“You’re not interested, are you?” with iwabokuaka?
Thething about Akaashi Keiji was that he was Bokuto’s,completely and forever. Even when Akaashi and Hajime started dating,there was always a part of him that belonged to Bokuto, that yearnedto be with him, on the court or off it, in any way he could get.Hajime had accepted that a long, long time ago. He was sure he wasokay with it.
Untilthe day Bokuto showed up on their doorstep with a bouquet and asheepish expression.
“Um,”Hajime said, staring at him. “I. You’re here for Keiji, aren’tyou?”
“I-”Bokuto started, but Hajime found he didn’t particularly want tohear it. He stepped into the apartment, leaving the door open.
“Keiji,”he said softly. “Bokuto’s here for you.” Akaashi looked up fromhis book with a curious expression, one that melted into awe when hesaw Bokuto stepping into the hallway. Hajime walked into the bedroomand tried not to slam the door.
Apart of him had always known this day was coming. That Bokuto wouldpull his head out of his ass and realize what a gem he had inAkaashi. That he would come and take Akaashi away from Hajime. Hajimecouldn’teven blame him for it. Akaashi was everything anyone could want in apartner. He was kind, supportive, snarky, beautiful, intelligent, thelist went on and on. Hajime sighed and sat on the bed, waiting forthe knock.
Whenit came, it was both of them standing in the doorway.
“Hajime?”Akaashi said, his gentle voice so soft and beautiful. “Can wetalk?”
“Wedon’t need to,” Hajime said. “I’ll pack my things and be outby the end of the week.”
“Whyon earth would you move out?” Bokuto asked, his forehead crinklingrather adorably. Akaashi’s brow furrowed, then went smooth asunderstanding dawned in his eyes. He came to sit beside Hajime on thebed.
“Sweetheart,I’m not leaving you,” he said, putting his hand on Hajime’sshoulder. “Bokuto-san wanted - well, we both wanted - to ask you ifyou would be open to the thought of adding him to our relationship.”
“Youwhat?” Hajime asked dumbly. He looked to Bokuto, who watched himnervously from the doorway.
“You’renot interested, are you?” he asked.
“No,god, no!” Hajime cried, and Bokuto deflated. “No! That’s notwhat I meant! I meant no! I mean, no, I’m not not-interested. I’mthe opposite of that. I’m interested. More than interested. God, Ican’t believe you want- I should just shut up now, huh?”
“Probablyfor the best,” Akaashi laughed, and god, that was the mostbeautiful sound Hajime had ever heard. And then Bokuto laughed withhim, and Hajime found he had to reconsider his previous opinions.Hajime patted the side of the bed and Bokuto stopped laughing,turning a lovely shade of pink. He moved to sit next to Hajime, andHajime reached out for his hand. Akaashi took Hajime’s other handand Hajime took a deep breath.
“Okay,”he said. “Okay.”
“Okay,”Akaashi said, still smiling wider than Hajime had ever seen himsmile. Hajime smiled back and found he never wanted to stop.
Hi!!! For the angst ask, could you do 20 with an Iwa pairing of your choice please? I love your writing!!!
20. “For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just talk to me!”Read on AO3
Iwaizumi’s hands were shaking.
He buried them into his pockets and walked a little faster, breaths puffing out, too hard for the pace, even if he’d just worked out. The world was swimming a little, sliding in and out of focus as he moved, legs threatening to give out, practically boneless. He swallowed. Ran his tongue along his teeth. Clenched his hands and tried to find the ability to breathe. Nothing came. But he carried on, nearly jogging, brushing blindly past people, no care for who or how many he brushed. Bokuto’s call had carved out a sliver of worry in him, something about Akaashi and being sick, about needing him, and it had sliced right through the constricting vines of black that had woven tight around him, strangling him.
Iwaizumi’s nails bit into his hands and he bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for a light to change, then sprinted across the street, barely able to breathe. He made it to the complex quickly, far more so than normal, and he burst in, darted upstairs, breathing a little harder, barely seeing. He wasn’t sure if it was because the anxiety attack that had started coming on before, or from Bokuto’s call.
He fumbled with his keys, managed to unlock the door with shaking hands, and slipped in. Froze. Akaashi and Bokuto sat on the couch, both of them looking perfectly fine - no bandages, no flush, no ice packs. Nothing to indicate that either were sick, that anything was wrong. His stomach dropped. He managed a weak smile. “Keiji’s okay?”
“Hajime,” Akaashi said instead, voice soft, “Sit down. Please.”
He felt his heart stutter in his chest, but he nodded slowly and crept forward, face carefully blank. They can’t know. They couldn’t know about the fresh waves of self-hatred that had formed, gathering like dark waters and rising, threatening to drag him under, steal his breath, and drown him in all the darkness they brought. Weak. Stupid. Worthless. An endless mantra in his head that left him wanting to do nothing more than bash his head against a wall. Or the anxiety attacks, the ones he’d hidden so carefully, because, with everything going on, they didn’t need another thing to worry about, let alone him and his ridiculous, overblown problems.
“What’s up?” he said.
Akaashi frowned, Bokuto’s face twisting into a soft, sad expression, and he took the lead, edging forward a little, fingers tangling together in front of himself as he stared Iwaizumi down. “Something’s been bothering you.”
Iwaizumi’s limbs locked up, eyes flickering away for a split second before he turned back, shook his head slowly. “No… I’m-”
“Hajime, listen to me for five minutes,” Akaashi said, nearly a snap, and he flinched back, pressed himself into the chair as he stared at them. Bokuto’s fingers slipped over, curled into Akaashi’s sweater, and he brushed their fingers together, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it as he shook his head. “Hajime, it’s obvious. Something has been bothering you for weeks, and all of us can see it. This is worrying us, okay? You just-”
“You look so sad all the time lately,” Bokuto broke in, lips wobbling, a flush invading his cheeks as his tear-filled golden eyes snared Iwaizumi, inescapable. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing and tongue working, but Bokuto barreled on before he could say anything. “When you think we’re not looking you get this expression, like you’re about to cry, and I don’t know why, and I want to ask you and help you, but every time I do it feels like it’s not helping! A-and I know it doesn’t because sometimes I pull away and you just have this look, like everything’s about to break, and- and- a-and-” Bokuto broke off with a choked sound, buried his face into his hands.
Akaashi’s lips twisted and he slid an arm around Bokuto, glanced back at Iwaizumi. “Hajime,” he said softly, “Whatever is hurting you right now, we’re here for you. We’ve always been here for you. You know that. We’re your partners, your friends.”
Iwaizumi’s world was spinning, darkness sucking at his lungs, leaving him trembling in his seat. His hands twisted together on his legs as he bit his tongue and smiled. “I’m okay guys, just a little-”
Bokuto shot up, red-rimmed eyes glaring at Iwaizumi as he clutched at his chest. “For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just talk to me! Talk to Keiji! Stop shutting us out!”
They all froze, Akaashi with his arms outstretched for Bokuto, who stood there, tremors working through his body, fingers biting into his chest. Bokuto tore away a second later, feet slapping the floor as he darted back to their bedroom, agonizingly loud sobs tearing through the apartment. Iwaizumi’s chest hitched, all the air viciously torn from him as he stared after, the fainter sound of his wails breaking through the quiet. He slowly turned, eyes sliding to Akaashi.
Gray eyes blinked at him slowly, nothing showing behind the shroud of impassivity he’d pulled around himself.
Akaashi pressed his hands to his knees.
Rose.
Turned his back.
Iwaizumi lunged up, grabbed Akaashi’s wrist, the skin cool beneath his fingers. Akaashi whipped around tore his wrist from Iwaizumi’s grasp and turned a flinty glare on him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.”
Iwaizumi’s hand fell back to his side. His shoulders sagged. “Okay,” he whispered, pathetically quiet, and Akaashi jerked his head in a nod before he turned and stalked away, down the darkened hallway to the even darker bedroom where sharp cries still punctuated the quiet.
Helpless, he stared at the door, fingers twitching, but legs immobile. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He could barely feel the beat of his heart. His hands clenched tight, head tipping down until his chin touched his chest. Why am I such a shitty person? He had been for so long, enough that everyone thought he was mean and cruel to his best friend, that he was just a violent man with no hope of getting better. He’d hurt so many, and now he’d hurt Bokuto and Akaashi too - the two men he loved the most, with every fiber and scrap of his soul.
I hate myself. A breath shuddered out. “I hate myself,” he croaked to the empty living room.
No response came.
He closed his eyes. Slowly moved through the apartment, toes dragging on the floor as he crept through a place that no longer felt quite like home. He pushed his way into the guest bedroom. Shut the door. Pressed his forehead to it for a moment before he stripped down to his boxers and crawled into the bed, curled up tight and pressed his front to the wall. Another breath shuddered out. I can’t blame them if they hate me.
He was just so tired, an exhaustion that lay bone deep, sunk deep and impossible to remove, no matter how much he slept. Everything hurt, left him weak and trembling, and it was all he could do to breathe, to function. Iwaizumi pressed his hands to his face. Let a wry laugh bubble out as the tears finally flowed, just a scarce few.
From there, it was a swift descent into the slick self-loathing that welcomed him with open arms, familiar from the recent weeks and months.
