eye of the owl
Jul. 2nd, 2015 08:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hananapeelThe grass was green, the sky was blue, the breeze brushed cool against Akaashi’s skin as he jogged. He took deep, cleansing breaths of air, feeling as calm as the clouds that floated aimlessly above. These moments that he managed to steal from the hectic, exhausting pace of his days were the only things that kept him sane, the steady beat of his sneakers against the sidewalk matching the easy pace of his heartbeat. Finally, peace.
And then: “…FOR THE KILL WITH THE SKILL TO SURVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! IT’S THE EYE OF THE TIGER, IT’S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT, RISING UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR RIVAL!”
Or not.
Akaashi took a deep breath for strength and turned his head to look at the source of the disturbance: a rusty old Honda now driving slowly alongside him, its speaker blaring “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor, and its two grinning occupants. The driver was staring at him and singing along, flouting traffic laws by driving with his knees in order to spread his arms wide in passionate rendition. Akaashi noted with reluctant amusement as he sang with such vigor that even his ridiculous spiked black hair, which looked so stiff that Akaashi doubted that it lay flat even when wet, bobbed slightly with the effort.
Akaashi’s attention shifted to the guy in the passenger seat, who was half hanging out of the open window and gaping at him, stock still except for his dyed hair that waved in the wind. His gaze was intense and honestly, a little uncomfortable, and Akaashi turned to face forward again with determination. Surely they are not planning to follow him all day, especially if he ignored him for long enough.
Inhale. Exhale. “Rising up–” Inhale. “Straight to the top–” Exhale. “Had the guts, and the glory!”
Akaashi bit the inside of his mouth, refusing to scowl or snarl or provide any sort of incentive for them to continue following him.
Inhale. Exhale.
“Went the distnace, now I’m not gonna stop. JUST A MAN AND HIS WILL TO SURVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!!!”
Inhale. The taste of blood in his mouth.
Akaashi snapped.
“WOULD YOU TWO PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE?” he turned and shouted, and he got the satisfaction of the car screeching to a stop, and both of their grins wiped off their faces.
“It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight,” Survivor sang on, until the driver, red-faced, turned it off.
He now turned to Akaashi, rubbing the mess of his hair and blushing deep to the roots. “Listen, we weren’t meaning to bother you or anything. Sorry, we’ll go.”
Akaashi sighed, now embarrassed about his outburst. Such a nice and peaceful day, now soured by this sort of confrontation he hated. “It’s okay. I knew you weren’t meaning any harm, but I would really like to run in silence, please.”
He took his first step towards peace with relief.
“Yo, Bokuto, are you crying?”
“No…” A sniffle.
Akaashi sighed, ignored his instincts to run away as fast as possible, and stopped for the second time today. Braced himself and turned back towards disturbance.
Still hanging over the edge of the window, Bokuto now had tears and snot now trickling unashamedly down his face and dripping down onto the side of the car. His friend, rummaging through the glove compartment for tissues, seemed completely unsurprised, which Akaashi found perhaps most disturbing out of all in this whole strange situation. As he walked back towards the car, Bokuto slowly raised his tear-streaked face.
Akaashi would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel the least bit flattered by the sparkling expression Bokuto welcomed him back with, snot and all.
Bokuto scrubbed at his face with the collar of his t-shirt and smiled up at him, wide and sincere. “Hey hey,” he breathed. “I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.”
Pressing his lips together first to prevent himself from instinctively smiling back, Akaashi took a second to reply. This was the boy annoying the hell out of him a minute ago, he scolded himself, and already he wanted to smile at him. Stupid, and counterintuitive. With that, he straightened his mouth into a stern line. “I’m Akaashi Keiji.”
The driver finally emerged with a pack of tissues and a wry smile. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. Sorry about bothering you. Bokuto’s alright now, right Bokuto? Thanks for coming back, but I think we’re good.”
Akaashi watched Bokuto’s face fall and immediately foresaw three cases:
Case A: he agrees, they drive away, Akaashi lives with knowing the fact that he made a (very cute) grown man cry on the way home.
Case B: he lets them continue following him, he somehow bears with them and their strange song choice for half an hour more.
Case C: he somehow makes Bokuto feel better immediately, they drive away content, Akaashi jogs again in peace.
Of the three, Case C was the least troublesome.
“Say, Bokuto,” he started, and regretted it immediately as both Bokuto and Kuroo’s gazes snapped to him and he realized that he hadn’t even planned anything to say. “umm… say, how did you get your hair like that?”
It was the right thing to say, as Bokuto perked up immediately (and was Akaashi imagining it, or did his hair perk up as well?). “Doesn’t it look awesome?” he grinned, fluffing the peaks. “Kuroo helps me with the dye jobs every other week.” A sudden gleam in his eye set Akaashi on guard. “Hey hey hey, if you really like it, I could help you dye streaks into your hair too! I’ve been doing it since high school, so I’m kinda an expert.”
“Ah… I’m good, Bokuto, thank you.”
“No problem! I understand, your hair is really pretty already…” This earned him a sharp jab from Kuroo’s elbow, and Bokuto quickly straightened and hid his goofy smile. And Akaashi turned his head to hide a blush creeping warm up his neck and an equally goofy smile threatening to peek through lips determinedly held firm.
“Sorry about that,” Kuroo drawled from his seat. “He’s kind of an idiot.”
This time Akaashi did smile, as Bokuto squawked in denial, hair ruffling like upset feathers. Kuroo laughed as Bokuto shoved him, yelling, “You’re the idiot, you idiot! What the hell, why would you say that in front of the prettiest person I’ve ever seen!?”
This time, there was no hiding his blush: Akaashi felt it hot from his neck to his face and his ears. Kuroo looked at Akaashi knowingly even as he deflected Bokuto’s whirring blows, and from just that one look the meaning was clear: Sorry about that, he’d kind of an idiot.
“Say…” Akaashi was again pierced by their gazes, one with intent focus and the other amused interest. He coughed in discomfort and almost stopped, but there was a cute boy with a self-declared crush on him (on him!) right in front of Akaashi, and he had promised himself just the night before to be more social. And who could deny Bokuto’s bright openness, his honest exuberance, that drew people in like moths to a the warmest, brightest flame? So maybe Akaashi felt lonely sometimes, despite having Konoha at work and occasionally Komi, who lived next door. They all had their own friends, closer with them than they were with Akaashi, who admittedly was quieter and more sober than most. So maybe Akaashi would like to bask in the warmth of Bokuto’s company, to spend time with someone who didn’t seem to mind the fact that sometimes, he couldn’t find anything to say.
So maybe he wanted to try being with Bokuto, this boy he just met. Sue him.
Akaashi coughed and started again. “Say, Bokuto, would you like to go out for coffee with me sometime?”
Bokuto gasped, Kuroo snickered, Akaashi hid a quiet, triumphant smile as Bokuto nearly cried tears of joy.
When, years later, people would ask them how they first met, it was never the godawful song nor Bokuto’s tears that would first come to Akaashi’s mind. Instead, it was the way Bokuto had reached for his hand in a firm clasp and pressed a fervent kiss into the junction of their hands. “We’ll have a great time together!” he had crowed, and maybe it was the way he said “together” or perhaps his utter confidence in the statement that had made Akaashi feel warmer than he should have.
He wouldn’t tell people that, though. Those types of intimate thoughts were meant to be whispered into the crevices of their entwined hands, reserved for those moments when no eyes were upon them. Except, perhaps, for that of the tiger.
And then: “…FOR THE KILL WITH THE SKILL TO SURVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! IT’S THE EYE OF THE TIGER, IT’S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT, RISING UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR RIVAL!”
Or not.
Akaashi took a deep breath for strength and turned his head to look at the source of the disturbance: a rusty old Honda now driving slowly alongside him, its speaker blaring “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor, and its two grinning occupants. The driver was staring at him and singing along, flouting traffic laws by driving with his knees in order to spread his arms wide in passionate rendition. Akaashi noted with reluctant amusement as he sang with such vigor that even his ridiculous spiked black hair, which looked so stiff that Akaashi doubted that it lay flat even when wet, bobbed slightly with the effort.
Akaashi’s attention shifted to the guy in the passenger seat, who was half hanging out of the open window and gaping at him, stock still except for his dyed hair that waved in the wind. His gaze was intense and honestly, a little uncomfortable, and Akaashi turned to face forward again with determination. Surely they are not planning to follow him all day, especially if he ignored him for long enough.
Inhale. Exhale. “Rising up–” Inhale. “Straight to the top–” Exhale. “Had the guts, and the glory!”
Akaashi bit the inside of his mouth, refusing to scowl or snarl or provide any sort of incentive for them to continue following him.
Inhale. Exhale.
“Went the distnace, now I’m not gonna stop. JUST A MAN AND HIS WILL TO SURVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!!!”
Inhale. The taste of blood in his mouth.
Akaashi snapped.
“WOULD YOU TWO PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE?” he turned and shouted, and he got the satisfaction of the car screeching to a stop, and both of their grins wiped off their faces.
“It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight,” Survivor sang on, until the driver, red-faced, turned it off.
He now turned to Akaashi, rubbing the mess of his hair and blushing deep to the roots. “Listen, we weren’t meaning to bother you or anything. Sorry, we’ll go.”
Akaashi sighed, now embarrassed about his outburst. Such a nice and peaceful day, now soured by this sort of confrontation he hated. “It’s okay. I knew you weren’t meaning any harm, but I would really like to run in silence, please.”
He took his first step towards peace with relief.
“Yo, Bokuto, are you crying?”
“No…” A sniffle.
Akaashi sighed, ignored his instincts to run away as fast as possible, and stopped for the second time today. Braced himself and turned back towards disturbance.
Still hanging over the edge of the window, Bokuto now had tears and snot now trickling unashamedly down his face and dripping down onto the side of the car. His friend, rummaging through the glove compartment for tissues, seemed completely unsurprised, which Akaashi found perhaps most disturbing out of all in this whole strange situation. As he walked back towards the car, Bokuto slowly raised his tear-streaked face.
Akaashi would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel the least bit flattered by the sparkling expression Bokuto welcomed him back with, snot and all.
Bokuto scrubbed at his face with the collar of his t-shirt and smiled up at him, wide and sincere. “Hey hey,” he breathed. “I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.”
Pressing his lips together first to prevent himself from instinctively smiling back, Akaashi took a second to reply. This was the boy annoying the hell out of him a minute ago, he scolded himself, and already he wanted to smile at him. Stupid, and counterintuitive. With that, he straightened his mouth into a stern line. “I’m Akaashi Keiji.”
The driver finally emerged with a pack of tissues and a wry smile. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. Sorry about bothering you. Bokuto’s alright now, right Bokuto? Thanks for coming back, but I think we’re good.”
Akaashi watched Bokuto’s face fall and immediately foresaw three cases:
Case A: he agrees, they drive away, Akaashi lives with knowing the fact that he made a (very cute) grown man cry on the way home.
Case B: he lets them continue following him, he somehow bears with them and their strange song choice for half an hour more.
Case C: he somehow makes Bokuto feel better immediately, they drive away content, Akaashi jogs again in peace.
Of the three, Case C was the least troublesome.
“Say, Bokuto,” he started, and regretted it immediately as both Bokuto and Kuroo’s gazes snapped to him and he realized that he hadn’t even planned anything to say. “umm… say, how did you get your hair like that?”
It was the right thing to say, as Bokuto perked up immediately (and was Akaashi imagining it, or did his hair perk up as well?). “Doesn’t it look awesome?” he grinned, fluffing the peaks. “Kuroo helps me with the dye jobs every other week.” A sudden gleam in his eye set Akaashi on guard. “Hey hey hey, if you really like it, I could help you dye streaks into your hair too! I’ve been doing it since high school, so I’m kinda an expert.”
“Ah… I’m good, Bokuto, thank you.”
“No problem! I understand, your hair is really pretty already…” This earned him a sharp jab from Kuroo’s elbow, and Bokuto quickly straightened and hid his goofy smile. And Akaashi turned his head to hide a blush creeping warm up his neck and an equally goofy smile threatening to peek through lips determinedly held firm.
“Sorry about that,” Kuroo drawled from his seat. “He’s kind of an idiot.”
This time Akaashi did smile, as Bokuto squawked in denial, hair ruffling like upset feathers. Kuroo laughed as Bokuto shoved him, yelling, “You’re the idiot, you idiot! What the hell, why would you say that in front of the prettiest person I’ve ever seen!?”
This time, there was no hiding his blush: Akaashi felt it hot from his neck to his face and his ears. Kuroo looked at Akaashi knowingly even as he deflected Bokuto’s whirring blows, and from just that one look the meaning was clear: Sorry about that, he’d kind of an idiot.
“Say…” Akaashi was again pierced by their gazes, one with intent focus and the other amused interest. He coughed in discomfort and almost stopped, but there was a cute boy with a self-declared crush on him (on him!) right in front of Akaashi, and he had promised himself just the night before to be more social. And who could deny Bokuto’s bright openness, his honest exuberance, that drew people in like moths to a the warmest, brightest flame? So maybe Akaashi felt lonely sometimes, despite having Konoha at work and occasionally Komi, who lived next door. They all had their own friends, closer with them than they were with Akaashi, who admittedly was quieter and more sober than most. So maybe Akaashi would like to bask in the warmth of Bokuto’s company, to spend time with someone who didn’t seem to mind the fact that sometimes, he couldn’t find anything to say.
So maybe he wanted to try being with Bokuto, this boy he just met. Sue him.
Akaashi coughed and started again. “Say, Bokuto, would you like to go out for coffee with me sometime?”
Bokuto gasped, Kuroo snickered, Akaashi hid a quiet, triumphant smile as Bokuto nearly cried tears of joy.
When, years later, people would ask them how they first met, it was never the godawful song nor Bokuto’s tears that would first come to Akaashi’s mind. Instead, it was the way Bokuto had reached for his hand in a firm clasp and pressed a fervent kiss into the junction of their hands. “We’ll have a great time together!” he had crowed, and maybe it was the way he said “together” or perhaps his utter confidence in the statement that had made Akaashi feel warmer than he should have.
He wouldn’t tell people that, though. Those types of intimate thoughts were meant to be whispered into the crevices of their entwined hands, reserved for those moments when no eyes were upon them. Except, perhaps, for that of the tiger.
