your heartbeat on the highline.
... bokuto/akaashi, 02

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At six, Bokuto saw his parents in their kitchen cooking-his mother, stewing a pot of soup, and his father, chopping up vegetables. They were laughing over the steam from the pot, and Bokuto? Bokuto was there, on the foot of the stairs, staring at their soft, laughing faces, wondering: Oh, are they happy?

He took one look at their faces again, and listened closely to their voices. There, he concluded, at six, sitting on the foot of the stairs, knowing nothing but what he's seen-I want that.

Growing older, he sees more of the world beyond their kitchen, beyond their laughing, smiling home. He sees it in squares of four, different people displayed on each of them. Some are quiet, some play their act as if it were real. Some dance on the edges of endings, and some don't even end up having a kitchen to flag their laughs around.

He stares at these people, on his own spectrum, in his private squares of four, and realizes: Oh, not everyone's happy.

Still, Bokuto wants. He keeps these quiet, falsified people in the comforts of his chest and wishes he could also make them happy. That's not his job, he knows-he's just going to try to give what he has around until the ones who will share a home with these people flaking on the edges come.

That's always been his way, ever since he was six, ever since the memory of I want that. Bokuto loves broad, gives love broad, laughs wide, gives laughs wide. Loving, to him, is not a narrow road filled with just one person; it's not supposed to be a lonely walk to the hands kismet intends to offer you. Someone else will have to hold your hand and give it to them, hand a fragile piece of you over. Maybe a lot of someone elses, or maybe two, maybe just this one-does it matter? Point is, someone's going to be with you. Someone's going to love you before the last absolute.

So, Bokuto wants to say, love broad, love wide. Find yourself and what you're willing to give. If you can, if you have the ability, fall as much as you like. More love fuels the heart, he thinks. The more strings tied to each of one's heart is one laugh more, one ending less.

At fourteen, Bokuto saw more and more people. Not just the quiet ones, not just those acting. He sees them, up-close, under his eyes, swearing something like love in places like the courtyard, the gymnasium, the yakiniku store outside Ushimi. Never the kitchens, he notes, never in private spaces with chuckles in the air. Is this where happiness starts, he wonders, once more, never verging.

(Ah, no, happiness does not start here. Bokuto wavers in his feet, thinks everything over. Do these people just-just know? How do they filter that love, this love? Thrown into a whirlwind, he peaks in a dead-end: How do they know? How do they know the difference, when love is supposed to be broad? When it is supposed to be given in boxes, cascades, waves? Is this what his parents already knew the answer to, standing on that kitchen? They could-could give more, give their love more, and instead they just-one? The last absolute? Is that their dictionary romance?

Growing older, Bokuto wonders: How did I want this?

Bokuto wavers one last time on his feet. Rearing, he concludes: some people don't have this one. This last absolute.

Rearing, he reaches a place beyond the walls of their home, beyond the steaming pot of soup in his memory. He will not have this one. He will give, and give, and give. Bokuto loves wide, gives wide.)

At seventeen, Bokuto reaches a place the people in his four squares landed in. At seventeen, Bokuto Koutarou has Akaashi Keiji, and he wants to give him love.

It's odd, he realizes. Bokuto wants to give Akaashi love. He feels, feels, feels-but there's nothing exclusive in how he crops Akaashi's image in his own four squares, this time. But listen. Bokuto may not be able to give Akaashi a box that isolates the way he feels about him amongst others, but he knows Akaashi would be the one he would be able to pour all his love for. He will give-in a way he hasn't before.

It's not going to be like his parents, back then, years ago in their kitchen. It's going to be something that's only theirs-only Bokuto's and Akaashi's.

He thinks this isn't special. He thinks this isn't different. That it's just a larger, broader form of love.

Bokuto of six, fourteen and seventeen loved wide, gave wide. This Bokuto of twenty four and further would do the same, still. Just here, there's a clear distinction, there's a person not under his eyes, but still up-close. They're not swearing something like love in the shadows of the courtyard's trees; Akaashi meets him head on, and gives him something that doesn't fizzle like a naked fire to the rain. Akaashi looks him in the eye and makes him want to spend the rest of his life laughing in the confines of their own kitchen.

Did all the people Bokuto trap in his own narrow scape of squares felt like they were inventing something for themselves, like how it feels like, with Akaashi? Did they feel like this, did they realize this on the brink, along the way? Did they leave the cramp on their legs behind when they thought of love when they were young? But, come to think of it-does he really need to know? Does he really need to ask what kind of language they've invented for themselves? With Akaashi here, does he really need to question?

(He told himself that the last time he wavered on his feet would be the only last absolute he was going to have. But when Akaashi stood in front of him, with a key to their apartment-home-in the palm of his hands, asking, delicately, "Do you love me?"

Bokuto answered, special in his own way, finally placing this kind of love in a box of its own, admitting that oh, this is different. "Yes.")

Growing older, Bokuto no longer wondered. Here, at twenty four, in the hallway of their home, he concludes-Oh, so this is why I want this.

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01. so, a few things: at first, i intended for bokuto to be aromantic. i wanted him to be aro in a way that he can't differentiate love he feels for other people and supposed romantic love. (i am projecting) i wanted to write about him confused with his feelings for akaashi, then. the ultimatum would still be him being aro. and then i just couldn't? i couldn't write them not in love-love, weirdly. i tried, but it felt wrong? i could've done this for any other ship, maybe, but ah, it just didn't sit right with me to do that to bokuaka. they're in love period.

that having been said, you can see bokuto as a questioning teen-adult in this oneshot. he thought he was aromantic, but in the end wasn't. that's not to say aro people will just suddenly fall in love. they don't. this is just an example of being able to change labels, when you want. whatever you're comfortable with. things can change, feelings can change, but not always. this is coming from me, an aroace. and yeah, personally, i don't think i'll have a bokuaka awakening lmao

+ to all questioning ppl here and still confused mass, you're valid!! think it over. labels are just labels, and they only help you give a name to what you're feeling, but they're not absolute. you can just freely feel what you're feeling without having to pressure yourself.

02. it's 07am rn and i wrote this instead of sleeping ha ha bokuto is v fun to write!!

03. title is from taylor swift's cardigan. folklore mwah