Believer

Epilogue

Days felt endless, weeks and months blurring together in a chorus of red and blue lights, mechanical beeping and black clothing. From there, time ticked slowly. Therapy sessions and silent dinners and musicless nights persisted. 

A photo of Akaashi was laying face down on Bokuto’s desk. He couldn’t bear to look at it in the daylight for fear that he would lose himself to the sorrow and never leave his room. But at night time, he felt connected to the lost artist. Every night he would pull out the picture and sit under his covers, running his fingers over the glass and taking in every small detail of the smiling face before him. 

Sobs raked his soul even as he thought of the excitement of meeting his best friend and neighbor and crush and bandmate at the cafe. Akaashi had been so excited. Bokuto could tell from the texts alone. He was radiating with energy. And Bokuto had been equally excited himself, albeit a little nervous. Bokuto had been wanting to talk to Akaashi about how he felt for a few weeks now. 

The pianist had never really comprehended when the change occurred, when he had fondly moved from friend to best friend to someone he felt he could never live without. 

He wished he could eat his words. That he could coil them up into a ball and throw them so far away. That he could burn them before setting them afloat in the ocean.

Because right now, his emotions towards Akaashi were ever prominent. He was the first person he had met who with the pianist through thick and thin, through sleet and hail. Through every high and low since they had met. They had watched movies and applied for band gigs and baked and cooked and danced and laughed together. Akaashi had single handedly made Bokuto feel more human, more alive than ever before. 

It was perfect. And it ended all too soon. All too abruptly. 

Akaashi had died in the hospital almost a week after the crash. He had suffered from a large cut on his head, broken bones, internal bleeding, and eventually died from too much trauma on his body partnered with sepsis. He had been in the ICU unit for the whole time, his family unable to see or talk to him. Bokuto unable to say goodbye and his parents unable to kiss their dying son’s cheek. 

And an unfiltered, undying happiness for ever meeting the artist was ever prominent in Bokuto’s soul. Etched in deep like a knife carving a tree. And he felt as if he himself was bleeding out, unable to get rid of the sorrow and loss he felt from losing someone before he could ever thank them for being alive. 

And in that moment of realization, Bokuto broke. 

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“Ya know, I was really happy when I got the email saying y’all were still wanting to accept a gig here. But I am curious as to why y’all declined my first offer to put ya on the books.” Kim Sinoju said, voice having a thick accent. He was leaning over the corner of the bar where he liked to interact and watch over customers. 

Across from him currently were two freshly graduated teenagers sitting on the stools, a water and coke in front of them respectfully. 

Bokuto swallowed thickly. It had taken about a year and a half, but he felt as if his time for initial healing was being patched up smoothly. And he wanted to do something, anything, to make himself happy. To make Akaashi happy. Three months previously, he had promised Akaashi’s headstone that he would only return once he had something happy to tell him. And he would not back down on any of his promises to Akaashi. 

Kuroo put a hand on his friend’s arm, egging him to keep talking in a soft manner. 

Bokuto’s eyes remained downcast, looking at bar counter before him. “Our manager and friend died--” His voice cracked with emotion and he cleared his throat. “Akaashi died the night you sent the email.” He whispered, but Mr. Kim heard him. 

“Oh.” The bartender and owner said, setting down the glass he was polishing and putting the rag he was using over his shoulder. 

“Hit by a hydroplaning car that was going way too fast in the rain.” Kuroo’s hand squeezed the pianist’s shoulder as they boy relieved first receiving the news. 

“Oh.” Mr. Kim repeated, letting the silence of death permeate through the air. He had spoken to customers mourning before and knew nothing he could say would ever make the situation or bring the person back. “Are you better?” He asked instead. 

Bokuto and Kuroo looked at each other before soft laughter took over them. “I’m ready to play again.” Bokuto spoke up. “I’m ready to play music for Akaashi again.” 

And determination swept over himself. He would give their performance his all. Because Akaashi had given the band his all. Afterall, Akaashi was his first believer--the band's first believer--and he was worth every song Bokuto played. “We’re ready to take our music to the stage now.” He spoke. And for some reason, he felt a connection to those words.