Chapter Text
They started calling it the Sendai Fireball, though Asahi didn’t hear the name until months after it had happened and he already knew much more about its circumstances than he ever could have expected. It was a quiet morning, just before dawn. There was no prelude or warning, no change in the air, before the blast struck. The night was overcast and starless.
Then, like the sun rising in a single instant, the explosion was born out on the water. It grew over the bay and cast a harsh golden light on the city, the light almost as tangible as the heat it gave off and the tense, unbroken quiet. It was as though a bomb had dropped on the ocean, silent and awe-inspiring in the way that made your stomach drop.
Asahi could see the water ripple, a circle of light radiating outward from the epicenter of the blast at an unimaginable speed. He knew the shockwave was coming but could do nothing about it. The roar came first, like the air splitting in half. Windows rattled and broke, doors by the shoreline cracked, and Asahi, who was running across the rocky beach, was thrown about a meter inland, landing hard on his shoulder. He cursed and raised a hand to cover his eyes, head taking a moment to figure out which way was up. He gave the fireball not more than a second of attention before he looked back to the beach behind him for the dark jeep and its armed occupants.
The jeep hadn’t tipped over like he’d hoped, but it was turned sharply and the doors were closed. Asahi scrambled to his feet. His knee protested, but he didn’t have time to figure out the damage. In a second he was sprinting again, feet landing more surely on the uneven ground with the assistance of the light from the bay.
His luck was short and he heard the jeep’s doors slam closed. He could hide from a vehicle but he couldn’t run from bullets, so he needed to get to cover as fast as possible. The fireball had hit its peak and the light had begun to dissolve in patches, like burning paper. Despite himself Asahi found he was staring at the light, watching the blinding yellow crack into deep orange and then, at the center of the glow, seeing a tiny dark shape linger and begin to fall.
The goons had stopped, mesmerized. Asahi guessed he should count his blessings and book it out of there before his sudden window of opportunity passed. The tree line approached, and Asahi’s heart lifted if only a little.
Out on the bay the dark shape struck the water, and Asahi didn’t see the second shock coming. It moved just as quickly as the first, a wide, hard gust of wind that made a single tall wave in the dark sea. Just as Asahi hit the trees the wind hit the beach, pulling the branches like they were flowers and knocking Asahi into a trunk. It stung against his back and he faltered when the pressure lifted, falling to his hands and knees on the underbrush. He got to his feet and continued forward as the light faded, and by the time the first curious onlookers from the city had made it out of their houses the night was dark and Asahi was deep in the forest.
It was dangerous, but if Asahi was going to get out of Sendai in any discreet way he would need his bike, which was still parked outside the convenience store below the apartment he’d been staying in.
If they’d found him at the bar, then the apartment was probably a bust too. He hoped the old man hosting him hadn’t gotten hurt, but he also felt a low, shameful rush of relief. The mattress had been nice but his host had been making noises about compensation of the companionship sort and Asahi hadn’t been running long enough to trade his body for a night’s sleep.
The morning had come with the buzz of worry over the night before. The coast guard had made their way out to the blast location soon after it had happened, but besides silt stirred up from the shore the water was empty and, for all intents and purposes, looked as though nothing had happened. There was no radiation, no seismic activity, no bomb residue. The rumor began to spread that it had been a meteor, though there had been no reports from earlier in the night, when a light in the sky should have been visible.
That was what Asahi learned from the television at the laundromat, anyway, when he arrived back in town two days later. He’d gotten back the long way and arrived at about 10 o’clock in the morning, back a little worse for wear from the nights on the wood floor of a shed. The anonymity of daylight required an entirely different set of skills from that of the night, but Asahi was less used to being on the run than to being a normal person so he didn’t have trouble disappearing in the crowd.
Across the street and down about half a block was the convenience store and his bike. Asahi was playing it safe, anticipating some sort of surveillance, but as he made conversation with the old woman in the vest watching the machines he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of panic. He was so, so close to freedom, at least for a while, and he couldn’t afford to take more than a couple of seconds taking and leaving with his bike. He had the route mapped in his mind, hoping to lose any tail they set on him early.
“I’ve got to run,” he said apologetically to the woman, who looked up at him as he stood. The lower half of her face was covered in a white mask, but her eyes sparkled.
“Get some sleep,” she said. “You look like a ghoul."
“I’ll do my best,” Asahi replied with a smile and a tiny bow, heart pounding as he neared the door. He had to focus. The key was in his hand in the pocket of his leather jacket and his backpack was strapped in the front so he could run.
With a deep breath he pushed open the laundromat door. It jingled lightly and he waited until he was out of view of the window before he pulled his hand from his pocket and broke into a run, making a beeline for the convenience store across the street.
A car honked as he darted out in front of it and he offered a conciliatory dip of the head in lieu of an apology. It was only as he made it to the other side of the street, kitty corner to the laundromat, that he saw the black van. It sat parked on the same side of the street as the laundromat, just out of view of the windows. Had they known he was there?
“Shit,” he hissed, and he locked eyes with the person in the passenger side the moment he looked over. There was a flash of recognition, eyes widening, and then the door was opening. Asahi was already sprinting, weaving around an alarmed group of pedestrians, but he gritted his teeth and tried to put on whatever speed he could.
His bike was just a few meters away, just half a second, but there was a gunshot before he could make it there. Someone screamed and he ducked behind a tiny electric car, falling to his hands and knees and then pressing his back to the door.
“Come out with your hands up and we won’t shoot,” a voice said, firm but tired-sounding. “Azumane.”
Good to know it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. That would be awkward. Asahi swallowed and let out a shaky breath. His fingers were trembling and he could see his bike, three or four meters away, so close. He didn’t trust them to dawdle if he were to give himself up, so he probably wouldn’t have enough time to get to his bike, get it running, and be off before they got a couple of bullets in him.
The street had become deathly quiet. Asahi looked at the keys in his hand and tried to calm himself down. He heard another car door close and bit his lip. The longer he waited the worse it would be.
“Azumane,” the voice came again. “You have ten seconds. Hands up.”
Asahi had to make a decision fast. He might be able to take one of the goons in a fight, just because of his size, but if they both had weapons and they both came at him he’d be dead before he threw the first punch.
Slowly, he put his hands above his head and stood, turning to face the two men as he did. His heart lurched as he saw the barrel of the gun, a perfect circle of black pointing directly at his chest. The man with the gun was not particularly tall, and he was in plain clothes. Looks could be deceiving, though, and Asahi wasn’t going to tempt fate.
“Don’t move,” the man barked, and Asahi could see his partner come up behind him, pistol in hand and pointed at the ground.
The first man stepped carefully around the car, gun trained on the middle of Asahi’s chest. That would hurt. He only had one chance and a whole host of action movies to reference.
There was no time like the present, so Asahi waited until the man was within arm’s length, telling him to lean against the car with his hands behind his back, before he moved.
He grabbed at the barrel of the gun, moving his body out of its aim and slamming his other hand into the man’s wrist. The man yelped in surprise, the gun not completely leaving his hand but his grip loosening enough for Asahi to grab the weapon himself. It was over in a split second and then he planted a boot in the middle of the man’s chest, kicking as he dropped behind the car again. A gunshot cracked above his head and he fumbled with the gun, pointing it at the man he’d kicked and then, before the adrenaline ran out on him, dashing out from behind the smart car.
He blindly pointed in the direction of the other goon as he made it to his bike, swinging a leg over and tapping up the kickstand with his heel. He missed the ignition a couple of times with his shaky hand, his eyes locked on the second man, a tall, heavy-set thug with a shaved head. As his bike roared to life he pushed off and white-knuckled the clutch.
The first man had gotten to his feet and begun to run toward him, but he wasn’t going to make it in time and Asahi could see in the second man’s eyes that he wasn’t really going to shoot. He’d never held a real gun before, but he’d never been on the run before either and everything could be a learning experience.
Then he was off, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips and stomach threatening to flip over, but he was gone.
Asahi’s bike wasn’t exactly quiet, but he figured he could trade speed for stealth and worry about hiding once he was out of the cramped, claustrophobic city. He roared down the route he had planned, avoiding a school zone and keeping to smaller, less populated streets. The hairs that didn’t quite make it into his ponytail were plastered back against his head in the wind, cold on his face.
He didn’t see the black van in the mirror, or down any side streets, and he began to feel confident that either they hadn’t gone after him or he’d lost them. Nobody seemed to be out of their homes, even though it was around the time most should be leaving for work. Asahi didn’t dwell. The fewer people who saw him the better.
The street wound more than he remembered and he slowed, leaning into every turn with the weary feeling that something unpleasant could meet him around a blind corner. The houses were small here, suburban.
There was a sudden sound from up ahead, a sort of crash, and Asahi had almost no time to react as the figure of a young man stumbled into the street, right in his path.
Asahi swore and hit the brakes, banking hard to the left and skidding to what was good enough to pass for a stop. He leaped off his bike as it fell, landing hard on his shoulder and rolling. He struggled to catch his breath, staring up at the person in the street, eyes wide.
“What the hell?” he started, but his voice caught in his throat. The kid was covered in blood, which ran in a stream from his nose and a cut somewhere above a puffy eye. He looked dead on his feet, messy black hair matted to the side of his head and his streak of bleached bangs dyed red with blood. He didn’t even seem to have noticed Asahi, staring instead down the alley from which he’d come.
At first there was only silence, Asahi’s heartbeat in his ears, but then he saw another young man step out of the alley, looking for the most part unscathed and very unamused. His eyes were sharp and cold, and he was skinny but looked strong. He glanced at Asahi.
“Leave,” he said. Asahi opened his mouth to protest and the world shifted.
Asahi watched his vision narrow to a pinprick, and he realized his eyes were no longer focused. There was what seemed like an eternity of lingering silence before he felt his body move, his arms pushing him to his feet, pulling up his bike, swinging a leg over it, but he wasn’t doing anything. He uncocked the gun and stuck it into his belt. He wasn’t moving but he was moving, and he tried to get himself to stop but it was as though his arms and legs had been taken over by some unseen puppet master.
“What’s going on?” Asahi managed to choke out, eyes refusing to look anywhere but the clutch of his still-humming bike, watching his hand move toward it but unable to stop. “Who are you?"
“Did you hear me?” the young man asked casually. “Go now or I’ll kill you.”
Asahi didn’t feel anything, not even fear. Go now go now go now go now—the thought bounced around his brain, moving his feet and his hands and the bike grumbled and—
“Get on,” he hissed at the second boy, almost inaudibly. The kid turned to him, eyes meeting his and for a moment uncomprehending. Asahi could feel his hand closing, however much he was trying to fight it, and in a second he’d be gone. “Get on,” he repeated, but his mouth barely forming the words.
The bike roared to life and he began moving but Asahi could see out of the corner of his eye the boy burst into motion, swinging around and grabbing the back of Asahi’s jacket. He couldn’t move his eyes away from the road but he felt a small, warm impact against his back and the pressure of a body.
“Are you fucking kidding—?”
“Go go go go go go!” the kid yelled in Asahi’s ear, voice high and excited, worlds away from the dead look he’d given the alleyway. The kid’s arms wound around Asahi’s waist as they began to pick up speed. “His range is only like a hundred meters so don’t fucking stop!”
Asahi heard the kid talking. He heard him speaking but something else was there, the world shift but stronger, angrier. A completely different, more powerful feeling crashed through his brain like an ocean wave. It blocked out every other thought, good or bad, and Asahi could feel himself sinking. In an instant he was overtaken, consciousness dropping down below his brain and falling into an abyss. It was almost comfortable, easy. He didn’t have to worry, or make decisions. There was nothing else he could do, or think, or say, or—
Crash the bike.
His hands wobbled, and he felt the bike beneath him wobble as well. He saw the low brick wall hiding the door to a house on the street, maybe thirty meters along, and it was welcoming. Crash the bike. Right into the wall. Easy. He could do that.
But his consciousness wasn’t completely gone, and adrenaline won.
“Grab the handlebars,” he commanded through his teeth, from beneath the water.
“Oh, fuck me!” the kid replied.
Asahi felt hands over his own, smaller, barely reaching. The bike turned toward the wall, and Asahi could feel a yearning, a deep need to drive forward. Hit the wall hit the wall crash the bike.
But it was too easy and his hands were limp enough for the kid to manipulate them, turning the bike sharply away. No, Asahi thought, but right as he was about to correct they passed some sort of threshold and the fog that had blanketed Asahi’s mind vanished in an instant.
“Jesus Christ!” he cried as they flew forward, missing a tree by centimeters. He banked hard, pulling them back onto the road, correcting as they snaked across the street. It was only the speed they had gained which kept them upright, wobbling dangerously side to side before reaching a happy medium and rocketing down the street.
“Woo hoo!” the kid yelled, hands flying in the air. He lost his balance and his hands were back on Asahi’s waist in a second. “Shit.”
“What was that?” Asahi asked, voice tense.
“A sick rescue,” the kid replied. “I owe you one.”
“That’s not what I…” Asahi started.
“Are you one of Shimizu’s guys?” the kid asked. “How did you know where to find me?”
They turned, and the kid’s grip tightened on Asahi’s jacket.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Can you not talk? Is it not safe? This thing bugged?”
Asahi cleared his throat and shook his head—not as an answer, but as a dismissal. “I was just driving by.”
“Oh shit,” the kid said with a laugh. “Good Samaritan, huh? So where are we going? I’m getting a little woozy.”
“The hospital.”
There was no response for a long moment. The kid just breathed, heavy enough and close enough to his ear that Asahi could hear it over the bike.
“That’s okay, you can just drop me off here,” he finally said, voice high and quick.
“You’re bleeding like hell,” Asahi said.
“Yeah, well, you know, head wounds and all. I’m fine, you know. Some of it probably isn’t even mine. Thanks for the ride, it’s been great.” The kid laughed tensely.
“You might need stitches,” Asahi said firmly. “Hospital. I can call your parents if you want.”
Something in the air changed, a quiet but audible crackle. Asahi felt the hairs on his arm rise.
“Please just drop me off here, I’ll walk,” the kid said, voice strained. There was a snapping sound and Asahi winced.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Anywhere is good. Like a ditch or a tree. I’m not picky. Literally knock me out and bring me back to Oikawa if you want. No hospital though."
Asahi glanced back, and he caught the young man’s eyes quickly. They were wide, and bright, almost unnaturally so. His whole face was bright, like he was reflecting too much light, even the blood on his lips and smeared across the side of his face. His grip on Asahi’s waist tingled, like electricity.
“What are you doing?” Asahi asked, urgency creeping into his voice.
“Trying not to pass out,” the kid said.
“Jesus.”
Asahi slowed, pulling over to the side of the street. There were a few people around, mostly up ahead, and he worried someone might see and think he’d beat the kid up himself. His hands were itching to move, to get out of the city, and the gnawing paranoia hadn’t left. They came to a stop and he knocked down the kickstand, just in time to turn and catch the kid, who slid limply off the seat. He nearly dropped the kid when a thick arc of electricity met his fingers.
“Fuck!”
“Literally shoot me in the head yourself if you want,” the kid mumbled. “No hospital.”
His face was still too bright, like he was glowing just under the skin, and turned around Asahi could see that it was his entire body that was bright. He didn’t look good, either, sweat beading on his forehead and mixing with the blood.
“Fine,” Asahi said, not going to ask any questions he didn’t want answers to. “No hospital.”
At once the glow disappeared, like a light being switched off. The kid sighed and slid to the ground, sitting half on his knees. He looked up at Asahi with far-off eyes. He really was about to pass out.
“Good deal. Name’s Nishinoya. I’m pretty fucked up right now.”
“No kidding,” Asahi said, looking up and down the street.
When he looked back down the kid was slumped forward. Asahi cursed under his breath and looked up to the sky, through the black crisscross of powerlines, upset but not surprised at himself and his sappy, bleeding heart.
Asahi hadn’t tried to make a campfire for years, but after a bit of fumbling through the encroaching dark and locating the half-dead lighter in his bag he managed to get a small pile burning. He didn’t know what kinds of animals lived so low on the mountain but he wasn’t keen on meeting any of them. It was alright if he kept watch. He hadn’t been expecting to get any sleep anyway.
The kid was still out and Asahi’d propped him up against his bike. The blood was worrying but the kid was breathing easily. He knew he was a pushover, and once the decision was made he didn’t worry about whether or not he’d regret it. The twinge of guilt at the thought of letting the kid lie there was enough to make him hoist his limp body up onto the back of the bike.
They were at most a hundred meters from the mountain path but there was no visibility and Asahi felt safe from the prying eyes of marauding bounty hunters. The military was efficient and effective, but probably not at finding a single man in the woods.
Two, now.
In the morning Asahi would see how the kid was doing and then drop him off just outside of town. He looked pathetic enough that someone would probably pick him up, and then he could have the glow-argument with someone else about whether or not to go to the hospital. Then Asahi could skip town and worry about getting out of the country.
It was around nine in the evening when Nishinoya started to stir. His eyes fluttered and he murmured something before he blinked to life. Asahi watched from the other side of the fire as the kid sat forward, eyes tracing lines on the ground before they rose. The blood in his hair had dried it upwards, like it’d been caught up in the wind, black crust instead of red.
“What’s going on?” he asked, and Asahi wondered if maybe he was older than he looked.
“’Evening,” Asahi replied. Nishinoya glanced at the bike behind him and then at the fire, taking a deep breath.
“Where are we?”
“Just outside of Sendai.” Asahi poked at the fire with a long stick. Sparks rose as a branch shifted.
“How did…” the boy started. He winced and his hand flew to his ankle. “Shit. Where are the others?”
Asahi didn’t answer for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nishinoya froze, fingers pressed into the side of his leg. “Did they get out?” he asked slowly, eyes wide.
Asahi shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think we established that before.”
Nishinoya squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head. “I have to find them.” He sounded a little breathless. “They were in…south block? Southeast block.”
Asahi’s mouth was a tight line but he didn’t say anything. Whatever was going on with the kid was not his business, and any thoughts otherwise would be dooming him to either a military tribunal or a shoot-on-sight order.
“Scooch in,” he said. “It’s chilly.”
Nishinoya looked Asahi square in the face with a strange intensity. “How did you find me?” he asked.
“You stepped in front of my bike,” Asahi said, raising an eyebrow.
“I guess I sort of remember,” Nishinoya said.
“Great. Well, we already had the hospital conversation, and you were pretty firm about not going to one. Just checking that’s still the case.”
“Blackout Noya’s probably a dick, sorry. But yeah, I’d prefer not.”
“I wonder if anyone got hurt in the blast,” Asahi mused to himself. “The hospital might be packed anyway.”
Nishinoya froze, eyes flicking to Asahi’s. They were sharp and wary. “The blast?”
“The explosion two days ago. Sort of hard to miss. Out on the water.” The look of horror on Nishinoya’s face made Asahi wince.
“That wasn’t me, was it?” Nishinoya asked, voice hollow.
“I don’t know,” Asahi said slowly, warily. “You into bombs?”
“Oh my god,” the kid intoned, hands rising to the back of his head. He curled in on himself. “What the fuck.”
Oh jeez. He probably had family he was worrying about and Asahi wasn’t making it better. “You know,” Asahi started on damage control, “It’s not that bad. The city’s mostly fine. Probably some…you know, just some broken windows. I wouldn’t worry."
Nishinoya looked at Asahi searchingly. “Really?”
He looked so small. “Yes, really. Scared some fish, is all.”
There was a long moment of silence. The fire crackled. The kid was motionless, and then he scooted forward, huddling closer to the flame. His knees were covered in dirt.
“I’m Nishinoya Yuu,” the kid said. “0-5-1-8-8-2.”
“You gave me your surname before,” Asahi said. “That your phone number or your age?”
Nishinoya laughed, one weak huff. “My I.D.”
“Are you a prisoner?” Asahi asked incredulously. “What, did you blow up the prison?"
Nishinoya didn’t laugh at that. “What counts as a prison?” he asked, voice light but eyes sharp.
Asahi shifted. “So, uh, just to make sure we’re on the same page,” he started, “You didn’t actually…bomb anything, did you?”
“No. Not that I remember."
“Good,” Asahi said. “That’s good.”
“What’s your name?” Nishinoya asked. Asahi opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“Not important,” he said. He didn’t need the kid telling anyone about him once he got back to town. That would make the whole escaping equation a lot more complicated.
“Come on,” Nishinoya said. “Eye for an eye.”
That’s not what that means, Asahi thought. “It really doesn’t matter,” he said, more emphatically this time. Nishinoya squinted.
“Fine, Mr. Mysterious. Are you a criminal?”
“Look, I didn’t pick you up so I could get twenty questions,” Asahi said, a little snappier than he’d intended.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a cop,” Nishinoya said. “Unrelated, think I may have sprained my ankle.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if something was broken, the way you looked."
Nishinoya was shivering, though it was slight. Asahi shrugged off his jacket and handed it around the fire. Nishinoya looked at it for a second before taking it. Instead of putting it on he held it up, examining the back of it in the light of the fire.
“What’s this?”
“Just put it on.”
“What is it?"
“A crow,” Asahi said. “With some leaves, I don’t know. I picked it up in a thrift store.”
The illustration on the back of the jacket had initially made Asahi unsure about buying it. He was a simple man with simple tastes, and a leather jacket was already outside of his comfort zone. But he’d only been on the run for a day or two and had left all this clothes in his apartment, which he knew was under surveillance. So he picked up the heavy leather jacket and hoped it would be warm for the coming fall.
“I guess I’m gonna have to call you Crow Guy, now,” Nishinoya said with exaggerated exasperation, slipping his arms into the jacket.
“Call me whatever you want,” Asahi said.
“Hey, it’s pretty cool. 'Karasu-san.' You sound like a weird old dojo master. Karasu-sensei. You’ve got the hair, too.”
“You’re one to talk, with your frosted tips.”
“That’s not what it’s called,” Nishinoya countered. He held up his arm, the tips of his fingers barely visible in the jacket sleeve. “Anywho, you got one of these in a small?”
Asahi laughed, half in surprise. Nishinoya smiled and then huddled up, staring at the fire almost fondly. Asahi pulled his hair out of its ponytail and shook it out, parting it in the middle. It was starting to get greasy, which was the main downside to having it long.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Guess.”
Asahi rolled his eyes. “Eight.”
“Ooh, very close,” Nishinoya said. “I’m nineteen.”
Young but not as young as he looked. Asahi could see it around the edges, in the sharpness of his chin and the way he moved, that he wasn’t as young as he had seemed before, in the road. That reminded him.
“Let me see your head,” he said, beckoning Nishinoya over. “We should at least get you cleaned up. Before it gets infected.”
“I’ll be okay,” Nishinoya said quickly.
“Hey,” Asahi said, raising his hands to show he wasn’t going to argue. “I’m just saying, if you get an infection you’ll have to go to the hospital.”
Nishinoya narrowed his eyes at Asahi. “Fine,” he said shortly, like he knew what game Asahi was playing and he didn’t like it one bit.
Asahi got up with a grunt and grabbed his backpack from the ground next to him, rounding the fire and settling down to his knees in front of Nishinoya. The light from the fire obscured color, making it hard to tell what was his dark hair and what was blood. Fortunately (or unfortunately), he could tell which was which the moment he felt it, crusty and dry.
“Jesus,” he whistled. “That guy really did a number on you.”
“You could say that,” Nishinoya said cryptically.
Asahi sighed and reached into his backpack. High on the fugitive shopping list were wet wipes, which were great for the gaps between showers, backwoods bathroom excursions, and wiping blood from the faces of unamused boys. He pulled a couple from a small purple pack with a baby on it and brushed back Nishinoya’s bangs.
It was a mess. The wound wasn’t a cut so much as a scrape, like Nishinoya’s head had been dragged across bricks or gravel. It was hard to tell what parts were still covered by skin, but after a couple of wipes it became clear that while the injury had bled rather profusely it wasn’t actually very deep.
Asahi wiped delicately around Nishinoya’s nose, just in case it was broken, but it didn’t appear that trauma had caused the bleeding. Nishinoya grimaced and looked up at Asahi, nose wrinkling.
“That smells weird."
“It smells like clean,” Asahi chastised.
“Why are you helping me?” Nishinoya asked suddenly. Asahi paused for just a moment before returning to patting at the dried blood in Nishinoya’s hairline. He sighed and then shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. The fire popped and bits of glowing ash drifted into the night.
The lights came on at 7:15, by which time Tobio had been awake for fifteen minutes exactly. He had dressed in the dark and waited on the edge of his bed for the door to open. His bed was messy but by the time he returned to it at night it would be neatly made, hospital corners tucked in and blanket smoothed.
(…didn’t forget to lock the door, did I? He’ll be home before dinner he can check—what if someone breaks in? No reason to nothing outside don’t look rich. Safe area that’s why we picked it…)
The attendant was coming. She was a worrier. Tobio moved through her recent memory. She’d been a few minutes late to work and that’s what had her so on edge. He didn’t care as long as she brought him breakfast on time. Through her eyes he examined the tray. Miso, an omelet, milk. Boring. Fine.
She unlocked and opened the door, smiling behind her mask as she entered Tobio’s room.
“Good morning, Kageyama-kun!” she said. She was tired. Her daughter had been up all night crying and she didn’t know why.
“You locked your door,” Tobio told her. She froze, about to set the tray down on the small white table against the opposite wall. “Don’t worry.”
(Jesus Christ I hate it when he does this have I been thinking anything weird? Can he hear everything I want to move back to Tokyo why did I take this job.)
Tobio looked up at her. She had large shoulders and a thin, veiny neck. “When is Yachi-chan coming?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” the attendant said sweetly.
She was feeling sick, Tobio read from the attendant’s memories. “I hope she feels better,” he said. “Tell her I said that."
The attendant was new and skittish. They were all like that at one point or another. Most of them left but Tobio had learned to like the few who stuck around. There was one in particular—a psychologist named Keishin (though Tobio knew he wanted to be called Ukai-sensei and he obliged) who had good, interesting thoughts. He never caught himself, never gave any of those Oh no what if he can hear me platitudes because of course Tobio could hear him. He would often think his way through logic puzzles for Tobio’s benefit while they sat through boring tests, and he was very good at not revealing the answer until they’d gotten through most of the problem.
This attendant didn’t do that, though. She was terrified. “I’ll do that,” she replied, trying very hard to appear chipper.
But there was something else there, something Tobio had not been expecting. A bright yellow light, through the filter of a TV screen and a news broadcaster. Tobio met her eyes.
“What blew up?” he asked.
Her eyes went wide and he realized with a bit of annoyance that this might be one of the things they had been told not to let him know. He’d learned over time that if he wanted to learn anything really interesting he’d have to ask very few questions and pretend that their diversion tactics worked. If people believed they had a way to keep his power at bay they were freer with their thoughts.
But that didn’t change the fact that the tactics, especially the ones they taught newer staff, were infuriatingly banal.
(Takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki…)
Ugh. Tobio sighed heavily and played along, so she’d leave. He covered his ears and squinted, curling in on himself.
“Please stop,” he said pathetically. “I’m sorry.”
The chant continued, though generally people forgot, over improbably short amounts of time, to keep thinking whatever word they had chosen. “Rec time starts in twenty minutes,” she said quickly. “So, uh, eat well!” (takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki)
She scurried out, the door clicking behind her. Once she’d gotten a good distance from the door she gave up on the snack food thoughts, and Tobio thought it was sort of cute how small people thought his range was.
He got up from his bed, socked feet thumping on the carpet across to the table. It had looked much less appetizing through her eyes. He sat in the single, small chair and picked up the child-size spoon they still tended to give him, even though he had recently turned eleven and was starting to hit a growth spurt.
“Itadakimasu,” he sighed to himself.
The attendant hadn’t quite crossed the mysterious barrier behind which he could no longer hear anyone, and he watched through her memories the news report from the morning. An explosion over the bay. (And they still make me come out here assholes what if it happens again?) No known cause, no leads.
Tobio didn’t know how far out into the water he himself was, because of that pesky barrier, but he knew that the explosion must have been close. He thought belatedly of the little red-headed kid from the upper levels. Maybe there had been another incident.
The milk was lukewarm and Tobio grimaced into the cup.
Asahi didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he’d been awake for almost 48 hours already and Nishinoya’s slow breaths from across the dying fire eventually lulled him into unconsciousness. He didn’t know how long it had been, but it was still dark when he heard the sharp crack of a broken twig and opened his eyes to the low sweep of a flashlight and hushed footsteps.
He froze, bark from the tree he’d slept against digging into his back. It was chilly, and he wondered for just a moment where his jacket had gone. All that remained of the fire were a few glowing dots on the ground at his feet. The footsteps crunched around him, and then there was a small gasp.
“It’s him!” a voice whispered.
He’d been found. Asahi swallowed thickly, doing his best to remain still. He watched the light of the flashlight on Nishinoya’s face, and he watched with a sort of helpless horror as Nishinoya’s eyes opened, squinting against the light.
“Wait,” Asahi said, voice hoarse with sleep.
There was a yelp and a small thud and then, before Asahi could even adjust his position, the flashlight flicked to him, blinding him, and he saw a knife fly at his head.
He didn’t have any time to process it before the knife stopped, dead in the air, pressing lightly against Asahi’s throat. His heart stopped and he felt the panicky rush of adrenaline shoot through his body.
“Scared the shit out of me,” a man’s voice said with a small laugh. “Who the fuck are you?”
Asahi’s hands rose to the knife at his neck. There was no one holding it. There were no strings. He looked up into the light uncomprehendingly, squinting into the darkness around the blinding white for any sign of the person on the other end.
“No you don’t,” the same voice said, and Asahi yelped as his hands dropped. They hit the ground and stuck there, like gravity had multiplied just for them, and he couldn’t move.
“Let’s just grab him and go,” another voice said, also male but softer.
“I want to know what Yuu’s doing in the woods with this asshole,” the first voice replied. Asahi felt the knife press a little closer to his neck.
“I’ll go,” Asahi said, trying to remember what the voice of the man by the convenience store had sounded like. “I’m not going to fight.”
“Tanaka-san,” the softer voice pressed. “Let’s go.”
“Ryuu?”
Nishinoya’s voice. Asahi’s eyes flicked to the source of the sound just as the flashlight did, and through the afterimage the flashlight had left in the center of his vision he saw the boy sitting, rubbing at his nose.
“Oh thank god,” the softer voice said, and Asahi saw another young man drop to a crouch in front of Nishinoya. His hair was light, almost grey. He didn’t have a jacket either. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” Nishinoya said. “Hey, Ryuu, knock it off. Stop threatening my getaway driver.”
“If he’s holding you hostage blink twice,” the man with the flashlight said.
“I said knock it off, you asshole,” Nishinoya said, sounding both fond and annoyed. He shaded his eyes against the light and shifted until he was sitting cross-legged. “He picked me up when Oikawa found me.”
The man with the grey hair glanced at Asahi, eyes wide. “They sent Oikawa,” he said, not quite a question. “Already.”
“Oikawa found you?” the flashlight guy hissed, looking at Asahi with accusatory eyes, like he’d had something to do with it. As Asahi’s vision adjusted he could make out the form of the man. His head was shaved close and his features were sharp.
“I don’t know anything,” Asahi said.
“Ryuu!” Nishinoya whined. “Jesus Christ, with the knife. This isn’t Die Hard. I slept on his fucking jacket—he’s a good egg.”
There was a disgruntled sigh and then the knife dropped from Asahi’s throat. At the same time the pressure on his hands lifted and he slumped, breaths coming quickly. His attention was caught, however, by the knife, which began to drift away. Through the air. It landed in the hand of the flashlight holder.
“I’m keeping my eye on you,” flashlight guy said.
The man with the grey hair hoisted Nishinoya to his feet and brushed at his shoulders. “Did Oikawa hurt you?”
“He banged me up a little,” Nishinoya said. “I mean, had me bang myself up, I guess. If you ever have the chance to slam your head into a brick wall, maybe don’t. Where are the others?"
“We’re with Shimizu-san and Daichi,” the grey-haired man said. “We need to check you out. You could have a concussion.”
“Karasu-san cleaned me up,” Nishinoya said. “Ryuu, stop looking at him like that.” Then, to Asahi: “They’re fine, I promise. They’re just worried.”
“Karasu-san?” the grey-haired man asked with a small smile. “Is that your real name?”
“He won’t tell me his real name,” Nishinoya said with a pout. “I guess we’re not friends.”
“We met yesterday,” Asahi said plainly.
“I’m Sugawara Koushi,” the grey-haired man said, stepping around the fire pit and extending a hand to Asahi. Asahi looked at it for a moment before taking it, not sure if it was going to result in a handshake or help up. The sharp tug on his arm let him know. “This is Tanaka Ryuunosuke. Sorry about the scare.”
Asahi, once he was on his feet, took a deep breath. He glanced from Sugawara to Tanaka, whose arms were crossed.
“I’m glad you found him,” he said finally. “What’s with the magic tricks?” He tried to put on a bit of bravado he didn’t feel.
Tanaka snorted. “It’s not a trick.”
“Right, okay, well,” Asahi started, but Nishinoya cut him off.
“Yes it was,” he said with an incredulous laugh, like Tanaka had just told him the sky was green. “What was with that knife thing?” He poked Tanaka in the ribs and the other man shrunk away, hands coming up in a mock karate pose. “You could’ve made his brain explode if you wanted. But instead you point a knife at him like you’re yakuza or something, come on. Show off.”
Sugawara smiled at them but was starting to look antsy. “We should get back to the others.”
“We come in on a daring rescue and this is how you repay us?” Tanaka countered.
“Guys,” Sugawara said, more firmly. He grabbed each of them by the shoulder and they looked up at him, Tanaka straightening. “We can have fun when we’re out of Sendai.”
This seemed to sober them up. Asahi pulled his hair back into the shape of a ponytail before letting it fall again. “You guys are leaving Sendai?"
“Why, are you?” Tanaka asked.
Asahi weighed his options. “I’m not trying to stick around.”
“He’s a criminal,” Nishinoya supplied unhelpfully.
“I’m not a…” Asahi bit his tongue. “Anyway. I’m looking to leave. Where are you going?”
Sugawara eyed Asahi up. “Tokyo first, then we aren’t sure.” He looked lost for a moment, eyes drifting away from Asahi and into the sky. Then he closed them tightly and sighed. “You should come with us.”
Both Nishinoya and Tanaka looked at Sugawara in shock. Asahi hesitated.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“It’s a very, very long story,” Sugawara continued. “But I’m the only one of our group who’s been…who knows…” he struggled. “Who’s lived on the outside as an adult,” he decided on. “I know that doesn’t make sense. But we could use the knowledge of someone who’s…uninvolved.”
“You also didn’t kill me in my sleep,” Nishinoya said, acquiescing.
Asahi furrowed his brow. “You’re right, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Suga, I know you’re a bleeding heart, but what the fuck?”
Sugawara pursed his lips. “He’s also seen your powers, Tanaka-san.”
Tanaka fell silent. Nishinoya rubbed at his eyes.
“I think Oikawa might’ve gotten in his head, too,” he mumbled. “When he picked me up.”
Asahi could still feel the sludge in his brain, his body moving on its own, and he swallowed. “Powers, huh? Are you guys superheroes?” he joked.
“If only,” Nishinoya grimaced.
“I’m unpowered,” Sugawara said, as though Asahi had asked a serious question. “Look, you’re a stranger. We’re strangers to you. We’re also in a shortage of friends, and if Oikawa’s after us—you’ve met him, not a nice guy—I don’t know if I can shepherd four people out of the city on my own.”
“Why can’t they get themselves out?” Asahi asked before he could stop himself.
“Long story.”
“We’ve lived in an underground bunker for like five years,” Nishinoya cut in. He wasn’t saying it like a joke and Asahi shot him a look that he couldn’t himself parse.
He opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say but confident it would be a protest, but Sugawara cut him off.
“Do you have somewhere else to be?” he asked.
Asahi sighed. “No.”
“Then what do you have to lose?”
The wind picked up, just a little, ruffling Asahi’s shirt and sending a shiver up his spine. He ran his fingers through his hair, watching Sugawara’s face. If they were military then they were really going for some nonstandard tactics. He saw the knife in Tanaka’s belt loop and closed his eyes.
“Fine, great, you know what? Fuck it. Sure.” Asahi sighed. He was on the run, he had no family in Sendai, and he had no plan outside of getting out of the city. “Let’s go to Tokyo.”