cherry sugar || bokuaka

watercolor fountain

It is next Tuesday.

Akaashi's sitting here, stomach filled with knots and nerves frayed like broken piano chords, trying to sit as still as humanly possible.

His ass was beginning to hurt from sitting for so long.

Bokuto had decided to paint him today, out of all the days, when he looked extra tired and wanted to sleep in, because it was more emotionally moving to capture someone in their most vulnerable state like this.

Whatever that means.

Despite him waking up to his own alarms recently, Akaashi was still exhausted from having spent the entire night at the karaoke bar last night with Kuroo, Kenma, and Konoha for the latter's birthday. He decided it would be worth the tiredness and dry throat, anyway, meeting a few of Konoha's friends that were not too far off from his own personality and actually having a great time with them.

Bokuto found a pretty spot in what looked like the corner of the campus, sitting on the ledge of the huge wishing fountain, granite bowls flooding with clear water gently spilling over the cusps behind him, hope stuck to the tiles at the bottom.

He immediately was at peace, so it wasn't hard to do exactly nothing for the first few minutes that they were there.

Naturally, he ended up getting restless and wanted to spend the time doing something, anything, that wasn't just sitting here. Maybe being a model was harder than Akaashi thought.

He knew Bokuto would be upset with him had he moved, so he didn't.

He studied him instead.

Bokuto's hair was back again, and it seemed to have grown a little bit longer since they were in high school. He thinks the two-tone suited someone like Bokuto, a black bleed into a silvery-white that seemed to hold the moon, accompanying his soul of sunbeams.

He imagines him with just black hair, or just white hair, maybe a soft pink or a bright, highlighter green.

Akaashi resists the urge to smile at that last one.

Bokuto was handsome like this, focusing himself into his art, his golden eyes gleaming with a constant soft autumnal glow that only ever kindled when he had a canvas in front of him.

Akaashi always tried to catch it whenever he glanced up at him. The world quite literally revolved around him, little yellow butterflies flitting behind him in the bush he sat in front of, the clouds ceasing their crawl across the sky to stare at him in his radiance. His eyes housed dusk upon stroking colors into the version of Akaashi on his canvas, fingers steady and light.

He would love to have taken a picture of it, just to keep, just to be reminded of tranquility whenever he saw it.

Bokuto leans back a bit, tilting his head at the canvas.

"Just about done 'Kaashi. Gonna add some signature Bokuto Koutarou touches to it and we could go."

Akaashi doesn't say anything, and instead, lets his eyes wander to this part of the campus instead.

It was beautiful; the grass stuttered beneath the wind as a gentle breeze skipped over it and swung on branches, the trees quaking with opportunity, happy. The brick under his shoes was old, cracked, yet still attractive, adding to the aged refinement of the campus in a way that music boxes have, or chipped chimneys. Vines clung onto the sides of buildings, emerald fingers covering windows and grabbing onto rafters. It even smelled different over here; petrichor that seemed to soak into clothes, mingling with the mellow aroma of coffee wafting from the residential cafe.