#kuroo is prob slytherin and tbh kenma is prob slytherin too like lbr

[revasserium]

i love your writing! could i request prompt 60 (list a) with akaashi? thanks!

hq!!reqs temporarily: closed ; all other reqs: open

send me a number a character and i’ll write you a drabble ;

60. home akaashi ; hogwarts!au, 1,450 words

whoever first thought up ‘home is where the heart is’ clearly didn’t have any idea what they were talking about. because more often than not, home is specifically where the heart is not -- it’s where you go to hide away from your heart, rather than face it. it’s where there are skeletons in the closet and doubts are shut away in the medicine cabinet, but there’s a comfort in knowing that. in knowing where each old haunting lives. 

home, akaashi knows, is not where the heart is.

it’s where comfort goes to find company, where fears play hide and seek with the shadows on the walls. where halcyon afternoons lay like scattered marbles across the floor, waiting for you to scoop them back up again. 

“are you going home for the winter holidays?” 

he glances up at you from over the long table, his hufflepuff scarf hung loose around his neck. 

“nah... though bokuto did invite me to his. did you know his family owns an owl-breeding business? must be a mess.” 

you laugh, the sound bright and tinkling. like windchimes. or birdsong.

“no wonder he’s always so... owlish.” 

akaashi grins, looking back down at his half-eaten shepherd’s pie. 

“yeah. makes sense, doesn’t it?” 

he glances up again when you slip into the seat across from him, your own ravenclaw robes pristine, the head girl’s badge gleaming against your chest. 

“well... if you want to...” 

you lick your lips and he can’t help noticing the way your cheeks go pink. it’s the most beautiful shade of pink he’s ever seen, like peonies in spring, or the shade of the sky just as the sun’s beginning to set. 

“you can come to mine. we’ve got a big house, and extra rooms and stuff. mum and dad are always hosting relatives over, so...” 

his eyes go wide, his heart suddenly pumping somewhere in his right ear. the sound of it so loud he almost can’t hear his own voice over it. 

“oh -- i wouldn’t -- i mean, i don’t --” 

you shake your head quickly, holding up your hands, “it wouldn’t be an intrusion! i promise! and uhm -- well --” 

your hands fall onto the table between you. he watches as you twiddle with your fingers, as if puzzling out the right words to say next. he swallows down the anticipation cresting at the back of his throat. 

“i want you to come.” 

akaashi blinks. 

“huh?” 

you flush, again, deeper, redder. he bites back the wave of affection curling in his belly. god, he feels like such a stupid little boy, letting his thoughts catch on the edges of your smile. his heartbeat stuttering with his breath, unsure of which should go before the other, as if his body has forgotten how to do both in tandem. 

“i... i want you to... to come with me.” 

“uh...” 

you look up at him, properly, this time. and he can see that hard-edged determination he’d so often tried to find in himself (just tell her how you feel, just freaking tell her already!). 

“it’s better than going to bokuto’s owl-infested house.” 

akaashi lets out a surprised laugh. 

“might be fun. owls are pretty great.” 

you crinkle your nose, squeezing your fingers together. and he almost grins at how entirely cute you look, struggling like this. for him (because of him). 

“you -- you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. i mean -- i’m sure bokuto’s would be nice too --” 

“i’ll come.” 

“-- and owls have never been my thing -- always been more of a cat person my -- oh -- you will?” 

you blink at him; he grins back, forking up a bite of shepherd’s pie. 

“if i wanted to hang out with owls, i’d just go up to the owlery.” 

you let out a helpless laugh, your shoulders falling lax after spending so long hunched up in anticipation. 

“right... i guess... i guess you would.” 

akaashi licks his lips, watches the way your eyes track the movement. he hums, offering you a glass of pumpkin juice, which you gladly accept, downing the whole thing in three gulps. 

“i’ll -- i’ll see you later then.” 

he nods, flashing you a smile, wondering if this playing it cool thing that bokuto keeps on going on about is really worth the while. maybe if he’d just told you, this entire stuttering mess of a conversation could’ve been avoided. perhaps he could’ve kissed you, before telling you he’d see you after classes. 

or, something to that degree. 

he glances down at the crumbs of his pie. 

or, well, a boy can dream, can’t he? 

your family house is just as he’d imagined it -- just as you’d described, a huge conglomeration of rooms and corridors, one trailing off the other, as if the architect had simply pointed their wand whichever direction it landed and conjured whatever room tickled their fancy. 

your parents are nothing if not magnificent hosts, welcoming him with hugs and a few very large cheek-kisses from your mum, much to your continued embarrassment. your brother had given him a half-hearted glare along with a once over and a handshake that said stay the hell away from my sister. 

akaashi wonders if he should listen. 

but then you smile at him from across the dinner table, an entire galaxy of stars sparkling behind your eyes, and he decides to screw your brother’s unvoiced warning. there’s no way in hell he could ever stay away from you. 

the days blur into a series of freezeframe laughter, the three of you throwing a quaffle around in your vast backyard, one that overlooks the countryside. your cousins arriving from god knows where. snowball fights in the morning after a particularly blizzard-ridden night. you, with your nose and cheeks pink from the frost, pulling him behind the shed in the back to kiss him. 

he kisses you back, his hands freezing even in his mittens. 

that night, they’re all singing carols around the fireplace, your father poking at the large gramophone once in a while when it skips. your group of roudy cousins all cramed onto the overstuffed couch, swaying with the lyrics. 

his hand finds yours, and he gives you a squeeze. you blush, brilliantly, before glancing back at him and smiling. 

later that evening, your mum’s humming to herself as he goes to pour another glass of sherry, your brother laughing at something or other with one of your cousins. and you find yourselves in the hallway leading into the living room, or maybe it was the dressing room. he doesn’t really remember, what with the number of rooms there are. but he doesn’t really care. 

and he wonders if this is what home really feels like. if this is what it’s always meant to be. not some fragmented, broken collection of would-be memories, but something lighter, thicker. like freshly fallen snow. 

you glance up, your new christmas sweater just a bit large on your shoulder. 

“mistletoe.” 

you point above his head, and he laughs. 

“oh. hm. guess you have to kiss me now, right?” 

you grin, leaning up onto your tiptoes to brush your noses. 

“isn’t it the other way around?” 

he quirks his head, “i thought the one under the mistletoe gets kissed.” 

you curl your hands around his neck, and his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you close. 

“no, i’m pretty sure you have to do the kissing.” 

he presses his lips. 

“how do you know?” 

you smile, “i’m head girl, i know these things.” 

“ah. is that what the badge is for?” 

you roll your eyes, “are you going to kiss me or not?” 

akaashi grins, leaning down to press his lips to yours. you taste like happiness made solid, like the answer to all his questions. like solidarity and sanctuary, like belonging, properly, for the very first time. 

he thinks that he should be able to taste his own heart on his tongue, wonders why it’s not thumping out of his throat. 

then, he wonders if he’s left it cupped in the palms of your hands the other day, when you first kissed him. and he thinks that that’d be alright too. 

he decides that maybe, just maybe, if that’s the case -- home just might be where the heart is. if it’s with you. 

or maybe, home was never even a place at all, but a person. 

maybe, just maybe, he’s found his home, after all this time. 

and it’s right here, next to you.