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Hinata finds him at the old junk shop. The one a little ways outside of the city. It’s the place where Atsumu goes after a fight well won. Well, as far as Hinata’s sure, he’s the only one who knows.
It’s a modest ten minute jog on foot at most, but that means nothing to him. He’s done worse.
The blond has never said it out loud, or rather, Hinata has never dared to ask; but he thinks Atsumu finds comfort in this rundown place.
Where one would see the ruins of an old world far gone, Atsumu sees sentiment.
Maybe he likes being surrounded by all that history. All those memories. Or just to be reminded of the fact that something better existed outside all of this. Before all of it.
The dying sun shines in Hinata’s eyes as he looks up at the largest hill of waste on the property.
It’s quite hard to miss, as it showcases a rundown white pick-up truck at its crest.
That and there’s the boy sitting gingerly on top of it, regarding the refuse that surrounds him with a look that sits between longing and disdain. Hinata thinks this is the singular place in the world where a streetfighter would appear so closely to royalty gazing down on his subjects.
Only this sovereign has unruly gold hair for a crown and bloody bandaged knuckles for a scepter. His only riches lie in the blood that’s still running in his veins.
Life is a luxury these days. His more than anyone’s.
And akin to any monarch, gambling his only treasure will not do him any good.
Leave it to him to be ruler of all this wreckage. Hinata thinks, then scoffs.
Leave it to him to be the hero.
Atsumu’s head snaps to him at the sound. It’s a swift motion, although there’s no surprise there, in the blond’s dark eyes, instead there is something more similar to relief.
It’s gone when Hinata blinks.
As a joke, Hinata greets him with a bow. He turns his eyes upward, awaiting a reaction.
Atsumu simply furrows his brows at the boy beneath him, perplexed.
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the idea that there is so much waiting at his feet. He doesn’t understand that this mess could be his if he makes it. He doesn’t understand at all.
So instead, Hinata straightens and shakes his head. He starts his way up the hill with nimble steps. His feet find hold in the forgotten junk scattered about; an ancient radio that plays what they used to call CDs, a box of postcards from a city that has already been burned to the ground, an action figure of a superhero who never came when all hell truly broke loose.
The blond waits for him silently. Now that he’s close enough to see it, Atsumu’s picking at the straps of the gas mask in his hands, undoing the velcro and studying the cracked lenses.
Hinata reaches the peak with a heave. As he catches his breath, the blond turns to him with a glare that has all his daggers raised. He’s far too good at this. This skill of looking like something he’s not. But he’s only mastered the art of putting on a farce to survive. Hinata can’t fault him.
Atsumu’s cutting look would be threatening had it not been for the fact that the redhead knows him as well as he knows these streets like the back of his hand. Hinata rolls his eyes in light and playful annoyance.
“You aren’t scaring anybody,” he says matter-of-factly, as he takes a seat next to Atsumu atop the hood of the car. “You’re as intimidating to me as a kitten.”
“Maybe to you,” the blond bites back, voice carefully bored, although Hinata can hear the telltale lilts of a whining child at its edges. “The only thing that scares you is a shower.”
“Hey!” Hinata tackles him with half-hearted force, not expecting the blond to budge.
But Atsumu gives way because he wants to.
The redhead lets out a curse in genuine surprise, before the two boys tumble down the hill and onto the dusty ground like a pair of children.
It’s far from an actual fight but it’s something. Something they have never given a name for but somehow have always done. Hinata thinks about the familiarity that comes with every breath Atsumu takes; as their hard-wired reflexes, brought about by the years in the alleys they grew up in, come out naturally. It’s simple parrying, and good practice. A decent warmup for the days to come, or at least that’s what they’ve always told themselves. Neither of them hit hard, though they have never hit hard to begin with. It has never been about that.
There is no reason to, besides; Atsumu’s laughing and he’s laughing alongside him.
For a second, they are the only two people in the world. Hinata thinks he could almost picture it.
Just him and Atsumu in this mess.
But maybe it would be less of a mess if it meant it would only be theirs. If they could make it their own.
Their frantic movements kick up the dirt and debris around them, forming a cloud of dust that obscures Hinata’s vision. He holds his breath in an instant. Somehow, he’s always been quicker than him. And Atsumu isn’t immune to this type of smoke so he coughs, and taking advantage of that millisecond falter, Hinata is able to get on top of him while dodging the blond’s now futile grabs.
In the clamor, Hinata blindly gets a hold of Atsumu’s wrists. Chuckling slightly, he lets the redhead slam them to the ground. One at each side of his head.
It is a finishing move; the final strike. Although with the way Hinata handles him, you’d think as though Atsumu was made out of pure porcelain.
The cloud of dust settles, and then Hinata sees his face. All boyish grin and stubborn battle scars. His usually fox-like glance transforms into crescent moons and the dimples at the bottoms of his cheek appear, as though to accommodate the hairpin curve of his mouth. The golden hue in his hair makes his skin glow, like the dying evening sun.
Atsumu’s a sight for sore eyes. Hinata blinks. Or just for him.
“You win.” And Hinata truly feels like he did as Atsumu smiles up at him. His breath catches in his throat. He wonders then. The what if he has never asked.
They have been friends for years. Partners in crime. Confidantes. Whatever else you could call an other half. It has never been a question.
Not when the world hangs on the brink of unrest.
Not when there’s nothing they haven’t lost, and when there’s so much more to keep.
The end of the world leaves no room for what ifs. It shouldn’t.
Interrupting Hinata’s amalgam of thoughts, he says “Are you seriously getting lost in my eyes right now?”
The redhead immediately scowls. Atsumu’s still grinning. God. The nerve of this boy.
Releasing his wrists gingerly, Hinata stands up. “You wish.”
“I do.” the blond replies jokingly, holding out a hand for the redheaded boy to help him stand. The touch is short and mindless, but it warms Hinata. He considers asking Atsumu if it does the same for him too, but he’s already walking away.
“Enough games, we need to find shelter before—
Hinata stops himself in the middle of his sentence, realizing his blatant mistake.
He needs to find shelter. Not Atsumu. It’s still quite odd for him to think about.
The blond glances back at him once, as though to affirm the thoughts in Hinata’s head, but he says nothing and keeps walking.
With measured tones, the redhead calls after him to state the obvious: both of them need to head home. But even then, as he’s saying it, he’s already tailing behind the blond’s heels. How could one truly contradict actions that come so naturally? Hinata is a sucker for impulse, he finds out. It is a doomed discovery, because he’s only ever had one impulse in his life; and that being the boy right in front of him.
“You have your mask, right?” Atsumu overlooks Hinata’s words with ease, not turning back.
It is a useless question. One would have to be an idiot to not have one on them at all times.
“Where do you plan to go?”
“You’ll see.” he swivels his head back this time, if only to wink at the redhead, unceasing in his combat boots.
Hinata thinks about refusing.
He thinks about stopping him and just laying all the cards out on the table. Say the reason he’s here and ask Atsumu, in turn, to have it all out. But he opens his mouth only to close it again. The blond has always had a way about him that leaves one dumbstruck and docile. The way his entire demeanor makes Hinata curious and always yearning to see more. It’s the undeniable urge to know him, understand him. The want to spend every second in his presence and just take everything he gives. What he allows himself for one to devour.
Hinata has had the fortune, or perhaps misfortune, of knowing Atsumu since they were kids and yet, he has never been immune.
They arrive at the foot of one of the only buildings still standing in the city. It is dilapidated and rotting but still, it stands. Kind of like the world. Like the two of them.
“Remember when we said we would climb all the way to the top?”
Atsumu’s voice is filled with excitement. Hinata knows the sound well. For one, he knows it doesn’t entail anything good. And the twenty-story building in front of them should be more than enough proof. He gives the blond a look as if he’s deranged, but there’s still a similar part of himself that craves the adrenaline. It’s tempting. Atsumu more so than anything else.
“Clearly, we were young and stupid. The fog is going to settle in any minute now,” he grabs at the blond’s arm but it’s no use.
He can tell just by the way Atsumu walks that he’s committed to do whatever it takes to accomplish what he plans. There is no shaking him. It is a rarity for him to be so set on something, although when he is, he’ll carry that stubbornness to the grave. Hinata knows changing his mind on things like this is impossible. Oh but boy, does he try.
They climb the old structure on foot. The electricity has been cut long before so they make use of the flashlights they always have in their packs. The elevator has been consumed by nature.
Soon enough, both of them will be too, Hinata thinks.
It is the inevitable fate they all share.
“They called this a skyscraper,” he states, as though Hinata wasn’t just retreating to the deep recesses of his own mind. “Because—
“Let me guess, it scrapes the skies?” Unlike Atsumu, the redhead has no problem hiding bite. Hinata crosses his arms in front of him.
The blond just grins back at him like a boy. “Don’t you think the view would be nice?”
It’s striking, seeing him like this. As though Atsumu could be something mundane, something un-special. But he knows the reality says otherwise. “I think you’re crazy.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Atsumu.”
For once, Hinata says his name to get the blond to take him seriously. The tone he uses is what he tends to always use when Atsumu’s being idiotic, which is most of the time; but for some reason, now it sounds different. As though it’s a foreign word he’s never used before.
As though Hinata is unsure.
“No more running away.” Hinata warns him weakly.
That gets the blond’s attention and he stops abruptly in his steps to face him.
“I said yes to their offer,” Atsumu says, almost too casually. As if just recalling what he had for lunch. But the stress on the word ‘their’ is evident. It sends a shiver down Hinata’s spine.
He takes an inhale through his nostrils, and a step back, visibly surprised.
Hinata’s eyes turn toward the ground to process this information, and feels his spirits rise.
He’s going to be seen as a legend.
“T–that’s great. ‘Tsumu, fuck, that’s amazing.”
Where he would have expected celebration and the symphony of bragging, lies simple silence.
He turns up to look at the blond, and Hinata’s smile falters when he sees his face. He doesn’t mirror any amount of the redhead’s glee, not even a tad, as Atsumu looks like he’s spitefully clenching his jaw at his own admittance. As though it brought him shame instead of pride.
Hinata’s elation dies in his throat.
Atsumu shakes his head wordlessly, almost angrily.
It is a rare sight for him to be so genuine in his vexation. Hinata has always told him that he’s never had the capacity for it, that Atsumu is made of too much heart and little fury. How it surprised Hinata that street fighting was his chosen hobby when the Atsumu he knew could have never hurt a soul who didn’t deserve it. How he’s always had hope for the world as it is.
This is the first time Atsumu’s looked like he wants to prove otherwise.
“Don’t you have a savior complex? You love–” Hinata valiantly gestures to their surroundings as the blond watches him with narrowed eyes, not once wavering. “--all of this. And you’re going to save it. What’s wrong?”
Hinata knows of the government’s plans with him. He had heard about it from one of the meetings with the council elders.
A cure.
They just need a sample from Atsumu’s lungs, the unique organ that’s the solid symbol for his immunity, to make a vaccine. All he needed to do was agree.
But right now he looks like he wants to do anything but that.
He looks at Hinata now as though he’s pleading without knowing how to put it into words.
“You don’t want to do it.” Hinata says it like it’s a sin, or an accusation. A blasphemy.
Astonishment seeps into the redhead’s expression without him meaning to. Atsumu doesn’t deny it, and doesn't reason out for his apparent selfishness. He doesn’t say anything at all.
Hinata badly wants to ask him for an explanation, or a solid reason beyond fear or mere self-preservation, but instead, he catches a glimpse of the nasty cut on Atsumu’s forehead.
It hits him.
“This explains the—
“Fighting. Yeah.” the blond scoffs, fumbling with the bandages around his knuckles as though they were an embarrassment to him.
Atsumu took up all the fights on the roster this week as though he wanted to get himself killed. If it wasn’t for his skill and sheer luck, maybe he would have. The redhead feels the hair on the back of his neck rise in realization. Perhaps he wanted to– well, Hinata refuses to think about it.
“Today’s match was the last one, don’t worry.”
The tragic part of all of this is, Hinata does.
Sometimes he wonders when the exact moment his life evolved into this constant state of concern over everything Atsumu does and will do. He figures it was somewhen between the first time Atsumu said his name and the one time Hinata spent 2 days awake after Atsumu went missing for days after a raid.
Even then, Hinata tends to remind himself to not dwell on these things.
It is never good to be so vulnerable.
For anything or anyone.
So, he says nothing. The two boys climb the flights of stairs with silence one could almost hold.
The moon is already out once both of them reach the top.
Looking out from the edge of the roof, they can only see the amber bluish sky and the fog as it stretches to the horizon. There is not much to see now. Neither of them is surprised.
For a moment, Hinata wishes he was more disappointed.
The rooftop is covered in patches of forest green moss and a few shallow puddles from last night’s storm. They are so high up that the fog only laps up at their ankles. For now. As the night comes closer, it’ll climb higher and higher until it engulfs them.
Hinata still secures his gas mask tightly. Atsumu wears the broken one, if only out of courtesy.
The two of them sit on one of the only dry spots in the middle of the concrete expanse.
Hinata watches Atsumu through the tinted lenses of his gas mask. The blond boy breathes in the fog deeply, unaffected and untouched. The redhead still finds himself in a state of awe.
When the air settles eventually, Hinata clears his throat. He has his knees pulled up to his chest as he says the words he’s been rehearsing in his head from the climb up, but they still come out weak and uneasy.
“If you don’t want to do it, then why say yes?”
Atsumu takes a long moment to watch the moon before he turns to him again.
He says it as silently as he could. As though uttering a damning secret.
And in most ways, it probably is.
“I’m not going to make it, Shou,” he leans back on his elbows. “It’s a one way trip.”
At this, Hinata allows himself a chuckle, certain this is one of Atsumu’s horrible jokes. There couldn’t be a worse thing to say at a moment like this, but the blond surely knows how to make things count.
“You’re fucking kidding.”
Atsumu doesn’t say anything back though, as he looks away again towards the sky as though it was the most wistful sight he’s ever seen. This type of silence from him, of all people, is dangerous. Not only after a statement like that, not only when he said it like it was an apology.
Hinata feels his heart drop as the panic settles in the nonexistent cracks of the gas mask he’s wearing.
“Wait–wait, but they said–” he can’t breathe.
His gas mask is perfectly fine and the fog hasn’t engulfed him, but he can’t breathe.
He kneels on the floor beside where the blond lies to get him to look at him, in exasperation or desperation or both. “Hey, come on.”
“They need both my lungs.” Atsumu laughs weakly. “Trust me, you’re the last person I wanted to tell.”
Hinata feels a lead block bury itself in his stomach.
A flurry of indignation rushes to his tongue but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.
This is why he was reluctant to do it in the first place, why he was relieved back at the junkyard to see him, and why he carries so much disdain and shame for his decision.
He was worried about me.
If Hinata wasn’t here, it wouldn’t be a question. No anger or vexation.
He wants my approval.
Hinata feels his awaiting stare. He doesn't acknowledge it, as he stays right there where he kneels with his bones shaking beneath him. He will not say a word. He is not sending him to his death.
Atsumu sighs.
The blond comes close to him and whispers, “You see that group of stars there to the left?”
It takes Hinata a second to recognize what the blond means through the tinted lenses of the gas mask. With his lips quivering in a frown, he’s able to make out a cluster of stars that forms what looks like a child’s drawing of a house, with a tail attached to one corner.
He nods slowly, unsure of what to do. His hands are completely trembling in his lap, and for the first time in his life, he considers invoking a prayer. For Atsumu to be saved by whatever deity there was looking down on them who could listen to Hinata’s desperate plea.
In comparison, Atsumu sits close to him in a haze.
Hinata can’t see it through the gas mask but he knows there’s a small smile on his face. He can imagine Atsumu’s hairpin curved lips all too well.
“They used to call it Cepheus. It’s a constellation.” His voice holds all the pride he can muster.
“Cepheus,” Atsumu repeats, smugly as if only to himself. “Or also known as: The King.”
We are running out of time, aren’t we? Hinata thinks of asking him.
But for everything that’s worth anything in the world, he indulges Atsumu.
“How’d you find out about it?”
And like a child, the blond begins talking so fast that Hinata has trouble knowing where his words begin and end. He can hear bits and pieces of the history but the blond is so caught up in his own bubble and over all of the minutely intricate details, that the context gets lost somewhere in between his enthusiastic ramblings.
Hinata just sits there and takes all of it in with adoration, wondering if he could ever commit every single part of the boy in front of him to memory. He doesn’t want to have to.
As he watches Atsumu’s hands make weird gestures to accompany his animated storytelling, he figures that for now, it’s enough to just hear the way his voice is so raucous, and loud, and giddy. So alive.
He thinks: I have him here. I have him still.
Unbeknownst to himself, he reaches out with his hands and holds Atsumu’s face through the gas mask. The blond stops talking, startled about Hinata’s sudden action.
Well, that’s both of them surprised. He truly does undo all Hinata’s natural reflexes. Atsumu is the only impulse he’d act on like a heartbeat.
“Was I talking too much?” the blond laughs, and Hinata’s arms that are leaning across his chest feel it like a deep rumbling. He sees it as hope.
As long as Hinata can hold Atsumu in his two hands, maybe he could save him.
Who has a savior complex now?
“Shouyou.”
He calls out the redhead’s name softly but it feels far away. Hinata doesn't want to tell him it sounds nice from his mouth if this is the last time he’ll say it.
These games they play do have to end at some point.
This isn’t like one of his street fights where he could come up with a saving final strike.
He knows for a fact Atsumu doesn’t have enough tricks up his sleeve to save his life this time.
Hinata’s left to try his own hand.
“Don’t do it.” He whispers. Before Atsumu can say anything back, he lets all of the words spill. “Look, there should be enough here that you should feel some sort of obligation to me.”
Atsumu pulls away from his hold as Hinata’s hands fall back to his lap.
The pleading look is back again, and Hinata can already imagine the blond’s mouth pressed into a thin line. As though he’ll beg the redhead to take the words he just uttered back.
This is not what Atsumu wanted to hear.
But he’s not entirely surprised. It’s what he expected.
Although stubbornness is the only trait they share.
“I have to.”
Hinata shakes his head, feeling his anger rise. This is the one thing he can’t–won’t allow.
“This is the cure we’re talking about.” Atsumu reasons as he sits upright, his voice perfectly stable. It’s unnerving. How he can keep his composure at a moment so dire. “The whole world is counting on me.”
“It should count on someone else,” Hinata feels his voice grow louder, making his ears ring red-hot, completely undeterred by the blond’s supposed calmness. “It doesn’t have to-
“It has to be me.”
“But you’re just one boy!” You’re my one boy. Hinata is suddenly screaming, whatever amount of control or patience he was trying to hold has run out. “It shouldn’t be up to you!”
“The world is unfair—
“Unfair? The world is cruel.” Hinata’s hands are shaking with thunderous rage. All the pent up emotions rising to his chest until he has no choice but to get it out of him. “And you’re naive to let it use you. It doesn’t deserve your saving.” They don’t deserve you.
“You don’t think I know?” Atsumu shouts back, his voice uncharacteristically laced with spite. “I know it’s foolish and it’s doomed and it’s ugly—but if I had the choice to make it better for the future, for you, for all of the people who have had to suffer through this fucking wasteland? I would.”
“I have to.” He echoes silently to himself.
Looking at the blond now, whatever anger Hinata harbored dissipates into reverence.
Of course, Atsumu would know how the world is long past the need for salvation. He’s seen it himself. He has played his hand in it more times than he would have liked to admit. People killing their own for survival, for sport. The bombs. The neverending pillaging and the countless amount of raids. This city they have known all their lives has been painted with too much blood.
Hinata can’t bring himself to say another word. Not when Atsumu wants to do it because he knows he shouldn’t. Not when he’s doing it for him.
Even when Hinata tries, he’s always fought Atsumu like a wolf with no teeth bared. On his end, Atsumu fights him like a cub that was just born yesterday. It is no use. They are like dull knives. Neither of them simply cannot utter any words that cut.
“To think this all started because I shattered my mask during a mission,” Hinata stares at the broken one Atsumu’s wearing. It was his own once. He takes a breath inside the one he has now. His. “And you gave me yours.”
“It was the only choice.”
“You could have died.”
“But I didn’t.”
The two boys stay up there on the roof well into the night. Until Hinata’s eyes become heavy and his breaths short. At some point, they went from sitting to lying down on the concrete floor.
The redhead turns to his side, facing Atsumu. He cannot stop trying.
One last whispered plea. “Please.”
“Do you trust me?” the blond says, opening his arms; an invitation. Another apology.
Who else could Hinata trust in this world, if not him?
He collapses into him. He listens to Atsumu's heartbeat through his chest like it’s a reminder.
He thinks: Not yet. He thinks: Stay right here.
The way Atsumu breathes lulls Hinata to sleep.
Hinata wakes up to the sun shining through the lenses of his gas mask.
Atsumu is gone.