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during springtime, akaashi’s eyes go from blue to green. something about the trees calling for him, life sprawling in his insides through each branch and leaf and every plant growing out thicker roots. bokuto calls it the first signal that akaashi is about to bloom.
it makes akaashi frown.
“trees and flowers bloom, bokuto-san” he explains, “not humans.”
bokuto doesn’t agree on that. that’s the only thing in which him and akaashi are never on the same side, otherwise it’s always the same for them: their houses are each on the same street, their classrooms on the same floor in the same school building. akaashi learnt how to ride a bike the same year bokuto did. an absolute early bloomer! while bokuto is usually late, but not because he’s a late bloomer himself. he’s always known he’s only waiting for akaashi. everyone knows it too, even akaashi himself; akaashi, coming home with a rushed breath after having circled the neighborhood in bokuto’s blue bike. there’s a ghost of a smile in his face overcame by a burden bokuto tries to get rid of by putting one finger on each side of akaashi’s mouth, forcing the smile to appear. i’m sorry for making you wait, bokuto-san, akaashi mumbles. bokuto’s fingers in his cheeks make akaashi’s voice sound deeper, faraway. it reverberates through bokuto’s body, something blooming deep down in his chest.
it’s fine! bokuto smiles wide and openly, everything is better with you, akaashi!
the ground under bokuto’s feet stumps. when bokuto looks from akaashi’s now full proper smile to it, he isn’t surprised to see a flower blooming. pink, like the flush on akaashi’s face when bokuto embraces him.
it’s simple: akaashi makes things bloom; flowers, trees, shrubs. love in bokuto too.
“have you put flowers inside me, akasshi?”
they’re both lying down under a trees’ shade. akaashi had been staring attentively at the peaches’ buds on the branches before bokuto’s sudden question. akaashi does that a lot—staring attentively at the things that he blooms, something about wanting to make sure he hasn’t missed anything in the process. bokuto’s used to being stared too; like right now, akaashi’s blue eyes set on him steadily for a long quiet second as he genuinely ponders the chances of that being true.
“i don’t know how to do that, bokuto-san,” akaashi eventually admits. his brows knit, troubled, “if i did, it must’ve been unintentional. i’m sorry.”
bokuto sits down. he crouches and draws near akaashi until it becomes a ‘akaashi lying down under bokuto’s shade’ for outsiders. bokuto feels the soil underneath his own body pulsating. he cranes to akaashi and beams, “what are you apologizing for, akaashi? i never said i didn’t want the flowers. actually, i love them. they’re blue and green and i don’t know their names since i have never seen them, but i call them by yours.”
akaashi is quiet again. he stares attentively at bokuto.
another flower blooms; in the soil where bokuto’s knees are bent, in the bottom of his chest.
“there aren’t any green flowers around here, bokuto-san,” akaashi corrects him, and bokuto is about to deter because him and akaashi only disagree in one thing, not two, when akaashi pulls bokuto down and kisses him, just like bokuto dreamt the night before.
“do you dream about me a lot, bokuto-san?”
they’re both standing in front of the mirror of akaashi’s bedroom. bokuto had been staring in awe at the dozens of flowers threaded on akaashi’s haori that he’ll wear for the upcoming spring ceremony. bokuto’s mom and other nine persons worked on the pattern for weeks; bokuto himself being the one who picked up the linen and threads from downtown in his father’s truck (not his bike; something as important as that could just not be carried on a bike, even if one of the things akaashi loves the most is to stand on the back of it as bokuto pedals everywhere he wants to go). bokuto didn’t dare to touch the haori just like he was indicated not to do so during all the time it rested on a mannequin in one of his house’s corners. but suddenly akaashi turned, and bokuto’s hand that was a safe distance before is pushed against the cloth.
one of the flowers touch the back of his hand. it comes to life when akaashi speaks.
“i do!” bokuto replies with no hesitation. he carefully pushes the flower away, and then excitedly asks, “do you want me to tell you about them?”
akaashi nods. when he realizes bokuto won’t get closer because he’s still wearing the haori, he slowly takes it away and hangs it on his door with thorough motions. the rest of the kimono is off soon too, and akaashi is left on the pair of bokuto’s shorts that he once borrowed and never returned. it’s simpler for them since no make-up or hair try-out was scheduled for today. neither bokuto or akaashi would dare to touch the other until every stone and trace of ink were gone. they agree on that too.
bokuto tries writing down the dreams that he doesn’t get to tell akaashi right away. his notebook gets filled with scribbles specially during springtime, with the ceremony’s date approaching. he’ll give it to akaashi when he comes back from the orchards late at night, and it’ll be delivered the next morning by akaashi himself before leaving for the day. most days, akaashi will greet bokuto and ask him if he had a comfortable night, others, akaashi will hug bokuto tightly without saying a word. once, akaashi cries in his arms and refuses to accompany the town’s elders to the orchards.
“you woke up crying because of me and i wasn’t there,” he sobs in bokuto’s shoulder, because akaashi and him are also the same height now. they can reach the same shelves at their houses and mostly all of bokuto’s clothes fit akaashi, only a bit loosely in the shoulders and legs. i can’t grow up anymore! bokuto had whined to his mom when he woke up at thirteen realizing he was suddenly much taller than akaashi. i need to wait akaashi! you can’t wait for these things, bokuto. i will wait! i can do it! and how are you planning on doing that? i’ll pray for it very hard. that’s it? that’s it. and bokuto did in fact pray. no longer after, akaashi had his own growth spurt.
bokuto was elated, maybe i’m also special like you, akaashi!
you are, akaashi agreed, but not because you control your height, which you don’t, bokuto-san.
“you didn’t make me cry, akaashi” bokuto whispers, caressing akaashi’s hair, “it was a dream.”
“i don’t want you to have bad dreams,” there’s a sullen grimace in akaashi’s usual calm face, eyelashes ticked wet. bokuto can tell that he’s holding back. akaashi is measured even when he cries after that time in which he caused that big chasm at his garden when he made a mistake during his first ceremony. all the flowers in the garden wilted too. bokuto found akaashi hiding in between the dried bushes, two fists thudding desperately against the soil and tears running down as akaashi wailed for the plants to come back.
it's fine, bokuto had told him. you can make them bloom again when you stop crying.
and what if i never stop?
and what if your tears are like raindrops, akaashi?
“it’s fine” bokuto reassures him, holding him tightly. it’s fine, he also thinks loudly, and hopes akaashi feels his words too in the same way he feels things blooming when akaashi is nearby, “most of my dreams are about you anyways, which means they’re good.”
one of the elders clears their throat, “we need to be at the orchard before the sunrise. bokuto, could you please—?”
there’s a forced distance between bokuto and akaashi now. akaashi’s red rimmed eyes stare at bokuto.
bokuto smiles.
“go and dance, akaashi. do you know what happens when you dance?”
“the peach trees bloom,” akaashi says at the same time bokuto completes:
“you make flowers bloom inside me.”
akaashi’s lips part open. he looks as if he’s about to burst into tears again.
it doesn’t work like that, bokuto-san, akaashi had explained him that time at the garden. i make things bloom. that’s it.
rain makes things bloom too, bokuto insisted. he was sure of that because they just covered that topic at school. akaashi wouldn’t be able to know it yet because he was a grade below, but bokuto did. trust me, akaashi. i aced my last exam because i know stuff like that!
so when you cry, he continued, that means a flower is growing somewhere.
where, bokuto-san?
right where the sun is, akaashi!
akaashi stared at him, green eyes glinting. it took him a moment to nod,
i understand it now. thank you, bokuto-san.
“i asked the elders if there was someone like me out there but related to the sun.”
they’re both sitting on akaashi’s rooftop the night before the ceremony. bokuto had been staring at the sky, doing his best to find the stars that he learnt about in class and point them out for akaashi. akaashi wouldn’t know about them because he’s still a grade below and because when springtime’s around, he misses most of his classes anyways.
”and what did they tell you?” he asks.
”they’ve never heard of someone like that.”
bokuto hums, “i’ve always thought on you as related to the sun, akaashi.”
“funny” akaashi dips his chin in the collar of the jacket that he’s wearing, bokuto’s, “i’ve been doing the same with you.”
it blooms in bokuto, over and over—a flower; an entire bed of them. there’re clusters of heliotropes and carnations and red asters and hydrangeas, bokuto’s love in the center of them. the sensation has bokuto on edge, the words coming out of him in an eager rush, i’m blooming, akaashi!
humans don’t bloom, bokuto-san.
you do. i do.
how so?
because i love you and you love me.
and that’s it?
that’s it.
akaashi dances under the peach trees at the town’s main orchard the following morning. he stares attentively at the buds on them as he twirls and bends and opens his hands in controlled motions, petals from last spring’s flowers slithering between his fingertips. the bells on akaashi’s bracelets ring, and the earth where he’s standing trembles one time and then another. trembles until everyone surrounding akaashi can feel each of his steps and movements.
the trees are awake. bokuto watches the branches tilting towards akaashi, reaching. wanting. his own fingers twitch on his sides, waiting.
i think you’ll be able to see it today, bokuto said as he dangled his legs by the border of akaashi’s bed while akaashi was being dressed for the ceremony. bokuto’s mom had been tying akaashi’s obi and he was unable to turn to see bokuto, but bokuto’s voice reached him steady and sure.
see what, bokuto-san?
everything you bloom when you dance.
blue eyes. green eyes. bokuto knows them too well; dreams of them often. akaashi, he jots down in his notebook making sure his handwriting is neat enough for akaashi to properly understand each word. in my dream, you were there, and that’ll be enough for bokuto no matter what follows.
when i wake up, you are there.
the first flower blooms at the sunrise. akaashi smiles at the sight.
it’s simple: when akaashi dances, the peach trees at the orchard bloom.
bokuto also falls in love.