flowers

                                    

                                          
It's a Friday night, and Akaashi could not prepare himself enough for how exhausted he felt.
                          
Bokuto asked for him to be his model for his next project a few days ago, in which he happily agreed. Except he forgot how bad Bokuto was with finding inspiration sometimes, and he did weird things in order to gain it. 
                          
Ideas have ranged from walking in and out of Don Quijote four times, to painting both his and Akaashi's nails with the black polish he'd bought from said Don Quijote, to spinning in a circle standing on the ledge of the fountain in their university, to singing their high school's alma mater in three different keys (which all sounded terrible, by the way - neither of them could sing to save their life, and despite Akaashi trying to follow suit, he burst out laughing with every verse that left Bokuto's mouth and couldn't breathe by the time he was done).
                          
Bokuto, on the other hand, thinks that the self-humiliation he caused was worth it in the end, because he had a few ideas in his head after seeing Akaashi smile as big as he did.
                          
It's been almost 15 hours since Bokuto asked him to embark on an adventure with him, and he was honestly ready to sleep.
                          
It went like this: Bokuto asked Akaashi to help him get motivated, Akaashi tried his best to explain to him how he needs time rather than trying to rush it, Bokuto decided that he would pull an all-nighter until it came to him, and Akaashi argued that he needs to do it by himself because he was the artist and Akaashi was just there for support.
                          
Then Bokuto grabbed Akaashi's hand because he was wearing silver rings that day, and he moved his fingers around in the sunlight, asking with a simple please? And it was enough to make Akaashi melt a little, his soft gaze like torches to Akaashi's skin of candle wax, and he found himself on the roof with him, trying not to pass out with Bokuto beside him. 
                          
In their time together, Akaashi has learned that Bokuto liked playing with things that grabbed his attention, his fingers being one of them. He didn't know exactly which line it crossed, but he thinks that when he finds it, he would blur it out, just a little. 
                          
It started out as gentle, hesitant touches, but as time passed, and the more Bokuto stepped, he started messing with Akaashi's palms, sometimes tracing the lines in them, or poking the back of it, often drawing shapes on his skin that caused goosebumps to trickle down his spine, feathers in his fingertips.
                          
He was starting to really like the way his heart fluttered when Bokuto was the one causing it.
                          
The sun was down and the sky was filled with dusk, mopping a warm orange onto the roof and over the pink in Bokuto's cheeks from the slight chill of the wind. He stares at the clouds, wisps against a blanket of champagne, as he listens to Bokuto count backward from fifteen, each number having its own ring to it as he tries to find some motivation in that. 
                          
"...three...two~...one!" Akaashi looks up at Bokuto expectantly, who deflates and closes his eyes, rubbing at them. "It did not work, Akaashi." 
                          
"Why don't you talk to me about something?" He swings one leg over the ledge of the roof, facing Bokuto and causing the other to do the same, swaying a little from lack of sleep. "Maybe talking about random things will help you."
                          
"Hm..." Bokuto looks at the clouds, before staring at Akaashi's hands from where they'd been resting on the ledge in between them. "Oh! I've always wanted to ask - you like to garden?"
                          
Akaashi hesitantly shakes his head as he thinks, hoping he didn't tell Bokuto once that he did like to garden and was falling back on his word.
                          
"I don't...Why?"
                          
"You have a gardening calendar." 
                          
Akaashi nods and looks down at his hands, too, instead of into Bokuto's eyes. They were intimidating still, somehow, even as they were burning with interest over Akaashi's flower calendar.