Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The early morning holds a different kind of serenity. It’s the kind where the birds outside chatter among themselves a few moments before the sun comes up, chirping away like the gentle hum of a violin that lulls one to sleep. It’s quiet, and there is not a single person outside. The streets are devoid of the pitter-patter of footsteps rushing to work and the swoosh of bicycle wheels rolling through a shallow puddle of rainwater. Where the late afternoon would see a man fixated on his reflection on the waters of the nearby lake, trying to scrutinize for things he could pick apart, the sunless forenoon would see an empty patch of grass and the gentle ripples on the enclosed pond.

It’s as if the world stops for a minute before the sun rises, and it’s during these moments that Tetsurou likes to wake and drink in the sight of his sleeping husband’s face. They’ve been married for three years already, but marveling at Atsumu’s angelic face is something Tesurou would never get tired of. 

When Atsumu sleeps, all worry lines disappear without a trace, sinking into his skin, as one would sink into the clutches of quicksand. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that’s almost like a familiar song. And when the sun starts to spill into the windows, it hits his hair and skin just right, highlighting his frame and making his strands glow. 

There is no one else in the world but them, and there are no worries or fears residing in the back of Tetsurou’s mind. He is at ease, and he is happy. He lets his fingers wander into Atsumu’s sunny locks, setting into a level of quietude that restlessness can’t quite reach, a silence that makes him forget the insanity of his life outside the safety of their home. 

Atsumu and Tetsurou go way back. childhood friends turned lovers — they've seen each other's highs and lows, and there's nothing that they don't know about each other. Well, except this one thing that involves Tetsurou's job… 

Atsumu heaves a sigh in his sleep, lips parting. 

With one last look, Tetsurou rises from the bed, carefully extracting his arms from under Atsumu's sleeping body. He walks soundlessly out the room, heading for the kitchen where he prepares their breakfast. 

It's a custom that started to fall into place when they first started living together. Atsumu is a decent cook, mainly because his brother just won't stand for having a bad cook for a brother, and Tetsurou had learned to take care of himself at a young age due to the absence of parental figures in his childhood, as his father was always at work and left him at the care of his grandparents. So they came up with a system: whoever wakes up first cooks breakfast. 

It's not an issue, of course, that Tetsurou always ends up cooking for them both because he loves caring for Atsumu, and it makes him feel a little less guilty for keeping a secret.

After setting the table, he walks back into the room, sitting beside a still sleeping Atsumu. 

There’s this corner of his cheek that Atsumu's mouth tucks into as he tries to bury the side of his face into his pillow, and it’s that corner that Tetsurou kisses softly to wake him. 

"Good morning," Tetsurou says gently, giving him a soft smile. "I cooked breakfast." 

Atsumu finds waking up unpleasant, but when his eyes meet Tetsurou's, it becomes easier to tolerate the heavy grogginess that sets in when he rises from his slumber. "Morning," he says with a squint. He slowly sits up, lazily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He blinks, disoriented. 

"Come on," Tetsurou coaxes. "We still have to get to work." 

Atsumu rubs the back of his neck with a yawn, then, as if succumbing to the sudden pull of gravity, slumps his body on Tetsurou's back , wrapping his arms around the other man's torso. "Give me a minute," he mumbles, cheek squished against Tetsurou's shoulder. 

Tetsurou laughs. "Come now," he said. "Or we'll be late. You have to get to New York for a business meeting, don't you?" 

Atsumu groans playfully, letting Tetsurou drag him to the dining room, where they sit across each other and eat their food with soft morning chatter. 

“Stop complaining!” Tetsurou says with a laugh. “You know, it’s very unfair how I always end up cooking for the both of us. We should just make a schedule.”

“Nothing is ever fair in life, Tetsu,” Atsumu jests, stuffing food in his mouth.

The shower is an intimate ritual that they undergo together without fail every single morning. It is a gentle waltz, and a remarkable one at that: wet fingertips dancing on the other's skin, gliding along suds of soap; the waterfall from the shower head rinsing every trace of shampoo from their scalp. 

The mirror always fogs up when they get out, and Tetsurou always wipes it with the hand towel near the sink, laughing when Atsumu tells him that he shouldn't have to bother, since it will clear up on its own, anyway. 

They share a kiss once they finish dressing, and another before getting inside their respective cars. 

It's when the guilt sinks in, Tetsurou thinks as he fiddles with his wedding ring before he pulls out the driveway, for keeping a big secret during the decade they've been together. It's for the greater good anyway, he'd tell himself as he makes his way to work, because telling Atsumu would only harm them both. 

He parks his car and enters the building, tapping his identification card on the scanner by the main entrance. It looks normal on the outside, but when he enters the elevator on the far left corner that supposedly no one uses, he hits a button that shouldn't be in a normal elevator, and waits as the lift takes him to the highest floor of the building. 

When he steps out, the shiny marble tiles gleam under the fancy crystal chandelier lights on the ceiling, and he inhales the pleasant hospital scent that travels up his nostrils. It's like a hospital smell, but not quite: less hostile, fresher, and definitely more aromatic. 

Perhaps a hospital isn't an appropriate comparison, he decides as he strides over to the double doors on the far end of the hallway. A motel, maybe…

He pushes open the doors and walks into the vintage room with blue and gold Victorian wallpaper and gold plated, blue velvet chairs gathered around a circular table that occupied almost half the room. 

"Good morning," he greets, "gentlemen, ladies, and respected people." 

"Boss," Morisuke says with a nod, straightening his back from a slouch. 

"Why do you slouch, Morisuke?" Tetsurou says, "you're already short as it is." He walks over to take his seat at the head of the table. He briefly wonders if there is such a thing as the head of a round table. 

"Shut up," he grumbled, rolling his eyes at Tetsurou’s teasing cheshire grin. "'Bout time you got here. I was just beginning to wonder if we were going to be as old as these walls before we'd get to know today's mission." 

"Had too much fun with your husband?" Nobuyuki says with a wink as he taps the square on the table before him. It lights up. The rest do the same. 

"You know, we never really got to know who your husband is," Taketora says, fumbling with his own screen. 

Akane agrees with enthusiastic nods, and her ponytail bobs along with her. "I still want to meet the lucky guy," she says, resting her chin on her palm. 

"Yeah," Alisa pipes up. "Don't you trust us? It's about time you tell us who he is." She wiggles her fingers knowingly. 

Of course, they could always put their skills to work and find out who Atsumu is themselves. They are secret agents, after all. They wouldn’t be very good ones if they sucked at getting information. But they respected Tetsurou, and so they would never go behind his back and tear his protective walls apart.

"It's no one you should concern yourself with," Tetsurou says dismissively. "Now, enough about me. We've wasted too much time already. Kenma, if you will." He gestures to the man beside him, who nods. 

"The man on your screens is our target," Kenma says. His voice is quiet and low, but the entire room hears him still. The air turns serious and solemn, all humor and jokes dissipating into thin air. "That's Kiyoomi Sakusa. He is the step brother of the Japanese Prime Minister Motoya Komori. And he's allegedly the leader of the biggest drug cartel in the world." He swipes at the screen. "The Prime Minister is holding an event tonight, and he's invited. A state dinner of sorts, but bigger. All sorts of famous people are invited." 

"As you all know," Tetsurou says, "Alisa here is fairly influential and has been invited to the dinner. She and I will be going as guests, with me as her plus one. Lev is also invited, so he'll be going with his own plus one. While the rest of you with the exception of Kenma, who will be manning the cameras from a van, will be posing as waiters." 

"Shouldn't I go with my sister?" Lev whined. 

"No. I look better than you." 

"I'm literally a model!" 

"Hey, Lev, can I be your plus one?" Morisuke says. 

"Okay…" 

"We're not really aiming to catch him in the act," Kenma says, turning off his screen. "We're mainly there to gather intel. Plus, we got word that one of the people he's trying to recruit is going to be there. Let's find that out along the way."

"Everything will be recorded, as we may need evidence when we get him incarcerated."

"I'll be in a van monitoring everything. You'll be wearing these glasses," he says as he dumps a few pairs of glasses on the table, "that serve as cameras and means of communication." He clears his throat and stands, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "For wardrobe changes, please head to the function hall in the left wing. Guests start arriving at six on the dot. See you then." 

—

If they were in a secret agent film, there would probably be music playing in the background as Tetsurou steps out of the limousine and offers Alisa his arm in slow motion. The camera would pan from their well-polished shoes to their styled hair. 

And well, they aren't in a film, but that doesn't make it any less exhilarating. 

"You ready?" Tetsurou says as they walk towards the entrance of the Prime Minister's residence. Only those posing as waiters had to wear the glasses as they would clash with Alisa and Tetsurou’s outfit, so they had to settle with microphones clipped to the neckline of their clothes and earpieces under the guise of earrings. 

"I'm always ready to raise a little hell," Alisa says with a wink. She has her well-rehearsed face on: calculated smile and cold eyes thinly veiled by a layer of faux sweetness. She wears a red, crystal-encrusted, high-slit dress that seems to move in little waves under the light. 

Tetsurou is wearing a matching three-piece suit: white undershirt, red tie and waistcoat, black jacket. "I got eyes on Kiyoomi," he says. "Our six o'clock. Is that the Prime Minister he's with?" 

"Yes," Kenma says in his ear. 

"I can't hear what they're talking about," comes Nobuyuki's voice. There's clinking of glass on his end and a soft mutter of  "excuse me."

"I can," Akane says. "Something about a private room upstairs? Hold on, I can get closer." 

"The rest of you should keep your eyes and ears peeled for someone who might be interested in our target," Kenma says. "The potential recruit could be meeting with them tonight. That might be what the private room is for." 

There’s a tug at Tetsurou’s arm, and he looks back to see that Alisa is being held up by one of the guests. 

"No, thank you," she says with a wave. She gestures at her and Tetsurou’s interlocked arms. "I'm with a date." 

"That's a shame," the guest says and walks away. 

"Alisa Haiba?" a voice says, and they turn to see a woman who Tetsurou recognizes as Miwa Kageyama, one of the most respectable stylists in her field. She's wearing a dark blue suit with golden trims that reminds Tetsurou strangely of their seats at the headquarters. 

"Miwa-chan!" Alisa lets go of Tetsurou’s arm to give Miwa a hug. "Pleasure to see you here!" 

"You too!" Miwa says, her eyes roaming over Alisa's outfit. "Oh, you look wonderful! Absolutely stunning." 

"Thank you," Alisa says, tucking a hair behind her ear. She's wearing a smile that gleams brighter than her dress. 

"And who might this young man be?" Miwa says, turning to Tetsurou with a warm smile. A waiter walks by, and she takes a glass of champagne from the tray. "Thank you," she murmurs. 

"This is my plus one," Alisa introduces. "Tetsurou Miya." 

"Nice to meet you," Tetsurou says, offering a hand, which Miwa takes. Her fingers are soft and cold, but her palm is warmer. He catches a glimpse of a tattoo around the base of her ring finger. 

"The pleasure is mine," Miwa says, retracting her hand. "And how are the two of you acquainted?" 

"He's a close friend of my brother's," Alisa says. "I didn't have a plus one, so Lyovochka told him to come with me." She's always been a smooth liar. Witty, quick to come up with alibis. She never misses a beat, never stutters. 

"I see," Miwa says. "I hope you two enjoy the rest of the night, then." Something behind them catches her eyes, and she sighs softly. "I, too, have a brother of my own to take care of. See you around." 

"See you," Alisa says, then catches the sight of Kuroo's knowing grin. "What?" 

"Miwa, huh?" he says innocently with a nudge. 

She rolls her eyes. "Speaking of brothers," Alisa says, clearing her throat, "Lev, where are you?" 

"There's been a hold up at the entrance," Kenma sighs with an exasperated exhale. "Some dude's throwing a fit about his ruined clothes or something. Might take a while for him to stop all the fuss." 

"Can't they cut in line?" Tetsurou says. 

"No," comes Morisuke's irritated huff. "The guy and his bodyguards are blocking the entrance, and he's not budging until someone fixes his outfit or whatever." 

"How's it going with Kiyoomi?" Kenma asks. 

"I don't see him," says Taketora. Tetsurou sees him duck under another waiter's arm. 

"Akane?" Kenma says. 

"I don't have eyes on him anymore," she says. "I was whisked away before I could listen in further. But I heard him asking the Prime Minister about Tooru Oikawa and Saeko Tanaka, if he'd seen them arrive. Do these names sound familiar?" 

"Tooru's the son of some multi-billionaire, isn't he?" Tetsurou says. "I think his dad is a shareholder of Google." 

"Saeko's a boxer," Taketora says. "and co-created the Tanaka World Records with her brother."

"So they're both people of power," Kenma sums. "I'm currently trying to find out everything there is to find out about them. In the meantime, you guys should keep an eye out for them." 

"Tooru's by the west staircase," Nobuyuki says. "And— ah, Kiyoomi is headed this way." 

"I don't see Saeko anywhere," Taketora says. He passes Tetsurou and Alisa, offering them champagne. They take a glass each from the tray. He adjusts his glasses as he walks away. 

"We're in," Lev says. "Saeko Tanaka, you say? Does she have short, blonde hair? I heard a woman in a silver dress introduce herself as Saeko. She was in line, right behind us." 

"Tetsu-chan, I think we should separate," Alisa whispers. She's eyeing Tooru, who's still standing at the foot of the staircase, by the dessert table. Kiyoomi has just approached him. "I can get something out of Tooru. I think." 

"Alright," Tetsurou says with a nod. "Good luck." He watches as Alisa gracefully waltzes out of his grasp. She's a mesmerizing sight to behold, and she's damn good at her job. He'd be lying if he says that she doesn't scare him sometimes. 

The crowd thickens as the seconds trickle through. Tetsurou finds a seat to settle in, making small talk with the people at the table while still keeping an eye on Alisa and Tooru. 

"Kiyoomi is approaching Saeko," Akane says. "They're talking, and Kiyoomi just gestured to the staircase."

"Did you get anything?" Kenma asks. 

"Nothing important," Akane says. Tetsurou sees her shake her head in his mind. "Kiyoomi just told her that they needed to talk in private." 

There is a second where everything becomes still. In retrospect, Tetsurou should have known it meant something bad, but that's not the first thing that crosses one's mind when he is in an extravagant gathering. 

Then: a boom. 

A loud, rattling thunderclap that shook the whole world. It's a jarring, gritting sound, accompanied by a global tremor that left everyone's chests pounding in odd rhythms, bodies clashing into one another. Glass flies everywhere, the tables and chairs catapult sideways. Water comes in through the broken windows, and Tetsurou tastes salt. A tsunami, perhaps, Tetsurou thinks. They are far away from salty bodies of water, but seawater still comes — though not as strong as it would have been, had they been by the sea. The guests are thrown into chaos, and Tetsurou’s first thought is to get as many people as he can out of the building. Then they start to feel the building tilt and sink. 

Soil liquefaction, Tetsurou thinks. When an earthquake causes soil particles to move apart, and more water seeps in to fill the empty spaces between them. 

The water is up to their knees, now. 

One person screams louder than the rest, and Tetsurou sees that their ankle has been broken from the earthquake. 

"It's the end of the world!" another shouts, and Tetsurou briefly remembers thinking that they aren't that far off. 

"Head to the door!" Tetsurou screams but his voice is drowned under the waves of hell that is panicked people and loud cries.  Broken glass and bones. Trampled bodies. Upturned furniture. A few of the chandeliers attached to the ceiling fall and land on people’s heads. Some people are thrown to the side by the impact of the water, some slip. 

The power goes out, and the audible gasps from the crowd turn to panicked screams. 

"Guys?" Alisa's voice comes trickling through the earpiece, and Tetsurou feels relief flooding his system. He would have missed it if the earpiece isn’t directly next to his ear. "I'm in one piece. Where is everyone?" 

"I still have all of my limbs," Tetsurou offers weakly. He moves amongst the crowd sideways to head to the stairs where he could assess the pandemonium from a higher vantage point. The lights slowly turn back on, but it's flickering and dim. Tetsurou guesses it's a generator. "The door!" he shouts when he arrives at the top of the staircase. "Get out!" 

"I'm here," comes Nobuyuki's groggy voice. 

"Nobuyuki, lead the people outside," Tetsurou says. "Get as many as you can." 

"You got it, Boss." 

A small explosion sounds from the kitchens, and from where he is standing, Tetsurou can see a fire erupt from behind the kitchen doors. More screaming ensues: wails of pleading and praying, but Tetsurou knows no God can help them now.

He winces as the room starts to fill with smoke. “The others?” Tetsurou asks. “Kenma? Are you there?” He holds his breath, brimming with anticipation. He grips the metal railings by the staircases. His knuckles start to turn pale white. On the other end of the room, he spots Lev, blood trickling down the side of his head. He seems to have gotten hit. 

“I’m here,” Kenma says finally. “I’m trying to determine the point of destruction. I don’t think that was merely an earthquake.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou breathes. “There was an explosion—”

“I’m on it,” Kenma says. “Just get yourself and everyone else out there. Are you with the others?”

“Nobuyuki’s getting the guests out,” Tetsurou says. “Alisa’s… somewhere. I spotted Lev just now. The others…”

“Find them.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I will.”

There are several different ways people can die in a situation like this. In no particular order, the first that comes to mind is, of course, death by trampling. When people get trampled, their muscles could get crushed. Damaged muscle tissue can release toxic electrolytes including but not limited to potassium, which, if it leaks to the bloodstream, can cause death. Another is anxiety. Of course, that doesn’t explicitly cause death. But fear is a powerful thing — it’s a virus that spreads and causes anxiety attacks, which in turn causes fatal accidents such as fainting in the middle of a room with people running around in panic and flickering lights. 

Tetsurou will definitely rather have them alive and breathing, but looking around...

“Where’s Morisuke?” Tetsurou says, alarm in his voice. His pulse heightened at the thought of any of his friends dying. “Tora? Akane?”

“I don’t see them anywhere.” Alisa says. There’s a tremor in her voice, like the sputter of water from an old faucet. Sudden and small, but definitely there. “I think I twisted my ankle. I already ditched my heels. My brother is okay, yes? Lyovochka, are you there?”

“He hit his head, I think,” Tetsurou says. “But he’s alive. Definitely. I think he’s looking for Morisuke.”

“Has anyone seen Miwa?” Alisa says. She coughs, and her voice comes out strained and throaty.

“Miwa Kageyama?” comes Nobuyuki’s voice. He coughs. His voice sounds muffled. Tetsurou guesses that he is covering his mouth and nose to filter out the smoke.  “I think I saw her head out with the crowd.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief, and Tetsurou hears it over the slowly thinning pack of people. It is a good thing that the people have been able to escape the building and evacuate, of course, but it has its disadvantages: it leaves destruction in its wake.

There, sprawled on the floor of the large, large room, water all around them, are the bodies of those left behind. Many had red marks on their faces and skin, possibly from being trampled.  There is smoke everywhere, but Tetsurou, coughing as he holds his breath, braves the kitchens. In one corner of the room, there is a pool of blood around the head of a cook, making the water around her red. Her hand and part of her face has been burnt. He crouches to have one last breath of smokeless air, before venturing the kitchen to put out the fire. When he emerges, he hears a loud cry.

“Morisuke!” Alisa gasps, and Tetsurou turns. She stands before a body she has just hauled out of the water, palms pressed to her mouth in shock. She kneels before the body, trembling as she puts the head over her lap, her hands gingerly touching what seemed to be unmoving flesh. Lev runs up to her, eyes wide in disbelief. Tetsurou sees him mouth a prayer. He turns away, but there’s no stopping the sobs that escape his lips.

Tetsurou assumes the worst as he walks over to them. The tears don’t water his eyes immediately. He’d assumed that he’d see a bloodied, lifeless Morisuke Yaku on the floor, but the thought didn’t really prepare him for what he’d see. Morisuke’s face is red and beat up, almost unrecognizable. To an unfamiliar person, his face would be indistinguishable, but Tetsurou knows that brown hair and once wide, wide eyes anywhere. He’d know Morisuke even with his face rearranged three times.

It's even more haunting and eerie; every dim flicker of light illuminating his face as if he's the first victim in a slasher film. 

“Is he gone?” Kenma asks quietly. 

Tetsurou knows the answer, but he still kneels before him and puts a hand on his chest, desperately searching for a heartbeat, a movement. Any sign that he can still live. He situates his hand near the opening of Morisuke’s nose, but it’s no use: there’s no breath of warm air that kisses his fingers, no indication that Morisuke is alive.

He sits back, inhaling sharply with eyes closed. “He’s gone,” he says. There’s a crack in his voice that none of them acknowledge, and the sharp sting of the loss of a friend hangs painfully in the air. “Has anyone seen Tora and Akane?”

“I didn’t,” Nobuyuki says, catching up to them. He averts his eyes from Morisuke’s body. Tetsurou isn't surprised by his lack of response. That’s simply how Nobuyuki is: professional and restrained, but Tetsurou also knows that when he’s alone tonight, he will mourn and weep to the stars over a lost friend. “Have you checked the other bodies?”

“No,” Tetsurou says, to which Nobuyuki replies with a nod, before sauntering towards the nearby bodies, fists clenched at his sides. “Kenma, have you heard from them?”

“No,” says Kenma. “Not one word.” He sighs. “I’ve scanned the crowd that emerged from the residence. No sign of them. Either they’re still there, or they’ve escaped without notice, somehow.”

Tetsurou stands. He puts a hand on Lev’s shoulder, a touch of warmth to keep him from getting lost in the cold, before helping Nobuyuki find Akane and Taketora among the fallen. He mutters his pleas rapidly under his breath. A prayer, but not quite. He has no need for prayers. A bargain, a promise — Give them back, and I will do anything you want. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to, or if someone is even listening, but to beseech is all he can do to keep himself from going insane. 

It takes a bit of effort to upturn the lifeless, but they do it in a hurry, for fear that whatever the hell just happened might happen again. When Tetsurou finishes checking the last body on his end, he turns to the others and shakes his head solemnly. “Nothing,” he says to Kenma. “Nothing.”

Tetsurou imagines Kenma swallowing gravely, an attempt to ease his drying throat as he sits unsmiling in the surveillance van. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says.

“I know,” Kuroo says. His voice is gentle, but his throat aches when he speaks, as if something has his neck in a chokehold, squeezing the life out of him so he suffocates in his misery. But leaders are not mourners. A shepherd knows not of grief but of looking up, and thinks of how to lead his flock. “Let’s head back,” he announces. “Before that thing — that earthquake, the explosion, whatever it was — happens again.”

I’m not losing any more of you. The thought hangs in the air, unspoken but prominent. 

“I’ll carry him back to the van,” Lev says. “We’ll give him a proper burial when we get back.” There’s a challenging edge to his voice, daring anyone to object. But no one does. Morisuke was a friend, after all.

Was. The unconscious use of the past tense hits Tetsurou suddenly. Pain flares in his chest, and he has to resist the urge to claw at his flesh and rip his bones apart. He clenches his hand into a fist, fingernails digging into the tissue of his palms. “I’ll help you,” he tells Lev. They share a nod.

They say humans are the stuff of stars. When the universe began, there was nothing but hydrogen and helium and very little of anything else. Stars function like nuclear reactors, taking fuel to convert it to something else entirely. Like a plant, perhaps: taking in carbon dioxide and exhaling oxygen. The stars converted the hydrogen into helium, and the helium is built into carbon, iron and sulfur, nitrogen and oxygen — what humans are made of. Most of the elements they’re made of, they share with stars. Dying stars. Ones that died in blazing light, a supernova. And such stellar explosions carry on. When stars reach the end of their lifetime, they swell up and fall apart.

But a star never really dies. Its material just scatters into the void of space, which eventually forms into other things. Perhaps another star. It’s a cosmic phoenix: a cycle of birth and death and rebirth.

While they’re made of stardust, humans, however, aren't stars. They do not come back to life once they’ve crossed into the other realm. Humans aren’t phoenixes that rise from ash, all new and strong. Humans are just that: mortal. The dead stay dead. Morisuke stays dead.

Getting out is a bit of a challenge. Corpses, after all, are heavier than the bodies of the living. Tetsurou thinks of the physics of it. Anything to keep his mind from the fact that he is carrying his friend’s cadaver. 

Humans’ center of gravity depends on one’s age, weight, height, and the position of their body. The average adult’s center of gravity is their lower abdomen. A person’s remains cannot think or move on its own, thus dead weight is rendered incapable of adjusting their center of gravity accordingly. It cannot adapt to changes in the surroundings. It only has their default center of gravity and has, if left uncontrolled, multiple parts that weigh the body down even more, which makes it difficult for a person to carry it, in comparison to someone who is alive and fully functional.

With a grunt, they set down Morisuke’s body inside the back of the van, slamming the door shut after securing it. 

"Akane and Tora…" Alisa murmurs. 

"Let's just hope they'll find their way back to us," Kuroo says. "They always do, don't they?" 

“The epicenter of the explosion seemed to be in America,” Kenma says on their ride back home. He’s struggling to avoid debris, but manages still. “New York.”

“America?” Tetsurou questions incredulously. He has no doubt that Kenma’s information is reliable, but still… It seems extreme. “It must have been one hell of an explosion for us to have felt and heard it all the way on the other side of the world.”

“Yeah,” Kenma says quietly, nibbling on his lower lip. He’s frowning, and Tetsurou is about to ask him what’s wrong, but he speaks up first. “Tetsu… didn’t you say that Ats— ah, your husband — is in New York for a business meeting?”

Tetsurou’s blood turns cold. His heart forgets to beat for a second. Two. Three.

It’s as if he got transported to the point before the Big Bang — where space and time didn’t exist, and everything and nothing just is — and then suddenly spat back out into the present. He feels his head spin, feels the bile rising up his throat. He forces it down with a hard swallow, but he can’t force his fear into oblivion. He feels his head on the brink of combustion. It’s getting harder to breathe. It’s as if he’s in space without protective gear, and the vacuum is pulling all the air out of his lungs, rupturing all the air molecules left in his body. He’ll pass out in 15 seconds. Freeze cold. If he’s lucky, his body will decompose before alien species find him.

They ride on in silence as Tetsurou feels the car walls close in on him. Kenma swerves to the side to avoid fallen debris, abandoned vehicles and dead bodies, and the car shuffles along the bumpy, rocky road. And itʼs even harder when heʼs forced to do it nearly half submerged in seawater. The aftermath of destruction. Tetsurou forces himself to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Repeat. A leader does not mourn, he reminds himself as he tries to push back the suffocating grasp of the pulsating walls of his brain. Not in front of his team. His friends.

Besides, what’s there to mourn, anyway? Nothing has been confirmed yet. He pushes the thought of a dead Atsumu aside. Atsumu will survive. He survived. He’s alive. He isn’t dead. Tetsurou exhales shakily. That’s right. He can’t afford to be pessimistic, no matter how close to zero the possibility of survival is.

“What’s the plan?” Lev says. He’s still staring at Morisuke’s unbreathing body. Maybe he thinks looking at it will bring him back to life. Scold him for staring at him for too long. (Morisuke used to do that to Lev. Tetsurou stares at his feet at the memory.) It’s laughably impossible, but Tetsurou can’t blame him.

Tetsurou bites his lip, hesitant. It’s taking all of him not to ditch them and run off to New York and look for Atsumu, so clearly, his first course of action after giving Morisuke a proper funeral is to head over to America. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to drag the rest with him.

“You want to go to New York,” Alisa guesses, looking out the window, leaning her head on her hand. “Find out what happened.” She runs a tongue over her bottom lip. Her eyes flick to the rearview mirror, and they land on Tetsurou’s. “Find your husband?”

“I’ll try to contact him back at the agency,” Tetsurou amends. “We don’t have to go to New York.”

“And if you can’t? If he doesn’t answer?”

“I…” Tetsurou swallows. “I can’t drag you guys with me.”

“Why the hell not?” Lev snaps, but when he catches himself, his tight expression softens.

“I can’t ask that of you guys,” Tetsurou says. “Plus, if Akane and Tora come looking for us, and we’re not there, they’ll think we’re dead. Someone has to hold the fort.”

“Let’s stay behind, Lyovochka,” Alisa says. Her voice is raw and pleading and small; it makes Tetsurou’s heart hurt. He can’t blame her; she’d just lost three of her friends — one of them permanently gone — of course, she wouldn’t want her brother to risk and lose his life too. “Let’s search for Akane and Taketora instead.”

Here, the water is thinner, and the car wheels over a bump in the road. Tetsurou tries not to wonder if it is a dead body or debris.

Lev bites his lip. Tetsurou knows he wants to go out there and find out what caused Morisuke’s death, but Tetsurou also knows that Lev can’t leave his sister behind. “Okay,” he says finally. His voice is tight and his jaw is clenched.

“How are we going to get there?” Kenma asks, “All the way on the other side of the world? Our headquarters is probably compromised, if not entirely destroyed, so we wouldn’t be able to access our… connections and snag ourselves a ride.”

“I have a helicopter,” Nobuyuki volunteers, raising one of his hands. It's a little goofy and ridiculous; he looks like a grade schooler asking to be excused to go to the bathroom. 

Tetsurou manages a smile. “You just happen to have a helicopter,” he says, an incredulous edge in his voice. 

“I'm a secret agent, what did you expect?” Nobuyuki replies with a roll of his eyes. It might be damaged though, so I can't promise anything yet.”

“It's alright,” Tetsurou says. “At least we have something to start with.” 

They drop by their headquarters. It's damaged: broken glass, walls smashed in to reveal the inside, deserted halls. The headquarters disguised as a hotel is sturdier than the regular building, but it took great hits nonetheless. 

Tetsurou nibbles on his lower lip, surveying the damage. Their meeting room at the very top of the building was wiped clean. He glances at the pile of debris at the side. “We have an underground bunker for this kind of thing,” he says finally. “The tech down there is on the old side, as it hadn't been used in a decade, but it should still be enough to help you with your search.” 

The Haiba siblings give him an understanding nod. “How do we head down?” Lev asks. 

Tetsurou shows them the way, and after a few nods and a couple of follow-up questions, he and Lev march back to the back door of the van to haul Morisuke's body out. 

Tetsurou glances around. “There's not much space where we can bury him properly. I don't want to just, you know, dig up a random hole in the middle of the city and toss him in.” 

“We can bury him in my backyard,” Nobuyuki offers. “Although that'd mean that you two wouldn't be there to witness it.” 

Alisa is about to speak, but Lev beats her to it. “It's alright,” he says, sounding tired. Tetsurou doesn't realise, then, that it's the exhaustion in his voice that made his heart ache. “I want him to have proper burial.”

They close the back door, leaving Morisuke's body untouched. Together, the siblings make their way to the building, Alisa's hand on Lev's back. Tetsurou watches them retreat in silence, before climbing back into the car. 

“It's just us three now,” he says. “Just us three.” He allows his body to sag, slumping down his seat. He releases a loud exhale, resting the side of his head on the passenger side's window. 

“I'm sure your husband's alright,” Nobuyuki says kindly. 

“Yeah, of course,” Tetsurou agrees with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He can handle himself.” He clears his throat. “I know that. I just…” He trails off and doesn't say anything more. 

Kenma shoots him a look but opts not to say anything. 

“You know where my house is?” Nobuyuki says, eager to change the subject. 

“Yeah,” Kenma says as he turns the corner. “Though I don't see where you can keep a helicopter there.” 

Nobuyuki grins. “You'll see,” he says. 

They come to a stop in front of a colonial house: white and black exterior walls, six white columns surrounding the front porch, brown chimney protruding from the black roofs, open patio made of dark wood at the side, green, freshly-mowed grass on the front lawn with a driveway leading to the garage on the other side. At least, that’s what Tetsurou guesses it would have looked like before the earthquake. Now, though, the chimney is torn in half, along with the front left side of the house. The lawn is littered with debris and dust, and the patio is almost unrecognizable. 

“Your helicopter?” Kenma asks with a raised brow. 

“The woods behind my house,” Nobuyuki says. “Let’s just hope it didn’t get slaughtered by fallen trees.” He opens the car door on his side. “First, though — Morisuke.”

Tetsurou and Kenma exchange a look, before climbing out of the van to follow Nobuyuki. Together, they haul Morisuke’s body outside, forced to move slowly under the dead weight. Their footsteps are heavy, and their progress is sluggish, challenged by the debris scattered on the front lawn.

“Where to?” Tetsurou asks, and Nobuyuki quietly tilts his head towards the direction of his backyard.

Tetsurou has always known at some level that Nobuyuki is a wealthy man, but it doesn’t stop him from marveling at his property. The colonial house is eerie where it stands, like a ghost town packed into one home. The damages made it even more eldritch, reminding Tetsurou of a haunted house. It probably would not have been freaky, if there hadn’t been an earthquake. And Tetsurou wouldn't have had to come here, carrying a dead friend’s body to bury, if there hadn’t been an earthquake.

“Right here,” Nobuyuki says, and they halt by the part of his backyard that’s enclosed by a metal fence. “This is actually a family house,” he says, gesturing to his home. “And my family has been buried here for ages.” He points to the land inside the fence. “It’s like a family cemetery. I’ll be here, too, someday. That’s if I have anyone left to carry on the tradition.”

 “Is it alright for you to bury Morisuke here?” asks Kenma, eyeing the cemetery. 

Nobuyuki shrugs. “He’ll be the first non-blood related member,” he admits, “but I’m sure they’ll understand. He was my family too.” All of you are. 

The unspoken words are whispered by the wind, but Tetsurou and Kenma hear it loud and clear. It is true, after all, that in their almost ten years of being co-workers, they had grown to love each other as family, even if they did not fully know each other’s lives outside the exterior walls they built around themselves. They would die for each other, and they know that, and thatʼs all that matters, really. 

Wordlessly, they swing open the small gate that connects two sides of the metal fence and march in the cemetery. They put Morisuke’s body down on one corner, and Nobuyuki takes the only available shovel and starts to dig. They take turns digging, and by the time they finish opening up an earthen hole suited for Morisuke, more than an hour has passed. 

They lower his body, taking one last long look, before burying it six feet underground, shunned away from the open air so Morisuke can finally rest in peace. They did not speak for a while, silent in their mourning. Before the burial, it still hasn't quite sunk in Tetsurou’s mind that Morisuke is finally gone, but seeing the dirt cling to his skin seemed to solidify it. 

“We are like the blood in our veins,” Tetsurou says finally. Kenma and Nobuyuki look at him. “We must flow without stopping. Keep the oxygen flowing and your mind working.” He sighs, and the cold climbs up his throat. “He always found that cheesy, but he never failed to smile whenever I say that, anyway.” He digs his hands into his pockets. “Morisuke Yaku, you were a demon. And a good man. Nothing will ever be the same without you.”

Nobuyuki claps a hand on his back — a reaffirming gesture. “Rest in power, demon-senpai.” A small laugh escapes his lips. “No, wait— please don’t haunt me. I know you hated that nickname.”

Kenma kneels to place a hand on the freshly dug dirt. He doesn’t say anything. When he stands and turns to face them, his jaw is clenched tight. A firm look in his eyes. “Let’s go to New York, shall we?” he said. His voice is hard. “Find out what shook the earth and killed our friend.” A pause. “Our brother.”

—

 Nobuyuki leads the way to the clearing in the woods behind his house where he kept his helicopter. 

Tetsurou doesn’t know much about helicopter parts, but that doesn’t stop him from admiring the sleek blue lines painted over a white coat, the black rotor blades atop the rotor mast, the sturdy white landing skids. Miraculously, the air vehicle doesn’t seem to be badly damaged, and the only tedious trouble they had to go through is pushing off a tree that fell near the exterior of the cockpit.

They take their places — Nobuyuki on the pilot’s seat, Tetsurou and Kenma behind him — and soon, they’re off in the air. The ride is smooth for the most part, save for the shaky take off, and Tetsurou uses the travel time to allow himself a few hours of weakness.

He thinks of Atsumu, alone and scared, if not dead. He thinks of the friends he’s lost — Morisuke dead, Taketora and Akane gone. He wonders if he had done something heinous in his previous life — if there ever was such a thing as reincarnation — and if this was a punishment for whatever the hell he’d done back then. Perhaps he slaughtered millions of people and burned the world to the ground. (He doesn’t doubt his capability of doing such a thing; even now, he’s close to doing that, if it meant finding Atsumu.)

He thinks of Atsumu again, as he often does. Where is he, how is he feeling, is he okay, is he alive — these thoughts often cycle back, the way metal would always long for the touch of a magnet. But, no matter how many times he thinks them over and over, etching the words into the tissues of his brain until he feels his mind bleed, there never seem to be any answers.

“You can cry,” Kenma’s voice trickles through the headset. It comes like a broken whisper, a cracked, feather light reminder that he’s as human as they are. “It’s just us here.” 

So Tetsurou lets the first of his tears spill, and the next and the next, but they’re gone as soon as they leave his eyes, lost in the rush of the wind. It’s as if he never started crying. He thinks of Atsumu — again, again, again. And he never stops thinking of him, never stops worrying, never stops crying, because when you’re a leader who never had the luxury of crying, it’s the one thing you won’t be able to stop doing once you start.

The night is cold, and it bites his skin as they fly over the Pacific Ocean. He holds his hands together so they don't shake on his lap. He shuts his eyelids, feeling the sting of the cool Pacific wind claw at his eyeballs. 

Tetsurou doesn't know what to do if he never finds Atsumu again. He's preparing himself for the worst, but Lord knows how he would truly react if he finds out that Atsumu… 

No. He won't let himself think that. It's too painful. 

“We need to land for a few hours,” Nobuyuki says, finally speaking. “I need to get some sleep.” 

“I know how to pilot a helicopter. Tetsurou does, too. He joined some of my classes a couple of times. For fun, he said, but didn't really learn in depth, just the controls,” Kenma says, sparing a few chuckles. “We can just switch so we don't waste time. I've had my sleep, anyway.” 

When Nobuyuki finds a place to land the helicopter, it takes a few minutes for them to switch places, and when Kenma is finally nestled in the cockpit, they take flight once more. 

As they flew, Tetsurou watches the night turn to day as they cross the terminator line. From the air, as they draw closer to the point of destruction, they can see the damages from this high up: dilapidated buildings, broken roads, upturned houses, fallen trees. It looks as if the earth tried to shift and right itself but failed. 

Kenma tells them that the epicenter was specifically in Central Park, but seeing as the damages in the surrounding area have rendered the place unsuitable for parking, the closest they're able to land is two miles away, on the parking lot of a nearby mall. They walk the rest of the way to the park, climbing on rocks and skirting around the damages of the road.

“I don't think there will be anything there,” Tetsurou says. “Everything within a twenty mile radius is completely destroyed, save for that surprisingly earthquake-proof shopping mall we parked on; it’s highly unlikely that we’ll find anything there.” He kicks a pebble, and it skittles past Kenma who’s walking ahead of him and falls into a hole in the ground. “Should we still try anyway?”

Kenma nods, humming. “It will be easier for us to spread out if we start in the middle. We should check the surrounding area for witnesses or survivors, too. Maybe America also has their own secret agents. They’d probably also want to find out what the hell happened. Maybe we could find them there.”

“Good point,” he says. And they don’t exchange more words as they walk further on. The silence that follows is a kind of comfort in itself. Tetsurou doesn't really feel like talking, not when worries keep clouding his mind the way fog would a camera lens. 

They arrive at the scene a couple of hours later. They are still dressed in their dirtied outfits from last night — singed clothes, filthy shoes, suit jackets discarded for more room to move. Despite the rough, unruly look, though, they still manage to give off a professional and intimidating air that would make an innocent bystander avert their eyes in fear.

“Well,” Tetsurou says, looking around. “This is… wow.” There’s a sinking feeling in his chest, dragging him lower and lower until his throat constricts, his bronchi close up, and he can’t breathe. A destruction on a scale this massive — surely no one is able to survive this. He tries not to think of Atsumu’s cold, lifeless body out in the wild for scavenger animals — assuming such animals have survived — to pick on as he surveys the area.

A massive crater is carved on the ground, and rocks, trees, and all sorts of other contraptions are forming a ring around them and the hole, an ominous arc of destruction, as if whatever exploded repelled everything away from it with an explosive force field. There is water, of course, and Tetsurou takes it as an unnerving reminder that the sea is everywhere and it can engulf the earth until not one speck of dust or dirt remains. 

“It’s something,” Kenma notes. “One that I can’t explain. At least, not right now, with so little information to work with.”

“Japanese?” a voice asks, and all three of them turn around to face its owner, hands reaching for their guns before realizing they hadn’t brought one with them. They see a tall man with black-tipped, gray-ish hair and a stern smile that almost passed for an elderly kind of kindness — Tetsurou would have fallen for it, had he missed the cold calculation in the other man’s eyes. “Calm down, gentlemen,” he says. “I come in peace.”

The three of them exchanged looks, brows furrowed. Tetsurou shrugs, before relaxing his stance, the others following suit. Nobuyuki still looks like he’s on the edge, though.

“I assume you lot are agents from our — ahem — rival agency, NKM?” the man says. If Tetsurou’s first impression of his smile is kind, he can see now that the corners of his lips are tense and quivering, as if all he wants to do right now is to stop smiling. 

“Are you from INZ?” Tetsurou asks, even though he already knows the answer to his own question.

“Yes,” the tight-lipped man says. 

“What are you doing in New York?” Tetsurou asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be based in Japan?”

“I don’t believe it’s fair for you to ask such a question,” the man says, “seeing as you,  secret agents working for an agency based in Japan, are in New York as well.” He runs his tongue on his bottom lip. “Obviously, we are all investigating the same explosion. Fortunately for us, though, we were already in the area for a mission. But.” The subordinate conjunction comes out of his mouth as a hiss. “Only myself and f—ah, three more of my agents remain.”

“What are you getting at?” Kenma asks. His face is placid and calm, but there is tension in his eyes, like morning coffee brewed wrong. 

The man looks at his watch. “Ah, where are my manners?”  He extends a hand to no one in particular. “For the sake of establishing trust among peers, I will introduce myself with my real name. I am Shinsuke Kita. Current leader of INZ agency — or what’s left of it now. Iʼm not entirely sure how many men I have left, back at home.”

Tetsurou doesn’t shake his hand.

“Of course,” the man who introduced himself as Shinsuke says, lowering his hand. “Hard to trust a man who claims to be the head of your rival agency. I understand.” He clears his throat. “But I must tell you, I have no harmful intentions; I just need your help.”

“Help?” Tetsurou echoes.

Shinsuke nods. He tilts his head to the direction of the nearest building, which is about twenty three miles away. “We have fixed that building as best as we can,” he says. “We are temporarily based there, as we want to be as close to the scene as we can. I was studying the damages when I saw you three here.” He continues, “As I said, we need your help for this investigation. We’re low on men, and we need all the help we can get.”

“Why do you need help, anyway?” Tetsurou asks. “Why not just leave? How does all of this affect you?”

Shinsuke sighs, looking down. “I didn’t want to reveal this before you agreed,” he admits. “But I suppose… if it helps my case.” He inhales deeply. “We know who caused the explosion,” he says. “And it’s one of our men. Or, he used to be.”

—

The INZ Agency’s temporary headquarters is not, Tetsurou admits, bad for a temporary base. In fact, it’s actually pretty good, all things considered, with its up and running gadgets and homey-ish dining area. It’s almost as if they’re in a real headquarters, but with less budget.

“How is this possible?” Kenma mutters.

“Like I said,” Shinsuke explains, “We came here for a mission. We were able to set up before the whole thing happened. Luckily, we managed to salvage most of our properties.”

“Who are they, boss?” A man with sleepy, fox-like eyes approaches them, standing from his seat in front of one of the computers. He oddly reminds Tetsurou of Kenma, chaotic and cunning under the thick skin of apathy and nonchalance. 

“Agents from NKM,” Shinsuke says. “They came to investigate the earthquake that shook the whole world, so I decided to invite them to join our cause, since we’re understaffed and we need all the help we can get.”

He yawns and shrugs, leaving without a word, so Shinsuke speaks for him. “That was Rintarou Suna,” he says, and doesn’t say anything more. He leads them to one of the unoccupied computers. Types something in. A tab pops up on the screen, replacing whatever used to be on it. It’s a recording of Central Park. He speeds it up and pauses right after the explosion. Enhances it. “This footage was retrieved from one of our satellites,” he explains as he waits for the pixels to smoothen themselves. “Ah!” he exclaims, looking at someone behind Tetsurou. 

The three of them turn around to see a man with dark hair and a familiar set of eyes. Familiar nose. Familiar pair of lips. Every single curve of his face looks exactly like— 

With a start, Tetsurou realizes that the reason why this man is so familiar is because he is a splitting image of Atsumu Miya, his husband.

There are a couple of differences, however. And Tetsurou spots them almost immediately: the size of his body is smaller than Atsumu’s, although his shoulders were wider. His hair is also parted in the other direction. His eyes aren’t warm and playful; more like a loud calm that he purposefully developed to mask a hidden, ulterior motive. And the way he carries himself is different, too. Atsumu walks confidently, like he owned the place, and he’s proud of it. But this other man acts as if he owned the place but didn’t want to scream it out loud for everyone to hear.

When Shinsuke says, “This is Osamu Miya,” Tetsurou feels as if the weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders. Kenma and Nobuyuki shoot him a questioning look. He hears himself quietly release a sigh of relief. Feels Kenma’s and Nobuyuki's puzzled eyes bore holes at his back. Atsumu has mentioned his twin in the passing a couple of times before, but he’s never really seen the guy. Sometimes he even forgets about Osamu’s existence. Atsumu doesn’t talk much about his family, even when they were still dating, so Tetsurou just assumed that it’s a touchy topic and respected his secrecy.

Now, though…

“Osamu,” he repeats the name. Feels it roll off his tongue. He used to imagine what it would be like to meet Atsumu’s blood brother: small talks over a cup of coffee, warm dinner in a homey restaurant, laughing at embarrassing stories from Atsumu’s childhood. What he didn’t expect is meeting his husband’s twin brother and a spy from his rival agency in a dilapidated building slightly altered to house a bunch of agents brought together by the threat of an apocalypse.

If Osamu is a secret agent, does it mean that…? 

No, it seems unlikely. Atsumu never seemed to still be in connection with his brother, so it doesn’t mean that he, too, is a secret agent, just like Osamu. Tetsurou’s going to have to sit down for a moment. (He doesn’t.) He doesn’t say anything in acknowledgement to his husband’s twin brother. He figures a simple nod would have to suffice. Osamu doesn’t seem to know him, anyway. 

“Have you seen Ojiro?” Osamu asks Shinsuke, hands at his sides.

“No, I just got here,” Shinsuke says. He turns back to the computer. Frowns at the still-pixelated image on the screen. “Why isn’t this damn thing clearing up?”

“Give it a while,” Osamu offers as he heads out of the room. “It got damaged from the explosion.” His voice fades away as he turns around the corner. 

Shinsuke raises a forefinger. “One second,” he says. Then, with one heavy fist, he punches the back of the monitor — not hard enough to put a hole through it, but enough to make the image turn to static for a bit, before it clears up. 

What they see on the screen makes the hairs on Tetsurou's arm stand: golden curls swept to the right, firm back muscles, fists clenched at his sides, ghostly pale face. The man on the screen was a splitting image of Osamu Miya. 

“No,” he whispers. There is no way. 

Shinsuke raises an eyebrow. “Something the matter?” He’s looking at Tetsurou carefully, gauging his reaction. Taking note of the way the corners of his mouth quiver under an invisible weight. 

“Who is this man?” Kenma says, even though he already knows the answer. 

“Isn't he that guy…?” Nobuyuki says, pointing at the direction Osamu left. “Osamu— was that his name?” 

Shinsuke shakes his head. “No,” he says. “This is his twin, Atsumu.” 

Nobuyuki steps forward, and Tetsurou can practically see the gears turning in his head. He glances at Tetsurou, and he knows that this man has pieced it all together: Osamu Miya, Atsumu Miya, Tetsurou Miya. He clears his throat and taps the screen. “What happened to him?”

“As I mentioned earlier,” Shinsuke begins, leaning on the desk, “we went here for a mission. We were hunting the leader of a notorius sex trafficking ring in America. I sent Atsumu to the hotel we suspected theyʼd be in, but he went… rogue, as you can see from the footage. I assume he got the bomb from our supplies.” 

“Bomb,” Tetsurou repeats. “You think an explosion shook the entire fucking world was caused by a bomb ?” 

A dangerous glint gleams in Shinsukeʼs eyes for a split second, but it is gone before Tetsurou can think too much about it. “You misunderstand me…” he trails off, raising an eyebrow, tilting his head in question, prompting. 

It takes Tetsurou a few moments to realize that Shinsuke is asking for his name. “Tetsurou,” he says. “Tetsurou Kuroo.” 

Being professional spies — thank God , Kuroo thinks — neither Kenmaʼs nor Nobuyukiʼs expression betrayed anything about Tetsurouʼs lie. Well… half lie. Kuroo used to be his last name, after all, before he married Atsumu. 

“Tetsurou,” Shinsuke tests. “Youʼd prefer if I call you by your first name than your given one, yes?” 

“Sure,” says Tetsurou. 

“Alright, well, you misunderstand me, Tetsurou,” Shinsuke continues. “We are an underground agency funded by hundreds of multi-millionaires from all over the world. We have the most brilliant minds working for us. I think that with science and money, nothing is impossible. Even an explosion that “shook the entire fucking world,” as you so helpfully said.” 

“So,” Kenma interjects, “one of your men went bad and set off an earth-shaking bomb; what do you want us to do about it?” 

Shinsukeʼs smile is scary. “Espionage,” he answers. “Itʼs what we all do best, isnʼt it? Only this time, thereʼs no hiding from anyone.” 

“So we use our spy skills to get intel about your guy,” sums Nobuyuki. “Alright, sounds easy, except how do we do that? Thereʼs literally nobody in the area. That Atsumu guy could have gone to a different country already.” 

“I donʼt think so,” Shinsuke says. “Thereʼs something keeping him here, I believe.” His tone insinuates that thereʼs something more to it, but he doesnʼt say anything else. 

“I donʼt suppose youʼll tell us?” Tetsurou says. 

“Maybe I will,” Shinsuke allows. “When the trust we share between us no longer has any room for doubts.” 

Tetsurou briefly suspects Shinsuke and his crew know who he truly is, but he rejects the idea. He doubts Atsumu would tell anyone about him. The man didn't even tell his own husband about his line of work. 

Thatʼs not fair , a voice in his head says. You didn't tell Atsumu about yours either. 

Right, Tetsurou thinks bitterly. He has no right to be angry. 

“Itʼs a shame, really,” says Shinsuke. Heʼs looking at Atsumuʼs image on the screen. Drumming his fingers on the desk. “He was one of my best men. I do not know what happened to him. Why he lashed out. Betrayed us.” 

“Spies never really bow to anyone, do we?” Tetsurou says. 

—

“Atsumu Miya, huh?” Nobuyuki says as they make their way back to the helicopter. 

Night time has already fallen. Shinsuke had offered to let them stay in their headquarters, but they had refused. Shinsuke understands, of course. It’s in a secret agentʼs nature to be distrusting. Time is a helpful friend in building camaraderie between spies. 

“You know, when I said I wanted to know who your husband is, I didnʼt expect to find out this way.” 

“Me neither,” Tetsurou says. He lifts a leg over a chunk of cement that broke apart from the road. “I didn’t even know he was like me,” he admits glumly. “I just…”

“It’s a lot to take in,” says Kenma sympathetically.

“Do you really believe he’s capable of all this?” Nobuyuki asks, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings as they walk past dilapidated buildings. “He didn’t look the type. Even when he looked ruined, in the image. Now, his twin brother… Let’s just say I wouldn’t find it hard to believe if he confesses to framing Atsumu.”

“There’s something off about them,” Kenma says. “I can’t put a finger to it. Especially that Shinsuke. It may just be my trust issues talking, though, but I swear there’s something…”

“Like he’s not telling us everything he actually knows?” Nobuyuki supplies. “Like he knows something we don’t.” This time it isn’t a question. “Keeping part of the truth from us.”

“Exactly,” Kenma says with a nod. “A counter argument, however, is that secret agents always keep some part of the truth to themselves, in fear of putting their whole trust to the wrong person. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t tell spies from my rival agency the entire truth, either.”

“Point taken,” Nobuyuki says.

“I wouldn’t think too much about it, though,” says Kenma. “Hurts the head. Just… be careful of them. Trust no one but ourselves.”

Tetsurou mulls over this, but he always comes back to one thing. Or, person, rather: Atsumu. Who knew Atsumu is just like him, a spy? Certainly not him. It never even crossed his mind. But now that he knows, everything suddenly makes sense: how Tetsurou never saw any of Atsumu’s co-workers, even when he specifically asked if he could meet them, how Atsumu often turns away from him when asked about his “office”, how Atsumu had this suitcase he never let Tetsurou see. How he never met Osamu.

They halt in front of their helicopter, and silently, they take out the things they packed and brought with them overseas, before setting off again towards a nearby building. Luckily, it turns out to be a motel, and most of its structure is still intact. A perfect fit for a temporary shelter.

“What do you think they’d do to him?” Tetsurou asks quietly when they’ve snuggled into their respective beds after cleaning up as best as they can. “Once we find him.”

“I don’t know,” Kenma says, but he and Tetsurou both know the answer — they just didn’t want to admit it out loud, afraid to speak it into existence. “I don’t know,” he says again.

The next day, they head back to the makeshift headquarters, tired despite last night’s sleep. Shinsuke greets them outside, and they all go into the building together. They spend the whole day reviewing satellite footage, trying to trace Atsumu’s footsteps after the earthquake, searching for places he could have fled to. Shinsuke is firm in his belief that Atsumu hasn’t left the country, and Tetsurou wonders what could make him believe so strongly in his theory.

Sometimes, he and his men would go outside, check the places for themselves. They would always return empty-handed, though, and Tetsurou marvels about how good a spy Atsumu must be to have escaped their fingers so easily, hidden so skillfully from their watchful eyes.

An uneventful week passes by, but success, much like Atsumu himself, is nowhere near their grasp. Lev and Alisa have contacted them once, last Wednesday, and told them that there’s still no sign of the Yamamoto siblings.

“No such luck,” Nobuyuki mutters. “Again.”

“We’ve checked that area, I think,” Rintarou says to Ojiro. He looks frustrated and annoyed.

“Well, let’s check it again,” Ojiro says. “He might be on the move, so he could have come here. Or something.”

“You said he was one of your best,” Kenma says to Shinsuke. “Just how good is your best, exactly? Because there’s no goddamn way anyone can possibly hide from fucking satellites.”

Part of Tetsurou is relieved that they haven’t found him yet. He has a bad feeling about what Shinsuke and his men would do to Atsumu once they do. Even if Atsumu did cause all this destruction, he didn’t think he’d have the heart to see him killed. He’d lost too much; he’s not losing his husband, too.

“The best of my men,” Shinsuke starts, “can hide from fucking satellites.”

On the third night of the second week, Tetsurou finds it hard to sleep. He’s plagued with worries and inescapable nightmares. Unease sinks into the very armor of his skin, and it feels as if it’s out to swallow him whole. He stares at the ceiling without blinking, blank eyes drilling themselves into nothingness. It’s only until his eyes start to sting that he finally blinks, effectively pulling him out of his daze.

Unable to sleep, he gets out of bed, rubbing his palms on his face. He glances at Kenma and Nobuyuki who are both sleeping like rocks. He stands, brushing the blanket off his body. The air is cool when it hits the surface of his skin. He walks out of the building, out into the open, where he stands with his hands in his pockets. Tetsurou doesn’t smoke, but his mouth is itching to wrap itself around a warm cigarette.

“Atsumu,” he whispers into the evening wind, “where are you?”

“Looking for me?”

He turns around quickly, hand instinctively reaching for a gun that isn’t there. “Who’s there?” he asks. There is no tremor in his voice; a leader does not shake. Instead, he stands straighter with his hands clenched into fists at his sides, ready to swing at any attacker that so much as attempts to touch him.

“It’s me,” the voice speaks again. There’s something familiar about it, an old song he hasn’t heard for a very long time. “I can’t step out of the dark; they’ll see me.”

Tetsurou swallows, heart hammering in his chest. He knows now why the voice sounds familiar, but he fears that it may just be his head pulling tricks on him, conjuring voices of his beloved to make him go mad. He doesn’t want to say it, fearing he would be wrong, but he says it anyway, “Atsumu?”

“Yes, love,” Atsumu says. “Come to the shadows.”

“How do I know it’s really you?” Even though there’s nothing more that he wants than to run into his arms, he knows that it would all go to shit if he ends up running into a trap.

“Your wedding ring was too big for you, so you used to wear it around your neck before we had it resized,” Atsumu says. Tetsurou has to physically force himself to keep from craning his neck around. “You kept complaining about the chain irritating your neck, though, so you often left it on your nightstand.”

“Go on,” Tetsurou says, voice soft.

“You like cooking for me,” Atsumu says. “So even though we have this system where the first one to wake has to cook, and I wake up early because of work, you rise before me whenever you can, so you can make breakfast for the both of us.”

“How do you know that?” Tetsurou asks, a hysterical laugh almost bubbling in his throat before he pushes it down.

“Because I know you.”

And that is enough for Tetsurou. “Where are you?” he asks. His hands are shaking now, and suddenly, under the moonlit darkness, he is not a leader, but a man looking for his love.

“Your ten o’clock,” Atsumu says. “Turn slowly and walk casually, as if I am not here; they are watching.”

Tetsurou turns, and when he squints hard enough, he can make out the shape of Atsumu and the brightness of his golden hair. “I see you,” he says. Walks to the dark. When he is inside the safety of the shadows, he hugs Atsumu with the fierceness of a living sun. “Where have you been?” he asks. They pull away.

“Hiding,” he says simply, as if it’s the only answer, the most logical thing to do. And it is. Because when an underground agency funded by hundreds of multi-millionaires from all over the world is out for your blood, the only thing left for you to do is to hide.

“The earthquake, the bomb—” Tetsurou sputters.

“That was me,” Atsumu admits. His face drops, and Tetsurou knows that he is guilty. “But I can explain.”

“Why—? Why would you do that?” Tetsurou is suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to punch Atsumu. “What the hell…?”

Atsumu sighs. “Like I said, I can explain,” he says. “But we have to get out of here first.”

“You knew I was here?” Tetsurou asks, surprised.

“I saw Shinsuke approach you that day in Central Park.” Atsumu’s voice turns into a low growl when he mentions Shinsuke. “I’ve been trying to get close to you for two weeks now, but you never seemed to be alone.”

Tetsurou’s blood turns cold. “Is this what Shinsuke meant,” he says, fear crawling up his arm, “when he said there was something keeping you here?”

“What?” Atsumu paled.

“He was so sure you wouldn’t leave the country. Not yet,” Tetsurou explains, his speech increasing in speed. “So I asked why he was so certain, and he told me there was something keeping you here. I assumed he meant you were looking for something, but now…”

“We have to get out of here,” Atsumu insisted. “Right now.”

“But Kenma and Nobuyuki!” Tetsurou protested. “I can’t just leave them. And how do I know you’re not lying to me? Shinsuke did say you went rogue…”

Atsumu’s face is stern. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

Tetsurou looks away and hesitates, but he already knows his answer. He’d trust Atsumu even if he’s holding a bloody knife. Even if he had Tetsurou over a chasm of boiling lava. If Atsumu would tell him to jump, he’d ask how high. If Atsumu would tell him to kill himself, he’d ask if he preferred drowning or hanging. “Yes,” he says.

“Okay,” says Atsumu, and there is gratitude and relief in his eyes. “I will tell you everything I know; I promise you that. But first we have to get out of New York.”

“Where to?” asks Tetsurou.

“Home,” says Atsumu, a faraway look in his eyes. “Japan.”

“My men and I came here on a chopper,” he informs. “I feel bad about this, but we can steal it. Use it for ourselves.”

“Where is it?”

“Not far,” assures Tetsurou. He starts to walk into the light, but stops to look back. “You’ll tell me everything in the air?”

“Everything,” Atsumu promises.

“How will you get to the helicopter without being seen?” he asks.

“I won’t,” Atsumu says. “But we’ll be long gone by the time they’ll be up to see it, anyway.”

Tetsurou leads Atsumu to the chopper, silently apologizing to Nobuyuki for stealing his ride.

“Do you know how to pilot this thing?” Atsumu shouts over the noise as Tetsurou starts it.

“A little,” Tetsurou admits. “I tried a flying class for fun once.”

“For fun,” Atsumu repeats.

“Yep,” says Tetsurou. “We have to hurry before they come running to us.” He takes off as soon as he can, and before they could see any of the other agents coming out to see what all the racket is all about, they’re in the air, away from everyone else.

They’re silent for half an hour or so, before Atsumu starts to speak into the headset. “I assume Shinsuke already told you that we were here for a mission.” When Tetsurou nods, he continues. “They sent me out to this hotel, and… suddenly I had a flash of… something. A memory, I think. Like I’d been there before. I ran out, didn’t even realize I was in Central Park when the explosion happened.”

“You had a bomb with you?” Tetsurou asks.

Atsumu frowns at this. “I…” he trails off. “I’m not sure what happened. Everything was a blur. I just remember feeling like there was something inside me clawing at my insides to get out, and that I had to go out in the open before it bursts out of me.” He inhales. “Then the last thing I remember was the earth shaking. Back then I felt as if it was the end of the world, and that I had caused it. When I came back to my senses, I ran away. I didn’t dare come back to Shinsuke and the others for fear that they might kill me.”

“What did you see?” Tetsurou asks. “When you had a flashback, or something.”

Atsumu hesitates, and Tetsurou resists the urge to look back at him and see his face. He imagines, though, that Atsumu’s face is all scrunched up, the way it does when he’s thinking, eyebrows tightened, eyes stormy. “I saw my agency,” he says. “And this man. I…” He trails off. “I don’t know,” he says finally after moments of silence. “I just know that I have to go back to our headquarters in Japan. I think… I think I’ll get my answers there.”

“Aren’t they going to kill us, especially you, if we head to your agency?” Tetsurou asks.

“I know it’s going to be dangerous, Tetsu, and that I cannot possibly ask this of you,” Atsumu says slowly, “but you’re the only one I trust now. I have no choice but to go there, if I want to know what’s happening to me.”

“Are you kidding?” says Tetsurou incredulously. “I’d rather risk my life than have you go through this alone.”

“Thank you, Tetsu,” he says. “Truly.” They are silent for a while, before Atsumu speaks again, “So you’re like me, huh?”

This makes Tetsurou grin. “Did you see it coming?” he asks.

“No,” Atsumu admits. “But neither did you. About me, I mean.”

Tetsurou sighs. “I’m feeling betrayed, to be honest. But I know why you kept it from me, so I won’t hold it against you.”

“Me too.”

“Speaking of secret agents, how the hell did you manage to hide so well from us?” Tetsurou asks. “I was hoping we’d never find you because I was scared Shinsuke would have you killed, but turns out I didn’t have to hope; you were good enough to be able to stay out of sight from all of us.”

This time, Atsumu laughs. “I was following you the whole time. Wherever you went, I was there. In the shadows.”

Tetsurou chokes on his spit. “You mean the whole time we were scouring the area for you, reviewing satellite footage and all that crap, you were there? Tailing me?”

“Yes,” Atsumu says proudly. “I’m brilliant, I know. They do say that I’m one of the best.”

“And no one so much as saw a strand of your hair,” Tetsurou says, impressed. “Or a flash of your clothes.”

“Yep,” says Atsumu.

“Incredible,” Tetsurou says.

“Child’s play.”

“Getting cocky now, are we?”

“With good reason.”

—

They arrive at the other side of the world half a day later, nearing the shores of Onjuku-cho Beach, and Tetsurou only confesses at the last minute as they fly over the ocean that he doesn’t know how to land the chopper.

“Are you insane?” Atsumu screeches. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Tetsurou smiles sheepishly. “Surprise?” he offers, but Atsumu only kicks his seat. He laughs, taking the headphones off his head, and speaks into the mic, “Get ready to jump.” If Atsumu protested, he couldn’t hear it over all the noise. He steers the aircraft so it’s near the water. “Go! Go!” he yells, violently gesturing with his hands.

He sees Atsumu’s mouth move to utter a string of swear words before jumping out. He follows soon after and listens as the sound of the helicopter fades away, pilotless. “Sorry, Nobuyuki,” he says to himself.

Tetsurou and Atsumu start to swim, eager to touch the earth, feel the land beneath the soles of their feet. It takes them a while to swim to the shore, and by the time they finish battling the waves and the water, their arms are sore and their breaths are desperate gasps.

They lay on the sand, catching their breaths. Wet hair clinging to their face, clothes hugging their bodies the way a scared child would. They sit in silence until their breathing starts to slow, seabreeze hitting damp skin, making them shiver. 

“I have a bad feeling,” Atsumu begins, “that Shinsuke heard the helicopter take off, and now he’s having his men come for us. Wouldn’t be surprised if someone started attacking us right now.”

Tetsurou shushes him. “Don’t jinx it,” he says. “What if we actually get attacked?”

“Then I can say ‘I told you so.’” 

“I hate you,” Tetsurou says. 

Silence follows afterwards, but Atsumu breaks it with, “I’m scared.” He’s not looking at Tetsurou, eyes on the horizon. The tide hugs at his feet before pulling away, only to come back. The action oddly reminds Tetsurou of when Atsumu embraces him in the morning, trying to make the most of ten more seconds of sleep. “I don’t know what we’ll find, but I have a strong feeling that I must know.” He turns to Tetsurou, and he sees that Atsumu’s eyes are broken, the kind you see on someone who’s lost in their own hometown. “I still feel it,” he admits, desperate, “the clawing in my gut. Like something’s trying to crawl outside me.”

Tetsurou puts his hand on Atsumu, an offer of comfort and an attempt at reassurance, but it does little to bring him ease.

“I’m scared about what we’ll find, if it changes anything about us. About me,” he says. “I’m just… I’m just scared.” 

 “Well, I would be more concerned if you weren’t,” Tetsurou jokes. “But, seriously, I won’t ever let anything change between us. You will still be Atsumu, who proposed to me three years into college, and I will still be Tetsurou, who turned you down.”

“Shut up,” Atsumu says, but he’s smiling.

“Even if we find out that you can breathe out fire or turn the whole world into dust,” Tetsurou says softly, “you’d still be the same Atsumu I grew up with. The same Atsumu I had all those stupid fights with. The one who told me he was separated with his twin brother at birth, but I didn’t believe him, so he didn’t talk to me for a week.”

“I remember that,” Atsumu says with a laugh. “I also remember the look on your face when I showed you Osamu’s picture.”

Tetsurou throws his hands up. “Can you blame me for being skeptical? Imagine being randomly told by your boyfriend that he has a secret twin brother all the way on the other side of the country.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Atsumu relents.

Tetsurou takes Atsumu’s hand in his. “You know I love you, right?” He guides Atsumu’s hand so his palm is on his chest. “Even if everything else changes, this won’t.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “You’re so cheesy,” he says, leaning in for a kiss.

“I’m trying to be romantic,” Tetsurou murmurs against his lips. “Is it working?”

“Maybe,” Atsumu says.

They pull away when they sense someone behind them. But when they turn, there is no one there. 

“You sensed that, too?” Tetsurou asks. 

Atsumu nods. “Must be the nerves.” 

Tetsurou’s eyes narrow for a fraction of a second, but he wipes all the suspicion off his face and stands, pulling Atsumu up with him. “Let’s get going, shall we? The sooner we get there, the better.”

“You’re right,” Atsumu agrees. “And we have a long way ahead of us.”

They start to walk quietly, and the only sound they hear is the soles of their damp shoes hitting sand, the sloshing of water as each step squeezes seawater out, as they make their way out of the beach. The only warmth Tetsurou feels is Atsumu’s body heat beside him. And even though he acted as if the sensation of a shadow is nothing to be concerned about, he keeps his eyes and ears peeled for another set of footsteps or a flicker of a darting figure. He’s almost convinced it had only been his frayed nerves until he hears another set of feet, light and matching his pace, but it’s there. He knows because he hears the crack of asphalt that he’s sure neither him nor Atsumu had stepped on, the quiet sloshing of water. 

He hears it, but he doesn’t show any indication he does. He wants to ask Atsumu if he’s noticed it, too, but he doesn’t want to risk it. Maybe later, he decides as they continue their agonizing trek, when it’s safer. But he doesn’t know exactly when or where ‘safer’ is, or if there is even such a thing, in their case.

“Keep an eye out for a car we can hijack,” Atsumu says. “Do you know how to hotwire a car?”

“Obviously,” Tetsurou says with a roll of his eyes. “What do you take me for? And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, they don’t call me one of the best for nothing,” Atsumu shoots back. “Imagine failing a mission just because you couldn’t hotwire a car. Couldn’t be me.”

Tetsurou suspects that they’ve been walking for at least thirty minutes now, or a little while later, because their dripping wet clothes have dried enough for them to take comfort in the fabric on their backs instead of shivering in them like wet puppies. 

“Are we close to the highway now?” Tetsurou asks, but he’s not really waiting for a response, already peering into the distance as far as his height allows him. “I see a car up ahead. It’s on its side, though. Must be from the explosion.” Then he looks further ahead as they turn around the bend and notices a pathway between two rows of houses. “Oh,” he realizes, “we could have just walked between those lines of houses.”

“Ah,” Atsumu says, half in amusement and exasperation. “How silly of us to follow this tedious road instead of looking for an easier way out.”

They sprint towards the car, as fast as they can with water up to their ankles, and Tetsurou takes note of the extra set of footsteps behind them. With all the strength they have left, they manage to turn the car the right way, bottom side down instead of at the side, and hurry inside the car, Tetsurou in the driver’s seat. He’s already working on the car’s engine when Atsumu asks, “You noticed it too?”

“The shadow?” Tetsurou asks, then whooping when the engine roars to life. “Hard not to notice a third pair of footsteps, isn’t it? Must have been a rookie. Is your agency low on men?”

“They must be,” Atsumu says, “to have sent a rookie on the trail of highly trained agents. But that could have been a red herring. Or a scout, and they’re contacting the others as we speak.”

“Well, whatever the case,” Tetsurou says as he rights the car so they’re facing the correct direction, “it doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s us versus them, after all.” And the car moves forward in one sudden lurch, before the wheels start rolling smoothly, and then they are off.

They make it a good two miles, by Tetsurou’s estimate, before the car breaks down from the water. They waste no time in getting out and finding another car to steal, but the road is empty except for them. At least they lost the person tailing them, Tetsurou consoles himself.

“We need to eat,” says Atsumu. He looks around, but the closest he sees to a restaurant is a liquor store.

“Maybe we’ll find one up ahead,” says Tetsurou. “I remember there being a sushi restaurant around here. It was near the tea shop, I think.”

So they walk ahead, and silence is their only armor. It’s thick between them, like a barbed wire fence live with crackling electricity. Tetsurou feels that if he so much as holds his finger over it, he’ll get electrocuted. Besides, there really isn’t much to say, anyway. Small talk is for casual friends, so that’s out of the window. And what do you even tell your husband when he’s just found out that there is something wrong with him? There is no comfort from the unknown, no safety bunker you can crawl into when things go bad, and so silence shall be their only armor. And for Tetsurou, it’s enough for him that Atsumu knows he is not alone.

As they walk further ahead, they find that Tetsurou is right, because not too later after they pass the tea shop, they soon have the sushi restaurant in their line of sight. It is deserted, of course, much like the empty, broken roads they’ve been following for a while now and the vacant houses they’ve walked past.

They enter without a greeting and scavenge the kitchens for whatever edible thing they can find, stuffing it in their mouths and finding containers to stash some of it in for later. They leave the restaurant without much hassle, then begin their long trek again. This time, however, the silence is almost unbearable, and Tetsurou is almost glad when he hears the first bullet being fired. 

Quickly, he pushes himself and Atsumu to the side, and the second bullet follows. Instinctively, as if they have been doing this for as long as they can remember, they run towards the path between another line of houses and push themselves forward, taking cover amongst the trees and behind houses. 

“Did you see how many?” Tetsurou asks, and Atsumu shakes his head. “Must have been that rookie’s reinforcements. Nice of them to wait until we finish eating, though.”

“My colleagues are polite like that,” fires Atsumu. 

They don’t have the time nor luxury to laugh at the jab, though, because another shot is fired — it comes somewhere close to them — and they’re running once more. They follow the road from the trees, but soon the road comes to a bend, and they’re forced to cross the street, alerting their pursuers as they sprint.

Tetsurou sees now that he should have pulled them both toward the other side of the street, where the trees are thicker and it’s easier to lose their assailants, but he doesn’t linger on his mistake. Berating himself for something he can’t undo is a waste of time. A leader does not regret, he thinks. Not when he can’t undo it. The best he could to compensate is find a way to lose their pursuers. 

They run, adrenaline coursing through their veins. Tetsurou feels the food he’s inhaled attempt to escape out of his throat, but he forces it down with one quick swallow. Their pursuers — three, Tetsurou counts. Could me more — keep firing at them, but because they’re moving targets, they always miss. One bullet, though, grazes Tetsurou’s skin, and the speed slices his cheek. On their left is a wide field, plain and open — not good. On the other side, however, is a thick forest just behind the stack of houses.

They make a run for the forest, disappearing into the trees. They hear the enemy agents follow, hear the rustle of the leaves and the quiet crunch of grass under heavy feet. Atsumu touches Tetsurou’s shoulder at points in two different directions, and after Tetsurou nods, they separate ways but stay in sight of each other. The three agents rush forward, unknowing. Tetsurou moves at once, when they’re far away enough, but one of them backtracks. Whispers to the others. They separate.

A plan starts to form in Tetsurou’s mind. He catches Atsumu’s eye and points at the direction one of the agents bounded towards, and he tilts his head towards the other, pointing at himself. Atsumu nods in understanding, and he is gone. Tetsurou inhales deeply before following the agent as quietly as he can. He finds the agent in a clearing, examining the ground for tracks. Soundlessly, he creeps behind the agent. Then, in one swift movement, he covers their nose and mouth with his arm and snaps the agent’s neck with his other hand. He sets the lifeless body down silently and takes their gun, before running off to find the third agent.

The woods are unfamiliar to him, so he uses his senses and instincts to find the other pursuer. They seem to be on the heavy side, so Tetsurou is certain that they have left footprints in the muddy forest ground. He does his best to track them, inspecting the barks for bullet holes, the plants for broken stems. He finds them eventually in a different clearing: Atsumu is fighting both of them at once. Tetsurou raises the gun to take aim, but they’re moving too much for him to get a clear shot. 

Atsumu lands a punch on the agent's jaw, then turns around with his leg raised to kick the other’s head. The one with longer hair — the same one Atsumu punched — staggers back, but regains their balance quickly. Tetsurou runs, gun already stashed in his pocket so he can fight better, and throws himself at Long Hair. They roll a little farther away, and both of them struggle for dominance as they tackle each other. Tetsurou kicks Long Hair’s chest, who promptly stumbles back, and Tetsurou uses this small moment of imbalance to knock Long Hair off their feet. Tetsurou straddles the agent, throwing punches left and right with the intention of knocking them out. 

It isn’t that easy, though, because the agent summons strength from God knows where and hits their forehead against Tetsurou’s, who hisses in pain. Long Hair pushes Tetsurou off, grabbing him by the neck. Tetsurou chokes, clawing at the agent’s hand. He feels his blood accumulating in his head as he stares at the assailant’s bruised, bloody face. He struggles, tries to pry the hands away from his neck. 

Then he feels the weight of the gun in his pocket, heavy, as if calling out to him. He starts to reach for the gun, struggling to breathe, and the agent only tightens their chokehold. His fingers feel the slightly warm metal of the gun, fingers curling around the handle and positioning near the trigger. He whips it out, and the agent falls to the ground, immobilized. 

But the shot hadn’t been fired by Tetsurou. He looks back, palm on his throat, and sees Atsumu lowering his gun.

“I had it under control,” he rasps, standing.

Atsumu raises a brow and walks over to him, bending to collect the third agent’s gun. “And what was I supposed to do, then, stand and watch you choke?”

Tetsurou rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He coughs. Catches his breath. Lets his heart rate  settle.

Atsumu takes a minute to look around, trying to figure out the way back to the road.  “Let’s just walk wherever,” he decides helpfully. “I’m sure we’ll get out of the forest whichever way we run.”

They walk towards a random direction. Tetsurou plays with the gun in his hand, fingers quick and nimble. “Do you think there's more?” he asks.

“With Shinsuke involved, there will always be more.”

Tetsurou frowns. He hadn’t trusted Shinsuke, but Atsumu’s hostility towards his boss seems to run deeper than simple distrust. He wants to ask, but he remembers what Atsumu told him: he started getting flashes before exploding in the middle of Central Park. To Tetsurou, it seems as if Atsumu had flashbacks of his… past, as he supposes. So maybe asking about his spy history would trigger it, and Tetsurou didn’t want that, so he doesn’t ask. But another question lingers in his mind, troubling him: what had been so traumatic in Atsumu’s past that made him shake the whole world to its roots? And how had he, someone who’s known Atsumu since childhood, not known about it?

True enough, they reach the end of the forest, and they are once more on the main road. On their right is a fork in the road and on their left is a straight path that Tetsurou doesn’t know where it leads to. He peers at the distance. “If I remember correctly, the route to Tokyo passes the local Christian Church.” He jerks his thumb to the left. “This one doesn’t seem like where the church is.” He nods to the fork. “That one seems like the right way.”

Without argument, Atsumu follows him, and soon enough, they pass the United Church of Christ, where a couple of cars are parked in front of, in a crooked line. Some cars have dents, some have the windshield or windows or both smashed in. They carefully select the best one among the bunch, the least damaged —  a bright red Sedan. Tetsurou starts it, and they pull out of the parking space. 

The ground is covered in water, up to the underside of their knees. Tetsurou guesses that there must have been an explosion, from the effects of the earthquake.

They don’t talk much during the car ride, and Tetsurou allows himself to think. The roads are empty; Tetsurou suspects that the people have evacuated for fear of another earthquake. Should another wave of pursuers come after them, Tetsurou is not sure he’d be able to outrun them in these deserted streets. The ruined asphalt would help slow them down, of course, and Tetsurou is good at twists and turns,  but you can never truly hide from someone in plain sight for long. 

Atsumu coughs, pounding at his chest. He looks troubled, and it doesn’t help that he’s hitting himself like crazy.

“Hey, hey,” Tetsurou says, sparing a quick glance at him. “What’s going on? How are you feeling?”

Atsumu doesn’t respond, and a low growl forms at his throat. 

“Hey, look at me.” Tetsurou abruptly stops the car, and he almost kisses the steering wheel, if he hadn’t put a hand forward. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Atsumu tries to say, but his hands are shaking. He’s stopped hitting his chest, but only because his hands are trembling. “Something—” he gasps. “Get out—” His eyes are wide and desperate. He grips Tetsurou’s arm. 

“Focus on my voice, alright?” Tetsurou says, and he places a gentle hand on Atsumu’s cheek. “On me. Look at me.” He searches for the right words to say, struggling to come up with something that would help calm Atsumu down. “You’re alright, yeah?” he says. It feels useless, but he repeats it anyway, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “You’re alright, you’re alright.” He reaches forward. His forehead is still throbbing from when the agent butted heads with him, but he presses it against Atsumu’s, anyway. It seems like a comforting gesture. A reassurance. “I’m here, and you’re alright. Hey, look at me.”

Atsumu swallows and forces himself to hold Tetsurou’s gaze. Their position would have been intimate, if Atsumu isn’t on the verge of going insane. 

“Talk to me,” Tetsurou prompts. “You’re alright. I’m here.”

“I—” Atsumu manages. “I’m alright.” He’s trembling, and he looks lost. His eyes are still wide, fist clenched to his side and the other hand still gripping Tetsurou’s arm tightly. His nails dig on Tetsurou’s skin, and it bleeds. “I’m—” he struggles.

“Breathe,” Tetsurou says, trying to keep his voice as gentle as he can. His heart rate rises when he feels the car shake. “Atsumu?” he repeats. He tries to ignore the pain in his arm and the shake of the ground. There is no blood dripping from his flesh, he thinks, and the ground isn’t shaking. It is only him and Atsumu, and Atsumu needs his help. Needs him calm. A leader — most of all, a lover — does not panic. 

“Talk to me,” he tries again. “You’re alright. I’m here.”

“I’m—” Atsumu gulps. “I’m alright.” The shaking has lessened, and his grip on Tetsurou’s arm loosens. His lost, wild eyes are almost normal now. Sweat trails the side of his face, following the lines of his body until it disappears behind the neckline of his shirt. “You’re here.” 

They say the words back and forth, repeating it like a mantra. A holy prayer that’s sacred between the two of them. Tetsurou is frightened the whole time. The memory of the world-shattering quake plagues him, images of his friends’ dead bodies flashing behind his eyelids, even those he knows aren’t dead yet. Honestly, his best bet of survival — and his instincts sure seem to agree — is to run away before another explosion occurs. But he doesn’t let go of Atsumu’s cheek. Doesn’t leave Atsumu.

Atsumu calms down eventually, still shaking, wiping the sweat from his face. He inhales deeply, then exhales, waiting for a few seconds before starting the cycle again, until his breathing is normal and his pulse isn’t a herd of feral racing horses.

Tetsurou starts the car again, so as not to lose more time, but keeps an eye on Atsumu. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask. He is unsure of how to tread the water, and so he doesn’t. Instead, he waits.

It takes a long while before Atsumu finally decides to speak. “Sometimes, the flashes come when I’m alone with my thoughts,” he says, “when I’m thinking… my mind wanders, and suddenly I wonder if I’ve been here before, or why this place looks familiar.” He pauses, uncertain of how to continue. “The one here, though… I was just thinking about what I saw when this first started, these flashbacks.” He clears his throat. “I saw a child, back then. And I saw a field, just like the one we passed. I was thinking… if it was anything important. And that’s when it started again.”

“How does it feel?” Tetsurou asks. “The clawing.”

Atsumu unconsciously presses his palm on his throat. “Painful,” he says. He pauses, like he wants to say something more, but decides against it. “It makes me want to rip my body into half,” he admits, “so I can get rid of whatever this is that’s inside me. If there even is anything inside me.” Then, in a smaller voice, he adds, “What if it;s all just me?”

They pass a car repair shop. Atsumu looks out the window.

“It doesn’t make any difference, I think,” Tetsurou says, “if there’s nothing actually trying to come out of you, and it’s all just you. You’re still the same Atsumu I  grew up with, to me.” They pass a snack bar. “I don’t think anything will ever change that. I promised you that, didn’t I? That I will never leave you. I intend to keep that promise.”

Atsumu falls asleep a little while later, exhaustion finally getting the best of him. Tetsurou glances at him. Squeezes his shoulder briefly. He deserves the rest, Tetsurou thinks. And he lets Atsumu doze off as they pass fields, thick forests, and the occasional groups of empty houses. Soon, they reach another fork in the road, and Tetsurou steers the car left. Here, there are more houses and open fields than there are clusters of trees.

Finally, they reach the mouth of the expressway that connects the islands. It’s badly damaged, but Tetsurou figures two people on foot can cross it just fine. He pulls to a stop, which wakes Atsumu.

“What’s wrong?” asks Atsumu as he adjusts his eyes. 

“We’ll need to walk,” Tetsurou says, gesturing towards the damaged bridge. “A car wouldn’t be able to get past that. Might even cause it to break ultimately,”

Atsumu nods, sighing heavily as he gets out of the car. He grabs the pack they’d stolen from the sushi restaurant — inside it are the food and water they also stole. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks Tetsurou. “I’ve had the chance to sleep. You didn’t.”

“I’m alright,” says Tetsurou.”Don’t worry about me.”

Atsumu eyes him suspiciously, but lets it go. “If you’re sure,” he says, tentative. 

Tetsurou’s legs are sore — he’s never had a proper rest. Even when he’s driving, his limbs are always tense. Never relaxing or settling. His body hurts, but he doesn’t complain. Even when his muscles are screaming in pain. He’s grateful, though, that Atsumu notices the slowness in his pace and matches it without a word. They walk side by side, skirting the edges to avoid the more damaged parts of the bridge. Tetsurou thinks of how the bridge would have been sturdier, had the lower parts been arched instead of straight.

He thinks of science, because that’s what he does when he’s trying to calm himself. Science is a constant, and a constant is the best comfort he can have at a time like this. 

In arched bridges, the curve dissipates the force of the load outward, away from the bridge, therefore it withstands more force. They’re more durable, too, as proven by the bridges from the Roman Empire that are still standing today. 

Arches, he thinks. The arch of a bridge, the arch of Atsumu’s back — he wonders if he’ll ever get to see it again, the sight of Atsumu in bed, bare skin on bedsheets, the redness in his cheeks as Tetsurou trails kisses along his chest, moonlight spilling through the windows in a way that makes them both glow. The thought makes him cough, and suddenly he’s reminded of where he is now, trekking a broken bridge, tired, hungry.

But he doesn’t stop walking. Even as his legs threaten to buckle underneath his weight.

He doesn’t notice that Atsumu is eyeing him carefully until he speaks. “We should stop for a while,” he says. “Rest. You sleep.”

“In the middle of a badly damaged bridge?” Tetsurou says weakly with a feeble snort, like the idea is too ridiculous for him to even consider. “What if it collapses suddenly? We can’t risk it, you know that.”

“But I wouldn’t want you to suddenly pass out!” Atsumu exclaims indignantly. “What if you collapse, huh? What then? Any moment now, Shinsuke’s men could come for us. What if you pass out in the middle of a fight? You could die!”

Tetsurou knows he’s right, hell, even his bones scream that Atsumu is right, aching beneath his skin. Pain pulsates inside every inch of his veins. But still… He wonders, even in his exhausted state, if his eyes would ever truly close. There is too little calm and too much firestorm and noise in his mind, too much to control, too much to sleep through. He doesn’t know if sleep would even take him, in the middle of that storm. If he could even find himself resting when Atsumu’s entire life is at stake. And yet he knows — he knows, in the way his pulse is a heavy drum, the way his lungs rattle in his ribcage, the way his legs hurt at every little movement — that slumber will be his only shelter from going completely out of his mind.

So he relents. Lets out a deep exhale. Then he nods, once and quick. Atsumu releases a sigh of relief, and they choose a part of the bridge that can hold them both as they settle down. Atsumu takes first watch, and Tetsurou falls asleep within minutes, despite his many doubts.

He dreams of a cliff and Atsumu falling, dreams of tsunamis when there is none. The earth rattles. Once. Twice. And darkness falls. This, he thinks in his sleep, is the apocalypse. He sees Atsumu again, but this time he isn’t desperate and scared. There are no beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face as he dangles in the air, one hand gripping Tetsurou’s as he battles the demon inside him. This time his eyes are black, and he is grinning.

Tetsurou only has the time to think, He is the demon now when Atsumu stretches a hand, eyes glinting with malice. For a moment, Tetsurou thinks he wants to be held, but the thought is immediately discarded when a flame lights in the middle of Atsumu’s open palm, dancing evilly. It makes Atsumu look creepier, in its glow, illuminating sides of his face in a way that makes him look menacing.

Then, Atsumu raises both his hands, and Tetsurou breaks his daze just in time to run away from him as the earth releases its worst of tremors. He runs and runs but when he looks down he finds that he hasn’t moved an inch. He looks back. Sees Atsumu. Sees Shinsuke, holding Kenma by the neck. Ojiro is there too, and he has Yaku in his grasp. Suna traps Akane and her brother. He sees Osamu choking a Nobuyuki in chains. He sees evil, and he sees nothing at all as the earth swallows him whole.

He wakes, sweat licking at his skin. His heart is racing, and his mind is no calmer than before. His muscles don’t protest much when he moves now, though, so he supposes that he at least got one good thing out of that horrible nightmare.

“What’s wrong?” Atsumu asks, already alert. 

Tetsurou lets the commotion in his chest settle before he speaks. “Nightmare,” he gasps, and doesn’t say more. The sky is darker when he is up, and he guesses he got a few good hours of sleep, though the sleep itself is anything but good. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his tongue.

“We should keep going,” he says. Atsumu nods.

The bridge is 4.4 kilometers long. That’s 4.4 kilometers of broken terrain, 4.4 kilometers seawind and walking. It’d be in their best interest to keep moving. 

Thankfully, no one comes to attack them — the entire trek has been ultimately uneventful, save for Tetsurou slipping and nearly falling off the expressway. On the bright side, the farther they get away from land, the lesser the damage on the bridge, making their journey easier and smoother.The quiet, though, makes Tetsurou suspicious. What are the enemies planning? It seems a bit counterproductive to let them be now, so Tetsurou is certain that INZ has something up their sleeve. He is alert, still, but he relaxes more now, cradling in the safety of the lack of attacks. 

Even as they step onto the Umihotaru, where the bridge transitions into an underwater tunnel, he doesn’t fear Shinsuke’s men. Somehow he knows that they will not touch them here. His only concern, however, is that there is no guarantee that the tunnel hasn’t collapsed halfway. Of course, everyone knows that the tunnel is strong and secure, but perhaps the earthquake is stronger; they simply cannot risk it. Even the bridge got wrecked after all, Tetsurou thinks.

“The tunnel is 9.6 kilometers, I believe,” informs Tetsurou as they take a seat on one of the chairs in the Starbucks of the Umihotaru. The ground of the artificial island is wet with seawater, but it is mostly unharmed, possibly because it’s in the middle of the ocean where the rules of the earth don’t truly apply. “So the swim will also be more or less the same distance. Do you think we can manage it?”

Atsumu considers this. “With a good night’s rest, yes,” he says. He doesn’t argue much, because he knows that Tetsurou is the best judge when it comes to choosing their next course of action. 

“There could be some stuff here that will help us, too,” Tetsurou suggests. “Maybe a lifeboat or some life jackets, anything to help us stay afloat.”

“It won’t be much of a problem, I think, even if we don’t find any,” says Atsumu, “because isn’t there a second artificial island in the middle of the tunnel? We can just rest there, if need be.”

“You’re right,” says Tetsurou. “But still, it wouldn’t hurt to be extra careful.”

They don’t find any, not in the limited time they had, and so they leave their stuff — food, guns, and all — and submerge themselves under the water and begin to swim. They swim with salty air in their lungs and salty water seeping into their skin. They swim and swim, until their bodies become heavier with each stroke, as if the ocean is one giant monster out to get them. They swim against the water and against gravity, but they do not falter.

Tetsurou doesn’t think of anything else other than the urgency to get both of them to the shore. He propels himself forward with the comfort of the land up ahead, waiting for them, and the fact that he is with Atsumu, and nothing in the world is more than enough.

Soon, after a good ten minutes of catching their breaths on the second artificial island that is the halfway mark, their feet finally touch solid ground — well, as solid as it gets after a tsunami hit it — gasping, breathless. They lay with their backs on the grass,  but neither of them fully relax. They’re close to enemy territory now, and no one knows which direction the INZ agents will attack them from.

“We’re close now,” Atsumu says, surveying the place. “About ten kilometers southwest from here.” He’s wincing, the way he does when he’s hurt, but Tetsurou doesn’t find any physical injuries. There is also something different about his voice; it’s distant and far away, as if he’s here, but not really.  Then he blinks, and it looks as if whatever pain he’d been feeling has stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tetsurou answers him with a question of his own. “Have you been here before?”

Atsumu smiles curiously, a tinge of nervousness stitched into the threads of his lips. “What do you mean?” he asks. “Of course, I’ve been here. I work in the area.”

“No, I mean,” Tetsurou says, and something in him shifts, “have you been here?”

Recognition flickers in Atsumu’s eyes as he realizes the implication of Tetsurou’s question. Part of Tetsurou is afraid that he might lash out again, burn the whole world into a mountain of dust, should he have flashes of his past, but he can’t say he regrets asking. Finally, Atsumu swallows and says, “I don’t know.”

Tetsurou doesn’t doubt that. He nods. “Shall we?” he says, gesturing to the direction they're supposed to go.

They start to walk — again, again. So much walking. But Tetsurou doesn’t complain, even when his muscles do. There isn’t much to talk about, so they stay silent, only letting their feet do the talking. It’s a ghost town, where they’re in — literally. Dead bodies sprawled in daylight, out in the open for the scavengers to feast on. Tetsurou guesses that all remaining survivors have evacuated uptown, leaving the place empty and abandoned. With corpses out so open like this, Tetsurou feels the hairs on his arm rise. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, but with so many dead because of a disaster so big, he can’t say he blames them if they want to stay tethered to the world they were so harshly and suddenly ripped away from. 

They don’t talk once, don’t even look back, but occasionally, the backs of their arms brush in one swift swing, and that’s how they know they'll be just fine.

Neither of them realize the problem until Atsumu stops in his tracks, which in turn makes Tetsurou halt, too. And the quiet sinks in like thick molten lava, burning its way through groves of trees, leaking down the sides of mountains, and leaving an angry gash on the crust of the Earth.

It is, they realize, too quiet.

“Where are they?” Tetsurou says, his voice unconsciously dropping into a whisper, as if speaking in a voice more than thirty decibels would manifest their attackers.

“I don’t know,” Atsumu says, suspicion lacing itself around his voice like poison. “They — he — must be planning something, if he’s not making his men go after us.” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip to moisten it. “ I don’t like this,” he admits.

“Me neither,” Tetsurou says. “But we don’t exactly have a choice but to keep going, now, do we?”

Atsumu sighs and starts to walk again. “You’re right. Whatever they’re planning on doing, I hope they at least do it after I find out whatever the fuck is going on with me.”

“So Shinsuke is the considerate type, then,” Tetsurou says lightheartedly in an attempt to brighten the air around them.

But Atsumu’s face only darkens. “I don’t know,” he says again.

Tetsurou wonders what it’s like to have everything you’ve ever known rewritten. Atsumu had grown up in a fairly normal household, at least that’s what Tetsurou thinks. They went to elementary school together, finished middle school together, graduated high school together. Hell, they even went to the same college. And Tetsurou has never seen anything out of the usual during their times together. Atsumu had lived a normal life, if you also consider being a professional spy normal, and never in his entire lifetime has he considered the fact that maybe nothing about him is normal, that he has the ability to fucking explode and bring the whole world to hell with him. And to learn all this new stuff about yourself, to know that there’s something else, something more, about your own damn  life that you have never known… Tetsurou wonders, had it been him instead of Atsumu, if he could carry the weight of all that on his shoulders.

There is as much quiet as there is walking. 

No attackers still, not a single sound or movement from Shinsuke’s side. Tetsurou considers the fleeting thought of Shinsuke giving up, entertains it for a mere second, before discarding it and deeming it impossible. 

The silence makes him anxious, anticipation and fear starting to build up in his chest as he thinks of what may be waiting for them on the other side, so he thinks of his friends instead, to keep his mind occupied in a slightly more positive way: Kenma and Nobuyuki, both of whom he’s left back in New York;  Morisuke, whose body is buried in Nobuyuki’s family cemetery; Akane and Taketora, the siblings he has not received word of for nearly a month; and Lev and Alisa who he assumes are still looking for them.

Even as they approach the small, three-storey building that Atsumu swears is the INZ Headquarters, no one so much as tackles them from behind. There is one guard at the door, of course, but they’re only armed with one gun. 

“This is your headquarters?” Tetsurou asks, unimpressed. They’re hiding inside the adjacent building, which is a grocery store. (Tetsurou had pulled Atsumu inside, through the backdoor,  because he wanted food and new clothes.) The headquarters isn’t much of an eye candy: standing only three short stories tall, windows with the tint peeling off, a single guard sitting lazily on a monobloc chair.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “No, that’s just a front. The real stuff’s downstairs. Forty-three floors underground, to be exact. That’s why I’m absolutely certain the tsunami did absolutely nothing to ruin it. The underground bunker can theoretically withstand magnitude 12 or more earthquakes, so I’m positive none of it’s damaged.”

Tetsurou blinks. “Well, then I guess Shinsuke wasn’t lying when he said you guys are well-funded.” He clears his throat. “So what’s the game plan? You guys have security cameras at the entrance and inside the building, right? Taking out that guard is easy, but how do we get in without being detected?”

Tetsurou concludes that Atsumu must have spent the entire journey here thinking about a plan on what to do when they get here, because he answers immediately without any more hesitation. “The first floor has a couple of blind spots, so getting in really is a piece of cake,” he begins, “the lower floors, though, are a different story. But we can just disguise ourselves as guards; there are a couple uniforms in the second floor storage room.” He points. “The only camera at the entrance is directly above the guard. As long as you don’t look up, you should be fine. You can pretend to ask the guard something, just so you can get close. Everyone at the agency is armed with at least one gun equipped with a silencer, so you can steal it and shoot them from afar so the bullet doesn’t escape their body.” He nudges at the direction of the building with his head. “I’ll tell you the rest as we go.”

 Tetsurou makes sure, as he goes over to talk to the guard, that his head is bowed down, enough to obscure his face from the camera, but high enough so he wouldn’t appear suspicious. Being a trained agent and a natural pickpocket has its perks, he thinks as he feels the gun in his pocket. The guard didn’t even notice that something is amiss. 

When he reaches Atsumu, he turns. Points the gun at the guard. Fires. The bullet soundlessly lodges itself into the guard’s stomach, and it’s in such a way that a passerby wouldn’t even notice the guard’s life leaving their body until they see the blood. He and Atsumu hurry inside the building, through the tinted glass doors, and quickly make their way upstairs. 

Tetsurou spots the storage room before Atsumu even points it out: a bright, neon yellow sign hangs over an opened wooden door. Inside he spots rows of boxes on a metal rack and  an array of red, black, and blue. They enter the room, Atsumu leading, and head straight towards the closet on the far side of the room. Atsumu opens it and takes two of the many uniforms inside, handing one to Tetsurou. They quickly strip and change — again — into their new clothes. 

They walk back downstairs, and Atsumu leads him to the elevator that, he tells Tetsurou, leads to the lower, more fortified levels of the building. Tetsurou feels more at ease now, with a gun so close to his reach, which is ironic, considering the fact that they’re practically on a suicide mission, what with them voluntarily going forty-something floors underground in enemy territory. What could be more dangerous than this? 

  “The intelligence room is thirty five floors down,” says Atsumu. He hits the Floor 35 button and the ones above it: 30 and 29. Tetsurou knows this tactic; it’s the one he uses when he doesn’t want anyone to figure out where he’s going.  They make it seven floors twenty floors down without much hassle, until the elevator stops at 23. The doors start to open, and Tetsurou, thinking fast, pulls Atsumu in for a kiss.

At the corner of his eye, he spots an elderly lady around fifty years old with a stack of papers in her arms entering the elevator. She glances at them, and her face contorts into one of disgust. She inches away from them, practically hugging her side of the wall and determinedly not looking at them.

Tetsurou smirks against Atsumu’s lips. Despite the situation, he can’t help but crack a smile at the old lady’s predicament. He digs his fingers into Atsumu’s scalp, pulling his hair, and his other hand finds its way to Atsumu’s lower region. He hears the lady squeak and step forward to press a button, tapping her foot impatiently. Atsumu releases a soft moan when Tetsurou tugs at his hair again, and he has to press his lips against Tetsurou’s again to keep himself from laughing as the lady visibly squirms in her place.

The elevator stops, and she practically runs out the moment the doors open, nearly dropping her papers as she goes.

They release each other, snickering as Atsumu mimics the way she squeaked when Tetsurou’s hands went wild.

“Works every time,” Tetsurou says with a cheeky grin.

Atsumu glares at him, but his eyes hold no anger. “That means you’ve kissed other people,” he accuses.

“Yeah, to make other people uncomfortable enough to look away!” Tetsurou says. “I know you’ve done that too.”

Atsumu pretends to think for a few moments, before he finally says, “Yeah, I have.”

Tetsurou is about to reply, but the opportunity isn’t able to present itself, because the elevator, having stopped a few times at floors 29 and 30, finally arrives at the thirty fifth. He and Atsumu exchange glances before stepping out of the lift. 

The floor that greets them is a maze. The hall they’re facing is long, and at the very end, Tetsurou can see that it breaks off to two different paths. The vestibule is well-lit, but something about it is eerie, as if it's a predator waiting to pounce at any minute. A handful of security cameras line the ceiling, making sure that there are no blindspots. 

“Follow me,” Atsumu says. “It’s easy to get lost here.” He walks ahead of Tetsurou, his back straight and firm  as if he’s striding into a place he owns. His face is hard — the face of a cold man who’s been through too much, seen too much.  But in his eyes, Tetsurou sees a boy who’s had his entire life remade in one swift second, a boy who’s slapped with the reality that everything he’s ever known is false, a boy who’s forced to relearn everything he thought he knew about himself.

He places a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let go until an agent comes into view, and his palms feel cold from the absence of Atsumu’s warmth. 

“Atsumu-san,” the agent says, and Tetsurou feels his heart race faster in his chest. Is she going to alert Shinsuke of their presence? Are they fucked? She looks at Atsumu up and down, taking note of his get-up. “Just got back from a mission?”

Atsumu clears his throat. “Yeah.” He glances back at Tetsurou off-handedly. “Come along now, Todoroki-kun,” he says. “My boss is waiting.” Then, to the agent: “Excuse us, Natsu. We must get to the council room.”

“Of course,” she says, stepping aside.

When they’re out of earshot, Tetsurou asks, “Shinsuke didn’t warn his agents here against us? Ask them to lock us up? Kill us?”

Atsumu looks doubtful. “I don’t know,” he says. “That doesn’t seem likely at all. He did send some of his men to attack us, so maybe he only let a couple of trusted people in on it? But that doesn’t seem logical at all, since he could easily lie to the others about the reason why he’d want us dead, and they’d follow him with no question.”

Tetsurou knows that there’s something else, something else that they’re missing. He just doesn’t know what. He’s sure, though, that they’re most likely playing right into Shinsuke’s hands, whatever he’s planning. He sighs. This is why he leaves all the thinking to Kenma; that man is the smartest he’s ever known. 

They stop in front of a white metal door with a scanner by its right. Atsumu raises an ID Tetsurou didn’t even notice he had, “I got it from Natsu,” he says, feeling Tetsurou’s questioning eyes on him. He reaches to swipe the card on the scanner. The lights turn green, and the door opens. “You’re not the only skilled pickpocket here, honey.” 

Tetsurou follows him inside. There is almost nobody inside, save for two people sitting in front of their respective computers. They turn when Atsumu and Tetsurou come in. Natsu’s face flashes on one of the computers, and before the two of them could piece it together, Tetsurou runs toward one of them, knocking him out with a punch and a kick. Atsumu follows his example and takes care of the other person. 

Tetsurou only watches as Atsumu walks toward one of the computers. Takes a deep breath. Tetsurou sees that his fingers are shaking a little., watches as he  starts to type. The screen flashes red: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS. Atsumu clicks his tongue, before trying again. Whatever he did, it works, because the screen flashes blue, and the words start to come, filling the screen like pouring  soft solids into a bottle — it sticks to the sides before it settles at the bottom. 

—

STATUS REPORT: MONSTER GEN SUBJECTS  #0007 & #0011

FROM: GEN  ██████ Iizuna

TO: PM ████████ █████

5 OCT 1995

Agents █████ Miya and  ████ Miya have left their newborn children — twins named Atsumu and Osamu respectively — into the care of Dr. █████ ████ for the MONSTER GEN PROJECT started by Colonel █████ Oomi and Dr. █████ Kita in which one thousand (1,000) children are carefully chosen from an appropriately bred selection of offspring provided by G█████ S█████on. The Monster Gene will be coded into the selected children’s DNA for the purpose of breeding a█ ███████ ██  chi████ for the Ja█████ Government. Agents  █████ Miya and  ████ Miya have given consent to make their newborn twins a part of the project. K████ Miya vouches that her kids are promising, saying that she is positive at least one of them will successfully carry the gene without much incident. ████████  ████  ██████ ████████ The Agency has high expectations for the Monster Gen Project, and even higher expectations for the sons of two of their best agents.

Of course, it is yet to be seen if they are capable of exceeding our expectations. After all, even the best fail at times. We can only hope that this is not one of those times.

—

STATUS REPORT: MONSTER GEN SUBJECTS #0007 & #0011

FROM: GA  ██████ Iizuna

TO: PM  ████████ █████

5 OCT 1996

Subjects #0007 and #0011 are now a year older — the right age for the DNA alteration. The procedure will take place in the INZ Laboratory, personally spearheaded by Dr. █████ Kita. Further details will follow in a separate report after the  ███  █████ati██. The subjects’ average vital signs and personal information are attached below for your reference.

MIYA, ATSUMU #0007

DATE OF BIRTH: October 5, 1███ 

 ███GHT: 23.2 lbs. ( ███ kg)

HEIGHT: 29.91 in (76 cm)

B███D TYPE: A+

HEART RATE: 100  b███ ███  m███te

RESPIRAT███ RATE: 60 breaths per minute

BODY TE██████URE: 36.6 °C (97.9 °F)

BLOOD PRESSURE: 80/55 mm Hg

MIYA, OSAMU #0011

███E OF BI███ : October 5, 1995

WEIGHT: 23.1 lbs. ( ███ ██)
██████ : ████ in (████

BLOOD TYPE: A+

HE███ R███ : 101 beats per minute

RESP███TORY RATE: 59 br███hs per ██████

BODY T██████TURE: ████ ██████

BLOOD PRESSURE: 78/55 mm Hg

—

STATUS REPORT: MONSTER GEN SUBJECTS #0007 & #0011

FROM: GA  T█████ Iiz███ 

TO: PM  ████████ █████

5 OCT 1996

Operation successful. Subjects are stored in their respective ██████tion chambers. Dr. Kita says that the effects will begin to ██████st after two and a half years. My underclassman is in charge of informing you about the other subjects but these two — the special cases — leave them to me.

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STATUS R███RT: MONSTER ███ SUBJECTS #0007 & #0011

FROM:  GA  T█████ Iiz███ 

TO: PM  ████████ █████

5 OCT 1998

Subjects are showing great potential, especially #0007 who seems to be a natural at controlling his gifts at the mere age of three. ███████ #0011 is considerably weaker than his older brother as his body seems to be rejecting the alterations made in his gene. Dr. Kita is baffled at his body’s reaction — apparently his ███ is rewriting itself back to normality. ██████████ ██████ ██████ ███. Dr. ████ predicts that in a █████ of █████s █████ will ██████████. We will ███████ ████ ██████████

I hope to █████ you ████

—

STATUS R███RT: MONSTER ███ SUBJECTS #0007 & #0011

FROM:  GA  T█████ Iiz███ 

TO: PM  ████████ █████

5 OCT 2000

The subjects are now five years old. Unfortunately, Subject ████1 has successfully, though unconsciously, re█████ his ████, therefore rendering our experimenta████ on him useless, just as Dr. Kita has predicted. Subject #0007, though, is able to make a thing or two explode with his touch. He has also shown the ability to manipulate █████████. I am sure that my underclassman has sent you the files pertaining to the other nine hundred and ninety-eight subjects, so I am here to tell you this: by far, only ████ experiments are successful , █████ of which are particularly powerful, and I can tell you that Subject #0007, as his mother had promised five years ago, is the most powerful. 

Today, at age five, Dr. ████ has allowed all subjects to head back to their homes. The doctor himself had said that surrounding them with normal, everyday things and occurrences will allow the gene to develop naturally, as if it had always been there. As if it had never been artificially implanted. Agent █████ Mi█a has agreed to stay at home to take care of his child. ███████ ███ ████ ██████ █████ 

All subjects are to undergo training every night starting next year. From 6 p.m. █ ████, just a little after school. Dr. Kita has expressed the sentiment that he no longer has any need for Subject #0011 and the other failed experiments, so they will be transferred to the ████████ Depa█████, where #0011’s mother will train them for espionage. 

I have extremely high hopes for Subject #0007, and I believe you do, too. ██ ████ ██████ █████

— 

S███US REPORT: MONSTER ███ SUBJECTS #0007 

FROM:  GA  T████sa Iiz█na

TO: PM  ████████ █████

19 DEC 2005

Subject #0007 seems to have lost control of his powers, which ███ baffled all of the scientists working in this project, especi███y Dr. Kita. We have him contained in a solitary confinement facility, built specifically for the █████ted possibility that the Monsters might become uncontrollable. As per the last two reports I have sent you, two of the Monsters (Subjects #0009 and #0001) have also been placed in separate facilities, as they too have ████ ██████ of ████. Our experts are working hard to investigate the cause of this incident, though Dr. ████ suspects that it may be because they are starting to realize that they are being treated as “lab rats,” a term Subject █████ used after ██ ████ █████

Should they still refuse to get a hold of themselves in a month, we will be forced to turn to, I should say, unorthodox methods, such as  bra████shing them in order to keep them on a leash. We █████ to █████ ███ █████

███ ████ █████ ████ ████████

—

14 FEB 2011

Subject #0007 blew up the Agency. ███████████ ███ ███ ██ ████ I barely made it out. Dr. Kita died in the explosion, along with all surviving Monsters. ██████ ███ ████████ █ ██████

█████████ ████ ██ ██████████ ████ ██ █████████ ███ ██████ ██████ ███████ ████ ██ ██████ ████ ██████

We captured him ██████ he passed out in the process of fleeing the scene. We wiped his memories again. His powers ████ grow stronger every second he’s alive. ██████ ██ ████ ██████

Atsumu Miya is a dangerous boy. ██████████ ██████ ██████ If he starts to remember again, he will not be in control of his suppressed powers. He is apocalypse. He is death.

—

Atsumu runs. 

Tetsurou barely has time to react when Atsumu pushes past him and runs. He follows Atsumu blindly, running close behind him. He doesn’t even know what he’d do when he reaches him. He just knows that he has to reach Atsumu, touch him, remind him that he’s still here, hold him in his arms and never let go.

He finds Atsumu in the middle of a circular chamber, on his knees. He watches as Atsumu curls himself into a ball. His entire body is quivering, as if there’s an earthquake in him he’s trying not to let loose. Tetsurou thinks of Pandora’s Box — which isn’t actually a box, not really, but a pithos — the jar that, when opened, releases a horde of evils that would plague the entire world, and, he thinks, that Atsumu’s current state isn’t any far off.

“I can feel it,” he rasps. His voice echoes, bouncing aimlessly off the walls and the tiles. Tetsurou can hear it crack all the way on the other side of the room. He runs to Atsumu just as the latter says, “Kill me.”

He stops. Tetsurou stops, and the whole world stops with him. 

“I can feel it,” Atsumu says again, “it’s crawling out of me. It’s—” His voice breaks. His limbs are trembling violently, but he forces himself to sit up. He smashes his wrist to his temple — the part where the hand ends and the wrist begins — and says, “I remember everything now.” His face is desperate and anguished; it’s all Tetsurou could do to force himself not to look away. “And I know—” He inhales. His breath is ragged. “—that if you don't kill me right here, right now, I’ll end up killing humanity.”

“Don’t do this to me,” Tetsurou pleads. There are tears in his eyes now. A leader does not cry, he reminds himself desperately, but he knows it’s futile. He isn’t a leader, not now. Now he is a human, a husband, a lover, facing the most difficult decision: to kill the rest of him or to kill the world. “You know I can’t do it.” His voice catches at the last word, and he knows Atsumu hears it.

“You have to,” he says. “I remember it all. I remember them strapping me down to restrain me. I remember the pills and the injections and the controlled environments. I remember them pulling me apart and stitching me back together again, and now I feel like it’s happening all over again. Except it’s all in my head and I...” He looks pained, mad. “I remember everything, but there are no memories here.” He presses a fist to his head. “Only ruination.”

“Atsumu…” The gun in Tetsurou’s pocket — the one he stole from the guard at the entrance — seems to grow heavier by the minute. He wants to run to Atsumu, kiss him, and hope that this all goes away. But he has a gun, and Atsumu does not. He fears that if Atsumu reaches him, he might use his gun on himself instead of waiting around for Tetsurou to kill him. 

“You know I left a part of me,” Atsumu says. “In New York. You know I wasn’t the same when I found you.” 

Tetsurou feels the ground shake, and he wonders if Atsumu is controlling this. If he starts to remember again, he will not be in control of his suppressed powers. He is apocalypse. He is death. Those were the last coherent lines of the report. An order to kill, Tetsurou realizes. Kill Atsumu or be killed by Atsumu.”I…” he says, but there is nothing to be said.

“The gun,” Atsumu coaxes. “It’s in your pocket. Use it.” He clutches his hand to his chest, and his legs buckle underneath him. “Kill me,” he says. 

Can he do it? Tetsurou doesn’t know. Should he do it? Definitely. Yes. Had it been another person, he would have shot them in the head, right in the middle of their forehead,  before they could even tell him to. But this… This is Atsumu. The Atsumu he’s known since they were six, the one he confided in and the one who confided in him. He’s the Atsumu that proposed to him, married him. The Atsumu who loves him and the one he loves.

“This isn’t fair,” he whispers, and his voice echoes. He feels ridiculous. Atsumu, the one he’s supposed to kill,  is handling this better than him. But he can’t help it. It’s all so unfair. “This isn’t fair,” he says again, because it isn’t. None of this is.

“I know, love,” Atsumu says. Then he cracks a broken smile, an attempt at reassurance, and says something he once told Tetsurou a thousand mornings ago: “Nothing is ever fair in life, Tetsu.” He kneels — an invitation. A signal.

“I hate you,” he says, but they both know he doesn’t. Not really. Not ever. Slowly, he takes the gun from his pocket and points it at Atsumu. A leader does not hesitate.

“I love you,” Atsumu says, eyes on Tetsurou, and he doesn’t close them even when the gun sounds and Tetsurou fires and his back falls flat on the ground.