Chapter Text
There were five constellations famous all over the world. Their names and stories changed with the culture, and their locations changed with the seasons-- but no matter where one heard about them, their titles remained exactly the same.
The First Knight. The Feline. The Midnight Hunter (also sometimes called The Owl). The Sentry. The Proud Warrior.
These constellations were known for their startling clarity, especially in recent years. They shone so bright it looked like the stars that formed them hung just a breath past Earth’s atmosphere, if not within it. They were beautiful, and the tales behind them were just as entrancing, inspiring art, music, novels, poetry… even science.
And then the meteor showers occurred. There were five-- one from each of the famous constellations. But even more unusual than the simultaneous occurrence of all five showers was the fact that, when they were over, the constellations were gone.
It was as if they had never existed--
As if when the meteors fell, the constellations too came tumbling down to Earth.
/////
Hajime had never realized how heavy his armor was, until he felt servants releasing the clasps that held it to his body. Piece by piece, the metal plates clanged to the floor, and by the time he was left in nothing but his undergarments, Hajime felt like he could jump 10 feet in the air-- he felt that much lighter.
Suddenly, before him stood Zeus, as if he had been there the whole while. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he said, and his voice rumbled like thunder down to Hajime’s very core, shooting lightning down his spine with the power thrumming through it.
“Yes, my god?”
“You were imprisoned in the stars for defying my daughter, Athena, goddess of wisdom. You were sentenced to be our knight, to fight off the beasts and demons that threaten the heavens and the earth below it, until such time that we had no need of you,” Zeus continued. This was true. Hajime had never forgotten this, not even in all his years and centuries battling off nightmares, not even when he was near death, saved only by the gods and goddesses who had sent him off to fight in the first place. But that didn't explain why he had been summoned here today, nor why Zeus was telling him all this.
Hajime had been summoned before. Sometimes to have his injuries tended, or else his armor and weapon maintained. Sometimes because he had a specific mission to complete, or because the gods saw fit to warn him about new creatures he would face. But in none of those times had the details of his punishment been brought up. Which meant this was new territory.
Hajime didn't particularly like new territory.
“Today, we have found that we no longer have need of you,” Zeus said.
Beneath Hajime’s feet, the ground tilted. And then vanished. “I-- what?” He was floating, somehow. Nothing was as he knew it. None of it made sense-- they didn't need him? Which meant… he was free? After all this time? Finally free?
Zeus’ mouth curled in an infinitesimal smile. “You are being freed, Iwaizumi Hajime.”
And for the first time in centuries, Hajime trembled. He didn't know why he was shaking; he had faced all sorts of monsters, borne all manner of injuries, and had never faltered, never even thought to quiver. He had only faced them with grim determination. And yet, somehow, he was being given exactly what he'd longed for since his sentence was first handed down, and he was like a branch in a storm.
He couldn't speak, couldn't form words. He wanted to-- he wanted to say thank you. He wanted to ask why now? He wanted to ask what he was supposed to do, or where he would go. But he couldn't. His voice wouldn't cooperate, lodging in his throat.
“Have you nothing to say, child?” Zeus prompted, not unkindly. “This will likely be our last meeting.”
Hajime took a deep breath in. Let it out. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke: “This is… Do you mean it, my god?” He couldn't quite believe it. After all this time?
“We are not so cruel that we would lie about this.”
Slowly, Hajime felt himself grow steady again. This wasn't a lie. It wouldn't be ripped away from him. He was free. “Thank you, my god.”
Zeus nodded. “Hand me your weapon, First Knight.”
Hajime bent to pick up his sword, holding it across his palms and presenting it to the god before him. Zeus took its handle in one hand, the sheath in the other. He pulled the blade free, and Hajime eyed it as it glinted in the light. Even though it was splattered in grime, it was still a sight to behold. Its blade was a gorgeous burnished silver where it was clean of gore, and even caked in blood, the inscription was clear. ‘Someone who can't see the opponent standing right in front of him, can't defeat the opponent that lies beyond’ it read, and it had kept Hajime going all these years, had helped him focus on defending humanity instead of stewing in hatred and sorrow and regret. Its hilt was gold, forged to look like creeping vines, its leaves set with diamonds that refracted the light like little stars. Hajime had always wondered why the gods had gifted him such a beautiful weapon. Surely, he didn't need anything so luxurious to serve them?
Perhaps, they considered it a mercy, a blessing. That he might have the honor of holding such an elegant thing. Maybe it had simply been lying around. Here in the heavens, what riches would they lack?
“This sword has served you well, hasn't it, Knight?” Zeus asked, examining it with an idle sort of interest.
“It has,” Hajime agreed easily. That too, was true. It had been his companion all this time, an extension of himself as he fought. It had saved his life and ended others, spilt blood both foreign and his own. And through all that, it had rarely ever needed tending. It had dulled so slowly, almost as if it were as hesitant as he to abandon his post.
It was a bittersweet thing to let it go, somehow. It had always been a symbol of the price of his defiance, but at the same time, it had been his protection all this time. It had been such an integral part of his being for so long…
“Today, it will serve you for the last time,” the god intoned. “Today, this blade will sever the chains that hold you to this realm. Today, this sword sends you home.”
Hajime looked his god in the eyes and nodded in understanding. At a gesture from Zeus, he fell onto one knee, raising his head to maintain eye contact.
“When your chains have been cut, you will fall, free of your bonds to this world of the gods. It will not be an easy journey; it will burn, and though you will not be harmed-- this I guarantee-- you will feel the pain all the same.” So saying, the god raised the sword above his head. “There will be no help waiting for you, Iwaizumi Hajime. Beyond this moment, the gods can do nothing more for you, nor for any of humanity. Do you have any last requests?”
Hajime considered that for a long moment. Did he? He would never again speak to the gods, never receive their aid, though he would never doubt their existence. But…
“Not a request, my god. But may I ask-- how did my sister fare?”
Zeus granted him a full smile at this, one that was almost fatherly in its warmth. “Ah, there it is. I had been waiting for you to ask after her-- she is the reason you angered a goddess even at risk of your life, is she not?”
He lowered the sword and waved a hand in a summoning gesture. Immediately, a servant appeared, carrying a shallow water basin and a cloth. Zeus handed him the blade, and the boy wiped it clean of filth.
“She remains one of my daughter's handmaidens. Though it's true, she is not the girl you knew, once. She is much more demure, patient… but she has not lost her fire. I believe it is this that has made her a favorite of Athena.” Zeus paused to let the information sink in. “She misses you dearly, Hajime. She asks after you every day, I’ve been told.”
“She… She’s alive?”
“She is.”
Hajime didn't know what to think. All this time… he had grieved for her. He had grieved! And she was… she was alive. “How?” he croaked out, though he already knew.
Zeus obliged him with an answer anyway. “Athena offered to release her from her service when the promised 10 years were done-- if she had accepted, she would have passed by now, as I'm sure you must have thought she did. She asked to stay instead. As such, she has remained young and healthy, bound willingly to my daughter's side.”
“May I… My god, may I see her, please ?”
“I cannot call her here, child. I’m sorry. She is not mine to command.” And the god did look sorry, his expression gentle as he bent to be at eye level with Hajime. “But I do believe there is a way I can let you see her-- though she will not see you in return.”
Hajime didn't know what to say. That in itself was more than he ever thought he would get; he’d expected no more than a passing sentence to sum up her whole life-- one he’d thought had ended long ago. And here was the very head of the gods, offering him a chance to glimpse her face again, to see his sister grown up without him, to see her happy one more time…
Unbidden, tears sprang to his eyes, and Hajime ducked his face to hide it from his god. Zeus smiled. “It is natural to be emotional, Iwaizumi Hajime. There is no need to hide yourself.”
He held out a hand, and the servant presented him once more with the blade, now clean and gleaming. He held it out between himself and Hajime. “Look closely now.”
The reflection of the temple roof rippled, and then vanished entirely. Instead, Hajime saw a young woman, smiling as she sat at a loom and wove. “Azami…” He lifted one hand, almost as if he meant to reach out to her-- and left it hovering. He couldn't, of course. It was only an image on his sword, not a portal.
He sighed. “She’s grown so lovely,” he mused. As he watched, she stood to stretch, and Hajime noticed a tapestry on the wall, depicting--
“Is that me?”
It was. There stood his figure as his constellation painted him, hands firm on the hilt of his sword, standing straight and tall and proud. Before him sprawled an inky darkness, inchoate shapes fading in and out of visibility-- tentacles and furred limbs and razor claws-- but there was no fear in his eyes, no hesitancy in his stance.
“As I said, child: she thinks of you often. That was one of the first of her tapestries, I believe. She has done others, but many involve you, somehow.”
Hajime continued to look on in awe. Azami crossed to the very tapestry he was admiring, fingers tracing across the outline of his jaw, his armor, his weapon. Her lips formed words he couldn't hear, but he knew by heart. “Someone who can't see the opponent standing right in front of him, can't defeat the opponent that lies beyond,” he breathed. The engraving of his sword.
Zeus watched him in silence for a moment. “My daughter tells me she repeats these words often,” he said finally. “When she gets frustrated with her weaving, when she faces unkind beings who think to belittle her for her humanity. Small or big, when she faces hardship, she thinks of these-- and in so doing, she thinks of you .”
The image faded out, and Hajime stood stock still, unsure whether to cry or smile or both. His sister was well. His sister was alive. His sister missed him, even though it was his own fault she had been left alone, even though he no longer knew her but for her name and her appearance.
“Thank you,” he whispered, so soft that even he almost did not hear it. But Zeus nodded all the same.
“You are very welcome.” The god stood, drawing himself to his full height. Before him, Hajime remained on one knee. “Are you ready to go, Iwaizumi Hajime?”
And this time, there was no pause nor consideration. “I am, my god.”
Zeus raised the sword and then brought it down.
/////
There was something about falling that Hajime almost found poetic. There was a feeling of weightlessness, freedom-- of watching the ground coming into clearer and clearer focus, and then upon landing, there was pain, but also relief.
Pain from the impact. Relief because it was over; because there was no more uncertainty, no more emptiness-- just solid ground to anchor yourself to, and the ache of your body screaming you were alive.
Or at least, that's what he had thought, at first. Now, he wasn't so sure he’d landed at all. Everything felt like it was moving too fast around him. The blurs of the lights and the streams of people rushing across the streets…
“Iwa-chan, are you getting moody again?”
“I told you to stop calling me that,” Hajime sighed, turning away from the window to focus on the man sitting across him.
Oikawa gasped in mock surprise. “Iwa-chan isn't growling like an animal? Wow, you're worse than moody. I don't think I’ve heard your non-growly voice in the whole time you’ve been staying with me-- ouch , Iwa-chan you brute!” With a pout, he cradled his hand-- which Hajime had given a good smack, since the bastard’s head was out of reach for the moment-- to his chest.
They were sitting in a McDonald's booth, a tray laden with greasy fast food between them. Hajime didn't quite understand the appeal, other than not having to cook-- which wasn't much of a hassle to begin with. The food was entirely too oily, and really, he could make better shit if he tried… well, he would be able to, once he got used to all the modern stoves and stuff.
He shot Oikawa a glare, cautiously picking up a fry and popping it into his mouth. He wrinkled his nose, but picked up another one anyway.
“Why do you eat it if you don't like it?” Oikawa asked, and Hajime was thankful he didn't push the topic. He knew, of course, that his host hadn't forgotten it, and wouldn't even if Hajime did everything in his power to distract him. Oikawa's stubbornness and refusal to ever forget anything about other people was something Hajime had learned early on in their acquaintance. But at the very least, he didn't bother him about it, and that was alright for now.
“You paid for it, and it's edible… probably. So like it or not, I'm not letting it go to waste.” As if to prove his point, Hajime picked up another fry.
Oikawa smiled airily, and Hajime bristled in preparation for a backhanded insult. “Ah, who knew even a crude Neanderthal like you could be so considerate?” And… there it was. As expected. Hajime was coming to understand that that smile always signalled no good.
“Motherfucker--”
Oikawa’s smile softened then, becoming far more genuine. “You really don't have to, you know. I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't need to force yourself. I can easily finish this myself.” He sniffed. “Even if it is way more carbs than I should be having.”
Hajime raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to keep eating it then?”
“I just said you didn't have to!”
“And then you complained! Make up your mind, would you?!”
Before they could start bickering in earnest, Oikawa’s-- their? Were they Hajime’s friends too?-- friends slid into the booth-- well, two of them did: Yaku and Sugawara. Bokuto and Kenma were nowhere to be seen, and the other ‘starboys’, as they’d been dubbed, weren't present either.
“Are you two arguing again?” Yaku sighed, sounding every bit the disappointed parent.
“No!” Oikawa said, recoiling with a hand over his heart as if he was deeply wounded. “I can't believe you would accuse me of such a thing, I’ve been nothing but nice to Iwa-chan--”
“That’s a lie,” Hajime cut in. Beside him, Sugawara snickered.
“Suga-chan! You're supposed to take my side!”
Even Yaku cracked a smile at that. “Unless you're wrong. Which you are.”
“How do you know!?” Oikawa’s tone of deep betrayal was laced with amusement that even Hajime picked up on, but he kept up the act. “You weren't even there!”
“I trust Iwaizumi more than I trust you. He strikes me as more dependable.” Yaku deadpanned, as he tossed a fry into his mouth.
“Mean, Yakkun! You’ve known him two weeks, and you pick him over me? Who you’ve known since high school? Who you roomed with last year? How cruel!” Oikawa fluttered one hand to his forehead in a dramatic show, looking off somewhere into the distance.
Instead of encouraging any further overreaction, Hajime turned to face Sugawara. “Where are the others?”
Sugawara smiled. “Bokuto took Akaashi and Kuroo with him to help carry the food. Daichi’s just using the restroom. Kenma’s still got a class.” He paused for a moment to pull out his phone and check something. “He should be out soon though,” he said, as he tucked it away again.
“Don't ignore me!” Oikawa squawked from his seat. They did exactly that, much to his dismay.
“How has the arrangement been so far? Has Oikawa been a bother?” Sugawara asked him, and Hajime couldn't help grinning as Oikawa complained some more about his friends’ treatment of him.
“Not really. I used to have a sister. I’m used to babysitting.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Hajime stiffened. He hoped no one asked about Azami; he wasn't quite ready to talk about her, and honestly, he didn't know what it meant that he had briefly felt okay enough to mention her in passing just now.
Thankfully, no one said anything. Sugawara and Yaku both cracked up, and even Oikawa grinned, despite being the butt of the joke. (This, too, Hajime knew was only a facade for Oikawa. The man was too sharp to have missed the tension coiled in his posture, and besides, Hajime had mentioned Azami around him once before, when they first met. This instance would be filed away with all the others, something for Oikawa to dissect and reevaluate as he tried to figure out how to make Hajime tick.) “Well, if you're done insulting me,” Oikawa cut in. “Iwa-chan and I have been getting along just fine, thanks. Also, I do hope you realize our group simply won't fit in this one booth.” He gestured at the table before him as if to emphasize his point.
Yaku raised an eyebrow at him. “Do we look stupid, Oikawa? We’ll have Bokuto move those tables over here.” He pointed at the ones beside them, two small tables and four seats-- not quite enough if Kenma would be joining them, but Hajime expected he would just pull out another chair when he got here.
“Yakkun, you really shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to!”
“What did you say, you--”
“Hey, wait a second, where’s that tall kid? Lev, right?” Hajime asked, as it hit him that he wasn't here, nor had his absence been explained.
“Ah, Lev? He’s sitting in on Kenma’s class. He was curious,” Yaku explained, releasing Oikawa's collar (which he’d been using to angrily shake the setter). Oikawa pouted, fretting with the fabric as he tried to straighten out the wrinkles Yaku had left in it. “Speaking of which, did you think about it? Did you want to pursue any studies?”
A week after they’d settled in, Yaku had presented the starboys with an offer. His mother was a teacher for cram school and could let them sit in on the different classes; when they were ready, they could take some exams and claim to be homeschooled so they could then enroll in one of the local colleges. Akaashi had accepted right off the bat, Hajime knew. From what the boy had told them of his past, he had been a scholar, so that made sense. Kuroo, too, had accepted, though he had thought on it for a while before making his decision. He, Lev, and Sawamura were yet to make a decision, though Hajime was leaning towards declining.
“No, not yet,” he said. “I’m sorry to make you wait for my choice, it's just something I want to consider well first.”
Yaku smiled. “No problem. Mom said the offer is open, anyway. Feel free to consider it as long as you need.”
Oikawa hummed, sipping at his soda. “By the way, what did you tell your mom about all this--” he waved a hand vaguely, as if to encompass the starboys, the McDonalds they were in, and the situation itself. “--anyway?”
“The truth? What else?” Yaku faced Oikawa with an expression that said it should have been obvious. “I still had the camera footage to prove it, and besides, I’d never been fond of pretend or tall tales. She believed me, though it took a little convincing.”
“Wow, really? Your mom's pretty great, huh? Very open-minded,” Sugawara said, reaching over to take some fries from the tray on the table.
“Yeah, Yakkun,” Oikawa piped up, and Hajime heard the very real warmth in it-- but he scowled as The Smile made yet another appearance. “She must be an angel to put up with someone like you!”
“You really are a terrible person,” Hajime grunted, as Yaku did what he couldn't and whacked the back of Oikawa's head. No one paid his exaggerated whimper any mind.
“Oh man, you got Yakkun mad at you again, Oikawa?” Bokuto laughed, setting down his tray and moving to tug the aforementioned tables closer.
“You’d think he’d have learned by now,” Kuroo remarked, placing his own tray beside Bokuto’s and helping to move the chairs. “I mean, even I get that it's a bad idea to piss off Yakkun, and I haven't known him as long.” Smirking, Kuroo moved the tray to the group’s newly claimed table. Bokuto's tray quickly followed suit. Akaashi set down his own burden, though he didn't make any comment as the others had.
Sawamura arrived then, bearing his own tray full of sodas. “Sorry I took so long. I ran into them on the way back and figured they could use some help. Took me a while to balance out the cups so nothing would tip over though.”
Sugawara waved it off. “It’s fine, Daichi. You can handle yourself, you don't need to report everything,” he said, eyes twinkling with laughter. He nudged Hajime a bit, signalling him to make room. He did, and Sugawara followed, patting the newly opened space beside him.
Sawamura flushed, chuckling softly. “Right. Sorry.” He slid in next to Sugawara, and while Hajime found the fit a little tight, it was manageable.
Soon enough, everyone else had settled into their own seats, and conversation continued to flow as easily as it usually did. It was odd, Hajime thought, drifting off now that it seemed his participation wasn't as necessary. He had only known everyone here for two weeks, and already there was a ‘usual’. It felt almost like he'd known them all his whole life. Not completely; there was plenty he had yet to learn about everyone. But he felt at ease with them. Like he maybe belonged. And that felt…
Strange. Almost wrong. Shouldn't he be struggling more, to find his way in the world? Just on the other side of the glass, everyone was in such a rush, like the city itself was urging them to hurryhurryhurry . But here, in this space, surrounded by these people he’d known for only so long… he didn't feel the push at all. He felt like he was floating. Weightless.
Still falling.
Which meant he was still waiting for the pain of hitting the earth. The wake up call that would rip all this stillness away from him.
“I- wa- chan!” Oikawa sang, tapping his nose.
Hajime jerked back, forehead wrinkling. “Don't fucking do that,” he snapped, as the other chuckled lightly at his expense. “What?”
“You're all far away again, is all,” Oikawa said. “Why don't you talk to everyone some more?”
For a moment, Hajime simply held eye contact with him. Then he grunted, “Fine. What did I miss?”
“We were teasing Yakkun about his crush on little Simba-chan!”
“It is not a crush! For the last fucking time, you piece of shit.” Yaku punctuated the statement with what Hajime assumed was a punch to Oikawa’s gut, if the way he doubled over with a whine was any indication.
“Denial is such an ugly thing, Yakkun! The first step is always acceptance!” He wheezed.
“Really, Yakkun, just resign yourself to your fate. For the past two minutes all you said was, ‘Lev this, Lev that’.” Kuroo said, wearing his typical catlike grin.
“I did-- That's not--!” Yaku looked to Hajime, as if for help.
Hajime held up his hands. “Sorry, I was a little lost in thought. Didn't hear the conversation earlier.”
Yaku turned to Sugawara next. But instead of saving him, he only smiled apologetically. (Semi-apologetically, actually; there was a glint in his eyes that mirrored the one in Oikawa’s-- Hajime understood now why Yaku and Kenma had stated the two should never be roommates. He could only imagine what sort of antics the two would get up to.) “Sorry, Yaku. But you really did.”
Yaku’s face turned about as red as the little cardboard container for the fries. Hajime felt bad for him, really. “Sawamura? Bokuto?”
The two shook their heads, one looking sympathetic, the other gleeful.
“Akaashi?”
At the sound of his name, Akaashi set down his (second) burger. “Yes, Yaku-san, I’m afraid it's true,” he said, polite as he always was the rare times he spoke.
With a groan, Yaku hid his face in his hands. “It’s only because he's such a pain , okay? It's not a crush .”
“What's not a crush?”
Yaku yelped as the very object of his supposed affections appeared, leaning over the back of the booth curiously. “Nothing-- why the fuck are you eavesdropping? And why the hell are you just standing there? Sit down already. Where’s Kenma?”
“Here.” Kenma dragged the nearest empty chair over and plopped down on it, never once raising his head from his PSP. This was a sight Hajime was getting used to; it seemed that his gadget made him much more comfortable around the others, although at first he hadn't been around as often-- and even when he had been, he hadn't talked much aside from one-word answers when asked a question. Hajime had a feeling it had to do with the sudden doubling of the members in the group; that would make anyone nervous, really.
“How was class, Kenma?” Hajime asked-- Oikawa wanted him to interact, fine. There.
“Okay. The professor was boring, but the subject was pretty interesting.”
Lev piped up, “Really? I couldn't understand what he was saying--”
“Because it was computer science,” Kenma murmured, just on the right side of audible. “You didn't even know what a computer was until two weeks ago.”
“Yeah, but--”
“No.” As if to further discourage Lev from picking up the conversation, the background music of Kenma’s game got subtly louder. Hajime almost laughed out loud at that.
Hajime gave Lev a wry smile. “Why did you even go to a class you wouldn't understand, kid?”
“I wouldn't understand anything in any class-- isn't that the point of classes? To teach me what I don't get?” Lev responded, eyes wide and innocent.
Hajime blinked. He actually…
“Simba-chan has a point!” Bokuto laughed, and Oikawa looked slightly smug that someone else had adopted the nickname. Hajime hoped no one else ever started using Iwa-chan; Oikawa would be insufferable then.
“Why Simba-chan? I'm Lev. It's not even close to Simba!”
“I think it comes from a movie,” Akaashi explained. “If Bokuto-san’s rambling is anything to go on.”
Lev frowned. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“You said your name meant lion, didn't you? Simba is a lion. A little over-excited lion. Like you,” Oikawa told him. “Isn't it genius?”
“Not really,” Kenma muttered. Hajime snickered.
“I’m not little though?” Lev protested, before Oikawa could make some snide reply. “Kenma-san and Yaku-san are but I-- ack!”
There was a collective wince at the sheer volume of the crack of Lev’s head being slammed into the table.
“Yaku-saaaaan, that hurt!” Lev complained, voice muffled by the table. He didn't lift his head, but it was enough that it shook everyone out of their stunned silence.
“That’s what you get! I keep telling you to stop calling me small!” Yaku fumed. Hajime could tell he was faltering, though, and he assumed the others could too. There was just a hint of guilt in his eyes, and his hands were twitching, as if he were trying not to reach out to the taller boy.
Kuroo let out a low whistle. “Brutal, Yakkun. So violent.”
“Shut up.” Yaku threw a fry at his smarmy grin, watching him wrinkle up his face in disgust.
Sawamura said something to Sugawara about ice, pushing himself to his feet and heading in the direction of the counter. He returned a minute later with a paper cup full of it, as well as a small rag. “I borrowed this,” he explained, holding up the scrap of fabric. “So we have to return it later. But for now…” he trailed off, picking out a few ice cubes and tying them up with the cloth to form a makeshift ice pack. “Here.”
Sighing, Yaku took it and nudged Lev gently. “Come on, Lev, you gotta raise your head for me.” Lev hesitated. When he did as he was told, Yaku brought the ice up to the red spot that marked where his head had been hit, pressing firmly. Lev flinched a bit at the cold, but dutifully held still as Yaku clicked his tongue and fussed to himself. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn't mean to hit you that hard,” he said quietly.
“It’s okay, Yaku-san! Sorry I called you--” He stopped short (incidentally, that was probably what he meant to say) at the scowl he received. “--er. Uh. You know.” A slow red crept across his cheeks, and he shot Yaku a shy smile.
It was, admittedly, rather cute, Hajime thought-- he could see Yaku melt just a little at the sight, see how fond he was already of this tall, hyper oaf. It definitely seemed like a crush. Maybe Oikawa wasn't that mistaken after all.
As if he could read Hajime’s mind, Oikawa met his gaze and waggled his eyebrows, smirking. Told you so, he mouthed.
Hajime narrowed his eyes in warning. He’d better not ruin this moment for them--
“Not--” Of course he would.
Before he could get another syllable out, Hajime kicked Oikawa under the table. Hard. (He was careful, of course, to avoid his injured leg; he wasn't a dick.)
“Ouch! Iwa-chan, so rude!”
“Oops. Sorry. Didn't mean to,” he said, as flatly as he could manage. Fucking asshole deserved it, really.
“ Lies ,” Oikawa hissed, ducking down to rub at the sore spot. “I’ll probably bruise now! You're such a bully, Iwa-chan.”
Hajime just rolled his eyes. Why was this guy so dramatic? “And you're a needy dick, what else is new, Shittykawa?”
“Excuse you?” Oikawa spluttered, putting on his best affronted expression. “I have never been, and never will be, a needy dick , Iwa-chan, how dare you imply--”
Sugawara, hearing that last bit, grinned wickedly. “Ah, but you certainly have one, don't you?” His eyes flicked to Hajime, who raised his eyebrows, then back to Oikawa, who was steadily growing redder. “Weren't you just texting me the other night about how you would--”
“AGH!!! Suga-chan ! You promised to keep it secret! And if you tell, maybe I’ll tell about how you said you wouldn't mind--”
“Shut up!”
Hajime made eye contact with Sawamura. Sawamura nodded at him. Right. 1. 2. 3--
Hajime lunged across the table to smack a hand over Oikawa’s mouth, and Sawamura immediately moved to cover Sugawara’s, holding him in a headlock. Around them, the rest of the group kept up their own conversations, barely sparing the incident a glance.
Really, how on earth was all this considered normal by Hajime’s standards already?
“Would you please behave like the mature adults you claim to be? Honestly I feel like a babysitter half the time you two are together,” Sawamura sighed.
“Ooooh! Bringing out the disappointed dad voice, Sawamura?” Bokuto called from the other end of the table.
“Oya, oya? What happened now? Misbehaving again?” Kuroo chimed in.
Sugawara managed to wriggle free of Sawamura’s grip just then, and before Hajime could warn him, Sugawara smirked and said, “Oh, definitely… I think daddy might need to punish me.” He waggled his eyebrows up at Sawamura, ignoring the two idiots cackling off to the side in favor of trailing his fingers teasingly down Sawamura’s arm.
It was, it seemed, Sawamura’s turn to blush a ridiculous shade of red, and Hajime felt a little bit guilty at failing to prevent the whole thing.
“Damn it, Suga.” Sawamura buried his face in his hands, and Hajime patted his shoulder consolingly. Oikawa used that distraction to drag Hajime’s hand away from his mouth, laughingly applauding Sugawara for his wit.
“Anyway, this has been fun, but Iwa-chan and I are going shopping now, so excuse me!” Oikawa flapped a hand at Yaku until he and Lev slid out of the booth.
Hajime pinched the bridge of his nose. Fucking… “Excuse me.”
Sugawara and Sawamura stood so Hajime could catch up with the absolute bastard who wasn't even waiting for him. As he passed, he heard Kenma mumble, “Oikawa doesn't even have a good sense for fashion though…”
Just great.
/////
“What were you thinking about, Iwa-chan?”
Hajime fought back a sigh. He knew Oikawa wouldn't let it go, but he didn't expect to be interrogated so soon. They’d barely made it 10 feet from the McDonalds. “I was thinking that you should've left Yaku and Lev to their little moment. Quit meddling with their relationship.”
Oikawa waved a hand in dismissal. “Ah, it's fine. Just a little push. They're both dense like Iwa-chan, so they should be thanking me!” That said, Oikawa met Hajime’s gaze, sobering back up in a second. The look in his eyes… It almost gave Hajime shivers, it was so intense. It almost felt like Oikawa could see right through him, read every thought in his mind like it was plastered on his forehead. He tore his eyes away, focusing his vision on the asphalt beneath his feet instead. “And you are trying to dodge the question. You know what I meant, Iwa-chan, and you know just as well as I do that I don't plan on letting you off the hook so easily.”
Hajime did sigh, this time. “It’s… It was nothing important, all right? Same stuff as always.”
Oikawa quirked up a brow. “You mean feeling out of place? Whatever for?”
The conversation petered out as they reached the train station, Hajime closely following Oikawa’s lead so as not to get lost in the crowd. He still didn't understand all this stuff, and if he lost Oikawa, he'd have to head back to the McDonalds or wait at the entrance and hope Oikawa noticed he was missing. Like a little kid. Ugh.
Oikawa got them their tickets and led the way towards the correct waiting area, hands stuffed in his pockets in apparent nonchalance. But even then, Hajime could practically feel the gears in his brain turning, see him go over everything he’d done since they left the dorm room. “Stop thinking so hard, idiot,” he grumbled, hoping to distract him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Oikawa only shot him an amused glance. “Ah, maybe a brainless bully like you would, but I won't! I appreciate the concern though!”
Hajime glared. “Just drop it, Oikawa.”
“Drop what?” He responded, because he was playing dumb now. Bastard. Fucking…
“You're a real asshole, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa replied, sing-song. “But really, you might as well tell me what's bothering you. I’ll figure it out soon enough.” He said it with a put-on air of haughtiness, even tilting his head up slightly to literally look down his nose at Hajime, and while there was laughter in his voice and a smile twitching at his lips, Hajime knew that for all his joking, Oikawa meant what he said. He would put the pieces together in time, would understand what Hajime was so bothered about.
Hajime wasn't really looking forward to that, but if he was willing to let go of the conversation for now, well, Hajime wouldn't complain.
The train arrived, and Oikawa waited for a decent number of people to disembark before tugging Hajime’s sleeve, dragging him into the people-packed metal tube that passed for transportation these days. Hajime stumbled after him, knocking into too many elbows and bags and probably jabbing his own limbs into other people by mistake, cursing the crowd vehemently in his mind. He hated this thing.
As it started moving, though, he had to admit, it made travel a hell of a lot faster.
… Which, coincidentally did not help him to feel any more grounded into this age, what with his thoughts on the whole world-rushing-by-him front, but.
Averting his vision from the windows, Hajime found himself under Oikawa’s scrutiny, the taller man eyeing him with an intensity that almost had Hajime reeling back. Seeing Hajime watching him back, Oikawa flashed a small grin. “What are you thinking, Iwa-chan?”
That you should stop asking me that . “That Kenma’s right. You don't look like you have much of a fashion sense.”
“Rude!”
Hajime chuckled to himself, and at the sound, Oikawa let his mock-anger fade into a small laugh of his own. “Maybe I should just read your mind. You never want to answer me when I ask about your thoughts.”
“Like hell you can do that,” Hajime said. “You aren't some oracle or anything. And maybe you should just stop asking. You know. Like a normal person.”
Oikawa’s smile took on a small edge. Was he… taking this as a challenge? What the fuck, why? What was so interesting about Hajime that Oikawa didn't already know? His existential crisis could hardly be so riveting a tale, right? “Ah, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, I might not be all magical, but I can too read your mind!”
Hajime simply stared in disbelief. “Sure.” Oikawa gave him a look , one that Hajime knew meant that even if he didn't humor him, Oikawa would make whatever joke he wanted to make anyway, so he might as well. Letting out yet another sigh in so many minutes, Hajime said, “Fine. What am I thinking then.”
Oikawa hummed, eyes fluttering closed as he supposedly read Hajime’s thoughts. He maintained the expression for a few seconds, then gasped suddenly, opening them once more. He looked troubled, almost afraid-- in the most over-the-top, most unnecessary portrayal of concern Hajime had ever had the misfortune to see. Which only meant one thing. “Iwa-chan has nothing to read! He really is a brainless savage!” Oikawa wailed.
There it was. And this time, Hajime could finally hit the back of the fucker’s head properly. “Trashykawa, I swear to all the gods, I will end you.”
Oikawa giggled, flashing a peace sign at him even as he raised his other hand to cover the spot Hajime had hit. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist!”
Before Hajime could snap at him in response, a speaker overhead announced their arrival at the first stop. Oikawa declared that this was where they needed to get off, grabbing Hajime’s wrist and shouldering his way towards the doors.
Hajime could only hope he wouldn't suffer too much. Shopping could hardly be that bad, right?
/////
Wrong.
They had been to five stores already, and so far, only bought a handful of clothes. Barely enough to last Hajime a week.
“Oh! This place has some great button-ups, I get mine here all the time! They're good quality and have such nice colors and patterns too,” Oikawa exclaimed.
Six. They had now been to six stores. “We had better actually get some clothes here, Shittykawa,” Hajime grumbled, though he followed all the same.
Oikawa simply said, “It’s not my fault the last places didn't have anything that suited you. You aren't blessed like I am, to look good in everything. Besides! That one place that did have stuff for you was expensive!”
Hajime sighed. The cost thing was true. He wasn't entirely certain he trusted Oikawa on the what-suited-him bit, but he didn't really have much choice in the matter, considering it was Oikawa paying for everything. Hajime did need to wonder where Oikawa got the money at all-- from what he could tell, schooling was expensive, and Hajime hadn't seen anything indicative of the other man having a job, but…
He was probably as tired of borrowing Oikawa’s clothes (his pants were too long and his shirts too tight around the sleeves) as Oikawa probably was of lending them.
A cheery attendant greeted them on their entry, and Oikawa smiled his ‘charming’ smile and explained what they were looking for. She led them to the correct aisle, chattering away about some promotions and other things they might want (there were some very flattering jeans for sale two aisles down that would fit Hajime perfectly, it seemed). Oikawa humored her with that same smile, either oblivious or (most likely) uncaring for the blush staining her cheeks, or the excessive batting of her eyelashes.
“If you need anything, feel free to ask me! I’m Yuuko!”
“We’ll be sure to do that, thanks so much Yuuko-chan,” Oikawa assured her, practically oozing charisma. Hajime fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Once she was out of earshot, Hajime said, “Really?”
“What's the matter, Iwa-chan? Jealous she didn't notice you?”
Hajime snorted. “Hardly.”
“If you say so,” Oikawa replied, a teasing lilt to his voice as he scanned through the racks. He picked out a few pieces-- sometimes handing them to Hajime to hold, sometimes putting them back, sometimes glancing back and forth between the cloth and Hajime before making a decision. “That should be enough for now.”
Hajime had in his arms a pile of maybe ten items. This had better be it for now. He said as much, though Oikawa didn't pay it any mind, choosing instead to shoo him towards the fitting room. “I’ll be right outside if you need any help, Iwa-chan!”
Hajime suspected that by ‘outside’ Oikawa actually meant flirting with that saleslady, but whatever. That wasn't his problem, really, though he felt a little bad for the girl Oikawa would be leading on.
Hajime pulled off his shirt by the collar, eyes lingering for a moment on the scars that littered his skin. His arms, his chest, his back; certainly, he had less than he should have had, really, considering how long he had been the gods’ knight, how many horrible creatures he had fought. But still, it was ugly. His skin was a patchwork of angry red splotches from burns, jagged lines a shade lighter than the rest of him, even a bite mark down by his hip.
He really didn't belong here in this world, much less doing something as mundane as trying on clothes to buy.
From outside, he heard Oikawa’s musical (but fake) laugh, followed by a titter from the girl from earlier. Right. Someone was waiting for him, as odd as it was.
Hajime unbuttoned the first shirt, pulling it on over his shoulders-- and found it lacking. Literally. It didn't fit.
As if on cue, Oikawa called, “Iwa-chan, why are you taking so long? Did you forget how buttons work?”
“Shut up, Trashykawa,” he growled back. “This one is too small.”
“ Everything is too small for your monstrous brute arms, Iwa-chan! You're probably exaggerating, let me see.”
Hajime huffed. The damn thing wouldn't even close! It was definitely too fucking small. Before he could voice that objection though, the door to the fitting room started rattling, Oikawa’s taunting floating in from the other side.
For Zeus’ sake--
Hajime flicked the lock and yanked the door open-- maybe a little harsher than necessary. “Fucking. Fine! Zeus, when I said it's too small, I meant it's too small , Shittykawa.”
Oikawa was gaping. Hajime didn't really comprehend why, it wasn't like the man hadn't seen him near naked before, especially right after his fall back to Earth. The saleslady was too, actually, but that… Hajime sort of understood her. He doubted it was within her job description to help almost-shirtless customers. After a beat, the girl-- Yuuko, right-- rushed off, mumbling something about fetching him the proper size, flushing the deepest shade of red she had yet. (Hajime absolutely did not feel a little bit smug at that, nope.)
“Crappykawa.”
Nothing. No response.
“Oikawa.”
Just another slow blink, a small twitch of his hands (that Hajime refused to think on).
Hajime heaved a deep exhale. “ Oikawa. ”
He just. Kept staring. At this point, Hajime was feeling more than a little self-conscious. He knew he was fit, obviously. It was inevitable, given what he had done, how he’d fought. But the scars… the unevenness of his skin, the sheer visibility of his body when for so long it had been buried beneath armor majority of the time…
All that under Oikawa’s heavy, piercing gaze… it was too much.
Hajime clocked the back of Oikawa’s head, then. It was the first thing he thought of that would just get him to stop . “ Ouch! So mean, Iwa-chan!”
It did work, even if that meant more of Oikawa's whines about him being so violent and rude, and really, he should be flattered --
Hajime waited for a question. A statement. A mention of the flaws that marred his body.
Nothing came. Nothing but Yuuko, rushing back with the same shirt in what Hajime assumed was a better size for him. “The pattern looks like it’ll look very good on you, Iwaizumi-san,” she said, having collected herself once more in her absence, it seemed. Hajime was impressed she’d remembered his name after Oikawa mentioned it only once, too. “Hopefully this one will fit better. If not, I brought the next size up as well.” She held up a plastic package in her other hand.
“Thank you, Yuuko-san,” he said, smiling warmly at her. Her face gained a little color again, but she smiled back as he took the shirt from her, heading once more into the fitting room.
Once he’d hung the first shirt and slipped on the new one, he had to admit that Yuuko was right. Oikawa had actually chosen well. The white fabric contrasted nicely with his darker skin, and the printed blue and red anchors added a nice touch of color that was fun, but still sophisticated. It was simple, really.
He liked it. He’d expected he wouldn't, what with it being white and all, and therefore possibly see-through, but it wasn't. Oikawa really hadn't been lying about the quality then.
He opened the door and stepped out, feeling faintly shy. “I like it,” he admitted.
Yuuko nodded. “It suits you!”
Oikawa nodded his head, looking smug as he ran a hand through his hair. “As I thought! And you said I didn't have good taste.”
Hajime rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. “I didn't say that, technically. It was Kenma. But okay, sure. Congratulations, I guess. I’ll just try on the other ones.”
In the end, they bought half of the shirts Oikawa had picked out for him, as well as two more that Yuuko had suggested. They bought some of the jeans, too, and even a set of pajamas. Speaking of which, Hajime realized majority of what they’d bought were for outings.
When he pointed it out, Oikawa only said, “It’s fine. I can lend you pajamas, I have more than enough of those. It's the stuff for being out in public you need your own of. Besides, there are cheaper places to get sleepwear anyway.”
“All right,” Hajime answered. And that was that.
They walked slowly back to the station, trading banter and conversation like old friends. It was odd. Amazing, but odd. It made Hajime feel warm and satisfied, and that didn't make sense. How could he feel that already? And what was that nagging feeling beneath the happiness, the little tug on his gut? It wasn't shock or puzzlement, he knew. That, he recognized. This was something else… Hajime would almost think it was guilt, but for what?
As they waited for the train that would take them home, Oikawa spoke up. “What are you thinking, Iwa-chan?” he asked, soft and tentative.
How does he always know?
“I’m thinking that for all the time we spent out, we should have bought more clothes,” he muttered. “We’ve been out since the afternoon, and now it's dark. This is all we have?” He lifted up the paper bags hanging off his arms.
“Ungrateful!” Oikawa laughed, clearly entertained despite his words. “Just for that, I won't buy you dinner!”
Hajime shrugged. “I could always hunt my own, you know. I used to do it all the time.” He pretended to contemplate it for a few seconds, forcing himself to maintain a straight face. “One of the trees outside your dorm looked like it would have good wood for a bow and some arrows.”
Oikawa looked scandalized. “You are not-- you can't just-- cut up a tree --” he stammered, flailing his hands. His lips pursed in a legitimate pout; it was maybe sort of cute, in an objective way, but gods above forbid Oikawa ever learned Hajime thought so. “You’re joking, right?”
Oh shit, he actually believed he would.
… Not that he wouldn't, but only if he really had no choice.
Hajime managed not to burst out cackling for exactly two seconds, and then it spilled out of him like a wave, forcing him to bend over double and clutch at his stomach. “The look on your face!”
“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa tossed his head, feigning offense. “You’re such a savage, it sounds like something you would do!”
Hajime shook his head, mouth still stretched into a grin. “Sure, Oikawa.”