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tenkasato · 6 months

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Choose Me Again

Hello! Here's the Akashi-centric oneshot I promised for the longest time. It's been sitting in my drafts folder for more than 3 years. So I decided to just upload it, for what it's worth. It's quite long, but I thought it'd be better to post it in one post rather than per chapter. Warning: IT'S A MAMMOTH, but I hope you guys would hold on til the end of it. Without further ado, here it goes...

The first time he met you was when he went over to his favorite tea shop in the suburbs. It was a small place situated at the corner of the street.

The interior was designed with newspaper clips of its successful endeavours. The photos of famous celebrities in black and white pinned onto cork boards were memoirs of the once high-end tea house. The sole source of light was the dimming bulb by the corner, and the rest was shed by the afternoon sun.

You, like he, were a rare sight.

You wore a wrinkled and faded high school uniform. Your tie was a little crooked. Your long tresses were tousled and gathered into a messy bun. Your lips were pursed, eyebrows knitted in concentration. A lotus crest was embroidered on your blazer, one that he couldn't recognize.

Before he could saunter over to his usual seat, he found himself walking towards you. You looked up the moment he came to view, demeanour cautious and intrigued.

"Hi."

"Hello."

Polite smiles were exchanged.

"I haven't seen you around here.”

He lowered his eyes to the vacant seat in front of you with a silent question.

"Can't say the same to you," you replied with a grin as you gestured for him to sit. "I work back there with the dishes so I don't go out and meet the customers."

He raised his eyebrows and nodded with a low hum. That explained why your sleeves were pushed up to the level of your elbows. You shrugged, unbothered, and returned back to what you were busy with before he interrupted. Sketches of faceless women clad in formal dresses were scattered around the round table. Eraser dusts were everywhere.

“Why do you always come to this place? It’s full of old people and it smells like incense.”

While most of his peers went to KTVs, arcades and malls, he preferred quiet places like these. It was no wonder he caught your eyes. A young man fresh from school in his white blazers looked odd and out of place.

“You’ve been watching?”

You shook your head with a chuckle, the motion letting loose some strands from her bun.

“I like observing people.”

The second time you met, he finally asked your name. And he told you his.

“Akashi Seijuro, hmmm.”

His name rolled on your tongue like candy. Not the excessively sweet one, but the type that leaves a gentle aftertaste in the mouth. He liked hearing his name with your voice.

He waited for your eyes to widen, to pause, to shrink back under his stare. A renowned surname like his seemed to have that kind of effect on others. His family was influential in terms of politics and business. It was a double-edged sword. One that struck fear and respect from his classmates.

But you simply nodded. Perhaps you weren't aware.

That was his notion until you spoke again.

"Must be tough to be under pressure all the time." You spun your pencil with your fingers, the twirls and tumbles mesmerizing him for a bit. "No wonder you frequent this shabby stall for some breathers."

"You've come to quite an interesting conclusion.”

"I'm not wrong, am I?"

He wondered if you were good at reading people because you drew expressions well. Melancholy in a smile so wide. Apprehension hidden behind closed eyes. Ranges of emotion in supposedly expressionless animals. Your hands worked craftily with just a pencil.

How would you draw him?

Curious, he asked you.

“I don't know.”

And he left it at that, despite wanting to ask why. It was hard to understand someone like him that even he couldn't fully comprehend what he truly was. He looked at himself in the mirror everyday. He still had the same face, the same lips and cheeks. But with a look closer, his image would rattle, shift and shatter. It made his left eye throb.

“Do you want to go outside? You don't look so good.”

He peeked across the window to where his car was parked. With a little contemplation, he nodded and texted his chauffeur that he was going to walk home.

~ O ~

When he met you one afternoon in front of the tea shop, you were clutching a ball between you arm and hip looking peeved and embarrassed.

“Do you know how to play?”

A shrug. “Just a little.”

You smiled bashfully.

“Teach me.”

You found an outdoor court beside a nearby middle school. He started by instructing how to dribble and what stance to take. He demonstrated how to shoot, before pointing at the three point line and telling you what it was for. When you understood the basics, he told you to get past him and shoot.

“I’d appreciate it if you told me beforehand that we were playing. I should have brought clothes."

“I don't exactly have your number, Akashi-kun.”

You finally called quits when the sky began to tint orange. Panting, you accused him of lying about being an amateur in basketball. He chuckled, removing his sweaty blazer as he watched you fan at your flushed face. Walking back to the benches to retrieve his phone, he told you to give him your number. You complied albeit excitedly.

It was only after two weeks of practicing that he texted you that he was a basketball team captain.

~ O ~

Akashi Seijuro had never had a crush on anyone.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. He had a fair share of admirers from the student body with his inherent good looks, academic standing, school positions held and family background. He met a few who showed outright interest in him, but what he expected to feel, he didn't.

Like he was trained to, he set his eyes on the sole goal of the family. To excel in all fields. Unfortunately, socializing for the sake of romantic escapades was not covered by his lessons at home.

So when you innocently reached out for his hand that one night, pulling him towards the river bank to show him a stone trick, he felt a zap. It pierced through his chest before expanding into flutters breaking out of his skin. He felt nauseous but it left a pleasant sensation in his gut. Addicting and quite unbecoming.

You kept on talking, bragging about your skill, unknowingly gripping his hand tighter. Mind going blank, he felt across the creases on your palm, the callousness of your fingers. Your hand was cold from the chill of the night. It made him want to bring it inside his hoodie pocket to provide some semblance of warmth.

This was another thing he was never trained for by his father. Confessing to a girl he recently found he liked.

He thought, perhaps it isn't the right time to confess.

~ O ~

Akashi Seijuro never had a diary.

His mom had one. It was pink and adorned with handmade flower crafts and ribbons. It was kept inside her closet where his father would never look. She showed it to him one time, saying that a diary was meant to keep all his deepest secrets and even his flitting daydreams. Her smile was wide, eyes with a twinkle of mischief like she and he were sharing a secret no one was meant to get a whiff of. She said she’d help him choose a notebook when he was old enough.

When he had touched her diary for the first time, it felt heavy. Like his heart that had probably been coated with lead that time.

His mom along with her memories had been buried under white roses, but her secrets, dreams, thoughts—it was kept immortalized in her diary. Why had his father chosen white flowers? His mom loved pink. Why couldn't they let her choose something for herself at least for the last time?

That had been the last time he cried.

He never bought himself a diary even as he grew older. But he now understood the glee of being able to share the things he buried under piles and piles of pretence and grandiosity. To be able to say how much he hated mathematics despite being exceptional in it. To be able to eat three cup noodles in one night. To be able to laugh loudly without worrying about etiquette.

If his mom had been alive, he would be able to tell her that he already had a diary in the form of a you.

“The only reason I was allowed to play basketball was because I could learn to lead people better. Basketball is a strategic sport, after all.”

“But do you like playing?”

“Yes. It was my mom who first taught me.”

“Then you should play for the sake of enjoying yourself. Winning is just secondary to it.”

How simple you made it sound. Yet, it was something he's been yearning to hear from anyone.

“Date me.”

You choked on your cola, unfortunately dirtying the sketch you were working on. He had said it on the whim. Impulsive, and certainly an act that starkly contrasted how he was raised to be. However, it felt right that time. With your hand casually brushing with his, your head leaning against his shoulder, it felt extremely right.

When you're sixteen, you're obliged to think that you can take risks and your actions wouldn't garner grave consequences. At least, that was how most teenagers had it. He didn't think he was to be categorized under 'most teenagers', but as the wind blew past you and went on with its never ending journey, he thought I could be a normal kid once in a while.

Your hand closed around his fingers until they whitened on pressure. He flickered his eyes to you, and with a breathless chuckle, you finally answered.

“Sure.”

~ O ~

“Sei-kun, I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

And that was the first time he allowed himself to cry again.

~ O ~

He convinced himself that it was out of his or your control. It was like one of those famous, overused lines in the movies where the love was perfect, but the timing just wasn't.

And maybe, that was the case for you and for him.

Was he mad?

No.

Did it hurt?

Akashi Seijuro didn't think he needed to answer that.

But what could a 16-year-old do when his first love leaves because of unavoidable circumstances? His family was powerful. He had money. He had intelligence. However that wasn't nearly enough to magically change your family's mind of moving.

What you had was beautiful. A blissful time of trying things out for the first time with someone who could have potentially been his partner for life. It was like a favorite chapter in a book. Once a page was flipped over, a scene came to a conclusion. You could only now turn one page back to recall the memories and relive them.

27-year-old Akashi Seijuro understood this now. Or rather, he accepted it.

His father was close to retiring, and naturally, the one next in line was him. He was more than ready to bear the responsibility as the new CEO of Akashi Enterprises next year. All that was left was papers and formalities.

He had changed a lot since the day you left. Friendships broken to rubble and restored to full. Priorities set straight. Perceptions changed. The pain in his left eye had subsided close to none. He felt whole again, like a wholer version of himself before he started dissociating in front of his mother’s tombstone.

Maybe you leaving was a good thing, because if you had been there when he had broken down, you would've been caught in a maelstrom. You would've gotten hurt. The him now wouldn't have forgiven the versions of him then.

He fixed it. Not without help of course, but he did.

Hence, when he stepped into the tea shop—not the old, rickety one back home, he was stunned. Maybe it was his reward for holding out.

Or maybe, it was true. What they said in the movies.

There you were, a pencil in your hand and your hair in a bun.

Looking as alluring and enigmatic as ever.

Perhaps, this time, the timing was perfect.

~ O ~

Akashi Seijuro thought that he should feel the tug of hesitation, keeping him from eagerly approaching your hunched form. It was inherent in human nature to avoid pain at all costs. But like he so emphasized from the very beginning, he was not like most people.

With a grace befitting of an heir, he walked towards your table.

It took you a few seconds before noticing the figure in front of you. When you looked up, your eyes widened. When he quirked up his lips, you visibly relaxed.

"Hey, you."

"You look different."

And indeed you did. The baby fat around your face was gone. Your lips were painted deep red, eyes framed by light beige. You sported a long dress that hugged your figure.

You were his first love, and yet you were not.

"I can say the same about you, Akashi-san."

He pretended that the way he was addressed did not sting him, but even so, he raised his brows before taking a seat.

"How have you been?"

He didn't think that between the millions of interweaving lines of time and space, his hand would be able to touch this particular one and meet with you again. For a long time, you had only existed in his memories and dreams. Right now, you breathed the same air as he did, listened to his words as he tried to piece the lost moments together with yours.

You told him your story.

And then, it his turn to tell his story.

He told you of the downward spiral he fell into after you left, not missing how you flinched in your seat. Victory became his primal objective. Acting like he was bred to, he crushed all his rivals and even went as far as discarding camaraderie in the basketball team and demolishing their opponents’ morales. In a bystander’s view, he was most peerless and unreachable during these times. But to the few people who really cared about him, he had been on his way to self-destruct.

“Someone slapped some senses into you, I’m guessing.”

“If you want a summarized version, then yes. Kuroko and the others. You’ve met them a few times before.”

“I remember. Go on. I want the uncut version of the story.”

The smile that graced his lips was foreign—young, boyish and carefree. One that you recognized and reciprocated with your own, familiar one.

~ O ~

Two people who had once been naive and innocent 16-year-olds, spending long afternoons in a traditional tea house downtown.

The same two people who were now jaded and mature 27-year-olds, spending mellow evenings in a sophisticated tea shop in the city.

Soon, the little tea shop had turned into your tiny bubble where you could be themselves again.

It was a haven. It was a home. It was rest.

“How did you know this place?”

Because you could've met in a different place amongst all others, but you chanced upon each other here. In this fated sanctuary.

You dropped two sugar cubes and stirred at your americano before continuing.

“It's barely in the maps, and as far as I’m aware, they aren't fans of advertisements.”

Your nails were cut short like usual. Unmanicured.

“This place is owned by a relative."

“What? Are you telling me your family owns everything in this city?”

Chuckle.

“I don't recall saying that.”

“Not kidding?”

“He’s a cousin, abandoned by my uncle because he was born out of wedlock. When my uncle died, my father looked for him and sent him to school.”

“Then he opened a tea shop?”

“Basically, yes. You’ve never seen him around?”

You hummed contemplatively.

“Does he look like you?”

“Not even a bit.”

You stopped stirring and gently placed the spoon on the napkin. When you raised your gaze, a teasing and enticing smile on your lips, he swore he saw something flash across them. It could've been a trick of light, because after he blinked, it was gone. His heart bursted.

“Then, I haven't noticed him I guess.”

~ O ~

When did it happen?

He looked into the colors of your eyes.

Akashi Seijuro had always been in awe of how your eyes changed as light struck them in different angles and intensities. Wavelengths shifted out and across, dancing like a kaleidoscope enigmatically.

Tonight, you rested contently at the passenger’s seat, idly watching the streetlights that zoomed past them.

When he stopped the car in front of your place, you tilted youra head to bid him a good night.

It gave him a chance to look closely, to pick apart the poems, riddles and odes written in those eyes. There, he saw the same longing, a glimmer of nostalgia and pain that spoke of the same things his did. You thought about him, too—everyday since the day you said farewells under the Sakura tree.

You have never really moved on from him. What elation it gave him to know that he wasn't the only one left hanging in limbo.

He gave in, bared his heart again for the second time and asked for you to be his.

They say miracles happened all the time. You only had to look carefully. He could attest to that, because as he lost sight of you eyes, lips touching in the most revered and gentlest of ways, hearts reuniting, he could say this was his miracle.

~ O ~

When did it happen?

Time blurred by and swept with it the days of each year. Akashi-kun turned into Seijuro-kun which turned into Sei—just as how seasons shifted to take their turns inevitably.

And for a long time, he had forgotten how it felt to have you by his side.

To have you wait for him to send a message of good morning. To know you were worrying about him when the drizzle turned into a downpour. To know you would love every inch of him, the dips, the rough patches, the jagged edges as if every part of him were perfect.

With his hand secured behind your knees, he walked on the path crusted with dried leaves autumn left in its wake. You had an arm wrapped around his shoulders with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

The afternoon sun casted a magenta glow on your light strands of hair. It made the grin on your lips much softer than it looked.

"I better be rewarded for granting your wish, princess."

"Hush, you. You promised to carry me on a piggyback ride when we were younger."

There had been moments like these. Imageries of him and you that he'd frame and keep eternally etched in his heart if he could. Cheeks swelling with magnanimous smiles. Breaths ragged with laughter.

"Sei."

"Hmm?"

"What did you think of me the first time we met?"

A low hum and the lone tea shop downtown came to mind.

"I thought, 'This is the girl I'm going to love for the rest of my life.'"

"Cheesy. Want to know what I thought?"

"What?"

"'This is the man I'm going to marry someday.'"

The reward kiss you gave him after that left the sweetest aftertaste in his lips.

~ O ~

When did it happen?

There had been moments like these, too.

"You're too perfect, Sei.”

“I’m not. Calm down, love. I understand—”

“You do? Look at me and tell me that you really do, Mr. High and Perfect and ‘I-own-everything-even-the-air-you-breathe.’”

Imageries of him and you that he'd rather burn into the cold embers with the ashes to be blown by the gale. He hated to see you hurt, whether it was because of him or not.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Then you’d make up. Nothing dramatic like begging for forgiveness or giving long winded explanations. You knew one of you were at fault, so you accepted it, took each other's hands and nursed your wounds, promising to do better the next time.

At the end of the day it was never for naught, and the kisses you shared in the aftermath were the most affectionate and most desperate of their kind.

~ O ~

When did it happen?

“Sei, take a look at this sketch. Do you think it looks good?”

A wedding gown. It was easily the most gorgeous one he’s ever seen.

“Do you?”

“I think… Yes. I think I like my design.”

“Then it is. There isn't any standard for what is beautiful and what is not. If you ask me, I’d be willing to put it on on our wedding day. Given that you'll have to wear the tuxedo in my stead.”

“My fiancé is one cheeky man, isn't he.”

~ O ~

When did it happen?

He twirled your hand as you spun around on your feet. Your sense of balance slipped away and you fell, figuratively and literally, towards his welcoming arms. There was no music to match the succeeding taps of your feet in the ground, but he preferred it that way. Your voice was enough music to sway him to submission, his head swimming in ecstasy.

“I shouldn't be allowed to be this happy, Sei.”

“Neither should I, love, but here you are.”

~ O ~

Not everyone was fortunate enough to be given a second chance to redo things like they did, and it felt like things had fallen to fit into that perfect puzzle his mind had conjured up in the past, and everything was perfect. At least, that was how he tried convincing himself with. It was perfect. It was supposed to.

But why wasn't it?

Akashi Seijuro didn't know what was missing, what was amiss, what was slowly devouring the special thing they shared. He ignored it, brushed it off as normal for any relationship. Everyone goes through stagnancy like this, right?

Your hands were cold.

He supposed his was, too.

That night when you had promised to meet him by the park so you could stargaze, he started to feel a gaping hole in his chest. When you still hadn't shown up and chauffeur started to send him messages offering to take him home, he knew that hole was rapidly consuming him.

It was raining, the tiny droplets pelting at his skin and soaking him to the bones. He hadn't bothered to open his umbrella and chose to stay on the soil despite the stains marking his pants. Something white moved in his peripheral vision, and the hole grew wider and deeper.

He thought that maybe he should feel something stab through his heart by the way you hesitated to approach him. But the numbness of being battered under the rain for he didn't know how long (—had it been hours? Weeks? Months? Years?), it had overtaken his emotions, caged them, made him feel nothing even though he was likely snapping.

When did it happen?

When he thought you were about to cry, you smiled instead. It was only then when he noticed that the lingering smile he fell in love, over and over and over again, fell colorless, flat, routine.

And it broke his heart even more because it was a smile that said, "I loved you."

~ O ~

If only he knew.

But what could he have done?

~ O ~

And just like that, things started to change drastically. The previously fragile yet somehow stable hands that kept the house of cards from toppling over gone. The dam broke. The balance was thrown off.

Soon, Akashi Seijuro was no longer left to a standstill but was watching everything fall apart with hands tied behind his back. He had never felt so helpless. Not when his pride and name was being smeared over. Not even when he was losing all his friends. The last time he was gobbled up by incapacitating doubt and crippling fear was when his dying mother had cradled his face in her emancipated hands.

Suddenly, he was a young boy again.

But why? he wanted to cry out.

Did he do something wrong? Said something? Wasn't he enough anymore?

If there had been a reason, even the pettiest and most childish reason, he'd be more accepting. Anything. Anything. Really. Anything.

But there wasn't and there was none and when did it happen, no—HOW did it come to this?

He realized that he could no longer muster up the silly thoughts and excuses of ‘maybe the love was right but the timing wasn't’ anymore.

~ O ~

You were changing, distorting, fading. This vessel of you no longer held the soul that once promised him forever.

If he let this go on, he might lose you.

~ O ~

You didn't know what to expect when he called you during work and asked you to meet him at the tea shop. Not the sophisticated one at the heart of the city. But the old one downtown where it all started.

Hands folded. Eyes downcast. Breathing shallow and little at the edge of erratic.

The place had not changed even a bit since the last time you went here as naive teenagers. Except, now there were different sets of customers and you were two different versions of the past. And maybe, if you had the energy and time to look at the far right corner of the establishment, you'd see the new old-fashioned vase sitting on a miniature table.

There were a million things running in his mind—questions he wanted to throw out like why did you waver, why did you give up on us, why can't you fight for us anymore, why aren't you happy anymore, why, why, why. Instead, he settled for:

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Akashi Seijuro had never been one to sugarcoat things. He got straight to the point. Each and every time. You knew that yet you couldn't help the surprise that permeated your gasp.

“You could've said something.”

He pleaded.

"I didn't want to lose you, Sei."

And you did, too.

It was incredibly selfish. So selfish he felt both euphoria and agony squeeze his head to the point of wanting to throw up. His blood screamed at him to keep on holding on for you, for himself. He was trained to be victorious in every single thing, wasn't he? This shouldn't be any different.

But you weren't a game. You weren't his diary. And you weren't his springtime.

You were someone he loved endlessly and mercilessly.

“This isn't going to work anymore.”

“No, no, no, no—wait, let me try again. I can do it! I can try again for—”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes! Sei, I could never not love you!”

“Tell me, princess.”

“Sei—”

“Are you still in love with me?”

You froze, and his heart broke. He knew you wanted to say yes. He could tell by the way your hands stiffened in his. But you hesitated, looked at him imploringly and begged him not to make you say it out loud.

“I thought so.”

“Please don't let me go. I can’t be without you.”

You eyes, coated with a sheen of desperation and despair, spoke in volumes that threatened to deafen him. Let you go. Let you stay. Let you live. Smother you. His heart was a battlefield—a clash between his feelings and his desires.

If he could, he’d cry, too. Instead, he opened his mouth. “I want you to be happy…”

Gently, he released your hands before gingerly, tenderly wiping away the tears on your face.

“...even if it means I’ll no longer be in the picture. You have to grow without me, and I without you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours as he listened to the muffled cries and empty heaves.

He wished that time could be kinder to him to slow down. To hear his pleas to pause in this moment where you were still his, because once you walked out that door, you would no longer be his while he was still yours.

“Promise me, that if after years your heart still calls for me… promise me you'll be the one to come and look for me. Choose me again.”

~ O ~

What was it that they said about in the movies? No matter how tasteless some of them were, he couldn't deny the realistic accuracy they spun around in their tales with only slight exaggerations.

They said third time's a charm.

And surely it was.

For the sake of being poetic, he had wanted to say the place where it all began was also where it was going to end. In that cheap vintage teashop downtown where they had lived in their own little bubble.

He was glad that wasn't the case.

As you walked with a grace that made his legs grow weak and his heart to quicken, he couldn't think of when you had been this painfully, breathtakingly beautiful.

In a sea of black, your long white dress stood out like the moon in the blanket of black skies.

You spotted him instantly, eye glazed with indecipherable emotion as you flashed him the most surreal smile he’d seen.

Back then when he broke it up with you, he hadn't known if he did the right thing. One made choices to move forward, but the consequences could only be reviewed in retrospect. Regrets and remorse were common, but just as satisfaction and rejoicing were.

You came closer, glanced softly at him, and he swore that both of them heard the words you had told him once upon a time.

"I shouldn't be allowed to be this happy, Sei."

He looked at you longingly during that small slice of time, and all the memories came rushing back to him. He remembered the smile you would give him. You always had such a beautiful smile. He wished he could've seen more of it.

He regarded you fondly, told you he loved you without any spoken words and shook his head before stepping aside.

“No, you deserve this.”

Your groom's hand grasped yours. Smiles were exchanged. Intimate gaze returned. Vows already said even before you reached the altar.

Amidst all the heart-wrenching, searing loss and pain, you found solace. You found forgiveness, and through it, healing. And now that you belonged to someone else, but he wouldn't count this as a loss.

After all, he was able to preserve that smile. He finally learned to let go albeit willingly and happily, and entrusted you to his cousin whom he knew would love you more than he ever did.

And while Akashi Seijuro wasn't a religious man, he sent a silent prayer to the One who made you.

Take care of her for me.

And that's a wrap, everyone! If you made it this far, MUCH THANKS. I remember writing this piece in my room at midnight 3 years ago. This fic is actually inspired by this Filipino song, "Paubaya". It's quite a lovely song sang by a very talented singer and songwriter.

As you've all noticed, this is heavily Akashi-centric. It was written all in his POV, and I made sure to insert some aspects and key memories of his life into it.

To be clear, reader did not cheat on Akashi with his cousin. Reader-chan fell out of love, and to some extent, Akashi did too. It happens. It's a sad reality.

Lastly, can anyone guess who Akashi's cousin is? *wink wink*

Anyhow, thank you once again everyone. I'm elated to have been able to post something again after years. Thank you! ^^

#akashi seijuro x reader #akashi x reader #akashi seijuro #akashi seijuurou x reader #kuroko no basket #knb #the basketball which kuroko plays #akashi seijuurou #knb fanfic #tenkasato writes

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