Work Text:
Kindaichi’s breath hitches as he crosses the threshold of the tattoo shop. Is he nervous about people seeing the ink on his skin and jumping to conclusions? Maybe a little. Is he worried about the pain? He’d be an idiot not to.
Is it the finality signified by what he’s doing? Bullseye.
Next to him, Kunimi sneaks an occasional glance of concern before forcing his usual blasé expression back to the forefront. Kindaichi knows his behavior of late has been worthy of concern, but he hopes that in doing this, it might put a lid on his lingering malaise.
It might not, but Kindaichi knows he won’t regret it.
From behind the counter, a guy around his age with blond hair and black streaks gives them a half-assed wave, his attention barely breaking from the sketchbook sitting in front of him.
“Uh, hi,” Kindaichi starts, swallowing hard when the receptionist fixes him with a stare that could curdle milk. “I’m here for an appointment at three.”
When he approaches the counter, Kindaichi notices two sets of business cards. One stack is for Iwaizumi Hajime, the artist he’s there to see; the other, also labeled as an artist, belongs to Kyoutani Kentarou. Considering the nomenclature surrounding the name, Kindaichi can’t help but assume his unenthused welcoming party is Kyoutani.
Kyoutani jabs the point of his pencil toward a beaded curtain leading toward the back of the shop. “First door on the left.”
Kindaichi gives Kyoutani a pinched smile. “Thank you.”
Once they pass the beaded curtain, however, Kindaichi’s entire being starts to quake. Kunimi notices right away. “You know you don’t actually have to do this. I’m sure he’s not going to notice if you don’t get stabbed a few thousand times.”
Shaking his head, Kindaichi answers, “Yes, I do. I need to do it for me, too.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Kunimi shrugs. “Well, it’s your arm. Do whatever you want with it. As long as you can still fly a jet with it, who gives a damn what it looks like.”
The comment coaxes a smile out of Kindaichi.
He pokes his head through Iwaizumi’s doorway, and the artist in question looms over a sketchpad with a fleet of colored pencils as he fills in the color of a design.
My design, Kindaichi observes. It’s unmistakable. After all, Kindaichi can’t think of many people who would request a tattoo with a volleyball as a comet.
Iwaizumi looks up at his visitors, and he shoots them both a crooked smile. “Hey, I was just finishing up the concept art. You wanna take a look?”
Kindaichi raises a brow at the comment. He talked to Iwaizumi over text, but somehow, his artist knows who he is in a single glance. “O-okay, Iwaizumi-san. I’m Kindaichi Yuutarou, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know.” Iwaizumi eyes him closely before letting out a chuckle. “Don’t look so spooked, kid. I looked you up on facebook just to make sure the colors and design scale were right for you.”
Next to Kindaichi, Kunimi snorts and accepts Iwaizumi’s proffered sketchbook. “What do we have here?”
“Here, lemme take a look.” Kindaichi tugs the book nearer to him and he gasps. It’s exactly what he asked for, and then some. The depth and dynamics of the coloring are stunning. It depicts a standard Molten brand volleyball, speeding through a stretch of space with a flowing tail that almost feels like it’s moving even while stationary on the page. The text beneath the image is also clean but beautiful.
He drags a finger along the outer perimeter of the volleyball. “It’s beautiful.”
Iwaizumi nods and ushers Kindaichi toward his workbench. “Okay, shirt off.” Kindaichi complies, and he holds his breath while the area is prepped.
Kunimi takes a nearby stool and gives Kindaichi a thumbs-up. “Good luck, Yuu. Better you than me.”
With a guffaw, Iwaizumi begins.
ミ☆
It’s Kindaichi’s first day of his first assignment after joining the Japanese Air Force, and he can’t help the knot of nervousness percolating in his gut.
He has no idea why he decided to enlist, and even less of one as to why he selected planes other than them being extremely cool. However, he’s here, basic training is over, and it is what it is.
His relief is audible when he spies fellow recruit and longtime friend Kunimi milling around the hangar. “Oh, man, I might actually live through this.”
Once he flags down Kunimi, Kindaichi hustles over to him. “Man, am I glad to see you.”
“Same,” Kunimi agrees, offering Kindaichi an almost-smile. “I hope we get to pick our roommates, because I already know you don’t snore.”
Kindaichi shrugs and agrees, even if it was for an entirely different reason.
His good mood fades quickly, though, when another familiar face manifests. “Ah, crap.”
Kunimi follows his gaze and hums in agreement. “Well this just got interesting.”
“Damn it!” Kinidaichi’s hands ball into fists at his side. “Of all the damn air units in the country, why did he have to end up in this one?”
Raising a brow, Kunimi tuts under his breath. “ That’s what’s bothering you? Not that the two of you are like . . . emotional foils or fierce rivals to the point that you both chose the same career?”
Pouting, Kindaichi harrumphs. “Shut up. It isn’t funny.”
“It is a little.” A shoulder bumps into Kindaichi’s, nudging him toward Kageyama’s general direction. “Just go talk to him and get this over with. You’re both ridiculous, but at least with you, I know you’re better than this somewhere under that stupid hair of yours.”
“Hey!” Despite the barb, Kindaichi does exactly that, earning himself a slack-jawed look from his former teammate turned rival, and apparently turned teammate again. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi.” Large blue eyes bore into him, and not for the first time, it makes Kindaichi shiver.
Tucking his hands into his uniform trousers’ pockets, Kindaichi tries and fails to smile. “So, um, how did you end up being a pilot?”
Kageyama blinks in surprise. “What?”
Kindaichi can’t help but roll his eyes. “What do you mean ‘what’? How did you end up wanting to enlist in the Air Force? I figured you would’ve gone on to play pro volleyball or something.”
“No.” Kageyama’s head lowers and his shoulders tense. “After my grandpa died, I didn’t want to play anymore. I did some research on jobs that rely on instincts and reflexes. This one seemed the one I’d be best at.”
“Oh.” Shrinking at least five centimeters, Kindaichi’s face flames. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
Shrugging, Kageyama lets out a flat, “Don’t worry about it.”
Guilt simmers in Kindaichi’s chest, his petty vendetta colored even more so by this revelation. Finally, he blurts, “Uh, do you wanna come hang out with Kunimi and me? You’re just kind of standing there not talking to anyone. Someone’s liable to think you’re nuts or a murderer with that bitch face of yours.”
That coaxes a chortle out of Kageyama, and the two of them rendezvous with Kunimi together.
ミ☆
“So, what makes you want to plaster a volleyball to your arm?” Iwaizumi murmurs as he traces the outline of the tattoo onto freshly scrubbed skin.
Kindaichi sighs. “Well, uh, it’s kind of a long story, but an old friend of ours went MIA on a mission. It’s been about a year since then, and this is my way of accepting he’s not coming back. This is actually our squadron’s mascot. It’s painted on all of our jets.”
Iwaizumi’s hands still as Kindaichi speaks. The room is quiet afterward until Iwaizumi says softly, “I’m sorry to hear that. He must have meant a lot to you.”
A laugh turns into a choke. “Yeah, something like that,” Kindaichi rasps. “We weren’t always friends, but all of us finally got things figured out. I don’t want to forget that. Or him.”
With a hint of a smile, Iwaizumi nods. “I hear you on that. I suppose we all have someone we love to hate and hate to love.” Snorting, he says, “I have a friend just like that, and if I were in your shoes, I’d probably lose my damn mind.”
Some of the nerves bunched in Kindaichi’s gut dissipate at the comment. Iwaizumi understands what this means to Kindaichi. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.”
“Good. And now you’re finally holding still.” Iwaizumi reaches for his tattoo gun and fires it up. “I won’t lie, this is gonna hurt like a bitch, but you’ll be fine. I promise.”
Kunimi’s hand covers Kindaichi’s, and with a bob of Kindaichi’s head, the artwork starts to unfurl onto his flesh.
ミ☆
Kindaichi blinks in shock when he hears his name called for a mission, but he is shaking after he hears Kunimi’s and Kageyama’s names, as well. The three of them stand abreast, but all three of their gazes drift to one another.
After the briefing, the three of them follow their captain to his office for a more detailed rundown of their assignments. They’re accompanied by three other pilots in their squadron — the best of the best.
“At ease. Gentlemen, I’ll make this brief.” Their captain sits on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms. “There have been rumors of two long range attack drones on their way to the Northern Territories come tomorrow morning. We don’t know for sure who sent them yet, but that doesn’t matter right now..
“You’ve been chosen to intercept and destroy them before they can endanger civilians.”
All of them start at the captain’s words; even Kageyama visibly flinches. Kunimi’s mouth draws into a tight line of apprehension, and Kindaichi doesn’t even want to know how colorless his own face is.
The captain continues. “You are the best of the best in this unit, and the Prime Minister wants this kept quiet. God knows we don’t need the Americans digging their claws any further into our throats. So whatever is said in this room, stays in this room.”
Snapping to attention, they reply in unison, “Yes, sir!” Kindaichi’s legs are like jelly by the time the meeting ends, and he walks out of the captain’s office in a daze.
The Air Force had been a career choice based on the fact that being a pilot is categorically badass. While they’re in their jets and barrel rolling far above the earth, it’s easy to forget that they’re in the military and that they will eventually be called upon to perform those duties.
But now it’s real, his friends are in danger, and so is he.
“Are you okay?” Kunimi asks under his breath. Kindaichi doesn’t have an answer, so he doesn’t give one.
Instead, he stops halfway to their barracks and grabs both Kunimi’s and Kageyama’s wrists. “Hey, uh, can I talk to you guys for a minute?”
“You are talking to us,” Kageyama blurts, and Kunimi guffaws until Kageyama shoots him an icy glare. “What is it?”
Kindaichi takes a deep breath. “This is a dangerous mission. I just want to make it clear that whatever happened in the past doesn’t matter anymore.” His gaze drifts to Kageyama’s, and neither look away from the other. “And I mean everything.”
Kageyama nods solemnly. “Agreed.”
“Now that we got that out of the way, I have a bag of shrimp chips with my name all over it under my pillow.” Kunimi tugs them back into motion. “Now, before the hugging starts.”
They follow Kunimi, but Kindaichi and Kageyama lag behind, their fingers brushing together as they move.
“I won’t let anything happen to either of you,” Kageyama says. “I promise you that.”
“And what about you?” Kindaichi eyes the Airman First Class insignia on Kageyama’s shoulder. The rest of them are Airmen Second Class rank. That means Kageyama will be their mission leader and in charge of the safety of the squad, the success of the mission.
Kageyama squares his shoulder, his hand slipping away from Kindaichi’s to a more sterile distance. “That’s not what matters.”
With that, Kageyama stalks away, and it’s a long, tense fistful of minutes before Kindaichi can move again. He woodenly treads toward the barracks and drops heavily onto his bunk. From behind the aforementioned snack bag and a technology magazine, Kunimi raises a brow. “You look like you have a lot to say.”
“Not really.” With a groan, Kindaichi leans toward Kunimi. “Kageyama said something a couple minutes ago that worries me. “He said he won’t let anything happen to us, but when I asked what about him, he just brushed me off.”
Kunimi lowers the magazine onto his chest. “I know.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “It’s his way of saying we’re more important to him than anyone, but if I may make an observation, the fact he said it to you directly means something else.”
“I — what?” Kindaichi buries his face in his hands and groans. “That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even — no. It’s not like that.”
With a smirk, Kunimi munches on one of his chips. “It’s exactly like that. Now chill out. We’ll do the job and come home. Nobody’s going to do anything unnecessary. If something happens, it happens.” He lets out a long yawn. “Now shut up so I can go to sleep.”
“I don’t — yeah, whatever. ‘Night, Akira.”
Kunimi stows his snack and reading material and replies, “Don’t stay up too late stewing, Yuutarou. I don’t think your knight in F-35 armor would want you to worry so much.”
Kindaichi grabs a rolled up t-shirt from under his pillow and chucks it at Kunimi. “Bite me.”
As Kunimi chuckles in his blanket cocoon, Kindaichi lies back and stares at the ceiling tiles, hoping to find some sort of answer in their irregular plaster shapes.
So he isn’t imagining it. Something else had been laced into Kageyama’s comment. Whether it actually means what Kunimi had implied, he doesn’t know, but Kindaichi does know one thing: Kageyama might be looking out for them when the mission comes, but he’s going to do his best to look after Kageyama.
ミ☆
In one session, the lineart for the tattoo is completed, and basic coloring done in the next. Six weeks after his first appointment, Kindaichi walks into Iwaizumi’s tattoo studio for the last time for the finishing touches.
“Almost hate to see you go,” Iwaizumi mumbles as he prepares his inks. “You’re not the usual kind of guy who comes in here.”
Kindaichi frowns. “What do you mean?”
Looking up from the instruments in his hands, Iwaizumi shrugs. “Well, for the most part, you’re not in the mob. You wear the same khakis and polos my dad does.”
“He’s got you there,” Kunimi chimes, chuckling as Kindaichi’s cheeks redden. “You do dress like a middle aged guy at a golf retreat.”
“Oi!” Kindaichi smiles through the barb nonetheless. Kunimi’s ribbing has been the only slice of normal he’s had for the past fourteen months after they lost Kageyama, a constant reminder that the world moves on and he is going to be all right as long as he moves forward.
The rest of the session rolls on with Kunimi quizzing Kindaichi on his sociology homework to keep him from looking at the tattoo gun in Iwaizumi’s hand and passing out (again).
Once the work is complete and his arm swaddled in plastic wrap, Kindaichi leaves Iwaizumi’s shop in a daze. If not for Kunimi’s well-timed swats, his fingers would be lingering on the brightly colored ink on his skin.
It’s there, it’s complete, and for the first time in months, the fact that Kageyama isn’t coming back sinks in. His throat swells and his breath stutters, and Kunimi stops talking at once. “Oh god.”
Kunimi’s hand slides into his and gives it a squeeze. He doesn’t say anything, for which Kindaichi is grateful. He can’t reply for the life of him, and there aren’t enough words to articulate the ache settling in his gut like a jagged rock.
They return to the small apartment near the base they share when not on active duty, and Kindaichi’s entire body shakes when he drops onto the ratty old couch. Kunimi quietly sits beside him.
The day drags on, with Kindaichi melting sullenly into the upholstery. Kunimi moves about the apartment, cobbling together a meal or two Kindaichi barely eats, with a couple of careful cleanings of Kindaichi’s upper arm.
It’s well into the night when Kindaichi sighs heavily and says, “Thanks, Akira.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kunimi murmurs, clapping Kindaichi on his unfazed shoulder. “Go to bed. I don’t get up early enough to do breakfast.”
That cajoles a laugh out of Kindaichi, and when he gets up, he feels a little lighter.
Bit by bit, Kindaichi climbs out of this haze and back into his routine.
One morning, he wakes up and almost doesn’t think about Kageyama. He’s halfway through preparing breakfast when his phone rings.
“What the hell?” he mumbles to himself when he sees his captain’s name on the contact information. “Kindaichi.”
As words pour from the captain, the spatula in Kindaichi’s hand dribbles to the floor with a clatter. He absently turns off the range and shoves his feet into his shoes at the door.
The call ends and he bolts out the door. Kunimi is spending the weekend with his parents, but Kindaichi doesn’t have time to collect him. Instead, he sends a quick text asking Kunimi to meet him back at the base.
He’s waited for over a year. Not even an extra minute is acceptable anymore.
ミ☆
A cacophony of roaring engines and rushing winds are deafening as the squad flies in formation, heading straight for the Northern Territories. Kageyama’s F-35, its side emblazoned with the same volleyball-patterned comet they all have, takes the point. Kindaichi and Kunimi fly close on either flank, with the other three close behind.
Kindaichi’s flight suit is full of sweat despite the frigid ambient temperature at this altitude. Is he nervous? Naturally. Are his nerves almost completely about his two best friends flying a few scant meters away, barreling into danger at Mach 1.5?
He brushes that thought aside. It certainly won’t help them complete their mission.
According to tracking satellites, they are set to rendezvous with the drones about 1000 kilometers away from the Northern Territories’ shores — enough space and time in case the drones change course.
Soon, their in-flight radar picks up the bogeys, and Kageyama’s flat, even voice calls out attack vectors. Hundreds of hours of training take over, and Kindaichi’s hands know exactly what to do, where to go.
Their squad intercepts the drones, weapons loosing on the twin targets upon Kageyama’s curt command. A hail of 25mm rounds pummels the drones, but Kindaichi’s eyes widen when they barely put dents in the casing. “What the hell are those things made of?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Kunimi grumbles into the comm system. “We’ll need heavier ordnance to take these things down.”
“Comets 4, 5, and 6: target the drones with Spear 3s and fire.” Their teammates respond in kind, and even Kageyama swears under his breath when the drones dodge top of the line, radar-guided missiles with relative ease.
“Ready 1, 2, and 3. Target and fire!” Another trio of guided missiles speed off and are once again avoided. “Again!”
They’re down to their last round of missiles, and in the last volley, one finally hits its target, sending one of the drones plummeting down into the Pacific.
That leaves them with ineffectual 25mm shells and air-to-ground anti-personnel bombs that are far too slow to be of any use. Kageyama has already signaled for backup, but none of them need to be great with math to know help will not arrive in time.
Kindaichi starts when Kageyama snaps, “Comet 2, take point!” He does as he’s bid as Kageyama breaks formation and speeds toward the drone.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kindaichi cries, but Kunimi’s murmured, “Oh, shit,” confirms his fears. “What are you, nuts!”
The radio goes silent as their team absorbs the meaning behind their leader’s last-ditch effort. Kageyama’s plane speeds after the drone, which is rapidly eating up the distance between it and the coastline.
Kindaichi can’t breathe as we watches. A couple seconds before the jet collides with the drone, Kageyama ejects himself from the plane, but as his chute unfurls, hot shrapnel rains from the crash and shreds through parts of the chutes.
“He’s falling too fast,” Kunimi says flatly. Kindaichi tilts his head back and blinks away tears, unable to force himself to watch Kageyama’s plummet into the ocean.
He leads the team back to the base, and stony faces greet them wherever they go after they land. Once their debriefing finishes, Kindaichi and Kunimi sit on their bunks and stare at the floor.
Years of working past their difference as they sweat and bleed alongside one another are over. The awkward conversations, the lingering gazes, the long nights spent together talking about literally anything but the adolescent days that had torn them apart.
The days crawl by while rescue teams scour the waters around the crash site for Kageyama — dead or alive. However, the search yields no results, and after a month of fruitlessness, they stop looking.
Kageyama Tobio is declared Missing In Action, and presumed dead.
ミ☆
Kindaichi’s hands are trembling, but his feet fall fast and true as he sprints through the base. A few uniforms try to stop him and check his badge; he doesn’t slow down.
He barrels into the infirmary and lurches to a stop when he sees that familiar face, surrounded by long, unkempt black hair but blue eyes as bright as ever. Their owner sits on the edge of the bed in a hospital gown. “Tobio,” he breathes.
Kageyama stares at him, face gaunt and ashen, but his smile (something Kindaichi can hardly ever recall seeing) shines through nonetheless. The rest of the room empties as their worlds blend together once more.
A thousand questions simmer under the surface, but those can wait. Kindaichi has waited long enough, heavy with the assumption that Kageyama would never come back. But when he drinks in the sight of Kageyama alive and intact, those trivialities don’t matter anymore.
However, once he stands an arm’s length from Kageyama, Kindaichi stops. He knows what he wants, what he craves, but after more than a year of clearly being dragged to hell and back, does Kageyama want that, too.
His noisy brain shuts up the moment Kageyama’s arms wrap around him for a crushing embrace. Kindaichi follows suit, albeit more gently, tears running unchecked down his cheeks.
The chief medic corrals their captain out of the room, leaving the two of them alone for the first time since Kageyama had uttered his cryptic pledge to protect them all.
“Don’t ever leave me like that again,” Kindaichi croaks, voice knotted with a cocktail of fear, relief, and something else entirely. “They said you were dead.”
Kageyama briefly explains being fished out of the water by Russian fishermen and spending most of the past year in a foreign hospital in a haze of morphine while his mangled body knit itself back together.
Kindaichi shivers at the toneless list of events, which Kageyama imparts like they had happened to somebody else. His protest dies quickly, however, when Kageyama presses a finger to his lips.
“All I wanted was to come back. As soon as I could, I did.” Scarred hands frame Kindaichi’s face. “To you.”
“That’s what counts,” Kindaichi whispers as his lips lower to press gently against Kageyama’s. “I don’t know if you still feel that way about me, but I still feel that way about you.”
Brows rising in surprise, Kageyama looks away quickly. “Even after I left you like that?”
“Because I don’t know how to do anything else, apparently.” He tosses out a sheepish smile as he rolls up his sleeve and exposes his freshly healed tattoo. “I never wanted to forget you.”
“Yuutarou,” Kageyama rasps before he brands Kindaichi with a kiss far stronger than his battered body should be capable of, and Kindaichi throws himself into every second of it.
They’re interrupted by a loudly cleared throat from the doorway, but Kindaichi merely smiles against Kageyama’s lips when he sees it’s a gawking Kunimi.
“Guess you were right when you said I’d be okay,” Kindaichi says with a chuckle. “You usually are.” He doesn’t have to look to feel Kunimi’s satisfied grin behind him. “I don’t know about you, but I’d really like to go home with my two best friends in the whole world.”
Kageyama nods. “I finished my debrief. I can go whenever the doctor says I can.”
From behind Kunimi, the medic says, “Yeah, uh, consider this your official medical discharge. You kids beat it and catch up.”
Kindaichi beams and scoops Kageyama into his arms. There’s no practical reason for it, but he doesn’t care. Every sliver of Kageyama’s body touching him is a reminder not of what they had both nearly lost, but what they’ve gained in the end.