Work Text:
“Hey hey hey! Akaashi! What are you doing?”
Akaashi looked up from a spot on the gym floor, raising his eyes to meet Bokuto’s golden ones. “Sorry?”
“I asked what you were doing?”
“Um? Waiting for my turn in the drill?”
“No,” Bokuto reached for Akaashi’s intertwined hands, and oh- he hadn’t realized he was fiddling with them again. “Do you play with your fingers for fun?”
“Oh, sorry.” Akaashi snatched his hands back, holding them behind his back. “Nervous habit.”
“Akaashi, that’s totally fine! Sometimes you just have too much energy, I can totally understand. What I do is I like to jump in place!” Bokuto began hopping in place, leaning closer in excitement. Akaashi’s face remained neutral, but it was nice to see Bokuto in such high spirits. “Maybe you could find something to do with them instead!”
“Bokuto!” Their coach shouted, “I love your energy and enthusiasm, but save it for the drills!”
“Ah- sorry, coach!” Bokuto called back. He then threw Akaashi a wink. “Think about it, ‘kay?”
-
On the way back home from practice, Akaashi picked up a packet of origami paper and a small beginner’s guide to folding origami.
-
After completing his homework for the evening, Akaashi cracked open the handbook, poring over the illustrations and instructions.
A small toy boat. He could do that, right?
He grabbed a square of red origami paper, following the instructions meticulously. Lining up paper edges, pressing folds into existence- it was oddly calming, seeing a figure come to life from a flat piece of colorful paper.
He flipped the page. A paper crane.
---
The next day, Akaashi showed Bokuto his creations one by one, holding the delicate paper between his thumb and forefinger.
Bokuto ooh -ed and ahh -ed over them, cupping them in his palm and admiring them. “You're great at this! If anyone had the patience to fold a thousand paper cranes, it’d be you. You know that thousand paper crane myth, right?”
“Yes.” Who didn’t? Senbazuru . Fold a thousand paper cranes, and the gods will grant you a wish. “But, Bokuto-san, what would I wish for?”
Bokuto cocked his head. “Wouldn’t that be up to you?”
“I guess you’re right.” That would be a problem for another time, when he was closer to finishing the thousand paper cranes.
---
It soon became a habit, and Akaashi learned how to fold a paper crane by heart.
During lunch break, a press, a fold.
On the bumpy bus ride to a game, a crease. Then, press it tightly against a clipboard resting on his lap, explaining all the steps to a wide-eyed audience of teammates.
On the ride back, a flip. Flatten the edges, crisp and clean. Then, unfurl the wings, just for a sleepy-eyed audience of one, leaning against his shoulder.
Finished with the crane, Akaashi tucked it safely into his bag, careful not to crush it. Bokuto was silent, his breathing soft, most likely dozed off from post-game exhaustion. Akaashi snuck a glance at his face.
With the sunset shining through the window onto Bokuto’s face, he looked like he was made out of gold leaf origami paper- the rare, delicate kind that Akaashi was too scared to try for fear of failure. Too loud, too flashy, too easily dented. But they still held his attention, much longer than simple appraisal or admiration.
And while Akaashi could thread a paper crane on a string to keep them close, he couldn’t keep Bokuto still- he was always flitting from one place to the next, one emotion to the next.
But how he would love to stay like this forever- basking in the warmth of the sun and victory, a comforting weight by his side and a promise at his fingertips.
But he would fly away soon.
---
Somehow, in the meager time they had left in the same school, Bokuto asked him out. It was with a crudely-folded paper crane, marked with hours upon hours of misplaced creases- brazen confidence and valiant effort.
It looked so small, resting in the palm of a hand so wide and solid. But still the hand trembled, outstretched, before Akaashi scooped up the crane, admiring the dents in the light.
The numerous wrinkles spoke louder than any words of confession could.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi smiled fondly, “If you needed help with this, you could’ve called me.”
“Konoha helped me with it,” Bokuto pouted, “I worked hard on it!”
“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling up in his chest. “I can see that.”
“So…” Bokuto’s voice took on a hopeful tone. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes.”
-
On Akaashi’s string of paper cranes, Bokuto’s stood out from the rest, a wrinkled crane succeeding a long line of neat folds and sharp edges. But as Akaashi threaded it, looping the needle around and tying a knot, he thought he’d never seen a paper crane more beautiful.
---
Bokuto graduated, and they split ways.
But they still stayed in touch, determined to make the relationship work despite the distance and schoolwork.
And Akaashi still folded cranes, if not more feverishly than ever. But it was strange folding them without a weight slumped on his shoulder, a sleepy voice insisting that he was awake to hear Akaashi explain the steps.
Even if it was far-off and tinny, it was still nice to keep folding cranes to the sound of Bokuto's voice over the phone.
Out of something so colorful but so flat, he could build and breathe life into it.
---
They split.
It was mutual- they both decided that it would be too difficult, especially with Akaashi attending a distant college on a competitive scholarship, and Bokuto’s volleyball career kicking in.
Akaashi stopped buying origami paper.
For one, it was too expensive. Between paying for the mountains of literature and textbooks required, the tuition, and the apartment near campus, it was too much to spend money on something frivolous like small squares of colored paper, no matter how much he enjoyed folding them.
And two, there was something strangely cathartic about ripping lackluster essays into small squares. Listening to the slow krrrrr of tearing paper, following the lines he etched into the material. Like he could rip up and pack away these feelings of failure, stringing them up prettily like something to be admired. Like they could come close to the beauty of the previous paper cranes.
He punctured a hole in the crane with his needle. Pulling the string through, he tied it off quickly and reached for another crane to thread. He only needed a few more to reach 25 cranes, completing this string.
Under the changing light of his laptop screen, Akaashi worked the needle through the small hole on the back of the crane. It’s feathery edges, torn by hand, could never be as clean as the packets of origami paper that Akaashi used to buy. But that was fine, right?
The light changed again, and Akaashi let his gaze linger on the video playing. It was one of Bokuto’s recent college matches.
Even after all this time, he couldn’t… (Move on, forget volleyball, forget Bokuto, just move on, Akaashi, this can’t be good for you. Didn’t you say that it was mutual?)
A quick set. Bokuto hit it straight on, and the ball shot to the other side of the court, flying past the other team’s defense. Bokuto turned back to his team for a group hug, and though the camera couldn’t catch his expression, Akaashi could just picture it in his head, Bokuto’s beaming face and bright eyes, a celebratory Hey hey hey!
“And Bokuto does it again! A clean hit on that one, the other team barely had time to react! This player’s going to go far, I can just tell-”
Akaashi cursed softly under his breath when he pricked his finger.
---
Akaashi was watching live when it happened.
A collision, a nasty fall- it all happened too fast for Akaashi to see, but Bokuto was ushered off the court, cradling his shoulder.
Akaashi wanted to jump out of his seat, dropping everything to hop on the next train to visit Bokuto and see if he was doing fine.
But he couldn’t do that. Not anymore.
Still, gritting his teeth, he sent a quick text to Bokuto.
When his phone buzzed with messages from Hinata, detailing Bokuto’s condition ( rotator’s cuff tear, Bokuto-san shud b fine tho! ), what was going to happen and where ( surgery...after bout a week of physiotherapy at XX hospital ), what Akaashi should do ( pls dont worry too much Akaashi-san! good luck on ur finals ^^ )- there was nothing about visiting.
That effectively left the opportunity open, but he couldn’t bring himself to clarify. Hinata texting him such specific information meant that he wanted Akaashi to visit, right? But how would Bokuto feel?
Akaashi thought about that text throughout the entirety of his finals.
Surgery. Surgery. Surgery.
His pencil dulled on the paper. His hand smeared with lead.
Tear. Tear. Tear.
His fingers fidgeted.
Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Don’t worry.
His head spun.
Akaashi closed his eyes against the dizziness.
---
On the last day of finals, right before his last college exam, Akaashi told his friend that he considered skipping his finals to visit Bokuto in the hospital.
“Wanting to see your ex when you should be studying? Dude,” his friend said. “You’re whipped.”
“Concerned.” Akaashi corrected.
His friend shrugged. “If it’s bothering you that much, and it really was a mutual breakup and you two are still on good terms, then I don’t think it’ll be too weird if you visited.”
Akaashi bought a train ticket as soon as he finished his test.
-
On the way to the hospital, Akaashi bought a bouquet of get-well flowers. On a whim, Akaashi picked up a packet of origami paper, too.
-
Flowers in hand, Akaashi faced the door. He took a steadying breath.
Behind the door was Bokuto, who he hadn’t seen in person for years. Bokuto, whose voice he still listened to while folding origami. Bokuto, the very reason why Akaashi began folding origami in the first place.
Akaashi knocked.
“...come in.” Bokuto’s voice was softer in person, muffled through the door.
Akaashi entered.
Propped upright, left arm in a sling, Bokuto was seated near a window overlooking the city skyline. His hair was down, the sight uncharacteristically subdued and intimate.
Bokuto’s mouth fell open when their eyes met.
But Akaashi looked away, turning his head to search for a flat surface to place the flowers. There. He set the flowers down next to a heap of other well wishes, and drew a chair to Bokuto’s bedside. He sat, perched on the edge of his seat.
The silence was oppressive.
Would they still be friends? After they split, their conversation had dwindled into birthday wishes and holiday greetings, occasional touch-ups to their relationship’s image of “friends”.
Akaashi stared at a spot on the floor, gripping the edge of the seat tightly.
“A-Akaashi?”
“Hi, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi swallowed thickly. “How are you doing?”
“Oh, good!” Bokuto brushed hair back from his face. “Other than the whole injury thing… but I'm expected to make a full recovery!”
Akaashi breathed out a sigh of relief. That was all he needed to hear. But why didn’t he want to leave?
“I got out of surgery earlier today, so I’ll be out of here soon! Though there will be months of physical therapy before I can actually get back to playing… But how are you doing, Akaashi? Are you still going after that literature degree? At the same school?”
Nodding, Akaashi bit back a grimace. Stumbling through small talk. He hated this.
“Oh, cool! I got on the MSBY Black Jackals team, it’s been really fun, and I…”
Gesturing with his free arm, Bokuto kept talking, an endless flow of words. Bokuto’s voice and the setting sky’s light washed over them, reminiscent of their school days, of contented bus rides, hushed dialogue and snoring teammates. In a way, maybe Bokuto never left, the wrinkled crane still tied securely on a string at home.
But so many years, so many works stood between his most recent crane and the one Bokuto had given him. Time moved on and left them behind.
Torn cranes, missed conversation, static and stilted company. A misfold. A tear. Akaashi could always try to bend it back, pressing it under a hefty textbook, but the mark would still be there. It wouldn’t line up correctly again.
Akaashi linked his fingers, picking at them and wringing them.
Bokuto’s voice broke through Akaashi’s thoughts. “Hey, Akaashi?”
“Hmm?” Akaashi raised his head to meet Bokuto’s eyes, but Bokuto was looking down at Akaashi’s clasped hands.
“Some habits are just hard to break, huh?”
Akaashi’s hands stilled, and he opened his mouth on reflex to apologize, but Bokuto beat him to it.
“That’s no problem! Hey, do you have paper on you? I remember you always were folding origami. Are you still trying to reach a thousand paper cranes?”
Wordlessly, Akaashi pulled the newly-bought packet from his bag.
Bokuto’s face lit up. “Awesome! Gimme a sheet, I think I still remember how to fold one!”
Akaashi looked at Bokuto dubiously, the memory of the crumpled crane all too clear. “Bokuto-san, are you sure?” His gaze fell to Bokuto’s left arm, immobilized in a sling. “And what about your arm?”
“It’s okay, I’ll manage!” Bokuto looked down at his own arm, waggling his fingers. “I think the doctors said that it was just my arm that I can’t move, so my fine tuning skills should be fine.”
“You mean fine motor skills?”
“Yeah, that!”
Akaashi sighed fondly, his hands already tearing open the package. It seemed like some things really didn't change.
At the crinkle of plastic, Bokuto seemed to vibrate with energy. Akaashi slipped out a thin leaf of paper, holding it out to Bokuto, who promptly took it, holding it up and waving it in the light, a soft smile on his face.
There was something almost wistful in the crease of his eyes.
Akaashi turned away, distracting himself with pulling a bedside table closer so that they could have a flat surface to fold on.
As soon as the table rolled into place, Boktuo began folding one handed, his tongue poking out, and leaning forward in concentration, stray strands of hair sliding onto his face.
Akaashi grabbed his own sheet of paper, hands already falling into the familiar rhythm of pressing, folding, flipping- teasing life from a flat square of color.
Done with the finishing touches, Akaashi checked up on Bokuto’s progress.
Uh oh.
Bokuto was trying his best, and like before, his efforts showed. Even though he could still move fingers, the sling inhibiting his arm’s movements didn’t help.
Akaashi stepped in to help- he couldn't bear to see Bokuto clumsily squash that poor piece of paper for much longer.
“Here-” Akaashi reached across the table, lifting Bokuto’s hand from the paper. It was still as solid as he remembered, just a touch rougher than before.
Akaashi smoothed the paper back out, making sure that Bokuto’s focus was on the paper. Speaking softly, he went over the instructions, like old times. “You take this edge, and you bring it here, like so…”
Slowly, Akaashi demonstrated the steps- a fold here, a flip here, another fold, pinch the edges tightly for sharper edges. Bokuto’s eyes followed his movements, flicking back up at Akaashi’s when Akaashi looked at him, checking if he followed.
Once Akaashi finished the crane, sitting back in satisfaction, Bokuto picked it up and held it in his palm. This really-
“Brings back memories, huh?” Bokuto shared a grin with Akaashi.
Returning the smile, Akaashi chuckled a bit to himself. Yeah. It did.
“Alright!” Bokuto put down the crane and leaned forward, eyes bright and eager. “I think I got it now! Let me choose a color.”
Akaashi passed over the stack of paper wrapped in plastic.
“What color, what color....” Bokuto held up the package, twisting it to try to peek at the colors inside. “Ooh! There’s a silver one! Can we use that one?”
“Okay, let me try to reach it.” Akaashi took the package back, turning it over and frowning. The silver paper was on the bottom, and Akaashi would have to carefully pick around the other paper to reach it. He fished it out gingerly, so as to not disturb the other sheets.
Nodding in encouragement, Akaashi handed Bokuto the silver square of paper, watching his movements closely.
At first, Bokuto tried to work on it by himself, but the sling hindered his movements, and with one hand, he couldn’t hold down the paper and fold at the same time.
Hesitantly, Akaashi’s hand hovered, an unspoken offer. Bokuto dipped his head, and Akaashi held down the edge of the paper while Bokuto folded. In the dimming light, Bokuto's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed into a thin line.
The sun sank lower beneath the horizon. They worked in comfortable silence, briefly pausing when Akaashi rose to flick on the lights. Soon enough, Bokuto brought the last edges together, pinched the silver beak into shape, and they surveyed their work.
Cradled by their hands, a paper crane shone.
---
Akaashi landed a job near where Bokuto was based with the MSBY Black Jackals, and slowly, they began to fall into the old rhythm- buying colorful paper, eating out, folding origami, walking at night, talking at night, hugging tightly, holding hands- even though now Akaashi edited manga instead of setting for Bokuto, and Bokuto went to physical therapy instead of volleyball practice.
---
Seeing Bokuto play again was even better in person. And when Bokuto sought him out in the crowd, shooting a Bokuto beam directly at him, Akaashi thought his heart might just burst.
---
One night, Akaashi looked over his finished strings of cranes, holding them in his palms like a long strand of rope and counting them. Only a few more to go.
They all used to hang haphazardly on a hanger in the closet, but Bokuto had helped him untangle the lines, transferring them to a metal rod and propping them up near a window so they hung like curtains. Bokuto had laughed and pointed out the lumpy crane that he used to confess to Akaashi, all those years ago.
“You still kept it?”
“Of course. How could I not?”
It was a bit nostalgic looking at them- the plain, single-colored cranes from when Akaashi was just starting, the black and white scratch paper cranes from his college years, the single silver crane they folded in the hospital, the patterned paper- chiyogami - cranes that Akaashi recently began buying and folding with. They were like time capsules, little glimpses into his life, fragments of dreams and wishes scattered across his timeline.
When he completed a thousand cranes, what would he wish for?
Akaashi supposed that he could wish for something standard like a long life, health, wealth, success for his job, victory for the Black Jackals. Akaashi also supposed that he could ask others for wish ideas, but Bokuto’s words echoed in his ears.
“Wouldn’t that be up to you?”
Akaashi sighed and dropped the cranes, letting them dangle in front of the window once more.
---
Akaashi stormed home, slamming the door behind him. He just left Bokuto’s apartment with their half-finished movie, disagreement festering in the air.
Bokuto’s look of confusion as Akaashi jumped up from the couch was all too clear in Akaashi’s mind. Akaashi didn’t mean to blow up at Bokuto but- just sitting there, curled up against Bokuto’s side, when he should be working- how could he be relaxing when he had work to do? The feeling made him want to dig his nails into his thighs and tear his hair out.
The tension was too much, and worst of all, it was probably only Akaashi who felt it. Bokuto only looked at him with concern in his eyes. But in the end, the teeth-gnashing feeling had culminated in Akaashi rushing home, jittery and high-strung. Like if he was the one who left first, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much.
He was wrong. It hurt.
He started to fold before he even realized what he was doing, roughly shoving edges and pinching them together. His breathing hitched, and the paper became damp under his fingers, but his hands still moved without any conscious thought. By the time he scraped together the courage to call Bokuto over to his apartment, there was a small pile of paper cranes on his desk.
They talked. Then, they threaded the cranes together, then their fingers together.
---
Akaashi was a literature major, for god’s sake. He edited dialogue for a living. But after a Black Jackals game, when Bokuto called him down to the court, dropped a knee, and proposed, Akaashi still couldn’t do more than choke out a watery yes and nod ecstatically.
The sight of Bokuto smiling and slipping a ring onto Akaashi’s finger blurred.
When Akaashi sobbed into Bokuto’s shoulder, and Bokuto held him tightly in a spinning hug, Akaashi knew exactly what he was wishing for.
---
“Akaashi! Hurry up, we just fixed your hair and suit and we really don’t need it to wrinkle on us.”
“Yes, yes, I just need to do one last thing.”
Akaashi slipped out a square of gold foil from his breast pocket.
One last crane- just one more before a thousand was completed, a project that had spanned from highschool, through college, to now.
Deftly, he smoothed out the gold material, then folded a crane. After crimping the base, the beaks, the shimmering wings, he held it up to the light, turning it to admire the shine, the way the light reflected off the smooth wings like spotlights off a polished trophy. A glimmering crane rested in between his fingers.
He didn’t feel any different, holding the last crane. Maybe a sense of relief, a weight off his shoulders now that his long project was finally complete. But nothing like an epiphany, a sudden change of heart happened.
Probably because his wish was already granted.
Smiling a bit to himself, Akaashi set the crane down, noting to himself to grab it afterwards.
“Alright. I’m good to go now.”
He stepped out into the room. Akaashi walked the aisle, his eyes crinkling in mirth when Bokuto fidgeted at the altar, then rushed to meet him halfway. To the cheering of their friends and family, Bokuto scooped him up into an embrace, holding him tightly as Akaashi laughed into his shoulder.
He couldn’t have wished for anything better.