Believer

7

"--name...Bokuto...yours?" Was the choppy sentence the Pianist, now coined Bokuto, had practically finger spelled.

Akaashi simply sat there, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in shock.

He knows JSL? Was the first thought that entered his mind.

With shaky hands, Akaashi pulled himself together and replied. "Akaashi." He fingerspelled slowly, assuming that since Bokuto was not using any main signs, that he had more recently just learned the alphabet.

Bokuto nodded, his hair bouncing up and down excitedly with the movement. He smiled big at Akaashi.

"You...drawing?" Was the next question.

Akaashi angled himself more towards the conversation so he could both sign and read easier.

"Yes. I was drawing a bird." He replied, fingerspelling fast. As a child he had first learned fingerspelling so he could ask for things he didn't know the signs for. Still, his movements were too fast for Bokuto's newfound language.

"Repeat?" Was the reply.

"Yes. I was...drawing...a bird." He adds spaces between words so his neighbor could comprehend better.

Bokuto, visibly vibrating with energy, yet getting non-verbally tongue-tied while finger spelling, seemed to be getting annoyed at himself.

"Nice!" He answered. "...easier...phone...text?"

It took a moment and a few long blinks for Akaashi to string together the broken JSL. Then he nodded, feeling less uncomfortable and awkward in the presence of the neighbor.

Since Piano Boy actually switched to a frumpy version of JSL to communicate, it's only fair I accommodate as well. Besides, Bokuto doesn't seem to be malicious or condescending....

Online friends are sweet but a more interactive friend would also be nice...

Bokuto bit his bottom lip. It was hard to communicate without speaking verbally but he thought he was doing pretty well for only having begun learning JSL around a week ago. For only knowing the extreme basics of the alphabet, he felt he was doing mighty fine.

Now he just had to give Akaashi his number so communication would be even easier.

He jumped as an idea came to him. He could use his fingers to give the number to Painter Boy. Grinning at his smarts, Bokuto signaled for Akaashi to write down the numbers.

Akaashi rolled his eyes at the teen before closing his sketchpad and putting his pen at his wrist.

Then came the process of awkward number signaling and translation, but in the end, Akaashi had the number written correctly on his wrist. He would wash it off later after he programmed it into his phone.

His mother never seemed to like him writing on himself, giving him a stern talking to every time he decided to do so as a kid. 

Akaashi watched his wrist, looking at the set of numbers almost incredulously. After becoming homeschooled at an early age, he had practically lost all contact with the friends he had previously made. It didn't help that they were all quite little and too young for phones back then.

Nevertheless, he had a few online friends he would often confide in. Strictly via text.

Akaashi stood from his chair outside, picking up his sketchbook and pen with his right hand and glanced back at the confused Pianist.

Akaashi, knowing the other teen was not fluent in JSL, pointed to himself, his wrist, made a phone motion, and then pointed inside.

Stringing together the seemingly unrelated message, Bokuto's energy burst through the seams. Akaashi watched as he jumped up and down starfish style, mouth open as if yelling excitedly, and eyes crinkling with excitement.

Akaashi softly smiled.

He couldn't help comparing himself to Bokuto. The latter seemed so genuine with his childlike excitement and curiosity. His expressions plastered upon him hid nothing of his intentions to have fun. He was hiding nothing, and therefore allowed himself to be read like a book.

The passion Akaashi had watched him play piano with, seemed to have a deep rooted presence within Bokuto's core. One that stuck around no matter if he played for weeks on end or not.

Akaashi admired that. It was a trivial comparison, but he felt chained down in the presence of the happy-go-lucky neighbor. He wouldn't say he had a passion for art. He had a tendency to dwell in the land of paint brushes but he had long since lost his passion for a lot of things.

His anxiety got in the way of a lot of things, but he refused to go on any types of medication. Personally, he just didn't like pills, but he knew if his anxiety didn't let up, then he would need them sooner or later. It was slowing becoming more debilitating and crippling as time went on.

Some days, it pained him to get out of bed to start the day if he knew he had to do something out of his comfort zone.

So no, art was not a passion, it was a constant.

He would not stop drawing just because he lost his passion.

With his passion went his excitement.

He drew a lot of various objects, people, animals. Especially with a plethora of different art mediums. But after doing it all his life, the presence of being able to draw lost its magic long ago.

Slowly, Akaashi made his way into the house, feeling downtrodden more than before. He turned left at the small hall and entered his room, where his phone laid on the counter and was charging.

His mind itched to input the number first thing. But his fingers found their way to a paintbrush.

Like usual, his body betrayed his mind and forced the teen to calm down in the midst of the comfortable bed called creativity.