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Akaashi can only think one thing: Why her, and not him?
Akaashi stood by Bokuto for years, looking out for him and making sure he was happy. Bokuto and Akaashi had a long, strong history. They met in middle school, and although at first the dark-haired boy didn’t like Bokuto’s endless energy, they soon became close friends.
They spent all their time together: eating lunch during breaks, taking the same bus, chatting every night, hanging out on weekends whenever they could. Bokuto was always attentive with Akaashi: buying his favorite popsicle, helping him carry his backpack. And not to mention all the little gestures of affection; whenever he had the chance, Bokuto would find a way to touch him: holding his hand, playing with his hair, caressing his cheek.
Akaashi believed this friendship was turning into something more, day by day. You wouldn’t act that way with just anyone, right? You wouldn’t say I love you to just anyone, you wouldn’t get jealous over just anyone, you wouldn’t look at just anyone like that.
But then Bokuto would show up with a girlfriend. And then another. And another. The line never seemed to end—but neither did Bokuto’s affection toward Akaashi. And then Bokuto would tell Keiji he liked him, that he adored him, that he loved him—but still kept hurting him, bragging about his girlfriends. And when Akaashi tried to do the same, Bokuto would get angry at him for being with someone else.
What the hell did Bokuto want? What was he looking for from Keiji?
Then Kotaro asked Keiji if he wanted to be his boyfriend. Was it wrong for Keiji to say no? Was it wrong that, despite all the love he felt, he was afraid of being just another game, afraid those feelings weren’t real or sincere, that he was only being noticed because there was no one else left?
And then everything fell apart. Kotaro stopped texting him, stopped speaking to him, vanished just like that. Keiji thought he’d be okay. Four years of this push and pull had been enough. Four years of crumbs had been more than enough to understand that wasn’t his place.
But then, why now, after ten years, can’t he forget Kotaro? Why does he still dream about him night after night? Why does everything remind him of him? Why can’t he move on? Why hasn’t he been able to fall in love with anyone else?
And then comes the news that Bokuto is getting married, and Keiji can’t feel anything but pain and frustration. Because he knows, deep down, that relationship has been a roller coaster, with countless breakups and make-ups. But still, Kotaro chose her—despite all the problems and fights, Kotaro decided to marry her.
Because maybe Keiji was never enough. Maybe his love was overwhelming and unwanted. Maybe his honesty was too much. Maybe he just wasn’t meant for him. Maybe Bokuto never loved Keiji the way Keiji loved him. Because love can’t be returned if it isn’t truly wanted.
Keiji cries alone in his room, wishing he could forget everything and rip out his heart—but even so, he knows that because of everything he lived with Bokuto, he was truly happy. Because Bokuto gave him new moments, new feelings, new ways of being; he gave him joy, sadness, anger, and love.
Maybe they didn’t feel the same way. Maybe Keiji loved more deeply, maybe he was more sincere—but even so, Bokuto gave what he could and wanted to give, and Keiji felt full in those moments.
Love isn’t always how it’s painted. It’s a wide spectrum of colors, and not all of them are bright. Sometimes there are many grays and muted blues—but even so, it’s still beautiful to live it.
And Keiji hopes that someday he’ll be able to move on, without thinking of Bokuto and feeling sad. He hopes that when he hears his name, there will only be a trace of nostalgia left—not the daily melancholy he feels now.