I’m in the back just now, in the middle of an intense game of Uno (you know, skipping, reversing, drawing four) and I hear you going on with this Jazz about the Ring of Honor World Championship. Congratulations, by the way, Kyle. But while I’m back there I couldn’t help but notice that you left this peacock out of the conversation.
He finds beauty all around him, Koutarou is a dreamer, an optimist and a romantic. He is able to find beauty in the heat of the game, in victory and much later, if not soon, in defeat as well. He finds beauty in nature with its frail and lovely flowers, to the fluffy clouds to the sights of birds in the air. To the skyscrapers as high as his head could tilt up and in the laughs of the children as he would walk past the elementary school. And finally he finds beauty in his family and his peers.
Koutarou makes sure he acknowledges them all. He is simply an admirer of life.
So when the concept of beauty in a partner comes to mind, Koutarou can only think of Keiji. Not ‘Akaashi’ who calls him by “Bokuto san” in the public sphere. Rather, it is Keiji who whispers “Koutarou” in the quiet of the night, his hushed voice ringing in Koutarou’s ear before pressing his lips to the light haired boy’s neck.
The Keiji whose heavy lidded eyes would blink drowsily into Koutarou’s before their lips meet. Keiji, whose lovely long eyelashes tickle Koutarou’s face when they would just sit there, faces close, marveling each other silently.
Koutarou loves the Keiji who allows him to touch, to let him pepper his skin with swift yet soft kisses. Keiji whose breath hitches as Koutarou would trace a line down his spine slowly. Keiji who wraps his arms around his waist and buries his face in the crook of Koutarou’s neck as Koutarou whispers sweet nothings to him.
Koutarou is enraptured by the dark haired boy who lies next to him, his lips curling into a wide smile, contrary to his small ones in the day. The one who lets Koutarou entwine their fingers and laughs without a care at Koutarou’s words, leaving the lighter haired boy in awe. He loves staring into those deep blue eyes, sighing ever so satisfied by the presence before him.
He loves Keiji who pulls him in and strokes his hair while Koutarou rubs small circles on his back, his calloused, hard fingers in contact with soft and smooth skin. Koutarou smiles contently when Keiji dozes off in his arms, soft snores filling his ears at last to which he shuts his eyes as well.
Bokuto Koutarou is a philocalist.
Or rather, to put it simply, he appreciates the beauty blessed to him.