#and i colour corrected but i cant make the light reflections look better i’m sorry

[acrosstobear]

thinking about how Mick lost the bowtie before the end of the night at the gala on Saturday……..

[dothewrite]

SCENARIO WITH AKAASHI AND FEM S/O WHERE AKAASHI IS AN ASSASSIN/SPY THINGO AND HE WAS ON A MISSION TO KILL HIS S/O AND NOW THEY'RE JUST STANDING IN FRONT OF ONE ANOTHER AND AKAASHI IS HOLDING THE GUN BUT HEJUST CANT SHOTO AND (i'm so sorry this is a cliche but please feel fee to make it as original as possible! )

My brain went on a wild ride with this one! I initially misread that both characters would be assassins, then I wanted to make it all badass, then my brain went ‘nope’ and… well, you’ll see. This was incredibly fun to write, thank you for requesting this. :) I hope you enjoy it!

The house is empty when he returns. Nothing is out of the ordinary; the porch lights are on, the garage doors slide up smoothly when he presses the remote button. The low grinding of the tires against gravel is a noise he hears every night when he parks his Mercedes next to her Porsche.

It’s 6.55, five minutes until dinner’s ready. Akaashi is a naturally quiet man, and he slides his key and unlocks the front door very quietly, as he usually does. The hinges make no noise, because he’d oiled them a week ago, and he slips off his shoes by the glass shoe-rack. It’s only a small thing, as neither of them like impulse spending, and he counts silently in his head. Yes, they’re all there. She’s probably in her slippers then, padding around the polished wooden floor on muted feet.

He’s not the type to shout, especially in such a large house with only the two of them, so his entrance past the foyer and into the living room is unannounced.

She’s not there, and the curtains are drawn. Akaashi really should be getting on, but he takes a moment to run his fingers over the fine embroidery of their antique couch. It had belonged to his grandmother, and they had without hesitation, both decided to place it where they would see it the most.

“What do you think about a dog?”

“Depends on whose dog it is.”

“…Why do you know everything I’m going to say?”

“This is an expensive couch, let’s not ruin it with teething, infant beasts yet, how about it?”

“Well at least I know what you feel now about having children.”

“My feelings on children are entirely different.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They shit everywhere too.”

“Keiji!”

He peeks his head around the corner into the kitchen, and she’s not there either. It’s out of the ordinary, because both of them are quite tidy individuals, and the lights and oven have been left on. Akaashi reaches out to bring up a knife dirtied with the slight orange colour of chopped carrots. It’s all there, neatly sorted into bowls of prepared vegetables on the counter. The salt and pepper are out too, ready to go on the steak that’s still sitting on the chopping board.

Before he walks out of the kitchen, he takes a minute or two to put the condiments back into the shelf where they belong.

Seeing dinner almost complete makes him a little hungry, and it gives the uncomfortable churning in his stomach an edge- a nagging feeling that tugs at his sides. She always tells him off softly for that too, when he stays out too late or overworks himself at the office until he’s back at three in the morning looking completely famished. He remembers her late night snacks for him like it was yesterday, but he’s stopped coming home so late for two years. He misses them a little, maybe not the worried expression on her face, but the way she laces their fingers together and bumps her hip against his in a gentle admonishment.

It’s supposed to be his turn to cook tomorrow evening, if she’s doing it tonight. The only logical conclusion would be to make a stew, since she’s making something seared tonight. A warm smile touches his lips, unbidden, and when Akaashi pictures the scene of the two of them wrapped up next to each other on the sofa eating off fancy plates and watching bad soap operas, he forgets to be unhappy for a minute.

He gives the guest rooms downstairs a quick glance over, and she’s not there either.

“Mmmm, a boyfriend who cooks? Does this mean I’m set for life?”

“I’ll cook if you buy the groceries.”

“Sure, let’s leave the most tedious part for the lady.”

“Lady? I don’t see a lady here.”

“Oh, I see how it is. I guess it won’t matter if I do this-”

“-Stop! STOP! At least roll down the curtains, jesus christ!”

“I so am a lady.”

Akaashi is very proud of his stairs. He’s always been thankful that he chose to invest in good craftsmanship and good wood, and since they bought the house six years ago, he hasn’t heard a single creak from them at all. It’s all the better for him, because he knows that he’s used to stealth. He’s used to pretending that he’s not where he really is, and with each silent step he remembers what he’s supposed to do.

For him, silence has always been the loudest noise for him, and the way the house seems to be resonating with it, Akaashi has a lot of moments to think. One of the things that comes to mind is how she was happy to hear that he liked things quiet too, and now, he understands, that the soundless stairs were probably a good thing for her too.

The banisters reflect only the warm, dim light from downstairs’ corridor and his own shadow. He makes it to the top before flicking up the switch that lights up their second floor. Akaashi glances around without moving his head, only his eyes flickering here and there, and it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone upstairs either.

He heads to the salon first, and when the only sign of life he sees is their shared pot of white tulips, he can’t help but take a seat next to them. Although pale yellow is his favourite colour, he thinks that these flowers are the most beautiful he’s ever seen.

-

“Happy Tuesday! I have a present for you.”

“But Tuesdays are my worst days.”

“All the more reason!”

“You got me a scarf? In the middle of summer?”

“I saw it in a display today and, well, I kinda thought it would make your hair look beautiful.”

“…I have a present for you too.”

“A scarf??”

“No, tulips.”

“Did you choose to raise plants instead because they don’t shit and bite your furniture?”

“Correct.”

-

His fingers fall away from their supple petals in a lonely caress, and he pushes himself upright. He’ll come back and water them later, he decides. The piano seems to play itself a mournful tune of farewell as he slips out and closes the door behind him.

There are a lot of windows in their house, he realizes. Purchasing it, they had been more focused on the layout and the spread of space, and even at night they usually turn the lights on in a trail behind them. Rarely have either of them needed to navigate the house in darkness, and now that he’s chosen to do so, Akaashi finally notices the way the half-moon lays down checkered patterns on the floor like a mat. Window after window, it marks his progress down the hallway.

Usually, there’s music coming from at least somewhere. Wherever she decides to nest, really, and if Akaashi ever loses her or if she doesn’t respond to his gentle call of her name, he only needs to follow the source of the music until she pops up sooner or later. It’s too quiet for his liking tonight, so when he reaches their shared room, he slides their built in speaker system on.

It plays her favourite song, Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1, Op. 11, at a medium to low volume, and Akaashi feels a chill run down his arms. As much as she loves this, she seldom listens to it. Akaashi is the classical music lover out of the two of them, and this was the song he performed for her with a modest orchestra the night he proposed. She, however, thoroughly enjoys pop music and dramatic electronic tunes, and it’s despite all that she’s managed to fall in love with everything that Akaashi loves to listen to, too.

The melody feels like a love letter, a letter of apology, a message, a serenade. She’s not even here, not in the house like Akaashi had originally thought, but he falls in love with her a little more with each passing arpeggio.

Lithe fingers flip open the envelope on the nightstand, revealing an actual note on a post-it note. The laugh that this brings him aches from his head to his heart. He puts it back where he had found it after reading over the message, and makes his way downstairs again, a little faster than before. Swiping his abandoned jacket from the back of the couch, he leaves the house.

“I’ve been thinking of putting you in my will.”

“That’s sudden. We’re not married or anything. Do you have a terminal disease you’re not telling me about?”

“It’s just good to be careful. You never know what’s going to happen.”

“You’re… right, but… I don’t really want to think about anything happening to either of us yet. Not when we haven’t tried so many things together.”

“Alright. I won’t mention it again until you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Keiji.”

“Mhmm.”

The hotel lobby is so familiar to him that the busboys and the concierge all shoot him welcoming, yet knowing looks the moment he steps in. Akaashi supposes that he should feel a little abashed that he’s come here so often for dinner with his wife that everyone recognizes him, but nothing shows on his alabaster skin. He nods at them, a polite greeting that doesn’t disturb their work, and makes his way to the auditorium. It’s an odd combination, a hotel and an auditorium, but it’s the reason why he likes this place the best of all.

When he slips in from one of the side doors, he’s greeted with a solid flood of atmospheric lights, and a single spotlight that seems to be shining at the stage. She’s right there, waiting for him, her slim dress hugging her down to her ankles as they dangle off the edge of the platform. Graceful, yet obstinate, as always, and he clears his throat to let himself be known.

Her smile is so sad that it inspires a soft composition in his head. Akaashi makes his way closer to her and stops when he’s right in front of the dip that is the orchestra pit. Their eyes are locked onto each other, into each other, and he speaks first.

“Would you like me to play something for you?” His voice is terribly quiet, but it sounds like a cry in the silence and acoustics of the hall. “Chopin, perhaps?”

“Only if you’re planning on proposing again,” she laughs softly, bordering on a giggle and a chuckle. He watches wordlessly as her eyes wrinkle a little at the edges, her lips turn up at the sides and her fingers curl around the edge of the stage a little tighter. She’s not hiding a single thing from him, and it makes his breath heavy.

“Not tonight,” he murmurs.

A weighted silence hovers above them, and although they’ve spent more than half the time in peace, in each other’s arms, not needing to say a word, this leaves an uncomfortable tingle in their limbs. Stretched, sluggish, yet ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Her eyes finally flicker away from his own deep-sea ones, and they rest longingly on his shoulders and his hands. “Did you bring everything you need with you?”

Akaashi tenses his fingers. “Yes,” he replies, this time more solidly, “you left the bathtub untouched.”

Her smile is kind, and he returns one of his own. “I had to leave you with something, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Thank you.”

She had always been the soft-hearted one, more so than he. Even her fingers look reluctant as they slide out a Desert Eagle .50 from behind her, wrapping around the grip with the same amount of delicacy she would cup his cheek with, or run her fingers over his lips with.

Akaashi can’t help but raise an impassive eyebrow, and draws his own Walther PPK/S .380 from its position by his belt. She doesn’t make a move yet, and he flushes a little in appreciation as he takes advantage of their stillness to double check his suppressor.

“I knew you’d be a suppressor kind of person,” she teases. Akaashi doesn’t look up, but continues to run his fingers carefully over any gaps he might have missed.

“And I didn’t think you’d really prefer power over speed, yet here we are.”

She shrugs, and this time he does catch it. He raises his head to meet her eyes again, and their grips on their guns grow firmer. “I don’t, not for actual work. A girl can have her guilty pleasures, after all.”

“Chopin?” He can’t help but grin a little, and she laughs again. Oh, how he loves that sound, more than music itself.

“Chopin,” she agrees, with a lingering smile, “and you.”

He lifts the gun to point it at the space between her eyes. She does the same, without hesitation.

“You were mine too,” he admits.

“Were?”

Akaashi gazes at her rather than stares, and his heart feels so incredibly full that it beats only pain that one feels when absolutely, irrevocably in love. “Are. You still are,” he corrects. It’s the most truthful thing he’s said all evening, perhaps all year, and the confession is worth three times its weight in gold when a rich, red flush spreads over her cheeks and her lips widen with happiness.

What a sight they must both make! She is beautiful- she is always beautiful, to him, even in tea-stained shirts and ripped pajama pants- in the black, full length dress that he had once commented on as his favourite. He, in his work clothes: a simple, black tuxedo with velvet highlights, and he knows it makes him look every inch a mysterious stranger. It was necessary for this afternoon’s job, you see. The job he took on because he had been taking too long on the current one he’s on. The one he put off for weeks.

He’s peering at her skin from behind his rear sight, down the barrel, and it’s a shame she doesn’t appear on stage more often because the gentle lights that beam up at her that makes her look a vision to him. He’s all coiled and tense, yet she’s still gripping her pistol loosely, swinging her legs like she always does when she’s nervous, and Akaashi has never wanted to pull her to him more in his life. He wants to murmur into her soft hair that she’ll be alright, that it’ll be better tomorrow, and that he’ll bring her a warm cup of tea once she’s tucked in bed.

She needs only to pull that trigger at him, for her to become the adult she’s always loathed being. Muscle memory will snap into place no matter how carelessly she does it, and without a doubt Akaashi believes that her bullet will hit its mark.

Maybe if she shoots at his heart instead of his head, it’ll distract him from that unshakeable ache in his chest for a while.

Akaashi Keiji is excellent at his job. He is one of the best in his agency, and he has never failed a mission before.

“Shoot me,” he looks her in the eye and tells her.

“I’m trying,” comes her strangled reply, forcibly light with stress and Akaashi lowers his gun. In fact, he lets it dangle off his fingers and drop of its own volition, onto the plush carpeted floor. It hits the ground with a muffled thud, and he lets his hands hang loosely at his sides.

“I love you,” he bleeds his heart from his lips, and all the pressure inside fades with each word he exhales, “I can’t shoot you. I wouldn’t be able to live afterwards.”

Her expression is pained, and her hands tremble when the tears start to roll down her cheeks in big, fat beads. It makes him feel a little better, because he’s adept enough at reading her expressions to know that she’s been holding those in for days now. Those stolen days built on stolen moments- taking as many normal, happy moments with them as they can.

“Keiji,” she whispers his name, “you’re a dead man if you don’t.”

“I’m a dead man if I do,” he replies stubbornly. His face betrays nothing, but his eyebrows are set in firm resolution, and his fingers wrapped into fists. He’s done nothing yet except for stand and stare, but he’s already exhausted and worn down to the bone. He can feel the beads of sweat form along his hairline but he doesn’t dare to break their tension. “If you want to shoot me, then please.”

“I don’t want to!” She grumbles indignantly. “Don’t put it like that. You always do that.”

He rocks backwards a little on his heels and smiles. “I do, I’m sorry.”

She lets out a heavy sigh, one that’s more impatient than solemn, and something in Akaashi’s chest leaps. He can’t quite believe his eyes, believe his life when he sees her toss her own gun to the side in a snap of her arm.

“Who’s going to play me Chopin in the middle of the night if I shoot you?”

“They did invent CDs.”

“Keiji, nobody uses CDs anymore.”

“Pirating is a crime, you know. You might get caught.”

“Funnily enough, I’ve done worse.”

She’s watching him out of the corner of her eye, and he’s looking at her with the deadpan expression he’s so accustomed to wearing. This moment finds them both submerged in complete disbelief, irony and utter ridiculousness that Akaashi is tempted to burst into laughter.

He opts to reach her as fast as he can, instead. His leather shoes carry him to the far end of the stage in a moment, and he can tell from her shifting shadow that she’s matching him step for step. Although he only has to wait half a second longer, it feels like the weight of the sea is dragging him down when he reaches out to trap her in his arms and never, ever let go.

She’s barely caught a breath, or a sob in this case, when he grips her face tightly in between his hands and covers her mouth with his in desperate apology. He drinks her up, each lap, each suck, until he’s sure that she’s the only flavour he’ll remember when everything is gone. He presses kisses along her neck next, or her forehead, or her eyelids, and anything else that he can reach because he promises that he’ll never take anything for granted anymore. She’s not always going to be with him, and he won’t always be allowed with her. This is yet another stolen moment, but to heck with it- Akaashi will sell every part of himself if it means that he can hang on to a few more of these.

He’s by no means a romantic, nor a very expressive man, but it’s the gravity of his decision that pulls him to one knee, cradling her hand in both of his. She looks ripped apart between relief and fear, but her eyes are wide and only for him in this one movement. Akaashi presses a kiss to her trembling knuckles.

“Marry me,” he tells her.

She’s silent for a second, until it’s broken by her hiccuping laughter.

“We’re already married, silly. You’re going to have to play me a different song this time if you want me to do it again.”

So he does. He pulls her beside him, slim figure pressed firmly against lean muscle and he begins to play a new song. Weapons on the ground, forgotten, and the promise of tomorrow’s daybreak also disappeared, the sound of fervent Piano Concerto in B-Minor: Allegro Appassionato winds together with the tune of an uncertain tomorrow, and a certain love.