#also Bokuaka holding hands but in the hurt/comfty way <33

[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.