Several hours had passed since the message from Kuroo, and both Bokuto and Akaashi didn't do much.
Without a voice, Bokuto couldn't keep up a conversation as well as he used to, no matter how hard he tried. And even if he could speak, he wouldn't have been able to talk for long considering the state he was in. His movements were uncoordinated and slow, and the only sounds he could manage were meek and most of the time inaudible. At times, Bokuto would do nothing but lie there in bed, twitching back awake whenever his body tried so desperately to fall into the sleeping state that it once knew. When this would happen, he'd pull a frustrated expression for only a moment before his face grew too tired to hold it any longer.
When Bokuto was like this, Akaashi would normally look away to spare himself the sight of it all. But on rare occasions, there were times when he'd have no choice but to watch Bokuto fall apart at the hands of his illness, and he hated it.
For every time Akaashi would witness this, his mind would repeat one phrase, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
This is what a dying person looks like.
Looking down swiftly, Akaashi's sights locked onto his hands. He glared at them intensely with that same placid expression of his, making this look all the more unnerving. He wanted the thought to leave his mind. He wanted nothing to do with it. He forced those words away and replaced them with new ones. Ones that said, He's not dying. He's going to be fine.
But as he thought of it, as he narrowed down the true meanings of both phrases, he ultimately could not decide which of the two were more horrifying.
Akaashi closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh, feeling more and more hopeless with each passing second. He feared he wouldn't be able to pull himself out of this state, but then it occurred to him that he was not alone in this.
He felt the gentlest of taps against his arm, and he turned his head to meet eyes that were as concerned as they were exhausted. Akaashi sat up straight and composed himself.
"I'm fine." He commented softly, leaning back in his seat. "How are you feeling, Koutarou?"
Bokuto blinked slowly. This was his way of saying he was feeling alright. Not great, but alright.
Akaashi pursed his lips and nodded once. He found himself unable to say anything else, figuring that Bokuto wouldn't have anything to say either, but he was wrong.
Again, he felt the light tapping against his arm. Surprised, Akaashi gave Bokuto his attention again.
"Hm? What is it?" He turned the chair so that he was now facing Bokuto from the front.
Gazing up at Akaashi, Bokuto frowned and tried to form some words, but failed in the end. He looked around and moved his fingers, trying to make out a phone. Akaashi picked this up quickly, and he pulled his phone out for Bokuto to use. He opened his notes application and held the device in front of Bokuto. It was then that he started to inaccurately press at words that he was trying to make out. It took him some time to get down what he wanted to say, but after several minutes, he withdrew his hand.
Akaashi looked at his phone to read the sentence. It read:
"If I knew those words I spoke a week ago would have been my last, I would have chosen them more carefully."
Akaashi stared intensely at the screen, then tore his gaze away and looked back to Bokuto.
"You weren't happy with those words?"
Slowly, Bokuto nodded.
"Well then, if you had a second chance..." Akaashi hesitated. He almost didn't want to ask the question. "What would you have chosen to say?"
