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Oikawa Tooru doesn’t know what he’s doing, only that he shouldn’t be doing it.
It’s been an agonizingly long day and he should be home, resting or eating or even plotting, instead he’s here, shrouded in the late evening gloom, eyes intent on the unassuming dark wood of Iwaizumi Hajime’s door.
Since the night he showed up on his enemy’s doorstep and essentially left himself at the city hero’s mercy, he’s found himself drawn back to Iwaizumi’s house, a moth to the flame, Icarus to the sun. He doesn’t do anything, he’s not foolish enough to try waltzing back into his enemy’s house. Instead, he dallies under the eaves of houses across the road, melds into early morning murkiness and watches the lights in his nemesis’s house flick off and on, imagines the person inside and wonders what he’s doing.
It’s research, he tries to tell himself, obviously it’s all about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer. But he winds up there for no reason but to sit and follow the shifting moonlight that trickles and ripples over the empty street and rooftops. He ends up there on days like this, when nothing sits right and there’s no one home and the only thing that makes breathing easier is being across the street from the Ace of Seijoh city.
Maybe it was the way Iwaizumi had looked at him as Tooru was leaving, unconcealed concern flashing in those hazel eyes, a light frown on that handsome face and arms that were outstretched, as though ready to catch Tooru if he fell. The Ace of Seijoh, unyielding in his righteousness, a formidable opponent and yet, exposed as someone whose hands were unbelievably gentle as they wiped the dirt off Tooru’s face.
Letting out an uneven breath, Tooru tries, for the billionth time, to shake the memories and get his life back on track. But the Ace of Seijoh no longer sits neatly in the pigeonhole marked ‘Hero/Enemy’, he’s spilled over the precise divides in Tooru’s mind and has wandered into uncharted territory as Iwaizumi Hajime.
This is insanity, it's nonsensical and ridiculous and Tooru can't put it out of his head. Even if Iwaizumi has forgotten, Tooru knows the boundaries: Iwaizumi Hajime is the city's golden boy, brilliant and perfect; Tooru is decidedly, stubbornly mired in the tainted recesses that the life of crime has positioned him in.
It's laughably unrealistic and it solidifies his resolve, he must do something about this, this folly. He must knock himself out of orbit, force his thoughts away from revolving around the brightest hero in the city, even if it means falling from the sky.
As though by telepathy, that dark mahogany door eases open and Iwaizumi appears to take out the trash. Despite the rapidly cooling weather, he’s only in a muscle shirt that bares his arms to the wind and a baggy pair of sweats. Tooru isn’t ogling at his enemy’s biceps, he’s merely gathering data about the Ace’s strength, as though he hasn’t been slammed to the ground by those very arms countless times before.
After completing the chore, Iwaizumi strangely doesn’t head straight in, instead he wanders to the edge of the street, typing on his phone and suddenly, it seems like a sign. As though this is the moment that Tooru has been waiting for to say something, do something, anything that could possibly remedy this strange conundrum he’s been saddled with.
A quick check to ensure he’s nothing less than perfection and he’s straightened his spine, eyes fixed on the loitering figure, weighing the odds. Without thinking, he’s drifted forward, as though pulled by a gravitational force that has him a couple of steps away from his corner, but he halts as an unfamiliar car zooms down the quiet street and stops right in front of Iwaizumi.
Tooru freezes, thankful that he’s not completely out in the open yet and observes as a fierce young man hops out of the driver’s seat and moves to pass a package over, seeming to mutter a few words while gesturing with the delivery.
Then Iwaizumi smiles and Tooru gets the worst feeling just under his sternum, a ball of sour longing that condenses there and Tooru wants to believe that it’s because a smile looks out of place on a face that has only directed frowns towards him, all the while desperately shoving down the petulant whine of ‘Why doesn’t he smile like that at me?’.
Glaring, Tooru takes in the close cropped hair with shaved stripes and, he squints, the eyeliner that accentuates a brooding gaze. He crosses his arms, so that’s what Iwa-chan likes, huh? Both Tooru and Angry Guy tense up as Iwaizumi claps a hand on the other man’s shoulder and Tooru watches as Angry Guy visibly relaxes under the touch, seeming a little happier. They’re chatting too long for it to simply be a delivery, they could be friends if not for the way Angry Guy is looking at Iwaizumi and icy recognition of the emotion on Angry Guy’s face creeps in and settles.
Tooru is already backtracking by the time the car starts and peels away from the curb, his face set, limbs heavy and that leaden disquiet weighing in his chest, he blinks, entire body like a clenched fist before he finally turns away and allows the darkness to swallow him.
He doesn’t see the pause after Iwaizumi opens his door to go back inside, doesn’t see him turn to face the street, nor the way hazel eyes rove and linger in the hazy corners, as though searching for something he doesn’t expect to find but hopes to chance upon anyway.
. . .
Complete chaos.
Hajime doesn’t know who’s fighting who, doesn’t know how many allies of his are left standing and how many are down, doesn’t even know which villains have banded together to launch this multi-pronged attack.
All he knows is that everything hurts but he’s not done yet, the fight isn’t over yet and he’s got to get up and keep going or more innocent people are going to get hurt. He catches a grenade mid-air and faster than anyone can react, pitches it straight back into the villain who had thrown it.
The Ace of Seijoh crashes through glass windows and hits the hot cement of the pavement with considerable force. But there’s no time to cry over cracked ribs and bruised ankles, Iwaizumi Hajime picks himself up and launches himself back into the thick of the fight.
Over his own ragged breathing, and his hobbling footsteps, he hears something else that sounds like muffled whimpers. Whirling around, he scans the premises until his gaze catches on a quivering heap of cloth half hidden by debris. It’s a child, one that probably couldn’t get out of the way in time and is too scared to move now. He doesn’t look bloody or seem hurt, just terrified, and Iwaizumi starts towards the kid before he’s forced to block and engage in a ruthless round of hand-to-hand combat with a tiny villain in a gigantic metal suit.
By the time he’s smashed the suit and tossed the villain away like a sack of potatoes, every breath feels like a stab and sweat drips into his eyes, forcing him to blink the burn away. In a limping jog, he gets to the child and wide, teary eyes peer out at him.
“Hey,” he tries to smile but realises with countless bruises and blood trickling down from god knows where he might look scary so he keeps his tone as gentle as possible, “I’m gonna get you outta here. Come on.”
The kid looks even more upset as his eyes flicker down to a colourful object that Hajime belated realises is a shoe, still attached to the child but in an awkward angle. He shifts some of the cloth to reveal a leg pinned by what used to be a lamppost. It probably hurts a lot, but the boy's quiet as Hajime braces and heaves the entire structure off him, scuttling closer to the hero as soon as the lamppost is thrown to the side. Scooping the kid up, Hajime only gets a second’s warning before he hurls himself to the right, tucking himself over the child’s body as he rolls and avoids a series of bullets.
It’s too dangerous to leave the boy out in the open and tackle the threat head on so Hajime pushes himself into a run that his ankle protests and makes a break for it with the bundle of frightened child clinging to him.
Darting into the outskirts of the fight, Hajime stops short when a familiar figure steps into his path. He hadn’t expected to feel so strange about seeing the Grand King in battle again, but as his eyes rake over the tall, poised figure in aquamarine and white, his stomach drops. The Grand King has acquired several scrapes but somehow, not a hair is out of place and something about that mask looks different, more defined.
“Are you wearing eyeliner?” Hajime asks hoarsely, incredulous and trying to catch his breath. The villain blinks and then seems to puff up a little, preening.
“One must always strive to look their best,” Oikawa sniffs loftily, “Besides, I was trying out a new look.”
“In the middle of a fight?” Hajime can see the villain huff and a fond smile threatens to appear on his lips when he is pulled sharply back into reality by several loud shots and the child tensing and pressing even closer to Hajime.
Hajime can hear the battle drawing closer and knows he needs to get the kid out of there and soon. He glances down the most direct path to safety and then his gaze flickers to Oikawa’s, determined hazel eyes boring into an equally hard glare and Hajime’s arms tighten on the kid who has been silent save for small snuffles into his shoulder.
For a moment, all of it seems to fall away, the fight is nothing but muted noise and it’s just them on an empty street, just them at a standstill and the broken glass as their witness. Oikawa is an obstacle Hajime knows that he can take on, knows that he could push his way through, that his body has memorised the nuances of Oikawa's fight patterns. But there, as time swims and ruptures, Hajime's chest begins to ache not due to physical fracture but the dissonance between what he's always known and what he knows now.
He doesn't want to fight him.
Because the Grand King is no longer the Grand King, he’s Oikawa with the sad brown eyes and the lovely face, the annoying voice and the even more obnoxious personality.
You just be you and I’ll just be me.
But there are lives at stake and they can’t just be them - here in this makeshift battlefield, Iwaizumi is the Ace, Oikawa is the Grand King, and they stand on opposing sides.
There’s an airless pause that suspends over the scant metres between them and then Oikawa, face unreadable, steps aside, leaving Hajime’s exit route empty. Hajime doesn’t know how to think, how to feel, but he’s nodding and briskly moving off when a strangled shout rips into the air behind them.
“ACE!”
He jerks to a halt and even before his brain can parse the implications he's already angry, already hating himself.
It comes from the battle that’s rapidly catching up to them and Hajime knows none of his allies would call unless they truly needed help but he’s torn between ensuring that this child is safe and under a doctor's care, and going to help turn the tide.
He’s rooted, unable to go on but reluctant to turn back, unwilling to exchange one life for another. The kid had seemed fine but his grip on Hajime’s collar is slackening fast and Hajime can’t take chances. He hates this, loathes that his power, his position, his duty, shoves upon him the decision of who lives and who he damns.
Closing his eyes, he grits his teeth and tries to force himself to a decision, either way he knows he’ll probably regret whatever he goes with.
“I’ll take him.”
Hajime head snaps around so fast his wounds twinge angrily and he fixes the Grand King with a disbelieving look. Oikawa looks furious with himself but he’s already coming over, hands reaching.
“I’ll take him, you should go,” Oikawa repeats, prying the kid from his arms, carrying him far more carefully than Hajime had. Hajime blinks, swallows and tries to speak over the rising emotion, the crash of confusion and gratitude and something else that slams into him and leaves him more winded than before.
“He needs medical attention, his leg-” He croaks in lieu of thanks, brushing away the other things that his brain is currently conceiving and tempting him to say.
“I know, I know, I’m not that heartless,” Oikawa shoots him a pointed look and primly turns, trotting off as though saving children has been part of the villain’s job scope all along. A few steps away, he turns and finds Hajime motionless, still staring and he grins ruefully, “My ass looks great, Iwa-chan, but you need to go.”
That snaps Hajime out of whatever emotion fuelled fog he had been in and scowling, he wheels around, ready to charge straight back into the action. Then he hesitates, chancing a glance back to say thank you at least, but Oikawa’s already gone.
. . .
He finds the note stuck to his door when he surreptitiously lets himself back in later that night, aching down to his bones and trying not to get blood on the handle. It’s a tiny piece of paper that flutters in the evening breeze and on it is a hospital, a ward and a bed. The handwriting is elaborately cursive and Hajime knows exactly who it’s from.
He turns, hoping that it’s late enough that none of his neighbours come out of their houses to catch him sneaking into his own house looking like a mess, to survey the street. Even when he strains, the glow from the streetlights gives nothing away, and he’s left facing a darkened stretch. All the same, he casts for a point in the tenebrosity that he feels right about in his gut and stares for a moment before the corners of his mouth quirk up lopsidedly.
“Thank you.”
He heads in, Captain twining around his legs and threatening to trip him as he makes a beeline for a much needed shower.
In the darkness, Tooru takes a sharp, silent inhale. And then he smiles.
. . .
Bonus:
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Hajime tells the kid as he sets the soft toy down on the bed next to him.
“You were so cool! The bullets were like, ta-ta-ta-ta and then you jumped and it was like being on a roller coaster except with no seatbelt!” The child is cheery, not as traumatised by his near death experience as Hajime had feared, “My friends are gonna be so jealous!”
“Of?” Hajime looks down at the boy, bewildered by the possibility that all children around the ages of nine or so seemed to want to be caught in the cross-fire of a major fight.
“Me! Cause’ I got saved by the Ace and see you do all your cool stuff up close,” The kid grins, exposing one missing tooth and gives Hajime a thumbs up.
Slightly sheepish, Hajime does a silent ‘ah’ and nod of comprehension, the lukewarm response doing nothing to dampen the boy’s hype.
“Yeah! Two heroes came to save me! I didn’t just meet one, I got two!” He laughs happily and Hajime’s glad he’s wearing his mask because he isn’t sure what his face is doing right now, if it’s reflecting the soft indulgence that chases surprise and spreads down to the curve of his lips.
“I don’t know who the other hero was,” The kid looks up, face open and sincere, honest, “But he was really nice!”
“Yeah,” Hajime startles himself by saying, the smile growing even wider, “He is.”