Bokuto couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He couldn't stop crying. He hasn't cried like this in years.
But he needed to write this letter. He needed to let all this out, and let Akaashi know.
He couldn't take this anymore, so despite being a wreck, Bokuto put his pen to his paper and wrote.
---
Keiji,
Thank you so much for writing me back, even if the message wasn't that good.
I hope you understand where I'm coming from-- I need to see you. Or at least speak to you.
I can't stop thinking about the first time we saw each other, when you were sixteen and I was seventeen. I can't believe it's been over fifteen years, Keiji.
I can't stop thinking about the first time I asked you out, and I got so nervous I started shaking. You've always been so intimidatingly pretty.
I can't stop thinking about all those lazy Saturdays spent inside together, and the karaoke nights, and that one night I proposed and you refused.
I knew I shouldn't have asked. Things went downhill so quickly-- it was awkward talking to you, and I was terrified you hated me. I ended up crying every night with stomachaches because I never wanted you to leave me.
Eventually we broke it off and went our seperate ways, but every single cell in my body still regrets to this day not talking to you about it.
Please, at least let me hear your voice?
-Kou
At the very bottom of the slightly crinkled paper was a phone number in his large, swirly handwriting. Akaashi read those words over and over again before his mind could process-- and when he did process, he sunk his head into his hands, closing his eyes.
When he did open them again, they drifted over to the dusty phone on his desk.
He knew he shouldn't have called. He should have just thrown the letter away and forgotten about Bokuto and kept the promise to himself that he would never love again.
He knew he shouldn't have, but he found himself dialing the number and waiting with a trembling heart.
This wasn't his first promise broken, anyway.
---
Kou,
Yes, I'm writing you anyway. Even though we talked, and you heard my voice.
I was surprised you still sounded the same-- you've obviously aged but you still sound well and happy and you have no idea how good that makes me feel. I haven't smiled in so long, and I'm glad this is the thing that brings it back.
How is Kuroo doing? Do you still talk with him?
Kenma died from alcohol poisoning a few weeks ago. There was no funeral. His family decided to forget about him, and so did mine.
Does Kuroo know that his best friend died?
We're both going to die the same way-- depressed and angry and drunk and lonely and cold, but I'm fine with that. I'll be fine as long as I die soon.
But when I die, can you keep my memories? My good ones?
I love you.
--Keiji
