Chapter Text
The sun refracted through the dried blood in Mrs Shibuya’s shirt as Iwaizumi made a desperate stagger for the coffee machine. “Sleep well?” She asked him, cheerful as always.
“Like death,” he grunted back in response, blinking as he fumbled his favourite mug from the dishwasher. She laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Two cups of black coffee found him vaguely more conversational; he filled the mug for a third and final time as he snatched the remote off a protesting Hito and turned off the television that he'd never switched on. The boy stared sulkily after him before storming off through the kitchen wall as he grabbed his leather jacket and checked his phone, rolling his eyes. Teenagers.
Grumbling about freeloading house guests, he locked the door behind him as he left his apartment. They’d probably have vanished by the time he returned home from work, swapped for his evening regulars. It was a good thing he lived alone or he’d have been committed to a mental hospital by now. Well. Again, anyway.
The train to work was unremarkable; the city skyline flashed by outside the window as he stood, balance shifting as the train bustled on. He probably looked a little strange to the normal eye, choosing to stand. Only a few of the seats were filled by breathing travellers. It didn’t mean the other seats were unoccupied though. Iwaizumi was willing to look a little odd standing rather than asking a seemingly empty seat if he could sit down.
He navigated the streets between the train station and police station mainly by memory; the path hadn’t changed in years and was usually pretty empty at this time in the morning. Emptying the office coffee machine would prop him back on his feet before he needed to be on alert.
He nodded to Watari as he shoved the door open. The receptionist nodded back. Neither of them were overly talkative, especially at this time of the morning. He let his eyes wander quickly over the space, not letting them linger on the snoozing old deputy in the corner. He’d never given Iwaizumi a name, just a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile on his first day. He was always drifting the halls of the station, and Iwaizumi suspected, a rather large part of the reason there were very few other…. supernatural occupants of the station.
He swiped his ID card and passed through into the restricted access corridors. He cursed at the empty jug in the kitchen and leant back against the counter by the sink after refilling the coffee machine. He wasn’t intending to leave any for whichever selfish jerk hadn’t refilled it last time - his morning rituals were well-known around the station by now. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake up. A bad night's sleep wasn’t a stranger to him, much like the shifting roster of visitors to his apartment, but that didn’t make functioning the morning after any easier.
Mug in hand and filled with his steaming life blood, he was almost ready to look over his ongoing cases. He was almost looking forward to falling back on the routine and quiet of his personal office and the details of a particularly nasty murder-suicide. The victim was surprisingly coherent, all things considered, which made his job a lot easier - although he hadn't managed to track down the murderer yet.
Truth was, Iwaizumi was good at his job. Very good. He’d always been determined and thorough with a need to uncover truth, and the ability to interview some rather unusual witnesses that no one else had access to never hurt either. But he’d learnt the hard way after consecutive promotions, six medals and a feature on the local news – solving the sensationalist unsolvable had the nasty knack for turning you into a bit of celebrity. And Iwaizumi hated the spotlight. Any attention had always spelled bad news when you were as far outside the normal as he was. A disowned family, countless failed friendships, two transfers and a three month stay in a psych ward when he was twelve had left him with very little in the way of a personal life and even less in the way of interpersonal trust, and he’d made his peace with that years ago. It was better than the alternative.
One advantage of all the hype: his spotless track record meant the department had fallen over themselves to give him an office to himself when he’d asked, and for the most part his colleagues left him to it with a healthy mixture of awe and fear.
Emphasis on the most part. Some people were clearly too stupid to recognise a rejection when they saw it.
He raised an eyebrow at the pair of them as they turned to him as one. Hanamaki scooted over to block the doorway.
“You can’t go in.” He said blankly. Iwaizumi took a deep breath in through his nose. Counted to three. Let it back out.
“I thought you two had learned,” he said through gritted teeth, “That you don’t get to mess with my office until after I’ve turned my blood to caffeine. Move.”
Matsukawa shook his head. “You don’t understand, Iwaizumi. It’s not just your office anymore.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If you two have released a snake or something in there, I’m going-“
It was about that time that he finally noticed the humming coming from inside the room. That didn't sound like any snake he'd ever met.
He didn’t share his space. People were suspicious before they saw him work; he absolutely refused to babysit some wide-eyed newbie to the force who’d be watching his every move. He thought he’d made that very clear already. He stared at Matsukawa in stony silence for a beat, silently telling him every single way he could think of how he was going to detach his limbs from his body if he’d fucked with Iwaizumi’s stuff, before elbowing him out the way.
He almost dropped his coffee in shock.
The previously clear wall to his left was plastered with photos, maps, coloured bits of string – his headache bloomed back in full force just looking at it. The culprit was currently occupied doing the same to the wall on the right. He stared in horror. He needed clean walls to keep his mind as quiet as possible. He’d suffered from migraines since he was eighteen, an unpleasant side-effect of his abilities, and clutter made them worse.
His mind whirled – who the hell was this man? Had the department transferred Iwaizumi to a new office without telling him? But he’d had this office for a year now; it was just big enough that he could spread out without feeling guilty about taking space from someone else. And he had the results to back up his claim.
This was clearly a mistake - maybe the guy was just lost. That had to be it. Iwaizumi stared at him as he tried to piece together his question, eyebrows furrowed. The first thing he noticed was the long fingers, elegant but strong as they completely destroyed his peaceful work environment with the aid of blu-tac.
A sneeze from the other corner of the room grabbed his attention, and his eyes locked with bright blue ones. Iwaizumi stared at the figure; their eyes were the only feature he could distinguish at all, wide in shock at having been noticed by anyone. Iwaizumi’s grip on his mug slacked – he swore as coffee splashed down his shirt.
The invader finally turned, and the second thing Iwaizumi noticed about him was that this was the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen.
“Oh, you must be my assistant!” He chirped, a stupid, saccharine smile stretched over his lips.
The third thing was an instant, white-hot desire to punch this fucking idiot in his perfect face.
The door to the deputy chief of police’s office banged into the wall with a noise that echoed down the corridor. Iwaizumi stood there for a moment in silence, fuming. Mizoguchi looked at him warily. He’d clearly been expecting him, as he placed his pen down carefully and clasped his hands together politely.
“Who the hell is in my office.” Iwaizumi said, just about managing to keep his anger in check. Honestly, if the invader hadn’t been as infuriating, obnoxious, disrespectful, he wouldn’t even be upset.
“That would be your new partner.” Mizoguchi replied, his mouth settling into a flat line. He didn’t seem to be any happier about it than Iwaizumi was.
“Partner.” He repeated dumbly, staring at his superior. They wanted to give him a partner?
Mizoguchi nodded, looking exasperated. “Yup.” He popped the p and gave Iwaizumi a warning glance as he opened his mouth in protest. “Don’t argue. It wasn’t my decision. Orders from above. The higher-ups swear by him, something about a special investigations division. He’ll fill you in. You ever seen ‘The X-Files’? Weird, wacky, unsolvable, you know.” He stared at Iwaizumi. “The stuff you’re usually all over.”
Iwaizumi looked away, scowling. "The X-Files is a TV show. It’s fiction. I ask for cases that have a rational explanation. I can't believe you're indulging this."
"Hey!" he held his hands up, "Not my call. Your office is the only one with space to accommodate him. Besides, he requested to work with you."
"I work alone!"
Mizoguchi scoffed. “Well now you’ve got a pretty little helper. He comes with the highest recommendation. Get over it, Iwaizumi. I’m not going to do anything.”
Iwaizumi turned on his heel, too livid to speak. He made a point to slam the door shut behind him.
He dragged his feet as he climbed up the stairs, back to the room that had until recently been a refuge. The obnoxious humming reached him even down the corridor. He was going to be put in prison for exactly the reason he usually arrested people. No one would be able to use that office once he was done painting the walls with Oikawa's blood.
With dread, he pushed open the door. Two faces turned to look at him; one delighted, the other still dumbfounded.
“Assistant-chan has returned!” His apparent new partner chirped, jumping to his feet. “And he’s so handsome!”
“You know what my name is, asshole.” Iwaizumi growled, storming past him to thump his coffee mug onto his Godzilla coaster. The lukewarm liquid sloshed over the side onto his hand and he resisted the urge to throw it at the wall. “Apparently you wanted to work with me.”
The man looked surprised for a moment, before he pouted and tutted. “That’s such a rude way to speak to your new partner, Iwaizumi-chan! Clearly I made a mistake, you’re all brawn and no brain.” So he had known his name and pretended he didn't. That was something to unpack later.
Iwaizumi took a deep breath. He could do this. He could manage a day without committing murder. "Nice to meet you. What's your name." He gritted out, because Mama Iwaizumi taught her son manners before selling him out to intrigued psychiatrists for seeing things that ‘weren't really there’.
"Oikawa Tooru! I'm disappointed, you don't know me already?" Oikawa said, sounding hurt.
"Why," Iwaizumi said, feeling like he’d been suffering for an eternity after only three minutes, "Would I know you already?"
And just for a second, he saw it; something cold and clever in Oikawa Tooru's pretty eyes that made him sit up and pay attention. He clenched his jaw to stop a shiver running down his spine. Oikawa had wanted to work with Iwaizumi - he must have looked into his past, but he couldn't possibly know…
This man wasn't just all surface grime and shitty personality. He was clever and observant in a way that could only mean trouble.
Oikawa gasped at Iwaizumi's words. "Why would you - Iwa-chan, everyone knows me!"
He clenched his hands. Iwaizumi kept himself to himself. If Oikawa was the president of Japan there was a good chance Iwaizumi wouldn’t have heard of him. "Clearly I don’t. The fuck did you call me?"
Something lit up on Oikawa's shitty face in delight. "Iwaizumi is such a long name! I haven't got time for that, my time is important, Iwa-chan."
Breathe. Breathe.
"Why did you want to work with me?" Iwaizumi said, forcing his temper down. Oikawa may think Iwaizumi was the puzzle, but he was as much of a mystery himself. He could endure a crappy little nickname. He’d endured worse.
The playfulness vanished. Oikawa's gaze darted over his face. He had the distinct impression he was being judged. "Your arrest record is perfect. You've overturned false verdicts with evidence from places no one else even thought to look. Every character reference says you're diligent, intelligent, observant, and don't jump to the easiest conclusion." Oikawa smiled challengingly. "You're exactly what I'm looking for."
Iwaizumi felt weirdly mollified, and that annoyed him all the more. Oikawa had a shitty personality; how had he managed to charm Iwaizumi to an uncertain quiet so quickly? He turned his head to the side to look away from those eyes that saw too much, and was again reminded of the vandalism of his office on the walls. Ah, there was the anger. Good. "And what are you looking for?"
Oikawa smiled, and his eyes were a million miles deep. "The supernatural."
Iwaizumi stared. And then there was a bark of laughter. And then a second. And then he had to grab hold of his chair because he was laughing so hard, tears forming as he wheezed.
"You - ha - you want to go looking for ghosts?!?" He eventually managed in a moment of calm, before falling right back into another fit of laughter.
This was a fucking joke. The universe had a really shitty sense of humour. Twenty four years of the world kicking Iwaizumi down for a curse he couldn't shake, and then it spat Oikawa Tooru into his office as the cherry on top.
Oikawa looked annoyed - and if Iwaizumi made a bit of a stretch - faintly hurt. "You could at least hear me out."
Iwaizumi wiped at the corner of his eye. "Sorry, sorry. Tell me, please. Did E.T. visit you when you were twelve? You want to be Fox Mulder? 'The truth is out there', right?"
Oikawa looked at him, defiant. "Yeah. It is."
Iwaizumi stopped laughing - Oikawa was completely serious. This really would be his luck. “And why do you think I’m the person to help with that?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Like I said!” Oikawa said, voice warmer and sweet again in a way which left Iwaizumi feeling cold. This wasn’t the real personality at all. This was an act to lure people in. He’d need to stay on his guard. Oikawa was trying to work out how to navigate round his walls. “You’re open-minded and super competent! Although,” he tapped his chin, “you are incredibly rude. We’ll have to work on that. And you don’t look nearly as smart as I thought you’d be.”
Ok, so maybe he wouldn't make it through the first day without killing him. He took a step forward, when the figure in the corner made itself known once more, the shifting silver lines solidifying.
"Stop!" It - or rather, he , Iwaizumi could tell now - barked, and his eyes flicked over quickly. He’d forgotten about the quiet boy - and he could see now, as the lines thickened and solidified with anger, this was just a boy; he couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He struggled to keep his face straight.
What kind of person was Oikawa Tooru to have a ghost following him around before he'd even reached thirty?
The boy - dark hair, heartbreakingly young - looked constipated when Iwaizumi met his eyes, and his entire figure flickered like static on an old, analogue television. He said nothing else, and Iwaizumi turned back to Oikawa, hoping he hadn't noticed anything.
It was there, again, a calculating, cool look which Iwaizumi barely caught as it vanished beneath that childish veneer. Iwaizumi would need to be really careful with Oikawa Tooru. And his little ghost, whoever he may be.
“What a temper, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa said, the expression gone in a blink, hidden behind the smarm. “We’ll never get anything done if you act so brutish all the time!”
Iwaizumi flexed his fingers, and let his shoulders drop. What had his therapist said so long ago? Mindfulness. Patience. Serenity. He dropped into the seat at his desk, and tried to ignore the obnoxious string map of the city stretched on the wall in front of him.
There was a pause of beautiful, blissful silence.
“What are you doing?” that wheedling voice came again, and Iwaizumi pressed his eyes closed.
“My job.” He grunted back, focusing back on the post-it’s he’d left on his computer screen last night. He needed to go see a family friend of the victim at 2pm, and he had a ton of paperwork to finish up first. The legwork was all done; it was just the formalities now, since the murderer had tried to kill themselves at the scene. The paperwork was tedious, but Iwaizumi still enjoyed it; it was a good way to tie everything off in his mind. He could just about manage if Oikawa shut the hell up and let him get on.
His luck had never been that good.
Oikawa tittered behind him. Iwaizumi resisted the urge to get up and stamp on his foot.
“Iwa-chan, don’t worry! I got your case transferred to another officer. We’ve got much more important things to do!”
“You did what? !”
Oikawa ignored his shout, rummaging around on the opposite desk. He made a noise of delight as he found what he was looking for, shoving it under Iwaizumi’s nose.
“Take a look at that!” He said triumphantly, “And tell me you aren’t interested.”
Iwaizumi exhaled heavily, glancing down at the card folder. Paperclipped to the front was a picture of a happy-looking teenager, a massive smile on his face under messy orange hair. He flipped the folder open.
Hinata Shouyou. Missing, presumed dead.
The case was stamped over a year ago. His heart was heavy as he scanned over the rest of the page. “Oikawa, this is sad, but kids go missing every day.” He said. “This case is long cold, there’s not even a clue as to where he could have gone.”
And his ghost had never come to find Iwaizumi. That was usually how he ended up picking his next case. That was usually how he ended up solving them. No leads, no evidence, no ideas from the family, no ghost… What could they possibly do to help the kid?
“Very astute, Iwa-chan!” He couldn’t tell if he was being mocked or not, but Oikawa just kept going. “But I have reason to believe he was connected to one of the gangs operating in the area who I’ve been following very closely. Does the name Karasuno mean anything to you?”
“Yeah, but-”
“A number of children have gone missing in their territory under very mysterious circumstances. Hinata Shouyou, however, is the first to have left a family behind.”
Iwaizumi rubbed at his temple, taking a swig of his coffee. Strength. Mindfulness. Patience. Serenity. “Why does it matter whether there’s family or not? Most of those kids run away from shitty homes or have no one else to go to. If his parents didn’t have a clue then, they can’t help now.”
Oikawa’s eyes sparkled as he stared at him. “Did you read to the end?” he breathed. Iwaizumi was thinking he maybe didn’t understand this man as well as he thought he had. What kind of person got this excited about missing children?
He frowned, looking back down at the page.
Hinata reported acting strangely in the weeks leading up to his disappearance.
Then a newer note, from only a month ago: Younger sister reports seeing the missing boy at her playgroup. The carer in charge confirms there was no sighting, but mentioned the other children seemed unsettled and described a ‘chill’ in the air. The sister has been seeing a therapist since the disappearance; mother confirms this is the first time she has mentioned seeing her brother.
There was no further information past that note. Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa blankly. “And?”
Oikawa stared at him, elated. “And,” he uttered, “I think there’s a group out there making ghosts. I think Hinata Shouyou is a dead boy walking. And I want you, Perfect-Record-chan, to help me figure out what the hell is going on.”
The universe had a horrible sense of humour, indeed.