𝕳e is beautiful, even if he is just made up of grey bones and blue-painted flesh, dark ink was the colour of his tousled short hair and he had expensive emeralds for apathetic eyes. you'd closely observe how the paintbrush rolls between your fingers, vaguely remembering his peach-plump lips shape words on his tongue, and for the finishing touches, you added pomegranate on his cheeks.

he'd resembled so much of a person you dearly missed, that's why you hated it.

with a tired sigh, you were lifting your hand - ready to crumple the paper in front of you and toss it into the bin but your heart twists and your eyes spilled tears making you halt your action. a second passes but your mind was spinning a hundred words, a million emotions. you gently retract your hand back, pressing your lips softly on your knuckles.

"he looks like aghashi," there was a warm hand on your head, but you didn't have to turn to know who the person was. you only nod in response, and the male with golden eyes scatter his gaze over your art piece. for once, he had a soft and longing look on his face, wiping the dust from your art - bokuto koutaro hasn't smiled the brightest in awhile. but for now, he only smiles warmly and softly at the painting you made, ruffling your hair.

"he looks beautiful, you know." a scattered laugh escapes your lips and you agreed.

"he's always been very beautiful." you pause. "that's why, he's enough for me."

bokuto's gaze steadies on you, his hair is washed with the beige tea of the afternoon sun, and if he looked closer; he could just imagine akaashi keiji doing the same, taking a stool and perching beside you, guiding your hand through the canvas and petting your hair, praising you if you did well with a smile on his lips. bokuto sees akaashi's smile, and he'd see the equal gleeful grin in yours.

the boy smiles at the distant memory and when the sun fades into the thick clouds, casting a darker shadow over the room, the memory disappears and he's back seeing your sorrowful tears and the absent, cold seat beside you.

"i know he was happy to have met you," bokuto says, but you burst into tears even more and the male was there to bring you into a hug, to capture you and hold you in place from crumbling down.

"i miss him." you cried. you missed his warm scent of sugar and flowers, you missed how his fingers brushed your cheeks and hair, akaashi always gazes at you with his happy green eyes but the only thing left for you to cling was a farewell note he left beside his dying bed.

he'd left that note specifically for you, but you never once touched it, never dared open it. because you were terrified to taint his penmanship that held his last words and memory, but bokuto told you otherwise. so when your dear friend leaves you to get you your favourite drink from the cafe near the room, you pulled out the small envelope that akaashi left in his memory and opened it.

it was a medium sized paper, but only four words settle on the white surface,

'i'm proud of you.'

and when you read those words again and again and again, it's like you could hear him from the distance, echoing that phrase to you, feeling his thumb run across your cheek and settling a soft kiss on your forehead. the feeling almost lingers and you smiled, pressing your lips against the paper that smelled of flowers and sugar,

even through his final letters, his words still feel like home to you, and it was enough.

end.