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"What about this song?"
Bokuto glanced at Akaashi expectantly, eyes wide and trained on the side of his face. Akaashi's face was lax as he stared through the windshield, hand curled lightly around the steering wheel. "It's red," he answered evenly, the jumbled clang of guitars and drums somehow blending into a melody. "This song is varying shades of red, to me."
Bokuto leaned back in his seat, staring at the roof of the car without seeing it, "That's so cool."
Akaashi shifted slightly in the driver's seat, not moving his gaze away from the road, "I'm glad you think so, but synesthesia really isn't that interesting."
Bokuto's head snapped in his direction, "Says the guy who spends all day looking through a kaleidoscope!" He crossed his arms over his chest, voice and face firm, "I think it's pretty amazing."
Akaashi's mouth tilted up at the corner, and he cleared his throat before saying, "We're almost there. Do you know what you're going to order?"
Bokuto shrugged, "I never know until I look at the menu."
"Naturally," Akaashi responded. Bokuto could still hear the lingering smile in his words.
Soon Akaashi brought the car to a stop, parallel parking a few blocks back from their destination. Bokuto hopped from the passenger side, bounding onto the sidewalk where Akaashi waited with patient eyes and a tilted head.
Bokuto was peering at the side of his face, watching every blink and every breath. Akaashi inhaled deep, eyelashes fluttering a bit before opening.
"How about this?" Bokuto asked.
Akaashi's eyes slid to the side to regard him without turning his head, "What?"
Bokuto's sneakers scraped against the wet sidewalk, reflecting the afternoon sun and passing headlights. "This smell?" Bokuto said, voice lilting up unintentionally. "Does this smell have a color?"
"Electric yellow," Akaashi answered without pause. His voice was quiet and thoughtful, reaching back into memories, "It always smells like electric yellow after it rains."
Bokuto turned his eyes forward again, his words coming without thought before them, "I think your world is probably a lot more beautiful than mine."
When they moved to turn into the crepe shop he realized Akaashi had been staring at him, but he was hit with the smell of fresh fruit and baked goods before he allowed himself to question it.
"Aah, I love crepes," Bokuto said with an excited clench of his fists.
Akaashi coughed a very small laugh, "Yes I know, Bokuto-san."
As they were waiting Bokuto rocked up onto his toes, "What about my name?"
"Bright blue," Akaashi answered, still gazing up at the menu.
"Oh, that sounds pretty cool," Bokuto smiled big and broad. "Good to know my name reflects me well."
Akaashi pursed his lips with a light shake of his head.
"Hey hey, Akaashi."
Akaashi turned his head, dark eyes reflecting the warm lighting of the shop.
"Does anyone else know?" Bokuto asked. "On the team?"
Akaashi straightened his back and squared his shoulders, eyes flitting upward in thought, "Mm, no, I don't think so."
Bokuto took a heavy step forward, "Oh!? Is it a secret!?"
Akaashi's brow bunched at the center, "What? No."
Bokuto's shoulders sagged, "Are you... embarrassed?"
Akaashi sighed, all the breath leaving his chest before he returned his eyes to the counter, "No, it's nothing like that." He gave a light shrug with one shoulder, "I just don't think about it being abnormal, honestly."
"Amazing," Bokuto whispered.
"You're too easily amazed, Bokuto-san."
Once they had their orders they stepped outside, crepes wrapped neatly and held firmly in their hands.
"How about over there," Bokuto asked, motioning toward a bench.
"Sounds fine."
"What about all of the volleyball things?" Bokuto glanced over at Akaashi, who was delicately licking at the whipped cream spilling from his crepe.
"Like what?" he asked, not bothering to pause in his whipped cream conquest.
"Hmm," Bokuto squeezed his eyes closed for a moment as he thought. Then he jumped, crepe almost spilling cream over the edge, "How about spikes? When my hand hits the ball?" He smacked at his forearm in example.
"Greens. In neon." He lifted his eyes for a moment, squinting, "It changes depending on how well you hit it."
Bokuto pinched at his chin with his fingers, "The colors judge me..."
Akaashi coughed a laugh.
"The sound of shoes squeaking? Oh! The referee whistle?"
"Shoes... they're like a flare," Akaashi turned his hand in a slight circular motion. "A blurring red. Illuminated, like brake or traffic lights at night."
For a moment Bokuto imagined pivoting on the court, red flaring out and haloing around his toes, lighting his steps on fire. His lips parted.
"And the whistle," Akaashi went on, "it's not so much a color as a flash of light. Quick and blanching like from a camera."
"Is it distracting?" Bokuto asked as they moved to settle on the bench, feet resting against the pavement as they faced the green of the park. The rain had tinted the air, made it feel thick with the color of the grass and the trees.
"What do you mean?" Akaashi asked, taking a bite of his crepe at long last. He chased the whipped cream residue with his tongue, swiping it clean off his lips.
Bokuto felt his eyes taking on some concern as he stared at Akaashi, "Seeing colors all the time. Isn't it tiring?"
"No," he answered easy again. "It's just how things are. It's the only way I know things." He took another bite, chewed quietly for a moment, and then swallowed. "I could ask you if things were insufferably dull not seeing the colors."
"Ah," Bokuto chuckled, a bit embarrassed for a reason he couldn't pinpoint, "I suppose you're right."
Akaashi turned to face him with some genuine interest, "Is there a reason you're asking so many questions?" Bokuto's mouth fell open, but before he could speak Akaashi blinked, "I don't mind; I just can't imagine you're that interested in every tiny thing."
Bokuto sat up, gazing at Akaashi with honest eyes, "I just want to understand you better."
Akaashi's body seemed to go inordinately still, his eyes and mouth flat and unreadable.
Bokuto lightly tapped at his chest, "What about my voice?" He smiled, "I promise I'll stop; I want to know this one the most, though."
Akaashi's eyes slid away for a heartbeat, "I said I didn't mind, but..." He tilted his head back up, looking into the cloudless sky. "It's gold," he answered, still not looking at him. "It changes with pitch-- when you scream excitedly, or pout, or laugh--" he blinked a few times in quick succession, "-- but it's always gold. A rich color."
Bokuto tipped his chin downward, staring into his crepe as his face grew a tad warm, "Gold, I like that."
"Me too."
Bokuto's eyes hopped upward, and Akaashi's neck was burning red.
"I mean," Akaashi amended with a clear of his throat, "it's a very... pleasant color."
"You know," Bokuto said, leaning back on the bench and staring unseeing over the horizon. "I think I get it." He saw Akaashi turn to look at him, so he continued, "I mean, obviously I don't see colors and stuff; I can never completely get it." He blinked, chewing on his bottom lip in thought, "But I think I can understand."
Bokuto held out his hand, looking at it, "Like..." The words were escaping him, but Akaashi was as patient as he always was, so the momentary pause didn't seem to faze him. "When I hear your voice," Bokuto finally started again. "I don't see color. But I always get this... warm feeling in my chest. It doesn't matter what you're saying, or where we are, it just always feels like some part of me is curled up in my living room on New Years with soba noodles." Bokuto turned to look at him, "Like home."
Akaashi was staring at him, mouth slightly agape and eyes a bit too wide.
Bokuto smiled, grinned so large it rose past the heat flushing over his cheeks, "I hope my gold makes you feel at home, too."
Akaashi was still staring at him, but when his eyes fell back down to his crepe his lips pinched in at the corners, as if in an effort to control his mouth.
"I do," he said. He looked up at Bokuto, face red and lips curled into a smile, "feel at home."