Chapter Text
Long hours had passed since the incident had happened, and they could sense that the sun was setting behind the heavy clouds, for the latter’s grey tones were quickly darkening as time passed. Night was slowly falling, and the warmth in the suffering man’s body slowly extinguished itself with it.
Bokuto kept on pressing shirt after shirt onto the still bleeding injury, even though they both knew it was completely useless. Akaashi tried to reason him without really exposing the painful truth, and yet Bokuto—
“Stop saying nonsense.” Bokuto’s voice was determined, yet it wavered, and the young man could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in an attempt to ease down the lump in his throat. The owl-like man’s nostrils dilated in time with his intake of quick and erratic breaths, the muscles of his cheeks shaking, and his teeth clenching.
Bokuto discarded another shirt drenched in crimson, and replaced it with a new one. He picked up a cloth from his lap and wiped the wounded man’s sweaty and impossibly pale brow. Then he took hold of his water bottle and softly pressed it to the man’s lips, tipping it ever so slowly so as not to choke him with its contents; he gulped down the fresh water flowing into his dry mouth, a shaky exhale leaving his lips when Bokuto pulled the bottle away from him.
“You should… start preparing yourself to leave.” He whispered, the simple words drawing much more energy from him than he thought they would.
“Mission aborted.” Bokuto spoke lowly, determined, and without meeting the other man’s eyes.
“Bokuto, you know I’m not going to—”
“I’m not– Ngh!” He shouted, cutting the other man’s words short. In the silence that proceeded, only Bokuto’s harsh breaths could be heard as he squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. “I’m not letting that happen, and I’m not leaving without you.” He murmured finally, lips barely moving, a thin streak glistening onto his cheek.
It was strange… to see the strong and broad and sturdy Bokuto look this– fragile. The weakness he was showing spoke more than what thousands and thousands of words could ever express. In the short time that they’d interacted, he had come to know that Bokuto was a very gentle and caring man, but knowing that he wasn’t insensitive –as most people he’d very briefly met after the catastrophe were– somehow provoked a slight squirming inside his chest.
Human. Another word was added to the list of terms that defined Bokuto.
Even as his entire body felt as if it had gone boneless, he lifted up a shaky hand and enclosed Bokuto’s tightly clasped fist into it. Bokuto finally turned to look at him, his eyes like melting gold the only thing clearly visible in the growing darkness. He pressed down on the solid hand, finding as much strength as he could in his tired limbs, and gave a gentle smile to man who was biting his own lip hard enough to make it bleed.
“Give yourself a break, please.” He echoed Bokuto’s words from hours before. The meaning behind the words was the same, but the situation in which they were spoken was different; he knew that, but he still needed to say them.
Bokuto breathed in hard, and lowered his face, fitting it into his free palm as his shoulders shook violently. He let the man cry, gently stroking his hand as hot tears fell onto the back of his own. He knew that what had happened had been nobody’s fault –only the stranger’s, and even then, the man was most probably driven by pure madness–, and yet he wanted to apologize to Bokuto. He wanted to make him feel better, to see him smile….
“Why…” A broken, breathy voice passed through the owl-like man’s quivering lips. Bokuto muttered the word over and over, softly, and mostly to himself as he rubbed his hand hard over his face.
Why, indeed.
Why had things ended up happening this way? Why had that stranger attacked when Bokuto was asleep? Why did that stranger have a knife and not a wooden stick? Why had he met Bokuto in such unfortunate circumstances that morning? Why had he chosen that precise cliff and not another? Why had Bokuto helped him through his panic attack? Why had he been at a friend’s house and not his own on the day of the catastrophe? Why… Why… Whywhywh—
Why was the world so fucked up?
Whoever held the answer to those questions had died long ago, before he and Bokuto were even born, he was positive of that. And in that case… those questions couldn’t be answered logically, therefore they weren’t worth even thinking about –that’s what he thought to himself. It wasn’t hard stopping his train of thought right there, given the muddy state his mind was in, which was caused by the excessive bleeding of his wound, but Bokuto was still to be worked with. He had to stop him from inflicting more pain to himself. He had to stop him before…
“H-hey… T-tell me sss-something no one kn-oows about y-you.”
It was only when the words left his lips that he realized he was shaking considerably, a terrible cold seeping from the inside of his bones, making his hands quiver and his teeth chatter.
“Shit.” Bokuto murmured hurriedly, quickly wiping his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “Fuck, your hand is so cold, I hadn’t realized.” His head moved from one side of the tent to the other, his gaze unfocused, his voice merely a breath. “What do I do, what do I do…”
And then his eyes set onto the wounded man’s face once more, and he crawled to set himself behind him, lifting the weightless yet heavy chest off the ground and resting it between his folded legs, against his own chest. He rested his chin atop black bangs, breathing softly into the soft strands, and wrapped his arms around the slender chest, enclosing the shivering hands in his own
Wide and good and warm. That’s how Bokuto’s body felt against his back, and how his hands felt over his own.
A small whine left his lips as Bokuto finished settling himself behind him. The man’s warmth embracing him felt so good he wanted to cry –but he couldn’t do that to Bokuto. He couldn’t do tha to himself. Instead…
“S-so… Tell me…” He trailed off, his voice cracking a little from the cold, although the latter was slowly receding thanks to Bokuto’s warm embrace.
“I– I don’t know…” Bokuto breathed out, pain dripping from his voice.
“Anything… Something r-really secret n-nobody knows about you…”
“I– I—” Bokuto stuttered, snuffling noisily as he tried gathering his thoughts. He breathed in deeply, inhaling a shaky breath, then he spoke, his voice only a whisper. “When I was a kid, I once stole an eraser from a supermarket, but then I felt bad and came back to the store to put it back. No one ever noticed and I never spoke about it.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the wounded man cracked into a small, weak laughter, but laughter nonetheless, taking Bokuto by surprise. His upper body convulsed slightly, overtaken by the movement of inhale-exhale as he laughed. He felt Bokuto slightly relax behind him, and a bitter happiness assaulted his heart. Was that small gesture giving hopes to Bokuto? He didn’t want him to hurt. He didn’t– Bokuto had to be strong, no matter what happ—
“What about you?” Bokuto asked softly, seeming to somehow have retaken control over his voice.
The jerky movements of his torso eventually came to a halt, and he coughed a little, overly exhausted from just a small laugh and the inner torture he was going through; Bokuto’s arms around him tightened a little. He fell deep in thought, trying to gather the information about who he was before and after the catastrophe, thinking about anything he had never told anyone about himself… He wasn’t one to speak much, so there had to be many possible answers to the question, but none of them came to his mind, except for—
“I had a– cat…” He began softly. Although his memory was fuzzy, he remembered that as it had been just days ago. “And he was my… best friend… for a long while. I told him everything –my joys, my frustrations, everything– and he…” He paused, guped down. “…talked to me.” Bokuto stayed silent, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over the back of his cold hands, waiting for him to continue. “He eventually died, and I came to realize, years later, that he– had never existed.” Bokuto’s chest stopped moving for a while behind him. Then, moments later, the owl-like man released a heavy breath through his nose, the air brushing the strands of hair on the top of the wounded man’s head. “I never spoke about any of that to anyone…” He finished in a murmur, his eyelids drooping a little.
A shock ran through his body and he opened his eyes wide, a terrible fear flooding his brain. He wheezed, letting his head fall onto Bokuto’s chest, and pressed himself more against him, feeling like he needed to stay close to him –to make sure that Bokuto wasn’t an illusion like his beloved cat had been.
“Shh… I’m here...” Bokuto murmured, invisible tears straining his voice once more as he gripped the wounded man tighter.
And that warm touch was enough for him to believe that Bokuto was real. That Bokuto was there, holding him, talking to him, making him feel whole again…
Making him feel truly alive.
Making him feel like there was finally something to life for.
Making him feel human once more.
He gasped heavily, every missing piece materializing itself into his mind and falling into place in a split second, living him breathless, lightheaded and slightly paralyzed. He gasped.
“Kh—”
“Hey hey, it’s okay, I’m here…” Bokuto’s words tripped over each other, panic rising in his voice.
“Kei-ji…” He finally managed in a whisper, his breath ragged. “Akaashi Keiji… That’s my– name.”
Bokuto feel completely silent for a second, then he let out a strangled sob. A breathy, crying smile ruffled Keiji’s hair. “Akaashi Keiji…” Bokuto murmured softly, the lump back into his throat. “It’s– It’s a beautiful name. And…” He trailed off, pained laughter rumbling softly into his throat and chest. “…both our names start with a ‘K’.”
Keiji smiled weakly, his entire strength mobilized to move the muscles of his face, and his head bouncing lightly against Bokuto’s chest, silently telling him that he’d heard him, but was unable to answer. Bokuto pressed his face into Keiji’s hair, shaky breaths escaping through his nose. In their pained silence, Keiji could feel his hair and scalp dampen with Bokuto’s warm tears.
“I’m glad…” Keiji began, falling short of breath for a while. “I’m glad that we met, Koutarou.”
Bokuto’s grip on his hands tightened, and the arms around Keiji’s chest tensed. “Please… Don’t– Akaashi– don’t make it sound like a– like a g-goodbye.” Bokuto spoke, his voice merely a breath, some of his words cut short by sharp intakes of air provoked by his weeping.
Keiji smiled, a pang of crude pain assaulting his chest for the first time that night. Bokuto’s words had slid slowly through his heart, like a sharp blade through tender flesh –ten, no, a thousand times more painfully than the real blade that had pierced him before. He clenched his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly and drawing in heavy breaths, the corners of his eyes stinging painfully.
“If only…” Bokuto murmured weakly behind him. “If only I hadn’t been asleep.” Keiji could hear the strain in his voice as he fought to maintain his tone even. Bokuto blamed himself for the incident, and it made Keiji’s chest ache, but he couldn’t find the strength to tell him that, no, it wasn’t his fault… “If only we could have spent more time together, in this world or another.” His voice was starting to waver, and Keiji could feel the erratic rising and falling of the chest to which his back was pressed. “If only I—” His voice broke into a sob, and he breathed hard, the arms around Keiji’s chest shaking uncontrollably. “If only I could hold you in my arms in a different way than this, Akaashi. Ngh—!”
Bokuto wailed, coughing and snuffling into Akaashi’s hair, gripping the slender man tighter, trying to pull him closer, and Keiji felt wet warmth trail down his own cheeks, and pain, strong enough to knock him off his feet if he would have been standing, traverse his heart.
He thought about how different everything could have been… A life with Bokuto, travelling alongside him, feeling protected by his strength at the same time as he protected his companion’s back. A life with Bokuto, discovering new places with him, or getting to see old ones from a different perspective. A life with Bokuto, seeing him smile at anything, with him, for him… A life with Bokuto…
Just a life with Bokuto.
His heart, his brain… his very soul hurt as he thought about all of that, and he let the tears fall, knowing that there was nothing left to do. But it still felt immensely painful, because he wanted… he wanted that life. He wanted to live.
The silence stretched for a while between them, Bokuto rubbing his nose over Keiji’s hair and kissing it softly from time to time, sniffles sometimes breaking through the air, and Keiji just breathed and wept silently, taking in the warmth irradiating from the owl-like man’s body pressed against his back.
He was starting to feel sluggish, and, soon, he felt as if there weren’t any tears left to shed inside his body. He lifted his heavy eyelids, nothing but darkness and irregular outlines falling under his gaze, and tried to free one of his hands from Bokuto’s painfully gentle grip. The man behind him straightened up a little, probably surprised by his sudden movement, but took away his hand nonetheless. Keiji mustered as much strength as he could to lift up his hand and cup Bokuto’s cheek into his palm, he tilted his head back and to the side to dive into Bokuto’s deep wells of shining gold. Keiji smiled, taking in the beautiful sight.
“Koutarou… Your eyes…” Keiji breathed, feeling his arm falter, and Bokuto pressed his palm against the back of Keiji’s hand it to keep it in place.
“K-Keiji…?” His voice was broken, and unstoppable tears fell down his cheeks and onto Keiji’s. Keiji realized Bokuto’s tear-streaked skin was soft and smooth and beautiful… Just as Bokuto’s entire being was.
“Your eyes are beautiful… Like the sun…” He whispered weakly.
The sun he’d longed to see for so long.
Keiji’s last breath escaped through his parted lips, a smile forever imprinted on his lips.
If you live…
I want to live for you…
And for myself too