I Just Love The Way You Write - Tumblr Posts

park benches are nice.

especially the one off the path no one walks because it's rumored to be haunted.

well, no one but akaashi.

maybe the rumors started because of him. surely anyone who heard his incoherent mumbling about unreasonable demands and impending doom would think that it was the call of some sort of mysterious forest demon.

the incessant tapping of his foot: the nearing demise of anyone foolish enough to fall for the demon’s tricks, prowling with a sense of purpose akaashi doesn't have—not right now.

a harsh tug at his hair: a desire to claw and tear, to shred to pieces till nothing's left but a ghost of a laugh because the way he fell apart so easily was always just short of amusing.

a heavy sigh: a howl for something better, something free from blooming bruises and scathing scars that never really went away.

someone better.

he lowers his head to his hands, elbows digging into his knees as he stares at the concrete beneath him.

sensibility, he thinks, makes for good defense against something so terrible.

which is why he thinks some part of you must be an idiot.

his head hangs even lower as he listens to the fall of footsteps he knows to be yours grow closer.

of course he knows—there's no one else foolish enough to walk a haunted path.

maybe he's the idiot here. for knowing your gait like he knows the ticking hands of his watch. for feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten the slightest bit as the bench creaks tiredly. for the relief that courses through him, followed shortly by a wave of guilt, as he realizes he's glad you sat at the other end instead of at his side.

maybe you do have some sense in you.

yet not enough, clearly, as he can feel your gaze lingering on him. the bench creaks some more as you scoot closer, and he holds his breath just so he can hear yours. it's calming, he thinks, knowing that you can breathe so easily next to him—even when he's like this.

you place a hand on his head, running your fingers through his hair and tugging just hard enough that it pulls him back to where he is at this very moment.

in a park, with fresh air and green leaves and colorful flowers and a big, blue sky above it all.

on a bench, wood worn with the remnants of time and the worries of those before him.

next to you. just the two of you, alone.

he reaches for your hand, bringing it down to his side and interlacing his fingers with yours. with a sigh he sits up, turning to find you still looking at him. you smile softly at him and close the distance, leaning into his side and laying your head on his shoulder.

he takes a few breaths, feeling the breeze tickle his cheeks and brush his hair out of his face. carefully slipping his hand out of yours, he wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing just a bit, and rests his head atop yours. with his other hand he grabs your hand again, bringing it to his lap and lightly tracing the ridges of your knuckles before interlacing your fingers with his once more.

here—sitting on a park bench with you, out of reach of whatever it is haunting this path—he’s at peace.

and with that, he smiles.

alone doesn’t mean lonely

part two of this collection of drabbles

thank you @snoozless & @milktyama for beta reading <3