Marked (BokuAka)

31. Conformity

A/N: Guess what? I found a way to post! Enjoy even more fluff!

Bokuto's POV (Day 6):

Well, that was... unexpected. He knew he looked different with his hair down, and the painted nails probably didn't help, but he thought Akaashi would immediately recognize him.

Yes, the most shocking and memorable part of me is my hair, but I thought that... I don't know. That I had other trademark things that people remembered, I guess. However, he sort of enjoyed the reactions he was receiving with his hair down. But they felt fake. At least when he had his hair up, they could see that he was on the more energetic side. Now, he felt a little forced into conformity.

Akaashi's words whispered into his mind, the melodious tone unexpressive yet sweet as he read from a textbook. English class. They both had a test the next day.

Conformity.

Noun

1. behaviour following socially accepted conventions or standards.

Bokuto thought the word was interesting. Conformity. Conformity. It had a million emotions and opinions surrounding it tied into one word, ten letters, 4 syllables. Every person has a different idea of what it consists of, and each person has a different feeling towards it. Conformity, a debate tied up into a neat little brown paper package, tied up with twine. Conformity.

Was this what it was to conform? Because Bokuto didn't know if he liked it or not. People didn't know who he was at first and treated him weirdly. A good weird. Kind of. They were... respectful? They didn't treat him like an idiot when he asked questions, and some of the girls seemed to try and talk to him more. It was nice to be near people, but felt restraining. It felt like he was trying to push himself into that neat brown paper package.

He didn't like that.

Not one bit.

He didn't like when people explained things more kindly to him.

He didn't like when girls came up to him and asked how he was doing.

He didn't like when people treated him like... like...

Like a kind, reserved person.

That's what he hated. Because since he 'conformed' now, he was treated like the average person. No personality, no nothing. Just... blank.

Small pieces of paper inscribed with tiny, neatly written numbers littered the base of his bag. Each ten-digit sequence weighed down his step, dragging him backwards. Every smile given with the small slips, each honey-coated 'hi' and lips powdered with sugar that covered each word spoken. These all felt like mould growing rapidly on the bottom of his bag, spreading up the strap and onto his shoulders, his body.

And through all these shows of love for a person they didn't know, Bokuto couldn't help but think of Akaashi. Akaashi, who doesn't pile on needless praise, whose smiles feel like tiny miracles. Akaashi, who is focused and caring and unbiased. Akaashi, who wouldn't ever coat words in honey and dust them in sugar with the hopes of a return of affection.

Thinking about Akaashi, he had to go meet up with him. It was time to do what Bokuto dreaded most: talking to the parents.

Akaashi waited for him at the entrance to the gym, their usual meeting spot even without volleyball. Konoha and Sarukui were already talking to Hayashi again, and Washio was still MIA. Probably mourning, but it made little sense. He was trying to find out who murdered Akane before, and suddenly he leaves without a trace. Without so much as a message.

"Okay," Akaashi stepped forward, shock still prominent in his eyes as he gazed at Bokuto. "You ready?"

No. "Yes." He forced himself to smile, the expression feeling forced and gruesome. Akaashi nodded, also a bit curt. They walked along, the silence feeling tense and uncomfortable. He was beginning to get nervous and started to browse through conversation topics. His day? No. The case? Hmm. No. The weather? Ugh. So, well, cliche. The soulmate thing? "Um, 'Kashi?"

He hummed in affirmation, eyes still trained on the sidewalk in front of him.

"I need to talk to you about something important. Please." Bokuto stopped, and Akaashi walked forward a few steps, freezing once he realized that Bokuto was serious.

"Bokuto? What's wrong?"

"I–" And the whole situation flowed out of him like water from a broken dam. His soulmate and the writing, right down to the colour of the words appearing on his arm. He didn't say the exact wording of the messages, not wanting that bit to be exposed to the world, but he told Akaashi the gist of it.

Akaashi stared at Bokuto, processing the information he'd just thrown in Akaashi's face. "You have a soulmate?"

"Yes! Well," Bokuto sighed. "No. They don't count as a soulmate. They don't care about me, or my life, so... I guess I'm stuck in the same position I've been in forever." The blue-eyed boy patted his shoulder, a bit awkwardly, but Bokuto leaned in nonetheless.

"Anyone would be lucky to have you."

And it was those words that made his heart soar.

Because they came from Akaashi. His not-a-soulmate-but-definitely-a-crush spoke seven blessed words, seven words that hurt but also comforted.

Because he said 'lucky'.

But he also said 'anyone'.

And that still sort of hurt.

But specifics, specifics. He felt better. Akaashi had a way of lifting doubts and hurts off his shoulders. He just hoped that he wasn't putting Bokuto's hurt on his own back.