Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in the debriefing room is grim. Hinata can feel the weight of it resting heavily on his chest. He bounces his foot impatiently, wanting the talking to stop. He has to go see Kenma. He has to make sure he’s okay.

That’s a stupid thought. He knows Kenma’s not okay. But still . . . Hinata wants to be there for him.

Looking across the table, Hinata can see the sniper that shot Kuroo. Yamaguchi Tadashi. He’s so pale, his freckles stand out on his cheeks like someone took a marker and drew them on. His gaze hasn’t left the table since he sat down. Hinata wants to be mad at him. As soon as he saw him, he wanted to scream and demand to know why he did it. But the truth is that Hinata knows why. From everyone’s perspective it looked as though Kuroo was about to attack Kenma. Even Hinata thought so. Despite Kenma’s insistence that Kuroo had returned to himself, Hinata truly feared for Kenma’s life in that moment Kuroo lunged at him.

So he can’t be mad at Yamaguchi. If their roles had been reversed, he honestly can’t say whether or not he’d do anything different. He’d do anything to protect Kenma. And that realization just makes him feel worse.

“Thank you for your bravery,” Sawamura says to Yamaguchi, after the boy finishes his statement. “I know that couldn’t have been easy to do.”

Yamaguchi stares down at the table. He lifts his gaze after Sawamura speaks, meeting Hinata’s. Hinata blinks at him, gripping the edge of his seat, and Yamaguchi flinches, turning to Sawamura.

“Is . . . is Kuroo-san going to be okay?” he asks, his voice small and subdued.

Hinata’s heart leaps into his throat, and he looks over at Sawamura as well.

Sawamura sighs heavily, glancing at the other two Soldiers in the room. Akaashi stares into space, and Iwaizumi cradles his bandaged arm to his chest, tense and silent. The other soldiers at the table exchange glances, all looking harried and solemn. It’s unnerving to see Nishinoya and Tanaka so quiet, but the air feels heavy, as they wait for Sawamura’s response.

“He’s still in surgery,” Sawamura says finally. “But he’s in good hands.”

Nishinoya perks up. “Is Suga-san doing the surgery?”

Sawamura nods. “He is.”

“It’s totally cool then, guys,” Nishinoya tells everyone present. “He fixed me up super good, and I had a rebar go straight through me!”

Tanaka’s lips quirk in a tentative smile. “Yeah,” he says with a slow nod. “Yeah, that’s true. Suga-san is the best! Kuroo-san’s going to be okay.”

He holds up his hand for a high-hive. Nishinoya slaps his palm against his, and Hinata feels his spirits lift. If Nishinoya and Tanaka are confident that Kuroo will be okay, then he’s confident too.

Sawamura ends the briefing with an order for everyone to go home and get some rest. He tells Hinata to hang back, however, and Hinata hesitates by the door, wondering if he’s going to get a scolding for something.

“I’m sorry, Sawamura-san!” he says before the man can speak. “I wasn’t a good enough Soldier. I couldn’t hold Kenma back, either . . .”

Sawamura waves his hand. “This isn’t about that. You did everything you could. I’m proud of you.”

Hinata breathes a sigh of relief, a warm tingle entering his chest at Sawamura’s last words. He fidgets then, realizing now he doesn’t know why he’s been asked to stay.

“I wanted to know if you’re feeling okay,” Sawamura admits. “Are you experiencing any side-effects?”

Hinata blinks. He tilts his head, rubbing the back of it as he tries to think of what he’s felt after taking the serum. “Um, I haven’t felt really angry or anything . . . like that, you mean?”

Sawamura nods. “No rage states?”

Hinata shakes his head. “I’m okay, Captain! Maybe the serum works differently with me!”

“Either way, Oikawa’s working on a cure. I want you to take it when it’s done.”

Hinata bites his lip. He looks down at his hands. If he takes the cure, he won’t be strong and fast anymore. He won’t be able to be a Soldier anymore. His whole life he’s wanted to be a member of the Flying Crows. Never has he imagined he’ll have to come up with something else to be. If he’s not a Soldier, what is he?

“Do I have to?” he asks, glancing up at Sawamura. “I can still be useful! I can, um, help rebuild stuff! Yeah! With my super strength and speed I could get buildings done in no time!”

Sawamura looks amused. “Do you know anything about construction or architecture?”

“No,” Hinata admits sullenly, deflating once more.

Sawamura stands, walking over to place his hands on Hinata’s shoulders. “We never should have had to put you in this position in the first place. You deserve a life free from the threat of kaiju, Hinata. You deserve the life of a normal young man. Go to college. Play sports. Volunteer at a shelter. There are other ways to help people that don’t involve risking your life.”

Hinata ducks his head. He thinks of Kenma’s parents, of Lev, of Shibayama, of Bokuto and Kuroo. So many lives lost or destroyed because of those damn kaiju. He wishes he could’ve done more.

“Do you think that’s enough?” he asks, looking back at Sawamura’s face. “I don’t want to just help people, Sawamura-san. I want to make a difference!”

“You will,” Sawamura says firmly, releasing his shoulders. “For now, though, report to Kageyama for your physical.”

Hinata’s eyes widen. Kageyama!

With everything that happened, he completely forgot about Kageyama. Without another word, he sprints out of room.

He bursts into the lab, startling the scientists closest to the door.

“KAGEYAMA!”

All heads lift, and Hinata scans those present until he spots Kageyama standing beside Oikawa’s desk with Yahaba. He’s scowling, but when their eyes meet, Kageyama’s expression shifts. He quickly abandons whatever he’s doing, ignores the stunned reaction of his coworkers, and hastens forward.

Hinata runs toward him and, not caring about the others watching, throws his arms around Kageyama’s waist to squeeze him tightly.

Kageyama stiffens in his grasp for a moment, before his arms come up around Hinata as well.

“Idiot,” he mutters. “You can’t come barging in here like this.”

“You don’t care,” Hinata says, nuzzling his face against Kageyama’s chest. He feels warm. Solid. After the day Hinata just had, Kageyama feels comfortable, familiar. It’s nice.

Kageyama pushes him away, holding him at arms length. Hinata pouts. He wasn’t done with the hug yet. Kageyama’s blushing, and he looks around with a frown. “Not here,” he says, grabbing Hinata’s hand then and pulling him toward the door.

“We’ll just wait here then!” Oikawa calls after them.

Hinata lengthens his stride to keep up with Kageyama’s long legs. “Where are you taking me?” he asks, his heart hammering rapidly.

Kageyama doesn’t respond until they’re in the room where he always administers the serum. He shuts the door behind them, turning to look at Hinata, then, with a doleful expression.

“I thought you were going to die,” he admits, his voice low and miserable.

“Ha! You should’ve believed in me, because I’m not dead at all,” Hinata says triumphantly, hands on his hips.

Kageyama scowls. “But you could have died.”

Hinata drops his hands, grinning faintly, a warm, happy feeling filling him from head to toe. “So you were worried about me!”

“Of course I was worried, dumbass! You’re my only friend!” Kageyama snaps, hands balled into fists at his sides.

Hinata blinks, not having expected that outburst. “Your only friend?” he asks, tilting his head.

Kageyama curses under his breath, looking away. Hinata steps closer to him, bending slightly to look up into Kageyama’s face.

“Hey, Yamayama-kun~”

Kageyama’s jaw tightens, and he purses his lips, like he’s trying not to smile. “What?”

“I don’t have to be your only friend. You should go out with me sometime! I can introduce you to my friends!”

Kageyama stares at him. “Go . . . out?”

Hinata’s face burns, as he realizes what he just said. “Um, yeah! Go out.” He nods, not about to backtrack now. “It’ll be fun!”

Kageyama looks back at him, his features slowly softening. He reaches toward Hinata’s head, and Hinata ducks instinctively. But Kageyama just keeps his arm extended, waiting. Slowly, Hinata straightens, until he feels Kageyama’s palm rest against the top of his head. His fingers tremble slightly, as they thread through Hinata’s orange locks. Hinata grins faintly, as a shiver runs through him.

“Is that a yes?” he asks hopefully.

Kageyama’s hand drops to his side. He nods, once. But that’s enough for Hinata.

The physical reveals nothing out of the ordinary, though Hinata can feel the fatigue starting to settle in his limbs. He shakes it off as best he can, not ready to leave. He still has to check in on Kenma. Leaving Kageyama with a promise that he’ll contact him later about going out, Hinata hurries for the infirmary.

As he rounds a corner, he sees Yamaguchi and a tall, lanky young man with glasses, wearing a policeman’s uniform. He stops short, taking in the scene. Yamaguchi has his face pressed into the glasses guy’s shoulder, his body trembling. The glasses guy has his gaze fixed on the wall, one hand on Yamaguchi’s back. He expression looks almost disinterested in Yamaguchi’s distress, which contradicts how he’s holding him, and Hinata can’t help but think he should be making more of an effort.

“Yamaguchi, don’t mind!” Hinata chirps, startling them both.

Yamaguchi pulls away from the glasses guy, looking down at Hinata in surprise.

“You did the right thing,” Hinata says with a firm nod.

Yamaguchi bites his lip, red-rimmed eyes turning toward the floor. “But . . . Kozume-san—”

“Do we know you?” the glasses guy sneers, stepping up to stand a little in front of Yamaguchi, staring down at Hinata with a look of disdain.

Hinata leaps back a step, not liking the hostility he feels in this guy’s aura. He puts his fists up instinctively. “I’m Hinata Shouyou. I’m one of the Super Soldiers!”

“One of the Super Soldiers, huh? Must not be very ‘Super’ if you can’t even stop one of your own from going crazy.”

Blood rushes to Hinata’s face, and he lowers his fists to his sides, clenching them tighter. “Iwaizumi-san tried to stop him! But he—”

“But what did you do to try and stop him?” The glasses guy looms over him, his jaw tight, lips downturned.

“I—!” Hinata cuts himself off, realizing that he didn’t do anything. He tried to hold Kenma back, but he did nothing to try and help Iwaizumi subdue Kuroo. Could I have prevented what happened? His hands relax, as he blinks blankly at the man in front of him.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says quietly. “Stop. Let’s just go home.”

Tsukki glances over his shoulder at Yamaguchi. His expression doesn’t change, but he does take Yamaguchi’s arm and pull him forward, shoving past Hinata on their way. Hinata remains where he’s standing. He looks down at his hands, slowly uncurling his fingers in front of him.

He remembers how Kenma felt in his arms, how rapidly his heart raced in his chest. Hinata could feel it pounding through his back, as Kenma struggled to break free of his grip. Should he have tried harder to keep Kenma away from Kuroo? Should he have handed him off to a soldier and run forward to try and subdue Kuroo himself? Is all this his fault?

Hinata sprints forward, heading for the infirmary. He hasn’t seen Kenma since they sedated him and brought him back to the base. Does Kenma blame him too?

He bursts through the doors, startling the receptionist. There’s no one in the immediate waiting area, and he hurries over to the front desk.

“Is Kuroo-san still in surgery?!” he asks, panting heavily. The run shouldn’t have taken this much energy from him. The serum’s effects are waning. He knows he needs to sleep, but he also knows he won’t be able to relax until he’s seen Kenma.

The receptionist (Hinata scrambles to think of her name. Hana?) gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid so.”

Hinata grips the edge of the desk, leaning on it slightly. “What about Kenma? Where is he?”

“Kozume-kun?” Hana turns to her monitor, clicking through some files. Hinata leans over the top of the desk to try and see the screen himself.

“They put him in room three to rest. I don’t know if he’s awake, but you—”

Hinata takes off before she can finish. He finds room three and opens the door cautiously, not entirely sure what to expect. Kenma’s on the bed lying on his side, facing away from the door. He doesn’t turn or move at all, as Hinata enters, shutting the door behind him.

“Kenma?” he tries hesitantly, feeling at a total loss. “Um, Kuroo isn’t out of surgery yet but . . . is it okay if I sit with you?”

Kenma doesn’t reply. Hinata bites his lip but walks forward. His limbs feel heavier with each step, but he makes it to the bed and climbs on top of it. Lying down behind Kenma, he wraps his arm around Kenma’s waist, burying his face in his soft, dark hair.

“I’m sorry, Kenma,” he says, the words catching on the lump in his throat. “Please don’t hate me.”

Kenma inhales sharply, his body shuddering as he exhales.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, then, in a small, dull voice.

“I should’ve helped Kuroo-san. I should’ve—”

Kenma rolls over onto his back, frowning up at him. “It’s not your fault.”

Hinata stares down at him forlornly. “I really wanted to be a hero. But people are dead and Kuroo is hurt and you’re sad and I can’t do anything to help.”

Kenma grabs the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He tugs down until their foreheads touch, his fingers trembling. Hinata holds his breath, making a conscious effort to not say anything that might ruin the moment. Kenma’s eyes close.

“You are helping,” he murmurs.

Relieved Kenma doesn’t seem angry with him, Hinata settles down beside him. Keeping his arm wrapped around Kenma’s waist, he nuzzles his face against the side of Kenma’s, allowing the fatigue to seep into his limbs. He closes his eyes.

The next thing he knows, a hand shakes his shoulder. Sitting up quickly, he stares wide-eyed at the man in light blue scrubs standing next to the bed.

“Sugawara-san?”

Sugawara gives him a tired smile. “Kuroo is out of surgery,” he says, gaze shifting to the bed beside him. Hinata turns to see Kenma sitting up slowly. He doesn’t look like he got any sleep, but when he registers Sugawara’s words, he scrambles off the bed.

“I want to see him,” Kenma says.

Sugawara holds up his hand. “He’s breathing on his own, but he’s not awake yet,” he cautions. “He needs rest.”

“I want to see him,” Kenma says again, his voice like ice.

Hinata glances between the two. After a moment, Sugawara nods.

“Very well,” he says. “Come with me.”

Kenma starts forward, but hesitates before he reaches the door. He looks back at Hinata, circles dark beneath his eyes. “You should go home,” he says quietly.

Hinata slides off the bed and stands. “Will you be okay?” he asks hopefully.

Kenma glances at Sugawara. “He’s alive,” he says, turning back to Hinata. “I’ll be fine.”

Hinata nods, watching him go. Scuffing his hand through his hair, he makes his way out of the room and out of the infirmary. Outside, the sky has darkened; clear, now, without a cloud in sight. Hinata finds his bike where he left it earlier in the parking lot, unlocking it. The base seems eerily quiet. There are no alarms blaring, no soldiers shouting and running back and forth. The guard at the gate doesn’t even lift his head, as Hinata pedals past.

He’s not sure why he goes to the downtown perimeter. He stops just outside the barricade, looking over them to the demolished buildings beyond. There are workers there, clearing out the remains of the kaiju. He knows they’ve already removed the bodies of the soldiers.

Shibayama . . . Bokuto-san . . .

How many others were there? Hinata can’t remember. He didn’t even know their names, he realizes.

Getting off his bike, he climbs over the barricade. Standing at attention, he brings his hand up and salutes the city. Salutes all the fallen soldiers of the past and the present. He salutes Haiba Lev and Shibayama Yuuki and Bokuto Koutarou.

Normally, it’s difficult for him to remain still for long periods of time, but he lingers in this position for several minutes, the cold air nipping his nose and cheeks, stinging his eyes.

Oh. Wait. Those are tears.

Sniffling softly, he wipes at them, turning back to hop over the barricade and pick up his bike. He rides home as quickly as his tired limbs will allow, dropping it in the driveway of his house.

Natsu opens the door before he can get to it. She looks up at him with wide brown eyes, her hair pinned back in a million sparkly clips.

“Onii-san,” she says softly, before lifting her arms to the side.

Hinata falls into them gratefully, squeezing her tightly, as he buries his face in her warm neck. Natsu holds him back just as firmly, her small fingers gripping his shirt.

“Your face is cold,” she complains, but she doesn’t let him go, and when he starts to cry, she only kicks the door shut and doesn’t say a word.

Kuroo’s face is pale. He’s lying much too still on the infirmary bed, and a pinkish liquid is being dispensed through an IV. Kenma recognizes it instantly and gives Sugawara an accusing frown.

The doctor lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “I know,” he says. “But his body is addicted to it. Oikawa’s working on a cure, but in the meantime, this serum is what’s keeping him alive.” He looks down at Kuroo, his eyes growing sad. “We had to replace his heart. The damage from the bullet was too great. There . . . was only one heart available that could withstand the effects of the serum.”

Kenma inhales sharply, his chest constricting around his own heart. He stares at Kuroo, reaching for his hand. His skin is warm, but his fingers don’t twitch, even as he strokes the back of them gently.

“I wasn’t sure how you wanted to tell him,” Sugawara admits. “I thought . . . it might be easier coming from you.”

Kenma bites his lip, picking up Kuroo’s hand and holding it gently between his. He presses his fingers against his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse.

He’s alive. It doesn’t matter how.

He’s not entirely sure Kuroo will feel the same.

“There’s more,” Sugawara continues. “But I’ll wait until he’s awake to tell you both together.” He takes a step toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone for now. Press the call button when he wakes.”

Kenma nods absently, stroking his thumb against the soft skin of Kuroo’s wrist. He continues to stare at his face, the sharp lines of it, the stillness of it. It’s unnerving. Even in sleep, Kuroo’s never looked this . . . inanimate.

Kenma’s eyes burn from lack of sleep and dried tears. When Hinata slept beside him, he tried to close them, but as soon as he did he saw Kuroo lying in the snow, a pool of blood growing beneath him. Even now, he can’t shake that vision, and the cold stone of dread that entered his stomach continues to sit in apprehension.

Will Kuroo be the same when he wakes? Will he be different? What’s the second thing Sugawara needs to tell them? How is he going to tell Kuroo about the heart?

Everything feels like a weight on his chest, growing heavier each passing moment. With a deep sigh, he grabs the nearest chair, dragging it closer and collapsing into it. He picks up Kuroo’s hand once more, pressing his fingers against his lips, as he keeps his gaze fixed on Kuroo’s face. His eyelids droop, but he struggles to stay awake. He has to stay awake.

He wakes with a jerk, lifting his head from where it’d fallen on the edge of the bed. He feels something around his shoulders, and as he straightens a blanket falls from them. Releasing Kuroo’s hand, he grabs it before it fully slips off, pulling it closer around him. Looking up, he sees Iwaizumi by the door, hesitating.

“They said he was out of surgery,” Iwaizumi says, his hand drifting to the bandage around his left arm. Kenma’s gaze drops to it, and he swallows hard, remembering Kuroo’s mouth covered in blood. Iwaizumi’s blood. Iwaizumi glances down at the gauze before giving Kenma a grim smile. “I’m fine. They gave me painkillers and antibiotics. I’ll probably be healed by the end of the week.”

Kenma wants to apologize, but the words stick to the inside of his throat. Iwaizumi steps further into the room, his eyes resting on Kuroo’s form.

“He’ll be okay,” he says firmly. “It’ll take time, but he’ll pull through. We’ll be here to help him, too.”

Kenma nods, grateful. Iwaizumi turns to him then, and his eyes soften. “We’re here for you, too, Kenma-kun.”

Kenma bites his lip. He appreciates that, but all he wants is for Kuroo to be okay. If Kuroo’s okay, then he will be, too.

Akaashi visits next. He doesn’t step into the room, simply lingers in the doorway, staring in at Kuroo and Kenma. He looks terrible. His eyes rimmed red, his face pale, lips dried and cracked. Kenma wonders how long he’s been there and why he hasn’t gone home.

“Will he live?” he asks, tersely.

Kenma nods, and the barest flicker of contempt passes over Akaashi’s face, before it’s replaced with resignation. Kenma knows to not take it personally, considering, but he can’t help the sting of indignation that flares within him.

“It’s not his fault,” he says, his voice hoarse from disuse. He levels his glare on Akaashi, however. He understands what Akaashi is going through; he knows he barely escaped such an existence, himself. But he will not stand by silently and allow Akaashi to blame or hate Kuroo for what happened.

Akaashi’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. He looks down at the floor, his eyes closing briefly. “I know,” he says softly, before lifting his gaze once more. “But even so, I wish it’d been him. I wish it’d been any one of us, instead.”

Kenma swallows hard. The sting burns hotter, but he remains seated. He lifts his knuckles to his mouth, biting down gently, as he stares into Kuroo’s pale face. He’s sorry for Akaashi’s loss, but he refuses to feel guilty for being relieved at Kuroo’s prognosis.

He can’t think of anything to say to try and ease Akaashi’s pain, so he remains silent, and listens to the sound of Akaashi’s footsteps walking away.

Time passes strangely, after that. He may have been sitting here for hours, or maybe it’s just been a few minutes, when Kyoutani enters the room carrying a bento box. He sets it on the edge of the bed, the white kitty faces on the pink cloth catching Kenma’s eyes first. He blinks at the box before lifting his gaze to look up at Kyoutani.

The man shoves his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on Kuroo.

“Shigeru said you probably haven’t eaten since yesterday. It’s from him.”

Kenma knows it’s probably Kyoutani who actually made the bento, considering Yahaba’s probably busy in the lab with Oikawa, but he nods.

Kyoutani sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “Sucks,” he mutters, glancing down at Kenma. “This shit’s fucked up.”

Kenma nods again. “Fucked up,” he agrees quietly.

“Kuroo’s a tough dude, though. He’ll pull through.”

Kenma picks up the bento, cradling it in his lap. He doesn’t have any appetite, so he simply holds it, wondering if he can save it for Kuroo. He feels a broad hand drop onto his head, stroking his hair once before pulling away.

“Eat,” Kyoutani mutters, before he’s gone as well.

Kenma strokes the bow on the bento lightly, knowing he should but not sure he can stomach the food right now. The thought of eating makes him feel nauseous.

A soft murmur causes him to jerk upright, and the bento nearly tumbles to the floor before Kenma catches it on instinct. Standing quickly, he sets the bento down on his chair, stepping forward to lean over Kuroo, staring down into his face.

Kuroo’s eyelashes flutter, before he opens his eyes, blinking. Kenma holds his breath, as Kuroo’s gaze wanders across the ceiling, before landing on Kenma’s face. He blinks again, and Kenma can’t help the tears that start to blur his vision.

“Kenma?” Kuroo whispers, and there’s no red tinge in his eyes, no snarl in his tone.

He’s back, and he’s Kuroo.

Kenma grabs his face in his hands, bending down to kiss him deeply. Kuroo doesn’t respond immediately, but Kenma pulls back before he can, stroking his thumbs across Kuroo’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo chokes out, tears filling his own eyes. “I broke our promise.”

Kenma shakes his head quickly. Yes, he was angry in the tent when Kuroo told Sawamura his stupid plan. But he’s too relieved to hold onto that anger, right now.

“I’ll scold you for that later,” he says, biting his lip to fight back a smile. “Just focus on getting better, okay?”

Kuroo reaches for his chest, feeling the bandage there with a faint frown. Kenma pulls away, his relief growing heavy, shifting into dismay.

“I thought . . . that kid. He shot me in the heart.”

“They gave you a new heart,” Kenma says softly, his hands falling away from Kuroo’s face. He tugs at the bed sheets, keeping his eyes on his fingers, as they fidget. “They had to find one that could withstand the amount of serum you needed . . .”

Kuroo inhales sharply. “You mean . . .”

Kenma nods, lifting his gaze. The shock and horror on Kuroo’s face is too much to bear, however, and he has to look away again.

“You have Koutarou’s heart.”

Kuroo remains silent, and when Kenma chances a glance at his face, he sees Kuroo’s pressed his fists into his eyes, his lips twisted in a grimace of pain. Kenma turns to hit the call button, his chest so tight he can only take short, shallow breaths. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t take away Kuroo’s pain, right now. No matter how badly he wants to. Within two minutes, Sugawara steps into the room. He takes in the scene with a solemn expression before stepping over to lay his hand on Kuroo’s head.

“He would’ve wanted you to have it,” he says in a firm, quiet voice. “When the kaiju . . . when Bokuto died, his ribs pierced through his lungs and heart, but we were able to patch his heart enough to transplant it. Unfortunately . . . the patch we used had to be injected with serum before we could stitch it onto the heart, so it wouldn’t tear while you take the serum you still need to stay alive. What this means is . . . you can’t stop taking the serum. Oikawa is working on a cure, but . . . you may not be able to take it. Many complications can occur if the patch grows weak or becomes incompatible with the heart.”

Kuroo laughs abruptly, startling both Sugawara and Kenma. The laugh is tinged with hysteria, and he chokes on a sob until he’s crying and laughing simultaneously, pain twisting across his features. The sound cuts through Kenma like a knife, and he grabs Kuroo’s arms, shaking him.

“Kuro, stop. Kuro!”

Kuro stops laughing as suddenly as he started. His hands fall from his eyes, and he stares dully at the ceiling, swallowing hard.

“So what you’re saying is I’m going to be stuck as a monster for the rest of my life.”

Sugawara purses his lips. “Nobody is giving up on you, Kuroo. Once Oikawa finishes his cure, we can have him start on a new serum for you as well.”

Kuroo’s jaw clenches. “Oikawa’s been through enough. He’ll run himself ragged again. I’m not putting that responsibility on him.”

“There’s also Kageyama and Yahaba,” Sugawara points out. “There’s an entire lab here. We’ll take care of you.”

“Like you took care of Kyoutani?” Kuroo asks, bitterness lacing his tone.

Kenma bites his lip, not liking the unfamiliar look on Kuroo’s face just now. “Kuro,” he says in soft admonishment.

Kuroo closes his eyes with a sigh. “That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

Sugawara’s hand falls away from Kuroo’s head. “I know you’re going through a lot, right now. And I know the SSP has made mistakes in taking care of you all. But I personally will see to it that you’re taken care of. You’re a hero, Kuroo. We all owe you a great debt.”

Kuroo snorts in derision, but he doesn’t argue. Sugawara looks to Kenma, and he appears haggard. “He’ll need to stay here for another week while he recovers. The serum should speed up the process, but we don’t want to take any chances. I’ll give you some paperwork that explains everything about his follow-up care and how to monitor him. I’ll want to see him at least twice a month for the next three months to check that everything is working properly. But Bokuto’s heart is strong. As long as you keep taking the serum, you should recover fully in less than half that time, due to your accelerated healing.”

Kuroo doesn’t respond, so Kenma nods in his stead. “Thank you,” he says. “For everything.”

Sugawara bows slightly and takes one last look at Kuroo before leaving.

“Kuro.”

Kuroo eyes remain closed. “I don’t know if I can do this, Kenma. Bokuto . . . this stupid fucking serum . . . I can’t . . . I’m not . . .” He chokes back a sob. Covering his face with his arm, he grits his teeth, as the tears continue rolling down his cheeks.

Kenma sits on the edge of the bed, lying down, then, barely fitting. He wraps his arm around Kuroo’s waist and presses his face into his shoulder.

“Just live. That’s all you need to do,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut, as he tries to keep the desperation out of his voice. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He continues to hold him, as Kuroo cries himself into an exhausted sleep.

“They’re shutting us down.”

Daichi blinks across the table at General Ukai and Dr. Takeda. He isn’t sure of the emotion he’s feeling, at this news. It’s something between relief and . . . apprehension.

“Who’s shutting us down?” Oikawa asks, looking even more exhausted than ever. On either side of him sit Yahaba and Kageyama, neither of them looking much better.

“The prime minister,” General Ukai says. “Ushijima and Daishou have been arrested, and the Iwanuma base is under investigation for tampering with the serum, thanks to the evidence Oikawa brought us. But if I’m honest with you, I don’t think that’s going to lead anywhere. I’m fairly certain the prime minister knew exactly what was going on.”

“So the Super Soldier Program is over . . . just like that?” Daichi asks.

“What about the cure? I haven’t finished my tests!” Oikawa exclaims.

“After the incident with Kuroo, the prime minister feels it’s best to suspend the program indefinitely. He’s issuing a statement tomorrow. Most likely he’ll explain that we’ve experienced some ‘slight hiccups’ with our serum manufacturing.”

Oikawa flops back in his seat. “So there goes my funding,” he says, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to work on a cure now?”

“The government doesn’t care about the Soldiers, they just want to save face in the public eye,” Yahaba growls.

“But won’t people still be afraid of kaiju attacking?” Kageyama asks, brow furrowed. “They don’t know they were all destroyed.”

Dr. Takeda clears his throat. “According to my sources, in his statement, the prime minister will say we stumbled upon the nest and took them all out.”

Kageyama’s frown deepens. “But that’s not what happened.”

“He’s a politician, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, tiredly. “Lying is what they do.”

Daichi rubs his hand over his face. “Okay, so no more SSP. We still need to find a way to keep the lab running long enough for Oikawa to finish the cure.”

Dr. Takeda straightens in his seat. “I’m a frugal spender, and I have quite a decent nest egg in my savings. I will donate to the lab to keep it running.”

Everyone turns to look at him in surprise. Ukai reaches for him, before stopping with his hand outstretched.

“Ittetsu, are you sure?”

Dr. Takeda pushes his glasses up his nose with a finger, nodding in determination. “Yes. I can think of no better use for it. After everything our Soldiers have sacrificed for us, it’s the least I can do.”

Oikawa lifts his chin, his eyes wet. “I’ll work as hard as I can to get things done swiftly. We won’t take too much of your money, I promise.”

Yahaba reaches over and lightly thumps Oikawa on the back of his head. “You mean we will work hard.”

Oikawa rubs his head with a frown. “Living with Mad Dog-chan has made you insolent.”

Yahaba gives him a tired stare. “I’ve always been insolent.”

Oikawa pouts. “Yes, but you’re usually more polite about it.”

Kageyama lifts his hand as though in school. Daichi nods to him. “Yes, Kageyama-san?”

“What will happen to us once the cure is finished? Are we fired?”

“Everyone will be reassigned,” Ukai says, looking around the table. He looks pointedly at Oikawa. “Though I’ll order that some of you take a furlough, first.”

Oikawa looks away.

Daichi glances at the clock. It’s after midnight, and he can feel exhaustion seeping through his body, as the stress from the day catches up to him. He knows he still has a stack of paperwork to complete, but all he wants to do is see Suga, to go home with him and fall asleep in his arms. They both could benefit from a good night’s sleep.

They all could, actually.

“General,” he says, turning to Ukai. “May I suggest we turn in for the night? It’s been a long day.”

Ukai turns to him with a nod. “Good idea, Captain. We’ll reconvene once I have your new assignments. For now, rest.”

“I’ll be in the lab,” Oikawa says, standing.

Daichi gives him a look. “No, you’re going home, too. You can get back into the lab tomorrow.”

Oikawa frowns, about to protest, but Daichi holds up his hand. “You’ve been running yourself ragged all day. Iwaizumi’s not fairing much better. You both need time to rest and recuperate.”

“But—”

Yahaba stands. “It’s better to work when we’re alert and rested,” he says. “We don’t want to risk making any mistakes.”

Oikawa purses his lips then nods shortly. “Okay.”

Yahaba bows to those present, before grabbing Oikawa’s sleeve and pulling him toward the door. Kageyama remains seated for a moment, frowning down at the table.

“Is there something wrong, Kageyama-san?” Dr. Takeda prompts gently.

Kageyama starts, lifting his head with a blink. “What’s going to happen to Hinata Shouyou?” he asks.

“He’ll be taking the cure, same as the others,” Daichi says, remembering his earlier conversation with the boy. “He’s expressed interest in volunteering to help those whose homes were lost in the attacks.”

Kageyama nods slowly. “Would I be able to volunteer, too?”

Dr. Takeda raises his eyebrows. “You don’t wish to continue working as a scientist?”

“I do,” Kageyama says quickly. “But . . . it would be good for someone to keep an eye on him after he takes the cure, right? Just to be sure everything works out?”

Ukai exchanges an amused glance with Dr. Takeda. “Are you asking if you may continue monitoring Hinata-san after he takes the cure?”

Kageyama nods. “Just to make sure.”

The general shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Permission granted.”

Kageyama stands and bows. “Thank you,” he says, before turning to leave. Daichi watches him go, before turning to Ukai and Dr. Takeda.

“You’ll keep me informed about the Iwanuma investigation?” he asks hopefully.

Ukai nods, his expression grim. “Unfortunately, there’s no way to know if what happened here won’t happen again. In ten years, twenty, thirty . . . it won’t surprise me if they try again with a new serum and a new team.”

Daichi sighs. “I’m afraid of that. Oikawa has the original formula, but unless the rest of the Iwanuma samples are destroyed . . .”

Ukai moves to stand, Dr. Takeda joining him. “We’ll keep an eye on it. I’ll try to convince the prime minister that it’s in all our best interest to lock up the serum and throw away the key. But you know how these politicians are with power. They’re never going to stop craving it.”

Daichi stands, as well. “I hope you’re able to make him see sense, then.”

“I haven’t been able to so far,” Ukai admits with a crooked grin. “But I’ll do my best.”

After they say their goodbyes, Daichi makes his way down to the infirmary. He gives the receptionist a nod, as he passes by her desk, and makes his way to Suga’s office. He hesitates in the doorway, looking in at the man sitting on the edge of his desk, studying a clipboard in his hand with his brows furrowed. Even exhausted, with his face pale and dark circles beneath his eyes, he looks beautiful, if fragile.

Daichi knows he’s not, though.

Knocking lightly on the doorframe, he waits until Suga raises his head to step into the room. Suga gives him a faint smile.

“You’re barely limping,” he says.

Daichi nods. “My doctor’s taken good care of me.”

Suga’s smile widens before it slips away on a sigh. His eyes return to the clipboard, and he runs his teeth along his bottom lip. “I didn’t know if the heart would take. His body might still reject it if we take him off the serum . . . I’ve condemned him to the life of an addict . . .”

“You did what you had to in order to save him,” Daichi says firmly, reaching up to brush the backs of his fingers across Suga’s cheekbones. “Like you did for me.”

Suga snorts softly. “You weren’t very happy with my decision back then, either.”

Daichi smiles sheepishly. “I got over it. I had you to help me. Kuroo has Kenma. He’ll be okay.”

Suga glances toward the door. “Akaashi won’t talk to me. I suggested a therapist, but I don’t know if he’ll go.”

Daichi takes the side of Suga’s neck in his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We can figure things out in the morning. Let’s go home.”

Suga sighs, his shoulders drooping. Turning, he sets the clipboard down on his desk. Daichi steps up behind him, wrapping his arm around Suga’s waist and placing a soft kiss on the nape of his neck.

“You’ve done everything you can,” Daichi reminds him, softly. “It’s up to them, now.”

The car ride back to Daichi’s house is a somber one. Suga keeps his gaze out of the window, and Daichi scours his brain, trying to think of something encouraging to say.

“Dr. Takeda has offered his own savings to help Oikawa finish the cure,” he comments, after a long moment of silence.

Suga glances over at him. “What do they plan to do once they’re cured?” he asks. “Turn them out onto the streets?”

Daichi frowns. “I won’t let that happen. They should be compensated for their service. General Ukai will make sure of it. We’ll take care of them, Suga. I promise.”

Suga purses his lips, but he nods. “Okay.” His expression softens, and he reaches over to lay his hand on top of Daichi’s thigh. “What about you? Do you know yet where they’re reassigning you?”

Daichi shakes his head. “No,” he admits. “But they’ll probably ask me to captain a unit in a different field.”

“Do you think they’ll transfer you to another region?”

Daichi sighs. “I don’t know.” It’s not a possibility he wants to dwell on. Moving would mean leaving Suga behind, in all likelihood. He’s a magnificent doctor and surgeon. Daichi doesn’t suspect they’ll want to let him go.

“I’ll go with you, if they do.”

Daichi pulls to a stop in front of the house, turning then to look at Suga with wide eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, his heart beating faster as hope fills him.

Suga gives him a soft smile. Reaching up, he wraps his hand around the back of Daichi’s neck, pulling him forward into a kiss. Daichi kisses him back readily, moving his hand from the steering wheel to touch the side of Suga’s face with his fingertips. Suga pulls back slowly, setting his forehead against Daichi’s, then.

“Wherever you go, that’s where I want to be, too,” he admits quietly. “So, yes. I’m sure.”

Despite the stress and horrors of the day, Daichi can’t help but smile, as he tilts his head to kiss Suga, again.

With the Super Soldier Program shutting down and no more kaiju to anticipate, Iwaizumi isn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. Two weeks after the final attack, he’s finally done healing, and with nothing left to fix, the serum begins causing some agitation. While Oikawa works steadfastly in the lab with Yahaba, Kageyama, and a couple other scientists who stayed on to assist them, Iwaizumi prowls the now mostly empty headquarters on his own. He stops by the gym to work out for several hours, but that can only take so much of his concentration. When he starts to grow fidgety again, he makes his way toward the Sendai perimeter.

Despite it still being winter, restoration efforts have already begun, and the city is littered with construction crews. According to Oikawa, Sawamura got Kyoutani a job on one of these crews. Apparently, he also managed to get both Kindaichi and Kunimi private tutors, so they can continue their interrupted education. Iwaizumi is glad for them, but he can’t help but wonder how he fits into all this. Nobody has given him any new assignments, and with a cure on the way, Iwaizumi realizes he’s going to need to find some sort of normal job to do.

Oikawa will most likely go into teaching at a university, but what can Iwaizumi do? What skills does he have other than fighting?

“Maybe you can become a dojo master,” Oikawa says one night, as they’re getting ready for bed. It’s one of the few nights Iwaizumi’s been able to convince Oikawa to come home.

Iwaizumi snorts, as he pulls his sleep shirt over his head. He catches a glimpse of the scar on his forearm, pale against his tanned skin. He hasn’t seen Kuroo since he woke. He knows he should probably stop by their place soon. He just hasn’t known what to say.

“Hey,” Oikawa says, leaning over his pillow on the bed to look up into Iwaizumi’s face. “Iwa-chan is smart and strong. You’ll find a place.”

Iwaizumi sighs, moving to get under the covers beside Oikawa. “I just . . . want to be useful. Help people, somehow.”

Oikawa wraps his arm around Iwaizumi’s chest and pulls him close. Pressing his lips against Iwaizumi’s shoulder, he slips his hand down to take his, lacing their fingers together. “You’re already helping people. You’re helping me, aren’t you?”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes, squeezing Oikawa’s fingers gently. “How, exactly?”

“Well, making me sleep, for one. Keeping me company. Supporting me.” Oikawa lifts his head, and when Iwaizumi opens his eyes, he finds Oikawa leaning over him with the softest look he’s ever seen on his face.

“I love you, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi’s face grows warm, but he releases Oikawa’s hand in order to thread his fingers through the man’s hair. He leans up, then, brushing his lips against Oikawa’s in a gentle kiss. Oikawa murmurs softly, pressing more firmly, as his fingers curl into Iwaizumi’s shirt. Slowly, Iwaizumi begins to relax. Oikawa’s lips travel over his jaw and down his neck. Iwaizumi tugs gently on Oikawa’s hair, forcing his head back up.

“You need sleep,” he reminds him quietly.

Oikawa pouts. “Fine, but we’re revisiting this once the cure is complete.”

Iwaizumi pecks his lips in another quick kiss. “Absolutely.”

A week later, he’s standing in front of Kuroo and Kenma’s apartment. A low fog hovers in the air, but with the serum still coursing through his veins, Iwaizumi wears only a light jacket on top of his sweater. Bracing himself, he knocks on the door.

Almost immediately it opens to reveal Kenma, clad in fuzzy pajama pants and a long t-shirt that must belong to Kuroo. He blinks owlishly at Iwaizumi, his hair mussed. For a second, Iwaizumi’s afraid he’s woken him up, but then he notices the dark circles under Kenma’s eyes.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, lifting a hand in greeting. “Is . . . is it okay that I’m here?”

Kenma nods, stepping back and opening the door wider. Iwaizumi steps inside cautiously, toeing off his shoes and calling a quiet, “sorry for intruding.”

Kuroo’s lying on the couch; Iwaizumi can see the black tuft of his hair sticking out over the armrest. “Did he sleep there all night?” he asks Kenma softly.

Kenma yawns, shaking his head. “He didn’t sleep,” he says, but it’s obvious he means neither of them did.

Iwaizumi frowns. “Is he okay?”

Kenma levels Iwaizumi with a look. “He has Koutarou’s heart.”

Iwaizumi winces. He’d heard something about that, but honestly it’s difficult to wrap his head around. He can’t imagine what Kuroo must be feeling. He clasps Kenma’s shoulder briefly, before stepping over to the couch, walking around it to crouch beside it. Kuroo’s staring at the ceiling, dressed only in a pair of pajama pants. Down the center of his chest is an already fading scar, a vertical line of pale skin. Iwaizumi finds himself staring at it a moment, before he drags his gaze up to Kuroo’s face.

His eyes are swollen from crying, dark circles similar to Kenma’s coloring the skin beneath them. His lips are dried and cracked. It’s the worst Iwaizumi’s ever seen him look, and his chest tightens with sympathy.

“Hey,” he says gently, reaching out to place his hand lightly on Kuroo’s bicep.

Kuroo closes his eyes briefly, swallowing hard. He turns his head then and attempts a wry smile. “Hey. Sorry for not getting up. Doc says I still have to be careful moving around.”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi says, giving Kuroo’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I just . . . came to see how you were holding up.”

Kuroo laughs, then winces at the pain it causes. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s going to take a while to heal.”

Kenma appears beside the couch. He taps Kuroo’s forehead. With a slight grimace, he sits up on his elbows, allowing Kenma to take a seat where his head used to be. Kenma guides his head back down into his lap, and starts carding his fingers through Kuroo’s hair. It’s an intimate gesture, and Iwaizumi watches as Kuroo relaxes into it, some of the tension leaving the lines in his face.

“You heard about them shutting everything down?” Kuroo asks, his eyes closing once more.

Iwaizumi nods. “Yeah, I heard.”

“You know yet what you’re going to do?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Oikawa suggested I become a dojo master.”

Kenma snorts, even as Kuroo smirks. “I could see that. You’ve got the training for it.”

“Yeah, but it’s not exactly something that helps people.”

“It teaches self-defense,” Kenma points out.

Iwaizumi tilts his head. “Yeah, I guess. But . . . I don’t know.”

“After literally saving lives, it feels pretty pedestrian,” Kuroo surmises.

Iwaizumi smile ruefully, settling down to sit cross-legged on the floor. “I guess it’s a pretty narcissistic concern.”

“I get it, though,” Kuroo admits, his voice growing softer. “We were heroes. We knew what we were doing kept people safe. It’s not so easy going back to a normal life, after that.”

“You could become a fire-fighter,” Kenma suggests. “Or join the police academy.”

Iwaizumi has to admit he didn’t consider that. “I guess I have more options than I thought,” he realizes.

“Happy to help,” Kuroo says, lifting his fist.

Iwaizumi taps his against it but keeps his eyes on Kuroo’s tired face. “What about you?”

Kuroo smirks. “Me? I’m fucked.”

Kenma frowns, his fingers stilling in Kuroo’s hair. “Kuro.”

“It’s true. I’m stuck on this serum until who knows when . . . I can’t try to get a normal job when I’m like this. The stupidest thing could set me off, and I’ll rage out. I’m not going to put people’s lives at risk, like that.”

“You don’t have to do anything, right now,” Kenma says, shaking his head. “I’ll get a job. I’ll take care of you.”

“And that’s fair to you? Forcing you to do everything? To be my damn caretaker?”

Kenma’s jaw tightens. “I don’t mind.”

“I mind!”

Iwaizumi can tell this is an argument they’ve had before. Tension floods the room, and he shifts uncomfortably. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to start anything, with that.”

Kuroo waves him off wearily. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . tired.”

Iwaizumi moves to stand. “I should probably head out, anyway.” He hesitates. “Uh, Bokuto’s parents are taking his body back to Tokyo. They’re going to have the funeral there. You guys going?”

Kenma looks down into Kuroo’s face, which has tightened once more.

“I doubt his parents are going to want to see me,” Kuroo says quietly. “The guy who let their son die and then took his heart?” He chuckles darkly. “I’m sure they hate me.”

Kenma sighs, moving his fingers through Kuroo’s hair once more. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Kuroo doesn’t respond, but it’s clear from his pursed lips and the wrinkle in his forehead that he doesn’t agree. Iwaizumi’s chest feels tight.

“Well . . . I guess I’ll see you guys around,” he says. Reaching down, he takes Kuroo’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Listen to Kenma, man. He knows what he’s talking about.”

He heads for the door, then, pulling his shoes back on. He feels a tug on his sleeve and turns to see Kenma looking up at him.

“When are you leaving for the funeral?” he asks.

Iwaizumi blinks. “Next Friday.”

Kenma nods. “We’ll be there.”

Iwaizumi studies Kenma, standing there with his clothes hanging off his thin frame. Despite his outward frailty, his chin is lifted, and his eyes are bright with resolve. There’s more strength in this one than we all know, Iwaizumi realizes.

Taking a step back, he bows to him. Kenma starts in surprise, his eyes widening. His fingers curl into his sleep shirt, and when Iwaizumi straightens, Kenma’s frowning in confusion.

“What was that for?” he mutters, fidgeting in embarrassment.

“I admire you,” Iwaizumi admits. “You’ve held it together better than any of us. You’re probably one of the strongest people I know.”

A flush darkens Kenma’s face, and he looks away. “I’m not that strong.”

“You are,” Iwaizumi says seriously. He looks over Kenma’s shoulder to where he can see Kuroo’s hair once more sticking over the top of the armrest. “And you’re going to get him through this.” He reaches out to pat Kenma’s shoulder. “You’re both going to be okay.”

Kenma blinks, determination once more filling his expression. He nods, once, and closes the door behind Iwaizumi, as he steps back out into the cold.

Thursday, Oikawa wakes Iwaizumi with a crow of triumph.

“I GOT IT! I GOT IT! IT’S ALL HERE!”

Iwaizumi rubs the sleep from his eyes, sitting up on one elbow. He squints at Oikawa, as he bounces on his knees on the mattress beside him.

“What?” he asks groggily.

“The cure formula! I figured it out! Yahaba and Kageyama just ran the numbers and they came back correct! We can move onto production, now!” Oikawa beams down at him, grabbing his face between his hands to squish his cheeks together. “I told you I’d fix everything, Hajime,” he says, his eyes wild with glee. “This is it!”

Iwaizumi’s heart pounds loudly in his ears. The cure . . . He’s figured out the cure. He sits up quickly, grabbing Oikawa’s wrists to pull his hands away from his face.

“Are you serious?” he asks, dumbfounded. “Are you really serious?”

Oikawa laughs, tears filling his already swollen eyes. “Yes! Yes!”

“Fuck!” Iwaizumi cries, unable to think of anything else to say. His heart is racing, and he feels like he needs to run around the block yelling or something, but instead he grabs Oikawa in a hug, struggling to hold back tears of his own. “Fuck!”

Oikawa’s still laughing and crying, as he digs his fingers into Iwaizumi’s back. But not two seconds later, he’s pulling back. “I have to get to the lab. We have to run tests!”

He scrambles off the bed, picking up clothes from the floor to smell them. Iwaizumi stands as well, remembering the decision he’d made.

“Test it on me,” he says, causing Oikawa to freeze.

He shakes his head, as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. “No, no, Iwa-chan. That’s not necessary. We—”

“It is necessary,” Iwaizumi says firmly. “The only way you’re going to see if it works is to test it on someone who’s already addicted to the other serum.”

Oikawa bites his lip, hesitation flickering over his features. “But if I’m wrong . . .”

“You just said the numbers came back correct. That you and Yahaba and Kageyama ran them.” Iwaizumi steps over to him, grabbing his shoulders and looking Oikawa in the eyes. “I believe in you, Tooru. You’re not wrong.”

Oikawa nods. “Okay,” he says. He inhales deeply. “Let’s do this.”

They break several speed limits getting to the base, but the police must still respect the Flying Crows, because nobody pulls them over. Oikawa parks Hog-chan in the practically empty lot, and the two of them hurry toward the building.

“I already told Shi-chan and Tobio-chan to meet us here,” Oikawa says. His eyes are gleaming, and the confident air about him reminds Iwaizumi of how he used to be as a teenager and in his first years at university when he knew what he wanted in life and how he was going to achieve it. He’s glowing, despite the exhaustion still lingering on his features, and Iwaizumi can’t help but marvel at how beautiful his boyfriend is.

Desire surges within Iwaizumi, but he clenches his fists and struggles to keep his body calm. As much as he would like to shove Oikawa against the wall of the elevator and make out with him, they have something more important to do.

When they step into the lab, Yahaba and Kageyama are already there. Yahaba is holding a vial, which contains a pale blue liquid. Oikawa steps forward to study it, practically vibrating.

“Is this it?” he asks in a hushed, reverent tone.

Yahaba nods. “We were actually already here when Kageyama got your text,” he says. “We started mixing right away.”

Kageyama turns his gaze onto Iwaizumi. “Is Iwaizumi-san taking the cure first?” he asks.

Iwaizumi steps forward. “I am,” he says.

“We’ve already separated the formula into two other vials,” Yahaba tells Oikawa, as he hands over the vial in his hand. “If all goes well, they’ll go to Hinata and Akaashi.”

“We’re also keeping a sample to make something for Kuroo-san,” Kageyama says. “Since he can’t take this one.”

Iwaizumi lifts his arm. “Go on,” he says, firmly. “Let’s get on with it.”

Oikawa turns to him, hesitating once more. “You have to tell me immediately what you feel,” he says. “If anything feels off at all, we’ll need to get more of the SS-415 serum in you immediately. Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama nods, picking up a vial with the familiar pink-tinged liquid. “Yes.”

Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a look. “I’ll be fine,” he says, with complete confidence.

Oikawa’s expression clears, and he takes the syringe Yahaba hands him. His hands are cold, as he takes Iwaizumi’s arm. Setting the tip of the needle against Iwaizumi’s vein, he inhales shakily. Iwaizumi leans forward, brushing his lips again Oikawa’s cheekbone.

“I believe in you,” he murmurs against his skin.

Oikawa releases his breath and inserts the needle. He pushes the cure into Iwaizumi’s bloodstream. Then he withdraws, stepping back and observing Iwaizumi with a keen gaze. Iwaizumi stands still as a statue, waiting. Nothing happens immediately. He feels the same as he did before.

But then a wave of dizziness hits him. He stumbles, nearly falls, but immediately Oikawa is there to catch him.

“Hajime? Hajime!”

Iwaizumi grips him, but he can feel his body weakening. The strength and power that he’s grown so used to over the years is slipping away. The room spins, and he sags in Oikawa’s arms, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. For a moment, he blacks out.

When his vision clears, he’s lying on the floor, held up against Oikawa’s chest by his arms around his torso. Oikawa’s eyes scan his features, and the worry creasing his forehead fades into relief.

“You’re awake!” he exclaims.

Iwaizumi blinks. He feels normal, again. Sitting up, he looks around the room. “How long was I out?”

“Just a couple minutes,” Yahaba says, poised over him with a new syringe. “How do you feel?”

Iwaizumi pushes himself to his feet. Oikawa scrambles up, as well, grabbing him around the waist to steady him. “Uh, fine, I guess?” he says. “Nothing hurts or anything.”

“Can you lift that desk with one hand?” Kageyama asks, pointing.

Oikawa shoots him a glare. “Let him recover a bit before asking him to do stuff!”

“No, no it’s okay,” Iwaizumi says. He steps over to the desk, piled high with paperwork, a computer monitor, and personal knick-knacks of the owner. Placing his hand around the edge of it, he pulls upward, using all his strength. The desk shifts, lifting off its first two legs slightly. It’s heavy. Iwaizumi’s not used to things being heavy, anymore. On the serum, he’d be able to lift this desk above his head, or at least to shoulder-height, if he was fatigued.

Oikawa claps in delight. “You’re completely normal!” he exclaims, as Iwaizumi sets the desk down with a grunt.

“Gee, thanks,” Iwaizumi mutters, but he can’t help but feel relieved.

It worked. It really worked. He looks down at his hand, curling it into a fist.

“Should I do more tests?”

“Let’s put him on the treadmill,” Yahaba says. “Test his speed.”

They make their way into the weight room where the usual exercise equipment the Soldiers use are set up as well. Iwaizumi steps onto the treadmill, feeling a little self-conscious with the three scientists staring at him. He hits the button to start it and begins jogging. Yahaba steps forward, after a moment, to increase the speed. Iwaizumi quickens his pace. Faster and faster he runs, until he’s sprinting, sweat slipping down his back, his muscles aching. He looks at the miles per kilometer, thinking he must be going at least somewhat close to his old speed.

He’s not.

Oikawa grins, as Yahaba turns off the machine, and Iwaizumi collapses against the console, panting heavily.

“It worked!” he says happily.

“What about the rage states?” Kageyama asks, raising his hand. “How do we test if those are gone, too?”

“I guess we’ll have to make him angry,” Yahaba muses.

“You’re face is uglier than a boar’s, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says gleefully.

Iwaizumi flips him off, too exhausted and breathless to attempt a comeback.

“I think we’re good,” Oikawa says, writing something down on the clipboard he brought. “Everything worked perfectly! Let’s call Chibi-chan and Akaashi-san!”

“Can I get some water first?” Iwaizumi wheezes, guessing he’ll have to start working out again to get back into the shape he was before the serum. It’s a thought that both disappoints him and pleases him.

He’s normal, now. He’s no longer a danger to himself or to Oikawa or to anyone. They can move on, now, make plans for their future together.

He looks forward to it.

Akaashi never wants to step foot inside the SSP Headquarters again, after that night. He clears out his locker and leaves without looking back. But living in the apartment he used to share with Bokuto isn’t much better.

Everywhere Akaashi turns he sees reminders of the life that shone so brightly beside him. It’s too painful, at first. He takes down all the photos of him and Bokuto and stuffs them in a box. All of Bokuto’s clothes get thrown into a large plastic garbage bag, and his favorite mug, his knick-knacks and toys, are placed into another box. Akaashi pushes everything under Bokuto’s bed, then, and shuts the door behind him when he leaves.

He hasn’t been inside the room since.

It doesn’t disappear, however. It remains a constant in the back of Akaashi’s mind. He has to consciously keep his head turned away, whenever he passes through the hallway.

But the worst part, he comes to realize, is the silence.

It’s so quiet, now. Bokuto’s loud voice used to be a source of annoyance, for Akaashi. But now all he wants is to hear that voice again. The absence is a gaping hole, in the apartment, and in his chest. There are no more shouts of “Good morning, Akaashi!” when he wakes up. There are more no questions about random facts Bokuto heard from Kuroo or others. There are no more calls of “Hey, hey, hey!” used in whatever random form Bokuto saw fit to use them.

Akaashi tells himself to not call Bokuto’s phone to hear his voicemail. Not only is it pathetic, it will only cause him more pain.

Instead, he desperately tries to drown out the silence by playing his music. At first it’s just classical tracks on his iPod dock, but that doesn’t soothe his agitation. So he buys a piano keyboard.

He’s rusty, not having played in years. But when he plays, he pours his pain into the music with each sorrowful melody.

The days turn into weeks, and Akaashi continues this half-life, this faded existence. He takes long walks most days, to avoid being at home. He spends more money than is probably wise on restaurants and alcohol just to postpone the time when he’ll need to return to the empty apartment. It doesn’t feel like home anymore, anyway.

He tries to erase Bokuto from every corner of his mind. But when he goes to sleep at night, his dreams are full of him. Of his laugh, his touch, his smile, his eyes. Sometimes, his treacherous brain replays that day. He has to watch as Bokuto shoves him out of the way of that descending foot. He has to stare once more into that face, as the life leaves his bright, golden eyes.

He has to listen, over and over again, to Bokuto’s voice gasping his name and that phrase Akaashi should have been able to say first.

I love you.

He tries to avoid sleeping, these days, but exhaustion eventually overtakes him, and he wakes to a tear-stained pillowcase.

It’s four weeks and a day when Akaashi gets a text from Oikawa. He’s been avoiding all calls from his former teammates and colleagues, not wanting their pity. He knows their hearts are in the right place, but he can’t stand the thought of them stumbling through apologies and awkward sympathy.

The only one who might have any inkling of what he’s feeling is Kuroo. But he hasn’t reached out at all. Akaashi appreciates it. Knowing what he does about Kuroo’s operation, he’s not sure he wants to hear Kuroo’s voice or see him at all.

The knowledge that Bokuto’s heart is still beating inside someone else’s body makes Akaashi furious. He wishes no true ill will towards Kuroo, but he can’t help but think, “how dare he.”

How dare he live with Bokuto’s heart when Bokuto can’t.

Oikawa
WE HAVE THE CURE! GET YOUR ASS TO THE LAB (09:14)

Akaashi stares down at the text for a long moment. He’s been taking the serum methodically, out of habit. It would be nice to not have to worry about it anymore.

But is it worth setting foot inside that building?

Oikawa
I know you might not want to see us right now (09:16)
but with the lab shutting down eventually we’re going to run out of serum (09:16)
you might not feel like your life is worth much but (09:16)
I can think of a few people who don’t want to see you go just yet (09:16)

Akaashi tightens his grip on the phone, wondering if he should believe him. While he has the utmost respect for Iwaizumi, Kuroo, and Kenma, he has no illusions about whether or not they’re friends. He’s not close to them, has never let them get close. He held himself apart, only a part of the group for Bokuto’s sake.

Would they truly care if he let himself die?

Would it be so bad to let himself simply . . . fade away?

He taps his phone screen to go back to his contacts. He finds Bokuto’s name, hovers his thumb over it. Closing his eyes, he remembers the conversation they had here in this room.

“Right. No dying. I won’t. I promise! I’ll stay alive forever!” Bokuto gives what Akaashi assumes is his best attempt at a sly smile. “You have to promise too, though.”

He remembers his own lips twitching, unable to resist that grin. “I promise I won’t die.”

”And?”

”That I’ll stay alive forever.”

Bokuto grins, pressing his fist against Akaashi’s chest lightly. “See? That wasn't so hard. Now you can relax because neither of us is going to die."

Akaashi lifts his hand to rub it against his chest. It was a stupid thing to promise. But he’d wanted to make Bokuto happy. He’d caused him so much pain already . . .

But a promise was a promise. If he promised Bokuto to not die, then he’s not going to die.

I’m on my way. (09:20)

Hinata Shouyou’s already there when he arrives, vibrating nervously. Kageyama grabs his hair roughly, but instead of swatting him away, the boy visibly relaxes. Akaashi’s chest twists painfully, and he turns to Oikawa instead.

“Is this going to take long?” he asks.

“Not at all,” Oikawa assures him.

He’s acting professional, all business, and Akaashi appreciates it. He appreciates less the glances Hinata keeps shooting his way. He looks like he wants to say something, and Akaashi sincerely hopes he doesn’t.

“Chibi-chan, why don’t you go first?”

“Um! Are we really sure I need this, though? I mean, I haven’t experienced any rage states at all! Maybe it’s different for me!”

Oikawa gives him a thin smile. “You’d rather remain addicted and then grow crazy and die when we run out of the serum?” he asks pleasantly.

Hinata deflates. “Oh. I guess not.”

“Dumbass,” Kageyama mutters.

Oikawa claps his hands together. “Okay, let’s get started, shall we?”

Yahaba hands him a syringe and a vial filled with a pale blue liquid. Oikawa draws the liquid out into the syringe, before turning to take Hinata’s arm. He tenses, but it’s over in a few seconds. Hinata blinks, staring down at his arm. He staggers backwards, almost falling except that Kageyama is there to catch him. Hinata shakes his head, pupils blown wide. After a couple minutes, however, he straightens slowly.

“Huh. Weird,” he says, looking down at his hands. “I don’t feel any different!”

“You won’t,” Oikawa assures him. “But don’t try running through any walls or anything.”

He turns to Akaashi, then, who steps forward, arm outstretched. Yahaba hands Oikawa a new vial and syringe, and he repeats the process. Akaashi feels the superhuman strength seep from his limbs, and when he sways to the side Oikawa takes his shoulder to steady him.

“You okay?” he asks, and his eyes seem to hold a deeper question.

Akaashi brushes his hand off his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

It’s a lie, and they both know it, but Oikawa simply purses his lips and nods. He takes a step back, plastering on a smile and lifting his arms to the side. “Congratulations! You’re both cured. You can now live normal lives.”

Akaashi resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Kageyama turns to the other two, holding up his phone. “Kuroo is on his way to give us those blood samples,” he says.

Akaashi’s stomach bottoms out. He needs to leave before Kuroo arrives. He’s not ready to see him. Not yet.

He bows stiffly. “Thank you,” he says, because it’s the polite thing to do. He leaves the lab, then, walking briskly.

He’s so focused on getting out of the building as soon as possible, that he doesn’t see Tanaka until he nearly runs into the man. He takes a step back, bowing instinctively in apology.

“Oh! Ah, Akaashi-san,” Tanaka bows awkwardly over the box he has in his hands. “I was actually, uh . . . well, Captain said I shouldn’t bother you with this . . . but we cleared out Bokuto-san’s locker so Iwaizumi-san can take his things to the funeral tomorrow . . . but I thought, I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to keep something for yourself?”

He lifts the box, and Akaashi blinks down at it, nausea curling around his stomach, as his chest tightens. He doesn’t want to take it. He knows he doesn’t want to take it. But his hands move forward anyway, taking the box from Tanaka and holding it close to his chest.

“I’m sorry about your loss, man,” Tanaka says, shaking his head. He lifts his hand, running it over his close shaven scalp. “It’s pretty fucked up.” He seems sincere, but that only makes it worse. Akaashi swallows back the lump that’s gathering in his throat, as he nods.

“Thank you,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

Tanaka pats his shoulder, as he passes him. Akaashi remains where he is, staring down at the box in his arms. He knows he shouldn’t open it. It’s a bad idea to dredge up memories he’s better off trying to forget.

Even knowing all this, Akaashi makes his way to the locker room. Sitting down on one of the benches, he sets the box on the floor between his feet. Inhaling, he opens it.

Sitting directly on top are some folded clothes. A tank top and some basketball shorts that Bokuto used to train in. There are also some street clothes, most likely ones Bokuto planned on changing into after training. Akaashi draws them out slowly, pressing his face into the soft material and inhaling. They smell like Bokuto’s deodorant, and the lump in his throat grows. The corners of his eyes sting, and he blinks back the tears that are gathering, as he carefully sets the clothes back into the box.

His hands brush against something hard and oddly shaped. Moving the clothes to the side, he pulls out two action figures.

They’re the action figures Bokuto begged Akaashi to let him buy the day of the unpredictable kaiju attack when Sawamura lost his arm. Bokuto’s likeness is intricately detailed; his bright grin looks almost identical to his real one.

He can see Bokuto now, holding up the two boxes so happily. He remembers the fond way Bokuto stared down at them. The way he smiled with such affection when he said, “I’m going to make them get married.”

Akaashi chokes on a sob, bringing the figures close to his chest, as he curls over them. He remembers what happened the night before, and the way Bokuto kissed him. Their first kiss. Akaashi rejected him, that night. Stupid! He wasted so much time. They could have had so much more. But Bokuto suffered with assumed unrequited feelings, because of Akaashi’s stupidity.

And then he died.

Because of Akaashi.

Pain tears through him, and his lips part, as an anguished cry rips itself from his throat. He’s suppressed it for so long, he can’t stop it. He releases all the misery, all the guilt, all the agony. He weeps giant, messy tears, his breath catching each time he inhales. His body trembles with the force of his sobs, but he can’t stop. It feels as though his soul is being torn from his body.

He clutches the action figures, as he slides off the bench, dropping to his knees. He hunches over the box, struggling for each breath, as his cries get more desperate.

“Akaashi? Akaashi!”

A body falls to the floor beside him, and Akaashi finds himself enveloped in a pair of strong arms. He turns into a firm chest, wondering for one delirious moment, if Bokuto’s heard his cries and has come back to him.

“It’s okay. It’s okay; I’m here. I’m here, Akaashi.”

Akaashi recognizes the voice. He reacts violently, shoving Kuroo away so forcefully, he knocks himself over, falling against the box and squishing the side of it. Kuroo remains where he knelt, arms still outstretched. His face is etched with pain, but Akaashi feels no sympathy for him.

He sits up, trembling, as he tries to gather his wits enough to speak. “You, you—!”

“I know,” Kuroo says, his shoulders drooping, as his arms fall to his sides.

“You didn’t stop him. Nobody stopped him!”

“I know,” Kuroo says, his lips tightening into a thin line. “But . . . he saved your life, Akaashi.”

“What life?!” Akaashi throws the words back at him, torn between anger and sorrow. “Without him, I have no life! Without him, I have nothing!”

Kuroo’s expression softens. “That’s not true. You have us . . . me, Kenma, Iwaizumi, Oikawa . . . we care about you.”

“You’re all the reason he’s dead!” Akaashi spits back. “If he hadn’t seen the Soldiers on TV, he never would’ve wanted to join! He would have stayed safe if it wasn’t for you!”

Kuroo watches him, and the tenderness in his eyes makes Akaashi want to throw something at him. But he only holds the figures tighter, their small edges digging into his palms.

“Akaashi, you know . . . you knew Bokuto better than anyone. Do you really think he would’ve done nothing to help the people of Sendai? Even if there wasn’t a Super Soldier Program, you know he would’ve wanted to do something. That’s just . . . how he was.” He sighs, looking down at his empty hands. “I wish, more than anything, that I could turn back time and change what happened. I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Keiji.”

Akaashi struggles to take control of his emotions. He sniffles, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His chest aches. He knows Kuroo is right. Bokuto wasn’t someone who could sit idly by and watch while people suffered. He and Kuroo were alike, in that regard.

Akaashi supposes that’s why Kuroo’s here now.

Kuroo reaches for the box beside them, gently tugging it closer. He looks inside, and his calm façade breaks once more. Tears slip down his cheeks, as he reaches inside and pulls out Bokuto’s shirt. He holds it in both hands, staring down at it miserably.

He’s in pain too, Akaashi reminds himself. My pain might be deeper, but I’m not the only one who lost him.

“Tanaka put it together,” he says softly, his voice sounding flat. He feels hollow inside, like he’s rid himself of everything that was weighing on him. Only he doesn’t feel lighter, just . . . empty. “To give to his family tomorrow.”

Kuroo lifts his eyes, shifting his gaze to the figures in Akaashi’s hands. “Are you going to keep those?”

Akaashi looks down at them, slowly uncurling his fingers. “No,” he decides. “I’m not.”

Reaching forward, he drops both figures back into the box. Kuroo bites his lip.

“It’s okay to keep them, you know,” he says quietly.

Akaashi shakes his head. “It doesn’t look like him. The eyes . . . the eyes aren’t quite right.” The photos are better. He’s not sure if he’s ready to bring them out, again. But the knowledge that he has them soothes some of the sting in his chest.

Kuroo nods, as though he understands. He picks up the box and sets it on the bench, before standing and reaching his hand out toward Akaashi. Akaashi hesitates, before taking it and allowing Kuroo to help him to his feet.

His fingertips linger on Kuroo’s wrist, feeling the pulse that beats beneath his skin.

Bokuto’s heartbeat.

He closes his eyes briefly, and Kuroo remains completely still, until Akaashi allows his hand to fall away.

“I’m sorry about my display,” he says, his voice tired and spent. He feels as though he just fought a kaiju on day three of the serum.

“No, don’t apologize,” Kuroo says, shaking his head. “It was good for you to let it out.” He sighs, glancing toward the box. “I just . . . wish I could help.”

“You did,” Akaashi assures him. “Thank you.”

Kuroo turns his gaze back to him. “Are you going tomorrow?”

Akaashi inhales shakily, breathing out slowly. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to face Bokuto’s family. But considering what their son meant to him, it would be disrespectful not to.

So he nods. “Yes.”

The ceremony is beautiful, but it feels too . . . sad. Bokuto was full of life and energy. It feels wrong to send him off without any sort of fanfare. But Akaashi assumes telling his parents this would be inappropriate.

He’s anxious about speaking to them. He stands off to the side, twisting his fingers together, as others pay their respects. They’ve met before, back when Bokuto and Akaashi were in university together, but he isn’t sure how much Bokuto kept in touch with them, throughout the years. He doesn’t know if they’re even aware of the nature of his relationship with their son.

But he can’t stand in the corner all day. Kuroo and Kenma have already given their condolences (Kuroo and Mrs. Bokuto hug for such a long time, Akaashi begins to feel embarrassed and has to look away), and he can feel their eyes on him, watching. Waiting.

He fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves before squaring his shoulders and stepping forward.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bokuto,” he says with a slight bow. “I’m—”

“Akaashi Keiji,” Mrs. Bokuto gasps, her hand covering her mouth.

Akaashi blinks in surprise. “You . . . know my name.”

“Of course we do,” Mr. Bokuto says with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Koutarou spoke of you often.”

Mrs. Bokuto reaches forward, grabbing Akaashi’s hands in both of hers. “Thank you, so much, for everything you did for him. He loved you so much. You made him so happy.”

Akaashi stares, wondering if he’s entered some strange alternate universe. “I . . . he said he was happy? With . . . me?” he asks, hating how his voice catches on the words.

“It was always, ‘Akaashi this, Akaashi that,” Mr. Bokuto says, chuckling softly. “Honestly, it was harder getting him to talk about himself. That’s how we knew you were special.”

“Please, come back to the house with us,” Mrs. Bokuto says, giving Akaashi’s hands a squeeze. “I’m sure you have so many stories about him. If . . . if you wouldn’t mind sharing?”

The woman looks at him so hopefully, that Akaashi can’t help but nod. He starts in surprise, then, as she smiles tearfully and pulls him into a tight hug. She’s soft and warm and smells like cookies, even though he doubts she would’ve made some before coming to the temple. Or maybe she’s one of those mothers that bake when they’re stressed. Akaashi realizes he doesn’t know much about them.

Yet here she is, a practical stranger, giving him such a warm hug that he can’t help but lean into it. He places his hand on her back and ducks his head into her shoulder, fighting back the tears that prickle the corners of his eyes. Mrs. Bokuto leans back to take his face in her hands; her own eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“Koutarou told us your parents died in the kaiju attacks?” she asks him.

Akaashi’s taken aback by the question, and he answers before thinking. “Yes.”

She gives him a soft smile. “Consider us your new parents, then.”

Akaashi blinks, wondering what just happened. “I’m . . . sorry?”

“From the way Koutarou spoke of you, we figured you were practically our son-in-law,” Mr. Bokuto admits. “We think . . . it’s what he would have wanted.”

“If that’s okay with you,” Mrs. Bokuto prompts, sniffling though she’s still smiling.

Akaashi doesn’t know what to say. Everything’s happening so quickly; he’s completely overwhelmed. But with both of Bokuto’s parents looking at him with such hopeful expectancy . . . how can he refuse?

Besides . . . it’d be nice to have parents, again.

“Yes, please,” he finds himself saying, blinking back more tears.

Mrs. Bokuto brightens, and she pulls him back into another firm hug. “You’ll be safe with us,” she says. “I promise.”

Akaashi clings to her, wanting desperately to believe her.

But somehow, deep inside of his shattered heart, he feels seeds of hope starting to bloom.

Maybe . . . he will be okay, after all. He knows he has a long journey of healing ahead of him, but with the Bokutos on that path with him, maybe they can make it through this valley.

He thinks Bokuto would want it that way.

Two months later, winter gives way to spring, and construction on rebuilding Sendai begins in earnest. In the Prime Minister’s statement, he condemns the actions of the Iwanuma base, but Kuroo is fairly certain the man already has another scheme up his sleeve to make Japan more powerful.

He reminds himself that isn’t any of his business, however, and he has more important things to dwell on.

Like the fact that he’s still stuck on the serum and every day is a constant struggle to keep his heightened adrenaline under control.

He knows Oikawa’s working on something he can take that will eliminate the adrenaline spikes and the rage states, but Kuroo also knows he’ll probably always be dependent on some kind of medication.

And how much of the serum is there left, even? How does Oikawa know he won’t run out before he manages to come up with something new? Without funding from the government, work is slow. Yahaba’s helping out of the goodness of his heart, but it’s just the two of them, and Kuroo refuses to let either of them run themselves ragged on no sleep just for him. (Kageyama was apparently too valuable to give up and the General reassigned him to a facility in Tokyo where they’re working on a cancer cure.)

The worst part, though, is what this is doing to Kenma.

He doesn’t deserve any of this shit. Kuroo’s wracked with guilt every time he loses his temper for the stupidest things. He knows it’s just the damn serum messing with his biochemistry, but every time he yells, every time he puts his fist through a wall to keep himself from hurting Kenma . . . Kuroo hates himself.

“It’s okay,” Kenma tells him one night, as he wraps Kuroo’s bleeding knuckles in gauze for what feels like the fifth time that week.

“No, Kenma, it’s not okay,” he says through gritted teeth, his earlier anger still lingering, though this time it’s directed toward himself. “What if next time I’m not able to control myself and hit the wall? What if it’s you?”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Kenma says, with that quiet confidence of his. His eyes remain on the gauze, and he holds Kuroo’s hand so tenderly, Kuroo wants to yell again.

I don’t deserve this! I’m a monster!

“How can you say that?” he asks, for what must be the millionth time. “You saw what happened on that field. You saw what I did to Iwaizumi!”

Kenma lifts his gaze with a flat stare. “But you didn’t hurt me.”

“I might have! If Yamaguchi hadn’t shot me down, who knows what I could’ve done to you!” The very thought of Kenma bleeding beneath him, bleeding because of him, makes Kuroo’s stomach heave, as his ribcage threatens to cut off his breath entirely.

Kenma sets down the gauze and picks up the tape, securing the bandage around Kuroo’s hand. “You’re not going to hurt me,” he says again.

Kuroo pulls his hand away, using it and his free one to cup Kenma’s face in his palms. “Kenma, look at me.” He waits until Kenma’s met his gaze before continuing. “I’m terrified, okay? I’m terrified of what I’m capable of on this serum. Please, please leave. Go live with Hinata or Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Don’t risk your safety for me.”

But Kenma does what he always does when Kuroo begs him to leave. He reaches up and flicks Kuroo’s forehead gently, before grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down for a firm kiss. And Kuroo, the idiot that he is, melts against him. Because he loves Kenma, so much, and he doesn’t want him to leave. His presence is soothing, his words calming. If Kenma left, Kuroo isn’t sure what he’d do. Go crazy, probably.

But that just makes him all the more anxious about their situation.

I’m too dependent on him, he thinks, as he watches Kenma sleep in bed next to him. He bites his lip, eyes roving over the soft planes of Kenma’s face, the silky strands of his hair. This is unhealthy. For both of us. He deserves better.

Eventually, he thinks of a solution.

But it takes him another month to act on it.

The SSP Headquarters is completely cleared out. General Ukai tells them that they’re planning on converting it back into a high school. The night before they officially have to hand over their keys, Nishinoya calls for a meeting and suggests that they hold a memorial in the gym.

“Like a goodbye party,” he says. “Only, you know, not wild and crazy. A respectful party. To remember people.”

“That’s . . . actually not a bad idea,” Sawamura says, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tanaka says with a nod, looking thoughtful. “We could, like, make little shrines for everyone. Or maybe just make one big one and put all their names on it.”

“Won’t that cost a lot?” Iwaizumi asks, glancing around the table. “I mean, I’m all for that idea, but . . . do we have the resources for it?”

“We can all chip in!” Noya chirps.

Sawamura smiles. “Finally using your heads for once,” he says, looking proud.

“Okay,” Tanaka says, clapping his hands together. “We’ll take care of everything. Just be here tomorrow night. And dress nice!”

“Yeah! Formal and stuff! We gotta be respectable,” Noya says, giving Tanaka a high-five.

“I didn’t know you knew how to be respectable,” Sugawara teases gently.

Kuroo realizes suddenly that this could be the opportunity he’s been waiting for to implement his plan. Of course Hinata will go, and he can ask the kid to keep Kenma distracted. It’ll be perfect.

So long as Kuroo doesn’t get cold feet.

The following night, Kuroo stands in front of the mirror attached to the closet door, adjusting and readjusting his tie. He’s wearing a simple black suit with a dark red shirt, his hair as slicked back as he could manage it. Kenma steps quietly into view, and Kuroo’s breath catches in his throat. He’s wearing a white button down shirt with a bowtie, a black tailored jacket, and a knee-length black skirt. On his feet are buckled boots that go halfway up his calves.

“You look amazing,” Kuroo says softly, swallowing hard, his heartbeat picking up speed.

Kenma tilts his head to the side, leaning in to look into the mirror himself. “You’re not bad yourself,” he says, reaching up to flick the tuft of hair Kuroo wasn’t able to slick back like the rest.

Normally, Kuroo would be affronted by such a gesture, but all he can think of are his plans tonight and how he really really doesn’t want to go through with them.

“Did Keiji answer your text?” Kenma asks, stepping over to where Kuroo left his phone on the dresser.

Kuroo shakes his head. “He’s been living with the Bokutos for a while now, but I don’t think he’s ready yet.”

Kenma glances sidelong at him. “Are you?”

Kuroo isn’t entirely sure, but he lifts his chin. “They gave their lives fighting alongside us,” he says with resolve. “I owe them the respect of attending.”

Kenma nods. He walks back over to him, sliding the phone into Kuroo’s pocket, before leaning up on his toes to press a soft kiss against Kuroo’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Kuroo asks with a faint, crooked grin.

“I love you,” Kenma says plainly, and Kuroo’s chest seizes painfully.

Reaching up, he tucks a strand of dark hair behind Kenma’s ear. He has it up in this fancy half-braid thing Mrs. Hinata did for him, but tendrils have escaped, and Kuroo’s fingers linger against them for a moment.

“I love you too,” he says.

Please forgive me.

The gym has been completely transformed. Kuroo has no idea how Tanaka and Noya managed to get everything together so quickly, but there are twinkling lights hanging from the upper balcony, light covered plants in every corner, a table full of champagne, a buffet with catered food, soft music playing from an iPod dock, and in the center of the room stands the memorial.

It’s carved into the shape of the Flying Crows symbol: two katana pointing toward the ground, with a crow flying between them. Etched into the dark stone, covering the entire statue, are hundreds of names. As Kuroo walks around it, reading each name to himself, he nearly runs into Yamamoto Takatora, who stands clutching a glass of champagne, as tears run unchecked down his face.

“He was a good kid, you know?” he sniffles, staring at the characters that read Shibayama Yuuki. “He didn’t deserve to go like that.”

Kuroo grabs his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Clean your face, soldier. He wouldn’t want you sobbing like this at a party.”

Yamamoto nods, sniffing loudly. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” he says, nodding to the head of the crow.

Its wings are outstretched, like it’s flying directly toward you, and at the very top of its head is the name, Bokuto Koutarou.

Kuroo bites his lip, fighting back tears of his own, now. “Thanks,” he says with a nod. He pats Yamamoto on the shoulder, before turning to escape. In doing so, he almost bowls over a short, familiar man.

“Watch it,” Yaku says, without malice.

Kuroo freezes, wiping at his eyes quickly. “Yaku-san, you came.”

“Of course, I came,” Yaku says, stepping around Kuroo to approach the memorial. Yamamoto’s turned away to gulp down the rest of his champagne, and Yaku ignores him, eyes scanning the memorial.

Kuroo hesitates before stepping forward, setting his finger against the name he’s looking for. “Here,” he says softly.

Yaku reaches up, stroking the name Haiba Lev with the tips of his fingers. His eyes remain dry, but there’s a sadness that hovers around him.

“Yaku, I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” Kuroo starts, guilt sinking like a stone in his stomach.

Yaku shakes his head. “It’s not your fault the kid was an idiot,” he says. “Though, I guess I’m more of an idiot. I should have told him how much he meant to me.”

“I . . . I know it’s none of my business, but . . . I think he knew,” Kuroo says quietly. “Whenever he came over, you were his favorite topic of conversation. He told us everything you did for him, how you took care of him.”

Yaku sighs, allowing his hand to fall away. “I hope you’re right,” he says.

“Yaku-san?”

Yaku and Kuroo both turn to see Tsukishima and Yamaguchi approach. When Yamaguchi sees Kuroo, his eyes widen, his face paling.

“K-Kuroo-san!”

“It’s okay, Yamaguchi,” Kuroo assures him, holding up his hand. “You did exactly what I told you to do. There’s no hard feelings, I promise.”

Yamaguchi hesitates before nodding, bowing slightly, before turning to Yaku. “It’s good to see you,” he tells the shorter man, moving to hug him gently. “How are you holding up?”

“Some days are better than others,” Yaku says with a wry smile that Kuroo finds painfully relatable.

He turns to Tsukishima, who’s staring stoically at the memorial. More specifically, the name etched on the hilt of one of the katana. Tsukishima Akiteru.

“I never met him,” Kuroo admits, stepping up beside Tsukishima. “But I heard he was a good man.”

Tsukishima nods, slightly. Kuroo wonders if he should say more, but before he can think of anything, Tsukishima’s turning away and walking over to the champagne table. Kuroo watches him go, guessing it doesn’t get much easier over time.

He looks back toward Bokuto’s name, pulling his phone out of his pocket and taking a picture. Before stopping to think too much about whether or not it’s a good idea, he sends the photo to Akaashi.

They put his name at the very top. He would’ve liked that. (20:13)

A second later, his phone buzzes.

Akaashi
Yes, he would have. (20:13)

Kuroo slips his phone back into his pocket, glad that Akaashi has a support system in Bokuto’s family. It’s probably just what he needs in order to heal. Kuroo bites his lip, looking over to the table where he left Kenma. Hinata is there now, talking animatedly to him, though his features aren’t as bright as usual. Iwaizumi and Oikawa have joined him, as well, both looking amused at Hinata’s tale. Kuroo’s gaze lingers on Kenma, though, and his chest aches.

He has a good support system, too. He’ll be fine.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he makes his way over.

“And we Skype all the time, but it isn’t the same,” Hinata’s saying as Kuroo approaches.

“Who are you Skyping?” he asks, unable to help his curiosity.

“His boyfriend,” Kenma says.

Hinata squawks. “Kageyama?! My boyfriend?! That’s! That’s! No, he isn’t!”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “He practically is,” he informs Kuroo.

“Who knew Shorty had game?” Kuroo asks with a faint smirk, though inwardly he grimaces. Damn. There goes my plan for Kenma’s romantic future.

“Well, we all know it’s not Tobio-chan who has game,” Oikawa snickers into his champagne glass, until Iwaizumi nudges him to stop.

“But he’s not—”

Hinata cuts himself off, as the music stops, and Daichi moves to stand by the memorial in the center of the room. He clears his throat, looking nervous despite the striking figure he cuts in his official uniform.

“I want to thank you all for coming,” he says, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. He looks around the room at everyone gathered, nodding respectfully. “I know the men and women we honor here tonight are grateful for your attendance. Thanks to the efforts of two of our own, we have this beautiful memorial with us tonight, and General Ukai has just informed me that there will be a park built in the restored city. This memorial will be placed in that park, for everyone to see and pay their respects.”

He pauses, as everyone in the room applauds. Kuroo glances over at Kenma, as Sawamura goes on to thank others who might not be recognized, like the mechanics and engineers and medics. Kenma’s watching attentively, the lights around them twinkling in the glass of his eyes. Kuroo bites his lip. He fights the urge to say one last thing, steal one last kiss.

Kenma’s too smart. He’ll know immediately what’s going on.

It’s better to just slip away now.

Carefully, he backs up into the crowd, turning for the door. His pulse thuds against his throat, and his hands tremble, as he pushes against the door to exit. The cool night air stings his flushed cheeks, and he makes his way over to Nekoma, as quickly as he can. Earlier, he packed a bag and hid it beneath his bed. While Kenma’s preoccupied at the party, he plans to sneak back into the apartment, grab it and leave.

It’s the only thing he can think of to do. If Kenma refuses to leave him, then he has to leave Kenma. As much as it breaks his heart, it’s what’s best for both of them. Kenma will be free from this burden. He’ll be safe. He’ll—

“Kuro?”

Kuroo freezes halfway to putting his helmet on. Closing his eyes, he tells himself to not turn around. Maybe he just imagined it. Maybe—

“Kuro.”

Fuck.

Setting the helmet down, Kuroo turns, an explanation already on his tongue.

A small fist collides with his jaw, and Kuroo is so stunned, he nearly falls off his bike.

“Kenma?!”

Kenma stands next to him, closer than Kuroo was expecting. He’s glaring, his face red, as he cradles his right hand to his chest. Kuroo’s chest tightens, and he reaches for him instinctively.

“Shit, Kenma, are you okay?”

Kenma shies away from his touch. “You’re leaving?”

Kuroo freezes, his concern shifting to panic. His mouth feels dry, as he stares into Kenma’s face. In the light of the overhead lights of the parking lot, he can see the fury in his expression.

The hurt.

“Kenma, I . . . it’s for the best,” Kuroo says helplessly, and it sounds lame even to him.

“The best for who?” Kenma spits back viciously. “For me? You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing this for you. You’re doing this because you’re scared and for some stupid reason you think you have to protect me from yourself!”

“I do need to protect you!”

“No, you don’t!” Kenma’s voice rings out sharply in the still air. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not some frightened little kid anymore?! I can take care of myself. I can take care of you!”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Kuroo says desperately. He swings his leg back over Nekoma, standing quickly. “Kenma, I have no idea when my new medication is going to be ready, or if it’s even going to work! I can’t force you to—”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything!” Kenma snaps, his voice lowering once more. “Do you think I’m with you out of some sort of . . . of obligation? I’m with you because I love you, idiot! Because despite the serum and the rage states and everything else they did to you, you’re still you. And I want to be with you.”

Kuroo’s vision blurs. Kenma scowls up at him, sparks practically flying from his eyes. But despite his obvious anger, all Kuroo feels is a swell of such intense love that all he can do is step forward, wrap his arm around Kenma’s waist, and kiss him fiercely.

Kenma kisses him back, but the tension doesn’t leave his body. He pulls away after a moment, still frowning. “You promised you’d never leave me, remember?”

Kuroo nods, kissing Kenma’s forehead and temple. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a monster, and you’re not going to hurt me, so stop thinking you are and that you will.”

Kuroo winces, and he tightens his grip. “I’ll try,” he says, leaning back then to look down at Kenma. “I just . . . sometimes it’s really hard to fight for control.”

“But you always win, don’t you?” Kenma asks, staring him down.

Kuroo can’t help but smile sheepishly. “Well, yeah.”

Kenma reaches up to flick his forehead. “So stop doubting yourself.”

Kuroo bends to bury his face against Kenma’s soft neck. “You’re right. You’re always right.”

“You always say you trust me,” Kenma mutters. “So trust me already.”

“I do.” Kuroo plants a kiss against Kenma’s neck before pulling back to look down at him. The anger’s gone from his expression, replaced with exasperation. Kuroo can deal with exasperation. He kisses Kenma between the eyes gently. “I trust you.”

Kenma huffs. “Good. Now get me some ice for my hand. Your jaw is like a brick wall.”

Kuroo grimaces. “You didn’t need to do that,” he says, stepping back to gently take Kenma’s wrist, inspecting the hand. “You already had my attention.”

“Yes, I did,” Kenma says flatly. “You were being an asshole.”

“Okay, I deserved it, but next time don’t throw your fist. Throw something else. Like a rock or something.”

Kenma’s eyes brighten with a gleam that worries Kuroo instantly.

“On second thought, maybe don’t throw anything at me at all. I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Too late,” Kenma says, pulling away and turning toward the street. “I thought I saw a decent sized rock over here . . .”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kuroo says, grabbing Kenma’s uninjured hand and tugging him to a stop. “First thing’s first, we’re going to get some ice on that hand. Then we have a party to get back to.”

Kenma tilts his head, considering, before shrugging and turning back around. “Okay,” he says, before tangling his fingers with Kuroo’s.

“Okay,” Kuroo repeats with a tentative grin.

As he leads Kenma back into the gym, he tries to not let any apprehension seize him. He knows their situation hasn’t changed. The life they’re living isn’t ideal, and he knows there will probably be many rough patches ahead.

But they’ll face them together, and with that knowledge Kuroo gains more confidence for their future.

We’ll be okay.