Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

𝚃𝙾𝙺𝚈𝙾, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹

It’s a little after eight p.m. when Oikawa Tooru finds himself slumped over his desk, eyelids heavy and fatigue tugging at his muscles. The history department of the University of Tokyo is empty, save for the presence of the Mythology professor Dr. Nishimura and himself. Her eyes are glued to the screen before her; fingers dancing along the keyboard of her laptop.

The sound nearly lulls him to sleep.

His own fingers are curled around a red pen; its tip gliding across the paper in front of him. To his left lie twelve midterms that need to be graded, accompanied by a half-empty coffee mug and the wrapper of a particularly nasty protein bar he lazily stuffed into his mouth roughly one hour prior. His lips twists in disgust as if remembering its nauseating taste.

Dr. Nishimura chooses that moment to pull her gaze away from her laptop, offering a tired smile when their eyes meet. “I think that’s enough for today, Oikawa. You’ve been staying until nine p.m. almost every day this week. I appreciate it, but don’t work too hard. I can manage.”

Oikawa offers a smile in return, lowering the pen and leaning back into his seat with a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right,  and yet—”

“Go home,” she says with a chuckle. “I should be leaving too, anyway. We’ve done enough for today.”

He knows she’s right. The unmarked midterms could undoubtedly survive ten hours without suffering the wrath of his critical eye and red pen. And yet, he’d rather spend three more hours grading midterms and papers to avoid a certain social obligation.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans. The message from his sister reads ‘are you still coming?’ and Oikawa is tempted to respond with ‘wish I wasn’t’.

Instead, he writes out ‘on my way now’ and pushes himself to his feet.

“Any exciting plans?” Dr. Nishimura wonders, closing her laptop.

Oikawa’s lips tighten around a smile. “Just a cozy family dinner.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

After a twenty minute cab ride, Oikawa finds himself on the well-lit driveway of his grandmother’s estate. The mansion seems more imposing at night; three stories of black and grey stone with large windows that offer a magnificent view of the area. A black gate prevents unwelcome guests from entering and Oikawa almost feels like an unwelcome guest himself.

It’s odd, he thinks. He spent the majority of his childhood in this house, spent years roaming through its hallways and discovering new spots to explore and places to hide, and yet he feels like a stranger as he walks across the gravel towards the front door.

Shoes are removed once he passes the threshold and his legs take him towards the large dining room, where his relatives sit at a long, mahogany table. The conversation pauses abruptly and Oikawa feels his armor slip into place; all cold steel and iron.

It’s just one dinner, he tells himself. And then you won’t see them for another three months.

The burgundy walls of the dining room feel as if they are closing in on him, but Oikawa breathes through the pressure gathering within his chest. He resists the part of himself that instructs him to turn around and leave. Instead he squares his shoulders and forces a smile onto his lips.  “Good afternoon.”

A variety of dishes are spread along the table; some half-eaten, others untouched. Meat, fish, vegetables, soup, and rice. Everything he could possibly crave after surviving on coffee and bland protein bars for hours. And yet, his appetite seems to have disappeared—leaving him with nothing but unease in the pit of his stomach.

Candles and flowers decorate the wooden surface, an attempt at creating coziness and providing a certain elegance and allure to the table. Though, no amount of ornaments or decorations could mask the sense of irritability and aversion in the room. A large chandelier looms above them, its light reflecting on the crystal flutes spread along the table and highlighting the scowl on his father’s features.

 “Ah, Tooru,” his mother says coolly, her gaze as sharp as she momentarily acknowledges him. “We were wondering when you’d join us.”

He hums as he walks along the length of the table, slipping into an empty seat next to his sister. Her husband’s absence allows for him to sit closer to the person who he feels like might be his only ally in this large room.  (Save for Takeru who seems to be more occupied with his phone).

“Work was busy,” he tells his mother. “Midterms to grade, papers to check.”

To her right, his father makes a noncommittal noise. His fingers are curled around a flute, “Haven’t you had enough of that silly job yet?” he says in lieu of a greeting.

Oikawa expected nothing less. Yet, he smiles around the tightness in his jaw and picks up his chopsticks to snag a piece of sautéed broccoli off the plate presented to him. “Not really.”

“You could work for me; make proper use of that degree of yours. You’re twenty-eight now, Tooru. Enough is enough,” his father continues.

He knows how this goes, he’s heard it before; heard the exact same sentence two months prior and every variation of it.

“I use my degree,” Oikawa counters, mimicking his mother’s icy tone. “Just not the one you like.”

He doesn’t miss the twitch of his father’s brow and he briefly sinks his teeth into his lower lip to prevent a smirk from spreading across his lips. His moment of victory is short-lived, when his uncle—Kazuo—loudly clears his throat. “Your father is right,” he agrees. “Your cousins have been working alongside us for years now. It’s high time you do the same. The Oikawa Group expands and grows every year. Two months ago we finalized the Shinsei takeover and we’re already looking to acquire assets from Sompo Holdings,” he adds.

A laugh, hollow and sharp, escapes his throat. “They proposed a merger. As if we couldn’t buy the entire damn company if we wanted to.”

His gaze briefly lands on his younger brother. “Which reminds me, there is a new player we should keep our eyes on: Nakano Corporation,” he tells him. “They’ve been getting a little too confident according to the board members.”

Board members, mergers, takeovers, assets, revenue streams. He’s heard these phrases countless times over the years. They spill from his uncle's lips as if they’re the only words he knows, and something nauseating settles in Oikawa’s stomach. It slithers through his torso and curls around his heart. Disgust, he realizes. Anger. And something else he can’t quite name.

Greed, money, power; it’s all his uncle seems to care for. It’s all any of them seem to care for. The Oikawa Group is built on greed. An insatiable hunger that will never be satisfied until the people running the organization—his family—control every company in Tokyo.

They seem to be well on their way.

“Perhaps, one day you will see the importance of the work that we do,” Kazuo continues. “We all have a duty to fulfill and no one is exempt from that. I hardly believe that grading midterms and checking papers is your true purpose in life,” he bristles. “You could do so much more. You could be so much more if you didn’t hold yourself back. True power lies in taking what’s yours, what you’re owed.”

“Perhaps I don’t care that much for power then,” Oikawa responds.

“Nonsense. Everybody does. It’s what drives the world, Tooru.”

His uncle rises from his chair after a beat of silence, adjusting his suit jacket as he steps away from the table. “Either way, I will take my leave now. I once again urge you to take mine and your father’s words into consideration, Tooru. We have a reputation to uphold. My children know this as well. As does your sister. You should take after them. You are the future of the Oikawa Group after all.”

Next to him, his sister takes a sip of his water. “I think Tooru will continue to make his own decisions, Uncle. But your advice is appreciated.”

Oikawa narrows his gaze at his sister, who merely cocks a brow at him in response. A silent warning. One that is meant to say:‘I’m trying to help’.

Their gazes turn towards their parents after a moment, watching as they both rise from their seats as well. “Dinner was lovely as always. Do be on time next time, Tooru. Your father and I have an early flight to Shanghai tomorrow, so we really should get some sleep now,” his mother tells them. “And I believe your sister and Takeru are flying back to Osaka in the morning as well.”

And like that: it’s over.

One “friendly” family dinner every three months and then everyone goes back to their own lives. His parents have been overseeing business deals abroad, primarily in China, while his sister runs things in Osaka. His uncle remains in Tokyo, given his position as CEO of the company.

“What about you, Kazuo?” Oikawa hears his father say as he approaches his brother.

“I’m flying to Hokkaido in the morning. I’ll be staying there for a week to meet a few clients,” comes the answer. Both men leave the room discussing something about quarterly reports and Oikawa is offered a polite smile from his mother before she takes her leave as well.

He releases a long breath afterwards, slumping in his seat as his sister wordlessly pushes a glass of wine into his direction.

“Well, that went great,” Takeru says dryly.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

After a few minutes of mindless chatter, Oikawa disappears into one of the many bedrooms. He briefly considers calling a cab and returning to the comfort of his own apartment, but the prospect of sleeping on expensive sheets and comfortable mattresses prevents him from retrieving his phone.

Fast forward a few hours and he wakes up to a near-empty house. Which is to be expected given everyone’s hectic schedules. Their absence doesn’t sting as much as it offers Oikawa a sense of relief. It’s always been like this for any of them. A constant stream of social obligations and work-related matters—which leaves zero time for anything else. After all, there’s money to be made.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he pads into one of the many lounge areas on the first floor. The room he enters is larger than the others and functions as the main living room. It’s all luxurious stonework and polished wood, with elegant fabrics that come in a variety of dark colors, such as browns, reds, golds, greys and black. Sunlight spills into the room, casting a glow across the large, velvet couch. A dark brown coffee table is placed in front of it, shining as though it has been unused, while the large, burgundy rug beneath it—with its intricate golden details—almost seems brand new.

The walls are lined with art work, classics and collector’s items. Vermeer, Monet, Rubens, Matisse; he recognizes them all, has studied them all, yet his gaze lands on a large family portrait. He’s seen the photo many times before. It’s a picture of his grandparents—both in their late fifties—and their four children. Three boys and one girl.

Kazuo, Masato, Takeshi and Yumiko.

They all appear to be in their twenties and Oikawa has a difficult time grasping that his father, Masato, wasn’t born with that perpetual frown he often dons. The photo shows a much younger version of the man; one without silver strands woven in between dark hair and wrinkles near his mouth. He looks softer, Oikawa thinks. So unlike the man he knows.

His gaze lingers on his father’s younger brother. Oikawa Takeshi was much kinder than his older brothers, but intelligent and hardworking all the same. Some may say he worked too hard, which resulted in an untimely death at the age of thirty-seven.

He doesn’t remember much of the funeral.

Something shifted after Takeshi’s death. It changed the dynamic within the family—as if a warm and bright light had suddenly been dimmed. Yumiko, the youngest of the siblings, had removed herself from her family and cut off all ties beforre moving to Okayama. From what Oikawa knows, she seems to be happy with her wife—who happens to own a farm.

(He understands the appeal in more ways than one).

When his eyes roam over Kazuo’s stern gaze, he has to repress the shiver that threatens to run up his spine. Even in this picture, there is a coldness in his eyes; hard and unforgiving. It pierces through him, as if the older man is right there sneering at him.

It seems odd to think that the manor once was their home, filled with life and laughter, rather than hollow emptiness.

Oikawa eventually lowers himself onto the couch with a sigh and pulls his laptop into his lap. He finds a home in the emptiness, the quiet, allowing his thoughts to disappear into the world of grading midterms and checking papers. It’s easy to get lost in the work, to focus on one, simple task and ignore everything else.

He stays on that couch for hours, spending his entire Saturday catching up on work, until nightfall arrives once again, and a yawn finds its way out of his throat.

He trails off towards his bedroom, assuming one more night at his grandparents’ house couldn’t hurt, when a sudden tremor seems to shake the entire building. His steps falter, fingers curling tightly around the wooden railing of the stairs, and Oikawa’s breath briefly hitches. The sensation lasts all but eight seconds, but he needs at least a full minute to gather his bearings. A small earthquake, he tells himself. Nothing more, nothing less.

As he continues the path upward and towards his room, shuffling through the dark hallway, a cold breeze tickles his cheek; causing a shiver to run down his spine. Goosebumps prickle across his arms while unease settles between his ribs. A sudden weight fills his chest with a sensation he can’t quite describe, a heaviness that does not belong there.

Mere seconds later, a sudden crash pulls his attention away from that odd sensation. As Oikawa angles his head to gaze over his shoulder, he sees a red vase—or rather what’s left of it. Red shards decorate the hallway floor and he hesitantly takes a step forward.

His heart beats erratically in his chest and he exhales through his mouth, twice, when he hears a soft thud. Three books seem to have fallen off a shelf and he swallows a nervous chuckle before rubbing at his eyes. The air feels thick and cold in his lungs and he casts a cautious glance to his left, where a lamp begins to tremble atop a circular side table. He inhales sharply as he watches the lamp fall onto the wooden floor, shattering into small pieces much like the red vase.

He could chalk it up to sleep deprivation or aftershocks from the earthquake but something tells him to trust his instincts and return to his bedroom as quickly as possible.

He all but slams the door shut behind him upon entering the room, his chest heaving with shallow breaths and he rubs at his eyes once more. Another tremor shakes the mansion and Oikawa presses his back tightly to the door as he waits for the trembling to subside with his eyes squeezed shut.

It lasts longer this time, he notices. A full thirty seconds.

Oikawa presses a palm to his chest, inhaling deeply and releasing the breath with a slow exhale. He takes a hesitant step forward, eyes darting around the room as he tries to assess the damage. Save for a few books that have fallen onto the floor, everything seems to be in one piece.

The feeling of unease settles into his stomach and his throat feels dry, but he reminds himself that he’s fine, that he’s safe.

When Oikawa climbs into bed, he presses his face into a pillow and hopes, prays, that he will be able to fall asleep quickly. After twisting and turning for the better part of fifteen minutes, he realizes that he will have no such luck.

He casts a quick glance towards his phone on the bedside table, teeth worrying at his lower lip, before ultimately grabbing the device. Years of extensive research on mythological creatures and occultism tell him that whatever is going on, could very well be the work of vengeful spirits or poltergeists. He’s aware that the average person would think of a reasonable explanation for the sudden “earthquakes” and the falling items, but Oikawa has always been prone to believe in the existence of the supernatural. It often warranted him odd looks and blank stares, but something within him—be it intuition or a lively imagination—has always known that his grandparents’ estate was a little peculiar.

Perhaps the spirit of his late uncle has finally returned to wreak havoc upon his living relatives.

(He wouldn’t blame him).

A quick Google search leaves him with roughly twenty-two different browser tabs, all of which containing information about spirits and poltergeists. His phone screen casts a dim glow across his sheets, spreading through the room, and Oikawa’s grip is tight around the device as he spends the majority of the night reading a number of articles he’s already quite familiar with.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

He doesn’t know what time he fell asleep last night, but Oikawa wakes up somewhere around noon that Sunday. His eyes feel dry and heavy and he doesn’t have to look into a mirror to know that he must have dark circles the size of dinner plates. As he recounts the events of the previous night, he notices that the broken lamp and vase have disappeared; most likely cleaned up by one of the workers his grandmother has hired.

Her presence surprises him when he enters the living room and she regards him with a fond look. “Ah, Tooru. I was told you were staying over,” she chirps.

“Grandmother,” he greets, offering a small bow of his head before wrapping his arms around the older woman in a gentle embrace.

“Come sit,” she instructs, gesturing at the couch. “I have tea. And manjū. You still like those, don’t you?”

For all of his mild panic from the previous night, Oikawa feels something akin to relief upon seeing his grandmother’s kind face. Unlike her sons, and her late husband, Oikawa Mikoto is the epitome of grace and kindness. A gentle soul with a sharp gaze, who always seems to be ten or twenty steps ahead of everyone. Her dark hair is pulled into a low bun and her lips are painted with a vibrant shade of red Oikawa has come to associate with her over the years. He’s heard the stories of his grandmother’s early years; how her beauty and charm allowed her to mingle with Tokyo’s elite. (He assumes it’s how she met his grandfather).

Even now she moves with a kind of elegance and poise you would expect from a young woman on a runway or in front of a camera. He’s fairly certain that if people were to spot them together, they would be surprised to find out that she’s in fact his grandmother. (“Great genetics, dear. And some cosmetic help”).

While Oikawa is the spitting image of his mother, he likes to think that he got his quick wit and observant gaze from his grandmother. As he sips his tea, he swipes a piece of manjū.

“You’re looking a little pale,” she observes. “Are you all right?”

He nibbles on the small cake, wondering how to respond to—what feels like—a very loaded question. “I—” he begins, pausing for a brief moment. “Did you notice the earthquakes last night?”

“I was still at my apartment downtown last night. I may have noticed something, but I think I was already asleep by then. Sasaki mentioned that there was a broken vase and a lamp in the upstairs hallway. Were you hurt?” she wonders, lowering her cup onto the coffee table.

He shakes his head. “No, no. Luckily no injuries. Just a little shaken up, is all.”

“Well, it’s an old house. Things are bound to break. I’m glad you were fine, but you still don’t look too well, Tooru.”

Another pause follows as Oikawa contemplates voicing his suspicions about the previous night. His grandmother, sweet as she may be, would think him insane if he were to reveal that he thinks her house may be haunted.

And yet—

“Grandma, what do you know about spirits?” he asks in a moment of bravery.

“I know that one shouldn’t anger them,” she answers coolly.

A chuckle spills from his lips, breaking off into a sigh as Oikawa leans against one of the many cushions on the couch. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth; gaze briefly landing on one of the many vases in the living room. “Do you believe that poltergeists or vengeful spirits exist?” he wonders.

She hums at that, “Some people do. Your great grandmother, my mother-in-law, often told me about her supposed encounters with spirits,” she tells him. “I thought she was merely joking; delusions from an elderly woman. But, she would tell me about how this house had been in our family for years and years and that, if you listened closely, you could still hear the distant wails of tortured souls. She said she heard them ever since she lived here. Your grandfather thought she was making up stories, too.”

Much like the previous night, Oikawa feels a shiver traveling up his spine. “Did you ever hear anything? And what did she do? To get rid of those… sounds.”

His grandmother’s teacup is picked up once more and she takes a few sips before answering his question. “I don’t know if I actually heard something, or if it was my mind playing tricks on me,” she says. “But, ever since the death of both your uncle and grandfather, I don’t like to be here by myself either… in this large, empty, house.”

A smile rests on her lips, though it seems more sad than joyful. “It gets lonely here.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry about that.”

Her hands find his own and she gently squeezes his palm between her own. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. You visit whenever you can and I am grateful for that,” the smile stretches into something more genuine; a small grin he can’t help but mirror when she speaks again. “And, I have a life of my own, Tooru. I enjoy the city. It makes me feel alive again. I have friends who keep me entertained and busy. I’m not some old woman withering away.”

“Oh, I know. Your social life is more booming than mine.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that.”

Laughter fills the room and Oikawa is reminded that, despite his qualms with his relatives, he’ll always have this. He’ll always have his grandmother’s kind words and gentle reassurance.

“Either way, back to your great grandmother,” she begins. “I don’t know what she did to keep the ‘voices’ at bay. But I remember her talking about a family who supposedly dealt with ‘evil spirits’. The Iwaizumi’s, if memory serves me correct. I think our family has done business with them before. Perhaps they could be of help, if this house really is haunted.”

Knowing that his grandmother believes him, even a little, causes whatever unease had settled in his chest to unravel. He thinks back to the previous night; to that feeling of dread that had caused his blood to run cold and his heartrate to pick up. While he would very much prefer to believe that an earthquake had been the cause of his inner turmoil and anxiety, he’s unable to shake the feeling that there’s something in the house that does not belong there.

He could ignore it, return to the safety of his own apartment, and pretend that last night had been nothing but a bad dream. But, his hunger for knowledge, his love for the strange and unknown, combined with his unrelenting curiosity, tell him to pursue this. Even if it turns out to be a dead end.

The family name doesn’t sound familiar to him, despite their supposed ties, but Oikawa releases a thoughtful hum as he weighs out his options.

“Iwaizumi, huh?”

Chapter Text

Unlike the majority of the human population, Iwaizumi Hajime doesn’t quite hate Mondays. If anything, he somewhat enjoys Mondays.

On Mondays he wakes up to the sound of his alarm around 7:45 AM, which he mutes twice, before he’s greeted by fifty pounds of muscle covered in black-and-white fur. (Today is no different).

Approximately five minutes after he mutes the alarm, a pair of blue eyes blink up at him. A small, black, nose inches closer until it’s pressed against his own and Iwaizumi finds himself engaged in his mandatory stare-off with his dog.

And as per usual, he loses.

Once Iwaizumi pulls away, the dog wastes no time leaping onto the bed and knocking the air out of his lungs as she settles her full weight onto his stomach. “Ah c’mon, Ren!” he complains with a laugh, playfully shoving at her head as she takes it upon herself to smother him in kisses. He eventually wins their impromptu wrestling match, holding her head between his hands and narrowing his gaze at the husky, who wags her tail in excitement.

“Okay, okay, let’s go.”

And like that, she’s gone.

It takes him an additional fifteen minutes before he’s dressed and ready to leave. He takes a few bites of a banana before fastening Ren’s leash and exiting the apartment for their morning walk. The cold air feels refreshing and crisp as Iwaizumi inhales deeply, filling his lungs with oxygen and enjoying the scent of damp grass. He enjoys moments like these; the stillness of the morning, the way the sky colors bronze, orange and yellow. Sunlight peeks through purple-and-pink clouds, illuminating the leaves of nearby trees and blanketing the neighborhood in a warm, bright light. In moments like these, he feels completely at peace.

The park is a ten minute walk from his apartment, during which Iwaizumi takes a few moments to scroll through his text messages. Aside from a few messages from Matsukawa about a movie he desperately needs to see, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He types out a reply, telling his best friend that he will take the movie recommendation into consideration and that, once he watches it, he’ll report back with an extensive review of the film.

issei
god, why are u always up
so fucking early
_{08:18 am}

                              dog, responsibilities;ever
                              heard of those??
                              _{08:19 am}

issei
zzzzzzzzzzz
_{08:19 am}

Iwaizumi snorts at the last message before putting his phone on mute and sliding the device into the pocket of his jacket. He gives a tug on Ren’s leash, breaking into a light jog once they arrive at the park.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

He returns to the apartment roughly an hour later; sweaty, thirsty and semi-exhausted from their run. Ren seems to share the sentiment and he watches as she rushes towards her water bowl. Iwaizumi trails behind the dog, pouring himself a glass of water upon arriving in his kitchen. He rummages through his fridge for a few seconds before deciding to make an omelet and plop two slices of bread into the toaster. Once his second round of breakfast has been consumed, Iwaizumi pads into the living room—where he drops himself onto the couch with a quiet groan. When he pulls out his phone, surprise washes over him upon noticing that an unknown number had called him three times. The person had, apparently, texted him as well and sent an email (labeled “urgent”) in which they described that they’re dealing with a ‘very serious’ ghost problem.

He frowns at the screen, unsure whether to laugh or be slightly concerned that this person—Oikawa Tooru, apparently—had somehow gotten his contact information. While he’s at the right address, sort of, Iwaizumi isn’t used to receiving emails like these from the average person.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe in poltergeists—they’re very real, actually—it’s just that discretion is a prerequisite in his line of work. People don’t usually come to him with this kind of problem, because the problem is often handled before they’re even aware of it.

Which is why he’s both surprised and suspicious at the same time.

Iwaizumi’s repertoire extends beyond dealing with ghosts. If anything, evil spirits aren’t quite his forte. Frightening creatures with large claws and fangs (and sometimes wings) are, though. While most are unaware of their existence, demons are in fact very real as well. And as fate would have it, Iwaizumi was born into a family of demon hunters.

Alongside a number of clans, his family has been tasked with keeping the people of Tokyo safe and they have been doing so for quite some time. (Over two-thousand years to be exact).

Each generation had left their mark on the world, utilizing magic and a variety of enchanted tools to fight, hunt and exorcise the demons and harmful spirits that roam the streets of Japan. All without alerting its unknowing citizens.

Usually, they do their job pretty well.

The majority of the people who think they’re being haunted, often take matters into their own hands. They peruse the internet, read terribly written articles and blogs, or watch dozens of conspiracy videos on YouTube—where anyone can claim they are a renowned exorcist. They light candles and incense, pray at home or at a shrine; invoke the help of a very old relative to perform some sort of ritual that often does not work, or approach a scam artist they found through the help of social media.

They never approach him directly.

When demons—or spirits—are causing mayhem and discord, Iwaizumi’s team is often notified. This team usually consists of himself and his two oldest friends: Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro. Like Iwaizumi, both men come from a long line of demon hunters and their families have worked together for centuries, forming a strong alliance between the three clans.

The three of them work together quite well and once they’re alerted of any kind of demonic activity in the city, they head over to the area and take care of the problem quickly and efficiently. More often than not, someone walks out with the occasional injury and Iwaizumi's body is proof of that. Various scars litter his skin; jagged white lines cover his arms, legs, and spread across the expanse of his chest and back. They serve as a reminder—that he, for all his skills and abilities, is not invincible. He may possess an extraordinary set of skills that allow him to push his body beyond its limits—and utilize magic—but the human body remains fragile.

Every time Iwaizumi and his team are notified of a demonic presence in the city, every time he leaves his apartment, every time he slips into his hunting gear and reaches for his weapons, he knows that there is a chance that he will draw his last breath that night. And yet Iwaizumi does not hesitate to put his life on the line to ensure the safety of Tokyo’s citizens.

With missions come collateral damage—which his team tries to keep to a minimum, but, sometimes buildings are leveled or vehicles are damaged. (Unintentionally, of course).

This damage is often handled and taken care of by a third party, run by the government, that technically does not exist. It’s a system that works marvelously—most of the time—and by morning, nobody will know what occurred a few hours before.

To the outside world, Iwaizumi is an average man, with an average job and an average apartment. He studied sports sciences at Keio University, graduated with decent grades and started a job as a sports therapist. When he’s not tending to his own injuries after a particularly eventful night, Iwaizumi treats a variety of sport-related injuries of numerous athletes. Combining a professional career along with a demon-hunting career is tricky, damn near impossible, but he manages. His schedule is flexible and his coworkers are unsuspicious. And he’s managed to keep it that way for quite some time now. Iwaizumi pays his taxes, goes to the gym regularly, takes care of his dog and has a semi-decent sleep schedule. He doesn’t intend to complicate things.

Hence why he’s still wary of this Oikawa guy.

Ren pads into the living room as he’s reading both the email and the text messages for the third time. Her head knocks against his knee and he moves his hand to scratch behind her ear; his eyes still glued to the screen in front of him.

“Strange huh, Ren?” he mumbles.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

After a quick shower Iwaizumi finds himself back outside, Ren walking next to him. Grey clouds cast a blanket of darkness across Tokyo and the first raindrops hit the top of his head right before they arrive at the subway station. They squeeze themselves into the train in time and after a twenty minute ride, they arrive at their destination. It’s a six minute walk before Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s loft appears in his line of vision and Iwaizumi uses his spare key to let himself in.

“Yo,” he calls out. Ren wastes no time dashing through the large, open space; sniffing at every piece of furniture. As Iwaizumi removes his shoes in the genkan, Matsukawa meets him in the hallway. “This is unexpected,” he comments.

“Nice to see you too. Hanamaki around?” Iwaizumi wonders. 

“Taking a shower. You want coffee?” Matsukawa asks, lazily lifting his own cup for emphasis.

“Give me the strongest stuff you got.”

“Roger.”

Ten minutes and half a cup of coffee later, the two men are joined by Hanamaki in the living room. “Ah, Iwaizumi, to what do we owe this pleasure?” he asks, peeking into Matsukawa’s mug and appearing seemingly disappointed upon noticing that the mug is empty.

“Get your own,” Matsukawa tells him before looking back at Iwaizumi. “Yeah, why are you are this early?”

“A job.”

“You need us to take care of it?” Hanamaki calls out as he pads into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Iwaizumi pulls out his phone, pulling up the email he had received a few hours ago. He turns the device towards Matsukawa, who leans forward slightly to scan the words. Hanamaki appears behind him after a minute, peeking over his shoulder and narrowing his gaze at the screen.

“This guy emailed, texted and called me three times,” Iwaizumi explains. “Wanted to know if you guys knew anything about him.”

“Seems urgent,” Matsukawa says, raising his shoulders in a shrug afterwards. “But people usually don’t contact us. Weird. You know him, Hiro?”

Hanamaki plucks the phone from Iwaizumi’s grip, who half-protests before giving up. He watches as his friend purses his lips in thought. “He’s gotta be from the Oikawa group,” he says after a beat.

“You say that as if I should know who they are,” Iwaizumi says dryly.

“You need to get out more,” Hanamaki shoots back. “They own, like, half the city. Keep up.”

“So they’re rich?”

“Loaded. They own apartment complexes, various companies, banks, you name it. They’ve got connections everywhere so no wonder this guy found you. Rich folks can do anything.”

“Even find us,” Iwaizumi mumbles. He chews on the inside of his cheek. His knowledge of this supposed family is limited to the information provided to him by Hanamaki just now and he clicks his tongue before turning towards Matsukawa. “What do you think?”

“Seems like a simple problem and a lot of money. I say take it,” Matsukawa answers with a shrug. “Find out what he knows about you, us. Chances are that he’ll keep hounding you, and maybe others, if you don’t respond. Guy seems persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“Exorcisms aren’t my specialty, though. That’s more your thing.” 

Matsukawa hums. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll give you a couple of ofuda. Just place them wherever the spirit supposedly showed up and you’re good to go. You should really brush up on your exorcism magic.”

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal noise, crossing his arms and observing Hanamaki—who’s still holding his phone and seemingly very interested in whatever he managed to find on there. “What do you think, Hanamaki? And if you’re going through my texts, you’ll be severely disappointed.”

Hanamaki snorts and Iwaizumi feels mildly insulted even before his friend speaks. “Oh, I know. Just checking this guy out, stalking his social media a little. You wanna see?” he muses. “And I agree with Issei. ‘Sides, he’s willing to pay you an obscene amount of money. I’d go just for the cash.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and snatches his phone from Hanamaki’s grip, who shoots him an unamused glare. “Fine, I’ll check it out. You mind watching Ren?”

“Not at all. You know she loves me more than you. We’re just not sure how to tell you yet.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks,” Iwaizumi says. A sigh spills from his lips as his thumbs hover over Oikawa’s number. “All right, lemme call this guy.”

He presses the device to his ear and the line rings once before he’s greeted by a cheerful voice. Oikawa seems both relieved and glad that Iwaizumi has agreed to assist him with his ‘ghost problem’, though he does not tell him how he had managed to find Iwaizumi in the first place. The conversation lasts all but five minutes and Oikawa tells him that he’ll text him the address and that Iwaizumi is free to show up whenever he can.

“All right, it’s done,” he mumbles after slipping the phone into his pocket. “Still got a weird feeling about this.”

Next to him, Matsukawa nudges him gently in the ribs with his elbow. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll get dressed and give you a ride, I gotta stop by work anyway.”

Hanamaki nods at Matsukawa’s words. “It’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll be tracking you,” he tells him, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. An impressive set up, consisting of multiple computer screens and keyboards, can be seen behind him. The equipment is often used for missions; a combination of high grade technology and advanced magic allows for an efficient system to track and monitor demons in and around Tokyo. Aside from that, it allows for whoever’s behind the monitors to track those that are in the field. Each member of their three-man squad carries a tracking device in their watch, which can be used to monitor a person’s vitals and pinpoint their location.

 “You got anything on you?” Hanamaki asks, his hand gesturing at Iwaizumi’s upper body. He nods as he pushes his jacket a little further open to reveal one of the two handguns he carries with him on every mission,  “‘Course.”

“Attaboy. Now go, make some money and see what this guy knows.”

“And if he knows everything about us and the clans?”

“Then you have my permission to drop him. After you take his money, of course.”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi says dryly. “I’ll be in touch,” he adds, turning his head when Matsukawa claps him on his right shoulder.

“All right, let’s go. You’ve got an exorcism to perform.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

It takes them roughly thirty minutes to reach their destination and Matsukawa whistles when a three story mansion comes into view. Iwaizumi has to admit: it’s impressive. And definitely befitting of a ridiculously wealthy and powerful family. It’s both imposing and beautiful, grandiose yet eerie. It reminds him of ancient manors; the kind of houses they show in foreign period pieces or historical movies. An air of mystery surrounds it, slipping between the cracks of the black stones and beckoning him to come closer and take a better look. “The energy’s definitely off here,” Matsukawa mumbles—as if he had been reading Iwaizumi’s mind.

“How can you tell?”

“I work with dead bodies and spirits on a daily basis. Give me some credit. I can feel it.”

“Sure you don’t wanna come along?” Iwaizumi tries, opting for nonchalance with a dash of hopefulness. Matsukawa grins at that, clapping him on the shoulder as he rewards him with a ‘nope’ that sounds far too smug for Iwaizumi’s liking.

“You’ve got this. You have the ofuda. Stick a couple of ‘em on the walls and tell whatever spirit’s lingering there to eat shit and move on.”

“You trying to get me haunted?”

“Okay, maybe don’t say it like that.”

“I think I’ll say nothing at all,” Iwaizumi murmurs, opening the door. “I’ll be in touch,” he adds once he steps out of  the vehicle. Matsukawa throws him a mock salute in response before reversing the car and turning back towards the main road.

Once Matsukawa has left, Iwaizumi walks along the pathway that leads him to the door of the mansion. As he comes to a halt in front of a large, wooden door with intricate detailing, he briefly considers Matsukawa’s earlier words and how he had been able to sense a peculiar energy surrounding the house. Iwaizumi has always known that Matsukawa’s spiritual powers are far greater than his own; a trait he inherited from his ancestors. The Matsukawas are renowned exorcists and have worked with spirits for centuries. This particular set of skills allows them to notice the presence of spirits much faster than other demon hunters.

Iwaizumi maintains that Matsukawa is the better person for this job. Though, he pushes the thoughts aside as he rings the doorbell.

After half a minute, the wooden door opens to reveal a man in a dark blue sweater standing in the doorway. He’s tall, Iwaizumi notices. Just a few centimeters taller than him, with dark brown hair that appears to be perfectly styled yet messy, and brown eyes that regard him with curiosity and interest. The man’s eyes widen ever so slightly; surprise coloring his features as a smile spreads across his lips. “Ah, that’s quick!” he exclaims, stepping back to open the door a little wider. “Iwaizumi, right?”

Iwaizumi takes a hesitant step forward, offering a short nod. “You must be Oikawa-san, I assume?”

He’s rewarded with an affirming hum. “Oikawa’s fine. Come in, come in. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

Iwaizumi enters the mansion with a quiet ‘pardon the intrusion’ before declining Oikawa’s offer. “No, thank you. This won’t take too long,” he tells him. His eyes roam around the hallway, taking in the dark interior of the mansion as he follows Oikawa towards the large stairs located at the center of the ground floor.

Shades of browns and reds decorate the house; the wooden floor polished and shining beneath his feet. It looks exactly how Iwaizumi pictured the interior would look. Dark, traditional, filled with antiques and art pieces that probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. There’s a certain emptiness to the house, however, and Iwaizumi feels as though he’s walking through a museum rather than a living space. It’s almost eerie how perfect everything is. It’s all expensive materials and golden detailing; the very epitome of wealth. And Oikawa blends right in with his expensive looking blue sweater and brown slacks.

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what kind of person to expect; given that his first impression of Oikawa had been through text and email, followed by a brief phone call a few hours later. He had to admit, the guy was tenacious. And perhaps a bit peculiar.

As he observes him now, Oikawa moves with a kind of confidence and tenacity Iwaizumi caught a glimpse of a few hours before. He appears to be young, not much older than Iwaizumi, with a smile that sits somewhere between charming and fabricated.

Oikawa’s voice disrupts his inner monologue as he walks up the steps of the stairs, “I don’t know how this goes, but I assume I should take you to where the… incident happened?” he asks. Iwaizumi merely nods, his fingers brushing along the ofuda resting in his pocket.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll check it out,” he replies.

There’s nothing particularly strange about the first floor, Iwaizumi notes. It’s somewhat smaller than the ground floor, with multiple doors leading to various rooms—one of which being the room Oikawa stayed in apparently.

“Have you been doing this a long time?” Iwaizumi hears him ask as he slowly walks past the first door. He’s half tempted to answer the question truthfully; to confess that he’s been raised to hunt demons, and a variety of harmful and grotesque creatures, rather than vanquishing evil spirits—but Oikawa doesn’t need to know that.

As his eyes travel along the walls and the ceiling, he wonders what kind of spirit may have resided within the cracks hidden behind elegant wallpaper. Perhaps Yanari: small, troll-like creatures who enjoy making noise and often appear late at night. Or perhaps it had been a mischievous Zashiki warashi. The spirits are said to resemble children and could be considered guardian spirits and bringers of good luck and fortune. Sure, they can be annoying, but they’re fairly harmless.

“Sort of, yeah,” Iwaizumi eventually answers, retrieving one of the ofuda and securing it along the wall. He taps it twice, as per Matsukawa’s instruction, before turning to look at Oikawa. “You mind if I check out your room?”

“No, by all means. Also… is that an ofuda?”

“Sort of.”

“Do you always answer all questions with vague answers?” Oikawa asks.

His bluntness briefly catches Iwaizumi off guard—who regards him for a moment. Brown eyes stare back at him, as if challenging Iwaizumi to respond with a snarky comment of his own. Oikawa folds his arms in front of his chest; a single brow raised expectantly.

He supposes that his vague answers could raise suspicion, but the vagueness is more out of self-preservation than anything. There’s a limit to what Iwaizumi can share with him, given that one of the cardinal rules within the demon hunting community is that hunters keep their powers and weapons hidden at all times—unless they’re in acute danger. They’re not to share any valuable knowledge regarding their profession or their clans with non-hunters.

As far as regular humans are concerned, demons and demon hunters are merely fictional; only existing on the pages of one’s favorite book, or in a popular tv show. 

However, Oikawa seems to be slightly different. Given that he contacted Iwaizumi on a Monday morning without any preamble. Somehow, he’d been able to discover that Iwaizumi possessed some kind of knowledge about spirits and proceeded to hound him until Iwaizumi gave in and agreed to assist him. (Admittedly, Iwaizumi’s own curiosity—and the hefty sum of money Oikawa had been willing to pay him—also played a large role).

Though, for all his peculiarity, there’s a thin line between annoyance and amusement when it comes to Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi realizes. He doesn’t know whether to smile or scowl at the man and he settles for neutral indifference instead, “Only if people ask a lot of questions,” he eventually answers.

“I was simply making conversation,” Oikawa counters. Iwaizumi remains quiet at that, save for a quiet hum.

He scans the bedroom for any kind of anomaly, observing the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, when Oikawa steps into the room with him. Much like the other rooms in the house, the bedroom’s interior is dark with a mahogany desk resting against one of the deep green walls.

The large bed is neatly made, decorated with an array of pillows in varying shades of dark green and flanked by two bedside tables. There’s a bookcase as placed against one of the other walls, filled to the brim with numerous novels, and Iwaizumi lets his eyes roam over their spines; briefly observing the titles and wondering which authors are resting on the shelves.

Tanizaki, Endo, Higashino, Oe, Natsume—the list is endless. He’s familiar with some of their works, but now’s not the time to be impressed by a remarkable book collection.

Oikawa appears next to him, following Iwaizumi’s gaze and observing one of Natsume Sōseki’s novels. “I know I probably sound crazy, but I know there was something,” he begins. “There was an earthquake, and then another one. And then things started falling off shelves and tables.”

A sigh follows his words. “I know what I saw and what I felt. It was strange… and unlike anything I ever felt before.”

Concern tugs at his features; a deep line appearing between his brows and Iwaizumi notices the way Oikawa briefly bites at his lower lip as he recounts the events of the previous night. Oikawa might be a little nosy, he supposes, but Iwaizumi doesn’t think him a liar. Not yet, at least.

He retrieves another ofuda, which he secures to the bedroom wall and taps it twice. “I believe you,” he tells him. “Mind showing me the rest of the house?”

Concern transforms into surprise and the line between Oikawa’s brows melts away as he nods twice. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Follow me.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

After observing a number of rooms, Iwaizumi deduces that the mansion seems to be spirit-free. He secures a few more ofuda along the walls for the sake of it, but when they arrive in the living room on the ground floor, he turns towards Oikawa with a shrug, “Everything seems fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Are you sure?” Oikawa asks, tone bordering on desperate. Iwaizumi wants to tell him that it’s quite common for harmless spirits to appear out of nowhere and that he shouldn’t worry, but the look on Oikawa’s face tells him that he will worry regardless. Iwaizumi doesn’t blame him.

“Look, it was probably a harmless spirit,” Iwaizumi tries again. “It happens a lot. I put a few ofuda on the wall to keep the bad ones out, just in case. That’s all I can do for now.”

“I could’ve done that too,” Oikawa snipes.

Irritation prickles beneath Iwaizumi’s skin and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. The last thing he needs is to get into an argument with this man. “But you didn’t,” he counters, annoyance bleeding into his voice. “Instead, you pretty much stalked me and begged me to help you. Speaking of, how did you—”

The words die in his throat when he notices a strange energy in the air. Something has shifted, he realizes. There’s a certain heaviness that wasn’t there before. It’s stifling and constricting; as if the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

A familiar sensation travels along his spine and Iwaizumi recognizes it instantly.

He whirls around, his eyes searching for the source of that horrid energy when he notices a dark figure in the upper corner of the living room. His eyes widen; one hand reaching inside his jacket while the other moves behind him, towards Oikawa—as if to push him away. “Oikawa,” he starts. “You need to—”

Oikawa cuts him off before Iwaizumi gets the chance to finish the sentence, “W-what is that?” he stammers.

Iwaizumi quickly turns towards him, both alarmed and confused. “Wait, you can see that?!”

“Of course I can! There’s a giant, creepy thing right there attached to the ceiling like some massive bat!” Oikawa exclaims, his hand gesturing towards the creature in question.

There are approximately one-hundred-and-fifty thoughts racing through Iwaizumi’s mind, starting with: how is Oikawa able to see the demon in the living room?

In a moment of astonishment he briefly forgets said demon until the creature releases a deafening roar that pulls his attention away from the man in front him. When he looks back at the demon, it leaps forward—flying towards them with an impeccable speed—and Oikawa shrieks. Iwaizumi moves in front of him, one arm raised defensively as the demon crashes into them. The impact knocks them backwards, with Iwaizumi crashing into a cabinet while Oikawa is slammed against a wall.

A shooting pain travels up his spine, spreading through his limbs, and he swears underneath his breath as he presses his palms to the floor. He knows he shouldn’t have looked back at Oikawa—and taken his eyes off the demon—yet he let himself get distracted. Rookie mistake.

Suddenly, he’s grateful for Matsukawa’s absence. Had he—or Hanamaki, rather—been present, he most likely would’ve laughed at him. And he’d be right to do so.

Iwaizumi can practically hear his grandfather’s commanding voice barking orders at him, (“Never take your gaze off the enemy!”) and he inhales deeply before pushing himself to his feet. His fingers curl around the large handgun he kept tucked away; eyes searching for the demon. The dull ache in the back of his head does nothing to quell the anger boiling inside of him and he wants nothing more than to shoot the damn thing.

Though, anger will not help him now; he needs to focus.

The magic within him thrums through his veins like bursts of adrenaline, waiting to be released through the weapon in his palm, and Iwaizumi instinctively tightens his grip around the gun.

Focus, he tells himself.

When he spots the demon a few feet away, he’s able to properly observe its appearance. It’s large; slightly taller than an average adult male, with black wings attached to its back and long, sharp claws. The creature roars—revealing a row of sharp teeth—and the sound cuts through the room as he advances towards Oikawa, who had managed to push himself onto all fours with a groan. Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa scrambles backwards with a panicked shout.

Upon seeing the terror in his eyes, Iwaizumi’s own anger is replaced with concern. He realizes that protecting Oikawa should be his main priority.

The demon leaps towards Oikawa, but Iwaizumi is quicker. He dashes forward, pressing his finger on the trigger of his gun. As he does this, a surge of energy flows through his veins; thrumming beneath his skin and bleeding into the weapon he’s holding.

His magic travels through the gun, exiting through the muzzle in bursts of white energy shaped as bullets. These energy bullets pierce the skin of the creature’s wing, dark liquid spilling from the wound, and the demon howls in pain. Two more bullets hit its side, while the final energy bullet pierces its skull; black blood spraying onto Oikawa’s face.

Iwaizumi grimaces, remembering the first time he’d gotten a mouthful of demon blood. He was fourteen; wrestling a spider-like demon when Matsukawa promptly beheaded the creature—causing black liquid to spill onto Iwaizumi’s face and slip past his lips. Demon blood smells about as bad as it looks and tastes even worse.

It’s bitter and acidic all at once and even after thirteen years, he’s still not used to its foul stench and abhorrent taste.

As the demon makes a gurgling sound, it staggers backwards before landing onto the hardwood floor with a dull thud. Its body slowly begins to dissolve, as is often the case with vanquished demons, and Iwaizumi feels a wave of relief wash over him.

He’s quick to lower himself next to Oikawa—whose eyes are wide with terror as he looks at the demon’s corpse, or rather what’s left of it.

“Oikawa—hey, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says urgently, lowering the gun and carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. Oikawa’s muscles tremble beneath his palm and his gaze remains focused on the demon’s corpse; ragged breaths escaping his throat. Iwaizumi then moves to kneel in front of him in an attempt to block his view of the creature. “Hey,” he repeats, quieter, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Look at me.”

Oikawa does look at him. With wide eyes and parted lips, specks of black blood clinging to his skin. A mosaic of black is painted across his cheeks and forehead; dark liquid kisses the redness of his lower lip before dripping down his chin. Iwaizumi can almost taste the acidity on his own tongue.

There’s an ache in his chest. Concern meets sadness; blending together and settling in his stomach as he’s subjected to that hollow look in Oikawa’s eyes. What was once a vibrant brown, warm and radiant, has turned into something darker—devoid of any brightness. As if the sun had been swallowed whole.

He knows that look. He knows the fear that comes with it.

His hand tentatively reaches out to wipe at the blood on Oikawa’s right cheek with the sleeve of his jacket, “There you go,” he murmurs. When the gesture doesn’t appear to startle him, Iwaizumi repeats the movement; gently wiping at his other cheek, his forehead, his nose, and his lower lip. His hand moves slowly, carefully, as the leather fabric glides along Oikawa’s skin. He wipes and wipes, erasing every trace of the demon until there’s only skin—dusted in the lightest of freckles.

A trembling hand reaches for him after a moment and Oikawa’s fingers curl into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s jacket. “Iwa—”  he begins, voice shaky. “I—”

“It’s okay. Just look at me,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Tell me what you see.”

It’s meant as a distraction, allowing him to focus on something else—anything else.

“I... see you,” Oikawa mumbles, tightening his grip around Iwaizumi’s jacket. “Your face.”

“That’s good. What do you notice?”

“Your eyes,” Oikawa answers. “They’re… green.”

 “Anything else?” Iwaizumi asks. His hand slides down from where it was placed on Oikawa’s shoulder, settling somewhere along his upper arm instead. The trembling seems to have subsided, somewhat, and Iwaizumi notices the way Oikawa searches his face in response to his question. The hollowness behind his gaze slowly disappears as light returns to his eyes.

It’s not the sun, bright and brilliant, but a spark.

Oikawa licks his lips, “There’s a cut—there, in your right brow.”

Iwaizumi feels his brow (involuntarily) twitch at the mention of the scar. A particularly nasty fight with a demon with four arms and a horrible temper earned him a cut in his brow when the demon started clawing at his face. When the wound stopped bleeding, Hanamaki mentioned that his new scar added ‘some much needed character’ to his face.

He releases a short hum at Oikawa’s words, urging him to continue. “What else?”

Before he’s rewarded with an answer, Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa’s gaze drops to his lips—where another scar decorates his skin. A thin line at the corner of his mouth runs from his upper lip down to his lower lip; the result of a sparring session gone wrong at age seventeen.

“And there’s… one on your lip too. What happened?” Oikawa asks. His grip on Iwaizumi’s jacket loosens—fingers no longer clinging to the fabric like a lifeline—and as his breathing evens out, Iwaizumi feels the unease in his chest unravel.

A smile finds its way onto his lips. “It’s a bit of a stupid story.”  

Oikawa returns the smile, a barely there upturning of the corners of his mouth. “You have dimples. When you smile.”

Silence follows his words as Iwaizumi doesn’t quite know how to respond to Oikawa’s observation. “Yeah,” he says—for the lack of a better response—while an involuntary chuckle spills from his lips. “How are you feeling? Any pain?” His eyes scan Oikawa’s face and upper body in an attempt to locate any injuries he might have overlooked.

While Iwaizumi’s body is conditioned to withstand and endure demon attacks, allowing him to recover much quicker than the average person, Oikawa is by all definitions a regular human being. (A regular human being who can apparently see demons, Iwaizumi notes). His question is answered with a noncommittal noise from Oikawa, who rubs at the back of his neck. “Just a little sore… and a bit of a headache,” he answers.

There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “What… was that thing?”

It’s the question Iwaizumi could’ve expected. It’s the question he dreaded.

Oikawa’s eyes are much more alert now; begging for answers. Iwaizumi can only imagine the myriad of questions that must occupy his mind. He could very well lie to him, pretend that the sudden appearance of the demon was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, but something tells him that he’s better off telling the truth.

(Not to mention, he’s got too many questions of his own).

“I don’t know how to explain this without sounding ridiculous,” Iwaizumi begins. “But, that was a… demon.”

Oikawa remains silent, save for the very quiet ‘ah’ that spills from his lips, and Iwaizumi waits for the inevitable freak out.

“A demon…” Oikawa repeats, quietly. “Which tried to kill us… and then you killed with a comically large handgun. Yeah—okay. Okay.”

The widening of his eyes does not go unnoticed, nor do the heavy breaths that cause his chest to rise and fall rapidly, and Iwaizumi gives Oikawa’s arm a small squeeze in an attempt to stall an upcoming panic attack. “Hey,” he says. “Hey. Don’t freak out, okay? I know this is… a lot to take in.”

Oikawa releases a shaky breath, a mixture of terror and disbelief flashing through his eyes, and Iwaizumi squeezes his arm again. “Oikawa,” he begins. “Look at me. I’m gonna keep you safe. Okay? I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

It seems like a ridiculous question—to ask for trust barely an hour after meeting one another—but it’s all Iwaizumi can ask of him at the moment. He needs to minimize the damage, keep the Oikawa safe, and uncover the reason behind this particular demon attack. He also needs to find out how Oikawa, a regular civilian on all accounts, was able to see the demon to begin with—and how he came to know of Iwaizumi’s abilities.

To achieve all of this, he needs at least a modicum of trust. And he hopes that Oikawa will grant him that.

The question hangs between them, loaded and heavy, and Iwaizumi nearly releases a sigh of relief when he’s rewarded with a short nod from Oikawa.

“Yeah,” Oikawa breathes. “I think… I can. You did save me, but it’s just—a lot.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi replies with a small smile—which he hopes comes across as reassuring. “It’ll all make sense soon.”

A dry chuckle escapes Oikawa’s throat. “It’d better,” he mumbles. “But, if I should trust you… I want you to trust me as well and answer my questions honestly. No lying. I want to know everything.”

Surprise settles on Iwaizumi’s features, his brows lifting ever so slightly. The look Oikawa offers him is equal parts determination and hopefulness. It’s the look of someone who, much like himself, is trying to make sense of the bizarre situation they have found themselves in.

Trust goes both ways, Iwaizumi supposes.

“I’ll tell you everything. No lies,” he promises. “But first we need to get out of here.”

Chapter Text

Oikawa has no idea how he ended up in this situation.

Actually, that’s a lie. The phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ suddenly comes to mind, since it’s his own curiosity that nearly got him killed. Literally.

By a demon—in his grandmother’s living room on a Monday morning.

A demon.

Part of him expects the entire thing to be nothing but a strange, horrible dream; brought on by work-related stress and weeks of sleep deprivation. Perhaps, in a few minutes, he’ll wake up in the comfort of his apartment in Aoyama. He’ll glance at the clock on his nightstand, red numbers signaling that it’s time to prepare for another work day, and breathe a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, this will not happen because he’s very much awake already. Awake and in the back of black Honda while the two men seated at front are casually, nonchalantly, discussing demon and demon-related matters as if they’re chatting about some sports match that happened to be on TV last night.

Oikawa glances at the man in the passenger’s seat. Iwaizumi Hajime is twenty-seven years old and his knight in shining armor, apparently. Dark hair, tan skin, broad shoulders and a piercing gaze; that’s what Oikawa registered when he opened the front door roughly an hour ago.

He didn’t quite know what kind of person to expect, given that Iwaizumi has the social media presence of a geriatric who has only recently learned how to use a smartphone. He certainly did not expect him to be a gun-slinging demon hunter.

Then again, he did not expect to get attacked by a vicious creature either.

He should laugh at the absurdity of it all, or maybe cry. (He’s still undecided).

Iwaizumi continues to speak to his companion and Oikawa feels as though he’s speaking a foreign language; talking in a code he can’t quite decipher. He mentions something about ‘strength levels’ and ‘category four’—phrases that sound as though they belong in a sci-fi movie or a popular video game.

His brain desperately tries to make sense of a situation that is beyond comprehension. The lines between fiction and reality are blurred. It’s as if he’s Alice peering into the looking glass; catching a glimpse of something he was not meant to see—a world that’s not his own. A world that should not exist.

It’s an unsolvable conundrum. And yet, he tries, and tries, and tries.

He made a promise to Iwaizumi, on the bloodstained floor in his grandmother’s living room; a promise to trust him. But how much can he trust a man he barely knows?

His gaze travels from Iwaizumi towards the driver. Seated behind the steering wheel is a man with dark, curly hair and a large, narrow, scar on the left side of his face. It runs from his forehead—through his brow and left eye—to his cheek. His right brow is decorated with a piercing; a black spike on each side.

To each his own, he supposes.

“Where are we even going?”

The words leave Oikawa’s  mouth before he’s even aware of it.

Iwaizumi turns around to look at him. “His place,” he answers, nodding his head towards his friend. “You still holding up alright?”

With Iwaizumi facing him, Oikawa’s finally able to properly observe his features. The sharpness of his jawline, his thick eyebrows, his strong nose, the scars on his skin. For all his ruggedness, there’s a softness to Iwaizumi—in the form of forest green eyes and long lashes. He remembers being so focused on those eyes as he sat on the living room floor; hands trembling and his chest feeling impossibly tight with each inhale. They were an invisible tether; keeping him anchored. Keeping him present.

“Yeah,” Oikawa replies after a moment. A half truth. Not quite a lie, but not quite the honest-to-God truth either.  He still feels on edge—as if he’s going to burst out of his skin at any given moment. “Actually, no,” he corrects. “I still don’t know what’s going on here.”

“Neither do we,” Iwaizumi’s friend replies dryly. “Matsukawa, by the way. Matsukawa Issei. Hadn’t introduced myself yet.”

Oikawa finds himself mildly surprised at Matsukawa’s nonchalance amidst all this. As if he’s used to randomly picking up strangers who’ve been attacked by vicious demons in broad daylight. He arches a brow, lips parting after a moment to speak again. “Oikawa Tooru.”

“I heard,” Matsukawa says with an easy smile. “So, Oikawa, have you been messing with dark magic?”

“Excuse me?”

“Matsukawa!” Iwaizumi’s gaze leaves Oikawa’s face instantly; attention shifting towards his friend instead.  “Really?”

“Somebody had to ask,” Matsukawa shrugs, stopping the car in front of a large grey building. Oikawa wordlessly steps out of the car when Iwaizumi mumbles a quiet ‘we’re here’—annoyance still evident on his features as he throws a glance towards his friend.  He lets his gaze roam along the area as he follows the two men towards the front door of what is supposed to be Matsukawa’s home.

The neighborhood is unfamiliar to him, grey and quiet; almost desolate—and so very different from (sometimes) crowded streets of Aoyama.

Upon entering the building, which is apparently a loft and more spacious than he imagined, the first thing he registers is a concerned, and unfamiliar, voice.

He hears: “Dude. What happened?”

He sees: a man, dressed in black sweats and a white shirt. His short hair is pink; bangs swooping over his forehead and his right ear is adorned with silver earrings. Oikawa counts at least three studs and four rings. “One moment I was watching a funny video and next moment I get a random demon alert. What did you—”

The man’s sentence is cut off when his gaze lands on Oikawa, who suppresses the urge to do something silly like wave out of sheer awkwardness. “Oikawa Tooru?”

His brows rise ever so slightly; a mixture of surprise and confusion bleeding into his voice as he responds, “That would be me. Have we met?”

“Hanamaki Takahiro,” the man—Hanamaki—replies, jerking a thumb into Matsukawa and Iwaizumi’s direction. “Best friend to Iwaizumi, boyfriend to Issei.”

Oikawa responds with a quiet ‘huh’ as his gaze briefly flits towards the two men next to him. “Nice to meet you…  Why do you know my name?”

“Because I’ve been googling you.”

The words are spoken so matter-of-factly, as if Oikawa should have known that Hanamaki would be googling him. Surprise and confusion are joined by mild irritation and Oikawa is left wondering if everybody in this room somehow knows something that he doesn’t. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, unable to withhold the sharpness from his voice when he speaks again. “Aha. Well, since everybody here knows everything. When can I get some answers?”

Before either of the men respond, Oikawa feels a gentle nudge against the back of his knee. It’s a miracle he doesn’t jump, but the sudden sensation startles him nonetheless. When he looks down, he’s met with a pair of icy blue eyes. “Oh, hello,” he murmurs upon seeing the rather large husky in front of him.

“You forgot to greet Ren,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Oikawa’s gaze shifts from the dog towards Iwaizumi, “Ren?”

“My dog. Her name’s Ren,” Iwaizumi explains. He pauses, a sigh slipping between his lips as he gestures towards Ren. “She doesn’t like being left out.”

Oikawa can’t help but release a chuckle in response. Somehow, Ren’s presence—as fleeting as it may have been—dispelled some of the tension in the room. Her nose bumps against his hand when he allows her to sniff his fingers. When she deduces that he isn’t a threat, Oikawa drops to a crouch; his nails idly scratching behind her ears. “Well, we have that in common don’t we, Ren?” he says. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

After giving Ren a few more (well-deserved) head rubs, Oikawa pushes himself upright. The dog pads over towards Iwaizumi, who lazily runs a hand along her head with a quiet ‘nice to see you too’ that sounds a little too snarky if you were to ask him. “Now that we’ve all met,” Oikawa starts, “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Trust me,” Iwaizumi huffs. “We’re dying to find out too.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Once shoes and jackets are discarded, Oikawa’s escorted to the living room. Hanamaki is kind enough to pour him a cup of coffee and Iwaizumi lowers himself next to him on a large, black couch. The mug’s warmth seeps into his skin, spreading from his palms to his finger tips while Iwaizumi explains what had occurred roughly thirty minutes prior. Even though he had been present for every single minute, hearing it again causes a wave of disbelief to wash over him.

“That’s it?” Hanamaki asks once Iwaizumi’s explanation comes to an end. He has one leg pulled underneath him as he sits atop a comfortable looking armchair and the four of them are gathered around a black coffee table, glasses and half empty coffee mugs resting atop its polished surface. “You show up, look around, and thirty minutes later there’s a random demon in his grandma’s place?”

“Pretty much,” Iwaizumi replies with a shrug.

“You at least figure out what it was?” Hanamaki asks.

“Was too busy not getting killed,” Iwaizumi replies dryly. “It was at least two meters tall. Huge wings. Sharp claws, sharp teeth, completely black. Think gargoyle, but a little lankier.”

“Gargoyle?” Matsukawa repeats.

“Thought those were only active in Europe,” Hanamaki responds. His focus shifts to Oikawa, who instinctively tightens his grip around the mug between his palms. “What about you? Have you been messing with dark magic? Are you cursed?” he asks.

Oikawa isn’t sure whether or not to be insulted that Hanamaki seems to be the second person in the span of ten minutes who accused him of, somehow, tampering with magic. Black magic no less. As if he has the time to dabble in the dark arts amidst preparing classes, grading tests, reviewing papers, and conducting his own research.

“Easy,” Iwaizumi warns.

“It’s fine,” Oikawa interjects. “I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t even know how to. So, no, I did not mess with anything. Trust me, I’m just as confused by this as you are.”

The mug is placed onto the coffee table and his gaze darts towards Iwaizumi, who offers him a look that is part concern and part confusion. “You said I could trust you. And you said you’d explain everything. Can you at least tell me who, or what, you guys are? And why I was able to see that thing?” Oikawa asks. Even the mere thought of the creature is enough to send a shiver up his spine and without the mug resting in his palms, he’s acutely aware of the way his hands seem to shake.

Perhaps the urgency in his voice resonated with Iwaizumi, because he sighs—as if admitting defeat—and nods twice. “But first, I need to know how you found me to begin with. Who told you about me?” he asks Oikawa.

The voice of his grandmother echoes through Oikawa’s mind as he recalls their earlier conversation. He wonders what she would say of his current predicament. (“Oh, Tooru, have you gotten yourself into trouble again?”)

He almost smiles at the thought of it.

“My grandmother,” he begins. “She’s the one who told me about your family. Well, she gave me your family name. Apparently, my great grandmother thought the house was haunted and contacted your family. She then told my grandmother about this, who told me. I simply googled you. There aren’t that many Iwaizumi’s in Tokyo, but your name came up first because of your work—I think. There was this website. A clinic of sorts. And you were listed as one of the employees.”

An involuntary chuckle spills from Oikawa’s lips. “I knew it was a shot in the dark, but I was desperate and I wanted help. I saw your contact information and just went for it. And you actually responded.”

“That’s it?” Iwaizumi asks, incredulous. “Your grandmother told you? And one google search led you to me?”

“Wish I could make it more interesting, but I’m afraid that’s really it.”

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“Would any self respecting man make up a story about his grandmother?”

The words pull a laugh from Iwaizumi, short and fleeting, but a laugh nonetheless. He scrubs a hand over the lower half of his face and Oikawa watches as he leans forward; forearms resting along his thighs and hands folded together, “All right. Deal’s a deal. It’s strange that your grandmother and great-grandmother somehow know my family, but I’ll buy it. For now.”

“Your turn,” Oikawa says. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi concedes. “Just promise us you'll keep quiet.”

“Who’d believe me anyway? I don’t even believe it yet. Part of me still thinks this is some big, elaborate prank and cameras will appear soon enough,” Oikawa replies.

“We can definitely arrange that,” Hanamaki says.

Iwaizumi huffs at that. He then gestures at himself, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. “At this point you know demons are real. We get rid of ‘em.”

“Demon hunters?” Oikawa supplies.

“Demon hunters,” Iwaizumi confirms. “Hence the gun you saw earlier. Which you weren’t supposed to see, but you weren’t supposed to see the demon either.”

Oikawa’s thoughts drift towards the aforementioned weapon; a large handgun almost the size of his forearm. He only caught a brief glimpse of it in a moment of pure terror, but he remembers the gunshots vividly. He remembers how they pierced the demon’s flesh—how its skull exploded upon impact with the bullets Iwaizumi fired off. It was followed by a foul stench; something acidic and bitter. It tainted his skin, kissed his lips, and burned his tongue.

He swallows, suppressing a wave of nausea that threatens to ripple through his stomach. “So,” he starts, “People can’t actually see demons? But I, somehow, can?”

Iwaizumi nods. “There are some exceptions. Like people who are highly intuitive can sometimes notice the presence of spirits. Good and bad ones. And it’s said that people who have been cursed can see demons. They plague the person in their sleep, and even while they’re awake. That’s why both Matsukawa and Hanamaki asked if you were messing with dark magic. Sometimes…people do shit like that. And usually, it gets ‘em killed,” he explains. “Is there anyone else in your family who can see spirits? Or mentioned noticing their presence? Aside from your great grandmother.”

Oikawa shakes his head in response. While he’s always felt drawn to the mysterious and the unknown, his relatives are quite the opposite; all skepticism and disinterest. With exception of his grandmother and great grandmother, he supposes.

Perhaps his love for history and mythology and his fascination with occultism has led him to believe that there’s always been more than meets the eye. A curious mind and lively imagination, combined with an analytical eye, leave him obsessed with proving what supposedly can’t be proved from a very early age. Hours upon hours have been spent perusing and browsing the internet, tearing through the pages of his favorite books, and learning about various entities, gods, spirits and their stories. The myths intrigued him; fables of the past that are somehow interconnected with the world as they know it.

Sometimes, he would glance towards the skies, the stars, and wonder what lies beyond. He’d observe them; learn their positions, the names of the constellations, and read the stories accompanying those specks of light thousands of lightyears away.

In those moments, Oikawa would feel impossibly small.

And now, many years later, he feels as though the veil between the realms has been lifted—allowing him to peek behind a curtain he didn’t know existed. It’s dizzying, confusing, maddening, yet it fills him with excitement. And a twinge of fear.

He pushes that fear aside, swallows it; choosing to focus on the bigger picture and uncovering the mysteries presented to him. The puzzle with a thousand pieces—each one small and jagged. Slowly but surely, he will piece them together until they form a large picture. Because, who is he, if not a researcher at heart? A historian with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

There’s a world begging to be explored. Down the rabbit hole he goes; with wide eyes and baited breath.

Will Iwaizumi catch him?

The question is left unanswered for now and Oikawa shifts in his seat. “No,” he answers. “Not that I know of. They’re not very…religious or spiritual to begin with.”

The words earn him a nod and a short hum from Iwaizumi. “I don’t think you’re cursed. Anyone of us would’ve noticed if you had some kind of weird energy around you. Ren especially,” he points out.

“Yeah, Ren’s kinda got a nose for these things,” Hanamaki snorts. “You passed her test.”

The mere mention of her name causes Ren to pad into the living room. She walks in a little circle before eventually laying at Iwaizumi’s feet with a quiet huff—as if she’s somehow aware that she’d been the topic of conversation. Iwaizumi gently wiggles his foot in response before glancing back at Oikawa, “You did. But, basically, we get rid of demons and malevolent spirits.”

“With guns?” Oikawa asks.

“Amongst other things.”

“Don’t be vague,” he presses, “You promised. What are the other things? Magic?”

“Kind of,” Iwaizumi shrugs. “Feel free to jump in any time, you know,” he says, offering both Hanamaki and Matsukawa a pointed look.

“But you’re doing so good already,” Matsukawa grins.

“Very eloquent,” Hanamaki adds.

As Oikawa observes the exchange between the three of them, it becomes quite obvious that Iwaizumi is rather close to both Matsukawa and Hanamaki. (The latter had even dubbed himself Iwaizumi’s best friend). The banter between them feels natural and light, in the way one would joke with someone they’ve known for years. “How long have you known each other?”

“Our whole lives, basically,” Iwaizumi answers.

Hanamaki shifts in his seat, pulling his other leg onto the chair as well, “Our families are pretty close. Went to school together, trained together, pretty sure my mom loves these two more than me,” he says with a laugh. “Basically, our families have worked together for years. Named themselves the Seijoh Group at some point.”

“Seijoh Group,” Oikawa parrots, voice breaking off into a short, thoughtful, hum. “Never heard of it.”

“Cause you’re not supposed to.”

“Fair enough. Are you the only active group?”

“No, there are many demon hunting families all over the country. We’re the ones overseeing Tokyo, along with a few other families. And it’s been that way for thousands of years, basically,” Hanamaki pauses, the corner of his mouth curling upwards until a lazy grin stretches across his face. “But what about you? This has to be interesting for you.”

“What do you mean?” Oikawa asks.

“An assistant professor in history, specialized in mythology and occult studies finding out that demons are real? Even seeing one up close?” he points out. “Told you I’ve been googling you.”

He appreciates his candor; a sharp kind of honesty mixed with bluntness masked by a smile. It’s intriguing. While Iwaizumi and Matsukawa are more laid-back and careful, Hanamaki seems to speak whatever’s on his mind.

Oikawa understands the skepticism, the wariness. He is, after all, a stranger in their home. A stranger in their world.

“I see you’ve done your homework,” he returns with a smile. “Did you find my papers? Some of them even won awards if I’m not mistaken,” he adds. “But, yes, the researcher in me is dying to know more. However, I’m more concerned with finding out why there was a demon in my grandmother’s house in the first place. And how I’ve somehow gained the ability to see them. We’ve already established that I’m not cursed.”

“Maybe someone has it out for grandma,” Matsukawa supplies.

“That does explain the random attack, but not him,” Iwaizumi says, jerking his chin towards Oikawa. “Besides, this was at least a category three demon. Those don’t show up unannounced in people’s houses in the middle of the day.”

A pause follows before he speaks again. “Who else lives in that place?”

“Nobody really,” Oikawa answers. “My grandmother is barely there as it is. She spends all of her time in the city and she keeps the house for sentimental value. Once every two weeks it gets cleaned and once every three months we have a mandatory family dinner with the rest of my family. It’s practically abandoned.”

“Weird,” Hanamaki comments. He is about to speak again, but pauses when the distant sound of an alarm echoes through the large open space. As Oikawa tries to locate its source, the other three men have already jumped up—seemingly alerted. They leave the living room area, walking towards the back of the room where a large desk is positioned.

Oikawa hesitantly trails after them; gaze landing on the three computer screens placed atop the desk. A red notification is displayed on the middle screen; an alert of some sorts. He has half a mind to be impressed by the set-up before he hears Hanamaki swearing beneath his breath. His fingers hastily glide across the keyboard while Matsukawa leans forward—a hand placed atop his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Four signatures,” Hanamaki says. “In Minato of all places.”

As Oikawa observes the screen where four red dots lazily move along a deep blue—almost black—map of Tokyo. Beside him, Iwaizumi mimics Matsukawa; leaning forward as if to analyze the area displayed on the map. “That’s an industrial park, what are they doing there in the middle of the day?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Beats me. Raiding warehouses? Doing some shopping?” Hanamaki murmurs.

“Category?”

“Looks like… four. Fuck.”

“There are four category fours out there now?” Iwaizumi exclaims. “Shit. What now?”

While the terminology continues to confuse him, judging by the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice, Oikawa is observant enough to realize that category four demons are very bad news. Iwaizumi leans back, arms folded across his chest as Hanamaki mentions that the three of them should leave immediately. An objection spills from Iwaizumi’s lips, who gestures at Oikawa. “What about him?”

“He’s safer here,” Matsukawa explains. “We’ll be quick. The faster we get there, the better.”

“Leave Ren here with him, just to be sure,” Hanamaki adds.

Oikawa wants to object that a house pet won’t be much protection from home invaders, but Iwaizumi gnaws at his bottom lip for a brief moment before agreeing. “Fine. Okay. Let’s go then.”

When the three of them step away from the desk, Oikawa finds himself growing more confused by the second; wondering where he fits into this impromptu plan. “Hey, question…what am I supposed to do while you guys just leave me here in this house?”

Iwaizumi pauses while Hanamaki and Matsukawa head towards the stairs at the back of the room. “Sorry,” he begins, “This hasn’t happened in a while—so we’re all a little alarmed. Just stay here and sit tight, okay? We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Oikawa arches a brow in response. “How long will this take?”

“I don’t know. I hope we’ll handle it quickly,” he answers. “Look,” Iwaizumi says, gesturing at the computer screens behind them. “You’ll be able to communicate with us through this. We all have trackers in our watches and on the left screen you can see our vitals. Once the trackers are activated, you’ll be able to see our locations. We’re the blue dots and the red dots are the demons. Should we need an emergency escape or anything, you’ll be our eyes and ears out here. Think you can do that?”

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Oikawa chuckles. Perhaps it sounds more like a scoff, but his lips stretch around a smile regardless. “You trust me with your precious equipment, Iwa-chan?”

The nickname rolls off his tongue, earning him a surprised look from Iwaizumi—who frowns half a second later. “Iwa-chan?”

“It’s a thing I do. Nicknames. Helps me remember people's names.”

“Uh-huh…” Iwaizumi mumbles, “So what about Matsukawa and Hanamaki? They get weird nicknames too?”

“They’re not weird,” Oikawa objects. “And I’ve already dubbed them ‘Makki’ and ‘Mattsun’ in my head.”

As if on cue, the two men reappear on the ground floor—dressed in matching black outfits—and Oikawa briefly inspects their ensembles. Their black cargo pants and combat boots are identical, but Hanamaki seems to wear a black top with only one sleeve while Matsukawa’s has chosen a sleeveless shirt.

He catches a glimpse of red ink on Matsukawa’s shoulders; delicate lines peeking out from underneath the black fabric. Oikawa can’t quite make out the design of the tattoo, but from what he can see, the artwork must be located on his back. Matsukawa’s hands remain bare while Hanamaki’s are covered by pair of black gloves that cover only his index finger, middle finger and thumb for some reason. Though, what surprises him most is the large, heavy, steel chain wrapped around Matsukawa’s waist and hips. They appear to be much bigger, and longer, than the usual kind people often wear for fashion purposes.

“What’s with the chain?” Oikawa eventually asks.

“They’re part of Matsukawa’s powers,” Hanamaki answers, slinging a narrow, rectangular backpack over his shoulders.

“Good for strangling demons,” Matsukawa adds—which only adds to Oikawa’s confusion. Matsukawa’s gaze leaves Oikawa, traveling towards Iwaizumi instead, and he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants. “You should get dressed, by the way. We’re good to go.”

“Shit, yeah,” Iwaizumi answers. “I told Oikawa to stay here and monitor us while we’re out.”

“I’ve somehow become the man in the chair,” Oikawa says dryly. He casts another glance towards the screens behind him, watching as the red dots continue to move across the map. From what he gathers, the three demons remain in the industrial park in Minato—aimlessly roaming through the area.

“An honorable position, really,” Hanamaki grins. “You should still have some stuff here from our last mission,” he tells Iwaizumi, who hurries towards the stairs at the back of the room to head towards the second floor. His absence lasts all of five minutes, during which time Hanamaki gives Oikawa a crash course on the technology before him. Both he and Matsukawa activate the trackers in their watches and Oikawa watches as two blue dots appear on the middle screen while Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s names and vitals appear on the right screen.

“You’ll be fine,” Hanamaki eventually says. “It’s not that difficult.”

“It’s impressive,” Oikawa admits. “How are you able to track all of this?”

He’s rewarded with another grin, “Government funding and magic.”

“So you work for the government?”

“Nah. We’re independent, but sometimes they’re kind enough to give us money so that we can keep the city safe. It’s dull and complicated, but the cash is nice.”

“Bureaucratic bullshit?”

“You get it,” Hanamaki grins. “Ah, look who’s finally ready,” he shouts at Iwaizumi—who jogs down the stairs. The outfit he’s wearing is similar to the ones Matsukawa and Hanamaki are wearing as well.

Oikawa allows his gaze to travel along Iwaizumi’s body, taking in the tight, black, t-shirt he’s chosen to wear along with black cargo pants and combat boots. Scars cover his arms; jagged, white lines stretching across tan skin—evidence of years worth of fighting demons, Oikawa supposes.

A holster is attached to his upper body, its straps stretching across his chest and shoulders. It allows him to carry not one, but two large handguns and Oikawa recognizes the weapons; remembering the initial shock that washed over him when Iwaizumi pulled out one of the guns mere hours ago. Granted, he was more focused on the atrocious creature before him and praying he would stay alive, rather than questioning why Iwaizumi had been carrying a gun with him the entire time.

Fingerless gloves cover his hands as Iwaizumi fastens a pair of thigh holsters around his legs and Oikawa catches a glimpse of something silver strapped to his right thigh. It appears to be a large knife of some sort, he realizes. There’s another blade strapped to left thigh, identical to the first one, and he’s pretty certain he catches Iwaizumi slipping two more knives into his boots.

It’s strange, he thinks. How Iwaizumi looks so very different from the man that had been standing outside his grandmother’s house when Oikawa opened the door. His white shirt and dark jeans have been replaced by black tactical gear and there’s an array of weapons strapped to his body. Though, it’s not just the clothes; it’s his demeanor, his presence.

Determination is written across his features, flashes through green eyes, and Oikawa almost, almost, pities the poor creatures that are facing off against him very soon.

When Iwaizumi fastens a black watch around his wrist, Oikawa notices a loud ping coming from the screens behind him. Iwaizumi’s name appears on the monitor, along with his vitals, allowing Oikawa to read and observe Iwaizumi’s heartrate, blood pressure and body temperature among other things.

“All right, let’s go,” Iwaizumi announces. “Are they still in Minato?”

Hanamaki nods. “Are we going by car or taking the bikes?”

“For traffic reasons I’d say by bike, but mine’s still at my place,” Iwaizumi replies. Matsukawa waves a hand at that, securing an earpiece in his left ear. “Take Hiro’s. He’ll ride with me. Everybody's comm links secure?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi answers, thanking Hanamaki when he tosses a black jacket at him. As he slips his arms through the sleeves, he turns to look at Oikawa. “We’re heading out now. You can talk to us through the comm links, just let us know if anything happens.”

His gaze then lands on Ren as she pads over towards him and Iwaizumi drops to a crouch in front of her. “You’re staying here,” he starts, cradling her head between his palms and rubbing his thumbs back and forth. “Protect him for me, okay?”

Ren makes a noise—not quite a bark, but rather a huff and Oikawa arches a brow. “How is your dog exactly supposed to protect me?” 

Iwaizumi rises to his feet and Oikawa thinks he may spot a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’d be surprised at what she can do.”

Another vague statement.

Oikawa looks from the dog to Iwaizumi, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as she walks towards him. He allows his hand to brush against the top of Ren’s head and he can’t quite stop himself from smiling at the way her tail wags in response. “You’re as vague as ever, Iwa-chan.”

“Still with the nickname?”

“Still here? Don’t you have some demons to kill?”

Iwaizumi releases a chuckle at that and Oikawa doesn’t bother hiding his amusement at his own words either. Hanamaki tugs at Iwaizumi’s shoulder half a second later—who throws Oikawa a final glance before exiting the loft.

“Stay safe.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

With Iwaizumi and his friends having left the loft, Oikawa takes a moment to observe the living space. It’s spacious and open, with large windows—allowing generous amounts of sunlight to spill onto the grey floors. He spots the occasional plant—three monsteras and two yuccas—and is mildly impressed by either Hanamaki or Matsukawa’s tastes regarding greenery.

The living room area consists of a large, black couch along with two comfortable looking arm chairs and a black coffee table with a cream colored rug beneath it. Black, white, and grey tones make up the majority of the loft’s color scheme, though the occasional pop of color can be found lining the walls in the form of movie posters and photographs. (He wonders if the photos were purchased or if one of the two men has talent for photography).

His gaze lands on the large bookcase lined up against one of the walls and Oikawa’s curiosity nearly pulls him away from the desk before him until Iwaizumi’s voice echoes through the speakers of the computer screens.

“Everything still okay over there, Oikawa?” he asks.

Oikawa jumps in his seat, his eyes returning to the screens in front of him. “Your concern is touching, Iwa-chan, but I’m doing fine.”

“Iwa-chan?” Hanamaki interrupts. “Are we doing nicknames already?”

“Ignore it,” Iwaizumi murmurs.

“Do me and Issei get nicknames, too, or is Iwaizumi special?”

“How do you feel about ‘Makki’ and ‘Mattsun’?” Oikawa proposes.

“We’ll get back to you on that,” Hanamaki tells him. “Can you see if the demons are still at the same spot?”

Oikawa’s eyes roam along the screen until they land on four red dots displayed on the map, “Mm-hm. Still there. Just skittering along the industrial park.”

“We should be there in about fifteen minutes. We’ll be back soon,” Iwaizumi responds.

“You can make it eight if you take a left on the next street and then go right,” Oikawa suggests.

He hears a sound of surprise coming from someone, and it’s Matsukawa who speaks after a beat. “Ten minutes in the chair and you’re already helping us out.”

“I’m practically running this operation, Mattsun.”

“Still not sure about the nickname.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

There’s a hint of amusement in Iwaizumi’s voice when he says ‘thank you, Oikawa’, followed by the revving of a motorcycle engine. Oikawa watches the blue dots on the screen move with haste towards their destination, listening to the quiet murmurs of Iwaizumi and Hanamaki as they discuss a particular strategy to take down the demons as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“What if there are people there?” Oikawa wonders.

“Sometimes we make up some bullshit story about a security breach and how we’re hired to fix a problem,” Matsukawa answers.

“And they believe you? Dressed like that?”

“We can be very persuasive. Iwaizumi especially.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Oikawa admits. “You should be near your destination right now.”

It all goes very quickly once the words leave his mouth and when Oikawa glances at the left screen, he notices a sudden spike in each person’s heartrate—along with a significant increase of their blood pressures. He reckons they must be near the demons and his assumptions are proven to be correct when an array of noises echoes through the speakers.

There’s some shouting, Iwaizumi barking orders, the sound of gunshots, and labored breathing. He hears a litany of cuss words, along with the occasional chuckle, and Oikawa finds himself at the edge of his seat—literally. His body leans forward; his face inching closer towards screens as if he’s actually able to see the battle.

Instead, he’s left staring at the map of Tokyo as curiosity and anxiety bleed together and wash over him in waves. A feeling of dread, and concern, settle in his stomach and his heartbeat quickens with each second that passes.

They’ll be fine, he tells himself.

A painful groan can be heard through speakers and it’s Iwaizumi who murmurs something about his right arm. Oikawa’s fingers tighten around the edge of the desk and his eyes travel back and forth between the middle and left screen, observing Iwaizumi’s vitals. “Are you okay?”

Iwaizumi sounds breathless when he answers, “Yeah, just a scratch—Hanamaki, duck!”

Hanamaki’s voice joins Iwaizumi’s after a moment. “All good over here. These fuckers are just persistent. No worries.”

It’s strange—being able to hear the sounds of a battle he’s unable to see. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa are merely blue dots on the map in front of him; their voices echoing through the large space of the loft Oikawa finds himself in.

There’s a certain helplessness that washes over him and he digs his teeth into his lower lip. He doesn’t register the sound of Ren approaching him until her head rests itself atop his lap with a huff. It’s a simple gesture, but he appreciates it nonetheless and his fingers gently glide along black-and-white fur.

She continues to sit with him for the better part of ten minutes and he feels somewhat calm until Iwaizumi’s speaks again. “Fuck,” Oikawa hears him shout. “Don’t let them get away!”

The red dots on the screen move quickly, indicating that the demons must be fleeing the scene. Oikawa watches two of them abandon their initial location, with Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa in quick pursuit. They follow the same route as when they drove towards the industrial park, but instead they’re heading into the opposite direction.

Oikawa frowns at the screen, listening as Matsukawa murmurs: “Where are they going?”

From what he’s able to see, the demons are quick enough to outrun—or possibly outfly—two motorcycles. They remain together, entering a street Iwaizumi’s team had exited mere minutes ago and he narrows his gaze when the red dots speed across one of the main roads to leave Minato.

As Oikawa zooms out to see a larger portion of the map, suspicion becomes realization and his eyes widen as he quickly pushes himself to his feet, “Guys, I think they’re—”

His words are interrupted by Iwaizumi, who speaks slowly and has likely realized what Oikawa was about to say. “Oikawa,” he starts, his voice strained.

(Oikawa can practically feel his stomach drop and his heart stutter in his chest).

“Listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

The conversation lasted all but two minutes, in which Oikawa had been instructed to take Ren and move to the garage as quickly as possible.

“There’s a storage unit with bunch of cabinets with weapons inside. Grab anything,” Iwaizumi told him as Oikawa stood at the desk. “Because there are two demons headed towards the loft—towards you,” he added. “Hanamaki shot one of them and its left wing is injured. If you see it, just aim for its left side, okay? We’re on our way—just… stay with Ren. She will protect you.”

It has been ten minutes since then and Oikawa has his back pressed against one of the walls, his breathing harsh and his fingers trembling as he cradles a gun to his chest. He had managed to sift through an impressive, and intimidating, weapons collection before quickly grabbing what appeared to be a rifle of some sort. (Given that he’s no weapons expert, he merely grabbed the first thing that looked like it had some decent firepower).

Per Iwaizumi’s instruction, he brought Ren along—who gently nudges her nose against his thigh as Oikawa tightens his grip around the rifle and attempts to regulate his breathing.

It’s ridiculous, he thinks. How is he supposed defend himself against not one, but two demons with nothing but a rifle and a domesticated husky? He thinks back to the incident at his grandmother’s house, and how he’d come face-to-face with a demon mere hours before.

Images of black eyes and sharp teeth flash through his mind; memories of blood spraying across his forehead and cheeks. He remembers taste of bitterness on his tongue; sharp, acidic, revolting. He remembers the fear wrapping around him like a blanket—how it seeped into his skin, into his pores, slipping into his veins and paralyzing him.

Oikawa swallows, feeling the erratic beat of his heart as it slams against his ribcage repeatedly. Despite its impressive size, the garage feels awfully small and he’s left waiting, waiting, waiting for the inevitable. Next to him, Ren takes a few steps forward; growling at the garage door as if sensing a presence. He quietly calls out her name, but her gaze remains on the door and her stance widens.

Iwaizumi mentioned something about her protecting him and he wants to laugh at the absurdity of that statement.

God, he’s going to die. He’s going to die and so will the dog and he will cross over into the afterlife knowing that he was responsible for the death of someone’s pet.

This is absolutely fucked.

He is absolutely fucked.

Ren’s growl pulls him back into the present and Oikawa is about to call out her name again when she growls once more. Only this time the growl sounds deeper—scarier—and he blinks twice when slowly, but surely, the white part of her fur becomes darker and darker until it’s completely black.

(If not for the rifle in his hands, he would’ve rubbed at his eyes to make sure he’s not imagining it).

A cracking sound can be heard, followed by another, and another, as Ren’s limbs jerk and twist in a way that looks quite painful. Her legs extend, growing in size and length, along with the rest of her body until she’s three, four, five—maybe even six—times as large as she was before.

Oikawa’s eyes widen in amazement; his mouth agape at the creature that stands before him. Another growl cuts through the air and he would shout or scream if there was any oxygen left in his lungs.

Instead, he’s left staring at a black wolf the size of a pick-up truck.

(If he makes it out alive, he’s going to yell at Iwaizumi).

His contemplation regarding future plans are cut short when something hits the garage door with a loud bang. It happens again and Oikawa could swear the entire room is shaking. He swears loudly, the rifle nearly slipping from his grip as he aims the weapon at the door. A voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to run—to flee—as he listens to the sound of someone hammering repeatedly at the door.

It lasts all but fifteen seconds before two large creatures manage to push through layers of steel, leaving a gaping hole at the center. The color of their skin reminds Oikawa of blood—a deep red that almost appears black—and he hears one of the demons shriek when Ren lunges forward and attempts to sink her teeth into its flesh.

He remembers Iwaizumi’s words, something about a left wing, when the second creature dashes towards him. By some miracle Oikawa manages to duck away in time, causing the demon to crash into the wall. It snarls as it jumps up quickly to attack him again and Oikawa fumbles with the weapon in his hands, fingers clumsily finding the trigger.

He aims the barrel of the gun at the demon, pressing on the trigger and praying it somehow hits the creature. A loud bang follows and the force with which the bullet is fired is strong enough to make him stumble backwards. He hears Ren growl and snarl, followed by a pained howl and he would look back—would make sure she’s okay—if not for the angry demon jumping towards him again.

When he presses the trigger again and again, a bullet lodges itself into the creature’s side by some fucking miracle and Oikawa tries to put as much distance between himself and the demon. From the corner of his eye he can see Ren wrestling the second demon and he thinks she may have killed it until his attention shifts back toward its companion.

A flash of red and black is all he sees as the creature lunges at him.

There’s a sharp pain in his right shoulder and a scream rips itself from his throat as Oikawa feels the demon’s claws sink into his skin. It’s as if a dozen knives are embedded in his flesh and the smell of blood, his blood, is enough to trigger a wave of nausea. He falls onto his back with the creature atop of him, snarling and snapping its jaws at his face with every intent to rip him to pieces.

Fear spreads through him, panic settling deep into his bones. The pain is almost unbearable as it tears through him; sharp and unforgiving. He trashes beneath the demon, kicking his legs out but his muscles ache and the creature’s claws dig deeper into his skin—keeping him pinned to the ground. Black eyes and rows of sharp teeth are impossibly close as darkness begins to bleed into the edges of his vision.

He can’t breathe, he can’t—

“Oikawa!”

There’s a familiar voice in the background, cutting through the ringing in his ears, and he hears the rattling of chain before the demon above him howls in pain. A loud hiss follows, as if something is being burned, and Oikawa watches as a large chain, emitting an vibrant, orange glow, is wrapped around the demon’s neck.

The creature is pulled backwards and when its claws leave his skin, a shooting pain travels along his entire arm. He weakly tries to reach for his right shoulder until a pair of arms slip underneath his back. Gently, they lift him upwards until he’s able to sit upright.

The first thing Oikawa registers is a deep voice and a pair of green eyes. A deep, forest green.

“Oikawa,” he hears again, “Oikawa—hey.”

Iwaizumi, he realizes. It’s Iwaizumi.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he winces, almost slumping forward but Iwaizumi keeps him steady. “Don’t move,” he instructs.

He feels a pressure on the wound, followed by a warm sensation. His skin tingles and it hurts a little at first, but then the aching stops—gradually melting away with each intake of breath. The warmth is pleasant and it’s as though the sun’s rays are caressing him, gently brushing over his skin.

The hand on his shoulder eventually moves towards his back, just between his shoulder blades, and it remains there; pouring warmth into Oikawa’s skin and allowing it to seep into his muscles. It’s soothing, comforting, and breathing becomes easier. His heart is no longer slamming against his ribcage, desperate to escape his chest. Instead, it beats slowly—allowing him to even out his breaths.

For a moment, time seems to slow down, and whatever fear or panic Oikawa had felt before gradually fades away; replaced by a sense of tranquility.

He blinks a few times, his vision slowly becoming clearer. Iwaizumi’s face is no longer a blur and he’s able to properly see those green eyes vividly. They look at him, filled with concern, much like they had done a few hours prior.

It all feels awfully familiar.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says gently. “You okay?”

He nods twice, “The demons… are they—?”

“Issei and Ren took care of them,” Hanamaki’s voice startles him momentarily and Oikawa casts a quick glance over his shoulder to find Hanamaki seated behind him with his palm pressed against Oikawa’s back. His eyes then travel towards his shoulder; only for them to widen in surprise upon noticing the large tears in his sweater. Blood clings to the blue fabric, coating his exposed skin and painting it a dark red. Yet, there are no wounds. There are no cuts, no blemishes, as if the demon had simply never touched him.

Oikawa frowns in confusion, positively perplexed as he narrows his gaze at his right shoulder. His fingers gently brush over his skin, as if assessing whether or not there had been a wound after all.

“My shoulder…” he mumbles. “How?”

Iwaizumi merely offers him a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m—good,” Oikawa answers. “I don’t feel any pain and, surprisingly, I’m not freaking out—how is that possible?”

“Well,” Iwaizumi begins, jerking his chin into Hanamaki’s direction. “Hanamaki is our healer. A pretty decent one, too. He healed the wounds on your shoulder and slowed your heartrate to prevent a panic attack.”

He speaks the words so casually, as if he’s informing him of the weather forecast for the upcoming week. Astonishment must be written across Oikawa’s features, because Iwaizumi's smile transforms into a smirk when he says, “I’ll explain later.”

The two men help him to his feet and Oikawa momentarily glances around the garage. The decaying bodies of the demons are sprawled across gray concrete, with Ren—who is no longer six feet tall—sitting at Matsukawa’s side. (He briefly wonders if Ren’s sudden transformation had merely been a figment of his imagination).

“Your dog,” he mumbles, turning towards Iwaizumi. “She suddenly just—”

“…Turned into a gigantic wolf?” Iwaizumi finishes. “Yeah. She does that.”

“You could’ve told me that sooner. Instead, you were all cryptic and vague again,” Oikawa huffs. There’s a pause before he speaks again. “The demons… why were they here?”

Iwaizumi allows his gaze to drop towards the corpses on the garage floor—the final remnants of the bodies slowly dissolving in a cloud of smoke. “They were after you,” he replies. “At least, that’s what it looks like.”

“Me?” Oikawa exclaims. It seems Hanamaki’s efforts to soothe his nerves and prevent a panic attack are in vain, because he can feel the unease in his stomach. It travels upwards, spreading through his chest, cold and constricting before bleeding into his heart. He releases a shaky breath, “Why?”

Why would the demons be after him? Creatures he didn’t even know actually existed until mere hours ago. It seems as though every question is met with more questions—more riddles. Mystery upon mystery. Another conundrum, another unsolvable puzzle with thousands of jagged, little pieces.

It’s confusing, it’s frustrating and he wonders why him and why now?

It’s too much, he thinks.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says gently, interrupting his thoughts and cutting through the noise in Oikawa’s mind. “We’ll figure this out. Let’s go inside first. You can hop into the shower if you want—get that blood off you—and we’ll find you something to wear.”

Oikawa merely nods at that, “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah… a shower would be nice.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

The bathroom is large. All white marble and black detailing with large, glass doors that make up a spacious stall.

He doesn’t even remember entering the room. One moment he’s in the garage, standing beside Iwaizumi and Hanamaki, looking at decaying corpses, and the next moment he’s staring at his own reflection.

He almost looks like one, too. (A corpse, that is). Disheveled hair, pale complexion, and ripped clothes. Brown eyes stare back at him, oh so familiar, yet so foreign.

Red stains the blue fabric of his sweater, seeping into the white of his undershirt. A layer of blood clings to his skin, dry and flaky. When he scratches at it, at his shoulder, some of it disappears beneath his finger nails. He scratches again, dragging his nails along that same spot over and over.

But, no matter how harshly he claws at his skin, the feeling won’t go away. The feeling of blood on his skin, of claws in his flesh, of fear in his heart. The feeling of death.

It sits in his soul, it spreads through his limbs like venom; slithering through this veins. It will burn him from the inside, rotting his organs, eating at his bones, until there’s nothing left of him.

Until he’s just a corpse.

Like those demons.

Like the one on his grandmother’s living room floor.

Is that what’s to become of him; a decaying body?

The water feels warm when he steps into the stall. It pours over him, seeping into his clothes as he sits on the floor. Maybe it can wash away the blood and the poison. Maybe, if he sits here long enough, he will feel clean again. His legs are drawn to his chest. As if he could somehow, maybe, disappear if he makes himself small enough.

He doesn’t know how long he sits on those white tiles, caged in by glass doors, numbed by poison, but at some point he registers footsteps. The space he finds himself in—too big, too empty, too painful—suddenly has a visitor. There’s a voice, gentle and concerned, and then there’s a body.

The voice is like an echo at first, distant and muffled. Words are unable to cut through the noise in his mind; not quite reaching him, but merely lingering in the background. Despite it all, there’s a tenderness to them; syllables laced in warmth as they are spoken in a gentle tone.

‘Oikawa,’ he hears. ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘I’m going to sit with you, okay?’

He feels a shoulder touching his own, a knee against his knee.

It’s enough to remove some of the heaviness that had enveloped him, covering him like a blanket.

‘It’s Iwaizumi,’ a voice in the back of his mind tells him. It’s accompanied by a sense of familiarity, along with something else. Comfort, perhaps.

His response comes belated—a quiet murmur that spills from wet lips, “I can’t get the blood out.”

“The blood in your clothes?”

Oikawa nods. “No matter how hard I scrub at it.”

“It will come out,” Iwaizumi says after a moment.

‘How can you be so sure?’ Oikawa wants to ask. ‘How can you be so sure it won’t become a permanent stain?’

Though, before he gets the chance to respond, Iwaizumi speaks again. “Blood will wash away and wounds will heal,” he continues. “You will heal.”

The words are spoken quietly, yet with certainty, and somehow the space Oikawa found himself in, feels less empty now; less painful. The numbness in his chest is replaced by a heartbeat. It’s slow and steady, but it beats nonetheless—pumping blood through his veins and allowing feeling to return to his fingertips. He flexes them, resisting the urge to rub at the stains on his sweater. Instead, his hands remain on his knee; water slipping between his fingers and disappearing into the fabric of his slacks.

“Did yours heal?” he asks Iwaizumi.

“They’re still healing.”

For some reason he finds comfort in that—in knowing that Iwaizumi is a man held together by scars and determination. Though, there’s more to him than that. There’s kindness and vulnerability, too. Oikawa wonders if this scene is familiar to him. If he, like Oikawa, often found himself in a liminal space where he feels too much and not enough.

Silence falls over them once more and Oikawa’s hand seems to move on its own. It inches towards Iwaizumi, fingers slowly curling around his arm. His skin feels wet and cold beneath Oikawa’s palm and he doesn’t quite know why he holds him. To ground himself? Or to let Iwaizumi know that he understands him?

All he knows is that it feels okay; that it feels safe. Despite their limited time together, something about Iwaizumi feels safe.

They remain there, on the shower floor, caged in by glass doors and backs resting against white tiles.

Eventually, Oikawa’s limbs grow heavy and his eyelids grow even heavier. Fatigue is what causes him to slump sideways; his head coming to rest atop Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

As he closes his eyes, his lips part around a whisper, “Thank you, Iwa-chan.”

Chapter Text

To say that the past twenty-four hours have been crazy, would be the understatement of the century. Between two demon attacks during the day and dealing with a person—an outsider no less—who’s either cursed or haunted, Iwaizumi has his work cut out for him.

Needless to say, he’s not getting any sleep.

(Hence why he’s jogging around Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s neighborhood at seven a.m.).

The morning air feels crisp in his lungs and the sky colors pink and orange above him, hues slowly bleeding together; as if someone spilled paint all over Tokyo’s skies. Sunlight illuminates the path before him, golden light reflecting off grey stones and black asphalt, while the soft chirping of a flock of birds bleeds together with Ren’s quiet panting.

The noises are drowned out by the sound of fast-paced music reverberating through his headphones, loud and booming, and Iwaizumi quickens his pace when the chorus of the fourth song on his playlist begins. His strides are synchronous with the beat, the burning in his lungs pleasant as his feet keep up with the tune.

To anyone else, his pace might appear brutal—bordering on inhuman—but Ren has always been able to keep up with him.

If anything, she’s able to outrun him with minimal effort—there’s no competing with an okuri ōkami, he supposes. 

To the average person, Ren appears to be a regular Siberian husky; icy blue eyes, black-and-white fur and energy for days—but only a select few know of her true form. Blue eyes turn red, her fur turns black and her height rivals Hanamaki’s as she grows from 24 inches to a little over six feet—while weighing roughly 330 pounds.

(Three-hundred pounds of pure muscle, with supernatural strength and speed, that is).

She is, on all accounts, absolutely terrifying.

And yet, Iwaizumi has never been afraid of her. From the moment their paths crossed, roughly two decades ago, he felt at ease with Ren.

It happened during a family trip to Kamikochi, with a seven-year-old Iwaizumi somehow getting separated from his family when they walked along a popular hiking trail. Dusk began to settle upon the land and Iwaizumi remembers calling for his parents as he waded through the large forest—fear washing over him in waves.

Little did he know that Ren had been following him, protecting him, the entire time.

According to the legends, okuri ōkami are nocturnal creatures who appear at mountain passes and forested roads. They often follow lonely travelers at night, which can be both a blessing and a curse. Should a traveler (in this case: Iwaizumi) stumble and fall, the wolf will pounce and rip them to shreds—but if they manage to keep walking without falling, no harm will come to them.

It’s said that their presence is frightening enough to keep other animals, spirits, demons and supernatural creatures at bay—which is, presumably, how Iwaizumi managed to stay safe at the time whilst wading through the woods.

At some point, as he walked down an abandoned road, he registered a presence behind him. Upon turning around, Iwaizumi found himself face-to-face with a wolf roughly ten or twelve times his size. While his hunter abilities (read: powers) hadn’t entirely manifested themselves yet, his knowledge of demons, spirits and other supernatural creatures was decent enough for him to remember that shouting certain phrases would ward off an okuri ōkami.

Needless to say, Iwaizumi forgot every single word. He nearly stumbled backwards as he hesitantly moved away from the wolf, his hands feeling awfully clammy and his fingers trembling. The pounding in his chest was accompanied by a sense of dread, which soon turned into curiosity when Ren—politely—kept her distance.

At the time, Iwaizumi was unable to explain why a strange calmness washed over him at that moment. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by something he could only describe as an odd sense of comfort. There was a certain familiarity to the wolf; somehow it felt safe and secure. He remembers trying to communicate with her—his voice quiet and uncertain as he asked if she lived in the forest. To his surprise, Ren then moved her head in a way that made it seem as if she was saying no.

“Are you lost, too?” Iwaizumi asked. A silly question at the time, given that okuri ōkami rarely got lost, but he simply couldn’t help but wonder if they were both on a similar journey. Iwaizumi knew that hunters were instructed to kill the wolves if they were to harm an innocent person, but this particular wolf did not seem hostile. (Not to mention, he did not have the strength, skills, or powers to kill the creature).

Ren’s response seemed vague—a huff he couldn’t quite decipher—and Iwaizumi then proposed a final question: “Do you want to walk with me?”

What happened then was both unique and unexpected.

Iwaizumi watched as the large wolf, roughly six feet tall, slowly transformed into a regular sized husky. Her black fur contained patches of white and her eyes were a piercing shade of blue instead of red. He knew a handful of things about the okuri ōkami, but he wasn’t aware that they could shapeshift and turn into regular dogs.

Astonishment settled on his features; eyes wide in amazement as a smile spread across his lips. She padded over towards him and he carefully held out his hand, allowing her to sniff at his fingers. When her tongue darted out, gently brushing along his skin, he quietly said: “My name is Hajime.”

Shortly after his quick introduction, Iwaizumi wandered the road once more—with Ren eventually leading him back to his family. After sighs of relief, tight hugs, and some minor reprimanding, Iwaizumi asked (read: begged ) his parents if he could keep the dog-slash-wolf when it became rather obvious that neither wished to be parted from one another. He insisted that Ren’s assistance and protection was the reason he’d been able to find them to begin with and he remembers the apprehension, and shock, on his father’s face when he quietly informed them of the dog’s true form.

He’s not entirely sure how a seven-year-old and an ancient wolf spirit managed to convince a pair of adults, but Iwaizumi is glad his parents had given him the benefit of the doubt. While it’s not uncommon for hunters to work alongside spirits or mythological creatures, most of them do not keep said spirits or creatures as house pets.

He supposes Ren’s bright blue eyes might have had some kind of influence.

(He’s glad they did).  

In the two decades they’ve spent together he’s only grown more fond of Ren, and Iwaizumi considers himself very lucky to have her as a companion at home and in the field. There have been numerous occasions when she has helped his team whilst chasing and fighting demons all over the city. If anything, she’s as much a part of the team as he is.

Although, she’s not only there to assist him in a fight, she’s also there to comfort him when his mind is plagued by nightmares. For all his magical abilities and physical prowess, Iwaizumi isn’t exempt from night terrors and the occasional panic attack. Sometimes it’s a panic attack at eight in the morning—right before his first cup of coffee—and other times it’s a bad dream at three in the afternoon on a Sunday.

When it happens, she’s there; nudging her head against his palm or gently placing a paw in his lap. And in those moments breathing becomes easier.

Even now, as Iwaizumi’s mind is filled with thoughts—positively overflowing with theories, conspiracies and one thousand possible outcomes—Ren’s there, running alongside him in the early hours of the morning. They pick up the pace for the last leg of their run, muscles straining and lungs burning, and he momentarily pushes all those thoughts aside; choosing to focus on the asphalt beneath his feet, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the crisp morning air in his throat.

For a moment, he feels free.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Iwaizumi returns to the loft a little after eight. As he quietly pads towards the kitchen, Matsukawa emerges from the living room, nursing a cup of tea. Notably absent are his sweats and the dark t-shirt he often sleeps in. Instead, he’s dressed in a pair of black slacks and a moss grey sweater—a gift if Iwaizumi remembers correctly.  Judging by his outfit, he’s likely leaving for work soon.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

Iwaizumi grimaces, uncapping his water bottle and taking a large swig, “You know it.”

“We’ll figure it out, you know,” Matsukawa tells him, coming to a halt at the other side of the kitchen island. While the reassurance is appreciated, a sigh spills from Iwaizumi’s lips regardless. His eyes briefly leave Matsukawa—gaze landing on the stairs on the ground floor before traveling up and towards the second floor where the guest room should be.

“He awake yet?” he wonders.

Matsukawa shakes his head at that. “Don’t think so. I’m heading out now, though. Got a lot of stuff to do for work, but I should be back in the afternoon. I’m dropping Hiro off at his mom’s place, he said he’s gonna get some new equipment. You fine with being alone with him for a bit?”

Iwaizumi briefly thinks of the demons that had arrived at the loft yesterday and it must show on his face, because Matsukawa quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I put up the wards yesterday. You’ll be fine.”

A protective spell; meant to keep demons and malicious spirits from entering a home. Many hunters possess a variety of items to keep their living space safe, such as ofuda and numerous amulets, and most of the time this is enough to keep one protected. Though, sometimes, more magic is required to keep particularly strong demons out. (Enter Matsukawa, who specializes in exorcism magic). The wards add a layer of protection, keeping all and any demons away from the loft by putting up an invisible wall of sorts. Matsukawa’s mother, who had taught her son how to execute the spell, often compared it to a very large ofuda being placed beneath the foundation of a house.

Knowing that the wards are activated grants Iwaizumi a sense of peace. Though, the fact that Matsukawa had to activate them to begin with fills him with unease at the same time.

“They shouldn’t have been here,” he says after a moment. “I’m sorry for endangering your home.”

Matsukawa walks around the kitchen island to place his now empty mug into the sink. “Comes with the job. Don’t worry ‘bout it. You couldn’t have known that he was being targeted. Like I said, we’ll figure it out. You stay here and when we get back, we’ll figure out our next step.”

“Look at you, sounding like a proper leader. Usually it’s Iwaizumi who gives the reassuring speeches.”

Both Iwaizumi and Matsukawa look up at the sound of Hanamaki’s voice. He greets them with a lazy grin before fishing a banana that seems to border on overripe, out of the fruit bowl. “Issei’s right though, it’ll be fine. Just make sure that our guest doesn’t do anything stupid like running away.”

“I think I can manage,” Iwaizumi says. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Both men nod and Hanamaki takes a large bite of the banana before signaling to Matsukawa that they should leave. Iwaizumi watches as they gather their belongings and exit the loft before allowing his gaze to travel towards the second floor once more.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

A shower, a meal, and roughly two hours later, the sound of footsteps pulls Iwaizumi’s attention away from the TV. From where he’s seated on the couch, he’s able to see Oikawa slowly descending the stairs. The clothes he’d worn yesterday have been replaced by a navy t-shirt and a pair of black sweats that originally belong to Hanamaki.

He briefly thinks back to the tears in Oikawa’s blue sweater, the red stains in his dress shirt, and the way the material clung to his skin as he sat on the tiled floor in the shower cabin—unmoving as water slipped into the fabric of his clothes. Iwaizumi’s body had moved on its own, stepping into the cabin and lowering himself onto the floor. Something between guilt and concern settled in his chest upon noticing the emptiness behind Oikawa’s gaze. They remained on the floor for what felt like hours, with Oikawa’s hand curled around Iwaizumi’s upper arm and his head resting atop Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi can only imagine how he must have felt in that moment. Fear, confusion, disbelief; it all bleeds together—spreading across one’s skin before it seeps into the soul. It’s numbing, yet painful. It’s like falling into an abyss; one that never seems to end.

He sees that fear now—in the brown of Oikawa’s eyes. Disbelief finds a home on his features, paired with uncertainty, and the guilt in Iwaizumi’s chest spreads its vines. It spreads and spreads, curling around his heart, around his lungs, and he reminds himself to breathe.

Guilt won’t help him now.

So he swallows it, breathes through it, pushes it aside, and forces a smile onto his lips as he greets Oikawa with a quiet ‘hey’. Oikawa’s own smile is weak around the edges, but it’s a smile regardless. “How’d you sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Oikawa answers, “almost felt like I didn’t sleep at all. I feel exhausted yet…wired.”

Iwaizumi pushes himself to his feet, gestures at the chairs and couch before walking towards the kitchen. “Go sit, I’ll make you some food. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Tea,” Oikawa answers with a short nod. “Tea would be nice.”

Iwaizumi returns with a meal and a cup of tea after a moment and Oikawa eats his breakfast in silence, pausing when Ren pads into the living room and nudges her head against his knee. For a moment Iwaizumi thinks that Oikawa might be frightened, but then his gaze softens and the smile he’d worn before seems less weak now—more gentle—as he carefully runs a hand across Ren’s head. “She was brave yesterday,” Oikawa says, his fingers scratching beneath Ren’s chin. “Protected me—like you said she would.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze shifts from Oikawa towards Ren, who seems to thoroughly enjoy the additional attention she’s receiving. Her nose bumps against Oikawa’s hand when his movements momentarily falter; a clear indication that he should abandon all prior tasks and only focus on scratching either beneath her chin or behind her ears. (Oikawa, luckily, complies).

“I’m glad she did,” Iwaizumi answers. A pause follows his words, accompanied by a deep inhale as words form on his lips; ones that have been plaguing him, itching to be voiced ever since he’d seen Oikawa’s body on the garage floor the previous day. “Listen…I’m sorry for yesterday, I shouldn’t have left you alone and—”

He is interrupted when Oikawa shakes his head and interjects with a sentence of his own. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known,” he tells Iwaizumi. The words are similar to the ones Matsukawa had spoken a few hours before; a gentle reassurance that should on all accounts dispel whatever lingering guilt Iwaizumi feels. Yet, he can’t shake the feeling that he has somehow failed Oikawa and, by extension, his own friends.

There’s not much Iwaizumi can say to that, so he merely nods and clears his throat as he folds his hands in his lap. “About yesterday,” he begins after a moment. “Do you…have any questions? Do you want to talk about what you saw and how you feel?”

He knows that Oikawa must have billion-and-one questions roaming through his mind; trying to make sense of matters beyond his comprehension. And the least Iwaizumi can offer him is a listening ear and perhaps some answers that could put his mind to ease.

Silence lingers between them, it stretches and stretches, and Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa’s eyes seem focused on the mug. His thumb idly taps against the blue ceramic in a steady rhythm. A deep inhale follows. “Do you…think you could tell me more?” he asks after a moment. “About you, about all of this? Since we did get interrupted yesterday.”

In a way, it’s the least Iwaizumi can do. So, he nods gently and the smile he offers Oikawa feels less forced now.

It’s small, but it’s genuine.

“Yeah,” he answers. “I think I can do that.”

His legs take him to the large bookcase lined up against one of the walls and his hand hovers somewhere along the second and third shelf. Rows and rows of books greet him, spines well worn and pages muted yellow. Fingers curl around one, two, three large books; their combined weight being much heavier than Iwaizumi remembers. He almost chuckles at the memory of a much younger version of Matsukawa constantly carrying these books with him everywhere he went. 

Oikawa’s interest is piqued when Iwaizumi places the books onto the coffee table—he can tell by the way his eyes widen and his brows rise upwards. He lowers himself onto the couch, next to Oikawa, before opening the first book. Its cover is a deep shade of red—burgundy—decorated with intricate, golden details. ‘Volume I’ the title reads and Iwaizumi catches a hint of surprise in Oikawa’s eyes, who momentarily glances from the book before them to the bookcase. “They just have these lying around?” he asks, “What if someone sees?”

A valid question, Iwaizumi supposes. “Hasn’t happened yet, as far as I know, but I’m pretty sure they’d come up with a decent excuse,” he tells him. “Suppose we should start at the beginning—at year zero,” he continues, skimming through the first three pages.

“What’s year zero?”

“That’s when the first hunters came to be,” Iwaizumi answers. “But, there are a number of origin stories they taught us. This is just one of them.”

“In demon hunter school, I assume?”

Iwaizumi chuckles despite himself, running his fingers along the first sentence on the fifth page. “Yeah, in demon hunter school.”

“Well, what else should I call it?”

“Demon hunter school is fine. It’s not accurate, but it’s fine.”

Next to him, Oikawa inches closer—leaning forward to read the words much like a student pouring over their homework. Iwaizumi vaguely remembers the texts, remembers learning about the history of his predecessors. Like him, they were granted abilities and possessed the necessary skills to ensure the safety of the many people in their cities, towns, and villages. Iwaizumi doesn’t consider himself a hero by any means, but the stories he’d read about old hunters, his ancestors, often seemed fairly heroic. Especially to a bright-eyed eleven-year-old who longed for adventure.

Once he reaches the first chapter, he begins to read out loud.

“All right. It says here that spirits, entities, supernatural creatures, and mythological beings have always existed. They lived among the humans peacefully and occasionally made an appearance. But, at some point—nobody’s exactly sure when—malicious spirits started to appear more often. Some were merely causing mischief, while other spirits started to attack humans,” he explains.

“They varied in shape and size; some had animalistic features, while others resembled humans. Then there were the ones that looked like monsters, grotesque and frightening in every sense of the word. They were big, small, and everything in between. Most of them would appear at night, wreaking havoc on villages and destroying everything in their paths. People would flee their homes, move to other villages or towns, but the spirits—now named demons—were everywhere.”

The page is decorated with numerous illustrations of the aforementioned demons. From trolls and ogres to arachnid-type creatures such as jorōgumo and the tsuchigumo, or the skeletal giants better known as the gashadokuro. Iwaizumi’s gaze lingers on an image of an onryō, a vengeful ghost that’s undoubtedly the most frightening type of ghost, before continuing to read the second half of the paragraph out loud.

“At some point, a group of brave men and women decided that they would fight back against the demons to defend their homes and loved ones. This act of bravery impressed the gods. They claimed that the onslaught of demons, and demonic energy, would disturb the balance of the universe and decided to even the scales.”

Images of the gods and goddesses are printed across the next page; colorful, bright, and imposing. Izanami and Izanagi, hailed as the creators of all there is, are depicted with their children: Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, and Susanoo. There’s another image where they are flanked by numerous other deities, each one appearing powerful and regal. The colors are vibrant, intriguing, and urging whoever’s gaze lands upon it to take a closer look. Iwaizumi recalls seeing these images often during his youth—printed along the pages of his own books.    

He briefly glances at Oikawa, whose eyes seem to light up at the information that’s being presented to him. Part of him wonders if this must seem familiar to Oikawa; the names, the stories, the images. He may not know much about the man, but he can only imagine that someone with a fascination for history and mythology must be intrigued by these texts.

His eyes roam across the page, landing on a block of text below the illustrations of the gods and goddesses. “So, they ‘blessed’ the warriors that were brave enough to fight back. The gods gave them gifts, powers, to fight the demons and these powers or abilities varied per person, depending on which god had blessed them. Though, all hunters seemed to have increased strength, stamina and agility,” Iwaizumi reads aloud.

“Soon enough, families would band together and form groups. These groups would then spread across the land and defend villages and towns from any demonic attacks. The gods allowed them to keep their powers, claiming that the descendants of these people would inherit the same abilities as long as demons would roam the earth,” he continues. “It’s said that Amaterasu protects humans during the day. Her sunlight acts as a shield, guarding the people against the demons and allowing them to remain safe. But, once the sun sets, the veil between the world becomes thinner—disappearing altogether. At night, her sister Tsukuyomi protects the humans by sending out her warriors. Beneath the moon and stars, they wield their weapons to slay the creatures that feast on souls.”

“The demon hunters are the warriors you mentioned, I assume?” Oikawa inquires.

“Yeah, they’re referred to as warriors and hunters interchangeably.”

Oikawa gives a short hum at that. “So, at some point, your ancestors were brave enough to fight one of those demons and now you have powers,” he remarks. “Which god blessed your family?”

A question that was bound to come. Iwaizumi’s gaze briefly returns to the images of the gods and goddesses—none of them being the deity that supposedly ‘blessed’ his bloodline. “Depends on your definition of god , I guess,” he answers. “You know about Byakko, right? And the Four Symbols?”

“Part of the Chinese constellation, adopted here centuries ago and worshiped,” Oikawa answers with a nod. “But the gods mentioned here are Shinto gods. The Four Symbols were adopted from Taoism. How does that work?”

Iwaizumi thumbs through the pages of the book until he reaches one of the chapters dedicated to the Four Symbols. A large image of a white tiger decorates the upper half of the page; Byakko’s name is printed right above it along with the words ‘White Tiger of the West’. Underneath the image are multiple paragraphs dedicated to mythological creatures. Constellation, deity, and spirit are some of the words used to describe the tiger and Iwaizumi has read the passages numerous times across the span of sixteen years—memorizing each line and committing it to memory. Righteousness and justice; the key elements to Byakko’s story and the core values his family continues to uphold. 

“Like I said, multiple origin stories,” Iwaizumi points out. “The Four Symbols were adopted here centuries ago and when demons started to attack humans, similar to the Shinto gods, the symbols—or rather guardians—blessed those who were brave enough to fight back.”

He slowly turns the pages, where numerous images of each guardian are displayed: Seiryū, Byakko, Suzaku and Genbu. The blue dragon, the white tiger, the vermillion bird and the black tortoise. The illustrations are beautiful, capturing the essence of each guardian and their domain; pulling the reader into a different world and allowing them to witness their beauty up close.

He watches as Oikawa’s eyes scan the text, mumbling to himself as he reads the words. The corners of his mouth rise into a smile, larger than Iwaizumi had seen before. “Amazing,” Oikawa breathes. “I’ve never seen these images before—or these texts. And I’ve read many of them. Books, journals, essays. But, this is…wow.”

Iwaizumi rubs a hand across the back of his neck, a quiet chuckle slipping between his lips. “Yeah, we’re pretty secretive. I’m actually not even supposed to show you this.”

“And yet, you are,” Oikawa says, glancing up from the book. The emptiness that Iwaizumi had seen in his eyes yesterday seems different now—replaced by something he can’t quite describe. They’re brighter now, shining with excitement. “ Thank you for this.”

Iwaizumi smiles. “No problem.”

He watches as Oikawa carefully turns the pages one by one, scanning the words and observing the images while a thoughtful hum vibrates through his throat. “Interesting,” he says after a moment. “You said that Hanamaki is a healer and I know that Matsukawa’s powers are tied to the chain he wears, but…what about yours?”

“Thought you were going to ask way sooner,” Iwaizumi quips.

“Well, I wanted to be somewhat respectful and not pry immediately,” Oikawa returns.

“Isn’t that what researchers do, though? Prying?”

“I prefer to call it intense asking.”

A laugh finds its way out of Iwaizumi’s throat and he shifts on the couch, moving back slightly and angling his upper body towards Oikawa. “Fair,” he supposes. “Anyway, each family has its own abilities and skills. My family has worked alongside the Matsukawas and Hanamakis for ages; it’s how the Seijoh Group was founded. And centuries ago when the guardians ‘blessed’ our families, each family had its own role within the group. The Matsukawas were exorcists, the Hanamakis were healers, and my family were the warriors—so to speak. It’s just a very simplified way of explaining those roles,” he continues.

“Being blessed by Byakko means that we’re strong fighters, with enhanced strength, stamina, and agility. We’re able to master a lot of techniques and fighting styles easily and we can manipulate our energy and channel it into objects and weapons,” Iwaizumi explains. “Like my guns, for example. The bullets I use are made of energy, my energy.”

“Huh,” Oikawa says with a nod. “So… your powers are enhanced strength, stamina, and agility, along with energetic manipulation?”

“Yeah. All demon hunters have enhanced physical abilities, but ours are a little more enhanced, I suppose.”

“Super strength?”

Iwaizumi raises his shoulders in a shrug, “I guess, if you want to call it that.”

“No need to be humble,” Oikawa says with a chuckle. “I won’t ask you to display it here, but I am curious. How much can you lift?”

Curiosity bleeds into Oikawa’s voice, flashes through his eyes, and Iwaizumi briefly wonders if he’s turned himself into an involuntary test subject. It’s a valid question, one that was to be expected, but he merely offers Oikawa another shrug. “I don’t know, I never measured it.”

“Oh, that has to be a lie. When did you get your powers?”

“Eleven? Twelve?”

“Okay,” Oikawa starts, “so you’re telling me that an eleven-year-old gets super strength and never tried to measure the extent of that strength throughout his childhood and teen years? Either by himself or with his friends? That sounds improbable.”

Memories of Iwaizumi’s childhood swim to the surface; days of running around with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, showcasing their abilities, trying to one-up one another and coming up with numerous challenges. Who could lift the most? Who could jump the highest? Who could run the fastest? He remembers how one particular challenge led to the destruction of a number of trees—accidentally incinerated by Matsukawa, who claimed that he finally mastered how to make the perfect fire ball. (In Matsukawa’s defense, the fireball had been perfect, but maybe his aim had been awful).

Out of the three of them, Matsukawa is the only one who’s able to utilize elemental magic; which had always fascinated Iwaizumi. He’d watch the flames dance between his friend’s fingers when Matsukawa’s abilities manifested themselves at the age of seven —roughly five years ahead of Iwaizumi and Hanamaki.

Matsukawa had always been dubbed a wunderkind by those within his own family and other families; blessed with extraordinary abilities and a talent for both exorcism magic and fire magic. He’d started his hunter training before Iwaizumi and Hanamaki, who grew curious and antsy—wondering when their own powers would manifest. (It would take another four or five years, by which time Matsukawa had significantly improved his own abilities. However, that did not stop him from participating in whatever idiotic plans the three friends had come up with).

Iwaizumi’s reminiscing is cut short when Oikawa speaks again, wondering aloud about the limits of Iwaizumi’s strength. “Okay, let me rephrase…can you lift a car?”

Rather than answering immediately, his brows knit together—something akin to surprise and mild confusion washing over him at the sudden question. It must show on his face because Oikawa chuckles, “Well?”

For a moment Iwaizumi thinks, really thinks, and he supposes that at his current strength level it would be possible for him to lift a car. Not that he’s had a reason to. “I guess? Depends on the car, I suppose,” he answers.

“That means you can lift at least a ton. That’s really impressive,” Oikawa says, “ever had problems with breaking things? Accidentally ripping doors off?”

The question causes Iwaizumi to release a chuckle of his own as he recalls past experiences. There had been many times during his childhood when he’d accidentally damage items around the house. Tables, cabinets, couches, windows, and doors all suffered the same fate until he was able to properly control his strength. “Yeah, you learn to control it, though.”

“Is it like an on-and-off switch kind of thing?”

“Kind of?” Iwaizumi supposes, “It’s complicated. Magic...it’s always there. It’s part of our bodies, our DNA; it flows through us like blood. Some people compare it to having an extra organ, but that’s not how I see it.”

He shifts on the couch once more, gesturing along his diaphragm. “They say most of it is concentrated over here, somewhere along your heart, and that it spreads through your entire body,” Iwaizumi explains. “It manifests differently in everyone, depending on their training and natural abilities. There are  people with elemental magic, like Matsukawa, there are people with summoning magic, and there are people with energetic manipulation, like me and Hanamaki. Just to name a few,” he adds. “While me and Hanamaki both possess energetic manipulation, we were trained differently. He’s able to use his energy to heal others and shape it into weapons. I’m able to channel mine into my weapons.”

“Interesting…” Oikawa says, a thoughtful hum following his words. “Do you think you could shape your energy into weapons, like Hanamaki?”

“Nah,” Iwaizumi says with a laugh. “That takes a lot of concentration and control. He’s always been better at that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa counters. “You’re able to create energy bullets, aren’t you?”

A valid counter argument, Iwaizumi supposes. He pushes himself to his feet, walking towards the back of the ground floor until he reaches the area that serves as their makeshift control room. As per usual, the computers are turned on and Iwaizumi briefly allows his gaze to wander across the three screens before him, wondering if any demon signatures will appear once more. He hopes that the previous day was merely a fluke , but something tells him it wasn’t. Nevertheless, he pulls his eyes away from the screens and reaches for the weapons he’d left on the desk the previous night.

When he returns to the living room area, Oikawa looks up from the books—a brow arched quizzically as he glances from Iwaizumi’s face to the guns in his hands. Iwaizumi lowers himself onto the couch once more, placing one of the handguns on the coffee table while the other one is held up in front of Oikawa. “Unlike Hanamaki, my energy is a bit difficult to control,” he begins, “which is why I use these.”

The handguns are significantly larger than the average sized semi-automatic pistol, with the barrel being both longer and broader—almost as long as his own forearm. The average person would most likely fumble with the weapons, due to their size and weight, but Iwaizumi’s strength allows him to wield them with little effort. As he curls his hands around the gun’s grip, holding it as though he were to aim at a target, he angles his hand slightly; allowing Oikawa to get a proper view of how the weapon lies in his palm.

“Why is your energy difficult to control?” Oikawa wonders.

Given Oikawa’s curiosity, he could’ve expected that question. And as much as he kind of, sort of, enjoys sitting here and explaining the history of the hunters to Oikawa, he’s not quite ready for that part yet.

“Long story,” Iwaizumi answers. “I’ll explain it some other time.”

Oikawa momentarily narrows his gaze, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re a man of many mysteries, Iwa-chan.”

He could say the same about Oikawa. An enigma, a mystery, a riddle Iwaizumi just can’t seem to solve no matter how hard he tries.

Iwaizumi chuckles, “Anyway, the energy flows from my palm into the grip of the gun and then travels along the barrel before coming out as a bullet.”

He watches as Oikawa observes the weapon, nodding slowly at the explanation before looking back at Iwaizumi. “Could you show me? Without shooting anything, of course.”

Of course he wants a demonstration.

Oikawa’s appetite for knowledge seems to be limitless; absorbing information with curious eyes and a smile that has grown larger with each little fact Iwaizumi provided. Oikawa is a scholar, constantly seeking knowledge and Iwaizumi might as well be a living case study. It might seem strange to share all of this information with an outsider, but something about Oikawa seems familiar.

He can’t quite put his finger on it.

After a moment of hesitation, Oikawa’s request is met with a nod as Iwaizumi places the gun onto the coffee table. He raises his hand, fingers curled together slightly—as if he were to hold something in his palm. A long  exhale follows and he can feel the energy slowly moving through his veins as it flows towards the surface, pushing through layers of skin. Wisps of white energy begin to curl around his fingers, much like smoke, and across from him, Oikawa’s eyes widen at the sight of it. Iwaizumi focuses on sending more energy towards his palms and allowing the wisps to grow larger. The energy continues to slip through his fingers before disappearing into the air.

Oikawa carefully inches closer, his own hand raised hesitantly as he observes Iwaizumi’s palm. “Can I?” he asks, the volume of his voice barely above a whisper.

Iwaizumi nods in return, slowly extending his hand.

Oikawa’s hand hovers in front of his own, fingers tentatively touching the strands of energy. They curl around his fingers, and Iwaizumi reckons it must feel strange. It shouldn’t hurt, though; not in this form and a quiet gasp spills from Oikawa’s lips, only to be followed by an equally quiet chuckle. The smile on his face grows larger as carefully threads his fingers through the energy—observing it with a kind of childlike wonder. Iwaizumi briefly wonders what he might be thinking about at this very moment.

“Amazing,” Oikawa breathes.

It’s silly, Iwaizumi thinks, how something that is so normal to him, so ordinary, seems interesting to someone else. He sees it in Oikawa’s eyes: the fascination, the astonishment, the way he observes the wisps of white energy. As if he’s unable to comprehend the sight before him.

He can’t help but smile.

As the energy continues to dance around their fingers, Oikawa’s fingertips brush along the back of Iwaizumi’s hand. A fleeting touch—lasting only a second. But, that single second is enough for his focus to shatter, causing both of them to quickly retract their hands with hushed apologies. “Sorry,” Oikawa says quickly, but Iwaizumi merely shakes his head in response. 

“It’s fine.”

The energy disappears, no longer pouring out of his fingertips, but continuing to flow through his body instead. Across from him, Oikawa shifts on the couch ever so slightly—looking between Iwaizumi and the items on the coffee table before them. “Thank you—again,” he begins, “for showing me. And telling me about all of this.”

His gaze momentarily lingers on the book, fingertips ghosting across one of the pages. “I still can’t believe that it’s all real, you know? I mean—I’ve researched this stuff, I’ve taught this stuff, but...to have actual proof of the existence of demons and demon hunters. It’s…”

There’s a pause, as if he’s searching for the correct words. His brows momentarily knit together before another smile stretches across his lips, “Extraordinary.”

It’s the most genuine smile Iwaizumi has seen thus far.

Oikawa remains somewhat of a mystery to him. A man who has accidentally, or purposely, stumbled into a world that is not his own; crash landed into Iwaizumi’s little universe where monsters are not a thing of fiction, where magic is not make-believe, but reality.

In the past twenty-four hours, Iwaizumi has seen multiple sides of him. Yet, there’s so much he does not know about Oikawa Tooru. He’s taken a risk bringing him into his home—figuratively—and he wonders if past experiences make him a little bit more lenient. Is it because he knows what it’s like to have people doubt him? To have people who don’t quite believe in you.

Rather than ponder this and trigger some sort of spiral of self-doubt, Iwaizumi observes that genuine smile once more. “Yeah,” he mumbles with a smile of his own. “It is.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

In the hours that follow, Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a crash course on various demons and spirits. It becomes quite obvious that Oikawa is well-versed when it comes to all things supernatural and Iwaizumi is reminded multiple times that Oikawa does a decent amount of research during his free time. Oikawa tells him about said research, informs him of the classes he prepares, the papers he reads, and the midterms he often grades at two in the morning.

“Sounds awful,” Iwaizumi snorts as he walks from the kitchen towards the living room with two cans of soda. “How’d you do it?”

Oikawa quietly thanks him when Iwaizumi hands him one of the cans, pulling one of his legs onto the couch with a hum before pressing his lips against the rim. “I dunno,” he answers. “I just like it. I promised myself that if I was going to switch careers, I’d pick something I actually enjoyed.”

“What was the initial career option?” Iwaizumi wonders.

“A position in my family’s company.”

“Ah, right, the family business,” Iwaizumi says with a nod.

“You have no idea what we do, do you?”

“I had no idea you existed until yesterday.”

Oikawa laughs, “Fair.”

“Feel free to tell me,” Iwaizumi says. “If you want to.”

“Ah, it’s…” Oikawa begins, leaning back against the cushions, “very boring.”

Iwaizumi merely raises a brow in response—a sign for Oikawa to keep talking—and the other luckily catches on. He watches as Oikawa momentarily worries at his lower lip with his teeth before releasing a short chuckle. There’s a deep inhale before he begins to speak.  

“My family owns a bunch of companies. They’re in investment, I suppose you could say. I won’t bore you with the specifics, but my uncle is the CEO of the company and my parents are in charge of our oversea branches. They are currently in China. As for my sister, she runs things in Osaka. Pretty much all of us are expected to pull our weight, it’s a family business after all,” Oikawa begins. “My uncle’s kids, my cousins, have been prepped and primed for this their entire lives; trained to take over his position as CEO and CFO respectively at some point,” he adds. “As for me, I was supposed to do the same thing as my sister and parents. Get a business degree, get some bullshit position in the company, and spend the rest of my life withering away in a fancy office with a view of the city.” 

A quiet laugh follows his words and despite the airy tone with which he delivers the sentence, Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the subtle hint of melancholy that has wrapped around his words. 

“Woe is me, poor Tooru has his whole life planned out for him. What else could he wish for, right?” he says. “So I did it. I got the degree, did my internships, and I was ready to be the dutiful son they raised me to be, but,” he pauses, raising his head to glance upwards; eyes momentarily focused on the ceiling. “I was miserable. Absolutely miserable. And I knew that if I kept going, I would be miserable for the rest of my life. I’ve never been that close to my family, save for my grandmother and my sister—and her son. So, to spend even more time with them, both in my private life and work life, just became unbearable.”

Oikawa inhales deeply, “So, I did what I needed to do. I quit. I decided to go back to school, get another degree, and do something for myself. Something I loved.”

“And something was history?” Iwaizumi asks.

The smile on Oikawa’s lips returns—gentle and genuine. He doesn’t look at Iwaizumi, his eyes landing on the books on the table before them instead. “Yes,” he answers. “I’ve always been fascinated with history. Especially with mythology and folklore. I don’t know, I just always thought there was more out there. A hidden world with all of its secrets.”

Iwaizumi smiles. “And now you’ve found it.”

Oikawa’s gaze finds his own; brown eyes filled with kindness, with intrigue. “I have.”

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, though.”

“That’s not your fault, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa points out. “You and your friends are kind enough to take me in and help me.”

There’s a reply on Iwaizumi’s lips, but his words are interrupted by a sudden noise. The familiar sound of an alarm cuts through the air, pulling his attention away from the man next to him. He’s on his feet before he knows it, hastily moving towards the other side of the room with his fingers tightly curled around the grip of his gun.

Oikawa follows suit and the two of them stand behind the desk, observing the three computer screens as the alarm continues to blare. Similar to the previous day, numerous red dots move across the map on the screens, indicating that there is a group of demons active in Tokyo. When Iwaizumi zooms in, he realizes that the four demon signatures are in Shibuya—oddly close to the Meiji Shrine. He frowns.

He’s quick to contact Hanamaki, who mentions that he and Matsukawa will take care of the demons as quickly as possible. “There are four category fours, again,” Iwaizumi mentions, his phone placed on the desk as his eyes travel along the screens. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Just sit tight,” Hanamaki tells him. “Let us handle this. We’ll call the twins for back-up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Besides, after yesterday, we need someone to stay with Oikawa.”

“If you need me to do anything, just—”

“Hajime,” Hanamaki interrupts, “relax. We’ve got this. You man the fort. We’ll be back soon.”

The call ends after that, yet Iwaizumi’s eyes remain glued to the screen as he desperately tries to figure out why there seem to be more demons appearing in the middle of the day. Next to him, Oikawa sucks in a breath and Iwaizumi briefly glances back at him. He doesn’t miss the twinge of fear in his eyes, the rigidness of his shoulders; the way his fingers are tightly curled around the edge of the desk.

He doesn’t even seem to notice Ren’s presence until the dog appears between them, nudging her nose against Oikawa’s knee and bumping into Iwaizumi’s leg in the process. It seems to ease some of the tension that had been building up inside of Oikawa and he releases a breathless chuckle before running a hand over Ren’s head. “Are they coming here?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Doesn’t look like it,” he says, “Matsukawa put up the wards, something to protect the house, so we should be fine. He and Hanamaki are heading to Shibuya right now.”

As if on cue, two blue dots appear on the screen—signaling that Hanamaki and Matsukawa have activated the trackers in their watches. Iwaizumi briefly glances at their vitals on the left screen before looking back at the map. “They’re right here,” he tells Oikawa, gently tapping the screen.

“And they’re with two other people? I heard something about ‘twins’?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Matsukawa’s siblings. He has a younger brother and sister. They sometimes run back-up for us.”

“Are they much younger?” Oikawa wonders.

“Not that much,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug. “They’re twenty-three; so only four years younger than us. They’re pretty damn good.”

“But, you still worry.”

Denial would be futile. Of course, he worries. With all that has occurred in the past twenty-four hours, Iwaizumi would be right to worry about what is to come. And, apparently, it must be obvious if Oikawa is able to see past the façade he’d so carefully crafted. Though, part of him is inclined to think that Oikawa might be a lot more perceptive than he lets on. 

In the limited time that they’ve known one another, Iwaizumi had been able to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the expensive clothes and, initially, charming smiles.

He sighs, scrubs a hand across the lower half of his face, and nods, “Yeah.”

“But…this isn’t the first time they’ve gone on a mission without you, right?” Oikawa asks.

“Of course not.”

And now, he smiles. The corners of his mouth lift upwards ever so slightly as he gestures at the screens in front of them. “Then,” Oikawa begins, “all you can do is trust them. You said it yourself, Iwa-chan, they have back-up.”

He’s right. Iwaizumi knows he’s right. Because for all his worrying, there’s nobody he trusts more than Matsukawa and Hanamaki. It’s always been the three of them, for as long he could remember. They grew up together, trained together, went on their first mission together; they know him in a way others do not, and they have never lost faith in him.

An involuntary chuckle spills from his lips. “I’m supposed to be the one calming you,” he says. “Not sure how this has happened. I’m surprised you’re not more freaked out.”

Oikawa’s gaze drops towards Ren—who leans into his touch when he scratches underneath her chin, “The dog helps.”

“You’re not scared of her?” Iwaizumi wonders, mildly surprised.

“You mean after seeing what she can do?” Oikawa counters,  “No. Surprisingly not. She protected me.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good at that.”

As if on cue, Ren huffs—as if to say ‘damn right I am’—and Iwaizumi snorts. Oikawa notices it as well, rewarding her with a few extra scratches. “She sure is. Besides, she wasn’t wary of me when I came here,” he points out. “So I don’t see why I should be wary of her.”

Iwaizumi supposes that he makes a good point. Had Oikawa been an actual threat, Ren would have been able to notice it immediately. Granted, all three of them would—but given that she’s a supernatural creature herself, her instincts tend to be slightly better when it comes to sniffing out other demons.

As Ren continues to revel in the additional attention she’s been receiving ever since Oikawa’s arrival, Iwaizumi steps away from the desk to retrieve two chairs. He gestures for Oikawa to sit down before lowering himself on one of the desk chairs. “You make a good point.”

He’s rewarded with a quiet ‘thanks’ from Oikawa, who follows his lead and sits down on the chair. “How did you find her?”

Iwaizumi adjusts his seat, briefly glancing between Oikawa and the screens in front of them to see whether or not the demons had remained at their initial location. The four demon signatures continue to idly move around in the forest near the shrine and he supposes that’s good for now. “She found me,” he answers, “I got lost in the woods during a family trip as a kid, and she followed me.”

His gaze momentarily drops to Ren, who chooses that moment to yawn before lying down, and he huffs a laugh. “It’s strange, because okuri ōkami usually don’t go home with people. They follow travelers and they’re known to attack them if the travelers stumble or fall, but most people don’t really register their presence.”

“But you did?”

“Yeah I sensed… something and when I turned around, there she was. And I remember being scared for a second, but after that, I just felt calm for some reason. It never seemed like she wanted to harm me, and then when I saw her transform into a husky, I asked her to walk with me until I found my family,” he explains. “The rest is history.”

“Quite the story,” Oikawa muses, “not many people pick up a stray wolf spirit at the age of seven.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Not many people become demon hunters, either. It seemed fitting somehow.”

Oikawa looks as though he’s about to say something else when a notification flashes across the computer screen. Iwaizumi watches, brows knitted together, as three more demon signatures appear on the map. He swears underneath his breath before quickly contacting both Matsukawa and Hanamaki through the comm link. 

“Guys, more signatures showed up. Three category threes,” he tells them, zooming out to see a bigger portion of the map. “All of them are in the forest around the shrine.”

“Any reason why they seem to be congregating around the shrine?” Oikawa asks, inching closer towards the screen. Iwaizumi is about to respond, when Hanamaki’s voice echoes through the speakers, “Demons sometimes like places with a lot of spiritual energy. Shrines, churches, temples, graveyards—stuff like that. So, this isn’t out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that it’s happening during the day.”

At this tidbit of information, Oikawa turns towards Iwaizumi once more. “You said that the veil between the two worlds disappears at night, and that sunlight acts as a shield of some sort. Has this happened before? Have demons appeared during the daytime before?”

Matsukawa sounds amused when he suddenly joins the conversation, “Oh? Been giving him a crash course, have you?” he asks, tone bordering on smug. 

(A little too smug for Iwaizumi’s liking).

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi returns. “Focus on not getting killed, will you?”

“Aye, captain. Three category threes, you said? That’s seven in total,” Matsukawa points out. A quiet sigh follows, though he sounds far from exhausted when he speaks again. If anything, Iwaizumi thinks his friend sounds somewhat intrigued—perhaps even excited. “Shit, this might even get a little interesting.”

“The twins there yet?” he wonders. If Matsukawa and Hanamaki are facing at least seven demons, they’re going to need all the help they can get. The thought alone makes his fingers involuntarily twitch. They inch closer towards the gun on the desk—as if he’s mere seconds away from jumping to his feet and joining them on the battlefield.

His question is answered when a loud, female voice booms through the speakers. At the same time, two more blue dots appear on the screens, indicating that Matsukawa’s siblings had activated their trackers.

“Is that Iwaizumi? Oi, oi, oi, Iwaizumi, you still owe me a battle!” Matsukawa’s younger sister—Jun—shouts. Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the way Oikawa physically recoils at the volume of her voice and he can’t help but chuckle at the sight of it. Jun’s always had that effect on people, he supposes. A spitfire in every sense of the word; a girl with a personality that’s larger than life and a voice to match. “Where are ya, anyway? Still at the loft?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi answers. “Taking care of some stuff back here. We’ll have a rematch next time, just make sure you and everyone else come back in one piece, okay?”

“Please. We’ll wrap this up before dinner time.”

While Matsukawa Issei has always been hailed as the golden child of his family, all tranquility and rationality, his younger sister Jun is quite the opposite: all energy and as unpredictable as they come. Her twin brother, Shin, is much more reserved—satisfied with lingering in the background while his sister commands most of the attention. The twins complement each other—both on and off the battlefield—synchronized in a way that is a little bit eerie sometimes. It makes them a formidable team and daunting opponents. 

While Shin is more suited to long-range battles, Jun specializes in close and mid-range combat. Similarly to Iwaizumi, she’s a dual wielder; utilizing a pair of katanas that suit her flashy yet aggressive fighting style perfectly. She’s able to channel her energy into the weapons, covering the blades with orange flames that burn demons upon contact. 

It’s quite the sight to behold.

Shin, however, has always been proficient with exorcism and sealing magic. While his offensive skills are no joke, it became quite clear that the spiritual and mystical aspects of demon hunting were much more his forte. Iwaizumi has seen him bind and seal demons that were supposed to be way above his skill level. It remains impressive each time.

He has no doubt that Matsukawa and Hanamaki, along with the help of the twins, are able to pull this off.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he tells Jun, tracking their movements across the screen. 

“You’re on!” 

He’s able to pick up a quiet conversation between Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who seem to be discussing strategies among themselves, when Oikawa shifts next to him. Iwaizumi briefly pulls his gaze away from the computer to find Oikawa offering him somewhat of a knowing smile. “Almost sounds like she’s got a little crush on you,” he muses.

The smile disappears mere seconds after that, replaced by a look of mild panic. “Wait, they can’t hear us—can they?”

A laugh finds its way out of Iwaizumi’s throat and he shakes his head—both at Oikawa’s assumption and the panic that seemed to wash over him at the possibility of being caught gossiping. “No, they can’t,” he assures him. “I muted the microphone. Besides, you’re extremely wrong. She’s kind of like a little sister to me and I’m definitely not her type to begin with.”

“What is her type then?” 

“Women.”

Oikawa’s lips part around a quiet ‘oh’ only to be hidden behind his palm when he stifles a laugh. “Sorry—my bad for making assumptions, I suppose. I’ll shut up now.”

Iwaizumi releases a quiet chuckle, turning back towards the computer screen and leaning forward ever so slightly. “Guys, any news on the demons? The computer said that they’re category fours and threes. Can you tell me what they look like?”

His question is met with a pained grunt from, he assumes, Hanamaki. “Yeah, they’re definitely category fours.”

“You okay?”

“Peachy,” Hanamaki comments. “They look like regular ogres. You know… gigantic, scary, annoyingly strong.”

“Red or blue?” 

“Only reds so far.”

A particularly loud roar can be heard right after Hanamaki’s words and he mumbles a quick ‘gimme a sec’ before returning to the task at hand. Iwaizumi’s gaze darts between the various screens and he listens intently as his teammates converse amongst themselves; noises of their battle with the demons echoing through the speakers of the computer. It’s frustrating, he thinks. Being able to hear everything while not being able to actually do anything. 

And while this isn’t the first time he’d chosen to stay behind to man the computer, Iwaizumi feels anxious. With all that has occurred the past few hours, he’s eager to go outside—to be on the battlefield—and uncover the mysteries surrounding Oikawa’s peculiar situation. 

He’s not sure how long the battle continues, but at some point, he hears Matsukawa’s voice—telling them that the demons have been taken care of. 

“We should be home in thirty minutes,” he informs Iwaizumi. “Everything still okay over there? Any new signatures popping up?” 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Iwaizumi replies. “Can’t see anything on the map. So far so good. We’ll see you in a bit.” 

Once Matsukawa’s voice disappears, Iwaizumi releases a long breath. He leans back in his seat, feeling both relieved yet anxious. Ogre sightings are very common. They often appear at night, in groups or by themselves; varying in colors, shapes and sizes. He can’t even begin to count the number of ogres he’s encountered in all his years as a hunter. The creatures are not to be underestimated and Iwaizumi remembers a particular encounter that nearly cost him his life. However, with all the knowledge he gathered about ogres throughout the years, Iwaizumi still can’t figure out why they would appear in the middle of the day. 

The confusion he experiences is mirrored on Oikawa’s features as the other man looks at him. “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” Iwaizumi sighs. “We wait until they come home. And then we figure out the next step.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Sure enough, Matsukawa and Hanamaki arrive at the loft—noticeably without the twins—sporting fresh bruises and the occasional cut or scrape. (“Nothing that warranted immediate healing,” Hanamaki comments). 

They all gather in the living room and Matsukawa’s gaze briefly drops to the books atop the coffee table as he lowers himself onto the couch. “Ah, so you did give him a crash course,” he comments before glancing at Oikawa. “And? What did you discover?”

“That Iwaizumi is apparently strong enough to lift a car,” Oikawa points out. “And that you can use elemental magic. And that Makki can use his energy to make weapons and heal others. And that your families each have a deity or guardian that blessed them. Which makes me wonder…which one blessed yours?”

“Damn, giving away all of our secrets, huh?” Matsukawa says with a hum. “Suzaku. Hiro’s family got Genbu.” 

Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa purses his lips in thought—gaze darting between Matsukawa and Hanamaki respectively before settling on Matsukawa once more. “Fire magic?” he guesses.

At that, Matsukawa lazily raises his hand; index finger pointing upwards before a small flame appears above it. “Fire magic.”

“Impressive,” Oikawa says. “Must be a neat party trick.”

“You have no idea.” 

Oikawa turns towards Iwaizumi then, curiosity flashing through his eyes as he speaks again. “Do you actually worship them—the guardians? Intricate rituals and all that stuff?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head at the question. “No intricate rituals. People sometimes give the guardians, or gods, offerings, or visit shrines, depending on how traditional the family is. Or they meditate. Basic stuff. Things non-hunters do as well, I suppose.” 

“We get some cool tattoos to honor them and that’s it, basically,” Hanamaki adds. And Iwaizumi kind of wishes he hadn’t said that because he can pinpoint the exact moment Oikawa’s curiosity turns into intrigue and fascination. His brows rise upwards, and even before he says the words Iwaizumi already knows what he’s about to ask.

“Can I see them?”

Hanamaki grins. 

Iwaizumi sighs.

“What?” Oikawa asks. “You can’t just say that and not show me. Are they embarrassing?”

Laughter slips between Hanamaki’s lips as he folds his right leg across his left thigh. “Iwaizumi’s annoyed because he’ll have to get naked. I, however, will happily show you mine.” 

Hanamaki’s fingers curl around the bottom of the black cargo pants he’s wearing—tugging the fabric upward to reveal a small tattoo of a cartoon turtle on the inside of his ankle. “Since Genbu’s depicted as a tortoise,” he explains, “figured this was a great idea.” 

Oikawa leans forward, gaze narrowed ever so slightly before he releases a chuckle. “That’s how you honor your family’s guardian? A tattoo of a cartoon turtle? What about the snake? Isn’t Genbu represented by both the tortoise and snake?”

“Clever guy. Can’t get anything past you.” Hanamaki smirks. “He does. Or she. I got this one as a joke mostly. When Issei over here got his tattoo, a proper masterpiece, me and Iwaizumi couldn’t stay behind. So, I got a second one.” 

He turns around, his back facing both Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and Matsukawa wordlessly leans in to pull at the neckline of Hanamaki’s shirt. Black ink decorates the back of his neck in the form of a small snake. The tattoo starts at his nape and ends just above his shoulder blades. It’s relatively small— laughably small compared to Matsukawa’s—but nice all the same. “There you go. Got it done a couple of years ago.”

“It looks nice,” Oikawa says, “what about Mattsun’s so-called masterpiece?”

Matsukawa responds by getting to his feet and turning his back toward Iwaizumi and Oikawa as well. His fingers curl around the back of his shirt, which he easily pulls over his head—revealing a tattoo that could only be described as a masterpiece. Anyone who lays their eyes on Matsukawa’s back would be able to see that every part of it is covered in red, orange, and yellow ink. Every inch of his skin has been used as a canvas, allowing the artist to create a piece that is so imposing it often leaves one speechless. Iwaizumi has seen the tattoo many times, yet he remains impressed each time he sees the large portrait of Suzaku etched into his friend’s skin. Flames dance around the bird, accentuating its majestic stature and hinting at Matsukawa’s abilities as a demon hunter. 

He remembers when Matsukawa suggested the idea and he remembers choking on his food upon realizing how much money he’d end up spending on the tattoo. (It’s money well-spent, he claims). 

It took repeated trips to the tattoo parlor, six or seven sessions if he remembers correctly, but the result had been—and still is—phenomenal. 

When he glances at Oikawa, he sees that the man is rendered speechless; much like Iwaizumi expected him to be. His lips are slightly parted, his eyes comically wide, and Iwaizumi can’t help but smile at the sight of it.

Matsukawa pulls his shirt down before turning around and ungracefully dropping onto the couch once more. “So, that’s mine,” he says dryly, jerking his chin towards Iwaizumi. “You’re up.”

Oikawa’s head turns towards Iwaizumi, eyes less wide than before, but still shining with astonishment and surprise. “Now I really have to see yours, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi shifts in his seat, unsure why he feels somewhat uncomfortable and mildly embarrassed all of a sudden. He clears his throat, turning his back towards Oikawa and gently tugging at the back of his shirt until he’s able to pull it over his head. 

While Matsukawa’s back piece is colossal, for the lack of a better word, Iwaizumi’s tattoo is much smaller. Technically the piece is still quite large, but it pales in comparison to Matsukawa’s, he supposes. Nevertheless, he’s quite satisfied with the artwork. The image of Byakko decorates his right shoulder blade; the tiger appears to walk towards Iwaizumi’s back, while its tail touches the highest part of Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He remembers choosing the design at the ripe age of twenty and thinking that it was the coolest thing he’d ever done.

It hurt a little, nothing too bad, but the end result was to his liking. The artist had been kind, engaging in quiet small talk throughout the session. Obviously, Iwaizumi couldn’t really tell her about the true reason behind the tattoo, but he’d manage to come up with a half-convincing story regardless. About honoring ancestors and upholding family traditions. Not quite a lie, he supposes.

Oikawa remains quiet and Iwaizumi suddenly feels very silly, simply sitting there with his bare back, littered with scars, towards a man he barely knows. He quickly pulls his shirt down, coughs, and turns back towards Oikawa—who blinks a few times before offering him a smile. “Pretty cool, Iwa-chan. It looks… really good. Did it hurt?”

“Not much,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug. “It’s the only one I have, though.”

The tattoos he, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa had gotten, represent their families, the guardians, and the bond they share. Each member of their families has a tattoo of their own; images of Byakko, Suzaku, and Genbu are inked into their skin—immortalizing the guardians onto their bodies. Iwaizumi wouldn’t call it a sacred ritual per se, but getting the tattoo felt like a rite of passage. 

Sometimes he can’t quite believe that he’s been doing this job for over ten years now. While he’s been trained ever since his own abilities manifested at the age of eleven, Iwaizumi has to admit that he—sometimes—still feels out of his depth.

This particular situation is one of them. 

He leans forward, arms resting along the tops of his thighs as his hands fold together. “But, more importantly, have you guys discovered anything at the shrine? About the demons?” 

Matsukawa shakes his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a group of  ogres strolling around. Didn’t look like they were looking for someone, but it’s still weird that they were there to begin with. Not to mention that they were strong. Like, really strong.”

“Just like the other two yesterday,” Hanamaki adds.

“And the one at my grandmother’s house…” Oikawa continues. “What do we do? I can’t hide here forever.”

“Hope you got enough sick days,” Hanamaki jokes. “But, in all seriousness, should we bring someone else into this? Call for back-up or something?” 

Iwaizumi pulls his lower lip briefly between his teeth before ultimately giving a quick shake of his head. “No, definitely not. You know how the higher-ups feel about outsiders. We keep this between us for now. We’re already taking a risk by having him here.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, wondering what the logical next step would be, when Matsukawa gets to his feet. He walks towards the bookcase; eyes scanning the shelves and his fingertip ghosting along the spines of the books until he reaches for one of the larger ones they own. “If we’re not gonna ask anybody else for help, I think we’re gonna have to go to the source,” he says, walking back towards the couch.

A black book with golden detailing lands onto the coffee table with a heavy thud—specks of dust flying upward upon impact and Hanamaki coughs twice. Iwaizumi’s eyes briefly widen upon noticing the title of the book and he glances up at Matsukawa, who offers him a smirk.

“We’re going to summon a demon.”

Chapter Text

After the day he’s had, there’s not much that can surprise Oikawa anymore. Well, that is until Matsukawa decides that it would be wise to summon a demon.

The very creatures that are after Oikawa.

He watches as Matsukawa thumbs through a large book, who releases a thoughtful hum whilst observing the pages, and Oikawa swallows past the dryness in his throat; his voice breaking as he lets out a very quiet ‘what?’

He looks at Iwaizumi. Surely he must disagree with his friend’s plans? 

Rather than an immediate objection, Iwaizumi seems to contemplate Matsukawa’s impromptu plan. He regards his friend with narrowed eyes; fingers curled around his chin as though he seems to be weighing out his options. (Oikawa doesn’t want to know what those options entail).

He must sense Oikawa’s discomfort, because he lowers his hand onto the coffee table and asks Matsukawa, “You sure?”

“I think there are a few other steps we can take before…doing this,” Oikawa suggests, hating how nervous he sounds. 

At that, Hanamaki pushes himself off the couch and walks towards the desk at the back of the ground floor. “You’re right,” he agrees, and Oikawa experiences a glimmer of hope, and relief. 

It lasts all but two seconds.

Hanamaki returns to the living room area with a marker and a piece of paper. Once he sits down on the couch, he looks at Oikawa and uncaps the marker. 

“We need a proper timeline,” he explains, “see if there’s anything we’re missing.”

He frowns at Hanamaki. “But I’ve already told you everything.”

Hanamaki looks between Oikawa and Iwaizumi before tapping the paper with the end of the marker, and says, “Tell me again, then. In great detail.”

Iwaizumi seems to agree with this and even Oikawa has to admit that there’s nothing wrong with writing down what little information they have. Perhaps seeing the words on paper will allow for a different perspective; revealing something they might have overlooked.

“Well, Iwa-chan arrived at my grandmother’s home yesterday morning and—” 

He’s abruptly cut off by a disapproving noise from Hanamaki, and Oikawa has half a mind to feel insulted for a moment. “Start at the beginning,” Hanamaki tells him. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Oikawa sighs as he adjusts himself in his seat, “Fine. I suppose you could say it started Friday night. I arrived at my grandmother’s house around nine p.m., talked to my relatives for ten minutes before I wanted to gauge my eyes out with a fork—”

“Family will do that to you,” Matsukawa mumbles distractedly.

Hanamaki snorts.

Even the corners of Oikawa’s mouth curl up slightly.  “I went to bed after that. Woke up the next morning, saw that everyone had left, and decided to spend the rest of the weekend at the house. I had some work to do anyway, so I spent the majority of the day in the living room. Nothing out of the ordinary happened all day,” he continues.

Hanamaki hums.  “And you were all by yourself—all day?” he asks, glancing between Oikawa and the piece of paper in front of him. The black marker glides across the sheet in a straight line as he draws a timeline; scribbling down the dates and a few short words. 

Oikawa offers a short nod in response. It’s not uncommon for his relatives to high-tail out of the estate after their mandatory family dinners—given that none of them feel the urge to stick around for longer than necessary. 

He understands the sentiment all too well. 

“Yeah, everyone left Saturday morning while I was still asleep,” Oikawa explains. “I stayed, worked on some things, and then went to bed. And that’s when I felt the earthquake. Or what I assumed was an earthquake. The entire house was shaking as I walked up the stairs.”

“What time was this?” 

“Around eleven? Maybe midnight?”

At this, Hanamaki purses his lips. The word ‘earthquake?’ is written down on the sheet and he momentarily glances towards Matsukawa, who still seems to be deeply engrossed by those mysterious texts. The prospect of summoning a demon, an actual demon, sends a chill down Oikawa’s spine. It causes unease to settle deep within his chest, yet fills him with a strange sense of curiosity. 

It’s that same curiosity that swept through him as Iwaizumi explained the history of the demon hunters. Oikawa was left staring in wonder as they poured over the large books atop the coffee table; absorbing every bit of information and desperately seeking more. He felt like a student—rather than a teacher. 

He kept reading, analyzing the texts and observing the beautiful images printed across hundreds of pages. The words were familiar, yet the stories were not. It’s not as though the studies and research he’d done had been wrong, but rather incomplete.

(An unfinished puzzle. Will he find all the pieces?)

Hanamaki’s voice cuts through the air as he momentarily redirects his attention towards Iwaizumi, “You notice anything ‘round that time?” 

The question is met with a shake of Iwaizumi’s head. His hands are folded in front of him, a single brow raised. “Pretty sure I was on a walk with Ren. I definitely would’ve noticed something,” he tells them. His gaze drifts towards Oikawa momentarily, “You said you noticed two earthquakes, right?”

Oikawa nods. “The first one was very short, then about three minutes later there was another one. That one lasted about thirty seconds. Not very long either, but it definitely felt like it,” he explains. “Things started falling off shelves and tables. And I just felt this… feeling of dread settle in my bones. I can’t explain it. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”

A shaky exhale follows his words and Oikawa licks his lips, “It was heavy, and stifling. And constricting, and…”

“Demonic,” Iwaizumi finishes.

Oikawa nods.

“Definitely demon energy,” Hanamaki deduces. “You might not have been able to see anything, but that sounds like a demon, yeah. And then?” 

Oikawa rubs a hand along the lower half of his face, index and middle fingers curled over his mouth and thumb idly rubbing at his chin. He recalls spending the majority of the night frantically searching for any type of information regarding poltergeists and various spirits; a desperate attempt to make sense of a situation that was beyond his comprehension. 

Even years of research dedicated to paranormal entities and mythological creatures did not prepare him for that particular night. 

“Woke up late on Sunday, somewhere in the afternoon. And it was like nothing had happened. That feeling was gone, some books were still on the floor, but the broken vase in the hallway had been cleaned up. I headed downstairs and ran into my grandmother,” he answers. “She hadn’t been at the dinner and I suppose someone told her that I stayed at the house, so she came to check on me. I already told you all of this, but, that’s when I asked her about her own experience with spirits and she told me that my great-grandmother always thought the house was haunted. Apparently she often heard voices at night, but no one took her seriously,” he adds with a laugh, one that feels more hollow than anything else. “The irony.”

Oikawa sniffs. “Either way, she told me about Iwa-chan’s family. She said we’d done business with them before, but never really mentioned what kind of business. Only that his family ‘dealt’ with evil spirits. It was the only lead I had, so I opened google and searched for anyone named ‘Iwaizumi’ and by some miracle immediately came across his contact information. So, I sent him an email.”

“And called me twice. And texted me multiple times,” Iwaizumi adds dryly.

“Don’t say it like that—I was in need of help.” 

The brief upturning of the corners of Iwaizumi’s mouth doesn’t go unnoticed and Oikawa shoots Iwaizumi a glare, feeling something akin to betrayal. Iwaizumi merely cocks a brow in return, to which Oikawa sighs. “Anyways, the rest of the day was uneventful. Nothing happened during the day, nor at night, which was odd but good I suppose. And the next day Iwa-chan arrived at the house around ten—eleven a.m.? I gave him a quick tour, which lasted about thirty minutes. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary, so we went back downstairs and suddenly a demon appeared in the living room.”

Hanamaki’s humming is quiet as he continues to write down the information offers him. “Demon… attack… in the living room… on monday,” he mumbles. “And your grandma wasn’t around, right? At the time of the attack.”

Oikawa shakes his head. “She’d already left Sunday afternoon to her apartment in the city. Told me to lock up when I left, that’s it.”

“Huh,” Hanamaki remarks before quickly writing something down. 

When Oikawa’s gaze lands on the paper once more, he reads the words ‘grandmother involved?’ in, admittedly, neat handwriting. He frowns, “Wait—you’re not really suspecting my grandmother, are you?!”

Hanamaki twirls the marker between his index finger and middle finger before offering him a shrug. “We can’t rule out anything. She wasn’t at the dinner, she wasn’t around at the time of the supposed earthquakes, she wasn’t around during the demon attack. She knows about us—well, Iwaizumi’s family.” 

“She’s an elderly woman.”

“You’d be surprised how many elderly women are actually criminal masterminds.”

“W-well,” Oikawa sputters, “maybe the ones you encounter, but not my grandmother!”

While Hanamaki apparently has no problem placing Oikawa’s grandmother at the top of his suspect list, the mere thought of his grandmother being involved in something like this might very well send Oikawa into cardiac arrest. After all, what are the odds of a sweet, old lady being involved in arcane rituals?

He can barely wrap his head around today’s and yesterday’s events, let alone process the idea of his very own grandmother tampering with things such as black magic and demons. 

(Perhaps the entire thing is an elaborate prank after all; a scheme concocted by his family to punish him for abandoning his so-called “family duties”). 

“Moving on,” Hanamaki announces. “After the attack Iwaizumi brought you here.” 

Oikawa nods, thoughts regarding his grandmother momentarily forgotten. “I didn’t know what to do. I was still in shock after being almost killed by that weird creature and Iwaizumi assured me that he could help me.”

Hanamaki hums at that, eyes flitting towards Iwaizumi for a short moment. “What a hero,” he teases.

“Keep writing,” Iwaizumi shoots back.

Oikawa observes the brief exchange, the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips. He clears his throat before recalling the events of the previous day. “I came here. You guys interrogated me for a bit. Then your demon-alarm-thing went off and you all went to Minato while I stayed behind.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again, memories of the winged creatures with sharp teeth and even sharper claws infiltrating his mind. Oikawa swallows, voice wavering around the sentence. “Then, the—they…”

Unease settles in his stomach, expanding slowly with each breath. The words are stuck, lodged somewhere in his throat as if they are coated in a layer of cement. He exhales slowly, forcing oxygen into his lungs, when he feels the pressure of someone’s hand on his shoulder.

As he looks to his left, he finds that Iwaizumi’s gaze is already trained on him. His brows are pinched together, concern trapped within his eyes, and he gives Oikawa’s shoulder a small squeeze as he mouths the words ‘it’s okay’.

Oikawa’s smile feels weak around the edges, but some of the unease slowly melts away.

He nods briefly. 

“The demons… came here,” he says, eventually. “Iwa-chan told me to hide in the garage, and I did. Ren protected me before you guys came.”

He vaguely remembers what happened afterwards. The shower. Iwaizumi’s voice. The noise in his mind, the feeling of Iwaizumi’s skin beneath his hands. The warm water soaking his clothes, the goosebumps on his own skin. They must have sat there, on those cold tiles, for hours.

It felt like a dream. A nightmare. Something his brain conjured up. 

“I went to bed, eventually. And when I woke up today, you and Mattsun were already gone. Iwa-chan stayed behind. Somewhere in the afternoon, the alarm went off again. You guys took care of it, then came home,” Oikawa continues. “And that’s it.”

Hanamaki hums again as he finishes writing down each event of the past few days. When he lowers the marker, he turns the paper towards Oikawa and Iwaizumi, allowing them to observe the timeline. Oikawa’s eyes glide across the paper—analyzing the information given to him.

FRIDAY – Arrival at grandmother’s house.

SATURDAY – Two earthquakes at midnight.

SUNDAY – Grandmother mentions Iwaizumi’s family.

MONDAY – Iwaizumi arrives. Demon attack in the morning. Iwaizumi brings Oikawa to the loft. Demons appear in Minato that afternoon, then fly towards the loft to attack Oikawa.

TUESDAY – Demons appear near Meiji Shrine in the afternoon.

As Oikawa reads the words over and over, desperate to solve this unsolvable mystery, he grows more confused. There must be something they’re missing, something they’ve overlooked. What brought that demon to his grandmother’s house? And, how were those two other demons able to find him? His index finger and thumb rub at the temple as a sigh escapes his lips. He briefly wonders about Dr. Nishimura and his other co-workers. He’d managed to concoct a believable lie about some sort of family emergency abroad, but how long would it take for them to get suspicious? He can’t very well hide in Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s home for the upcoming days, or weeks.

At some point, he has to return to his old life.

If that is an option at all.

“Looks about right,” Iwaizumi eventually says, tapping the paper twice, before looking at Oikawa. “Did we leave anything out?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “No. This is all I can tell you.” 

Naturally, Matsukawa appears behind Hanamaki moments after that—still carrying that old and comically large book—and Hanamaki procures a pair of glasses seemingly out of nowhere. He wordlessly holds them up and Matsukawa, without looking up from the pages of the book, plucks them from his fingers and slips the frames onto his nose. A quiet ‘thanks’ can be heard afterwards and Oikawa watches as Hanamaki folds one leg over the other. “Find anything?” 

Matsukawa hums. “Think so. Need some chalk. And we gotta move our stuff out of the way. This is gonna require some space.”

Hanamaki claps his hands together, clearly excited at the prospect of summoning a demon inside of his home. “All right, you heard the man. Help me out, Iwaizumi.”

Next to him, Iwaizumi sighs before pushing himself to his feet and Oikawa quickly looks between Iwaizumi and Hanamaki before he, too, is told to get up from the couch.

The three of them push the furniture aside and roll up the carpet until the living room area is emptied; leaving them with a large open space. Perfect for summoning, Matsukawa mentions.

Oikawa worries at his lower lip, watching as Matsukawa kneels down and starts to draw a rather large circle. Matsukawa’s gaze darts between the book and the circle, chalk gliding across the living room floor with perfect strokes. His brows are knit together in concentration, eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Hanamaki peers over his shoulder while Iwaizumi remains by Oikawa’s side; arms folded together across his chest.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Oikawa asks, to no one in particular. 

“It’s our best option,” Matsukawa answers. 

“What about those higher-ups you guys mentioned? Can’t they do something—”

Hanamaki snorts, or rather, bristles—as if he’s offended at the thought of involving anybody else. “Definitely not. It’d only make things worse. They’re already keeping close tabs on us as it is. We don’t wanna give them another reason to be wary of us.”

At this, Oikawa frowns. He turns towards Iwaizumi, who had remained quiet throughout the entire conversation. “Why are the higher-ups wary of you? And who even are they?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he sighs, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s a long story,” he says after a moment. “There’s a hierarchy. Each demon hunting group consists of multiple families working together. And each group has a leader. All those leaders make up a council of some sorts. A bunch of old guys who retired from active hunting duty and now make sure everyone follows the rules. They’re not that strict, but they are wary of outsiders. You, being an outsider, would make them meddle in our affairs. And we kinda don’t want that.”

“Did you guys do something?” Oikawa wonders. Almost immediately, Hanamaki barks out a laugh, voice dripping with annoyance as he says, “We didn’t do shit. They’re the ones stuck in their stupid, old ways.”

“Easy,” Matsukawa murmurs. A quiet warning.

“What? It’s true! Iwaizumi didn’t—”

“Hiro,” Iwaizumi interrupts, a tired look painted across his features. “It’s okay. Let’s not, all right?”

The entire exchange only adds to Oikawa’s confusion. He glances back at Iwaizumi, who buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans, seemingly uncomfortable with the entire situation regarding the council. 

“I’ll tell you one day,” Iwaizumi eventually says. “It’s not a big deal, just… complicated.”

Oikawa nods in understanding. He hopes the smile he offers Iwaizumi comes across reassuringly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Iwaizumi has been very patient and understanding with him. The very least Oikawa can do is be patient in return. Whenever Iwaizumi is ready to confide in him, Oikawa will listen.

For now, he redirects his focus to the matters at hand. Hesitantly, he steps forward—only to pause when he reaches the outer edge of the circle Matsukawa has drawn. It’s unlike anything he has seen before. The concrete floor of the loft is decorated with white chalk. An enormous circle with various symbols sits in the middle of the living room area. Oikawa frowns at the symbols, unable to decipher their meaning. They’re not letters, or numbers, but something else entirely. Matsukawa’s concentration is remarkable as he continues to draw. It’s almost as if he’s done it hundreds of times before. 

On occasion, his gaze returns to the book next to him. It’s used as a reference, Oikawa notes.

“This is amazing,” he breathes. “What are these symbols? I’ve never seen them before.”

“They’re runes,” Matsukawa tells him. Within the circle, he draws a slightly smaller circle, along with a large tetragon in the shape of a diamond, and finally a slightly smaller square. “Rune magic can be used for various purposes. It’s very old magic, but all hunters have a basic understanding of runes.”

“And these are used for summoning demons?”

“Mm-hm,” Matsukawa hums, using the piece of chalk to point at the various runes drawn within the circle. “For summoning, for protection, for binding, for sealing, et cetera. You put ‘em together and the fun stuff happens.”

Hanamaki and Iwaizumi step closer to the circle as well, with Hanamaki nodding in approval. “It’s not as easy as it looks. Issei’s just our golden boy over here.”

“You give me too much credit,” Matsukawa muses. “But by all means, go on.”

Whatever discomfort Iwaizumi felt earlier seems to have disappeared somewhat, and he momentarily glances at Oikawa. “Remember how I told you that I’m able to channel my magic into my weapons? The same applies here.”

Oikawa’s brows rise upwards, curiosity stirring inside of him as his gaze drops towards Matsukawa’s right hand. He watches the movements, wondering if he’s able to detect the faintest hint of magic slipping from his fingers. “Is he channeling his magic into the chalk?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Yeah, you can’t see it, but you will eventually when he’s done. Hiro’s right, though. It’s not as easy as it looks. Not everyone can summon demons. Which is probably for the best.”

“Why is he using chalk? Is that part of an ancient tradition?”

“Yes, and no,” Matsukawa chuckles. “You can use anything. Markers, pencil, chalk, dirt, even blood, but chalk’s easier to clean up. It’s less about the materials you use, and more about the intention.”

“However,” Hanamaki adds, “they do say folks who use blood are often able to summon more powerful creatures. Blood is a powerful component. Blood magic is tricky.”

Oikawa shivers at the thought of using his own blood, or anybody else’s for that matter, in some sort of summoning ritual. The entire thing seems way too eerie and dangerous. Yet, he remains fascinated at Matsukawa’s abilities and technique. It’s almost like watching an artist paint. The ground is his canvas, the chalk is his instrument. 

Once he’s finished, he repositions himself to sit on the floor—legs crossed—and claps his hands together to remove some of the chalk left on his skin. “All right, showtime boys. Look alive.”

Iwaizumi is quick to move, retrieving the guns he kept on him, and Oikawa momentarily wonders when he’d grabbed the weapons. To his surprise, Hanamaki has a weapon of his own. He blinks twice, lips slightly parted, as he watches a sleek, black recurve bow rest in Hanamaki’s left palm. The string is pulled back just as an arrow, completely made of yellow-golden light appears between his fingers. 

He remembers the conversation he had with Iwaizumi a few hours ago.

‘He’s able to use his energy to heal others and shape it into weapons’.

Oikawa releases a breathless chuckle, amazed at the sight before him. “You’re an archer.”

Hanamaki turns his head to look at him, undoubtedly amused by Oikawa’s amazement. He winks. “I prefer sniper.”

“Enough showing off, Hiro,” Matsukawa gibes.

Oikawa watches as Matsukawa places his palm to the edge of the circle, eyes closed in concentration as he inhales deeply. Similar to what Iwaizumi had shown him before, wisps of energy begin to rise from Matsukawa’s fingertips. Whereas the color of Iwaizumi’s magic had been white, Matsukawa’s energy has a slight red or orange glow to it—similar to the yellow-golden glow of Hanamaki’s arrow.

(Oikawa assumes it has to do with his fire magic).

Soon enough, the magic pouring from his palm seeps into the ground—causing the circle to glow. Oikawa inhales deeply, his throat feeling awfully dry and his heart rate steadily picking up with each second that passes. Matsukawa’s breathing grows heavier and he exhales slowly before mumbling something to himself repeatedly. Almost like a chant, or rather a spell .

A cloud of black smoke begins to form within the circle, steadily growing larger as Matsukawa continues to mumble the incantation. Oikawa’s fingers are tightly curled together into a fist at his side, nails digging into the palm of his skin. Dread slithers up his spine, yet there’s something else coursing through his veins simultaneously. It’s not fear, he realizes. It’s… excitement.

Next to him, Iwaizumi takes a step closer towards Oikawa; as if to slightly shield him with his body. “Don’t worry,” he mumbles.

Oikawa feels some of the tension melt away, shoulders dropping slightly. “Thank you, Iwa-chan,” he whispers back.

However, that tension returns—tenfold—when Oikawa notices a slight tremor beneath his feet. At first he thinks it’s merely his mind playing tricks on him, but then he watches as Iwaizumi widens his stance to maintain his balance, and then Oikawa notices it again.

And again.

The entire loft is trembling. 

It’s as if the ground beneath them could split open at any moment.

Oikawa nearly stumbles backwards, but manages to catch himself in time. Something nudges against the back of his leg and he’s quick to find out that Ren had joined them. Rather than standing next to Iwaizumi, she comes to a halt in front of the two of them, her stance widened and teeth bared as she growls at the magic circle.

Oikawa notices it then. A heavy sensation, cold and constricting. It’s eerily familiar. Suffocating, stifling, demonic.

“Easy, Ren,” Iwaizumi mumbles.

Before them, the smoke increases, curling upwards as it starts to thicken until it begins to form some sort of shape. The smoke, or rather smoke-like substance, twists and turns; a gurgling noise echoing through the loft. It’s followed by a growl that cuts through Oikawa’s ears like a knife. His chest feels heavy, each breath seeming to rattle his lungs.

Suddenly, a large claw appears from the smoke—shooting towards them—and Matsukawa stops chanting as he presses his palms together in front of his chest. 

The claw is stopped before it can reach him, slamming against a barrier Oikawa didn’t know was there to begin with. He flinches just as Iwaizumi tightens his grip around the gun.

Another arm emerges from the smoke and the gurgling sound he’d heard before returns. Slowly but surely, the smoke disappears, revealing a large, gangly demon. Its skin is blood-red, its eyes black, and its teeth are long, and sharp. The creature titters as it glances around the area.

Oikawa’s fairly certain his heart stopped for a few seconds. 

It notably lacks the wings he’d seen on the other creatures, but it looks terrifying all the same. Its large fists slam against the barrier once more, attempting to escape its momentary prison, and a deafening roar escapes its mouth.

Matsukawa seems unimpressed. His palms are still pressed together, and Oikawa assumes that he’d been busy creating said barrier to keep the creature trapped. “And done.”

Hanamaki and Iwaizumi both take a tentative step forward, weapons still aimed at the creature despite the barrier keeping the demon at bay. Another roar travels through the air, but none of them flinch at the sound. Except for Oikawa, who takes a careful step back.

“Use your words,” Matsukawa says dryly. “C’mon, you can do it.”

The demon tilts its head, as if it understands Matsukawa, and Oikawa momentarily wonders if the creature even possesses the ability to speak, when a deep, scratchy voice crawls across his skin.

“You… dare summon… me?” 

“There’s a good boy.” 

Hanamaki snorts. “You never call me that.”

“Cause you’re never good,” Matsukawa retorts.

“Guys,” Iwaizumi warns. “Focus.”

Despite all he’s seen and endured the past days, a talking demon is not exactly what Oikawa expected. He’s unable to believe that the creature before them can actually understand them, much less form proper sentences. If it wasn’t so terrifying, it would be downright impressive. 

“All right, all right,” Matsukawa sighs. “We’ve got a couple questions for you, big guy. Be nice and cooperate, will you?”

Before them, the demon starts to move back and forth sluggishly—as if testing how much room it has within the barrier of the circle. Claws drag themselves over the walls of the barrier and Oikawa swallows as memories of the previous day infiltrate his mind. He remembers the feeling of the demon’s talons sinking into the flesh of his shoulder; an excruciating, sharp pain that cut through him over and over.

He flinches.

“Why should I?” the demon asks. It continues to speak slowly; its voice causing goosebumps to erupt across Oikawa’s skin. “You summoned me, hunter.”

“Yeah, and I’ll release you back to the demon realm after this. Unless you want these guys behind me to kill you,” Matsukawa says. “And they’re very good.”

“My muscles are still warm from this afternoon,” Hanamaki adds before nodding his head towards Iwaizumi, “and this guy here hasn’t killed anything in twenty-four hours. I might let him use you for target practice.” 

As the demon continues to pace back and forth, slightly hunched forward, it releases a low growl. Oikawa briefly thinks that the monster will comply, until it charges forward; its body slamming into the barrier repeatedly with the intention of destroying it. He staggers back at the sudden impact, a gasp ripping itself from his throat.

Matsukawa swears underneath his breath, the bottom of his palms briefly coming centimeters apart before he slams them back together. “Motherfucker.”

Almost simultaneously, Oikawa notices that the circle and its barrier shrink down slightly and close in on the demon, who roars in retaliation.

“Say the word and we’ll drop him,” Iwaizumi comments.

“Not yet,” Matsukawa murmurs.

“Spoilsport,” Hanamaki grins.

Oikawa has to admit, there is something rather impressive about witnessing all of this up close. He allows his gaze to travel over Iwaizumi’s form; taking in his stance and the calm, calculating look in his eyes—which he keeps trained on the demon with some sort of deadly accuracy.

“I can also send you to the Otherworld myself,” Matsukawa says, “how does being burned alive sound?”

The demon continues to thrash wildly within the confines of the barrier; a sound that sits somewhere between a roar and a screech escaping its mouth. Oikawa spots rows and rows of sharp teeth, similar to the ones he’d seen up close the previous days. They’re pitch black, similar to the demon’s eyes, and coated in some sort of dark liquid. It drips down the demon’s mouth and jaw, onto the floor, as it releases a cackle. A maniacal sort of laughter that settles deep within his bones.

“Why are your creepy cousins suddenly appearing into the mortal world during the day?” Hanamaki asks. “And why are they after him?”

He nods his head towards Oikawa, who swallows when the demon’s gaze lands on him. It observes him, teeth bared, and Oikawa can almost feel his stomach drop. 

“You can’t stop it!” the demon howls. “The gate has already been opened.”

“What gate?” Iwaizumi asks.

The demon’s eyes snap towards Iwaizumi, “Ah—you. I’ve heard about… you…”

“Answer the question,” Iwaizumi barks, finger pressing against the trigger. “What gate?”

The tension in Iwaizumi’s jaw does not go unnoticed, nor does the way Matsukawa’s arms begin to tremble. He briefly slams his palms together again, causing the circle and its barrier to shrink in size for a second time. The demon howls once more, thrashing in its prison. “He asked you a question, buddy.”

“The demon gate!” The demon spits. “It’s too late. We will keep coming. And we will destroy everything in our path. Foul humans, disgusting humans, we’ll tear you apart and feast on your flesh—”

“All right, I’ve heard enough,” Matsukawa announces. “On my mark…”

Oikawa’s gaze darts between Matsukawa and the demon. Surely, he wouldn’t—

“Now.” 

The moment Matsukawa releases his hands, the circle and barrier disappear. The demon roars again, surging forward, but so do Hanamaki and Iwaizumi—who simultaneously release a round of bullets and two, no, three arrows. Each bullet pierces the demon’s hide, while one arrow lodges itself in its forehead. The other hits the center of its chest, and the creature makes a choked, gurgling noise, black liquid shooting from its body and mouth, before it falls forward. 

It hits the floor with a loud thud, black smoke immediately rising from its decaying body. A small flame is released from Matsukawa’s fingers, landing on the demon’s body and burning through its flesh. 

Oikawa presses a palm to his own chest in an attempt to slow the rapid beating of his heart and regulate his breathing. Iwaizumi turns around moments after that, eyes slightly widened before he quickly steps towards Oikawa. “Hey,” he says quietly, “You okay?”

Oikawa nods quickly, mouth awfully dry as he releases a long breath. “Yeah—I’m fine.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Killing it was the safer option,” Iwaizumi explains, “covering our tracks and all.” 

“It’s… fine. It was interesting to see,” Oikawa admits, a shaky laugh following his words. “What was this demon gate it mentioned?”

At this, Iwaizumi sighs. He scrubs a hand over the lower half of his face and he frowns. “I… don’t know. But at least we have something to go off of.”

Behind him, Matsukawa rises to his feet. The glasses he wore have been discarded and Oikawa doesn’t miss the way he rubs at his temples, or the way Hanamaki quickly steadies him when he takes a wobbly step forward. “I’ll look into it.”

Iwaizumi turns back towards his friend. “You’ve done enough, Issei. Go get some rest. Summoning and keeping that thing bound took a lot of energy out of you,” he says. “Thank you—for your help.”

A lopsided grin plays on Matsukawa’s lips as he leans into Hanamaki’s side, one arm draped over his boyfriend’s shoulder. “C’mon, this is what we do.”

“Still,” Iwaizumi retorts, “Summoning takes a toll on you. We all know it.”

“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Now stop worrying. We’ve gotta figure out what this demon gate thing is. I’m gonna take a nap first, though.”

Hanamaki snorts, slapping Matsukawa’s back twice before rubbing his hand gently over the same spot. “You did great. C’mon, you need to rest.”

“Yes, nurse.”

The pair disappears towards the stairs at the back of the room, slowly moving up the steps, and Oikawa’s eyes travel back towards where the demon had been moments before. Its body has completely vanished, disintegrated by Matsukawa’s flames, and what appears to be the natural decaying process for demons. 

After a few moments, Iwaizumi and Oikawa begin to move the furniture back to their original place, with Oikawa still trying to process all that had just transpired in the middle of the living room. He eventually sits down on the couch once more, one leg pulled to his chest as Iwaizumi begins to thumb through one of Matsukawa’s books.

“Is he okay—Mattsun, I mean?” he asks carefully. “He looked pretty worn out.”

Iwaizumi looks up from the book, fingers rubbing at the spot between his brows with a sigh. “Yeah… he needs to recharge, but he’s fine. Summoning and binding a demon, keeping it trapped, takes a lot of energy. He’d already fought a bunch of demons earlier today, so he’s just tired. He’s an idiot for doing it, though. A very talented idiot.”

The corners of Oikawa’s lips rise upwards until a small smile blooms on his face. “You care about him.”

“Well, he is my best friend,” Iwaizumi admits. “Both of them are. So, yes.”

“It’s sweet.”

Mere seconds after that, Hanamaki jogs down the stairs. One hand is buried into the pocket of his pants as he walks over towards the living room. “He’s out like a light. So… time to cleanse the space.”

“Cleanse?” Oikawa wonders.

“Yeah,” Hanamaki confirms, “you didn’t think we’d summon a demon into my house without cleansing the place afterwards? C’mon. Normally Issei’s in charge of that, you know, with his family being a bunch of exorcists and all, but this time it’s up to us.”

As it turns out, cleansing the loft involves a lot of incense and burning a few special candles belonging to Matsukawa’s mother. It takes the three of them roughly ten minutes of walking around, until both Hanamaki and Iwaizumi seem satisfied. Afterwards, they return to the living room area, where Iwaizumi and Hanamaki continue their research in an attempt to find any kind of information regarding the elusive demon gate. Unfortunately, they come up empty, and Oikawa frowns as he leans back into his seat.

“There’s gotta be something, right?”

Hanamaki releases a thoughtful hum before worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. “I think I might know a guy,” he tells them. “My old boss mentioned it once.”

“Which one?” Iwaizumi asks.

“The one who owns that club in Shinjuku I worked at for two years.”

Iwaizumi remains quiet for a brief moment. “You think we can trust him?”

Hanamaki shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt to try. Don’t think he’d tell a soul. He wouldn’t get anything out of it. We could drop by tonight.”

At that, Iwaizumi seems hesitant. He sighs, “I don’t know.”

“I think we should go,” Oikawa says suddenly, causing Iwaizumi to frown as his eyes snap towards Oikawa almost instantly.

“ You’re not going anywhere. Did you forget there are a bunch of demons after you?”

Oikawa shifts on the couch, leaning forward slightly and narrowing his gaze at Iwaizumi. “I’m aware,” he retorts. “Almost died a few times, actually.”

“Eager to try again?”

“Maybe,” he says with a huff. “I just… can’t stay here all the time. I wanna know what’s going on, just as much as you guys do.”

Iwaizumi looks like he’s about to object, when Hanamaki speaks up. He glances between Iwaizumi and Oikawa, shoulders raised in a shrug. “We could try. The demons we encountered this afternoon didn’t rush towards the loft. Maybe not all of ‘em are after him.”

“That’s because Matsukawa put up the wards,” Iwaizumi points out.

“Then let him put some of those wards on me, or whatever,” Oikawa suggests.

Iwaizumi sighs. “That’s not how they work…”

Hanamaki hums, getting to his feet and returning towards the bookcase. He retrieves one of the books Iwaizumi and Oikawa had been sifting through earlier that day, thumbing through the pages. For a moment, Oikawa feels a semblance of hope.

His willingness to follow both Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa towards some sketchy club downtown may seem odd, but even with danger looming over his head Oikawa finds himself growing antsy. A lot has transpired the past few days, questions have been answered with more questions, and every time he thinks he comes somewhat closer to unraveling this unsolvable mystery, another question presents itself. Another riddle. Another conundrum.

And the thing is, he knows that there are approximately three-hundred ways all of this could go terribly wrong, but he’s willing to take his chances. It’s not as though he doesn’t appreciate Iwaizumi’s efforts to keep him safe. And anyone with a morsel of common sense would heed his warning and remain indoors until this entire debacle had been solved, but Oikawa Tooru has always been too curious for his own damn good. Willing to explore and investigate what others wouldn’t—pushing himself a little more every time, working a little harder.

“We might be able to cloak him. With a charm or something,” Hanamaki says eventually. “Issei probably has a bunch of little charms left.”

“Yeah, but how long will those work?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Long enough. We won’t stay there too long. In and out before you know it. ‘Sides, he’s with us.”

If the sigh Iwaizumi releases is any indication of how he feels, Oikawa thinks he might have to spend another day cooped up in this loft. “It’s that or I’ll go on my own.”

“No, you won’t,” Iwaizumi objects.

“Try me,” Oikawa counters, gaze narrowed ever so slightly.

“As entertaining as this is,” Hanamaki drawls, gesturing between the two of them as he returns to the couch. “Going back and forth won’t get us anywhere. We’re going tonight.” 

He points a finger at Oikawa, “ You , don’t do anything stupid or reckless. Stay with us.”

Oikawa blinks, wondering whether or not he should be insulted, as Hanamaki redirects his gaze—and index finger towards Iwaizumi. “And, you, relax and make sure rich boy over here stays safe. We’ve done this before. We’ll be fine.”

A triumphant grin blooms on Oikawa’s face, which he makes sure to aim at Iwaizumi—who merely sighs in response. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Two against one. That’s cheating.”

“It’s called a democracy,” Hanamaki corrects. “Anyway, who’s ready for a night out?” 

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Shortly after their quick discussion in the living room, Oikawa had excused himself and returned towards the guest room Hanamaki had prepared for him the previous day. 

Now, as he’s sitting on the bed he’d barely been able to sleep in the previous night, he allows himself a moment to process the day’s events. They have a few hours left until they’re supposed to leave for the club Hanamaki mentioned, and he rubs at his temples as he paces back and forth in the room. 

Obviously, this whole thing is ridiculous . Something you’d see in a movie or video game. (On multiple occasions he’s found himself wondering whether or not he was being pranked, or perhaps dreaming, and part of him is still inclined to think that all of this is simply a mass hallucination.) But then he’s reminded of the creatures he’d seen with his own two eyes, the weapons Iwaizumi and his friends wielded, the magic they possessed, and Oikawa would be reminded that this in fact wasn’t a movie or video game. 

It was very, very real.

Acceptance is the first step, he supposes. 

Perhaps his main priority should be figuring out how he fits into all of this. According to the demon they had summoned, some sort of ‘demon gate’ had been opened. (It doesn’t take a genius to know that supernatural gates of any kind are bad news. He has watched a few sci-fi movies). However, neither Hanamaki, Matsukawa, or Iwaizumi seemed to be aware of this particular gate’s existence, which only added to Oikawa’s growing confusion.

Luckily, Hanamaki’s former employer could be of help and Oikawa hopes talking to him will provide them with the answers they need.

He pauses in front of the window, observing the streets below and momentarily wondering about his sister and Takeru. Obviously, he can’t tell them about all that has occurred, nor can he inform his grandmother, his sweet, innocent, grandmother, but the urge to call his sister and hear a familiar voice grows and grows.

Against his better judgment, he retrieves his phone and dials her number.

It’s a quick call, lasting all but five minutes, in which she informs him of some business meeting she has to attend. She seems fine, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil her little brother has endured, and Oikawa wants nothing more than to yell and tell her everything.

However, he is grateful that she and Takeru haven’t noticed or experienced anything strange lately. As long as they remain safe, he’ll maintain a semblance of inner peace.

“You sound different,” she says eventually. “Is something wrong?”

“Stress,” he half-lies. It’s as honest as he can be. “Some work-related stuff.”

“I’m not above yelling at your stupid co-workers, just say the word.”

It causes a laugh to bubble up in his throat. “I’m aware, Ayame. But this is a battle you can’t fight for me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try,” she replies. “Will I see you next week?”

At this, Oikawa pauses. Something heavy gathers in his chest, teeth digging into his lower lip as he finds himself wondering if he’ll be lucky enough to come out of this thing unscathed. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, wants to admit that he doesn’t even know if he’ll be alive this time next week, but instead Oikawa swallows past the unease in his throat.

“Sure,” he lies, again. “Can’t promise anything. I really am swamped. But I'll definitely call you.”

“Elusive as always. I know what that means,” Ayame sighs. “Please take care of yourself, Tooru.”

“I always do!” Oikawa objects. “I’m sleeping… sort of.”

“Sort of isn’t enough.”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“I have a child, that’s different.”

“He’s a teenager.”

“Exactly.”

They both laugh, with Ayame’s laughter breaking off into a sigh. Oikawa inhales deeply in an attempt to stave off the tears that swim beneath the surface, eager to break out. 

“I know you’re old and wise to make your own decisions,” Ayame begins, “just know it’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”

Oikawa smiles. “I know. I’ll take it easy, I promise. And I will call you.”

“You better.”

The call ends after they both say their goodbyes, and Oikawa doesn’t know whether or not he should feel a little relieved or not. Part of him is glad that he was able to hear a familiar voice, even if only for a few minutes. Yet another part of him worries about his own safety.

He shakes his head, a laugh spilling from his lips. Last week his biggest concern was whether or not he’d have enough time to grade all the papers of his sophomore class on mythological creatures from the 13th century. This week, he’s concerned about whether or not he’ll become demon food.

Irony, you are a cruel thing.

Roughly half a minute after the call ends, a knock echoes through the room. Followed by another one, and Iwaizumi’s voice. 

“Oikawa?”

“Come in.”

The door opens, revealing Iwaizumi on the other side and he offers Oikawa a quiet ‘hey’ as he steps into the room whilst carrying a small pile of clothes. After placing them on the bed, he buries his hands in his pockets. 

Oikawa is quick to slip his phone into his own pocket and Iwaizumi quirks a brow. “Were you calling someone?”

“My sister,” he answers.

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t tell her anything, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa quickly adds. “Even though I wanted to. She probably wouldn’t even believe it anyway. So, you don’t have to worry.”

Iwaizumi takes another step forward, slightly less alarmed than five seconds ago. “Sorry,” he says, a sigh following his words. “I’m just trying to be… careful.”

“I know,” Oikawa murmurs. “It’s your job.”

Silence falls between them after that and Oikawa doesn’t quite know what to tell Iwaizumi. His gaze travels towards the clothes on the bed and he’s about to ask if they are meant for him, when Iwaizumi speaks up again.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he says, a repeat of the words he’d spoken so often.

Oikawa reminds himself of the promise they made to each other. To trust one another. He wonders if Iwaizumi’s trust hasn’t wavered yet. It’s strange, he thinks. Forty-eight hours ago they were blissfully unaware of each other’s existence, and now it seems that they have no choice but to depend on one another.

Well, Oikawa depends more on Iwaizumi than the other way around.

Quite frankly, Iwaizumi could very well kick him out and abandon him if he so wishes. Leave Oikawa to his demise, let him get torn apart by angry demons, and be done with it. But, from what Oikawa can gather, Iwaizumi is a kind man. An honest man. Even if he aggravates Oikawa on occasion.

(Oikawa isn’t perfect either, but it seems they will have to work together to uncover this mystery). 

It feels as if he’s going in circles. Spending time between denial and acceptance. Or perhaps defeat. 

One moment he feels encouraged and hopeful, and the next moment he wishes that he could disappear; return to his apartment and pretend all of this has never happened. He supposes it’s normal to feel conflicted, given what he’s been through. Trying to make sense of the impossible is quite challenging after all. 

It had been amazing to discover that everything he’d studied, and now taught , turned out to be real. Demons and mythological creatures were no longer a thing of fiction and urban myths, but a reality. It was wonderful to read and observe the books Iwaizumi had brought him. He soaked up the knowledge, committing the texts to memory, and let himself marvel at the beautiful artwork printed on the various pages.

If his life wasn’t in mortal danger, he could’ve used it for his next research.

Unfortunately, Oikawa will have to live with the fact that whatever he sees and hears must never be shared with the outside world. (A secret so large that it might swallow him whole).

He looks at Iwaizumi. A man who sits at the center of this mystery. An enigma. Something Oikawa is keen to observe and solve. 

Trust, trust, trust.

He has to trust him.

“I hope so,” Oikawa eventually murmurs. “Sorry, I’ve just… been a bit tired and stressed.”

“I can imagine,” Iwaizumi says. “How do you feel now?”

Oikawa pushes a hand through his hair, scratching his fingers over the back of his head as he inhales deeply. A loaded question. “Conflicted. On edge, yet calm. Nervous. I want to be hopeful, but it’s hard.”

There’s a pause, defeat slipping through his lips as it curls around his words. “Most of all… I’m tired.”

The look Iwaizumi offers him could best be described as pity. And understanding.

He wonders how he must seem to Iwaizumi. An outsider, completely out of his depth; overwhelmed by everything around him. If there’s one thing Oikawa hates, it’s being out of control and unprepared. 

“You can still sit this one out,” Iwaizumi offers. “Stay in while we head downtown.”

A half-smile finds its way onto Oikawa’s lips, a hint of amusement slipping back into his voice as he regards Iwaizumi. “Still trying to convince me to stay home, huh?”

“Is it working?”

“Not a chance.”

Iwaizumi laughs, a quiet sound, and Oikawa thinks he should do that more often. Laughing. 

“Figured. You’re a stubborn one,” he tells him.

“Takes one to know one,” Oikawa counters, his gaze drifting towards the bed. He gestures at the clothes Iwaizumi had neatly placed at the edge. “That for me?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Your outfit for tonight. Something Hanamaki had lying in his closet. He said it might fit you.”

Curiosity sweeps through Oikawa as he steps towards the bed. He pulls the first piece of clothing off the pile, which seems to be a suit jacket. It’s black, decorated with a golden floral pattern; subtle yet enough to make one take a closer look. The material feels smooth beneath his palm and he hums in approval, impressed with the design. 

The trousers match, with an identical pattern printed along the dark fabric. Notably absent is the shirt. 

He frowns. 

“Where’s the shirt?”

“He didn’t give me one,” Iwaizumi tells him, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out what appears to be a thin, layered, golden necklace. “He did give me this, though.”

Oikawa looks between the necklace in Iwaizumi’s hand and the suit jacket on the bed before barking out a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Iwaizumi merely shrugs. “He says it’s ‘fashion’.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Oikawa drawls. “Where are we going that requires me to walk around shirtless?”

“Some fancy joint he worked at once. So, yeah, dress up,” Iwaizumi tells him. “His words, not mine.”

The necklace is then tossed onto the bed, along with what appears to be two golden rings. Oikawa wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Admittedly, it’s a nice suit and it’s not as if he’s a stranger to wearing nice suits, but perhaps a shirt would’ve been nicer.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, he supposes.

“If this is what I’m wearing, I’m curious to see your outfit,” he snorts. “What’s it going to be? Crop top? Hot-pants?”

Iwaizumi snorts, brushing his fingers over his nose before burying his hands back into his pockets. “None of that. He knows he can’t force me into anything, so I won’t be joining your dress-up game.”

“Boo,” Oikawa deadpans. “How boring.”

“I’ll let you have all the attention,” Iwaizumi quips. 

“How kind.”

The words earn him a chuckle as Iwaizumi steps away, his hand coming to rest on the handle of the door. “We won’t be leaving ‘till eleven, so you’re free to come downstairs whenever you’re ready. Dinner should be ready around seven. Me and Hanamaki are going to go over some more texts, see if we can find anything about this gate.”

Oikawa hums in response, inhaling deeply before pushing his fingers through his hair once more. “Yeah,” he replies, looking from the clothes back to Iwaizumi. “I might lie down for a bit and then come downstairs.”

Iwaizumi nods, and Oikawa thinks he may spot a polite smile on his lips before he opens the door. “Take your time.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

He does eventually return downstairs—after a well-deserved nap. 

Iwaizumi informs him that they haven’t been able to find more information about this supposed demon gate while Oikawa shoves a spoonful of curry into his mouth. (Apparently Hanamaki is quite the cook). They did mention that more demon signatures have appeared near the edge of town, but Hanamaki assured him that other squads headed towards the assigned location to deal with tonight’s ‘haul’. 

Oikawa hums around his spoon, seated atop one of the barstools near the kitchen island. “Who are the other squads?”

Hanamaki has his back turned towards him, washing the plates he and Iwaizumi had just used. “Anyone who’s part of the Seijoh Group and still active as a hunter. Tonight my little sister went ahead with Issei’s siblings.” 

“The twins,” Oikawa recalls. “You have a sister?”

“Two actually,” Hanamaki tells him as he hands the recently cleaned plate towards Iwaizumi—who dutifully dries the dinner plate before placing it into one of the cupboards. “Younger one and an older one.”

“Ah. How old are they?” 

“Twenty-three and thirty-two.” 

Another bite, another hum. “Do they both have the same abilities as you?”

Once the final plate has been washed and dried, Hanamaki wipes his hands on a blue towel before turning towards Oikawa. He leans over the kitchen island, arms resting atop the counter and hands folded together. “Sure do. Everyone in my family does. We’re all healers.”

“And all of them can make those light arrows you make?” Oikawa wonders. “Good curry, by the way.”

Hanamaki nods, “My little sister prefers to make little throwing knives. The older one turned hers into spears. It’s a thing.” 

He jabs a thumb over his shoulder with a small grin. “Glad it was to your liking. Iwaizumi helped.”

Iwaizumi’s upper lip twitches, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter. “Barely. I just cut the vegetables.”

“Don’t act humble now.” 

Oikawa smiles to himself, hiding his amusement behind his glass as he takes a sip of his water. “It’s interesting. So those weapons you make are all made out of energy right? Like Iwa-chan’s bullets.”

Hanamaki’s fingers lazily drum on the counter while Oikawa takes another sip. “Yep, nothing special about it. We mold and shape our energy and use it to kill demons. It’s a common ability for people with energetic manipulation.”

‘Nothing special’. As if the average human could create weapons made of some sort of mystical and magical energy that just so happens to run through their veins.

Oikawa briefly remembers what Iwaizumi had told him earlier that day.

‘My energy is harder to control’.

Rather than inquiring and attempting to discover what about Iwaizumi’s energy made it difficult to control, he merely nods. He finishes the curry in a few more bites, offering to wash his plate when he’s done. Hanamaki mentions something about ‘good manners’ and Iwaizumi almost squawks when his best friend compliments him for bringing home a ‘decent guy’.

Oikawa wisely remains quiet as he washes the plate, mildly amused by their exchange.

Matsukawa arrives downstairs shortly after that, notably more rested and steady on his feet. He sneaks behind Hanamaki, his chin hooked over his boyfriend’s shoulder before asking about dinner. Hanamaki tells him that they prepared curry and that they’re heading towards a club he’d worked at to gather intel about the demon gate. 

Matsukawa frowns. “Oikawa’s coming?”

“Yeah, about that,” Hanamaki begins, “you think you can cloak him? Got any spare charms lying around?”

Matsukawa yawns, briefly burying his face into Hanamaki’s shoulder. “Eh, I’ll see what I can find. Should have something, yeah.”

“So I’m the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?” Iwaizumi points out.

“I figured you had already agreed if he’s coming along,” Matsukawa murmurs.

“They forced their way.”

“Harsh, man.”

The look of betrayal Iwaizumi aims at his best friends shouldn’t amuse Oikawa as much, yet he finds himself biting back a smile. “Thanks for letting me come along,” he says before redirecting his gaze towards Hanamaki, “even if the wardrobe choice is a bit questionable.”

“It’s fashion,” Hanamaki defends. “Sides, it suits you. Kinda flashy.” 

“Try gaudy.”

“Same thing.”

Oikawa refrains from prolonging the argument. Instead, he wonders about the identity of the supposed club owner they are to find at some club he doesn’t even know. He can barely remember the last time he’s set foot inside a nightclub, but he doubts there will be much drinking and dancing. With his life being on the line and all.

Speaking of which—

He redirects his gaze towards Matsukawa, a question sitting at the tip of his tongue. “How are you going to ‘cloak’ me? And what does it mean exactly?”

It’s Iwaizumi who answers first. “Cloaking is just a way of hiding someone’s energy. Temporarily. We can see and hear you, but your energy, or aura as some call it, will be hidden.” 

“You can use all kinds of charms. We have a necklace that’ll hide your energy for a limited amount of time,” Hanamaki adds.

“How limited?” Oikawa wonders.

“Don’t know. Could be one hour, could be two, maybe three. We’ll just have to see.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen, a mixture of both surprise and fear swirling in his chest. For a moment he wonders if going with them might be too risky after all. Iwaizumi must sense his hesitation, and brief moment of panic, because he steps forward—away from the counter—and says, “Don’t worry. We’ll be there, too. It’ll be fine.”

Rather than succumbing to the anxiety that slithers through his bloodstream, Oikawa flashes just a hint of teeth at him—a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “If you get me killed, I’ll haunt you.”

He’s rewarded with a smirk. “You forget that we’re exorcists.”

“You’ll find that it’s pretty hard to get rid of me, Iwa-chan.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

Their momentary back-and-forth is interrupted when Hanamaki half coughs, half laughs, before saying, “Maybe it’s time to get ready. We still have some time left, but we might as well.”

While Matsukawa is still glued to his boyfriend’s back, he mentions that he’s going to scarf down some dinner beforehand. Hanamaki raises a hand to pat the top of his boyfriend’s head twice, mentioning that he’s going to need the energy. 

Oikawa excuses himself, announcing that he’s going to head upstairs and get changed. He’s rewarded with a few nods and a ‘go ahead’s before he leaves the kitchen area and hads back towards his room.

The suit is still where he left it, on a chair near the window, and he huffs a laugh at the sight of it.

Rather than returning downstairs and forcing Hanamaki into finding him a different outfit, he changes into the clothing that had been picked out for him. As it turns out, it fits perfectly. He unbuttons the two buttons at the top of the jacket before slipping the necklace over his head. Afterwards, he pads towards the bathroom to observe his reflection.

It’s a bit flashy, sure, but he has to admit, Hanamaki has decent taste.

(It actually looks good).

The two rings Iwaizumi had left along with the suit are slipped around his index finger and thumb, and Oikawa pushes his fingers a few times through his hair in an attempt to fix it a little.

It’s not lost on him that there are dark circles forming beneath his eyes and that his skin looks dull; drained of its usual color. Granted, there are more urgent matters than his looks, and vanity should be the least of his concerns, but he’s looked better . It almost feels silly. Playing dress-up when his life is quite literally at stake. 

Oikawa sighs before pinching the bridge of his nose. He reminds himself that all of this is temporary and hopes, prays, that Hanamaki’s old employer might have the answers they are looking for.

After splashing some water in his face, he exits the bathroom—only to run into Hanamaki who had swapped his initial outfit for a pair of burgundy pants, along with a black dress shirt that appears to be halfway unbuttoned, and a matching burgundy jacket. Layers and layers of silver chains drape down the front of his body, with the shortest necklace reaching his collar bone, while the longest chain stops somewhere above his navel. They complement the numerous silver, chunky, rings around his pointer fingers and ring fingers. Lastly, Oikawa spots a black choker, with silver studs, around his neck.

The red tones of the suit complement the muted pink color of his hair, and Oikawa has to admit that Hanamaki has an impeccable sense of style.

Needless to say, he’s impressed. So much so that he is momentarily rendered speechless. Which doesn’t happen often.

“Wow,” he eventually says. 

“Sorry, I’m taken,” Hanamaki quips, a lazy grin stretching across his lips.

Oikawa laughs, his own inner turmoil momentarily forgotten. “We could make it work.”

It pulls a laugh from Hanamaki, who gives him a once over and Oikawa briefly cocks his head before burying his hands into his pockets. Hanamaki narrows his gaze in faux-contemplation before a quiet ‘nah’ slips through his lips. 

Oikawa places a palm on his own chest, right over his heart; feigning hurt. “You wound me, Makki.”

“What can I say, pretty boys aren’t my type,” Hanamaki says with a shrug, “You’ll get over me.”

Before Oikawa gets a chance to respond, he adds, “D’you need anything else, by the way?”

“Aside from a shirt?” Oikawa responds. 

The comment earns him a chuckle. “Let it go,” Hanamaki grins, “The suit actually looks good on you. I’d almost leave Issei for you.”

“Too late,” Oikawa says almost immediately, waving a hand at Hanamaki’s words. “You had your chance.”

Hanamaki walks past him, stepping into the bathroom and rummaging through one of the cabinets as he crouches down. “How awful. I will never recover,” he says sarcastically, a hint of amusement seeping into his voice. “I was actually talking about stuff for your hair, or face, or whatever.”

Oikawa takes a tentative step forward, curious as to what Hanamaki might have stored in the black cabinets. He captures his lower lip between his teeth, brows pinched together. “That bad huh?”

Hanamaki glances up at him, holding a small circular container of what appears to be hair wax of some sorts. “Never said it was bad. Just being a polite host.”

The smile Hanamaki wears is mirrored on Oikawa’s features, and he releases a chuckle before taking the container from him and working a small amount of wax into his hair. Afterwards Hanamaki procures a small tube of concealer, which he wordlessly slides over. (“Can’t show up to work sporting fresh bruises.”)

Oikawa frowns. “What about your fancy healing magic?”

“Can’t always rely on magic, so concealer is the next best thing.”

Sure enough, after fixing his hair and dabbing a small amount of concealer beneath his eyes, Oikawa feels somewhat better. As silly as that may seem. 

(Even the outfit is growing on him). 

Hanamaki claps a hand on his shoulder, seemingly satisfied with the final results. “There you go. Ready to break some hearts and hopefully not get eaten alive.”

Oikawa shoots him a look that is equal parts panic and annoyance, which earns him a squeeze and a ‘don’t worry, I was kidding—mostly’. 

It doesn’t help at all.

When they return to the living room it appears that Matsukawa and Iwaizumi had changed into different outfits as well. It’s not lost on Oikawa that Iwaizumi had chosen to wear his hunter gear—notably absent are the holsters that were previously attached to his thighs. However, the ones fastened along his shoulders and chest are fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, concealed by his jacket. His fingers are curled around, what appears to be, a thin chain fastened around Iwaizumi’s neck and Oikawa eyes briefly catch Iwaizumi tucking whatever’s attached to the chain beneath the collar of his shirt. He raises a brow, lips already parted to voice the question that sits on his tongue, when Matsukawa steps towards him—obscuring his view of Iwaizumi entirely.

The first thing he notices is the sleeveless turtleneck Matsukawa had chosen to wear. It’s similar to the one Oikawa had seen him wear before. He half-expected Matsukawa to follow Iwaizumi’s lead and opt for his hunter gear rather than some flashy attire he himself had been instructed (read: forced) to wear, but when his gaze travels downward, he notices a lack of black cargo pants. Instead, Matsukawa had pulled on a pair of dark, ripped, denim trousers. The heavy chain he supposedly uses as his weapon seems slightly smaller than before as it encircle his waist and hips, but Oikawa refrains from commenting on it. Similar to Hanamaki, his fingers are decorated with a number of silver rings, and something about that is quite endearing to him. 

His rumination, and observation, are cut short when Matsukawa dangles a golden necklace in front of him. It’s a thin chain with a small charm in the shape of a crescent moon attached to it at the bottom. When Oikawa offers him a confused look in response, he explains, “The charm.” 

Wordlessly, Oikawa holds out his hand and Matsukawa drops the necklace into his palm. “This will cloak you when we’re outside.”

“Huh,” Oikawa mutters, observing the necklace in question. He remembers the brief explanation Iwaizumi and Hanamaki had given him about charms and their ability to hide one’s energy. It doesn’t look particularly different from the jewelry he’d slipped over his head mere moments ago. Perhaps he’d expected something a little fancier. “Why didn’t you just give me this sooner?”

“We didn’t know you were being targeted then,” Iwaizumi answers instead. His hands disappear beneath his back, slipping underneath his jacket to attach something to the back of his belt. Oikawa is unable to see what, but he assumes it to be some sort of weapon he keeps tucked away.

(Iwaizumi seems to be fond of that).

“And when we did know you were being targeted, Matsukawa put up the wards,” Iwaizumi continues. “So there was no need.” 

He steps forward then, using his chin to gesture at the necklace resting in Oikawa’s palm. “This’ll hide your energy for a little while. We don’t know how long, so we don’t have a lot of time once we’re outside.”

Oikawa’s gaze drops to the necklace again, his heart suddenly beating against the walls of his chest with anticipation and slight unease. He attempts to swallow the nerves away, wondering if the small piece of jewelry will be enough to keep him virtually undetected from demonic forces. (It seems quite silly).

“Here, I’ll do it,” Iwaizumi murmurs, taking the necklace from Oikawa’s hand. It catches him by surprise, pulling him out of his thoughts and he blinks rapidly; an objection dying in his throat as Iwaizumi steps behind him. His hands appear in front of Oikawa momentarily, the golden chain touching his skin as Iwaizumi’s fingers brush along his neck. Their sudden proximity and gentle caress cause heat to creep along Oikawa’s skin; a flush traveling up his neck and bleeding into his cheeks.

He can almost feel the warmth of Iwaizumi’s breath on his skin, until Iwaizumi steps backwards and the necklace dangles down Oikawa’s chest. “There.”

His fingers immediately come up to fumble with the charm, just to give his hands something to do, and he utters a quick ‘thank you’.

Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa have slipped into their coats, with Hanamaki slinging that narrow, rectangular bag over his shoulders once more. Oikawa now knows that the bag acts as a bow case. Though, it seems rather small. When he voices this, Hanamaki explains that the bow he uses is custom-made and able to fold to make traveling with it much easier. 

“Everyone ready?” Matsukawa asks afterwards, sparing each of them a quick glance. Hanamaki rocks back and forth on his heels, while Iwaizumi gives a short hum in response. Oikawa takes a steadying breath, hands buried deep in the pockets of his, well Hanamaki’s, trousers. 

He hopes they stop trembling soon.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Being outside feels almost a little strange and Oikawa can’t refrain himself from throwing quick glances over his shoulder; eyes peering into the darkness in anticipation. Matsukawa catches him every time, walking two paces behind Oikawa and clearly more calm than Oikawa will ever be.

(Oikawa supposes he’d be a lot calmer, too, if he possessed mysterious fire powers to exterminate awful creatures from some demonic dimension).

Hanamaki leads their group, keeping an eye out for any possible demons in the distance whilst leading them towards the nightclub and Iwaizumi is tasked with staying on Oikawa’s right side.

It almost feels as if he’s walking with three bodyguards.

“We almost there?” Iwaizumi asks and Hanamaki hums. 

“Through there.”

Shinjuku is an ocean of neon; bright lights dripping over Tokyo’s dark streets like paint. People of all ages roam through the streets, locals and tourists alike, and Oikawa watches as a group of too drunk friends stumble out of a small bar—hooting and hollering as they make their way towards their next location, apparently.

When they pass through Kabukicho, Oikawa's eyes briefly wander towards a couple, drunk on booze and love, who stumble into the foyer of a love hotel. He has half a mind to chuckle at the sight of it before he quickly averts his gaze. Hanamaki leads them through a sea of people and they pass numerous nightclubs and bars, with Oikawa frowning in confusion with each step he takes. 

Just where is this mysterious nightclub located?

After a ten-minute stroll they stop in front of a large building. The skyscraper is well-lit but Oikawa notices the absence of a bright neon sign and drunken partygoers. He frowns when Hanamaki announces that they’ve reached their destination. “Wait, where’s the club? Is it some shady underground place located in a basement somewhere?”

The question earns him a chuckle from Hanamaki, who gestures towards the very top of the tall building. “Try up there.”

Oikawa’s glances upwards, eyes widening and brows raised. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Sure enough, they enter the building and travel all the way to the top floor. Once they arrive there, Oikawa feels as though he’s been transported into a different realm. A nightclub hidden at the top of a skyscraper looks exactly as it sounds; mystifying yet impressive. 

Darkness washes over them, accompanied by the faint lighting of the club. Neon colors bleed together; blanketing them in green and a purple-ish pink color while loud music reverberates through the speakers. It appears to be a culmination of techno and dance music; heavy bass and electronic melodies assisted by intense synth beats. It’s not his go-to music but he understands the appeal. 

The club, and its patrons, almost appears futuristic with its dark and sleek interior. He notices a lot of neon pink lighting being used in the details of the interior; from the bar counter to the steps leading towards the dance floor, and the couches located in a far corner of the large room. 

It’s, safe to say, very impressive.

When he allows his gaze to wander across the many partygoers, he suddenly understands why Hanamaki had urged him to wear this particular suit—and why he himself hadn’t been shy about dressing up. Each person looks as though they belong in some sort of futuristic sci-fi movie. (Somehow it works for them).

He spots crop tops and short skirts, backless dresses, mesh tops, harnesses, velvet suits, and copious amounts of leather and  PVC. Each ensemble seemingly one more extravagant than the next one. His own outfit almost seems tame compared to what the majority of the people seem to be wearing. It’s almost as if they had entered the club after strutting down the runway of some high-fashion brand or came straight off the set of a photoshoot. 

He observes bejeweled faces and bodies covered in glitter and glow-in-the-dark paint and finds himself enthralled by the many extravagant ensembles he sees—worn by men and women alike. He spots a girl with bleached eyebrows and captivating eye make-up that belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine; black and white eyeliner decorating her eyelids and where her eyebrows are supposed to be. Her platinum hair is cut into a sharp bob and she keeps her arm wound around the waist of another girl with long, dark hair, dressed in a white suit. 

He watches as they share secret smiles, leaning into each other as the taller one of the two leans down to whisper something into her girlfriend’s ear. Oikawa looks away after that, feeling as though he’s imposing on some sort of intimate moment—even though they’re all in a public setting.

He stops when Hanamaki takes them towards a high, circular table. “And?” he asks, lips pulled into a small smirk.

“Impressive,” Oikawa admits. “How long did you work here again?”

“A year or two. I make a killer cocktail,” Hanamaki tells him. “You guys want anything? I’ll order and see if the owner is around.” 

They each mumble their orders and Hanamaki taps his fingers on the table twice with a short hum before disappearing towards the bar.

Oikawa takes another moment to observe the night club, watching the crowd of people that have accumulated on the dance floor. Iwaizumi seems to be doing the same, though Oikawa wonders if he’s scanning the area for any potential threats rather than being enthralled by the general ambiance, the people, and the club’s interior. 

“Not what you expected, is it?” Matsukawa says after a moment, as if he’d been reading Oikawa’s mind.

“Not at all,” Oikawa admits. “Pretty cool, though. I almost feel underdressed.”

With their coats abandoned, he notices a small detail of Matsukawa’s outfit that escaped him before. The back of his shirt is completely see-through, allowing everyone a full-view of the large tattoo that covers his entire back.

Admittedly, it looks good on him.

“This not your usual scene? Rubbing elbows with fancy people and throwing back overpriced drinks?” Iwaizumi wonders. Oikawa initially thinks it's a jab, but he doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s lips curl upward in amusement. An attempt at humor, perhaps.

He snorts. “I left my partying days behind me. Not that I had much time to party to begin with. Did attend a few galas and fundraisers, though, but nothing as… remarkable as this. The drinks were likely just as overpriced, but the people were a thousand times less interesting.”

“Galas, huh?” Iwaizumi parrots. “Sounds like you don’t miss those at all.”

“I don’t,” Oikawa says, smiling despite the tightness in his jaw. There is little about that life he misses. Even with its perks and privileges. 

Hanamaki returns with their drinks after a moment, sliding a beer towards Iwaizumi and Matsukawa respectively and a glass of whisky towards Oikawa. His own glass is filled with a blue-and-pink liquid and Oikawa is both intrigued yet mildly repulsed. 

“Cheers,” Hanamaki announces, raising his glass. The flour glasses clink together, and if Oikawa didn’t know better, he’d almost believe they were here to have a regular night out. “Now we wait. Bartender said he should be here in twenty or thirty minutes.” 

Oikawa nods, taking a steadying breath as he sips his drink. The whisky glides down his throat easily, leaving a satisfying burn in his wake. He briefly wonders what Hanamaki’s old boss might look like. Some rich guy dressed in expensive suits, wearing flashy jewelry and a pair of sunglasses perched atop his head?

“Nervous?” 

Iwaizumi’s voice is almost drowned out by the heavy bass of the music, but Oikawa catches the word that slips through his lips. One of Iwaizumi’s elbows rests atop the table, his glass lifted towards his lips as he takes a long swig of his drink. 

He wants to shake his head at the question, deny the feelings festering inside of his chest, but he feels as though Iwaizumi might see right through him with that piercing gaze of his. Before he gets to respond, Iwaizumi leans in slightly, and says, “Charm seems to work, don’t worry.”

He wonders how Iwaizumi can remain so level-headed and calm, given how adamant he was about Oikawa remaining at the loft rather than coming to the nightclub with him and his friends.

Oikawa absentmindedly runs his finger over the necklace, brushing over the pendant. “And it goes well with the outfit,” he quips. 

The words cause Iwaizumi’s attention to shift towards the necklace, his eyes briefly taking in Oikawa’s outfit, and Oikawa has to refrain himself from squirming beneath Iwaizumi’s gaze. Instead, he takes another sip of his drink.

“It’s a good outfit,” Iwaizumi admits. 

The compliment causes whatever tension had settled into his chest to unravel slowly and he hides his smile against the rim of his glass. 

“Wish you had dressed up as well?”

“Absolutely not.”

He doesn’t stop the laughter that climbs up his throat. “Maybe next time, Iwa-chan.”

“Mm-hm, we’ll see,” Iwaizumi retorts.

He disappears briefly after that, mentioning that he’s going through the restroom, and Oikawa takes slow sips of his drink as Hanamaki regails him with interesting tales of his time as a bartender. Each story is more outlandish than the previous one and some include the names of some high-profile people, leaving Oikawa thoroughly interested in whatever Hanamaki decides to share with him. 

He’s in the middle of a story about a socialite and her very public and dramatic break-up with her boyfriend at the time, who happened to be some big shot photographer, and nearly set something on fire during Hanamaki’s shift, when Oikawa’s eyes spot Iwaizumi in the distance. 

He pushes through a crowd of people, mildly annoyed at their lack of spatial awareness, when a woman in a pair of shiny leather pants and long, white hair approaches him. If Iwaizumi is surprised by her sudden appearance, he doesn’t show it. She pushes herself onto her toes to say something in his ear and Oikawa catches the smile on her black-painted lips while Iwaizumi’s expression remains neutral. Even from a distance, her beauty does not go unnoticed, but it doesn’t seem to affect Iwaizumi much. He does offer her somewhat of a polite smile and a shake of his head rather than entertaining her advances and she allows her hand to rest on his arm before walking back towards her friends.

For a moment, he wonders if Iwaizumi would’ve stayed with the woman if the circumstances had been different; less life-threatening.

Dating as a demon hunter can’t be easy, he supposes.

When Iwaizumi returns to their table, Oikawa can’t refrain from making a comment about what he’d just seen, tongue loosened by the whisky and genuine curiosity, as he smirks against the rim of his glass. “Not interested?” he asks breezily, downing the remnants of his drink. “Already got someone?”

Next to him, Iwaizumi does the same before lowering his now-empty glass onto the table. “Nope,” he answers, seemingly unbothered by Oikawa’s subtle prying. “And no,” he adds, his gaze traveling back towards Oikawa. “No girlfriends, or boyfriends.”

The latter part of the sentence catches Oikawa off guard, his lips parting around a quiet ‘oh’ as the implication of Iwaizumi’s words slowly settle in. Surprise colors his features, and he wonders if it’s the alcohol that causes a surge of warmth to travel towards his cheeks. Before he gets the chance to form a proper response, Hanamaki signals that the club owner has arrived and instructs them to follow him.

Oikawa trails after the three men, navigating through the club and pushing past people as he’s being led down a flight of stairs into some sort of private room. Upon arriving into the room, he spots a man in his mid-thirties with semi-long, black hair and thick eyebrows. The dark strands are pushed back by a head-band, giving Oikawa a view of the two piercings in his left earlobe. A cigarette hangs from his lips, his expression neutral, nearly unimpressed and bordering on bored, as he stares at the screen of a laptop. 

The man before him doesn’t quite match the image Oikawa had created inside his head. There are no expensive suits, paired with equally expensive jewelry, instead, he wears a pair of dark jeans and a tight black shirt. A stark difference compared to the patrons walking across the shiny floors of the nightclub.

“Ah, Hanamaki,” he greets, removing the cigarette with a slow exhale. “Nomura said you guys had arrived—”

A pause follows, accompanied by the raising of his left brow as his gaze settles on Oikawa. “Who’s the new guy?”

“He’s with us,” Hanamaki explains, “s’what we came to talk to you about actually. He’s got a bit of a problem.” 

The man makes a non-committal noise, taking another drag of his cigarette before narrowing his gaze. “What kind of problem?”

“The demonic kind.”

He doesn’t seem too surprised by Hanamaki’s explanation. “And what do you want me to do ‘bout that? Don’t you guys have it covered?” he remarks, his eyes flitting towards Oikawa once more. “You a hunter, kid?”

“Oikawa,” Oikawa corrects almost immediately. “Oikawa Tooru.”

The man’s expression changes slightly and he smirks around his cigarette. “You a hunter, Oikawa Tooru?”

“I’m not,” Oikawa answers, “Mr…?”

“Ukai. Ukai Keishin,” he replies. “All right, now that we’ve got the introductions outta the way, if you’re not a hunter, how’d you get mixed up with these guys?” 

Ukai uses his free hand to gesture at the three hunters before continuing, “You have to be in some deep shit for them to come here. You gotten yourself cursed?”

That seems to be everybody’s initial assumption and Oikawa briefly wonders if something about him screams ‘incessant fool who’d dabble in the dark arts and accidentally gotten himself cursed by an ancient demonic entity’.

He shakes his head, fighting every urge to roll his eyes. It would be wise to remain on the man’s good side, he realizes. If he has the answers they’re looking for, getting into a petty argument would only make everything more difficult. 

It’s Iwaizumi who answers for him. “He’s not cursed, but he is being targeted,” he explains.

Ukai shuts the laptop in front of him before leaning back into his seat. He gently taps his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray, flicking the ashes into the silver bowl. “Still don’t know what that’s gotta do with me. You guys are skilled enough to handle that.”

“It’s a… unique situation,” Iwaizumi adds and Oikawa doesn’t miss the hint of irritation slipping into his voice. Hanamaki must have noticed as well, because he speaks up immediately.

“You know anything about a ‘demon gate’?” 

For the first time in the five minutes that they’ve been standing in Ukai’s office, he seems surprised. His eyebrows are raised towards his hairline before they knit together. “Not much. I know demon gates are a lot of trouble. You telling me he opened one?”

“No,” Matsukawa responds. “A demon started blabbering about it after we noticed a sudden increase in demon signatures. They started appearing during the day, too.”

“During the day ?” Ukai repeats, “Category?”

“Threes and fours mostly.” 

A hand covers the lower half of Ukai’s face as his gaze briefly drops towards the desk in quiet contemplation. “Shit.”

“You could say that again,” Matsukawa says dryly. “We tried looking for information about this gate but we came up empty. Hiro said you might know anything about it. Frankly, you’re our only lead now. Aside from the higher-ups, but, you know how they feel about outsiders.”

Ukai’s fingers come up to pinch the bridge of his nose and he exhales tiredly. “Yeah yeah,” he mutters. “I know a buddy of mine did research on the demon gates once. It's said they existed thousands of years ago and that the first demons traveled through those gates initially to enter our world, or realm. Nobody has been able to find any of these gates, though. If I’m to believe him, it requires an incredible amount of energy to open them. Nobody has that kind of power. Nobody we know at least.” 

He pauses, sighs again. “It’s all speculation. Folk tales. Nowadays, non-hunters have their own interpretations and beliefs when it comes to the demon gates—likely based on the real things that allegedly existed back in the day. Most of these stories are similar, but from what I know, they’ve got one common denominator: they’re bad luck.”

It doesn’t take a genius to know that anything called a ‘demon gate’ sounds like bad luck, but Oikawa wisely refrains from making a snarky comment. Instead, he glances at Iwaizumi—who frowns in response to Ukai’s words. “How come we couldn’t find any information about them if it’s that simple?”

Ukai hums around his cigarette as he takes a final drag. “Apparently the demon gates are forbidden knowledge these days. The council didn’t want kids learning about that shit in fear of someone trying to fuck with forces beyond their control. Didn’t think someone’d be stupid enough to open one, though. Assuming that demon spoke the truth.”

“I think it did,” Iwaizumi replies. “The sudden increase in demon signatures was suspicious.”

“You said they appeared during the day too, right?”

“Mm-hm. Started two days ago when Oikawa got attacked at home in the middle of the day.”

“At home ?” Ukai repeats, glancing back at Oikawa, “Shit. You sure you didn’t do anything?”

“We suspect someone has it out for him,” Iwaizumi continues. “He’s clean. Couldn’t detect a hint of cursed energy on him.”

Oikawa feels somewhat relieved that Iwaizumi jumps to his defense—even if it is merely part of his job to explain the situation in full detail.

“Daytime demons are bad news, though,” Ukai remarks. “They shouldn’t be appearing during the day, let alone appear at people’s homes. I suspect the ones you fought might be stronger than your average category three or fours, then.”

If the expression on Iwaziumi’s face is anything to go by, Oikawa thinks they might be in quite a lot of trouble. He curses inwardly, the erratic beat of his heart skyrocketing once more as dread settles deep into his bones. Everything about the demon gate sounds horrible and the thought of absurdly strong demons passing through his gate, coming from a different realm, to kill him is enough to send another wave of nausea through stomach. He swallows roughly, his fingers tightly curled into fists as they are buried in his pockets. 

“You think we can meet with this friend of yours?” Hanamaki asks. “Get more info on this gate and where to find it. And maybe how to close it while we’re at it.”

“You’d have to travel all the way to Sendai. I’ll call him, see if he can tell you more ‘bout it. Or send some of his findings your way. Can’t promise much, though. It even took him a long time to find a small amount of information,” Ukai explains. “But it does sound like your friend’s problem and this demon gate could be connected. I assume you guys cloaked him properly before bringing him out here?”

“Took care of that, yeah,” Matsukawa responds. 

“We’d best get out of here now, though,” Hanamaki points out. “Thanks for the help. You mind… keeping all of this between us? We’re trying to keep a low profile ‘til we know what we’re up against.”

A chuckle passes through Ukai’s lips, his features softening at Hanamaki’s request. “I’m the last person to rat you out. You know how I feel about the higher-ups. Self-righteous assholes.”

Oikawa momentarily thinks back about their earlier conversation at the loft. He remembers the venom in Hanamaki’s voice as he mentioned the elder demon hunters; the harsh words that were about to cut through the air if not for Iwaizumi’s interference. Whoever this supposed council of higher-ups are, it seems that they’re not well-liked.

Oikawa briefly wonders why.

His rumination is cut short when Hanamaki nudges him forward, mentioning that they’re heading back towards the loft. He throws a quick glance over his shoulder, looking back at Ukai and offering a small bow of his head in gratitude. Ukai mirrors the movement, a gentle nod and a half-smile. “Be careful, kid.”

A quick trip up the stairs leads them back towards the club’s main area, where its patrons continue to dance and consume generous amounts of alcohol; from colorful cocktails to shot glasses that appear to be on fire . They come to a halt at one of the empty tables near the bar, with Hanamaki drumming his fingers atop the table top. 

“Sorry guys, thought he’d know more.” 

“S’alright,” Iwaizumi says, “It’s something at least. We couldn’t even find anything.”

Matsukawa nods in agreement, placing a hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder. “We’ll wait and see what Ukai’s friend  has to say. For now, let’s head out. Some of us have to work tomorrow.”

“God, you sound old,” Hanamaki drawls, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “What happened?”

“I became a responsible adult.”

“Boo. We’re only twenty-seven.” 

“We have a mortgage to pay.”

The brief exchange between the two men brings a smile to Oikawa’s lips. It dawns on him that, amidst all of this demon hunting chaos, they’re all just adults trying to navigate adulthood in the best way they can. He momentarily thinks about his own job at the university, wondering what it’ll be like to return to his day-to-day life knowing what he knows now. In the brief time he’s gotten to know Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, he’s grown somewhat fond of them. Their willingness to help him, despite Oikawa being an outsider , speaks volumes about each of their characters.

Maybe in another life it could’ve been different. 

Next to him, Iwaizumi speaks up as he lightly taps his knuckles against the table top. “C’mon, we should get—”

The latter part of the sentence dies in his throat; his eyes widening suddenly before he whips his head around.

Multiple things happen at once. 

Something shatters. Glass. A window. Two windows even.

There’s a scream, high-pitched and shrill, accompanied by another. And another. Voices bleed together, their cries heard over the loud bass of the music and Oikawa watches as a group of people run towards one side of the nightclub—all of them backing away from the floor-to-ceiling windows in terror.

He hears it before he sees it.

A low growl. Bone-chilling. 

It cuts through the air like a blade, accompanied by a roar he’s become intimately familiar with. His body reacts instantly; the hairs on the back of his neck rising with the sense of dread that settles deep within his bones. His breathing quickens, shallow and sharp inhalations rattle his chest at the realization of the current situation.

There’s a roar, accompanied by another, and in the darkness of the room he sees it. Red eyes, the color of blood, of hellfire, sharp teeth, along with even sharper claws that appear to be the size of one’s forearm. Their skin is dipped in black ink, wings sprouting from their backs like man-sized bats. 

Demons.

Everything happens agonizingly slowly, yet impeccably fast. 

Iwaizumi shouts something, his name perhaps, and then Oikawa feels a pair of arms around his waist before he’s being tackled to the ground. A sharp pain travels up his spine and he groans quietly; his vision blurring for a brief moment as he realizes Iwaizumi dove on top of him. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes are wide with terror, Oikawa notices. His body hovers over Oikawa’s own as though he might be shielding him; both hands firmly planted at each side of Oikawa’s head. He glances at something in the distance—a demon most likely—before his gaze drops to Oikawa and then he’s mouthing words Oikawa can’t decipher. 

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa eventually hears. “We have to get up. They’re coming back.” 

Iwaizumi’s voice bleeds together with the multiple screams that echo through the nightclub and Oikawa is quickly pulled to his feet before he’s being shoved towards the bar. 

People run into various directions, their cries an agonizing symphony. He hears another roar, watching as numerous demons have infiltrated the room and began hacking and slashing their way through the crowd.

He has to get out. He needs to get out.

A hand tightly wraps itself around his upper arm and he jolts. Though, before he’s able to free himself from the person’s grip, he realizes it’s Iwaizumi who’s pulling him away. They disappear behind the bar counter, panic evident on Iwaizumi’s features. “Stay here!”  

“Iwa-chan—” Oikawa breathes, memories of the previous day flooding his mind as panic travels through his body. He’s unable to finish the sentence when one of the demons suddenly leaps onto the bar counter, and he gasps. Though, before the creature is able to jump forward, something wraps around its neck. A rope of some kind.

It emits an orange glow and Oikawa notices it’s burning the demon’s flesh. The creature releases a choked sound, shrieking loudly afterwards and clawing at its neck.

It’s not a rope, he realizes after a moment. Matsukawa’s chain. Flames sprout from the metal chain, searing the monster’s skin before it tightens around its neck with such force that it promptly beheads the demon. 

Black blood erupts from its body, spraying across the counter top. Some of it lands on Iwaizumi, who had kept Oikawa shielded and an arm raised in front of himself. The demon’s corpse slumps backwards, landing onto the floor with a loud thud.

The stench of demon blood protrudes the air, an acidic scent that’s become all too familiar to him. His stomach churns as he fights the wave of nausea that washes over him. Oikawa watches as the chain disappears as quickly as it had appeared. He follows its path back to Matsukawa, who has the other end of the chain wrapped around his right hand. His entire hand is covered in yellow and orange flames, which seep into the weapon and cover the metal surface entirely. It actually looks amazing.

He’s yelling something at Hanamaki, who runs towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa as Matsukawa ducks sideways to avoid one of the demons that lunges towards him. The chain wraps around the demon’s body, burning through the creature’s flesh just as Matsukawa uses both hands to sling the demon against a far wall. Almost instantly, its body begins to decay; skin and bones swallowed by the flames. 

Hanamaki jumps over the bar counter, clearly just as alarmed as Oikawa had been moments before. He breathes heavily as he presses his palm to Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Ukai’s gonna make sure everyone gets out safe. Go. I’ll stay here with him.”

Iwaizumi nods quickly. “How many are there?”

“We’ve killed four so far. Might be more.”

Another roar follows Hanamaki’s words and the three of them quickly try to locate the source of the sound. Three more demons fly through empty space where the windows had been before they were shattered by the first horde of vicious creatures.

“Go!” Hanamaki shouts.

Iwaizumi leaps over the counter almost instantly and Hanamaki turns towards Oikawa, shoving what appears to be a knife in his hand. 

“Might not do a lot, but if anything tries to attack you… stab it,” he instructs.

A weak laugh exits Oikawa’s lips and he wills his hands not to tremble around the weapon pressed between his palms. Next to him, Hanamaki seems to have unfolded his bow and Oikawa’s eyes are immediately drawn to those same yellow-golden arrows he’d seen before. They emit a vibrant light and Hanamaki steps forward, scanning the crowd before releasing the arrow into the direction of a demon that was seconds away from attacking Matsukawa.

It pierces the demon’s head with pinpoint accuracy and Matsukawa raises his hand as a way of thanking his boyfriend.

Oikawa’s eyes frantically scan the room. The club is notably more empty now, the distant screams of the remaining patrons piercing his eardrums. He watches as they all frantically try to exit the space as quickly as possible, pushing each other aside and stumbling over the bodies of those that hadn’t been fortunate enough to survive the vicious attacks.

Nausea sweeps through his stomach at the sight of the lifeless bodies splayed across the dark floor. Limbs are broken or ripped from their bodies entirely, blood coating their clothes and skin where the demons had pierced their flesh with their sharp claws. Mouths are agape, eyes widened in their final moments of terror. 

Some have been gouged out, leaving nothing but a pool of blood and blackness in their wake. 

“Don’t look,” Hanamaki barks out. The tightness of his jaw does not go unnoticed and Oikawa inhales sharply at the sudden command. “There’s nothing we can do for them now,” he says, quieter. “Just… don’t look, Oikawa.”

He doesn’t get the chance to mourn the nameless people—not when he hears the tell-tale shrieking of a demon to his left. He jumps backwards, but Hanamaki is much faster, turning on his heel and snatching the knife from Oikawa’s grip before embedding it in the demon's forehead. The creature howls, thrashing wildly and slicing its claws through the air in an attempt to attack Hanamaki.

He hisses when the demon’s claws manage to slice across his chest, ripping through the fabric of his shirt, before he manages to conjure a knife entirely made of yellow-golden energy, similar to the arrows Oikawa had seen. In a split second Hanamaki lunges forward, burying the knife into the demon’s hide and slicing through its stomach. 

It causes black blood to coat his hands and arms, staining the fabric of his jacket, which he shrugs off in annoyance and tosses aside. “Fucking great,” he hisses, “I loved that jacket. See this is why I hate close combat.”

Oikawa’s lips are parted in surprise, or rather astonishment, and a bit of shock. His brain desperately attempts to come up with a decent response, a proper sentence, but the only thing that exits his mouth is a quiet ‘wow’ . When Hanamaki turns back towards him, he notices the gashes across his chest from where the demon’s claws sliced through his shirt. “Makki your—”

Hanamaki’s eyes widen before he glances down at his chest, lips twisting in annoyance. “Oh, yeah.”

A palm comes to rest over the wound and he inhales deeply. That same yellow-golden light concentrates at the center of his palm and Oikawa realizes that it’s the first time he’s seen Hanamaki use his healing magic up close. The line between Hanamaki’s eyebrows disappears and his expression softens while he breathes out a sigh of relief. When he lowers his hand, his skin appears to be fully healed—as if the wound had never existed. 

Oikawa remembers the sensation all too well; remembers how Hanamaki’s magic had stitched his skin back together. He instinctively reaches for his own shoulder, fingers hovering over the spot where the wound had been once. 

His brief moment of astonishment is cut short when Hanamaki whirls around at the sound of a distant roar. Both Oikawa and Hanamaki brace themselves for another attack, with Oikawa inhaling sharply while Hanamaki conjures two light swords that hover next to him. He sends the swords flying forward, the weapons piercing the wing of a demon that had been flying towards them. The second sword pierces the demon's chest, causing the creature to crash into the counter with a pained howl. 

“They just keep coming,” Hanamaki complains, inching closer towards the counter. Oikawa takes a tentative step forward, glancing over Hanamaki’s shoulder to see Matsukawa dodging another attack. For a moment he wonders about Iwaizumi, anxiety stirring inside of him as he scans the large space. 

His eyes widen when he spots a familiar figure in the distance; Iwaizumi’s form is draped in the club’s green lighting while three, no, four demons advance towards him. He takes slow, careful steps backwards until he enters what appears to be the VIP-section of the nightclub—leaving him cornered by the creatures before him.

Oikawa’s stomach drops and dread gathers in the sentence of his chest; sprawling through his body. He tries to swallow past the unease in his throat.

“Iwa-chan is—” he starts, putting a hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder. 

“He’s fine,” Hanamaki says quickly, something akin to amusement seeping into his voice. Oikawa wants to object, insisting that Hanamaki aid his friend, but the words never leave his lips. 

The entire thing happens impossibly fast. 

One moment Iwaizumi is staring at the group of demons in front of him and the next moment he takes a quick step backwards, angling his body to kick at a black table behind him. It falls over and he wastes no time ripping the table legs off with seemingly little effort.

Green light continues to flash through the nightclub, illuminating Iwaizumi’s features, and Oikawa is vaguely aware of the fact that even the music had continued to thrum through the speakers amidst all the chaos. The heavy bass reverberates through his body, his chest tight with anticipation, as he watches Iwaizumi move with impeccable speed.

One of the table legs is hurled towards the demon as some sort of makeshift javelin and Oikawa flinches when the piece of wood pierces the creature’s head with such force that the demon flies backwards and crashes into a wall. 

Mere seconds after that, the second table leg finds its way in the center of another demon’s head, while the third demon is simultaneously pierced by two pieces of wood Iwaizumi launches at the creature. The final demon  shrieks, flying towards him, but Iwaizumi is faster. He reaches down to grab the table top, fingers tightly wrapped around its edges, stance widened instantly, and Oikawa is left watching as Iwaizumi uses the only remaining piece of the table to swing at the demon. Not only does he hit the creature, but the momentum, and force behind it, causes Iwaizumi to destroy the entire upper half of the demon’s body upon impact.

The table top is destroyed, broken into two pieces, and Iwaizumi exhales roughly as he tosses the pieces of wood aside while stalking towards another creature. A combination of black and red blood clings to his skin, dripping down his cheek and slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. It decorates his bottom lip, which is parted around a sharp breath as his hands reach behind his back to retrieve a pair of trench knives Oikawa recognizes.

He twirls the knives in his grip and Oikawa’s eyes widen at the sight of the white energy seeping from Iwaizumi’s palms into the blades. His fingers slip through the knives’ knuckle guards, similar to a pair of brass knuckles, while the energy continues to envelop the weapons. It’s similar to Matsukawa’s abilities, he realizes, and he watches as both Iwaizumi and Matsukawa fight their way through the final horde of demons; perfectly synchronized.

He’s never seen anything like it. 

Iwaizumi’s movements are quick and calculated, his blades slicing through the demons’ hides with a deadly accuracy. It’s almost scary. He drags the knives along their throats, buries them in their stomachs and slices them along their limbs like it’s the only thing he knows how to do. It’s different from what Oikawa witnessed before and he finds himself at a loss for words, merely observing the way one of Iwaizumi’s kicks sends a demon crashing through a door right before he ducks aside and drives one of his blades through the jaw of another demon.

“Told you,” Hanamaki grins, obviously amused. 

“He’s…” Oikawa starts, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. “Strong.”

Perhaps strong is an understatement.

A mere second later, one of the demons leaps onto Iwaizumi’s back; sinking its claws into his shoulder and Oikawa gasps, nearly shouts his name, when Iwaizumi drops one of the knives  and reaches behind him. His fingers curl around the demon’s nape and he grits his teeth before he manages to throw the creature over his shoulder, slamming its body onto the ground with such force that it might generate a shockwave. 

(Oikawa is fairly certain the floor briefly trembled upon impact).

Almost instantly, Iwaizumi’s heel is shoved into the demon’s chest—keeping the creature pinned to the ground. He manages to retrieve one of his guns before firing a round of energy bullets into its head until the creature stops thrashing. 

The gun is then aimed at a second creature that charges towards him, but the bullets only seem to pierce its wing and the demon lashes out, slicing its claws across Iwaizumi’s forearm when he attempts to block the attack. It causes him to stumble backwards, dropping the gun, but his hand immediately reaches for the demon’s arm afterwards. He pulls the creature towards him while simultaneously kicking his leg forward, driving his foot through the demon’s skin and flesh rather than kicking the monster backwards. Black blood sprays from the gaping wound and the creature slumps down, allowing Iwaizumi to retrieve his handgun.

With the weapon resting in one palm, he whips around and dashes forward when the final demon sprints towards where Oikawa and Hanamaki are located. Hanamaki’s energy blades are launched towards the demon, piercing its chest just as Iwaizumi throws his knife towards the creature—piercing its skull mere seconds after. 

The demon slumps against the counter with a strangled cry, its body sliding onto the floor. Iwaizumi appears moments after, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he retrieves the knife he’d thrown. There are cuts and bruises littering his skin, a mixture of demon and human blood decorating his forearms and Oikawa notices the occasional tear in his shirt. Iwaizumi watches the demon’s corpse for a moment, anger flashing through his eyes and lips slightly parted around a sharp exhale, before his gaze finds Oikawa’s.

Oikawa nearly flinches at the intensity trapped behind those dark eyes, but the fury he witnessed moments before is quickly replaced by concern and Iwaizumi’s expression softens almost instantly.

“You okay?” he asks breathlessly as he walks  around the bar to approach both Hanamaki and Oikawa.

Rather than replying directly, Hanamaki turns around to retrieve his jacket, murmuring something about a ‘dry cleaning bill’ while Oikawa offers a slow nod in response. He briefly observes Iwaizumi, feeling something between shock and astonishment as he recalls what he’d just witnessed.

Granted, he knew Iwaizumi was strong, but it’s entirely different to witness it in person. It’s almost as though his cognitive functions have stopped working, his ability to form sentences abandoning him entirely; leaving him staring in shock—and awe—at the man before him.

Iwaizumi’s eyes travel across Oikawa’s body, likely scanning for injuries, and Oikawa is quick to inform him that he hadn’t sustained any type of wound. 

“Your shoulders,” Oikawa tells him afterwards, gesturing at the torn fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt. Blood clings to his skin, damaged from where the demon had sank its claws into his flesh when it leapt onto his back. 

Iwaizumi glances at the wounds in question, mildly surprised at the injuries before he groans in annoyance. His hands inch towards his shoulder, but Oikawa interrupts him—his own hand almost reaching for him. “Stop!”

Iwaizumi pauses, brows shooting upwards as he looks back at Oikawa.

“You’ll—infect it,” Oikawa finishes lamely. The words pull a chuckle from Iwaizumi, who drops his hand and, instead, rolls his shoulders with a quiet groan. 

“It’s fine,” he tells Oikawa. “You sure you’re okay?”

Oikawa wants to object and point out that being injured and covered in blood isn’t what most people would consider ‘fine’, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Instead, he offers Iwaizumi a small nod just as Matsukawa joins them. His gaze darts between Iwaizumi and Oikawa as he leans against the counter. “So, that went well, huh?” 

Oikawa doesn’t miss the splatters of black blood clinging to his arms and face. Aside from a few cuts and scrapes, he seems relatively fine. That is, until he shows a painful looking gash on his forearm. It’s enough to make Oikawa flinch and Hanamaki quickly looks around until he finds a rag, which he tosses at his boyfriend with the instruction to clean the wound. 

Matsukawa does as he’s told, jerking his chin into Iwaizumi’s direction as he presses the rag to his forearm. “Iwaizumi’s got a little something on his shoulders, too.”

“It’s nothing,” Iwaizumi murmurs and Oikawa almost scoffs, but then Hanamaki walks past him, carrying another rag. He presses the cloth against Iwaizumi’s right shoulder first, who winces in response as his friend begins to remove the blood.

“He always says that,” Hanamaki snorts, rubbing the rag over Iwaizumi’s left shoulder afterwards.  “Tough guy, aren’t ya? Throwing demons over your shoulder like that. Show-off.” 

Oikawa finds himself surprised at how unbothered Hanamaki sounds, given that the three of them had been fighting a small army of vicious creatures moments before. 

It’s a damn miracle he hasn’t passed out himself.

(Maybe, in some twisted way, his body is getting used to all the stress it continuously endured).

Iwaizumi’s and Matsukawa’s wounds are tended to by Hanamaki once the majority of the blood has been removed and Oikawa looks up when Ukai’s voice travels through the air. He looks around the club, pushing his fingers through his hair with a sigh as he assesses the damage. 

“You guys have to get outta here,” he tells them. “Gods, this is—”

Iwaizumi is the first one to speak up, an apology falling from his lips almost instantly. “We didn’t know they’d come here. The charm should’ve worked.” 

Ukai waves a hand, seemingly exhausted from the night’s events. “I know. It’s a… unique situation. I already called the clean-up crew to deal with… all of this,” he says, gesturing around the large space. “But if they see you here, they’re gonna ask questions.”

Oikawa follows Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa as they move towards the other side of the counter. “Clean up crew?” 

“A group of hunters who deal with the aftermath of demon attacks. If multiple civilians are involved, they come here to clean up and cover all this shit up,” Matsukawa explains. “If they know we’re here, it’s only a matter of time before other hunters know. Word travels fast.”

He’s quick to gather their belongings, tossing his own jacket over his shoulder before handing the other three coats to Hanamaki, Iwaizumi and Oikawa respectively. “We’re very sorry for all the damage,” Hanamaki adds, slipping his arms through the sleeves of his coat. “If there’s anything we can do—”

Ukai releases a sound that’s somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a dry chuckle. “Close that fucking demon gate—if it really is opened. And make sure rich boy here writes me a check for the broken tables and shattered windows. Now get outta here.”

Oikawa’s body moves on its own after that, following the other three men until they’re outside again. They quickly head towards Matsukawa’s car, mindful of any possible demons still wandering the area. Once they’re inside the vehicle, Matsukawa mentions that he will inform his siblings of the sudden influx of demons and ask the pair to pay close attention to any new demon signatures.

As they speed down the road, Oikawa’s heart continues to hammer against his ribcage. His chest aches with each beat and tightly grips the fabric of his trousers in an attempt to stop his hands from shaking. 

It doesn’t work. 

He keeps thinking of what had transpired within the walls of the nightclub; how a pleasant night turned into a slaughter fest. The place had been crawling with demons, more than he’d encountered before, and he wonders how the creatures had managed to find them. Their monstrous faces are etched into his brain like a movie that’s stuck on loop; a continuous repeat of tonight’s bloodshed and carnage.

His fingers continue to tremble with every breath that passes through his lungs and he thinks they might never stop, until a hand comes to rest atop of his own. The sudden gesture catches him off guard and Oikawa raises his head to find Iwaizumi staring out of the window, his free hand folded over the lower half of his face. 

He remains quiet, as if unaware of his actions, and Oikawa notices the way his brows are pinched together. The words Iwaizumi had spoken so often are the rays of light protruding the darkness that has swallowed his mind.

It will be okay.

We’ll figure things out.

It all circles back to trust, he realizes. It always will.

A small squeeze draws his attention back to their hands, where his fingers have stopped trembling. Oikawa releases a long breath, gratitude slipping through the cracks of his heart, gentle and careful, much like Iwaizumi’s grip.

He squeezes back.

Chapter Text

The ride back to the loft is a quiet one. 

Even though nights like these are a common occurrence for Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki, tonight had been different. 

It’s been a while since there have been this many casualties.

They’re used to it by now; the fighting, the injuries, the foul stench of demon blood protruding the air, but seeing those lifeless bodies never gets easier. He’s learned a long time ago to separate his personal feelings from his job as a hunter, and he knows better than to disappear into that rabbit hole of guilt and remorse, but Iwaizumi is only human.

When they step across the threshold, four pairs of shoes removed in the genkan and coats neatly tucked away, Hanamaki mentions that he’s going to take a shower. He mumbles something about ‘salvaging his shirt and jacket’ and Iwaizumi watches as Matsukawa presses a hand to the small of Hanamaki’s back, murmuring words that are too quiet for him to hear against his boyfriend’s temple, before walking into the direction of the kitchen. 

It’s become somewhat of a routine on bad nights: Hanamaki immediately takes a shower, feeling the urge to rid himself off that bitter, acidic scent that clings to his skin in the form of black bloodstains, while Matsukawa disappears into the kitchen and mechanically begins to prepare a meal to satiate the hunger growing inside of him. It allows him to focus on something else; prevents him from replaying horrific scenes on loop.

Iwaizumi usually returned to his apartment, distracting himself with movies or mindless tv shows with Ren curled up next to him on the couch. She’d put her head in his lap, huffing on occasion as if to communicate with him and offer some sort of comfort. It usually worked.

As he takes a few steps into the living room, she quickly pads towards them, sniffing at Iwaizumi’s legs and nudging her head against his palm before licking at his skin. It’s her own way of checking on him. He runs his fingers through her fur, crouching down, and offering as much of a smile as he can muster, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

A huff follows and after a few more head scratches, she quickly approaches Oikawa—who, like Iwaizumi, seems surprised at Ren’s sudden behavior. She sniffs at his legs, circling him multiple times, and Oikawa releases a breathless chuckle before rubbing his hand across her head; appreciating the concern for his well being. Their gazes meet just as Oikawa scratches behind the dog’s ears. “She seems to really like you,” Iwaizumi points out, amused.

Oikawa’s smile is small, but fond, as he glances down at Ren. “Seems like it, yeah.”

He glances over his shoulder a moment later when the sound of hands rummaging through kitchen cabinets echoes through the open space. They watch as Matsukawa, who’d taken it upon himself to prepare an impressive looking breakfast sandwich, finishes his meal in four large bites before starting on another sandwich. When he notices two pairs of eyes on him, he merely shrugs and says, “Hunting makes me hungry.” 

Oikawa releases a short hum. “I get that.”

Matsukawa begins to assemble a third sandwich afterwards before rummaging through the cabinets once more and retrieving two water bottles and an array of snacks. He manages to tuck everything under his arms before leaving the kitchen to head towards the stairs. “Gonna head up to see if Hiro’s hungry and then take a shower. There are still eggs and bacon in the pan and bread on the counter, help yourselves,” he tells them. “You guys try to get some sleep too, all right?” 

Both Iwaizumi and Oikawa offer him a quiet ‘thanks’ and a quick nod as they watch Matsukawa jog up the stairs. 

Rather than stepping into the kitchen for some much needed post-hunting grub, Iwaizumi is quick to retrieve a first aid kit. He tosses it onto the coffee table before dropping ungracefully on the couch. While the severe injuries had been tended to by Hanamaki in the nightclub, Iwaizumi knows from experience that the smaller cuts and scrapes require just as much attention as the bigger wounds.

He begins to grab the necessary items, placing them next to the kit, when Oikawa quietly pads towards the couch. Iwaizumi raises his head to find him holding out a bottle of Pocari Sweat with a small smile. “Figured you could use the electrolytes,” he explains. “You know, after all… of that.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze darts between the bottle and Oikawa’s face before he huffs a quiet laugh and takes the sports drink. “Thank you.”

He expects that to be the end of it, expects Oikawa to trail off with a quiet ‘good night’, but instead, he lowers himself onto the couch and reaches for a white bottle used to disinfect small wounds. “Here,” he starts, dabbing its contents onto a cotton pad, “Let me do it. My hands are clean.”

An objection rises in Iwaizumi’s throat and he wants to explain that he’s perfectly able to tend to his own wounds, and how it’s nothing for Oikawa to worry about, but Oikawa merely fixes him with an expectant stare which is surprisingly stern yet gentle. Iwaizumi admits defeat, wordlessly extending his right arm, and Oikawa’s eyes momentarily widen at the sight of a rather big cut along Iwaizumi’s forearm. The bleeding had mostly stopped, leaving the remaining blood dry and flaky around the wound.

“It’s nothing,” he says almost on instinct. The words earn him a scoff before Oikawa rises to his feet and Iwaizumi follows him with his eyes as Oikawa quickly walks back to the kitchen room to fill a bowl with water and grab a few paper towels. 

When he returns to the living room area, he takes a seat next to Iwaizumi once more, and says, “Arm, please.” 

Oikawa’s touch is gentle as his fingers curl around Iwaizumi’s forearm. He wets the paper towel before carefully wiping at the dried blood around the wound, eyes glancing between Iwaizumi’s forearm and his face. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” 

Iwaizumi almost huffs, almost tells him that he’s had much worse on a weekly basis, but he wisely refrains from making a snarky comment. Instead, a sliver of fondness gathers in his chest as he nods at Oikawa’s words.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” 

Oikawa hums, continuing to wipe at Iwaizumi’s forearm until the wound has been cleaned. Afterwards, he dabs the cut gently with the cotton pad; the disinfectant leaving a burning sensation in its wake. Iwaizumi grimaces, involuntarily releasing a hiss, and Oikawa murmurs an apology. “I’m almost done,” he tells him.

“S’okay,” Iwaizumi murmurs as the pain begins to fade away. He observes Oikawa’s hands, remembering how they had trembled mere minutes ago as they sat in the car, and how cold they felt beneath Iwaizumi’s own palm as he had reached for him. 

The trembling has long since subsided, warmth returning to his skin, and Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa’s fingers, long and nimble, move with grace. He applies a few butterfly stitches along the cut with steady hands and a focused gaze. Bandages are applied to the ends of the stitches, providing an additional layer of security.

“Done,” he announces. “Anything else?”

By now, the adrenaline that had once coursed through Iwaizumi’s body has long since vanished; making way for the familiar aches that seep into his muscles. There are undoubtedly more cuts and scrapes scattered across his body, but he would rather not bother Oikawa with something he can perfectly resolve on his own. 

He shakes his head, retrieving his arm to open the bottle of Pocari Sweat laying in his lap, and takes a long swig of the drink. “I’ve got it from here. Thank you.”

Rather than accepting the answer, Oikawa merely narrows his eyes; offering Iwaizumi a scrutinizing look as he allows his gaze to travel along the length of Iwaizumi’s body. He clearly does not believe him.

“You’re lying,” he deduces. “Lift your shirt.”

Iwaizumi mentally swears. 

Is this guy a human lie detector? 

“I promise you I’m fine,” he tries. It doesn’t work, because Oikawa catches the way Iwaizumi inhales sharply when he attempts to sit upright, and merely arches a brow in response; a perfect way of wordlessly conveying the sentence ‘I told you so’ without uttering a single word.

Iwaizumi’s teeth worry at his lower lip and he releases a sigh of defeat before turning away from Oikawa and carefully peeling off his shirt. (He makes a mental note to fix the tears at the top of the shirt, or discard it entirely—given how many similar shirts are buried in the back of his closet). 

He winces when he manages to remove the shirt, feeling a familiar ache in his side. When his gaze drops to locate the source of the pain, he notices a rather large bruise blooming near his ribcage. Oikawa must notice it too, along with the other bruises that undoubtedly decorate his back, because hears a gasp behind him.

“Iwa-chan.”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi murmurs for the third, fourth, or fifth time, running out of excuses. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

“Stop saying that,” Oikawa snipes. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen. It’s the first time he’s heard Oikawa sound anything remotely close to angry. 

A cotton pad drenched in disinfectant swipes across his shoulder blades. It stings, but the pain is endurable, and Iwaizumi doesn’t wince this time. He does, however, flinch when Oikawa speaks again; his words dripping with annoyance—and concern. “You keep saying ‘it’s fine’ and ‘it’s okay’, but it’s not.”

He remains quiet for a moment, feeling Oikawa apply bandages on the cut between his shoulder blades, before eventually responding with: “Sorry.”

A pause follows his words as he tries to find the correct way to voice the thoughts that roam through his mind. “I—” he begins, “I’m just used to it, I suppose. It’s not a big deal to me anymore. It’s part of the job.”

It’s Oikawa’s turn to fall silent. Iwaizumi wonders what he must be thinking when he’s instructed to turn around. He complies, attempting to ignore whatever shred of embarrassment tries to swim to the surface as he realizes that he’s sitting half-naked in front of a man he kind of, sort of, barely knows. Perhaps the embarrassment has less to do with his state of undress, and more with being reprimanded by said man.

Oikawa swallows, hesitant to touch the large scrape near Iwaizumi’s collarbone. 

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, in regards to the wound, and Oikawa nods before pressing an antiseptic wipe to his skin.

He barely notices the sting this time. Instead, he notices the faint scent of jasmine and peaches as Oikawa ducks his head to get slightly closer to the wound and carefully dabs some kind of ointment along Iwaizumi’s skin. 

“Just because you’re used to something doesn’t make it less bad, or awful,” Oikawa murmurs, his eyes momentarily finding Iwaizumi’s, who can’t help but notice the hint of gold swimming in a sea of light brown. “You don’t have to brush everything off.”

Pretty, he thinks.

The thought disappears as quickly as it had appeared when Oikawa pulls away. He brushes another antiseptic wipe along a few more shallow cuts on Iwaizumi’s arms before quickly pushing a few bandages towards him as he clears his throat. “I think that covers it all,” he continues. “Sorry—for snapping at you.”

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “S’okay. I suppose I need it sometimes,” he admits. “Thank you… for this, by the way. You didn’t have to.”

Oikawa wipes his hands on one of the paper towels, shoulders raised in a shrug as he says, “It’s the least I could do. You’ve rescued me more times than I count.”

“Well, you were in danger,” Iwaizumi points out. “It’s my job after all.”

Oikawa hums at that, pushing himself to his feet. “I should head upstairs. Will you try to get some rest too?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says with a nod. “I think I’m gonna scarf down some of those eggs Matsukawa made and then take a shower. Get this demon blood off me.”

“A wise decision,” Oikawa tells him, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. He heads towards the stairs, throwing Iwaizumi a quick glance over his shoulder. “Good night, Iwa-chan.”

“Night, Oikawa.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

He’s not sure when, but some time after consuming a pretty good breakfast sandwich—thank you Matsukawa—Iwaizumi had accidentally dozed off. He wakes up with a start when he notices a sound coming from his right and he quickly looks around to locate the source of said sound, when he thinks he might spot someone in the kitchen.

The fridge door closes hastily, a quiet apology cutting through the air—just loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear in the living room. With the heel of his hand rubbing at his eye, he frowns at the other person. He blinks once, twice. “Oikawa?”

“Sorry,” Oikawa says again, holding a glass of water as he walks towards the living room. “I—couldn’t sleep anymore, so I wanted to get some water.”

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal noise, scrubbing a hand over his face with a quiet groan. As he looks around, he spots Ren sleeping on the other side of the couch, and it dawns on him that he’d never made the trek upstairs. He groans in annoyance, his muscles still sore from their unexpected run-in with the demons, before he slumps forward; his arms draped across the tops of his thighs.

“Are you okay? You fell asleep here,” Oikawa points out. The suit he’d worn before has been replaced by a pair of sweats and a white shirt he borrowed from Hanamaki and Iwaizumi notices that his otherwise perfectly styled hair is significantly messier, sticking up in various places. 

He must notice Iwaizumi staring because he quickly combs his fingers through the brown strands, attempting to fix his bangs. 

(The sight is quite endearing).

A pair of wire-frame glasses rest atop the bridge of his nose and Iwaizumi briefly thinks about how different he looks. A little softer, perhaps.

Amidst his lazy staring, Iwaizumi almost forgets to respond. He clears his throat, rubs at his forehead once more and breathes a sigh. “Yeah,” he quickly says, “Yeah. I’m—fine. I was just tired, I suppose.”

Before Oikawa gets the chance to respond, Iwaizumi asks, “How come you couldn’t sleep?”

The mild discomfort that settles on Oikawa features says more than enough. He swallows. “I just kept… thinking about stuff.”

Iwaizumi nods in understanding. He briefly looks around for his phone until he finds the device tucked between two couch cushions. Ren huffs and kicks her leg out at him, whilst still peacefully asleep, and Iwaizumi shoots her a glare before retrieving the phone. 

The white numbers across the screen tell him it’s a little after five a.m. and he briefly purses his lips in thought before tucking the device into the pocket of his trousers. When he rises from the couch with a pained groan, he turns towards Oikawa. “All right, gimme five minutes. M’gonna change into something else, okay?”

Oikawa already begins to object, waving a hand at Iwaizumi’s words. “No, no! I didn’t mean to keep you awake, you need your rest—”

Iwaizumi shakes his head as he walks around the couch, heading towards the stairs. “Don’t worry. Trust me. Just wait here, I’ll be back.” 

He jogs up the stairs until he reaches the second guest room, which happened to be his room for the past few days. After swiping a pair of spare clothes, he disappears into the bathroom where he takes the quickest shower known to man. Seemingly more awake and refreshed, Iwaizumi quietly jogs back to the ground floor where Oikawa—as instructed—remained in the living room area, slowly sipping his water. 

“All right, c’mon,” he says, beckoning him. Oikawa approaches him with a look that screams skepticism as he follows Iwaizumi up the stairs. 

“Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see.”

Once they reach the first floor, Iwaizumi points to another flight of smaller stairs and urges Oikawa to follow him. The second level of the loft is much smaller, and rarely used as anything but a storage space, but Iwaizumi leads them through stacks of boxes before opening a rather large window that takes them to the rooftop. He climbs atop a small stool to push himself through the window, extending a hand to Oikawa, who curls his fingers around Iwaizumi’s palm.

With almost little effort, and some hunter strength, Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa upwards as though the man barely weighs anything. It catches Oikawa by surprise, who releases a little ‘oof’ as Iwaizumi hauls him up and Iwaizumi snorts, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Oikawa says, blinking in surprise as he realizes that they’re on the building’s roof. “The roof?” 

Iwaizumi nods, taking a few steps forward before sitting down with a sigh. “When I’m here and I can’t sleep, I come up here sometimes.” 

Oikawa joins him a moment later and Iwaizumi jerks his chin forward, where the sun gently begins to peek above the horizon. Various shades of blue bleed together in Tokyo’s skies, accompanied by a purple and pink gradient that transforms into orange and gold. If one were to look closely, they could still catch a glimpse of the moon in its final moments before the sun reclaims its place in the heavens.

It’s quite the sight to behold.

“And if I’m lucky I can catch a glimpse of the sunrise.”

The view from Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s rooftop is impressive, allowing them perfect oversight of the neighborhood. Below them, the streets are quiet—with the occasional person emerging from their home to begin their morning commute to their jobs. It makes him think about his own day job and the clinic for a moment, and how lucky he is that his coworkers don’t question his sudden absence. Combining a full-time job and a demon hunting career is difficult, but not impossible. However, given recent events, Iwaizumi thinks it wise to solve Oikawa’s crisis first before returning to his job.

(He mentally apologizes to his clients and sends approximately fifteen quiet ‘thank you's' to his coworkers).

Next to him, Oikawa hugs his knees to his chest; arms folded atop of his legs and chin resting atop of his forearms as he peers into the distance. Iwaizumi tucks one of his legs to his chest, wrapping his own arm around his knee in a similar fashion.

Silence passes between them, though it’s not uncomfortable. Nor is it the stifling, heavy kind of silence. It’s peaceful. Serene. Comfortable.

Oikawa’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks again. “I—still don’t understand any of this,” he admits. “How I fit into all of this… and the attack at my grandmother’s house, and how she seemed to know about your family.”

A chuckle passes through his lips, though it’s not born of amusement, but rather from disbelief. 

“It makes no sense. My family doesn’t even know or care about these things. They don’t believe in things like spirits or ancient deities. At least, not from what I can tell,” he explains. “All my life I’ve just always felt a little bit like an outsider in my own family, you know? And not just because of my interests, but just—in general. I was never good enough for them. The almost perfect son, but not quite.”

Another laugh. One that’s a little empty, devoid of any humor.

It causes a gentle ache to settle in the center of Iwaizumi’s chest. Compassion and pity are joined by understanding as he mentally repeats one word over and over.

Outsider, outsider, outsider.

Outsider.

“Your family should love you, don’t they?” Oikawa eventually says before burying his face into his arms with a groan. “Sorry, I just unloaded all of that on you while you brought me up here to show me this beautiful view and the sunrise.”

His sudden embarrassment amuses Iwaizumi to a degree; a smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry,” he assures him. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be confused and frustrated about all of this. It’s a lot.” 

Oikawa turns his head, a single eye opened as he peeks at Iwaizumi while his head continues to rest atop his own arms. “Thank you.”

“And you’re allowed to feel sad and frustrated about your family,” Iwaizumi adds. “Families should love you, but sometimes… things are complicated.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

Iwaizumi swallows at Oikawa’s incredible perceptiveness. Though, he thinks the words were not meant to disarm him. He assumes it’s Oikawa’s way of granting Iwaizumi the opportunity to disclose his own story; to open up and allow himself to be vulnerable in the way that Oikawa had been just now. He breathes in, swallows again—past the unease—and releases a long breath. It’s fine, he reminds himself. It’s just Oikawa .

“My family isn’t… perfect either,” he begins, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. Gradually, the sun begins its climb. Slowly, inch by inch, golden light begins to touch Tokyo’s streets; illuminating a path for its citizens to walk upon.

“It’s me, my dad, my mom, my grandpa and my two aunts,” he continues, “I’ve got some cousins, too. And other distant relatives. They’re all great.” 

“But?” Oikawa quietly prompts. 

The steady thrum of Iwaizumi’s heartbeat feels impossibly loud in his own ears. It beats against his ribcage repeatedly, a deafening sound, and he briefly bites down on his lower lip as he wills it to slow down.

It doesn’t work, but he presses on regardless.

His throat feels dry, lips curl around the syllables he’d been so hesitant to speak out loud in Oikawa’s presence. “But, my mother , if I can even call her that… she’s a bit of a character.”

“What kind?” 

Iwaizumi briefly closes his eyes. The answer comes in the form of a sigh. “The demonic kind. Literally.”

He remains quiet after that, allowing the implications of his words—his confession—to sink in. Next to him, Oikawa remains quiet and Iwaizumi doesn’t know whether or not he should look at him. 

Even though news of his heritage had been common knowledge among his family and others within the Seijoh Group for a very long time now, it remains difficult to admit it out loud. To reveal what he’d been trained, instructed, drilled to conceal for the majority of his life. 

His mother’s identity, or rather his biological mother, had always remained a mystery. He never quite saw her as his birth parent to begin with—rather a faceless, nameless woman who happens to be responsible for fifty percent of his genetic makeup. The woman his father had married roughly a year after Iwaizumi’s birth, Iwaizumi’s real mother, is the person who’d raised him. She had been the one to love him, the one who taught him everything; the woman who tucked him in at night and wiped his tears. She was there for every milestone in his life. From first days at school to the first time his hunter abilities had manifested. From first loves to first heartbreaks and first apartments , Iwaizumi Himari had been there for all of it.

She kissed his forehead, ruffled his hair, reminded him to take care of himself and told him to always, always prepare enough dinner for two days. Like her husband, Himari had been a hunter, but ultimately retired to focus on raising her son. When Iwaizumi’s abilities manifested, she’d sat down with him—reading from the many books they owned and informing him of the various legends and myths that surrounded their family and the Seijoh Group as a whole.

She trained with him every day, taught him—alongside his father—how to defend himself, and repeatedly kicked his ass with a smile and two hands tied behind her back.

“Love is the most important thing in the world, Hajime,” she’d often say to him, her hands gentle and soft as she brushed her thumb over his cheek; a few days after he had turned seven. A kiss would be pressed to the top of his head afterwards, and he would always remember the kindness of her smile before she pulled him into his arms.  “And you are my world.”

Regardless of what others said about Iwaizumi’s parentage, she defended him with the ferocity of a lioness; not allowing anyone to say anything remotely negative about her son.

“Don’t ever be ashamed of who you are,” she’d tell him, over and over. Her palm would rest over his heart, fingers gently tapping against the fabric of his shirt. “What matters is this. Your heart. It’s the most honest part of you. The kindest part of you. This right here, is who you are, Hajime.”

It feels like an eternity has passed before Oikawa speaks again, his voice hesitant and quiet when he interrupts Iwaizumi’s thoughts.  “So—that means you’re… a...”

“Demon,” Iwaizumi finishes for him. “Partially, yeah.”

He finally allows himself to look at Oikawa, finding that Oikawa’s gaze had already been trained on him. His eyes are slightly widened behind his glasses; brows rising towards his hairline, and under other circumstances Iwaizumi might’ve laughed at his current facial expression.

“It’s not really something I advertise,” he jokes. “A demon hunter who’s half demon. Kinda twisted.”

The initial shock melts away, with Oikawa raising his head entirely as he releases his grip around his legs. For a moment, Iwaizumi tries to detect a hint of fear in his eyes; wondering how Oikawa must view him now.

Though, instead of fear, he finds something else.

Compassion.

It’s not pity, he notes. It’s understanding.

Breathing becomes a little easier.

“Does everyone know?” Oikawa asks him. 

Iwaizumi nods. “Everyone who’s part of the Seijoh group. Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s families and a few others too. They’ve always been kind and loving.”

Hesitation seeps into Oikawa’s voice then, his brows knitting together in concern. “What about that council of… higher ups?” 

The mention of the higher ups causes Iwaizumi to snort. “Yeah, they’re… another story. Let’s say, they’re not that fond of me and vowed to keep a close eye on me in case I ever go rogue.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Oikawa says almost immediately, a fierce sort of protectiveness slipping into his voice. “You’d never hurt anyone, Iwa-chan.”

“Last night’s demons would disagree.”

“You know what I mean,” Oikawa counters, “And, to be fair, they had it coming.”

And for once, after what feels like forever, Iwaizumi laughs. Relief floods his senses as he releases a quiet laugh. It seems to surprise Oikawa, who merely blinks at him before narrowing his gaze and says, “You’re not fucking with me, are you?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, releasing a sigh afterwards as he pushes his fingers through his hair. “No,” he says, “definitely not. I’m telling the truth.” 

“Huh,” Oikawa remarks, and by now that look of suspicion has transformed into an observant gaze. 

“What?” 

“I dunno,” he begins, gesturing at Iwaizumi, “I thought you’d look a lot… scarier. Being a half demon and all.” 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Iwaizumi quips, “I left my horns at home.”

Laughter travels through Oikawa’s chest, a delightful little sound. He even snorts, thoroughly amused by Iwaizumi’s words. One of his legs is pulled against his chest once more, arms folded atop of his knee and his cheek resting along his forearm. 

Behind him, the sun continues to rise; blanketing him in an orange-golden glow. The warmth of the September sun travels across his skin, highlighting the gold trapped in his eyes. A halo of light encircles his head, brown strands lightened by the sun’s rays. 

His cheeks are flush with color; dusted pink. Similar to the color of his lips, which curl around a smile just as a gentle breeze ruffles his hair. For a moment Iwaizumi’s heart feels much too large for his body, and almost simultaneously Oikawa says, “Thank you for trusting me with this, Iwa-chan.” 

His heartbeat thrums and thrums beneath his skin while he’s subjected to a smile filled with warmth and kindness. This is the most relaxed he’d seen Oikawa look thus far.

The morning light looks good on Oikawa Tooru. 

Better yet, it looks beautiful.

Warmth settles somewhere in Iwaizumi’s chest, slowly traveling upwards until it floods his cheeks. A smile of his own is aimed at Oikawa.

“Thank you for listening.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

During their brief time on the rooftop, Iwaizumi offered Oikawa a few more tidbits about his family. Oikawa, for all his politeness, tried not to pry when it came to Iwaizumi’s biological mother, but he could tell that Oikawa was curious about how a romance between a demon and demon hunter could ever be possible—nevermind the complex physiology of a child who happened to have both hunter and demon genes.

Fast forward a few minutes and they find themselves in the kitchen, with Iwaizumi preparing some much needed sustenance. 

He wordlessly pushes a cup of coffee across the kitchen island while Oikawa sits atop one of the bar stools. Oikawa thanks him quietly, seemingly satisfied with the way Iwaizumi had prepared his cappuccino, hands wrapped around a blue mug. “So, they just fell in love then?” he asks, alluding to Iwaizumi’s parents.

Behind him, their eggs and bacon are slowly frying in the pan. (At Oikawa’s request he’d replicated Matsukawa’s breakfast sandwich). Iwaizumi reaches for two plates before plopping two slices of bread into the toaster and gives a quick shake of his head. “Not really,” he answers. “At least, she didn’t. From what I know, he tried to save her. Apparently she’d been cursed or something and turned into a namanari.”

Demons are complex creatures and even with all the knowledge the hunters had accumulated over hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years, there were still so many things left to discover about the creatures. Iwaizumi learned early on that his biological mother was a type of hannya . A female demon that had been human once, but transformed into a demon after being consumed by jealousy.

When his parents had met, she’d been a namanari hannya—a demon that still resembled a human woman. Namanari still have some of their humanity left, granting hunters a chance of salvaging their souls; which had been his father’s intention. However, the demon had merely toyed with him, dragging him into a rather long game of cat and mouse.

“He got attached,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa. When the toaster gently ejects the toasted bread, Iwaizumi carefully plucks the two slices from the appliance and tosses them onto a plate. He places two other slices back into the toaster before glancing over his shoulder to check on their eggs. “She was just messing with him.”

Oikawa clicks his tongue. “Mr. Iwaizumi had a weak spot for pretty demon ladies, huh?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Iwaizumi snorts. “He was… young, I suppose. Just turned twenty-three. Cut him some slack.”

He plates the eggs and bacon before beginning to assemble the first sandwich. “One of the first things  you learn is not to grow attached or get seduced by demons, but some of them can be tricky. With the Namanari there is still a shot at saving them, because they still have their humanity. You don’t want to kill them when you know there’s a chance to save them, no matter how slim or small.” 

Oikawa nods when Iwaizumi gestures at the tomatoes and cucumbers and he places a few slices atop the layers of egg-and-bacon before finishing the sandwich and slicing it in half. The plate is pushed towards Oikawa, whose eyes light up at the prospect of breakfast, and Iwaizumi smiles to himself as he turns away to reach for the other pieces of toast. 

Before he begins to assemble his own sandwich, he reaches for a cream colored mug with blue hearts printed across. He takes a sip of his own coffee, sweetened with two sweeteners and a hint of cinnamon.

“Noble,” Oikawa says around a bite of his sandwich. He hums appreciatively, crumbs clinging to his bottom lip. “This is really good, by the way.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, one arm folded across his chest as he continues to take slow sips of his coffee. “Lil’ bit. Anyway, he’d gotten attached, like I said. And, I dunno, somewhere along the line she seemed to have gotten attached to him too. At least a little ,” he explains. “I don’t know the exact timeline, but at some point she apparently left me on his doorstep as a newborn. Just like in some movie.”

“I wasn’t gonna say it,” Oikawa snorts.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “It’s fine. It’s a cliché, but it’s how it happened.”

“How old were you when she left you at his house?”

“A couple days,” he explains, “Apparently she’d left a card with the date June 10th and the name ‘Hajime’ scribbled across it. And this necklace.” 

His fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt to tug at the silver chain he wears around his neck. The pendant attached to the chain is a slim stone shaped like an obelisk. Its color sits somewhere between blue and green, a darker shade of teal, he supposes. 

Oikawa observes the necklace, seemingly intrigued by the mysterious piece of jewelry, and releases a long hum. “Pretty, but what’s so special about it?”

At this, Iwaizumi smirks, but wisely refrains from revealing more information about the necklace as he assembles his own sandwich. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says before taking a large bite.

“Unfair, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa protests. “You’ll tell me about your demonic heritage, but not about your mysterious little necklace?” 

Before Iwaizumi gets the chance to respond, two pairs of footsteps echo through the room—accompanied by Hanamaki’s voice. “What’s this about Iwaizumi’s demonic heritage?”

“Uh-oh, busted,” Matsukawa adds, unhelpfully. “Oh, sweet. Are there some eggs left for us?” 

Iwaizumi hums around his sandwich, jerking a thumb over his shoulder before he walks around the kitchen island to lower himself onto one of the bar stools next to Oikawa. Matsukawa releases a satisfied little ‘yesssss’ when he spots the breakfast Iwaizumi had prepared, wasting no time plating the eggs and bacon.

“I told Oikawa,” he explains, earning a thoughtful hum from Hanamaki who busies himself with the coffee maker. 

“Did he faint, cry, or throw up?” 

“None of those.”

“Attempted to murder you?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’m fine with it,” Hanamaki decides, raising his white mug with a cartoon duck holding a knife printed on the front. “Welcome to the club.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa replies. “What are the perks?”

“You get to live.”

“You know what, I’ll take it,” Oikawa decides, finishing the rest of his coffee.

Matsukawa snorts, shoving a plate of food towards Hanamaki, who thanks him and alternates between consuming his food and drinking his coffee. “Anyway, ‘bout last night… you guys got some sleep in?”

Iwaizumi makes a vague hand gesture to imply he’d slept some, but not much, and next to him Oikawa offers a shrug and a half nod. Hanamaki doesn’t seem too impressed, but remains quiet nonetheless while Matsukawa mentions that there has been another increase in demon signatures in the area.

“God, even in the fucking morning now?” Iwaizumi grumbles. He throws an accusatory glance at the computers on the other side of the ground floor, listening to the incessant wailing of the alarm. Matsukawa steals a sip of Hanamaki’s coffee, lips twisting in distaste before he turns around to pour himself some tea. “Who stole my mug? The one with the hearts?”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, like a true narc, and Iwaizumi briefly feels betrayed. 

“In my defense, it’s a nice mug,” he shrugs. “But what are we gonna do ‘bout the demons?”

Hanamaki places his empty plate into the dishwasher, finishing his coffee in a few long pulls before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Me and Issei will take care of some. The twins are on duty, so are my sisters, and other members too, I assume.”

“I get that, but what does that mean for us ? We still need the information about the demon gate from Ukai’s guy,” Iwaizumi continues. “And what about Oikawa? We can’t keep him here forever, but the charm didn’t do a great job last time.” 

“What if you take him to the warehouse? It’s safe there, too.”

“And tell my grandfather what exactly?”

“The truth.”

“I thought we were keeping a low profile.”

“That’s gonna be a little hard with demons roaming across town and the four of us being the only people who know why ,” Hanamaki points out. “We’ll only tell our families. It’ll be strictly on a need-to-know basis. You can get some spare clothes there, see if grandpa has some ancient wisdom and knowledge.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but, what’s the warehouse exactly?” Oikawa asks, frowning. “Is this the part where all of you turn out to be kidnappers after all and kill me and then dispose of my body?”

“Mm… maybe tomorrow,” Matsukawa muses.

“Not funny.”

Hanamaki snorts. “Kinda funny.”

“Leave him alone,” Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes.

The comment earns him a pointed look from Hanamaki, who briefly wiggles his eyebrows, and Iwaizumi is half tempted to flip him off. Instead, he coughs and pushes himself to his feet. “So it’s decided, then? I’ll take him to the warehouse, maybe ask if my grandfather knows anything. And then what? We meet back here after you guys are done with your mission and work?”

“Sounds about right. If Hiro hears anything from Ukai’s guy, he’ll fill you in,” Matsukawa tells him before turning towards Oikawa. “The warehouse, or warehouses, are two warehouses our families own. It’s where we keep our gear and where we train from time to time.”

“So like your headquarters?”

“Yes and no,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Technically, our ‘headquarters’ are everywhere. The warehouses are a storage space and training facility. You’ll be safe there, too.”

Oikawa offers him an approving nod. “Cool, I’d like to see it, but… how are we going to get there? With me being hunted and all? Yesterday I had to fight to take you guys with me. Not that I’m complaining now.”

Matsukawa taps his fingers on the kitchen counter twice. “Actually, I think I’ve got something for that. Something stronger than a charm. Follow me.”

Intrigued and mildly surprised by Matsukawa’s announcement, both Iwaizumi and Oikawa follow him towards the living room area. He retrieves one of the larger books he’d used the day prior to summon the demon, along with a marker and urges Oikawa to take a seat on the floor.

Iwaizumi cocks a brow, glancing between the book and Matsukawa. “What are you planning?”

“Trust me,” Matsukawa assures him, turning towards Oikawa. “You, sit down and pull your shirt up. Enough so I can see your back.”

By now, Hanamaki has joined them as well—apparently just as intrigued as he folds his arms across his chest. When Iwaizumi spares him a glance, Hanamaki merely raises his shoulders and mumbles ‘don’t look at me’.

They both watch as Oikawa skeptically sits cross-legged on the floor. He throws a glance at Iwaizumi, mildly concerned, but Iwaizumi merely nods at him, and then Oikawa inhales deeply before reaching behind him and tugging at the fabric of the shirt he’d borrowed from Hanamaki. He pulls the shirt over his head and Iwaizumi briefly glances at the muscles of his back, mildly surprised at Oikawa’s physique.

His shoulders are broader than Iwaizumi expected, an indication that he either works out regularly or is—or was—an athlete of some kind. His arms are firm, toned; their size had been well hidden beneath the layers of clothing he’d worn the first time Iwaizumi met him.

At the risk of accidentally ogling him, Iwaizumi keeps his gaze focused on Oikawa’s face. He watches as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing a nervous little chuckle while Matsukawa draws a number of symbols in the center of Oikawa’s back. Iwaizumi tries to decipher the runes, frowning when he only recognizes one of them. 

‘Protection’.

“You sure this’ll work?” Oikawa asks, to which Matsukawa hums—gaze darting between the book and Oikawa’s back.

“As long as you hold still, yeah.”

Eventually, Matsukawa discards both the marker and the book and places a palm against Oikawa’s back. His eyes fall shut and he inhales deeply, exhaling slowly through his mouth as he begins to mumble an incantation Iwaizumi is unfamiliar with. 

It takes a few moments before a familiar red-slash-orange light gathers at the base of Matsukawa’s palm and Iwaizumi swallows as he crosses his arms. The line between Matsukawa’s brow deepens while Oikawa’s jaw tightens in anticipation. The incantation is repeated over and over, the light—energy—pouring from Matsukawa’s palm becoming more intense with each second, until there’s a bright flash; bright enough to momentarily blind Iwaizumi. He hears Oikawa gasp loudly and he’s quick to move forward when he sees the panicked look in his eyes, sweat beading at his temples, while a rune circle seems to be etched into his skin.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen instantly, crouching down to observe the circle up close as he checks on Oikawa. “Are you okay?” he asks, to which Oikawa nods between harsh breaths—one of his hands planted onto the floor for support. 

Iwaizumi's gaze cuts to Matsukawa, who blinks a few times before rubbing at his own temples. 

“Did you just put wards on him?” 

The words come out a little harsher than intended, but Matsukawa merely waves a hand at Iwaizumi. “S’alright, it’s totally safe. There was only a fifty percent chance it’d go wrong.”

Oikawa makes a noise of surprise, immediately turning around at this little tidbit of information Matsukawa conveniently left out. “And you did it anyway?! Why didn’t you tell me?” he almost shrieks.

“Cause you would’ve freaked out and then it definitely would’ve gone wrong.”

Iwaizumi places a hand over his face, an annoyed sigh slipping past his lips. “Wards aren’t for people. They're for buildings. He could’ve died.”

“But, he didn't. Instead, he’s protected. And pretty well, I might add.”

Going back and forth won’t solve anything, so instead Iwaizumi remains quiet. He spares a final glance at Oikawa’s back, briefly observing the red circle and feeling a little frustrated at Matsukawa’s impromptu antics. He asks Oikawa if he’s okay once more, only to be rewarded with a quick nod and a small smile before he pulls the shirt over his head. 

“Just—tell us next time, at least,” Iwaizumi murmurs, helping Oikawa to his feet. “And… make sure you get some rest today. That looked intense.”

Matsukawa offers him a sheepish half-grin. “Yes, boss.”

“All right, all right,” Hanamaki says, stepping towards Matsukawa with an easy smile. He plants his palm against his boyfriend’s forehead with a scrutinizing gaze as if he’s assessing Matsukawa’s physical well-being. When he deduces that Matsukawa seems to be fine, he taps his chest twice. “You seem fine. I’ll admit, I thought it was kinda hot, but you could’ve told us. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

Iwaizumi hears Matsukawa say something about how ‘unconventional situations require unconventional methods’. Though, he doesn’t miss the beads of sweat forming above his friend’s brow as he utters the words. Concern grows inside of him, but it’s soon replaced by mild disgust when the couple start making flirty and suggestive remarks.

His lips are pressed to a line. “They disgust me.”

Next to him, Oikawa seems to share the sentiment. “Ditto.”

Ignoring his friends, Iwaizumi turns towards Oikawa and gestures towards the stairs. “Now that you’re all ‘protected’, get dressed and we’ll leave.”

A quick nod is all he gets from Oikawa before he quickly disappears towards the stairs and jogs towards the first floor. Roughly fifteen minutes later, he returns downstairs—dressed in the jeans Iwaizumi had seen him wear when they first met and white shirt that likely belongs to Hanamaki. Notably absent are the glasses, and Iwaizumi reckons he’d gone back to wearing contacts. The dress shirt and sweater he’d worn two days ago are bunched in his arms, with Oikawa sparing the clothing items a quick glance. “You think I can at least salvage these?”

“We’ll see what we can do. I’ll ask someone,” Iwaizumi tells him. That seems to brighten Oikawa’s mood somewhat and Iwaizumi takes the clothing from him before stuffing the shirt and sweater into a sports bag and slinging it over his shoulder. They both move towards the genkan, where he slips his arms through his jacket and Oikawa retrieves his coat.

When they’ve both tied their shoes, Matsukawa and Hanamaki appear behind them—with Ren trailing after them. 

“You can take one of the bikes,” Matsukawa offers and Iwaizumi nods before glancing back at Oikawa. 

“You okay with that?”

“Depends. How are your driving skills?” 

“Fairly good.”

“He’s never gotten a speeding ticket,” Hanamaki supplies. “Technically.”

Oikawa seems mildly frightened by this, but conceals it beneath a smile and some false bravado and Iwaizumi gives Hanamaki a shove as they all move towards the garage. 

Iwaizumi reaches for two helmets before swinging his leg over one of the two black Yamaha's YZF-R3 parked in the garage. They’re identical to the motorcycle parked near his apartment. A majority of the hunters in Tokyo are partial to motorcycles as their primary form of transportation. It allows them to weave in and out of traffic whenever they’re in a hurry to track down a group of demons.

While Iwaizumi prefers his own bike, he supposes borrowing Matsukawa’s motorcycle will suffice for now.

Owning both a car and a pair of motorcycles seems a bit futile, as they rarely rely on said car, but given their current circumstances, Iwaizumi is glad Hanamaki and Matsukawa hadn’t decided to get rid of their old car yet.

Oikawa carefully steps forward, observing the motorcycle and releasing a low whistle just as Iwaizumi hands him the spare helmet. He pulls his own helmet over his head and jabs the key into the bike’s ignition. The engine rumbles to life when he thumbs at the start button, allowing the motorcycle to warm up for a few seconds. Once the dash display seems to be fine, Iwaizumi flicks his visor down and gestures behind him. “Hop on.”

He can’t quite decipher the look Oikawa offers him, but Iwaizumi’s lips curl up in amusement regardless. “Unless you’re scared?”

He hears a scoff just as Oikawa swings his leg over the bike and carefully slides onto the seat. “You wish.”

“You comfortable? Legs tucked in and feet on the foot-pegs?”

Behind him, Oikawa hums and Iwaizumi glances at Hanamaki and Matsukawa. “You guys mind dropping off Ren for me at the warehouse before you leave?”

They both nod, and he watches as the dog happily leaps onto the backseat. 

“Drive safe,” Hanamaki leers.

Iwaizumi ignores it. He angles his head slightly in an attempt to glance at Oikawa, “First time, right?”

Oikawa’s voice is almost drowned out by the sound of the bike’s engine when he replies with a ‘yeah’. 

“You might wanna hold on, then,” Iwaizumi instructs him. “When we make a turn, don’t be afraid and try to lean away. Just hold on a little tighter and keep your body neutral. I can feel whenever you’re shifting or leaning in or away. If there’s a problem just tap my shoulder or something and I’ll stop. Good?” 

He thinks he catches Oikawa nodding in agreement before a pair of arms slowly, carefully , wrap around his waist. Oikawa's hands rest somewhere along Iwaizumi’s abdomen as he presses himself against Iwaizumi’s back. His grip is firm without being too tight and Iwaizumi revs the engine a few times before pulling out of the garage. Behind him, Oikawa momentarily flinches before instinctively tightening his grip.

The drive towards the warehouses is a little over twenty-five minutes, at normal speed. On occasion, when they stop at a red light, Iwaizumi remembers to check in with Oikawa. He remains guarded and mindful of any possible demons that could be roaming through Tokyo, but they are either prowling through the other parts of town or Matsukawa’s wards are doing a terrific job of protecting Oikawa.

(Iwaizumi prays it’s the latter).

They arrive before Matsukawa and Hanamaki do and Iwaizumi briefly gestures at the warehouse before them. To an onlooker there’s nothing special about it. A rather large black building; its design sleek and minimalistic. “This is it.”

Oikawa keeps the helmet tucked beneath his arm, his hair slightly flattened before he pushes his fingers through the strands a few times. “Looks impressive.”

Before Iwaizumi can form a response, Matsukawa’s car pulls onto the terrain. The backdoor is opened and Ren immediately jumps out, running towards Iwaizumi and bumping her nose against his leg. He rubs a hand over her head a few times before cupping his other hand around his mouth and yelling out ‘thanks’ .

Hanamaki rolls down the window, mentioning that they’ll remain in touch about any further developments and Iwaizumi nods. Matsukawa reverses the car, speeding off the terrain as quickly as he had arrived, and Iwaizumi gestures for Oikawa to follow them. He heads towards one of the many entrances, where they stop in front of a rather large door with a digital lock attached to the wall. His fingers quickly type out the pass code, which he knows changes every three months out of precaution, and the door opens with a quiet ‘click’ , granting them access.

It dawns on him that the warehouse is empty and he frowns as he scans the rather large space. He hears Oikawa mumble something along the lines of ‘wow’, seemingly impressed with the interior. Throughout the warehouse are numerous, likely hundreds if not thousands, of weapons carefully organized. From firearms to bladed weapons and everything in between. Storage equipment fills a large portion of the warehouse, while a different section is designed to be a control room—similar to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s set-up. Numerous computer screens, in varying sizes, are lined up against a wall or placed atop various desks. Usually, a handful of hunters remain in the warehouse to keep a close eye on any suspicious activity within the city. From their position behind the desks, they’re able to lead squads or individual hunters towards a specific location and keep a close eye on their vitals.

This time, however, the warehouse seems to be empty. Iwaizumi assumes it has to do with the rise of sudden demonic activity the past few days.

A different section of the warehouse functions as a training area. Complete with black, high density and extra thick, exercise mats. (Iwaizumi has become intimately familiar with those mats throughout the years). Punching bags, punching dummies, and all sorts of training equipment are scattered through the area; ideal for practicing hand-to-hand combat. There’s also an archery range and a regular shooting range, with numerous targets lined up, and tables stacked with equipment and ammunition. 

He explains all of this to Oikawa as they stroll through the warehouse. Admittedly, it’s impressive how the Seijoh Group had managed to build this entire facility. 

“There’s a lounge and sleeping area too, for if people pass out here. And showers, naturally,” Iwaizumi explains. “Usually, we all try to head home after we’re done, but sometimes you can’t help but fall asleep.”

He walks into said lounge area, gesturing towards the kitchen. “If you want something to drink, help yourself. Don’t know if anybody’s done any groceries lately, though.” 

Oikawa nods, his eyes widened in amazement as he studies the warehouse. Iwaizumi drops his jacket onto one of the many black couches and Ren makes herself comfortable atop the piece of furniture with a huff. He snorts at the sight of it before walking towards the kitchen area, where he rummages through the cabinets until he finds two bowls. He fills one of them with water, and luckily manages to find some dog food he always keeps here just in case. 

Once both bowls are filled, Ren hastily jumps off the couch and trots towards the food. 

Iwaizumi rummages through the fridge, managing to procure two soda bottles—one of which is tossed to Oikawa. 

He catches it and thanks him before uncapping the bottle and bringing it to his lips. “It’s surprisingly empty.”

Iwaizumi nods, dropping himself onto the couch. Oikawa joins him, glancing around once more between sips. “And very cool,” he adds. “Kind of what I expected. A high-tech facility filled to the brim with weapons. I’m impressed.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but roll his eyes, more out of amusement than annoyance. A small grin plays on his lips. “Glad it’s up to your standards.”

He spares the large space another glance, making a non-committal noise. “During the day it can be quiet here, with people having daytime jobs and school and all, but I kinda expected someone to be here.”

“Your grandfather?” Oikawa asks, placing the soda bottle onto the coffee table.

Iwaizumi nods. “My family is in charge of training the younger hunters, so he usually runs a tight ship around here.”

“Ah, this is where little Iwa-chan got his ass kicked, I see,” Oikawa smirks, entirely too smug for Iwaizumi’s liking.

He can’t even refute the statement, so Iwaizumi merely snorts and rolls his eyes again. “Shut up. But yeah, I did.”

“Even with your cool demon abilities?”

“Even with those. Don’t forget I’m only part demon and I was up against people who had been trained to kill any type of demon long before I was born. Didn’t have that much of an advantage.”

“How about now?” Oikawa wonders, propping his elbow up on the edge of the couch before resting his cheek in his palm.

Iwaizumi pretends to ponder. “I do all right.”

“Always so humble…”

“It’s called being modest and aware of your strengths and weaknesses.”

Oikawa snorts. “I’ve seen you fight, Iwa-chan. You don’t have any weaknesses.”

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disagreement. “Wrong,” he counters. “We all do. Lot of hunters have lost their lives while fighting demons. Just ‘cause we know how to fight them, doesn’t mean we’re invincible.” 

His hand slips beneath the collar of his shirt, fingers curling around the necklace once more as he tugs at the piece of jewelry. “Remember how I told you that my energy is difficult to control?”

Oikawa nods, jerking his chin towards the necklace. “Is that why you wear it? Is it something that keeps you in line or something? Suppressing your demon energy?”

“Not quite, but you’re getting there,” Iwaizumi replies, pushing himself to his feet. “Hold on—m’gonna change into something else and then I’ll show you.”

He jogs towards one of the many lockers lined up against the wall, opening the locker with the number #4 printed across the front. As expected, he finds it filled with spare clothes, and he pulls out an identical black shirt and pair of black sweatpants before quickly changing out of his jeans and shirt. Amidst the previous night’s chaos, he’d managed to retrieve all of his weapons, which he stuffs into the locker—save for one of the guns and one of the trench knives. Just in case.

When he returns towards the lounge area, Oikawa seems to be fumbling with his phone while Ren has chosen to sit next to him. One of his hands mindlessly runs back and forth across her back while his thumb swipes over the screen in front of him. 

Iwaizumi smiles at the sight of it before whistling loud and short. Both Oikawa and Ren perk up simultaneously, which shouldn’t amuse him as much—but it does.

“What am I, a dog?” Oikawa quips, quickly looking back at Ren. “Sorry.”

(She seems unbothered by the remark).

“But you looked,” Iwaizumi shoots back. 

Oikawa rolls his eyes and makes a hand gesture for Iwaizumi to continue his story and Iwaizumi bites back a chuckle as he removes his necklace. He keeps a respectable distance from the couch, holding the pendant in his palm. Inhaling deeply, he focuses on sending his energy towards his palm. Though, rather than focusing on his energy on a surface level, he digs a little deeper—where another energy source resides.

It’s unruly and reckless, and he likens it to a flame that can never quite be contained. The demon magic that resides within him has always been quite difficult to control and Iwaizumi has tried to ignore it for most of his life. However, sometimes it dares to swim to the surface and he panics; afraid it might take control of him entirely.

Today is different, though. At least that’s what he tells himself. 

He focuses on that energy source, drawing a small amount of it to his palm—just enough to seep into the pendant. 

The stone attached to the necklace responds immediately, absorbing the energy and transforming into its true shape. It happens rather quickly, spurred on by magic, and before Iwaizumi knows it, the handle of a broadsword rests in his palm.

Granted, merely calling it a ‘broadsword’ would be an injustice, because the sword is enormous . The weapon is almost five feet tall; from tip to handle while the blade is roughly one foot wide. Both the weapon’s handle and cross guard are black, with burgundy details, while the blade itself is dark gray; the overhead lights bouncing off it with each move Iwaizumi makes.

From where he’s seated on the couch, Oikawa gasps at the sudden reveal of the large weapon while Iwaizumi adjusts his grip and experimentally gives it a twirl. It’s heavy—heavier than any weapon he’s ever wielded but easy to carry regardless. The size and weight of the sword have never been an issue; merely keeping the weapon in its true form is the most difficult part.

Even now, Iwaizumi notices the blade responding to the energy that seeps through his palm. While he’s able to channel his hunter magic into his guns or trench knives easily, this particular weapon doesn’t seem to respond well to his hunter energy—rather much preferring the demon magic that swirls inside of him.

It’s almost as if it’s sentient. Alive.

Oikawa turns around entirely, pushing his knees onto the couch to raise himself up properly and look at the weapon. “I don’t see how this is a weakness, Iwa-chan,” he exclaims. “That’s a pretty cool sword.”

Iwaizumi lowers the weapon, allowing the tip to rest against the floor as he observes the blade. “Thanks, but I can’t really wield it,” he admits. “Not for long at least.”

“Why not?” Oikawa wonders, frowning. “Looks like you’re doing fine.”

As if to prove a point, Iwaizumi grips the sword’s handle with both hands. He takes a few careful steps back before tightening his grip, widening his stance, and swinging the blade forward. There is nothing wrong with his form and he executes a number of swings just as his grandfather and father had taught him. He focuses on his breathing, keeps his core engaged, cutting through the air with large, sweeping strokes.

After a moment, he feels a resistance coming from the weapon—as it seems to reject the energy Iwaizumi channels into it. Rather than being consumed by white energy entirely, as is usually the case with his trench knives, the sword blatantly rejects the hunter magic Iwaizumi pours into it.

The weapon trembles within his hands, instinctively drawing out Iwaizumi's magic while he resists. It’s difficult, but not impossible, though it leaves them in a never ending tug of war. His breathing deepens, sweat beginning to form above his brow in an attempt to regulate and control his energy. A gasp rips itself from his throat before he drops the weapon onto the ground and Iwaizumi inhales a lungful of air as he doubles over while pressing his hands against his knees.

“Iwa-chan —” Oikawa calls out, immediately rising from the couch and quickly walking towards him. Ren jumps over the back of the couch, jogging towards where the sword lays abandoned and sniffing at the weapon. She huffs before walking towards Iwaizumi as well and he releases a breathless chuckle as he rubs a hand over her head. 

“M’okay,” he tells her, and Oikawa, as he straightens his posture.

Oikawa’s gaze travels over his body before looking at the sword, which—without Iwaizumi’s energy—transformed back into a necklace. As if nothing had happened.

“Do you see now?” Iwaizumi says, still a little breathless.

Oikawa nods, though he remains confused; frowning as he picks up the necklace. “What happened? For a moment everything was going fine?”

The chain is dropped into Iwaizumi’s palm, who slips it over his head and tucks it back beneath the collar of his shirt. He gestures at the couches, padding back towards the lounge area before taking a seat. His fingers curl around the soda bottle he’d grabbed before and he finishes the drink in a few long pulls; releasing a long breath afterwards.

“It’s the sword. Or rather, it’s me,” he explains. “It requires my energy to stay active.”

“Like with your knives and guns?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi nods. “Kinda. Those are just weapons I channel my energy into. With the guns, I can turn my energy into bullets, with the knives, I increase their cutting power—and sometimes I’m able to extend the reach of the knives by making the energy more dense. Kind of how Hanamaki is able to create his arrows.” 

He rubs his forefinger and middle finger along his temple. “But, the sword—it requires my energy, or rather, my demon magic, to stay active.”

“And… that’s the part you struggle with,” Oikawa deduces. “Because your demon energy is difficult to control?”

Iwaizumi nods once more, pinching the bridge of his nose afterwards. “It’s difficult to describe, but your energy is something you learn to control when your abilities manifest, but this is something else entirely. Sometimes it feels like two separate energy sources and other times it feels like one big mess and out of control.”

“How come?” Oikawa wonders, frowning. 

The question is met with a sigh as Iwaizumi finally allows himself to lean back against the couch cushions. “I—don’t know. It just feels wrong. I can’t explain it. My hunter energy feels normal, familiar, but this feels unruly. Chaotic. Like a livewire. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s unpredictable .”

His gaze turns skyward, observing the high ceilings and the numerous lights that illuminate the entire warehouse. He counts wires and fluorescent tubes, briefly chewing at the corner of his lower lip. “It scares me,” he confesses.

A moment passes until Iwaizumi feels something touching his shoulder. He turns his head to find Oikawa’s hand resting gently atop of it and when he looks back at Oikawa’s face, he’s met with a small smile.

“It’s okay to be scared, you know?” 

Iwaizumi releases a quiet huff, a half-smile of his own playing on his lips. “Not when you hunt monsters and malevolent spirits.” 

“Even then,” Oikawa assures him. He pauses before speaking again, brows slightly drawn together. “Yesterday… I felt terrified.”

A laugh follows, hollow and empty, before he adds, “Which doesn’t mean a lot, given that I’ve experienced that quite a few times ever since I’ve met you,” he adds. “But, yesterday it was different. I’d never seen so many demons together. And you guys… you did a great job of fighting them, but I—”

He sighs. “I felt so helpless, you know?”

Iwaizumi gives a small nod in response. “I get it. It shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Oikawa says quickly, then, a little softer, “it’s not your fault, Iwa-chan. Whatever’s happening to me, isn’t because of you. You’re doing everything you can to keep me safe. I appreciate it.”

Iwaizumi swallows, rubbing the back of his neck as a chuckle escapes him. “Force of habit, I guess.”

Oikawa briefly squeezes Iwaizumi’s shoulder before pulling back his hand. “All I’m saying is that I get it. I know it’s not at all the same as the fear you experience, but,” he pauses, shaking his head. “I dunno. I think you’re all incredibly brave and amazing, but—you are allowed to be scared sometimes, you know? It doesn’t make you weak .”

Iwaizumi turns the words over in his head, appreciating Oikawa’s concern and his attempts at comforting him. It’s strange, he thinks, how Oikawa continues to surprise him—so very different from the man he’d encountered three days ago.

Or perhaps, he’s always been the same person, but Iwaizumi simply never noticed what lurked beneath the surface.

“You’re surprisingly wise,” he teases. “Where did this come from?”

“Oh, I’m filled with surprises,” Oikawa says, a little cocky. “Besides, Iwa-chan, I’m a teacher. I know how to talk to people. Especially overworked and stressed out students.”

“I can see that, yeah,” Iwaizumi nods. “You enjoy teaching?”

At this, Oikawa sighs wistfully, falling back against the couch cushions and looking at the ceiling. “I love it.”

Iwaizumi briefly wonders what Oikawa is like as a teacher. He remembers how excited he’d been when Iwaizumi pulled out the various books dedicated to the history of the demon hunters. With bright eyes and a curious gaze, he’d absorbed all of the knowledge—asking numerous questions before quietly reading various passages with a childlike wonder.

He wonders if Oikawa exudes that same excitement within his classroom. Iwaizumi is inclined to believe he does.

“Sure, every job has its pros and cons, but I love teaching. And I love doing research and sharing it with others, even when my students frustrate me,” he continues. “And maybe it’s because I felt so stifled in my previous job—trapped in the monotony of a life I didn’t even like, with people I couldn’t stand—but now, even the shittier parts of this job are better than the best part of the previous one.”

When Oikawa looks at him again, Iwaizumi catches a hint of mischief trapped within his eyes.

“And it helps that everything I’ve taught, everything I’ve researched happens to be true and real,” he says, smirking. 

“Even under these circumstances?” Iwaizumi challenges. “And even though you can never tell anyone about everything you’ve seen and heard?”

“Even under these circumstances, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa affirms. “Of course I’d love to document it all, share it with the world, but I know that I can’t do that.”

The smirk he wears turns into something softer. “Besides, we agreed to trust each other, didn’t we?”

Something akin to fondness gathers within Iwaizumi’s chest, a gentle flutter. He ignores it, but there’s no masking the way his voice sounds a little breathless when he says, “We did.”

Even with his initial hesitation, Iwaizumi has learned that trusting Oikawa has gone easier than expected. Perhaps the unique circumstances in which they find themselves allows for him to be more lenient. After all, Oikawa has, unwillingly, been pulled into a world he does not understand. Not completely, at least.

Iwaizumi can only imagine how confusing the past few days must have been for him. He wonders if this particular case, this evergrowing mystery , is something they can solve. He hopes they can.

It’s Oikawa’s voice that pulls him out of his thoughts; quiet and a little hesitant.

“There is something, though,” he starts. 

Iwaizumi wonders if he’s right to feel concerned. He shifts ever so slightly, pulling one leg onto the couch. “What is it?”

“Yesterday,” Oikawa begins, “when I saw you all… fight those demons. I just—never want to feel like that again.”

“Like what?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Helpless,” comes the answer. “I said it before, but I just… felt scared. And amazed at the same time. But, I also just felt helpless.”

“I get it,” Iwaizumi replies, “but, Oikawa, you’re not a hunter. We were there to protect you. It’s not your job to fight those demons.”

Oikawa waves a hand at Iwaizumi words, shaking his head. “No, I get it, but I felt the same way when those demons came to the loft. I’m glad Ren was there, but if she hadn’t been—I would’ve died. I know it.”

While Iwaizumi is thankful for Ren’s presence at the time, there is truth to Oikawa’s words. He’d been left to fend for himself and it had been a miracle that three men had arrived at the loft in time. He doesn’t want to think about what could’ve happened if they had arrived only a second later.

By now, Oikawa’s tone seems less hesitant. If anything, he seems more certain. “Can’t you, I don’t know… give me some basic hunter training or something? Just in case anything happens again.”

The unexpected request causes Iwaizumi’s eyes to widen. Maybe under different circumstances he would’ve barked out a laugh; disbelief painted across his features while he firm ‘no’ would escape his lips almost immediately.

Instead, he stares at Oikawa in astonishment. “What?”

Oikawa sits up, raising his hands. “Hear me out—”

“You’re not a hunter,” is Iwaizumi’s immediate answer. As expected, Oikawa rolls his eyes—clearly not amused at Iwaizumi pointing out the obvious. 

“I know that, but I’m just saying just in case anything happens again.”

By now, the initial shock has worn off, causing Iwaizumi to shake his head as he releases a chuckle. “Absolutely not.”

It’s a ridiculous request, nevermind dangerous. Oikawa is a regular human; sure, a regular human who apparently could see demons in broad daylight, and is apparently hunted by some, but a human nonetheless. It would be unwise to train him. Impossible.

“Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t do it?” Oikawa challenges.

“I’ll give you two,” Iwaizumi retorts, raising his hand and sticking out his thumb and index finger, “one, you’re not a hunter. Two, you could die.”

“With the way these demons are after me, I could die anyway,” Oikawa fires back. “So you might as well teach me a thing or two and show me how to at least defend myself.”

The weight of Oikawa’s words hits Iwaizumi’s chest like a freight train. To hear him speak about the very real possibility of dying at the hands of a demon, causes a tightness to settle deep within his chest. Obviously, he wants to keep him safe and protect him from harm, but Iwaizumi isn’t stupid. He knows that the three of them might not always be around to protect him—no matter how much they want to.

The incident at the loft had been proof of that.

He releases a long suffering sigh, his fingers coming up to rub at his forehead. “God, you’re so—”

“Smart? Correct? Devastatingly charming? Why yes, I am all of those things.”

“Annoying.”

When Iwaizumi removes his hand, Oikawa’s already smiling at him. “You didn’t say no.”

He squints, annoyed at Oikawa’s counter argument; annoyed at himself for even considering this. 

“One condition,” he grumbles.

“Anything,” Oikawa says immediately.

“You listen to what I tell you. And no whining.”

“Technically, that’s two—”

“Oikawa.”

“Listening!” Oikawa says, sounding a little triumphant.

Iwaizumi is going to regret this.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

He still can’t quite believe what he’d just agreed to, even if he takes his spot on the training mats. They feel comfortable beneath his feet. Familiar.

As a kid, he’d spent many times on these mats. As a teenager, too. And even as an adult, Iwaizumi could not escape the occasional sparring session with other hunters. More often than not, he’d find himself across from either Matsukawa or Hanamaki.

Sometimes, Matsukawa’s younger sister, Jun, challenged him. Unfortunately for her, those challenges often ended in losses. She was a formidable opponent, wielding two swords with a kind of grace and power Iwaizumi admired. 

Then there were the other members; the ones slightly younger than him. They were scrappy. One of them in particular. Kyoutani was a diamond in the rough, some said. Feisty and unpredictable. A fighter in every sense of the word. He reminded Iwaizumi of himself sometimes; a younger, more reckless version that is. 

Sparring with Kyoutani was fun. Likely because of their similarities when it came to close combat.‘Brawlers’ his grandfather had called them, amused by their daily antics and relentless energy as he’d watched their umpteenth impromptu sparring match. They’d destroyed many walls and loads of equipment over the past few years. Much to his dismay.

“This looks more like cage fighting,” Hanamaki had complained once, watching as Kyoutani had managed to slam Iwaizumi onto the mats—only for Iwaizumi to kick him into his stomach with a little too much force, causing him to crash into a weapons rack a few feet away.

(It had taken three healers to tend to their wounds afterwards).

Iwaizumi remembers the way Yahaba had reprimanded him afterwards, annoyed at Kyoutani’s constant urge to prove himself and challenging Iwaizumi every chance he got. Iwaizumi enjoyed it, though. And he'd grown fond of Kyoutani over the years. He was like a younger brother to him, absorbing every bit of knowledge Iwaizumi shared with him, and, in return, Kyoutani had taught him a thing or two as well.

As Iwaizumi rolls his neck and loosens his shoulders, he wonders what Kyoutani would think of Oikawa. He snorts at the thought of them meeting.

Across from him, Oikawa steps onto the training mats. The jeans he’d worn had been replaced by a pair of black sweats and the shirt had been exchanged for a black tank top—identical to the one Iwaizumi currently wore. 

“You know I’m not gonna grapple with demons, right?” Oikawa teases. “Aren’t you supposed to teach me how to shoot at things?”

“No weapons until I know you can at least defend yourself a little. That’s the way we do it here,” Iwaizumi says. “C’mon, get those muscles warmed up.” 

Oikawa scoffs before Iwaizumi leads them through a series of stretches and warm-up exercises to get their heart rates up. After a few minutes, he announces that they’ll start with some basic self defense tactics. Oikawa merely hums. “You told me that your grandfather runs a tight ship around here. Does that mean he did the same with you?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Sure did. He and my parents taught me everything I know.”

“Impressive. Your family specializes in hand-to-hand combat, right?” he asks.   

“We do.” 

“So how many black belts do you have?”

It’s a trivial question, most likely meant to provoke him, and Iwaizumi refrains from releasing a laugh. Instead he keeps his expression neutral, allowing a smirk to tug at his lips. “Enough.”

Oikawa hums again, longer this time. “Interesting.”

“All right, enough chatting for now. I’ll walk you through it,” Iwaizumi tells him. He starts with a variety of punches and striking techniques, demonstrating them slowly, and how to block or avoid them. Cramming decades worth of knowledge into a single session is difficult, but Iwaizumi does enjoy a challenge on occasion.

When he finishes walking Oikawa through the first few exercises, he adjusts his stance and raises his hands. “I’m gonna slowly attack you from the front and then I want you to block it just how I showed you, okay?”

The words are met with a nod and Iwaizumi counts aloud before stepping forward and gently pushing his arm forward, as if he were to punch Oikawa. As instructed, Oikawa pushes his arm aside—blocking the rather slow jab.

“Good,” Iwaizumi comments. “I’ll do it a little faster this time.”

“Sure.”

They repeat the motions again, a little faster, and Iwaizumi nods in approval when Oikawa manages to block the punch again. “How was that?” he asks.

“Pretty good. Just keep your guard up,” Iwaizumi instructs. 

“All right,” Oikawa says with a nod, “you can try to punch a little faster, you know. I’m not made of glass .”

Iwaizumi snorts. “I don’t wanna hurt you, Oikawa.”

“Sounds like you’re scared, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi knows when he’s being goaded, provoked. And yet, he adjusts his stance again; ready to strike once more, with a little more speed and force. “Your funeral,” he comments. “Ready?”

Oikawa nods and as promised, Iwaizumi advances once more—his movements quicker than before. He is mindful not to put too much force behind the punch, when something unexpected happens. 

Iwaizumi expects Oikawa to jump aside, startled by the sudden strike, but instead, he easily, very easily, deflects the punch before abruptly changing his stance and throwing Iwaizumi over his shoulder in one swift motion.

As a result, Iwaizumi lands on the mats with a loud thud, blinking at the ceiling in surprise as his brain attempts to process what had just occurred. Oikawa’s face appears above him seconds later, looking every bit smug as he successfully managed to outsmart Iwaizumi. There’s a glint in his eyes and a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he says, “I have a few black belts, too.”

A breathless laugh travels through Iwaizumi’s chest and he takes Oikawa’s hand when Oikawa offers to help him to his feet. Still a little surprised, Iwaizumi runs a hand over the lower half of his face. 

“Smart,” he admits, “playing dumb to get the advantage.” 

Admittedly, it’s a good tactic. Unfortunately it only works once.

Across from him, Oikawa clicks his tongue; still appearing much too smug for Iwaizumi’s liking. “You let your guard down.”

As it turns out, Oikawa’s parents had been rather strict on both their son and daughter when it came to extracurricular activities. As a result, both Oikawa and his sister had been taking judo lessons from a very young age. 

“It started with aikido for a little while when I was younger,” Oikawa informs him, “but we both moved on to judo pretty quickly. I actually wanted to play volleyball, and my parents told me I could as long as I kept getting better at judo. So, I did.” 

“What ran—”

“Black belt. Fifth dan.”

“Impressive,”  Iwaizumi admits, “usually takes people quite a few years.”

“I was pretty dedicated,” Oikawa says with a shrug, “and I had a ruthless private tutor.”

Iwaizumi nods, stepping forward once more as he rolls his shoulders. “All right then,” he says, resuming his original stance. “Let’s see what he taught you then.” 

The grin Oikawa aims at him could best be described as wicked. Sharp and dangerous. “Sure thing, Iwa-chan.”

They spend the following minutes going through numerous throwing and grappling techniques. All of which, Oikawa performs perfectly. While he refrains from using too much strength to actually hurt Oikawa, Iwaizumi has to admit that he’s quite good.

Very good, actually.

Obviously, it’s different from sparring with Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Kyoutani or any of the other hunters, but when Oikawa manages to pin him down—putting Iwaizumi in a pretty tight scarf hold—Iwaizumi briefly considers cheating and using some of his hunter strength to get the upper hand.

Eventually he decides against it, even when Oikawa tightens his grip around Iwaizumi’s neck.

“What? No super strength?” he taunts, as if he’d been reading his mind. From where Iwaizumi lies on the mat, he’s able to see the flush traveling across Oikawa’s cheeks. A light sheen of sweat covers his forehead, causing his bangs to stick to his skin. 

It would be impossibly easy for him to get out of this particular hold. He knows it, Oikawa probably knows it too, yet, he attempts to provoke Iwaizumi anyway.

In the short time they’ve known each other, Iwaizumi has gotten to see different sides of him. A softer side; one that was a little more vulnerable. It had been blanketed in golden sunlight, with a gentle breeze blowing through his hair and a small smile sitting on his lips.

He enjoyed seeing him like that. Unguarded and open. 

But this one; Iwaizumi likes this one. It’s the side of him that is just as unguarded, but in a different way. A little wilder.

“I’d break every bone in your body,” Iwaizumi says matter-of-factly, voice strained. 

“Try me.”

Even with Oikawa’s full weight pressing down onto his chest, and cutting off part of his oxygen supply, Iwaizumi manages to snort. Rather than rising to the bait, he takes the opportunity to clasp his hands together, both of them pushing against the side of Oikawa’s face as he pushes his own legs out and raises his hips upward.

When he kicks his legs up, and back, he manages to hook his knee around Oikawa’s throat, driving him backwards by pressing down hard. He makes a choked noise as Iwaizumi escapes from the hold, rolling back and landing onto the mats with his upper body momentarily trapped between Iwaizumi’s legs.

“You were saying?”

Oikawa struggles to get free, and Iwaizumi can make out a very strained ‘bite me’  before he taps a hand on the mat.

With a triumphant laugh, or rather a snort, Iwaizumi releases him and Oikawa rolls away. An arm is thrown over his eyes, lips parted around harsh pants, and he briefly raises it to peek at Iwaizumi. “Now can you teach me to shoot stuff? I think I’ve proven myself enough.”

“Almost,” Iwaizumi responds, biting back a grin. 

He makes a mistake then. It’s his second mistake of the day, because when Iwaizumi gets to his feet—and briefly turns his back towards Oikawa—he’s promptly tackled to the ground. The sudden attack catches him off guard, as does the knee Oikawa presses to his windpipe when he manages to get Iwaizumi onto his back rather quickly. 

“How about now?”

By now he should’ve known that Oikawa isn’t above fighting dirty or launching some sort of sneak attack when Iwaizumi least expects it. Had it been anyone else, he likely would’ve launched an immediate counter attack and flung the person towards the other side of the room. (Luckily, most of the hunters can take it).

However, it’s a little different this time.

His eyes must be comically wide as he stares up at Oikawa for a moment, at a loss for words, before a choked laugh breaks free. “Fine.”

For the second time that day, Oikawa helps Iwaizumi to his feet and Iwaizumi shakes his head in amusement as he gestures for Oikawa to follow him. He puts his shoes back on once he steps off the training mats and retrieves two towels, one of which he drapes over Oikawa’s head. 

“I’m starting to think you tormented your private tutor into giving you those black belts,” he murmurs, rubbing his own towel across his face. 

“I will neither confirm or deny that,” Oikawa chirps.

After a short water break, Iwaizumi leads them towards the area reserved for target practice, but not before he takes a quick glance at one of the many computer screens they pass. Similar to the computer at Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s place, a large map of Tokyo is displayed across the screens. Numerous red dots appear all over the map, indicating numerous demon signatures throughout the city. Luckily, a few blue dots appear quickly as well; moving across the screen with haste as various hunters travel across town to deal with this sudden plague that seems to have infiltrated Tokyo.

“That bad, huh?” Oikawa mumbles. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, gaze still roaming across the screens. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Have you heard from Makki yet? About that guy who might know more?”

“Not yet,” Iwaizumi replies, sparing the screen in front of him one final glance before turning away. “C’mon.”

When they arrive at the designated area, Iwaizumi turns towards one of the computers atop the desk and pushes a few keys. Digital targets manifest seconds later; holograms meant to look like demons that are often used for target practice. He retrieves a number of weapons while Oikawa glances around curiously, intrigued by the electronic targets. 

“That’s amazing,” he comments, gaze dropping to the weapons Iwaizumi lines up. “So, now what?”

Iwaizumi picks up one of the hand guns, turning the weapon over in his hand. “These are specifically designed for target practice. No bullets inside of them. You aim at the targets and shoot. Kind of like in a game.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Oikawa supposes, his hand hovering over one of the other guns. “Can I?”

“Not as easy as it seems,” Iwaizumi says, gesturing at the various holograms standing a few feet away from them—spread throughout a large area. “They move quickly. Once you score one-hundred percent within the designated time, you advance.”

“To what? Level two?”

Iwaizumi lowers the handgun before picking up one of the larger weapons: a rifle often used by hunters who prefer long-distance combat, such as snipers. He’s seen Hanamaki wield the gun with proficiency, hitting every target with impeccable speed and incredible accuracy; setting a record among their peers. 

“This,” he says, referring to the rifle as he adjusts his grip and alters his stance. “Start,” he commands. Almost instantly, the computer responds to his voice and starts the simulation. The holographic demons flicker and move around as Iwaizumi hits each target closest to him. Once each target has been neutralized, he takes a few steps forward to advance towards the next round of targets. It’s pure muscle memory; the result of years of diligent practice.

Afterwards a score appears on a large screen behind them; a robotic voice indicating that Iwaizumi had managed to achieve a perfect score. He glances back at said screen, observing the estimated time as he walks back to Oikawa. 

The slow, sarcastic clap Oikawa offers him is met with a snort from Iwaizumi.

“My hero,” he teases. “Show off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi says with a roll of his eyes, lowering the rifle onto the large table before them. “Go on, give it a try then if you’re so confident.”

When Oikawa’s hand reaches for the rifle Iwaizumi had just used, Iwaizumi clicks his tongue in disapproval. He’s rewarded with a mildly annoyed look before Oikawa picks up the handgun instead and Iwaizumi gives a hum in return. 

“Level one,” he calls out, “start.” 

“What?” Oikawa squawks, quickly raising the gun, “I wasn’t ready yet!”

“Tough shit,” Iwaizumi deadpans. “Demons don’t care. Shoot.”

(He’s pretty sure Oikawa almost snarls at him, mumbling something underneath his breath).

The gun is trained on the various targets and Iwaizumi observes the way Oikawa’s brows draw together in concentration, his jaw set, and his arms tense as he repeatedly presses his finger on the trigger. Admittedly, he’s doing a decent job; missing a target or two, or three, but that’s to be expected.

Once the simulation ends, the computer announces that he hadn’t managed to achieve a perfect score in order to clear the first level. Annoyance finds a home on his features, his nose scrunching in distaste and his eyes narrowed at the large screen where his final score flashes across the display.

“Again,” he decides, mere seconds later, adjusting his stance. “Start.”

Iwaizumi blinks twice, mildly surprised at his determination, as the simulation restarts.

He suddenly understands how Oikawa had managed to become a fifth degree black belt so quickly.

He’s tenacious.

Iwaizumi is half tempted to tell him that it takes the average hunter quite some time before they advance through all levels with a perfect score, but judging by the determined look in Oikawa’s eyes, he thinks the news might fall on deaf ears. So, instead, he crosses his arms, watching as Oikawa goes through the practice simulation again and again.

On occasion, he offers some advice; a helpful remark here and there. He learns that Oikawa is rather good at following instructions, and even better at executing them. 

After what feels like an eternity, he presses a hand to Oikawa’s forearm—urging him to lower the weapon. “Think that’s enough for now.”

Oikawa obliges, flexing his fingers and massaging his own hands as he glances from the gun before him to the holographic targets. “That was fun,” he admits. He glances at another section of the practice era and when Iwaizumi follows his gaze, he notices that Oikawa seems to observe the targets meant for archery. 

“Interested?” he asks.

“A little,” Oikawa murmurs, walking towards the archery range. He lets his eyes roam along the rows and rows of bows that have been neatly displayed, the majority of them being recurve bows—similar to the one Hanamaki often carries with him. For a moment Iwaizumi thinks that Oikawa will turn away, until he picks up one of the bows and nocks the practice arrow with a quickness Iwaizumi hadn’t expected.

Before he gets the chance to object, Oikawa pulls the string back and releases the arrow. 

Bullseye.

A perfect score.

For the umpteenth time that day, Iwaizumi finds himself surprised at the man before him. He joins Oikawa at the archery range, observing the arrow lodged in the center of the target. He then glances back at Oikawa, who nocks another arrow, with near perfect form. 

It lands on the exact same spot, if not millimeters above the first arrow.

His confusion must be obvious, his silence awfully loud, because Oikawa turns his head ever so slightly; a tell-tale smirk already sitting on his lips. “Did I mention I also took kyudo lessons?”

Of course he did.

Iwaizumi groans. “You’re shitting me?”

Oikawa nocks another arrow, exhaling slowly as he releases the weapon towards the target. “I was an ambitious child.”

Each arrow that’s fired afterwards, lands within the yellow circle of the target with pinpoint accuracy. Iwaizumi watches him repeat the motions methodically. Aim, draw, release. 

There’s a certain grace to it, Iwaizumi thinks. The lines of Oikawa’s body. It’s the way his arms are perfectly aligned, his elbow parallel to the ground, his spine straight, his shoulders set. 

Aim, draw, release.

Once the bow is lowered, and Oikawa seems to be satisfied with his performance, Iwaizumi rests his hip against the table before them; arms crossed. “Who’s the show off now?”

“Still you,” Oikawa retorts, rolling his shoulders and rubbing at his muscles with his right hand. 

“Got any other tricks up your sleeve?” Iwaizumi wonders. “Any other hidden talents I should know about?”

Oikawa pretends to ponder, a long hum vibrating through his throat. “No, I think that’s it.”

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, gaze drifting back to the target momentarily. He counts the arrows, all ten of them perfectly embedded within the yellow circle. When he looks at Oikawa again, he notices that he’s begun to massage his forearm; likely sore from both their brief sparring session and the target practice. 

“So it was all fake then?” he jokes, “The whole I feel so helpless’ act.”

Oikawa’s expression changes. Any trace of amusement he’d displayed before now vanishes from his eyes; replaced by a hint of melancholy. Iwaizumi panics, wondering if he’d unintentionally said the wrong thing—accidentally pressing down on a wound that hasn't healed yet. 

A tired smile sits on Oikawa’s lips. “It wasn’t.”

By now he has stopped massaging his forearm. 

“No amount of training or athletic achievements can prepare you for that,” he tells Iwaizumi. “I still felt overwhelmed and scared. And completely out of my depth.”

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says almost instantly, “I didn’t mean to downplay your feelings.”

He pauses before speaking again. “I get it. I mean—I’m used to it now, but I remember being terrified when I was younger. Training and sparring with others here is nothing compared to the real thing.”

Oikawa nods, lips parting around a sigh. “I just want to be… prepared. For next time, you know?”

“I understand,” Iwaizumi replies, there’s a moment of hesitation before he steps forward; his hand reaching for Oikawa’s arm. He briefly gives his upper arm a small squeeze. “We’ll take a break first. And then we’ll continue, okay?”

The smile Oikawa offers him is less tired. A little more hopeful. “I’d like that, yeah.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Had you told Iwaizumi that he’d be spending the majority of the morning and afternoon training a non-hunter how to wield a variety of firearms, he probably would’ve laughed. Though he hates thinking about it, Oikawa did have a point. Should he be attacked by demons once again, without Iwaizumi, Hanamaki or Matsukawa being near him, he needs to know how to defend himself.

Strange as it may be, Iwaizumi walks him through it; makes him repeat the drills over and over.

He’s sure to implement breaks, refraining from pushing too much or too far, but Oikawa is determined. Apparently he’s like this in every aspect of his life. Whether it pertains to sports, his professional life, or his personal life, Oikawa is determined and strong-willed; tackling everything with a kind of drive that impresses Iwaizumi thoroughly.

“I don’t believe in half-assing things,” he says casually as they sit on the couches in the lounge area once more. “If I do something, I’m going to give it my all. And then some.”

“I can see why you played a lot of sports,” Iwaizumi chuckles, downing the contents of his fourth, or maybe fifth, water bottle. It’s a little after four p.m. and he realizes that they have spent quite a few hours in the warehouse without any of the other hunters deciding to show up. He supposes the majority of them, like Hanamaki and Matsukawa, had been sent on additional missions to combat the growing demon problem in the city.

“I’ve always been like that, I suppose,” Oikawa explains. “I just kinda lose myself in whatever I’m doing. I like staying busy. Maybe it’s why I love history. There’s always something new to discover and learn about.”

“Makes sense.”

“What about you, though? Surely you have interests and hobbies aside from demon hunting?”

Iwaizumi makes a noise that sits somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Not much room for hobbies between hunting and a daytime job.”

“Ah, I remember—you work as a sports therapist, right? I remember reading your clinic’s website.”

“Mm-hm,” he mumbles around the bottle. “Studied sports medicine at Keio. I work with injured athletes. Getting them back into shape so they can perform again.”

“Little do they know that, at night, you tear off demon limbs and shatter bones.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

Oikawa’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter as he pulls his legs onto the couch. “How do you do it, Iwa-chan? What’s the secret to combining a successful demon hunting career and a professional career?”

“No sleep. Ever,” Iwaizumi replies dully. Part of him has, admittedly, no idea how he manages to do it. It’s a miracle his body hasn’t spontaneously shut down yet. “Maybe it’s the enhanced stamina.”

“Must be nice,” Oikawa muses. “How’s your personal life?” 

“Non-existent.”

Oikawa nods sagely. “We have that in common it seems.”

For some reason Iwaizumi finds that hard to believe. With how attractive, and admittedly, charming, as Oikawa is, he would’ve expected him to have a long list of romantic suitors lining up for him. He reckons his well-known last name and impressive bank account adds to his bachelor status—making him a desirable target for those who are drawn to money and success. 

“Really?” he asks, “nobody special in your life? Some billionaire heiress with five companies, or a prince from a small nation?”

Laughter travels through the air once more and Iwaizumi thinks he could grow used to the sound. 

“Who do you think I am?” Oikawa asks, incredulous. “None of that, no. I’ve had partners in the past—none of whom were heiresses or princes—but it never lasted. Okay, maybe one of them had some vague connection to the imperial family but—”

Iwaizumi snorts as he reaches for the bag of chips on the coffee table. Whoever had been in charge of groceries, had managed to stock the cabinets with some emergency snacks, and Iwaizumi mentally thanks them as he shoves a handful of the salty treats into his mouth. “Of course.”

“What about you, though? How does dating work as a demon hunter? Do you lead a double life like some super hero? Sneaking back into apartments late at night?” Oikawa wonders. “Just like in the superhero movies.”

“It doesn’t work,” Iwaizumi says matter-of-factly. He rubs his hands on his sweats before offering the bag of chips to Oikawa, who happily takes it. “Dating non-hunters is almost always a bad idea. Can’t involve them in stuff like this.”

“Oh,” Oikawa murmurs, “that sounds a little… tragic.”

Something akin to disappointment briefly washes over him, but Iwaizumi is quick to ignore it. Instead he shrugs. “It’s why hunters usually date other hunters. It works. It’s safer.”

“Like Makki and Mattsun. How long has that been going on?”

“Our entire lives,” Iwaizumi complains. “They finally got together when we all turned seventeen, and they’ve been going strong ever since. It was annoying at first, because they both kept harassing me about their feelings for one another, and I couldn’t say anything to the other about it. Eventually they finally sat down and here we are.”

Memories of their childhood flood his brain; much younger versions of the three friends doing almost everything together. Inseparable since birth. Even with the romantic feelings blossoming between Matsukawa and Hanamaki, Iwaizumi had never felt left out or jealous of the bond they shared. It was nice to see them together; how happy they made one another.

(He expects them to tie the knot any time soon).

“There are people who’ve done it though,” he says after a moment of silence. “People who’ve married non-hunters and started families with them.”

“But?”

“But,” Iwaizumi continues, “they had to give up hunting. And their powers.” 

“That sounds harsh…” Oikawa murmurs. “What do the families think about that?”

“The older generation isn’t fond of it, obviously. They think you’re turning your back on them. And that you’re ungrateful, and disrespectful to the gods,” Iwaizumi sighs. “And yet, some have done it. Cut ties with their families entirely. But, it depends on the family, I suppose. Some can be more understanding.”

A question hangs between them. Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa’s lips part ever so slightly, hesitation wrapped around the syllables of his words. His voice is quieter, his tone careful. “Would you ever do it?”

He considers the question; wondering if he could ever turn his back on all that he knows for the sake of love . Perhaps in the past his answer would’ve been a firm ‘no’. After all, being a hunter is an important part of his life; as is his family. 

And yet.

“Maybe,” he admits, eyes taking in the details of Oikawa’s face. The brown of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the occasional freckle dusted along the bridge of his nose, the soft pink color of his lips. “If the right person came along.”

The moment ends before it even can begin, because a sudden noise pulls Iwaizumi’s attention away. The doors of the warehouse open to reveal an older man with black and gray hair pulled back into a low bun. Iwaizumi instantly recognizes his grandfather’s form in the distance, appearing every bit the martial arts instructor and former leader of the Seijoh Group as he walks into the warehouse. He frowns at the sight of Iwaizumi and Oikawa, confusion seeping into his voice as he walks towards them.

“Hajime?” he asks, “And… guest? What’s going on?”

Iwaizumi is quick to rise to his feet, with Oikawa following suit. “Grandpa—” he starts, gesturing to Oikawa, “This is Oikawa Tooru. I met him a few days ago. We’ve got a bit of a problem.”

Next to him, Oikawa is quick to offer Iwaizumi’s grandfather a bow as he greets him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Iwaizumi,” he greets, “thank you for your hospitality.”

“No need for formalities,” Iwaizumi’s grandfather replies. “I know of your family. What’s your connection to Hajime? And what’s this about a problem?”

He walks around the coffee table, lowering himself onto one of the arm chairs. “Sit,” he instructs before glancing at Iwaizumi. “And talk.”

Oikawa briefly looks at Iwaizumi, who offers him a quick nod, before he begins to explain the full story in great detail. Iwaizumi assists him, recalling the events of the past few days; explaining as to why he had chosen to keep his family out of the loop initially. 

As expected, his grandfather responds with a series of hums and nods—rolling his eyes when Iwaizumi admits they had chosen to summon a demon at the loft and muttering something along the lines of ‘reckless youth’ . He rubs a hand over the lower half of his face, nails scratching at his beard in a moment of contemplation as he observes Oikawa.

“He’s not cursed, you said,” his grandfather mutters. “But he was attacked by a demon in his grandmother’s house on monday morning, then again in the afternoon at Matsukawa’s and Hanamaki’s loft? And then Tuesday night you went to visit Ukai in Shinjuku and demons suddenly appeared at the nightclub?”

Iwaizumi nods. “And this morning we came here. We figured it’d be wise to ask if you guys know more. What do you think? About this demon gate thing? And him being targeted?”

A long hum vibrates through the older man’s throat. On occasion, his eyes dart towards where the various computers are located; the screens lighting up at every new demon signature that appears anywhere in the city. “We noticed the increase in demons. Most of them are stronger, too,” he tells Iwaizumi. “I don’t know if your friend’s problem and the sudden increase of demons are connected, but it is suspicious that he was attacked. And that he’s able to see the demons in the first place.”

“If non-hunters aren’t able to see demons, how come I could? And how come they could hurt the people in the nightclub then?” Oikawa wonders.

“It’s different at night,” Iwaizumi’s grandfather explains. “With the veil between worlds being at its thinnest, at night, demons can finally attack. That’s when they can strike and hurt humans the most. They are weaker during the day and hidden from those who are unaware of their existence. But the fact that the demons you have encountered are appearing during the day and are notably stronger is concerning.”

“Do you think it’s because of this demon gate?” Iwaizumi wonders.

His grandfather sighs, eyes momentarily shut and the line between his brows deepening. “It’s very possible,” he responds. “It’s not often that non-hunters approach us directly, though. You said your grandmother knew of us?”

Oikawa nods. “Apparently our families had done business in the past.”

Iwaizumi’s grandfather gives a brief shake of his head, “I don’t remember doing business with anyone named Oikawa. I do know of your family because of their company, but nothing more than that.”

“You think your grandmother could be mistaken?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa shakes his head. “Don’t think so. It doesn’t matter, though. What do we do now? How can we make sure those demons aren’t after me anymore?” 

Iwaizumi explains the unconventional methods Matsukawa had used to assure Oikawa’s safety; mentioning that he’d managed to protect Oikawa with the use of special wards. At the reveal, his grandfather’s eyes widen in surprise. He scoffs, a quiet laugh passing through his lips a moment later. “Typical.”

Another moment passes before Iwaizumi’s grandfather briefly pulls his grandson aside, concern settling on his features.

“Hajime, you know how we feel about outsiders.”

Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck. “It was… a weird situation. I’d hoped we would’ve figured it out on our own first.”

“I understand,” his grandfather replies, momentarily glancing at Oikawa—who keeps his left hand on Ren’s head as Ren had taken it upon herself to bury her nose into his lap. “Do you trust him?”

“ Yes ,” Iwaizumi says almost immediately, mildly surprised at his own quick reaction. Perhaps he is foolish to trust Oikawa, as it goes against everything they have been taught, but something inside of him—a gut feeling—tells Iwaizumi that he can trust the other man. He noticed it before; the vague sort of familiarity he felt when he’d first met Oikawa—right after the demon attacked.

Even though he is quite certain he has never seen him before, never heard of him either, he can’t help but feel as though there is something familiar about him. Iwaizumi prides himself on his instincts, for they have never led him astray; never proved him wrong. Even now .

“Okay,” his grandfather says. “Okay. We’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi replies, feeling some of the tension he’d carried in his shoulders melt away. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I’m sorry for.. bringing him here.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, strong and comforting. It gives him a firm squeeze and Iwaizumi looks up to see his grandfather’s knowing smile. “You did what you thought was right. We’ll figure it out together. For now, we need to contain all the demons running around.”

As if on cue, the doors of the warehouse open once more and Iwaizumi watches as Hanamaki and Matsukawa enter the large building. Behind them, the various alarms continue to blare loudly through the open space. It almost seems louder than before and Iwaizumi is quick to approach his friends, who both seemed to have returned from a recent mission. 

“What happened?”

“We got an order from the higher ups,” Hanamaki explains. “Apparently they’re concerned now. The signatures keep increasing and multiple squads have been deployed already. They’re sending us out again.” 

When Iwaizumi asks his friends if they have sustained any injuries, they wave off his concern, mentioning that they’re doing fairly well despite spending a rather large portion of the day racing across town to track down a variety of demons. From what Iwaizumi can gather, it’s the same demons they encountered yesterday that continue to cause discord and mayhem. Hanamaki tells him about a group of winged creatures and ogres and Matsukawa complains about yet another ruined shirt and how his distaste for the winged demons grows with each passing second.

(Iwaizumi understands the sentiment).

All three of them, followed by Iwaizumi’s grandfather and Oikawa, move towards the computers to take a look at the map. Hanamaki had been correct. The red dots scattered across the map have significantly increased. A lot of the demons seem to congregate near Meiji shrine, similar to the creatures that had appeared in the forest near the temple the previous day.

Though, unlike yesterday, it seems like the demonic energy near the shrine is much stronger now. 

It’s enough to make all of them fall silent. 

Unease gathers within Iwaizumi’s chest, it settles deep within his bones as he watches the screen with wide eyes. They don’t have time to sit and wonder about the whys or the hows , even though his mind is flooded with questions; his brain scrambling to answer them in an attempt to make sense of a situation beyond their comprehension.

A chill runs down his spine.

“Gods,” Iwaizumi eventually says. “We have to go now.”

Chapter Text

If Iwaizumi’s voice is anything to go by, Oikawa thinks they might be in a lot of trouble. Which seems to be a recurring theme these days.

His eyes are glued to the screen, where dozens of demon signatures are scattered across Tokyo’s map. Voices echo through the speakers; hunters from other squads reporting about the situation at hand. He recognizes a female voice. Matsukawa’s sister. Jun. if memory serves him right.

She sounds slightly out of breath as she informs them about a group of tsuchigumo near Chuo. “We usually see ‘em in the mountains, but suddenly they started showing up here,” she explains.

Matsukawa is quick to ask about her injuries as he presses a few keys that allow him to check her status and read her vital signs. Aside from a high pulse rate and some scratches, she appears to be fine. As does her brother, who sounds a little strained when he addresses them. “We’ll wrap things up here and then we’ll head to the next location.”

“All right,” Matsukawa agrees. “Be careful you two. If you need anything, call me.”

“Same to you,” comes the joint reply from the twins.

Almost immediately, Matsukawa steps away from the desk. “C’mon, we can’t waste any time. The quicker we deal with the demons at Meiji Shrine, the quicker we can help Jun and Shin.”

Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi jogs away, likely to change into his gear and retrieve his weapons. He returns rather quickly, handguns slipped into the holsters and trench knives strapped to his thighs, and Oikawa listens as he starts discussing strategies with Matsukawa and Hanamaki.

When the two of them momentarily step away to retrieve more weapons and stock up on ammunition, Oikawa approaches Iwaizumi; concern lodged in his chest. “Let me go with you,” he says, even though he already knows Iwaizumi’s answer.

It’s an immediate and firm ‘no’, accompanied by a shake of his head. “Stay here, Oikawa. You’re safer here.”

“I know that,” Oikawa tells him, “I just have a bad feeling about this, Iwa-chan. Trust me.”

He pauses before speaking again. “Matsukawa put those wards on me; if I stay hidden and out of sight, the demons won’t even know I’m there. I can be on the lookout for you, in case more of them arrive. Or—I don’t know, I can shoot them from a safe distance or something. And we can take Ren with us; have her stay with me, just in case. Just take me with you.”

Another objection forms on Iwaizumi’s lips, but Oikawa is quick to cut him off as he curls his hand tightly around Iwaizumi’s forearm. “If you won’t take me with you, I’ll just follow you. I’m not letting you go alone,” he says resolutely.

Iwaizumi’s eyes momentarily widen, gaze dropping to where Oikawa’s fingers are tightly wrapped around his arm, and Oikawa briefly thinks he might yank his arm back and stalk away, but instead he sighs and presses his lips into a thin line. The muscles in his jaw tighten, brows pinched together, and he mumbles a very quick ‘fine’.

He releases Iwaizumi’s arm after that, a satisfied smile sitting on his lips just as Iwaizumi turns around and tells him to stop grinning. “Follow me.”

Iwaizumi leads them away from the computers, pausing when they reach another storage area. He rummages through one of the many black cabinets that are lined up against a wall before pulling out a long-sleeve black shirt and a pair of dark cargo pants. His gaze briefly travels over Oikawa’s body as he pushes the clothes into his arms, only to turn away again to retrieve a pair of combat boots. He places them on top of the clothes laying in Oikawa’s arms, along with a pair of black gloves and a belt.

“Get dressed.”

Surprise washes over Oikawa, though it lasts only a few moments before he quickly changes into the clothes Iwaizumi handed to him. Both the shirt and pants fit perfectly and he suddenly understands why Iwaizumi and the other hunters seem to be rather fond of their gear. He adjusts the belt before glancing up at Iwaizumi, who’d given him some privacy by walking towards the weapons storage while Oikawa changed into the clothes he’d been given.

“It feels lighter than expected. Breathable too,” he comments, “easy to move in. Not heavy at all.”

“It’s designed specifically for us,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Perfect for combat. Should’ve seen hunters back in the day. Lot’s of leather in the eighties and nineties.”

Oikawa snorts, about to mention that he would’ve loved to see Iwaizumi and his teammates in leather pants when Iwaizumi suddenly retrieves a knife and a black holster. Both items are pushed into his hands just as Iwaizumi says, “This one goes around your thigh. You’re right-handed, right?”

Oikawa nods, briefly inspecting the weapon before strapping it to his right thigh with only minor fumbling.

Iwaizumi walks away again, eyes scanning a number of guns before his fingers curl around what appears to be a sniper rifle. He frowns at the weapon just as Oikawa steps closer towards him, inspecting the rather large gun. “That for me?”

A sigh slips past Iwaizumi’s lips and Oikawa notices the slight hesitation as he hands the rifle over. “Aim and shoot,” he instructs. “Just like we practiced. The bullets are specifically designed to take out demons. But only shoot if you have a clear shot, otherwise you might end up hurting one of us.”

“Got it,” Oikawa says as he slings the weapon over his shoulder. Almost immediately, Matsukawa shouts that it’s time for them to leave and Oikawa doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi gives him a quick once over; concern painting his features.

“I’ll be fine, Iwa-chan,” he tells him, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. Iwaizumi merely nods before they both walk towards Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who are mildly surprised by Oikawa’s sudden change in wardrobe. They both share a quick look with Iwaizumi, who merely waves a hand to indicate that he’s fine with it, when Ren runs towards them.

She nudges her head against Iwaizumi’s hand, whose lips curl upwards in a small smile. “You’re coming with us,” he tells Ren, crouching down and scratching under her chin, “But you need to protect Oikawa again today, okay? Stay with him. The three of us will be fine.”

Iwaizumi rises again after a moment, arching a brow at Oikawa. “You still sure you wanna come along?”

Oikawa nods, briefly glancing down at Ren when she pads towards him as per Iwaizumi’s instructions. He smiles. “Let’s go.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

The drive to Meiji Shrine is a quick one, far too quick for Oikawa’s liking. As he sits on the back of Iwaizumi’s motorcycle, his arms tightly wound around Iwaizumi’s waist, he wonders if he made the right decision by tagging along after all. It seems stupid, ludicrous, to hop on a bike and demand Iwaizumi—and his friends—take him along on their mission. They’re trained professionals with years worth of practice when it comes to hunting and vanquishing demons, while he has a history degree, a fucked up sleep cycle and a vague hunch.

And yet, when he’d observed the computer screens in the warehouse, saw all those little red dots crawling across the map, dread had slithered down his spine. A niggling feeling made itself apparent in the back of his mind, poking and prodding at him.

‘This is wrong’ it said.

The wise decision, the responsible and smart decision, would’ve been to remain at the warehouse; hidden and safe. But would it have been the right decision?

Oikawa has learned to trust his instincts. They led him to Iwaizumi, who had done everything in his power to keep Oikawa safe despite the dire circumstances. He’d broken rules for him, took care of him to the best of his ability, and trusted Oikawa with his secrets. And here Oikawa is, potentially risking his life, because he had a hunch.

To call it a mere hunch feels almost trivial.

He briefly wonders if something else, some higher power, had led him towards Iwaizumi in the first place. There was something oddly familiar about him. About all of them, really.

Oikawa wonders if they feel the same.

His moment of contemplation is interrupted when the motorcycle comes to a screeching halt. He jostles in the seat, slowly releasing Iwaizumi before he hops off the bike. The usually crowded area seems deserted and Matsukawa mentions that civilians had been evacuated by a group of other hunters. “They set up a barrier for us,” he adds. Oikawa glances around, in search of said barrier, but Matsukawa informs him that only hunters are able to see it.

“Keeps civilians out of dangerous areas,” Iwaizumi adds, pressing his finger against the earpiece in his right ear.

Oikawa frowns. “But I was able to pass through?”

“Likely because of the wards on your back. Your energy is undetectable now. Kind of like a ghost,” Matsukawa explains, unwrapping the chain he keeps wrapped around his hips. “Which is convenient, given that we’re about to walk into the demonic equivalent of a hornet’s nest.”

The voice of Iwaizumi’s grandfather echoes through the comm links, authoritative and strict, as he informs them of the current situation. “It’s filled with categories threes and fours. Exterminate them, then return back. Shin and Jun have moved to a different part of town. Chuo and the surrounding area are clear.”

Oikawa glances at Matsukawa, who seems to be relieved at the news regarding his younger siblings.

“We’ll stay in touch,” Iwaizumi replies. “Are you still alone?”

“For now,” his grandfather responds. “Others are on their way here to help keep an eye on things. Don’t worry about me, Hajime. You kids be careful and come back in one piece, all right?”

Iwaizumi releases a short hum, his fingers curling around the grips of his handguns as he retrieves the weapons. “We will.”

The forest near the shrine is completely devoid of people as they begin to walk towards where the demons must be located. Oikawa’s eyes are glued to Iwaizumi’s back while Iwaizumi discusses a variety of strategies with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Their weapons are drawn, each member of their three man squad on high alert as they venture deeper into the forest. Next to him, Ren walks with slow, heavy steps; having transformed into her original form upon arrival at the Shrine.

It’s only the second time Oikawa has seen her like this, and this time he’s actually able to observe her. She almost seems larger than he remembers and he feels somewhat reassured that she will remain at his side, protecting him from any potential danger. As if sensing his gaze, Ren slowly turns her head; red eyes observing Oikawa as they walk. He huffs a quiet laugh, carefully extending his hand to rub at her head. She allows it, releasing a quiet huff—as she always does—while he gently pushes his fingers back and forth through her fur. It’s almost comical to see how small his hand is in comparison to her head in this form.

She walks a little closer to him and he keeps a hand resting against the side of her body until they arrive at the center of the forest. Iwaizumi glances over his shoulder, looking between Oikawa and Ren before instructing them to stay out of sight. “We’re here. You guys lay low, all right? Stay out of sight and warn us if there are more demons in the area.”

Oikawa nods just as the voice of Iwaizumi’s grandfather echoes through the comm link once more. He mentions that a group of demons have congregated on a clearing just behind a row of trees to their left. Iwaizumi responds that they’re able to pick up a large amount of demonic energy and Oikawa watches as the three of them exchange quick looks before they slip past the rows of trees before them.

Once he’s no longer able to see the three men, he inches closer towards the row of trees—with Ren trailing behind him. Iwaizumi’s voice can be heard through the comm link as he and Hanamaki and Matsuakwa assess the situation. He informs his grandfather of the amount of demons they’re able to detect thus far and Hanamaki starts listing off various types of demons almost immediately afterwards.

Oikawa keeps walking ahead, hidden between the trees, until he’s able to see the clearing. Ren comes to a halt next to him, releasing a low growl at the sight of the large group of demons in the distance and Oikawa presses a hand to her side in an attempt to soothe her. “You guys in position, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, as if he’d been aware that Oikawa and Ren had started inching closer to the clearing. His answer comes in the form of a short hum as he reaches for the rifle strapped to his back.

The weapon feels heavy in his arms and his lips twist in annoyance as he peers through the scope. Once he’s able to locate Iwaizumi a few feet away, hidden behind a tree as he observes the group of demons in the distance, he quietly says, “I can see you.”

“All right, good. Stay there, we’ll try to wrap this up as quickly as possible,” Iwaizumi responds. “So far they haven’t noticed us, or you, which means the wards are definitely working.”

Matsukawa sounds amused when he speaks. “You’re welcome.”

“You almost killed me,” Oikawa murmurs.

“So have a bunch of demons, I’m just keeping up with the latest trend,” Matsukawa responds.

Hanamaki’s snicker causes Oikawa’s lips to twitch in amusement. When he shifts again, using the gun’s scope to locate Hanamaki, he finds him on the other side of the clearing; perched atop a tree branch with two energy arrows drawn.

“On my mark,” Hanamaki says. Oikawa notices the slight shift in his position, the bow string pulled back a little further before his lips part around a quick ‘now’.

The first two arrows hit their marks and Oikawa is impressed at the speed with which Hanamaki nocks two more arrows and releases them mere seconds later. They are embedded into the heads of two winged demons, who begin to screech in pain and alert their companions.

Similar to the previous night, Oikawa watches the entire thing unfold. He observes the dozens of arrows fired by Hanamaki, who hasn’t moved from his vantage spot yet, while Iwaizumi and Matsukawa dash forward and face the group of demons head on.

This time, they aren’t confined by the walls of the nightclub. This time they have plenty of room to move.

And Matsukawa uses it wisely. Flames sprout from his fingertips, dancing across the chain until every inch of the metal weapon is covered by them. He uses the weapon as a makeshift lasso and whip at once, striking down demons with quick blows or strangling them until their bones are crushed. However, this time Oikawa notices there is something attached to the end of the chain. A large curved blade, apparently. It cuts through a demon’s wings, burning its flesh and embedding itself in its back.

The creature thrashes as Matsukawa yanks on the chain, pulling the demon towards him just as he leaps forward. Flames cover his free hand and he reaches out, grabbing the demon’s skull before incinerating the creature.

“Hot,” Oikawa hears Hanamaki say over the comm link, shooting two demons standing to Matsukawa’s left.

He snorts.

The rattling of the chain can be heard as Matsukawa repeats the motions once more, slashing his way through numerous demons while Hanamaki redirects his attention to the winged demons that roam through the sky. Oikawa reckons shooting them is much harder now that the demons have more room to move and fly around, but Hanamaki is surprisingly calm as he releases arrow after arrow.

Gray clouds begin to gather in Tokyo’s skies, swallowing the sun’s rays and casting a shadow over the forest. A gentle breeze caresses Oikawa’s cheek, cold air wrapping itself around his body and goosebump erupting along his skin. Winged creatures continue to roam through the sky, the sound of their angry screeches cutting through the air as they attempt to avoid the arrows that are being fired at them.

He swallows, observing one of the demons through the lens of his scope. It is similar to the creatures he’d seen before; the ones that infiltrated his grandmother’s house, and the loft, and the nightclub. They appear in his dreams, slithering through his subconscious like parasites and feasting on his soul. Images of sharp claws and even sharper teeth haunt him, tormenting him when he dares to close his eyes. And he wonders, keeps wondering: why him?

A steadying breath and the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice bring him back to the present. He’s shouting something in the comm link and Oikawa’s gaze travels across the clearing until he’s able to locate him.

Iwaizumi Hajime is a force to be reckoned with; he learned this the previous day.

It’s reinstated now as he watches Iwaizumi grapple with a red ogre three times his size. The creature has jumped on top of him, pinning Iwaizumi to the ground, while its teeth get dangerously close to his face.

However, its plans are thwarted when Iwaizumi manages to free his arm; one of his knives resting in his palms. White energy travels along the weapon just as he sinks the blade into the demon’s side.

The ogre trashes, allowing Iwaizumi to free his other arm as well and Oikawa watches as more energy gathers around the fingertips of his free hand as he makes a fist. Even from his position, Iwaizumi is able to throw a punch at the demon; one that goes directly through the ogre’s skull upon impact.

Demon blood paints his skin, clinging to his forehead and cheeks as he jumps to his feet. Disgust settles on his features; a hand coming up to wipe some of the blood away before he whirls around to see the next demon coming his way. An enormous snake-like creature approaches him, its body slithering across the ground with the kind of speed that leaves Oikawa wide eyed. Fortunately, one of Hanamaki’s arrows lodges itself into its body and Iwaizumi ducks aside as the snake lunges towards him; its jaw snapping angrily. He rolls onto his side, fingers slipping through the knuckle guard of his trench knives once more before he dashes forward and jumps onto the demon’s back. He buries both knives into the creature's head, dragging his blades down the length of the snake’s body until the demon is entirely split in half.

He sounds a little out of breath when he speaks into the comm link. “Thanks, Hiro.”

“No problem, careful though—there’s a Kotengu coming your way. On your right.”

Hanamaki’s warning comes a second too late and Oikawa gasps when the Kotengu, a bird-like demon with human characteristics, slams into Iwaizumi. The impact knocks him back a few feet and Oikawa doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi clutches his shoulder with a pained look.

“Fucking hate those,” Iwaizumi grumbles, rolling his shoulder as he watches the demon charge towards him once more. He reaches for one of his guns, aiming the weapon at the Kotengu and repeatedly pressing down on the trigger. The demon manages to avoid getting hit by the energy bullets and Iwaizumi has to dive away to avoid getting hit again when the Kotengu speeds towards him.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa starts, “Your shoulder—”

“I’m fine,” Iwaizumi responds almost immediately, slipping the gun back into the holster as the Kotengu charges towards him. Rather than avoiding the attack, he widens his stance and braces himself properly. The demon slams its body into Iwaizumi, who manages to avoid getting knocked backwards. Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around the Kotengu before hoisting the demon upwards and letting himself fall backwards as he throws the demon over his shoulder.

Oikawa blinks in surprise, watching Iwaizumi roll away before retrieving his gun once more. The Kotengu attempts to scramble to its feet, only to slump forward when Iwaizumi fires a round of bullets into its head.

“Did you just…” he starts, disbelief seeping into his voice. “Suplex a Kotengu?”

Iwaizumi chuckles, rolling his shoulder once more. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“I’m impressed,” Oikawa admits, lowering the rifle to observe Iwaizumi in the distance. “You pissed off its friends, though.”

An annoyed groan falls from Iwaizumi’s lips and Oikawa sees him gesturing at Hanamaki. “Hiro, do you mind?”

“On it,” Hanamaki responds, firing a round of arrows at the group of Kotengu flying through the sky. Impressive isn’t the right word, Oikawa thinks. It’s far beyond impressive.

The way Hanamaki releases arrow after arrow—each one hitting its target perfectly—renders him speechless. “You guys need me down there?” he asks, one of the kotengu dropping to the ground after two arrows pierce its body.

Matsukawa hums, watching an Omukade—an enormous centipede-like creature—slither towards him. He releases the chain he’d been holding and widens his stance before slamming both palms onto the ground, releasing a wave of flames towards the demon. The creature, and other demons near it, are swallowed by the flames; their bodies burning as Matsukawa’s fire spreads across the area. “We could use a hand, yeah,” he says afterwards. “Unless you’re comfortable in that tree.”

To say that Oikawa is amazed by this display of power, would be an understatement. Just how strong is he? Or any of them, for that matter.

Eventually, Hanamaki hops down from where he’d been positioned—joining Iwaizumi and Matsukawa on the ground. The three of them move together seamlessly, with Iwaizumi preferring close combat, while Hanamaki keeps his distance as he fires his arrows. Matsukawa fills in the gap, opting between both close and long range combat.

It’s quite amazing to witness. And absolutely terrifying. They fight their way through hordes of demons, each one appearing more grotesque and deadly than the next, and whenever one of them falters, the other two are there to provide back-up. Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi kneels down, just as Hanamaki fires three arrows at two ogres; only for Matsukawa to release a fire blast simultaneously.

“How many more are there?” Iwaizumi mutters just as another ogre leaps towards him. He barely manages to dodge the attack, landing onto his back and reaching for one of his knives. The ogre is quicker, though, and it slams its foot down on Iwaizumi’s shoulder—who releases a pained scream.

It alerts Hanamaki, who turns around and releases an arrow at the ogre before running towards his friend. The weapon is buried in the demon’s stomach and the creature howls, its movements faltering for a moment and allowing Iwaizumi to roll away. He’s quick to retrieve his gun instead and fires three bullets at the ogre just as Hanamaki appears at his side. He helps Iwaizumi to his feet, assessing the damage to his shoulder and briefly pressing his hand to the injury.

From the looks of it, he doesn’t get to heal the wound entirely because two more winged demons fly towards them. Both men duck aside, with Iwaizumi reaching for his gun with his right hand and shooting at the creatures. They’re too fast, but luckily Matsukawa’s chain manages to wrap around one of the demons and he yanks the creature out of the air.

Its companion slams into Iwaizumi, claws digging themselves into Iwaizumi’s chest and Oikawa gasps; Iwaizumi’s name falling from his lips as he quickly aims the gun at the demon.

‘Only shoot if you have a clear shot’ had been Iwaizumi’s words. His breath catches in his throat as he watches Iwaizumi struggle in the demon’s hold. His own finger is pressed against the trigger of the rifle, and he exhales shakily—hoping, praying, he’s making the right decision just as he presses down. Two bullets manage to hit the demon, narrowly missing Iwaizumi, and the creature screeches before releasing Iwaizumi.

Oikawa finally breathes again.

Iwaizumi barely catches himself in time, his breathing ragged as he sinks to one knee. He manages to retrieve one of his knives before launching forward and burying the blade into the demon’s stomach. Once he’s certain that the creature is dead, he looks around as if to locate Oikawa.

He sounds a little out of breath when Oikawa hears his voice over the comm link. “Oikawa?”

A shaky laugh escapes Oikawa’s lips, “Are you okay?” he asks, peering through the scope once more. He’s able to detect a smile on Iwaizumi’s lips just as Iwaizumi answers, “I am now. Thanks.”

Almost immediately after the words leave his mouth, Matsukawa shouts for Iwaizumi to duck as he swings his chain at another demon. Iwaizumi ducks aside and Oikawa watches as the flames of Matsukawa’s chain burn through another winged demon.

He repositions himself, inhaling deeply before aiming the rifle at another demon in the distance. When he’s certain that he might be able to hit the creature, he presses down on the trigger again. Three bullets pierce the creature’s flesh and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Not bad,” Hanamaki comments as Oikawa reloads the gun. “Maybe we should bring you along more often.”

Oikawa would laugh, if his chest wasn’t weighed down by concern. It almost seems like a never ending battle. One that’s starting to take a toll on the three of them. He’s not sure how long they keep fighting, but at some point he hears Iwaizumi’s voice again. He addresses his grandfather, asking him if he’s able to see how many more demons are still roaming through the forest.

“This should be the last of them,” his grandfather replies. “Do you need back-up?”

“No—we’re fine,” Iwaizumi replies quickly.

Above them, the sky begins to darken; a chill settling into Oikawa’s bones as he observes the remaining group of demons. They remain unaware of his presence, and he knows he should be grateful for that, but he can’t help but worry about Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Their movements are slower than before, fatigue evident as it pulls at their muscles. He’s not sure how long they’ve been fighting the vicious creatures, but it's evident that they’ve reached their limit. Nonetheless, they push through, they continue exchanging blows with the demons; weapons drawn and magic falling from their fingertips as blood seeps from their skin.

He observes the remaining demons, noticing the hunger in their eyes; the bloodlust coursing through their bodies with each step they take. Next to him, Ren growls at the sight of three tsuchigumo advancing towards Iwaizumi—who keeps his distance until one of them leaps towards him. He barely avoids the attack when the spider-like demon jumps again. Fortunately, Iwaizumi anticipated this, and he manages to duck aside before retrieving both of his guns to shoot at the creature. The bullets pierce its skull just as the second spider advances and Iwaizumi jumps forward, throwing his full weight at the demon. Oikawa can hear the sound of gunfire, though it doesn’t seem like the creature is willing to go down and he watches Iwaizumi grapple with the demon.

Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa are unable to aid their friend and Oikawa watches the third tsuchigumo advance towards where Iwaizumi lays on the ground. He aims the gun at the creature, but even though he repeatedly presses his finger against the trigger, none of the shots seem to land. In a moment of panic, he turns towards Ren; his voice laced with desperation as he says, “Help him. I’ll be fine.”

Despite Iwaizumi’s initial command, Ren leaves Oikawa’s side quickly; barreling down the grass as she heads towards Iwaizumi. Before the third tsuchigumo gets a chance to attack Iwaizumi, Ren jumps—teeth biting down on the demon’s head and ripping it off its body. Oikawa can hear Iwaizumi’s voice through their comm link, clearly surprised—and confused—at Ren’s sudden appearance.

He kicks his leg out, throwing the demon off him before Ren leaps onto the enormous spider and sinks her claws into its body. “Oikawa,” he calls, “she was supposed to stay with you.”

“I’m fine,” Oikawa assures him, watching as Ren sprints towards one of the other remaining demons. “You needed the help.”

There isn’t much time for conversation because Iwaizumi has to duck away to avoid being attacked by a kasha. Oikawa knows of the cat-like demons and their love for corpses. They often appear at cemeteries and crematoriums at night, looking for dead bodies to take with them. Today, however, they seem to be more focused on the living bodies in front of them, slashing wildly at Iwaizumi and Matsukawa respectively.

There’s a tear in Matsukawa’s shirt and Oikawa sees him dropping to a knee as he clutches his side. Rather than getting to his feet immediately, he has to steady himself for a moment and Oikawa thinks he’ll be fine until one of the winged demons swoops in out of nowhere. Its gangly arm is outstretched, razor sharp claws sinking deep into Matsukawa’s stomach and piercing his flesh.

Blood pours from the wound, far too much blood, and Oikawa gasps. The demon slashes at him once more; a guttural scream ripping itself from Matsukawa’s chest, alerting both Iwaizumi and Hanamaki. All three of them watch as the creature’s claws continue to sink into his flesh, but it’s Hanamaki who runs to him first. His voice cuts through the air, fear and panic evident as he screams Matsukawa’s name.

“Issei!” he hears him shout, two energy swords manifesting at his side before they’re hurled at the demon. The creature screeches when its body is pierced by the weapons, stumbling backwards just as Iwaizumi runs towards it and digs one of his knives into its skull.

Hanamaki drops to his knees and even from a distance Oikawa is able to see the trembling of his hands. Iwaizumi’s voice travels through their comm link. It wavers around the edges as he asks Hanamaki, “How bad is it?”

Oikawa is left watching, Hanamaki’s voice strained and thick with emotion as he pulls Matsukawa into his arms. His hands wipe at the blood, but it’s futile. Matsukawa’s breaths are short, ragged; his voice barely above a whisper as he mumbles something unintelligible for Oikawa to hear.

“You’re not fucking doing this to me, Issei,” he hears Hanamaki shout in response, his voice breaking as he speaks Matsukawa’s name. He hears a sob and then another, followed by, “This isn’t how you’re gonna die, you hear me?”

Hanamaki’s hands are covered in blood as he curls over Matsukawa’s body. From where’s positioned, Oikawa is able to see the energy pouring from Hanamaki’s fingertips and palm as he attempts to heal his boyfriend’s injuries. There’s a panicked look in his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks as he holds Matsukawa’s face with one hand while keeping the other pressed to his stomach. His voice is strained, laced with quiet desperation as he repeats the word ‘please’ over and over.

From what Oikawa’s able to see, Matsukawa’s body remains eerily still; unmoving despite Hanamaki’s attempts at salvaging his wounds. For a moment he wonders if it’s too late, especially when Hanamaki’s broken sobs grow louder. “Don’t do this,” he pleads, “don’t fucking leave me, Issei.”

When Matsukawa’s body still doesn’t respond, Hanamaki quickly changes their positions and places Matsukawa entirely onto the ground. One of his hands remains pressed against his boyfriend's stomach; his healing magic attempting and reattempting to restore the damage. His other hand is used to part Matsukawa’s lips and he momentarily closes his eyes, brows knit together in concentration before retrieving his hand and pressing it against his own chest.

Oikawa isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing, but it seems that Iwaizumi does. He’s left facing the remaining demons, along with Ren, and he throws a concerned glance over his shoulder; eyes widening when he notices Hanamaki’s change in position. “Hiro, you can’t—”

“I don’t have a choice,” Hanamaki snaps, “I’m not losing him, Hajime.”

It’s his friend’s determination that makes Iwaizumi pocket his guns before removing the necklace he often kept tucked away. “Fine,” he eventually responds, voice tight. “I’ll cover you.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Be careful. Please.”

Hanamaki doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he leans forward until his face is hovering inches above his boyfriend’s. From where Oikawa’s positioned, it looks as though Hanamaki has his lips pressed against Matsukawa’s as if he were to give him CPR. However, their lips never touch. Instead, wisps of energy fall from Hanamaki’s lips before they slip past Matsukawa’s lips and into his mouth.

Oikawa’s eyes widen—both at Hanamaki and at Iwaizumi when he remembers Iwaizumi’s aversion towards the weapon his mother had gifted him. The pendant in his palm transforms into an enormous blade that had left Oikawa speechless the first time he saw it and he’s quick to readjust his grip on the rifle, deciding that he has no choice but to aid Iwaizumi any way he can while Hanamaki attempts to save his boyfriend’s life to the best of his ability.

It’s difficult to properly aim for the demons amidst all the chaos and he hopes that his skills are adequate—and that he doesn’t accidentally hit either Iwaizumi or Ren. He takes a steadying breath, aiming for a demon near Ren and presses down on the trigger. The bullet narrowly misses the demon but that doesn’t stop Oikawa from trying again. He presses down again and again just as two demons lunge at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi wields the sword perfectly as he remains near Hanamaki and Matsukawa, slicing through the demon’s flesh with large swings. The creatures retaliate and Oikawa knows Iwaizumi is at his limit, yet he continues to swing the weapon at the demons before him. He pierces their bodies with the tip of the sword, dragging the blade upwards while blood gushes from their wounds.

For a moment his movements falter, and Oikawa reckons it’s the sword’s doing—drawing out what little energy he has left whilst also rejecting the hunter magic that resides in his body. When one of the demons charges towards Hanamaki, Iwaizumi jumps in front of him to block the demon’s attack. A pained groan can be heard through the comm link and Oikawa bites down on his lower lip, aiming the gun at the demon while Iwaizumi attempts to stop it from attacking Hanamaki. Ren luckily appears then, her teeth sinking into the creature’s shoulder as she drags the demon away from Iwaizumi.

He doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi clutches his side, blood coating his hand and fingertips from where the demon must’ve attacked him.

Behind him, Hanamaki is still leaning over Matsukawa’s body. Energy continues to fall from his lips in thin strands; it’s the same yellow-golden light Oikawa had seen many times before, though he doesn’t miss the way Hanamaki’s arms begin to tremble as he attempts to keep his body upright. Blood continues to cling to his skin and beneath him, Matsukawa looks frighteningly pale; his body still unmoving.

Iwaizumi sticks close to his friends, his breathing ragged while blood drips down his forehead. There’s a cut just above his brows and he wipes at it before swinging his sword at a nearby demon. The blade falls from his hands moments after he manages to hit the creature and he takes a shaky step backward before dropping to his knees. Before him, Ren continues to grapple with a demon and Oikawa lowers the gun—briefly scanning the area in search of more demons. He feels something akin to relief wash over him when he’s unable to spot any remaining demons and he’s about to address Iwaizumi through the comm link, when he notices a movement in the distance.

It’s quick but it’s there. There’s no mistaking it.

Iwaizumi’s head is lowered and he coughs a few times, steadying himself with one hand pressed to the ground and the other hand still tightly pressed to the wound on his side.

Oikawa sees it then.

One of the injured demons has managed to scramble to its feet, making its way towards Iwaizumi with a hungry look in its eyes. Another one emerges in the distance, followed by a third; all of them charging towards Iwaizumi.

No, Oikawa thinks. Please no.

His stomach drops, panic washing over him in waves while his heart beats wildly in his chest, slamming against his ribcage with such intensity that he briefly thinks it might kill him. He scrambles to his feet mere seconds later and it’s as though his body moves on its own; adrenaline coursing through his veins as he runs towards Iwaizumi.

His chest aches, lungs burning with each inhale while desperation gathers within the walls of his heart. He’s not sure why he’s running, not sure if he’s able to do anything, but a single thought echoes through his mind with each stride.

Not him.

Please not him, he pleads.

It’s like time itself slows down—as if Oikawa’s legs are moving through quicksand. He thinks of the past few days, of the way Iwaizumi had kneeled in front of him in his grandmother’s house; his voice quiet and gentle as he attempted to comfort Oikawa.

‘Look at me’ he’d said. ‘Tell me what you see’.

His eyes were the first thing Oikawa had noticed. A beautiful shade of green. They anchored him, allowing Oikawa to redirect his focus as he carefully observed the brown and gold flecks trapped within the green of Iwaizumi’s eyes. He remembers the way Iwaizumi’s lips had gently curved upwards when Oikawa mentioned them; a gentle smile that appeared almost bashful.

He thinks of the way Iwaizumi sat with him hours later, on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Water had poured over their bodies, seeping into their clothes, while Oikawa’s hand had gently curled around Iwaizumi’s arm.

‘Blood will wash away and wounds will heal,’ he spoke calmly. ‘You will heal’.

His voice was able to pierce through the darkness that had clouded Oikawa’s mind. Gentle words, filled with reassurance, had slipped into the space where his heart was supposed to be and settled there.

He felt that same reassurance last night when they sat in the back of Matsukawa’s car. His hands had been trembling as they drove back towards the loft and Iwaizumi’s hand had reached for his own. A gentle squeeze had pulled Oikawa from his thoughts and he remembers the warmth of Iwaizumi’s skin against his own.

When they returned to the loft, Oikawa had seen the injuries scattered across Iwaizumi’s body; injuries he’d sustained while trying to protect him.

‘You were in danger,’ Iwaizumi had told him matter-of-factly.

Hours later, he would lead Oikawa towards the rooftop and sit with him as the sun began to rise. Oikawa remembers feeling impossibly small in the best way possible, the sun’s rays warming his skin and highlighting those gold and brown flecks in Iwaizumi’s eyes as Iwaizumi shared his secret with him.

He let Oikawa into his world, trusted him, and gently peeled away the layers of steel Oikawa unknowingly had kept around his heart. Those layers, those walls Oikawa had built around himself like armor, disappeared with each smile Iwaizumi had offered him.

‘If the right person came along’.

Those words echo through his mind as Oikawa looks at him now, at a man covered in blood; held together by scars and determination.

Please, he quietly pleads to whoever might be listening. Please, save him.

Above him, lightning flashes across the sky; thunder rumbling through the clouds and cold air wraps around his skin just as a deafening roar can be heard. Oikawa’s voice is quiet against the noises around him, but it reaches Iwaizumi’s ears.

Hajime.

A strange sense of calm washes over him as he speaks Iwaizumi’s name. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen in response and Oikawa mentally apologizes for what he’s about to do; hoping Iwaizumi will understand. Those green eyes look at him, panic settling on his features, and he thinks Iwaizumi mouths something—shouts his name just as Oikawa throws himself between Iwaizumi and the demon.

“Tooru!”

He closes his eyes.

Please, he thinks once more.

Save him.

He expects to feel a blinding pain, expects to feel the demon's claws sink into his flesh, but it never comes. He expects the darkness to swallow him, but instead, a bright light appears. It nearly blinds him. A beautiful, bright, blue light accompanied by a deep voice.

‘Oikawa Tooru,’ the voice calls out.

For a moment, he wonders if this might be what it feels like to cross over into the afterlife. It’s a lot less scary than he thought it would be. He feels surprisingly calm.

From the light emerges a creature, larger than anything he’s ever seen before. Its shape is unclear at first, but then Oikawa sees it. A dragon.

Its body is covered in teal-colored scales, reminding him of the ocean, while his eyes are the color of the sky. He recognizes the creature immediately, as if it were an old friend.

Seiryuu.

The dragon speaks again, his voice slow and kind as he seems to address Oikawa. ‘Balance must be restored,’ it says. ‘Your family hasn’t atoned for their sins, but your act of selflessness is rewarded. Return to the place where it all began. There you will find the answers you are looking for.’

A sense of familiarity settles in his chest, accompanied by something else he can’t quite describe. Something that was always meant to be there. The final piece of the never ending puzzle.

Oikawa closes his eyes as he lets the warmth of the blue light wash over him. It wraps around his body, seeps into his skin, until it nestles itself somewhere near his heart. A rush of energy travels through his limbs and for a moment it feels as though he might have a second heartbeat. It thrums beneath his skin, though it does not hurt. It feels familiar yet unfamiliar, strange yet wonderful.

When the light suddenly vanishes, a gasp rips itself from his throat.

He feels the grass beneath his feet, notices the cold September air as it crawls across his skin, and hears the rumbling of the thunder overhead. There’s a presence behind him and even without looking over his shoulder, Oikawa knows who it is.

He knows, because he intended to use the final moment of his life to protect that person. Yet, that final moment never came and he blinks rapidly as he’s left staring at a bright blue barrier in front of him.

On the other side of that barrier, two demon corpses begin to disintegrate. His eyes widen when he realizes that the blue energy that makes up the barrier, is wrapped around his hands as well. It doesn’t hurt, he realizes. If anything, it feels familiar.

“Oikawa?”

The sound of Iwaizumi’s voice is what causes him to turn around. Wide eyes stare up at him, as if Iwaizumi is trying to comprehend what he’d just witnessed. He’s still clutching his side, blood coating his fingertips as he applies pressure to the wound. His breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You…” he says slowly, astonished. “You saved me.”

Oikawa is quick to lower himself onto the ground, hands hovering in front of Iwaizumi; hesitant to touch him. The smile he offers him is small, and maybe a little guilty, as he repeats the words Iwaizumi had spoken to him mere hours ago. “You were in danger.”

A breathless chuckle passes through Iwaizumi’s lips, though it’s soon followed by a groan and he winces momentarily.

“Your side—” Oikawa begins, but Iwaizumi merely shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he mutters.

Rather than inform him that the wound on his side does not look okay, Oikawa glances over Iwaizumi’s shoulder when he hears Hanamaki’s gasp. Iwaizumi turns around almost immediately, his eyes scanning Matsukawa’s body.

“Is he—”

Hanamaki nods, his fingers pressed to Matsukawa’s neck. “I can… feel a pulse, but it’s—it’s faint. We have to get out of here,” he says between heavy breaths, notably exhausted from whatever technique he had just used to save Matsukawa’s life.

He briefly glances upwards, brows rising upward in surprise when he discovers that the four of them find themselves inside of a barrier. “What the he—”

“We’ll explain later,” Iwaizumi responds, looking back at Oikawa. “Can you… remove it?”

Oikawa offers him a short nod. “I think so.”

Though, before he gets the chance to remove the barrier, a voice emerges from the distance. It sounds deep, rough, yet strained, and Oikawa watches as the final demon that had tried to attack Iwaizumi stumbles forward. Its body has not yet dissolved entirely, and it almost looks as though it’s grinning at him; a wicked smile painted by black blood. Dark liquid drips down its chin with each word that escapes its throat. “He… searches for you.”

Oikawa swallows. Next to him, Iwaizumi moves forward slightly before placing his arm in front of Oikawa. “Who?”

“Not you…” the demon spits, raising its arm and dragging its claws across the barrier. Its skin is burned upon contact and the creature howls, retreating with a snarl as its hand begins to dissolve. “Him,” it continues, pointedly looking at Oikawa. “He will find you, boy… and then we will all be free.”

Laughter erupts from the creature’s chest; a maniacal sound that cuts through the air.

A shiver travels down Oikawa’s spine, but he presses a hand to Iwaizumi’s arm with a quiet ‘it’s fine’ before pushing himself to his feet. He takes a hesitant step forward, his heart beating erratically inside his chest. “Who are you talking about? Who is going to find me?”

“The one who will free us!” the demon screeches, half of its body dissolving. “His transformation is almost complete… The gate has been opened,” another round of laughter follows its words as the demon throws its head back. “We will reclaim our power, we will take what is ours, we will take back what we’re owed, and humanity will burn. I will be back for you, Oikawa Tooru.”

The remaining parts of the demon’s body dissolve right after it speaks Oikawa’s name; laughter echoing through the air in its final moments. Rather than deciphering the demon’s cryptic words, he turns around immediately. Iwaizumi has managed to get to his feet, helping Hanamaki lift Matsukawa’s body. It’s clear that Hanamaki barely has the energy to stand, let alone carry his boyfriend’s body, but it doesn’t stop him from attempting to.

“I got it,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Oikawa quickly steps forward to support Hanamaki when he sways on his feet. He drapes Hanamaki’s arm over his shoulder before glancing at the barrier that surrounds the four of them.

He’d done this. He had created this.

Energy continues to thrum beneath his skin and Oikawa experimentally flexes one of his hands. He closes his eyes in concentration, willing the barrier to disappear. The energy around them thrums and flickers before slowly vanishing and he exhales roughly, mildly amazed at what had just occurred.

Hanamaki makes a noncommittal noise. “What the hell,” he breathes. “Did I miss something? He’s got magic now?”

Oikawa offers him a tight lipped smile. “Long story.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

When they manage to get to the car again, Hanamaki instructs Oikawa to slip into the driver’s seat while he remains on the backseat with Matsukawa. He briefly glances at Iwaizumi, wondering about the abandoned motorcycle and Ren, but he assures him that someone else will pick up the vehicle and that Ren is able to catch up with them in her original form.

“She’s able to move through the city undetected,” Iwaizumi says, “she’ll probably get to the house before we do.”

The house in question belongs to Hanamaki’s parents and Oikawa follows Iwaizumi’s instructions as they speed across the road, hoping that they will make it in time to get Matsukawa the medical treatment he needs to survive. Adrenaline continues to course through his body and it doesn’t stop when they reach the house. Just as predicted, Ren had arrived a few minutes prior to their arrival; having already transformed back into a husky.

Hanamaki’s mother had already been informed of their arrival and urges them to follow her to the third floor of the house. The large attic is one of the healing rooms they use in case of an emergency and Oikawa observes the numerous candles and books that are sprawled across the floor. A large rune circle has been drawn onto the floor with white chalk with four pillows surrounding the circle. Two women are already seated on the pillows and Oikawa is quick to realize that they’re Hanamaki’s sisters. The older one, whose hair is a shade of pink similar to that of her brother’s, presses a palm to the rune circle while her sister does the same.

“Put him in the center,” Hanamaki’s mother instructs.

Matsukawa’s body remains still and unmoving when they lower him and Hanamaki inhales sharply when he lowers himself to his knees onto one of the pillows. Across from him, his mother does the same. Her gaze cuts to Iwaizumi and Oikawa, briefly assessing their wounds. “Hajime, will you and your friend be okay?”

Iwaizumi nods quickly, clutching his side. Oikawa moves closer to him, allowing Iwaizumi to lean against his shoulder. “We’re fine, I’m already healing,” he says, swallowing a pained groan.

“There is a first-aid kit in my office, second floor, you know where to find it. Go quickly while we tend to Issei.”

They both nod before leaving the attic as instructed and locating the aforementioned office. It’s a large room with two bookcases lined up against the wall. The curtains are drawn, only allowing for a sliver of light to enter the room. Numerous books and papers are scattered along a desk, along with a half-empty mug and a pair of glasses. Iwaizumi drops himself onto the brown couch lined up against one of the other walls and tells Oikawa where to find the first-aid kit. Once he locates it, Iwaizumi tells him to grab towels and a washcloth.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” he adds.

Oikawa is quick to find two towels and a washcloth before returning to the office, where he finds Iwaizumi attempting to remove his shirt. He bites back another groan when his efforts prove to be futile, and Oikawa bats his hands away before retrieving the knife Iwaizumi had handed him earlier. He drags the blade through the already destroyed shirt, careful to avoid any injuries as he cuts through the fabric. They manage to peel away the bloodied fabric before Oikawa presses the washcloth gently against Iwaizumi’s side. A quiet hiss makes him flinch, but Iwaizumi assures him he’s fine and Oikawa gives a short nod before carefully wiping away the blood that clings to Iwaizumi’s skin.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of the healers to look at this?” Oikawa asks quietly. The wound is significantly larger than the injuries he’d tended to the previous night and he briefly wonders if he’s equipped to do this when Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“They’re busy with Issei. It’s fine. I tend to heal a little quicker,” he explains, exhaling slowly when Oikawa places the washcloth aside.

“Demon physiology?” he wonders.

“Demon physiology,” Iwaizumi confirms. “Or so I assume.”

“No horns, but at least you have accelerated healing,” Oikawa quips, pulling a quiet laugh from Iwaizumi—which breaks off into a groan. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t make you laugh.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Probably not.”

Oikawa remains quiet after that, relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped. Once most of the blood has been removed, he begins to disinfect the wound carefully. As expected, Iwaizumi flinches every now and then—claiming he’s fine despite the fact that Oikawa can very clearly hear him hissing in pain.

A pointed look is all it takes for Iwaizumi to fall silent.

“You need stitches,” Oikawa tells him, “but, I’m not equipped to do that. I really think we might need to call someone.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head as he rummages through the kit, pulling out a bandage roll and handing it to Oikawa. “Just wrap me up. It’ll heal on its own. And if it doesn’t, I’ll ask one of Hanamaki’s sisters to look at it,” he tells him.

Oikawa pulls his bottom lip between his teeth before nodding in agreement. He applies a thin layer of antibiotic ointment over the wound before covering it with at least three pieces of gauze. (Iwaizumi snorts). Afterwards, he urges Iwaizumi to sit up straight before he begins to wrap the bandages around his middle and waist. He's mindful not to wrap the bandages too tight, but Iwaizumi mumbles that it doesn’t bother him.

Once the largest wound has been tended to, he briefly leaves the room to rinse the washcloth thoroughly. Upon his return, he makes quick work of tending to the smaller injuries. “Let me see your shoulder,” he mumbles, reaching for the washcloth once more and gently rubbing at Iwaizumi’s right shoulder. He repeats all the previous steps; clean, disinfect, apply dressing. Iwaizumi barely flinches this time, remaining perfectly still as Oikawa applies another piece of gauze to his skin. The sound of his breathing is quiet, a steady inhale and exhale—so unlike the ragged breaths that rattled his lungs before.

Every now and then, Oikawa’s eyes flicker towards Iwaizumi’s face; searching for any type of discomfort. Instead, he finds that Iwaizumi is watching him in return. The weight of his gaze is heavy without being smothering, filled with intrigue and unanswered questions. He observes Oikawa’s face as though he’s looking for something, searching for answers.

Dried blood coats his skin, clinging to his forehead, and Oikawa spots a shallow cut a few inches above his right eyebrow. His hands reach for the washcloth again as he shifts ever so slightly on the couch, carefully dabbing it against the wound and removing the excess blood.

The smell of blood is accompanied by sweat, and what he assumes is Iwaizumi's shampoo. He detects hints of peppermint, with a dash of chamomile, and Oikawa smiles. It suits him.

The wash cloth is discarded, exchanged for a small towel and a few antiseptic wipes just as sunlight begins to creep into the dark room. It slips between the curtains with slow movements and glides across the wooden floor until it reaches the bottom of the couch. The golden light of a distant sunset is comforting; reminding him of the early morning they shared on the rooftop.

Iwaizumi’s eyes fall shut when Oikawa’s finger brushes over his forehead, applying a thin layer of ointment over the cut that sits a few inches above his right brow, and Oikawa can’t help but observe the scar on his brow. He wonders if a demon had been responsible for the older injury. Though, before he gets the chance to voice his question, Iwaizumi speaks up.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, quietly.

Even without mentioning any specifics, Oikawa knows what he’s alluding to.

He swallows.

His hand pauses as Oikawa considers the question. Why did he jump in front of Iwaizumi? He could claim that it was a spur of the moment thing, a fight-or-flight type of situation, but that would be untrue.

He knows why he did it.

His instincts took over; every bit of rational thought pushed, or rather shoved, aside as fear and concern gathered in his chest. He remembers feeling hopeless, desperate; willing to do anything to assure Iwaizumi’s safety because Oikawa cares about him.

In the limited time they’ve known each other, Iwaizumi Hajime had managed to sneak his way into Oikawa’s heart.

Perhaps ‘sneak’ isn’t the right word.

While Oikawa crashed into Iwaizumi’s life, Iwaizumi had walked into his; calmly, resolutely.

He wonders when he’d left the doors of his heart unlocked. Had it been that first moment in his grandmother’s house? Or when they had sat together on the couch in the loft while Iwaizumi explained the history of the hunters with a calm voice and kind smiles?

Perhaps it had been that brief moment in the nightclub when he had complimented Oikawa, or when he reached for his hand in the back of Matsukawa’s car on their way home. Perhaps it had been this morning, on the rooftop, when they’d watched the sun rise and confided in each other.

Or, perhaps, it had been over breakfast; with Iwaizumi preparing coffee and sandwiches for Oikawa as if he’d been doing it for years.

He thinks of all those little moments, playing them over and over in his head like a film reel. He thinks of the gentleness in Iwaizumi’s eyes, the warmth of his smile, the softness of his hands, the dimples in his cheek. He thinks about his bravery and determination; his kindness, his patience.

He thinks of all those small details as he looks at him now.

“You were… in danger,” Oikawa responds, equally quiet.

His fingers brush against the scar on Iwaizumi’s eyebrow when he slowly lowers his hand; tracing a path with his fingertips. Eyebrow, temple, cheekbone, jawline. A soft sigh escapes Iwaizumi’s lips and Oikawa’s gaze momentarily drops to his mouth. Unspoken words rest on his lips—a sentence he doesn’t dare speak out loud.

A desire he can no longer hide.

When he glances up again, Iwaizumi is still watching him and Oikawa wonders if Iwaizumi is able to hear the deafening sound of his own heartbeat. It beats wildly within his chest, reminding him that he’s alive, that Iwaizumi is alive, and that all of this is real.

“Tooru.”

The sound of his name is a whisper on Iwaizumi’s lips, quiet and intimate, and his palm feels warm against Oikawa’s thigh. For a moment Oikawa forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think. He allows his fingers to curl around Iwaizumi’s jaw as he repeats his previous words, and whispers, “You were in danger.”

“I’m not anymore,” Iwaizumi breathes and Oikawa wonders if he’s imagining things when Iwaizumi gently, so very gently, leans into his touch. “I’m here.”

Time moves agonizingly slow, melting away entirely, when Oikawa leans forward. Their noses brush together and he can feel Iwaizumi’s breath on his own lips. He’s right; he’s not in danger anymore. He’s safe. He’s here.

“You’re here,” Oikawa whispers.

“I’m here,” Iwaizumi affirms.

It would be so easy to close the distance between them and Oikawa wants to, he longs for the feeling of Iwaizumi’s lips against his own. Just as his eyelids fall shut, a loud voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie and back to the present.

“He’s awake!”

Panic immediately washes over him, and Oikawa quickly pulls away before looking behind him—where Hanamaki stands in the doorway, seemingly out of breath. Iwaizumi is the first one to push himself off the couch, with Oikawa following suit as Hanamaki urges them to follow him. They step into one of the bedrooms on the second floor, where Matsukawa greets them with a lazy grin as he lies atop of a bed. Torn clothes have been discarded, leaving the upper half of his body bare. Similar to Iwaizumi, Matsukawa’s waist and middle are completely wrapped in bandages—though Hanamaki’s family did a far better job than Oikawa ever could.

He offers both Oikawa and Iwaizumi a short, lazy wave, and Hanamaki is quick to lower himself onto the edge of the bed. His fingers brush along Matsukawa’s forehead, gently combing through his hair, before he takes Matsukawa’s hand in his own.

Both Oikawa and Iwaizumi take slow steps towards the bed, standing to Matsukawa’s left side while Hanamaki remains at his right side.

“You fucking scared us, you know,” Iwaizumi says, voice thick with emotion despite the smile he offers his friend.

Matsukawa releases a breathless chuckle, wincing moments later. “Couldn’t let you guys have all the attention,” he says. “Please tell me you killed the fucker that did this to me, though.”

“We did,” Hanamaki tells him. “I’d kill that thing twice if I could.”

“My hero,” Matsukawa says wistfully, squeezing Hanamaki’s hand gently. “Heard you brought me back from the dead.”

The somewhat guilty smile on Hanamaki’s lips does not go unnoticed. His brows are slightly drawn together and he briefly closes his eyes with a sigh as if searching for the right words. Though, Matsukawa interrupts him before he gets the chance to speak; lips twisting into a frown and concern flashing through his eyes. “Hiro,” he starts, “you know you shouldn’t have.”

Oikawa remembers Iwaizumi’s initial concern as well; remembers how he’d almost objected to Hanamaki’s plans. He glances at Iwaizumi, whose expression mirrors Matsukawa’s. A question sits on his lips, his curiosity growing and growing. From the looks of it, Hanamaki still seems fatigued from what had transpired earlier.

“I wasn’t gonna lose you,” Hanamaki objects. It’s a repeat of the words he’d spoken earlier, Matsukawa’s bloodied body beneath him and broken sobs tearing through his chest. “I’d do it again.”

Rather than voice the question that lingers on his tongue, Oikawa remains quiet. He glances between the three men, taking in the tightness of Iwaizumi’s jaw before he tentatively brushes his fingers along the back of Iwaizumi’s hand. It seems to startle him, if only for a moment, before he reciprocates the gesture. It’s a gentle touch, a mere brush of his fingers against Oikawa’s hand—feather light and gentle.

He thinks of what could’ve happened in the office, if not for Hanamaki’s interruption, a flush traveling up his neck at the mere thought. God, he’d almost kissed him. He’d wanted to kiss him.

“Did I miss anything else? Any word from Shin and Jun?” Matsukawa wonders.

“They’re fine. Back at the warehouse, probably gearing up for another mission,” Hanamaki tells him. “We told them you’re resting up for now.”

He glances at Oikawa then, mildly confused yet slightly smug. “Oh, and Oikawa’s got magic now.”

Three pairs of eyes immediately observe Oikawa, whose eyes widen in surprise as he clears his throat.

“What?” Matsukawa says, confused.

“That was my reaction too,” Hanamaki says dryly. “What happened? When were you gonna tell us you could do that?”

Oikawa quickly raises his hands in defense. “I’m just as surprised by this as you guys are,” he tells them, momentarily glancing at Iwaizumi. “It happened… very fast. Iwa-chan was in danger and I just ran to him. And.. I jumped in front of him. There was this bright, blue light and a voice.”

He briefly pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, brows drawn together in confusion. “I was strange, because the voice sounded familiar and this might sound crazy but there was a dragon. A blue dragon. And I think it was Seiryuu,” he explains. “Then it felt like the blue light was all over my body and I felt this, I don’t know… energy rush. When I opened my eyes all of us were inside of a blue barrier. I don’t know how I did it. It just… happened.”

When the three men remain quiet, Oikawa quickly adds, “I swear I’m not lying!”

It’s Iwaizumi who speaks first. His hand gently rests atop Oikawa’s shoulder as he says, “We believe you. I saw it happen. I mean—I didn’t see the dragon, but I did see a blue light too. It went pretty quick. One moment you were in front of me, the next moment there was this flash of light and then the barrier appeared.”

He pauses, before adding, “It’s just… weird. Because this has never happened before. The guardians never speak to us directly. And as far as I know, there was no record of Seiryuu having ever blessed a family. From what we’re told, it’s said that he kept his distance, unlike the other guardians and gods.”

Matsukawa frowns. “Can you show us?”

Oikawa tentatively raises his hand, observing his palm and wondering if he could draw out the same energy—magic—he’d felt before. “I can try.”

“Close your eyes,” Matsukawa instructs, “slow your breathing, and focus on the energy source in your diaphragm. It should be located below your heart but above your stomach. Take a few deep breaths and see if you can pull that energy to the surface—gently.”

As instructed, Oikawa closes his eyes and focuses on the space just below his heart. He inhales deeply, exhaling slowly through his mouth. He repeats it, again and again.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

And then he feels it. The flicker of a flame. A spark of energy. It increases with each breath that passes through his lungs. His breathing deepens just as Matsukawa quietly encourages him and says, “That’s it. Now see if you can send the energy to your palm. Visualize it traveling through your body, all the way through your right arm until it reaches your hand. You can do it.”

Oikawa focuses on that spark, willing it to grow larger and sending it towards his palm. He slowly pushes it upward, guiding it through his chest, his right shoulder, his upper arm, his lower arm, until it finally reaches his hand. When it reaches his palm, he notices that it feels different. More tangible, somehow. As if it’s located directly beneath his skin, itching to climb to the surface. He exhales slowly, pulling that energy upward, granting it the freedom it craves, and he notices a gentle tingle crawling along his finger tips. It feels warm and alive.

It’s Iwaizumi’s voice he registers after another moment. Quiet. Gentle. “Open your eyes.”

Slowly, Oikawa opens his eyes and glances at his palm. A quiet gasp escapes his lips as he observes the blue energy gathered around his hand. It rises from his fingertips; beautiful, blue wisps of energy traveling upwards. His eyes widen in amazement while a breathless chuckle breaks free from his throat.

“Wow,” he whispers, astonished at the sight before him. He gently brings his hand closer to his face, observing the wisps of energy as he slowly rotates his hand back and forth. “This is…”

“Cool, right?” Matsukawa grins. “Think you can make that barrier from before?”

Oikawa frowns, attempting to send more energy to his palm. It increases slightly, thrumming around his hand, but not forming into the shape he wants it to be. “It’s not working.”

A long hum vibrates through Matsukawa’s throat as he carefully pushes himself upright. He glances at Oikawa’s palm before raising his hand. Almost immediately, flames sprout from his fingers—covering his entire hand—and with a flick of his wrist, a fireball shoots towards Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

Oikawa yelps, closing his eyes and raising both hands in front of him as he jumps back. He hears a quiet sizzle before he opens his eyes again, noticing that he and Iwaizumi are enclosed in the same blue barrier he’d managed to create before. His momentary amazement is soon replaced by frustration, brows knit together and lips twisting in annoyance. “What did you do that for?!”

“Just testing your abilities,” Matsukawa says coolly. “And it worked. At its core, magic is often tied to your emotions.”

Oikawa glances at Iwaizumi, who doesn’t seem surprised and looks far too calm for someone who was milliseconds away from being burned by a fireball. He releases a sigh, arms crossed in front of his chest, before explaining, “He tends to do that.”

“And it works every time,” Hanamaki adds. “So, now what? Oikawa was suddenly blessed by Seiryuu and now he can create… force fields and magic barriers?”

“Seems like it,” Iwaizumi says, turning towards Oikawa after observing the barrier that had formed around them like a small circle. “You can remove the barrier now.”

Oikawa huffs before lowering his hands and inhaling deeply. His fingers curl into fists and with a slow exhale, the barrier begins to fade away. The energy gathered around his fists disappears afterwards and he briefly observes his hands, curious about the magic that seems to run through his veins now. “I still don’t know what this means,” he starts, “but Seiryuu did say something.”

Hanamaki frowns. “Go on.”

Oikawa thinks of the words the blue dragon had spoken so calmly, its voice gentle and reassuring. “Balance must be restored,” he recites. “Your family hasn’t atoned for their sins, but your act of selflessness is rewarded. Return to the place where it all began. There you will find the answers you are looking for.”

Iwaizumi quietly groans in annoyance, rubbing at the spot between his brows as if to stave off a growing headache. “Why do the guardians have to be so damn cryptic?”

“They probably get a kick out of it,” Hanamaki says with a shrug. “What does that even mean? The place where it all began?”

Oikawa's thoughts briefly wander to his grandmother’s home and he immediately turns to Iwaizumi. “My grandmother’s house,” he says, “that’s where we met. That’s where that demon first attacked me on Monday.”

“I can’t believe it’s only been two days,” Matsukawa murmurs.

“There wasn’t anything odd about the place when I came to check,” Iwaizumi points out, “but I guess it couldn’t hurt to go back. See if we might’ve missed something.”

He turns towards Matsukawa and Hanamaki afterwards. “You guys stay here and rest. Maybe you can find any information about Seiryuu. The two of us will head to the house and search over there.”

Hanamaki is quick to shoot Iwaizumi a glare; a hand raised immediately as he points a finger at his best friend. “Not before you’re healed completely. Go find one of my sisters first.”

Rather than object, Iwaizumi nods. Oikawa briefly allows his gaze to travel across Iwaizumi’s body, grimacing at his own poor attempt at patching him up. He’s fairly certain that Iwaizumi’s demon physiology is responsible for keeping him alive, rather than the medical care he received from Oikawa. “We’ll stay in touch,” he responds, glancing at Oikawa once more. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Hanamaki’s sisters are very kind when Oikawa and Iwaizumi enter the living room. The eldest sister, Nao, scolds Iwaizumi with a small smile as she assesses the wounds on his body, wondering if he still tends to be as reckless as ever. (Iwaizumi, wisely, remains quiet).

She seems nice from what Oikawa can gather. Her hair falls over her shoulders in long waves while a pair of wire-frame glasses sit at the top of her head. A small beauty mark is located just below her right eye and Oikawa notices that her features are much sharper than her brother’s and younger sister’s. He vaguely remembers Hanamaki telling him that his sister, like him, possesses the ability to generate weapons made of pure energy and that she prefers to shape said energy into spears.

She’s taller than Hanamaki too, he notes. And Matsukawa for that matter. According to Iwaizumi, she spends the majority of her day in a lab; conducting all sorts of biomedical research. Upon seeing Oikawa, she’d given him a quick once over and quite quickly deduced that he did not sustain any injuries—unlike Iwaizumi.

Her younger sister, Koharu, had looked at him with curious eyes. She’s the shortest and youngest one of the Hanamaki siblings, with pink hair cut into a short bob and wispy bangs. Her nose and cheekbones are dusted with freckles and her lips are painted with a soft pink gloss. She’d offered Oikawa a cup of jasmine tea while he sat down on the couch and gently asked him what had happened.

When he briefly glanced at Iwaizumi, he was offered a quick nod, before he explained everything from start to finish.

Both Koharu and Nao had frowned, seemingly just as confused as their brother had been.

Now, as Nao tells Iwaizumi his injuries have healed completely, Koharu looks at Oikawa as she chews on her bottom lip in thought. “Has it happened before that the guardians reached out to people?” she asks her sister, who shakes her head in response.

“Not as far as I know,” Nao replies, rubbing her wrist. “I’ve also never met anyone who suddenly gained hunter abilities as an adult, without coming from a hunter family.”

Oikawa glances between the two women. “How many hunter families are in the Seijoh Group right now?”

Nao captures her chin between her index finger and thumb, a brow arched ever so slightly. Oikawa notices a gold band around her ring finger, three small diamonds shining beneath the lamp attached to the living room ceiling. He remembers Iwaizumi explaining how hunters often marry other hunters, and he briefly wonders what her spouse looks like, when she speaks again.

“Eight if I remember correctly,” she tells him. “But there are dozens if not hundreds scattered throughout the country, nevermind the entire planet. But as far as I know, every hunter’s abilities manifest around the age of eleven or twelve. And none of us have ever been in direct contact with the guardians.”

She briefly glances at Iwaizumi. “Do you need us to go with you to his grandmother’s house?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head at that, waving a hand at her words. “We’ll be fine, ‘sides you guys need to monitor Issei.”

“He’s doing much better,” Koharu says with a sigh of relief. “But it took all four of us to restore the damage.”

She pauses then, concern settling on her features and teeth briefly digging into her lower lip before asking, “Did Takahiro really use—”

Even before she’s able to finish the sentence, Iwaizumi nods. “Yeah, he did,” he says tersely. “He seems fine, though. Just make sure he doesn’t push himself, please.”

Nao sighs in response, rubbing her index and middle finger at her temple. She tucks her hair behind her ear with a mildly annoyed look before planting a hand on her hip. “Don’t worry. Mom already scolded him. He’ll be fine. You two should go,” she says. “Will you two come back?”

Oikawa watches the exchange, noting how easy the conversation flows between the three of them. He supposes it comes with growing up together. Iwaizumi had told him how close their respective families are and Oikawa imagines a much younger version of the trio running around with Hanamaki’s sisters. (He briefly wonders what Matsukawa’s siblings look like).

It’s evident that all three of them are concerned about Hanamaki and his decision to use a particular technique to save Matsukawa’s life. Though, rather than wondering aloud, Oikawa keeps the question he’d been dying to ask to himself.

When Iwaizumi signals that it’s time for them to go, he quickly pushes himself to his feet. They retrieve the keys to Matsukawa’s car, mentioning that they’ll remain in touch.

“Be careful you two,” Nao says. “Do come back in one piece.”

Oikawa smiles, thanking both women for their hospitality before following Iwaizumi to the front door and quickly heading outside. Iwaizumi climbs behind the wheel, with Oikawa slipping into the passenger’s seat. On their way to his grandmother’s house, he throws the occasional glance at Iwaizumi—who keeps a tight grip on the steering wheel. His brows are drawn together, jaw tight, and Oikawa can tell he’s worried. He presses his foot to the pedal, speeding across the road with an impeccable speed while his other hand is tightly curled around the gear stick.

Hesitance wraps around Oikawa’s own hand as it twitches atop his own lap. He refrains from reaching for Iwaizumi, even though he wants nothing more than to comfort him. Instead, he remains quiet; his head resting against the cold glass of the window.

When they arrive at the house, it seems that nobody has been inside the building for the past two days. Pieces of the destroyed cabinet are scattered across the floor as they observe the living room.

It feels strange to be back, after all that had occurred. Iwaizumi walks in front of Oikawa, one of his guns drawn, and his eyes scanning the room. Oikawa is careful when he flicks a finger against a light switch, hoping the sudden light won’t reveal any demons that had been lurking in the dark. Luckily, the living room seems to be empty and he pushes a hand through his hair as he glances around. “Where do we begin?”

Iwaizumi tucks away the gun as he scans the room. “Some sort of clue. Did Seiryuu mention anything else?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “I don’t even know if we’re at the right place, but I figured this would be the best place to start, right?”

The words earn him a nod from Iwaizumi, whose eyes roam across the various paintings attached to the wall. “Guess we’ll just have to start looking for something. Anything that looks strange or odd. Something that doesn’t belong here. Do you see anything?” he asks.

“Not really,” he says, stepping closer to the large family portrait that decorates one of the walls. “Seiryuu said that my family hasn’t atoned for their sins. Whatever that means,” he adds quietly, his hand tentatively reaching out and brushing a finger along the picture frame. “What did they do…”

Iwaizumi moves closer to the photo, touching the frame with a quiet hum. “You mind?”

“Go ahead,” Oikawa says, watching the way Iwaizumi removes the large photo off the wall. It’s not that he expected some hidden door or secret vault behind it, but he can’t help but feel slightly disappointed when he realizes that there had been nothing particular about the photo. He brushes a hand over the wall, searching for anything that could be concealed behind the wallpaper, but alas. It’s as perfect and spotless as the rest of the mansion.

It aggravates him.

Iwaizumi must sense his disappointment, and mild annoyance, because he says, “No hidden door. Too bad.”

Oikawa can’t help but chuckle.

“Let’s keep looking,” Iwaizumi continues. “We’ll search every room.”

They make quick work of inspecting the living room, thoroughly searching every cabinet, every drawer, for something. When they’re done on the ground floor, Oikawa leads them upstairs. They decide to split up and each disappear into one of the rooms and Oikawa hastily searches through the guest room he stayed in. Again, he comes up empty, and he stalks out of the room with an annoyed huff before joining Iwaizumi in one of the other guest rooms.

He quickly discovers that this particular room seems to be spotless as well and he grows more frustrated with each second that passes. “Third floor,” he murmurs, jogging up the stairs until they reach the spacious attic. It’s mostly filled with junk, but Oikawa is determined to find whatever it is they’re looking for.

Amidst their joint search, they both remain quiet until Oikawa tentatively speaks up. “Back in the forest,” he starts, opening a cardboard box—only to discover that it’s filled with a bunch of kitchenware. “What did… Makki do? To Mattsun.”

On the other side of the attic, Iwaizumi pauses. Oikawa glances at him, taking in the way his shoulders briefly tense up. Iwaizumi licks his lips, a frown settling on his features as he pushes an old chair aside. “He—” a sigh interrupts his words and he straightens, brushing his hands over his legs to remove some of the dust clinging to his skin.

“He used a technique he wasn’t supposed to use,” Iwaizumi explains.

“It’s forbidden?” Oikawa wonders, walking towards Iwaizumi—who offers him a nod. “Why? Mattsun was dying.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi says, pausing before he speaks again. “You’ve seen how Hanamaki’s healing abilities work, but there’s another technique that’s only used in emergencies. They call it the ‘kiss of life’, or ‘breath of life’, and it requires the user to directly share their life force with another person. It’s said that it can bring people back from the dead, or revive those that are extremely close to dying. I think Hiro didn’t have another choice…”

“But,” Oikawa prompts.

“But,” Iwaizumi continues, another sigh slipping through his lips, “it shortens the user’s lifespan.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen at Iwaizumi’s words. “How much?”

“They don’t know for sure. Some say five years, others say it can be twenty years. Nobody really knows. In some cases, the person using the technique ends up dying because they’ve shared too much of their life force with the other person,” Iwaizumi continues. “It’s a last resort technique, and a gamble. And I knew Hiro was… desperate. I saw it up close, and I heard his voice.”

Oikawa remembers the desperation in Hanamaki’s voice, the quiet pleas slipping in between broken sobs; the way his voice wavered around Matsukawa’s name, filled with fear and despair. He can only imagine how afraid he must’ve been, watching the man he loves bleed out in front of him and knowing he has only one chance to save him—even if it could potentially cost him his own life.

“That’s—” he starts, pausing to find the right words. “It must’ve been hard for you to witness. Knowing that you could potentially lose either of your best friends.”

The smile Iwaizumi offers him is barely a smile at all. A tired little upturning of the corners of his mouth. “It comes with the job,” he says quietly. The pause after his words lasts a few seconds. “I—probably would’ve done the same.”

There is so much Oikawa wants to say. So much they should probably discuss. Yet, he remains quiet; offering Iwaizumi a smile in return. “I know you would.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

They don’t talk about it. What had almost transpired between them.

Nor do they talk about Oikawa’s willingness to sacrifice himself for Iwaizumi. Instead, they continue to search through the attic for what feels like hours; ignoring whatever had been growing between them. Eventually, they return to the ground floor—exhausted and a little disappointed. Oikawa leads Iwaizumi into the kitchen, where he rummages through the cupboards until he procures two mugs and pours them each a cup of tea.

“It makes no sense,” he mutters between sips, leaning against the kitchen counter. “We’ve searched everywhere. God, why is this place so damn large to begin with?!”

“There must be something we’re missing,” Iwaizumi replies, washing the mug Oikawa had given him a few minutes ago. “A hidden basement somewhere, or something.”

“Then Seiryuu should’ve said that,” Oikawa snipes, sighing afterwards and following it up with a quiet ‘sorry’. He mentally goes through the list of rooms they’ve checked, handing Iwaizumi the mug when Iwaizumi holds out his hand. His eyes fall shut afterwards as he considers and reconsiders the words that were spoken to him.

Go back to the place where it all began.

He looks at Iwaizumi once more. “Let’s try the living room again,” he decides, pushing himself away from the counter.

When they re-enter the living room, Oikawa walks towards the stairs. He places a hand on the railing, his foot resting on the first step before glancing upward to the top of the stairs.

“Do you wanna go up?” Iwaizumi asks from where he’s standing behind him.

Oikawa shakes his head, glancing over his shoulder. “This is where I was when I felt the earthquakes. The exact place where it all ‘began’, I suppose.”

He presses his foot down on the first step a few times in an attempt to find some sort of trap door hidden beneath it, but it seems futile. Rather than growing annoyed—again—Oikawa glances to his right, wondering if the distance would allow for him to see something he might have overlooked before. He turns his head to the left, where another cabinet stands in the far corner of the room. A shabby, old thing. It apparently belonged to his great-grandfather, and clashes horribly with the rest of the interior.

He never quite understood why his grandparents kept it. They aren’t sentimental people as far as he can tell. Well, maybe his grandmother is.

He frowns.

It wouldn’t be that easy, would it?

As he takes a step backwards and turns to walk towards the cabinet, his frown deepens. A gentle breeze brushes along his skin, causing goosebumps to erupt all over his arms. He shivers.

“Iwa-chan, come look,” he says distractedly, pushing the large cabinet aside.

Iwaizumi is quick to join him, peering behind the cabinet. He notices nothing out of the ordinary, though he narrows his gaze slightly; running a hand over the wall experimentally. His knuckles lightly tap against the wall and Oikawa starts doing the same on the other side of the wall. “I swear I could feel something. A draft,” he murmurs.

The quiet tapping continues, until Oikawa notices a slightly different sound than before. It sounds more hollow.

“Here!” he exclaims. “There has to be something here!”

He searches for a door handle, a keylock, a switch, anything, but finds nothing. Iwaizumi appears next to him, telling him to step back completely before running his gaze along the length of the wall. He takes a step back then, inhaling deeply before kicking his leg out. The force behind the kick causes his foot to crash through the wall instantly and Oikawa briefly flinches—fearful that Iwaizumi’s enhanced strength might bring the entire wall down.

Luckily, it doesn’t. Iwaizumi gives another experimental kick, causing the wood to splinter and crumble. The same cold air Oikawa felt before, wraps around him entirely and he tentatively steps forward—peeking into the hole in the wall. Iwaizumi removes the last of the wooden door, ripping at the remaining parts and grimacing when a piece of wood cuts the palm of his hand. He wipes his hand across his pants before stepping forward and retrieving his gun, with Oikawa trailing behind him.

He swallows as they move through a very narrow, short hallway that ends with a pair of stone steps that move in a slight spiral downward. “Well, whaddaya know…” Iwaizumi murmurs, “there’s a secret basement after all.”

“Behind that stupid cabinet,” Oikawa says quietly, walking down the steps. “Be careful, though.”

Iwaizumi hums, informing Oikawa that everything seems safe thus far. Once they reach the bottom of the short steps, they enter a small room, and Iwaizumi manages to find a small oil lamp on a desk. A golden glow illuminates the dark space and Oikawa blinks rapidly while he observes the room. Multiple books are haphazardly thrown across an old desk, papers scattered across its wooden surface. There is an opened chest in a corner, filled with scrolls and notebooks, while a small bookcase is pressed against one of the walls.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, standing behind the desk and observing the books in front of him. Iwaizumi moves towards the bookcase, his fingers ghosting across the spines of the books before he rubs them together to remove some of the dust that clings to his skin.

“These are old,” Iwaizumi notes. “Really old.”

“I know,” Oikawa says, bewildered. The air in the room is cold and humid, but that’s not why his fingers are trembling. The pages of the book in front of him are a muted, yellow color; their edges are frayed, brown stains scattered across the paper. He tentatively turns the page, fearful of destroying the book. With each turn, his heart rate seems to pick up, his pulse quickening as he scans the pages. Foreign symbols greet him, similar to the ones he’d seen Matsukawa draw before. “Iwa-chan,” he breathes, “you have to see this.”

Almost simultaneously, Iwaizumi pulls one of the books out of the bookcase and turns towards Oikawa. “This book is about the guardians.”

Oikawa’s gaze snaps towards Iwaizumi instantly, disbelief slipping into his voice. “What?”

He observes the desk once more, taking in the brown color of the wood that seems to have lost its shine a long time ago. It looks archaic. As if it hadn’t been touched for hundreds of years. The chair is a rickety, old thing; barely able to stay upright on its own—nevermind support the weight of a person.

It’s a secret lair, filled with knowledge. Knowledge that had been hidden away, hidden from him and his family. How long had this room existed? How long have these books, these texts, been here?

Did his grandparents know about their existence?

From the looks of it, the books are decades, if not centuries old. Iwaizumi is quick to thumb through the book he’d retrieved, seemingly just as alarmed as Oikawa is. Judging by the way the books had been scattered across the desk, someone had been here before, but when? And more importantly: who?

There’s a notebook next to one of the books; an old leather journal, with scratchy handwriting. Oikawa squints, reaching for the lamp in an attempt to read the words properly as he allows the light to spill over the yellow pages.

‘I do not agree with my family’s ways,’ he reads. ‘It is wrong. There must always be balance. I fear for what they have become. For what they might unleash onto the world. Their findings have left me frightened and I fear they have been consumed by their greed. Their continuous hunger for power will be our downfall. The gods and guardians are angry. I can feel it. Which is why I must document this. Someone has to preserve all the knowledge we’ve gained.’

There are a few more sentences about demons and failed experiments. About how one of the family elders had been driven mad by greed. A lost soul, the writer calls it. His heart had been blackened, poisoned by his own hunger, and eventually he’d turned into a monster they all came to fear. There was no saving him.

“This is a journal,” he says out loud, “from hundreds of years ago.”

His eyes land on another hand written note. The handwriting is notably different from the writing in the journal he’d read just now.

‘Do not let them take your power. We are the ones blessed by the Azure Dragon of the East. Its magic runs through our veins.’

The note rests atop another opened book. Images of Seiryuu decorate the pages, explaining how the dragon had witnessed a group of brave men and women defend their homes from the vicious monsters that dared to attack them. The guardian blessed the men and women, granting them abilities that would allow them to defeat the monsters. It’s the same story Iwaizumi had told him about: year zero. The birth of the first hunters.

As his eyes continue to roam across the pages, he reads about how the men and women of various families would combine their strengths and work alongside others who had gained powerful abilities of their own. Their names aren’t mentioned, but Oikawa is able to fill in the blanks—especially when he recognizes a family name.

Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, “your family is mentioned here.”

The author of the books speaks of the Iwaizumi family as though they were valiant warriors. Blessed with enhanced strength and an affinity for physical combat. They were brave, guided by the White Tiger of the West, and excelled in handling weapons and various martial arts. The texts explain how members of the Iwaizumi family were able to utilize a mystical, white energy, which they would channel into whatever weapon they possessed. Additionally, some were able to further enhance their physical prowess for a short amount of time. The author describes it as ‘the tiger’s aura’, mentioning that the user's body would be cloaked in white energy while their physical abilities—strength, speed, stamina—increased tenfold. Members of the Iwaizumi family often led the fight against the monsters. They were fearless and determined to protect the innocents, calling upon Byakko’s strength and guidance amidst battle.

There is a passage about the healers of the Hanamaki family and the exorcists in the Matsukawa family, who used the element of fire to cleanse the energy of malevolent spirits and burn the monsters with their flames. Both families had their respective guardians, Genbu and Suzaku; the Black Tortoise of the North and the Vermillion Bird of the South.

The final paragraph mentions a fourth family. One that had been blessed by the Azure Dragon of the East: Seiryuu. It's said that members of this family were able to create, shape and manipulate blue energy; its color similar to the scales of the dragon that had granted them these powers. The energy would be shaped into barriers and shields, while others searched for new ways to utilize their power. Some were able to shape the energy into weapons, whilst others were able to generate shockwaves or release bursts of energy towards their targets. Their fascination and hunger for knowledge led them to combine magic with science; constantly finding new ways to improve themselves and their abilities.

The drawings are faded, but remarkable nonetheless, displaying the four guardians and the cardinal directions that lie under their protection. Below them are images of, what Oikawa assumes are, the first hunters showcasing the abilities mentioned in the paragraphs above.

Iwaizumi appears next to Oikawa after a moment, placing a finger on the page and quietly speaking the words Oikawa had read mere moments ago. “This is exactly what’s mentioned in our books, but there’s no record of there ever being a fourth family. The Seijoh Group started with three families,” he murmurs.

Your family hasn’t atoned for their sins.

Oikawa repeats Seiryuu’s words over and over, fingers curling around another book. It talks of combining a certain magic and science to create something even stronger to combat the monsters that have been plaguing the towns and its inhabitants. He reaches for the journal afterwards, placing them side by side. The owner of the journal seemed frightened by the knowledge and power their family had gained; disagreeing with their methods and reiterating the importance of balance when it came to tampering with hunter magic.

Balance must be restored.

With both palms planted to the surface of the desk, Oikawa compares the two texts. “This is about my family, I know it is,” he says, more to himself than to Iwaizumi. “Their names aren’t mentioned, but it's exactly as Seiryuu said.”

He turns his head to glance at Iwaizumi, reciting the dragon’s words once more. “Your family hasn’t atoned for their sins,” he says, repeatedly pressing a finger to the pages of the book. “These are the sins Seiryuu meant. The author of this journal says it too. They were frightened by the family’s hunger for power.”

Iwaizumi leans in, reaching for a large book. Its pages are decorated in runes and drawings of summoning circles, accompanied by handwritten notes in the margins. “It says here that they were summoning monsters—demons—for some kind of experiment,” he explains, thumbing through the pages. “The demon gate is mentioned here.”

His brows raise upward rather quickly when he discovers a particular page. “And this part is about blood magic,” Iwaizumi mumbles, confused. “They were experimenting with blood magic, but why?”

“To gain more power,” Oikawa explains, pushing the journal towards Iwaizumi. “Look. The author says that the gods and guardians were angry. They keep talking about maintaining balance, just like Seiryuu said to me.”

Sheets of paper are gently pushed aside as he retrieves the note he’d seen before. “This note says ‘do not let them take your power’. I think they were punished for what they did,” he adds before stepping away from the desk. He turns towards the bookcase, eyes scanning the rows of books before him. A few books are pulled off the shelves and tossed onto the desk alongside the others. Oikawa quickly turns the pages, reading about various past experiments. Some of which were seemingly less unorthodox. “They were alchemists,” he explains. “They talk about combining magic and science to fight the monsters that appear at night.”

“And then they started experimenting with blood magic and demons,” Iwaizumi fills in. “And most likely opened a demon gate.”

A laugh finds its way out of Oikawa’s throat; a sound birthed from disdain. “They were hungry for power. It became their own downfall.”

He pauses then, remembering the demon’s words from before.

He searches for you. His transformation is almost complete. We will reclaim our power, we will take what is ours, we will take what we’re owed, and humanity will burn.

It had sounded so familiar, yet he failed to remember why at the time. But he remembers now. Those were the exact words his uncle had said on Friday night.

True power lies in taking what’s yours, what you’re owed.

Oikawa inhales sharply, a gasp falling from his lips, and he has to plant a hand on the desk to keep himself upright. Dread finds a home in his heart, it crawls and crawls up his spine once more; it suffocates him, squeezing his lungs tightly between his claws. The ancient texts, the demon gate, Seiryuu’s words about his family, his uncle’s words—

Iwaizumi appears next to him rather quickly; his fingers curling around Oikawa’s arm. “Oikawa?”

Oikawa exhales sharply, glancing at Iwaizumi with wide eyes. “Iwa-chan,” he says around another exhale. “I know who’s after me.”

Chapter Text

The drive back to Hanamaki’s family home is quiet. Mainly because Oikawa seems to be engrossed in one of the many books he’d snatched from the hidden room in his grandmother’s home. His eyes scan the pages; the line between his brows deepening with concentration as he reads page after page.

Iwaizumi refrains from speaking up, afraid of shattering his concentration and possibly interrupting him. On occasion, he glances at the passenger’s seat—watching as Oikawa chews on his bottom lip while releasing a thoughtful hum or utters something under his breath. Usually it’s something along the lines of ‘I can’t believe it’.

Neither can Iwaizumi, quite frankly.

It’s the first time he’s ever experienced something like this. Hidden rooms, forbidden experiments, demon gates, blood magic, a long lost hunter family. His mind is reeling with the information they’ve gathered in a short amount of time. While it answers many questions, it breeds another slew of questions.

Next to him, Oikawa promptly shuts one of the books he’d been reading before pulling out his phone. Iwaizumi frowns. “What are you doing?”

“My uncle,” Oikawa answers, “I need to check something.”

Iwaizumi knows little about Oikawa Kazuo, the infamous CEO of the Oikawa Group and—according to Oikawa—the person who might be behind all of this. Apparently, he’s a strict man who values hard work above all else. As the eldest son, and heir, he always carried the majority of the responsibilities. As opposed to his younger siblings. (“Which might be why he’s so jaded,” Oikawa had mumbled. “And evil.”)

He’s driven by power and money; a hunger that’s never quite satiated if Iwaizumi were to believe Oikawa. It’s a common trait among all of his relatives, apparently.

Oikawa scoffs when his call goes unanswered, muttering something along the lines of ‘I knew it’ before he dials another number. Judging by the second conversation, he’s talking to his uncle’s assistant and Oikawa makes up some semi-believable lie about having to run some errands for his uncle and how he needs access to his home.

“You wanna go to his place?” Iwaizumi asks incredulously when Oikawa ends the call.

Oikawa nods, determination flashing through his eyes. He’s still clutching one of the books to his chest—as though someone might snatch it from him. Upon closer inspection, Iwaizumi realizes it’s the journal he’d mentioned before. “His assistant said he’s ‘still out of town’ and had been instructed not to contact him. Friday night he told us that he would fly to Hokkaido the next morning and stay there for a week. Today’s Wednesday, so he shouldn’t be at home,” he explains.

“What about his wife?”

“My aunt usually travels with him. Or she goes on trips of her own.”

Iwaizumi cocks a brow. “You’re sure about this?”

“One-hundred percent,” Oikawa says resolutely. He pauses, pushing his fingers through his hair with an exasperated sigh. “...I know I’m right about this, Iwa-chan. That demon said the exact same words my uncle said to me over dinner. It might seem like a stretch, but it has to be him.”

Iwaizumi nods twice, his fingers curling around the gear stick before his foot presses down on the pedal. “I believe you,” he responds. “We’ll go check.”

It takes them roughly twenty minutes before they arrive at a rather expensive looking apartment building. Forty-five stories, Oikawa had casually mentioned as they exited the car. He’d walked into the building with the kind of nonchalance Iwaizumi hadn’t expected, acting as though he happened to be one of the building’s residents. Whatever far, anger and anxiety had been stirring inside of him had been replaced with an icy sort of calmth.

It had been quite jarring to witness.

The concierge behind the front desk had greeted them with a short nod, seemingly surprised by Oikawa’s sudden visit. Iwaizumi had remained silent, merely observing the short exchange before he trailed after Oikawa. The large foyer bled into a long hallway, complete with marble tiled floors that looked as though they were polished every five minutes.

As expected, Oikawa’s uncle lives in the penthouse, and Iwaizumi has to admit that he’s quite impressed as he glances around the hallway that leads them to the front door. Though, his moment of awe stops there.

They manage to get into the apartment with some subtle force—thanks to Iwaizumi—and almost immediately the smell of blood greets them as they step across the threshold. Oikawa stiffens, placing his hand over the lower half of his face, and Iwaizumi steps forward; reaching for one of his guns with his right hand. “I’ll go first,” he tells him.

Oikawa gives a short nod, a shaky exhale passing through his lips, just as Iwaizumi walks down the long hallway. He observes the living room first, where a cold breeze greets him. Two of the floor-to-ceiling windows are shattered, dark curtains fluttering with each gust of wind, as if someone—or something—had crashed into the glass and flung themselves out of the window. Iwaizumi observes the damage, noticing the broken coffee table and the destroyed TV. Claw marks decorate the couch cushions, along with splatters of black blood.

Demon blood.

It paints the furniture, clings to the offwhite walls, and Iwaizumi grimaces at the sight of it. The stench is nauseating.

There are traces of demonic energy—which doesn’t surprise him. Stronger energies tend to linger in the air for a longer time; an invisible trace that alerts hunters and warns them. It’s not as stifling or constricting as when a demon is actually present, but it’s still quite vile.

The sound of Oikawa’s footsteps pull his attention away from the blood splatters on the couch and wall. Behind him, he hears a quiet gasp and Iwaizumi is quick to turn around. Oikawa takes another step forward, assessing the damage before them with wide eyes and parted lips. “What happened here?” he murmurs.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi answers. “There’s still some energy lingering around here. And it looks like something came in through the window, or maybe flew out of the window.”

He brushes a finger over the destroyed couch, gesturing at the claw marks. “It smashed up the place and hightailed out of here.”

Oikawa gives a small nod. “I can feel it,” he says quietly, “the remaining energy. I can feel it.”

Iwaizumi presses his lips into a thin line and he almost reaches for him, almost brushes a hand against Oikawa’s arm. Instead, he swallows the words that threaten to climb up his throat and replaces them with, “I’ll check the other rooms. Be careful, okay?”

He hears Oikawa’s quiet ‘okay’ before he exits the living room. The penthouse is enormous, and in any other situation Iwaizumi would likely be impressed at the sheer size of it all. It’s supposed to be the very epitome of wealth and luxury, but it feels more like a crime scene. A very expensive haunted house. A gigantic coffin.

The smell of blood and death leads him towards another room. A bedroom, he suspects. When he gently pushes at the door in front of him, his eyes widen at what’s revealed. A king size bed sits in the middle of a cream colored bedroom; its pristine sheets covered in blood. Red decorates every part of the fabric, bleeding into the mattress and painting it crimson. The pillows, the duvet, the covers—every part of it is stained.

Liters of blood must have soaked into layers of silk and cotton.

It’s the kind of image one often sees in horror films.

Blood, blood, so much blood.

A body lies atop of the mattress; though, the upper half seems to be missing. Iwaizumi is only able to see a pair of legs—likely belonging to a woman—and the lower part of the abdomen. He swallows, horrified by the sight before him. A mangled corpse, bloodstained sheets, more shattered windows.

He forces himself to focus, listening to the sound of his own breathing as he assesses the situation. The energy he noticed in the living room is present in the bedroom as well. It concentrates around the corpse; a clear indication that the woman in question had fallen victim to a demon attack.

“Gods,” Iwaizumi breathes. He momentarily shuts his eyes, hoping that her spirit doesn’t linger in the human world. After another moment, he backs out of the room—shutting the door with a firm tug.

He finds Oikawa standing a few steps away, concern tugging at his features. His brows are drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi gives a short nod. “I think so. Looks like a woman’s body, from what I could tell,” he tells him. “I’m sorry.”

Oikawa inhales deeply, licking his lips before he steps towards the bedroom door. “Let me see.”

Though, before his hand can reach for the handle, Iwaizumi intervenes. He steps in front of him, preventing Oikawa from entering the room. “Don’t,” he warns. “You don’t wanna see this, Oikawa.”

As expected, Oikawa objects. Whatever fear and concern had flashed through his eyes moments before is now replaced by the same determination Iwaizumi had witnessed in the car. He presses a hand to Iwaizumi’s arm, fingers tightly curled around the fabric of Iwaizumi’s jacket as he says, “I need to see her. I need to see what he did.”

He pauses. “Please.”

Iwaizumi sighs, wordlessly stepping aside and allowing Oikawa to enter the room. He remains quiet as he observes the corpse, but the tightness of his jaw and the trembling of his fingers do not go unnoticed—neither does the way his breathing grows heavier. A mixture of anger and grief paints him, spills over his features, bleeds into the contours of his face.

This time Iwaizumi steps closer towards him and this time he does reach for him. His hand instantly reaches for Oikawa’s own, fingers gently curling around his palm before giving a soft squeeze and a gentle tug.

Oikawa remains quiet before adjusting his grip, holding Iwaizumi’s hand properly before turning around and exiting the room. Once they’re in the hallway again, his breathing seems to have returned to normal. Sadness lingers in his eyes, though gratitude slips into his voice as he glances at Iwaizumi. “Thank you.”

Before they exit the penthouse, Oikawa spots an old book in the corner of the living room. It’s similar to the books they’d found in his grandmother’s house; pages stained yellow and frayed at the edges. From what Iwaizumi can gather, the book is about summoning a particular demon through human sacrifice. He briefly wonders if the woman in the bedroom, Oikawa’s aunt, had been used as a sacrifice—or if she was merely a victim of whatever demon had entered her living space.

Once they’re back in the car, Iwaizumi reaches for his phone. He scrolls through his contact list for a few seconds before quickly selecting a name and pressing the device against his ear. The other person answers after the first ring; a familiar voice echoing through the speakers.

“Watari,” Iwaizumi starts, “I need your help.”

He explains the situation at hand, mentioning that Oikawa’s aunt had likely fallen victim to a demon attack and that her body needs to be moved. “There’s some damage to the windows and the furniture too, we took photos of the living room. I’ll send them your way.”

Watari tells him that he’ll be able to send a crew right over and Iwaizumi offers him the address in return before ending the call. He’s quick to send the aforementioned photos before turning towards Oikawa once more. “A clean-up crew will take care of everything,” he explains. “They’ll take the body to the morgue for observation for two or three days; just to make sure everything’s okay. Matsukawa’s family will be in charge of that. Afterwards, relatives will be notified by local authorities. Do you know if her parents are still alive? Or if she has any siblings?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “I think her parents passed away a while ago. And I’m pretty sure she was an only child.”

“Then your cousins will be notified, probably,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“God,” Oikawa sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I should probably call them. See if they’re still safe.”

Iwaizumi nods, watching as Oikawa retrieves his phone. “Go ahead.”

He remains quiet as he presses the device against his ear, frowning when his calls go unanswered. After three more attempts, he pockets his phone once more. “They’re not picking up either,” he murmurs.

Unease settles in Iwaizumi’s stomach, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Where do they live?”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Iwaizumi’s suspicions are proven to be correct when they arrive at the apartment belonging to Oikawa’s older cousin. It’s similar to the scene they’d witnessed before: broken windows, destroyed furniture, blood coating every surface—along with the remnants of yet another lifeless body. The body had belonged to Kazuo’s son, who was expected to take over his father’s position as CEO of the company one day while his younger sister would fill the position of COO.

Upon arriving at the second apartment, an identical scene greets Iwaizumi. It’s equally horrific and his stomach churns at the thought of an innocent woman losing her life at the hands of a vicious monster that might have been her father. He has no way of actually confirming that the demon that had attacked Kazuo’s wife and children might be Kazuo himself, but he does trust Oikawa’s instincts.

In both cases, Iwaizumi had instructed Oikawa to wait outside and Oikawa, for once, complied—fearful of what he might witness if he were to follow Iwaizumi into the apartments. And in both cases, Iwaizumi would return to cold hallways with his lips pressed together and a quiet ‘I’m sorry’ before informing Oikawa of what he’d seen. He would watch the way Oikawa’s shoulders dropped, eyes widening ever so slightly as realization settled on his features.

“It’s strange,” Oikawa says quietly as they return to the car. “We weren’t close, not even when we were kids, and I’m pretty sure both of them completely loathed me, but I still feel bad. Meanwhile I could’ve dropped dead and neither of them would bat an eye.”

A humorless laugh, quiet and broken, falls from his lips just as he presses his palms to his face. “God, this is so fucked up.”

The engine rumbles to life, with Iwaizumi’s fingers tightly curling around the steering wheel once more. Something akin to anger wells up in his chest, though it's not aimed towards Oikawa. It’s aimed towards those who had made Oikawa feel as though he did not matter. Granted, he knows little of Oikawa’s relatives and he knows it’s useless to stay angry at the dead, especially those that had fallen victim to these cruel attacks, but Iwaizumi is unable to quell the anger that grows inside of him.

Eventually, he manages to swallow down his frustration; his grip loosening around the steering wheel as he says, “It’s not strange. It’s empathy. You’re a kind person. It’s not wrong to care.”

When Oikawa lowers his hands, he turns his head to look at Iwaizumi. Exhaustion tugs at his features, dark circles blooming beneath his eyes, and Iwaizumi feels that same exhaustion settling into his own muscles. He longs for the comfort of his bed and the softness of a pillow beneath his head. The moon has taken its place in the sky, nearly full and bright as its light touches the streets before them, and the numbers on the dashboard tell him that it’s nearly eleven p.m.

“Let’s go,” Iwaizumi murmurs as he presses his foot against the gas pedal. “We could both use some rest, I think.”

Rather than returning to Hanamaki’s family home, Iwaizumi takes them towards his family home instead. His parents’ house is within walking distance of that of the Hanamaki and the Matsukawa residents respectively and he’s quick to text Hanamaki that he and Oikawa will inform them of their findings come morning.

from: hiro
get some rest. let me know if u need anything. we’ll look after ren.

to: hiro
i will, thanks. you two get some rest as well. hope issei’s feeling better

As he exits the car, Iwaizumi drafts another message. He tells Watari about the other victims, forwarding the addresses of both apartments while he and Oikawa walk towards the front door. “This is my parents’ place, by the way,” he tells him, jabbing a key into the lock. “Figured Hanamaki’s house would be a little crowded.”

Oikawa observes the house, seemingly surprised by Iwaizumi’s words as his eyes scan the building. He’s carrying the majority of the books they’d taken from his grandmother’s home and Iwaizumi can’t help but release a chuckle when he notices that Oikawa seems to be the slightest bit nervous.

“They won’t bite,” he says, twisting the key and pushing against the door. As he steps across the threshold, he notifies his parents of their arrival with a rather loud ‘it’s me!’ and ‘I brought someone’. Behind him, Oikawa quietly mumbles, “Pardon the intrusion.”

His mother is quick to jog towards the hallway while they both remove their shoes. “Hajime?” she exclaims, surprised by her son’s sudden visit. Her hair seems a little shorter than the last time he’d seen her, falling just below her ears. She tucks the dark strands behind her left ear—eyes widening as she regards Oikawa. “Ah, your grandfather told us he ran into you at the warehouse. Is this Oikawa-kun?”

Iwaizumi nods, briefly embracing his mother when she steps towards him. “Yeah it is,” he answers. “Hi, mom.”

“You look tired,” she says afterwards, brushing a finger over his cheek. “You both do.”

A smile sits on her lips as she approaches Oikawa and Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa offers her a quick bow. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he says, nearly dropping the books he’d carried. “Sorry for dropping by unannounced.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” she assures him. “Any friend of Hajime’s is welcome here. His grandfather had told me about you already, but I think you might have to explain it to me again,” she adds, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Come, I’ll get you some food and tea. You both look exhausted.”

“You have no idea,” Iwaizumi murmurs.

She ushers them into the kitchen, with Oikawa unceremoniously dropping the books onto one of the empty chairs with a quiet apology. Iwaizumi’s mother merely laughs before calling out her husband’s name, who pads into the kitchen moments later. He removes his glasses, tucking them into his pocket, surprised by his son’s sudden visit. “Ah, Hajime,” he greets. “And Oikawa-kun, I assume. Welcome.”

He obliges when his wife pushes two mugs into his hands and utters a quick ‘give these to them’. She then turns towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa, asking whether or not they’d like some dinner. Even before Iwaizumi gets the chance to respond, his mother is already spooning rice into two bowls and peering into the containers she’d pulled out of the fridge.

He knows better than to object.

Instead, he takes slow sips of his tea while his father asks him about what had transpired the past few days. “Your grandfather called,” he adds, looking between Iwaizumi and Oikawa respectively. “Sounds like a lot of trouble. Wanna fill us in?”

His mother joins them at the dinner table, placing bowls and plates in front of them with a pointed look before she lowers herself onto one of the chairs. Iwaizumi quietly expresses his gratitude and, next to him, Oikawa does the same before they both start on their dinner. Slowly but surely, they begin to explain the story. Between bites of food, they inform Iwaizumi’s parents of all that had occurred the past few days. Once their plates have been emptied and placed in the dishwasher, they place the books they had brought along on the table.

Iwaizumi’s mother ends up snatching her husband’s glasses as she observes one book in particular, frowning as she reads a paragraph from a book with a crimson colored cover. Her nails slowly tap against the table top, a thoughtful hum vibrating through her throat before she raises her head to look at her son. “And you found these in his grandmother’s home?”

Iwaizumi nods. “There was some sort of hidden room,” he explains. “What do you think?”

“Well,” she begins, pushing her fingers through her hair. “These look fairly authentic. And even though I personally never read anything about the Oikawa family in our books, it seems that they really used to be hunters. All the families and guardians are mentioned here.”

Her gaze travels towards Oikawa, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. “I’m sorry all of this happened,” she says. “How have you been adjusting?”

A breathless chuckle falls from Oikawa’s lips. His hands are curled around the mug in front of him, steam rising from the tea they’d just poured. “Not very well I’m afraid,” he admits, “but everyone has been kind and welcoming. I’m mostly confused by all of this.”

“I can imagine,” she replies, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like. Now that more of us know what’s going on, we can do our best to help you.”

Iwaizumi watches the exchange, grateful for his mother’s kind words. While he initially assumed that Oikawa’s situation could have been resolved by his own team, the circumstances have changed quite a bit. They’re going to need a lot more help, he realizes, and he wonders what the future might bring them. He’s always looked to his parents and grandfather for guidance in moments such as these. Even though he’s been a hunter for roughly ten years now, there is still so much left for him to learn.

The four of them continue to analyze the various texts, with his mother pointing out that the journal Oikawa had brought along seems to be two-hundred years old. “You can make out the date here. It’s very small, but it’s there,” she tells them. “It’s like you said. They were experimenting with demons by using blood magic to gain more power.”

“Is blood magic a bad thing?” Oikawa wonders. “It sounds pretty eerie.”

His question is met with a brief shake of her head. “Not entirely,” she replies, her eyes briefly darting towards her son. “No magic is completely good or evil. You could say that some just have a bad reputation ”

The implications of her words aren’t lost on Iwaizumi, who remains quiet—save for an affirming hum.

“Blood magic tends to be more powerful. More unpredictable. If used wrongly, the consequences will be dire,” his mother explains. “And I think that’s what happened here.”

As if on cue, Iwaizumi’s phone begins to buzz in his pocket. When he retrieves the device, Hanamaki’s name flashes across the screen repeatedly. He’s quick to answer the call, explaining to Hanamaki that he and Oikawa are going over the material they had found. Hanamaki tells him that Ukai’s friend had been in contact with him and provided some information about the demon gate.

Once the call ends, Oikawa raises his eyebrows expectantly. “What did he say?”

“According to Ukai’s friend, two-hundred years ago a group of people tried to open a demon gate. When the council at the time found out, they decided that anything regarding the demon gate would be considered forbidden knowledge. They didn’t want a repeat of what happened last time,” Iwaizumi explains. “It explains why we don’t know about it. And it lines up with the information in the journal.”

Iwaizumi’s father releases a thoughtful hum. “You said that two demons told you that the gate had been opened?”

“Yeah. The one we summoned in the loft, and the one we encountered earlier today in the forest near the shrine. The last one talked about someone’s transformation almost being complete.”

“And that would be Oikawa’s uncle?”

Both Iwaizumi and Oikawa nod.

“We assume it’s him,” Oikawa explains, “I just don’t know why he would kill his wife and children.”

Silence falls over them for a moment, until Iwaizumi’s mother speaks up again. “It’s a repeat of the past,” she explains. “Think about it. Two-hundred years ago, the Oikawas were a member of the Seijoh Group. We now know they used to experiment on demons to gain more power and apparently used blood magic to try and open a demon gate. One of the cardinal rules of being a hunter is that you must never use your powers for your own gain, and that there should always be balance.”

She taps her finger on one of the journals. “Both the council and the guardians intervened. Most likely stripping them of their powers and erasing their names from our books. They probably sealed the knowledge the family had gained, to make it seem as if they never existed. And then somehow, two hundred years later, a member of the Oikawa family discovers all of this information and tries to restore his family’s former glory,” she continues. “I think he read the books and accidentally, or intentionally, used blood magic to summon a powerful demon. And I think his soul got corrupted in the process. The demon gate requires sacrifices and a host. I think your uncle could very well be the host and his wife and children were the sacrifices.”

Iwaizumi’s father folds his arms across his chest with a sigh. “It would explain why Oikawa-kun had gotten his powers. There must always be balance, just like Seiryuu said,” he explains. A pause follows his words just as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “You were very brave for jumping in front of Hajime like that.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the way Oikawa’s eyes widen at the remark, nor does he miss the subtle hint of red that dusts his cheeks. He attempts to conceal it behind the mug in his palms as he takes quick sips of his tea. For a fleeting moment, his gaze settles on Iwaizumi; the beginnings of a smile playing on his lips as Oikawa says, “He would’ve done the same for me.”

And the thing is, Iwaizumi would have.

He would’ve jumped in front of Oikawa without a moment’s hesitation.

Which seems ridiculous, given that he’s known the man for only a few days. And yet, there is something familiar about him—something that intrigues Iwaizumi in ways he cannot describe. Perhaps it has to do with their family history. After all, in a way, the two of them had been connected without knowing so.

As he looks at him now, he can’t help but think of what had almost happened between them at Hanamaki’s house. The way Oikawa’s fingers had gently brushed over Iwaizumi’s scar; traveling down the side of his face until they gingerly cupped his jaw while he quietly voiced his concern for Iwaizumi’s safety.

Subconsciously, Iwaizumi had been desperate for some kind of confirmation; something, anything, that would tell him that he hadn't been imagining things. That whatever was going on between them was not something he’d conjured up—that it was tangible and real, and that Oikawa felt inexplicably drawn to him in the same way Iwaizumi felt drawn to Oikawa.

He remembers the softness of Oikawa’s palm and how he’d so very gently leaned into his touch. He remembers the smell of blood and sweat, along with the scent of the disinfectant Oikawa had used to clean his wounds. His own hand had reached for him, resting atop Oikawa’s thigh to remind himself that he was safe, that Oikawa was safe.

He’d barely registered the ache in his side; a dull, throbbing pain in his ribs. Instead, he’d been so focused on the way Oikawa’s nose touched his own and how the space between their lips was growing smaller with each second that passed.

While he’s usually quite good at keeping his personal life and professional life separate, Oikawa's presence had blurred those lines. He’d slipped his way into Iwaizumi’s heart with charming smiles and disarming words. He kept Iwaizumi on his toes, called him out on his bullshit, allowed him to be vulnerable, and even sacrificed himself to keep Iwaizumi safe.

He keeps playing that moment on loop; the sight of Oikawa running towards him. His eyes had been wide with horror, Iwaizumi’s name falling from his lips seconds before he’d thrown his body between Iwaizumi and the demon.

“Hajime!”

The sound of his given name had cut through Iwaizumi like a knife, and he remembers the feeling of dread slipping through his veins moments later. He remembers stumbling forward, shouting Oikawa’s name just as the demon leapt towards them—desperation seeping into his voice as he came to realize what Oikawa had just done.

A single question echoed through his mind.

Why?

Why would you do that for me?

Oikawa had given him an answer. One that sounded so simple, yet held the weight of the world in a few words.

‘You were in danger.’

Perhaps it had been less about the words he used, and more about the way he’d spoken them. With affection. With fear. Hope unfurled in Iwaizumi’s chest, his heart beating with unanswered questions.

What do I mean to you?

What do you mean to me?

Admittedly, Iwaizumi feels quite foolish for entertaining these thoughts given the predicament they’re currently in, but he needs to know—he needs answers. Has he merely been imagining things and was Oikawa simply longing for companionship because of his vulnerable state? And is Iwaizumi wrong for feeling drawn to him, when his main priority has always been to keep Oikawa safe from harm?

A battle arises between head and heart.

He feels torn between duty and desire. Though, deep down, he knows what he must do.

At the moment they’re dealing with something much bigger than themselves; something that will very likely threaten the lives of many. Which is why he will bury those feelings, push them to a far corner of his mind, and ignore whatever hope had been growing inside of his chest. And maybe, just maybe, if they come out of this thing unscathed—he can find the answers he’d been looking for.

It’s his mother’s voice that pulls Iwaizumi back to the present. She’s talking to Oikawa, who mentions that he’s worried about the safety of his other relatives, and Iwaizumi thinks he might’ve missed parts of the conversation because his mother assures him that Oikawa’s family will be guarded and looked after.

“We’ll make some calls and make sure your parents, your sister, and your grandmother will be protected,” she tells him. “Nothing will happen to them.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa says, looking simultaneously relieved and more concerned all at once. “I don’t know how to repay you—really, if there’s anything I can do. Name it.”

At this, Iwaizumi’s mother smiles before giving Oikawa’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to,” she replies, “You protected my son. That’s more than I could ever ask for. I understand why the guardians rewarded you. Like my husband said, it was very brave of you.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Iwaizumi’s father receives a phone call. He rises from his chair immediately, frowning at whatever the other person tells him. He communicates through a series of short hums and clipped answers before pocketing the device and leaving the room to retrieve his jacket. When he returns to the kitchen, he looks at Iwaizumi. “That was your grandfather. Signatures have tripled. I’m heading to the warehouse right now to keep an eye on all of the active squads.”

Almost instantly, Iwaizumi pushes himself to his feet. “Let me go with you.”

His father merely shakes his head in response as he says, “You both need your rest. Let us handle this, Hajime.”

“But—” Iwaizumi objects, pausing when his father offers him a pointed look. He’s been on the receiving end of that look more times than he can count, and he knows better than to try and convince his father. Rather than finishing his sentence, he releases a sigh. “Fine. Be safe.”

His mother reaches for her husband then, squeezing his hand briefly as she repeats her son’s words. “Be safe.”

Once the front door falls shut, indicating that his father had left, Iwaizumi notices that his mother had risen from her chair as well. “He’ll be fine,” she tells her son with a small smile. “You know your father.”

Iwaizumi nods. Even though his mother is right, he can’t help but worry. The circumstances are different this time. He’d witnessed it firsthand; the random attack at the nightclub, the large group of demons gathering in the woods near Meiji Shrine, the demons flying towards Hanamaki’s and Matsukawa’s house in the middle of the day.

Even with years worth of training, it’s a damn miracle they managed to make it out alive.

How much more can they take?

Once again, his mother’s voice cuts through the noise in his head. Her hand comes to rest atop his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Go to bed, Hajime. Will you show Oikawa-kun the guest room?”

He briefly glances at Oikawa, who looks as though he’s seconds away from dozing off, and nods. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

They both say their goodnights before Iwaizumi leads Oikawa towards the stairs. It’s been a while since he’s spent the night in his parents’ house and he feels oddly nostalgic when he peers into his old bedroom. It notably lacks all of his old belongings, which have been stuffed into various boxes and shoved into a storage room in his own apartment. He briefly wonders if the room had always been this large.

“Was this your old room?” Oikawa asks, to which Iwaizumi nods.

“It used to look a lot different, though,” he replies, stepping into the room. Behind him, Oikawa lingers in the doorway—observing the space. Iwaizumi gestures at his walls, a faint chuckle escaping his throat. “Used to have a bunch of posters here.”

“Of? A celebrity crush?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, another laugh accompanying his words. “Nothing like that,” he tells Oikawa. “Godzilla posters mainly. And a few Kamen Rider posters.”

“Huh,” Oikawa remarks, mildly amused. “Iwa-chan liked Godzilla, huh?”

“Still do,” Iwaizumi admits. “I still have the same Godzilla-keychain I had when I was sixteen.”

This little tidbit of information seems to pull a quiet laugh from Oikawa. “Did you have the DVD box set too as a kid?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi says quasi solemnly. “The ultimate collectors edition.”

The words earn him another laugh; Oikawa’s eyes twinkling with mirth despite his earlier fatigue. “Cute,” he muses. “When a new movie comes out, I know who to take with me.”

“That depends though,” Iwaizumi replies, pretending to ponder for a few seconds. “Are you one of those people who keeps talking during movies?”

“I provide insightful and witty commentary.”

“Knew it.”

“You didn’t say no,” Oikawa points out.

Quiet laughter fills the room, until Iwaizumi remembers that he’s supposed to take Oikawa to the guest room. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “C’mon, I’ll take you to the guest room.”

Rather than exiting Iwaizumi’s bedroom, Oikawa offers him a semi-concerned look. “Actually,” he starts, “do you—do you mind if I stay with you?” A breathless laugh falls from his lips, though he doesn’t seem quite amused. “I… don’t wanna be alone tonight,” he confesses.

Iwaizumi’s brows are drawn together, surprise and concern settling in his chest at Oikawa’s request. He remains quiet for a moment before offering him a quick nod. It’s understandable, really. After all that had occurred today, Oikawa probably feels even more on edge. Iwaizumi remembers their encounter this morning and how Oikawa had padded around the kitchen, seemingly unable to fall asleep after what had transpired at the nightclub.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I mean—yeah, I get it. Of course. I’ll grab the spare futon. You can take the bed.”

“No, it’s okay. I can take the futon,” Oikawa objects, but Iwaizumi merely fixes him with a look.

“You’re our guest. Take the bed, Oikawa.”

Rather than objecting again, Oikawa nods. He steps into the bedroom while Iwaizumi rummages through his old closet. He finds the spare futon exactly where his mother had left it and after some more searching, he finds some old clothes that might fit them. A pair of sweats and an old shirt he bought in college are handed to Oikawa, who thanks him before leaves the room and disappears into the bathroom to get changed.

Iwaizumi is quick to change into a pair of shorts and another old shirt that definitely feels a tad too small. There’s a cartoon character printed on the front, though he can barely make out what character it’s supposed to be; the illustration having faded over time after being subjected to many wash cycles.

Oikawa returns to the bedroom moments later, dressed in a dark green shirt and gray pair of sweats. He tugs at the hemline of the shirt before smoothing a hand over the fabric as he observes the shirt. It’s a little snug, but it fits, and Iwaizumi tries, attempts, to ignore the warmth that gathers in his chest upon seeing Oikawa in his old clothes.

“Thanks for the clothes,” Oikawa says when he raises his head again, lowering himself onto Iwaizumi’s bed and pulling his legs to his chest. “Seems to be a recurring theme—me borrowing Makki’s clothes and now yours. I’m starting to feel a little guilty.”

Iwaizumi turns off the lights before he lowers himself onto the futon. He lies down on his back, one arm folded beneath his head. “The gear is yours now, though,” he points out. “But I get what you mean. We can get you some other stuff tomorrow ‘cause I don’t think it’s smart to drop by your apartment—not while your uncle is still roaming around.”

“We’re going on a quick shopping spree amidst all of this danger?” Oikawa jokes. “Count me in.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “I bet Ginza is your go-to spot.”

“Maybe.”

The rustling of the sheets indicates that Oikawa had lied down as well and Iwaizumi hesitantly turns his head, glancing up at the bed. He’s able to make out Oikawa’s form in the dark, and he briefly wonders what he must be thinking about now as he lies in Iwaizumi’s old bed. However, those thoughts are quickly pushed aside when Oikawa shifts again, and rolls onto his side.

Iwaizumi is quick to close his eyes, ignoring the erratic beat of his heart.

Oikawa’s voice is quiet when he speaks again. “Night, Iwa-chan.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Iwaizumi is the first one to rise the following day. When he glances sideways, he notices the gentle rise and fall of the duvet—Oikawa soundly asleep beneath it. He rubs at his eyes, stifling a yawn, and slowly pushing himself to his feet. His eyes travel towards Oikawa once more, whose arms are tightly wound around the pillow beneath his head. His hair is disheveled, lips slightly parted, and Iwaizumi thinks he looks rather peaceful.

Of course he looks attractive. Even in his sleep.

He’s quick to leave the bedroom, taking his clothes from the previous day and slipping into the bathroom. After a quick shower, he quietly pads down the stairs—where he finds his mother preparing breakfast in the kitchen. She greets him with a smile, mentioning that she’d prepared coffee and wondering if he’d like some egg and rice. He nods, pouring himself a cup of coffee before accepting the bowl she hands him.

“Is Oikawa-kun still asleep?”

Iwaizumi nods between bites. “Out like a light.”

“He’s probably exhausted from everything that happened,” his mother notes, sitting down on one of the chairs. “That poor boy.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi murmurs. He finishes his breakfast in silence, debating whether or not to text Hanamaki. Normally, he’d be out of the door by now—either taking Ren for a walk or heading towards work. The past days events have completely disrupted his usual schedule and he finds himself mildly confused about the next steps. With his elbows resting atop the table, he presses his palms to his face—fingers rubbing at his eyes while he attempts to figure out a plan.

“Talk to me,” his mother says after a moment, because she knows Iwaizumi like the back of her hand. She seems surprisingly calm; even with danger looming over their heads. “You’re in your head again, Hajime.”

“I’m trying to figure out what to do next,” he confesses, hating how exhausted he sounds.

His mother hums, taking a sip of her tea. “What do you think is the right course of action?”

“I don’t know—” he pauses, a sigh slipping past his lips. “Our biggest priority has been keeping Oikawa safe,” he adds. “But we also have to close that gate—wherever it is.”

“Your father stayed at the warehouse. He mentioned that signatures have increased again, but that they’ve gotten help from other squads outside of the Seijoh Group.”

It’s not uncommon for hunters within the Seijoh Group to work alongside hunters from other groups. After all, they’re not the only hunters who are tasked with overseeing the Greater Tokyo Area. Iwaizumi knows of the Nekoma Group and Fukurodani Group, having run into a few of the other hunters that are tasked with keeping the city and its surrounding area safe. Both groups, similar to Seijoh, consist of various families who had worked alongside one another for years. Iwaizumi is familiar with a few of their hunters, and he feels somewhat reassured knowing that other families had decided to aid them amidst their sudden troubles.

“Nekoma and Fukurodani?” he asks, earning an affirming hum and a nod from his mother. She reaches for him, placing a hand along his forearm. “Now stop worrying. Everything is taken care of,” she tells him. “I think it’s best if you take Oikawa-kun to the warehouse. He’s going to need to learn how to control his powers. The others are there right now, so you know he’ll be safe there as well.”

Iwaizumi nods. The warehouse seems like a good place to camp out for the moment. A central point where he and the others can regroup and inform everyone else of the recent developments and come up with new strategies. As for Oikawa, he reckons that Hanamaki could potentially help him control his powers.

He inhales deeply, mentally running through the steps and thinking of possible outcomes. “Okay,” he eventually says. “You’re probably right. What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

The sooner they get to the warehouse, the better. Though, instead of heading back towards his bedroom, Iwaizumi remains seated at the kitchen table; remembering how peaceful Oikawa had looked moments ago. It’s probably the first time in four days that he’s been able to get a good night’s sleep. “I’ll let him sleep in, he’s gonna need a lot of energy if we’re gonna train him.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” his mother says, smiling against the rim of her mug. “Remember, we were all beginners once.”

Iwaizumi makes an amused sound, remembering how Oikawa had surprised him the previous day. “Something tells me he’ll be a natural.”

Iwaizumi and his mother remain in the kitchen for another hour or so, until Oikawa quietly pads into the room. His hair looks a lot less messier than Iwaizumi expected, though he notices a faint line running across Oikawa’s cheeks—likely markings from the pillow—and he bites back a smile.

Iwaizumi’s mother offers him some coffee and breakfast, which Oikawa accepts gratefully. He mentions that he’s been able to sleep properly for once and Iwaizumi feels somewhat relieved upon hearing that. Between bites of egg and rice, Iwaizumi explains that the two of them will head towards the warehouse after breakfast along with Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

“Is Mattsun completely healed?” Oikawa asks.

“Probably, but he’s instructed to take it slow today. Which gives us time to regroup and come up with a new plan,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“A plan that includes me learning how to use these new powers,” Oikawa continues, reaching for his mug.

Iwaizumi nods. “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly… good?” Oikawa answers with a soft laugh, “physically at least. I didn’t think one uninterrupted night of sleep could fix all of this, but… I do feel more energized. It’s strange.”

“That’s probably the magic,” Iwaizumi’s mother points out. “Your body is adjusting to all this new energy. You’ll feel stronger and you’ll be faster. Your stamina has likely improved as well,” she explains. They’re the same words she’d told a much younger version of Iwaizumi, right after his eleventh birthday when his own abilities had manifested. “Usually, hunters get their abilities around age eleven or twelve—which is why our youngests are always so… rambunctious.”

“Huh,” Oikawa replies, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. “Your son included?”

Iwaizumi could’ve seen this coming. He groans just as his mother grins widely and says, “Hajime was probably the worst of them all.”

“He really doesn’t need to hear this,” he objects.

“I really do,” Oikawa counters. “I’m all ears, Iwaizumi-san.”

And, of course, Iwaizumi’s mother—like the true traitor she is—launches into a spiel about her son and his proficiency for breaking various doors and other household items whilst he was growing into his powers. She laughs, thoroughly amused by it all those years later, but Iwaizumi remembers how she’d scolded him for accidentally, and not-so-accidentally, destroying the kitchen table, numerous chairs, and part of the wall. “We had to redo the entire kitchen,” she says with a shake of her head. “And don’t get me started on the living room…”

“I can’t even imagine that. He always seems so level headed and in control,” Oikawa muses.

“Ha!” Iwaizumi’s mother exclaims, “he turned out like that after his grandfather started training him. Apparently we coddled him too much.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Iwaizumi says in a weak attempt to defend himself.

“Hajime, you destroyed a bus stop.”

“It was an accident!”

Oikawa releases somewhat of a scandalous laugh, eyes wide as he glances from Iwaizumi’s mother to Iwaizumi—who folds his arms across his chest as he leans back in his seat. “Iwa-chan!”

Laughter travels through the air and even though Iwaizumi is mildly annoyed that they’re laughing at his expense, he’s glad to see that Oikawa feels more comfortable and relaxed today. He badgers Iwaizumi’s mother with a few more questions and for a brief moment Iwaizumi is afraid his mother might bring out the family photo album, but she wisely refrains from humiliating her son further. For now.

Clearly, introducing the two had been a giant mistake.

“We should stop teasing him,” she says after a moment, attempting to conceal the large grin she’s wearing behind her hand. “Hajime would never hurt anyone, or destroy anything, on purpose. As I said, he was growing into his powers and I suppose he was a bit more accident prone and a little stronger than others because—”

She pauses then, eyes widening upon realizing what she was about to say. Iwaizumi offers her a reassuring smile, which Oikawa mirrors as he says, “He’s half demon? He told me.”

A sigh of relief passes through her lips; a hand pressed against her chest. “I’m glad. I almost misspoke. I didn’t know whether or not Hajime had told you. I didn’t want to overstep.”

“Oh, now you don’t mind airing out my dirty laundry?” Iwaizumi quips.

His mother frowns, clicking her tongue as she lightly smacks his arm; clearly offended by her son’s choice of words. “Don’t say that. This is different. Those were stories, this is personal. It’s not dirty laundry.”

Iwaizumi raises his hand in defense, mildly amused by her reaction. She’s always been like this whenever the topic of his demon heritage was brought up: fiercely protective and not allowing anyone to say anything remotely negative. (This included Iwaizumi himself). Whereas the older generation had the tendency to doubt him, and remain somewhat wary—instructing Iwaizumi to keep that part of himself hidden for as long as possible—his parents had always encouraged him to utilize his demon magic.

‘It’s a part of you’ his father had once said. ‘But it does not define you’.

He thinks about yesterday’s incident. The decision to use the sword had been a last-ditch effort, a decision born from desperation. When his hunter magic had reached its limits, rendering his guns useless, Iwaizumi knew he didn’t have much of a choice. Determined to protect his friends, no matter the cost, he’d removed the necklace and summoned what little demon magic would come forth. The sword responded to it immediately, draining the magic from his body and allowing Iwaizumi to wield the weapon for an unknown amount of time.

Unfortunately, after roughly five minutes, he’d been forced to release the weapon. He remembers the disappointment that had washed over him; accompanied by the ache in his muscles and the sharp pain in his side. It had been one of the few times where he’d felt completely overwhelmed—both by their opponents and the prospect of Matsukawa potentially losing his life. He’d been trapped inside his mind, unable to stand and unable to notice that three remaining demons had been charging towards him.

His gaze lands on Oikawa. If not for Oikawa’s interference, Iwaizumi would’ve died. He knows it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi sighs, glancing at his mother once more. “I know.”

“I was kind of surprised,” Oikawa admits.

“He thinks I don’t look demonic enough,” Iwaizumi jokes. It causes his mother to let out an undignified snort, her initial irritation slowly melting away. Her hand inches towards the top of his head; fingers ruffling through his hair and Iwaizumi makes a small noise in the back of his throat before saying ‘enough, enough’.

“Half demons are quite common,” she explains. “They’re mentioned in some of our books and it's said that their physical appearance can vary per person. Some tend to have more demonic traits than others. It depends on what kind of demon species they’re related to. The woman who gave birth to Hajime was a namanari hannya at the time, so that might’ve played a role. Namanari usually look human, save for their small horns.”

“Which I notably lack,” Iwaizumi points out.

(Oikawa snorts).

As if to prove a point, Iwaizumi’s mother ruffles his hair again before patting the top of his head twice. “Exactly. Nothing there,” she quips, turning towards Oikawa afterwards. “We noticed that Hajime tended to be physically stronger and faster than most of his peers when he was younger. And that his injuries healed faster.” She then aims a grin at Iwaizumi. “But you never know, those horns might still appear after all.”

“Let’s not.”

“If half demons are common, why are the higher-ups so wary of Iwa-chan?” Oikawa wonders, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Iwaizumi’s mother huffs and Iwaizumi can tell she’s seconds away from launching into another spiel. Though, rather than subjecting both of them to an (admittedly) very justified rant, she leans back in her chair. “They’re old men who are very scared and stuck in their ways. I’ll keep it at that.”

A pause follows before she folds her hands atop the table. “Have you decided what you guys are going to do?”

Iwaizumi glances at the clock attached to the wall. It’s a little after ten a.m. already and he rubs a hand over his face, wondering how the hunters at the warehouse, and those out in the field, are faring. “Whether or not you want to be a hunter is up to you,” Iwaizumi’s mother tells Oikawa, “but it is important that you learn to control your magic. Mainly for your own safety.”

Oikawa nods, looking both nervous and determined all at once. “I at least want to try.”

“The boys are good teachers,” she adds, “you’ll be in good hands.”

Oikawa leaves the table afterwards, jogging up the stairs to take a quick shower and change into his gear while Iwaizumi calls Hanamaki; informing them of their current plan. They eventually decide that it would be wise for all of them to stay at their parents’ houses until further notice. Given that the situation has worsened, with demon signatures continuing to double almost every few hours, the smartest thing to do is sticking close to their relatives. Hanamaki mentions that his sisters have decided to stay with him and that Matsukawa’s siblings have returned to their family home as well.

“They said they’ll meet us at the warehouse,” Hanamaki says. “You guys ready to go?”

Iwaizumi hums. “Oikawa’s jogging down stairs right now. We’ll meet you out front.”

Once Oikawa returns downstairs, they stuff the majority of the books into a bag Iwaizumi managed to find in the back of his closet. His mother wonders if they’ll be back in time for dinner and Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, mentioning that they can’t make any promises. She ushers them out of the house afterwards, wishing Oikawa good luck and telling both of them to be careful.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki greet them with matching grins and Iwaizumi feels a sense of relief washing over him upon seeing Matsukawa move around much easier. Ren all but sprints towards him a mere second later and he’s nearly knocked backwards when she crashes into him. Next to him, Oikawa releases a quiet laugh; clearly amused by Ren’s excitement.

“So, it’s decided? We’re all staying with our parents for the time being?” Hanamaki asks.

Iwaizumi scrubs hand over the lower half of his face. “It’s the safest option. I’ll have to swing by my place to get some stuff and my bike, though.”

“So do we. Want us to drop you off first?”

He nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

It’s strange to be back at his apartment after all this time. Technically, it’s only been a few days, but it feels much longer than that. Rather than wasting time pondering about the comfort of his mattress and whether or not to throw out the leftovers in his fridge, he quickly retrieves a duffel bag. He stuffs a variety of clothes and toiletries into the bag, only grabbing necessary items. There’s a brief pause when he notices his laptop on the couch and Iwaizumi momentarily purses his lips in thought before reaching for the device. Afterwards, he packs Ren’s favorite toys, some dry food and some wet food, and a small bag of treats.

It takes him approximately ten minutes to pack his belongings before he’s outside again. The duffel bag is thrown into the trunk of Matsukawa’s car while Iwaizumi swings a leg over his motorcycle. While the bike is identical to the one he’d borrowed yesterday, he feels much more comfortable riding his own motorcycle. When he pulls the helmet over his head, he notices that Oikawa had exited the car.

“Something wrong?” Iwaizumi wonders. “Or do you wanna hop on again?”

The comment earns him a chuckle and Oikawa quickly rubs a finger over his nose while attempting to suppress a smile.

It’s, admittedly, quite adorable. (Though, he wisely refrains from mentioning that).

“You offering?” Oikawa returns, a single brow arched. Though, before Iwaizumi gets to respond, Oikawa says, “Just wanted to ask something.”

“Go on.”

“I know we’re staying with your family until all of this blows over and we joked about buying me some clothes for the time being, but I wanted to stop by my apartment regardless. Just to get some of my stuff.”

Iwaizumi could have expected that. Like him, Oikawa hasn’t returned to his apartment in a few days. But, unlike him, he’s been forced to reside in homes of complete strangers. Granted, he’s formed somewhat of a decent friendship with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi’s mother seems to be quite fond of him already, but Iwaizumi can imagine that he’d be a lot happier if he had some of his personal belongings on hand.

However, with a variety of demons—and one very evil uncle—looking for him, Iwaizumi doubts it would be wise to visit Oikawa’s apartment. It’s likely the first place his uncle must’ve visited. “I’ll go,” Iwaizumi decides. “It’s probably not safe for you to go there. Gimme the address and a list of stuff you want me to pick up and where to find ‘em.”

Oikawa puts his home address in Iwaizumi’s phone, calculating the quickest route to his apartment, before handing the device back to him. “I also put my number in there,” he points out.

Iwaizumi raises a brow in surprise.

“So you can call me when you’re there,” Oikawa quickly clarifies. “I’ll explain where you can find everything.”

Iwaizumi pulls his helmet over his head with a short hum, “Tell Hanamaki we’re heading to your place and that I might need him to come with me.”

The engine of the motorcycle rumbles to life just as Oikawa returns to the car, with both vehicles speeding down the road a moment later. Upon arriving at Oikawa’s apartment, Hanamaki lets out a long whistle—quietly complimenting the living space. It’s larger than Iwaizumi’s apartment and the building itself is a lot fancier, which leads him to believe that Oikawa must’ve moved in when he still happened to work at his family’s company.

“Nice digs,” Hanamaki comments, scanning the living room.

As expected, the place had been infiltrated with demons and Iwaizumi informs Oikawa of the broken windows and damaged furniture when he calls him. “It’s fine,” Oikawa says tersely, “there’s a blue duffel bag in the bottom of my closet. Just shove some clothes and toiletries in there.”

“We’ll get it fixed,” Iwaizumi assures him, searching through the closet in question before pulling out the duffel bag Oikawa had mentioned. “Got any special requests?”

“Not really. Anything will do.”

“Gotcha. We’ll be back soon,” Iwaizumi tells him before ending the call. He observes the bedroom, which is less disorganized than the living room—save for the broken door and the scratches along one of the steel blue walls. His eyes land on the large bed; its sheets torn and mattress destroyed by whatever demon had dragged its claws along the bedding.

Aside from the chaos and clutter caused by the demons, Iwaizumi has to admit that Oikawa’s apartment is quite nice. It’s spacious, open, and surprisingly more minimalist than what Iwaizumi initially expected. The large windows allow for a lot of light to enter the various rooms and Hanamaki mentions that he suddenly feels compelled to redecorate his living room. Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder once he’s collected all of Oikawa’s belongings. They make it back to the car without any hiccups, where they toss Oikawa’s bag into the trunk.

The loft is their final stop before they drive to the warehouse. Upon arriving at the warehouse, they notice it’s a lot more crowded than the previous day. Various hunters are seated at the numerous desks, guiding the deployed squads and providing additional information whilst monitoring each person’s vital signs and assessing whether or not someone is in need of medical attention. Iwaizumi’s grandfather waves them over, informing them of the situation at hand. He gestures at the computer screens and Iwaizumi is left staring at the numerous red dots that keep appearing on the digital map.

There doesn’t seem to be a pattern of sorts. Instead, it’s pure chaos.

A pang of concern travels through his chest, but his grandfather assures him that they’ve managed to keep most situations contained. Unfortunately, there has been no sign of the actual demon gate thus far and Iwaizumi scowls as he peers at the map once more. “Do you think there could be more than one gate?”

“It’s possible,” his grandfather replies. “We’ve got a group looking for it. They’ll report back if they find anything.”

Iwaizumi takes the opportunity to inform his grandfather of their findings of the previous day and Oikawa pulls out one of the books they’d taken with them. They explain what had transpired in the forest, with Oikawa repeating Seiryuu’s words to Iwaizumi’s grandfather—who seems every bit shocked at the amount of information that’s being hurled at him. (He does, however, give Oikawa a small nod of approval afterwards; seemingly impressed).

Iwaizumi can’t help but release a quiet laugh. “Yeah… it’s a lot.”

“And you’re sure it’s his uncle who’s behind all of this?” his grandfather wonders.

Iwaizumi nods. “We found one of the books in his apartment and we think he might have used his wife and children as sacrifices. We’re still trying to figure out why he’s after Oikawa, though.”

“You were right to come here,” his grandfather replies. “He’s still cloaked?”

“Yeah, so far so good.”

“All right, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Iwaizumi leads Oikawa towards the lockers afterwards, where he instructs him to change into the training gear Iwaizumi had given him the previous day. He turns away to offer Oikawa some privacy while he shoves his duffel bag into his locker. Once Oikawa has put his belongings into one of the other lockers, Iwaizumi takes him to the training area—where Hanamaki’s older sister greets them with a short wave.

He allows his gaze to travel over Oikawa’s body briefly, noticing the tension in his jaw and the way his brows are slightly drawn together as he analyzes the computers attached to the fitness equipment. “Are you still okay with this?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says resolutely. A sharp grin paints his features; all charm and unrelenting confidence. “You better not go easy on me, Iwa-chan.”

If there’s one thing Iwaizumi has learned the past few days, it’s that Oikawa Tooru loves a challenge. He doesn’t succumb to pressure. He changes, adapts, and he pushes and pushes until he emerges victorious. Iwaizumi witnessed it first hand yesterday; the way Oikawa’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a challenge. He notices it again now. A gleam, a spark—something that’s waiting to be fanned until it turns into a fire. A glorious blaze.

Oikawa could burn brighter than a supernova, Iwaizumi is sure of it.

Which is why he mirrors the grin Oikawa throws his way and says, “Wouldn’t dare.”

Nao waves them over, giving Oikawa a quick rundown of the equipment she will be using for the medical screening and fitness tests. A number of electrodes are attached to his chest before he’s instructed to wear an oxygen mask and step onto one of the treadmills. Iwaizumi glances at the various monitors behind him, observing Oikawa’s vital signs whilst Nao walks him through the first exercise.

Every year, active hunters are subjected to numerous fitness tests and medical evaluations and Iwaizumi remembers the last time he’d been hooked up to the various machines Nao currently uses to gather information about Oikawa’s fitness level. (It’s as interesting as it is exhausting). His strength, speed, muscular endurance and agility are all measured in various ways, offering insight into the physical changes he’d undergone. Even though his body might look the same, for the past twelve hours it’s been adjusting to the magic that now resides inside of it and courses through his veins.

It’s an extraordinary feeling. One that cannot be described with words alone.

Iwaizumi watches as Nao’s fingers idly swipe and tap across the tablet she’s holding. Her hair has been pulled into a ponytail while her glasses are perched atop of her nose and he’s fairly certain that she’s got a pencil tucked behind her ear. She regards Oikawa with curiosity and interest, seemingly both satisfied and impressed with his results. Currently, Oikawa has been instructed to transition from a light jog to a full sprint—and maintain that brutal pace for as long as possible.

Every now and then, Nao adjusts the speed setting on the treadmill and Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa adjusts accordingly. Once he’s finished, and very clearly out of breath, she offers him a water bottle and a towel before instructing him to sit down and take a short break. “That was insane,” he pants, rubbing the towel along his neck. “I didn’t know I could do that—and I’ve been an athlete for most of my life.”

His cheeks are flush with color, eyes gleaming with newfound excitement and astonishment after Nao had read his results aloud. Brown strands stick to his forehead, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin, and Iwaizumi notices that Oikawa appears to be more energized—as opposed to tired. He rubs the towel over his head a few times, fingers pushing through his hair and smoothing the damp strands away from his forehead before he pushes himself upright; eager to complete the next exercise.

It takes him roughly thirty minutes to complete every exercise and after a quick medical screening, Nao seems rather satisfied with his overall results. “Everything looks good,” she remarks, lowering herself behind a desk and observing the information she’d gathered. “How do you feel?”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa appear behind her, eyes roaming over the screen. “Pretty good,” Oikawa answers, momentarily glancing at Iwaizumi before crossing his arms with a rather amused look. “How’d I do? Did I beat Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi snorts. “You wish.”

Even Nao sounds somewhat amused as she cants her head to regard Oikawa. “You didn’t. But that’s because you can’t. Iwaizumi’s physical prowess exceeds that of the average hunter due to his family’s proficiency for physical combat and his demon physiology.”

“Well, that’s just unfair then,” Oikawa murmurs, “he’s got an advantage.”

Nao is quick to object, releasing a thoughtful hum as she uses her swivel chair to face both Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The pen that had been tucked behind her ear moments ago is used to point at Iwaizumi. “While his physical abilities might exceed yours, and mine for that matter, he’s not able to create, shape or manipulate his energy in the way other hunters can,” she explains. As if to prove a point, she waves a hand; creating a spear entirely made of golden-yellow energy. It hovers in front of her for a moment before slowly moving back and forth with a gentle flick of her wrist. Oikawa’s eyes widen, lips parting around a quiet ‘whoa’ just as Nao flexes her hand suddenly—causing a second spear to manifest almost instantly. It’s joined by a third and fourth spear, and with another flick of her wrist, all four spears are aimed at Iwaizumi and Oikawa respectively.

“Show off,” Iwaizumi mumbles, angling his head back slightly while the tip of a spear hovers in front of his face. The first time he’d seen her create blades made of energy, he’d just turned eight. By then, Nao had been training for roughly two years, studying the basics of healing magic and all things related to energy manipulation. She’d been more than happy to show all that she’d learned thus far, healing whatever cuts and scrapes Iwaizumi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki had sustained after another afternoon of running around and sticking their noses in places they definitely didn’t belong. He remembers that summer when a seven-year-old Hanamaki had gotten bitten by his neighbor’s dog and Iwaizumi and Matsukawa had to carry their wounded friend towards Nao and begged her not to tell their parents that the three of them had snuck into the neighbor’s garden that afternoon.

She’d scolded them before healing her younger brother’s injuries, which is how an unlikely alliance had formed between the four of them. Nao had three people willing to serve as live guinea pigs while she studied the intricacies of healing magic, and Iwaizumi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki could get away with pretty much anything in return.

Nao had been a great tutor to the three of them and Iwaizumi had always admired her dedication to her studies and her ability to overcome whatever hurdles were tossed her way. In a way, she’d been the big sister he never had—often looking out for him and imparting some much needed words of wisdom whenever Iwaizumi’s mind would become clouded with thoughts that threatened to spiral out of control.

“Anyway,” she sniffs, waving her hand once more before the spears slowly disappear. “Just because he’s physically stronger, doesn’t mean he has the overall advantage. Each hunter has their own specialty. And it’s time to find yours.”

Iwaizumi trails after Oikawa and Nao when she takes them to a different section of the warehouse, where new hunters can safely test out the limits of their abilities. Like before, numerous computers are used to gather and analyze whatever data is being collected; such as maximum output of magical energy, types of magic, and the amount of life-force found within living organisms such as humans, animals, and mythical creatures.

Oikawa is instructed to take place on a small, circular platform, which is connected to one of the computers. Once he steps onto the platform, numerous digital and holographic data graphs appear around him, providing insight into his magical abilities. Iwaizumi lowers himself onto one of the chairs while Nao reads some of the data out loud. “We’re going to test your powers now,” she informs Oikawa. “Close your eyes and try to concentrate on your energetic center. Take slow, deep breaths, and see if you can summon your energy and redirect it to your hands.”

Oikawa gives a quick nod, following the instructions as said, and it takes a few minutes before wisps of blue energy begin to manifest around his fingertips. On occasion, Nao quietly encourages him with a ‘you’re doing great’ and ‘that’s it’ without shattering his focus. Behind Iwaizumi, the computer begins to beep and whir; analyzing the magical output and translating it into numbers.

“Output is at twenty percent,” Iwaizumi mumbles. Nao hums in return before addressing Oikawa once more. “A little more now.”

Slowly, but surely, the number on the screen begins to rise while the line between Oikawa’s brow deepens.

Thirty, forty, forty-five, fifty.

“You’re doing good,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa. The energy gathered around his hands continues to increase; a vibrant blue light radiating off of it. It fits him, he thinks. A magnificent shade of blue.

After another moment, Iwaizumi notices a slight tremor in Oikawa’s right arm. His jaw seems tight while his face is beaded with perspiration; a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. He’s frowning more than before, his breaths growing heavier and more ragged as if his lungs are battling for oxygen.

It’s evident that he’s at his limit and Nao seems to be aware of it. “You can stop now.”

Once Oikawa opens his eyes again with a gasp, he nearly stumbles forward but catches himself at the last moment. Iwaizumi is halfway out of his chair when it happens, only to pause when Oikawa is doubled over and places his palms against his own legs while he attempts to regulate his breathing. He raises his head, brown strands once more sticking to his forehead while red splotches decorate his skin.

“How was that?” he says, voice ragged.

“Very good,” Nao tells him. “Your magical output is at fifty-five. Which is high for a first-timer.”

“How do I get it to one-hundred?”

Iwaizumi releases a breathless chuckle, though Oikawa’s question seems to be genuine. He approaches the two of them, rubbing a hand over his face.

“A lot of practice,” Iwaizumi eventually answers.

“Well, let’s not waste any time then,” Oikawa decides. “Can I try again?”

Nao remains quiet for a moment, throwing Iwaizumi a sidelong glance. “He’s ambitious.”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “You don’t know half of it.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Iwaizumi lets Nao take the lead on tutoring Oikawa and teaching him how to utilize his newfound magical abilities. He watches as she leads him through a series of drills, all of which are hauntingly familiar to Iwaizumi. He knows she’s supposed to leave soon, during which time her little brother and Matsukawa will step in as Oikawa’s replacement tutors.

(Iwaizumi is mildly worried and terrified).

Though, as expected, Oikawa faced his new challenge head-on; adapting wonderfully and doing so with minimal complaints. He reminds Iwaizumi of an eager, younger version of himself—someone who had been desperate to prove himself. Even now, he sometimes still feels as though he has to prove himself to the council. (Which is on all accounts ridiculous, given that they know nothing about him and had judged him the moment they knew of his existence).

Perhaps this is not the right time to ponder over his utter disdain for certain authoritative figures within their community.

Oikawa is currently seated on the floor, taking a short break in between exercises. “What’s the average magical output for an experienced hunter?”

“Between eighty and one-hundred,” Nao answers, typing away behind one of the computers.

“What about Iwa-chan’s?” Oikawa wonders.

“None of your business,” Iwaizumi responds.

“Forty-five,” Nao says coolly, adjusting her glasses.

The reveal is met with surprise from Oikawa, whose eyes grow wide as he regards Iwaizumi. “How?” he guffaws. “He’s ridiculously strong.”

Iwaizumi grimaces, mildly annoyed at Nao’s inability to remain quiet. She removes her glasses after another moment, using the bottom of her shirt to clean the lenses. Once she peers through them from a distance, satisfied with their cleanliness, she places the frames back onto her nose. “True as that may be,” she starts, “we suspect that his demon physiology somehow dampens his hunter magic. It’s a little peculiar.” A brief pause follows her words before she adds, “But it doesn’t stop him from being one of our best—if not the best—close combat specialists.”

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi murmurs. He’d always known that his magical output had been lower than that of the average hunter, though it had never troubled him. If anything, it made him want to work harder and improve himself in other areas. Sure, he’d been predispositioned to excel at physical combat, but that did not mean he could slack off.

“Who are the others?” Oikawa wonders. “The so-called close combat specialists.”

“Pretty much everyone in my family,” Iwaizumi tells him, “and everyone in the Kyoutani family. And Jun as well. Along with a handful of others.”

He tells Oikawa about Kyoutani, and his relatives, and how they’re specialized in summoning magic. Similar to Iwaizumi, Kyoutani relies on the help of mythological creatures to assist him amidst battle. However, unlike Iwaizumi—who only has Ren—Kyoutani is able to summon beings of all kinds. Wolves, foxes, snakes, birds, felines, and many more. From smaller beings to enormous creatures, they physically manifest to assist him whenever he calls them forth. It’s quite amazing to witness in person.

Nao chooses that moment to announce that she’s leaving, offering Oikawa some words of encouragement and some well-deserved praise. “You’re doing very well, Oikawa-kun,” she says, lips stretching into a smile before she jerks a thumb into Iwaizumi’s direction. “I think you could give him a run for his money.”

“You’re too kind,” Oikawa replies, voice dripping with fake modesty while offering Iwaizumi a rather smug grin. “But, please, feel free to say it again.”

“Weren’t you leaving?” Iwaizumi says dryly, gently pushing Nao aside. “I’ll whip him into shape.”

Laughter falls from her lips as Nao walks off, raising a hand in a half wave. “Be careful with him!” she calls out.

“Sure won’t!” Iwaizumi calls back.

“Uh-oh,” Oikawa sing-songs as he slowly approaches Iwaizumi, placing a hand on his hip and still looking far too smug for Iwaizumi’s liking. “Should I be scared?”

“Terrified,” Iwaizumi corrects. It’s the only warning he gives Oikawa before lunging at him. Oikawa is quick to react, managing to block the sudden jab just in time. However, it allows for Iwaizumi to kick his legs out from under him—causing him to topple backwards with a shout. Laughter rumbles through Iwaizumi’s chest, though it’s cut off when Oikawa’s fingers manage to hook themselves into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt; evidently pulling Iwaizumi down with him.

He lands on top of Oikawa, earning himself a knee to the groin while accidentally elbowing Oikawa in the face. A pained groan escapes his throat and, beneath him, Oikawa swears loudly. When Iwaizumi raises his head, it dawns on him how close they are. A flush travels up his neck, warmth bleeding into his cheeks, and Oikawa regards him with wide eyes and a slightly reddened nose. A little bit of blood trickles down, leaving Iwaizumi slightly alarmed. “Shit, sorry—you okay?”

His sudden concern earns him a laugh from Oikawa. It’s accompanied by a loud, undignified snort—which is quickly followed by a very quiet ‘ow, ow, ow’ as he covers his nose with his hand. Iwaizumi scrambles to his feet, pulling Oikawa up with him and Oikawa waves a hand; ensuring Iwaizumi that he’s fine. His fingers curl around the bottom of his own shirt, and he tugs the fabric upwards before using it to wipe the blood away. Iwaizumi pointedly ignores the sliver of skin that is revealed, keeping his eyes trained on Oikawa’s face rather than his exposed abdomen.

After what feels like an eternity, he releases his grip around the shirt; smoothing out the fabric with his palms. “All good,” he announces. “You’re right, you’re very terrifying, Iwa-chan.”

Before Iwaizumi gets to respond, a loud whistle pulls his attention away. Hanamaki and Matsukawa approach them, having both changed into their training gear, and Hanamaki gestures at Oikawa. “Heard I’m in charge of training him now,” he tells them. “How’s he doing so far?”

“Not bad,” Iwaizumi admits, “his maximum output is at fifty-five. Still lacks control, but that’s to be expected.”

“Fifty-five?” Matsukawa parrots, inching closer towards the computer to peer at the data Nao had gathered thus far, “that’s impressive.”

“Sounds like you’re a natural,” Hanamaki says with a hum, rolling his shoulders. “All right, let’s see if we can work on that control of yours.”

“Are you going to shoot random fireballs at me again?” Oikawa quips. Rather than answering the question, Hanamaki waves a hand to create three energy daggers. A flash of golden light is all Iwaizumi sees when the daggers are hurled at Oikawa, who shrieks and throws his hands up. As expected, a blue barrier appears around him—with a rather annoyed looking Oikawa standing behind a force field that protects him from harm. “That’s going to get old real fast,” he bites out, eyes narrowed.

“Not to me,” Hanamaki snorts. “All right, so he can still create the force fields. That’s good. What else?”

“It says here: ‘defensive abilities are decent, offensive abilities require more work’,” Matsukawa reads, glancing over his shoulder at Iwaizumi. “What did Nao make him do?”

“Energy blasts, I believe,” Iwaizumi answers, stepping closer to the computer and leaning against the desk; hands disappearing into the pockets of his sweats. “Didn’t work, though. His output is good—but the energy remains unstable.”

“Well, he is a first timer,” Matsukawa murmurs, “we’ll see if Hiro can help him.”

Iwaizumi nods, briefly glancing at Hanamaki and Oikawa. Hanamaki seems to have created another weapon—a sword—which he slowly moves back and forth while Oikawa nods in agreement. The sword disappears after both men decide to sit down cross legged on the floor, palms resting atop of their knees and eyes closed in concentration.

“Love a good magical meditation,” Matsukawa whispers, mildly amused.

Iwaizumi chuckles. Another moment passes before he speaks, voice quiet. “How are you feeling?”

Matsukawa sighs at that before raising his shoulders in a shrug. His gaze lingers on his boyfriend’s form as he answers Iwaizumi’s question. “Fine—thanks to him.”

“You sound worried,” Iwaizumi notes.

The words pull another sigh from his friend, one that seems to be born from frustration. Matsukawa rubs a hand over his face, brows knit together as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s because I am,” he admits. “You know what that technique does to him.”

He does. As much as he tried to ignore it, Iwaizumi could not silence the thoughts that crept through his mind late at night. They threatened to swallow him; suffocating him as dread curled itself around his throat. He can only imagine how Matsukawa must feel, knowing that the man he loves had made a rather big sacrifice for him.

Concern paints his features, bleeding into his voice, when Matsukawa quietly adds, “I can’t lose him.”

It’s a repeat of the words Hanamaki had spoken the previous day; blood covering his hands as tears slowly slid down his cheek. Iwaizumi remembers the despair in his voice so vividly. It shattered something inside of him to see the fear in Hanamaki’s eyes while the man he loved for the majority of his life lay dying in his arms. He knew at that moment that his friend would do whatever it took to save Matsukawa’s life—even if it meant endangering his own.

He reaches for Matsukawa now, squeezing his shoulder gently with a smile that feels like barely a smile at all. “You won’t.”

Matsukawa mirrors the smile before inhaling deeply and running his hands through his hair. A long exhale follows and he briefly glances at Oikawa and Hanamaki before looking back at the computer screen in front of him. “We’ll discuss this another time, right now we have other things to focus on,” he mumbles. “You mind showing me those books you guys found?”

Iwaizumi nods, leading Matsukawa away from the training area. He reckons Oikawa and Hanamaki would survive on their own while he and Matsukawa figure out the next steps. On occasion, he glances towards the surveillance and communications area where multiple hunters are still seated behind a number of desks; eyes glued to the many computer screens in front of them. The distant sound of their voices function as background noise while he digs through the bag Oikawa had brought with him. He procures a few of the books before ultimately hauling the entire bag over his shoulder and relocating towards the lounge area so that he and Matsukawa can analyze the texts.

They spend a decent amount of time pouring over the books; similar to what Iwaizumi had done the previous day at the kitchen table with his parents and Oikawa. At some point, his grandfather approaches them, along with a few other hunters, and Iwaizumi allows them to pick up a few of the books. With the amount of demons roaming across town, it’s become quite obvious that they’re going to need more manpower if they want a shot at stopping Oikawa’s uncle and closing the gate.

“I’ve already reached out to other groups,” Iwaizumi’s grandfather informs them. “Once we’re able to locate the gate, we can work on closing it.”

“All of these books kinda say the same thing,” Matsukawa points out, turning the page of a smaller book. “To close the gate you have to take out the host that’s tethered to it.”

“Oikawa’s uncle,” Iwaizumi supplies. “You’d think we would’ve found the guy by now.”

“Maybe he’s staying hidden; biding his time or something.”

Iwaizumi’s teeth worry at his lower lip and he thinks back to what one of the demons had said to them yesterday.

His transformation is almost complete.

“Yeah, probably.”

The majority of the morning and afternoon is spent at the warehouse. Hanamaki and Matsukawa alternate between tutoring Oikawa, who seems to be an excellent student. On occasion, Iwaizumi wanders towards the training area to observe the rigorous training method Oikawa is subjected to. Despite the snarky remarks that fall from his lips, he seems to be genuinely enjoying himself and Iwaizumi watches as he laughs at something Hanamaki had said a few seconds prior. His hair is no longer sticking to his forehead; brown locks seemingly pinned back with a hairpin.

It looks oddly… cute.

He regards Hanamaki with a skeptical look while waving a hand in response. Blue energy dances around his fingertips moments later, it glows and glows, and Oikawa manages to shape it into a small sphere; barely the size of a marble. He grins, index finger moving back and forth while the ball of energy follows his movements. Mere moments later, the sphere’s shape begins to change. It stretches upward, resembling a small cylinder, and Oikawa’s grin slowly vanishes as he concentrates on manipulating the energy. Across from him, Hanamaki has his arms crossed in front of his chest—nodding at Oikawa’s attempts and mumbling some words of encouragement.

A few hours have passed since they’ve arrived at the warehouse and even though Oikawa has taken the occasional break, Iwaizumi briefly wonders if Oikawa is using this opportunity to ignore whatever has been troubling his mind. ‘I just kinda lose myself in whatever I’m doing’ he’d told Iwaizumi the previous day. ‘I like to stay busy.’

Concentration turns into frustration after the cylinder shatters; a clear indication that the energy had been unstable. Control is something a lot of beginners struggle with, and part of the reason Iwaizumi preferred to channel his energy into his weapons as a kid rather than learning how to manipulate pure energy itself. While channeling requires a decent amount of control as well, it’s somewhat easier. Occasionally, he wonders about his own abilities; thoughts drifting towards the sword and its aversion towards Iwaizumi’s hunter magic. It latches onto the demon magic inside of him, which seems near enough impossible to control. It feels unpredictable and overwhelming, leaving him slightly apprehensive and mildly afraid. Though, with the sudden increase of demons all over town—ridiculously strong demons at that—Iwaizumi wonders if it’s time to push that apprehension and fear aside, and utilize the peculiar magic that flows through his body.

Even if it scares him.

Unfortunately, there isn’t anyone who can actually teach him how to use it.

At least, not anyone in this realm.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Before actually voicing the somewhat preposterous idea that briefly crossed his mind, Iwaizumi allows himself to ponder the decision for the remainder of the day. He thinks about it as he steps onto the training mats and tosses a bō towards Oikawa. Matsukawa and Hanamaki linger in the background, both seated behind the large desk and quietly discussing Oikawa’s results as they observe the computer screens.

The bō in his own hands feels light and familiar. It’s been quite a while since he’s wielded a staff, but he reckons it’ll be good practice for Oikawa. Iwaizumi walks him through the basics, slowly displaying blocking and striking techniques, followed by a number of spins. They execute a few drills and Iwaizumi hardly expects him to master every technique within a day, but Oikawa seems determined as always. He moves with a certain kind of grace that is undeniably intriguing to watch, leaving Iwaizumi nodding in approval when he executes a number of strikes and slams the staff repeatedly against one of the sparring dummies.

It’s evident that his strength and speed have improved greatly, which is still quite incredible to witness.

“Not bad,” he comments. “Again.”

Iwaizumi paces back and forth as he observes the lines of Oikawa’s arms, noticing the way the muscles stretch and flex beneath his skin. He exhales roughly with each strike, adjusting his grip and correcting his form whenever Iwaizumi points out a minor mistake. “Shoulders back,” he instructs, placing his hand between Oikawa’s shoulder blades and tapping gently against his back. The muscles twitch beneath his palm before Oikawa gives an affirming hum and follows Iwaizumi’s instructions.

“Are we sparring anytime soon?” Oikawa wonders, sounding a little out of breath as he briefly glances over his shoulder to offer Iwaizumi a lopsided grin.

Iwaizumi ignores the small flutter in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he takes a few steps backwards. “You wish.”

“Maybe.”

He’s unable to ignore it this time. Nor is he able to refrain himself from rising to the bait. Iwaizumi picks up the staff he discarded moments ago and points it at Oikawa before beckoning him to come closer. “C’mon then.”

The grin Oikawa had offered him widens briefly as he steps away from the sparring dummy.

“Don’t get too excited,” Iwaizumi tells him, spinning the staff a few times before adjusting his stance. “We’ll go slow. Same moves as before, but this time you try to hit me.”

Oikawa nods. “Got it.”

He advances towards Iwaizumi, slowly executing the moves he’d been taught. It’s less of a fight, and more of a dance. A constant push and pull. Each time Iwaizumi moves forward, Oikawa steps back—and vice versa. Each strike is met with a block; perfectly balanced as they both move along the training mats. It’s easy for one to lose themselves in the ebb and flow of the movements. Which is exactly what Iwaizumi needed; a single moment where his mind goes quiet and his body takes over. The staff feels like an extension of his limbs, slicing through the air in a way he’s practiced hundreds of times before. Across from him, Oikawa meets him halfway—imitating his movements—and Iwaizumi briefly catches him smiling when he manages to properly block the next strike.

He increases the speed of his swings, putting a little more force behind his strikes, and their dance quickens. Oikawa catches on, the smile on his lips widening and Iwaizumi feels the corners of his mouth move upward.

His heart thrums with excitement.

The staff swings through the air once more, with Iwaizumi aiming for Oikawa’s head. Luckily, he manages to avoid the strike; ducking away at the last moment before retaliating and aiming for Iwaizumi’s left side.

Iwaizumi angles his body sideways, jumping back before he manages to curl his fingers around Oikawa’s bō. A firm tug causes Oikawa to stumble forward, barely managing to catch himself in time as Iwaizumi pulls the staff from his hands and flings it to the side. With Oikawa on one knee, he aims the end of his own weapon at Oikawa’s throat. It gently taps against the underside of his chin, earning him a wide-eyed stare that slowly transforms into a glare.

Iwaizumi notices that Oikawa’s hairpin has disappeared amidst their sparring session, causing Oikawa’s hair to fall across his forehead once more. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, a layer of sweat clinging to his skin while his cheeks are dusted red.

“Cheater,” Oikawa breathes, grinning despite his accusation.

“You have to be prepared for everything,” Iwaizumi retorts.

The comment earns him a laugh as Oikawa gets to his feet. He pushes his fingers through his hair before planting a hand on his hip. “That was nice.”

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal noise, picking up both staffs before placing them back into the rack. He fetches two towels, one of which he rubs along his neck while the other is tossed towards Oikawa. They end up sitting down on a bench, allowing themselves a moment of relaxation. “How’d it go with Hiro?” Iwaizumi wonders.

“Good,” Oikawa responds, rubbing the towel along his cheek. “It’s been surprisingly fun learning all of this stuff. And very surreal.” He pauses, draping the towel over his shoulder. “He’s a pretty good teacher. I might actually be able to beat you one day.”

“You wish,” Iwaizumi shoots back.

And there it is again. That grin. Dangerous and sharp. It cuts through all of Iwaizumi’s defenses like a well sharpened blade. It shatters his ribcage with the force of a sledgehammer—or perhaps a wrecking ball—before sinking deep into the walls of his heart. “Wanna go another round, Iwa-chan?”

And, well, who is he to turn down a challenge?

They return to the training mats once more, armed with a pair of wooden staffs and all the confidence in the world before they fall back into that same dance. The constant push and pull. It feels familiar, like a routine he’s executed thousands of times before.

To his credit, Oikawa improves. He even manages to catch Iwaizumi off guard once or twice; his eyes sparkling with delight and triumphant laughter falling from his lips when he manages to disarm Iwaizumi.

(He does so by cheating, of course, but Iwaizumi will give credit where credit is due).

He’s not entirely sure how long they keep it up, but the ache in his muscles is familiar and the burn in his lungs feels nice rather than constricting. It’s Hanamaki who interrupts them at some point, mentioning that Oikawa has a long way to go in terms of being able to control and manipulate his energy. He steers him away, pointedly grinning at Iwaizumi over his shoulder—who ignores the implications behind that grin.

The rest of the day passes like a blur. Iwaizumi alternates between observing Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s training methods and instructing Oikawa himself. On occasion, he returns to the control center within the warehouse—where his grandfather and other hunters are still guiding and instructing the various squads that are currently out in the field. “It’s still the same,” his grandfather explains as he leads Iwaizumi towards one of the larger screens situated in the middle of the other computers. It allows for a better overview of the city, highlighting each demon signature and each hunter’s position. “The numbers are still increasing. We have more category fours now. Some have reported back and suspected that we might run into category five demons soon.”

Iwaizumi frowns at the screen; mildly concerned at the prospect of larger, stronger demons entering the human world. The system they’ve used for hundreds of years to classify the variety of demons isn’t an exact science. It merely gives hunters an indication about the strength levels of the demons, monsters, and paranormal creatures that roam across the country. Category one demons are often smaller creatures that stick together in large groups. The majority of them are roughly the size of a toddler, or a small pet, but that doesn’t make them any less annoying. More often than not, newer, younger, and less experienced hunters are sent to take care of category one demons.

Once it’s proven that the hunters in question are capable of handling category one demons without much effort, they’re allowed to engage with the category two demons. Category twos are (physically) larger and stronger than their category one counterparts. They are the size of a child and, similar to the category one demons, choose to stick together in groups to attack unsuspecting humans. While more experienced hunters are able to exterminate the category one and two demons with ease, Iwaizumi recalls a time when an abandoned school playground in Meguro had been overrun with hundreds of bug-like demons. It had been an actual plague.

It had taken ten hunters a few hours to get rid of the creatures.

He shivers.

Category three demons are ones that pose an actual threat to the general population. They are generally the size of an adult male and quite strong. These demons often put up more of a fight than their weaker companions, but the average, experienced hunter is able to exterminate a category three demon by themselves. Usually with some effort. Category fours are similar, though they are much larger. And much stronger as a result. They are twice or sometimes thrice as large as a human adult and generally only appear at night; causing discord and mayhem wherever they go. The majority of the hunters who’d been killed in battle, had been murdered by category four demons. The unnamed winged creatures that started showing up the past few days are likely category four demons. Iwaizumi hasn’t seen anything like them before. The creatures remind him of human-sized bats and gargoyles; vicious monsters with large claws and even larger teeth and an unsatiated hunger for human flesh. He wonders if Kazuo’s actions had somehow brought forth a new species of demons.

Blood magic remains a mystery; one that is rarely discussed by other hunters.

He chews on his bottom lip as he observes the screen once more, listening to voices of the hunters that are currently trekking through the city in search of the numerous demons that plague Tokyo’s streets. They report back, mentioning the numerous monsters they’ve encountered and how there is—sadly—still no sign of the demon gate they’re all so desperately looking for.

“These guys are fucking strong,” a gruff voice comments. Iwaizumi recognizes it immediately.

Kyoutani.

“We just ran into a nomori the size of a truck on the edge of town,” he adds, sounding a little winded. “I think they’re definitely category fives. No doubt about it.”

Nomori are serpentine-like creatures that often live in the mountains, from what Iwaizumi remembers. It’s rare for them to encounter them, let alone nomori that are as large as the one Kyoutani had just described. “They shouldn’t even be here,” Iwaizumi comments, more to himself than his friend.

“Iwaizumi, that you?” Kyoutani asks. “I heard you were at the warehouse.”

“Yeah, I’m looking after someone. How’s it going over there?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Same shit as the previous days,” Kyoutani explains with an exhausted sigh. From what Iwaizumi is able to see, his vitals seem stable—indicating that he isn’t gravely injured. “Demons are showing up in places they don’t belong. Mountain creatures have never been this close to the city. Something’s completely messed up.”

“Yeah, we can tell,” Iwaizumi murmurs, eyes roaming across the screen. “You guys be careful.”

At this, Kyoutani scoffs—or laughs. It’s hard to tell. “We’re fine. Shigeru just lobbed a spear at two of those weird unnamed flying demons. We’re having a blast.”

“That sounds like Yahaba, yeah,” Iwaizumi chuckles.

Similar to him, Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Kyoutani has his own squad. He, Yahaba and Watari have trained and worked together for years now—with all three of them possessing matching weapons as per their families traditions. Three identical spears. Which were said to have been blessed by the gods themselves and scattered across the country thousands of years ago for the first hunters to find.

All six of them have worked together various times, but each time Iwaizumi remains impressed whenever he witnesses the trio’s remarkable abilities up close. “Just be careful.”

“Roger,” Kyoutani says dryly. “Good luck with that new guy over there.”

Iwaizumi steps away from the control center after that. He returns to the lounging area, where some of the books they’d brought along are still scattered across the table. His eyes wander across the pages. He’s read the sentences over and over, hoping that words contain some sort of answer to their current problem.

After a moment, Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Oikawa each appear behind him. “We should go,” Hanamaki tells Iwaizumi, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been here all day and I’m pretty sure Oikawa’s gonna pass out if we keep going like that.”

“I’m fine,” Oikawa interjects, clearly winded. Iwaizumi regards him for a moment; noting the way he very clearly looks exhausted. It must have been hard on him. Even with his newfound powers and enhanced physical abilities, there is only so much one can take. Hunter training is an ongoing practice. Most hunters are introduced to the brutal training method from an early age. It’s not something one can master overnight. If anything, it’s not something one can master at all.

Iwaizumi offers Oikawa a smile. “You did good,” he says. It’s the truth. Oikawa, for all his inner turmoil, has adapted and adjusted wonderfully; tackling this challenge head on. His tenacity is admirable, but it’s obvious that he may have overexerted himself. The praise seems to catch Oikawa off guard for a moment, though he recovers fast.

“Of course I did,” he says smugly. “I’m a natural remember?”

Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself now.”

“While this is obviously adorable,” Hanamaki drawls, gesturing between them. “What’s our next move?”

His previous idea slowly creeps into Iwaizumi’s mind once more. It leaves his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest and he attempts to swallow the nerves away when he glances between Matsukawa and Hanamaki and says, “I’ve got an… idea.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

“You’re fucking insane,” Hanamaki laughs, or rather, cackles when the four of them arrive at Iwaizumi’s family home.

“Are you sure about this?” Matsukawa asks and Iwaizumi thinks he really might be making the wrong decision if even Matsukawa is questioning him. Oikawa remains quiet—which is somewhat surprising.

“I am,” Iwaizumi decides. “I’ll just… talk to my mom about it first. See what she has to say.”

“We’ll be in the living room,” Matsukawa tells him, toeing off his shoes in the hallway. The combined sound of their voices travel through the narrow space as they make their appearance known to whoever happens to be home. Iwaizumi’s mother and father tell them that they’re in the living room, curious about any recent developments, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa dutifully inform them of what had occurred the past few hours. Oikawa excuses himself for a moment, saying that he’s going to take a long shower to get all of the sweat off him. Iwaizumi nods and they exchange small smiles before Oikawa pads towards the stairs.

His gaze then travels to his mother. “Can we talk? In the kitchen?”

Upon arriving in the other room, she busies herself with pouring two cups of tea and Iwaizumi murmurs a ‘thank you’ when she slides one of the mugs towards him.

“You seem troubled,” she points out almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Her incredible perceptiveness is jarring at times and Iwaizumi would laugh if not for the knot that has formed in the pit of his stomach. The heat of the mug is usually comforting, but right now it feels as though it might burn through his skin. Forming words seems almost impossible and he attempts and reattempts to formulate the single sentence he’d been dreading to speak out loud to her. A sigh exits his throat before he lowers the mug onto the kitchen counter.

Come on, Hajime, he tells himself.

“I want to talk to her,” he says quietly after what feels like an hour. Even without the mention of her name, one he still doesn’t know, the implication of who he’s talking about, is quite clear. His mother doesn’t seem too surprised by his words; her eyes do not widen in shock or horror; her mouth doesn’t fall open at the idea of her son wanting to speak to the woman who is fifty percent responsible for his genetic make-up and has made no attempt whatsoever to form any kind of relationship with him.

Instead she says, “Why now? Is it because of what’s going on with Oikawa-kun?”

Iwaizumi sighs again, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Yes,” he begins. “...It’s everything.” There’s a pause before he speaks again. “I think I’m afraid of what’s to come and I wanna be prepared. And help everyone in the best way I can, and to do that,” he adds. His hand inches towards the necklace; fingers brushing over the chain briefly before he tugs it free from where it had been tucked inside his shirt. “I need to know how to use this. And I can’t do that if I don’t know how to… control my magic. She is the only one who can tell me how to do that.”

Silence hangs between them, loud and deafening, while the quiet murmurs of Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Iwaizumi’s father slowly trickle into the kitchen. Outside, a car slowly rolls through the street, and if he listens closely, he’s able to hear Ren yawn from where she’s positioned in the doorway.

Iwaizumi watches as his mother takes a long sip from her drink. Her expression is unreadable for once and she remains quiet for another moment before lowering the mug. She steps forward afterwards, brows pinched together as she presses her palms—warmed from the mug—against Iwaizumi’s cheeks.

“You’re my son,” she says, gentle but firm. “And I love you more than anyone else in the world.”

There’s a slight tremble in her voice and Iwaizumi inhales deeply. “Mom—”

“Let me finish,” she interrupts. This time, her lips pull into a smile. “Part of me always knew this day was going to come. And as your mother I feel compelled to protect you, Hajime, but you don’t need my permission for this. If you want to reach out to her, you are free to do so. I just… don’t want you to get hurt. Understand?”

A lump forms in Iwaizumi’s throat, trickling down to his chest as he attempts to swallow past it. He nods briefly. “I know…” he murmurs, “I guess I wanted your approval—or something. Is that stupid?”

The smile on her lips widens before she pulls him forward to embrace him properly. “It’s not. You know I’ll support you, regardless of whatever decision you make. I just want you to be careful.”

Relief washes over him then and Iwaizumi exhales sharply as he wraps his arms around her. His forehead drops to her shoulder just as she rubs a hand over his back like she has done so many times before. It’s comforting and familiar, easing the tension out of his muscles. The thought of disappointing her, and possibly damaging their relationship, had been one of his biggest concerns.

There aren't enough words in the human language to describe how much love Iwaizumi holds for his mother. The endless love and support she’s provided, have made him the person he is today. She’s taught him many valuable life lessons, supported him through all of the hard times, wiped his tears, and voiced over and over just how much he meant to him.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I love you, too.”

“Good,” she says, patting his back twice before pulling away. “And if she hurts you in any way, I’ll kill her.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “I know you would.”

“How are you going to contact her?” she wonders. “Are you going to summon her in the living room? I don’t know how your dad will feel about that—”

“We’ll go outside,” Iwaizumi quickly explains. “I won’t bring her inside. We’ll be extremely careful. Matsukawa knows how to do it. ”

Despite giving him permission to continue with his somewhat risky plan, Iwaizumi’s mother frowns in a way only mothers can. The look she offers him screams ‘I have my doubts about this’ but she refrains from voicing those thoughts. Instead, she nods, sipping her tea slowly. “Fine,” she acquiesces. “Do you want to tell your father or should I?”

“You go ahead and do it,” he decides. “We’ll go to the garden and prepare.”

She nods as they both return to the living room. Almost immediately, Iwaizumi turns towards his friends and instructs that they follow him into the garden—where Oikawa is likely to join them afterwards. Matsukawa mentions the tools he might need, instructing both Hanamaki and Iwaizumi to find some candles and chalk. Iwaizumi returns inside, where he catches a glimpse of his mother quietly talking to his father in a corner of the room.

As he rummages through the cabinets in the living room, he wonders what his father might think of this. Judging by his expression, he’s a lot more surprised than his mother initially had been. He steps away from her after a moment, approaching his son with a look that indicates he’s very concerned.

“Your mother told me what you’re planning,” he starts. “Are you… sure about this, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi nods. “We don’t know if it’ll work, but I want to try,” he tells him. “I also want to find out if she knows a thing or two about the demon gates—and whatever is happening right now. Grandpa said we should prepare for category five demons.”

“I heard, yeah,” his father murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “Shit,” he adds quietly. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” Iwaizumi replies, “don’t worry.”

“Easier said than done.”

Iwaizumi can’t really blame him. It’s not every day that someone decides to summon the demon you once harbored feelings for—and who also happens to be the birth mother of your only child. The idea itself is on all accounts preposterous. An all-around awful idea that could easily blow up in their faces.

And yet.

And yet, Iwaizumi owes it to himself to try. For years, he’s ignored whatever thoughts and feelings he had towards his birth mother. He never quite acknowledged her as anything else but a person who just happened to be partially responsible for his existence in this world. Upon knowing of her existence, he’d often wondered about her identity. Her face, her voice, her name.

Do I look like you?

Do I act like you?

Eventually, his father had told him tidbits of information about their meeting. He’d never divulged her name. Instead, he told the tale of their meeting. The hunt, the chase, the way she’d always managed to outsmart him; ten steps ahead of him at all times. He spoke of eyes; a warm brown, with hints of green captured in between.

“You have her eyes,” he’d once said, roughly a decade ago. “And her frown.”

Iwaizumi didn’t know whether or not to be glad or angry about that at the time.

Even now, those same questions begin to creep into his mind.

What do you sound like?

What do you look like?

It’s Oikawa’s voice, his sudden appearance, that cuts through the thoughts. It catches Iwaizumi off guard and he wonders when Oikawa had returned to the living room and how he’d managed to approach them without making a sound. His hair is still a little wet from the shower he’d just taken and he has changed into the same clothes Iwaizumi had given him the previous night. “Are you ready, Iwa-chan?” he asks.

Iwaizumi tightens his grip around the candles he’d just retrieved from the cabinets, glancing into the direction of the garden. “Yeah—yeah, let’s go.”

Upon returning outside, a cool breeze brushes the skin of Iwaizumi’s cheek. Above them, the stars are bright, and the moon seems even brighter. It’s clear tonight, allowing them a perfect view of the dozens of celestial bodies located billions of lightyears away.

Matsukawa points towards a spot in the garden, decorating the tiles with a summoning circle. It’s similar to the one he’d drawn before; a large circle, followed by a smaller circle and a diamond shaped tetragon. Finally, a smaller square is added to the summoning circle before numerous candles are placed along the edges. The white candles make up a circle of their own, their flames illuminating a portion of the garden.

Like before, Hanamaki and Iwaizumi step behind Matsukawa as he presses his palm to the edge of the circle. And, like before, he begins to quietly recite the incantation.

His heartbeat feels impossibly loud in his ears, anticipation stiffening his muscles, and Iwaizumi keeps his eyes trained on the center of the circle. Though, whatever anxiety had been stirring inside of him, turns into concern and confusion after a moment when—for some reason—nothing seems to happen.

Matsukawa is equally confused, frowning at the circle and wondering if he’d somehow made a mistake with some of the runes. He quietly reads them one by one; all of them placed in the exact same order as the summoning circle he’d drawn a few days ago.

“What’s wrong?” Hanamaki asks, lowering his bow. “Seems like you’re not making a connection.”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa says, confused. “Maybe a tether will help.”

He glances over his shoulder, “You wanna go stand in the circle?”

“Is that… a good idea?” Oikawa says, clearly wary of Matsukawa’s solution to their current problem.

“It’s our best bet,” Matsukawa shrugs. “A tether allows me to make a stronger connection to whatever spirit I’m summoning. And given that he’s quite literally her flesh and blood, it could work,” he explains. “You up for it?”

“Won’t he be trapped in the circle with her?”

“I’ll get out once before that happens,” Iwaizumi assures him, carefully stepping into the circle. Matsukawa instructs him to sit cross legged on the ground and hold his necklace in his hands.

“It’s something that once belonged to her,” Matsukawa explains, “close your eyes, focus on the necklace, and use it to draw her to you.”

As instructed, Iwaizumi removes the necklaces and closes his eyes. The weight of it presses into the skin of his right palm. “How do I even do that?”

“Just think of her and pull her to you. I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, inhaling deeply before releasing a slow exhale. He recenters himself, focusing on the necklace and the thought of her. Perhaps if he’d known her name, or what she’d looked like, he would’ve been able to paint a clear picture of her in his head.

Instead, he’s left guessing, quietly calling out into the darkness, while Matsukawa whispers the incantation.

Come to me, he repeats mentally.

For a long moment, nothing happens, but Iwaizumi repeats the words—harsher this time. He tightens his grip around the necklace and he momentarily considers channeling a small amount of magic into his palms, though he refrains from doing so. Across from him, Matsukawa’s chanting grows slightly louder, and Iwaizumi repeats the sentence once more.

Come to me.

He feels it then. A spark. A flicker of magic that doesn’t feel like his own. It’s as though a string is connected to the top of his head, pulling him upward, and he wonders if this might be the tether Matsukawa had mentioned. He swallows roughly, feeling the erratic beat of his heart where it resides deep within his chest.

His body is tugged upward, but Iwaizumi resists—tugging on the imaginary string in return.

Come to me, he thinks again.

Whoever is on the other end of that string, he has to pull them towards him. He focuses on the connection, refusing to release it. Inside his chest, his heart thrashes wildly, but he ignores it; pushes aside the concerns and the feeling of dread that slithers up his spine and curls its claws around the base of his neck.

He thinks he hears a voice. Matsukawa’s.

Then Oikawa’s.

They’re saying his name, he thinks. He can’t quite hear them. It’s as though he’s underwater while they’re calling out to him.

I’m okay, he wants to say. I’m fine. But his lips never move. They’re unable to move, no matter how hard he tries.

He feels rooted to the spot, unable to move his limbs or open his eyes. Panic washes over him and he attempts to reach out to Matsukawa, repeating his name multiple times, until a voice—low and eerie—suddenly appears out of nowhere.

“Hajime.”

It’s the only warning he gets before a flash of light appears in his mind and then everything goes dark once more.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

When Iwaizumi opens his eyes, he does so with a startling gasp. He glances around, expecting to see the faces of his friends; expecting to sit in the summoning circle Matsukawa had drawn in his parents’ backyard.

Instead, he finds himself in a void of nothingness. It’s dark, pitch black, save for a pathway made entirely of deep red tiles. It reminds him of the color of blood.

“What the hell,” he breathes, glancing around. “Guys?” he calls out after a moment. “Issei? Hiro?!”

Nothing.

“Fuck,” he swears, then repeats it three more times. He knows he has to stay calm, but it’s quite difficult when he has no idea where he is—or where his friends are for that matter. He eyes the red pathway once more, hesitantly stepping forward. Nothing happens once his foot lands on the first tile and he tentatively takes another step. Still nothing.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi murmurs, exhaling slowly. “Fine… let’s see where this leads.”

His steps are slow and careful. On occasion he glances behind him, wondering if someone—or something—might randomly appear out of nowhere. Nothing happens. There is nothing but neverending darkness. It’s jarring.

Step after step, Iwaizumi walks down the pathway; unaware where it will take him. The red tiles should lead him somewhere and he briefly wonders if he’s making the right decision by following the only path in this sea of darkness. For a moment, he attempts to gather some magic in the palm of his hand but nothing seems to happen. He focuses properly on his right hand, reattempting to pull his energy to the surface.

Unfortunately, once again, nothing happens.

God, he’s completely and utterly fucked.

The path continues and Iwaizumi slowly follows it while wondering if there’s another way to reach out to his friends. Has his spirit been transported elsewhere and his body still intact, or has his physical body disappeared as well? He has no way of finding out, but he trusts Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Oikawa to find a solution.

He’s not sure how long he keeps walking, but at some point the red path seems to bloom into a red circle. In the center of that circle is a person, or a being, and Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat. The painful thudding inside his chest is accompanied by a pressure he has never felt before, it weighs down on his chest before spreading all across his limbs. It’s as though the gravitational force has increased tenfold; an invisible force bearing down on him and forcing him to crumble beneath its weight.

His steps feel heavier, his breaths grow more ragged, but he ignores it as he inches closer towards the figure in the distance. Upon closer inspection, the figure seems to be a woman and a chill runs down Iwaizumi’s spine.

She seems to be seated on some sort of throne. It sits at the top of a pair of red steps; a black throne made of stone. He’s unable to make out the details, but it looks rather large.

Even without asking, Iwaizumi can sort of guess who the woman in question is.

Her black hair is long, longer than anything he’s ever seen before. It reaches the floor, spilling over the first two steps; almost like a cape. Her bangs are cut bluntly, falling over her forehead and covering her eyebrows. The darkness of her hair emphasizes the paleness of her skin, which seems to be drained of color. Her skin reminds him of that of a ghost; eerily pale.

Red markings decorate her face. Long, red stripes run from her eyes all the way down to her chin and neck. They continue along her collar bones, where they seem to intersect before continuing downward; disappearing beneath the fabric of her heavy robes.

Her body is draped in elegant looking black and white robes that expose the tops of her shoulders and her collar bones. The fabric, like her hair, drapes down the throne and down the steps. It looks quite beautiful, decorated with red and purple details.

That same shade of red decorates her eyes, accentuating the red color of her irises as she regards Iwaizumi with a knowing smile. It’s unnerving; the way she stares at him. A pair of horns sit at the top of her head, similar to the markings and the color of her eyes, they are painted red. They’re long and slightly curved, appearing to be impossibly sharp.

A small beauty mark is located right below her right eye.

She appears to be young; a woman in her thirties, with sharp, angular features.

“Took you long enough, Hajime.”

Her voice is similar to the one he’d heard before; low and eerie. It sounds deeper in person.

It creeps across his skin like a spider approaching its prey.

Iwaizumi inhales deeply, taking a careful step forward until he stops right in front of the red steps. Even though he’d never seen her face before, he knows she’s the one he’s looking for. She’s the one who pulled on the tether, dragging him into this empty space. “I suppose you know why I'm here?” he asks after a moment.

Her lips are painted crimson. They stretch into a slightly larger smile. “I have a hunch, yes.”

For years, he’d wondered about this exact moment: the imaginary reunion he never thought would come. It feels odd to stare into the eyes of a woman he never considered his mother, but who had occasionally occupied his mind regardless.

“What’s your name?” he wonders.

One leg is folded atop of the other and Iwaizumi refrains from flinching when she slowly pulls one arm out of her lap. The sleeves fall down, exposing a pale arm, and a hand with long, slender fingers. He immediately notices the long, razor sharp nails. They almost appear claw-like as she rests the nail of her pointer finger against her chin.

“I’ve gone by many names,” she answers. “But you may call me ‘Rei’.”

Rei.

He repeats the name mentally.

The pressure he’d felt before, the heaviness that had wrapped itself around his limbs, seems to be slowly vanishing. Breathing becomes somewhat easier. “Where am I?”

Rei uses her hand to gesture around the large emptiness around them. “Nowhere, technically,” she answers. “This is a space within the Otherworld I created for our reunion.”

The Otherworld is often regarded as ‘the other side’ or ‘the demon world’. Authors have often wondered and speculated about its existence, describing it in their books. Artists attempted to capture its appearance, based on stories they were told. Nobody knows what it exactly looks like.

Iwaizumi had always assumed it looked a tad more creepy. This vast expanse of nothingness is odd and daunting enough, but it’s not as frightening as the pictures he’d seen growing up. “It looks like nothing I expected,” he admits.

“We’ve been redecorating,” she drawls. “Is that all you’re curious about? Come here. Let me take a closer look at you.”

“I think I’ll stay where I am,” Iwaizumi retorts, gaze briefly narrowed.

His resistance is met with an eye roll. He’s never seen someone roll their eyes so gracefully before. He wasn’t even aware it was possible.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already, Hajime,” she points out, managing to sound smug and bored all at once. “Now come here, will you? After all, I’m your only ticket out of here.”

Reluctance wraps around his limbs as he steps forward, slowly beginning his trek up the steps. He stops when he’s two steps below her.

Up close, he’s able to take a closer look at her face. She regards him with interest, eyes scanning his features, before she slowly rises from the chair and towers over him. Iwaizumi flinches when a hand, pale as the snow, cold as ice, reaches for him. Her fingers curl around his chin, nails digging into his skin, and she looks down her nose; inspecting him as she tilts his head backwards. The strength of her grip catches him off guard. Even if he wanted to shake her off, Iwaizumi isn’t quite sure he could.

Amusement slips into her voice when she says, “I used to have eyes like yours.”

She releases him after a moment and he rubs at his cheek, surprised by the coldness of her hands.

As Rei returns to her seat, she fixes him with a rather bored look. “Now ask what you came to ask. I doubt you came all this way for a little chat.”

Annoyance creeps into Iwaizumi’s voice when he speaks again. “What do you know about the demon gate?”

“I know it’s something you shouldn’t mess with.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all I’ll say,” Rei tells him. “I know of a family that tried to open one once, long ago. Should the demon gates open, hordes of demons will be able to enter the mortal world much easier than before. It will be complete anarchy.”

It’s the same information he’d picked up from the books he’d studied before. His annoyance transforms into frustration and Iwaizumi turns away, “Then coming here was useless.”

“Was it, though?” she asks. “It’s not the only reason you’re here after all. I mean… you see your mother for the first time in twenty-seven years, I assume you must have plenty of questions.”

The words cut through him with the sharpness of a blade. It burns through his chest as though it had been filled with acid. Almost instantly, he whirls around. “You’re not my mother.”

His reaction only seems to amuse her. “Touchy. You get that from him,” she grins. It’s as sharp as the words she’d hurled at him just now. Almost taunting. “How is he by the way?”

“Good,” Iwaizumi answers sharply, “happy.”

If she’s annoyed by his tone, or words, she doesn’t show it. Not outright, at least. “I’m glad,” Rei drawls, “now what else did you want to ask me? Is it about the necklace?”

She makes a vague hand gesture towards the piece of jewelry in question, which seems to have mysteriously returned around Iwaizumi’s neck. He frowns, surprised that she had known about his troubles regarding the necklace-slash-sword. “How did you—”

Even before he’s able to complete the sentence, she cuts him off with another wave of her hand. Another eye roll. This time she sounds somewhat bored as she says, “A mother knows all, Hajime.”

She sniffs. “After all, I’m the one who gave you that necklace; it’s what keeps me tethered to you. I assume you know about its true form, hm?”

He’s not sure what part of her words aggravate him more; the offhand usage of the word ‘mother’ or the other one.

Tethered.

It means that the necklace had, somehow, unbeknownst to him, linked them. He wonders if his father had known about this. He must have. And he let Iwaizumi wear the necklace regardless. A beat passes before he speaks again. “I know it’s a sword, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“But you can’t wield it. Not really, at least. Correct?”

Bullseye.

Rather than allowing him the courtesy of responding, Rei continues, “And you wonder why. I mean, the answer is quite obvious, is it not?” she says flippantly. “The sword has great abilities, but it won’t respond to you. Not the way you are now.”

Even though he knows exactly what she means, he can’t refrain from asking the very obvious question. “What do you mean the way I am now?”

“Don’t play dumb, Hajime. You know what I mean.”

Rei extends a hand and as she crooks her index finger, the necklace slowly begins to levitate. It responds to her magic almost instantly, moving upward until it’s no longer wrapped around Iwaizumi’s neck. He watches as it floats towards her, settling into her open palm. Upon contact, the piece of jewelry immediately transforms into its true form.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at the sight of it.

Rei’s gaze drifts towards the sword, observing the weapon where it rests in her palm. Her tone seems to have changed somewhat, and she almost sounds wistful when she speaks. “It responds to your energy. All of your energy. Your hunter energy and your demon energy. Primarily the latter,” she explains. “Without using that energy, you will never be able to wield it.”

Even though he’s known her for a handful of minutes, Iwaizumi knows that this is exactly the kind of answer he could’ve expected from her. He watches as her magic travels along the blade, cloaking it in red energy. “I mean that’s what you’re here for, right? Advice on how to use the sword. The answer is quite easy,” Rei adds.

‘For you maybe’ he wants to say. Instead, he replies with: “It’s not that easy.”

It causes her to frown as she lowers the sword. With almost no force, she embeds the blade into the dais located below the throne. The platform trembles upon impact, as do the steps, and Iwaizumi has to step forward to maintain his balance.

“Sure it is,” Rei responds, “once you accept yourself, all parts of yourself. You will be free.”

She rises from the seat once more, the very embodiment of grace and power, and Iwaizumi feels that indescribable pressure he noticed before returning once more. It presses down on his shoulders, but he resists. He keeps his head high as Rei slowly steps towards him. This time, the wistful tone is replaced with her usual sharpness. Venom seeps into her voice, and her tone is as cold as her hands had been.

“You have spent decades shoving parts of yourself down; suppressing your energy—your power, your true power. And now with danger looming over your heads, you will need every bit of power you can muster,” she hisses. “The sword will respond to you, once you learn how to control your energy. But in order to do that, you have to allow it to roam free. Truly free.”

A part of him knows that she’s right, yet Iwaizumi doesn’t know if he wants to accept it. It sounds so easy coming from her. To let his magic roam free would be dangerous. Unpredictable. There’s a brief shake of his head as he says, “I can’t let that happen—”

“Sure you can,” she interjects. “You already do. Why do you think you’re much stronger than your relatives? Why do you think you heal faster? You already use parts of your demon energy, Hajime. It's only natural. But, I understand. You wanted to prove yourself. You wanted to protect your family—their name and reputation. But you have let them stifle you and your power.”

Every word that falls from her lips disarms him. It strips him; exposing the wounds he’d kept hidden beneath scar tissue and bandages. Instead of pressing a bandaid over it, she picks at it. Over and over.

And it angers him.

It angers him that she’s right.

“You should be angry,” she says coolly, as if she had somehow heard his thoughts. He wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow possessed mind-reading abilities.

“I heard that there are others like me,” he eventually responds. “Have you met them?”

“There are,” Rei tells him. “Half-demons are more common than you think. Not all of them become hunters, however. Then again, most of them aren’t born with both hunter and demon magic, so in that sense you might be special. Just like that new friend of yours.”

Even without the mention of his name, hearing her talk about Oikawa causes Iwaizumi to stiffen. It must be rather obvious, because she smiles, flashing just a hint of teeth. It causes his breath to stutter in his chest.

“What’s his name again?” she gibes. “Oikawa was it? The descendant of that wretched family...”

“Don’t.”

It’s the first time he’d seen her look remotely surprised, even if it only lasts for a mere moment.

“Touchy,” Rei remarks, pausing before adding, “you care for him.”

“Leave him out of this,” Iwaizumi snaps.

Irritation flashes through her eyes, causing the pressure in the empty space to increase once more. Iwaizumi winces; his legs trembling as they try to support his weight whilst attempting to resist the gravitational force that’s bearing down on him.

It disappears once Rei turns away from him and climbs back up the steps. Iwaizumi exhales sharply, almost gasping as he presses a palm to one of the steps above him to maintain his balance. Just how strong is she?

“Careful, Hajime. Love is a powerful catalyst,” she says slowly, “but so is loss, envy… rage. It’s dangerous to creatures like us.”

While he would love to dispute her words and argue that they are nothing alike, he swallows the words before they manage to climb up his throat. “What do you mean?”

She lowers herself onto the seat once more, one leg folded across the other. The look she offers him could best be described as boredom. He’s almost certain she’s arching a brow beneath those thick bangs that fall across her forehead. “Well, I wasn’t born like this. You know that, right?”

He nods. “I do. Dad said he tried to save you; said there was still some hope for you.”

The mention of his father triggers another eye roll. It’s followed by a scoff. “How noble of him,” Rei bristles, inspecting her nails. “I’m sure there was, but I quite like the way I am now. I don’t need saving,” she continues. “However, those emotions… triggered something within me. They turned me into what I am now. Which is why you should be careful.”

The warning comes as a surprise, given what he’d been taught about hannya. Female demons that were once human before they were consumed by jealousy and turned into monsters. Iwaizumi arches a brow. “I thought it only applied to the hannya…”

“They really don’t teach you kids anything, do they? Good to know the books are still outdated after thousands of years,” Rei drawls. The words are followed by another scoff. “No, my darling son, it doesn’t only apply to the hannya. Both people and demons, regardless of their gender, can be corrupted by these powerful emotions. Heartbreak being one of them. It all goes hand in hand. Jealousy, betrayal, grief.”

He thinks back to the times he’s experienced any of the aforementioned emotions, wondering if he’d ever come close to triggering something within him and possibly corrupting his soul. The thought scares him.

“If you care about him, you will be careful, Hajime. For your own good, and his.”

“Why do you know all this?” he asks slowly, “about me. About Oikawa.”

“Because I’ve been watching you.”

“Why?” he asks. ‘You left me’ is what he doesn’t add.

Her response isn’t immediate, but her tone remains sharp. “I like protecting what’s mine,” Rei answers. “Who do you think sent you that little pup? Ren was it?”

His initial retort dies on his tongue and Iwaizumi falls silent as surprise washes over him in waves. The mention of Ren immediately makes him think back to their first meeting all those years ago. He remembers how scared he’d been; how surprised he’d been when she appeared behind him. Rather than lunging at him, she’d been kind and kept her distance. All this time, he’d thought that Ren had merely found him by accident. That their meeting had been a blessing in disguise.

“You did that?” he sputters. “Why?”

“You were going to get eaten alive in those woods, Hajime. I had to intervene,” Rei says dryly, waving a hand at his question. “Why do you think an okuri okami would appear out of nowhere and not attack you?”

He sighs, exasperated. “I don’t know?! I was a kid! I assumed she felt some sort of pity.”

This time, she chuckles. A sarcastic little sound. “Granted, I didn’t expect you both to hit it off so well, but I suppose she felt a kinship,” she replies. “Really, how many hunters do you know that have a demon wolf for a pet?”

There’s not much he can say to that.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Rei adds, unhelpfully.

He rolls his eyes in response. It only seems to amuse her further.

“You’re more like me than you think,” she points out, propping her elbow up on the arm rests of her seat. She tilts her head, resting her cheek in her palm.“Either way, I think it’s time for you to go back to your little friends and clean up this demon gate mess. If you spend too much time here, your body will dissolve. I would hate for that to happen to you.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“You wound me.”

Iwaizumi regards her then, properly observing her for a moment. How long had she been watching him? Had she been sitting here for the past two decades, merely spying on him? A plethora of questions linger on his tongue, none of which he actually voices.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. For the majority of his life, he has pretended that the woman before him never existed. He’d been so sure that their paths would never cross and that she would remain a faceless, nameless figure in the story of his life.

But here she is.

“Why ‘Hajime’?”

The question falls from his lips so suddenly that he doesn’t register his own words until he notices the subtle change in her expression.

It softens.

“You were my first child,” she explains quietly. “My only child.”

Something inside his chest squeezes. He ignores it.

“Then help me,” he says. “Tell me how to close the gates.”

Rei remains silent as if contemplating her next words. She releases a thoughtful hum while her eyes fall shut. “Kill the host,” she says easily. “He is linked to the gates. And the reason they will be fully opened soon.”

“Oikawa Kazuo?” Iwaizumi asks, hoping their initial suspicions are correct.

She nods. “He completed the job his ancestors started.”

His thoughts briefly wander towards Oikawa and the mysterious, unnamed demons that had started to appear lately. “What about those winged demons? Why are they after Oikawa?”

Mild irritation flashes across Rei’s features. “Do I have to explain everything?”

“Consider it a favor,” Iwaizumi tells her. He pauses, swallowing whatever pride he had left and says, “please.”

That seems to work—somewhat—because Rei sighs, as though admitting defeat. “The winged demons are often called the Nameless. They are spirits that were trapped between the mortal world and the Otherworld, corrupted by blood magic and turned into demons,” she explains. “They are after Oikawa because Kazuo wants his nephew’s powers for himself. It’s why he killed his children. He didn’t sacrifice them to open the gates, he consumed them and absorbed their powers—which I assume were dormant like Oikawa’s.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen. “So Oikawa isn’t the only one with powers? Other members of his family have them too?”

“Correct,” she says. “He is the only one with active powers, though. The rest of them seem to be unaware of their hidden abilities, but Kazuo knows. It’s very possible that not all members of the family had been blessed by the gods, and that only a select few were given these gifts. But again, their powers were dormant, sealed away as punishment for what their ancestors had done hundreds of years ago.”

“A demon said something about his transformation being almost complete. Do you know when that will be?” Iwaizumi wonders, thinking back to the demon’s howling laughter as its body slowly dissolved.

“There will be a blood moon two days from now,” Rei informs him. “Impeccable timing, isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi knows that celestial events can be catalysts for magic. He knows of those that adhere to special calendars to perform rituals, claiming that the energy of the sun and moon, along with other heavenly bodies, strengthen their magic. He wonders about this supposed blood moon and its effect on Kazuo.

“So all we have to do is kill the host,” Iwaizumi eventually says.

“It’s easier said than done,” Rei tells him. “He’ll bring an army.”

“Will you join him?”

The question is met with a chuckle. It’s followed by a brief shake of her head. “As tempting as it sounds to destroy the hunters, I have no interest in being his personal lackey. I will simply watch it all unfold,” she responds, curling her fingers around the sword once more.

She spares the weapon a final glance before gently gliding her palm across the blade. The sword slowly transforms into a necklace once more, which floats towards Iwaizumi. With a flick of her wrist, the necklace is fastened around his neck; the pendant dangling in front of his shirt. “Use it,” she instructs. “You know how. Do not be afraid of your power. Embrace it.”

Iwaizumi remains quiet, thumbing at the piece of jewelry before tucking it back in his shirt. “I’ll think about it,” he mumbles. “How do I—”

“Just concentrate,” Rei says. “Close your eyes, and concentrate. And instead of resisting it, let it come to the surface. Trust your instincts. It will not hurt you.”

He nods before turning around and descending down the red steps. Once he reaches the bottom, he turns to face her once more and before he knows it, he offers her a short bow. “Thank you,” he says. “For your help.”

The sudden expression of gratitude seems to surprise her somewhat, though she conceals it wonderfully. She smiles and it feels less taunting, less sharp, this time. “Polite,” she comments. “They raised you well.”

He wonders how his parents must feel at the moment. They are likely in a state of panic and Iwaizumi wishes he could’ve sent some sort of signal to inform them that he’s fine. A smile of his own forms on his lips, the first one since he’s arrived here. “They did.”

Rei raises a hand, drawing a circle with her pointer finger. Runes appear near Iwaizumi’s feet before forming a perfect circle around him. The symbols glow red and he glances back at her when she speaks again. “Think about what I said, Hajime. Be careful with him,” Rei says.

Oikawa.

“Promise me you won’t go after him,” Iwaizumi says in response, “for whatever reason. If Kazuo somehow convinces you—”

“You have my word.”

Her response catches him by surprise. The words are spoken so calmly, surely, that Iwaizumi is inclined to believe her. Smoke begins to form near his feet; dark wisps slowly curling around his legs while the runes continue to glow. His own smile widens, only a fraction. “It better be worth something.”

A smirk plays on her lips just as she moves her finger back and forth, causing the smoke to increase. “A promise between a mother and child is sacred.”

“I’ll believe you this time,” Iwaizumi decides. He hopes it’s the right decision.

Smoke impairs his vision, clouding him in darkness once more, but before everything goes dark, he sees a pair of red eyes; vibrant and all-knowing.

A smile painted in crimson.

“We will see each other again, Hajime. Remember, you can always find me.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Oikawa sees is black smoke. It curls upward, clumping together like storm clouds filled with rain and misery. With each second that passes, the smoke grows thicker—shifting, changing—until it disappears altogether. The heavy blanket is lifted, and with it leaves the heaviness that had gathered in his chest. Iwaizumi stands in the center of the circle once more. For a fleeting moment, he remains upright until his legs give out from under him.

He catches himself at the last moment, sinking to one knee, and Oikawa moves forward instinctively when Iwaizumi’s mother quickly approaches her son. He watches as she cradles his face, mumbling ‘Hajime, are you okay’ while Matsukawa and Hanamaki flank either side of him. He nods, smiling weakly at all three of them, before glancing at Oikawa very briefly.

“I’m okay,” Oikawa hears him say.

Hanamaki’s palm is pressed against his best friend’s forehead, likely to assess whether or not he required medical assistance while Matsukawa murmurs apologies and explains to Iwaizumi that he was unable to keep him tethered to the mortal world. Iwaizumi’s mother keeps a hand pressed to her son’s arm, repeatedly asking if he’s ‘really okay’. Ren appears seconds after that, sniffing at his arm before her nose is pressed against his cheek.

Oikawa watches it all unfold, both relieved and anxious all at once.

Iwaizumi manages another chuckle, attempting to calm both his friends and his mother simultaneously while they’re all busy fussing over him.

It’s nice, Oikawa thinks. To see how loved Iwaizumi is.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Once Iwaizumi has managed to assure everyone that he’s completely fine, they move back inside and into the living room. There, he begins to explain what had occurred. He tells them about meeting his birth mother. Apparently, her name is Rei and, from what Oikawa can tell, she seems rather frightening.

Black hair, red eyes, and a rather pale complexion. Her skin is as pale as the first snowfall in December, while red markings decorate her face and body. Long, sharp, red horns sit atop her head and Iwaizumi mentions the suffocating sensation of dread that slithered across his body and settled somewhere deep within his soul as he walked toward her.

To be completely honest, she sounds downright terrifying.

“She sounds lovely,” Hanamaki murmurs. “We’re glad you’re okay, though.”

“I think we’re done summoning demons for now,” Matsukawa adds, rubbing his temples. It pulls a laugh from Iwaizumi, who claps him on his thigh and tells him to stop worrying—which is quite funny, in hindsight, given Iwaizumi’s initial apprehension regarding all and any demon-summoning-related activities.

The smile on his face disappears once he explains the details of his brief conversation with Rei. She’d provided some useful information; essentially confirming Oikawa’s initial suspicions. It turns out that Kazuo is in fact the person who’s behind all of this. The “earthquake” on Friday, the demon attack on Monday morning at his grandmother's home, followed by the demon attack that afternoon at Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s loft, and finally the attack at the nightclub on Tuesday night. Each attack was orchestrated by Kazuo to capture and kill Oikawa to gain more power. Once the demons would’ve brought Oikawa to him, he would’ve consumed him—and absorbed his powers. It’s the same method he had used on his children.

Oikawa attempts to swallow the bile that climbs up his throat. Each word that passes through Iwaizumi’s lips sends a wave of nausea through his stomach; opening and reopening wounds that have barely healed. “Sorry,” he breathes as he quickly rises to his feet. The walls of the living room feel constricting and his throat aches as he desperately tries to draw in a single breath. His lungs feel empty; as if every trace of oxygen has instantly vanished from his body. He stumbles when he takes a shaky step forward and he hears himself mumble something along the lines of ‘I need to go’ as he quickly walks toward the garden. Behind him, Iwaizumi’s voice briefly pierces through the noise in his head, but Oikawa can’t quite make out the words.

By some miracle, he manages to make it outside. A gentle breeze greets him. It brushes along his forehead and cheeks, cooling his skin and pushing air into his lungs as he doubles over and presses his palms to his thighs. His chest feels painful yet empty; as though it lacks a heartbeat. He searches for it, yet all he finds is a chasm, an abyss.

His breaths rattle his chest; tearing through his throat in the form of rough exhales. They’re sharp and quick. As if there isn’t enough oxygen in his lungs—as if he’s fighting to keep every bit of air inside his body. A dull ache makes itself known between his temples just as he releases a shaky breath. He blinks rapidly; again and again, in an attempt to stave off the tears that threaten to spill. They burn through him like fire, and he swallows past the ache in his throat as they roll down his cheeks.

A sob is muffled against his palm; a broken sound he doesn’t recognize as his own. It feels as if everything he’s kept inside for the past week finally finds its way out. The feelings that had been festering inside of him claw their way out of his chest, shattering his ribcage in the process. It splinters, crumbling beneath the weight of the grief he carries in his heart.

His breath comes out in a strangled gasp just as the sound of his name travels through the air.

‘Oikawa’ he hears.

The voice is deep and familiar; concern wrapped around the syllables of his name.

Iwaizumi.

“Oikawa,” he says again, quieter this time.

A hand finds its way to Oikawa’s back and another one settles on his arm before he’s tugged upright. A blurred version of Iwaizumi stands in front of him, his face illuminated by the lights from inside the house. His lips move and Oikawa hears him mumble a very quiet ‘hey’. He repeats it, once, twice, thrice as he gently presses his palm to Oikawa’s cheek. “Hey… hey, Tooru,” he whispers, drawing him closer until his arms encircle Oikawa entirely. “It’s okay.”

Iwaizumi repeats it and Oikawa wants to object. He wants to object and shout, but instead, he releases another shaky breath as he leans into Iwaizumi’s embrace. His forehead touches Iwaizumi’s shoulder and his arms weakly wind themselves around his waist before he digs his fingers into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt. He clings to the garment, to Iwaizumi, to keep himself upright; to prevent himself from falling into that abyss that had grown inside his chest.

One of Iwaizumi’s palms rests against the base of Oikawa’s neck and he gently brushes his thumb back and forth over Oikawa’s skin. It does nothing to quell the grief that trashes inside of him like the unruly waves of the ocean, but it makes breathing a little easier. His next exhale feels a little less shaky, a little less strained. When he inhales deeply, the scent of mint and sandalwood greets him. It’s accompanied by a hint of orange. It smells familiar and Oikawa feels his muscles grow heavier with each inhale, with each stroke of Iwaizumi’s thumb over the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” Iwaizumi murmurs again, tightening his grip around Oikawa’s waist ever so slightly. It feels… nice. Comforting.

Tension bleeds out of Oikawa’s fingers and he sprawls them across Iwaizumi’s back. “I’m just so… tired,” he murmurs, his voice breaking off into a sigh. Whatever embarrassment or humiliation he felt upon realizing that Iwaizumi had most likely heard and seen him choke on his tears suddenly vanished—leaving nothing but fatigue and exhaustion in its wake. He doesn’t care what he looks like at the moment, or how utterly pathetic he must seem, he merely wants everything to stop for just a few minutes.

He wants the world to stop spinning; pausing for just a single moment so that he can catch his breath.

“I know,” Iwaizumi replies quietly. His fingers brush over Oikawa’s nape, gently sliding through his hair, and this time Oikawa sighs again; feeling a modicum of relief and a sliver of comfort. “You’ve been keeping everything inside.”

It’s a single observation. A simple sentence. Yet, it leaves Oikawa feeling bare. Exposed. The laugh that falls from his lips is a sad, little sound. “You could tell?”

Iwaizumi hums. “You’re easier to read than you think.”

“I think you’re just awfully observant.”

A chuckle escapes Iwaizumi’s throat and Oikawa feels the vibration in his own chest.

It feels nice.

“I have some experience with keeping things bottled up,” Iwaizumi admits after a moment. “I wasn’t much of a talker either.”

Oikawa keeps his forehead pressed to Iwaizumi’s shoulder, exhaling slowly through his mouth to regulate his breathing as Iwaizumi continues to drag his fingers through Oikawa’s hair very gently. “What changed?” he wonders.

“Therapy,” Iwaizumi tells him. “It’s kind of mandatory. We talk about the things we’ve seen and experienced over the years, and we learn how to process our thoughts and emotions. And sometimes we do a deep dive into our childhoods and the relationships with family and friends.” Another chuckle follows his words. “That’s the fun stuff.”

The corners of Oikawa’s mouth gently curl upwards. “I could use some of that,” he admits. “Mind forwarding me your therapist’s number?”

Amusement slips into Iwaizumi’s voice when he speaks again, low and quiet. “I’ll see what I can do.”

They remain like that for another moment, arms wrapped around each other until Iwaizumi gently taps his thumb against Oikawa’s nape twice before turning his head to look at him. Oikawa mimics the movements, barely turning his head to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze. It’s easy to get lost in the warmth of those green eyes. He remembers the way Iwaizumi had looked at him earlier that day as they stood across from one another on the training mats. The intensity in his gaze had been accompanied by something warm and fond. It left Oikawa hypnotized, unable to look away as they exchanged blows with the wooden staffs Iwaizumi had picked out for them. The ache in his muscles was ever present, but ultimately ignored and forgotten as found himself caught in the web of Iwaizumi’s gaze.

He finds himself caught in that same web once more; arms and legs wrapped in silk strands and leaving him unable to move. All he can do is stare. He watches the movements of Iwaizumi’s lips, observing the way they curl around the syllables of his words. “Are you ready to head inside?” he asks Oikawa quietly. “Hiro and Issei went home. And I think my parents headed upstairs, too.”

Mortification creeps up on him, embarrassment spreading through his chest. Oikawa releases a quiet groan. “God, I feel so embarrassed. I probably looked like an idiot; running outside like that.”

Iwaizumi offers him a smile, small and reassuring. “Don’t be,” he says, “we all know how hard it’s been for you the past week. It’s a lot to process at once.”

“Still,” Oikawa counters, “It’s been hard for you, too. Staying with me every minute of the day and protecting me constantly. On top of that, you almost lost your friend yesterday and then today you met… Rei.”

“Yeah, my therapist is gonna have a field day with that one.”

Despite the involuntary laugh that bubbles up his throat, Oikawa gives Iwaizumi’s side a quick pinch. “I’m serious, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi flinches, which shouldn’t amuse Oikawa as much as it does before he slides his hand down Oikawa’s neck and rests it atop his shoulder. (Oikawa almost immediately misses the warmth of Iwaizumi’s palm). The arm around him disappears as well when Iwaizumi pulls away slightly to look at him properly. “I know,” he says, pausing before speaking again. “C’mon, let’s go back inside.”

Oikawa gives a quick nod, inhaling deeply before rubbing his eyes. He follows Iwaizumi back into the house to find the living room empty and Iwaizumi tells him to head upstairs while he steps into the kitchen and rummages through the cabinets.

Upon arriving in Iwaizumi’s room, Oikawa climbs onto the bed and allows himself to fall onto his back. His gaze settles on the white ceiling and his mind wanders; thinking of what Iwaizumi had said when they sat in the living room earlier that night.

Kazuo. The demon gate. Blood magic. The Blood Moon.

An arm is draped over his eyes and he digs his teeth into his lower lip with more force than necessary, hoping the sting will distract him from the despair that has cemented itself in his heart.

“Hey.”

Iwaizumi’s voice surprises him and Oikawa is quick to remove his arm before sitting upright. The first thing he notices is the two mugs Iwaizumi had brought along. The second thing he notices is the bag of chips tucked underneath Iwaizumi’s right arm. “Scoot,” Iwaizumi instructs, handing Oikawa the blue mug and dumping the chips bag onto the bed before lowering himself onto the bed as well.

Oikawa wordlessly obliges, accepting the mug with a quiet ‘thank you’. The warmth of the mug seeps into his palms, providing a sense of comfort he didn’t know he needed. He shifts until his back is pressed against Iwaizumi’s wall; one leg pulled against his chest and the mug settled between his palms as he takes slow sips. Next to him, Iwaizumi assumes the same position. The bag of chips sits between them.

“How do you feel now?” Iwaizumi asks between sips, briefly handing his mug to Oikawa so that he can open the bag of chips. After grabbing a handful of the salty treats, he takes his mug back.

“Kinda the same,” Oikawa admits, keeping his lips pressed against the rim of the mug. His gaze settles on Iwaizumi’s desk. A single item sits atop it. A blue lamp. “Confused. Scared. Tired. Angry.”

When he looks back at Iwaizumi, he finds that Iwaizumi is already looking at him. He rubs a thumb over the rim of his mug while nudging the bag of chips toward Oikawa. It pulls a chuckle from Oikawa, who is oddly charmed by the simple gesture. He reaches inside the bag, grabs a handful of chips, and gently plops a few into his mouth. “What about you?” he asks between bites.

Iwaizumi offers him a long hum as he sips his tea. The mug is discarded after a moment and he pulls the chips bag into his lap as he gently lets his head rest against the wall. “Same,” he says eventually, glancing upwards. “Confused. Scared. Tired. Angry.”

And yet, he’d pushed all of those feelings inside to comfort Oikawa in his parents’ garden, minutes after meeting his birth mother for the first time.

God, Oikawa feels like a fucking idiot.

He observes the lines of Iwaizumi’s face, the frown on his lips, the furrow of his brows, and something inside him wants to reach out to him. His gaze drifts toward Iwaizumi’s hand, but hesitation wraps itself around his limbs. It leaves him immobilized. Instead, he asks: “Are you glad that you met her?”

It’s a loaded question, and Oikawa briefly wonders if he might be overstepping Iwaizumi’s boundaries.

Iwaizumi remains silent for a moment as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know,” he answers, “I—didn’t know what to expect.”

He pauses before speaking again. “For years I’d kind of wondered what she would be like. What she would look like. What she would sound like. I wondered if she was alive, or if some other hunter had killed her. It’s not that I thought about her every day, but… you get curious, you know?”

Oikawa hums quietly in response.

“At some point, I stopped thinking about her,” Iwaizumi continues, a sigh falling from his lips. “I kind of accepted that I’d probably never meet her. And I was okay with that. Then… all of this happened. Stronger demons showed up, my friends got hurt, you got hurt, and I felt so… powerless.”

He laughs. A humorless, dejected sound that makes something inside of Oikawa’s chest twist painfully. His fingers twitch where they rest atop the mattress, slowly moving toward Iwaizumi’s hand until they brush against Iwaizumi’s fingers. The touch is gentle; a tender caress that says ‘hey, I’m here for you’.

Iwaizumi’s hand is still as warm as before when Oikawa slides their fingers together. He remains quiet while Iwaizumi continues.

“She knew why I came to visit her, and she tore me a new one. Told me to accept all parts of myself. Human and demon. And, the thing is… she’s right. I know she’s right,” he explains, eyes falling shut momentarily. “And, in a way, I do accept all parts of myself. I’m just… scared, you know? Of what will happen. Would I become like her? Would I lose control and hurt my friends and family?”

Hesitation colors Iwaizumi’s voice as he opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Oikawa. Hurt flashes through his eyes, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his mouth. There’s a certain vulnerability inside of him Oikawa had caught a glimpse of before, but it’s different now. It cracks at the edges, chipping away piece by piece. “What if the very thing I need to protect those I care about ends up corrupting my soul?” he wonders quietly.

The pieces of Oikawa’s heart that had been broken and shattered were carefully reattached by gentle hands, accompanied by kind words. Iwaizumi had shown him patience and kindness when there was nothing but chaos and discord. He’d broken rules for him, ignored protocol, and taken risks to ensure Oikawa’s safety. He’d protected him, sat with him; comforting and reassuring him each time doubt began to creep into Oikawa’s mind. He pushed and pushed through the noise, bringing him back from the imaginary ledge, and now Oikawa sits here—in Iwaizumi’s childhood room, on his old bed, wondering how he could ever begin to repay him.

He wishes Iwaizumi could see himself the way Oikawa did. He wishes Iwaizumi could see how brave he is, how kind he is, how smart he is, and how strong he is.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Oikawa says after a moment. “It’s okay to feel all of those things, but you’re much stronger than you think,” he adds, squeezing Iwaizumi’s fingers between his own. “I’ve only known you for a few days, Iwa-chan, but I know how kind and thoughtful you are. You went out of your way for someone you barely knew, risking your own life repeatedly to keep mine safe.”

He releases a chuckle, noting the way Iwaizumi’s eyes widen slightly, and adds: “Even when I’m not in danger and having a stupid panic attack, the first thing you do is come after me.”

“Well, you were upset,” Iwaizumi murmurs.

“And you had just gotten back from meeting Rei in a different dimension,” Oikawa points out. “You had your own things to work through and worry about, but you pushed your troubles aside to comfort me.”

When Iwaizumi remains silent, unable to refute Oikawa’s argument, Oikawa offers him a smile. “You’re caring and protective. I’ve witnessed it firsthand,” begins. “I’ve seen the way you look after others and how much your friends and family love and respect you. You would never hurt the people you care about because you have a kind heart—and that will never change.”

He doesn’t know if he’s saying the right things, but Oikawa hopes that his words can reassure Iwaizumi—even if it’s just a little. His free hand brushes over the duvet as he says, “I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and from the moment I met you, I knew I could trust you. Even though you were trying to be all cool and mysterious.”

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, a rebuttal already forming on his lips. “I wasn’t trying to be cool and mysterious, I was being careful,” he explains, to which Oikawa releases a skeptical hum. He remembers the first time he’d seen Iwaizumi on a gloomy Monday morning, dressed in a white shirt and dark trousers; his expression neutral and unreadable. He’d observed Oikawa momentarily and Oikawa studied him in return, taking in the width of his shoulders, the green of his eyes, and the slight downward curve of his lips. In a way, Iwaizumi had surprised him and Oikawa remembers being momentarily stunned at the sight of the rather attractive stranger on his grandmother’s doorstep.

“Really? That’s the part you’re focusing on?” Oikawa quips, earning another quiet laugh from Iwaizumi. He allows his gaze to travel toward their hands, observing the way Iwaizumi’s fingers are gently curled around his own. His skin is decorated with old, faded scars. They’re similar to the ones Oikawa had seen on his arms and back, though these are much smaller.

He briefly wonders about the stories behind each mark.

Those thoughts are interrupted when Iwaizumi gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and says, “Thank you, though.”

The smile on his lips grows a little larger and Oikawa wonders if he’s imagining the flush that settled on Iwaizumi’s cheekbones. He absentmindedly brushes his thumb over the back of Iwaizumi’s hand, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the dangers they will inevitably face. He focuses on the warmth of Iwaizumi’s skin, the slight roughness of his palm, and the scar tissue that feels surprisingly soft beneath his own thumb.

Perhaps in another life, they could’ve sat together like this; their fingers intertwined and Oikawa’s head possibly resting atop Iwaizumi’s shoulder as they talked about their day. Oikawa would tell him about his latest findings and a particularly interesting paper he’d read that day, while Iwaizumi would inform him about a new treatment plan he’d been working on. They would talk about students and patients; energetic coworkers and mildly annoying bosses with unrealistic expectations. Afterward, they’d prepare dinner together, hands brushing and hips bumping together as they’d move through the kitchen.

Iwaizumi would prepare a tasty meal that would earn him numerous compliments from Oikawa. Of course, he’d wave them off with a shrug and a shy smile, claiming that he ‘didn’t cook anything fancy’. (And, of course, Oikawa would object and inform him that all of Iwaizumi’s home-cooked meals were, in fact, very fancy and special to him).

Perhaps he’s getting ahead of himself—daydreaming about domestic bliss with a man he’s known for a handful of days. He doesn’t even know if they’ll make it out of this thing alive.

As his eyes land on their hands once more, something inside his chest squeezes together tightly.

If only, he thinks. If only we had more time.

“You’re welcome,” he says instead.

He observes the blank wall behind Iwaizumi, imagining the Godzilla and Kamen Rider posters that once decorated the walls of his room. A younger, more brash, version of Iwaizumi must have spent hours atop his bed, daydreaming about the variety of demons and paranormal entities he’d encounter one day. He imagines the way Iwaizumi’s eyes would light up with excitement at the prospect of embarking on missions with his two closest friends.

Oikawa thinks of his own childhood—of days spent consuming knowledge about those same paranormal entities and mythological creatures Iwaizumi had likely already encountered.

Maybe if they had met at an earlier age, they would’ve been friends. He likes to think they would have.

“No matter what happens,” Oikawa adds after a moment, gaze settling on Iwaizumi once more. “I’ll be here for you.”

His words are rewarded with another smile, another squeeze of his hand, though this time, Iwaizumi’s eyes seem a little brighter than before. Just a fraction. Hope blooms in Oikawa’s chest.

“I’ll be here for you, too,” Iwaizumi promises.

Oikawa believes him.

Once the mugs are emptied and three-quarters of the chips have been consumed, they each get ready for bed. Oikawa rummages through the clothing Iwaizumi had retrieved from Oikawa’s apartment earlier that day, and Iwaizumi quietly wonders if he’d packed the right things. Oikawa chuckles, explaining that the sweats Iwaizumi had grabbed happened to be his favorite pair. “It’s almost as if you knew,” he jokes.

Once they’re both settled in, darkness having fallen over the room like a heavy blanket, Oikawa finds that sleep doesn’t come easy that night; his mind refuses to quiet down. It leaves him staring at the ceiling, eyelids heavy but not heavy enough for them to fall shut. He twists and turns, attempting to make himself comfortable in a bed that’s not his own. The pillow beneath his head is soft, the duvet that covers his body is comforting and the mattress feels firm yet comfortable. It’s all quite perfect, and yet.

Thoughts infiltrate his mind; hypothetical scenarios that leave him frightened. He thinks of his relatives, of his cousins, of his aunt, and he wonders how long his uncle had known about the history of their family. Is it possible that he’s not in control of his actions, but merely corrupted by the demon that has likely possessed his body?

Oikawa’s confusion grows with every second that passes. Even though he has finally found the answers he’d been looking for, another slew of questions race through his mind. Had his grandparents known about the hidden room? Are his parents and sister in danger? And how will he begin to explain the sudden disappearance and gruesome murders of their relatives?

A sigh leaves his lips just as he rolls onto his back. When he turns his head to glance at Iwaizumi, he discovers that Iwaizumi seems to be awake as well. His eyes are glued to the ceiling, one arm tucked beneath his head, and Oikawa wonders if he’s reflecting on his brief ‘expedition’ toward the Otherworld. (Which seems rather terrifying if you were to ask him).

“Can’t sleep?” Oikawa asks quietly. Iwaizumi turns his head upon hearing the question, his gaze finding Oikawa’s, and even in the darkness, Oikawa can see the concern in his eyes. The question is met with a quick shake of Iwaizumi’s head and Oikawa rolls onto his side, shuffling toward the edge of the bed to properly look at Iwaizumi.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks suddenly. It earns him a confused look from Iwaizumi, whose brows knit together.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Just curious,” Oikawa tells him. “So? What is it?”

A chuckle falls from Iwaizumi’s lips before he says, “Green.”

“Fitting,” Oikawa comments. “Mine’s blue. What’s your favorite food?”

This time, Iwaizumi narrows his gaze before rolling onto his side to glance up at Oikawa from where he’s lying on the futon. “...Agedashi tofu,” he answers skeptically, “And katsudon.”

At this, Oikawa releases a long, thoughtful hum. “Haven’t had katsudon in a while,” he admits, wondering if his pantry and fridge are stocked with the necessary items to prepare the rice bowl. He can’t even remember the last time he’d cooked a proper meal. “My favorite food is milk bread. And fried chicken,” he adds after a moment, “oh, and any type of hot pot. Did you play a lot of sports growing up?”

Another laugh falls from Iwaizumi’s lips; short and amused. “I know what you’re doing.”

Oikawa feigns innocence, his brows rising upward as he says, “What am I doing? I’m just curious.”

Luckily, Iwaizumi humors him. He explains that he didn’t partake in any extracurricular activities throughout middle school or high school, given that most of his free time was spent studying and training. “I liked playing soccer and baseball in elementary school,” he tells Oikawa. “But after I got my powers, I had to train with my family and the other hunters almost every day. But, I do like martial arts, though, so it wasn’t all bad.”

Oikawa learns a few more things about Iwaizumi. His birthday is June 10th, which makes him a Gemini, and his favorite music genre is rock. Though, he’ll listen to pretty much anything. His favorite season is summer and he prefers sunsets over sunrise. He’s not really a morning person, but he enjoys going on morning runs with Ren. He likes his job and he has a pretty good relationship with most of his clients. (Apparently, he works with a lot of professional athletes). In his spare time, he likes to go hiking, and sometimes Matsukawa and Hanamaki accompany him, but most of the time he goes by himself. With Ren, of course.

When Oikawa asks about the facial scars, Iwaizumi explains that the scar across his right eyebrow is the result of a scuffle with a four-armed demon during one of his first missions as a hunter. He mentions that he has another scar on the side of his neck, courtesy of that same demon. Two years later, right after he turned seventeen, he’d been sparring with Matsukawa and sustained a cut across his upper and lower lip. (“We were messing around with a pair of kusarigama.”)

As they discuss their favorite snacks, he tells Oikawa that he’s quite fond of Suika bars; mentioning that the watermelon-flavored popsicles remind him of his childhood. However, the Gari Gari-kun popsicles are a close second. Oikawa laughs, admitting that he’s never eaten a Gari Gari-kun popsicle despite their popularity.

“I’ll buy you one then,” Iwaizumi decides. “You’ve gotta try ‘em.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Oikawa grins. “Okay, next question: sweet or salty popcorn?”

Iwaizumi purses his lips in thought, releasing a short hum. “Both,” he answers eventually.

Oikawa grimaces. “You like sweet popcorn?”

“I don’t prefer one over the other,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug.

“I’m starting to question your taste, Iwa-chan…”

“You like mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

“It’s very refreshing!”

Iwaizumi’s laughter travels through the room; a quiet but deep sound that causes Oikawa’s heart to stutter inside his chest. The corners of his mouth curve upwards and he’s unable to hold back the laughter that bubbles up in his throat. It feels nice to be able to laugh about something as trivial as ice cream. He could spend hours listening to the smooth timbre of Iwaizumi’s voice; whether they’re discussing food preferences or talking about their favorite hobbies.

“Thank you for this,” Iwaizumi says afterward. “It helped.”

He’s still smiling at Oikawa, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Oikawa wants to see him like this all the time; happy and unguarded. He hides his own smile in his pillow as he rolls onto his stomach, humming quietly in response. “I might’ve had some ulterior motives.”

“Oh, really?” Iwaizumi quips.

Another hum vibrates through Oikawa’s throat. “I wanted to get to know you better.”

“Sounds like you got what you wanted then,” Iwaizumi muses.

Almost, Oikawa thinks.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

It’s a little after nine a.m. when Oikawa blinks awake the following morning. He spends roughly six minutes sitting upright in bed and looking around in a daze before ultimately realizing that he spent another night in Iwaizumi’s childhood bedroom. His dreams had been infiltrated with images of the past week; of blood-curdling screams and severed limbs. Sharp claws and even sharper teeth appeared before him so vividly; taunting him. He touches his shoulder, remembering the way the demon’s talons had buried themselves deep into his muscles, tearing through flesh and bone with ease.

He barely manages to repress a shiver.

A long exhale finds its way out of his throat as Oikawa rubs his eyes. He wills his heartbeat to slow down, reminding himself that he’s alive and safe. The futon on the bedroom floor has been rolled up and tucked away, indicating that Iwaizumi had woken up sometime before him.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he pads toward the kitchen where Iwaizumi tells him that they will head back to the warehouse immediately after breakfast. “We gotta tell everyone about your uncle’s plans,” he says, spooning some rice into a bowl before gesturing at the other bowl he’d prepared for Oikawa. Oikawa rubs his thumb over the rim of his mug, humming in agreement just as Ren shuffles into the kitchen. She rubs her nose against the side of his knee and he chuckles before reaching down to scratch behind her ear. It earns him a huff and a satisfied noise from the dog, who pads toward Iwaizumi seconds later. She’s quickly rewarded with another head rub and a few treats Iwaizumi pulls out of a small, green bag.

They finish their meals rather quickly before informing Iwaizumi’s parents that they’ll likely spend the majority of the day and evening at the warehouse once more. Iwaizumi’s mother offers them a smile, telling them to be careful as she follows them into the hallway. Just as Oikawa pushes his arms into the sleeves of his coat, she quietly mentions that his parents and sister are safe and being monitored by the hunters stationed outside of Tokyo. A sigh of relief escapes his throat and her smile widens while she gives his arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Oikawa-kun.”

He repeats the words mentally as he sits on the back of Iwaizumi’s motorcycle a few minutes later.

It’ll be okay.

Upon arriving at the warehouse, they’re immediately greeted by both Matsukawa and Hanamaki and it’s not lost on Oikawa that the large space seems even more crowded than the previous day. Numerous men and women dressed in black gear hastily walk back and forth, sporting matching frowns and looking rather concerned.

Iwaizumi’s grandfather pulls them aside after a moment, mentioning that demon signatures haven’t increased much. It leaves both Oikawa and Iwaizumi mildly confused as they observe the computer screens before them. Numerous red and blue dots continue to move across the digital map, indicating that various parts of the city had been crawling with demons and malicious spirits much like the previous days. “What is he planning?” Oikawa mumbles to himself.

There isn’t much time to ponder his uncle’s supposed strategy, because a familiar voice pulls him away from the numerous computers mere seconds later. Nao greets him with an easy smile, explaining that he’s to resume his training as they walk toward the training area. Much like the previous day, she begins monitoring his vitals and he finds himself once again hooked up to various machines whilst walking on a treadmill.

“How’s he doing?” Hanamaki asks after a few minutes, appearing at his sister’s side. “Everything still looking good?”

Oikawa thinks he hears her say something along the lines of ‘his vitals are good; he’s stable’ just as he breaks into a light jog. The mask covering the lower half of his face emits a soft, blueish glow with each exhale that passes through his lips.

“Magical output looks good,” Nao comments from where she’s seated behind a large monitor. “How do you feel, Oikawa-kun?”

Oikawa shoots her a thumbs up before picking up the pace. He spends roughly forty-five minutes on the treadmill, steadily increasing the speed of his strides until his muscles ache and his lungs burn with each inhale. Numbers flash across the screen in front of him, accompanied by the constant beeping of the machine, but he ignores them, keeping his gaze trained on a single spot on a dark wall in the distance.

He’s vaguely aware of Hanamaki’s presence, who’d chosen to remain at his sister’s side whilst Oikawa kept running. His gaze darts between Oikawa and the monitors, and Oikawa thinks he hears him say ‘you can stop now’. Though, rather than following Hanamaki’s instructions, he pushes himself to run a little faster. He pushes past the pain in his legs, ignoring the stinging sensation in his chest until he’s left gasping for air.

Hanamaki appears at his side rather quickly. “All right, that’s enough,” he decides, pressing the red button at the bottom of the console and promptly shutting down the machine. Oikawa stumbles to a halt, his hands flying out to steady himself as he attempts to maintain his balance.

“We need you alive, you know?”

Oikawa manages to remove the mask and he releases a breathless laugh before pushing his hair away from his forehead. Sweat clings to his skin and he rubs a hand over his forehead and along his cheeks while Hanamaki carefully removes some of the electrodes that had been attached to his chest, arms, and legs. “I was just trying to see how fast I could go,” he explains. “Was it better than yesterday’s result?”

“Looked like it,” Hanamaki says, frowning. “You good?”

Oikawa nods, taking the towel Hanamaki hands him moments later and pressing the water bottle to his lips before stepping off the treadmill. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Like the previous day, Hanamaki and his sister guide him through a variety of exercises. They explain that they’re looking to see if Oikawa’s physical results might’ve changed in the past forty-eight hours while his body continues to adjust to the magic that resides inside of it. He flexes his hand a few times as he observes his palm. Blue energy coats his fingertips, gliding across his skin until it covers his entire hand. It feels different compared to the previous day. As if the energy has increased somehow. There’s a rush of power that comes with it; a sensation unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

He focuses on that sensation, gathering more energy in his palm before molding it into the shape of a sphere. It moves back and forth, following the movements of his fingers until he attempts to manipulate its shape once more. Rather than stretching into the shape he wants it to be, the sphere collapses. Oikawa scowls, wondering why the energy refuses to cooperate when Nao approaches him. She’s joined by a dark-haired woman who’s roughly as tall as Oikawa, if not taller. Whereas the majority of the hunters that roam through the warehouse are dressed in matching black ensembles, she’s wearing a pair of light-wash denim jeans and a white blouse. The sleeves of her shirt are rolled up, revealing tan skin and a rather large scar along her left forearm. Though, that’s not the only scar that captures Oikawa’s attention. Like Iwaizumi, she seems to have a cut across her upper lip and he’s briefly reminded of the story Iwaizumi had told him the previous night. Her hair is cut rather short, a little shorter than his own hair, with her bangs pushed toward the side as if she’d just run her fingers through her hair a few times.

Nao’s hand is pressed against the woman’s upper arm, a smile resting on her lips as she looks between both the woman and Oikawa. “Oikawa-kun, this is my wife: Hirano Rina,” she says, a hint of fondness slipping into her voice. Surprise washes over Oikawa, his brows rising slightly just as the woman—Hirano—offers him a quick bow. He mimics the gesture quickly, the words ‘nice to meet you’ slipping through his lips.

“Now that we’re done with your physical evaluation, Rina will take you aside and ask you a few questions,” Nao explains, “afterward, you’ll come back and we’ll resume your training.”

“Normally we would’ve done this yesterday, but I’ve been out of town,” Hirano explains, adjusting her grip around the leather jacket she keeps tucked beneath her arm. “Nao filled me in on what happened, so it won’t take too long.”

He gives a short hum in response. “So a psych evaluation of sorts?”

“Exactly,” Hirano replies, “Is that okay with you?”

Oikawa nods, “Yeah, of course. Lead the way, Hirano-san.”

As they leave the training area, Hirano explains that there are various offices and workspaces located throughout the warehouse. Oikawa wonders if there will ever be a moment when he doesn’t find himself surprised at the information that’s being provided to him. He remembers the quick tour Iwaizumi had given him, but it didn’t dawn on him how much there was left to discover. He’s fairly certain that, if left to his own devices, he’d get lost in this impossibly large space.

After they climb up a flight of stairs, Hirano takes them into one of the offices. She drapes her jacket over the desk chair before lowering herself onto the seat and instructing Oikawa to sit on one of the other chairs. A small notepad is placed on the desk and she scribbles something at the top of the page before lowering the pen.

“All right, Oikawa-kun,” she starts, leaning back into her seat as she crosses one leg over the other. “I’ll start with the easiest question: how are you feeling right now?”

An involuntary chuckle escapes Oikawa’s throat, “I think that might be the hardest question of all, Hirano-san.”

“How so?” she wonders. “Do you find it hard to explain how you feel?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, draping his right arm along the chair’s armrest. His fingers tap against the cold, metal frame as he recounts his conversation with Iwaizumi from the previous night. “Right now, I feel a bit apprehensive.”

Hirano hums in response. “Because of the evaluation?”

He nods.

“Why?”

“I’m worried about the outcome.”

“Why are you worried?” she asks.

“Wouldn’t you be?” he retorts, “if someone you barely knew decided to evaluate your mental state after you’ve experienced some pretty scary things?”

“Perhaps,” she admits, “but, it’s okay to be worried, though. You mind telling me about those things—despite your apprehension?”

He observes her for a moment, taking in the curve of her lips as she offers him a gentle smile. She has a kind face, he thinks. A calm and reassuring presence that reminds him of Iwaizumi in a way. One of her hands rests atop the desk; numerous silver rings decorate her fingers while a layer of black nail polish coats each nail. Amidst the collection of silver, a single gold band captures his attention. It’s similar to the ring he’d spotted on Nao’s finger and he watches as she brushes her thumb along the piece of jewelry.

He wonders how long they’ve been married.

As he adjusts himself in his seat, Oikawa takes a deep breath. “I started a week ago. Last Friday,” he begins. “After dinner with my family.”

Hirano nods, releasing a short hum before Oikawa slowly recounts the events of the past week. He’s not sure how much time passes, but by the time he’s done, his throat feels awfully dry. Hirano must notice it because she momentarily leaves the room—only to return with a glass of water. He thanks her, gratefully accepting the drink and finishing it in three long swigs.

A long sigh finds its way out of his throat; his shoulders sagging as he leans back in the chair. Across from him, Hirano scribbles down a few more words on her notepad before folding her hands together. “That’s quite the story,” she comments. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Well, you did ask,” Oikawa points out. (It earns him a chuckle).

“I did,” she agrees. “Are you still worried?”

“A little less so,” he admits.

“Did you find it hard to share all of that?”

He purses his lips in thought, keeping his fingers curled around the empty glass. The coldness of the cup seeps into his palm, cooling his skin. “Some parts, yes.”

As expected, she asks: “Which parts?”

“The part where I find out my uncle killed his wife and children to gain more power—and that I was next on his list,” he answers bluntly. “And that my family had been experimenting with forbidden magic hundreds of years ago. Once again, to gain more power.”

Hirano nods in understanding. “How did you feel when you discovered that?”

“Shocked. Angry,” Oikawa tells her, pausing before adding, “scared. But talking to Iwa-ch—Iwaizumi helped. He managed to calm me down afterward.”

He sighs afterward, eyelids falling shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His elbow is propped up on the armrest; his head slightly bowed. The conversation with Iwaizumi sits at the forefront of his mind and he presses a thumb against the spot between his brows, gently rubbing circles into his skin as he adds, “Sometimes I feel guilty.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he starts, his voice wavering, “I basically uprooted his life and dragged him and everybody else into this mess.”

The words come out a little harsher than he intended; frustration creeping into his voice and curling around his words. “I’m the reason those demons showed up at Hanamaki’s and Matsukawa’s home. If I hadn’t reached out to Iwaizumi in the first place… I wouldn’t have gone with him that day, and then maybe Matsukawa wouldn’t have gotten injured and then Hanamaki wouldn’t have had to use that damn technique that shortens his lifespan to save him. And—and maybe Iwaizumi wouldn’t have had to travel to some other fucking dimension to get some answers just to help me, and—”

His left hand covers his eyes, fingers trembling as they dig into his temple, and with each breath that escapes Oikawa’s lips, his chest aches. Each exhale is sharp and rough, echoing through the small room. He bites at his lower lip momentarily, teeth digging harshly into his skin while his other hand is curled into a tight fist.

“Oikawa-kun,” Hirano says calmly, “I understand that you might feel responsible for this situation, but none of it is your fault.”

A pause follows her words before she adds: “Both you and Iwaizumi were in danger and he made the decision to bring you with him to ensure your safety. From what I’ve heard from you and others, it was an unusual situation and he handled it correctly by getting you out of that house. Neither of you could have predicted that the demons would be tracking you.”

There’s truth to her words—he knows it—yet, the guilt persists. Ever since that day, it had nestled itself in his chest, expanding with each breath he took. Every night he would ask himself over and over: what could I have done to prevent this?

Questions would plague his mind as he tightly curled his fingers around the pillow beneath his head.

Is this my fault?

Have I put them in danger?

Will they die because of me?

At night, Matsukawa’s screams echoed through his mind as Oikawa kept replaying the moment over and over. He’d think of blood-covered bodies and broken sobs. Fear crawled across his skin and made a home in the center of his chest. It would sit there, eating away at him, accompanied by guilt. How much grief could a heart carry?

“Oikawa-kun,” Hirano repeats after a moment, her voice gentle. “You were merely a victim.”

This time he raises his head and it feels as though the world starts to move again. The weight of her words crash into him, pushing past the doubts and fear that had interwoven themselves within the marrow of his bones. The pressure in his chest doesn’t disappear entirely, but it subsides gently, slowly.

“All of us—me, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa—have been trained to deal with these types of situations. We know the risks that come with every mission,” she explains.

He’s reminded of the words Iwaizumi had spoken in the attic. A sad smile painted his features and a quiet admission slipped past his lips.

‘It comes with the job.’

“You should not be the one to shoulder the blame for a situation you had no control over.”

He swallows, throat working to pull the words to the surface. “It’s hard.”

The confession is met with a sympathetic smile from Hirano as she says, “I can imagine.”

A long exhale follows before Oikawa presses both hands to his face. He exhales again, forcing himself to relax his shoulders. The tightness in his muscles vanishes slowly, bit by bit until he relaxes against the chair. Once his hands are lowered, he folds them together into his lap.

“I’m sorry all of this has happened to you,” Hirano adds. “It’s a lot to process all at once.”

“It is,” Oikawa says with a nod, clearing his throat. “This helped.”

“I’m glad it did.”

They remain in the room for a few more minutes, during which Oikawa slowly begins to explain his relationship with his various family members. He speaks of the bond he shares with his sister, the indifference between him and his parents, and the animosity between him and his late cousins. He talks about his grandmother, and how much he respects her.

The mention of his uncle leaves a bitter taste in his mouth; disbelief and anger bleeding together as he talks about the strained relationship between the two of them. He mentions his other uncle, who had passed away some time ago, and his aunt who refuses to associate with the rest of the family, explaining that he understands quite well why she decided to cut ties with their relatives and move to Okayama. (If she decided to leave the country altogether, he wouldn’t blame her).

His relationship with his grandfather was, for lack of a better word, non-existing. He can barely remember their last conversation. From what Oikawa can remember, he was a rather strict man who spent the majority of his time holed up in his office. In his family, compliments and kind words were a rarity whereas snide remarks were a regular occurrence. ‘You are and always will be expendable’ might as well have been the family motto. Along with: ‘If you are of no value to us, you have no value altogether’.

Sentences such as ‘good job, you did well’ were never spoken out loud. Instead, words like ‘you can do better’ echoed through every room.

Do better.

Work harder.

Make us proud.

Do not embarrass us.

The words haunted him. They were his very own ghosts. Spectres that drifted through the hallways of his home, his schools, his office; constantly reminding him that he would never be good enough.

“God,” Oikawa mumbles after a moment of contemplation; a sound that sits somewhere between a laugh and a scoff leaving his throat, “this must sound awfully pathetic.”

“Pathetic isn’t the word I’d use,” Hirano replies. “But it is sad that the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally aren’t giving you the love you deserve.” She pauses, smiles; all sincerity and kindness. “And you are worthy and deserving of love, Oikawa-kun.”

It’s such a simple statement, yet her words leave him wide-eyed. Melancholy is replaced by a reprieve. A breathless laugh finds its way out. His chest feels a little lighter. Warmth returns to his skin, reminding him that yes, he is alive.

Yes, he has a place in this world. A path he carved out for himself.

“Hirano-san,” Oikawa starts, “please don’t take it the wrong way when I say this but, where have you been all my life?”

She smiles. “Busy hunting demons.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

They return to the training area afterward, with Hirano pulling Oikawa briefly aside before they join the others once more.

“Should you want to talk to someone, we do have a few therapists who're pretty great,” she tells him. “I could reach out to them for you.”

He nods; a smile forming on his lips. “I think that would be nice, yes. Thank you.”

While Hirano immediately walks over to her wife, who greets her with a smile, Oikawa’s eyes search for Iwaizumi. He spots him a few meters away, donning his training gear while Hanamaki and Matsukawa observe him from a distance. Hanamaki’s eyes dart between Iwaizumi and the monitor before shooting his friend a quick thumbs up. Almost immediately, Iwaizumi removes his necklace, and Oikawa’s eyes widen when the pendant transforms into a large broadsword. He gives the sword an experimental twirl, brows knit together in concentration, before taking a deep breath. From what Oikawa can see, Hanamaki punches a few buttons. Mere seconds later, numerous holographic demons appear all around Iwaizumi. Oikawa recognizes them, realizing that they’re similar to the holograms they used during target practice.

“Start,” he hears Hanamaki shout.

Iwaizumi adjusts his grip around the sword before he dashes forward, swinging the weapon at the first target. It slices through the hologram instantly, though he has to duck away to avoid being attacked by one of the other demons. The blade finds its second target rather quickly and before Oikawa knows it, Iwaizumi is slicing his way through the group of holographic demons with ease.

Sweat gathers above his brow, muscles straining with effort as he continues to wield the sword. Oikawa’s eyes travel along the length of Iwaizumi’s arms, watching as he adjusts his grip once more to hold the weapon with one hand before taking a large step back, angling his body sideways, and slicing the blade through three targets that had been standing behind him.

The fabric of the dark tank top clings to his frame and from where Oikawa is standing, he’s able to spot the lines of black ink that decorate Iwaizumi’s shoulder blade. A tiger approaching its prey. Byakko’s image is etched into Iwaizumi’s skin; a guardian and its hunter. He finds himself unable to look away, enthralled by the way Iwaizumi’s muscles flex and contract beneath his skin. Warmth floods his cheeks, traveling down his neck until it reaches his sternum when he remembers the way Iwaizumi’s arms had been tightly wrapped around his body the previous night. He’d held Oikawa against him; his fingers brushing back and forth over Oikawa’s nape as the gentle beat of his heart reverberated against Oikawa’s chest. Oikawa had clung to him, feeling the warmth of Iwaizumi’s skin beneath his fingertips as he splayed his hand along Iwaizumi’s back. He’d been so focused on the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt, the warmth of his body, and the way his voice spoke Oikawa’s name. Soft and reassuring.

‘Tooru’.

He pushes those memories aside as he watches Iwaizumi now. He moves with purpose, with bold strikes and large swings, and although Oikawa has seen him execute these movements before, there’s something different now. When Iwaizumi dodges one of the holographic demons, he widens his stance and it seems as though he’s tightening his grip around the sword handle. He lifts the weapon a little higher than before, wisps of red energy traveling along the blade. Oikawa’s eyes widen momentarily, watching as the red energy increases bit by bit before Iwaizumi slams the sword down and slices through his last target. A quiet gasp escapes his throat when the ground briefly trembles beneath his feet.

Someone releases a loud whistle. He thinks it’s Matsukawa.

It’s then that Iwaizumi halts his movements, exhaling roughly as he uses the sword to steady himself. Oikawa can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but he seems to aim a tired smile at Hanamaki, who offers him a nod of approval in return.

He momentarily thinks back to their conversation on Iwaizumi’s bed and how apprehensive he’d been to follow Rei’s instructions and utilize his demon magic. Oikawa wonders if Iwaizumi’s ability to wield the sword a little longer, and the sudden red energy that began to pour from his fingertips, is a direct result of that.

As he steps closer, he watches the sword transform into a necklace once more. Iwaizumi barely has the time to slip the chain over his head when someone calls out his name. Right after he wipes a hand over his forehead, he’s promptly tackled to the ground by a man with short, bleached hair. Oikawa’s brows shoot upwards, mild shock overtaking his features as he watches Iwaizumi and the man roll around on the training mats. Laughter travels through the air as two other hunters step closer to the mat. One of them scoffs—a silver-haired man in his mid-twenties says, “Couldn’t leave him alone for one second, could you?”

Despite his tone, Oikawa notices the amusement that flashes through his eyes. The man next to him looks around the same age. He is a few centimeters shorter than his friend, with black hair and gray eyes. He folds his arms across his chest, releasing a quiet snort. “You know how they get.”

Oikawa glances at Iwaizumi and the blond man once more. The latter appears to kick Iwaizumi in the stomach, but Iwaizumi manages to block the kick before grabbing the man’s leg and flinging him to the other side of the room where he crashes into a group of sparring dummies. He doesn’t miss the grin that sits on Iwaizumi’s lips. It’s a little wild and… mischievous. Oikawa remembers witnessing it up close; a flush on his cheeks, sweat cooling on his skin, his eyes bright and filled with fire.

It’s quite wonderful to see.

Iwaizumi laughs when the other hunter throws something at him. A knife of sorts—which he narrowly avoids before three more knives are tossed his way. One of the blades brushes past his left leg, barely skimming it, and it sounds like he’s taunting his sparring partner when said partner dashes toward him with impeccable speed. He uses his entire weight to slam into Iwaizumi, whose feet skid across the floor in an attempt to stop himself from tumbling backward. Despite his physical prowess, he’s unable to maintain his balance and he finds himself knocked to the ground once more. Fortunately, he uses the momentum to roll backward while pulling the other man with him. Almost immediately, he kicks his legs out and Oikawa watches as the blond is roughly kicked off Iwaizumi. He manages to land on his feet—somehow—before Iwaizumi advances toward him. They continue exchanging blows at a brutal pace and Oikawa almost doesn’t want to blink; afraid that he’ll miss something.

The only other time he’s seen Iwaizumi fight like this was when he’d been faced with a bunch of demons and other grotesque creatures.

And despite it all, despite the blood that trickles down the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth, painting the pink of his lips crimson, he smiles.

He grins.

Just like his sparring partner, who seems to have a bloodied nose but appears to be enjoying himself thoroughly.

Oikawa doesn’t know how long their match continues, but at some point, Iwaizumi has the man pinned down. His attempts to escape are futile and even though he’d put up quite a fight, it seems that Iwaizumi emerges victorious in the end. “Tap out, Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi says, his voice strained yet laced with amusement.

The man—named Kyoutani—grumbles something unintelligible, which only causes Iwaizumi to tighten his grip. “Tap. Out.”

Another moment passes until Kyoutani taps a hand weakly on one of the mats. Mere seconds later, Iwaizumi releases him and rolls away before getting to his feet. He wipes the back of his hand across his bottom lip in an attempt to remove some of the blood, wincing momentarily when he thumbs at the cut. His hand is then extended toward Kyoutani, who curls his fingers around Iwaizumi’s palm and pulls himself upward. They both laugh before Iwaizumi claps him on the shoulder; giving him a slight push afterward.

Oikawa hadn’t even noticed that Hanamaki joined him until he feels a sudden weight on his left shoulder. Hanamaki’s arm is draped across Oikawa’s shoulder as he jerks his chin toward Iwaizumi and Kyoutani. “They do that a lot,” he explains.

“You don’t say,” Oikawa murmurs, wondering whether he should be amazed or terrified by that display of power. “I didn’t think there was anyone strong enough who could keep up with Iwa-chan.”

“You wound me,” Hanamaki drawls.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Hanamaki snorts, gesturing at Kyoutani. “Kyoutani is one of the best when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. They’ve got this weird little rivalry going on.” He points at the two other men who had been standing aside. “The one with the silver hair is Yahaba—his boyfriend. And the other one is Watari.”

He releases a loud whistle afterward. “Oi, oi, you three! Come say hi!”

All three men look up simultaneously before approaching the two of them, a mixture of curiosity (Yahaba) and apprehension (Kyoutani) settling on their features. Once they come to a halt in front of the pair, Oikawa’s attention is immediately drawn to the numerous tattoos that decorate Kyoutani’s arms. He counts two wolves, one snake, one fox, a bird he can’t quite identify, a black panther, and many other animals. Colorful and detailed images are printed across tan skin, covering every part of his arms, and Oikawa momentarily wonders which tattoo is meant to represent Kyoutani’s family guardian. His eyes are a light shade of brown, almost hazel-like, and appear to be lined with black kohl liner. They’re sharp and deep-set; regarding Oikawa with suspicion and narrowed ever so slightly while his lips are pulled into a frown. A large scar cuts diagonally across the center of his face; stretching from the spot below his right eye to his left cheek.

He seems to have mastered a perfect way of conveying ‘don’t fuck with me’ without uttering a single word.

Interesting, Oikawa thinks.

“This is Oikawa Tooru. Man of the hour,” Hanamaki says, clapping him on the shoulder. Like mere moments before, he gestures at each of the men before them. “These guys are Kyoutani Kentarou, Yahaba Shigeru, and Watari Shinji. One of the many teams, or units, within the Seijoh Group.”

Yahaba is the first one to offer him a short bow. He’s slightly taller than Kyoutani, with silver-gray hair, round, brown eyes, and a kind face. Whereas his boyfriend seems rather guarded, he appears to be intrigued by Oikawa. “The one chosen by Seiryuu,” he recounts, “we heard about you. Nice to meet you, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa bows in return, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just Oikawa is fine. Nice to meet you, too.”

Watari mimics the gesture just as Iwaizumi walks toward them and says, “Watari’s the one who helped us take care of the damage in your uncle’s home. And the damage in your cousins' apartments as well.”

Watari nods at Iwaizumi’s words, a sympathetic smile playing on his lips. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa replies, his jaw tightening briefly. He forces himself to smile regardless. “And thank you for the help. Iwa-chan told me about your… protocol.”

Matsukawa joins them mere seconds later, his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers as he comes to a halt next to Iwaizumi. “The bodies, or rather the remains—sorry—are in the morgue right now. They’ve been cleansed and all that’s left is for them to be cremated.”

Images of torn flesh and bloodied sheets flash through Oikawa’s mind. He can almost smell the stench of a corpse and he swallows roughly when he remembers that Iwaizumi was only able to find severed limbs in the two apartments belonging to his cousins. “When will that happen?”

“Likely tomorrow. You still okay with that?” Matsukawa asks him. Like Watari, sympathy coats his words; a barely there smile decorating his face.

Oikawa nods. “Yeah, thank you, Mattsun.”

Hanamaki gives Oikawa’s shoulder a small squeeze before steering him back toward the training mats. “All right, time for the fun stuff,” he announces, “Watari, you got the stuff?”

(While it may seem as though Hanamaki suddenly interrupts their conversation, Oikawa is quite grateful for his interference).

Watari releases a short hum and Oikawa glances behind him, only to see that he’s carrying a large, black case. He crouches down before pressing his thumb against a fingerprint sensor. A quiet click follows before he’s able to open the case, revealing a black, mechanical gauntlet of sorts. “It’s still a beta version,” he explains, looking between Hanamaki and Oikawa as he holds the gauntlet in both hands. “But it should get the job done.”

“What’s that?” Oikawa wonders just as Watari pushes himself to his feet. Up close, Oikawa can see the small scar near his hairline. He has kind eyes, Oikawa thinks. Bright; filled with energy. A shade of gray that reminds him of storm clouds.

“Something to help you control your energy,” Hanamaki answers, taking the gauntlet from Watari and holding it in front of Oikawa. “It’ll help you channel the magic.”

Oikawa arches a brow, observing the gauntlet. It looks sleek, with a black casing while the glove itself is a darker shade of gray. At the center sits a small, transparent sphere—or orb—and he glances at Hanamaki once more. “How?”

Iwaizumi steps forward then, retrieving one of his guns. “Remember how I told you that my energy was difficult to control?” He raises the weapon slightly, waving it back and forth. “And how these help me regulate it? They’ve been specifically designed for me and only respond to me. It’s the same principle. The weapon will simply respond to the magic inside of you and turn into a vessel. Rather than trying to control the energy in its natural form, the weapon does it for you. Or rather, it helps you do it.”

“It sounds a little complicated, but the short version is: magic,” Hanamaki adds. “Watari’s family is responsible for almost all of the weapons we use Especially our personal weapons, like his guns and my bow. They combine technology and magic and stuff like this is the result. Magic gauntlets.”

Oikawa nods before gesturing at the gauntlet. “Well, let’s try it out then.”

“Not so fast. Me and Watari have to check some stuff first, ” Hanamaki says with a shake of his head and a lazy grin, “go meditate first; clear your head a bit.”

Oikawa grimaces. After that draining session with Hirano, the last thing he wants is to be alone with his own thoughts. Iwaizumi must notice his apprehension because he captures Oikawa’s elbow in his hand and gently tugs him along. “C’mon,” he says, “I’ll sit with you. I have to cool down anyway.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Oikawa agrees. They both lower themselves onto the ground, sitting across from one another; legs crossed and arms resting along their thighs. Behind him, Hanamaki and Watari chat among themselves as they walk back toward the computers. Matsukawa joins the conversation, mentioning the gauntlet and the result of Oikawa’s physical tests. Their voices are nothing but a murmur at some point, too soft for him to hear.

Kyoutani and Yahaba seem to have joined them as well, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi by themselves on the mats.

“How’d it go with Hirano?” Iwaizumi asks quietly, rolling his shoulders.

“Good,” Oikawa answers, “she was… really nice. Helped me work through some stuff. She did recommend I’d talk to someone, though.”

Iwaizumi smiles. “Is that something you’d want?”

“I think so, yeah,” Oikawa says with a nod. “I think it’d be good for me—after all of this. And in general, too.” A soft sigh follows his words. “There’s still some things I need to process and work through apparently. I’ve postponed it.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Iwaizumi tells him, “we all work through things at our own pace. You can’t force it. When you’re ready, you’re ready.”

This time, Oikawa smiles in return. Even though it may not seem like a lot, Iwaizumi’s reassurance is appreciated. “As wise as ever, Iwa-chan,” he muses. “I saw you training before—with the sword. It looked good.”

Iwaizumi’s lips momentarily twist into a frown, brows drawn together slightly before he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, it was… surprisingly okay. I followed Rei’s advice. It still felt a little overwhelming, but I was able to use the sword a little longer I think. I felt less resistance, I suppose.”

Oikawa remembers the wisps of red energy that had traveled along the blade. His eyes travel toward Iwaizumi’s hands, recalling the way his fingertips had been coated in a hue of red. “I saw it,” he mentions, “your magic. It was red.”

Iwaizumi follows his gaze, observing his own hand as he raises it slightly. “I know. It felt different, but not in a bad way. Just, different. I can’t really explain it.”

“Are you less afraid of it now?” Oikawa wonders.

‘What if the very thing I need to protect those I care about ends up corrupting my soul?’

Iwaizumi’s tone had been hesitant; words were spoken with doubt. Fear colored his voice and Oikawa wished that he could’ve taken away all of the troublesome thoughts that haunted Iwaizumi.

The frown that sits on Iwaizumi’s lips disappears after another moment—replaced by something lighter. Something more confident. “I think I am.”

A sense of relief floods through Oikawa, accompanied by pride. It allows for his lips to stretch into a small grin. “It seems like we’ve both had some breakthroughs today.”

Iwaizumi mirrors the grin, highlighting the dimples on his cheeks. A flutter travels through Oikawa’s stomach.

“It seems like we have.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Despite his initial wariness and apprehension, Oikawa found that meditating was quite peaceful—and beneficial. Iwaizumi guided him through it, much like Hanamaki had done before, and explained the importance of meditation and how it helped hunters to improve their abilities.

“Mind and heart have to be balanced,” he’d explained, eyes falling shut with a sigh. “For magic to roam freely through your body.”

It had been a repeat of the words Hanamaki had spoken the day before.

“Focus on your energetic center,” Iwaizumi instructed, “It’s not about emptying your mind—it’s about focusing on the energy inside of your body. Latch onto that and let it be your anchor. And if that’s too difficult, or if you get distracted, focus on your breath. Focus on the stillness at the top of your breath, and the one at the bottom.”

He’s not sure how long they remained seated on the floor, but Oikawa found that there was beauty in stillness. Fear had been replaced by tranquility. The energy inside of him—the magic—buzzed and thrummed. It moved beneath his skin like water, calmly flowing through his body with each breath he took.

He could almost imagine it. A vivid blue energy, beautiful, bright, and alive.

It felt amazing.

At some point, Hanamaki’s voice had pulled him out of the trance-like state he’d been in and he’d waved him over. Which is how Oikawa found himself, once again, hooked up to a rather large computer whilst wearing the gauntlet Watari had shown him before.

He glances at the glove now, experimentally flexing his fingers. It feels lighter than he initially expected. A black wire connects the gauntlet to the computer while numerous electrodes have been attached to his chest and arms. Again.

“I’m starting to feel like some sort of guinea pig,” Oikawa murmurs, standing on the circular platform he’d become intimately familiar with.

“Safety is important,” Hanamaki shouts back. “We have to see how your body responds to the gauntlet.”

Next to him, Watari nods. He then murmurs something to Hanamaki, too quiet for Oikawa to hear, and Hanamaki nods in understanding. Regardless of the mild annoyance that crept through him, Oikawa appreciates their help. For days, they’d kept him safe and even now, they’re taking the time to properly guide him through the basics of controlling his magic.

Each of them had surprised him in ways he hadn’t expected.

“All right, you can start,” Hanamaki calls out, “just like we’d done before, focus all of your energy into your palm.”

Oikawa nods, his eyelids falling shut as he inhales deeply. Just as Iwaizumi had told him, he focuses on his energetic center. He pulls the energy to the surface, guiding it through his upper body and along the length of his arm before letting it gather in his left palm. Almost immediately, the glove seems to respond. A blue glow coats his hand, growing larger with each exhale, and he watches as the orb at the center of the gauntlet turns blue as well.

“Looks good so far,” Hanamaki tells him. “Your output is good. Vitals are stable. How does it feel?”

Oikawa raises his hand, twisting it back and forth as he observes the blue energy. “Good,” he replies, a laugh falling from his lips. “It kinda… tickles?”

“Huh,” Hanamaki remarks, “well, as long as it doesn’t hurt… that’s good. Can you try making a ball like we practiced? Remember to really visualize it.”

“Got it.”

When his eyelids fall shut once more, he imagines the energy gathering at the center of his palm and forming a perfect sphere. Once again, the glove responds, and he finds that the ball of energy is relatively larger than the ones he’d attempted to create before. Surprise washes over him, mild disbelief accompanies it, and he chuckles; eyes wide as he observes the sphere.

“That’s it,” Hanamaki calls out. “Think you can make a different shape? Try imagining a stick—or wand. And try using both hands to shape it.”

As per Hanamaki’s instructions, Oikawa visualizes a wand; using both hands to manipulate the energy into the shape he wants it to be. It requires a few attempts, but by the fourth time, he manages to succeed. He exhales sharply, a triumphant grin finding its way onto his face despite the layers of sweat that must be clinging to his skin by now.

Unlike his previous attempts to alter the shape of the spheres he’d created, the energy remains stable. It doesn’t implode. Instead, it feels solid yet pliable. Perhaps it’s the work of the gauntlet or a result of his conversation with Hirano. Or, maybe, his meditation session with Iwaizumi had proven to be more beneficial than he expected, but Oikawa feels more balanced. More in control.

“You wanna try making a weapon?” Hanamaki suggests. “It’s the same principle, you just have to imagine it.”

A weapon seems a lot more complex than a sphere or a stick, but not impossible. And who doesn’t love a challenge on occasion?

Sure enough, Oikawa follows Hanamaki’s instructions. He thinks of numerous weapons, imagining them so vividly… and yet nothing seems to happen. He imagines knives, swords, spears, guns—anything—only to come up empty each time. Frustration begins to boil within him after yet another failed attempt. He’d stopped counting by now.

Whereas he felt more balanced and in control before, he feels more hopeless now.

“Maybe take a break.”

Iwaizumi’s voice travels through the air and Oikawa finds him standing next to Hanamaki and Watari, arms folded in front of his chest. “You’ve only been doing this for two days. Don’t push yourself too much.”

Rather than reminding Iwaizumi that they have roughly twenty-four hours until his uncle is supposedly going to make his move, Oikawa releases a frustrated sigh and removes the gauntlet momentarily. He rubs at his wrist, his thumb rubbing circles into his skin to ease some of the tension out of his muscles.

It’s ridiculous, he thinks. Why would Seiryuu give him these powers if they’re so damn hard to control? Sure it had been exciting at first—if not a little frightening. It’s exactly as Iwaizumi’s mother had said. He felt stronger and faster; able to push his body beyond its initial limits. And that had been quite thrilling. Amidst all the chaos, the ever-present danger that lurked in the shadows, he found himself a man reborn. That rush of energy coursed through him, wrapped around his limbs and seeped into his bones; rewriting the biological code of his body. He is no longer the person he once was.

Oikawa briefly remembers the words Matsukawa had spoken two days before.

‘At its core, magic is often tied to your emotions.’

He repeats the sentence mentally, turning the words over in his head.

Perhaps that’s why the force field had formed around him and Iwaizumi when Oikawa had jumped in front of him. It appeared again when Matsukawa spontaneously shot a fireball at the two of them. In a moment of panic, Oikawa wanted nothing more than to protect Iwaizumi—and himself—which had manifested into a dome entirely made of energy. He hadn’t been thinking about creating the barrier, it had merely appeared spontaneously; born from the desire to protect Iwaizumi.

Maybe he needs to pull that desire to the surface again.

“Can I try something out?” he asks Hanamaki, who raises his brows questioningly but ultimately nods. Oikawa begins removing the electrodes, despite Hanamaki’s objections. (He assures him that he’ll reattach them soon).

With both the electrodes and the gauntlet removed, he lowers himself on the platform. He crosses his legs, much like he’d done before when Iwaizumi guided him through the meditation, and takes a deep breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

His breath gathers in his lower abdomen, a steady push and pull of oxygen traveling through his body.

Perhaps, he’s been going about this the wrong way. Rather than force the energy to move in a way that feels unnatural, maybe he should practice release. Maybe, he should go back to the source.

Maybe, he should simply ask for help.

‘I know you’re there,’ Oikawa calls out in his mind. ‘And I know you don’t usually talk to humans, but you did before. You talked to me.’

He remembers the image so well. A blue dragon; larger than any creature he’d seen before.

‘You said balance has to be restored, and you gave me these powers. I’m grateful for that, but I’m new at this. Even with the help of others, it seems almost impossible to control them. And I want to stop my uncle, but I don’t know if I can. It frustrates me,’ he continues.

For a long moment, there is nothing but silence. And it’s not as though he expects the dragon to spontaneously appear in his mind with words of wisdom and an ancient weapon of sorts, but he’d hoped that reaching out to Seiryuu would do something.

Though, rather than giving up, Oikawa persists.

Inhale.

Exhale.

After all, he’s always been awfully bad at giving up.

‘I know you can hear me,’ he thinks. ‘And I won’t stop calling out until you listen to me. I’ll sit here as long as it takes. Because I want to protect the people I care about. They’ve done all they could to ensure my safety, even though they barely knew me to begin with. They’ve embraced me; treated me with kindness despite the chaos that I brought with me. From the moment I met them, I knew there was something familiar about them. About Iwaizumi, About Hanamaki, about Matsukawa. I think, subconsciously, they might have been the people I’ve been looking for my entire life. And I know I’m not responsible for everything that’s happened, but I want to stop it. I’m tired of running, I’m tired of hiding. Help me put an end to all of this.’

He waits and waits.

Inhale.

Exhale.

There’s nothing but emptiness. Nothing but the sound of his heartbeat.

‘Please help me protect them.’

An image flashes through his mind then, bright and vibrant; draped in that familiar shade of blue. It lasts a few seconds, but he’s able to see it clearly, vividly. It’s accompanied by that familiar rush of energy. A sudden surge of power spreads from the center of his chest toward his fingertips. For a moment he forgets to breathe, noting the way his heart beats wildly against his ribcage. A steady drum that grows louder with each second that passes.

He opens his eyes with a gasp, nearly falling backward until he presses both palms to the ground to steady himself.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi calls out, stepping away from Hanamaki and Watari. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he breathes, slowly pushing himself to his feet. His heart continues to thrash wildly within the confines of his chest and it feels as though dozens of little sparks are traveling along his skin. For a moment, he glances at his hands and he swallows roughly before picking up the gauntlet once more. It responds almost immediately and Oikawa draws in a deep breath before willing the energy to gather in his palm.

He thinks of the image he’d seen seconds before, focusing on that singular moment. Rather than forcing the energy into a particular shape, he allows it to roam freely; trusting that it will form into the shape he envisioned.

Just as he exhales, the energy in his palm increases quickly, suddenly. It’s followed by a flash of blinding light and a booming sound. He gasps and recoils, eyes pinched shut while his other hand is raised in front of him. The voices of other hunters echo through the large space, his name falling from their lips, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of heavy footsteps slamming against the floors.

For a moment Oikawa wonders if he might have damaged the gauntlet and possibly caused it to malfunction. He’s already mentally apologizing to Watari as he finally, carefully, allows himself to open his eyes. Almost immediately, another gasp escapes his throat. With wide eyes he stares at his hand, finding the gauntlet to be perfectly intact. Though, that’s not what caused his breath to stutter in his chest.

He releases a rough exhale, chest falling and rising rapidly; perfectly in sync with the fluttering of his eyelids.

The quiet buzz of magical energy echoes through the air, a gentle humming that grows softer with each second that passes. Somewhere behind him, he hears Iwaizumi’s voice. He thinks Iwaizumi says his name, once or twice, but Oikawa barely registers the sound. Instead, he laughs—a breathless chuckle born from disbelief and pride—as he stares at a bow entirely made of blue energy.

I did it, he thinks. Holy shit.

He can see the energy move back and forth as it holds its shape; a beautiful blue essence that glows and glows like the brightest stars. The bow is significantly smaller than the ones he’d used for Kyudo, and only slightly smaller than the one he'd seen Hanamaki use, but that does not tamper the excitement that suddenly floods through him. If anything, its size is perfect. Another laugh finds its way out as he moves his arm up and down, observing the weapon in amazement. He twists his arm sideways and the bow moves with it, lying horizontally.

The orb sitting at the center of the gauntlet glows brighter than before, filled with blue energy, and Oikawa momentarily glances at his right hand when a gentle tingle travels along his fingers. He swallows, hand inching closer toward the bow before he pinches his fingers together. Almost immediately, sparks of energy shoot up from his fingertips and he holds his breath as he gently withdraws his arm; allowing a small arrow to form. It feels a little warm against his skin and he pulls his arm back until the bowstring feels tight.

A sparring dummy lies abandoned in the distance.

Could he—?

No. What if he accidentally blows up the whole place?

“Go ahead,” he hears. When Oikawa whips around, he finds that Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa are staring at him. A combination of bewilderment and amazement graces their features. “We’re all at a safe distance,” Hanamaki adds. “Issei can control the blast if it’s too much.”

Matsukawa nods, jogging toward the dummy mere seconds later. He keeps a respectable distance before glancing back at Oikawa and offering him a thumbs up.

Oikawa licks his lips, nodding twice at Hanamaki’s words before raising his arm and pulling the string back slightly.

Inhale.

Aim.

Focus.

Exhale.

Shoot.

The moment his fingers release the arrow, a surge of energy rushes through him. He watches as the projectile flies through the air with impeccable speed, hitting the dummy in the center of its head. A loud explosion follows and Oikawa makes a noise that sits somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp, eyes widened in astonishment.

As promised, Matsukawa immediately attempts to contain the small fire. He watches as Matsukawa throws his arms out, an orange-yellow glow radiating off his hands as he curls his fingers slightly. It’s as though he’s slowly making two fists with both hands. While doing so, Oikawa notices that the large flames in the distance slowly begin to shrink until there is nothing but a little bit of smoke.

“Wow.”

Behind him, someone slowly claps their hands together while releasing a low whistle. When he glances over his shoulder, he finds that Hanamaki is approaching him with a lazy grin plastered across his face. He claps his palms together one final time before planting them on his hips, brows slightly arched and eyes filled with curiosity and a glint of excitement. “I knew you had it in you.”

Iwaizumi is quick to join the two of them, seemingly equally surprised by Oikawa's newfound abilities. He gestures at the bow, which luckily continues to hold its shape. “A bow,” he points out, a proud grin tugging at his lips. “Looks good on you.”

“You think?” Oikawa says with a smirk. “I can give you a few pointers if you’d like.”

“Still here, guys,” Hanamaki comments, earning a shove from Iwaizumi. “All right, all right—c’mere, let’s see this thing.”

Oikawa raises his hand just as Hanamaki leans forward to inspect the bow, eyes narrowed slightly and lips slightly pursed in concentration. “I thought about what Iwa-chan told me,” he explains. “About how mind and heart have to be in balance. After that fourth or fifth failed attempt, I felt annoyed and frustrated, but then I remembered what he’d said.”

His gaze sweeps over the bow, almost unable to comprehend that this was his creation. “So I figured I’d try to meditate.”

“Technically I taught you that first,” Hanamaki points out with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Fine, I thought about what you and Iwa-chan taught me,” Oikawa snorts. “And I reached out to Seiryuu.”

Now that captures Hanamaki’s attention. His eyes snap up, a brow slightly arched, and behind him, Iwaizumi releases a quiet ‘huh’ as he folds his arms. Matsukawa joins them mere seconds later, a frown settling on his features as he props an arm on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and leans against his friend. The beginnings of a smile form on his lips. “What’s this about calling out to Seiryuu?”

As the trio regard Oikawa with puzzled expressions, each of them observing him with a mixture of fascination and bewilderment, he uses his arm to gesture around the warehouse. “Don’t look at me like that, you guys have seen and experienced weirder things. You have an entire warehouse filled with all sorts of tech and weapons—some of them magical!”

His eyes land on the bow once more. “I thought if Seiryuu helped me once, why not try it again? And I know you guys said that the guardians rarely, or never, talk to you directly but,” he pauses, remembering the words he’d used to reach out to the spirit. “I had to give it a shot. And then I saw an image of a bow, so clearly, and next thing I know… this happened.”

There’s a round of silence before Hanamaki says, “Now I kinda wanna know what you said that convinced the ancient dragon spirit to help you.”

A chuckle falls from Oikawa’s lips. He observes Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi respectively, noting their matching half grins and proud smiles. Something inside his chest squeezes together. Fondness, he realizes.

“Just that I want to protect the people I care about,” he admits. It takes a moment for the three of them to process the words, but then Hanamak’s grin grows larger, impossibly wide, as he claps Oikawa on the shoulder. Matsukawa nods approvingly and Iwaizumi clears his throat while slyly trying to hide his own smile behind his hand as he brushes his fingers over his lips.

“Jeez, man,” Hanamaki chuckles, “C’mere—you’re gonna make us cry. Issei’s a softie, you know? He might not look like it, but it’s true.”

Oikawa nearly stumbles forward when Hanamaki pulls him into a side hug and he wants to warn him about the bow and possibly blowing him up, but he finds that the weapon has slowly vanished. Matsukawa steps toward him, ruffling his hair with a quiet ‘you’re one of us now’ and Oikawa laughs, complains about his hair and how he spends a decent amount of time on it, but Matsukawa pointedly ignores it as he continues to run his fingers through the brown strands.

“We care about you too,” Iwaizumi tells him once Matsukawa has relinquished his assault on Oikawa’s hair. “And we’re all very proud of you.”

Oikawa knows the words to be true.

The honesty in Iwaizumi’s voice sweeps through him; the kindness in his eyes makes him smile a little wider and it feels as though the puzzle pieces are finally connecting, falling into place after hours spent trying thousands of combinations. Day and night he’d wondered about his place in this world—in their world. One that seems to hold all the answers to the questions he’d been asking himself for years. Hours upon hours were spent studying, conducting research, and hoping to catch a glimpse of what laid on the other side of the veil.

Perhaps he’d unknowingly, instinctively, interwoven their stories. Connecting numerous red strings until the threads would lead him toward those who would welcome him with open arms. Even in moments where it felt as though darkness would swallow him whole, a light would burn at the horizon in the form of a smile or reassuring words. A squeeze of his hand, a pat on his shoulder, a meal prepared with love. Each act had been wrapped in kindness and generosity, and it made Oikawa realize that it had been a very long time since he’d felt cared for. There weren’t any hidden motives, no falsities or facades. Instead, they’d trusted him from the moment they had met one another. They helped him navigate this tumultuous time with nothing but patience and understanding. Allowing him a moment of reprieve when the noises became too loud; when the world moved too fast.

Gratitude blooms in his chest as he glances at each of them.

‘You are worthy and deserving of love’.

He smiles. “Thank you.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

The majority of the afternoon is spent in the training area. Once all of Oikawa’s physical results came back positive, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi once again took turns tutoring him. Which is simultaneously terrifying and fun. Summoning the bow requires a lot of concentration, but he finds that it comes quite to him quite naturally. Using his energy to create other weapons remains somewhat difficult, which is why Hanamaki urges him to focus on the bow for now.

“I think it’s the weapon that suits you best, that’s why,” Matsukawa explains as he stands across Oikawa, flames covering his fingertips. He’d shot three fireballs at him mere seconds before, all of which had been deflected by the force field that seemed to manifest itself around Oikawa in moments of danger. “Sometimes magic just works like that. It’s hard to explain, because, well, it’s magic.”

“I’m just happy we have another archer,” Hanamaki comments, “And, finally, someone with defensive abilities.”

As if to prove a point, he rotates his wrist a few times before flicking his hand upwards. When a sword made of energy appears, he hurls it toward Oikawa. By now, he’s learned not to shriek, but he’s unable to stop himself from flinching even as the force field appears around him once more. He keeps both hands raised to stabilize it, watching as Hanamaki’s sword attempts to pierce through the barrier. Whereas the fireballs had fizzled out after a moment, the sword doesn’t bounce off the force field immediately. If anything, it seems intent on breaking through the wall of energy.

On the other side of the force field, Hanamaki clenches his fist. Almost immediately, Oikawa notices a slight crack in the barrier. The sword hasn’t been able to pierce through the force field yet, but it seems as though it might.

Hanamaki notices it too. “Huh. Not as impenetrable as we thought.”

“Focus,” Matsukawa tells Oikawa.

“Easier said than done,” Oikawa grits out, jaws clenching as he attempts to keep the force field active.

“Can we try something?” Hanamaki asks, gesturing for Iwaizumi to come closer. “Think you can break it with the sword?”

Iwaizumi arches a brow, fingers brushing over the pendant tied to his necklace. “I could try.”

“Hey—” Oikawa objects, “that’s two against one. That’s not fair?!”

“Demons aren’t fair,” Hanamaki deadpans. “Sides, we need to see how much this forcefield can take. What better way to try it out than with some demon magic, hm?”

Mild panic travels up Oikawa’s spine as he watches Iwaizumi remove the necklace. The large sword appears mere seconds later and Iwaizumi widens his stance, hands tightly wrapped around the blade’s handle. “I won’t hurt you,” he assures Oikawa.

“Don’t let Makki hear you,” Oikawa grumbles. “But, fine, go ahead.”

On the other side of the force field, Iwaizumi takes a deep breath before raising the sword above his head. When he brings his arms down and slams the weapon against the barrier, Oikawa can’t help but flinch. The collision causes both the forcefield and the ground beneath his feet to tremble, and he stumbles back slightly when he nearly loses his balance. It seems that Iwaizumi is equally surprised. The force of the collision knocks him back, but he manages to prevent himself from tumbling onto the ground.

“Interesting,” Hanamaki murmurs. “Try again.”

“You sure?” Iwaizumi asks, approaching the barrier once more. After receiving a nod from Hanamaki, he gives the sword an experimental twirl and Oikawa notices that he’d altered his stance slightly. This time, he slams the weapon down with a bit more force. A loud bang follows, louder than anything he’s heard before. Almost as if someone had detonated a bomb right in front of him.

The noise is accompanied by another tremor that leaves the ground shaking and, this time, Oikawa does stumble backward. He lands on his back with a groan, a gasp falling from his lips when he notices the large crack in the force field.

“Again,” he hears Hanamaki say. “Oikawa, focus. See if you can fix the barrier.”

“Easy for you to say,” Oikawa murmurs, pushing himself up on his elbows and focusing on the crack. He inhales deeply, willing the barrier to hold its shape, but when Iwaizumi’s sword hits the force field once more, his focus shatters.

He curses under his breath before scrambling to his feet, but it’s too late. The crack grows larger and it’s almost as if the force field shrinks in size with each strike of the sword. Sweat forms above his brow and his arms begin to tremble, straining with the effort to keep the barrier up as long as possible. A particularly hard blow causes him to stumble backward again, and that’s when Iwaizumi’s sword pierces through the force field. It shatters mere seconds later and Oikawa releases another gasp before jumping backward. He sinks to one knee, exhaling roughly, and planting one of his palms on the floor.

Iwaizumi approaches him almost immediately. “Shit—are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says between breaths, a shaky laugh escaping his throat. “Really, your concern is touching.”

A hand wraps itself around Oikawa’s arm before he’s pulled upright. “Tough guy, huh?” Iwaizumi snorts, pressing his palm to the small of Oikawa’s back when he nearly stumbles backward, again. “Easy there.”

“Learned from the best,” Oikawa retorts, looking up when Hanamaki approaches them. “How was that?”

“Better,” Hanamaki replies, “looks like it can take quite a few hits, but it’s not indestructible.”

“You’ll get better, though,” Matsukawa adds. He rolls his shoulders before rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Most of us have been doing this since we were kids. This stuff takes time.”

Even though he knows the words are meant to reassure them, dread slithers through Oikawa’s veins. “Well, we don’t have much time,” he murmurs. “Blood Moon’s tomorrow.”

He allows his gaze to travel through the other areas in the warehouse. Gradually, more hunters started to gather together and he watches as Kyoutani, Yahaba, and Watari approach two dark-haired men. One of them seems rather bored. His hair is combed to one side, black strands brushing against his cheekbone. He mumbles something that pulls a laugh from the group, nudging his friend with a sly smile. The man standing next to him is the tallest one in the group. Even from where Oikawa’s standing, he’s able to see the flush that travels along the man’s neck until it reaches his cheeks. He sputters something, pushing his fingers through his hair; which sticks upwards. The lower half seems to be shaved.

They both appear to be in their early twenties and upon noticing either Hanamaki, Matsukawa, or Iwaizumi, the taller one offers them a short wave.

“Ah, Kunimi and Kindaichi showed up too,” Hanamaki comments, waving them over. “Gang’s all here.”

Sure enough, both men join them and once introductions are out of the way, Oikawa glances between the various hunters. “How many families are part of the Seijoh Group again?” he asks Iwaizumi.

“Eight, give or take,” he answers, gesturing at each of the men. “The Hanamakis, the Matsukawas, the Yahabas, the Kyoutanis, the Wataris, the Kindaichis, the Kunimis, and my family.”

“And, previously, your family,” Matsukawa adds. “Let’s not forget that.”

“Oh, please, let’s forget that,” Oikawa murmurs. “You said give or take? So there are more?”

Iwaizumi hums in response. “I guess you could say that our families make up the core of the group, and then there’s my mother’s family and Hirano’s family who became part of the Seijoh Group because of their spouses.”

“There’s also the Yudas, Sawauchis, and Shidos,” Hanamaki adds. “And the Irihatas and Mizoguchis. Basically, there’s a lot of us.”

“What about that guy from the club?” Oikawa wonders, “What was his name again… Ukai?”

At that, Hanamaki waves a hand. “Different group,” he explains, gesturing for Oikawa to sit down on one of the benches. “C’mon, you deserve a break anyway.”

The others follow suit, pulling out chairs or finding a spot on a bench as Hanamaki begins to explain that Ukai is originally from Miyagi. Iwaizumi then adds that various demon hunter groups are active in different parts of the country and that Ukai had been in charge of the Karasuno Group. Oikawa remembers one of their earlier conversations, a few days ago, when Iwaizumi had given him an explanation of the history of the demon hunters. Though, it never occurred to him that there were this many active groups—aside from Seijoh.

“How many groups are there in total?” Oikawa wonders.

“A bunch,” Matsukawa answers. “There’s Karasuno and Shiratorizawa in Miyagi. Then, Nekoma and Fukurodani in Tokyo, and Inarizaki in Hyogo. Just to name a few.”

“The Jackals in Osaka,” Yahaba supplies, “And what about the Adlers and the Falcons?”

“They’re all over the country from what I heard,” Watari tells him before glancing at Oikawa. “Some groups are active in multiple parts of the country while others stick to one city or region. Because the Greater Tokyo Area is huge, it requires a lot more hunters. That’s why we work alongside Fukurodani and Nekoma. We run into them from time to time.”

“Huh,” Oikawa comments, “What are they like?”

“They’re fine,” Watari replies, just as Kyoutani—simultaneously—says: “Assholes.”

Oikawa chuckles, watching as Yahaba nudges his boyfriend with his shoulder. “They’re fine,” he tells Oikawa, “Ken’s got a bit of a rivalry going on with some of them. Completely one-sided.”

“I heard they’re helping us out tomorrow,” Hanamaki remarks with a half-grin. “Should be fun.”

In the minutes that follow, Oikawa learns that the Seijoh’s roots lie in Sendai, but that the hunters eventually relocated to Tokyo. Apparently, this happened roughly one-hundred years ago when people started to notice a sudden increase of malicious spirits, paranormal entities, and demons in and around the capital. Yahaba explains that populous areas have a higher risk of attracting demons and other harmful creatures or spirits, which is why the majority of the aforementioned hunting groups are oftentimes stationed in larger cities within their respective prefecture.

“More people means more food for the demons,” Matsukawa adds with a nod.

“You said some groups operate all over the country, what’s up with that?” Oikawa asks.

This time, it’s Iwaizumi who answers. “The Adlers, Jackals and Falcons are a little different. Each group is kind of like a task force. I know the Jackals usually stick around Osaka, but the Adlers and Falcons head to different areas in the country. They tend to head to places that don’t have a permanent group that protects the area.”

“You think they’ll show up tomorrow?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, scrubbing a hand over the lower half of his face. “Dunno. We might need them.”

“Does anybody really know what we’re up against?” Kunimi asks. “We’ve been given some general intel, but that’s it.”

“With the way signatures have been increasing, it’s like he’s preparing some sort of army,” Yahaba mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve never seen this before. Everything’s completely out of balance.”

What follows is a story about Yahaba’s team—which consists of Kyoutani, Watari, and himself. Apparently, they’d been ordered to take care of a group of demons on the edge of the city. Upon arrival, they noticed that the demons they encountered had never been this close to the city before. The majority of these creatures mainly preferred the woodlands or the mountains, but lately, they’d been invading urban areas as well.

Kunimi adds that he and Kindaichi experienced something similar. “We ran into a huge hanzaki near the river the other day; larger than anything we’ve seen before.”

Multiple stories about odd demon encounters follow, with Kyoutani mentioning that he’d seen the mysterious, winged creatures once or twice, but that he’d been unable to assess what type of demons they were. When Iwaizumi explains that the creatures are referred to as ‘the Nameless’ and Oikawa has to repress a shiver. Iwaizumi had told him, Hanamaki and Matsukawa about the demons after returning from the Otherworld last night.

Spirits that are trapped between their world and the Otherworld; unable to cross over peacefully. Over time they turn into gruesome creatures that feast on human flesh. Apparently, the Nameless hadn’t shown themselves for quite some time, but after Kazuo’s actions, they had started to come out of hiding. Or, they’d been summoned by him.

As the various hunters continue discussing their recent experiences, Oikawa learns more about their respective families. Apparently, Yahaba uses elemental magic. Air magic to be specific. His family is also quite proficient in binding and sealing magic and often work alongside the Matsukawas—who are renowned exorcists. He also learns that Kyoutani’s many tattoos are linked to his powers. (“He’s a summoner”). Each animal printed along his arms is one of the many creatures he’s able to call forth to assist him during battle. Iwaizumi mentions that, unlike the other families, the Kyoutanis aren’t tied to a specific god or guardian. Instead, it’s said that their powers come from their unique bond with numerous spirits and paranormal creatures.

Despite the dangers that await them, Oikawa finds himself utterly fascinated by the stories they share. Their anecdotes are equal parts amusing and horrifying. He listens when Kunimi tells them about the time Kindaichi had gotten swallowed by a whale-like creature that showed up near the Tokyo Bay, laughs when Kindaichi complains about the encounter and mentions that his clothes still smell like ocean water and fish. It pulls a laugh from the entire group and with each second that passes, the volume of their voices grows louder and louder.

Eventually, Oikawa is to resume his training and the group disperses. At some point, Nao accompanies them once more and he spends the majority of the night following orders from either Hanamaki, Iwaizumi or Matsukawa while she watches them from a distance. On occasion, she provides some helpful insight in the form of a snarky comment (often aimed at her brother), or words of wisdom (aimed at Oikawa).

With each hour that passes, fear grows inside of him. It gathers in his chest, reminding him of what is to come, and he desperately tries to ignore it. Despite the reassuring words he’s heard throughout the day, there’s a heaviness in his chest. A persisting ache.

When Oikawa's limbs feel far too heavy, legs barely able to support his weight, Iwaizumi decides to call it a night. And even though Oikawa wants to object, he’s not sure if he could. He’s rewarded with a pat on the back (Matsukawa), a shove and a shoulder squeeze (Hanamaki), and a proud grin that leaves him feeling light-headed (Iwaizumi).

Rather than returning to the home of Iwaizumi’s parents, a loud voice orders all active hunters to gather in the area that functions as the warehouse’s control room. Almost immediately, Oikawa’s attention is drawn to the many computer screens, quickly scanning the numerous maps that are being displayed. He averts his gaze after a moment, redirecting it to Iwaizumi’s grandfather—who addresses the crowd in front of him, alongside another man who Oikawa doesn’t recognize. Iwaizumi quietly tells him that the other man is Matsukawa’s father.

“As we all know, the Blood Moon is tomorrow,” Iwaizumi’s grandfather says. “We have reason to believe that when the moon is at its highest—around midnight—the demon gate will be opened. And we need all hunters to be ready for what will come. The past few days many of you have noticed a sudden increase in demon signatures, but,” he pauses and sighs before continuing, “with the opening of the gate, chaos will ensue. It will be unlike anything we’ve faced before.”

There is talk of strategy; of which teams will be assigned at what area and that a small group will stay behind to keep an eye on things. They will be responsible for informing the other hunters of the most dangerous areas and will likely lead them toward the demon gate once it appears on the various screens.

They mention the Nameless and the books Oikawa and Iwaizumi had found; explaining the contents of the numerous journals and experiments his ancestors had conducted. And how Oikawa Kazuo is looking to complete the mission his forefathers started.

Oikawa’s stomach churns, nausea sweeping through him as he remembers the texts; remembers his uncle’s words; remembers the words the demon had spoken.

“But,” Iwaizumi’s grandfather starts, interrupting his moment of speculation. “we wouldn’t have known any of this information if it weren’t for the efforts of Hajime, Issei, Takahiro, and Oikawa-kun. The past week has been difficult for each of them, so we must support them in the best way we can.”

A kind smile is aimed at each of them and Oikawa blinks in surprise, wondering if he should respond. Even though the ache in his chest persists, something blooms alongside it.

Hope, he realizes.

Next to him, Iwaizumi offers his grandfather a small bow; a short nod of his head. Oikawa mimics the gesture—as do Hanamaki and Matsukawa. “We’ll do our best,” he hears Iwaizumi say.

Afterward, the group disperses and Iwaizumi’s grandfather approaches the four of them. He instructs them to return to their homes and rest, mentioning that everyone will gather here tomorrow before each team heads out to their assigned locations.

Once they’re outside, Oikawa glances upward. He searches for the moon, hoping to catch a glimpse of its form before it is tainted by red. Unfortunately, clouds have gathered above them, swallowing every bit of light and leaving Tokyo covered in a blanket of darkness.

He prays it’s not a bad omen.

He clings to that shred of hope he felt before, fingers tightly wrapped around it, as he looks to Iwaizumi. A smile greets him. One he desperately wants to see, again and again.

Please, he thinks, wondering if anyone can hear him.

Protect him.

Chapter Text

As expected, sleep did not come easy for Iwaizumi. He tossed and turned all night, finally slipping out of his room around five a.m. on Saturday morning to take Ren for a walk.

Now, roughly twenty minutes after Iwaizumi began his early trek, the sun slowly begins its ascension, creeping up over the horizon and draping the streets in shades of gold and orange. A mosaic of colors float through Tokyo’s skies. Pink and purple are accompanied by yellow and orange, bleeding together and creating something so unique and mesmerizing that he finds himself unable to look away.

It should bring him some calm. A semblance of peace. It usually does.

And yet, today feels different.

The warmth of the sun’s rays does not feel pleasant on his skin. The crisp morning air does not alleviate the unease that has settled deep within his chest. The silence of his parents’ neighborhood, his old neighborhood, does not bring him peace. Instead, the stillness feels eerie.

It feels as though he’s waiting and waiting.

Even though the day has only begun, Iwaizumi’s thoughts are occupied with images of the night that is to come. At midnight, the moon will sit in the sky; full and bright. It will be colored red—a symbol of the blood that will be spilled.

He thinks of his friends and family.

They know the dangers that come with their profession, and so does he, but the thought of losing them causes a wave of fear to wash over him. He thinks of Oikawa. A man he’s spent almost an entire week protecting. A stranger turned friend turned… something more.

Perhaps this is not the best time to ponder the nature of their relationship, but Iwaizumi doubts he will have another moment like this. He sighs, and next to him, Ren huffs in response, bumping into his leg. She’s always been oddly good at reading him, especially during times like these. Iwaizumi smiles, running a hand over her head. “I know, I know,” he murmurs.

Amidst their stroll, he’s reminded of the words Oikawa had spoken two nights before.

No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you.

His hand felt warm in Iwaizumi's palm, his skin surprisingly soft, and he'd looked at Iwaizumi with such kind eyes, his voice filled with assurance as he spoke.

At that moment, Iwaizumi wanted nothing more than to reach for him and wrap his arms around Oikawa again. Much like he’d done in his parents’ backyard. Yet he remained seated, unable to move. Had it been fear or uncertainty that left him immobilized?

Perhaps it had been Rei’s voice. Her words had echoed through his mind like a silent warning.

Love is a powerful catalyst. It’s dangerous to creatures like us. If you care about him, you will be careful. For your own good, and his.

Oikawa’s safety had always been his main priority throughout all of this, and the very thought of potentially hurting him leaves Iwaizumi feeling frightened.

Would it be better for them to part ways after this? Could he ignore the feelings that had been growing inside of him? He'd tried before, but Oikawa would simply stare at him, and Iwaizumi found himself unable to avert his gaze. Unable to focus on anything else except Oikawa. He was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, hypnotized by a magnificent fire. One that was powerful and radiant; a glorious blaze that burned brighter and brighter with each second that passed.

His eyes reminded Iwaizumi of honey, a beautiful, warm brown with hints of gold. Their intensity stripped Iwaizumi bare, revealing the most sensitive parts of him for all to see. His skin, upon closer inspection, was littered with freckles and moles. His hair was as soft as it looked. Perhaps even softer beneath his fingertips. He smelled like soap, like the citrus-scented body wash he’d used, and jasmine.

Every part of him drew Iwaizumi in, pulled him closer and closer until all of his senses were filled with nothing but Oikawa Tooru. He’d unknowingly left his heart unguarded, allowing Oikawa to nestle himself in the center of Iwaizumi’s chest. He’d settled there, laid down his roots in the most vulnerable part of Iwaizumi’s body, and Iwaizumi had done nothing to stop it. He welcomed him, embraced him.

Another sigh slips through Iwaizumi’s lips. His steps halt, eyes drifting heavenward once more. Hues of pink and orange dance together. Their vibrance taunts him while Rei’s warning haunts him like a ghost. She’d looked at him with that knowing gaze; her voice cutting through him like a well-sharpened blade. It sliced through bone and marrow, coated in red blood and leaving a wound in its wake.

If I could carve your existence out of my still-beating heart, I would, he thinks.

But I’m not sure I want to.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

When he returns to his parents’ home, his mother is preparing breakfast while his father seems to be talking to someone on the phone. Ren dashes towards her water bowl, leaving Iwaizumi trailing behind her. He offers her a few treats, which she happily takes from his hand.

“You seem troubled,” his mother says without looking up from the stove.

Iwaizumi releases a chuckle as he rummages through the cabinets, fingers curling around a blue mug. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only a little.” A pause. “You can tell me if you want.”

A short hum vibrates through Iwaizumi’s throat. His eyes roam across the room, observing the kitchen and taking in the various little details. The cream-colored cabinets. The light blue wallpaper. The fruit bowl on the counter. The plants on the window sill. The black dining table. The lamp that once belonged to his grandmother.

“I’m—thinking about things,” he eventually says. “Mainly about tonight.”

His mother nods, plating the tamagoyaki before cutting herself a piece and plopping it into her mouth. When she slides the plate towards Iwaizumi, he does the same.

“Are you scared?”

It’s a simple question with a simple answer.

Yes.

Rather than waiting for an answer, his mother speaks again; using that gentle tone Iwaizumi has always found so comforting. “You are not alone in this, Hajime.”

Her hand finds his shoulder, and she gives him a brief squeeze. “And you never will be.”

She pulls him into a hug after that, and Iwaizumi sighs as he feels the tension seep out of his muscles. He inhales deeply just as his mother rubs a hand over his back. “I know you’ve had a lot on your mind these days,” she murmurs. “Trust your instincts. They will never lead you astray.”

He wonders if that’s true.

After another moment, he pulls away, and she offers him a smile before briefly ruffling her fingers through his hair. It causes him to release a short chuckle and he murmurs a quick ‘thanks’ before turning away to pour two cups of coffee.

Oikawa joins them shortly after that. Judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes, he hadn’t gotten much sleep either. Though, when Iwaizumi had snuck out of the room earlier that morning, Oikawa seemed to be fast asleep.

He greets Iwaizumi and his family with a polite smile and offers to help with preparing breakfast. Naturally, Iwaizumi’s mother refuses and ushers him towards the table. Iwaizumi places one of the mugs in front of Oikawa, who accepts it gratefully. “You were up early,” he says between sips. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Iwaizumi is surprised Oikawa had noticed his absence given how quietly he’d slipped out of the room. He reckons Oikawa must have been awake around that time as well.

“Spent most of the night thinking about today,” he explains, to which Oikawa gives a short nod as he takes a bite of his eggs.

“You and me both.”

As they eat their breakfast, Iwaizumi informs his mother of the progress Oikawa has made the past few days. He tells her about the gauntlet gifted to him by Watari and how the tool allowed him to utilize his abilities properly. Oikawa then mentions that he’d been proficient at archery growing up and that a bow seemed like a fitting weapon. He talks about Hanamaki’s tutelage and Matsukawa’s occasional words of wisdom, explaining that their individual teaching methods had been interesting.

Iwaizumi’s mother nods in approval, a smile sitting on her lips as she glances between the two of them. She explains that Matsukawa had always been a wunderkind of sorts and that Hanamaki’s growth has been wonderful to witness.

There, at the kitchen table, she tells one of the stories Iwaizumi has heard many times before. Stories of her own days as a hunter. Nights were spent chasing creatures all over town. She'd stumble into her small apartment the next morning, bloodied and bruised but alive and grateful.

As a child, Iwaizumi loved listening to her stories. He’d sit there, wide-eyed and amazed, longing to embark on adventures of his own as she told him about the various missions she had completed. On occasion, his father would provide some additional commentary, to which his mother would roll her eyes and claim that her husband’s memory was getting quite poor. Afterwards, she would ruffle her son’s hair and pinch his cheek, telling him that he’d one day share his own stories with others.

She’s in the middle of telling a story about her encounter with a nure-onna roughly two decades ago, gesturing at the two long scars that run from her upper arm to her forearm, and Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa’s eyes grow wider with each word that falls from her lips. (He bites back a smile when Oikawa gasps seconds later).

“But I’m proud of you, Oikawa-kun,” she says after a moment, “It sounds like you’re fitting in quite well.”

“I have your son to thank for that,” Oikawa tells her, momentarily glancing at Iwaizumi. “Without him, I wouldn’t even be here.”

Warmth gathers in Iwaizumi’s cheeks, though he wills himself to ignore it, and he clears his throat. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

Oikawa smiles before rising from his seat. “I think I’m giving you an adequate amount of credit,” he replies, walking towards the kitchen counter before placing his bowl and mug in the dishwasher. “What time are we leaving?”

“I think we could go right now,” Iwaizumi supposes, glancing at his mother. “You and dad are coming too, right?”

She nods. “You two can go ahead; we’ll take the car. Your aunties should be coming later as well.”

Iwaizumi inhales deeply as he pushes himself to his feet. His gaze travels towards Oikawa. “You ready?”

Oikawa offers him a quick nod, looking as nervous as Iwaizumi feels. “Yeah,” he responds. “Let’s go.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

If the warehouse was crowded yesterday, it’s completely packed today. Iwaizumi is surprised by the amount of hunters that decided to gather at the facility this early in the morning. He reckons the majority of them arrived last night, after finishing up their missions, and decided to spend the night in the large space.

It’s strange to see all the families together, and Iwaizumi can barely remember the last time all members of the Seijoh Group had gathered in one place. He spots one of his aunts, along with his two cousins, and he’s quick to introduce Oikawa to his relatives; smiling when his cousin’s two children glance up at him with curious looks. Even though they must’ve heard about the current situation, Iwaizumi gives them a brief explanation of all that has occurred the past week.

They’re soon joined by Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who'd arrived shortly after Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and the four of them are quick to head towards the training area, where Hanamaki leads Oikawa to the archery range. Iwaizumi observes them as Hanamaki and Oikawa both aim their arrows at various targets in the distance. Despite Oikawa’s initial unease, he smiles when the majority of the arrows hit the targets perfectly.

Iwaizumi can’t help but smile as well.

A deep, female voice captures his attention seconds later. “S’that that Oikawa guy?”

When Iwaizumi glances to his left, Matsukawa’s younger sister Jun offers him a small grin. His smile widens, matching the grin she’s wearing, when she claps him on the shoulder. “When’d you get here?”

Jun jerks a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing at her twin brother, who is standing a few meters away. “Just now. Me and Shin had some stuff to take care of first,” she explains, fingers curling around the lollipop that’s tucked between her lips. She tells him that she’s trying to quit smoking again, (“For real this time!”), and Iwaizumi wisely refrains from commenting on it. Her hair appears to be cut a little shorter than he remembers. Its length is similar to Matsukawa’s haircut, and she runs her fingers through the dark strands a few times while informing him of her last mission.

Like her brother, Jun often wears a sleeveless black shirt. The shirt is paired with a pair of shorts and combat boots. Whereas the majority of the hunters prefer dark cargo pants, Jun has always favored shorts and tank tops, claiming that long sleeves and pant legs ‘restrict’ her movements. As a result, both her legs and arms are covered in numerous scars. Which is understandable given her reckless nature. (Not that Iwaizumi is any different.)

When she’d turned fifteen, she’d asked—or rather demanded—that Iwaizumi would train her. He was twenty at the time and was mildly surprised that Jun had come to him for guidance. Normally, Matsukawa was in charge of tutoring his younger siblings, but Jun admitted that she had run into a wall of sorts and that she felt hopeless and stuck while her brothers continued to improve their skills.

Iwaizumi soon discovered that Jun had a proficiency for close combat, and, together with Watari, he helped her find a weapon that suited her best. She eventually chose to wield not one but two katanas and regularly sparred with him and Kyoutani, claiming that she would defeat them one day. Even now, roughly eight years later, she’s still hellbent on fulfilling that promise.

Iwaizumi is surprised that she hasn’t dragged him towards the sparring area yet. Instead, she continues to observe Oikawa and Hanamaki. “I heard what happened to him,” she comments, “It sounded crazy—the whole family thing.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Yeah, that might be an understatement. How have you been holding up, though? I know you and Shin have been picking up the slack while me and the others were busy dealing with all of this.”

“We’re fine,” Jun says with a shrug, biting down on the lollipop. “It’s been hectic, but we’re both doing okay.”

Talks of missions and demons are soon replaced by complaints about Jun’s current job and her ‘utter disaster’ of a love life. Apparently, she’d broken things off with the last girl she’d been dating. Or rather, she’d been dumped. (It seems to be a common occurrence in Jun’s life.)

“She was so cute. And smart too!” Jun complains. “She was a med student and I met her when my friends and I went out for drinks. The whole thing lasted only a couple of weeks before she broke things off.”

“When are you gonna stop dating non-hunters? You know how it ends,” Iwaizumi tells her, earning himself a scoff and an eye roll.

“Listen, not everyone finds true love at age five like Issei,” Jun drawls, gesturing at her older brother who approached Hanamaki moments before. “Some of us have to work a little harder, you know? Besides, didn’t you date a few non-hunters too!?”

“That was ages ago,” Iwaizumi points out. “It doesn’t matter now.”

At this, Jun smirks as her gaze travels towards the archery range once more. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

Iwaizumi scowls, wondering if he imagined that suggestive tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Jun chirps, waving a hand before gesturing at Oikawa. “Bit of a pretty boy, isn’t he? Didn’t know that was your type.”

He’s going to kill Matsukawa and Hanamaki. And he’s going to do it slowly. Iwaizumi crosses his arms in front of his chest before looking away from the archery range and glancing at Watari and Yahaba, who are talking to Kunimi, while Kyoutani pulls something from the weapons rack. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

A chuckle slips through her lips. “Oh, I’m sure. Anyways, I’m gonna ask Koharu to set me up with one of her friends from her college swim team. She’s got this teammate with legs to die for and the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen. Wish me luck!”

“You never learn, do you?”

“Nope.”

Jun leaves shortly after that, and Iwaizumi watches as she jogs towards Koharu, who shrieks when Jun throws an arm around her and pulls her aside afterwards. He smiles at the sight of it, wondering if Koharu will give in to Jun’s demands.

His gaze drifts back to Hanamaki and Oikawa afterwards, who seem to have moved from the archery range to the sparring area where Matsukawa wraps his chain around his right hand. He shouts something, and Oikawa nods before altering his stance. Almost immediately, the chain is covered in large, orange flames, and Matsukawa begins spinning the weapon rapidly before swinging it towards Oikawa. Even though Iwaizumi knows Oikawa will likely be protected by the force field he’s able to summon at will, he can’t help but flinch when the chain comes into contact with the bright, blue barrier that appears around him seconds later. A deafening sound reverberates through the open space, but the barrier remains intact, and Matsukawa is quick to swing the chain towards Oikawa once more.

It’s similar to what Iwaizumi had been instructed to do the previous day. He moves closer towards the sparring area, only to be joined by Hanamaki moments later, who drapes his arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “He’s doing pretty well,” Hanamaki muses. “You wanna have a go?”

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal noise, “I think I’m good.”

“Are you, though? Brooding by yourself at the sidelines?”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You’re kinda brooding.”

Hanamaki clicks his tongue before giving Iwaizumi a shove, who stumbles forward and groans in annoyance. “What was that for?”

“Just felt like it,” Hanamaki tells him, rolling his shoulders before stepping onto the training mats as well. “Also, grab your fancy sword. You need to get out of your head.”

The sparring area is large enough for multiple people to train together simultaneously, and Iwaizumi throws a quick glance towards Matsukawa and Oikawa, who are still working on improving Oikawa’s defensive abilities. Matsukawa seems to be smiling proudly as he throws the chain aside, and, across from him, Oikawa looks a little smug as he takes a moment to catch his breath. From what Iwaizumi is able to see, Oikawa’s break lasts roughly thirty seconds before Matsukawa raises his hands and fires off numerous fireballs towards him.

Iwaizumi runs his fingers along his necklace before removing the chain with a sigh. He steps onto the mats just as the pendant transforms into a sword. “I don’t know why I’m listening to you.”

“Because I’m right,” Hanamaki answers with a shrug, waving a hand through the air before a light sword manifests in front of him. “And you could use the practice. Seeing as we’re heading out tonight.”

One sword turns into two, which turns into three, and the flick of Hanamaki’s wrist is the only warning Iwaizumi gets before all three weapons fly towards him. He manages to deflect two of them with his own sword, but the third sword skims his thigh, and he hisses as he jumps away.

Almost immediately, Hanamaki manages to fire three arrows at him and Iwaizumi groans in annoyance as he adjusts his grip on the sword handle before raising the weapon in front of him to block the arrows. He’d forgotten how fast Hanamaki is and it seems that his best friend is hell-bent on reminding him as he dashes forward.

While Hanamaki supposedly has an aversion to close combat, Iwaizumi knows better than to underestimate him. He’s an exceptional fighter, and his moves are quick and precise, which is amazing to witness from a distance but utterly terrifying up close.

He’s not sure how it happens, but at some point, Iwaizumi finds himself lying on his back with an arrow pointed at his face as Hanamaki digs a knee into his stomach. “Like I said, you’re in your head,” he says smugly, waving the arrow sideways.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, shoving his friend’s arm away before he pushes himself to his feet. Hanamaki tosses the necklace towards him afterwards, jerking his chin towards the piece of jewelry when Iwaizumi slips the black chain over his head.

“How’s it going with that?” he asks. “You were kinda on a roll yesterday.”

He was. Using the sword felt less daunting the previous day—even though he’d still been a little apprehensive. Iwaizumi rubs a hand over the back of his neck, glancing around the training area. He spots Oikawa in the distance, sitting on a bench with a water bottle in his hands as he talks to Matsukawa and Nao. Then there’s Watari and Kyoutani trying out some new gear that Watari seems to have brought along. Yahaba observes them from a distance, talking to Kunimi and Kindaichi. They’re joined by both Kunimi’s older sister and Kindaichi’s younger brother, who seem rather intrigued by whatever experiment Watari and Kyoutani are conducting.

“I was,” Iwaizumi eventually replies, “I dunno—I’m just thinking about stuff.”

“Use your words, Hajime,” Hanamaki says, sounding eerily similar to Iwaizumi’s mother as he lowers himself onto the ground and crosses his legs. He gestures for Iwaizumi to do the same, and Iwaizumi grimaces before ultimately complying.

There’s a moment of silence before Iwaizumi answers. “It’s everything,” he replies, planting his hands behind him on the mat and tipping his head backwards as he observes the high ceiling of the warehouse. “Me. The sword. The demon gate. Oikawa’s uncle.”

Rei’s warning.

“And Oikawa,” Hanamaki supplies.

The words cause Iwaizumi to pull his gaze away from the ceiling. When his eyes land on Hanamaki’s face, his friend merely raises a brow in response as a silent way of saying ‘I dare you to deny that’. Rather than concocting a lie, he releases a sigh of defeat and offers him a short nod.

“Listen, whatever happens tonight, we’ll be able to handle it. We always have,” Hanamaki tells him, gesturing around the warehouse. “Everybody showed up. I can’t remember the last time I saw this many hunters. And we’re probably getting help from other groups too.”

He pauses, glancing over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi doesn’t have to turn around to know who Hanamaki is looking at. Even though a part of him wants to. The corners of Hanamaki’s mouth curve upward as he says, “As for Oikawa… whatever you’re thinking, he’s probably thinking the same.”

“You don’t know that,” Iwaizumi counters.

The words earn him a shrug. “I don’t,” Hanamaki admits, “but I do know he’s been staring at you for the past five minutes. And I know he tried to kiss you. Or did you forget that I interrupted your little moment on my mom’s couch?”

If Iwaizumi had been standing right now, he likely would’ve tripped over his own two feet and fallen on his face. There’s no denying the way his heart stutters in his chest or the flutter that travels through his stomach. A wave of embarrassment washes over him, which seems to amuse Hanamaki greatly because he grins before releasing a long, knowing hum.

A flush travels up his neck, and Iwaizumi leans forward as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus, shut up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I not supposed to mention that? Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

“No—yes, I mean—”

Iwaizumi releases a quiet groan, wishing he was anywhere else. Even being in the Otherworld suddenly sounds more appealing than sitting in front of his best friend while said best friend hounds him about the one thing Iwaizumi is actively trying to ignore.

“Judging by your reaction, you two still have some stuff to figure out,” Hanamaki tells him.

“Well, now’s not the time,” Iwaizumi bites out, having overcome the initial mortification spurred on by Hanamaki’s words.

There’s a moment of silence before Hanamaki speaks again; his voice devoid of any humor as he says, “Now might be the only time.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond to that. Not verbally at least. Instead, he focuses on the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. It thumps against his chest, reminding him constantly of the words he keeps hidden between its walls. Each time, they climb up his throat—only to tumble down seconds later. They remain buried, weighed down by uncertainty; restricted by fear. Could he allow them to roam free? To escape?

His eyes travel skyward once more, wondering if he can find the answers in the web of metal and glass attached to the high ceilings. Rows and rows of fluorescent tubes emit a white, bleaching light. It burns through him, spots dancing before his eyes. Eventually, he has to look away.

Iwaizumi’s gaze lands on Hanamaki, who studies him for a moment before releasing a sigh. He pats his legs twice and pushes himself to his feet after another moment. A hand dangles in front of Iwaizumi’s face, accompanied by a quiet ‘c’mon’. He reaches for it, curling his fingers around his friend’s palm and tugging himself upright.

“If you won’t talk,” Hanamaki says, taking a few steps back. “Then at least practice some more.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

The majority of the morning and afternoon is spent training and preparing. On occasion, Iwaizumi is pulled aside by either his grandfather or one of his other relatives as they formulate numerous strategies for tonight. The retired hunters, such as his grandfather and both of his parents, will remain in the warehouse and guide the numerous squads that are being deployed.

Even though they’ve executed hundreds of missions, it’s the first time they’re doing it on such a large scale. According to his grandfather, the Greater Tokyo Area has been divided into sections. With each group overseeing a certain section. Granted, the plans will be adjusted once they exactly know what they’re dealing with.

He informs Oikawa of said plans, who merely nods and remains uncharacteristically quiet. They practice together a few times, accompanied by Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Even Yahaba and Kyoutani join them later, ever curious about Oikawa’s abilities.

Yahaba manages to give him some pointers, and Iwaizumi remembers watching Yahaba tutor his younger brother growing up. (He’d caught a glimpse of Yahaba’s siblings just now. His older brother had been talking to Nao while his younger brother laughed at something Kyoutani said).

Day bleeds into night. A countdown begins. The numbers on the clock taunt him; a constant reminder of the time he has left with his loved ones. Around him, everyone seems more on edge. They walk through the warehouse with hurried steps; the sound of their boots hitting the floor echoes through the large space. A symphony he’s become awfully familiar with. He hears a dozen voices, each one louder than the next. They’re talking about strategies, about possible outcomes, about contingency plans and backup. About collateral damage.

Someone tells him to gear up—perhaps Hanamaki—and he listens. He fastens his belt and attaches his holsters—one around each leg and two around his shoulders. It’s routine. He mentally counts two guns, six knives, and one necklace. He fastens his watch, attaches his earpiece, and brushes a finger over his necklace. Out of habit.

For good luck.

Despite his own concerns, anticipation grows inside of him. Yes, he’s afraid of what they might encounter, but he also feels a sense of eagerness; an urge to avenge those that had fallen victim to Kazuo’s crimes.

Oikawa could’ve been one of them.

In a way, he is one of them.

Every time Iwaizumi remembers that horrified look in Oikawa’s eyes after the demon attacked them in his grandmother’s house, something inside of him crumbles and shatters. It’s rebuilt, piece by piece, glued together by anger. A type of anger that’s born from a fierce kind of protectiveness.

He thinks of the second attack, at Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s home, and how Oikawa had slumped against him as they sat in the shower afterwards.

He thinks of the attack in the nightclub and the look of panic in Oikawa’s eyes when Iwaizumi pushed him down. He thinks of the way his hand trembled as they sat in the back of the car. Oikawa had been unable to sleep that night, haunted by gruesome memories.

He thinks of the pain in Oikawa’s eyes when he realized that his relatives had been brutally murdered. He remembers seeing the disbelief, the confusion, the betrayal, the anger, the fear.

He remembers seeing it again two nights ago, when they’d uncovered what Kazuo had been planning all along. He remembers the tears. He remembers the way his body trembled as Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around him.

And now he’s about to face the person responsible for all of it. All of the heartache and tragedy.

Iwaizumi glances at the large computer screens, noting the way demon signatures have been increasing on the outskirts of town. It’s strange, he thinks. Rather than remaining in the city center, it seems as though they are fleeing towards the woodlands and mountains. But why?

Someone presses a hand to his shoulder mere seconds later, and when he glances back, Hanamaki nods towards Matsukawa. “We’re leaving in an hour or so. You ready?”

Iwaizumi nods, eyes searching for Oikawa amidst the large crowd of people. He frowns when he’s unable to spot him. “Where’s Oikawa?”

Hanamaki’s brows pinch together as he glances around and says, “He was here a few minutes ago.”

“I’ll look for him,” Iwaizumi murmurs, stepping away from his friend. “Oikawa?”

He calls out his name numerous times, voice growing louder with each repetition, but there’s no response. Mild panic washes over him after a few more minutes of searching. He hopes that Oikawa hadn’t decided to take off to do something wildly irresponsible.

“I saw him run off just now,” Kyoutani’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Iwaizumi is quick to turn around.

“Where’d he go?”

Kyoutani jerks a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at a different section of the warehouse where some of the offices and labs are located. He recalls Hirano bringing Oikawa to one of the rooms for his psychological evaluation the previous day. Iwaizumi mumbles a quick ‘thanks’ before breaking into a jog, mentioning that he'll be back in a few minutes.

He runs through the dark hallways, his legs carrying him up a flight of stairs as he calls out Oikawa’s name repeatedly. Unfortunately, all that greets him is the silence of the empty corridors. His own voice echoes through the space, reverberating off the concrete walls, while his heart slams against his ribcage with each breath that passes through his lungs. There’s a burning sensation in his chest, a tightness that leaves him feeling lightheaded, but he ignores it.

Instead, he calls out Oikawa’s name again as he opens one of the many doors. He’s met with an empty room, followed by another one. Each room seems to be empty, and Iwaizumi swears under his breath, wondering where Oikawa has run off to.

In the distance, at the end of the hallway, he notices something. One of the doors is slightly ajar, and he quietly pads towards it, fingers carefully curling around the handle before he gently pulls the door open.

The room is dark, save for the light of a single lamp, but even in the absence of light, Iwaizumi would’ve spotted him immediately.

Oikawa’s body is angled away from him, and he seems to be keeping a hand pressed against a small desk. He’s hunched over, his other palm covering his eyes, and Iwaizumi gently steps forward. Slowly, carefully, he enters the room—careful not to startle him.

“Oikawa,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” Oikawa murmurs, “I just—needed to be alone for a minute.”

Even though he’s not looking at him, Iwaizumi gives a slow nod. Four more steps until he reaches him.

One.

Two.

Three.

The fourth step is what causes Oikawa to raise his head. Even in the darkness, Iwaizumi is able to notice the sadness in his eyes. The tightness in his chest persists and his own hand twitches at his side, fingers curling and unfurling as hesitation wraps itself around his limbs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A smile is aimed at him. One that lacks its usual fire. It’s blanketed in melancholy, cutting deep into Iwaizumi’s chest. It pierces his heart, cracks his ribs; bone splintering beneath its weight.

He reminds himself to breathe.

“I’m scared,” Oikawa eventually confesses, his voice quieter than Iwaizumi has heard before. He thinks of the conversation he had with his mother this morning. He thinks of their conversation in his bedroom two days ago.

“So am I,” Iwaizumi admits.

The words cause Oikawa to shake his head. His smile doesn’t falter; the sadness in his eyes persists. “It’s not the same, Iwa-chan.”

“Why not?” Iwaizumi asks, taking another careful step forward. “Tell me then.”

‘It’s okay to be scared.’

Those had been the words Oikawa had said to him, his fingers curled around Iwaizumi’s hand; the warmth of his palm seeping into Iwaizumi’s skin. He longs to feel that warmth again.

Oikawa’s eyes widen just as Iwaizumi reaches for his hand and says, “Help me understand.”

For a moment, Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa might pull away from him. Instead, his gaze drops to their hands as a chuckle spills from his lips. He keeps his head slightly bowed as he adjusts his grip around Iwaizumi’s hand. A thumb brushes gently over Iwaizumi’s skin; the touch so delicate and tender that it causes his pulse to quicken.

“I’m scared of losing you,” Oikawa says then. He says it like he’s sharing a secret. His gaze travels upward again, the golden light dancing in the brown of his eyes. Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat.

“It’s stupid—I know,” he continues, “we barely know each other. But the past few days with you have been amazing. Even with everything that’s happened to me.” Another chuckle. “You, Makki, and Mattsun have done so much for me. You’ve repeatedly risked your lives for me. You welcomed me and made me feel like I belonged somewhere. And I—I don’t want to lose that.”

Iwaizumi tries to swallow past the dryness in his throat. “Oikawa,” he begins, but Oikawa merely shakes his head.

“Iwa-chan, please,” he interrupts quietly, “let me say this. Because I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.”

Iwaizumi can’t tell what his heart is doing. It might have skipped a few beats or it might’ve stopped altogether. His chest feels both light and heavy all at once, and he’s quite certain that he’s been holding his breath; afraid that a single sound might ruin whatever’s going on between them.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the rooftop. They increase, and the sound grows louder, almost drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “Not when I’ve just gotten to know you. I want to know more about you. I want to know all your favorite foods, your favorite songs, and your favorite spots. I want to know all your strange little habits. I want to hear you laugh more. I want to hold your hand as you tell me about your day and watch your favorite movies with you. I want to spend mornings and nights together. I want to know what it’s like to kiss you.” A pause follows his words. “I was afraid to tell you before, but I’m not afraid now. I like you, Hajime. And I want to be with you.”

For a moment, all Iwaizumi can do is stare. Stare into those beautiful, brown eyes. Gold and brown melt together, creating a different color. It’s mesmerizing. Everything about Oikawa is mesmerizing.

His face feels warm, and he’s fairly certain his hands might be trembling.

‘I like you’.

‘I want to be with you’.

Rei’s warning is entirely forgotten as he focuses on Oikawa’s words. He mentally repeats them over and over, allowing them to slip between the cracks of his ribs and curl around his heart. They bleed into it, finding a home within its walls, and he will keep them there for as long as he can.

‘Trust your instincts. They will never lead you astray,’ his mother had said. And he does, because this feels good—it feels right.

Affection sweeps through him. It washes over him in waves and Iwaizumi lets himself be swept away by the current. It pushes him forward, urges him to take that final step, and close the distance between the two of them. His hands find Oikawa’s cheeks, his fingers curl around his jaw, and he leans forward as he guides their mouths together.

Oikawa’s lips are soft; softer than Iwaizumi had imagined. He presses a kiss to them—gentle and soft—and Oikawa briefly stiffens, but then he’s kissing Iwaizumi back and it feels wonderful.

It feels like coming home.

Whatever familiarity Iwaizumi felt between them before, has turned into something much greater. It’s a feeling that is so strong that it swallows him whole—a sensation that spreads through him like a wildfire. It’s warm and comforting, a type of intimacy one finds when they allow themselves to be vulnerable.

It’s accompanied by a sense of relief. As if he’s finally releasing a long breath, a gentle exhale. Tension rolls off him, his muscles relaxing as he melts into the kiss.

It’s the final piece of the puzzle.

Finally, his heart says. Finally, I’ve found you.

Oikawa’s fingers curl around Iwaizumi’s wrist while his other hand settles somewhere on Iwaizumi’s hip, and it’s all the encouragement Iwaizumi needs to angle his head and deepen the kiss. He pushes his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, drowning in the scent of jasmine and mint, just as Oikawa wraps his arm around Iwaizumi’s waist to pull him closer.

If the world were to disappear right now, Iwaizumi wouldn’t notice it. Even if all the stars and planets in the universe suddenly ceased to exist, he’d still be focused on the softness of Oikawa’s lips. He’d exist in this pocket of time and space where there is nothing but the two of them. Two souls joined together, wrapped in red string and golden light.

There’s so much he wants to say, but his lips are unable to do anything but kiss Oikawa. He wants to taste him, commit the flavor to memory, and savor it. Perhaps he’s afraid of what might happen if he stops now. It almost feels like a dream—too good to be true—and Iwaizumi wishes he would never wake again.

He wants to hold him, touch him, and kiss him. He wants to breathe him in.

Oikawa’s tongue brushes against Iwaizumi’s lower lip and Iwaizumi thinks he might’ve sighed or groaned when he parted his lips. He draws his hands back to place them on Oikawa’s hips. They skim his legs briefly, fingers digging into the muscle covered by dark fabric, before he gently lifts him onto the small desk.

Almost immediately, Oikawa hooks a leg around Iwaizumi’s hips, wraps an arm around Iwaizumi’s neck, and pulls him closer. He sinks his fingers into Iwaizumi’s hair, tugging on the strands, and Iwaizumi sighs into the kiss.

Oikawa’s hands are everywhere, fingertips burning Iwaizumi’s skin as they dance across his arms and slip beneath the fabric of his shirt mere seconds later. A palm is pressed to his side, warm and gentle, and he can’t help but huff a laugh.

Oikawa smiles—Iwaizumi can feel it. He smiles before briefly sinking his teeth into Iwaizumi’s lower lip and Iwaizumi nearly chokes on an exhale. His heart stutters in his chest, beating too fast and leaving him unable to catch up. He needs to pull away, he needs to breathe, but it’s as if his body won’t let him. Maybe Oikawa can be his oxygen.

Somehow, Iwaizumi manages to break the kiss. He exhales roughly, and Oikawa breathes with him; their foreheads pressed together as Oikawa’s palm cups Iwaizumi’s cheek.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi murmurs between breaths, curling a hand around Oikawa’s wrist when Oikawa gently brushes his thumb back and forth over Iwaizumi’s skin. His brain attempts and reattempts to formulate a proper sentence and his tongue refuses to cooperate. It’s almost as if he’s intoxicated, so wholly captivated by Oikawa that it’s affecting all of his senses. He feels dizzy.

He takes a steadying breath, inhales the scent of jasmine, and finally says the words he’s been wanting to say. “You won’t lose me.”

He allows his eyelids to flutter open as he pulls away ever so slightly. Oikawa’s already watching him, a flush high on his cheekbones and his lips slightly reddened. His hand is still pressed against Iwaizumi’s cheek, and Iwaizumi leans into the touch, turning his head gently to press his lips to Oikawa’s palm.

It causes Oikawa to smile, and Iwaizumi thinks he almost looks shy.

“I wish we had more time,” Oikawa murmurs, dropping his hand into his lap. Iwaizumi immediately reaches for it, squeezing Oikawa’s fingers between his own.

“We will,” he promises. “After this, we will. I’m not losing you either.”

Oikawa nods, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. His nose brushes against Iwaizumi’s own, and Iwaizumi lets his eyes fall shut as he thinks of Oikawa’s earlier words. “I was scared, too,” he admits, quietly. “Scared to tell you how I felt.”

“Why?” Oikawa wonders. “Did you think I didn’t feel the same?”

A sigh slips past Iwaizumi’s lips. There’s a gentle shake of his head. “I felt—guilty. I wondered if it was okay for me to like you. You’d been through a lot. I didn’t want to take advantage of a situation or something.”

“I get that,” Oikawa sighs. “But I promise you… you’re not taking advantage of anything. I really like you, Hajime.”

At this, Iwaizumi feels the corners of his mouth curve upward. Warmth floods his cheeks and he’s suddenly grateful for the darkness that cloaks them like a blanket. “I really like you, too,” he breathes. “And I want to be with you.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa asks him, his lips brushing gently over Iwaizumi’s mouth. Iwaizumi shivers. “Even though we barely know each other?”

Iwaizumi releases a chuckle. “We spent almost a week together, I think we kind of know each other by now. You’ve met all my friends and family. Even my dog loves you.”

Oikawa hums; an endearing little sound Iwaizumi wants to hear again. “I do like Ren,” he admits. “She has good taste.”

“Getting cocky, aren’t we?”

“I think I’m allowed to be when a very handsome man says he likes me and wants to be with me.”

A flush travels along Iwaizumi’s neck, and, somehow, Oikawa must sense his mild embarrassment because he snickers. A groan falls from Iwaizumi’s lips and he reaches up, cupping the back of Oikawa’s neck before pulling him in for another kiss with a quiet ‘shut up’.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Iwaizumi isn’t sure how much time they spend kissing, but he supposes he should be grateful that the desk wasn’t made to carry the weight of two adults because he’s quite certain that they might’ve gotten a little too carried away otherwise.

At some point, he has to forcefully pull himself away from Oikawa’s lips again, which requires a decent amount of willpower. Especially when Oikawa automatically leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Iwaizumi’s jaw.

Gods, it’s been a while since he’s been kissed like this. He feels like a fucking teenager.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi murmurs, earning a hum from Oikawa. The vibrations glide across his skin, and he inhales deeply before sliding his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. He tugs gently, pulling Oikawa away from where he’d nestled himself in the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck.

Iwaizumi instantly misses the warmth of his lips.

“We need to go,” he tells him. As expected, Oikawa frowns, and Iwaizumi thinks he’s almost pouting.

(It’s awfully endearing.)

A sigh falls from Oikawa’s lips.He leans away and takes a steadying breath before scrubbing a hand over his face. He pushes his fingers through his hair, and Iwaizumi follows the movements with his eyes—so very tempted to sink his hands into those brown locks again.

“We really picked the shittiest time to do this, didn’t we?” Oikawa mumbles with a laugh just as Iwaizumi takes a few steps backwards. He pulls Oikawa off the desk and winds an arm around his waist as he draws him closer, foreheads touching and noses gently bumping.

“We did,” he agrees. “But I’m glad we did.”

“Me too,” Oikawa says with a gentle nod, amusement slipping into his voice afterwards. “Iwa-chan is a very good kisser.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle, “Stop that.”

“What? It’s the truth. Are you getting shy?”

“No.”

“I think you are.”

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal noise before pulling away entirely and curling his fingers around Oikawa’s wrist. He tugs him towards the door. “All right, we’re going.”

“Spoil sport,” Oikawa complains, trailing behind him. He adjusts his grip a moment later, lacing their fingers together as they walk down the hallway, and Iwaizumi smiles to himself. Sure, it’s not the first time they’ve held hands, but it feels different now.

The walk back to the main area of the warehouse feels much too short. Upon seeing the large crowd, Iwaizumi is forced to push all and any thoughts regarding his and Oikawa’s brief make-out session to the back of his mind. God, they really, really had the worst timing.

He spots Matsukawa and Hanamaki in the distance, who quickly wave them over. Once they reach them, Hanamaki’s gaze immediately drops to Iwaizumi’s and Oikawa’s hands.

(Iwaizumi tries not to fidget).

A smirk tugs on the corners of Hanamaki’s lips, who releases a short, knowing hum. “I take it you talked?” he asks, jerking his chin towards their hands.

Iwaizumi’s eyes briefly dart towards Oikawa, who offers him a small smile and gives his hand a brief squeeze. His heart suddenly feels too small for his body, and he prays his face doesn’t turn red. “We talked.”

Hanamaki’s reply comes in the form of an approving nod. “Good,” he says, and by now he’s grinning. “Knew you had it in you.”

“Happy for you,” Matsukawa chimes in. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much time to celebrate ‘cause we have to leave right now.”

As it turns out, there had been a sudden increase in demon signatures and an unidentified energy source during Iwaizumi’s brief absence. While the four of them—along with the other hunters—exit the warehouse and step into one of the many large, black vans that are parked outside, Hanamaki explains that they’re heading towards the edge of the city and into the woodlands and mountains.

Matsukawa mentions that the unidentified energy source might very well be the opened demon gate or Oikawa’s uncle. According to the data they collected, Mount Takao is where most of the energy has gathered, and Iwaizumi frowns, wondering why Kazuo would choose to retreat into the mountains.

“Beats me,” Hanamaki says with a shrug. “M’glad he’s doing it away from the city. Less collateral damage, I suppose.”

Iwaizumi releases a short hum in response. Behind him, Kyoutani and Yahaba are bickering about something, while Watari seems to be discussing strategies with both Kunimi and Kindaichi. The voices of the various hunters bleed together in the large van, and Iwaizumi can’t remember the last time they’ve all sat together like this.

While the majority of them prefer to travel via motorcycle, the vans are a lot more convenient for traveling longer distances and on missions that require bigger teams. As he allows his eyes to travel through the vehicle, Oikawa’s knee gently bumps into his own when the car makes a sharp turn to the right.

He glances at him, noting the way Oikawa’s eyes are fixed on the dark sky.

From where Iwaizumi is seated, he’s unable to see what Oikawa’s looking at, but he can only assume he’s staring at the moon. His hand inches closer until his fingers brush against Oikawa’s palm. He slides their fingers together before pulling both of their hands into his lap.

Oikawa responds by brushing a thumb over the back of Iwaizumi’s hand, and Iwaizumi gives him a gentle squeeze in return. They remain like that for the remainder of the car ride while Iwaizumi ponders about the possible scenarios that could play out tonight. With each second that passes, the tightness in his chest increases.

It’s just like any other mission, he tells himself.

Ren seems calm for now, but Iwaizumi can tell that she’s on edge. Her ears twitch at the smallest sound, moving back and forth as quiet chatter fills the air.

His free hand comes to rest atop her head, and he takes a deep breath, remembering that regardless of what happens, she’ll be by his side. Along with Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Along with Oikawa.

It takes them roughly an hour before they reach the woodlands, and as they near their destination, Iwaizumi notices a stifling pressure. The others must notice it too, because Kyoutani complains about the sudden increase of demon energy and how ‘he has never felt anything like it before’. Both Yahaba and Watari hum in agreement.

Even though the sensation is somewhat familiar to him, there is something strange about it. It’s stifling and constricting, crawling up his spine like an infection and spreading across his skin. Next to him, Ren begins to growl right as they hop out of the van. She takes a few steps forward, peering into the darkness as her growling grows louder. Iwaizumi reckons that whatever they’re after, must be in that direction.

The voice of his grandfather echoes through the comm link, along with the voices of a few other hunters. Matsukawa’s mother addresses her children directly, telling them to work together properly and look after one another. There’s talk of binding techniques, and how Yahaba and his siblings should remain close given their proficiency for sealing and binding magic.

From what Iwaizumi remembers, Yahaba’s and Matsukawa’s families have always worked closely together due to their somewhat similar abilities. Whereas the Matsukawa family specializes in exorcisms and fire magic, the Yahaba family utilizes wind magic and tends to be fairly decent at binding and sealing magic. If memory serves him right, they dabble in healing magic as well.

He recalls Yahaba telling him that his ancestors were shamans hundreds of years ago and how his family has always been drawn to the mystic arts as a result.

Once each group has exited the van, they decide to split up to cover the entire area.

It’s been quite a while since he’s visited the mountains, and even though the area is somewhat familiar to him, Iwaizumi’s legs feel unnaturally heavy as they walk along one of the many trails. The area is cloaked in darkness, and it almost feels as though they are stepping into another world. Fallen leaves crumble beneath their boots, twigs snapping rhythmically with each step they take. The soil feels soggy, weighing down their steps and covering their shoes in thick layers of mud.

Everything feels slower and heavier somehow; even the blood that pumps through his veins. Each movement requires a lot more effort. The unease that has settled deep within his chest persists. A not-so silent warning.

Iwaizumi pushes past it, ignores whatever inner turmoil is growing in the back of his mind, and forces himself to regulate his breathing—no matter how difficult it may be.

He leads his group along with Matsukawa, while Hanamaki and Oikawa walk a few paces behind them. Ren had transformed before they began their trek, remaining at Oikawa’s side as per Iwaizumi’s instruction. He supposes it’s fortunate that the wards Matsukawa had put on his back are still active, allowing Oikawa some protection as they get closer and closer to where the gate is supposed to be.

“S’almost midnight,” Matsukawa mumbles, checking his watch. The stifling pressure persists. If anything, Iwaizumi thinks it’s increasing.

It reminds him of his brief time in the Otherworld. He remembers how his knees had nearly buckled as he approached Rei, hardly able to support his weight. He couldn’t take a single step without feeling as though heaven itself was resting on his shoulders and forcing him to the ground.

Next to him, Matsukawa clears his throat and behind him, Oikawa’s breathing grows a little heavier.

Each breath feels as though it’s dragging through his chest and throat, itching to be released. “We’re almost there,” Iwaizumi murmurs, drawing one of his guns as his heart rate steadily picks up.

Above them, the clouds slowly begin to drift away as the wind picks up, revealing the moon once more. Its color is a bold, vibrant red. A lunar eclipse draped in crimson against a black backdrop. It serves as a reminder of the blood that will be spilled.

The howling wind is harsh and unforgiving, ruffling the leaves and causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. Behind him, Ren’s growling grows louder. It’s accompanied by the growling of Kyoutani’s own wolf, which had been summoned right after they arrived at the mountain.

Iwaizumi briefly glances over his shoulder, watching as Oikawa presses a hand to Ren’s side. Her eyes are bright red, reminiscent of the moon’s current color, and she snarls at something while Oikawa continues to move his hand back and forth in an attempt to soothe her.

Mere seconds later, a bone-chilling shriek travels through the air. It doesn’t sound human, but rather animalistic—something so incredibly eerie. It causes Iwaizumi to stiffen, if only for a moment. He draws his second gun just as Matsukawa's chain begins to glow.

Hanamaki is quick to appear at their side, an arrow drawn as he scans the area.

Another shriek can be heard, followed by a third, and a fourth until more join in. The various creatures begin to howl and wail; the sound so jarring that Iwaizumi’s jaws tighten while he adjusts his grip on his handguns.

“Can you see anything on the map?” he asks his grandfather quietly. Instead of getting an immediate response, all Iwaizumi hears is static noise. He frowns, calling out to his grandfather and tapping against his ear piece.

He can make out his grandfather’s voice, only catching two words, and he curses quietly.

“The connection’s fucked,” Kyoutani grumbles. “Can’t hear shit.”

Yahaba releases an annoyed sigh. “How’s that even possible?”

“They’ll fix it,” Iwaizumi assures them, just as a loud roar can be heard in the distance. The ground begins to tremble beneath their feet, and he has to adjust his stance to avoid stumbling backwards.

The roaring grows louder, bleeding together with the howls of the other creatures—a deafening symphony that burns through him. There’s a sharp pain in his right ear, and he quickly glances around him in an attempt to locate where the sounds are coming from. Another moment passes before the earth begins to tremble once more. It lasts longer this time.

The pressure they felt before increases and before he knows it, his legs give out from under him.

Someone shouts something. Hanamaki, he thinks, but Iwaizumi is unable to make out what his friend is saying. As he turns his head, he finds that Hanamaki is doubled over, clutching his head. Next to him, Matsukawa has his palms pressed to the ground, gritting his teeth with a quiet groan.

Panic settles deep within Iwaizumi’s bones, and he attempts to breathe past the ache in his chest.

Something happens then. In the distance, a loud explosion can be heard. It generates a shockwave, and a beam of red light travels upwards as though it’s trying to reach the moon.

The creatures continue to howl and shriek, almost sounding as though they're laughing, cackling, and that’s when Iwaizumi sees them in the distance. An entire swarm of winged demons circles the red beam of light, which seems to expand and grow wider.

A portal.

“The gate,” he groans, trying to push himself upright. “We have to—”

Something nudges him then, pushing him forward, and Iwaizumi realizes it’s Ren. He manages to huff a laugh, pressing a hand to her side as he pulls himself upward. “Go help the others,” he murmurs, taking slow steps towards Matsukawa and inhaling deeply before gritting his teeth and helping his friend to his feet.

When he turns around, he finds that Oikawa is leaning against Ren, and Iwaizumi wants to approach him but Oikawa merely shakes his head with a small smile before mouthing ‘I’m okay’.

“Is everyone okay?” he asks the group. “We have to get to the gate as quickly as possible. The other groups should be heading over there too. We have to keep going.”

When they all nod, Iwaizumi takes a deep breath before leading them further into the forest. He keeps his gaze trained on that beam of light, watching as the Nameless continue to travel through the sky. On occasion, he tries to call out to his grandfather or any of the other hunters back at the warehouse, but the connection still hasn’t been restored.

He’s not sure how long they keep walking, but eventually, they manage to get closer to the gate until they reach a forest clearing. Almost immediately, his eyes widen—a gasp is caught somewhere between his chest and throat as he observes the scene before them.

It’s similar to what they’d witnessed days before. Dozens, if not hundreds, of demons, are gathered together. They emerge from a large portal like a swarm, and Iwaizumi searches for Kazuo; wondering where he could be hiding.

Though, there isn’t any time to ponder because a loud voice travels across the clearing.

“Now!” he hears someone shout.

Another moment passes before he sees a number of hunters in the distance, approaching the demons and running towards the portal with their weapons drawn. They launch into a well-coordinated attack, and he thinks he recognizes Shin and Jun amongst the crowd.

Iwaizumi curses before turning towards the group. “We have to find Kazuo and close the gate, but we also have to contain these demons and help the others,” he says, looking between the various hunters. “If you get hurt, look for Hanamaki and his sisters, or Yahaba and his brothers—they’re in charge of taking care of the injured so they’ll remain at the edges mostly, because we can’t afford them getting hurt.”

A pause follows his words before he glances at Oikawa. “Stay close to Hanamaki. Ren will be alternating between guarding you and helping me—if there’s anything, reach out through the comm links. We might not be able to get in touch with the warehouse, but as long as we’re all in close proximity, we should be able to communicate.”

Oikawa nods, adjusting the gauntlet around his right arm before taking a deep breath. Next to him, Hanamaki presses a hand against his back. “Just like we practiced,” he says with a grin.

A small smile settles on Oikawa’s lips, and, for a moment, Iwaizumi wishes he could stay with him.

Matsukawa mentions that it’s time for them to head out, adding that he’s able to spot his brother and sister in the distance. “We had to split up for now, but make sure to keep an eye on your brothers and sisters,” he tells the others. “We can make this our rendezvous point.”

Iwaizumi nods. “All right, everyone head out.”

Kunimi and Kindaichi are the first to leave the group, followed by Watari, Kyoutani, and Yahaba. Almost simultaneously, the trio reach for the weapons attached to their backs—three near identical spears—and Iwaizumi watches as Yahaba swings the spear through the air, and causes a powerful gust of wind to knock numerous demons back.

Next to him, Watari wields a spear that’s cloaked in purple energy. It allows him to release a powerful blast that destroys a group of demons upon impact and Iwaizumi smiles when he hears Kyoutani’s quiet chuckle as he swings his own spear above his head. Large red and orange flames sprout from the weapon, covering the blade and curling around the staff while he thrusts the spear through the head of an ogre standing in front of him.

Almost immediately, a black-and-white wolf appears at his side; attacking another ogre and sinking its teeth into its shoulder and neck.

The three of them continue to fight side by side, wielding the weapons with the kind of proficiency only they possess. It’s as frightening as it is amazing.

Behind him, Oikawa mumbles something unintelligible, and Iwaizumi finds him staring at the three hunters with wide eyes. “What are those spears?”

“You know about the Three Great Spears, right?” Hanamaki asks, to which Oikawa nods. “Legend says that the Three Great Spears were actually named after the spears Kyoutani, Yahaba, and Watari possess. Hundreds of years ago, during year zero, when the guardians and gods created the first hunters, three spears were cast from the heavens and hidden throughout the land for the hunters to find,” he explains. “Yahaba’s family found the first spear: Otegine. Watari’s family located the second spear: Tonbokiri. And, finally, Kyoutani’s family found the third spear: Nihongo. The families then decided to work together and passed down the spears through numerous generations. Long story short: magic spears.”

A breathless chuckle escapes Oikawa’s throat. “That’s… amazing.”

“Yeah, they like to show off,” Hanamaki says, just as Kyoutani hurls his spear towards one of the winged demons. The blade pierces both the creature and the red ogre behind it; large flames swallowing both demons upon impact.

“M’sure they’ll tell you all about it later,” Matsukawa adds, swinging his chain a few times before glancing at Iwaizumi. “We really gotta head out.”

Iwaizumi nods, knowing it’s time for them to part ways—for now. Though, before he follows his friend, his gaze drifts back to Oikawa. He briefly steps towards him, tucking one of his guns back into the holster before reaching for Oikawa’s hand.

Brown eyes widen, if only briefly, and Iwaizumi gives him a gentle squeeze. “Be careful, okay?”

Oikawa’s smile is filled with warmth as he squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand in return, though that smile transforms into a smirk mere seconds later as he speaks. “Don’t worry about me, Iwa-chan. I’m practically a professional.”

Iwaizumi lets out a chuckle. “I mean it.”

“I know. You too, okay?”

Another nod, another deep breath, another gentle squeeze, and then Iwaizumi has to let him go. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Remember what we promised,” Hanamaki tells Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi watches Matsukawa wave a hand at his boyfriend’s words with an eye-roll and a grin.

“No dying, I know.”

“Attaboy.”

The four of them split up afterwards, with Hanamaki and Oikawa joining Hanamaki’s sisters, while Iwaizumi and Matsukawa head out to find Shin and Jun.

Iwaizumi has never seen anything like this before. Various demons of all sizes emerge from the portal. Some are familiar, others are unfamiliar. It reminds him of the battle near Meiji Shrine a few days ago, but that was nothing compared to this. Above them, the sky is filled with numerous Nameless and other winged creatures like the Kotengu. They circle the portal as though they are guarding it; their deafening shrieks cutting through the air.

There is much time to ponder because three demons are quick to attack him, and he has to duck away when one of the red ogres lashes out at him. His weapons are drawn, aimed at the demons, and he’s quick to press down on the triggers; firing a round of energy bullets at the ogres. They howl in pain before slumping down and Iwaizumi dashes forward when he spots Jun in the distance.

As always, she’s easy to spot. Her fingers are tightly curled around the two katana she so often wields, flames covering the blades as they slice through a snake-like creature with ease. Almost immediately, she thrusts one of the blades forward, impaling a kasha that lunges towards her. The second blade finds a home in the skull of a kyuso that Iwaizumi hadn’t even spotted.

“Oi, what took you so long?” Jun shouts, retrieving one of her blades.

Iwaizumi scowls, aiming his guns at one of the nameless that appeared behind her. She ducks aside while he presses down on the trigger, only managing to hit its wing and one of his legs. Luckily, Jun is quicker and slams her palm onto the ground as she lands on her side, causing a burst of flames to travel towards the demon. The creature howls, and Iwaizumi shoots two more times before rushing to her side and pulling Jun to her feet.

“You guys should’ve waited,” he retorts, to which she bristles as she rubs a hand over her arm.

“We didn’t have much of a choice, now did we?” Jun says dryly, gesturing around them. “You spotted that Kazuo guy yet?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, glancing around briefly. “He should’ve been here when the gate was opened. Did your team see anything?”

“Nothing,” Jun shrugs, “We heard an explosion and saw that beam of red light. When we got here, it was already like this; complete madness.”

Before Iwaizumi gets a chance to respond, a loud roar pulls his attention away. A lion-like demon leaps towards them, quicker than anything Iwaizumi has seen before. It manages to sink its claws into his shoulders, and he has to bite back a shout as the demon tackles him to the ground.

He kicks his legs out in an attempt to get the creature off him and he’s grateful for Jun’s presence because she’s quick to behead the demon. “Like I said, complete madness.”

Iwaizumi groans as he pushes himself up. He brushes a hand over his shoulder, blood coating his fingertips, and Jun tells him to duck. He watches as she launches a throwing knife at whatever creature suddenly appears behind him.

After a moment, the two of them are joined by both Kyoutani and his sister, who mention that they’ve attempted to locate Kazuo but, unfortunately, came up empty.

“He’ll have to show up at some point,” Iwaizumi grumbles, mostly to himself as he charges towards a jorōgumo. The spider-demon is quicker than its companions, and definitely quicker than the ones he’d encountered a few days before.

Despite the gun wounds he’d inflicted, the demon lunges towards him again, unhinging its jaw and angrily snapping at him as it drags its claws along his chest in an attempt to pin him down. He winces, barely managing to dodge the attack, and he presses a palm to his chest when he sinks to one knee. A green-and-yellowish liquid coats his fingers, and he has to blink a few times when his vision begins to blur.

Venom.

Fucking great.

The jorōgumo roars, jumping towards him again, but Iwaizumi ducks away at the last second while firing a round of energy bullets. Despite hitting the demon multiple times, it doesn’t falter, and he frowns before pocketing the weapon and unsheathing both of his knives.

He inhales deeply, slipping his fingers through the hand guards and allowing his magic to seep into the weapons. It requires some additional effort, likely because of the poison, but then he’s sprinting towards the creature. Rather than jumping on top of it, he manages to slide underneath it while dragging the blades along the length of its body. Black blood sprouts from the jorōgumo’s flesh, coating Iwaizumi’s skin and seeping into his clothes.

He coughs twice, rough exhales escaping his throat as he rolls on his side and begins searching through one of the small pouches he keeps attached to his belt. His fingers manage to curl around a small cylindrical tube and he breathes a sigh of relief when he’s able to retrieve a small syringe.

“Watch out!” Kyoutani yells and Iwaizumi’s head snaps to the side to watch an okuri-okami sprint towards him. Before the enormous wolf reaches him, Kyoutani’s spear sinks into the demon’s flesh. It howls, its steps faltering only momentarily before it charges forward again. Luckily, Kyoutani’s own wolf is quicker; launching itself at the other creature and buying Iwaizumi some time.

He manages to uncap the syringe before jabbing the needle into his thigh and injecting himself with an antidote created to nullify spider venom.

(He mentally thanks Nao for developing it).

Kyoutani appears next to him after a moment, helping Iwaizumi to his feet. “They’re stronger than any of the demons we’ve encountered before,” he grumbles, as though he’s able to read Iwaizumi’s mind.

“I’ve noticed,” Iwaizumi says with a nod. “Definitely category four’s and five’s like my grandfather said.”

The two of them fall into a routine that’s familiar to them. Working alongside Kyoutani has always been easy. Their combat styles are similar, and it reminds him of fighting alongside Matsukawa in a way. Having trained alongside Kyoutani for years allows Iwaizumi to predict his movements with ease. It makes them excellent sparring partners and a remarkable team during missions.

Both Jun and Kyoutani’s sister assist them against a group of ogres, and the four of them fight their way through the horde of demons that appear almost right after.

He’s unsure of how much time has passed since they’d arrived; it feels as though they have been fighting for hours already. His muscles ache with each movement; his skin covered in black liquid and his lungs burning as he attempts to draw in another breath.

In moments like these, he’s forced to remember his grandfather’s teachings.

‘Focus on your breath.’

‘Trust your instincts. Your body knows all the movements already.’

‘Concentrate.’

And he does. He strikes and blocks; he attacks and dodges. He fights and fights because that’s what he’s been taught, and what he needs to do in order to keep those he cares about safe.

Minutes begin to feel like hours, but Iwaizumi’s steps do not falter. He draws his guns and he uses his knives, dragging the blades along skin and bone as sharp claws and even sharper teeth appear before him.

Behind them, someone shouts for them to get aside, and Iwaizumi recognizes Matsukawa’s voice. He pulls Kyoutani with him, just as Matsukawa manages to create a wall of fire before them, incinerating a large group of demons with one attack.

He’s able to keep the wall up for another moment, which acts as a shield of sorts, and Iwaizumi briefly glances around them. His eyes roam across the battlefield, watching the various hunters fight hundreds of demons. He spots Yahaba and his brothers in the distance. The youngest of the three seems to be clutching his arm and attempts to heal it while his brothers guard him.

Hanamaki and Oikawa are located not too far from them, joined by Hanamaki’s sisters. The four of them are perfect for long-range combat, and Iwaizumi watches as both Hanamaki and Oikawa fire numerous arrows to keep the demons at bay.

Koharu and Nao are able to strike down multiple demons at once as they mold their energy into a variety of weapons.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, tapping his earpiece once before running towards a group of chimi, “Have you spotted your uncle yet?”

The blue creatures snarl at him, their sharp, yellow teeth are coated in a layer of black liquid, and Iwaizumi grimaces when one of them leaps onto his back. He reaches behind him, digging his fingers into the creature's neck before throwing it over his shoulder. Once it lands on the ground, he digs his heel into its back and fires his gun thrice while his other gun is aimed at the other chimi that attempts to attack another hunter.

“Not yet,” Oikawa responds, sounding a little winded. “Have you?”

“Dunno what the guy looks like.”

“Evil.”

“You need to be more specific than that.”

“Incredibly evil.”

Iwaizumi laughs. “Thanks, you’re a real lifesaver.”

“Just doing my job, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t get to respond, because an uwabami suddenly appears out of nowhere, and before he knows it, the enormous snake wraps its entire body around him. It squeezes tightly, pulling a shout from Iwaizumi’s throat.

The oxygen is squeezed from his lungs, and it feels as though each bone in his body is slowly being crushed. He’s vaguely aware of Oikawa shouting his name repeatedly, but his voice is a distant echo as the uwabami tightens its grip around Iwaizumi’s body once more.

The snake’s head appears before him and he thrashes in its hold, trying to reach for one of his weapons. Unfortunately, his attempts are futile. He tries to draw in a single breath, a pained groan falling from his lips instead. When the snake’s head inches even closer, it opens its mouth; revealing a pair of fangs roughly the size of his forearm. Venom drips down its teeth, and just before the demon lashes out at him, a knife sinks into its skin, dangerously close to Iwaizumi’s chest.

The uwabami shrieks and momentarily loosens its grip around Iwaizumi, allowing Iwaizumi to free one of his arms. He gathers a decent amount of energy into his palm, and he’s quick to make a fist; striking the demon just as the snake attempts to bite him again. He can feel its fangs dragging across the skin of his forearm, and he has to swallow a groan, ignoring the burning sensation that travels through his limb as blood begins to sprout from the wound.

He drives his fist through the snake’s mouth with enough speed and force to pierce through skin and flesh, causing the demon to release its hold around him entirely.

Iwaizumi stumbles backwards, clutching his arm, as he watches the gigantic snake twitch on the ground. A knife that doesn’t belong to him is still embedded in its body and Iwaizumi flinches when someone appears before him suddenly; as if they had been transported.

Their back is turned towards him and they crouch down to retrieve the knife, twirling it around their fingers with a low whistle. Once the person returns to their full height, Iwaizumi’s eyes briefly widen.

“We couldn’t let you guys have all the fun.”

The hunter is dressed in a pair of dark cargo pants, similar to Iwaizumi’s, and a black t-shirt with a small, red claw marking printed on the back—between his shoulder blades. A pair of sharp, hazel eyes greet him when the hunter turns around; waving lazily at Iwaizumi with that trademark smirk resting on his lips.

His dark hair spikes upward, part of it covering one of his eyes, and Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle upon realizing that Kuroo Tetsurou had just—indirectly—saved his fucking life.

“Yo,” Kuroo greets, his lips stretching into a grin as he gestures at Iwaizumi’s arm. “You really should get that checked.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes with a smile, but, before he gets to respond, a loud voice travels through the air. A flash of black and gray is all he sees before someone lands a few meters away from them with a loud thud. Upon impact, the person slams a weapon down on the ground with enough force to generate a shockwave. Lightning shoots from the weapon, traveling across the field with the kind of speed that leaves one astonished.

Numerous demons are electrocuted and Iwaizumi has to raise an arm to shield his eyes from the bright flash. There’s a buzz of electricity traveling through the air just as the other hunter begins to swing the weapon once more.

It’s an axe, Iwaizumi realizes.

The movement generates a large amount of energy; the sound of electricity crackling as it travels along the blades of the weapon before a large blast is released seconds later, destroying numerous demons upon impact.

“Show off,” Kuroo calls out with a grin, and Iwaizumi hears an all-too familiar laugh, loud and booming.

In the distance, he spots Bokuto grinning wildly as he swings the double-bladed axe he’s holding with practiced ease. “You’re too slow, Tetsu!”

The weapon sinks into the flesh of a kotengu that flies towards him, and Iwaizumi watches as Bokuto slams his body against the demon—releasing a surge of electricity at the same time. It’s hardly the first time Iwaizumi has seen Bokuto fight, but part of him had somehow forgotten how strong he really was.

Similar to Matsukawa and Jun, Bokuto chooses to wear a sleeveless shirt. It seems to be a common occurrence for those who possess the ability to manipulate either fire or electricity. He understands why, especially when he sees Bokuto slicing his way through a group of ogres.

While Kuroo has always been the quicker one of them, due to his abilities, Bokuto’s brute strength might just rival Iwaizumi’s. His movements are quick and bold; flashy in every sense of the word. It suits him.

“He’s always getting ahead of himself,” a third voice joins in. An icy wind travels along Iwaizumi’s skin as someone brushes past him and calmly walks towards Bokuto. When one of the Nameless swoops down from the sky and charges towards the hunter, Iwaizumi notices that the demon stops before they’re able to get too close to the dark haired man.

A small air vortex manages to trap the demon, immobilizing it completely before a strong gust of wind sends the creature crashing into a group of other demons. Each demon that attempts to charge towards him, is almost immediately knocked backwards. He moves with a certain grace, and Iwaizumi’s eyes widen when a large scythe slices through the air before cutting through the body of a tsuchigumo.

He twirls the weapon in his hands before digging the large blade into the skull of an ogre mere seconds later. Almost immediately, he adjusts his grip around the staff while taking a large step forward and swinging the weapon—evidently throwing the demon into the direction of a winged creature that charged towards him.

If Bokuto Koutarou is rough around the edges, Akaashi Keiji is practical and calculated. Not a single move is wasted; perfectly executed in a way that leaves even the most skilled fighter awestruck.

More and more hunters follow suit. It’s a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar faces, but Iwaizumi doesn’t have the time to assess who is who, because a sharp pain travels up his arm and he bites back a groan as he clutches his left arm.

“Told you you need to get that checked,” Kuroo mentions unhelpfully. “Go on, we’ll hold them off.”

Even before Iwaizumi can blink, Kuroo has vanished. He reappears a few meters away, mid-air, grinning wildly as he drags the large knife he often carries with him along the body of a kotengu. The demon shrieks, falling to the ground and taking Kuroo with him, but before his body hits the ground, he has disappeared again. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thing. Literally.

Iwaizumi remembers witnessing Kuroo’s abilities up close for the first time. Teleportation is as impressive as it is annoying.

It’s very convenient in situations like these, though. He’s able to move across the battlefield with ease, disappearing and reappearing like a spectre waiting to be caught. It makes him unpredictable and difficult to catch. Which is exactly why one shouldn’t underestimate him.

Though, from what Iwaizumi can remember, he tends to enjoy it when people do that.

“Nothing like the element of surprise,” he’d often say.

Iwaizumi watches him disappear and reappear; his knife slicing through skin and bone. It glides across throats, it pierces hides, it drags along spines. Blood coats the weapon, decorates his skin as he leaves a string of bodies in his wake. Before he disappears again, a demon manages to drag its claws along his back and Kuroo grimaces, whirling around and retrieving a handgun. He fires a round of bullets, each of them piercing the demon’s skull right before he twirls the weapon and uses it to strike another demon.

Iwaizumi snorts.

He flinches when Kuroo suddenly appears in front of him and gestures at his arm. “Still here? Jeez, where’s your healer—”

Rather than answering, Iwaizumi pulls him aside whilst simultaneously snatching away Kuroo’s knife and driving it into the stomach of a kasha that suddenly appeared behind him. The demon makes a strangled noise, weakly clawing at Iwaizumi, who grimaces as he retrieves the knife. He returns the weapon to its rightful owner, who blinks at him for a moment before huffing a laugh and wiping the blade across his pant leg.

“I think I might’ve just fallen a little bit in love with you.”

Iwaizumi bites back a grin. “Yeah, yeah, now we’re even. You mind taking me to the edge of the clearing?”

He jerks his chin into Hanamaki and Oikawa’s general direction, and Kuroo clicks his tongue before curling his fingers around Iwaizumi’s arm. It’s the only warning he gets before it feels as though his body is being tossed into a whirlpool of sorts. It lasts roughly two seconds, and yet Iwaizumi has to take a steadying breath after being teleported towards the other side of the clearing.

“I hate teleportation,” he grumbles, fighting the urge to sink to his knees. Across from him, Oikawa flinches. Most likely surprised by his sudden appearance. His eyes grow wide, blinking rapidly as they travel along Iwaizumi’s body.

“You’ll get used to it,” Kuroo says, sounding far too smug for Iwaizumi’s liking.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa says with a frown. “How’d you get here—wait, your arm—”

Iwaizumi gestures at Kuroo as he takes a slow step towards Oikawa. His legs feel heavy yet weak, and he stumbles forward, only to be caught by Oikawa with a quiet ‘whoa easy there’. He’s unsure whether it’s a side effect of being teleported or the snake venom that burns through his veins.

It’s likely the latter.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he presses his forehead to Oikawa’s shoulder, “I’m okay.”

“You’re not.”

Hanamaki is at his side moments later, assessing Iwaizumi’s left arm before pressing a hand to the wound. “What happened?”

“Snake venom,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “Punched an uwabami in the mouth.”

“Of course.”

“I told him to get it checked,” Kuroo adds unhelpfully.

There’s a rebuttal on his tongue, but it dies in his throat as Hanamaki begins to heal the wound. Iwaizumi has to grit his teeth to keep himself quiet. Somehow, these wounds are the most painful. It likely has to do with the venom trapped beneath his skin.

Removing venom is a painful process; one he never quite got used to.

A palm is pressed against his back, rubbing gentle circles along his spine, and he mumbles a ‘thank you’ while Oikawa releases a quiet hum in response. After a moment that feels much too long, Hanamaki finally retrieves his hand, and Iwaizumi feels like he can breathe again.

He raises his head with a sigh, only to curse underneath his breath when someone—likely Hanamaki—jabs a needle into his upper arm.

“Some extra antidote for the idiot who decided to punch giant snakes in their mouths,” Hanamaki adds.

There isn’t much time to argue about the specifics of Iwaizumi’s impromptu escape strategy, because a horde of demons are coming their way and Iwaizumi is once again very grateful for Oikawa’s (newfound) skill set when a forcefield appears around them mere seconds later. Numerous creatures slam into the dome made of energy, only to be knocked back almost immediately. Some are less fortunate, and Iwaizumi watches their bodies disintegrate after coming into contact with the forcefield.

“Huh,” Kuroo remarks after a moment, observing the dome. “Convenient. Remind me, who’s he again?”

Iwaizumi chuckles, “C’mon, get us out of here again. The others need us.”

Before Kuroo gets the chance to teleport the two of them again, Oikawa presses a palm against Iwaizumi’s arm. Concern settles on his features; brows knitting together as his eyes dart between Iwaizumi’s face and arm. “Are you sure you feel okay? And don’t lie.”

There is something endearing about it, Iwaizumi thinks. While the wound was hardly the worst injury he’s ever sustained, Oikawa seems genuinely concerned regardless. Iwaizumi can’t help but think of the past few days and the way Oikawa’s fingers gently brushed along his skin as he tended to Iwaizumi’s injuries.

He’d been careful yet thorough, wiping away blood and disinfecting wounds like he’d done it before, and Iwaizumi remembers noticing the way Oikawa gently pursed his lips in concentration and how badly he’d wanted to kiss him at that moment.

He almost had.

Even now, his gaze briefly drops to Oikawa’s lips. A few hours ago, he’d finally kissed those lips, finally tasted him on his tongue and buried his fingers in those dark waves. He’d felt the press of Oikawa’s body against his own, listened to the soft sounds that climbed up his throat, and swallowed them greedily.

(God, he needs to focus).

“I’m okay,” Iwaizumi tells him quietly, lips stretching into a smile. A hand is raised; his knuckles brushing against Oikawa’s cheekbone before he gently cards his fingers through the brown strands that fall over Oikawa’s forehead. “I promise. Be careful and stay safe, I’ll come back.”

A hint of pink dusts Oikawa’s cheekbones, and Iwaizumi has to suppress his smile from growing larger.

“All right, lover boy, time’s up,” Kuroo drawls, pulling Iwaizumi backwards. Iwaizumi barely has the time to object, because Kuroo immediately teleports them to the other side of the clearing once more.

Upon arrival, he has to duck aside to avoid getting hit by the spear Kyoutani shoves into the mouth of an ogre.

“How’s it over there?” Kyoutani shouts, gritting his teeth, as he whirls around and pierces two spider-like creatures that attempted to sneak up on him.

Iwaizumi’s fingers are curled around his weapons within seconds, fingers rapidly pressing down on the triggers of the guns as a group of omukade rapidly crawl towards them. He scowls, mildly disgusted by the monstrous looking centipedes that decide to leap at him. “Same shit,” he tells him. “Demons everywhere. No sign of Kazuo yet.”

Fortunately for him, one of Kyoutani’s wolves rushes towards them and lashes out at one of the demons while Kyoutani keeps his right arm outstretched. Iwaizumi watches as one of the many images printed across his friend’s skin begins to move. A large, black snake manifests before them seconds later, hissing loudly before immediately striking one of the other enormous centipedes.

Its size is similar to the uwabami Iwaizumi had encountered moments before, and Iwaizumi vaguely hears Kyoutani shout some sort of command before the snake attacks its second prey.

Thoughts regarding the snake are temporarily forgotten when Iwaizumi hears a familiar voice through the comm link. “Hajime?” his mother says, “Hajime, can you hear me?”

For a moment, his steps falter and he frowns, barely dodging one of the winged demons that speeds towards him. The creature roars as it charges again and, this time, Iwaizumi can’t avoid taking a hit to his side. Its claws tear through the fabric of his shirt, dragging along his skin and digging themselves into his flesh. A searing pain travels up the length of his body; burning through him as he chokes on an exhale.

Rather than allowing the demon to retaliate again, he manages to wrap a hand around its arm, keeping the creature close while his other hand reaches for one of his knives. Energy travels along the blade, wrapping around it as he keeps his fingers tightly curled around the blade. As he yanks the creature towards him, Iwaizumi drives the blade in its stomach and drags it upwards until he’s able to cut through its flesh in one quick movement.

As the demon’s body begins to disintegrate, he stumbles backwards, clutching his side. There’s an arm around him moments later, keeping him upright, and he recognizes Matsukawa’s voice as his friend mumbles, “Whoa—easy there. How bad is it?”

Iwaizumi swallows a groan, allowing himself a moment to gather his bearings. “It’s fine. It’s not that deep.”

“You want me to cauterize it?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before he gives a slow nod, a resigned sigh falling from his lips. To his credit, Matsukawa gives him a few seconds to prepare himself and even adds in a quick ‘sorry’ before he presses a palm to the wound and applies enough heat to properly cauterize it.

Iwaizumi has to dig his teeth into his lower lip to keep from shouting, and he’s fairly certain that he’ll never get used to this. His exhales are quick and rough, and he thinks he hears Matsukawa apologize again when he retrieves his hand. “Get Hiro or Yahaba or any of the other healers to look at this later, okay?”

He nods, taking another deep breath before steadying himself and quickly touching his earpiece. “Mom, are you still there?”

The connection is weak and her voice is soft, but it travels through the earpiece regardless.

“I’m still here,” she responds. “We lost the connection when you arrived in the mountains. We think the energy from the gate might be interfering somehow. Have you been able to find Kazuo?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says, mildly frustrated. “It’s absolute chaos. Can you guys see anything on the map?”

He thinks he hears her release a sigh.

“No. The computers can’t process what’s happening right now. The maps won’t show us any individual demon signatures anymore; the entire area is completely red.”

Matsukawa joins the conversation a moment later and asks, “Can you still see us and monitor our vitals?”

“Barely,” is her reply. “I’m sorry, guys.”

“It’s okay, mom,” Iwaizumi tells her. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will,” she responds, and he thinks he’s able to hear the smile in her voice. “Hajime?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I told you,” There’s a brief pause. “Trust your instincts.”

A quiet laugh falls from his lips. “I will.”

The line disconnects mere seconds later, and Iwaizumi feels a hand on his shoulder before he’s pulled aside by Matsukawa, whose chain shoots forward before wrapping around the bodies of two ogres. The blazing hot metal scorches their flesh and keeps them bound just as Jun dashes forward and drags her swords along their necks with two quick strikes.

She whirls around instantly, delivering a rather powerful kick to the head of a kijo and sending the demon crashing into a group of other demons near Kyoutani. (He shoots her a thumbs up.)

Another group of demons crawls towards them, and Iwaizumi recognizes the telltale screeching of the sarugami—large, human-sized, monkey-type demons that are known to be much stronger and more vicious than their non-demonic counterparts. He scowls when four of them leap towards him simultaneously, but he manages to avoid getting clawed in the face by ducking aside and retrieving two of his throwing knives. The blades find a home in the skulls of two of the demons, while the third one slams into him.

Its arms wrap around Iwaizumi’s body instantly, intending to keep him trapped while its companion will likely bite his head off. Cursing under his breath, Iwaizumi watches the sarugami unhinge its jaw, a deafening screech escaping its throat. He thrashes in its hold before gritting his teeth and pulling his head back slightly—only to drive it forward after a moment and slamming his forehead against the sarugami’s head.

A shooting pain travels towards his forehead, but the blow allows him to free himself and jab a knife into the creature’s neck. Behind him, the fourth sarugami screeches loudly, and Iwaizumi is quick to retrieve the knife as he whirls around. He leaps forward just as the demon lashes out, slamming his body into the creature and tackling it to the ground. It manages to strike him regardless; its claws dragging along his chest and shoulder right before Iwaizumi sinks the knife into its skull.

He pockets the knife afterwards, pulling out his guns once more and shooting at a creature near Kyoutani that he doesn’t quite recognize.

“Are those shokeras?” Matsukawa calls out, confused.

“Looks like it,” Kyoutani responds. “S’been a while since we encountered those.”

The shokeras are large demons that crawl on all fours, and like the nameless, their skin looks as though it has been painted with black ink. They snarl and howl, charging towards them with the kind of speed that’s downright terrifying.

Fortunately, Matsukawa and his sister manage to launch a wave of flames towards the large group of demons while Bokuto, accompanied by two women Iwaizumi doesn’t recognize, takes care of the second group of shokeras. The buzzing of electricity grows louder and louder, and Iwaizumi has to shield his eyes when a large flash, accompanied by an equally large explosion, appears out of nowhere.

When he lowers his arm, he’s able to properly observe the two women. The color of their hair is identical to Bokuto’s own gray locks, with the occasional strands being painted black. One of them has short hair, almost as short as Bokuto’s, with side-swept bangs, while the other woman has her hair tied up in a long ponytail.

Like Bokuto, their eye color is a shade of amber, almost appearing gold, and Iwaizumi realizes that he’d never met Bokuto’s sisters. The short-haired one releases a loud laugh, identical to her younger brother’s laugh, as she gives Bokuto a shove. Her fingers are wrapped around the handle of a rather large hammer—a mallet of sorts—which rests on her shoulder.

Her sister seems to wield a double-sided spear, which she twirls a few times before jabbing one end into the face of a demon that had been standing behind Bokuto. A surge of electricity travels along the weapon and the demon shrieks loudly as its body begins to disintegrate.

The three of them work together seamlessly, wielding their weapons with ease, and Iwaizumi even finds himself chuckling when he hears Bokuto bragging about how he’s ‘definitely killed more demons than the two of them combined’.

His attention is pulled away when Kuroo, suddenly, appears next to him. A combination of sweat, blood, and grime clings to his skin; dark strands flattened against his forehead before he pushes his fingers through his hair. “I’ve scanned the entire area,” he tells Iwaizumi. “They just keep coming. No sign of that Kazuo guy either.”

“He’s not showing up on our computers either,” Iwaizumi sighs. “We need to close that gate somehow.”

“Why is he still hiding anyway?”

They can’t keep going like this, Iwaizumi knows it. Sooner or later, they’ll be too exhausted to fight. As he observes his friends and teammates now, he can tell that the majority of them have already sustained a handful of injuries. Luckily, the healers are able to tend to their wounds—but how long will they be able to keep that up until they run out of energy themselves?

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says through the comm link, “I might have an idea.”

Judging by the sound of his voice, he seems hesitant to tell Iwaizumi about said idea.

Both Iwaizumi and Kuroo have to duck away when a group of kashas charge towards them. Flames sprout from the limbs of the cat-demons, and Iwaizumi calls out to Matsukawa as he narrowly avoids getting burned.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he eventually says in response to Oikawa. “Shoot.”

“He’s after me, isn’t he?” Oikawa starts, “what if Mattsun removes the wards? Seeing as they suppress my energy, he’s probably not showing up because he and his demon lackeys can’t sense me.”

“You want us to use you as bait?” Hanamaki interrupts, voicing Iwaizumi’s exact thoughts.

“No way,” Iwaizumi adds. “Not happening.”

There’s a sigh, likely coming from Oikawa, and Iwaizumi prepares himself for the words he definitely doesn’t want to hear.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says calmly, “It’s our only shot. We have to draw him out.”

He’s right. Iwaizumi knows he’s right.

Fuck.

Unease settles in the pit of his stomach, twisting and turning. It burns through his chest, fills him with worry and allows for fear to creep into his mind. To use Oikawa as bait is the last thing Iwaizumi wanted. If it had been up to him, Oikawa would’ve stayed in the warehouse, safe from harm, while Iwaizumi and the others took care of the hordes of demons.

He remains quiet for another moment, mentally running through their options, before eventually releasing a long sigh.

“One condition,” Iwaizumi says quietly, looking towards the other side of the clearing where he knows Oikawa should be, “I’m staying with you.”

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Together with Matsukawa and Kuroo, Iwaizumi heads towards the other side of the clearing once more. After explaining the current plan to the other hunters, a few of them left their assigned spots to assist Kyoutani and Jun’s group, while Iwaizumi and Matsukawa relocated to the other side of the battlefield.

Once they reach Oikawa and Hanamaki, Matsukawa immediately pulls Oikawa aside while Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and Kuroo gather around them.

“This hopefully won’t take much time,” Matsukawa explains, “but I need you guys to cover us anyway.”

“Duh,” Hanamaki replies, nocking three arrows and firing them at any nearby demons. Iwaizumi throws a quick glance over his shoulder to see Oikawa pressing his lips together tightly. They share a look, and Oikawa offers him a short nod and a weak smile.

This is a bad idea, he thinks to himself.

He swallows, offering a small nod in return before glancing at the gate in the distance. A beam of red energy continues to shoot upward from the ground, towards the heavens, with dozens of demons emerging from the Otherworld with each minute that passes. He briefly thinks of Rei’s words when she returned the necklace to him.

‘Use it.’

‘Do not be afraid of your power. Embrace it.’

He’d tried. For the past two days, he’d allowed himself to get familiar with that foreign energy that traveled through his body. Though, to call it foreign would be false, he realizes. It’s been a part of him for as long as he could remember, aiding him in his time of need and allowing him to push his body beyond its limits.

The wisps of red energy that began to bleed from his fingers had surprised him, but the power that came with it felt good. It felt amazing.

He’d tried to let it roam free, but something stopped him each time, and Iwaizumi grew frustrated.

The fear inside of him did not subside despite his best efforts. Encouraging words from those around him did nothing to pull the anxiety from his bones, but now, as Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa, he realizes that he would swallow whatever fear climbed up his throat to ensure his safety. For him, he’d brave the storm. He’d do it tired, broken, bloodied, and bruised.

He’d do it for Oikawa, for Matsukawa, for Hanamaki.

Which is why Iwaizumi removes the necklace and takes a deep breath. The pendant requires only a small amount of magic to transform, and the sword feels heavy, but familiar in his palms.

Numerous demons continue to charge towards them, with Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and Kuroo fending the creatures off as Matsukawa begins to murmur an incantation. The sound of his voice is drowned out by the roars and howls of the demons before them.

He wields the sword just as he’d been taught to do. He strikes and jabs, cutting through skin and bone with each swing. From the corner of his eyes, he notices a bright flash and he momentarily looks at Oikawa—who squeezes his eyes shut. After another moment, he stumbles forward, but Matsukawa manages to catch him.

He nods at Iwaizumi just as he begins to unwrap his chain. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Kuroo each move closer towards Oikawa while glancing around in an attempt to locate Kazuo.

For a long moment, it seems as though nothing happens, but then the ground begins to tremble. Above them, the Nameless continue to fly in circles, their screeches growing louder and louder, until a creature—larger than the ones he’s encountered thus far—approaches them with a wicked smile.

Its body is the color of blood, its claws are blackened, and its teeth are the color of ink. Yellow eyes with black slits observe him, or rather Oikawa, and Iwaizumi wonders if the demon before them might be Kazuo. Like the Nameless, the demon has large wings attached to its back and a grotesque face with large tusks, like the many ogres they’ve encountered before.

“There… you are…” it says, its voice cutting through the air as it moves forward. “I told you I’d find you again.”

Iwaizumi presses closer towards Oikawa, wondering why the words seem so familiar to him.

“It’s not him,” Oikawa says then. “It’s that demon from a few days ago.”

The words have barely left his throat when the demon charges towards them with a loud roar. Fortunately, Oikawa’s force field offers them some protection. The demon snarls as it slams its enormous fists repeatedly against the barrier.

It’s joined by other creatures that look quite similar, with blood-red skin and blackened claws. Large horns sit atop their heads, and large, black wings are attached to their backs. They slam against the barrier repeatedly, and Iwaizumi knows Oikawa isn’t able to keep the force field up much longer.

“Release it,” he tells him, “We’ll take care of them—Kuroo, take him somewhere quick—”

His words are interrupted when the larger demon manages to break through the barrier, its companions following suit. The force field shatters, and everything happens so, so fast. Iwaizumi barely has the time to launch an attack, because one of the demons slams into him mere seconds later.

Chaos unfolds and he hopes, prays, Kuroo has managed to get Oikawa out of here in time.

The sword falls from his grip and feels a pair of claws sink into his shoulder as he’s tackled to the ground. A shout is ripped from his throat; blinding pain traveling through his entire body as he writhes beneath the demon. Blood trickles down the right side of his head, an ache forming between his temples, but he manages to raise one of his arms and gather a decent amount of energy into his fist. Unfortunately, the creature slams its hand down on his arm, and Iwaizumi bites back a pained groan.

With his other hand, he tries to reach for one of his weapons—for anything—but then he hears Oikawa’s voice.

“Hajime!”

No.

He’s running towards him, fear flashing through his eyes, and Iwaizumi is momentarily reminded of what had happened a few days before. Panic washes over him as he remembers the way Oikawa had nearly sacrificed himself.

This is not how it’s supposed to go, he thinks.

“Oikawa, don’t!” he shouts, “Find Kuroo, get out—”

He’s unable to finish the sentence, because the larger demon reappears out of nowhere and Iwaizumi is forced to watch as it lashes out at Oikawa. The force field doesn’t reappear this time. Instead, the demon wraps its claws tightly around Oikawa’s throat while simultaneously sinking its other claws deep into Oikawa’s stomach.

Blood, as red as the demon’s skin, pours from the wound, and Oikawa makes a strangled sort of noise while the demon screeches and lifts his body with that vicious, wicked smile. Blood spills from Oikawa’s lips, dripping down the corner of his mouth as ragged breaths climb up his throat. Quiet gasps that sound impossibly loud to nobody but Iwaizumi.

Everything goes eerily silent, then.

It’s as if every bit of oxygen has vanished from Iwaizumi’s lungs. His breath catches in his throat, his hands tremble, his eyes burn, and he tries and tries to make some sort of sound. His fingers feel numb and it’s as though a cavity has formed deep inside of his chest. A crater that has swallowed his heart, his breath, his soul.

He doesn’t notice the demon above him, nor does he feel its claws sinking deeper into his own skin. The voices of his friends have vanished, leaving him in complete and utter silence.

Silence is accompanied by darkness. It wraps around his body, seeps into his bones; swallowing him entirely.

Tooru, he thinks.

Tooru.

Tooru.

Iwaizumi surrenders.

In this surrender, he finds freedom. And that’s when it happens. A surge of energy travels through him. It gathers in the center of his chest before spreading through his limbs. It almost feels like an explosion. Like a wire that had been pulled too tight had finally, finally, snapped.

Whatever fear had been there before, is non-existent now.

Tooru.

For fear and grief are overshadowed by rage. They’re replaced by a vicious kind of anger that burns through him; flames born from fury. Every part of him feels as though it’s being burned alive. It’s overwhelming and maddening, but he doesn’t fight it. This time, he succumbs to it.

It’s as if there’s a storm trapped beneath his skin, itching to be released, and Iwaizumi lets it. He lets him consume him whole. He lets the energy pour from his fingertips, allowing it to wrap around his hands; around his arms; around every inch of his body until it cloaks him entirely. His arms twist and jerk, his hands transforming into something bigger, and sharper.

Rather than fearing the chaos, he welcomes it, letting it feed on the anger that rips through him. It feels… good. His hand moves on its own, lashing out at the demon above him. A single strike is all it takes for the creature to be beheaded, and Iwaizumi barely registers the way his own hand—or rather, his claw—slices through flesh and bone.

His body feels different. Stronger. Faster.

It’s not enough.

He needs more.

They need to bleed more.

In the distance, he sees the demon looming over Oikawa, and the only thing Iwaizumi can think of is that he needs to get to Oikawa. He begins to run, his muscles aching with each stride, but his legs take him to Oikawa—much faster than they’ve done before.

He slams his full weight into the demon, and the creature shrieks as Iwaizumi buries his hand into its stomach until it pierces the demon’s flesh. “You foul human—” he hears the demon roar, but Iwaizumi finds that he doesn’t care for its words. He retracts his hand quickly just as the creature lashes out at him.

He momentarily wonders if the demon’s speed has decreased, given how much easier it is to dodge his attack now. As he steps aside, Iwaizumi thinks of the way the creature had grabbed Oikawa moments before. His own arm shoots out almost immediately, fingers wrapping themselves tightly around the demon’s throat. He digs his nails into its skin, black blood spilling over his fingertips as he squeezes tighter and tighter.

Iwaizumi raises his arm, lifting the demon’s body before slamming it onto the ground. The creature snarls at him, but he digs a heel into its stomach, pressing down on the earlier wound as he forms a fist with his hand. When he strikes the creature again, he makes sure to drive his fist through its skull with as much force as possible.

Cracks form in the earth beneath the demon’s skull before its body begins to disintegrate. Iwaizumi rises to his feet afterwards, hearing the screeches and howls of the other demons that charge towards him. He dashes forward, managing to retrieve his fallen sword in the process. As his fingers wrap around the blade’s handle, another surge of power rushes through him.

It’s intoxicating.

He pushes the energy into the sword, lets it seep into the blade, before swinging the weapon at the creatures in front of him. Each strike feels better than the next. The blade cuts through them with ease, slicing through their skin and piercing their flesh. Limbs are torn from their bodies, wings are ripped from their backs, and heads fall and fall as the blade finds a home against their necks and jaws.

They did this. They hurt his friends. They hurt Oikawa.

He will not rest until all of them are destroyed. Until every single creature has fallen.

He repeats the movements over and over, muscles straining with effort, and clothes soaked in blood. He’s unsure who it belongs to; finds that he doesn’t care. Not when there are still too many demons standing before him—their eyes gleaming in the night, their bloodstained smiles taunting him.

He wants to rip it off their faces.

And he does.

Something touches him then. Claws drag across his back, and Iwaizumi shouts before whirling around. His fingers curl around the demon’s head, and he squeezes tightly before pulling his arm upwards. He watches the body slump to the ground before crushing the severed head between his fingers.

It’s tossed aside after a moment, and he’s about to step forward until he hears his name.

“Hajime.”

The voice is quiet and distant, but familiar. It douses the flames, it tames the anger, it wraps around his heart. He hears it again, louder this time, and Iwaizumi glances over his shoulder before turning around.

Through the haze, he’s able to see him. Oikawa’s lips are stained red. His eyes seem tired. Someone is next to him, helping him sit upright as they tend to his wounds. Hanamaki, he realizes. And his sister.

Alive, he thinks. He’s alive.

Iwaizumi takes a shaky step forward, followed by another. He keeps moving, slowly, with a hand outstretched, until he reaches him; until he sinks to his knees in front of him.

A smile greets him, accompanied by a gentle ‘hey’.

The ache in his chest slowly disappears as anger is replaced by relief. He crawls out of the abyss, finding light where there was nothing but darkness, and the veil is finally lifted.

He can feel again.

He can breathe again.

“Tooru,” he breathes, a hand reaching for him. It trembles, but he manages to touch him; feeling the warmth of Oikawa’s skin seep into his palm as he brushes a hand over his cheek. He’s able to see him now—clearly, vividly. The brown of his eyes, the curve of his lips, the dust of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Oikawa leans forward and thumbs at the tear that rolls down Iwaizumi’s cheek. Both Hanamaki and his sister move away after another moment, and that’s when Iwaizumi leans in to wrap his arms around Oikawa.

He buries his face into Oikawa’s shoulder, digs his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, and keeps him close. The scent of jasmine and mint bleeds together with blood and sweat as Oikawa’s fingers curl around the back of Iwaizumi’s neck.

He finds stillness in this moment—a few seconds of tranquility in the arms of a man whose voice, whose kindness, had managed to reach his soul. It had pierced through the void, tamed the storm, and touched his heart, filling it with hope, relief, calmness.

“I’m here,” Oikawa whispers, lips pressed against Iwaizumi’s head. He repeats it, quietly, and Iwaizumi releases a shaky exhale as he tightens his grip around him.

Tears stain the fabric of Oikawa’s shirt. Whether they are born from fear or relief, Iwaizumi can’t tell. He simply allows them to fall as he focuses on the gentle thrum of Oikawa’s heartbeat.

It’s steady and stable. A reminder that he’s here, he’s alive.

When Iwaizumi finally raises his head, Oikawa wipes at the corners of his eyes again. He leans into the touch when Oikawa cups his cheek and draws him in until their noses brush and their foreheads are pressed together.

“Hajime,” Oikawa murmurs, “What happened? What was that?”

Iwaizumi knows what Oikawa is referring to. As he leans back slightly, he keeps his arms loosely around Oikawa. His gaze drops to his own hands, observing the black and red blood that clings to his skin like a mosaic. His knuckles feel raw, and his fingers ache.“I—I don’t know,” he answers hesitantly, “You were hurt and I felt so… scared and angry. And I lost control.”

It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. A split-second moment in which everything became too much, too fast. It felt as though he could barely process what happened. The intensity of his emotions was overwhelming, swallowing him entirely. He’d been caught in a web he’d spun himself; trapped and unable to move as anger and fear ripped through him like a storm. It settled deep into his bones, spreading like an infection, and all he could do was give in. He remembers wanting to.

And when he did, the surge of power that came with it felt intoxicating.

For years he avoided this moment, buried that part of him, and ignored it in favor of maintaining a shred of control. He’d been too afraid of what would happen if he gave in to chaos.

His hands are stained red, but his heart beats, and his chest feels lighter. Oikawa is alive, as are his friends. He did not harm them. He did not become the thing he feared. He hopes he never will.

Matsukawa’s voice interrupts his thoughts when he approaches the two of them. “That was intense,” he says, quietly. “How do you feel?”

Iwaizumi raises his head to look at his friend. A gentle smile rests on Matsukawa’s lips, though he doesn’t miss the hint of concern that flashes through his dark eyes.

“I’m okay,” Iwaizumi tells him. And it’s the truth. “I’ve calmed down.”

Matsukawa’s smile widens, revealing just a hint of teeth. “Good,” he replies. “Looks like you finally used the‘Tiger’s Aura’.”

Iwaizumi frowns, pushing himself to his feet and gently tugging Oikawa with him. The mention of the technique, pulls a distant memory to the surface. Both his father and grandfather had often explained the technique to him, hoping that he would one day be able to master it as well. Tiger’s Aura is a technique named after their family guardian, Byakko. It allows the user to wrap their entire body in pure, white energy, significantly boosting their physical abilities for a short time. One becomes much faster and stronger, pushing their body beyond its limits. In some of the older books, the user would be described as ‘the ultimate hunter’, able to kill multiple demons quickly and efficiently.

Iwaizumi had seen his father and some of his other relatives use the technique, but never quite managed to master it. It didn’t matter how much he’d trained or practiced, it never seemed to work. He’d always assumed it had something to do with his demon physiology.

“That makes no sense—I never learned how to do it,” he tells Matsukawa.

His friend merely raises his shoulders in a shrug. “It looked very similar. Your energy turned red—your eyes too. And your hands… They were like claws. I’d never seen you that fast or strong before. Or angry,” Matsukawa explains, briefly glancing at Oikawa. “Seeing him get hurt triggered something. You’ve always avoided using your demon magic, but this time it was like you completely lost control.”

“It was scary,” Hanamaki adds, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “But it was also fucking impressive if I’m being honest.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle at Hanamaki’s words. He turns towards Oikawa when he feels a hand on his shoulder and finds that Oikawa is carefully studying his face. Iwaizumi glances down again, observing his arms and hands. His body feels fine now—somehow—despite the earlier injuries he sustained. He touches his shoulder, finding that the wound inflicted by one of the demons has healed somewhat. “It was strange. I felt like I wasn’t in control, but at the same time I was… I can’t explain it.”

This time, it’s Nao who steps forward. “It’s like we often say: magic is tied to our emotions. It’s like when Oikawa-kun got his powers when he jumped in front of you. The fear and overwhelming urge to protect you acted as a trigger. It’s als also why his force-fields suddenly appear whenever he’s in danger. It’s his body trying to protect itself,” she explains before glancing at her brother. “And it’s also why Takahiro was able to save Issei by giving him his life-force despite having used quite a bit of magic beforehand. Seeing Issei get hurt triggered something. It acted like a catalyst.”

Amidst Iwaizumi’s mild confusion, Rei’s voice echoes through his mind.

‘Love is a powerful catalyst, but so is loss, envy… rage.’

It’s exactly as Nao had said—the very thing Rei had warned him about. And even though he might have lost control, it felt… good. It made him feel powerful. Perhaps it should frighten him, but with that power came a sense of freedom he had never felt before.

Even now, his body feels different. Different in a way that does not frighten him. Rather, it piques his curiosity. It makes him want to know more, discover what else lurks beneath the surface. It feels as though an invisible wall has been broken. He’d removed the barrier brick by brick, clawing at the stones until his fingers ached and his knuckles bled. Did true freedom lurk behind the blackened stones that had been built around him like a cage? Would he find salvation?

His moment of contemplation is interrupted when Kuroo speaks up and says, “Sorry to interrupt whatever’s going on here, But—demons, demon gate, evil uncle apparently. We’re running out of time.”

There’s a hand pressed against Iwaizumi’s upper arm, and he finds concern in the brown of Oikawa’s eyes. Concern bleeds into his voice, lacing his words as he quietly asks, “Are you sure you feel okay?”

Iwaizumi smiles, if only momentarily.

It had been Oikawa’s voice that pulled him out of that abyss. A moment of peace amidst the chaos. The tenderness of his voice had pierced through the noise; anchoring itself to Iwaizumi’s heart. Carefully, gently, it pulled him towards the surface.

Even now, with all that has occurred, he’s more concerned with Iwaizumi’s wellbeing.

Iwaizumi removes Oikawa’s hand, only to give it a gentle squeeze as he curls his finger around his palm. He briefly observes their hands, fingers intertwined. “I should be asking you that,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from that—”

Before he’s able to finish the sentence, Oikawa cuts him off with a stern look and a firm squeeze. “Don’t,” he warns. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He knows that, and yet the guilt persists. Instead of voicing those thoughts, Iwaizumi asks, “How do you feel, though?”

A breathless chuckle falls from Oikawa’s lips. “I’m okay, but I think that’s because of all the adrenaline,” he admits. “Looks like I’m finally getting used to all of this.”

“I kinda wish you didn’t have to,” Iwaizumi admits.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kinda exciting,” Oikawa counters, a small grin forming on his lips. Iwaizumi feels tempted to kiss it away.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to do it because a large explosion pulls his attention away from Oikawa. It happens suddenly, in the center of the battlefield, and it reminds him of the earlier explosion they’d heard when they’d just arrived in the mountains. A shockwave follows, and the earth trembles due to the sheer force of the blast, nearly causing Iwaizumi to lose his footing.

Luckily, the blast did not reach them, and Iwaizumi hopes that his friends, who had been on the other side of the clearing, remain unharmed. Voices echo through the comm links as numerous hunters report what has happened. A cloud of dust momentarily impairs his vision, and he coughs a few times before a strong gust of wind blows the dust particles away.

Yahaba, Kyoutani, and Watari are a few of the hunters that run towards them. Blood clings to their skin; their torn clothes are soaked in crimson. They’re joined by Ren, who immediately finds Iwaizumi. Amidst the chaos, he finds a moment of peace as he embraces her. She’s far too large for him to properly wrap his arms around her, but he manages to lean against her as he runs his fingers through her fur.

The large wolf makes a small noise as she pulls away, only to nudge her nose against the side of Oikawa’s head, who laughs as he pets her gently.

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks her, to which she huffs. He reckons it counts as a ‘yes’.

When Kyoutani approaches them, he explains that the explosion happened suddenly. Apparently, it wasn’t caused by any of the hunters or one of the demons they’d been fighting. Both Kyoutani’s sister and Yahaba’s brothers are close by, along with Matsukawa’s younger siblings, and a number of Kuroo’s teammates, who’d all decided to regroup with their teams.

Amidst Kyoutani’s explanation, Iwaizumi’s gaze drifts towards Kuroo, who seems to be talking to a woman who bears a striking resemblance to him. Her hair is cut short, just falling below her ears, and Iwaizumi thinks he’d heard Kuroo mention his sister once or twice. They both turn towards Akaashi, Bokuto, and Bokuto’s older sisters after a moment while various members of the Fukurodani and Nekoma groups gather around them.

He breathes a sigh of relief when both Kunimi and Kindaichi, accompanied by their siblings, manage to find them as well. Once their team is complete, he explains that Matsukawa had removed the wards and that they’re hoping to draw Kazuo out somehow.

Right as the words fall from his lips, they find that another horde of enormous looking demons approach them once more. This time, Iwaizumi manages to push Oikawa behind him before grabbing his sword. As his fingers curl around the handle of the weapon, he notices how different it feels.

Different in a good way.

Almost immediately, his energy begins to wrap around the blade, and Iwaizumi finds that it’s much easier to wield the weapon as he swings it at one of the creatures that charges towards him. The resistance he usually felt, seems to have disappeared. Rather than engaging in some sort of tug-of-war with the weapon, the sword feeds off the magic that flows freely through his veins now.

For the longest time, his magic had felt uncontrollable and unpredictable. It left him apprehensive and frightened; fearful of what would happen if he allowed it to roam free. He was afraid it would consume him, and, in a way it had.

When Oikawa had gotten injured, Iwaizumi had lost control. A flame had turned into a wildfire, it burned and burned, destroying everything in its path. All he could think about was Oikawa, and how much he wanted to hurt those who’d hurt him.

However, it’s different now. Iwaizumi doesn’t resist the magic, nor does he let it consume him entirely. Instead, he guides it, molds it; maintaining control in a way he could not before.

He trusts his instincts.

Trusts that they will not lead him astray.

The sword releases a surge of energy as it slices through the skin of a shokera, leaving Iwaizumi both surprised and impressed at the same time. It’s as if the energetic blockage inside of him—one he likely put there himself—has been removed. He’s able to move more freely now, and it’s easier to summon the magic.

Energy gathers in his hand, wrapping around his fingers, as his fist connects with the jaw of an ogre. He watches as the demon is launched backwards, crashing into two other demons, and Iwaizumi releases a breathless chuckle.

He focuses, refocuses, remembering his training as he allows the sword to transform into a necklace once more before slipping the chain over his head. His hands reach for the knives strapped to his back, fingers slipping through the knuckle guards. Taking a deep breath, Iwaizumi focuses on the blades in his hands; channeling the energy into the weapons before he dashes forward again.

All right, he thinks. Let’s see what you can do.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

It becomes quite evident that all of the demons seem to be drawn towards Oikawa, and Iwaizumi barks out an order for his teammates to stick close to both him and Oikawa as he drags his knives along the throat of a winged demon. Even before its head hits the ground, its companion rushes in, and Iwaizumi finds himself knocked back.

Three of Hanamaki’s arrows sink into the demon’s skull, allowing Iwaizumi to get to his feet before quickly searching for Oikawa. When he spots him, he notices that Matsukawa and Ren remain close by his side—along with Nao.

“Stating the obvious here,” Hanamaki starts, ducking aside when an ogre lashes out at him, “but we really need to close that gate. How long are we going to be able to keep this up?”

He uses one of his arrows as a makeshift knife, driving it through the throat of the demon before whirling around and conjuring two knives which he hurls at another demon.

A loud roar startles both of them.

It cuts through the air as the ground begins to tremble. Heavy footsteps can be heard in the distance, and each step is followed by another tremor. A stifling energy, rotten and poisonous, fills the air around them. It crawls up Iwaizumi’s spine, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs as a voice pierces through the darkness.

“Tooru,” he hears. And then again, louder. It sounds menacing.

Both he and Hanamaki are quick to find Oikawa and Matsukawa, watching as various demons are pushed aside when a larger creature steps forward. Iwaizumi feels his stomach drop at the sight of the demon. It’s much larger than any of the other demons they have encountered thus far.

Even the ogres, which are roughly two or three meters tall, seem small in comparison to the enormous demon that pushes past them. It’s gigantic, roughly twice their size, and approximately six or seven meters tall, if Iwaizumi were to take a quick guess.

The creature is grotesque—monstrous in every sense of the word. Its skin is a deep shade of purple with a reddish hue, while two large horns sit at the top of its head. They’re curved and appear to be razor sharp—almost as sharp as the rows and rows of teeth Iwaizumi spots. Its hands and feet are blackened, with thin, black lines running across its arms and legs. A large, cross-shaped scar sits at the center of its chest, glowing faintly.

The demon is slightly hunched over, its tongue hanging from its mouth as blood drips from its teeth. Another deafening roar escapes its mouth, its eyes taking on a red glow as it glances around. When its gaze lands on Oikawa, it cackles—a shrill, horrendous sound. “Tooru!” it shrieks, again. A large hand moves upward, gesturing at Oikawa with its razor sharp claws. “I have finally found you… You’ve hidden from me… but now it’s time for you to join me!”

Above them, the moon continues to glow—a blood soaked symbol amidst a never ending battle—and dread crawls across Iwaizumi’s skin. A cold breeze brushes along his arms and cheek, while his heart continues to thrash wildly within his chest. It beats against his ribcage, harsh and unforgiving, as he stares at the man—or rather, the monster—who had been responsible for all of the pain and agony.

The demon cackles again, tilting its head with a wicked smile that cuts through Iwaizumi’s bones like a sharpened blade. A wave of anger washes over him at the sound of its laughter. It’s stronger than the fear, and he forces the ice from his veins, banishes the dread that had interwoven itself with his spine. He breathes through it, reminding himself why he’s here today and who he’s protecting.

Then, a breathless laugh, born from equal parts relief and disbelief, falls from Iwaizumi’s lips, “There you are, you fucking bastard.”

Chapter Text

It’s hard to believe that everything that happened the past week has led to this moment. How many nights had he laid awake, wondering how much more he could endure? Questions spawned more questions; a neverending mystery that led him down a crooked road that recurred in each of his dreams. Every step was weighed down by the knowledge that each day could be his last.

Cobblestones were painted crimson, red liquid slipping through the crevices. A reminder of all the blood that had been spilled. And all the blood that would be spilled.

‘Death follows you,’ a voice said quietly.

It was accompanied by a sense of dread, constricting and stifling. The sensation crept through his veins, nestling itself within his bones; a constant reminder of a fate he could not escape.

The voice would grow louder and louder as blood-stained claws wrapped themselves tightly around his throat. They dug into his flesh, breaking skin and painting his body in a shade of death.

Each time he’d wake with a start, gasping for breath and sweat cooling on his skin. Trembling hands were fisted into the comforter while his heart and lungs fought for a semblance of control. In those moments he became acquainted with a new type of vulnerability.

It left him with a void in his chest and apologies on his lips.

(Who was he apologizing to? Himself? His family? Iwaizumi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki? The gods?)

He didn’t know.

A monstrous roar pulls him back to the present, banishing all and any thoughts regarding blood-stained streets and terrifying voices. Oikawa’s eyes are wide with terror as he observes the demon before them. A man turned monster; swallowed by greed, shaped by death. Every shred of humanity has vanished, burned away by darkness.

What had become of his uncle?

He’s bigger than any demon they’ve encountered before, towering above the ogres that accompany him. His eyes are as red as the moon above them and his teeth are blackened. Oikawa is forced to watch as he lashes out at a group of hunters he does not know. While some manage to evade the attack, others suffer a worse fate. Razor sharp claws cut through their bodies, screams of terror climbing up their throats in those final moments. Blood clings to his skin, dripping down his arms as he continues to attack the men and women before him.

The cross-shaped scar on his chest glows faintly. Like his eyes, it’s painted red.

Numerous hunters fire their weapons at him, and it seems that they’re able to inflict some damage, but none of the wounds are fatal. Kazuo merely presses forward, barking orders at the demons that accompany him. When he slams his fists down on the ground, a shockwave knocks the majority of the hunters back.

Oikawa barely manages to catch himself in time, but Iwaizumi presses closer to him; keeping him upright as Kazuo roars his name once more. Next to him, Matsukawa’s voice is quiet, and a little strained, when he says, “Seems like your plan worked. Any idea how we can kill this guy?”

“He’s still a demon, isn’t he? Means he’s still killable,” Iwaizumi replies.

“So the plan… is no plan?” Hanamaki asks, a nervous laugh spilling from his lips. “Got’cha.”

“The plan is divide and conquer,” Iwaizumi tells his friend before turning towards a tall man with messy, black hair, and a sharp grin. Apparently, his name is Kuroo. From what Oikawa was able to see, he’s quite fast and able to teleport anywhere at will. A rather convenient skill.

He’s accompanied by a woman who appears to be his sister, and a large group of hunters. They’re dressed similarly to the members of Seijoh—save for the small, red claw mark printed on the upper back of their shirts. Oikawa knows little of the hunters belonging to the Nekoma Group, but he remembers the relief that had washed over Hanamaki’s face when they appeared.

“Want us to take care of the others for now while you focus on this Kazuo-guy?” Kuroo asks.

Iwaizumi nods. “We might need your help later, though.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come save the day as usual,” Kuroo grins before barking an order to his teammates. Immediately, numerous hunters dash forward, perfectly synchronized as they launch an attack on the group of demons before them. Chaos unfolds once more, with the majority of the Seijoh members gathering around Oikawa as numerous creatures charge towards them. Fortunately, he’s able to guard himself better this time—having learned from past mistakes.

He momentarily thinks of what had transpired before.

It happened so fast. He remembers running towards Iwaizumi in a moment of panic, desperate to help him, when the larger demon appeared suddenly. Its hand was wrapped tightly around Oikawa’s throat, easily lifting his body off the ground as he struggled in its grip. Panic washed over him, drowning him entirely, before the creature sank its claws deep into his stomach.

A blinding pain shot through his body as his mouth filled itself with blood; vision fading with each second that passed. He coughed, desperate to gather oxygen into his lungs, clinging to survival for a few more seconds. Iwaizumi’s name echoed through his mind.

Hajime, he thought. Hajime, Hajime, Hajime.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he wanted to say. Instead, silent gasps fell from his lips, and he’d wondered if that would be the last sound he’d ever made. Would he die like this? Choking on his own blood?

Iwaizumi’s blood curdling scream and Hanamaki’s distant voice, panicked and concerned, were the last thing he registered. He’s not sure how long it had taken for him to wake again—seconds, minutes, hours—but when he did, he remembers gasping for air. Adrenaline coursed through his body, his heartbeat a deafening sound, as he frantically searched for Iwaizumi.

When he saw him, Oikawa choked on an exhale. Iwaizumi’s body had been covered in blood; crimson painting his skin. It dripped down his arms, his hands—every part of him looked as though it was soaked in red and black liquid. His shirt had been torn, its fabric ruined at the hands of the monsters he’d encountered. A large tear sat at the center of his chest, revealing a painful gash that left Oikawa concerned.

Though, what caught his attention was the faint, reddish glow of Iwaizumi’s eyes. That same glow wrapped itself around his limbs. It crawled across his skin, cloaking his body entirely, in a way Oikawa hadn’t seen before. Iwaizumi charged towards the demons much quicker than before, his movements wild and rash. Each strike seemed to be fueled by rage. It was terrifying.

Oikawa isn’t sure how long he watched him, eyes widened in shock, but at some point he’d mumbled Iwaizumi’s name. He’d spoken his name so quietly, but loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear because he turned around immediately, eyes searching for the source of the sound.

The sword fell from his hands mere seconds later, disbelief settling on his features as he slowly approached Oikawa. Iwaizumi sank to his knees and Oikawa watched his face crumble, anger making place for something different. Relief, fear, grief, guilt. They painted his features, told a story Oikawa immediately understood. He’d gathered Iwaizumi in his arms moments later, cradling the back of his head while Iwaizumi clung to him; forehead pressed against Oikawa’s shoulder.

Tears seeped into the fabric of his shirt. It was the first time Oikawa had seen Iwaizumi this vulnerable. His lips were pressed against the top of Iwaizumi’s head as he kept whispering ‘I’m here’ into his hair, over and over.

For a moment he allowed himself to forget the world around him, focussing on the feeling of Iwaizumi in his arms. He consoled himself with the fact that this would all be over soon. They had to hold on a little longer.

You will not lose me, he thought. And I will not lose you.

His reminiscing stops when a loud snarl pulls him out of his thoughts. Even before Oikawa is able to move, Iwaizumi’s sword cuts through the demon’s flesh, beheading the creature in one fluid movement. It sinks into the stomach of a kasha mere moments later, releasing a burst of red energy as Iwaizumi drags the blade upwards until the demon’s upper body is entirely split in half.

He releases the sword immediately, fingers wrapping around Oikawa’s wrist before pulling Oikawa against him. Almost simultaneously, Iwaizumi manages to retrieve one of his guns and Oikawa watches as he presses the trigger thrice—firing a round of energy bullets into the head of a large spider-like demon that jumps towards them.

Drops of black blood land on Oikawa’s forehead and cheeks. There isn’t much time to be disgusted, because Iwaizumi slips an arm around his waist and whirls around rapidly. The barrel of his gun is pressed against the forehead of a winged demon and between one blink and the next, the creature slumps to the floor after Iwaizumi presses down on the trigger.

Oxygen returns to Oikawa’s lungs in a rush and he releases a breathless chuckle before glancing at Iwaizumi. The rapid beating of his heart almost hurts; heat traveling towards the center of his face.

“Show-off.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, but Oikawa doesn’t miss the smirk resting on his lips. Black liquid cover his forehead and the bridge of his nose—some of it clinging to his lower lip. “You okay?”

Oikawa nods, wiping a hand over Iwaizumi’s cheek and managing to remove some of the dark blood clinging to his skin. It feels warm beneath his fingertips and Oikawa thinks Iwaizumi might have gently leaned into his touch for a moment. Part of him wants to forget about the situation at hand and spend his days touching Iwaizumi’s skin.

Unfortunately, that will have to wait because three more demons leap towards them. Iwaizumi quickly dives forward, taking Oikawa with him as they both roll across the ground. He ends up shielding Oikawa with his body as he pushes himself onto his hands and knees, while Oikawa throws an arm out, encasing both of them in a small force field to shield them from the creatures that attacked them before.

Iwaizumi momentarily glances at the barrier, lips pulled into a grin, before he looks down once more.

“Show off.”

Oikawa mirrors the grin, slowly raising his other hand to wipe at Iwaizumi’s cheek once more. It travels down slowly, thumb brushing over Iwaizumi’s lower lip, which parts around a gentle exhale. His eyes linger on Iwaizumi’s lips; observing the fullness of his lower lip; the cut in his upper lip.

Now is not the time to be enthralled by a mouth he longs to kiss again and again, but alas Oikawa is only human.

It must be obvious, because Iwaizumi chuckles. A deep, throaty sound that vibrates through his chest. He brushes the back of his hand along Oikawa’s cheek, fingers caressing his temple and momentarily slipping through brown locks.

Oikawa briefly forgets to breathe.

“Later,” Iwaizumi whispers, promises.

Oikawa swallows, nodding. The steady thrum of his heart increases rapidly and he wonders if he sounds a little breathless when he says, “Later.”

Iwaizumi smiles, dimples poking through, before he raises his head and glances over his shoulder. “Drop the shield.”

Rather than question him, Oikawa merely nods. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

As he makes a fist with his right hand, the blue barrier vanishes. Iwaizumi is on his feet within seconds, guns holstered and hands reaching down to retrieve his knives. As his fingers slip through the knuckle guards, another burst of energy sprouts from his fingertips. It wraps around the blades, and Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi dives forward; knives embedded into the abdomen of a red ogre twice his size.

When a second ogre dashes towards him, Oikawa raises an arm. Immediately, a blue bow manifests itself in his hand and he’s quick to retract his other arm in order to fire two arrows at the creature. A gurgling sound rips itself from the ogre’s throat as the blue arrows find a home in its neck and forehead.

He repeats the movements. Just like they’d practiced.

Aim.

Draw

Release.

With each arrow that’s being fired, a surge of power travels through his body. It gathers in his chest, thrumming beneath his skin and begging to be released. In the distance, he sees Kazuo moving forward; screaming and snarling at those who attempt to block his path.

Hanamaki appears next to him as one of the arrows flies towards a winged demon, blood gathered at the corner of his mouth. He rubs the back of his hand across the lower half of his face before nocking three more arrows himself.

“Looking good,” he comments with a grin, ducking aside when a snake-like demon charges towards him. The demon, an uwabami, snaps its jaws angrily and Oikawa adjusts his stance slightly before drawing another arrow. It manages to sink into the snake’s body whilst Hanamaki slings his bow over his shoulder and flicks his wrist.

Two more arrows appear within seconds—both of which he jabs into the demon’s head. Disgust paints his features as dark liquid sprouts from the demon’s wounds; some of it coating his hands and arms.

A group of demons with skin covered in black scales and yellow eyes filled with hunger, run across the field on all fours. They snarl, baring razor sharp teeth, as they head towards where Oikawa and the other Seijoh members are standing.

“Stay with Oikawa!” Iwaizumi shouts after a moment, to which Hanamaki nods. His eyes briefly dart to the side as he jerks his chin into Oikawa’s direction, and Oikawa briefly wonders who he’s looking at when both Nao and Koharu appear in front of him. They’re quickly joined by their brother, and all three siblings move simultaneously as they guard him.

Oikawa watches as Koharu’s fingers are curled around a glaive. The blade attached to the staff rivals Iwaizumi’s sword in terms of size. It’s enormous. When she hits the bottom of the polearm on the ground, a wave of yellow-golden energy travels along the weapon. Next to her, Nao waves a hand to create three large spears—much larger than the ones Oikawa had seen her summon before.

With another flick of her wrist, the tips of the spears begin to grow in size; the energy changing and reshaping itself until the spearheads resemble large axes.

Though, what surprises him most is the way Hanamaki has evidently gotten rid of his bow. Instead, he claps his hand once, palms tightly pressed together for a moment, before a relatively large sword made out of pure energy manifests behind him. It’s accompanied by another one, and another. The amount of swords keeps increasing until Oikawa counts at least eight of them.

Maybe nine.

All of them are launched towards the group of demons before them, evidently taking out roughly nine demons at once. His sisters attack the remaining creatures, with Koharu swinging the glaive effortlessly as she slices the blade through the stomach of a kijo. She whirls around when the cry of a kotengu captures her attention, using the blade itself to block the demon’s attack as it slams into her. Before the kotengu manages to attack her once more, one of Nao’s axes embeds itself into the demon’s neck.

A laugh, born of both astonishment and amazement, climbs up Oikawa’s throat as he momentarily observes the three of them. Hanamaki returns to his side rather quickly, moving the various swords into different directions while Oikawa fires another arrow at a tiger-like demon that sprints towards them.

“Got any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?”

Hanamaki snorts. “Stick around and maybe you’ll find out.”

The four of them are joined by Yahaba, Kyoutani, and Watari. Oikawa’s eyes are drawn to the weapons they wield, remembering the story Hanamaki had told him about the Three Great Spears. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that the name of each spear is embedded into its blade—along with each person’s family name.

Orange flames gather around Kyoutani’s spearhead, burning through the skin of an ogre as he slices the blade through the lower half of its body. A large wolf jumps forward, its teeth sinking into the ogre’s neck almost immediately. (Oikawa learns that the wolf belongs to Kyoutani).

Yahaba appears next to him mere seconds later, both of them slicing the weapons through the air. The flames erupting from Kyoutani’s spear grow larger, and it takes Oikawa a moment to realize that Yahaba’s wind magic only increases the intensity of the fire.

A wave of heat travels across the battleground as the pair manages to create a rather large fire whirl that burns everything that comes into contact with it. “Matsukawa!” Kyoutani shouts, glancing around in search of his teammate.

“On it,” Oikawa hears from a distance. Matsukawa joins the pair rather quickly, crouching down and pressing his palms to the ground. A wave of fire travels along the ground, and into the direction of the fire whirl; causing it to grow even larger. When Yahaba begins to spin his spear—evidently increasing the velocity of the wind—a tornado completely made of fire is the result.

It’s both terrifying and amazing at once.

Multiple demons are sucked towards the tornado, screeching as their bodies are engulfed in flames, and Oikawa’s eyes grow wide.

He has to dig his heels into the ground to prevent his body from being pulled forward as well when Iwaizumi appears next to him and wraps a hand around Oikawa’s arm to prevent him from getting tugged towards the tornado. Heat crawls across his skin and he briefly raises his other arm to shield his face.

The tornado moves across the field, into the direction of Kazuo, who manages to withstand the flames. It burns his skin, Oikawa notices, but he presses forward regardless; a hungry look in his eyes as he starts to move quicker.

Around him, a couple of hunters launch numerous explosives. It only stops Kazuo momentarily before he lashes out at the hunters again, claws reaching for the humans and fists wrapped around their bodies. He squeezes tightly, shattering bones and squeezing the oxygen from their lungs.

Behind him, demons continue to emerge from the gate—running across the clearing and disappearing into the forest. It doesn’t matter how much they keep fighting, the creatures keep coming.

The others must have realized this by now as well.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Kyoutani shouts after a moment, watching as some of the demons manage to withstand the fire as well. The ground trembles beneath their feet when Kazuo roars again. Five or six hunters from another group swing their weapons. One of them is a man with black hair who seems to be carrying a rather large scythe. He, along with two others, create an air vortex to keep Kazuo from advancing. The gust of wind is strong enough to keep him back, but for how long?

“We have to bind him,” one of them shouts before they find themselves knocked back. Almost immediately, another demon appears behind them and strikes the hunter; claws digging into their shoulders and back. Oikawa watches as the hunter slumps to the ground, a distant shout can be heard while two other hunters rush forward to help their teammate.

It becomes quite evident that the majority of them are at their limits. More and more hunters are getting injured, skin torn and bodies covered in cuts and bruises of all sizes. The smell of blood lingers in the air, human and non-human alike. Oikawa briefly looks at the various men and women belonging to the Seijoh Group, jaw tight and chest feeling even tighter. Despite their injuries, their movements do not falter. They press forward, slaying each demon that dares to approach them. Their tenacity is admirable—a ferocious sort of anger that’s born from a need to protect themselves and those they love.

He understands the sentiment all too well.

After all, he would do anything to protect Iwaizumi.

“Keep him busy,” Iwaizumi tells the hunters, before momentarily glancing around and pressing a finger against his ear piece. “Kuroo, we need you guys over here. Bring Bokuto and his sisters, and tell the others to hurry this way.”

Within seconds, Kuroo appears before them. He’s accompanied by a man with silver hair who wears a bright grin as he slings a large double-bladed axe over his shoulder. Next to him are two women, whose hair colors are similar shades of black-and-silver. Much like the other hunters, their skin is littered with scars. Blood clings to their forearms, it drips down their chins; gathers near their brows and the corners of their mouths.

Despite that, both the man and his sisters look energized. He even looks excited.

“What’s the plan?” Kuroo wonders. “The others are coming this way.”

“We need to bind Kazuo,” Iwaizumi tells him, “And we need Bokuto and his sisters for that.” When he turns towards the silver-haired man—whose name is Bokuto, apparently—and the two women, he adds: “Do you think you’d be able to stun him? It might be a lot for one person, but I think with your powers combined we might be able to do it. After that, we need a binding ritual to keep him in one place.”

His gaze travels towards Matsukawa, who’s joined by his younger siblings.

“I don’t know how long they’ll be able to hold him so we have to move fast,” he tells them, pressing his finger to his earpiece. He informs the other hunters of their plan, ordering those near Kazuo to keep him busy for another moment while Bokuto and his sister coordinate their attack.

Oikawa watches as the three hunters sprint towards Kazuo, weapons drawn. A crackling sound can be heard, accompanied by a deafening boom as they shoot large bursts of lightning from their weapons. The numerous hunters that were near the enormous demon beforehand all retreat as the trio continues to attack Kazuo. The speed of their movements is impressive and their strength is formidable; leaving Oikawa wide-eyed.

His breath catches in his throat when Kazuo lashes out at one of the women, but she narrowly manages to avoid getting hit before slamming the large mallet she’d been holding onto the ground to generate a shockwave. Her siblings mimic her strategy and Oikawa notices the bursts of energy that shoot across the ground.

Apparently, their plan works because the electrical charge is enough to momentarily stun Kazuo, who howls in pain. Oikawa hears Matsukawa shout something before he and his siblings crouch down. They each press their palms to the ground, red and orange runes appearing around them in three perfect circles.

The rune circles glow beneath their palms, their color reminiscent of the flames they wield. Seconds later numerous chains emerge from the circles, shooting towards Kazuo and wrapping themselves around his limbs. They’re similar to the chain Matsukawa utilizes; covered in bright, orange flames. A loud hiss can be heard as the chains sear his skin, burning through flesh, and keeping the enormous demon bound. Nevertheless, Kazuo thrashes violently—roaring as he attempts to break free of the binds.

It becomes evident that both Matsukawa and his siblings are struggling to keep the creature restrained. Sweat gathers above their brows as they each press their palms together tightly. Hanamaki appears behind them—accompanied by his sisters—to fight off any demons that intend to attack either Matsukawa, Shin, or Jun. Matsukawa grits his teeth, “Yahaba. You guys are up.”

It takes a moment for Oikawa to realize why Matsukawa is calling out to Yahaba until he remembers that Yahaba’s family specializes in binding and sealing magic as well. Similarly to Matsukawa and his siblings, Yahaba and his brothers rush forward. All three of them extend their arms; light blue energy gathering around their hands as they mumble an incantation he can’t quite decipher. A rather large rune circle appears beneath Kazuo’s feet afterward. Ropes made of energy emerge from the circle moments later, wrapping around the demon’s body just like the numerous chains that kept him restrained.

While Kazuo continues to thrash and roar, other demons continue to rush forward to attack the remaining hunters, and both Oikawa and Iwaizumi have to duck aside when a group of Nameless fly towards them.

“We don’t have much time,” Iwaizumi tells him, and Oikawa nods, swallowing roughly. He glances back when he hears another roar, noticing that the binds around Kazuo’s arms can barely hold him down. Above them, numerous demons continue to fly through the air as they emerge from the gate. The moon is bright, painted crimson, casting a red glow across the clearing.

His eyes scan the field, observing the dozens of hunters who continue to put their life on the line to protect the city. They try to stop the demons as best as they can, blood dripping from their wounds and sweat clinging to their skin. Panic rushes through him, fear slipping between the cracks of his ribs.

It’s like Iwaizumi said. They don’t have much time.

Each second that passes is another wasted chance.

He has to duck again to avoid being attacked by one of the many spider demons he’s encountered. An arrow finds its target; buried in the demon’s stomach. Unfortunately, the creature lashes out at him; its claws dragging along Oikawa’s arm and chest. He bites back a shout, clutching his shoulder. His blood feels warm beneath his fingertips and he winces when he attempts to lift his arm. A wave of nausea hits him then, accompanied by a sudden burst of vertigo.

Hanamaki and his sisters won’t be able to heal the wound this time, he realizes. Oikawa takes a shaky step forward, nearly doubling over as he reaches inside the small pouch he keeps attached to his belt. He remembers Iwaizumi telling him to pack a few antidotes for moments like these. Any demon that resembled a spider or a snake tends to be poisonous, he’d said.

From the corner of his eye, he notices a sudden movement. When he raises his head, he finds that a kasha is rushing towards him and he swears beneath his breath. Fortunately, Iwaizumi manages to prevent the demon from attacking Oikawa as he dives forward and drives one of his knives into the creature’s chest.

It gives Oikawa a brief moment to retrieve a syringe from the pouch. He uses his teeth to remove the cap before jabbing the needle into his thigh and injecting the antidote into his bloodstream.

Iwaizumi is next to him a few seconds later, sliding an arm around Oikawa’s middle to pull him upright. Oikawa allows himself to slump against Iwaizumi when three ogres dash forward. Wincing, he raises his other arm. A small barrier forms itself around the two of them, though he’s not sure how long he’s able to hold it up given his current state.

“Tooru,” Kazuo screams, his voice traveling through the air and pulling Oikawa’s attention back towards the larger creature. He manages to free one of his arms for a short moment, attempting to slash through the other binds. Kyoutani and his sister rush forward then, both of them sinking to one knee as they press their palms to the ground.

Oikawa briefly wonders if they, like the Matsukawa’s and Yahaba’s, possess binding abilities of their own. Even Iwaizumi seems caught off guard, brows knitting together as he mumbles, “What are they doing?”

From where Oikawa’s standing, he’s able to see something move across Kyoutani’s forearm. The tattoos that cover his skin shift and stretch, black ink seeping out of his skin and spreading across the ground.

Watari must know what he’s planning, because he looks concerned as he shouts: “Ken—are you sure?!”

“We don’t have a choice!” Kyoutani calls back, glancing at his sister. “You ready?”

She nods. Similar to her brother, the tattoo on her forearm begins to move. The ink removes itself from her skin, crawling across the ground, until it forms a small pool of black liquid.

Her eyes fall shut, as do Kyoutani’s, and they both mumble a few words to themselves. The pools of ink grow larger and larger while a number of runes appear atop them. A tremor rocks the field, followed by another, and it almost feels as though something moves beneath the earth.

Oikawa gasps when two large, mysterious creatures begin to emerge from the pools of ink. They rise upward, cloaked in dark liquid, which slowly disappears as one of the creatures releases a loud roar. They’re almost as large as Kazuo, and it takes him a moment to recognize the creatures when one of them slams its paw onto the ground.

Lions, he realizes. Guardian lions.

Almost every shrine is protected by a pair of guardian lions. They guard gates and doorways, and they’re known to be fierce and noble beasts. Holy animals, even.

He briefly wonders how Kyoutani and his sister are able to call forth these mythical creatures just as the lions rush forward. Their paws slam on the ground as they charge towards Kazuo and each lion flanks the enormous demon before sinking its teeth and front paws into his shoulder in an attempt to keep him from moving. Black blood sprout from the wounds, streaming down the demon’s arms.

Kazuo roars, fighting to escape their grip. Oikawa watches the giant lions struggle to contain him, and Kyoutani glances over his shoulder. “I don’t know how long we can keep them here. Now might be our only chance!”

As he looks from the lions to his uncle, something aches inside of his chest. It slithers down until it spreads through his stomach. Is it fear? Anger? Resentment? It’s difficult to identify the myriad of emotions that swirl inside of him. There’s an ache in his right arm and chest, blood running down his limb and dripping onto the soil beneath his feet.

The past few days he’s wondered what he would do if he saw his uncle again. Would he be the one to kill him—and finally free his family of a curse that had seemed to haunt them for hundreds of years? Oikawa has never considered himself a hero of some kind. The world he’d been thrust into had been both familiar and unfamiliar to him. He’d learned things about his family, about himself, and realized what it meant to care for something so deeply that you wish to protect it with your life.

The past few days he’d found love in unexpected ways. Something honest and truthful. A familial kind of love that he didn’t know he’d been missing. Encouraging words, a gentle pat on his shoulder, a kind smile.

It was accompanied by another type of love. One that made his skin feel warm and his chest impossibly tight in the best way possible. It gathered around his heart, bloomed in the parts of himself that he often kept hidden from others. It came in the form of teasing words, gentle touches, fierce protectiveness, and gentle kisses.

Bone-crushing hugs.

Sunrises.

Forest green eyes.

Beautiful smiles.

He wants to protect that smile. He wants to see it every morning and every night. He wants to feel it against his lips.

Could he, though? Would the gods, the guardians, and whatever deity will hear him, grant him this wish?

“Tooru!” Kazuo bellows, managing to free one of his legs from the numerous binds. “You will join me!”

His teeth are bared and his arms pull at the chains. The cross that’s carved in his chest continues to glow faintly beneath the moonlight, and Oikawa inhales deeply as he tries to straighten his posture. Every part of his body aches when he steps forward, but Iwaizumi stops him before he can take another step.

Surprise washes over Oikawa when he glances at Iwaizumi. His jaws are clenched, brows drawn low, and the arm around Oikawa’s middle disappears after a moment. That’s when Iwaizumi steps in front of him and pulls his necklace from his neck. The sword manifests rather quickly and Iwaizumi glances at both his teammates and Kuroo. Bokuto and his sisters rush back towards Kuroo and Iwaizumi after Kuroo mentions that they require the trio’s help.

Unease settles in Oikawa’s stomach, accompanied by panic, as he clutches his shoulder. “Iwa-chan—”

Iwaizumi glances over his shoulder, a smile resting on his lips. It’s gentle and so very similar to the one he’d aimed at Oikawa on the day they’d met. He remembers focusing on his eyes, clinging to that beautiful shade of green as though it was a tether—an anchor.

‘Look at me. Tell me what you see.’

The brown flecks in his eyes, the scar in his brow, the cut in his upper lip, the moles on his jaw, the dimples in his cheek.

His heart beats painfully inside his chest as realization settles in. “Hajime,” Oikawa whispers this time, stepping forward. Does he plead? Would it be selfish of him? Would it be pathetic of him?

Above them, clouds begin to gather in the dark skies. A cold wind travels across the field, it tickles his skin as the first rain drop lands on his cheek. It’s quickly followed by another one, and another one, until the heaven itself starts to come down. Lightning flashes through the sky, the roaring of the thunder as loud as Kazuo’s screams. He rips one of his arms free from the chains, using it to attack the lion to his right, but the creature only bites down harder on Kazuo’s shoulder, clawing at the demon with its paws.

“I’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi tells him then, adjusting his grip around the sword and widening his stance.

Oikawa swallows roughly, teeth momentarily digging into his bottom lip. “You better not die.”

Iwaizumi’s chuckle is drowned out by the rain. He spares Oikawa another glance before looking at the other hunters.

“We’ll clear a path for you,” Bokuto says, rushing forward alongside his teammates and numerous members of the Seijoh Group.

Iwaizumi’s heels dig into the ground and Oikawa hears him inhale deeply before a burst of red energy sprouts from his fingertips. Like before, it travels along his hands and arms; spreading across his shoulders and chest. It spreads and spreads until his entire body and weapon is covered in pure energy.

And that’s when he moves, following the path the other hunters created for him. His speed is impeccable and Oikawa watches him drag the sword along the bodies of the demons that manage to block his path. Each step takes him closer to Kazuo, and for those final steps, Iwaizumi’s pace quickens before he leaps forward.

For a second Oikawa’s breath stutters in his chest, a gasp ripping itself from his throat just as Iwaizumi jabs the blade deeply into Kazuo’s stomach. Blood begins pouring from the wound and the demon roars as Iwaizumi twists the sword, intending to drag it upward.

There are shouts of excitement coming from all sides and Oikawa feels a glimmer of hope, until Kazuo lashes out and manages to wrap his hand around Iwaizumi’s body. A scream climbs up Iwaizumi’s throat, his body twisting and turning in an attempt to break free of the demon’s grip.

Every bit of blood disappears from Oikawa’s face; panic coursing through his veins as he stumbles forward. He shouts something, Iwaizumi’s name, and his legs ache with each step he takes.

He doesn’t even realize he’s running until he feels a burning sensation in his chest.

No, he thinks. Not again.

It feels like a repeat of what had happened before. Iwaizumi, bloodied and bruised, shielding his friends with his last bit of strength as the demons charged towards him. Oikawa had been able to jump in front of him somehow, desperate to protect him. He feels that same desperation in his chest this time. It stings, it shatters, it crumbles.

Please, he pleads over and over.

Please.

It happens fast, too fast. Kazuo tightens his grip and Iwaizumi shouts in pain; the sound cutting through Oikawa’s bones and embedding itself in his heart. He’s forced to watch as Kazuo unhinges his jaw, revealing rows and rows of sharp teeth. A roar follows, and Iwaizumi manages to free one of his arms, making a tight fist before slamming down on Kazuo’s arm. It causes the demon’s movements to falter momentarily, but it’s not enough for him to release Iwaizumi entirely.

“Hajime!” he shouts. He has to do something. Anything.

Oikawa’s eyes manage to locate Kuroo and he’s quick to grab his arm. “Teleport me, now.”

“What are you planning?” Kuroo asks, panicked.

“Just do it!” Oikawa demands, “Get me in the air, behind the demon!”

Despite Kuroo’s confusion, he acts rather quickly and Oikawa inhales deeply when his body is being pulled from the ground. As requested, both he and Kuroo reappear in the air, behind Kazuo, and Oikawa hopes he’s not making the worst decision ever as he lands on the demon’s back.

Expectedly, Kazuo attempts to shake him off but Oikawa keeps an arm around the demon’s neck. Every part of his body aches, muscles straining with effort as he attempts to raise his other arm. Blood continues to trickle down his skin and he swallows the shout that dares to climb up his throat.

He makes a fist with his hand, inhaling deeply as he focuses every bit of energy he has left into the glove. He hopes, prays, it will be enough when a burst of energy sprouts from his fingers. The energy is forced into the shape of an arrow, larger than the ones he’d attempt to create before. It glows fiercely, a radiant shade of blue he’d become so familiar with.

When the arrow is large enough, Oikawa inhales deeply before jabbing the weapon into Kazuo’s neck. Almost immediately the demon howls, releasing a choked noise as it stumbles back slightly. Blood pours from the wound, staining Oikawa’s hand and seeping into the fabric of his shirt.

The sudden movement causes Oikawa’s hands to slip—leaving him unable to pull himself up. He gasps when his foot slips as well, causing his body to fall down. Fortunately, Kuroo appears mid-air once more, managing to catch him before they both land onto the ground.

As expected, the landing is rough and Oikawa groans when his back lands onto the grass. He rolls across the ground, coughing as he attempts to push himself up on his hands and knees. When he raises his head, he searches for Hanamaki immediately. “Makki!”

It’s all the encouragement his friend needs before he sprints forward, launching the various swords at Kazuo. They whiz past numerous hunters and demons, embedding themselves into Kazuo’s chest, stomach, and neck. Two of them manage to land directly in the center, buried into the cross-shaped scar, and Kazuo bellows again.

Iwaizumi is freed from his grip after a moment, dropping to his knees and pressing his palms to the ground. Oikawa wants to move towards him, but Iwaizumi is already moving. He shakily gets up before diving forward and curling his fingers around the handle of his sword once more.

Both hands are tightly wrapped around the weapon when he releases a final burst of energy and drags the blade upward and through Kazuo’s stomach. A pained screech rips through the demon’s chest before it stumbles forward.

It’s then that Iwaizumi’s head snaps towards Matsukawa as he glances over his shoulder. “Issei!”

Matsukawa nods, briefly looking at his brother and sister. They release their palms, evidently causing the chains to disappear, and he shouts for Kyoutani to retrieve the lions.

When Matsukawa and his siblings plant their palms onto the ground, they inhale deeply. An enormous rune circle appears beneath Kazuo’s feet seconds later and Iwaizumi has to quickly move backwards when the circle begins to glow brightly. There’s a flash and a spark before flames begin to sprout from the circle. They shoot upwards, burning through Kazuo’s skin as he’s being swallowed by wildfire.

His screams travel across the field, piercing Oikawa’s ears, before the demon’s body slumps to the ground. Around them and above them, the Nameless begin to howl and screech. They drop from the skies, bodies dissolving entirely, and Oikawa’s eyes are immediately pulled towards the demon gate. Slowly but surely, the beam of red light grows smaller and smaller; preventing the demons from entering the mortal world.

After another moment, he pulls himself to his feet; stumbling forward as jogs towards Iwaizumi. “Hajime!” he calls out, his voice hoarse. Iwaizumi’s head snaps up, eyes wide, and Oikawa moves a little quicker when he notices Iwaizumi can barely keep himself upright.

He manages to catch him in time, with Iwaizumi slumping against his chest as they both sink to their knees. His arms are tightly wrapped around Iwaizumi’s body, nose buried in his hair as Iwaizumi clutches the wet fabric of Oikawa’s shirt. Above them, the sky continues to weep; water seeping into their clothes and soaking their bones. It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s awful, but they’re alive.

Iwaizumi is alive.

Each breath that rattles his lungs causes his chest to ache, but Oikawa inhales deeply. A shaky exhale finds its way out of his throat, accompanied by a strangled sob. Tears mix together with rain, sliding down his cheeks. It washes away some of the blood clinging to his skin, erasing the smell of death, cleansing him of the sins that haunted him.

His hands tremble as they find Iwaizumi’s cheeks, fingers brushing over his skin when he gently raises Iwaizumi’s head. He’s met with a smile and a quiet ‘hey’ just as Iwaizumi leans forward to press his forehead against Oikawa’s. One of his hands is raised, fingers curling around Oikawa’s wrist and thumb gently brushing back and forth.

“I told you I’d be okay,” Iwaizumi mumbles, the volume of his voice barely above a whisper. His next exhale is a little shakier than the one before and Oikawa gently thumbs at the tear that slips down.

“You did,” he whispers, fondly. Despite the chill that settles into his bones, warmth spreads along Oikawa’s chest. Waves of relief wash over him, tugging at his muscles, and he finds himself unable to describe the sensation that has interwoven itself with his soul.

Joy.

Amazement.

Admiration.

Love.

There are words on his tongue, but none of them manage to fall from his lips. Instead, Oikawa leans forward to press his lips against Iwaizumi’s. He’s pulled closer when Iwaizumi gently tightens his grip around him, tugging Oikawa against his chest.

A sigh is buried against Iwaizumi’s lips, a smile is swallowed when Iwaizumi gently tilts his head. His fingers card through Oikawa’s hair, stroking the back of his neck and thumbing at his nape. His hands are wet, skin roughened by scars, yet they feel incredibly soft against Oikawa’s jaw.

The kiss tastes like relief with a hint of desperation. Disbelief crawls through his veins, and Oikawa wonders, hopes, that Iwaizumi is able to hear the words that reverberate through his chest with each beat of his heart.

I’m here.

I’m with you.

You will not lose me.

Part of him longs to speak the words out loud, and maybe he will, but for now all his body requires and craves are the kisses Iwaizumi presses against his lips.

When one of them gently pulls away, still sharing a single breath, a smile tugs at the corners of Oikawa’s mouth. He leans in to press his face into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, desperate to keep him close. It’s then that he confesses, “I was so scared.”

Iwaizumi cradles the back of his head, gently threading his fingers through wet strands. A soft sigh falls from his lips, accompanied by a very quiet ‘me too’.

After another moment, a distant thump thump thump can be heard before something nudges their sides—causing both Oikawa and Iwaizumi to raise their heads. When they do, laughter spills from their lips as Ren presses her head against the two of them. Iwaizumi is the first one to embrace her, arms wrapped around her neck as he gently rubs her head.

“God, you smell awful,” he tells the wolf between laughs.

Oikawa snorts, rubbing his hand along the side of Ren’s head and behind her ears. The heavy downpour has turned into a light drizzle, he notices. When he observes the scene before them, the other Seijoh members start approaching them. It seems that a lot of demons had started to disappear, bodies disintegrating and dissolving slowly after Kazuo’s death.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are the first to join them, sporting proud grins. Their smiles are born from relief and something else Oikawa can’t quite describe. Something intimate, something vulnerable. The pair crouches down almost immediately, embracing both Iwaizumi and Oikawa in a group hug that feels warm and comforting.

“You idiots,” Hanamaki half-laughs, half-sobs. “I can’t believe we fucking did it.”

Matsukawa’s fingers ruffle both Oikawa’s and Iwaizumi’s hair a little rougher than he’s done before, but Oikawa finds that he doesn’t mind. He releases another laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around his friends.

“That was pretty amazing,” Matsukawa admits, nudging the side of Iwaizumi’s head with his own.

It causes Iwaizumi to wince slightly, but he laughs regardless. “I can barely feel my arms or legs.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause Oikawa’s stupid uncle used you as a stress ball—Jesus, let me take a look at you,” Hanamaki complains, pressing a hand against Iwaizumi’s back. Energy transfers from his palm into Iwaizumi’s body, gently restoring damaged muscle tissue and possibly fractured bones.

“I’m fine. Focus on Oikawa, he’s still bleeding—”

“I’ll get to him in a minute, hold still.”

Oikawa observes the exchange with a smile resting on his lips, allowing himself to rest against Matsukawa’s side—who gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Without either of them none of this would have been possible. Gratitude seeps into his voice when he speaks the word aloud; thanking each of them for their kindness and help the past few days.

They smile at him, three pairs of eyes filled with both pride and fondness. There’s an arm around his shoulder (Matsukawa), a hand ruffling his hair (Hanamaki), fingers sliding between his own (Iwaizumi), and Oikawa’s smile grows larger.

Perhaps this is what coming home feels like.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

After Hanamaki and a few of the other healers manage to take care of the injured, the remaining demons are taken care of by those that are still able to fight. With the gate no longer opened, it becomes somewhat easier for the hunters to gain the upper hand. By the time the last demons are exorcized, the moon has disappeared; the sun taking its place. Light spreads across the land, the morning warmth kissing their skin as they make the trek back to the numerous vans.

The drive back to the warehouse is a quiet one, with Oikawa slumped against Iwaizumi while keeping their hands in his lap. Next to them, Hanamaki and Matsukawa quietly talk among themselves; their fingers intertwined and tired smiles resting on their lips.

Upon arrival at the warehouse, they’re reunited with the family members that had stayed behind. Iwaizumi’s parents are glad to see the two of them and Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi’s mother embraces her son tightly. Afterward, she turns towards Oikawa and gently pulls him into a hug as well.

With the adrenaline no longer coursing through his veins, Oikawa’s limbs grow heavy. Fatigue pulls at his muscles and despite Hanamaki’s tremendous healing skills, his limbs ache. Smaller injuries are scattered across his body, dried blood clinging to his skin and torn clothes revealing the occasional cut or scrape.

“Go home,” Iwaizumi’s grandfather tells all of them. “You did well.”

Even Iwaizumi had been too tired to argue, simply nodding in reply and leading Oikawa out of the warehouse moments later.

“Are you coming back to our place?” Hanamaki asks them as he and Matsukawa lean against their car.

After exchanging a quick glance, both Iwaizumi and Oikawa decide to decline the offer. As much as he wants to return to the loft, he realizes that each of them could use some time alone after all that had occurred the past few days. Especially after last night.

“Maybe we’ll drop by later,” Iwaizumi tells them, slipping his hand into Oikawa’s. A gentle flutter travels through his chest.

“Let yourself in,” Matsukawa says with a shrug, “Cause we’ll probably be sleeping the entire day. I know I am.”

“Something tells me they’ve got other plans.” Hanamaki snorts, tapping the roof of his car twice. “We’ll stay in touch. Get some rest.”

After the pair take off, Iwaizumi swings a leg over his motorcycle and tucks his helmet beneath his arm. “That was kinda presumptuous of me,” he chuckles. “Want me to drop you off at your place?”

There’s something endearing about him, Oikawa thinks. The morning sun touches the high points of his face, casting a faint glow across Iwaizumi’s skin. It makes Oikawa want to touch him, trace random patterns along his jawline, and press gentle kisses against his cheek.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he steps forward and he takes the spare helmet before climbing onto the bike as well. Once the helmet is properly secured, he slips his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist. “I didn’t mind,” he says with a hum. “And, no. I’m coming with you.” A pause follows before Oikawa gives Iwaizumi’s sides a gentle squeeze. “Unless you’re growing tired of me already.”

The words pull a laugh from Iwaizumi’s throat and a hand briefly comes to cover Oikawa’s own. “Not at all.”

Amidst the drive towards Iwaizumi’s apartment, Oikawa allows himself to glance around the neighborhood—taking in the broad streets before them. He observes the pink and orange hues of the sky, the black power lines that are spread through the entire city, the cars and buses that drive past them and the way the sunlight reflects off their windows.

He scans buildings—homes, offices, stores—counting tiles, bricks, glass, window panes.

Two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two.

It’s almost as though he’s seeing them for the first time.

Once they arrive at Iwaizumi’s apartment, Oikawa wonders about Ren. When he voices his thoughts, Iwaizumi mentions that his parents will be looking after her for the day. He hums in reply, observing Iwaizumi’s living space as he follows him into the living room.

It’s neat—relatively spacious—and the large windows allow for a lot of light to enter the living room. From where he’s standing, Oikawa is able to peer into the kitchen. Like the living room, it’s quite neat. There’s a fruit bowl sitting on the countertop, filled with oranges, bananas, and kiwis. And a single pear. Next to it lays a green mug, a glass filled with water, and a plate. He wonders if Iwaizumi had abandoned his breakfast before he came to meet Oikawa that Monday morning.

When he notices Ren’s empty food bowl, he can’t help but smile. Eventually, his gaze travels back to the living room. He glances at the gray couch and the dark coffee table placed in front of it. A dark blue rug is tucked beneath the table and there’s a black TV bench pressed against the white wall.

There are no pictures attached to the walls, but he does notice two dark wall shelves. They’re filled with numerous books—and upon closer inspection, Oikawa realizes they’re medical books. (He counts one novel).

Part of him had almost forgotten about Iwaizumi’s actual job. The one that doesn’t entail killing violent and murderous mythical beings. It’s strange to think that within the next day or two, they’ll both return to their jobs as though nothing had happened. In the morning, he’ll walk back into the university, and Iwaizumi will return to the clinic. They’ll talk to students and patients; teaching classes and creating treatment plans whilst having to process all that had transpired a few days prior.

There are two anatomy books that stand out to Oikawa; one in Japanese, one in English, and he allows his eyes to roam across the spines. There’s another one, titled The fundamentals of physical therapy that nearly falls off the shelf. He gently pushes it upright.

He imagines Iwaizumi sitting on his couch at night, pencil tucked between his lips and a book in his lap; thinking of ways to improve whatever treatment plan he’d developed for his clients. From what Oikawa remembers, he mainly works with injured athletes. For a moment he imagines a younger version of Iwaizumi walking across the Keio University campus, a backpack slung across his shoulder and hands buried in a dark but comfortable looking hoodie.

Iwaizumi strikes him as a hoodie type of person.

Oikawa smiles to himself as he entertains the memory of meeting Iwaizumi at an earlier age. Under much different circumstances. Maybe they could’ve run into each other in a coffee shop. Or the public library. Maybe Oikawa could’ve bumped into him at the local 7-eleven.

Iwaizumi would, most likely, end up apologizing. And Oikawa would find himself utterly charmed by that boyish grin and those kind eyes. They would’ve been his undoing.

“You can sit down, y’know,” Iwaizumi says after a moment. The sudden remark causes Oikawa to turn around, and he watches as Iwaizumi removes his gloves. The holsters are next. Buckles and clasps are unfastened before the holsters are tossed aside. One lands on the couch. Weapons are discarded as well, placed atop his awfully clean coffee table. It makes Oikawa wonder how often he’d have to hide the various guns and knives whenever he’d bring someone home.

Scratch that. He doesn’t want to think about attractive strangers entering Iwaizumi’s apartment to spend the night with him.

“Hey,” he hears.

His moment of contemplation is interrupted when Iwaizumi steps forward, a hand reaching for Oikawa. “You okay?” he wonders, voice quieter than before. He pauses before his fingers manage to graze Oikawa’s wrist. “Sorry—I don’t wanna make things awkward. I just want you to feel at ease.”

Oikawa breathes a chuckle as he removes his own gloves. They’re quickly tossed onto the coffee table as well before he removes the holster attached to his right leg. It feels good to finally take them off, he realizes. He reaches for Iwaizumi’s hand afterward; palms are pressed together, fingers intertwined, and he allows his thumb to brush over a small scar near Iwaizumi’s wrist.

“I’m okay,” he assures him. “Just… taking everything in.”

“S’not that special.”

At this, Oikawa’s smile widens. “It’s special to me.”

“Something tells me you’re not talking about my apartment,” Iwaizumi chuckles. Oikawa wonders if he’s imagining the hint of red that has settled on Iwaizumi’s cheekbones.

“Maybe I am,” he teases. “I really love your couch.”

Another laugh climbs up Iwaizumi’s throat, accompanied by an eye roll as he gently tugs Oikawa towards the couch in question. “Go sit, then. M’gonna get out of these clothes.”

Snickering, Oikawa stumbles forward. For a moment, his gaze settles on Iwaizumi’s chest; eyes observing the large tears in his shirt. Even though Hanamaki had tended to his injuries, he still finds himself wondering if the wounds had healed properly. He keeps thinking about the way Iwaizumi had stumbled towards him, his skin covered in blood and a hollow look in his eyes.

He then observes his own shirt, fingers touching the large tear near his right shoulder. It stops halfway across his chest and he remembers the shooting pain that had traveled through his body when the jorōgumo had lashed out at him. They’re both covered in dried blood, sweat, and grime; a physical reminder of all that had occurred.

(He briefly wonders how he must look right now).

Iwaizumi squeezes his hand once more, a hint of concern flashing through his eyes before he takes a few steps back and gently pulls Oikawa with him. “You know what—c’mon.”

Oikawa nods, wordlessly following him out of the living room and down the hallway. Once they reach the bathroom, Iwaizumi turns on the shower and grabs a large towel. He drapes it across the towel rack before rummaging through his cabinets. A washcloth and a spare toothbrush are placed atop the sink after a moment and Oikawa briefly catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror. He flinches when he notices the cuts and scrapes along his cheek and jawline. Nevermind the state of his hair and the unnatural paleness of his skin.

God, he looks awful.

“You might feel a little better after a shower,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’ll find you some spare clothes.”

As he turns away, Oikawa’s fingers quickly curl around Iwaizumi’s wrist; preventing him from exiting the bathroom. Beneath layers of torn clothing and damaged skin, his heart beats with unspoken words. Rather than pulling them to the surface, Oikawa remains quiet as he gently tugs Iwaizumi closer. It’s accompanied by a gentle shake of his head.

Warmth slowly travels towards his cheeks with each movement of his fingers. They curl into the dark fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt before slowly tugging it upward; revealing tan skin. Iwaizumi raises his arms, allowing Oikawa to pull the shirt over his head.

The sound of running water bleeds together with the deafening sound of his own heartbeat. He swallows, fingers brushing over the scar on Iwaizumi’s chest as steam continues to rise from the shower stall. It clings to his skin, which feels warm beneath Oikawa’s palm. He focuses on the soft thumping of Iwaizumi’s heart against his own hand, noticing the way it quickens ever so slightly.

A hand reaches for the bottom of Oikawa’s shirt, fingers giving it a gentle tug as Iwaizumi pulls the fabric upward. Once the shirt is removed entirely, Oikawa inhales sharply—suddenly feeling rather exposed. Both physically and emotionally. Iwaizumi’s hands skim his sides, eyes scanning Oikawa’s face as though he might be looking for the slightest bit of apprehension or discomfort in Oikawa’s gaze.

Oikawa’s hands move without hesitation when they find Iwaizumi’s belt buckle, and he gives him a gentle nod as he unfastens the belt.

It’s easier after that.

Remaining clothing items are discarded and Oikawa’s breath briefly catches in his throat when he notices the numerous other scars that cover Iwaizumi’s body. Some are big, others are small; from thick, jagged lines to fading marks. It’s not as though Oikawa hadn’t seen him without a shirt before, but it’s… different now.

He allows his gaze to travel down Iwaizumi’s chest, taking in the various marks and observing contours of his abdomen. His body is nothing short of impressive, that much Oikawa knows. Even though he’s quite muscular, there’s a softness to him as well. His eyes are drawn to his shoulders, his arms, his legs, the column of his neck.

There’s much more to him than the collection of scars that are etched into his body. Even though each mark has its own story—a memory that’s attached to it—Oikawa’s attention is pulled back toward Iwaizumi’s face. He focuses on the warmth in his eyes; the hint of vulnerability trapped within the green of his irises as he regards Oikawa. It pulls Oikawa closer and closer, until his lips are but a breath away from being pressed against Iwaizumi’s mouth.

It’s Iwaizumi who pulls him in for those final millimeters, sighing against Oikawa’s lips as he gently guides them into the shower stall. Warm water glides across his skin, relief flooding his senses as he allows his muscles to relax. It’s a tight fit, but Oikawa finds that he doesn’t care about the lack of space—not when Iwaizumi’s arms are tightly wrapped around him.

His tongue swipes along Iwaizumi’s bottom lip, and Iwaizumi then parts his lips with a quiet groan;  allowing Oikawa to deepen the kiss. It pulls the oxygen from Oikawa’s lungs, leaving him a little lightheaded and craving more with each slide of Iwaizumi’s lips against his own.

Between the fourth and fifth kiss, Iwaizumi mumbles something about ‘soap’ and ‘getting clean’. He blindly reaches for a shampoo bottle before begrudgingly pulling himself away from Oikawa and squeezing a decent amount of shampoo into his hands.

His fingers are gentle when they work the shampoo into Oikawa’s hair and Oikawa hums appreciatively as he drags a wash cloth along Iwaizumi’s chest, lathering his skin with soap. And, yes, perhaps he spends a little too much time soaping up Iwaizumi’s arms, chest, and shoulders, but could you blame him?

He ducks his head underneath the spray when Iwaizumi tells him to rinse, snickering afterward as Iwaizumi works some conditioner into his hair.

“What’s so funny?” Iwaizumi wonders, nipping at Oikawa’s jawline as he maneuvers him away from the spray.

“I thought you were one of those five-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash types.”

The comment earns him a laugh and a pinch to his side. Oikawa apologizes between laughs, offering to wash Iwaizumi’s hair in return to make up for the slightly unkind remark. He runs his fingers through the dark strands, dragging his nails along Iwaizumi’s scalp a few times and grinning when Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter shut with a gentle sigh.

For a moment, Oikawa gives in to his desires. He leans in to press a quick kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips, fully intending to pull away after a few seconds, but Iwaizumi decides to keep him close; prolonging the moment and rewarding him with a second kiss. Followed by a third. And, perhaps, a fourth.

(He stops counting after that).

Instead, he focuses on the way Iwaizumi presses their hips together—soft groans spilling from his lips. It feels amazing, incredible even, and he almost forgets the task at hand; so caught up in the way they’re gently rocking against one another.

The smell of coconut fills his senses as Oikawa continues to work the shampoo into Iwaizumi’s hair. Iwaizumi tips his head back after another moment as he rinses hair, seemingly satisfied with Oikawa’s handiwork and amateur scalp massage. It grants Oikawa the opportunity to observe the column of his throat. Droplets glide down his skin and Oikawa longs to chase them with his tongue; to kiss and bite at his neck until red and purple markings bloom beneath his lips.

They continue to lather their skin with soap, dragging washcloths along their bodies to remove every bit of dirt and blood until they’re both clean. Afterward, Iwaizumi’s mouth finds Oikawa’s once more; capturing Oikawa’s lips in a hungry kiss as he snakes a hand between their bodies. At the first caress of Iwaizumi’s fingers against his cock, Oikawa’s hips jerk forward.

“S’this okay?” Iwaizumi mumbles between kisses.

Oikawa nods quickly, an arm wrapped tightly around Iwaizumi’s neck. He bites back a moan when Iwaizumi properly wraps a hand around him and slowly begins to stroke him. Teeth tug at his lower lip, a tongue brushes against his own, and Oikawa drowns in the myriad of senses; pleasure spreading through his body with each brush of Iwaizumi’s fingers. His palm drags over Oikawa’s skin, his touch gentle yet firm as he whispers gentle words of encouragement against Oikawa’s lips.

Oikawa pants into Iwaizumi’s mouth, groans climbing up his throat and fingers trembling where they’re curled into Iwaizumi’s hair. When Iwaizumi strokes him faster, Oikawa’s hips stutter again. Pressure builds between his legs, traveling upward rapidly and he finds himself unable to stifle the moans that fall from his lips. Iwaizumi swallows them all before he dips his head and presses his mouth against Oikawa’s neck.

It’s as though a jolt of electricity shoots through Oikawa’s body when Iwaizumi bites down on his skin. He tightens his grip around the dark strands, head tipping back until he’s able to rest it against the glass door of the shower cabin. Iwaizumi’s other hand squeezes his hip before palming his ass; gently kneading the muscle beneath his fingertips as he leaves a trail of kisses down Oikawa’s chest. When he gently drags his teeth across one of Oikawa’s nipples, Oikawa chokes on an exhale.

His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths just as Iwaizumi closes his lips around the sensitive spot and sucks gently. It causes Oikawa to arch into him and for a moment he wonders if his heart might’ve stopped beating, especially when Iwaizumi twists his hand over the head of Oikawa’s cock in a way that causes stars to erupt behind his eyelids.

He thinks he might’ve whispered Iwaizumi’s name in those final seconds, a prayer falling from his lips as he allows himself to be swept away by the waves of pleasure that wash over him. When he finally opens his eyes again, Oikawa tugs Iwaizumi towards his mouth just as his hands slide down Iwaizumi’s sides; eager to return the favor.

Though, before he manages to wrap his fingers around Iwaizumi’s cock, Iwaizumi gently pushes his hand aside—evidently spoiling Oikawa’s plans. For a moment, he wonders if he’d done something wrong, possibly crossed one of Iwaizumi’s boundaries, but Iwaizumi merely grins at him as he says, “C’mon, let’s get out first. My water bill is gonna be fucking high otherwise.”

“I’ll wire you the money,” Oikawa says without missing a beat.

Iwaizumi’s laugh is deep and warm as it curls around Oikawa’s heart. “I’ll bet,” he replies, capturing Oikawa’s chin between his forefinger and thumb before pressing another kiss to his lips.

God, he could never grow tired of the feeling of Iwaizumi’s lips against his own.

They’re quick to relocate towards the bedroom after that—towels wrapped around their hips and hands roaming across each other’s bodies. Oikawa longs to touch every part of Iwaizumi. He wants to explore his body with his fingers and mouth, and learn what makes him gasp or sigh. Iwaizumi lets him. He lets Oikawa pull him onto the bed, bodies pressed together tightly as he settles between Oikawa’s legs.

Soft sheets glide along his back as the warmth of Iwaizumi’s skin seeps into his own. Each roll of their hips pulls a beautiful noise from his mouth and Oikawa wishes he could drown in it. They exchange hungry kisses, stoking the fire beneath his skin and allowing the flames to grow larger.

Iwaizumi’s mouth is everywhere, biting and kissing at Oikawa’s neck and collar bones hard enough to leave bruises. Even though Oikawa is unable to see them, he can already imagine the deep red markings that litter his skin. He drags his nails gently down Iwaizumi’s back, feeling himself growing hard again.

“Hajime,” he groans, longing wrapped around the syllables of a name he longs to whisper over and over again. Iwaizumi hums against him, reaching for his bedside table and rummaging through the drawer until he finds what he needs. He pushes himself onto his forearms, hovering slightly over Oikawa as he thumbs at Oikawa’s bottom lip.

Oikawa pulls the digit into his mouth, evidently earning a groan and a hiss from Iwaizumi. He swirls his tongue around Iwaizumi’s thumb; the corners of his mouth curving upward in amusement after releasing the finger.

“Tell me what you want,” Iwaizumi murmurs, one of his hands sliding between their bodies and curling around Oikawa’s cock much like he’d done in the shower. When he strokes him slowly, Oikawa gasps.

“Fuck me,” he breathes. “Like this.”

Iwaizumi offers him a nod, pulling away and nudging Oikawa’s legs apart as he reaches for the bottle of lubricant to their left. He drizzles a generous amount onto his fingers before slowly pressing the first finger into Oikawa, whose lips part around another gasp—accompanied by a groan he barely manages to stifle.

His lungs feel too big for his body, struggling to contain the oxygen he so desperately needs. When Iwaizumi presses his mouth against Oikawa’s temple, the gesture oddly sweet, oddly intimate, Oikawa turns his head slightly to lean into him. He allows his body to grow heavy, adjusting to the feeling of Iwaizumi’s finger inside of him as he slowly moves his hand.

After a few moments, he retrieves his hand entirely and Oikawa is about to object until Iwaizumi scoots down the bed and drapes one of Oikawa’s legs over his shoulder. He presses his mouth against the inside of Oikawa’s thigh just as he slips his finger back into him, teeth gently digging into Oikawa’s skin.

The addition of another finger has Oikawa’s hips rising from the bed, but Iwaizumi merely squeezes his thigh before gently pushing him down. His hand is heavy around Oikawa’s hip, and Oikawa makes the mistake of glancing down to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze when Iwaizumi leans up to close his lips around Oikawa’s cock.

It’s then that Oikawa realizes that Iwaizumi Hajime might very well be the death of him.

His hands immediately reach down, fingers tangling themselves in Iwaizumi’s hair. The strands feel damp against his fingertips and he pulls firmly just as Iwaizumi takes him a little further into his mouth. It only causes Iwaizumi to hum in response, which in turn makes Oikawa gasp. He adds another finger after that, gently pressing it into Oikawa and pausing entirely for a few seconds to let him adjust to the sensation.

When Oikawa gives him a gentle nod, Iwaizumi begins to move again; working him open with slow movements. It doesn’t take long before he’s located the spot that makes Oikawa’s toes curl and his mouth fall open. A sound climbs up his throat, only to pause halfway through when every bit of oxygen leaves his lungs in a rush.

His body feels as though it’s on fire, burning up beneath Iwaizumi’s skillful hands, and even more skilled mouth. He keeps his gaze trained on Oikawa, who alternates between looking at Iwaizumi and staring at the ceiling as though it holds all the answers to the universe.

He breathes Iwaizumi’s name, clutching the back of his head and his shoulders as he longs for something more, something that will push him over the edge. He longs to feel all of Iwaizumi, to pull him closer and closer until he can’t tell where he ends and Iwaizumi begins.

“Hajime,” he murmurs, urgency seeping into his voice. It’s a request—a plea—and Iwaizumi obliges. He tucks a pillow beneath Oikawa’s lower back, keeps one of Oikawa’s legs around his waist as they both reach for the lubricant and the condom packet. There’s a hand on Oikawa’s thigh, fingers digging into his muscle as Iwaizumi slowly presses into him after another moment.

Each beat that reverberates through his chest feels more intense than the previous one and it’s almost like he’s playing catch up with his body. He releases a shuddering breath, feeling the warmth of Iwaizumi’s skin when Iwaizumi presses their foreheads together. Above him, Iwaizumi sounds slightly out of breath when he asks, “You okay?”

Oikawa can barely nod, drowning in the myriad of sensations. The feeling of Iwaizumi inside of him, the scent of his shampoo, the sound of his voice—hoarse and rough—as he murmurs Oikawa’s name.

Tooru, Tooru, Tooru.

It’s too much.

The thumb pressed against Oikawa’s hip rubs slow circles into his skin while Iwaizumi’s other palm fits itself against Oikawa’s cheek. It pulls Oikawa back to himself, to his body, to this moment where there’s nothing but the two of them and the soft sheets beneath their bodies. Sunlight has trickled into the room. It reaches for Iwaizumi like an old lover, caressing his skin with a touch so gentle that it causes Oikawa’s breath to disappear.

Above him, Iwaizumi is bathed in sunlight; a physical manifestation of all things beautiful and kind. Oikawa thinks he could look at him forever and find something new to adore each day.

For now, he will focus on the way Iwaizumi’s lips brush over his own and the way pleasure settles on his features. He’s gorgeous like this, skin tinged red and gaze filled with longing and adoration. All it takes is a hushed whisper and another gentle nod for Iwaizumi to move.

He pulls his hips back before pushing forward once more, and it’s that first thrust that makes Oikawa gasp his name again. Unlike the rapid beating of their hearts, the movement of Iwaizumi’s hips are slow and languid. It’s so very different from the way he’d kissed and touched Oikawa in the shower. He fucks into Oikawa with deep, slow thrusts that leave Oikawa groaning his name; broken syllables falling from his lips.

Iwaizumi’s tongue dips back into his mouth, brushing along Oikawa’s own while Oikawa’s hands run along the length of Iwaizumi’s back. He digs his nails into his skin, drags his fingers up, up, up, until he reaches his neck, and runs them through his hair.

Teeth tug on his bottom lip between kisses, hips meeting Iwaizumi’s each time he thrusts forward. Like the ebb and flow of the tides, they push and pull; moving together in tandem as they share a single breath and a heartbeat.

The sound of his own heartbeat is deafening. It echoes through his chest, and he wonders if Iwaizumi can hear it, or perhaps feel it. His voice glides across Oikawa’s skin like water. Breathy moans are stifled against his lips and it ignites something deep inside of him. He’s doused in flames, swallowed by a fire that burns through his veins. It burns away whatever thoughts lingered in his brain, switching off the part that gets a little too loud at times. He’s neither focused on the past nor the future as he only exists in this moment, where there is Iwaizumi and nothing else.

A hand runs up and down his thigh—a whisper buried against the skin of his neck when Iwaizumi breaks the kiss. The hand disappears after a moment, only to reach for Oikawa’s own; their fingers immediately slide together. Oikawa squeezes and Iwaizumi squeezes in return as he drags his teeth over Oikawa’s pulse point, thrusting a bit harder than before and—oh.

“Do that again,” he murmurs, breathless.

And Iwaizumi does.

“Again—” he rasps.

His back arches off the bed when Iwaizumi angles his hips just right and manages to reach that glorious spot over and over. Oikawa barely recognizes the sound that escapes his throat; a noise that’s somewhere between a whine and a broken moan. His free hand finds the back of Iwaizumi’s head again, fingers fisting themselves into his hair as he drags Iwaizumi’s mouth back towards his own.

Iwaizumi kisses him just like fucks him; deep, slow, passionate, and heat travels along his spine, melting Oikawa from the inside out. He savors it, surrenders to the sensation as they exist in a space they carved out for the two of them. It’s filled with affection, longing, and desire.

You, you, you, his brain whispers, reaching out to Iwaizumi. There is nothing but you.

How long had he longed for this? To feel Iwaizumi’s hands traveling across his body. Beneath him, Oikawa unravels. He allows himself to be taken apart; baring body and mind to a man who’d already seen so much of him. Iwaizumi explores him like a map, pouring affection into every touch, every kiss, and Oikawa almost feels drunk.

Should you crack his ribs and pry open the walls of his heart, he’s not sure what would spill out. It pours out of him, spilling over Iwaizumi’s lips; who swallows it greedily, drinking all that Oikawa has to offer.

It’s intoxicating.

The flames licking his skin burn him alive, they curl around his spine, settling between his legs as the pressure inside of him continues to build. A broken sound tumbles from his lips, a moan, a sigh. Iwaizumi’s name feels heavy on his tongue, crawling up his throat as it echoes through the room.

Iwaizumi chooses that moment to raise his head and Oikawa carefully opens his eyes, meeting his heavy-lidded gaze. He’s rewarded with a smile, one that cuts through him; nestling itself deep within Oikawa’s chest. A hand slides between them, fingers wrapped around Oikawa’s cock. Three strokes is all it takes for him to fall over that edge. His body shudders, his nails claw at Iwaizumi’s skin while Iwaizumi mumbles gentle words against his lips. He pants into Oikawa’s mouth, hips stuttering, as he fucks him through his orgasm.

It doesn’t take long before Iwaizumi buries that final groan against Oikawa’s lips. His grip around Oikawa’s hip and hand is impossibly tight as he rides out his own orgasm and Oikawa threads his fingers gently through Iwaizumi’s hair. Once the movement of his hips stops entirely, Iwaizumi mumbles an apology against Oikawa’s neck as he loosens his grip slightly. It causes Oikawa to chuckle; a hoarse little sound.

He uses both hands to pull Iwaizumi away from his neck, palms fitting themselves against his cheeks—warm and slightly reddened. A quiet ‘s’okay’ is whispered into the space between their lips before he kisses him again. It’s a lot softer than before, a gentle press of their lips. Something lazy and sweet.

He winces when Iwaizumi pulls out of him, only to be rewarded with a kiss against his temple and another quiet apology. Once the condom is discarded, Iwaizumi falls onto his back—labored breaths filling the air. Oikawa’s lungs have barely recovered and he inhales a lungful of air when he feels Iwaizumi’s hand brushing against his own.

He turns his head to find Iwaizumi already watching him, looking like something out of Oikawa’s wildest dreams with that captivating smile and those beautiful eyes. Another moment passes before laughter spills from their lips, shoulders gently shaking with amusement.

Tension seeps from his muscles, body melting into the mattress as he exhales deeply. A sense of comfort wraps around him, gently, and he feels kind of lightheaded in the best way possible. When he rolls onto his side, Iwaizumi does the same. For a moment, neither of them say anything; as though they are afraid to possibly break the spell.

A hand reaches for him, fingers combing through the brown strands that fall across his forehead, and Oikawa gently leans into it as he lets his eyes fall shut. His lips are slightly pressed together when he releases a satisfied hum. A quiet and subtle indication that Iwaizumi’s ministrations are very much appreciated.

Fortunately, he catches on; continuing to thread his fingers gently through Oikawa’s hair while his other hand rests somewhere along Oikawa’s hips.

Breathing feels easier like this, he thinks.

There’s nothing but the sound of Iwaizumi’s own breathing and the gentle chirping of whatever birds are perched outside of his bedroom window. The pillow beneath his head is soft, and smells so familiar—so like Iwaizumi—that Oikawa wants to bury his face into it and inhale deeply.

The last thing he registers is the gentle rustling of the sheets and the arm around his waist that gently draws him closer.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

When Oikawa’s eyes open, the room is draped in orange light. Outside, the sun has slowly begun its descent. It takes him a moment to remember that he’s not in his apartment, nor in Matsukawa’s and Hanamaki’s loft. He digs the heel of his hand into his eye, gently rubbing away the last trace of sleep as a yawn passes through his lips.

When his gaze lands on the body next to his, fondness blooms in his chest. A warm sensation travels from his heart towards his stomach, spreading through the rest of his body at the sight of Iwaizumi’s sleeping form.

His lips are pulled into a gentle pout and the line between his brows has vanished. Oikawa has to refrain himself from pressing a finger between his brows. Instead, he shuffles a little closer; content with just looking (read: staring) at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi’s arm is still draped across Oikawa’s waist, warm and comforting, while his other hand is tucked beneath his pillow. Praying he doesn’t accidentally wake him, Oikawa’s hand inches towards Iwaizumi’s face. His hand slides across the mattress, traveling the small distance between their bodies, until his fingers brush over his cheek.

It’s almost as though he’s touching him for the first time; mesmerized by the soft skin beneath his fingertips. He traces patterns along Iwaizumi’s cheekbone and jawline, smiling when he briefly scrunches his nose. (He’s tempted to touch it).

Normally, this is the part when he’d leave. Had it been another time, another person, he likely would’ve slipped away. Or perhaps he would’ve left even before he’d fallen asleep. Oikawa has never been quite good at romance. For a hopeless romantic, he didn’t have much romantic entanglements. He preferred to keep things casual. His work came first, and more often than not people found themselves more interested in his last name. Which was fine. He didn’t quite mind it when he was younger; caught up in the superficial merry-go-round that came with his profession.

He learned to guard his heart early-on. Steel walls were built around it, denying entrance to all that threatened to reach it. They grew taller and taller until even Oikawa himself was unable to see the end. A fortress resided within him, protecting what little vulnerability he had left.

And then Iwaizumi entered his life. Rather than taking a battering ram to those steel walls, he’d managed to find a crack somewhere—a fissure—and he’d slipped through, unknowingly.

And with him, he brought hope. And something Oikawa hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Something that felt so inexplicably right that it almost scared him. As he remembers the words Iwaizumi had spoken the previous night, a smile finds its way to his lips.

‘You’d been through a lot. I didn’t want to take advantage of a situation or something.’

Even though he understands Iwaizumi’s initial doubts and apprehension, Oikawa knows that he would never take advantage of a situation. Whatever feelings had blossomed between them in those moments of despair had been genuine. Yes, he’d felt more vulnerable after all that had occurred, and yes, he longed for companionship, but the affection that had filled his heart—the fondness that spilled it from it and soaked his hands, his lips—was honest. Absolute.

There’s a word he doesn’t dare speak. It hides within his soul, veiled by reticence. Perhaps one day it will float towards the surface, drifting along the waves until he feels brave enough to guide it towards shore. There, it will be received by a person who has been waiting to hear it.

Part of him wonders if the familiarity between the two of them could be traced hundreds of years back; a time when their families had closely worked together. He wonders if things would have been different if his family had not been tempted by greed. Would he have grown up alongside Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa? What would his life have looked like?

His reverie is broken when Iwaizumi stirs. He inhales deeply, releasing a yawn afterwards as he turns his head into his pillow. (It’s quite adorable).

When he opens his eyes, regarding Oikawa with a sleepy smile, it takes Oikawa every bit of willpower to not roll on top of him and kiss him until he’s lightheaded and dizzy. Granted, he could actually do that, but he supposes he should let Iwaizumi wake up properly.

It’s Iwaizumi who breaks the silence.

“Hi.”

His voice is still rough with sleep, which shouldn’t be as attractive as it is but Oikawa finds himself enthralled by it regardless. He returns the smile, shuffling closer.

“Hi.”

It pulls a chuckle from Iwaizumi, whose hand reaches for him and settles somewhere on Oikawa’s middle. “What time is it?”

“Don’t know, but it looks like the sun’s setting,” Oikawa tells him, briefly glancing towards the window in mild disbelief. “We slept all day.”

Iwaizumi huffs another laugh, rubbing his free hand across his face and stifling another yawn as he mumbles, “Yeah that tends to happen sometimes. Given what happened last night, I’m not surprised.” He pauses before adding, “How do you feel?”

A loaded question.

Oikawa hasn’t let himself think much about the previous night. He can barely believe it happened at all. The past week has been absolutely bizarre to say the least. Starting with that awful Friday night at his grandmother’s house.

Today should be Sunday, if memory serves him right. God, he’s going to need at least another week to recover from all of this.

“After what happened this morning or in general?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes with a smile, squeezing Oikawa’s side gently when he says, “I mean in general. But—I also hope you’re feeling okay with what happened this morning.”

“Oh, I’m very okay with what happened,” Oikawa assures him with a grin. It disappears after another moment as mild panic begins to settle in his stomach. “Wait–are you okay? I hope I didn’t you rush you into doing something you didn’t want to—”

The words leave his mouth in a rush. Before he’s able to finish the sentence, Iwaizumi interrupts him with another squeeze to his side and a quick ‘whoa, Tooru—Tooru, calm down, relax’. He breathes a laugh, adding, “I’m also very okay with what happened this morning. You didn’t rush me. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Oikawa replies, sighing. “Okay.”

Iwaizumi’s hand slowly moves upward from where it rested on Oikawa’s side, pausing when it reaches Oikawa’s cheek. A thumb brushes back and forth over his skin, the smile resting on Iwaizumi’s lips widening ever so slightly. “You okay?”

Oikawa nods, releasing a short laugh. He can practically feel the heat rushing towards his cheeks. God, he’s embarrassing. “Yeah, I’m fine—I just panicked,” he admits.

“No shit,” Iwaizumi says with a snort. “I mean it, though. I’m glad you came with me and—”

He pauses, as if searching for the right words.

“Had sex with me?” Oikawa teases. “You’re welcome, really.”

Laughter fills the air; Iwaizumi’s forefinger and thumb briefly pinching Oikawa’s cheek before he draws him closer. “All right, funny guy,” he says between laughs, rewarding Oikawa with another one of those gorgeous smiles and heavenly kisses. Really, he’s running out of adjectives to describe Iwaizumi by now.

“Thank you so much for having sex with me, yes,” Iwaizumi gibes.

Oikawa nips at his bottom lip, snickering at Iwaizumi’s remark. “You’re sounding a bit too snarky for my liking. Say it like you mean it, Iwa-chan.”

Almost immediately, Oikawa is pushed back into the mattress when Iwaizumi rolls on top of him. He squeaks, laughter bubbling up his throat as he winds his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck. A satisfied sigh is buried against Iwaizumi’s lips when Iwaizumi deepens the kiss.

“Thank you for coming home with me,” Iwaizumi murmurs lowly between slow kisses. “Thank you for staying.”

Oikawa wants to say something clever and snarky, but words fail him. His mind is a jumbled mess as he keeps repeating the same words over and over.

I like him.

I like him.

I like him.

I like him so much.

He threads his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair, murmuring a quiet ‘of course I stayed’ against his lips, and he can practically feel Iwaizumi smiling against him. “I like you too,” he hears Iwaizumi say, amused. It takes Oikawa a moment to realize that he might’ve actually said those earlier words out loud and if not for the fact that Iwaizumi is still kissing him, he’d be a little mortified.

Wandering hands explore warm skin, and Oikawa, once again, finds himself at the mercy of Iwaizumi’s skillful fingers and equally skilled lips and tongue. They take their time, movements slow and lazy, and he learns that Iwaizumi turns a beautiful shade of red that travels all the way to his chest when Oikawa settles between his legs and takes him into his mouth.

He savors the feeling of Iwaizumi’s fingers running through his hair, tightly gripping the strands, whilst murmuring Oikawa’s name in a way that causes Oikawa’s cheeks to color scarlet. Each sound that spills from his lips crawls across Oikawa’s skin before disappearing beneath it.

He thinks he quite enjoys seeing Iwaizumi like this.

Afterward, Iwaizumi is the first one to leave the bed—telling Oikawa that he’s allowed to stay and rest while he prepares dinner. He leaves some clothes on the dresser before heading toward the kitchen, but Oikawa ends up leaving the bed after a few more minutes.

Once he pulls on the white shirt and the pair of dark sweats Iwaizumi had left him, Oikawa pads towards the kitchen. He finds Iwaizumi staring at his phone, lazily plopping green grapes into his mouth.

Oikawa hooks his chin over Iwaizumi’s shoulder when he presses himself against his back. An arm winds itself around Iwaizumi’s middle and Iwaizumi, almost immediately, offers him a grape—which Oikawa accepts gratefully. “What’cha doing?” he murmurs.

“Gonna order food instead,” Iwaizumi tells him, turning the phone towards Oikawa. “This okay with you?”

After inspecting the dishes Iwaizumi had chosen, Oikawa gives a short hum of approval as he chews on another grape. The phone is discarded once the order has been placed, and Iwaizumi turns around in his grip; jostling Oikawa in the process. He’s pulled towards the couch after a moment, where they end up snacking on grapes and tangerines. (“I really need to buy some groceries”).

Oikawa’s legs rest in Iwaizumi’s lap as he carefully removes some of the white strings that cling to tangerines. It causes Iwaizumi to chuckle, who accepts the small wedges Oikawa offers him. The whole setting is so oddly domestic, Oikawa realizes as glances at the way Iwaizumi’s hand is placed atop his knee. His thumb moves back and forth over Oikawa’s leg when he asks, “You okay?”

Oikawa nods, sighing as he rests his arm along the back of the couch. “Just thinking ‘bout stuff.”

“Yeah, me too.”

A moment of silence passes between them until Oikawa speaks the words he’d been afraid to voice out loud. “I don’t know what’s next,” he admits. “How to… move on and process all that’s happened. I feel like my entire world has been turned upside down.”

Iwaizumi gives his knee a gentle squeeze before pulling Oikawa’s hand into his own. “I can imagine,” he begins. “Me and the others will be there with you, every step of the way—if that’s something you want,” a pause follows before he adds, “you don’t have to go through this alone, Tooru. We can take it one step at a time.”

While he appreciates Iwaizumi’s kind words and endless support—given all that he’d done for Oikawa—he can’t help but worry about him as well. “What about you?” Oikawa wonders. “You have your fair share of things to process as well.”

At this, Iwaizumi releases a heavy sigh as he drops his head back against the couch. Eyes are turned skyward, as if he’s observing the ceiling. “I do,” he agrees. “Which… won’t be easy either, but it's not impossible.”

“You don’t have to do it alone either,” Oikawa reminds him. “You’ve got your family, friends—me.”

When Iwaizumi turns his head, he offers Oikawa a tired smile. “You have your own things to work through, I don’t wanna burden you with my stuff.”

Oikawa frowns, mildly annoyed at Iwaizumi’s words. It reminds him of one of their earlier conversations and he pulls his legs back before shuffling closer towards Iwaizumi, who sits up straight and appears somewhat surprised by their sudden proximity. The very thought of Iwaizumi’s feelings possibly ‘burdening’ Oikawa seems rather ridiculous. Even though Oikawa understands why Iwaizumi would say that, he feels the need to clarify that Iwaizumi could never be a burden to him.

“That’s a little hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” he counters. “You could never be a burden to me, Hajime. If you want to help me, I want you to let me help you, too. I care about you and I want to be there for you; like you’ve been there for me this entire time. If it’s too much, I’ll back off, but at least...let me try. We made a promise, didn’t we?”

Iwaizumi remains silent after that. His eyes briefly glance at their hands before he releases a quiet chuckle. “You really are something else,” he murmurs, squeezing Oikawa’s fingers gently.

“So I’ve been told,” Oikawa says, amused. “It’s like you kept telling me: we can figure things out together.”

“Using my own words against me I see.”

“The student has become the master, Iwa-chan. Time to get used to it.”

Oikawa slides one of his legs across Iwaizumi’s hip before climbing onto his lap. His arms are draped along Iwaizumi’s shoulders, hands clasped together behind his head, while Iwaizumi’s hands settle atop Oikawa’s hips. His fingers toy with the hemline of the shirt Oikawa’s wearing, carefully slipping beneath the fabric and ghosting across Oikawa’s back.

“I’m completely at your mercy,” Iwaizumi muses, causing Oikawa to remember the way Iwaizumi had whispered his name roughly an hour ago; voice thick with desire and lips parted around breathy moans. He pushes the thought aside, stores it in the back of his mind, as he thinks of what the future will bring them. It will include many difficult conversations with his family, and a few lies when he returns back to work.

His conversation with Hirano comes to mind. She’d offered to help him and thinks, or rather knows, that it would be beneficial to talk to someone—a professional—about the past week. And, quite frankly, the past twenty-eight years of his life. There are still so many questions that plague his mind. He wonders if he’ll find them in his grandmother’s house; the answers hidden within the books of the room he’d stumbled across.

Even though this chapter has ended, it feels like it’s only the beginning.

Guardians, gods, demons, magic. There’s an entire world left for him to explore. A place where he can discover and rediscover himself; follow the path of those who’d come before him and learn from their mistakes. He wonders what he’ll find along the way.

Knowing that he won’t have to do it alone, brings a sense of relief.

Iwaizumi is still smiling at him. All green eyes, dimples, and a sturdy jaw. He really is unique. Oikawa wonders how their story will unfold. He can't wait to learn more about him, to discover all the little things that made Iwaizumi the person he is today. Someone who is brave, strong, kind, generous, honest, vulnerable, funny, and so much more.

Whether it was luck or fate that pulled them together, Oikawa feels thankful for the fact that Iwaizumi had entered his life. Love has bloomed in unexpected ways, in unexpected places, and he wants to nurture it. He wants to make sure that it keeps blooming, blossoming into something even bigger.

To do that, he has to allow himself to be vulnerable.

Which, at times, can be difficult, but not impossible.

Luckily, he won’t be by himself.

His palm cups Iwaizumi’s jaw, fingertips brushing over his cheek and smile widening as he observes the man before him. “I realized something,” he starts. “About us.”

“What?” Iwaizumi wonders.

“We both admitted that we like one another, we’ve kissed, we’ve almost died for each other multiple times, we’ve had sex,” he recounts, “but we still have to go on a first date. We’ve done this whole thing backward.”

The words pull a laugh from Iwaizumi, whose hand slides a little higher along Oikawa’s back. “Well, there wasn’t much time for a romantic, candlelit dinner in between demon hunting and being chased,” he supposes, using his other hand to capture Oikawa’s chin between his forefinger and thumb. “All right, go out with me then.”

A grin tugs at the corners of Oikawa’s lips. “Gee, Iwa-chan, I thought you’d never ask,” he quips, leaning down to brush their lips together before capturing Iwaizumi’s lips with a kiss. “You can skip the romantic, candlelit dinner. After the week I’ve had… I’m longing for something mundane.”

“Like the world’s most boring coffee shop?”

“Yes, the more boring, the better.”

Laughter is buried against each other’s lips as sunlight touches the wooden floors of Iwaizumi’s apartment. It crawls towards them, draping the couch in shades of orange. Oikawa thinks he might’ve swallowed some of that light, given how warm his chest feels. It’s filled with something beautiful and otherworldly; something loving and honest.

He nips at Iwaizumi’s lower lip. “Now, what was this about you being completely at my mercy?”

Iwaizumi responds by giving his side a gentle squeeze. One of his palms is pressed against the small of Oikawa’s back while the other travels towards his thigh. “Why don’t you come and find out?”

Oikawa pours every bit of warmth and affection into his next kiss when he whispers, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Chapter Text

When Iwaizumi blinks awake on a Friday morning, he finds himself alone in his bed. White ceilings greet him, accompanied by the distant footsteps of his upstairs neighbors. (They have a rambunctious toddler who likes to run around the apartment). He doesn’t particularly mind the noise. On mornings when he can’t fall asleep, adrenaline still coursing through his body from the previous nights’ activities and muscles aching with each breath, the sound sort of soothes him.

It almost lulls him to sleep.

He listens closely, mentally counting the steps. Two, four, eight, sixteen—

It stops after a while. It always does.

The bedroom door creaks quietly when someone else makes their presence known. Ren keeps her distance, if only for a moment, before she leaps onto the bed—as she always does—and Iwaizumi releases a quiet groan. It’s followed by a chuckle when Ren takes it upon herself to lick his cheek.

She can always tell.

“Hey girl,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand over the dog’s head. She moves to the side after a moment, dropping her head atop his chest and releasing a quiet huff while Iwaizumi continues to thread his fingers through her fur. Blue eyes close mere seconds later; the excited wagging of her tail slowing down significantly as though she might be preparing for a quick nap herself.

“We’ll go in a little bit,” Iwaizumi tells her, even though he knows Ren didn’t come into the room to drag him out of bed. Another huff is the answer he gets. One that likely means ‘take your time’.

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, one arm wrapped around his dog, but at some point he rises from the bed—jostling Ren in the process. His phone tells him it’s a little before ten a.m. and there are a couple messages he has yet to reply to.

The one that captures his attention first is Oikawa’s.

‘Slept better today :)’.

It causes the corners of Iwaizumi’s mouth to rise. ‘I’m glad’ he writes back.

Almost immediately, he gets a reply.

Tooru
am I still seeing u today??
_{10:10 am}

                                          of course, noon right?
                                          _{10:11 am}

Tooru
yeah! just checking in case
urplanning to stand me
up…😒
_{10:12 am}

                                          lol I wouldn’t dare
                                          _{10:12 am}

Tooru
u better not. picked out a
nice outfit and everything!!
_{10:13 am}
                                        u always look nice tho
                                        _{10:13 am}

Tooru
flirting with me before our
first date? iwa-chan how
daring……😏😏
_{10:14 am}

                                         u bring it out in me
                                        _{10:14 am}

Tooru
lol ur such a dry texter
_{10:15 am}

                                       u bring that out in me too
                                       _{10:15 am}

Tooru
🖕
_{10:16 am}

Laughter travels through Iwaizumi’s chest, unwinding whatever tension had settled there before. He scrolls through his chat history with Oikawa, rereading their messages from the past five days. It’s strange to think that it’s only been four days since the Blood Moon. Five days since they exorcized Kazuo and closed the demon gate. Four days since he’s seen Oikawa; touched him, smelled him, held him, kissed him.

As much as Iwaizumi wanted to spend whatever free moment he had with Oikawa, they both needed some space to process all that had happened. Oikawa had been nervous to return to his apartment and Iwaizumi offered to stay with him, just until he felt comfortable being on his own again.

As expected, he’d declined the offer; mentioning that Iwaizumi needed time to himself as well.

In the end, he ended up calling his sister. Iwaizumi offered to stay with him until her arrival later that afternoon and they spent the majority of the day coming up with a way to explain the events of the previous days without accidentally sending her into cardiac arrest. (“I have to tell her, Iwa-chan. I don’t have a choice. I have to tell all of them, eventually.”)

Iwaizumi knew he was right. Oikawa’s family deserved to know their history. They deserved to know what happened to their relatives.

They both agreed that Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa would accompany Oikawa and his sister when he was ready to share the news with his other relatives. First, his sister. Then, his grandmother. And finally, his parents.

As it turns out, Oikawa Ayame was a lot more understanding than Iwaizumi gave her credit for. Granted, it took her roughly fifteen minutes to process the entire story and Iwaizumi briefly did think that she was going to pass out when her younger brother gave a quick display of his newly acquired powers, but she ended up being quite compassionate and empathetic.

“God, Tooru,” she had said, pulling her brother into a tight hug afterwards. “I’m so sorry.”

Iwaizumi watched the way Oikawa’s shoulders sagged, tension slowly bleeding out of his body as he wrapped his arms gently around his sister’s body. A gentle sob had climbed up his throat; his forehead resting against her shoulder while Ayame gently threaded her fingers through his hair. She promised to stay with him for the remainder of the week and the following week—just to help him get back on his feet.

It was nice to see him getting the support and love he deserved.

Given what Iwaizumi knew about Oikawa’s family, he’d been a bit apprehensive, initially. However, Ayame had been kind to both of them. She thanked Iwaizumi repeatedly—even pulling him into a tight embrace as well. “Thank you so much for looking after him,” she’d said, her voice tight with emotion.

Before Iwaizumi left Oikawa’s apartment, they agreed to meet up again after a few days. Oikawa’s palm had felt warm against his own, fingertips gently brushing back and forth over the scar on Iwaizumi’s wrist. “How ‘bout friday?” Iwaizumi proposed, “We’ll meet up for lunch.”

“That sounds good,” Oikawa smiled, stepping forward to brush his lips against Iwaizumi’s. “You can finally take me on that date.”

It had taken every bit of Iwaizumi’s willpower not to push Oikawa against the front door then and there.

After he left, he texted Rina’s phone number to Oikawa, mentioning that he could contact her whenever he felt ready to talk to one of the therapists employed by the Seijoh Group. Later that night, Oikawa texted him.

‘Sent her a message. She’s going to make an appointment for me’.

Iwaizumi smiled at his phone as he typed out a reply. Proud of you.

Oikawa’s reply followed suit. I’m proud of you, too.

In the days that followed, Iwaizumi tried to fall back into his usual routine. It started with going for a morning walk with Ren and picking a fixed time to vacuum his living room. Simple things.

He informed two of his colleagues at the clinic that he would be taking a few more days off from work. They didn’t ask any annoying questions, nor did they seem wary—they merely asked if he was okay and hoped he’d feel better soon. (Iwaizumi hated lying to them, but he appreciated how considerate they were).

He did his laundry, washed his dishes, called his mother, walked some more with Ren, texted either Hanamaki or Matsukawa, and even watched a movie or two. Sometimes he’d actually register what the characters were saying.

On the third day, he hesitantly called his therapist at nine a.m.

He was able to come in for an appointment later that day.

It was hardly the first time he’d visited her office and Iwaizumi knew it wouldn’t be the last. This session lasted two hours, during which they discussed his first meeting with Rei, the multiple near death experiences, and the way he viewed himself after coming to terms with his demon heritage. Needless to say, he left her office feeling as though he’d been hit repeatedly by a steam roller.

(“So I’ll see you this Saturday?” “Do I have a choice?”)

“You always do,” she’d say with that knowing smile. The one that said ‘you’ll be back’.

Sure enough, he’s got another appointment tomorrow.

Turns out Oikawa had an appointment on Thursday. He’d called Iwaizumi beforehand and afterwards, explaining the details of the session and how much he dreaded it initially—only to feel a sense of relief after leaving the office. (“We agreed I’d come in twice a week at first. Apparently I’ve got a lot of shit to work through. Who would’ve thought!?”)

As expected, both Matsukawa and Hanamaki were curious about Oikawa’s wellbeing as well; prying for information whenever they had the chance to speak with Iwaizumi. It was quite adorable. “I miss that little weirdo, y’know,” Hanamaki admitted one afternoon on the phone.

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Iwaizumi teased.

“Don’t, I have a reputation to uphold.” then, “But you guys should come over for dinner next week.”

Thoughts regarding therapy and dinner plans are pushed aside when Iwaizumi realizes he needs to leave for his appointment (date) with Oikawa in an hour. He goes on a quick walk with Ren, even opting to jog around the neighborhood for a few minutes. Above him, clouds part; light cascading onto the darkened road before him. It touches the gray and white buildings in the neighborhood, reflects off the still water of the fountain in the park he often visits, and glides along the green leaves of the trees before him.

Oxygen travels through his lungs with each stride. It feels nice; like he can breathe a little easier.

(“Stick to your routine if it feels good,” his therapist had advised him.)

Jogging puts his mind at ease. It creates space within his mind where there was nothing but clutter. It opens a path he otherwise would not be able to find himself. It navigates him through the maze of organized thoughts, leading him towards the exit where there is a beautiful, open space—rather than a small, dark room.

Whenever it feels like the walls are closing in on him, Iwaizumi flees. Literally.

He goes outside, drags himself to his and Ren’s favorite park. He runs and runs until his chest aches and his legs burn.

Today, they ran a total of five laps before returning home, and amidst his quick shower, Iwaizumi thinks of what the future might bring them. Naturally, Kazuo’s actions come with consequences. There had been a lot of collateral damage all over town, but thanks to the combined effort of multiple hunting groups they’d managed to provide assistance to those who were in need.

From what Iwaizumi has heard, there are plans to investigate Oikawa’s family and their history within the Seijoh Group while also looking into Kazuo’s network to see whether or not he acted alone or—possibly—had been working alongside someone else. For now, they’ll let Oikawa inform his relatives of what had transpired; granting them their period of grief.

As for Iwaizumi, he’ll busy himself with navigating his newfound abilities. Or rather, his slightly enhanced abilities. His mother had asked him if he would be interested in contacting Rei again—as did his therapist—but he’d told both women that he’s still unsure about whether or not he wants to see her again.

Evidently, Rei’s voice continues to echo through his mind.

We will see each other again, Hajime. Remember, you can always find me.

He wonders if her words will ring true.

When Iwaizumi leaves the apartment, his contemplation is interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. A message from Oikawa.

Tooru
omw right now
_{11:40 am}

Tooru
I’m really excited to see you 💕
_{11:40 am}

A flutter travels through Iwaizumi’s chest, settling somewhere low in his stomach, and he digs his teeth into his lower lip as a grin forms on his lips. He keeps his helmet tucked beneath his arm when he settles onto his motorcycle, writing out a quick message in reply.

                                    me too. gonna drive now
                                    _{11:42 am}

                                    can’t wait to see you 💙
                                    _{11:42 am}

Luckily, traffic isn’t as bad today and it takes him roughly twenty minutes to arrive downtown. When he comes to a halt near the coffee shop they agreed to meet up at, Iwaizumi finds Oikawa standing near the entrance. He’s wearing dark slacks, and an ivory-colored shirt, paired with a long, beige coat. A tote bag hangs off his shoulders while his glasses are perched atop his nose.

Iwaizumi smiles, allowing himself another moment of observation. He watches as Oikawa fiddles with the strap of his bag, curiously glancing around—likely in search of Iwaizumi—while he captures his lower lip between his teeth. When his gaze settles on Iwaizumi, his brows shoot upward. Brown eyes widen immediately while a large smile blooms on his lips.

And there it is again, that flutter.

Iwaizumi suddenly feels very aware of his body and how he looks. He’s not embarrassed to admit that he spent a decent amount of time standing in front of his closet, deciding what to wear. After weighing out his options, he grew tired of his own indecisiveness and anxiety regarding their date.

He ended up grabbing an olive green shirt and a pair of dark jeans.

It’s stupid, he thinks. To feel nervous about something as simple as a coffee date after all they’d been through.

And yet, Iwaizumi’s heart beats and beats. It thrums beneath layers of skin and muscles, each beat reverberating through his body. His face feels warm, as do his hands, and he hopes—prays—that he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels.

Each step he takes towards Oikawa pushes him towards a future together and Iwaizumi is curious where that future will take them. He’s certain they’ll figure it out together.

There’s a path, open, bright, and beautiful, waiting to be explored. He’ll walk along that, with Oikawa’s hand clasped in his own, and the knowledge that he’ll always have this incredibly smart, brave, funny and kind person by his side.

Even during one of their first days together, Iwaizumi noticed a sense of familiarity between them. Something he could not explain with words alone. It was a feeling that resided somewhere inside of him. Something intuitive. Giving into it was both frightening and freeing all at once. Despite Iwaizumi’s initial apprehension, he’d learned that he could trust Oikawa.

He’d trusted him with his secrets. With his heart.

Trust was accompanied by a sense of safety. A feeling that said ‘I’m safe here, I’m safe with you’. Iwaizumi wanted to hold on to that feeling. Oikawa had shown him that there was beauty in vulnerability.

He’d noticed it that Sunday when the two of them had returned to Iwaizumi’s apartment. Moments of intimacy were born between white sheets and prolonged on dark couch cushions. Lips explored lips, fingers explored skin, hearts explored hearts. Words slipped from reddened lips, nestling themselves within the deepest parts of Iwaizumi. Praise, compliments, confessions, declarations, promises. Each statement found a home within his heart, ingrained in those walls as he carried the words with him through the day.

It felt as if Iwaizumi’s chest had been filled with light; something bright and warm. Oikawa’s voice had wrapped around him, gently gliding across his skin and blanketing Iwaizumi in love. He regarded Iwaizumi with so much fondness, affection swimming within the brown of his eyes, and fingers tenderly stroking Iwaizumi’s cheek as he quietly spoke the words he’d carried inside his own heart.

I like you. I care about you. I want to be with you.

Iwaizumi repeated those words; spoke them aloud as well, and watched as Oikawa’s smile grew larger.

He’s met with that same smile now. Iwaizumi hands immediately reach for Oikawa once he’s close enough, fingers curling around his wrist and gently pulling Oikawa in. There’s an arm around his middle, accompanied by the scent of jasmine and mint as Oikawa leans forward. Lips brush over his cheek, sending another rush of warmth towards his face.

He leans into the embrace, feeling a sense of relief upon seeing Oikawa again.

It’s silly, he thinks. It’s only been four days.

“I missed you,” Oikawa admits quietly, voicing the words Iwaizumi kept tucked away. “Is that weird?”

“Not at all,” Iwaizumi tells him, his hand settling on the side of Oikawa’s neck as he guides their mouths together. The kiss is short, lasting a few seconds, but almost immediately, something erupts in his chest. He likens it to fireworks. “I missed you, too.”

He can feel Oikawa smiling against him, which causes Iwaizumi to smile as well. “Were you waiting long?”

When Oikawa pulls away slightly, he shakes his head. “Two minutes,” he answers, glancing at the café behind them. “So this is the place you’re taking me? On our first date.”

“I know you wanted something boring, but this looked pretty nice. Hiro’s advice. Apparently he worked here, too.”

“Another former employer? Is this one run by a bunch of hunters too?”

Iwaizumi snorts. “No, nobody’ll know us here. Or, maybe, they’ll know you.”

“Maybe,” Oikawa supposes, frowning. “The media have been having a field day with the sudden ‘disappearance’ of my uncle and cousins. The stories they’re spewing are ridiculous. Granted, the truth is even crazier.”

Iwaizumi releases a short, thoughtful hum, thumb brushing back and forth over Oikawa’s cheekbone. “I know,” he murmurs. “Once we’ve told your parents and grandmother, we’ll handle the rest for you. I promise.”

The words earn him a sheepish smile and a quiet ‘thanks’. A sigh falls from Oikawa’s lips as he buries his face into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. “I feel bad that you guys have to come and help me out again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Iwaizumi counters. “This is what we do. And don’t forget you’re one of us now—we’d do anything to protect you. ‘Sides, we’re doing this for ourselves too. Can’t have nosy journalists in our business, y’know.”

A quiet chuckle is stifled against Iwaizumi’s skin. It tickles. “Iwa-chan is so selfish.”

“So selfish that I’m taking you on a date.”

Oikawa pulls away then, his hands sliding down until they find Iwaizumi’s own. The warmth of his palms seeps into Iwaizumi’s skin, fingers sliding together as he takes a few steps backwards and tugs Iwaizumi towards the café’s entrance with him. “C’mon then, dazzle me, Hajime,” he grins.

The smile Oikawa aims at him leaves Iwaizumi feeling a little lightheaded and, maybe, a bit breathless. He can feel the corners of his own mouth rising as they step across the café’s threshold. There’s the soft jingle of the bell that’s located right above the door, accompanied by the gentle jazz music that echoes through the building. It bleeds together with the cheerful voices of the employees that greet them, but he only vaguely registers their words as he finds himself too enthralled by the man before him.

Oikawa tugs him towards a table in the back, mentioning that he quite likes the shop’s interior. It’s all brown tones with hints of white and beige. Mostly light browns, though. It’s cosy. Comforting in a familiar way despite it being Iwaizumi’s first time at the café.

Their coats are draped over the backs of their chairs, eyes momentarily scanning the menu as Iwaizumi’s knuckles gently brush against the back of Oikawa’s hand. Across from him, Oikawa’s gaze flickers back and forth between Iwaizumi’s face and the menu before him. “You’re staring,” he murmurs.

“I’m appreciating,” Iwaizumi corrects.

“Smooth,” Oikawa chuckles, a hint of red blooming on his cheeks. Iwaizumi finds himself endeared by the way Oikawa brushes a finger over his nose in an attempt to conceal the smile he’s wearing.

“Thought you wanted to be dazzled,” he points out. “I’m getting a cappuccino, by the way.”

“I did say that,” Oikawa admits. “I’ll get the caramel latte. And maybe a bagel. Have you eaten yet?”

“Lil’ bit,” Iwaizumi mumbles, pressing a finger down on the menu card and gently tugging the laminated card towards him. “Lemme see—what do they have?”

Oikawa then launches into a spiel about the numerous bagels and sandwiches the café apparently provides, mentioning which ones sound quite appetizing and which ones should definitely be avoided at all costs. The whole thing is simultaneously ridiculous and charming, and Iwaizumi nods thoughtfully; absorbing the information Oikawa provides him with as though he’s some bread connoisseur.

The coffee and food arrive shortly after that and they both come to an agreement to limit—or rather ban—all and any talk regarding demons and/or demon hunting.

“I just want it to be like any other first date,” Oikawa tells him between sips of coffee. “So, Iwa-chan, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

He leans back into his seat, a large, white mug sitting in his palms and a curious glint in his eyes while a smirk rests on his lips. It faintly reminds Iwaizumi of their first meeting, and how Oikawa had regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and interest. As if Iwaizumi was a puzzle he could not wait to solve.

In the end, he managed to uncover the mysteries that lay before him, fitting numerous puzzle pieces together and cutting through Iwaizumi with an observant gaze and honest words. He was persistent, tenacious, unafraid, and incredibly brave; doing whatever it took to uncover the truth and protect those he cared about.

Iwaizumi thinks back to that monday; to the moment the large door opened and revealed a tall, brown-haired man with a pair of beautiful brown eyes and a charming smile.

‘Ah, that’s quick! Iwaizumi, right? Come in, come in. Can I get you anything?’

He remembers the blue of his sweater and the way his hair brushed along his forehead. He remembers the fullness of his lips, the length of his lashes, and the subtle scent of jasmine. Details that seemed insignificant then, hold so much weight now.

He observes them again, today. Oikawa’s eyes, his smile, his hair. Iwaizumi counts moles, freckles, and scars. He allows his eyes to linger on slender fingers, long legs, and firm shoulders. Places he’s both touched and kissed; places he longs to worship with his mouth and hands again.

Sunlight crawls across the table, spreading through the café and illuminating everything it comes into contact with. A ray of light catches the right side of Oikawa’s face, kissing his skin and highlighting the little bit of gold trapped in his eyes. His smile widens and Iwaizumi’s heart beats a little faster; sounding out Oikawa’s name in his chest.

There is so much left to discover about the man before him; so many little details that he’ll store within his heart.

For now, he’ll focus on that smile that makes his chest feel a little lighter.

— ༉‧₊˚✧

Exactly two weeks ago, Oikawa Tooru dragged himself to a family dinner he had no interest in attending. He’d looked at the driveway of his grandmother’s estate, hesitation wrapped around his limbs, and swallowed whatever dread climbed up his throat. Little did he know that entering the house would set off a chain of events no one could have predicted.

It’s been only fourteen days since that night.

He often thinks about it. The way the ground had trembled, causing books to tumble to the floor and vases to shatter as they fell off tables. He remembers the fear that had settled deep within his bones and the overwhelming urge to uncover the reason behind the tremors and that strange, stifling sensation that crept through the house and had interwoven itself within the cracks of the walls.

His curiosity led him down a path and into an entirely different world. One of monsters and magic; demons and hunters; guardian spirits and ancient rituals. It also led him into the arms of a man whose heart called Oikawa’s name, whose voice pierced through the noises, whose eyes anchored him to this mortal plane. Rough hands felt incredibly gentle against Oikawa’s skin, rubbing away blood stains and tightly gripping limbs as he whispered Oikawa’s name against his skin.

Tooru, Tooru, Tooru.

Amidst all the mayhem, amidst the storm, Iwaizumi’s voice was a lighthouse guiding him to shore.

The proverbial anchor Oikawa desperately needed.

He was offered kindness and patience when there was chaos and discord. For him, Iwaizumi weathered the storms—risking his own life to ensure Oikawa’s safety. He led him through the maze, took his hand into his own, and pulled him out of the neverending labyrinth.

At times, Oikawa wondered what he had done to deserve these acts of kindness. He’d never been the type to easily accept help from others; having been taught to survive on his own; to resolve everything on his own. Being around Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa gradually changed his perspective. It showed him that there was strength in vulnerability.

You are not alone.

You are one of us.

In today’s world, with its ever changing landscape, it can be quite difficult to trust someone; an institution; an idea. We cling to familiarity, longing for safety and comfort. We go where we are loved. We go where we are safe.

Sometimes, it can be quite difficult to find a place like that. Especially when it’s wrapped in a thick layer of mist, concealing those that stand before us and swallowing the light we use as a focal point. This is when we get lost in our own thoughts, allowing the fog to poison our minds. It creates hallucinations, feasts on the insecurities and fears that reside within us, and highlights the voices we desperately try to conceal and hide.

However, there will be times when a voice, or multiple voices, will cut through the noise, through the fog.

Hands will wrap around your limbs, pulling you up, up, up, until your body is weightless; drifting through the sky and into the embrace of those that will provide you with the safety and love you deserve.

You are worthy and deserving of love.

Rina’s words continue to echo through Oikawa’s mind days later. A simple statement. Yet, hearing it felt like taking a battering ram to the chest.

He messaged her a few days later, mentioning that he felt ready to talk and it didn’t take long before she managed to get him an appointment with one of her coworkers. (“I think you’ll like her.”)

Ayame ended up joining him when he left for his appointment. “I’m glad you’re going,” she told him, linking their arms together as they walked down the street. Ever since her arrival, she’d been by his side constantly; fussing over him in a way only an older sister could. And he let her.

He talked to her; talked and talked about the thoughts that plagued him, about the ghosts that haunted him, and the memories that would not fade away. He also showed her the many books he’d taken from their grandmother’s home, explaining what their uncle had been busying himself with for days, weeks, or maybe months.

Possibly years.

“What does this mean for us?” she asked, concerned. “What about Takeru—and Asuka?”

The mention of his nephew and niece left Oikawa’s chest feeling impossibly tight. “I don’t know,” he answered, truthfully.

Ayame sighed, “Will this be your life now? It sounds quite… frightening, Tooru.”

“It does,” he admitted, pausing to observe his palm. “And I think that’s something I’ll have to decide on my own.”

“Whatever you do, I will support you,” a pause followed her words before she added, “just… talk to me. No more secrets.”

“I promise.”

They spent the rest of the night discussing the future, including their positions within the company and the consequences of Kazuo’s passing—as well as their grandmother’s reaction to the news. They talked about their parents, about their other relatives, about the media attention their family would receive, and the future of the Oikawa Group altogether.

“Maybe it should all burn down,” Oikawa had murmured offhandedly, observing the half-empty glass of red wine sitting on his coffee table.

“You don’t mean that,” Ayame responded, keeping her fingers wrapped around her own glass.

There was a moment of silence before he said, “Maybe I do. Look what being obsessed with power and money does to you. You didn’t see him, Ayame. I did.”

“Does that mean that we should all be punished for the things he did?”

“If we were part of the problem, yes.”

Another sigh. The glasses were discarded moments later, with Ayame disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water. She gently ruffled his hair before lowering herself onto the couch once more. Oikawa remembered seeing the exhaustion painted on her face; dark circles slowly beginning to form beneath her eyes.

Her hair had been tied back, the occasional brown strand escaping the bun sitting at the top of her head. Long, red nails captured his attention as she gently rubbed a hand along her chin and stared out of the living room window. Her voice was quiet, the words unexpected, when she mumbled, exhausted, “Maybe you’re right.”

In the hours that followed, Oikawa tried to rediscover his place in this world. He’d observe his reflection in the mirror, examining the scars on his body and pressing his fingers into his skin. Blood-soaked memories infiltrate his mind like a plague; an infection without a cure. Questions were left unanswered as he stared and stared at himself.

Who are you?

Who do you want to be?

What will you do?

His bed felt familiar yet unfamiliar as he laid in it at night; eyes glued to the ceiling above him. The quiet noises of Tokyo’s busy streets bled into his room. A symphony that haunted him throughout the night, keeping him awake as sleep evaded his mind. In those moments, he longed for Iwaizumi’s company. He imagined a hand settling somewhere on his side and fingers gently carding through his hair.

They both agreed to take some time for themselves, yet all Oikawa could think about was the feeling of Iwaizumi’s arms wrapped around his body and the scent of sandalwood and orange bleeding into his sheets. Whispers of Oikawa’s name would fill the air; Iwaizumi’s voice low and soothing as he held the syllables on his tongue. He’d kiss him, trace patterns on his skin, and memorize the beat of his heart.

God, he felt pathetic.

Fortunately, they stayed in touch; messaging one another throughout the day. Iwaizumi would send him photos of his morning walks with Ren and Oikawa would inform him of whatever chore he managed to complete that day. (“I cleaned my bathroom.”)

Ayame helped him create order where there was chaos. Both in his apartment and in his mind. She was patient, understanding, kind; everything he knew his sister to be.

“It’s okay to be confused by all of this,” she said one morning, nursing a cup of tea as she rested against the kitchen counter. “And it’s okay to take your time. Given all you’ve been through.”

Oikawa remained seated at the dining table, one leg drawn to his chest. “I just want to make the right decision,” he replied, staring at the dirtied dishes before him. Empty plates. Empty bowls. Breakfast had been tasty. “It scares me, though.”

“I get that, but nobody expects you to become a full-fledged demon hunter by tomorrow—if that’s something that you want,” Ayame pointed out. “People like Iwaizumi-kun have been doing this their whole lives.”

The stories Iwaizumi had told him about his childhood filled Oikawa with a sense of both melancholy and amazement at the same time. He pictured a younger version of Iwaizumi, studying numerous monsters and foregoing club activities to prepare for a lifetime of demon hunting. Would he have been able to do that as a child? Would he be able to do that as an adult?

Oikawa rubbed his thumb over the rim of his own mug, observing the remnants of his drink.

Was he tempting fate?

“I just feel like this could be a fresh start. For me. For our family,” he said after a moment.

Ayame smiled at him then, head slightly tilted. “I don’t see mom picking up a gun and hunting ogres anytime soon.”

That caused him to laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that, but now I can’t get the image out of my brain.”

As the hours passed, he weighed out his options. Numerous scenarios infiltrated his brain; possible what-ifs and hypothetical situations. He’d think of that hidden room in his grandmother’s house; the handwritten notes and many journals. Seiryuu’s voice made its presence known.

‘Balance must be restored. Your family hasn’t atoned for their sins, but your act of selflessness is rewarded.’

At night, as they were watching a rerun of her favorite show, he turned to his sister, and said, “I owe it to myself to try.” A pause followed before he continued. “I can’t run away now.”

A barely-there smile found its way onto her lips when she turned to look at him. “I know.”

That was a few days ago.

Today, Oikawa’s mind is predominantly occupied with thoughts of Iwaizumi. Namely thoughts that include seeing Iwaizumi, touching Iwaizumi, and possibly kissing Iwaizumi. His bed is covered in numerous clothing items. Trousers, jeans, sweatshirts, hoodies, t-shirts, cardigans, sweaters; they’re haphazardly thrown across his mattress as he rummages through his closet.

What does one wear to a first date?

He can’t quite remember the last time he’d been on a proper first date to begin with. Most of his time was spent at the university or sitting on his couch, catching up on whatever shows he’d been watching. He isn’t ashamed to admit that romantic endeavors haven’t been his priority for the past couple of months. Or years for that matter.

Too much of a hassle, really.

Until now, that is.

Granted, one never quite expects to run into a devastatingly handsome demon hunter on an average Monday morning. Nor do they expect to fall head over heels for said demon hunter.

The whole thing is absolutely fucking ridiculous.

And yet, here he is; unable to keep from grinning as he pulls a shirt over his head. (The eighth one he tried on that morning).

Amidst his many wardrobe changes, Oikawa wonders about Iwaizumi’s choice of attire. He doubts Iwaizumi is having a miniature meltdown in front of his closet—he seems far too level headed for that.

Eventually, Oikawa settles for a pair of dark trousers and a cream colored shirt. He spends an awfully long time doing his hair, making sure it looks neat without looking too neat, and he ends up pacing back and forth through his bathroom when he thinks he spots a zit on his chin.

Ayame assures him that it looks fine and that he’s overreacting.

He wants to tell her that this is quite possibly the most important date he’s had in the past decade, but he wisely refrains from doing so lest she calls him an insufferable idiot. (“Do you want some concealer?” “No—maybe.”)

He ends up applying a dab of concealer on his chin.

And some beneath his eyes.

When it’s time for him to leave, Ayame ends up coming with him. (“What are you, my chaperone?” “Shut up. I want to make sure you’re fine.”)

She even offers to wait with him until Iwaizumi arrives, but he kindly asks her to return to his apartment instead. After a tiresome back-and-forth, she relents. “Call me when you’re done,” she says with a wave of her hand as she walks off.

“Sure won’t,” Oikawa calls out after her.

He appreciates the concern, though.

Iwaizumi arrives shortly after that, hopping off his motorcycle and walking towards Oikawa. He’s dressed in a green shirt that reminds Oikawa of the color of his eyes and he smiles to himself, watching as Iwaizumi approaches him while rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet in anticipation. Once Iwaizumi is close enough, Oikawa is drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Iwaizumi’s fingers curl around Oikawa’s wrist before he’s being pulled closer, pulling a chuckle from Oikawa who slips an arm around Iwaizumi’s waist.

Almost immediately, he buries his nose into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck; inhaling deeply. A hand rubs over the back of his neck and he mumbles an ‘I missed you’ against Iwaizumi’s skin. He almost feels silly for admitting it. After all, it’s only been four days.

Iwaizumi’s reply comes in the form of a gentle kiss that leaves Oikawa feeling lightheaded. He smiles against his lips, heart thrumming with excitement and his grip around Iwaizumi tightening ever so slightly as he presses himself against Iwaizumi’s chest. If it were up to him, he’d spend at least thirty minutes kissing every part of Iwaizumi’s face right there on the sidewalk.

(Alas, he’ll have to be patient).

Once they enter the café and find a spot near the back, they order their drinks and something to eat. While waiting for their order to arrive, Oikawa takes a moment to observe Iwaizumi. He looks semi-well rested. His eyes travel along Iwaizumi’s shoulders, pausing when they land on his forearms and hands. Memories swim to the surface; images of Iwaizumi’s hands reaching for him in the shower stall while drops of water would travel along the length of his arms.

(He’s not afraid to admit that he’s spent many nights replaying the events of that day on loop).

His gaze settles on Iwaizumi’s face once more, taking in the fullness of his lips and the length of his lashes. The dimples in his cheeks, the scar across his brow, the scar on his lip. Oikawa observes his hair, his brows, his jawline, the bob of his Adam’s apple; each detail is committed to memory.

He longs to touch him again, fingers inching closer towards Iwaizumi’s hand. They brush against Iwaizumi’s skin, tracing a faded scar until Iwaizumi takes Oikawa’s hand into his own; their fingers intertwined. A surge of warmth travels through his body, affection sweeping through him and concentrating deep within his chest. He smiles, wide, unguarded, and Iwaizumi mirrors it; teeth digging into his lower lip slightly. It makes Oikawa want to lean forward and kiss him.

One hand is curled around the menu mere seconds later; holding the laminated card in front of them in an attempt to shield their face whilst Oikawa leans forward to quickly, briefly, press his lips against Iwaizumi’s. A surprised hum vibrates through Iwaizumi’s throat, pulling a quiet laugh from Oikawa who leans back with a grin.

“Cute,” Iwaizumi snorts, thumbing at his own lower lip.

Oikawa could kiss him again. He could. Technically.

Though, before he gets the chance to, the server arrives; evidently ruining his plans and leaving Oikawa’s lips tragically untouched. He’ll console himself with the thought that there will be plenty of time to get reacquainted with the curve of Iwaizumi’s smile and the warmth of his skin.

The coffee is pretty good and the food is decent, too. After carefully observing the menu and giving Iwaizumi a crash course on all things bagels, Oikawa ordered one of their specials while Iwaizumi opted for a sandwich. When he glances around, he notices that the café is filled with mostly college students. They sit together in groups and duos. He spots the occasional patron sitting by themselves, typing away on a laptop or scribbling something into a notebook.

It makes him think about his own students for a moment.

As he takes another sip of his drink, Oikawa leans back into his seat. Amusement seeps into his voice, slipping in between the vowels of his words as he says, “So, Iwa-chan, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

It’s a date after all. They’re not here to discuss ancient spirits and evil uncles that need to be exorcized.

Across from him, Iwaizumi chuckles as he takes another bite of his sandwich. A brow is arched as he looks at Oikawa; the corner of his mouth rising slightly in a lopsided grin. “What do you wanna know?”

“Anything,” Oikawa answers with a shrug, “surprise me.”

There’s a long hum as Iwaizumi washes some of his food down with a sip of coffee. His brows are pinched together in a way that’s far too adorable for Oikawa’s liking and he folds his arms together on top of the table. “I couldn’t whistle ‘til I was twelve.”

“Really?” Oikawa asks, smiling at the thought of a much younger version of Iwaizumi continuously attempting and reattempting to whistle. “Did you practice very hard?” he teases.

“Every day,” Iwaizumi says without missing a beat. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Oikawa asks, releasing a slow hum as he sifts through almost three decades worth of memories. “I know how to play the piano.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen in surprise—if only briefly—before he smiles knowingly, flashing just a hint of teeth. “Of course you do. When’d you start?”

“When I was six.”

“You still play?”

“Not as much as I used to.”

While the lessons often felt like a chore, Oikawa did enjoy studying numerous songs and drawing beautiful, intricate, sounds from the instrument before him. It allowed him to completely lose himself into the music; fingers gliding across white keys and eyes observing the black ink printed on the sheets of paper.

Every now and then, his grandmother would join him whenever he found himself drawn towards the grand piano she kept in her living room. She was a lot less strict than his tutor, fortunately, and many of his fondest memories include sitting side by side on the small bench.

“Why not?” Iwaizumi wonders.

Why did he stop playing? Was it the overwhelming pressure to perform each song perfectly? Possibly. After all, his family expected nothing but perfection each time. A hobby was never just a hobby. It was just another skill that had to be mastered perfectly.

“Lack of time. And I stopped enjoying it,” Oikawa admits. A half smile finds its way onto his lips while a pang of guilt gathers in his stomach. “My family knows how to suck the fun out of things.”

The words cause Iwaizumi to frown and Oikawa feels the urge to mention that he doesn’t particularly miss playing. (Granted, that would be a bit of a lie). “Maybe you should get a keyboard,” Iwaizumi says after a moment. “And see if you can learn to enjoy it again. For yourself.”

Iwaizumi’s suggestion leaves him a little surprised—if only briefly. It seems like such a simple solution to a problem that feels awfully complex and yet, Oikawa nods. Perhaps simple solutions are what he needs right now. “I could try,” he agrees, smile widening. “Is this your way of getting me to play for you?”

Laughter, sweet and short, falls from Iwaizumi’s lips; a breathy chuckle. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“Maybe,” Oikawa admits. “Your turn again. Any hidden talents? Musical or otherwise. We know you can’t whistle—”

“Okay, see, I told you that in confidence,” Iwaizumi laughs, using the menu card to swat at Oikawa’s arm. It pulls a laugh from Oikawa’s throat, who raises one of his hands in defense. “I’d like to learn how to play the guitar, though.”

“Give it a try. You can serenade me,” Oikawa suggests. “Under the moonlight while I look at you from my balcony.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “All right, calm down, Romeo.”

“You’re Romeo in this scenario. Keep up, Iwa-chan.”

More laughter travels through the air; the sound curling itself around Oikawa’s heart, which beats with affection for the man sitting in front of him. The image of Iwaizumi, a guitar in his arms, serenading Oikawa in the dead of night while he sits on a balcony, is both utterly hilarious and awfully adorable.

“Matsukawa knows how to play the bass. He can give me some pointers,” Iwaizumi tells him.

That little tidbit of information catches him by surprise. Eyebrows are drawn towards his hairline as he imagines Matsukawa with a bass guitar. “Does he?” Oikawa asks, humming afterwards. “Kinda fits him.”

“He had a phase when he was fifteen,” Iwaizumi says dryly.

In the hours that follow, they end up sharing all sorts of miscellaneous facts about themselves. It reminds Oikawa of one of the nights he spent in Iwaizumi’s childhood bedroom. He learns that Iwaizumi does not like walnuts and that he dislikes the color orange. He thinks pineapple on pizza is repulsive, but enjoys both sweet and salty popcorn. He got his ears pierced when he was fifteen, together with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and he got his tattoo when he turned eighteen. He’d like to get another tattoo some day, but he’s unsure whether or not said tattoo would be related to his family’s guardian. His childhood crush used to be Nakama Yukie and a baseball player who, apparently, happened to be quite famous in the nineties. (“I even had a poster and everything. Took me a while to realize that I had a little crush on him.”)

He was thirteen the first time he kissed a girl and fifteen when he kissed a boy for the first time. Evidently, the boy in question was on the baseball team as well.

“Seems like you just had a thing for baseball players, huh?” Oikawa teases.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi chuckles, gently kicking Oikawa’s leg.

He also learns that Iwaizumi enjoyed spending whatever free time he had outdoors as a kid, collecting a variety of bugs and rocks. (The complete opposite of Oikawa in every way). “Do you think we would’ve liked each other as kids?” Oikawa wonders aloud, elbow propped atop the table and chin resting in his palm.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Maybe. Doubt we’d run in the same circles, though.”

“I know, but still, I’d like to think we’d be friends,” Oikawa tells him. “Did you have many close friends that weren’t hunters?”

Another shrug. “A few. Obviously I couldn’t tell them everything so that was kinda difficult at times,” Iwaizumi answers. “Especially when you’re a kid.”

“Same with dating,” Oikawa supposes, remembering one of their earlier conversations. “Always keeping secrets. How’d you do it?”

“Lie,” Iwaizumi says matter-of-factly. “Make up excuses.”

Oikawa tilts his head, a twinge of sadness slipping in between the cracks of his ribs. The thought of Iwaizumi having to lie to those he cared for, or even loved, makes his chest squeeze together tightly. “That sounds difficult. And a little sad,” he murmurs. “I know we said we wouldn’t talk about any hunter-related things, but—”

“You’re curious,” Iwaizumi finishes, mirroring Oikawa’s pose and resting his cheek in the palm of his own hand while he keeps his elbow propped up on the table. “Go on then.”

“Was it hard?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Never really worked out. Not in the long run at least. I had a girlfriend who thought I was cheating whenever I went on missions and a boyfriend who thought I was in an illegal fighting ring when he saw my injuries one night and begged me to stop getting involved with the mob.”

Despite the weight of his words, he can’t help but release a breathy laugh. Oikawa’s gaze momentarily drops to Iwaizumi’s hand, which he covers with his own after another moment while Iwaizumi adds, “I could’ve told them the truth at any given point, but it would mean that I’d have to leave the world I knew behind.”

“And then a guy with a hunch, a penchant for mythological creatures, and a diabolical uncle possessed by a demonic entity stumbled into your life.”