"You will not write, you will not draw".
"Yes".
"You will not attempt to communicate and- Keiji are you listening to me".
"Yes".
"Good, I don't want you talking to your soulmate at least until your 18".
"Honey, don't you think thats a little harsh on him".
"Do you want our son talking to a random stranger, sharing saliva with them probably in the first 5 minutes of meeting!".
Keiji frowned, looking down at his feet, his knees pulled to his chest.
This wasn't exactly how he thought the morning of his 16th birthday would go, being woken up by his parents to have the exact same thing repeated to him from every year. A warning.
"I suppose I don't". Keijis dad scratched the back of his neck.
He looked uneasy, knowing that his son would do no such thing, but it was hard in these situations.
Hatsuko Akaashi was a woman not to be disagreed with, and he wondered how his father and mother had ever been destined to be soul mates in the first place.
He agreed that they shared some of the same tendencies, but his father was more softer and lenient and it wasn't hard to tell who was the dominant in the relationship.
Keiji would never like to share the same relationship as them.
If he were to be with someone, they would both be equal in parts of giving and taking, loving each other unconditionally.
The key word being here being 'if'.
He would most likely never experience anything at this rate.
"Well, I've already talked to you about it in detail before" his mother sighed. Keiji kept his eyes on his feet, wiggling them underneath the blankets of his bed.
His body felt cold and numb with the frost hanging on the outside frames of his window.
"Come down when you're ready and we'll have a celebratory birthday breakfast before your father and I go to work" she nodded firmly towards him.
He returned the short nod and she walked out of the room.
A flood of relief broke through and Akaashis shoulders un tensed. He inhaled sharply, but quiet, feeling the need to refill his lungs with air that didn't hold such heavy tension.
"Try not to think about it, bud" his father lingered near the door.
"There's plenty of other things to focus on. Is that one of your newest paintings" his father gestured towards the other side of his room where a canvas sat.
It was a half finished piece, large bubbles trapped with so much water breaching the sides, it looked as if they were all going to simultaneously pop with force.
Akaashi often felt the need to express his frustration through paintings, something his mother could never see through.
"Oh" Akaashis eyes fell off the canvas and to his father. "Yea, I haven't worked on it in weeks though" his voice was calm and quiet.
His father opened his mouth, looking as if he wanted to apologize, say anything, but he just smiled, simply running a hand through his brown curls before following after his wife.
The celebration was pleasant, although not very cheerful on his part.
His breakfast contained of salmon, rice and miso cooked by his dad and a cake was placed in front of him.
He blew out the candles, only for his mother to take it away to the fridge, telling him that it wasn't a decent thing to have so early in the morning and that he could wait.
And so he sat, eating the last of his breakfast as his parents rushed around, pressed for time.
He felt relief through consolation that his parents would both be working, and he would have the day free of disquietude and pressure to enjoy himself.
He watched as his father left first, offering a good-natured wave and a "see you this afternoon".
His mother left second. She sat at the door, placing her foot snugly into that of a black high heel. Her black straight hair pulled back over her head, straining into a tight bun.
"I hope you have a good day. Maybe call one of your friends over" she said, pulling on a coat. "Whats that boys name, the naive looking one...".
"Konoha" Akaashi supplied her.
"Invite Konoha around or something, I don't want you all lonely on a saturday now".
"Mhm" Akaashi hummed, the only thing he could possibly reply with as to not argue that they were the ones that had to work on his birthday, leaving him alone.
She stepped out the door with a nod.
"And Keiji" her pinched mouth gave away to a small smile. "Happy birthday".
And then she was gone out the door. The silence was static in his ears as he gathered his utensils and carried his dishes to the kitchen. It did feel perhaps a little too quiet.
Deciding that he would take his mothers advice, he pulled out his phone and called Konoha. It picked up after 3 rings.
"FOR HE'S A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW. FOR HE'S A JOLLY-". Akaashi flinched, pulling the phone away from his ear with a grimace.
"Konoha shut up" he interrupted.
"-good fellowwwww" Konoha continued, in a whisper.
Akaashi sighed, shaking his head, even though his disappointment couldn't be seen by his overwhelming friend.
"Happy birthday! I'm assuming you're calling cause your momma is out and i'm in".
Akaashi couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Can you make it? The weather looks like its going to start snowing soon".
"I'm already walking, and let me tell you, this cold air is burning two times the calories I usually would. It's a blessing".
"I'll see you in 15 minutes then" Akaashi snorted.
"Rightio! Love you Keji!" a sound of smooching lips came across the phone.
"Bye" Akaashi rolled his eyes.
"Nooo, you have to say it back!".
"Absolutely not".
"Keiji".
"No".
"KEIJIIIIIIIIIIII-".
"Love you back. Not get your ass over here" Akaashi cut him off sharply.
"Aww, you're such a good friend. Bye bye" he sung, and then the line went silent.
Konoha was a nice friend. Akaashi didn't have many friends as they had to be throughly checked out and approved by his mother first.
He had been sweet and charming, getting the thumbs up, and once they were alone, he turned sneaky and anything but the goody two shoes act he displayed for his parents.
But thank god for Konoha, because if it weren't for him being so insistent on being Akaashis friend, he'd probably have none at all.
All of his friends came along with Konoha, and although he had never thanked him out loud, both of them knew how grateful he really was deep down.
Hesitantly, he looked down to his arm, and then to the pen lying on the coffee table. Sitting down on the floor, he reached for it and put it to his skin.
He wasn't one to disobey his parents for the most part, but this... he didn't see a problem with breaking it. What was so wrong with reaching out? How was his soul mate even going to know he existed if he didn't give them something to remember.
With a few flicks of his pen, he drew out the delicate petals of a flower, neat and tidy.
A blooming daffodil. He finished it with licks of detail and shading.
It wasn't too bad for just a pen, and he ended up smiling as he sat down the pen and reached for his one to take a picture.
It was only a few minutes before he felt something crawl up his arm next to the fastidiously drawn flower.
The words "Was it your birthday recently?' popped up in sloppy large handwriting.
He could already sense what type of person was on the other line of this magic. They were childish, perhaps playful with large round letters. But not everything can be interpreted from just a writing style.
Amazing, Akaashi thought, as his skin prickled with the newfound letters.
Immediately he decided to write back. He wouldn't let this opportunity slip.
The conversation turned into asking him when his birthday was and Akaashi nearly laughed as he told this seemingly invisible person that it was actually today.
If they knew he was sitting in an empty room at 8:30 am in the morning on his birthday, they might think of him as pathetic.
With a few strokes, the words
'whats your name' divulged itself on his arm.
A sudden feeling of foreboding crept up his skin, and he raised his head, ears picking up the noise of foot steps. Konoha hadn't been that close, had he?
The resounding jangle of keys made its way past the door to Keiji, and he leapt to his feet hurriedly, just as his mother walked in.
"I seem to have forgotten my purse" she shook her head, sliding off her coat.
Then her eyes darted up to take in Keiji standing in the middle of the room, eyes wide and hands clutching his own arm to his chest like a wounded animal.
"Keiji" her eyebrows narrowed, and she crossed the room, foot steps hasty. Her arm reached out, gripping his wrist with a soft touch.
He stepped back, pulling his arm, but her grip strengthened, long nails digging into his skin like talons.
"Let me see" she demanded, face pinched, vehement.
"Why" Akaashi shot back.
"I know what you've been doing!" She accused, pulling at his arm harder. Her nails buried their way further until he thought they might draw blood.
He reluctantly let go of his arm and she pulled it down into her line of sight.
Immediately her mouth dropped open, eyes frantic and darting across the words. She looked livid.
"I cant believe this" she hissed, turning to him. "You've disobeyed me".
Akaashi pulled his arm back, and this time she let him. He rubbed over the indents soothingly, chest heaving slightly.
It hurt. It hurt bad.
"Well maybe if you let me live my own life" Akashi retorted, but stopped when his mother reached down and snatched the pen he had been using off the table.
"What are you-" he asked, confused.
Her hand snapped back to grab his arm and then she was scribbling over the words that lay bare on his skin.
Dark ink blotced out every letter, every word exchanged. He watched with wide eyes as everything disappeared, until she was throwing the pen down onto the table and fixing him with a venomous glare.
"You do this again and i'll know" she spat.
Akaashi knew that this was true, she had her ways. But he still wanted to snap back, to fight for his impending freedom.
The withering look she was giving him as she towered over, a dark looming shadow, made him shut his mouth and retract anything he was going to say.
He had lost this battle.
At this sudden time, there was a clicking of a door, and foot steps as someone entered.
"Hey, Keiji, it was open so I just let myself in" Konoha stood, taking off his shoes, when his eyes floated up to take in the predicament. His face paled.
His mother shot him one more warning look before she was turning on her heel, seizing her purse and strutting to the door. Konoha stepped aside for her.
"M-morning miss-"
"Konoha, keep an eye on my son for me will you. He's being an un disciplined brat" she seethed through her teeth.
"Right" he nodded, as his mother walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Once she was gone, Akaashi immediately wilted, falling to his knees on the floor. He felt as if he were melting into the ground, becoming one with the carpet.
Fuzzy energy fizzled through his veins and he felt drained, his heart tight and painful.
He had been foolish enough to think that he could get away with something that had been forced upon him ever since he had learned to understand what soul mates were.
Konoha rushed over to his side, dropping to the carpet.
"Hey, hey, what happened?" he asked, voice frantic and panicky.
Akaashi opened his mouth, tried to speak words, but all that came out was a choking noise, and then he was biting his bottom lip.
His eyes pinched at the sides, trying to hold back brewing tears, salty and warm.
He clutched his wrist hard gingerly, drawing Konohas attention, who's eyes blew open with realisation.
Then came understanding as Konoha sat by his side, gently pulling Akaashis arm into his lap and rubbing over it, calm and tranquil.
It alleviated some of the pain and he found that indeed a tear had slipped past the brink, and was slowly trailing its way down his cheek.
"Im staying over tonight" Konoha said, voice easing him into soft held back sobs.
"W-why?" he uttered out.
"Because if I don't, she might literally murder you" he grinned, and Akaashi managed to choke out some laughter between his crying, smiling tenderly.
Konoha brought him into a warm hug and he clutched the back of his friends shirt with a tight clasp.
Later that night after his shower, he slipped into bed only to feel a tingle roll up his skin again.
Konoha was already asleep on a mattress down on the ground, happily drooling.
Akaashi only looked up to the ceiling as his hand impulsively reached for a pen on his bed side table and he looked down to the words 'Are you okay?'.
He scribbled them out with murky ink.
It was better this way.
A few months passed this way, the winter days whizzing by the flurries of snow and harsh winds. With the gloomy weather came the constant flow of caliginous words that haunted him.
They spread over his legs, arms, hip, everywhere. They reminded him of his mistakes, and with every letter, he crossed it out with the drab colour of a black pen.
It began to look as if his body was that of a doll, dark holes in the places where he inked until it was pitch black and unreadable.
One particular day, the first of spring to be precise, he was sitting in class eating lunch when he felt the familiar tingle spread up his arm.
Impetuously, he reached for his pencil case and brought out a pen, ready to stain his skin dirty and dreary once again.
But he stopped, stopped as he watched petals cascade across the inner surface of his arm.
A daffodil, sweet and simple, no details and a hilariously awry stem to finish it off. His heart seemed to burst, elation spreading through his body.
It fermented, made him feel so happy that it brought turmoil to his mind.
He couldn't.
The pen sat rigid in his grip and he pressed the tip to the drawing, crossing over only a centimeter, before stopping.
He could feel his heart beating, a loud thrumming echoing throughout his chest, strong and powerful. No one would know...no one would see if he told his soul mate to wash their words off after.
His fingers trembled, anxiety rolled its way through him as he remembered when he had drawn this particular flower for the first time.
He remembered the way he was looked down on, berated, threatened, disowned for the longest of times yet.
Cold calculating eyes that stabbed through him and let him bleed out on the carpet of his own living room, and he erratically began to scrawl over the drawing with a tight clasp on the pen as it blacked anything and everything out...
Nothing is better sometimes.
The days merged together, his art the only thing keeping him upright.
Spring came and went in a flurry of cherry blossoms. Autumn passed with pitches of dark black cascading over his skin. Winter passed with cold snow and a colder heart.
Soon he turned 17, and it felt like everything that had happened be as now just a suppressed bubble deep down in his chest.
Where it should be.
He poured his soul and heart into it with tidal waves thrashing and drowning him on the canvas. Moon bright across a dark ocean, but never reaching the shore. Fire creeping up fabric, close but never burning skin. His paintings were beautiful, but sad.
"Akaashi?" someone had asked.
He turned to face his art teacher, who had been peering over his shoulder. For how long? He didn't know. He had been in a sort of trance.
"I believe i've told you you're paintings are exquisite before" he nods, pushing his glasses up his nose further.
Akaashi nods before turning back to look at his painting, brush in hand. Yellow smudges across his hand and he despises it for doing so.
"You have" he admits.
"But" the teacher starts again.
"Have you ever thought about doing something else?".
Akaashi blinks in confusion before turning to look at his teacher again.
"I do art, play piano and I sub on the volleyball team. I don't know-".
"No, no no" the teacher shakes his head, and Akaashi grows more flummoxed.
"I mean have you ever tried painting in another tone, a whole new genre. Sad can be beautiful, but theres so much more that is as well" his voice is chipper, and he lays a hand on Akaashis shoulder.
"Just think about it. I wont judge you, but change is the supporting tower of every artists works. We must learn to grow".
He gives a solid pat before removing his hand and walking away, as if he didn't just leave Keiji feeling overwhelmed and disconnected from reality.
Akaashi turns to look at his painting, analysing the paints and swirls of colour.
Its a picture of the sky, dark hazy blues fading to a light bright blue that bleeds into yellow oranges, ending with a fiery passion of red. At the bottom center is a flower, its petals distorted.
It looks unsure of wether to open or close up, as it doesn't know if its night, day, afternoon. The day blends together, and it sits confused, alone.
Perhaps it was time for change. A change for the better.
Leaning over, he grabs a fresh paintbrush and dips the thin bristles into black paint.
Across his wrist he writes
'Are you there?'.
He feels guilty...and so guilty he must be.
.
.
.
I don't know what helps anyone else write but I've been sucking on the tiddy of my water bottle the whole of this chapter.
Literally probably caused water damage to my poor computer as I dropped it like 5 times.
The heart wants what the heart wants man 💕💕 😩