𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐒! ➛ a. keiji ✔

───── ◦‘𖥸’◦ ─────

the letter took three days to arrive. sitting impatiently while talking on the phone with ichika, akaashi rambled on about what it felt to have a never-ending writer’s block. the apartment, as always, reflected his and his roommate’s messiness, the gray undertones of the walls slowly showing up through cracks on the navy-blue paint. he was about to shout to bokuto — who was taking a very long shower and belting notes of which the musician himself wasn’t even aware of the existence — for him to fix the fissures with some photographs or a drawing, but then he remembered how koutarou was studying code, not visual arts.

“so that’s what i was saying, dear. you need to get yourself out there to get out of this creative block...” ichika said, ever so patiently. the woman was truly an angel: the calmest person akaashi had ever met, which balanced out his best friend’s hyperactiveness.

“well, i don’t think it’s about whether i ‘get myself out there’ or not. i just think i don’t have the talent for this,” keiji replied, which was partly true. in fact, the blue-eyed man had once been on the epitome of his songwriting skills, but something had stopped him, like a train coming to a halt in the middle of the track. watanabe answered with serene hums, showing she understood his position, yet didn’t agree with what he’d said.

“well, i did talk to so-” keiji was about to say he had previously met another writer on the internet, but was quickly interrupted by the excited voice of an ichika who had apparently just got her pizza.

“damn, i was starving! gotta go now, tell bo i said hi!” she said, and ended the call.

keiji threw his slim body on the couch on which he sat as soon as his manager hung up the phone, and so did he. humming an indefinite melody, the musician thought about how he’d tell watanabe-san about the person he’d met. what can i say? i don’t even know their name or where they live! in his imagination, he’d start with something along the lines of “i just met this stranger and sent them my address” and hope for ichika not to slap his dumb face and retort something along the lines of “you’re stupid!“. truly, he felt stupid.

bokuto had left his 2-hour long shower concert. “ichika says hi,” keiji said, to which koutarou replied with a dreamy smile as he went back to his room to fetch something he’d probably forgotten.

“’kaashi, i’m leaving to meet with ichi-chan for pizza, you want anything along the way?” keiji’s friend asked, as agitated as ever. akaashi shook his head as if to say “no, thanks” and plunked atop the sofa once again. in reality, akaashi was too tired to eat, overcome by a sinking feeling of uselessness. he closed his eyes, wishing for no more tone-deaf taylor swift covers filling his ears as his friend made his way out the door, but shot them open when he came back, said “there’s mail for you!” and left once more.

bokuto had left a pile of papers atop their dining table — which was actually just a wooden, rectangle-shaped table the approximate size of a child’s desk. akaashi sat on the wooden chair that matched the table. along with the papers koutarou had just left, there were some lunch leftovers (namely, sushi take-outs) and keys. shit, bokuto forgot his keys again. keiji wondered if he should call his friend, but he figured he wouldn’t be leaving the house any time soon, thus he could open the door for the grey and black-haired man. he’s probably going to stay at watanabe-san’s place, anyway.

to be honest, akaashi didn’t expect to get the lyrics that soon. the three days in between him talking to this @musicalities user and getting mail delivered on his doorstep were filled with nothing but grunts of exasperation as the musician tried — and failed to write his own lyrics. truly, what has happened to me? going through all the papers and trying to pretend he wasn’t excited, — the good old “won’t get my hopes up in case they’re crushed down” trope — keiji took deep breaths between each letter. however, nothing could be more anticlimactic that receiving a bunch of bills when one is expecting songs. bills, bills, bills, mom sent a postcard from italy, bills...

and there it was: the knight in shining armor, the savior of akaashi’s plummeting music career on which he’d spent more money than he’d like to admit, the one thing keeping him from giving it all up and passing the art student debt on to his parents. @musicalities′ letter.

the envelope said it had come from akita. so they do live in japan, after all. keiji took yet another deep, deep breath, filling his lungs with as much oxygen he possibly could, only to let it all out seconds later in an attempt to ease his spirits. his hand had started shaking, and he couldn’t grab hold of his bouncing leg either. the envelope had two papers in it, one which keiji assumed was a note. it started as the following:

◦‘𖥸’◦

see? not a creep! i’m just sending you all this so you can be (hopefully) successful in your career, so there’s no need for you to credit me. in fact, i’d rather you not do that at all, if you can. please don’t mention this to anyone, okay? it’ll be our little secret. also, this is just a test-drive of sorts, in which you can test out my lyrics and see if you like them or not. if you do like them, you can always talk to me and we’ll arrange things. as i see it now, i can send you letters weekly. hope this helps!

hugs,

musicalities.

◦‘𖥸’◦

stunned, the black-ehaired man went on to the next paper, not without smiling at the kind note the user had left him. i really do owe you a lot, huh? he thought to himself as his blue eyes darted from the first note to the second, now written in ink and not from a printer, which akaashi assumed was because of sentimentality. authors tend to connect with their work through their pen, after all. if the first note had been startling, the lyric itself was certainly staggering. adorned with royalty-worthy handwriting, keiji examined each curve and line of the letters that mashed together, creating beautiful stanzas of poetry. he couldn’t thank them enough for what they had done to help him. entitled “boy problems” he began to read the lyrics:

◦‘𖥸’◦

it’s called survival of the fittest, and i’m not fit enough

it’s just a phase and soon we’ll quit it, well maybe i am stuck

and this ain’t called a mood swing, it’s emotional parkour

and if you run away and leave me, i’ll follow you for sure

there are a hundred other reasons why i could write this song

but you’re the victim, i’m the killer, you’re the big fish in the pond

and now i’m belting off these chords and i’m kissing you goodbye

’cause i am reaching all my limits with all your petty lies

i’m against the wall while you are thriving, push me off the edge

and i know too damn well you’re hiding, yet i’m too lazy to care

i could swim a thousand oceans, but quickly i would drown

and it’s probably on purpose, oh god i’m such a clown

you tell me that you’re the good guy, that you’re all about the love

well, call me crazy, call me insane, but that’s not what’s going on

you tell me that you hate everything i do

but give me ten reasons to hate me, i’ll give eleven to hate you

oh, please, won’t you give me that ring?

’cause i know a good place where you can shove this thing

i found a letter that you wrote me, it sounds just like a poem

it also sounds like you were stupid, it sounds like you’re in love

and i could apologize for all the things i’ve done

well listen, here’s my apology: oh, shit, i’ve got none

you tell your friends that you want me to burn in hell

not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot in here, you should know it all too well

’cause if god’s actually real and he judges all your acts

you’ve got a pass to eternal damnation just for being an ass

oh, please, won’t you give me that ring?

’cause i know a great place where you can shove this thing

i’m sorry about the things i said

but that gives you no excuse to be such a shithead

◦‘𖥸’◦

“oh, this will help alright,” akaashi said, letting out a relieved sigh from his lips. he finally had a song.

───── ◦‘𖥸’◦ ─────