no more bad days (for you, my dear)

Akaashi Keiji was not often a man of many words. He knew many of them, of course, had made it his passion and his choice to consume them all and hold them in his chest like a power he could never fully control but, still, it was rare that he chose to use them.

It was easier, often, to let things happen to him, to hear the world pass by around him as a somewhat willing participant. Still, Keiji understood the importance of words. He felt as if he always had, from the first moment his father had sat him down and given him a poetry collection.

It was why, like an idiot, he’d rehearsed the words in his head over and over again, a broken record stuck in an endless loop.

Or, five times Akaashi gets confessed to and one time that he does the confessing.