Work Text:
It starts off slow, a tenderness around the shoulder blades that pulls and warms as practice goes on. The grass is cool and fragrant under him once practice ends, his face pressed into it as he listens to his team-mates chatting as they eat, sweat still drying in the pre-evening light after their cool down. He had joined them, he had moved and yelled and let the air sweep deeply through his lungs but now he stills, waiting for his muscles to stop twitching.
"Bokuto-san." The voice is gentle, and he can feel Akaashi standing near him. He bounces up immediately, smile on his face as they head home together. The twinging is not forgotten, but shoved aside until he can get home, treat it with ice to quell the swelling and slow, gentle heat to ease the tension.
Akaashi notices the stiffness in his spine when it comes, his plays not as fluid, the arch of his spine as he moves to spike the ball not as dramatic. Eir face is tight and eyes are narrowed, and Bokuto tries to focus instead on wiping the sweat off his hands. He stops slouching in class by the end of the week, packs his bags as lightly as he can and tries not to jump around too much when he hits his highs. There's crumpled papers and empty candy wrappers scattered on his desk at home, waiting to be shoved into the bin with broken pens and forgotten schedules. His shoulders hurt, the skin tight and swollen. His weekend is spent in a haze, time spent eating and sleeping. His mother follows him to his room after dinner, sitting beside him as he lays face down in bed, fingers carding through his hair as if he's five years old and sick again. He doesn't hear her say that he should really think about taking the next few days off from school at least, until this is over. His bed is soft, the pillow smelling vaguely of Akaashi from eir visit yesterday. Ey had walked Bokuto home, laying down beside him as he laid down, helping keep the ice on his back steady until he was ready to move again. "At least think about taking practice off, Kōtarō." His mother sighs, and her hand is gone. The door clicks close, and then its morning again.
He feels lighter than he has in days, breakfast jammed into his mouth and hair sticking up oddly from sleeping with his gel in as he pulls his shoes on, bouncing his toes off the ground once, twice each before running out the door. His backpack is so light, so light and the day is so warm he feels like he's floating, wind pushing back hair as he all but flies downhill. The birds sing in quick bursts, scattering when he draws too close. The trees they hide in are bright, bright green and he feels like he can see every leaf, every curving branch where the light hits. Things are glowing, almost hazy and he is so, so warm.
He is early to class and the shadows of the school are cool, deep and dark. There's sweat slipping down his shoulders as he pulls his uniform jacket tighter around himself. The teacher's wings flutter slightly as he takes his seat, surprise at his early arrival turning to hesitation. He's asked if he wants to go to the nurse. Stubborn, he shakes his head and pulls out his notebook. He feels great, why would he go? He's behind on his work and he knows it, why would he leave now?
He isn't hungry at lunch, doesn't wander out to find Akaashi. He writes slowly, trying to ignore that he's way too cold despite the heat making him dizzy and figure out the problem set before him. He's behind on his homework. He has to catch up, he has to catch up or he'll be worthless. He hasn't been able to play properly in a week, he can't fail this too.
He goes to practice when it's time, and the gym is bright, bright, bright and Akaashi's frown is dark, dark, dark and ey is beautiful and Bokuto reaches for eir, honest enthusiasm colouring his world and he wants to play, he wants to feel the ball under his palm and Akaashi's hand in his own and the wind rushing through his lungs and. Akaashi's hand is against his chest all of sudden, air catching in his throat.
"Go home." And it's cold, and the heat in his back spikes.
It hurts. His hair is down, hands clutched tight around Akaashi's arms as he feels his back spasm, new bone shifting under his skin.
It hurts. He blinks in and out of awareness. The floor. A bed. White sheets, strange smell. A different bed, a more familiar scent. His breathing comes fast, hitching every time he tries to move to drink, to speak, to shift and relieve some of the horrible pressure he knew had been coming for a month now.
The skin breaks slowly over his shoulder blades, the first few welts of blood pooling between them hardly distinguishable from the sweat. He shifts, arching his shoulders and the burst that follows pulls a groan of relief from him and hurried words he cannot hear from Akaashi. He breathes deep, feels the sheets being pushed lower so his back is fully, totally exposed, and when he reaches out he can feel someone grab his hand, squeezing lightly. He hears his mother's voice, slow and gentle as someone touches him, traces the shape of his wings over his back and sides to gauge their size. They feel large and as they lurch and send more blood rushing through the exit holes, he thinks they'll be strong despite how weak he feels right now. A cloth comes and cleans his back. A cloth comes and cools his forehead. A cup comes and quenches his thirst, liquid thick and warm. It feels like his back is being ripped wide open.
He pushes up on instinct when his wings finally, finally break free, sliding into their proper place with a sick pop. He doesn't hear Akaashi thump to the floor, blood splattered across eir face, scrambling to get Bokuto's mother. New nerve endings hum as the wings extend themselves. Everything seems so silent, but he can feel the brush of feathers against the holes in his back.
When he wakes, he can feel a hand in his hair. The world is blurry, the slosh of water fading in and out as his mom brushes his wings clean, his new limbs laid out in her lap. He feels a damp cloth being run over his face, and sighs. He can smell Akaashi, he can hear his two younger siblings trying to pinpoint exactly what kind of owl he is based on his plumage now that at least one wing is mostly clean.
Akaashi's hand stills for a moment as the door to his room slides open, eir voice coming close to his ear as the door clicks closed. "Bokuto-san, your dad's here." His siblings run under his wings, latching onto their dad's legs and chattering. Bokuto hums, shifting slightly as Akaashi's hand begins to move again. His father chuckles, shuffling over so he can put his jacket down. "Sorry I'm late, they kept me over time." Bokuto can hear his father's wings move, stretching out for balance as he picks up one of his siblings. "Hey, would you look at that! Owl wings!"
"Just like yours, dear." His mother chimes in, a smile on her words as she resumes brushing.
"Think he's got your colouration, though. Beautiful pale tips. What'd you think, kids?"
"They're kinda creamy on the underside!"
"Nuh-uh! That's just cause they're still gross! I bet they're gonna be juuust like mom's."
"Nooo!" They're left to argue and dart back under his wings, each trying to make their case as his father draws closer, one large hand coming to rest lightly between his shoulders. "How you doing, champ?" His voice rumbles low, Akaashi pulling away to give them space.
"Nn... tired." Bokuto supplies, wincing as his wing twitches, responding to the sudden touch of his siblings.
"I'll bet!" His father laughs, his siblings squealing as they run from the scolding of his mother. "Tell you what, once you've healed up some I'll take us all out for your favourite. Akaashi too if ey would like to come along."
"Yaaay~" He smiles as he yawns, slowly stretching out the wing not in his mother's lap. It's still twitchy, muscles and nerves too newly formed yet for him to move around much, but he imagines he can feel himself healing up already, spurred on by the promise of a good meal.
"If that'd be alright, sir. I want to keep an eye on him for a bit longer." Akaashi says, spurring laughter from mother and father alike. "Oh dear you know you're always welcome." His mother says as his father moves away, picking up the extra basin of water and the stiff-bristled brush left near his bed. He pulls a chair along with him, setting himself up to clean Bokuto's other wing.
It takes him a week to recover. It's quick, but it's still a week of random wing spasms, hitting things with his new limbs, stretching and strengthening exercises, near constant stumbling, and helping as best he can to cut wing holes into his clothes. He spends a lot of time shirtless, the exit scars on his back pink and puckered much like the top surgery scars on his chest had been, turning purple in cool air. They'll fade in time, if they're not covered by the new growth of feathers between his shoulders. It had itched terribly, but there were powders and balms to ease that. His plumage did end up looking a lot like his mother's once they were fully cleaned, although a bit warmer in tone.
Akaashi comes over daily during that week, making sure he get his homework and the necessary notes. Studying after dinner, Bokuto feels eir fingers run lightly through his feathers, smoothing out the barbs on his flight feathers before moving to adjust the rest. He stills, slowly spreading his wings to grant Akaashi access to the sections closer to the torso. It feels good, close to having his head scratched and hair played with. As Akaashi moves in, finding the few downy feathers hidden under the rest, his wing twitches, feathers fluffing out. "Ah, sorry!" He says, reaching around to smooth them down manually as Akaashi laughs softly. "No, it's fine. Did it hurt?"
"No! No, it's not that..." He rustles his wings one last time, moving back to where he was. "It just... feels weird."
"Oh? Do you want me to stop?" Akaashi hasn't pulled away, hand hovering lightly over the curve of his wing.
"Nah, it feels nice. 'Sides I can't reach back there yet so..." He trails off, fiddling with his previously abandoned pencil.
"Ah, right... Preening." Akaashi nods, pushing eir fingers gently back into the bulk of his feathers. That's all that's said for a while, the scratching of Bokuto's pencil eventually resuming.
"So..."
"So?" He pauses, looking back at Akaashi as best he can.
"I presume that since you're still able to do your homework instead of mewling at me to touch your wings in a particular way that these aren't an erogenous zone for you."
"Akaashiii!"
"What? I assumed the way you screamed when they came out that they'd be a lot more sensitive. They could hear you on the other side of the hospital, you know."
Akaashi stays over that night. Ey sleeps in his bed, curled under his wing. It is warm, and it is soft, and Akaashi listens to Bokuto breathing slow and steady. Shifting, ey brings a hand across Bokuto's lower back, feeling the warmth of muscle and the softness of fresh scarring. "You're a fool." Akaashi mutter, breathing deeply. There's no copper scent thickening the air, no pungent antiseptic. There's just Bokuto, snoring right into eir ear. Great.