#Elina's wholesome writing

[owlyflufff]

Koutarou finds the notebook on Keiji’s desk.

Don’t get him wrong, having the privilege to move to a new apartment with your partner was the best thing in the world.

Having to unload all of your belongings from the boxes and figuring out where to put each individual item however was not. More so in the absolute dead of the night, the invisible hands of time telling Koutarou it was already 12:00 am.

Numerous boxes were all that the eye could see, items already taken out lay in an absolute disarray across the four corners of their apartment, and one item that so happened to catch Koutarou’s eye was a notebook. 

He knows it’s history very well.

“Kou?” Not too far away, Koutarou can practically make up Keiji’s voice. 

“Over here Keiji, I’m in your nest of papers and stuff!” His office, Koutarou was referring to the spare room in their apartment that was going to be Keiji’s soon to be office. He was odd that way, for saying things that no one would often understand, giving things new names and making new definitions out of thin air.

“Is the nest littered with paperwork?” And Keiji might be a little odd as well, for speaking in those very same names and definitions, understanding Koutarou far better than anyone else.

“As littered as it will ever be!”

It’s alright though, in the simplicity of their still work in progress apartment, the two of them can be odd together.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” there’s shuffling here and there from Keiji as he makes his way to Koutarou although the latter was already fixated on the notebook in his hand. Hands threading carefully along years worth of writing, all bundled and sealed behind a worn out cover. Koutarou smiles.

Written at the very top of the notebook’s cover in Keiji’s handwriting it read: “Star Report”.

If you asked Koutarou-er-Bokuto back in his second year what he thought of the notebook, he would answer that it was a volleyball progress report of some sort.

Akaashi often brought it along with him inside of his gym bag, taking it out in between training and practice matches, tallying wins and loses from the aftermaths, jotting down strategies by the second.

He had often observed from afar, his attention shifting back and forth between the players on the court and his notebook as he wrote feverishly like there was no tomorrow.

Although, how often had it been that Bokuto would notice Akaashi looking at him the most?

The way Akaashi’s eyes would trail after him every so often. Swiftly he would retrieve his notebook whenever something became a detriment to Bokuto’s mood, whispers of numbered weaknesses pass through his lips if Bokuto listened close enough. Writing things down a lot more when it revolved around him, clutching the notebook tight like a close kept secret.

However, in Bokuto’s second year, he and Akaashi grew to be friends, and friends would often share each other’s secrets.

“Aghasheee,” Bokuto peaks from behind Akaashi’s shoulder, the sound of a notebook closing shut follows in suite.

“Yes Bokuto-san?” Akaashi peers from behind to a sulking Bokuto, careful to shift himself as Bokuto sags unto the side of his shoulder.

“I’m having a problem right now, a big one even!” Bokuto says.

“You’ve had one just yesterday,” Akaashi says. “You were complaining why getting snacks from vending machines don’t have the same mechanics as  crane games when clearly that would make everyone’s life harder-”

“But it would be fun, wouldn’t it?!”

“A fun way to torment everyone then yes,” Akaashi fiddles with the corner of his notebook. “Besides, a shooter game like those laser ones in the arcade would work much better if you want to get a snack out of a vending machine since you just have to shoot the target-”

“We can talk about that another time Akaashi, that’s not the problem right now!”

“What’s the matter then Bokuto-san?” There’s shuffling against the floor and Bokuto Koutarou finds himself face to face with Akaashi Keiji.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto inhales sharply then exhales just as much, building up the momentum for whatever he was about to say.

What follows is just what Akaashi expects from Bokuto, it’s unexpected.

“If I was a breakfast food, what would I be?”

If Akaashi was someone from Bokuto’s old team, he would have probably been on the receiving end of raised eyebrows, laughter and worse comes to worse, ignorance. However, Akaashi was not from his old team, Akaashi is Akaashi, and Akaashi stays. Akaashi listens.

“Breakfast food,” Akaashi repeats, seeking for more context so Bokuto continues. 

“My sisters keep saying cereals, Kuroo said I’m a breakfast burrito and Kenma thinks I’m toast with way too much butter.” 

The gears are turning in Akaashi’s mind, Bokuto thinks. It’s the way his face scrunches up, the way his fingers reach to nestle against his chin and his eyes shut close that make it so incredible Akaashi-like, it fascinates Bokuto a lot more than it should.

“What about me then?”

“Hm?”

“If you were to associate me with a breakfast food Bokuto-san, what would it be?” Akaashi is quick to ask.

Admittedly, Bokuto would have been countering Akaashi right now, saying he asked first so he should get a response first. So it surprises him, catches him off guard when he blurts out:

“Oatmeal, I think you’re oatmeal Akaashi.”

All Akaashi gives in response is a gentle tilt of his head and says, “oatmeal?”

His voice doesn’t sound offended or distasteful, only curiosity in between the lines, and Bokuto holds unto that curiosity that is given to him, wanting to give back as much.

“Yep, oatmeal!” Bokuto reconfirms. “Oatmeal becauseeee it looks plain at first sight you know? Nothing too extraordinary at least.” 

“But then,” He’s swift to look at Akaashi, afraid he’s already done something to the setter’s mood but Akaashi only waits, listens. “when you try it out, it’s actually pretty good!” 

Silence before- “what I’m trying to get at here is, there’s a lot more to it than what meets the eye.” 

There’s a shift. Bokuto’s sure, he knows there’s a shift in the atmosphere somehow, there’s a shift in the weight of his words and there’s a shift in Akaashi Keiji. 

For there is light dancing in Akaashi’s eyes. There is wonder, there is curiosity, there is fun and whimsy and understanding buried within those eyes and Bokuto so asks himself what it would be like to see Akaashi like this more often. 

“Bokuto-san...” Akaashi starts. “Would my answer to your question really mean anything to you?” He says slowly, “you seem to be better at these than I am, I’m sure you can answer your own question and besides, you’ve already gotten a handful of responses-”

“Of course it would.” If Bokuto could only hear himself right now, blissfully unaware of how firm he had spoken. “It’s you we’re talking about Akaashi! What it means to me is as important as what’s written in that notebook means to you.”

Bokuto looks over at the one in Akaashi’s hold. “That notebook...it’s important to you isn’t it?”

There’s a pause before; “Yes,” there’s a sincerity in Akaashi’s voice that catches Bokuto off guard, he looks at Akaashi and Akaashi meets him halfway, “the notebook is important to me.”

Bokuto nods and he smiles. “Then your answer is important to me as well.”

Bokuto watches as Akaashi looks up to face the ceiling, eyes shield shut with immense concentration. A beat, then:

“Pancakes.” 

Simple and straightforward Akaashi says, “Bokuto-san to me is pancakes. There’s a lot of layers stacked on top of each other, it can be overwhelming sometimes but, it’s nice to have...awfully sweet to the core even.”

Akaashi shifts away from looking at the ceiling and looks over to Bokuto, the faintest smile on his lips. 

Six months, Bokuto has only known Akaashi Keiji for six months back then and yet with all these jumbled up and broken bits of interactions, somehow it clicks.

Quiet first year and boisterous second year, setter and spiker, Akaashi and Bokuto, oatmeal and pancakes. An odd combination, but somehow they work, somehow they click.

“You know Akaashi,” Akaashi is smiling and Bokuto starts to smile as well, and he does not ever want to stop. “I think that’s a pretty good answer.” 

If you asked Bokuto in his third year what he thought about the notebook, he would answer that it was something that means a lot to Akaashi. 

Whatever that was at least.

For Akaashi began to bring the notebook outside of volleyball matters as well.  Sometimes during lunch, other times when it was just the two of them buying a new pair of shoes. Where Akaashi went, the notebook followed, and Bokuto was no fool to know just how much time and effort Akaashi place in writing along those pages, the dedication was admirable, endearing even. 

“Did you see my super cool killer serve just now Akaashi?!” Bokuto says one time in between practice. He leans close to Akaashi, prodding for any ounce of praise from the setter as he always does.

“I did, I also saw every other one of your serves that went outside and hit a homerun-”

“Akaashiiii, I told you it’s not about the failure but the success didn’t I?”

Akaashi pauses for a moment, thinking as he always does. “I think that one’s failures can be just as important as the success that comes with it.” A beat. “It makes for a good analysis of one’s performance.”

Bokuto hums for a moment and Akaashi expects another series of questions until-

“You know, I like you a lot Akaashi.”

Whatever response Akaashi had beforehand dies at the tip of his tongue as quickly as it had form. Now, Bokuto was never one to observe someone’s eyes if he’s going to be honest but Akaashi’s have never looked wider than they have right now.

“I don’t really follow,” is all Akaashi musters out, the notebook in his hand held in a death grip.

“Why wouldn’t I like you Akaashi!” Bokuto continues on. “You’re really observant, kinda like a hawk, always watching our opponents and probably thinking of ways to explode them with your mind-”

“I don’t remember wanting to explode anyone Bokuto-san.”

“But you look really cool doing it anyway, and you write things, in your notebook!” Bokuto swiftly points to the one in Akaashi’s possession. “That’s what you’ve been taking down right?”

There’s something in Akaashi features that tells Bokuto he’s missed the mark, not completely but it’s not like he hit a bullseye either.

“You can say that,” Akaashi says slowly. “I wouldn’t say it’s a volleyball log book though.”

“Oh, wait really?! Then what is it? What’s inside?” Bokuto bounces from left to right like an owl but his attempts to look at its content are futile in the face of a sealed notebook.

Akaashi stays silent, a lot longer than Bokuto expects but he opens up all the same. “A lot more things than you realize, maybe some things you don’t really know.”

“There you go again” Bokuto drawls on, “you’re being all cryptic on me Akaashi.”

“And if I’m doing it on purpose?”

“Then that’s just gonna make even more curious!”

There’s a pause between them, a silence, then a promise.

“One day,” Bokuto’s attention refocuses on Akaashi as he hears his voice.

“One day, I’ll let you see its contents.” Akaashi says. “Not now though, not yet. I want to see something through.”

Bokuto can’t say he understands those words, but they’re Akaashi’s words and he trusts Akaashi’s words, he trusts Akaashi. That’s more than enough to seal the deal.

“Promise me 100%?” There’s hope brimming in Bokuto’s eyes. He’s reaching out to Akaashi, trying his best to extend this bridge of trust forming between whatever bond he has cultivated with this setter.

What he doesn’t know is that Akaashi is reaching out as well, holding unto it just as much.

“I promise 120%.” 

Fast forward 5 years from that day and here Koutarou is, the weight of Keiji’s words and writings all held close to him, a single flip of a page away from uncovering all it’s little secrets.

Koutarou doesn’t turn the page. His eagerness to know is strong but that trust and love he has for Keiji is much stronger. He knows Keiji wouldn’t forget.

There’s the sound of fluffy slippers gently thumping along the floor and Koutarou smiles at the sound.

“Kou?” Keiji’s head peaks from the entrance of his office. His husband’s been hard at work organizing the rest of their apartment, the disheveled hair and the way his glasses are daring to fall over says as much.

Koutarou walks over to Keiji, gently pushing his glasses back up and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey hey hey Keiji,” Koutarou says with so much gentleness. “Thanks for all your hardwork today, we can fix the rest tomorrow if you’re tired.”

Keiji manages a woobly faint smile before he turns to look at the office, his eyes come to a stop and soon enough he’s approaching the item Koutarou already expects he would.

“Is this…” Keiji trails on, reaching out to get the notebook from the desk.

“The old notebook you used to write on!” Koutarou beams.

Keiji opens it, flipping through the pages with much care before closing it once more. “Kou, do you remember that promise I made to you during my second year?”

“Of course,” Koutarou says, a soft smile on his lips. “How could I ever forget a promise I made with you.” 

Keiji nods, still full of understanding after all these years that it makes Koutarou’s heart swell. 

“Here,” the notebook is placed in Koutarou’s hands once more, only he’s given this, Keiji gives this to him willingly and without hesitation. “I trust you.” 

The words are so simple, so easy yet Koutarou has never been more grateful. 

“I’ll give you some time,” Keiji plants a soft kiss to Koutarou’s cheek before he’s exiting the office. “It’s a fairly long read. If you need me love, I’ll be in the living room.” 

As Keiji slowly disappears from his line of sight, Koutarou looks down at the notebook and with a flip of the cover, he begins reading. 

The start is what Koutarou expects in some way. It was a series of observations from previous matches, both official and mere practice ones. Koutarou reads through every single one, because it’s Keiji’s writing and Koutarou loves reading everything his husband writ-

“Bokuto-san’s smile is kind” ;

is what the next few pages on the notebook say. Koutarou blinks once, back reading to make sure he isn’t seeing things and sure enough in Keiji’s writing were the words as they are. 

Along the next few pages were more things about him, nothing too personal but little tidbits of moments they’ve spent together. Quotes that made Keiji laugh apparently and observations of things Koutarou loves, all carefully (and poetically even-) written by his husband. 

“Troublesome, Bokuto-san can be troublesome sometimes but he often does it to improve his performance.” A page reads. 

“Bokuto-san likes knock knock jokes to cheer him up from a mood slump, perhaps I should find more of those.” Another page reads and Koutarou can quite remember how Keiji always knew how to get him back on his feet. 

“If Bokuto-san was a breakfast food, he would be pancakes.” is written on another page and Koutarou laughs at the memory of that conversation. 

There is a list of Koutarou’s weaknesses but there is another list of Koutarou’s strengths not too far away. 

Then, written within the pages of Keiji’s notebook it reads:

“I think I’m in love with Bokuto-san.”

And Bokuto pauses.  

“Yes, the notebook is important to me.”

“A lot more things than you realize, maybe some things you don’t really know.”

Oh. Oh.

The notebook had been filled with volleyball, tidbits of Keiji’s life but it had been centered on Koutarou. That’s what it is isn’t it? That’s what this notebook has always been about this whole time.

Praises about Koutarou’s performance, little moments with him that Keiji seemed to value so much, and love. An incredible amount of love and adoration for Koutarou that Keiji so singe-handedly manage to write into a notebook. 

It’s Koutarou, it’s always been Koutarou. To Keiji, the most important thing to him is Koutarou.

And oh, what love does to him. One of those things so happens to be bolting straight for the living room where his husband said he would be. 

There Keiji is, sorting a few of the picture frames by the corner and Koutarou has never fallen harder.

Keiji turns around in alarm to Koutarou’s haste entering the living room, notebook tight in his hands. 

All Keiji does is smile as if he knows, he always knows, he knows Koutarou better than anyone else truly. “I take it that you read everythi-” 

Keiji is swept off the ground and Koutarou thinks he can reach for the sky. 

“I,” Koutarou says as he presses a kiss to Keiji’s right cheek, “love,” another peck to Keiji’s left cheek, “you,” another kiss to the top of Keiji’s forehead, “so much,” a final kiss to the tip of Keiji’s nose however far his glasses allowed for Koutarou to reach, pulling Keiji close to him as he carries him bridal style. 

Warm arms wrap around Koutarou’s neck in return and he holds unto him just as much. Bubbles of laughter, soft and oh so incredibly fond, erupt from Keiji as he is spun around. It’s the most beautiful thing Koutarou has ever heard. 

He stops spinning and for a moment, so does the world. When Koutarou draws  back, Keiji looks at him with those eyes still full of wonder and fun and whimsy. Love written all over Keiji’s face. 

“I love you too Koutarou,” Keiji says a little breathless, “I’ve loved you for the longest time.” 

Whatever distance is left between them disappears as Keiji brings his glasses down, holding Koutarou’s face like something precious and leans in to kiss his lips, pouring all the words he’s said and has yet to say to Koutarou with it.

If you asked Koutarou now what he thought of the notebook, he thought it was everything. A perfect summation of Keiji’s feelings for him that makes his heart full.  A beautiful proof that he is Keiji’s everything. 

Here wrapped in warmth and being kissed by lips full of care, Koutarou tells himself, here is his everything as well, the whole world, right in his arms.  All in the form of Keiji. 

Not even words on a notebook could ever truly express this. 

[decennia]

Not gonna lie, bestie. Now I ship "Elina" out of principle. I desperately need to see Selina and Elijah together so we could spite the "Age gap apologist" anon. I want Selina to get that dick in a healthiest, most wholesome way possible. Let's get it done, Selina. I believe in you, girl.

YES VALIDATE ME LIKE A DAMN PARKING TICKET BABEEE

it really is gonna be the slowest of slow-burns, though. like, they only share their first kiss around the second installment, and even then, they probably won't get together until the third

look at me on my clown shit, already mentally planning ahead without even having started writing the first 🤡 clown shit

but it's going to be written in a way that it makes sense they would fall for each other. where you can pinpoint the precise moments he softens for her, and the moments she genuinely believes they could be something more.

[blamebrampton]

Eurovision 2018 final

And now, 12 hours after the rest of the world, and startlingly unspoiled, I hit the finals! I’ve not been recapping the touristy bits in the ‘postcards’, but if you’re thinking about visiting Lisbon, or Portugal in general, get to it; it’s utterly gorgeous. I’m hoping for somewhere in the top 10 for Jess, and I wouldn’t mind seeing Denmark win. They won’t. It’ll be someone awful, I just know it.

We open with fado music and it is pretty bloody splendid: melodic twanging steel strings and a heart-rending woman’s voice singing a song that is almost certainly of woe but resilience (my Portuguese is terrible). There are no unattractive people in this broadcast, it should be mentioned. Yet another reason to visit!

Another hot fado female vocalist, this time with drummers. She sounds more political, but again, I have no idea. I do know that Portugal is a country that has an amazing tradition of vocalists and narrative music, and I think we are seeing it shown well tonight. I like this a lot better than the usual blather from presenters. Though I like the women, they are admirably quick at moving things along.

And now some local DJs. Look, it was never going to stay glorious. Flags go past. There are many. We are welcomed to the grand final and the crowd goes wild. Hello contestants, I’m thrilled you get a moment in the sun before the horror of the contest descends. They are all smiling and lovely and I hope they all go on to have happy lives. Denmark are actually amusing! Bless their hairy hipster hearts!

You know, I can honestly say that everyone I’ve heard in this final can actually sing and on that basis alone, 2018 is already a good year.

The presenters are back. NCIS is dressed like a Goth prom queen, Blondie is wearing a beaded shower curtain, Saintly is cosplaying a tall Kylie Minogue (I loathe the fact I need to specify Kylies these days) and Little One has come dressed as an entrant from Greece. I actually know all their names now, but they’re longer, so it’s nicknames for me, I’m afraid.

I’m not going to repeat performance notes from the semi finals, but if you’ve missed every other piece of Eurovision commentary, a. Well done! b. What the hell are you doing here? c. I’ll let you know if anything new happens.

Ukraine, Melovin, Under the Ladder. Now I’m not focusing on the madness of the staging, I can mention that he and his backing singers are selling the hell out of this one. I like it a lot better the second time around, and the vocals are tight. It’s still a totally nuts Dracula moment, but if it wins I will not be at all upset.

Spain, Amaia y Alfred, Tu Cancion. Arena full of people holding up their lit phones. Young people singing to each other from opposite sides of the stage. It’s all very sweet. Now they are holding hands. Now they are hugging. Keep it nice, kids, you’ve got two minutes to go. They are lovely, but so wholesome that I feel listening to this song represents 100% of my daily intake of Vitamin C and roughage. Nice climbing crescendos and key change towards the end. Big lights, earnest singing into each other’s faces… this is a song that speaks of carefully studied microphone angles and breath mints. Bless.

Slovenia, Lea Sirk, Hvala, ne! This is the one that stuck with me since I last saw it, but more for the snappiness of the staging and performances than for the song itself. They are enormously charismatic and the choreography is very well put out there. She changes it up tonight and tells them to stop the music and has the audience sing the refrain with her, which I really liked and thought much more successful than the fake cut in the semis, even if the chap in the audience the camera cut to was clearly wondering what the hell was happening and whether he had accidentally eaten the wrong brownies before he headed out tonight. I’m keen on these girls and hope they do well!

Lithuania, Ieva Zasimauskaite, When We’re Old. Sweet whispering song girl is back. She remains sweet and whispery. She and Joanna Newsome would make a lovely duet. Her voice is genuinely delightful, though there is a little more assist in the reverb than she needs: makes it all sound a bit more Jared Leto than is optimal. But I quibble, she is a delight. Her husband comes to join her at the end again and she seems deeply moved. Bodes well for their future.  

Austria, Cesar Sampson, Nobody But You. I resent Cesar’s bad T-shirt more than in the semis, because he is a hot young man and we should be allowed to enjoy him in all his loveliness and that plasticky bit is very distracting. The backing vocals in this track are probably the best in the whole contest, and he has a beautiful voice that I hope to hear more of. In a perfect world, John Legend writes a better version of La La Land in which this chap and his best friend come to LA to pursue their dreams and both succeed without hurting each other. It’s actually a decent song, it just sounds like a lot of other decent songs. But his performance is something very special.

Estonia, Elina Necheyava, La forza. She is lovely, her frock is lovely, her voice is lovely, this song is not going to win. Which is a shame, because I would like to see the ECS back in Tallinn. If they had a European Frock Contest, this would be douze points from everyone.

Norway, Alexander Rybak, That’s How You Write A Song. He is a super chap and I hope he does win Eurovision twice, but if he does it with this song, I will be looking at the countries that vote for it with thinly veiled disdain. This is the sort of song that would have had Paula Abdul dancing with an animated cat in the 1980s. But I will say that it is lovely to have him back so that Nigel Kennedy will finally have to give up any idea that he’s the hot young man with the violin. The crown, which was never really Nigel’s, is clearly Alexander’s.

Portugal, Claudia Pasqoal, O Jardim. Pink hair gets an extra 10 points from me to start with. Sounds like London Grammar, in both tune and delivery, but since I love them, that’s fine. Her frock is a nice wrap-around black number with thigh split. She’s joined on stage by a woman who looks a bit like Kirsten Stewart, and the two of them are in fact much cooler than practically everyone else in the stadium. That was a nice soft song that you would wrap up a big night or start a romance with and I liked it a lot. I want to see it in the top five, but not winning, because it’s too expensive to do this two years in a row!

The presenters make a knowing reference to the queerness of Eurovision and it comes off as an inside joke not an arch piece of commentary, and this is the point at which I accept that I have fallen for their charms and will never be free of this annual horror.

United Kingdom, SuRie, Storm. We’ve done something unusual this year and sent someone good. It won’t help, but it’s a pleasant change. More pink hair, with a sort of Annie Lennox hair and jumpsuit arrangement. I hate to say this, but this song is actually pretty damned good. What the hell? We’re usually awful. The staging is admirably simple and the performance is a cracker, and there is some fuckwit invading the stage to shout something and WELL DONE YOU, YOUNG WOMAN, you held that together amazingly! She is in fact bringing it even more strongly, even though the incident clearly affected her. How amazing is she! ‘Some absolute cockhead’ is the Australian boy commentator’s description of the stage invader and he is 100% on the money.

They skip to the green room with Little One while they deal with the stage invader situation and she is talking to vampire boy from the Ukraine who offers to bite her neck and talks about his personal brand. If he doesn’t have 100,000 followers on Instagram and a YouTube ‘presence’, I will be very surprised.

Back to the show!

Serbia, Sanja Ilic & Balkanika, Nova Deca. This song remains as OTT and epic as in the semis with costumes and wailing mysticism that puts me in mind of nothing so much as one of those epic episodes of Xena that your girlfriends used to trot out in the 90s to talk about when lesbian subtext becomes text. It’s classic Eurovision and if it wins I will be thrilled.

Germany, Michael Schulte, You Let Me Walk Alone. It’s apparently a song to his father, who died when he was young, and it’s got a hell of a dose of the Ed Sheerans, from the hair to the singing style. It’s saved from the annoying side of the Sheerans by the personal message, which comes through strongly. Though it’s a little unfair in the ‘you will never know, because you let me walk this road alone’, unless his father took his own life. Just saying. Exactly the right mix of sentiment and ten-year-old newness that could win, thanks to a very strong performance.

Albania, Eugent Bushpepa, Mall. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this song in the semis and I am still surprised about it now. It’s everything I would usually mock, including a safe 80s chord sequence and handclapping, but it somehow works superbly and he looks a little nervous, yet has an actually superior classic rock voice, instead of the standard ‘thinks is great, is OK’ frontman. I think the dungaree drummer, who has done both of his straps up tonight, has won me over.

France, Madame Monsieur, Mercy. It’s political! And about refugees. And my French isn’t good enough to follow it entirely, but she is all the children, her name is Mercy and she is fleeing war and is alive and she needs our help. It’s actually a cracker of a tune, and the Jean-Paul Gaultier outfits are the classiest of the evening. Far too attractive for this shindig.

Czech Republic, Mikolas Josef, Lie to Me. I think what troubles me most about this song is that I keep expecting Will Smith to appear. Much as in the semis. They are perfectly good, it is just not my cup of tea. Nice little flip at the end, and the dancing is excellent. Bless em.

Denmark, Rasmussen, Higher Ground. I’m putting this out there: I think I want these guys to win. But it’s entirely based on the fact they are singing about pacifist vikings and I have mentally built them up into a rejection of toxic masculinity in favour of human decency and manliness meaning things like facing your fears and having integrity, which I can get behind. If there is a MeToo/Weinstein moment for any of these chaps, I’m coming after them with an axe. I do like a Wailing Medjeval Epic though.

Australia, Jessica Mauboy, We Got Love. Jess is gorgeous and she loves a crowd, which is good because the crowd loves her. Every lovely thing I said about her in the semis remains true. Alas, it also remains true that this song could be better. But it’s grown on me. We may be powerless to bring down the US government, and its lesser evils the UK and Australian governments, but we’ve got love and regular elections, and New Zealand, and it will be OK in the end. She’s a champion and I hope she makes the top five!

Saintly and Blondie are back mocking social media and rightly so.

Now NCIS is eulogising the first winner of the Eurovision Song Contest, Lys Assia, who died at the age of 94 in March. For five seconds. There’s efficient and there’s cold, ladies.

Finland, Saara Aalto, Monsters. This is the other song I want to win, though I have to confess I wouldn’t mind if the UK won, after SuRie’s amazing turn. But Saara’s voice fills the stadium and sails up and down the scale. Still with the Annie Lennox Bondage Backup Dancers, which makes two tributes to Scotland’s finest Oscar winner in the one show. I’m slightly less convinced by the song the second time round, but the performance is great. Her backwards death dive at the end is a cracker!

Bulgaria, Equinox, Bones. This song remains all about the girl’s Heey-yays for me and nothing has changed. It’s another one that is very good, just not for me. Cup of tea time! Good lighting at the end. T2’s Turkish Apple is definitely the right tea for tonight!

Moldova, DoReDoS, My Lucky Day. Kids, I am all for polyamory, but it should be based on mutual communication, not sneaking about. It turns out well for them, though, and it’s a fun song.

Little One is here with the audience and everyone is Very Drunk. I think she is trying to pick up a tall British girl, and I like her even more.

Sweden, Benjamin Ingrosso, Dance You Off. This is a favourite with the punters but not with me. Soz, Ben.

Hungary, AWS, Viszlát Nyár. It’s the lovely Lordi Lite lads and while I respect his vocal cords for surviving the sustained abuse, I am skipping through this one as it’s getting late here and there are hours of judging to go.

Israel, Netta, Toy. The Aussie commentators have mentioned that she would have broken a stage invader and I think this true. She looks as though she would have enjoyed it, too. I feel you, Netta. The chicken bits are a bit distracting, but she sells the hell out of this and it’s bright and bouncy. Another one I won’t mind winning. Also, more pink hair. I was clearly two years ahead of the curve on that one.

The Netherlands, Waylon, Outlaw in ’Em. Apparently, Waylon is cool with people who don’t really like country. Which is good news. I do like country if it’s Johnny Cash or Dolly Parton, but yeah, on this one we’re just going to have to quietly share a beer and talk about something else, Waylon. You’re a good chap and your band is excellent, so if you win I won’t be upset, even if I still don’t like this song. It’s just my taste rather than there being anything objectively bad about it. Hang on: turns out the band are the dancers. They are going off and taking the piss in epic quantities and I like it quite a bit more after that.

Ireland, Ryan O’Shaugnessey, Together. Apparently China cut the broadcast of this one due to the gay backup dancers and Eurovision cut their contract in response. Well done, Eurovision! This song remains sweet and beautifully performed, with the backup dancers really carrying the whole show. But there’s not a lot to it aside from the lovely staging.

Cyprus, Eleni Fouriera, Fuego. Another one I will not be surprised if it wins. Spectacular combination of song and performance, with fabulous backing dancers/singers (again, the best combo set). If Beyonce came to Eurovision in disguise, this would be her performance, and I am reading the whole thing as a tribute to Queen Bey, which is pretty easy given that practically every aspect of it references her. She is nervous as hell at the end, but the performance was stonkingly good.

Italy, Ermal Meta and Fabrizio Moro, Non me avete fatto niente. Written in response to the bombing in Manchester, this is a strongly serious track from a country that can often be flippant at Eurovision and in the first thirty seconds we see the passionate political engagement that explains the entirety of Italian politics. It’s a strong piece and well performed, including wailing hero notes  towards the end and overlays in the various languages of Europe declaring defiance to terrorism. I think it might be in with a shot.

Presenters have had a costume change. NCIS is Morticia Addams, Blondie is Meryl Streep circa 1988, Saintly is Sophia Loren circa 1968 and Little One has come as a Glomesh handbag. Oh, holy moly, it’s recap time before the votes. We learn that SuRie was invited to perform again and has decided not to. Bless her toughness! I am fast forwarding through this as life is too short.

Blondie’s cleavage is plunging to her belly button and I am just impressed by the amount of double-sided tape holding that outfit together. The interval act is local musicians, who are splendid, but I need to get a few things done while I listen, so you go and download it from the official site. Worth your time!

Another recap, more fast forwarding. Australia’s commentary team are doubling as the royal wedding commentators and I think I might actually catch that on SBS as it would be a bit of a giggle. It’s Australia’s multicultural channel and I love it because it’s full of international films and news, but I have an American friend who refers to it as ‘That channel where your government gives you free soft porn.’ Mate, it’s Swedish film and you just need to expand your horizons!

Blondie is with the audience and she has found some Irish people who are delightful. And now they are doing Portuguese pop culture things that go over my head, and recapping Junior Eurovsion, which is like Senior Eurovision, but with more sedate images and sober contestants. The Junior winner sings a little of last year’s Senior winner, which is apparently a new condition for entry into Lisbon as every man and his dog as been trotting it out. Saintly presenter might be a little drunk, you know.

NCIS and Little One are in the Green Room, introducing Salvador Sobral, last year’s winner, and he’s looking a bit healthier, which is good! Still as fey as ever, but find your schtick and stick with it, I say. Lovely new song, you should download it, too, as I need to put a load of dishes on, so won’t be describing it. Ah, he’s had a heart transplant. Excellent! That is good news!

He’s joined by the legendary Caetano Veloso and they (Caetano for the most part) sing last year’s winning song and it’s quite lovely. Salvador is visibly moved by the whole thing. Where is his sister? Apparently he’s been slagging off some of the other songs and it’s caused an upset, but seriously, Sir Terry Wogan made a career out of that and there are thousands if not millions of us who do it on an amateur basis, so why should he miss out?

Little One has some fans pretending to do some last-minute voting, and she has been the hardest working presenter. I hope that tall British girl she was chatting up earlier has a cold bottle of gin and a big cake for the two of them later tonight, she’s earned it!

Jon Ola Sand says votes are ready to go! Jury votes first.

Ukraine first: 8 The Netherlands, 10 Israel, 12 France.

Azerbaijan, 8 Hungary, 10 Serbia, 12 to Albania.

They are FLYING through this.

Belarus, 8 Norway, 10 Austria, Australia is nowhere at the moment, 12 to Cyprus!

San Marino, 8 Sweden, 10 Germany, 12 to Israel. He’s chattier than the others.

The Netherlands, 8 Sweden, 10 Austria, 12 Germany.

FYR Macedonia, 8 Serbia, 10 Cyprus, 12 ESTONIA! YAY

Malta, 8 France, 10 Italy, 12 Cyprus, which is starting to pull ahead. Australia still nowhere.

Georgia, 8 Austria, 10 Estonia, 12 Sweden, who take the lead. Meh.

Spain 8 Austria, 10, Israel, 12 Cyprus. UK still on 0, which is for once entirely unfair.

Austria, 8 Sweden, 10 Germany, 12 Israel, who pop in front. It’s a big battle tonight!

Denmark, 8 Austria, 10 Australia, THANK YOU! 12 to Germany.

UK, 8 Bulgaria, 10 Israel, She cracks onto Jon Ola and I respect that, 12 Austria. Not a sausage to Oz, you bastards.

Sweden, 8 Australia, 10 Austria, 12 Cyprus.

Latvia, 8 Estonia, 10 France, 12 Sweden.

Albania, 8 Bulgaria, 10 Cyprus, 12 Italy!

Croatia, 8 Moldova, 10 Israel, 12 Lithuania. The UK has 4, which is not enough, but there we go.

Ireland, 8 Germany, 10 Bulgaria, 12 Cyprus. Nothing for Oz. I’m reading this as a protest against Peter Dutton’s appalling treatment of refugees.

Romania, 8 The Netherlands, 10 Spain, 12 Austria.

Czech Republic, 8 Sweden, 10 Ireland (nice!), 12 Israel.

Iceland 8 Israel, 10 Albania, 12 Austria. Denmark is down on 7, alas.

Moldova 8 Bulgaria, 10 Israel, 12 Estonia!

Belgium, 8 Sweden, 10 The Netherlands, 12 Austria, which is terrific given how good his voice is!

Norway, 8 Austria, 10 Sweden, 12 Germany.

France, 8 Germany, 10 Australia, Merci!, 12 Israel. They and Austria are creeping ahead.

Italy, 8 Denmark, 10 Germany, 12 Norway.

Australia, 8 Estonia, 10 Germany, and Ricardo Gonzales’s Aussie Portuguese accent is a cracker. 12 to Sweden and FUCK YOU ALL the Australian jury. This is how we get Turnbull and Dutton.

Estonia, 8 Cyprus, 10 Lithuania, 12 Austria.

Serbia, 8 Italy, 10 Germany, 12 Sweden.

Cyprus, 8 Italy, 10 Moldova, 12 Sweden and you are all clearly drunk. The jury votes are all over the shop.

Armenia, 8 Israel, 10 Moldova, 12 Sweden.

Bulgaria, 8 Czech Republic, 10 Lithuania, 12 Austria.

Greece, 8 Sweden, 10 Moldova, 12 Cyprus. I typed that 30 seconds before she said it. No need for correction.

Hungary, 8 Austria, 10 Albania, 12 Denmark! YAY! The Vikings go off! They are chuffed.

Montenegro, 8 Moldova, 10 Albania, 12 Serbia. Big surprise!

Germany, 8 Ireland, 10 Austria, 12 Sweden because they are all drunk. But Austria is still ahead!

Finland, 8 Sweden, 1o Bulgaria, 12 Israel.

Russia, 8 Israel, 10 Sweden, 12 Moldova; look, they were fun.

Switzerland, 8 Lithuania, 10 Estonia, 12 Germany.

Israel, 8 UK THANKS, 10 Sweden, 12 Austria.

Poland, 8 The Netherlands, 10 Germany, 12 Austria.

Lithuania, 8 Sweden, 10 France, 12 Austria.

Slovenia, 8 Cyprus, 10 Austria, 12 Sweden.

Portugal, 8 Austria, 10 Albania, 12 ESTONIA! Oh, Portugal, you are so delightfully odd. I love you guys.

That’s it for juries, but we have the popular votes to go. Australia currently in 12th, Denmark and UK nowhere, which is cruel on both counts. Austria in first place, which I think is down to a great performance. Sweden second, probs down to the drink. The Israel song is third, which I think will go up with the popular vote.

Jon Ola Sand is back. He says the public votes are exciting. Here we go! They are reading them out from lowest to highest.

9 to Australia. Fuck the lot of you. Unless that’s a protest against Australian refugee policy and black deaths in custody, in which case, fair enough. 18 to Portugal and Spain 21 Sweden YES! Good! Sorry, I mean, Oh well. 23 Slovenia 23 Finland Rude. Should have been more. 25 UK Very rude! Should have been lots more! 32 The Netherlands 58 Albania A joke. The people are morons. 59 France Ripped off. 62 Ireland 65 Hungary 66 Bulgaria 71 Austria NO!!!! WOE!! Sorry, mate. You were triff. 75 Serbia Should have been more. 84 Norway 91 Lithuania 102 Estonia 115 Moldova 119 Ukraine Fair, they deserved some points for that show. 136 Germany Surprised it wasn’t more, he’s rather good. 180 Denmark I’m good with that one. They are stoked. 215 Czech Republic 249 Italy and they are also thrilled. 253 Cyprus I think she is both heartbroken at not winning and thrilled at not bankrupting a Cypriot TV station with the cost. ISRAEL HAS WON! (though I missed how many popular points they got. More than 253)

(This will be a tiny bit awkward if the whole Iran war thing kicks off. Maybe this will be the kick up the bum that Netanyahu needs to pull his head in. I would very much like my friends in Israel to have fewer things to worry about, so not starting wars seems like an excellent idea.)

Netta is thrilled, the ladies are a little drunk, Jessica Mauboy has snuck off to party with the Irish mob and fingers crossed Mr Austria’s phone is already running hot with people who want to put that glorious voice with better songs. But keep the backing singers. They were ace. Netta sings us out and we are DONE for another year. Goodnight, Eurovision. Why can’t I quit you?

[owlyflufff]

“If the world was ending, where would you be?”

The other side of the phone blurts. Distortion still in the background having signal that’s barely faring, but the question is relayed all the same. 

Keiji pauses. Koutarou waits.

It’s a little funny actually, how the papers laid out before Keiji on his desk are the spreads for the next chapter of Udai’s manga. The hero being left at the mercy of a battle between life or death, stakes raised and nowhere to turn. 

Now, Keiji is no stranger to his husband’s constant hypotheticals. In high school, Koutarou had barged into his classroom to ask whether he would fight 10 zombie sized chickens or 10 chicken sized zombies. Growing up took no toll on Koutarou either as once when they were taking a train home, he had asked if Keiji would still love him if he was a worm (he said yes of course). 

However, this hypothetical is--how could Keiji phrase it?--graver than the usual. 

He wants to think there’s not much to it, but he had always been the kind to pour his heart and soul into things. Faintly, Keiji’s heart is laced with worry.

“The end of the world?” Keiji starts, “as in a big phenomena strikes?”

“Oh, something like that yeah!” Koutarou’s voice comes in loud and clear. Good, at least he doesn’t sound disheartened. “I was thinking a zombie apocalypse!” 

“A zombie apocalypse...” Keiji sways in his seat. “Now, what brought this on?” 

“I remember talking to Kuroo and Kageyama about it in highschool. I was gonna ask you but then I messed up and forgot.” If Keiji can picture it so well, he can practically see the way Koutarou’s hair sags at the last bit, it almost makes him smile. 

“Hinata brought a volume of a zombie manga he’s been reading recently and then I remembered!” 

“I see,” Keiji says as he fiddles with his pen. “Where would I be in a zombie apocalypse? Well that’s obvious, I would want to be with you, love.” 

“So, you’d give me tosses even if there’s a zombie apocalypse?”

Keiji doesn’t even think for him to respond with, “as many as you’d like.” 

“But then what about the zombies?!” 

“Why should it matter if it’s the end of the world?” 

“That’s the thing Keiji!” Koutarou says, “that’s way too easy of an answer, I mean, what if I was a zombie?” 

The pen in Keiji’s fingers comes to a halt and his feet are no longer attempting to swivel his chair. Even in those moments of pausing, Keiji still knows his answer.

“Then I’ll become a zombie as well, so that you’re not alone.” 

“But I don’t want you to turn into food for the zombies Keiji!” 

“If that’s the case, I’ll find a cure for you,” Keiji says, a little stunned at his stubborn resolution. “And if there’s none, then I would be a zombie with you Kou.” 

“Really?” Koutarou’s voice empty with uncertainty.

“Of course.” Keiji’s own certainty filling in the gap. 

There’s silence on the other side and Keiji wonders if he did something wrong between the lines until he’s flung another question. 

“What if I wasn’t in the gym?” 

Keiji muses for a moment before he picks up the conversation, “what do you mean by that Kou?” 

“What if you couldn’t find me in the zombie apocalypse Keiji? What if I was somewhere and you don’t know where I am? I could be on the other side of the worl-”

“Then I’ll find you.” 

Silence rests in the air for a moment, the grip Keiji has on his phone has never been tighter, the affirmation lingering . 

“I’ll find you, love.” Keiji repeats as a reassurance, a promise. “It wouldn’t matter to me if you were a mile away or two, if you were in another country even, I would still find you and I’ll make sure my last moments are spent with you.”

Keiji wonders if Koutarou knows how the world would amount to nothing if he didn’t have him by his side. If he knew how the world wouldn’t shine half as bright without its star? 

If you asked Keiji, the office perhaps was not the best place to unleash all his sappy sentiments and honesty so openly. However once the dam is broken, it’s always been difficult to close it. 

Koutarou had been one of the first to open it after all. 

The lack of any reaction (or signs of life even-) from Koutarou starts tugging at Keiji, then he comes back. 

“Keiji...” The pause is almost nerve wracking, “you know I’d do the same for you right?” 

It leaves Keiji a little breathless, how Koutarou would so openly give him this affection just as much, perhaps more than Keiji can ever give him. How Koutarou’s words are for him, how those fonds looks are for him, how those smiles are for him, how those stupid silly hypotheticals are for him, and how openly and earnestly Koutarou is simply his. 

“You don’t need to worry.” Keiji says. Though Koutarou isn’t here to bear witness to it, his eyes are alight, his heart is full and his lips really mean to say:

I know. I’m glad. I love you.

They still themselves in the comfortableness of the moment until Keiji starts tentatively. 

“I don’t quite understand why you’re so worked up about the zombies getting to us love.” Keiji presses and Koutarou hums in question. 

“Hypothetically, if we were in the gym, then wouldn’t we be able to fight the zombies with volleyballs?” 

Keiji can clearly hear the gasp from Koutarou on the other side. 

“You mean, you give me tosses and I decapitate them with my killer spikes?!” 

“Exactly,” Keiji goes on. “We can turn it into our weapon.” 

“Keiji...” Koutarou stills and Keiji’s sure that they’re on the same wavelength. “That opens up a whole new realm of possibilities, why didn’t I think about that sooner?! Wait! I have to tell Kuroo and Kageyama about this and...” 

As Koutarou rambles on, Keiji thinks about how he’s longed and chased for this star for so long. He smiles.

He would do it again. If he was able to follow this star for almost five years, Keiji thinks he would follow Koutarou time and time again, even till the ends of the earth.

[owlyflufff]

“Akaashi, if you had to gift something extra special, what would it be?”

If Akaashi was going to be honest, being asked about his personal thoughts in the art of gift giving was not one of the kinds of questions he expected Bokuto to ever ask him.

Yet here he is, finishing the remains of a meatbun, sitting side by side with Bokuto under the shade of a tree and being asked just that.

“How extra are we talking Bokuto-san?” Akaashi prods, taking one final bite of his meatbun and tucking it safely for later disposal.

“I meannnnn,” Bokuto drawls on, stalling the idea a little longer than Akaashi suspects. “it doesn’t have to be EXTRA extra you know? Just enough to sorta surprise or make them happy is all.”

Akaashi pauses for a moment, unable to narrow and propose any ideas so he continues. “Well, usually you would go for something that person likes.”

“But that’s too basic! If I really wanna surprise them it has be something different, something that really makes them go ‘whoah!’ or ‘oh’, something-”

“Unexpected?” Akaashi asks. Bokuto stands up and points at him as if he’s hit the bullseye.

“That’s it Akaashi!” Bokuto says, triumph beaming across his face.

Unfortunately, that was where Akaashi was at fault line. For you see, Akaashi’s family has always been more “traditional”, gifting simplistic items like a book about poems, a vase with a beautiful flower arrangement and meaning behind it or simply a well prepared japanese bento box.

It’s not that Akaashi was particularly against his family’s ways but it came with the expense of him being unable to give things that he thinks people will like. He tries nonetheless, for Bokuto, he can at least try.

“Do you have anything in mind as of now?”

“Not really,” Bokuto swings his arms to and fro, practically in a standstill “I’ve been thinking about buying something, a book maybe? But nahhh, I don’t think it’s enough.”

“It’s the thought that counts Bokuto-san,” Akaashi can’t help but let a tinge of fondness surge into his words seeing Bokuto’s thoughtfulness. “The fact that you’re thinking about this person and what gift to give them in the first place is generous enough, I’m sure they’ll understand and appreciate your efforts just as much.”

There’s a glint in Bokuto’s eyes, “you think so?”

Akaashi can’t promise Bokuto, especially since he doesn’t even know to whom Bokuto is giving a gift too, but he can give a reassurance.

“I’m sure,” Akaashi says, not with the slightest hint of finality or exasperation, but affirmation.

There’s a smile forming on Bokuto’s lips and it’s all Akaashi needs to see before it sags momentarily, “I still want it to be personal though, I got to make it special somehow.”

Akaashi stands up from his place after a moment of thought, “if you don’t want to purchase something, then how about a handmade item instead?” 

“Oh! Like what exactly?” 

“Come with me and I’ll show you.” Akaashi says and he tries to pay no mind to Bokuto as his “Akaashi, don’t act all mysterious on me like this!” fades into the distance. 

It was a simple task really, whatever Akaashi had in mind involved them cutting colored paper into thin strips, numerous pieces were sprawled along the linoleum floor of their gym. The two of them were the only ones as of the moment, far earlier than anyone else in the volleyball club. 

“I’ve used to fold a lot of paper with my sisters before,” Bokuto says, cutting away at another sheet of paper, “we used to make a lotta paper planes and boats, but never like this.” 

“Just wait and see.” Akaashi says in return. They cut a few more pieces of paper before they lay it beside one another on the ground. Akaashi picks one up and scoots closer to Bokuto. 

“Here, watch.” Slowly and carefully Akaashi folds and weaves through the strip of paper, laying some portions on top of the other until it formed some sort of pentagon. 

“It’s very small,” Bokuto comments, curious as always. 

“You’d be surprised,” as if good timing, Akaashi proceeds to pinch the sides of the pentagon. It earns a small “huh?” from Bokuto before it turns into a series of awes. 

Before them was a makeshift paper star. A small one at that but the color of the paper added a certain beauty to it. 

“They’re origami lucky stars.” Akaashi says. He raises the little paper star up to look at his work before gently plopping it into Bokuto’s hands. “I’ve never actually received any before but my mother taught me how to make them. They say if you fold at least 100 of these and gift it to a person in a glass jar, the receiver can make a wish.” 

Something sparks within Bokuto, his smile awfully big for holding something so small. “This is so cool, a perfect gift even Akaashi!” 

“You’ll have to learn how to make them first before you can even gift one.” Akaashi points out as he hands over a strip of paper over to Bokuto. “How about you try, I’ll guide you along the way.” 

Bokuto beams, scooting a lot closer than Akaashi expected before, “I’d like that a lot actually.”

After much instruction, whining from Bokuto and an entire volleyball practice session later, Bokuto’s been able to fold at least 25 stars. A few failed attempts but it was better than nothing. 

The sun has already set and the gym had been locked by the time Bokuto and Akaashi leave the campus. Bokuto says nothing as he smiles and  looks down at the small stars in his hands. 

“I’m gonna head home and finish this as soon as possible, thanks again for the gift idea Akaashi, see you!” Bokuto sprints away and Akaashi waves, and that was that. The origami lucky stars never brought up again.

At least, that’s what Akaashi thought.

For after a few months have passed from the corner of his classroom, Akaashi can see resting on his desk was a small colorful jar. As he approached he could see the jar was jam packed with small colored stars. Yellow, blue and green stars made up the glass jar into a spiraling but colorful mess. 

Carefully, Akaashi picks up the jar to inspect it, attached to the top of the lid was a small paper tag that read “Thank you!”. Right beside it was a small drawing of a star. 

Akaashi knows this handwriting, he knows it better than anyone else. 

Practice had ended a lot earlier than the usual. A perfect window of opportunity for Akaashi. 

“Bokuto-san?” The latter jumps at his name, if the sky wasn’t dark Akaashi could have sworn he saw beads of sweat forming on Bokuto’s face. 

“I can’t help but ask, but did you leave this on my desk?” Akaashi takes out the small glass jar from his bag and shows it to him. It’s hard to tell whether Bokuto’s beaming in joy or squirming in fear. 

“Oh yeahhhh,” Bokuto looks at anywhere except at Akaashi. “It’s for you.” 

Akaashi has to backtrack momentarily, thinking about the stars, the small tag and it’s writing, the effort. “You made this for me?” 

“Yep!” 

“I...” Akaashi looks back and forth between the jar and its maker, “I don’t  understand Bokuto-san, it’s not my birthday-” 

“Oh no no no!” Bokuto moves frantically, “it’s not an early birthday gift, or Christmas one. I just- I just wanted to give it to you.”

Akaashi thinks, and he recalls about their old conversation. 

“Akaashi, if you had to gift something extra special, what would it be?”

Akaashi thinks and recalls and thinks and recalls until his head hurts and his urge for confirmation is far greater than anything else, “so the person you were gifting to....was me?” 

“Without a doubt, I wanted to give it to you as a thank you!”

The tag attached to the jar says that much and yet, ”why? A thank you...for what exactly?” 

“The thing is, you’ve been helping me out a lot with late night practices,” Bokuto shys away from his usual upbeat demeanor and there’s something more vulnerable, softer about this Bokuto in front of Akaashi. 

“Like you’ve been helping me out a LOT lot! And I don’t mind at all, but Washio’s been telling me not to trouble you and when I thought about it I think ‘huh, maybe I have been asking a bit too much from Akaashi’. So I decided, I should give you something in return for all that.”

“But Bokuto-sa-”

“I know! It would have been a lot easier to just say thank you but that would come off as boring, so I wanted to get you a physical gift but then...”

“Bokuto-sa-”

“I decided it would be way too unoriginal if I just bought you a book or something, you have a lot of those too! So I-”

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi calls out, no harshness in his voice to scare Bokuto but loud enough to get his attention.

“Sorry! Yeah Akaashi? Did I mess up...?” Bokuto asks and it’s taking all of Akaashi’s restraint not to shake him by the shoulders and tell him he hasn’t done such. Especially right after giving him a gift of all things.

“Trouble? Bokuto-san, those late night practice sessions...you’ve never troubled me. I mean as far as that goes.” Akaashi says and as tame as it came out in his usual voice, it was far more honest than anything he had ever said. 

“But, surely I’ve been bothering you a lot haven’t I?” Bokuto goes on.

“Well yes, you have been asking for me to toss to you almost everyday, but it’s not that I mind.” Akaashi finds himself looking down at the ground, clutching unto the small jar with care. 

Afraid it would crack under the weight of this pressure, Bokuto included.

“It’s nice actually,” Akaashi says. “all those times, I quite enjoy your company Bokuto-san.” 

“Really?”

“Really, that’s why,” Akaashi takes a step forward and looks at Bokuto in the eyes, the stars glowing brighter than ever before. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, not when I want to do late night practices with you myself.” 

The thing about Bokuto is he always finds a way to comeback at Akaashi somehow, even if it had been a weak argument and yet Bokuto looks at him, and looks and looks and looks, practically buried in Akaashi’s gaze.

If Akaashi was a stronger man, he would have at it in him to let the moment last a little long. However, Akaashi was not in fact a stronger man so he looks away from Bokuto, trying to dismiss the warmth he feels within the cold. 

“You know,” Akaashi tilts the jar gently. “Since I’m sure you’ve spent so much time working on this, why don’t I make a wish right now?” 

Whatever Bokuto had been feeling not a few moments ago shifted into something eccentric, the Bokuto Akaashi knew well. “Wait! Like right here?!” 

“Right in this very spot.”

“Oh! Okay then I’ll just go over to the side and let you make yo-”

“No,” Akaashi calls out, surprised at his own insistence, “ please...stay, I’d like for you to hear it.”

Bokuto swirls back around, “oh, if you say so then sure!”

Akaashi brings the glass jar close. He shuts his eyes, he smiles. There’s no fear of being judged in front of Bokuto, with Bokuto it had always been a little easier. 

“I wish...to be able to spend more time with Bokuto-san.” 

Akaashi says with earnest, fondness, and if he ever had the chance to hear himself, he could have sworn he could sense the longing within it. 

By the time he opens his eyes, Bokuto Koutarou still stands in front of him, never once leaving. He wonders if the universe can grant him this much. 

“There, that’s my wish.” Akaashi says, looking for something, anything, a reaction from Bokuto as to make easy the situation. 

It comes in the form of frantic movements and brief stuttering before-

“A...AGHASHEEE!” Bokuto practically throws his arms around Akaashi and holds him close. Absolutely in no way letting go any sooner.

Should Akaashi not have held on the jar with all his might, it would have resulted in it falling and shattering to the ground.

Yet, with the way things were now, practically engulfed in Bokuto’s embrace, Akaashi thinks it’s worth it all the same.

[owlyflufff]

Winter is the perfect time for Bokuto’s sisters to spoil Akaashi and prod at their little brother’s crush towards him. By the time the cold sweeps across the country, the two of them insist that they teach Bokuto how to knit, particularly a pair of gloves 

Bokuto goes along with their insistence, thinking that it was just a fun bonding activity for all three of them and it was! It was a fun bonding activity, until Bokuto figured out his sisters were teaching him how to create  small initial letters  “A” and “K” on the gloves. There wasn’t a single soul in their household who had the initials A and K other than, well, of course Akaashi Keiji. 

Later on Bokuto would be teased by them, red reaching the sides of his cheeks as his siblings insist that he gave them to Akaashi. He did in the end, but not without embarrassment. 

Other times when Akaashi would visit their household with the promise of a movie night, the siblings would scoot to the side, giving enough space for Akaashi to sit right next to Bokuto. The siblings pass a blanket to Bokuto and unconsciously, like second nature almost, he wraps the blanket around Akaashi in fear of him getting cold. He tries so hard not to look at his sisters who were smiling from ear to ear.

When the snow was a lot kinder and a practical free for all to play outside, Bokuto and Akaashi would go outside and make snowmen. Not long after Bokuto’s siblings would come to bring them a pair of matching clothes for their snowmen, it takes all of Bokuto’s willpower not to smile when he sees the final result. 

The tense in his shoulders subsides and the urge to hold back long forgotten. For Akaashi is smiling too, and eveything is alright.

Often, when Akaashi would be welcomed into the household, moments came in the simplicity of shared hot chocolate near the warmth of the fire. His sisters didn’t interrupt their brother as he sat right next to the setter he adored so much, silently offering the hot chocolate from behind and giving them their space. 

There’s a certain happiness they feel at their brother’s own happiness, at the way he’s found someone to lean on (literally cause Bokuto wasted no time leaning against Akaashi’s shoulder), carefully they put this close to their heart, only wishing to support their brother in any way they can.

[owlyflufff]

The first time they hold hands, Bokuto squeezes a little tighter than he should.

Granted, it’s not the first time his hands have made contact with Akaashi’s own. Tournaments became an opportunity for spontaneous high fives, practice matches gave leeway for fist bumps and the everyday normality of school allowed for constant accidental touches.

That’s the thing about Bokuto though: he loves reaching out for things. His sisters had to keep him away from anything within arms length when he was a baby (otherwise he would have likely shoved it in his mouth-), he seizes opportunities when they come, and victory—dancing along the tips of his fingers, he can almost grasp victory if he tries hard enough.

This however, where his hands are genuinely, quite literally intertwined with Akaashi’s own, Bokuto thinks he needs a moment.

They are given a moment, in the small corner of the arena, trying to ease the heightened adrenaline from a terribly close match, Bokuto finds Akaashi’s hands in his own.

The first time they hold hands, it’s not what Bokuto expects, for Akaashi’s hands are shaking, and the panic from such overthinking has yet to subside. Akaashi’s hands are shaking terribly so, and Bokuto can only do so much.

Fukurodani leaves them be once more in understanding, patting Akaashi’s shoulders as a means of support. Bokuto’s presence alone is an extension of that very same support, perhaps even more.

With every flinch of Akaashi’s fingers, Bokuto’s own would soothe the areas, his thumbs rubbing circles just as much.

The first time they hold hands, Bokuto squeezes a little tighter than he should, and Akaashi squeezes just as tight.

The first time they hold hands, it’s not what Bokuto expects nor is it particularly how he wanted things to play out, but it left an opportunity to fully see this version of him, a far cry from the Akaashi he knew, but he was Akaashi all the same, and Bokuto takes anything, any moment, he can get to understand him.

If Bokuto tilts their hands just a little bit more, he could make up the scars on Akaashi’s hands left by his fiddling, a reflection of pent up anxiety and frustration but still a magnitude worth of effort to be the setter Fukurodani could depend on, that Bokuto could depend on.

If Bokuto recalls, he could remember all the bandages wrapped around Akaashi’s hands just as much, a reminder of all the late night volleyball practices Akaashi wanted (not had, never had) to be part of.

If Bokuto looks straight into Akaashi’s eyes right now, he could think of how much he’s wanted this, to initiate something as kind as holding hands.

As if seconds have dwindled down for this very moment, as if every force in the universe has neatly tied a red string of fate across each others fingers and pulled. Constantly and thoroughly it pulled until finally–finally they’re hands reached out for the other and filled in the gaps that the other has been missing, has been yearning for far too long.

A quote from a cool book once told him to seize the moment, as if your life depends on it. Hold unto things, grab unto them especially when you truly believe that it matters.

Bokuto will always try to reach out for something. A Nationals victory for one, is high on his list but should it fall from his grasp, then their lost and agonizing on it shouldn’t be something that matters in the long run. For there will always be plenty more times to reach for the stars.

So Bokuto holds unto this part of Akaashi with all his might.

He holds unto Akaashi with all his might. For he’s sure, without a doubt, he hasn’t lost sight of something that truly matters to him.

[owlyflufff]

The thing about Bokuaka is that they barely argue, should they do it had always been a matter of “I love you”s being offered one after the other. The magnitude of one’s affection for the other never once doubted but challenged in a way that they competed for superiority. 

“I love you Koutarou,” Keiji would say without hesitation, with or without reason. 

“I love you too Keiji!” Koutarou would bounce back, unknowing that his husband wouldn’t leave it there.

A laugh would pass Keiji by as he would be a distance away in another room but still loud enough to be heard, or be close enough for him to kiss Koutarou and hold him close. 

“I love you more.” Keiji would state firmly, his lips turning upright and satisfaction settles in until-

“Well I love you most.” It’s Koutarou’s turn to have the upper hand as he utters the words just as firmly, offering it from across the room or when he’s close enough to Keiji to cuddle him.

It seemed like Koutarou has won, after all there was nothing more superlative to “most” now was there? As much as it is, of course it’s not over. Of course their constant one ups from each other doesn’t end there as Keiji would say:

“I loved you first.” 

It’s a confession Koutarou can never truly counter because Keiji had in fact fallen for Koutarou first, that day when he had entered that gym and saw a star shining before him. The rest had been history. 

The rings resting on their fingers is a testament to that. 

So Koutarou in turn only playfully whines out a “Keiji...that’s not fair!” as he let’s his husband win again, never once getting tired of going on and on about who between the other loved them more. 

Neither did Keiji, the fondest of laughter and softest of looks directed at his husband as he continues everyday in a constant loop, reminding him of just how much he loves him. 

A constant give and take between the two of them that they never once stopped. 

[owlyflufff]

Whenever Koutarou is tidying up the living room or washing the dishes or doing whatever is left for the night, there are instances where he can clearly hear his husband across the room.

Only his voice is angry. Frustrated. Booming.

Koutarou understand that in a second.

So, he practically neglects all other chores and heads straight for the source of all the commotion. 

The thing about his beloved Keiji is that he has a tendency of getting stressed.

 A lot.

Koutarou has admittedly only seen the bare minimum of stress and anxiety Keiji can accumulate from work as the two of them are busy with their own professions. Koutarou’s guilty, he has been for the longest of time which is why he does everything he can in the early morning and dead of night to ease the tension in his husband. 

This being no exception.

For you see, even outside office hours, Keiji has a tendency of receiving phone calls from his fellow associates in their work place. Most of which are to discuss story lines, fix plot holes and simply seal the deal for the content in the next chapter. 

It’s rare for Keiji to get frustrated within a phone call, especially since Udai had always been the one he speaks to the most and the two of them have never once gotten into a debate when it comes to the storyline.

But, on the occasion that Keiji gets into an argument with someone else. When someone is incapable of understanding the logic Keiji has laid out for them. On the instance that an associate opt to find some sort of argument to counter Keiji’s even though it was already clearly in Keiji’s favor. 

He’d stressed. He’d get anxious, and it came in the form of many ways.

It came in the form of stuttering across the line. It came from walking back and forth. It came from frantic hand movements of one hand as the other held the phone. It came in the form of yelling, an innocent attempt to help the other person on the line understand.

But there are just some associates that refuse to listen. Of course they refuse to listen. They’re stubborn and naive, and simply Keiji can’t reach them as much as he tries.

It stresses him out, more than anything. Having to control one’s frustration within a phone call turns overwhelming.

That is until Koutarou arrives. 

Koutarou would slowly approach his husband as the latter lashes out across the phone. As tears start forming in his eyes. 

From there, Koutarou would wrap his arms around Keiji’s waist from behind and kiss him anywhere and everywhere he could reach. His hair, his cheeks, his shoulder. Koutarou would plant soft kisses to lighten the burden on Keiji as he continues to speak to the person across the phone. He would hold his hand to try and stop it from shaking. He wouldn’t say a word, because he knows Keiji understands his intentions. He would be there, he would simply be there for Keiji. 

As Keiji’s voice mellows down and whatever worries he’s had fades into nothing, Koutarou thinks to himself.

He wants to keep giving Keiji his kisses.

He wants to keep giving Keiji his comfort.

He wants to keep giving Keiji his assurances.

He wants to keep giving Keiji his affection. 

His love.

And give to him he will. 

[owlyflufff]

Back in the days where he had thrived in the four corners of Fukurodani Academy, there wasn’t a single instance where Bokuto’s birthdays weren’t extravagant.

It was a chorus of Happy Birthdays along the corridors.

A heap load of gifts stacked on top the other on his desk.

Owl plushies.

Cards.

Little pastries. 

Bokuto had been the limelight of September 20.

 He would earn high fives, hugs, and cheers. Not merely his team, but even his class would plan out his birthday. Simply and plainly, because it was their way of giving back to him. 

It wasn’t due to expected mood swing had there been no celebration, it’s not because Bokuto had been going on and on about his soon to be birthday. It was because he was the heart of many fond moments.

Bokuto would lift up the class when all had gone downhill. He was open, kind, and honest. Which is why everyone had bounced back that same aura to him on his beloved day. 

And truly, having a party hat nestled on his head and the sound of poppers exploding in colors left and right, Bokuto couldn’t ask for anything else.

It was no different in the gym. A single step into the gym’s door and a magnitude of confetti and balloons appeared in front of him in no time. Then when all is settled, Bokuto would gasp in awe over a three layered cake brought in by Komi. Laugh away as Washio shoves the biggest owl plushie in all of mankind into his arms. And just enjoy it all as the rest of the team tackles him.

 And for a moment, for a brief moment, he can feel a touch against his arm. He knows that hesitant movement, the feeling of a touch long from calloused fingers, the sheer gentleness of it all. Bokuto knows that touch so well. 

He knows it more than anything. 

When all the set of arms looped against him unhook after the other, there’s only a single hand that rests against his shoulder in turn. Bokuto looks to the side to see Akaashi Keiji smiling at him. There’s a new kind of fondness that Bokuto had never seen.

The stiff features on Akaashi’s face have softened. The tension in his form no longer visible. And the smile, the smile.

Bokuto could look at him for as long as time could let him. 

It’s only the two of them now, everyone else had either retreated to the locker room or went out to refill the water bottles because it’s “important”.

Akaashi gently nudges Bokuto to face him to which Bokuto complies easily. Unlike every other person Bokuto has encountered on his special day, there’s no extravagant gestures. Akaashi doesn’t sing nor does he offer a gazillion presents for Bokuto to worry about carrying later on. Instead, Akaashi pulls out a tiny object and places it into Bokuto’s hands.

“Happy Birthday Bokuto-san.” Akaashi says. Simple, plain, but earnest.

A keychain. The vabo-chan mascot that is. There’s a ribbon tied to it along with a small “Happy Birthday Bokuto-san!” written in the fancy schmancy handwriting Bokuto had deemed it to be. From above, Bokuto could hear a slight jingle and as he looks up, he sees Akaashi holding up a vabo-chan keychain not as different as his own. 

 “It’s not much admittedly, I was thinking of doing something a little better since it’s your birthday. Though, it seems everyone already beat me to some of the birthday gift ideas.” Akaashi looks down and smiles at his keychain. “Washio especially since he got the owl plushie before I could-”

“You kidding Akaashi?” From the ground, Bokuto pushes himself up and clings himself unto Akaashi much to his surprise. 

“I love it!” Bokuto explains as the two small keychains jingle in unison at the movement. Bokuto peers down at Akaashi’s own, eyes alight and smile brighter at the realization.

“Are these suppose to be matching?!” Bokuto’s head flashes between the two keychains and Akaashi chuckles at it. The look of slight disappoint in his small gift now washed away as Bokuto’s words knocked all negative thoughts down.

As they always do.

“Yes, they are. It took me some time to get them in the claw machine.” A small smile graces Akaashi’s lips once more as he looks up to see an excited Bokuto still aimlessly going back and forth between the keychains.

“I’m glad my efforts weren’t in vain.”

For a moment that feels too soon, Bokuto wanted to cling unto Akaashi just a little more. Still as much as it was, it takes all of his willpower to let Akaashi go. 

“Happy Birthday Bokuto-san.” Akaashi says a lot more earnestly, as if he hadn’t said it seconds ago. 

Bokuto smiles at Akaashi before bringing his attention back down to the keychain. It’s not as colorful as a card, or big as a one ton owl plushie. It’s a small keychain and yet, it carries a magnitude of Akaashi’s thoughts within them.

Bokuto knows this all too well. If Akaashi had given his greetings twice, then Bokuto hugs him twice. The hug is gentler, no iron grip to cause any commotion. Akaashi, unlike the first one, holds unto Bokuto just as much.

Funny enough, Akaashi doesn’t want to let go of him either. 

That’s how Bokuto’s birthdays have been in Fukurodani. To the massive and eccentric chaos his friends could give, to the simplicity and affection that Akaashi gave him in moments when they were alone. 

Even then, even after five years have passed, it had stayed the same. 

It was a chorus of Happy Birthdays across his phone on social media. 

A heap load of gifts placed inside of his locker in the MSBY Jackals’ gym. 

Owl plushies.

Cards.

Little pastries.

Koutarou had forever been the limelight of September 20.

And as he would enter his apartment after a long day’s worth of training and celebration, there he is. With the living room lights slightly dimmed and the smell of freshly baked pastry wafting in the air, Keiji stood in front of him with a simple cake. His voice softly singing Happy Birthday for his beloved. Koutarou would be on the receiving end of so much tender kisses and hugs from his husband. They would dance the night away over cheesy love songs.

The two twin vabo-chan keychains would rest against each other, both gym bag and work bag sitting and resting side by side.

And that would conclude another Koutarou birthday. 

With everyone else, it was loud, it was extravagant.

With Keiji, it was plain, mostly affection slipped between the quiet.

But birthdays are meant to be celebrated with those that he loves.

And for all it’s simplicity, Koutarou spent the best portion of his birthday with the one he loves most. 

[owlyflufff]

The last time Akaashi made a wish on a birthday candle was when he was 7.

Since then, he hadn’t believed in birthday wishes. The banners, party decorations and food had merely felt like display. It was a waste of money, a waste of food potentially and a waste of everyone’s time having to celebrate about the day he was born in this world.

He hasn’t seen the need to make his birthdays so extravagant.

So important.

Don’t get the wrong idea, Akaashi doesn’t hate birthdays. He does appreciate them, but the thing about him is that he had always seen the logical side of things. With that, Akaashi had never truly seen the reason why people put so much effort into celebrating over one little moment in his life, why they valued it so much.

He was born into this world just like any other person. That was that, so why make it such a big ordeal?

Birthday wishes were his favorite thing about birthdays once upon a time, he remembered how eager he was, wobbling on the stool just to reach the cake and blow the candle. He had the spirit back then, felt like he was on top of the world every time he would let out his little wish and blow on the candle. 

Some wishes came true, most of them didn’t.

As he spent more time reading books where logic had seemed more reasonable over emotion. As he eventually inherited the more practical and calculating side of his parents, the light that once shined in Akaashi’s eyes had gone dim.

In the slightest. Only in the slightest. 

Birthday wishes were just an extra tidbit you could merit off from along with a cake and some gifts, Akaashi had considered. And he stayed with that logic until he became 16. 

Having to worry about which high school he would go to and the prospect of immersing in a new environment made him nervous at most. So with that, he caved in for once and let himself believe birthday wishes could come true. 

He whispers.

And he snuffs out the flame from the birthday candle.

Months pass him by, then it all comes together. 

It came in the form of something loud. Something that had almost hurled himself into a fleet of stairs and across the hallway just to see him. It came in the form of something eager, too eager. 

It came in the form of an enigma named Bokuto Koutarou.

So here Akaashi was, in his first year of high school and already fearing for his life as Bokuto had covered his eyes and led him all the way to Fukurodani’s gym. 

Akaashi had expected this, it was November 5 after all. 

The thing is, the preparations were the same. But the feeling wasn’t. 

Bokuto, along with the rest of Fukurodani, had thrown an enormous surprise party for Akaashi. Washio had offered ridiculous party hats. Konoha and Sarakui had been the ones leading whatever birthday program they planned out. Komi had brought out the karaoke box (someone save Akaashi-). Fukurodani didn’t train the entire day, anything and everything was spent in celebrating Akaashi’s day. 

It was like any other birthday.

The only difference was, Akaashi had found himself enjoying it all.

And...was he smiling? Wait, he’s laughing too?!

Bubbles of laughter had erupted from him the moment Fukurodani had hurdled him into a group hug. At the end of the day, he had returned home with a gigantic brown plush owl.

Courtesy of Bokuto Koutarou.

In fact, a lot of the birthday ideas and planning were courtesy of Bokuto. The thought of it had Akaashi sinking his face into the head of his owl plushie all through the night. 

Akaashi thought it was over. He had himself convinced that whatever happiness he had gained from today’s celebration was just fleeting. Oh how wrong he was. 

Now every year, Bokuto had always one upped himself when it came to Akaashi’s birthday. It would be a tragedy, Bokuto had once said to Akaashi, an absolute crime if he didn’t make Akaashi’s day the best day every year. 

And he did, every year without fail, he had made Akaashi’s birthday more special than Akaashi could have ever asked for. 

It came in the form of gifts, of songs, of surprises. Some extravagant, some so ridiculous it had Akaashi rolling on the floor for the first time in his life. 

As the more surprises had yet to come, unlike the young child who’s excitement for birthdays had faded, Akaashi had longed for what Bokuto had planned for him on his birthday, concealed by a constant expression of indifference and a mountain of deadpan comments.  

In reality, he wouldn’t ask for anything else, couldn’t ask for anything more and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bokuto would always give to him, never once stopped even. He and Fukurodani had made his birthday more memorable than the next. Even after highschool, when they had all grown up and not everyone could celebrate as much as they wanted to and simply sent text messages, Bokuto had personally met up with Akaashi just to celebrate his birthday.

Bokuto’s presence was a constant in Akaashi’s birthdays. His love was a constant in Akaashi birthdays.

Every single one of them. 

The last time Akaashi made a wish on a birthday candle was when he was 16. 

He hadn’t made a wish since then. 

He can still remember what he whispered on that day where he had found himself in a moment’s of worry. The words he had whispered before snuffing out the flames on the candles. His birthday wish:

Please grant me a miracle.

Now, Keiji’s a lot older. A pair of glasses rest all snug at the bridge of his nose. 

With the way that Keiji resides comfortably in the four walls of an apartment. The way a feeling of a finished birthday celebration still settling in the atmosphere. The way he can still catch a glance of the five layer cake from across the kitchen. The way that Koutarou’s arms envelope him in a warmth he can’t explain, their rings shining all the brighter. The way they laugh and sing to the music playing all around them. The way that Keiji can hear Koutarou’s voice as he whispers sweet nothings and promises of love he has kept and yet to keep. The way Keiji can feel the touch of Koutarou’s lips on his own,

Keiji believes in birthday wishes once more. Only, he hadn’t thought of making another one since then.

Since that wish he had made when he was 16.

After all, it came true. 

There wasn’t anything else Keiji could ever wish for. 

[owlyflufff]

No matter how many times he’s seen it, Akaashi Keiji can never be immune to Bokuto’s smile.

He still remembers Bokuto’s smile in all it’s glory when they first met, shining brighter than any star that hung in the vast night sky.

From there he would be greeted by it every practice. Every time he would slide the door to open the gym, Bokuto smiles at him. Warm. Happy. Enough to catch Akaashi off guard during training. 

Practice alone wasn’t enough apparently for Bokuto because just like that, it would be the first thing that greets Akaashi in the morning as Bokuto had been going to his classroom at the start of classes. Akaashi can make out the curved up lips of one Bokuto Koutarou peaking out from the door. 

Yet as the sun sets, Bokuto’s smile continues to grace him in the night as they take a walk going back to their home. All the time, every single time Bokuto smiles at him

For every toss Akaashi has offered him, for every bit of assistance he gives during their study breaks, for every yes Akaashi has given him to anything and everything really, Bokuto smiles.

And he smiles.

And smiles.

And smiles.

He smiles so much to the point that Akaashi can’t handle this kindness he feels unworthy of-

“Akaashi,you alright?”

Akaashi Keiji finds himself standing in the cold dead of night. Not a few paces away from him is Bokuto Koutarou. Ah right, they’re walking home together. 

“I’m sorry Bokuto-san, what did you say?” Akaashi looks up to him, greeted by the small tilt of Bokuto’s head. 

“I was asking if you were alright. You kinda uhhh blanked out a bit and I got all worried that’s all!” 

There it is again. 

Slowly and unhesitatingly do Bokuto’s lips curve upwards to smile at Akaashi. Enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. Akaashi finds himself pausing before uttering a word. 

“Bokuto-san?”

“Yeah Akaashi?” It widens. His smile widens. Brightens. Glowing warmer and kinder than anything Akaashi has ever seen.

“Please look the other way.”

Bokuto flicks his head left and right, confused. “Why Akaashi? Wait...is someone watching us!?”

Akaashi reaches out to tug Bokuto’s arm to calm him down, but he withdraws.

“No, it’s just” Akaashi moves a few paces ahead of Bokuto, far away for Bokuto to only see Akaashi’s back side. 

“The sun’s shining too bright.”

The sun. Bokuto’s smile--for all it’s comfort--is the sun itself, Akaashi thinks. Warm. Bright. Perfect.

A star right before him.

Amidst Akaashi’s thoughts, three things happen in a span of five seconds:

1. Bokuto’s look of absolute confusion 

2. Bokuto rapidly looking up to be greeted by the night sky

3. Bokuto’s realization that it is in fact night time and he has zero idea how on earth could a sun be present in the middle of night.

Before Bokuto could say anything, Akaashi is moving forward. As if he hasn’t blantantly uttered something weird. 

“Eh!? Akaashi wait up! What do you mean sun? There’s no sun in the night time. Akaashi, hey wait for me!”

As Akaashi continues to walk along and Bokuto’s squaking and gawking fades away in the background, he remembers the same smile that never fails to bring him light even when unintentional. The same smile that has found it’s way to his heart.

And with that memory forever engraved in him, Akaashi can’t help but find himself smiling as well.