Once Akaashi had left the hospital, he never looked back.
He walked home that day with a balled up blanket in his arms, a burgundy scarf around his neck, and nothing more from the hospital. He held them against his frame in the twenty degree weather, and though many people gave him strange looks and watched him side-ways, none of this affected him in the slightest. The cold was no longer a factor to Akaashi. He couldn't feel it. His mind wouldn't allow him to.
He made it home without so much as a hello to his parents who sat in the living room. They asked him questions. He answered blatantly. They asked about the blanket and the scarf, but they never asked about Bokuto.
Akaashi was glad. It was a good idea to have never told them about him after all.
He ascended the steps to his room, balled his – no – Bokuto's blanket up into a lump, and dropped it onto his bed along with the scarf. He reached into his pocket to fish out his phone, and pushed call on one of his contacts. He held it up to his ear and waited for the other line to pick up. Once it did, Akaashi was greeted with a, "Hello?"
Akaashi hesitated. He swallowed thickly and looked out the window.
"Hello. Kuroo? It's Akaashi. Are you busy?"
Kuroo's voice was reserved and reluctant.
"No, I'm not."
"If it isn't too much trouble, may I come over?"
Kuroo was quiet on the other end. He already knew. He inhaled audibly, and Akaashi could hear a scratching sound. After a moment, he finally spoke. His voice was solemn.
"Sure."
//
