saviour ✰ bokuaka

[ FIVE ]

"Koutarou, why did you think that was a good idea? You're not a student! And you distracted me, not to mention everyone else in the room." Akaashi was ranting frantically, waving his arms around as he spoke and staring off into space.

"I didn't do anything! I was just sitting there!"

"Yes, but your presence bothered me. Why didn't you tell me before you were going to listen in?"

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Tsukishima said it was okay!"

Akaashi groaned, then sat on the edge of his desk and looked at Bokuto sternly. "Don't do that again."

"But Keiji... I didn't do anything wrong! Why can't I watch your class?"

"Who said you could call me Keiji? And it just bothers me, that's all. I shouldn't have to explain myself."

"Well, if you call me Koutarou, I want to call you Keiji."

"That's not how it works."

"Then I'm revoking your Koutarou privileges!"

"Fine by me. Don't barge into my classes anymore, Bokuto."

Bokuto pouted, crossing his arms. "Really? You're so cold, I just wanted to see you!"

"We saw each other this weekend."

"Well, I just can't get enough of you! I really liked your class. I don't know who Dostelenski is but I think he's great!"

"You mean Dostoevsky."

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you can join my class if you want. I won't throw a fit like you are."

"I'm not throwing a fit. I just can't concentrate with you there. Staring at me like that..."

"Like what?"

"You know!"

"Do I?"

"Don't provoke me, Koutarou."

"Oh, we're back to first-name basis?"

Akaashi narrowed his eyes, gazing at Bokuto with a cross expression on his face. "It doesn't matter. By the way, don't leave your things on top of my books. I already told you this. One of your beakers left a permanent circle on the cover."

"It'll dry eventually."

"No, it won't."

"It will! I use my papers as coasters for my coffee all the time!"

"And it stains, yes?"

"Well, sometimes. But not often!"

"You're ridiculous."

"Oh, you love it."

Bokuto flashed him a grin, and Akaashi had to look away in order to conceal the creeping blush on his face.

"How about I make it up to you?" Bokuto asked.

"And how's that?"

"A kiss!"

"Absolutely not."

"Then how can I repay you?"

"You can start by leaving my classroom."

"This is my classroom, too!"

"Only temporarily. I'm going to go home now, and you should, too. It's late, so get some rest."

Bokuto checked his watch, realising that it was only a few hours until midnight. "Looking out for me, huh?"

"To quote your own words, 'You can call it what you want.' Anyways, goodnight, Koutarou."

"Alright. Goodnight, Keiji." Bokuto said, but Akaashi was already out the door.

...

The streets were deserted that evening. Akaashi drove past darkened streets and shimmering streetlights for nearly an hour, Shostakovich playing faintly in the background on his radio, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. The ground was still slick with rain from earlier in the day, making the roads glisten with red, orange, and blue. A few other cars passed by him in a blur, materialising and vanishing a moment after in a haze of colour, but otherwise he was alone, like driving through alternate dimensions under the glowing, perpetual moon. He heard the familiar ring of a siren in the distance.

His eyelids were heavy, threatening to give in to the weight of his exhaustion, so he turned the volume of the radio up until it was impossible to drown out the wails of the violin symphony.

Sixth block, seventh block, eighth block. Was he lost?

A drunken man stumbled across the crosswalk in front of him, furiously waving the glass bottle in his hand at Akaashi and shrieking something unintelligible.

'Eyes on the road,' he told himself as he started to nod off.

Akaashi scrambled in the back of his car for the emergency energy drink he carried. Any beverage with caffeine except tea was nauseating to him, especially with as much added sugar as energy drinks carried, but if he didn't want to crash the car, he had to take certain measures.

He flipped open the can and gulped down as much as he could before he felt properly sick, then shook his head and continued to drive.

The sirens grew louder and louder. Was there a fire? Smoke was rising from a tall building a few kilometres away, but no flames were visible.

He was only a minute away from his apartment, and he seemed to be driving closer to the scene of the fire. His palms started to sweat. 'What happened? How close is my place to it?'

He started to turn into the street his garage was on, but several firetrucks and police cars blocked the entrance, engulfing the road with flashes of red and blue. It took every ounce of strength Akaashi had left to look up.

His apartment complex, the once shining and modern retreat of the only place he felt at peace, the welcoming, familiar brick that reminded him he was home, was swallowed by tiger flames, smoke billowing around it like fog.

He froze.

It was as if the threads of his life were untying themselves, coming apart in his helpless hands, fleeting memories buried between the ashes.

He felt tears on his cheek, but he didn't even realise he was crying. His mother's old photo album. The shoes Kenma gave him for his birthday. His university diploma. His manuscript. The blanket he slept with every night. Everything.

It was almost as if he was burning right along with the building, his eyes covered in soot and his skin withering away in the embers.