Akaashi Angst - Tumblr Posts

AUTHORS NOTE: hello my loves !! love feels like a mosaic of experiences, several brief moments and clips of the shortest of montages of deep-seated pain, the whisper of a breeze, and the roar of overwhelming joy. it feels like running through an empty parking lot in the hours where time does not exist, laughing oneself to tears and breathlessness, and just holding the other basking in the soft evenness of their chest rising and falling. i guess what i’m trying to say is love is so many things all at once, platonically, romantically, in the mundane and in the extraordinary, love differs from person to person and moment to moment, and in moments like this i get overwhelmed with an aspect of the human experience that i just,,,, have to get it out. akaashi feels very similar to me because as a card-carrying member of the Anxiety Gang i can recognize another anxious bitch from a mile away. here’s to hoping that by writing and relating to this self-indulgent piece can resolve some of the worries and fears i have one day. and yes the tw are mostly negative, but i promise you the piece is reassuring, and hopefully feels like a blanket fresh out of the dryer for your own insecurities. i hope one day to feel as akaashi does here.

tw: anxiety, mental health mentions, insecurity

akaashi has always felt like a fraud. his mind racing a mile a minute as he pieces together fragments of the way the people around him hold hollow smiles, empty laughter, and sour tongues. reality is not what surrounds him but the finesse of a well-placed ceramic mask to cover the thoughts and feelings his face reveals. the delicateness of a stiff smile, the disjointedness of a practiced rhythm. akaashi is a conductor and his body a caucus symphony. his thoughts feel like the jagged ring of dissonance. the fear of being found out surrounds him. what if they know? what if they find out? am i holding myself in the right way? he acts in every moment, playing the role of a friend, a teacher, a teammate, he acts so convincingly that eventually, his hollow smiles pass for real ones. the person who is akaashi crumbles away under the weight of a facade and the face that holds itself barely together in the mirror starts to resemble himself less and less.

akaashi has always felt like a burden. the weight of his existence drags himself down let alone the ones he loves. he sees how people stiffen at his presence, withdraw at his mention, and clamber to pull themselves out of the gravity of his existence. he is damaged and destroyed, ravaged by the howling storms of existing. in his despair he destroys everything in his wake, dragging them slowly and steadily to the same demons that torment him. watching as they slowly are consumed and gnawed away at. he watches as everyone he loves is destroyed. he vows to never subject those around him to the experience of him. tucks away his fears, his thoughts his feelings, tucks away his silly encroach of his insecurities because no one will ever be able to bear witness of the depths of his despair. akaashi hides himself away from those he loves, from the ones who care, who ask to help who reach out, he hides himself from strangers who smile in the street, from passing stares and statements. akaashi hides himself from everyone for fear his depression will spread like wet ink to paper.

akaashi has always felt broken. his fragmented soul like pieces picked up and haphazardly thrown together, he plays the role of a happy person, a kind person, serving in ways they don’t even notice just to receive some feeling of belonging, losing every aspect of himself as he builds and rebuilds this grand mosaic of existence. eating himself alive just to feel whole in the sway of the world. it’s what he’s used to. it’s what he deserves. he’s not enough as he is. he doesn’t know who he is. he simply cannot be as he is, because he has lost himself and he will never be enough. akaashi is damaged goods, his experiences changing him shaping him like weathered clay in ways he doesn’t notice. when completed he is irrevocably different a new and flawed human that cannot be seen without its reformed disgusting misshapenness.

but in the moment that he clicks open the door to your shared apartment the suffocating weight just piling up in his chest, swarming his head just lifts. with the quiet stillness of the air, sunlight drifting in, the breeze brings in wholeness, acceptance. his fears just shedding, tearing, melting away. you’re just sitting there. reading. waiting. just existing. you’re whole, you are safe and you with your bright sounds of laughter, that smile that just beams its way into existence, you love so deeply he can feel his chest ache at the sight of you. the way your eyes light up at his presence overjoyed at the prospect of spending time with your lover. in the moment akaashi opens that door, his eyes, his heart to you akaashi just is. he is enough. he is fully and wholly enough.

   streetcorner ᵕ̈         akaashi keiji x gn reader ( pt. three ) ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : maybe sometimes you    ⋮⋮  have to take " different " into your ⋮⋮  own hands . that way it ' ll feel much ⋮⋮  better , no ?

📋 content      ♡ # 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 🐄      ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛      ♡ # 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 - 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱       ♡ # 3𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴     ♡ # 𝙘𝙬 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 +     𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 , 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧

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💬 kuroppiii ─  " y/n lowkey tweaking but can you really blame them ? "

you were wrong. “different” wound up being quite bad.

two weeks. two weeks.

you haven’t seen keiji— no, akaashi at the drink machine for two weeks.

14 days. 10 work day mornings. two weekends.

that first weekend went by, and you did your chores and errands with what you hate to admit was a little bit of "pep" in your step. because getting through your usual lineup of weekend responsibilities felt like they were leading up to something, knowing they counted down to a first-of-the-week workday—or more specifically a workday morning—spent with your new friend.

but then monday morning came, and you found that although the canned beverage you always get out of the street corner vending machine was warm, by your side at that machine was filled with nothing but the cold winter air.

‘he must’ve partied really hard this past weekend with those work friends. i’ll give him a bit if he’s running late,’ you so innocently thought.

10 minutes passed, and he still hadn’t shown up. not wanting to start off your week showing up late again, you decided to leave the street corner and head to work. you’ll probably see him the next day, anyway. one day without your little morning chat wasn’t going to be the end of the world...

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

tuesday.

you stuck around for 15 minutes. no sign of him or his tan coat or his glasses or those shiny professional-looking shoes.

'god, i hope he's not sick. it's all those cold lattes in this freezing weather. i warned him about that!"

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

wednesday.

the train passed. nothing.

ting! ting! ting!

nothing but the sound of you nervously pulling on the tab of your drink greeted you this morning. your drink was long gone by then, and so was your hope you'd see him again.

you tossed the can in the trash bin, pulled your scarf higher onto your face, and hid away from the waking city with your hands snug in your coat pockets–embarrassed you had gotten your hopes up so high.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

that thursday–yet another day where you faced a solitary morning–your frustration at the whole situation festered and bubbled over in the form of working overtime at the restaurant.

because walking home alone from a shift was one thing, but knowing the next morning you'd be met with the same solitude–when you had just had a taste of what it was like not dealing with loneliness picking away at you every day–made the whole journey back to your apartment that much worse than it ever was before.

you were on your hands and knees, scrubbing away at the hardwood floors until you saw your dejected reflection. you wiped the tables down until they were spotless. you made sure the kitchen was in pristine condition for the old man and woman to enjoy cooking in it the next day.

tick, tick, tick

the aged and rusted clock on the wall by the cash register mocked you as you continued brewing over your situation.

you definitely came off as a creep! bringing him food unwarranted? but he had bought you your drink in return? oh, and had given you that drink with the casual drop of his first name. as if you two were really friends!

but why? maybe he was just messing with you. maybe he sensed how much of a loner you kind of really are. maybe he would seriously opt to take the longer way to work just so he didn't have to deal with you in the mornings anymore.

was he even telling you the truth about his work? was "akaashi keiji" even his real name?

what drove you crazy the most was how easy it was for him to infiltrate your days for that short week, preventing them from droning on by simply showing up at a street corner on your way to work.

'how pathetic', you thought about yourself.

it wasn't until he came along that the reality of your sacred routine became apparent to you. you had been convincing yourself for weeks that it was fine but no, you guessed it was true–you felt alone in this city.

he effortlessly cracked the foundations of the motions you went through each day to stay sane, and what? then he just gets to disappear out of nowhere?

leaving you with nothing but... well, yourself. alone. again.

“different” wound up being quite bad, and painful, and lonely

but so did going back to "normal", apparently.

you sat at the counter of the restaurant, the clock in your hands still ticking away, but now you had cleaned it all up. it looked as good as new.

at least you had the old couple's reaction as something to look forward to the next morning.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

on friday you sat behind the register as you watched the customers come and go. in the small restaurant booths they sat across from each other–some couples here, some suit-and-tie-clad groups of office workers there, maybe the occasional group of friends still in their school uniforms.

you observed as they smiled at one another and laughed together. it was like each booth was its own bubble for the people to escape mundane reality with for even just one meal.

then they would come up to you, your time watching through a window over as your existence at the resister marked a snap back to reality for them. you–standing all by yourself amidst the rest of the lives that continued on in this city, as you took their money and counted out their change before they would leave and never give your existence a though ever again.

when that got to be enough for you, you even tried watching whatever sappy drama channel the old couple liked to keep playing on the old boxy television as it sat on a small shelf high up in the corner of the room. but that didn't really help either, the people on screen were also happily interacting with loved ones and friends.

the workday continued on like that until closing time, when the old couple decided to stick around for a bit, even as you attempted busying yourself with overtime tasks to avoid walking home.

they put on the restaurant's old karaoke machine, and you happily watched as they sang and danced together with the minimal movements that their age allowed them to enjoy on a friday night.

at one point, the old woman even urged you to stop spraying and wiping down the restaurant windows, and you sang and danced to a few songs along with them, too.

the walk home that night wasn't actually too bad–the scenes of you and the owners' little party replaying in your head as you walked down the street, softly smiling to yourself as you didn't even realize you had passed the drink machine on the street corner.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

saturday morning you wake up and stare up at your ceiling. you heard the sound of cars and trains pass by, and small city birds sing to yawning street cats just outside your window.

usually by now, you would be done grocery shopping and would be moving onto meal prepping for the week ahead. but your thoughts kept swirling around that stupid soft spoken guy, the one who always pressed the vending machine button for a cold latte in the middle of winter.

akaashi keiji. akaashi keiji.

before you knew it you were tapping away at your phone's keypad.

a-k-a-a-s-h-i...

you looked him up on every social media app you had downloaded on your phone.

k-e-i-j-i...

but damn, all the accounts you came across were either definitely not him or were privated.

you huffed and let your head sink back into your cool pillow. why were you still trying? you had to accept your one week of mornings with him was just some spontaneous and cruel string events the universe just tossed at you for its own amusement, one to come in and change the trajectory of how you felt about your whole life–that's all.

outside, you can hear the screech of a cat and the beating of bird wings, assumably after being scaring off by the cat. softly, you laugh to yourself picturing the scene in your mind.

then your thoughts drift to the stray cat that used to linger around your childhood home. it was grey and had a white belly. you and your friends would coddle it after school, or would give it a brief petting as you would stumble onto the back porch after a night out in-between semesters during university.

this was all before you moved away, that is.

god, you were homesick. but it wasn't like you could simply move back in the blink of an eye. you worked hard to get a place for yourself in the city. you've worked hard as you figured out what you want to do with your life. you just wish figuring it out wouldn't have to be so lonely.

but then, you thought of an idea.

you looked at your bank account to check the costs. it was definitely an expense you'd have to make up for, but that old couple was generous in that they always paid if you went overtime. more late nights meant you'd probably make back the money–and blow off even more steam–fairly quickly.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the next day, sunday, you decide to get a cat...

you recalled in your contract that your apartment allows it, so why not?

who needed a good-looking stranger to keep you company on a daily basis, anyway?

you set out on getting it the basics (treats, food bowl, a bed, a litter box, etc.) since you could always get more later depending on what your new feline friend might be like.

during that first half of the day, you drifted from store to store, picking out the perfectly humble items to greet your cat as soon as it arrived in its new home. your eyes always ended up glancing over any display rack of magazines you could find in the stores, maybe subconsciously searching for a certain combination of kanji on the covers' credits–but you never spotted it.

upon finally arriving at the pet store, the worker warmly greeted you at from the front desk and you asked if he could direct you to the cats. now you find yourself standing in front of a tall cat tree, a dozen or so cats of different colors and patterns jumping from one perch to another or adamantly scratching their claws at parts of the tree's fluffy material.

you didn't want an exact copy of the one from home, per say (it undoubtedly would've made you even more homesick), but then your eyes landed on one particular cat. it was a calico, and it was peacefully curled up a little ways away from the chaos of the cat tree. sunlight beamed through the pet shop's big front window and fell straight on the cat, making it and it's white, orange, brown, and black patches almost appear luminescent.

finding yourself crouching down to look at it closer, it sensed your new presence, and lazily opened one of its eyes amidst it's nap. you felt a familiar warmth stir up in your chest at how cute the calico was–a sensation you last had felt a long, long time ago.

"that one's a boy," you hear the worker pipe up behind you, seeing your interest, "he likes to keep to himself, so he's not a troublemaker or anything, either."

"i'd like to give him a home, then," the words fall from your lips as you stare directly into the glowing hazel iris of the calico's eye staring back at you.

once you and your new cat made it back to your apartment, you didn't even really food prep or finish the laundry for the week ahead like you probably should have. instead, you became enamored with just observing your new friend–one you hope wouldn't ditch you like the last one did.

smiling, you watched him as he sauntered around to survey the furnishings of your living space, you spent time with him as you gently ran your hands along his fur.

you thought to yourself as you grew fonder to the cat more and more by the second, 'you'll can keep me company in the mornings for now on.... or and at night when i get home from work... and even the weekends!" (something your last "new friend" would never have been able to do, anyway.)

it took a bit to decide on a name in your head, but finally you cooed at the calico as it hopped next to you on the couch where you were sitting, "it's you and i now, yamato!"

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the second week without akaashi, you purposefully avoided the drink machine. you figured out a different route (granted, the first time you tried it on monday, you were late to work because you got lost). subsequently, you kind of gave up on coffee for a while (granted, you felt a tad bit more tired on the day-to-day if you had to be honest).

but each morning instead of caffeine, you were met with the lovely presence of yamato sauntering around as you went about the apartment getting ready before heading out to work. thankfully what the pet shop owner said was tried and true: yamato never gave you any problems the first week he spent with you in your apartment.

you had to account for the chores you didn't get to on that weekend, when you were moping around and getting a cat. but again, yamato was there to keep you company as you were sweeping the floor around the couch, or leaning over to hang up laundry on your tiny balcony, or tossing together whatever you had in the fridge to constitute as small dinners for one to greet you on the nights you came back from long days at work.

busy, busy, busy is what you made yourself.

the old couple at the restaurant were a great help in this, as well. the months you've spent with them meant they grew more comfortable having you around, they'd always subtly complain about something breaking or in need of renovation, and of course you would offer to help to stay longer. (you always loved seeing the delight that radiated off of them when you would stay to help, and sometimes you would wonder if they ever had any kids or grandkids of your own. you never bothered to ask though, maybe that was a bit too personal.)

one particular day, however, was especially grueling. the restaurant got much busier than usual because of a festival that was being help nearby. one hungry festival-goer after the other popped into the small establishment–every seat would be taken up, dishes continuously were being served out, and there was barely any wiggle room to do it all because the customers opted to wait inside to dodge the cold weather outdoors.

your employers urged you to go home and rest as soon as it was all over, and though you'd usually find an excuse to work overtime for not just the pay anymore but to spend more time with the old man and woman, tonight you found yourself happily obliging to depart early.

a night spent watching tv with yamato curled in your lap didn't sound too bad, after all.

as you walk through the streets, you feel your eyelids physically giving up on you. your efforts of the past week trying to make your life work out in at least some way was finally catching up to you. but you thought of yamato, and how bad you felt he'd been left alone to his own devices at home on the long days you've been working late.

you owed it to your new furry friend to stay awake for that movie tonight.

caffeine. that should do the trick, you thought. but you didn't want to enter a 7/11. you always hated how the the lights would be too bright, and tonight they would probably give your waning brain a headache, when you just wanted a calm evening to yourself and your cat.

but the only other way of obtaining some form of liquid booster at an hour like this would be some kind of vending machine. there were none on your new route back from and to work, though. it was a fact that's been great in avoiding thinking about the events of two weeks ago, but not when you were actually craving your usual latte right now.

it was what, almost midnight? what harm could there be visiting that old warm-and-cold-option vending machine on the street corner near your apartment building, anyway? at least you wouldn't have to be seeing it in the daylight–a handful of remiss memories attached to a scene like that.

so you make some turns and you're nearing that exact spot. you rub your eyes in exhaustion as you round the corner, but as you look up, you see a figure already standing there, swiping their card at the machine.

the faint lights from the vending machine display illuminate the front of them, and you notice a pair of glasses blocked out by the display's light reflecting off of them. the light forming little shapes on the top of the person's shiny shoes. a tan coat.

"keiji?"

the figure, startled, turns to face you. you still can't really make out their face in the dimness of the street corner alley. they don't say anything for a moment.

you idiot, you think to yourself. part of you wants to book it, because there's no way that could be him–he has no business being here so late.

but the other part of you keeps your feet in place on the pavement. you feel it again, a small ounce of hope, that a friend has returned into your lonely little life.

"y/n?"

that voice. that's definitely him.

clunk!

you hear his drink tumble into the vending machine's slot, and the familiar sound brazenly fills the street. but the two of you don't flinch.

what was he doing back here?

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist (1/30 at time of publishing) : @cloudybillows (just send me an ask if you’re interested! xx)

REGRET AND OTHER CLICHES [2]

you never know what you have until it’s gone, so they say. you think by now they should have known that.

pt. 1 i know who you pretend i am [2]

character/s: akaashi keiji x gn!reader

genre/s: mostly angst idk why i tell myself these are angst to fluff

warning/s: none i think

gwen’s notes 🤍: thank you @aka-a-shii for helping me come up with this! i hope u like it aaah ion think this is as painful as the previous parts tho

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

akaashi keiji

“you seem busy these days, keiji,” you commented dejectedly as you set akaashi’s coffee on the table. he didn’t seem to pick up on your mood as he stuck his nose in front of his laptop’s screen. thick square rimmed glasses sat atop the bridge of his nose haphazardly and features faintly illuminated by the light. he was always effortlessly ethereal no matter what he was doing, even when he was breaking you to pieces.

“mhm,” he mumbled in agreement. he absentmindedly picked the warm mug up and cautiously brought it to his lips, eyes still glued to the screen.

“can i see what you’ve been working on?” you played it off casually though there was an inevitable tremble in your voice and masked your anxiousness with a tight lipped smile. you hugged your warm cup with both hands to steady the shaking.

the faint clicking of the keys halted as he brought his eyes up to meet yours. he was as stoic as ever, but you learned to discern the slightest change in his behavior. even if it was as minor as his eyebrows furrowing together microscopically and his mouth parting just enough to inhale sharply. “maybe when i finish it, darling.” then resumed the faint clicking.

“you always used to let me read your works in progress, ‘kaashi,” you pried, feigning an innocent pout to lighten the increasingly tense situation. part of you wanted him to come clean, another part wanted you to be proven wrong so desperately. so far it seemed as though the former was coming true.

a brief pasue, akaashi glanced around while managing to avoid your gaze, the typing resumed. “this one’s a little bit different,” he reasoned.

“must be important then,” you whispered, feeling your resolve break and your façade of a smile fade. you placed your hands on your lap, eyes trailed downward as you fidgeted with them and in an attempt to hide the tears you knew were going to come. “much more important than i’ll ever be.”

“wha‒” akaashi’s words seemed to have been caught suspended in the air as he finally looked at your broken state. it didn’t take much for him to put two and two together; when he left his office the other night, the way you’ve been acting strange since then, prying about what he was writing.

akaashi knelt beside you, soothingly rubbing your back, and squeezing your hands as you freely let your tears fall. “i’m so sorry, love,” he began, voice soft and calm. he knew there was a possibility that this could happen. he knew getting into a relationship when he was still hung up over someone didn’t come with zero consequences but how was he supposed to go from here? “i can explain.”

“then why?” you cried, feeling pathetic and vulnerable.

“i admit i wasn’t yours entirely when we first started dating.” akaashi harshly bit his bottom lip, realizing how bad that sounded. “but i… i just needed to get everything out of my head and into writing. my thoughts, unresolved feelings, all the what ifs‒”

“and what about me?” he stared at you with wide eyes, confused. “where did i fit into all that, while you were figuring out your feelings for someone else, i was over here devoting mine to you.”

akaashi fell silent, feeling his guilt build up in his chest. “i’m ready now, to devote myself just as much if not more,” he pleaded, sincerity in his eyes as he tried to look in yours.

you scoffed bitterly and his heart lurched in his chest. akaashi was only ever used to your unconditional love and care, one which he took for granted. “oh, are you almost in the conclusion of your little love story?” you didn’t mean to come off so hostile, especially not with your perfectly calm and collected (for now) boyfriend. but you could only do so much when you learn you’ve been cast aside until he was ready for you, when it was convenient for him.

“i’m sorry akaashi, but i’ve just reached the conclusion of our story all the same.”

you bolted out of the place because any longer and you would have fallen victim with his beautiful eyes that shone brighter when he cried. akaashi was left frozen in place. he couldn’t move even as his legs began to ache from crouching for too long. his mouth left agape, wanting to scream or cry or call your name‒anything. but it felt as though he was choking for air. he stumbled over himself after who knows how long and looked around, finally gaining a sense of self back.

his cup of coffee was no longer steaming, but he was sure if he held a palm against it, he would feel its warmth. yours was right next to his, half finished. the bed you both slept on the night before still hadn’t been made. leftovers from your cooking sat coldly in the fridge. your toothbrush was on the sink next to his and a mess of skincare products sprawled on the counter. your shirt was thrown over a chair and the bedroom smelled of your perfume.

his laptop whirred quietly but the barren apartment made it seem so loud. he noticed how the writing displayed on the screen stopped midsentence. just like you and him.

all else pointed out that akaashi was too late and he knew that. but he hoped and prayed that this time when he tried, he would catch up with you and the story you've written all alone. he would make up for everything he did and didn't do so long as you don't turn the page to its last.

@mirakeul @realityisabitch-blr @erinoikawa @haji-bby @seijohoe@szeonn @banananaa4 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @thezebra12 @iwaizumisunshine @stffychn @vvvselfindulgence @devilgirlcrybabiey

cheater cheater

characters: bokuto, brief mentions of atsumu, akaashi is mentioned once; post! timeskip

wc: 6.3k

warnings: angst!! slightly suggestive for like two paragraphs (it’s italicized), mostly sfw, cheating obviosly

tagging: @a-kaash-me-outside​ 

a/n: in no way shape or form do I condone cheating nor do I think bokuto would ever cheat, the collab was just too fun to pass up... PLEASE head on over to @a-kaash-me-outside’s blog for the rest of the cheater cheater collab pieces!

Bokuto was seated across from you at the small dining table-it only sat four people because he had said a bigger dining table meant more space between him and yourself. You set your cup down, the water doing little to ease the nerves pooling in your stomach. You tried to stop the bouncing of your leg too but to no avail. Your eyes scanned your lover’s face, starting with his eyes that stared at a random spot on the table, down the bridge of his nose toward his lips that were set into a firm line. He was deep in thought, that much was obvious. His hair was disheveled from how many times he ran his hand through it.

Bokuto wasn’t acting like himself, and it’s safe to say he’s been like this for about a week now. His overflowing affection for you is nowhere to be found, and you figured it had something to do with their recent loss. Sure, the MSBY boys were no strangers to the concept of losing, however they had practiced tirelessly for this match and had been so sure of themselves. So, you attributed Bokuto’s uncharacteristic mood to last week’s match and went on with your day.

What else were you supposed to do after he reassured you he was fine and just needed space. You wanted to do nothing more than to pull him into a hug and run your fingers through his hair, telling him he’d win the next match for sure and that you’d one hundred percent be there, unlike the last match.

You felt as though your absence may have affected him more than he cared to admit, and you’re correct. Bokuto did want you to be there, but how could he be upset with you over you not going when you try to go to all of his matches. He understands that you can’t get away from work every time and that your work is just as important to you as volleyball is for him. He couldn’t be selfish, but he had to admit to himself he was disappointed.

However, the loss was the least of his worries.

“Kou?”

He blinked several times before his gaze lifted toward your own concerned one. “Yeah?” His expression was blank, devoid of any emotion.

Your brows furrowed in growing worry and instinctively, your hand reached out across the table in hopes his own would grasp it. You were throwing him a lifeline, hoping he’d catch it.

He didn’t. His hands remained in his lap. You couldn’t see it, but he was twirling his thumbs around each other in a poor attempt at easing his own nerves. But you could see the slightest of wrinkles on his forehead, and the way his eyes didn’t glimmer as bright as they usually did. You were afraid to speak again. Clearly his inner turmoil was slowly breaking him down, and whatever it was you wanted it to stop. But how? How could you make it stop when you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask him what was wrong, afraid that another push into any direction would be the wrong direction and you’d set him off.

Taking a deep breath, readying yourself to ask him if he was okay, your hand gripped the cup you realized you never let go. You were holding onto it so tight your knuckles were turning white. Maybe you needed the lifeline.

“Kou, are you okay?”

He continued looking at you. His gaze gradually relaxed until a slight smile curved his lips. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, was just thinking about practice today.” With that, he pushed his chair back, the scraping of the chair’s legs against the linoleum too loud in the silence. You couldn’t help but cringe as it rang in your ears. Standing up, he picked up his plate and walked into the kitchen, dumping the food into the trash before putting it in the sink. Your eyes followed his every move, and you realized he had barely eaten anything.

Before leaving the kitchen, he stopped at the table and gave you one last look. “I’m gonna shower, ‘kay?”

You hummed and watched him leave as your heart permanently lodged itself in your throat. You could hear his footsteps fade the further he walked from you. You looked down at your food that was probably too cold to eat, and then at your hand that was still holding onto the cup like it could save you from what you were feeling. You let the cup go and massage your hand before it begins to cramp. Tears pooled in your eyes and you blinked them away, not wanting to make this personal…not yet anyway. Sighing, you did what Bokuto had done moments ago in the kitchen. After emptying your plate, you walk over to the sink and stare at the dirty dishes. Well, they weren’t going to wash themselves.

  While Bokuto showered, you got ready for bed using the hallway bathroom and when you were dressed in your pajamas, you snuggled into bed hoping that maybe he’d be up for some cuddles. While you waited, you stared at the ceiling, wondering how bad their loss could have been to have your boyfriend in such an awful slump.

You had started falling asleep when your cell phone pinged. You unlocked your phone to see it was a text from Atsumu.

9:48 PM – Atsumu: Hey, are you and Bokuto in a fight?

Your brows furrowed as you read over his text, chewing on your bottom lip as you wondered what could have possibly made him think that. Well, Bokuto’s mood obviously but you would’ve thought he of all people should know why he’s feeling down.

9:50 PM – You: Uh, no. Has he said we are?

As soon as you hit send Bokuto opens the bathroom door, startling you in the process. The scent of his shampoo follows him as he walks around the room. You inhale out of habit, suddenly getting hit with a pang of nostalgia. That soapy scent that clung to him whenever you cuddled him after his shower was strong enough to ease your worries, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to be engulfed in his arms.

You sink back into bed, leaving your phone on the nightstand in the process. You turn on your side as you watch Bokuto sit on the edge of the bed, his back toward you. You tug on the hem of his shirt to get his attention.

He turns around, a brow raised, and you know he’s waiting for you to speak.

“Atsumu asked me if we’re fighting.”

He swallowed and you could see his Adam’s apple bob, causing you to sit up.

“Bokuto, have you told them we’ve been fighting?”

Bokuto couldn’t bring himself to say no because he knew it was going to be easier for him to handle you being mad at him over this than over why he was truly pushing you away. He wanted to get used to the silence before sealing the deal. He knew it was selfish of him. He was cushioning the blow for himself, but who would cushion it for you?

You mistook his silence for a definitive yes. Why was he telling his teammates that you and him were in the middle of a fight? When you in fact were not. You say his name, this time your voice is a little louder, firmer.

“Bokuto.”

His heart clenched at your use of his surname. There was no love laced in your voice either, only concern and a growing frustration. But you were still at his side. He was still going to get to feel the bed dip from your weight, and he’d savor it; he’d savor every last bit. He didn’t say anything other than a soft-spoken goodnight. He lied on his back and got comfortable under the covers, or as comfortable as he could since you were still sitting up and glaring daggers at him.

“This isn’t over.” You sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time since he had returned home from practice. You reach for your phone to send Atsumu one last text before turning off the lamp on your nightstand.

10:13 PM – You: I guess we are…

  By the time you wake up Bokuto’s gone. You look over at his side of the bed, running your fingers over his pillow. There was no use in starting your day in a sour mood, so you swing your legs off the bed and stand up, deciding that your boyfriend’s mood won’t ruin yours. You start to get ready for work, the only noise in your room coming from the open window. Quickly, you make your way toward the kitchen, making breakfast while the TV hums quietly in the background. You needed some form of noise other than the ticking of the clock and the air conditioning, and the news did just fine in filling the apartment with whatever was going on in the world.

While you eat, Atsumu sends you another text.

7:27 AM – Atsumu: Are you okay?

You lock your phone after skimming over the message, not bothering to respond yet. Damn Atsumu and the care he has for you. Being Bokuto’s girlfriend comes with its perks. You both share the same group of friends because let’s admit, who could hate them. Of course, you both have your share of personal friends but for the most part, you’re always around one of Bokuto’s friends.

Throughout the years as Bokuto’s girlfriend, Atsumu and you became close. His friendship turned into one you valued a lot, but you couldn’t deal with his questions at the moment, not before work. Later. Later would be better.

And like that, later turned into never. You were headed home from work and had gone through the day with no text or call from your beloved partner. You can’t say the same for Atsumu. He called you during your lunch break, which you ignored, and he texted several times more after. You ignored them all.

This wasn’t like Bokuto, and you were beginning to get tired of the radio silence. He never pushed you away, especially when he needed you the most.

Then it dawned on you.

He’s going to break up with you. It only made sense considering it seemed like he no longer needed you. Suddenly, an immense weight fell on your shoulders at the thought of having to face the fact that he no longer loves you. When did he stop? You rack your brain for clues, for telltale signs that show he obviously doesn’t want to be with you anymore. And that’s when the confusion settles in because prior to their loss he had never gone a day without telling you he loved you. Not a day had gone by without him looking at you with the utmost adoration. He never stopped loving you.

So, why the sudden change? If it wasn’t you, was it the team?

You pulled out your phone to call Atsumu, feeling that for the first time in over a week you had an idea of what was going on. He answers after the first ring and you can’t help the smile that graces your features.

“Finally, I hear from ya.” You can hear the scowl in his voice and you huff out a quiet laugh.

“I’m sorry, ‘tsumu. Hey, I’ve got a question.”

“Uh-oh, sounds serious. Should I be worried?”

You hold your phone between your shoulder and ear as you unlock the front door of your shared apartment with Bokuto. Atsumu can hear the jingle of your keys as you hum a quiet no in response to his question. He can hear you shut the door behind you and the click of the lock, no doubt your shoes probably being slipped off after shrugging off your coat. You drop your keys in a bowl by the door before making your way to the kitchen to get something to drink.

“Atsumu, I’m the one that’s worried. Did Bokuto get into an argument with any of you guys after your last game?”

Atsumu swallows thickly as he recalls the memory of the last game, shuddering as if you had just rubbed salt into the wound. He thinks about what Bokuto had said after, about how he wished you were there and that he would’ve played better had you been cheering him on. But he can’t remember a fight. After the game, the group hit a bar and got tipsy. The night blurs into a muddied mess he can’t remember.

You wait with baited breath as he silently picks through his brain, trying to gather the pieces of that night. You’re about to say his name to get his attention but he speaks up before you can.

“No, we haven’t fought since then. But that’s what I wanted to talk to ya about. Are you two fighting?”

You set down the cup you reached for and fill it with water. “No, Atsumu, we’re not. Which is why I was hoping he’s been upset with one of you guys.” You take a sip and set the cup down harder than you intended. Water spilled over the edge and you shook your hand to get the water off.

“Hoping?” Atsumu can hear you open and close a cabinet.

You wiped down the counter after having grabbed a napkin. You sigh into the phone as you throw it in the trash. “Yes, Atsumu. I was hoping.”

That’s when Atsumu hears it, the helplessness in your voice.

You’re slowly coming to the realization that Bokuto doesn’t want you anymore. You hear keys jingling and the door knob rattle, announcing your boyfriend’s arrival. The panic you feel terrifies you but you can’t help it.

“I gotta go ‘tsumu! He’s here.” And with that, you hang up.

Bokuto steps in quietly despite seeing that the kitchen light is on. It’s only late in the evening, still too early to go to sleep, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to see your face or hear your voice. He needed to keep the distance. He holds his breath as he slips his shoes off and drops his duffel bag by the couch, waiting for you to come bounding up to him the way you usually do to greet him after practice. But you don’t. And he’s afraid. He’s afraid to call out your name, afraid that you’ll respond.

You’re frozen in place by the counter, gazing at the water in your cup, vision blurring the longer you stare. Bokuto takes cautious steps toward the kitchen, and when his eyes land on your obviously tense figure his heart deflates. You both were walking on eggshells around each other, and he was to blame.

He could tell you now and get the heartbreak over with, but the devil on his shoulder told him to wait one more week. Just one more. It was awfully selfish and it made his gut twist in guilt but he couldn’t let you go. You’re his everything. You kept him grounded. Who was going to tell him to take a break when he pushed himself too hard during practice? Who was going to wash his hair when he was too tired, or simply because he wanted to spend time with you? Who was going to reassure him every morning and night? No one else would hold him the way you did because you held him as if he’d disappear. No one would love him the way you did.

You blinked several times before shifting your gaze to his face, and you noticed the way his eyes welled with tears.

“Kou? Do you still love me?”

His heart clenched as he registered your words. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into a hug and apologize for how he’s been treating you. You have no idea how much he wishes that’s all he has to apologize for, how desperately he wants to be able to blame their recent game for his awful behavior.

His ears ring with your question. He does still love you, and precisely because he loves you, he should tell you.

You stand there, waiting for Bokuto to answer. His eyebrows furrow as he thinks, and you wonder if he truly has to think about how to respond to a simple yes or no question. He doesn’t speak, but he closes the gap between you with quick strides. He pulls you into his arms, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands while his other arm snakes around your waist.

He holds you close as he wills the tears not to fall, and as he runs his fingers through your hair, he recalls the brief moments he remembers of that night. He shuts his eyes to force the images away but that only makes them more vivid.

He knew it was wrong as his fingers danced along her skin. Was he that upset about your absence from his game? He understood you were busy, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened had you been there. Perhaps they would’ve won. Perhaps they could’ve made it further into the tournament. Perhaps they could’ve stepped onto the court once more. All these maybes and what ifs were useless, he knew that. And yet…

He was too far gone to care as he let himself indulge in the girl beneath him. She clung to him tightly as he continued to take the stress and the disappointment of the day out. A light sheen of sweat was present on both of their bodies, and the moon illuminated them throughout the entire time, like a blanket meant to keep Bokuto Koutaro’s secret. The pleasure was short lived as he realized that she didn’t fit perfectly against him the way you did. You two were like puzzle pieces that fit every time, two souls bound together. He couldn’t bear to keep his eyes open. He squeezed them shut tight and his ears rang with the lewd sounds that tumbled past her red lips.

Bokuto opens his eyes as he clings to you. A single, guilty thought sat in the back of his mind, however. What she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Bokuto’s arms slightly tighten at the intrusion. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. If he loved you, he wouldn’t be playing with your emotions the way he currently was. He saw the way your eyes looked at him after asking him if he still loved you. The way your eyes, glassy with unshed tears, were like an open door. He could see the fear, the confusion, the hope-your life was hanging on the balance of that one question. He knew his answer would either lift the current weight off your chest or would weigh you down until you couldn’t breathe.

So, he decided to wait.

He let out a shaky breath as he pulled back to look at you. “Of course, I still love you.” He turned you so that he could lead you toward the room. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

You eyed him warily, unconvinced despite his reassurance, but for tonight you’d play along. You were tired, both mentally and emotionally. So, you wait for your boyfriend to turn off the kitchen lights, then let him lead you to your bedroom. Bokuto gulps as he walks down the hallway with his hand on the small of your back. He felt worse than before, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it through another week. He desperately wanted to give himself a few more days with you, but the guilt was eating him alive.

The atmosphere is tense as the both of you get ready for bed, opting to take turns using the bathroom unlike your usual routine, which consists of the two of you shoving each other to get to the sink first. Tonight, there’d be no playful shoves while brushing your teeth, just your own pair of eyes with dark bags under your eyes staring back at you.

You settle into bed, both of you staying on your own side. You’ve been with Bokuto long enough to know he can’t sleep without holding you, so you’re very aware of the dark bags under his eyes too. Neither of you have been able to get much sleep, and tonight is no different. He tosses and turns, kicks the blanket off then pulls it over him again. And this continues well into the early morning, until finally you give in and reach for his hand.

He tenses up, then slowly starts to relax. You turn on your side so you can wrap an arm around his torso, and you can tell he isn’t fully relaxing his body into the mattress. You pull him close, your hand rubbing circles into his lower back, and his breathing eventually deepens. Sighing, you kiss his forehead and cup his face in your hand, your thumb smoothing out the wrinkles on his forehead, then rubbing over the apples of his cheek.

He was distraught and you weren’t sure why. It had to be more than having lost a match. He’d lost games before and never reacted like this. You kiss his forehead once more before wrapping his arms around you so that you too could fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow during that split second after waking up where your memory is foggy, you’ll think that it’s just another morning waking up in his arms. And maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself, for even just the briefest of moments, that you’re happy.

Bokuto may have had the same idea because after waking up the following morning, the sky still a pale blue, the city still quiet, he forgets what’s been plaguing his mind. He pulls you in close and kisses your forehead like he always did before. A smile graces his face, and it’s a genuine smile. The one where his eyes turn into crescents and his lips pull back to reveal his teeth. He’s happy, truly happy, for a few seconds. And then the weight of the world collapses on him and he feels like he’s falling. He rubs his temple with a hand then untangles himself from you, giving you one last longing look before stepping into the bathroom to get ready.

He always goes to the gym before practice, and if not the gym, then he goes for a run. He gets ready for the rest of his day as quietly as possible so as to not wake you up, and before he leaves the room, he leans over your sleeping figure and presses a kiss to your forehead, then the tip of your nose. He looks at you and feels his chest tighten because this is what he threw away. He risked the unconditional love and safety you gave him all because he was upset that you couldn’t go. There was no excusing that. It was a ridiculous reason really, because it makes him sound selfish. And he was, in that brief moment, he was selfish and it was going to cost him a relationship he never thought would end. Because when he pictured his wife, it was you. You two were supposed to grow old together. It was supposed to be you and him in this life and every other life that was to come.

He blinks the tears away, leaves a chaste kiss, and turns to leave the room when you reach out and tug at his shirt. Sleepily, you mumble a soft I love you then let go. You continue sleeping as if you hadn’t just ripped his heart out. Bokuto covers his mouth before he can let out a choked sob. He deserves to feel this torment and more, because what you’d be feeling would be a thousand times worse. He turns on his heels and leaves the room, not bothering to grab breakfast before leaving the apartment. He had to get away, because being inside your shared dwelling was suffocating.

  The next few days go by like a blur. You’ve gradually become accustomed to the quieter responses you get from your boyfriend. He’s somewhat responsive now and reciprocates the featherlight kisses you press to his cheek whenever he arrives or leaves your home, and you think that maybe he’s beginning to get over it. However, you can tell he’s not completely back.

So, when Bokuto asks you to wash his hair after one of his practice sessions, you think finally, his sour mood is gone and the Bokuto you know and love is back. You hope he’ll be cuddly after because you miss being in his arms-his arms that kept you safe and warm. Nothing would ever beat being held by him because he held you like nothing else mattered, as if nothing more important would ever exist at the same time as him.

Little did you know, Bokuto was savoring the last few moments he was allowing himself to share with you. He’d tell you tonight. He didn’t want to tell you, but my god, the guilt was gnawing at his insides. Every time he looked at you his stomach would turn, and seeing the hopeful look in your eyes when he’d press a kiss to your cheek was like a punch to his gut. He knew you deserved better.

You follow Bokuto into your shared room, a small smile raising the corner of your lips as you walk past him and into the bathroom. “I’m gonna start your bath, Kou.”

He hums in response as he starts to pull his shirt over his head, but stops and pulls his shirt back down so he can scan your shared bedroom. He’d probably never see his room with your belongings again. His place won’t feel as inhabited considering he was gone for long hours most of the time, whether it be for training or practice, matches at home or out of the country. You made his apartment feel like a home, with your clothes thrown over the chair in the corner of the room, your skincare a disarray in the bathroom cabinets after the two of you would have your weekly skincare date because sometimes it was all he’d have time for but at least you were spending time together. He noticed the books on your nightstand, one a little more worn out than the rest because it was your favorite. He knows if he were to open it, he’d find your messy handwriting, which was usually neat but because of the limited space it looked messy, in the margins of the pages. Your glasses sat atop the book and that’s how he knows you had been reading it before he arrived.

He looks over to the closet where your clothes are clearly overtaking his half. Once you leave, he’ll have room to spare. He finds the rest of your books sitting atop the shelves in the closet, and he recalls you shoving them in any place they’d fit because you just had so many. His eyes wander to the photos of the two of you, some plastered to the walls while others are placed in picture frames that sit atop both of your nightstands, your vanity, your bookshelf, anywhere that has enough space for a frame. He hopes you’ll let him keep a few, for his memories’ sake.

You peek your head out from the bathroom after having called out Bokuto’s name twice, only to be ignored. “Hey Kou, did you not hear me?”

He turns around, tears falling down his cheeks. Your frustration is long forgotten as you walk toward him, pulling him into the tightest embrace. “Kou, whatever it is that’s bothering you…you know you can tell me, right?”

At that, he sobs. Loud. His shoulders shake uncontrollably as the dam he had built throughout the past two weeks crumbles. His resolve shatters as his tears soak your shirt. His fingers grip your shirt tightly as he holds you impossibly close. He manages to quiet down, choking on his whispered response. “But I can’t tell you.”

You try to pull back, but his grip only gets tighter as he buries his face into your neck. “Kou, you need to tell me why you’re so worked up. Baby, I’m worried about you.”

He lets you pull back just a bit, and you cup his face so you can thumb his tears away. His heart constricts at both the pet name and at the way you’re gently holding his face. He continues to speak in a hushed tone. “I can’t tell you because you’ll hate me and never want to see me.” At his admission, tears well in his eyes again and you can’t wipe them away quick enough. You settle for just cupping his face in your hands.

“Why would I hate you? Did you do something worth hating?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, not being able to look at you as he nods. At this, your own heart constricts, and the concern your heart held for Bokuto slowly turned into anguish. What had he done?

“Bokuto…what did you do?”

He opens his eyes, the anguish in your heart somehow reflected in them. You could see the fear, it was the same fear you had last week, the fear of losing one another. He stumbled over his own words; the panic evident. “I-I’m your Kou!” He choked on his own sobs as he clung to you once more.

You were at your wits end though. You were tired of feeling like something was being kept from you. “Bokuto, please! Just spit it out!”

His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were shut tight as he confessed. “I cheated! Okay?!” His chest heaved as if he had just run a marathon. “I cheated…” he repeated, quieter this time.

Your hands fell to your sides, your body numb as you processed what he just said. He cheated? Cheated when? With who? No, you didn’t want to know who. You felt your knees begin to buckle, so you sat on the bed before you could fall. You stared ahead but not really seeing. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to cry out of disappointment, out of sadness, or out of anger.

Despite clearing your voice, it still came out strained when you spoke. “When?”

Bokuto looked at you with wide eyes. “When what?”

“My god Bokuto, don't be an idiot. When did you cheat?”

He grimaced as you called him both by his last name and an idiot. It hurt like hell and he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees to beg you to talk about something else, about how you two were going to get over this. But he was glued to his spot. “The night we lost.”

You scoffed after realizing it’s the only game you missed this season. “So, let me get this straight…I miss one game and you screw some random girl that looks your way?” You stand up, realizing if you stay beside him, you’ll cave. Because with that look of utter remorse you’re sure he could convince you to stay, but you won’t. As easy as it is to forgive Bokuto Koutaro, you know you’ll never forget. You can try and work this out with him, but this is something you’d hold over his head for the rest of his life. You knew that’d only make your life miserable. So, you walk to the closet and grab a duffel bag, throwing in a few changes of clothes to get you through a couple of days until you’ve completely moved out.

Bokuto sees the resolve on your face, and he knows that no amount of crying and begging will get you to stay. He stands in the doorway of the closet, effectively blocking your only way out, and he foolishly asks you a question he already knows the answer to. “Can’t you stay? Can’t we work this out? Because it wasn’t like that I swear!” He tentatively reaches his hand out, but you retreat.

You finally look at him, angry tears spilling down your cheeks. “So, what am I supposed to make of this then?! Huh?!” You turn your head so you can blink the tears away.

“I don’t know! Think of anything other than me not loving you because I swear, I do!” Warm tears run down his cheeks again, this time in defeat.

You angrily wipe at your eyes. “No, Bokuto! If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done that! How could you have been so selfish?! You knew I was busy and yet you couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough until you got home!” You dropped your duffel bag after zipping it closed. “You came home to me right after, Bokuto! I took care of you that night because of how wasted you were! You came home and slept beside me after doing God knows what!” This time you let the tears flow freely, hoping that the hurt in your eyes and the pain laced in your voice hurt your now ex-boyfriend tenfold. You wanted him to hurt the way you were and more.

He reached for you, pulling you into his arms, and you had never felt more repulsed in your life. His arms that once promised security and safety, his arms that you could call home, no longer were any of that because those same arms embraced another woman. You shoved Bokuto off, pushing him as hard as you could but it didn’t faze him. “Bokuto, move.”

The look in your eyes was enough to kill, and so he stepped aside. He was frozen in place as he watched you grab the duffel bag from the floor and walk past him as if he’s not there. He watches as you grab your phone to call God knows who, but when he hears you say Atsumu’s name, his stomach flips. Atsumu would hate him for this, probably for the rest of their lives.

You continue surveying the room and the bathroom for any necessities you may need as you wait for Atsumu to stop talking. Your voice is hoarse when you speak. “I’m leaving in a minute or so, Atsumu. I’d rather drive myself then wait for you to get here. I can’t spend another second with him.”

Bokuto balls his hands into fists because now you won’t even address him by his name. He knows he’s the one to blame, yet he can’t help the tinge of jealousy.

“I know I’m in no condition to drive, but I just can’t stay!” You let out a frustrated breath. “Sorry ‘tsumu. I’d just rather risk it right now. Look, I finished packing. I’ll see you soon.” You hang up the call as you sling the duffel bag over your shoulder and start walking down the hallway.

Bokuto knows there’s nothing worth saving anymore, you have made your decision abundantly clear, and yet he follows you anyway. He stands a few feet away from the entrance, giving you plenty of space so you can put on your sweater and shoes. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse too, and he has to clear it several times so he can speak clearly.

“Can I…can I keep a few photos?”

You pause midway of tying your shoes and look up from your crouched position by the door. His figure is blurry from the tears you’re holding back, so you let out a humorless chuckle to mask the hurt because you would not give Bokuto the satisfaction of knowing that you too felt like your heart had been ripped out. You notice him flinch at your indifference and feel a small sense of pride, but the feeling doesn’t last nearly as long as you hoped. “Do whatever you want with the photos, Bokuto. I don’t care.”

You stand up, suddenly not wanting to leave. This had been your home for the last few years, he had been your home for the last few years. You take in a deep breath, readying yourself for whatever it is you’ll feel once you leave. You put your hand on the door knob and pause, looking at Bokuto over your shoulder. “I hope it was worth it.”

Bokuto can only watch from where he’s glued to the floor. His limbs feel too heavy to move. Your figure is blurry to him as well, but he shamelessly lets the tears fall. He wants you to see that he’s sorry despite knowing that won’t change the outcome of the situation.

You step outside, the cool air allowing you to breathe freely for once in the last two weeks. Before shutting the door, you give him one last, good look. “I’ll come get my stuff when you’re not home, and since you’re never really home it shouldn’t be that hard.” You couldn’t help the jabs that you were throwing his way.

“I’ll have ‘tsumu accompany me, so I can be sure you won’t be here. I know you won’t wanna face him any time soon.”

Bokuto just nods, because he hears you but doesn’t quite understand. His ears are ringing after every sentence you speak. He doesn’t hear the soft goodbye Bokuto that tumbles past your lips before closing the door with a soft click. And he wishes he had, because his name coming from your lips would always sound heavenly no matter in what tone you said it.

He walks toward the window and pushes the curtain aside. He watches you pull out of the driveway, and just like that, you’re gone. Just like that, his relationship is over. He pulls out his phone because there’s only one person he could talk to right now that would hear him out.

He puts his phone up to his ear and impatiently taps his foot as the line continues to ring. Finally, they pick up, and the breath Bokuto is holding to keep his composure is released. He lets the curtain fall closed as he begins to cry again and somehow, he manages to spit out a few words through choked sobs. 

“Akaashi…she’s gone.”

My heart died with you

Akaashi Keiji x reader

Summary: Akaashi Keiji. A very successful man. If you were to ask anyone about him they would say that he has a good job and a beautiful wife. Or had a beautiful wife. 

Word count: 1338

A/n: I already posted this but I am just copying it here! Please reblog if you link my work! 

Warning: Alcohol, character death (reader), suicide??, ANGST, post timeskip

One year. It had been one year since the day that he lost his light, his laughter and his love. One year since Akaashi Keiji lost you. You were the love of his life. He loved everything about you, from the way your eyebrows would wrinkle when you laughed to the way you said his name. Today, you were all his friends talked about. Bokuto, you best friend was more depressed than usual, even Tsukishima seem to miss you. That day going to work was both the best and worst decision. It helped him keep his mind from wandering to thoughts of whether you were in a better place or if you still watched out for him, but those looks of sadness and sympathy from the faces of his co-workers made him feel sick with regret. He left the office early that day to head to the bar across the street from his office. Now Akaashi was not a heavy drinker, whenever you would go out for drinks, he was always the designated driver. He never even thought about letting the alcohol touch his lips, but when he walked into the empty bar, he just hoped that he would be able to make his way home after a few drinks. Taking a seat at the counter, he orders his first drink

“Whiskey neat, please.”

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It had been 5 shots, no 6. The world around him was just starting to get slightly blurry. The quiet bar was now bustling with customers looking for the same high as he was. They were all looking for a way to forget what was right outside the threshold of the bar doors. As Akaasi finishes yet another, a woman comes up to him, everything she does reminds him of you. The way her hair fell around her face and the way she walked was so stupidly similar to the way you would when you were drunk. Sitting on the bar stool next to him, she crosses her legs and leans forwards seductively. 

“Hey,” she slurred, in a manner that was so similar to the way you would take when you had a little too much to drink.

“Hey,” Akaashi replied. The large wave of nostalgia washing over him like a tsunami. Everything about this woman in front of him was exactly like you. Well almost, she had the look of lust and mischievousness in her eyes, while you always had a look of innocence and kindness. But that difference wasn’t enough to keep Akaashi from indulging in a dream, even if it was just for the night. “Do you want a drink?”, he finishes. The smug smile on the woman’s face was enough to answer his question.

——————————————

They lasted 2 drinks. 2 drinks before he let the succubus like woman pull him outside to an alley by his tie. The kiss they shared was sloppy as both ends intertwined their tongues in a fight for control. One of her hands was busy lacing the fingers through his dark curly hair, and the other was working on the buttons of his shirt. The passion was nothing but a pure illusion, but one that brought the drunken man some comfort. The kiss deepened with each passing second, becoming more and more intimate. Suddenly, as her cold hands touched his bare chest, in the way you used to do, did his eyes flash open. The coldness was uncharacteristic of you. Your hands were always had warmth. These hands feel like those of a dead body. In a panic, the man that you loved so much pushed the woman that mirrored you almost perfectly. Both people were silent at his sudden opposing movement. The woman moved closer to him caressing his muscular chest with her cold, dead hands.

“Keiji, what happened?”, she asked with lust dripping from every word she spoke.

“I am sorry, I can’t do this. Especially not today.” Akaashi answered. “And it is Akaashi to you.”, he answered with a sliver of hatred in his tone as he buttoned up his shirt and readjusted his tie, all the effects of the alcohol now gone. Before he walked away, leaving the woman alone in the alley, confused and alone. He wished he could say that he hated her for what she made him do. But he couldn’t. It was his fault, his fault for betraying his loyalty to you, and letting that woman take advantage of him. He could hate her because he was too busy hating himself.

The walk back to the apartment was long and full of shame. The thought and memories of you bombarded his mind. He wanted nothing more than to be held in your arms while you told him everything would be alright. Your warmth was always able to pull him out of his thoughts. It was like you were his life line. Pulling him out of the deep and mysterious ocean and into the safety of your arms.

When he arrived at the apartment that the two of you used to share, he was met with emptiness. No warm meal, no hug, no hello, and no you. Sighing, he loosens his tie and unbuttons the first few buttons on his shirt. Walking through the gloomy, dark and empty kitchen, one that was once filled with laughter and happy memories, he makes his way to your favourite spot in the entire apartment, the fire escape. You would sit there at night with a cup of coffee and a fluffy blanket to talk to the sky. “The night sky knows everything about everyone!”, you used to explain excitedly to Keiji. “All the stars and the moon that make up the night sky always keep their promise and all of your secrets.”. You were so happy back then. It made him wonder when it all changed for you. And why didn’t he notice. He was supposed to be very observant, but he couldn’t even notice the spark in your eyes dull as your smile slowly shrink. Grabbing a cup of coffee, your old blanket and the photo of the two of you on your wedding day. Settling down to sit on the fire escape, Akaashi stared at the photo of the two of you, both frozen in time and forever young. You looked so beautiful that day he thought that you were definitely a goddess. Your dress had long lace sleeves and a low scooped neckline that perfectly suited you. He wore a classic tux with dark blue accents you could only see if you looked long enough and a blood red rose which adored his breast pocket. Everything about that day was perfect. All of his dreams came true of a beautiful wedding with an even more stunning bride. He wordlessly ran his along the picture, pausing when he got to your face, a wide beautiful smile on your face and your bridesmaids and Bokuto surrounding you, and Akaashi holding your hand with a rare smile on his face as well. The generally calm and composed man broke down into tears. 

After what seemed like a hour of crying, Akaashi looked up towards the night sky, some of the stars were present, and a crescent moon hung above his head, the noise of the city fading behind him. Wiping away the last remnants of the tears, he spoke to the night sky, hoping that maybe you could hear him too.

“Y/n,” he began, voice shaking, “I am sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry. I am so, so, so sorry. I know in your letter you told me to move on. I went on a date with a girl, but I couldn’t move on. If you are watching over me, you probably know what happened at the bar today. The woman I was with. I couldn’t help myself. She reminded me so much of you. I thought that maybe I could give my heart to her. But I couldn’t. How could I when my heart died with you?”.

☹︎ Time skip Akaashi-

Warning: first degree murder please tell me if there’s other things

A/N: I’ve been at school and between writing different stories with the finished product being something I didn’t like so this would be my first official story

Akaashi’s one promotion away from becoming the boss of the company he’s working at and there’s also another person that was one promotion away from being the boss so they both had to work twice as hard and gain peoples favor.

R/N saw that people started seeing that he was losing so they had to take matters into their own hands and hired a famous hit man to kill him so R/N can get the promotion.

The hit man kidnapped Akaashi while he was about to get into his car while he was leaving work at night and took him to the forest a long while from the city.

Akaashi prayed and thought “this can’t be the end for me I didn’t even get to say bye and I love you to them” tears cascading down his face realizing there was no escape.

The hit man tied Akaashi to a tree and grabbed Akaashi’s phone smashing it to pieces and grabs a cigarette and lighter from his pocket lights the cigarette he inhaled the smoke and breathed it out.

“If I wasn’t getting paid so much to kill you I would’ve kept you as a little play thing” the hit man lit the grass around Akaashi on fire and laughs as he see’s the fire consume Akaashi and the forest as he leaves.