It’s charming, really.
When you look at him in the daylight, it’s impossible to predict that the creature lying next to Akaashi is almost ethereal when his face is eased by sleep and set aglow by moonlight. The omnipresent pinched look melts away, leaving smooth pale skin and a bone structure rich people pay millions to have implanted.
Kageyama got it all for free, and Akaashi gets to sleep next to this man every night.
His pencil skates across the paper, capturing the beautiful framework of his face. Akaashi almost doesn’t even need to look to remember every line and plane, but he does anyway because he doesn’t want to miss it. Bit by bit, the sketch comes to life, yet never quite matching the original.
Entranced by the task, Akaashi nearly jumps when a hand reaches out and grasps his wrist. “Sleep,” Kageyama murmurs into the bulk of his pillow.
Akaashi chortles. “I was planning on it. Just a few more minutes.”
“Give me your hand.” Kageyama links his fingers with Akaashi’s left hand and yawns loudly. “I like to watch you work.”
“I’ll let you see it when it’s done. You know the rules.” When Kageyama’s bottom lip juts out in a pout he will never own up to, Akaashi smiles softly and squeezes their joined hands. “I won’t let go, I promise. You should sleep, though.”
Humming in agreement, Kageyama drifts off within moments, and Akaashi resumes his task. Though he had been about to call it a night when Kageyama had awakened, but the more he works, the more he itches to finish.
He reaches under the bed and grabs his marker case, piling his supplies on the nightstand to bring the piece that had started as a doodle and has rapidly developed into a mission. Not to share with anyone else — Akaashi is the only one who gets to watch Kageyama sleep and he likes it that way — but so he can remind himself every day of the man who changed his life.
Trawling through the palette of colors in the case, Akaashi remembers an old painting of Kageyama’s, something monochrome and aching and so very blue. That had oozed pain and leaving something behind, but the color blue has another meaning.
It also means peace and calm, so with that in mind, Akaashi picks his colors.
Dusty blues and navies and cobalts and midnights blossom on the paper under the guidance of Akaashi’s practiced hand, his other never letting go of Kageyama’s.
When it’s finished, Akaashi blindly stuffs the markers back in the case and simply stares at his own work. Usually, he fiddles and frowns while he searches for the point where he truly considers the piece complete, but not now.
Akaashi knows it will never be complete. Not because the picture isn’t fully colored, but because their story isn’t finished. He and Kageyama have all the time in the world and many more portraits to paint on paper and on their hearts.