Chapter Text
Akaashi's knees were trembling. The ice was only a few inches in front of him, yet his legs were frozen, unable to move forward. The sheet of solid water so bright against the dawn light. His black figure skates stand out harshly against the white-padded snow beneath him.
Akaashi takes a deep breath, cold air filling his lungs, as he looks up at the frozen lake before him. It was so beautiful– his breath wobbled violently. His body craved to glide on the ice. To feel the cold air move through his lungs. To hear the scratch of his skates as he danced.
‘You’re weak, Akaashi Keiji. I should’ve never wasted my time on you.’
Breath hitching, the memory of those words sat in his mind, vivid and awful; he spun away from the beautiful view. Slowly and safely, he began walking away, his legs moving side to side over the uneven, earthy ground beneath him. Walking off, Akaashi clenched his fists. He was weak. That terrible voice in his head was right. What he wanted most was right in front of him, and yet he couldn’t even put one foot on the ice. Weak.
Looking down at his duffel bag, he sees comfortable winter shoes waiting for him by its side. How easy it would be to go back into hiding, put on the shoes, and leave. Go back to his room and pretend like he never failed.
A small tear falls from his eyes, falling gently into the snow. With one final, split-second decision, Akaashi whirls around and runs towards the frozen lake. He doesn’t stop when his skates hit the ice. He keeps going. Keeps moving. Afraid that if he looked down, if he stopped for even a second, he would cower again. So he kept moving.
Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Again and again. Again. Again.
He feels his heart pumping fast in his chest, feels it in his neck. Adrenaline moving quickly through his body. He was going fast– too fast. But he didn’t dare stop. It all felt so good. The frigid air in his nose, hot puffs of his breath escaping, wind blowing in his ears, moving faster than he could ever run. He feels like he’s flying; he feels free again. And that oh so familiar and comforting sound of skates scratching against the ice. He wants to see the lines he leaves behind, but is too afraid to turn back and look. Afraid to change anything about his stride.
Looking forward, he sees mountains in the distance, tall and white. The forest surrounding the lake sleeps soundly under blankets of snow. It’s been an awfully cold few weeks; the lake was frozen solid, not a single weak crack to be found. The sun had only just started to rise, slowly and brightly. A cheesy, silly thought crosses Akaashi’s mind– how much this scene reminds him of new beginnings that happen in his books, how he wishes that something good and new was in store for him.
After some time, Akaashi begins to slow down. His heart stops racing, adrenaline long gone. The wind stops howling in his ears. His hands were cold, gloves forgotten due to the rush of the moment. The sun has fully risen above the mountain peaks, bright and beautiful. The sky was a light blue color, not a single cloud in sight, a sign of an even colder day to come. Akaashi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Everything, for a few moments, felt completely right again. He craved to dance, wishing he had taken his phone and headphones with him. With another brave decision, Akaashi turns and starts skating backwards.
He now sees how far he has skated— sees the marks he left behind on the ice. Familiar. His bag and shoes were too far to be seen anymore. That section of the forest now only a distant memory. He didn’t want to stop. Wanted to keep going. To spin and twirl and jump. To feel like he was capable again. To feel like himself. Who he once was.
Gently, he starts humming songs he knew by heart. He loosens his shoulders, shaking out the last bit of nerves from his hands, letting his anxiety slip through his fingertips. He allows his arms to move freely, remembering old routines that match his humming. Letting the music control his body freely. Slowly, his feet start moving differently, no longer just going straight but turning– creating thin loops on the icy floor. He stops going forward (or backwards) and starts dancing. Not daring to skate on only one leg. No daring to ever jump again. But this? Slow, steady, with both feet on the ice— this he could do.
Small tears begin to escape his eyes again. He couldn’t hold them back anymore. Oh, how he had missed this. He allows himself the grief. Allows himself to feel the pain that sat so soundly in between his ribs, that made his heart ache. If anyone was allowed to see his pain, it would be the lake, an old, familiar friend. Comforting him after all of these years. His movements become sharper, scratchier. He wants to jump. Wants to fly again. But he wouldn’t… never again.
He stops. The sudden scratch of his skates echoes all around him. It was just him, the lake, the forest watching, and the memories of his failures. He allows himself to cry. His sobbing deep and guttural. His dreams suddenly slipping away. A life he had imagined, gone. Akaashi’s knees begin to tremble again, and he knows it is time to go back. To put on his shoes and stand on solid ground again. With a shaky final sob, he starts skating, moving towards his new life.
—
As he approaches his spot, he notices that there is another person on the ice now. Moving quickly around, they hold a hockey stick in their hands, a small black puck moving like a blur. A goal post stands with no one guarding it. Akaashi slows down and stops a little way away, watching the person move on the ice. They’re fast, their movements sharp and precise. They get closer to the goal post, their body beginning to arch and twist, their stick following the movement along. The puck vanishes and reappears in places Akaashi never expected it to be. He is mesmerized. The quickness of the trick forces Akaashi’s eyes to dart every which way, trying to find the little black dot. With a powerful swing, the player chucks the puck at the goalpost. The black puck hits the goal posts' metal arch and flies off into the distance; the echo of it moves throughout the lake. The player stops suddenly and squats down to the ground, dropping their hockey stick in the process. How sad, Akaashi was looking forward to seeing the trick succeed.
The individual stays in his sad squat for a few moments– Akaashi decides it’s the best time for him to sneak by without interrupting their practice. However, the lake is empty and quiet, and the scratch from his skates alerts the player of his presence. They look up suddenly, with only a few feet between them. Akaashi is taken aback by the person's bright golden eyes staring at him. A few wispy strands of white hair stick out from under the boy’s hat.
“Hello!”
Loud, Akaashi thinks.
“Hello.”
“You must be the person who left their bag by that tree,” he says as he points to Akaashi’s blue bag sitting comfortably on the ground.
“Uh.. yes,” he says, “Sorry.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing, but it felt like Akaashi was intruding.
“Eh, you’re just lucky I wasn’t a thief!” the boy says with a laugh as he gets up from his squat, grabbing his stick on the way up. “Names Bokuto Koutarou. And you are?”
“Akaashi.”
“Just Akaashi?”
“No.” Akaashi feels flustered and exposed. He wanted this experience to be personal, private, and here was a very loud boy ruining it for him.
With a small laugh, the boy says, “Heh, alright, keep your secrets. Are you a figure skater? Your skates are too pretty for you to be in hockey.”
Instinctively, Akaashi looks down at his skates, immediately regretting it. It was impossible, but he swore he saw specks of blood on his right skate. He lifts his head suddenly, startling the boy in front of him.
“I was. Not anymore.” Akaashi’s words are sharp.
“Oh. Why?”
Akaashi thinks about it for a second, “Loss… of passion.”
“Ah,” Bokuto says as he looks off into the distance. Akaashi observes his hooked nose and the few freckles speckled on it. “I suppose it wasn’t a total loss!” He turns back to Akaashi, bright and beaming. It seems like he was unintentionally competing with the sun at Akaashi’s back.
“Excuse me?”
“If you had lost all passion for skating, then you wouldn’t have come back to the ice,” he says and points his hockey stick at Akaashi’s feet. He doesn’t look down this time.
That simple statement rattled Akaashi. Bokuto was right; he knew it. But a part of him had convinced himself long ago that his passion had vanished. Love was still there, burning bright in the depths of his heart; he knows it exists, destroying him from within any time he thinks of all the lost moments. But passion, the drive he once had to perform his best, to make it a career— that part he had let go of. He let it go the moment he lay helpless on the ice. He knew that it was over then.
But now— a small flicker deep within him. Hope and grief mix in his chest, wonderful and terrible all at once. Questions start running through his mind. Was he being hopeful and reckless? Was this desire to perform again? Was he wrong? Did he let go too soon? A shooting, sharp pain in his right leg brings him down to reality. Akaashi clears his throat, “I should go. I don’t want to interrupt your practice,” his voice too quiet, he didn’t know if the boy in front of him picked it up.
But he did, “Alright! Bye ‘Kaashi!” he waves excitedly as he starts skating away towards the puck that flew off into the distance.
Akaashi watches him for a moment. He seems excitable and skilled, zooming through the ice faster than Akaashi expected. Bokuto Koutarou. He should remember that name; he wanted to see if his trick ever works out.