Edward Elric & Alphonse Elric
Rating: Gen
Words: 10253
Sometimes intuition is a memory, the ashes of a previous life. Edward Elric sees a double of his brother — a doppelganger existence that can only be a premonition of death. All he knows is that he can't let Al die.
Edward Elric/Alfons Heiderich
Rating: T
Words: 13221
Nothing is absolutely certain, even in the world of science. Alfons Heiderich is building a dream, a dream that grows and yearns. And Edward Elric has only wanted one thing.
A FFXV promptis au which mostly follows canon events, but with Noctis and Prompto in different circumstances — a lost prince and a mechanic? hunter? Prompto.
Again, the night is black without a moon or the faintest starlight. Nothing but unholy daemon fires, and boy does Prompto hate daemons. He’d run into a red giant, one of the worst, and he’s not doing so well.
There’s rivers of black swimming down his skin, and his stomach is starting to heave with a cold and heavy horror.
---
The Leide sun is bearing hot down Prompto’s back, almost burning through his jacket. He’s glad to have it on his back or his skin is sure to burn, even if he’s kind of dying from the heat. Cindy had suggested sunscreen a long time ago, but it feels like an extra sheen of oil over his already gross skin, so he opts for covering up when he goes out in the sun like this.
It’s not too bad when he’s barrelling down the road on his bike, Silverdust, anyway. He loves the wind she kicks up, dirt and road and everything raw. The jarring dream from last night is packed away, and Prompto is in a good mood.
He’s heading out on an errand, sent by Cindy to retrieve some scrap parts from an abandoned wreck. She reckons she could make something good out of them, and he doesn’t doubt her talent for a second. He slows down as he draws up the map from his pocket, checking against the spot she had marked for him. He parks Dusty by the road and begins to scan the area.
He’s surrounded by bushes and tall, unruly grass. Many ditches for a wreck to be hidden, so he searches carefully.
Until, he catches a telltale mechanical whirr. Prompto drops behind cover immediately, pressing close against the rock formation. He glimpses out into the field and sure enough, it’s a swamp of imperials. They’re downright pests, Prompto thinks. Ever since the empire gained control over Lucis, they’ve been dropping their MTs all over the land like nobody’s business. They’re not too hard to fight off, but Prompto’s got to beware of the faster and stronger models, so he mostly avoids them if he can. He peeks out at them again, trying to figure out how he can dodge around them when he notices the flash of light and the clash of metal on metal. Someone was fighting them.
Prompto watches in awe. He’d never seen someone move like that. He can barely catch the figure as they strike down an MT before they’re twisting away and striking at another some ten feet away. Then, there’s a sudden explosion of ice. The frost nips at his nose, even some thirty feet away, and Prompto recoils in alarm.
Was that...magic? Man, magic was rare! Only Lucis royalty and their men could use magic, and since the fall of Insomnia, magic had been insanely scarce.
The blast of magic had struck the life out of the remaining troopers - except one. Prompto realises with a delay that the person was slumped over in the ground, probably with exhaustion. The remaining trooper is clambering toward them, limbs slow and jerky, but axe spinning and ready to strike. Prompto poises his gun from where he’d hidden, and takes a shot.
Boom! The sound is loud enough to put a little ringing in Prompto’s ears, but the MT is down and Prompto is surging forward towards the person.
A dark-haired boy is crouched in the ground, dressed in a tattered black clothes. For a moment, an old thought remembers black as the colour of Lucian royalty. But the Crown City had fallen to imperial arms a year ago, and the king and his men were announced dead. It’s a stupid thought that Prompto quickly dismisses. Nowadays, black is just a colour.
“Hey! You alright there?” Prompto calls out.
The boy looks up. For a fleeting moment, Prompto catches an otherworldly flash of violet passing over his eyes. Then it settles into a calm blue, the phenomena faster than a passing storm.
The boy opens his mouth to speak, but slams it shut and hugs his arms around himself instead as a full-body shiver catches him.
Prompto’s errand quickly takes the back burner as he realises how weak the boy is. His skin is even tinged blue, frost fragments from the Blizarra spell sticking to his skin.
He’s tearing off his jacket faster than he can think about the sunburns he’s sure to suffer later and offering it to the boy.
“C-can you walk?” He asks uncertainly.
The boy nods, and his brow furrows with effort as he rises clumsily to his feet. Prompto carefully slings an arm around his waist, letting the boy lean his weight on him as they make their way back to the road.
Prompto had never seen magic like that. He knew that magic came from the crystals - some gift from the astrals, stories had said. It was a power granted to royalty, though he had heard of other Lucians using it too. He had heard it could be harvested as well, stored in dormant forms as spells or potions.
But Prompto’s never had much luck with that. He’s more of a tech guy, really. Magic had stayed more or less in the capital of Lucis, and anywhere outside it was rare and expensive.
So Prompto learns about engines, taking them apart under the watchful eye of Cid and Cindy. He fumbled a lot, but learnt quickly, and in the past year he’s even been modifying his own weapons. It’s just as well, seeing as the imperial army had started dropping troops everywhere, and Prompto’s had to fight them.
Yea, it’s kinda messy.
They’re almost to the bike now, and Prompto returns his attention to the boy. He looks around Prompto’s age, and might be a little taller too. Prompto’s not sure where he came from, what he’s doing out there alone or how he can use magic like that; but those are questions for another day. The boy is struggling even just to walk, and looks about ready to collapse. Man, Prompto really hopes Cindy has something.
They reach the bike and Prompto kicks off the stand, straddling the seat and gesturing for the boy to climb on.
“Hold on tight,” Prompto instructs. The boy wraps his arms around Prompto’s waist, leaning into his back, and Prompto starts up the bike.
Hammerhead is always hot, the desert heat caught in a rusty outpost. Prompto’s skin is burning mildly, and he’s sure if he doesn’t get any shade soon he might catch on fire. But the boy against his back is still cold, and it worries Prompto.
“If that isn’t the sound of Dusty!” Cindy’s bright voice chimes out as soon as Prompto pulls into the outpost.
He lets the boy off slowly, before standing the bike and bringing the boy to Cindy.
“And who’s that?” Cindy’s eyes widen as she notices the boy.
“Hey Cindy,” Prompto greets, voice a little urgent even as he tries to sound casual. “Found this guy fighting off imperials; I don’t know if he’s hurt but he seems pretty weak. Help me out?”
“Oh, you poor hun,” Cindy says as she gets a better look at the boy. “We’d best get him inside, I’ll fetch some food and water from Takka’s.”
“Okay,” Prompto nods.
There’s a guest room at the back of the garage, where Prompto used to stay. The boy looks more comfortable resting in a bed, and after getting some warm food and water, he almost looks better too.
Prompto had been in the same position, a couple of years ago. He had turned up outside Old Lestallum, dehydrated and half-starved to death. He was picked up by a couple of strangers - offered food from the diner and a place at the motel. Back then, Prompto had been overwhelmed. He hadn’t really thought he would make it.
He paid them back working at the diner at first, and then taking on hunts when he was stronger. Since then, Prompto’s been skipping across Lucis - a hunter, a technician, a whatever.
Prompto checks up on the boy a few hours later, after he’d had time to take a nap.
“How’cha feeling, buddy?” Prompto asks, head poking through the doorway.
The boy is rubbing his eyes blearily, but otherwise seems awake.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you,” he says, after clearing his throat roughly.
“Well, your chance is here.” Prompto shrugs, holding his hands out as he strolls into the room. “Name’s Prompto, by the way.”
“Thank you, Prompto,” the boy says sincerely.
“...Not gonna tell me your name there?”
The boy scrubs a hand through his hair, mussing up the dark strands.
“You can call me Noct.”
“Heya, Noct.”
Noct still looks weary, but he offers a small smile.
“Hey yourself,” Noct echoes back, and Prompto smiles in turn.
“So,” Prompto starts, dragging a chair over to sit in it. “Where are ya from?”
“Crown city.”
“Woah, serious?” Prompto exclaims. Noct looks down, and then Prompto realises how he’d just stuck his foot in his mouth.
“I-I mean, sorry- for uh, what happened,” Prompto amends, wincing at how terrible it was.
“It’s fine,” Noct says distantly.
Prompto kind of wants to excuse himself and run off, but he knows that if he does, it’ll be even harder to come back.
“You guys uh- use magic there? I mean, I saw you using it...I think.”
“Yea, some of us do.”
“Seemed cool,” Prompto remarks.
“Yea,” Noct says, and Prompto’s relieved to see a faint smile return to his face. “It is.”
“Will you...show me?” Prompto asks, hopeful. He kinda wants to see it again, maybe a little closer, if Noct would allow it. Even if Prompto was far from understanding any of it, he was still curious.
“Sure,” Noct answers, and Prompto feels like something in his chest has lifted a little. “But not right now, I’m kinda uh- tired.”
“O-of course!” Prompto nods hurriedly. “Yea um, you wanna rest? I could leave-”
Prompto catches Noct’s face twisting with alarm, before he’s grabbing for Prompto’s arm.
“Wait, stay.”
Prompto blinks, suddenly feeling a little caught like a deer in the headlights. He doesn’t get why Noct, who had seemed so casual and nonchalant before, suddenly sounds painfully urgent.
“You okay, buddy?” Prompto asks.
Noct releases his arm abruptly, ducking his head.
“Yea, I just-” He pauses, letting out a deep sigh. “I’ve been hiding from daemons and imperials. For days.”
By yourself? Prompto thinks to ask, but he stays silent, and Noct takes it as a cue to go on.
“I got lost and I couldn’t find a haven, then those imperials caught up to me. When you appeared…it was such a relief.”
Prompto sinks back into his chair and reaches out tentatively for Noct’s hand.
“I can stay,” he says. Noct looks relieved.
Prompto packs some Hammerhead hot sandwiches from Takka’s for dinner, and cleans his gun at the desk in the corner of the room. It’s somewhere near midnight when Prompto settles back in the chair beside the bed, Noct awake after his second nap.
“So Prompto, where are you from?”
It’s a simple enough question, but Prompto is fumbling. He doesn’t have a proper answer, because he doesn’t really know.
“Me?” He responds instead. “Well, I’m from all over Lucis.”
Noct frowns like he wants to argue, but he lets Prompto go on.
“I’ve lived at Lestallum and a couple of places in Cleigne, hmm Duscae too? I haven’t really got a real home, so I just go wherever I might be needed.” Prompto shrugs, nonchalance learnt into his bones. “Oh! I’ve lived at Hammerhead a while too, it’s where I built Dusty!”
“Dusty?” Noct looks confused.
“My motorbike! Her proper name is Silverdust, but Cindy and I call her Dusty ‘cause...well, she gets dusty from the road?”
Noct quirks an eyebrow.
Prompto turns to his gun - polished and clean with a new round of ammo, safety on.
“This one’s Quicksilver!”
“Huh, I’m seeing a trend here,” Noct says with a teasing smirk.
Prompto flusters. Those names were cool!
“Hey! Speak for yourself, what kind of look are you going for? Dark hair and all-black clothes - Mister tall, dark and handsome, are you?”
“Don’t call me that!” Noct responds, miffed.
“Aww, the ladies must love you and your edgy looks,” Prompto continues to tease.
“Cut it, blondie,” Noct grumbles. “Or I’m only calling you blondie.”
“You won’t!” Prompto exclaims in mock hurt. “I saved your life! You should at least call me your hero!”
“Right, my hero - Prompto.” Noct rolls his eyes. “That good enough?”
“Oh, plenty,” Prompto responds, pleased. “Anyway, your hero needs to sleep.”
“Oh.”
Prompto wishes he didn’t catch the way Noct’s face falls. Daemons. Imperials. Lots of things are scary when you’re alone, and Prompto knows it too well.
“This used to be my room, actually,” Prompto blurts out.
“Huh,” Noct says, and then he straightens up. “Wait, I’m sorry- I can sleep elsewhere-”
“Ah, no biggie.” Prompto waves him off. “I can sleep in the chair.”
Noct looks at the chair - an aluminium frame with a back rest but no padding anywhere and definitely uncomfortable.
“Or, I can share,” he offers.
Prompto is tempted. He really is. He’d slept inside of caves and hard, cold floors on the worst of his days. A chair is hardly anything to deal with. But a bed, even with its old sheets and a blanket of picked-apart seams is a luxury Prompto would die for. His back, his shoulders and just about every bone and muscle in his body would thank him for it tomorrow.
So he agrees.
Noct scoots over as much as he can and Prompto peels back the blanket.
The sheets are already warm, and Prompto sighs softly as he settles on his side.
“It’s warm,” he says without thinking.
“What?” Noct asks, peering over his shoulder.
“You,” Prompto responds, raising his voice against the blush suddenly burning hot on his face. “You were cold before, but you’ve gotten warmer, so that’s good.”
Noct doesn’t say anything else, and the rest of the night goes quiet. Prompto thinks of the daemons wandering around in the distance, but also of the warm back close against his own.
---
When Prompto wakes up, he takes a moment to wonder where he is. It’s not hot enough to be Lestallum, that’s for sure. Even in the morning, it’s sweltering. Then, Prompto remembers the afternoon under the sun, the tingling of sunburnt skin and finding Noct.
Whose arm is slung over his side, and his breath slotted between Prompto’s shoulderblades.
It’s not weird unless he makes it weird, is what Prompto tells himself. So he tries to pry himself away, carefully lifting Noct’s arm and praying that he wasn’t a light sleeper.
“Mhmm?”
Well, Plan B then.
“Morning to you too, sleepy head,” Prompto says casually. “Didn’t know you were a cuddler, though.”
“A what-?”
Prompto rolls over on his back, and Noct finally opens his eyes.
“Oh.”
“Yea huh,” Prompto raises his eyebrows as Noctis withdraws his arm quickly. He looks a little mortified, and his cheeks are definitely burning.
“It’s no biggie though, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Prompto’s pretty proud of the way he had said all that and ignored the mirroring flush creeping down his own neck. So, he didn’t really ruin it. Not right off the bat, anyway.
They sit for a while, until Prompto becomes alarmingly aware that the bed is way too small for both of them. Noct has returned to a regular temperature, which means every spot their legs are touching is feeling too warm. Prompto kicks off the blanket and rises to his feet.
Cindy was understanding when Prompto didn’t fetch the parts she asked for yesterday, but he didn’t like to leave an errand unfinished. So right after breakfast, he decides to head out again. This time, Noct offers to follow.
“You sure?” Prompto quizzes, looking over him. Noct’s clothes had been so ragged and worn that Prompto had loaned him a set of his own. He looked better now, fresher with more colour to his skin, but Prompto wanted to make sure he was really fine.
“Yea,” Noct responds. “I’m fine so let me offer a hand.”
“Hmm. Well, if you say so.” Prompto shrugs.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a partner huh?” Cindy quips, waltzing up to Silverdust.
“Something like that,” Prompto says, kicking off the stand and climbing onto his bike. Noct climbs on the back, arms circling around his waist like it’s already an old habit.
Cindy looks pleased, and Prompto can’t help thinking she’s being too hopeful.
It’s hot again, but Prompto finds the place a little quicker. He puts down the stand, leaves Dusty by the road and heads out to search for the wreckage.
“What are we looking for?” Noct asks.
“A car,” Prompto supplies.
Noct raises his eyebrows, but that’s all the details Prompto has to spare. If there’s one thing Prompto is good at, it’s finding things. He climbs up onto a slab of rock sticking out from the earth, peering out over the edge for a better vantage point.
“See it?” Noct asks from the couple of feet below.
“I think so,” Prompto says, hoping off. He leads Noct to a ditch a few feet off the road, bracing his soles against the sides to lower himself into it.
Sure enough, a wreckage that looked many months old was sitting in it.
“Is it an Insomnian car?” Noct quips.
Prompto leans down, peering at the registration plate. It was Insomnian.
“It got all the way out here, huh?” Prompto goes on, though his tone had taken a solemn turn. “Wonder where the passengers are.”
“Who knows,” Noct says.
Prompto purses his lips, toying with the thought. Then he figures that he had better get to work, and bows down to pry open the bonnet.
Under the hood, most of the parts had been weathered and rusted away.The engine was busted, as expected. But with some more digging around, Prompto manages to extract the batteries and some suspension coils. Cindy should be plenty satisfied with those loots, he thinks.
He’s starting to pack them into his rucksack when Noct hisses at him to get down.
“Imperials,” he supplies.
“Oh.” Prompto grimaces.
“Hey,” Noct says, nudging Prompto on the arm. “Wanna see magic?”
There’s a small smile pulling at Noct’s lips, and his eyes look like they’re glowing blue. Then Prompto realises blue flashes of magic is sparking in his hands, and in a blink it’s replaced by a sword.
“Woah.”
“Back me up, alright?” Noct says, and then he’s throwing his blade forward at the imperials.
Prompto wants to ask what kind of crazy plan he’s plotting, provoking them from such a distance, and then he pokes his head out and sees. Noct is some thirty feet away, body blinking in the same bright flash.
Warp magic.
The realisation hits him as Noct clashes with the enemy, and Prompto remembers he was supposed to be support.
Quicksilver is his trusted handgun and oldest companion, surviving through multiple fixes and modifications. He might make better work with a sniper rifle, but she’s still the best fit in his hands. Prompto retrieves her from his holster, flicking off the safety and lining up his shots.
Noct is making quick work of the enemies, but Prompto picks off the ones that threaten to catch him off guard. That’s the work of support, after all. If he aims the bullets just right, the troopers fizzle out and stop moving.
Before long, the group of imperial troopers are wiped out.
Prompto emerges from the ditch, meeting Noct with a grin.
“Was I cool?” Noct asks, eyebrow quirked and smirk full on his lips.
“Oh, aren’t you’re the coy one,” Prompto responds, rolling his eyes.
Noct laughs, and they slap their hands in a high-five. They climb back into the ditch, packing the parts into Prompto’s rucksack before returning to his bike.
I wrote 90% of this in hotel rooms on my trip it’s all spontaneous so //big shrug/
Post the first line of a work in progress and then tag as many people as words in that line. Tagged by @crown-of-winterthorne (on my main but I brought it over to my writing blog :’)) welp I opened up my old WIPs to dig this out.
When you first learn of space, you learn of nebulas and black holes and unexplained mysteries.
hello !! it is i, your secret santa, and i have many questions ^^ first, what kind of music would akaashi sing ? second, what would bokuto's weapon of choice be ? third, would kuroo pay someone for destructive purposes ? and finally, what are your pronouns, so i can make a proper hello note at the beginning of my fic ? (yes i'm trying to blur my tracks so you don't guess what i'm writing haha) anyway i'm really inspired by your prompts, all of them, and picking is hard :v have a good day !
first, !!!!! aaaahh hi :’))) I’m glad you’re inspired by my prompts! hmm I haven’t really thought of Akaashi singing (I just think of him playing instruments) but probably alternative? Like the type with pretty chill vocals but the lyrics are lowkey kinda emo. As for Bokuto’s weapon of choice....I want him to use something flashy. Like, he could definitely use a broadsword. Or he could dual-wield short katanas or machetes. Depending on your setting. As for Kuroo, to me canon kuroo is too soft to do that haha but au kuroo?? He seems more like the type to do the dirty work/be involved in the dirty work himself. And finally, I’m fine with they/them! Ahh you’re so sweet I hope you have a good day too!!
Prompto is sick and tired of the imperial army. Sure, they were kinda scary, but he’s just gonna stick another bullet in their stupid heads and when they’re finally dead, he’s gonna take a damn cute selfie.
((Episode Prompto where Prompto fights off the imperial army like a champ and takes cute selfies))
[[Read on Ao3]]
Prompto was about to sling the SMG back over his shoulder when the side door opens and another bunch of troopers march into the hall.
“Seriously, again?”
Breakfast had been one, miserable can of Ebony that he had to fight the vending machine for because it tried to eat his money. So Prompto decides to abandon the SMG, reaching for a bazooka off one of the soldiers crumbled at his feet. He props the weapon up on his shoulder, aiming into the corridor, and fires.
The rocket tears through the new wave of enemies, knocking them into the ground with a loud blast.
Good, now they were all dead.
Prompto swipes up a new gun from the ground, checking that the magazine was almost full before slinging it onto his back. Really, why does the imperial army have so many MTs? And he knew it was like, a security thing, but did they really have to be everywhere he went?
Can’t a guy catch a break?
Prompto glances down at the camera tucked away in the pocket of his coat. The 35mm Loikon was his baby - the precious camera he had left Insomnia with and had survived all of his adventures, and misadventures, too. If all the fighting with the goddamn MTs got a scratch on the lens-
He pulls out the camera to check it over and - it was still good.
Prompto sighs.
Arriving alone at Niflheim had been terrifying. Enemies were at every corner, and Prompto had no one to watch his back. That, plus his slow-learning of his past.
He was drained in all ways - physically, mentally and emotionally.
But this was Prompto’s fifth day here. He barely got enough sleep or food, and was too tired to read any of the shit he picked up. He had also quickly lost count of the number of MTs he had fought off.
There were about five of them strewn across the corridor before him.
Fuck, Prompto thinks. I deserve to take a cute selfie.
Doesn’t matter that the subject in the background was a little morbid, to say the least. Prompto hadn’t had time to indulge in his favourite hobby for a long time, and now that the goddamn imperial army finally gave him a break, he was going to smile for the camera and look the damn cutest.
He tilts the camera for that perfect, flattering angle, strikes a peace-sign and snaps a picture.
“Hell yea,” he says, checking the photo. “The imperial army can suck it.”
I was going to write more but then it has exactly 420 words which means it’s perfect.
A small note; I still intend to continue writing The Tokyo Owl but I’ve been running into blocks and juggling other creative projects atm so it might still be a while before I can get anything out. I’m trying not to pressurize myself to write because I want to be able to write this for fun? So yea, if anyone was wondering, that’s the status now. Still, feel free to hmu to talk about any fics or stuff.
Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou
Rating: M
Words: 1370
There's been a piece of glass found and a terrible sound, sound -
What if what they're saying is true? [the 1975]
A messy drabble about things falling apart, mostly written for catharsis.
They're slamming doors, shouting and smashing things.
But he has such beautiful eyes, lips and skin. In the wake of his stuttering moan, Keiji can't think of much else. He wraps his arms, locks his ankles behind his hips.
He doesn't know where else to feel at, other than Kuroo's bed.
Dawn creeps meekly through the blinds, streaming into the bedroom and scattering against the sheets. Keiji groans, burying deeper into the crook of his neck. Kuroo moves to wrap his arm around their waist.
Everything feels good - calm.
He breathes in the musk of the unwashed sheets, their sweat, his body. He kisses it to make it stay.
After an hour or so, they roll out of bed to make breakfast. Keiji is wearing Kuroo's shirt. It's tattered and ill-fitting, but Kuroo smiles at the sight and it warms the tips of his ears.
"Slept well?" Kuroo asks conversationally, picking out a saucepan from the shelf.
"Pretty well," Keiji responds lazily. He ignores the hour he lies awake, thinking about how easily their bodies fit together, but hard it was for anything else to work.
"'I slept with Keiji' is always a good sleep," Kuroo continues. He cracks two eggs into the pan, and Keiji listens to the way they sizzle.
"Tetsu- Tetsurou aah.."
Keiji's fingers are already digging into his back, but it doesn't feel enough.
"Keiji, fuck I just-"
His breath is scraping the blade of his shoulder, raising goosebumps and sending shivers down his spine.
"Yea, yea- god..."
Kuroo sets a plate of steaming eggs before him, and a smile. He presses a fork into Keiji's hand, closing his fingers over the handle and kissing each knuckle in turn.
Keiji thinks about accidentally stabbing Kuroo with it, or of Kuroo punching him in the face, or of how lightly they're treading around this.
Instead, Keiji thanks him for the food and spears the eggs into his mouth. He wants to taste the flavour of the eggs, ask for salt if it wasn't enough, but today his mouth is all coppery.
Everything is fine now, he reminds himself. Keiji wants ten thousand more mornings like this, but he also wants it to stop. He wants to stop waking up, paralysed from a bad dream and calling Kuroo - at 1, 2, 3AM. Out of fear, out of habit. He wants to stop spilling things out in the middle of dinner and washing his lost appetite down the sink. He wants Kuroo to stop dodging him, to stop kissing him to shut him up.
Even though it feels good.
Because really, even when he's lying in his arms, spent after another night, Keiji's thoughts come back full circle.
And when the heat runs up to their heads and they're not exhausting it in bed, hinges are breaking and things are falling off the shelves. They just can't fight calmly. And - the thing is, Keiji has a sharp bite but he's afraid. His words are cold and cruel but his head is reeling. He wants to be cool and calculated but his hands just won't fucking stop shaking.
Keiji had thought about this. He had written letters - multiple drafts that he tears up because he just doesn't know. He doesn't know how the words will read to Kuroo; he has no idea how he sounds to him. Somedays, Keiji has no fucking idea who Kuroo is.
---
"Maybe you should break up."
The idea comes to him in the form of an old friend, an ex-team mate from his club in high school. Konoha is twirling the spaghetti around his fork, flicking tomato sauce over his plate.
"I mean, if you don't understand each other-" he shrugs, sticking the mess into his mouth. "Maybe you shouldn't be dating."
Keiji stares into his mug of complimentary minestrone soup, imagining himself sinking into the swirls of the red sea.
"I don't know," he hears himself argue, though there's barely any energy left in him. "I think we could work it out."
"Suit yourself, that's just my two cents."
---
On Thursday, Kuroo sends flowers to him. The same night, Keiji is taken to a fancy restaurant.
"I just feel like we haven't done this in awhile," Kuroo says, shrugging his shoulders casually as he slips his arm around Keiji's waist.
Keiji smiles, like they're just 21 again, and falling in love was easy.
"Yes, thank you for doing this."
Maybe, Keiji thinks belatedly, Kuroo would be easier to know if they were strangers again. He might speak a little more than the darkening of his eyes and the tightening of his jaw if Keiji was just crawling into his bed for the first time. Instead, there's never anything new but the colour of the sky between the peek of the blinds and the pattern of the bruises on his chest.
Hey, he thinks. What's really on your mind?
Instead, he says
"Hey, maybe we should break up."
Kuroo looks at him, eyes like a quiet storm.
Keiji's always been the one telling things. He was barely 18 when they met. Kuroo wasn't much older at 19, but he always felt that bit more. Keiji talks about the difficult classes in school, the suffocating responsibilities in his club and the cold shoulder of his father. Kuroo listens, and then he talks about drives by the ocean and weird petrol stations in the night.
There are broken bones and guilt and pain like smoldered ash in Kuroo, but they hide behind his gritted teeth, only escaping in harsh exhalations.
Why won't you trust me? Keiji wants to yell. Why won't you share a single ounce of your pain with me?
Maybe Keiji is still barely 18, even though he's certain of the years that had passed.
"...yea."
That one breath hurts Keiji more than any slammed door. His chest crumbles.
"I mean, I think we don't really click..."
Keiji hates how memories of their drives are rushing back - late nights that he should have been home studying, the light flutter of his chest and the way their voices had their own rhythm. And Kuroo was saying they 'don't really click'? No, no Keiji was thinking of the good times. The easy times.
The other times, Keiji's throat is tightening up as Kuroo walks off without a word, the door slamming behind him. The tension is taunt between them, the world stretched into silence.
Maybe, he always thinks, things will work out if he just found the right words for it. But the doors are always closed tighter and he's not even sure his voice gets through.
---
Tetsurou feels agitation like hot bubbles under his skin, slow-moving heat in his veins. There is no voice, or reason, when he feels it. All he knows is that it wants him to smash things and yell.
He tries. He tries to go into a locked room and only pick up the belongings that are cheap, and don't break.
But there's a certain lack of satisfaction when a book flops against the floor and the plastic bottles don't break. He reaches for the alarm clock, his phone, the snowglobe beside the bed-
"Tetsurou?" His frightened, panicked voice calls through the door.
"Keiji-" Tetsurou is speaking through his teeth to keep from raising his voice. "I need space."
"I heard-" he starts, then just stops - and there's silence.
The glass pieces are in their carpet and liquid glitter is seeping into the floor.
Uncalculated damage. Tetsurou presses his palms against his eyes, soaking up the tears that weren't there. He tries not to think about the christmas Keiji had gotten it, or of the disappointment pressed against the other side of the room.
---
They can't live like this. They can't exist around each other when Tetsurou is a quiet hurricane and Keiji's mind splinters up and hurts him and then hurts them.
Beautiful eyes, lips and skin. But scabs are being picked apart before they can heal, and Keiji is more tired than in love.
"Okay."
The sound is expired air moving past his lips, mangled hope, a pipe dream.
Koutarou doesn't get it at first - he wants to bare his heart to music, lyrics, everything. After all, it's the only way he had ever known to live. But the words are being torn out of his chest, raw and heavy, emotion beating in his fingers. Every song, he wants to hit his drums harder and harder until he loses the rhythm and there's only noise to match his head. But Akaashi tells him to stop, and watch the tempo.
He searches for that scrap of headspace, that small space between sense and emotion, and carves a place into it.
It's his first piece of armour.
The rest follow when they start getting talked about. Koutarou loves the fans - he loves reading what they have to say. At first, everything is nice and easy. People love and enjoy their music. They play shows; Koutarou jams out on the drumset, Akaashi brings the bass to life and Kuroo plays with his guitar and sings like the mic is his lover.
Their first backlash is ridiculous, almost childish. Someone calls their lyrics shallow. Someone else picks at their skill.
Then, they become faces in magazines and Koutarou's fingers are numb against the cheap, crinkly paper. He doesn't remember what he looks like anymore.
His heart is on every stage they play, vibrations like pulses of blood. He loves the adrenaline, he loves the crowd, he loves the little heartache he gets when Kuroo sings something he wrote.
But without an armour he is going to bleed to death.
Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou
Rating: G
Words: 2456
Kuroo was a tired art student who just wanted his weekly life drawing sessions to go without a hinch. Bokuto is a student model who wont. stop. moving.
//I needed to write an accurate ‘art student / student model au’ because everyone needs to know what a struggle life drawing is//
Tetsurou set his easel down, leaning a pad of newsprint paper against it. He had arrived early enough to arrange his materials in his lap - pencils in various grades, an eraser for good measure and a conte crayon. The past week had been hectic; Tetsurou's storyboards were awful and his animation sequence had him begging for a passing grade. Still, he was in his element now, and the life drawing session would be his redemption for the week.
They had a student model today - someone from the sports team, he heard. As the rest of the class took their places and set up the easels, someone burst through the door.
"Is this drawing room 503?" He asked, eyes wide as they sweep through the room. He had striking black-and-white hair and looked startling out-of-place in his tank top, khaki shorts and slippers.
Tetsurou assumed he was the model.
"Y-yes!" Yachi answered quickly, rising from her seat so fast that the chair fell over unceremoniously. "Are you the model, Bokuto-san?"
"Yea, yea!" Bokuto nodded fervently. "Oh god, the art faculty is so confusing - I got so lost!"
"Ah- I'm so sorry!" Yachi apologised, throwing her head forward in a bow.
Tetsurou watched the exchange between the drawing club president and the model, bemused.
"A-anyway," Yachi continued, glancing nervously at the clock. "We would like to start now, if that's okay."
"Oh sure!" Bokuto said, reaching to pull his tank top over his head.
"A-ah Bokuto-san!" Yachi started, waving her hands frantically. "N-not here!"
"No?" Bokuto frowned, half of his face caught in the top. "I'm supposed to be naked, right?"
"You can undress in the back of the room," Shimizu offered helpfully. "There's a clean robe you can change into."
"Oh..." Bokuto blinked, before heading to the back as Shimizu had shown him.
This guy was definitely new at this.
When Bokuto came out again, he was dressed in the robe Shimizu had prepared. They were already a few minutes behind schedule, so Yachi quickly set up the timer.
"We'll start with ten 30-second poses, and then move onto 1-minute poses. Is everyone ready?"
She scanned over the class, noting how everyone was shuffling into a comfortable position. Tetsurou had picked up his choice pencil - 2B, just to start up. Bokuto removed the robe, climbed onto the platform and the session began.
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Tetsurou barely had time to register the shape of Bokuto's toned muscles before the timer ran out and Bokuto was switched into a different pose. The pencil was flying over his paper in frenzied, haphazard strokes - One to capture the curve of his spine, another for the tilt of his hips and the length of his legs. As Tetsurou sketched, he realised that Bokuto's poses were rather...dramatic in nature. He was filling up the page much faster than he'd like, with Bokuto's long extended arms taking up most of the space.
When the last 30-second pose ended, he relaxed and looked over his sketches. It was just a hunch, but Bokuto was probably a volleyball player.
"Next, we'll do ten 1-minute poses, ready?" Yachi announced.
"Yea!" Bokuto answered, shooting her a thumbs-up as the rest of the class nodded amicably.
The 1-minute poses were awful. Bokuto tried to keep up the same energy he had for the earlier poses, but in the extended time his arms started to droop and his legs wobbled restlessly. He even tried to balance on one foot, swaying dangerously and catching himself just as the timer sounded. As Tetsurou watched Bokuto, he began to realise that Bokuto kept giving dramatic action poses. Maybe that was what he thought life drawing was supposed to be? It was kind of cute, actually, that he was putting so much enthusiasum into it, even if he just- he just stumbled off the platform.
The timer beeped for the last pose and Bokuto shot them an apologetic smile.
"B-Bokuto-san, are you alright?" Yachi asked, rising from her seat worriedly.
"Yea yea, I'm fine!" Bokuto assured her, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "I can go on."
"Okay um- we'll do another set of five 5-minute poses, and then we'll take a break," Yachi continued. "Everyone ready?"
The class delivered their well-rehearsed nod and the timer started again.
The striking difference between a 1-minute pose and a 5-minute pose was that there was a lot more to draw. So that meant Tetsurou was going to fucking notice if Bokuto moved even one of his toes.
This time, Bokuto was a little smarter about his choice of pose. He had both feet planted firmly on the ground, but his body was bent forward and his arms stretched out, poised for a receive. The pose was a little off-balance, but hopefully Bokuto could hold it.
Tetsurou began to sketch out the pose, starting from the hips before finding the curve of the spine, the shoulders...
For the first two minutes, Bokuto was almost perfectly still. Then, as the third minute rolled around, Bokuto started to wiggle his toes. Tetsurou ignored it - they were probably getting numb so Bokuto just wanted to let the blood circulate. Tetsurou was perfectly fine with that. Except that when he was done, Bokuto planted his feet in the wrong direction. Tetsurou had drawn his foot turned to the side, but now it was faced front. And then, as if to add insult to injury, Bokuto rolled his shoulders and settled them at a new angle.
Tetsurou's drawing was all wrong.
He gritted his teeth in silence, flipping to the next page when the timer beeped.
For the next pose, Bokuto had prepared some kind of serving pose. His feet were planted apart as his arms were raised and inclined like he was aiming for something. Tetsurou's paper was going to be filled with volleyball poses, he was sure. He didn't really mind, though, sports poses were good practice too - he just wished Bokuto had a little more variety.
This pose was balanced, so he silently hoped that Bokuto could hold it. He began to catch the shape of the pose, noting the slight tilt of his hips and the way his weight was distributed between his feet. Tetsurou was even starting to shade, swapping out for darker pencils as he filled in the muscles on the legs, torso-
And then Bokuto moved again. His arms had dropped significantly and even his head was tilted differently. There were small murmurs in the class and people glancing at Yachi, though Tetsurou knew that the club president was too nice to tell their student model.
Tetsurou let out a long, pained sigh.
"Bokuto, was it?" He started, rising from his seat and walking towards the model. "Could you please stop moving?"
Bokuto blinked owlishly.
"I was moving?"
Tetsurou grabbed Bokuto's arms, guiding them back into position.
"Yes, you were moving," Tetsurou said sternly. "Now stay."
He saunters back to his seat and resumes his drawing. It was 9PM and Tetsurou's week had been a wreck. He needed to get something right, and he wasn't going to let Bokuto screw it up.
The following pose was even worse. Bokuto looked like he had ran out of ideas as he tried to settle into some sort of diving receive. Clearly, it seemed that all the boy knew was volleyball. Also, Tetsurou was a hundred-percent certain that the pose would not hold. So he took the liberty of approaching the model again.
"Bokuto, you're not gonna be able to hold that pose," Tetsurou said.
"Ah," Bokuto responded, looking up at Tetsurou. He bit his lip uncertainly. "Sorry..."
Bokuto looked like a kicked puppy. And Tetsurou felt like the person who had kicked the puppy.
Oh boy, he thought.
"Hey," Tetsurou started, voice falling into something gentler as he ignored the class that was waiting around them. "You could do a sitting pose, it's easier."
"I can sit?" Bokuto stared wide-eyes at Tetsurou.
He didn't...know?
"Yes you can." Tetsurou smiled, amused. "You can use this stool."
Tetsurou picked up the stool, setting it upon the platform as Bokuto climbed onto it excitedly. On one hand, Tetsurou wanted to laugh but on the other hand, Tetsurou was becoming acutely aware that this man he was interacting with was still very much naked. He tried not to stare as Bokuto adjusted himself on the stool.
"Is this okay?" Bokuto asked.
"Oh- um." Tetsurou reached for Bokuto's arm, moving it so it was leaning against his knee. "Mhm, yea. That's better."
"Thanks man!" Bokuto beamed.
"Uh so- I can start up the timer again?" Yachi asked, waving her arms awkwardly.
Tetsurou settled back in his seat behind the easel.
"Yes please, Yacchan."
Tetsurou ended up guiding Bokuto into the next two poses as well. He would tug an arm straight or reposition a hand as Bokuto smiled sheepishly before returning to his seat.
Now that Bokuto was no longer moving as much, Tetsurou could focus on sketching out the details of his body. He noticed that Bokuto has really nice arms - well-defined deltoids and biceps that would have passed perfectly against his anatomy book. Bokuto had nice legs as well, with toned muscles that were a joy to shade.
Too soon, the last pose ended and it was time for their break. Bokuto heaved a sigh of relief, slumping from his pose as Yachi announced a 10-minute break.
Tetsurou looked over his drawings, picking out the ones that looked good enough to be thrown into his submission.
"Hey why didn't 'cha draw my hair?"
Tetsurou spun around and Bokuto blinked back at him. Luckily, he had the decency to dress himself in the robe again.
"This-" Tetsurou started, clearing his throat as he turned back to his sketches. "-was a 1-minute sketch. You expected me to draw your hair?"
"But it's my best feature!" Bokuto whined. Tetsurou cocked an eyebrow, amused.
"Anyway, thanks for helping me out just now."
"It's cool." Tetsurou shrugged. "Yacchan couldn't have posed you herself, so I did it."
"Heheh, thanks." Bokuto grinned. "Oh, what's your name?"
"Kuroo," Tetsurou answered.
"Kuroo huh," Bokuto hummed. He glanced at the clock, checking the time before turning back to Tetsurou. "Hey, let me see some more of your drawings!"
Tetsurou flipped to the page with his 5-minute drawings, where he had time to shade Bokuto's muscles.
"Oh wow, you're good!" Bokuto gushed, leaning forward to peer at the drawings.
Tetsurou flushed. He admitted that his ego had been bruised in the past week, so the compliment was very much welcomed.
"I guess I'm okay," he settled for.
"Wow, my arms look good."
"They are good," Tetsurou said. "You have a nice body."
Bokuto turned to look at him. A light blush was dusting his cheeks.
Wait, he meant to say something else. Or word it differently.
"L-like, with nice muscles to draw," Tetsurou continued in a desperate attempt to salvage it as blood colours his ears. "Everyone agrees-"
He looked across the room at Yachi, yelling over.
"Right, Yacchan?"
"Huh?" Yachi looked up from her sketchbook, head jerking up so quickly it looked painful. "Y-yea!"
She didn't know what he was talking about, but he was glad she was so agreeable.
The break ended and they moved on to the last pose, a 20-minute one before they wrapped up the session. Since it was a long pose, Tetsurou gestured at Bokuto to lie down, positioning his arms and legs so that he had an interesting form.
"Ah- thank you, Kuroo-san!" Yachi said as she set up the lighting for the drawing.
"No problem, Yacchan." Tetsurou shot her a smile, before turning back to make sure Bokuto was comfortable.
"You're gonna nail this one right, Kuroo?" Bokuto said, grinning. "Last one."
"Yea, you better not move or I'll tape you down," Tetsurou responded teasingly.
Tetsurou had interacted with models before, but there was something ridiculously endearing about Bokuto that drew him in. At first he had been frustrated with Bokuto's restlessness, but once he was given some direction, Bokuto channeled his enthusiasm into it and became a joy to work with. That and the fact that he had a really nice body.
Tetsurou returned to his seat as Yachi started the timer, pushing back his thoughts and focusing on the pose. Using a lighter pencil, Tetsurou picked out the tilt in his hips, and then the curve of his spine again. He tried to focus on the shapes and forms before him, but Tetsurou couldn't help thinking about Bokuto as a person, too. All he knew was that Bokuto was on a sports team and in another faculty. If this turned out to be a one-time thing, the chances of Tetsurou ever running into Bokuto again on campus were slim.
He traced the shadow of Bokuto's clavicles, the dip of his deltoid. Heck, it wasn't the clavicle or the deltoid anymore. Everything was Bokuto's clavicle, Bokuto's deltoid, Bokuto's face, Bokuto's ridiculous hair and Bokuto's smile.
And after this, Bokuto was just going to grab the 2000 yen the class had chipped together and prance away, maybe buy himself pizza for a treat. While Tetsurou was going to be stuck trying to remember how the shadows had fallen over Bokuto's cheekbones and how Bokuto definitely had dimples when he smiled.
He was going to need more than just twenty minutes. Oh, Tetsurou sighed to himself.
When the timer ran out, his drawing was just sub-par. It was difficult to get into the zone when he was so distracted, so he closes the pad and starts packing up.
"Hey Kuroo! You didn't let me see your drawing!" Bokuto said, peering over his easel.
"It wasn't so good." Tetsurou shrugged.
"No way, you are good!" Bokuto protested "I was looking forward to seeing it!"
"Thanks for the faith." Tetsurou laughed hollowly. He felt a little bad, but his whole game was just off in the last drawing, and he didn't want that to be Bokuto's last impression of him.
Although...
"But maybe if you come model again, I might draw you better," Tetsurou added breezily as he packed up his materials. "Since they do say-"
And he turned to Bokuto with a well-timed smile.
"Practice makes perfect."
Bokuto blinked once, and then twice, as Tetsurou's words sunk in.
"I can come model again?"
Tetsurou shrugged, despite how much he hoped for that second session.
"Of course."
Bokuto grinned, and - yea, he has dimples. And well, Tetsurou thought, even if the rest of his weeks continued to crash and burn, if Bokuto was there maybe there would be a little light at the end of the tunnel.
Anyway in my experience life drawing has zero sexual tension there is only the Zone or Everything is Wrong.
On a quiet night drive, Kuroo runs into the Tokyo Owl - the loud and stunning Bokuto Koutarou. Then he follows Bokuto into the world of street racing, meeting his pretty but snarky mechanic and finding home between open roads and worn tires.
Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou
Rating: M
Words: 2430
Akaashi rare pair week, Day 5: Apocalypse
The world has ended and Akaashi Keiji finds compromises in just about every facet of life. He can't find family or friends, just an old acquaintance - Kuroo Tetsurou. In present time, they're raiding a drug store and Kuroo grabs something unusual.
Drabble: Paranormal mystery where Bokuto Koutarou is missing / dead
Kuroo sinks back into the couch as Akaashi replaces the damp towel on his head. The cold seeps into his skin, the chill sharp but welcomed. Heat seeps in from the windows, as if a sadistic addition onto his already insufferable fever.
"You were seeing things," Akaashi has said. "See, you're running a fever now."
But Kuroo knows a ghost when he sees one - had been seeing them since he was little.
He had always looked away, but he knew they knew he could see. Looking away meant he didn't want any trouble though, and they never gave him any.
Except he hadn't ever known any of them, but yesterday it was different.
3am, Kuroo Tetsurou was standing in a convenience store. He couldn't remember what perverse desire had him dragging his feet out here at that ungodly hour, but he found himself peering into the chiller. Beer? A sudden desire for juice? Kuroo wasn't sure what his 3am self was thinking. But he glances to the side, on the other side of the chiller door held open by his arm, and saw him.
The ghost of Bokuto Koutarou.
Their hair was down, uncharacteristically flat against their face, and dripping wet. They looked up, golden eyes still as sharp as ever.
Then the chiller door slams and they were gone.
Kuroo calls out for him, calls and calls frantically, until people were staring at him.
He calls and wakes Akaashi Keiji, who tells him to go to sleep. Then, Kuroo wakes up with a raging fever.
Now Akaashi is fussing over him, but he still doesn't believe a single word from Kuroo.
"Akaashi," he starts, insistent. "Doesn't that mean he-"
"I don't care what it means," Akaashi cuts him off curtly. Cruelly.
It's stupid how the anger flares up in his head, hot like the fever beating inside. Kuroo grabs his arm, stopping him from reaching for the basin of water beside the bed.
"No- talk to me, Akaashi."
Akaashi sighs reluctantly, planting himself on the floor beside the couch.
"He's dead, Kuroo." Akaashi pulls his knees to his chest. "I don't want to think about any more than that."
It's been two weeks. Two weeks since Bokuto Koutarou, a 19-year-old boy with bright golden eyes, vanishes off the face of the earth.
I like writing weird drabbles late at night. I’m not sure where this came from, honestly, but most of the inspiration is probably snippets of local horror movies and stories.
I have a couple of drabbles, but more of them are experimental excerpts that are just weird junk with no conclusive endings, but should I post up a few of them anyway?
Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Rating: G
Words: 1344
Bokuto is locked out of his apartment at 3AM, and knocks on Akaashi’s door for help. Begrudgingly, they let him in, while simultaneously trying to hide the massive streak of procrastination they were on.
They ignore the first knock. Then, it sounds again, loud and clear and very annoying in their quiet apartment.
Keiji tears off their headphones (not as noise-cancelling as advertised), before unlocking the door and peering out.
"Bokuto-san, it is 3AM," they say dryly.
"Ah- you're awake!" Bokuto remarks, delighted. Then, his face falls when Keiji tries to close the door on him.
"W-wait Akaashi!" Bokuto cries out. "I'm locked out of my place!"
Keiji pauses, taking in Bokuto's rumpled clothes and the pleading look on his face.
"Kuroo's asleep, and you're the only one on the block who answered!" Bokuto goes on. "Also, I really need the washroom."
Keiji sighs, knowing they will regret this.
"Fine, you can come in for a while."
Bokuto bursts into a smile, kicking off his shoes and following after Keiji into their apartment.
"Thanks! You're the best, Akaashi!"
---
After closing the door, Bokuto had headed to the washroom while Keiji locked up and returned to their laptop.
They were just going to resume whatever they had been doing, but-
"What are you doing anyway?" Bokuto leans over their couch, golden eyes too bright and alert for this ungodly hour.
Keiji slams their laptop shut. It was easier than sorting through their 24 tabs.
"Assignments," they answer.
It was true, in some respect. But Keiji knew too well that they had not touched their work in the past two hours, and that the word document contained a measly four sentences.
"Oh," Bokuto hums. "Figures you'd be staying up for something like that. Good luck with it!"
"Thanks," Keiji mutters dryly, checking that Bokuto had turned away before opening their laptop again.
They felt a tiny twinge of guilt, but Keiji was a seasoned procrastinator, so it barely eats at them as they return to their latest tab.
Keiji owned eight sweaters at this point. And as Konoha had kindly pointed out, it was six more than they needed; they could just cycle two, he said. But Konoha didn't care about whether his clothes matched, and he certainly didn't care about collecting every Good sweater in the world.
Keiji frowns at the price. They consider the season, and how it would be getting warmer soon, so maybe they shouldn't get the sweater.
Damn, it was a good colour too. They didn't have one in mint yet. Ninth sweater?
No, they tell themselves gently, closing the tab.
It brings them to another tab with an embroidered top.
Keiji sighs, reminding themselves that they had an assignment to finish.
Bokuto had made himself at home, pouring out a glass of orange juice, sitting against the wall with his phone. He blinks when he notices Keiji glancing over.
"Ah- you don't mind if I just stay...?" He looks a little fearful, like Keiji might kick him out any moment. "Kuroo gets up at 6.30, so I'll call him then."
"It's fine." Keiji sinks back into the couch.
They open up their word document, frowning at the glaringly empty screen.
"Are ya stuck?" Bokuto pops up from behind, nearly startling Keiji into dropping their laptop.
"What?" Keiji glares at him, defensive.
"I just thought maybe you needed some help?" Bokuto suggests. "I mean, you're really nice to let me in, so I wanted to help you if you were in trouble- ah only if I could, though! Like I won't wanna bother you-"
Were they, really? Keiji had been looking over the same topic since they had started at 10PM, quickly spiralling into procrastination when they ceased to make any progress.
Still, it wasn't a particularly important module, and they could make something up for it.
Later.
Keiji returns to their chrome tabs. God, why are they loading so slowly?
---
Sometime later, as the clock creeps precariously close to 4AM, Bokuto speaks up again.
"Akaashi, you're not really...working on your assignment, are you?"
Who was he to call them out like this?
Keiji spins around, ready to defend themself when they realise that Bokuto was already peering over their shoulder.
At their screen. With 20 tabs of various online shops.
They open their mouth to argue, but quickly shut it when they come up empty. Instead, a dark flush rises up on their neck, colour flooding into their cheeks.
"Aah I knew it! You weren't even typing!" Bokuto calls out in triumph.
Keiji wants to hit him, or kick him out of their house.
"Fine, I was procrastinating," Keiji admits bitterly.
"Aww, Kuroo does that too!" Bokuto remarks, hitting Keiji on the back.
Keiji isn't sure if that was supposed to provide some type of reassurance, or just be painful, because it was.
"Hey, I'll help you!" Bokuto continues, settling beside Keiji on the couch before they can protest. "Kuroo did this all the time."
Keiji narrows their eyes suspiciously.
Their assignment has been sitting for six hours.
"Okay," they agree sullenly.
---
Keiji stares uncomfortably at their word document while Bokuto eyes them watchfully.
They bring their fingers onto the keyboard, typing gingerly.
I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.
They delete that. And force back the urge to alt-tab back into chrome.
Get yourself together, Keiji told themself. Right, they had introduced the topic and now they needed a stance. They drummed their fingers against the keys, thinking hard.
---
It was past 6AM when Keiji finishes their essay. Every time they had wavered, retreating to their shopping tabs, Bokuto would nudge them with his elbow. Shoot them a disapproving look.
Keiji could have ignored him, or even chased him out of his house like they wanted to. But Bokuto meant well, and even when he was falling asleep, he got up to pull Keiji away from their distracting sites.
Whether they liked it or not, Keiji would never have finished their essay without Bokuto.
"I'm done," Keiji announces, already too dead to summon any enthusiasm.
Bokuto did it for them, however, hooting loudly and clapping them on the back.
"Yea, you did it Akaashi! That's awesome!"
Keiji allows him a small smile.
"Thank you, Bokuto-san," they say, before turning back to their laptop. "So I guess this means I can checkout my cart?"
"Your cart?" Bokuto blinks, leaning to peer at their screen. "What's in it?"
There were three T-shirts, a patterned top, a pair of light denim jeans and a plaid coat.
Bokuto's eyes trail down to the totaled amount.
"Akaashi that's nearly 8000 yen!" He cries out. "You can't buy that much!"
"I can," Keiji challenges. They turn to Bokuto with their tired eyes and dark eyebags, weariness weighing so heavy on them that Bokuto went quiet.
Keiji moves to the checkout, entering their credit card details without batting so much as an eyelash.
After the transaction is completed, Bokuto's phone rings. He scrambles to reach it from the other side of the couch, pressing it against his ear.
"Hey Kuroo, you're awake?" He greets into the phone. "I got locked out, yea..."
Bokuto glances at them.
"Sure, once you get dressed," he continues. "I'm at Akaashi's."
Then he hangs up.
"I still can't believe you just spent 8000 yen at once," Bokuto says.
Keiji shrugs nonchalantly.
"Anyway, my roommate Kuroo is up now so-" Bokuto scratches his head as he rises to his feet. "I'm gonna head back now. Thanks for letting me in!"
"You're welcomed," Keiji answers, showing him to the door.
They linger in the doorway while Bokuto slips on his shoes.
"Hey if I..." Keiji begins uncertainly, biting their lip.
"Yea?" Bokuto looks up, finishing the laces on his sneakers.
"If I get really distracted again..."
"Would I help you?" Bokuto finishes for them.
Keiji nods.
"Sure!" Bokuto beams, leaping to his feet. "That's what friends are for, right?"
Keiji smiles.
"Yes, of course."
Bokuto pauses in the hallway, looking back tentatively.
"Oh you wanna grab lunch or dinner later?" He asks. "Or, supper. Whenever you wake up."
"Sure, Bokuto-san," Keiji responds.
"Okay, have a good rest, Akaashi!"
"You too." Keiji waves him off, yawning into their hand.
I admit that I had too much fun writing Akaashi’s Procrastination Problem. I also spend way too long on online shopping sites.
