The first few times, he hadn’t thought much of it.
Even after Rohan had decided to go join Meelo in the men’s dormitory, once in a while, he’d pad downstairs and climb into bed with his parents.
More often than not, that meant trying not to be too offended by the boy treating his father like a climbing wall. He tried to reserve his audible complaints for the times hands pressed down too hard on his stomach. Or lower.
One night, in particular, Rohan came stumbling in, scrambling over all the feet at the end of the bed, waking up their owners. When Pema reached for him, Rohan just muttered, “No thank you,” crawled clumsily over his father, and insinuating himself in the circle of Lin’s arms.
Tenzin resolved to meditate on why he was jealous of his son for being cuddled by Lin when watching Pema in the same position just made him happy.
Lin looked puzzled, but whispered gently into the boy’s ear, and slowly, sleep settled over everyone once more.
They had established a workable routine: the first in bed slept under the window, then the last of them at the outside edge. While Lin was frequently the last one, occasionally, it was Pema instead.
Those were the worst nights for Rohan to disturb them.
Pema tried to hide it, but Tenzin could tell being passed over for Lin hurt. She would always pull further away from whoever was in the middle, not rolling over to wrap her arms around her son. And the next morning, she would always be gone when he woke to prepare for meditation.
Once he recognized the pattern, he began to look for opportunities to discuss it with her. But oddly, she seemed to avoid him in the days that followed. Rohan was not coming in every night, or even once a week. It was easy to forget in the press of duties once the sun had risen.
And then came the evening when they had retired early, and together. Outside, the lingering summer gloaming had many people still enjoying the weather and taking advantage of their leisure time. The three could enjoy each other, comfortably alone while the rest of the Island’s people played more public games.
Exhausted yet refreshed, they slipped on their nightclothes, and laid down. Tenzin stretched out on his back, one arm each around Pema and Lin. His heart melted when he felt them intertwine their arms across his chest, lean over him and kiss each other good night.
His sleepy mind noticed that Lin was to his right, but he thought all the playtime of the evening would ensure a sound rest for everyone.
It was only a few hours later, deep in the night, that he came to regret his nonchalance.
His left arm was still around Pema’s shoulder when Rohan flopped over her and started scrambling over his parents to get to Lin. In his haste, Rohan pressed a foot against Pema’s hip and shoved himself forward across Tenzin’s stomach.
Pema lost her balance and fell to the floor, pulling Tenzin in her direction while Rohan flopped toward Lin, who had turned toward the wall and pulled her arms under the covers. She awoke with a startled grunt, trapped by a youngster who had no idea the trouble he was causing.
Tenzin pulled the boy up by the armpits and laid him out beside Lin. “I need to help Pema…” he started, only to be cut off by the slam of the door. He exchanged a worried look with Lin and started running to find their wife.
He found her beside the pond behind the house, roughly pulling up blades of grass and throwing them into the water. He could see her chest heaving, but couldn’t hear her voice until he was almost close enough to touch her.
“Go away, Tenzin. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Go help his mother,” she growled.
Ignoring her words, he stepped in front of her and folded her to his chest. He lifted his head to the sky and cried silently while his love pounded on his chest.
When her knees buckled and her weight settled against him, he guided them to the ground and pulled her into his lap. She clenched her fist in his nightshirt and sobbed.
“Amma! Amma!”
In a flash, Tenzin felt Rohan’s pounding footsteps through the meat of his legs just before feeling the boy squirm forcefully into Pema’s lap. He would have fallen backwards if Lin hadn’t stepped up right behind him, her strong legs giving him something to lean against.
“Rohan, tell your mother what we talked about,” Lin encouraged.
Holding Pema was one thing. Holding Pema while she held their energized youngest was a new challenge, indeed.
The boy wriggled and twisted until he was kneeling on the grass beside them. He took Pema’s hands in his and pulled them close to his chest.
The remorse and upset was plain on his face, even under the pale moonlight.
“When it’s dark, I know Mommalin knows how to see. So if she is asleep, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He paused, then added, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Rather than reply, Pema pulled the boy back into her lap.
It wasn’t the end of the nighttime incursions. It wasn’t the last conversation.
But when it was dark, maybe a hug was all that was needed.
Synopsis: Alarik is uneasy about a letter from a supplier.
Warnings: None
Words: 1,015
Canonical Status: Canon.
[Reblogs and thoughts greatly appreciated! :)]
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Darkness was something that all on Dridon knew, one way or another. Often it was metaphorical; the darkness of the lives they led and suffered. Other times it was literal. But always the darkness stayed, with each and every person that existed. It let them continue on, whether that be with The Black's regeneration, or untouched under the cover of night.
So, Alarik had never minded the darkness.
At least, until recently.
Now, he sat alone, outside of the Sunset Crows' base, surrounded by the dark. Not smothered in it; the torches against the rock wall to his back held it at bay. Alarik stared out into the night, tense, and in his hand he gripped the folded sheet of paper he'd received mere hours before.
He wanted nothing more than to toss the cursed letter to the flames beside him; to be rid of this quiet, stalking problem that had gotten too large for him to kill now. But that wouldn't cut it. Then, he'd be putting himself at risk.
His crew at risk.
Alarik hissed out a sigh through his teeth, hanging his head. For once, the night around him felt... eerily alive. Watchful. Leaning close as if it could sense the decision hanging over his head.
"Nonsense," he muttered, then dragged a hand down his face. He had never been a religious man, believing The Black to be some gracious, sentient deity. Religion was for manipulative fools who saw no merit in the common allure of worldly possessions, and so instead led people to fantasies and delusion.
The darkness was just that. Silent, full of danger. But just darkness.
Alarik's eyes flicked back to the sheet in his hand, and he, reluctantly, unfolded it once more. It was written in Everian—or rather, a close imitation. There were some mistakes in the proper kon for specific letters, and some kon from another language he didn't recognize. That confirmed his suspicions, then, that the person sending these was not from the Plains.
Alarik skimmed the letter, and felt his heart grow hot with anger all over again.
Alarik Crow,
With this supply shipment, we once again extend the offer of meeting. The Sunset Crows and their assets would be a great and beneficial addition to our cause.
We understand your continued refusal; you worry for your crew and their treatment. As before, we assure you that they will be properly cared for within our ranks, as will you.
A scout affiliated with us will meet you in a week's time, for your response.
- Ikelis
Ikelis... Alarik turned the name over in his head, but unfortunately it gave him only superficial ideas of where it could originate. Desert people had too many soft sounds. Taigans' names sounded high and mighty... this one maybe did, but the way this Ikelis presented his words didn't feel the exact same as Elisar, one of his crew, often spoke.
All crosses, and no actual target, he thought, annoyed. Alarik folded the sheet again, Storing it into his first tier. It and the shipment had arrived just as they always had: mysteriously, and outside the base's hidden entrance. Just on the edge of the ring of light that the torches cast.
Always halfway in the darkness.
Alarik stood, watching the dark before him. Beyond it stretched the low hills and flat land of the Plains. He could even almost make out the Southern Forest, far in the distance to his right.
But there was no one waiting. No hidden scouts or assassins sent to watch his every move.
That only raised the question of how this Ikelis knew so much about him; where he was based. His reputation alone couldn't have conveyed that.
Alarik pinched the bridge of his nose. The shipments, and the agreement between Alarik and Ikelis' strange 'cause', had been helpful for the Sunset Crows. But the letters alongside them had done nothing but put him on edge more than usual. Asking for him and his crew to join their cause, whatever it really was. Asking to control them.
Alarik hated people trying to control him.
A sudden scrape of metal and a muffled thump startled him, and he spun to the wall behind him. A section of it had opened up via hidden pistons, and in the doorway of the opened hall stood Elisar, inches taller than Alarik and with pale Taigan skin.
"Sir?" Elisar asked, his hands folded behind his back.
Alarik sighed, holding a hand to his racing heart. "I thought I told you that you can call me by name, Elisar," he said. "But what is it?"
"Apologies, s- Alarik Crow." Elisar tilted his head, and Alarik sighed at the addition of his second name. "But you have been out here quite some time. The others question your health."
Alarik raised an eyebrow, and Elisar flushed suddenly. "Ah... that is not the correct term, is it?"
"If you mean they're worried about me, then, no." Alarik chuckled, patting his shoulder as he passed him into the hall. "Your Everian is getting better, though. You've been practicing, I can tell."
One would've expected a smile from the praise, but Elisar's people didn't tend to do that. So instead, Alarik saw the thankfulness in the way Elisar's body relaxed just so. Elisar turned, following Alarik down the hall. Alarik hit a button, nigh invisible against the stone wall, and the door behind them shifted closed once more.
That left them in the closed hallway, lit only by a few torches, the door ahead shut with pistons as well. The darkness was back again, if only still held at back.
"That scout is going to come back in a week," Alarik said quietly. "And I want us to be ready for anything."
"You believe them to be at their limit with our refusal, sir?" Elisar asked.
Alarik shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. But I want to be ready for whatever they might throw our way." And whatever darkness they'll bring upon us.
He would be ready for it. Just like all the darkness he'd faced before, he'd be the last flash of sunlight among it, and live to rise again after he made sure he conquered it.
I FUCKING FORGOT THAT GLASS REFLECTS I was reading marvey fanfic while my dad is talking to my sister and she's looking at the window so I turn AND MY PHONE IS FULL ASS BRIGHTNESS with ao3's WHITE BACKGROUND BLACK FONT and I'm literally going to die tonight
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton
Additional Tags: POV Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Is Called Natalia (Marvel), Deaf Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov Is Not a Robot (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug (Marvel), flashfictionfridayofficial's Flash Fiction Friday Prompt Challenge, When It's Dark
Series: Part 1 of Bre's Flash Fiction Friday
Summary:
Natalia has lived in darkness her entire life. As much as she hopes to escape it, she knows that it's impossible. There's no saving her now.
But then a light known as Clint Barton comes along.
@flashfictionfridayofficial
https://archiveofourown.org/works/79024871
Natalia had lived in darkness for a very long time.
From a young age, she had been trained to hurt and kill without remorse. She had killed strangers, guards, friends — and above all, she learned very quickly that love was for children. If she grew close to anyone, she would inevitably have to kill them, and that more than anything convinced her that she could never love — or be loved.
Still, though, she would sometimes find herself wishing she could be free. How nice it would be, to love someone and not have to watch them die by her own hand. How nice it would be, to have someone that would treat her like she was more than the monster she was trained to be.
How nice it would be, to finally come out of this darkness she'd been in for so long.
She didn't think that would happen. Even if she did manage to get away from the Red Room, who would ever love her? Would she even be able to find someone that didn't just want her body, but wanted her? All of her, darkness and all?
She doubted it.
But then she was sent to Budapest, and there she finally found a light in the darkness.
Clint Barton had been sent to kill her, but he wasn't just some mindless weapon. Even as he aimed his bow at her — and that was such an odd weapon, she thought to herself, to be used for assassinations, but she supposed it did the job — his eyes were searching, analyzing, seeing past her walls and right into her soul.
Instead of driving an arrow through her heart, he reached out a hand and offered her salvation instead.
Love may have been for children, but she fell in love with him that day anyway.
He was kind to her, far more than she had expected. He gave her an opportunity to turn her back against the Red Room, and she surprised herself by how readily she accepted it. But this was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? A chance to finally free herself. She wasn't going to turn it down.
So they killed Dreykov and fled to a subway station to escape the special forces chasing them. As they hid in the vents, Natalia took the opportunity to study Clint while he wasn't paying attention to her. He was focused on the vent cover, watching the soldiers search the station. She doubted they would look in here — who would? Most would have tried to escape on a train or through the grates on the floor, not trap themselves above the subway.
There was nothing about Clint that seemed particularly different from everyone else, at least not physically. It was the way that he acted that made her pause, though. Men's eyes and hands tended to wander when they were around women — that's what made them so easy to manipulate — but Clint's did not. In the little time they'd known each other, he had been respectful in a way Natalia had never experienced. He stayed focused on the task at hand and treated her like she was just another person.
Like she wasn't a monster he'd been sent to kill.
Clint glanced up at her. "What?"
Maybe he had been paying attention after all.
Natalia pointed to his ear. "I assume you can't hear well?" The hearing aid was something she'd noticed, and she didn't think she needed to state the obvious, but she hoped it would distract him from how she'd been staring at him so blatantly. She shouldn't have been that careless.
Clint nodded. "I'm deaf." He leaned his back against the wall of the vent. "The aids only help so much, so try not to talk to me if we're not facing each other."
Such an easy admission of weakness. Did he not think she might use that to her advantage? She wouldn't, of course, but he didn't know her well enough to trust her that much, did he?
"I will keep that in mind." And she would. If he was freeing her from the Red Room, the least she could do was face him when she spoke.
Clint smiled warmly at her. It was the first time she'd seen him smile, and she wondered what she'd done to earn such warmth. "Thank you." He glanced at the vent cover. The soldiers were still searching. "There isn't going to be an extraction, so we'll have to get ourselves out. Our best bet is to wait until everything dies down a bit to escape."
"That's fine." Natalia didn't even know where they were going to go, but after all of this, she figured he wasn't going to bring her somewhere bad.
She… trusted him. More than she had ever trusted anyone.
That would be her downfall, she knew, but right now…
warnings. descriptions of depression, a lot of angst and overthinking on the reader's part. some rambling. i think everyone cries at least once. kissing.
word count. 8k
summary. akaashi keiji has been in a downward spiral since bokuto graduated. you scramble to find ways to help him, but everything you do seems to be making things harder. all you want is for him to be happy again. seeing your best friend like this is the hardest thing you've ever gone through. but... you have an idea that could make him realize how special he is.
Hearing his tone like this wasn’t new to you, but it hurt you anyways. Not that you’d tell him that. Bothering Akaashi about this kind of thing would be futile, since he barely had motivation to attend school or talk to you in the first place.
“I just do it when I’m bored,” Akaashi sighed, fiddling with his pencil. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “As I’ve told you multiple times.”
“I don’t think you should deprecate your ability like that,” you replied. “And I really think it’s a good…” You trailed off, already regretting having brought this up. It would be better if the two of you went back to silence.
“A good what?” he asked, eyebrows raised. He was waiting for you to continue. Well, at least he cared enough for that.
You took a deep breath. “I know you don’t pay attention, but there are posters all over the school. An art contest. It would be a good opportunity…”
Akaashi sighed again. “Y/N, can you let it go?”
You could almost envision his future — moving in with Bokuto, probably, to both save rent and keep an eye on his now graduated senior. Akaashi cared for him, too much sometimes. He had a lot of anxiety and tended to overthink things. This led to good decisions, but also bad days where he was clearly just exhausted. You had noticed that this had actually worsened since Bokuto graduated. You would have thought that being without someone so constantly energetic would make it easier for him to stay calm, but maybe the distance between him and his best friend, the change of habits, the loss of purpose, drove Akaashi to become more withdrawn than he had ever been. You were now lucky to hear a sarcastic comment from him, and half the time you could tell he was daydreaming.
The first month of his third year had been the hardest, of course. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other friends, you being the primary other, but it was clear he felt like he had a piece missing. And seeing him like this made you worry that he might become like how he was all those years ago, a sad, uninterested kid, who was more lost in his thoughts than you. The two of you had evolved together, but Bokuto made an even bigger difference.
You missed Bokuto, too. He had been a big part of your life; he was good at indirectly encouraging you just by showing you a smile or talking about something he loved. He wasn’t the best listener, but he was very caring and had been someone you looked up to a lot.
Akaashi just didn’t seem to care at this point who was in his life or what they thought of him. Sometimes you got the feeling that if you left him, he wouldn’t care. Not that you would ever leave him, despite the common suspicion of a one-sided friendship.
So as more girls found themselves attracted to his ‘brooding’ — which was really just lost in thought that, from what he occasionally shared with you, wasn’t as deep as it might appear — he grew even less trusting, even of you. Akaashi was concerned with everything these days; the weather, dates of month-off exams, the state of the volleyball team he had quit, and so much more. And he didn’t want to talk about any of it.
Akaashi wasn’t a mysterious guy. He just didn’t have anything to share.
You wished you knew how to re-establish that smile in his eyes that had faded so much. You wished you had the same effect on him as Bokuto had had.
Why couldn’t you be like Bokuto?
You glanced at Akaashi’s paper. He had been doing history questions — had been. He had begun to sketch a vine of flowers sprouting off the corner of the page, snaking around the first question of the paper. Facts about a world war were growing over. You didn’t say anything, watching his pencil move. Your dull response earlier to his harsher comment had abandoned the conversation and overtaken the room with silence; regret washed over you once again for bringing that contest up.
It wasn’t as if his art was something to be ashamed of. He was talented — and you didn’t believe in talent. You saw ability as something to be worked towards. But when you saw his drawings, his sketches, as if the last remnants of his self-expression. And it was so expressive — curled vines and flowers and hidden emotions falling onto the paper. Darkness illuminated by the residue of hope. A blank page brought to life.
He was drawing an eye right now, with a leaf in the place of a tear. You didn’t know where he got the ideas for his art, or how he managed to sketch it so effortlessly. It was clear his mind was elsewhere.
Your gaze drifted to his slender fingers gripping the pencil. Maybe you were talking about his hands when you said, “It’s pretty.”
He hummed slightly in response, and stopped drawing. “I should finish my questions.”
“Drawing a bit isn’t bad, you know. It’s good for stress and—”
He frowned at you. “Could you stop?” He picked up his eraser and your heart dropped to the floor as you watched him rub off the eye, the leaf, the beauty that he had created out of thin air.
It was as if you had pulled him back to reality — as if you had somehow reminded him that drawing was pointless, even though your intentions were the opposite. What would be next? Would you make him hate his appearance? His voice? What else was he going to start hiding, now that his humour and smiles were gone?
You knew you were overreacting. But you and Akaashi were similar — you both overthought things, you both had anxiety that increased when the other was upset. And — well, you had used to be able to boost each other’s moods, although that was clearly untrue now.
Your study evening continued, slowly. Akaashi helped you with a bit of your work, and you pointed out a few things to him. He didn’t draw anymore. Studying was — effective, these days. It wasn’t a bad thing that you were actually benefiting from spending time doing schoolwork with him, but it was strange. Because you used to get lost in deep conversations well into the early hours, your homework forgotten when his eyes met yours with curiosity about the world. Curiosity about you. Akaashi was good at asking questions and learning. He was always open to improving himself. He was fun to be around, though in a different way than maybe Bokuto was. Akaashi was naturally good-natured and observant.
He had been a lot of things, and you loved all of them. You knew they were all still a part of him… but all of those elements of him were in hiding. Everything was toned down. Quieter. Less colourful.
You might admit that your friendship with him was bland these days, but it was your fault. It was your fault for not being more like Bokuto, for not being able to bring out the joy that seemed so hidden most of the time now. Things hadn’t always been like this. Even when you met as kids, your connection was stronger than this. But now it was like a zombie of a relationship — there was nothing alive between you. Only a few shared moments, a few shared thoughts, a few shared meals. It was dead. You knew it was.
Things weren’t right. Things were off. But there wasn’t anything you could do but hang on. You had to support him, because if not you, then who would? Bokuto was gone, most of his friends had stopped associating with him, and everyone who now took an interest in him didn’t realize who he was or what he could be. You loved Akaashi — the kind of love, you didn’t worry about, because neither of you needed to worry about that right now — and you would never abandon him. You’d stay by his side through this. You’d help him find the light again.
At least, that had been your plan.
That evening, you found something. It was when Akaashi had gotten up to make you tea — you had volunteered to do it instead, or with him, but he had shut you down. So you stood to stretch, your eyes wandering around his familiar room. You felt strange. He was so grumpy today. Was it because of what you had said about the contest?
You caught the sight of a paper sitting on a book on his bedside table. It was a drawing of a face, eyes with star-like streams of light spilling out — the rest of the face had the light streaming down it, dark shadows around the neck and below the lips. On the bottom right, you could see his signature in dark pencil. Something about it made your chest tighten.
Your mind went back to the contest you had seen advertisements for around the school, the one that you knew Akaashi wanted nothing to do with.
Draw your emotions! it had said. The more creative, the better! Submit by December 6, winners announced December 20!
You knew there had been more details, but you couldn’t remember them. It had been designed with red, yellow, and blue… indicating that they were probably looking for color. So… would this work? It was completely grayscale… but it had a good use of values and it was clear and it was evocative.
You had a week to convince him to submit his work.
He wouldn’t want you to. He didn’t even want you to see it. He treated his art like a private thing. Like it was just a small thing he did that was none of anyone’s business.
But Akaashi treated too much of his life like that now. He was hiding everything.
So if he didn’t want to submit any artwork, then you’d submit it for him.
Akaashi was re-entering the room with a cup of tea in each hand, setting one down for you. You had set down the drawing just in time, assuming the same listless pose you had had when he left. You studied his downcast eyes. Maybe you would never again be the spark that lit them up again… but you had to try. For both your sakes. You knew that would probably be hard on him. He’d probably get mad at you, in his quiet way. But maybe if he won — maybe if he won, he’d see how important his art could be. Maybe he’d see that he shouldn’t hide in the shadows anymore.
-♡-
It wasn’t as if you’d never brought Akaashi’s art up to him before. You had mentioned it several times, including the study session last night. However, now you had a goal. You weren’t just bothering him about his habit because it intrigued you — you wanted to convince him of something.
Part of you hated this sense of “duty.” It’s none of your business. Let go of it. He’s fine without your help. He won’t like this.
It was just an art contest. You knew that. You just wanted — to prove something to him. And it wasn’t just a baseless idea. You saw the way his eyes had lit up at his high mark in art the year before, despite all the times he used to smile about the course and say, “It's just so that I have an elective course. Universities like that.”
And of course, you couldn’t picture him taking many of the other electives. He was too anxious to be in the same room as a chainsaw, so being in something like metal work or woodwork would definitely not suit him. And he was already a well-experienced cook, so being stuck in a classroom half-filled with people who didn’t know how to make noodles would be frustrating for him. And although he’d be fantastic in the more academic classes, you and Bokuto had convinced him that he had to do something hands-on. He had mentioned that volleyball fit that concept, but you knew and somehow Bokuto knew that volleyball was more of a stressor than a reliever for him.
Akaashi was capable of making his own decisions, but he valued input. At least, he had used to. Before this year. Before he shut down.
You had only a few months left with him. Spring would come, he’d graduate, probably go off to something he wasn’t completely interested in… leaving you.
There were so many reasons that you were doing what you were doing. A longing to see him happy again. A hope that he would stop diminishing his skills. Out of regret, that you hadn’t done anything for him yet. Out of love; an unknown kind.
It was Saturday, so although many times in years before he’d never decline hanging out with you, it was difficult to come up with an excuse now. Because he never did seem interested. He wouldn’t decline, he was too polite for that, but you always somehow felt like you were somehow invading. Even when it was his idea for the two of you to hang out, you felt like you were invading.
You tried not to take it personally. But you couldn’t help but wonder whether it was, sometimes. You were the only person he wouldn’t obviously avoid, but you couldn’t help but wonder whether he wanted to.
You called him, already grimacing at the tone you knew he would have. Your eyes drifted out the window as you heard him pick up.
“What is it?” Not angry. Just… uninterested.
“Can I come over? I want to talk about something.”
“Couldn’t you have done it last night?”
You paused. Well, you had talked about it last night. And you had been shut down.
“I’ll be there in fifteen, okay?”
“... Okay. You’re not going to tell me what this is about? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” Oh, how ironic that he should be the one to ask if everything was okay.
On the way over, you remembered every time that you’d try to ask him if he was okay. Every time you’d hinted that maybe he should get help, that you’d quietly reminded him that you were there for him.
Always, a cold response. “I know.” “I’m fine.” “Don’t worry about me.”
You’d reminded him that you’d always worry about him. That was what you had to do, as his best friend. But no response had come but a feeble nod.
Akaashi opened the door, the borderline of a scowl on his face. “Did you leave something here?”
It was true that you had decided against taking his drawing of the face last night, and that you might not get another chance now. If you brought this contest up again and he got mad in his sulky way, he might hide it all. You couldn’t risk it.
“Now that you mention it,” you said. “I think I left a pencil here. I’ll grab it, and then I’ll tell you about what I was thinking about.” You mentally crossed his fingers that he wouldn’t volunteer to grab it for you.
“Be fast. I’ll make some tea, I guess.”
You nodded. You saw the hesitation in his averted eyes — he probably had had no intention of inviting you in. He was probably cursing his polite habits as you shed your shoes and ran to his room, eyes searching for the drawing.
It was still there, on his bedside table. But as you approached it, you realized that he had made a few changes to it. He’d changed the face and eye shapes a little, darkened the shadows, added more contrast overall. So he was still working on it — it wasn’t finished — so, you couldn’t take it, now. And this meant that he hadn’t quit art as you had worried he might after your conversation last night.
Despite now knowing that it might not be complete, you picked it up and admired the details a minute longer before gently pushing it into your shoulder bag. It was almost too big; you cringed as it bent slightly at the end. After adjusting it so that it wasn’t in such a position, you closed your bag and hurried back to Akaashi, who was setting a cup out for each of you.
Akaashi always made you the same kind of tea. You had mentioned that you liked it several years ago, and he never stopped making it for you. Even though it was from a place several hours away. Even though your preferences had somewhat changed, not that you’d tell him that.
“So,” you said, sitting across from him. “It’s about your art.”
Any interest Akaashi’d had in what you wanted to say was now disappearing, fast. He peered into his mug. “I see.”
“You’re smart,” you continued, raising your voice a little in hopes that he was still listening. “You’re the smartest person I know. You could do well in any area that you choose to go into. I know you’re more interested in literature than the sciences, so I don’t know why you keep pushing yourself in chemistry and biology. You’re so smart, but I think you need to know how to follow your heart.”
“My heart? Really, Y/N?”
“What do you want Akaashi? What are you interested in?”
Akaashi’s eyes cut into yours. He sipped his tea, and after swallowing, stared at you for a few seconds. “At this point,” he said softly, “I don’t know or care.”
“Then let me help you figure it out. Please.”
He didn’t respond. Conversations with Akaashi hadn’t been this personal for months, and it showed.
“You love art. You don’t admit it, but as much as you can do all the other things, you find so much joy in creating. You love art, Akaashi.”
“So can’t we leave it as something I love?” In his own way, it was clear that he was properly pissed off. “And not something else I’m ‘good at’ and should ‘continue on with’?”
“So you do love it.” You were tempted to pull the paper out of your bag and slam it on the table in front of him. And make him see.
“Not enough.”
“Or too much.”
Akaashi took a deep breath. From his narrowed eyes and tight lips, you could tell you were pushing him to the edge. To the edge of what, you didn’t know. Maybe this would be a win.
Or maybe this would be the biggest loss of all.
You knew it was dramatic to believe that Akaashi would throw away his only friend over a little argument, but at this point it didn’t seem too far off. Your relationship had been weak for long enough now that part of you doubted things would ever go back to normal. Maybe this was it. Maybe this would be it.
“Let go of it,” he said. “I don’t need you to try to live my life for me or make my decisions.”
You lowered your eyes to your cup of tea.
“Okay?”
You sighed. “Okay.”
So, neither. He wasn’t anywhere close to letting you win, but he wouldn’t let himself win, either, you realized.
The bag around your shoulder felt heavy as you left, even though all you had taken was an extra piece of paper. He’d notice it was gone. He’d blame you. But it was too late to put it back.
So it was your actions, not your words, that would be the executioner of your friendship with Akaashi Keiji.
-♡-
You weren’t surprised that he had noticed the piece was gone from his room. After all, it had been in a very obvious place in his room, and there wasn’t really anywhere it could have fallen. It wasn’t as if he could have lost it very easily. Akaashi didn’t lose things. Or if he did, he never told you. Akaashi insisted on doing everything on his own, a true self-destructing machine.
He didn’t say anything about the missing art, because he didn’t say anything at all.
He wasn’t going to run away from you. That wasn’t like him. And he wouldn’t tell you why he was acting like this, either. Not that you didn’t already know. So instead, he just continued on with school. The only difference was that you had been added to his list of people to ignore.
Meaning that he spoke to no one.
Meaning that he was, now, entirely alone.
The worst part was, it didn’t even seem like he was mad at you.
Akaashi wouldn’t blame anyone for mistakes unless he had no other choice. He would always put it on himself — saying things like “I should have told you,” “it’s my fault for not doing it myself,” and that kind of thing — and so, since he didn’t have all the evidence, he wouldn’t blame you.
You realized with a pang after Monday that you had no idea what that piece meant to him. You had seen it as a pretty picture that deserved recognition, but what if it did have that emotional value to him? What if it was his therapy right now? An outlet — a break — not something to be exhibited — and you had taken that away from him.
For a horrible hour late that night, throwing the covers and sitting up with the piece in your hands, you knew you had to give it back to him. This was your fault, but he was blaming himself. He was suffering at your hand. Maybe he’d hate you. In fact — you knew he would hate you. But it was the right thing to do.
However, you woke up that morning with a renewed sense of cowardice and pride. It was clear that he’d hate you either way… so what if you didn’t tell him? What if you… submitted it for him… and…
If he lost, he’d never find out, if you could help it. But somehow, you knew he wouldn’t lose. This piece was too significant.
You found the piece again, internally cursing yourself for allowing a bend to form along the center. But — it was still perfect. It was beautiful.
You knew there were many art-inclined students at your school that had probably worked very hard on some pieces. But something about this piece was so intricate but simultaneously raw, as if drawn and re-sculpted from a photograph. The curve of the chin looked like home. The hair was smoother than your own. The eyes — the empty eyes full of light — made you believe maybe there really was some hope left in Akaashi.
So you’d submit it. And then… for almost two weeks, you’d wait.
Did this mean that you’d have to lie to him every day until then? Partially. Was it right? It was debatable. But you had very few options. You had no one to talk to, and he had no one to talk to. Without each other, you realized, the both of you were utterly alone and helpless.
It was the worst feeling. It was almost as bad as being with an Akaashi that wasn’t himself, an Akaashi that wore a face that conveyed an inkling of his emotions. Or perhaps the opposite. Either way — neither was pleasant, and you didn’t want either of them to be your life. But it seemed like they were your only choices, both inevitable to be a part of your life for at least a few more months.
As you finished filling out the form in his name and submitting the photograph of the piece, you could feel anticipation overtake you. You had experienced something similar not too long ago while working on scholarship forms, but this felt just as personal, even though it wasn’t even your art. You weren’t an art critic or anything, but you knew that an eight-point-five-by-eleven piece of paper was nothing compared to the paintings some people were probably submitting. You knew that the lack of colour might not be eye-catching, and the concept of a face wasn’t overly original.
But it was the raw emotion. It was the evidence of an internal battle that made you want to run to Akaashi and tell him to hold onto that light.
So, with the piece submitted, you were even more conflicted. Because there was no taking it back now. There would be no giving it back to him — unless you wanted to find yourself in the position of lying about why you had it. You weren’t an awful liar, but when it came to Akaashi Keiji it became entirely too difficult to mask anything.
Maybe you shouldn’t talk to Akaashi either. Maybe you should stop trying until the results came back.
The contest, you knew, was meant to be for learning. It was for your high school. The winning prize wasn’t even that large. Actually, at this point, you couldn’t remember what the prize was. You were becoming more and more consumed with the idea of his piece winning. The idea that all the competitors were probably keeping in mind, that this was meant to be a learning experience, was lost on you. All you could think about was how Akaashi winning would prove that he had so much left. So much he could do.
There were so many things winning would prove to him.
In the meantime, things with Akaashi did not improve. It was the middle of the week now, and if it hadn't been for your poor decision on Saturday maybe he'd still be willing to talk to you. Maybe you'd have still had a chance to talk him into the art contest.
But it was too late for that now.
Your life felt like a repetitive series of ‘too late’s. Would you ever get a ‘too early’? Or finally get a ‘just right’?
If only you had known how Bokuto's absence would affect Akaashi. If only you had convinced him to trust you from the beginning of the year. If only you hadn't been too late to tell him he was talented at art. If only you had been there for Akaashi before he'd fallen so far that you couldn't help him.
It hurt, every day, to witness your dead friendship drawing on like a zombie. It hurt knowing that it was dead because you were too late.
Something had to change. You had to talk to him differently — come up with something. Maybe it shouldn't be you anymore. Maybe you should encourage one of the many girls who took an interest in him to pursue him, so that he could have someone to talk to that wasn't you. If he could learn to trust someone again…
But, no. That was unthinkable. Akaashi had never had a girlfriend, and it remained an unwelcome idea in your head. Was it jealousy? You weren't sure. You only knew that the idea of not being Akaashi's one and only was very off-putting.
The week ended. Submissions to the art contest closed, and the real game of impatience began.
Days with the even quieter Akaashi went on. Sometimes, when you looked him in the eye you almost thought he knew what you had done. And other days, it was clear he was blaming himself for everything.
This year had been awful ever since Bokuto left. So when he told you he would be coming back for his winter break at the end of this week — on the day the results were supposed to be released — you had a little more hope for both yours and Akaashi’s future.
-♡-
It was the first time you’d seen Akaashi in tears.
Second year of high school. Third-year’s graduation. Bokuto Kotaro’s last day at high school.
You weren’t too far from tears yourself, when the cheery volleyball captain climbed the stage and shook hands with the principal. You weren’t too far from tears when Bokuto made a speech he had been selected to make. You were very, very close to tears when he started reading off the notes Akaashi had written for him, but got distracted by a thought and ended up spending his time talking to the entire school about an instance at a practice involving the managers and the first years. And both you and Akaashi were absolutely sobbing when Bokuto encouraged the whole school to continue to put their soul into every ball, as if they were all players on his volleyball team. As if he’d be back to continue to push them, so he wanted to remind them to keep working hard while he was gone.
After the ceremony, even though you had a lot of time left to spend with him before spring break was over, hugging him felt like the last piece of joy left in your life. He squeezed a little too hard and hugged a little too long, but you’d never, ever complain. Because this was Bokuto Kotaro. And — maybe you would see him again, but it felt like you wouldn’t. It felt like he’d go off and change into someone else, never to return the same guy.
You watched Bokuto hug Akaashi. And Akaashi hugged him back, which was somewhat uncommon. Akaashi smiled at Bokuto and congratulated him, but Bokuto’s first thing to say was,
“Akaashi! Why are you crying?”
You watched this with bittersweet laughter, because Bokuto was also clearly crying. His eyes were red, tears streaming down both cheeks, jaw even trembling. But he asked Akaashi why he was crying.
Bokuto was so hard on both of your hearts. As you mentioned to each other afterwards, you really did feel like parents watching your son finally grow up, despite him being a year older.
No, that wouldn’t be the last time you’d see Bokuto. But it did mean he was moving on. He was leaving the two of you.
At the time, you hadn’t realized how devastating this would be to Akaashi. You knew how much he cared about Bokuto and how much energy he put into being both his vice-captain and his friend. And you knew that going a whole year without Bokuto would be like digging a hole in his life. But — somehow you had anticipated that Akaashi would take this time to find something else to fill that with. You had expected him to regain his energy that he’d been using on Bokuto. You’d even hoped that he’d even go ahead to chase what he wanted like Bokuto was, inspired by his senior.
You hadn’t expected Akaashi to fall back, to quit volleyball, to shut down, to give up everything Bokuto had given him.
You hadn’t expected him to lose himself.
It was December 20th. The day you’d been reimagining in your head every night for two weeks. The day that things would change, finally.
Your math teacher was acting worried about you, for a good reason. Your grades had been slipping remarkably over the last week or so. Even though you felt like you were trying just as hard as ever, it was true that you spent some classes glancing over at Akaashi, wondering whether things really would change. And you did spend a few classes watching him draw. And your mind was elsewhere during classes — imagining a better future.
A contest. A little art contest. It felt like you’d bet your whole future on it.
“Do you need to talk to the counselor?” the teacher asked you, lowering her pencil. “It’s okay if you do. You’re not going to improve if you keep up with whatever’s going on.”
Just one more day, you thought. I’ll do better after this. I’ll have gotten through to him, and he…
You accepted the opportunity, heading to the counselors office. You took out your phone to check your phone for about the seventeenth time today. You refreshed your email a few times, and then sighed and collapsed into a chair. You only intended to stay here to escape the math teacher continuing to tell you you were failing her class.
“Y/N? Do you need to talk?” the counselor said from inside his office.
You knew him, from a few instances last year and the year before. But those were nothing compared to this.
You considered lying, saying that you were just not getting enough sleep. It wasn’t untrue; you had spent several nights lying awake recently. But… you were really tired of keeping in. You could talk to Bokuto tonight or tomorrow. However, as much as you knew he would care and worry, he might not understand, and he really wasn’t the best at listening.
So you shuffled into the counselors office. You didn’t like it much here. The walls were covered in obnoxious quotes and art students had done for him.
“So, what’s going on? Remember, you can say as little or as much as you want.”
You sighed. “I dunno. It’s just… you know my friend? Akaashi?”
He nodded.
“I’m just worried about him, I guess.”
“Have you told him that?”
You paused. “Well… yes? Sort of? I told him I wanted him to get better.”
“Get better?”
“He’s depressed. I think.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, it’s pretty obvious.”
He nodded. “It’s hard to see a friend go through that.”
Thanks for all your help, you thought. Your eyes wandered the walls again as if you were searching for answers, looking through eccentrically colored cats, dark skulls, feeble rainbows. A vine of flowers. A—
A vine of flowers.
You stood up and stepped towards the wall. Part of it was covered by a fresher piece of artwork, but it was undoubtedly his hand. Even the same pencil. This couldn’t have been from very long ago.
“Does he come in here?”
“He does. He draws.”
“Oh.”
You paused to look at it a little longer. Flowers climbing out of the lines of the paper. Life.
You slowly sat down again, feeling your knees begin to shake and a sob rise in your throat.
Drawing wasn’t a hobby or a habit for him. It was his last expression. His last hope. He needed it to survive. He—
It was all so clear now. You shouldn’t have interfered. You shouldn’t have touched his art. He would never trust you again, or if he would, it would remain bruised. He’d already needed an escape from you, even if it was small, and now you were invading even that.
You really hadn’t known what that sketch had meant to him.
Was it too late to take it out of the contest?
After you recovered somewhat, thanking the counselor for letting you sit in there for a bit, you started walking back to the math classroom. You hoped that it wouldn’t be too obvious that you’d been crying. You’d figure this out. At least — you thought you would. Until you opened your email out of habit and saw the contest results.
-♡-
Bokuto was supposed to come this evening. You were all supposed to meet at last year’s favourite hangout spot, one park a few blocks from the school. You were supposed to be happy to see him.
You still hadn’t told Akaashi about the contest, of course. You were going to wait until you found a good way to tell him. You told yourself that this would be within the next few days, although part of you knew it would be put off as long as possible.
Which was coming back to bite you tonight.
You almost didn’t want to go. You didn’t know whether you could face Bokuto, who barely knew what Akaashi was going through, and you knew you couldn’t face Akaashi because of the secret you were holding back. But — you had hoped that your best friend seeing Bokuto again would help him get back on track. Whatever track that may be. You’d be there to help him with that, too.
The question was whether he’d want you there.
Bokuto was already at the park, and when he looked up to see you, his face lit up. He was the same as ever, greeting you with a big hug and a big grin and asking you how your last year of high school was going. You told him some general opinions about how it had been going — more pressure, more work, and missing him, of course. He started to talk about how he was getting to meet lots of very talented people and he was learning a lot and the highlight was of course that he was having fun, but he really missed you and Akaaashi—
Akaashi showed up. He didn’t look overly excited, as you might have hoped he would’ve been. But he still smiled at Bokuto, and then made a comment about Bokuto not remembering to wear a jacket.
“It’s not that cold, Akaashi!” he said, and then gave him a hug which Akaashi half-reciprocated. You watched. You couldn’t help but study your friend’s expressions, looking for signs of real joy in seeing Bokuto again. So far, his narrow eyes were annoyed at the minimum.
“I missed you!” Bokuto was saying, and you started to zone out, watching Akaashi. His face was darkening.
You cleared your throat. “Do you guys want hot chocolate or something? I can run over to the cafe while you catch up.”
You didn’t really wait for a response, knowing that Akaashi wouldn’t give you much of an answer and Bokuto would insist on going with you. You didn’t know what Akaashi was feeling right now, but you had an idea that he really needed to talk to Bokuto. They hadn’t been together in person since the summer. And that time had been fleeting.
You noticed with confused annoyance that your nose had begun to run slightly; either a result of the cold, or it was because the idea of Akaashi having an opportunity to talk to Bokuto again made your chest hurt. The cold air hadn’t been that bad, but when you stepped into the small cafe, you could feel the difference. You took a deep breath, feeling the tension slowly fade now that you weren’t with them.
Why couldn’t things go back to normal?
And why had you expected that they would?
You ordered three drinks, and were careful to keep them balanced in the cup tray as you carried them back across the street towards the park. Bokuto and Akaashi had sat down on a bench; you wondered how cold the surface was. As you approached them, you could see Akaashi’s eyes widen at something Bokuto was saying.
“Congratulations on the what?” Akaashi asked him as you handed Bokuto a drink.
“The contest, of course! Didn’t you see the results?”
You froze as Bokuto smiled at you, taking the cup from you. “Hi Y/N! Thank you.”
“What contest do you mean?” Akaashi shifted his gaze to you. “Y/N, what’s he talking about?”
That tone again.
He knew.
You cleared your throat, averting your eyes from Akaashi. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Bokuto, what do you mean?”
“The art contest Akaashi entered. The results were posted tonight. My sister saw it and showed me. Did you get your prize already?”
Akaashi paused. “I didn’t… enter an art contest.”
He was looking directly at you.
“Oh, did you forget about it? I saw the picture, the one of Y/N with white coming out their eyes? Dude, I didn’t know you were so good at art!”
You blinked and then turned to look at Akaashi.
It was you?
It had been of you?
“I’m sure you’ll get it sorted out. Hey, how’s the volleyball team going, Akaashi? Did they ever promote you to the captain?” Bokuto raised the hot chocolate to his lips, smiling as he savoured the flavour.
Akaashi didn’t look away from you. It was like he was paralyzed. He was studying you, maybe to figure out whether it had really been you that entered his piece to the art contest two weeks ago after the way you’d pressured him about it. Or maybe he was just too afraid to meet Bokuto’s eyes, trying to figure out how to answer him without disappointing him.
Akaashi had quit the volleyball team this year, right before the summer. He hadn’t told Bokuto. It had been six months since he had left it. He seemed to have grown to hate it, now that Bokuto wasn’t a part of it. He had grown to hate a lot of things. Sometimes you wondered if that included you.
You finally looked away from him, glancing at the cup in your hand you had meant to hand to Akaashi by now. You could still feel his sharp blue eyes on you.
“I quit, Bokuto,” he said softly.
Bokuto quickly lowered the drink, mouth wide open. “You quit what? Being the captain?”
“No, Bokuto. I quit volleyball.”
Bokuto stared at him for a whole minute, while you both shifted uncomfortably.
“You’re not serious,” Bokuto replied finally. “You can’t be. You can’t quit.”
“I did. I just…” Akaashi took a deep breath. “I needed to do other things. It’s been a busy year.”
“You quit volleyball to draw?”
You couldn’t help but notice the way Akaashi flinched at this. You knew Bokuto didn’t mean it in an insulting way. It just — it had obviously never crossed his mind that people could find more joy in art than in volleyball. Although — that wasn’t necessarily the case as far as you knew. There was still a huge chance that Akaashi did still like volleyball, but just couldn’t play anymore.
“When?”
“June.”
“June? Why didn’t you tell me? Akaashi, why’d you quit?”
“I don’t know,” Akaashi said.
You could have sworn you heard the catch of a sob in his voice.
This spot in the park had used to be filled with so many nice memories. Memories of laughter and bonding, and shared feats and trials. Cold drinks and warm drinks. The remnants of sunshine.
Now, the sky was dark with lies and unshared feelings and disappointment in each other and yourselves. It felt as if hope was lost, even if you were with the two people you trusted the most.
-♡-
Bokuto had gone back to his family for the night. The sky had indeed lost most of its light since you had met Bokuto, and you sat on opposite ends of the bench with Akaashi, your more cheerful friend no longer there to try to hold things together. It was obvious that neither of you wanted to leave yet, though. The sky was dark, your drinks were empty, and your hearts were heavy, but you wanted to talk to him, and you knew he wanted to talk to you.
He hadn’t spoken up until now, but you could feel his frustration from the way he held himself, from the way he looked at you. Akaashi wasn’t very expressive, showing only a short range of emotions, so anything out of the ordinary said a great deal.
“You entered my picture into the contest,” he stated, because he knew there was no question.
You didn’t bother to hesitate. “I did. I’m sorry.” You fixed your eyes on the ground. The light of the park lamp a few feet away cast a shadow off of Akaashi onto the snowy ground in front of you.
“Why?”
“‘Cause I thought… I thought you’d see how talented you are. And… I mean, you did get runner up.”
“Are you trying to justify it?”
“No. I’m not. I’m sorry.”
He paused. “It wasn’t even done.”
You looked up at him. “What? It wasn’t?”
Cold laughter echoed out of his chest and he fixed you with steady eyes. “I was going to color it, Y/N.”
“You were?” You covered your mouth. “Oh…”
The energy was strange. You didn’t know whether he was mad. Was he mad? Was he upset? He didn’t sound like it, but you didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. If you said anything wrong right now…
“So… Bokuto said the picture was of me…” You sniffled. You were hoping that you weren’t wrong.
“Of course it was. You…” He shook his head, as if deciding against continuing.
“What were you going to say?”
“It’s… not important.”
You grimaced at him. “You’ve been saying that a lot.”
Akaashi’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “No, I haven’t. I don’t remember saying that at all.”
“Not out loud. But you say it to yourself every day.”
He didn’t respond, and you knew you were right.
“You have to talk to me,” you continued, tilting your head at him. “You can’t let art be your only source of therapy. Although… I realized earlier today that it was an outlet for you. I don’t know why I didn’t understand that before. I’m so sorry for putting your art out there like that when you didn’t want it to be. I’m sorry, Keiji. Please forgive me.”
The quiet of the night filled your ears for a few seconds, and then Akaashi leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His hair fell over his face and you couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, but you could still… you could still sit near him.
You pushed yourself down the bench, settling right next to him. And after a terrible minute of not knowing whether you should, you lifted your arm over his shoulders and whispered, “I’m right here.”
He was cold. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he was shivering, not sobbing. His back was cold, and when you reached for his hand, his fingers were ice.
But they tightened around yours.
He cried silently. He seemed to be trying his hardest to hide it, even though it was past that. He didn’t look up at you again until he had calmed his breathing.
His eyes were red, and his lips were trembling. You didn’t know why he hid it; he looked just as perfect as ever like this. You were just glad that he was willing to show it. After all this time, he was finally willing to show it.
“I’m sorry I keep disappointing you,” he murmured. He seemed too ashamed of himself to maintain eye contact with you.
Your mouth fell open. Disappointing you? “You’re not. You haven’t. Not once. I’m just so worried about you and I know I’m not helping but I wish I could—”
“Then why does it feel like I am?” His voice broke, and he turned his face away. “I’m… I keep failing every day. Every day I hurt you a little more. I don’t care at the time — because I always think…” He trailed off, looking at you. He didn’t seem to know whether to continue. But you nodded, and he did. “I always think that… well, you’re going to leave me. It’s only a matter of time before my rashness scares you away. You don’t like seeing me like this. You said so yourself. So eventually, you won’t want to.”
You wanted to argue with all of this, but you could tell there was more.
“I hate showing my feelings, Y/N. I can’t do this very easily. I don’t know how you do it.”
You smiled slightly. Because I have no control, you thought. The opposite of you.
“So instead I save it for when I’m alone,” he whispered. “When it’s dark. When the paper in front of me is the only thing that can judge me. I feel everything all at once, and then it’s gone. And I’m numb again. Because it hurts too much that I can’t…”
“Keiji.” You didn’t use his first name very often, but this was important. He locked shining eyes with you. “It’s because you’re forcing yourself to be alone that it hurts so much. It’s because you’re not letting me be with you when you need me to be. You always push it back around me. Why?”
“Because it’s a weakness. I can’t get anything done when I’m messed up. So I leave it for the times when I’m not busy.”
“You can’t keep distracting yourself.”
“No. I can’t.”
You both went quiet again.
“I’m sorry I never—”
You cut him off. “Don’t even start apologizing to me again. You’re perfect, Akaashi. You’re everything. You never stopped being everything. I know things are bad right now. I don’t know why, and I know you don’t know why either. So—” You tried to hold your own tears back, sniffling. “—can’t we face it together?”
Akaashi looked ahead into the darkness. It was still the park, but somehow at night it felt overwhelmingly unknown. “What does it mean to face it together?”
“It means…” You paused, also looking forward. “It means we hold on to each other. I won’t leave you no matter what. And you’ll stop being afraid of it. Or at least… face the fear, whatever that means to you. And I won’t go anywhere.”
His fingers, still intertwined with yours, secured.
“Okay.”
-♡-
Your goal now would be to give him back his drawing. You had all winter break to figure things out, but you didn’t have the patience. You wanted to look at it again, maybe even ask him why he drew you, if that was true. And what it meant. If you’d been able to explain what it meant to face things together, then surely he’d be able to explain what his piece meant.
Because you’d submitted his unfinished sketch to an art contest with ‘emotions’ as a theme without even knowing what his piece meant to him.
The piece deserved to win. But the submitter did not. Maybe runner-up had been a good balance.
You found that even when you got the piece out again, it felt wrong to look at it. Instead, you carefully put it in your bag to take to him, hoping he’d explain it to you. You’d already talked about the contest, and he’d said that he’d wanted to retract it from them as soon as possible. He said that maybe if he got a chance to finish it he may resubmit it for something else but it felt wrong to him to have it seen right now.
You understood that now. If only you had known, though. If only you had been able to make a better, simpler decision, rather than overthinking it so much that you’d convinced yourself a contest would help him. A contest, while you were right here in front of him.
Akaashi hadn’t changed overnight or anything. He was still acting closed-off. He still didn’t want to look you in the eye for a lot of the time. But it was clear that he was trying to change for you. You couldn’t tell whether this was a good change; not because you didn’t want the old Akaashi back, but because seeing him force himself this much was painful.
“It’s you,” he explained, holding his drawing gently as if he really did see it as you. “At Bokuto’s graduation in March.”
You paused to look at it yourself. “And the white bit falling out the eyes? It looks like tears of light.”
“It was going to be colors. Blue, and purple. And flowers. But I never got to color it.” He led you inside his house, saying something about tea.
You followed, asking him more. “Why? I mean, why the tears of blue and flowers?”
“Because… when I think back to that day, we really were a reflection of each other. We’re so similar, Y/N. At the time, we were both in tears. We both knew things would be different without Bokuto. I see myself in you.”
“And the flowers?”
“I just thought it would be nice. It’s not like I was going to have anyone else see it. I… those flowers…. whenever I’m drawing those flowers, Y/N, I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about how you’re the only nice thing left in my life, and how I have to keep reminders of you everywhere in case I forget.”
Akaashi had really been trying his hardest all this time. He might not look like it most of the time, but he was really, really trying so hard to hold onto the tiniest bit of beauty that he could see. Flowers. You.
“Wow,” you said. “I thought it looked cool. Like… laser eyes.” You laughed slightly. “I didn’t know you were such a deep thinker, Keiji. Must be all the poetry books.”
“You noticed my poetry books?”
“Of course I did. I never stopped paying attention to you, Keiji.” You couldn’t help but notice that he smiled a little every time you used his name. “Keiji,” you repeated, just see it one more time.
“Yes?”
“Your smile is stunning.”
He smiled again, covering it with his hand until it faded.
“I mean it. I wish you knew how beautiful you were to me. You said I was the last nice thing in your life? But that’s what you are to me…”
You trailed off, noticing the way he was looking at you.
Like he knew something you didn’t.
Like he thought you knew something he didn’t.
An unspoken understanding of utter uncertainty.
His eyes drifted to your lips, and back into your eyes again. He looked at you like this when you spoke to him about something important. But you weren’t talking at all.
He lifted his hand. You had been expecting his fingers to be cold like they had been last night, but they were warm against your chin. He brushed his thumb against your lips and your eyes fell closed. You didn’t know what he was doing — you didn’t think he did, either. And then you were sure he knew what he was doing, because he was doing it so well.
Kissing you.
His lips were warm, too, and soft. Softer than you’d imagined. Perfect.
Somehow, everything suddenly made sense.
The way you’d been so hesitant to touch him, afraid he’d somehow burn you the way he was igniting you now. The way you found him so beautiful, even when he was upset or empty or crying. The way his happiness was something you sought more than your own. The relentless drive you had to make him feel okay.
His lips against yours like a dream. Fingers ever-so delicately tilting your jaw towards him. And then — his eyes, blue like the flower tears he’d explained. The smile in them. The irreplaceable, invaluable smile. Everything you’d been hoping for.
He dropped his hand too soon, turning towards the kitchen.
“What kind of tea would you like to drink?”
The question hung in the air as you tried to regain your wits. Your mind was blaring his name in bold and lights, over and over again. Finally, you replied.
“Same as you.”
AN. thank you so much for reading !! this fic means a lot to me, and i'm wondering whether you caught the meaning of the ending or not. it's okay if you weren't paying attention the first time, go ahead and reread the fic :)/j
if you enjoyed at all, please do let me know or reblog. it means the world.
(yes, this was - sort of - a repost. i initially posted this story as a series but honestly i really don't like even reading series which is why i decided to do this.)
WHEN IT'S DARK: chapter 6, somehow (FINAL CHAPTER!!)
-> ARTIST!AKAASHI x GN!READER
CHAPTER 1 HERE
Summary: Akaashi’s mental health has been failing since Bokuto left and he seems to be dismissing many of his abilities - especially his artistic talent. When you see advertisements for an art contest that you know he’d have in the bag, you get an idea.
WC: 1k
Warnings/content: descriptions of depression, Akaashi being somewhat OOC due to evident mental illness, angst + arguing, hopeful ending. [this chapter = fluff. finally]
The first order of business was to give him back his drawing. You had all winter break to figure things out, but you didn’t have the patience. You wanted to look at it again, maybe even ask him why he drew you, if that was true. And what it meant. If you’d been able to explain what it meant to face things together, then surely he’d be able to explain what his piece meant.
Because you’d submitted his unfinished sketch to an art contest with ‘emotions’ as a theme without even knowing what his piece meant to him.
The piece deserved to win. But the submitter did not. Maybe runner-up had been a good balance.
You found that even when you got the piece out again, it felt wrong to look at it. Instead, you carefully put it in your bag to take to him, hoping he’d explain it to you. You’d already talked about the contest, and he’d said that he’d wanted to retract it from them as soon as possible. He said that maybe if he got a chance to finish it he may resubmit it for something else but it felt wrong to him to have it seen right now.
You understood that now. If only you had known, though. If only you had been able to make a better, simpler decision, rather than overthinking it so much that you’d convinced yourself a contest would help him. A contest, while you were right here in front of him.
Akaashi hadn’t changed overnight or anything. He was still acting closed-off. He still didn’t want to look you in the eye for a lot of the time. But it was clear that he was trying to change for you. You couldn’t tell whether this was a good change; not because you didn’t want the old Akaashi back, but because seeing him force himself this much was painful.
“It’s you,” he explained, holding his drawing gently as if he really did see it as you. “At Bokuto’s graduation in March.”
You paused to look at it yourself. “And the white bit falling out the eyes? It looks like tears of light.”
“It was going to be colors. Blue, and purple. And flowers. But I never got to color it.” He led you inside his house, saying something about tea.
You followed, asking him more. “Why? I mean, why the tears of blue and flowers?”
“Because… when I think back to that day, we really were a reflection of each other. We’re so similar, Y/N. At the time, we were both in tears. We both knew things would be different without Bokuto. I see myself in you.”
“And the flowers?”
“I just thought it would be nice. It’s not like I was going to have anyone else see it. I… those flowers…. whenever I’m drawing those flowers, Y/N, I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about how you’re the only nice thing left in my life, and how I have to keep reminders of you everywhere in case I forget.”
Akaashi had really been trying his hardest all this time. He might not look like it most of the time, but he was really, really trying so hard to hold onto the tiniest bit of beauty that he could see. Flowers. You.
“Wow,” you said. “I thought it looked cool. Like… laser eyes.” You laughed slightly. “I didn’t know you were such a deep thinker, Keiji. Must be all the poetry books.”
“You noticed my poetry books?”
“Of course I did. I never stopped paying attention to you, Keiji.” You couldn’t help but notice that he smiled a little every time you used his name. “Keiji,” you repeated, just see it one more time.
“Yes?”
“Your smile is stunning.”
He smiled again, covering it with his hand until it faded.
“I mean it. I wish you knew how beautiful you were to me. You said I was the last nice thing in your life? But that’s what you are to me…”
You trailed off, noticing the way he was looking at you.
Like he knew something you didn’t.
Like he thought you knew something he didn’t.
An unspoken understanding of utter uncertainty.
His eyes drifted to your lips, and back into your eyes again. He looked at you like this when you spoke to him about something important. But you weren’t talking at all.
He lifted his hand. You had been expecting his fingers to be cold like they had been last night, but they were warm against your chin. He brushed his thumb against your lips and your eyes fell closed. You didn’t know what he was doing — you didn’t think he did, either. And then you were sure he knew what he was doing, because he was doing it so well.
Kissing you.
His lips were warm, too, and soft. Softer than you’d imagined. Perfect.
Somehow, everything suddenly made sense.
The way you’d been so hesitant to touch him, afraid he’d somehow burn you the way he was igniting you now. The way you found him so beautiful, even when he was upset or empty or crying. The way his happiness was something you sought more than your own. The relentless drive you had to make him feel okay.
His lips against yours like a dream. Fingers ever-so delicately tilting your jaw towards him. And then — his eyes, blue like the flower tears he’d explained. The smile in them. The irreplaceable, invaluable smile. Everything you’d been hoping for.
He dropped his hand too soon, turning towards the kitchen.
“What kind of tea would you like to drink?”
The question hung in the air as you tried to regain your wits. Your mind was blaring his name in bold and lights, over and over again. Finally, you replied.
“Same as you.”
AN: okay so if there were things that didn't make sense PLEASE come into my inbox and ask me about them. i am prepared to answer at length bc there is so much about this i have thought out very thoroughly. this story has a lot of emotional meaning to me hehe. i was so messed up doing the taglist for this -- i finally got figured out all who was supposed to be on it now that it's done lmao
thank you for reading! i'm happy to be ✨done✨ with my second series. hopefully i never do a series again it's too much work JKASKLJDKADSJ sticking to long fics in the future 🤩 or at least .. less parts. this ... was too many.
