Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

Kuroo downs his fifth can of coffee that week. 

It’s only Wednesday, but he’s exhausted, to the point where he relies completely on the temporary high of caffeine that keeps him going. The key word is temporary, but he can't bring himself to care.

“All right, gather up the tests from the back.” 

It’s mid-term tests week, and volleyball practices have screeched to a halt just for this. Kuroo’s been jittery and anxious all week, but he can’t let that show. And he won’t let it show, by pretending excessive caffeine consumption solves everything.

“Phew, that was… pure fuckin’ torture.”

Once the last of the exams are done, Kuroo slumps on his desk, just beside Yaku. Studying advanced chemistry is not easy, and he’s sure his temporary high will come crashing down soon. 

Kuroo instinctively reaches for some spare change and grabs some coffee milk, the only caffeinated drink in the school’s vending machine that he can stand. Yaku eyes him like a hawk, rubbing his forehead with his palm. 

“Kuroo, don’t get addicted. I’ve seen the amount of coffee you’ve been drinking.”

Really, Kuroo has to disagree. Yaku hasn’t seen the amount of caffeinated drink cans at the bottom of the bins in Kuroo’s house. But he shrugs, gulping down another can as if it’s yakult.

That night, Kuroo lies awake, eyes painfully alert. He’s had two cans, less than his weekly average. But it’s enough to send his brain into overdrive anyway. His heart is too quick, too loud. The constant thumping in his chest is amplified.

The next morning, Kuroo’s mouth is craving coffee. But there’s none in his house. He stuffs his face with rice and vegetables, attempting to mask the obvious desire for caffeine that physically pains him. 

He’s not going to prove Yaku right. He hates it when Yaku is right. He’ll use it as a ‘gotcha’ whenever he screws up, which, admittedly, is usually his own damn fault. But Yaku, when right, is a special kind of annoying.

The next day, his coffee intake drops to zero.

It’s not as hard as he initially thought. It’s mildly inconvenient, but he forcefully quenches his thirst with a salty lychee drink, until his desire to drink anything is vanquished. 

And at around midday, the headaches begin. They slam into his head full force, torturing his brain with waves of pain. The back of his eyes throb non-stop. He needs something to alleviate it. No, he knows what he needs to alleviate it. 

But the voice in his head reminds him not to give in. It’s Yaku’s voice, warning him not to feed into his addiction any further. He downs another bottle of nata de coco drink instead. He feels bloated and uncomfortable, but full.

The first day of quitting is terrible, but he falls into the best sleep he’s had all week. 

The second day is hell on earth. 

The headache he’s sporting has morphed into the mother of all migraines. His head feels like it’s emulating a thousand different sirens, blaring in his head and screaming at him. It’s nothing short of pure torture, and he doesn’t even want to move a muscle, let alone head to school.

He has to head to school, though. Third year, and everything that comes with it, waits for him. He hates everything. His joints seem to creak and roar like a rusty door hinge, and he feels immense sympathy for his grandmother. His body’s aged about fifty years overnight.

“Oi! Get up! We’re going to the labs!”

Kuroo is jabbed with a mechanical pencil by one of his classmates, just as he thought his headache was marginally better. He feels like throwing a hard punch right there and then, but stops himself. He has to get up. 

The migraine is continuous. He wants to cut off his head at this point, because he’s positive it would hurt less. When he heads to volleyball practice, the hammering in his head only intensifies. His eyeballs feel like they’re getting pushed out his socket.

“Ah! I’m sorry!”

Lev screeches out an apology, as his flubbed receive goes flying towards the sidelines. Normally, he would only receive a mild tongue-lashing by Yaku, but nothing is normal today. Kuroo is the first one to groan. Why can’t his teammates do what they need to do? 

Kuroo manages to hold his tongue, by some miracle. Despite the pain that can be likened to tiny dwarves drilling inside his skull, he minds his own business and focuses on his blocks.

“Kuroo, watch out!”

The volleyball slams into Kuroo’s back, and hard. His joint pain increases tenfold, and the rage chokes him so much he can hardly breathe. His exhales are ragged, as blood rushes to his face. Everything is uncomfortable. 

“I- I’m so sorry, Kuroo-san! Are you okay?” Lev turns to him, terrified. 

Kuroo turns to glare at him, but his gaze is more murderous than annoyed. “Receive the ball properly, you fucking dumbass! Are you even trying?”

“Hey!” Yaku is the first one to put a stop to the Lev-bashing, of all people. “Chill out, Gordon Ramsay. Whatever shit you’re going through, don’t take it out on him.”

Kuroo swallows hard, noticing all eyes on him. Kenma is staring at him with worry-filled eyes, and Kuroo wants to cry. 

“Sorry.” Kuroo musters a half-assed apology. He can tell he’s brought the entire team down, because he’s so stupid and careless and a horrible person. His self-esteem is plummeting. 

He just wants to sleep. 

Kenma pops a chocolate button in his mouth, and Kuroo would give anything to have one. The thought of drinking coffee makes him feel nauseous. Anything for the sugar rush. Anything to get his blood sugar levels blasting through the roof. He wants a temporary high.

“Kuro, you all right?”

The train rocks him unpleasantly, leaving his limbs throbbing. The motion makes him feel horribly queasy. “I don’t know,” he whispers, leaning into Kenma. “I haven’t been feeling too good these past few days.”

“I know, Kuro. But you gotta ride it out.” Kenma pats his hair softly, kissing the top of his head. “You’re gonna be okay. Take care of yourself, promise?”

But Kuroo doesn’t feel okay. His hands shake as he tries to eat breakfast. He drops the chopsticks more than once. He doesn’t even want to eat, but he doesn’t have the heart to refuse the food his grandmother prepared for him.

“Hey, Kuroo, you’re not eating?”

Yaku prods at him, when lunch rolls around. Kuroo really, really doesn’t want to put anything near his mouth. In addition to the headache that makes him want to tear his head off, his stomach has started cramping horribly. It's like he's lactose intolerant, and just had twenty pounds of cheese.

“Don’t wanna. Not feeling great.” Kuroo mutters, laying his head on the desk. He’s overcome with dizziness, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. He wants relief. Right now. 

“You look like absolute shit.” Yaku sighs. Someone has to say it. “Does it hurt somewhere? You should probably get some water.”

He hands Kuroo a bottle of water, and Kuroo almost drops it. His hands tremble violently, likening his mannerisms to someone with a serious addiction. But he’s not addicted. He’s already quit. It barely lasted. 

“Shit.” Yaku notices how unsteady his hands are, and puts everything together. “It’s from the caffeine, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Kuroo finds himself nodding. He doesn’t even know why he’s been so stubborn in pretending he’s fine. He hates everything. He hates how he feels. “I… really don’t feel good. My head hurts so bad, and I feel like I’m going to throw up…”

“Go home for today. I’ll give you all the notes when you get better.” Yaku advises him, gripping his pale hands. “I’ll go call Kenma.”

As anticipated, Kenma gives him a look of disappointment when he meets him outside the school gates. But he doesn’t say anything, and simply holds Kuroo’s hand all the way to the train station. 

“I wish you’d take better care of yourself.” Kenma murmurs, massaging Kuroo’s fingers gently. “I thought I could believe in you.”

Kuroo stops shaking when Kenma holds him. He lets Kenma’s hands calm his own, and shuts his eyes, resting his head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Kenma.”

Chapter Text

“Nobody likes you! Go kill yourself!”

Goshiki winces as he sees the group of students gang up on one boy. He knows he’ll be beaten to a pulp if he tries to intervene, but he can’t bring himself to look away. 

The bullying is horrible. Goshiki recognizes the student- Shirabu Kenjirou, he remembers. The one everyone picks on, because of reasons he doesn’t even know. Shirabu often walks around limping, bruises under his clothes. 

“Stop it.” Shirabu glares at the students attacking him beside the lockers. “You guys are pathetic. When are you going to stop playing this stupid game?”

“Shut your fucking mouth! Did we ever ask you to speak?”

One of the students grab Shirabu by his collar, and slam a shoe into his face. Blood from his nose drips onto the floor, and he falls into it as he’s shoved forwards. 

“Know your place, bitch.”

Shirabu curls up on the ground, coughing out splotches of blood. Goshiki can’t just watch any longer, and dashes into the storage closet for a mop and a bucket. 

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding… Shirabu-senpai, right?” 

Goshiki begins to wipe up the blood on the floor, offering Shirabu his handkerchief for his nose. Shirabu lets out a short laugh in response, turning to take a look at him. 

“Go away, quick. They’ll find you.” 

Goshiki shakes his head. “But you’re hurt! I can’t just leave you like this!”

He grabs some more tissues to staunch the bleeding, and scuttles off to put the mop and bucket back to where he got it from. His offer to take Shirabu to the nurse’s office gets rejected, but he’s glad he finally got to at least talk to him.

Goshiki wishes he could just help Shirabu without getting into the whole mess of bullying, but he has no such luck.

He’s informed of the school’s secret message forum, where all his photos are posted and ridiculed. There are graphic images with captions detailing that it’s exactly what he deserves. There are whole threads dedicated to mocking his every mannerism and quirk. 

Goshiki knows he shouldn’t look at them. He’s going to only hurt himself more by reading every comment and post. But he would be lying if he said he only visited the website once.

And soon after, they corner him in the science labs.

“Ha, you’re crying already? We haven’t even gotten to the worst part!” 

Goshiki screams as his hair is roughly grabbed, and dragged near the bunsen burner. “Please, stop it! That hurts!” He squirms, pinned to the table by multiple hands. 

“He’s so scared, look at him! He’s a mess of tears and snot!” The students laugh and crow at him, and he feels something wet and cold being poured over him. Someone is holding a hose, splashing him until he’s wet from head to toe.

“This is what you deserve for sticking with that little shit Shirabu!” 

The hose is thrown at him, and he chokes and coughs, shivering. His uniform is soaked through, and the water leaks onto his skin. 

“Why?” Goshiki murmurs, “why are you so horrible to me?”

One of the students kicks his torso, throwing something hard at him. “You’re either with that scum, or with us! You don’t get to choose both!”

Goshiki doesn’t want to believe it. There has to be another way, one where they all get along and look past their differences. But he’s seen what people do to their victims. He’s not going to let his naivety cloud his vision.

If there really is no other way, he’ll…

“I’ll never join you guys! Ever! I’d honestly rather die than stoop to your level!”

His anger is explosive. He can feel himself being grabbed and yanked in all different directions. But it’s all right, he tells himself. He hasn’t lost his humanity, and that’s all that matters to him.

Everything hurts. 

Goshiki lies on the floor, blood running from his mouth and nose. His stomach hurts. His back hurts. His uniform has footprints all over it. His face is stained with tears and blood.

“Goshiki…”

It’s Shirabu, slowly approaching him. He cups his face gently, lifting him off the ground and staring at him with an unreadable expression. Goshiki flinches at the touch, his heart pumping danger signals through his bloodstream.

“Hey! Shit-bangs!” The students yell at Shirabu. “Why don’t you get a kick into him, too? Then we might stop tormenting you! What do you say?”

Goshiki swallows his bloody spit. He can tolerate being beaten and thrown around by everyone else, but Shirabu… He knows what it’s like. He shouldn’t hurt him.

Shirabu leans over the window. He grabs Goshiki, smiles- and pushes him out of the lab.

Goshiki doesn’t process what’s happening immediately. He flails about as he falls for a few seconds, until he suddenly stops. He’s slammed into the roof, directly below the window. He’s hit his head badly. Everything is painful.

He can hear the students laughing above him. 

“Oh my god, you really pushed him out the window!”

“See, he’s fucked in the head! He’s not dead, is he?”

Shirabu leans over to take a look at Goshiki, expression blank. Goshiki can’t think of why he would do this. They’d talked, become friends, walked together. He wasn’t being thrown away like a disposable toy. 

“If this is the only way I can end all this…” Shirabu murmurs, “I’ll choose this without hesitation.”

“But-! I thought we were friends! Why?!” 

Goshiki’s pathetic screams are shut down with a cold smile from Shirabu. 

“Goodbye, Tsutomu.”

A deafening boom echoes in Goshiki’s ears.

Shards of glass rain down on him, slicing up his uniform. It’s from the lab. There’s been an explosion in the lab. Shirabu is still in there.

“ Shirabu-san!”

And just like that, the screams begin. 

“Hey, the lab is burning! We need someone! Anyone!” 

“Are you all right? Get off the roof, what are you doing?! You’re bleeding!”

Goshiki can smell the sharp tang of the gas. It burns his lungs. He’s alone. Shirabu is in there. In the explosion. 

“If this is the only way I can end all this…. I’ll choose this without hesitation.”

Goshiki understands everything, and screams. 

Chapter Text

It was a split second, in which everyone’s fates were sealed.

“Tsukki!”

Bokuto had seen it coming first. Unfortunately, he was also the last to move, too busy screaming at everyone about the imminent danger. 

It was an explosive, that landed right smack in the middle of their firing line.

The ear-splitting noise ripples through the air, destroying the eardrums of those closest. Debris and earth fly around, and a cloud of sand rises high in the air.

Blood splatters far. Its source is Bokuto Koutarou, collapsed on the ground with his eyes wide and wounds wider. 

He lets out a rueful laugh, steadying his palms on the dust. He coughs out the dust from his mouth, any words he’d muttered melting into the cacophony of shouts and curses.

“Koutarou? Koutarou…” 

Bokuto perks up. Akaashi, is he all right? And Kuroo, he’d been pretty close to the explosion too. Where is Tsukishima?

“Holy shit.”

Akaashi is dripping blood from his head, as he makes his way over to him unsteadily. Bokuto opens his mouth to call out to him, but a dull pain in his legs grabs his attention.

“Oi, Bokuto! Look up here. Look at me. Everything’s gonna be fine.” One of Kuroo’s eyes is crushed. Bokuto would hardly call that fine. “It’s all right. Keep your eyes on me.”

There’s something seriously wrong, Bokuto knows. Kuroo is trying way too hard to divert his attention from something right beside him. Akaashi and Kuroo aren't even paying attention to their own injuries. Which means only one thing.

“No-”

It’s too late. Bokuto stares down at his legs- or where they used to be. His legs are bent in opposite directions, crushed and the bottom half of them hanging off. Bones blasted to pieces and embedded in his skin. So much blood, in various shades of crimson and deep brown. The trail of blood is from him. 

“Kuroo, I…”

Bokuto loses consciousness, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He wakes up, and he can barely breathe. 

When Bokuto tries to ask what the hell has happened, his throat dries up and all that comes out is a groan. Still, Akaashi notices immediately, and rushes over to him. 

“You’re awake, god, you’re awake, thank god…” Akaashi murmurs, embracing Bokuto tightly. “I thought you’d never…”

Bokuto notices a wet cloth on his forehead, and a bowl of cold water on his bedside. Akaashi’s hands are red and raw. He’d taken care of him the entire time, and that was because… because…

“My legs… What happened to my legs, Akaashi?”

Akaashi lets out a short gasp, and Bokuto realizes he hasn’t been dreaming. Akaashi sits beside him on the bed, kissing his forehead gently.

“They… there was no saving them. We tried, but the infection was too severe, we just had to take the entire thing off from the knee…”

Bokuto, even in his fever-addled state, recognizes enough words to know that he’s lost his legs. Tears begin filling his eyes. He wants to go home. He wants his mom to come and hug him.

“It hurts… Mom, help, please... “

Someone is patting his head. “Your mother isn’t here, I’m sorry… It’s me-”

“Kuroo… It hurts. It’s so loud. Why’s everyone having a party without me?”

He feels horrible, like he’s going to throw up or pass out at any minute. He takes deep, warm breaths, his body boiling with fever. His head lolls sideways, cheeks burning.

“Koutarou… I’m Keiji. It’s only me, but I’m here.”

Akaashi places a hand on Bokuto’s forehead. He’s completely delirious, burning up at such a temperature he needs to constantly press ice packs to his body. He mutters everyone’s names except Akaashi’s.

Bokuto is placed on a drip. He can barely open his mouth to eat anything. Akaashi still isn’t recognized, when he places his cold hand on Bokuto’s cheek. But Bokuto whines and rubs himself into Akaashi’s hand, and Akaashi can’t bring himself to pull back.

“Konoha… Why? It’s so dark, why?” 

Akaashi flinches. Konoha has been dead for three months. Bokuto isn’t in his right mind. 

Bokuto cries, often for the entire day. 

He sobs about his legs, mostly. He also calls out for his mother many times. Akaashi changes his bandages, cringing at the infection and blood sticking to them.

“No, please! Mom, it hurts! Don’t!” Bokuto cries out each time Akaashi cleans and disinfects his wounds. “I don’t wanna be hurt anymore! Please, I want to go home!”

Akaashi rubs Bokuto’s back and scalp as he cries, shushing him gently. “It’s okay, Koutarou. I won’t hurt you any more. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bokuto’s eyes crack open, his vision blurry from the tears. 

“Keiji… Hold me.”

It’s the first time in a while Bokuto’s called him by his name.

Chapter Text

“Alright, let’s wrap this thing up!”

Daichi claps his hands, and it’s everyone’s signal to start tidying up the gym. Kageyama and Hinata grab the poles used for holding up the net, and Yamaguchi starts picking up the balls beside them. 

Something rumbles beneath Hinata’s feet. 

“Guys… Do you feel anything? Is it just me?”

Hinata asks, but the third years shrug. “What do you mean, feel something?”

“Like…” Kageyama adds to the conversation, “like an earthquake?”

“I think it’s just you.” Noya shrugs. “Now come on, let’s get this gym cleaned up! Asahi-san, hold the other side of the net!”

As Noya and Asahi fold the net and roll it up, Hinata feels the tremor again. But there’s not much he can do about it, so he shrugs and grabs the pole, yanking it up to get it out of the floor. 

“Hey, you okay on your own, Hinata?” Tanaka giggles, and is promptly smacked by Daichi. “Ow, fuck! You did it pretty hard, Daichi-san!”

“No cursing, Tanaka!” Sugawara calls out to him, and Tanaka stares at him incredulously. 

“Your husband hit me!”

Noya glances at Daichi, who is positively reddening, and cackles. “Run, Ryuu! Daichi-san is gonna murder you!”

Tanaka senses the murderous aura coming from Daichi, and tiptoes away slowly. 

Tsukishima stares at them, astonished at the stupidity of the team. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” 

The ground shakes beneath them. 

No, the world is shaking. Everything is swaying, as a deafening rumble crashes through the gymnasium. The ball crate goes flying to the ground, narrowly missing Yamaguchi as he steps away with a yelp. 

“Get to somewhere safe! It’s an earthquake!” 

Daichi yells at his team to take cover, but even he’s struggling to hold his ground. Sugawara grabs Tsukishima nearest to him, holding both of them steady as he leans against the wall. 

“Holy shit, this is fucking insane!” Noya yells, held tightly by Asahi. “Asahi-san, you okay?” 

Asahi, looking like he’s about to cry, holds himself and Noya together miraculously. “You’re the lightest out of all of us, so worry about yourself!” 

Noya doesn’t even have the time to be offended, when a particularly giant tremor takes over under their feet. 

“Oi, Hinata, watch out!” 

Tanaka yells from the other side of the gymnasium, pressing himself into a corner. 

There’s a volleyball pole collapsing, right towards Hinata’s head. And from that height, it’ll certainly give him a concussion. Hinata screams, but it’s too late for him to squeeze his way past it.

A dull thud amidst the rumbling catches everyone’s attention. 

“Are you… okay? Dumbass…”

The volleyball pole is stuck inside Kageyama’s shoulder. About three inches, buried inside him. 

“Kageyama…?” 

Hinata stares at him, terrified. 

He’s caused this. He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough. Because of him, Kageyama is hurt. 

The blood spills out onto the floor, creating swirls and flowing into the cracks of the wood. The entire team start screaming, and Hinata doesn’t know what to do. The thing can’t stay in Kageyama’s shoulder, but if they remove it, the bleeding could worsen.

The violent earthquake seems to let up for a split second, and Daichi and Suga utilize that moment to move towards Kageyama and Hinata. 

“Someone, call an adult!” Noya shouts, jumping out of Asahi’s arms. 

“Who’s gonna come? We just had a huge earthquake! There’s definitely more than one injured person!” Tsukishima points out. And he’s right- there’s screaming in the distance, but nowhere close to the gymnasium.

As soon as Tsukishima finishes his sentence, the shaking starts again, and Kageyama howls in pain. The pole is violently ripped from his shoulder, and clatters onto the floor with a thud.

And Hinata wants to cry, and tell Kageyama that he’s the biggest dumbass of all time, and that he has no business calling him dumbass anymore. 

Kageyama is a setter. He can’t afford to get such an injury. It’s going to affect his life, if he doesn’t get it treated quickly. But there’s nobody to help them, in this gymnasium. No adult will come to help them. They’re alone, and powerless.

The pain is too much for Kageyama, and he slips into unconsciousness, shutting his eyes and slumping on the floor.

There’s a crowd of his teammates around him, but he can’t even open his eyes anymore. 

“Kageyama…” 

Someone is calling his name.

Kageyama opens his eyes, but regrets doing so in an instant. Everything is too hot on his skin, and it’s too dark. 

He groans. There’s something inside his arm, and he can feel it in his vein. He wants to get out of wherever he is, but he has no idea where he is, and why he’s feeling like he just had his head bashed in with a baseball bat.

“Kageyama!”

It’s brighter this time, but only slightly. He recognizes the voice instantly- Hinata. 

“Are you okay?! I’m sorry, It’s my fault I wasn’t quick enough…”

Quick enough for what? Why won’t he explain anything to him?

Kageyama looks down, and realises he’s lying down on a hospital bed. He can’t remember why, but he does remember the trembling in the ground that the massive earthquake caused. 

And the painkillers wear off, at that exact moment.

“Fuck!” Kageyama swears, immediately realizing what had happened to his shoulder. He’d instinctively protected Hinata, and ended up with a shoulder injury, one that could cost him his volleyball career.

Hinata bursts into tears. “I’m sorry! I should have been more careful!”

Kageyama presses the button to call the nurse, wincing at the pain the action brings him. 

“It’s better than you having your head cracked- ngh, open.” Kageyama groans, taking care not to tug on his IV too much. “I decided what happened, not you. So appreciate it, idiot.”

Kageyama is fond of Hinata. There’s only one reason he would have sustained an injury for him. Not because he’s his spiker, but because he loves him, plain and simple, with his stupid heart.

“You’re so dumb, Kageyama. You’re a dumbass. My dumbass.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes as Hinata is reduced to a blubbering mess, sniffling into his hands. “I guess so. But you’re the bigger dumbass, crying like that. Why are you the one so upset?”

“Because you got hurt, dumbass!” Hinata slaps Kageyama’s forehead. “I care too, even if your dumb brain thinks I only care about your tosses!”

Kageyama bites his tongue, guilt slightly eating at him. 

“I suppose you’re right. Thanks, Hinata.”

With a soft huff, Hinata presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

“Well, well. If it isn’t Date’s Futakuchi.”

Futakuchi trembles. He can’t help it. He’s been involved with some delinquent groups, but not the kind that would kill people or take everything away from him. Riding motorcycles and getting into the occasional rumble was enough for him.

“What- what do you want from me?”

Futakuchi is positively terrified. He’s got no idea where he is, but it’s a room with grimy walls and brown stains. He doesn’t want to die. 

A gun is pointed a few inches from his forehead. 

“I heard your group’s been acting out of line recently.” One of the men say, voice harsh and gruff. It’s not a question, but a statement. 

Futakuchi doesn’t know what to say. Admitting it will endanger him, but so will denying it. 

“Say something, or we'll kill you on the spot!” The man kicks Futakuchi’s torso. Futakuchi lets out a cry and falls sideways, and he’s cornered within seconds. He’s a mouse inside a sack. 

“I’m- I’m sorry. Please, spare me my life,” he begs, helpless. These people aren’t going to show him mercy if he retaliates. There’s no point pretending he’s half as tough as any of them. He's too busy trying not to piss himself on the spot.

The man holding the gun laughs at him, but Futakuchi isn’t in the right mindset to be humiliated by that. If he screws up even once, he’s going to have his brains splattered on the wall. He's seen a photo of someone's brains blasted on the pavement. He imagines himself in that position, and shudders.

“You do seem like you’re sorry,” the man’s foot hovers over one of his fingers. “But I don’t think that’s enough, Futakuchi. Your group’s been annoying us. Why don’t you show us how much you’re sorry, on behalf of Date.” The foot slams down, stopping just a few centimetres above his fingers. He whimpers, fearing for all his body parts. Imagining all the different methods of torture does little to help.

Futakuchi notices a pair of scissors inching towards his face. He’s filled with horror immediately. Are they going to pluck out his eye? Cut off his tongue? 

He hears the snipping of the scissors, and stares at his hair on the floor. 

“What… what are you…” 

Snip.

Futakuchi knows this can’t be it. They haven’t taken him to an abandoned location, just to give him a haircut. 

He’s hyper-aware of every snip and brush of the scissors rubbing against his skin. They graze against him too close, but not enough to draw blood. He waits for the pain, nerves standing on edge. The anticipation is so much worse than the pain itself.

“You look nice, Futakuchi.” The man with the scissors strokes his cheek, and Futakuchi wants to gag. 

His brown hair surrounds him on the ground, gathering in clumps around him. But a bad hairdo should be the least of his worries- there’s a gun pointed at him. He’ll gladly do anything to survive.

“I’m sorry,” Futakuchi apologizes, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, let me go. Please don’t kill me.”

Snip snip, snip snip, snip, snip.

Pathetic, he thinks. But he’s no yakuza member. He’s not hardened enough for this. Maybe he is acting out of line for a delinquent, after all. He’s overstepped his boundaries, and now he’s paying for it. Maybe with his hair, maybe with one of his fingers. He's only seen it in movies, but everything is a first for him now, from being held at gunpoint to having his hair cut with a pair of rusty scissors.

“Then… You’ll have no problem making one phone call, right?”

Another man, wearing brass knuckles, holds Futakuchi’s phone to his face. He doesn't even have the composure to ask how they have it in the first place.

“We’ve dialled Moniwa for you. You have thirty seconds to tell him you want to sleep with him.”

Futakuchi gasps. He can’t. Not Moniwa, the one who took him in when nobody else would. One of the few people he truly respected, even if he got in trouble with him for fooling around too much. The person who loved and cared for him. He can’t ruin the special thing between them.

“I can’t-”

The man cracks his phone screen with his brass knuckles. “One more word, and it’ll be your teeth on the ground with your hair.”

Futakuchi’s eyes fill with tears. Moniwa will be disappointed. He won’t know where to go, if he’s abandoned by him. He doesn’t want to go anywhere else.

“Futakuchi? Hello?”

When Futakuchi falls silent at Moniwa’s voice, one of the men pinch his nipple, hard. A shrill cry escapes him, and the red on his face deepens.

“Hey, you okay? Where are you?” Moniwa asks. 

“I don’t know,” Futakuchi admits, which is true. “But I need… to tell you something.” He swallows, hoping Moniwa won’t take his confession seriously. 

“Well, are you safe? Do you need-”

Futakuchi takes a deep breath. “I want to sleep with you,” he blurts out.

There’s a silence on the other end of the phone. 

“Futakuchi, is this a joke?”

Futakuchi bites his lip, to prevent himself from letting out an anguished noise. “I like you, and I want to sleep with you. That’s… it.”

Before Futakuchi can even consider explaining himself, the phone is ripped from his hands, and thrown to the other side of the room.

“Congratulations, Futakuchi! Now even Moniwa knows how much of a dirty scum you are.” 

One of the men stroke his hair, and bits of loose, short clippings come away with his hand. He smears it across Futakuchi’s cheek, pinching him.

“You’re the scum.” Futakuchi grits his teeth. He’ll curse every last one of them into oblivion. He’ll never forgive them, for taking what little support system he had. 

That triggers something inside of the man holding the gun. It comes closer to his forehead, until it’s touching him. Well, shit. He’s screwed up now, he’s going to die. 

“Please, don’t-”

A pop echoes in the room.

Futakuchi shivers, dangerously close to losing his sanity. He’ll feel horrible pain, and then nothing. He’s going to die. This is it now. He won’t ever see Moniwa again, and the last thing he’d said to him is plain laughable. Speaking of laughable, he can hear laughter around him…

“Oh my god, do you think he pissed himself?”

“He’s so scared! I thought anyone could tell this is obviously fake!”

There’s smoke coming out of the gun’s mouth, but nothing else. It’s a plain old toy, just like him. Something they discard once they’re done with. A boredom-beater.

And for what purpose?

Futakuchi is as empty as the toy, thrown onto the floor beside him. He's being laughed at and spat on, but he can't even bring himself to care. All the strength has drained out of him, leaving him with an overwhelming sense of nothingness and crushing pain.

They might as well have loaded the gun. Futakuchi had died, the moment he had made the phone call. Dignity is not something he has, any longer. Tears drip onto the floor, evoking the sympathy of nobody.

He thinks about how he’s going to head home. 

Chapter Text

It’s a normal day for Oikawa Tooru.

He gets top marks in his English test. He gets made fun of by his classmates. He sits alone in the library during lunchtime, getting so lost in a book that he forgets he even exists.

Bedtime is what he dreads most. He has no friends in his dorm, and they complain when he uses his nightlight. But the mattresses are soft, and the covers are silky. It doesn’t take him long to go to sleep. 

 “Tooru, are you sure you’re a boy? You’re so girly, and you cry all the time!”

The others poke fun at him and pull his cheeks. He’s always uncomfortable when they do that to him, but he can’t show it. He cries when he feels uncomfortable, and that makes the other kids bully him even more.

“Shut up! I’m a boy! Stop pinching me!” 

Oikawa swats away the hands that touch him, sniffling. 

“He cries again! Crybaby Tooru!”

Oikawa burrows himself into the pile of blankets, hiding under the covers. He sulks like that every day. One would think he’d get tired of it, but he doesn’t have a choice. He wants out of his miserable life.

But one morning, something throws off his routine. Something from the outside world, some place he’s never explored. 

It comes in the form of a small, scribbled note on a ripped piece of paper.

Meet me in the garden at seven in the evening. Don’t get caught. 

Oikawa doesn’t know anything about the note- who wrote it, where it came from. It could be a prank created by some cruel students, but he doesn’t care. It’s something different from his usual boring, predictable daily life.

He’s so excited he can hardly breathe. He doesn’t even care that his classmates throw pieces of their erasers at him during class. He’s too dreamy and lost in his own world, wondering who could the author of the note be.

Once the sun sets and he finishes his homework essays, Oikawa grabs the note and shoves it into his pocket, heading down to the garden. He checks twice before scuttling down, and starts to stroll down the perimeter of the garden. His secret messenger could be anywhere. 

“Oi!” 

A small hiss catches his attention. Oikawa glances downwards where the voice came from, and almost jumps out of his skin. There’s a face right at his feet, staring right up at him.

Oikawa crouches down to meet eye levels, and whispers, “Are you… a Mr. Dwarf?”

“No, idiot!” Oikawa feels a light tap on his leg, as the face growls at him. The face is attached to a body, a few centimetres shorter than him. “I’m Hajime. I came to save you.”

Oikawa blinks. He hasn’t felt this clueless in a while. 

“Save me…? From what?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “From this place, dumbass! Do you really not know why you’re here?”

“No, Hajime-chan. I don’t.” Oikawa shakes his head.

Hajime cringes at the nickname. “Don’t call me that. Use my surname, Iwaizumi.” 

“Iwa-chan, then!” Oikawa grins. “I’m Oikawa Tooru. Nice to meet you!”

“Not any better, Shittikawa.”

Oikawa squeaks, visibly unsatisfied with his own nickname. “Hey! You better watch your mouth!” 

Iwaizumi clears his throat. “Anyway, you have to get away from here, as soon as you can. They’re going to sell you off as soon as you hit age seventeen. Everything you’ve heard is a lie. Don’t trust-”

The bell to signify the end of Oikawa’s free time rings, and Iwaizumi ducks down even further, shuffling away. 

“Come here tomorrow as well. I’m going to help you escape.”

Oikawa can’t sleep that night. 

The taunting doesn’t get to him at all. He’s too busy being painfully excited and crushed to death with worry. There’s someone presenting a new, exciting opportunity to him, but only because he’ll be sold somewhere as soon as he turns seventeen.

The next evening, Iwaizumi hands him a map of his ‘school’. 

“What are those round things you drew on them, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa points to the black circles dotted all over the map. 

“They’re cameras.” Iwaizumi states, matter-of-factly. “They’re watching you.” 

Oikawa gasps. “But they’re everywhere!” There are numerous black dots around the dormitories, and the classrooms. Even outside the bathroom stalls. There’s nowhere he can go without being watched, and sneaking out at night is out of the question. 

But there’s only one place, that isn’t littered with cameras. 

The singular bathroom stall of the solitary room. 

“Look here,” Iwaizumi taps the corner of the building, where the solitary room is. “There’s iron bars here. In three nights, me and a few others will cut them. You’re escaping through there.” 

“What?!” Oikawa makes a scandalized noise. “I don’t want to go to the solitary room! It’s gross there!” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Tough, it’s the only way we can get to you. There’s guards during the afternoon. Get in trouble in some way or another, and go there on the exact date I tell you.” 

Oikawa sticks his lip out. “Okay… Fine. But you gotta save me! Promise!”

Getting sent to the solitary room turned out to be easy enough. 

After three instances of the f-bomb slipping out, Oikawa is thrown in the room with no ifs, buts or ands. For reasons he doesn’t know, the staff are extremely strict on swearing. 

Iwaizumi had explained to him that his ‘school’ is actually a facility to bring up teenage boys to a high standard so that they will be sold for good money. Nobody knows what happens to the teenage boys. Slavery? Organ harvesting? Something much more sinister?

Whatever it is, Oikawa is adamant on not being a part of it. 

But still, the bathroom in the solitary room is absolutely horrible.

It smells like piss and wet dirt, and Oikawa hates breathing that stench through his nose. But he knows he’d rather smell it than taste it, so he bears with it.

He’s tired, but not sleepy at all. The disbelief and excitement keeps him awake. He’s going to be part of something bigger than his own little world with his books. He’s going to explore places he never knew existed.

He waits and waits, squatting in the corner. Night falls, but there’s no sign of Iwaizumi. 

Maybe he’s decided not to follow through, at the last moment. Oikawa finds himself getting upset, and pinches himself. He can’t cry anymore. He’s going to escape. 

The room is filled with silence. Oikawa can only hear his own nose whistling. The lack of noise is enough to drive him crazy. 

“Oi! Stand back!”

Oikawa only has a split second to react. The bars on the window- or rather, the hole in the wall- are beaten down, all in one go. They land on the floor close to him, where he’d been standing just a moment ago.

“Jesus, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hisses, as Iwaizumi sticks his hand through the newly-modified hole. “That’s not a very good way to-”

“Jump out, you dumbass!” Iwaizumi growls, grabbing Oikawa’s hand when he comes closer. “We don’t have any time to spare!”

Oikawa doesn’t hesitate. He leaps as high as he can, squeezing his upper half into the escape hole successfully. He scrapes his knees against the wall. He doesn’t register the sting in his knees. Iwaizumi’s hand is warm, and his feet manage to stay off the ground, and-

Thump. 

Oikawa registers the pain in his skinned knees. He groans from the pain, but he’s too curious to care. He’s under millions of stars, and the night air touches his cheek. Freedom smells like autumn leaves.

“You’re hurt, idiot. Can’t you even escape without causing more hassle?” 

Iwaizumi sighs and shakes his head, but the arms that drag him away are gentle and firm. 

“Where are we going now, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, allowing Iwaizumi to pull him in any direction. “They’ll look for me once it’s morning.”

“Somewhere you belong.”

Chapter Text

They say that one’s worst enemy is their own self.

Sugawara agrees wholeheartedly. He doesn’t like blaming his environment or other people for his inconveniences. It’s easier to have a target preemptively picked out, to place the blame on when everything falls apart.

That screw-up during a match? It had to be his fault. He should have subbed in at a better timing. That teacher picking on him for no good reason? He must have done something incorrectly. Nobody can be perfect. 

The way he feels every night before he goes to bed? 

His fault, for allowing himself to get it this far.

Surely, not being able to smile anymore is his fault, too.

On a Wednesday or Thursday, either could be it- Sugawara stopped heading to school. 

It’s his fault, he knew. But it also isn’t his choice. If he has the choice, Sugawara would put on his widest smile and let the first and second years flock to him. If he has the choice, he wouldn’t hide under the covers instead of getting up for school.

“Koushi, wake up. You’re gonna be late.”

His older sister Akari calls out to him from outside. But Sugawara can’t move. He has a horrible headache, which is probably his fault for staying up late to study for his exams. This is what happens when he fails to manage his time properly. 

Sugawara rubs his eyes. “I don’t feel good,” he murmurs, hoping he’ll be let off for today. 

“You have a cold, or something?” Akari steps into his room, and frowns when she sees him. “Wah, you’re as white as a sheet.” 

“My head hurts.” He isn’t lying. His head is pounding, and his brain feels like it’s being scraped with a fork. 

Akari presses a hand to his forehead. “You might be running a fever, it’s hard to tell. Take care of yourself. If you’re sick, then you should take a day off school.”

Everything sucks, even objectively. Akari hands him some painkillers and water before heading off to college, assuring him to “Keep warm, and don’t push yourself.” 

Relief and worry washes over him. The days missed will affect his grade. But waking up and heading to school, only to be humiliated, is unbearable. And it hurts, blaming himself each time. 

There’s only so many days he can miss without burdening everyone. He’s able to have three days to himself without suspicion. He’s convinced his teammates, worried and texting him hourly, that it’s just a cold. 

His family calls him down for dinner, and he eats his fill. But every time, the weight of burden sits in his stomach. He doesn’t even work, because he’s a student. He can’t even do the one thing everyone else does without overthinking.

It’s a Sunday night, when he tries to step outside for the first time in days. He fumbles with the door, and it doesn’t open. 

He should be able to open it, no problem. He’s done this almost every day. But his hands tremble and slip, forcing him to give up after a while. Tears of frustration begin to gather at his eyes. Frustration, at how useless and stupid he is.

The messages in his inbox start piling up, crushing him like a dead weight. There are several from Tanaka, Asahi and Daichi. Everyone else has texted him a lot, as well. Even Kageyama. The stoic, emotionally constipated Kageyama had sent him a digital get-well-soon card. Another first year must have helped him.

“He’s… what if… future…”

“Hikikomori… Jobs… you don’t- listen to me!”

After a week, Sugawara begins to hear his parents argue with his sister. He feels anger, all self-directed. He can’t bring himself to be angry at his parents, for not even noticing how much he’s hurting. The person he’s annoyed at the most is himself.

Akari slips him a cup of hot chocolate without a word. Drinking it alleviates the pain slightly. 

She’s the only one who understands even slightly that he’s not being lazy. He cares so much about his future, but he can’t imagine it. 

He goes to sleep. It’s as if he’s only been doing that all the time. He feels low. And when he’s low, the exhaustion and emptiness attack him all at once.

Hey. I just want to say that I hope you feel better soon. Come back to school when you’re better, we'll all be waiting for you!

Sugawara is a bad person. He reads the text message from Daichi, and feels burdened instead of lifted. He has to come back. He has to pretend everything’s all right again, before he loses his title of Reliable Vice Captain. He has to forgive everyone and everything except himself, because everyone knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

After a while, he stops answering the texts on his phone. He doesn’t want to lie, but the truth is too ugly to tell without bending it. He looks sleep-deprived, and sick. Nothing refreshing about him.

There’s a knock on his door.

Sugawara shoves himself under the covers, wanting nothing more than to hide away. 

“Hi, I’m Oikawa Tooru. Is it okay if I…”

Within seconds, Sugawara grabs some new clothes and throws off his old ones. He changes into them in an instant, making himself look somewhat presentable.

“Huh.” Oikawa blinks, as Sugawara sits on the bed, breathless and disheveled from getting changed at the speed of light. “You look less shit than I did.”

“Why the hell did you come here so suddenly, asshole?” Sugawara grumbles, a piece of his vigor coming back to him temporarily. He’ll admit he’s in a depression-like state, but not enough to be incapable of roasting Oikawa, also known as his annoying-ass boyfriend.

“I heard you were in dire need of help.” Oikawa rubs under his nose with his finger, and Sugawara wrinkles his face at him. 

“First of all, why you, of all people?” Sugawara says, and Oikawa dramatically clutches at his heart. “Second of all, I didn’t ask for help. And I’m saying this in the nicest way possible, Oikawa.”

Oikawa huffs childishly. “I’m not joking, Suga-chan! I wanted to help you!”

Sugawara doesn’t answer him. He stares at his neatly styled hair and annoyingly stylish features. Even Oikawa’s enemies can’t deny his attractiveness. 

“Listen.” Oikawa sits down on the bed, and it creaks. “You’re probably in a terrible place right now. Even if you do, uh, look somewhat refreshing. Look, I’m your boyfriend. If texts don’t work, I come here myself.”

Sugawara stares himself down. His hair is a mess and his nails are frayed from the constant chewing, but he’s been showering and changing quite often, so he doesn’t look entirely hopeless.

“I mean, thanks. Sad but refreshing is my new aesthetic.” He rolls his eyes, but he can’t stay mad. Especially when Oikawa ruffles his hair and pinches his cowlick.

“How does it feel to be isolated?”

Sugawara freezes. He doesn’t know what kind of answer Oikawa expects him to give. But there’s no point lying to him- he thinks long and hard, what’s changed after being holed up in his room for days. How he’s been feeling.

“Free, actually.” He admits. So many obligations thrown out the window, leaving him with guilt but also a huge weight off his back. “I’m less tired than I was a week ago. But I can’t stay like this forever, can I?”

Oikawa shrugs. “So what if you’re not the perfect vice captain everyone looks up to? Worry about yourself before anyone else. Being a selfish asshole works. If something gives you peace of mind, do it.”

It’s strangely convincing, coming from Oikawa. Sugawara nods, unable to respond to him. 

“Thanks, I guess. You make a point, sort of.”

Oikawa shrugs. “No need to thank me, boyfriend.” He flicks his hair and blows a kiss at him. “But you really should tell the whole truth to people. They genuinely care. And if they don’t, they’re not the ones who matter.”

A ghost of a smile floats onto Sugawara’s face. His eyelashes flutter rhythmically, like the hands on a silver watch. 

“Thank you, Oikawa.”

He reaches out for Oikawa’s chin, pulling him close.

Chapter Text

The knife buries itself inside Tendou’s side, right up to the handle.

A sharp cry follows, and blood drips onto the snow, melting it ever so slightly. The white, powdery clumps turn to a colour similar to his hair, dripping sloshy liquid on the ground.

He grabs his own curved knife, although one could argue it’s already a moment too late. He takes one swing, and his assailant is dead. But the bastard has left him with a horrible injury, and he’s lucky his guts aren’t spilling out of him. 

He quickly assesses his injury. It's not fatal deep, but it shoots pain inside him with every breath.

“Tendou? Is he the last?”

Ushijima calls out to him. Out of everyone, he’s the one with the least number of wounds. And it’s not pure luck, or the doing of his comrades- too many are out for his head, and he’s defeated them all with pure, unmatched imperviousness.

“Yeah,” Tendou spits out, gently placing one of his hands on his side. It’s soaked with blood, so he takes off his jacket and ties it around the wound. It’s not much to help, but it staunches the bleeding enough.

“Tendou-san!” Goshiki bounces towards him, his fur coat bouncing. “Are you all right?”

Tendou exhales slowly, making his way over to the others. They’re all waiting for him to come back- safely.

“I’m fine, kiddo.” Tendou ruffles the familiar bowl cut hair, holding back the urge to scream. “Did ya do a good job?”

Goshiki nods like an excited dog wagging its tail. He has an air of pure enthusiasm and innocence, that Tendou can’t help loving. Even as an assassin, he has his baby.

“Hey.” Kawanishi and Reon wave at him, wrapping up their cleanup as Goshiki and Tendou join the group. 

Tendou holds an arm up to greet them, as Goshiki bounds back to Shirabu to boast his efficiency and kill count.

“You’re still wet behind the ears, Goshiki. Do something about your swings, they’re too big. You need to learn to sneak around and stop acting flashy.”

Shirabu lectures Goshiki, chiding him that it’s not a game. He does it every single day, and at this point, everyone’s gotten used to it except Goshiki.

“What? I tried my hardest, Shirabu-san! You’re not gonna praise me for that?”

“First of all, you’ve gotten nicked multiple times. Second of all…” 

Shirabu starts lecturing Goshiki, and Tendou fights a giggle. 

Yamagata comes back to them with a few morsels of food and coins, taken from his victim. A cheer erupts from the entire group, as they count every coin and valuable trinket.

“Tendou, what’s wrong?” Ushijima spots Tendou holding his side, wincing. “Are you wounded?” 

Tendou’s lips tremble. “It’s not too bad. It’s fine.” 

But Ushijima is far from convinced. Tendou has seen it coming, but still dreads it, as Ushijima unwraps Tendou’s jacket from around his waist. 

Tendou hears Ushijima gasp, quietly and briefly.

“He’s wounded! Someone, get bandages and disinfectant!” 

Immediately, the rest of the team sober up. They stamp their way through the snow, circling around Tendou. 

“Shit, how deep is that wound? Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” Kawanishi asks incredulously.

Tendou coughs into his palm, yelping as Ushijima pours cold water onto his bleeding side. “I wasn’t injured! I was lightly stabbed!”

Goshiki’s eyes widen. “You were stabbed?!”

Tendou can lie all he wants, but he definitely wasn’t stabbed lightly enough to shake it off. His head rolls back as he grimaces, crying out every time Ushijima and Reon apply the yellow-green disinfectant on him.

“Oi! That hurts! Can’t you be more gentle with me?”

Even talking hurts, and Tendou groans as he’s lifted into the cart with the heavy luggage. It’s to protect him from attackers and the elements, in case of an emergency.

“Yamagata, stay with him.” Ushijima commands, hopping onto the driver’s box to start up the carriage. “We’re heading to the nearest medic.”

With a nod, Yamagata shuffles as far as he can into the cart. The rest of the group clamber on closer to the driver’s box, placing everything they earned into the appropriate boxes.

The pain only worsens under the bandages. The bumpy, snow-covered road doesn’t help, either. With every jolt and heave, Tendou screams into his fist. Blue and black dots appear in the corner of his vision.

And with the amount of snow on the ground, nobody sees the small boulder until it comes into contact with one of the wheels. 

The cart jumps for a split second, and Tendou yells out a “Shit, Jesus Christ!”

The bandages start to turn red, and Yamagata swears under his breath. “You idiot, this is what happens when you say you’re lightly stabbed!”

Tendou glares at him weakly. He knows it’s his own fault for underestimating what it could do to him. But still, the pain isn’t something he can laugh off. He curses himself for even getting stabbed in the first place.

The visit to the medic is unpleasant, and the recovery isn’t much better.

“...And then Goshiki fell in the bath. What a fucking idiot.” 

Everyone laughs at Shirabu’s story, while Goshiki sits beside them with a deepening blush. Tendou has to fight off his laugh, because the faintest giggle sends him into extreme pain.

“Can you guys not tell stories like that around me?” Tendou groans, rubbing his side. “I get it, I didn’t tell you guys straight away when I was-”

“Severely injured?” Shirabu glances at him sharply. 

“I was lightly stabbed!”

Ushijima watches the exchange without a word, and Tendou stares at him with pleading eyes. 

“They’re delaying my recovery! C’mon, Wakatoshi-kun, do something!” Tendou whines. 

“You delayed your own recovery by not telling me straight away.” Ushijima deadpans, and Tendou catches Shirabu sticking out his tongue at him.

“Oi, I saw that! You cheeky bastard, Shirabu! You’ll pay for this!”

Shirabu steps three feet away from Tendou, and shrugs. “Catch me, why don’t you?”

Tendou growls at him. “You annoying little rat…”

It’s what was coming to him, but he’s not keen on admitting it.

Chapter Text

Immune. 

That’s what Tsukishima is. He’s the one immune, hopping from place to place before anyone would find him out. The one on all the wanted posters, face slapped onto pieces of paper. The government’s top priority.

He hides in alleyways, old bomb shelters, inside abandoned buildings. The death tolls continue to climb, and every new station condemns him for being selfish. 

But nobody understands. He’s only sixteen years old, and he’s been told that the world’s fate rests on his shoulders. He’s not Atlas, for fuck’s sake. He’s a person, before an experimental body. The bodily autonomy argument is cast aside, when it’s for the sake of saving the world.

“You comfortable down there?”

Kuroo, also known as the only one who will protect him. His house is empty, his parents long deceased. Half of Nekoma are dead, too. The numbers only continue to rise.

“Not so much comfortable,” Tsukishima shrugs, “but I’m alive. Thank you for letting me stay here, Kuroo-san.”

Tsukishima has to hide in the basement for most of the day, considering that he shouldn’t be seen by anyone during the day. Nobody knows Kuroo has two people in his house. 

Not even Bokuto and Akaashi, who have holed themselves up with just the two of them at Bokuto’s. 

Kuroo-san, how are you and Tsukishima doing?

“Hey, Akaashi texted us.” Kuroo shows his phone screen to Tsukishima, who stares at it with interest. 

We’re fine, I guess. What’s up?

Kuroo shoots up at the message Akaashi gives him. 

Bokuto-san is bleeding from his nose and mouth. It won’t stop. 

Before he can even debate showing the text to Tsukishima, he grabs the phone off him and reads it himself.

Tsukishima stares at the screen hard, until tears drip onto it. He’s lost his brother, his parents, his teammates, over the virus. But never once did he want to become a guinea pig.

So why does he care so much about Bokuto? Why is his heart wavering, all of a sudden?

“Kuroo-san…” Tsukishima clears his throat. “I… I think I’m going to give myself up.”

Kuroo shakes his head, glaring at him. “You better be joking.”

“No.”

“You’re not going to do this, Tsukishima!” Kuroo almost screams at him, until he hears sirens close to his home. 

Tsukishima sighs, and presses his lips against Kuroo’s. “I can’t let Bokuto die because of my selfishness. Please, let me.”

Kuroo tenses at the mention of Bokuto. After all, he’s one of his best friends. He can’t stand to lose any more of his special people.

There’s a slamming, banging noise at the door. Tsukishima and Kuroo are at a loss for action, until the whole door is beaten down, and the house is swarmed with people.

“We have the immune!”

And just like that, Tsukishima is shackled.

Really, he should have expected it. He can’t run from the government forever. It was unfair from the beginning, him versus the world.

But what he doesn’t understand, is why he’s not alone in the van.

“He has nothing to do with this! Let him go!”

Kuroo is beside him, unconscious from the tranquilizing needle. Tsukishima is being kept conscious, so that no chemicals will be in his body when he reaches the research facility. 

“He’s the only one alive who can provide information about you, as of now. We’re keeping him.”

Tsukishima growls. He didn’t give himself up to have Kuroo taken away as well. 

But a small part of him wonders why he’s so angry. It’s a guarantee that Kuroo will be kept safe at the facility, and he’ll be given food and shelter. 

No, Tsukishima dismisses the thought. He’s lost all his trust in the government, ever since they murdered his brother.

“Get on.” 

Tsukishima climbs onto the bed without a word. It’s more of a surgical table, just with a mattress. He’s changed into a simple gown, his clothes thrown in the wash. Kuroo is kept beside him, but they’re separated by a thick glass wall. 

As soon as he lays down in the most comfortable position he can find, he’s shackled and strapped down. 

“What the fuck?”

There’s only one reason they would do this. They’re going to keep him awake, throughout the whole thing. He can’t even turn his head to Kuroo. He’s on his own.

“We’re just going to inject the virus into your bloodstream.” The heavily clothed doctor explains to him. He’s wearing a protective suit, with an unsettling blue colour. It’s a one-piece overall with attached boots, and a hood attached at the neck.

But that’s not all. He’s wearing thick rubber gloves, eye goggles and a surgical mask. There’s even a welding face shield, and it does nothing to ease Tsukishima’s worries.

Tsukishima is usually one to preserve his dignity, but the way he struggles against the shackles is anything but dignified. It’s useless- the needle misses a few times, but the liquid in the syringe is stuck inside him, injecting him with the virus.

He doesn’t exactly know how he’s immune, but there’s only one thing he knows- 

Everything is crushing him, all at once.

His organs are squeezing into themselves, and pushing out of him. There’s a huge pressure in his throat and nose, like they’re closing up. The blood vessels in his eyes burst. 

Blood starts to drip from his nose. It runs down in between his chin, until his head is tilted to the side into a plastic basin. He watches the blood plip-plop into the translucent pink bowl, wondering if Bokuto and his family had experienced the same pain, too.

His throat keeps closing up. 

To his horror, his lungs are failing him, letting out screams of pain with every breath. It’s as if he’s cracked each and every one of his ribs, the bone shards digging into his lungs. They heave and creak, like a door hinge that needs to be oiled.

“I can’t- breathe.”

Tsukishima hiccups, as his throat constricts tighter. 

The bleeding from his nose doesn’t let up, and he starts to cough violently. The air in his lungs is forcefully ejected. He can’t get anything into his lungs. He’s hacking until his throat is scraped raw, and nobody is there to even put a reassuring hand on him.

He coughs so hard he almost gags, clear spit mixing with the bloody mess in the basin. 

For the first time since they attacked his home in Miyagi, Tsukishima is truly terrified.

When he’s finally untied and cleaned up, he’s finally permitted to talk to Kuroo again.

“Are you… okay?”

They both know it’s an idiotic question. Tsukishima can’t bring himself to care, though. Instead, he wraps his arms around Kuroo, sobbing. 

“It hurts, Kuroo-san. I want to go back home.” 

He knows there’s no home for him to go back to. He chokes out cries into Kuroo’s shoulder. They must be punishing him for being selfish.

“You’re not selfish.” Kuroo says, as Tsukishima realises he’s said some of his thoughts out loud. “Don’t worry about that. It’s okay.”

Kuroo is so warm. He’s comfortable to cry on, and Tsukishima appreciates him so much. 

Chapter Text

The simplest things can change someone so drastically, Kuroo thinks.

No, Kuroo knows. He’s been through it multiple times. He reiterates to himself everything that made Kuroo Tetsurou shaped like the person he is now.

In the beginning, he was a lump of clay. A lump of clay to be molded by the hands of love and nurture. That was how it went, really. He was a happy, soft lump, in his parents’ hands.

But he was chipped early. Five-year-old Tetsurou, thrown at the ground multiple times until he cracked. His wrist kept in a cast for a month, and one of his parents signed away with papers. 

At the time, he didn’t know what he had done wrong. He cried and cried, begging for his father to bring his mother back. His throat would be hoarse from crying every night, waking up from the same nightmare that deepened the cracks inside of him.

A few years later, another moulding tool came into his life. 

Kenma, Kozume Kenma. The boy he met when he moved into his new estate. The first person his age to witness him having a breakdown. The one who cried with him after he was told the reason why.

“I don’t know, Kenma. Why didn’t my mama love me?”

Kuroo cried in Kenma’s arms. He didn’t exactly fit in them. But it was the most comforting place he’d ever been in.

“I’m an only child.” Kenma had said, stroking Kuroo’s hair with his small, chubby hands. “I can share.”

For a while, Kuroo would claim that he had three parents.

It’s impossible for him to explain his life without including volleyball. 

Kenma didn’t like sports, but he would always watch him copy the moves he saw on television. Most of the time, the volleyball would end up plopping on his head. After a while, it wasn’t just Kenma in his little world of volleyball.

It was the neighbourhood kids, his middle school teammates, the players from rival schools. They all molded him into a volleyball player-shaped sculpture, hardened from years of experience and losses.

And, of course, his high school teammates and rivals.

The third years know more about him than most of his classmates. It’s partly due to how much he’s bickered with Yaku over what’s better between two everyday options, exposing himself as a cat person with a preference for seaside holidays, and a lot more.

The first and second years all look up to him, or so he likes to think. He can trust Yamamoto to be the ace, and maybe, just maybe, Lev can fill his shoes in a year or two. 

The first years are adorable, and Kuroo’s adopted all of them. Shibayama is Yaku’s kid, and Yaku refuses to share. It’s a shame, really.

“Hey hey hey!”

Bokuto Koutarou, the obnoxiously amazing ace of Fukurodani. 

“Let’s practice! Are you a first year too? Well, come on! What’s the wait? Jump some blocks for me!”

Kuroo had met him at the first training camp he’d gone to, and had been yanked into a strange friendship ever since. And in his second year, a stoic but sharp first year had unofficially married Bokuto.

“Hi, I’m Akaashi Keiji. It’s nice to meet you.”

Bokuto had fawned over him. “Isn’t he just the cutest?”, rubbing his hair. 

“Nice to meet ya, squirt.”

That marked the start of two years, where Bokuto and Kuroo would fool around with Akaashi in every way known to man.

As every tool and every new lump of clay added onto him shaped Kuroo Tetsurou, the cracks and bumps began to smooth out. He felt good about himself, pushing the older, darker memories far inside of him. That way, he could believe that they had disappeared.

But the simplest things can evoke the most foreign emotions inside of him.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re annoying!”

Kuroo doesn’t know where the voice came from, within the crowded hallway. But the tone and pitch are too similar, hitting too close for comfort. It draws out the dark matter from his chest, reaching into the most uncomfortable parts of him. He can feel himself crack more and more.

“Kuro, you okay?”

Kenma’s voice is distorted. His eyes flash with terror, and he barely manages to nod. He can feel his brain shutting down one by one, and his throat tightening. 

“I- I’m fine.” Kuroo swallows. His mouth is dry. His breath starts to whistle. “I just need the bathroom.”

With his poorly-made excuse, Kuroo rushes down the hallway. 

He’s running too fast, he’s bumping into people- he doesn’t care. There’s more and more yelling clogging up his brain. He can’t breathe. His hand clenches against his chest, nails scratching against his skin.

With all the grace of a crumbling statue, Kuroo slams the door and locks himself in a stall.

Tears start to gather at his eyes. He shouldn’t be crying. Damn it all to hell. He’s gotten over it all. He shouldn’t be reviving the feeling of the hand on his wrist. He shouldn’t be thinking of what was said to him.

He violently wipes away the tears, as a shudder passes through him. Short, ragged gasps escape his mouth. He’s having a flashback in a school bathroom, and he can’t control his own thoughts.

“Hey! Hey, everything all right in there?”

Someone is slamming on the door. He doesn’t know who’s knocking, and it doesn’t help at all. It almost sends him straight over the edge. 

A harsh cough tears through his throat. He hates being watched during one of his breakdowns. And he’s in public, knowing he’ll lose it on the spot if he dares come out of the stall. 

The banging on the door grows louder, and it’s sensitive against his ears. They’re filled with static, a broken radio playing the conversations out directly into his brain. He wants to take apart his head, crush the speakers inside him. 

“Stop.” Kuroo protests helplessly, against something so big and ferocious that it knocks the wind out of him. “Please, stop! It hurts, it hurts…”

He’s always had his shit together, which makes it all the more worse when he’s losing it. He feels like he’s going to throw up. The noise, it’s all too much. Huge droplets of tears spill from Kuroo continuously. His eyes and nose are a mess of bodily fluids. 

“Kuro, are you here? Kuro?”

It’s Kenma’s familiar voice. Kuroo fumbles for the lock against his instincts. If it’s just Kenma, he can let him in. He trusts him enough to see him at a time like this.

Kenma stares at him, reaching out gently. “It’s all okay. I’m here, breathe.”

Kuroo only sobs harder. He grabs Kenma’s arm and collapses into him, his breathing choked and painful. The pain is almost too much to bear, even inside Kenma’s warmth.

“I- I don’t want to die,” he cries out, “I’m gonna die, I can’t breathe… Kenma, please, don’t let me die!”

“You can.” Kenma strokes his hair quietly, rocking him in his arms. Kuroo whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s okay. You’re trying your best.”

Kuroo blinks out his tears. Kenma feels good, but he’s also overstimulated to the point of feeling horribly nauseous and achy. His brain seems to burst out of his head, unable to deal with the amount of information. 

His stomach is queasy, and he pitches forward with a gag. The sick, twisted feeling sits deep in his stomach. And it’s anxiety, wriggling inside of him like a parasite. It’s intent on destroying its host. It’s working.

“Kuro, are you feeling sick?”

Kenma only has a few seconds to turn Kuroo around, as he heaves up a thin stream of vomit into the toilet. Kuroo stares around in horror- he’s losing control even more. He’s definitely going to die. He’s not normal any more. 

“It hurts, fuck… Why?” Kuroo’s groan turns into a sob, before his stomach squeezes upwards and he’s puking again. The force of the gag pinches his chest, barely allowing him time to breathe in between the retches. 

“I know it hurts.” Kenma rubs tight circles on Kuroo’s back, whispering into him as the heaves and sobs vibrate his back. “Mm, you’re okay. It’s all okay. We'll go somewhere safer once you’re feeling a bit better, Kuro.”

Kuroo shuts his eyes tightly, but he can still smell the disgusting, putrid stench of acid and half-digested food. He focuses on Kenma’s voice. He’s Kuro, nothing else, nothing less. He’s the Kuro Kenma knows and loves.

“Kenma, I-”

He can’t say anything. His mouth is filled with slime, and he’s exhausted. He collapses into Kenma, groaning at the growing pain in his head. The flashbacks are fading, slowly being replaced with a god-awful migraine of a headache.

With a glimmer of comfort for the first time, Kuroo loses consciousness.

Chapter Text

“Yo, Kindaichi, can you get that cardboard box on the shelf?” Hanamaki pointed to the box, slightly above Kindaichi’s head. “That one there. Is that okay with you?”

Kindaichi surveys the shelf, and reaches for it. “Yeah, I can do it.” He nods, standing on his toes.

Yahaba and Watari clap, as Kindaichi slowly pulls the box towards him. “Whoo, being tall isn’t useful for just volleyball, huh?”

Kyoutani rolls his eyes, letting out a “hmph” noise. Iwaizumi sticks out his lower lip, and Oikawa doesn’t miss it.

“Ha, Iwa-chan’s jealous because he’s short!”

Everyone else in the room freezes, knowing Oikawa’s fate. It’s like a comedy script in front of their eyes. And just like every one of them predicted, Oikawa gets an elbow to the chest.

“Ow! You’re gonna kill me!” Oikawa shrieks, rubbing the area Iwaizumi elbowed. “You’re so mean, Iwa-chan!”

Kindaichi lets out an awkward chuckle, and Kunimi shrugs at him, signalling him to laugh after he’s done with the cardboard box. Kindaichi nods, and pulls the box into his hands.

Only this time, the cardboard slips past his fingers. He’s leaning way too close into it as it falls. The relaxed smile on him turns into a horrified expression, seen by nobody as the box tips over and sends the contents raining down onto his face.

“Ah! It hurts-!”

Kindaichi screams, covering his face with his hands. Around him, books and stationary equipment lay scattered everywhere.

There’s blood running down between his fingers, dripping down onto the floor.

“Oh my god, it hurts!” Kindaichi wails, a pained sob escaping him. “I think something cut my face…”

The first one to run over is Kunimi.

“Kindaichi, are you okay?!” 

Everyone knows he’s not okay, but Kunimi truly doesn’t know what else to say. It’s his best friend, bleeding and sobbing. 

“The blood… There’s just so much blood!”

“Hey, someone, go call an adult!”

There’s utter pandemonium, and Kindaichi is in the middle of it. His cheek stings, wound gaping and dripping blood. Pain radiates throughout his entire face.

Oikawa lays a hand on Kindaichi’s shoulder, gently peeling back his hands from his face. “I’m going to take a look, okay? I won’t hurt you.” 

Kindaichi whines, but doesn’t push Oikawa away as he shushes him and inspects his face for cuts and bruises. When Oikawa’s eyes widen, he starts to sob again.

“Is- is it really that bad, Oikawa-san?”

The rest of his team try not to alter their expressions too much, but Kindaichi’s face is badly cut up. The biggest wound stretches up to the corner of his eye, from just above his lip. It’s not wide enough to harm his eye, but it’ll certainly scar. There are a few small cuts around his brow and cheeks as well, and a bruise forming below his mouth. The skin is broken, and bleeding slightly, red smeared across his skin.

“Come on. We’re going to take you to hospital.” Iwaizumi takes Kindaichi’s hand and leads him out of the club room. “The sooner you get seen to, the better.”

“I’ll come too!” Oikawa hops out before anyone can say otherwise, and Kunimi follows the two. He can’t leave, when his best friend is terrified and upset like that.

Kunimi’s mother drives them all to the hospital. Kindaichi tries to press his hand onto his face in the car, insisting that he’ll make the car dirty with his blood. He tries to look at himself in his phone mirror, but Kunimi stops him.

“You’re going to need stitches for that.” 

The doctor cleans out his wounds, and Kindaichi lets out a squeak of pain with every contact the water makes with his skin. “Will it… Will it leave a scar? Is my face ever going to return to normal?”

“The stitches will minimize the scarring. The wound is pretty deep, but it should heal within a few weeks.”

Kunimi wants to tell him that he’ll always be beautiful, with or without scars, but he knows that’s now what Kindaichi needs right now. So he rubs his knuckles gently, whispering that it’ll be over soon.

“You’re really brave, Kindaichi. I know it hurts, and you’re so strong for dealing with this.” Oikawa comforts him all the while he’s getting stitched up, and he feels like he’s being treated like a child. He doesn’t hate it, though.

But in the end, Kindaichi doesn’t like how he looks in the mirror. Black stitches run down the side of his face, giving him a rough appearance. He knows he doesn’t have the softest expressions on a daily basis, but seeing himself like this hits differently.

“I’m sorry!”

Hanamaki apologizes to him, as soon as he sees him the next day.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to take that box. I’m so sorry.”

Kindaichi feels the tears well up in his swollen eyes again. Hanamaki is willing to take the blame entirely, and Kindaichi knows he wouldn’t mind if he told him it was his fault. But he knows it’ll hurt more if he does that, for both Hanamaki and himself.

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

It only hurts when his classmates and family look at him with eyes full of pity. He’s gotten used to seeing his patched-up face in the mirror after a while. Why can’t they all get used to it, too?

When he gets the stitches removed, he’s told it will leave a scar.

“I’m ugly.”

Kindaichi rubs at his cheek, knowing he shouldn’t. The skin is darker at the site of injury, standing out on his face. He can’t cover it all with a mask, and really, he isn’t even sure if it helps. Other first years avoid him in the hallways. He probably looks like a delinquent to them.

“I don’t see you that way.” Kunimi pats his hair, handing him one of his salted caramels. “And you shouldn’t either, just because of what other people might think.”

Kindaichi nods, popping the caramel into his mouth. It’s almost too sweet for him, but Kunimi loves it. He’s always had a huge sweet tooth.

Kunimi kisses him, without warning. He tosses the surgical mask to the side, and locks him into a sickly-sweet taste of his lips.

“I was tired of not being able to see your face.” Kunimi pouts. “That stupid mask was always getting in the way.”

Kindaichi gulps. He’s missed kissing Kunimi too. It’s the first time they’ve pressed lips together, ever since he injured his face.

Chapter Text

The moment Kuroo lay his eyes on Bokuto for the first time, he felt the spark ignite an unquenchable fire deep inside his chest.

It burned hot, dripping something wax-like into every crevice inside his heart. He let it consume him, blazing embers of passion drawing him like an atom finding its soulmate from the Quark epoch.

“Hey-hey! I’m Bokuto! Bokuto Koutarou!” 

Bokuto had introduced himself to Kuroo straight away, bonding with him as he rattled on about how much he loved spiking and volleyball.

“I’m a wing spiker! They don’t always sub me in, but I’ll be the ace next year.” He explains enthusiastically, eyes burning with excitement. “I’m good at spiking, but I can receive well, too! Wanna practice with me?”

Kuroo lets Bokuto jump up and down while gathering the balls from the crate, serving against the wall. “Why me, though? Like, out of everyone?” He finds himself asking.

“Well… The third years always make me the ballboy! I can’t spike, and I’m bored! Besides, it’s training camp! I gotta bond with you guys from other schools! So…” Bokuto takes Kuroo’s hand. “Will you practice with me, Kuroo?” 

Kuroo doesn’t see why not. “Sure, man. Let’s do this.”

Kuroo can’t believe it. He’s practicing with the one he was drawn to, at first sight. And he seems to touch him more than necessary, high-fiving him and playfully tackling him. 

“You’re great, Kuroo! I knew my instincts were right!” 

“Uh,” Kuroo fans himself, “what instincts, now?”

Bokuto giggles, oblivious to how much Kuroo’s heart is pounding. “I don’t know why, but when I saw you, I felt like I needed to practice with you! It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“We have chemistry.” Kuroo mutters, failing himself in his attempts at being smooth. “There’s something like a magnetic pull between us. You take physics?”

“Nope,” Bokuto says, “I only study biology.”

“Actually, I don’t take physics either.” Kuroo shrugs. “But, y’know…”

I’m flirting with you, he wants to say. He doesn’t say it, but Bokuto gets it. Bokuto is magical, just like that. 

Kuroo presses his hands onto Bokuto’s shoulders, and kisses him. Their eyes are wide open, wandering and settling on each other. Bokuto’s lips are softer than Kuroo ever imagined them to be. 

“Kuroo…” 

His own name escapes Bokuto’s mouth absentmindedly, and Kuroo’s skin bubbles. 

“Tetsu is fine,” Kuroo mutters, cheeks burning.

Bokuto smiles, his eyes shining like a porcelain doll’s. “You’re a good kisser, Tetsu. You have experience with stuff like this?”

“It’s… my first time,” Kuroo admits sheepishly, glad he hadn’t let it show. “You were my first.”

“We’re just made for each other, huh?” Bokuto grins. “Man, I’m sad I never got to meet you sooner.”

Kuroo nods. “Uh, crap. I gotta return to the bedroom soon. Catch you tomorrow morning?”

“Sounds good! See ya later, Tetsu!”

As Kuroo watches Bokuto go his separate way down the hallway, he can’t help reliving the kiss over and over. 

“Oi, Bokuto! Pick the balls up, quit dawdling!”

Kuroo observes Bokuto being yelled at, from the other side of the court. He doesn’t really understand why he’s being forced to do ball duty- Bokuto is talented, anyone can see that with one glance. 

“I’m sorry! I’ll be quicker!” Bokuto apologizes needlessly. 

With every passing second, Kuroo finds himself getting more and more irate. Bokuto shouldn’t be picking things up and bending down on the floor- he should be soaring up high, spiking. He could take the team in his hands and rise even higher with the help of them all.

“Tetsu, can we kiss again?”

Bokuto practices with Kuroo every day, and pleads him for a kiss after each session. Kuroo worries vocally about being sweaty and gross, but Bokuto insists that it doesn’t bother him. So they share something passionate and hot, every night in the gym that’s their sanctuary.

But one night, Bokuto doesn’t ask for a kiss.

He’s not there. Kuroo arrives at the gymnasium, and waits for Bokuto to come. But Bokuto is nowhere to be found.

For a terrifying moment, Kuroo assumes that Bokuto suddenly doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. But no, that can’t be it. Bokuto isn’t that type of person. 

He heads down to Fukurodani’s bedroom, even though it’s not time for sleeping yet. There should be nobody there. 

There’s sobbing coming from under one of the covers.

“Hey, Bokuto, you there?”

Kuroo calls from outside, before stepping inside slowly. There’s a sizable lump under the blankets, and he makes his way there, gently peeling off the fluffy blankets.

Bokuto’s thighs are bleeding. 

“You’re hurt! Dude, what happened? Is everything all right?”

Kuroo wraps an arm around Bokuto’s shoulder, and notices the blood around his fingers and under his nails. 

“I’m not good enough!” Bokuto cries, scratching at his thighs. “I let my team down! Nobody likes me!”

With every statement he makes, he slams his fists into his head, until Kuroo grabs him and forcefully stops his destructive actions. “Stop that, Bokuto!” Kuroo snaps, holding Bokuto’s hands in his own. 

Bokuto’s breathing slows down eventually. He sniffles as Kuroo strokes his hair, wrapping his limbs around him. 

“I’m okay now, Kuroo. You can go.”

“Idiot, you’re still bleeding. Don’t move.” Kuroo whips out some adhesive plasters from his pocket, placing them on Bokuto’s bleeding thighs. “Here we go. What made you do this?”

“I felt like I was ruining everything.” Is Bokuto’s answer. 

Kuroo really, really doesn’t know what to say. But he doesn’t want Bokuto to look like an almost-extinguished flame. 

“You’re gonna be the ace.” Kuroo states, kissing Bokuto’s cheek. “You’re gonna be Fukurodani’s ace, and you’re gonna kick everyone’s ass. And one day, we’re going to face off in nationals, so you better train hard!”

Bokuto lets out a cute, childish laugh. “You’re absolutely right! I’ll kick your ass, so watch-”

Kuroo ends Bokuto’s sentence with his own lips.

Chapter Text

“Ah, Oikawa-san! Hi, Oikawa-san!!”

Hinata spots Oikawa in the distance, waves, and takes off running. He narrowly misses bumping into some people, and slides past buildings as he finally arrives in front of his boyfriend.

“Hey, chibi-chan.”

Hinata leaps into Oikawa’s arms, and he’s soaring, high up in the air. His legs leave the ground, dangling in the air as Oikawa spins him around.

They buy some crepes at a nearby store, and Hinata devours his within seconds. Oikawa offers him another, but he shakes his head, insisting he’s going to bring it back for Natsu.

“What’s… that?”

Oikawa points to a crowd, far away from them. There’s quite a large ruckus going on, and Oikawa tilts his head quizzically. 

“Maybe it’s a new food item?” Hinata suggests, not entirely sure himself. “Should we go check it out?”

It’s not too far away, only a couple of intersections away. “All right. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Oikawa shrugs, following Hinata as he lets him take the lead.

“Ah! I think it’s a boba tea sale-”

Just as Hinata points enthusiastically, Oikawa notices something off, too late. The lights are green, and Hinata scuttles off to cross the road straight away. But the van doesn’t seem to stop at the red light. 

Oikawa freezes. They’re going to collide.

“Oi, Hinata! Watch out!” Oikawa manages to shout, but he’s too late. 

“Huh-?” Hinata turns around, innocent confusion in his eyes. “What’s wro-”

Their hands touch, but it’s not enough to save them.

There’s a collision, and they fly, for a split second. 

And they go down, down, down. 

There’s a nasty crack, and Oikawa notices intense pain in his head. The screaming around him makes it worse. He cracks his eyes open, and feels blood drip past his eyelids. 

“Oh my god! A kid just got run over! Someone, call an ambulance!” 

Oikawa leaps up, his own injuries forgotten. He can tell he’s in horrible shape, judging from the gasps that come from around him. He stumbles, jeans tattered and soaked with blood. 

As soon as he turns around, he notices the pool of blood around a familiar orange clump of hair.

“Hinata! Hey, wake up! You’re not going to die here!

Adrenaline pumps in his veins, as he grabs Hinata’s shoulders. His arm is crushed under rubble, and he strains against it to remove it. It comes out with a sickening crunch, and Oikawa isn’t sure if he made the right decision. 

The amount of blood and gore is unrealistic. Oikawa has only ever seen something like it in a movie, and even then, it’s nothing like it. There’s various bone shards sticking out here and there, and Oikawa cuts his finger on one. He doesn’t know if it’s muscle or tendon, but there’s so many blood-stained, torn pieces of Hinata’s arm, definitely not where they’re meant to be.

“Please, someone, call an ambulance! He needs help!” Oikawa begs the crowd staring at them, his heart deafening and vibrating in his chest. “Someone! Anyone! Help him!” 

Tears mix with his blood and drip on the pavement, as he collapses on his knees. The pain pushed to the back of his mind resurfaces, flaring back into the back of his head and knees scraped with road rash. His eyes roll back as he collapses backwards, slamming his head into the ground.

He wakes up, eyes sticky with dried blood. 

Oikawa looks around hastily. There’s a drip attached to his arm, and he can only assume it’s painkillers. He grips his fists as hard as he can, and ends up demonstrating how weak he is in his current state. 

“Hey!” He calls out, pressing on his button to call the nurse. “Someone! Is anyone there?”

A young nurse comes into his room a few seconds later, but it’s an eternity to Oikawa. As soon as she steps in, Oikawa asks, “Where’s Hinata? Is he alive?”

“Yes, but-“ 

“Take me to his room!” Oikawa demands, stripping off his covers clumsily. “I need to know if he’s safe!”

He ends up in a wheelchair, after his attempts to stand up almost reopens his wounds all over again. He wants to urge the nurse to go faster, but holds his tongue as he’s pushed across the hallway. 

Hinata is in the second room from the right. The room number is 348, burned into Oikawa’s memory the moment he lays eyes on it. He’s groggy from the medication, but not enough to pass out as he scooches into the room.

“Hinata! Are you okay? Your arm-”

Oikawa stops. Hinata is crying, and he doesn’t know how to make it better. 

“The nerve got damaged,” Hinata cries out, staring at the bandages wound tightly around his arm. “I won’t be able to move it properly. I can’t go to nationals like this!”

“Shit.” Oikawa pushes himself forward, wrapping his arms around Hinata’s neck tightly. “I’m so sorry, Hinata. I’m-”

Hinata only sobs harder, but doesn’t push him away. “Don’t apologize. You’re the reason why it didn’t have to get… amputated.”

Oikawa can hardly contain his horror and immense relief. He’s saved Hinata’s arm- but at the same time, he can’t help wondering if he could have done better, helped him not damage his arm so badly.

“You didn’t even wake up for three days. I thought you were dead.” 

“What?!”

Oikawa grabs the phone on the side of the bed, and clicks the power button. Days have passed since the crash, and he’s been unconscious for a good while. No wonder he’s feeling so drained.

“I’m not dead, Hinata! Look. I’m here. I thought you were dead-” 

Hinata smacks him lightly on the chest. “Shut up. Neither of us are dead.” He hugs him tightly, grabbing his face for a kiss.

“I love you so much, Shouyou.”

Oikawa’s hands tremble. He was so close to losing him, losing a valuable part of him. But he’s safe and sound, in the arms of the one he loves.

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

 Exam season isn’t an easy time for anyone, Tsukishima knows that very well.

But even then, Kageyama’s crabbiness is unparalleled. He’s growled at the second years on more than one occasion, and acted un-captain-like dozens of times. Nobody thinks it odd, but Tsukishima isn’t an idiot. He knows Kageyama needs to be talked to. 

“Hey, idiot captain. Why are you acting like you’re running for world’s biggest asshole championships?”

Tsukishima isn’t the best at confrontation, especially when it comes to Kageyama. There’s less of the resentment they had for each other during their first year, but their relationship is far from perfect. Neither are willing to listen to each other’s criticisms with a calm attitude, however right they are. 

“It’s none of your concern.” Kageyama turns away from him, crossing his arms and sighing loudly. “Go away.”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “You have a problem. Admit it. If you don’t use your words, how can we help you?”

“You won’t get it anyway!” Kageyama yells, a little too emotionally. “Just fucking leave me alone. I never asked for your help, okay?”

Kageyama leaves angrily, and Tsukishima rubs the side of his head with a groan. He hadn’t intended to make it go so horribly, but their personalities have never mixed well. It’s not like Kageyama would accept help from anyone, if he could get away with it.

And Tsukishima doesn’t dig any deeper after that. He’s busy with his own exams, and if Kageyama wants to act like he pissed in his milk, then so be it.

“Kageyama, bring it to me!”

Hinata’s spikes are as powerful as ever. The ace of Karasuno- the title fits him, more than Tsukishima would care to admit. His shitty receives have improved over the years, and the freak quick duo have evolved to become the top players in Miyagi- no, the entire Tohoku region.

Kageyama isn’t in top form. His tosses miss the mark more than average, and he stumbles with every receive. But when vice-captain Yamaguchi opens his mouth to say something, Kageyama gives him a look to shut him up. 

Tsukishima fights the urge to roll his eyes. He eyes Kageyama closely, while coaching the first years on how to block. It’s not easy, but he’s gotten better at managing them.

All of a sudden, there’s a high-pitched yell.

“Kageyama! Hey, what's wrong?" 

Tsukishima's head snaps sideways. To his shock, Kageyama is on the floor, curled up and groaning. He dashes towards him without thinking, placing his arms under him to lift him up. 

"Is he feverish, do you think?" Yamaguchi asks, sweeping Kageyama's fringe up. 

“Kageyama, when was the last time you slept?”

Kageyama groans, lifting himself off the floor and rubbing his eyes. “Two days ago…”

“Jesus, Kageyama. No wonder you were intolerable.” Tsukishima heaves a sigh, picking him up and placing him against the wall. “Why were you up so late?”

Kageyama leans back, almost slamming his head. “I need to study… for exams…”

Tsukishima blinks. Kageyama, the book dumb captain, has been studying all night? 

But there’s no reason for Kageyama to lie. It only furthers Tsukishima’s concerns. He doesn’t know as much as he thought about Kageyama, after all. 

“Look, I’ll help you study for your exams. So don’t be pulling all-nighters. No wonder you’re not getting any information retained.” Tsukishima remembers when he’d made Kageyama beg for his tutoring sessions as a first year, but that’s different. They’re on better terms now, and he won’t make fun of Kageyama for his lack of academic skills.

But still, it’s not easy to teach Kageyama everything.

“Right, so when the sentence structure is like this, the verb comes after the noun. You get me?”

Kageyama squints, and shakes his head.

Tsukishima wants to scream. It’s the fourth time he’s explained it through and through, in a way that even a middle school student would understand. But he’s promised himself not to yell or lose his temper, and takes a deep breath to compose himself.

“It’s fine,” Kageyama mutters, “I know you’re pissed at me. I’m mad at myself too. I just- I can’t fail these exams.”

“Look, it’s fine. It’s not the end of the world. We'll figure something out.” Tsukishima reaches for Kageyama’s notebook, and notices it’s tear-stained. A stab of concern hits him. He's irritated at how bad the study session is going, but it's worse for Kageyama, who doesn't even get what he's saying.

Kageyama’s lip trembles, and hot tears drip onto the table. Tsukishima’s words die on his tongue.

“My parents will hit me if I don’t pass all my exams.”

Tsukishima feels the blood drain from his own face. Kageyama’s concern wasn’t about missing training camp. It was about whether he would be abused or not.

“Kageyama. Did you just say your parents hit you?”

Kageyama nods. “I don’t fail on purpose. I’m trying my best, really. I’m just not enough.” Kageyama sniffles, tears running down his cheeks. “I hate this.”

Tsukishima feels guilt seep into his veins. He can't help blaming himself- how come he didn't notice something wasn’t right? Why did he never question why Kageyama would invite nobody to his house?

“Come here.” Tsukishima holds Kageyama’s shoulder, pulling him close into his arms. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault, okay? Don’t be blaming yourself for what your parents did to you.”

That’s what really sets off the waterworks, and Kageyama breaks down into his shoulder, sobbing. He shudders quietly as he cries, and Tsukishima runs his hand down his back, smoothing out the creases in his shirt. 

“I know. It must have been really bad.” Tsukishima whispers, guiding his hand through Kageyama’s hair. “I’m here for you. If you need to stay at my house until the exams are over, you can.”

“I want to stay.” Kageyama pleads quietly. “I don’t want to go back home.”Kageyama wipes his eyes on Tsukishima’s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of his shirt.

Tsukishima’s shoulder is tear-stained and damp, but he continues to pat Kageyama’s back until the sobs gradually stop. Kageyama nestles in his chest, resting his head beside Tsukishima’s heart.

“Thanks.” Kageyama murmurs, and Tsukishima lets out a huff. 

“You don’t need to thank me, captain.”

Tsukishima kisses Kageyama’s knuckles gently. Kageyama lets out a sound akin to a purr, and he loosens, eyes closing as he snoozes and curls up beside him.

“You’re a huge baby, even as a third year.” Tsukishima murmurs, allowing Kageyama to use his legs as a pillow. He had been planning to get some water for Kageyama after his tears had dried out, but he supposes staying like this for a while isn’t bad either, after all. 

Chapter Text

“Yaku! Go get it!”

One moment had cost Yaku his volleyball season. 

His ankle had rolled badly as he landed, leaving him screaming on the floor as he was carried out. Fat tears dripped down his cheeks, ankle throbbing.

“We’ll have you hospitalized for surgery. It’ll take a few weeks, but luckily, it’s completely treatable.”

The doctor’s words don’t comfort him. He should be leading his team to victory, not stewing in a hospital room with a medicinal smell. 

He curses his luck. The only silver lining is that he’s lucky enough to have a room of his own, and he doesn’t have people bothering him every few minutes. He sighs to himself, bored out of his mind. Everything is in ruin, inside his mind.

“Hey, are you new here?”

A grey clump peeks into his room, smiling. The boy’s eyes are a deep green, like the kind at a jewellery store. He waves and straightens up. He’s easily above 190cm, and Yaku gulps. If he could play volleyball, he would be a player with excellent potential. Yaku stops himself, before his volleyball brain takes over. It’s what ended him up here in the first place.

“I’m Yaku Morisuke. I fucked up my ankle and I’m waiting for surgery.” Yaku explains. “I only came here a few days ago, so you’re right. I’m pretty new.”

He’s about to ask why the kid is there, but remembers that he doesn’t even know his name, and asks him that first. 

“What’s your name? Is there anything I should call you?”

“I’m Lev!” Lev grins, patting his chest. “I would be a first year in high school!”

“I’m a third year.” Yaku explains, and Lev’s eyes widen. 

“But you’re so small, Yaku-san!” Lev exclaims, and Yaku resists the urge to kick the stranger in the shin. Just in case he has a condition that would somehow kill him if he got kicked. “You’re really older than me?”

Yaku heaves a sigh. “Where’s your room? Is it near here?”

“It used to be a bit far away.” Lev explains, pointing down the hallway. “On the other side of this floor. I usually just hang about there, but I feel extra good today, so I wanted to explore!”

“Explore?” Yaku wonders how old Lev really is. “This is a hospital, you know.”

“Yeah! Lots of people come and go, so I want to say hi to them.” Lev grins. “It’s always nice to make new friends, even if they go home or go away.”

The last part of the sentence bugs Yaku. It seems as if whatever Lev has is chronic. He begins to wonder what exactly Lev has that’s keeping him in hospital for so long, but doesn’t know how to bring it up without sounding insensitive.

“Anyway, I’ve come here to stay in the room next to you. I’m transferring, actually! So I’m your new neighbour!” Lev adds, making himself comfortable on Yaku’s bed. “You want to eat anything in particular? My parents will get you anything you want!”

Yaku feels uneasy about asking favours from the boy he just met, so he shakes his head. “I’m fine. Your parents seem like nice people, though.”

Lev nods vigorously. “Yeah! I love my mom and dad! My mom’s from Russia, and I have a sister too! She’s called Alisa, and she’s really pretty!”

Yaku can’t help but to notice how childish Lev is for his age, but he doesn’t mind. He listens to him enthusiastically describe his family, smiling and asking him questions about his life outside of hospital.

“I really like playing retro video games, and also watching some volleyball matches! I’ve never played, but it’s a lot of fun to see them!”

“I play for my team, you want to see some videos?” 

Lev nods, sitting beside Yaku as he pulls his phone out for the videos. 

“I’m a libero, so I don’t spike. It’s a receiving-only position, but you can also toss in some instances.” He explains, and Lev nods, watching the video with his face almost pressed to the screen.

“That’s so cool!” Lev giggles, making surprised noises with every receive and spike. It’s been a while since Yaku has seen someone so enthusiastic about watching a volleyball match that’s not even played by professionals. “Yaku-san, you’re a cool libero!”

“Lev-kun?” One of the nurses peeks inside the room, and Lev’s head snaps up. “It’s nice that you’re having fun, but you know what time it is, don’t you?”

Lev stands up with the help of the wall, slowly walking out of Yaku’s room. “Okay! See you later, Yaku-san!”

Lev leaves, and Yaku realizes he’s never asked him why he’s in the hospital. 

“Good morning!” 

Lev waves at him at the door, knocking until Yaku groans and wakes up. 

“What do ya want…?” Yaku sighs. He doesn’t remember why Lev has latched onto him in such a short time frame.

“Let’s play! I’m bored!” Lev pleads, poking the blankets on Yaku.

“Play…? I’m in high school.” Yaku rolls his eyes. He’s too old to be playing with other patients, or so he tells himself. “But we can talk, if you want to.”

“That’s okay!” Lev grins. “What do you wanna talk about? Oh yeah, I never asked you why you’re here!”

Yaku shrugs. “I rolled my ankle playing volleyball. I’m just going to be here for surgery.”

“Aw.” Lev pats him. “Well, get well soon! And come visit me sometimes when you get better. I’ll miss you and your volleyball stories! Oh, I wanna meet your team! Is that okay?”

Yaku nods, his mind thinking Lev’s words strange. He speaks in a way that guarantees Yaku will leave before him. “How long have you been here?”

“About four years.” Lev says, without missing a beat.

Yaku doesn’t want to show it, but his eyes widen inadvertently. “Is your sickness really… bad?” He whispers. 

Lev nods, leaning against Yaku. He’s so much lighter than what Yaku expected from someone his height. “So, I have this mitochondrial disease, and that means some of my organs have shut down. If it gets bad, it might kill me before I’m eighteen.”

Yaku notices Lev’s lip tremble a little, and feels guilty for asking. He’d wondered about his condition, but he didn’t know in any way that it could be fatal.

“And because my stomach doesn’t work, I have to have a tube here so I won’t starve.” Lev explains, in a way that sounds like he’s used to it. He rolls up his gown and points to a port on his stomach.  “Don’t worry about all the scars. I’ve had all those surgeries years ago.”

There are several thick scars on his stomach and his side. All of them have faded into his skin, but are prominent enough to catch his eye. He puts his gown back down with a smile, silently.

“I might disappear one day, but still… If we could be friends, that would be nice.”

Lev extends his hand to Yaku. He can’t imagine the amount of times people would have looked at him with pity and sympathy, because of his circumstances. Really, Yaku is guilty of it too. But he’ll make up for it, he knows. He’ll be the best company he can be.

“Of course, dumbass.”

Lev lights up in an instant, reverting back to his bubbly demeanor. He tackles Yaku into a hug, giggling. “I love you, Yaku-san!”

Chapter Text

Akaashi doesn’t let things get to him. 

He doesn’t care in particular if he’s not the centre of the attention. In fact, he prefers to stay quiet on the right-hand side of a star. 

“Akaashi, I don’t wanna go home! I wanna keep spiking!”

Bokuto is all over him, as usual. The rest of the team shrug at Akaashi, and he submits himself to his fate. He heaves a sigh, unable to say no to the perpetual glittering smile Bokuto has on him.

“All right, but we’re only doing this for another thirty minutes. Then we’re really going home.”

Akaashi nods to his other teammates, who wave at them as they exit the gymnasium. 

“See ya, Akaashi!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bokuto!”

Bokuto high-fives everyone before they leave, and bounces back to Akaashi, picking up the volleyballs scattered on the floor. 

“C’mon, Akaashi! Toss, toss! Bring it over here!” 

With a faint smile and a huff, Akaashi nods. “Well, let’s do this. We only have thirty minutes, so please keep that in mind.”

“I know, I know!” Bokuto stretches his body out and gets ready for a spike. Akaashi sets to him as he leaps, and his hand connects with the ball perfectly.

He lands as the ball slams on the other side of the court, and gives Akaashi a thumbs-up. 

“Hey, hey! I’m the best! Aren’t I, Akaashi?”

Before Akaashi can answer, Bokuto presses his lips against Akaashi’s, pulling away with a playful kissing noise.

“Please warn me before you kiss me. My heart won’t make it.” Akaashi murmurs, clutching at his chest. 

Bokuto peppers kisses all around Akaashi’s face, enjoying every reaction it brings out. “You’re my cute, cute Akaashi! I love you!”

Akaashi lets out a long, drawn-out breath. “I love you too, Bokuto-san.”

They leave the gymnasium, staring at each other shyly. The weather is chilly, but Bokuto doesn’t seem to care, in his t-shirt hopping on the path. Akaashi feels cold in mid-June.

“Oi, you’re Bokuto and Akaashi from Fukurodani, aren’t you?”

A group of students call their names, and they both whip around, cautious of the number of people there are.

“Yeah, why…?” Bokuto murmurs, stepping in front of Akaashi protectively. 

In less than a second, Bokuto is on the ground, groaning and pressing his hand to his side. 

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi cries out, taking off on a run towards Bokuto. But he’s pulled back by the fabric of his jacket, and lands on the ground roughly. “Stop! We haven’t done anything to you guys!”

“You’re only a fucking second-rate school. Don’t be getting so cocky!” 

One of the students pins Akaashi down with his foot, grinding his shoe into his back until there’s an imprint with pebbles on the white school jersey.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Bokuto screams and grabs at the air, but he’s punched again, and he falls on his back helplessly. “Fuck off!”

Akaashi struggles against the hold on him, but it’s futile. Several different, strong people are pinning him to the ground, forcing him to watch helplessly as Bokuto is punched and kicked.

“Stop it, please!” Akaashi struggles against the hold, as Bokuto cries out with every punch and kick aimed at him. “Please…”

“Shut up, you pest.” One of the men punches Akaashi’s mouth, and he tastes blood. “I’m sick of your screaming.”

A tooth tumbles out of Akaashi’s mouth, along with a clump of blood. His gums sting, and it feels cold and empty where he lost his tooth. He spits out bloody spit on the ground, coughing.

He doesn’t want to die. He hates being defenseless, unable to even save Bokuto as he’s being beaten up. A crack rings through the air as a blow lands on Bokuto’s leg. It’s followed by an ear-piercing howl, and blood begins to pool around his ace.

Akaashi hears sirens in the distance. He wishes they were for him, but he knows it’s not possible. They’re not in a place where people would spot them. 

“Hey! Are you guys all right?!”

There’s someone on a white motorcycle, throwing off their helmet and reaching for Akaashi’s hand. 

Akaashi shakily takes it, but he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He loses consciousness, his head lolling back as he feels his strength leave him.

“Keiji! Keiji, are you all right? Are you in pain anywhere?”

Akaashi wakes up to his mother fussing over him, caressing his bandaged face. His mouth stings, and he runs his tongue around until he realizes his missing tooth. He holds back the urge to curse.

“Where’s Bokuto-san?”

Akaashi can barely talk above a whisper, but he needs to know where Bokuto is. He wriggles out of bed, relieved that he’s not connected to any drip or pain remedies. He should be all right. Bokuto comes first.

As soon as he locates Bokuto’s room, he hears sobbing, and his heart stops.

“He won’t… recall anything.”

Bokuto’s mother falls to the ground sobbing, and Akaashi can’t find the words to say to her. But Bokuto stares straight at him, wriggling out of bed and touching his face.

“Akaashi? What happened? Why are you hurt?” Bokuto asks, as if nothing’s wrong. “What happened? Who are all these people?” 

“We were going home from volleyball, and-”

Bokuto squints at Akaashi. “Volleyball? Why? Were we watching a match?”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi opens his mouth, slowly, “what is the last thing you remember?”

Bokuto thinks hard, looking around at all the faces around him. “I think… You’re my friend, we eat lunch all the time, and…” He slowly blinks, staring at Akaashi. “I can’t remember. What happened between then and now?”

It finally dawns on Akaashi that Bokuto remembers absolutely nothing, except for his presence. He doesn’t know Bokuto Koutarou, the ace of Fukurodani. He only knows Akaashi, and that he's a source of safety and comfort.

But Akaashi isn’t going to give up. Not until the goofy wing spiker is back.

“Bokuto-san, you were the ace.”

Chapter Text

Sugawara’s phone vibrates in the middle of the night, and he checks the time, groaning. 

“Three fifteen? Jesus Christ, what the fuck is up?”

He checks the caller ID, and finds out that it’s Kageyama. If his boyfriend is calling him at such an ungodly time, something has to be wrong. There aren’t many things that go right at this hour.

“Hey.” Sugawara picks up the call, sitting at his desk with his assignment papers. “What’s up, Kageyama? You feeling okay?”

Kageyama mumbles something, and clears his throat. “Sugawara-san, I… just missed hearing your voice, that’s all.”

Sugawara breaks into a laugh. “Wait, really? This is three in the morning, you know! Exams gotten to your head already?”

Kageyama exhales quietly. “I guess. Um… Stay with me, please. Just for a few minutes.” He pleads, and Sugawara can’t say no to him.

“All right. Remember, I love you very much. I’ll always be here for you.”

“I love you too, Sugawara-san.” Kageyama says. It’s a rare occasion- he usually turns away blushing whenever Sugawara tries to get sappy with him.

Sugawara giggles. “Hey, stop being adorable. I’m meant to be the cute one.” He jokes. Really, he thinks Kageyama is the most wholesome, sweet boyfriend ever.

“But it’s true. I love you.” Kageyama whispers, coughing faintly. “I wish I could stay beside you forever.”

Sugawara tilts his head. “There’s no forever in this universe. But I’ll promise you this, Kageyama. I’ll give you my forever.”

“Thank you.” Kageyama’s voice is quieter, now. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

The call ends, and Sugawara is left with warmth in his chest. He falls asleep at his desk, with his phone next to his head. 

He’s shaken awake by his mother, after a few hours of sleep.

“Koushi! There was a train accident near here, did you see?”

His mother thrusts her phone in his face, and the station name catches his eye.

“That’s the station Kageyama always uses… He called me, a few hours ago.”

It can’t be, Sugawara thinks. He picks up his phone and dials Kageyama, waiting impatiently for an answer. 

After two, three, six calls, Kageyama doesn’t pick up.

He heads downstairs and turns on the television. It’s only six in the morning, but the morning news is already on. He flicks through the channels, all of them playing out the same story. The devastating train crash that injured above fifty and killed ten and counting.

It can’t be a coincidence that Kageyama had called him, at three in the morning. And the more he thinks about his words, the more ominous they seem. As if he’d already realized he would never see Sugawara again.

“Dumbass Kageyama, you’re meant to be calling your mom first…”

Sugawara really, really hopes his instincts aren’t correct.

He heads to school, hoping that he’ll see Kageyama practicing his tosses. In the gymnasium, there’s only Hinata and Daichi. 

“Did you hear about the train crash a few hours ago?” Hinata asks him, staring at his phone. “Kageyama won’t return my calls… Do you know if he’s safe?”

Sugawara can’t bring himself to believe it. “He’s all right. He has to be.” He says, attempting to convince himself. 

A few days later, he’s standing beside his boyfriend in a casket.

“What the fuck? Kageyama, wake up! We’re meant to be practicing for nationals!”

Hinata is crying into Yamaguchi’s shoulder, while Tsukishima turns away from them, wiping his tears. Tanaka and Noya are covering their faces with their hands, sobbing. 

Daichi’s arm rests on Sugawara’s shoulder heavily. Asahi’s face is a mess of tears, and Sugawara, for once, can’t bring himself to tease him. He’s lost his teammate. 

“Kageyama…”

On the way home, Sugawara finds himself muttering his name. He wonders how Kageyama would act if he attended a funeral, completely disregarding the fact that he’s just been to Kageyama’s.

He was rather quiet, throughout the whole thing. It’s foreign, seeing Kageyama laying in a coffin with tons of flowers. And having it all burned and cremated, to put under the earth.

Sugawara attends practice. He needs to be there for his other teammates. They all have the same aura, ever since the funeral. They randomly lash out and cry, making for a practice that’s not at all productive. Sugawara has to help them.

“Hey, let’s at least get changed. We can’t play in our uniforms.”

Everyone’s heads turn to Sugawara slowly. They all stare at him, as if he’s something to fear. Sugawara puts on his best smile, and grabs the uniform closest to him.

Kageyama’s scent comes floating through the air, stroking his cheek. It’s the scent that will eventually disappear, leaving Sugawara without even a trace of his boyfriend. It’s as if someone cut the strings of a piano, one with sounds that could never be replicated.

“Kageyama…”

Sugawara feels something creep up his throat, pressing against his chest. It’s dawned on him at last. Kageyama is never going to come back. He won’t ever glance at him shyly. He won’t ever wear his jersey.

Tears spill from his eyes, and he presses Kageyama’s uniform close to his face. It’s as if he’s clinging on Kageyama’s soul, trying to drag him back to earth. He really hasn’t been coping. He’s just kept running away, hoping the grief would eventually disappear on its own.

“Why? Why did he have to go?” He cries out, as Daichi and Asahi rush to hug him tightly. “It’s not fair! He still had so much more to see and do! He can’t just…”

Sugawara wails loudly, slumping to the floor. His underclassmen flock to him too, grabbing onto him as they cry. His limbs are warm with everyone clinging onto him. Someone’s stroking his hair, and wiping his tears.

Everyone is alive, and it only emphasises how Kageyama-less everything is.

It’s the first time he’s cried, about losing his boyfriend and teammate. He shouldn’t be all right about any of this. He should be crying and screaming, begging for a miracle that’s never going to happen.

It’s not productive or useful, but it’s what he needs right now. He’s mourning the loss of someone he loves. He can’t forget the last conversation he had with him.

But he’s happy, that he’d been able to talk to him, be there for his final moments. Maybe he was a comfort, even if he couldn’t bring him back from the dead. That’s what he wants to believe.

Chapter Text

The door clicks open, and Iwaizumi flinches against his restraints. 

It’s that damn guess monster again, the freakishly experienced torture enthusiast.

“Hi, Hajime-chan. You doing well?” Tendou hums, dragging his spiked baseball bat along the stained floor. 

Iwaizumi glares at him wordlessly. He’s covered in cuts and burns, injuries just deep enough to burn with every movement and sting as he sleeps.

“You’re a demon.” Iwaizumi hisses. And he means it. He refuses to believe a human like him could be so thoroughly interested in the torture of another person.

“Now, come on. You’re acting like I’m a mass murderer!” Tendou puffs out his cheeks, swinging his bat around with no regards to its close proximity to Iwaizumi’s face. “I don’t kill people! Torturing dead people is no fun. Like beating a dead horse, but literally.”

Ignoring Iwaizumi’s snarl, Tendou whips out a sheet of paper. It has three vertical lines, and several horizontal and diagonal lines to make it look like a maze of some sorts, with three possible outcomes.

“Pick one path to start with. It might just determine your fate, so choose carefully~!”

The ‘outcomes’ at the bottom are hidden, and Iwaizumi realizes he’s being toyed with. He needs to choose wisely, but there are virtually no clues that point to anything. It’s pure guesswork. 

And every time his finger drifts and stops on one, Tendou’s expressions only grow more animated and excited. He grunts, tapping on the line in the middle. “This one. Get it over with.” 

“All right, then!” Tendou nods, tracing down the line and going left and right, according to the horizontal and diagonal lines scattered between the three lines. It’s like a maze, where doom awaits at the exit. 

He unfolds the paper, to display Iwaizumi’s fate. Huge red letters are scrawled across the entire page, laughing at the illusion of choice Iwaizumi had been given. 

WATERBOARDING

“Hey, don’t glare at me like that.” Tendou grins, sickeningly sweet. “I was just playing! After all, you’re so rigid, Hajime-chan. It’s time to expect the unexpected.” 

Childish laughter pops out of Tendou’s mouth, like a child who’s pulled a mischievous prank on their peers. Even as a merciless assailant, Tendou has a way of conducting himself that reminds Iwaizumi of an innocent child. He’s a little boy, ripping apart a helpless insect he’s found.

“You son of a bitch!” Iwaizumi screams hoarsely. His hair is grabbed and yanked on, then let go so suddenly he slams his head against the wall. There’s a ringing at the back of his head, as he groans at the annoying pain. 

“Ah, ah.” Tendou shakes his head and wags his finger playfully. “I never said you could talk. Or maybe you need a little something to shut you up?” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the devilish grin Tendou gives him, before tying a thick cloth against his face tightly. He cries out into the fabric, but Tendou only nods along, as if he understands.

“Come on, Hajime-chan. Mortal danger isn’t an excuse to be rude. You’re a guest.”

Iwaizumi feels himself getting tied down at the ankles and knees, as well as his wrists and elbows. He struggles against the added restraints, but it’s no good.

Tendou grabs a watering can, painted intricately with something dark red. He pours a liberal amount of water onto Iwaizumi’s face, humming a song about breaking people’s resolves.

Iwaizumi feels the cloth getting drenched, and everything becomes uncomfortable. Slowly, slowly, water cascades up his nose, soaking him through and through. He inhales too hard, and his nostrils burn. He coughs against the towel, robbed of all sight.

There’s nothing but the pacing of Tendou’s heeled shoes, for about a minute. But the water is dumped on him again, before he can allow relief to take over. And this time, it doesn’t stop.

It fills Iwaizumi’s lungs, seeps into every pore, every wrinkle in his skin. His lungs are exploding, pressure building up like a balloon that’s about to burst. His face seems to swell, as if he’s being strangled.

“You know,” Tendou whispers, as he flips the watering can upside down and allows the remaining water to hit Iwaizumi’s face. “I truly admire your work. We could have been great comrades if we were in the same group. Don’t take any of this personally.”

Iwaizumi lets out a muffled scream. Bad idea, he realizes immediately. As soon as he inhales, the water scratches at his throat, irritating every lining inside of him.

Tendou brings down the heel of his shoe down onto Iwaizumi’s chest. A thump echoes inside Iwaizumi’s chest, and all air is forced out his lungs, replacing it with more fluid that drowns him on dry land.

All of a sudden, the damp, drenched towel is whipped off, and Iwaizumi sees his pathetic, terrified self in Tendou’s glassy eyes. 

Iwaizumi coughs up the water, almost choking on his own spit. Tendou grabs his hair without a word, holding him up by his hair as he hacks violently. The coughs morph into gags, and all the water in his system is painfully forced out of him. 

Tendou shakes his head, smile still present on his contented face. He’s enjoying this. A nasty chill runs up Iwaizumi’s spine.

Iwaizumi vomits onto the cold floor, tears collecting in his eyes. It burns even worse, everything- from his nose to his lungs, filled to the alveoli with water. 

“God, Hajime-chan. How hapless you are.” Tendou twirls the wet towel on his finger, sending splotches of water plipping onto Iwaizumi’s face. He flinches hard, and Tendou doesn’t miss it. “Aw, is the water scaring you?”

With a jovial laugh, Tendou squeezes the towel as hard as he can, sending all the liquid splashing down Iwaizumi’s face and into his nose and mouth.

Iwaizumi loses all ability to breathe again, coughing and breathing in between gasps. He could have avoided inhaling so much water, but he’s already learned helplessness. 

“Get away,” Iwaizumi rasps out, voice pleading, “fucking get away from me.”

Tendou draws closer, loosening Iwaizumi’s restraints. But Iwaizumi is much too weak to stand, never mind escape. He can only glower at Tendou helplessly.

Tendou giggles, enjoying the expressions he gets to draw out of Iwaizumi. Ones nobody has ever seen, except him. “You’re so fun to play with, Hajime-chan. You’re just a plaything now.”

Before Iwaizumi can retort, Tendou pulls away, giggling and dragging his metal bat with him as he leaves. He can’t even deny anything, before the metal double-doors shut with a clang.

After he’s finally left alone, the tears fall from Iwaizumi’s eyes. He can’t bear it anymore. He wants to be with Oikawa and his family again. They need to rescue him. He’s in constant pain, fearing for his life once he’s finished being toyed with.

He sobs angrily into his palms, wounds stinging from where the ropes bit into him. He can hardly believe he’s being tortured to the point of mental breakdowns. He’s meant to be the dependable, fearless Iwaizumi.

But now, he would bow to anyone, spit out any secret if he’s pushed any further. Thankfully, it’s not information that Tendou wants, so he can rule out the possibility of bringing his team down. But he’s reduced to a pet, an insect to be picked apart and tortured on the whims of a human. 

He fears for his sanity, each and every day.

Chapter Text

It’s a little hard to breathe.

Daishou realizes, but it’s way too late to do anything about it. The bus ride is already halfway done, and everyone is asleep except him. 

He decides to sleep it off, too. Kuguri snores, and it’s loud. He’s drooling on Numai’s shoulder, who is too far into his sleep to care. Akama and Seguro are huddled together on each other’s shoulders. Hiroo is leaning his head on his enamelled bag, beside him. 

It’s nothing bad, he assures himself over and over, but it can’t be anxiety. He’s a third year. Training camps are nothing to be afraid of.

There’s only one other possibility left, and he doesn’t want to think about it. 

Asthma. 

Daishou hasn’t told anyone on his team, although not on purpose. He hasn’t had an attack in years. The rare times it has acted up, it wasn’t enough to render him bedridden.

As a child, Daishou would often be ridiculed for bringing his inhaler to school. He would explain that it was for his health, that he needed it because it was his medicine. But the embarrassment was still there, for every time he had to explain himself.

And he needed it, no doubt. He would often skip physical education classes, sitting in the corner reading a book. A few times a year, he would be having bad attacks that made him breathless and throwing up from the violent coughing.

But he’s moved on from that, now. He isn’t going to be sick like that again. He’s definitely not about to have an attack, without his medication.

“Well, well, well.”

Kuroo locks his eyes on him, once he gets out of the bus. 

“It’s the venomous snake, huh?” Kuroo crosses his arms, grinning. “I can’t wait to peel your scales off, one by one.”

Daishou hisses, temporarily forgetting that he’s not in optimal condition. “I’ll declaw you before you get your paws on me, stray cat.”

The two stare each other down, with all the grace of two feral animals at an abandoned alleyway. That is, until Yaku and Hiroo yank them back with a sigh.

“Looking forward to seeing ya cry!” 

Kuroo grins, showing his teeth. Daishou sticks out his tongue, in response.

“Come on, Daishou. We’re warming up.” 

Daishou nods. He’s now a captain, and he needs to take control of his teammates. They’re not a rowdy bunch, and he’s made sure to hammer it into them the ways of Nohebi.

And with no girlfriend to impress, Daishou knows he can be as cunning and dirty as he wants, on and off the court.

The back of his throat tickles, as he does his stretches and calls out the counts for the exercises. He finds himself clearing his throat more than once as he’s giving his team a pep talk, but nobody thinks it odd or asks him what’s wrong. They know he hates being fussed over, and Daishou is thankful for that.

“Let’s have a good match!”

He shakes hands with Kuroo, flinching when he grips his hand too hard. “Bastard,” he hisses, before heading back to his own side of the court.

The scores are 2-1 to Nekoma. Daishou pretends he’s not bothered, but it’s harder to keep up his good sportsmanship act when Kuroo is doing a “cat dance” in front of him. He flips him off, heading over to the next team he’s up against.

Daishou isn’t in top game at all, but his team is competent enough to lift the scores for him. His body’s condition only worsens, though. He muffles chesty coughs in his hand with every passing second, almost choking on his rice during dinner.

The relief that comes with bedtime is unreal. He lays down and falls asleep within seconds, all energy spent from breathing too heavily in between the matches. He can hear the underclassmen chattering next to him, but he can’t bring himself to care.

In the middle of the night, Daishou wakes up with a tightness in his chest.

He’s screwed, he realizes immediately. When he takes in a shaky breath, he feels it whistle in his chest. He needs to get to the nurse’s office.

Not wanting to wake anyone, Daishou muffles the coughing in his palm, grimacing. He wriggles out of the futon in his t-shirt and shorts. There’s a weight pressing down on his chest, squeezing out the air in his lungs.

With every cough and hack, the wheezing in his throat grows worse. Another tickle in his throat forces more coughing out of him. 

Daishou wants to swear, but he can’t spare any extra air he has in his lungs. He slithers out of the room, coughing up thick mucus and blinking out tears.

He manages to walk four or five steps, until exhaustion gets the better of him. He slumps down against the wall, propping himself up as another fit of hacking rips itself from his lungs.

“Hey, you okay there?” A voice comes from his left, and Daishou squints. It’s Kuroo, the shithead who will definitely remind him of this for a long time to come. But also the shithead he desperately needs help from.

Daishou glares at him, asking with his eyes if he really looks okay to him. “Fuck, Kuroo-” he clears his throat, once the coughing lets up. “Need some-”

Kuroo approaches him calmly, pressing his ear to Daishou’s back. “You have asthma? Do you have any medication on you?”

Daishou shakes his head, a cough rattling his chest. Kuroo rubs his back in gentle circles, whispering to him that he’s going to be all right.

“I’ll take you to the nurse’s office. I’m sure they’ll have an inhaler in the first aid kit.” Kuroo says, reaching out underneath Daishou to pick him up and carry him on his back. 

Daishou his hot all over, and he’s sure Kuroo thinks he’s gross, sweating buckets onto his back and coughing wetly on his shoulder. But Kuroo only murmurs reassurances, not complaining once as he carries Daishou to the nurse’s office.

“Here we go.” Kuroo sets Daishou down on the bed, using pillows to keep his back steady. As Daishou struggles to breathe with every wheeze passing through him, Kuroo digs out an inhaler from the first aid box.

The inhaler is pressed to Daishou’s palm. He doesn’t even have the ability to thank Kuroo, as he presses the device against his mouth and pushes the button to release the medicine. A pleasant, familiar puff of cold air enters his mouth. His breathing changes noticeably.

“You’re doing great.” Kuroo strokes Daishou’s hair, hand tapping his back rhythmically. He should be hating this. Hating Kuroo’s stupid voice in his ear. But something prevents him from slapping his hand away with a biting remark, besides his crappy lungs.

Daishou focuses on his breathing, leaning his head onto Kuroo’s shoulder when the whistling in his chest finally disappears. “Thanks, jerk,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around Kuroo. He’s broad-shouldered and comfortable. Daishou grows drowsy.

“Anytime, sunshine.” Kuroo whips back, sarcastic but gentle in tone. 

Chapter Text

“Bokuto-san?”

Akaashi extends a hand to Bokuto, who won’t move from the corner of the room. He flinches at the slightest movements, hitting his elbow against the wall. 

“No.” Bokuto shakes his head defiantly, curling into himself and scratching at his arms until the cuts reopen and bleed. “No! Don’t come near me!”

“I won’t hurt you, all right?” Akaashi whispers, keeping his distance so that Bokuto will have the chance to approach him first. “I’m safe. You won’t be hurt.”

Bokuto anxiously waits for Akaashi to do something, but the pain and violence never comes. Instead, he stares at him with kind, patient eyes.

But he’s not comfortable enough to trust him, and slinks back into his corner.

Akaashi only nods. “Okay. If you don’t want to do this right now, it’s all right.”

Bokuto’s eyes are filled with confusion. He’s anticipated pain, from the look on his face. He can’t comprehend Akaashi’s actions. To him, he is unpredictable.

Akaashi leaves, grabs a plate of vegetable broth, and sets it down a couple of steps in front of Bokuto.

“It’s okay.” Akaashi nods at the plate of food, as Bokuto approaches it with uncertainty. “This is yours. You can eat it.”

Bokuto grabs it, quick as a flash, and gulps down the entire soup in a few mouthfuls. 

“Hey, you’ll get sick if you eat so quick.” Akaashi adds hastily, and Bokuto pushes himself against the corner again, trembling. “I’m not angry. I don’t want you to be sick, that’s all.”

Bokuto blinks, lifting his head from his knees. “...Why?”

Akaashi steps over to him, sitting beside him to maintain eye level. “You were abused. They shouldn’t have done that to you.” He explains patiently. Whatever they had done, Bokuto refuses to talk about it. But it had been more than enough to damage him, pushing him into a hard shell.

“But-” Bokuto sobs, refusing to believe it. “It was my fault. It’s my fault. I ate without permission. That’s why they… took away my privileges.”

This is new information. Akaashi nods, allowing Bokuto to do the talking.

“They kept hitting me with the kitchen utensils.” Bokuto explains. “I must have done something horrible.”

“Like what? What could you have possibly done to deserve that?” Akaashi reaches for Bokuto’s trembling shoulder, locking eyes with him before wrapping his arm around him gently.

Bokuto shrugs. “I’m selfish. I don’t pull my load in the home. The only way I can learn about the real world is if I get some sense beaten into me.” His mouth goes on autopilot, parroting the words repeated to him.

“No.” Akaashi shakes his head, rubbing Bokuto’s shoulder lightly. “None of that is true. They might have told you that, but nobody else thinks so. Not me, not the team, not any of our friends.” 

“If I just apologize-”

Akaashi’s eyes widen. “You are not going back there. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m not letting you put yourself in danger again.”

Bokuto only cries into his arms, hugging him tight. He coughs on his tears and trembles as he sniffs, and Akaashi strokes his hair to comfort him.

He holds Bokuto close to him, protective of his best friend. “It’s okay. Let it all out, Bokuto-san. I’m here.”

With a shaky smile, Bokuto nods and lays his head on Akaashi’s chest.

“I need to get my things from there.”

Bokuto admits, a few days after he’s settled into the Akaashi residency.

Akaashi doesn’t need to ask where. Bokuto had come to his house in the middle of the night with the bare minimum, bleeding and disheveled. He would rather take a bullet than send Bokuto there, but it’s unfair for him to lose all his things because of his shitty situation.

Akaashi’s mother puts them both in her car, and Akaashi strokes Bokuto’s knuckles as the car’s engine starts up. Bokuto looks like he’s about to throw up, but he doesn’t say a word to anyone until the car pulls up beside the house.

Akaashi steps in front of him, ringing the doorbell. Bokuto is visibly shaking, breaths quick and shallow.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Bokuto jumps when the door is answered, clenching on Akaashi’s hand. “I’m here to get my stuff. I’m not going to come back here.” He gulps, taking a step forward. “Like it or not, I paid for them. I’m taking what’s mine and leaving.”

The man grunts, but allows Akaashi and Bokuto in. “Get the fuck out of my house when you’re done. I never want to see you again.”

Akaashi lets Bokuto take the lead, navigating through the house and grabbing all the items that belong to him. They stuff a few backpacks full of clothes and trinkets, before Bokuto chucks an old t-shirt into the packed bag and nods. 

For the first time in days, Akaashi notices a genuine smile on Bokuto’s lips.

“I’m done. I’m done with this place.” Bokuto whispers, racing down the stairs as loud as he can. “I’m free.”

“Get the fuck out, you fucking piece of garbage.” 

Akaashi flinches at the tone, but Bokuto doesn’t. He stares straight ahead, eyes clear and determined.

“I will, dad.”

Bokuto places the three bags on him all at once, standing at the doorstep. 

“I tried so hard to be the son you wanted to be. But you abused me and told me it’s all my fault.” He says calmly. “But I know it’s bullshit. You couldn’t have anything better to do other than beating your son. I hope you rot in hell and enjoy knowing you won’t ever talk to your son again.”

In the moment Akaashi sees Bokuto’s face, he notices its radiant beauty. It was a face of strength and tragedy, the most beautiful face he’s ever seen.

And immediately after, Bokuto grabs Akaashi’s hand and bolts the door. He’s buzzing with excitement. He’s got everything off his chest.

“C’mon, Akaashi! We gotta run!”

Bokuto flings the car door open, leaping inside without even fastening his seatbelt. Akaashi follows him hastily, slamming the doors shut, cancelling out the yelling. Bokuto laughs as the string of abuse fades away into the distance. 

Akaashi smiles, as Bokuto giggles until he can’t breathe. His laugh is loud, as he hugs his backpack and embraces Akaashi tightly.

“Thanks for sticking with me, Akaashi.”

Chapter Text

“Bleeerugh! You’re nasty, Kuroo!”

Bokuto spits and hacks, as he finds a dirty sock stuffed in his water bottle. He dumps the murky water onto Kuroo’s head, groaning and hawking.

“Ha, I got you! I got you good, Bokuto!” Kuroo guffaws, ugly giggles popping out of him. “You drank sock juice- fuck!” He swears, as he slams into the door frame from his lack of attention to his surroundings.

Bokuto falls down to the floor cackling, as Kuroo rubs his head with a groan. Their teammates roll their eyes at their respective captains, wondering how childish they can really get.

“Come on, Bokuto-san. We’re going.” Akaashi grabs Bokuto’s hand, dragging him off without letting the scene escalate. Bokuto sticks his tongue out at Kuroo, before stomping off with his vice captain.

Yaku glances at Kuroo, and throws a shoe at him. “You’re way too childish, Kuroo. You want to trade captain position with me?”

“Liberos can’t be captains, so suck on my fat ass.” Kuroo blows a raspberry.

Yaku kicks him hard on the ass, earning an awkward laugh from his teammates.

x

Bokuto sits on his bed, giggling as he holds a small bottle in his hand.

“...What is that, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, expression already exhausted at his antics. “Please, don’t tell me you’re going to use it on Kuroo.”

Bokuto waves it in Akaashi’s face with a grin. “It’s ipecac syrup! I’m totally gonna make him spew on the court. It’ll be great!”

“No, Bokuto-san. It will not be great.” Akaashi takes the little bottle from Bokuto, shaking his head disapprovingly. He’s dealt with puke on the court before, and it’s been the furthest thing from ‘great’ there is.

Nevertheless, Bokuto isn’t discouraged. If anything, his smile only widens at Akaashi’s disapproval. To Bokuto, it’s not a true prank until Akaashi rolls his eyes and gives a futile attempt to stop him.

“Right, so I’m going to pop this into Kuroo’s bottle, and I’ll be real careful about it.” Bokuto whispers the plan excitedly, grabbing the side of Akaashi’s face and forcing him to listen. “...And it won’t be too much, so he’ll think it’s just food poisoning. He won’t know what hit him!”

Akaashi heaves a sigh, burying his face into his hands. When Bokuto sets his mind onto something, there’s very little that will deter him.

Hopefully, he won’t be the one cleaning up Kuroo’s vomit.

x

The next day, Bokuto can’t stop glancing at Kuroo during practice. He averts his eyes before Kuroo notices every time, but Akaashi can’t help heaving a sigh at him. He’s a loveable idiot, but he really can be an idiot. 

“Akaashi, toss! Give me a toss!”

Thankfully, Bokuto gets stuck into practice, and Akaashi doesn’t need to worry about him anymore. In fact, he’s doing amazing, and Akaashi exerts himself extra hard, just to keep up with him.

“I need a break,” Akaashi wheezes out, scuttling off to take a drink out of his bottle. He gulps down the water without a word, exhaling sharply as he returns to Bokuto.

Bokuto glances at Kuroo, squinting. His eyes widen, once he realizes something.

“What is it, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto turns to Akaashi, pale. 

“It wasn’t the bottle I put it in.”

Akaashi sighs. “Hopefully, they won’t know what happened. This is why you shouldn’t engage in these prank wars, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto deflates a little, and nods. “Let’s go practice, Akaashi.” His conscience is clearly aching, and Akaashi decides he’s learned his lesson.

But also, he can’t help but to notice a strange sensation in his stomach. It’s like a coil, twisting and turning inside him. He pushes past it, tossing and receiving with Bokuto and his other teammates.

Akaashi’s stomach bubbles, but he’s adamant on ignoring it. He’s good at focusing, so he does exactly that- analyzing his teammates, his own tosses. He refuses to admit that there’s something wrong.

As soon as they sit down for another break, Akaashi feels the nausea push against his chest like a wave. The slight queasiness has evolved into the “I need to puke” feeling. He scans his brain hastily for what could have caused it, and the image of Bokuto holding the tiny bottle of ipecac syrup comes to mind.

Biting back the urge to swear, Akaashi grabs Bokuto and drags him off to the side.

“What did the bottle look like?”

Bokuto’s eyes dart from side to side, confusion setting into him. “It was green, and had these two white stripes! I thought it was-”

Akaashi’s brows knit together. It’s exactly what his bottle looks like. “I think I drank out of it.” 

“Are you serious, Akaashi?” Bokuto slaps his face with his hand, as Akaashi hiccups quietly. “Oh man, I’m sorry! I didn’t want this to happen!”

Akaashi needs to leave the gymnasium, and fast. He dashes out and races through the hallway, keeping one closed fist pressed against his mouth. 

“Kuroo!” Bokuto screeches, as he takes off running after Akaashi. “This is all your fault!”

“Hah?! How has this got to do with anything I did?!”

Akaashi reaches the bathrooms and falls to his knees, retching hard. It doesn’t take long before warm, brown vomit pours from his mouth. It’s every bit as disgusting as it can get, and he cringes at the stench that fills his nostrils.

“I’m sorry.” Bokuto looks like he’s about to cry, as he rubs Akaashi’s back. Akaashi only responds with a groan, before a wet noise at the back of his throat signals the start of another round. “You’re sick, Akaashi… I’m sorry…”

Akaashi wants to fire off a sarcastic comment, but he doesn’t need to. Bokuto whimpers under his judgemental gaze, shrinking further.

Kuroo glances at Bokuto and Akaashi, thoroughly confused. “I really don’t get what’s going on. What, did you eat something nasty?”

Akaashi points an accusatory finger at Kuroo. “Bokuto-san was planning to prank you with ipecac syrup. And it somehow ended up in my bottle.”

Kuroo’s face goes blank for a moment. And then, a grin takes over him.

“You self-destructed, ha! You fucking dumbass!” Kuroo points to Bokuto and doubles over laughing, while Akaashi shoots a death glare at him. 

“If anything like this happens again, I’ll skin both of you and hang you by the thumbs on my washing line.”

Akaashi truly means what he says, at least until Kuroo and Bokuto bring him some extra onigri as a token of their apologies.

Chapter Text

Akaashi’s eyes crack open.

Immense exhaustion takes over immediately. His brain feels like it’s filled with liquid, sloshing around like someone’s shaking it. A dull pressure lies on his arms, and he recalls what had happened last before everything went pitch black.

He looks down at his arms. They are bandaged and connected to an intravenous fluid bag, something he’d only seen on TV before. His eyelids are heavy and sticky, but he’s alert.

He remembers, how he’d cut his arms so deep the tendons were showing. How he was too disgusted with himself to even care about the burning pain. He can’t see how much his wounds have healed physically. Mentally? Not at all.

Akaashi is tempted to rip out the IV drips and scratch at his wounds until he bleeds to death, but he’s too fatigued to even clench his fists. If only he could have died, he thinks. But he’s still alive. The pain and exhaustion and the sheets touching his cheek are all real.

There’s a feeling akin to relief, that he attempts to push down. He shouldn’t be relieved he’s still alive. He’s even failed at killing himself.

“Akaashi Keiji-san, right?”

The nurse takes his name and age, asking him what he remembers. He doesn’t want to answer, because he’s tired and he just wants them to knock him out again so he can go to sleep.

Silent tears drip from his eyes. He sobs against his pillow, hiccuping and choking on his breath. He’d prepared everything- the note, the courage, the method. It was meant to be foolproof.

But he hadn’t chosen to jump off somewhere, or into a speeding train. Perhaps, he really didn’t want to die after all. And he doesn’t think he can attempt again, immediately after being discharged.

For now, though, he just wants to sleep.

A few days after being admitted, he learns that he’s being kept inpatient for some weeks. He knows it best himself- he’s not normal. He’s labelled crazy enough to be in hospital for his brain. He could have tried really hard to give non-depressed answers, but he didn’t. He just couldn’t do it. He’d been acting like nothing was wrong for weeks, and there’s no point in pretending he’s all right in a hospital meant to treat the “not okay” parts of him.

The breakdowns hit him fast. It’s an overwhelming sense of dread, mixed with endless questions of death and reality. He wakes up shivering after dreaming of death. The thing he desperately craved now haunts him day to day, mocking him for his cowardice. He sees himself run over by trains, crushed to death in car accidents, hanging from a rope devoid of colour. He wakes up wanting to vomit.

“Hey, you new here?”

When he’s finally stable enough to join the other patients at breakfast, a young man greets him with a wave. Akaashi thinks it’s a young man, but he could be anywhere between ages fifteen and thirty. The eye bags are so prominent that Akaashi barely registers his unique bedhead.

“I’m Akaashi Keiji, and I’m seventeen. I was admitted about a week ago.” Akaashi explains, sitting down with a yoghurt cup and small onigiri, with some freshly cut fruit.

The man nods at him understandingly, popping his orange juice carton open with the sharp end of his straw. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m a third year in high school.”

Akaashi tries not to let his surprise show. Kuroo certainly looks sick, for a lack of better term. His arms sting as he tries to eat, but it’s not enough to make him stop. He needs some food in his stomach.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone about your age here.” Kuroo smiles at him, taking a bite of his fish. “How are you finding the food here? I think it’s one of the better ones, considering that it’s a mental hospital. If you have any questions, fire away. I’m pretty used to this place again.”

“Have you been here… for long?” Akaashi asks, picking up some things by Kuroo’s body language and choice of words.

Kuroo shrugs. “A few months. I have schizophrenia, and it got pretty bad recently. My parents didn’t really want to deal with me, after I threw my food at the wall and ran out of the house.”

Akaashi blinks, not being able to do anything besides nod. “That sounds difficult, Kuroo-san.”

“It’s not pleasant, but it’s less horrible lately. Sorry if you’re not into this heavy shit. Kids in my school loved it though. Well, until I freaked out because I thought they were trying to steal my memories.”

“Students can be horrible.” Akaashi nods. “There’s only so many symptoms you can show, before you become annoying to them. They told me I was faking it for attention, and now I’m here. Maybe they’ll send some bullshit apology card over, that I’ll rip up and chuck in the bin.”

Kuroo smiles ruefully at him, eating his own breakfast. “Tell me about it. Kids are sure evil sometimes. My best friend couldn’t go to school for a while because of bullying. He’d just throw up if he was forced outside the house.”

“I…” Akaashi murmurs, almost choking on his food. “I tried to kill myself. But now, I’m really scared of dying. I get nightmares about dying, and I wake up terrified. It’s very strange.”

Kuroo doesn’t give him that weak look of sympathy. He instead takes Akaashi’s trembling hand, placing his own calloused hand over it.

“Was living unbearable to you?” He asks, sharing his warmth with Akaashi. “I’m familiar with the feeling of wanting to just fuck off this earth, man. And it took a long time for me to realize I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to feel safe and… disease-free.”

Kuroo’s words touch him in a way nobody has ever done before. They don’t stare at him from a safe distance, watching him as he squirms, barely alive. Kuroo is in the gutter with him, but still extending a hand to him. His words are raw and real, like a fresh wound. He’s not pushing him to believe, or to improve himself.

“I really understand what you mean.” Akaashi stares at his bandaged arms. They hurt, because he’s alive. He’s here with Kuroo, because he’s alive.

“I don’t know your reasons, but I’m glad you’re here.” Kuroo smiles, and Akaahsi can tell it’s genuine. He doesn’t feel any annoyance towards him. “I gotta go. I have a one-on-one session pretty early today.”

Kuroo hops out of his seat, carrying his tray and retreating back to his room. Akaashi rubs his eyes, fatigue suddenly getting to him.

A day later, Akaashi sees Kuroo in his room, door open. There are no nurses inside, and he assumes it’s all right for him to enter.

“Hello. It’s Akaashi, from yesterday.” Akaashi knocks nervously, peeking his head in. “Is it all right if I come in?”

Kuroo lifts his head slowly, waving his hand. “I’m not really feeling great, but if you don’t mind that, sure.”

Akaashi doesn’t know what to say. He’s not like Kuroo. “Would talking help in any way?”

“You want to hear me complain about how everything sucks?” Kuroo laughs. “You’re funny,     Akaashi Keiji.”

Akaashi shrugs. “You listened to me talk about my failed attempt at suicide.”

Kuroo wraps an arm around Akaashi with a soft exhale. “You’re a good guy, Akaashi.” He ruffles his hair. “I never actually had any attempts, but that’s because they were too loud. There are people talking in my head, every single damn second.”

“What kind of things do they say?”

“Like…” Kuroo groans, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck you, you’re worthless. There’s poison in that and you need to throw it away. There’s bugs inside your arm. You’re too worthless to spend money on a funeral for. A lot of things.”

The lights are dimmed, but Kuroo still slinks further into his blankets, groaning. Akaashi rubs the human-shaped lump from over the covers, hoping he’s helping in some way.

“Thanks.” Kuroo murmurs, along with some words that Akaashi doesn’t catch. He continues to rub Kuroo’s back as he whispers to him, smiling. He’s made a new friend, somehow.

Chapter Text

Goshiki was so sure he was going to die.

His parents had already gone without him, leaving him alone. He didn’t know how to survive on his own. They had told him it was all right, they would all get through this together. They lied to him. They had bled out and died, somewhere on the streets. He never saw them again after they went out for supplies.

“Fuck.”

He’d fallen on the debris outside, trying to gather food for himself. His knee is bleeding profusely, but he wants to avoid staying outside for a long time. So he carries himself through the streets, wincing at the stinging pain and struggling through the fatigue.

He hasn’t even had the time to process any grief, at all. Every day is a fight to stay alive, to cling onto his hopes in a dystopian world. He’s not sure he wants to, but he doesn’t want to waste the efforts of his parents. And a naive part of him reminds him that maybe he can reunite with his friends again, one day.

“Hey! Hey, you!” A voice comes from far away, and Goshiki shakily turns his head. “You’re injured! Everything all right?!”

A young, tall kid runs up to him with a box of medical supplies, taking him by the hand and leading him to an abandoned-looking hospital.

Half of the rooms are in ruin, that much doesn’t surprise Goshiki. But what does, is the fact that the other half are in use, treating people who are injured or diseased.

“I didn’t know they were still… working.” Goshiki looks around, sitting on the bed as people in dark teal uniforms rush around with supplies. They must be the nurses, he thinks.

“Sakunami-kun! I found him on the streets, and he’s hurt!” The boy calls out to another young nurse, shorter and with dark hair. 

“Ah, Koganegawa-kun! I was worried!” The boy named Sakunami sighs, wringing his hands and handing latex gloves to Koganegawa. “You just ran off without saying anything!”

“I was on lunch break!” Koganegawa whines, popping open the first aid kit and starting to disinfect Goshiki’s knee. “There, there. You’re gonna be okay, kid.”

“I’m not much younger than you.” Goshiki mutters, blushing hard at Koganegawa’s words. “I’m Koganegawa Kanji! I’m volunteering here!” Koganegawa introduces himself, ignoring Goshiki’s words completely. “And… what’s your name? Where are you from?”

“I’m Goshiki Tsutomu. I used to go to Shiratorizawa High School.” He misses the second and third years. They’re all gone or missing, and Goshiki couldn’t even say goodbye to him. 

“Oi, dumbass!” Another voice calls out, and Koganegawa jumps. “What did I say about leaving the place without saying anything?”

“Gah! I’m sorry, Futakuchi-senpai! I’ll go and run a mile-”

A brunette, pale-faced nurse grabs Koganegawa and kicks him in the shin. Goshiki feels a stab of guilt. 

“He- he was helping me!” Goshiki stands up for the nurse quickly. “Please don’t get angry at him…”

He slumps down on the bed, eyes watery and breathing quick and shallow. There’s something wrong with him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Goshiki?” Koganegawa presses a hand to his forehead, patting his shoulder. “Crap, he’s burning up! We have to move him, Futakuchi-senpai!!”

“I’m not your senpai!” Futakuchi grumbles, lifting Goshiki in his arms with ease and carrying him out of the room. “Jesus Christ.”

Goshiki trembles in Futakuchi’s grip, as Koganegawa hurriedly follows them to a quarantine room. “Um, I’ll take care of him!” Koganegawa puts on some more protection gear, adding in a welding shield. 

“I’m trusting you.” Futakuchi sighs, leaving Koganegawa to care for Goshiki.

Koganegawa places Goshiki on the bed, and Goshiki fights back the urge to laugh when a welding shield peers into his face. But there’s liquid at the back of his throat, and he hiccups, bringing up a thin stream of blood all over the sheets and the pillow.

“Oh.” Koganegawa struggles not to say more. “Hey, stay with me. I won’t let anything happen to you!” He rubs Goshiki’s back gently as he throws up more blood, this time in a small plastic bowl that Koganegawa managed to grab from the equipment tray.

This is it, Goshiki thinks. He’s going to die, for certain.

He grips Koganegawa’s sleeve, letting out a sob as blood drips from his chin. His head suddenly hurts horribly, as if someone is squeezing it tight.

“You’re not going to die! I’m here!” Koganegawa reaches for a bag full of liquid, confident hands attaching it to Goshiki’s arm via IV. “You’re going to feel really tired soon, but that’s the medicine doing its job.”

The tears don’t stop streaming down his cheeks. “Mom…” Goshiki whispers in between sobs. “I want my mom…”

And immediately afterwards, he loses consciousness. 

He wakes up to a voice humming songs beside him, patting him as he breathes. He’s boiling with fever, and he cracks his eyes open to see Koganegawa.

“Feeling any better?”

Goshiki shakes his head. “My head hurts. And my throat…”

Koganegawa changes the ice pack on his forehead, taking his temperature under his arm. “The medicine isn’t a complete cure, but it stops the disease from killing the host. They won’t give it out in mass quantities, so Kamasaki-san broke in and stole some from the headquarters.”

Goshiki doesn’t really process what Koganegawa is saying to him, but it fills the blanks. He allows him to do the talking, and rubs his eyes exhaustedly.

Koganegawa is pretty. Goshiki blinks out the tears in his eyes, and stares up at him as he tells the story of how he decided to become a volunteer, and how Futakuchi always scolds him for being a little air-headed.

Goshiki isn’t sure if he should be hearing this, but Koganegawa doesn’t seem to be a complete disaster of a person. He did save his life, after all. 

“If you ever want anything to drink, tell me!” Koganegawa offers him with a kind smile. 

Goshiki shakes his head. “I’m fine for now. I just need to sleep.”

“Okay. Press this button if you need me, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

Koganegawa steps out of the room, leaving Goshiki alone. He feels lonely without him. He’s not used to being sick and alone. His parents would care for him, bring him warm barley tea and rice gruel. But those warm hands aren’t there anymore, and Goshiki is truly dependant on the nurses. He hiccups, finding tears pricking at his eyes again. He hates crying in front of people, but crying alone is even worse. 

He wishes Koganegawa would come back soon.

Chapter Text

A sharp pain spreads out into his leg. 

In theory, the injury could have been classified as rather dumb. After all, Kageyama had just dragged his leg across a sharp corner of the coffee table. It was cut up pretty badly, and blood dripped down onto the white fluffy rug beneath.

He could berate himself for being stupid, but more importantly, he needs to clean out the wound. He won’t deny the stupid part that got him into the mess in the first place. But he knows a good deal about first aid, and he’s sure he won’t let it get infected.

He washes out the cut in the bathroom, wincing as the water hits his bleeding leg. The stinging worsens with every passing moment, even as he dulls the sensation with cold water.

Kageyama takes out a bottle of disinfectant and soaks a small gauze pad with it, applying it to his leg. It burns. He needs to clean it thoroughly, so he pushes through it and puts a bandage around it.

The injury is above his knee. He can hide it with his volleyball shorts, so he won’t be seen with a bandage around his leg during practice. He lets out a sigh of relief, heading to his room to watch some past matches on video.

The next morning, the stinging worsens. Kageyama wakes up to find his bandages soaked. 

He groans, peeling back the now-useless dressing. The cut doesn’t look any better. It’s red and swollen, and touching it hurts more than he likes to admit. Still, it doesn’t stop him from heading out of the house early for a morning run.

It only gets worse after he’s gone around the perimeter of his neighbourhood and to his school. 

“Kageyama! Hey!”

Hinata waves at him, greeting everyone good morning as he throws a volleyball in the air and catches it. 

Kageyama mumbles a good morning, putting on his supporters and wincing at the contact his shorts make with his injury. It’s only morning practice, but it puts him off, and he develops his grumpy attitude quickly enough.

“Idiot, watch the ball!” Kageyama yells, as Hinata flubs a receive and sends the ball flying off the court. “We’re doing this again.”

Hinata makes a dissatisfied face at him, but nods. “Fine. I’ll try and receive your serve again.”

Kageyama throws the ball in the air and jump serves, slamming his hand against it hard to distract himself. Hinata surprisingly keeps it in the air, and Kageyama only emits a grunt.

“Wasn’t that amazing, Kageyama?” Hinata grins, clapping his hands. “Hey, I received your jump serve!”

“You did it once. You need to be able to do it during a match.” Kageyama grumbles, the stinging in his leg advancing his grouchiness a step further. 

Hinata lets out an “Ehh?”, picking up the volleyball and heading to Kageyama’s side of the court.

“C’mon, Kageyama! Let’s practice our tosses!”

Kageyama’s injury doesn’t get better.

There’s red streaks running down his leg, some poking out of his volleyball shorts. His skin his hot to the touch, and pain shoots down with every step he takes.

During evening practice, he feels dizziness and a strange warmth inside his head.

He tosses to Asahi, Hinata and Tsukishima, but none of them feel right. He’d yelled at Hinata to get his head in the game, but there was no way it was everyone’s bad day. It was Kageyama’s, plain and simple.

“Hey, everything okay?”

Daichi reaches for Kageyama, who flinches but doesn’t swat him away.

“It’s just… a minor injury. I took care of it.” Kageyama murmurs, but he almost falls over from the wave of dizziness that hits him. His own shoes sway with the floor.

“You’re feverish.” Daichi holds Kageyama’s hand and walks him off the court, sitting him down at the benches.

“Is he okay?” Sugawara hops off the court and joins them, while Hinata calls out to Kageyama and rushes to his aid. “Whoa, uh. Your leg is pretty swollen.”

Sugawara unwraps the bandage with gentle hands, and cringes. Kageyama stares at his leg, and tries not to throw up. It’s oozing infection, and swollen beyond belief. Hinata and Tsukishima groan at the sight.

“What, you got your leg infected? That’s just foul, Kageyama.” Tsukishima cringes.

“I washed it out!” Kageyama strikes back, angry that Tsukishima thinks he would have just let it fester. “I thought it was fine.”

“It’s not fine, clearly.” Tsukishima sighs. “I’ll get some water, Sugawara-san.”

Sugawara nods, waving at him as a thanks. “You know not to let it happen again, yeah?”

Kageyama closes his eyes, head leaning to and fro until he’s about to fall asleep.

Tsukishima rubs some water into Kageyama’s wound, sighing as Kageyama groans in pain. “Come on, now, King. It’s not going to hurt for long, so deal with it.” His hands are careful and gentle, unlike his words. Kageyama is too busy blinking out the drowsiness to feel any humiliation from the ordeal. 

Sugawara places a cold patch on his forehead to help with the discomfort. “Should I phone your parents?” He asks, and Kageyama shakes his head.

“They’re not going to come. They’re in another… prefecture.” Kageyama explains. He’s been home alone for the past three days, and he was meant to be fine, until his wound decided to get infected.

 “Oh,” Suga sighs, and turns to Daichi. “Do you think we could have him stay at one of our houses?”

“My mom can come pick him up!” Hinata pipes up, holding his flip phone. It’s outdated, but works surprisingly well. 

Kageyama is carried out of the gymnasium after a couple of minutes, into Hinata’s mom’s car. A worried Natsu keeps asking him what’s wrong, while Hinata attempts to quieten her down.

“Don’t worry about anything, Kageyama! You can’t help it if you’re feeling unwell.” Hinata pats him on the back, reassuring him and opening the windows to cool him down.

“Thanks,” Kageyama mutters, head bobbing unsteadily until Hinata offers him his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No apologizing!”

Hinata huffs at him, ruffling his hair and leaving it sticking up everywhere. 

Chapter Text

If there’s a god somewhere up there, Kenma is certain that he’s done something to offend it.

His stomach growls angrily, in the middle of the night. He squeezes his eyes shut, praying that it’ll pass. After the initial reaction of “God, I really wish I’m not sick”, Kenma whines as a cramp stabs his stomach.

He presses his fist to his mouth, groaning. His face his hot, but chills flash down his back, and bubbles form on his skin. He pretends not to acknowledge it. It’s the typical sick person feeling, he knows.

He wriggles out of bed, trembling as the cold air hits him at once. He’s swaying so much he can barely stand. The clock reads 7:24. There’s no way he can go to school.

“Kuro…”

Kenma grabs his phone and dials Kuroo’s number. He doesn’t like making phone calls at all, but it’s an emergency, and he’d rather go through that than suffer on his own.

Kuroo picks up, and Kenma hears him yawn. He feels a stab of guilt for probably waking him up, but the twist of pain in his stomach erases that rather quickly.

“What’s up?” Kuroo asks, voice heavy with sleep. 

Kenma trembles into his bedsheets, sweat forming at his brow. “I don’t feel well. Come over…” He pleads, breathing heavy and ragged.

“Shit, your parents aren’t home, are they?” Kuroo whispers, although Kenma’s certain he would come over whether they were there or not. “Where does it hurt? Want me to bring anything?”

“My head hurts, and my stomach feels weird too.” Kenma’s voice is almost gone from the pain and disorientation. “Kuro…”

Kuroo’s voice is soothing, even if he’s not actually beside him. “Poor kitten,” he hums, murmuring reassurances to him. Kenma momentarily forgets about the awful churning in his stomach and the fever running inside his head. “I’m gonna be there soon. Unlock the door for me, okay?”

Kenma ends the call, heaving his bones out of bed and clicking the door lock open so that Kuroo can get in. It’s only been a few minutes, but it’s already become exponentially harder for him to move. He returns to bed and pulls the covers up, shivering violently in his t-shirt. 

Kuroo arrives after way too long, opening the door and allowing himself in. “Kenma, you in the bedroom?” He calls out, making his way down the hallway. He cracks open the bedroom door, and Kenma slowly lifts his head to meet his gaze.

“Kuro, my head hurts…” Kenma murmurs, rubbing his eyes like a child. 

Kuroo sweeps Kenma’s fringe up, feeling the warmth on his forehead. “You’re running a fever, for certain. Have you taken your temperature?”

Kenma shakes his head. He doesn’t want to know how sick he is.

“Really don’t feel good…” Kenma reaches out to Kuroo, head pounding. “It hurts.”

Kuroo sits on the bed, cradling Kenma in his arms and rubbing small circles on his back. He’s always done so, since childhood. He’s a good caretaker when Kenma gets sick, which is quite often. But he’s not always this bad.

Kenma’s stomach gurgles painfully, and his cheeks burn with humiliation. But Kuroo doesn’t mention anything, and keeps reassuring him. 

“Need any extra blankets? You cold or thirsty?”

Kenma shakes his head. “I don’t want to eat or drink anything.”

Kuroo nods sympathetically, stroking his hair. “Yeah, I get you. But you can’t get dehydrated, okay? You’re sweating a shit ton, Kenma.”

And it’s uncomfortable. His clothes are drenched, and his stomach feels so bloated and miserable. Kuroo’s hand rests on his stomach gently, and he’s not putting any pressure on it, but it hurts.

“Maybe get some sleep, darling. Do you want me to get a fever patch?”

“No.” Kenma grabs Kuroo’s hand, heaving a hot sigh. “I just want to stop feeling sick.”

Kuroo massages Kenma’s hand, as he closes his eyes and lays his head on the pillow. His hands are sweaty and gross, but Kuroo doesn’t let go. He falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Kuroo isn’t there.

His body is heavy and boiling, and something is swelling inside his stomach, To his horror, Kenma realizes that the nauseous ache in his gut hits so much worse. His stomach churns, its contents bubbling rapidly. He needs to puke badly, and his mouth waters rapidly.

If only Kuroo was there, he wishes hard. But he’s nowhere to be found, and Kenma starts to doubt whether he even was there in the first place. He’s too out of it to raise his voice, and he’s certain he’ll throw up if he opens his mouth right now.

Kenma straightens himself as much as he can, placing one hand on the blankets and peeling them off his sticky skin. His legs tremble like jelly once he feels the ground with them. 

As soon as he tries to get off the bed, he feels the contents of his stomach push upwards. He doesn’t vomit, but there’s something stuck in his chest, and it’s like he needs to dislodge it.

Another wave of nausea presses down on his chest. He covers his mouth with his palms, but he just can’t hold it in anymore. A painful gag tears from his throat, and he vomits a mess of half-digested food down his t-shirt and shorts. It drips onto the bedsheets and the floor, and there’s a loud ringing in his ears.

Kenma thinks every one of his stomach muscles are out to kill him. The force of the retch throws him forward, his cheeks swelling with vomit that spurts out of him in a thin stream. It’s coating his tongue, and when he takes in a breath from his nose, the disgusting taste fills his mouth.

Once the bout of vomiting stops, he breathes hard into his dirty hands. His whole torso hurts from the heaving, and his throat is scraped raw. He doesn’t feel any better after throwing up, but only air comes up when he heaves a last time.

As tears cloud his vision, realization dawns on him. He’s sitting in his own puke, delirious from fever. 

“Oh, shit.” Kuroo whispers, entering Kenma’s room after presumably hearing him lose his dinner all over himself. “Do you still feel nauseous? Here, stay in the bathroom for a bit. I’ll get everything cleaned up.”

“I’m sorry.” Kenma coughs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. 

Kuroo picks him up with ease, taking care not to jostle him. “I wasn’t asking for an apology, kitten.” He’s way too close to his face, and Kenma knows he smells foul. But he doesn’t have the energy to swat him away, and so he lets Kuroo get him changed, and he’s soon  as freshened up as a feverish and pukey high school student can get. 

"Does your stomach still hurt?" Kuroo asks worriedly, placing Kenma back under the blankets. "If it gets worse, we'll go to a hospital, okay?"

Kenma nods, too sick to refuse. "Okay.”

Kuroo piles some more blankets on top of Kenma, wrapping him in with a hot water bottle. “I know you’re feeling sick and it sucks. I’m here for you, yeah?”

Kenma presses the hot water bottle against his cramping stomach. It feels warm, and soothing against the upset organ. 

“Try and get some rest, baby.” Kuroo changes the fever patch on Kenma’s forehead, rubbing the back of his hand on his cheek.

It’s enough to comfort Kenma, and he slips into unconsciousness as Kuroo rubs his shoulder and whispers to him quietly.

He wakes up again not even an hour later, panting with fever. He can’t even go to sleep without waking up sicker. His mouth is heavy with spit, and he can only look around for a basin before a shudder jars him.

“Hey, easy. I’ve got you.” Kuroo is there this time, rubbing his back supportively. He knows he’s trying to help, but when he’s about to throw up, it’s less relieving.

“I-” Kenma hiccups, curling his arms around his middle. “I’m gonna be-”

A wet cough brings up some vomit, splattering the bowl placed under his chin. 

“It’s okay. I understand, you’re sick.” Kuroo’s hand moves up and down on his back as he vomits harshly. A violent belch is forced out of him, and his face burns with humiliation. Kuroo only squeezes his hand, getting his bangs out of the way.

“It hurts,” Kenma sobs, not sick enough to lose his self-consciousness. “I don’t wanna throw up…”

“You have to try and get it all up. Keeping it in your stomach is gonna hurt more.” Kuroo shushes him. 

He’s not a big eater, but his stomach tries to prove otherwise. It’s as if he’s throwing up everything he’s ever eaten within the past three days. Mouthful after mouthful of acidic liquid spurts out his mouth, making a mess in the bowl. It’s deadly quiet, except for the gross noises that come out of his mouth.

As Kuroo grabs a towel nearby to wipe Kenma’s mouth, he coughs into the bowl, eyes red and bloodshot. He hates being seen like this, even if he did call Kuroo for help.

“Please, just go.” Kenma shudders, sobs shaking him as he whimpers. “Don’t look at me. This- this is so gross.” Tears fall from his cheeks.

Kuroo takes the bowl away from Kenma, setting down a glass of water on the table. “I don’t care if you’re gross or puking, Kenma. All I care about is you feeling better.” He wraps an arm around Kenma’s shoulder, taking care not to squeeze too hard. 

Heat radiates off Kenma’s feverish body, and Kuroo hums to him to encourage him to rest. “Love you, kitten.”

Kenma knows better than to kiss him, but he really, honestly wants to. “Lov’ you too, Kuro.”

He closes his eyes, and nuzzles his face into Kuroo’s chest.

Chapter Text

With a weak whimper, Hinata curls up into his deep red, bushy tail.

It’s cold, and rainy. His least favourite weather. And when he’s alone and shivering, it sucks even worse. 

His cardboard box is getting drenched, and he has no roof above his head. He wants to go to a shelter, but he’s certain someone will sell him off if he comes into contact with them. After all, cat hybrids are rare, and are sold at a high price in the market.

He’s made a promise to himself, to never be caught by the auction-goers. He’s heard all the tales about those illegal auctions. The bids grow and grow, and when he’s sold to a rich owner, he’ll never see the light of day again. 

Hinata shudders from the cold weather. The sky is overcast with dark grey and black clouds, moving slowly like turtles. 

He misses his family. He’d lost Natsu when he had been taken away once. He had escaped into a train, and that was the last he’d seen of his hometown.

And now, he’s drenched to the bone with rain, sneezing into his palms. Being cold and wet is horrible on its own, but being alone is the worst part of it all. 

If he had someone with him, he would be able to huddle and cuddle, absorbing each other’s heat. They could reassure each other and dream of amazing utopias. Even if it were to never happen, imagination would get them far. His fantasies are a lot more tragic when he has nobody to share them with. Everyone has abandoned him.

Puddles begin to form around him, as he shakes the water droplets off his cardboard box. His face is wet with rain, dripping down his skin relentlessly.

“A cat…?”

There’s a kid beside him, taller than him. He’s wearing a hooded coat with ears, and he crouches down to Hinata’s level.

Hinata’s tail twitches, swishing from side to side. “Who- who are you?” He whispers, scuttling backwards. “Why are you here?”

“You’re alone and dripping wet. Also, you’ll get found by the traders soon if you stay here.”

The boy offers his hand with a sigh, sticking it in front of Hinata until he takes it uncertainly. 

“And why are you helping me?”

The boy peels off his hood for a split second, revealing his own pale yellow ears that point downwards. 

“Now, come on. We don’t have all day. I’m Tsukishima Kei, who are you?” Tsukishima grabs Hinata’s hand and wraps a scarf around his ears, instructing him to tuck his tail in somewhere and hide himself.

“Shouyou. I’m called Hinata Shouyou!” Hinata exclaims, allowing Tsukishima to guide him to somewhere else.

Tsukishima smiles at him, taking off into a sprint. “We don’t have all the time in the world. They’re waiting for me.”

Hinata is taken to a hidden mansion in the middle of the forest, with a gate and a security panel attached to it. He isn’t tall enough to reach the pad, but Tsukishima is. 

When Tsukishima types in the code, the gate unlocks, but it doesn’t open. Instead, a panel opens up on the pad, revealing a speaker.

“Is this Tsukishima?”

“Yes. I found one. He’s a cat hybrid.” Tsukishima answers, and the gates swing open. Hinata’s knees buckle, but Tsukishima holds his hand, and steps inside the gates. “I won’t do anything bad to you. Relax.”

Hinata isn’t sure about his decision, but he nods, glancing around the premises to see where he can make a quick exit.

The front door opens, and a young man with black feathers across his back catches his eye. His hair is light grey, and his eyes are a kind brown.

“Hello. I’m Sugawara Koushi, but the people around here call me Suga-san.” Sugawawa holds out a hand to Hinata. “This is a safe place for us hybrids to live quietly, until it’s not as dangerous anymore.”

“They… won’t come here?”

“No. This place is secluded and usually guarded. This is the safest place you can be.” Sugawara takes him inside, leading him to the bathrooms. “You should scrub yourself off and rest your body in the bathtub. Tsukishima, get some clothes for him.”

Tsukishima takes off his coat and scampers off, leaving Hinata without even facing him. 

“Don’t worry. He’s just shy.” Sugawara laughs, handing Hinata a towel. 

Hinata nods, allowing himself to let his guard down in front of the kind man. “Thank you!”

He shucks off his ragged clothes and leaps into the bath, screaming at the scalding hot temperature and scuttling out immediately afterwards. “It’s hot!” He squeals, shivers coursing through his tail.

A laugh comes from outside the door. “Be careful, get used to it first.”

Hinata dips the tip of his foot into the water cautiously. A high-pitched meow escapes him as he feels the warmth spread into his toes, but it’s a bearable amount of heat. He slowly sinks his legs into the bath, standing in the swirling warm water.

A smile slowly appears on his face, as he sinks down until he’s up to his shoulders in the water. He hasn’t felt this clean in ages. He scrubs himself with the liquid soap, washing off the suds with a happy little sigh.

He dries himself off with a towel, opening the door to look for the clothes left out for him. He finds a baggy shirt and pajama bottoms, neatly folded and placed in front of the door.

“Feeling refreshed?” Sugawara nods at him, drying off his hair with a towel. “You have the most beautiful ears, kiddo. What can I call you?”

“Shouyou!” Hinata replies enthusiastically, tail swishing so much the droplets go in all directions. 

Tsukishima and another boy with dark, droopy ears stare at him from the corner of the hallway, without saying a word. 

“That’s Kageyama Tobio, beside Kei.” Sugawara points to the boys, who leap up and hide behind the door frame. “The other kids went to the hill to play. Go say hi. They won’t bite!”

Hinata nods, dashing over to Kageyama without second thought. “Hi! I’m Hinata Shouyou! I met Tsukishima earlier, but it’s the first time meeting you! Hi!”

Kageyama murmurs a hello, hiding behind Sugawara and clutching his t-shirt. “Tobio, he’s not gonna bite!” Sugawara laughs, patting his head.

Tsukishima sneaks up behind Kageyama with a water gun, squirting him with the bath water he filled the gun with.

“Ah! You stupid dumbdumbhead!” Kageyama squeals, drenched with the bath water. “I’ll kill you to death!”

Hinata blinks at the sudden change in attitude, while Tsukishima latches onto him to protect himself from the wrath of Kageyama.

“No fighting!” Hinata shakes his head, extending his arms protectively. “Play nice, okay?”

Kageyama growls, ears twitching violently. “He started it!”

Tsukishima shrugs, holding onto Hinata firmly. “I was only playing.”

That night, the three of them sleep on the same bed, kicking off the blankets.

Chapter Text

A note is left on Atsumu’s desk. He sees it once he’s had a couple of drinks with his college classmates, after finishing his set of exams. He’s slightly tipsy, but not drunk enough to lose touch with reality.

If you want your brother back in one piece, I suggest you get us six hundred million yen. 

Instantly, Atsumu knows he’s in huge, huge trouble. 

Everyone assumes that because he’s in a gang, Osamu must be, too. But in reality, they couldn’t be more different. Osamu didn’t even go to college- he started working at a small company, specializing in accounting and business management. Atsumu had gone to college to study chemistry, and had gotten involved in shady business soon after.

“...You what?!”

Kita raises his voice, the closest thing he’ll ever get to yelling. Atsumu places the note in his hands, to show that he isn’t joking.

“Any idea who is behind all this?” 

“Uh…” Atsumu murmurs, sighing. “It could be about five different groups, really.”

Kita runs a hand through his hair, pacing around. “We need to-”

“Hey.” Suna points to Atsumu’s vibrating phone. “Someone’s calling, I think.”

Atsumu opens it up, and it’s switched to video call immediately. All of Inarizaki crowd around his phone, staring at the screen. It’s a blurry view of a room with dirty walls, and a figure of someone tied up and thrown against the wall.

“We have your precious brother on call right now. Why don’t you say a few words?”

A man grabs Osamu by the hair and pushes him over to the phone, and Atsumu can see a black eye forming on the left side of his face.

“Tsumu…” Osamu murmurs, face swollen from the beating. “I don’t even know what’s happening. What is this place? Can I ever go home?”

Osamu is close to tears already, and Atsumu swallows down the urge to sob. “We’re going to get you out of there, okay? Just don’t-”

Atsumu and the others start talking all at once, while Suna boots his laptop to research his location. 

“What? I can’t hear you!”

Kita sighs. “They’ve probably muted us from their end of the phone. If he doesn’t know where he is, not much we can do. We should probably just watch carefully for any clues.”

“But-” Atsumu notices Osamu getting further and further away from him. “Hey, what the fuck are the doing to him?”

A man wearing a hooded jacket and a mask carries a container similar to a milk jug over to Osamu. 

But the liquid inside is definitely not milk. They splash it all over Osamu’s legs, and Atsumu gasps. He doesn’t want to know what’s going to happen.

X

Osamu realizes immediately what the liquid is, from the smell. It’s exactly what he smells at the gas station. His legs are soaked in gasoline. 

“If your brother knows what’s best for you, I’m sure he’ll come in no time.”

The man grins, flicking on the lighter and letting the flame inch closer and closer to his legs. Osamu flinches and pulls back as far as he can, but he’s held at such a strong force that he’s helpless against.

“No, stop!” Osamu screams, as the flames begin to spread onto his legs. They burn his shorts into his skin, and the heat is unbearable against his skin. He bites his lip hard, but it doesn’t help.

“Shut the fuck up.” The man lights a cigarette and puts it out on Osamu’s collarbone, only prompting him to scream again. Sweat bursts out of every pore, and tears drip onto his burning skin.

“I’m sorry!” Osamu’s face is a mess of tears and sweat. The fabric of his shorts is seared into him, his legs a mess of blood and peeling skin.

All at once, the sensation is replaced with a freezing cold. The man has fired a fire extinguisher at his legs. The sudden coldness is a relief, but he can feel the skin sloughing off his legs. He can’t even move his legs, let alone walk.

If he’s not able to be the same again, what’s the point of even being alive?

He closes his eyes, grateful to slip into unconsciousness.

X

There’s so much noise in his head.

Osamu can’t remember much. There’s screaming, his visions are blurred by blood, and there’s Atsumu’s voice in the background.

“You messed with the wrong twin, huh?”

And everything goes black, again.

“...Kita-san?”

Osamu wakes up on the bed, staring at Atsumu’s comrade. “Where did Atsumu go?”

Kita’s eyes widen, for a split second. Osamu hopes to death that the bad feeling in his gut isn’t correct. 

“He... He went out to fight the people who kidnapped you. And…” Kita’s eyes are red. Osamu’s never seen them so swollen. “He was stabbed through the stomach, and he died of blood loss.”

“No, no, no.” Osamu shakes his head. “He can’t be dead, Kita-san. Stop it.” He pleads, grabbing onto Kita’s shirt with glossy eyes. “That’s just a bad joke!”

“If only it was.” Kita rubs Osamu’s hair gently. “But you need to worry about yourself too. Your legs-”

“I don’t care about my fucking legs!” Osamu exclaims. He doesn’t even feel the pain that he should be experiencing- whether it’s because of the painkillers or the raw emotion, he doesn’t know.

“He wanted to protect you.” Kita says, holding Osamu firmly. “You have to live, for him. Don’t throw away what he gave to you with his own life.”

It isn’t fair. Atsumu is dead, because Osamu couldn’t protect himself. If he had been able to look out for himself, or even take a different route home, he wouldn’t be without his twin.

“Did he… give over the ransom?” Osamu asks.

“Nope. He never intended to. He was insistent on keeping both the money and you.”

And he had kept both, but what use is that to a dead person? Osamu is alive, but he didn’t even get to thank Atsumu. He can’t remember the last time he said “I love you,” to him. It isn’t fair.

Chapter Text

Kuroo wakes up, with a sharp pain in his cheek. His bones creak and ache, and there are numerous cuts and bruises on his limbs. His eyelids are heavy. Exhaustion sets in.

“Kuro-chan, how are you feeling? You were hurt, so I took you to my house.” 

It’s Oikawa, his boyfriend. He’s laying on his bed, bandaged and exhausted. Oikawa reaches out to his face, caressing his cheek. Kuroo flinches, but Oikawa only pats his head.

“What- what happened?” Kuroo asks, mind foggy. He can barely remember anything that has happened over the past few days, weeks even.

“You were collapsed outside, injured. I had to help you.” Oikawa explains, stroking his hair. “You’re safe now, Kuro-chan. I’ll get some food for you.”

Kuroo lifts himself up to say he’ll be fine, but Oikawa locks the door behind him. He looks around nervously, rolling up his sleeves to take a look at his injuries. 

“Shit.”

There are burn marks all over his arm, from what he can only assume are from cigarettes. Bruises litter every inch of his skin, some old and some new. He reaches up to his face, and winces. There’s a black eye on his right side, and his nose feels disfigured.

“Kuro-chan, open your mouth.” 

Oikawa comes back with some vegetable soup, gently pressing the wooden spoon to Kuroo’s mouth.

Kuroo shakes his head, reaching for the spoon. “I can eat on my own, man.” 

“No.” Oikawa slaps his hand away, smiling. “I’m feeding you.”

Kuroo finds Oikawa’s obstinate nature odd, but decides it’s not a battle worth having. He opens his mouth to accommodate the spoon, and Oikawa nods, satisfied.

Oikawa feeds him the soup patiently, nodding with every mouthful he swallows. Kuroo doesn’t have it in him to suspect anything, but it’s funny, to say the least.

“Thanks for the meal.”

Kuroo pushes the bowl away after he’s finished, and Oikawa takes it from him. He wants to go home, now. His dad and grandparents will be worried about him. 

“Oikawa, thanks for taking care of me. But I have to go now-”

Kuroo stands up shakily, touching the door handle. In an instant, he’s on the floor, staring at the carpet.

“Do you really think you’re going anywhere?”

And Oikawa carries him out of the door, dragging him by the collar. 

“Hey-! Put me down! I’m going home!” Kuroo shrieks, bewildered at Oikawa’s sudden response. “Come on!”

This shouldn’t be happening. Oikawa is his boyfriend, who cares for him and wants the best for him. He treated his injuries for him. He shouldn’t be carrying him while he’s kicking and screaming.

Kuroo is taken to the kitchen with the empty bowl of soup. He’s thrown against the tiled floor, while Oikawa places the empty bowl in the sink and takes out a kitchen knife.

“Oi, what the fuck? Oikawa, this isn’t funny.” Kuroo shakes his head as Oikawa inches closer with the knife. “Let me go!”

The knife sinks into his thigh.

Searing hot pain courses through his entire limb, and in a flash, the knife is removed and buried into his other leg. Oikawa grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt and slams him into the wall.

His head pounds with the force of the blow, and his teeth clack in his mouth. He’s so dizzy, he can barely see what’s happening.

“Why? Why are you doing this, Oikawa?”

His body tenses, as if it knows something he doesn’t remember. It’s not the first time he’s been beaten like this.

“You’re so composed, Kuro-chan. That’s why you look best when you’re beaten and bloody!”

Oikawa takes out a box of matches and strikes one aflame, pressing it against Kuroo’s arm.

“Stop!” Kuroo screams, until his throat grows hoarse. He trembles helplessly, the dizziness too intense for him to stand up. “It’s too hot! Take it off, Oikawa!”

Oikawa throws the matches against the floor, and lights another one. This time, he presses it to Kuroo’s collarbone.

Fresh tears pour out of Kuroo’s eyes as the smell of burning smoke rises right under his nose. He can’t do this any longer, he thinks. As if this has happened before.

His head starts pounding intensely, and it comes back to him.

Oikawa had thrown a book at his face, causing the black eye. He had beaten him blue and black before. It made sense now, his apprehensiveness upon seeing his face. He wasn’t helping him. He was the one behind everything.

But now, there isn’t anything he can do except scream helplessly. Oikawa is smart, and that’s an attribute that shouldn’t go together with sadism. With both, Oikawa has single-handedly broken him over and over.

Kuroo doesn’t even know how long he’s been beaten and tortured. He doesn’t even know if he’s had this realization before.

“Stay put, Kuro-chan. Putting up a fight is useless.”

Oikawa leaves the kitchen, and Kuroo grabs a cup of water from the table, slamming it against the sink and breaking it to smithereens. He takes one of the shards into his hand, and presses it into his stomach, hard.

It stings, but it’s nothing compared to the beating he’s been receiving for an amount of time he isn’t even sure of.

“Here we are, Tetsurou. Sweet dreams.”

Something touches against his lips, and Kuroo understands everything.

The sensation of dark nothingness is nothing new. He’s being put to sleep again. He’s lost count of the amount of times his memory has been wiped like this.

He can only hope that next time, he’ll do better.

He wakes up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His arms are bruised and painful. Burn marks litter up his legs and collarbone. 

“Hey, are you okay? I saw you hurt, you were beat up pretty bad.”

It’s Oikawa, his boyfriend. He strokes his hair and kisses him gently, and Kuroo is comforted. 

“I’ll get you some soup. Stay right there.”

A sharp sting in his abdomen snaps Kuroo out of his trance. After Oikawa leaves the room, he rolls up his shirt to check what it is.

There, in bloody cuts, a message is carved into his stomach.

OIKAWA IS DANGEROUS.

Chapter Text

“Bokuto-san!”

Akaashi beckoned to Bokuto, who was already hopping past everyone on the rocky mountain path. Bokuto had a tendency to rush off on his own when something excited him, and the hike trail they’d planned was no exception. 

“Come on, you guys! I’m leaving you all behind!”

Akaashi jogs to catch up with Bokuto, who enthusiastically makes his way up the mountain. 

“Bokuto, you’re going too fast!” Konoha and Sarukui start to boo him, but Bokuto shrugs, laughing at them to catch up. “God, he has muscles for brains.”

Akaashi sighs, hopping over to Bokuto’s side. “Bokuto-san, we should wait a moment-”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever…” Bokuto skids to a halt for the first time, turning to Akaashi. In doing so, he steps on a piece of wood. He loses footing immediately, stumbling.

“Bokuto-” Akaashi holds out his hand, but it slips out of Bokuto’s grasp.

Bokuto goes tumbling down. He falls straight down the slope, his body thudding against the shrubbery and the trees.

“Oh my god!” 

“Bokuto, are you okay? Answer us!”

Akaashi follows the other team members immediately, taking off on a run to reach Bokuto. They run back down the path they came from, taking care not to trip. And Bokuto is laying on the ground, whimpering.

“My legs… My legs! Oh god, they hurt so bad!” Bokuto screams, staring down at his badly bleeding legs. There’s branches stuck inside him, and his legs are bent in opposite directions.

“Someone, call an ambulance!” Akaashi yells, pulling Bokuto away from the bloody mess. Up close, it looks even worse. Bokuto’s jeans are soaked with blood, torn and stuck to his wounds. He can see the bone and tendon in his ankle.

Bokuto sobs on the ground helplessly, as Akaashi holds his bruised and scratched hand on his own. His cries grow in volume with each passing second, while the rest of the team crowd around him.

Akaashi hears the ambulance sound in the background, and Bokuto loses consciousness.

X

Bokuto sits in the living room, staring at the television.

“And Akaashi Keiji scores with a dump shot!” The reporter excitedly announces, and Bokuto’s eyes widen, sparkling. 

“That’s my husband!” Bokuto claps, laughing as he watches the cameras zoom into Akaashi’s sweat-soaked face. “That’s my handsome husband!”

Once the sports section of the news report ends, Bokuto turns off the television and makes his way into the kitchen.

There’s some leftovers in the fridge, and he takes them out to have them reheated. He places the tupperware on the low counter, opening the microwave and popping them in.

Akaashi should be coming home soon, he thinks.

He places the macaroni gratin into a plastic bowl, heading into the kitchen to place the food on the table.

The front door clicks open, and Akaashi comes in.

“I’m home, Bokuto-san.”

His nose is tipped red from the cold, and his scent is stronger from the hours of training he’s had to endure. Bokuto reaches up to hug Akaashi, and Akaashi bends down to wrap his arms around him.

“Welcome home, darling! I missed you!”

Bokuto kisses up Akaashi’s neck tenderly, nuzzling his nose into his skin. 

“Koutarou, I should really shower. I doubt I smell good-” Akaashi tries to pull away, but Bokuto locks him in an embrace, shaking his head.

“Nope, you will not escape my clutches, Keiji!”

Bokuto laughs heartily, as Akaashi shuts the door behind him.

“I heated up some leftover gratin, do you want some?” Bokuto offers, and Akaashi drools. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Once their dinner is eaten, Bokuto stretches himself out on the sofa, with Akaashi massaging his legs. They’re numb, but it’s their daily routine, and Bokuto likes the closeness it brings.

“Feels good, Keiji.” Bokuto praises him as usual, even though the sensation in his legs is almost completely gone. “Hey, how about we take a bath together?”

Akaashi nods. “I suppose. I need one too, anyway.”

He lifts Bokuto onto his wheelchair. They make their way to the bathroom, heating up the bath and stripping down.

Bokuto admires Akaashi’s body, now the more muscular of the two. Bokuto tries his best to keep in shape, but it isn’t easy. His legs are a lot less beefy, and he’s definitely lost some muscle mass over the years.

With the help of Akaashi, he washes his back and sits down in the bathtub. There’s special grips put in place, and a chair with suction cups to prevent slipping. The bathtub is wide enough to accommodate the two of them.

“I’m sorry.”

Akaashi rubs Bokuto’s numbed legs, massaging them with his fingers. No matter how many times Bokuto insists that it’s not his fault, Akaashi apologizes to him all the time.

“I don’t blame you, man! You’re pro, and I’m so, so proud of you!” Bokuto puts his arms around Akaashi’s toned figure, nibbling his skin softly. “I love you, Keiji. Don’t feel bad for me, because I’m happy the way I am. I want you to smile when you look at me!”

Akaashi nods. “I just- I feel horrible. I feel like I did this to you, and I robbed you of everything you loved…”

Bokuto pats Akaashi’s bare back, as he starts to sob. “There there, Keiji.” He ruffles his hair with a small smile. Akaashi continues to tremble and whimper, frustration gathering at the corners of his eyes. “ I love you so much. You’re my beautiful husband.”

“I love you too.” Akaashi’s voice resonates in the bathroom, touching against Bokuto’s cheek. 

“I’m happy, Akaashi.” Bokuto emphasises, placing his hands against his legs. He’s become the person he is, because of everything that’s happened to him. He no longer spends every day wishing it had never happened. The only thing he can do is accept his reality, and learn how to chase happiness.

Even if his legs are numb and won’t carry him anymore, he can still continue his pursuit of joy. And with Akaashi beside him, he already has most of the things he could ever want.

And on the bright side, he likes being carried around by Akaashi sometimes.

Chapter Text

“The operation was a success.”

Kuroo blinks, reaching at his chest. It’s stitched up, and stained with iodine. He feels slightly nauseous, but he’s gotten used to it now. A smile creeps on his face, as he rubs the skin around his stitches gently.

“Thank you so much.” Kuroo smiles, fixing himself up in his hospital gown and bowing. “I’ll always be grate-”

His sentence is cut short by an intense wave of nausea. He barely has the time to apologize, before vomiting pale liquid into a small plastic basin.

His throat burns from the breathing tube and the acid splashing against it. Unfortunately, despite the amount of times he’s been operated on, general anaesthetic never fails to make him feel sick and miserable.

He hears rapid footsteps emerge from the hallway, making their way to his room.

“Tetsurou!” 

Tsukishima bursts through the door, wheezing and coughing like there’s no tomorrow. Kuroo barely has the time to blink before Tsukishima squeezes him hard, kissing him on the lips.

“I was about to tell you I’d taste like vomit.” Kuroo sighs, shaking his head as Tsukishima gags. 

“That’s foul.” Tsukishima cringes, but there are tears in his eyes that don’t go undetected by Kuroo. “I’m glad you made it. How’s everything?”

Kuroo purrs into Tsukishima’s touch, as he has his hair stroked gently. His perpetual bedhead his gone, leaving him looking rather flat.

“Much better now that I’m with you, Kei.” Kuroo blows him a kiss, leaning into Tsukishima’s chest.

Tsukishima murmurs something unintelligible, patting Kuroo’s back with a gentle smile. “You’re an absolute dork. I love you.”

The next day, more of his friends come to visit him.

“Congrats, dude!” Bokuto embraces Kuroo, taking care not to push against his cannula. “You’re great. You’re amazing.”

“Take it easy, Bo.” Kuroo laughs. “I’m fine. It was just a minor surgery.”

Bokuto turns to Akaashi, who nervously gives Kuroo a hug as well. “I wish you a speedy recovery.”

“What was the operation for, exactly?” Bokuto asks. “You probably told me, but I’ve just forgotten!”

Kuroo shakes his head. “It wasn’t super big. Another one to try and fix my lungs.”

As Kuroo starts to explain exactly what the procedure entails, Bokuto’s expression becomes as blank as a sheet.

“I… don’t think he gets it.” Akaashi scratches his head, while Tsukishima lets out a short laugh.

Bokuto glances at the clock, and his eyes widen.

“Crap. I gotta go back to my room, it’s medicine time.” Bokuto dips out of the room, waving at Kuroo. Akaashi follows him without a word.

Kuroo lays back down, Tsukishima still staying with him. He’s always been worried about him, ever since one of his surgeries caused an infection and a high fever that lasted a week.

Bokuto and Kuroo have been in and out of hospital their entire lives. They had become friends before they went into elementary school, when Bokuto had comforted Kuroo before his first major surgery. And their friendship had cemented, after Kuroo held a birthday party for Bokuto.

Akaashi is a newcomer among them, but he’s still been hospitalized for over six months. It had taken a while for him to open up to them, but Bokuto had somehow made him fall in love with him.

Tsukishima isn’t a patient. His brother is Tsukishima Akiteru, a nurse working at the hospital. Kuroo had been close with Akiteru, and had been subsequently introduced to his grumpy brother.

Kuroo isn’t exactly happy with his life. He loves his friends and being able to talk to them every day, but he wishes it weren’t at a hospital. He wishes they could go to a normal high school, and be normal students with hobbies and clubs.

“Hey, Bokuto, Akaashi.”

Kuroo brings the two to his room one evening, sitting on his bed.

“If you guys were to go to high school, what would you pick for a club activity?”

“Volleyball!” Bokuto answers without hesitation. “Because I could be like, bam! And, don !”

“That’s just like you.” Akaashi nods. “I think… I would like to try the mountaineering club. It must be nice to be in touch with nature.”

Kuroo raises his eyebrows. “Huh, that’s interesting. Maybe I’ll-”

“Nooo!” Bokuto whines, puffing out his cheeks. “You guys both have to play volleyball with me! Akaashi, you’re gonna be my setter! You’re smart!”

Kuroo and Akaashi hold back their laughter at Bokuto’s outburst. “Sure, Bokuto-san, whatever you say.”

“Who knows, maybe someday…” Kuroo trails off. Only Akaashi is on a definite road to recovery, and Bokuto can barely make it up two flights of stairs. He doesn’t want to give up, just yet.

“Kuroo?”

Bokuto seems far away all of a sudden. Kuroo flops onto the bed, his body suddenly way too hot.

“Kuroo, you’re boiling hot!” Bokuto grabs the button to call the nurse, placing a hand on Kuroo’s back. The sweltering heat reaches his face, and Kuroo falls into unconsciousness.

The medicine used for Kuroo’s recovery had not agreed with him.

He can’t stop coughing, and his fever won’t let up. He’s endured surgery, and this is the reward he gets. He wants to cry, but he’s not meant to do that. He’s strong.

The worst part isn’t the physical discomfort, but it’s being quarantined and kept away from his friends. He misses being able to talk to them. He loses all sense of time, counting the days in how many times he receives medication.

After a week, Bokuto and Akaashi are finally allowed inside. Tsukishima comes too, handing him some flowers and a small mackerel keychain.

“I missed you guys. I was so lonely.” Kuroo admits, not bothering to pretend he’s unfazed. The road to recovery is long and hard.

He shares a hug with each and every one of them. He’s grateful for them every day, but he’s reminded of how much he appreciates them, especially after things like this.

Chapter Text

“I’ll always protect you!”

The boy laughs. “You’re always getting bullied and crying. How could you possibly protect me?”

“I will! I’m loyal to only you, after all! I’ll do anything!” The little page takes the boy’s hand, kneeling at his side. “I’m prepared to lay down my life for you!”

The boy laughs quietly, placing his hand on his hair and ruffling it softly. “Well, if there’s a time when I desperately need you, you better be there for me. Seeing as you’ve made that promise now.”

“Of course, Tsukki!”

X

Yamaguchi wakes up in his small bed, the mattress wearing out. It creaks and sends a cloud of dust in the air, and Yamaguchi coughs, waving it away.

He shimmies out of his nightclothes and grabs a tunic. The political tensions are high, but there haven’t been any battles within close proximity. He wonders how many days he can go without wearing his suit of armour.

“Good morning, Suga-san!” He steps outside the manor house, waving at the local farmer. “It’s nice weather to be watching the crops, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” Sugawara nods, smiling as he carries freshly cut wheat. He starts humming a folk tune. “What’s it like being a knight, Yamaguchi?”

Yamaguchi is about to answer, until Hinata dashes up to the two with a frantic look in his eyes.

“The castle’s under attack! We need to hurry!”

A blast echoes through the morning air, and Yamaguchi’s peaceful mood is abruptly ended.

“Who is it?” Yamaguchi asks, taking off on a run after Hinata. His footsteps are light, his chest pounding with dread.

Hinata glances at the flag in the distance- it’s red, and has a black crest painted on it. “Nekoma.”

Yamaguchi groans with frustration. Nekoma Kingdom have never liked Tsukishima reigning in Karasuno. Small battles have broken out numerous times, particularly near their borders.

He wants to be there at the castle, to make sure Tsukishima is safe. But he’s a knight, not a personal assistant, and all his duty consists of is to serve the military. 

“Yamaguchi, here!”

Hinata tosses him his armour, and Yamaguchi slips it onto himself hurriedly. Lieutenant Sawamura is already barking out orders, yelling at the knights to mount their horses and get themselves over to the battlefield.

“Holy shit!” Hinata and Tanaka exclaim at the sheer number of men on the side of the opposition. 

“Don’t panic!” Sawamura holds his sword high, urging others to get into the spirit. “We’re not losing this battle!”

“Yeah.” Yamaguchi murmurs to himself, unsheathing his sword. “We’re not going to lose.”

Because he knows what loss means, at this point. Tsukishima will be in danger if they lose any more men.

He puts himself in the right headspace. Lose all sense of compassion. Don’t think of the families. Don’t think of the human, only the armour that faces him. They’re just an obstacle that needs to be eliminated.

Nishinoya is holding the decapitated head of an enemy soldier, roaring a battle cry. Yamaguchi knows he could never do that, but he’s not much better. He’s killed, severed, maimed. He doesn’t know how much blood he’s been responsible for.

Nekoma’s warfare is better, without a doubt. Many of the men have died already, and Yamaguchi struggles not to trip over the bodies of his comrades. 

Yamaguchi sees Hinata go down, and never come back up again. He screams his name, but the horses trample over everything, and he doesn’t see him anymore. He could be anyone in the pale blue armour, now.

“Retreat! We’re not in a good position!”

Sawamura doesn’t stop fighting, even going as far as to injure Kuroo, Nekoma’s Lieutenant. But Nekoma is pushing them back to their own base rapidly, and they’re getting closer to civilian territory.

“Tough luck, Master of Crows! We win, this time!”

And with the swift thrust of a blade, Kuroo stabs Sawamura dead.

“Fuck!”

They can barely even retreat, before the entire castle is surrounded. Many of the men flee in the face of despair, with their lieutenant deceased. Yamaguchi does blame them, if he’s being honest. If Tsukishima is hurt, what have they even done to protect their kingdom?

Yamaguchi is one of the only ones who still put up a fight. His right eye is slashed and rendered useless, and his left hand is almost severed, barely hanging on. He dismounts his horse, dashing into the castle where Tsukishima must be.

Even inside the castle, heavily defended, Yamaguchi is still outnumbered. He scrapes by with only his bangs unevenly cut up, as he makes his way up the winding stairs.

“Tsukishima!”

Tsukishima looks composed, but his hands are shaking. “You… The army…”

“I’m sorry.” Yamaguchi takes Tsukishima’s hand with his non-injured hand. “I couldn’t beat them. And I’m in a horrible, lowly state. What a knight I am…”

Tsukishima doesn’t say anything, and places his arms around Yamaguchi. They melt into the embrace, and for a moment, nothing can defeat them.

Footsteps approach closer and closer. 

“We have Tsukishima Kei!”

Yamaguchi is at a loss.

Nekoma’s army are all wielding swords. Yamaguchi has one too, but it’s significantly harder to wield it with one functional hand.

“Get away from us!”

Yamaguchi is attacked from all directions, immediately. He feels multiple blades draw blood from him, but he needs to fight, until his last breath. He needs to keep Tsukishima safe.

Yamaguchi falls onto Tsukishima, his blood soaking into his gown. He’s stabbed again and again, but his arms don’t let go of him. If he can buy a few minutes for help to arrive…

He realizes his own clothes are soaked, way too much.

Tsukishima is already breathing in shallow bursts. There’s a penetrating wound deep in his chest, and blood stains the front of Tsukishima’s white clothes. 

“I… love you.” Tsukishima reaches for Yamaguchi, but his arm flops down helplessly. Yamaguchi kisses him gently, and his breath is gone.

Yamaguchi doesn’t even have the time to mourn him. His own vision starts to cloud with blood. He falls to the ground, onto Tsukishima’s bloodied corpse. His head rests on Tsukishima’s chest, and he’s stabbed through his back, one last time.