The transformation back is always disorienting. Bokuto isn't usually prone to vertigo or motion sickness, but there is something particularly nauseating about the way his body stretches longer and heavier, the way he can feel his bones gaining mass while his wings shift and reform into the lanky arms of humanity instead. He always has to pause to collect himself, close his eyes for a moment until his stomach is under control before he can attempt to stabilize his vision.
Today he doesn't fall, at least. It's never a sure thing, if he'll be able to keep his footing as his feathers evaporate and his center of mass shifts wildly. He tips, has to take a stumbling step forward to catch his balance, but he stays upright while the world spins itself dramatically into place before steadying and smoothing into the poor nightvision his human offers.
"You could sit down," Akaashi says from behind him, the way he always does, and Bokuto doesn't have to turn around to know that the other's gaze is steady, his footing as even as if he hasn't just completed the same shift as Bokuto himself. He turns anyway, because even in the dark and even with this worse vision Akaashi's face is worth watching every moment Bokuto is around him.
"You're so good at this," Bokuto says instead of answering. He takes a step forward but misjudges his balance, stumbles and all but topples into the expectant support of Akaashi's outstretched arm. Up close Akaashi smells like the wind, the cool whisper of outdoors still clinging to the rising warmth of his skin and the dark strands of his hair. Bokuto croons approval, turns his head in so he can bury his nose against Akaashi's head, just over his ear. Akaashi huffs an exhale that might be amusement and might be protest, but he tips his head in compliance to Bokuto's motion and his free hand comes up to trail up against the back of the other's neck.
"Your hair is a mess," Akaashi observes without any judgment in his voice, just the flat monotone that always clings to his throat a few minutes after transforming back. His touch pushes up higher, his fingers tug at a few strands. "You always miss a few feathers."
"I leave them for you," Bokuto insists, nuzzling in farther into Akaashi's hair and pressing his hand in at the bottom edge of the other's shirt. "They're presents."
"We don't have any shortage of feathers in our life, Bokuto-san," Akaashi points out. His hand comes down against Bokuto's shoulder, presses gently against the resistance of the other's body. "Kneel down so I can see what I'm doing."
It's a loss, to move away from Akaashi's hair, but the promise of fingers ruffling through his own hair is temptation enough to persuade Bokuto to drop to his knees in front of the other. Akaashi lets the support of his hold at Bokuto's arm go, leaves Bokuto's hands free to land at his hips while he begins to carefully tug through individual locks. The lingering feathers slide free easily but Akaashi is careful anyway, his touch so gentle Bokuto shuts his eyes and turns his head to rest his cheek against Akaashi's shirt so he can better indulge in the sensation. Akaashi is softer in his owl form but he's warmer this way, radiant and glowing right through the fabric of his clothes, and Bokuto starts humming contentment as Akaashi works his way across the other's scalp. It's soothing, the comfort of familiar affection pouring warm all down Bokuto's spine, and Akaashi must not mind either because he keeps going well after he's stopped pulling feathers free, trailing his fingertips through Bokuto's hair like he's just appreciating the texture.
Bokuto whimpers protest when Akaashi does finally draw his hand back, regretting the loss of the contact even as it's going. There's a huff over his head, faint but unquestionably amused, and it must have been some time since they landed because Akaashi's voice sounds ordinarily human again when he speaks.
"I can't stand here playing with your hair all night." There's pleasure under that sound, so much audible warmth that Bokuto opens his eyes, looks up through the dim light to catch the rare smile at Akaashi's lips and the tender softness at the dark corners of his eyes.
"What about the bed?" Bokuto offers as the best solution he can see. "Lying down will be better, right?"
Akaashi's smile tugs wider, his fingers come back out to rest against Bokuto's jaw. "I'm going to take a shower," he says, but then he ducks down to press his lips against Bokuto's forehead. Bokuto's eyes flutter shut, his throat whimpers pleasure at the warmth, and then Akaashi is straightening again.
"I'll meet you in bed," he declares, his fingers lingering while Bokuto processes the implication of that sentence. Then Bokuto looks up, eyes going wide with hopeful delight, and Akaashi smiles at him before stepping away towards the bathroom.
Bokuto ends up falling asleep before Akaashi gets back, sprawled out over the covers so Akaashi has to wake him before there's enough space for them both under the sheets. Moving gets him the benefit of Akaashi's faintly damp skin against him, though, the drifting almost-continuation of his dreams with the added pleasure of Akaashi's touch at his hair, and when Bokuto does fall asleep reality slides into fantasy so smoothly he never notices the change.