Chapter Text
He was alone. It was dark and he was cold. There was no telling where or what time it was, the overwhelming inky black void clouding his entire line of sight.
“Hello?” He called out, squinting against the darkness. At the lack of an answer, he tried again.
“Hello?”
His voice echoed back to him. The room began to shake, the void dissolving. He threw up his hands, blocking the sudden onslaught of blinding white light.
When he opened his eyes again — or for the first time, the darkness made him unsure — he was met with the gardens in the pale early morning light. Brows furrowing, he looked around. Around him stood people, some strangers, and some familiar faces. Yahaba stood to his side. Mattsun stood to his side. Kindaichi stood to his side. They stared forward, blankly, dressed entirely in black. He looked down and recognized his own black attire. Raising his eyes back up, he sucked in a sharp breath.
In front of him, in a line among the flowers, sat four caskets — sleek, black, and out of place. There was a hand on his back, pushing him forward.
“No,” He whispered, “No no no.”
He shook his head vehemently, struggling against the forceful hands. It was useless. Getting one more violent shove, they sent him stumbling toward the nearest casket. He shut his eyes.
He knew what was in there — who was in there. He didn’t need to see it. He didn’t need confirmation. He felt his eyes open anyways, unable to control his own body. A choked sob erupted from his throat and he reached out a shaky hand.
Iwaizumi’s skin was pale — too pale — and cold, no longer the human furnace he had grown so accustomed to. His eyes were closed and peaceful, with no sign of the familiar furrow of his brows.
He reached out further, aiming shaky fingers toward straight, black hair. The moment his hand made the first brush of Iwaizumi’s bangs, the scene began to change. The caskets moved out of reach, snapped shut. He looked around, noticing the crowd disappear. The familiar faces of his friends vanished.
He looked ahead. The caskets were gone. At his feet sat a single, marble stone, the face engraved with a name. The inky blackness surrounded him again and the cold returned. He was alone.
Oikawa’s eyes snapped open and he shot up, chest heaving. The room around him was bathed in darkness, a sliver of moonlight shining through a gap in the curtains. He turned, looking to the right side of the bed, expecting soft snores, and body heat, and — it was empty. Reaching out a shaky hand, he felt the empty spot of the bed. It was cool and at the revelation, he choked, eyes welling up with a fierce current of tears. Oikawa hunched in on himself, balling the blanket in his fists as he laid on his side. Burying his face in the sheets, he sobbed openly, uncaring of his volume. The tears streamed heavily down his cheeks, staining the bed. He shuddered, gripping the duvet tighter and curling even further into a ball.
Alone, his brain chanted, Cold and dark and alone . He choked loudly before whimpering, a fresh wave of tears filling his eyes. Cold and dark and alone. Cold and dark and alo—
“Tooru? Shit , Tooru.”
The bed dipped behind him, loud creak muffled by the sound of his tears. A hesitant yet warm hand pressed to his back, another one settling on his thigh.
“Tooru, baby, what’s wrong? Breathe, okay? Breathe.”
Oikawa sucked in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut. The hand on his back rubbed soothing circles, the pressure a distraction to ground himself with. After a few more minutes of quiet hiccups and shaky breaths, Oikawa shuddered once more before sinking back, leaning into the hands pressed against him. They continued their ministrations for another moment before stilling. The body behind him shifted, leaning closer. Quietly, it asked,
“Can you sit up, baby? Can you look at me?”
Oikawa hesitated before nodding weakly. He pushed himself up, letting the blanket drop around his waist, and turned toward the voice. Iwaizumi stared at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed with concern. Upon seeing his face, Oikawa felt his eyes burn once again and he collapsed forward, pressing himself into Iwaizumi. Wrapping his arms around the brunette, Iwaizumi rocked them slowly back and forth, pressing kisses to Oikawa’s hair.
“What’s wrong, Tooru? What happened?”
Oikawa shivered and gripped Iwaizumi’s shirt tighter.
“I… I thought-”
“Breathe,” Iwaizumi soothed, kissing his head again. Oikawa sucked in a deep breath before continuing.
“I had a nightmare where you- where the letter was… it was real. It was all real. And there were these- these caskets and you were…”
He hiccuped, squeezing his eyes shut.
“And then when I woke up and looked around, you were-”
“I wasn’t in here,” Iwaizumi finished, guilt settling like a heavy stone in his chest. Oikawa nodded against him, sucking in a breath. Iwaizumi tightened his hold on the taller man, whispering apologies into Oikawa’s curls.
“I thought you had died ,” He choked out, voice cracking, and Iwaizumi felt his heart break. He gave one more squeeze before pulling his arms back, placing them on Oikawa’s hips to rub small circles into the skin above his waistband.
“C’mon, sit up. Can you look at me?” He asked, gently. Slowly, Oikawa peeled himself from his chest and sat up. He opened his eyes, lashes laden with tears, and Iwaizumi sighed. Raising one hand, he cupped Oikawa’s cheek.
“I’m right here,” he said, matter-of-fact, “You can see me, right? I’m right here.”
Oikawa nodded, though the wary shake of his eyes gave away just how on edge he still was. Using his other hand, Iwaizumi grasped one of Oikawa’s and raised it, pressing it to his chest, right over his heart. He felt Oikawa tense up slightly, face flushing before Iwaizumi stroked the back of his hand with his thumb.
“Do you feel that?”
Oikawa nodded.
“That means I’m alive, yeah? I’m right here, Tooru. You can see me. You can hear me. You can feel me,” he emphasized his point by leaning forward until they were nose to nose, “I’m okay and I’m right here .”
Oikawa shuddered, pressing closer, knocking their foreheads together lightly. His eyes fluttered shut as he breathed, air fanning across Iwaizumi’s face.
“Thank you,” he whispered. Iwaizumi squeezed his hand and hummed. After a moment, Oikawa sat back, eyes opening. Iwaizumi watched him, the worried knit of his brows softening as some of the familiar light returned to the king’s brown eyes.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly, “I know I’m an ugly crier.”
Iwaizumi huffed a laugh, running a thumb under Oikawa’s eyes. Oikawa leaned into the touch.
“Don’t apologize. I fell in love with all of you — that includes the ugly crying.”
Oikawa snorted before turning to press a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand.
“I’m still not used to your brand of romance.”
Iwaizumi grinned.
“You’ll get there. Now come on,” He shifted, pulling Oikawa closer, “Time to sleep.”
He laid down and opened his arms. Oikawa bit his lip, hesitant. Giving his hand a squeeze, Iwaizumi said,
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Nodding, Oikawa laid down, settling against Iwaizumi’s chest. Iwaizumi wrapped his arms tightly around him, one hand coming up to brush gently through his curls. Oikawa sighed into the touch before angling upward to press a series of warm kisses to his jaw. Iwaizumi flushed and smiled, squeezing him tight.
He’s right here , Oikawa thought, a small smile gracing his lips. He’s safe, he’s warm, and he’s right here.