#*unedited

Nomura: posts short trailer, with nothing much on it

Fans: zoom into a small detail that changes everything

“Henning Mankell was an internationalist. He would have been delighted at this Emmy recognition. Our Wallander was made by a truly international group of artists, who loved this troubled policeman as much as the public did. It was a privilege to inhabit that fracturing mind over 12 films. The International Academy have created a fantastic way to say farewell.” [x]

“Keeeeijiii.” Bokuto’s voice was high and whiny, laced with slight irritation that only those exposed to him most could pick up. Fortunately or not so fortunately for him, Akaashi was one of those people. He sighed.

“What is it now Koutarou?” Akaashi pushed himself back in his office chair and toed at the ground in front of him until he could peek out the doorway of his study. Looking down the hall, he found Bokuto sprawled halfway on their ugly couch, feet propped up on the red cushions and head scrunched at an odd angle on the floor. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“It’s sooo hoott ouuut.” His voice dragged on again, and with a quirked eyebrow Akaashi briefly wondered if his vocal cords were melting due to the extreme summer heat. It sure sounded like it. “When’s the repairman getting heree?”

Another sigh left Akaashi as he set the book that he was previously reading on his desk with a soft clunk. They had only called the repairman half an hour ago after their air condition sputtered it’s last cool breath earlier that morning. It was fine without it, for a while, but then the sun rose higher, signalling the coming of noon and beating down into their dusty little apartment.

“It could take a while. It seems that lots of ACs have been breaking down around here lately and we were pretty late to call.” He explained and Bokuto let out a pitiful whimper, rolling over a moment later to rest his cheek against their carpet and huff.

“I thought we picked a good apartment Keiji! Not this! Whatever this is.” He halfheartedly waved a hand around their living space before it lost all life again and fell to the floor with an impressive thud.

“Just because the AC is broken-” Akaashi started, shuffling down the hall to Bokuto, clad in his old volleyball shorts and one of his boyfriend’s muscle tees (this one was bright pink). “-does not mean this isn’t a good apartment. Besides-” He paused again and nestled himself against the couch next to Bokuto’s upper body, reaching out a hand to comb through the other’s slightly sweaty hair. “- it has you in it… And it’s ours.”

Akaashi trailed off there, his slim fingers still running through the oddly coloured tufts of Bokuto’s hair. He felt Bokuto’s form tense beside him before he scrambled up from where he was sitting, eyes frantic. He wrapped his arms around Akaashi in a sudden death grip and squeezed hard, rocking the two of them side by side despite Akaashi’s protests. 

“Keeeeijii.” He whined again, his voice more watery than his eyes as he peppered the side of Akaashi’s jaw with sweet, fleeting, butterfly kisses. “You’re not allowed to say things like that!” 

Before he could help it, a smile lifted at the corner of Akaashi’s lips and he chuckled, low and quiet, his arms wrapping themselves around Bokuto on their own accord. They were both sweaty, bare skin sticking together and fabric moving awkwardly between them as they hugged. It made everything hotter, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“I can say what I want… Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto whined, and Akaashi simply laughed again.