Bokuto broke up with Akaashi because he thought it would help him.
He'd get over his little obsession, he'd move on, he'd be happy.
That's all he wanted, for Akaashi to be happy. Their relationship was doing them no good, and Akaashi was clingy and self-conscious and weak around him, and never wanted to be alone, and this was not Akaashi.
The real Akaashi was strong and able to do anything he wanted. The real Akaashi was broken, damaged somehow.
He started starving himself whenever Bokuto made one comment about his curves, and told him that he didn't care what happened to himself. He'd sob for hours whenever Bokuto got angry or left him alone for awhile, and it was terrifying.
But Bokuto held him and kissed him and wiped his tears away. He watched as Akaashi pushed down and rejected every little emotion that came to be inside of him and replaced it with a big smile. He watched as Akaashi crumbled and screamed whenever Bokuto was a little angry with him, just because he was afraid of being without him.
Akaashi told him with teary eyes one night that he would rather hang himself than let Bokuto be unhappy, and he should've kept that in mind when they broke away from each other.
Akaashi took that really hard, and Bokuto was worried sick after a week of not seeing him.
He missed his pretty hair and eyes, and his smile, and his cuddles.
He was ready to go and apologize to Akaashi for being so mean to him, and hug him and kiss him and help him like a good boyfriend would do, but things didn't go to plan at all.
No, not at all.
He found this Akaashi, this new Akaashi, dead on his bed seven days after their breakup. This new Akaashi with all the insecurities Bokuto could have eliminated, and the sadness he could have helped him with, and all the pain. He found him with a knife in his limp, bloody hand, and jagged scars ripped across his beautiful skin.
Bokuto could have helped, but it was already much too late for all that.
He didn't do anything dramatic-- he didn't fall to the floor or sob or cry out Akaashi's name, he only walked closer, closer to the body of his best friend and lover and soulmate, and stared at the face that even looked sad in eternal rest.
why has my writing become so shitty
