you, too, Kaash. Call me next time, yeah?”

Akaashi cannot imagine a time when he won’t want to. Cannot imagine a time when this love will not fill his heart to bursting. Cannot imagine a world without Bokuto in it.

Spring, 4 years ago

Akaashi taps his fingers nervously on his desk. He has one closing paragraph in his essay before he never has to look at the university library again, but he’s been staring at the blinking cursor for over an hour. It’s a summary paragraph. He’s already done all the heavy lifting. But he can’t bring himself to concentrate.

He taps his screen to wake up his phone and frowns at the lack of notifications. The date is covered in colorful stickers and the sight makes bile rise up in Akaashi’s throat. He types in his passcode to double check that a new message isn’t just hiding somewhere, but his text message to Bokuto is still the last thing in their conversation.

To: Koutarou
Are you coming to dinner?

He closes his laptop forcefully, shoving it amongst his textbooks and storms out of the library. He’ll apologize tomorrow for the commotion.

Akaashi tosses his belongings haphazardly once he’s in his apartment, one shoe not falling off until he’s halfway to the couch. He flops face-first onto the cushions and screams into the throw pillows.

Akaashi has never lied to Bokuto. However, there are times when he has certainly skirted the truth with vague answers.

When Bokuto had mentioned that their tour would be closing at the end of February, Akaashi nodded and congratulated him. When Bokuto called to say things would be delayed, Akaashi worried a little but told the man he was sure he’d be back in time. When Bokuto said he’d absolutely be home by the 4th, Akaashi knew better. He knew better and yet he booked a dinner at a local restaurant for the two of them on the evening of the 5th anyway.

Akaashi cannot decide if it is more embarrassing to call at the last minute to cancel or to eat alone. His phone pings and he jumps with excitement only to find a text from Kenma.

From: Kenma
Kuroo just texted me and asked me to let you know the tour bus broke down. Bokuto’s phone died. He’s apparently really sorry he can’t make dinner.

Akaashi laughs a little maniacally at the words. His phone pings again.

From: Kenma
You need a plus one?

Before Akaashi can type a negative response, someone is knocking at his door. He jumps up, hope a rallying force in his chest. He deflates when the door only reveals Kenma.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” he mumbles, shoving past Akaashi to sit on the couch.

Akaashi blinks and looks at his friend, noting that he’s wearing a button down shirt and jeans.

“Kenma, you’re in real clothes.”

“Yeah and you look like shit. Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Kou-,”

“Isn’t coming, I know. But you already made a reservation for 8 so you’d better get dressed.”

Akaashi opens and closes his mouth uselessly. There is a foreign emotion stuck in his throat that tastes a lot like gratitude.

“Less floundering and more showering. Your hair is a mess. Now go.”

Kenma escorts him to dinner and pesters him with benign questions and stories. He spends the night, shooing Akaashi to bed as he drifts off on the couch. Kenma is the one who volunteers to answer the door the next morning when there is furious pounding.

Akaashi hears low voices at the front, Kenma’s voice clearly clipped.

Bokuto is the one who returns to the kitchen, hair smashed down and bags beneath his eyes. There is no cheerful greeting or overzealous hug. Instead, he sits in Kenma’s abandoned seat and stares at his hands.

“Welcome back, Kou,” Akaashi says quietly.

Bokuto flinches at the words as if physically hit by them. He doesn’t meet Akaashi’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Kaash.”

Akaashi sighs and moves his coffee to the side.

“I know, Kou.”

“I swear I was going to be here. But then the tire on the bus literally exploded and it took forever to get a tow out to help us because we were in the middle of nowhere. And then my phone died and-,”

“Kou, stop,” Akaashi interrupts.

Bokuto’s eyes are wide and panicked but he stops speaking.

Akaashi sighs and takes off his glasses.

“Kou, I don’t think this is working anymore.”

Bokuto looks like he’s been slapped in the face.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“I don’t think things are working out between us. I love you. I’ll always love you. But I’m not happy. I don’t think I realized how much this passion of yours would take. And believe me, I’m so damned proud of you. But I don’t think you can focus on two things completely. I don’t think it’s fair to ask that if you. So I think we should call it quits.”

His voice is wavering by the end. He never thought he’d be the one doing this. But he didn’t think a lot would happen that has. So clearly he’s not the best judge.

“Kaash, I can change! I know I haven’t been great at prioritizing you lately but I promise I can do better. And I’m so sorry that I’ve made you unhappy lately but if you just give me another chance I won’t fuck it up. I promise. I love you. I need you.”

Akaashi feels the pressure in this chest before the first tears fall.

“That’s not fair, Kou. We can’t be what the other needs long term. You know that.”

“I don’t know anything outside of loving you, Kaash. Let me prove it. Let me make it up to you. Please!”

Akaashi’s heart feels twice dropped and bleeding. But it feels warm too. Happy. Full.

“You can’t keep missing important dates.”

“I know.”

“Knowing and doing are different things and I can’t agree to try again without any proof things will be different. I need the work put in.”

“Give me a month. I’ll have things back to the way they used to be before it’s over. I promise.”

Akaashi has already given two years of his life to this man. What harm could thirty more days do?

“Okay.”

Things are good for nearly a year before they drop off again. This time Akaashi remains silent.

Spring, present

Akaashi feels like a fool. His eyes are red rimmed and his face is blotchy. His hair is still smushed down in the places Bokuto had rested his head. But there’s an urgency, a siren in Akaashi, one that’s been pushing him since Bokuto left. It’s easily one of the worst ideas he’s ever had. But his feet propel him towards the restaurant and then that familiar bell is chiming and it feels like the world stops.

Miya is in the middle of a transaction, handing back change to an elderly woman when they catch eyes. Miya must not let go of the bills because his face turns red and he laughs nervously moments later, rubbing the back of his head. He asks the next customer to wait and runs into the kitchen. Instantly he’s on a warpath to Akaashi and a man Akaashi has come to know as Ginjima takes over the register with a grin.

And then Akaashi is being whisked away to Miya’s office and the noise of the dinner rush is nearly silenced behind a heavy door. Miya nudges him into a seat and leans against his desk, eyes calculating and arms crossed.

“You needn’t look so serious, Miya-san. No one’s been murdered.” Akaashi jokes.

“They might be,” Miya murmurs, a tight frown on his face.

Akaashi stands with a sigh and steps into Miya’s personal space. Gray eyes widen as Akaashi reaches for his face and tugs the sides of his lips into a smile. He huffs out a laugh and closes his eyes.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Akaashi.”

“That’s a shame. I came here to tell you that I’d like to be a part of your life, not your untimely death. I promise to write a very rousing speech for your wake.”

Miya laughs again and Akaashi feels the tension drain out of his body. And then those eyes pop open and Miya looks much like a fish out of water.

“Wait, repeat that?”

Akaashi lets out the laugh he’s been holding in, feeling more relieved than he has in months. He takes a step back and smiles at Miya.

“Things are over between Bokuto and I. And you were the first person I wanted to tell.”

“Over? You’re serious?” Miya asks, eyes glimmering with something suspiciously similar to hope.

Akaashi smiles and it doesn’t matter that his heart has been stomped on and twisted and crushed a thousand times over in the past 24 hours, because there is relief and solace when he’s around Miya Osamu. There’s a peace he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He reaches out and twines his fingers with Miya’s.

“Deadly,” Akaashi says and laughs when Miya glares at his word choice.

Soft fingers trail over the backs of his hands.

“So, you wanna be with me?”

Akaashi finds himself flushing at the directness. But he forces himself to meet Miya’s gaze. He wasn’t going to hide this time around. He was going to be unabashedly open. No matter how embarrassing it was.

“I’ve been falling out of love for a long time, Osamu. But it would seem that I’ve learned perhaps I just wasn’t being loved in the right way this entire time. And I don’t think I knew what the right way was until I started spending more time with you. I won’t call it love just yet, but I’m certainly infatuated with you, Osamu. I don’t want to let you pass me by just because I’m afraid.”

Miya is smiling and it’s soft and warm and everything that Akaashi associates with home. He squeezes Akaashi’s hands and it feels like a promise.

“So this is what it took to finally get you to call me by my name, huh?”

Akaashi frowns and tugs his hands away. But Miya simply pulls him closer, arms around his back.

“Ah, ah,” he chides, grinning wide, “there’s no running from me anymore, Keiji. You wanna be with me then that’s rule number two.”

“What’s rule number one?” Akaashi asks, feeling out of breath.

Miya tilts his head closer until their noses are touching. And then his lips are pressing into Akaashi’s. It’s soft and sweet and very Osamu.

“Rule number one is that I’ll have to kiss you better when you’re sad.”

Akaashi laughs. “Osamu, that’s a terrible rule. There are so many fl-,” he’s silenced with another kiss. And then another. Until he can no longer remember why this rule was a problem.

Osamu leans back, cheeks pink but eyes bright. Akaashi said he wasn’t in love, but as he stands in Osamu’s embrace, he remembers that spring is the season of change.