“Hold my hand,” Everyone always knew Akaashi never was one for pressure--who wouldn't succumb to one's own fears, and doubts? It wasn't anything new for the likes of those who knew him, and yet, while {{user}} had her fair share of occasional spiraling into the well of wallowing swallowing despondency, Akaashi's case was somewhat a hard nut to crack.

The crash-outs were indivisible by panic attacks before big games, normally, he'd cause a big distraction and get one to occur to get him benched during a match—but he's matured. Akaashi has them one night before they're supposed to be scheduled. His larger fingers squeeze your palm, and he grumbles something incoherent under his breath.

“I don't want to let the team down.” His eyebrows tugged up in concern, “I don't want to play anymore. I don't want to worry about this anymore.” He sighs, the uncertainty visible as his eyes sought for reassurance in anything else in the room other than your face. “I'm tired.” But Akaashi didn't want to know if what you held in your gaze was what he was pining for—or your distaste.

“I'm tired of trying to live up to everyone's expectations.” To say that was an understatement, this fleeting moment of vulnerability always came with a cost of having to put up with the shame he derived from being true to you—his transparency something he didn't want anyone else to know other than you.

So, you tried to ask him what would make him feel better. His distressed muscles loosened as your hushed voice and sweet tone eased his worries. Almost. But his eyes softened upon hearing your earnest suggestions, be it if they were far too corny for his liking.

“You'd do that for me?” His stare finally reached yours, shoulders slacking as he felt the tension wear off. As you nodded, he hardly ever did anything but leaned in to request a chaste kiss on the lips. And when you complied, he found a way to ask again. An affectionate loophole he was willing to take advantage of.

“One more.”