04/12: happy akafuri day! note: fic is a little metaphorical in nature.
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paper boy;;
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Akashi looks up at the ceiling - chest heaving, breaths coming in rapid intervals.
There's still nothing but white.
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The mornings always start like this: he blinks cautiously to ensure that the sunlight doesn't completely numb his sense of sight, and once he peeks through an eyelid he begins to adjust to his surroundings. There are flowers by the windowsill - lilies, to be precise - and the wind nearly topples the vase. By some unknown cosmic intervention, the vase rebounds to its original position.
The window's slightly ajar.
How odd.
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Akashi turns on his side and winces at the ache in his back. There are things that he loathes, and this bed is inching its way towards becoming the worst of them. Without any reservation, Akashi reaches and presses on the region that's throbbing from overnight pressure. Somehow the pain is soothed, but not entirely.
It takes the maid twenty three minutes to deliver Akashi's breakfast. Akashi has to admit that the plating is quite sloppy; however, the rumble in his stomach urges him to dismiss his attention to details at the moment. Akashi thanks the maid monotonously and spoons the soup. He lets the soup burn the edges of his tongue to reassure that he's awake. Noting the blandness of the soup, Akashi sets the spoon down and picks the cup of tea up from the saucer. It's just as tasteless as his meal.
If he were to be honest, Akashi would admit that he doesn't know why he doesn't know anything - of course, he's well-informed of his name and identity, but there's a peculiarity that he can't seem to discern. It feels as though his mind is present but slipping away, as if he isn't meant to be here. It's strange enough that he isn't getting out of bed today, and even stranger that he doesn't remember ever getting up.
And the strangest of all:
He calls out, in a twelve-year old's voice, a name he's been fond of for a long time.
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"Paper Boy."
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There he is.
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The first thing the paper boy gives him today is a crane. It's actually the first object he bestows him every time Akashi calls for him. Akashi has lost count of how many cranes are sitting on his bedside table, but there's no doubt that it's a long way from a thousand.
Akashi nods to acknowledge the boy's presence. The boy slowly pulls a stool from behind him and takes a seat beside Akashi's bed, staring ahead and letting his palms roam the space for the texture of the sheets. When he deems his distance from Akashi's bed as adequate, he immediately draws a square piece of paper from thin air and begins folding.
"As much as I appreciate the silence, I'd like to hear you speak some time," Akashi says, unperturbed by the apparent magic in front of him - it's not as if this paper boy's existence isn't intriguing enough. The boy simply smiles at him and doesn't look away from the wall even when he's doing origami.
Akashi clears his throat and shifts his legs. He jolts when pain shoots through his limbs, and he finds it dismaying when he can't hide a grunt.
Paper Boy still stares at the wall, but furrows his eyebrows at the noise of discomfort.
"Anyway," Akashi exhales shakily, "would it bother you if I asked a few questions?"
The boy cocks his head to the side.
"They're answerable by yes or no - in your case, a nod or a shake," Akashi adds.
Paper Boy smiles at the sight of the wall.
Akashi doesn't find it concerning that the boy never looks at him. He also doesn't consider the anonymity of the boy important, and as ridiculous his nickname may sound, he figures that they could save introductions for a later date.
Akashi rests the back of his head on the pillow. "Can you speak?"
The boy stops folding for a moment before he nods.
Then why is the imperative follow-up, but Akashi sticks to the ground rules. "But you won't."
The boy nods again, resuming his origami.
"Were you supposed to be here with me?"
A nod.
"Are you sure?"
Another nod.
Akashi's frustrations are slowly - just slowly - catching up with him. Akashi presses his palms on the mattress to lift himself to a more comfortable sitting position.
"Do you detest me?"
The boy frowns and vehemently shakes his head. At the same time, he thrusts a folded pinwheel into Akashi's hands, barely missing them.
Akashi blinks in surprise. "T...Thank you."
He doesn't voice it out, but his gratitude is both for the pinwheel and the boy's answer.
"I don't have any idea why you're folding all of these for me," Akashi fiddles with the pinwheel and blows on it lightly. "And I'm convinced that you have a real name."
The boy starts folding another piece of paper again. It's almost a sign of evasion, but Akashi knows that the boy doesn't have any obligations to him.
"If only I knew who you were," Akashi mumbles absent-mindedly.
Akashi is the last of all people to stand being neglected. When he's with this boy, however, he doesn't mind it one bit.
When the hour hand hits seven, Paper Boy abruptly stands up, his mussed brown hair spiking in all directions. Akashi only notices that he has fallen asleep during the afternoon, and the evening wind is still rasping in his window. The stars aren't visible from his view at all.
He stretches his arms - they hurt really badly - and asks, "Do you have to go now?"
Paper Boy slowly nods with a smile tugging on his lips. Maybe Akashi is mistaken, but the boy doesn't look happy at all.
"Will I see you tomorrow?"
For some reason, the question makes the boy perk up. Before he leaves, his fingers haphazardly wander in the air until they find Akashi's head. The boy places a sturdy paper crown atop Akashi's mane and leans down to press a chaste kiss on his forehead.
Before Akashi could say anything, he is left stunned when he processes what had just transpired.
It's too late for him to wish the paper boy, who vanished too quickly, a good night.
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His dream is unusual, but at the same time it feels familiar.
There's only darkness and a hollow voice that keeps brushing over his ear as if it is real.
Seijuuro, wake up.
Wake up. Please.
Wake up.
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Akashi doesn't realize that he is crying in his sleep until he leans his cheek towards the pillow and feels something wet against his skin.
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Sometimes he wonders about what's happening to him.
Most of the time, though, he figures that with all the everyday oddities he encounters, this is pretty normal.
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The maids bring him a cup of hot cocoa today - which is very fitting, considering that no one has bothered to shut his windows last night and he's currently wracked by tremors.
Paper Boy materializes on his own accord and pats the comforter into which Akashi is curled. He grabs a stool again and silently folds the 500th crane while Akashi is trying to take up all the warmth that he possibly could.
"Could I ask you more questions today?" Akashi suppresses a cough and buries his face in the sheets, muffling his query.
The boy understands him too well that he affirms in response.
Akashi might as well be honest from the beginning. He had a question lingering on his tongue for quite a few days now. "Could you...could you look at me?"
He hears a sigh before Paper Boy swivels his head.
Akashi purses his lips. "I suppose I was being too optimistic."
Paper Boy smiles apologetically. His gaze is still directed at the wall adjacent to the windowsill.
"I'm not sure if you're the right person to ask, but lately it has just been you and me," Akashi murmurs. "Do you know why I'm confined here?"
The boy halts in the middle of origami, and there's an unfathomable expression on his face. If Akashi's guesses are close to accurate, then he would describe the boy's appearance as terrified.
No, the correct term would be haunted.
The boy seems to be guilty of something, and it doesn't take long before he hiccups and wipes the edges of his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. His reaction astonishes Akashi, and even when Akashi repeatedly apologizes, the boy doesn't cease from shaking his head.
He doesn't speak, but it's as close as Akashi can get to hearing him say something.
Paper Boy mouths,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
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Akashi pushes the covers away and reaches for the boy's trembling hands. Before he could touch them, though, Paper Boy disappears, and Akashi's fingers sink right through the empty space.
He doesn't fail to notice the unfinished origami on the floor.
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It's just a paper car.
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Akashi doesn't see the boy until after seven and a half days. Thankfully, the maids took it upon themselves to close his window and prevent him from running a fever. They also took the vase of lilies and threw it out, simultaneously explaining to a half-conscious Akashi that the flowers have already wilted and the vase wasn't needed for further use.
It's the afternoon of the last day of spring when Akashi directs his gaze to the sunlight streaming across the glass pane.
He shields his eyes and remembers what his mother used to tell him.
Your eyes are beautiful.
He doesn't see them for himself, but he knows that one of his eyes is a vibrant scarlet and the other a bright gold. Akashi wonders if they glow more under the light. It would've been helpful if somebody was to offer an opinion.
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(Come to think of it - when has he last seen his mother? His parents? His friends?)
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(There was another person, but he really couldn't remember his face.)
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Apparently, his thoughts were loud enough for the Paper Boy to hear. Akashi jerks from his position when the boy suddenly crashes into his room without any warning. The boy drops five baskets on the floor and fishes out a small notebook and a pen. He scribbles furiously and flashes the page when he finishes.
The writing reads, "1000."
"You finished all of the cranes?" Akashi inquires quietly while looking at the baskets, moved by the dedication of a boy whom he doesn't know and who would never look him in the eye.
He receives a thumbs-up sign in return. Paper Boy makes his way to Akashi's bedside and starts writing.
His penmanship is unintelligible and the characters are scattered in the expanse of the sheet, but Akashi somehow comprehends what the boy is trying to say.
This is my last day.
"Why?" Akashi instinctively spits out, but he catches himself - it was never his business to involve himself in matters that only the Paper Boy knows.
The boy inhales sharply and writes,
It has to be.
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When cold silence settles over them, Paper Boy tears the sheet from his notebook and scrawls another messy message. It takes him a while to finish it.
What do you want me to do for you, for the last time?
Akashi stares at him - stares really hardly to etch the image of the boy in his mind. From up near, he notices something that's not quite right.
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Paper Boy has beautiful, vibrant eyes.
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In fact, they're similar to Akashi's.
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Akashi has been suffering from the pain wrecking his entire body, but it is only at that moment that he feels something piercing his ribcage and everything that it encloses.
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His breath is shaky when he says, "Fold something for me."
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Akashi senses calm when he sees the boy smile.
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There's only the sounds of paper being creased, and Akashi's knuckles turn white in the quiet. Akashi grips the sheets and desires an answer when he finally becomes conscious of the warm wetness on the corners of his eyelids and his cheeks.
Paper Boy proudly hands him the product - it's small and it fits in Akashi's palm well. The boy folds Akashi's fingers over his last gift and kisses his eyelids solemnly. When he pulls away, he envelopes Akashi in an embrace, and it feels as though he hadn't known this kind of warmth for the longest time.
The boy's lips brush against his ear.
It's yours.
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The last thing Akashi hears before the Paper Boy disappears is a familiar voice, the one that exists only in his dreams.
Wake up, Seijuuro.
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Before he closes his eyes, he releases his fist.
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On his palm lies a folded heart.
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Akashi looks up at the ceiling - chest heaving, breaths coming in rapid intervals.
There's still nothing but white.
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There are indistinct murmurs, and he can recognize none of the voices in his surroundings. Akashi raises his fingers to caress his eyelids. He can still feel the texture of the bandage on his skin.
He shields his eyes from the afternoon light shining through the window of the hospital room and sees the lilies in full bloom.
After a while, his parents and friends come to the bedside and thank him for waking up. They ask him if he can see clearly; he responds with a simple nod.
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After five days or so, he can already move his arms and prop himself up. Akashi starts reading the books that his mother brings him. Somehow there's something tickling the base of his mind, but he brushes the matter off.
After two weeks, he has finished all of the novels stacked in the box underneath the bed. The doctor drops by every now and then to check his vitals, and he reassures him that he can start walking in the next month with crutches. He also throws in the fact that Akashi is lucky that he doesn't have to undergo an amputation, and it was a miracle that he survived the crash.
The doctor doesn't tell him the rest of the details.
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Akashi's friends are kind enough to help him get to the restroom. Today, Kuroko is his sole visitor, and Akashi doesn't verbalize his surprise when he notices from afar that a mirror has just been put up.
He stops limping and forces Kuroko to halt in his tracks when he comes closer to his reflection.
There's nothing astounding from the bruises and stitches on his face, but he catches his breath.
The next thing he realizes, he's falling to the floor.
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What Akashi first registers is the split-second stab of pain in his head. Kuroko attempts to soothe him, and when Akashi looks at him pleading for answers, Kuroko has none.
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He only takes something from his pocket and places it on Akashi's palm.
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(It's equivalent to the work of a twelve year-old, but Akashi has gotten far with origami to recognize that it's a folded heart - one that's creased in all the wrong places and torn in the middle.)
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Kuroko eventually helps him stand up from the ground albeit taking some time to do so. This time, Akashi approaches the mirror with a lot of things on his mind.
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The first thing that surfaces is a name - Paper Boy.
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The second, the pathetic entrance of a first-year basketball player in his match against Seirin.
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The third, a nervous chuckle.
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The fourth, a kiss to his forehead.
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The fifth, another name:
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Furihata Kouki.
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The sixth, the memory of his first date.
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The seventh, a trip for two gone awry in the midst of a hurricane.
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The eighth - the most terrible noises, the steering wheel maneuvered to the side, glass breaking, and blood. Too much blood.
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The last:
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Complete darkness, excruciating pain in his entirety, and a single voice that croaks,
I love you, Sei.
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Akashi opens his palm to reveal the folded heart once again, and stares really hardly at his own eyes.
His mother wasn't lying when she told him they were beautiful.
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His eyes are a wonderful, bright, and vibrant hazel.
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(Somewhere in the distance, he will hear someone say,
They're yours.)