boxer bokuto | doctor akaashi (pt. 2) (cw: violence, injury) -- It's easier than Akaashi thought it would be to get Bokuto into his apartment. Kuroo takes all of his weight as they hustle quietly toward the elevators, murmuring nonsense to him as if he's merely drunk.

They lay him out on Akaashi's bed--the sofa doesn't have enough space for a proper exam--and then make room while Akaashi stumbles around, gathering supplies. Kenma sends his henchmen away, and Akaashi has an entire book of questions that will need to be asked another day.

At least half of Akaashi's anxiety evaporates when he slips his stethoscope under Bokuto's t-shirt and hears the sweet sound of air sweeping in and out of both lungs--a pneumothorax is unlikely. He peeks at his trachea, perfectly in line, and breathes a little easier still.

Unfortunately, that relief is short lived. The moment he cuts away Bokuto's t-shirt, hands shaking as he wields thick kitchen scissors, his anxiety comes crashing back. Bokuto's chest is a tapestry of bruises, mottled and swollen, stained a violent black and purple.

A host of possibilities, each worse than the last, flash through Akaashi's mind: flail chest, splenic rupture--shock. He skims his hands along Bokuto's ribs gently, probing for any catastrophic breaks. He glances up to see Kuroo's face, sees his own fear reflected back.

His eyes narrow as he hisses, venomous. 'I told you he needs a hospital.' Kuroo's expression hardens, but a simple touch from Kenma has him backing down. 'Is there anything life threatening?' Kenma's voice is calm, but Akaashi is sure there's a hint of fear behind his eyes.

A laugh bubbles up, explodes out in a strangled half-snort. 'I could probably tell you, if I could order an ultrasound, some x-rays'--Bokuto groans, bringing a large hand up to rub at his head--'and a CT scan.' 'Keiji.' 'Kenma!'

His friend's eyes narrow, and Akaashi runs a hand through his messy hair, defeated. 'I don't--I don't think so.' He glances at the knife wound, far shallower than he'd initially thought and slowed now to nothing more than a trickle. 'I think it looks worse than it is.'

Kenma watches in silence as he quickly completes the rest of his trauma sweep, then grabs a couple of towels to act as makeshift drapes. Transferring his practice suture kits to the small table beside his bed, he quickly washes his hands and pulls on a new pair of gloves.

'Thank you.' Kenma settles in next to Keiji, ready to hand him any supplies he might need. 'I owe you for this.' 'Just--' Akaashi's hand trembles as he lifts his needle driver. 'Just tell me why. We can't we just--' 'They're going to be looking for him,' Kuroo interrupts.

'They're probably sweeping the city hospitals right now.' 'So what?' Akaashi whips his head around; he doesn't have nearly as much patience for this stranger as he does for Kenma. 'We just let him die in my apartment instead?'

'He's not going to die.' Kenma speaks as if the universe itself bends to his will. Perhaps it does. Akaashi nods. He's got a lifetime of experiencing capitulating to the demands of others. He knows when pushing back is futile, has perfected the art of giving in.

'We need to wake him.' Bokuto's too close to consciousness to get the rest of this done safely. If he lashes out, Akaashi will be the one in need of a hospital. 'I'm supposed to be practicing on bananas, so there's no numbing agent.' Akaashi pauses. 'It's going to hurt.'

'He can handle it,' Kuroo says. 'He's definitely had worse.' Akaashi isn't sure how that's supposed to make him feel better. He doesn't answer, just waves Kuroo to the other side of his bed. 'Bo, buddy.' Kuroo shakes Bokuto's shoulder gently. 'Time to wake up, big guy.'

Bokuto groans, and Akaashi prepares a cotton swab with saline. There's no way to keep this fully sterile, but he can at least give the wound a perfunctory cleaning. 'That's it,' Kuroo says brightly, and Akaashi looks up to find Bokuto staring straight at him.

This time, his startling golden eyes are focused--clear. 'Tetsu?' His nose scrunches in confusion, and Akaashi's heart clenches in a distinctly unprofessional manner. Bokuto blinks, owl-like even before he adds in a little head tilt. 'What--how hard did they hit me?'

'I'm right here, idiot.' Kuroo laughs as he presses his forehead down into Bokuto's, whispering something that Akaashi can't catch. 'Ah.' Bokuto flushes, but doesn't move his eyes from Akaashi for a single second. 'That makes sense.' Akaashi clears his throat. 'Bokuto-san.'

The flush on Bokuto's face deepens, and Akaashi fights to keep his voice steady. 'My name is Akaashi Keiji, and I'm about to stitch your side.' He holds up the driver, taking a steadying breath. 'It's probably going to hurt quite a bit.' Bokuto laughs, then immediately winces.

'It already hurts. I'm guessing you don't have any shochu?' 'No.' The words are out before Akaashi thinks of gentling his tone. 'I don't.' 'Right.' Bokuto nods, hissing in a breath as it tugs at his wound. His voice dips lower. 'Well, please take care of me, Akaashi.'

Akaashi nearly fumbles the driver. He ignores Kuroo's stupid smirk. 'Stay still, Bokuto-san,' he warns, and then gets to work. -- Bokuto does surprisingly well. It has to hurt, but he barely twitches. Akaashi honestly thinks that staying silent is the hardest part for him.

It's also easier to be near Bokuto like this. While he's focused on the sutures, Akaashi can pretend he's any other person. The second he's finished, that protective illusion evaporates. 'Wow, Akaashi!' Bokuto's voice is loud in the confines of the bedroom. 'You're amazing!'

'They're simple sutures, Bokuto-san.' He peels off his gloves and flicks them into the trash can beside his bed. 'Amazing,' Bokuto repeats with a smile, staring at Akaashi as if he's the only person in the room. He feels a little dizzy, caught under the weight of that look.

'Okay, Casanova.' Kuroo, finishing up a hushed conversation with Kenma, leans over to swat Bokuto lightly on the head. 'Kenma's got an ID on the guys who jumped you, but they don't have any particular affiliation. You gonna tell us what the hell that was about?'

Bokuto turns his head, mumbling something into Akaashi's pillow. Then, realizing what he's done, he pops up, face flushed crimson. Akaashi, needing to hold onto what sliver of dignity he still holds, tries to erase the image directly from his mind. 'Bo, you need to tell me.'

Kuroo's voice cracks, and Akaashi can see Bokuto crumbling. His colour, just starting to improve, leeches away under the pressure of his friend's attention. 'Kuroo-san.' Akaashi steps between them. If he's going to be forced into this role, people are going to listen to him.

'Bokuto-san needs to /rest/. You can ask your questions later.' There's a brush of heat against his hand, and Akaashi looks down to find Bokuto's fingers resting against his wrist. 'It's okay,' he says quietly. He glances back at Kuroo. 'They told me to throw the fight.'

'What?!' Kuroo springs forward, and Akaashi throws an arm out to push him back. Kuroo collapses, anger falling as quickly as it had risen, his head thunking dully against the wall. 'Bo, you promised you would /tell/ me if they came near you again.'

Bokuto crosses his arm, his face clouded and petulant. 'I'm a grown man, Kuroo. I don't need you to fight my battles.' 'This is worse than we thought.' Kenma's voice snaps the band of tension growing between Bokuto and Kuroo. 'This isn't going to disappear overnight.'

Kenma turns to Akaashi. 'Keiji, I hate to ask this of you, but--' 'No.' Bokuto's voice is quiet--and far more intimidating for it. 'Kenma, we're not bringing anyone else into this.' 'He's already in it,' Kenma snaps. Bokuto, to Akaashi's horror, tries to rise from the bed.

'I'll walk out of here myself,' Bokuto threatens. 'Bokuto-san!' Akaashi hurries forward, but Bokuto falls back against the headboard without any intervention. 'You need to rest.' Akaashi turns to Kenma, fatigue making him bold. 'Just tell me what you want.'

'He needs somewhere to stay. I'll take this one,'--Kenma waves a hand at Kuroo--'but it's better if they're separated.' 'Fine.' Akaashi is tired enough to agree to almost anything if it means getting to go to bed. 'Someone needs to check on him in the morning, anyway.'