#bc we've waited so long for soft hair Bokuto and we must revel in it to death

[redrocketpanda]

Akaashi's already outside with the others by the time Bokuto finally exits the spa.

They've been waiting here a while. The warm air has almost completely dried Akaashi's damp skin and hair.

He closes his eyes, raises his face to the bright sun and inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh mountain air. Its the kind of place that people come to relax, surrounded by the tall trees and trickling water and singing birds. 

Or Akaashi imagines that's what it would be like if he were in different company. 

But he can't hear the trickling water or the singing birds over the raucous debate Hinata and Kageyama are having about which sea creatures they would pick for their marine volleyball dream team and whether either of them should be allowed to have the octopus. 

And maybe it would have been relaxing if they hadn't been with Bokuto who insisted on just a bit more time - just another 5 minutes with the masseuse, just another 10 minutes in the steam room, just another 15 minutes in the bath - until they were so hopelessly behind schedule that there was no longer a schedule. 

Kenma had long ago given up waiting and had gone to sit on a nearby rock to drink the strawberry milk that Kuroo had procured for him, whilst Kuroo muttered complaints about that damn owl from beneath his mess of floppy hair. 

They’ve been waiting for Bokuto for so long that Hinata and Kageyama have almost picked their entire team - though the disagreement about the octopus remains to be settled - and Akaashi is on the cusp of marching back in to find and drag Bokuto out himself when he hears the whoosh of the sliding door.  

His eyes snap open and he turns to face the door. 

Bokuto strides out of the spa towards them, arms raised above his head as he stretches lazily whilst in motion. Eyes closed, nose crinkled, a huge smile on his face. 

And, most distractingly of all, his hair isn't spiked into its signature look but instead rests loosely atop his head. The grey and black strands falling forwards, framing his face.  

Akaashi's heart skips a beat.

Though saying it skips makes it sound more gentle of an experience than it actually is. It's much less a skip and much more of a sharp and sudden drop. Like when you slip whilst walking down the stairs and it sends your heart plummeting into your knees and your pulse racing as you try to grab onto the hand rail in a desperate attempt to save yourself from falling. 

It's not as though Akaashi hasn't seen Bokuto with his hair down before. Of course he's seen it get wet when they've showered together, and it's briefly down before and after they go to sleep during training camps. But it's not long before Bokuto plasters it back into his signature look with unnerving amounts of gel, so the sight of him with his hair down properly like this is a rare, and special, moment. 

A moment that presents Akaashi with a Bokuto different than the one that he's become so familiar with; the one who blazes with the intensity of the midday sun in a way that leaves Bokuto imprints on Akaashi's retinas so that the image remains even when he closes his eyes.  In this moment, Bokuto looks younger and more innocent, and there's a tenderness about him... like he's made out of a kind of softness that Akaashi struggles to put a name to. 

This is a softness like the mellow rays of the rising sun that trickle in through the curtain and bathes Akaashi's body in its golden light.

Like a cool afternoon breeze that lightly caresses his skin.

Like the way a particularly good pencil gliding over smooth paper fills him with a sense of deep satisfaction, or the way sipping on honey and lemon tea soothes his aching body, or the way finishing a beloved book leaves his soul glowing.

It's the way that Bokuto Kōtarō’s name sounds in his mouth.

It’s the way that Bokuto Kōtarō feels in his heart.