February 2nd.
What time is it?
Akaashi stirred in bed slightly and let out a weak grunt. He didn't bother to check. He didn't care.
The sky was already black. He figured it was already past five in the afternoon. So he didn't care anymore. He didn't care if it was seven at night, or eight at night, or twelve in the morning, or if the world's clock stopped moving altogether.
All he cared about was the fact that Bokuto was still with him, next to him, breathing, alive.
All he cared about was the fact that Bokuto Koutarou was still there.
Akaashi moved his head to the side and touched his forehead to Bokuto's neck.
Bokuto's movements were late to this, but he reacted nonetheless as he turned Akaashi's way to touch his chin to the top of his head. The soft touch of Akaashi's hair against his chin comforted Bokuto, and pulled him into a relaxed state.
Akaashi liked it when this happened. It would cause less spasms to grip Bokuto's body, allowing him to unwind more than he usually could. Akaashi didn't know why he had this effect on him, but he did, and that was all that mattered to him.
The day was exceptionally cold, but Akaashi was glad to know that the hospital's room provided enough heat to keep Bokuto from freezing over. But even so, Bokuto still suffered from trembling spells, and they would come in small, short bursts and last only several seconds before his body became too weak to keep it up.
Akaashi always made sure to hold Bokuto close and squeeze him tight whenever this happened, just to let him know that he was there for him. That he wasn't another one of those illusions his mind would create. Akaashi would also murmur quiet things to him from time to time, to keep up a small, often one sided conversation. He'd usually ask yes or no questions, ones that were easy for Bokuto to answer with a nod or shake of the head. But sometimes, he wouldn't answer certain questions, despite Akaashi asking them twice.
He wouldn't always get answers, Akaashi was aware of this, but he would still ask him things. At other times, he would just tell him things that were on his mind.
It was strange how the less Bokuto asked, the more Akaashi found himself saying.
Relaxing his head against the crook of Bokuto's neck, Akaashi blinked wearily and stared off into the distance. He focused on nothing... Something he remembered Kenma doing. His hand held onto one of Bokuto's very thin arms, and his thumb would occasionally rub up and down to comfort him. They shared the same navy blue knit blanket and huddled up beneath it, keeping each other warm in the best way that they could. As Akaashi lay there, quiet, listening to Bokuto's strained breathing, he opened his mouth to speak.
"Koutarou?"
He spoke just loudly enough for Bokuto to hear him. He felt him move against his head in response, so he continued. He drew in a deep breath and blinked away the stinging in his eyes.
"I want you to know that... I don't regret meeting you."
Bokuto didn't move much. He just breathed now.
"I am... Very happy to have met you. And to have gotten to know you..."
Akaashi paused for a long moment and said nothing for a while. But then he spoke up again.
"So... Thank you, Koutarou, for talking to me me in the hall that day... And asking me if I was alright. Because I wasn't, then. But... I am, now."
Slipping his head down to Bokuto's chest, Akaashi leaned against his frail frame. Akaashi listened to the quickened rate of Bokuto's still beating heart, and knew that this was his response to his words.
Akaashi closed his eyes against him. He found he had nothing more to say. He instead allowed his actions to speak for him. He pulled himself closer to Bokuto, and nudged his face into the warmth of his neck. He could feel Bokuto's chin rubbing against the top of his head, like it always did. It never failed to comfort Akaashi. He breathed in that familiar scent that he'd grown so attached to, then exhaled quietly against Bokuto's prominent collar bone.
Akaashi could feel a weak, ailing arm pull itself up to rest upon his shoulder. To this, he shifted in closer and allowed his body to relax. His breathing evened out and in no time, he could feel himself slipping, slowly, into the warm grasp of sleep, unable to resist.
In a daze, Akaashi's last words were, "Good night, Koutarou," before he slipped off into a deep sleep.
He dreamt of nothing in particular that night. He suffered no nightmares, nor did he see anything remotely close to a dream. There was nothing. There was only blackness.
