Fading Aster

by Chronic_Writers_Block

Summary:

This is an omegaverse yakuza story, which means quite a bit of dark material is referenced. If you are uncomfortable with that then this story is not for you, please don’t force yourself to read it.

They say the dead don’t speak, but Kuroo’s presence lingers in every shadow, every memory, every piece of Kenma that refuses to let go.

Seven years ago, Kenma was happy, living a normal life in rural Japan with his best friend and alpha, Kuroo. But an attack takes everything from him, leaving him alone and scared. Taken in by a yakuza syndicate, Kenma has to learn to live again.

Or

A story of overcoming grief and survivors' guilt, angst with a happy ending.

Notes:

This fanfiction contains Yakuza and omegaverse. Please do not read if SA, Self harm, Starvation, torture, survivor guilt, and violence will trigger you in a way that will harm your mental wellbeing.

A fanfic is not worth your mental health.

That being said this is set in a mafia, that means there is violence, and references to a lot of dark subjects. But the majority is a story of overcoming survivors' guilt and healing.

Chapter 1: My Aster

Hakone was a small town near the base of Mount Fuji, hidden away from the horrors of Yakuza territory battles that were rampant in the big cities. It was a peaceful place full of rolling hills, cool streams, and a tranquil life untainted by discord and strife.

It was in this village that Kenma was raised.

Life in Hakone moved at a gentle pace, the kind that allowed children to chase fireflies at dusk and elders to sit on their porches, exchanging quiet conversation over cups of fragrant green tea. The streets were lined with cherry blossom trees that painted the town in delicate pinks and whites each spring, and the scent of freshly baked sweet buns from the local bakery often lingered in the air. The town thrived on simplicity, neighbors greeted each other warmly, shopkeepers knew their customers by name, and the changing seasons dictated the rhythm of daily life.

Kenma, even as a child, was different from the others. While the other children played rowdily in the fields or swam in the cool streams, he preferred the quiet corners of his home, nestled with a book or tinkering with handheld games that fascinated him more than anything the outside world had to offer. He was an introspective child, with wide, golden eyes that always seemed to be lost in thought and a quiet disposition that set him apart. The adults in town often remarked how the little omega was like the autumn leaves; silent, beautiful, and fleeting.

Despite his natural inclination towards solitude, Kenma was never truly alone. From the moment he was born, Kuroo Tetsurō had been by his side. Their mothers were lifelong friends, and as if by fate, Kuroo was brought to meet Kenma in the hospital, the one year old baby intrigued by the newborn. The story had been told countless times; how newborn Kenma, swaddled tightly in his blanket, had instinctively reached out with tiny fingers to grasp Kuroo’s hand, a bond forming long before either of them understood it.

As they grew, their friendship deepened. Kuroo was everything Kenma was not: bold, adventurous, and endlessly curious about the world around him. He had an infectious energy that could pull Kenma out of his shell, coaxing him into exploring the forests beyond their town or lying under the stars to talk about dreams neither of them had fully formed yet. Where Kenma was soft-spoken and reserved, the alpha was loud and teasing, always finding a way to bring color into Kenma’s otherwise muted world.

And while they were so different, they fit together like a puzzle. Kuroo was his protector, always grounding him and keeping him safe and sound and Kenma was Kuroo’s logic, letting the alpha do as he pleased as he gently guided him away from danger or punishment. It wasn’t just personality wise either. They were an alpha and an omega. Biologically compatible and if that wasn’t enough Kenma’s cinnamon apple scent mixed so well with Kuroo’s Nutmeg scent.

They were the perfect match.

Hakone provided them with a childhood free of the burdens of the outside world. They would spend their days building forts from fallen branches, tracing patterns in the clouds, and sneaking into the apple orchards to steal fruit that Kuroo insisted tasted better when taken without permission. The small town, with its gentle streams and towering trees, became their playground, and they flourished within its embrace.

Kenma’s home was a small but comfortable house nestled near the edge of the village, where the forest began. His parents were kind but often busy, running a modest bookstore that catered to the occasional tourists who passed through. In Kenma’s earliest memories he was curled up in the nest his omega mother had made reading book after book, exploring new worlds until Kuroo would pull him back into reality, back into his own adventure. 

Kenma’s parents cherished him, never pressuring Kenma to be more sociable, understanding his quiet nature, and allowed him the freedom to exist in his own little world, knowing he’d never fall too far while Tetsuro was with him. 

It was during the long, lazy summers that Kenma felt most at peace. The cicadas hummed in the background as he and Kuroo lay sprawled beneath the shade of an old oak tree, Kuroo chattering away about the future while Kenma listened, the comforting scent of nutmeg and warm sun enveloping him. Kuroo smelled like safety, like home, and Kenma often found himself leaning closer without realizing it.

Their connection was undeniable, an unspoken understanding that transcended words. Even as children, they were inseparable, moving through life as two halves of a whole, bound together by something neither of them fully comprehended yet.

As they grew older, the shift between childhood friendship and something deeper came slowly, so subtly that neither Kenma nor Kuroo could pinpoint exactly when things began to change. It was in the small, quiet moments; the way Kenma's heart would skip when Kuroo's hand lingered a second longer than necessary, or the warmth that spread through him when Kuroo would lean too close, grinning that lopsided smile of his.

Puberty crept in like the first whispers of autumn, subtle yet undeniable. Kenma, always perceptive, was the first to notice the change in Kuroo. His scent, once faint and comforting like a distant memory, grew richer, more potent the nutmeg scent, warm and heady, curling around Kenma like an unspoken promise. It made his thoughts hazy in ways he didn’t fully understand yet, and the quiet yearning it stirred within him left him feeling unsteady.

Kuroo, on the other hand, was oblivious to the shift at first. He remained the same, teasing, protective, always drawing Kenma into whatever ridiculous scheme he’d concocted. But there were moments, fleeting and rare, where his teasing would falter, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on Kenma’s face, as if he were trying to figure out something he couldn’t quite grasp. Times where he couldn’t help but bury his nose into Kenma’s neck and smell his mouth watering scent.

Their preteen years were filled with awkward moments that neither of them dared to acknowledge. Kenma would catch himself staring at Kuroo’s hands, wondering what it would feel like if Kuroo laced their fingers together the way he sometimes saw older couples do in town. Not to mention the jolting thoughts of Kuroo’s hands in his hair, on his body, going further than a simple friend should. 

When Kuroo would ruffle his hair absentmindedly, the touch would linger in Kenma’s mind for hours afterward, leaving him frustrated with himself.

Even their dynamic began to shift in small, almost imperceptible ways. Kuroo, once carefree and reckless, started to hover more, his protective instincts sharpening as his alpha nature matured. He would walk Kenma home more often, shoulders squared with a sense of quiet responsibility, his eyes scanning the streets for any sign of trouble. Kenma, for his part, found himself comforted by it, though he would never admit it aloud. He liked the way Kuroo’s presence seemed to ward off the world, leaving him safe in the cocoon they’d unknowingly built together.

Their friends, perceptive in their own right, began to take notice of the unspoken tension between them. They would often smirk knowingly whenever Kuroo's arm found its way around Kenma’s shoulders or when Kenma would instinctively gravitate toward Kuroo in crowded spaces. "You two are joined at the hip," They’d tease, and Kenma would only stare at them, unsure how to respond. Kuroo, of course, had laughed it off, but there was a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks that didn't go unnoticed.

The most difficult moments were the ones Kenma didn't expect, the way his own scent, cinnamon apples tinged with a soft sweetness, would react instinctively to Kuroo’s growing alpha presence. It would spike without warning when Kuroo got too close, an instinctual reaction to his alpha. And that fact always had Kenma burying his face in his scarf, pretending not to notice how Kuroo’s eyes would darken slightly in response or how he’d get closer and let out small possessive growls.

In those moments Kenma felt like they were already mates, already bound together for the rest of their lives. It was easy to get lost in that fantasy.

They never spoke about it. Not when Kenma's cheeks would flush after a particularly charged moment, not when Kuroo would clear his throat and pretend he wasn’t staring, and certainly not when Kenma started having dreams where Kuroo’s scent was everywhere, wrapping around him like a blanket he never wanted to leave.

Still, despite the changes, they remained best friends above all else. They played video games late into the night, argued over trivial things, and stole apples from the orchard when no one was looking. The foundation of their friendship remained strong, even as something deeper, something neither of them quite understood yet, began to take root beneath it all.

Kenma wasn't sure what the future held, but there was one thing he was certain of, Kuroo had been by his side since the very beginning, and he couldn't imagine a life where that wasn't true. Whether it was the scent of nutmeg lingering on his clothes or the sound of Kuroo’s laughter ringing in his ears, he knew one thing for sure: Kuroo was home.

As they entered their teen years, the innocence of childhood gradually gave way to the complexities of adolescence. Their days of chasing fireflies and building forts were replaced by long hours of studying, whispered conversations about their futures, and a newfound awareness of the bond that tethered them together. Kuroo, once a lanky boy with scraped knees and a mischievous grin, had grown into a confident alpha, his scent of nutmeg richer and more pronounced. Kenma, on the other hand, remained much the same, quiet and observant, albeit with a strong need to nest and cuddle now. However, he also found himself more attuned to the way Kuroo's presence affected him in ways he hadn't noticed before.

One crisp autumn evening beneath the vast expanse of a starlit sky, a seventeen year old Kuroo articulated the depth of his affection. Reclining on the dew-laden grass of Kenma’s backyard, the air saturated with the aroma of fallen leaves and ripe orchard fruit, Kuroo allowed his fingers to graze against Kenma’s in an unspoken plea for closeness.

“Have you ever heard the legend of the aster flower?” he asked as he stared at the night sky, his voice imbued with an unusual tenderness.

Kenma’s gaze lingered on Kuroo, curiosity flickering in the depths of his golden irises. “No,” he murmured, his attention wholly ensnared.

A faint smile graced Kuroo’s lips as he explained, “According to legend, Astraea, the goddess of justice, wept when she saw how few stars remained in the heavens. Her tears fell to Earth and bloomed into asters, imbuing a desolate world with beauty. They remind us that even amidst darkness, beauty persists.” His gaze softened as he spoke. He paused and turned to look at Kenma.

"You're my Aster, Kenma. In a world of monotony, you bring me color." He confessed, a flush on his cheeks, confidence fading as Kenma looked at him.

Kenma's pulse quickened at the admission, his instincts stirring in a manner both unfamiliar and exhilarating. He had always known Kuroo was important to him, had always felt that unshakable connection that went beyond friendship, but hearing it put into words; so delicate, so raw made it feel more real than ever.

Kuroo's fingers brushed against Kenma's hand again, lingering this time, and Kenma let him. The weight of Kuroo's confession settled between them, neither heavy nor overwhelming, but comforting in its inevitability. Kenma turned his head to meet Kuroo’s eyes, the soft glow of the moon casting gentle shadows across his features.

"You really think that?" Kenma asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kuroo chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "I know it. I've known for a long time that you were my joy and love."

Kenma's lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but the words caught in his throat. That confident smile was reduced into a shy tilt of his lips as he sat up staring at Kenma.

“I love you, and I was hoping you would consider me as your mate.” He stutters, and nearly begins to take it back as Kenma stares before the younger is lunging at him wrapping his arms around the alphas neck in a tight embrace.

Kenma doesn’t trust his voice so instead, he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, but one Kuroo understood all the same. He didn't need grand declarations, Kuroo knew him too well for that.

The grin that spread on the alphas face was as bright as the sun as he squeezed Kenma back.

They lay there in the quiet of the night, the stars twinkling above them like distant dreams. Kenma curled in closer, resting his head in the crook of Kuroo’s throat, breathing in the scent of nutmeg that always seemed to calm him. Kuroo pressed a lingering kiss to Kenma’s temple, a silent promise that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

Telling their parents was easier than either of them expected.

Kenma had always worried about how his mother would react. She was a fiercely protective omega and Kenma was her only pup, but when Kenma stood in front of her holding Kuroo’s hand she had simply smiled, eyes filled with warmth and understanding. She'd known, long before Kenma himself had, that Kuroo was more than just a childhood friend and seeing the two teenagers standing in front of her nervously was rather amusing.

"You've always been happier with him around," she had said, brushing Kenma's hair from his face, her own sugar cookie scent wrapping around him in comfort. 

"I trust Kuroo to take care of you." She said softly as she turned to the young alpha and gently caressed his cheek. “I know you will make sure my baby is safe.” Kuroo straightened up with pride, a grin on his lips as he nodded.

Kuroo's parents were equally accepting, his alpha mother beaming with pride and his omega father offered a knowing nod to the two boys. "We've watched you two grow up together," his father said with a gentle smile on his lips. 

"It was only a matter of time.” His mother chimed in, “Just make sure you always put Kenma first like a good alpha." she said ruffling her son's hair.

With their families’ blessings, it wasn’t long before the two decided to take the next step, getting a place of their own. With the help of their parents they moved into their own home, a small house near the edge of the village, nestled beneath a towering maple tree, its leaves turning shades of red and gold in the autumn chill. It wasn't much, but it was theirs.

Moving in together was an adjustment, but a welcome one. Kenma filled their new home with soft blankets and plush pillows, creating cozy nests in nearly every corner, while Kuroo busied himself fixing up the old wooden floors and patching the leaky roof. Their days were filled with quiet moments of domesticity, Kenma curled up on the couch with a book while Kuroo made tea, the two of them falling into an easy routine that felt as natural as breathing.

Despite their closeness, they took their time with their relationship, savoring every moment, every touch, every whispered word. Kuroo was patient, never pushing, always letting Kenma set the pace. And Kenma, in his own quiet way, was affectionate in ways that spoke volumes gravitating toward Kuroo’s warmth, seeking his presence in the small moments of the day.

It was one late autumn evening when Kenma finally decided it was time. They were sitting on their small porch, the cool breeze carrying the scents of nutmeg and cinnamon apple through the crisp air. Kenma rested against Kuroo’s side, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Kuro," he murmured, lifting his head slightly.

"Yeah?" Kuroo turned to him, golden eyes filled with the quiet affection that Kenma had come to crave.

Kenma didn't say anything at first, simply shifting to straddle Kuroo's lap, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the collar of his shirt. Kuroo froze, his breath hitching, but he didn't move away. He never moved away from his lover.

"I want us to be bonded," Kenma finally said, his voice soft but certain. "I want you to be mine."

Kuroo swallowed hard, searching Kenma's face for any hesitation, but all he found was quiet resolve. A slow smile spread across his lips, and he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "Are you sure my Aster?"

Kenma nodded, his hands clutching the fabric of Kuroo's shirt. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

Kuroo let out a shaky laugh, his arms wrapping around Kenma's waist. "Then go ahead. I'm yours. Always have been."

Kenma didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, his lips brushing over Kuroo's scent gland at the curve of his neck. His breath was warm, and Kuroo shivered beneath him, his grip tightening as Kenma sank his teeth in. The taste of Kuroo’s nutmeg scent flooded Kenma’s senses, intoxicating and grounding all at once. Kuroo let out a low, rumbling growl, his entire body trembling as Kenma held him close, marking him, claiming him.

When Kenma finally pulled away, his eyes were half-lidded, his lips slightly swollen. He traced the newly formed mark with his fingertips, satisfied. Kuroo's scent wrapped around him even stronger now, mingling with his own in a way that felt right.

Kuroo's head lolled back against the porch railing, a grin spreading across his face. "Damn, Kenma... you really don’t hold back, huh?"

Kenma rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the small, pleased smile that tugged at his lips. "You're mine now. Everyone will know it."

Kuroo chuckled, tugging Kenma closer. "I’ve always been yours, my Aster."

Kenma pulled Kuroo’s head to his scent gland and then alpha gently shook his head, “When you turn 18 then we can complete the bond, until then I’m yours.” He purred and kissed the pouting omega’s cheek.

And just like that, their bond grew even stronger. They didn't rush the rest, Kenma reluctantly agreeing to wait until he turned eighteen to complete their mating bond fully, but in that moment, under the stars and surrounded by the scent of falling leaves and their mingled pheromones, they knew it was only a matter of time.

Until then, they would continue to build their life together, one gentle moment at a time.

Chapter 2: The Attack

Summary:

Trigger Warning- fire, death, and trauma.

Thanks for coming to read chapter 2, let me know your thoughts in the comments!

The morning sun filtered gently through the curtains of their shared bedroom, casting soft golden hues across the wooden floor. The faint rustling of the falling leaves outside mixed with the distant sound of villagers going about their day, a familiar symphony that painted life in Hakone as serene and unchanging.

Kenma stirred beneath the covers, his golden eyes fluttering open to the sight of Kuroo’s sleeping face inches away. The alpha’s arm was draped protectively over his waist, his breath slow and steady, carrying the familiar scent of nutmeg that never failed to calm Kenma’s heart. Today was special. 

October 16.

Kenma’s 18th birthday.

He didn’t think much about birthdays, never had. Except for Kuroo’s birthday of course, he wasn’t a monster. But his own? Well, honestly it was just another day to him, another marker of time passing. But this one was different. 

The day they would complete their bonding. 

The day Kenma would get Kuroo’s bite mark and be his official mate.

It would be a lie if Kenma said he wasn't ecstatic, he was going to be bonded to his best friend and love of his life for all eternity. He couldn’t wait, Kuroo would be his as much as Kenma was Kuroo’s. 

Kenma watched Kuroo for a long moment, tracing the soft lines of his face with his gaze. His heart swelled with a quiet kind of happiness that was so deeply ingrained in their everyday life together. He reached up tentatively, fingers brushing against Kuroo’s cheek, and the older boy stirred with a sleepy hum.

“Mm... staring at me again?” Kuroo’s voice was thick with sleep, a teasing smile pulling at his lips before he even opened his eyes. Kuroo’s morning voice never failed to send Kenma into a bit of a frenzy, his cheeks heating up as the sound filled his ears.

Kenma huffed, turning onto his side. “No.”

Kuroo chuckled, pulling him closer. “Liar. Happy birthday, darling.” His lips pressed against Kenma’s temple, lingering there, and Kenma let his eyes flutter shut, savoring the warmth that spread through him.

“I guess it is,” Kenma murmured, though his tone betrayed the anticipation thrumming beneath his skin.

Kuroo propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes scanning Kenma’s face. “You ready?”

Kenma swallowed, cheeks dusting pink. “Yeah.”

Kuroo’s grin widened, something playful and affectionate dancing in his gaze. “I’ve been ready to be your mate since we were kids, you know. Took you long enough.”

Kenma rolled his eyes, and decided not to point out that it was Kuroo who thought they should wait to complete the bond, but he decided to let it go for today and didn’t pull away when Kuroo kissed his forehead again, softer this time, reverent. The weight of their soon to be completed bond, the years spent growing together, and the future they were about to step into settled between them like an unspoken promise.

But for now, Kuroo had planned the day to spoil his omega, and as excited as he was their bonding would have to wait until tonight.

The morning continued like any other, filled with the simplicity of their shared life. Kenma perched at the kitchen table, flipping through a new book, a gift from Kuroo, while Kuroo busied himself making breakfast. The scent of rice and miso soup filled the air, and Kenma could hear the sizzling of fish on the pan.

“Are you making something special?” Kenma asked, not looking up from the pages. 

Kuroo shot him a smirk over his shoulder. “You’re officially an adult, Kenma. I figured you deserve a proper breakfast for once.”

Kenma hummed, unimpressed but secretly pleased. “Don’t mess it up.”

Kuroo placed a plate in front of him with exaggerated flair. “Tada! A masterpiece.”

Kenma took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “...It’s edible.”

Kuroo groaned, slapping a hand to his chest dramatically. “You wound me, darling.”

Their laughter echoed through the house, light and easy, filling the space with warmth that felt like home. Outside, the town was preparing for the evening harvest festival, and Kuroo was already making plans to take Kenma to see the fireworks.

“We should go to the shrine later,” Kuroo said between bites, nudging Kenma’s foot beneath the table. “Make a wish or something.”

Kenma glanced at him, considering. “I already have everything I want.”

Kuroo’s expression softened, and he reached across the table to take Kenma’s hand. “Me too.”

The day passed in a gentle blur. Kuroo pulling Kenma out for a walk despite his protests, a visit to the bookstore where Kenma picked out a new novel with Kuroo insisting it was his ‘birthday gift,’ and a quiet lunch under their favorite oak tree, watching the autumn leaves drift lazily to the ground. Visiting their parents for dinner, a small birthday celebration complete with food, drink, and more teasing than Kenma could handle as Kuroo’s mother nudged him wiggling her eyebrows suggestively about the two bonding, only to be dragged away by her mate leaving a red-faced Kenma and cackling Kuroo. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet, the family made their way to the annual harvest festival. Laughter and conversation filled the air as they walked.

The village buzzed with life as they made their way to the annual harvest festival, the streets illuminated by lanterns casting a warm, golden glow against the cobblestone paths. The scent of roasted chestnuts and sweet dumplings wafted through the air, mingling with the crisp autumn breeze that carried the faint laughter of children running between the stalls.

Kuroo squeezed Kenma’s hand gently, his grin as wide as ever. "C’mon, Kenma. We have to get the first taiyaki before they sell out! You know how fast they go."

Kenma rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be pulled along, sending a wave to their parents as he’s dragged away by his soon to be mate, the warmth of Kuroo’s palm grounding him. The festival was the same as it was every year, familiar and comforting. Their friends waved at them from the game stalls, and Kenma let Kuroo drag him through each one, the alpha’s excitement contagious as he insisted on winning him a prize.

“I don’t need a stuffed animal,” Kenma muttered, eyeing the oversized teddy bear plush that Kuroo proudly handed him after a successful ring toss. “Besides, that thing’s massive. We don’t have the space for it.” He gently chides the alpha.

“It’s your birthday. You get whatever you want, even if you don’t want it,” Kuroo said smugly, draping an arm around Kenma’s shoulders, but as he looked at Kenma his smug grin fell into a gentle smile. 

“Okay.” He said and turned to the stall owner, handing back the massive plush and pointing out a small black cat stuffed animal instead, it was only a bit bigger than the palm of his hand but as he held the tiny plush Kenma couldn’t help but smile.

Their parents joined them shortly after, their mothers fussing over Kenma, adjusting his scarf despite his protests, and pressing extra festival sweets into his hands. Kuroo’s alpha mother clapped him on the back with a knowing smile, while Kenma’s father ruffled his hair, murmuring about how proud they were of him. There was an unspoken acknowledgement between the families tonight; everyone knew what this evening meant for Kenma and Kuroo, but they kept their joy subtle, woven into shared glances and soft smiles.

“Enjoy the festival, boys,” Kenma’s mother said with a wink, her eyes twinkling with fondness. “And don’t stay out too late.”

Kuroo nudged Kenma as their parents drifted off to find their own entertainment. "You know she’s hinting at something, right?"

Kenma groaned. "Can we just... not talk about it until we get home?"

Kuroo only chuckled, pulling Kenma closer as they continued through the festival. They stopped to watch a group of performers, the flickering firelight dancing across their faces, and Kenma leaned into Kuroo’s side, allowing himself to bask in the moment. The anticipation of the night ahead was ever-present, a quiet hum beneath his skin, but right now, under the festival lights and with Kuroo beside him, everything felt right.

After grabbing some final festival treats, Kuroo insisted on trying everything at least once, and they began their walk home, the cool night air wrapping around them in a comforting embrace. As they walked home the festival's laughter and chatter faded into the background. The village was quieter now, leaving them with only the sound of their footsteps on the path.

Kenma clutched the small cat plush in his hands, glancing up at Kuroo. “You had fun?”

Kuroo looked down at him, he was carrying their large haul of goodies with a bright grin, eyes warm. “Yeah. But I think my favorite part is still just being with you.”

Kenma felt the warmth flood his cheeks but didn’t look away. “Me too.”

As they stepped inside their cozy home, the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards beneath their feet welcomed them. The soft glow of the lanterns they had left burning cast a warm light across the room, illuminating the small kitchen and the shelves lined with trinkets they had collected over the years. Kuroo set down their haul on the sturdy oak table with a satisfied sigh, stretching his arms above his head.

“Today has been a good day.” He said with a smile looking at Kenma, who nodded.

“It’s been a wonderful birthday.” He said as he busied himself with sorting through their festival goodies, carefully placing the wrapped pastries in the woven basket they kept by the counter. He was getting anxious as their bonding neared, as excited as he was his stomach was in knots. The sweet aroma lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of nutmeg and cinnamon apples the pair always exuded.

“Hey,” Kuroo’s voice broke the quiet, his gaze drifting upward. “I was thinking, maybe we should finally do something about those beams.” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, where thick wooden beams crisscrossed overhead, supporting the slanted roof of their little house.

Kenma followed his gaze, eyes tracing the sturdy beams that had always been a comforting presence, their dark wood standing in contrast to the lighter tones of their home. “What’s wrong with them?” he asked, voice soft as he tucked away the last of their things, relieved for the conversation he knew Kuroo was bringing up in order to ease him. 

Kuroo grinned, shrugging. “Nothing, really. They’re just kind of… there. I used to think they made the place look old, but now I think they make it feel… solid. Safe, you know?”

Kenma hummed in agreement, his fingers lingering on the edge of the table as he gazed around their home. Solid. Safe. Words that resonated deeply, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. This place: they had built it together, piece by piece, from the very foundation to the quiet moments that filled it every day.

Kuroo watched him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Kenma’s temple. “Come on, let’s take this stuff upstairs.”

Kenma nodded, his nerves back as he followed Kuroo toward the staircase. The wooden steps creaked under their weight, a familiar and reassuring sound. As they reached their bedroom, Kenma glanced at the beams again, the moonlight filtering through the window casting long shadows across the ceiling.

Following his mate inside he nervously rubbed his arm. Kuroo leaned down and kissed the omegas forehead. He was quick to catch onto how nervous his lover was and pulled back slightly.

“We don’t have to do this tonight my Aster.” He said softly and Kenma leaned into the alpha's chest.

“No, I want to, I’m just nervous, I guess. I don’t even know why.” He said, chuckling to himself slightly, “I’ve wanted to be bonded to you since we were young, so now that the time is here, I’m so ready, just…. I don’t know.” He said and Kuroo chuckled softly.

“It’s okay, we’ll take it one step at a time.” He said gently as he took Kenma’s hand into his own and gently twirled him, pulling him close and swaying.

“I love you.” Kuroo said with a smile and Kenma buried his face into the alphas chest as they danced to no music.

“I love you too.” They swayed together, dancing in their small bedroom. 

“We probably look like idiots.” Kenma says and Kuroo chuckles, gently dipping Kenma.

“I probably do; you never look like an idiot.” He says as he leans down and captures Kenma’s lips in his. Slowly they straighten, never breaking the soft kiss. 

Kuroo pulls him close, chest to chest, and Kenma is comforted by the fact that Kuroo’s heart is beating as fast as his. The soft kiss grows in fervor, lips and tongues clashing as they hold tight to one another.

“I’m ready.” Kenma murmurs into their kiss, and he can feel Kuroo grin. They pull away and Kuroo’s expression scrunches a bit as he sniffs the air.

“Do you smell that?” He asks and Kenma rolls his eyes.

“Haha, making a joke about my scent.” Kenma says and goes to kiss Kuroo to shut him up, but Kuroo doesn’t look at him.

“No, seriously.” He says, his tone bringing a bit of fear into Kenma, “It smells like burning.” He says and Kenma stills and starts to sniff the air himself.

“You’re right. But where’s it coming from?” He says and Kuroo walks towards their window.

Kuroo's hand trembled on the windowsill as he stared out into the night, his breath hitching in his throat. The village, their home, was ablaze. Flames licked hungrily at the wooden structures, devouring rooftops and sending plumes of thick, black smoke spiraling into the sky. The air, once crisp and cool, now reeked of burning wood and something far more acrid, something metallic and terrifying.

Screams pierced the night, raw and agonized, carrying across the wind like a symphony of despair, mingling with the crackling of burning wood and the distant shouts of men.

Kenma stood frozen beside him, his wide golden eyes reflecting the fiery devastation outside. "No... No, no, no," he whispered, his voice trembling as he clutched Kuroo's arm. The acrid scent of burning wood and gasoline filled the air, clawing at their throats and stinging their eyes.

Kuroo spun around, grabbing Kenma’s hand. "We have to go. Now!” Kuroo's voice was sharp, but laced with urgency and something else, fear. Real, tangible fear.

Kenma swallowed, nodding as he forced his frozen limbs to move. They scrambled around the room, snatching up what little they could, a spare jacket, and their small travel bag Kuroo had filled with essentials. Kenma tried to get their important papers, but the fire was fast, too fast. The scent of gasoline hit them next, a cloying, suffocating presence that clung to everything. Kenma’s eyes widened in horror.

"Our house. It’s burning, oh my god." His voice was barely a whisper, but Kuroo heard it.

A loud crack sounded from below, the flames eating through the wooden foundation of their home, crawling up the walls with terrifying speed. Heat seeped into the room, oppressive and suffocating, and already Kenma could see the thick tendrils of smoke curling under the door.

"Kenma, we have to move!" Kuroo grabbed his wrist, yanking him toward the staircase, but the moment they opened the door, a wave of blistering heat forced them to recoil. The downstairs was a sea of flames, orange and red dancing wildly, consuming everything in sight.

Kenma coughed, his eyes watering as he covered his mouth with his sleeve. "The stairs—" he choked out, pointing to the fire quickly spreading up.

Kuroo’s gaze followed, eyes scanning the flames, their once sturdy home, now a trap. Smoke was starting to fill the upstairs and without hesitation, Kuroo grabbed the nearest blanket, wrapping it hastily around Kenma’s face. "Don’t breathe in the smoke," he instructed, voice hoarse.

The smoke thickened, black and angry, curling through the cracks in the ceiling, filling the room with a choking haze. They could barely see each other through the suffocating fog, but Kenma clung to Kuroo, his body trembling as he was scooped up.

He didn’t have a moment to protest as Kuroo ran down the stairs, fire licking at his legs and side as the alpha desperately tried to keep Kenma out of harm's way. 

From their vantage point, the sight outside the window was even worse. Figures moved through the streets, dark shapes wielding weapons, their faces obscured by masks. Shadows danced in the fire’s glow, bodies crumpling under the onslaught.

Panic clawed at his throat. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

They turned toward the door, but the moment Kuroo reached for it, they could hear voices, aggressive and loud, not ones they knew. A loud crack was heard as fire began to engulf the front door, making it inescapable.

Kenma pushed out of Kuroo’s arms. “The backdoor.” He said eyes watering from the smoking and heat, blanket still wrapped around his face. 

Kuroo’s mind raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Come on!" He pulled Kenma with him, their feet pounding against the wooden floors, now hot beneath them. As they try to get to the backdoor Kuroo snatches up Kenma’s shoes.

Outside, the chaos continued to rage. Figures ran frantically through the village streets, their faces illuminated by the inferno devouring their homes. They could hear the heart-wrenching cries of neighbors, the crack of collapsing buildings, and the relentless roar of the fire as it feasted upon their once peaceful haven.

Kenma stole a glance outside as they rushed through the house. The sight made his blood run cold. The bookstore where they had spent countless afternoons was nothing more than a skeleton of charred beams and ash. The market stalls, where they had laughed and bickered over snacks just hours ago, lay in ruins. He saw people, people they knew, collapsed in the streets, consumed by fear and smoke.

Tears burned down his soot-streaked cheeks. "Kuro... they're all... our home..."

"Don't look, Kenma! We have to go!" Kuroo urged, his grip tightening around Kenma’s wrist as they made their way to the back of the house.

Flames licked at the walls around them, creeping hungrily toward the ceiling. The once sturdy beams groaned under the growing heat, the house they built together turning into a deadly trap. The air grew thick, suffocating, and it became harder to breathe with each passing second.

Reaching the back door, Kuroo cursed under his breath. Fire had begun to seep through the edges, the wood crackling ominously. "Damn it! We don't have much time!"

Kenma coughed violently, his legs feeling weak beneath him. "Tetsuro... I—I'm scared."

Kuroo looked at him, and for a fleeting moment, there was a softness in his gaze beneath the urgency. "I know, Kenma. But I swear, I’ll get us out of this." He pressed a quick, desperate kiss to Kenma’s forehead. "Just stay with me, okay?"

The roof groaned above them, the fire spreading to the support beams, crackling and popping with deadly intent. Pieces of burning wood rained down around them, embers scorching their skin.

Kenma nodded, trusting his lover as they searched for another exit. Kuroo grabbed a chair not yet ablaze and smashed a window near them. 

But before he could finish, the house shuddered violently, a deep, ominous groan reverberating through the walls like a dying breath. Kuroo barely had time to react before a deafening crack split through the air.

Kenma's breath caught in his throat as he saw it—the wooden support beam above them, its once sturdy frame now a crumbling skeleton of charred wood and glowing embers, ready to collapse. Time slowed, the flickering firelight casting jagged shadows across Kuroo's terrified face.

"Kenma!" Kuroo's voice was raw with desperation as he lunged forward, pushing Kenma with every ounce of strength he had. The force sent Kenma stumbling backward, falling hard onto the soot-covered floor, his vision blurred by tears and smoke.

And then it happened.

With a sickening crunch, the beam crashed down with merciless finality, splitting the air with a thunderous roar. The floor quaked beneath Kenma as a cloud of ash and debris exploded into the room, obscuring his vision and choking the breath from his lungs. The crash nearly covered the sound of Kuroo’s agonized scream.

"Tetsuro!" Kenma's scream was strangled, his voice hoarse and trembling as he scrambled forward on shaking limbs. Splinters bit into his palms, but he didn't care. His eyes darted frantically through the smoke, searching, hoping.

When the dust began to settle, he saw him.

Kuroo lay trapped beneath the massive beam, his body pinned in a cruel twist of fate. Blood smeared his forehead where debris had struck, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. His amber eyes, usually so full of mischief and life, were hazy with pain but still found Kenma's in the chaos.

"No, no, no," Kenma whispered, crawling to Kuroo's side, his hands trembling as they hovered uselessly over the wreckage. "I-I'll get you out, just hold on, okay?" Panic clawed at his throat, his fingers desperately scrabbling against the burning wood, but it wouldn't budge.

Kuroo coughed, a pained smile tugging at his lips despite the agony etched into every feature. "Kenma... you have to go," he rasped, his voice weak, but resolute. "Please..."

Kenma shook his head violently, tears streaking down his soot-covered cheeks. "No! I’m not leaving you! We can do this, I can get you out, I just—"

"Kenma," Kuroo cut him off, his grip tightening around Kenma's wrist with what little strength he had left. "If you stay, we both die. You have to run. Now."

Kenma sobbed, his entire body trembling as his hands curled into fists against the floor. "I can't! Tetsu, please, don't ask me to do this!"

Kuroo's eyes softened, his thumb brushing weakly against Kenma's knuckles. "I promised I'd keep you safe, didn't I? This... this is how I do that." His breath hitched painfully, but he mustered a weak smile. "I always thought you were the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen."

The house groaned again, the ceiling beginning to cave in, raining more debris around them. The fire crept closer, the suffocating heat pressing in on all sides. Kenma's heart pounded, every fiber of his being screaming to stay, to fight, to refuse the inevitable.

But Kuroo's eyes pleaded with him, more than his words ever could.

With a broken sob, Kenma pressed a trembling kiss to Kuroo's blood-streaked forehead, his tears mingling with ash and sweat. "I-I need you, please, Tetsurou," he choked out, his fingers lingering on Kuroo's cheek, desperate and unwilling to let go. His whole body shook with fear and grief. "No, I won't leave you—don't make me."

Kuroo’s grip on Kenma's wrist tightened for a fleeting second, his own pain hidden behind a weak smile. "You have to," he whispered, his voice strained but filled with conviction. "Run!"

Kenma sobbed, his heart fracturing with every breath. "I can’t leave you—"

Kuroo cupped Kenma’s face with soot-stained hands, his eyes pleading, burning with something deeper than the fire surrounding them. "I love you." He said using the little bit of strength he had left to shove Kenma towards the window he had shattered.

Kenma staggered back toward the shattered window, his chest heaving with sobs as he launched forward for one last kiss, before he forced himself to his feet. Grabbing the few items he and Kuroo had grabbed, he tossed them out the window. 

He staggered toward the shattered window, his chest heaving with sobs as he climbed through, dropping down onto the grass. His hands clenched around the little go bag, the jacket, the blanket wrapped tightly around his face, and the shoes Kuroo had grabbed for him. 

The last thing he saw before he turned away was Kuroo, watching him with that same infuriatingly fond smile, even as the fire roared closer.

“Live for me, my Aster.” The weak voice of his lover said as the house cracked part of the roof caving in. And with that Kuroo disappeared from his sight, he choked out a sob, but angry voices were getting closer.

And then Kenma ran, his body feeling like lead, every step pulling him further from the person he loved most. The world around him dissolved into a cacophony of flames and screams, but all he could hear was Kuroo's voice echoing in his mind. 

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter my lovelies! I will be posting every Friday and Sunday (maybe more if I feel like it).

Chapter 3: Wait For Me

Summary:

Grief makes us do crazy things

The world felt hollow.

Kenma trudged through the empty streets, his steps slow with exhaustion, the weight of his small go bag hanging heavily from his trembling fingers, as the other clutched the blanket like it was a lifeline. 

The cold bit at his skin, sharp and unrelenting, but he barely noticed. Everything around him was a blur, shapes and sounds blending together in a haze of grief and exhaustion. His chest ached, not just from the biting chill, but from the crushing emptiness that hollowed him out from the inside.

He found shelter in an abandoned building, the walls cracked and worn, the remnants of a life once lived still scattered across the dusty floor. It seemed rather fitting. Kenma curled up in the farthest corner, away from the broken windows and the cruel wind that howled outside. His fingers fumbled with the zipper of his go bag, pulling it open with little care. Inside, the contents sat untouched—money, food, water—but none of it mattered.

What his hands sought wasn’t survival. It was comfort.

He pulled out the jacket first, his breath hitching as he realized it wasn’t his. It was Kuroo’s. The worn fabric was soft beneath his fingers, and when he buried his face into it, the faint, familiar scent of Nutmeg lingered beneath the layers of smoke and ash. A shudder wracked his thin frame, and he curled into himself, hugging the jacket tightly as if it could somehow fill the gaping void Kuroo left behind.

His eyes burned, but no tears came. He had cried too much already, and now all that remained was this dull, gnawing ache that refused to leave him alone. The blanket was next, still carrying traces of Kuroo’s scent beneath the acrid stench of smoke. He wrapped it tightly around himself, drawing what little warmth it provided, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Kenma’s fingers trembled as they brushed against something else in the bag. Slowly, he pulled out the small black cat plush….

The one Kuroo had won for him the night prior, the same day everything had gone up in flames. His breath hitched, and his grip tightened around the toy, pressing it against his chest as if it could anchor him. But it didn’t. Nothing did.

His stomach growled, the ache deep and gnawing, but the thought of eating made him sick. He couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to. Not when Kuroo was…

Kenma curled in on himself, eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion and grief pulled at him like lead weights. He could hear Kuroo’s voice in the back of his mind, a ghost of a memory whispering, "Run! Live for me, my Aster." But how could he? How could he live when every step forward felt like he was walking further away from the only person who had ever made him feel whole?

The hunger gnawed at him, but he ignored it. The thirst parched his throat, but he didn’t move. His body screamed for relief, but he stayed still, clutching Kuroo’s belongings like they were his last tether to reality.

The memories came unbidden, flashing behind his closed eyes.

"I love you."

The way Kuroo’s voice had cracked, raw and desperate, moments before the ceiling collapsed. The way his hands had shoved Kenma away, his eyes filled with nothing but love and unwavering resolve.

"No, I won’t! Don’t make me!"

Kenma’s broken cries echoed through the night as Kuroo made the choice for him, forcing him to leave.

The recollection made him cling tighter to the jacket, the plush, the blanket. But it wasn’t enough. The pain was still there, throbbing in his chest, filling every breath with suffocating guilt.

His vision blurred, his limbs felt heavy, and the world around him darkened as exhaustion and guilt consumed him. 

Time blurred together in a haze of cold and hunger, and Kenma wasn’t sure how long he had been wandering. Time felt meaningless now, just an endless cycle of waking up shivering and falling asleep shivering, curled up in whatever dark corner he could find. He kept moving, but he didn’t know where he was going. Maybe nowhere. Maybe that was the point.

His body ached, exhaustion dragging at his every step, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped, he'd think. And if he thought too much, he'd drown in the weight of everything he'd lost.

The streets of the city he had stumbled into were unfamiliar, lined with faces he didn’t recognize and voices that didn’t belong to him. They blurred past him like ghosts, barely registering in his mind. He didn’t want to be seen, didn’t want anyone to ask him if he was okay, because he wasn’t. 

He was so far from being okay.

Everything was gone. His home, his family, his best friend and mate.

Well, supposed to be mate....

That crushing thought that Tetsuro would never be his mate, they never got to be bonded, to get married, to have kids, to live.

It was soul crushing.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go on without Tetsuro.

Clutching his small go bag tighter to his chest, he ducked into an empty alleyway and collapsed against the cold brick wall. His fingers fumbled with the zipper, pulling it open with shaky hands. Desperately he grasped into the bag trying to find the only source of comfort he had, the jacket. 

Kuroo's jacket.

The moment his fingers brushed against the worn fabric, something inside him cracked. He brought it up to his face, breathing in deeply. The scent of Nutmeg and smoke filled his lungs. That familiar, comforting scent that made his throat tighten and his chest ache.

"Tetsu..." Kenma whispered, curling into himself, clutching the jacket like it was the only thing keeping him together. He buried his face in it, squeezing his eyes shut as tears burned behind his lids. "I need you... please..." his voice cracked, the words spilling out in a desperate sob. "Please, Tetsurou... I can't... I don't know what to do..."

But there was no answer. Just the cold wind whistling through the alley, the distant sound of people living their lives, oblivious to the shattered omega curled up in the shadows.

He pulled the blanket over himself; in the back of his mind, he was thankful for how through Kuroo always was. He’d retrieved his shoes, a blanket and the go bag all while making sure Kenma was safe.

His chest ached so badly it felt like it would break apart. He clutched the jacket to his chest, curling tighter into himself, his body racked with silent sobs. "I can’t..." he whispered brokenly, shaking his head. "Why did you push me? I should be the one who died, not you."

But Kuroo’s voice echoed in his mind, haunting him.

'Live for me, my Aster.'

Kenma squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the jacket against his lips to muffle his sobs. 

He hated Kuroo for saying that. For using his dying words to force Kenma to live. Life without Tetsuro was meaningless, but how could he disobey the last words of his love?

Why had that stupid self-sacrificing alpha saved Kenma?

Deep down Kenma knew why. He would have done the same, but that knowledge did very little ease the pain and guilt that gnawed at his chest.

Hours passed. Maybe even days. Kenma didn’t know. The cold seeped into his bones, but he stayed curled up in the alley, clutching onto what little he had left. He didn't even realize how much time had passed until his limbs grew numb, and his breathing slowed. The hunger, the exhaustion, the grief; it was all too much.

It didn’t matter what Kenma did. Kuroo was never coming back.

The days blurred into a cold, numbing haze, stretching endlessly as Kenma drifted through them in a daze. Hunger gnawed at his insides, a persistent ache that he tried to ignore, pushing it deep down beneath layers of grief and exhaustion. The water bottles in his go bag remained untouched, the food left to sit, growing stale. He couldn't bring himself to care. Eating, drinking—those were things for people who had a reason to live. And Kenma didn't even have that anymore.

His limbs felt heavier with each passing day, muscles sluggish and weak from lack of sustenance. Kuroo’s jacket and the tiny plush cat had become his only comfort, his fingers constantly clutching the items, pressing it against his nose to breathe in the lingering scent. Nutmeg and smoke, a cruel reminder of everything he had lost. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Kuroo’s face, could hear his voice whispering in the back of his mind.

At first, it was just echoes; faint whispers carried on the wind.

"Come on, Kenma. You have to eat something."

Kenma flinched at the voice, his eyes snapping open only to find himself alone, curled up in the corner of yet another empty building. His throat tightened, and he curled further into himself, pressing the jacket against his chest. He was just tired. That was all. The exhaustion was making him hear things.

But as the days dragged on, the whispers grew louder.

"Aster... you promised you'd stay alive for me."

Kenma’s breath hitched, his heart lurching painfully in his chest. He looked up, expecting, hoping, to see him. But there was nothing. Just the dark, empty room and the bitter chill seeping through the cracks in the walls.

He was going crazy.

He tried to push the voice away, to drown it out by pressing his shaking hands over his ears, but it never left him. It followed him when he walked aimlessly through the streets, whispering to him in the dead of night when he curled up under his blanket, cold and trembling.

"Tetsu..." he whispered, voice hoarse and broken. "Please... just come back... I need you."

And then, on the fourth night, he saw him.

Kenma blinked slowly, his vision swimming with black spots. He was curled up in another abandoned alley, the blanket wrapped tightly around his frail body. His head lolled to the side, and then—

Kuroo was there.

Leaning against the wall across from him, arms crossed in that familiar lazy way, his amber eyes filled with warmth and something softer. He looked just like he always had strong, steady, infuriatingly confident.

"You're really not taking care of yourself, huh, Aster?" Kuroo's voice was teasing, but there was an underlying sadness in it, one that made Kenma's chest ache.

“Tetsuro!” Kenma shouted, desperately lurching forward trying to grab for Kuroo, but the minute his fingers made contact the image vanished. 

“No, no, no, no!” He shouted, sobbing into his hands. He was losing it; he already knew that but dammit he needed Kuroo back.

It wasn’t long before the next apparition appeared. Again, and again Kuroo would appear in front of Kenma in various positions.

Sometimes he was sitting, sometimes he was laughing, the worst times were when he was so, so horribly still laying on the floor not breathing.

Kenma could feel himself spiraling further and further into insanity. Every time Kuroo appeared he desperately tried to grasp his lover only for him to vanish again.

Finally, he’d given up, curled in on himself tightly. His knees to his chest as he stared at the newest hallucination. 

His breath came in short, shallow gasps, his eyes wide. "You’re not real," he whispered, shaking his head. "You’re not—"

Kuroo sighed, pushing off the wall and crouching in front of him, so close Kenma could almost feel the warmth that should have been there. "I’m real enough, aren’t I?"

Kenma began to reach out hesitantly, his fingers trembling as they got closer to where Kuroo’s hand should have been. But he froze, he didn’t want Kuroo to vanish again. A sob bubbled up in his throat, and he pressed his fists against his mouth, shaking his head frantically. "No... no, this isn’t real."

Kuroo’s gaze softened, and he knelt beside Kenma, his voice a whisper. "You have to keep going, Kenma. You have to live."

Kenma shut his eyes tightly, pressing his forehead against the jacket, inhaling deeply. "I can't... I don't want to."

"But you have to." Kuroo’s voice was firm, yet gentle. "Live for me, my Aster. You promised."

Kenma let out a ragged breath, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He clutched the jacket tighter, his fingers digging into the soft fabric. "I never wanted to do this without you, Tetsu."

Kuroo's expression softened further, his ghostly figure flickering like a dying flame. "I know, darling. But you’re stronger than you think. And I need you to prove it to me."

Kenma shook his head weakly, his body trembling with exhaustion and cold. "I don’t know how."

Kuroo smiled faintly, a sad, fleeting thing. "Just take it one step at a time. Just breathe, Kenma."

And then, he was gone.

Kenma opened his eyes to an empty alleyway, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. He swallowed thickly, his body trembling as he curled further into himself. The hallucinations weren’t going away. And deep down, he wasn’t sure he wanted them to.

His stomach twisted painfully, hunger gnawing at him once again, but he ignored it. He was too tired. Too broken.

As the days stretched on, Kuroo appeared more often, sitting beside him when the loneliness became unbearable, whispering soft reassurances that Kenma wasn’t sure he believed. Sometimes he’d smile that fond, exasperated smile, the one that always made Kenma feel safe. Other times, he looked worried, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"You're going to collapse if you keep this up," Kuroo murmured one night, his hand resting lightly over Kenma's, or at least... it should have been.

Kenma stared at him through heavy lids, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe that's what I want."

Kuroo’s face twisted in pain, but he didn’t say anything. Just watched as Kenma drifted off, sinking further into his fantasy.

The hallucination had gotten Kenma to drink one of the water bottles, but other than that Kenma was going on the tenth day after his birthday… the horrible incident that cost Kenma his entire life.

The world blurred at the edges, a hazy smear of muted grays and lifeless browns.

He had to keep moving, while the logical part of him knew that those psychopaths that had destroyed his home had no clue Kenma was alive. The primal part was too scared to stop. 

Kenma stumbled forward, his feet dragging through the underbrush, the forest closing in around him like a shroud. The trees whispered in the wind, their skeletal branches reaching out as if to cradle him, but they offered no comfort. Nothing did.

His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the weight pressing down on his chest. His limbs felt detached, foreign, as if they belonged to someone else. Maybe they did. Maybe he wasn’t even Kenma anymore—just a hollow shell walking through the motions of survival, though he had long since abandoned the idea of actually living.

The go bag hung limply from his shoulder, heavier than it had been days ago. The unopened food and water rattled inside, mocking him. He had barely touched them. He didn’t deserve to. Not when Kuroo was gone. Not when he was still breathing without Kuroo.

A bitter wind swept through the trees, biting through his clothes, but Kenma barely registered the cold anymore. His fingers curled tightly around the fabric of Kuroo’s jacket, his lifeline. It still held the faintest trace of him, the lingering scent of nutmeg and smoke. He pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply, his chest trembling with the effort. It was the only thing anchoring him to the world, and even that was beginning to slip through his grasp.

"I love you."

The memory was soft, a whisper carried on the wind, but it cut through him like a blade. Kenma squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself forward, his steps unsteady. The forest stretched on endlessly, swallowing him whole, and he welcomed it. Maybe if he walked far enough, he’d find Kuroo waiting for him just beyond the next tree.

His vision blurred, the weight of exhaustion and grief pressing heavily on his shoulders. Kenma stumbled, catching himself against the rough bark of a tree, his fingers digging into the wood as his knees buckled beneath him. He sank down slowly, his body curling in on itself, the jacket clutched tightly against his chest.

His eyes fluttered shut, the world growing distant, fading away like the last traces of a dream. Kuroo’s voice echoed in his mind, warm and teasing, filled with love. Kenma could almost feel his touch, the gentle press of his lips against his forehead, the reassuring weight of his hand on his back.

"Run. Live for me, my Aster."

Kenma choked out a weak laugh, his lips trembling. "I tried, Tetsu... I did, but... it’s too hard without you. I don’t... I can’t..."

He buried his face in the jacket, curling into the frozen earth, letting the cold seep into his bones. His body was too weak to fight it anymore, and maybe that was okay. Maybe it was better this way. He’d see Kuroo soon. He’d finally get to rest.

As the darkness crept in around him, Kenma’s lips moved in a silent whisper, his final plea drifting into the night.

"Wait for me... just a little longer... Tetsuro..."

Notes:

Don't worry my lovelies I will be back on Sunday!

Chapter 4: Lost and Found

Summary:

Kenma gets help from an unexpected source.

The forest was silent, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the frozen ground. The air was crisp, biting, and merciless, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.

Sugawara moved carefully through the underbrush, his sharp gaze scanning the darkening woods. His heart was heavy with unease, a quiet tension settling in his chest like a storm waiting to break. He didn’t know exactly what had drawn him and Akaashi out here tonight, just a gut feeling, an instinct honed from years of experience in their world.

Akaashi walked beside him, his steps silent but purposeful, his own senses attuned to the unnatural stillness of the forest. "You sure about this, Suga?" His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the concern beneath it.

Sugawara didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crouched down, running his fingers lightly over the disturbed earth. Footprints, small and unsteady, barely distinguishable against the forest floor. "Someone's been through here recently. Alone."

Akaashi's eyes followed the tracks, his brow furrowing. "And they're not doing well." His gaze lifted, scanning the trees with a calculating precision. "They're stumbling. Losing their balance."

Sugawara exhaled slowly. Whoever it was, they were in bad shape. "Let's keep going."

They pressed forward, their pace quickening, boots crunching over brittle twigs and frozen leaves. The further they walked, the heavier the air felt, thick with something they couldn't quite name. Then, through the gaps in the trees, a shape emerged, huddled and unmoving at the base of a large oak.

Sugawara's breath caught. "There."

Suga gave a small nod at the curled-up figure and Akaashi quietly pulled out his handgun, a CZ 75. With a single breath he began moving, his expression unreadable as he knelt beside the collapsed figure. An omega. The boy looked so small, so fragile in the pale moonlight, his face ghostly and drawn with exhaustion and cold. His breathing was shallow, lips parted as if he had long since given up on seeking warmth from the frozen air around him.

Akaashi, deeming it okay nodded to Suga, who stepped forward and knelt down beside the small figure. “I can barely smell him.” 

Gently Suga pressed two fingers to Kenma’s pulse point. It was faint, barely there, and his skin was ice cold. "He's alive, but just barely." His voice was grim. "We need to get him out of here now."

Akaashi’s eyes caught the bundle clutched tightly in the omega’s arms, a worn black jacket, fingers curled around it with an iron grip even in unconsciousness. Sugawara gently pried the bundle from Kenma’s arms just enough to see the small black cat plush nestled beneath it. Something in his chest ached at the sight.

"Let him keep it," Akaashi murmured. "After whatever he’s been through, he needs it."

Sugawara nodded, carefully easing an arm beneath Kenma’s frail body, lifting him effortlessly but cautiously. The boy didn't stir, his weight far too light, too insubstantial. Sugawara swallowed down the anger bubbling in his chest; anger at whoever let him get this bad, at the world that forced this small omega to suffer alone.

"Hang in there, kid," he muttered under his breath, tightening his hold.

Akaashi took a step back, scanning their surroundings one last time before falling into step beside Sugawara. "Daichi will know what to do. We just need to get him home."

Akaashi simply nodded, following the silver haired omega. Kenma’s head lolled against his chest, and Sugawara could feel the weak, trembling breaths against his skin. He wasn’t going to let this kid slip through their fingers. Not tonight.

Sugawara had seen too many omegas suffer and die in this messed up world, he’d be damned if he watched another die a meaningless death. 

They disappeared into the trees, carrying Kenma away from the loneliness of the forest, toward whatever came next.

The journey back to the Karasuno manor didn’t take long. The forest was perfect cover for the large, hidden yakuza hideout of Karasuno. What once started as a small syndicate had grown into a formidable force under the leadership of Daichi Sawamura, an alpha whose steady hand and tactical mind earned him respect across the underground world. His mate and second-in-command, Sugawara Koushi, an omega with a deceptive smile and a sharp intellect, managed the internal affairs with a level of finesse that kept the family running like a well-oiled machine.

The manor itself was a sprawling estate, tucked deep within the dense forest, surrounded by high walls and security measures that kept unwanted eyes away. Despite the elegant design, every inch of the estate served a purpose. Guard posts were stationed discreetly along the perimeter, cameras hidden within the thick foliage, and the winding path leading to the main house was riddled with carefully placed traps that only the Karasuno members knew how to avoid.

As Suga and Akaashi approached the entrance, two figures stepped out from the shadows. Tanaka, a battle-hardened alpha with a sharp glare and a buzzed head, and Kageyama, the stoic yet fiercely loyal alpha, stood guard with practiced vigilance. Tanaka's eyes instantly narrowed at the limp figure in Suga's arms, his instincts flaring.

"Who's this?" Tanaka asked, his voice gruff but tinged with concern.

"An omega," Suga replied, his voice unusually tight. "We found him collapsed in the forest. He's in bad shape."

Kageyama's eyes darkened as he stepped forward to peer at the unconscious figure in Suga's grasp. "Did anyone follow you?"

Akaashi shook his head and stepped up in front of the two hot-head alphas. While yes, they were strong and loyal they were insanely wary, and their questions were rubbing Akaashi the wrong way "No. He was alone out there, freezing. He won't last long if we don't get him inside. Now unless you really want to mistrust the judgment of Suga-san I suggest you step aside"

Tanaka grunted and stepped aside, allowing them passage. "Asahi's in the infirmary."

The interior of the manor was as efficient as it was intimidating. The wide hallways were lined with dark wood and faint traces of incense, the soft glow of traditional lanterns casting shadows against the polished floors. Despite its yakuza roots, the place had an odd sense of home. A place built not just for business, but for protection, for family.

Asahi Azumane, the head medic and a towering alpha with a gentle soul, was already waiting when Suga and Akaashi entered the infirmary. The room was sterile, stocked with supplies meticulously arranged, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. Asahi's brows furrowed in worry as he approached the unconscious omega.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice soft yet commanding.

"From what I can tell, he's malnourished and dehydrated… We found him near the edge of the forest, I don't even know how long he's been out there," Suga explained, carefully setting the small omega down on the examination table. "I doubt he would have lasted much longer."

Asahi immediately set to work, his hands deftly assessing Kenma's condition. His fingers brushed against Kenma's wrist, feeling for a pulse that was far too weak. "He's burning up. We need fluids and warmth, now."

Suga was quick to bark out orders to the other syndicate members in the medical wing. 

“Get an IV started,” Suga instructed briskly, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped back as the medical team moved in with precision. The omega didn’t stir, even when the needle slipped beneath his skin, the fluids slowly working to replenish what his body had lost. He looked so small lying there, the oversized jacket nearly swallowing him whole. It was painful to see him like this; so broken, so empty.

“Do you have any idea why he was out there?” Asahi asked, as he got the small omega hooked up to a heart monitor.

“No. He was unconscious when we got there.” Suga said with a sigh.

Akaashi hovered nearby, his usually calm expression betraying the slightest hint of concern. "He had a bag with him, some money, food, and... personal items."

Suga glanced down at the tattered go bag that hung from Kenma's side, nodding. "Go ahead and see if you can find anything useful." 

Akaashi gently took the bag away from the sleeping boy and began to rummage through it, finding little of use. Except for a blanket that smelled like smoke, he gently handed it over to Suga who wrinkled his nose at the acrid scent, but his eyes flashed with recognition.

“Wasn’t there a village that was recently burned down by a small gang?” Suga asked and Asahi nodded.

“I don’t know much, but I believe the village was named Hakone.” He said and Suga looked at Akaashi.

“Get Ennoshita to do some digging about what happened in Hakone.” He ordered, as he looked down at the weak boy. Akaashi was quick to do as instructed. 

"Where's Daichi?" Suga asked quietly, turning to Asahi, who had finished hooking the omega up to machines.

"In a meeting with Ushijima and Sakusa. Do you want me to get him?"

Suga shook his head. "No. Not yet." Suga said sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, “I don’t feel like having that discussion yet.” 

Asahi gave an understanding nod, while Suga and Daichi were a powerhouse of a team, they always clashed when it came to bringing people in. Daichi, ever the fierce protector, didn't want strangers coming into the family's manor. While Suga, even after seeing so many horrors, couldn’t help but reach out a helping hand to anyone in need.

Suga watched the omega closely, his expression unreadable. "We'll figure out who you are soon enough," he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from the boy's forehead. "You're safe now."

---

The world returned in fragments.

At first, there was warmth. It pressed in around him, unfamiliar and foreign, nothing like the cold that had gnawed at his bones for the past few weeks. Then came the sound; soft murmurs, the rustling of fabric, and the faint beep of something rhythmic and steady.

Kenma’s eyelids fluttered, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. Slowly, hesitantly, he forced his eyes open, greeted by the blurred outline of a room far too grand to belong to him. Panic set in almost instantly, sharp and suffocating.

Where am I?

His breath hitched, his fingers grasping at the sheets beneath him, and then—

Kuroo’s jacket. His bag. The cat plush.

They weren’t there.

Terror spiked through him like a knife to the gut. Kenma shot up too quickly, the IV tugging painfully at his arm, but he didn’t care. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, desperation clawing at his chest. His breathing grew ragged, panic swelling inside him like a tidal wave.

“No, no, no… where—” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. Hoarse from disuse. “Where are they? Where’s his jacket?!”

His hands trembled as he frantically searched the bed, pushing away the blankets as if they hid the most precious things he had left. His heart hammered wildly, a sharp ache forming in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He couldn’t lose them too. Not after everything.

The door opened swiftly, and a beautiful black-haired omega stepped in, his eyes widening at the sight of Kenma’s panicked state. Without hesitation, he crossed the room, his voice calm but firm, like he was talking to a wild animal. “Hey, it’s okay. Your safe”

Kenma’s frantic movements froze at the sound of the other voice, but his eyes were still wide, wild with fear. “Where are they?” he choked out, his voice trembling. “Where’s my jacket? My stuff—where is it?!”

Akaashi’s expression softened, and he held up his hands in a placating gesture, a soft white jasmine scent enveloped Kenma. “They’re safe,” he assured him, stepping closer. “We have them. I promise.”

Kenma’s eyes darted toward him, disbelief flickering across his face, but he didn’t have the strength to argue. His body sagged, his hands gripping the sheets tightly. “I need them… I need them, please…” his voice broke, barely above a whisper.

“Okay. I’ll get them, so just relax, you just woke up after all.” Akaashi moved swiftly, stepping outside for only a moment before returning with the worn jacket and the small black cat plush tucked carefully in his arms. He offered them gently, watching as Kenma’s shaking hands reached out, clutching them like a lifeline.

Kenma buried his face into the fabric, his shoulders trembling as relief crashed over him in waves. The scent of Kuroo, faint but still there, filled his lungs, and for a brief moment, he felt like he could breathe again.

Akaashi sat on the edge of the bed, watching him silently. “You’re safe here,” he said softly, but Kenma didn’t respond. He just curled into himself, clutching what little he had left of Kuroo. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Akaashi said gently, and Kenma eyed him warily.

“Only if you answer my questions.” He said and Akaashi nodded agreeing to the terms. “Where are we and who are you?”

“This is the infirmary in the Karasuno Manor, and my name is Akaashi Keiji.” He explained, and anticipating the next few questions he continued, “We found you collapsed in the forest and brought you here, you’ve been asleep for about a week now.” 

“A week?” He asked hesitantly and Akaashi nodded.

“Now can you please tell me who you are, and why you were out in the forest?” The minute Akaashi asked the second question Kenma let out an involuntary whimper. The memories of how he was so close to seeing Kuroo again flooded his thoughts.

“Kozume Kenma, I was… Running.” Was all he managed to get out and Akaashi nodded sadly, offering a small smile.

“There is someone I want you to meet, is that alright?” He asked gently and Kenma numbly nodded. The black-haired omega walked to the door, opening it and sticking his head out, briefly speaking to someone Kenma couldn’t see, before he stepped aside to let another figure enter the room. The gentle yet firm presence of Sugawara Koushi filled the space, his silver hair catching the dim light, and his expression a mixture of warmth and solemnity.

"Kenma, right?" Suga's voice was soft, but there was an undertone of something that hinted at the weight he carried. Kenma blinked up at him, unsure of what to say, and instead just nodded. Suga took a seat beside the bed, hands clasped together as he studied Kenma carefully, as if gauging how much he could handle.

"My name is Sugawara; I am one of the owners of this manor" Suga said gently. “I was also one of the people who found you in the forest. I know this must all be scary for you, but please know you are safe here.” He said gently and Kenma bit his lip eyeing the older omega, something in his strawberry scent smelled off.

 “What is it you really want to talk about?” Kenma asked, and Suga looked surprised for a moment before a sad smile graced his lips.

"Your hometown was Hakone, wasn’t it?"

Kenma's breath hitched and he nodded. "What about it?" His words were shaky, he knew it was bad news, he knew there was no way it was good after all he had seen the fires, heard the screams, smelled the death.

There was a pause; too long, too heavy. Kenma's hands clenched the blanket beneath him, his mind racing with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Akaashi remained silent, standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes downcast.

"I'm sorry, Kenma," Suga finally said, his voice steady but kind. "Your town… it was attacked. A yakuza syndicate made a move for control, and by the time we got there, there were no signs of life."

Kenma's heart stopped. He figured that is what happened, but the confirmation hurt. It felt like all the air had been forced out of his lungs "What?" he whispered, shaking his head slowly. It wasn’t really a question, but Sugawara said another syndicate? "Yakuza? What are you talking about?"

Suga reached out carefully, resting a hand on Kenma's trembling shoulder. "You grew up in the country, so I’m not surprised you didn’t know, but the world is broken up into many crime families in the underworld."

Kenma's vision blurred, his mind struggling to comprehend the words. His home. Gone. The people he grew up with, the streets he walked every day, reduced to ashes and whispers. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

"Why?" he croaked out, his throat dry and raw. "Why would they do that?"

Suga sighed, his expression darkening just a fraction. "It's a fight for control, Kenma. Territory, influence, resources... it’s always been this way. Your village was caught in the middle of it."

Kenma stared at him, the weight of it crushing him, but somewhere deep inside, something unfamiliar stirred, anger.

Suga's gaze sharpened slightly, as if sensing the shift within him. "Kenma... I know this isn't easy to hear. But if you want justice, if you want answers... you can get that with us. With Karasuno."

Kenma swallowed, the thought settling uneasily in his chest. Revenge. The idea had never crossed his mind before; but now, it lingered, refusing to leave.

Revenge for his friends, for his family, for Kuroo…

"Just... think about it," Suga added softly, squeezing his shoulder before standing. "For now, rest. We'll be here."

As Suga left the room, Kenma sat frozen, his mind churning with a storm of emotions. Akaashi gave him a reassuring look before following, leaving Kenma alone with his thoughts.

As much as Kenma wished he could say he instantly took charge, he didn’t.

Instead, he laid down in the hospital bed and curled up with Kuroo’s jacket, letting him fall into restless sleep.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter my lovelies! Please feel free to leave me comments I love interacting with you!

Chapter 5: A Friend or Two

Summary:

There are some references to dark material (SA and murder) nothing graphic is said.

A summer afternoon long past, bathed in golden sunlight. Kenma was a child again, sitting in the middle of Kuroo's bedroom floor, surrounded by a fortress of pillows and blankets they had painstakingly built together. Kuroo, always brimming with energy, had declared them kings of their castle, waving a toy sword around dramatically while Kenma clutched his handheld console, pretending to ignore him but secretly enjoying the ridiculous antics. 

The air smelled like Kuroo's mother's cooking wafting in from the kitchen, and the sound of distant cicadas filled the spaces between their laughter.

"Kenma, you're supposed to defend the castle!" Kuroo whined, poking at him with the plastic sword.

Kenma sighed, not looking up from his game. "I'm the strategist, not the fighter. You handle it."

Kuroo groaned in exaggerated frustration before plopping down beside him, resting his chin on Kenma's shoulder. "Fine. But if the enemy breaks through, it's your fault."

“Didn’t you say you’d always protect me?” Kenma shoots back with a grin and Kuroo’s face turns the shade of the ripe strawberries they had picked a few hours prior. Kenma can’t help but notice how Kuroo’s lips were tinged pink from their little feast of the fresh berries.

“Well, y-yeah.” He stutters, making Kenma laugh at the young alphas' flustered expression.

“Are you trying to back out of protecting me?” He says with a smirk putting away his small console as Kuroo shoots up.

“Never! I will always protect you!” He shouted, the little alpha so convicted it surprised Kenma, but he couldn’t help but smile faintly, feeling the warmth of Kuroo's presence beside him. Safe. Familiar. Home.

And then, without warning, everything was on fire.

The warmth of the room turned searing hot; the comforting sunlight replaced by an angry, consuming blaze. Their blanket fortress melted away into ash, the walls of Kuroo's room warped and crumbled. Kenma turned, but Kuroo was gone, his voice lost in the deafening roar of the flames. Panic clawed at Kenma's throat as he stumbled forward, desperately calling Kuroo's name, but the fire swallowed his words whole. Smoke filled his lungs, and the world collapsed into darkness.

Kenma shot up in bed, his breath ragged and labored, his entire body trembling. His chest heaved as he blinked away the tears streaming down his face, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. The suffocating warmth of his dream was replaced by the cool, biting air of the dimly lit room, and for a moment, he struggled to remember where he was.

In his own room, gifted to him by Sugawara after Asahi had deemed him well enough to be taken off of all those annoying machines.

It had been a month.

A month since Akaashi and Sugawara had found him.

A month since he'd been dragged out of the shadows of his past and into a place that should have felt safer. Warmer.

Winter was creeping in now, the chill seeping into the walls, into his bones. Kenma could feel it pressing in from all sides, an ever-present reminder of how much time had passed and how little had changed within him. Physically, he was better. The bruises had faded, the wounds had healed, and he was no longer starving. But inside... inside, he was still trapped in that burning house, still reaching for something—someone—who wasn't there.

He rubbed at his face, wiping away the lingering dampness from his cheeks, and stared out the small window beside his bed. Snow hadn't fallen yet, but the sky threatened it, heavy and gray, hanging over the dead garden like an impending omen.

Kenma curled into himself, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

He wondered if Kuroo would have hated him for running away. For surviving without him. His chest ached at the thought, and he squeezed his eyes shut shaking his head.

Kuroo wanted him to live, he never would have wished anything bad on Kenma, but a small aching part of his heart wished Kuroo was a little more selfish, maybe then he’d finally feel like it was alright to give up. Kenma stood, walking around the small bedroom to his bare desk, gently he picked up the small black cat plush Kuroo had given him, gently squeezing it to his chest.

"I miss you Tetsuro," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room.

His will to live wasn't the only change that had happened over the past month. Despite Kenma’s efforts to remain isolated, two persistent presences had wormed their way into his daily routine; Hinata and Akaashi.

Hinata was a hyperactive omega with an endless supply of energy, who smelled like tangerines and sunshine, if that were even possible. His scent was bright and overwhelming, filling the small room whenever he bounced in without warning, which was often. Akaashi, on the other hand, was more subdued; calm, calculated, but unwavering in his quiet determination to pull Kenma out of his shell. Akaashi was beautiful, and Kenma partially envied him for that. He was the type of pretty that an omega was ‘supposed’ to be. Elegant, curvy, and calm. But he noticed Akaashi often wore a mask, they varied in color, but he wore a black mask the most. Together, Hinata and Akaashi formed an unstoppable force of companionship that Kenma neither asked for nor entirely rejected.

In some way they reminded him of Kuroo, which was the only reason he was even entertaining their constant intrusion in his life.

They visited him every day. At first, Kenma thought they’d give up after a few awkward silences, after his one-word answers and his refusal to engage. 

But they didn’t. 

Each day, they came with something new; Hinata with stories about his training, surprisingly the small omega was trying to become a combat specialist. Apparently if he finishes training soon, Daichi, the leader who Kenma had yet to meet, was going to send him into the field with another member as a trial run.

On the flip side Akaashi often came with books he thought Kenma might enjoy. Gently explaining the plots to him and telling him all about the authors. They filled the empty spaces with their conversations, weaving a semblance of normalcy into Kenma's otherwise static world.

Today was no different.

Kenma sat curled up on the worn couch in the common room, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a shield. The air smelled faintly of coffee, and the soft murmur of voices from the hallway barely registered in his mind. His fingers absently traced the edges of his handheld console, but he hadn't turned it on. 

Sugawara had seen him eyeing the game console in the living room and bought him this small handheld. Kenma had yet to use it, he had so many memories tied to gaming with Kuroo that he didn’t know how to even begin to unpack. But he couldn’t seem to return it either. So instead, it stayed uncharged in his hands, held like a security blanket.

Kenma’s gaze drifted to the frosted window, watching the gray sky that seemed to stretch endlessly. His thoughts began to drift. Winter has always been one of Kuroo’s favorite times of the year. He loved the snow and often dragged Kenma out into the freezing cold with him.

A sudden burst of tangerine invaded his senses, shocking him out of his thoughts before the sound of hurried footsteps filled the room.

"Kenma!" Hinata’s voice rang out, too loud for the quiet space. He plopped down beside him without hesitation, his boundless energy practically radiating off him. "Akaashi and I brought snacks! Well, Akaashi brought snacks, I brought entertainment!"

Kenma blinked slowly, turning his head just enough to see the grinning omega holding up a deck of cards triumphantly. Akaashi followed at a more reasonable pace, carrying a neatly arranged tray with tea and a variety of small pastries. He set it down on the coffee table with practiced ease, offering Kenma a calm nod.

As usual Akaashi donned a black mask, Kenma hadn’t built up the courage to ask him why he always wore them, even in the Karasuno manor.

"We thought we could play a game today," Akaashi said smoothly, his cool blue eyes scanning Kenma's expression for any signs of interest.

Kenma shrugged, the blanket shifting slightly around his shoulders. "I don’t play cards."

"That’s fine!" Hinata chirped, already shuffling the deck with clumsy enthusiasm. "We’ll teach you! And if you don’t want to play, you can just watch. Right, Akaashi?"

Akaashi hummed in agreement, picking up a cup of tea and handing it to Kenma without a word. Kenma hesitated, but took it anyway, the warmth seeping into his hands like a quiet reassurance.

Despite himself, Kenma found his eyes drifting to the cards as Hinata fumbled through an explanation of the rules, his words tumbling over each other in excitement. The way the omega talked; so animated, so full of life, was a stark contrast to the stillness that had settled deep in Kenma's bones.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until the tea in his cup had cooled and the pile of cards on the table had grown. Hinata was losing spectacularly, his exaggerated groans filling the room every time Akaashi calmly placed another winning hand down.

Kenma’s lips twitched, just barely. It wasn’t shocking that Akaashi was winning, he was one of the strategists for Karasuno, too bad Hinata often forgot that. 

Akaashi noticed the slight tilt of Kenma’s lips. "You're allowed to laugh, you know."

Kenma looked away quickly, but Hinata caught on, leaning in with a mischievous grin. "I saw that! You almost smiled! Progress!"

Kenma rolled his eyes, pulling the blanket higher over his face to hide the faint warmth creeping up his neck. He hated being in the spotlight. "You're annoying."

"And yet you don’t push me away," Hinata shot back proudly, beaming.

Kenma didn't have the energy to argue. He let out a small breath, not quite a sigh, and let himself sink deeper into the couch. The weight of the past still pressed heavily on him, but for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel quite so suffocating.

“I’ll… play this round.” He said softly not looking at the smiling omegas who eagerly dealt him another hand.

The cards rustled in Akaashi's hands as he distributed them with practiced ease, his sharp gaze flickering briefly to Kenma before settling back on his own cards. At first the game began silently; the only sound was the soft shuffle of cards and the noise of a disgruntled Hinata. But Akaashi placed a card down and looked at Kenma.

"You know," Akaashi began, his voice calm, only slightly muffled behind the mask, but carrying a depth that made Kenma glance up, "all of us in Karasuno have gone through something."

Kenma stayed silent, fingers idly toying with his cards. He knew Akaashi wasn't saying it to force a confession out of him, but the weight in his words lingered, and for some reason, Kenma wanted to listen.

"My parents hated that I was an omega.” Akaashi began, never losing his place in the game. “I was told from a young age that I was a mistake because I was born an omega. When I was fourteen," Akaashi continued, his tone steady despite the painful truth beneath it, "My parents sold me to a man four times my senior. He was cruel and he tried to force me to do things I didn’t want to." He said vaguely

“One night he snuck into my bedroom and pinned me down. I had a pair of scissors and stabbed him. I killed him and had to run away; it was by pure luck I found Karasuno. They took me in, and I haven’t looked back since.” He finished and gently pulled his mask down, and Kenma got to see the slight smile on his lips.

“I’m sure you have wondered about the mask. I prefer to wear it, it may seem… odd. But it helps my anxiety that my face is covered even if it is only partially.” He explained and Kenma nodded dumbly as the omega slid his mask up again.

Akaashi had four years to heal from his experiences and had found a new purpose, something Kenma envied from the depths of his heart. He felt sick that he was jealous of Akaashi who had gone through something traumatic, something so bad he felt the need to constantly cover up, even in his own home. But he didn’t get to dwell on it long before Hinata spoke up.

“Me too.” Hinata's usually bright expression dimmed slightly, but he nodded, his eyes full of silent support.

Kenma blinked, feeling the uncomfortable twist in his chest. Akaashi always seemed so composed, so put-together. It was hard to imagine him going through something like that. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, and Akaashi didn't seem to expect him to.

Instead, Hinata spoke again, his voice softer than usual. "My parents were killed when I was ten. It was just me and Natsu after that. I tried everything to take care of her, but... it wasn't enough. We were desperate, and I was willing to do anything to keep her safe." He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Daichi found us and brought us here. He saved us."

Kenma frowned slightly. He hadn't met Natsu, and for a moment, curiosity outweighed the constant numbness that sat in his chest. "Where... where is she?" he asked quietly, eyes darting between the two omegas.

Hinata perked up slightly, happy to answer. "Oh! She's in the manor, really protected. Daichi and Suga made sure of that. Her room's deep inside, and she gets taught by Yaku-San."

"Yaku?" Kenma echoed, recognizing the name vaguely.

"Yeah! He's an omega too, but he teaches all the younger kids how to defend themselves and normal school lessons. Natsu adores him," Hinata said, grinning.

Kenma absorbed the information, his mind turning it over slowly. It was so odd to know that these two happy individuals had seen and gone through horrible events. 

He glanced at his cards, then at the two omegas sitting with him, their eyes filled with patience and understanding. Part of him wanted to tell them everything; about Kuroo, the fire, the guilt that gnawed at him every waking moment. But the words caught in his throat, too heavy to say aloud.

Instead, he nodded slightly, his grip on his cards tightening. "Let's... just play."

Hinata and Akaashi shared a glance but didn't push further. "Alright," Akaashi said smoothly, reshuffling his deck. "But don't try losing on purpose, Kenma I'll be able to tell."

Kenma huffed quietly, a small, almost imperceptible smile ghosting his lips. Maybe... maybe this wasn't so bad.

The evening carried on in quiet companionship, the gentle rustle of cards and soft murmurs filling the air. Eventually, Hinata yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Alright, I think that's it for me tonight. Sleep's calling my name."

Akaashi nodded, gathering the cards. "Same here. We'll see you tomorrow, Kenma."

Kenma simply nodded, watching as the two omegas stood and made their way out, Hinata giving an exaggerated wave before disappearing down the hall.

Left alone in the quiet, Kenma sat still for a moment before standing, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. He picked up his blanket from the couch where it had laid forgotten and padded back to his room, shutting the door softly behind him. 

In the dim light of the moon, his eyes fell on the plush black cat sitting on his pillow and the worn jacket draped over the chair by his bed.

Slowly, he picked up the jacket, pressing it to his face. The scent that once brought him comfort had faded, leaving behind only the thought of something that used to be home. He held it tightly, sitting on the edge of his bed. He stared out at the full moon shining against the dark night sky, stars twinkling around it.

"It's winter now," he murmured into the darkness, his fingers curling into the fabric of the jacket. “I know it was always your favorite time of year Tetsuro.” He spoke softly, the deep longing in his voice nearly making him wince.

“It hasn’t begun to snow yet though, I remember all the times you dragged me out just to dump snow down the back of my shirt… I always yelled at you and stormed inside, but you always made me hot cocoa and apologized, and I always forgave you even though I knew you’d do it again.” He said with a soft snort.

“It hurts to know you won’t ever annoy me again.” He said trailing off into silence before staring up at the moon again. 

His voice wavered, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Your jacket... it doesn’t smell like you anymore." The admission felt like a betrayal, and his grip tightened.

“It doesn’t smell like you… I will never get to smell you again.” He said, voice cracking at tears began to drip down his face.

“It is so hard to go each day without you nagging me… Who am I kidding? I loved it. I wish you could tell me off for not eating one more time, yell at me to go to sleep earlier, or to get some sun. I loved how you always cared about me, how you made sure I always drank enough water.”

Silence filled the room, save for the slow, uneven breaths Kenma struggled to control.

“Even in your final moments you were taking care of me.” He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob, “You grabbed my shoes, gave me that blanket, hell you even broke the window for me to escape… You saved me, like always. Reliable until the final moments.”

“I hate you for saving me sometimes… being alive without you feels like a nightmare I can never wake up from.” Kenma allows himself to sob clutching Kuroo’s jacket. 

"I miss you, Tetsurou." The words barely left his lips, a whisper meant for no one but himself and Kuroo if he was listening. 

“I love you.”

Notes:

If I tell you that I listened to Two Bird by Regina Spektor probably 100 times while writing this chapter, that would be an understatement.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, all of the comments warm my heart please keep commenting I love reading them, feel free to try and predict my story, your conspiracy may influence the unwritten chapter.

Shh I never said anything. :)

Bye my lovelies until we meet again Sunday!

Chapter 6: Heavy

Summary:

Trauma takes time to heal, and sometimes that burden is too heavy to be carried alone.

The weeks passed slowly, blending into one another in a quiet, steady rhythm that Kenma found himself slipping into with little resistance. The weight in his chest never truly lifted, but it shifted, slowly but surely becoming something, he could carry a little easier with each sunrise. 

Healing wasn’t a sudden burst of relief; it was a slow, painstaking process, a series of small, almost imperceptible changes that built upon one another.

At first, Kenma barely noticed the difference. 

He still woke up with a lingering sense of dread curling in his stomach, his nights haunted by dreams that felt too vivid, too real. But the nightmares were no longer every night, instead Kenma sometimes got to see his lover’s smile in his dreams. Old memories of times gone by playing like a movie he never wanted to stop watching.

Some mornings, he woke up groggy but without the suffocating panic that had once gripped him like a vice. Those mornings, he would lie in bed, clutching Kuroo's old jacket, and whisper into the fabric, his voice soft and hoarse from sleep. It almost felt like a betrayal to wake up comfortably.

"It's going to be spring soon," he murmured one morning, taking a walk in the cold courtyard, the garden not yet blooming. his breath fogging up the chilly air. "I think I made some new friends. I’m sure you’d love them; they are full of energy just like you were."

Hinata and Akaashi had become constants in his life. They still showed up every day, their scents familiar and oddly grounding. Hinata, bright and persistent, always had a new way to drag Kenma into something; card games, storytelling, sometimes just watching a show in companionable silence. Akaashi was quieter, steady and observant, offering quiet reassurances without demanding anything in return, often coming with a snack or drink.

Kenma started to respond more, small things at first; a nod, a murmur of agreement, a glance that lingered a little longer than before. He started sitting with them instead of just near them, their presence a comfort rather than an intrusion. He even let Hinata lean on his shoulder during games without pulling away immediately.

Meals became easier, too. At first, he only picked at his food, barely swallowing a few bites before retreating to his room. But now, he stayed longer, listening to Hinata chatter about training and Akaashi subtly guiding the conversation to something Kenma might actually respond to. And sometimes, he did. 

A simple sentence. A comment about the game they were playing. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“They are trying to help me. Akaashi is always trying to make sure I eat and sleep on time just like you used to and Hinata is bright and loud. Together they remind me of you so much.” He said looking up at the cloudy sky, “They don’t even know they’re doing it and yet it’s comforting.”

The manor no longer felt like a prison, even if it didn't quite feel like home. 

It would probably never feel like home.

That feeling was reserved for Kuroo, and since he was gone, no longer roaming the Earth, Kenma figured he’d always be searching for home without ever finding it.

He'd started walking the hallways during the day, exploring in short bursts. He found the library, one of the training rooms, even peeked into the kitchen once when he was sure no one was looking. It was a quiet way to reclaim his space, to feel like he belonged in some small way.

Despite everything, Kenma still found himself returning to his room at night, curling up with Kuroo's jacket and the small black cat plush he'd kept with him all this time. The scent had faded, no longer the strong, familiar presence it once was. It made his heart ache.

When he had realized he could no longer smell the faintest trace of Nutmeg, of Kuroo, he had sobbed for hours. Wailing in his room as he realized that the last tangible item connecting Kuroo to him was gone.

“I miss you, I hope you’re watching over me.” He spoke, letting the wind rush over him like a comforting presence. Even though Kuroo was gone Kenma couldn’t help but talk to him, he knew logically Kuroo couldn’t hear him or respond. But it kept him grounded, kept him feeling close to Kuroo in the last way he had.

With a soft goodbye to the wind, he walked back into the manor making his way to the common room where Akaashi and Hinata resided, snatching his blanket on the way. He silently padded into the room curling up in the rocking chair with his leg tucked beneath him. His fingers idly toying with the edge of the blanket draped over his shoulders. The soft hum of conversation filled the air; Akaashi and Hinata were shuffling through playing cards and discussing meaningless things. Kenma noticed Akaashi wasn’t wearing his mask today, instead it rested on the coffee table next to them.

It was a familiar scene, one that had slowly become routine over the past few weeks but today felt... different.

For once, Kenma wasn’t just a passive observer. He was listening.

Hinata was rambling about some ridiculous bet he had made with Tanaka earlier in the day, his bright, infectious energy filling the room. Kenma found himself watching the omega’s animated gestures, the way his scent of tangerines spiked with excitement. Akaashi, ever calm and collected, listened with a small smile, interjecting only when Hinata’s story veered too far into exaggeration.

Kenma shifted slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. He could feel it, the tentative urge to speak up, to add something, anything to the conversation. He knew he should, after nearly two months of Hinata and Akaashi’s persistence he felt like he should, but the words sat heavy on his tongue, unfamiliar and uncertain. He swallowed hard, eyes flickering down to his lap.

Repeating a gentle mantra in his head, Kuroo would want you to open up.

"That... sounds stupid," he mumbled under his breath, barely audible.

Hinata paused mid-sentence, blinking at him in surprise before breaking into a wide grin. "Right?! That’s what I said! But Tanaka never listens to me!"

Kenma blinked, a flicker of something warm sparking in his chest at the way Hinata immediately pulled him into the conversation without hesitation. It wasn’t much, just a passing comment, but it felt like a step forward.

Kuroo would be proud.

Akaashi glanced over, his sharp gunmetal blue eyes taking in the moment with a soft expression. "You’re right, Kenma. Tanaka doesn’t think things through. But you should’ve seen the look on his face when he lost the bet."

Kenma hummed softly, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn't respond, but he didn’t retreat either. That, in itself, was progress.

Hinata, emboldened by Kenma’s engagement, scooted a little closer, his grin unwavering. "Hey, we were thinking of making some snacks later. You should come help! I mean, not that you have to or anything, but it could be fun." Even with the initial confidence, Hinata seemed to shrink a bit as he continued to speak, until he was shyly finishing his request, looking at the floor.

Kenma hesitated, the immediate instinct to refuse rising up. He didn’t want to be a burden, to intrude on something he didn’t quite feel a part of yet. But then he caught Akaashi’s calm gaze, silently encouraging but not pushing, and he exhaled slowly.

"Maybe..." he murmured, the uncertainty in his voice evident.

Hinata beamed like he'd just won a prize. "That’s basically a yes!" He shot Akaashi a triumphant look, and the other omega shook his head with an amused huff.

Kenma let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his fingers loosening their grip on the blanket. It felt strange, letting people in even a little, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel impossible.

Hinata practically bounced to his feet, grabbing Kenma’s hand without hesitation and dragging him toward the kitchen. Kenma tensed at first, his instinct to pull away flaring up, but he let it happen, letting the eager omega pull him along. Akaashi followed behind with a small smile, his steps steady and reassuring.

The kitchen was warm, the scent of spices and lingering meals filling the air. It felt... lived in. Comforting. Kenma hovered near the doorway, watching as Hinata immediately made himself at home, rummaging through the cabinets with the kind of familiarity that only came from spending too much time in a place. Akaashi, on the other hand, moved with practiced ease, gathering a few simple ingredients without a word.

"Alright, Kenma, what's your snack of choice?" Hinata asked, turning to face him with an expectant grin. "We've got cookies, popcorn, instant ramen—oh! Akaashi makes a mean omelet, too."

Kenma blinked, caught off guard by the sheer enthusiasm. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at the hem of his sleeve. "...Popcorn's fine."

Hinata’s grin widened, and he nodded sagely. "A classic choice. Good call."

Akaashi nods and beckons him forward, his soft white jasmine scent soothing his nerves. Slowly he makes his way next to Akaashi watching him set a pot on the stove, heating up the oil with precise movements. The soft pop of kernels soon filled the silence, and Kenma found himself relaxing just a little, drawn in by the simplicity of it all. He edged closer, watching the way Hinata bounced on the balls of his feet while waiting, as if he couldn't sit still even for a second.

"You know," Akaashi said after a moment, his voice calm and even, "you can help if you want."

Kenma hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly. He wasn’t used to this; being asked to do things, being included without expectations. But then Hinata shot him an encouraging look, and before he could overthink it, Kenma reached out to grab the saltshaker, holding it in his hand.

"I'll... salt it," he muttered. He knew how to cook, but Kuroo had always been the one to make dinner, to cook for Kenma. The alpha said it was because he loved taking care of Kenma, and Kenma knew that was truly the reason. Kuroo loved him wholeheartedly, without hesitation, and didn’t care who knew. 

Hinata gasped dramatically. "Kenma, taking the reins! I love it."

Akaashi chuckled under his breath, handing him a small bowl to pour the popcorn into once it was ready. Kenma took it, his touch cautious, but something about the simple act of being involved settled some of the restlessness inside him. As the popcorn finished popping, Kenma carefully sprinkled the salt over it, his movements measured and precise.

Hinata reached over, stealing a handful before Kenma could protest, grinning through a mouthful. "Perfect. You're a natural, Kenma."

Kenma gave a small snort and rolled his eyes but didn't argue, taking a small handful for himself. The warmth of the kitchen, the soft hum of companionship, it all felt... nice. 

It reminded him of cooking with Kuroo, how Kenma would sit on the counter as he watched Kuroo cook for them both. It was so very domestic, how Kenma would watch the alpha hum as he chopped vegetables and seasoned food for them. Every time Kuroo got a moment away from the sizzling food he would stand in between Kenmas legs hugging and kissing the omega. 

He often joked that Kenma was supposed to cook for them to which Kenma would roll his eyes and always shoot back that Kuroo loved feeding him. And like clockwork the alpha would laugh and nod, nuzzling into Kenma’s scent gland.

The memory brought a small sad smile to his lips, one that vanished as quickly as it had come.

Akaashi had seen it along with the far-away look he had in his eyes as he stared at the counter and decided not to bring it up. Instead, he wordlessly collects a few napkins and drinks, handing the bowl off to Hinata. 

Akaashi slowly guided the shorter omegas back to the common room, when Kenma stopped in his tracks quietly speaking after a moment of silence.

"...You guys want to play cards? In my room?" he asked, voice quiet but steady.

Hinata froze mid-bite, eyes wide with shock. "Wait. Kenma... are you actually inviting us?"

Akaashi shot him a look, but there was a hint of pride in his expression. "We’d love to, Kenma."

Kenma shifted uncomfortably, already regretting it, but Hinata’s excitement made it impossible to back out now. "Cool! Let’s go before Kenma changes his mind!"

Kenma led them through the hallways to his room, his steps hesitant but purposeful. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of his space wrapped around him; subtle traces of old wood, faint lingering smell of laundry detergent, and the softest hint of something uniquely his. He slowly made his way inside and sat on the bed.

Akaashi entered right after him sitting on the floor next to Kenma’s bed, Hinata followed him grinning and looking around the room.

“Wow, we really need to go shopping! Your room is so bare.” He said, not meaning any harm and Akaashi sent him a scolding glance that made Kenma silently chuckle as Hinata jumped.

“Ah! Not that that’s a bad thing. Minimalism is really in right now.” He stuttered out quickly trying to remedy the situation but only making it worse, Akaashi sighed and facepalmed.

“Just stop talking Hinata.” He said gently and Hinata looked guilty.

“It’s fine, I know you were just making conversation.” Kenma said, feeling a bit bad because of Hinata’s kicked puppy look, his words seemed to do the trick and Hinata lit up again.

“Should we start on cards?” Akaashi asked, making the two nod. Kenma invited them onto the bed where Akaashi began to deal out their cards.

Gently they fell into rhythm, soft conversation and the crunching of popcorn filling the room. By the fifth game Hinata groaned loudly falling back on the bed.

“Why are you guys so good at every game we play? I never win against you two!” He whines, making Akaashi laugh at him and Kenma couldn’t help the small smirk that fell on his lips.

“I guess you’ll have to keep practicing.” Akaashi quipped, making Hinata whine. He abruptly stood up.

“I will beat you both! Just you wait!” He shouted and Akaashi’s brow raised.

“Oh, will you now?” He asked and Kenma felt like he couldn’t breathe as silent laughter wracked his body. Hinata was pouting but a curious expression crossed his face as he spotted the small black cat plush on Kenmas empty desk.

Hinata, being his usual curious self, reached over and picked it up, "Aww, this is cute! Where'd you get—"

"Don't touch that!" Kenma's voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and panicked.

Hinata startled, nearly dropping the plush as he instinctively pulled his hands back, his wide eyes flickering between Kenma and Akaashi. Kenma's chest rose and fell rapidly, his fingers clutching the blanket draped over his lap, his cards had been strewn across the bed falling to the floor, his entire body tense as if preparing for a fight.

Akaashi was the first to move, standing up and walking over to Hinata, reaching over with a careful, steady hand to place the plush back where it belonged. "It's okay, Kenma," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the tension crackling in the air. "Hinata didn't mean anything by it."

Hinata nodded rapidly, his scent spiking with concern. "Yeah, sorry, Kenma! I didn't know it was important. I wasn't trying to mess with your stuff or anything!"

Kenma blinked, realizing what he had done. His grip on the blanket loosened, and his expression shifted from panic to something more remorseful. "...Sorry. I just... I didn't mean to yell," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hinata offered a small, understanding smile as he spoke, "It's okay. Really. I shouldn’t have grabbed it."

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of Kenma’s outburst hanging between them. Kenma exhaled; his gaze distant. He shakily stood making his way to the desk and grabbing the plush holding it gently like it was his greatest treasure. 

"It’s the last thing Tetsuro gave me." His voice thick with something unspoken. 

Hinata and Akaashi exchanged a glance and slowly sat back on the bed looking at Kenma.

“Who’s Tetsuro?” Akaashi asked gently, like talking to a wild animal. The question was met with silence, but they patiently waited for Kenma to collect his thoughts.

“He was my mate…” He said his voice was shaky and Hinata let out a gasp, they had honestly known very little about Kenma, but Akaashi put a hand on Hinata’s shoulder shaking his head, silently telling Hinata to let Kenma talk.

“He was also my best friend.” He said, staring at the small plush in his hands. “He’s been by my side since I was born. I don’t really know when it happened, but we fell in love, we had our own house and had plans to even get married.” He sucked in a sharp breath before continuing.

"It was my birthday, we went to this festival our village always held for the fall harvest," Kenma's fingers curled around the plush tightly, as if it anchored him to the memory. "I didn’t even want to go. Too many people, too much noise. But Kuroo insisted. Said it would be fun; said he’d win me something to make it worth it."

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. "And of course, he did. He always did. He was good at stupid things like that; rigged games, convincing me to do things I didn’t want to. Honestly, he was good at nearly everything he did, I’m sure I’d be jealous if he wasn’t my alpha.” He gave a small watery smile to the plush in his hands.

“He always knew how to get me out of my comfort zone without pushing too hard. He was the ideal alpha. Handsome, strong, kind, funny, a good cook, he was the best and he was all mine."

Kenma's voice wavered, and he took a deep breath. "That night... was the last time things were normal. We were supposed to complete our bond. I was finally ready. He even joked about it being the best birthday present ever, having him as my mate. And he was right, it would have been the best gift I'd ever received."

Akaashi’s gaze softened, his posture shifting slightly, offering silent support. Hinata’s brows furrowed in quiet empathy, his usual energy subdued. They were watching their friend fall apart in real time, but they couldn’t do anything but listen.

"Then the attack happened." Kenma's voice grew quieter, his shoulders hunching inward. "Our village... It wasn’t even a fair fight. They came in the dead of night, alphas and betas armed to the teeth, looking for blood. We barely had any warning. Our home was lit on fire with us inside, Tetsuro…” his voice cracked as a sob shook his small frame.

“Tetsuro, ever the protector scooped me up, wrapped me in a blanket and ran down the stairs that were already on fire. The front was blocked so he smashed the back window so we could escape… But the beams came down, and Kuroo pushed me out of the way.” Kenma had to pause to compose himself.

“He was crushed and he… told me to leave, to run away. I didn’t want to; I wanted to stay and die with him.” He let out a few shaky breaths, “How could I leave him? How could I even live without him? But he wouldn’t let me. He made me promise to live."

Kenma's grip on the plush tightened until his knuckles turned white. "I climbed out the window…. And I looked back at him, bleeding, and dying, but he was smiling at me with that stupid grin. He knew he was going to die, and he used his last words to make me live on… I ran. Like a coward. I ran away."

His breath hitched, and he buried his face into the plush for a moment before looking up with glassy eyes. "I never saw him again after that. Just smoke. Fire. Screams. And I kept running until I couldn’t anymore." He began to sob, shaking violently.

“He took care of me until the very end. He truly thought of everything for me, even when our home was burning. I don’t even know when he did it but he grabbed my shoes… and he put this.” He held the small cat plush out to show them, “In the bag I brought out. God, he was such a brave man and I’m… I’m just a coward.” He finally broke in full sobs, unable to continue speaking

Akaashi stood up and reached out, placing a gentle hand on Kenma’s arm. "You weren’t a coward, Kenma. You survived. That’s what he wanted for you." Gently he led Kenma back to the bed to sit down.

Kenma swallowed thickly, shaking his head. "It doesn’t feel like surviving. It feels like I left him behind. He should be here. He should’ve been here for everything."

Hinata hesitated for a moment before scooting closer, his voice softer than usual. "It sounds like he really loved you, Kenma. And if he wanted you to live, then it means he wanted you to be happy. I think... he’d be really proud that you’re still here, trying to keep going."

Kenma let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "Yeah... maybe."

“No maybes, you just told us about this amazing alpha that cherished you more than life itself. If it was me and Natsu, I would want her to live and find joy again.” He said and began to scent Kenma gently.

“I know it is hard for you, but it will be okay. You don’t need to be perfectly healed already, just keep moving forward.” Akaashi squeezed his arm gently. "You're not alone anymore, Kenma. You don't have to carry this all by yourself."

Kenma glanced between them, his heart aching but lighter somehow. It wasn’t closure, not by a long shot, but he finally told someone else what happened. The trauma wasn’t only contained in his head anymore.

He wiped at his eyes, his voice hoarse but a little steadier. "...Thanks."

Hinata grinned softly. "Hey, anytime. Now come on, it’s time for a good omega cuddle pile!” He said and Akaashi nodded, both cuddling up to his sides, their tangerine and white jasmine scents surrounding the small broken omega. 

Kenma’s body was stiff at first, sandwiched between the two omegas as they pressed close. Hinata practically latched onto his arm like an overgrown cat, while Akaashi leaned comfortably against his side, his steady presence grounding. Slowly, as the warmth of their affection seeped into his frayed nerves, Kenma felt his shoulders drop and his breathing even out.

The small room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, and Kenma found himself melting into the rare stillness. Hinata shifted a little, nestling closer, his head now resting on Kenma’s shoulder. Akaashi didn’t say anything, but his hand gently found Kenma’s wrist, holding it in a way that felt supportive but unobtrusive.

And then, something unexpected happened.

Hinata blinked and sat up slightly, nose twitching like he’d just caught a whiff of something wonderful. Akaashi stilled beside Kenma, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he turned toward him.

“Kenma...” Hinata started softly, his voice almost reverent. “You—your scent—it’s...”

Akaashi smiled, a rare softness breaking through his usually composed expression. “It’s cinnamon apples,” he murmured.

Kenma frowned slightly, confused by their reactions. “What are you talking about?”

“We can actually smell you,” Hinata said, his grin wide and unrestrained, though his voice stayed gentle. “Like really, really smell you! You haven’t had much of a scent since you arrived here.” He confessed with a smile.

Kenma blinked, his lips parting as realization dawned. He hadn’t realized that his scent had been muted, weighed down by sadness and stress for so long that it barely lingered. The sour undertone, the faint trace of despair, had been there instead.

But now...

Akaashi leaned in slightly, taking in the warm, rich smell that reminded him of fresh-baked cinnamon apple pie on a crisp fall afternoon. It was comforting and nostalgic, with just the right hint of sweetness. “It’s so much stronger now,” Akaashi said softly, looking at Kenma with quiet pride. “You’re finally relaxing enough to let it come through.”

Kenma didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to people paying attention to his scent, let alone commenting on it like this. His natural scent had always been something Kuroo adored, something he teased him about and said smelled better than any store-bought candle or dessert. 

Kuroo loved to talk about how their scents complimented each other, like they were made for one another. Soulmates. Kenma thought that part of himself had been buried with Kuroo.

And yet here it was, wafting into the room, filling it with a piece of himself he thought he’d lost in the fire.

Hinata giggled, nudging Kenma’s arm. “I knew the cuddle pile would help. It’s basically magic.”

Kenma let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising even him. “Maybe you’re just persistent.”

“Both can be true,” Akaashi said with a faint smirk, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.

Kenma looked between them, his golden eyes softer now. The weight in his chest hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it felt manageable in a way it hadn’t in months. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a path forward, even if he didn’t know exactly where it would lead.

“You guys are annoying,” he mumbled, though his tone lacked any real heat.

“And you love it,” Hinata shot back, grinning shamelessly.

Kenma didn’t reply, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips, and the smell of cinnamon apples deepened, warming the room like a cozy fire on a cold winter’s night. 

For the first time since Kuroo’s death Kenma felt just a little bit like his old self.

Notes:

Shout out to one of my readers that commented they read my previous chapter with a song called Fog as a Bullet by The Marias.

I wrote this chapter listening to it on repeat, thank you for my new favorite song.

Also, the chapter is titled after "Heavy" by The Marias. Specifically, the lines, "Cause I don't wanna be in love with another even in another life." and "I just wanna be alone".

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and as always leave any comments I love reading them, it brings we such joy!
Goodbye my lovelies and have a wonderful rest of your day I'll see you on Friday!

Chapter 7: Where Do You Belong?

Summary:

Kenma finally meets the boss

Kenma had made friends with Akaashi and Hinata while staying in the west wing of the Karasuno manor, but he never thought he’d find himself truly integrating into the Syndicate. 

It had been about three months since Kuroo’s death and up until now, the manor had been a place of necessity, somewhere to exist, to recover, to avoid dying alone on the streets; then it became a semi-home where he got to be with his friends. He’d been kept at arm’s length, not because anyone had explicitly rejected him, but because he hadn’t made the effort to bridge that gap. Even when Hinata and Akaashi had pushed gently, trying to convince Kenam to meet everyone, he had stayed silent, preferring to hide in the west wing.

But after opening up to them, something in him had shifted. The weight of his grief was still there, but it no longer felt like an unmovable stone crushing his chest. Maybe it was time to take the next step forward, to stop merely existing and start living , even if it was just a little.

And apparently, that started with formally meeting Daichi and Sugawara.

Hinata was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he led Kenma toward the syndicate’s main office, Akaashi trailing beside them with a more subdued but still expectant energy.

“You already kind of met Suga, but this time it’s official,” Hinata said. “And Daichi can be a little intimidating at first, but he’s a good guy. Just, you know, try not to look like you’re going to bolt.”

Kenma scowled. “I don’t look like that.”

Akaashi hummed. “You do.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Kenma adjusted his posture, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets as they approached the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall. The scent hit him first; warm and rich, a blend of spiced cake with undertones of something smoky, tempered by the bright, sweet scent of strawberries. It was comforting, domestic in a way that made his chest ache with the memory of Kuroo.

Hinata knocked twice before pushing the door open. “Daichi! Suga! I brought Kenma!”

The office was neat and organized, but not sterile. It had a lived-in feel, with a couch along the side wall and shelves lined with books and small trinkets. A photo of Sugawara grinning caught Kenma’s eye. Sugawara looked younger, a large grin on his face. Akaashi bumped his shoulder lightly to draw his attention back to the alpha in front of him.

Behind a large mahogany desk sat who he assumed was Daichi, his presence immediately commanding. He was broad-shouldered and solid, his dark brown eyes sharp as they flickered to Kenma.

Beside him, perched casually on the edge of the desk, was Suga. His silver hair caught the dim light, and his expression was softer but no less perceptive. He had the kind of face that made people want to let their guard down, but Kenma could tell from the way he held himself that he wasn’t someone to underestimate.

Daichi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze was assessing but not unkind. “So. You’re Kenma.”

Kenma fought the urge to shrink under that scrutiny, keeping his expression neutral. “Yes, and you’re Sawamura-San and Sugawara-San.” He said softly, a slight bow to his head as he greeted them.

Suga smiled, tilting his head slightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you properly. And please just call me Suga and this grumpy old man Daichi.” He said with a grin, to which Daichi gave a fake exasperated eye roll. “You’ve been with us for a while now, but we haven’t had the chance to talk.”

Kenma nodded, shifting slightly on his feet. The air between them felt weighted, not hostile, but expectant. Like Daichi was waiting to see if Kenma would measure up to whatever unspoken standard he had.

“Have a seat,” Daichi said, nodding toward the chair across from his desk.

Kenma hesitated before stepping forward, lowering himself into the seat. Akaashi and Hinata flanked him on either side, a silent show of support which Kenma appreciated more than they’d ever know.

Daichi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I won’t sugarcoat things. You’re here because of a tragedy, and we’ve given you space to recover. But if you’re going to stay, I need to know where you stand. We’re not just a shelter, we’re a syndicate. We look out for each other, we work together, and we don’t take in strays who have no intention of contributing.”

Kenma stiffened, something bristling inside him at the implication. He opened his mouth to snap back, but Suga spoke first.

“Daichi,” Suga chided, nudging his mate’s arm. “Ease up a little.” His gaze softened as he turned to Kenma. “What he means is, we want you here, Kenma. But we also want to make sure you’re not just surviving. That’s no way to live.”

Kenma exhaled slowly, relaxing a little. Suga seemed to know just what to say at any given time.

He glanced down at his hands in his lap. “I don’t know what I can do,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’ll be able to help you, I’m not exactly a fighter in case you didn’t notice.”

“You don’t have to be,” Suga said easily. “We need more than just fighters. We need strategists, people who can think outside the box. From what I hear, you’re pretty good at that.”

Kenma blinked up at the grinning omega, caught off guard. “Who told you that?”

“I might have mentioned a few things. You have been on par with me since day one.” Akaashi said, and Kenma could hear the smirk on his tone. But he turned his head anyway to look at the masked omega, seeing the faint crinkle of his eyes confirming Kenma’s suspicions. 

Kenma shot him a mild glare, but it didn’t hold much heat, and he turned back to Daichi and Suga, shifting slightly in his seat. “I’m... willing to try. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I don’t want to be useless.”

Daichi held his gaze for a long moment, the stern look bore into Kenma, before he let out a small sigh and smiled, nodding his head. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Suga beamed, his strawberry scent blooming warmly in the room. “Good. Then let’s officially welcome you to the family.”

Kenma swallowed, something tight and unfamiliar settling in his chest. 

Family. 

He wasn’t ready for that yet, but maybe it would be better than aimlessly wandering in search of someone who was already long gone.

Suga stood, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, since you are going to officially be one of us, it’s time for a proper tour.”

Kenma hesitated, his fingers curling into his hoodie sleeves. “A tour?”

Daichi leaned back in his chair, smirking slightly. “You’ve been here for months, Kenma, but you’ve barely seen anything past the common rooms and your bedroom. It’s time you see what Karasuno manor actually is.”

Kenma glanced at Akaashi and Hinata, who both gave him encouraging looks. He exhaled slowly before nodding.

“Okay, head the way.” he says, as Suga grins wide.

Suga clapped his hands together. “Great! Let’s start with the heart of the manor.”

As they stepped out of the office, Kenma took in the details of the place with new eyes. The manor was massive , sprawling like an estate, with high ceilings and arching hallways lined with dark wooden paneling. Ornate chandeliers hung from the ceilings, their dim lighting casting a warm glow against the deep hues of the walls. Everything was polished but lived-in, exuding an air of controlled power and quiet sophistication.

Suga winked at him leaning in and whispering, “I decorated most of the base.” 

Kenma could tell the omega was proud of the home he had made of the manor.

They entered the grand hall, apparently it was the largest communal space in the manor. It was a high-ceilinged room with an open lounge area on one side and a long dining table on the other. A massive fireplace dominated the far wall, its embers still faintly glowing from an earlier fire. Plush leather couches were scattered around, and Kenma spotted a few members lounging, talking quietly, or checking their weapons.

“This is where everyone gathers to eat, talk, or unwind,” Suga explained. “Even the highest ranks sit here with everyone else, it keeps us grounded. Keeps us all feeling a little more human.” Suga’s voice seemed to soften to almost a sorrowful tone and the light in Suga’s eyes dimmed slightly. 

Daichi easily slid next to Suga nuzzling into his scent gland to comfort his mate. Kenma couldn’t help the creeping jealousy that curled around his heart. He would give anything to be like Suga, comforted by his lover….

But Kuroo was gone, no one would ever hold him close and nuzzle his neck, no one would ever make him so happy and comfortable again. 

Maybe it was stupid to think he'd never love another, but Kenma couldn’t see himself ever replacing Kuroo. How would you go about filling in for someone’s soulmate?

Kenma shook his head and forced himself to look around, noting how comfortable everyone seemed, despite the obvious hierarchy. It was different from what he had imagined a syndicate to be. Less cold, more... familial.

Suga smiled and put a hand on Daichi’s chest, soft words muttered to the alpha and turned to their group once more.

“Come see the internal living quarters.” Suga said, leading them down a quieter hallway, the air noticeably different here. The scent of alphas, betas, and omegas was more concentrated, but there was an underlying sense of peace, no tension to be found.

“This section is for those who need extra security,” Daichi explained. “Younger omegas, new recruits, and anyone needing protection stays here. We keep it guarded at all times.”

Kenma glanced at the thick steel doors lining the hallway, reinforced but discreet. There were cameras tucked into the corners, subtle but ever watching.

“This is where you’d stay if you ever wanted more safety,” Suga offered. “But you seem comfortable in your current room, Akaashi said you liked the proximity to the garden so there is no need to force yourself to stay here.”

Kenma simply nodded. He wasn’t sure where he felt safest yet. In the past wherever Kuroo was meant he was in the safest place. But now it didn’t really matter where he was, he never truly felt at ease.

Akaashi rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft smile under his mask as Suga and Daichi walked ahead of them.

The next area they entered was vastly different. As soon as the doors opened, the scent of sweat, metal, and exertion filled the air. The training grounds were massive. An open space equipped with sparring mats, weights, and various weapons lining the walls. A shooting range was tucked into the far corner, where a few members Kenma didn’t recognize were currently practicing.

Kenma tensed slightly at the sight of people fighting in the ring, moving with precise brutality as they traded blows and blocks. 

Kenma wasn’t a fighter, and he didn’t think he ever would be. In fact, the thought of fighting someone made his blood freeze.

“Don’t worry,” Suga said, catching his expression. “We won’t force you to fight. But you do need to know how to defend yourself.” 

“Don’t worry! I’ll teach you!” Hinata said, bouncing next to him.

Kenma bit his lip, watching as one of the alphas grappled someone to the mat with a sharp twist. He knew Suga was right.

He needed to be able to defend himself if he was going to stay here. So, he nodded at Hinata who gave a few joyous hoots.

Apparently, Kenma’s expression must have looked bad, because Daichi leaned closer to him and muttered a gentle. 

“We have hand-to-hand combat training, but also other means of defense,” Daichi added. “Some people specialize in weapons, others in strategy. You’ll find your place.”

“Okay.” Kenma said softly, Hinata was right, Daichi didn’t seem as scary as before.

Suga grinned and gently grasped Kenma’s hand, “I think you’ll love this room!”

As soon as the heavy steel doors slid open, the atmosphere shifted; cooler, quieter, humming with energy. High end computers filled the room, surveillance systems, monitors, and so many things Kenma couldn’t name.

Kenma grew up in a small, secluded village and technology had been very limited. The most Kenma had was a small Gameboy, a television, and a telephone that connected to others in the small town.

He looked around and in awe, completely unaware of the amused group behind him watching the omega take everything in.

“This is our tech department,” Suga grinned, “and based on your reaction, the place you will be spending most of your time.”

“From this room,” Daichi said. “We monitor rival factions, track shipments, and handle all digital operations.”

Kenma’s fingers twitched at the sight of the equipment. He might not be a fighter, but this was something he could do.

Suga seemed to notice, smiling knowingly. “If you’re interested, we can set you up with a station and get you familiar with all our operations. No pressure.”

Kenma swallowed, his chest feeling oddly warm. He hadn’t felt useful in a long time. And the thought of being able to do something other than sit in his room replaying the day everything went wrong filled him with a sense of life he hadn’t had for a while.

His mind stayed fixed on the tech lab, even as they continued the tour. Drifting back to the millions of questions he had about how to properly use all the devices. 

He was finally snapped from his thoughts when Daichi abruptly stopped. 

In front of them was a large, locked steel door at the end of the hall, Daichi turned serious, looking into Kenma’s eyes.

“This area is restricted,” he said. “Only trusted members are allowed in.”

Kenma eyed the heavy reinforced doors, the biometric scanners embedded in the walls. Whatever was in there, it wasn’t something he was meant to see at least, not yet.

“This is where we keep classified information, weapons stockpiles, and sensitive operations,” Suga explained. “One day, if you stay long enough, you might get access.”

Kenma wasn’t sure if he really wanted access. But something in him stirred at the thought of being trusted.

By the time they returned to Daichi’s office, Kenma’s mind was buzzing.

Suga nudged him lightly. “So? Thoughts?”

Kenma hesitated before answering.

“…It’s a lot,” he admitted.

Daichi chuckled. “It is. But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Just take it one step at a time.”

Kenma nodded slowly. One step at a time. Maybe he could do that.

“Why don’t you take a seat? We can talk about all of the departments we have in our syndicate.” Daichi said as he sat into the large chair at his desk gesturing to the couch and armchairs across from him.

Kenma nodded and sat in the armchair. Akaashi, Hinata, and Sugawara sat on the couch. Akaashi was the closest to him and gave him a nod of support, making Kenma let out a small breath he hadn’t known he was keeping in.

This oddly felt like a meeting with your principal and parents when you did something wrong at school. 

Daichi shuffled through the stack of papers on his desk before pulling out a blank sheet, tapping his pen against the surface in thought. His sharp eyes flicked toward Kenma, assessing him in that careful way a leader did before making a crucial decision.

“There are several teams that make up our operations,” he began, voice steady but carrying the weight of authority, the scent of spice cake filling the room. “Each one serves a specific role in keeping our syndicate running smoothly. Before we decide where you fit best, you need to understand what each division does.”

Kenma nodded, staying silent. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to fit in here, but he had no choice but to listen.

Daichi’s gaze didn’t waver as he continued. “The largest unit by far is our combat division. It’s broken into multiple factions; hand-to-hand combat, infiltration, bodyguarding, weapons specialists, and training.”

Before Daichi could elaborate, Hinata perked up, grinning. “That’s my team!” he said, practically bouncing in his seat. “I specialize in hand-to-hand combat and infiltration.” His bright energy was a stark contrast to the grim nature of the topic, but somehow, it fit him.

Daichi allowed a small, fond smile to tug at his lips before turning back to Kenma. “Combat is the backbone of any syndicate, but not everyone is suited for it, however, most of our other teams do still have combat skills in case we ever need them in the field.” His eyes flickered over Kenma’s slight frame, as if already knowing the answer before Kenma could even reject the idea.

Kenma remained still, offering no reaction. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he wasn’t cut out for fighting, and he had no desire to throw himself into the line of fire.

Daichi moved on. “Then we have our dealers. This team is split into two factions: arms dealing and drug distribution.”

Kenma stiffened slightly at the mention of drugs.

Suga, noticing his unease, stepped in smoothly. “We don’t condone it, but in this line of work, you don’t get the luxury of clean hands,” he said, his voice quieter now, more solemn. “The money keeps everything running. Without it, we’re vulnerable to other crime families.”

Kenma exhaled slowly, mulling over those words. He hated the idea of drugs, of people being used and destroyed by them, but he wasn’t naïve. He knew the world they lived in didn’t care about ethics.

“I get it,” he murmured, eyes dropping to his lap. “But I don’t want to be involved in that side of things. If I can request that.”

Daichi nodded immediately, jotting something down on his paper. “We don’t force anyone to do what they’re not comfortable with,” he reassured. “Your preference is noted.”

Kenma felt a small amount of tension leave his body, though the weight of everything still pressed heavily on his shoulders.

“The next division is intelligence,” Daichi continued, leaning back slightly. “This team is responsible for gathering and trading intel, tracking enemies, and making sure we always have the upper hand in information warfare.” He paused before adding, “There’s also a more… specialized faction within intelligence.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow.

Suga answered for him. “Interrogation.”

Kenma’s expression didn’t change, but he understood what that meant immediately. Torture.

“We only have two members on that team,” Daichi clarified, as if to reassure him. “And we aren’t planning to expand it unless absolutely necessary.”

Kenma gave a slow nod, unwilling to ask more. That was a line he wasn’t willing to cross, and it seemed they weren’t going to push him toward it.

“The next team is our sniper unit,” Daichi continued. “Self-explanatory. Precision shooting, assassinations, long-range combat. We don’t have a large team for this, but the ones we do have are among our most skilled.”

Kenma hummed in acknowledgment. That definitely wasn’t for him.

“Then there’s the cleanup unit,” Daichi said. “They make sure nothing can be traced back to us. Crime scenes, evidence disposal, covering our tracks, you get the idea.”

Kenma resisted the urge to shudder. This entire world is so far from what he was used to…

Daichi placed his pen down and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “And finally, we have the technological division, our strategists and hackers. This team is the heart of our operations in many ways. A syndicate survives not just through brute strength, but through intelligence, planning, and control over information.”

Akaashi straightened slightly at the mention of his field, his sharp eyes locking onto Kenma’s. “I lead the strategy team,” he said, his tone calm but carrying an undercurrent of confidence. “While I’m proficient in hacking, it isn’t my specialty. That’s why I wanted to see your potential.”

Kenma’s brows furrowed slightly. “My potential?”

Akaashi nodded. “All the games we played together, the small challenges I threw at you, they weren’t just for fun.” Kenma could see the outline of a smirk under Akaashi’s mask. “I was evaluating you.”

Kenma stiffened, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. So that’s what that was…

Kenma stared at Akaashi, processing the information. He should have expected something like this; the way Akaashi had been subtly analyzing him, the carefully chosen games, the strategic questioning. It wasn’t just casual fun.

“You were testing me,” Kenma said, his voice flat.

Akaashi didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Kenma let out a slow exhale, weighing how he felt about that. On one hand, he didn’t like being tricked into something without realizing it. He crossed his arms and glanced at Hinata, who seemed as surprised as he was. “And?”

Akaashi leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “You’re fast. You adapt quickly. You recognize patterns instinctively, and more importantly, you know how to manipulate systems to your advantage. You have every skill necessary to become a top-tier hacker.”

Kenma blinked at the certainty in his voice. He had always been good with games, good with the little tech he had access to in his small village, but he had never thought of it as anything more than a hobby to keep himself entertained. Now, it was being treated as something valuable.

Daichi nodded, tapping his pen against the paper. “We don’t need an answer right this second, but if you’re open to it, we’d like to start you on small-scale tasks in intelligence; specifically, cyber operations. Our hackers are stretched thin with the growing number of syndicates popping up in Japan, and having an extra set of hands would be a huge asset.”

Kenma hesitated, his fingers twitching against his sleeves, he closed his eyes to think and took a deep breath. Allowing himself to think of Kuroo, of what he would say.

He’d smile, put an arm on his shoulder and tell him to go for it, that he would excel in it and should push to be the best.

Kenma couldn’t help the small smile that fell on his lips as he thought about how supportive Kuroo had always been. How he’d always believed in Kenma wholeheartedly. 

Kenma had never seen himself as part of something like this. He wasn’t a fighter; wasn’t confident he could be an amazing strategist like Daichi and Akaashi were. But this? Hacking, gathering information, working behind the scenes, that was something he could probably do.

And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like he was drifting aimlessly.

“…What would I be doing?” he asked, cautious but interested. 

Daichi and Akaashi exchanged a glance before Suga leaned in with a grin, his strawberry scent bright and excited, as he reached a handout for Kenma to take. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Hinata let out a loud cheer, as he hopped up and ran out of the door bouncing on the balls of his feet. Kenma couldn’t help but smile at the hyper omega, his bright energy infectious. Akaashi led the way back down the hall to the tech room. Hinata excitedly chattered to Kenma, happy that his friend would be staying in the manor. Suga and Daichi followed behind them, chuckling at the hyper omega. 

They entered the tech room, but this time Akaashi led him deeper in. Going through a small door Kenma hadn’t noticed in their prior visit.

The new room was filled with the low hum of computers and the quiet clicking of keyboards. It was dimly lit, the glow from multiple monitors casting blue light over the desks. Several people were working, their eyes flicking between screens displaying lines of code, surveillance footage, and encrypted messages.

Kenma took it all in, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Akaashi guided him to an office, “this is my office, so you won’t be disturbed while we evaluate.” He explained as he set a laptop in front of him. The screen was filled with a jumbled mess of code and data. “We intercepted an encrypted message from a rival syndicate earlier today. Our usual guys are working on other assignments, so let’s see if you can decrypt this faster than them.”

Suga stepped in and handed him a tablet, “Here are the previous encryptions we have deciphered. Obviously, we aren’t going to just throw you in with nothing to go off of.”  

Kenma’s eyes flickered back and forth to the two screens, scanning the lines of code. 

The encryption was high-level, that much was clear. But Kenma quickly noted several similar lines of code from the already deciphered side, just slightly altered. 

He had seen similar structures in the coding challenges and gaming servers Akaashi had given him in the past.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. This was different from hacking into games or cracking hidden Easter eggs in software. This was real.

He bit his lip, for a moment he thought he would never be able to do it. But gentle words seemed to flood his head, “You can do anything you put your mind to, my Aster.” 

The soft words, all in his head, were enough to push him forward and he quickly jumped into action. His hands moved on instinct. He started working through the code, identifying weak points, tracing the patterns in the encryption. Minutes passed in silence; the only sound was the rapid tapping of keys.

Akaashi and Suga watched from behind, observing closely. Daichi had his hand over Hinata’s mouth, keeping the young omega from shouting and breaking the others' concentration.

Kenma narrowed his eyes. There it was a vulnerability in the algorithm. He rewrote a segment of code, bypassed a firewall, and within seconds, the text unscrambled into readable Japanese.

[Shipment arriving at the east docks. Midnight. Cargo: Restricted inventory.]

Kenma leaned back, blinking. “That’s it?”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You cracked that in seven minutes.”

Suga whistled. “Damn. That’s faster than some of our full-time hackers.”

Daichi chuckled and released Hinata who immediately hugged Kenma close. The alpha glanced at the decrypted message and nodded. “Good work. We’ll have a team check it out.” He turned to Kenma. “That’s the kind of work you’d be doing. Decrypting intercepted intel, hacking into rival systems, tracking digital footprints.”

Kenma stared at the screen, his heartbeat steady. This was… different. It wasn’t just playing around on a computer. It had weight. Purpose.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was useful.

Akaashi nudged him. “So? Think you can handle it?”

Kenma exhaled slowly before turning back to the screen. His fingers were already itching to move.

“…Yeah,” he said. “I think I can.”

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!

I hope you enjoyed this early chapter!

I was wondering if you guys would like if I posted three times a week on Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday instead of just two times a week?

Let me know how you feel in the comments and please keep commenting any thoughts or theories (they might influence the story who knows)

See you all on Friday!!

Chapter 8: Passing Through

Summary:

Kenma meets the inner Karasuno family

To say Suga was ecstatic that Kenma had decided to join their crime family was an understatement. The second after the agreement was made Suga was pulling Kenma to meet some of their other members. 

Kenma wasn’t sure how he felt about being paraded around like a new puppy. He understood the necessity. Acclimating to the Karasuno Syndicate meant knowing who was who, but he didn’t particularly care or want to meet anyone new.

While it was true that he had decided to join Karasuno, and it was true he had accepted friendship with Hinata and Akaashi. It didn’t stop the gnawing thoughts that he was betraying Kuroo by being happy.

The ache in his chest hadn’t dulled much, and Kuroo’s absence remained a raw wound beneath the surface. Even now, standing in the dimly lit hall beside Daichi and Suga, the scents of unfamiliar alphas and omegas swirling in the air made his stomach twist.

Too many new faces. Too much change.

Kenma had never liked change in the first place, he preferred to stay in his own bubble and only leave that bubble when Kuroo gently led him out.

But Kenma didn’t have the luxury of isolation anymore, nor did he have the luxury of being led to happiness by his lover.

Who knew that would be a luxury instead of a guarantee?

Suga stood beside him with an easy smile, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The omega’s scent, strawberry orchard, was a quiet reassurance, not too overwhelming. “I promise we won’t throw too much at you at once,” he said. “Just a few introductions, and if you need a break, you can let us know.”

Kenma only nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak, he knew he would tell them he couldn’t do this and run back to his room, but he wasn’t able to do that anymore. 

Daichi crossed his arms, his expression steady but unreadable. His spice cake scent was warm and rich, always giving the air of total control. An alpha that didn’t overstep, but whose presence demanded attention. He exuded leadership, much like Kuroo once did, but where Kuroo had been teasing and fluid, Daichi was grounded, unwavering.

“Don’t worry.” Was all the alpha said as they entered the common room.

Kenma kept his gaze low but glanced up at the alpha to give him a gentle nod. The common room was spacious, several tables, couches, chairs, and even a gaming system hooked up to a large flat screen TV.  A few members were scattered around, some cleaning weapons, others going over notes, a few just sitting and talking.

Suga grinned at Kenma and led him inside the common room, “Here, come on in.”

“This is Asahi,” Daichi started, nodding toward a tall, broad-shouldered alpha sitting at a table, flipping through documents. His presence was formidable but not suffocating. There was something almost gentle and familiar about him, despite his size.

Asahi glanced up, dark eyes meeting Kenma’s. “Oh,” he said, setting the papers aside. His scent, pine, was tinged with a citrus scent and drifted through the air, steady and grounding. “How are you feeling?”

Kenma’s face scrunched in confusion and Suga stepped in.

“Asahi’s our head medic. He’s the one that took care of you when we first found you.” Suga explained. 

That made a lot more sense now, Kenma gave a slight bow of his head, “Thank you.” He murmured and Asahi seemed to become flustered instantly.

“Oh! Don’t worry it’s my job!” He shouted waving his hands in front of himself quickly, and Suga began to laugh while Daichi tried to muffle his laughter with a hand over his mouth. Kenma observed the dynamic of the three, obviously Daichi and Suga were mates, and they seemed awfully close to Asahi. It was obvious they were all close friends by their behavior. 

A mating mark on Asahi’s neck caught his eye, which explained the citrus that clung to Asahi’s pine scent, and Kenma briefly wondered who his mate was before he was pulled from his thoughts by Suga’s voice.

“Asahi is a big teddy bear, a lot of members are scared of him at first, but once you get to know him, it’s pretty obvious that he isn’t a threat.” The omega said grinning at the mentioned alpha, who sighed and nodded his head in agreement. 

“I’ll be the one handling most of your medical needs from here on out,” Asahi added. “If anything feels off; headaches, fatigue, anything, just let me know.” He said with a small smile.

Kenma hesitated. Kuroo had been the one to remind him of things like that. To nudge him to eat, to rest, to take care of himself. The thought of someone else, an alpha no less, stepping into that role felt... wrong.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice quieter than he intended.

Asahi studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod, as if deciding not to push. “Alright,” he said simply. “But still, don’t hesitate. Making sure our members are healthy is literally my job.” He finished with a sheepish smile.

Kenma didn’t respond to him, instead simply turning to Suga, who understood it was time to move on to other introductions. 

Suga led him further in, toward another omega sitting curled up in a small window nook, typing away at a laptop with practiced ease. Unlike Suga’s playful aura, this omega carried himself with quiet efficiency. He smelled like vanilla and honey, warm but quite subtle, it curled around Kenma, familiar but not intrusive. But there was an almost smokey alpha scent that clung to him, probably a courting partner of sorts that had scented him.

The thought made Kenma’s chest ache with longing, he missed Kuroo scenting him, missed the way their scents mixed together perfectly, like they were made for each other. 

“This is Ennoshita,” Daichi said. “He’s our head of intel gathering. If you need information, he can find it.”

Ennoshita barely looked up from his screen. “You were the only survivor from Hakone, weren’t you?” he asked, his voice calm, measured. “I looked into you, I’m sorry about your mate.”

Kenma tensed. Ennoshita wasn’t being cruel, just stating facts. But the blunt reminder of his loss really hurt. Kenma missed the glare Suga shot at Ennoshita. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say. The omega in front of him softened considerably.

“Sorry, that was… abrupt. I lost my home too, it gets better, I promise.” He said softly and Kenma couldn’t help but look up at Ennoshita. 

The omega’s sharp brown eyes studied him, that gaze made Kenma squirm. “I heard you will be part of our hacking and strategy team.”

“I don’t know much, so I'll try to be useful, I guess.” He said and Ennoshita nodded.

“Trying is more than most can do,” he said simply. “I heard you’re good with strategy. That’ll be useful here.”

Kenma shifted under his gaze, unsure what to say.

Suga chuckled. “Ennoshita is pretty blunt, but he’s a good guy,” he said, bumping his hip lightly against Kenma’s. “You’ll get used to him.”

Ennoshita rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

Before Kenma could dwell too much on the interaction, Daichi led him toward another cluster of syndicate members. Two figures stood near the far end of the room. One was a tall and lean alpha; the other was a much shorter omega, but he radiated an unmistakable sharpness.

“Lev and Yaku,” Daichi introduced. “Lev is one of our bodyguards and an arms dealer. Yaku’s one of our trainers and a combat expert. He also does some hacking, so you’ll probably see him fairly often.”

Kenma remembered Yaku’s name from one of Hinata’s stories, apparently, he taught his little sister Natsu. But before he could fully process the memory, the silver haired alpha was towering over him. His cypress scent was sharp and powerful, it hit Kenma immediately, almost too strong.

“Woah! You’re the new omega, right?” Lev blurted out, eyes wide with curiosity.

Kenma took an instinctive step back, his body tense. He didn’t like how close Lev was.

Before he could say anything, the omega beside him elbowed Lev hard in the side making the alpha double over with a whine. “Back off , Idiot,” Yaku snapped.

Lev winced, clutching his side. “Ow! What was that for Mori? I was just saying hi—”

“You don’t just loom over an omega like that, idiot.” Yaku huffed before turning to Kenma. He smelled of cedar and vanilla, it was a grounding smell, much less overwhelming than Levs. His sharp brown eyes studied Kenma for a moment, then softened.

“Sorry about him,” he said. “He’s got no spatial awareness. But he really doesn’t mean any harm.”

Kenma blinked. The dynamic was familiar, almost comforting . Almost. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered, though his body was still tense.

Lev beamed. “See? He’s cool with it.” 

Lev had straightened himself up and curled an arm around Yaku, who simply rolled his eyes but didn’t push the alpha away.

“You’re an idiot.” Was all Yaku said

Kenma exhaled slowly, trying to ground himself.

Daichi seemed to pick up on his exhaustion because he clapped a firm hand on Lev’s shoulder. “Alright, that’s enough for now,” he said. “We’ll introduce you to more of the team later.”

Suga gave Kenma a knowing look. “Want a break before the next round?”

Kenma swallowed, the weight of everything pressing against his ribs. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was a lot.

Still, he had no choice but to adapt.

“No,” he said quietly. “Let’s just... get it over with.”

Suga and Daichi exchanged glances but didn’t argue.

“Alright,” Daichi said, motioning him forward, back into the hall. “Koushi and I have a meeting, so Akaashi will take over from here if that’s alright?”

Kenma nodded. Relieved to have Akaashi around again. He followed the duo silently down the halls, his mind still spinning with new faces, new scents, and the hollow space Kuroo left behind pressed heavier than ever.

Kuroo always loved meeting new people.

Kenma barely had time to steady himself before they entered another part of the hideout. Unlike the open common area, this space was quieter, dimly lit, with the soft hum of monitors and low conversation. The shift in atmosphere was immediate, less bustling than before, more controlled. He didn’t recall this area on the tour.

Akaashi was already waiting, standing near a long table stacked with maps, files, and scattered notes. His mask still in place making him look intimidating, but the familiar scent of white jasmine filled Kenma’s senses making the omega relax a bit. 

“You didn’t run off,” Akaashi noted, his sharp gaze sweeping over Kenma as if scanning for cracks.

Kenma sighed. “Not yet.”

Akaashi’s eyes crinkled at the corner, alerting Kenma of the small smile under his mask before gesturing for Kenma to follow, bidding Suga and Daichi a goodbye. “This is one of the intel rooms, we keep maps and archives here.” He explained showing Kenma the large map of Japan on the table. It had several highlighted areas and sticky notes littering its surface. 

“I’ll tell you all about the map in a few days, so don’t worry about it right now.” He said, noticing how Kenma studied the map intently. “Come on, I have a few people for you to meet.” 

The first person Akaashi led him to was an alpha lounging against a wall, rifle strap slung over his shoulder. His posture was lazy, but his sharp, hooded eyes tracked Kenma with a level of awareness that felt practiced.

“Suna,” Akaashi said. “One of our snipers. He also works as a bodyguard when needed.”

Kenma briefly noted that Suna smelled like petrichor, that crisp scent of damp earth after rain. It wasn’t overpowering, but it carried a weight to it, something grounding yet unpredictable.

The alpha gave Kenma a once-over before letting out a slow exhale. “You don’t look like a fighter,” he remarked. 

Kenma frowned. “I’m not, I’m a hacker.” 

Suna hummed in response, “That makes more sense. Well, if Akaashi likes you, you must be good.” He adds, pushing off the wall.

Kenma wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a compliment, but he let it slide.

Before he could dwell on it, another figure approached, his dark curls framing an impassive face. His posture was rigid, his movements deliberate, controlled. Kenma was quick to notice the black mask on his face identical to Akaashis. 

“This is Sakusa,” Akaashi said. “He’s part of the cleanup crew.”

Kenma took a half step back instinctively.

Sakusa’s scent, amber, thick and resinous with a hint of spice, was strong, almost suffocating in its intensity. The alpha didn’t say anything at first, simply studying Kenma with quiet scrutiny.

“You look scrawny,” Sakusa finally said, blunt but not dismissive. “But you must be useful if Daichi and Suga are keeping you.”

Kenma bristled slightly, but before he could respond, Akaashi sighed. “Sakusa, try not to sound like you’re evaluating a new weapon.”

Sakusa didn’t even flinch. “It’s a fair assessment, especially in this line of work.” he said simply before turning back to Kenma. “If you get involved with the cleanup crew, don’t get in the way.”

“I don’t plan on it,” Kenma muttered, already exhausted, and with that Sakusa was leaving. Kenma watched him leave and looked over to his omega friend.

“He also wears a mask. Is it for the same reason as you?” He asked gently and Akaashi shook his head.

“Sakusa has Mysophobia.” He said but then seemed to think for a moment, “Well… something could have happened in the past that kickstarted his fear through trauma but I’m not certain.” he explained, and Kenma nodded.

“So, he uses a mask because of germs, and you use it to hide?” Akaashi nodded in confirmation.

“More or less. That being said, sorry about him, he’s a bit peculiar.” Akaashi said before leading Kenma further into the intel room. “Speaking of peculiar people, those two are Ushijima and Tendou.”

Kenma could already feel the weight of the next introduction before Akaashi even said their names.

The alpha standing before him was tall and muscular, much more imposing than Asahi. His build was pure strength, broad-shouldered with an aura of absolute certainty. There was no arrogance in his stance, just an unwavering stillness, like a force of nature that didn’t concern itself with anything outside its path.

“This is Ushijima,” Akaashi said. “Head of the torture unit, and a combat specialist.”

Kenma swallowed, that seemed to make quite a bit of sense. 

It took Kenma a moment to place the alpha’s scent, oud wood, deep and almost smoky settled over him like an unavoidable presence.

The alpha looked at him, his expression unreadable. “You don’t appear physically strong,” Ushijima observed, his voice low and even. “But Akaashi does not waste time with incompetence.”

Kenma wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring or terrifying.

He settled for a wary nod.

And then—

“I told you to stop scaring the newbies, Ushiwaka.”

The new voice was playful, laced with amusement.

Kenma turned just in time to see an omega with wild red hair drape himself over Ushijima’s shoulder like it was second nature. His rich hazelnut chocolate scent easily mixed with the alphas strong scent creating a much richer and inviting smell.

“This is Tendou,” Akaashi said, already exasperated. “Torture unit and drug dealer.”

Tendou grinned wide. “You don’t have to say it like it’s a bad thing, Keiji,” he teased, then turned to Kenma with an appraising look. “So, you’re the lost little kitten, huh?”

Kenma stiffened, but Tendou didn’t seem to mind.

Instead, he only hummed. “Relax, I’m not going to bite. Well… unless you’re into that.” He purred with a wink leaning closer into Kenma’s personal space.

Kenma just stared .

Akaashi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tendou.”

“What?” Tendou laughed. “I’m just being friendly and considerate!” He said with mock hurt, leaning back onto Ushijima. 

Kenma wasn’t sure what he expected from the Karasuno Syndicate’s torture unit, but he was definitely unprepared for this .

Tendou only smirked at his expression. “You’ll get used to me,” he said, rocking back on his heels. But from the loud sigh Akaashi let out, Kenma wasn’t quite sure that was true.

Ushijima, who hadn’t reacted to Tendou hanging off him the entire time, finally spoke. “Satori is efficient at what he does,” he said simply, but Kenma noticed the ever so slight softening of the alpha’s face as he looked at the other omega. “Though he lacks restraint.”

“I like to call it enthusiasm, ” Tendou corrected, flashing a sharp smile, before burying his head into the alpha’s scent gland. The duo bid them goodbye and headed out, apparently Daichi had a job for them. Kenma didn’t want to think of what that meant. 

His head was starting to hurt from all the new smells he was being bombarded with. 

Akaashi, as if sensing his limit, finally placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough for now,” he said. “You’ll meet them all again soon enough.”

Kenma barely nodded, already feeling the weight of everything pressing against him.

Too many names. Too many scents. Too many people who weren’t Kuroo.

Akaashi’s hand remained firm on his shoulder, anchoring him. “Take a breath,” he said quietly. “You’re doing good.”

Kenma exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay grounded.

He wasn’t fine. Not really.

But he would survive.

And right now, that was enough.

By the time Kenma stepped out of the tech division’s space, his head was already pounding. Too many people, too many conversations, too many scents pressing against him, demanding his attention. 

He wanted nothing more than to go to his room, and collapse onto his bed, but he wasn’t done yet. Apparently Hinata really wanted to introduce Kenma to his own friends in the syndicate. 

So off he went again, being pulled along by an excited Hinata deep into the manor.

Hinata was bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with energy. His bright tangerine scent flared with enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the previous weighty introductions.

“Okay, okay, my turn now!” Hinata beamed, turning to Kenma with an expectant look.

Kenma sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” Hinata chirped, grabbing Kenma’s wrist and dragging him forward before he could argue.

Kenma groaned but let himself be pulled along. As much as he loved Hinata, right now he wanted to sleep like the dead.

Hinata led him through another section of the hideout, one that was far louder. The air buzzed with sharp laughter, the clash of training weapons, and the heavy scent of sweat and aggression.

“Welcome to the more chaotic side of the syndicate,” Hinata grinned, waving an arm.

Kenma tensed.

The first-person Kenma saw was standing near a table lined with firearms, methodically inspecting and cleaning them. 

The alpha’s head shot up when Hinata walked in, Kenma watched as the alpha’s eyes locked onto his friend. A nearly unreadable expression on the alpha’s face.

Kenma would unpack that later.

The moment the alpha’s eyes flicked up to Kenma, his presence hit, a solid wave of dark chocolate, rich and sharp.

Kenma’s shoulders stiffened.

“This is Kageyama!” Hinata introduced cheerfully. “He’s one of our arms dealers and also in the sniper unit! He’s super serious about guns, so don’t even think about touching his stuff without asking.”

Hinata’s tone sounded like he had done that exact thing and paid for it.

Kageyama scowled. “Obviously.”

Kenma held his gaze, unimpressed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Kageyama gave him a once-over before grunting in what might’ve been approval. “Good.”

The alpha didn’t seem particularly interested in further conversation and went back to examining his weapons.

Hinata huffed, nudging Kageyama with his elbow. “Don’t be rude, dumbass.”

“I wasn’t,” Kageyama muttered and Hinata sighed loudly.

“This idiot is also a firearm specialist; guns are all he really thinks about.” He said and the alpha’s hand shot out to grab Hinata’s face, but the omega laughed loudly as he dodged the alpha’s strikes.

Kenma would definitely be talking to Hinata about his relationship with Kageyama later. 

Kenma sighed, getting the other boy's attention, “Moving on?” Kenmas asked and Hinata’s face lit up again as he pulled Kenma toward the next group, barely shouting a goodbye to Kageyama.

Before Kenma could blink, a broad-shouldered alpha with a shaved head and a cocky smirk slung an arm around Hinata’s shoulder, dragging him into a headlock.

“You brought in another stray, Shoyo?” the man teased, ruffling Hinata’s hair.

“Tanaka, let go!” Hinata whined, flailing.

Kenma took a half-step back as Tanaka’s scent of mahogany filled the space. It was warm but intimidating, carrying the sheer force of someone who was used to standing his ground. The scent was familiar, but he was too tired to try and figure out why. He’d ask those questions later. 

“Tanaka,” Hinata grumbled as he finally broke free, fixing his hair. “This is Kenma. Be nice.”

Tanaka grinned, baring teeth. “Nice? Are you sure you brought him to the right place?”

Kenma stared at the loud alpha, unimpressed. “I’m starting to wonder.”

Tanaka barked out a laugh, clearly delighted. “I like this guy.”

Hinata sighed. “You would . ”

Kenma barely had time to recover before the next introduction quite literally launched itself at him.

A blur of motion and energy crashed into his personal space, and Kenma barely managed to hold back a wince as a sharp, zesty scent, lemons and lavender, bright yet oddly grounding, filled the air.

“Holy shit, Shoyo, you didn’t tell me he was this tiny! ”

Kenma immediately took a step back. “Excuse me?” The omega in front of him was shorter than he was, so why the hell was he calling Kenma tiny?

The omega before him grinned wide, practically bouncing on his feet.

“Nishinoya,” Hinata introduced, unfazed. “We just call him Noya. He’s part of infiltration and specializes in weapons.”

Noya beamed. “Knives, specifically. Blades are just so much more fun than guns, don’tcha think?”

Kenma stared. “I… don’t know if fun is the right word.”

Noya hummed, tapping a blade against his palm. “Guess we’ll see.”

Kenma wasn’t sure whether to be unsettled or intrigued. 

Tanaka slung an arm around Noya’s shoulders and Kenma finally noticed a bond mark on the omega’s scent gland. “Don’t worry, short stuff. We’ll whip you into shape in no time.”

Kenma scowled, tuning back into the conversation. “I’m not short . ”

Tanaka and Noya exchanged glances.

Hinata, despite being just as short, muttered under his breath, “Yeah, okay.”

Kenma pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already regret this.”

Tanaka laughed, and Noya clapped a hand on his back, completely unbothered by Kenma’s deadpan tone.

“Don’t sweat it, Kenma,” Noya grinned. “You’ll fit right in.”

Kenma seriously doubted that.

But there was no need to voice those thoughts right now.

Thank Gods for small mercies because Hinata noticed how exhausted Kenma looked and decided to let him go back to his room on his own, saying he’d stay and train. 

Kenma slowly trudged back to his room across the manor, he was starting to rethink where his room was. Maybe taking Suga up on the offer to move to the inner manor was worth it?

As the door to his small room clicked shut behind him, the silence was immediate. It felt unnatural after hours of being surrounded by voices, scents, and presences that weren’t his.

His knees hit the bed, letting himself fall forward onto the mattress. His hands instinctively reached for the worn, black jacket folded neatly on his pillow.

Kuroo’s jacket.

His fingers trembled as he clutched it, pulling it close to his chest, pressing his nose into the fabric.

Nothing.

No nutmeg. No smoke and warmth. No Kuroo.

It hadn’t smelt like Kuroo for several weeks now, but Kenma’s heart always shattered when he’d try to pick up even the faintest scent, but there was nothing. 

The breath in his throat hitched, his grip tightening like that alone could pull the scent back from the void, like it could bring back the mate he’d lost.

“…I think you would’ve laughed at me today,” Kenma mumbled into the jacket. "Or maybe you would’ve been proud. Probably both.” His voice was flat, but the slight waver betrayed him.

He exhaled shakily, shifting so that he curled further into himself, the jacket still wrapped tightly in his arms.

“I met a lot of people today, Kuro.” He spoke the words slowly, testing them like he wasn’t sure they were real. “Too many, honestly. You were always much better at meeting new people than I was. It was overwhelming. I don’t even know how I managed to hold a conversation with that many people, but Suga and Daichi made sure of it. You’d like them, I think. Daichi reminds me of you.”

His lips twitched faintly.

“He’s an alpha, obviously,” Kenma continued, staring at the ceiling. “He’s strict, but warm. Feels safe. A little bit like you. He smells like spice cake… not nutmeg, but close enough, I guess. Not the same.” His voice softened at the end, and he instinctively pulled Kuroo’s jacket up over his chin, as if it could shield him from the truth.

Kenma sighed, shifting again, rolling onto his side. The blanket pooled around him, but it wasn’t enough to shake off the cold loneliness curling in his chest.

“And Suga’s nice,” he murmured. “Kind of scary in his own way, but he’s an omega like me. He smells like strawberries, it's really strong, honestly, but comforting. And then there’s Akaashi, he’s quiet, but I like him, he’s the friend I’ve been telling you about. He plays games, like us. He reminds me of you, too. Too smart for his own good."

His throat tightened.

"Everyone kept trying to make me feel like I belong," Kenma admitted. “But you know me, Kuro. I don’t belong anywhere that isn’t with you…”

Silence answered him.

“I know you wouldn’t want me to say that. I know you want me to be happy and find somewhere I belong again.”

Kenma swallowed hard, rolling onto his back again, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be there instead.

“You probably would’ve teased me about today.” His voice softened, eyes growing hazy with exhaustion. “You’d call me a shut-in, say that I need to socialize more. You always said that, remember? ‘Come on, Kenma, you got to get out of the house. You’ll turn into a cave gremlin.’”

Kenma let out a small, breathy chuckle, but it cracked midway through.

“…You weren’t supposed to leave me first.” The words were barely above a whisper.

He pressed his face deeper into the jacket, like it could somehow bring him back, like he could hold onto the last pieces of Kuroo before they slipped through his fingers completely.

“I don’t even know if I belong here, Kuro. But… I tried today. I really tried.”

Kenma’s breath slowed. His body curled in tighter, exhaustion finally winning as his mind drifted.

“…You would’ve been proud of me.”

His voice was barely there now, fading into the quiet room.

The last thing he felt before sleep took him was the phantom sensation of fingers running through his hair.

A memory.

A ghost of warmth.

And then the darkness of sleep.

Notes:

I was religiously listening to Passing Through (Can't the Future Just Wait) by Kayden Mackay while writing this.

It is official I will be posting 3 times a week!

Also, during chapter 15 I will be posting a separate work in this series which will have drawn pictures of the characters and how they look. There will be two chapters in the work each with 8-character designs and more in-depth background on their backstory in this AU. The first section will be posted with Chapter 15, and the second section doesn't have an official release time, but I'm working on it!

I can't wait for you guys to see the designs I'm working on and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

As per usual I would love to see your comments I try to answer every single one because I love interacting with my readers!

Anyone have a theory on how the story will go? It may help me flesh out some ideas just saying ;)

Anyways! Have a wonderful rest of your day my lovelies <3

Chapter 9: Gossip Girls

Summary:

Gossip about the other characters relationships.

Mentions of past trauma and abuse, nothing graphic.

Kenma throws up, nothing detailed but it is mentioned.

The garden was quiet in the morning, the air still damp with dew, carrying the faint scent of fresh grass and blooming flowers. The sun had barely risen, casting soft gold over the stone paths, but Kenma barely noticed.

Gardens always made Kenma feel close to Kuroo. The alpha had always been so proud of the garden he made Kenma. He’d filled it with all types of flowers, vegetables, and fruits and often used the spoils of their garden to make dinner for them.

Kenma could picture Kuroo begging him to get chickens and using their land to become a little farmer.

The thought of his nerdy mate becoming a farmer always brought a smile to Kenma’s lips, even now. Though he would never get to be one Kenma could still imagine it, if the attack hadn’t occurred, if Kuroo and him had moved to another village, if Kuroo and him had escaped together, if, if, if…

He sat curled in on himself, wrapped in Kuroo’s jacket, the fabric much too big on him, swallowing his frame. It didn’t smell like nutmeg anymore, but he still clung to it, his fingers buried deep in the sleeves.

Kuroo would’ve liked it here.

Kenma could almost hear his voice, teasing but warm.

“You’ve got the whole mysterious loner thing down, Kenma. Sitting in a garden by yourself, staring at the ground? That’s peak brooding.”

Kenma exhaled softly, eyes drifting shut.

Kuroo loved when he was in their garden. He always said how Kenma was prettier than any flower.

He always said such embarrassing and corny lines, but…

Kenma wished he could hear those words one more time.

How long was he supposed to grieve? How long was he allowed to feel so misplaced?

Of course, he liked Karasuno but everyone here already had their roles.

Daichi was the leader, Suga was the tactician, Asahi and Noya handled medical and infiltration, everyone had a purpose.

And Kenma…

Kenma had nothing.

I mean maybe he could become a good hacker, but he had never done anything like that before. How good could he actually become? He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to kill. He really didn’t want to be alive either, but there is nothing he could do about it.

But he couldn’t stay here and be useless, either.

Maybe he should accept that he’d always feel out of place? It made sense to always feel alone when your other half was gone.

His mind spiraled, looping through the same thoughts until the quiet was suddenly, completely shattered.

“Kenma!”

A bright voice, too loud for the morning, cut through the stillness.

Before Kenma could react, a blur of orange darted toward him.

Hinata plopped down next to him with zero hesitation, his usual energy completely unfazed by the sleepy atmosphere. The omega bright tangerine scent was stronger than the garden’s floral mix, warm and sharp.

Kenma tensed automatically, but Hinata was already stretching his legs out, completely at ease.

“You’re brooding,” Hinata announced, tilting his head toward him.

Kenma exhaled, not in the mood for whatever this was. “I’m not—”

“You totally are,” Hinata interrupted, grinning. “That’s what the jacket-clutching and thousand-yard stare means.”

Kenma huffed but didn’t argue.

“Anyway, I refuse to let you be all emo by yourself, so congratulations! I’m here now.” Hinata beamed.

Kenma sighed, as much as he considered Hinata a friend. Sometimes the other omega was just too much. Why couldn’t he just let Kenma spiral in peace?

“Besides,” Hinata added, tone turning lighter, more mischievous, “I have something fun to talk about.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow, already skeptical. “What.”

Hinata smirked. “Gossip.”

Kenma blinked. “What?”

“C’mon, Kenma,” Hinata grinned. “You’ve been here for a while now, but you barely know anything about anyone.”

Kenma frowned slightly. That wasn’t exactly wrong.

Sure, he’d met the others. He knew their names, their scents, their jobs. But beyond that? He hadn’t really bothered to learn anything else.

He’d kept his distance. It was easier that way.

Hinata nudged him lightly. “So, I figured it’s my duty to enlighten you.”

Kenma gave him a blank stare. “Your duty?”

“Yes,” Hinata said solemnly. Then, without missing a beat— “So, you know Daichi and Suga are mates, right?”

Kenma hesitated. Of course he’d noticed. Even without words those two were so in sync. They fit like perfect puzzle pieces. And most of all seeing them made him long for Kuro, remembering how they were together. He missed how effortless it all was.

“Yeah,” Kenma muttered.

“They’ve been together since before I got here,” Hinata continued. ‘But their love story is absolutely insane.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes slightly. “What do you mean?”

Hinata’s voice dropped slightly. “Well, Daichi’s dad actually used to run the syndicate. It was named something else before, I don’t really remember though.”

Kenma blinked.

“…His dad?”

“Yup,” Hinata nodded. “And it was bad, Kenma. Like, really bad.”

Kenma shifted slightly, without meaning to; he leaned in closer, intrigued by the story. 

“I don’t know everything about what happened because Suga doesn’t like sharing most of the details,” Hinata admitted, “but from what I’ve been told, his dad was brutal. The kind of guy who saw people as tools. He didn’t care about loyalty to the family, just power. Apparently on more than one occasion his dad would sacrifice long standing loyal members just to get more money.”

Kenma swallowed. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

Hinata’s voice softened. “His syndicate was nothing like ours. They had one of the biggest omega trafficking rings in the basement.”

Kenma felt his stomach twist.

“Suga was one of the omegas brought in to be sold, his family apparently owed a debt to the mafia and sold him to pay the debts.” Hinata continued, quieter now. “And Daichi’s dad… he was the kind of person who made examples out of unruly omegas. And we both know how Suga is, really headstrong.”

Kenma’s hands curled slightly, he didn’t know if he liked where this story was going.

“Suga was beaten, it was really bad, he has a lot of scars on his legs. Nowhere else though, because then he couldn’t be sold at a high price if he was scarred up.” Hinata explained with a grimace. “Can you imagine it? Omegas were just objects to sell.”

Kenma could picture it too easily; the sharp, clever omega with his strawberry orchard scent, backed into a corner, forced into a world he didn’t belong in.

He could sympathize a bit.

“Well one day Daichi was brought down into the basement.” Hinata murmured and with air quotes he added, “To learn the business.”

Kenma clenched his jaw, business. What a disgusting way to refer to selling human beings.

“Daichi hated his father,” Hinata continued. “But seeing all the omegas forced into slavery was the thing that made him snap. He couldn’t stand seeing them like that.”

Kenma stared at the ground and gently flipped a rock with his foot. Despite the dark subject he was starting to feel intrigued by what happened.

“What happened next?” Kenma muttered. And Hinata smiled a bright grin, happy that Kenma was so enthralled by the story.

“Well apparently Daichi would go into the basement at night, that’s how Suga and him met. They talked a lot and Daichi fell in love with Suga who was so strong despite all the horrors.” Hinata explained and gave a small, twisted grin, “Daichi overthrew his dad, killed him in front of all the members.”

Kenma exhaled slowly, a low whistle. Damn.

“After that he led a massacre, killed all the horrible people in the family and started basically from scratch. He asked Suga to join him in making a new syndicate, and that was that. Four years later, they are mated, have a new syndicate and between you and me, they mainly go after other syndicates that engage in omega trafficking. Several of our members are from raids actually!” 

Hinata explained with a grin and Kenma nodded, thinking about all the information he had just been given. 

While he hadn’t known Daichi for long he already recognized how strong, steady, and fiercely protective he was of the family. 

And that wasn’t a trait that developed overnight, he was shaped by his brutal childhood. By blood and guilt and a desperate need to fix what was broken.

“And he saved Suga,” Kenma said quietly.

Hinata’s lips curled into a small, soft smile. “Yeah. He did… He’s saved a lot of people.”

Kenma let the information settle, deep in his chest. For so long, he’d felt alone in his grief. Like no one else could understand the weight of carrying the past.

But Daichi knew. Suga knew.

They had scars, too.

And they had each other.

Kenma’s hands tightened around Kuroo’s jacket sleeves.

That used to be him and Kuroo.

But now it was just him.

The ache in his chest pressed in, a familiar hollowness.

Hinata must have sensed the shift in his mood, because he suddenly sat up straighter, flashing Kenma a bright, mischievous grin.

“Anyway! They’re kind of like our parents now. We make fun of them by calling them Dadchi and Sugamama.” Hinata declared dramatically. “Daichi lectures everyone, and Suga pretends he’s nice, but he’s scarier than Daichi.”

Kenma blinked at the sudden tonal shift. “What.”

“Seriously! If you piss off Daichi, he’ll just yell at you. If you piss off Suga? He uses psychological warfare.”

Kenma almost laughed. Almost.

Hinata beamed. “See? Gossip is great. You’re not brooding anymore.”

Kenma stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t wrong. For the first time since the morning, his mind wasn’t full of ghosts.

Hinata grinned, swinging his legs. “Well, the morning is still early… Want to know about Asahi and Nishinoya?”

“Asahi and Nishinoya? What about them?” Kenma asked curiously looking at Hinata who stared at him with wide eyes before a realization seemed to hit him.

“Ah you haven’t seen them when they're together. Well, their mates!” He exclaimed and Kenma huffed a laugh.

“There’s no way.”

“Oh yeah! They are actually super cute together, really complement each other. How they bonded was pretty funny though!” 

Kenma exhaled, slouching slightly. “Okay then, spill.” 

Hinata perked up immediately, the excitement practically radiating off of him. “Okay so, let me backup before they bonded. They were made for each other. It was only a matter of time before they became mates, they were a real yin and yang couple, but it worked.”

Kenma stayed silent, mind turning over the new information. He hadn’t interacted with Asahi or Noya much beyond surface-level introductions, but they seemed really different.

Noya had endless energy and Asahi seemed anxious and timid. Neither seemed to fit the typical omega or alpha stereotypes.

Then again neither did he and Kuroo. Kuroo mainly took care of cooking and cleaning, he was smart and open to people while Kenma preferred to be hidden away.

He supposed if they were anything like him and Kuroo, then it made sense how it worked... 

“How did it happen?” Kenma asked, mildly curious now.

Hinata grinned. “Apparently, Noya just bit him.”

Kenma stared at Hinata like he’d grown a second head, “What?”

Hinata nodded. “Yup. No warning. Just decided ‘this is happening now’ and bit him.”

Kenma frowned. “That’s…quite unique.”

“Yep,” Hinata snickered. “But so is Noya.”

Kenma couldn't really argue with that.

“I mean, Asahi didn’t even know what was happening at first,” Hinata continued, laughing. “He was just like ‘Noya, what the hell?!’ and Noya was like ‘what do you mean, what the hell? You’re mine now.’”

Kenma blinked. “…And Asahi was okay with that?”

“Oh, he was losing his mind,” Hinata confirmed, still grinning. “But not because he didn’t want it. He was just freaking out, like, ‘Noya, are you sure?’ and Noya was like ‘I literally already bit you, idiot.’”

Kenma exhaled, shaking his head. That… actually sounded exactly like how their dynamic worked.

“But yeah, they bonded, Noya always jokes that when Asahi bit him it was during some R-rated actions.” Hinata said, laughing a bit before his voice softened. “And they’re… really happy. I’ve never seen people so openly in love.”

Kenma shifted, fingers absentmindedly curling around the edges of Kuroo’s jacket.

Happy and loved.

His chest ached.

“I mean Suga and Daichi are obviously in love but they hide it to stay professional, no PDA. And none of the other couples are super open with their feelings… But Asahi and Noya are just so honest. They way they act around one another, you would never mistake them for just friends.” Hinata chuckles.

Kenma stays silent. He knew he should feel happy for them… Should be happy to be a part of all this. But it all felt so bitter, like the world was rubbing his misfortune in his face.

Hinata must’ve noticed his shift in mood, because he changed the subject almost immediately.

“Anyway!” Hinata clapped his hands together. “A pair that surprised everyone was Ushijima and Tendou.”

Kenma blinked again. “What?”

“I know, right?!” Hinata gasped, looking just as baffled as Kenma felt. “Nobody saw it coming.”

Kenma tilted his head slightly. Ushijima… and Tendou?

While Kenma had only briefly met them, he hadn't seen that coming. And considering Hinata’s reaction Kenma wasn’t alone in that sentiment. 

Ushijima seemed like a stoic brute. All work and no play. And Tendou was the polar opposite of him. He was teasing and loud and spoke much too fast.

Though looking back, Ushijima had seemed perfectly content when Tendou was hanging off of him.

“…How?” Kenma asked, genuinely confused.

Hinata grinned. “Honestly none of us really saw it coming. They work together in the torture department, but we all thought they were only coworkers ya know. And it isn’t like that is a very romantic environment. But one day Tendou showed up with a fresh bond mark smelling like Ushijima, even Daichi did a double take.”

Kenma could imagine it, the loud omega skipping into the common room, with a bond mark as Ushijima trailed after him sporting an identical mark. 

Hinata leaned in close, his voice going to a hush whisper.

“I don’t know for sure, but I think Tendou might be pregnant.” Kenma stared at him.

“... What?”

Hinata nodded vigorously. “I swear I’m not going insane! Ushijima has been extra protective lately. He won’t even let Tendou do drug deals anymore.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he just doesn’t want him getting hurt.”

Hinata looked at him with the most deadpan expression Kenma had ever seen.

“We are in a yakuza, that is kind of in the job description. And besides, Ushijima’s never stopped him from doing deals before,” Hinata pointed out. “But now? He doesn’t let him out of his sight, hell I don’t think Tendou has been allowed in the torture room for the past month.”

Kenma hesitated. Hinata’s reasoning actually made sense.

“Plus, Tendou’s been acting different,” Hinata added. “Like, I caught him crying over Noya eating the last piece of chocolate.”

Kenma stared again. “Crying?”

“Yes Kenma, crying,” Hinata repeated. “This is the same guy that can rip someone’s nails off without batting an eye. I had never seen Tendou cry before that moment.”

Kenma exhaled. “Okay, yeah. That’s suspicious.”

“I know!” Hinata beamed. “And get this, Ushijima has been bringing him food.”

Kenma’s brow furrowed. “So?”

Hinata waved his hands dramatically. “Ushijima does not do that, Kenma. He doesn’t really act on alpha instinct, ya know like that feeding your omega thing alphas tend to do. But he does now, he refuses to let Tendou skip meals and always gives him snacks.”

Alphas often feed their omegas; it’s like this instinctual need to take care of their mate. Kuroo had always followed his instincts, constantly scenting Kenma and making him meal after meal. 

Kenma had gotten used to it, after all his mate had been his childhood best friend since he was literally born. So now that he didn’t have his alpha taking care of him and would probably never feel that gentle loving care again, hearing about another pair made burning jealousy pull at his heart. 

But this wasn’t about him, so Kenma stamped down the feelings and muttered a simple. “…Fair.”

Kenma let the information sink in. Ushijima and Tendou. Mated. Possibly expecting a child.

“…Huh,” he muttered. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Right?!” Hinata grinned.

Kenma shook his head slightly, still trying to process everything.

But even through the jealousy and heartache Kenma felt there was something warm about it.

Like, despite everything, all the violence, blood, and danger, people here were still falling in love and having families.

Still choosing happiness.

Kenma’s grip on Kuroo’s jacket tightened.

Kuro would’ve loved hearing all of this.

He would’ve made some dumb joke, would’ve smirked and said, “I’m placing my bets that Ushiwaka will be a girl dad.”

Kenma swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in his eyes.

He could still hear him. Still feel his presence, even if it was just in his mind.

But it wasn’t the same.

It never would be.

“…Hey,” Hinata nudged him lightly. “You okay?”

Kenma forced himself to breathe.

He couldn’t fall apart now.

Not here. Not in front of Hinata. So, he exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m fine.”

Hinata didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.

Instead, he just smiled, bright and warm.

“Well, we still have more gossip to get through,” he said lightly. “You wanna hear about Lev and Yaku?”

Kenma hesitated.

But then, slowly, he nodded.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Tell me.” Kenma looked up at the sky, letting Hinata talk.

And Hinata did.

“So,” Hinata grinned, kicking his legs out in front of him, “I mentioned Yaku taught my little sister, right?”

Kenma nodded, allowing himself to breathe in the bright tangerine scent of the omega next to his exuded, “Yeah.”

Hinata hummed, tilting his head. “Okay, so they’ve been dating for like two years now.”

Kenma blinked. “Really? And they aren’t mated yet?”

“Yep.”

Kenma frowned slightly. “Are they going to mate?”

Hinata laughed at Kenma’s question. “Yeah, Yaku is just stubborn and likes making Lev work for it.”

Kenma let a gentle smile settle on his lips. That made sense. Yaku seemed really headstrong. He thought back to Lev’s boundless energy and clumsy enthusiasm, how he was so open and honest. 

He understood how that could grow on someone, hell Kuroo was a little bit like Lev in a way.

Kenma perished that thought almost instantly, Kuro had been much more laid back.

At Kenma’s silence Hinata began to talk again.

“Lev pursued Yaku for like… two years before they were officially dating.”

Kenma’s brows lifted slightly. “That long?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hinata nodded. “Yaku thought it was a childish crush, but Lev was serious.”

Kenma frowned slightly. “Lev doesn’t seem the type to be patient.”

“Oh, he isn’t,” Hinata snickered. “He was a mess. But he was so head over heels for Yaku that he just… kept going.”

Kenma exhaled, shaking his head. “And Yaku finally gave in?”

“More like he was also in love but refused to admit it,” Hinata said smugly. “Lev literally had to force him to say it.”

Kenma tilted his head. “How did that work out?”

Hinata grinned wider. “Lev was successful. He backed Yaku into a corner and went, ‘Yaku-San, do you love me or not?’”

Kenma blinked. “…And?”

Hinata smirked. “And Yaku was like, ‘You’re a dumbass.’”

Kenma sighed. “That’s not an answer.”

“I know!” Hinata cackled. “And apparently, so did Lev. Because he just stood there and went, ‘Say it.’”

Kenma raised a brow. “Did he?”

“Yup.” Hinata beamed, ecstatic to tell the story. “After five minutes of grumbling and avoidance he finally muttered, ‘yeah I love you.’”

Kenma exhaled, shaking his head. “That’s… weirdly impressive.”

“I know,” Hinata agreed. “But they’re good together. Even if they fight, like, every single day. But never in a bad way, just a lot of banter.”

Kenma hummed, considering it. He guessed he could see it.

“Okay,” Kenma murmured. “What about Tanaka and Ennoshita?”

Hinata’s grin turned mischievous.

“Oh-ho,” he mused. “You noticed? Wait, I didn't think you met them at the same time?”

Kenma shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. They smell like each other, I would’ve guessed they were mated, but they don’t have bite marks.”

“Yeah, they haven’t confirmed anything, but everyone knows their courting.” Hinata said. “Ennoshita’s trying to pretend it’s not a thing, but Tanaka’s so obvious.”

Kenma hummed. “Tanaka hasn’t bitten him yet?”

Hinata shook his head. “Nah. I’m pretty sure Ennoshita’s making him wait.”

Kenma exhaled, not surprised. Ennoshita was practical, level-headed. He wouldn’t rush something like a bond.

“…And Tanaka’s okay with that?”

Hinata snickered. “He’s suffering, but yeah.”

Kenma tilted his head slightly. “So, they’re just… waiting? And Tanaka hasn’t gone all possessive alpha?”

“They're waiting for now,” Hinata nodded. “But it’s only a matter of time. And Ennoshita has a pretty good hold on Tanaka, it’s pretty funny to see him make Tanaka shut up with a simple glare.” He said with a little giggle.

Kenma processed that, thinking about the dynamics he’d seen so far.

It was kind of strange how natural everything seemed. How these people, despite the violence that shaped their lives, still found ways to be… soft.

Still found ways to love.

Kenma swallowed, fingers twitching against the fabric of Kuroo’s jacket.

If Kuroo had lived… they would have been like that too.

Kuroo would have waited for him the way Tanaka waited for Ennoshita. He’d be patient just like Lev was for Yaku.

They would have been a normal couple. Cuddling, scenting, laughing…

“…Kenma?”

Kenma blinked, snapping back to the present. “Huh?”

Hinata was watching him, brows furrowed slightly. “You kind of… zoned out.”

Kenma exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

Hinata didn’t look convinced, but Kenma didn’t let him speak, instead he looked at the omega.

“Well, since we’re on the topic of mates,” he said slowly, “What’s going on with you and Kageyama?”

Hinata blinked. Then he stared. Then his face lit up in a bright blush.

“…What?! Me and that Asshole!?”

Kenma chuckled at his friend's reactions.

“So, there is something going on.”

“Nope!”

Kenma tilted his head, unimpressed. “You’re a bad liar.”

Hinata puffed his cheeks. “Am not.”

Kenma just stared and Hinata squirmed.

“…Okay, maybe,” he muttered.

Kenma’s lips twitched slightly. “Explain.”

Hinata groaned, “There’s nothing to explain,” he grumbled. “Kageyama’s just… Kageyama.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “So, you like him.”

Hinata flushed deeper. “I didn’t say that!”

Kenma hummed. “You didn’t have to.”

Hinata groaned again, covering his face. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

Kenma smirked slightly. “No.”

Hinata whined like a petulant pup and Kenma just watched, mildly amused.

Kenma was still smirking at Hinata’s embarrassment when he decided to spare him for now.

“What about Suna?” he asked, tilting his head.

Hinata, still flustered from the Kageyama discussion, perked up slightly at the topic change. “Suna?”

Kenma nodded. “Yeah. Is he seeing anyone?”

Hinata snorted. “Nope.” He said, popping the ‘p’, but quickly leaned into Kenma, wiggling his eyebrows, “Why? Are you into him?

Kenma gave a small, almost bitter chuckle, “Not in a million years, I’ll only be in love with one person for the rest of my life.”

Hinata looked like he wanted to say something but decided against it. Instead, he went back to talking about Suna.

“The whole Suna thing is kind of surprising, right? I mean, Suna’s got the whole ‘lazy but dangerous’ thing going on. People are pretty into it, but Suna hasn’t ever been interested in anyone as far as I know.”

Kenma hummed, thinking about it. Suna did have a certain allure to him. That sharp-eyed, indifferent confidence was something that drew people in. Maybe Kenma would’ve been interested if he didn’t already love Kuroo. But now that Kenma thought about it, he’d never actually seen Suna show interest in anything.

“Does he even like relationships?” Kenma asked.

Hinata shrugged. “I Dunno. I mean, I don’t think he’s against them, but he seems like the picky type.”

Kenma nodded slightly. That made sense.

“What about Sakusa?”

At that, Hinata burst out laughing.

Kenma blinked. “What?”

Hinata grinned like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Oh, Sakusa? He hates everyone.”

Kenma blinked again. “What?”

Hinata cackled. “Okay, maybe he doesn’t hate everyone, but he can’t stand most omegas.”

Kenma frowned slightly. “Why?”

Hinata grinned wider. “He says they have too sweet or strong scents. Finds them an annoyance.”

Kenma tilted his head. “That’s… a bold take.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Hinata snickered. “Like, if an omega so much as flirts with him, he’s instantly like, ‘Nope. Get away from me.’”

Kenma exhaled sharply. “That bad?”

Hinata nodded enthusiastically. “The worst part? He doesn’t even try to be nice about it.”

Kenma huffed a small laugh. “What does he say?”

Hinata grinned. “He usually just says, ‘You’re irritating. Leave me alone.’”

Kenma blinked. “Direct.”

“Brutal,” Hinata corrected.

Kenma thought about it. He hadn’t interacted with Sakusa much, but he’d gotten the impression that the guy was distant.

Still, hating omegas? That was… interesting.

“…Has he ever been in a relationship?” Kenma asked.

Hinata shook his head immediately. “Nope. And I doubt he ever will.”

Kenma exhaled. “Huh.”

“He has Mysophobia, can’t stand germs and he has quite the backstory that involves omegas not respecting his boundaries before he was taken in by the syndicate. But it isn’t really my story to tell.” Hinata explained, “But he gets along fine with the core of the family, he just doesn’t extend that courtesy to most people. Which is fine, we all have our battles.”

Kenma nodded, recalling Akaashi saying something similar. He could understand the sentiment and he filed all the new information away, making a mental note to observe how Sakusa interacts with people a bit closer.

“Alright, that’s basically all of the core members gossip,” Hinata said, nudging him gently. 

“What about Akaashi?” Kenma asked.

Before Hinata could answer, a smooth, familiar voice cut through the air.

“I was wondering when I’d come up.”

Kenma turned to see Akaashi standing there, arms crossed, no mask in sight with a knowing smirk on his lips.

Hinata immediately grinned. “Oh, perfect timing.”

Akaashi arched an eyebrow. “I do try.”

Kenma tilted his head. “So?”

Akaashi’s smirk widened slightly. “So what?”

Kenma rolled his eyes. Akaashi always seemed to bring him out of his shell, act a bit more like his old self, “Are you seeing anyone?”

Akaashi hummed, tilting his head. “No.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Akaashi gave him an amused look. “Most alphas are too aggressive.”

Kenma blinked. “Too aggressive?”

Akaashi nodded. “Yes. They’re either overbearing, arrogant, or just plain insufferable.”

Kenma huffed a small laugh. “That’s a strong opinion.”

Akaashi’s lips twitched. “It’s an earned opinion.” Kenma was about to respond, but Akaashi suddenly tilted his head, eyes glinting.

“I’ll answer all of your burning questions later,” he mused, “for now it’s time for your lessons.”

Kenma blinked. “Huh?”

Akaashi smirked. “Your hacking lessons. You didn’t forget, did you?”

Kenma stiffened slightly. Right. He had agreed to that.

This was going to be a long day. 

The pair bid Hinata goodbye and walked into the tech room. Akaashi was quick to begin their lessons, and he was keen on Kenma learning through experience rather than easing him into hacking.

Kenma sat at a desk in the tech room, hands poised over a keyboard as Akaashi stood beside him, watching closely. The room was cool and dimly lit, the glow from multiple monitors casting blue light over the walls. Humming machines filled the space with a soft, constant buzz, and Kenma found comfort in the familiar rhythm of technology.

“Alright,” Akaashi said smoothly, setting a steaming cup of coffee beside him. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Kenma gave a weary glance up at Akaashi.

“Don’t worry do much, if you start to fuck it up, I’ll help you.” Akaashi said, the random burst of vulgar language always made Kenma do a double take. Akaashi was always so poised so when anything remotely explicit fell from the gorgeous omega’s lips it always made Kenma pause.

But he didn’t have time for that so instead of responding he immediately dove into the system, fingers dancing across the keys as he bypassed the initial layers of security. He moved with ease, weaving through firewalls and analyzing codes with little prompting and help from Akaashi.

Kenma was in his element as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t want to give Akaashi a bigger head than he already had. His heartbeat slowed, mind zoning in on the challenge like he always did. This felt like second nature to him, like playing a game.

Akaashi hummed in approval. “Not bad.”

Kenma barely glanced at him, fully absorbed in the task. “Not bad?” he echoed, adjusting his posture slightly. “I just got past a firewall in under a minute.”

Akaashi’s lips quirked up into a smug smirk. “And now you’ve triggered a silent alarm.”

Kenma’s hands froze over the keyboard. His eyes snapped to the screen, scanning for the mistake.

“There.” Akaashi leaned in, pointing at a single string of code Kenma had overlooked. “A failsafe script. You cracked the security system too fast, which made the system suspicious.”

Kenma scowled, fingers moving quickly to stop the silent alarm. “That’s annoying.”

Akaashi chuckled, moving to sit beside him. “It’s intentional. The best security systems don’t just rely on strength; they monitor behavior. You acted too much like a hacker instead of a regular user.”

Kenma sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It’s stupid.”

Akaashi smirked. “It’s effective.”

Kenma clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. Instead, he went back to work, adjusting his approach. This time, he slowed down, mimicking the pattern of an actual authorized user while slipping past the barriers unnoticed. A few minutes later, he was in.

Akaashi nodded approvingly. “Better.”

Kenma let out a breath, feeling a rare spark of pride. He turned to Akaashi, lips twitching. “Satisfied?”

Akaashi tilted his head. “You’re a quick learner.”

Kenma huffed. “It’s nothing hard, just analyzing codes.”

“It’s not hard for you ,” Akaashi corrected, leaning back in his chair. “But other people wouldn’t even know where to begin. Just accept the compliment.”

Kenma felt warmth spread through his chest at the words. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, the challenge, the thrill of learning, the sense of accomplishment. It had been so long since he’d done anything that felt like progress, anything that made him feel capable instead of just… surviving.

For the first time in years, he felt something lighter than grief.

But then, just as quickly as it came, the feeling soured.

He shouldn’t be enjoying this. He shouldn’t be smiling and feeling proud of himself.

Not when Kuroo was dead.

All the feelings Kenma had been trying to bottle up all day abruptly came back with a vengeance. The sharp, cold weight slammed into his chest, and his fingers trembled against the desk. The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The glow from the monitors cast harsh shadows across the walls, and Kuroo’s voice, his laugh, his warmth, his scent. All of it felt like a distant memory slipping further and further away.

How dare he feel so happy, act like it was a normal day. Gossip and be praised like a normal person. Kenma shut his eyes. He could still see Kuroo’s grin, the way his golden eyes would crinkle when he teased him, the way he always smelled like nutmeg.

And smoke…

His stomach twisted violently, nausea crawling up his throat.

Oh gods. He was going to be sick.

He pushed away from the desk, barely registering Akaashi’s sharp gaze on him.

“Kenma?”

Kenma staggered to his feet, shoving past the chair, gasping as he fought back the bile rising in his throat. Too much. This was too much.

He retched into the small trash can by the door. 

A gentle hand rest on his back

Akaashi’s voice came next, steady but firm. “Kenma. Breathe.”

Kenma gritted his teeth, shaking his head. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit here, pretending to be okay, pretending he could be part of something again.

How could he move forward when Kuroo was gone?

The gentle hand pressed against his back. “Sit.”

Kenma barely realized Akaashi had guided him back into the chair until he felt the coolness of the seat beneath him. He shuddered, swallowing hard, his mouth acrid with the taste of bile, clenching his hands into fists.

Akaashi didn’t speak right away. He simply handed him a bottle of water and sat beside him, watching him with quiet patience. Watching as Kenma took a shaky gulp of the water trying to rid his mouth of the disgusting taste of vomit.

After a long moment, his voice finally came, low and steady.

“You still talk to him every night, don’t you?”

Kenma flinched.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Akaashi didn’t push, didn’t demand answers. He just waited.

Kenma swallowed. His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“…Yeah.”

Akaashi nodded like he already knew. “That’s okay.”

Kenma let out a shaky breath, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s not, though.”

“Why not?”

Kenma stared at the floor. “Because he’s dead, Akaashi.” His voice cracked, raw and exhausted. “He’s gone. And I’m sitting here like an idiot, still acting like he can still hear me. Like he’s…”

He stopped, unable to finish.

Akaashi was silent for a moment before speaking. “You loved him.” Kenma flinched at the past tense making Akaashi back track, “Sorry, you love him. And that’s okay.”

Kenma’s throat closed.

Akaashi exhaled softly. “From what you’ve told me about him…” His voice was careful, thoughtful. “He was a big part of your life. That loss isn’t easy. But I can tell you with almost certainty that he’d want you to be happy, Kenma.”

Kenma’s jaw tightened. He shook his head. “I don’t know how to be.”

Akaashi didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His tone was gentle, but firm.

“Then let’s figure it out.”

Kenma swallowed hard; his breath still shaky. He didn’t respond, but… he didn’t reject it, either.

Notes:

And that's chapter 9!

While yes there is gonna be more fluff and comfort this story is based around survivor guilt and trauma so it will often come up at random moments because that's what happens in reality.

What would like to see more of? Past memories? Other couples? I'd love the feedback and comments!

Anyways I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I will see you all on Wednesday!

Have a great rest of your days my lovelies <3

Chapter 10: Unraveling

Summary:

Hacker Kenma in action

Kenma had never thought of himself as someone who would enjoy learning under another person’s guidance, but something about Akaashi’s teaching style made it really interesting, not that he’d ever tell the other omega.

It had been two weeks since Kenma had been taken under the omega’s wing, and while he wasn’t one to admit it out loud, the progress he had made was undeniable.

Akaashi didn’t just teach him how to hack, he taught him how to dominate the cyber network.

Taught him the foundations: understanding networks, how data moves, and the different types of cyberattacks. Kenma learned about firewalls, encryption, brute force attacks, and how the human element was often the weakest link in security. He absorbed everything quickly, his natural affinity for gaming helping him grasp complex patterns with ease.

Then came all of the practical applications.

Akaashi seemed to enjoy throwing Kenma into the deep end with little to no help, making him set up a test network and telling him to figure out how to identify vulnerabilities, exploit them, and patch them up again so that there was no trace of anyone who had even infiltrated the network. 

Thankfully Kenma thrived in this atmosphere. Learning how to write basic scripts to automate attacks, how to cover his tracks, and most importantly, how to think several steps ahead of his target.

“Anticipation is key,” Akaashi had told him one evening as Kenma successfully bypassed a mock security system faster than expected. “If you can predict their moves, you can control the game.”

Kenma took those words to heart.

One thing Akaashi did explain to him was data infiltration: how to extract information without alerting security measures, how to clone devices, crack passwords, and intercept messages. He even had Kenma practice phishing scams, though Kenma found it tedious. The psychological manipulation aspect of it was unsettling, but Akaashi insisted it was one of the most effective methods.

Kenma also, begrudgingly, had to learn how to bug a room, tap into surveillance feeds, and jam signals to disrupt communications. One of the more interesting exercises involved Kenma having to plant a tracker on a device without the owner noticing. Something he was surprisingly adept at due to his naturally quiet presence.

Akaashi drilled him in deception tactics, showing him how to create fake identities, falsify records, and manipulate digital footprints to erase any trace of his involvement. He learned how to exploit operating system vulnerabilities, how to navigate deep web forums, and even how to mimic certain online behaviors to blend in with hacker communities. Every detail mattered, and Kenma took it all in.

Of course, it wasn’t all victories. There were times Kenma got caught in Akaashi’s simulated defenses, his intrusion detected and locked out before he could retrieve the necessary data. The first time it happened, he had expected a harsh reprimand, but Akaashi had only sighed and reset the program.

“Try again,” was all he said. “Figure out where you went wrong.”

And Kenma did.

He had spent the next several hours analyzing his own mistakes, rerunning the scenario until he succeeded. This was something Kenma was comfortable with. No brute force was needed, it was all about finesse. Precision. Patience.

Beyond technical skills, Akaashi also taught him about the ethical gray areas of hacking. Not every attack was malicious, and not every defense was righteous. Kenma learned about white-hat hacking, using his skills to test and strengthen their own security systems. Which turned out to be susceptible to surveillance hacking through their security cameras; something Kenma found in a mere few minutes of analyzing the syndicate's systems.

Daichi and Suga had praised him for that one. Excitedly bulking up their defenses and pestering Kenma to keep trying to hack their new systems until they found something near impossible to break through.

Akaashi’s favorite thing recently was to test his ability to adapt by throwing unexpected obstacles into his training. Firewalls that changed patterns, decoy data that wasted time, timed extractions that forced Kenma to work under pressure. Every time he thought he had mastered something, Akaashi found a way to challenge him further.

By the end of two weeks, Kenma had become one of the best hackers in Karasuno. Earning an approving nod from Akaashi that he was ready for real hacking jobs.

And Kenma was proud of himself. In only two weeks he had gone from knowing nothing about computers, to excelling in hacking. 

“Suga and Daichi are asking for you.” Akaashi said, bumping him gently with his hip as Kenma was typing away at a new code he was designing for the base. 

Kenma glanced over at the omega and nodded, quickly saving away the document and standing up cracking his fingers and back after sitting hunched over for several hours.

“Are they in the office?” Kenma asks groggily and Akaashi nods. 

Akaashi walked with Kenma down the corridors, the fresh white jasmine scent almost lulling Kenma into sleep as they walked. Only to be jolted away when he ran into Akaashi’s side.

The black-haired boy raised an eyebrow at him and Kenma shrugged.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” He muttered and Akaashi sighed.

“After your meeting, go take a nap, your code can wait.” Akaashi chided and before Kenma could argue back Akaashi was knocking on the door.

“Come in” Suga’s muffled voice sounded and Akaashi opened the door, letting Kenma go in before bidding a goodbye to everyone before closing the door behind him.

Suga was sitting on Daichi’s desk and smiled at Kenma. Giving a wave and Kenma nodded back in return, turning to look at Daichi who sat in his large office chair behind the mahogany desk. Daichi nodded to Kenma, letting Suga slip off the desk and stand behind him before he started speaking.

"You have been making excellent progress, Akaashi has been bragging about you being his best student." Daichi started, his brown eyes scanning Kenma’s expression. "We are very happy that your skills have grown, however, we need you to branch out. Hacking is just one piece of the puzzle. We need you to see how you work in the field." He explained.

Kenma’s fingers twitched slightly; he slipped them behind his back to keep them hidden from the pair. He had expected this. They weren’t going to let him sit behind a screen forever. Still, the idea of stepping into real danger unsettled him.

"It’s just reconnaissance," Suga reassured him with a small smile, catching how Kenma had tensed up. "You’re not engaging with anyone. Just watching, gathering intel, and reporting back."

Daichi slid a folder across the desk. Kenma hesitated for only a second before picking it up and flipping it open. Inside were details about a rival faction, apparently a group had been making quiet but deliberate moves near their territory, slowly trying to take parts of Karasuno’s territory under their rule.

"You, Kageyama, and Hinata will be heading out tomorrow night to keep an eye on their movements," Daichi continued. "This will be good for you. Kageyama has quite a bit of field experience, and Hinata is sharp under pressure. They’ll make sure you stay safe."

Kenma glanced up sharply at the names. He hadn’t worked closely with Kageyama, but he had seen enough to know that the alpha was a formidable fighter. That to be said, he was thankful Hinata was also going to be on the mission. It could be worse, he supposed. At least he wasn’t being sent with complete strangers.

"Understood," Kenma muttered, closing the folder. Suga smiled at him.

“Think of it as just another test. There is nothing insanely urgent about the mission, it’s okay if you make a few mistakes.” He said, the omega was always way too perceptive for his own good. But that did make Kenma feel a bit better.

“Go ahead and turn in early tonight, we will have everything you’ll need ready by tomorrow morning.” Daichi promised with a soft smile, a stark contrast to the Alpha demeanor he has every time business is discussed.

Kenma gave the mates a slight bow before leaving the room sighing as the door clicked shut. He turned and walked down the empty halls to his room, collapsing on his bed.

“Gods Tetsuro, tomorrow is going to be stressful.” He muttered, “Wish me luck.” 

The phantom hand pets his hair, helping the omega fall into dreamless sleep.

The next night , the three yakuza members were gathered in a sleek, black car a few blocks from the target’s known hideout. Kenma sat in the backseat, hood up, fingers idly tapping at the keys on his laptop as he listened to Kageyama and Hinata discuss their approach.

"We stay low and move quietly," The alpha instructed, his voice as serious as ever. "Kenma, you handle tech. If they have any open networks, tap into them. If not, just keep your eyes on the situation. Hinata, you spot and report anything off. We don’t fight unless necessary."

Hinata gave a pout but nodded. "Got it."

Kenma rolled his eyes at his hyperactive friend, adjusting the earpiece Akaashi had given him. "Let’s just get this over with." He said flipping closed his laptop and stuffing it in a black backpack.

The trio moved through the shadows, taking careful steps as they approached the building. Kenma felt the tension in his shoulders as they settled in an optimal vantage point. The alleyway smelled of damp asphalt and cigarette smoke, and the occasional flicker of a streetlight overhead made Kenma uneasy.

Kageyama gave them a nod as they walked into the alley, hiding behind a dumpster. Kenma was pressed against the wall crouching as he took out his laptop, tapping away quickly. Hinata and Kageyama stood in front of him watching for anyone coming.

Kenma ran a quick scan, searching for unsecured connections. A few popped up, weakly protected, child's play for him to slip through unnoticed. With a few keystrokes, he was in. The security cameras of the building flickered on his screen, giving him a full view of what was happening inside.

"There’s five of them in the main room," Kenma murmured. "One outside on lookout. No obvious weapons drawn, but they’re talking about something serious, let me see if I can get audio." He said and Kageyama nodded.

Looking around he pointed at a fire escape, “Hinata think you can get us a better vantage?” The alpha murmured and Hinata grinned bright and wide.

The fire escape didn’t have a ladder to the ground, it had been cut off, probably to make sure no one could scale the building. Kenma gave an incredulous look at the duo.

“There is no way any of us can reach that. It is way too tall plus it would be too loud if you somehow managed to jump onto it.” Kenam said and Kageyama gave a small smirk.

“Then you’ve never seen Hinata in his element.” He said and Hinata grinned bouncing on the balls of his feet, vibrating energy. Kageyama handed Hinata an earpiece, “Keep it in so we can stay in touch.” He said and Hinata nodded.

He put the small earpiece in, glanced at the edge of the alleyway and took a deep breath walking about fifteen feet away from the fire escape and shook out his feet, bouncing a few times before he was sprinting forward.

He went towards the bare wall first, jumping up nearly six feet, and then pushing off the wall. He soars through the air and grasps the second-floor railing, holding onto the bar as he lets his body swing in the air. The only noise was the slight creek of metal, nothing that would carry through the brick walls.

Kenma watched as Hinata climbed up the side of the fire escape onto the roof of the building, giving a little wave before he disappeared from view, his voice crackling over the comms after a moment.

"There are several guys in the back of the building, they're definitely waiting for something."

"A deal?" Kageyama asked.

“Maybe, all of them are armed so it would make sense.” Hinata says and Kenma nods, going back to his laptop, finally getting some audio from the cameras.

"No," Kenma said, narrowing his eyes as he listened through snippets of intercepted messages. "Apparently they’re planning a scouting mission, same as us. Trying to figure out our movements."

Kageyama nodded, and let Kenma keep listening through the audio. Kenma pursed his lips and began to go through their network to get into their databases.

“Apparently, they are trying to grow their syndicate. They are planning to pair up with another syndicate.” He muttered

Kageyama’s jaw tightened. "Then we leave before they spot us. We got what we needed."

But just as he was about to call Hinata back from the roof, Kenma saw the lookout outside stiffened, glancing up to the roof sharply. Kenma’s stomach dropped as the man reached for a radio.

"We’ve been made," Hinata said through the comms.

"Move," Kageyama ordered and Kenma quickly told Hinata to get off the roof now. Both of them looked up in horror to see Hinata running right off the roof with a grin. While the roof was only three stories up, that was still enough of a drop to cause injury. Kageyama was quick to run under Hinata catching the omega in a tight grasp.

“Hinata what the fuck.” He growled and the omega giggled bright and loud, hopping out of the alpha’s hold and grabbing Kenma’s hand, pulling the other as they ran. 

They slipped out of the alleyway just as the rival faction’s members spilled out onto the street. Hearts pounding, they took the long route back, ensuring they weren’t followed. By the time they reached the car, they were out of immediate danger, just a few scratches from scraping against walls in their haste.

Kenma exhaled slowly, his hands still gripping his laptop tightly. He wasn’t used to the adrenaline, the rush of being out in the open, vulnerable.

They piled into the car and Kageyama was quick to drive. Looping around the city to make sure no one was tailing them before finally heading home to the manor. 

Hinata cheered, loud and giddy, "We did it!"

Kenma glanced at Kageyama; his knuckles were white gripping the steering wheel. The alpha’s scent leaking through the scent patches they wore on missions. Bitter dark chocolate. Kenma sighed, opting to stay out of the issue. And then the alpha exploded.

“What were you thinking!? Jumping off a roof! You could have broken something! And then what?! You're injured and bleeding as we are trying to run from armed rival members!?” He shouted. And Hinata stayed silent for a moment.

“But I knew you’d catch me.” Was all he said, and Kageyama tensed, Kenma didn’t know it was possible for him to tense up anymore.

“You…” He started, anger and confusion in his tone. But slowly confusion took over the anger. “Knew I would catch you?”

The omega sheepishly nodded, at least having the decency to be blushing.

“Yeah, I knew you’d catch me.” He said, voice a little more certain and Kageyama sighed.

“We will be talking more about this later… Probably with Daichi and Suga.” He said and that made Hinata go pale.

“I don’t think we need to go that far.” he said, and Kenma couldn’t help but snort.

“Maybe if you don’t want to be lectured don’t go jumping off of rooftops with no warning.” Kenma said and Kageyama nodded in agreement as Hinata pouted in the passenger seat.

After that the return trip was quiet, but not oppressive, the weight of the mission settling over them now that the adrenaline had started to wear off leaving Kenma exhausted. He sat in the back of the car, staring at the dimly lit streets as they passed, his mind still processing everything that had happened. His hands ached slightly from gripping his laptop too tightly earlier, and there was a faint, lingering sting on his knee where he had scraped it against the pavement during their escape. It was nothing serious, just a minor nuisance. Compared to the worst-case scenarios he had imagined, this outcome was almost laughably tame.

Kageyama, remained as silent as ever, focused on the road ahead, but Kenma could see the slight blush on his ears every time they drove under a streetlamp. Hinata, on the other hand, was buzzing with barely contained energy. He kept shifting in his seat, bouncing his leg, and occasionally twisting around to glance at Kenma.

“Man, I can’t believe we pulled that off,” Hinata finally blurted out, breaking the silence. “I mean, it wasn’t perfect, but we got what we needed. And you—” he turned to Kenma, grinning, “you were amazing. I thought you’d freeze up, but you handled it like a pro.”

Kenma hummed in response, unsure how to take the compliment. He hadn’t felt amazing; the practice runs Akaashi made him go through had been much harder to break into. 

Speaking of, he was pretty sure he still had access to the rival gang's information. 

Kenma flipped open his laptop. Thankful for the fact his laptop had wireless data. He grinned, he still had complete access to the gang's intel and began to copy everything over to a flash drive.

Kenma didn’t even realize they were back at the manor, until Hinata was cheering as he opened his door. Daichi and Suga were already waiting for them in the main room. The pair looked them over with sharp, assessing gazes, searching for any signs of failure or unexpected complications. Kenma noticed the subtle shift in Daichi’s posture when his eyes landed on the few minor scrapes they had accumulated, a flash of concern in his face, but he didn’t comment on them.

“Well?” Daichi asked, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you have for us?”

Kageyama stepped forward first, efficiently recounting the details they had observed; the number of guards, the shifts they worked, and any potential blind spots in security. Hinata followed up, adding in small details about the terrain and any weaknesses in their surveillance setup. When it was Kenma’s turn, he calmly relayed the patterns he had noticed, the way the rival faction communicated, the small gaps in their defenses that could be exploited. And finally, he took out the small flash drive and handed it to Suga.

“I was able to copy over all the information in their database.” he said simply and Suga grinned at him ruffling his hair.

“That’s exactly the kind of information we needed,” he said approvingly. “You did well.”

Daichi gave them all a nod, his gaze lingering on Kenma for a moment longer than the others. “For the first mission, this was a success,” he admitted. “Good work.” He paused and finally allowed the boss' posture and tone to fall away, instead acting much softer like a dad concerned for his pups. “Go to the med wing and get your scrapes cleaned up, Asahi should be waiting for you guys.” 

Kenma hadn’t expected praise. He had expected at most an acknowledgment of a job done adequately, but there was something warm about hearing it, something grounding. He had been useful.

Hinata, of course, took the opportunity to nudge Kenma with an elbow, his grin widening. “See? Told you that you’d be great at this.”

Kenma rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Walking with Hinata to the medical wing, being quickly dragged away after they heard Suga shout Hinata’s name, presumably because Kageyama told them about Hinata jumping off the roof.

As they finished being cleaned up by Asahi, Kenma felt the exhaustion start to creep in. His body was coming down from the rush of the mission, and all he wanted now was the quiet of his own space. With barely a word, he nodded a thank you to Asahi and turned, making his way to his room, ready to let his mind settle after everything that had happened.

Kenma stepped into his room, the door clicking shut behind him as he let out a breath, he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The mission had gone well, better than expected, actually, but the tension from the past several hours still clung to him like an unseen weight. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the dull ache in his body from where he had been crouched against the cold concrete for too long, but he ignored it, letting his feet carry him toward the window.

The moon hung low in the sky, bathing the world outside in its pale, silvery glow. Kenma leaned against the windowsill, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the glass as his gaze softened. He had done well tonight. He knew that. He had proven himself capable, had followed every instruction to the letter, and had gathered enough intel they could bury the competition. Daichi and Suga had praised him, and Akaashi had given him one of his rare approving nods. It should have been enough.

But as Kenma stood there, staring out at the moonlit city, all he could think about was Kuroo.

“Kuro,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I did it. I went out there. I helped.”

Silence answered him, but he could almost imagine the way Kuroo would have smirked at him, teasing but proud. Of course you did, Kenma. You were always smart.

His fingers curled against the windowsill. “You wouldn’t have believed it, though,” he continued. “Me? Doing recon? Getting in and out safely?” A small, breathy chuckle left him, humorless and tired. “I barely believe it myself.”

The city lights flickered in the distance, but they felt too far away, too cold. Kenma’s eyes traced the streets below, the distant figures moving about their lives, unaware of the world he had been dragged into. A world where he had to use his mind for something sharper, something deadlier than gaming strategies.

His chest ached, but it wasn’t from exhaustion.

“I think you’d laugh at me,” Kenma admitted, his voice quieter now. “Tell me that I hate leaving my room, so why would I ever leave it for this ?” His lips twitched, but the smile never formed. Instead, he exhaled slowly. “But you’d also tell me I did good.”

A lump formed in his throat, sudden and unwelcome. His fingers pressed against the cool glass, as if reaching for something that wasn’t there. As if Kuroo could be on the other side, waiting, just beyond his reach.

“Hinata threw himself off a roof.” he said with a chuckle, “Thank gods Kageyama caught him.” He said and then stilled for a moment. “He didn’t even doubt that Kageyama would catch him, didn’t hesitate. He trusts him.”

The bitter laugh from his lips surprised Kenma. It was wonderful that Hinata was right. That Kageyama was so in tune with Hinata. He was happy for his friend, they would make amazing mates, but he once had that too.

“I trusted you like that.” He said and gave a sad smile, “Do you remember when we were young. How I climbed way too high up a tree and then couldn’t get down, so you told me to jump. I was scared, but I did it.” He gave a slight chuckle, “And you broke your arm catching me. We were much too young to actually be able to do that safely, but you didn’t let me get hurt…”

He looks at the night sky, staring at the moon. “You never let me get hurt you stupid alpha…” His voice was getting wobbly now, “What would we be doing right now if things were different?” 

“We’d be mated, I know that… Would we be getting ready to get married? Have a spring ceremony like you always wanted.” He said, voice hoarse and tight as he fought tears, “Would you still steal my food when you think I’m not looking? Would you still pick me up and carry me to bed?”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

“I miss you,” he admitted, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them. They weren’t for anyone to hear just the night, just the moon, just the ghost of the boy who had once been his whole world.

His hand fell away from the window, curling into a loose fist at his side. The ache in his chest didn’t ease, but he knew it wouldn’t. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.

With a slow, measured breath, Kenma pushed himself away from the window, turning back toward his bed. The room felt emptier than it had a moment ago, but he ignored it, just as he ignored the sting behind his eyes.

There was no use dwelling on what could have been.

Because no matter how much he longed for it, Kuroo wasn’t here.

No matter how much Kenma convinced himself that Kuroo would still be next to him, even as a ghost. He knew Kuroo would pass on, no unfinished business for his mate.

Not that Kenma even believed in ghosts, but with all the grief he guessed it was acceptable to hope he was wrong. To hope Kuroo was still with him, lying next to him as he slept and following him around to keep him safe even in death.

Because Kuroo was his protector. And he always would be.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!

I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far and I can't wait for you to see what else I have in store for you!

Please be sure to leave kudos and comments I love responding to all of your messages!

That being said have a great rest of you day and I'll see you on Friday <3

Chapter 11: Growing Friendships

Summary:

Kenma gets to interact with some members of the Syndicate

Kenma had never been the type to seek out companionship, and even now, surrounded by the people who had taken him in, he often found himself retreating into his own space. It was nothing against them, it was just how Kenma often operated. Kuroo was the social one and would often make Kenma leave whatever new spot he had deemed a safe hidey-hole.

And now without Kuroo, he wasn’t pulled into social situations, which Kenma never thought he’d miss. But he supposes it only makes sense since he missed everything that had to do with Kuroo, even his pestering and bad habits (like always making a mess in the kitchen that he always, no matter how much prompting Kenma did, forgot to clean up).

Now Kenma had spent most of the morning holed up in the tech room, fingers gliding over the keyboard as he fine-tuned security protocols and monitored information streams. He had been left alone, just the way he liked it.

He had a cup of cold coffee next him, which had at one point been hot. Kenma didn’t mind sipping the cooled beverage; besides it was too much work to get up and go reheat it.

That peace, however, was shattered the moment Tanaka and Nishinoya burst in like a chaotic whirlwind.

“Kenmaaaa!” Noya practically sang, throwing himself onto the couch in the corner of the room. His lemon lavender scent quickly filled the room, bright and serene. “What ’cha doin’? Secret spy stuff? Hacking the government? Stealing money from billionaires?”

“I wish,” Kenma muttered, not looking away from the screen. “I’m just debugging a program.”

“Sounds lame,” Tanaka stated bluntly before plopping down with Noya, his own Mahogany scent mixing with the omega’s. “You know what’s not lame? Some good old-fashioned training! You should come outside, get some fresh air.”

Tanaka, ever the loud alpha, had too much energy for Kenma’s preference. 

Kenma frowned, still typing away. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Noya said, propping his chin on his hands. “You barely talk to anyone except Akaashi and Hinata. Those two are great, don’t get me wrong but you need to bond with your new family, and lucky for you, Tanaka and I are great at bonding.”

“You mean you’re annoying,” Kenma corrected, finally looking at them.

Tanaka grinned unapologetically. “That too. Come on, it’ll be fun. We won’t even make you train! Just come sit outside with us, sunshine is important for your health Kenma.” He chided, something Kenma was almost certain Ennoshita had said to the alpha more than once. “You can even bring your laptop to stare at if you want.” He added kindly, the small encouraging smile on the normally rambunctious alpha made Kenma hesitate.

He really didn’t want to go, but he also knew that these two were relentless. If he refused now, they’d just keep pushing. And maybe… maybe a little fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Fine,” he sighed, closing his laptop. “But only for a little while.”

Noya cheered, grabbing Kenma’s arm before he could change his mind and dragging him toward the outdoor training area. The midday sun was bright, but the air was still cool despite it. Spring hadn’t officially come yet, but soon flowers would be blooming, and the birds would return. 

The scent of different pack members lingered in the air, spice cake from Daichi, strawberries from Suga, pine from Asahi. It was overwhelming, but not unbearable.

Tanaka and Noya wasted no time in showing off. Tanaka lifted weights while loudly boasting about his strength, while Noya leapt between obstacles with acrobatic ease. Kenma, true to his word, sat at the edge of the training area with his laptop open, idly watching the two fools burn off their endless energy.

“You should try it, Kenma!” Noya called out between flips.

“No thanks.”

“Aww come on! I taught Hinata everything he knows, I’m sure I could teach you too!” He called as he swung on a bar before standing on the beam with ease.

Kenma couldn’t help but snort as he remembers Hinata jumping off a roof with no hesitation during their mission with Kageyama. Of course, he had learned that from Nishinoya, why wasn’t he surprised?

“I bet you’d be good at the speed course,” Tanaka added, startling Kenma out of his memories. “Kageyama said you're quick on your feet, and that guy never compliments anyone. Little bastard.” He said that last part under his breath before returning to his normal voice, “I bet you could outmaneuver almost anyone.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to trick me into training?”

“Nooo,” Noya drawled, failing miserably at looking innocent, as he easily flipped down onto the ground again. “But seriously, you should at least learn some basic moves. In case of emergencies. I can teach you how to dodge a knife attack.”

Kenma sighed, rubbing his temples. He wasn’t naive; he knew that eventually, he’d have to learn to physically defend himself. But today wasn’t the day.

“Not today,” he muttered. “But… maybe another time.”

That seemed to satisfy them because they let him be after that, content to chatter about anything and everything while Kenma half-listened. It was the first time in a while that he had sat among others, that weren’t Akaashi and Hinata and felt something close to… normal.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to call them family, but he could admit, just to himself, that their presence wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

Kenma had never been one for loud, over-the-top antics, but even he had to admit that Noya and Tanaka’s constant attempts at bonding were… persistent. He wasn’t used to people that weren’t Kuroo making an effort to include him, much less going out of their way to engage him in conversation. It was exhausting, but in a strange way, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

It was kind of nice to be distracted by the two, and in a weird way they reminded him of Kuroo.

And yeah, Kuroo was nowhere near as loud or energetic as them, but he couldn’t help but see his dead mate in their actions.

Kenma smiled to himself; this was okay.

Kenma kind of regretted thinking that, because not even a full day later he was pulled into a new interaction.

He had gone to the training room only to grab a protein bar from the supply cabinet when he found himself caught in Ushijima’s watchful gaze. The taller alpha was lifting weights, his muscles flexing under the strain, but his focus had shifted entirely to Kenma the moment he entered. The strong oud wood scent tinged with sweat and deodorant was a bit overpowering.

And so, what if Ushijima wasn’t as chaotic as Tanaka and Nishinoya, he was terrifying, which was almost worse. 

Almost

Kenma stiffened, gripping the protein bar a little too tightly. “What?”

Ushijima didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he finished his rep, set the weights down with a quiet thud, and wiped his hands on a nearby towel. “You haven’t been training,” he finally said.

Kenma blinked. “Yeah… I’ve been focusing on hacking.” He said, almost a bit offended by the tone the alpha had.

Ushijima nodded as if that was expected. “You should start focusing on training.”

Kenma scoffed. “I’m a hacker. I don’t need to.”

Ushijima regarded him with an unreadable expression before finally shrugging. “Even the weakest piece on the board can change the game if moved correctly.”

Kenma frowned, his fingers tightening around the protein bar. He hated that the statement made sense. Still, he wasn’t about to start lifting weights just because some overly logical alpha suggested it. Instead of responding, he muttered a half-hearted “whatever” and made his way toward the door.

He had barely taken two steps before Sakusa entered the room.

Unlike Ushijima, Sakusa didn’t immediately address him. In fact, the alpha barely looked at him at all. He simply moved to the side, keeping his distance as he unwrapped the tape around his wrists from a previous training session.

Kenma hesitated.

It wasn’t that he disliked Sakusa. It was just that the alpha was a hard read. He was always watching, always calculating, but never truly engaging. It reminded him of himself in some ways, which made interactions between them all the more difficult.

“You’re not eating enough.”

Kenma turned sharply at the statement, expecting Ushijima to be the one to say it, but it was Sakusa who had spoken. The alpha didn’t even look at him, his focus entirely on cleaning his hands with a sanitizing wipe. “You barely ate at breakfast.”

Kenma frowned. “I ate enough.”

“Not really,” Sakusa countered, finally meeting his gaze. “You should eat more.”

Kenma bristled at the comment. “I eat when I’m hungry.”

Sakusa tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. “That’s the problem.”

Kenma wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the fact that Sakusa had been paying attention or that he wasn’t wrong.

It has always been a problem. Kenma had often forgotten to eat, and it had only gotten worse without Kuroo pestering him to eat properly. And it made a part of Kenma bristle that this alpha was trying to take his old mates place even though logically Kenma knew Sakusa had no idea what had happened in Kenma’s past. 

Ushijima, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up. “Sakusa is right. Your body needs fuel.”

Kenma sighed, exasperated. “What, are you two teaming up on me now? I don’t need two alphas’ trying to tell me what my body needs.” He said a small growl at the end and Sakusa raised his hands up a bit in surrender.

“Just stating the obvious,” Sakusa said, tossing the used wipe into the trash. “Do what you want.”

Kenma expected him to leave after that, but instead, Sakusa reached into his bag and pulled out a sealed container. Without another word, he set it down beside Kenma and walked away.

Kenma stared at it, then at Sakusa’s retreating back. Slowly, he picked up the container and opened it, revealing neatly cut fruit and a few protein-packed snacks. It was nothing special.

But they were just looking out for him, but dammit he didn’t need a new alpha and logically he knew that wasn’t what they were doing, but it felt like it.

Kenma turned and strode back to the hacking room; he glanced at the fruit for the next few hours and finally sighed giving in.

He could almost hear Kuroo’s nagging that he was being childish for not eating simply because he wanted to “stick it to the man.”

Absent-mindedly he popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And he guessed that it was nice of them for worrying….

Dammit he’d have to thank Sakusa later and apologize to Ushijima.

Whatever, he would do that later and for now he would focus on getting some work done. Finally happy to have some peace….

Except.

What had Kema done to deserve being constantly pestered? He was pretty sure he hadn’t ever hurt anyone, maybe it was in a past life he had been a horrible person.

Okay yeah, he was being dramatic but come on….

What had he done to deserve the annoying skyscraper named Lev to pester him?

It had only been a day since his interactions with Sakusa and Ushijima and yet here he was. Bursting into the strategy room as Kenma was trying to review some data from their last mission for Akaashi.

Kenma had been absorbed in his work going through a few encrypted files in peace when the strategy room door burst open, hitting the wall with a loud bang making the poor omega flinch.

“There you are!” Lev’s voice boomed as he strode in like he owned the place. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, KenKen!”

Kenma stiffened at the nickname. Why in the hell was Lev giving him a nickname? His face must have portrayed his annoyance because Lev was starting to backtrack. Kenma rolled his eyes and held up a hand for him to stop.

“I’m busy,” he said, focusing back on his screen.

Lev either didn’t hear him or simply didn’t care. The alpha was already leaning over Kenma’s chair, peering at the multiple screens like he had any idea what was happening. “Whoa, that looks complicated. What are you doing?”

Was he serious? He was obviously working, that was why he was in the strategy room. How did Yaku put up with him?

Kenma sighed. “I’m working on translating an encryption so we can access some hidden files.”

“Cool, cool,” Lev said, nodding like he understood. Kenma knew he absolutely did not understand. “Well, Yaku said I should try to bond with you or whatever, so here I am! Let’s hang out.”

Kenma closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. “No, thanks.”

Lev flopped down into the chair beside him, stretching his long legs out in front of him like he intended to stay for a while. “You know, I get it,” he said, completely ignoring Kenma’s rejection. “You’re quiet. I bet people think that means you don’t like company. But I think deep down, you do like company… You just don’t know it yet.”

Kenma gave him a flat look. “No. I really don’t.”

Lev grinned. “See, that’s what someone who secretly does like company would say.”

Kenma stared at him, wondering if he should just leave and work somewhere else.

Unfortunately, Lev wasn’t done.

“Anyway, you should take a break,” the alpha continued, sitting up suddenly. “Let’s go do something fun!”

Kenma arched an eyebrow. “Define ‘fun.’”

“I dunno. Sparring? A game? Oh! I could teach you how to shoot!”

Kenma did not think he should trust Lev anywhere near a firearm.

“No. Besides, I doubt you even know how to use one properly.”

Lev pouted but wasn’t deterred. “Hey, I’ll have you know I am an arms dealer, so I better be able to use guns!” He said indignantly before groaning. “Fine, what about a video game? Yaku says you like those.”

Kenma hesitated. He probably did need a break and Lev looked like an easy opponent to wipe the floor with.

Lev noticed. “Ohhh, you’re thinking about it!” He grinned, looking victorious. “Come on, just one round of something. I swear I’ll leave you alone after.”

Kenma sighed, already regretting this. “Fine.”

Lev cheered, dragging Kenma to the lounge where an old console was set up. They settled on a Call of Duty game. It was just a basic fighting game, one Kenma barely had to think about to win.

It took approximately four minutes for Lev to start yelling.

“How do you keep doing that?!”

Kenma smirked; he had already killed Lev twice. Snipped him once and stabbed him the second time.

Lev groaned, flopping back against the couch dramatically. “This is rigged. You cheated.”

Kenma huffed, the smallest smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re just bad at videogames. What happened to all the bravado?”

Lev gasped. “Rude! I’ll have you know I am normally a great gamer!”

They played three more matches, all of which Kenma won with almost no effort. Lev was a sore loser, but his exaggerated reactions made the whole thing… bearable.

And maybe, just maybe, Kenma didn’t hate the company as much as he thought. It was still true Lev was loud and obnoxious, Kenma supposed he would be able to deal with him in small doses.

The days passed, blurring into one another like a slow-moving tide.

Kenma found himself settling into something that almost resembled a routine. Mornings were spent combing through data, cracking encryptions, and working alongside Akaashi on strategies. Lunch was noisy, filled with the chatter of packmates who didn’t expect him to contribute but still left space for him at the table. Afternoons were most of the time some variation of being pestered or dragged to do something other than sitting in the data room by a packmate or two. Evenings were quieter, often spent alone in his room, curled up with a laptop or staring at the ceiling.

It wasn’t quite living to the best of his ability, but it was something.

The others treated him like one of their own, but Kenma knew he was different. He wasn’t like Noya, who wore his heart on his sleeve, nor was he like Akaashi, who had found his place in the pack with quiet confidence. He wasn’t as strong as Daichi, as steady as Ushijima, or as unpredictable as Tanaka.

He was just… Kenma. 

No amount of interaction seemed to help him escape that limbo.

It didn’t matter how much time passed. He was trapped constantly thinking about Kuroo. The pain never seemed to fade. It became quieter, duller, but never left. He still reached for a presence that wasn’t there. Still turned corners expecting to hear that familiar, teasing voice.

Still looked at the moon and whispered to the only person he wanted to hear him.

But the moon never answered back.

It was frustrating. He knew he was getting better; he no longer had the urge to try and follow Kuroo into the afterlife…. Well sometimes he still did but those days were becoming fewer and fewer. 

Kenma sighed. It was 1 am and he was unable to sleep. After tossing and turning for nearly an hour he gave up and began to wander the corridors, heading towards the kitchen.

He had been drinking more tea lately. Akaashi had turned him into the habit of making tea when he was anxious or struggling. The omega said it always calmed him down and let him relax and think clearly. He had hoped it would do the same for Kenma.

The halls were quiet, the air heavy with the scent of various packmates who had long since turned in for the night. As he neared the common area, low voices reached his ears. He recognized them immediately.

Daichi and Suga.

He paused just out of sight. He shouldn’t eavesdrop. He knew that. But he was a bit curious.

He sighed and was about to leave when he heard his name.

“I’m worried about Kenma,” Suga murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Kenma’s breath caught. The omega was always so concerned about his health.

“He’s getting better,” Daichi responded, though he didn’t sound convinced.

“Better doesn’t mean okay,” Suga countered. “He still acts like an outsider, like he doesn’t really believe he’s here to stay.”

Daichi sighed. “I know.” A pause. “He’s still pretty fragile but pushing him won’t help.”

Fragile.

Kenma’s hands clenched at his sides.

“We just have to be patient,” Daichi continued. “You know better than anyone that the past isn’t that easy to let go of.”

“I don’t think he’ll ever be able to let go of it.” Suga’s voice was soft, almost sad. “From what I know he lost his mate Daichi. That kind of loss doesn’t heal, it just lingers.”

Kenma felt something sharp lodge itself in his throat.

“I know I wouldn’t be able to move on if you died.” Suga said and Kenma heard movement, he assumed Daichi had gone to hold Suga.

Kenma stepped back, forcing himself to move. He didn’t want to hear any more. He didn’t want to think about their words.

He made it to his room without realizing how. He sat by the window, gazing at the moon as he had so many nights before.

“They think I’m fragile, Kuro,” he whispered. “I guess they’re right.”

The moon remained silent, but Kenma swore he could still hear Kuroo’s voice, warm and teasing in his mind.

"That’s okay, my Aster. You’re still standing, aren’t you?"

Kenma closed his eyes, letting himself fool his mind to think Kuroo was right behind him. Placing a hand on his shoulder in support. 

For now, he was still standing….

Maybe that was the best he’d ever be able to do.

Notes:

This chapter is the start of some happier chapters before we get into more angst. You have been warned ;)

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I'm working overtime to make sure I have the character designs complete to be released with chapter 15 so wish me luck!

Speaking of character designs, would you guys like to see background descriptions of each character's lore with their character design or just scar and design explanations?

Let me know in the comments! Every comment helps me decide where the story goes!

Have a great rest of your day my lovelies <3

Chapter 12: Training Days

Summary:

In which Suga trains Kenma and Kenma gets a mission.

Kenma had spent the majority of his life avoiding unnecessary exertion. Running? No thanks. Lifting weights? Absolutely not. Fighting? He left that to people who actually enjoyed throwing themselves into danger.

Even Kuroo had struggled to motivate him, often opting to literally drag Kenma around with him to explore the forest and play volleyball.

But father Daichi had different ideas.

“You need to begin training,” Daichi had said. “Even if you’re not going to be on the front lines, you need to know how to defend yourself properly.”

Kenma had opened his mouth to argue, but then Daichi had given him that look.

The one Hinata, Noya, and Tanaka always referred to as the dad stare. The same look he used when he wanted you to know that while he wasn’t making it and order, it still wasn’t a suggestion. 

And that's how Kenma found himself standing in the middle of the training room, arms crossed, as Suga smiled at him in a way that sent a chill down his spine.

That smile and sweet personality was such bullshit.

Kenma knew better now that Suga the devil in disguise.

“Alright, Kenma,” Suga said, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes. “Do I have to?”

“Unless you want Daichi breathing down your neck? Yes.” He said with a fake angelic grin that Kenma knew meant it wouldn’t be just Daichi breathing down his neck if he ran away from training. 

Kenma groaned but didn’t argue. He was already here; resistance was futile.

Suga started with basic exercises: push-ups, squats, and planks.

Kenma lasted maybe three minutes before dropping flat onto the mats, breathless and regretting every life choice that had led him here.

Suga, unsurprisingly, was unfazed.

“Well, that was terrible,” the omega said cheerfully, kneeling next to Kenma and poking his side. “But hey, at least you didn’t pass out.”

Kenma turned his head to glare at him. “Yet.”

Suga snorted, his strawberry orchard scent light and airy. “Alright, up you go.” He stood and held out a hand. Kenma scowled but took it, allowing himself to be pulled back to his feet.

“Let’s try something else,” Suga said. “You might not have the strength yet, but you’re quick, right?”

Kenma gave him a wary look. “…that’s what Kageyama said.”

Suga’s grin widened, and Kenma regretted telling him that. “Then let’s use that to your advantage.”

Suga was quick to completely switch out the original training plan. Instead, he decided to focus on turning Kenma’s speed and agility into a proper fighting style.

Kenma was light on his feet, his body naturally moving without wasting energy. He supposed some good did come from his lazy nature.

Instead of striking directly, Suga had him weave through a set of obstacles, testing his agility and reflexes. Kenma wasn’t nearly as fast as Hinata, but he was efficient. Every movement had a purpose: small, calculated, precise.

After half an hour, he was still exhausted, but at least he didn’t feel like he was dying.

Suga watched him, nodding in approval. “See? You’re not hopeless.”

Kenma huffed, flopping onto the floor again. “That’s debatable.”

Suga crouched beside him, his face finally getting rid of that smile and settling on a neutral stare. “Look, I know you hate this. But the world we live in isn’t safe. No matter how smart you are and how many plans you come up with, there will come a time that you’ll have to fight.”

Kenma closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about that.

Kuroo had always been the one to protect him. Now, Kuroo wasn’t here.

Suga’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be strong in the sense our combat teams are. You just have to be strong enough to survive.”

Kenma’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Strong enough to survive? That was almost laughable.

But wasn’t that what Kuroo had wanted for him?

With a quiet sigh, Kenma sat up, pushing his hair from his face. “Fine. What’s next?”

Suga’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I knew you’d come around.”

Kenma immediately regretted everything. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut?

This sucked.

---

He didn’t know what was worse, the burning in his muscles or the fact that Suga looked pleased about it. He had barely survived the first day of training, and now, he was back in the same room, facing yet another torturous session.

This time, Suga had traded conditioning exercises for something arguably worse: combat training.

“You don’t have to be a powerhouse,” Suga explained, walking around him like a predator circling prey. “You just have to know how to move. When to dodge. When to counter. And most importantly—” He struck fast. Kenma barely registered the motion before his wrist was caught in Suga’s grip. “—when to escape.”

Kenma yanked his arm back, scowling. “I’m not a fighter.”

“Good. Because fighters are predictable.” Suga smirked, stepping back. “But strategists? They win wars.”

Kenma shifted uncomfortably. He understood what Suga was doing. Making this about intelligence rather than brute strength, it was probably the only way to keep him engaged. 

Which, unfortunately, was working.

They had started slow, Suga had made Kenma analyze each movement instead of blindly reacting.

“When someone comes at you, what’s the first thing you do?”

Kenma exhaled sharply. “Run.”

Suga snorted. “Alright, smartass. But what if you can’t?”

Kenma hesitated. “...Redirect.”

Suga grinned, slapping him on the back. “Exactly.”

The head omega was ecstatic to teach Kenma how to use an opponent's momentum against them. Apparently, that was the way Suga fought, and he hadn’t really had a protege to pass his knowledge onto until Kenma. 

Suga showed him, using his mate as an example much to Kenma’s amusement, how a small shift of weight and position could send an alpha flying.

Kenma had to admit it was hilarious to see Suga get the upper hand in a fight against Daichi within seconds. But the head alpha took it all with a grin, laughing each time Suga knocked him down.

Kenma was beginning to be more afraid of Suga than Daichi.

The omega also began to teach Kenma how moves that required minimal effort, like a step to the side or a well-placed trip, often had the maximum amount of impact when used correctly. 

After a few hours, Kenma found himself ducking without thinking, stepping away before Suga could land a strike. His body moved on instinct, recognizing patterns before his mind even processed them.

It was exhausting, but it felt so good. 

It was like coding. Finding patterns, analyzing your opponents, and using their own tools against them. 

“Akaashi wasn’t kidding when he said you were a quick learner,” Suga admitted, tossing Kenma a water bottle as they took a break. “Good at reading movements. If you trained properly, you’d be pretty fucking dangerous.”

Kenma scoffed, taking a sip. “I don’t need to be dangerous.”

Suga studied him, his expression a bit stoney. “You might think that now, but we live in a world that doesn’t care what your technical position is. One day, you’ll have to make the choice to fight or die. And when that time comes, because it isn’t a matter of if but when, I want you to be able to handle yourself, so you don’t get killed. I hate when unnecessary blood is spilled.”

Kenma tightened his grip on the bottle. Suga was so serious it was almost scary, but he was right.

Kenma didn’t have someone to protect him anymore, and he can’t rely on his teammates to always be there to keep him safe.

He thought about the attack on his village. The way he had frozen, helpless, while Kuroo shielded him. The way he had run. The way he had survived, but Kuroo hadn’t.

He wasn’t strong enough then, and he couldn’t let that ever happen again.

Suga didn’t push him to keep training for the day, sensing the shift in Kenma’s mood. Instead, he gave him some space, bidding him an early goodnight.

The next few weeks were filled with training exercises, building up stamina and an understanding of how the body moved, what were the weak points to exploit. 

Suga had surprised him by starting a sparring match after several weeks of instruction. Kenma found himself stepping back, letting Suga rush him, focusing on analyzing his movements, predicting how Suga would strike next.

It didn’t take long for Suga to notice.

“You’re not engaging,” he commented after watching Kenma avoid a strike for the tenth time.

Kenma shrugged. “I don’t need to.”

Suga tilted his head, considering. Then, he smirked. “You’re playing the long game; that’s a smart choice when against someone with more experience.” 

Kenma said nothing, excepting the praises as he continued to duck and dodge Suga’s strikes.

In the end Suga had won, but Kenma had managed to get a few hits in.

It would take a lot more training until he was truly combat ready, but for now Suga was pleased Kenma wouldn’t be killed easily. 

Kenma on the other hand just felt sore. Every muscle in his body aching, begging him for rest. By the time he had collapsed on his bed that night exhaustion had dragged him to sleep almost instantly. 

Which was why, when morning came, he was not prepared for the abrupt wake-up call.

One moment he was peacefully dreaming and the next his door was slammed open, and Hinata came bounding into his room at 8 a.m., practically vibrating with energy. Before Kenma could protest, he was being yanked from his bed and dragged toward the meeting room, barely given a chance to get ready for the day.

When they finally arrived, Kenma slumped into a seat next to Akaashi, who looked equal parts miserable and pissed.

Kenma had learned very fast that the pretty omega hated being woken up before 10 a.m., and more often than not, he would be pissy all day if he hadn’t gotten his proper rest.

Kenma gave him a sympathetic nod as he sat down, while Hinata had already launched into an animated conversation with Nishinoya, who had taken to the hyper omega’s other side.

It had only taken a few minutes after that for everyone to settle down and Daichi began to speak, going through plans and upcoming missions.

Kenma had pulled out his tablet, fingers idly scrolling though data he had uncovered the day prior. He was only half registering the mission details, an interception for a data exchange between two new syndicates located in the middle of Tokyo, not that it mattered really to Kenma considering the mission was going to mainly be using combat specialists. 

He figured he and Akaashi would need to make a plan for the team and then decrypt any intel they brought back, nothing out of the ordinary for them.

“Ushijima, Suna, and Tendou will be the team for this mission.” 

The moment Tendou’s name left Daichi’s mouth, a low growl rumbled from Ushijima’s chest.

“No.”

The room went silent, Kenma whipped his head up to stare at the alpha. Everyone was watching with bated breath as Daichi straightened up, eying the usually stoic alpha.

Daichi frowned. “Excuse me?”

Ushijima squared his shoulders, his demeanor darkening into something more intense, his oud wood smell beginning to take on a bitter scent. “Tendou isn’t going.”

Kenma watched as the others subtly shifted, exchanging glances. No one had said it outright yet, but it was now very obvious something was going on with Tendou. He had been quieter, staying close to Ushijima more than usual, and now Ushijima was outright refusing to let him go on a mission. Everyone’s head whipped around to look at Tendou as he let out an awkward chuckle and raised his hand.

“Waka, I can handle myself, you know—”

“No.” Ushijima’s voice was firm, as he said it, but he wasn’t looking at Tendou instead he continued to stare Daichi down.

Daichi exhaled through his nose, clearly displeased. “Ushijima, I assigned this mission for a reason—”

“I will do it without him.” He snapped back and Kenma looked at Tendou who looked like he was starting to get nauseous. 

Kenma glances around to see if anyone else was observing everything and catches eyes with Suga, who had been standing by Daichi through the meeting adding in his own intel.

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to hold onto his patience, a bit of a growl in his tone as he spoke. “I need three people for this mission, this is not a suggest–.” 

Suga rested a hand on Daichi’s shoulder, making his mate stop speaking and take a deep breath. The two seemed to have a conversation just with their eyes and finally Daichi sighed.

“Ushijima, we will have a conversation after the meeting.” He said, and Ushijima looked like he was going to argue but Suga raised his hand to stop the alpha.

It was tense as Daichi’s gaze flickered over the room before landing on Kenma. “Alright. Kenma, you’ll go instead of Tendou.”

Kenma, who had been looking at Tendou snapped his head around to stare at their leader owlishly. “What?”

Suna let out a low whistle, amused. “Well, that’s a shift.”

Daichi ignored him, turning to Kenma. “You won’t be on the front lines. Your job is data interception, get in, retrieve the files, and get out. If anything goes wrong, you stick with Suna.”

Kenma hesitated. He didn’t want to go. He was still adjusting, still finding his footing, and he didn’t trust himself in the field yet. But he also knew arguing wouldn’t get him anywhere.

So, instead, he sighed. “Fine.”

Daichi nodded and exasperatedly looked back at Ushijima. “Does that work for you?”

Suga elbowed Daichi in the side giving his mate a warning look but Ushijima simply nodded to their leader.

Tendou huffed. “Honestly, Waka, you’re making this a thing—”

Ushijima turned to him, lowering his voice to a soft murmur that Kenma barely caught. “We will talk later.”

Tendou pouted but didn’t argue.

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, with Daichi going over the finer details of the mission.

Once the others started filtering out, Ushijima approached him. A slightly guilty expression on his normally stoic face.

“Kozume-san may I talk to you?” He asked and Kenma scrunched his nose a bit at the awkward formality

“Just call me Kenma.” He said but stayed still silently acknowledging Ushijima’s request.

He was silent for a moment, then spoke. “I apologize for my misconduct during the meeting. I did not mean to cause you extra work.”

Kenma sighed. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I put you on the spot,” Ushijima said, his voice as even as ever, but there was a flicker of something deeper behind his expression. “It was not my intention, but I could not let Tendou go.”

Kenma studied him for a moment, then glanced around the now empty meeting room checking to make sure everyone had left. “Tendou...He’s pregnant, isn’t he?”

Ushijima tensed, his gaze sharp, but then he let out a slow breath. “Yes.”

Kenma wasn’t particularly surprised, but he couldn't help the flash of hot jealousy that bubbled up into his chest.

He and Kuroo never got to have a family.

Kenma stamped down his feelings quickly and Ushijima continued.

“We have not told anyone yet. We wanted to wait… considering our profession.”

Yeah, that was a big issue. They weren’t exactly in a stable or safe environment; it made sense that they wouldn’t want to tell anyone just in case something happened.

Kenma nodded. “I understand and don’t worry I won’t say anything.”

Ushijima gave him a small nod of appreciation. “Thank you.”

Kenma shrugged, glancing toward the exit where Tendou had disappeared. “You know, I think he’s going to be mad you pulled him from the mission in front of everyone.”

Ushijima exhaled, but didn’t look the slightest bit guilty. “He will understand.”

Kenma smirked slightly. “He’s still going to be mad.”

Ushijima didn’t deny it.

Kenma turned to leave, bidding Ushijima good luck with not only his conversation with Tendou but also the lecture he would probably get from Daichi.

He decided to go train with Suga for his mission in a few days, eager to get this anxious energy that was already starting to build up out of his system.

Kenma had been on edge since they left for the mission. 

Ushijima and Suna barely spoke a word as they drove to the exchange location, the industrial sector of Tokyo where warehouses lined the streets.

How cliche.

Kenma couldn’t help but think about every worst-case scenario. Making back up plan after backup plan for every single possible outcome.

He was just trying to make sure Ushijima went back home to Tendou and they all left the warehouse district in one piece, so sue him for being anxious.

Kenma had been thrown into an active mission with two of the most efficient alphas in their syndicate, thank the gods.

Their target was an abandoned building on the outskirts of the warehouse district. Two rival syndicates, new up and comers in the Yakuza scene were meeting for a deal, intel had let them know it was most likely to create an alliance, allowing that was dangerous in their line of work.

 Kenma’s job was simple: infiltrate their network and ruin any information that could be trading before it could be handed off.

They had arrived an hour before the exchange was set to happen.

Perching on a rooftop across from the factory, Kenma sat with his laptop balanced on his knees while Suna lay prone beside him, his sniper rifle setup, trained on the building. Ushijima waited below, hidden in the shadows near their planned exit.

“They’re here.” Ushijima’s voice crackled through the comms. Kenma tensed hand going up to scratch at the scent blocker on his neck and Suna bumped him slightly with his shoulder.

“Breathe.” He said simply. 

Kenma nodded and took a few deep breaths, and the men came into view walking into the abandoned building.

Suna huffed a laugh and Kenma looked at him like he was going insane, but Suna just jutted his chin to his gun.

“They chose to stand near a window, so I still have an easy shot. They really are newbies in the field.” He said and Kenma nodded, “Should make your job easier too.” He added and Kenma’s eyes widened in realization.

“I’m starting data extraction now.” He said through the comms getting a noise of approval from Ushijima.

Kenma’s fingers flew across the keyboard, scanning each network for a way in, and just like Suna said it barely took a minute to find an opening.

Quickly he began to decrypt each line of code, cracking through the firewall in seconds. 

His eyes darted to Suna, “Report.” He said and Suna began to go through what he could see.

“Four men standing in a loose circle, one holding a briefcase while another has an iPad.” He said staring through the scope.

“Good.” He said, and began to type quickly again, finding a few files and clicking into them.

His screen flashes red and Kenma’s stomach drops.

“Shit.”

Suna’s gaze flickered to him. “What?”

“They have counter-hacking measures. Someone’s monitoring the transfer, I didn’t think a new faction would have access to that type of code.” He tried to override it, but the system was quickly locking him out.

Suna watched the men closely, watching their reactions.

“They don’t know we’re here yet, but I don’t know how fast that will change.” he said, and Kenma nodded, throwing his laptop into his bag and grabbing out his iPad. 

“I need to get closer to them,” Kenma whispered.

Suna clicked his tongue, eyes on the scope. “Why?”

Kenma exhaled sharply. “I can bypass it with a new device and account, but I need an actual connection to their system.”

“That means going in,” Ushijima’s voice crackled through their comms.

Kenma’s throat tightened. Of course it does.

“We got your back,” Suna muttered, and Kenma relaxed a bit.

Suna was surprisingly good at saying the right thing when you need it. Kenma had a passing thought that Suna would make some omega really happy one day, before he was pulled back to reality.

“Go on kitty cat, we are working against the clock.” He said looking up with a smirk and Kenma sent him a glare.

“Call me that again, and I’ll make sure your phone only plays cursed ringtones for the rest of your life.”

Suna smirked but said nothing else, going back to staring into the scope.

Ushijima was already moving, voice crackling through comms. “Kenma, with me. Suna, cover us.”

Kenma had no time to hesitate. He grabbed his bag and ran down the stairs to join Ushijima on the ground, heart pounding against his ribs.

“Make sure to alert us if one of the men moves.” he said to Suna, who hummed acknowledgment to the alpha. Ushijima took him around back to enter through a broken door. 

Inside, the factory smelled of rust and stale air. Ushijima led the way with a handgun raised in preparation, moving like a shadow despite his size, while Kenma stayed close behind, sticking to the walls.

The briefcase was still with the seller thankfully and the man who held the iPad seemed distracted as they all spoke.

Ushijima caught his eye and nodded, and Kenma took a breath crouching in the corner, keeping low as he used his own tablet. His fingers flew over the screen, using the hotspot of the man’s iPad to connect his own and quickly started the data transfer and deletion.

Each data bite of intel Kenma gained was wiped from their enemy’s database. He heard Suna’s voice, but he didn’t focus on the words he said, all of his attention on his tablet.

Thirty seconds.

Then he heard it.

The distinct click of a gun being cocked.

Kenma barely had time to process before Ushijima moved, releasing his handgun to grab the man behind him, slamming him into a crate with a sickening crack.

Shouts erupted.

Kenma swore under his breath. “Almost done—”

Gunfire rang out.

Suna’s sniper shot dropped the man with the briefcase, as the remaining two men tried to rush them. Ushijima was already in action, his sheer strength keeping the two at bay, but they were pulling weapons.

Kenma’s tablet flashed green. Done.

He turned to run just as a hand grabbed his collar, yanking him back.

The man Ushijima had thrown into the crate was back up, pulling Kenma close trying to grab him as a hostage.

Kenma reacted on instinct, the muscle memory from training with Suga kicking in. He twisted, using the momentum to shove his elbow into the man’s stomach before stomping on his foot. The man grunted but didn’t let go.

Ushijima turned at the sound, but Kenma was faster.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small device, and slammed it into the man’s exposed wrist, an electric shock pulsed through it, making him convulse and drop to the floor.

Something caught Kenma’s eye, the forgotten briefcase and he ran forward.

“Kenma!” Ushijima called, throwing one of the attackers to the floor. But Kenma scooped up the case.

“I got it—move!” Kenma yelled back

They sprinted toward the exit.

More gunfire.

A bullet whizzed past Kenma’s ear, he looked incredulously to the window where he knew Suna could see them and nearly tripped, but Ushijima grabbed him, pulling him through the door just as Suna fired another shot, taking out their last pursuer.

“Don’t worry I’m too good at my job to hit you.” Suna’s voice crackled through the comms and Kenma would have said something snarky in return, but he was too busy running.

The moment they reached the getaway car, Kenma collapsed into the seat, heart hammering.

Ushijima and Suna got in, and they sped off, leaving the chaos behind.

Kenma exhaled sharply, gripping the briefcase handle in his fist.

The job was far from perfect. It almost went wrong, really wrong. But they had gotten what they came for and more.

Kenma let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

“So… what’s in the case?” Suna asked from the passenger seat and Ushijima grunted.

“You shouldn’t have gone back for the case.” he chided, and Suna rolled his eyes.

“Isn’t it better than letting someone get the case because we left it there?” He asked and Ushijima didn’t respond so Suna shot a smirk at Kenma.

Who was thankful for his defense because he needed a few minutes to gather himself completely.

“I’ll… open it up when we get to the base.” He said, and Suna nodded.

After that the ride back was silent, except for the radio Suna had turned on, playing whatever new hit song was trending this week.

Kenma stared down at the briefcase in his hands, the weight of what had just happened settling in his chest. His fingers trembled slightly, a mix of leftover adrenaline and exhaustion, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the case. 

Kenma exhaled, his head leaning back against the seat. He wasn’t sure what to feel.

When they arrived at headquarters, the moment they stepped inside, Daichi was already waiting.

His sharp gaze swept over them, eyes scanning for any injuries, and his tense stance seemed to ease up as he found no one hurt. His eyes lingering for a second longer on Kenma before he spoke. “Report.”

Ushijima gave the rundown of the mission: what went wrong, how they adapted, and how they managed to get out with the data, as well as the briefcase they had retrieved but not yet opened.

When he finished, Daichi turned his attention to Suna, who began to report his intel.

“None seemed particularly skilled, four in total, all dead, I took out three and Ushijima took out one. They did not have any high-tech weapons, just simple handguns and knives.” He said and Daichi nodded, finally looking at Kenma.

 “And you?” He asked.

Kenma hesitated. He wasn’t used to being put on the spot. His fingers curled around the briefcase handle as he forced himself to meet Daichi’s gaze. “I completed the extraction. Their system had countermeasures, so I had to connect manually with a different device. It—” He swallowed, pushing down the lingering nerves. “It almost went south. But I was successful in retrieving data and destroying their database.”

Daichi reached out, and Kenma slowly handed over the briefcase. The older alpha studied him for a moment before nodding. “Good work.”

Kenma blinked.

That was it?

He had expected a lecture, a critique, maybe even frustration at how reckless the mission had been. Instead, Daichi was looking at him with something… different. Approval?

“We’ll open up the briefcase and analyze the data you collected tonight,” Daichi continued. “For now, get cleaned up and rest.”

Kenma nodded and turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Suga placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You did well,” Suga murmured, his tone gentle but firm. “Better than well.”

Kenma felt warmth creep up his neck. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded again before slipping out of the room to take a much-needed shower.

By the time Kenma was back in his room, Akaashi had texted him that the briefcase had contained plans for future missions and the blueprints for one of Karasuno’s safe houses that was now compromised and would be emptied tomorrow and relocated.

Kenma smiled, grabbing the briefcase had been a good idea after all. He plugged his phone into the charger and crawled into bed.

His body was sore, his mind still racing from the mission, but beneath all of it, there was a quiet sense of something unfamiliar.

Confidence.

It felt… nice.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!

I hope you enjoyed today's chapter, and I can't wait to see your thoughts on it!

It is set, this coming Sunday I will be posting not only chapter 15, but also 8-character designs and backgrounds.

I can't wait for you guys to see what I have in store for you next! Have a wonderful rest of your day <3

Chapter 13: An Unexpected Encounter

Summary:

It's been a year since the attack on Hakone

Kenma never thought he would last a year.

The day he first arrived at Karasuno, he had been a ghost of himself: quiet, malnourished, hollow-eyed, and traumatized by the death of his mate and destruction of his home. He hadn’t cared where he was or who he was with. He had only existed because Kuroo had asked him to, not because he had wanted to. But somehow, through time, through relentless training, through the bonds he never expected to form, he had started to change.

Now, he wasn’t just surviving. He was starting to live again.

Starting to smile, to laugh, make friends, and wake up without the guilt of surviving gnawing at his heart.

Physically, he had improved in ways he never thought possible.

Kenma had always been small and delicate, an omega who had relied on his intelligence rather than strength. He hadn’t ever really had the need or want to be strong with Kuroo there, he liked to be taken care of by his best friend and mate. 

And even now he still wasn’t built for direct combat. He would never be like Tanaka, Ushijima, or Kageyama but he had adapted. Under Suga’s sharp eye, he had been forced into daily training, his body conditioned through drills and endurance exercises. He was still lean, still smaller than the others, but now there was a wiry strength to him. His agility was only outmatched by Hinata, who was a freak of nature in his own right, allowing him to move faster than most in the field.

He still despised fighting, preferring to stay back and use his tech, but he knew how to protect himself and others. Knew how to counter, how to evade, how to strike where it would cause the most damage easily so he could slip away.

Daichi had tested him more than once in sparring matches. Kenma rarely won, which was to be expected considering Daichi was the head alpha for a reason, but he always lasted longer than expected, using strategy rather than brute strength to outmaneuver his opponents.

His scent had shifted too.

When he had arrived at Karasuno it had been either sour or nonexistent. So dulled and twisted by grief he hadn’t smelt anything like he used to. But now his cinnamon-apple scent had more or less returned. Not always present like an omega’s normal pheromones would be, but still it was a massive improvement. 

Not only that but he had become invaluable to the family.

Kenma had gone from merely assisting in minor operations to helping plan full-scale missions. His knowledge of technology, combined with his ability to predict movements, had saved the syndicate more times than they could count.

He had also started teaching everyone the basics of hacking, so they didn’t have to rely on him for simple missions, which had helped his work load out quite a bit, not only needed for major missions or strictly cyber issues.

It wasn’t just hacking into security systems anymore. Kenma was analyzing enemy formations, uncovering weaknesses, and coordinating escape routes. More than once, he had led a mission from behind the screen, guiding his teammates through comms as he watched through cameras, ensuring they made it out alive and unscathed.

His name was starting to carry weight in the family now.

Even Daichi, who was always cautious about trust, had started deferring to Kenma’s judgment in any tech situation.

Kenma had felt bad, basically taking over as head of the hacking department. He had apologized to Akaashi who had simply brushed him off, “It’s a good thing I can focus on strategies instead of being stretched thin. Stop apologizing.”

Kenma had felt sheepish when the omega chided him for feeling bad about nothing. And reluctantly he accepted the position as Head of the Hacking Department, often working closely with Akaashi, which was a welcome change from rarely getting to work with his friend.

They were a pretty damn good team if Kenma said so himself.

Kenma was becoming a kingpin in the syndicate and that made him so proud.

It really did but… emotionally…

That was where the real battle had been.

Kenma didn’t really know if he was healing, or if he had just learned how to keep moving forward, how to keep his thoughts focused on work and not stray to Kuroo.

The hole his alpha left behind had never truly closed. It still aches when he wakes up each morning, still twisted inside him when he catches a glimpse of dark hair and golden eyes, only to remind himself that it wasn’t Kuroo. It never would be.

Because he was dead.

That fact had become a bit easier to accept now, it didn’t make him want to break down and sob every time the thought crossed his mind. The grief wasn’t as all-consuming anymore.

It was still really hard, especially at night when he was all alone. But Kuroo would be proud of him, he knew that.

He had formed friendships despite his hesitation and reserved nature.

Noya and Tanaka had attached themselves to him early on, their boundless energy forcing him out of his bedroom. Even on his worst days, when the weight of loss sat heavy on his chest, they had been relentless. Always dragging him into sparring matches, sneaking him snacks during training, forcing laughter out of him even when he didn’t want to give it. They were so chaotic, and bright Kenma could help but gain a soft spot for the duo.

Lev, chaotic and overbearing, had also become an unexpected constant in his life as well as his now mate Yaku. The alpha was loud, obnoxious, and had no concept of personal space, but he was so painfully genuine. Yaku was strong and motherly, chiding him to eat, sleep, and drink something other than caffeine, because goddammit Kenma your body does require water to function. They never treated Kenma like glass, never tiptoed around him. Instead, treating him like he was just another person, something Kenma hadn’t realized he needed after everything that had happened.

Suna, Sakusa, and Ushijima were different. The trio was quieter in their support, but no less present. Kenma had come to understand Sakusa and Ushijima’s blunt nature was not an insult, it simply was how they acted. Suna was a bit better at communicating, but he was mainly a teasing presence. None of them ever forced conversation, didn’t demand anything from him. But they were there when it mattered. A steady presence in the background, always watching, always willing to step in if he needed them. 

Hinata was essentially sunshine incarnate, even his tangerine scent was bright and bubbly. He made Kenma smile, made him laugh and brought him out of his shell. Always bringing him into conversations, chatting animatedly even when Kenma couldn’t bear to give any energy back.  Hinata always seemed to have enough for them both, making Kenma feel accepted. 

And then there was Akaashi.

Akaashi had been the first to truly understand him. They operated on the same wavelength, communicating easily with looks and subtle nods. Secretly becoming gossip buddies. Akaashi never pushed him to talk, never forced him to explain himself. Instead, he existed beside him, offering quiet companionship on nights when the silence was unbearable, allowing the other omega to breathe in his white jasmine scent as he calmed down. Kenma doesn’t know what he’d do without the other omega

Kenma wouldn’t call them friends. Not because they weren’t important to him, but because the word felt too small for what they had built.

They were a pack, a family.

And that was something he hadn’t expected to find again.

But no matter how much he had grown; one thing hadn’t changed. The world they lived in was dangerous.

People died all the time in their line of work.

Kenma had lost the most important people to him once, he didn’t know if he could survive losing everyone he loved again. 

So he pushed himself, worked harder, learned as much as possible to guarantee that he would always be able to be of use no matter the situation. Preparation was everything in this line of work.

And right now, his preparation was being put to the test.

The mission was supposed to be simple. Get in, retrieve a package Karasuno believed to have intel on one of their members, and get out before anyone notices.

Kenma had analyzed the drop-off point multiple times, making sure every possible route was covered. 

He had been teamed up with Tanaka and Lev, who weren’t exactly the most subtle members for the job, but they were both strong and reliable, so Kenma wasn’t too worried as long as they both stayed professional.

And to Kenma’s pleasant surprise they were both on their best behavior, so serious it was almost like they were two completely different people. 

Everything had been going according to plan. They had secured the package without being seen, easily taking out the guard that had been assigned to protect it and were already on their way to get to their hidden car, when Kenma’s instincts flared with warning.

A presence.

No, two .

He stopped walking, subtly shifting his body into a defensive stance, Tanaka and Lev instantly picked up on Kenma’s stance and were already preparing to fight. Tanaka was letting out low protective growls, in a balanced fighting stance. Lev already had his gun out trained at the alley ahead. It was dimly lit, but even in the low light, they could make out the silhouettes blocking their path.

Two men.

Both Alphas.

And neither of them belonged to Karasuno.

Tanaka cursed under his breath, Lev tensing beside him, his shoulder squaring as he aimed the gun at the two newcomers. Kenma’s fingers twitched at his sides, calculating their odds in an instant. Neither side moved, the alleyway thick with unspoken tension.

The first man was broad-shouldered, his muscular frame imposing despite the casual way he held himself, which was odd, most people would be tense ready to spring into a fight. Kenma would have thought the alpha didn’t take them seriously, except for the fact his golden eyes were sharp and hard. 

His hair was a mess of white and black spikes, a chaotic contrast to the sharp intensity in his eyes, almost reminding Kenma of an owl. A deep jagged scar stretched down his arm, along with a few bullet scars, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. A tattoo peeked out from beneath the fabric, its dark ink curling over his shoulder.

The second man was different. He had black hair and calculating green eyes. He was a bit shorter than the other alpha, but it was obvious he was much more dangerous. His presence was sharp, coiled like a spring ready to snap. His olive-toned skin was marked with scars, they covered nearly every inch of the man's exposed skin, disappearing under his shirt. 

There was a scar across his cheek, pale in contrast with his olive-skin but it was the metal that caught Kenma’s attention first. A pair of black snakebite piercings gleamed against his lower lip, and a single eyebrow piercing added to the rough edge of his appearance. More ink adorned his skin, black tattoos curling over his arms, peeking from beneath his collar.

Kenma continued to scan both men for every bit of information he could gain and was surprised to see a mating bond mark along the side of his neck.

It was old. And held traces of an omega’s scent, it was cinnamon tinged with a sweet syrupy smell that Kenma couldn’t quite place, similar to Kenma’s own Cinnamon apple scent.

The alpha having a mate is something Kenma will exploit if the situation gets worse.

Kenma locked eyes with the short alpha.

He recognized who they were now, he had seen their pictures while going through other syndicate members. And if his memories served him right, they were the top combat soldier from the most powerful syndicate in the area. 

Seijoh.

This was bad. 

Tanaka and Lev were strong but if the intel on the two alpha’s was true, they were able to easily dominate swarms of men. Two alphas and an omega would be child's play to them.

Neither side spoke. The air between them was thick, tense, a silent battle of dominance and control.

Tanaka shifted his weight forward, his natural alpha instincts stirring, but Kenma shot him a warning look. 

Do Not engage. 

They were out skilled, and even though Lev was taller than both men, size didn’t matter if the other side was more skilled.

The scarred one, the one with the mating bond, tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He was sizing them up, the sharp glint in his gaze revealing just how much he had already assessed. The other alpha was now grinning, his relaxed posture hadn’t changed. But those golden eyes made Kenma feel like he was a predator stalking his prey. 

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes.

Then, static crackled in Kenma’s earpiece.

"Kenma, Tanaka, Lev—return now."

Suga’s voice was clipped, serious. Kenma was almost certain the omega had hacked into the cameras around them and had seen their current predicament.

At the same time the taller alpha had finally tensed up and looked at his partner who grunted a few words, Kenma caught the words “Fallback” and Kenma felt relief wash over him. Apparently, they had also received orders to disengage.

Without another word, the two alphas stepped back, slowly retreating into the shadows.

Kenma didn’t wait to question it.

"Let’s go," he murmured, turning on his heel.

Tanaka and Lev followed, neither daring to glance back.

It wasn’t until they had driven several blocks away, safely out of enemy territory, that Tanaka finally broke the silence.

"What the hell was that?"

Kenma didn’t answer.

He felt bad for ignoring Tanaka, but he was unsettled. He would have to go do some more research when they got back because why the hell was Seijoh even there.

The adrenaline from the mission still lingered in Kenma’s system long after they had returned to Karasuno’s compound.

He had given his report, explaining the tense standoff in neutral territory, the way the two unknown alphas had let them go without conflict. 

When everyone else had left he told Daichi he was almost certain they were members of Seijoh, but he would have to look through a few files to be certain. Daichi seemed as unsettled as Kenma was, having the same question.

Kenma left out how his gut told him they were more than just low-ranking enforcers. How they carried themselves was far from an average person, something about their stance, their confidence, told him they were high-ranking . Maybe even leaders.

Daichi had listened carefully, nodding along, but there was something dark in his expression, something worried.

Kenma understood why.

Seijoh was their biggest threat, and they were getting closer to their territory.

Kenma gave the alpha a small bow and left for the tech room, quickly going through and finding every little thing he could find about Seijoh.

Kenma was horrified at what he found.

Bokuto, first name unknown. Origin, unknown. Gender, Male Alpha. Known Intel, Weapons specialist (bladed weapons), hand to hand combat specialist, bodyguard. Status, unknown. Alias, Owl.

Bokuto had a known kill count in the hundreds, it was probably even more than that, mainly using hand to hand combat and a dagger to deliver killing blows. And while he was terrifying, the other man’s profile made Kenma’s blood turn to ice.

Iwaizumi, first name unknown. Origin, Tokyo red light district. Gender, Male Alpha. Known Intel, Head of Seijoh combat unit, versatile in weapons, within the torture unit. Status, Mated. Alias, dragon. 

Iwaizumi’s kill count was in the thousands, and he had only surfaced a few years ago. Those who fought him often left broken if not dead. Apparently, he was also known as the Seijoh leader’s lap dog, doing any and all dirty work and only following his orders.

What really rubbed Kenma the wrong was how little was known about the leader. No matter how many files Kenma combed through, all he knew about the leader was that he was a male known by the alias Demon or Oni and that he had taken the Yakuza scene by storm six years ago, establishing his empire within a month of his first appearance.

This was bad.

This was worse than bad, Karasuno was strong but even Kenma doubted they would make it out alive if Seijoh targeted them.

Kenma began to rapidly go through their protections and started to beef up their code, trying his hardest to make their network as impenetrable as possible. No code was perfect so it wasn’t like he could make it 100% safe, but he could make it difficult and tedious, if he bought time he would be able to actively attack any hackers that tried to get in.

Kenma’s fingers were flying over his keyboard, his heart hammering in his chest. His anxiety was squeezing his heart making it feel impossible to breathe. 

He had to make sure everyone would stay safe.

He should have been used to this by now. A whole year in Karasuno’s syndicate had forced him to grow stronger, to sharpen his instincts, to become someone who could survive in a world full of danger. But tonight, had shaken something loose inside him, something he had buried under strategy and calculated survival.

The fear of loss .

He had lost his family, his home, his mate.

And despite how much he tried to move forward, the pain still festered beneath the surface.

What if Tanaka had made a move and set those alphas off? What if Lev’s impulsiveness had gotten them killed? 

What if… what if, what if, what if

He barely realized someone had walked into the room. His eyes were fixed to the screen as he began to have a silent mental breakdown, his scent turning sour and bitter.

"You’re overthinking."

Kenma stiffened slightly but didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

Akaashi’s presence was as familiar as it was calming.

The omega moved beside him, settling into a chair beside Kenma. His white jasmine scent, calming and grounding, wrapped around Kenma in quiet reassurance.

"I’m not," Kenma muttered.

Akaashi hummed, unconvinced. “Yeah, and that's why you are writing thousands of lines of code at 2 a.m.”

Kenma exhaled, taking his hands off the keyboard. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. He didn’t know what to say but Akaashi just stayed quiet until he finally spoke up.

 "I just… today was a reminder." Kenma said, curling in on himself slightly.

"Of what?"

Kenma’s throat tightened. "That no matter how much I learn, no matter how much stronger I get, this world can still take everything away in seconds."

Akaashi nodded, “I heard you ran into some rival gang member.” He said and Kenma’s head whipped around to stare at Akaashi.

“They weren't just rival gang members. They were leaders in the field. Both of them were combat experts and together they had thousands of kills. They could have killed us but thank the gods that they were called away!” Kenma was yelling at this point, didn’t Akaashi see how bad this was?

Akaashi was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, voice steady. "You’re afraid of losing us."

Akaashi could always see deep into his soul, always knew exactly what was torturing Kenma’s mind when he was spiraling.

Kenma swallowed. "I already lost everything once. I… I don’t think I could handle another loss."

Akaashi turned slightly, his sharp gunmetal blue eyes softening. "We have all lost someone close to us, Kenma. That’s why we fight, it’s why we do what we do."

Kenma didn’t respond.

"It’s not about winning," Akaashi continued. "It’s about living. About protecting the people who are still here."

Kenma let those words settle, the weight in his chest shifting slightly.

Living.

Sure, he was alive but that felt like a foreign concept. He had just been surviving day to day.

That’s what he had been doing since the day Kuroo was taken from him. 

He learned there was a difference between surviving and truly living. It’s what Karasuno taught him, what they had given him. He had a reason to keep surviving, to keep fighting.

But he still wasn’t able to live freely, and the fears never really left.

Akaashi must have sensed it, because he sighed softly, nudging Kenma’s shoulder. "You’re not alone in this."

Kenma blinked, glancing at him.

Akaashi’s expression was firm, resolute. "We’re all fighting to stay alive. And we’re fighting with you, you don’t have to keep doing this all alone."

Kenma looked away, his fingers tightening around sweatshirt.

A year ago, he wouldn’t have believed those words. He would have let himself drown in grief, in the loneliness of loss.

A year ago, he would have rather died than have to go a day without Kuroo. 

A year ago, he was weak.

But not anymore.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

I have an outline for about 50 chapters completed and set in stone, however, I'm looking for some more ideas so please be sure to comment any suggestions you have for this story!

Anyone, even guests are able to comment so I'd greatly appreciate if you could leave me some ideas!

Anyways I will see you all on Friday! Have a great rest of your day <3

Chapter 14: Whispers

Summary:

Plans are made for the syndicate and Kenma can't escape his past.

A knock on the door to the tech room broke the tentative silence Akaashi and Kenma had created.

It was soft, three simple taps to the door frame. 

Suga. 

It was always Suga who knocked like that, a gentleness masking the authority everyone in the compound knew better than to challenge.

Kenma wiped at his face, not realizing until that moment that his eyes had stung with unshed tears. He had been going soft ever since Kuroo died, tears came much easier than they ever had before.

“You're being called to the meeting room,” Suga said after stepping in, voice light but firm. His soft scent of a sun warmed strawberry orchard softened the edges of Kenma’s raw nerves, helping calm him down from his previous panic. “Daichi wants a full strategy council. With you, Tanaka, and Lev abruptly meeting members of Seijoh we need to talk about plans for the syndicate.” He explained gently with a tense smile.

Kenma nodded, pushing himself up from the chair and Akaashi followed suit collecting his tablet in the process.

“Come on,” the other omega said quietly, brushing invisible lint from Kenma’s hoodie sleeve. “Let’s stop this from becoming a war.” Akaashi had said it in a force light tone that made Kenma want to scowl at his best friend. He hated the fake tones people went in when they were worried about him. But instead of voicing his distaste Kenma simply grabbed his own laptop and notes he had been writing before Akaashi had invaded his panicked state. 

The walk to the meeting room was quiet. Kenma’s brain was still running a thousand calculations per second, trying to go through their inventory, strengths, and weaknesses in his head. Kenma needed to figure out how to counter a threat that walked like gods among men.

Scratch that, demons among men.

Seijoh didn’t seem benevolent, they were brutal and ruthless. 

When they stepped into the meeting room, Daichi was already seated at the head of the polished obsidian table, his arms folded. His warm and grounding spice cake scent hit Kenma like a weighted blanket. Protective. Commanding. Familiar.

Suga took the seat beside him, one hand resting on Daichi’s arm. The simple action had Daichi’s shoulder relaxing minutely, grounding him just as Akaashi did for Kenma.

Kenma settled into his usual spot next to Suga as Akaashi sat on the other side of Daichi. The air was thick with tension, and though there were no raised voices, Kenma’s instincts prickled at the edge of something brewing beneath the surface.

“Let’s get to it,” Daichi said. “Kenma. Akaashi. Give us your breakdown on Seijoh.”

Kenma cleared his throat, reaching for the tablet in front of him. “I’ll start with the two men I encountered in the mission. They weren’t low-level. I matched their profiles and learned their names are Bokuto and Iwaizumi. Bokuto goes by the alias Owl and Iwaizumi goes by the alias Dragon.” He explained and with a few taps of his tablet was projecting a simply report Kenma had drawn up of the two enemies.

“We don’t know that much about either one, but from the intel I could collect Bokuto is an alpha, and seems to be a specialist in bladed weapons, hand to hand combat, and has been witnessed as a bodyguard. His kill count is estimated at around 750 people.” Daichi frowned before speaking up.

“How is that possible? I know that there are plenty of people in Japan but there is no way that many deaths could be attributed to one man.” He said skeptically and Kenma winced.

“His kill count is nothing compared to his partners.” He said after a moment of hesitation and Daichi looked at him wide eyed, so Knema decided to continue. “Well Iwaizumi is also an alpha, we have intel that he is the head of the Seijoh combat unit and torture unit, and his personal kill count is around 1,500 people.” He said and the two leaders were looking at Kenma wide eyed.  

Akaashi took this moment to cut in, “These kills were not done solely in Japan, Seijoh has quite the network around the world.” He informed Suga and nodded dumbly at the information. Daichi simply took a deep breath as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Anything else to note about these two?” He asked and Kenma nodded, causing Daichi's jaw to set and Suga’s grip on his arm tightened.

“I noticed that Iwaizumi had a mating mark, I believe it might be useful in the future if necessary to extort.” Kenma said and Suga winced. 

While none of them wanted to resort to that, it seemed like the best option they currently had if push comes to shove. Suga and Daichi looked at one another for a long moment before they nodded and Daichi muttered a ‘continue’.

“There’s nothing concrete on their leader,” Kenma continued. “The information I was able to dig up says he goes by Oni but there is no image or confirmed name. He wiped out five territories in under a month six years ago. Took over everything west of the mountain line. No one has seen his face and lived. While I can’t definitively prove it, I suspect that someone in their syndicate is an expert at scrubbing data from the internet.”

Akaashi leaned forward. “If these men are surfacing this close to neutral ground, they’re sending a message. They're getting bolder.”

“They’re probing,” Suga said. His voice was cool, thoughtful. “Testing boundaries. Seeing if we flinch.”

“We need to reinforce our defenses,” Akaashi said. “Fortify our territory lines, double up on patrols. I’ll shift two squads from training to surveillance tonight.”

Kenma nodded. “I’ll set up a new firewall system and deploy mirror coding on our sensitive networks. If they try to dig, I want them stuck in a maze.”

“We should also consider pulling Hinata and Noya off the outer zones,” Akaashi added. “They’re both omegas. If Seijoh catches wind of them running missions alone…”

“We can’t risk it,” Daichi agreed immediately. His protective alpha instincts always bristled at the idea of anyone in his pack being injured, but he had a certain need to keep the pack omegas safe. “Do it.”

Suga looked at Kenma. “What about the information network? Can you get us more on the Oni?”

Kenma’s fingers tightened around his tablet. “I’ll keep trying. It’s like chasing smoke, but if he has a digital footprint, I’ll find it.”

The table fell quiet again. The gravity of the threat hung heavy.

“We need to assume,” Akaashi said carefully, “that if Seijoh comes for us, it won’t be in pieces. It’ll be all at once. We’ll need contingencies, and we’ll need allies.”

Daichi leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp. “Are you suggesting we reach out to other syndicates?”

“Most syndicates are involved in trafficking,” Suga murmured, and there was a glint in his eyes that Kenma didn’t often see, strategic and cutting. “I don’t think we should reach out to them. Instead, we need to find a new way to gain power and control and become one of the top dogs so that Seijoh can’t easily touch us.” He said thoughtfully and Akaashi nodded.

“If we wait for Seijoh to make the first move, we may not get the chance to make a second.” 

Daichi nodded, the air shifting. “But how do we grow our control?” Everyone was silent for a moment before Kenma spoke up, “We can’t beat Seijoh at their own game, they’ve been on top for far too long.” 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Suga asked and Kenma let a small smile fall onto his lips.

“We become the best in another field. Specifically, information gathering and extortion.” 

Daichi grinned at him, eyes shining with determination.

“You think we could pull that off?” He asked Suga and Akaashi who both looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

“I’ll give you a list of our most vulnerable sectors,” Kenma said, pulling up files. “We should start by locking them down. Then we need to reinforce the satellite towers, develop double encryption keys, rotate passwords, and change our patrol patterns every twelve hours.”

Akaashi spoke up, already furiously tapping on his tablet. “I’ll prepare some strategies to send out to our department heads to study and teach their units.”

Suga’s eyes softened when he looked at the two of them. “You two really are the heart of this unit.”

Kenma blinked, startled, but Akaashi only smiled faintly.

Daichi stood slowly, placing his hands on the table. “Then let’s protect what we’ve built. No matter what kind of monster Seijoh may be.”

 

---

 

Everything was starting to come together. 

Akaashi and Kenma had been so busy working on the new plans for growing and fortifying Karasuno that Kenma had seemingly forgotten the pain of his past.

But the past can’t easily be forgotten.

It was just a passing mention. A fleeting reference, barely enough to catch anyone’s attention, except Kenma’s.

The conversation at the dinner table had been light, nothing out of the ordinary. Lev had been rambling about a mission he almost messed up but somehow salvaged at the last second, which got a reprimand from Yaku. 

Why Yaku decided to be mates with Lev, Kenma would never understand. I mean come on, it’s Lev.

To be fair Kenma has only ever been attracted to one person, but still, weren’t you supposed to fall for smart people?

Tanaka and Noya were laughing loudly, shoving at each other between bites of rice. Asahi was simply smiling at his hyperactive mate, which was pretty cute. Noya and Asahi were that disgustingly perfect couple that was so perfect for each other it was almost painful.

Hinata was arguing playfully with Kageyama. Kenma had called them out on it being their way of flirting and both boys had turned as bright as a tomato. Even Daichi, usually composed, had a small smirk as he listened to their ridiculous antics.

Kenma had been half-listening, idly picking at his food, until Suna spoke.

“…Yeah, apparently the village was near Roppongi, now it’s just some old ruins in the outer district. No one really goes there anymore, not since the fire about a year ago."

Kenma’s chopsticks stilled; he stared down at the food that no longer looked appetizing.

A fire.

His stomach turned, fingers tightening slightly.

"Wait, what fire? I haven’t heard anything." Tanaka spoke, still grinning as he reached for another bowl.

Suna shrugged. "I’m not certain of the full story. Apparently, a smaller gang trying to make a name for themselves went to a small village and burned it down during a festival.” 

Kenma’s breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t have to ask because he already knew the village they were talking about.

It was pretty obvious what with the mention of a fire set by attackers, buildings lost, houses abandoned.

His and Kuroo’s old village.

Their home.

Kenma tuned back into the conversation to see Suna looking thoughtful for a second, “I think it was called Kako, Hyogo, Okone no that’s not it…” he said, and Kenma spoke, still not looking up.

“Hakone.” 

“Right, that's the place! Either way the fire took out quite a bit. Most of the buildings were burned down, there’s still a few houses standing though. I heard that the gang responsible was found killed, probably from a stronger syndicate.” Suna said, flippantly unaware of the discourse Kenma was currently in. “Other syndicates didn’t bother rebuilding or claiming the area, it’s all abandoned now." Suna finished and Tanaka nodded.

Kenma could feel Suga and Daichi’s gaze on him, but he avoided eye contact.

Obviously, Kenma had thought about his old village, but it had mainly been focused around Kuroo. Kenma hadn’t wanted to think about all the other lives that had been taken that night. He hadn’t let himself think about it, that part of the past was something he had tried to force himself to leave behind.

In order to survive to keep going he had to block out those memories.

But now, that past was clawing its way back to the surface.

“Kenma?”

He blinked, realizing Akaashi was watching him.

His pulse was too loud in his ears. He forced himself to loosen his grip on his chopsticks, to steady his expression.

"I'm fine," he muttered, reaching for his drink to dist r act himself.

Akaashi didn't look convinced, but he didn't press.

The conversation moved on; Kenma was thankful most of the members hadn’t noticed his shift in mood. Suna went back to his dry commentary. Lev was still talking, voice animated.

But Kenma barely heard any of it.

Because for the first time in months, the thoughts of Hakone burned in his mind.

The thoughts of his hometown, his sanctuary for 18 years. The place he met Kuroo, the place that had held all his family and friends. The place that had been brutally massacred for no reason other than a dick measuring contest.

His hometown had been innocent, they didn’t deserve that, did nothing to warrant eradication. 

The weight of the day still clung to Kenma’s skin as night rolled around. 

Kenma sat on the edge of his bed; fingers curled around the small black cat plush in his grasp. It was such a simple little thing, but it always brought him comfort. Kuroo had picked it for him, the last gift his alpha had ever given him.

Kenma turned it between his fingers, petting the soft plush, feeling every ridge and imperfection. 

Kuroo always did love spoiling him. Always showering Kenma in gifts, affection, and praise. 

"You never buy anything for yourself," Kuroo would often tease, nudging whatever new object he had bought into Kenma’s palm with a grin. " So, I guess I’ll just have to do it for you."

Kenma had rolled his eyes back then, pretending not to care, but the truth was he had held onto every last gift Kuroo had given him. All displayed around the house or hidden in a small box under their bed. 

But the fire had most likely destroyed it all, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

His grip tightened around the plush as he looked down.

Except this little guy. His last gift from Kuroo… his most treasured possession. 

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lifting to the darkened window. The garden lights outside flickered like ghosts, too distant to touch.

"Hey, Tetsuro…" His voice was quiet, just above a whisper. It didn’t feel that strange talking to someone who wasn’t there anymore. In fact, it has almost become a habit now. And while a year ago Kenma would have scoffed in your face if you said ghosts existed now, he found it comforting to think Kuroo was always right there next to him.

It was nice to think Kuroo could hear him, that he was always side by side going through each day together again. 

"Everything’s changing," he murmured, tracing the shape of the cat’s tail. "I don’t know when it happened, but… it did. I’m still here. I made it over a year. I honestly can’t believe I made it this long without you."

A dry laugh slipped past his lips, but there was no humor in it.

"I don’t know if you’d recognize me anymore," he admitted, staring back down at the cat plush. “Hell, I barely recognize myself.” 

Kenma sighed, deep and exhausted.

"I fight now. Not a lot, but… enough. I can hold my own. I go on missions too. Who knew I could ever become a good hacker…” he paused and smiled sadly, “You probably knew, you always seemed to know everything about me, even things I didn’t.”

Kenma swallowed, rubbing his thumb over the plushie’s head.

“I—I talk to people. Can you believe that? Me, Mr. Antisocial himself made some friends… family if I’m being honest though I haven't told them that yet."

Kenma bites his lip, standing and walking towards his desk and setting the small plush cat down. He glanced over at Kuroo’s jacket that hung on his desk chair, but opted not to put it on tonight, instead making his way back to the bed.

"But that makes it so much worse because… I’m scared."

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered.

“I’m scared of losing everyone again. I'm so scared. I hate this feeling, being so helpless to do nothing about it. I try in my own way to keep everyone safe. I have wiped every file about Karasuno from our enemies' databases, I buffed up the codes and firewalls, so we don’t have a data breach, I even taught people the basics of coding, but it doesn't feel like enough. I wish you were here; everything would feel so much safer with you around.”

Kenma let out a small whine as he crawled into his bed grabbing his favorite blanket, it was a simple dark blue, but it was the one Kuroo had wrapped around him when the fire started. 

At first, he hated this blanket. It reminded him of how Kuroo had died because he was so useless. But now… after a year of acceptance it was a reminder of how much Kuroo loved him. How he loved him so much that he protected Kenma, wrapped his face to keep him from inhaling smoke.

Kuroo was so smart, winter had been coming, and it was getting cold out so it probably served a double purpose to make sure Kenma could stay a bit warmer.

"I don’t want to forget you," he confessed. "I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I can’t remember the sound of your voice. Or how you smelled like Nutmeg. Or how you always messed up my hair just to be annoying. Or how you look…"

He trailed off as his voice cracked, throat tightening, and he squeezed his eyes shut trying to keep the tears that were starting to sting his eyes from falling.

"I don’t want to lose you again."

The room stayed silent, offering no response.

Kenma inhaled deeply, holding it in before releasing it in a slow, measured breath.

If he really really wanted to, he could trick himself into hearing Kuroo’s comforting words. Whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he ran his fingers through Kenma’s hair.

The thought made Kenma run his own hand through his hair, shifting to lie down, the exhaustion of the day pulling at him as he curled up into his dark blue blanket. The ache in his chest didn’t fade, but… it didn’t suffocate him either.

Kenma turned onto his side, facing the small plush and jacket. His eyes felt heavy, his thoughts blurring at the edges.

Everything was changing.

But somehow, he’d keep going.

For Kuroo.

For himself.

As sleep slowly took him, he barely registered his own final thought.

I love you Tetsuro.

Notes:

AHHHHHHHHH!!!

2 days until I launch my character designs, I'm stressing because I still have 2 to finish.

Why do I do this to myself?

Oh well, I'm so excited for you all to see the designs and backstories (I also need to finish writing)

Just so you all know, the character designs will not be in this book itself and will be attached in the series. Also, I am planning to have it be 2 chapters. The first 8 designs and backstories will be posted Saturday and currently there isn't a set date on the second set of designs.

Anyways! I hope to see your comments and I can't wait for you to see the next chapter (It will be a bit shorter than the others simply because I also am posting the backstories and needed to give myself some grace).

Have a great rest of your day my lovelies <3

Chapter 15: Seven Years Later

Summary:

Seven years have passed since Kuroo's death.

The first thing Kenma saw when he opened his eyes was the small black cat plush sitting on the desk across from his bed.

The fabric had worn down over the years, the once soft fur now slightly rough to the touch, but its golden embroidered eyes still gleamed in the dim morning light. It sat in the exact same spot as always, right next to Kuroo’s old gray jacket.

Kenma exhaled slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before murmuring, "Good morning, Tetsuro."

His voice was rough from sleep, quieter than he meant it to be, but the ritual had been the same for years. Every morning, without fail, he would greet the small plush like it held the soul of his beloved alpha.

He sat up, stretching his arms over his head, feeling the pull of muscles that hadn’t existed a few years ago. He wasn’t big, not like Daichi or Ushijima, but training had sculpted something leaner, sharper into him. He wasn’t the same weak omega who had barely been able to survive after the attack on their village seven years ago.

His room was still sparsely decorated, Kenma was a minimalist through and through. Hinata said it was boring, but Kenma thought it was practical considering more often than not he was out on a mission or with everyone else in the manor.

His desk was cluttered with two monitors, multiple keyboards, and a variety of cables. He was Karasuno’s head hacker, of course he had some technology in his room.

Despite the clutter on his desk, his little black cat plush always remained near the edge, watching over Kenma.

His main workspace was an office that resides next to Akaashi’s in the tech room. It had been decked out in every single thing a hacker would ever need. Monitors, laptops, ipads, phones, cameras, even surveillance drones were all located in Kenma’s office.

A small digital clock blinked 7:12 AM at him, and Kenma sighed before rolling out of bed, feet touching the cool wooden floor.

Today felt… off.

It was his birthday, October 16. 

He turned 25 today.

He was thankful for his friends, they knew not to celebrate today. They’d celebrate tomorrow, probably with a movie and an excessive amount of snacks that wouldn’t ever be finished if Hinata and Noya didn’t have bottomless pits for stomachs.

The thought brought a hollow smile to his lips, he was happy to know his family knew him so well and was grateful they loved him so much.

But…

His birthday always brought up heartbreaking memories and trauma he worked hard to keep at bay. Flashes of fire in his peripheral vision, distant screams in his ears, and the scent of smoke following him all day.

Asahi had told him it was trauma induced, that there was nothing wrong with him, that it should get better with time. And it had gotten better, he no longer saw visions of Kuroo on his birthday, no longer woke up screaming from night terrors either…

But that wasn’t as comforting as Kenma wished it was....

Because he had forgotten. Forgotten all the details of Kuroo’s face.

Kenma no longer had a crisp image of Kuroo in his mind.

Kenma knew he had messy black hair that defied gravity, but he couldn’t remember every place it stuck up at. He knew Kuroo had golden eyes but couldn't remember what other colors flaked in the irises. He remembered Kuroo was tall, but he couldn’t remember how much bigger he was.

He hated that he’d forgotten, it felt like he was betraying the love of his life.

And yes, Kuroo was still the love of his life. Kuroo would be the only person Kenma ever loved, and he was certain of that.

A heavy pressure lingered in the air, an unshakable weight pressing at the edges of his mind, but he pushed it aside and focused on getting ready. Stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth and make himself look more presentable. 

Kenma pulled on a simple black t-shirt and dark cargo pants, fastening his belt as he left the bathroom before reaching for the Kuroo’s jacket draped over his desk chair.

It was old. The material was faded, some of the seams fraying from years of wear, but it still brought Kenma some comfort each day he wore it. Like he was close to something long lost.

He slipped it on without a second thought, the weight of it settling over his shoulders like a shield. Obviously, Kenma knew it didn’t offer any protection, but he liked to keep Kuroo close to him.

The sleeves were long, the cuffs covering part of his hands, but it didn’t matter Kenma preferred it that way. It helped him remember that Kuroo was tall with broad shoulders. 

Kenma ran his fingers over the fabric, tracing the edges of an old tear near the collar. The damage had never been repaired. He hadn’t wanted to fix it.

His gaze flickered back to the small plush on the desk, and something in his chest tightened.

Seven years.

Seven years since he had lost everything.

And yet, here he was.

Still alive. 

A small part of him reminded him he shouldn’t even be here; how dare he live on without Kuroo. But Kenma had worked so hard to be someone Kuroo would be proud of. He was stronger, smarter, deadlier…

Sometimes he wondered if Kuroo would be disappointed that he became the same thing as the men who slaughtered their village. Wondered if Kuroo would be scared of him.

Kenma took a breath, steadying himself. That was a dangerous train of thought to go down.

Kuroo would still cheer for him, he would still be proud of him for making it so far. Kuroo would still love him.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out the door.

---

The Karasuno Syndicate had changed in the past seven years.

It was no longer the mid-tier organization that had once struggled to maintain its foothold in Japan’s underground. Now, it was one of the strongest, its influence stretching across multiple cities, its power rivaled only by the Seijoh Syndicate.

And at the heart of it all was Kenma and his friends, his family.

He was no longer just an outsider taken in out of pity. No longer the fragile, grieving omega who barely spoke.

Kozume Kenma was the Karasuno Syndicate’s lead hacker and strategist. A ghost in the underground world, the mind behind Karasuno’s intel gathering, a voice that helped make calculated expansions. If there was a move being made, Kenma would help plan it. If there was an enemy to be eliminated, Kenma had found their weaknesses. If there was information to be obtained, Kenma had already hacked into their networks and decrypted their files before they even realized it was missing.

His influence wasn’t as loud or as forceful as Daichi’s leadership or Ushijima’s raw strength in the field, but it was there in every move Karasuno made.

And he had changed, too.

Gone was the frail, malnourished omega who had struggled to survive. Years of training had carved lean muscle into his frame, the kind built for endurance, precision, and agility.

Kenma still wasn’t a fighter in the traditional sense. He had no interest in brute force or mindless brawls. But he had learned how to handle himself.

If someone tried to corner him, they didn’t get the helpless omega they might have expected. They got someone who could take them apart with swift, calculated movements. Someone who knew exactly where to strike to disable them in seconds.

Kenma actually prided himself on looking so weak and surprising his opponents, Suga had pointed it out as his greatest strength in combat.

But that wasn’t his role.

Kenma was the mind.

Where Karasuno had once relied on reactive measures, they now moved with precision, always one step ahead. Under Kenma’s guidance, the syndicate had expanded its territories without reckless bloodshed, strategically eliminating rival threats and securing alliances that strengthened their influence.

However, Seijoh remained their biggest competition.

Karasuno was successful through intel gathering, hacking, and strategy. They had expanded their intelligence network nearly tenfold and often used extortion or other behind the scenes methods to maintain control.

Of course, they still had a powerful combat team, and they were successful in the field because of their heavily trained members.

But Seijoh… They were the opposite.

They used brute force to become the best. Every member Kenma had intel on was strong, almost inhumanly so.

They were brutal, the Yakuza’s kill count was excessive and grew every day. They rarely left survivors; the ones that did survive were maimed beyond recognition.

But that didn’t mean they were stupid.

The leader of Seijoh was no fool. He was just as dangerous, just as intelligent, and just as calculating as Kenma, if not more. And was still a mystery, the bastard was a master of covering his tracks, as well as those in his organization that were top members, most of the time all Kenma could find out was their code names, genders, and last names. No first names or personal info that would be helpful to Karasuno to be found.

In fact, the only new thing Kenma had gained through his seven years of obsessive research on the man was that he was also from the red-light district, making sense why Iwaizumi followed his orders if they grew up together. 

The two syndicates had been locked in a silent war for years, neither willing to make a reckless move that could cost them everything.

For now, there was an uneasy balance. But that could change at any moment.

Kenma rolled his shoulders as he walked through the hallways of Karasuno’s main headquarters, nodding slightly when a few lower-ranked members passed him, offering respectful bows or murmured greetings.

Kenma remembered when they had looked at him with pity. Now, the only thing staring back at him was respect.

He wasn’t just some poor timid omega struggling to survive.

He was their superior, the head of the hacking department.

And he had built something out of the ashes of everything he had lost….

Which was why he really, really hated being treated like some errand boy.

Kenma barely held back a sigh as his phone buzzed with an alert. Summoned to the office . Again.

He worked best on his own terms, behind screens and encrypted networks, manipulating information and orchestrating strategies from the safety of his domain. Daichi respected that, and most missions or requests were communicated via emails, phone calls, or brief chats in the hallways. Meeting in the office meant something was serious.

Meetings meant discussions, and discussions meant there was going to be a pain in the ass mission Kenma was required for. And as much as he respected Daichi and Suga, he really hated when he had to add more onto his plate.

Still, he reluctantly got up and began to walk to the head alpha’s office. Partly because ignoring Daichi and Suga never ended well, and partly because the last time he tried, Daichi had sent Hinata to physically drag him out of his office. 

And that had been utterly humiliating .

At least this time, he arrived on his own two feet, instead of being carried down the halls bridal style by his omega best friend.

The room was quiet when he entered, the air thick with unspoken tension. Suga sat in Daichi’s chair behind the alpha’s desk, calm but watching Kenma carefully, while Daichi stood near the window, arms crossed over his chest.

Kenma took one look at their serious expressions and exhaled slowly.

He knew this was something he wouldn’t want to hear.

Kenma didn’t sit. He stood in front of the desk, arms folded over his chest, his golden eyes sharp with suspicion. After seven years together Daichi and Suga knew it wasn’t a sign of disrespect, and simply to ignore however Kenma positioned himself.

“Kenma,” Daichi started, his tone firm but not unkind, like he was hesitating. “We need you for a mission.”

Kenma didn’t like the way Suga and Daichi were looking at him like a bomb that could go off any second.

Kenma exhaled slowly and gave a lazy nod. “I’m always working on missions, that isn’t anything new. So, what’s so different that you both are looking at me like I’m going to break down?”

Suga and Daichi exchanged a look before Suga spoke.

“This particular mission.” He said, choosing each word carefully, “Will be sending you back…”

Kenma blinked, a bit annoyed. After joining Karasuno he had been all over Japan and even gone out of the country a few times, that would need to be a lot more specific. “Back to where?”

“Back to Hakone.” Daichi answered bluntly, just ripping off the band aid.

Kenma’s stomach twisted violently, yeah, he was better mentally and physically but why the hell was he being asked to go back to his village that had been slaughtered?

His fingers curled into the fabric of Kuroo’s old jacket, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His hometown.

A place that no longer existed on a map because it had been abandoned into ruins. The place where everything had been taken from him.

Kenma’s voice was sharp when he spoke. “No.”

Suga sighed. “Kenma—”

“No.” Kenma stood up straighter, his voice unwavering. “Send someone else.”

Daichi’s jaw tightened. “If we could, we would, but right now you are our only option. You know we wouldn’t be pushing this if it wasn’t important.”

Kenma clenched his teeth. No, he wasn’t the only one they could send. They just wanted him to relive his fucking trauma.

Kenma sent a glare to Suga, who’s expression was a bit pained and pleading and it made Kenma hesitate.

No, if they are saying it has to be Kenma it means they were backed into a corner and needed him. They knew how messed up this was, but didn’t have any other option. Besides no one but Akaashi and Hinata knew about his mate dying, most people only knew about the village Kenma came from being slaughtered, he hadn’t wanted to share more details than that.

He took a slow breath, pushing back the instinct to lash out. He wasn’t the same omega they had taken in years ago, he could do this.

You have become stronger. This could be a way to properly say goodbye. Kenma reminded himself, though it did little to help the twisting anxiety.

“You’re going to have to give me a damn good reason why I have to be sent out,” Kenma said coolly. “Because I don’t see why I need to step foot in a place that doesn’t even exist anymore.”

Suga’s voice was soft but firm. “There has been some suspicious movement in that area. Someone’s been sniffing around where they don’t belong. We need to know if it’s Seijoh, another syndicate, or something else entirely.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes. “Then send a scout, I still don’t see why it has to be me.”

“We need someone who understands what used to be there,” Daichi said, his tone was softer this time, and it made Kenma’s heart ache. “Someone who can recognize if anything looks off, if there’s something that doesn’t belong. And you have the most knowledge on Seijoh if it happens to be them making another play for territory.”

Kenma’s stomach churned.

“Hakone is too close to our base to ignore this, if Seijoh moves in it’s only a matter of time before the manor would be discovered.” Suga said, and Kenma screamed nearly every explicative he knew in his head.

Dammit they were right, and this was really fucking important. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He exhaled sharply. “And if I still say no?”

Daichi seemed to stand straighter as he stared into Kenma’s eyes. It looked like he was searching for something in the omega’s expression, and he seemed to find whatever he was looking for.

“You won’t, you know what’s at stake here.” Daichi said simply.

Kenma’s grip tightened on his sleeve, sighing. “Who is going to be on my team?”

Suga’s expression relaxed, and Daichi seemed to sag in relief.

“Hinata, Noya, Kageyama, and Akaashi.” He said and Kenma frowned.

“Why is the team so big for such a simple mission?” He asks and Suga bites his lip.

“Just in case Seijoh is involved we need the manpower.” There seemed to be more to it than just that, so Kenma waited, simply raising his brow in question.

Daichi sighed, “We know this mission will be hard on you mentally, especially so close to the… anniversary. So, we asked Akaashi and Hinata to join the mission, just in case.” Kenma wanted to fight back, but it was true.

Akaashi and Hinata were the ones who knew every last detail of his home and lover, and while he wasn’t going to admit it aloud, he was pretty thankful that they would be coming with him on this assignment.

“When do we leave?” He asked and Suga smiled.

“Two days,” Suga said, standing and walking over to Kenma, “We still want to honor your birthday so we figured it would be okay to postpone it an extra day.” He said hugging Kenma gently.

As annoyed and anxious Kenma was, he couldn't help but lean into the hug, reciprocating it as he breathed in the comforting strawberry orchard scent Suga exuded. 

“Happy Birthday Kenma.” Daichi said from behind his mate, gently ruffling Kenma’s hair.

“And you wonder why everyone calls you Dad.” Kenma muttered and Suga laughed as he pulled back from the hug, “You’re barely a year older than me.” Kenma said a bit louder and Daichi just grinned, the previous tension gone from the room.

“I might as well embrace the title.” The alpha commented and Kenma rolled his eyes.

“Alright old man. Is there anything else you need me for?” he asked, and they both shook their heads, bidding him goodbye.

Kenma walked back to his office, the anxious feelings flooding back as the seconds passed.

He collapses into his chair with a sigh, glancing over at his computer and hesitantly pulls up all the files he could find on Hakone. 

This was going to be a long day.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, we are getting to the meat of the story and I'm so excited for you all to see the coming chapters!!!

I just posted the first several character designs and backstories, so I hope you check those out, they took a lot of time, so I hope you like them.

I'll see you on Wednesday! Have a great rest of you day <3

Chapter 16: No Longer Home

Summary:

Kenma goes back to Hakone.

Notes:

Graphic descriptions and imagery.

I think this is my favorite chapter I have written for any of my stories ever!

Kenma was thankful for his found family.

Karasuno never celebrated on his actual birthday. Everyone knew it was Kenma’s day for mourning, always allowing him peace to grieve the deaths of his family and mate and Kenma was grateful for it. Grateful everyone was so understanding of his trauma and accepting of who he was, scars and all. 

Kenma was especially thankful for Akaashi and Hinata who had started the tradition of celebrating the day after.

The inner members who weren’t away on missions had gathered in the common room, a space meant only for them, only for those who had become more than allies, more than syndicate partners. They were family.

Hinata, ever the bringer of light, had declared a video game tournament, an all-out battle to see who could claim the top spot. It felt very fitting for Kenma’s birthday. 

It had been vindicating. Kenma had crushed them all; Hinata, Kageyama, Noya, even Akaashi. Mario Kart, Call of Duty, Mortal Kombat. He was unstoppable, as he always had been, and despite their groans and complaints, no one had been able to take the crown from him.

“Rigged,” Hinata muttered, arms crossed.

“You’re just mad you lost to me… Again.” Kenma had replied dryly, smirking at his best friend.

Suga and Akaashi had worked together to prepare a feast, or at least the closest thing to one. Chips, candies, cakes, and a few homemade dishes littered the coffee tables, a chaotic spread of flavors and textures. Suga, with his motherly nature, had made sure everyone had something they liked, while Akaashi, meticulous as always, had prepared a selection of Kenma’s favorites.

Daichi had hovered near the kitchen watching Suga and Akaashi as he made easy conversation with the two omegas. He was relaxed, his spice cake scent wafting around freely. Kenma had caught the way his normally sharp eyes softened during the celebration.

Kenma grinned as he saw the way he and Suga would exchange glances. Loving stares that often became a bit heated, those always made him laugh causing Suga to blush and always flip Kenma off, who just laughed bright and loud.

Daichi and Suga had gotten married about five years ago, and Kenma was honestly surprised they didn’t already have pups running around with how obsessed with each other they were. Akaashi walked towards him, mask no wear in site, bumping their hips and giving him a smile as they both went to sit on the couch.

Asahi and Noya, their other officially married couple, were talking. Well, Noya was shit talking Tanaka as they raced in Mario Kart while Asahi was acting as the omega’s chair. The big alpha was sitting on the floor with Noya in his lap as he smiled at his husband and mate. 

Tanaka and Ennoshita were sitting on the love seat, well Ennoshita was sitting on it, Tanaka kept abruptly standing up and shouting at Noya or the game as his friend just laughed loudly. Kenma caught Ennoshita’s eye, and the omega let out an exaggerated eye roll and sigh, making Kenma snort. 

The two had been mated for five years now, and were recently engaged, something everyone had been expecting for years. Ennoshita, never one to listen to Kenma’s “no gifts” rule, had been the first to give Kenma something, a sleek, upgraded headset, perfect for his hacking work. Which Kenma had begrudgingly taken because it was a perfectly good headset, and Kenma would probably make him coffee for the next few weeks as a thank you. 

Kenma leaned against Akaashi, who accepted it easily, leaning back as he gestured to Hinata and Kageyama in the middle of an argument about cheating because Hinata had kissed Kageyama in order to win at Mortal Kombat. Natsu was giggling beside the two, amused by her older brother and his boyfriend.

“They're so insufferable.” Kenma commented and Akaashi chuckled agreeing with him. 

The two knuckleheads had been dating for a little over three years now, having taken forever to finally confess, and were planning to officially bond during Hinata’s next heat, information that Akaashi and Kenma had pulled out of the omega during their “girls' night” as Natsu called it, even though they were all males.

Kenma hadn’t seen Hinata that red since he had accidentally blurted out, he was in love with Kageyama, in front of Kageyama. 

A loud crisp giggle pulled Kenma’s attention over to Ushijima and Tendo, their daughter Kumiko proudly claiming she was a gaming god.

At six years old, she had everyone wrapped around her little finger.

She was sat on Ushijima’s lap, her small fingers gripping the controller as she tried to play a round, her giggles bubbling up every time she pressed the wrong button. Ushijima, ever patient, had guided her through it, his large hands steady over hers. Tendou ruffled Kumiko’s hair, teasing her about how she had a long way to go before beating Kenma.

Their little family was precious. It had shocked Kenma how much the duo had changed after Kumiko was born, both did a complete 180 of their old personalities.

Don’t get him wrong, Tendou was still boisterous and chaotic, but now he was also doting and gentle. Ushijima who had been gruff and closed off had brightened ever since his daughter was born, smiling more often and always quick to become soft whenever she was around.

Kenma figured that’s just what happened when you had children, especially in their line of work. His hypothesis would be confirmed when Yaku and Lev had their baby.

The duo had been mated for two years now and were expecting their first baby in a month or so. They had hosted a small gender reveal and baby shower together. Suga had excitedly made the cake, and everyone had cheered when they learned it would be a baby boy. It had been a sweet moment and Kenma was happy for them.

A small voice in his head wished it had been him and Kuroo celebrating a baby, but Kenma had come to terms that there would probably always be that little thought and opted to just accept it and move on, no longer dwelling on the thoughts.

The birthday celebration was lively and joyous, filled with everyone (alive) that Kenma cared about.

The only ones missing were Suna and Sakusa, both away on missions.

Kenma had thought about them briefly, wondered what corners of Japan they were lurking in now, what tasks they had been assigned. But the thought was whisked away as Suga brought out a fresh apple pie with candles in it, everyone stopping to loudly sing happy birthday to Kenma.

Kenma grinned as he blew out the candles, wishing for another year of safety for his new family.

The celebration ended earlier than normal because of the mission planned for tomorrow morning. 

Suga had shooed Kenma away when he tried to help the omega clean up after everyone had bid a goodnight and happy birthday to Kenma one last time. Akaashi gave Kenma a hug and said he’d help Suga, so Kenma felt a bit better about going back to his room without helping clean up. 

Kenma opened his door, not bothering to turn on his lights as he walked in and flopped onto his bed, opting to sleep in his clothes instead of changing.

He stared at the ceiling, the buzz of happiness fading into dread as he thought about the mission set for tomorrow. He groaned and curled up under his favorite blanket and began to talk aloud.

“I’m going back home tomorrow, it’s been a long time since I have been back, and I’m worried I’m going to break down.” He said, speaking to Kuroo like always. Kenma tried to avoid the topic all together and instead rambled about the celebration, talking until he began to feel his eyelids drooping.

“I love you Tetsuro, goodnight.” And as his eyes fluttered shut Kenma could swear, he heard a gentle voice murmuring happy birthday to him.

 

---

 

Kenma stared at the mission briefing on his iPad, the words blurring together despite his best efforts to focus.

Hakone. His hometown.

It had been seven years since the attack. Seven years after he had watched his mate die and had to escape before he was caught, Kuroo’s scent still lingering on his torn clothes as he ran. Seven years since he had forced himself to move forward, because stopping meant he betrayed Kuroo’s last wish.

And now, after all this time, it was time to go back.

He didn’t have a choice. He had to face the ghosts of his past.

He exhaled through his nose, pushing back the gnawing dread in his stomach. In this moment it didn’t matter how much he had grown or how much stronger he had become, he still felt like that scared teenager.

Kenma rubbed a hand over his face before finally standing, stretching his sore limbs. He had woken up much too early, unable to go back to bed after waking up from a nightmare. Searing fire and screams haunting him in a way it hadn’t in years. 

He gave up on going back to bed quickly, opting instead to take a long shower and then comb through old records, maps, anything that could give him a proper distraction.

It didn’t help.

Nothing could prepare him for walking through the ruins of his old life.

A sharp knock at his door snapped him from his thoughts.

“Kenma?” Akaashi’s voice filtered through. “We’re heading out soon.”

Kenma sighed before moving to open the door.

Akaashi stood there, expression neutral but his gunmetal blue eyes flickered with concern. He was already dressed in his mission gear, gun strapped securely to his thigh, his presence steady in a way that had always been reassuring.

He was wearing his black facemask, but Kenma had already gotten used to reading Akaashi’s expressions without seeing the bottom of his face. He was a bit disappointed that Akaashi was wearing scent patches already, even if he didn’t say it aloud Kenma found comfort in Akaashi’s white jasmine scent.

He gave the other omega a small nod before stepping past him. “Let’s go.”

They walked down the hall together in silence, but Kenma could feel Akaashi watching him. He knew the omega well enough to know he was holding back his words, waiting for the right moment.

When they reached the loading area, the rest of the team was already waiting.

Hinata bounced on the balls of his feet, his usual energy only slightly dimmed by the tension in the air. He was quick to give Kenma his own weapons for the mission, a handgun and dagger. He was grinning and began to rapidly talk, Kenma figured he was trying to keep him from thinking too much about the mission.

Noya was stretching like he was preparing for a fight, his movements sharp and restless. While he was on the shorter side Noya knew what he was doing when it came to a fight, and he was more than capable of handling any opponents that came along. Kenma could see a few knives and daggers in the open and knew that the omega was probably hiding more in secret pockets of his vest and pants. 

Kageyama, who had been leaning against the van, stepped up and handed Kenma his earpiece for the mission as well as a tracker, everyone had one just in case something went wrong they would be able to find each other.

Kenma scanned everyone as Kageyama gave Akaashi his own tracker and earpiece. “We all know the plan?”

Hinata nodded, quickly reciting the basic plan that Suga and Daichi had given them. “Scout the area, see who’s been lurking around, gather intel, figure out if it was Seijoh, and if it is try to get out without alerting them.”

Kenma hummed, his gaze shifting to Daichi and Suga who were standing off to the side. Suga caught Kenma’s eye and stepped forward.

“Are you doing, okay?” Suga asked softly.

Kenma bristled. He knew they were worried, but he didn’t need to be treated like he was fragile.

“I’m fine.” His voice came out sharper than he intended.

Suga didn’t call him out on it. He just nodded.

Daichi spoke next, his voice even. “Stick to the plan. If anything seems off, you pull back immediately. We aren’t taking risks with this.”

“We know,” Akaashi said calmly.

Kenma exhaled slowly, trying to force his body to relax. His fingers unconsciously clenched the fabric of Kuroo’s old jacket, underneath his mission gear and vest. It helped ground him, even if a thin jacket wouldn’t offer much protection in a fight.

Kenma took in a breath and recited in his head. 

You are not weak, you are strong, everything will be okay.

He forced his hands to unclench.

“Let’s just get this over with.” He said, voice tight with emotions he didn’t want to let show.

Without another word, he climbed into the back of the black van, the others following closely behind.

Akaashi and Hinata sat on either side of him while Kageyama got into the driver's seat and Noya slid into the passenger seat.

As the vehicle rumbled to life, Kenma leaned his head against Hinata’s shoulder, breathing in the tangerine scent.

Normally Suga and Daichi would require everyone to put on scent patches before they leave, but they hadn’t said anything to Hinata. Probably because they knew Kenma would need it.

Hinata simply scooted closer to Kenma, on his other side Akaashi grabbed Kenma’s hand gently squeezing it.

Kenma looked out of the window as the city blurred past them.

He vaguely thought that it felt like he was being taken to his executioner, which was stupid considering Hakone was his hometown.

The hum of the van was the only sound for the first ten minutes of the trip.

Kenma kept his gaze on the window, watching the city fade into highways, then into smaller roads lined with towering trees. The farther they got from the Karasuno’s manor, the heavier the air felt in his lungs.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Kenma could feel the way the others kept glancing at him, their concern a tangible thing lingering in the van. He hated it. He hated how obvious it was, how they thought he might break down.

But Kenma wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

“So, uh—” Hinata finally spoke, his voice lighter than the tension warranted, “—how long is this drive again?”

Akaashi, who had pulled out his tablet to look through all the information Kenma had complied, glanced at the GPS. “About an hour.”

Hinata groaned, throwing his head back. “Ugh. Can’t we at least talk about something? This silence is killing me.”

No one responded immediately. Which was weird considering Noya and Hinata were the most talkative people Kenma knew.

Kageyama sighed, finally breaking the second pause. “What do you want to talk about? We’re possibly heading straight into enemy territory. Not exactly a road trip.”

Hinata pouted. “Still! Feels like we’re just waiting for something bad to happen.”

Kenma closed his eyes for a brief second before speaking, his voice monotone. “We are waiting for something bad to happen.”

That shut Hinata up for a moment, he was about to speak again before Kenma spoke up instead. “We should go over the plan again.”

Akaashi nodded in agreement and scrolled to the top of his tablet. “The town’s been abandoned for years, but we know someone has been moving through the area recently. Whether it’s Seijoh or another group, we need to confirm. Our primary objective is intel gathering, nothing more.”

“Which means no unnecessary fights,” Kenma added, voice sharp.

Noya and Hinata both groaned but nodded, some of the tension in the car easing.

“If it is Seijoh,” Kageyama asked, “do we engage?”

Kenma shook his head no, before realizing that Kageyama was driving and couldn’t just turn and look at him. “Not unless we have to.”

Seijoh was terrifyingly strong, overpowered even, and had no known weaknesses to top it off. They had money, power, and some of the best fighters in Japan. A confrontation now could spiral into a full-scale war, something their syndicate couldn’t afford.

And yet, if Seijoh was making moves into Karasuno territory…

Kenma clenched his jaw.

No. He wasn’t going to let his emotions dictate the mission, he couldn’t let his emotions dictate the mission. If he did, he was going to drown, and might take his team, his family , with him.

“We confirm, report, and pull out,” he repeated firmly. “Nothing more.”

Akaashi studied him for a moment, and Kenma could see the hesitation in his eyes. He knew what Akaashi was thinking. That this mission was too personal. That Kenma wasn’t as unaffected as he was trying to pretend to be.

Kenma ignored his analyzing gaze.

Hinata, as usual, broke the tension. “Well, I call dibs on being the one who gets to shoot Oni if we do run into Seijoh.”

Kageyama immediately scoffed. “Like hell, you do.”

“Oh?” Hinata turned, eyes gleaming. “You wanna fight me for it, King?”

The nickname was one that a rival gang member had called Kageyama in a heated gunfight, Hinata had latched onto the name since it annoyed his boyfriend.

Kageyama glared at the road. “You wouldn’t even land a single hit.”

“You wanna bet—”

Kenma let their bickering fade into background noise. It was a familiar routine, a normalcy that was helping keep him anchored.

Still, the weight in his chest didn’t ease.

Akaashi leaned in slightly, voice low. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

Kenma didn’t respond right away. His fingers ghosted over his sleeve, over Kuroo’s old jacket.

No. He wasn’t okay.

But he had a job to do.

So instead, he exhaled and said, “I don’t have a choice.”

Akaashi’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before he nodded. “Alright.”

The van turned down a small dirt road, carrying them toward the ruins of Kenma’s past. This was it…

The van came to a slow stop, the rumbling engine fading into silence, Kageyama had parked in the forest out of view of the town just in case.

They got out, closing the door quietly. They all checked their weapons one last time and made sure their comms were active. Hinata finally put on his scent patches, concealing the bright orange scent. Slowly they made their way forward, inching out of the forest.

And Kenma finally saw it, his village.

It was utterly unrecognizable.

It was nothing like how Kenma had remembered it.

Hakone was a lively town, filled with warm lights and quiet streets lined with small, family-run businesses. It had never been grand, never been bustling, but it had been home. A place where everyone knew each other, where laughter could be heard spilling from open windows in the evenings, where the air had always smelled of steaming rice, fresh flowers, and rain.

Now, it was nothing but a graveyard.

The buildings stood like broken ribs jutting from the earth, their charred remains blackened and crumbling. 

Some had partially collapsed, their walls caving inward as nature slowly reclaimed what was left, vines growing and taking over buildings and rubble. Others were barely standing, their windows shattered, their doors left hanging on rusted hinges, no life to be found.

The main road, once a smooth, stone-paved path that had led to the town center, was cracked and uneven, weeds pushing through the broken surface. More horrifying were the scorch marks of fire in the shapes of bodies. 

Kenma could hear it all again, the horrifying screams of pain and terror. He could almost see people on fire running and dying. Their bodies burning like a sick candle, scarring the Earth. 

The bones and bodies had been cleared away and buried by Karasuno years ago, a small mercy that did little to stop the nausea Kenma was experiencing. But he forced himself to look away from the ground and up at the rusted streetlamps leaning at unnatural angles, its glass long since shattered, vines twisting around its metal frames. The wooden signs that had once hung outside shops and restaurants had either rotted away or were scorched beyond recognition.

The further Kenma looked, the worse it became.

A dried-up well sat in the center of the village, its stone walls cracked, the wooden bucket that had once drawn water now nothing more than a pile of splintered debris. Nearby, the remnants of the fall festival stood in the market, broken and eerie. The wooden stalls had been burned down to their foundations; the skeletal remains of carts scattered like fallen bones. The wind carried the faint scent of ash, despite the years that had passed, as if the fire had never truly left.

As if the pain hadn’t lightened. Hadn’t scabbed over and instead was still an open wound bleeding with no signs of ever stopping.

Hinata let out a low, shaky breath.

“Holy shit,” he murmured.

No one spoke. Even Noya, who always had something to say, remained silent.

Kenma numbly led the way, letting Kageyama scan for enemies, his gun raised and searching. The soles of their combat boots crunching against gravel and broken glass. He barely registered the others following him through the village, checking their surroundings, scanning for movement. 

His eyes were glazed over as he looked at all the destruction. His mind flashing with what it had looked like before the attack.

The bathhouse, always lit up bright for the villagers to use. He and Kuroo had visited numerous times as children until they had gotten their own home. Kuroo had constructed a private bath for them in the house, knowing how awkward Kenma felt bathing around others.

Now the stone steps were cracked, its wooden walls had long since collapsed inward, and it was now just a hollowed-out ruin, leaving behind nothing but a scorched outline of where it once stood. 

The best restaurant in Hakone, always flooded with customers, was now reduced to rubble, just a pile of burnt wood and broken beams.

Kenma swallowed, his throat dry.

He froze for a moment when he came across the old bookstore his parents had owned. The memory of his mom humming as she stocked the shelves and the smell of new and old books alike filling his senses only to be snapped back to reality. The windows were shattered, and through the broken door Kenma could see that all the books that had once resided inside were reduced to ash.

This was where he had grown up. Where he had spent years believing he had a future. Where he had held Kuroo’s hand under the cover of night, whispering about the life they were going to build together.

And now, there was nothing.

Just a void where life had once been.

Kenma turned on his heel and began to walk a familiar path.

A lone signpost stood, barely readable under layers of soot and decay. The name of the town was carved into the wood, the once-proud lettering now faded and splintered. 

Hakone.

His home…

The wind stirred, carrying the faint rustling of dead leaves scraping against stone. Somewhere in the distance, the warped remains of a wind chime creaked, its song distorted, broken.

The weight in Kenma’s chest grew heavier.

Seven years. Seven years, and the land still ached.

He figured it was just like himself. Scarred from the trauma, changed forever.

His feet moved forward before he could stop himself, his breath shallow as his gaze flickered toward the far end of the village, where the homes were smaller, where the land sloped upwards into the hills.

It wasn’t conscious, he hadn’t meant to keep walking, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Up, up, up. 

And finally, there it was.

His and Kuroo’s home, for a moment all Kenma saw was what it had looked like.

The gravel path, wooden front porch painted white, the pristine garden Kuroo worked so hard on. In his mind he could hear Kuroo yelling joyously, the ghostly image of Tetsuro running out of the door to greet Kenma. 

Always picking him up and spinning the omega, no matter how many times Kenma had complained.

And then suddenly it was gone, replaced by silence and a grotesque image of what his home had become.

Kenma’s stomach twisted.

The front porch was nothing but warped, broken planks. The doorway still stood firm, but it was scarred with blackened edges. The door itself had been burned to nothing, leaving only the jagged frame. The beautiful front windows had been shattered, jagged edges of glass jutting out like the maw of a beast.

Kenma already knew the roof had caved in, the second floor almost entirely collapsed. What had once been sturdy wooden beams were now little more than charred remains, brittle and blackened with age. One of the outer walls had crumbled completely, exposing the inside of the house to the elements. Weeds and vines crept along the wreckage, nature slowly reclaiming what was left.

Akaashi’s voice broke through the quiet. “Kenma.”

Kenma inhaled sharply, forcing himself to turn, to shove the storm inside him back down.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice steady. 

Akaashi, the wonderful friend he was, didn't call him on the lie. 

Kenma looked behind Akaashi, “Where’s everyone else?”

“They are doing a more detailed search, we found no sign of anyone currently here, so they split off.” He explained and Kenma exhaled, nodding numbly.

Kenma swallowed hard. And turned back to look at his old home. Kenma was thankful Akaashi hadn’t said anything else, instead he let himself shatter inside as he looked at the ruins of his home.

It was destroyed.

His fingers twitched at his sides. His throat tightened.

It shouldn’t have hurt this much. He had known what to expect. Seven years had passed. He had watched his entire life burn that night, had smelled the smoke, and felt the heat.

But seeing it, standing here now, in front of the home he had once shared with Kuroo, felt like something was clawing at his chest trying to rip out his heart.

His eyes drifted from one broken end to the other. Allowing memories flash in his mind.

Nights of dancing under the stars

Days filled with the sweet smell of flowers as he lovingly bickered with Kuroo.

Watching the sunset over Hakone from their porch swing that had burned to nothing but ash.

Kenma’s gaze dropped to the ground; wet hot tears were beginning to streak down his face.

The horrible final memory of Kuroo cupping his face with soot-stained hands. His eyes pleading for Kenma to run away as Kuroo croaked out the words “I love you”. Using the last bit of strength to shove Kenma towards the shattered back window.

Kenma remembered how his chest heaved with sobs as he lunged down to kiss Kuroo, tasting the ash and blood before he had to run away.

He remembers vividly, looking back as the fire roared and seeing Kuroo smiling at him as he said his final words, “Live for me, my Aster.” 

His vision blurred and he let out a ragged sob.

A soft crunch of footsteps behind him made him exhale sharply, grounding himself.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see Akaashi standing now only a few feet away. 

Akaashi wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the house, his brows drawn together, his usual calm expression unreadable, the mask hiding his face did little to help.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly, Akaashi asked, eyes never leaving the broken form of Kenma’s old home, “Do you want me to leave?”

Kenma shook his head. “No.” His voice was hoarse as he wiped at his eyes.

Akaashi gave a small nod, but he didn’t step closer. He simply waited, silent and steady. Kenma inhaled slowly, then turned back to the wreckage.

“It was once beautiful.” Kenma said, voice shaky, “The perfect home.”

Akaashi hummed and nodded, “I can tell.”

Kenma wanted to snort a laugh, because no you couldn’t, but he didn’t have the heart to argue and instead just looked at the home he had loved so much.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter I put my soul into it, and I couldn't stop using imagery to describe Kenma's old home. Let me know what you think!

I am dying because of college finals coming up, I am going to have a mental breakdown ha-ha!

ANYWAYS!

I will see you all on Friday! I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day <3

Chapter 17: Memory Lane

Summary:

Kenma goes through his old home and has too many feelings about that.

Kenma took a deep breath; he had spent ten minutes just looking at his broken home and the tears had finally stopped flowing leaving a burn in his amber eyes.

“I’ll be going inside, you don’t need to follow me.” He said, eyes not leaving the charred remains of his old home.

“I don’t think that is a good idea, it doesn’t exactly look structurally sound.” Akaashi warned but Kenma took a few steps towards the house anyway.

“I’ll be fine, it hasn’t come down yet.” he said and Akaashi scoffed behind him.

“That is hardly a good argument, and you know that.” He said and grabbed Kenma’s wrist before he stepped into the building, “You’re smarter than this.” he said, and Kenma finally looked into the omega’s gunmetal blue eyes.

“Keiji.” He said, his voice soft but serious, “I need to do this please. If it starts to crack, I’ll leave, I promise.” Kenma said, his voice almost pleading by the end and Akaashi sighed.

“Fine, I’ll give you time. But if you aren’t out in twenty minutes, I’m going in to get you.” He said and Kenma gave his friend a smile.

“Thank you.”

Hesitantly Kenma walked towards the porch. He stepped up onto the crumbling stairs. It creaked, but didn’t break. Kenma let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and took a few more steps, the warped board creaking under his feet, but standing strong, almost like they were waiting for Kenma to come back before they completely shattered.

He paused at the doorway, hands shaking as he placed one on the charred door frame, loose soot coming off onto his fingers.

And with one last breath Kenma stepped over the crumbling threshold, his breath shallow as he entered what remained of his home. The air inside was thick with the scent of charred wood and damp earth, the remnants of time and nature reclaiming what had once been his sanctuary. 

Ash crunched beneath his boots, the broken floorboards continued to groan under his weight but held steady. He had to step around holes in the ground, but it was better than Kenma had thought it would be. 

It didn’t surprise Kenma that the roof had almost completely caved in, exposing the skeletal beams that had once held everything together.

Everything was broken.

Yet, somehow, some pieces still remained intact.

His fingertips brushed along a section of the wall, the blackened wood rough beneath his touch. The paint had long since peeled away, the color nothing more than a distant memory. But Kenma could still picture it. The soft green with hand-painted borders. 

Kuroo had insisted on them, claiming their home deserved a touch of artistry, even if it had just been messy strokes of golden leaves that ended up looking more like blobs.

Kenma’s lips trembled as he thought of the memory.

The scent of fresh paint clung to the air, mixing with the rich aroma of dinner cooling on the kitchen counter. Kenma had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching Kuroo hum a song off-key as he meticulously dragged a brush along the wall. His long, deft fingers twirled the handle, flicking strokes of golden paint in patterns he swore were supposed to look like ivy leaves.

“They look like… amoebas,” Kenma muttered, tilting his head.

The alpha gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his chest. “How dare you? This is fine art in the making.”

Kenma scoffed and stood up grabbing a rag as he did. He stepped forward into Kuroo’s space and gently wiped a stray smear of paint off the man's cheek. “This is a disaster in the making.” He muttered but Kuroo grinned back at him, bright and full of love, leaning into his touch.

“You’re so mean to me.” He said with a fake pout and Kenma had rolled his eyes fondly.

“You love me anyways.” He said and Kuroo’s pout softened into a small smile.

“You’re right, I love you so much My Aster.” he said, leaning their foreheads together. 

Kenma’s face had started to burn with a violent blush, but he muttered, “I love you too, Idiot.”

They had stayed like that for a few minutes before Kuroo had pulled away. His soft expression was replaced with a big smirk and pulled Kenma back with him to admire his work, or rather, his mess. 

“I never realized you were so jealous of my natural talent.” He said as he looked at the wall and Kenma rolled his eyes.

“Natural talent for making things look ugly?”

Instead of responding, Kuroo suddenly lunged, smearing a streak of gold paint across Kenma’s cheek with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Kenma froze. “You did not just—”

Kuroo grinned. “Oh, I absolutely did.”

Kenma stared at him for a long moment before reaching for the paint can.

“No… wait… Kenma baby-”

But it was too late.

The next thing Kuroo knew, a thick blob of golden paint was smeared across his shirt, right over his heart.

For a beat, silence hung between them.

Then, Kuroo lunged back at him and Kenma dodged, their laughter filling the small home as they chased each other across the floor, splattering paint on the walls, the floors, and each other.

It wasn’t until they were both breathless, covered in streaks and splotches of gold and wheezing with laughter, that Kuroo pulled Kenma into his arms, holding him tight. His chest rose and fell against Kenma’s back, his chin resting on his shoulder.

“Now it really feels like home,” Kuroo murmured, voice warm and soft, his arms tightening slightly. Kenma looked around at the mess they had made, it was going to be a pain in the ass to clean up, but he couldn't help it as he relaxed into Kuroo’s chest.

His fingers curled over Kuroo’s hands, a happy silence settling between them.

This was their home.

And suddenly the messy gold and green wall was black again.

The memory fading as he pulled his fingers away from the charred wall.

Kenma turned and began to tread carefully over the debris, his boots disturbing the thick layer of ash that blanketed the remains of what was once their home, fragments of glass glittering dully in the fading light. As he stepped into what was once a living room.

As he looked over the small stump that used to be their couch another memory began to play.

It had been late, the moon high in the sky but Kenma had convinced Kuroo to play a few rounds of a video game with him. Kenma could barely remember what the game was about, some old game that his parents had gifted him as a kid.

Kuroo wasn’t great at video games, but he never cared about winning, only about making Kenma laugh.

"Kenma, don’t do it. Don’t—KENMA— “

Kenma had killed him in-game again, and Kuroo groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward onto their old couch. It had been a hand-me-down from Kuroo’s parents, it wasn’t very comfortable anymore and was an ugly faded tan color, but it worked for them. 

Kenma had snorted, shaking his head at his best friend and lovers' dramatics. “You’re terrible at this.”

“Not true,” Kuroo huffed, sitting back up. “I’m just letting you win.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So, the last six matches were what? Pity wins?”

“Exactly.” Kuroo grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “I’m generous like that.”

Kenma rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his chest, something light and effortless. Kuroo leaned forward and captured Kenma’s lips into a gentle kiss.

It was one of those moments where he felt completely at ease, like nothing outside their little world mattered

Too bad the world had other plans Kenma thought bitterly as reality seeped back.

Kenma kept walking through the charred remains of his home, memories flashing in his head with each new room.

Memories of Kenma bottling up his emotions only for Kuroo to notice. To wordlessly pull Kenma into his chest holding him close with strong arms. 

Memories of them fighting, arguing back and forth about stupid and important issues alike.

Plans for the future whispered as they cuddled close together.

Kenma made his way to the kitchen, the beams that had killed Kuroo no wear to be seen. Kenma was really grateful for Karasuno clearing away the bodies all those years ago.

He froze for a moment as he saw the shattered window, this one had been broken by Kuroo. It was the widow Kenma had crawled out of, leaving Kuroo to die.

He stared at that window, and then out of it looking at the overgrown garden in the back of their home, the intrusive memories swirling and dragging him back to the past.

To a quiet afternoon.

Laying on the crispy grass in summer, the sun was warm against Kenma’s skin as he rested against Kuroo’s side.

“You know,” Kuroo had said, his voice lazy, “I’m going to love you forever.”

Kenma hummed, half-asleep. “That so?”

“Mhm.” Kuroo had turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to Kenma’s temple. “Even if the whole world falls apart. Even if we lose everything, I’d still love you.”

Kenma had frowned at that, shifting to look at him. “Why would we lose everything?”

Kuroo had grinned, but it wasn’t as carefree as usual. “Just saying. If it ever happened, I’d still love you.”

Kenma had rolled his eyes, pretending the words didn’t make his chest ache in the best way. “Idiot.”

But now, standing in the ruins of what had once been their home, Kenma could hear Kuroo’s voice echoing in his mind.

"Even if we lose everything, I’d still love you."

Kenma turned away from the garden, he knew Kuroo wasn’t actually speaking, wasn’t even alive to say it, but Kenma couldn’t help but mutter, “I know you would.”

It hurts to say it, hurts to acknowledge the pain Kenma wished would go away completely.

But Kenma figured it was okay to feel hurt right now; I mean everything that had meant so much to him had been touched by ruin. Had been destroyed.

Slowly Kenma made his way over to the stairs, the same ones Kuroo had carried Kenma down as the fire was spreading. The upstairs had almost completely collapsed but the stairs were in fairly good shape.

Debris littered the steps as Kenma stood at the base looking up, he could almost picture it again. How the flames had run across the walls, how Kuroo hand ran carrying his bridal style trying to get them both to safety.

As his eyes scan the blacked walls and ruined steps he pauses.

A small glint of something caught his eye, a glint of something shiny buried beneath the wreckage.

A sliver of something that didn’t belong in the black and gray decay surrounding him.

Kenma walked up two steps and then crouched, fingers trembling as he carefully pushed away the debris. Beneath the charred remnants of what had once been a wall, he found it.

A picture frame, cracked and blackened at the edges. The glass was shattered, its jagged pieces barely holding itself together, but the image beneath remained nearly perfect except for a few small burn marks that littered the edges.

His breath caught in his throat as he gently pried the photograph free from its broken casing.

It was them.

Kenma’s fingers ghosted over the faded image, tracing the familiar contours of Kuroo’s face, his smile wide and full of unfiltered joy. Tears welled up in Kenma’s eyes, after seven years he had forgotten the details of his lover's face, but this…

This was him, as handsome and perfect as ever.

He was standing behind Kenma, arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. Kenma’s own expression mirrored Kuroo’s, a rare, genuine grin stretching across his lips, one he could barely remember making, a smile he hadn’t made since Kuroo’s death.

Kenma lets salty tears roll down his cheeks as the memory bubbled to the surface.

It had been spring, Kuroo had finished the garden and had wanted to show it off to Kenma. He could still remember the way the air smelled that day, freshly turned soil and faint traces of the wild honeysuckle that grew in the forest nearby.

“Kenma, hold still, you’re ruining the moment.”

“I literally haven’t moved,” Kenma muttered, though the corners of his lips twitched.

Kuroo grinned behind him, tightening his arms around Kenma’s waist as he rested his chin on his shoulder. “Yeah, but I can feel you thinking about moving.”

Kenma huffed, but he didn’t pull away, letting the warmth of Kuroo’s embrace settle into him. The sun was warm on their skin, a gentle breeze ruffling their hair as they stood in the middle of their newly planted garden. It wasn’t much yet, just a few stubborn buds pushing through the soil, but Kuroo had insisted they take a photo to commemorate their first home together.

Kenma had grumbled about it at first, complaining that there was no point in taking a picture of dirt, but Kuroo had just laughed, saying, “It’s not about the garden. It’s about us.”

The camera timer beeped. Kenma barely had a second to register it before Kuroo nuzzled into his neck, nipping at his scent gland, making him laugh as the shutter clicked.

When they checked the photo afterward, they were both smiling identical, unguarded expressions of happiness.

“See?” Kuroo had murmured, bumping their foreheads together. “Told you it wasn’t about the garden.”

Kenma had only rolled his eyes in response, but he’d held onto that photo, finding a beautiful frame for it and hanging it on the wall, often looking at it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

It was slightly faded and a bit singed, but still miraculously intact.

His fingers traced over Kuroo’s face, his chest aching with something unbearably heavy.

The garden was gone. The house was gone.

Kuroo was gone.

But Kenma had a small piece of Kuroo again, something to remind him of what his lover looked like so he wouldn’t forget the details again. 

The quiet crunch of footsteps over broken debris signaled Akaashi entering the broken building, but Kenma didn’t turn. He barely registered the sound, too lost in the worn edges of the photograph in his hands, his fingers carefully brushing away the bits of soot clinging to the surface.

Akaashi paused a few feet away, taking in the sight of Kenma. His normally impassive friend was frozen in place, shoulders tense, head bowed over something small and delicate in his grasp.

“…Kenma?” Akaashi’s voice was soft, hesitant. Kenma seemed to finally register his arrival, head snapping up to look at the other omega.

“It’s already been twenty minutes?” He said, voice a bit hoarse from crying but Akaashi didn’t comment on it.

“It’s been forty actually, I was trying to give you the space you need, but I hadn’t heard you moving around for a few minutes, so I came to see if you were alright.” He explained and Kenma nodded, exhaling slowly and looking back down at the small paper in his hands.

Akaashi stepped closer trying to see what was on the paper.

The omega figured it had to be a clue about whoever was poking around Hakone since the fires would have destroyed everything flammable.

Kenma didn’t budge as Akaashi stood at the base of the stairs and Akaashi took one more step up to peer at the paper before freezing.

A photo, old with the edges slightly singed, but the image beneath was clear as day.

Two people caught in a perfect moment of happiness.

Kenma was there, unmistakable despite how much younger he looked. But what stole Akaashi’s breath was how Kenma was smiling.

Unrestrained.

Warm.

Happy in a way Akaashi had never seen before.

The Kenma he knew had never smiled like that. 

Of course, Kenma smiled, but those were different. They were never this pure joyful look, the look of contentment, of pure unadulterated love.

It took a moment for Akaashi’s eyes to slide over to look at the rest of the photo.

A tall man standing behind Kenma, arms wrapped tight around Kenma’s waist, pressing close with a wide, teasing grin.

Golden eyes full of joy and love as he held Kenma close.

“Tetsuro,” Akaashi murmured, finally putting a face to the name he had heard from Kenma a few times but had never truly known.

Kenma nodded his fingers delicately tracing over Kuroo’s face again as if he could touch his deceased lover again. “Yeah,” he said quietly, voice laced with a sadness so deep it nearly masked the love buried underneath.

Akaashi didn’t know what to say. 

He didn’t know how to tell Kenma that he had never seen him look as whole as he did in that picture or how painfully obvious it was that Kenma had been happier in that single frozen moment than in the seven years Akaashi had known him.

He wasn’t even sure if he should tell him that, probably not. It would probably be like putting salt on an open wound.

Instead, Akaashi just stood there, watching as Kenma held onto the only piece of his past that had apparently survived the fire.

Kenma didn’t look up as he spoke, his voice quiet, almost distant, like he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere lost in the past.

“Kuroo Tetsuro was… annoying,” Kenma started, a small huff of air escaping him, something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so hollow. “Always loud. Always in my space. He had this way of filling every room, like he belonged there, like he was meant to be in the center of everything. And somehow, he always made it feel like I belonged to.”

Akaashi didn’t interrupt. He simply listened.

Kenma’s grip on the photo tightened slightly. “He was a morning person. The worst kind,” he continued, shaking his head and Akaashi breathed out a small chuckle, neither he nor Kenma were morning people.

 “As you know I hate waking up early, always have, but Kuroo would always drag me out of bed to watch the sunrise. Other times he'd pick me up from our bed and set me on the counter as he cooked us breakfast… Said he didn’t like eating breakfast alone.” His lips quirked at the memory, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“This was our home.” He gestured vaguely to the ruins around them. “The one we created together. Kuroo always worked so hard to make it perfect for us, perfect for me.” Kenma swallowed, “He loved showing off the new things him made, they were always perfect, he was perfect at everything… Except maybe painting.” he said, smiling to himself about the secret memory.

But his smile dropped quickly, voice wavering.

“He loved the garden. He always said it was the best part of the house, his pride and joy...” Kenma took a breath forcing himself to continue, “He was that type of person who could tell you what each flower meant, where it was from, even the legends behind it…”

Akaashi glanced at him, watching the way Kenma’s expression shifted between soft nostalgia and aching loss.

“He had this stupid laugh,” Kenma murmured. “Loud and kind of rough, like he was always halfway to losing his voice. I used to tease him about it, but I…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I miss it.”

The weight of those words lingered between them, heavy and unshakable.

Kenma finally looked up, meeting Akaashi’s gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he wasn’t crying any longer. 

His tears were lost somewhere in the ashes of his home.

“I loved him,” Kenma admitted softly. “More than anything.” He glanced back at the ruins. “And I left him behind.”

Akaashi, for all his eloquence, didn’t have a response for that. He had nothing to say that could fix what had already been broken.

So instead, he pulled Kenma into a hug, careful to avoid the photo his friend clutched.

 

---

 

They heard their friends shouting their names in the distance.

Akaashi vaguely thought they must not have found anything, or they would be using the comms instead of yelling.

Gently Kenma let himself be led out of the ruins, the floorboards groaning as they walked. 

The sunlight was harsh when Kenma stepped out of the broken home, his fingers curled protectively around the photo. It felt like something sacred, something fragile; like if he let go, the last tangible piece of Kuroo would slip through his fingers just as he had all those years ago.

Kenma barely registered Akaashi’s hands gently pushing him forward and around holes in the porch as they finally stepped into the front lawn. Akaashi sent a quick message through their comms, giving the trio their location.

Kenma looked over at him, looking at the omega. He was quite as always, his mask still covering most of his face, and scent glands still covered with scent patches. He kept analyzing Akaashi’s face, there was something unreadable in his gaze as he looked down the path to the village waiting for their friends. 

He hadn’t said much since Kenma had told him about Kuroo, only listening, taking in every word, every ounce of emotion Kenma had unknowingly let slip.

Akaashi straightened up when he caught sight of their team walking up the hill towards them. Kageyama was further behind the hyperactive omegas, seeming to be typing notes into his phone.

Hinata and Noya bounded up to them like excited puppies, their clothes dusted with soot from searching the town and homes. They hadn’t found much, or if they did, they had chosen not to talk about it at the moment.

Akaashi greeted them, walking a few feet away from Kenma to talk to the duo. 

Kenma barely registered their presence; eyes still locked on the photo in his hands. 

His world had shrunk down to the edges of the photograph, to the ghost of Kuroo’s touch, frozen in time. He ran his thumb over Kuroo’s face again, like if he just pressed hard enough, he could reach through the years and pull him back.

He really needed to get a new frame or else he might make Kuroo’s image fade faster.

"Kenma?" Akaashi’s voice was low, cautious.

Kenma didn’t respond.

Noya and Hinata stopped chatting, instead turning to give Akaashi a confused look. Hinata hadn’t seen Kenma this out of it since he had first arrived at Karasuno, and Noya had never seen this side of Kenma.

Akaashi gave a small head shake to the omegas and they only nodded, understanding that they shouldn’t push the issue.

It was then that Hinata noticed the photograph in Kenma’s hands. 

He eyed the way Kenma was clutching the photograph like it was the most precious thing in the world. His head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face as he took a few hesitant steps closer.

“Hey, what’s that?” Hinata asked, squinting. Kenma didn’t make any move to look at him and Hinata bit his lip worried that Kenma was severely dissociating. The normally hyper omega stepped closer and looked down at the photograph.

“Who’s in the picture?” He asked gently, but only silence answered his question, so he looked over at Akaashi who seemed to be quietly catching Noya and Kageyama up on what had happened since they split up.

Hinata looked at his friend. His eyes roaming the omega’s face. Red-rimmed golden eyes stared down blankly, it was obvious he had been crying. What worried Hinata the most was how harshly Kenma was biting his lip, the slight ting of red signaling he had broken the skin. The omega looked down at what Kenma was clutching to get a better look at it.

Kenma’s thumb was covering up the other person’s face in the photo so Hinata focused on the rest of the image looking at the way Kenma was smiling in the photo. Bright and full of life. The younger version of Kenma was innocent, not privy to the darkness of the world and Hinata’s heart ached. He wished that Kenma could have been protected from all the pain of his past so he could smile like this again.

Gently Kenma moved his thumb away from the picture, stroking the image of the tall black-haired man. Hinata’s brows furrowed as he looked at the man in the photo.

“I’ve seen this guy before.” He said and Kenma finally looked at him, his expression still devoid of life.

“Ah, when you guys were cleaning up the bodies.” Kenma said, his tone numb and devoid of any emotion but Hinata quickly shook his head.

“No, I saw him a few months ago on a mission.”

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!!

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! (College is kicking my ass, please let me hyper fixate in peace)

Anyways did you guys know this entire story was born from a single 15 second YouTube short I watched?

Yeah, who knew you could create a long ass story from that, don't worry here's the link to go see it for yourself!

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/okBCw2LJCo4?feature=share

You'll notice it in the second chapter if you want to look for specifics <3

Anyways! I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day, and I'll see you on Sunday!

Chapter 18: Running Home To You

Summary:

Sometimes things aren't what they seem.

Notes:

The title is a nod to Runnin' Home to You, sung by Grant Gustin in the Flash series.

I've been obsessed with this song for years, it's a good song, don't at me!

Kenma stares at Hinata wide eyed.

He had seen Kuroo? Only a few months ago?

That made no sense.

Hinata, still not realizing the weight of what he just said, scratched the back of his head. “Well yeah, he actually stole my target for an assassination.”

“There’s no possible way you saw him.” Kenma snapped, voice harsh and Hinata flinched back slightly, not used to the amount of venom in Kenma’s tone. 

Akaashi, quick to notice the tension, made his way over to them, hands raised placatingly. 

“What’s happening?” He asked, the omega’s tone even and gentle like talking to a wild animal. 

Hinata tilted his head, still staring at the photo in Kenma’s hands. He was still confused as to why Kenma seemed so angry. Was this a target or some high person he was trying to track down?

Not exactly knowing what the situation was, he just said the first thing that came to mind.

“That guy in Kenma’s photo, I swear I saw him on a mission. He stole one of my kills.” he explains, crossing his arms a bit defensively.

Hinata didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. 

Kenma’s grip on the photograph tightened and Akaashi’s head snapped toward him, sharp and calculating. “Explain that again.”

Hinata blinked. “Oh, um that guy.” He pointed to Kuroo in the picture. “I saw him on a mission a few months ago. It was when Kageyama and I were set to take out a target that had been bribing the cops. Well, that’s what we were supposed to do, but before we could even get close, that guy got to him first.”

Kenma’s breathing hitched, but Hinata was too caught up in the memory to notice.

“I could be wrong of course, it was dark, and the man was fast but I’m pretty sure it's the same guy, if not maybe a doppelganger!” Hinata continued. “The guy was tall, dark hair, moved like a damn shadow, he was fast. By the time we even realized what was happening, the target was already dead.”

Kenma’s pulse roared in his ears, brain rapidly trying to rack through every bit of information he had to make sense of this situation.

Hinata kept going, oblivious to the inner turmoil his friend was experiencing. “We didn’t see the entire interaction, but we saw the target kick off the guy's mask before he was killed, I swear I’m not lying.”

Kenma barely heard the rest. His mind had already latched onto the one thing that mattered.

A man who looked like Kuroo.

Alive.

Kenma's grip on the photograph was vice-like, his knuckles turning white. His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat deafening. Akaashi gently removed the photo from his grasp, Kenma was thankful that his friend knew him so well. He would have hated to damage the image. 

But his attention was pulled back to Hinata who was still rambling, his voice came out sharp, almost hostile.

" What did he look like?"

Hinata blinked, startled by the sudden question. "I mean… like him?" He gestured toward the photo. "But older. His hair was kind of messy, like he didn’t care about it anymore. He was tall, built like a fighter, and moved like—”

" Details, Hinata." Kenma's voice was low, dangerously quiet. Akaashi placed a hand on his shoulder, a silent attempt to steady him, but Kenma barely registered it. "Are you sure? Are you positive that the man in the photo is the same man."

Hinata hesitated and finally asked. “Well, yeah, but who even is he?” Akaashi sighed, and gently handed the picture to Hinata to gingerly took it.

“That is Kuroo Tetsuro, Kenma’s supposedly dead mate.” Hinata squawked as he looked back and forth from the photo to Kenma, who’s fists were clenched at his sides.

Hinata flinched back as Kenma’s eyes locked onto his, the normal golden iris’s teetering on red at the edges, the smell of sour apples so potent it was leaking out from the omega’s scent patches.

“Wait, Kageyama was there too, we can ask him!” Hinata tried to say, worried about his friend's mental and physical wellbeing. Kageyama was quick to join the conversation and Hinata shoved the photo in his face. “Do you recognize him from anywhere!?” He shouted and Kageyama had to hold his boyfriend still so he could properly look at the image.

“Isn’t that Kenma?” He asked, brows furrowed and Hinata let out an exasperated whine.

“No, not him, the other guy!” Kageyama pouted and looked at the image closer, the pout quickly becoming a frown.

“Oh, he’s the bastard that stole our kill.” He said and Kenma let out a shuddering breath, Akaashi called Noya over to help keep Kenma steady. Akaashi handed Kenma off to Noya and made his way to Kageyama and Hinata to ask some questions.

“Are you positive?” Akaashi asked and Kageyama pursed his lips.

“Well, I can’t be one hundred percent sure since, objectively, he looked pretty different, and we didn’t see him for more than a couple seconds, but the resemblance is there.” He said and Akaashi glanced back at Noya and Kenma.

They couldn’t afford to be wrong, if they were Kenma would have to heal all over again when everything is said and done.

Akaashi didn’t want to think about what else could happen to Kenma if he got his hopes up only for them to be crushed, his friend was strong, but someone can only be pushed so far.

“What makes you think they are the same people? Kenma saw the man in the photo die.” Akaashi explained and Kageyama flinched slightly, but Hinata spoke up.

“No, the roof caved in, and Kenma had to run away.” Hinata said and Akaashi bit his lip glancing again at his unstable friend.

“He was pinned in a burning building with no way to escape, we can infer some things.” Akaashi said delicately and Hinata went to talk again but the alpha slapped his hand over his boyfriend's mouth. With his eyes he motioned to Kenma, who was slumped against Noya’s side, and while Kageyama couldn’t see him crying, the shudders and jolts of his body seemed to indicate quite sobbing.

“Well,” Kageyama lowered his voice so Kenma would hear. “He obviously looked older, but he also had a pretty nasty scar on one side of his face, I don’t know how low it goes since he was geared up, but it definitely spread down his neck too. It would make sense if it was a burn scar. But part of his hair was white…” Akaashi nodded.

“Hair often turns white after significant trauma.” He said and Kageyama made a little ‘huh’ noise, not knowing that before.

“Oh, but he did have an old mating bond.” He added and the two omega’s heads whipped up to look at him and then at each other. “What?” He asked and Akaashi hesitated.

“Kenma bit Kuroo but they never completed the bond.” He explained but sighed, “Though it is possible that it was someone who happens to match the profile and has a mate, I mean if they are an assassin then it isn’t entirely strange that he fits the description.”

“Or it could be him, but he found a new mate.” Hinata said, slightly muffled through Kageyama’s hand and Akaashi shot an icy glare at his friend. “Sorry, that was horrible to say.” He said, wilting under Akaashi’s gaze. The older omega looked at his friend, thankful it seemed he hadn’t heard that last part and turned back to Hinata.

“If Kuroo is anything like Kenma said he was, he’d never do something like that. It is more likely it’s a complete stranger or it is him since Kenma’s bite wouldn’t have disappeared considering he’s still alive and well.” Akaashi said and Kageyama slightly winced.

“Well… he’s alive I wouldn’t exactly say he’s particularly well right now.” It was his turn to endure a glare from Akaashi.

“Go get the car and all of our gear that was left around. I’m going to calm Kenma down and we will go back to the manor to figure this whole thing out.” he said, taking charge of the situation and the two were off running towards where the car had been hidden.

 

---

 

Kenma barely registered the conversation around him. His body felt like it was floating, like he had detached from reality entirely, yet every nerve was raw, exposed. The air was too thick, his lungs struggling to pull in enough oxygen. He could still hear the voices talking around him, but they sounded distant, distorted, as if he were listening from the bottom of the ocean.

He felt hands holding him up, and briefly Kenma was thankful Noya was holding him up because his knees were shaking like a newborn deer, but that thought flitted away quickly, the panic clawing up his body and squeezing his throat. 

His hands trembled violently, fingers twitching before his body moved on its own, desperate for something, anything to ground him. Without thinking, his hand lifted to his neck, fingers pressing against the covered skin of his scent gland. The fabric of the scent patch was already damp with sweat, clinging to him uncomfortably, suffocating, and the pressure building in his chest turned unbearable.

Then he started to scratch.

It was an unconscious movement at first, his fingers scraping, nails digging in. The feeling was wrong, all wrong. There was something missing, something broken.

Kuroo was alive .

The thought rang like a siren in his head, loud and relentless. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible. But Kageyama and Hinata had seen him.

Scarred. Older.

Alive.

He not only betrayed Kuroo by being alive, he also never searched for him. He didn’t look for his mate. How could he do that to Tetsuro?

How dare he not search for Tetsuro? How dare he claim to love Tetsuro? 

A choked sound tore from Kenma’s throat as he scratched harder, nails tearing through the scent patch and digging into flesh. There was no relief, only the sting of pain, sharp, electric, and almost grounding, but not enough. It wasn’t enough. He needed—

“Kenma!”

Noya’s voice broke through the suffocating static, and suddenly there were hands gripping his wrists, prying them away from his throat.

Kenma let out a ragged gasp, his vision swimming as he was forced to look at Noya, who was kneeling in front of him, his expression a mixture of concern and quiet panic.

“Breathe,” Noya commanded, his grip unrelenting. “You’re hurting yourself.” He said worriedly as he tried to get Kenma to stop moving.

Kenma barely registered the words, his body still trying to lurch forward, trying to reach for his throat again. His instincts were screaming at him, the urge to claw, to remove whatever was suffocating him overwhelming all logic. He needed air. He needed Kuroo. He needed-

“Noya, move.”

Akaashi’s voice was calm but edged with steel, and then he was there, sliding into Kenma’s vision, hands already moving to take over from Noya.

Kenma barely had time to react before Akaashi’s hand was on the side of his neck, his fingers pressing firmly against the omega’s bleeding scent gland just beneath the ripped shreds of the scent patch. Using the pressure point to try and ground Kenma.

Kenma froze, his breath hitching, the pressure of Akaashi’s touch unraveling some of the panic in his chest. But it wasn’t enough, the anxiety and panic that had unraveled started to build up again.

His hands twitched, his body trembling. The itching sensation under his skin wouldn’t stop.

“I can’t—I can’t—” His voice was hoarse, uneven, the words struggling to form as his body tried to cave in on itself. He was going to suffocate. He just couldn’t breathe; he needed to breathe.

Akaashi let out a sharp breath, reaching forward and hugging Kenma into his chest. He winced, the potent scent of despair and the tang of iron emanating from his friend's shredded scent gland.

“Kenma, listen to me,” he said, voice steady as he tried to rock Kenma in his hold. “You need to calm down. You’re hyperventilating, and if you keep this up, you’re going to pass out.”

Kenma barely heard him. His head was spinning, vision tunneling. His fingers twitched up toward his throat again, but Akaashi held down his arms, squeezing him tighter before he could get close.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi murmured, and before Kenma could process the words, the sharp sting of a needle pressed against his skin.

Kenma inhaled sharply, his body jerking in response, but it was already too late. The sedative worked quickly, liquid ice spreading through his veins, forcing his body to obey even as his mind screamed.

The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was Akaashi’s face, calm, composed, but that look in his eyes seemed almost pained.

Akaashi sighed as he looked at Noya whose face was scrunched up in worry.

“Is he going to be alright?” He asked hesitantly and Akaashi looked back down at the omega in his arms.

“He will be, I think the shock was too much for him.” He murmured as he lifted Kenma into a bridal hold, Noya walked over and picked up Akaashi’s bag and the photo.

“What happened?” Noya asked and Akaashi winced internally, he’d have to explain in the car.

The crunch of gravel pulled their attention to Kageyama driving the car up to them and Hinata shot out of the door seeing his friend unconscious.

“Is he okay!?” Akaashi nodded.

“I had to sedate him; he was starting to harm himself and I could calm him down.” He said softly as he looked at the sleeping omega in his arms, his cinnamon apple scent starting to mellow out, but it still was tinged with grief.

Kageyama walked around the car with a first aid kit and handed it over to Noya. Considering Noya’s mate was their head medic he had picked up quite a few things and more often than not was found helping out in the med-bay.

He got to work gently peeling off the pieces of scent patch clinging to the cut of throat and used an antiseptic wipe to clean it up before applying gauze and bandages.

“It shouldn't even leave a scar.” He said gently and Akaashi nodded his thanks before getting into the backseat of the car. Hinata handed him an emergency blanket he’d grabbed from the trunk and Akaashi gently wrapped their friend up.

“Do we have everything?” Akaashi asked and he received a chorus of nods before they all settled into the car and began to drive back to Karasuno.

The silence in the car was thick, a heavy fog settling over them as the road stretched endless beyond the windows. The road hummed beneath the tires, a quiet rhythm that did little to ease the tension wrapped around them like a noose.

Kenma hadn’t stirred since the sedative took effect, his small frame tucked beneath the emergency blanket, his face turned toward Akaashi’s chest. His breathing had evened out, slow and steady, but the faint tremors still wracking his body hadn’t gone unnoticed by the omega.

Akaashi traced his fingers over the bandages Noya had applied, barely feeling the warmth of the car heater against his skin. His mind was still spinning, replaying everything that had happened, the panic, the broken way Kenma had reached for his scent gland, the sheer anguish in his voice.

Noya’s hands were tight around his phone, thumb hesitating over the call button before he finally pressed it. The line rang twice before Daichi picked up, his voice ringing through the car's speakers

“What happened?” No greeting, no pleasantries. Just sharp, controlled urgency.

They wouldn't normally call unless something happened on the mission, it was always safer to wait until they got back to the manor to give any reports so the fact they had called must have set Daichi on edge.

Akaashi tightened his grip around Kenma’s shoulders. “We had an incident,” he murmured. “Kenma had a breakdown. I had to sedate him.”

A sharp inhale crackled through the speaker.

From the driver’s seat, Kageyama kept his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel was white-knuckled. Hinata shifted, arms folded tightly against himself, lips pressed into a thin line.

“How bad was it?” Suga’s voice this time, quiet, but the tension threading through his tone was unmistakable.

Akaashi hesitated before answering.

“He tried to claw his scent gland open.”

There was silence. Then, a quiet curse from Daichi, something muffled, probably Suga covering his mouth with his hand.

“Damn it,” Suga exhaled, voice suddenly distant, like he was moving around. “Okay. Get him back here, we’ll have Asahi look him over.” 

Daichi sighed, “Give a mission report then we’ll talk about everything that happened.” He said going back into leader mode. Kageyama straightened up and began to give a report.

“We sadly don’t have a lot of information, but we did find some traces that Seijoh had been in the area. The clues are old, though, a few weeks at least.”

That caught Akaashi’s attention, he had been with Kenma while they searched so he didn’t know what they had found. “Were they looking for something?”

Kageyama nodded before he realized Suga and Daichi couldn’t see him. “It looked like it. I don't know whether or not they found it, but they moved on.”

Akaashi frowned, his mind running through the implications. If Seijoh had been here weeks ago, why? And why leave with nothing?

Beside him, Noya cleared his throat. “There was nothing unusual other than something frantically turned over, it seemed like they were in a rush. Sadly, that’s all we have.”

There was a rustle of papers on the other end and then Daichi spoke. “Fill us in on what happened with Kenma.”

Akaashi exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple before speaking. “Kenma went on ahead to his old home, as you know it was burnt down in an attack on Hakone, what you didn’t know is that Kenma’s mate died in that fire protecting Kenma.”

The other end of the line went dead silent and Noya whipped his head around to stare at Akaashi wide eyed at this newfound information. 

Akaashi pressed on, his voice calm despite the weight behind his words. “Kenma saw him die. Or… he thought he did. But today we recovered an old photograph of Kenma and his mate, Kageyama and Hinata said they saw someone that looked just like him. It—” He swallowed, glancing down at Kenma’s sleeping face. “That knowledge really affected Kenma psychologically.”

Another pause. Then Daichi spoke, voice low. “You’re saying there’s a chance Kenma’s alpha is alive?”

“Yes.”

A rustling noise, then a hushed conversation between Daichi and Suga before the latter spoke again.

“I’m sorry but after what you just told us I don’t think it is wise to allow Kenma to search for his mate,” Suga said, voice flat and Hinata quickly began to yell in protest, but Suga pushed on.

“If Kenma starts believing this, he’ll destroy himself searching for someone we don’t even know is his mate. You saw what he did to himself just from the thought. If we feed into this, he’ll end up being destroyed if the man Kageyama and Hinata saw isn’t his mate. And there's the chance his mate doesn't remember Kenma." he said, voice firm.

"Or he got mixed up with the wrong crowd, considering Hinata and Kageyama saw him assassinate another.” Daichi added grimly. 

The weight of the words sat heavy in Akaashi’s chest. He looked down at Kenma again, his sleeping face far too pale.

“But we can’t just sit around and do nothing, Kenma deserves to be happy!” Noya protested and there was a pause from the other end of the phone.

“I understand your worry and I’m not saying we do nothing. I just don’t think we should entertain the idea that it is Kuroo. This will crush Kenma if it turns out his mate is dead or that this man wasn’t his mate.” Suga said and Akaashi could hear the weight of the words.

He knew that Suga would never want to hurt anyone in their family, he just had to do what was best for everyone even if that meant being the bad guy.

“I know,” Akaashi admitted. “But if Kuroo is alive, we need to find him, we owe that to Kenma.”

“I agree” Suga’s voice was firm, unwavering. “We’ll get Ennoshita on it. I’ll have him start looking tonight.”

Akaashi nodded; despite knowing they couldn’t see him. “I’ll look too.” He said and Daichi’s voice came through the phone, having let his mate handle the situation.

“This is for the best, Akaashi and Ennoshita will be able to search without letting their emotions cloud their judgement. However, Kenma already thinks his mate could be alive, so we need to deal with that first.”

Suga let out a long breath. “We should lie. It's better to break his hope now when it's too fresh to set in, than in a few months if nothing turns up.”

Akaashi glanced at Noya, who shifted uncomfortably but didn’t argue. Kageyama’s hands were still tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched.

Hinata turned slightly in his seat, watching Akaashi carefully. “What are we supposed to say?”

“Tell him that we looked for his alpha, but it wasn’t him,” Suga said simply. “If we don’t say it right away, he’ll lose his mind. Right now, his emotions are fragile at best. It doesn’t matter if we don’t know the full truth, what matters is keeping Kenma stable enough to handle it when we do. If worse comes to worse, Kenma will be none the wiser and he didn’t waste more time hoping. If it turns out it is Kenma’s mate and he is alive then we will address it and give Kenma the information, then back up whatever decision he makes.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

“Alright,” Akaashi sighed. “Hinata and I will be the ones to tell him.”

Suga exhaled, relieved and Daichi spoke up. “Good. Get back here safely.”

The call ended, leaving only the soft hum of the tires against the pavement.

Akaashi leaned back against the seat and let his gaze drop to his unconscious friend.

Forgive me, Kenma.

 

---

 

The scent of caramelized onions and garlic filled the air, warm and familiar. Oil crackled in the pan, the soft scrape of a wooden spoon against metal the only sound in the quiet kitchen.

Kenma blinked, his vision hazy, mind slow to catch up. 

He couldn’t help but yawn and stretch his arms as he woke, everything slowly becoming clearer. The bed was soft under him, and the room was filled with trinkets galore.

Kenma shot up straighter, this wasn’t his bedroom. 

He threw the blankets off and looked around quickly grabbing a small pocketknife he found on the bedside table and stumbled out of the door. Quietly he made his way downstairs and listened closely to the pop and sizzle of oil and the gentle humming of whoever was in the kitchen.

Kenma took a deep steadying breath and let one hand rest on the wooden frame of the doorway while the other gripped the knife tighter and peeked his head around the corner ready to strike. 

His fingers on the door clenched tighter as he saw an alpha’s back. 

That messy black hair was impossible to mistake. It was Kuroo.

His Kuroo.

Moving with easy grace as he cooked, clad in sweatpants and a loose hoodie, his hair still tousled from sleep. The kitchen light overhead cast a golden hue against his skin, his presence anchoring the world in place.

He was right there.

Kuroo turned, spotting him instantly. A smile broke across his gorgeous face, warm and lazy, just like always and Kenma felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked at that smile. 

That wonderful, amazing smile.

That all of a sudden was fading away, replaced with concern.

“Oh, my Aster, what’s wrong?” Kuroo cooed, his voice was smooth, laced with concern, but it held the softness of affection.

He turned off the stove without hesitation, the scent of sautéed food lingering in the air as he crossed the room in a few strides. Kenma barely had time to react before Kuroo’s hands were cupping his face, tilting it up so their eyes met.

And Kenma felt his hands. Not an illusion. Real and tangible as he caressed Kenma’s face.

Kenma let out a shuddering sob. He couldn’t stop it.

The overwhelming relief, the ache in his chest breaking apart like shattered glass. His hands fisted into the fabric of Kuroo’s hoodie, breath catching as he felt the warmth beneath his fingertips. 

“It was awful,” Kenma choked, his voice cracking. “I—God, Tetsuro, it was all a nightmare. I thought you were gone. I thought—I thought I lost you.” Kenma let himself openly sob as he leaned into Kuroo touch.

Kuroo’s brows furrowed, his thumbs brushing gently along Kenma’s cheekbones. “Shhh, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here, see?” He pressed their foreheads together, his scent wrapping around them like a safety net. “It was just a bad dream, my love. You’re safe now.”

Kenma squeezed his eyes shut. His body shook, but Kuroo was here. The nightmare was fading, slipping away like mist in the morning sun.

“It felt so real,” Kenma whispered. “The fire, the blood—”

He felt Kuroo’s arms tighten around him. “You’re alright now,” Kuroo murmured. “I’m alright. Just breathe for me, my Aster.”

Kenma let out a trembling breath, allowing himself to sink into the warmth of Kuroo’s embrace. His mate was alive. His mate was here, holding him. Kenma smiled to himself as he burrowed into Kuroo's arms, hugging him and relishing in the feeling of his mate hugging him back.

“Did you turn the heat on?” Kenma asked as the room seemed to heat up.

“No, you must be imagining things darling.” Kuroo responded and Kenma’s brows furrowed, how odd?

If that’s so, why was it so hot?

The warmth that had wrapped around Kenma so gently turned oppressive, suffocating.

His breath hitched. The scent of food was gone, replaced by something acrid, something burnt.

Kuroo’s grip on him tightened and Kenma tried to pull back, but Kuroo had him in a death grip.

The lights overhead flickered, the golden hue turning bright red and orange .

And it was hot, so unbearably hot.

Kenma shoved Kuroo back and looked up.

Kuroo was still smiling.

But his skin was blistered now, peeling, the edges of his jawline blackened like coal. His lips cracked as he spoke, his voice eerily calm.

“Why didn’t you look for me?”

Kenma’s stomach plummeted. His fingers trembled as he reached up, barely brushing Kuroo’s cheek.

The skin gave way under his touch.

Like burnt paper.

“I—I didn’t know,” Kenma gasped, stumbling back, but Kuroo’s hands shot out to grab his wrists and tightened .

“Didn’t know?” His voice was still soft, but there was something twisted and wrong underneath. “Or didn’t want to know?”

Kenma shook his head. “No—No, Kuro, I—”

Kuroo leaned in, his breath scorching against Kenma’s ear.

“I thought you loved me . ”

Kenma’s entire body locked up.

He tried to pull away, but Kuroo wouldn’t let him go. His fingers were digging into Kenma’s wrists now; too hard, too tight, like claws sinking into flesh.

“I waited for you,” Kuroo murmured, his breath like ash. “I called for you. And you just moved on. Forgot all about me.”

Kenma couldn’t breathe. His throat burned. The room around them was melting walls blackening, curling like paper in the heat.

“No.” He croaked out, “That’s not true! I-I love you! I love you so much please! Kuro– Tetsuro please you have to believe me!” He shouted at his lover that seems to be burning away before his eyes.

“You let me die, Kenma.”

His voice was accusatory, angry, and cruel . A tone Kuroo had never taken with Kenma.

“Did you ever even care about me?” He asked, voice distorting grotesquely as fire seared his skin, red and raw. “Was I that easy to forget?”

Kenma choked, his lungs seizing, his vision swimming. The scent of burnt flesh filled his nose, the heat pressing in.

He opened his mouth, and his eyes shot open, a heart wrenching scream ripping through the silent night.

His body jerked upright violently, the suffocating heat gone, replaced by the cool, crisp scent of tangerine and white jasmine.

Darkness surrounded him.

For a moment, his mind was still caught in the dream, the phantom heat of Kuroo’s hands lingering on his wrists, the scent of burning flesh clinging to the edges of his memory. His breath hitched, his hands trembled.

And then he was violently flinching back as someone touched his side.

“Hey, it’s okay, it was just a dream.” Akaashi’s calm voice said in the darkness. Kenma let out a shuddering sob and Akaashi hugged him close, pushing more of his calming white jasmine scent out.

Another soft warmth pressed against his other side.

“It’s okay, we’re here.” Hinata whispered, his body curled around Kenma protectively.

Kenma let out a choked sound, something between a sob and a breathless gasp.

It was dark. It was nighttime.

And he wasn’t alone.

His chest shuddered as he curled in on himself, fists gripping the blankets beneath him. His breathing was ragged, tears slipping hot and unchecked down his cheeks.

“It was just a dream,” Akaashi repeated as he helped Kenma lay back down.

But Kenma shook his head, a broken noise escaping him. “It felt real.” His voice cracked. “It—He—”

“We know,” Hinata said softly, his fingers rubbing slow circles into Kenma’s back. “We know, Kenma.”

Kenma squeezed his eyes shut. His whole body trembled, but neither of them pulled away.

Akaashi’s hand continued to glide gently through his hair, a grounding rhythm in the storm, his scent calm and steady, like moonlight through clouds. “We’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

Kenma sobbed. Harsh and unfiltered.

He didn’t know if it was from the unbearable relief of waking up or the soul-deep heartbreak of what he’d seen. Maybe both, probably both.

But neither Akaashi nor Hinata moved. They stayed right there with him.

Hinata curled closer, warm arms wrapping around his waist. “We’re here,” he whispered again, like a mantra. “You’re not alone.”

Kenma clung to their presence like a lifeline.

There were no more flames. No more burning hands. No more accusing voices. Just the quiet rise and fall of three bodies pressed close in the dark.

And when his tears finally slowed, when exhaustion crept back in and stole him away, Kenma was still held.

He cried himself to sleep with his face buried in Akaashi’s shoulder and Hinata’s arms around his waist.

And for the rest of the night, neither of them let him go.

Notes:

Umm... So, if anything was very obviously off in the story wording wise let me know because I was editing this while I had food poisoning so yeah.

However, this was a jampacked chapter and I hope you enjoyed it!!!

Honestly, I'm too ill to write a lot so have a great rest of your day my lovelies <3

I'll see you on Wednesday!

Chapter 19: Where or When

Summary:

Akaashi breaks Kenma's heart and tries to find Kuroo.

The soft gray light of dawn filtered through the curtains, painting the room in muted hues of gold and silver. It was quiet, the stillness of early morning wrapping around the small space like a fragile cocoon.

Akaashi blinked awake slowly, consciousness returning with a heavy sigh. Warmth pressed against his side, Kenma’s body was curled into himself, fragile and trembling even in sleep while Hinata’s arm was draped protectively around Kenma’s middle.

The night had been long. Kenma had woken up screaming more than once, plagued by nightmares that had left him gasping for air and clutching onto anything solid. Hinata had been the first to pull him close, grounding him with whispered reassurances and a steady presence. Akaashi had slid in behind him soon after, wordless, but firm. A protective shield of warmth and loyalty.

Kenma had finally quieted sometime before dawn, exhaustion dragging him under. But his sleep remained shallow; every so often, his fingers twitched, or his breathing hitched in a way that made Akaashi’s chest ache.

He watched them both for a moment. Their faces were soft in sleep, peaceful in a way that made Akaashi feel both comforted and guilty.

Because soon, he’d have to ruin it.

Soon, he’d have to ruin Kenma.

Quietly, Akaashi slid out from under the covers, careful not to jostle the others. He padded to the bathroom with the clothes he’d brought the night before, changing into a simple black turtleneck and dark jeans. He brushed his teeth slowly, staring into the mirror at his tired reflection. There was no easy way to say what he had to say.

No gentle version of the lie he had to tell Kenma.

Akaashi eyed his face mask for a moment. There was a pull to wear it, to hide behind it like he’d been doing ever since he ran away from his ‘marriage’. But Kenma didn’t deserve that side of Akaashi. He deserved to be told completely free of that mask.

When he stepped back into the room, the air felt heavier. Hinata was awake now, propped up on one elbow, gently brushing stray strands of hair from Kenma’s damp forehead. Kenma was awake too, bleary-eyed and silent, his expression dazed like he hadn’t fully returned from whatever darkness he’d been trapped in overnight.

“Akaashi…” Hinata said softly, eyes flicking to him in quiet greeting.

Kenma turned his head slightly, eyes dull and rimmed in red. His voice was rough. “Hey…”

Akaashi crossed the room and knelt beside the bed. His heart clenched at the sight of Kenma, shoulders hunched, cheeks hollow, a haunted look clinging to his face.

He didn’t deserve more pain, but it had to be done.

“I need to talk to you,” Akaashi said gently, his voice low but clear as he pets Kenma’s head gently. He glanced at Hinata who winced behind Kenma. He knew what had to be done.

Hinata sat up strength in the bed, ready to comfort Kenma once the news hit. Kenma just stared back and forth between them, tensing up himself.

Akaashi swallowed, then sat on the edge of the mattress, facing them both. “We looked into it,” he began carefully. “The man Hinata and Kageyama saw… The one they thought was Kuroo…” He paused, breathing through the tightening in his chest. “It wasn’t him.”

Kenma didn’t react at first. No sharp intake of breath. No movement. Just silence.

Then, his eyes flickered.

“What?”

Akaashi’s gaze didn’t waver. “We checked thoroughly. Cross-referenced everything. It wasn’t him.”

Kenma’s hands began to shake.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered. “You’re wrong, Akaashi.”

Hinata reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “Kenma…”

“No!” Kenma snapped, his voice cracking as he yanked his hand away. “No. You didn’t look hard enough. You missed something, you must have! They said it was him! Tetsuro can’t be– he’s not dead, he’s not —”

His voice broke off into a sharp sob, and then another, his breathing spiraling out of control.

“Hinata said it was Kuroo , ” Kenma choked out, head whipping to look at Hinata. “You said it was him, that he was right there. Why would you say that? Why would you—?”

“They said it might be him. There was no way to be sure.” Akaashi said softly, even as his throat burned. “We looked into it, and it wasn't him. I’m sorry Kenma, Kuroo’s dead.” He said, gods it hurts to lie to his friend. To watch his friend shatter.

Kenma’s fingers clawed at his own sleeves, curling into the fabric until his knuckles turned white. His body trembled as he hunched forward, shoulders shaking as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Hinata wrapped his arms around him immediately, pulling him close and holding him like he was trying to stitch him back together piece by piece.

“It’s okay,” Hinata whispered, his own voice cracking. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. Breathe. Please, Kenma, breathe…”

Kenma let out a sound that was more animal than human; raw, broken, devastated . He pressed his face into Hinata’s shoulder, sobs racking through him with such force it made Akaashi feel like the floor was giving out beneath him.

“I- I thought I could get him back.” He said through gasps of breath and choked sobs, “I thought there… There was another chance.” Kenma’s scent was so sour it was overwhelming. Hinata was rocking him gently, trying to flood him with his tangerine scent to calm him but it was no use.

Akaashi stood, quietly moving toward the door. He couldn’t bear it. The sound. The grief.

He looked back and Hinata nodded at him to go, he’d take care of Kenma while Akaashi worked on the situation.

Akaashi felt horrible as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

He pressed his back against the wall, his fingers curling at his sides, jaw clenched tight as a heart wrenching omega wail filled the space behind the door.

Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut.

Kenma’s cries shattered through the hallway like glass hitting stone, there was nothing quiet or restrained about it. Just raw pain, as if he were dying all over again.

Akaashi felt horrible, causing all this pain to his best friend because they could let him hurt himself. It felt counterintuitive, this was hurting Kenma too.

He shook his head trying to block out the sound of Kenma sobbing behind the door as he steeled himself, he had work to do.

He had to try and find Kuroo for Kenma.

Akaashi turned on his heel, stalking down to the Karasuno information unit.

 

---

 

The office was dimly lit, the soft glow of multiple screens casting a bluish hue over the room. Papers were stacked haphazardly on the desk, interspersed with open files, half-empty coffee cups, and scribbled notes that led to nowhere. It smelled faintly of old paper and burnt coffee; a sign that the head of the Karasuno Information Unit had been running on little sleep and too much caffeine.

Ennoshita sat at the main terminal, fingers tapping methodically against the keyboard, the air smelled of his soft vanilla and honey scent helping Akaashi relax slightly as they searched through files. Ennoshita’s sharp eyes scanned the screen, moving between several different databases at once, his expression unreadable.

The omega had been up all night searching for any leads on Kuroo. He knew how delicate the situation was and had been trying his best to find Kenma’s possibly alive mate. 

Akaashi sat beside him, his posture rigid, fingers threaded together as he stared at the flashing search results. He hated waiting.

“It’s weird,” Ennoshita murmured, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful frown. “You said the name was Kuroo Tetsurou, right?”

Akaashi nodded. “Yes. He was with Kenma during the attack.”

Ennoshita hummed, turning back to the screen. “I’ve cross-referenced every known alias, even ran a search using facial recognition software with that photo you brought back with you…” His fingers clacked against the keyboard before he exhaled sharply. “Nothing. It’s like he never existed.”

Akaashi stiffened. “That’s impossible.”

Ennoshita gestured at the screen, irritation creeping into his tone. “You tell me. Even if he was dead there would still be information on him, but no, there’s not a trace he even existed. Every government database, every medical and financial record, even any possible black-market listings, nothing. It looks like someone deliberately wiped him from the face of the Earth. If you didn’t have that photo I might have questioned if he ever existed in the first place.”

The words settled heavily between them.

Akaashi frowned, leaning forward. “Not even in the old syndicate records?”

“Gone.” Ennoshita clicked through another screen, scrolling rapidly through Karasuno’s archives. “And I don’t mean ‘outdated’ or ‘hidden.’ I mean deleted. No paper trail, no reports, no chatter about his name. The only thing I found were mentions of Hakone’s collapse years ago, and even those don’t give details. ” He hesitated. “The fact there’s nothing on him is suspicious. Honestly,” Ennoshita said, turning to look at Akaashi, “I think someone got through our barriers and erased it all.”

Akaashi inhaled sharply, his mind working through the implications.

Someone had not only invaded Karasuno’s security measures but also erased Kuroo.

It looked like they didn’t want anyone to look for Kuroo.

But why?

“When do you think they got in?” He asked Ennoshita who leaned back in his chair.

“If I had to give a guess, I think it was after we brought Kenma in, but before he redid all of the cyber networks. So that leaves around seven months of time they could have gotten access to the files.” He said, a frown on his lips as he thought.

Akaashi’s stomach twisted, this whole situation was suspicious. 

If Kuroo was alive somewhere, there was obviously someone who didn’t want him found. It made Akaashi’s blood boil.

Kenma had spent years thinking Kuroo was dead. He had grieved him, let that loss carve itself into his very being. 

His fingers curled into fists.

“Expand the search,” he said, voice tight. “Widen the parameters. If he’s wiped from digital records, we need to check old syndicate reports, anything that was written down before this happened. There has to be something, some kind of lead . ”

Ennoshita nodded, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “It’ll take time,” he warned, eyes flicking up briefly. “A full data scrape that old? It'll take days, just to find the right files, not to mention the time it’ll take to analyze them.”

Akaashi exhaled sharply, jaw clenched as he stepped back from the desk. Every second wasted felt like another step further from the truth.

Kenma was unraveling.

Akaashi had seen it, his mental instability. The moment he’d told him it wasn’t Kuroo, it was like watching something precious snap beneath the weight of hope. And if there was even a chance Kuroo was out there, alive or otherwise, Kenma wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t sleep . Wouldn’t survive the endless chase if they had nothing to offer but silence and dead ends.

He had to find him, even if Kuroo was just a dead body.

Even if it meant turning over every goddamn page of the past to find just a name, a whisper, a sign.

Without another word, Akaashi turned on his heel and strode from the room, the weight of desperation settling deeper in his chest.

 

---

 

The hallway to the leadership wing was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lighting echoing above. Akaashi's steps were measured but fast, shoes clicking against tile. When he reached the double oak doors at the end of the corridor, he barely hesitated before pushing them open.

Suga looked up from his desk, silver glasses perched low on his nose, the soft scent of ripe strawberries already curling warmly into the room like sunlight through a summer orchard. The Omega’s brows raised in surprise at Akaashi’s sudden entrance.

“Akaashi?” he asked, setting down the papers in his hand. “Is something wrong?”

“I need access to the private archives,” Akaashi said without pause.

Suga’s expression shifted immediately, pleasant surprise fading into something heavier, something cautious and tired. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Is this because of the Kuroo investigation?”

Akaashi nodded once. “Ennoshita has been scouring everything we have digitally, but it looks like someone wiped it all out. I want to dig into the paper trail. Physical logs, hand-written reports, anything that predates the wipe.”

Suga was silent for a moment. His fingers tapped lightly against his bicep, thinking.

“Daichi’s out handling a warehouse check,” he finally said, voice quieter now. “But... I’ll take you.”

He stood, the scent of strawberries growing stronger as he moved past Akaashi and toward the hallway. Akaashi followed silently, both of them walking in sync through the more secure wing of the compound.

Only the top members had access to the archives; syndicate Heads, department commanders, and a few selected enforcers cleared for internal investigations. While Akaashi had access as the head of strategy, he rarely went into the archives so having Suga’s help would speed up the process.

In the early days of the syndicate Suga often spent his days in the archive room, organizing and reading every single file. After Karasuno became more powerful and he and Daichi had officially become mates Suga slowly but surely stopped coming by, his attention focused on other more pressing matters.

Still, Suga had created the organization method and would be a great help in Akaashi’s search.

They descended the stairwell at the end of the hall, footsteps muffled by the worn stone. The deeper they went, the colder it became; sterile and quiet, like walking into the memory of something that should’ve been left undisturbed.

Akaashi always hated coming down here.

The archive room was right next to the torture chambers, and while he wasn’t particularly religious there was a certain type of energy that seemed to linger in the air, making you feel unwelcome.

Akaashi was thankful not to be part of the torture unit more than ever.

At the base of the final staircase, Suna stood outside of the massive steel vault door, a lazy posture that was deceiving to enemies. While he looked relaxed, sleepy even, Akaashi knew that it was all a front to catch people off guard. In reality Suna was always ready for an attack, the alpha had a keen sense of smell, and he could have his gun drawn and trained on you before you even knew what was happening. 

The moment Suna saw them approach, he straightened up his face falling into his usual lazy smirk. The faint scent of petrichor followed him like rain clinging to skin.

“Suna,” The head omega greeted with a nod. “We’re going in.”

Suna arched a brow at Akaashi questioningly, to which the omega gave a small shake of his head, so he didn’t question it. “Logged and cleared,” he said smoothly, keying in the passcode before stepping aside.

The heavy door hissed as it opened, thick layers of security disengaging with a mechanical groan. The scent of aged paper, old ink, and dry air spilled out instantly, like walking into time itself.

Inside, the archive was dim and vast.

Ceiling-high shelves stretched into the distance, rows upon rows of neatly labeled boxes, binders, and tomes. A low hum filled the space, interrupted only by the occasional flicker of the overhead lights. Dust particles floated like whispers in the stagnant air.

Suga led Akaashi to a wide wooden table near the center, where two overhead bulbs flickered dimly above them. He handed him a pair of gloves and pulled on his own, already flipping open the first box with practiced care.

“I know my orders put you in a tough position,” Suga said softly, not looking away from the files. “And I’m sorry for that. I know it isn’t easy lying to someone you love”

Akaashi’s hands stilled for a moment on a folder. “He’s falling apart. I know this is for the best, so his hopes don’t get too far up. But it was hard… seeing the hope shatter.”

Suga nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re a good friend, Akaashi. Kenma needs that right now.”

Akaashi didn’t respond. He didn’t feel like a good friend. He felt like someone desperate, someone clawing through shadows for a piece of truth that may not exist. And yet, he had to do it. For Kenma. 

For himself.

They worked in silence for a while, flipping through brittle documents: incident reports, transfer logs, sealed orders, old personnel files. Some pages were warped with age, others pristine and eerily blank where names should’ve been.

Suga paused on a folder, fingers tightening slightly.

“What is it?” Akaashi asked, voice low. For a moment Suga didn’t answer, before slowly speaking up.

“If we can’t find Kuroo in the records of the living, I figured I should search among the dead.” He started and Akaashi nodded his head, following the logic.

“Karasuno’s cleanup crew reported gathering and burying bodies after the attack,” Suga murmured, flipping another page, his sharp eyes scanning the report. “Hakone had already collapsed, and with the amount of destruction, we assumed no one survived. Kenma was the only one we found from the village still alive.”

Akaashi nodded, his fingers tightening around the edge of a file. “So Kuroo should be listed amongst the people found dead at the scene.”

“Exactly.” Suga said as he handed over the file. 

But his name wasn’t anywhere on the document.

Akaashi went through every record, every name listed from that day. The bodies recovered from the streets, the ones pulled from rubble, even the few that had been burned beyond recognition.

Kuroo’s name wasn’t there.

Neither was a report for a body recovered from the house on the hill.

Akaashi swallowed. His pulse quickened.

“That doesn’t make sense.” He exhaled sharply, staring at the paper in front of him. “Kenma said he saw Kuroo die there. If that’s true, his body should have been found.”

Suga was silent for a moment before he let out a quiet breath. “Unless it was never there to begin with.”

The words settled between them like a heavy stone. It was essentially confirmation that someone had deliberately erased Kuroo from the world, but Akaashi couldn’t figure out why.

Akaashi’s grip on the file tightened.

“If someone took him, they covered their tracks well,” he murmured. “Ennoshita and I already checked every database. And like I told you, there is nothing on him, not the slightest trace.”

Suga looked thoughtful for a moment before sighing.

“We need to confirm there just wasn’t a simple error.” He said and went to the door requesting Suna to call Sakusa to the archive room.

It took only around ten minutes for Sakusa to show up, clad in his usual black mask and dark clothing. The alpha’s amber scent trailing behind him as he dusted off his gloves. His dark eyes flickered between them with mild disinterest.

"You needed me?" he asked, voice as measured as always.

Suga wasted no time, reaching into a new file and retrieving a copy of the photo Kenma had found in Hakone and laid it on the desk in front of Sakusa as well as handing over the clean-up file to refresh Sakusa’s memory.

“You were in charge of the cleanup after the Hakone attack,” Suga said, tapping a finger against the image. “Did you find this man’s body?”

Sakusa leaned down slightly, his gaze scrutinizing the photograph.

Seconds passed.

Then, he shook his head. “No.”

Akaashi’s breath caught. “Are you sure?”

Sakusa looked mildly annoyed at the question, nothing out of the ordinary for the alpha. “I went through every single body we recovered myself, you know I take my job very seriously.” He added, glancing up at Suga who nodded, “If I had seen someone with that face, that hair, I’d remember.” He straightened, crossing his arms. “We cataloged everything. If he was there, he would have been reported.”

Akaashi exchanged a look with Suga before he decided to speak up.

“This house.” Akaashi’s voice was firm, unwavering. “It is on a hill near the outskirts of the town. That’s where Kenma said this man would have died. Did you recover any bodies from there?”

Sakusa was already shaking his head before he finished the question.

“There was nothing there,” he said simply. “No bodies. Just wreckage.”

Silence stretched between them.

Akaashi’s stomach twisted, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Suga exhaled, setting down his file with deliberate slowness. “Thank you Sakusa.” He bid the alpha a goodbye, before turning back to Akaashi.

Suga tapped his fingers against the desk, thinking. “If someone wanted to erase Kuroo, they wouldn’t just wipe the records, they’d make sure he was forgotten. Digital records, physical files, even the people who might have seen something… It all lines up too well.” He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. “But that level of erasure? It takes resources. Time. And above all, there needs to have been a purpose . ”

Akaashi’s breath hitched. It made no sense for someone to hide a dead body, so the only logical conclusion is that Kuroo had survived the attack.

Suga met his gaze, understanding passing silently between them.

Akaashi’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

“We keep searching,” he said, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him. “If there’s even the slightest chance, we owe it to Kenma to find the truth.”

Notes:

Hi my lovelies!

This chapter was posted an hour early because I am sick and need to get some sleep, but I hope this is a pleasant surprise to you!

Honestly, I am so tired of being sick please wish me a fast recovery because I'm supposed to go to a musical theater audition this weekend but if I'm sick I might be completely screwed. (I have literally been looking forward to it for the past year so fuck me) (Also I am a business major and have like seven meetings, so this was the worst week to get sick so ha-ha fuck my life)

Anyways, I hope you all stay healthy and have a great rest of your day <3

I'll see you on Friday!

Chapter 20: Back to the Beginning

Summary:

Is it time for Kuroo?

Yeah, I think so.

“I love you.” The words fell from Kuroo’s lips like a vow, soft and unshakable, as he held Kenma against his chest, their bodies swaying to a rhythm only their hearts could hear.

Kenma buried his face into the crook of his neck, and Kuroo smiled, letting the moment stretch and settle between them like a warm blanket. The world was quiet; only the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of their breaths, and the quick fluttering of two hearts pressed together.

“I love you too,” His omega whispered, his voice muffled but certain.

They danced in their small bedroom, the one they’d made a home in. Light spilled in from the hallway, pale and golden, catching the way Kenma’s hair shifted against his collarbone.

“We probably look like idiots,” Kenma murmured.

Kuroo chuckled, dipping him low with theatrical grace. “I probably do,” he teased, brushing a kiss to Kenma’s lips. “You never look like an idiot.”

They straightened slowly, still kissing; soft at first, gentle and slow, but then it deepened, heat blooming between them like fire from embers. Kuroo’s hand slipped up Kenma’s back, feeling the tremble there. They were never promised forever, not in this world, not in the life they chose, but this moment... It was real. It was everything.

“I’m ready,” Kenma whispered against his mouth.

Kuroo grinned into the kiss, heartbeat stuttering in his chest. This moment was perfect. Just him and Kenma, soon to be mates.

But then, something shifted. A scent. Sharp. Acrid.

He pulled back slightly, his brow creasing. “Do you smell that?”

Kenma blinked at him. “Haha. Making a joke about my scent?”

Kuroo didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. “No, seriously,” he said quietly. “It smells like… burning.”

Kenma stilled, sniffing the air and the amusement drained from his face. “You're right. But where is it coming from?”

The scent of smoke was unmistakable now, crawling in like a predator through the cracks in their haven.

Kuroo gently released Kenma and moved to the window. His hand trembled as he braced himself against the sill as he saw it.

The village, their home was on fire.

Not just a house or two. It was everything. The night sky was alive with flames, molten gold and angry red, dancing in chaotic patterns. Smoke billowed upward in dark, monstrous coils. It choked the stars, and the air reeked of burning wood and something metallic and fear inducing.

Screams rode the wind, raw and agonized, mingling with the grotesque crackling of burning wood and angry shouts. 

Kuroo’s stomach twisted. His mouth went dry. 

“No... No, no, no,” Kenma murmured, his voice cracking as he gripped Kuroo’s arm. Kuroo quickly looked down at his lover, terror written across his face. Kuroo took a breath and realized he could smell gasoline, and the scent of smoke wasn’t just being carried across the wind, it was closer, in their home.

Kuroo grabbed Kenma’s hand in his own, “We have to go. Now.” His voice was sharp with urgency and fear. 

He hated the fear in his own voice and wished he could stay calm for Kenma. But they needed to go, needed to run.

Kenma nodded, wide-eyed, and they scrambled to gather everything they could. Kuroo grabbed the emergency bag he had packed long ago, a precaution he made thanks to his own personal paranoia. Kuroo threw his jacket at Kenma, snatched a blanket off the bed, and shouldered their go-bag. Kuroo caught sight of the small plush cat he had just won for Kenma and stuffed it into the bag without a word.

The scent of gasoline and smoke was growing thicker and Kuroo knew it was only a matter of time before the fire was at their heels. 

He looked at Kenma, frozen in the middle of the room eye wide with fear as he shakily spoke, “Our house. It’s burning, oh my god.” 

Then came the crack from below, a horrifying sound of wood snapping and groaning as fire chars the foundation. Thick tendrils of smoke were already making their way under the door, and they needed to go, now!

“Kenma, we have to move!” Kuroo shouted over the roar of flames and crackling. He grabbed Kenma’s wrists, pulling him towards the staircase but the minute he opened the door heat slammed into them like a wave. Blistering. Alive.

The staircase was an inferno. A sea of flames that danced wildly covering every inch of their home. Kenma coughed beside him; sleeve pressed to his face.

“The stairs—” he choked as he pointed to the fire quickly spreading up them.

Kuroo’s gaze followed, eyes scanning the flames. Their once sturdy home, now a death trap. Kuroo looked at his lover and could only think of one thing.

Keep Kenma safe.

Without hesitation he grabbed the nearest blanket off of their bed and hastily wrapped it around Kenma’s face. “Don’t breathe in the smoke,” He ordered, his voice dry and hoarse.

The smoke thickened, black and angry, curling through the cracks in the ceiling, filling the room rapidly. Kuroo could barely see Kenma through the smog, but Kuroo refused to let it end like this.

He scooped Kenma up before the omega could protest and ran down the stairs, biting his lip to ignore the searing pain in his bare feet as fire seared them. Heat clawed at his skin. He felt it bite through his pants, scorch along his thigh. He didn’t care as he desperately tried to keep Kenma out of harm's way.

From their vantage point, the sight outside the window was even worse. Figures moved through the streets, dark shapes wielding weapons, their faces obscured by masks. Shadows danced in the fire’s glow, bodies crumpling under the onslaught.

Their friends. Neighbors. People they'd waved to that morning. Slaughtered.

Kuroo’s breath caught; rage and helplessness tangled in his chest like barbed wire.

He turned for the front door, reaching to open the door when he heard it.

Voices, nothing like their neighbors and friends. These voices were foreign, aggressive, dangerous.

And then there was no need to think about using it as an exit because the door was already up in flames. Kuroo’s mind was spiraling, he couldn’t think. But suddenly Kenma was wiggling out of his hold drawing him back to reality. 

“The backdoor,” Kenma rasped, his voice muffled by the blanket still over his mouth.

Kuroo’s mind raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Come on!" He pulled Kenma with him, their feet pounding against the wooden floors, he could no longer feel the pain in his feet, a bad sign. 

Kuroo looked down, his feet were bloody and raw, but Kenma’s were still okay. He had to make sure Kenma stayed uninjured, so quickly he scooped up Kenma’s shoes as they passed the stairs. Every second counted.

Their house groaned above them. The support beams were crying out; wood cracking, walls screaming with heat. 

“Almost there.” He said, but he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure Kenma or himself at this point.

Outside, the chaos continued to rage. Figures ran frantically through the village streets, their faces illuminated by the inferno devouring their homes. They could hear the heart-wrenching cries of neighbors, the loud shatter of collapsing buildings, and the relentless roar of the fire as it feasted upon their once peaceful haven.

Kuroo was frantically trying to find a way out when he heard Kenma’s broken voice, “Kuro… they’re all… our home…” Kuroo’s head snapped back to look at Kenma who was staring wide eyed out the front window, tears were rolling down Kenma’s soot-stained cheeks.

The stores were nothing more than a skeleton of charred beams and ash. The market stalls, where they had laughed and bickered over snacks just hours ago, lay in ruins. Everyone they knew, collapsed in the streets, consumed by fear and smoke. Kuroo forced himself to look away and instead tightened his grip on Kenma’s wrist as he forced him deeper into their home towards the back door.

"Don't look, Kenma! We have to go!" Kuroo urged, as flames licked at the walls around them, creeping hungrily toward the ceiling. The air grew thick, suffocating, and it became harder to breathe with each passing second. He was so thankful he had given Kenma the blanket to cover his face, because breathing was beginning to feel like agony.

The back door was warped, already blackening with heat. Smoke poured from the top of the frame, the wood crackling ominously. Fear and rage filled Kuroo’s chest, the door was a dead end into more inferno.

“Damn it!” He shouted; there had to be another way out!

Kenma coughed violently, pulling Kuroo’s attention. "Tetsu... I—I'm scared."

Kuroo looked at him, really looked.

The fire was reflected in his eyes. Kuroo could see fear, trust, and love in those golden eyes he loved. He couldn’t help but soften at the look.

“I know, Kenma.” Kuroo whispered, brushing a desperate kiss to his forehead. “But I swear, I’ll get us out of this, Kenma. Just stay with me, okay?” He pleaded to his lover.

The roof groaned above them, the fire spreading to the support beams, crackling and popping with deadly intent. Pieces of burning wood rained down around them, embers scorching their skin.

Kenma nodded at him and Kuroo steeled himself, looking around for another exit, his eyes landing on the large back window. He reached out grabbed the only chair not on fire, it was metal and seared his flesh, but Kuroo refused to relent and hurled it at the window, glass shattering outward in a spray of glittering shards.

The glimmer of hope in Kuroo’s chest died quickly as the house shuddered violently, a deep, ominous groan reverberating through the walls like a dying breath. Kuroo barely had time to react before a deafening crack split through the air.

Terror gripped Kuroo as the wooden support beam above Kenma cracked and shattered as the beam began its descent. Time slowed, the flickering firelight casting jagged shadows across Kenma’s terrified face staring back at him.

"Kenma!" Kuroo's voice was raw with desperation as he moved on instinct, lunging forward and pushing Kenma with every ounce of strength he had. The omega fell hard onto the soot-covered floor, sliding out of reach as the beam crashed down with a merciless finality, splitting the air with a thunderous roar.

The impact was agony like nothing the alpha had ever known.

A white-hot explosion behind his eyes. His ears rang and the world spun as a sickening scream was ripped out of Kuroo’s throat.

He barely registered Kenma screaming his name as blood streaked down his forehead, his bones were almost surely shattered and Kuroo could barely think through all the pain. All he could think of was Kenma, was he safe?

Kuroo forced his eyes open, and he could see the blurry image of Kenma, ash-smeared, wide-eyed, panic-stricken scrambling toward him on hands and knees. 

Kenma…

God, not like this.

Kuroo’s vision wavered, his body screaming in protest, but he reached out anyway, just to feel Kenma’s warmth before the fire took everything. His fingers brushed Kenma’s wrist, trembling under the younger man’s grip.

"No, no, no," Kenma whispered, his voice a fragile crack in the roaring inferno. "I-I'll get you out, just hold on, okay?"

Kuroo hated how his heart stuttered at the sound. Even now, especially now, Kenma’s voice made him feel alive. Which was cruel. Because he was dying. 

It hurt him to see Kenma trying to desperately shove at the burning wood pinning him to the ground, but it was too big for his lover to move. It was okay, Kuroo had almost instantly made peace with his inevitable death.

 As long as Kenma survived, this was okay.

Kuroo couched and gave Kenma a pained smile, teeth bloodied, lips cracked. “Kenma… you have to go.” He said, trying to sound as resolute as possible, “Please…” He pleaded with his lover.

Kuroo coughed, a pained smile tugging at his lips despite the agony etched into every feature. "Kenma... you have to go," he rasped, his voice weak, but resolute. "Please..."

You have to live. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Kenma’s sob hit him like a bullet. He was shaking his head, tears carving lines through soot and ash. "No! I’m not leaving you! We can do this, I can get you out, I just—"

Kuroo gripped tighter, using what little strength he had left. His fingers dug into soft skin and all he could think was I should’ve held you more. I should’ve memorized every inch of your face. I should’ve told you I loved you every single damn day.

“Kenma,” he choked, coughing on smoke, “If you stay, we both die. You have to run. Now.”

He could see the moment Kenma broke. The way his body crumbled inward like the walls around them. “I can't! Tetsu, please, don't ask me to do this!”

Kuroo’s eyes softened as he couldn’t help but think, I would take every flame in this house into my lungs if it meant you could walk out. I’d die a thousand times if it meant you got to live just one more day.

Kuroo forced a shaky breath in and out of his damaged lungs, brushing his thumb over Kenma’s trembling hand. “I promised I'd keep you safe, didn't I?” His voice cracked with something deeper than pain, regret, grief, love. “This… this is how I do that.”

And he meant it. Every word. Because there was no life he wanted if Kenma wasn’t in it.

“I always thought you were the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen,” he whispered, his vision blurring; not from the smoke, not anymore, but from the tears that welled up in his eyes. Saying goodbye was never something he thought he’d ever have to do.

The house groaned like it, too, was mourning. Plaster fell from the ceiling like dying snow, and firelight danced across Kenma’s tear-streaked cheeks. The flames were closing in and Kenma needed to leave. Kuroo needed Kenma to run away, to get somewhere safe.

Kiss me, Kuroo thought, selfish and desperate. Just once more. Please—

And then Kenma was there, trembling lips pressed to his forehead, and it hurt more than anything. Because it was goodbye.

God, please let him live. Please let this be enough. Please don’t let him die like me.

“I-I need you, please, Tetsurou,” Kenma choked out a broken sob, clinging to him like letting go would kill them both. Kuroo wanted to say, me too . He wanted to say I’m sorry . But all he could do was stare into those golden eyes and memorize them as best he could. "No, I won't leave you— don't make me."

He didn’t have time to cry. He didn’t have the strength to scream. He just had enough left to say what mattered.

Kuroo’s grip on Kenma's wrist tightened for a fleeting second, trying desperately to hide pain and heartbreak behind a weak smile. "You have to," he whispered, his voice strained but filled with conviction. "Run!"

Kenma sobbed, and Kuroo felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest, "I can’t leave you—" Painfully Kuroo reached his arm out to cup Kenma’s face, pleading with him to run, but knowing he wouldn’t without a push.

“I love you,” he whispered, and he meant it with everything in him, down to the last broken rib and bleeding breath. He used the last bits of his strength to shove Kenma toward the window he had shattered minutes prior.

Kenmas body staggered back toward the shattered window, and Kuroo could see his chest heaving with sobs as he launched forward for one last kiss.

It was bitter and tasted like ash, but Kuroo was thankful for it. Every ounce of love poured into the chaste kiss. The kiss ended too fast, but Kuroo refused to protest, there wasn’t much time left.

He saw the battle in Kenma’s head as he forced himself to his feet. Grabbing the few items they had grabbed and tossed them out the window. And then Kenma was at the window, hesitating, turning back with tears pouring down his face. Kuroo wanted to reach out. He wanted to hold him.

But he only smiled. Just for him. Despite the agony and heartbreak, he smiled.

Kenma was sobbing as he climbed through, dropping down to safety. He looked back and Kuroo nodded an approving ‘go’.

“Live for me, my Aster,” he breathed, and the words carried on smoke and ash, filled with love and before he could see Kenma run the roof gave way, more debris falling and covering Kuroo.

Kuroo didn’t cry out, the adrenaline and shock working overtime, so he no longer felt agony, instead he was warm. 

So, he allowed his face to rest on the floor and just listened to the fire dance and pop around him. He smiled as he thought of his lover's final kiss still burning on his lips.

He finally allowed himself to cry, tears rolling down his cheeks as he spoke into the inferno.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry we didn’t get to be mates, my Aster. I’m sorry I never got to grow old with you. But go, live for me.” he choked as his consciousness began to flicker. “Go make friends, fall in love with someone else, have the family we always talked about, grow old and live .”

And in that last flicker of consciousness, Kuroo didn’t think about the fire swallowing him whole.

He thought about golden eyes, soft hands, the sound of Kenma’s laugh when he let himself be happy.

And then everything went black.

 

---

 

The night sky over Hakone bled orange.

Flames clawed at the wooden rooftops, smoke pouring into the heavens like a funeral pyre for the innocent. The village had once thrived; paper lanterns still swung from half-charred poles, remnants of the harvest festival. Colorful streamers fluttered through ash-stained air like ghosts of joy.

Burning bodies littered the streets and blood soaked into the ground. Quite the macabre sight.

Oikawa’s boots hit the gravel with practiced silence, his eyes sharp and cold as ice. He adjusted his gloves, cinnamon-brown sugar scent coiling protectively around him like velvet steel. Even with the fire, even with the stench of death and scorched flesh clogging the air, he stood tall, unmoved by the terror.

Oikawa Tooru, leader of the powerful Seijoh syndicate. An omega leader was unheard of in their field, but Oikawa didn’t care about all of that bullshit. He was stronger than most alphas, and those he wasn’t stronger than… Well, he had Hajime for that little problem. 

Oikawa had caught wind of a gang using the Seijoh name to wreak terror on innocents and for that they’d pay dearly.

He looked around at the bloodshed, saying a small prayer for all those slaughtered unjustly. He hadn’t been fast enough to stop the horrors, but he would make sure they never repeated.

Oikawa looked dead ahead and spoke.

“They dared to stain our name,” he said softly, his tone ice cold. “Make them regret it.”

“Yes, sir,” Bokuto said, already pulling a blade from his back sheath. The steel glinted in the firelight.

Iwaizumi didn’t speak. His pine and forest scent thickened, sharp with fury at the injustice. His fingers curled around a pair of iron tonfas, the kind he only used when he wanted their enemies to suffer.

As the two alphas readied themselves for a fight Oikawa grinned, “Oh and boys. No survivors.” He said, receiving a nod from his companions.

Oikawa walked ahead.

They found the gang near the village square; twenty of them, cocky and careless. Laughing. Looting. One of them stood atop the festival’s main stage, arms spread wide like a king who’d conquered something worth owning.

Oikawa scoffed. He loathed power-crazed alphas. Little boys that thought the world revolved around them.

A man cosplaying as a leader, yet he didn’t even notice that death was at his doorstep.

Until Oikawa raised his pistol and put a bullet between his eyes.

The bang echoed through the burning street like a bell tolling for the damned.

The body hit the floor with a wet thud and Oikawa grinned, wild and pleased. Someone who found joy in tearing families apart deserved to be six feet under.

“Who—?!” one of the brazen members screamed.

Oikawa turned and stepped forward; the flames flickered over his face illuminating his soft features and soft brown eyes.

Those fools were grinning now, laughing as they shoved each other and jeered.

“It’s just an omega bitch, why don’t we have some fun.”

“Aww it’s our lucky day!”

“Don’t worry, the omega just got a lucky shot.”

Oikawa smirked, these absolute idiots. Oikawa could hear the gentle growl from Iwaizumi somewhere hidden behind him.

The men were making their way to Oikawa now, circling him, so utterly oblivious to Bokuto and Iwaizumi who resided in the shadows.

“Well, well, pretty thing, I see you got a mating mark. What? Is your alpha not pleasing you at home?” A burly man asked, reaching out and lifting Oikawa’s chin. 

Oh, he was going to enjoy killing these asshats. 

Oikawa smiles at him, “Why? Are you going to offer me a good time?” He purred, tone syrupy sweet and Oikawa watched with hidden disgust as lust glazed over the alpha’s eyes.

“Something like that.” He purred and Oikawa wanted to smash his face into the floor.

He had just killed their leader, and yet, because he was an omega, these idiots thought he was a toy they could use and abuse. Yeah, not happening.

Oikawa’s smile turned feral as he spoke. “Wipe them out.”

The fire roared behind them like a war cry.

Bokuto hit first.

He moved like a storm, blades flashing with perfect grace, ripping blood and viscera from the enemies. A body dropped. Then another. Screams rose, but no one could outrun Bokuto.

The alpha was much too skilled at his job to ever allow such a disgusting piece of garbage to live.

Oikawa smiled as he walked to the large stage where he’d killed the leader and breathed in the strong petrichor scent that poured through the battlefield. With ease Oikawa pulled himself up and sat at the edge of the stage watching the carnage with a sadistic delight.

Bokuto spun through flames, shirt stained with arterial spray, face carved into something feral as he carved through each of the murderers. 

“Cowards!” he growled, dragging a blade through one man’s gut and twisting. “You killed civilians for fun?! You thought this would make you kings?!”

One Alpha tried to stand tall, brazenly acting like he was strong, broad and cocky.

Iwaizumi met him head-on.

The crack of ribs snapping echoed across the square as Iwaizumi drove a tonfa into his sternum. He ducked under a punch, slammed his elbow into the man’s throat, and flipped him like a ragdoll into a pile of burning debris.

Every movement was clean, deliberate. So brutally beautiful.

Oikawa smiled as he watched his alpha, loyal and strong. 

Another idiot tried to flank the alpha, but that didn’t really matter.

Iwaizumi turned and landed a powerful kick into the man’s chest, sending him careening backwards. It was rare that Iwaizumi fought with blunt objects, normally he opted for a gun or dagger. But this, all brute strength always made Oikawa giddy, it reminded him of their early days when Oikawa had first created the syndicate. The times where they didn’t have powerful weapons and instead had to use their fists to deal harsh blows.

However, as much as he enjoyed watching the two alphas slaughter the scum of the Earth he didn’t want to miss out on the fun.

Oikawa hummed a simple tune, a melody Iwaizumi used to sing to him as pups, and he raised his handgun. He fired once, twice. Each bullet precise, strategic. Two bodies fell before they could even raise their weapons.

He watched them scramble like roaches, fire painting their shadows long and monstrous against the smoke.

These weren’t warriors. They weren’t even soldiers.

They were children playing gangster.

And they’d insulted him. Insulted Seijoh.

Oikawa holstered his gun and hopped off the stage, voice low and commanding.

“Leave one alive,” he said. “I want to know who gave them the idea they could use my name to harm innocents and piss on the soil.”

Iwaizumi had already pinned a survivor by the throat against the charred base of a shrine. The Alpha was whimpering, feral instincts overridden by fear. Pathetic.

Oikawa stepped in front of him, tilting his head slightly, scent curling with quiet dominance, the once sweet cinnamon sugar scent burnt like the buildings around them.

“I’m feeling generous tonight,” he said, eyes glowing through the smoke. “Answer quickly.”

“We—we thought you were distracted,” the Alpha babbled. “W-we thought—your focus was on Tokyo… we just—we thought it’d be easy!”

Oikawa’s lips curled up into a feral smirk.

“You thought wrong.” The idiot looked hopeful.

“You’ll… let me go?” He asked and Oikawa barked a laugh.

“No.”

He stepped back as the man pleaded and begged to be spared. It was sickening.

“How many people begged you to let them go? How many parents screamed for you to let their children live? You killed a village and yet you have the audacity to ask me for mercy?” Oikawa growled as he stared down at the man who seemed to be growing paler by the second, reality setting in.

“Kill him,” he said, watching as Iwaizumi easily obeyed, raising his boot and stomping. Quick, and painful.

And right after Iwaizumi simply rubbed his boot in the grass, like he had stepped on dog shit and not a human skull. 

Oikawa looked at the bodies littering the floor and then to his companions. Twenty dead and not a single scratch on them.

Ash fell like snow. The fire still burned, but its heat no longer mattered.

Oikawa stood at the center of the slaughter and looked around the ruined village. Evidence of a peaceful town that had once been filled with laughter and joy now charred silence and soot.

This wasn’t power.

This was justice.

“Search for survivors,” he commanded, voice tight. “Someone must’ve made it out.”

Iwaizumi nodded and disappeared into the smoke.

Bokuto wiped his blades clean and turned, leaving in the other direction.

And Oikawa…

Oikawa stood there for a moment, allowing his scent to thicken with grief for all of the lives taken by those monsters' hands. But he didn’t cry. No, he had seen too many innocents fall to Alpha greed.

This wasn’t the first village he had seen slaughtered and burned.

But it would be the last one these monsters got to touch. One less group of overconfident men on the streets.

Smoke still hung heavy in the air.

The fire was dying, but the damage had already been done. Crumbling homes, collapsed shrines, festival stalls reduced to splinters and ash. The wind carried the sickening scent of charred flesh and melted wax from long-dead candles, blending with the cinnamon-sweet pull of Oikawa’s scent as he moved through the wreckage.

“Check every house,” Oikawa ordered through their comm channel, voice steady but sharp. “Basements, cellars, under debris, anyone breathing, anyone moving. We don’t leave a single soul behind.”

“Yes, sir!” Bokuto’s voice echoed in his ear, and he heard Iwaizumi grunt in response.

Oikawa’s boots crunched over burned gravel and scattered offerings, past a fallen wooden drum with red fabric still clinging to its side. He ducked under a collapsed support beam, gun still drawn but lowered now, alert, but not afraid. Not anymore, he hadn’t been afraid since he was a small child.

He could still smell the blood in the air. Could still hear the phantom laughter of the brash bastards they’d put in the ground.

But now it was just silence.

So much silence.

“Anything?” he asked into his comm.

“Just bodies,” Bokuto replied, quiet for once. “Mostly elders and kids.”

“I’ve got a root cellar that’s intact,” Iwaizumi added. “But no one inside. Looks like someone had tried to hide… didn’t make it.”

Oikawa clenched his jaw. His scent, usually warm and spiced, soured with grief for all the innocent souls.

He walked through the rubble and caught sight of a building on top of a hill, he quickly made it up the path and walked around the perimeter. 

It was still ablaze, most like having been lit up last.

Oikawa sighed, Iwa-Chan was going to scold him for being so reckless.

He stepped over the cracked stairs and entered through the burnt down door in the back, calling out in the house. He took a few steps in and jumped when part of the ceiling came crashing down in front of him.

Oikawa was about to head back when a flicker caught his eye. The glint of something dark beneath a large burning beam.

He froze when he realized it was a person, a person whose eyelids were still fluttering.

Oikawa quickly made his way over dodging the flames and took a knee in front of the man’s partially covered face. Hands trembling slightly, he began tearing away pieces of debris. A roof tile. A broken chunk of wood. His gloves scraped against bloodied rubble, and underneath it all—black cloth, scorched skin, matted dark hair.

A body.

Part of his face was badly burnt, and Oikawa would bet that the burn spread further than his throat.

But the chest rose.  

“Holy shit,” Oikawa breathed. “You’re alive.” 

He shoved debris aside faster, frantic now, fingers digging through the smoldering ash with little regard for his own safety.

“HAJIME! BOKUTO!” He screamed into his comm, “I have a survivor!” He called and quickly told them where he was.

In seconds, two sets of heavier boots thundered up beside him.

“Holy shit, Tooru the building is on fire why were you in here!?” Iwaizumi yelled and Oikawa ignored him.

“Help now, scold later!” He snapped and Bokuto made his way closer to their leader.

“Fuck,” Bokuto muttered, eyes going wide as he took in the large support beam, still ablaze, crushing the man’s chest. “How the hell did he survive that?”

“Get this beam off him,” Oikawa ordered, already cradling the man’s head as best he could, careful to try and keep his head still in case there was a neck injury.

“On three,” Iwaizumi said, hands bracing against the half-burned wood. “One—two—three ! ”

The beam was tossed aside with a groan of splintering timber.

Oikawa slid his arms under the stranger’s back, his scent spooling protectively, instinctively. The man was heavy. His face was half-caked in soot and blood, features almost unrecognizable if not for the faint nutmeg scent that marked him as an alpha.

Iwaizumi took the man's legs and Bokuto grabbed his arms, lifting him gently and bringing him outside, away from the burning home. 

Oikawa took in the sight of the alpha as Iwaizumi felt for a pulse.

He was half burnt, bruising was already visible, and Oikawa would bet he had numerous broken bones and fractures. The fire had graphed the man's clothes to his skin creating a grotesque sight.

“I don’t know if he’s going to make it, Tooru,” Iwaizumi murmured low, voice shadowed by concern. “His pulse is barely there.”

“He’s alive,” Oikawa snapped, more sharply than he intended. “That’s enough.”

He looked down at the Alpha, this broken man who had somehow survived the fire, the slaughter, the hell that swallowed this village whole.

“I don’t care who he is. He’s under my protection now, and I would hope you won’t question my decisions, Hajime.” He said voice hard, and Iwaizumi simply nodded.

Oikawa stood and looked towards Bokuto, “We take him to Seijoh,” Oikawa ordered. “We get him aid. Full medical priority.”

“You got it,” Bokuto said, the normally hyper alpha was tense as he looked at the stranger they had freed from the rubble.

Oikawa’s eyes scanned the smoldering ruins one last time. Questions of who this man was and how the hell he’d survived swirling in his mind. But that didn’t matter anymore, they had work to do.

 

---

 

The ride back to Seijoh was tense. The man had made a few pained groans as they moved him into the sleek black SUV.

Smoke clung to their clothes, and the smell of seared flesh was potent. 

Iwaizumi was quick to contact the base as he drove, letting them know that a survivor had been found in bad shape and to prepare the medical wing.

Oikawa sat silently in the passenger seat, he couldn’t stop himself from looking back at Bokuto who was sitting in the back, the alpha’s head in his lap. They had braced his neck just in case the debris had harmed his spine. They didn't voice their worry that the survivor would be paralyzed, there was a high possibility considering how the support beam had landed on him.

Oikawa winced when he saw the alpha start to seize in Bokuto’s hold. He could see the panic in his friends' eyes as he tried to gently turn him onto his less burnt side.

By the time they reached Seijoh’s underground base, tucked beneath a large unassuming building in the heart of Tokyo; the medics were already waiting.

But Oikawa didn’t trust anyone with this one.

“Yamaguchi,” he snapped into his comms the moment they passed the secured gate. “I want you in the med bay. Now.”

“Already there, boss,” came the calm, crisp reply. “Surgical ward prepped. My subordinates relayed the state of the body you’re bringing in.”

“Not a body. A survivor.”

There was a brief pause before Yamaguchi’s voice came through again, “Understood.”

They didn’t waste time. Iwaizumi and Bokuto transferred him onto a stretcher and quickly carried the Alpha straight into the med bay. Oikawa followed with long strides, trying to keep his worry under wraps.

Oikawa had seen so much death in his life, but he really hated it when he couldn’t save innocents and considering there has been so much pure blood spilled tonight, he didn’t want another one to die.

The halls smelled sterile, mint and iodine. A stark contrast to the scorched world they'd just crawled out of. They made a sharp right into the surgical ward and gently slid the man onto the table.

Inside, Yamaguchi was already snapping on gloves.

His soft magnolia scent permeated the air like a soothing balm, even as his sharp green eyes zeroed in on the unconscious Alpha now being placed on the exam table.

“Vitals?” Yamaguchi asked as he grabbed a pair of tweezers and scissors.

“Shaky and unstable,” Iwaizumi reported. “Burns all along the right side. We found him in a burning building and a structural beam had him crushed.” 

“Don’t know how long he was under,” Oikawa added, arms folded tight. “But we know he had been pinned for at least 30 minutes.”

Yamaguchi cursed under his breath and began moving with precision, scissors slicing away scorched clothing as he gently removed what he could from the man's flesh. Gloved fingers examining wounds with a delicacy only a trained medic could provide. Oikawa didn’t miss the way his nostrils flared, subtly catching the Alpha’s scent even through the smoke and blood.

“Nutmeg,” Yamaguchi murmured. “Faint. But there.”

“We figured he was an alpha.” Bokuto added and Yamaguchi nodded as he continued to work on the man. 

“Yeah.” He didn't stop moving, already checking for internal bleeding with practiced hands. “He looks no older than 20. He has a strong build for a civilian.” He commented and then paused, turning to Oikawa. “Can you get me some morphine for him, and we need Kita, he’s going to need surgery, so I need him for anesthesia.” He said and Oikawa nodded and grabbed an IV and syringe for Yamaguchi as Iwaizumi quickly phoned Kita.

“How’s his outlook?” Bokuto asks as Oikawa hands off the items.

“Well, he’s lucky,” Yamaguchi said grimly. “If you hadn’t pulled him out when you did, he’d have been dead in another ten minutes.”

He paused, turning toward Oikawa fully now, eyes grave.

“But I won’t lie to you. He’s in bad shape.”

Oikawa’s jaw tightened.

“How bad?”

“The beam that fell on him likely crushed part of his shoulder and hip. We’ll need imaging to confirm, but I suspect multiple fractures. Ribs, arm, and possible spine injuries. There’s a possibility he won’t walk again. And his ear, this one here,” he pointed to the right ear where blood was dripping onto the exam table, “has ruptured. The eardrum is probably blown completely. And not to mention the burns…”

He exhaled slowly.

“Mainly third degree, but there are some fourth degree burns here and there. Especially across the right side of his body. I’ve got cooling agents and I can graft skin to it, but even if we stabilize him, that side—” He glanced down at the raw, bloody skin, “it’s going to scar. Badly.”

“Will he make it?” Oikawa asked.

Yamaguchi was silent, a beat too long for Oikawa’s comfort.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m assuming he has some internal bleeding, and there could be other damage I don’t know about yet. Smoke inhalation, maybe brain swelling. He hasn’t regained consciousness. If he does… There's still the question of long-term recovery. Physical therapy. Pain management. Possible permanent hearing loss, even blindness.”

Oikawa looked down at the Alpha on the table.

His face, though marred and soot-streaked, had a sort of stubborn edge to it. He didn’t look weak. He looked like someone who refused to die.

“Do everything,” Oikawa said finally. His voice was low, unwavering. “Whatever he needs, he gets it.”

Yamaguchi nodded without hesitation. “I’ll keep you updated every hour.” It was then that Kita came through the door, and they were kicked out for the medical team to do their job.

Iwaizumi gently led his mate toward the exit, Bokuto trailing behind them silently for once, Oikawa cast one last glance back at the stranger lying broken on Seijoh’s table.

“I hope he makes it.” Oikawa muttered and Iwaizumi hummed.

“So do I.”

Notes:

Ahhhhhhhh!

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'm so exhausted I really need to stop being sick I have too much shit to do ugh!!!!!

Anyways, I can't wait to read your comments on this chapter!!!

I hope you all have a wonderful rest of you day and I'll see you on Sunday <3

Chapter 21: My Heart Hurts More Than My Body

Summary:

I continuously make Kuroo suffer.

Why? Because I love him (peak abusive relationship)

Pain.

That was the first thing Kuroo registered. It was distant at first, as if his body were miles away from his mind, floating in some viscous fog of numbness and disconnection. Then, like waves crashing against a battered shore, the pain started to creep in.

His limbs felt like lead, too heavy, too distant, too wrong. Something tugged at his skin, something stiff and tight and hot. His throat burned like he'd swallowed a mouthful of fire. One of his ears buzzed, muffled and strange, like he was underwater. His chest was tight. Too tight. He tried to breathe in, but even that felt like it came with splinters.

What happened?

He tried to open his eyes.

Only one responded.

The other was dark. Not dark, no, it was covered. Something rough and thick over it, too tight against skin that pulsed with heat and ache. It was bright, pure white with no semblance of comfort, a place he didn’t recognize. His heart began to pick up pace as anxiety set in, vaguely he heard quick beeps, but he couldn’t focus on that.

His vision blurred. The world was bright, too bright, then dim. Ceiling. A simple fire alarm overhead. White walls. He couldn’t turn his head. Couldn’t lift his arms. His body refused to respond like it should. The anxiety was turning to panic. Creeping up, icy and choking.

Where is he?

Kuroo couldn’t speak. His lips moved, cracked and dry, but no sound came. His mouth felt full of cotton. His throat like sandpaper. He coughed, a dry, rattling sound that made his ribs seize and his stomach lurch.

Everything hurt so bad. He just wanted Kenma.

Suddenly he felt ice cold.

Where’s Kenma?

Like a bolt of lightning to the heart, the memory slammed into him. The village, the fire, the screams, the chaos. Kenma’s terrified eyes. The way he’d thrown himself forward shoving his lover out of the way of the falling beam. The roar of the collapsing roof. The way Kenma had screamed, or had it been him screaming?

His heart monitor spiked with sudden speed. The beeping grew rapid, shrill.

He tried to move, his arm, his leg, anything; but white-hot pain ripped through him, sending black spots across his vision.

"Kenma—" He choked, the name came out broken. Barely a whisper. Just the ghost of his voice. But it hurt. Gods, it hurts. It felt like his throat was bleeding, like he’d swallowed knives.

But Kuroo didn’t let himself focus on the pain, instead he focused on Kenma. Where was he? Was he safe? Did he get out? Did Kuroo manage to protect him? Was he alive?

Kuroo’s whole body screamed as he tried to push himself up, as if every nerve had caught fire again. But he didn’t care. He needed to see him. Needed to know. Even half-dead, his protective instincts screamed to find him, protect him. 

He gasped, trembling, as his muscles gave out. The monitors shrieked, his chest heaving. He couldn’t see clearly and belatedly realized he couldn’t hear very well either.

No. No, he needed to move. He needed to find him.

“Ken… ma…” It was barely a croak. He tasted blood, metallic in his mouth and his vision began to swim.

Pain was everywhere; sharp, deep, blooming with every beat of his heart. His body was broken. He could feel it, even without knowing the full extent. His right side was worse; he couldn’t move his arm or leg, and he couldn’t feel much of anything except the fire in his bones. His chest felt tight, like something was missing.

He couldn’t smell Kenma.

He couldn’t smell anything .

That realization chilled him more than the pain.

He squeezed his eye shut, just the one, and grit his teeth against the panic threatening to swallow him whole. Was he dead? Was this a dream? A hallucination? Some purgatory between life and whatever came next?

No. He was alive, he had to be alive considering all of the pain.

He was alive . And Kenma…

He had to be too.

He had to be, if he wasn’t then Kuroo had failed to keep his lover, his omega, safe.

He tried again to move, to lift his head, to do anything , but his body betrayed him. The restraints weren’t physical, they were the limits of his own shredded muscles, splintered bones, and burned skin.

“K-Ken…” His voice cracked and gave out again, and all that remained was the frantic beeping of the heart monitor and the pain.

Kuroo sank back against the mattress, tears slipping from the corner of his good eye, soaking into the bandages on his cheek.

He had to find him.

The beeping grew louder, sharper. Rapid-fire, like a metronome gone rogue. Somewhere behind it, footsteps, urgent but composed, echoed down the sterile hall. Kuroo barely had the strength to turn his head, but the sound of the door opening forced his eye toward the movement.

Two figures stepped into the room.

The first was tall, poised with a confidence that seemed to come naturally, not from arrogance, but from command. He had pretty, fluffy brown hair and soothing honey eyes that seemed to look straight through Kuroo. Those eyes reminded him of Kenma’s, gentle but calculating. Kuroo couldn’t smell out if he was an omega, alpha, or beta.

Kuroo’s eyes drifted to the other man that stood behind the pretty one. He was broader, exuding raw strength. His face was stern, but his eyes flickered with something quieter. Protective. Grounded. There was no possible way this man wasn’t an alpha. 

Kuroo blinked up at them, heart racing, pain flaring again as he tried to push himself up with his good arm.

“No—hey, hey,” the first one said quickly, crossing the room in a few swift steps. His hand came to Kuroo’s chest, featherlight but firm as he coaxed him gently back against the mattress. “You can’t move yet. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

The stranger’s voice was melodic. Calm. Too calm.

Kuroo's breath rattled in his throat. He tried again to speak, the only word that mattered caught in the cracked cage of his lungs “Kenma” but only a rasp came out.

“Hey, it’s okay, relax,” the stranger said softly, like he’d heard the unspoken name anyway. “I promise, I’ll explain everything. Just… breathe.” He said, and Kuroo hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

Kuroo stilled, and took a shaky breath, exhaustion wared in his body wanting to draw him under again. Every inch of his body felt like it had been ripped apart and stitched together with thread made of glass.

The man stepped back, just slightly, enough to give him space.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he said, placing a hand delicately over his own chest. “And this is Iwaizumi Hajime.”

The second man gave a quiet nod; arms crossed over his broad chest. There was a weight to him, the kind that said he was used to violence and pain. Kuroo’s eyes roamed the man's skin, marred in scars. The man had been through a lot.

“Right now, you’re in the medical ward in Seijoh,” Oikawa continued and Kuroo looked at him quizzically. “Ah, right, you were raised in a small village.” That made Kuroo flinch, the thought of what had happened to his home more painful than the wounds on his body. Oikawa looked remorseful at his careless speech.

“I’m sorry. I should have chosen my words better.” He said and gently grabbed a glass of water and helped bring it to Kuroo’s lips. Kuroo took greedy gulps, the cool water a saving grace against his raw throat. “We found you in a burning building and dragged you out.” Oikawa continued to explain, “You were in bad shape, honestly, we didn’t think you’d make it. But here we are.” he said with a gentle smile and set the glass back onto the bedside table. 

Kuroo’s good eye widened, flickering with confusion, grief, and suspicion. Why? Why would strangers pull him from the brink?

Oikawa, sensing the unspoken question, hesitated for a moment.

“I’m sorry, this is going to be hard to accept.” He said after a moment and Kuroo tensed preparing himself. “Your village was attacked by a small gang. A group that thought they were powerful and wanted to show off.” He said gently and Kuroo gritted his teeth, “They used the Seijoh name, so my team and I had to stop that, but… we were too late to save your home.”

Kuroo’s breath hitched, a gang? Why would these people be going against a gang? Were they cops? Or…

“This is Seijoh.” Iwaizumi said from beside his silent mate, “We are a yakuza syndicate with quite a bit of power over Japan.” He explained and Kuroo looked at him, fear evident in his good eye.

“But we’re not like them ,” Oikawa added quickly, his tone firm but patient. “Our syndicate is nothing like the ones who did this to your village. That group… They were young, arrogant. No structure. No honor. They thought they could make a name for themselves by attacking a village. Cowards the lot of them”

Kuroo’s eye narrowed slightly. He was trying to follow, but every sentence came with a fresh spike of pain in his skull.

“They were sloppy,” Iwaizumi cut in, voice gravelly. “And greedy. We’re sorry we didn’t make it in time to save your home.

“But you’re safe here. This is my syndicate, and we don’t hurt innocents, we only go after the bad guys.” He explained and Kuroo nodded numbly. This was a lot of information to process.

“Could you tell us your name? You were saying, Kenma, earlier is that you?” Iwaizumi asked and Kuroo winced as he shook his head. He opened his mouth and croaked.

“K-Kuroo… Tet…suro.” He barely gritted out and Oikawa smiled at him, but Iwaizumi looked confused.

“Who is Kenma?” He asked gently and Oikawa smacked his arm. But Kuroo barely registered it as he forced his voice out again.

“Mate.” He spoke. Kuroo’s throat felt like it was bleeding, and maybe it was.

Kenma.

Kuroo whimpered softly, hand twitching at his side. He didn’t see how Oikawa’s face splintered in grief for him.

Everything hurt so bad, and Kenma was missing, maybe dead like everyone else. The thought hit Kuroo harder than any beam could have. His throat clenched. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. Kenma had to be alive.

Oikawa's expression softened even further as he watched the injured man in front of him spiral.

“I know it’s a lot,” he murmured. “But you’re alive. And we don’t bring someone back from the brink just to let them rot. You're here now. Seijoh protects what’s ours.”

Kuroo blinked slowly, his body slipping closer to unconsciousness again from the sheer effort of staying awake. His eye flitted between the two men, his survival instincts warring with his desperation. 

Oikawa leaned down again, fingers brushing over the edge of the blanket with a touch almost reverent.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” he said softly. “But whatever you decide next, you’ll have a choice. You're not alone anymore, Kuroo.”

Kuroo's lashes fluttered. He wanted to ask about Kenma. Ask if they had saved anyone else but his consciousness was rapidly fading away.

He just needed to sleep for a moment, just a nap and then he’d be able to ask.

Just… a short… nap

 

---

 

Kuroo groaned at the bright light when he finally awoke again.

He vaguely felt pain all-encompassing, but it was stifled.

Kuroo must be on the good shit.

The stillness in the room was thick. Like the moment after a storm ripped through a house, when all that’s left is broken glass and the sound of breath, sharp and echoing.

He didn’t want to speak. His mouth was dry again, his throat felt like it had been raked with shards of stone. But even if he could speak, he didn’t know what to ask first. His brain fumbled through static. Every second he remained conscious was like wading through a fog of haze.

Iwaizumi stepped forward, eyes scanning the monitor beside his bed as he adjusted a dial on the IV.

“Welcome back.” He said with a small smile and Kuroo’s eye scrunched up a bit. The bandages on his face felt thinner, not nearly as heavy or stiff as before.

“You’ve been out for a month,” he said, answering the unspoken question, voice steady but low. “You were unconscious the first time for only two weeks, but you needed rest to heal so after you fell back asleep, we put you under for a month.” He explained before sitting next to Kuroo’s bedside.

Kuroo’s brow twitched. His body felt like it had been stitched together with barbed wire. More than a month...

Kenma.

His heartbeat thudded again, but this time, he didn’t have the strength to thrash.

Kuroo’s good eyes scanned around the room coming up empty and Iwaizumi smiled, “Tooru isn’t here, he had work to get done so I took over.” He said and leaned back in his chair looking at the man.

“Would you like me to tell you about the injuries you sustained?” He asked and Kuroo let out a sigh leaning his head against his pillows and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Or maybe his head just lolled to the side.

“We found you in a burning building, The beam on you was still burning when he got it off of you,” Iwaizumi began, matter of fact but not cruel. “As I'm sure you're aware, the roof and support beam had collapsed on top of you.”

Iwaizumi leaned over and grabbed his medical chart from the edge of the bed, he began to read off the list, adding a few random bits of commentary as he went along.

“You have a broken right arm. Clean break. Our medical team set it with plates. Your left leg had a really bad compound fracture. You were lucky we didn’t have to amputate. Five broken ribs. Spinal bruising and a cracked vertebra, but no paralysis, thank the gods.”

Kuroo let out a soft sound, something like a pained sigh of disbelief.

“Fractured scapula. Fractured pelvis. Fractured collarbone. Concussion. Internal bleeding which took a while to stop. And you had a collapsed lung, that one’s all healed up now though.”

Kuroo closed his eye. The world tilted just hearing it. Each word painted another stroke of how broken his body had become.

“Obviously you had burns,” Iwaizumi said next, voice quieting. “Third and fourth degree. Your right side is basically completely burned head to toe. We had to graft skin. There’ll be scarring. A lot of it.”

Kuroo didn’t react. Or maybe he couldn’t.

Iwaizumi shifted, and there was a pause. A heavier one.

“Your right ear took heavy damage. Burned. Internal trauma. We don’t know how much hearing you’ll regain on that side yet. The right eye… we’re not sure either. It was swollen shut and badly injured. We’ve kept it bandaged, and the swelling has gone down, but… there’s no guarantee on whether your vision will be intact.”

Another beat.

“And…” Iwaizumi hesitated, for the first time. “Your sense of smell.”

That got Kuroo’s attention. His fingers curled weakly into the blanket.

“Smoke inhalation caused significant nerve damage. Right now, your olfactory response is zero. There’s a chance it could come back. But not a high one.”

No sense of smell.

That was one of the most important things alphas and omegas had. It was how you could determine someone’s secondary gender, how you could recognize those close to you, it helped you regulate your emotions. Not to mention how important it is when you are courting or have a mate.

His mate… Kenma

He’d never smell Kenma again.

Not the way he used to.

Not the way he remembered; cinnamon apples, something soft and sweet beneath it, the smell of home.

The loss hit harder than the broken bones. It felt like losing part of himself.

Iwaizumi must’ve seen it on his face. He didn’t try to soothe it. He didn’t lie.

But he did lean in, placing a steadying hand near Kuroo’s wrist, not touching, just present.

“You survived hell, Kuroo,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t be alive. But you are. Your body’s going to hurt for a long time. You’ll need rehab. Physical therapy. Months. Maybe years.”

Kuroo finally turned his head, the movement slow and mechanical. His eye, swollen and red-rimmed, looked toward the ceiling.

He didn’t cry.

He couldn’t cry.

His body wouldn’t let him.

But if he could’ve, he would’ve screamed.

Kuroo didn’t know how long the silence stretched after Iwaizumi gave him the list of his wounds, but it sat thick and unmoving in the room like smoke that refused to clear.

He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Breathing was harder now. Not because of his injuries, though every inhale scraped like sandpaper, but because of the weight pressing down on his chest.

The questions he had to ask, no matter how painful the answer may be.

He swallowed, dry and difficult, then rasped a sound that wasn’t quite a word.

Iwaizumi leaned in and gave him some water to sip. Kuroo gulped it down and tried to clear his throat, it was still so scratchy, but it would have to do for now.

Kuroo licked his cracked lips, then forced the syllables through his throat.

“Anyone else…” His voice crumbled, weak and raw. “Was anyone else found alive?”

Iwaizumi didn’t answer right away.

And that pause, that God awful pause, told him everything.

Kuroo felt like his world had shattered, he had tried so hard to keep Kenma alive and safe, and he had failed. Not only had he failed, but he was still alive, and Kenma was gone.

Kuroo didn’t deserve to live, not when his best friend, his lover, his mate was gone.

Iwaizumi’s expression softened, almost too much to bear. “We searched,” he said carefully. “For days. What was left of the village… There were no survivors, only bodies.”

Kuroo didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

His vision tunneled. Not from the concussion. Not from the drugs. From grief.

No survivors.

The words echoed again and again until they became meaningless.

No Kenma.

A thin, high-pitched sound escaped his throat. He tried to push himself up, elbow slipping against the bed as panic overtook pain. He couldn’t be gone. Not Kenma. Not his other half. Not his Aster.

He barely got half his body off the mattress before a burning wave of agony lanced down his spine and through his ribs. He choked on a cry, slumping back hard, the monitor beside him screeching as his heart rate spiked.

“Kuroo!” Iwaizumi was at his side in an instant, hands pressing gently but firmly against his shoulders. “Don’t—stop moving. You’ll rip the stitches in your hip and chest.”

“Ken—” Kuroo gasped. His voice cracked mid-name. “Kenma—he—he had to have escaped!”

Iwaizumi winced as he tried to push Kuroo back into the bed without harming him more.

Kuroo squeezed his eye shut. A sharp, aching pulse ran through him. His fingers twitched, curling weakly around the sheets.

“I… I should’ve died,” he whispered, the guilt dragging every word through his throat like glass. “I was supposed to… protect him.”

“You tried,” Iwaizumi said, not unkindly.

“I failed.”

“No,” he said gently. “You lived. Your mate would want you to live.” he says gently.

Kuroo’s body trembled uncontrollably as he felt his world shattering around him. His chest heaved in shallow jerks. “He’s gone…”

“No, he isn't.” Iwaizumi interrupted.

Kuroo froze.

The alpha’s voice had gone soft, but not pitiful. Not mourning. Kuroo turned his head, slowly, as if hope itself might shatter his spine.

“What?” He asked disbelievingly. 

Iwaizumi finally let go of Kuroo’s shoulders and stood walking to the connected bathroom in the sterile medical room. Kuroo felt shuffling and his confusion outweighed the needed to get out of the hospital bed so he simple sat still.

The other alpha came back with a small hand mirror and gently pulled bandaged away from the junction where Kuroo’s throat met his shoulder and angled the mirror to show the burned man.

There, nestled between cuts, stitches, and burns, was the bond mark Kenma had given him the year prior. 

Somehow untouched by the damage on Kuroo’s body it lay there, still as distinct as ever.

“It hasn’t faded,” Iwaizumi said. “And it would’ve if he’d died.”

Kuroo stared at it like he couldn’t believe it. Tears pricked the corner of his good eye, unblinking.

“He’s… alive?”

“We didn’t find any trace of him in Hakone, but if the bond is intact, then yes. He’s out there.”

Kuroo’s entire body tensed. “I have to find him,” he croaked, straining against the bed again, despite the searing pain shooting through his pelvis and ribs.

“You’re not going anywhere yet,” Iwaizumi said, easing him back with calm strength. “You move like that again and you’ll bleed out on this bed. And then you’ll never get to reunite with your mate.” He warned, stern, but not unkind.

Kuroo gritted his teeth, the pain almost irrelevant compared to the storm in his chest. “He probably thinks I’m dead.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes scrunched in confusion, “But his bond mark would have told him otherwise.” 

“The bond wasn’t completed.” Kuroo explained in a clipped tone, the pain was starting to get unbearable. Iwaizumi hummed a nod, Kuroo gritted his teeth and tried to stand again, “I need to find him.” He said and Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.

“No, you need to lay down and heal. No good will come from you bleeding out and dying before you can find him."

Kuroo didn’t answer, he knew Iwaizumi was right, but dammit he was so desperate.

Finally, Kuroo took a breath and let Iwaizumi help him lay down again, Iwaizumi let out a relieved sigh as he finally got Kuroo to relax. After helping him down Iwaizumi went over to the IV and clicked open a valve of morphine

Silence settled again. It was less suffocating this time. Maybe because Kuroo didn’t feel like his world was crashing down around him.

Iwaizumi sat back down beside the bed. Not like a guard or an interrogator. Not even like a soldier. Just… a man.

There was something grounding about his presence Kuroo hadn’t noticed in his prior panicked state. He was quiet and steady, exuding a type of raw strength.

“You’re lucky,” Iwaizumi said after a long moment. His voice was low. Level. “You shouldn’t be alive.”

Kuroo exhaled shakily. “I don't feel lucky.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi muttered, glancing at the monitor. “I remember that feeling.”

Kuroo tilted his head toward him, sluggish but curious.

“I lost Tooru once,” Iwaizumi said simply. “Back before Seijoh was strong, when we had just formed the syndicate. I thought he died in an intel leak. I was the one who found what was left of the site; ash, blood, burned-out gear.”

His jaw tensed, nostrils flaring as if he could still smell it. “I stopped breathing. Moved through life like my body forgot how to live. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t fight. All I did was search. For answers. For scraps. For anything. It nearly killed me.”

Kuroo’s voice cracked. “But he came back.”

“He did,” Iwaizumi said with a small, humorless smile. “Turns out he faked his death to throw off a traitor in our ranks. Bastard didn’t even tell me. Thought he was protecting me.” He scoffed like it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “We had been together since birth, I’d protected him from everything, it’s how I got most of these scars.” He explained gesturing to himself and Kuroo took in the alpha’s scarred appearance. 

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it wasn’t painful.

“I didn’t even have a bond mark yet to tell me he was still alive. I was destroyed, but then… He was back, he was alive and well, and no matter how pissed I was about him not telling me he was fine. I was so relieved, I thought I was hallucinating when I saw him.” he explained and smiled at his hands, “And suddenly he was in my arms, grinning and calling me that stupid nickname he always used for me, and everything felt right in the world again.”

Kuroo watched him closely, his green eyes were looking into the distance like he could still vividly see every moment of that interaction.

“You know what I realized?” Iwaizumi asked. “That even when you lose everything, if the bond is still there… you’re not done. The pain doesn't disappear, but you learn to carry it. And you keep going. For them.”

Kuroo’s throat tightened.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to scream. But the pain in his body wouldn’t let him. So instead, he whispered:

“I couldn’t protect him.”

“You did,” Iwaizumi said firmly. “He’s still alive. You bought him time. You gave everything. And he’s still alive. That’s not failure, Kuroo. That’s survival. That’s love.”

Kuroo turned his face toward the ceiling, vision blurry, jaw clenched tight.

“How do I… move forward?” he asked, voice trembling.

“You don’t move all at once,” he said. “You move piece by piece. You get stronger. You listen to the medics. You train. You learn what you’re still capable of. And then, when the time’s right, you go find him.”

Kuroo didn’t respond.

But he didn’t ignore the words of advice either.

He just closed his eyes, letting himself remember Kenma.

His Aster.

Notes:

Holy shit my lovelies!!! I have a callback for my audition!!!!

The callback is tomorrow so this is gonna be posted a bit early since I need to go to sleep because I gotta get up early!

Anyways, no, I did not give Kuroo amnesia. It was oh so very tempting after reading your comments, but it wouldn't work well with my outline, and I didn't want to scrap the 50 chapters I already have outlined lol.

Anyways I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you on Wednesday!!

Have a great rest of your day my lovelies <3

Chapter 22: Who Are You?

Summary:

Kuroo meets some new faces and gets some important advice.

The sterile light filtering in through the cracked blinds painted thin, fractured lines of gold across the rough hospital sheets. Dust danced through the air like suspended stars, quiet and slow, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Kuroo Tetsurou lay still, his body half-swallowed by crisp white sheets and bandages criss-crossing his torso like a second skin. The fire had left a nasty mark, scars climbing like ivy along his body, trailing up the side of his neck where the skin was puckered and pink. His right earlobe was torn, and the world around him sounded like it came from underwater on the right side. His right eye was clouded at the edge, a constant halo of blurred shadows he had learned to blink through.

Kuroo turned his head slowly, eyes unfocused, when the door creaked open. He tried to take in the scent of the newcomer and was disappointed when he couldn’t smell anything. His nose truly was ruined. The entrance came with the creak of heavy boots and a warm hum of energy that was far too alive for the stillness of the room.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The voice was a low, cheerful rumble, like thunder in the distance. "You awake, Sleeping Beauty?"

Kuroo blinked in confusion.

Who was this man?

The blur by the doorway shifted into shape. Tall. Muscular. Silver and black hair sticking up in unruly strands over golden eyes that sparkled with something dangerously close to joy. The man walked in like he belonged in the light, bright and bubbly.

"I’m Bokuto Kotarou. Yams let me know you can’t smell anything, so just in case you were wondering, I’m an Alpha.” He said with a grin and continued on, seemingly unaware of Kuroo’s wince at the blunt reminder of his inability to smell, “I’m part of Seijoh’s combat division and your newly designated ‘get-off-your-ass-and-live-again’ coach.” He grinned, wide and unapologetically real. “Kawa said you were finally lucid. I wanted to see for myself."

Kuroo’s lips barely moved, voice a rasp of rust and gravel. “…You’re loud.”

He was starting to get better at speaking. It no longer hurt, but his voice was deeper and raspier than it had been previously. Iwaizumi had told Kuroo it would get better as he started to speak more frequently. 

Bokuto laughed, an unfiltered, boisterous sound that filled the sterile space and cracked through the silence like lightning. “Yeah. That’s what I do. I’m the mood lifter. Professional vibe shifter. Iwa-Chan says I’m a pain in his ass, but he secretly loves me.” He grinned and then pouted, “Don’t tell him I called him Iwa-Chan, he gets all moody if anyone other than Kawa calls him that.” He said and Kuroo gave him a small nod making the man’s face light up again.

Bokuto dragged a chair across the floor with a screech, making Kuroo wince as pain shot through his head, the constant headache made worse by the noise. The loud alpha flopped down beside Kuroo’s bed, elbows resting on his knees. There was an energy about him, vibrant and chaotic, but Kuroo could see the edges. The sharpness beneath the grin. The ghosts that clung to his smile. 

“Were you there?” Kuroo said after a pause, slow and deliberate. “When they found me…”

Bokuto’s smile softened, like rain slipping off an edge. “Yeah. I was. You looked like death chewed you up and spit you out, man. But you were breathing. Barely. Oikawa figured you were important. Had Iwaizumi carry you himself. You kept whispering something…”

Kuroo’s jaw tightened. “Kenma.”

“Yeah.” Bokuto nodded gently, the mirth in his voice dimming into something quieter, almost reverent. “Didn’t know who he was, but you wouldn’t stop saying the name. Like it was carved into your bones.”

Silence stretched between them. Kuroo’s hand twitched under the covers, clenching weakly. The mating mark on his neck, scarred but unfinished, throbbed like an echo.

“You know,” Bokuto said, voice lowering, “People like us... we don’t always get second chances. Life doesn’t exactly hand out redemption tickets. But when they do come around, even bruised and half-broken, you don’t ignore them.”

Kuroo turned his head again, slowly, focusing with his good eye. “Why… are you telling me this?”

Bokuto shrugged, smile crooked now. “Because you’re not dead. And because I see it. That fire in you. I saw it when you were barely breathing. Still see it now. And maybe I happen to know what it feels like to want something enough to claw your way back from hell.”

He didn’t go into detail, but Kuroo saw a flicker in his eyes. The old pain, the buried bruises, the echo of chains long gone but never truly forgotten. But it was there. A shared understanding. A silent pact.

Kuroo exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I don’t feel alive.”

“You will,” Bokuto said, with unwavering certainty. “Maybe not today, or in a week, or hell even in a year. But one day you will feel alive again.” He said with a kind smile on his lips and his eyes glanced down to Kuroo’s mating mark. “You’ll fight. You’ll train. You’ll curse the world. But you’ll find him. You’ll live again, for him. Because you’re still breathing, and that’s enough.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy with promise.

Bokuto stood, brushing his pants off and offering Kuroo a lopsided grin. “I’ll be back tomorrow. With snacks. Maybe some tea. You look like someone who hates hospital food.”

Kuroo gave a low huff. It might’ve been a laugh if Kuroo wasn’t in so much pain. “Tea sounds nice.”

Bokuto grins and gives him one last wave before opening the door and Kuroo lays back in the bed allowing his eyes to close as he thinks of the interaction.

Bokuto was abrasive and loud, but he was also warm and kind. Maybe he’d be a good friend?

When the door creaked again, Kuroo expected Bokuto’s booming entrance, perhaps he forgot something or just wanted to talk again. But the figure that stepped inside was smaller, quieter. Much calmer than his previous visitor.

“Good morning,” the omega said, voice gentle and steady. He smiled gently and Kuroo’s good eyes squinted so he could make out the man’s face better. He had freckles dotting his cheeks and looked a bit taller than most omegas but still exudes this soft nurturing energy. He wore a white medic coat and carried a clipboard tucked beneath one arm like it was second nature. Warm hazel eyes met Kuroo’s gaze without hesitation.

“I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he said, walking over to Kuroo’s side. “I’ve been the medic taking care of you. Normally you’re asleep when I come in, but I’ve been monitoring your vitals and wound recovery since you arrived.”

Kuroo blinked slowly. The name was familiar, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Bokuto had said it a few times. It was nice to put a face to the name of his caretaker. Yamaguchi seemed nice, quiet and efficient in a way Kuroo could put his finger on. 

“…An omega?” Kuroo murmured the question because he had nothing better to say.

Yamaguchi blinked, then smiled, shy, a little surprised. “Ah. Yeah. I forgot that your nose is… well.” He cut himself off, noticing the sad expression that must be on Kuroo’s face. “Sorry, my scent is magnolias, I don’t know if that helps?” He said shyly.

Kuroo said nothing. Just nodded, the motion small.

Yamaguchi stepped closer, sliding onto the chair Bokuto had brought near the bed and flipping open his clipboard. “I won’t lie, Kuroo-San. You were in bad shape. Third-degree burns. Significant damage to the ear canal and optical nerve on your right side. Five broken ribs, and plenty of other injuries I’m sure Iwaizumi-San told you all about. But…”

He paused, eyes softening.

“You are healing wonderfully. I honestly had my doubts you’d survive, but you’re doing better than I could have ever imagined. That’s amazing.”

Kuroo swallowed. His throat was dry again.

“I’ll be working with you on physical therapy,” Yamaguchi continued, his tone professional but kind. “It’ll hurt. Probably worse than what you're used to. Your muscles are going to scream, and your lungs are going to burn. But we’ll take it slow. You won’t be alone.”

Kuroo tilted his head, half amused. “Are you always this gentle with patients?”

Yamaguchi shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only the ones I like.”

That coaxed a low hum out of Kuroo, half a chuckle, half a sigh.

The door opened again a few minutes later, just as Yamaguchi was writing down medication adjustments. Kuroo caught a sudden shift in Yamaguchi, his professional posture seemed to relax, and a small sincere smile formed on his lips.

The man, an alpha Kuroo guessed, who entered was tall and lean, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Tadashi, you forgot your comms again.” He said hand holding out a small black device, Yamaguchi looked a bit sheepish as he stood up and walked over to the alpha.

“Sorry Tsukki.” He said gently and stood on his tip toes kissing the man's cheek, “Thank you for bringing it to me.”

Kuroo watched as the alpha shifted to give Yamaguchi easier access to his cheek and there was a small quirk of his lips. Eventually he nodded a response to Yamaguchi and let his gaze flicker briefly to Kuroo. His eyes, a pale, glinting gold, settled on the scars with no flinch. No pity.

“…Kuroo, this is Tsukishima Kei,” Yamaguchi introduced, standing. “He is the head strategist for Seijoh and my mate.” 

“Hello,” Tsukishima muttered under his breath after Yamaguchi elbowed his side.

Yamaguchi smiled at Kuroo and then turned to Tsukishima to have a hushed conversation that Kuroo couldn’t quite pick up. Their discussion ended quickly, and Tsukishima leaned down pressing his forehead to Yamaguchi’s, they stayed there for a moment before pulling away. Tsukishima turned to Kuroo and gave him a small nod before leaving the room.

Kuroo lifted a brow, amused. “What was that about?” He asked as Yamaguchi’s face started to flush a bright shade of pink.

“Ah, sorry. It’s how we say goodbye, we’ve been doing it since we were kids.” He said sheepishly and Kuroo let out a soft chuckle before wincing as pain shot through his chest and throat.

There was this ease between Yamaguchi and Tsukishima that made Kuroo think about him and Kenma. The simple trust and love that was unmatched. It was something you couldn’t gain overnight. The type of trust that was forged from years being together, from relying on your partner. It made his heart ache with longing; he missed his lover.

“How long have you two been mated?” he asked, trying to stop himself from spiraling in front of Yamaguchi, his spirals we saved for the middle of the night when no one could see them.

“Since we were thirteen,” Yamaguchi replied, soft now. “It… wasn’t planned.”

Kuroo didn’t speak, just tilted his head to let the omega know he was interested in the story.

“I was going to be sold off,” Yamaguchi added after a pause, his voice quiet. “To a man with a history of omega trafficking. Tsukki… intervened.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “You were kids.”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi said, not looking away. “But we didn’t have time to be kids. Not in that part of town. Most of the people you’ll meet here were dealt a bad hand in life.” He explained and suddenly Kuroo felt like his issues weren’t that important. Yamaguchi instantly picked up on the man’s shift in mood and laid a gentle hand on Kuroo’s unburnt shoulder.

“Hey, you are included in that. You have suffered, more than most people. Just because you had a nice childhood doesn’t mean the hurt you are experiencing now is less valid.” He said and then looked down sadly, “Honestly, if anything it makes it worse. We grew up in a fucked-up world, you were pushed into it.” he said and Kuroo breath hitched.

“Sorry, I… Thank you.” He stuttered trying to find his words. “Can you… Can you please keep talking, I don’t think I can handle silence right now.” Kuroo said hesitantly and Yamaguchi looked up at him and smiled.

“Is it okay if I tell you more about my relationship?” The omega asked and Kuroo gave him a nod, “Well, like I said Tsukki and I became mates at 13, my family was furious since they couldn’t sell me off anymore and we both ran away. We found ourselves in the red-light district and Seijoh took us in.”

Yamaguchi looked down at his hands, “For years I thought Tsukki resented me because I forced him to become my mate. I never really thought much of myself you know. When we were 15, he made me talk to him about what was wrong and I broke down telling him everything, all my insecurities, all the guilt I felt, and how I hated that I ruined his life.” Yamaguchi gave a small chuckle, “He kissed me right then and there. Told me to shut up and confessed he’d been in love with me since we met, who knew he’d loved me since we were five?” He said with a grin.

“Ever since then we have been on the same page.” He grinned and pulled out a necklace with a simple gold band residing on it, “He proposed to me last year and we’re planning to get married when everything settles down in the syndicate.” he explained and Kuroo couldn’t help but smile at the obvious joy residing on the omega’s face.

“I think…” Kuroo said slowly, voice tight with emotion, “You two are lucky.”

Yamaguchi smiled at him then, something warm and genuine. “I think so too. Honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing, even with all the pain of our past I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, so I think the suffering was worth it in the end.” He explained and Kuroo nodded.

“Maybe, all this suffering will lead to something wonderful in the end.” Kuroo said more to himself than anything but Yamaguchi just grinned and nodded. The medic spoke with pure sincerity as he looked at Kuroo.

“I truly believe that after everything we endure: every loss, every scar, we are owed happiness. Not in the way people often expect it, not as a reward for suffering, but as a proper right in the world. The karma we received to balance the odds. I know in my heart that you’ll find your way forward again. You’ll stand on your own feet. You won’t just survive, no you’ll live. You will smile without guilt. Laugh without pain. Hopefully you’ll even find your love again. And when you do, you’ll realize it wasn’t hope that was foolish. It was giving up that would’ve been.”

Kuroo met his gentle hazel eyes and saw nothing but the truth in them.

For the first time since the attack, he believed it.

Kuroo Tetsurou had never been the kind of man to settle—for anything or anyone. He was too stubborn, too tenacious, carved from grit and loyalty. When he loved, he did so with every piece of himself, even the broken parts. The words Yamaguchi shared hadn’t just offered comfort; they had ignited something smoldering within him, something he thought long buried beneath grief and regret. A spark. A flicker of want that had nothing to do with revenge or redemption; but everything to do with love.

He could still feel the ghost of Kenma’s presence in the quietest corners of his mind. That familiar, grounding warmth. The ache in his chest, the gnawing emptiness that no one else could fill, only grew sharper with each passing moment. The world could burn and rebuild itself a thousand times over, but Kuroo knew one truth with unwavering certainty, he would never be whole until he held Kenma again. Until he could look him in the eyes and say, “I never stopped looking for you.” And until then, the ache wouldn’t fade. It would fuel him.

That night, long after the halls of the Seijoh compound had quieted and the moon’s pale light spilled in rivulets across the tiled floor, Kuroo sat upright in bed, sweat clinging to his neck despite the chill. His scarred hand clutched the edge of the blanket, knuckles white.

The mark on his neck pulsed. That unfinished mating bite, both wound and vow. Still unclaimed, still aching, still alive.

Kenma.

Somewhere, out there, in the ruin of a world neither of them had ever known before, his omega was breathing. And breathing meant surviving. And Kuroo knew that surviving meant suffering.

That thought alone filled Kuroo with a deep longing to protect his mate from the harsh world around them.

By morning, he’d made up his mind.

 

---

 

Yamaguchi narrowed his eyes at the alpha trying to swing both of his (heavily injured and still healing) legs over the side of the bed. “No.”

“I’m walking,” Kuroo growled, voice steady but hoarse. “I’m done lying here uselessly.”

“You aren’t lying there uselessly. You are healing.” Yamaguchi shot back sternly, grabbing a cane from beside the bed and planting it firmly in front of him. “You take three steps and your body’s going to remind you you’re stitched together with stubbornness and staples. Hell, your fractures and breaks are still unstable.”

Kuroo smirked, crooked and full of an obvious challenge. “Then I’ll make sure I walk four.”

Yamaguchi stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled in quiet defeat. “I can get you started in physical therapy, but you are not allowed out of the bed yet.” He said sternly glaring at Kuroo who nodded and started to lay back in the bed.

“I’ll get Oikawa-San,” Yamaguchi muttered, turning for the door. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I already regret a lot of things,” Kuroo replied, voice low. “But I won’t regret this.” and his voice was so sincere Yamaguchi could do nothing but turn and walk out the door right to their leader.

It didn’t take long for Oikawa and Yamaguchi to walk back through the doors. Yamaguchi let out a breath of relief when he realized Kuroo was still laying down and not stubbornly trying to disobey his orders.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He said bidding them both a goodbye to go check on his other patients.

Oikawa entered the hospital room as tall and sharp as ever, dressed in cream and ash-gray, his cinnamon-brown sugar scent curling into the air like a balm and a threat all at once. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes like polished glass cool and unreadable.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked Kuroo without any preamble.

Kuroo looked up at the strong omega, his posture stiff but unyielding as he sat in bed with the cane Yamaguchi had given him in hand. “I need to train.”

Oikawa tilted his head slightly as he looked at Kuroo with those analyzing eyes that made the alpha want to squirm. “Because you think you’re weak?”

“No,” Kuroo said. “Because my mate is still out there.”

The air seemed to shift. Oikawa didn’t move, but something sharp glittered behind his gaze, he was searching Kuroo’s face for something.

“You think he needs saving?” he asked, voice quieter now.

“I know he’s alive,” Kuroo murmured. “But wherever he is… it can't be safe. If I don’t find him, someone else will. And I won’t let that happen.”

Oikawa was silent for a moment longer, assessing the man before him. He took in the cane, the faint tremble in Kuroo’s body as it struggled to sit up straight after months of healing and muscle atrophy, the defiant tilt of his chin. The weight of grief and fury etched into the set of his jaw. But more than anything, he sensed the unflinching loyalty; the kind that burned quietly, eternally.

It reminded him of Iwaizumi.

It was the same look Hajime had when he, bloody and bruised from a beating, had promised Oikawa, he’d keep him safe no matter who came after them. It was the same look Oikawa had given Hajime when he decided to start this mafia to keep him safe, sick and tired of seeing his other half being beaten black and blue. And Oikawa couldn’t help but yield. 

“You’ll need clearance from Yamaguchi,” Oikawa finally said, pushing off from the door. “And when you get it… Iwa-Chan will train you. But make no mistake, Kuroo. This won’t be mercy training. We don’t believe in easy battles here.”

Kuroo met his gaze with something molten behind his eyes. “I didn’t expect it to be easy.”

A slow smile spread across Oikawa’s lips, gentle and knowing. It was like looking back in time, maybe Oikawa was developing a soft spot for the man in front of him. 

“Then fight,” he said. “But heal first. Pick and choose your battles, or you’ll lose the war entirely.” Oikawa advised.

He turned to leave, the scent of cinnamon curling in his wake. But before he disappeared into the hall, he glanced back.

“And when the day comes that you do find him…” Oikawa’s voice softened just slightly. “Make sure you’re strong enough to hold him again.”

Kuroo grinned at the omega’s retreating figure but didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!!!

I have good news all around! My auditions and callbacks for Shrek the Musical went alright; I was pretty sick for them so they went as well as they could given the circumstance. I ended up being cast as (who I personally think is the most iconic side character in Shrek) one of the three blind mice. I will be trying to talk my directors into letting me almost walk off the stage. I am also one of their tap performers and I have another audition this weekend as well!

Thank you for everyone who commented and gave me support I greatly appreciate it!

Now in this chapter I think there is truly some really important advice given by Yamaguchi. "I truly believe that after everything we endure: every loss, every scar, we are owed happiness. Not in the way people often expect it, not as a reward for suffering, but as a proper right in the world. The karma we received to balance the odds. I know in my heart that you’ll find your way forward again. You’ll stand on your own feet. You won’t just survive, no you’ll live. You will smile without guilt. Laugh without pain. Hopefully you’ll even find your love again. And when you do, you’ll realize it wasn’t hope that was foolish. It was giving up that would’ve been."

I take this to heart, and I hope you will too, things may be rough or be hard, but it does get better. In high school I was severely depressed and suicidal, it was a hard time in my life I have gotten so much better, and I am much happier than I ever thought I would be. I won't lie to you; there are still days that are difficult but one day I hope those hard days will be few and far between. It will get better, don't give up.

I love you all and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day <3

I'll see you all on Friday!

Chapter 23: My Past is Painful

Summary:

Kuroo starts physical therapy. Oikawa opens up about his past.

TRIGGER WARNING: References to pedophilia, sex work, child abuse, torture, Oikawa and Iwaizumi's backstory is really bad please read with caution

The room was quiet save for the soft click of a metronome on the shelf and the rasp of strained breath. Sunlight cut through the windows in tired golden strips, pooling across pale mats and polished floors, casting a soft glow on a place built to hurt and heal in equal measure.

Kuroo hated the silence.

Silence didn’t give him a distraction from the sharp stabs of pain.

He sat hunched forward, sweat pooling in the hollow of his collarbone, his right hand braced shakily on the metal bar that lined the therapy rails. The skin of his arm there was a patchwork of angry reds and pinks, grafted where fire had kissed him too long and too cruelly. His fingers, stiff and trembling, gripped the railing like a lifeline, and still, his knees buckled.

“Breathe through it,” Yamaguchi murmured, kneeling beside him, calm but not soft. “Again.”

Kuroo hissed through his teeth, the sound ragged. His entire right side was screaming, an orchestra of torn nerves, half-healed bones, and scorched flesh that never quite stopped aching. His leg, still swollen and wrapped, threatened to give again under his weight, but he forced it forward.

One step.

It felt like his skin was tearing apart all over again, muscles contracting and trembling with the weight of even that small movement.

Two steps.

His vision blurred at the edges. Not from exhaustion, he’d long since passed that, but from fury at his own body. It was a traitor. He had been smashed, cut, and burned and now he had to rebuild his destroyed ligaments and muscles. 

Yamaguchi stood, his presence steadying in a way Kuroo wasn’t sure he deserved. The medic’s hands were firm on his shoulders, guiding him back to the bench before his knees could fold under him again.

“You’re getting stronger,” Yamaguchi said gently.

“I feel like I’m dying,” Kuroo muttered, every word a blade against his throat, “This might hurt worse than when I was pinned by a burning beam.” 

“Then you’re doing it right,” the omega replied, a quiet smile curling his lips. “We don’t grow without pain. You know that.”

Kuroo’s head dropped forward, sweat dripping from his hairline, matting his bangs to his temple. The burn scars across the right side of his face ached in rhythm with his pulse, tight and inflamed, tender from where fresh skin met nerves that screamed at even the softest breeze.

“I hate this,” he whispered.

Yamaguchi wasn’t kind enough to pretend he didn’t hear.

“I know.”

He pulled over a towel, dabbing at the sweat and avoiding the still-healing skin with practiced care. He worked with a gentleness that didn’t pity but understood, didn’t coddle but comforted.

“You’re not fighting just your body,” Yamaguchi said after a while, tone thoughtful. “You’re fighting the version of yourself that says you won’t ever be strong again.”

Kuroo’s hand curled into a fist.

“That version is an asshole.”

Yamaguchi snorted, the sound small but warm. “Good. Then kick his ass. But do it slowly. One step at a time.”

Kuroo didn’t reply. He stared at his own reflection in the therapy mirror, at the man with molten eyes and torn flesh, at the ghost of someone who had once known how to move through the world with ease.

He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

Maybe Kenma wouldn’t recognize him either.

The attack had done a number on him, physically and mentally, and if he was honest, he was terrified of what Kenma would think.

No matter what happened he wouldn't be the same Kuroo Tetsuro his mate had fallen in love with. That man had died in the fire of their home.

He was the man that survived.

And that survival wasn’t built in grand moments. It was built in agony. In the crack of bones realigning. In the scream of muscle torn and reknit.

In the slow, brutal, beautiful act of trying.

So, Kuroo took another step.

And another.

Even when it felt like his body would break beneath the weight of memory and fire and steel, he moved.

Because somewhere, his Aster was surviving and Kuroo would tear the world apart, piece by piece, just to find him again.

But while his body healed in inches his mind broke in miles.

Kuroo learned this in the early hours of the morning, when the world was too quiet, too still, and his own heartbeat sounded like footsteps approaching in the dark.

Sleep didn’t come easy anymore. When it did, it came sharp, loud, like a knife unsheathed in the dark of his skull.

He dreamt in screams and fire. Dreamt of smoke so thick it strangled every breath, of hands slipping from his own, of Kenma screaming his name in despair, “Tetsurou—” and the crushing weight of failure folding him in half like paper.

He always woke up choking.

Tonight was no different.

He lurched forward on the thin mattress, hands clawing at the sheets, soaked in sweat, eyes wide and unseeing for a moment too long. The walls looked like flames. The ceiling, smoke-stained. The light filtering through the window, orange, not gold. Heat curled up his spine, but there was no fire.

Only his mind, reliving the horrors again and again.

“Tch…” He scoffed as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes ignoring the sting of pain and dragged in a breath. It felt like dragging barbed wire through his lungs.

He didn’t cry. Couldn’t. It was like the fire had seared his tear ducts shut.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain. Kuroo figured he deserved the pain, for what? He didn’t really know, but did that matter?

No, the pain was easy compared to the crushing guilt that smothered his heart.

No matter how much Kuroo tried to move forward, the echo of Kenma’s voice rang in his mind like a constant scream. The image of his omega’s face, tears streaming down his soot-stained cheeks, haunted his every waking moment. And the nightmares plagued him with images of Kenma, disgusted at him for who he was becoming, for what he looked like now.

The silence that followed these thoughts always made Kuroo feel like he was right back under the burning beam. Smoke and wood smothering him, slowly choking him until he passed out.

“You’re not fine.”

Oikawa’s voice cut through the morning air with all the elegance of a sword drawn mid-dance. Kuroo hadn’t expected to see him, standing in the doorway of the PT room like a shadow wrapped in silk. The soft, understanding expression Oikawa often wore nowhere in sight. Instead, he was staring at Kuroo like he could see into his soul.

Kuroo didn’t look at him. He kept his fists curled around the railing, knuckles white and shaking as he fought to keep his balance.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Kuroo muttered.

“And I didn’t ask to watch one of my people destroy himself in silence,” Oikawa replied, stepping inside. “But here we are.”

His tone wasn’t cruel. It was something worse. It was understanding.

The kind of softness that cut deeper because it meant he cared.

Kuroo looked away, opting to stare down as he shook his legs. “I’m just having a rough week, that's all.” He said indignantly. 

“You’ve been having flashbacks. Nightmares. You don’t eat unless someone makes you. You flinch when Bo touches your shoulder too fast. That’s not a bad week, Kuroo. That’s PTSD.”

The word hung heavy in the room, weighted like a chain.

“I’m not broken,” Kuroo snapped, too fast.

Oikawa tilted his head. “Did I say you were?”

“I don’t need to talk about my feelings ,” he spat the word like poison. “I need to get stronger. I need to get my body to fucking cooperate and get out of here. Kenma is out there. Maybe alone. Maybe hurt. And if I waste time in some therapy room crying into a couch cushion, he could die.”

He was breathing hard now, jaw clenched, the scent of burning nutmeg curling like storm clouds in the room. Oikawa schooled his features, trying not to wince at the intense scent. Kuroo couldn’t smell it to reel himself in.

The omega stepped closer, hands in his pockets.

“You’re right. He could be in danger. But you can’t save anyone if you fall apart before you get to him.”

Kuroo’s lips twisted, bitter. “So what? You want me to bare my soul to some stranger with a clipboard?”

“No,” Oikawa said softly. “I want you to stop thinking this is something you have to white-knuckle your way through.”

For a moment, the air was still.

And then—

“Iwaizumi didn’t break when they tortured him,” Kuroo muttered. “He didn’t need help.” Oikawa flinched slightly before answering in a rushed tone.

“How do you know about that?” Kuroo scoffed.

“He’s covered in scars; it isn’t hard to infer some things.” Oikawa simply sighed and shook his head.

When he looked back up, the omega’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, your conclusion is wrong.”

Kuroo looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze, and found no judgment there. Only a quiet grief that hadn’t healed.

“Iwaizumi did break,” Oikawa said. “So, did I. We were shattered. We stitched ourselves back together with blood and teeth. But I still have nightmares. I still wake up reaching for him. And I still go to therapy once a week, because I owe it to the people who love me, to the people I have to keep safe.”

Kuroo’s breath stilled in his chest.

“I know what you’re feeling,” Oikawa continued, tone like velvet over stone. “The guilt. The weight. The helplessness. And I won’t ask you to get help. Because I’m not giving you a choice. You will go to therapy, that’s an order.”

Kuroo’s brows pulled together. “You don’t—”

“I do,” Oikawa interrupted. “I’m the head of this syndicate. You want to fight? You want to find your mate? Then you start by following orders. Go to therapy. Face your ghosts. Or you’re off the training list. Permanently.”

The threat wasn’t empty. And Kuroo knew it.

For a long moment, he just stood there, knuckles white as he gripped the bar, fury and shame simmering low in his stomach.

But Oikawa was right, he needed to be stable enough to find Kenma.

“…Fine,” he muttered, the word like gravel in his throat. “One session.”

Oikawa smiled softly and nodded. “One session, if it goes well, we’ll talk about having a few more sessions.”

He turned to go, then paused at the door, looking back just once.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “you’re doing much better than you think, give yourself some credit.”

Kuroo didn’t answer.

But that night, when the flames came again in his dreams, he didn’t wake up choking. Instead, he woke up crying for the first time since the attack, the good side of his face covered in wet tear tracks as the other reminded dry, his tear duct on the right side damaged beyond function.

The tears clung stubbornly to his lashes, hot and silent, until they cooled against his skin and left salt behind. Kuroo lay there in the dark, heart pounding in a rhythm that didn’t feel like his own, chest tight like it still remembered the smoke. He wiped his face with a shaking hand, cursing under his breath. He wasn’t ready for another night of pretending he was fine. 

But there was no way he’d fall asleep again, so he might as well get some air.

Kuroo groaned as he pushed himself up in bed, pain rocketed through his body as he moved to the edge of the bed and tried to gently lower himself into his temporary wheelchair. He groaned in pain when he dropped himself into the seat.

Pain lit up his still healing body and Kuroo had to take a few moments to compose himself before he could start wheeling himself out of the door.

The hallways were empty, just pale walls and dim security lights casting warped shadows. He moved slowly, quietly, as if trying not to wake the ghosts that lived in the walls of this place. By the time he reached the rooftop, the air had shifted. The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Kuroo had to squint his eyes to adjust to the dim moonlight. Oikawa stood at the edge of the rooftop, a cigarette glowed like a firefly between two fingers, shoulders straight despite the chill that danced on his pale skin. He was barefoot. Unarmed. Strange, for someone who ruled with precision and cruelty.

But even stranger was the look in his eyes when Kuroo joined him, a softness that didn’t match the man who wore beauty like a blade.

“I used to think this rooftop was the safest place in the world,” Oikawa murmured, smoke curling from his lips. “Maybe because it’s the furthest I’ve ever been from where I started.”

Kuroo didn’t respond. He just wheeled up to the rail beside the omega, one hand gripped the cool metal to keep himself from rolling backwards, the other curled uselessly in his lap, the fingers were still healing from the burns and always seemed to ache deep in his bones.

Oikawa grinned at him, but it didn’t meet his eyes. Wordlessly he slid his foot over and locked the wheelchair in place. Kuroo nodded at him in thanks and Oikawa looked back out into the dark night sky voice drifting in again. “Iwa-Chan always said I should sleep more. He’s usually right. But tonight… I figured you could use someone awake.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways. “Didn’t realize you were in the therapy business now.”

Oikawa smiled, but it wasn’t his usual pretty smirk. This one was quiet. Hollowed. Like it had been scooped out with a spoon and still hadn’t healed.

“No,” he said. “Just figured if I asked you to face your ghosts, I should introduce you to mine.”

Kuroo was still almost imperceptibly but Oikawa noticed it easily. 

The wind picked up, stirring Oikawa’s black robe like spilled ink.

And then, without ceremony, Oikawa said, “I was born in the red-light district.”

The words were sharp. Brutal in their plainness. Not dressed up, not softened. He didn’t wait for Kuroo’s reaction and just went on.

“Hajime too,” he continued, fingers tapping ash over the city. “Our mothers worked the same stretch of street. Same house, different rooms. We grew up surrounded by men with too many teeth and not enough mercy. The kind who always looked too long at the kids. Especially the pretty ones.”

Kuroo’s stomach twisted at the thought, he had grown up in a peaceful village unaware of the horrors that resided in other cities.

Oikawa didn’t flinch.

“We were ten the first time someone offered my mother extra to let me join,” he said. “Iwa-Chan broke the man’s nose with a brass candlestick.”

A huff of a laugh, empty of humor.

“After that, they learned not to ask. They just waited for moments when I was alone, for any opportunity to use me. You learn really quick how to read intentions and silence in that place. When something’s coming. When you’re the target.”

Kuroo didn’t speak. His hand was white on the railing.

“To protect me, Iwaizumi used to start fights,” Oikawa went on, staring into the dark. “He’d scream, break things, draw attention. And I’d run. We made a little hiding place, a crawlspace behind the kitchen ceiling tiles. No one else knew it existed. I’d stay there for hours, sometimes overnight, while they whipped him for interfering.”

His voice didn’t shake.

But Kuroo’s chest did.

“He never once gave me up.”

The wind howled a little louder now, like it was mourning something.

“I thought it would get easier as we got older,” Oikawa said, finally flicking the cigarette into the wind. “But it didn’t. I got prettier. Taller. Smarter. And that made me dangerous. They wanted to break me before I realized how much power I had over those disgusting pigs.”

His fingers clenched into his robe.

“They stopped offering money. They just… started trying to take. They thought that I owed it to them, that it was their right to use me, that it was my purpose in life. And the police were so corrupt there was no way to get help. Hell, some of those pigs tried to use their ‘authority’ to bed me at the ripe old age of 12.” He said bitterly and something fragile twisted in Kuroo’s throat.

“I was tired of being weak and helpless, of watching Hajime get beaten bloody so they could have me.” Oikawa said, eyes burning. “I was so sick and tired of hiding, of running, of having to patch Hajime up night after night when the men finally got bored.”

“It was more painful to watch Hajime get tortured over and over again than it was to know alphas would try to use me every turn simply because I was an omega. When we were 13, I could handle it any longer and I started building something.”

Oikawa’s shaky voice steadied into something hard and calculating.

“I called in debts. Found other kids from the district who’d been broken and left behind. I collected all the information I could and figured out how to use extortion for my gain. I decided to let the men learn what true cruelty is. I learned how to make them afraid of me . And overnight… I turned into their worst nightmares.”

The words were sharp with steel.

“I didn’t become a leader because I wanted power,” he said. “I did it because I wanted to keep Hajime safe. I wanted to punish the monsters who tortured us. And I wanted to protect anyone who couldn’t fight back, anyone who didn’t have their own Hajime to keep them safe.”

Kuroo didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it shuddered from his chest.

Oikawa finally looked at him, and his eyes, glistening and wet, were terrifyingly beautiful.

“I tortured the men who hurt us,” he said softly. “Burned the brothel. Took the deed to the entire block. Built this syndicate from the ashes. So, no child has to become what I did. So, no omega has to lose themselves just to live.”

Silence blanketed the rooftop again. But this time, it wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Full of history. Of hurt. Of survival.

Kuroo’s voice cracked when he spoke.

“…You did all this to save Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa looked away but Kuroo could see the small fond smile on his lips, “I tried. I was so tired of my best friend and lover getting hurt for my sake.”

Kuroo smiled at him, a genuine soft smile that made half of his face ache with the stretch, “Well, he seems happy… You both seem happy, and now you’re saving others.”

Oikawa looked at him and smiled, “Yeah, we are much happier.”

They stayed there for a long time, shoulder to shoulder, two ghosts staring down at a city that had buried them and dared them to bloom.

And for the first time in a long time, Kuroo felt a weight in his chest shift, not lift, but it had moved.

Because now he understood what drove Oikawa to create this syndicate. What burned behind those soft brown eyes.

Not pride. Not ego. But Purpose .

And Kuroo wanted that too.

They stood in silence.

The wind brushed past them like a ghost, and the city below stretched endlessly, a sea of lights that looked too peaceful for all the pain held within it.

Kuroo exhaled slowly, gaze fixed somewhere past the skyline, back into the past he cherished.

“…We were best friends,” he said, voice raw.

Oikawa turned slightly, but didn’t speak.

“Kenma and I,” Kuroo went on. “Since the day he was born. I don’t remember the first time I saw him, I was only a year old at the time, but there were photos. We were so small. And from then on, we were inseparable, my earliest memories are of his big golden eyes staring up at me, like I belonged to him.”

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile.

“And I did.”

The silence between them softened, not so suffocating now. Kuroo let the words come, bleeding slow and steady.

“We grew up, side by side. I was the loud one. The protector. He was the quiet, brilliant shadow always tucked behind me. I fought for him before I even understood what it meant to fight. He made me want to be better. Smarter. Stronger. Someone worth his attention.”

He swallowed hard.

“It took years for me to realize I loved him. Like, really loved him. Not just as a best friend, not just overprotective older-kid stuff. I think he knew before I did. He always seemed to know everything.”

Oikawa stayed silent, listening to Kuroo speak.

“We were going to complete the bond that night you found me,” Kuroo whispered, eyes glossy now. “It was his birthday; God it was his birthday. ” He said with a wounded sort of voice, “He lost everything on his birthday, when everything was supposed to be perfect.” 

Kuroo took a small shuddering breath, steadying himself again as he stared at his healing hand in his lap. 

“That night was during our village’s harvest festival. It was full of joy and laughter, and we were so happy. We had turned in for the night, I think our parents knew we were going to bond that night and were excited to have us finish the mating connection.” He explained his voice got a bit quieter. “We had been dancing in our room, ready to be with each other forever.”

His voice broke on that last word.

And still, he kept going.

“Then the world caught fire.”

Kuroo’s hand clenched on the railing.

“We didn’t know what was happening at first. But I smelled smoke, and we witnessed our village on fire, people being slaughtered in the streets. And suddenly our home was on fire as well, burning with us inside.”

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. He could still see the flames as they closed in around them destroying everything, they had held so dear. 

“I remember it all too vividly. We grabbed what we could but everywhere we turned there was fire, I smashed a window for us to escape. We were supposed to escape together, but the support beam snapped, I shoved Kenma out of the way, and I was crushed. Honestly, I think the trauma has stopped me from remembering how horrible it felt, but I remember that I had never felt more pain in my entire life… Except for physical therapy.”

He tried to joke, but the words fell from his lips like a whisper.

“He was screaming and crying so hard I thought it would kill me. I hate seeing him cry.”

Oikawa was staring into Kuroo’s eyes with grief etched into his face. Kuroo didn’t know why that made him feel so understood and seen.

“I told him to run,” Kuroo said. “He didn’t want to. He crawled over to me. Tried to lift the debris. His hands were bleeding. He wouldn’t stop. I had to push him away. I didn’t want him to die too.”

A tear slipped out of Kuroo’s good eyes and slowly rolled down his face, but Kuroo didn’t have the energy to wipe it away.

“I couldn’t let him die too; he was too precious to die. We kissed one last time and I told me my final goodbye.” His voice cracked, raw and full of anguish. “I made him leave me, even though we both knew it was a death sentence for me.”

Another tear fell.

“I thought it was the only way. That even though I would die, maybe he could get out. Maybe someone would find him. Maybe… maybe I could still protect him, even if I didn’t make it.”

Oikawa’s breath hitched.

“My final words to him were a plea, I wanted him to live on for me. But as you can see, I survived. And now I don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he got out. If he’s safe. If he thinks I’m dead. Or if he blames me for not being strong enough. For making him run.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I would give everything to make sure he’s safe.” Kuroo fell silent after that, and Oikawa nodded and looked back into the inky darkness.

“I doubt someone who loved you so much they tried to stay and die by your side would ever hold resentment towards what happened,” Oikawa said softly. “If it were Hajime that was crushed, I think I’d loathe myself for not being able to save him, but I’d never blame him. You kept your promise, you kept him safe as long as possible, and we know he’s alive so don’t be too hard on yourself.” He finished gently looking back at Kuroo who nodded once.

“I just want to find him,” he whispered. “I don’t care if he’s angry. I don’t care if he’s moved on. I just… want to know he’s safe.”

His voice trembled, low and broken.

“I just want to see him one more time.”

Oikawa turned toward him fully then, and without warning, wrapped his arms around him. Squeezing him tight, and in that moment Kuroo didn’t care about the stabs of pain that came from the touch. Instead Kuroo sank into the hug like a man who’d been drowning for years.

“We’ll find him, I swear on everything I have, we will find your mate and reunite you.”

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!!

Ahhhhh, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

It was a pretty intense chapter, but I really wanted to world build and give some backstory.

Also, I just want to tell everyone, I adore your comments they make me so happy to read so please never apologize for commenting. Yap away I will always respond to your comments so feel free to chat with me!

Anyways, I'll see you all on Sunday. I hope you all have a wonder rest of your day <3

Chapter 24: New Faces

Summary:

Kuroo meets Seijoh's inner family, and we get a glimpse at his psyche.

Seven months.

It had been seven months since the night Kuroo’s world cracked open and left him buried beneath the wreckage. Seven months since he had his flesh torn, bones broken, fire licking up the right side of his body until he couldn’t scream anymore.

Seven months of pain and patience and brutal, endless rebuilding.

The clean break in his right arm had been the easiest to handle. Plates were set within the first few hours of surgery, metal now living beneath his skin. He had full mobility back now, but the ache when it rained reminded him of how fragile he'd once been, pinned beneath the weight of a collapsing roof, Kenma's name the only thing he could whisper before darkness took him. 

His left leg, though… That had been a nightmare. A compound fracture so severe the medical team debated amputation for hours. They didn’t tell him until much later, once the infection had been cleared, once the rod had been inserted and fused, once he’d survived. The scars that crisscrossed his thigh and shin were thick and angry, the kind that screamed pain at a glance. There were many days it trembled under his weight, but he forced it to work. Phantom pain often shot through his leg making him bite down on his hand to stifle his groans as he tried to breathe through the searing agony.

Five ribs; cracked and splintered. They'd wrapped him tight for weeks, forcing him to breathe slowly, shallowly, while his lung tried to remember how to stay inflated. Collapsed, they said. Full of blood and ash. It had taken three surgeries and two tubes to drain it. He still remembered the way it felt, drowning on dry land. He still wakes up from nightmares, clutching at his mouth as he tries to breathe.

Spinal bruising and a cracked vertebrae had left him in a brace for the first two months. The doctors feared paralysis at first, but he remembered the horror in Oikawa’s face when he asked if he could move his toes and Kuroo didn’t answer right away. But the feeling had come back, slow and tingling, and with it the understanding that luck was, somehow, still on his side.

His scapula and collarbone had fractured. He couldn’t lift his right arm at all for weeks. Physical therapy had been hell; tremors, pain, and tight, unrelenting scar tissue pulling at him every time he tried to stretch.

His pelvis had cracked in three places, and he had a severe concussion that left him dizzy and nauseous for days. He barely remembered anything from the first week after he woke up. Oikawa told him later that he'd asked for Kenma in the hospital, over and over, until his voice broke.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

No, the worst had been the fire.

The entire right side of his body had been consumed. Third and fourth degree burns that melted flesh and muscle. His skin, they said, had fused to his clothes. The pain wasn’t something he could describe. It wasn’t sharp or stabbing. It was a dull, full-body scream that never stopped. 

They’d grafted skin from his thighs and back to his torso, to his arm, to his ribs. The skin was tight and shiny, angry red scars that pulled when he moved too fast. He’d been warned if he didn’t keep up his stretches and daily movement, the scarring would harden, and he’d lose the ability to move entirely.

So, every morning, without fail, he moved. He couldn’t risk not being able to move ever again so Kuroo stretched religiously, even when it felt like he was going to tear his skin in two he moved.

The fire had taken all of his right side. He could no longer hear clearly without the discreet hearing aid that hummed softly behind the damaged cartilage of his ear. His right eye required a specialized contact just to see.

And his sense of smell, gone. Smoke had filled his nose and lungs, burned the nerves that controlled scent, and left only a ghost of memory behind. Sometimes he dreamed of Kenma’s scent, cinnamon apples that blended with his nutmeg scent perfectly, and woke choking on the absence of it

The months had been hell, but Kuroo got up, even when the pain begged him to stay down. He stretched, worked, lifted, walked, limped; sweating through the fire trapped in his own skin. Because he couldn’t afford to stop. Not when Kenma was still out there.

Kenma had to be out there.

And if Kuroo couldn’t move, if he couldn’t find him. Then what was the point of surviving?

He had to be strong enough to find him.

He wasn’t in top shape yet. His right arm trembled when he held the weight too long. His left leg occasionally buckled if he moved too fast. Some days the migraines from the past concussion came back, dull and violent. But he could run short distances now. He could hold a a utensil steady. He could move again, if only for a few minutes.

That was enough.

He’d been remade in fire and steel and stubborn fucking will.

And he wasn’t done yet.

The scent of disinfectant clung to the air like it always did; sharp, clean, a little too sterile for comfort. Kuroo grunted as he finished his reps, breath shallow, muscles burning from the set of resistance bands wrapped around his arm.

He was sweating through the pain again, too focused to notice the footsteps until the door opened.

“Still making Yamaguchi cry, I see.”

Kuroo looked up, smirking faintly despite himself. “He should know he can’t stop me by now.”

The omega stepped into the room, dressed sharp as ever; button-down open at the collar, sleeves rolled, smugness practically radiating off him. But beneath it, there was something real in his gaze. Pride. Relief.

Oikawa was a total and utter asshole, but he was one of the kindest, most determined people Kuroo had ever met. He was brutal to those that wronged him, but benevolent to his inner circle, his family and Kuroo was proud to be one of Oikawa’s confidants even though he still couldn’t start training as part of the family.

“You broke a punching bag yesterday,” Oikawa pointed out as he leaned against the wall. “I think that counts as progress.”

Kuroo snorted softly. “It wasn’t fighting back.”

Oikawa pushed off the wall and crossed the room. For a moment, he didn’t speak, just handed Kuroo a towel and watched him wipe the sweat from his face, movements still stiff but far from where he’d been even a month ago.

Then, voice softer, Oikawa asked, “How are you feeling?”

Kuroo gave him a small smile in return, “As shitty as ever. Nothing too painful.” Oikawa gave him an exasperated sigh and then looked into the alpha’s golden eyes.

“I came to offer you a place in Seijoh, officially.”

Kuroo froze. Not completely, just in that barely there way, like his breath caught and had to restart.

“You’ve been with us for seven months now. You’ve survived more than most do in a lifetime. And you have become a close friend to us.” Oikawa folded his arms. “I’d say you’ve earned a choice.”

Kuroo didn’t answer right away. He glanced down at his hands, still scarred, still healing. He flexed them once. Twice.

If he accepted the offer, he’d be free to search for Kenma. He’d have resources and the help of leaders in their fields. Not to mention he kind of owed Oikawa for saving his life.

“Seijoh,” he said finally, voice low but steady. “You really think I fit in?”

Oikawa grinned. “You’re already one of us. This just makes it official.”

Kuroo thought of Kenma. Of ash and fire and the moment their hands slipped apart. He thought of the bond half-broken, the ache that never left.

“I accept,” he said quietly. “But on the condition, I am free to search for Kenma.”

Oikawa’s smile turned razor sharp. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with missions you are free to use my resources.”

 

---

 

His new room was at the end of a long, quiet hall; tucked into the part of the compound reserved for high-clearance operatives. Kuroo hadn’t seen it before. He hadn’t needed to. He’d spent all of his time in the medical wing and physical therapy room.

When Oikawa opened the door, Kuroo’s mouth dropped.

It was… excessive.

Not just a bed, but a king-sized one, pillows stacked high. Dark hardwood floors, blackout curtains, shelves already stocked with a few books, he caught the title of one and blinked. It was a novel he had mentioned reading out loud to Kenma on the nights where his mate couldn’t sleep.

There was an oak wood desk with a high-end laptop. A mini bar stocked with everything from energy drinks to wine; Yamaguchi would most likely yell at Kuroo if he indulged in anything other than water so the bar would have to wait. 

At the other end of the room there was a private bathroom that looked more like a spa. The shower resembled a waterfall, and he was pretty sure the faucets were made with real gold.

Kuroo had half a mind to slap Oikawa upside the head for the over-the-top extravagance.

He sighed and looked around again and noticed a thick catalogue that sat in the middle of the massive bed, and fuck were those silk sheets?

“What’s this?” Kuroo asked, eyeing the book warily.

“Furniture, clothes, weapons. Anything you want,” Oikawa said, leaning against the doorframe. He was grinning, obviously pleased with Kuroo’s reaction, the bastard. “Pick out your favorites. Or all of it, I don’t really care.” He said flippantly with a shrug. 

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t there like a budget or something?”

Oikawa’s smile was a mixture of fondness and cocky, quite the odd combination that no one but Oikawa could pull off. “I run the most powerful syndicate in Japan. What the hell is a budget?”

Kuroo couldn’t help the small laugh that came from his chest. “Fair point.”

He picked up the heavy catalogue, flipping through a few pages before setting it aside. “You’ve built a damn empire.”

Oikawa stepped further into the room, the playful glint in his eye fading into something sharper, something tactical.

“Speaking of empires,” he said, arms folding loosely as he stood before Kuroo, “Seijoh runs like a machine. Efficient. Ruthless when we need to be. Each part has to know its role, or the whole thing collapses.”

Kuroo sat on the bed, listening attentively. Fuck this bed was comfortable. Okay, now his undivided attention was on Oikawa.

“We have seven core divisions,” Oikawa began, his voice taking on the cadence of someone who had recited this breakdown a hundred times before yet still believed in every word. Oikawa held up one finger as he began to speak.

“First up: Strategists and hackers. Small team, but lethal. Most of our cyber operations and long-term plays go through them. I still do most of that work myself,” he added with a self-satisfied tilt of his head. “Hard to trust anyone else with the crown jewels.”

Kuroo smirked faintly. That checked out.

“Then we’ve got our dealers; arms and drugs,” Oikawa said bluntly. “I won’t sugarcoat it. That’s where a solid chunk of our money comes from. We’ve got people in every major city. Reliable, discreet, and too valuable to lose.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed slightly but he didn’t comment. The line between survival and morality blurred fast in their world. Oikawa put up a third finger and continued. 

“Our cleanup crew handles everything that can trace back to us. Physical evidence, digital traces, bodies, names. They're like ghosts. You won’t meet most of them unless you need their… expertise and trust me, you don’t want to need them, because that means you fucked up.”

Kuroo gave a short nod. Efficient. Cold. Necessary.

“The sniper unit is next. Technically it is the arms unit, but that gets a bit confusing when you add in the dealers, so I choose to categorize it like this. Long-range hits, silent assassinations. High precision, zero tolerance for mistakes.” Oikawa’s mouth quirked. “I used to be part of that one. Best damn shooter this side of Tokyo, until alas…” He sighed dramatically, placing a hand to his chest. “Being the boss comes with paperwork.”

Kuroo let out a soft laugh, dry and amused. “Tragic.”

“Truly,” Oikawa said with a grin before his tone shifted again, crisp and clear as he held up five fingers. “Intel division follows. Surveillance, tracking, blackmail, extortion. Anything that gives us leverage before someone else gets it first.”

He paused, just briefly.

“There’s also a more… focused branch inside intel. Our torture specialists,” he added flatly. “Only a few. We don’t flaunt them, but they exist. It’s a necessary evil in this line of work; they keep up safe.” 

Kuroo didn’t react outwardly, but his fingers curled slightly on the edge of the mattress. He understood why. Rats in the organization, or those that were a threat to the safety of their family had to be put down. That didn’t mean Kuroo had to like it though. 

“And finally,” Oikawa continued, pacing a step to the side as if punctuating the importance, “there’s our combat division, our largest by far. Split into hand-to-hand fighters, infiltration units, personal bodyguards, weapons specialists, and trainers.”

He gestured loosely, like it was obvious. “This is where we shine. Our combat network is brutal in training and execution. Bokuto and Iwaizumi lead a majority of it, but there are others just as dangerous. It's the backbone of our power, the reason we are feared.”

Kuroo didn’t flinch at the word brutal . If anything, he straightened slightly, like he was more at home there than anywhere else.

“We keep the country’s underworld running,” Oikawa said, his voice quiet but firm. “We know everything before it happens. And if we don’t; we send someone to make it right.”

Kuroo was silent for a moment, taking it all in. He had expected structure. While Oikawa acted childish at times, he was meticulous . But this was a terrifying level of precision.

Finally, he looked up at the omega. “Where do you want me?”

Oikawa hesitated, just for a breath, unusual for someone so self-assured. “I’ve got an idea,” he said honestly. “But I want you to meet the others first. Watch how we work. You’ve got more than enough drive and intelligence to fit in wherever you want.” He gave Kuroo a meaningful look. “But I’m not going to waste you.”

Kuroo exhaled slowly, leaning back on his palms. “Fair enough.”

Oikawa’s smile returned, a little softer this time. “Take your time, Kuroo. You’ve been through hell. You’re not just joining a syndicate; you’re entering a new family. You aren’t alone.” 

Kuroo nodded and turned his gaze back to the catalogue, not entirely sure what to say.

Seven months ago, he’d been broken. Bleeding out beneath a pile of rubble, sure he’d never see Kenma again. Now…

Now he had a purpose again. A direction.

“I’m ready,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes to find him.”

Oikawa nodded, gaze steady. “Then let’s get you acquainted with the family.”

Kuroo eagerly followed Oikawa out of his new room and down a quiet corridor, one he hadn’t been cleared to access until now. Their footsteps echoed faintly against marble and polished floors. Every hall was sleek, sterile in some places, lived-in in others. It was clear where the combat training bled into the tech rooms. Where blood got cleaned off tile and reports were filed five minutes later like nothing happened.

Seijoh was a machine. A kingdom. And Oikawa was its king.

But even kings had their enforcers, which is apparently where the ‘family’ came into play.

Apparently, the family was not the entire syndicate, no it was all of Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s most trusted confidants. 

“First stop,” Oikawa said, pausing in front of a reinforced door before pushing it open, “is the Combat Wing.”

Kuroo wished he still had his sense of smell because he could almost feel the scents that were pouring through the room. The air was thicker here, heavier with pheromones and sweat. In the middle of the open floor was an alpha Kuroo recognized instantly, mid-spar with someone who was about to regret every decision they’d ever made.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

Kuroo had never seen him in action. The man moved like a weapon; precise, brutal, efficient. He didn’t waste a single motion, didn’t give the opponent time to breathe before flipping them flat on their back. The thud echoed.

“Again,” Iwaizumi barked and Kuroo was intrigued by the powerful man. 

Oikawa cleared his throat dramatically. “Hajime, we’re not trying to scare him off, he just said yes to staying.”

Iwaizumi turned, and Kuroo could see the way the man’s eyes lit up at the sight of his mate. Kuroo felt a bitter twinge, he desperately wanted Kenma back, wanted to see him again.

Kuroo wasn’t able to indulge in his sadness because Iwaizumi’s gaze swept over him like an inspection, steady and unreadable. And then he nodded in greeting.

“Kuroo.”

“Iwaizumi.”

He extended a hand. Kuroo took it, bracing slightly; but the grip was firm, not painful. The strength was there, sure, but it wasn’t a dominance play. It was respect.

Kuroo had no clue what he’d done to deserve Iwaizumi’s respect, but he was grateful for it, nonetheless. 

“Glad to see you standing,” Iwaizumi said. His voice was raspy from exertion and Kuroo couldn’t help but smirk at the other alpha.

“Glad to be standing,” Kuroo replied, he wasn’t very close to Iwaizumi, but he respected him. He was a strong and steady force that had kept Oikawa safe since they were children. 

“Hope you’re ready to earn your place,” Iwaizumi added.

“I’m not here to warm the benches.” Kuroo replied, his golden eyes burning with determination and Iwaizumi grinned, toothy and eager. 

Oikawa looked insufferably happy. He slung an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder and Kuroo noticed for the first time the omega was slightly taller than his mate.

“If you’re serious about training and getting stronger here,” Oikawa started, his soft brown eyes staring into Kuroo’s very soul, “Iwa-Chan will be the one to train you.” He then turned to look was Iwaizumi again, “Try not to let the combat unit eat him alive.”

“I make no promises,” Iwaizumi muttered, though there was something fond and soft under the gruffness. Kuroo smiled at the pair, trying to ignore the numb feeling in his chest as he watched the duo interact with one another. 

He missed having that trust and love. He ached for Kenma, to hold him again, to talk to him, to see him.

Kuroo quickly shook off those thoughts, he refused to let anyone see his distress. He’d bottle it up until he was alone, then he’d let himself feel all the anguish and guilt that came from losing your mate.

Oikawa kissed Iwaizumi on the cheek and Kuroo was grateful when he bid goodbye to his mate and dragged Kuroo out of the combat room.

Apparently, the man sparring with Iwaizumi was a lower member that was looking to move up the ranks, hardly noteworthy. 

They moved on to the strategy sector; a cooler, dimmer area buzzing with electricity and quiet keystrokes. Oikawa leaned in and whispered to Kuroo explaining that the room smelled like bergamot, dry air, and black coffee. Kuroo had been thankful, he really hated not having his sense of smell.

Tsukishima was sitting at a desk, long fingers flying over the keyboard, multiple monitors glowing around him. He glanced over the top of his glasses as they entered, barely blinking.

“Well,” Tsukishima said dryly. “Look who’s finally ambulatory.”

“Good to see you too, asshole,” Kuroo shot back without missing a beat.

Oikawa arched a brow. “Friendly already?”

Yes, they were friendly. They had interacted quite a bit considering the alpha was head over heels for his mate and couldn’t seem to go five consecutive hours without popping in to see his lover.

It was sweet, Tsukishima often came by with Yamaguchi’s favorite snacks, drinks, or any random thing he happened to forget that day. Kuroo was almost certain Yamaguchi didn’t actually forget anything, and it was just Tsukishima trying to find a way to visit his mate. The rude alpha always softened around Yamaguchi and Kuroo had taken great pleasure in teasing him, starting an odd but nice dynamic between them.

Tsukishima shrugged at Oikawa’s questions. “He’s not unbearable. For someone who bleeds all over the floors and breaks therapy machines.”

Oikawa winced as he recalled the incident where Kuroo had broken several pieces of equipment in utter frustration. 

“It had it coming,” Kuroo muttered, looking away from the leader who rolled his eyes easily. 

The blond actually smirked a little before standing and offering a hand. “You’ll be glad I’m on your side if you piss anyone off. I reroute security feeds and paper trails for fun.”

Kuroo shook it, his hand was less callused than Iwaizumi’s. 

“He’s our head strategist and main hacker, other than me,” Oikawa explained, leaning on the nearest desk. “He knows a hundred ways to ruin someone’s life without leaving his chair.” he said with a bright grin and Kuroo snorted at the introduction.

“I also just finished erasing your existence.” The alpha was with a shrug, like it was a basic addition. Kuroo thought about it but shrugged.

“Anything else I should know.” Kuroo asked and Oikawa smirked, raising a hand like he was a child in class. 

“He punched a guy for trying to flirt with Yama-Chan.”

“Deserved it,” Tsukishima said simply and Kuroo chuckled at the alpha’s annoyed expression as he remembered the man who dared to make a move on his mate.

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Like summoning a shadow, Yamaguchi appeared from the hallway entrance, clipboard in hand and hair still wet from an apparent shower. He smiled softly when he saw Kuroo, already moving toward him with easy familiarity.

“You’re due for a check-in,” Yamaguchi said, but his voice was warm, not clinical. “Good to see you on your feet, though.”

Kuroo relaxed more than he realized. “Hey, Yams.”

Kuroo had grown a strong bond with Yamaguchi, and they had become fast friends. They typically spent every day with one another, but Kuroo had never seen him like this. Not in uniform. Not with his aura dialed up just slightly, confident and quiet and sharp around the edges.

“As you know Yama-Chan is our head medic.” Oikawa started and Yamaguchi smiled, taking over the introduction.

“I do more than patch people. I also work as one of our undercover agents. Intel gathering, infiltration, drug ops. Depends on the assignment.”

Kuroo blinked, then looked at Tsukishima. “You’re okay with him going undercover?”

Tsukki’s gaze sharpened. “He’s the most competent person in this room.”

Yamaguchi flushed but didn’t deny it.

“You two are so adorable.” Kuroo cooed like a proud father, completely ignoring the fact that he had known both of them for less than a year. 

Yamaguchi laughed bright and loud as Tsukishima looked away. Oikawa nodded seriously in agreement.

“I still can’t believe someone as pure as Yama-Chan is in love with you.” The head omega said, and Tsukishima pouted sulkily. 

“He threatened to poison me when I wouldn’t take a day off.”

“I meant it,” Yamaguchi said, smiling sweetly.

Kuroo barked a laugh and shook his head at the duo.

Oikawa checked his watch. “As much as I want to continue this lovely interaction, there are still a dozen or so more of us for you to meet.” Kuroo nodded and bid a goodbye to his friends following Oikawa out. 

By the time they reached the lower levels of the west wing, Kuroo’s pace had started to slow.

It wasn’t obvious, but Oikawa noticed. Of course he did. Kuroo’s shoulders were taut, his breaths came just a little faster, and he kept subtly shifting his weight from leg to leg. The hall they were in had a wide leather bench nestled against one wall, and without a word, Oikawa gestured toward it.

“Take five. You don’t have to act like you didn’t get chewed up and spit out a few months ago.”

Kuroo gave him a tired side-eye but didn’t argue. He sat slowly, gritting his teeth against the sharp pull in his ribs, the tightness in his still-healing skin. His black shirt clung faintly with sweat, the still healing scars underneath itching from overuse. He dragged a hand through his hair, trying not to think about how much of his body had been rebuilt.

“Most people don’t get a full tour until they’ve been cleared for fieldwork,” Oikawa said, sitting beside him and passing over a small bottle of water. “But you’re not most people. And I want the family to know your face.”

Kuroo cracked the cap open and drank. “So, I’m your new show pony?”

Oikawa smiled. “You’re going to be more than that. I already have ideas.”

Before Kuroo could ask, a door at the end of the hallway opened. 

A tall man with black curly hair strolled through the door first, he seemed relaxed, rolling a black ring between his fingers. His aura was low and steady, but his presence filled the space like a held breath. A pink haired man followed close behind with a bounce in his step and a tablet under one arm. They were chatting animatedly before locking eyes with Oikawa, their lips turning into identical cheshire grins.

“Oh, yay my chaotic duo,” Oikawa drawled, but there was fondness in his tone. “Kuroo, meet Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro. Head of the torture division and our friendliest arms dealer.” he said first pointing to the alpha then omega. 

Hanamaki grinned. “Don’t forget hacker. Cameras are my babies.”

Matsukawa’s eyes flicked down over Kuroo’s frame, lingering on the scars covering half of Kuroo’s face and trailing down his body. Not with judgment, more like… an assessment.

“I’ve read your file,” Matsukawa said. His voice was low, smooth like aged whiskey and smoke. “You’re still alive after all those wounds. That’s damn impressive.”

“I try not to make a habit of dying,” Kuroo replied easily as he observed the duo. He quickly noticed the matching mating bonds the duo sported.

Hanamaki tilted his head and let out a low whistle. “You should let us take a few photos. The scars are kind of hot.”

Matsukawa arched his brow but said nothing, one hand casually sliding across Hanamaki’s lower back as if to say: mine.

Kuroo grinned at the action, he completely understood.

Hanamaki just leaned into the alpha’s touch and whispered loudly, “We’re recently mated. He’s still territorial. It’s cute.”

Oikawa was full-on smirking now.

Kuroo chuckled under his breath. “Noted.” A shrill deep snapped everyone’s attention to Matsukawa’s phone, the alpha’s laid-back attitude quickly flipped to a profession one in a terrifyingly quick second.

“Duty calls.” he said and gestured to the phone in his hands. Oikawa bid him goodbye and good luck and the two walked off quickly.

“Well, shall we move one?” The omega asked and Kuroo gave him a small nod pushing himself off of the plush bench.

The pace Oikawa set was slower and Kuroo was thankful for the omega’s kindness. The next room pulsed with energy, even before the door opened. 

An angry looking alpha was mid-gun inspection, stripped down to a tank top and covered in faint burn marks and corded muscle. His golden eyes flicked up to the pair as they entered.

He didn’t say a word, just silently stared at them.

An omega stood a few paces away, rolling his eyes so hard at the alpha it looked painful. He had a baton in hand, some sort of high-end stun weapon.

“This is Kyoutani Kentaro. He specializes in firearms and bodyguarding. He doesn’t tend to talk much. Growls a hell of a lot though, especially if you touch his gear. I like to call him Mad dog, it makes him angry” Oikawa said as he gestured to the frowning alpha who let out a soft growl at him and then turned to the omega “This is Yahaba Shigeru, one of our combat trainers, an infiltration specialist, and proud owner of the most patience in their relationship.”

“We’re not in a relationship,” Yahaba corrected, cheeks going a little pink.

Kyoutani glanced away, jaw ticking.

“Courting,” Oikawa sing-songed and Kuroo chuckled softly at the head of Seijoh.

Yahaba shot him a dirty look.

Kuroo turned to Kyoutani, deciding to test his luck. “So how many guns do you usually carry at once?”

Kyoutani seemed intrigued by the question and finally spoke. “On or off duty?”

Kuroo grinned. “I like your style.” The alpha just huffed, but nodded his head and Kuroo took that as a win in his book.

Yahaba exhaled rubbing his temples with his free hand. “Don’t encourage him.”

Oikawa barked out a bright laugh and Yahaba glared at him but there was no heat in this look.

“They are my favorite to tease.” Oikawa told Kuroo who simply grinned back at the omega. 

The leader teased the two for a few more minutes before deciding it was time to move on to more introductions and grabbed Kuroo dragging him away from the room before he could say goodbye to the duo.

Their next stop was quieter, tucked into a corner of the tech wing. Two younger operatives were deep in conversation when they walked in. One had fluffy dark brown hair and tired eyes, the other hand spiked up black hair and leaned against a wall, tossing a small knife into the air and catching it lazily.

When the latter saw the dup he fumbled with the knife, his companion sighing as he caught the knife and pocketed it in one smooth motion. 

The spiky haired boy blushed and bowed deeply at Oikawa, “Welcome Oikawa-San.” He said and his complained sigh before giving a small bow to Oikawa who just laughed and waved his hand in the air.

“You both should know by now I don’t expect anyone in the inner family to bow to me.” He said easily and turned to Kuroo pointing to the black-haired boy.

“This is Kindaichi Yutaro. He’s one of my hackers, he specializes in intel gathering and surveillance systems.” He said and Kindaichi gave an eager greeting to Kuroo and Oikawa moved on to the other boy, “This is Kunimi Akira. He’s one of my most trusted drug dealers and pretty damn good at infiltration.” he explains.

“I also make poisons for our assassins.” He says and Kuroo nods, a little surprised. He definitely hadn’t thought this innocent looking omega was a poison maker, but he shook that off and waved.

“Hello, I’m Kuroo. It’s nice to meet you.” Oikawa grinned next to him and stage whispered.

“They’re also courting. It’s cute, my youngest little babies in the inner family are in love.” He said acting like an emotional mother earning an eye roll from Kunimi and a red faced Kindaichi. Kuroo chuckled at the duo.

They reminded him a bit of how he and Kenma were when they first got together. 

They had been friends since they met but Kuroo couldn’t help getting flustered every time people talked about them together. Kenma often rolled his eyes and just held Kuroo’s hand, reminding the alpha that he had asked Kenma out and thus shouldn't be this shy.

“I like the knife work,” Kuroo said, nodding towards Kindaichi as he tried to redirect his thoughts to the conversation.

Kindaichi blushed again and stuttered out a thank you, probably embarrassed because he had fumbled the knife when they’d entered. Kunimi patted Kindaichi’s back and the alpha looked at him and smiled softly. 

Kuroo leaned slightly against the wall as he watched the sweet interaction. He glanced over and saw Oikawa smiling gently at the pair. They weren’t pups by any means, but Oikawa seemed to treat them like they were.

Kuroo and Oikawa shared a look and quietly snuck out of the room leaving the two to their soft moment.

Just as they reached the next floor, Iwaizumi’s voice came over Oikawa’s earpiece; short, clipped, and full of quiet annoyance.

“You’re late.”

Oikawa groaned like he’d just been sentenced to death.

“Fuck I forgot I had a meeting” he whined, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Why does my mate hate me?”

Kuroo raised a brow. “Maybe because you make him do most of your paperwork.”

Oikawa gasped. “I do not . I’ll have you know Iwa-Chan kindly offers to help me because he knows how busy I am” He squawks indignity and Kuroo cackles at his friend. 

The comm buzzed again. “You’re still talking. Get your ass over here.”

“Iwa-Chan is so bossy,” Oikawa pouted, dragging his feet toward the elevators. “I’ll have Bo-Chan finish the tour. Don’t let him wander off, he gets distracted.”

“He isn’t a puppy,” Kuroo said, and Oikawa laughed as he stepped into the elevator and bid Kuroo goodbye as the doors closed.

Kuroo rolled his eyes and sat down in a little nook window waiting for his energetic friend to show up. 

Bokuto appeared a minute later, practically bursting through the doors with his usual chaotic energy.

“Kuroo!!” he shouted, throwing both arms wide. “I was waiting for my part!”

Kuroo couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. “You didn’t know I was getting a tour until now.”

Bokuto gasped, hand to chest. “I felt it in my soul.” he said proudly, making Kuroo snort at the certainty in his friend voice. 

The loud alpha grinned and threw an arm around Kuroo’s shoulders, guiding him down the hall with a swagger in his step.

Kuroo had learned from months of interaction with Bokuto that he was a combat unit regular, a specialist in knives and close-range weapons. A living battering ram with a heart too big for his body. And somewhere between training sessions and late-night recovery talks, he’d become Kuroo’s closest confidant.

He was just too positive to dislike, and he didn’t pity Kuroo when he saw him struggling to relearn simple tasks. Instead, the alpha was his giddy cheerleader, encouraging him on the days Kuroo wanted to give up. He was incredibly grateful for Bokuto.

“Alright! Time to meet the rest of the misfits,” Bokuto said with a bright grin. 

The large oak door opened to reveal an omega in a black tank top, scars ran down every inch of exposed skin, disappearing under his clothes. He was seated on a shooting bench, polishing a sniper rifle that looked like it could tear through steel. He looked cool and collected, until his stormy gray eyes landed on Kuroo.

“Well, hey,” The gray-haired omega said with a crooked grin. “So, you’re the infamous new recruit.”

Kuroo leaned against the doorframe and felt something cocky rising in his chest. The man just seemed to instantly bring out the competitive side of Kuroo. “Depends. Are you a fan of infamous?”

He smirked. “Only if it comes with interesting scars.” Kuroo smirked back, they were both heavily scarred, though Kuroo definitely won the round of most scared due to the burn scar that covered half of his body.

Bokuto rolled his golden eyes at his friends. “This is Miya Osamu. He’s the head of the sniper unit, combat specialist, and our best cook. He’s flirty, just part of his personality, but I’d trust him with my life.”

Kuroo’s grin sharpened. “I like him already.”

Osamu winked with a laugh. “You’ve got good taste.”

The door subpoenaed behind them and an omega identical to Osamu came in through the door. The only differences were the scars and hair color. 

The newcomer had scars, but they seemed mostly contained to his left arm, whereas Osamu’s were all over his body. 

The omega had walked in looking at a dagger in his hands, “Hey ‘Samu, do you have my sharpener?” The omega paused when he noticed the newcomers and flipped the blade between fingers before strutting over.

“Well, well,” He purred. “So, is this the alpha Kawa saved? I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Kuroo blinked in confusion. “You’ve heard about me?”

He grinned. “’Course. Word travels. You’re all over the grapevine. Survivor, ghost, pretty boy with a tragic past. Very my type. I’m Miya Atsumu, by the way.” He said with a wink.

Bokuto and Osamu barked a laugh. “Sorry about my brother, he likes pretty alphas.” Osamu said and Bokuto spoke up beside him.

“He’s worse when Kawa’s not here to roast him.”

“I’m very roastable,” Atsumu agreed shamelessly. Then to Kuroo, “So, d’you spar?”

Kuroo grins. “Not cleared for training yet, but I’d love to fight you when I’m in tiptop shape.”

“Oooh, I like him,” Atsumu said, and put his hand on Kuroo, trailing a finger along Kuroo’s shoulder. “Bet you look even better under pressure.”

Kuroo grabs Atsumu’s wrist, eyes cooled a fraction. “I’m taken.” he says voice cold.

Atsumu blinked in surprise, then pouted. “Aw. The tragic soulmate kind?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo said quietly. 

A beat. Then Atsumu nodded. “Fair enough. I respect loyalty.” He said backing off instantly and Bokuto steps in finally speaking up.

“Anyways, this is Atsumu. As you can see him and Osamu are twins so just use their given names or you could call them ‘Sumu and ‘Samu, we all do.” He explains, and the twins nod in agreement. “Atsu here is one of our combat specialists, he focuses on hand-to-hand combat and bladed weapons.” he said and Atsumu reaches his hand out which Kuroo takes and gives a firm shake to.

“I’m also a trainer, welcome to the family.” he said, all flirty undertones completely gone and Kuroo is thankful for that. 

Kuroo is a flirty person, he loves flirting with his friends, but he hates when people are serious. His heart was solely Kenma’s, and he dealt with his fair share of people pushing his boundaries.

After the introductions Bokuto quickly steered them toward their final stop, a low-lit room full of weapons crates and computer terminals.

Inside, a tall alpha, who exuded power and control stood going over rifle specs. Beside him, a silver-haired omega tapped away on a sleek keyboard.

Bokuto respectfully wrapped his knuckles on the door drawing the duo's attention to them.

“Aran. Kita. Meet Kuroo,” Bokuto said in respectful greeting. “He’s a new part of the family. Kawa wanted me to tell you not to scare him off.”

Kita gave him a soft chuckle as he looked at Kuroo, giving him a polite nod. “Welcome.” he said but Kuroo could feel those golden eyes analyzing every inch of him, it was a bit unsettling.

Aran offered Kuroo a firm handshake. “Hello Kuroo, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Aran Ojiro. Arms dealer and part of the sniper unit. I hear you had a hell of a recovery.”

“I did, but it’s worth it,” Kuroo replied, and Aran smiled at his answer. Aran moved gently to the side letting Kita forward.

Kita’s lips quirked up just slightly as he looked at Aran and then back to Kuroo. “Hello Kuroo, I’m Kita Shinsuke, I’m the head of the clean-up crew, but I also help the medical and hacker crews.”

Kuroo remembered Oikawa’s words about the clean-up crew, “So you clean up everyone’s messes?”

“I do,” Kita confirms mildly, his eyes were so sharp that Kuroo was afraid of getting cut.

Bokuto leaned in and whispered, “They’re both terrifying. But like, in a way that makes you feel safe and happy they’re on our side.” he said, and Aran chuckled, clearly hearing Bokuto’s not so quiet whisper.

Kuroo huffed a laugh. “Good to know.”

They bid the pair goodbye and Bokuto informed him that Kita and Aran were mates, but they were pretty discreet about it. They began walking back to Kuroo’s room and Kuroo was internally thanking the heavens because his body was on fire.

It was easy to ignore the pain when he was distracted with introductions, but now as they walked back Kuroo could feel his body protest with the extra exertion and strain he’d put it under today.

Bokuto clapped a hand on Kuroo’s back, well more like on his left shoulder, because he was avoiding the large burn scars that were still tender.

“How’s it feel?” Bokuto asked and Kuroo glanced down the corridor where his new world waited.

“Overwhelming,” he admitted. “But… good.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto grinned. “It’s messy and loud and a little morally gray, but it’s home.”

Kuroo smiled to himself and nodded, “Yeah, I think I can get used to this place.” he said and Bokuto’s smile widened at his friend's words. 

Kuroo was thankful when his door came into view, and he quickly bid Bokuto a good night and stepped in the room.

The room was too quiet when the door clicked shut behind him.

Kuroo stood for a moment, eyes scanning the space again, even though he’d already seen it earlier, it still looked wrong. The plush bedding, the balcony view, the fancy bathroom, it was all too pristine. He was used to a messy comfortable home; this didn’t really feel like home.

Then again Kuroo doubts it would ever feel like home. Not until he finds Kenma. 

With Kenma this could truly become his home, they could pick out new designs for everything and Kuroo could keep him safe.

He shrugged off his jacket, his movements slower now that no one was watching. Every muscle in his body screamed from walking too much, from holding himself like he wasn’t still healing. He sank onto the edge of the bed and let out a quiet, exhausted breath, eyes falling to the plush floor. 

He really wished he had something of his old home. But it had all burnt down in the fire and there was no point in whining over it.

Still… It would be nice if he had something to hold onto. 

Kuroo frowned and laid down, not bothering to change his clothes as he looked up at the beige ceiling, he brought his hand up to his left scent gland gently pressing on the mating bite there. 

“I miss you.” He said into the darkness, his voice tight with an emotion Kuroo didn’t want to acknowledge. “I miss you so much. I’ll find you, My Aster.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he couldn’t help but curl in on himself slowly. He gripped one of the pillows trying to pretend it was Kenma. The ceiling blurred above him, and he pressed the pillow to his chest like it might keep the ache from spilling over.

“I miss you,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. “I promise. I promise I will fix this.” he said trying to remember when Kenma smelt like, what he felt like, how his voice sounded. All the damage to his body had stripped him of those details.

His breath hitched as he tried not to focus on the fact he was so broken.

“I thought I died, Kenma. Maybe, that would have been easier.” he said, voice hoarse as he gave in and let tears fall from his undamaged eye. “I’m so broken, what if you can’t love me?” he asks to the darkness

The pillow was wet now, soaked quietly with tears Kuroo refused to shed in front of anyone else. Not Iwaizumi, not Bokuto, not even Oikawa, who saw too much already.

But now, in this quiet room filled with comfort he didn’t feel worthy of, Kuroo let it unravel.

“I don’t know if I deserve your love anymore.” He murmured, heart cracking, “I’m so sorry Kenma.”

Kuroo lay there in silence, the pillow pressed tight to his chest, the stars outside watching quietly over the broken boy who still loved like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was my longest one yet at over 7,000 words.

I will let you know that it is a character choice that I don't write about Kuroo's thoughts on Kenma and how much he misses him. Kuroo is pretty fucked up after the incident, but he likes to pretend he's fine until he can't. I liked having a dichotomy between Kenma who can't stop spiraling and Kuroo who won't allow himself to think. As the chapters continue you will see more from Kuroo's mind, but it will be different than how I write Kenma's mindset.

Anyways! A little update, my audition for Jesus Christ Superstar and Silent Sky is tonight wish me luck!!

Just so you all know, I adore your comments I am so happy when I read them, they really make my day.

Alrigthy!! I'll see you all on Wednesday and I hope you have a great rest of your day <3

Chapter 25: Fight

Summary:

Kuroo finally gets to train under Iwaizumi

A year.

Twelve months since Kuroo had woken up in a strange bed in a strange place, his body so broken he could barely breathe without a machine helping him. Twelve months of ringing in his right ear, of scorching pain on the right side of his body where skin had once been smooth. Twelve months of therapy of pain so constant it became background noise. Of learning how to stand again, walk again, move again; without tearing the fragile, grafted skin that mapped the fire’s aftermath.

His left leg still throbbed faintly, especially when the weather shifted. His back pulled tight every morning from the spinal bruising and the cracked vertebrae that had nearly paralyzed him. And the burns… the burns never stopped reminding him they existed. They itched when healing, burned when stretching, screamed during the cold. The skin grafts had taken, but imperfectly. His right side was an uneven terrain of scarred flesh and surgical precision.

The alpha had worked hard to mend himself. It infuriated him to no degree that he wasn’t able to look for Kenma. Oikawa had yelled at him more than once about trying to push himself when he didn’t even have the proper training to go into the field yet.

That had caused a lot of arguments between them, often resulting in Kuroo storming off to the physical therapy room and pestering Yamaguchi to clear him for training.

The omega never did, always citing the fact Kuroo wasn’t entirely healed up and could cause serious damage to his already fragile body. Which was ridiculous.

It should be his own choice if he wants to destroy his body. Alas, Yamaguchi was too smart for any of Kuroo's arguments, and when Kuroo decided to try and ignore the medical advice he’d just call Bokuto or Tsukishima to muscle him back into bed.

Kuroo was at a punching bag, working through the pain that shot through his hands and muscles when they struck the bag. While his skin was technically healed up, it was still fairly sensitive to blunt force, but still, Kuroo was working through the pain until it was just a dull ache in his mind.

The alpha was so focused on breathing through the twinges of pain he hadn’t noticed the medic entering the room until he spoke.

“You’re cleared to begin training with Iwaizumi.”

Yamaguchi stood across the room from him, clipboard in hand, a faint but genuine smile on his face. Kuroo’s head snapped up to look at the omega, instantly forgetting about the punching bag in front of him. Yamaguchi smiled at him, fond, mixed with a bit of exasperation.

“Just don’t push it too hard at first. You know what’s still fragile,” he warned, his hazel eyes boring into Kuroo’s golden ones.

Kuroo gave a short nod, flexing the fingers of his right hand. They responded stiffly, always a bit slower on that side. He’d been working for this moment. He needed it. Every stretch, every movement, every scream bitten into his pillow at night when the phantom pain bit into his burn-scarred side, it had all been for this.

Kuroo’s voice was steady when he responded. “Thank you.”

Yamaguchi gave him another smile. “I’d say take it easy at first, but I know you. So, just come to me immediately if something goes wrong, even if it’s just something small, okay?”

Kuroo exhaled through his nose, he had instantly wanted to deny or make a smart remark back, but he didn’t. Instead, he dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“You can start tomorrow, I already briefed Iwaizumi-San, so he’ll be waiting for you bright and early in the training room.” Yamaguchi explained, “Oikawa-San also put some gear in your room after I told them.” Kuroo nodded again and Yamaguchi smiled and walked towards Kuroo wrapping him in a warm hug. Kuroo responded instantly, hugging the omega back.

After spending so much time together they had grown much closer and Kuroo couldn’t help but think of Yamaguchi as the younger sibling he’d never had. The alpha had always been a touchy person and having someone who was equally as reliant on physical affection had been a relief. They pulled back and Yamaguchi looked up at the alpha.

“I’m so proud of you.” Kuroo smiled back at him murmuring his thanks before Yamaguchi had to leave to check on his newer patients. 

Kuroo watched his friend leave, his right eye felt dry as he blinked, he’d need to wear the special contact Yamaguchi had made for him before meeting Iwaizumi. 

He allowed himself the moment of pride. 

Kuroo had trained his body back into something functional. And now, he would train it into something lethal .

 

---

 

The alarm went off like a shot at 5:00 a.m., splitting through the quiet like a blade.
 

Kuroo grunted, one arm flinging across the bed to slap blindly at the source of the noise. His body protested even that small motion, muscles stiff, skin tight where the grafts met whole flesh, an uncomfortable reminder that healing wasn’t linear. He let out a breath and sat up slowly, blinking against the pitch-black darkness of his room. 

Kuroo groaned as he rolled over and flicked his lamp on, illuminating the room in warm orange light.

The chill in the room met the exposed skin of his back and shoulders, and he shivered. Not from the cold but from the stretch.

Mornings were always the worst.

Kuroo shifted his legs over the side of the bed and braced himself, fingers digging into the mattress as he moved with deliberate care. He rolled his shoulders, already feeling the pull along the scarred flesh of his right side. The skin there didn’t flex the same way. It resisted. Fought. He reached overhead, stretching until his ribs ached and the familiar tug-and-burn sensation rippled through the grafts. He tilted to each side, rotating his neck, loosening the rigid lines that sleep had stitched into his frame.

Each motion was a battle.

Each breath, a small victory.

He spent ten minutes going through the motions Yamaguchi had drilled into him; slow stretches, controlled movements, breath-matching flexes to retrain muscle and protect scar tissue. The routine hurt. But without it, he could kiss moving around goodbye.

Once his body had begun to remember how to move, he rose and crossed the room to the gear folded neatly on the bench. Lightweight, reinforced with breathable mesh and padded in places that wouldn’t irritate the grafted skin; Iwaizumi had chosen well.

Kuroo stripped off his sleep shirt and pulled on the compression top first. The snug fabric helped hold everything in place. He paused only briefly before picking up the brace for his right leg, snapping it on below the knee. It wouldn't be forever, but for now, it gave him support when the nerves in the burn-affected muscle spasmed without warning.

Kuroo padded to the bathroom, snorting at the excessive decor Oikawa had refused to let him get rid of. He bent down splashing his face with water and brushing his teeth.

He’d always been a morning person, but this was ridiculous. Training at six a.m. was no joke. 

Kuroo spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth reaching for the training armor Oikawa had brought.

It was lightweight and flexible, reinforced with materials designed not to irritate the grafted skin. He strapped on his hearing aid, fitting it behind his damaged ear. adjusting the curve until the small click told him it had powered on. A soft static hum filled his right ear; grainy, imperfect, but better than silence. The burned outer ear was twisted and uneven, the cartilage warped by flame, but the device nestled securely behind it.

Next came the pants, boots, and lightweight gloves. The gear was built for speed and efficiency, not bulk. No excess armor. Nothing flashy. He wasn’t a weapon yet, just the training project.

Kuroo took a breath and looked at himself in the mirror; at the body he’d had to relearn.

The man who stared back was both familiar and strange.

Same sharp golden eyes, though the right was hidden behind a special contact now, a slightly different color than the left.

Same messy hair, but sprouting white hairs on the right, contrasting drastically with his black locks. Yamaguchi had explained hair can turn white after trauma to an area, it was disheartening to hear it would never go back to fully black.

The omega had offered to dye it for him, but there was no point. It would come back again and again; he might as well accept it.

His eyes flickered away from his hair and to his angular jaw. It was the more or less the same, a bit sharper from the constant exercise in physical therapy, no more trace of baby fat.

But his face, his face , was changed. It was barely recognized anymore. His right cheek was a map of scarred skin. Skin that had been seared away and replaced a stark contrast to the unblemished side. The grafted skin shone faintly in the light; a warped texture stretched over bone. He didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

Kenma would still know him. He had to.

Kuroo pressed a hand over the faint thrum of the bite mark on his neck; the bond he knew still connected them, even now. That pain was the only part of him that hadn’t dulled with time. That and the memory of gold eyes and soft smiles.

Kenma. Still alive. Still out there. Still waiting.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered.

There was no answer. But he hadn’t expected one.

Kuroo forced himself to look away from the mirror and grabbed his jacket, turning to the door and walking through the silent halls into the training room.

It felt so weird to walk down the silent halls that were normally filled with noise and laughter, but to be fair almost everyone here was a night owl, the only early birds had been him, Iwaizumi, and Yamaguchi. 

Kuroo turned the corner and shivered, pulling his jacket around his body tighter. The training room was always cold in the early hours. Oikawa laughed at him when asked about the drastic temperature change. After his giggles subsided the leader explained that when you train as hard as they do you work up quite the sweat and it isn’t very productive if people pass out from heat stroke.

Kuroo took in a deep breath, he’d long since accepted the sad fact he couldn’t smell anymore, however, that didn’t stop the disappointment Kuroo felt when he couldn’t catch even the faintest whiff of anything.

The hum of fluorescent lights echoed overhead, the faint buzz picked up by Kuroo’s hearing aid.

Iwaizumi was already there.

Sweat clung to his arms and jaw as he worked the punching bag, movements sharp and controlled. No wasted effort. No missteps. Just practiced precision.

Kuroo watched him for a moment, then stepped further into the room.

The sound of the bag hitting the ceiling chain slowed. Iwaizumi glanced over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable as always, but there was a flicker of something in his deep green eyes, approval, maybe.

“You ready?” the alpha asked, voice low.

Kuroo gave a single nod.

“Then we start now. Strip down to the undershirt.”

Kuroo obeyed without a word, tugging off the top layer of his uniform, leaving only the snug black compression shirt beneath. The lines of his body were stark under the thin fabric, muscles still lean, but harder now. He was recovering. Rebuilding.

The right side of his torso, even beneath the tight shirt, was clearly damaged. The texture of the skin was uneven, almost shiny in places, as if heat still clung to it. The scars were a map of pain and survival.

But Iwaizumi didn’t react to it. Didn’t wince. Didn’t comment. He didn’t offer comfort or sympathy. He wasn’t here for that.

He tossed a blindfold to Kuroo. “Put it on.”

Kuroo stared at it. “You’re not going to show me the basics first?”

“You will learn the basics. The hard way.” Iwaizumi stepped forward, entering the mat. “You want to survive with limited vision and sound? You train like someone who has nothing.”

Kuroo took a breath. The kind of breath that came before a jump off a cliff.

He tied the blindfold around his eyes.

Darkness fell instantly. Complete. No light. No shapes. Just the sound of his breath, the rush of blood in his ears, and the static murmur of his hearing aid on the right. His left ear picked up the faintest footstep on the mat, rubber on foam. Barely audible.

Then nothing.

The silence stretched.

And then a loud whip sound cracked through the air as a stinging rap landed across his left shoulder blade. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make his back arch in surprise.

“Don’t wait for me to move,” Iwaizumi said, voice coming from Kuroo’s right now. Or was it behind? “Learn the air. Learn how it changes.”

Kuroo clenched his jaw.

Another sharp strike hit him, this time the staff jabbed at the back of his left thigh. The alpha turned, reaching, but too was much too slow.

“Your balance is garbage.” Iwaizumi said, his voice suddenly in front of Kuroo.

“I can’t see anything.” Kuroo shot back and Iwaizumi huffed.

“You don’t need to.”

The third hit came faster; just a whisper of wind on his left cheek before it connected with his side. His ribs tensed too late. Pain bloomed sharply through scar tissue, and he hissed.

“Again,” Iwaizumi said, voice commanding, it made Kuroo’s alpha instincts bristle, not wanting to follow orders, but he shoved it down trying to restrain the response. “Find me.”

Kuroo spread his stance, his breathing became shallow as he tried to listen. Tried to feel with more than his eyes or ears. Air pressure. Footfalls. Movement. He let the hearing aid filter the white noise and tried to pick apart anything different.

There, a shift. A slight creak of weight near the floor.

Kuroo turned and ducked quickly.

He heard a whoosh of air as the staff passed over his head, missing him by inches.

He lunged forward blindly, hand outstretched and caught fabric.

Iwaizumi grunted and shoved him back.

“Better,” he said. “But you’re thinking like a sighted fighter. Stop reaching for what you used to rely on.”

Kuroo stood again, panting lightly, chest rising and falling. He focused. Tried to mute the frustration. Sweat beaded down the left side of his face. The right side itched under the blindfold, where the skin was thinner, overly sensitive.

He adjusted his stance. Lower. More stable. The way he’d seen Iwaizumi practice whenever he’d sit in as an observer when he hadn’t been cleared for training.

The next strike came low, too low.

Kuroo sidestepped, but not fast enough, the crack rang out, the staff clipped his ankle, nearly toppling him as he let out a string of curses.

“You hesitated . You waited for confirmation. Out there in the field, if you hesitate, you die.” Iwaizumi growled out from his side.

The next blow came without warning. No footstep. No air shift. But this time, Kuroo moved. Allowing instinct, pure reaction, to pull his torso to the side. The staff grazed past his ribs instead of slamming into them and Kuroo reached forward blindly, catching the shaft of the staff.

His grip locked around the wooden pole, and he twisted quickly, jerking the staff out of Iwaizumi’s hands.

Silence followed the action and Kuroo was about to apologize when he heard a low chuckle from in front of him.

“Good job.” he praised, and even without sight Kuroo could hear the bits of pride, “You’re a fast learner.”

Kuroo pulled off the blindfold, breath ragged, hair clinging to his face with sweat. His left eye was slightly bloodshot. The alphas body trembled with exertion, but he couldn’t help the wide grin that split his face.

Iwaizumi stepped forward, retrieving the staff from Kuroo as he spoke.

“You’ve got instincts. You need to start listening to them. Don’t try to stuff them down, in the line of work, good instincts are the difference between a visit to the med bay and the morgue.”

Iwaizumi straightened again as he spun the staff in his hands “Again. No blindfold this time. I want to see how fast you process visual cues. Limited vision means you need to train twice as hard . Learn how to see through shadows and shapes.”

He tossed the staff at Kuroo who caught it. Held it and felt the weight in his calloused palms and then nodded.

And just like that they began again.

This time, everything was faster.

Strike, block. Sidestep. Counter. Twist.

Kuroo tried to rely on his instincts he hadn’t ever thought he’d need. His movements were slow and sloppy. But surprisingly, they were quickly improving, like Kuroo was meant to be a fighter. 

Iwaizumi barked corrections at him like bullets:

“Keep your shoulders square!”

“Footwork tighter, don’t overextend!”

“You are leaving yourself open for attacks!”

“You drop that left elbow again and I’ll dislocate it myself.”

Kuroo obeyed.

His arms screamed.

His ribs ached.

His breathing became ragged.

But he kept going.

Because he had to .

Because if he didn’t, he would always be a broken man running from a fire that had already burned him.

If he didn’t become strong, he’d never find his mate, save him from whatever hell he must be experiencing.

Kuroo couldn’t afford to be weak anymore.

Not when the world was waiting to finish what it started.

And that’s what kept him going. As weeks passed and training grew harder and harder Kuroo refused to budge. He’d grit his teeth a push forward, no matter how bad it hurt or how much he wanted to give up.

And that dedication wasn't lost, no, he was approving by leaps and bounds.

It started with the way he moved.

No longer awkward or including unnecessary movements. No, he had become precise. Having soaked in every bit of information Iwaizumi gave him on how to minimize excess and save as much energy as possible so he could train longer, move faster.

He no longer asked questions during training. He absorbed commands like steel soaking in heat; silent, burning, and pliant only until the moment he struck.

And he’d strike fast.

Iwaizumi had realized quickly that Kuroo had enough speed and strength to deliver punishing blows if he could control it, so he drilled Kuroo into the ground. Training with not only him but also other senior members in the syndicate. And when he wasn’t sparring Kuroo was made to strike punching bags, over and over until he’d fine tuned each strike.

His feet landed without sound. His balance, once a thing he had to consciously correct, was second nature now. The blindfold hadn’t returned in weeks, but he trained like he was still wearing it, turning his head to catch air shifts with the fine-tuned sensitivity of his right side. He trusted motion in shadows more than clarity. His remaining hearing wasn't just sharper, it was honed to pick up on throat clears, subtle breaths, the shuffle of movement behind padded mats.

And the staff in his hand? It no longer trembled.

He spun it like an extension of his arm, controlling the weight with finesse and intention, not rage. Each move was deliberate, a kill pattern in disguise.

As a month of training came to a close Iwaizumi was sparring him again. Only now, Kuroo no longer hesitated. He parried faster. Anticipated more. His expression steeled, never letting his intentions spill through.

He fought with the kind of silence that sometimes unnerved even Iwaizumi.

And suddenly Kuroo moved too fast for the eye to follow.

He ducked low, feinted a sweep, and slammed the tip of his staff under Iwaizumi’s chin with a force that would’ve knocked most fighters off balance.

Iwaizumi easily caught himself using the momentum of Kuroo’s strike to kick his leg up and over hitting Kuroo in the chest, making the other grunt and stumble back slightly as Iwaizumi had time to right himself.

The green eyed alpha grinned wildly as he rubbed his chin, “That was a harsh move.” he said, humor in his tone and Kuroo grinned back as he shook himself out.

“Want to go again?” Kuroo asked, voice full of mirth even as he panted. 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi said, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before getting into a balanced position. “Come at me rookie.”

“I think I’m a bit better than a rookie,” Kuroo replied, mirroring his stance. Iwaizumi barked out a laugh as they both tensed ready to lunge.

But as Kuroo raised his weapon, something changed.

A flicker. Just a blink. Then his right side seized.

His breath caught as pain shot through his body, agony ripping through his frame. The staff dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter as Kuroo gripped the ride side of his chest where the phantom pain was spreading.

Kuroo let out a sharp grunt of pain as he struggled to breathe.

“Kuroo.” Iwaizumi’s voice came through muffled like he was underwater.

The room dimmed in his vision. He staggered back a step, arm pressing against his side, where the burns had long since scarred over, jagged and gnarled, but still felt like they were melting him from the inside out.

“Breathe through it,” Iwaizumi said calmly, stepping closer but not touching him. “You know what this is.”

Kuroo gritted his teeth as he tried to listen to the other alpha. Of course, he logically knew what was happening . It was phantom pain. Nerve endings misfiring from the trauma. His brain misunderstanding the signals and making him relive the heat that no longer existed.

He knew it was all in his head, but that didn’t do anything to ease the pain and psychological issues that came with the territory. 

He could smell it, sometimes, smoke that wasn’t there. Could feel the crackling embers in his skin, as if the fire had returned to peel him open again.

He dropped to one knee, sweat rolling down his cheek, jaw clenched so tight his temples ached.

Kuroo took in shuddering breaths, refusing to scream, to plead for relief that wouldn’t come for another few minutes, hours, or possibly days.

Instead, Kuroo let out a deep growl, letting his canines sharpen in response to the pain as he forced himself to stand, grabbed the staff off the floor with trembling fingers.

He stood on shaky legs looking like a newborn fawn, as he gritted out, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Iwaizumi said in response, his nose scrunched up with the potent scent of burning nutmeg that was spilling from Kuroo’s scent gland. The other couldn’t smell how potent it was so there was no hope in him regulating the pheromone response.

“I will be.” He said defiantly and Iwaizumi bit back the urge to snap at his foolishness. Instead, he took a breath trying to ignore the potent pheromones and instead he focused on studying the other before giving him a quick nod.

“Pick the next weapon. Your call.” He said, the least he could do is give the alpha a distraction while he fights through the pain.

Kuroo walked to the rack. Slow. Controlled. Every step was deliberate, though his muscles still trembled from the ghost pain. His hand hovered, then closed around a training blade, it was dulled, forged specifically for hand-to-hand training, not meant to impale or slice your sparring partner.

He turned back, knife in hand, grip reversed, the hold of someone who planned to bury it deep just like Iwaizumi taught him. He looked more stable now, focused, eyes trained on Iwaizumi’s movements.

“Let’s go.”

Iwaizumi didn’t hesitate. He lunged first this time, testing Kuroo’s stance. Kuroo blocked cleanly, pivoted, and retaliated with a short strike meant to draw attention, not damage. Iwaizumi countered, but Kuroo dropped low, twisting into a sweep aimed at Iwaizumi’s leg.

This time, Iwaizumi let it hit. He rolled with the motion, landed on the mat, and Kuroo was on him in a blink, blade to throat, breath even.

“Good.” Iwaizumi’s voice was steady. “Controlled. Predictive. No waste.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed slightly, scanning for critique that didn’t come. He pulled back and offered a hand. Iwaizumi took it, hauled himself to his feet with a grunt.

Kuroo let out a small breath of relief and Iwaizumi instantly knew that the phantom pain had let up, or at the very least lessened to a more manageable ache. 

Both men couched to begin another sparring session when a voice broke them out of their concentration, “Wow.” It said, cutting through the air like a current. Both alphas turned to look at the newcomer.

Oikawa stood at the edge of the training floor, arms crossed, dressed in tactical black with a half-lidded smirk and far too much insight in his gaze. His boots didn’t make a sound as he stepped onto the mats, but the amusement on his face gave him away long before he opened his mouth again.

“You’ve been holding back,” he chattered to his mate with a teasing lilt.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the fond smile from forming on his lips. “We’re training, not murdering each other.”

“Could’ve fooled me. That sweep was nasty,” Oikawa said, stepping further in now, gaze flicking to Kuroo. “You’re a menace.”

Kuroo tilted his head, expression full of fake innocence and mirth, “Was that a compliment or a threat?”

“Definitely a compliment,” Oikawa said with a grin. “I mean it, Kuroo. I’ve been watching your files, your sparring logs, even your sensor replays. And holy shit. You’ve improved fast.”

Kuroo blinked once, his golden eyes widening as he registers the compliment from their leader. “Thanks.”

Oikawa’s smile softened slightly, something thoughtful flashing behind his eyes. “No, really. I don’t say it often. But what you’re doing? It’s damn impressive. You don’t fight like someone who has been on death's door. It looks almost second nature to you.” He praises and steps in front of the alpha.

“And that’s what makes you pretty damn dangerous.” Oikawa adds grinning at Kuroo who just stares at him, confused as to where this conversation was going.

“I’ve been thinking,” Oikawa continued, allowing his grin to soften into a gentler smile. “You’re not just some front-line fighter. You’re built for more than that.”

Kuroo quirked a brow at him as he put away the staff, “You lost me Kawa.” He says and the omega lets out a huff of laughter and glances at Iwaizumi with the kind of look that spoke of weeks of shared decisions and strategy whispered between mission hours.

“I want you for multiple divisions,” Oikawa said, eyes back on Kuroo. “Combat Specialist, first and foremost, but I'd also like to train you in the strategy unit. And eventually? Intel-gathering and wet work.”

Kuroo frowned slightly, a bit confused and Iwaizumi answered his questions, “Assassination, wet work is a… industry term.” He explains and Kuroo nods to himself.

 “That’s…a lot.” He says, face scrunched in concentration. 

“You can handle it,” Iwaizumi adds, voice steady. “Tooru doesn’t say this lightly, we discussed everything in detail and we both think you have the potential to be our very own jack of all trades.”

Oikawa nodded in confirmation. “You’re not just good with your hands, Kuroo. You’re smart. You see the whole field. You adapt mid-fight, you use space well, and your recall is near-perfect. That kind of mind, paired with this kind of drive? That’s rare to see in a new recruit.”

Kuroo looked between them, caught somewhere between disbelief and caution.

“You’re saying you want me to become…” He trailed off.

“A multi-specialist,” Oikawa finished. “Someone who can walk into a room and do whatever needs to be done. Fight. Kill. Disarm. Steal. Vanish. Coordinate. Execute.” He stepped closer to the alpha, making eye contact to show his sincerity, “I’m not offering this out of pity. I don’t recruit ghosts. I want you, because you’re dangerous, loyal, brilliant, and because you’ve turned all that pain into purpose.”

Kuroo’s throat bobbed once, breath trembling.

He looked at Iwaizumi; unwavering, solid as stone and the alpha gave a single, nod.

“You’ve got my respect, Kuroo,” Iwaizumi said. “You’ve earned it.”

The words hit harder than expected. Not like a blow, but like the sound of a door unlocking inside him. One that had stayed shut since the fire. Since he’d died and clawed his way back into a world that didn’t seem to want him.

Oikawa was still standing in front of him. Not lofty on some pedestal, not barking orders from above, but close. Steady. Waiting.

And Kuroo knew what this was.

This wasn’t some cruel order, it was a hand, outstretched to help him.

So, he stepped forward.

Every part of him ached, from old wounds, from fresh sparring, from the phantom blaze that still flared beneath his ribs. But he didn’t falter. He moved like a blade unsheathed: slow, deliberate, honed.

He made his way in front of Oikawa, the omega who had found and saved him, who had given him hope and friendship, and dropped to one knee.

For a brief movement Kuroo looked up at the man’s light brown eyes. He looked surprised, even a bit confused but Kuroo didn’t break his gaze. It felt like the room shifted, like it was holding its breath preparing for Kuroo’s words.

Finally, he bowed his head, voice low but confident, not a tremble in sight.

“I swear it,” he said. “Not as a soldier. Not as a ghost. As a man who was saved by your hand. Who you pulled from fire and loss, to dedicate myself to the hands that pulled me from the ash.”

His hands curled into fists as he looked up at the stunned omega and he continued.

“I give myself to Seijoh, not just to fight, but to become what you need. A weapon. A shadow. A reckoning. You’ve given me purpose when the world left me for dead. You gave me a place when I had none. So, I’ll shape myself into the nightmare our enemies pray never arrives. I will become an enforcer of your worldview, I pledge my allegiance to Seijoh, I pledge my allegiance to Oikawa Tooru.” Kuroo finished and Oikawa inhaled, sharp and quiet, like the words struck something deeper than pride. 

He took a step forward, and without ceremony, without performance, he reached out and placed a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder.

“You’re ours now,” he said softly. “And we protect what’s ours.”

Kuroo stood tall, and he felt different.

“I’m ready for whatever you may throw my way,” he said, bowing his head and Oikawa grinned, drawing him into a hug.

“Alright you fucking dork. I already knew you were trustworthy; you didn’t need to become a knight in shining armor.”

Kuroo chuckled as Oikawa pulled away from the hug and ruffled Kuroo hair, turning and leaving. Iwaizumi stepped up behind him.

“Don’t mind Tooru scampering off like that, he isn’t used to big displays, no matter how cocky he acts.” Kuroo nodded and looked into Iwaizumi’s green eyes that seemed to bore into his soul, “Thank you, it’s good to know if something ever happens to me, Tooru will have someone here for him.”

They stayed silent for a moment before Iwaizumi broke it again with a wicked grin, “Well you have some big goals to meet, so come on.” He said throwing a staff at Kuroo, “Let’s make them afraid of the dark.”

Kuroo smirked faintly, something dangerous curling behind his gaze as he caught the staff lowering himself into a battle stance.

“If you order, I obey.” He responds, making Iwaizumi bark out a laugh.

It felt good to belong again.

 

---

 

The hallway was dim by the time Kuroo returned to his room, fatigue weighing heavy in every step. His muscles ached from the relentless training, skin sore where old wounds still whispered reminders of the fire, but it was a good kind of pain; earned, purging, sharpening.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, the lock sliding into place like a sigh. Silence greeted him. It had become familiar, almost comforting in its constancy. He stood there for a moment, letting it wrap around him like a second skin.

It was an odd feeling, for so long, his lover and world would greet him. Quiet but always present, and no it was just… silence.

The silence made the ache for Kenma louder, that’s probably why he always spent so long in the training rooms or with the others. When the world was loud, he could allow himself to get distracted. 

He moved on instinct boots off, shirt discarded, scars catching dim light as he stepped into the shower and let the water wash away the remnants of the training mat, the blood, the sweat, and exertion.

The shower hissed to life moments later, steam billowing into the air. Kuroo stood beneath it, head tilted back, eyes locked on the ceiling as hot water carved rivulets over his scarred side. The phantom pain returned in soft pulses, just a dull reminder now, not brutal punishment.

Steam curled upward like smoke from the past, but it didn’t sting tonight. It just reminded him he was still here.

He stared upward, breath fogging around him.

“Trained with Iwaizumi again,” he said aloud, voice quiet, half-rough from exhaustion. “Didn’t fall on my ass this time. Progress.” he said half joking.

He closed his eyes. The water kept falling.

“Oikawa wants to turn me into some kind of super soldier,” he added, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I swore I would become whatever he needs.”

Silence answered him, but that was okay. He didn’t speak expecting a response.

He just needed to say it. For himself. For the bond that still pulsed faintly, telling him Kenma was alive. Somewhere.

“I like the world he’s trying to create, even if it has to be through these brutal means. Would you be disappointed in me? I’ll become a murderer, but it's to help those who are too weak, it’s to find you.” He said, almost pleading like he was trying to bargain with himself.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find you faster. It’s… hard. After taking a year to heal up, the traces of you are gone. I can’t find anything, I even had Tsukishima look into it for me, and no luck. But I swear I’m looking.” He said into the steamy shower, his hands balled up into fists. 

“I didn’t forget you today,” he murmured. “I will never forget about you, not for a second. Don’t worry, I’ll find you, I don’t care if I have to tear apart the world to do it, I will find you again Kenma.” He promised the world as he turned off the shower.

When he steps out the mirror is fogged, and the world is quiet again. He dried off, pulled on loose clothes, and fell into bed without ceremony. The soreness made it easy to settle, body dragging him down even as his mind refused to let go.

But when sleep took him, it brought a gift.

He stood in sunlight, dappled and golden. Grass swayed around him, and the soft rustle of wind filled the edges of the world. Flowers bloomed in scattered patches, soft whites and purples, yellow blossoms catching the sun. The garden.

Kuroo’s garden.

The one he’d built by hand, for Kenma. Every stone laid with care. Every plant was chosen because Kenma had once looked at it for more than a few seconds.

He lay in the middle of it, staring up at the sky, warmth soaking into his bones. For once, there was no ache. No burn. Just the world, and the memory of peace.

Then a shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes, blinking up at the stranger and there he was.

Kenma.

Illuminated with golden light, hair catching every bit of sun like threads of soft fire. His expression was gentle, familiar. That small smile that was just for Kuroo.

“Hey,” Kenma said softly, and Kuroo swore he was about to start sobbing just from the sound of that voice. 

He shot up from the grass, “Kenma.” He said, breathless as he scooped his mate up. Arms wrapping around the smaller boy’s waist, lifting him clean off the ground in one smooth motion. Kenma let out a soft laugh; breathless, delighted.

Kuroo spun him once, twice, just to hear that sound again. Just to hold him like nothing had broken. Like no fire had come. Like time hadn’t stolen them from each other.

He set Kenma down carefully, keeping his arms around him. They stood there, wrapped in one another, surrounded by soft blooms and filtered sun.

Kuroo leaned forward until their foreheads touched. His eyes fluttered shut. It was a dream, he knew it was only a dream, but he didn’t care.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered the promise to his lover and watched as his brows knit together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Kuroo didn’t answer. He just held him closer, pressing their foreheads together like he could memorize the feeling.

This was precious, most nights he’d dream about the fire or have nightmares of Kenma, trapped somewhere cruel. He’d always wake up gasping, trying to compose himself, as pain flooded his body. Being tense during sleep always meant his scars would act up.

So, he just smiled, holding the figment of his imagination a bit tighter. He’d allow himself this one night of happiness, tomorrow he’d go back to frantically searching for Kenma, but for now.

It was just him and his Aster.

How it was always supposed to be.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!

Holy shit, were a third of the way done with this fanfic!!!!

I'm sorry about this chapter being late, it has been a shit show of a week.

I'm busy with- Shrek the musical practices every night, studying for my fucking stupid finals, preparing for my callback for Jesus Christ Superstar

Oh, and one of my friends just dumped me as their friend because I wasn't paying them enough attention and she got "tired of reaching out" and said that there was no way to salvage our friendship (lmao when it was really me who was tired of reaching out, so I stopped, and she never reached out to me) (Which is crazy because when I was tired of reaching out I still thought of her as a friend because hey we all get really busy, but I guess I don't get that curtesy even though I'm triple majoring in college and she has 1 major but whatever, fuck her) I'm sorry about my rant, I'm still really fucking hurt by all of this.

Anyone wanna be friends?

That being said with everything going to shit in my life for this next week and a half my posting schedule may take a hit, I will still try to post, but the next several chapter outline will end up around 7000ish words instead of the usual 3000-4000 so please be understanding of this I appreciate it.

Anyways! I hope you all have a great rest of your day, and I'll see you when I see you <3

Chapter 26: A New Name

Summary:

Kuroo asks a question that sends a flurry of change through Seijoh.

The dull thud of bodies hitting mats echoed through the training hall, punctuated by sharp exhales and the occasional grunt of impact. Kuroo sidestepped a blow, parried with his staff, and ducked under Iwaizumi’s retaliating elbow. They moved like practiced chaos, a blur of muscle and precision, testing each other's reflexes with increasing intensity.

Iwaizumi grunted as Kuroo twisted the staff up in a feint, just enough to graze his ribs before backing off. “Better,” the head alpha says, slightly breathless. “You're not overextending anymore.”

Kuroo flashed a quick grin, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead. “I had a good teacher.”

Before Iwaizumi could throw back a snarky retort, the heavy doors to the training room creaked open with a hiss of hydraulics, and two familiar figures entered. Bokuto’s broad frame took up half the doorway, his black shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and chest. Oikawa followed close behind, arms crossed, mischief practically radiating from his smirk.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite stitched-up menace,” Oikawa drawled, eyes bright as they landed on Kuroo. A second later Bokuto called out from his position near Oikawa.

“Training without me?” He said dramatically. “Rude.”

“You hate sparring with Hajime,” Oikawa muttered, though he stepped onto the mats anyway, boots silent despite their weight. His comment earned an indignant huff from Bokuto and a loud laugh from Iwaizumi and Kuroo.

Bokuto pouted and crossed his arms over his broad chest making the omega rolls his eyes and turn back to the two other alphas.

“You’re becoming terrifying, you know. Might even give Hajime a run for his money one day.” He sing-songed as he walked closer to Iwaizumi to give him a kiss on the cheek.

The alpha paused his clean up with an annoyed expression but angled his head, so Oikawa’s lips hit their mark.

Kuroo barked a laugh, low and surprised. “High praise from the king himself.”

Oikawa grinned wide and bright before moving easily across the mat and tossing a bottle of water at Kuroo, who caught it with reflexes honed by a year of pain, sweat, and Iwaizumi’s merciless training.

“I’m serious,” Oikawa said, turning back to stand beside his mate again, who couldn't seem to stop the soft smile from falling on his lips as his hand ghosted over the small of Oikawa's back. “You’ve gotten fast. Sharp. That thing you did with the reversal and elbow hook. Beautiful. I’ve seen trained assassins take longer to learn that.” 

They had all settled into a loose circle, Bokuto sitting cross-legged on the training mats, Oikawa and Iwaizumi stayed standing and Kuroo shifted to lean against the weapons rack.  

“Speaking of assassins,” Bokuto piped up, flopping dramatically onto the mat and propping himself up on his elbows, “did you guys hear what Osamu pulled off during last night's mission?”

Oikawa perked up instantly. “No, spill. I love it when he gets all scary and efficient.”

“Tooru, you’re supposed to go through the mission reports when they get back.” Iwaizumi chided and Oikawa pouted but he continued, “But scary is right, he took out the Shinjuku arms broker without even getting spotted. One shot and boom, dead as a doornail.”

“Wasn’t it from, like… a rooftop four buildings over?” Bokuto added. “In the pouring rain too. 'Sumu said he didn’t even flinch, took the shot and they left right after.”

Kuroo let out a low whistle and shook his head, eyes distant for a second as he thought about the twins “That’s surgical.”

He had met and befriended the twins but hadn’t seen them in action yet.

“He’s a ghost,” Oikawa said, proud of his team members. “Shows up, gets rid of any of my problems, and vanishes. I swear I’ve had nightmares friendlier than Osamu in mission mode.”

Iwaizumi smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh no, it’s hot,” The omega said without missing a beat, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “Terrifying, but hot.”

“You have issues,” Iwaizumi murmured to his mate.

Kuroo had learned quickly that Oikawa and Iwaizumi were very secure in their relationship and flirting with other close members was nothing to them, in fact it was almost like a bonding exercise.

Oikawa grinned like it was a compliment. “Anyway, I’m guessing he didn’t use his name?”

“Please,” Bokuto snorted. “‘Samu never uses his real name outside of manor walls.”

Kuroo looked at Oikawa curiously and Oikawa nodded and then tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. “He has like three identities he uses outside of the compound.”

Iwaizumi nods confirming Oikawa’s words, “He uses one for assassinations, one for recon missions, and I think the other is just a random identity he can use for whatever. They have backstories and everything.

Kuroo’s grin faded into something smaller, more contemplative. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the sheen of sweat on the training mats and the faint bruises forming on Iwaizumi’s arm from earlier.

He thought about the number of times his friends had all walked into danger using nothing but their actual names, as if being skilled was enough to make them invisible. It had obviously worked up to now, but what if it didn’t next time? Osamu had a net of decoys and masks he used, not to mention skill, and that was why he was still breathing.

Kuroo leaned back against the wall, tilting his head like he was still working through the idea. “Hey,” he said suddenly, voice casual but weight behind it, “that reminds me. Why don’t we use aliases? Seems like the smart thing to do.”

Oikawa blinked. “Huh?”

Kuroo sat forward slightly, voice thoughtful. “I mean, we’re dealing with infiltration, surveillance, assassinations.” He said waving his hand in the air to emphasize his point, “We’re training to be ghosts in a digital world, right? But we’re still using our real names in everything.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened like he’d been personally struck by divine inspiration. “Oh my god. That’s brilliant . Why don’t we use aliases?!” 

“I just said that.” Kuroo deadpanned and Oikawa waved him off and looked at Iwaizumi who looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged.

“We never really thought about it, we were more focused on not dying.” Oikawa rolled his eyes at his mate and turned back to the other two alphas.

“This could change everything, we could hide everything in better codes, people wouldn’t be able to track us, and we could communicate with each other faster without having to worry about being intercepted!” He exclaimed, getting more and more excited as he spoke aloud. 

“No, like; seriously,” Oikawa rushed on, practically vibrating now. “We could give everyone codenames. It’s sexy and functional.” The sexy comment had the three men turning their heads to stare at Oikawa.

“Oh! Hajime should be called Dragon . ” He continued with a bright grin ignoring the looks from his friends and opened his mouth to say more but Iwaizumi grabbed his mate and covered his mouth.

“Breathe.” He said and Oikawa took in a breath he hadn’t realized he needed and grinned at his lover as he was released, “Okay, now why should I be called dragon?” Iwaizumi asked and Oikawa dramatically spun on his heel to look at him.

“Because you’re our fearless protector,” Oikawa cooed, reaching up to cup his face for a brief second, fingers brushing the stubble on Iwaizumi’s jaw. “And dragons are majestic and terrifying and hoard treasure, and obviously I am your treasure.”

Iwaizumi groaned and rolled his eyes, but there was a soft smile on his face. “You’re insufferable.”

“But I’m right,” Oikawa sang.

Kuroo snorted, already warming to the idea. “Dragon suits you, honestly.” He said to Iwaizumi who smiled at him. Bokuto cooed at their leaders as he leaned back on his palms.

“Aww soft ‘Kawa, you love Iwaaaaa.” He teased and Oikawa turned to glare at him, but it did little to dissuade Bokuto considering how little heat was behind it.

“So, what, you want to be called Muscle Bird?” Their omega leader asked snootily and Bokuto just grinned.

“Nope!” He said, puffing his chest with glee. “I want to be called Owl. Owls are cool. Silent hunters. Super wise. Plus,” he added with a wink, “I’ve got great night vision.”

Iwaizumi coughed to cover a laugh, and Kuroo couldn’t stop the smirk that crept onto his face.

“I mean, it suits you, except the wise part, no offense.” Kuroo said, causing Bokuto to gasp in mock offense. “Just… try not to screech in excitement every time you get a new toy.”

“I make no promises,” Bokuto grinned mischievously.

Oikawa groaned at their antics, far too used to it at this point to actually do anything about it. “Fine, Owl it is. But what about me?”

Bokuto didn’t even pause. “Demon. Or Oni . 'Cause you’re scary when you’re mad, ‘Kawa.”

A loud squawk of offense exploded from the omega. “ Excuse me?! I am the picture of elegance and grace!”

“I mean…” Kuroo said, biting down on a grin. “He’s not wrong.”

“I’ve seen you shatter a woman’s kneecap for looking at me too long,” Iwaizumi added, not unkindly as he hugged a pouting Oikawa into his side.

“Exactly,” Bokuto said, nodding along sagely. “Totally an oni.”

“I am not a demon!” He shrieked, voice going a bit high at the end and Kuroo raised his hands placatingly.

“You’re beautiful,” Kuroo said smoothly, making Oikawa relax slightly before he continued, “but terrifying. You protect your people with this… merciless precision. You destroy anyone who threatens your family. That’s very oni behavior.”

Oikawa glared at all of them but eventually sighed in defeat leaning into Iwaizumi’s side more. “Fine, I’ll be Oni . But only because I am protective. Not because I’m scary.”

“Definitely because you’re scary,” Iwaizumi murmured and then groaned as Oikawa punched him in the side.

“Kuroo is going to be called kitten.” Oikawa said with a smirk and now it was time for Kuroo to squawk in offense. 

Seriously, his boss/friend was so petty.

Bokuto and Iwaizumi laughed at Kuroo’s expense until finally Iwaizumi spoke up a bit breathless from his laughing fit. 

“What about Panther?” He asked and Kuroo blinked, rolling the name over in his mind.

“Panther?” He echoed and Oikawa hummed thoughtfully

“Sleek, silent, dangerous. And those golden eyes,” Oikawa added with a gesture to Kuroo’s face. “Come on, tell me he doesn’t look like he’s always five seconds from tearing someone’s throat out.”

Kuroo considered it, then smiled. “I’ll take it.”

Bokuto clapped his hands. “Yes! This is fun. Who else can we name?”

“Everyone,” Oikawa said, eyes glittering. “We’ll give all the inner circle code names. I’ll start scrubbing their names from everything I can reach.” He separated himself from Iwaizumi’s side giving him a goodbye kiss to the cheek and started to walk to the doors, “Tsukishima and I can scrub and overwrite digital logs, surveillance files, mission data; anything that ties back to real identities.”

“Ohhh,” he added, spinning on his heel as he pulled out his phone quickly typing to get Tsukishima over to his office, “Tsukishima should be Crow. Sharp, calculating, smarter than everyone else. And Yama-Chan…” He thought for a moment before lighting up, "Yes! Siren. That voice? He can lull anyone into believing him. He’s our best deep cover agent for a reason!”

“Damn,” Bokuto murmured to Kuroo and Iwaizumi as they watched Oikawa rush out of the room. “This is the most excited I’ve seen him all month.”

“Let him have it,” Iwaizumi said, looking at the door Oikawa had just left from with something soft in his gaze. “It’s a good idea.”

“Plus,” Kuroo said quietly, his golden eyes sharp now, “Kawa is obsessed with building a myth people fear.”

The other two alphas nod at him before Iwaizumi smirks at Bokuto.

“Come train with us.” he said, causing the man to groan loudly.

“I knew I shouldn’t have followed Kawa.” He pouted but got into a starting position making Kuroo laugh at his friend.

 

---

 

The week the inner family members chose their aliases was a celebration. Oikawa had decided that aliases weren't to be handed out lightly in Seijoh. They were a mark of trust, of loyalty sealed with blood, fire, and the kind of camaraderie that only came from surviving wars together.

Oikawa had called all of the inner family to share a meal. It had been a chaotic mess at first as everyone filtered in and passed around dishes of food. It was loud and rowdy, but everything had gone silent as Oikawa spoke.

“As you all know, we are going to be transitioning our inner members to using codenames. I have a few picked out already, but any suggestions are always welcome.” he said, voice loud and steady but not unkind. 

“I will be referred to as Oni.” That got a few chuckles from Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who Oikawa just ignored. “Hajime, Bokuto, and Kuroo decided on the name so…” He trailed off and Bokuto spoke up with a grin.

“Isn’t it fitting?!” He said, causing the table to look at him, “Beautiful, terrifying, and impossible to kill.” The alpha said it with so much certainty that everyone had to agree.

It was a traditional name, one that would whisper fear and admiration though the underground society. Not to mention how it matched the way Oikawa’s mind sliced through enemy strategy like glass through silk.

Oikawa looked a bit surprised at Bokuto’s sudden declaration and cleared his throat to gain back some control before he continued, “Hajime is going to be called Dragon. He is protective and strong; I think it fits him wonderfully.” Their leader said, looking at his mate to his right and giving him a small smile. Iwaizumi nodded at him

The moniker would be whispered from the lips of every recruit who’d trained under him. It suited the storm in his eyes, the fury he brought in battle, and the way he’d burn worlds for the man he loved. His pine forest scent curled through the air like smoke from a sleeping beast. 

Bokuto laughed when Oikawa announced he’d be called Owl, and the alpha had lifted his arms wide like wings. “Silent, swift, wise as hell?” He had boomed and the table of their inner family had all rolled their eyes. The Miya twins both made a few offhanded jokes that had Bokuto pouting, but the name was a perfect fit for him.

Not just because of how the alpha had this need to spike his hair up like a horned owl, but because owls were hunters and protectors. As much as everyone teased and taunted the alpha, no one ever doubted that he wouldn’t finish a mission. Bokuto was strong, and loyal possibly to a fault but that wasn’t a problem to the inner members.

Oikawa nodded to Iwaizumi and the alpha began to speak. Addressing Tsukishima first. “You will be Crow, you are sharp and observant, and you’re our own shadow bringing us enemy messages and data like a harbinger.” He explained and Tsukishima nodded.

“Figures,” he muttered, but Yamaguchi grinned as he caught the pride beneath the deadpan tone. Crow wasn’t a flashy name, but it was lethal. Just like him. Yamaguchi leaned into his mate's shoulder breathing in the alphas' bergamot scent. His eyes flicked up when he heard Oikawa call his name.

“Siren.” The alias surprised no one. Yamaguchi was known in the field for seductive beauty and graceful precision in the field.  He could lure anyone in and drop them before they realized they were bleeding. 

Tsukishima took his mate's hand and kissed his knuckles when he heard it and said, “Fitting.” making Yamaguchi smile as he thanked their leader for the new name.

Oikawa smiled at the younger mates; he always had a soft spot for them no matter how annoying Tsukishima was at times. To be fair, Oikawa was also annoying so he couldn’t exactly fault him for something like that, especially when he was loyal and damn near perfect at his job. 

Eventually, he turned his attention back to the rest of the table and his eyes zeroed in on Osamu. He lifted his hands and tapped his fingers on the table a few times as he thought then grinned, “Osamu, you will be called Kitsune.” He murmured and Osamu looked pleased with the name.

“Aww Kawa, I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.” He purred and leaned on the table his pomegranate scent wafting through the air as he grinned at their leader.

Kitsune, a fox spirit. Cunning, unpredictable, and devastating from afar. The name was an easy choice considering his playful and flirty nature and the quick executions he does from blocks away. 

When Oikawa told Atsumu he would be called Fox, he protested. “Samu already got the cool one!” He pouted loudly but everyone could see how he had embraced it anyway, if only to prove he could be clever and dangerous. His black currant scent swirled around his brother's pomegranate one created a sweet and tangy scent. 

Both brother’s grinned at each other, sharp and playful as they thanked their leader easily. 

Oikawa turned to Matsukawa, and squinted at him, “I haven’t pinpointed a name for you yet.” he said and Hanamaki quickly shot a hand up like they were in class.

“What about Tiger?” He asked, and Iwaizumi chuckled from Oikawa’s side.

“Well, he is slow, deliberate, and the way he can wait for hours to get the truth out of even the most closed mouths. I think it fits.” He said with a grin and Oikawa nodded in agreement.

“Tiger it is.” He said and the smell of smoked applewood drifted through the dining room as Matsukawa seemed to straighten up with pride. Hanamaki kissed his cheek and the grin that spread across Matsukawa’s face was cheeky and full of content.

“Well since Hiro named me, I think it’s only fair I return the favor.” he said and Oikawa nodded okay, “I think Eagle should be his code name. Considering he’s our eye in the sky.” He suggested.

And that was true, Hanamaki could hack an entire camera grid in under five minutes and could pinpoint a spy’s face in a ten-second blur of images. 

Oikawa grinned and nodded, “I like it.” he’d confirmed, and Makki puffed up his chest in pride, his pecan pie scent sweeting like he was gloating. Mattsun grinned and leaned into his mate kissing him in front of the inner members, making everyone groan.

“Oh, come on, we already see enough PDA from Oikawa and Iwaizumi-San.” Kyoutani said and Oikawa squawked.

“I am your leader, why does Hajime get San and not me!?” He pouted, “Bad Mad Dog-Chan.” He said and then his eyes lit up. “Mad Dog! That’s what we’ll call you!” He said and Kyoutani groaned and leaned back in his chair.

Oikawa’s nickname for him had been created because of how Kyoutani fought wildly, his honey eyes burning with a fire and passion that drove his every movement. Brute force that couldn’t easily be contained. 

Yahaba rolled his eyes at his courting partner and leaned over to run a hand over his back making the man straighten up. Oikawa snorted at the display and moved on looking Yahaba in the eyes.

“My weapons trainer and infiltration specialist.” He hummed as he looked at the other omega, “How about Snake… No, that makes you seem like a traitor.” He said and Iwaizumi nudged him, drawing the leader's attention.

“What about Serpent instead? Elegant and sharp, plus you know when to strike." He offered.

Yahaba grinned and nodded, “I like it.” He said his toasted marshmallow scent spiking with eager joy. Kyoutani leaned in murmuring something that made Yahaba laugh and nod. 

Oikawa turned his gaze to his youngest inner family members. They were his babies; he often had this motherly omega need to smother them in affection and keep them safe and sound. It was why they weren’t often sent into the field and instead did work in the safety of the compound.

“Kindaichi,” he called gently. “You’ll be Hawk.”

The young alpha blinked, stunned for a second before sitting up straighter. “Really?” Kunimi elbowed his side and Oikawa just chuckled at the now blushing alpha.

“You are focused and sharp. Always seeing what others don’t,” Oikawa confirmed. “And we all know you’ve got the loyalty of a soldier and the heart of a guardian.” He said gently and Kindaichi flushed under the attention, his sweet coffee scent showing the excitement he was trying to keep in control. 

Oikawa turned next to Kunimi and smirked, “Black Widow.” The name was given without any hesitation and got a few raised brows from the crew and Kunimi’s long-suffering sigh.

Black widow was a nickname they had given Kunimi because of the omega’s brilliant way of making poisons that could do a number of things from paralyze, to kill without leaving a trace.

On several occasions Kunimi’s poison recipes had saved many of their asses in the field, always working just how he wanted. 

“It started as a joke,” Oikawa admitted, “But I think it's safe to say that we are all glad you’re on our side.”

That elicited some chuckles and nods of agreement from the room.

“At least it’s glamorous,” Kunimi deadpanned, vanilla and hazelnut curling slyly through the air. But they all knew that Kunimi was pleased with the name, or else he would have thrown a fit. 

Kindaichi just smiled at his courting partner like he had hung the moon. Kunimi caught his eyes and flushed a bit at the stare making the older members coo at the two. Kunimi pouted and flipped them off quickly, but everyone knew he was just shy about the attention.

As the teasing began to simmer down and plates were passed around for seconds, Atsumu tapped his chopsticks against his glass. “Oi, ‘Kawa,” he grinned. “Me and ‘Samu were thinking about names for the last two, if you don’t mind.”

Oikawa raised a brow but nodded for him to continue, already amused by his close friend. 

While most people had been nervous or even scared of Aran and Kita, the twins had come to Seijoh with them. The four of them had been like a little family together, Aran and Kita would lead them, Osamu would protect them, and Atsumu would care for them. Oikawa understood their feelings and bond with each other; they had been each other’s only source of protection and comfort before Seijoh had come in and taken out the trafficking ring. 

“For Aran,” Osamu began as he grabbed an onigiri from the middle of the table, his voice smooth and sure, “Bear.”

Atsumu jumped in right after, “Big, strong, and ya know… Aran’s got that vibe. Doesn’t say much, but when he does? Everyone shuts up and listens.”

Aran chuckled quietly at the twins' antics, clearly pleased, his hickory scent mellowing into the space like a hearth fire. Kita looked over at him with the softest smile, fingers brushing against his mate's wrist.

“And we thought Kita should be called Leopard.” Atsumu said leaning into his brother’s shoulder, full of pride.

Osamu nodded, “Elegant. Controlled. Fast when he needs to be. Quiet when he doesn’t. Always watching, always thinking. You can’t catch him by surprise.”

Kita dipped his head in thanks, his white camellia scent crisp and calming, like fresh snow before a storm. “I’m honored,” he said simply with the barest hint of a smile. 

Oikawa grinned and clapped his hands together, “I think those names suit you both perfectly.” he agreed, and Iwaizumi cleared his throat from Oikawa’s side getting everyone’s attention.

“Kuroo, our newest inner member,” Iwaizumi began, voice low but unwavering as he looked over the table and then at Kuroo, “will be known as Panther.”

Kuroo smiled from his place between Bokuto and Osamu and nodded his head.

“He moves in silence,” Hajime continued. “He has shown exceptional talent when it comes to combat, as well as drive. He doesn’t fight to be seen, he fights to survive. And protect.”

The name would be whispered with reverence. A ghost, a legend, that couldn’t be killed or found. He’d become a brutal and efficient killer who would have even the cruelest of men cower at his feet. But for now, he was still learning the ropes, training to become that myth.

“Thank you.” Kuroo said with a smile as Bokuto elbowed his side playfully. 

As the meal wound down and conversations softened, the names lingered like incense in the air; etched not just into files or call signs, but into hearts.

Names given not just in blood, but in belonging.

This week of celebration would help remind them all of what they fought for. Of why they bled and bruised but kept getting back up again.

Together in their own little family.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!!

It has been much too long I'm so sorry for the disruption in my posting schedule. Finals, theater rehearsal, and move out has been stealing all my time. As a college student in the dorms, I have to move back home which has taken a lot of time because of packing, but don't fear, move out date is Saturday, so I'll be getting back to my regular schedule soon.

In order to make up for the chapters I hope to have posted 4-5 chapters by Sunday to get back on track. This is the first of the chapter so 3-4 left to go until I'm back on schedule.

I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and don't worry I am not abandoning this story promise!!!

Have a great rest of your days and I'll see you tomorrow (or late tonight who knows) <3

Chapter 27: Disappearing Act

Summary:

Kuroo has a difficult time coming to terms with some things.

The clatter of fists echoed in the air like thunder in a glass chamber.

Kuroo twisted mid-step, ducking just under Iwaizumi’s punch. The weight of the alpha’s strength shifted through the floor with every movement. Iwaizumi’s power was honed, disciplined, and brutal. But Kuroo had learned how to breathe in sync with painful strikes his mentor and friend always delivered. He danced along its edge of pain like an old lover, letting his body work at redirecting the reaction into speed and agility. 

The training mats smelled faintly of sweat and pine trees, sharp and grounding; it was a much stronger smell than Kuroo could register.

It was a miracle that after a year and a half of healing his sense of smell was starting to return. Yamaguchi had been ecstatic when Kuroo had mentioned magnolias during a checkup. Apparently, that was the omega’s scent.

His sense of smell still faded in and out, never returning for long and he could only detect strong odors, but it was something. It had made Kuroo feel more like his old self, no matter how weak it was. 

Kuroo’s shoulder ached where Iwaizumi had struck earlier, but he welcomed it.

The dull ache pulled him back into the now, out of the spiral of memories that had been getting harder and harder to suppress.

Kenma.

Golden eyes catching morning light. Fingers curled in Kuroo’s jacket. A laugh like wind through leaves. The memory burned brighter than the scars that crawled down Kuroo’s right side.

“Focus, Panther,” Iwaizumi barked, his grin slicing through the haze. “Or are you daydreaming again?”

Kuroo snorted, pivoted, and landed a light elbow tap to Iwaizumi’s ribs. “I'm flattered you think about my love life so much, Iwa.”

His mentor had known more about Kuroo’s spiraling thoughts than anyone else. Iwaizumi had given him some exercises to use when he found his mind drifting, but even those hadn’t been working for the past few months.

Oikawa had delivered the bad news apologetically. Kenma couldn’t be traced, there had been a lead, but it turned out to be a dead end and no matter how hard Oikawa searched he couldn’t find hide nor hair of Kuroo’s omega. 

He hesitantly suggested Kenma might have been picked up by traffickers, which was what caused Kuroo’s spiral in the first place. 

The thought that his lover and best friend was being sold to the scum of the earth made Kuroo’s chest burn with rage and Bokuto had taken to sparring with Kuroo as well just to let the alpha burn off his anger.

Which had long since faltered, fading into despair and guilt which had been weighing the alpha down for the past week.

Iwaizumi laughed, rich and bright, snapping Kuroo back to reality quickly. He kneed Kuroo in the chest, sending the alpha backwards. “You’re distracted.”

“You’re getting old,” Kuroo shot back with a fake persona of ease, adding in a wink for good measure, though the sting in his ribs begged to differ.

“We’re the same age asshole.” He snapped back, a feral grin on his lips as he lunged for Kuroo, who twists quickly grabbing the alpha and flipping him over his back with ease. Iwaizumi landed with a thud and groaned. “God damnit I forgot Tooru taught you that move.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat up.

They paused, breath coming hard. The room was bathed in late morning light, and for a moment, there was silence; just two alphas standing in a shaft of sun, wearing bruises like medals.

Then Iwaizumi tilted his head up to look at Kuroo, sweat slipping down his temple. “You know, Tooru and Tsukishima spent the entire damn month erasing us from the web.”

Kuroo blinked, his mind that had been fogging over again suddenly intrigued by the news. “The entire inner family?”

“Yeah. They scrubbed everything. Every name, every face, every trace. Gone.” Iwaizumi leaned back, keeping himself up with his hands as he looked into Kuroo’s golden eyes. “They even broke into other heavy hitters’ systems. Took a little victory lap through the underground net while they were at it. I think Tsukishima called it ‘digital spring cleaning’; fucking nerd.” He snorted and Kuroo chuckled, because he was pretty damn sure it was actually Oikawa who had named their little excursion that. He let out a low whistle and sat down beside Iwaizumi.

“That’s not just overkill. That’s surgical.” he muttered, Oikawa and Tsukishima had been hidden away for most of the month. Kuroo hadn’t thought much of it, except for the fact Yamaguchi was throwing a fit over it because no matter how much the omega acted like he was a kind soul above jealousy Kuroo knew better.

There was a reason he and Tsukishima worked so well, and it wasn’t because Yamaguchi was a sweetheart, no, that little shit was an utter asshole when he didn’t get what he wanted.

“Exactly,” Iwaizumi said, there was this fond grin on his lips that Kuroo had come to associate with Oikawa, and Oikawa alone. “No one’s going to be able to touch us. Not unless we let them. Now Tooru isn’t the only ghost in this family” He added with a smirk and Kuroo raised a brow at that.

“Huh?” He asked oh so eloquently and Iwaizumi looked at him quizzically until something seemed to click.

“I sometimes forget you were from a small village.” He starts and Kuroo just nods, beckoning him to continue, “Well, outside the inner family, no one knows who runs Seijoh.”

Kuroo blinked. “Wait, what?”

Iwaizumi’s smile was sharklike as he explained. “Well outsiders obviously know there's a leader in Seijoh. There are a ton of rumors about who it could be, even people speculating that the leader made a deal with the devil, which is why calling Kawa Oni is so funny to me.” He explained and Kuroo simply nodded, “But no one knows who it is. Oikawa’s name has never been uttered by anyone outside of the inner family. Not even the outer syndicate knows about him. To them, he’s just an intel handler. Pretty, harmless, simple background noise.”

“That’s...” Kuroo exhaled slowly, deeply impressed. “Damn.”

Iwaizumi tilted his head looking at the ceiling, lips twitching. “And get this. No one outside the inner family knows he’s an omega.”

Kuroo’s brows lifted. “You’re serious?”

“Dead.” Iwaizumi said, his eyes flicking to the still healing scars that lined Kuroo’s right side, the places where skin had bubbled and burned, peeled and regrown. “He keeps it locked down when he isn’t in the compound, unless he plans to kill those who find out. He uses meds, scent blockers, and suppresses his heat cycles, which I don't agree with but sometimes sacrifices need to be made.” Iwaizumi sighed and then waved his hand in the air, “If he didn’t want it, you’d never know he was an omega. It’s honestly one of the biggest aces we have up our sleeves, if we need a getaway, well Tooru is just an omega member.”

A quiet reverence filled Kuroo’s chest. Not just for the power of it, but the precision. Oikawa had made himself untouchable in a world that preyed on weakness, he’d made bigotry into invisibility, it was his greatest weapon.

“I underestimated him,” Kuroo said softly, and Iwaizumi snorted slightly, but grinned, nonetheless. 

“Everyone does. That’s his power. Everyone looks at Oikawa and sees glitter and smiles. No one knows he’s the one pulling the trigger until it’s too late.”

Kuroo exhaled, low and thoughtful.

Power didn’t always need to roar. Sometimes, it whispered and watched. Sometimes it wore silk and smiled beautifully while planning your demise. 

It made sense now, why the whole network moved like clockwork, why there was never a leak, never a misstep. He thought about the way Oikawa never hesitated when he made a move, how everyone that knew the omega, trusted him implicitly. 

Kuroo wanted to swear when his mind couldn’t help but drag him back down.

Kenma was so different from Oikawa, yet so similar.

Gentle and soft-spoken, but sharper than broken glass when pushed.

Kenma was strong in a similar way to Oikawa. He was resilient.

Gods, Kuroo hoped he was as resilient as he remembered.

Kuroo pressed a hand to the seam of his ribs, where old pain echoed like a bell. He needed to find Kenma soon, but…

Would Kenma even recognize him now? Accept him? Scarred and shaped by fire, tempered by war. What if Kenma was safe and no longer needed him?

He swallowed the ache down like glass and focused on the present.

On Seijoh, the only thing still keeping him together after all the pain and guilt. 

“Thanks for telling me,” Kuroo said at last, looking at his mentor. Iwaizumi’s green eyes were worried, but he shook it off, knowing Kuroo wouldn’t want to talk about it and instead he stood up and reached a hand down to Kuroo to help him up. Kuroo grasped the warm calloused palm like it was second nature allowing himself to be yanked upright.

“You’re one of us now.” Iwaizumi placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you’re doing good, Kuroo. Real good. And if you’d like I can let you go further in your training.” He offered and Kuroo nodded quickly.

Hajime always knew what he needed, they were much too similar for the alpha not to.

They were both fiercely loyal, protective, and relied on their alpha instincts. They had both sacrificed their well-being for their mates and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again if necessary. They both struggled to feel like they were enough, to feel like they were important. They both used training to cope with the thoughts that never seemed to shut up.

“Starting today, you will train with Bokuto and Kyoutani. Osamu will start you on firearms tomorrow, but these two…” He smirked. “They’ll rough you up first.”

As if summoned by the weight of Iwaizumi’s words, the doors to the training hall creaked open, no dramatic flair, just the quiet sound of arrival. Two alphas stepped in: one radiant like a sunrise in motion, the other all coiled storm clouds and silent warnings.

“Let’s goooo!” Bokuto shouted, already rolling his shoulders with uncontained energy. “Time to see what Panther’s got!” He grinned like a boy promised fireworks. “Been waiting’ for this!”

Kuroo grinned at his friends' excitement, they had spared many times in the past few weeks, but Bokuto didn’t seem to ever get tired of the challenge.

Besides the ball of energy Kyoutani didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His gaze swept over Kuroo like a threat, like a test, like he was deciding how deep to drive the dull blades later.

He’d never sparred with Kyoutani before, but he’d seen the alpha in action. All brute force, with enough skill to make it hurt. Mad Dog was a fitting name for how Kyoutani moved, feral and reliant almost entirely on instincts. 

Kuroo stood straighter, suppressing the flicker of adrenaline that twitched in his gut. He liked this. The challenge. The movement. The clarity it brought.

He liked feeling like a person again.

Iwaizumi clapped Kuroo on the back and grinned. “Good luck.” He said and left the room without looking back. Bastard.

Bokuto bounced on his toes. “I’ll start with hand-to-hand, and Kyo will show you how to fight with knives later,” he said, cracking his neck with a grin. 

Kyoutani growled a bit under his breath at the use of the nickname, but didn’t otherwise protest and went to the benches sitting down to watch the fight. Kuroo brought his attention back to his friend who seemed to be almost vibrating with the energy under his skin.

“Ready to get tossed like a sack of potatoes?” Bokuto chirped, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Like you could even land a hit on me,” Kuroo replied, tugging off his outer shirt and stepping barefoot on the mat. The burn-scars down his right side caught the overhead light, silver against gold-brown skin. Bokuto didn’t flinch or even react to the visual, instead he just gave Kuroo a nod and his megawatt grin as he rolled his shoulders.

Kuroo appreciated that more than he let on.

Bokuto let out a small huff and then lunged forward.

The sparring was brutal and fluid, a choreography of force and instinct. Bokuto fought like a storm; raw and unpredictable while Kuroo moved like the wind, sharp and deliberate. They clashed and countered, grunting through holds, sweat mixing with the tang of metal in the air.

The rhythm was fast, Bokuto never stopped moving, all explosive strength and split minute choices, never pausing to think. Kuroo learned quickly how to roll with him, how to dodge and block the hits that came, and how to duck just before that broad arm could slam into his jaw.

“Faster than I thought you’d be, and your guard’s tighter,”Bokuto said, breathless but pleased.

Kuroo grunted as he rolled out of a shoulder lock. “You sound surprised.”

“You were sloppy when you first got here.” He said, throwing a punch at Kuroo’s ribs.

“I was half-deaf and bleeding out, Bo.” Kuroo retorted as he redirected the hit and threw his knee up to land a blow of his own

Bokuto laughed, even as he took the hit to his arm. “So?”

There was something genuine beneath the teasing, a comfort that came only from trust earned through shared bruises and silence. Bokuto wasn’t just the guy that helped save him from his burning house. Kuroo trusted Bokuto to catch him when he fell, literally and figuratively. And Bokuto, for all his chaos, treated Kuroo like a brother he’d chosen.

“You’re not bad for a panther,” Bokuto said as they reset, chest heaving. “But I’m still an owl.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes because that made no sense, but it was Bokuto, you really couldn't expect his metaphors to be thought out. “That's the best predator-prey metaphor you’ve got?”

“Want me to get poetic about it?” He asked with a wide grin and Kuroo shook his head quickly.

“God, no.”

Bokuto laughed loudly as he clipped Kuroo with a sweep of the legs, making the alpha have to twist and roll in order to stand and launch his own attack quickly.

They fell into that familiar rhythm, sweat and laughter and grunts of pain. Bokuto sparred like he lived; loud, honest, a little reckless, but he watched Kuroo closely, adjusted his force, gave him space when the tremors in his right arm twitched too hard from old nerve damage. Not many people, especially in their line of work, were that considerate. 

Kuroo hit the mat with a grunt, breath punched from his lungs, but he was grinning even as Bokuto offered him a hand up. The two alphas were drenched in sweat, flushed and grinning like idiots, the kind of exhaustion that came with good pain and earned progress.

“That’s enough for now,” Bokuto said, shaking out his arms. “You’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“Already am,” Kuroo replied, rolling his neck with a wince, but it felt good, like the stretch after a long nap, a reminder he was still alive.

They bumped fists, a quiet kind of affirmation, and Bokuto stepped off the mat to go sit on the benches.

Kuroo took a moment alone there, standing still in the center, letting his breathing slow and the adrenaline settle in his veins. The buzz of the fight was still singing under his skin, but it wasn’t frantic. It felt like he could focus clearly, the thoughts finally quieting.

By the time it was Kyoutani’s turn, Kuroo’s knuckles were bruised and taped, muscles aching in that satisfying way only real progress brings. But there was no rest. Kyoutani was already waiting by the weapons rack, fingers testing the edge of a dulled combat knife.

The blades were blunted for training, but they were still lethal in the right hands. Kuroo rolled his shoulders again as Kyoutani circled him in silence.

Kyoutani was so different from Bokuto. All growls and bloodlust, fighting like it was a true mission. Which was a bit intimidating, but honestly Kuroo appreciated the variation in training. He’d get better faster this way.

The air was heavier now and Kyoutani kept himself low, ready to strike. There was no laughter here. No room for banter.

Just the feeling of emanating danger.

“Ready to dance, Mad Dog?” Kuroo drawled, twirling the knife easily. He was trying to look relaxed, like he didn’t care.

It was something Bokuto had taught him. If you look at ease opponents tend to let their guards down around, you. 

Kyoutani just scowled, but his eyes lit up with the challenge. And with no warning Kyoutani lunged. Kuroo blocked, barely. The scrape of blade against blade hissed through the room.

Most people would be scared, worried for their lives but Kuroo just grinned. He was in his element.

This was the world he thrived in, tension, sharp steel, and close quarters. He blocked and twisted, grunting with effort as their knives kissed with a metallic clink.

“You’re hesitating,” Kyoutani growled out, finally speaking as he locked eyes with Kuroo.

Kuroo gave a sly grin, he wouldn’t be able to beat Kyoutani with raw talent, he was nowhere near trained enough for that. But if he could fuck with the alpha enough, he'd have a chance.

“Just savoring the moment.” He replied easily and grinned sharp and calculating, “You’re so serious. Are you tired? Is this because I saw Yahaba slip into your room last night?”

Kyoutani’s entire body jolted. Bingo.

“What—!?” He shouted and Kuroo lunged quickly.

His blade sliced through the air and tapped Kyoutani’s side, a kill shot.

“Point to me.” He said with a grin and Kyoutani glared at him.

“You little shit,” He snapped, but there was no heat in it.

Kuroo chuckled, bouncing back into stance. “You left the door cracked open. It was either Yahaba or a very polite ghost.”

“Mind your own business.”

“Oh, I am. I’m just surprised you didn’t show up covered in hickies.”

Kyoutani lunged with a growl, and Kuroo ducked, twisting behind him and pressing the flat of his blade to Kyoutani’s neck.

“Another point.”

Kyoutani spat a curse but looked more impressed than mad.

Kuroo grinned as he backed off again. He’d learned long ago that fights weren’t just about fists, they were about rhythm, reading your opponent, and knowing when to strike. And teasing Kyoutani about Yahaba? Well, all's fair in love and war. 

Kuroo moved with him, teasing at the edges, breathing through the pain in his thigh where a hit had slipped past his guard. 

By the end both alphas were panting and dripping sweat. They shook hands without a word, silently promising to spar again soon.

Kyoutani grumbled goodbye as he grabbed a towel and wiped his face, walking over to join Yahaba who had been waiting by the doorway. The omega sent a grin to Kuroo and waved a quick goodbye to him and Bokuto as he followed his courting partner and boyfriend out of the training room.

Kuroo would have teased the younger pair if he wasn’t so damn exhausted. He wiped the sweat from his face, heart pounding. His hands trembled from the adrenaline crash, the ghost of pain licking across nerves long ago seared.

As he sat back on the edge of the mat, towel draped across his neck, his mind drifted again. A flicker of gold in a dark alley. A whisper of Kenma’s voice through a memory. He could almost hear it, soft and annoyed, “You’re overworking yourself again, Tetsu.”

The heartache came fast, sudden, breath-stealing.

He closed his eyes.

I’m coming for you, he thought. Just wait. Just a little longer.

“Oi.” Bokuto said, plopping down beside him and breaking Kuroo from his thoughts, “You good?” he asked as he handed a water bottle over to Kuroo. 

Kuroo smiled faintly at his friend as he took the bottle and chugged it gratefully. “Just tired.”

Bokuto grinned wide. “Means you did it right.”

Kuroo had agreed with his friend, proud of himself. But that had lasted all of a few hours when he woke up to the weight of sore limbs and instantly regretted the three back-to-back sparring matches.

His shoulders ached from the constant grappling with Iwaizumi, his thighs from Bokuto’s enthusiastic sweeps, and his right arm buzzed with dull static from pushing too hard against Kyoutani’s bladework. The burn scars, always there, always humming, throbbed more insistently today. Not bad. Just… annoying.

Like a warning he was pushing himself too hard too fast. But Kuroo ignored it, instead pushing himself upright in his comfortable bed. 

He groaned, rolling his neck until it cracked, then peeled himself out of the damp sheets, he hadn’t bothered drying off after his shower and instead had just passed out in his bed the minute he was out of the water.

Kuroo rubbed his eyes as he forced himself to get up and ready for his next lesson. Osamu would be teaching him all about firearms today, and while Kuroo had been excited about the prospect yesterday, the eager joy had been tamped down by the fact his body felt like he was crushed by a beam.

Haha.

Okay, it was nowhere near that bad, but hey. Kuroo got a pass to complain considering he was going toe to toe with the main powerhouses that made up Seijoh.

He sighed and after 20 minutes Kuroo had finally made himself presentable and arrived at the gun range.

Kuroo pouted when he walked through the door and couldn’t smell the gunpowder. It would be a scentless day today. Kuroo’s eyes roamed the large room and finally locked onto Osamu.

The omega stood alone at the farthest stall, stance squared, focus razor-sharp. His movements were clean, almost poetic. A smooth draw, a breath, a shot. Casings pinged to the floor in a rhythm like rainfall. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

Kuroo leaned on the frame, watching a moment longer.

No wonder they made him head of the firearm unit. He thought as he observed how at ease Osamu was with the gun.

“Keep staring at me like that and I’m going to have to start charging you,” Osamu’s teasing voice called, but he didn’t turn, instead he traded the handgun for a shotgun with a muffler and started to fire a new round.

Kuroo smirked and pushed off the doorframe, walking towards the omega. “Would I get the friends-and-flirty-discounts, or just the full price?” He asked, mirroring Osamu’s energy and the omega let out a snort and placed the shotgun down on the table.

Osamu turned. A slow smile curved across his lips; his black lip ring glinted in the light. His dark grey eyes flicked over Kuroo with practiced ease. His face was calm; pretty in a rough-cut kind of way, the kind that didn’t beg to be noticed but refused to be ignored. His jawline was sharp, but his gaze was sharper.

“You’re the one who gave Kawa the idea to name me Kitsune,’” Osamu said. “So, I figure that can be your payment.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “You like it, then?”

“Hell yeah. Suits me, doesn't it?” Osamu leaned against the booth, gun holstered now, hip cocked just enough to be playful. “Sly, clever, attractive.”

“Don’t forget modest.” Kuroo taunted and Osamu grinned.

“Never.”

They stared at one another for a moment before Osamu jerked his chin toward the stall beside him.

“C’mon. Time to put a gun in those pretty hands.”

The first lesson wasn’t about firing.

It was about respecting his weapon. Guns aren’t toys, they are used to kill, to threaten, to scare. And as fun and flirty Osamu was, he was also serious about these points.

There was no such thing as a second chance with a gun.

Osamu showed him how to hold it. How to clear the chamber. How to check a mag. His hands moved over Kuroo’s; guiding, not controlling. No hesitation, no lecture, just quiet confidence and the occasional smirk when Kuroo flinched at a click or loaded something backward.

“You’re a natural disaster waiting to happen,” Osamu drawled, nudging his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

“Hey. I’ve handled weapons before.” Kuroo shot back and the omega rolled his eyes.

“Knives, maybe. Guns are different, like night and day. You need precision and patience.” He chided.

Kuroo tilted his head with a pout. “You calling me impatient?”

“I’m calling you twitchy.”

He chuckled, but Osamu’s eyes flicked toward the burn scar on Kuroo’s right arm, visible beneath the rolled sleeve. He didn’t stare. Didn’t ask. Just nodded slightly like an acknowledgement. 

And Kuroo knew why. Osamu was in a tank top and Kuroo could see the large, jagged scars that roamed the omega’s body disappearing under his clothes. 

The scars across his forearms and wrists were impossible to ignore. Raised, ridged, and brutally honest. Kuroo’s gaze caught on them. Not with pity. Not with curiosity.

Just… understanding.

Osamu saw it.

“What, never seen a fox get caught in a trap?” he said, voice light, but his fingers tensed around the gun he’d started cleaning.

Kuroo didn’t take the bait. Instead, his voice went low and calm.

“They don’t make you weak, you know.”

Osamu stilled, his hands freezing mid wipe down. 

“I know what pain does,” Kuroo continued, sliding the mag into the AR-15 rifle Osamu had been training him on with a clean click. “It burns you hollow. Eats you up inside. Or it makes you strong. Or both.”

A pause.

“Looks like you’re still in your head but soldiering on.” He said and Osamu turned slowly looking down at the gun again.

But something flickered in his eyes; like surprise, or discomfort, or maybe something warmer, gentler.

“Stop saying shit like that,” he muttered, flushing, his ears turning a bright red. “Or I’ll fall in love with yer’ sorry ass.” He said, voice developing a slight accent that he quickly corrected.

Kuroo grinned, kind enough to ignore the vocal switch. “I’ll try not to take advantage of your fragile omega heart.”

“You wish it was fragile.” Osamu shoved him lightly but then paused, the teasing look falling to a more serious one. “I’m sorry if you’re actually flirting with me… I can’t...”

He trailed off but Kuroo didn’t hesitate, “I’m not, my heart is already taken. It’s just been nice to let loose. I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable?” He says hesitantly and Osamu shook his head quickly looking up at Kuroo.

“Oh, not at all. That’s what I thought anyway, I just wanted to make sure.” he said with a smile and then held out a hand for Kuroo to shake, “Flirty friends?”

Kuroo grinned and took the omega’s hand shaking it firmly, “Flirty friends.” He confirmed, and Osamu smiled, then turned back to the shooting range.

“Alright, now aim. Before I regret teaching you anything.”

They moved through several different models. Kuroo liked the weight of the revolver but hated the reload. Liked the speed of the pistol but hated the slide. Osamu was patient through it all, adjusting his grip, correcting posture, praising him just enough to keep the rhythm light.

And then Kuroo missed a target entirely.

“Goddammit,” he hissed, jaw tightening. His hands were shaking slightly, the old tremors flaring up again, nerves frayed from memory more than movement. The recoil had jolted a scarred nerve wrong, and the pain flashed white-hot.

“Hey.” Osamu’s voice was gentle. “Stop.”

Kuroo didn’t meet his gaze.

Osamu took the gun from him carefully, set it aside, and stood close enough to be heard over the ringing in Kuroo's ears.

“It’s all about muscle memory, yeah? You aren’t going to be perfect today. It took me years to get to where I am, and I still fuck up sometimes.”

“It’s not that…” Kuroo hesitated, “I hate the shakes,” He confessed. “Makes me feel like I don’t have control over my own body.”

“I understand but cut your body some slack.” Osamu said. Firm and unshaken. “You’re here, still standing, which is better than most people that were burnt alive.” He said and then gestured to his own scars, “I had nowhere near as much nerve damage as you did and I also got the shakes, still get them sometimes.” He explains.

Kuroo finally looked at him. And Osamu, scarred, steady, and soft in ways Kuroo hadn’t expected, smiled.

“I was hoping they’d go away forever.” He said indignantly and Osamu barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, I hate to burst your bubble but that is a hope and a prayer.” he smiled and continued, “Let’s take a break. Then I’ll show you the rifle. It’ll be easier on your body since you’ll be laying down.”

Kuroo blew out a breath and nodded.

They sat together on the floor near the weapon racks, sharing a protein bar and silence.

It was easy, somehow. The quiet. The company. The knowledge that both of them had survived things they didn’t speak of; but didn’t hide from, either.

“What happened?” Kuroo asked eventually, gesturing toward Osamu’s arms.

Osamu looked into the distance like his mind wasn’t all there. “I’ll tell you another day.”

Kuroo nodded, accepting the answer because he understood how hard it was to relive that sort of pain. You get numb to the random thoughts but retelling the story forces you back into that memory. Forces you to remember what you want to forget.

It was nice to know Osamu understood and wouldn’t judge him.

Kuroo was thankful for all of Seijoh, without them he’s sure he’d either be dead or have already given up on life entirely.

Kuroo was content, it was calming. Peaceful even.

But peace didn’t last in their world.

It never did.

It was sharp and fleeting; like a breath held between gunfire, a single heartbeat in the middle of a battlefield.

Kuroo knew that.

Kuroo just wished he’d have a bit longer to relax before everything was shattered again.

The call came in the late evening, just after a wicked storm passed, maybe it was setting the mood. 

The clouds were still heavy. The air was still wet.

Iwaizumi’s team for a simple information retrieval mission had returned, without Hajime. 

The two lower members, a beta woman and an alpha man were both severely injured and barely had the time to tell the superior officer, Atsumu, that they’d been ambushed before they passed. Yamaguchi had tried to save them, revive them, get anything from them but it was too late.

The news fractured the inner family, Iwaizumi was their head alpha, and he was gone.

Not only was he gone, but they also had next to nothing to go off of.

The tracker Iwaizumi always carried was gone, his comms cut, it was like he’d simply vanished.

Oikawa didn’t scream when he’d received the news from Atsumu. He didn’t speak. He just stood, one hand white-knuckled around his phone, the other pressed against his neck, fingers trembling over his bond mark to check it was still there. He’d looked at Makki and Tsukishima and flicked his head to his office. The pair followed him quickly grabbing their equipment.

 

---

 

The Seijoh compound was never quiet. Somewhere, someone was always moving, training, trading, gathering intel. But that night, the silence felt heavy. Smothering. Like the whole family had been holding its breath.

The inner mansion was on lockdown. Recon units were deployed. The outer circle was given more missions so the inner family could focus on finding their head alpha.

In Oikawa’s office, every monitor glowed. Surveillance feeds, search zones, intercepted communications; layer upon layer of information scrolled across the screens in a blur. Paper maps were spread across the floor, ink smudged where Oikawa had knelt to write coordinates himself. Red circles. Crossed-out grids. Hours of tireless searching.

Iwaizumi’s last known location had been a minor rendezvous point just outside the city and Oikawa just needed to find something. Anything. 

The omega sat stiffly in his chair, hunched over a console, fingers flying over the keys. His usual pristine composure had cracked: dark circles under his eyes, lips chewed raw. His cinnamon-brown sugar scent was muted and sharp with panic, lingering like smoke.

He tore through mission reports, cross-checked satellite data, tore maps apart on the war room table, dragging his fingers over terrain until they bled. He snapped orders to Tsukishima and Makki without looking up, his voice clipped and low, so tightly controlled it was barely human.

He didn’t cry. He refused to, he’d cry when Iwaizumi was back or when…

He refused to let himself go down that rabbit hole. 

It was close to 3 a.m. when Kuroo found him in the archive room, alone, standing in front of the sealed vault files with his arms locked around himself, eyes bloodshot and dry.

He just kept pressing two fingers to the side of his neck. Over. And over. And over.

Kuroo was watching his savior and one of his best friends unravel. 

And he remembered how that felt. To constantly watch your mating bite to make sure it was still there, because that meant they were still alive. It meant you weren’t too late.

Kuroo lingered in the doorway as he spoke gently, “You need to rest,”

“No,” Oikawa snapped, not looking up.

“Oikawa.”

No answer.

Kuroo stepped forward slowly, quiet as a ghost. “Tooru.”

Oikawa turned, fast and sharp, eyes wild with something deep and drowning. 

“No.” he said firmly and whipped his head back down to look back at the file, “Hajime’s out there. I have to find him before…” His voice cracked, shaking, too fast. “I need to find him.”

Kuroo crossed the room without hesitation, crouching beside the chair. He placed a hand over Oikawa’s wrist, gently stopping the omega from flipping through pages.

“I know what it feels like,” he murmured. “To not know if the next moment is going to be their last. To be terrified you’ll be too late”

That was what finally made Oikawa still. He finally raised his gaze and looked at Kuroo slowly, eyes glassy, lips pressed tight.

“Hajime is probably being tortured or is about to be killed and I…” He broke off with a ragged inhale, squeezing his scent gland like he could will his bond mark to lead him to Iwaizumi. “I can’t lose him. He’s been with me my entire life, I can’t lose him.”

Kuroo’s hand tightened gently on his wrist. 

Oikawa’s breath hitched. “I haven’t felt anything. The mark’s still there. It’s still there, but what if he’d already gone.”

“I know,” Kuroo said, soft and sure. “That means he’s alive.”

Oikawa’s face twisted. “You don’t know that—”

“I do.” Oikawa knew that too, he was just too distraught to think logically.

Kuroo’s hand went to the bite on his own neck. Still healed. Still aching. Still there.

It hit too close to home. He couldn’t help but wonder if this is how Kenma felt after having to leave Kuroo to die. It was too much, he desperately wanted to leave, to let someone else help Oikawa, but he’d promised Iwaizumi he’d always be with Oikawa. Oikawa had saved him and now he needed to return the favor.

“I haven’t seen Kenma since Hakone,” Kuroo said. “Haven’t heard a word. But the mark’s still here. So, I know he’s out there. So is Iwaizumi.”

The silence settled between them like ash.

Oikawa stared at him. His voice dropped into something ragged. “How do you live with it?”

Kuroo exhaled and finally let himself voice the pain that seemed to follow him every day. “You don’t. Not really. You just keep breathing. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”

Oikawa broke.

He didn’t collapse, didn’t sob, didn’t scream. But his shoulders sagged like someone had cut the strings holding him up. His hand dropped from his neck. 

“You can’t fall apart,” Kuroo murmured, voice low against Oikawa’s temple as he hugged his friends' shoulders. “Not yet. He needs you to stay on your feet. He needs you now more than ever.”

“I don’t know how to do this without him,” Oikawa whispered.

Kuroo tightened his grip. “Then don’t. Let the family help you, let me help you.”

Oikawa didn’t respond and Kuroo continued, “Don’t worry, I get it.” he said gently and rubbed Oikawa’s back. “You are not going to lose him. Iwaizumi is too damn stubborn to just die.”

Oikawa laughed wetly, tears finally falling. It was bitter and a tad bit hoarse but that was okay, “Yeah. He is.”

They stayed there until dawn. Kuroo eventually moved to help Oikawa look through the files in the archive while they let the others search through more current data.

Oikawa didn’t sleep and Kuroo didn’t leave.

They didn’t need words after that. Just presence. Just quiet.

And when the sun broke over the city in pale gold light, they stood side by side in Oikawa's office once more, steel-eyed and unspeakably tired.

Oikawa’s fingers drifted once more to his neck. Then stopped.

This time, he let them fall.

“Iwaizumi’s out there,” Kuroo said again, low and firm.

Oikawa nodded. “Let’s find my mate and bring him home.”

 

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!

When I tell you that life wants me to ruin all my promises.

Moving out of my dorm back home has taken all of my time and effort because holy shit moving sucks. Also, my bedroom light in the dorms went out and Maintenace didn't exist for the last week, so I had no light other than my window for a few days so that also threw a wrench into my plans.

So, no promises are going to be made but I hope to make it up to you guys with some extra-long chapters or extra-chapter weeks.

Also note, Osamu and Kuroo do not and will not have feelings for each other. They both are just flirty, Kuroo still loves Kenma and Osamu has some serious trauma and some other little reasons which you won't know until later!

Now besides that, I currently have a new hyper fixation known as TimKon, this is a batman universe fandom. I love them so much, I especially love making Tim hurt. There's always at least one in a fandom I latch onto and make sad. But of you know the batfam and all that please comment, I want to know if any of my readers would read that too. Anyways, it's 3 am and time for me to go to bed so goodnight my lovelies.

I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, and I'll see you next time <3

Chapter 28: Rescue

Summary:

Kuroo and friends save their pack alpha.

It had been a rough week.

Seven days of silence.

Seven days since Iwaizumi had vanished off the grid. 

And Oikawa had been breaking.

Not publicly. No, he refused to break down in front of the family. In the daylight, he wore a perfectly composed persona like armor; stern, calculating, relentless. His orders came with brutal precision, his posture perfectly straight at all times, his voice sharp enough to cut steel.

That in and of itself made everyone nervous. Their loving and playful boss, now stern and harsh. But Oikawa didn’t falter, he just kept pushing.

But Kuroo saw the cracks.

He saw the haunted look in Oikawa’s normally bright eyes when he thought no one was watching. The way his fingers hovered over his bond mark. The tremors that wracked his hands as he typed and searched through code and encrypted messages.

Kuroo understood and tried to stay next to Oikawa’s side at all times. He made the omega get a few fitful hours of sleep and made sure he ate and drank water. All in all, Oikawa hadn’t been doing as bad as Kuroo thought he would be, until he heard it in the middle of the night.

Screaming.

It was raw and gut-wrenching. The type of yell that came from your soul. 

He wasn’t supposed to hear that, Oikawa had locked himself in the archive room to get away from everything. Kuroo had just been coming back to check on him, but he froze when the scream registered in his ears.

Pure grief and fury echoing through the locked door, the sound of something inside Oikawa shattering. Kuroo had been quick to pick the lock, to make sure his friend wasn’t hurting himself.

It was the first time in over 2 years that Kuroo saw Oikawa crying, curled on the floor, fists bloodied from punching the wall, choking on Iwaizumi’s name like it physically hurt.

Kuroo hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t been able to get his mouth to form the syllables. So, he just knelt down beside the omega and stayed there, unmoving, until the crying stopped and the silence came back.

On the eighth day, the call came.

It was Tsukishima who found the lead; traced a stolen vehicle to a small compound in the mountain's northwest of Ibaraki. It was a hunch, a gamble, but one strong enough to shake Oikawa from his frantic spiraling.

The moment the location was confirmed, the entire inner circle gathered in the meeting room, it was verging on 1 am but no one protested the late meeting.

The mood was grim.

Hanamaki laid out a grainy drone feed on the screen; an isolated structure built into the rock. It was fortified and had too many guards to be something innocent. There were no insignias or identifiable flags. 

Kindaichi had identified several of the guards as black-market operatives. They were mercs-for-hire. No allegiance. No rules.

“We don’t know how many are inside,” Tsukishima explained as he brought up the profiles Kindaichi had found. “But it’s not small. Thirty people have been confirmed, but there are most likely more. All individuals were heavily armed, so this isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

He looked around the table and then said what everyone had been thinking.

“They took down Iwaizumi. Which means they’re either suicidal or serious.”

Oikawa sat at the head of the table watching the presentation of information. His posture was rigid. Kuroo sat next to him, jaw locked as he listened to the information while watching his friend.

There was a long silence and then Oikawa stood up, “I’m going,” he said and Kuroo was up on his feet in an instant glaring at his boss and friend.

“No, you’re not,” Kuroo said instantly, without thinking.

Everyone turned to him, shocked at the blatant defiance of their leader.

Oikawa blinked and then glared. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not going,” Kuroo repeated, calmer this time. “You are the head of Seijoh. If something happens to you, the family, no, the entire syndicate breaks. Iwaizumi would never forgive you.”

Oikawa gritted his teeth, and his eyes flashed with something sharp and furious. His normally sweet cinnamon brown sugar scent became burnt as rage warred inside him.

“Oikawa.” The soft voice of Kunimi said from his position at the table causing Oikawa’s head to whip towards the omega. “I think you should listen to Kuroo.” he said looking at their leader.

Oikawa’s jaw clenched but as he looked at the boy his motherly instincts towards the younger omega surged forward making him falter.

“We can’t risk anything going wrong.” He said, his voice ragged with emotion.

Kuroo stepped forward, drawing Oikawa’s eyes back to him again. “I’ll go. Send me.” His voice was filled with determination causing the omega to falter.

Tsukishima frowned and cut in. “As touching as that is, you have never actually been in the field. This would be your first mission.”

“It won’t be my last,” Kuroo replied with a confident grin.

Bokuto grinned from the opposite side of the table. “Damn right it won’t. And I’ll vouch for him, he’s ready to go into the field.”

Osamu, arms folded, cocked his head looking at Kuroo skeptically. “You sure about this, Panther?”

Kuroo looked him dead in the eyes. “I owe him my life. Iwaizumi took me in, trained me, gave me a place. And I promised him I’d protect Oikawa. I’m not letting their bond end in a body bag.”

Oikawa swallowed hard at that last comment before he steeled himself. “Are you sure you can handle it? I can’t take any chances on my mate's life.” 

“I won’t let you down.” He said with so much certainty the entire room believed him.

Oikawa looked into Kuroo’s eyes searching them for something that he seemed to find.

“Alright.” he said with a nod and then added, “You will go with Bokuto and Osamu, I need my top combat specialists on this.” 

Bokuto broke the tense silence that followed by slinging his arm over Oikawa’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Kawa, we'll bring our favorite alpha home.” he confirmed and looked at Kuroo and Osamu who both looked at them determinedly.

Osamu nodded, eyes sharp. “You can count on us.” he swore and Kuroo turned to look at Oikawa one last time.

“We’ll bring him back. I promise.”

And for once, Oikawa didn’t argue. He just nodded, slow and full of something fragile, tentative hope. “I trust you.”

They were on borrowed time, so the briefing was kept short and to the point.

Just an hour after the meeting had concluded Kuroo and his team were getting ready to leave.

Tsukishima gave them the terrain layout, dense forest perimeter, winding access roads, and high fencing. There were multiple watch towers all equipped with three or more guards. The base had two main points of entry, and they couldn’t rule out sniper coverage.

Yamaguchi briefed them on medical contingencies. “I can’t say anything for certain, but we can assume he isn’t in good shape. Expect blood loss, blunt trauma, dehydration, and possible torture wounds. You’ll need to move fast, do a quick triage and only address the most pressing wounds. I will be prepared to handle anything else when you bring him back.”

Osamu double-checked the weapon loadout with practiced precision, each movement swift and exacting. He laid everything out across the metal table in front of him: two compact short-range rifles modified for close quarters combat as well as snipping enemies. They were lightweight, matte black, and fitted with suppressors. He holstered two handguns at his hips; both fully loaded with subsonic rounds. Four extra mags rested in his vest pockets. A trio of knives went into sheaths; one at his ankle, one in the small of his back, and one strapped to his chest. He slid flash charges into a side pouch, along with two fragmentation grenades and a spare set of suppressors.

“Clean, balanced, quiet,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Bokuto was off to the side, hunched over his own small arsenal of knives with focused intensity. He ran a whetstone slowly down the edge of one blade, eyes narrowed as the metal hissed under his hand. One by one, he sorted through his collection; curved blades, straight edged, serrated, all meticulously maintained. Only the deadliest made the cut. By the time he stood, he had ten knives carefully arranged in his gear: six in a specialized vest, two on his thighs, one hidden along his forearm, and the last tucked into the back of his boot. He flexed his fingers once, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck.

“These’ll do,” he said under his breath, the gleam in his eyes half-feral. Kuroo would bet that Bokuto had plenty of other throwing knives stashed away where they couldn't see in preparation for what was to come. 

Kuroo was the last to finish. He strapped on his gear in near-silence, jaw tight, movements methodical but taut with tension. He fastened his thigh holster, adjusted the knife at his hip, and slipped on his reinforced gloves. Under his breath, he counted his breath, keeping it even. His heart thudded steadily in his chest, not frantic, but loud. Rhythmic. There was a hum in his bones, anticipation crawling just beneath his skin.

As they moved through final prep, Bokuto handed out comms units; slim, durable earpieces with bone conduction mics and Osamu passed around fresh scent patches, each one coated with Seijoh’s neutral masking formula and guaranteed to mute their scents. Kuroo peeled off the backing and pressed it against his scent glands, adding one to his destroyed gland just in case there were still faint traces of pheromones. 

The creak of old stairs pulled their attention upward.

Oikawa stood at the top landing, framed by shadows. He looked ragged; eyes hollow with sleeplessness, knuckles raw and bandaged, his scent clinging to the air like smoke and broken glass. Panic still lingered in his pheromones, a bitter aftertaste, but his voice was low and steady when he finally spoke.

“Bring him home.” There was no tremble. No plea. Just the quiet weight of a command from an omega barely holding himself together.

The trio turned in unison to face him.

“We will,” they said, three voices, one vow.

Atsumu descended behind Oikawa, posture easy, but his eyes too sharp for the casual smirk on his lips. The omega pulled his brother into a firm hug without warning, arms locking tight for a moment longer than necessary.

“Be safe,” he murmured, quiet and fierce. Then he turned, clapping Bokuto and Kuroo on the back with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bring back our pack alpha. I’ll keep Kawa from losing it while you’re out breaking skulls.”

And just like that, he turned, arm brushing Oikawa’s as he led him back down the hall; away from the weight of what was coming.

No one said anything else.

The three of them moved as one, loaded their gear into the black SUV, and climbed in. Outside, the night stretched wide and quiet, stars dim behind a veil of clouds and smog. The road ahead was dark, winding toward danger, but none of them looked back.

The forty minute car ride was silent.

Not tense, but focused. The kind of silence that settles over people with nothing left to say, only things to do. Outside, the night dragged on thick and oppressive, the trees whipping past in a blur of shadow. Inside, each man sat with the weight of the mission on their shoulders and one name pounding like a war drum in their skulls.

Iwaizumi.

Kuroo could still see the flicker in Oikawa’s eyes when he said, "I trust you." The rawness of it. The vulnerability. Oikawa never trusted anyone easily, and rarely did he say it out loud. That trust, it wasn't a request. It was a plea. It was Oikawa’s very own soul, bare and raw. And Kuroo wasn’t going to fail him. 

Not like he had failed Kenma.

Beside him, Bokuto checked and rechecked the blades hidden along his arms and legs. It wasn’t anxiety, it was instinct. Bokuto was pure chaos in battle, a storm of power and speed, but today there was something sharper in his movements. Controlled. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, amber eyes reflecting the faint dashboard glow. Kuroo knew exactly what was going through his head.

Iwaizumi had trained them. Shielded them. Held Seijoh’s inner family together in the blood-soaked aftermath of every mission gone wrong. Bokuto wasn’t just rescuing a comrade, he was going after his brother in arms. The one person who could pull him back when the fight got too loud in his head.

And Osamu was driving like the wheel was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Kuroo had only known him for a short time, but it had been long enough to catch the signs: the way his grip flexed on the leather, the twitch of his jaw, the fact that he hadn’t cracked a joke in hours. 

This wasn’t just another operation for Osamu either. He and Iwaizumi had grown close over the years, their bond forged in long nights, joint missions, and shared exhaustion. He respected him. Followed him. Trusted him to keep their family safe.

Now Iwaizumi was the one who needed saving, and every second they wasted, that chance dwindled.

They all felt it. That suffocating awareness of how bad this could be. Yamaguchi hadn’t sugarcoated it: blunt force trauma, dehydration, torture wounds. They had seen what enemy factions did to alphas in high-ranking positions. They’d strip a man of his strength, his pride, break him physically, chemically, emotionally. And Iwaizumi… Iwaizumi would take it all without a sound. Would resist them until there was nothing left of him to fight with.

Because he would never willingly betray them.

That was why they had to move. Not just fast but flawlessly.

Kuroo double-checked his med kit. They’d have minutes, maybe seconds, to stabilize Iwaizumi once they reached him depending on how badly he had been hurt. Every action mattered. Every decision would be life or death. There would be no second chances if he made the wrong call under fire.

He looked up and caught Osamu’s eyes in the rearview mirror. There was no fear there; just a steady, blazing determination that mirrored his own.

 

---

 

The forest was quiet when they finally arrived.

Dawn hadn’t broken yet, the sky still thick with a low gray mist. They left the car parked deep in the woods, not wanting to risk giving away their position yet. They went over their weapons strapped tight to their backs and thighs, faces grim and focused. The ground was soft under their boots, muffling their steps as they approached the edge of the compound’s perimeter.

Bokuto crouched beside a boulder, eyes sharp, scanning through a pair of binoculars. “Three guards outside the northeast fence. Movement in the towers every twenty seconds. Cameras mounted high; sweep pattern, but slow. Not military grade.”

“Still dangerous enough to get us killed if we aren’t careful,” Osamu muttered to them, checking the mags in his rifle. "If we're loud, we don’t walk back out.”

Kuroo nodded, crouching low beside them. His fingers were steady despite the adrenaline lacing his blood. His first mission. His first kill zone.

It almost unnerved him how focused he was, not a trace of fear in sight.

Maybe that’s because he’d already technically died? So, dying again wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

God he was going to have to schedule another therapy session, wasn’t he?

His brain drifted back to the issues at hand as he thought of Iwaizumi, probably unconscious and tortured behind those walls. Thought of Oikawa’s scent the night before, twisted and panicked, like someone already in mourning.

Failure wasn’t an option.

“We’ll stick to the north path,” Bokuto whispered. “I can see a small blind spot along the fence line. Kitsune and I will handle the towers. Panther, you take out any stragglers once we breach the base.”

“Got it,” Kuroo said, hand gripping one of the knives he had hidden in his vest.

“Stay low,” Osamu added. “And don’t hesitate, if you hesitate for even a second you kill not just yourself but us.” He warns and Kuroo firmly meets his gaze.

“I won’t.” He confirmed, not breaking eye contact until the omega finally nodded and turned back to look at the compound. 

Osamu rolled his shoulders once then climbed up the boulder they were hiding behind. He adjusted the sniper rifle's muzzle to make his shot nearly silent. He took a deeper breath and then picked off the tower's outer guards with silent precision; two shots, clean and lethal. 

Bokuto nodded to them before he slipped through the fence line with a wire cutter, then disappeared into the dark, reappearing seconds later with blood on his blade and a body dragged out of sight.

Kuroo and Osamu snuck in behind him silently following as they made their way inside the compound.

Inside the perimeter, the tension thickened. Buildings loomed in the mist, storage containers stacked like mazes, floodlights casting pale cones of illumination across the dirt. Footsteps echoed in the near distance; the guards on rotation were coming up slowly, they still were unaware of the infiltration.

They crept closer to the main structure, where Iwaizumi was most likely held.

Then everything went sideways.

A burst of static cracked over a radio as a voice announced there were intruders in the compound. Someone had spotted the dead tower guards.

“Move,” Bokuto growled. “Get ready to kill.” He warned as they moved quickly behind the crates.

Alarms weren’t going off yet, but the base was stirring. Footsteps quickly sped up and multiplied as the soldier ran through the compound searching. Shouts rang out in the fog, and they only had a few minutes to ready themselves before they were finally spotted.

“There!” A man's voice yelled, and the first shot rang out, sharp and close, burying itself in the ground beside Bokuto.

Osamu ducked behind a steel crate quickly readying his rifle before returning fire with ruthless accuracy, dropping several snipers in seconds. Bokuto hopped on the balls of his feet and surged forward, blade flashing, silent and deadly as he went after the men on ground level.

Kuroo stayed low, his blood roaring in his ears. Two guards rounded the corner toward him, armed and fast. He didn’t hesitate, just gritted his teeth and got ready for the fight.

The alpha ducked under the first swing of a baton and slammed his elbow into the other man's throat, then as quick as a whip he twisted and drove his knife into the other’s ribs in one clean strike.

Warmth gushed over his knuckles as the man collapsed.

Kuroo didn’t stop to think, allowing his body to move on reflex as he continued to fight. He withdrew the blade and pivoted, dodging another baton strike before he drove the blade upward into the second man’s stomach.

The guards were down on the floor and Kuroo stared at the bodies for half a breath. Blood soaked into the ground and Kuroo couldn’t help but remember the screams of his family and friends who had all died at the hands of cruel gang members.

He wasn’t that different from those who had ruined his family, who had taken his mate, but that didn’t matter anymore. He refused to let someone tear apart his family again and if that meant taking lives then he’d become a cold-blooded killer. 

His hands didn’t shake, no, he was so incredibly still. He had just killed two men, but it was for Seijoh. For his saviors.

For the man who taught him how to fight. For the omega who cried when no one was looking.

Kuroo straightened up looking at the dead men before jolting slightly when Osamu laid a hand on his shoulder.

“We need to move, let's go find Owl.” the omega said and Kuroo nodded, following Osamu behind the side of a supply shack and quickly sending Bokuto their location.

Osamu traded his rifle for two handguns that he used to take out anyone getting close to finding their location.

Bokuto regrouped with them only a few minutes later, covered in blood but grinning wildly. “You okay, Panther?” He asked after seeing Kuroo’s face splattered with blood.

Kuroo nodded, voice low. “Yeah.”

Osamu glanced at them before turning back to picking off any enemy soldiers.

“You did what you had to,” he said quietly. “You alright?”

Kuroo looked at his blood-slicked hands. “I will be.” He confirmed and Osamu smirked with a nod.

“That’s all we can ask for.” 

Bokuto pulled up the blueprints of the compound Tsukishima had sent them and turned it to Kuroo. “What do you think?” He asked and Kuroo looked over it, analyzing the structure and then pointed to a small room deep in the compound.

“This is most likely were they’re keeping him; it will probably be riddled with guards.” he warned and Bokuto smirked.

“Just the way I like it. Ready to add to your kill count Kitsune?” He called to Osamu who was crouching and engaged in a fire fight with a man on the opposite end of the supply shack.

“Oh, hell yeah, I’m gunning to beat Dragon’s kill count.” He said with a grin before it fell into a glare as he growled, “Just fucking die already!” 

Bokuto chuckled and looked at Kuroo putting a finger to his lips as he went around the back of the supply shack and a short shriek was heard before Bokuto returned with a grin. Osamu pouted at him, making the alphas laugh at their friend. Osamu snapped at Bokuto who in return taunted him back starting a rapidly growing back and forth conversation before Kuroo broke it up.

“Alright you two, focus, let's go get our pack alpha back.” Kuroo said with a smirk ending their bickering. They both pouted and then straightened back into their serious mission personas.

They pressed deeper into the compound, gunfire erupting intermittently as the enemy mobilized. Kuroo followed Bokuto and Osamu’s lead; fast and brutal; every lesson from Iwaizumi snapping into place like instinct. His movements were efficient, unrelenting as he carved a path forward, not a moment wasted.

“Clear on this side!” Bokuto shouted, ducking behind a wall as they finally made their way into the main building. 

They moved like smoke through the compound halls clearing room after room as they moved forward. 

Kuroo was breathing heavily at this point, blood on his blade and fire in his veins. The enemy had mobilized fast leading to all-out war, but these men for hire were nothing compared to Seijoh’s sheer skill. It was shocking they had been able to capture Iwaizumi at all, but Kuroo suspected they had played dirty probably using innocent hostages and as much as their pack alpha acted heartless, he was one of the most empathetic and caring people in Seijoh.

Bokuto moved ahead, leading with a brutal elegance only an alpha built for war could carry. His knives flashed in the dim light, throwing blades embedded into soft throats, heavy machete-style edges tearing through the chaos like thunder.

One brave or possibly idiotic bastard rushed him from the side.

Bokuto didn’t hesitate, he twisted, caught the man’s wrist mid-swing, and slammed his skull into the concrete wall with bone-crushing force.

“Don’t slow down!” He barked at Kuroo and Osamu, the normally energetic alpha nowhere in sight, replaced with a stern and serious man capable of shredding men with his bare hands.

“Speak fer yerself,” Osamu shot back from behind a crate accent thick as he focused on taking down enemy after enemy, his rifle cracking off with deadly precision.

A big burly man, a beta, ducked into the cover beside Osamu and fired at him, missing.

Osamu raised a brow as he calmly reloaded, “You should have ended me with that shot.” he said before he sent a bullet between the man’s eyes. The beta dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Then Osamu crouched and picked up the guy’s discarded gun.

“No wonder you didn’t shoot me. This thing's a piece of shit. A .45 caliber,” he murmured, flipping it over in his hand. “Heavy recoil, shitty grip. Feels like someone made this in a garage.”

He grabbed the ammo from it before tossed the gun away with a click of his tongue.

“Trash.”

Kuroo didn’t even slow as he passed, catching the ammo clip Osamu tossed to him and jamming it into his belt.

“Take the left wing,” he called to Bokuto, who nodded and veered off.

Osamu fell in behind Kuroo, covering his six. “You’re sure about this direction?”

Kuroo nodded as they ran, “The blueprints showed a few holding rooms down this way. Owl…” Kuroo said and Bokuto knew exactly what he wanted, taking a deep breath through his nose.

“I can smell blood and pine,” Bokuto said. “Iwaizumi’s somewhere that way.” He said and rammed his side into the door making the wood crack open to reveal the next hall.

It was a warzone; alarms were blaring flooding the halls in red lights. More guards flooded the passage, armored and yelling, guns raised.

Kuroo didn’t flinch. He launched forward, slamming the first man into the wall and driving his knife under the ribs. Another swung a baton at his head; Kuroo ducked, twisted under, and disarmed him in a single brutal pivot before bashing his skull in with the butt of the weapon.

He tossed the baton to Osamu, who caught it, smirked, and cracked the next man’s kneecap with it before putting a bullet through his skull.

“God, I love working with you two,” Bokuto growled, rejoining them from the shadows, blades dripping like rain off his fingertips. His eyes gleamed wild beneath the dim emergency lights, pupils blown wide in the rush of the fight. “It’s like a dance.”

And it was. A brutal, bloody ballet only they knew the rhythm to. Every move flowed like choreography: fluid, instinctive, practiced in the crucible of too many nights training side by side.

Kuroo spun his knife once between his fingers, catching it with practiced ease. “Then let’s finish the song.”

There was a tempo to them, a violent waltz set to the rhythm of heartbeats and war drums. Bokuto was the storm; swift and overwhelming, sweeping through enemies like crashing thunder. Osamu was precision, a razor edge in the dark, deliberate and unrelenting. And Kuroo? Kuroo was the throughline. The thread between the chaos and the silence. He moved like tension wound into motion, steps etched into muscle memory, fighting as if the floor beneath him marked invisible lines only his feet could follow.

Every strike was syncopated with theirs, when Osamu stepped in to disarm, Kuroo twisted left to cover his flank. When Bokuto launched into a high sweep of his blade, Kuroo dropped low to gut the man behind him. They didn’t need signals. Didn’t need to speak. Their bodies knew each other’s rhythm better than their own breathing.

A song only they could hear. 

A promise carved into movement: We don’t leave each other behind.

They were cutting through this place like sharpened notes through silence, leaving only blood and breathless pauses in their wake.

“Room’s locked,” Osamu called, yanking Kuroo out of the momentum mid-step. He was at the end of the hallway, rifle slamming into the metal door that blocked their path, reinforced and trembling under the impact but still stubbornly intact.

Kuroo came up beside him, his chest heaving with exertion. He wiped his knife off on his thigh in one smooth motion, gaze fixed on the lock with clinical calculation. “Watch out. Most of the guards are probably holed up in there.”

Osamu stepped back without a word. Kuroo took one breath. Planted his foot. And kicked.

The lock exploded inward with a metallic shriek, the door swinging wide open into whatever hell waited inside.

And with that the final act had begun.

Guards shouted and swarmed them in seconds.

Kuroo didn’t hesitate, he moved first, a shadow slipping into the room like a blade sliding home. Gunfire erupted the second his foot crossed the threshold, bullets whizzing past his head, sparking off the steel walls.

“Down!” he barked, and the other two dropped low instantly as the room lit up in muzzle flashes.

It was chaos; tight quarters, reinforced concrete, crates stacked as makeshift barricades. The air reeked of oil and blood and desperation. Ten men, maybe more, dug in deep and were already firing.

Bokuto surged left, a flash of silver in the dark, his twin blades catching the light as he moved like a stormfront, sweeping in with impossible speed. One guard went down with a scream as his throat opened in a red arc. Another turned, too slow, and Bokuto slammed his elbow into the man’s jaw, following it with a knife driven clean into his side. 

He launched knives from hidden holsters, dual-wielding blades when it came down to it. He was raw fury, darting into blind spots and taking down clusters of men like they were a house of cards.

Osamu was pure efficiency; low to the ground, moving like smoke. His bullets never missed. He reloaded with muscle memory and judged every angle in split seconds. When he ran out, he calmly stole from the fallen, checking the weapons with a sneer of disdain. He fired twice more, both shots clean, before ducking behind a crate as bullets hammered against it. He popped up, throwing a flash grenade with only the smallest warning to Kuroo and Bokuto.

The room detonated in white, and screams followed, Kuroo and Bokuto shielded their eyes to avoid the blinding light. 

Kuroo took the opening. After training with Iwaizumi to fight without his senses he was in his element.

He dropped three men before he opened his eyes. He was in the center now, weaving between crates and bodies, knife in one hand, gun in the other. He shot the closest man through the shoulder and buried his blade into the next before the first even hit the ground. The dance didn’t stop; just shifted tempo. Rougher. Meaner.

A guard charged him, bellowing, and Kuroo let him come close, and smirked as the man reached for him, Kuroo gripped his wrist, twisted, and snapped it backward. The man screamed and Kuroo slammed the butt of his gun into his temple. Kuroo quickly gripped the man and turned a shot embedding into the man's chest meant for Kuroo. A sniper post they hadn’t noticed, his scope still glowing red.

“Top left!” Osamu shouted, already pivoting. Bokuto threw his knife.

It spun once in the air and buried itself right between the sniper’s eyes.

“Bingo,” Bokuto muttered and scooped up another gun off the floor, twirling it once for flair.

They regrouped near the back of the room, breath coming in hard pants, the tang of blood sharp in their mouths. The floor was a mess of shell casings, blood, broken crates. The last of the guards was gurgling on the floor, already fading.

And then there was silence.

A heavy, charged stillness.

It hit Kuroo like a pressure drop. Something was off .

He turned his head slowly, eyes scanning the back wall for a door that was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is it?” Osamu asked and Bokuto frowned.

“I can smell him; he has to be around here.” He muttered and Kuroo nodded, walking towards the wall running his hand over it and… Bingo.

A door that blended into the wall.

“Here it is,” Kuroo said quietly. Bokuto wiped his blade on his vest and readied himself into a fighting stance in case there were more enemies in the room.

Osamu reloaded in silence and nodded, drawing his gun up to train on the door. He nodded to Kuroo who took a breath and kicked the door in.

The scent hit them first, so potent even Kuroo could smell it. 

Hot iron-rich blood mixed with pine forest. The combination had Kuroo’s stomach turning as he couldn’t help but think of Hakone, ablaze and suffering.

Kuroo shook his head as they moved into the room.

It was dark except for a single light bulb that flickered overhead like it was choking on its own breath.

And in the center, gagged and with his arms chained above his head, slumped and bloodied was the alpha.

“Iwaizumi,” Kuroo rasped as he caught sight of the normally strong man. 

Blood was dripping down his forearms where the handcuffs were cutting into his skin. His face was battered blood caked on one side of his cheek where it looked like he’d been cut. His shirt was torn to ribbons, chest barely rising and falling in pained gasps.

Kuroo didn’t wait for Osamu or Bokuto, he surged forward, grabbing the restraints with urgency. Osamu whistled once, high and sharp, getting Kuroo’s attention as he tossed the alpha a small bag filled with lockpicks.

Kuroo quickly got to work and within a minute the cuffs were falling away, peeling off of Iwaizumi’s raw flesh, making him groan and crumple forward. Kuroo caught him before he could make impact against the floor. 

Gently Kuroo laid him on the ground removing the shredded shirt and cloth gag to get a better look at the man's wounds. 

Large gashes crossed against the man's chest, several stab wounds littered his abdomen and a small burn mark on his naval, blistering and raw.

They had branded him.

Osamu’s jaw clenched. “Bastards.” He said as he made his way forward checking the wounds, “Thankfully the stab wounds are shallow, it looks like they wanted to torture him for information, not kill him just yet.” he explained as he gabbed out their medical supplies. 

Bokuto stayed by the door with a knife in his hand just in case any more soldiers came in. “Is he unconscious?” He asked and got a hum of agreement from Osamu who was bandaging the worst of Iwaizumi’s wounds. 

The second Osamu finished, Kuroo was moving forward to gently lift the alpha. “Let's get him out of here.” he murmured, voice low to not disturb their friend.

He looped Iwaizumi’s arm over his shoulder, supporting most of his weight as they turned to go.

They walked past the bodies of the men they had slaughtered. Thankfully those who weren’t dead seemed to get the hint they wouldn’t win and left to spare their lives. 

There was only one man that had attempted to take a shot at Kuroo as he carried Iwaizumi, but Bokuto threw a knife at him deadly and sharp, making the man crumple to the ground as the knife buried itself into his temple.

The drive back was silent, but it was far from peaceful.

Iwaizumi’s unconscious form lay across the backseat, his head in Kuroo’s lap, his breath shallow and broken by the occasional involuntary twitch. Blood soaked into Kuroo’s pants sticky, warm, too much of it still leaking from the man’s wounds. Kuroo was keeping him flat and as stable as possible as they made the journey back to the compound.

Bokuto was tense in the passenger seat, knuckles white on the dashboard as Osamu drove like the gates of hell were behind them.

When the compound came into view, Kuroo whispered to Iwaizumi, stroking his hair gently, “We’re home. You’re safe.”

But it didn’t feel like it. Not yet.

Not until Iwaizumi opened his eyes.

Osamu had enough sense to slow down instead of slamming on the brakes, not wanting to jolt the injured alpha. They rolled to a stop in the underground garage.

Oikawa was already at the gates.

He must have scented them from a mile out, more likely, he had been keeping an eye on the tracker embedded in the car. His coat was flung over his shoulders, mismatched shoes on his feet, eyes rimmed with red and wild with hope and terror.

He looked nothing like the calm and composed leader of Seijoh they all knew and loved. 

Osamu and Bokuto got out of the car first, opening the backdoor to let Kuroo gently pull Iwaizumi out. The minute Oikawa’s eyes landed on the man’s bloody and limp form he screamed, rushing forward as tears began to run down his cheeks.

“No—no, no, no, Hajime—” The omega nearly collapsed as his legs buckled beneath him. Kuroo barely had time to stop him from lunging at Iwaizumi’s body.

“He’s alive!” Kuroo said sharply, as Bokuto went to step in front of Kuroo holding the crying omega quickly to make sure he didn’t do more damage in his frenzied state. “He’s alive, Oikawa.” Kuroo repeated, “He’s breathing.”

Oikawa stopped fighting in Bokuto’s grip and froze, staring at Kuroo, his pupils blown wide. “What?”

Osamu was already on the comms, calling for Yamaguchi and his medics.

“He’s unconscious,” Bokuto said, gentle now, still holding him steady. “But he’s here. He’s safe. You can touch him. Just be careful, he was beaten up pretty badly.”

Oikawa nodded and Bokuto let go. Oikawa didn’t need to be told twice he quickly stepped forward beside Iwaizumi, hands trembling as they hovered over his mate’s bloodied face. His fingers found the skin of Iwa’s neck, pressed into his pulse point.

And when he felt the soft pulse, a sob tore out of him so deep it cracked something open in the cold night air.

“He’s warm,” he whispered, “he’s alive, he’s okay.” He choaked out a sob as he murmured Hajime's name again and again.

Kuroo turned his head, giving him as much space as he could while holding Iwaizumi. Yamaguchi and two medics came running out of the base with a stretcher.

“We’ve got him,” Yamaguchi said quickly. “Bring him inside, prep the emergency room. We’ll do everything we can.”

“He needs everything,” Osamu muttered under his breath before speaking up to give the head medic more details about the alpha's injuries. “Burns, lacerations, blood loss, potential infection. He’s also… branded on his naval.” he added hesitantly, noticing how Oikawa violently tensed but forced himself to relax once again.

Yamaguchi’s face darkened. “Understood.” he murmured, and he guided Kuroo to lay Iwaizumi on the stretcher.

The alpha did as he was told, letting his friend go. Oikawa nodded a thank you to him as he followed the stretcher into the compound, not letting go of Iwaizumi’s hand the entire time.

The medical wing was too bright. Too clean. The walls smelled like antiseptic and trauma.

Oikawa stood behind the glass, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were snow white, watching Yamaguchi and the others cut away the bandages Osamu had wrapped Iwaizumi in.

There were so many wounds on his lover, Oikawa breath hitched as he saw the alphas face scrunch in pain as the medics began to clean his wounds, but the alpha didn’t wake up.

Kuroo joined him quietly, arms crossed. Bokuto and Osamu stood a few paces back, giving the two of them space.

“You brought him back,” Oikawa whispered. “You really… you brought him back to me.” He said almost reverently as he watched the medics clean and stitch his lover up.

“I promised I would,” Kuroo said simply.

There was a long silence. The medical team moved with clinical urgency. Iwaizumi didn’t stir.

Then Yamaguchi turned and opened the door. “He’s stable.” He announced.

Oikawa whipped his head up and then stumbled a bit as vertigo hit him. Moving too quickly when you were utterly exhausted was not advisable. “Stable?” he asked as he steadied himself against the wall.

“He’s not waking up yet, his bodies in shock, and he needs rest. But… he’s going to be alright,” Yamaguchi said, offering a small, tired smile. “He’ll have scars. A lot of them. Especially the one on his face, it’s deep enough it’ll stay. And the brand…” He hesitated. “It wasn’t done cleanly. It’ll need treatment to avoid infection. But he’ll pull through. Iwaizumi-San is strong.”

Oikawa collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with quiet, desperate sobs.

Kuroo stood over him, silent but steady. A pillar. Just as Iwaizumi had once been for him.

“He’s going to live,” Kuroo said softly. “He’s going to come back to you.”

Oikawa didn’t answer, just let himself finally cry openly now that he knew his mate would be alright. 

The sterile hum of the medical wing was quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. No one spoke, letting their leader finally express himself in a way he hadn’t been able for the past week.

 

---

 

Time passed slowly in the medical wing.

Days blurred together under too-white lights and the steady beep of heart monitors. Oikawa never left the floor, not really. He drifted between the viewing room and the chair beside Iwaizumi’s bed, catching fragments of sleep with his forehead pressed to the mattress or his fingers wrapped around his mate’s unresponsive hand.

The others visited in shifts. Kuroo brought fresh food he rarely touched. Bokuto dropped off updates from the investigation on Iwaizumi’s abduction and torture. Osamu sat with Oikawa in silence, once or twice just sitting beside him with a thermos of tea he didn’t force him to drink. And they all kept people away when Oikawa was too raw to speak.

Yamaguchi came and went with practiced calm, checking vitals, redressing wounds, murmuring quiet reassurances even when he knew Oikawa barely registered them. The days stacked one on top of another like fragile glass, every hour waiting for a change; some twitch of fingers, a shift in breath, anything.

And then, on the seventh day, something finally changed.

It was just past dawn. The windows glowed soft gold, casting thin slats of light across the bed.

Oikawa had fallen into fitful sleep, slumped forward, his arms crossed atop the edge of the mattress, his cheek resting near Iwaizumi’s bandaged wrist. His cinnamon brown sugar scent sickly sweet with anxiety, exhaustion, and trembling with hope too dangerous to name.

Then there was a twitch.

So small it could have been imagined.

Then another.

Fingers curled weakly, brushing against Oikawa’s cheek.

He stirred groggily, blinking blearily as he lifted his head. “Haji?” he rasped, voice raw from disuse.

There was a sound from Iwaizumi; hoarse, broken, but unmistakable.

“Iwa-Chan,” Oikawa whispered, sitting up so fast the chair scraped the floor behind him. His hands hovered, shaking, terrified to touch in case it was another false hope. “Hajime, can you hear me?”

Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed slightly. His lips parted, dry and cracked. “…’Kawa…?”

It was barely more than breath, but it was real .

Oikawa made a choked sound, a half laugh, half sob, and carefully cradled Iwaizumi’s hand between both of his.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, tears tracking down his face again. “You’re really awake.”

Iwaizumi’s green eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused, but they found him. “You’re here…” he said faintly.

“Always,” Oikawa said, brushing damp bangs off Iwaizumi’s forehead. “I will follow you to the ends of the Earth.” He murmurs before pulling back slightly to grab him a glass of water, helping his alpha sit up and drink from the cup.

As the cup was pulled away, Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a small, gentle smile; the kind of expression no one else ever got. Soft around the edges, warm with familiarity. It was the look Oikawa would memorize in a dozen different lifetimes. If they were just boys on the court, when they were men covered in blood and shadows, when they’d first whispered mine against each other’s skin.

Oikawa crumbled.

He bent forward, trembling, burying his face against Iwaizumi’s bruised cheek. The tears came hard and fast now, heavy sobs wracking his slender frame as he clung to the scent, the warmth, the heartbeat under fragile ribs.

He was awake. He was alive. His mate was home .

“I thought I lost you,” Oikawa whispered, voice cracking in a way that sounded like something breaking open. “I thought I… don’t ever scare me like that again, please.” he pleaded, voice so small it was like they were taken back into the past when they were just helpless kids trying to survive in a world that hated them.

Iwaizumi groaned softly, muscles protesting every movement, but still he lifted his hand. It trembled as it found Oikawa’s hair, fingers sinking into it like it was the only thing tethering him to this world.

“I’m here,” he murmured, voice growing steadier with every breath. “I’m here, Tooru… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The omega let out a shuddering breath, nodding into the crook of his neck and curling himself tighter against Iwaizumi like he could melt into his side. His fingers brushed over bandages, over wounds not yet healed, but none of it scared him. Not anymore.

He kissed the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth, featherlight, then rested their foreheads together, skin to skin. Iwaizumi grinned and weakly pulled at Oikawa to bring him into the bed.

Oikawa, ever the touch dependent omega, eagerly crawled into the medical bed with him. He tucked himself gently against Iwaizumi’s less injured side, his head under the alpha’s chin, their legs tangling together the way they always do when they cuddled. 

For hours, they stayed like that. Oikawa didn’t leave his side, didn’t even look away, whispering promises into Iwaizumi’s skin; soft apologies for things that hadn’t needed saying, words like I love you , I missed you , you’re safe , and I’ve got you now.

Iwaizumi fought to stay awake through it all, holding Oikawa to his chest like a lifeline, blinking slowly as strength returned to his limbs in slow, stubborn increments. He wouldn’t sleep, not until he was sure Oikawa had finally let himself rest.

The alpha smiled and turned his head enough to kiss Oikawa’s hair. “Sleep, Tooru. I’ve got you.”

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Oikawa finally let himself fall into the gentle embrace of sleep.

Wrapped in the heartbeat he thought he’d lost, blanketed by the scent of home, Oikawa closed his eyes and let the world fade. And in the quiet hum of the medical wing, under white lights that no longer felt harsh, the two of them slept, finally, and safely, together again.

That’s how Kuroo found them when he entered Iwaizumi’s room quietly in the morning. He lingered in the doorway, the silence thick around him, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace that hung in the air like breath before dawn.

Iwaizumi was already awake, propped just enough to look over at the door. His green eyes were a little clearer, a little more alive. Oikawa lay curled into his side, soft breaths fanning over his collarbone, a hand still loosely tangled in Iwaizumi’s shirt.

When their eyes met, Iwaizumi offered a faint, tired smile. It was a quiet, grateful kind of thing that held a thousand words.

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi said, voice low but steady. “For taking care of my mate… and for retrieving me.”

Kuroo stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest and tilted his head, something unreadable flickering across his features.

“It was nothing,” he said, keeping his voice just above a whisper. “I know you would’ve done the same for me.”

Iwaizumi gave a small nod. “Still,” he murmured. “You came for me when it counted.”

Kuroo huffed a breath, trying to stay nonchalant. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? For the people who matter.”

He didn’t say ‘for our family’, he didn’t need to.

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It settled between them like worn leather, comfortable, familiar. Iwaizumi rested his head back against the pillow, the lines around his eyes softening, and Kuroo glanced once more at Oikawa, who hadn’t stirred.

“Sleep while you can,” Kuroo said after a beat, moving toward the door again. “He’s going to fuss the second you so much as blink wrong.”

Iwaizumi smirked faintly, something like fond amusement twitching at his lips. “I’m counting on it.”

Kuroo paused in the doorway. “We’ll keep watch out here. Take your time.”

And with that, he slipped out, letting the door close behind him with barely a sound.

There was a small bitter part of him that screamed that it should be him. That he should have found Kenma by now, that they should be reuniting and all stupidly in love with one another again.

But he tamped it down, he’d find Kenma it was just going to take some time.

Time…

And wasn’t that all he had now? 

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!

I know this chapter is a bit late, but to be fair it is over 8000 words long so bear with me I'm trying.

My hyper fixation has been shifting to the Batfam and TimKon so I'm sorry my brain is being an ADHD monster right now but fear not, I refuse to give this story up I have come much too far for that.

That being said I may also write some batfamily fanfics to ease the demon in my head.

Also, a lovely announcement!!!

I am going to be hopefully posting the next set of character designs and backstories with chapter 31!!! I have 4 designs completed and 4 more to go, hopefully while drawing I manage to shift my fixation back to this.

Also, I am so sorry if chapters are weirdly posted. Moving back into my house has been a pain and that plus Shrek the Musical has taken up most of my time.

That being said, if you are still reading this your comments really do help me with my motivation to keep writing so, please keep commenting, it helps me focus!

Anyways, have a great rest of your day and I'll see you Friday <3

Chapter 29: Curses

Summary:

We follow Kuroo, Tsukishima, and Osamu on a mission; and learn some new things about them.

TW: Child abuse, Sexual Assault, Trafficking, Violence, and Pedophilia

Three years.

That’s how long it had been since Kuroo stumbled into Seijoh’s world half-alive and more ghost than man.

Three years since Oikawa had pulled him out of the fire, both literally and figuratively, and Iwaizumi had steadied him with quiet, patient strength. Since he’d been stitched back together with wire and purpose, remade not just as a weapon, but as someone who wanted to fight, to protect, to live again.

The man who had once belonged to shadows and silence was now a name whispered with both fear and respect across the underworld.

Panther.

Sleek. Lethal. Unseen until it was far too late.

Kuroo had earned the name from countless battles, and endless amounts of blood surrounding him. His kill count had surpassed three hundred within the single year he’d been allowed out in the field. As the bodies piled up people began to fear his presence. His name was whispered as a warning if you strayed from the path.

Sadly, that wasn’t enough to stop the scum of the Earth so there was never a short supply of bastards that needed to die.

And even after all the blood spilled Kuroo still moved like it never touched him. Like he could step through the ruins of a mission untouched, all sharp edges and coiled precision, and still return home with his knives clean and his voice steady.

But it did ruin him.

He just never let it show.

He refused to let the horror affect him, to let it shake him to the core. He would bear witness to endless acts of brutality and still smile after the mission was done. Because he still had Seijoh, he had a family that cared about him, that accepted their mission to destroy the darkest parts of humanity and refused to let anyone fall behind.

 

---

 

Kuroo passed every stage of Seijoh’s combat program with frightening speed; close quarter combat, blades, firearms, even a surprise attack orchestrated by Iwaizumi. Bokuto had on several occasions called him a natural-born killer, half-laughing through a bruised jaw after a spar that left him on the mat.

His drive and instincts were second to only his teachers.

Each of his closest friends taught him their specialty, training him to become one of their greatest weapons.

Osamu trained him in firearms alongside Oikawa. Iwaizumi and Bokuto made him an expert in hand to hand and weaponed combat. Yamaguchi even took Kuroo under his wing to teach him more about infiltration and how to properly work as a medic if need be.

Tsukishima eventually began to teach Kuroo how to hack and strategize, and while he was doing really well, he still had a long way to go.

Kuroo couldn’t help but think how Kenma would probably be a natural in the tech department. It made him smile to think that once he found Kenma they could work together to help those who needed their protection. 

He just… had to find him.

But that was proving to be more difficult than he had ever anticipated. Even as Tsukishima taught him how to hack through trafficker systems and corrupted files, he couldn’t find a single clue on where Kenma was.

So, he kept learning. 

Kuroo hoped by learning how to disappear he could find Kenma, so he took every lesson to heart. He learned how to rewrite identities and how to drop off of the grid, off radars, networks, and erase himself from every traceable line of code in a world made of digital webs and mirrored walls. 

And soon he was learning how to survive with a keyboard as expertly as with a knife.

Late nights in the tech room became a ritual. The glow of code dancing across Kuroo’s face.

It was in these late nights that Oikawa often visited him. He had been the main hacker before they had taken Tsukishima in, so he was more than skilled enough to help Kuroo.

Oikawa would often lounge nearby going through paperwork as Kuroo tried to learn to find any trace of Kenma. The omega’s hair was always messy, and eyes were often half-lidded with exhaustion but still sharp enough to catch any mistake Kuroo made.

“You’re getting better,” Oikawa would murmur, sipping bitter coffee, voice almost fond.

Kuroo never responded out loud, just smiled and pushed deeper into the code, searching yet never finding what he needed. 

Kuroo was thankful for the family's trust in him.

They never asked why Kuroo scanned black market shipment manifests at three in the morning. Or why he tracked omega trafficking routes even when it wasn’t his mission. They didn’t pry because most of them understood.

They knew what it was like to lose someone.

And they let him have his privacy.

Because Kuroo had bled for them. Killed for them. Fought his way from the brink of death to stand beside them; not as a project, not as a broken thing to be pitied, but as one of their own.

Family.

Tonight, the tech room was quiet, save for the whir of hard drives and the soft mechanical clicks of Kuroo’s fingers flying over the keyboard. The light from the monitors cast a pale blue hue over his face, deepening the shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t slept in twenty-three hours. Not that it mattered. Sleep was a luxury he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in since the last lead went cold three weeks ago.

The screen in front of him displayed rows of encrypted shipping manifests, black-market medical logs, and transportation schedules. Every new page was a long shot. Every click a gamble. He traced the same pathways through trafficking routes, searching for patterns most people would overlook. 

Most people didn’t have the motivation he did. 

But then again, most people hadn’t lost their mate.

Kuroo exhaled sharply through his nose and sat back in his chair, rubbing the heel of his palm against the bond mark on his scent gland. 

Some days it was a blessing; other days it was a cruel curse that Kuroo couldn’t escape from.

To know Kenma is alive, but still unable to hold him in his arms.

He opened another tab, loading scent signature registries scraped from defunct omega databases. He knew Kenma’s scent by heart, Cinnamon apples. The perfect combination with his own nutmeg scent. But, without his nose working properly, all he had were old memories. 

Memories of how it used to cling to his clothes, used to lull him to sleep each night, how it smelled when Kenma was happy and content with their life together.

“I’m going to find you,” he murmured under his breath. “Even if it kills me.”

A soft chime echoed through the room, followed by a sharp beep from his phone. 

Oikawa texting him on the emergency line, Kuroo looked down and read the words

Panther, to my office. New Mission.

Kuroo groaned as he shut the lid of the laptop without ceremony, he stretched his arm and back before finally grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and making his way through the corridors. The hallways of Seijoh’s underground base were sterile and cold, but familiar. They had become home in the absence of everything else.

The inner part of the compound where only the family resided was much homier, field with art and warm lighting, but they had a reputation to uphold even with the other parts of their syndicate.

The quiet knock of Kuroo’s knuckles against Oikawa’s office door felt oddly ceremonial.

“Come in,” came the reply; smooth but tight, like Oikawa was already balancing six thoughts at once. 

Kuroo pushed the door open and stepped inside. Oikawa’s office was lit with soft amber tones, the only color in the minimalist space coming from a delicate prism sculpture on his desk. Iwaizumi stood in the corner with his arms crossed, the tension in his posture more rigid than usual. 

Tsukishima and Osamu were also there, leaning against opposite ends of the room like mirrors: Tsukishima, arms crossed, expression cool and calculating; Osamu, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp but easy, like a storm biding its time.

“You look like shit,” Iwaizumi said flatly as Kuroo stepped fully into the room.

Kuroo shrugged. “You say that every time I walk into a room.”

“That’s because it's always true.” The alpha said with a smirk causing Osamu to snort trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“Enough,” Oikawa said, pressing his fingers to his temples. Normally he would be all for the teasing, but recently there had been a few moves made against Seijoh and their lower ranks were starting to get too big for their britches, so he was swamped trying to figure out what to do next. “Sit.” He said simply waving a hand at the chairs.

Kuroo took the middle empty chair, resting his forearms on his knees. Osamu and Tsukishima followed suit sitting at his right and left sides respectively as Oikawa began to fill them in.

“We intercepted a new data packet from a Shizuoka ring,” Oikawa continued. “Encrypted manifests…” He said and Osamu leaned back.

“So, the usual?” He asked and Oikawa shook his head and folded his hands on the desk; the air seemed to grow heavier at that moment. The type of heavy that normally meant there was going to be some bloodshed, the kind that came with several difficulties.

“This mission,” he said, tapping a manila folder in front of him, “is high-risk. But not because you three can’t handle it, I know you can. That's why I picked you.” he explains, giving them a tired smile before continuing, “it’s because the targets are old money, deeply networked, and not used to being targets.”

Kuroo and Osamu straighten up in their seats and Tsukishima leans forward a bit.

Oikawa flipped open the folder to show them. Pictures spilled out; several alphas in tailored suits, smiling at galas, arms around much younger omegas whose smiles never reached their eyes. “These men have been trafficking omegas from developing regions; bribing border agents, falsifying paperwork, and auctioning them off behind closed doors.”

Osamu took in a sharp inhale of breath, his pomegranate scent growing sour. Kuroo’s jaw clenched at the words and Tsukishima’s knuckles tapped against his thigh, rhythmic and sharp.

“They operate under the cover of legitimate corporate conglomerates,” Oikawa continued, his voice clipped, “and they have diplomatic immunity in some regions. We’re not just burning down a nest of rats, we’re going to be vaporizing it.”

“We’re hitting all of them?” Osamu asked, voice low as he reached over and took the photos to look at, memorizing their faces.

“All six of them,” Oikawa confirmed. “Simultaneously. They will all be attending a gala this week, that’s when we strike. We can’t risk a warning tipping off the others.”

He slid small thumb drives filled with all the information they would need across the table. “You three will handle the gala.” He then points out an old man that looked suspiciously like a mole, “He’s the most cautious, rarely leaves his compound, paranoid to the point of obsession. He'll likely be the most difficult to eliminate. For the mission Tsukishima will be on intel and systems, Osamu will handle the long-range assassinations and extraction, and Kuroo… you know the drill.”

“Cleanup,” Kuroo said darkly, eyes scanning the face of the men they were sent to erase. “How poetic.”

Oikawa didn’t flinch. “Each of these bastards has a private bunker under their estate. That’s where they store the omegas before sale. You all will handle the elimination, we’ll have a few other teams go free the omegas. But you will need to free whichever omegas they brought with them to the gala.” He explained.

Silence fell like a blade, slicing into everyone as they thought about the task at hand, six targets in one night was going to be a challenge.

Tsukishima finally asked, “How will the hotel extraction go?”

“You’ll have Kita and Atsumu meet you once the sites secure. They’ll take the omegas to safety; either home, if it’s safe, or here. We’ll protect them.”

Kuroo nodded slowly. The burn in his chest was familiar now, anger laced with memory, sharpened by purpose. These were the kinds of men who destroyed so many innocent lives. These were the monsters who had made him dig through trafficking records every week searching for his mate.

“When do we leave?” Kuroo asked, voice cold as he reigned in his anger.

Oikawa’s light brown eyes met his golden ones. 

“Tonight.” He said and Osamu gave a low whistle, tucking the pictures back into the folder. 

“No rest for the wicked, huh?”

“Wicked sleeps when the world’s cleaner,” Kuroo murmured.

“How long will the mission be?” Tsukishima asked as they all stood to get ready for departure.

“About a week.” Iwaizumi answered, the alpha coming around the desk to bid each of them good luck. “You’ll be able to scope out the place for a few days, the gala is in 5 days' time, then you’ll need to clean up any loose ends.” He explains giving Osamu and Kuroo hugs and shaking Tsukishima’s hand.

The trio bid them goodbye as they went to pack their mission gear and get ready to show these rich assholes what karma was.

 

---

 

The mission went as follows:

The first four days were spent in preparation.

They arrived in Enoshima just before dawn, a thick blanket of sea fog curling around the streets like a living thing. The air was cold and salty, the sun only a whisper behind gray clouds. 

Upon arrival at their hotel, The Daikan Imperial, Tsukishima, and Osamu checked into the hotel under their assigned aliases. They then snuck Kuroo into the hotel through a back service door. Because of the scarring Kuroo had on his face they couldn’t risk anyone seeing him before the gala, during which he will be wearing a mask. 

The hotel was the kind of place built for men who had never worked a day in their lives. Gilt railings, imported marble, thick carpets that swallowed the sound of footfalls. A grand piano played itself in the corner of the lobby, mechanical and hollow . The building was opulence layered over rot, all crystal chandeliers and silk wallpaper. The place gleamed, but it stank of power hoarded and unearned.

Day One.

Kuroo secured the penthouse suite under a fabricated name and reputation, when interacting with others he would wear an ostentatious mask, something not out of the realm for rich bastards to do. The bellhop bowed low, impressed by the name on the card. Kuroo smiled with no real warmth. On his first ride up, he tested the elevator's stops and timing; exactly seven seconds to stall between floors. He filed it away for later use.

Tsukishima wandered the hotel like a bored intern, lemon candy on his tongue and tablet in hand. By noon, he’d infiltrated the hotel’s internal server, spotted two undocumented maintenance shafts, and started rerouting security feeds. “This encryption’s prehistoric,” he muttered. “Do rich people just assume no one will touch them?”

Kuroo had chuckled at that and gave him a look, which Tsukishima just rolled his eyes at.

Osamu mapped the perimeter. He prowled rooftops before dawn, scanned neighboring buildings, and charted wind angles and sniper lines. From the top of a luxury spa, he could see every balcony and escape path. His eyes dissected the terrain like a battlefield to find his perfect perch for his sniper nest.

That night, they met in the suite. Speaking in soft whispers, as they went over everything they had learned. Tsukishima uploaded a full map of the building overlaid with guard rotations, access routes, and vulnerability zones. Osamu cleaned and reassembled his rifle with surgical precision. Kuroo sharpened knives and studied their targets, pulling up more dirt from Seijoh’s database.

Day Two

Before dawn broke, Osamu climbed out of their tenth-story window in a maintenance harness and installed a thermal lens along the ballroom’s molding. By mid-morning, he had heat-visual coverage of the entire hotel.

Tsukishima hacked the guest list. The targets were confirmed: six alphas involved in trafficking omega minors for political blackmail and personal gain. All would be attending the gala. All were already marked for a painful end to their miserable lives. “I’d say I feel bad,” Tsukishima said, kicking his feet up on the bed, “but I don’t.”

“Good you shouldn’t.” Osamu had said as he charted the sightlines he’d need for both frontal assaults and subtle takedowns.

Kuroo spent the day watching and listening to the devices in elevators and service ducts. Kuroo had placed the small, nearly undetectable gadgets around the hotel in the early hours of the morning. Through it he mapped behaviors and vocal patterns. One alpha brought collared omegas to breakfast every morning. Another was jumpy and often walked with his head on a swivel constantly looking around, but he wasn’t particularly observant. Kuroo took it all in, eyes cold as he planned how to make the alphas pay for their crimes.

Day Three

Tsukishima successfully baited the hotel’s subcontracted event planner with a phishing email. She clicked it within minutes and now they had blueprints of the ballroom, backstage, and catering tunnels.

Kuroo walked the gala floor under the guise of a sponsor’s son, using a borrowed identity and beautiful mask to get through the entire building without any issues. He counted cameras, vents, hidden exits. And even charmed officials, shook hands with ministers, and catalogued every possible weakness with the calm of a predator.

Meanwhile, Osamu, dressed as an electrician with forged work orders, scaled the chandelier to install a camera with full vertical range and night vision.

That night, they ran a full blackout simulation. Tsukishima synced the lights, sprinklers, and alarms to a script triggered by a four-digit code.

Day Four

It was raining outside, like an omen of what was to come.

Inside the suite, the air smelled like steel and gun oil as everyone worked to sharpen and clean their weapons. Osamu mapped every firing angle and practiced his weapon disassembly between breath cycles. Kuroo threw knives into the wooden target they had brought and hung on the walls with mechanical repetition. Tsukishima ran scenario after scenario to account for anything; disruptions, double-backs, extra guards. He would go through and edit his code until milliseconds shaved away, ensuring the best rate of success.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi called just after midnight to check in. “You’ve got the green light. You're live tomorrow, bring home the win.” He said voice full of mirth as he finished listening to their plan of attack. 

Iwaizumi’s voice followed, “You’ve planned this well, make sure you all stay safe. Make it clean and make it hurt.” He said and they could pick out the hints of bloodlust in his tone. Iwaizumi hated alphas that used their status to hurt others.

They went to sleep late that night, triple checking everything was in place for the next day.

On the Night of the Gala the ballroom shimmered with fake smiles and riches.

Crystal chandeliers glittered like glass fangs. A string quartet played lullabies for wolves. Omegas in silks and jeweled collars stood beside alphas who laughed over blood-red wine and potent scotch.

Kuroo entered late, masked in obsidian and gold. The bedazzled mask hid the burn scars that would have given him away. He moved like royalty: untouchable and unseen. A midnight suit and a panther’s gait made people turn and stare at him, intrigued by his presence. The predators would never see it coming.

Tsukishima was in the security office three floors up, disguised as tech support. “You’re being watched,” he said over comms, “several gazes are watching with lust, but they should calm down as the party continues.” he explained as he watched through the high-tech cameras they had installed

Osamu waited on a nearby building's rooftop. He watched through the cameras and heat sensors they had installed. He had set everything up perfectly, his sniper rifle was trained on the open window, and Osamu adjusted his scopes slightly to get the best look at his targets.

“Targets entering now,” Tsukishima murmured into the comms and then began rattling off their positions and important intel.

“Alpha One: gray tux, north wing. Has an omega escort in blue silk.”

“Alpha Two: black suit, elevator arrival, has extra guards.”

“Three and Four: near identical navy-blue suits, champagne bar. Laughing at their own jokes.”

“Alpha Five: light blue oxford shirt, south wing. Has a gun on his left side.”

“Alpha Six: black henley shirt, near the fountain. Has two omegas’, one looks to be sporting hidden injuries based on their posture.”

Kuroo didn’t doubt any of the details Tsukishima caught. Having a medic for your mate meant you could pick up on slight injuries, but they’d have to be careful when transporting the injured omega. 

He drifted through the crowd like candle smoke. Making small talk and flirting with everyone around him. He walked past the large balcony that Osamu was aiming through, and he raised a champagne glass like a toast, giving the okay to Osamu.

At 21:43, the first shot is silently taken. Alpha One, drops forward onto the bar, mistaken for passing out from drinking.

At 21:47, Alpha Two’s wine turns bitter from a slow acting paralytic, he falls into the fountain and dies of poisoning or drowning, unconfirmed which killed him first. 

At 21:52, Kuroo follows Alpha Three into a back hallway.

At 21:54, Kuroo slips a blade beneath Alpha Three’s ribs in a hallway. The man gasped once. Kuroo hid him in a linen closet to die seconds later.

At 22:00, Kuroo reenters the gala and marks Alpha Five going closer to his position.

At 22:05, Alpha Four exits out onto the terrace and Osamu takes his second shot, alpha falls over the ledge unnoticed by the party and dies from the combined gunshot to his stomach and the 75-foot drop.

At 22:07, Alpha Five walked into the bathroom.

At 22:08, Kuroo followed inside, chatting to the man about “omega views”.

At 22:10, Kuroo injects the man with a fast-acting poison courtesy of Kunimi and stashes his body in the supply closet. 

At 22:11, they realize Alpha Six has left the gala. 

Tsukishima speaks through the comms, “He went back to his room, he took an omega with him and has two guards inside.”

Kuroo hums back and makes his way to the elevator riding it up to the top floor. 

Tsukishima gets to work erasing and looping all cameras that contain any incriminating information, including Kuroo, met by Osamu who had come back from his perch, walking down the long hallway to the penthouse suite.

Kuroo knocks on the door and one of the guards answers it, Kuroo quickly snaps the man's neck and Osamu goes into the room and shoots the second guard through the heart. 

Alpha Six reaches for a gun and Osamu shoots his hand and pushes the young omega girl behind his back. Kuroo lunges forward and grabs a knife from his waist pouch and slits the man's throat in a matter of moments.

The girl cowers behind Osamu in the corner and the omega kneels down and murmurs soft reassurance that Kuroo can’t make out. Eventually the girl nods and they leave with her, going through the other alphas room and gala to recover the other omegas.

By 22:30, the gala was still in full swing. The lights had flickered once, then steadied. The bodies were gone, moved discretely by several Seijoh operatives. The rooms were scrubbed by the cleaning crew. Tsukishima had cleared the cameras of their guilt. 

The trio made their way out of the gala with the omegas and snuck them two blocks away where Kita and Atsumu waited, dressed as EMTs in unmarked black vans. Inside were blankets, medicine, clothes, food, and water all ready for the omegas.

Kuroo carried the injured omega out. He clung to Kuroo with a death grip, still trembling even as Kuroo whispered soothing words to him. Trauma like this wouldn’t go away with just a few words of reassurance, but Kuroo would give what little comfort he could.

The omega wouldn’t let go until Atsumu had come over and whispered a promise to him, coating him in his own black currant scent. 

There were twenty-three omegas freed from the hotel and other operatives were working to track down and free the other omegas residing in the alphas hide outs and homes. 

“All targets were eliminated,” Tsukishima confirmed as he spoke to Oikawa on the phone. “No civilian losses. No traces left behind. We will work on recovering the data now.”

There were murmurs of conversation back and forth before he hung up the phone and rejoined the group.

“See you back at home.” Atsumu said and hugged his brother as he and Kita got everyone situated and left back to Seijoh.

Osamu turned back to the alphas and stretched his arms. “You think Oikawa will give us time off?” Osamu asked.

Kuroo shrugged, wiping blood from his sleeve. “Not a chance.”

Osamu groaned but straightened up, “Come on let's go finish the mission, we need to get any info over to Seijoh before they realize the bosses were taken out.” 

They walk back and enter the hotel through a side entrance, avoiding the main lobby where security cameras still buzz with life. Tsukishima held the door open with the tip of his shoe as Kuroo and Osamu slipped inside, the tang of blood still clinging faintly to their clothes. 

“Crow, you still got the master keycards?” Osamu asked, voice quiet and alert.

Tsukishima lifted the thin strip of plastic between two fingers; the corner already bent from overuse. “Let’s make it quick.” He muttered, now that the hard part was out of the way his usual pessimistic tone was back.

They moved easily through the carpeted hallways; silent and unhurried. Their scents lingered in their wake, pomegranate, bergamot, nutmeg, but there was no one left to catch them.

Room by room, they raided the suites. 

Alpha One’s room was first; Kuroo took the keycard and swiped it, Osamu slipped inside and rifled through drawers with practiced ease. Tsukishima moved to the desk, unplugging a laptop and scooping up two external drives from the nightstand. The scent of stale cologne and expensive whiskey clung to the room like a ghost.

Next was Alpha Two. His room was pristine, obsessively so. They found a briefcase under the bed locked with a six-digit code, which Kuroo popped open with a hairpin and a quiet snort of amusement at the flimsy lock. Inside were hand-written notes, photos, and IDs of omegas across several cities. Kuroo put it all back with a grim expression, closing the case to take with them.

They swept through the remaining rooms with surgical precision, each one yielding more files, backup hard drives, burner phones, and flash drives hidden in drawers and even one behind a false vent. They were methodical, gloved fingers leaving no smudge behind, double bagging anything with a battery.

By 23:17, they were back in their suite with the door locked behind them.

The moment it clicked shut, Osamu stripped off his jacket and set their weapons on the table. The low hum of adrenaline still pulsed in his veins, but his hands were steady as he pulled out cleaning cloths, alcohol, and sealed bags.

“Cough ‘em up,” he said, waiting for the alphas to give over their weapons. “I’ll clean these up while you handle the data.” he unscrewed the silencer from his rifle. “Don’t want a single drop of DNA left just in case.”

Kuroo dropped into the chair beside the coffee table, the briefcase in his lap. He opened it and began spreading out the files he’d added to the collection from other rooms into neat rows. The scent of nutmeg bloomed stronger around him; focused and sharp. “Some of these are coded. I’ll see if they match the cipher Kindaichi sent over.”

Across the room, Tsukishima was already seated at the desk, two laptops and five flash drives plugged into a splitter. His bergamot scent drifted faintly as his fingers moved fast over the keys.

“There’s encryption on all of it. Local server access, some VPNs bouncing through Spain and the Emirates. Nothing I can’t break into; it’ll just take some time.”

Osamu glanced up from where he was scrubbing a pistol grip, brow furrowed. “Any risk they’re watching live?”

Tsukishima shook his head. “I’m using a clone network. They’ll think their drives are offline or corrupted. Worst case, they just lose access for a while.”

Kuroo hummed lowly, flipping through the files with a methodical efficiency. Names, photos, financial records; all tagged with omega profiles and bidding sheets. Every page scraped at his nerves, each ID photo a punch to the ribs. Teenagers mostly. Some barely past childhood, all of them stolen, manipulated, or sold off by people they should’ve been safe with.

A faint burn curled in his stomach as he traced his gloved finger down the image of a boy with sunken eyes and a paper-thin smile. There were bruises faintly visible at the base of his neck. A collar had been removed, but not soon enough.

“Let’s catalogue the files by handler,” Kuroo said, voice tight. “See if any pattern matches the other facilities Oikawa flagged.”

Tsukishima didn’t look up from where he was typing. “Already on it.”

The suite fell into a rhythm of quiet efficiency. The shuffle of documents, the rapid tap of keys as Tsukishima broke down firewalls and encrypted networks, the soft click of metal against metal as Osamu reassembled and sanitized their weapons, each piece sealed in sterile wrap. Outside, the city carried on in ignorant silence. 

Kuroo leaned back against the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose before reaching for the bag of energy drinks they kept stocked in the minifridge. He cracked open three, passing them silently to his teammates. Tsukishima accepted his without looking away from the monitor. Osamu gave a quiet nod of thanks before setting it beside him, still focused on the array of disassembled gun parts in front of him.

Kuroo took a long sip, then reached for another folder. His eyes moved quickly, scanning each document with calculated detachment; until something inside him shifted. The detachment cracked.

He wasn’t reading the full profiles anymore. He was looking for one name.

Kenma.

His fingers moved faster, flipping through files, bypassing the worst of the images and details in favor of something, anything, that might give him a lead. The bitter hope lodged in his throat didn’t ease, even as he dropped the folder and grabbed his laptop, pulling up the encrypted drive they’d downloaded from the Alphas’ internal systems.

Nothing.

There was… nothing.

No familiar names. No archived transactions. No sightings.

The absence of Kenma’s name should’ve brought him comfort. Should’ve meant he wasn’t here; wasn’t one of the many victims this organization had harmed. But instead, it twisted deeper. Because if Kenma wasn’t here, then he was somewhere else, and Kuroo still didn’t know where that was. The silence of that void hurt more than any confirmation ever could.

He missed him.

God, he missed him.

Even the smallest breadcrumb would have steadied his breath, given him something to follow. Some reason to believe he wasn’t chasing ghosts. But all the data in the world couldn’t bridge the space between grief and hope.

Tsukishima's fingers tapped steadily over the keyboard, lines of code and encryption melting beneath his focused scowl. Beside the window, Osamu was seated low in a chair, a disassembled gun in his lap, cloth in hand as he polished the barrel in practiced, rhythmic strokes.

Kuroo sat at the small metal table, file after file spread out in front of him, eyes narrowed as he sifted through the chaos for something that made sense. He was deep into his spiral at this point, the discord in his brain only broken when Osamu began to speak.

“You asked about my story.” he said quietly, voice breaking the tension like a crack in glass, “now’s as good a time as any.” 

Kuroo looked up, stilling his fingers over a grainy photo. Tsukishima didn’t pause completely, but his pace slowed, the keystrokes turning cautious, listening.

Osamu picked up Kuroo’s combat knife from the table, turning it in his hands with the same care he gave his own weapon. His gaze stayed locked on the blade.

“Atsumu and I grew up near a brothel.”

Kuroo’s eyes lifted. Tsukishima froze, mid-keystroke.

“The owner was an Alpha,” Osamu continued. “As you can guess he wasn’t the good kind. He was an alpha with a mean temper and a belt and no reason to ever say your name right. The kind whose mouth is full of other, stronger, people’s names.”

He let the words hang for a moment before drawing a slow, deliberate breath.

“As you already know ‘Tsumu and I are omegas. Me and ‘Tsumu. We were pretty back then.” He snorted almost self-deprecatingly, “Not that I look pretty anymore. But people told us that, like it was a compliment, something to be proud of. It wasn’t, not where we grew up. It was a death sentence.”

His hands kept moving, cloth smoothing across steel, but his voice turned brittle around the edges.

“That alpha kept propositioning us, wanted us to join his brothel, and said we’d bring in good money for him.” Osamu gripped the hilt of the knife tighter, “We were just children, but it didn’t matter.”

Kuroo’s grip on a file tightened, causing it to wrinkle but he didn’t interrupt his friend.

“We said no, for years. Said it to his face. Laughed at him, even. Thought we were safe ‘cause we had each other.” Osamu’s jaw tensed. “Turns out we weren’t. When we were twelve, he sold our names to a trafficker in town. Told them we’d be good product. High yield. We just needed a bit of ‘training.’”

He shook his head as he said 'training’ with bitter disdain.

“They dragged us out in the middle of the night,” Osamu said. “Didn’t even bother knocking. One of them broke my nose with a pipe. I remember the sound. The blood. Atsumu screaming. After that... it’s mostly fragments.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice didn’t waver, but the cloth in his hands was clenched tighter now.

“I don’t remember our childhood anymore. Not really. Can’t picture birthdays. Don’t remember Mom’s face. But I remember the ring.”

Kuroo’s voice came quiet, as he flipped through a file. “The trafficking ring?”

Osamu nodded, eyes hazy and far away.

“Yeah, that part’s burned in. ‘Tsumu remembers our childhood, all I remember is the rope, chains and cages. I remember the copper taste in my mouth when they beat me for trying to get between Atsumu and them.”

Kuroo didn’t move. Tsukishima’s screen flashed white with decryption progress, but his hands were still.

“I always took the hits. Always. Atsumu was the loud one, yeah, but he was soft. Too soft. I kept trying to protect him, even when I couldn’t stand. They whipped me every time. Told me they’d break me down ‘til I learned my place. Guess they didn’t realize breaking me wouldn’t make me stop protecting him.”

He swallowed hard, taking a moment before he continued.

“When we were fifteen, one of the clients tried to take Atsumu in front of me.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. “So, I bit him. Bit down until I ripped off half his damn dick.”

Neither Kuroo nor Tsukishima breathed.

“They beat me until I couldn’t see,” Osamu’s voice thinned. “Thought I was going to die. I think I wanted to. But then they dragged Atsumu in front of me and took a blade to his arm. Said, ‘This is what happens when you don’t learn, Omega.’ They started to cut up his arm, that's why he’s got scars on it, he’s pretty self-conscious about it, thinks it's a mark of his weakness.”

He paused. Cleaned the muzzle of Kuroo’s gun like if he didn’t do something, he’d fall apart right there.

“And that’s when Oikawa and Iwaizumi showed up.”

Kuroo blinked. “Wait… What?”

Osamu looked up at Kuroo, eyes dark and sharp and full of something more potent than rage, something Kuroo couldn’t name. “Yeah. They tore through that place like fire. Iwaizumi broke skulls with his bare hands. Oikawa, he didn’t smile once. Didn’t even spare a glance towards the people he killed. Just kept moving. Slaughtered every single one of ‘em.”

He exhaled, long and slow. “Me and ‘Tsumu weren’t alone in that cell. Kita was there. Aran too. They all got out that night. We were half-dead, but Oikawa carried Atsumu out himself. Iwaizumi ripped his shirt and made me a tourniquet so I wouldn’t bleed out right there. No questions. No pity.”

Kuroo leaned forward, eyes wide.

“Then they burned the ring to the ground and took us to Seijoh.” 

Tsukishima’s screen chimed softly, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“They took us in. Healed us. Fed us. Oikawa taught me to shoot because I told him I didn’t want to be helpless ever again. He told me if I wanted to protect those important to me, I needed to become the best. So, I learned fast, refused to give up and kept pushing. I passed his kill count within six months. Took over the whole firearms division by seventeen.”

He reassembled the gun in fluid, practiced motions.

“I remember my first kill. A client from the ring. He begged. Said he didn’t mean any harm; it was just business. I didn’t even flinch. Shot him right between the eyes.”

Kuroo finally spoke. Quiet. Reverent. “You fight for Seijoh because they saved you.”

Osamu nodded. “They didn’t just save me. They gave me a reason, a path to take. A chance to become someone who doesn’t let the monster's win. Every time I pull that trigger, I remember who I used to be. And I make sure they ruin another person's life.”

He looked at Kuroo, eyes scanning the alpha’s scarred face and damaged golden eye.

“You understand that don’t you.” It wasn’t really a question, but he answered anyway.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

And he did, because Seijoh had done the same for him. It gave him a reason to live and the resources to search for Kenma, to keep walking through hell with only a fading bond as his guiding light.

There was a pause and Kuroo allowed himself to take everything in, analyze the story and compare it to who Osamu was today. And it explained a lot about the omega, but there were still some things left unanswered. 

Osamu seemed to understand Kuroo’s silent question and when his voice came again, it was quieter now. Like a memory too delicate to hold roughly. “There’s more to the story.”

Tsukishima and Kuroo both looked at him, allowing him to take his time.

Osamu didn’t meet their eyes. “Like I said earlier, I don’t remember our childhood. It’s mostly blank. Everything before the ring. Before the blood. But Atsumu does.”

He set down the cloth he had been fiddling with and crossed his arms over his chest, like he was holding himself together

“He used to tell me stories when we were locked up. When I was so hurt I couldn’t move, or when I got punished for mouthing off. He’d sit with me, and he’d talk. Tell me stories. Just to keep me there. Keep me human. Maybe to keep us both sane.”

A breath. A flicker of something raw behind his gray eyes.

“He said there was a boy when we were little. An alpha. Lived down the street, his mother worked in the brothel. He wasn’t loud or cruel like the other alphas. He was… quiet. Observant and gentle. Apparently, he used to look at me like I was something precious, like I mattered.”

A ghost of a smile passed over his face, thin and bitter-sweet.

He laughed softly, bitter-sweet. “Said I hated him at first. Thought he was boring. But then he gave me some candy I’d dropped and told off this older alpha who had shoved me. After that, I followed him around everywhere. Apparently, I’d just sit with him on our back porch, we didn’t talk much for the first few months, but eventually we never shut up. We’d talk for hours, forgetting all of our troubles.”

Kuroo swallowed, heart aching for his friend.

“Atsumu said that boy… he looked at me like I was the whole world. Said if anyone ever loved me. Like really loved me, it was him. This quiet, steady alpha kid who’d pick flowers and hide them in my backpack and blush when I tried to thank him.”

Osamu looked up, gaze distant and full of something aching.

“I don’t remember him. Not his name, not his face. But Atsumu swears he was real. Swears I loved him too. Swears he was the reason I used to smile before everything turned to shit.”

Tsukishima had stopped typing again. Even he wasn’t immune to the kind of grief buried in nostalgia.

“Atsumu called him my first alpha. Said the kid would’ve given me the stars, if just asked.”

The silence returned, thicker now, but Osamu didn’t try to fill it.

Kuroo spoke up quietly, “Do you believe him?”

Osamu’s eyes flicker to him and he nodded once.

“Yeah. I do. Because sometimes when things got really bad in the ring, when my bones cracked and my skin split, Atsumu would tell me stories about him. This boy who used to carry my books. The one who punched a trafficker’s son once for making me cry. The one who kissed me behind a fence when he thought no one was looking.”

He looked away again. “That boy… he’s the reason I made it. Even when I didn’t remember him, the idea of him, of someone who looked at me like I was more than an object, he kept me alive.”

Kuroo felt the ache for his best friend bloom like bruises along his ribs. He knew the pain Osamu was going through intimately.

“That’s why I don’t…” Osamu hesitated. “Why I’ve never taken anyone. Never dated. Not even casually. I guess my omegas still tied to a ghost I can’t remember. How fucked up is that?” He said almost bitterly.

Kuroo shook his head slowly. “It’s not. It’s not fucked up at all.”

Osamu smiled sadly to himself, “Thanks.” He said, his voice almost a whisper.

Tsukishima spoke up without an ounce of bite in his words. “What if he’s still out there?”

Osamu smiled, soft and tragic. “Then I hope he’s happy. I hope he found someone deserving of his love even if it isn’t me.”

Kuroo didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched after he said it.

“But…” Osamu’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely there. “If he’s out there, and he’s waiting… then I’ll wait too.”

Kuroo nodded, heart heavy. “Then we keep surviving. For them.”

“For them,” Osamu repeated.

The clack of keys filled the silence left behind by Osamu’s story.

No one had spoken for several minutes. Kuroo remained seated, elbows on knees, gaze distant as he thought about sharing his own story. 

Osamu had returned to the weapons, examining them once again.

Tsukishima, still at the desk, continued to type without looking up at his companions. “You know,” he said, voice dry as ever, but softer than usual. “It’s weird. Hearing Osamu talk like that. You spend so long thinking you’re the only one who came to Seijoh broken, even though you know that isn't true.”

They glanced over at him, but Tsukishima’s eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“Guess it’s my turn, huh?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Not that it’s much of a surprise. Everyone in Seijoh has some sort of skeleton in the closet.”

He paused, briefly, then continued working. “My family was rich. Real rich. Not the nouveau riche, think more… generational wealth. Old money with old ideals to match.”

There was a bitterness to his voice, one that Kuroo hadn’t heard before.

“My father was an alpha. High-ranking in the government’s economic committee. My mother was an omega, obviously. She was hand-picked for her pedigree and womb. Not much else. He never loved her. Barely looked at her unless she was pregnant or bleeding out.”

The typing didn’t stop. But Tsukishima’s voice was no longer detached.

“He used to beat her. Never when anyone was around. Never where bruises would show. But he’d whisper things to her, about how she was nothing, just a babymaker. He used to taunt her, call her an incubator.” He scoffed.

“One day, when I was ten, he took it too far. She didn’t wake up. He paid off the right people. Said she overdosed on sedatives. The case was closed before the investigation even began.”

Kuroo felt his hands tighten into fists. Osamu had gone still.

“My older brother, Akiteru, he’s a beta. My father kicked him out at sixteen. Said our house was for alphas only. No room for ‘neuters.’” The venom in the quote was sharp. “Last I heard, he’s doing good. Has a husband and a kid. They live somewhere in the United States, Nebraska, I think. He doesn’t talk to me much, which is fair. But I’m proud of him.”

The screen in front of Tsukishima blinked. He clicked through files, still talking.

“I was five when I met Tadashi. We were at some gala our parents dragged us to. I was already the golden heir. He was this tiny, bright-eyed kid with a crooked smile and a juice stain on his dress shirt.”

Tsukishima’s lips twitched faintly.

“I fell in love right then. I didn’t have a name to put with the emotion, but eventually I realized what I had felt was love. We became fast friends. He made me laugh. Made me feel normal. But when we turned twelve, he presented as omega. His parents panicked. Pulled him from school. I wasn’t allowed to talk to him anymore.”

He finally looked up, glancing between his friends. “So, I did the logical thing, I snuck out. Climbed out of my window every night, walked a few blocks to see him. We’d sit under the back porch and talk about nothing. Pretend we weren’t trapped. Pretend we were still kids, which is crazy because twelve is still a child.”

Kuroo felt a cold knot form in his chest, he really didn’t like where this story was going but he continued to listen.

“I got caught, eventually. My father whipped me. Said it was discipline. Said I needed to learn the difference between alphas and ‘toys’.” His jaw clenched. “But I didn’t stop.”

The screen flashed and Tsukishima looked down and started to click through files, copying and deleting them, his fingers almost automatic now.

“When we were thirteen, Tadashi told me his parents planned to sell him. Said they’d found a buyer with ‘excellent family ties.' Which was a well-known code for trafficking. The man had a record, buried under a dozen fake names. But money makes monsters invisible to the law.”

He paused.

“So, we made a decision. We bonded that night. No ceremony. No pomp. Just two desperate kids biting each other. And just like that he was mine and I was his. That was all we needed.”

Tsukishima paused and a small smile fell on his lips, the same kind of smile that the alpha had when he was thinking about his mate.

“We ran. Made it a month, but eventually we got caught. The man that caught us was a bounty hunter, he threw us in a cell and called out families, they apparently gave him permission to punish us. Tadashi was whipped once, but I managed to convince them to give me his lashes. It was pretty easy; all I really had to do was remind them that damaged ‘goods’ don’t sell. I really hated calling my omega an object, but it did the job. I took the punishment.”

The air felt like it had dropped five degrees in the room.

“Tadashi hated seeing me hurt, so he…” and here Tsukishima’s voice caught for the first time, the rhythm of his typing faltering “he seduced the bounty hunter that night. Told him he wanted to prove he was worth the price. While the bastard was distracted, he took a pair of scissors off the desk and stabbed him in the eye, took the keys and freed me. I made him wait outside as I finished the alpha off. I choked him with the whip he’d used on us, watched the man plead for his life, but I felt nothing but rage.”

He turned his face away from the monitor, the glow casting long shadows across his expression.

“I grabbed some money, weapons, and essentials then I took Tadashi, and we ran. We were thirteen. Living on scraps. Doing odd jobs for money. Yamaguchi worked as a babysitter to earn food money. I worked security at a warehouse who paid under the table. Then Oikawa found us. Or maybe we found him. I don’t even know anymore.”

He sat back slightly looking at the ceiling as his computer uploaded all the files Tsukishima had been going through onto a flash drive.

“He gave us shelter. Food. Weapons. Told us Seijoh didn’t give a shit what biology we were born with, only what we could become . We decided to stay and earn our keep. And Tadashi…”

Tsukishima’s gaze softened just barely. “He thought I regretted bonding with him. For years he thought I hated him for it. I had no idea he was feeling that way because I have always loved him more than life itself.”

He shifted and gave Kuroo and Osamu a genuine smile.

“When we were fifteen, I finally confronted him. We had a bit of a fight, and I told him I loved him, that there wasn’t a moment since we met that I didn’t love him. After that we became a lot more stable, and we actually acted like a true bonded pair.”

Tsukishima’s computer beeped and he looked at it and began to final steps in erasing all of the files so only Seijoh would have access to them through the flash drive.

“And when I proposed to him at seventeen,” a dry chuckle escaped him, “he freaked out. He literally ran out of the garden I had proposed in and hid in Oikawa’s room for three hours. Thought I’d abandon him. Because his parents were obviously married too. A political match like mine, but they cheated on each other in front of him like it meant nothing. Made him think marriage was a lie.”

He closed the laptop. The last file had been erased, and a virus was sent into the enemy's system to corrupt all their data.

“But Oikawa talked to him, when he came out of hiding, he hugged me and apologized. We had a long discussion and after he finally accepted. We’ve been engaged ever since.”

He said and pulled the small chain out of his shirt where a simple gold band resided.

“Obviously we are happy now, but the trauma from all of it is still there. I can’t sleep with my back to the door. I can’t stand the sight of whips, I can deal with it, but I’d rather avoid them if possible. I still flinch if someone raises a hand too fast. But when Tadashi’s with me, when I can smell him in the sheets, and see his smiling face each morning, I can’t find it in myself to regret any of the decisions we made, even though they hurt at the time . ”

He looked up.

“That’s why I fight. Why I kill and bleed for Seijoh. Because they gave me stability and made sure Tadashi was safe.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward or heavy. It was full, dense with grief, love, and hard-earned truth. Kuroo felt like he was seeing Tsukishima for the first time without the sharp edges. Not the strategist, not the hacker, but just the alpha, bruised by the world and still trying to love anyway.

No one spoke. They didn’t need to.

The moment passed like the tide receding, and Kuroo glanced at the clock. 4:17 a.m. A handful of hours until sunrise. The kind of hour that settled into your bones, where exhaustion made everything feel more fragile and real.

He ran a hand through his messy hair and stood slowly, knees cracking faintly in the quiet. With a low grunt, he started collecting the files he had spread out earlier, stacking them with the same precision he used when laying traps.

Osamu stood too, setting his freshly cleaned rifle onto the table. He began disassembling it carefully, fingers moving in quickly, familiar motions. The weapon came apart like clockwork: scope, suppressor, bolt, magazine. He checked each piece, wiping them down again before tucking them into the foam-padded case lined with extra ammo clips and sound suppressors.

Tsukishima, silent still, grabbed his laptop, putting it into its padded case and wrapped the charger cord around his hand, tying it with a black Velcro strap before slotting everything into a reinforced black bag.

A subtle rhythm settled between them: the soft hiss of zippers, the muted clicks of weapons being stowed, the faint shuffle of boots on the carpeted floor. Kuroo packed the last of the surveillance photos into a slim folder and slid it into his bag alongside a spare burner phone and two sealed syringes of emergency paralytics.

Osamu opened a window just a crack, letting fresh air into the room that had grown too still, too saturated with heat and memory.

Kuroo’s fingers lingered on the strap of his bag before he finally zipped it closed and straightened. His mouth felt dry, like he’d swallowed gravel. He didn’t want to speak, but something had been tugging at him ever since Osamu’s story had unraveled like a ball of yarn. Some truth buried deep in his chest, scratching at the walls of his ribs.

He exhaled through his nose, breath dragging like sandpaper in his throat.

“Sometimes my bond mark feels like a curse.”

Osamu’s hands paused for half a beat as he reached for a canister of silicone cleaner. He didn’t speak, but his head tilted slightly, listening to the alpha.

Tsukishima looked over, one brow raised in something between curiosity and wariness.

Kuroo didn’t need a response.

He rolled his right shoulder, and the motion pulled at the scar tissue beneath the fabric of his shirt like old roots buried in ash. It was a kind of pain that didn’t scream, it hummed, constant and familiar, like an old song stuck on loop.

“I hate that I feel this way sometimes.” he said and the pure pain from that statement bled into every syllable. 

He braced his palms against the edge of the table, the wood cool under his skin.

“I should start from the beginning.” he said and took a stabilizing breath. “My mate's name is Kenma. I have known him his entire life… up to when he was 18, I guess since we’ve been apart for three years now.” 

Kuroo took another breath and spoke. His voice was low and steady, like he was narrating someone else’s story, letting the words pour out.

He didn’t give them the whole story, no careful chronology, no battlefield report. Just pieces, fragments, the way the memories lived in his heart: out of order and soaked in emotion.

He told them about how they’d met as infants, about growing up together, how Kenma had been his shadow, his shelter, his still point in a world that never stopped moving. How even as infants, it was like their souls had already decided, they’d found each other and weren’t letting go.

He told them about quiet rooms with soft blankets, nests, and low light, where Kenma would play games in his lap and fall asleep against his shoulder. How Kenma never really cared about flowers but loved the garden Kuroo built for him anyway because he’d built it with his own hands. 

He told them about the way their scents used to cling and blend perfectly together; nutmeg and cinnamon apple, warm and familiar like autumn air, and how just breathing near Kenma could calm his heartbeat.

Kuroo spoke of soulmates. Of perfect, imperfect harmony. Of how they were going to complete the bond on Kenma’s birthday, and how they thought they were promised forever, but instead got torn apart.

He didn’t describe the fire, not in detail. He didn’t need to; they had seen his injuries and the scars on his body gave a good understanding of the horrors Kuroo had gone through.

“The pain of losing him,” Kuroo murmured, “was worse than the flames. Worse than the burns. I barely remember the pain of my body breaking. But I remember the look in his eyes when I told him to run. I remember the sound of his voice when he begged me not to make him leave.”

His hand trembled slightly from where it rested on the table. He didn’t bother to hide it; there was no point.

“Sometimes I wonder if it would’ve been easier if I hadn’t survived,” he said, his voice soft and steady, too steady. “If I’d just burned to ash with that life. With that love.”

He closed his eyes for a breath, then opened them.

“But I did survive. And every day since, I’ve been fighting with everything I have to earn that survival. For him. Because as long as his bond mark stays on my throat, I know he’s out there.”

He looked up then, and for a second, Kuroo wasn’t the hardened soldier with a panther's name. He was just a man who had lost the sun.

“I bleed for Seijoh because they saved me from the flames and gave me purpose. But I fight,” he said, voice rasping like flint, “because somewhere out there is the only person I’ve ever truly loved. And I made a promise to myself that even if I never got to keep him, I’d spend every breath making sure he could live in a safe world.”

Neither Tsukishima nor Osamu moved. The silence was filled with the weight of every word Kuroo had uttered.

Kuroo exhaled slowly, like just speaking about his feelings had carved hollows in his chest.

“But some days…” he started, then faltered. His fingers found the edge of the table again, knuckles whitening. “Some days the bond mark doesn’t feel like a lifeline.”

He looked down, the admission made him feel like all the air in his lungs had been crushed out.

“Somedays it feels like a plague on my mind, and I hate myself for saying that.” The words cracked, soft but sharp, a confession dragged out from under layers of muscle and scar. “But I can’t keep acting like everything is okay . And no matter how long it’s been, no matter how much I look or break down, it keeps pulling me towards God knows what.”

He swallowed thickly, jaw tight and he buried his head in his hands pressing the palms of his hand into his eyes.

“It pulls when I sleep. When I wake. When I breathe. It's like it keeps whispering that he’s out there, still alive, still waiting for me, but it never shows me where he is. Never lets me find him. Just... pulls. And pulls. And pulls. And I think I’m starting to go mad, teetering on the edge of sanity with every search that comes up empty.”

He lets out a bitter, almost unhinged laugh, and his hand lifts briefly, hovering over his scent gland as if he could tear the mark out and hold it in front of them, proof that love and hope was starting to become torment.

“I’ve searched for him through millions of files, looked for him during every mission, combed through cities and ruins. Every time I think I’ve finally found him, the lead disappears again. And I keep telling myself it's just a little further. And I keep looking. I always search for him.”

He smiles to himself, hollow and full of anger and despair.

“But if I stop looking, I’ll fall apart.”

He finally looked at them again. His expression wasn’t defeated. But it wasn’t hopeful either. It was the look of someone who had been running for so long, they’d forgotten what stillness felt like.

“Loving him isn’t hard. It’s the easiest thing in the world. He’s, my heart. My peace. Even now, after all the time that’s passed, I would give anything to see him again...”

He paused and looked at his friends, tears were brimming in his good eye making it look glassy as the other looked hazy like he wasn’t full there anymore.

“But loving someone who isn’t here, who I might never find or hold again feels like I’m slowly bleeding out. The bond keeps me from dying, from going completely off the deep end, but it won’t let me heal either. But… I can’t stop searching for him until the bond dies or… I do.”

His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn’t look away. Didn't flinch. He let it stand, raw and open. The silence returned, thick and unmoving, and this time Kuroo let it stretch. Let it hold onto him like a death grip. 

Osamu finally pushes off the bench he was sitting on and walks over. He pulls Kuroo up into a tight hug and Kuroo lets him, letting the scent of Pomegranate invade his damaged nose.

“You shouldn’t have held all that in Idiot. No wonder you thought you were starting to lose it.” The omega says not unkindly as he starts to scent Kuroo to let him relax a bit.

Kuroo couldn’t help the bitter thought that it would be more helpful if his nose wasn’t so broken, but instead of voicing it he just leaned into the affection.

Tsukishima came up behind them and sighed before he rubbed his wrist against Kuroo’s damaged scent gland, letting his bergamot scent sink into his hurting friend.

“You should have told us sooner; we could have helped you look. Besides there are other places your omega could have gone off to, he could easily have gone to another country.” The blunt tone made Kuroo flinch and Tsukishima hesitated a bit, “I’m not saying it’s impossible to find him, I’m saying that you might need to broaden your search.”

Kuroo turned his head to look wearily at Tsukishima and the alpha shook his head, “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t expect you to go through another country looking for him. What I am saying is that maybe you should start looking through databases and civilian records, and you just so happen to have a friend that knows how to hack into government records.” He said with a small smile.

Kuroo couldn’t help but smile back at the alpha. 

Yams was right, Tsukishima really is a softie under all that sarcasm and sass.

“And you have several friends that would be happy to keep an eye out for any files with your omega in them.” Osamu added with a grin, pulling back only slightly to look at the alpha, but still kept a grounding hand on Kuroo’s arm.

For a moment, Kuroo let himself believe it. Let himself rest in the warmth of shared burdens, the illusion that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t carrying this alone anymore. It felt strange, like trying on a coat that didn’t quite fit but was warm enough that he didn’t want to take it off. Their scents clung to him faintly, and for once, the noise in his head dulled.

Maybe he wasn’t broken beyond repair.

Maybe he didn’t have to keep searching all alone.

But the bad thing about hope is that it’s fragile. It flutters into your chest like a bird caught in a storm, brief and desperate and wild. And just like that bird, it leaves behind silence when it goes.

And Kuroo… Kuroo had grown too used to silence.

So, when the gentle banter faded, when the moment passed and their hands fell away, that silence returned, thick and unrelenting. The warmth they’d offered remained on his skin, but inside, something hollow crept back in.

Because even surrounded by care, grief has a way of curling up in your lungs, refusing to let go.

His smile lingered a second too long before it wavered, tugged down by the weight of three years of searching and silence.

His friends meant well. They understood pain and suffering, but they hadn’t been there in the fire. They hadn’t seen his nightmares, when Kuroo would stand over the wreckage and scream until his throat went raw, waiting for an answer that never came.

They hadn’t felt the bond go from a comforting glow to a phantom ache that never led him anywhere useful, only ever forward. Forward and forward and forward in a never-ending loop.

Kuroo pulled back, gently untangling from their touch. He held up a hand to Osamu who tried to follow after him because he needed the space, needed the air and distance from the ache in his chest.

He crossed the room to look out of the window and suddenly the walls felt too close, the light of the rising sun too bright, the promise of help too sharp against the soft rot inside him.

He sat on the cold windowsill, elbows resting loosely on his knees, legs stretched long in front of him. His fingers, rough and raw with old burns and fresh callouses, twisted in the hem of his sleeve. The tips of them still held a phantom ache from where they had been stitched back together.

He looked down at his damaged hands. They were hands that had killed. Hands that had protected. 

They were hands that had done terrible things.

That had saved lives.

But they were also hands that used to brush through Kenma’s hair like it was the softest thing on earth.

Hands that used to hold Kenma like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

Osamu and Tsukishima had gone still, allowing Kuroo to think, as if they knew better than to cut through that thread of fragile lucidity. As if they sensed how close Kuroo was to unraveling again.

And he was.

Because the thoughts that swirled in his head tainted every happy memory.

Even if Kuroo found Kenma…

What if?

What if:

He’s moved on. He had to.

He thinks I left him.

He thinks I abandoned him.

Kuroo closed his eyes, breathing through his nose, chest tight.

What if Kenma had changed, if he’d buried the past, if he didn’t want to be found—

Would Kuroo know if Kenma moved on?

Would the bond break one day without any warning?

Or would it keep dragging him forward, on and on and on, forever chasing someone who no longer needed him, no longer wanted him?

The thoughts left Kuroo spiraling, in a prison of his own creation.

He wanted to curl up and sob, but a quick glance around the room yielded the faces of his two friends, patiently waiting for him to speak, to let them in, to let them help.

His voice, when it came again, wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even directed at anyone. It slipped out like breath after being wounded; unintentional and uncontrollable.

“He probably thinks I’m dead.”

The words hung in the air like dust suspended in sunlight. But neither Osamu nor Tsukishima interrupted, allowing Kuroo all the time he needs.

“I mean… why wouldn’t he?” Kuroo continued, tone low and bitter. “He watched the ceiling fall on me. Saw the structure collapse. He ran because I made him. Told him it was the only way for him to survive. I made him leave me there.”

He scraped a hand down his face, across the deep burn scars trailing from his right temple to just under his jaw, and then down his neck beneath his collar. The skin was uneven and angry. A permanent scar that would never go away fully.

“I keep wondering if he hates me for making him leave,” Kuroo said, almost to himself. “Or maybe he’ll hate me for surviving and not finding him. For not being enough to protect everything we built.”

Tsukishima’s expression darkened slightly, but he didn’t speak yet.

Kuroo let out a hollow laugh. “And if he’s okay, if he’s safe, if someone helped him survive… then maybe he’s happy now. Maybe he has a new life. New friends. Maybe even someone to love again someone whose whole and not scarred and hideous. Someone not tainted with blood and broken promises.”

His voice shook at the edges.

“I wouldn’t blame him if he moved on, not really. He deserves peace. Soft mornings. Safe hands. Someone better than who I am now.”

He looked up, finally meeting their gazes head on. “I mean look at me. I’m half-burnt, half-feral, stitched together by Iwaizumi’s brute force and Oikawa’s kindness. I’m not the same man he fell in love with. I don’t even know who I used to be anymore.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’m a killer now. I wake up screaming from night terrors most days and I train until my knuckles split. I don’t laugh the way I used to; I can’t stand looking in mirrors, and I have to stretch every morning just so I can properly move.”

Kuroo’s voice began to take on a resentful tone, but all the venom was directed at himself.

“And if I find him and he looks at me and doesn’t see someone he loves, just a stranger with my face and a ruined body, what the hell am I supposed to do then?”

The silence after was sharp. Cracking. Tsukishima’s jaw twitched like he wanted to argue, but it was Osamu who moved first, taking wide strides across the room to meet Kuroo by the window.

With a grunt, Osamu punched Kuroo in his unscarred arm, it was fairly light for them, but firm enough to snap him out of it.

Kuroo blinked at the omega, startled.

Osamu’s voice was soft, but serious. “If someone had sacrificed that much for me ? If someone sacrificed everything for me, got impaled, burned, and beaten to keep me safe, yet still got up and walked through hell just to find me? I’d be in love with them till I died.”

Kuroo didn’t respond, too stunned.

“Think about it,” Osamu continued, sitting on the window ledge beside him. “You think Kenma forgot? You think he doesn’t replay that night every time he closes his eyes?”

“He probably hates that he ran,” Tsukishima added. “Knowing omegas like him, ya know like Oikawa and Tadashi, he’s probably convinced he abandoned you. ”

Kuroo shook his head, but Tsukishima wasn’t done.

“And you’re talking like scars are some kinds of poison, but Kuroo…” Tsukishima’s gaze scanned over the burn scar that engulfed Kuroo's right side. “Kenma loved you. Not the unscarred skin. Not the fake swagger or nonchalant persona you wear. No, he loved you. And if he’s really your other half, do you think he’d care about any of that?”

Kuroo’s voice was small. "I just don’t know if I’d still be the man he cared about. Once he sees what I’ve become… I doubt he’d love me anymore.”

“You’re more than a pretty face,” Osamu said firmly, lifting the alphas face so Kuroo was looking at him. “And don’t worry, even with the scars you still look pretty damn sexy. But even though you may be stronger, sharper, and maybe a bit moody, you are still a caring individual. You are one of the best people I know, so don’t sell yourself short.”

Osamu smiled at him and Kuroo gave a weak smile in return.

“You love him enough to let him move on if he had to. That alone? That’s the kind of love that lasts decades . You didn’t die that night, Kuroo. You were reborn, like a phoenix . You may be a little banged up, but you’re no less worthy of love.”

Kuroo looked away, blinking his eyes quickly to keep the tears from falling.

“I just… if he doesn’t want me anymore—”

“Then you respect it,” Tsukishima interrupted bluntly. “But don’t assume the worst just to protect yourself from hope. That’s something a coward does, and you are a lot of things but cowardly isn’t one of them. You didn’t survive a fire to give up at the first sign of doubt.”

Kuroo laughed wetly. “Didn’t realize I was getting the therapy mission special tonight.”

“You needed it,” Osamu smirked and pulled Kuroo into another hug.

“You’re welcome,” Tsukishima deadpanned, but wrapped one of his arms around Kuroo’s shoulders.

They fell quiet again, but it was warmer now. Not empty.

Kuroo stared out the window at the rising sun, a new day dawning.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t flinch at the light.

He didn’t feel ready to let go of the lingering doubts.

Maybe he never would be.

But the thing about surviving hell is, eventually, you have to crawl out of it.

Even if the fire leaves you changed. Even if the smoke still lives in your lungs. Even if the only thing pulling you forward is the thread of a bond that won’t let go.

He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of his friends at his side and the sun on his face hold him still, just for a moment.

It didn’t silence the ache. Didn’t erase the guilt or the scars.

But it softened them.

It reminded him that maybe the version of himself who loved Kenma wasn’t completely gone. Maybe he’d just been buried beneath ash and armor, waiting for the right moment to breathe again.

The bond mark on his scent gland pulsed faintly; quiet and steady.

Maybe it was a compass instead of a curse.

A stubborn, unyielding promise etched into his very being. A whisper that said keep going, even when everything else screamed stop.

And gods, he was so tired.

But love like this doesn’t just fade away. It endures.

Even when it hurts, even when it hollowed him out and stitched him back together in strange, unrecognizable shapes.

And maybe Kenma wouldn’t see the man he once loved. Maybe he’d see a man carved in grief, all jagged edges and ruin.

But Kuroo would still hold out his hand. Still try. Still walk through fire, again and again, if it meant Kenma could feel safe in the world he bled for.

So, he took one more breath.

And when he exhaled, it was full of ash and hope.

Tomorrow, they will go home. Back to Seijoh.

To the family they’d built from the broken pieces.

And if he was lucky…

If the world was kind…

One day soon, he’d find his way back to the one piece he still hadn’t recovered. The one that had always felt like home.

 

---

By the time the armored vehicle rolled up to the gates of Seijoh’s compound, the sky had already shifted into evening, painted in muted purples and soft golds. The heavy gates creaked open with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing the familiar stone walls bathed in lanternlight and the warm glow of home. Golden light spilled outward like a benediction, curling around the courtyard and reaching for them as though the base itself had been holding its breath, waiting for them to return.

It wasn’t the largest stronghold Seijoh controlled. Not the most defensible or the most discreet. But it was home to the inner family. A sanctuary pulled together piece by piece, from blood and grit and shared scars. And tonight, it welcomed them back like prodigal sons; exhausted from the mission and little amounts of rest they had been able to get.

They’d wrapped up the last mission details just past midnight; briefing files finalized, supply caches secured, evidence erased. It hadn’t been the easiest mission, but they’d pulled it off beautifully. Then came the packing. The last-minute security details to go over. The final sweep through the hotel to ensure nothing was left behind. By the time they'd loaded up the vehicle and started the long, silent drive back to Tokyo, it was nearly two in the morning.

Now, nearly seventeen hours later, they were crawling back in on fumes.

Osamu was behind the wheel, his hands steady but his shoulders drooped with bone-deep fatigue. The omega hadn’t spoken in the last hour, his jaw locked in concentration, eyes dark with exhaustion. His scent, usually sharp with bright pomegranate, was dulled and heavy, soaked in weariness.

Tsukishima sat in the passenger seat; tension coiled in his long frame like a wire pulled too tight. He hadn’t slept during the drive. None of them had. He kept tapping two fingers against his thigh in restless intervals, a habit that Kuroo had grown so used to it was almost comforting. Almost.

Kuroo himself was in the back, slouched but not relaxed, his head leaning against the cool window. The world outside blurred past in familiar shadows and fading sunlight. His eyes tracked the glow of lanterns flickering over the compound walls; the way they cast long, gentle silhouettes across stone and steel.

He hadn’t said much since the halfway point of the drive. None of them had. They were past conversation, past strategy, past adrenaline. They had nothing left but the ache of muscles pulled too long in the same position, the throb of bruises barely numbed by caffeine, and the ghost weight of what they’d all confessed the night before.

Kuroo could still feel the heaviness of his own words; spilled like blood into the air between them. Could still feel Osamu’s arms around him. Tsukishima’s blunt honesty pressing against the edge of his doubt like a whetstone.

And now, here they were.

Home. 

The courtyard ahead glowed with soft, welcoming light. Warm silhouettes moved behind curtained windows; someone in the kitchen, someone crossing the foyer. Voices hummed faintly in the distance, muffled by stone and the hum of low conversation. The vehicle slowed to a final crawl, wheels crunching over gravel and traversing into the basement parking lot, until it rumbled to a full stop under the main building.

They had barely exited the vehicle before there was a voice yelling from the door that led into the compound.

“Tsukki!” The unmistakable voice of Yamaguchi yelled as he ran towards the car. 

Tsukishima only had a few moments to ready himself before Yamaguchi launched himself forward into the arms of his mate.

The omega tightened his grip around Tsukishima’s waist, breath catching with emotion he didn’t bother to hide. Tsukishima didn’t speak, just melted into the hug, one hand sliding into Yamaguchi’s hair, the other pulling him closer. He dipped his head and kissed Yamaguchi softly, once, twice, relief bleeding into every inch of contact.

“You’re finally home.” The omega murmured smiling up at his mate and Tsukishima let a fond, loving smile fall onto his lips

“Yeah,” Tsukishima murmured, kissing his temple. “Home.”

A few feet away, Osamu was ambushed by three people all at once.

“Well look who dragged himself back in one piece,” Atsumu drawled, but he was already dragging Osamu into a hug scenting his brother with his black current scent.

“About time,” Aran added with a grin, pulling Osamu into a one-armed hug that lingered longer than expected. 

Kita said nothing at first. He just looked at Osamu for a long moment, scanning the omega for any injuries or signs that he was suffering from something more than simple weariness. When he had concluded he was alright the omega stepped closer to the group hug, allowing himself to be yanked close by the twins.

“You did well,” he murmured from his position between the twins and his mate. “Welcome back.”

Osamu didn’t reply with words. He just bumped his forehead against each of them—Atsumu, Aran, then finally Kita—and let the tension bleed out of him all at once. In their arms, the weight of the mission, the silence of the road, the ache for home, all began to unspool. Slowly. Quietly. A knot unwinding in his chest like a tether loosening.

Kuroo stood off to the side, watching the scene in front of him with a small, tired smile. A familiar ache making its way back into his chest. 

It was beautiful, this reunion of bond mates and family, the way they instinctively folded around their loved ones like they were something precious coming home. 

And while Kuroo was genuinely happy for them, that familiar ache crept up his throat like it always did.

Seijoh was home. Had been for a while now. But moments like this reminded him that some part of him still stood outside the gates.

No one had run to him. No hands reaching, no scent trails he’d missed, no bond tugging from across the yard.

And normally that was okay.

But the hole in his chest, the one Kenma used to fill, felt especially cavernous tonight, its edges raw with memory. He missed him most in moments like this: when everyone else was being welcomed, and he was left feeling like a soldier coming back from war, but not quite returning home.

He barely had time to take in another breath before something slammed into him from the side with all the subtlety of a battering ram.

“YOU’RE BACK!”

Kuroo grunted as Bokuto crashed into him, arms locked tight around his middle, face mashed against the unscarred side of his shoulder.

“YOU’RE ALIVE!”

The laugh punched out of Kuroo’s chest, surprised and real. He staggered a bit but hugged Bokuto back, patting his broad back as warmth bloomed against his ribs like sunlight through cold glass.

“Of course I’m alive, Bo,” he wheezed out, still chuckling.

For a second, the hollow spot didn’t feel quite so empty.

Then he saw them, Oikawa and Iwaizumi, crossing the courtyard toward him, much more composed than Bokuto but no less affected.

Iwaizumi reached him first, arms folded but his green eyes betrayed the knot in his throat.

“Home didn’t feel the same without you,” he said, voice low and gruff. “You were gone too long.”

“Not my fault I had to play assassin,” Kuroo deadpanned, a familiar smirk tugging at his mouth. “If anything, blame your mate for sending me away.”

Oikawa let out an indignant squawk, but it was Iwaizumi who rolled his eyes and stepped forward, punching Kuroo lightly in the shoulder before pulling him into a hug, rough and firm and entirely sincere. Kuroo gripped him back just as hard.

By the time Oikawa reached him, the pout on his lips was already fading. His omega instincts had won out. Without saying a word, his hands lifted, one settling on Kuroo’s cheek, the other pressing to his chest, fingers curling over his heartbeat like he needed confirmation that Kuroo was still alive and breathing.

“You’re safe,” Oikawa whispered. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Kuroo met his eyes. The shadows were still there, but they weren’t as deep. “Thank you for the warm welcome back.” He said sincerely.

Oikawa’s face bloomed into a smile, rare and radiant, enough to warm the whole courtyard. “Come inside. We’ve got food. Warmth. People who missed you. The others are finishing feast prep now. You’re just in time.”

Kuroo let himself be led through the entrance; where the smell of roasted meat, rice, and vegetables welcomed them like old friends. Oikawa spoke again, this time louder so the others could hear.

“The mission was a success." He announced with a smile, “All the omegas we recovered are going to be okay. Most have families waiting for them, and we’ve arranged secure transport back to their homes.”

There were murmurs of relief and unadulterated joy for those who had been saved.

“Only two need new placements,” Oikawa continued. “They were sold off by their own blood. We’ll find them better families. Safer ones. People who’ll love them the way they should’ve been loved from the start.”

His voice didn’t falter, but Kuroo caught the flicker in his eyes. The quiet rage at a world that would do that to someone vulnerable. The promise that Seijoh would rewrite it, even if it took a lifetime.

Inside, lanterns hung from the ceiling like stars caught mid-fall, casting everything in gold and shadow. The long dining table was being set with practiced hands and teasing banter. The air buzzed with comfort and belonging. Full of laughter and healing.

This was Seijoh: criminal empire, found family, sanctuary.

Kuroo looked around at them all. The ones who welcomed him like he was whole. The ones who didn’t flinch at the burns or the shadows in his eyes. The ones who waited.

He wasn’t fully healed.

But tonight, he wouldn’t be alone.

He was home.

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies!!

God I'm so sorry that this chapter took forever. I have been struggling to finish my unpacking and work on this.

I have way too much crap so I had to redo my entire room which included moving out and replacing furniture so that has been a pain in the ass.

But I hope you accept this over 14,000-word chapter as an apology.

I hope to post again this weekend, but I cannot make any promises I'm sorry! But I should be done with my room by Friday, so I'll have a good amount of time to work on chapters.

I may have to edit my posting schedule though once I get a new job.

Anyways, I'm tired so I will see you all next chapter!

Have a wonder rest of you day <3

Chapter 30: Deja Vu

Summary:

Some familiar faces are spotted sneaking around Seijoh's territory.

Six years had passed since the Hakone massacre. Six years of silence; of quiet rebuilding, of something dangerous growing in the shadows. The world kept moving; cities rose, alliances shifted, names changed hands, but in the underworld, one truth had rooted itself deep.

Seijoh ruled supreme.

What began as a power struggle was quickly revealed to be something else entirely. At first, their violence was dismissed as another turf dispute gone too far; another gang war, another tragedy buried under headlines. But the bodies didn’t pile up in chaos. They disappeared in patterns. Territories weren’t taken with brute force. They were claimed with precision.

It wasn't a simple conquest; it was a strategic game.

Seijoh didn’t rise with noise or declarations. They moved in silence. Operated in shadows. By the time people realized what was happening, it was too late. Their immediate rivals were already gone, their allies already cooperating. Law enforcement didn’t interfere, and when they tried, they either vanished or retired early.

What made Seijoh so dangerous wasn’t just their strength; it was how cleanly they used it. They didn’t leave messes. They didn’t hesitate to send messages. And they always made their problems disappear.

No one challenged them. Not more than once.

They weren’t like the other syndicates; loud, flashy, and desperate for attention. Seijoh didn’t rely on bloodlines or theatrics. They had no heirs paraded through clubs, no flamboyant underbosses bragging on camera. What they had was control. Dangerous amounts of authority that couldn’t be faked.

Their power seemed to double each year. Port by port. Trade by trade. Each piece of territory became a fortress: guarded, organized, and unshakable. And beneath it all ran a message that needed no announcement: Seijoh is not to be trifled with.

While the underworld was in shambles, civilians thanked the Yakuza for their protection.

Neighborhoods under Seijoh’s influence were quieter, safer, more tightly watched. People didn’t know who ran things, but they knew better than to test the balance. There were no petty street fights. No unregulated violence. Just a sense that someone was always watching.

The Yakuza world had always been driven by pride, grudges, and legacy. But Seijoh changed the rules, redefining the game. And no one could stop them, because no one could find a crack in their walls.

The hierarchy was a mystery. The top operatives were silent, shadows in their own respect. Lower ranks were composed and tight-lipped, never given any intel on the inner workings and identities of those above them.  And at the center of it all was a figure no one could confirm even existed.

The Oni of Seijoh.

Some believed he was a myth, a ghost story created to keep outsiders in check. Others claimed he was a former government assassin, or a long-dead alpha raised from the grave. A few said he was a scarred monster who ruled from the shadows, alive but unrecognizable.

But no one had proof.

No photos. No confirmed sightings. Just rumors.

And yet, his name carried weight.

Even the most powerful syndicates adjusted their posture when Seijoh operatives walked into a room. Meetings fell silent. Guns stayed holstered. No one spoke out of turn. Because everyone knew the unspoken rule: you don’t provoke Seijoh unless you’re ready to disappear.

Karasuno, one of the last large-scale syndicates still holding ground, had stayed out of direct conflict with them. They were careful, quietly building their strength. But the tension was growing. And while Seijoh had focused on bigger fish, they would need to deal with them at some point.

For now, their empire stood solid. 

But no matter how carefully power was wielded, there were always insects that crawled into the cracks; vermin who thought they could gnaw at the edges of a kingdom without being noticed.

Too bad for them that Seijoh always noticed and were more than eager to deal out punishment to those that dared to cross them

 

---

 

The night was thick with fog, a heavy mist that clung to skin and dampened sound. Tokyo’s neon pulse flickered faintly in the distance, unable to pierce the labyrinth of backstreets Kuroo prowled through. This part of Seijoh’s territory was supposed to be clean and protected. And yet here he was, hunting for a rat in the darkness.

He moved like smoke, silent and untraceable, his black combat gear blending seamlessly into the shadows. His Kevlar face mask glinted beneath the hood that draped over his head, his entire face and body covered and unseen. Not even his golden eyes were visible under the high-tech lenses built into his mask.

The target tonight was a man named Yasuda Jin, a petty crime lord with too much ambition and too little fear. For months he’d bribed police into silence while running an illegal brothel disguised as a late-night bathhouse. He trafficked omega runaways, many of them barely of age, drugged and scent-blocked until they were docile. He had been operating in Seijoh’s turf, daring to do so without permission. Kuroo had been briefed with the reports; nearly thirty omegas had been forced into this life. 

Osamu and a small team were acting as the rescue unit, invading the brothel to get the omegas to safety within Seijoh. Bokuto and Iwaizumi were hunting down Jin’s associates and clients, leaving Jin to Kuroo.

Kuroo’s comm line crackled softly in his ear. “Eyes on him yet, Panther?” Oikawa’s voice came through, all velvet steel.

Kuroo pressed a finger to the side of his jaw. “Just about,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Rat’s circling the drain.”

He perched above the alleyway, crouched on the ledge of a crumbling fire escape. Below, Yasuda stumbled out the back of a sleazy izakaya, drunk and laughing, a toothpick in his mouth and two underlings trailing behind like obedient dogs. The man had no idea death was watching from above, heartbeat silent, knife already warm against Kuroo’s palm.

He waited. Timed every step. Every breath.

When the two lackeys broke off to piss behind a dumpster, Kuroo moved.

He dropped from the roof silently and took out the first two men in quick succession, slitting their throats and leaving their bodies to rest in their own filth.

He followed behind Jin for a moment, matching his pace so the man wouldn’t hear him.

The alpha turned into a dark alley and Kuroo grinned under the mask. His gloved hand wrapped around Jin’s mouth, muffling the start of a scream. He struggled against Kuroo, heavy limbs, flailing elbows, the sour stench of cheap whiskey mixing with the scent of desperation. Kuroo gripped the man’s arms and drove him into the wall.

“You’ve been busy, Jin,” he murmured, voice like the rasp of steel being drawn.

Jin twisted violently, throwing his weight back and catching Kuroo off balance. One foot connected with Kuroo’s knee, another with his side, and in the chaos, Jin’s hand scraped across Kuroo’s mask, dislodging it, sending it clattering to the wet pavement with a hollow sound.

The cool night air hit his scarred cheek like ice.

Kuroo’s expression didn’t change. It didn’t matter if Jin saw his face considering he wouldn’t be able to tell a single soul. Kuroo took a quick breath before he drove his knife into the soft hollow of Jin’s jaw.

The alpha’s body spasmed once. Blood bubbled against Kuroo’s glove. A wet gurgle filled the alleyway before silence fell like a shroud.

Kuroo stood still for a moment, expression unreadable, his chest rising and falling with the precision of someone who had learned to control his adrenaline. The corpse slumped to the ground in a graceless heap, twitching once before going still.

The alpha turned and retrieved his mask; the lenses were cracked. He exhaled through his nose with irritation. “Shit.”

Tsukishima and Oikawa were going to be pissed that Kuroo had broken his mask. It had been developed with infrared and night vision modes built into the lenses, and now that technology was scattered alongside broken bottles in a dingy alleyway. 

He pressed down on his comms, opting to report and not bring up his broken mask just yet.

“Target’s down. Need cleanup on 13th and Aoba. Three bodies. No witnesses.” he spoke gruffly. 

Kuroo crouched and wiped his blade on the dead man’s shirt, sliding it back into its sheath with a smooth motion. He stared at the broken mask in his hand for a long moment. The sharp edges of the shattered glass mirrored the ones on his skin.

He slipped the mask back over his face anyway, Yamaguchi would probably yell at him, asking if Kuroo wanted more eye damage.

Kuroo had just started to blend back into the shadows when movement on the rooftop made him pause.

Two figures stood on the roof looking over into the alleyway.

They had moved too silently to be civilians, and they seemed to be looking for something. They definitely weren’t locals

He pressed back against the brick wall, half-shrouded in the shadows of a rusted fire escape and the lingering fog. His fractured lenses did not offer much help, but he didn’t move to adjust it. He shifted his weight back to get a better look, focusing on the two shadows that had been illuminated slightly by the streetlights.

The first one stepped forward with a quiet confidence that didn’t match the neighborhood. Small, lithe, and sharp-eyed, the figure’s stride was light but controlled, like a dancer’s grace trained for combat. Flame-orange hair curled beneath a black hood, almost glowing under the flickering streetlight. Even from this distance, Kuroo could catch the faintest trace of something citrus-sharp in the air, oranges maybe. He was an omega. Probably young. Definitely not submissive, and from what Kuroo could see it looked like he carried blades.

The second figure flanked him like a shadow, much taller, broader, the posture unmistakably alpha. Where the omega moved like a spark, this one moved like a weapon. Cold, precise, and controlled. Black hair cropped clean around his face, jaw set in a hard line. A faint scent rode the breeze between them; bitter, rich, something like dark chocolate with an edge. Kuroo felt a flicker of tension creep up the back of his neck as he caught sight of the alpha’s guns.

They seemed dangerous. He probably didn’t need to worry about them considering he’d trained with Hajime and Osamu, but you couldn’t gauge someone’s level simply by looks alone, Bokuto had taught Kuroo that. They duo seemed to be more preoccupied with Jin’s corpse to notice Kuroo’s lingering presence. 

It looked like they began to argue, from the distance Kuroo couldn’t make out much but it seemed like he had taken their target.

Kuroo’s jaw ticked behind the cracked mask.

He slipped back into the deeper shadows of the alley, climbing a steel support beam with practiced, silent ease, perching above the sightlines like a crow. He watched them carefully, eyes narrowed, committing everything to memory: heights, gaits, scents, patterns of movement, weapons at their hips, the way the omega checked their corners while the alpha stayed center and ready to shield.

They were trained and efficient, and definitely not one of Seijoh’s recruits.

He pressed a gloved hand to the comm at his jaw, keeping his voice low.

“Got eyes on two operatives. Unknown. Not locals. If I had to guess, they’re both combat specialists.”

A beat of silence, then Oikawa’s voice filtered through his earpiece, laced with curiosity. “Opposing faction?”

Kuroo’s eyes followed the pair as they paused above the alley, the omega whispering something too quiet to catch. The alpha nodded once, scanning their surroundings.

“I’d bet my good eye on it,” Kuroo muttered, making Oikawa snort before they got serious again. “Omega: short, orange hair, light build, I think his scent is some type of orange. Probably early twenties. Alpha’s a few inches shorter than me, black hair, lean build, chocolate scent. Also, early twenties. Might be partners.”

There was another pause, then Oikawa's voice came through, clipped and sharp.

“Get out of sight. Don’t engage. I’ll start a trace. Send what visuals you can, and I’ll pull some profiles for you to ID. If they’re on our turf, I want to know who we’re dealing with.”

Kuroo stayed crouched in the shadows as the two strangers dropped down into the alley, looking at Jin’s body and taking a photo before moving on down the street, vanishing into the mist with professional efficiency.

He slipped from the shadows once the coast was clear, the broken edge of his lenses catching the dull light again. Kuroo adjusted it just enough to see a bit easier before melting into the urban gloom.

He tapped his comm one more time, voice low. “I want to ID their faces in our system by morning, Oni. Something about them felt… off.”

“On it, Tetsu-chan. Get home. I’ll have files waiting.”

Kuroo didn’t answer, simply turning east, towards Seijoh’s heart as he began to make his trek back home.

The walk back was silent, just the distant hum of the city and the crunch of his boots on rain-damp pavement. The mist clung to him like second skin, and for a moment, Kuroo let himself sink into the anonymity of the streets. Just another shadow moving through the city.

But as the industrial skyline gave way to familiar shapes and controlled lights, the weight on his chest began to settle differently.

Seijoh's compound loomed ahead like a fortress buried in the belly of the city; a reformed industrial estate turned modern stronghold, its concrete walls and gleaming glass edges a direct contradiction, like the men who ran it. Kuroo slipped past the outer gates with barely a nod from the stationed guards. 

He walked through the outer compound nodding to those that he passed: armed alphas in sharp suits, omega tacticians murmuring into radios, betas stationed in polished control rooms.

The Seijoh base wasn’t what outsiders pictured when they heard the word “Yakuza.” It wasn’t underground lairs or cigar-filled dens. It had sharp lines, reinforced walls, smart tech and subtle decadence. Quiet, sprawling strength. A statement made in every carefully chosen brick: You can’t touch us.

The moment the inner compound gates slid shut behind him, the tension in Kuroo’s shoulders shifted from battlefield steel to the worn-in weight of home, but it didn’t disappear.

While the base was Kuroo’s home, he’d never been able to fully relax, not without Kenma by his side. After so many years apart he had begun to doubt he’d ever see his mate again. But thankfully he had the family to keep him going, always supporting him however they could. 

Kuroo walked through the entry hall with the practiced grace of a man who belonged there. His dark combat gear dusted in grime and street ash, a smudge of dried blood just beneath his jaw where the mask hadn’t covered. His broken mask hung loosely in his grip, black lenses cracked, glinting dully under the overhead lights.

Before he even made it past the main corridor, he heard footsteps; light, deliberate, and annoyingly fast.

“Tetsu-Chan~” The teasing lilt echoed just before the familiar scent hit him like a velvet punch: cinnamon and brown sugar, warm and spiced with a faint edge of smugness that could only belong to one person.

Oikawa Tooru rounded the corner like a whirlwind in silk and spite, dressed in a soft charcoal-gray robe over fitted tactical wear, the sleeves rolled up like he’d been half-working, half-pacing in his control room. His shiny brown hair was slightly mussed from headset use, but his grin was all intentional.

“You’re late. And you’re bleeding. Again.” Oikawa stopped a few feet from him, nose twitching, sharp gaze immediately scanning Kuroo from head to toe.

“Aww is the great Oni worried about little ol’ me?” Kuroo smirked, teasing the omega leader and his best friend, “Don’t worry it’s not my blood this time.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Oikawa stepped closer, taking Kuroo’s mask and looking over the broken lenses with a huff of annoyance. “You’re the only one in this whole damn syndicate who breaks his toys and expects me to fix them every fucking time.”

Kuroo grinned a bit sheepishly at the omega’s annoyance. Oikawa and Tsukishima had gotten annoyed with how often Kuroo had his mask or armor broken. They always fixed it, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t give him shit for it.

“That’s the third one this quarter, you know.” Oikawa continued his rant, “At this rate, we should just get Bokuto to design a new one out of metal and poor decisions since you’ll break Tsukishima and I’s masterpieces.”

Kuroo huffed a laugh. “You just want an excuse to let him near the Kevlar printer again. Last time, he added feather decals.”

“And sparkles, don’t forget the sparkles. Hajime almost had an aneurysm.” Oikawa commented and Kuroo laughed.

Without waiting for Kuroo to speak again, Oikawa leaned in, cheek brushing Kuroo’s shoulder as he dragged in a long, deliberate inhale against the base of Kuroo’s neck, right where the faintest remnants of adrenaline clung beneath dried sweat and blood.

A cinnamon-brown sugar signature swept over him like a pulse, deliberate and grounding.

Kuroo let his shoulders ease, just slightly. “You okay there Kawa?” He asked, the omega was touchy feely and loved scenting all of the inner members, but he only ever did it right after a mission if something had made him nervous.

“I’m making sure you don’t short-circuit and chew someone’s head off.” He said deflecting the questions before sighing loudly, “I just don’t like unknown operatives in my territory.” he said and Kuroo raised a brow.

That was true, Oikawa hated when people invaded his territory, especially if they were trained. But that couldn’t be everything. 

Kuroo pulled back a bit and in a more serious tone asked, “Kawa what's wrong?”

“Shut up and hold still.” He huffed and hugged Kuroo closer, silence passed over them for a few moments before he spoke up again, “Hajime’s in the med wing, he’s fine, just…”

“The combination of your mate being injured and unknown forces in Tokyo.” Kuroo finished making Oikawa nod.

Kuroo let out a soft hum, half understanding, half fond. When Oikawa finally leaned back, the alpha’s scent clung faintly to his collar, a grounding marker of pack, territory, and hard-earned friendship.

Kuroo responded in kind, scenting back without hesitation, a warm nutmeg aroma, darker than his friend’s, spiced and dry, grounded in sharp earth and smoke. 

Oikawa wrinkled his nose, though his eyes softened. “You always smell like a bakery.”

“You love it.” Kuroo huffed, because he only really smelled like a bakery when their scents were combined.

Cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar. A combination that worked… almost as well as cinnamon apples and nutmeg. But those were thoughts Kuroo would bury until he was forced to deal with them. 

“Not when it’s laced with back-alley blood and cowardice.” He huffed and Kuroo laughed at his friend.

“Then don’t sniff me, princess.” He teased making Oikawa flip him off with practiced ease before turning on his heel. 

“Come on. I’ve got some profiles loaded from the parameters you gave. If I have to stare at them any longer without knowing who the hell they are, I might actually combust.”

Kuroo followed, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Remind me again why we let you run intel?”

“Because Bokuto would forget his own password and think setting the servers on fire would give us ‘a stronger firewall,’” Oikawa said dryly over his shoulder. “And because you’d rather eat broken glass than spend five hours cross-referencing faces instead of out in the field. Oh, and I also run this place, so I get to decide.”

“Fair enough.” Kuroo said hands up in surrender as he followed Oikawa.

As they walked deeper into the heart of Seijoh’s compound, the halls shifted from open corridors and glass panels to the sleeker, high-security zone where only command-level members had access. Lights dimmed here automatically to reduce tech strain, and the air smelled faintly of cedar, warm metal, and filtered ozone.

Oikawa made a small detour into the tech room to grab his tablet.

“So,” Oikawa said, powering up the device, “give me the full report, Tetsu-chan. I want to know how our little brothel rat ended up without a windpipe.”

Kuroo huffed. “His name was Yasuda Jin. Been operating in our territory for months now; an illegal brothel posing as a bathhouse. Didn’t even rotate the girls or change the location. Thought his money would protect him.”

“Did it?” Oikawa asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Kuroo smiled, slow and sharp. “Not from me.”

There was something cold in his voice, not cruel, just distant. Like this kind of work had become so second nature, his bones didn’t even flinch anymore. Not when the job was dirty. Not when the target was deserving.

“Good,” Oikawa muttered. “We needed to make an example. These opportunistic rats keep thinking Seijoh’s territory is easy pickings just because we don’t splash blood on the walls every week.”

Oikawa snorted, tapping the device a few more times as profiles sprang onto the screen. “Anyway. You said you saw two figures on your way out. Can you give me any more intel?”

Kuroo nodded, eyes narrowing slightly in recollection. “Short one moved like lightning: omega, probably early twenties, bright orange hair, lean muscle mass, low center of gravity. He was scanning the alley like he’d done it a thousand times before. The other one was taller, alpha build, sharper lines, probably a sniper by posture, he was always scanning different angles like Samu does.”

Oikawa nodded, scrolling through his tablet and swiping away a few profiles he had at the ready. “Got it. That gets rid of a few options.”

Oikawa keyed in a code on the pin pad and scanned his fingerprint waiting for the door of his office to slide open with that familiar hiss.

Most of the upper members had access to Oikawa’s office, each person had different access codes to enter the room and if your access code and biometric scan didn’t match it would immediately alert Oikawa.

Kuroo strode in behind the omega and quickly made his way over to the couch and fell into it making it scootch back a few inches.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” Oikawa said dryly, already making his way to his desk. “Don’t bleed on the rug this time.”

“No promises,” Kuroo muttered, turning on his side and watching as Oikawa got situated.

Oikawa’s office was more like a command hub than a workspace, a sunken floor, wraparound monitors, dual curved display tables, and a one-of-a-kind, Tsukishima made, digital holo-board currently lit up with scattered thumbnails of faces and dossiers. The lighting was ambient and warm, casting soft glows over steel edges and glass surfaces. Tucked in the corner, as always, was Bokuto’s ridiculous beanbag chair, currently unoccupied, and a forgotten protein bar on the desk with a scribbled sticky note: “Don’t eat this Kawa it’s MINE -Bo.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “Bo in today?”

“Nah,” Oikawa replied as he settled into his chair, spinning halfway around. “Took a combat crew to check the southern transport lines. Said he wanted to ‘hunt Jin’s men like a lion in the savannah.’ Told Iwa-Chan he was channeling the primal forces. Iwa-Chan said he was this close to throwing him out the window.” Oikawa said, his thumb and pointer finger touching as he made a pinching gesture.

Kuroo grinned at the action. “Glad to see some things never change.”

With a flick of his wrist, Oikawa pulled up the active profiles and gestured for Kuroo to come closer. “Alright, Tetsu-chan. Let’s see if any of these assholes match your mystery pair.”

Kuroo groaned as he got up and stepped forward, but his expression sharpened as he looked through profiles. Oikawa had done a great job at narrowing down the options.

“That one.” Kuroo said after a few minutes of clicking through profiles. It was the orange haired one and Oikawa hummed tapping the keys on his laptop quickly as he pulled up the matching profile of the mystery omega’s partner.

“You’re positive it’s these two?” Oikawa asked, fingers flying across the interface and Kuroo gave him a nod. “Looks like they're from Karasuno.” He said with a sneer

“Karasuno, huh?” Kuroo echoed, leaning in as the screen displayed two images.

“Meet Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio. Karasuno faction, confirmed activity in minor arms dealings, surveillance, and more recently, diplomatic outposts. Don’t let the baby face fool you.”

He opened Hinata’s file showing Kuroo.

Name: Hinata Shoyo
Designation: Close Combat Specialist and Field Operative
Secondary Gender: Omega
Age: 23
Scent Profile: Tangerine
Notes: Specializes in close-quarters combat. Agile. High energy. Tactical obedience verified. Rapid strike style, unpredictable patterning.
Affiliations: Karasuno Yakuza (confirmed). Younger sibling (unconfirmed). Close proximity to Kageyama Tobio in 89% of documented missions.

Kuroo tilted his head. “Feisty little bastard.”

Oikawa snorted. “You should see the field footage. He moves fast, and damn can he jump. I wish I found him before Karasuno, he would’ve been a good asset.”

Next, he opened Kageyama’s file.

Name: Kageyama Tobio
Designation: Arms Dealer and Long-Range Sniper
Secondary Gender: Alpha
Age: 23
Scent Profile: Dark Chocolate
Notes: Highly disciplined, emotionally volatile under pressure. Near-perfect marksman accuracy. Protective tendency toward Hinata Shoyo (relationship unconfirmed). Suspected right-hand of Karasuno commander or arms unit enforcer
Affiliations: Karasuno Yakuza (confirmed). Close proximity to Hinata Shoyo in 89% of documented missions.

Kuroo tapped his fingers against the desk. “Tactical partners, then.”

“Or bond mates. Can’t confirm that yet.” Oikawa’s tone turned speculative. “They keep most of their personal data off-grid. Someone on their end has good security discipline.”

Oikawa’s lips curled; not quite a sneer, but something close. “I hate Karasuno.”

“You say that about every other syndicate we go against," Kuroo drawled, a smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Yeah, well these guys really get under my skin.” The omega growled, making Kuroo snort.

“Still haven’t found anything big enough to bury them with?” He asks and Oikawa huffs.

“That’s what pisses me off,” Oikawa snapped, leaning forward again. “They’re ghosts. All the red flags of a syndicate rising too fast: territory grabs, increased funding, low arrest rates, mid-tier members trained like professionals, but nothing solid. Not a single fault I can use, not a single major screw-up.”

He tapped the screen again. “We’ve got worse enemies on the map, yeah. Groups dealing in biological enhancers, cross-border trafficking, some weird cult shit from the northeast. But Karasuno? They’re clean. Too clean. The only things I can pin them down for is arms and drug dealings and a few assassinations, you know the kiddy shit. None of that explains how they grew so fast.”

Kuroo was quiet for a beat. Then, almost offhandedly: “Didn’t Bo and Hajime run into them once?”

Oikawa blinked at him owlishly, his brain trying to catch up to the topic shift. “Oh yeah, years ago. Surveillance run down in Kiyosato.” The omega’s face broke into a grin, “Bo said there were two alphas and an omega. I was able to ID the alphas, but the omega kept their face hidden, which was smart of him. Honestly the only reason I remember it is because Hajime got a video of Bo trying to jump roof to roof and eating shit.” He added with a chuckle.

Kuroo laughed, loud and genuine, he could almost see the alpha sprawled across the rooftop groaning. “Of course he did.”

“Iwa-Chan brings up the video when he wants Bo to do something.” The duo shared another laugh before Kuroo turned back to the screen.

“Do you remember their designations?” Kuroo asked, back on topic. Oikawa thought for a moment, face turned up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, I think so,” Oikawa said, eyes flicking toward another screen, though he didn’t pull up the file. “I think one of the alphas was an arms dealer, the other was a combat specialist and drug dealer, but the omega, I think I had him listed as high-level tech support.” He said thoughtfully.

Kuroo leaned back on his heels, resting his arms on the back of Oikawa’s chair. “So, what now?”

Oikawa’s expression hardened just slightly. “Now? We keep watching. You’ve given me two confirmed names and movements in our territory. I’ll pull their heat trail, see where they came in. If they cross into Seijoh again, I want a live trace.”

“And if we get a clean shot?” Kuroo asked, voice all business.

“Then we decide if we want to take it.” 

There was no dramatics to the line, no threat or bluster. Just Oikawa, crisp and calculating, with sugar in his scent and razor wire behind his eyes.

Kuroo nodded once, the motion sharp. “Understood.”

The monitors flickered as Oikawa began to close the files.

“Karasuno’s not trying to slip under our radar anymore,” he murmured. “I want to know why.”

“And how are you planning to do that Oh Great One?” Kuroo asked, his tone teasing again. Oikawa rolled his eyes

“Well, I’m going to start by looking through their systems, Oh Great Annoying One.” He shot back, pulling his legs up so he was sat cross-legged in his custom-built chair, fingers flying across a curved keyboard with the precision of a concert pianist. 

The monitors in front of him reflected a shifting cascade of code; windows blinking open and shut in rapid succession as he tunneled through network paths, bounced signals, and spoofed access points like it was child’s play.

Kuroo stood behind Oikawa watching him work. It’s moments like these that make you realize how Oikawa came to power so quickly. 

“Huh.” The omega said, his finger stilling over the keyboard. Kuroo’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in to look at the screen.

“That’s odd.”

“No,” Oikawa said slowly, “ I say that’s odd. You say, ‘What is?’ Then I explain, and you act impressed.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes at his leader's need for dramatics but complied, nonetheless. “What is?”

Oikawa didn’t respond at first. His brow furrowed, cinnamon-sugar scent shifting with irritation as he typed a few more commands. A soft warning beep came from one of the side monitors, not an error, but a lockout. Another came. Then another.

“I can’t seem to get into their system.”

“There’s no way you can’t get into another base’s system; you’re like a tech genius.” Kuroo said and Oikawa, who would normally preen under the praise simply narrowed his eyes and nodded, more focused on the screen that kept flashing red.

“I used to be able to get into their backend whenever I wanted,” he explained. “Nothing deep, just surface-level stuff. Surveillance rotations, updated payroll, comm routing. Nothing they’d notice unless they were looking for it.”

“And now?” Kuroo asked hesitantly.

“I’m getting blocked,” Oikawa muttered, narrowing his eyes as he ran another diagnostic. “Not just firewalls, they have active intrusion prevention. Sophisticated stuff. Pattern adaptive encryption, randomized intel filtering, anomaly detection... This isn’t stock-grade software. Someone custom-built this. They must have recruited someone brilliant in hacking.”

Kuroo whistled low. “Think they found your backdoor?”

“I know they found my backdoor,” Oikawa snapped. “It’s gone. Scrubbed. No digital trace, no code echo. Someone cleaned the house. And they didn’t simply erase it; I could still recover my code if that was the case. No, they replaced it with a new system that learns. Every probe I send gets deflected faster.”

Kuroo tapped his knuckles against the server rack beside him. “So, what does that mean?”

“It means,” Oikawa said tightly, spinning in his chair to face him, “that Karasuno has a tech specialist. A good one. And I don’t know who the hell it is.”

Kuroo tilted his head slightly, gears turning. “That... changes things.”

“Exactly.”

Oikawa turned back to the screen, jaw tight, cinnamon scent laced now with burnt sugar, frustration masked only by concentration.

“I don’t like not knowing what’s behind the curtain, Tetsu-chan. If I can’t see what they’re doing, I can’t predict them. If I can’t predict them, we can’t outmaneuver them. Which means—”

“Which means,” Kuroo cut off the panicking omega, “We will watch them closely. Get more ears on the group, more eyes in the sky.”

Oikawa took a deep breath and then nodded. “Alright. I’ll start diverting drones to their border zones. Set some traps, see if I can catch any signals we can piggyback on.”

“Want me to tail anyone?” Kuroo asked rubbing a hand over Oikawa’s back

“Not yet,” Oikawa sighed, leaning into the touch. “I want to play this one quietly until we can figure out what their game is.”

He paused, then sighed, lips curling in reluctant consideration.

“I might have to loop Tsukishima into this.”

Kuroo snorted at Oikawa's annoyance. 

The omega always hated admitting he needed help, and as much as he cared for Tsukishima, Oikawa had a hard time working on the same project with him. More times than not they stepped on each other's toes, trying to get the same information in two very different ways.

“Oh, shove it.” Oikawa said, leaning back in his chair. 

“I thought you said letting him near your systems was like giving a bored cat the keys to a nuclear facility.” Kuroo teased, making Oikawa flip him off.

“It is,” Oikawa said bitterly. “But he’s the only one who might be able to break this.” He said gesturing to the computer, eyes flicking over the failed access logs one more time before they blinked out completely.

Silence passed over them easily as Oikawa stared at the screens that slowly powered down, fading into black.

“Karasuno’s changing,” he murmured. “And if they’ve got someone who can shut us out, it means we’re not the only ones with monsters in our ranks.”

Kuroo’s gaze lingered on the darkened screen.

“We’ll watch them,” he said. “And when the time comes, we’ll find out who they’re hiding.”

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies,

I hope you all are doing well!

I recently got a job as a baker (it is from 3 am to 11 am) and that has been a bit of a struggle to get used to.

I'm officially throwing in the towel for now. With Shrek and the new job, plus a few summer classes I am swamped so I'm sorry but there will only be one update a week until my life gets less hectic.

I will update sometime on Friday-Sunday each week. Hopefully I can also catch up on some chapters so when Shrek wraps up at the end of the month, I'll be able to get back to my previous schedule.

Anyways, I have work in the morning, so I'll see you all next week!

Have a great rest of your day <3

Chapter 31: Life Moves On

Summary:

It's been seven years, Kuroo has a new family.

But will he ever be complete again?

The mission had ended hours ago, but the weight of it clung to Kuroo like smoke in his lungs; bitter, thick, and impossible to shake. His boots scraped against the concrete hallway of the Seijoh compound, echoing too loud in the empty hallway. The scent of sterilized metal, gun oil, and damp stone filled the air, but he barely registered it. His sense of smell, once sharp and alert, had long since been dulled by the fire.

Seven years. Seven godsdamned years.

He reached the locker room and keyed in the passcode with a gloved hand. The door hissed open. No warmth waited inside. No light. Just silence, and the weight of another dead end dragging behind him like a chain.

He stepped in and let the door slide shut behind him. Darkness settled over him, but he didn’t move to change it. His hand hovered at his throat, fingertips brushing the cool edge of his mask as if trying to anchor himself. Then, slowly, his gaze flicked to the far mirror; where he caught the flash of his own reflection. Scarred. Tired. And alone.

So alone.

A growl slipped from between his teeth.

Kuroo tore the combat mask from his face and hurled it. It smashed against the far wall, sensors cracking, one of the visual lenses shattering clean down the middle. Pieces scattered across the floor like broken hope. His breath came fast, then faster, until it rattled in his chest. A choked-off sound: half scream, half sob, ripped from his throat.

"FUCK!" he bellowed, voice raw and ragged.

He didn’t cry, not anymore. That part of him had burned away in Hakone, along with the delicate touch of Kenma’s fingers, the scent of cinnamon apples and warmth, the quiet comfort of being understood without a word.

The mating bond mark still sat sharp and clean on the left side of his neck. Untouched. Untampered. Incomplete.

He slumped down to the floor beside the shattered remains of his mask, burying his face in his hands. His right side ached: the scars pulling, angry from the exertion of the mission, but it was nothing compared to the ache under his ribs. The place where hope used to live.

Where hope died again and again. The flames smothered him, leaving Kuroo burnt and broken.

He had been following a lead. A report of a small-framed omega with golden eyes and a cinnamon scent being trafficked along the northern corridor. Another possibility. Another false hope.

Kenma hadn’t been there.

And part of Kuroo, despite the anguish clawing inside, was glad. Because the places they’d raided tonight were pits of rot and despair. No light or kindness. Just chains and walls and the sour scent of fear.

Still, the hollow ache in his chest didn’t care about logic. Didn’t care about the odds.

He was so tired.

So tired of searching.

So tired of remembering.

So tired of failing.

He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere beyond the reinforced walls were his best friends. His family. His pack. They had saved him when no one else could, rebuilt him piece by shattered piece. And still, there was a part of him no one could touch. A hole shaped like the boy he’d loved and lost.

"Where the hell are you, Kenma?" he whispered, voice cracking as Kuroo buried his head in his arms.

His scarred fingers drifted to his neck again, thumb brushing the smooth skin of the old bond mark: faded but never erased. It pulsed faintly under his touch, as if remembering a heartbeat that once matched his own.

But the room stayed silent. And the bond stayed cold.

A sharp knock broke the silence.

Kuroo didn’t move from his spot against the wall. 

The rhythm of the knock: two sharp, one pause, then three, was familiar. 

The door creaked open without waiting for permission.

"Tetsu?" Atsumu’s voice was softer than usual. No teasing edge, no flirty lilt. Just concern.

Kuroo didn’t look up as the lights flicker on. Instead he decided to stay perfectly still, half slumped against the wall, mask shards around him like debris from a crash site. His fingers were tangled in his hair, and he didn’t need to look up to know Atsumu was already moving toward him.

"Shit," the omega murmured, crouching beside him. "That bad, huh?"

Kuroo huffed out a bitter breath. "The lead… It wasn’t him."

"I figured." Atsumu’s voice stayed gentle. He didn’t touch him, everyone in the inner syndicate knew not to touch Kuroo when he was like this. They had long since learned to wait for the alpha to initiate contact after he came back empty handed.

The physical contact that Kuroo normally craved was overstimulating, making the alpha snap or fight against an invisible threat.

So Atsumu stayed close. Sitting right in front of the alpha only about a foot of space separating them, letting his black currant scent curl around Kuroo like a soft blanket of familiarity. As always the scent was calming. Rich and warm in a way only Atsumu could convey. "I know it doesn’t seem like it, but that’s a good thing. Those places…" His voice tightened as he recalled his own past, all the trauma he had been subjected to. “They’re not the kind of place you want anyone you love to ever end up.”

Kuroo’s jaw clenched, but he finally looked up at the omega. “Yeah. I know, it's just...” The alpha trailed off, not needing to explain any further to Atsumu.

The omega took it as a cue to speak, "They had a few omegas stashed in a back room, right? You helped get them out?" He asked gently, receiving a nod from the alpha.

“Four,” Kuroo said hoarsely. “All of them were drugged. One resembled him for half a second, then I got close and…” His voice cracked, but he forced it to steady. “It wasn’t him.”

Silence pulsed between them for a moment, heavy and full.

Then, Atsumu sighed and scooted himself next to Kuroo, leaning himself against the wall. “You gotta stop goin’ in like this. I know why you do, and I respect it, I really do, but you come back lookin’ like you got stabbed in the heart every time.”

Kuroo gave a humorless chuckle. “It feels like I do.” He said, leaning closer to Atsumu, giving the omega the all clear for physical contact.

Atsumu slid up next to the alpha, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “Y’know… if you don’t find him someday…” His voice trailed off, teasing curled back into his tone like muscle memory. “I’m just sayin’. I look pretty good in wedding colors.”

Kuroo barked out a short laugh despite himself. It was dry and tired, but real. A laugh only his pack could drag out of him. “Are you offering to be my backup mate, Tsumu?” He asked, looking Atsumu in the eyes.

Atsumu grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “I mean, who else is going to keep you from bein’ a cranky old alpha with a tragic backstory and no one to warm his bed?”

“I already am a cranky old alpha with a tragic backstory,” Kuroo said, shaking his head. The corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly. “And don’t pretend like you wouldn’t start a fight with me every morning just to win the covers.”

“You are twenty-six, I hardly think that is classified as old. Besides that would be foreplay,” Atsumu deadpanned.

Kuroo chuckled again, more subdued. The tension was starting to bleed from his shoulders. “Thanks, Tsumu.” He murmured, because he knew Atsumu was joking around.

Atsumu was loyal to a fault, and he respected boundaries. He knew never to push too far, always keeping his flirtatious tendencies light and full of playful energy. It always seemed to make Kuroo feel better. 

Atsumu leaned his head back against the wall, gaze flicking over to him. “Anytime. That’s why we’re here. What good is a pack that can’t pick you up?”

Kuroo smiled at him, eyes still tired and shadowed, but warmer. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the compound and the faint crackle of broken tech.

Atsumu nudged his foot against Kuroo’s. “You going to run away from Tsukishima when you tell him you broke your mask again, or should I prep the body bag?”

Kuroo looked at the floor with a clearer head seeing the scattered pieces and groaned, rubbing his face. “God fucking dammit . ”

Atsumu grinned when Kuroo groaned again, muttering curses under his breath about fried sensors and broken voice modulators.

“C’mon, panther,” Atsumu teased, hauling himself up with a stretch. “You need food, a nap, and Osamu callin’ you a dumbass for the fiftieth time this week. Let’s hit the common room.”

Kuroo rolled his shoulders with a quiet grunt, standing up slower than usual, his body aching from the bruises and shallow cuts he’d sustained during his mission. His right side protested the movement, his scars pulling taut, but he ignored it like he always did.

Kuroo bent down scooping up the shards of his shattered mask, wincing as he saw the damage. He was definitely going to get an earful from Tsukishima.

“Bet he’s already drafting the lecture in his head,” Atsumu said, nudging Kuroo with his elbow as he passed. “Might even make a slideshow this time.”

Kuroo snorted under his breath, still crouched. “PowerPoint: Why You’re a Menace to Gear and My Sanity.”

The alpha straightened with a quiet groan, rolling his shoulders again, the ache more present now that the adrenaline had fully faded. With a tired grunt he handed the pieces of his mask to Atsumu letting the omega put it into a bag for Kuroo to give Tsukishima.

Kuroo trudged toward his locker, unfastening the buckles of his Kevlar vest with mechanical familiarity. The plates gave a soft clunk as he peeled it off, exposing the snug black underlayer clinging to his frame. The fabric was damp with sweat in some places, torn slightly at his hip, and clung to the ripple of muscle and the jagged terrain of old scars: some long healed and others recent reminders.

Kuroo hung the vest with care, brushing off a few flecks of dried dust. He took a breath. The quiet of the locker room gave him a moment to breathe; just a sliver of stillness where the weight of the day hung heavier than the armor. His fingers lingered on the edge of the locker door for a beat longer than necessary, before he shut it gently and turned to Atsumu.

“Alright,” he muttered, exhaling slowly. “Let’s go face the firing squad.”

Atsumu smirked and held the door open for him, handing over the bag of Kuroo’s broken mask pieces with a flourish. “Oh don’t act like that, I’m sure your execution can wait until you get a snack from Samu.”

As they stepped into the hallway, the familiar rhythm of Seijoh’s routine wrapped around them like a well-worn coat. Footsteps echoed from the upper levels, the sharp clack of boots on metal grating. From somewhere near the kitchens, someone laughed, loud and unfiltered. The faint scent of soy, grilled meat, and citrus wafted through the air, mingling with mahogany and lavender from someone’s lingering scent trail. Beneath it all, there was that ever-present pulse of something grounded and strong.

Home.

The shift was subtle, but Kuroo’s shoulders dropped another fraction as they walked. His fingers no longer held the bag in a white-knuckle grip. The air here didn’t demand anything from him. 

It didn’t demand perfection or quick thinking. He could just unwind.

The moment they rounded the corner into the common room, a voice rang out: teasing, and unmistakable.

“Oi, Tetsu! I just swept in here, and you’re trackin’ in mission grime like you own the place.”

Osamu was sprawled across one of the oversized couches like a lounging cat, boots kicked off and feet perched unapologetically on the coffee table. His hair was slightly tousled, a rifle maintenance kit open beside him, and the tangy scent of pomegranate lingered warmly in the air.

Kuroo smirked. “I do own the place. I just let you live here.” He shot back and Osamu turned to look at him fully with a sharp grin, dark eyes glittering with amusement and mischief. 

“I’ll go ahead and tell Kawa that.”

Kuroo instantly backtracked, pout already forming. “If I say you’re the prettiest omega in this building, will you forgive me?” he asked, batting his lashes at Osamu, who barked out a laugh and looked to his brother.

“Ha! Take that scrub, I'm the prettiest!” Osamu declared, pointing at Atsumu with triumphant smugness.

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed immediately, affronted. “We literally have the same face!” 

“Nuh uh.” Osamu shot back, sticking out his tongue with all the mature grace of a toddler. The action made Kuroo burst into laughter, clutching his stomach, and before Kuroo could so much as blink, Atsumu was vaulting over the back of the couch like a wildcat.

“The fuck you mean nuh uh!?” he shouted, tackling Osamu and rolling them both onto the floor. “Are you five!?”

Osamu cackled through it, half-defending, half-flailing, as Atsumu tried to get him into a headlock. “At least I didn’t dye my hair the color of piss!”

“It’s golden wheat, you tone-deaf culinary disaster!”

Their bickering devolved into half-choked laughter and indignant shouts, limbs tangled on the floor as they shoved, kicked, and wrestled like they were ten years old again. Osamu managed to grab a couch cushion and whacked Atsumu in the ribs with it, only for Atsumu to bite down on the corner and try to yank it away like a dog with a chew toy.

Kuroo watched the chaos unfold with a wide grin, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. For a few long moments, he just stood there soaking it in: the noise, the motion, the absurdity. It was loud and reckless and alive. Something that felt good in his bones.

Eventually, Osamu wheezed, “You’re going to dislocate my knee dumbass!”

“Say I’m prettier!”

“Fuck no!”

The scuffle slowed, both of them panting, Osamu’s hair sticking up in weird directions and Atsumu’s shirt riding halfway up his stomach. They glared at each other, cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming with amusement.

Kuroo’s smirk widened. “Ladies, ladies. You’re both pretty. Don’t make me choose,” he said dramatically, fluttering his lashes with all the faux-sincerity he could muster.

Osamu barked out another laugh and turned to Atsumu. “You hearin’ this bullshit?”

“Every damn day,” Atsumu drawled, finally collapsing back onto the couch beside his twin with the boneless ease of long familiarity. “And he still wonders why Tsukki wants to throw things at him.”

“Hey!” Kuroo protested, placing a hand to his chest like he’d been wounded. “I am a joy to be around.”

Atsumu snorted. “I said what I said.”

There was a short pause, where Osamu’s eyes scanned Kuroo more carefully now that he’d settled under the lights, catching the way he leaned a little more on one side and how the shadows beneath his eyes seemed darker than normal.

“You look like shit, Tetsu,” Osamu said bluntly, the teasing edge softening into something more genuine.

“Thanks,” Kuroo said, dropping heavily onto the couch beside him. “You know how to make a man feel welcome.”

Osamu gave him a softer look at that. “Didn’t find him?” He asked gently, the answer was obvious but Kuroo replied anyway.

“No,” he said quietly and leaned his head against Osamu’s shoulder. “Got my hopes up. Again.”

Osamu didn’t say I’m sorry, didn’t offer empty reassurances. Instead, he shifted, looping his arm around Kuroo’s back, and let their pomegranate and nutmeg scents mingle for a few breaths. It grounded Kuroo, keeping him steady even when he was faced with disappointment.

Atsumu flopped onto the other side of the couch and threw his legs over Kuroo’s lap like he had a right. “Well. Now that we’re all emotionally ruined, what’s for lunch?”

Kuroo groaned dramatically. “Atsumu, for the love of—get your heels out of my thigh before I bite you.”

“Jokes on you, I’m into that,” Atsumu said smugly, and Osamu gave an exaggerated gag.

“Gross. I knew you were into pain,” Osamu muttered, making Atsumu grin.

“Oh, like you aren’t also a masochist.” It was Kuroo's turn to gag.

“I don’t want to even think about that.” He said aloud, making the omegas laugh at his misery.

Kuroo grinned despite himself, letting the sounds and scents of the room work their magic. These two idiots were his family.

Osamu shifted, nudging him gently with a knee. “Oi. Stay here. I’ll grab you some leftovers before you start chewing on the couch cushions or Atsumu’s leg.”

“Hey!” Atsumu snapped. “This leg’s premium grade. You couldn’t afford it.”

Osamu shot him a look over his shoulder. “I should have eaten you in the womb.”

Kuroo snorted, biting back laughter as Osamu disappeared into the adjoining kitchen space, the sound of clattering dishes and the whirr of the microwave echoing faintly. Atsumu immediately stretched out more, making himself comfortable like a cat taking up every inch of available space.

“You gonna feed me, too?” Atsumu asked lazily.

Kuroo raised a brow. “You have perfectly good legs and a working sense of smell.”

“Barely,” Atsumu replied, sniffing dramatically. “Could be poisoned. Better you test it first.”

“I will bite you,” Kuroo warned again, and Atsumu grinned, all teeth and no fear.

Osamu returned a few moments later with a tray balanced expertly in one hand, the other carrying a bottle of Gatorade and a thermos. The scent hit Kuroo first, soy-glazed beef, garlic rice, and roasted vegetables. Kuroo’s stomach growled audibly.

“Damn,” he muttered, sitting up straighter as his mouth watered. “Is this a peace offering or a bribe?”

“Does it matter?” Osamu asked as he handed over the tray. “Eat, then you can break Tsukki’s heart with the truth.”

“Harsh,” Kuroo said, already digging in, moaning audibly as he scarfed down the food. “He’s going to sigh at me so hard the walls shake.”

“Better that than getting shot in the head,” Atsumu said, peeling open the thermos and sniffing it. “Miso soup. Damn, you’re feeling generous today, ‘Samu.”

“Figured Kuroo’d need the calories to dodge the knives thrown at him,” Osamu said with a smirk.

“I’m right here,” Kuroo said around a mouthful, pointing at both of them with his chopsticks. “I can hear you.”

“That’s the point,” they said in sync.

He rolled his eyes, but it was full of fondness. The meal did wonders for his energy, warmth seeping into his limbs as the ache dulled to something manageable. The common room buzzed quietly around them, low voices from the hallway, the hum of the vents, the occasional burst of laughter from someone down the hall. It was safe here, a real home.

But the warmth faded a bit as his hand grazed the bag that contained the broken pieces of his mask, still tucked into his belt.

He sighed, setting down his chopsticks as he finished off the last bits of rice. “Alright. I better go hand this over before Tsukki comes down here looking for my head.”

Both omegas made twin sounds of sympathy.

“Godspeed,” Osamu said solemnly, patting his shoulder.

“I’ll give a touching eulogy at your funeral.” Atsumu added, patting the other side. 

Kuroo shot them both a dry look. “If I disappear, tell Oikawa I want my ashes scattered somewhere dramatic.”

“Like a rooftop at sunset?” Osamu offered.

“Nah,” Atsumu said with a grin. “Let's do a dingy karaoke bar. Just to spite him.”

Kuroo snorted. “You assholes better not outlive me.”

He rose to his feet with a stretch and a quiet groan, steeling himself for the next round of judgment.

“Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg,” Atsumu chirped.

“Not another mask,” Osamu added, and Kuroo flipped them both off over his shoulder as he headed toward the stairs.

The walk to Tsukishima’s lab was short, but every step felt like he was walking toward a firing squad. 

When he reached the heavy reinforced door, he knocked once out of habit and the door slid open with a clang.

Kuroo stepped inside, immediately bathed in the glow of suspended screens and tracking monitors. Wires coiled like ivy around open panels, tools meticulously arranged on the workbenches, the faint scent of soldered metal laced with bergamot clinging to the air. The sound of keys clicking and processors humming filled the space like a living heartbeat.

Tsukishima didn’t look up right away. He was seated at his workstation, glasses perched low on his nose as he scrolled through lines of code. But the second Kuroo stepped over the threshold, he paused, finger hovering mid-keystroke.

Finally the alpha’s golden eyes flicked up to stare at the man, already narrowed behind his glasses. “If you broke another mask, I swear to god, Kuroo.”

Kuroo held out the small bag to the blonde alpha. “I barely dropped it—”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow at him, taking the offered item and looking inside, his head whipped up to stare at Kuroo incredulously. 

“Barely dropped— do you know how many custom calibrations I had to code for your one working eye, your half-functioning ear, and your wrecked scent receptors!?”

“I mean… at least two?” Kuroo offered weakly.

Tsukishima looked like he aged five years in one breath. “Kuroo.”

Kuroo winced, holding up both hands. “Okay, yes, I am, objectively, a menace to your craft. But in my defense, you made it too good. It was bound to die a hero.”

Tsukishima’s jaw tensed as he slowly set the bag down on the table beside him, pulling out the largest shard with gloved fingers. “This isn’t some tragic war casualty, Kuroo. This is me spending forty hours tweaking the optics, so you don't walk into walls.”

“Well, it did its job wonderfully and has died a hero. I think that’s a success.” He pointed out.

Tsukishima turned to him, utterly unimpressed. “It also filtered out fifty percent of scent pollution, ran your voice mod through three synced outputs, and adjusted the HUD to your blind spot depth. And you killed it. Again.”

Kuroo offered a sheepish grin. “You make it sound like I strangled a puppy.”

“You may as well have,” Tsukishima muttered, inspecting the fractured pieces of the mask with a pained look. “This wasn’t just tech, Kuroo. I calibrated this mask specifically for your... uniquely busted senses. You can’t just ‘barely drop’ something like this and do that much damage.” He half growled out staring down at the pieces scattered across his desk.

“Okay, but you know I didn’t do it on purpose. It was the mission. Close quarters, a few grenades, some fire—”

The door opened with a hiss behind them, and both alphas turned to see Atsumu stop at the door frame, holding a protein bar and clearly eavesdropping with zero shame.

“Correction,” he said cheerfully. “It survived the mission just fine.”

Kuroo’s stomach dropped.

Atsumu took a bite, voice muffled around the food. “He didn’t drop it. He chucked it. Against a wall. On purpose.”

Kuroo stared daggers at him. “Traitor.”

“You were the one glaring at the concrete like it personally wronged you,” Atsumu continued. “The mask hit the wall so hard it bounced. It looked like a damn shrapnel grenade went off.”

Tsukishima slowly turned back to Kuroo, eyes narrowed, the level of judgment in his face reaching divine levels. “You threw it?”

Kuroo sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I was... upset.”

Atsumu gave him a sympathetic look, deciding to help him out slightly. “Didn’t find him,” he explained, as if that excused the mask’s murder. Then he turned, giving a brief wave to the alphas as he left.

Tsukishima stayed still for a long moment, eyes fixed on the shattered remnants of the mask spread across his worktable. His fingers hovered above the broken lens, not quite touching, as if acknowledging the damage would somehow make it worse.

He sighed, long and low. It wasn’t just about the mask. It never really was.

Seven years was a long time to search with nothing to show for it. No clues. No trail. No scent. Just silence. The kind of silence that festered like an infection in an open wound..

Tsukishima couldn't pretend to know what that felt like, what it meant to spend every day hoping for a ghost, but he could imagine what it would do to him if it was him and Tadashi were in Kuroo’s shoes.

If it had been him left waiting. Wondering, all alone for seven years.

So yeah. He couldn’t exactly blame Kuroo for shattering the mask.

“I didn’t mean to destroy it,” Kuroo said finally, voice quieter than before. “I just… got frustrated. It was stupid.”

Tsukishima clicked his tongue but didn’t turn around. Instead, he moved to another terminal, fingers already flicking across the keys to pull up Kuroo’s last saved data profile. Thank fuck he had the foresight to back everything up on a private drive after the second destroyed prototype. He knew this would happen again eventually; Kuroo burned too hot to always leave unscathed.

“You think?” he muttered, though his voice held no real bite.

It was easier to keep his eyes on the monitor. If he looked too long at Kuroo’s face: at the haunted look buried beneath the humor, the quiet desperation that always lingered in the space between missions, he might say something honest.

And emotional honesty was saved for Tadashi.

“I swear to god,” Tsukishima muttered under his breath, just to fill the silence.

Kuroo stepped closer and leaned against the edge of the worktable, voice softening. “Hey. I know I’m a disaster, but I can always count on you. You’ve saved my ass more times than I’d like to admit. I trust you.”

Tsukishima blinked down at his tablet, mouth twitching slightly. “That’s the problem.”

Kuroo grinned. “You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” Tsukishima said, but he didn’t move away, allowing Kuroo into his personal space.

“I’ll owe you for this one,” Kuroo added.

“Actually, you already owe me for three . ” Tsukishima tapped a control pad without looking. “I’ll have to remake this from scratch . Do you know how long that’s going to take?”

Tsukishima finally glanced up at him again, and though he rolled his eyes, there was no real heat left in it, just the weary affection of someone who’d long since accepted the chaos that came with being Kuroo’s friend.

Kuroo grinned at him, “I could help this time. I’ve been practicing.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “Practicing doesn’t mean you can touch my equipment.”

“I touched it last time,” Kuroo said with a wink and Tsukishima gave him an exasperated look.

“You corrupted the voice filters and made your mask say ‘meow’ every time someone pinged you.”

“...Fair point.” Kuro said with a pout making Tsukishima roll his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll make you another one.” Like that had ever been a question, “But if you break this one—”

“I’ll let you punch me.”

Tsukishima’s lips twitched. “Don’t tempt me.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, already pulling up blueprint schematics while Kuroo leaned against the worktable, picking at a scratch on his hand with all the restless energy of someone trying not to think too hard.

The sharp ping of Tsukishima’s phone cut through the low hum of the lab.

Tsukishima glanced down at the screen, his face softening in a way Kuroo only associated with Yamaguchi. The blonde man took his phone and sent back a quick text before relaying the message to Kuroo. “Tadashi wanted to know if you were here.”

Kuroo blinked. “Oh?” He asks sheepishly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

“He says it’s time for your post-mission check-up,” Tsukishima added, arching a brow at him like it was somehow a personal inconvenience. The phone pinged again and Tsukishima snorted. “He also says, and I quote, ‘Tell him to stop ghosting my reminders like I won’t sedate him.’”

Kuroo grimaced. “He’s getting bolder.”

“No, he’s getting tired of you limping past the infirmary and pretending you're invincible.” Tsukishima didn’t even look up as he added, “Go. Before he drags you there himself.”

Kuroo pushed off the table with a low groan. “Fine, fine. I’m going. But if I end up with a needle in my ass again, I’m blaming you . ”

Tsukishima snorted. “Not my fault you fell into a trash can and got stabbed with used needles.”

Kuroo flipped him off half-heartedly as he left, but there was no real heat behind it. The lab door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and the warmth of tech and static faded into the cooler stillness of the hallway.

His footsteps echoed quietly as he made his way to the medbay, each one easing him into a slower rhythm. The weight of the mission, the broken mask, the dead end: all of it lingered in the back of his mind, but he let the scent of clean floors and distant lavender disinfectant start to settle some of the static in his chest.

By the time he reached the medbay doors, the quiet hum of machines and soft lighting greeted him like an old friend.

He stepped through the doors and took in the smell of antiseptic and blooming magnolias, it was a strange but oddly comforting combination that Kuroo had long associated with Yamaguchi’s quiet, competent care. He ducked through the door, immediately spotting Yamaguchi perched on his rolling stool, scanning a digital chart, sleek black gloves on his hands and a pair of luminous lenses perched on his nose.

“Hey, doc,” Kuroo called, already tugging his jacket off with a practiced grunt. “Guess who broke something other than his mask this time?”

Yamaguchi didn’t even look up. “If you broke your ribs again, I’m getting Tsukki to reinforce your suit with titanium.”

“Now that’s a bit dramatic.”

“So is getting thrown into a brick wall like a ragdoll.”

Kuroo plopped onto the padded bench with a sigh. “It was only drywall this time. Barely cracked anything.”

Yamaguchi finally looked up, expression unimpressed but eyes softening a bit as he scanned Kuroo’s face. “Still not a great improvement. Shirt off. Let me see.”

Kuroo peeled off his shirt off slowly, revealing the mess of scars, muscle, and new bruising across his ribs and side. The right side of his torso was a harsh patchwork of old burns and newer injuries, skin still sensitive in some areas even after years.

Yamaguchi moved towards him silently, hands gentle but clinical as he began examining the damage. He hummed as he worked, activating a handheld scanner and frowning faintly. 

“No fractures, just bruising,” he murmured. “You’re lucky.”

Kuroo snorted. “Atsumu said that too. Pretty sure I used up all my luck the day I didn’t die in Hakone.”

Yamaguchi didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he adjusted his lenses with a click and pressed the scanner a little more firmly against Kuroo’s side.

“You also used up everyone else’s patience,” he said dryly. “Especially mine.”

Kuroo grinned through a wince. “Oh come on, Yams. You love me.”

“Oh I just adore you.” The omega crooned sarcastically, but his touch was gentle as he switched the scanner off and began applying a cooling salve along the bruises with practiced, efficient movements.

Kuroo hissed slightly at the first touch. “This stuff still smells like mint and regret.”

“I made that blend specifically for you,” Yamaguchi said without missing a beat. “It used to smell worse.”

“Define worse.” Kuroo said, crinkling his nose in disgust.

“Back when you first arrived and could barely stay conscious for more than ten minutes, it smelled like vinegar and omega tears.”

Kuroo let out a bark of laughter and dropped his head back against the wall. “You’re a menace.”

“Please. I’m an angel.” Yamaguchi tapped his chest lightly, just above his heart. “Ask literally anyone but you.”

“You mean anyone you haven’t threatened with a needle.”

“That’s still a long list,” Yamaguchi said innocently.

The teasing gave way to a brief, comfortable silence as he worked. His fingers moved over the worst of the new bruises, checking for deeper tissue damage. Then they passed over a patch of older scarring, just at the edge of the burn line. His hand lingered a moment.

“It’s healed better than I expected,” he said softly. “Have you been using the oil I gave you?”

Kuroo nodded. “Yeah, I use it every night. Smells like magnolias, it’s nice.”

Yamaguchi smiled faintly. “That’s because I mixed it myself. Tsukki swears I bottle my scent and put it in everything.”

“He’s not wrong,” Kuroo said, voice becoming warmer. “But… Thank you. For all of this. Really.”

Yamaguchi didn’t answer right away, just peeled off one of his gloves and pressed his bare palm over Kuroo’s side, right over the worst of the burns, where the skin still tensed at sudden touch. His magnolia scent circled them comfortably.

“You’re my patient,” he said gently. “But more than that, you’re my friend. You don’t need to thank me for giving a damn about you.”

Kuroo swallowed. It always hit harder when Yamaguchi dropped the jokes. He wasn’t flashy like Atsumu or sharp like Tsukishima; he was steady. And that steadiness had kept Kuroo upright more than once, even if no one saw it.

“Still. You didn’t have to keep trying to find new ways to ease my scars,” Kuroo said, voice quieter now. “Or work with Tsukki to craft new devices for my fucked up senses. You didn’t have to care.”

“I chose to care,” Yamaguchi said. “And I’ll keep choosing to. That’s what a family does, Kuroo.”

Another silence settled over them; but it was warm this time, heavy in the way safety often was.

Yamaguchi stepped back, tossing the glove into the bin. “Alright. I’ll print you some muscle tape for the bruising and strains. Try not to get thrown into any more walls for a week, okay?”

Kuroo smirked as he pulled his black shirt back on. “No promises.”

Yamaguchi rolled his eyes. “Fine. At least aim for something softer next time.” He paused for a second before smirking, “Like Atsumu.”

“Tempting.”

Before they could continue their teasing, the door to the medbay swished open with the soft hiss of hydraulics.

Kuroo glanced up, then brightened. “Well, well, if it isn’t Daddy Tiger and Mama Eagle.”

Hanamaki walked in first, balancing a baby carrier in one hand and waving with the other. “Tetsu! You should’ve seen it! Reina threw up all over Mattsun’s favorite interrogation boots.”

Matsukawa followed behind, holding a stack of blankets and a bottle with the look of a man who had not slept in six months. “I died a little inside.”

Yamaguchi looked up with a delighted laugh. “You’re early for Reina’s checkup.”

“We figured we’d come and crash Tetsu’s appointment,” Hanamaki said, beaming as he placed the carrier on the adjacent bench. “Reina wanted to say hi to her uncle.”

Kuroo made his way over to the baby carrier and peered inside. Reina blinked up at him with huge brown eyes and a gummy grin, dark curls sticking up in all directions from her soft little head. Her purple onesie said My Daddies Are Cooler Than Yours in glittery letters.

“Look at this little chaos gremlin,” Kuroo cooed, gently booping her nose with one finger, receiving giggles from the infant. “She’s cuter than both of you combined.”

“She gets it from me,” Hanamaki said proudly as he scooped Reina out of her carrier. “Clearly.” He added nuzzling his daughter, receiving another laugh from his pup.

“Clearly,” Matsukawa agreed, deadpan, as he passed over a pacifier that Reina promptly launched across the room. “And the destruction? That’s from me.”

Yamaguchi moved over to them with a warm smile. “Let me check her vitals. You mentioned she was crying more often than normal, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hanamaki said, his tone more serious as he focused on his daughter. “We think she’s probably just teething, or wants more attention since Mattsun has been away for more missions recently.”

“I think it’s both,” Matsukawa added. “Last night she crawled onto my stomach, bit my nipple, then laughed at my pain.” The alpha was shaking his head at his daughter who grinned at him, making the alpha’s faux stern expression melt into a soft smile.

Kuroo choked on a breath and wheezed, “Well she is the daughter of the most chaotic couple I know.”

It was still insane to Kuroo that Reina had just appeared one night.

There had been no signs, no scans, no scent shifts. Hanamaki had always joked he carried weight weirdly, and when his belly started to swell slightly over the next few months he shrugged it off as stress eating and too many late-night snacks. 

Matsukawa hadn’t noticed either, they were both too busy with their work, and Hanamaki hadn’t experienced anything that would point to pregnancy. No morning sickness, no nesting frenzy, no cravings, no omega shifts.

Then, boom.

One night, Hanamaki had gone into labor when Mattsun was in the middle of a supply run. Half the base panicked. Kindaichi nearly fainted. Matsukawa almost decked Iwaizumi trying to get to the medbay. Yamaguchi had to yell at them to shut up and then practically dragged the alpha by his collar into the maternity ward.

Reina was born with a loud wail and a full head of dark curls, perfectly healthy, perfectly bright-eyed, and utterly unexpected, but the inner family had thrown themselves all in to help the new parents.

Now, six months later, she was Seijoh’s unofficial mascot. Happy, curious, and expressive. All gummy smiles and little growls. Kuroo had never seen Hanamaki so soft, or Matsukawa so protective.

She was the accident no one saw coming, and the miracle no one wanted to live without.

“She’s getting heavy,” Hanamaki said as he handed Reina into Kuroo’s arms with practiced ease. “You’re going to have to start bulking up, Tetsu.”

“She’s perfect,” Kuroo said quietly, and smiled as Reina tugged at his white spots of hair with a fascinated coo.

“She likes your scent,” Hanamaki added, smug. “Nutmeg, I think it reminds her of me. Very favorite uncle vibes. Clearly scent compatibility means you and I are related in some past life.”

“I told you,” Kuroo said, mock smug as he lifted the baby up more so she could better reach his hair without yanking it out. “Triplets. You, me, and Kawa.”

“Let’s not curse the world like that,” Yamaguchi muttered as he put away his scanner and made grabby hands at Reina. The baby giggled as she was handed to the medic “Healthy as ever. But you are correct, I felt a few teeth starting to poke out. I’ll get you a stronger teething balm, and those little ice pouches for her to chew on.”

“Add it to the kit,” Matsukawa said with a smile as looked at his curious daughter trying to chew on Yamaguchi’s shirt collar. “And maybe a muzzle.”

“She is not a puppy.” Makki said glaring at his mate.

“She bit me.”

“You bite me,” Hanamaki fired back.

“That is different. You—”

“Okay!” Kuroo laughed, lifting his hands again. “We are not rehashing the laundry room incident.”

Reina squealed again, flapping her arms, and Kuroo couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

It hadn’t always been like this. A year ago, he couldn’t look at a child without the hollow pang of longing hitting him like a truck. But Reina was different. She was a part of this family: a surprise, a miracle, and a symbol of everything Seijoh was fighting for.

Warmth. Safety. Life.

Everyone’s attention turned to the infant as Reina yawned against Yamaguchi’s shoulder, her tiny hand fisting in the medic’s collar as she blinked sleepily up at him. Kuroo stepped back with a low sigh, letting the weight of the moment settle quietly in his chest. The ache wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t so sharp anymore. 

He glanced over at the clock on the wall, and his expression shifted subtly, a quiet responsibility settling into place.

“Alright,” he murmured, straightening his shoulders with a slight wince. “I should wrap up the rest of my post-mission duties before I get yelled at… Again.”

“You mean before Iwaizumi gets the comm logs and finds out you skipped two check-ins?” Yamaguchi said without looking up, expertly rocking Reina side to side.

“I was emotionally compromised,” Kuroo said, feigning innocence. “You can put that in my chart.”

“I’ll put something in your chart,” Yamaguchi muttered. “Like needs constant supervision.”

Hanamaki chuckled as he gathered Reina’s things. “Tell Kawa we said hi,” he added with a crooked smile.

“Better yet, tell him not to fry the entire comm net again,” Matsukawa added. “I swear, you two together are a glitch in the system.”

Kuroo saluted them all lazily, though the affection was clear in his eyes. “I make no promises.”

He gave Reina one last pat on the head, smiling as the pup let out a sleepy little coo, then turned toward the doors with a reluctant exhale. As they slid open and he stepped back into the cooler, wider halls of Seijoh’s underground base, the noise of the compound rose to meet him again: familiar, lively, and comforting.

The halls had become comfortably busy during his stay in the medbay. Agents were coming and going between missions, some laughing, others quietly checking comms or passing off reports. It was strange how quickly this place had started to feel like home after everything. There was still a deep, cold part of him that remembered why he’d needed a new one… but the warmth here made it easier to breathe.

As he rounded a corner a familiar voice called out.

“Kuroo-senpai!”

He turned just in time to catch Kindaichi barreling towards him, his eyes bright and his grin toothy. His arms were full of half-dismantled surveillance drones, judging by the sleek black casing.

“Kindaichi,” Kuroo greeted with a crooked smile. “Don’t tell me you broke Tsukishima’s drones again?”

“I improved them!” Kindaichi insisted, looking insulted. “I wanted to try tweaking the tracking interface! Kunimi made sure Tsukishima-San didn’t notice this one was missing.”

Kuroo raised a brow. “Uh huh. And where is your other half?”

“Right here,” came a drawl from behind him. 

Kunimi strolled into view, a cup of coffee in one hand, a data drive spinning lazily between his fingers. His loose shirt and fitted pants looked too nice for someone who’d probably just come from a poison lab. Kuroo couldn’t help but smile.

“Glad you’re back in one piece.” The omega added, giving him a small nod.

“More or less,” Kuroo replied, nudging the omega’s shoulder as he passed. “Have you been keeping this one from blowing himself up?”

Kunimi took a sip from his mug. “Barely. You know how he gets with a soldering iron and an idea.”

“I heard that,” Kindaichi mumbled, ears pink.

Kuroo laughed and mussed Kindaichi’s hair, earning a flustered “Hey!” from the young alpha. Kunimi snickered at his mate making Kindaichi pout. The affection between them was so easy, so real. Kuroo’s chest ached in that quiet, longing way it always did when he saw them together. 

“Don’t worry, Kindaichi. You’ll always be the best tech gremlin in my heart.” Kuroo couldn’t help but add.

Kindaichi beamed at that, and Kunimi rolled his eyes fondly.

They were a nearly perfect pair. Already engaged and mated, the rings were chosen, date tentatively set for after their next major mission cycle. Kuroo had helped plan the proposal with Kindaichi, down to the exact timing of a flash-drive delivery that spelled out Will you marry me? in blinking code.

He remembered Kunimi’s quiet laugh, the way the omega had gone red and just… nodded when Kindaichi dropped to one knee.

Kunimi was notoriously cold and blunt to most people, but when it came to Kindaichi? He melted, all the tension faded away leaving a young omega utterly in love with his mate.

“He didn’t tell you he accidentally triggered the self-destruct while calibrating them,” Kunimi drawled, making his mate flush a bright red and look away.

Kuroo laughed. “I guess he forgot to mention that.” He said with a fond grin, receiving two equally fond smiles. 

“Where are you both headed?” Kuroo asked as they started walking down the hall.

“The storage room, Kunimi needs to pick up more toxin vials,” Kindaichi said brightly and the omega nodded quietly from between the alphas. 

Kunimi was normally skittish around multiple alphas, but Kuroo was different.

He’d helped Kunimi during a mission in Osaka, and it had changed their entire relationship.

During an infiltration mission Kunimi had unexpectedly gone into heat. His suppressants had been compromised, and they were pinned in a warehouse, boxed in by enemy fire.

Kuroo recognized the signs quickly. How Kunimi’s hands were trembling and the newly formed sheen of sweat dripped down the omega’s temple. Eventually the scent patches weren’t able to cover up the sweet vanilla and hazelnut scent. 

Kuroo in that moments decided the mission was already fucked so without hesitation he began to slaughter the enemy with ruthless efficiency. Gunning down enemy after enemy from behind a crate.

He then sent out several rapid messages to Oikawa and got to work. Finding a room, locking the doors, sealing the windows, and sitting at a respectful distance: offering water, snacks, cold packs. Everything he knew Kenma wanted during his heat. 

His nutmeg scent had helped as well, grounding the young omega as they waited for Seijoh. Kuroo had kept vigil for hours, keeping any danger away while Kunimi fought through the worst of it, waiting for his mate.

When Kindaichi arrived, frantic and breathless, Kuroo had nearly shot him thinking he was an enemy.

When the alpha finally got close enough Kuroo unlocked the door, letting the alpha come help his mate.

Since then, Kunimi, never touchy-feely with anyone outside Kindaichi, had made an exception. A rare one. One that meant a lot.

Now, every once in a while, Kunimi would step close to Kuroo when the world felt too loud. Would hug him, quick and firm. Would bury his face against Kuroo’s shoulder for a few seconds of peace. Would even request a bit of scenting from his pseudo big brother.

And Kuroo always gave it freely, seeing the young omega and his mate as the little siblings he’d never had.

Kuroo smiled at the couple as they made it to the storage room. Before he could speak the omega had stepped close, wrapping slim arms around his waist and resting his head briefly against Kuroo’s chest. He smelled warm, that vanilla and hazelnut scent always so soothing, and Kuroo instinctively tucked an arm around him in return.

“Thanks,” Kunimi said softly. “For that time on the Osaka mission. I know I’ve said it before, but…”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Kuroo said just as gently, resting his chin atop his head for a moment. “It’s just what family does.”

Kunimi pulled back with a quiet smile and a pat on Kuroo’s scarred shoulder. “Still.”

Kuroo grinned and ruffled the omega’s hair, making Kindaichi laugh at the scowl that crossed Kunimi’s face.

Kuroo bid them goodbye and watched the couple disappear into the storage room, the door clicking softly shut behind them. He lingered a moment longer, letting the comfort of their presence settle warmly in his chest before turning away.

The further he walked into the base, the quieter everything became.

The outer halls still carried the buzz of controlled chaos: agents in uniform moving with purpose, footsteps echoing against reinforced concrete, the low murmur of conversation bleeding from briefing rooms and comm stations. But with each turn of the corridor, with each step beyond security thresholds and retinal scanners, that energy faded.

Here, in the heart of the compound, only the inner family moved.

The walls grew less utilitarian and became more personal: paintings, old photographs, soft lighting meant for comfort instead of strategy. 

Kuroo’s footsteps softened on the thickening carpet underfoot. His body relaxed instinctively: shoulders rolling loose, gait evening out. This was the part of Seijoh that didn’t ask for his strength, only his presence. The place that expected him not to lead or bleed, but to belong.

He passed the training rooms, visible through wide glass panes: a space now dimmed and quiet, lights set to standby. Iwaizumi’s sparring mats were still scuffed from earlier drills. Wooden weapons lined the walls. 

Ahead, the corridor widened into a private stretch that only the most trusted could reach. There were no cameras here. No guards posted. Just trust, and memories: soft trails of scent that marked it as safe.

Kuroo was halfway down the hall when the silence was shattered by a booming voice.

“TETSUUUUUU!”

Kuroo had just enough time to brace himself before Bokuto tackled him into a bear hug, arms wrapping tightly around Kuroo’s bruised ribs. 

“Kou!” he grunted. “Jesus, I just got done with a mission, don’t finish me off!”

Bokuto beamed and pulled back, still holding him by the shoulders. “I missed you! Yams said you were okay but I had to see for myself! How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“Oh, good. So you didn’t hit your head that hard.”

Kuroo snorted and thwacked his shoulder lightly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m back in one piece.”

Bokuto finally let him go, bouncing slightly on his heels as he grinned. “Good. You look… not dead. That’s great!”

Kuroo dusted himself off. “Thanks for the glowing review.”

They started walking together, footsteps in sync, their pace unhurried as they wandered deeper into the quiet stretch of the compound. It felt good, comfortable in the way only years of friendship could be.

“Oh!” Bokuto suddenly perked up, eyes wide with excitement. “While you were gone, Osamu and I tried to build a grappling rig on the roof.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “You and Osamu. Two combat specialists without a strategist, decided to make a DIY project?”

“Yup!” Bokuto puffed up proudly. “We were going to zipline from the west watchtower down to the courtyard. Tactical training, y’know?”

“That’s not tactical training,” Kuroo said flatly. “That’s two feral idiots with a questionable understanding of physics attempting to fly.”

Bokuto grinned. “And we almost got it right!”

“Almost?” Kuroo asked, worried about the answer.

“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “I may have calculated the angle wrong, and Osamu didn’t tighten the rigging enough. So I launched myself off the roof, hit the halfway point, and the whole thing snapped like a twig.”

Kuroo stopped walking and stared at him. “You jumped off a rooftop on a homemade zipline?!”

“I landed in a shrub,” Bokuto said defensively, and then muttered under his breath. “Mostly.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yams was not happy.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“He made me sit through a concussion test while Tsukki yelled at us through the intercom. Said, and I quote, ‘if natural selection hasn’t gotten you yet, I will.’” Bokuto said with a pout.

Kuroo pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was smiling. “I can’t leave you two alone for one week.”

“Technically it was two days.” Bokuto added unhelpfully.

“That’s even worse.” He said with a huff of disbelieving laughter, “I’m going to make Kawa ban you from the roof.”

“Like anyone could stop me from getting up there,” Bokuto said with a triumphant grin. 

Kuroo gave him a long look. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m efficiently chaotic,” Bokuto corrected, puffing out his chest.

“Sure,” Kuroo said dryly. “Efficiently chaotic, concussed, and banned from anything over ten feet tall.”

Bokuto stuck out his tongue, but Kuroo just shook his head, the fondness in his expression unmistakable.

A comfortable beat of silence passed between them as they turned the next corner, the hum of base life growing distant in the quieter halls. Kuroo gave his friend a sidelong glance, his smile turning a bit more sly.

“Speaking of chaos,” he said casually, “I heard you went on a date?”

Bokuto stopped walking and flopped dramatically against the wall beside him, rubbing a hand through his wild hair with a sigh so heavy it could’ve been a death wail.

“What happened this time?” Kuroo asked, amused.

“She said I was too nice,” Bokuto whined. “She thought I was going to be all ‘grr and dominate me, Alpha-Sama,’ but I was nice to the server, and tipped well, and held the door open for her, but apparently I’m too bubbly and sweet?”

Kuroo tried to be supportive. He really did. But he couldn’t help but burst out into fits of hysterical laughter.

“Stop laughing ! ” Bokuto moaned. “She gave me that look. You know the one.”

Kuroo groaned, laughter dying down as he realized what Bokuto was talking about. “The ‘I thought you were going to toss me over your shoulder, growl and ravish me’ look?”

Bokuto flailed. “ Yes! I don’t want to be that guy! I like talking about clouds and birds and—”

“—your ridiculous knife collection?”

“Exactly!”

Kuroo patted his shoulder. “Someday you’ll find someone who wants to hear about clouds and knives.”

“I just—! Is it really so wrong to want someone smart? And calm? Someone who won’t get mad if I want to talk about clouds or, I don’t know, cuddle after a spar?”

Kuroo smiled at his friend. “No, Kou. It’s not. You’re just a big soft alpha in a scary-looking package.”

Bokuto pouted. “Maybe I should act scary.”

“Please don’t. You’re not suited to be serious all the time. Honestly you might have a mental breakdown if you had to act like that everyday."

“…Yeah, I would.”

Kuroo reached out and patted his back fondly. “You’ll find someone who wants you. All of you, dorky laugh and hyper fixations included. Someone who sees you, not who they want you to be.”

Bokuto tilted his head, considering. “Like… someone stable? Smart? Someone who doesn’t mind if I ramble but can, like, calm me down too?”

“That’d be ideal.”

“Someone who would read me books because I love stories, but I just can’t sit down and read! Oh and who has nice hands and maybe a dry sense of humor…”

Kuroo smirked. “Sounds like you're building a fantasy, Kou.”

Bokuto blinked, then turned red. “Am not! They’re out there… somewhere.” He said with a pout.

“Sure,” Kuroo drawled, nudging him toward the training wing. “Go blow off some steam on the practice dummies, cloud boy.”

Bokuto trudged off, muttering something about how smart omegas were sexy anyway.

Kuroo watched Bokuto disappear down the hallway, his muttering echoing faintly behind him. He waited until the thudding of combat boots faded before sighing and turning the opposite direction. Kuroo stretched his arms over his head, feeling stiff and exhausted. 

He really needed to finish his post-mission check ins.

As he rounded a corner near the weapons hall, he caught the familiar scent of campfire.

“Oi, Panther.” The presence growled.

Kuroo didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Kyoutani was leaning against the reinforced wall just outside the ammunition room, arms crossed and a scowl in place, like he’d been waiting there the whole time. He wore his usual black sleeveless vest, dog tags clinking against his collarbone, and a sidearm strapped across his thigh.

“Mad Dog,” Kuroo greeted, deadpan.

“Not my name,” Kyoutani muttered.

Kuroo smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m not here to fight,” Kyoutani said, though he didn’t move from the wall. “Shigeru sent me to make sure you didn’t skip your final report-in.”

“Do I look like someone who would skip procedure?” Kuroo asked, batting his lashes in false innocence. 

“You look like someone who just walked out of a fight and needs a nap. And a shower, you stink.”

“Touché,” Kuroo muttered, amused.

A second voice chimed in, smooth with a teasing lilt. 

“Are you two bickering again?” Yahaba asked, stepping out from the armory with a data pad tucked under his arm. He wore a sleek fitted tactical top with reinforced plating and a dry smile, his scent of toasted marshmallow a calming contrast to Kyoutani’s lingering smoke.

“We’re not bickering,” Kyoutani grumbled.

“We absolutely are,” Kuroo corrected, then turned to Yahaba. “Did you really send him to babysit me?”

“Of course I did,” Yahaba said with a shrug. “You have a history of wandering off after missions. Last time we found you in the greenhouse.”

“I was meditating.”

“You were sleeping in the sun like a cat, Kuroo.”

Kuroo grinned. “Same difference.”

Yahaba rolled his eyes but handed over the tablet. “Last form. Fill it out, or I’ll let Tsukishima deal with your next gear upgrade request.”

Kuroo blanched at the omega. “Cruel.”

“Efficient,” Yahaba replied sweetly. Kyoutani snorted behind them, making his way to rest his head on his mate's shoulder.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at the alpha. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Not at all,” Kyoutani lied, the corner of his mouth twitching.

There was something oddly comforting about this, about their strange rhythm of deadpan jabs and subtle understanding. Kyoutani always claimed they weren’t friends, but Kuroo had long since stopped believing it. They trained together, bled together, and trusted each other on the field. And when it mattered, Kyoutani showed up.

Kuroo signed off on the forms and handed it back. “Happy?”

Yahaba checked it with a nod. “Yes.”

They began walking together, Kuroo flanked by two of the most opposite-matched mates he knew: a stoic, scowling alpha with fists like sledgehammers and a brilliant omega strategist who could make grown men cry with a glance.

“You know,” Kuroo said thoughtfully, “I still can’t believe you two ended up together.”

Kyoutani groaned, but Yahaba only smiled. “That makes two of us.”

“You remember when he came to me for advice?” Kuroo said with a smirk, ready for his revenge. “All flushed and pissed off because he didn’t know how to ask you to be his mate?”

“I will shoot you,” Kyoutani muttered, ears turning red.

“And I told him to just scent you casually, you know, like a ‘hi I’m interested’ thing,” Kuroo went on, ignoring the death glare. “He walked up, literally sniffed you like a bloodhound, and then ran away.”

Yahaba burst out laughing at the memory. 

It was true after all. Yahaba had been doing weapons inventory when Kyoutani had come in and picked up the omega sniffing him like a dog. Yahaba had yelped and dropped his tablet, breaking it. Oikawa had made Tsukishima pull the video so he could watch the hilarious scene. 

Kyoutani growled under his breath, ears now a violent shade of pink. “I said I was nervous.”

“You looked like a kicked puppy when I pushed you away.” Yahaba said laughing at his mate.

“You weren’t any better!” Kyoutani snapped at the omega. “You tackled me the next day.”

“I was trying to prove a point,” Yahaba said smugly.

“Yeah, and now look at you two,” Kuroo grinned. “Married in all but paperwork.”

Kyoutani looked ready to die of secondhand embarrassment, but Yahaba simply looped his arm through his mate’s, pulling him close with a smile.

“We work,” he said simply.

Kuroo’s grin faded just slightly, fondness softening his features. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You do.”

He liked seeing this. A rough-edged alpha softened by someone who loved him. An omega strong enough to push back and pull close all at once. 

It made his chest ache a little. The reminder of how different and perfect he and Kenma were. But it was nice to have a reminder that genuine love still existed. That mates found one another, even when they were so different,

Yahaba gave Kuroo a quick glance, noticing the far away look in Kuroo’s eyes. “You okay?”

He shook himself from the thought. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Yahaba didn’t push, only nodded.

“C’mon,” Kyoutani muttered, already moving toward the next hallway. “I’ll walk you to the exit before you disappear again.”

Kuroo followed, smirking. “Aww, you do care about me.” He cooed, making the other alpha growl at him.

“Shut up.”

Kyoutani muttered one last threat about punching him in the throat: affectionately, of course, before disappearing down the corridor with Yahaba at his side, their steps syncing with the practiced ease of two people who’d fought together and loved even harder.

Kuroo watched them go, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then he turned and continued deeper into the compound, toward one of the back lounges where the cleanup crew and sniper units usually gathered when they were off-duty.

He heard them before he saw them: quiet laughter, the soft hum of a kettle boiling, and Aran’s deep voice laced with amusement.

“There he is,” Aran said as Kuroo entered, leaning back in one of the well-worn couches with a cup of tea balanced in his hand. The scent of hickory lingered warmly around him, grounding in a way Kuroo had always found soothing.

“Kuroo,” Kita greeted simply from where he stood at the counter, pouring a second cup of tea with practiced, precise movements. “You look like hell.”

Kuroo gave a tired huff as he stepped inside greeting the mates with a nod. “You say that like it’s new.”

“It’s not,” Aran quipped, “but it’s more pronounced today. You alright?”

“Define alright,” Kuroo said, accepting the cup Kita handed him. It was the right temperature, not scalding, just hot enough to be comforting. The omega’s white camellia scent curled faintly into the air beside him, clean and soft.

Kita hummed. “Emotionally drained. Overworked. Stubborn about hydration and skipping meals?”

Kuroo arched an eyebrow. “Is that a diagnosis, doc?”

“No,” Kita said with a quiet smile. “It’s a personality profile.” Kuroo opened his mouth to protest but Aran beat him to it. 

“Don’t deny it.” Aran chuckled into his drink. “You know he’s not wrong.”

The three of them settled into a lull, silence folding around them like a blanket. It wasn’t that awkward kind of quiet. It was comforting. Kuroo liked these moments with them. Where the world wasn’t spinning so fast, where he could just sit and talk philosophy with Aran or be calmly mothered by Kita without being smothered.

“Twins behaving?” Kuroo asked, sipping his tea.

Kita gave a long-suffering sigh. “Osamu nearly concussed himself building a zipline with Bokuto. Atsumu was the counterweight.”

“...So no,” Kuroo muttered, trying to act like he hadn’t already heard of his best friend's stupidity from Bokuto. 

“They ate today,” Kita said, ignoring the comment, somehow already knowing Kuroo had spoken to the rambunctious alpha, he always seemed to know everything. “Took their vitamins. No signs of dehydration.”

“Progress,” Kuroo said with a soft grin. Kita and Kuroo often teamed up to mother the twins, forcing the omegas to actually take care of themselves instead of working themselves into the ground. 

“They’re lucky you care,” Kita said gently. “Not many people know how to be firm without being cruel.”

Kuroo blinked. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

Kita’s golden eyes met his gaze, steady and warm. “It is.”

Kuroo didn’t respond right away, just nodded and let the quiet sit again.

There were very few people in the world who could make him feel seen without saying much. Aran did it through shared stories and the weight of understanding. Kita did it through simple gestures like warm tea and casual concern disguised as check-ins. Their presence reminded Kuroo of what he was fighting for: not just vengeance, not just survival, but this. Quiet corners. Laughter. People who cared.

Kita set down his cup, then pulled a small comm device from his belt. “Before I forget: Oikawa’s asking for you.”

Kuroo blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. He wants to speak to you privately. Said it was important.”

Kuroo sighed and scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. “Do I have time to shower?”

Kita gave him a flat look, then raised an eyebrow. “Considering how scent-sensitive he’s been lately? You’d better shower.”

Kuroo chuckled and nodded. “Right,” he said, “I’ll go rinse off. Don’t want him to kick me out the second I walk in.” Kuroo began to make his way to the hallway, set on taking a hot shower. 

“Smart,” Aran murmured, smiling behind his cup and Kita made his way to sit next to him, leaning into his mate's side gently. 

“Go,” Kita added, as he took a sip of his tea. “We’ll be here if you need anything. And Kuroo?”

The alpha paused in the doorway, turning to look back at the couple.

“Don’t carry today alone.”

Kuroo gave a faint, tired smile. “Thanks, Kita.”

Kuroo turned away from the warmth of the sitting room, the door sliding softly shut behind him with a gentle click. The quiet that followed was thicker than silence: heavier, somehow, now that he was alone again.

The further he walked, the fewer people he saw. The lights dimmed in this part of the base, motion-sensing bulbs casting muted glows that followed him like distant fireflies. These halls weren’t for patrol teams or scouts or even lieutenants, they were meant for Seijoh’s inner circle to rest and relax, meant for the ones trusted with more than muscle or orders. Only those who had bled for the syndicate. Those who had been folded into its bones.

Here, no voices echoed. No mission chatter. Just the faint hum of electronics in the walls, the occasional hiss of hydraulics as doors locked and unlocked with coded recognition. Every step deeper into the compound meant stepping further into the quiet that always seemed to wrap around Kuroo like a second skin.

His boots scuffed softly along the floor, and the lingering scents of the others faded, until only his own nutmeg remained, faint and threadbare, clinging to the collar of his shirt.

He passed the training wing, empty now save for the low thud of a distant punching bag. Walking past the reinforced doors of the private server wing where Tsukishima sometimes slept upright in his chair. Past the quiet junction where Bokuto had once nearly broken his leg trying to parkour off a wall to “get to breakfast faster.”

By the time Kuroo reached his corridor, the air had gone still. Here, the walls were lined with thick insulation and biometric locks. No surveillance. No curious eyes. Just rooms, sparse and personalized, meant for warriors who had earned privacy by the weight of their sacrifice.

He stopped in front of his door, letting the locks disengage and stepping inside.

The door clicked shut behind him with a dull finality.

Inside his room, the walls stood in silence: unmoving, unjudging, unlike the world outside that expected him to be steel and stone, to have an unbreakable resolve.

Kuroo let the smile fall from his lips like broken glass.

The shift was almost imperceptible, but real: his shoulders sagged, his jaw unclenched, the light in his eyes flickered and dimmed. The carefully curated confidence that carried him through missions and meetings, battles and banter, cracked at the seams, splintering beneath the pressure of another failed lead. Another dead end.

The weight of the day settled into his bones.

Muscles screamed in protest as he peeled off his shirt. The bandages around his torso tugged as they stuck to healed scars, and the ache that rippled through him was almost comforting, something real and tangible. A pain he could touch, unlike the hollow behind his ribs.

He moved with methodical slowness, pulling off the rest of his clothes and making his way toward the bathroom. His gait was stiff, each movement slightly off-kilter, favoring his left side as his right still pulled tight with scar tissue that would never fully soften.

The mirror loomed on the wall, waiting for him to turn and take in his image.

Kuroo didn’t look.

He didn’t want to see the fractured version of himself that stared back.

Instead, he undid the dressings Yamaguchi had so carefully wrapped. The gauze peeled back with the gentleness of a whisper, revealing the raised, brutal map of scorched flesh that twisted down his shoulder, his side, his ribs. His fingers trembled slightly: not from pain, but from memory.

He flicked on the shower, letting the water run until it was nearly scalding before stepping under the cascade.

The heat stung. It always did.

But it melted the stiffness from his muscles, worked its way into the deepest parts of him like forgiveness made liquid.

Steam rose around him in clouds, thick and suffocating, and still he stayed there, motionless beneath the stream. Letting it drown out the ache. Letting it smother the silence that had become his only companion in the darkest hours.

His fingers curled against the tile walls.

He tried not to think.

But memories crept in anyway, slipping past his defenses like ghosts.

Kenma’s soft laugh echoing in the back of his mind, the sound light and unburdened. The way his lashes fluttered when he dozed against Kuroo’s chest. How small he had felt in his arms, tucked in so close, like they were made to fit together.

He can barely remember how Kenma smelled. He knows the omega smelled like cinnamon apples, but he can’t imagine the scent anymore. He couldn’t remember the way it clung to his clothes and enveloped every sense making him feel at home.

He remembered how Kenma had looked that night, right before everything went to hell: sleepy, safe, and happy. Wrapped in his arms as they danced. Eyes half-lidded. Trusting.

He remembered the feel of his mate’s lips brushing against his own. Their bond should have been completed.

And then, fire.

Screams. Smoke. Blood. Splintering wood. The scent of burning flesh.

His flesh.

And Kenma, somewhere in the chaos, pulled from his arms, lost to the inferno of that night.

“I’m still looking for you,” Kuroo whispered, voice barely audible beneath the water’s roar. “Every day. Every fucking day.”

He leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall. Closing his golden eyes.

“I hope you miss me too,” he whispered. “Even just a little.”

His chest felt too tight to breathe.

Seven years of searching. Of hoping. Of finding omega after omega, none of them his. Of chasing ghosts. Of nearly dying, again and again, for a chance at finding the one soul that made this hellish life worth enduring.

“I’m tired, Kenma,” he admitted aloud, the words catching on the lump in his throat. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

Water poured over him like absolution, but nothing cleansed the ache inside.

The bond scar on his neck throbbed with phantom heat, a cruel reminder of a promise half-kept.

He stayed like that until the water ran lukewarm, until steam no longer clung to the air, until the silence wrapped back around him like a shroud.

The water trailed down his skin in sluggish streams that clung to the curves and crevices of old wounds. Kuroo shut the faucet off with a slow twist of his wrist, the silence that followed was somehow louder than the voices in Kuroo’s head.

He stepped out of the shower, the last remnants of steam still coiling faintly around him, clinging to his shoulders like a second skin. The towel was rough against his hypersensitive scars as he dried off, each pass a reminder of what he’d become.

Of what he’d survived.

The mirror, fogged and waiting, loomed like a judgment.

He didn’t want to look.

But he did.

Slowly, Kuroo raised his eyes to the reflection, swiping the steam from the glass with the heel of his palm until the man behind the mist stared back at him.

It still startled him, sometimes.

That this was him now.

Tall, broad, battle-scarred: an alpha built by fire and blood.

His body was a map of survival etched in crimson and ash. Scars carved jagged lines across his chest and down his right side, old burns gleaming slick under the low light. The skin there puckered and rippled, it would never go back to normal. It tugged unnaturally with every movement, as if trying to remind him that it was never supposed to be whole again.

His right eye was darker than the left: clouded and glassy, the pigment warped by the flames of Hakone. His hearing aid glinted dully from where it sat on the bathroom counter, a small piece of metal that would keep the silence at bay. The hair on that same side was bleached almost completely white now, stark against the inky black of the rest, as if the fire had kissed it and never let go.

A beast in the shape of a man.

He raised his hand, brushing his fingertips across the raised scar at his left scent gland. It pulsed faintly under his touch: not in pain, but in memory.

Kenma’s bond mark.

Incomplete. Untouched since that night.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of that tiny scar heavier than all the others combined.

“What would you see when you look at me now, Kenma?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Would you even recognize me?”

His gaze dropped lower, tracing the litany of old wounds: stab marks along his abdomen, several bullet scars littered his chest, whip lashes faint but brutal across his ribs. The signs of the thousands of missions he’d endured. The thousands of lives he’d taken.

Each one carved into him like proof of his purpose.

Like proof he wasn’t someone who could be loved anymore.

Not by someone as soft and sweet as the boy who used to fall asleep with tangled fingers in his hoodie and a plush black cat nestled between them.

Not by someone who saw the world in pixelated dreams and found magic in silence.

Not by someone who deserved better.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” Kuroo muttered, bitter and quiet, his reflection offering no answer. “At least you’ll remember me the way I was. Whole and happy.”

Not this.

Not this thing of burn and bone and bloodied hands.

His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.

He clenched the edge of the sink with both hands, knuckles white.

“Stop it,” he snarled under his breath. “You’re not allowed to feel sorry for yourself. Not now.”

Because Kenma was still out there. He had to be.

Because the bond hadn’t faded, hadn’t vanished the way incomplete ones did with death. No, it still hummed faintly under his skin: enough to keep him alive, enough to remind him that somewhere, somehow, his mate was still breathing too.

And that meant he didn’t get the luxury of giving up.

He stood straighter.

When he found Kenma, if he was happier now, Kuroo would vanish. Let the omega live out his life in peace, never seeing how monstrous Kuroo had become.

He forced his hand away from the scar. Locked the grief in a box and shoved it deep inside himself where it couldn’t rot through the rest of him.

There would be time for pain later.

Right now, Oikawa was waiting.

And Kuroo couldn’t face their leader looking like a ghost of himself.

He dressed with quiet efficiency, throwing on some casual clothes, soft and simple. A long-sleeved black shirt that covered the worst of his burns. Comfortable slacks. A navy jacket, worn at the edges. The kind of outfit that said “Normal alpha” more than “current assassin.”

He ran his fingers through his damp hair, adjusting it so that the white streaks fell back, hidden as best they could.

A final breath.

One last glance at the mirror.

He didn’t look healed. He didn’t look heroic.

But he looked like someone who still had something to fight for.

That would have to be enough.

Without another thought, Kuroo turned from the reflection and opened the door.

Back into the world.

Back into motion.

Back into war.

And maybe, if fate allowed it, back toward the one person he still called home.

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies!!!!

I know it has been a while since I posted, so I give you a chapter over 12,700 words long as an apology.

Life got really busy, I started a new job that has me working at 3 am, I just finished Shrek the Musical so that was crazy busy, and worst of all, my apple pencil broke when I only had 2 more designs left so I had to order a new one. (Could I have posted this without the character designs? Yes. Did I want to? No.)

Anyways I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, now that Shrek is done with, I will have time to write again so don't worry I'll be back in business shortly!!

The character designs and backstories of Seijoh are going to be posted here shortly so go check that out for me!

It takes a long time to draw and come up with chapters, so I really hope you enjoyed this!!!

Please keep commenting it really helps my productivity!

Also, I'm trying to outline the end of my fanfic, so drop me a few of your own ideas or ending wishes for this fanfic, who knows it could make it in! (Just like how all the amnesia comments became Osamu's side storyline)

Anyways, I worked today so I'm exhausted, so I'll see you on Friday!!!

Have a wonderful rest of you day <3

Chapter 32: Cinnamon Brown Sugar

Summary:

In which Kuroo gets a much-needed cuddle session.

Kuroo knocked twice out of habit before entering their leader’s office, not waiting for a response. Oikawa’s office was always a bit cozier than the rest of the compound: lit with warm overhead lights, the scent of cinnamon brown sugar forever clinging to the air like nostalgia and safety.

Kuroo half expected to find his best friend leaning over a case file, glasses perched low on his nose, scribbling notes in that loopy, impatient handwriting of his. But instead, the room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Then came the sound.

Retching.

Kuroo’s muscles tensed. Not the panicked kind of fear; just an exhausted, unsurprised sort of concern. A beat passed before he sighed and set his jacket over the back of the couch, already moving across the plush rug toward the half-cracked door that led to the en-suite bathroom.

He gently pushed open the door, not bothering to knock since it would only make the omega try to cover up his ‘weakness’.

The scene was familiar. Sickeningly so.

Oikawa was hunched over the toilet, shoulders trembling, one hand braced against the tile and the other clutched tightly against his swollen abdomen. His usual pristine hair was a mess, stuck to his flushed forehead with sweat, and his shirt was wrinkled from where he’d tugged at the collar in discomfort.

Kuroo dropped to his knees beside him wordlessly.

“Did you have another one of your radioactive smoothies?” he asked, voice light but low with concern.

Oikawa let out a choked laugh between heaves. “It had… banana and mustard. I thought—maybe the potassium…”

“You are literally the smartest omega in the building, but you still can’t tell the difference between cravings and war crimes.”

Kuroo rubbed slow, grounding circles into his back, feeling the way Oikawa’s muscles fluttered and clenched beneath his palm. The action was as familiar as breathing now. Kuroo had done it more times than he could count.

Years ago, it was food poisoning. Then stress. Then the occasional ill-advised drink night with Hanamaki and Matsukawa that led to horrible hangovers and illness. And now…

Now it was morning sickness.

Which was a stupid name considering the feeling of nausea and occasional vomiting lasted all day.

Oikawa let out another dry heave, groaning softly as his stomach twisted, leaving him gasping against the porcelain. Kuroo stood and grabbed a small towel folded neatly on the sink, wetting it and offering it to the pale omega.

Oikawa groaned as he took the offering, dabbing at his lips with a shaky hand.

“You okay, Tooru?” he asked softly, kneeling next to the omega as he again started to stroke soothing patterns across the omega’s spine.

Oikawa made a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “Define okay.”

Kuroo gave a quiet chuckle and leaned back against the wall, knees still bent, content to sit there until Oikawa caught his breath. The scent in the air had shifted, sharper now, tinged with milk and something impossibly tender beneath the cinnamon.

He was used to the change by now. Used to the way Oikawa’s scent had evolved slowly over the last few months, like it was blooming open petal by petal. Used to the soft sweetness beneath the sugar, the undercurrent of life that clung to his best friend’s skin like warmth off the sun.

While Hanamaki’s pregnancy had been a shock, there had been no mystery for Oikawa.

Not when the morning sickness hit like a truck. Not when he cried during a nature documentary because the baby penguins “looked cold.” Not when he started carrying mints everywhere, shoving them under his nose whenever anyone walked too close.

And not when Kuroo found him here, in this exact position, for the third time in one week.

“You know,” Kuroo said gently, brushing a damp strand of hair from his friend’s face, “if you need to cut back on your duties, no one would blame you.”

“Iwa-Chan would,” Oikawa muttered, voice thick with mucus and frustration.

“No, he wouldn’t. I can say with almost one hundred percent certainty that he had begged you to take a break within the last hour,” Kuroo corrected, pressing the towel to the back of Oikawa’s neck to cool him off.

The omega pouted indignantly, and then without warning began to dry heave into the toilet once more.

Kuroo winced as the omega gripped the toilet like a life line, staying silent and simply pushing up Oikawa’s bangs as the omega gagged.

“I hate this part.” He murmured after the nausea had passed again.

Kuroo didn’t respond right away. He didn’t know how to, he had very little experience with pregnant omegas, especially ones having as bad a time as Oikawa currently was.

He simply shifted until they were shoulder to shoulder on the cool tile, the heat from Oikawa’s body bleeding into his own.

“I know,” he said eventually, voice low and steady. “But it won’t last forever.”

Oikawa let out a small, shaking laugh. “That’s what you said last month.”

“Because it was true last month. And it’s still true now. You’ve survived worse.”

Oikawa looked up, eyes red-rimmed but bright, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t get all motivational speaker on me. You’re the broody assassin, remember?”

Kuroo scoffed, nudging him lightly. “Yeah, well, broody assassins can be soft too. Especially when their idiot best friend keeps eating pickled olives dipped in fudge.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Oikawa muttered, leaning lightly against his side.

Kuroo let the silence linger, just the sound of Oikawa’s slowed breathing and the soft hum of the vent above them filling the room.

It was hard to explain what it felt like, watching someone so unshakable unravel in pieces, day by day.

Oikawa was the golden thread holding Seijoh together. The strategist. The face. The leader who could out-charm a politician and out-threaten a cartel boss in the same breath. But here, with his knees pressed to cold tile and his scent sharp with nausea and pain, he just looked… small.

Not weak. Never that. But tired in a way Kuroo recognized far too well.

This pregnancy had hit him harder than anyone expected. It seemed like every symptom that was possible during pregnancy had happened to Oikawa, making the omega miserable.

Iwaizumi hadn’t left for any missions since Oikawa had told him about the baby. Always hovering protectively around the omega, sometimes pacing the halls like a restless storm when he couldn’t fix what was happening to his mate.

And still, Kuroo remembered the beginning. How it had all started, not with a smile or a test clutched in trembling hands, but with Oikawa pounding on his door at two in the morning, tears streaming down his cheeks and his scent so bitter it made Kuroo gag.

Kuroo had opened the door expecting a crisis. He got a sobbing omega throwing himself into his chest, hands trembling so hard it took three tries to choke out the words “I’m pregnant.”

Iwaizumi had gone on a mission. He was deep undercover for a four-day intel run, and wouldn’t be back for at least a few more hours. Kuroo didn’t think, just wrapped his arms around his best friend and guided him inside.

Through hiccups and shaking fingers, he explained. About the test he hadn’t meant to take. About the symptoms he thought were just stress. About how terrified he was because they’d never talked about kids. Not since their childhood in the red light district. Not since they’d watched alphas abandon pregnant omegas, or watched babies born addicted to drugs and forced into dirty orphanages that were fronts for trafficking.

“Hajime… he never said he wanted a family,” Oikawa had whispered, curled into a ball on Kuroo’s bed, sweater sleeves pulled over his hands. “What if he doesn’t want this? What if I scare him away? What if—what if I ruin everything?” Oikawa’s voice was ragged, filled with terror. Kuroo had made his way into the bed, gently holding the omega and scenting him, trying in vain to calm him.

Kuroo’s chest had ached, but he kept his voice calm. “Then you’re an idiot, Tooru. Iwaizumi willingly got captured last year to throw off a raid that would’ve cornered you. He let himself be tortured for you. You think he’s going to leave you because you're having a baby? His baby.”

Oikawa had sobbed harder, which wasn’t quite the result Kuroo had been hoping for, so in desperation, he called in back up.

Fifteen minutes later, Bokuto crashed through Kuroo’s bedroom door wearing only one sock, and Osamu arrived a minute later with two thermoses of calming tea and that scary quiet competence that made even Kuroo feel soothed.

Osamu had made a nest, Bokuto tried to help but ended up just anxiously pacing around the pile of blankets and clothes. It had only taken ten minutes for Osamu to deem the nest suitable, dragging Oikawa into it and then nodding for Bokuto and Kuroo to enter the comforting space.

Kuroo curled up behind Oikawa and Bokuto curled up beside Osamu, completing their impromptu cuddle pile. They stayed silent for a while, just listening to Oikawa.

Letting him talk, but soon the omega was back to spiraling, rambling about how their life isn’t fit to raise a baby, how he doesn’t know how to be a mom, how Iwaizumi probably didn’t want another thing to take care of.

Osamu, always blunt but never unkind, had asked him softly, “Do you want to keep it? You don’t have to. Not if it’ll hurt you. Not if you don’t want it.”

Oikawa whipped around to look at them like they were insane.

“No,” he’d snapped, voice sharp like broken glass as he glared at the trio. “No, I don’t—I don’t want to get rid of it—God, I don’t want to — ” He hadn’t even realized he was crying again until Bokuto pulled him into a hug, giant arms wrapped around him, crooning quiet nonsense like “You’re okay, you’re safe, we got you.”

Kuroo gently rubbed Oikawa’s back, “We aren’t trying to get rid of your pup Tooru, we just wanted to make sure this is something you want.” he said delicately, and finally Oikawa relaxed back into their hold.

They stayed up till dawn, letting Oikawa cry until he had no more tears left to spare. They spoke in whispers about the future. About the risks. About how to tell Iwaizumi. They didn’t leave his side for a second.

It was seven in the morning when Iwaizumi returned.

He had taken a shower, thrown on some pants, and gone to his and Oikawa’s shared room, when he hadn’t found the omega waiting for him like usual he’d begun to panic, not even bothering to grab a shirt as he ran to Oikawa’s office, his nesting room, and various places the omega frequented.

By the time he was knocking on Kuroo’s door the alpha was out of breath and reeked of anxiety, his pine scent bitter.

Kuroo had opened the door to find Iwaizumi, shirtless and covered in new bruises and injuries from his mission that he hadn’t bothered to bandage in his panic. The alpha had begun speaking rapidly, not wasting a second.

“Tooru’s not in our room,” Iwaizumi said, voice low and tight. “Have you seen him? I—he always waits for me, and he wasn’t in any of his normal spots.” Iwaizumi began to ramble and Kuroo held up a hand making Iwaizumi freeze.

Kuroo didn’t answer with words, just stepped aside so Iwaizumi could see into his room.

Oikawa, now sleeping, was curled in a tight ball beneath a pile of blankets deep in the newly built nest, flanked by Osamu and Bokuto on either side like protective wolves.

The moment Iwaizumi’s eyes landed on the curled form of his mate; eyes puffy, cheeks flushed from hours of crying; he exhaled like the air had been knocked out of him. And then, gently, almost reverently, he crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside Oikawa.

“Tooru,” he whispered, hand trembling as he brushed chocolate bangs off his mate’s forehead.

Oikawa stirred, eyelids fluttering, and the moment he saw Iwaizumi, he let out a soft, broken whine.

“Iwa-Chan…”

Iwaizumi let out a soft rumble, deep in his chest, an answer to the broken whine. It was the pure sound of an alpha trying to soothe their omega.

Oikawa shifted, reaching out his arms and Iwaizumi wasted no time, gathering the omega up like he was something sacred, strong arms wrapping around the omega’s back as he lifted him from the nest of blankets. Oikawa clung to him instinctively, burying his face in Iwaizumi’s scent gland, trying to suffocate himself in his mate's pine scent.

Osamu and Bokuto quietly stood, not making a sound, letting the pair have their moment. Kuroo trailed behind silently as Iwaizumi carried Oikawa out into the quiet hallway, each step slow and steady, like a vow.

The trio had followed a short distance behind the couple, keeping close just in case Oikawa needed them.

They stopped at the far end of the corridor, watching from the shadows as Iwaizumi paused with Oikawa still in his arms, his brows furrowed with concern as he whispered something too soft to hear.

Oikawa pulled back and Iwaizumi let him down. The omega looked down at his feet and began to speak.

And then, it happened.

Iwaizumi’s head snapped up.

“You’re what ?!”

The alpha’s voice echoed through the corridor like thunder, Kuroo had tensed up prepared to intervene if need be.

But his fears were unnecessary because in the blink of an eye, Iwaizumi was spinning Oikawa in his arms, lifting him like he weighed nothing, before hugging him so tight it looked like he’d never let go again.

Oikawa was laughing. Laughing and crying at the same time, arms looping around Iwaizumi’s neck as he pressed their foreheads together.

Kuroo had felt something twist behind his ribs at the sight, something bright and warm.

Here he was, witnessing the pure love of two people who had been through hell. And he had never felt prouder to call them his family. 

Kuroo was pulled from his memories when Oikawa let out a soft exhale, brushing his damp bangs away from his face. “Hajime is so lucky I love him enough to carry his pup,” he grumbled, voice raspy and still thick with exhaustion, but the usual teasing glint had returned to his brown eyes.

Kuroo gave a quiet snort of laughter, handing him a glass of water from the sink. “You love that pup more than you love sleep, and that’s saying something.”

Oikawa sipped slowly, swirling the water in his mouth before spitting it into the sink. “Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand over his lower abdomen, “I really do.”

It wasn’t said with drama, or fanfare, or even a smile; but the quiet reverence in his voice made Kuroo pause. It was always staggering to witness Oikawa’s utter devotion to a baby that had yet to be born. 

After rinsing out his mouth one more time, Oikawa reached for his toothbrush and leaned over the sink, scrubbing mechanically at his teeth, letting muscle memory take over. Kuroo made his way to the doorframe, resting against it with his arms crossed as he watched the omega.

“Is the morning sickness getting any better?” he asked after a minute.

Oikawa spat into the sink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I guess so. I’m not throwing up every hour anymore, but it isn’t gone yet.” He said, then added with a smirk, “If you couldn’t tell.” 

“Oh ha-ha, pick on the partially blind guy.” He shot back, making Oikawa smirk as he finally straightened up, all traces of illness gone.

They fell into step as they made their way back out to the office. Oikawa leaned against the edge of his desk with a sigh, carefully lowering himself into the chair while Kuroo flopped onto the plush couch a few feet away, legs thrown on top of the coffee table, arms draped over the backrest.

“I saw the report,” Oikawa said suddenly, his voice shifting from personal to professional without missing a beat. “The one from the raid. You did amazing.”

Kuroo’s eyes slid half-lidded, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him all at once. “We took out most of the organization, and brought a few members in for questioning,” he said quietly. “We got all of the buyers too. The leaders won’t be resurfacing.” He added with a dark look.

Kuroo had made sure that none of the men would ever be able to harm another soul again.

He hadn’t been quick about it either. Taking his frustration out on them had been satisfying, and there wasn’t a single cell in his body that felt guilty for what he’d done.

“I read about the four omegas you got out,” Oikawa murmured, resting a hand on his swollen stomach and gently rubbing it. “You did good, Tetsu.”

Kuroo didn’t answer right away.

His jaw tensed. His shoulders curled just slightly inward.

“But I didn’t find him,” he said finally, voice low. “Intel said there was an omega with golden eyes. Said he was small, quiet, and didn't talk much. Same build. Same height. They even had similar profiles from the back. But when I got there…” He trailed off, staring past Oikawa and out the window.

“I know,” Oikawa said gently, pushing himself to his feet with a small groan of effort and crossing the room to Kuroo.

Kuroo didn’t resist when warm hands guided him upright or when he was gently shoved to the side, so Oikawa had room to sit.

Instead he relaxed as Oikawa curled up beside him on the couch, head resting on Kuroo’s shoulder, one hand bracing his belly, the other reaching for Kuroo’s.

Kuroo intertwined their fingers and let his head tip against Oikawa’s, allowing the cinnamon brown sugar scent to calm the ache in his chest. 

The ache was familiar to Kuroo by now.

It was an ache filled with what ifs. Of ghosts. Of the boy who still haunted his mind.

“Did Bokuto find anything?” he asked, voice low, nearly lost in the hush between them. “When he went to Hakone…”

He didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to crush the last bit of hope that had unwillingly rooted in his chest

But he had to know.

Oikawa’s breath caught, and he hesitated, just long enough to say everything before the words did.

“No,” he whispered, squeezing Kuroo’s hand a bit tighter. “There weren’t any signs. No footprints. No broken branches. No lingering scents. Not even scavengers. The fire... it burned everything. Wiped the land clean. Kou stayed for three days. Camped out just in case. But it’s… it’s a graveyard.”

“Like it never existed,” Kuroo murmured, staring at the plush carpet.

His throat tightened.

Once upon a time Hakone had been his whole world. The creaky porch, the chipped coffee mugs, the way Kenma would sit on the roof to play games where the sun hit just right on his screen. The garden he’d built for Kenma. The laughter, the fights, the late night promises of a future that would never become a reality.

He nodded once. “Thanks for checking,” he murmured, mouth dry. “I know it’s… I knew it was a long shot going in, I guess I’m just that… pathetic.”

Oikawa squeezed his hand tighter, pressing closer. “Kuroo Tetsuro, you are a lot of things but pathetic isn’t one of them. You just hoped for the best, that is an admirable thing in this line of work.”

That got him. Kuroo turned, jaw clenched, eyes shining just a little too much, and let his forehead fall gently against Oikawa’s. They stayed like that for a few moments while Kuroo pulled himself back together.

“Thanks Tooru.” He murmured after he’d steeled his emotions.

Oikawa shifted closer, the press of his body gentle but grounding as he tilted his head to better access Kuroo’s scent gland, gently nuzzling into the junction of Kuroo’s neck.

Kuroo exhaled slowly, letting his body relax into the motion.

Oikawa was careful, scenting him with delicate precision, as if trying not to overwhelm him. Cinnamon brown sugar rolled warmly through the air, blooming around Kuroo’s shoulders like a second blanket.

His throat tightened, and the alpha suppressed the whine that wanted to escape.

He refused to let the pain show more than necessary. Refused to let it reach his face. But deep down, everything just… hurts.

Because no matter how strong he was, no matter how sharp his instincts had remained… he was so broken by the fire.

It had taken everything, his mate, his family and friends, his senses, even his own autonomy. And he just wanted to give up so badly. He wanted to stop looking, stop going crazy, stop… living.

But he couldn’t do that, he had to keep going.

If not for himself, for the new family he loved more than anything else.

Kuroo curled into himself, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths of Oikawa’s all encompassing scent.

The comforting cinnamon brown sugar scent was sweeter now, fuller than it used to be. Tinted with milk and life and the promise of something fragile growing beneath Oikawa’s skin. But beneath it all, was the scent he’d clung to during long nights on unfamiliar soil. A scent that meant safety.

And maybe he loved Oikawa’s scent for selfish reasons.

Of all the scents he’d encountered since the fire in Hakone, Oikawa’s was the closest thing to Kenma’s.

Not a match. Not even really all that similar. But adjacent. Neighboring, somehow. Close enough that if he closed his eyes and let himself drift, he could almost pretend, just for a second, that Kenma was in the room again.

Kenma had smelled like cinnamon apples. Warm and spiced, with the faint crispness of autumn leaves and the hush of a room filled with quiet love. That scent used to wrap around Kuroo’s bones like a blanket. A promise. A home.

Now it was just memory.

Faded, blurred. Like a song he could almost recall but couldn’t quite hear.

Still, Oikawa’s scent was the closest thing Kuroo had. The one anchor he clung to when he wanted to feel less alone.

“Thanks,” He repeated, before adding, “for always being there. Even when I fall apart.”

“What are best friends for? Someone has to drag you out of your pity spiral.” Oikawa said lightly, nudging him.

Kuroo let out a rough chuckle. “Don’t you mean cuddling me through it?”

“Same difference,” Oikawa replied, already shifting to tuck himself more comfortably into Kuroo’s side. He hummed faintly, nose twitching as he buried it into the side of Kuroo’s neck.

“God,” the omega sighed. “Nutmeg. I love it.” He said taking deep whiffs of Kuroo’s scent, making the alpha snort.

He raised an eyebrow. “You literally threw up twenty minutes ago and now you’re trying to devour my scent?"

“I crave it, Tetsu. Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kuroo relented, wrapping an arm around him and tugging him closer until they were tangled together on the couch, a pile of limbs and scars and unspoken grief.

“You’ll find him,” Oikawa said eventually, so soft it was almost a prayer. “I know you will.”

Kuroo swallowed hard, squeezing Oikawa’s fingers. “How can you be so sure? It’s been seven years already, what if he’s not even in the country?”

“Then we can expand abroad,” Oikawa whispered. “I think Seijoh would do wonderfully in America.”

Kuroo gave a small snort at the omega’s answer, but they both knew Oikawa was one hundred percent serious.

He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, letting the filtered light of the setting sun hit his scarred skin, soft and golden.

It warmed the right side of his face where the fire had kissed him cruelest. Where skin pulled tighter, stiffer than it used to be, and sensation was dulled by nerve damage and memory. The sunlight didn't care. It touched him gently anyway, painting the broken places in gold, like they were something holy.

For a long moment, he just breathed.

In.

Out.

Oikawa’s weight against his side was grounding, and the soft cadence of their mingled scents, nutmeg and cinnamon brown sugar, made the quiet feel almost sacred.

In the darkness behind his lids, he imagined another world. A quieter one. Where the Hakone had never been attacked. Where his home hadn’t been torn apart. Where creaky porches sang under bare feet, and garden soil clung to his hands. Where Kenma waited for him with soft eyes and warm tea, a game console in his lap and a sleepy smile on his lips.

Where love hadn't ended in smoke.

Where the sharp tang of ash hadn’t replaced the smell of cinnamon apples.

He didn’t let the tears fall. Not tonight.

“Yeah,” he murmured, so quiet it was more breath than voice. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I will find him.”

He didn’t know if he believed it.

But Oikawa did.

And for now, that was enough.

They stayed like that until the light faded; two scarred souls wrapped in silence, curled around the ghosts they still carried.

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies!!

I think I will start posting on Mondays and Fridays (still to be determined but I think that's the vibe for right now)

Little announcement, I have had several people comment about wanting to work with me to make art for my story. These may very well be scams but I am going to say this just in case.

I am a broke college student, like broke broke and I barely have enough money to pay for college so I am sorry, but I cannot pay you. I do not believe in giving free artistic labor away so if you do still want to draw something I would love to do a trade! I can write you any story you desire, and we can even discuss how many words or chapters you want it to be so it's fair.

Now that that's said, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I hope to see your comments they do wonders for my motivation!

(The more detailed and long a comment is the more I am likely to cry from happiness)

Any who, I need to go to sleep because I have a 3 am shift tomorrow! Have a great rest of your day and I'll see you Friday <3

Chapter 33: Interception

Summary:

Seijoh is on the warpath

The storm was already mid-swing by the time Kuroo stepped into the hall outside Oikawa’s office.

“You’d think Karasuno had the audacity to waltz into our damn supply lines and smile about it!” Oikawa’s voice thundered through the thick office walls. “Intercepting my shipment? Mine ?! I will burn that entire mountain-forsaken syndicate to the ground—”

Bokuto, standing just outside the door with a look that was equal parts sympathy and horror, spotted Kuroo and immediately pointed at him like a lifeline.

“Tag. You’re it.”

Kuroo sighed, clapped Bokuto on the shoulder, and walked into the storm.

Inside, Oikawa was pacing the length of his office like a caged tiger, his cinnamon-brown sugar scent flared through the air. The sharp burning scent of rage, punctuated with the milky undercurrent of pregnancy, hit Kuroo’s senses before Oikawa even noticed him.

“You know,” Kuroo began dryly, dodging a paperweight that Oikawa chuckled at the wall, “most people react to theft with, I don’t know, calling their supplier or filing a report; not a full-scale declaration of war.”

Oikawa whipped around, eyes blazing, hair slightly disheveled from stress. “They intercepted our firearms, Tetsu. That was my shipment. Our supply line, our territory, our right! They were ours and now they’re with those Karasuno bastards!”

He paused only to breathe, or perhaps to gather enough oxygen to scream again.

Kuroo spoke up, using the moment of silence to ask, “Did you eat today?”

“Don’t deflect!” Oikawa shrieked. “Do you even understand what this means? It’s not just about the guns, it’s a message! An open slap in the face from Karasuno’s crew and I will not stand for it! No alpha is going to challenge me!”

Kuroo folded his arms. “Kawa, you are pacing too much, go sit down.”

“I’m five months pregnant, Tetsurou! Sitting is harder than shooting someone from 10 clicks away!”

His voice cracked on the last word, and his expression twitched as his lower lip trembled. Kuroo’s brows furrowed just a bit in concern.

“Oh no,” Oikawa muttered, blinking furiously. “Not this again—”

And then he was crying.

Furious, seething tears, wet streaks down his cheeks as he scowled at Kuroo like the alpha had personally offended him.

“Stupid fucking hormones,” Oikawa gritted out. “I’m not crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m angry . There’s a difference!”

Kuroo, who had survived firefights, high-speed chases, and literal torture, was beginning to fear for his life. “Terrifying distinction. Duly noted.”

Oikawa sniffled, rubbing at his eyes like the tears betrayed his dignity. “They think they can walk all over us, like we’re weak just because we haven’t attacked them! They think just because I’m pregnant I’m weak, like I can’t run an empire with a fetus kicking my spleen!”

Kuroo sighed, “They don’t know you’re pregnant Kawa. They don’t even know you're an omega, Karasuno is just getting too big for their britches.” 

“I’m calling Matsun,” Oikawa decided, pacing again. “I want every scrap of dirt we’ve got on Karasuno, and I want it yesterday . ”

He stormed toward his desk with the fury of a dictator and slammed down each button on the communicator.

“Matsukawa!” he barked. “I don’t care if you’re elbow-deep in a rat nest, I want you in my office in the next five minutes! We’ve got a syndicate to destroy!”

There was a long, crackling pause before Matsukawa’s voice responded, dry as sandpaper and twice as done.

“…I’m literally in the middle of a sting op, Oikawa.”

“ Five. Minutes! ” Oikawa yelled, jabbing the button off with the flair of a Broadway actor exiting stage left.

Kuroo leaned against the desk and folded his arms. “He’s going to strangle you one day.”

“Not before I dismantle Karasuno’s entire operation and salt the earth behind me,” Oikawa muttered, wiping his face with a tissue and then blowing his nose aggressively. “God, why am I crying again?”

Kuroo reached over, handed him another tissue, and ran his fingers through the omega’s hair like one might comfort a distressed cat.

“You’re hormonal, underfed, overworked, and infuriated. That’s a lethal cocktail, even for you,” he said gently. “Maybe eat something before you declare mafia war?”

Oikawa gave a long, broken groan and muttered into the tissue, “I hate everyone.”

“Sure you do,” Kuroo said, raising a brow with a smirk. “But mostly Karasuno.”

“Especially Karasuno,” Oikawa growled, practically spitting the words like they were poison.

Before Kuroo could reply, another voice cut through the air from the hallway; bright, boisterous, and familiar.

“I brought food.” Bokuto’s head popped in through the doorframe like he was peeking into enemy fire, holding a crinkled paper bag high above his head like it was a sacred relic. His golden eyes sparkled with mischief, but behind the teasing grin was concern. Genuine, unshakable concern. “Do you want a meat bun?” He asked their leader gently.

Oikawa turned his way, lips trembling, eyes a bit glassy from hormones and rage. He nodded aggressively like a man accepting a life raft in open water.

Bokuto didn’t hesitate. He strode across the office in two long steps and pressed a still-warm meat bun into Oikawa’s hand. “Eat before you explode,” he said, tone light but coaxing.

Oikawa huffed, the expression on his face equal parts pout and indignation, but he took a bite anyway. The moment his teeth sank into the bun, a sigh escaped him. His shoulders, which had been tense for hours, finally sank half an inch.

Kuroo’s gaze softened as he watched the change ripple through his best friend. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but the tension had dulled just enough. The acidic edge of his scent, sharp cinnamon and fire, had mellowed into something wearier. Something almost vulnerable.

He was five months along now. Past the halfway point of pregnancy. Kuroo could see the toll it was taking on him, no matter how well Oikawa tried to hide it. He was hormonal. Exhausted. Pulled in ten directions at once. And still running one of the most dangerous yakuza syndicates in the country with a precision most couldn’t manage even on their best days.

Kuroo had seen people snap under less.

But not Oikawa.

Tooru didn’t break. He burned brighter.

And when he burned, the world paid attention.

Bokuto plopped down into the armchair beside the desk, legs sprawled wide, head tilted to glance between them. “You know,” he said casually, “I remember when this one,” he pointed at Oikawa with his thumb, “couldn’t even open a meat bun wrapper without throwing it across the room and yelling at it.”

“That was one time,” Oikawa muttered through a mouthful of food, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.

“Twice, actually,” Bokuto grinned. “The second time was because you didn’t like the filling.”

“It was supposed to be pork and it was pumpkin!” He squawked.

“I thought you liked pumpkin?”

“I do! But not surprise pumpkin!”

Kuroo snorted. “You really are a menace when you're pregnant, huh?”

Oikawa scowled, taking another bite just to avoid answering.

But Bokuto just grinned wider, unbothered. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Tell Iwa-Chan that. He’s been threatening to take my phone every time I try to schedule a strategy meeting at 3AM.”

“Good,” Kuroo said flatly. “You’re five months pregnant, Kawa. You need to stop pretending you’re invincible.”

“I am invincible.”

“Sure,” Kuroo said dryly. “Right until your body reminds you that growing a human being isn’t a side quest.”

Oikawa opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but Bokuto beat him to it.

“Relax, Tooru,” Bokuto said, softer now. “Seriously. You’ve got us. We’re not going anywhere.”

That landed heavier than it should have, making the office settle into silence for a moment, because Oikawa knew they meant it. They had his back

Every time the world tried to take something from Oikawa, to strip him bare and leave him raw, these two had been there. Since the first night Oikawa had wept in Kuroo’s arms over a fight with Hanamaki. Since the long days of searching for Iwaizumi when he was captured. Since the chaos of discovering he was pregnant, curled up and shaking on Kuroo’s bed while Bokuto cuddled him and Osamu built a new nest just for the four of them.

They’d been his shadow, his shield, his stubborn, irritating constants. His best friends.

“You okay now?” Kuroo asked after a beat.

Oikawa paused, chewed, swallowed.

Then muttered, “I’m still mad.”

“Obviously,” Bokuto and Kuroo said at the same time.

“But I’m mad with meat,” Oikawa muttered, chewing another bite with a vengeance.

“Progress,” Kuroo said, trying so very hard not to laugh at the pregnant omega.

Oikawa narrowed his eyes. “I can still make you disappear, you know.”

“You’d need Bokuto to do the heavy lifting.” Kuroo said pointedly looking at Oikawa’s baby bump.

“Gladly!” Bokuto chirped, flexing dramatically from where he lounged across two armchairs like a feral housecat. “But only if Iwaizumi signs off on it!”

That made Oikawa scoff, even as he took another exaggerated bite of his meat bun. “He’d help bury the body, that's what good mates do. Besides he’s so overprotective nowadays, he got mad when I climbed a single flight of stairs without texting him.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “Considering you fainted three days ago trying to rewire the security board while six months pregnant—”

“Five,” Oikawa hissed, scowling. “Five months and one week. I’m not some fragile fairy tale princess.”

“You’re a pregnant omega with an attitude problem and a meat bun vendetta,” Bokuto said sagely, arms crossed behind his head. “It’s honestly impressive.”

Oikawa’s glare could’ve leveled cities. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Damn right I am.”

Despite the banter, there was a quiet stillness to the room now. A rare softness tucked under the exhaustion, the sharp edges, the scars. Kuroo’s leg pressed against Oikawa’s. Bokuto’s steady warmth radiated from the opposite chair. Their scents braided faintly in the air, a knot of grounding comfort. It was enough to make Oikawa calm down, even if he refused to admit it.

That stillness was shattered exactly thirty seconds later.

The door slammed open like a thunderclap.

Matsukawa Issei entered like a hurricane in Kevlar and tactical boots. One strap of his vest hung loose, his shirt half untucked, and his face already promised violence. His scent hit the room aggressively, making Oikawa gag. The smoke apple wood laced with annoyance, a polar opposite to the man’s usually laid back demeanor, making Kuroo worried.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at Oikawa.

Then at Kuroo.

Then at the meat buns.

Then sighed.

“You pulled me out of a five-week sting operation for this,” he said, voice flat. “There’d better be a body to bury or a nuclear warhead on the way.”

Oikawa blinked at him, finally swallowing down the bile in his throat. “I’m pregnant.”

Matsukawa stared at him. Deadpan.

“Congrats, we all knew that.” he said, completely unimpressed. “You’ve been glowing like a skincare ad and eating like a cursed raccoon for months.” He said, very pointedly not mentioning the large party the inner circle had thrown the couple, or the very obvious baby bump the omega sported. 

Oikawa gaped. “Rude!” He shot back as Bokuto choked on his water and Kuroo cackled.

Matsukawa sighed, stripping off his vest with the casual air of a man about to commit arson. “What’s the real reason I’m here?”

The humor in the room faded instantly.

Oikawa set his newest meat bun down with a soft thunk. His fingers curled over the edge of the desk. “Karasuno intercepted one of our shipments.”

That made Matsukawa still.

“No survivors?” he asked, low and quiet now.

“Three guards dead. Six crates missing.” Oikawa’s tone was steel. “It wasn’t random. And it wasn’t an accident.”

Matsukawa’s eyes narrowed. “You sure it was them?”

“We confirmed it through two separate scent profiles and a tech's drone footage,” Bokuto chimed in, uncharacteristically serious now. “Two of their inner operatives were both spotted during the raid. The footage is grainy, but the timestamps line up. This wasn’t freelance work.”

Kuroo’s jaw was clenched, mouth tight with something unspoken. Oikawa noticed, of course. He always noticed.

The omega inhaled sharply, then let out a slow exhale, like he was calming himself down.

“I want everything,” he said to Matsukawa. “Dirt, rumors, receipts. If their leader so much as jaywalked in the last ten years, I want his shoe size, the timestamp, and the coordinates.”

Matsukawa rubbed the bridge of his nose, already pulling out his phone. “You want blackmail, back doors, or burn-it-all-down?”

Oikawa didn’t hesitate.

“All of the above.”

Kuroo looked at Oikawa, and just for a moment, he was struck by the thought that he was standing beside a king. 

And Matsukawa, who knew Oikawa better than most, nodded once. “I’ll start shaking trees. Give me six hours and a list of any recent Karasuno port rotations. If they’ve got rats in the customs department, I’ll find them.”

Oikawa’s voice was cool. “You’ve got five.”

“Of course I do,” Matsukawa muttered, turning toward the door. “I’m quitting after this, by the way.”

“You say that every week.”

“This time I mean it.”

“Makki wouldn’t let you.” The omega sing-songed.

Matsukawa muttered something vulgar under his breath as he exited, flipping Oikawa off without looking back. The omega just smirked, all venom and velvet.

Bokuto stretched slowly in his chair, arms arching above his head until his spine popped, then let out a soft, exaggerated groan as he stood.

“I’m going to go debrief Iwa,” he said, giving them a small salute as he walked to the door. “He’s going to want to know what blew up while he was training the new recruits”

Kuroo nodded, but didn’t look away from Oikawa.

Bokuto lingered in the doorway just long enough to catch Kuroo’s eye.

It wasn’t much, just a glance, a tilt of the head, and the smallest furrow of his brow, but it said everything: Don’t let him go too far. Keep him steady.

Kuroo gave the faintest nod in return. Always.

Then Bokuto was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a quiet click.

Kuroo watched it settle, the weight of it still lingering in the room like gunpowder smoke.

The tension didn’t immediately fade. It hung in the air between them; coiled and electric, something raw and unspoken pressing tight against Kuroo’s ribs.

Oikawa was already reaching for his tablet, brows furrowing as he flicked through reports like a general reviewing battle maps. The fire was back. Eyes sharp, shoulders squared, his fingers twitching with the need to dismantle something, anything, that dared threaten what was his.

But Kuroo had known him long enough to see the cracks forming just beneath that polish. The exhaustion tugging at the corners of his mouth. The slight tremble in his wrist. The way his scent flared bitter the longer he went without rest.

It was instinct more than decision, the way Kuroo crossed the room.

“I’m going to need a full recon on all Karasuno-controlled ports by tonight,” Oikawa was saying, tapping on the tablet rapidly now. “If they’re rerouting shipments through the south docks again, we’re—”

“Walk,” Kuroo said flatly.

Oikawa didn’t look up, ignoring the alpha completely. “I have five separate operations active and at least three red-flagged contacts in the west quarter, and you want me to—”

“Walk, Tooru.”

It wasn’t a suggestion this time.

Oikawa groaned like a child being sent to bed without dessert. “I am your boss.”

Kuroo raised an unimpressed brow. “Get moving,” He deadpanned. “Or I’ll carry you.”

That earned a withering glare, but eventually the omega stood, muttering curses under his breath as he stomped out of the office like a cat sprayed with water. Kuroo followed at a steady pace, letting the fury burn itself out into small, harmless sparks.

They moved through the hallway with the ease of routine, the walls buzzing faintly with the late-hour hum of operations and distant voices. It was quieter here, further from the nerve center of Seijoh’s headquarters. War planning could wait until Matsukawa returned.

Kuroo nudged open the kitchen door, and warm light spilled out to greet them like a reprieve.

Inside, the air was soft with the scent of warm broth, soy, and scallion: something Osamu had left to simmer, probably some late night creation. The lights were lower here, hazy and golden, glinting off metal countertops and casting slow-moving shadows across the tiled floor. It felt like a separate world from the steel-sharp atmosphere of the command office. Gentler, more human.

Kuroo guided Oikawa toward the table without needing to speak.

The omega sank down into the chair with dramatic flair, already shifting into another monologue before his legs fully bent.

“I swear to god, if Karasuno thinks I won’t light their entire supply chain on fire, I—”

“Eat first,” Kuroo interrupted, placing a bowl of rice and vegetables in front of him. “Rant later.”

“You’re worse than Iwa-Chan,” Oikawa grumbled, already reaching for the chopsticks anyway. “At least he brings dessert.”

Kuroo hummed, half amused, half concerned, watching as Oikawa picked at the bowl with more stubbornness than hunger. He didn’t press him on it. Just kept his gaze steady, letting the silence do what words wouldn’t.

“You good?” Kuroo asked after a few quiet bites, arms crossing loosely over his chest.

“No,” Oikawa muttered, petulant. “I have work to do. Plans to rewrite. People to threaten.”

“And you’ll do all of that,” Kuroo said mildly, “after you sit down and relax for five damn minutes.”

Oikawa shot him a glare, mouth already opening to protest, but Kuroo tilted his head in that annoyingly patient way that said don’t test me right now, Tooru . The omega snapped his chopsticks shut and pointed them like a weapon. “I’m still your superior.”

“And I’m still your best friend,” Kuroo replied. “Come on.”

He reached out and nudged Oikawa's elbow, not quite tugging, but not exactly asking either. Oikawa huffed, making a show of dragging out the final bite, and then slammed the empty bowl down with unnecessary force.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But only because the rice was under seasoned and the vegetables were offensive.”

“It was Osamu’s recipe,” Kuroo pointed out.

“I take it back then, it was delicious.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes and helped the omega to his feet. Oikawa shuffled past him like a disgruntled cat in silk pajamas, muttering under his breath about port logistics and incompetent dock managers and how no one respected his territory anymore.

They moved slowly through the corridor, leaving behind the quiet steam of the kitchen to enter the comfortable living room.

The space was a sprawl of neutral fabrics and deep cushions, walls lined with soft light and books half-stacked and forgotten. The oversized sectional was still warm from Atsumu’s earlier sprawl, a blanket bunched where he’d kicked it down. Kuroo steered Oikawa toward it, nudging the omega gently down until he flopped into the cushions with a pout.

“I have a criminal empire to run,” Oikawa reminded him, curling one hand over his bump in silent, instinctual habit.

“You also have a baby to think about,” Kuroo said, lowering himself beside Oikawa. “And Yamaguchi said you need to take regular breaks for the health of said baby. Do you want your blood pressure going through the roof?”

Oikawa narrowed his eyes. “Yamaguchi’s a traitor.”

“He’s a medic.”

“He used to be my friend.”

“I’ll be sure to send him your regrets,” Kuroo said, grabbing the throw blanket and tossing it lightly across Oikawa’s lap. “Now sit, hydrate, and rest your dramatic, hormonal ass.”

“I’m not hormonal, I’m passionate.”

“Mm-hmm. Passionate with a side of sobbing into a spreadsheet.”

Oikawa gasped, scandalized. “That happened once.”

“It was yesterday.”

“It was a spreadsheet I made for my baby,” Oikawa defended, sinking deeper into the couch like he was preparing for martyrdom. “It was about which items were the best and birth rate projections, and then the baby kicked.”

Kuroo blinked, momentarily disarmed. “Wait, really?”

Oikawa immediately softened. “Yes,” he said, palm spreading protectively across the swell of his stomach. “Last night. Hajime was reading aloud; some field report, of course, because he’s a boring alpha, and the baby kicked. I think they like their daddy’s voice.” He murmured looking down at his stomach with a look of pure love.

Kuroo chuckled and leaned back, letting his head rest against the cushions. “Great. You’re raising a little chaos gremlin who already loves war logs and high-caliber rifles.”

“Don’t project Atsumu onto my child,” Oikawa grumbled, curling against the pillows. “I’ve suffered enough.”

“I’m sure your pup will be an angel.” Kuroo said, handing him a bottle of water. Oikawa took it begrudgingly, sipping with the slow, sulky acceptance of someone who knew they were being coddled but couldn’t really argue.

Outside, the sun was beginning to dip low, bathing the room in muted gold. Inside, the tension had eased, replaced by the quiet lull of exhaustion and comfort.

Kuroo sat back with a sigh and glanced sideways at Oikawa, who was still gently rubbing his bump, brows furrowed in thought.

“Are you doing okay?” Kuroo asked, softer now.

Oikawa shrugged. “I’m just tired, Tetsu. Tired of fighting. Tired of being angry. Tired of feeling like everything is a war that will never end.”

Kuroo didn’t answer right away. He just watched Oikawa for a beat longer, noting the shadows under his eyes, the heaviness in his shoulders that no amount of pride or sarcasm could hide. 

The silence stretched on but it wasn’t heavy. It was familiar. Like an exhale after holding your breath too long.

Then, gently, Kuroo shifted, nudging their shoulders together.

“C’mere,” he said. Not a command, but an invitation.

Oikawa sighed but leaned in anyway, letting himself fold into the touch. His head came to rest against Kuroo’s shoulder like it had a hundred times before, somewhere between routine and refuge. He let out a few more unintelligible grumbles, but the fight in him was gone, drowned somewhere beneath the soft pressure of Kuroo’s shoulder and the quiet rhythm of comfort he couldn’t bring himself to reject.

Kuroo didn’t respond with words. He just reached for the remote and flipped through the pre-set channels until he landed on something harmless and stupid: a dated, overdramatic drama series none of them would admit to loving. The kind with implausible plots and cheesy romances, low-budget action scenes and inexplicably attractive assassins in leather.

The second the theme music started, Oikawa groaned.

“Gods, again?” he mumbled, face half-smushed into Kuroo’s sleeve.

“You say that every time,” Kuroo said.

“And yet you keep turning it on.”

“Don’t act like you don’t cry every time the sniper takes his mask off in season four.”

“That was one time,” Oikawa said flatly. “I was sleep-deprived and the dialogue was unusually moving.”

“It was a monologue about a ferret,” Kuroo reminded him.

“It was a metaphor, Tetsu.”

The quiet sound of feet on tile interrupted their bickering. A moment later, the twins appeared in the doorway, Osamu with a cup of soup balanced expertly in one hand and Atsumu with a bag of chips.

“Oh my gods, are you watching that ridiculous show again?” Atsumu groaned, flopping dramatically over the back of the couch. “I thought you were going to put your foot down this time, ‘Kawa.”

“I’m incubating life,” Oikawa muttered. “I’m too tired to stop him.”

Osamu kicked Atsumu’s shin lightly and wandered over, setting the soup onto the side table before plopping down next to Oikawa with a satisfied sigh. “You smell like you’re about to combust,” he said lazily. “That’s not good for the baby.”

Oikawa scowled, eyes sliding shut. “Why is everyone suddenly obsessed with my scent?”

“Because you smell like a stressed and overworked omega,” Atsumu said, hopping over the armrest to wedge himself between Kuroo and the nearest pillow. “It’s not subtle.”

Kuroo hummed his agreement, barely reacting when Atsumu dramatically leaned into his side.

“I know what you’re doing,” Kuroo said without looking over at the omega. 

“Dunno what you mean,” Atsumu replied, stretching just enough to brush his fingers over Kuroo’s thigh. “You’re warm.”

“Touch me like that again and I’m telling Kita.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Oikawa groaned. “Watching you two flirt is going to make me go into early labor.”

“Flirting?” Atsumu repeated. “No, no. This is sparring, a battle of desires if you will.”

“I’m filing workplace harassment against you, where’s a trusted adult when you need one.” Kuroo muttered, but he made no move to shove Atsumu away.

Oikawa cracked one eye open, watching the two of them bicker and sprawl. It was chaotic. It was ridiculous. It was his.

“Traitors,” he murmured again, even as Osamu leaned over to tuck the blanket closer around Oikawa.

“You love us,” Osamu said, voice softer now, fingers brushing lightly over Oikawa’s sleeve.

Oikawa didn’t answer. But he didn’t push them away either.

Atsumu adjusted the volume on the remote and crammed a handful of snacks into his mouth, humming happily along with the theme music.

Kuroo resumed rubbing slow circles into Oikawa’s lower back, instinct and care woven together into something more tender than any of them would name aloud.

The show droned on, a blur of melodramatic stares and improbable betrayals. At some point, they stopped pretending it was background noise and leaned into it fully; groaning at every overacted kiss, shouting at every ridiculous plot twist. Oikawa threw chips at the screen at least twice. Atsumu kept trying to guess the next line before it happened and was right far more often than anyone should be. Osamu kept correcting him anyway. Kuroo just rolled his eyes and muttered sarcastic commentary under his breath like a second audio track.

They were on the last episode of the first season, it was building to a dramatic cliffhanger; two lovers facing off on a rooftop in the rain, dramatic music swelling behind them, when Kuroo heard the hall outside the door creak.

He kept his posture relaxed, as he watched from the corner of his eye, not wanting to alert Oikawa if he didn’t need to.

The door silently opened and Matsukawa stepped into the room.

He was still in half of his field gear, gloves dangling from one hand, dust smeared across his collar. He didn’t speak. Just stood there, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, face set in the kind of grim expression that meant bad news and not the kind that can wait.

Oikawa noticed the alpha a second later and sat up slowly, already bracing for bad news.

Matsukawa didn’t mince words.

“You’re not going to like this,” he said flatly, voice like steel wrapped in apology.

Oikawa’s spine went taut, scent going sharp and acidic in the blink of an eye.

Osamu quietly set down the bowl he’d been holding. Atsumu’s chewing slowed, mouth half open, eyes tracking Matsukawa like a bloodhound reading the room.

“What happened?” Oikawa asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Matsukawa ran a hand through his hair, sighing through his teeth. “The informants came back. Said Karasuno’s been seen interacting with the Ilari network.”

Kuroo’s head snapped toward him, brows drawn tight. “Ilari?”

Matsun nodded once. “Name’s been showing up in the last few months on a lot of offshore channels. Quiet transactions. Anonymous shell corps. But it’s them.”

Oikawa’s hands clenched in the blanket.

Ilari was a name whispered in underground clinics and back-alley bunkers. An omega trafficking syndicate with roots in the worst parts of the world, known for vanishing entire dens of unbonded omegas without a trace. Babies. Teens. Pregnant omegas too sick to fight.

Seijoh had been trying to get a hold on them for months, but each time they raided a base, another would be up and running a few weeks later. 

And if Karasuno was working with them, that meant they had been secretly dealing in omegas. 

“They’re trading with Ilari?” Oikawa demanded, voice rising dangerously.

Matsun’s lips pressed into a tight line. “We don’t have confirmation of a direct deal. But our informants say there’s been consistent contact between Karasuno and shell corps linked to Ilari fronts.”

Oikawa’s jaw locked, his whole body trembling.

Beneath the swirl of cinnamon brown sugar, his scent sharpened into something blistering. Protective and dangerous. Like an omega pushed too far.

Kuroo’s heart dropped.

They had been keeping loose tabs on Karasuno’s movements for a while now, and Kuroo had idiotically hoped that the syndicate had some type of morals. They had been known to deal in drugs and arms, but that was child's play in the underground world. 

Kuroo had hoped Karasuno was like them. Trying to help other omegas and children, after all he’d seen several omega operatives from Karasuno. But if they were dealing in omegas… well that painted a really bad picture.

Kuroo was pulled back to reality when Oikawa threw the blanket off his lap, rising to his feet.

“I knew it,” he growled. “I knew they were posturing. Playing nice until the power tipped. This is exactly the kind of thing an alpha-run syndicate starts doing when they think no one’s watching, cutting corners and selling lives to fund their weapons.”

Kuroo stood, following Oikawa.

Atsumu and Osamu exchanged a look, both of them going still, ready for any order they were given.

“I want a meeting scheduled tomorrow,” Oikawa snapped, turning to Matsukawa. “Top brass only. Everyone not on mission status. I want solutions. I want leverage. And I want a plan to burn every single Karasuno outlet to the ground if they’re even thinking about selling omegas.”

Matsun nodded slowly, gaze serious now. “I’ll get the list to you within the hour.” He said and left the room quickly, Oikawa whipped around to look at the twins.

“I want documents, trade manifests, flight records. I want to see every goddamn transaction Karasuno’s name is anywhere near.” Oikawa’s voice cracked at the edges, ragged with emotion. “If they are touching Ilari blood money, we’re ending them.”

The twins nodded obediently, standing and already taking out their phones to spread the word.

This was personal for Oikawa. It always had been.

He’d grown up in the kind of place where omegas were bought and sold like glass trinkets. His rage wasn’t just strategic, it was the echo of a thousand lost screams from his childhood. The syndicate had given him power. The pregnancy had only made him more dangerous.

But it had also made him more fragile.

“Breathe, Kawa,” Kuroo murmured again, stepping just close enough to steady the tremble in his friend’s shoulders.

“I don’t want to breathe,” Oikawa snapped. “I want to slaughter this fucking syndicate.”

Kuroo swallowed hard. “Then let us make sure we’re fighting the right enemy.”

Oikawa didn’t respond.

He just stood there in the dim light, hands pressed protectively over the slight curve of his belly, rage emanating from him.

This was going to be a long night

---

 

The mood in the compound shifted like a lit match in dry grass.

After Oikawa’s orders were issued, the entire inner circle moved as a unit: silent, quick, and deliberate. Lights flicked on in unused strategy rooms. Screens glowed to life. Doors opened and shut in quick succession as bodies shifted through the halls like shadows. The compound wasn’t chaotic. It was prepared.

A family trained for war.

And war was what it felt like, coiled in the air like a blade waiting to strike.

Kuroo had seen it before, this kind of quiet before the storm. But this time, it wasn’t a mission briefing or a border breach. This time, it was personal. 

He stayed near Oikawa until the last moment, gently coaxing him through deep breaths as the omega trembled from the lingering adrenaline. It took soft murmurs and steady hands to ease him from the warpath back into the omega’s sanctuary, his and Iwaizumi’s bedroom nestled deep in the heart of the compound.

The moment they stepped inside, Kuroo felt the tension in Oikawa begin to crack, muscles trembling with the effort of staying upright.

“Iwa,” Kuroo called softly, not needing to raise his voice.

From the adjoining washroom came movement, and then Iwaizumi appeared, damp towel slung over his shoulder, shirt still wrinkled from where he’d thrown it on hastily.

His sharp green eyes landed on Oikawa, and instantly softened.

“Tooru,” he breathed, crossing the room in three quick strides.

Oikawa didn’t hesitate. He dropped the armor of leadership and sank into his mate’s arms, burying his face against Iwaizumi’s chest with a shuddering breath.

Kuroo watched as Iwaizumi wrapped around him: gentle, grounding, and solid in a way only Hajime could be. He murmured something low and reassuring into Oikawa’s hair, guiding him toward the bed, rubbing circles over his back and scenting him with slow, practiced familiarity.

Kuroo lingered in the doorway just long enough to make sure Oikawa was taken care of. To see the way the omega finally exhaled in his mate’s arms, shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his spine.

Iwaizumi would take care of Oikawa, and Kuroo would take care of Seijoh.

Kuroo turned and walked out, silent as a ghost.

He didn’t stop to shower or change. Didn’t pause to grab food or fresh coffee. 

There was work to do.

With every step down the dim hall, his body fell back into one of a soldier: sharp edges, clean purpose, the hum of adrenaline tucked low beneath his ribs.

He bypassed the elevator in favor of the back stairwell, feet carrying him into the underbelly of Seijoh's compound. Past the silent barracks and quiet weapons rooms, through reinforced doors and code-locked checkpoints, each swipe of his ID badge unlocked another layer of strategy and secrecy until he reached the intelligence room.

The room was already buzzing by the time he arrived.

Cool fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as massive digital screens lit up with flickering files and data charts. The glass table at the center was already cluttered with printed records, hastily pulled manifests, and a list of known Ilari shell companies scrawled in Tsukishima’s neat handwriting.

Tsukki sat at one end of the table, golden eyes narrowed behind his glasses, fingers flying across the keyboard of his personal terminal.

Matsukawa leaned against the far wall, flipping through hardcopy files with a sour expression and a tension in his shoulders that never quite eased.

Both of them looked up when Kuroo entered.

“Any progress?” Kuroo asked, voice a low rumble as he crossed the room and rolled up his sleeves.

Tsukishima grunted. “No confirmation yet. Just patterns.”

“Patterns don’t get us answers,” Matsukawa muttered, flicking through another folder. “All this could be smoke and mirrors. For all we know, someone wants us to think Karasuno’s working with Ilari.”

Kuroo frowned. “You think this was planted?”

“I think,” Matsukawa said grimly, “the timing is too perfect.”

Kuroo didn’t argue.

Because he'd been thinking the same thing. The timing lined up a bit too neatly. The attack on their firearms and then conveniently finding a connection to Ilari when Karasuno had been relatively clean for nearly a decade.

Still, until they knew for sure, they had to treat it like a threat.

The silence settled heavily between the three of them as the soft hum of hard drives and clacking keys filled the air.

Kuroo pulled up a file of cargo routes and started checking timestamps with Ilari movement logs. His fingers ached. His back throbbed. His scars pulled uncomfortably across his ribs every time he leaned too far forward. But he refused to give in, dedicating all his attention to each file he pulled.

The hours bled together, marked only by the blinking cursor on Tsukishima’s screen and the sharp turn of pages in Matsukawa’s hands.

By the time the clock crept past one, the tension in Matsukawa’s spine had shifted from battle-ready to weary.

He exhaled through his nose, closed the file he’d been skimming, and straightened from his slouched posture with a quiet grunt. “That’s it for me.”

Kuroo didn’t look up. “Did you find something good?”

“Not particularly, still a lot of theories, but I do have a mate and baby to think about,” Matsukawa said, tugging on his jacket. “Besides, If I skip the 1AM changing again, Hanamaki’s going to hand me my own balls in a gift bag.”

Kuroo smirked faintly. “Touching.”

Matsukawa snorted, already heading for the door. “Try not to drown in reports. And if you find anything solid, send a ping to my comm. I’ll skim during feedings.”

“Will do,” Kuroo said, barely glancing up.

An hour later, Tsukishima pushed back from his station with a soft, irritated sigh. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose like the data itself had betrayed him.

“I’m done,” he announced.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you tap out early?”

Tsukishima shot him a flat look. “I’m not tapping out, I’m just going to work from my room. Besides, Tadashi hates when I don’t go to bed with him.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Soft.”

“Functional,” Tsukishima corrected. “I’ll compile what we have so far into a presentation for tomorrow's meeting. If you find anything else, send me a full scan, tagged and timestamped.”

Kuroo gave him a small salute. “You got it.”

Tsukishima slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing in the doorway. “Don’t forget to take a few breaks.”

Kuroo gave him a nod, but they both knew he wasn’t planning on resting tonight.

When the door clicked shut behind Tsukishima, the intel room felt cavernous. The hum of servers grew louder in the silence, wrapping around Kuroo like a second skin.

Kuroo worked with an easy rhythm: cross-referencing routes, timestamps, and faction movements. The desk was a mess of open files and handwritten notes, several mugs of half-drunk tea and coffee scattered among the reports like forgotten promises of rest.

His back ached. His eyes stung. His right shoulder, where old scar tissue wrapped like ivy down his side, had long since gone numb.

The only light came from a lamp in the corner and the monitor in front of him, casting long shadows against the tired lines of his face. 

He was so enthralled with his work he didn’t notice the door creak open behind him.

Only when the warm, familiar scent of pine entered his damaged nostrils did Kuroo glance up.

Iwaizumi stood just inside the doorway. His expression was pinched, lips drawn tight, green eyes dark with something deeper than just exhaustion.

“Kuroo,” he said, voice quiet.

Kuroo sat back, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Hey,” he said, not bothering to hide the fatigue in his voice. He glanced over at the clock, 3 am. “You alright?” He asked, deciding to ignore his exhaustion.

Iwaizumi didn’t answer right away.

He crossed the room instead, his footsteps slow, almost uncertain, so unlike the solid, storm-built man everyone knew. Kuroo didn’t press. He just waited.

When Iwaizumi finally stopped, he didn’t sit. Just stood across from Kuroo, hands braced on the back of a chair, head bowed.

“I needed to talk to you,” he said.

Something in his voice made Kuroo straighten.

“Alright,” Kuroo said carefully. “What’s going on?”

Iwaizumi was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again, it wasn’t the voice of a leader, or a soldier, or even a trained alpha.

It was the voice of a scared man worried about his love.

“…I’m scared,” Iwaizumi said, barely above a whisper.

Kuroo blinked. “Hajime…”

“I’m scared,” he repeated, lifting his head. His jaw was tight, but his eyes: gods, his eyes looked like someone who’d been forcing down panic for days. “Tooru’s stressed all the time. He’s not sleeping. Barely eating unless someone forces him to. Every time he cries, I— I don’t know what to do.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“I try to help. I scent him. I hold him. I run baths and rub his back and make calls for him when I can, but… this life, our life, it’s so much. I don’t know if it’s too much.”

Kuroo exhaled slowly, setting down the pen he hadn’t realized he was still holding. “Hajime…”

“I just—” Iwaizumi pressed his palm to his chest like he could shove the ache down. “He’s five months pregnant. Five. And he still tries to run the entire damn syndicate on his own. He’s so strong, Kuroo. He doesn’t even realize when he’s pushing himself too far.”

Kuroo watched him carefully, chest tight.

“I’m terrified,” Iwaizumi confessed. “That he’ll break before he lets anyone help. And our pup, our baby, I don’t want them to come into this world already touched by the chaos we’ve built.”

Silence swelled between them.

Then, softly, “We need help. I need help. Please.”

The plea cracked something in Kuroo.

He knew how hard it was for Iwaizumi to ask for help. Knew how much he loved Oikawa, loved him so much it made him soft in ways no one else ever got to see.

And he knew that pain too. The helplessness. The guilt of not being able to protect the person you love from a world that never stopped taking.

Kuroo stood slowly.

Walked around the table.

And pulled Iwaizumi into a hug.

The other alpha tensed, just for a moment, like he still wasn’t used to being held. But then he exhaled and melted into the contact, his head resting against Kuroo’s shoulder.

“I’ve already been thinking about it,” Kuroo said gently. “Ways to shift the weight. Reallocate responsibilities. Give him space to be pregnant and take care of himself. Without the stress of the syndicate always breathing down his neck.”

Iwaizumi let out a quiet breath. “You have?”

“Of course I have. He’s my best friend. You’re family. I’d do anything for you both.” Kuroo gave a soft chuckle. “Besides, you think I want to go to war with Karasuno with our omega leader crying in the war room and chucking meat buns at the wall?”

That got a tired, broken laugh from Iwaizumi, exactly what Kuroo had been hoping for.

“Go home,” Kuroo said, voice firm. “Go take care of your mate. He needs you more than this room does.”

Iwaizumi hesitated, eyes flicking to the mess of files behind him.

Kuroo reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“I’ve got it. I’ll pull everything we have on Karasuno. I’ll even double check the old archives. If there’s something real in this mess, I’ll find it.”

Iwaizumi nodded slowly. “Alright. I trust you.”

“Good,” Kuroo said with a tired smile. “Now get out of here before Oikawa comes searching for his precious Iwa-Chan.”

Iwaizumi gave him one last look, quiet gratitude shining in his eyes, before slipping out of the room.

Kuroo watched the door close behind him, then turned back to the screen.

The silence was louder now, but his purpose had never been clearer.

Kuroo cracked his knuckles, pulling  another file towards himself, and opened the archive.

He’d suffer a thousand sleepless nights if it meant he could help his family, because even in a world ruled by syndicates and bloodshed, some things were still sacred.

And Kuroo Tetsurō would do anything to keep his family safe.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!!!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I would appreciate if you could answer a question for me!!

Next chapter I have plans to write a smut scene (Tsukiyama) It is part of the chapter, not the whole chapter itself (probably only like a fifth of the content in it) I wanted to know if you guys wanted it to be written as:
1. A very detailed delicious smut scene.
2. A smut scene but less on the details more on what is generally going on.
3. A mentioned smutty encounter, not actually written.

Thank you for the feedback in advance!!

Anyways, I hope you guys are doing wonderfully!! I love to see your comments so please keep commenting, they really help my motivation, and I read every last one (so if you want something added, or have a future fanfic request I'll see it).

I hope you all have an amazing rest of your day, and I'll see you Monday <3

Chapter 34: What To Do?

Summary:

Seijoh's inner circle has a meeting

(Tsukiyama also have sex, if you don't want to read that feel free to skip to the end)

The early morning hours bled into the afternoon in a haze of exhaustion and caffeine.

Kuroo hadn't moved from his seat in over ten hours.

The blue glow of his monitor painted his scarred face in cold light, eyes flickering with calculation as he scoured encrypted files, piecing together fractured trails, and clawed through what little digital trace Karasuno hadn’t buried. His fingers ached. His body screamed. But he didn’t stop. Not with the way Oikawa had looked last night. Not with the promises he made Iwaizumi still burning in the back of his mind.

At some point, Matsukawa had dropped off a water bottle with a quiet nod before vanishing again. A few hours after that, Tsukishima had joined him grim and  silent, immediately diving into compiling a presentable thread of the information they’d uncovered.

By the time the clock hit 3:40 PM, Tsukishima had finished rendering the last slide. His expression didn’t shift as he closed the laptop and turned to Kuroo.

“Are you awake enough to present the intel?”

Kuroo leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck, and exhaled. “I’m good.”

Tsukishima handed him a protein bar and Kuroo took it without a word, devouring the item in a matter of seconds.

Matsukawa reappeared at 3:50 sharp, nodding towards the main doors. “Time to go.”

Kuroo stood, rolling his sleeves up to the elbows, shoving down the last thread of doubt that tried to claw its way up his throat. This wasn’t just about proving Karasuno was dirty.

This was about protecting his family.

He glanced at Tsukishima, who gave a tight nod, and together the three of them walked to the war room, footsteps falling in sync with each other.

Outside the room, they heard muffled voices filtered through the door. The air in Seijoh’s compound had shifted sometime during the night. Everyone could feel it. The calm before something inevitable. Something seismic.

Kuroo took a breath and pushed open the door, walking inside and making his way to the front of the room, nodding and muttering greetings to everyone as he did so.

The room buzzed with low murmurs as the clock struck four.

Everyone within the inner family had taken their seats, lined along the long obsidian conference table like shadows, each one a key player in the empire Seijoh had built. Strategists, field leaders, assassins, medics, analysts. It wasn’t just a meeting. It was a reckoning.

Everyone was present, except for Kita and Aran, who were stuck still handling the fallout from Karasuno intercepting their firearms shipment. 

Oikawa sat at the head of the table, looking painfully regal despite the fatigue shadowing his eyes. His baby bump was tucked behind his crossed arms and the defensive posture of someone who hadn’t slept in days. Iwaizumi sat to his right; a silent, steady presence, jaw locked tight.

Kuroo stood at the foot of the table, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back haphazardly, the laptop open in front of him casting flickering light across his scarred cheek. Beside him, Tsukishima adjusted his glasses and tapped the touchpad with clinical precision, pulling up the first slide.

Matsukawa leaned forward next to them, fingers laced behind his back, expression unreadable.

Kuroo didn’t bother with the preamble. His voice was steady and measured. The voice of a man who’d endured too many sleepless nights to waste time with theatrics.

“We’ve been digging through the archives,” he started, glancing around the room. “And we’ve found a few things. None of it is concrete, but all of it is disturbing.”

The first file blinked to life on the screen, an old newspaper clipping with the words ‘Sons of the Red Dragon: The Sawamura Legacy’ beneath a grainy photo of three men in traditional black suits.

Tsukishima took over. “Karasuno, as it turns out, is not a new syndicate. It’s an offshoot. A rebrand, of sorts. The original syndicate was the Sawamura Yakuza.”

The name sent a ripple through the room.

Oikawa straightened, his cold expression settling into a glare.

Everyone knew the Sawamura name. They had been one of the worst syndicates in Japan. Oikawa had wanted to take them out, but didn’t have the resources to do so when he was younger, and by the time Seijoh was strong enough, the Sawamura syndicate vanished.

“They specialized in omega trafficking,” Tsukishima continued, tone cold. “Rings spanned across the northern territories, operating quietly under the protection of several shell companies. The syndicate crumbled twelve years ago when the leader, Yoshinori Sawamura, disappeared, along with all his direct lieutenants.”

He flipped to the next slide: a surveillance photo of a much younger Daichi, standing stiffly beside an older man with similar features.

“Yoshinori had one son,” Kuroo said, tapping the screen. “Daichi Sawamura.”

Oikawa’s lips parted. “You’re telling me the leader of Karasuno is the Sawamura Syndicate Heir?”

“The very same,” Matsukawa confirmed grimly. “He went off-grid for two years after his father vanished, then resurfaced with a fully functional syndicate. Next thing we know, Karasuno’s on the map; small crew, tight structure, but climbing up the ranks fast. Too fast.”

A few people exchanged looks.

“And the previous Sawamura head just happened to disappear with his top men?” Bokuto asked, voice low. “We all know what that means.”

“Someone cleaned the house out,” Kuroo confirmed flatly. “Someone who wanted control. And the only one who survived that bloodbath…” He tapped the screen again, bringing the alpha’s file front and center. “Was Daichi.”

Silence fell over the table, each member taking in the information and forming their own conclusions.

Eventually Yahaba leaned forward, frowning. “So Karasuno is just Sawamura 2.0?”

“Possibly,” Tsukishima said, “but they’re smarter than their predecessor. In the past six years, Karasuno has completely overhauled their internal systems. Their security measures are elite. Layers of security, encrypted routing, systems that are constantly changing to keep people out. Even I struggle to breach their database for longer than a few minutes.”

He paused, taking a breath. His face morphing into an annoyed expression.

“And every time I manage to break in, they boot me before I can pull more than surface-level logs. Someone on their end is a hacking genius and built a system that learns and adapts.”

A few muttered curses rippled through the group.

“They’re hiding something,” Matsukawa said darkly. “Something big. You don’t build that level of protection for nothing.”

Kuroo nodded. “They’re up to something. We think there’s a power shift coming. They’ve been pushing their borders further and faster than any other group in the region. Their recent ambush on our firearms wasn’t just about the shipment, it was a message.”

“An uprising?” Osamu asked, arms crossed.

“A calculated one,” Kuroo said with a nod. “And it’s not random. It’s strategic, coordinated. Like someone’s testing our limits. Seeing how far they can push before we retaliate.”

Tsukishima flipped to a map, showing Karasuno's spread over the last six years. Colored zones bled outward, creeping steadily toward Seijoh-controlled territory.

“They’re pressing on three of our major outer holdings,” he said. “If they ambush two more supply lines, we’re looking at a potential chokehold. And based on the patterns…” He sighed, adjusting his glasses. “They’re either preparing to ally with Ilari, or they’re trying to become something worse.”

Kuroo let the weight of those words settle over the room.

The implications were clear. The enemy wasn’t just knocking at the door. They were looking for a way inside.

Oikawa sat back, expression unreadable, one hand resting protectively on his stomach.

“This is painting quite the picture.” He said, expression sour. “Did you find any evidence pointing to omega trafficking and control?” 

Kuroo nodded. “This was just the start. Hanamaki was able to pull clips from surveillance cameras around the city. It doesn’t look good.”

Oikawa’s jaw tightened. “Then let’s see it.”

Kuroo stepped back and slid into a chair between Osamu and Bokuto. He looked over to see Tsukishima sit right next to Yamaguchi, and Matsukawa to sit on his other side.

Hanamaki moved forward with a lazy sort of grace, but there was nothing lazy about the glint in his eye or the sharpness in his movements as he synced his tablet with the main screen. His comforting pecan pie scent rolled through the room, a strange sort of comfort amidst the rising tide of dread.

“Alright,” he said, voice light, but his posture betrayed the tension beneath his skin. “I’ve got three videos. Each of them was pulled from civilian cameras in various zones. I didn’t have enough time to find more, but these are pretty damning. The videos were stored locally, un-synced, I doubt Karasuno even knows about their existence.”

He tapped his tablet and the overhead lights dimmed.

The first video flickered to life across the central screen. The feed was grainy, standard street cam resolution, but clear enough to see the figures in frame.

It was dated two years prior. The camera showed a busted alleyway, cracked pavement glistening with recent rain. Somewhere on the western border of Karasuno's turf.

There was nothing for a while, then movement.

A small, fast figure stumbled into view from the far left, half-limping, half-dragging their left leg. Blood soaked one pant leg and smeared across the back of their neck. An omega, clearly injured. He had black hair, seemingly matted with debris. There was a dagger strapped to one thigh, and they wore a Kevlar vest.

“Facial recognition flagged the omega as Nishinoya Yū,” Hanamaki said, tone unreadable. “We thankfully had a file on him before Karasuno locked down their cybersecurity.” Makki said, pulling up a file next to the video. “He is a weapons specialist and infiltration expert.”

The omega collapsed onto one knee, trembling and panting. Glancing back like he was being followed.

Suddenly from the right side of the frame, a massive figure appeared. Easily over six feet, broad shoulders and long strides. He had long brown hair that was pulled into a bun, and he looked to be carrying a handgun at his side.

The man moved fast and the footage glitched slightly as he stepped into clearer view. The alpha didn't speak or pause. Just made a beeline toward Nishinoya.

He scooped the omega up like he weighed nothing, holding him tight against his chest. It looked rough, like an abduction, one arm locked under Nishinoya’s knees, the other curled possessively around his back. The omega let out a choked whine when he was picked up, his injured leg obviously disturbed, but didn’t struggle. He sagged into the touch, and blood began dripping down the alpha’s jacket.

Kuroo squinted at the screen. “Do we have an ID on the alpha?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Hanamaki said, expression tight. “Before Karasuno tripled their cybersecurity six years ago, this was one of the few clean captures I could scrape from public data. No facial match, no existing profile. But based on size, gait, and extraction protocol, we’re working off the theory that he’s part of Karasuno’s inner family. Possibly a bodyguard.”

“Or a handler,” Tsukishima said, making the room tense up.

A black van pulled into frame at the edge of the alleyway, it was nondescript, no plates. The sliding door opened before the alpha reached the car, obviously there was someone inside waiting for them. The alpha loaded the omega inside, then climbed in after him.

The door slammed shut and the van took off, tires squealing.

The feed ended.

A slow, heavy silence took hold of the room.

“He was bleeding,” Oikawa said softly, voice cold with something sharper than fear. “That much blood, that much damage, and no medic team? Just shoved into a van?”

“He didn’t resist,” Yahaba added, brow furrowed. “But it didn’t look like comfort. It looked like… acceptance, like he knew he couldn’t escape.”

“No comfort scent either,” Iwaizumi muttered from beside Oikawa, arms crossed tight over his chest. “He didn’t try to soothe the omega like he would if they were mates, and he did everything quickly, too precise not to have been second nature. That's textbook handler protocol.”

“Or trafficking protocol,” Kuroo said, grimly.

Hanamaki didn't look away from the screen.

“There’s more,” he said after a beat, tapping on the tablet to bring up the next video. “And it gets worse.”

The implication twisted thick in the room like smoke.

The second video began with a soft beep.

The timestamp in the corner read three weeks prior. It was in Seijoh’s territory, located in an underground garage beneath an abandoned shopping complex on the border of Tokyo. The camera was perched near the ceiling, catching only a slice of the lot bathed in flickering fluorescent lights.

A pair of figures stepped into frame.

One was unmistakable: broad-shouldered, dark-haired, exuding a quiet, dangerous authority. Recognition flickered across several faces in the room even before Hanamaki confirmed it.

“Daichi Sawamura,” he said grimly. “Current leader of the Karasuno syndicate.”

The second figure was smaller. Slender with silver hair and pale skin. A gorgeous omega trailing after the alpha.

“Sugawara Koushi,” Hanamaki added, flicking up a secondary image on the side screen. “Confirmed identification through Karasuno files and birth records. Registered as property of the Sawamura Yakuza in a private trafficking document twelve years ago.”

A hush fell across the table.

“I thought those files were lost,” Tsukishima muttered.

“They were. This one was buried under two shell accounts. But the transfer listed him as sold at age fourteen to a private buyer within the Sawamura ranks,” Hanamaki said. “Two months later, his record vanished. No sightings, no arrests, no updates until this video.”

The video resumed.

Sugawara stood near a pillar, fidgeting with the edge of his sweater sleeve, he wasn’t wearing any noticeable armor, instead in casual attire, almost like he was being paraded around for his beauty. 

Daichi stepped closer to the omega, the man in question didn’t flinch away, but he kept his head tilted down slightly.

Everyone at the table tensed as they watched the scene.

Without hesitation, Daichi leaned in, tilting the omega’s head up and nipping at the exposed throat.

Oikawa let out a growl, to force an omega to expose their throat was basically saying you owned them. Iwaizumi reached over and took Oikawa’s hand in his running circles with his thumb against the pale flesh.

In a flash Daichi was pinning the omega against the pillar with a broad hand flat against his chest. His body pressed forward with assertive weight, forcing Sugawara to make eye contact. Sugawara’s hands fluttered up to Daichi’s wrist. He looked hesitant, almost startled at the action.

Then Daichi kissed him.

The kiss was long and deep, screaming possessiveness.

From the camera angle, the omega’s expression wasn’t visible. But the optics were damning.

When Daichi pulled back, Suga was flushed and breathing hard. His lips were red and he looked to be glassy eyed, it was hard to tell with the camera quality.

The alpha dipped his head low and when he pulled back several marks were already blooming on the omega’s pale throat.

The alpha didn’t speak. He simply shifted, pulling the omega to follow him, a dominating arm wrapping around his waist and forcing him to walk.

The omega stumbled once, like he wasn’t willing to move, but soon he followed, walking in step with the alpha.

And with that they were gone, out of frame.

Hanamaki didn’t speak immediately.

Neither did anyone else.

Until Oikawa’s voice sliced through the silence.

“That was… possession,” he said, tone sharp and cold. “No permission. No shielding. He didn’t even scent him afterward.”

“Trafficked omegas often develop compliance markers,” Matsukawa said darkly, arms folded. “Stillness, silence, learned helplessness in order to not suffer punishment.”

“There have been very few public sightings of Sugawara in the last four years,” Tsukishima said, pulling up a supplemental file. “Only three movement logs, no active social tags, nothing. It’s like he only exists inside Karasuno’s inner walls.”

“Caged,” Iwaizumi muttered. “They’re keeping him locked up, he’s complying because its all he knows. I can’t particularly blame him, it's often safer to obey.”

Iwaizumi glanced over at Osamu who nodded in confirmation, like the jagged scars littering his body weren’t in blatant support of the alpha’s statement. 

Oikawa's fingers twitched on the edge of the table, gripping it so hard his knuckles were going white.

“And the kiss?” Atsumu asked. “What do we think that was?”

“A display,” Hanamaki said without hesitation. “Alpha posturing with a public display. You don't pin someone against a wall unless you're trying to make a statement.”

“But no one was around.” Kunimi said, confused. 

“We don’t know that for sure, someone could have been out of sight.” Yamaguchi spoke up, “It’s also possible that the display was to show Sugawara where his place is.” 

Kuroo watched the video replay on a loop.

He’d seen domination before. Knew what it looked like in all its shades.

And this… this painted Daichi in the ugliest palette imaginable.

Kuroo exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched.

The room was pulsing with quiet outrage.

They had seen two videos now. Two different omegas. One bloodied and scooped into a van. The other manhandled and carried off like stolen property.

“Go on.” Oikawa ordered, voice clipped.

Hanamaki tapped his screen again. “Last one,” he said grimly. “And it’s the worst.” He warned.

The final video was queued with a terse click.

The screen flickered, then sharpened; grainy rooftop footage marked with a timestamp two weeks prior. It was late in the evening. There was a faint city glow cast at the edge of the frame in dim gold, and the camera trembled slightly with the wind.

Two figures stood in frame.

Hanamaki's voice was subdued now. “Identities confirmed via facial recognition and voice capture. Tobio Kageyama and Shoyo Hinata. Both of them are part of Karasuno’s upper enforcer ranks.”

He clicked another key, and the screen split to show profiles of both: Kageyama’s official license photo, all sharp jawline and perpetual scowl; Hinata’s image was from a blurry street cam, wild orange curls and fire in his eyes.

Back on the main feed, they were clearly arguing.

Hinata’s hands moved rapidly, jabbing at Kageyama’s chest with animated fury. Kageyama was stoic in comparison. Standing still, expression unreadable, arms crossed. But even without audio, the tension was explosive. Like a powder keg waiting for the spark.

That spark came a few seconds later.

Hinata shoved Kageyama.

Kageyama shoved back.

And then, without warning, Kageyama grabbed Hinata by the arms and pushed him clean off the edge of the roof.

Gasps erupted around the table.

Oikawa’s hands slammed against the desk. Tsukishima swore under his breath. Atsumu muttered a stunned, “No fuckin’ way—”

There was a blur of an omega-sized body tumbling over the ledge. Then a brief pause, no screams, no calls, just the sharp thud of impact as Hinata landed.

Only then did Kageyama move.

He vaulted over the edge with calm precision, disappearing from view.

Hanamaki switched feeds.

A second camera picked up the next part, angled from an alley below, obscured but functional.

Hinata was crouched on the ground, visibly annoyed, not injured, but clearly not pleased. His mouth moved rapidly, lips curling in a furious tirade.

Kageyama stood behind him, hands twitching at his side.

Then, with very little ceremony, he stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Hinata’s middle, yanking him upright, and slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

Hinata shrieked, clearly yelling, definitely flailing, but it did nothing to deter the alpha.

The omega thumped his fists against Kageyama’s back in protest, but it was mostly noise. Kageyama simply adjusted his grip and started walking, calm as ever, out of the alley and into the shadows.

The last glimpse of Hinata was a tangle of orange curls and flailing limbs as the two disappeared beyond the camera’s reach.

The video froze.

No one spoke for several long seconds.

Then Hanamaki said flatly, “This was taken less than ten blocks from Seijoh’s south warehouse line. That’s Karasuno’s second major sighting near our perimeter in under a month.”

Oikawa’s voice was ice. “He pushed him.”

“I know,” Hanamaki said.

“Off a building,” Oikawa snapped, standing from his chair. “That’s another human being. And he—he just—!”

“I know,” Hanamaki repeated, quieter this time. “The footage is what it is. But what it looks like is a rogue alpha asserting dominance. Retrieving what he sees as his. Without concern for injury. Without scenting or verbal reassurance. Just… force.”

“They’re all doing it,” Matsukawa murmured, rubbing a hand down his face. “Daichi. Kageyama. Whoever the hell that first alpha was. It’s a pattern.”

Kuroo’s stomach churned. He looked between the three still images Hanamaki had laid out on the central monitor: Noya’s limp form clutched in unknown arms, Suga pinned to concrete by Daichi, and Hinata mid-scream over Kageyama’s shoulder.

All different omegas. All being taken.

All within the Karasuno web.

Oikawa sat back heavily in his chair, one hand over the slight curve of his belly as if shielding the life inside him from the images on screen.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Iwaizumi muttered. “It’s a system.”

“No,” Oikawa said hoarsely. “It’s their lifestyle.”

Kuroo’s eyes didn’t leave the monitor. His voice was steel.

“They’re showing us what happens to omegas in their territory.”

The implication hung there like poison in the air.

Hanamaki began shutting down the video feeds, but the silence remained thick and pulsing. Everyone in the room looked one second away from breaking something.

Kuroo leaned forward, fingers steepled, shadows deep beneath his eyes as the final video stilled behind him.

“I ran into them once,” he said. “Kageyama and Hinata.”

The room quieted further, like the weight of what they’d just seen hadn’t already pulled the oxygen from the air. Every eye turned towards him.

“It was about a year ago when we were hunting down Yasuda Jin, the guy that ran an illegal brothel disguised as a bathhouse in our territory.”

He paused his explanation, jaw tightening at the memory.

“I had taken out Jin and two of his associates in an alleyway when I saw two people on the roof. I was able to hide and observe them. Later Oikawa was able to ID them as Hinata and Kageyama. It looked like I had taken their target. Both of them seemed to be talented combat specialists.”

A chill swept through the room.

“I didn’t think about their relationship much at the time, I was more focused on the fact there were enemy operatives in Seijoh,” Kuroo admitted. “I thought maybe they were bonded, some kind of unorthodox pair. Not unheard of. But now…”

He gestured loosely to the screen, still showing Hinata’s frantic limbs over Kageyama’s shoulder.

“Now I have reason to think Hinata was forcefully mated. Bonded without consent to keep him in Karasuno.”

Hanamaki swore. Tsukishima stiffened visibly. Even Kyoutani looked sick.

“Bonds aren’t easy to break,” Kuroo continued. “And we’ve seen it before when dealing with traffickers. Those deep in the game, know that. It’s a control tactic. They tether omegas to alphas so tightly that even if they escape, they’re still chemically and emotionally tied to their captors. To the people who use them.”

Matsukawa muttered something under his breath that sounded like monsters .

Kuroo nodded grimly. “If Hinata’s bonded, and being used as an asset… it’s not a stretch to assume there are others.”

The room erupted into noise.

“Then we go in now,” Osamu snapped, halfway out of his seat. “Storm their compound. Break every alpha we see—”

“We don't even know where their main base is,” Tsukishima cut in sharply.

“We’ll find it,” Atsumu said, face stony with fury. “You think I’m going to sit on my ass while omegas are being tied to strangers like breeding stock? Hell no.”

Yahaba slammed his hand on the table. “If we’re doing this, we do it smart. Full turf war. Cut off their suppliers, their safe houses, then send in full teams to sweep-”

“That’ll cost lives,” Iwaizumi said, voice firm. “Ours and theirs.”

“Not if we do it right,” Yahaba insisted. “Karasuno’s been gearing up for something big. We hit them now; we end it before it starts.”

A loud whistle cut through the room.

Oikawa stood slowly, back straight, one hand settled protectively over the curve of his belly. His scent rippled with authority, sugar-sweet but lined with steel.

“I know we’re angry,” he said. “I know we’re disgusted and terrified and ready to burn the whole world down. Believe me, I’m right there with you.”

The room simmered into a tense, obedient silence.

“But we don’t have proof. Not really.” He gestured toward the screen. “What we have are three videos. Suspicious as hell? Yes. Incriminating? Possibly. But they don’t show trafficking. They don’t show branding. They don’t show forced bond markings or chemical suppression. They’re circumstantial. And I will not let us become the kind of syndicate that starts a war without certainty. I won’t be risking lives on circumstantial evidence.”

His voice didn’t raise, but it didn’t need to. Because when Oikawa spoke like that, with conviction braided into every word, everyone listened.

Kuroo watched him, pride blooming quietly within his chest.

“We need confirmation,” Oikawa finished. “We need the truth . Not rumors. Not rage. Something solid.”

The omega turned to look at Kuroo.

“You said you had an idea.”

Kuroo gave a slow nod, stepping forward once more and tapping his screen. “I do.”

The screen lit up with a map of Seijoh’s territory, red dots littered the map, each marker indicated a known place Karasuno has been sighted. 

Kuroo's voice was calm but edged with steel. “If we want the truth, we need eyes on the inside.”

Iwaizumi raised a brow. “You’re suggesting an infiltration.”

“I’m not suggesting,” Kuroo corrected. “I’m saying it’s the only way we will be able to confirm our theories. The footage is damning, the histories are concerning, and their movements are shady as hell, but we’re still in the realm of interpretation. What we need is something clean and concise.”

Oikawa nodded slightly. “So? What’s the plan?”

Kuroo brought up a string of files and witness logs. “We noticed that Karasuno has a pattern. They’ve taken in injured or vulnerable omegas over the past few years.”

“Why would they do that?” Bokuto asked, leaning forward.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Kuroo said. “But whatever the reason, they’re consistent. They patrol near the red zones, sometimes leave med kits or food caches near club exits, and within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the omega disappears. Only to reappear folded into Karasuno’s operations.”

“Trafficking,” Atsumu muttered.

“Or recruitment. We don’t know,” Kuroo admitted. “But if we can get one of our own inside, we can confirm what they’re really doing with those omegas. How deep this goes.”

Silence thickened around the room. Oikawa’s brow furrowed.

“And you think they’d take the bait?”

“They’ve done it before. I’ve mapped over a dozen cases in the last five years. Injured omegas show up near the edges of Karasuno’s territory, two days later, they’re gone. Some resurface under aliases. Others disappear entirely.”

“And you want us to make an omega disappear?” Osamu asked, frowning thoughtfully.

“More like lure them out,” Kuroo clarified. “Stage a scene. An injured omega, abused by Seijoh. Close enough to their territory to make them interested. They’ll come to investigate, and when they do, we’ll see firsthand how they operate. If they offer care, or a cage.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed with sharp calculation. “We’d need someone convincing. Someone trained to lie under pressure. Vulnerable enough to sell the story. Strong enough to survive and get out if need be.”

“I’ll do it,” Yamaguchi said quietly.

The table stilled.

Tsukishima’s head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle he didn’t tear something. “The hell you will.”

Yamaguchi met his gaze calmly. “I’m the best fit. Omega, I have the training to go deep undercover, and I am the only one here that is capable of manipulating my scent. I am the best person for this infiltration."

“No,” Tsukishima said again, firmer now, like the denial alone could shield him. “They take omegas and make them disappear, Tadashi. I’m not letting you go into that.”

Yamaguchi let out a small growl, “You aren’t letting me do anything. This is my choice Kei.”

“As your mate, I think I should get a say when it comes to you risking your life for a mission.” He bit back, jaw clenched.

“I’m not some fragile porcelain doll,” Yamaguchi shot back. “I’ve trained for this. I’ve gone undercover more times than anyone in this room combined. You know I can handle myself.”

Tsukishima stood, chair scraping sharply against the tile, golden eyes blazing. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t some intel op in a strip club. This is Karasuno . If they’re even half as bad as we think they are, you could end up bound to another alpha and thrown into a basement!”

“We don’t even know if that’s what they do,” Yamaguchi countered.

Tsukishima shot him a look that was pure betrayal and fear wrapped in bergamot-slicked anger. “That’s the problem.”

“Why don’t you trust me?!” Yamaguchi shot back, abruptly standing.

“I do trust you!”

“Then start acting like it!”

Oikawa raised a hand, calm but firm. “Kei.”

“No offense, Oikawa,” Tsukishima snapped, “but I don’t really care what you think right now.”

Matsukawa let out a low whistle. “Well, fuck.”

“Kei. I love you. But do not talk to him like that.” Yamaguchi growled.

Tsukishima’s mouth shut with a click. His shoulders were tight, trembling.

Yamaguchi continued, steady now. “You know I can do this. You’ve seen me do harder things. You’re scared; I get that. But this isn’t just a mission, this is protection . For the omegas already there. For Seijoh. For you . If this spirals into war, you’ll be on the front lines.”

“I won’t be there to protect you if it turns sideways . ” Tsukishima hissed

“Just trust me.” Yamaguchi said, his voice no longer filled with hurt or anger. The change in tone made Tsukishima pause. They stared into one another’s eyes for a long moment, neither one backing down.

Tsukishima looked away first, making Yamaguchi smile at the alpha. He turned and sat back in his seat. He’d won.

Oikawa’s voice broke the tension again. Gentle, but immovable. “I trust Yamaguchi with my life. If he says he can do this, I believe him.”

Bokuto nodded, lips pressed tight. “We’ll all be watching his back.”

Kuroo offered, “I’ll run point. Coordinate external surveillance. And no matter what, we pull him the second anything goes wrong.”

Still quiet, Tsukishima’s hands curled into fists, knuckles white.

Yamaguchi reached over, gently taking his mate’s hand. Just a simple touch, but it made the fight drain out of the alpha. He sighed and sat down again, composing himself.

Finally, Tsukishima nodded once, stiff and reluctant. “Fine. But I’m prepping the protocols. Every single one.”

“Of course you are,” Kuroo said, a faint smile on his lips.

Yamaguchi leaned into Tsukishima’s side. “Thank you.”

“I hate this,” Tsukishima muttered.

“I know,” Yamaguchi whispered. “But I’ll be okay.”

“Well now that that’s settled,” Oikawa said, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention, “If Yamaguchi’s going undercover as a helpless omega he’s going to need to look the part.”

Yamaguchi grinned, wide and impish, leaning into his lover's side. “Oh don’t worry, we can handle that.” 

Tsukishima’s head jerked toward him so fast it was practically audible. “We what?”

Yamaguchi just smiled up at him, soft and wicked. “A few bruises, a split lip, some bandaging. Nothing we haven’t done before, remember?” 

The way his tone curled at the edges made something in the room shift.

Atsumu raised a brow. “...Why does that sound like code for sex?”

Yamaguchi looked over at Atsumu, and sent him a wink

“Damn, Tadashi is a masochist!” Atsumu cackled.

“When did this place become a whorehouse?” Osamu chimed in, grinning over his shoulder.

Wolf whistles echoed around the table, Hanamaki let out an exaggerated oooh , and even Bokuto gave a scandalized gasp, clutching his imaginary pearls before breaking into a wide grin.

Tsukishima, to his credit, looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. His ears burned crimson as Yamaguchi leaned in innocently and rested his head on his shoulder, utterly unbothered.

“You’re enjoying this,” Tsukishima muttered, voice low and mortified.

“Just a little,” Yamaguchi admitted.

“Please,” Kuroo drawled with a smirk, “let’s not scar Tsuki any more than necessary. We do need him functional for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Functional’s a strong word,” muttered Iwaizumi.

“Alright, alright,” Oikawa said with an amused smile, waving his hands to settle the teasing. “Let’s keep it mildly professional.”

The room settled again, but their smiles lingered like static in the air.

Oikawa tapped his fingers against the tabletop. “Since the aesthetic is taken care of, I'll handle the digital trail. I’ll plant a coded leak in one of our minor channels, something easy enough for Karasuno’s team to find. A botched encryption and a sloppily deleted file, should do the trick. It’ll look like an accident, they won’t be able to resist the bait.”

Hanamaki gave a satisfied hum. “Oldest trick in the book, but damn is it effective.”

“What location do you want to use?” Matsukawa asked, quickly pulling up a map of each club, bar, and business Seijoh ran.

“One of our clubs, that way it’ll look natural. We can fabricate a story about trafficking.” Oikawa said, looking at the map thoughtfully. “I think we should use Manticore. It’s fairly close to the border and private enough that we can pull Yamaguchi out fast if things go sideways.”

“We’ll need at least three shadows on standby in order to follow Karasuno and locate their base.” Kuroo added.

“Kyoutani and I can be back up,” Yahaba offered, arms crossed, expression sharp. “We’ll be close, but not too close to blow his cover.”

“I’d like Kuroo, Bokuto, Hajime, and Osamu on the scene as well.” Oikawa said, gaze sweeping the room. “We will make our move tomorrow night. Prep everything by midday, get a full night's rest. We don’t go in blind. No errors.”

A chorus of agreements followed.

The tension was still there, but so was the trust.

Yamaguchi tilted his head to look at Tsukishima, eyes shining with affection and steel. “We’ll get through this.”

Tsukishima grunted in response, face still flushed a light shade of pink.

“Just don’t enjoy the fake bruises too much.” Kuroo commented with a grin. 

Osamu let out a fake coughed, “ Whore. ”

Yamaguchi whipped around to look at him, “Slut.”

“Cunt.”

“Bitch.”

“Alright that’s enough,” Tsukishima muttered, steering his lover towards the door.

Oikawa laughed softly and pushed himself to his feet. “Everyone out. Go sleep, go rest, go… have kinky sex with your mate, I guess.”

Yamaguchi let out a loud laugh as he was pushed out of the room.

Laughter and teasing words followed them out the door.

The hallway was dim, bathed in the amber glow of the intricate sconces along the walls. Their footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floors, Yamaguchi’s soft and fluid, Tsukishima’s heavier and clipped. The teasing warmth from the meeting room still lingered faintly in the air between them, but it had dulled, settling into something quieter, heavier.

Yamaguchi’s fingers brushed Tsukishima’s as they walked, pinkies linking briefly before the alpha sighed and laced their hands together properly.

“You’re quiet,” Yamaguchi murmured.

“I’m trying not to say something I’ll regret,” Tsukishima replied, his voice soft but tight.

Yamaguchi glanced up at his mate, brow furrowed. “You’re still mad.”

“No,” Tsukishima said, then sighed again, a little sharper this time. “I’m scared.”

The admission made Yamaguchi’s chest ache. He squeezed Tsukishima’s hand gently.

“I know.”

They rounded the corner to their wing in silence. Tsukishima unlocked the door to their shared room, holding it open for Yamaguchi to step inside first. The space was familiar: warm, dimly lit, and quiet. The kind of safe haven they’d built together after years of chaos and bleeding in the dark. The air smelled like a sweet mix of bergamot and magnolias; the combination of their scents always made the pair relax.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Tsukishima finally spoke again.

“I just… I hate the idea of someone touching you,” he murmured. “The thought you could be sold off or hurt makes my skin crawl.”

Yamaguchi turned, stepping closer to his mate until their chests brushed, until he could feel the subtle tremble in Tsukishima’s arms.

“They won’t touch me. You know I’m too strong to let that happen.”

“But what if you can’t get away? What if I can’t protect you?” Tsukishima muttered, eyes locked on the floor. “The fact you're going so far away, somewhere I won’t be able to keep you safe makes me want to scream.”

Yamaguchi reached up, gently cupping his alpha’s cheek, guiding his face until their eyes met. “I’m going to be just fine, I’ll be doing regular check ins, and I’ll have a tracker on me at all times.”

Tsukishima leaned into the touch with a quiet exhale, closing his golden eyes. “I just want you safe.”

“I know,” Yamaguchi whispered. “And I love you for that. But this is bigger than us.”

A pause stretched between them, taut but calm now. The tension was still there, but Yamaguchi’s words soothed it, smoothed over the sharp edges Tsukishima tried to hide behind.

After a beat, Tsukishima opened his eyes again, glassy with emotion.

“I hate how brave you are sometimes,” he said hoarsely.

Yamaguchi smiled, soft and crooked. “And I love how much you care. But I’ll be alright.”

“You swear?”

“With everything I’ve got.”

Tsukishima finally nodded. It wasn’t full agreement, not really. But it was acceptance.

Yamaguchi leaned up to kiss the alpha’s cheek.

“I’m your universe, remember?” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, what would you do without me?”

Tsukishima’s lips twitched in spite of himself. “Die probably.”

“Wow, that’s dark Tsuki.” Tsukishima just chuckled, hugging Yamaguchi tight to his chest.

They stood there a moment longer, pressed together in the soft hush of their room, just two souls orbiting each other, finding gravity in the stillness.

Then Yamaguchi pulled back slightly, a mischievous little grin forming.

“Now… about those bruises.”

Tsukishima groaned. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Yamaguchi’s grin widened. “I know.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes fondly and let Yamaguchi pull him by the hand, their fingers loosely laced together. The movement wasn’t urgent, but purposeful, like muscle memory built from years of brushing teeth in tandem, of cleaning wounds and sharing midnight whispers in the steam. The kind of comfort that didn’t need to be spoken to be understood.

The bedroom behind them was dim, golden light spilling from the small bedside lamp and pooling over rumpled sheets and soft shadows. Everything about it was familiar. Safe.

Yamaguchi nudged open the bathroom door with his foot, still holding onto Tsukishima as he reached over to flip on the warm lights. They didn’t hum like the fluorescents in the intel room downstairs, these were softer, low and steady, casting long reflections across the polished tile and fog-prone mirror.

The moment the light flicked on, Tsukishima moved with quiet precision, already reaching for the faucet with long, careful fingers. He knew the exact things Yamaguchi liked. How hot to make the water, how long to let it run before the temperature evened out. He tested it with the back of his hand, then adjusted it again, patient and wordless.

Behind him, Yamaguchi stripped off his shirt with a lazy tug, the fabric catching slightly at his shoulders before falling to the floor, the rest of his clothes joined the shirt a moment later. His hair was still mussed from earlier, green strands curling in different directions like ivy reaching for sunlight. He caught Tsukishima watching him in the mirror and smiled, not flirtatious, but fond. Intimate.

“Thanks,” he murmured, stepping up behind his mate and brushing his fingers lightly against Tsukishima’s lower back.

Tsukishima didn’t answer with words. He didn’t have to.

He simply leaned into the touch, the soft cloud of steam curling around them like a blanket.

No guards, no masks, just them.

Tsukishima’s fingers brushed against Yamaguchi’s chest, pausing just above his collarbone. He frowned faintly, then murmured, “You forgot this.”

Yamaguchi blinked, then looked down to where the thin silver chain around his neck glinted faintly in the fogged light, his engagement ring resting just below the dip of his throat.

“Oh,” he said softly, smiling as he looked at the ring resting on the simple chain.

Tsukishima didn’t wait for him to move. He stepped in closer, tilting his head slightly as he unfastened the clasp with practiced care, slipping the necklace off and cradling it in his palm like something delicate and sacred. He reached past Yamaguchi to set it on the counter, somewhere safe and dry, before returning his gaze to his mate.

Yamaguchi offered a small, sheepish smile, leaning up to kiss him gently before turning and stepping into the shower.

The water hit him like a balm. He tilted his head back into the stream, eyes fluttering shut as the tension bled out of his shoulders. Steam clung to his skin, curling around his neck and down his spine. He sighed, deep and contented, like a knot inside him was finally unwinding.

Behind him, Tsukishima pulled his shirt over his head, then undid his belt with quiet efficiency. Each movement was slow and unhurried. He slipped off his own ring, briefly studying it with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before setting it beside Yamaguchi’s.

Then he stepped into the shower, letting the heat wrap around him before reaching instinctively for Yamaguchi again, because that’s where his hands belonged.

Wrapped around the only person who ever made him feel whole.

Yamaguchi smiled leaning into his mate's hold, he loved moments like this. So gentle and intimate, something only Yamaguchi got to witness. 

Tsukishima shifted, reaching for the soap out of habit, but Yamaguchi caught his wrist.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Just… stay close for a minute.”

Tsukishima didn’t answer, just let his arms fall, his hands finding Yamaguchi’s hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their foreheads pressed together beneath the spray. A shared breath. A silent heartbeat.

Then, gently, Tsukishima started to kiss him.

Soft, lingering kisses, one to his temple, another along his cheekbone, one just behind his ear that made Yamaguchi’s breath hitch. His hands moved slowly, reverently, like he was learning his mate all over again.

“I love you,” Tsukishima whispered between each kiss.

Yamaguchi’s eyes fluttered shut, melting under the weight of that voice, roughened by fear and love.

“I love your freckles,” the alpha breathed, his lips brushing across Yamaguchi’s jaw. “They’re like stars in the night sky. My universe.”

Yamaguchi shivered, not from the cold, but from the tenderness. He leaned into every touch, every whispered truth.

“You’re beautiful,” Tsukishima said, voice barely audible over the water. “So fucking beautiful.”

Yamaguchi pulled him closer, fingers curling at the nape of Tsukishima’s neck. “Kei…”

They kissed then, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that had no beginning or end, only a quiet ache and the safety of home. The kind of kiss that lingered in your bones and made a safe haven in your very being.

Water poured over them, sliding down collarbones and shoulders, unnoticed.

Tsukishima pulled back just enough to look at him, his golden eyes soft and earnest.

“I’ve never loved anything as much as I love you.”

Yamaguchi smiled, eyes shimmering. “Then show me.”

The alpha smiled back, the worries fading away into the back of his mind as he captured his lover's lips again, pulling Yamaguchi closer making the omega sigh in content and wrap his arms around the alpha’s neck, carding his fingers through blonde hair.

He gasped as Tsukishima shoved him back against the cold wall of the shower, the stark contrast of hot water and the cold tile making the omega shudder against his lover. 

Tsukishima did nothing to hide his smirk, sharp canines glinting as he slid his hands down to squeeze Yamaguchi's ass, kneading the flesh. 

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He all but growled, kissing Yamaguchi harder, lips and tongue working his mouth open into a searing kiss.

“Desperate.” Yamaguchi teased, tugging at Tsukishima’s hair eliciting a groan from the alpha, he giggled at the noise, lips receiving a nip for his indiscretion. The omega just laughed harder, only stopping when Tsukishima rolled their hips together. Their hard cocks rubbed against each other with delicious friction making Yamaguchi moan and thrust his own hips forward.

Tsukishima’s head trailed down as he ground against his lover, sucking dark hickeys against the freckled skin, stopping for a moment to lick at the mating bond he’d put on the omega as children. Back then it had been a desperate attempt to keep Yamaguchi safe, now it was a mark of loyalty and love.

Yamaguchi shuddered and bucked into him as the alpha nipped at the scent gland, drawing more of the omega’s magnolia scent out of his lover. He growled low with appreciation as he breathed in the familiar scent, tinged with lust.

“Gods, stop being a fucking tease Kei.” He gasped out, pulling Tsukishima’s head closer to his throat, obediently baring his neck to the alpha. 

“Who’s desperate now?” He said, grinning into the omega’s throat as he bit the flesh, creating several bite marks that drew blood. The omega moaned loudly, unashamed as he bucked his hips forward and pressed himself into the alpha.

Tsukishima smirked and pulled back for a moment, watching his lover. Soaked in water and flushed with lust. He barely got a moment to react before Yamaguchi fell to his knees making Tsukishima wince at the noise.

“Baby your knees.” He said and Yamaguchi waved him off.

“I need to be bruised up, remember?” Tsukishima sighed and rubbed water from his eyes before jolting when Yamaguchi took his cock into his hand. “I’m going to miss your cock.” He purred, teasingly licking the tip as he looked the alpha in the eyes.

“Glad to know you’ll miss me.” He responded with a chuckle that was cut off by a groan as Yamaguchi took him deep in his mouth.

Tsukishima wasn’t small by any means, but Yamaguchi had over a decade of experience with his partner so he had no issues taking him until the alpha’s cock was hitting the back of his throat. 

Yamaguchi hummed and clenched his fist, suppressing his gag reflex as he took the last few inches, swallowing him down. Tsukishima’s hands found their way into his hair, tugging at it, making the omega moan, the vibrations feeling like heaven around the man’s cock.

Yamaguchi looked up at his mate through half lidded eyes, ignoring the water running down his face and settling on his eye lashes. He took in the sight of his lover staring down at him with lust, pupils blown wide, his eyes only ringed in gold as he stared at his lover.

Yamaguchi hummed again and began to bob his head, he tapped the alpha’s thigh twice, a single they’d long since created to say ‘thrust, more, give it to me’.

Tsukishima wasted no time, the grip in Yamaguchi's hair tightened as he thrusted his hips forward, bruising the omega’s soft palette as he fucked his mouth hard and fast. Yamaguchi slid one of his hands down to give his own cock a few strokes, as his mate fucked his mouth.

Tsukishima groaned, “Fuck, I love your mouth. So perfect, such a good omega for me.” he murmured, making Yamaguchi moan and stroke himself faster, they’d learned about his praise kink years ago and it still had as intense a reaction as it did when they were seventeen.

Yamaguchi’s eyes watered as his throat was fucked hard and fast, each thrust choking him. 

In this moment Yamaguchi felt pure bliss, a haze of lust and trust flooding his system as he bobbed his head forward, humming as he took the alpha to the hilt with each thrust.

Yamaguchi whined as Tsukishima pulled him off his cock, his tongue sliding out to lick the tip as he was pulled away. Tsukishima chuckled, “My universe.” he purred, lifting the omega to look him in the eyes, “Don’t you want to move onto a more... rigorous activity?”

Yamaguchi pouted for a moment longer, before standing shakily, pins and needles shooting through his legs. Tsukishima pulled him into his chest holding him close before scooping him up by the thighs. Yamaguchi gasped as his cock rubbed against his lovers naval, he wrapped his arms around the alpha neck holding on as the man flipped off the shower and threw a towel over Yamaguchi, walking into the cold.

“So unsexy.” The omega pouted as the towel landed on his head. Tsukishima chuckled as he walked into their room. He used the towel to wipe down Yamaguchi's back, the omega purred at the fact his mate was holding him up with only one arm.

Tsukishima may be a hacker, but he didn’t slack when it came to training, the man was still a formidable opponent even if he preferred to stay behind a screen.

Tsukishima responded to the purring with a deep rumble in his chest, finally laying Yamaguchi on the bed and running the towel down his front. He grinned at his omega, his lip piercing glinting in the dim light.

Yamaguchi shuddered at the look his mate gave him, like he was going to devour the omega.

The alpha ran the towel over himself in quick precise movements before tossing it to the side, opting to crawl on top of his mate. 

“I love when you’re under me.” he purred, lips attacking the omega’s nipples, cruel bites and sucks made the omega arch into him.

“Mark me up.” he pleaded, and Tsukishima chuckled, moving to bite harshly into the omega’s flesh, drawing beads of blood as he went. Yamaguchi chewed on his bottom lip as the alpha bit him then soothed each bite with long licks.

Tsukishima ran his hand down the omega’s side, holding himself up with the other. His hand gently parted the omega’s thighs and sank down further and further until it was parting the omega’s fold, long fingers sinking into the omega’s cunt.

“Fuck,” Yamaguchi breathed out as two fingers sunk into his wet passage.

“Already soaking for me.” Tsukishima smirked as he spread the fingers apart, eliciting a soft moan from the omega.

“I’m wet from the shower, don’t get a big head.” He shot back and Tsukishima chuckled.

“Is that so?

“Ye-” The omega's words were cut off with a moan as the alpha curled his fingers, grinding them into every sweet spot Yamaguchi had.

“Hmm, that’s a shame. I thought you were eager for me.” He said adding a third finger into the omega’s cunt making him shudder and moan. “What a pretty reaction.” He commented, thrusting the fingers slowly in and out.

The alpha dipped his head down to add hickeys and bites to the omega’s trembling thighs. Tsukishima grinned as slick gushed from his lover's cunt, coating his fingers.

“Please…” Yamaguchi whined, hands clenched in the sheets.

“Please what?” Tsukishima purred, curling and spreading his fingers leisurely.

“Please, Kei… Fuck me.” he whined, and Tsukishima would normally torture his lover longer, make him plead and beg, but he was a bit too eager to sink his cock into his lover tight hole to play their usual game.

Tsukishima pulled his fingers out of the omega’s cunt and smirked, licking them clean. The omega whimpered, “Stop that, it's dirty.” 

“But your slick tastes so sweet.” he purred and took his cock pumping it twice before pressing it at the omega’s dripping entrance. He rubbed the tip against the omega’s slit several times making the omega whine and buck his hip trying to impale himself on the alpha’s cock.

“Impatient.’ he taunts, finally starting to sink into the omega. He let out a low groan that mirrored the desperate moan Yamaguchi let out in response to the stimulation. The stretch is perfect, filling him in the best ways.

Tsukishima grasped the omega’s hips tighter than normal, his grip intended to leave finger shaped bruises on the skin.

Yamaguchi shuddered and let out a high pitch whine as Tsukishima bottomed out, rolling his hips to grind deep inside the omega. He gripped the omega’s leg lifting one high into the air and holding it up as he began to thrust. He left bruises and new bites on the appendage as he fucks into the writhing omega’s cunt.

“Fuck! Yes, yes, yes!” Yamaguchi slurs, eyes rolling back as his mate picks up the pace fucking him hard and fast. 

Tsukishima grins, filled with satisfaction as dark bruises and bites litter the omega’s freckled skin. Unable to help himself, Tsukishima pulls out abruptly and manhandles the omega onto his stomach at the edge of the bed, nearly throwing him. The omega scrambles up onto his hands and knees, arching his back to present his dripping hole to his lover.

He looks over his shoulder, hazel eyes pleading as he rolls his hips, trying to entice the alpha into fucking him. 

Tsukishima is a simple man when it comes to his mate, always giving the omega anything he desires and why would this be any different. He grabs the omega’s waist, yanking him back as he thrusts forward, cock railing into his lover hard and fast, each thrust making Yamaguchi gasp and moan.

“God, I love fucking your tight cunt.” He growls and slaps Yamaguchi's ass, watching as it jiggles. He can't help but sink his cock into the omega again and again.

Yamaguchi lets out a sharp cry each time Tsukishima spanks him, the alpha grins running a gentle hand over the red skin. 

“Harder!” Yamaguchi gasps out between thrusts, his arms giving out, he lays chest pressed into the bed, ass up, as he’s railed from behind. His cunt spasms around Tsukishma’s hard thrusts making the alpha groan, his nail digging into the omega’s hips.

“What do you need, baby?” Tsukishma purrs, and Yamaguchi grips the sheet harder as Tsukishima pulls out almost completely before driving back into the omega, dragging out a shriek from his lover, the high pitch moans filling the room as Tsukishima fucks him.

The alpha draws his hand back slapping the side of the omega’s ass, grinning as a mark begins to appear.

“Please…” Yamaguchi gasps out, eyes rolling back. “I need your knot.” He moans and Tsukishima’s hips stutter for a moment making the omega whimper.

“You sure?” He asks, leaning down near the omega’s ear. Yamaguchi nods his head fast, the next thrust jolts Yamaguchi's entire body making him cry out.

“Yes! On birth control.” He explains through moans and pants. Tsukishima nods even though he knows Yamaguchi can’t see his face. 

With his confirmation Tsukishima begins to thrust quickly, chasing his release as he uses his mate as a sextoy, fucking into him without pause. The omega doesn’t care, shouting curses as he’s fucked into the mattress. 

Drool drips from Yamaguchi’s lips, throwing his head back as Tsukishima rubs against each sensitive spot, “Kei!” He screams the name like a prayer, starting to repeat it again and again, slurring as his eyes roll back. 

Each thrust dragging him into pleasure verging on just too much. Toeing the line of ecstasy and overstimulation. Yamaguchi doesn't even register the fact that he’s still chanting his mates name like a mantra, only coming back to his senses when he can feel the swell at the base of his lover cock, making each thrust stretch him more and more.

Tsukishima growls, each thrust meeting more resistance as his knot swells. 

“Kei! Please, please!” Yamaguchi shouts, “Let me cum, I needa’ cum please.” He says starting to slur as the alpha focuses on each thrust forcing his knot in and out of his mate's cunt, each thrust accompanied by a wet pop and squelch.

“You gonna cum for me?” Tsukishima growls, pulling out and flipping Yamaguchi over, accidentally knocking the omega’s leg into their bedside table. Neither of them even acknowledges it, focused on the nearly painful ecstasy building between them. 

Yamaguchi nods frantically, “Please! I need to! Let me please Alpha!” He slurs, eyes watering with unshed tears as he tries to stave off his orgasm until the alpha gives him permission.

Tsukishima watches his mate as he drives his knot in and out of the omega’s cunt, he’s so close but he holds off wanting to enjoy the sight of his normally so put together mate, nearly sobbing on his cock. 

“You are such a good omega." He praises, receiving a high pitch whine from his mate. Tsukishima groans, unable to hold back any longer, “Cum for me.” he growls as he grips his mate, pulling his hips as he pushes his cock inside. His knot popping and locking them together.

Yamaguchi lets out a loud whine of pleasure before his mouth drops open letting out a silent scream, his eyes roll back into his skull and his back arches off the bed. The omega’s cock pulses, letting out small ribbons of cum painting his own stomach with his release as his cunt clamps down on his alphas knot spasming as if trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

Tsukishima groans as he begins to pump hot cum into his omega’s womb. The heat flooding his insides makes Yamaguchi whimper quietly, a hand going to his lower stomach as he’s stuffed full. 

Tsukishima rolls his hips a few times, pulling at where they are connected to get a whine from his lover. He smiles and gently rolls them to the side, letting Yamaguchi rest on top of him.

The omega lays his chest against the alphas, relaxing into his mate as they wait for his knot to go down.

The room is filled with soft moans and harsh panting as the lovers embrace one another. B odies locked together, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in sync, skin slick with sweat and warm beneath the low light. The world outside faded, shrunk down to nothing but the press of mouths and the steady rhythm of breathing, shared and sacred.

Yamaguchi pressed against Tsukishima’s chest, face tucked into the crook of his neck, body humming with afterglow and safety. Tsukishima held him close, fingers brushing lazy circles against his spine, as if memorizing every inch of skin he already knew by heart.

Tomorrow, the world would demand something of them again: missions, masks, danger creeping in with every breath. But not tonight.

Tonight was theirs.

Tonight, there were no ticking clocks or coded transmissions. Just warm sheets and whispered names, soft kisses, and a love so fierce it burned through every shadow.

Yamaguchi tilted his face to look down at his mate, eyes heavy-lidded but still shining, and he smiled.

“Again?” he whispered.

Tsukishima smirked; slow, fond, and just a little dangerous.

“As many times as you want.”

And when he kissed him again, it was full of promises and pure devotion.

The night stretched endlessly before them, and they had no intention of wasting a single moment.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!

I'm so sorry I'm late with this chapter; I got called into work and I was out of commission. So, what do I do to make it up to you? I write a long chapter!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Honestly, I'm a bit dead right now, I'm so tired from college classes and work, so I'm going to take a long ass nap!

Like always please comment, I read every comment, and they really help my motivation!

That being said, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day and I'll see you on Friday <3

Chapter 35: Regarding Your Departure

Summary:

Karasuno finds the transmission, choices are made.

Kenma is tired.

The title is based off of a song from Noah Floersch

The air in Karasuno's intelligence bunker always smelled faintly like cinnamon apples; filled with old machines and older memories. 

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of servers and the rhythmic tapping of keys. Flickering screens cast a ghostly blue glow over Kenma’s face, illuminating the shadows under his eyes and the sharp focus that had returned to them. He was no longer trembling like he had in the days following Akaashi’s news. No longer brittle, just quiet, almost detached.

Months had passed since the trip to Hakone. Since Akaashi had walked into his quarters with a look on his face that made Kenma’s lungs seize up. Months since Kenma had collapsed into himself, curled like a dying star under the weight of false hope and a name whispered in the dark. Months since the fire of hope had reignited in his chest, only to be doused again by the brutal logic of time and distance. Months since he’d whispered Kuroo’s name into his pillow in the dark, one last time, then stopped altogether.

Grief didn’t leave you, not really, it curled up like a cat in the hollow of your ribs, occasionally stretching, occasionally clawing. But it stopped tearing him open. It stopped being a scream. These days it was a low hum. These days it was… manageable.

The den of the Karasuno Intelligence Unit was lined with cables and blinking monitors, tracking everything from club activity to encrypted syndicate traffic. At its heart sat Kenma, cross-legged on a beat-up office chair, the screen before him crowded with lines of scrolling code. He wore an oversized hoodie, Suga’s, he thought, maybe Daichi’s. It didn’t matter. It was warm and smelled like comfort. 

His hair was longer now, usually tied back, and he’d gained back the weight he’d lost in the weeks after the Hakone incident.

He looked like a person again.

He felt like one, too.

There were still bad days, nights when he couldn’t sleep, flashes of memory too raw to ignore, but they no longer ruled him. The syndicate had given him work, and that work had given him purpose. He wasn't a weapon like Kageyama, or a tactician like Akaashi, or even a leader like Daichi. But behind the screens, he was indispensable.

And tonight, that mattered.

Lines of code danced across the primary monitor, a real-time capture of Seijoh’s signal traffic. Karasuno had been watching the rival faction for months now, they were too strong to ignore, and had too many secrets no one could unravel.

A month or so ago the omega had caught sight of a symbol on the back of a freight truck pulling into a known Seijoh warehouse just outside Osaka. The symbol matched a well known omega trafficking ring in Korea, it was a mark that shouldn’t have been anywhere near Japan.

Since then, Kenma had dedicated a small tech unit to cataloging every scrap of data they could find on Seijoh: shipment manifests, travel logs, facial recognition comparisons from club camera footage, even timestamps from Seijoh-owned vehicles. There wasn’t any definitive evidence that Seijoh worked with traffickers, at least not enough to accuse Seijoh outright. But there were patterns, gaps, shadows between thousands of lines of code.

And Kenma was good at finding shadows.

He sipped from a half-empty bottle of water, scrolling through the surveillance inbox, half-asleep. The server pinged quietly, drawing his eye to the upper right corner of the screen.

TRANSMISSION INTERCEPTED - SOURCE: SEIJOH-CLUSTER-06 - ENCRYPTION: L3

Kenma blinked once.

“Level three?” he muttered, setting the bottle aside. “That’s lazy.”

He tapped a few keys, pulling the file open. The encryption wasn’t even double-locked, just a basic substitution cipher with an outdated firewall signature. Either someone from Seijoh had rushed to send out the message, making it sloppy…. or someone wanted it to be intercepted.

Kenma’s fingers flew over the keys. His eyes narrowed as line after line of code melted away revealing the message beneath it:

[MANTICORE - FRI - 2200HRS]
[DELIVERY INBOUND - 12 UNITS - HOLD & MONITOR]
[KEEP LOW - NO FIRE - ONI ORDER]

Kenma’s lips pressed into a thin line, his scent starting to turn sour as he read the message.

The Manticore was one of Seijoh’s largest clubs. It had high security, deep connections, and catered to the upper class. Whatever was being moved there, it couldn’t be drugs or weapons, they wouldn’t risk the largest money maker for something like that.

He leaned back, brows drawing tight.

It was the kind of place used to clean money, not move illegal cargo.

That would be true… unless…

Unless the cargo couldn’t leave a paper trail.

He reached across the desk, tugging a physical folder toward him, SEIJOH: Trafficking Theories. A running suspicion among Karasuno’s higher ranks, but never confirmed. Whispered names. Unconfirmed cargo manifests. He flipped through pages of stills: club surveillance, freight containers, blurry photos of pale-faced omegas being led through back alleys or tucked into unmarked vans.

It was all circumstantial, still up to debate.

But this message? Twelve units. “Hold and monitor.”

He pulled out an expo maker and began scribbling connections across a whiteboard, linking dates and symbols from previous messages he’d managed to decode. The threads were starting to tighten, sewing together each theory.

He returned to his monitor, eyes narrowing at the final line of the message still blinking faintly on screen:

‘ONI ORDER’

Oni. That codename was dedicated to the head of Seijoh. The phantom behind every move Karasuno hadn’t been able to trace back, the ghost whose fingerprints never showed up in the aftermath. His name didn’t surface for routine operations or external deals. Not for standard shipments, weapons trades, or muscle-for-hire.

No. When “Oni” appeared in a transmission, it meant something else entirely.

It meant the command came from the core.

This wasn’t the work of subcontracted runners or expendable foot soldiers. This wasn’t a backdoor exchange or a favor to some wealthy outsider. This order was internal; direct, strategic, and deeply protected. Whatever was being moved under Seijoh’s nose was important enough for Oni himself to bypass every level of deniability.

Kenma sat back down slowly, the weight of this knew intel crashing into him like cold water. A direct line from Seijoh’s leader, paired with the phrase “hold and monitor,” didn’t just suggest interest, it reeked of possession. Of ownership. Like whatever those twelve units were, Seijoh wasn’t just handling them, they would be keeping it.

His gaze flicked again to the word “units.” Twelve. The number had been easy to dismiss before, just another vague term lost in coded language. But now, cross-referenced with weeks of Karasuno’s silent suspicions and those grainy photographs of drugged or terrified omegas ushered into dark vans, it clicked into place with a sickening finality.

He turned from the screen and walked to the whiteboard, uncapping the expo marker with a sharp snap. His movements were faster now, more focused. Dates. Locations. Alias codes. He linked them with practiced efficiency, the way only someone obsessed with truth could. The symbols began to converge, no longer scattered dots but a web closing in around something rotten.

Something real.

This wasn’t a theory anymore. This wasn’t a whisper in a file folder.

This was a lead.

This was the kind of thing Kuroo used to spot before anyone else. The kind of insight that would have made him smirk and say, “That’s my boy, Kenma.”

Kenma swallowed hard and pushed that thought down.

There was no room for ghosts right now.

He clicked a key and compiled the decoded message into a separate file, along with a timestamp, location, and digital signature. Then he transferred everything onto a secure drive and slipped it into the inner pocket of his hoodie. He stood, disregarding any other task he’d been working on and walked out of the room. 

He made his way down the hall, the quiet hum of servers behind him fading into stillness.

He didn’t knock when he reached Akaashi’s office, simply walked into the room, breathing in the familiar scent of white jasmine. 

Akaashi looked up from a pile of reports, brows lifting. He looked tired; reading glasses slipping down his nose, no mask in sight, his sleeves were rolled up, but he was alert. 

Kenma made his way to his best friend, handing over the drive for Akaashi to take a look at.

“Seijoh made a mistake,” he said simply. “Or possibly laid a trap.”

Akaashi frowned, pushing away the files he’d been looking at and slotting the drive into his computer. “Show me.”

Kenma stepped around the desk, pointing to the decrypted message as it appeared. Akaashi scanned it once, then again, then leaned forward with a sharp breath.

“Manticore,” he muttered, reading the message aloud. “Twelve units…”

Akaashi leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You think it’s trafficking?”

Kenma’s jaw twitched. “There’s no confirmation. But the signs are all there. Quiet delivery, late hour, high security location... It’s not a drug shipment. They wouldn’t risk Manticore for that.”

He paused. “It’s either a deal with another syndicate or they’re moving omegas.”

Akaashi nodded and pulled the drive out of his computer, handing it back to Kenma. “When did this message come through?”

“Only an hour or so ago. But something felt off when I decoded it.”

“How so?” Akaashi asked, brows furrowed.

“It’s not like Seijoh to make mistakes like this,” Kenma murmured. “It’s too obvious. Their ciphers are usually triple-locked. This one? I cracked it in minutes. Either they’re losing their touch or they want us there.”

“There’s also the possibility that someone on the inside is a traitor and gave us this intel to help.” Akaashi said, more to himself than to Kenma. It had happened before, over the last year they had liberated two other small-time trafficking rings because of a deserter in the mafia’s ranks.

“We need to get this to Daichi, see what he wants to do.” He added after a minute of contemplative silence. 

Akaashi reached over and grabbed his mask up before stepping into the hallway. With a small, practiced motion, two fingers looped the elastic over one ear, then the other. The soft plain black fabric settled over his nose and lips. 

Beside him, Kenma walked in silence, his steps light and deliberate. The subtle scent of cinnamon apples followed him like the echo of autumn; warm, grounding, and just a little sharp at the edges.

Together, the two omegas made their way through the lower halls of Karasuno’s base, moving from the tech bunker into the central wing. The halls dimmed this time of night, motion-sensitive lights flickering on as they passed. Everything in Karasuno ran quiet and efficiently; there was no such thing as unnecessary noise here. No raised voices, no slammed doors.

The Theater Room sat tucked into a corner of the manor, one of the few places designed for peace. The door was slightly ajar, soft ambient light spilling out into the hall, and the muffled hum of dialogue from an old romcom could be heard through the walls. Inside, two figures were curled up together on a plush loveseat, a blanket draped over their laps.

Daichi was leaning back, arm wrapped around Suga’s shoulders. The alpha’s dark eyes were soft, expression relaxed for the first time in what felt like weeks. His usually stern posture had loosened up due to the presence of his mate. He looked human here, not like Karasuno’s invincible leader.

Suga’s head rested against Daichi’s shoulder, his silver hair slightly tousled, his strawberry orchard scent was full of love and contentment. He had a half-finished cup of tea in his hands and a soft smile on his lips.

Akaashi hesitated, not wanting to disturb the couple that rarely got free time to themselves.

But Kenma didn’t, he knew they didn’t have the luxury to waver.

He knocked once on the door frame, sharp but quiet. A signal, not a request.

Daichi turned his head slowly, sighing before he even saw them. “...I really hope this is important.”

“Sorry Daichi,” Kenma said, voice low. “But it is.”

Suga sat up straighter, setting his cup aside, an amused little laugh slipping out. “You two are lucky I love you.”

Daichi’s eyes scanned them both, taking in the mask on Akaashi’s face, the hard set of Kenma’s mouth, and the way neither of them stepped into the room fully. He exhaled again, deeper this time, and gestured for them to come in. “Alright. What’ve we got?”

Akaashi stepped forward, holding out the drive between two fingers. “Intercepted about an hour ago. Seijoh transmission. L3 encryption, intentionally sloppy.”

Daichi took the drive, sitting forward. “Let me guess, a suspicious delivery?”

Kenma blinked, surprised. “You already suspected it?”

“I’ve been waiting for Seijoh to officially pop up on our radar for months,” Daichi muttered, inserting the drive into the portable reader built into the side of the projector console. He pulled up the decoded file and began scrolling through it.

Suga leaned over, eyes scanning the screen. “Twelve units. That’s… not subtle.”

“No,” Akaashi said. “It’s not. That’s the point.”

Daichi’s jaw tightened. His spice cake scent was heavy with cinnamon and nutmeg, beginning to deepen slightly, curling low in the air with tension.

“This isn’t drugs,” he said flatly.

“No,” Kenma agreed. “We think it’s a new trafficking order.”

There was a pause.

Suga’s expression turned sharp in an instant. He reached for the remote, killing the movie. The screen went black as Suga turned towards them. “And Seijoh’s leader issued the order himself?”

Akaashi nodded once. “Code name, Oni. Used sparingly. Last time it showed up, they buried a leak in Sendai and burned the entire building down to hide it.”

Daichi rubbed his face, eyes now fully alert, mouth set in a grim line.

“Get everyone who isn’t actively deployed. I want an inner circle meeting in the war room in thirty minutes.” He looked at Kenma. “We’ll present what you found, and we’ll figure out what to do moving forward.”

Kenma nodded, pulling out his phone to start sending out messages. “I’ll prepare everything.”

“Good,” Daichi said, standing slowly. “If Seijoh really is trafficking omegas, and they’ve gotten bold enough to do it under their own name... then we’re past the point of whispers and theories.”

Suga slipped his hand into Daichi’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Guess date night’s over.”

Daichi let out a quiet huff, the corner of his mouth twitching. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

Suga laughed and kissed his mate's cheek, “Let's go.” 

The room emptied with swift, practiced efficiency.

Kenma lingered behind, his fingers flying over his phone as message after message was sent to inner circle members still on-site. His heart pounded, the thrill of discovery dulled by the weight of what it might mean. Twelve omegas, twelve people , sold and trafficked. His mouth felt dry.

Akaashi stayed close, silent but steady beside him as Suga and Daichi left to prepare the conference room for its late night meeting. The flickering projector screen was now blank. In the hush that followed, Kenma reached forward and quietly powered it down, the soft mechanical whirring fading into silence.

“This could be it,” he murmured.

Akaashi nodded, even though his friend wasn’t looking over. “Then let’s make sure everything goes to plan.”

They exited the theater room in unison, their footsteps echoing softly in the long halls of the safehouse. Lights had been dimmed for the night, casting everything in an amber glow. Kenma’s fingers were curled tightly around his tablet now, clutching it to his chest like armor. His mind ran in loops, organizing files, timestamps, matching routes and keywords, desperate to stay ahead of what this could become.

As they reached the reinforced stairwell at the far end of the hall, Hinata was already waiting outside the basement door, stretching his neck side to side like a soldier psyching up for a fight. He gave them a tight nod before pushing open the thick metal door.

The descent was quiet, cool.

Below them, the war room awaited.

 

---

 

The conference room wasn’t flashy, but it was secure.

A steel-reinforced basement nestled beneath the western wing of Karasuno’s safehouse, lined with monitors, stacks of encrypted files, and scent-neutralizers. It was meant for business. There were no distractions or warmth to be found, only clarity and control. The table was circular, wide enough to sit sixteen comfortably, though a few seats were empty tonight, their usual occupants still out on assignment.

Daichi sat at the head, shoulders squared beneath his dark coat, the scent of spice cake curling faintly in the recycled air. The tension in the room was heavy, not the kind born from anxiety, but the quiet coil of professionals preparing for a storm.

“Kenma intercepted a transmission from Seijoh a few hours ago,” he began, laying a printed transcript onto the center of the table. “It was encoded through Seijoh's old cipher, but he cracked it.”

At his left, Kenma sat quietly, hoodie sleeves tugged over his wrists, fingers still twitching with residual adrenaline from the hours he’d spent theorizing. His cinnamon-apple scent was faint, neutralized by suppressants and concentration. No one commented on the shadows under his eyes, over the past few months they’d become a familiar companion, never leaving the omega for long.

“The message references a shipment scheduled for Club Manticore,” Daichi continued. “It’s one of Seijoh’s largest properties. Complete with heavy security, private rooms, and high end clients. We knew they moved products through it, but this is the first time it mentions ‘cargo’ in vague terms, and the phrasing is suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?” Hinata asked, voice low. His tangerine scent soured with unease as he leaned forward, brows furrowed.

“‘Manticore, Friday 10 PM, delivering inbound, hold and monitor, 12 units, keep a low profile, no risky fire, ordered by Oni.’” Daichi read aloud. “That doesn’t sound like weapons to me.”

“Could be drugs,” Lev offered gently, seated beside his mate. The scent of cypress softened the edges of the conversation. 

“Could be… something else.” Yaku murmured from next to him, leaning forward in his chair.

Akaashi, across from them, adjusted his glasses and tapped a knuckle on the table. “The phrasing matches language used in historical trafficking routes: compliance, containment, resistance. It isn’t conclusive, but it’s definitely a red flag.”

“It could be a bluff,” Sakusa muttered. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, amber scent cold with doubt. “Something meant to throw us off.”

“Maybe,” Ennoshita replied, chin lifted. His vanilla-honey scent was calm, calculating. “But we’ve had eyes on Seijoh for months. There’s too much we don’t know. Too many gaps. We can’t just ignore this.”

Suna let out a frustrated breath, knuckles cracking. “We barely know who we’re even dealing with. We’ve got files on what, five members? And only base-level details?”

Kenma finally spoke, voice soft but steady. “Seven, technically. But the deeper you go, the more dead ends. Code names, scrambled aliases. I traced a few of their missions, but any time someone gets too close, they vanish. Or turn up with no memory.”

“Classy,” Nishinoya muttered, the lemon-lavender scent prickling with distaste. “They erase people? ”

“Or bribe them,” Kenma replied. “I traced some of the security firms protecting their properties. They’re ex-military, ex-Yakuza, or ghost entries. There’s no real pattern. But I did find one alias I’m worried about. It kept popping up across the darker files.” He murmured tapping his fingers on the table.

Suga leaned forward staring at Kenma, his face all business. “And that would be?”

“Panther.”

That got the room’s attention.

“I’ve heard that name.” Tendou said from beside Ushijima. “People say he’s ruthless. I thought it was just a title, some myth.”

“He’s real,” Kenma said. “And good at what he does. I found fragments of surveillance footage. Half of it’s corrupted, the other half shows clean kills. Never the same pattern. Rarely the same method. Always efficient.”

“An alpha?” Suna asked casually, though his posture had gone still.

“Unknown,” Kenma replied. “Almost everything about him is unknown. I have vague files on the inner members of Seijoh, but he’s an enigma. He doesn’t fight like a typical assassin. No scent traces. He’s like a shadow.”

“And Oni?” Yaku asked, his cedar and vanilla scent was grounded, sharp with curiosity.

Kenma hesitated, jaw tightening just slightly. “Nothing concrete. Only the code name. No photos. No voiceprints. But based on hierarchy and the commands being followed, I believe Oni is the top. Possibly Seijoh’s founder. They assume it’s an alpha… but again, that’s not based on anything real. Just an assumption, but it’s the most likely theory.”

“Because powerful always means alpha,” Kageyama muttered under his breath.

Hinata nudged him with an elbow, lips quirked into a slight smile, but he said nothing.

Ushijima spoke next, slow and deliberate. “We can’t move in on a club with this little amount of intel. It’s too risky. If they’re trafficking, we can’t afford to botch this.”

Daichi nodded in agreement. “Exactly. That’s why we’re not moving in guns blazing.”

He looked around the table, gaze sweeping over each member of his command. “This will be a surveillance-first mission. No interference unless absolutely necessary. I want eyes everywhere. If anything confirms trafficking, and I mean anything, we regroup and hit back hard, but not before we have proof.”

There were no objections, only tense nods.

“We’re sending six operatives,” Daichi began.

Noya raised a hand, brows furrowed. “Why are we sending so many people? Normally we cap surveillance at three. Isn’t this a bit overkill?”

Daichi exhaled slowly. “Seijoh isn’t like the other factions we’ve monitored. Their brutality isn’t just a rumor, it’s tactical. They don’t just defend their territory; they erase threats. If this gets messy, I want us positioned to hit back fast and cover each other. No one’s going inside the club, not unless absolutely necessary. We keep this operation strictly external recon.”

Suna clicked his pen, expression unreadable. “So focus on rooftop, alley, crowd-scatter tactics? Full perimeter recon?”

“Exactly,” Daichi nodded. “Eyes on every angle. If anything goes sideways, we pull back. We are not engaging on their turf.”

Akaashi leaned forward slightly, his fingers loosely laced. “Will there be rotation points or are we fixed?”

“Rotating in pairs,” Daichi confirmed. “Too long in one spot and they’ll clock us. We don’t want to give them a scent trail, and we don’t want our movements to look like patterns. That’s why we’re sending more bodies, so we can swap positions without causing gaps in surveillance.”

Tanaka gave a low whistle. “I don’t like being on the outside of a cage while a demon’s watching.”

Daichi offered a grim smile. “No one said this was going to be comfortable.”

“They’ll have sniffers,” Noya added, voice lower now, sharper. “Bet anything they’ve got an alpha on scent detail sweeping every few hours.”

“They do,” Kenma’s voice cut in, soft but razor-focused. All eyes turned to him as he spoke. “They have scent-neutralizers embedded into their HVAC system. Full dispersal every twenty minutes. You won’t be able to trace anyone by smell, and if you linger too long, your own scent might get tagged in their system.”

Daichi gave a short nod of approval, then returned to assignments.

“Kenma, you're the team lead. You know Seijoh’s system best; their cipher, their rhythm, their paranoia. You’ll coordinate movements and check-ins. Akaashi, I want you mobile, feeding intel as needed. Tap into street cams, traffic lights, anything with a signal. Stay off their network and don’t risk touching their lines.”

Akaashi nodded once, sliding a USB Kenma passed him into his tablet. “Understood. We’ll run isolated signals only. Localized echo mapping from city traffic should be enough for cover.”

Daichi turned to the others. “Suna, you’ll be stationed on the northeast rooftop. Long-range optics only. You’re our eyes in and around their VIP entrance.”

“Got it,” Suna said, already noting everything onto his notepad, looking over at the map Akaashi had pulled up, writing down which buildings would offer the best vantage point. 

“Tanaka,” Daichi continued, “you’ll cover the back alley access with Noya. Watch staff entrances, vents, anything discreet. You’re the fallback lead if anything turns upside down, coordinate extractions and get everyone out.”

Noya grinned, nodding. “You got it boss, I’ll get my throwing knives ready just in case.”

Daichi gave a brief smile, but his voice stayed heavy. “Only if they make the first move, understood?”

“Understood,” Noya said with a wink, drawing an exasperated sigh out of Daichi.

“Hinata, I want you embedded in the crowd. Blend into street traffic, walk by, linger, change outfits if needed. You’ve got the instinct for spotting movement. Track their people coming and going. Be our pattern recognition.”

Hinata saluted with two fingers and a determined grin. “Yes, sir.”

“If they’re trafficking, it’ll be through quiet transport. Couriers, security shifts, coded signals. Nothing flashy,” Kenma added helpfully.

“What’s our signal to pull back?” Tanaka asked.

“If any of you see a confirmed trafficked omega or minor, tag it with a marker photo and leave immediately,” Daichi replied. “Once we have visual proof, we reassemble and plan our attack from there.”

Suna raised a brow. “And if they spot us?”

“You disappear,” Daichi said flatly. “No confrontation. No heroics. I won’t have anyone dying for a recon op.”

“Understood.” Everyone echoed.

Kenma’s voice cut in, quieter than the rest, but laced with focus. “We don’t know the club’s layout yet, but if it follows the same blueprint as Seijoh’s other fronts, the lower floors are likely used for entertainment, with private rooms beneath or above. We’ll split teams accordingly.”

“Security detail?” Suna asked, tucking his notepad away into his jean pockets.

“Two full-time guards on every floor. Rovers sweep every twenty minutes.” Kenma waved a hand over to Akaashi and the omega projected a map of the area surrounding Club Manticore onto the large TV in front of everyone. “Preliminary camera locations, based on overlapping shadows and digital noise from the few recordings we’ve intercepted.”

“And comms?” Hinata asked.

“We’re running silent. No chatter, no open frequencies,” Kenma said. “Only text-based hand units with analog fallbacks. If you get separated, don’t linger. Get out and wait for extraction.”

“I’ll prepare the surveillance van,” Nishinoya added, already buzzing with anticipation. “What about disguises?”

Kenma glanced at him, eyes flicking over the omega's wild hair and energy. “Minimal, use tactical gear just in case we’re shot at. Blend in, don’t draw attention.”

Tanaka gave a sharp nod, arms folded across his chest. “What’s our cover if we get caught?”

“A VIP client reservation,” Akaashi replied, voice smooth. “Kenma pulled some strings and used shell credentials from a hacked registry we found last month. We’ve got a fifteen-minute window of access before it’ll get flagged.”

“What if we don’t find anything?” Suna asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Then we get out, scrub all traces, and wait for the next message,” Daichi said firmly. “No heat. No exposure. The last thing we want is to tip Seijoh off.”

There was a pause.

Then Suga, voice soft but resolute, said what they were all thinking.

“We may not get another chance like this, so stay focused and calm.”

Silence answered him and unspoken agreement passed through the room like static. Everyone knew the stakes. Everyone understood that if this was what they feared, if Seijoh was trafficking omegas, then any mistake could cost lives.

Daichi exhaled. “We move tomorrow night. Meeting adjourned.”

The meeting dispersed slowly, a hush falling over the conference room as chairs scraped against concrete and heavy boots moved toward the steel-reinforced exit. No one spoke much; too many thoughts, too many variables, and a creeping weight that sat just beneath the skin.

Kenma slipped out quietly, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, the fluorescent hallway lights a touch too bright after the hour in the dim conference room. He didn’t mind the quiet, not really. He hadn’t minded the quiet for a few years now. It meant he could let himself think, let the thoughts flow without interruption.

The tension from earlier still hadn’t left his shoulders, and his mind was already looping variables back and forth; routes in and out of Club Manticore, Seijoh personnel patterns, the risk factors of each teammate being deployed.

Akaashi fell into step beside him, hands neatly folded behind his back. His scent was muted but still calm as always.

“You really think it’s a trap?” Akaashi asked softly, keeping his voice low.

Kenma exhaled through his nose. “I think it’s bait. Whether or not it’s a trap… I’m not sure yet.”

Akaashi hummed, “You did good back there,” He added, and Kenma glanced at him from the side, not turning his face entirely. His expression was unreadable as always, but there was a flicker of sincerity in the gunmetal blue eyes. “Cracking Seijoh’s cipher isn’t something just anyone can do.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve broken it,” Kenma replied, voice flat. “They just haven’t changed it in a while. Besides, this was one of their older codes, nowhere near as sophisticated as the current cipher.”

“Still,” Akaashi murmured. “You’ve been working nonstop. I can tell.”

Kenma didn’t respond to that. He didn’t need to. It was true, he’d been grinding through layers of data for weeks, trudging through sleepless nights and scattered meals, barely stopping after the Hakone trip. It was almost like he was trying to avoid coming to terms with the outcome. The missions and data sharpened his focus, kept him grounded. Put a fire under his skin he hadn’t felt in years. He wasn’t helpless. He had a place. He could fight back with code and patterns instead of fists.

But it didn't come easy.

The weeks following Hakone had been rough; quiet panic attacks, hollow silences, nights spent huddled in Kuroo’s jacket even when it was too warm to justify it. The weight of grief and guilt hadn’t vanished, but the sharp edges had dulled. Now, Kenma carried it like armor instead of chains. He wasn’t healed, but he could ignore the ache. Shove it down and pretend that everything was fine. Ignore the thoughts of his dead lover and replace him with data and intel.

Maybe it was a betrayal to Kuroo, but he just… didn’t care anymore.

The more time that passed the more numb he became. Eventually he’d stopped talking to Kuroo, stopped clutching his jacket, and stopped honoring his memory. 

Kenma was pulled out of his thoughts by Akaashi gently nudging him with his arm.

“Did you hear what happened yesterday?” He murmured, voice low as they walked.

Kenma, grateful for the distraction, frowned, “No, what happened?”

Akaashi glanced around, ensuring no one else was in earshot before he spoke again. “One of Seijoh’s arms shipments was attacked yesterday”

Kenma’s brow furrowed, but he kept walking. “Attacked?”

Akaashi nodded. “Hit hard. High-value gear. Military-grade. Gone. All their surveillance was wiped clean, whoever did it, they’re good.”

Kenma hummed, the sound low in his throat. “Serves them right.”

“You’re not curious who pulled it off?”

“Of course I am.” He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie. “But I don’t care that it happened. If Seijoh’s losing firepower, I’m not going to cry about it.”

Akaashi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t have any idea who could’ve done it?”

Kenma looked at him with a brow raised, “That’s more of your expertise than mine.”

Akaashi nodded slowly. “I know, I just didn’t know if you came across any chatter while doing research. It just worries me that if Seijoh didn’t stage it for internal reasons, then that means there’s a third party in play.”

At that Kenma stopped walking.

The corridor was empty around them, only the hum of the security lights and the distant sound of someone pacing above them.

“Someone strong enough to hit Seijoh,” Kenma said slowly. “Quietly. Without tripping a single alarm.”

“Exactly,” Akaashi replied. “We’re not the only ones watching. And if they’re starting with Seijoh…”

“…they might come for us next.”

Kenma stared down the hall, jaw tightening at the new information. 

“We’ll be ready,” he said after a beat. “I’ll make sure to scramble our data and resources, make it nearly impossible to track.”

Akaashi’s mouth curled into the barest hint of a smile. “That’s the spirit.”

Kenma simply hummed in response as they started to walk once again.

Akaashi gave a faint sigh, then lightly bumped Kenma’s shoulder with his own. “Don’t work too late tonight.”

“Don’t worry,” Kenma murmured. “I’m not planning to do any more work tonight.”

Akaashi looked at him, his brows furrowed, worry evident on the omega's face but Kenma didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t have the energy for that tonight.

They reached the hallway to Kenma’s room in silence, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air. The door to his room came into view, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

“Goodnight, Akaashi,” Kenma said quietly, hand already on the doorknob.

Akaashi offered him a small, knowing nod. “Goodnight, Kenma.”

Kenma turned the handle, slipping inside as the door shut with a soft click behind him.

When the door clicked into place the hum of the hallway light was immediately replaced by stillness. His room was dim, just a faint glow from his monitor screensaver casting soft shapes along the floor. It was cleaner than usual. Sparse. A few intel folders on the desk, a half-drunk mug of tea gone cold beside it. The air held lingering traces of cinnamon apples and fabric softener.

He exhaled, shoulders dropping.

Without thinking, his eyes drifted to the corner of his desk.

There it sat.

The small black cat plush, ears slightly bent, one embroidered eye a little crooked from years of wear. The soft fabric had worn with age. The last thing Kuroo had ever gifted him.

He took a step toward it.

His fingers twitched at his side, rising slowly, hesitantly, as if drawn by muscle memory more than intent. For a moment, his hand hovered above it, close enough to graze the soft fur.

But he didn’t touch it.

Instead his hand curled into a loose fist, then dropped back to his side and he turned away.

It had been months since the Hakone trip. Since he’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, Kuroo had survived. That somehow, through miracle or chance, his mate, the love of his life, was still alive .

But the man they’d seen hadn’t been Kuroo.

Just another phantom in the smoke.

Since then, something inside Kenma had gone quiet. Like a wire had snapped and he hadn’t bothered to fix it.

He crossed the room, pulling off his hoodie, tossing it on the back of the chair. His eyes flicked to the closet as he passed it, the door barely cracked open. From within, just barely visible between pressed suits and folded uniforms, was the edge of something dark and familiar.

Kuroo’s jacket.

The one Kenma had worn for years after the fall of Hakone. Carried like armor, slept in when the nights were too hollow to bear. The gentle, familiar scent had long since faded, but he'd clung to it anyway, breathless with longing and guilt.

But now, it hung limp and forgotten at the back of his closet.

He hadn’t worn it in months. Couldn't bear to touch it anymore.

Kenma didn’t bother changing out of his clothes. He let gravity guide him forward until he collapsed into his bed like a marionette with its strings severed, body folding lifelessly onto the mattress. The springs gave a soft creak beneath him, the sound swallowed quickly by the heavy silence of the room.

He stared up at the ceiling, motionless, letting the faint coolness of the fabric seep into his skin. The soft rhythm of the baseboard heater ticked in the distance, a lonely metronome keeping time with nothing.

His eyes shifted to the nightstand.

Bathed in the blue-grey light of the moon filtering through his curtains was the frame.

The photo.

The one he’d found half-buried beneath rubble in Hakone; dirt-smudged, glass shattered, edges crinkled but miraculously intact. He had cradled it like a lifeline when he’d first uncovered it, hands trembling, breath catching in his throat at the sight of Kuroo’s face. That ridiculous grin, that dorky pride as he stood behind Kenma, arms looped tight around his waist.

Kenma remembered everything about that day. The sun. The dirt under his nails. The feel of Kuroo’s chin hooked over his shoulder, warm breath against his neck.

He remembered smiling.

Actually smiling.

That photo had once been his most precious possession. Proof that happiness had existed. That it hadn’t all been a fever dream.

Now?

He looked at it and felt… nothing.

His chest didn’t ache. His stomach didn’t twist. No grief, no longing, no hope. Just an empty, echoing silence that rang louder than any scream.

His hand moved slowly, fingers closing around the edge of the wooden frame. He stared at the image, eyes tracing the lines of Kuroo’s face. 

Then, gently, almost tenderly, Kenma turned the photo face-down.

The soft thunk of the frame meeting the table was louder than it should have been.

It felt like an ending. Like a door closing with no intention of being reopened.

Kenma exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He turned onto his side, facing the wall, curling in on himself like a leaf that had finally dried out and given up on staying open to the sun. The room felt too big around him. The bed was too cold.

This was the part of the day where he’d talk to Kuroo.

Whisper to the empty air like Kuroo was still there listening. Tell him about new recruits. About the annoying way Hinata kept stealing his snacks. About how Akaashi always caught him gaming when he was supposed to be asleep. He used to fill the silence with Kuroo’s name, soft and aching.

But now…

Now the words sat like stones in his throat.

“What’s the point,” he mumbled, voice cracked and raw, “You’re dead.”

His fingers twitched, aching for something to hold onto, but there was nothing.

Kuroo was dead, he wasn’t coming back.

And Kenma had finally stopped pretending he was.

He stared at the wall until the soft hum of the room became a lullaby of indifference. His eyelids slipped closed. No dreams came to meet him.

Only silence.

Dark, unyielding silence.

Notes:

Hello my lovelies!!!

I really hope you enjoyed the chapter!!

I just wanted to let you know that I made an Instagram account for my fanfics!! If you want to follow me, you can find me at Chronic_Writers_Block

The image is a picture of my AU version of Kuroo, I don't have any posts right now, but I hope to post all the character designs on it. I will also be using the stories to update you guys if I'm running late on chapters!

Feel free to message me with any fanfic recommendations, or ideas you have. It is currently only on my iPad so it may take me a moment to respond but I should get it over on my phone soon!!

As always please leave me comment they help my motivation!

I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day, and I will see you all on Monday <3

Chapter 36: Bang

Summary:

Seijoh runs Point at Club Manticore.

(There are multiple perspective shifts in this chapter, please bare with me)

The sun hung low in the sky, slanting golden light through the windows of Seijoh’s underground operations hub, painting long shadows on the polished floors. The room buzzed with focused energy: low conversations, rustling of gear bags, the clatter of metal against metal. It was the kind of anticipation that always preceded a mission. A familiar type of controlled chaos. Precision honed by years of experience.

Oikawa stood at the center of it all, clipboard in hand, reading off the checklist with his usual exacting sharpness. His cinnamon-brown sugar scent was stronger than usual, a side effect of the pregnancy, but still warm and grounding, commanding the space with soft authority.

“Cameras?” he called out, tapping his pen on the clipboard.

“Loaded and pre-checked,” Kuroo answered without looking up, his voice a rough purr as he adjusted one of the dummy routers in a duffel. The man was dressed all in black, sleeves rolled up, gloves tucked into his belt, half his face cast in shadow. His scars pulled at the edges, but such was common these days so the alpha barely paid it any mind as he worked. His newly fashioned panther mask rested on the table beside him.

Oikawa nodded, ticking it off. “External sensors?”

“Running diagnostics now,” Osamu replied from where he was crouched beside a terminal, fingers flying across the keyboard. He hadn’t bothered pushing his gray hair back, loose strands falling across his brow, swaying with each keystroke. “All motion detection relays are green. No glitches so far.”

“How would you know?” Tsukishima drawled, walking into the room with his usual unimpressed look. He was already suited up in his lightweight tactical black, glasses reflecting the light, sleeves rolled up to reveal faint bruising on his arms.

Behind him, Yamaguchi trailed in, eyes a little dreamy, arms crossed over his chest. His soft magnolia scent drifted heavily through the room, the biological reaction to a pleased omega.

The room stilled for half a second, staring at the pair.

Then a loud wolf whistle from Osamu broke the silence.

Kuroo choked on a laugh. “Holy shit,” he grinned, eyes flicking from Yamaguchi’s neck to his collarbone to the angry scabs on his hips and arms barely hidden by his oversized sweater. “Were you mauled by a fucking bear last night or…?”

“More like hand-fed to one,” Osamu deadpanned, glancing up with a smirk. “You good, Siren, or do we need to stage an intervention?”

Yamaguchi flushed furiously, cheeks blooming pink, but his shy smile betrayed zero shame. “It was consensual,” he muttered, voice soft but proud.

“I knew you had a mean streak under that pretty-boy exterior,” Kuroo said, nudging Tsukishima with an elbow. “Crow, you gonna tell us what kind of shit you got into or just let your omega’s battle wounds speak for themselves?”

Tsukishima didn’t even blink. “I was just completing my task.”

“Oh I’m sure you were, you didn’t enjoy it at all.” Bokuto chimed in from the back corner, twirling a butterfly knife with bored ease, his tone a teasing lilt. “Yams looks like he just got chewed up and spit out.”

“I’m right here.” Yamaguchi groaned, trying to hide behind Tsukishima’s much taller frame, though the smile playing at the corners of his lips gave him away. “Stop acting like none of you like it rough.”

“I’m just saying,” Oikawa said sweetly, not looking up from his clipboard, “that if Iwa-Chan ever left marks like that, we’d be filing a police report.”

From behind him, Iwaizumi snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay.”

Oikawa began to yell protests but Iwaizumi just gave his mate's baby bump a pointed look, “How do you think we conceived our pup?”

Oikawa let out a dramatic gasp clutching his nonexistent pearls, “Hajime, don’t speak like that in the presence of our baby.” He said, laying a hand on his baby bump and smiling as their pup kicked.

Tsukishima sighed, ignoring the couple's teasing and ran a hand through his hair. Looking at his own mate, he couldn’t help but smile softly and pull Yamaguchi closer, one arm slung casually around his waist. “He’s got a part to play tonight,” he murmured, “we made sure it looked real.”

Kuroo cocked a brow. “You sure it was just for the mission?”

“I’m very committed to my work,” Yamaguchi said with mock-seriousness, tilting his head as he looked up at his mate with a smile, causing the deep bruise beneath his ear to catch the light. “Academy-worthy.”

“Method acting?” Osamu offered.

“Trauma bonding,” Bokuto countered with a grin.

Oikawa waved his clipboard in the air like a weapon. “Okay, okay, enough of the mating scars circle-jerk. We have a timeline. Focus.”

The teasing finally settled into snorts and chuckles as the mood shifted, the reminder of what was coming hung just heavy enough in the air to ground them. Everyone resumed what they were doing: gear checks, weapon calibrations, verifying digital maps, plugging in coordinates.

Iwaizumi moved beside Oikawa, his scent steadying, a subtle grounding weight in the chaos. He glanced over the list, then down to Oikawa’s midsection, hand brushing lightly over the swell under his mate’s sweater.

“You sure you want to run point from the basement?”

Oikawa didn’t even flinch. “It’s not like I’m fighting. Just giving orders. Besides, it’s not like I’m in any danger, no one knows who I am so…”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Just leaned in and murmured something against Oikawa’s temple that made the omega smile faintly.

Kuroo, recalibrating his hearing aid to their new comm frequency, caught the exchange and looked away, expression unreadable. His hand ghosted unconsciously up to the scarred mark on his neck, a mating bond never completed, before falling again to his side.

Yamaguchi noticed, about to speak up when he saw Osamu shake his head slightly.

Yamaguchi bit his tongue and turned back to his mate, allowing Osamu to help their friend.

With a cursory glance toward Iwaizumi and Oikawa, still tucked in their own world, Osamu stepped away from the weapons table and made his way to Kuroo, casual in a way only someone with deadly precision could be. He didn't say anything at first, just bumped his shoulder lightly against Kuroo's as he passed, then stood beside him, adjusting the sling on his rifle.

Kuroo didn’t look over, but his jaw flexed. Osamu leaned in just a little, voice barely above a whisper. “I got your back. Just relax, everything will go to plan.”

Kuroo didn’t react, shoulders still tense. Osamu rolled his eyes and tugged the alpha down to scent him. His pomegranate scent washing over Kuroo and soaking into him, smiling gently as the alpha finally began to relax. 

Osamu’s gaze flicked to Yamaguchi across the room, then back to Kuroo. “Just in case your head tries to turn inside out tonight. I’ll keep it straight.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just clapped a hand once on Kuroo’s back and turned away, already falling back into step with the final prep.

Kuroo exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening, everything would go to plan. Just breathe.

By the time the last checklist was ticked and the jokes had faded into focused silence, the team moved with the kind of smooth efficiency that only came from years of working in sync.

The room quieted, but not uncomfortably. Final calibrations gave way to quiet affirmations; tightening a strap here, adjusting a comm piece there. Bokuto handed Yamaguchi a skin-safe pigment stick, smirking as he tapped under his own eye. “Smudge it around, if you need to make the bruises look fresh.”

“Thanks,” Yamaguchi murmured, taking the stick and pocketing it in his bag.

Kuroo, adjusting the cuffs of his gloves, turned to face him. “You remember the safe phrase if it gets to be too much?”

Yamaguchi didn’t hesitate. “Yellow iris. If I say it, we bail. No heroics.”

Kuroo nodded once. “Good.” His voice was even, but something beneath it trembled, quickly tucked away behind a soldier's calm.

Nearby, Osamu clipped the last magazine into his tactical vest and stretched his shoulders with a soft grunt. “All files uploaded to the ghost drive. One ping from the relay, and the false cargo manifest leaks to Karasuno’s channels.”

“I’ll have eyes on their response in real-time,” Oikawa added, tapping his wrist console. “Once the bait lands, we can feed them a trail if need be.”

“Don’t get too smug about it, Pretty Boy,” Iwaizumi murmured, but his hand lingered briefly on the small of Oikawa’s back in a quiet gesture of support.

Kuroo crossed the room, slinging his coat over his shoulder, eyes flicking to the clock.

“We leave in five.” 

That was all it took. Everyone fell into motion with an unspoken ease, gathering bags, doing final weapon checks, swapping out suppressants and scent blockers. 

Yamaguchi took a small syringe, it contained a tracker just in case Karasuno found the one he’d be carrying, breathing in slow and deep as he pushed the needle into his thigh and injected it right under the skin.

Tsukishima approached him as he pulled the syringe free and handed his lover a small band-aid. Yamaguchi smiled at him, trading their objects and letting Tsukishima dispose of the used syringe. When the alpha came back, hands ghosted over his shoulders, adjusting the fall of Yamaguchi's oversized sweater.

“You sure?” Tsukishima asked again, voice low.

Yamaguchi nodded. “I’m sure.”

Tsukishima’s jaw tensed once like he wanted to protest, but stayed silent, only bending to press a kiss to Yamaguchi’s temple. “Be safe.”

Outside, the van was already prepped; dark, silent machines idling like beasts before the hunt. Summer heat clung to the air, golden light painting the compound walls in long shadows.

As the group filed out, the clatter of boots on pavement rang hollow for a beat, until Kuroo opened the passenger door and turned to Yamaguchi with a dry grin. “Ready for your big debut?”

Yamaguchi smiled, ducking into the vehicle with a theatrical sigh. “Let’s go cause a scene.”

And with that, the doors slammed shut, and the convoy pulled away from the safehouse, heading straight for Club Manticore.

They left the compound at 4 PM sharp, the sun still hanging heavy in the sky as the black, unmarked van rumbled down the quiet highway. Inside, the mood was focused; tense, but laced with an edge of shared familiarity, the kind that came from fighting too many battles side by side. It would take a little over an hour to reach Club Manticore, tucked deep into the heart of Seijoh’s sprawling territory, but no one was wasting time.

Yamaguchi sat in the middle row wedged between Kuroo and Tsukishima, a duffel bag balanced on his lap. His fingers fidgeting with the zipper while Tsukishima gently brushed their knees together in quiet reassurance. Kuroo rubbed his fingers over his mask, twisting it in his hands over and over, staring out the window at the passing city, jaw locked tight.

“We’ll have everything in place by 6:00,” Iwaizumi said from the driver's seat, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Kyoutani and Yahaba are scheduled to arrive around 9 o’clock tonight. Until then, no slip-ups. We need this to go off without a hitch.”

“They’re not gonna see it coming,” Osamu muttered from the back seat next to Bokuto, assembling his rifle with a casual air that made it seem like he was preparing for a game night.

“I still can’t believe I agreed to let Tadashi be paraded around like a discount escort,” Tsukishima grumbled under his breath, arms folded.

“It’s called dedication to the mission, Kei,” Yamaguchi said sweetly, which only earned him a long-suffering groan.

Oikawa chuckled from the passenger seat. “He’s right, you know. Our little starlet is taking one for the team.”

Kuroo finally turned away from the window as Oikawa began to address him. “Tetsu, stay sharp. They’re expecting to catch a trafficker tonight. Let them. I’ll give you a signal to drag Yamaguchi out into the back alley. He’ll act scared, hurt; look like he’s being punished for slipping up. That’ll draw Karasuno in, especially if they think they’re rescuing a victim.”

“Make sure your hits don’t leave bruises,” Tsukishima said flatly, honey eyes flicking toward Kuroo like a threat.

Kuroo gave a single nod. “Just enough to sell it.”

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi nudged him softly, “it’s okay. We talked about this. I’m ready.”

“I know,” Tsukishima mumbled, leaning in to press his forehead against Yamaguchi’s temple.

There was a long beat of silence, filled only with the hum of the engine and the sound of tires on asphalt. Then Bokuto’s voice came through from his spot in the back, beside Osamu, upbeat as ever.

“Gotta say, this reminds me of that old mission in Nagano,” Bokuto piped up, nudging Osamu with his elbow. “You remember that rooftop sting? You puked after that rappel.”

Osamu rolled his eyes without looking up from his rifle. “I puked ‘cause someone dropped a flashbang right by my face, idiot.”

“I still say it was a dramatic flare!” Bokuto grinned. “Worked though, didn’t it?”

“Barely,” Iwaizumi cut in, tone dry. “You nearly blinded the twins.”

“That’s what made it fun,” Oikawa said breezily, though his hand rested over his stomach protectively. His voice held that tight undertone, focused and sharp despite the banter.

Kuroo shifted beside Yamaguchi, watching his family. His gaze was cloudy though, not focused on what was happening. Yamaguchi bit his lip, he knew that Osamu said he should leave it but he couldn’t help it. Besides, if he didn't ask now he wouldn’t get an answer for at least another month.

“You good?” Yamaguchi murmured quietly, leaning into the alpha’s side.

Kuroo blinked, his eyes finally focusing again. He looked down at him. Something flickered in his eyes; guilt, maybe. Or dread. “Yeah,” he lied. “Just thinking.”

Yamaguchi reached down and squeezed his hand, steady and sure. “Don’t think too hard. We’ve got this.”

“We better,” Osamu muttered, checking the scope one last time before clicking it back into place. “A single wrong twitch tonight and Karasuno’ll be howling for blood.”

“They already are,” Oikawa muttered, eyes not leaving the road ahead. “We just need to make sure they don’t get a drop of it.”

Iwaizumi nodded grimly, turning onto the final stretch of road leading into the outer districts of Seijoh’s territory. The skyline grew dense here, tall buildings clustered like watching sentinels, neon signs flickering to life as dusk approached.

By the time the van turned onto the city outskirts, a few blocks from Club Manticore, the sun was sinking behind dark clouds, casting long shadows down the alleyways.

“We’re almost there,” Iwaizumi announced. “You all know your assignments.”

“Basement for me,” Oikawa said, flicking through his tablet with deft fingers. “I’ll have eyes on every hallway, every exit, every damn reflection. If Karasuno so much as sneezes wrong, I’ll catch it.”

“I’ll be with him as a body guard." Iwaizumi added firmly, already scanning their surroundings. “No one gets near Oikawa. If Karasuno makes their way into the club, be ready to come running.”

There was an affirmative sound from each member of the vehicle. No one would let anything happen to their pregnant leader.

“Sniper detail,” Osamu said, hefting the bag he was storing his guns in up above the seats to show off. “Bokuto and I are splitting rooftop views”

“Rooftop duty, my favorite,” Bokuto said, with a grin. 

“I’m going to the server room,” Tsukishima said, voice clipped. “I’ll know if Karasuno tries to breach our network and intercept them before they do.”

Kuroo spoke next, finally sliding the Panther mask back over his face. “I’ll wait until I get the green light to pull Tadashi.”

“Remember, subtle violence, no actual bruising,” Oikawa reminded firmly. “We need them to take the bait, not think it’s staged.”

Yamaguchi gave a thumbs up, duffel in hand, the straps of his too-tight club outfit hidden beneath a hoodie. “And I’ll be the leading role, a poor innocent omega, used and abused by Seijoh.” He said dramatically, a hand to his forehead as he leaned on Kuroo.

Kuroo gave him a half hearted smile, not visible from under the mask but there nonetheless.

Tsukishima pulled him off the alpha. “Stop torturing Kuroo.” 

Yamaguchi pouted but didn’t resist the pull, just leaning in and kissing his mate once.

“Yuck, PDA.” Osamu gagged and Bokuto giggled like a young child.

“Eww their kissing.” He said in a young voice.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have someone to kiss.” Tsukishima shot back and both of them reel back in fake hurt.

“Hey hey low blow!” They protested before devolving into another fit of giggles.

 

---

 

The van pulled into the gated underground lot beneath Club Manticore at 5:03 PM. The sun had been completely hidden by clouds, glowing dimly behind the dark canopy, but down here it was all concrete and cool shadows. Kuroo was the first to hop out of the car, his boots echoing faintly as he scanned the perimeter with sharp, practiced eyes.

He tapped the car once as he walked around it, examining the area before he tapped on the doors twice.

“Clear,” he called, and the others filed out after him.

The club didn’t look like much from the outside: just a slab of matte black steel tucked between two aging office buildings, its only signage a small silver manticore etched into the doorframe. It blended into the city like camouflage, the kind of place you wouldn’t glance at twice unless you knew what it really was. But stepping through the reinforced back entrance was like crossing into another world entirely.

Inside, Club Manticore breathed decadence. Velvet-lined booths curled along the walls like shadows, each one half-concealed by sheer drapes. Mirrored panels reflected slivers of movement and light, creating the illusion of depth and intrigue. The central stage rose like an altar from the floor, sleek and commanding, with chrome poles gleaming beneath a shifting wash of violet and ice-blue lights. Smoked glass tiles blanketed the floor, pulsing softly from beneath with embedded LEDs, a heartbeat made visible. Even in its pre-opening hush, the place hummed with anticipation, like it was waiting to come alive.

“Still can’t believe Oikawa wanted this place,” Osamu said as he followed the others in, slinging his gear bag off his shoulder. His voice was low but laced with disbelief, he had only been in Club Manticore once prior. “Didn’t he blackmail the old owner or somethin’?”

“No,” Kuroo replied without missing a step as he headed toward the security office. “He had me off him.”

Osamu paused mid-step. “Jesus.”

“That tracks,” Tsukishima muttered from behind, already adjusting his laptop case.

“Hey,” came Oikawa’s voice from behind them, smug and unapologetic. “Club Manticore is one of my best legal income streams. That’s what I call a good investment.” 

Kuroo snorted under his breath, but he didn’t argue. Because it was a good investment. The old owner had been neck-deep in trafficking rings; shuttling young, terrified omegas through the back corridors and locking them into silent contracts as strippers, escorts, or worse. When Kuroo had put a bullet in his brain, the club staff had scattered at first, afraid it was a changing of hands in name only. That the next alpha to claim the throne would be just another monster in a nicer suit.

But Oikawa had rewritten the rules.

He gave every dancer the choice to stay or walk. The ones who remained were granted full housing in the apartment complex across the street, no strings attached. Eighty percent of their earnings went into their own pockets. No more pressure to sell themselves, no more leering clients handed free access behind the curtains. Security doubled overnight, and then tripled. And anyone caught crossing the line, worker or client, was banned, blacklisted, or buried, depending on the offense.

Word spread fast after that.

Now, Club Manticore was a haven wrapped in glitter and steel, a safehouse posing as sin, where the dancers were family and every camera in the building was wired straight to Oikawa’s private servers.

They’d had many omegas, betas, and even alphas come to the club looking for safety in the only world they’d ever known.

They set to work quickly. Tsukishima and Osamu moved to the back alley, drilling tiny pinhole cameras into spots with maximum vantage, going as far as to install a few cameras in the surrounding buildings.

Yamaguchi helped set up the comm relays, hands deft as he secured wires under the booths. When everything was in place, the team took over a back staff room to set up a mobile command node. Iwaizumi’s laptop immediately lit up with a 6-screen grid showing every camera feed in sharp clarity.

“Perfect,” he muttered, adjusting the angle of one with his mouse. “We’ll see everything.”

Oikawa hummed as he went into the security office, readjusting the nearly 50 cameras to catch any activity. He even went as far as setting up a facial recognition software that would compare each image to the files they had on various Karasuno operatives.

The next couple hours passed in a strange, warm haze. The scent of familiarity lingered thick between them; magnolias, cinnamon brown sugar, pine, pomegranate, and petrichor. Laughter came easy. Kuroo and Bokuto mock-fought over who got the last protein bar. Tsukishima reconfigured the network’s firewalls with bored efficiency while Osamu narrated it like a cooking show. Even Iwaizumi smiled when he caught Yamaguchi trying to sneak annother energy drink.

But time ticked forward, and eventually, the roles they had to play returned to the forefront.

Yamaguchi disappeared into the back dressing room around 7:30, emerging ten minutes later dressed for his cover. Or rather, barely dressed.

His outfit was little more than sheer black mesh and leather strapwork; tight, low-slung shorts, thigh garters with silver clips, and a collar that Tsukishima had reluctantly helped him fasten. His hair was tousled on purpose, lips colored red, and the low light caught the glitter near his eyes. His exposed skin; shoulders, hips, neck; was littered with new bruises, fresh bites, and dark hickeys.

All Tsukishima could do was stare.

“…You okay?” Yamaguchi asked quietly, rubbing his arm when Tsukishima didn’t say anything.

“You’re beautiful,” Tsukishima said flatly. “But if anyone actually touches you, I will end a bloodline.”

Yamaguchi smiled. “I know. That’s why I’m not dancing for just anyone , remember? I’m bait.”

He reached for Tsukishima’s hand, interlacing their fingers.

“VIP?” Yamaguchi asked gently, voice quieter now that the sun was gone and the tension in the air had shifted.

Tsukishima nodded once, already pulling his omega just a little closer. “Please.”

As they headed toward the suite, Osamu called after them, tone teasing but laced with warmth, “Don’t have sex!”

Yamaguchi didn’t even break stride, he just flipped him off over his shoulder, and Tsukishima chuckled, steering them around the corner.

The suite they slipped into was the plushest in the entire club, one usually reserved for private shows or wealthy clientele who wanted discretion. But tonight, it was just for them. A sanctuary.

The lights were low and rich; mellow purples and warm golds painted shadows across velvet-lined walls. The air smelled faintly of amber and polished wood, and the circular booth curved along the back wall like a crescent moon, inviting and quiet.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Yamaguchi sagged against Tsukishima’s chest, seeking his warmth like it was instinct, and it was. Always had been. Always would be.

There was no hunger in the touch, no fire. Just comfort. Just them.

Tsukishima wrapped his arms around him tightly, resting his chin on Yamaguchi’s head and breathing in the scent he knew better than his own. “We’ve never gone more than three weeks without each other,” he said softly, almost like he needed the reassurance too.

“I know,” Yamaguchi whispered, curling his fingers into the back of Tsukishima’s shirt.

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. Tsukishima just held him tighter, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

The silence was broken by music beginning to play. Nothing like the usual pulsing beats. In its place was a softer melody spilling into the suite; old love songs from a bygone era, gentle and crackling like they were playing from a record. Not at all what the club usually broadcasted. Definitely not a coincidence.

Yamaguchi looked up at the corner camera and smiled knowingly. “Oikawa,” he said with a fond grin.

Tsukishima huffed a small laugh. “Hopeless romantic.”

The song shifted to Moon River, slow and nostalgic, a lullaby for lovers.

They started to sway.

It wasn’t intentional. It just happened , like breathing. A gentle rocking in time with the music. Tsukishima spun Yamaguchi slowly, their hands intertwining as they turned, before pulling him back in again. 

Yamaguchi looked at his mate, the honey eyes reflected pure love and contentment that made the omega’s breath hitch.

In the surveillance room tucked beneath Club Manticore’s foundations, the hum of monitors mixed with the soft music echoing faintly from above. The room was low-lit, bathed in a blue-gold glow from the screen reflections. Oikawa stood watching the monitors. One hand cradling the curve of his stomach, thumb brushing lazy, contented circles over the growing bump. His other hand cupped a warm ceramic mug; chamomile and honey, steeped just right, the steam curling softly into the dim light.

Behind him stood Iwaizumi, ever his quiet anchor, one arm around Oikawa’s chest, the other splayed wide beneath his belly, gently lifting the weight to relieve the pressure from Oikawa’s aching lower back. His hands were calloused and warm, steady and sure. They’d done this so many times before, this wordless exchange of comfort, that it no longer needed instruction. Iwaizumi simply knew .

He always seemed to know everything Oikawa needed.

They weren’t speaking. Just breathing.

The monitors played silent footage of the VIP room above, where Tsukishima and Yamaguchi swayed together, wrapped in each other like ivy and stone. The music drifted down through the vents: Moon River, slow and dreamlike, carried on Oikawa’s memory like a distant relative coming home at last. His gaze softened as he watched the two boys move together; not acting, not performing, just clinging in that soft, sacred way that only soulmates could.

Iwaizumi’s breath brushed against the shell of his ear as he leaned down, nuzzling his nose into Oikawa’s temple. His arms pressed just a little more firmly around him, grounding and gentle.

“They’re going to be alright,” he murmured, voice rough but quiet, like the crackle of a fire on a late winter night. “No matter what comes. They’ve got each other.”

Oikawa blinked slowly, eyes lingering on the screen. Yamaguchi’s laugh, real and unguarded, echoed softly from the overhead speakers. His heart squeezed at the sight of it. Of safety. Of love, hard-earned.

He tilted his head, resting it against Iwaizumi’s chest, letting the steady rhythm of his alpha’s heartbeat soothe him. He smiled, eyes glassy but bright.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Just like us.”

Iwaizumi kissed the crown of his head, lips lingering in his hair.

For now, in this moment, there were no enemy factions, no war drums beating outside. Just love. Just hope. Just two lives swaying to a song, and two more holding each other in the quiet dark, waiting for a new one to join them.

Just outside of the security room door, Kuroo, Bokuto, and Osamu had gathered, silent observers to a love that all three of them ached for in different ways.

Kuroo lifted his phone and snapped a photo of the pair dancing. Then another of Oikawa and Iwaizumi bathed in golden lamplight, the omega's head tilted back in perfect peace.

“I’m gonna pull the security footage,” he murmured. “So they can keep it. For later.”

His voice cracked just a little at the end, longing bleeding into his tone.

Osamu leaned against him, back to chest, close enough that his soft pomegranate scent wrapped around them both. “You ever wish you had that?” he asked, quiet and open in a way he rarely let himself be.

Kuroo nodded without hesitation. “Every day.”

Bokuto’s voice was even softer than theirs, but it cut the deepest.

“...I don’t think I’ve ever had anything close.”

That silenced them all.

Kuroo turned first, looping an arm around Bokuto’s shoulders. Osamu followed, tugging the other alpha in by the waist, until the three of them stood in a huddle of mismatched heartbreak.

They didn’t say anything for a while.

They didn’t have to.

Osamu, who had loved once and yet couldn’t remember it. Passed around like a toy until he was saved.

Kuroo, who still sometimes woke up reaching for a mate whose scent he hadn’t smelled in years, whose warmth he could still feel in dreams.

And Bokuto, who had always been loud, always been strong, and yet never enough for anyone who claimed to love him.

“At least we’re alone together,” Osamu said finally, with a tired, fond smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Kuroo gave a quiet, mirthless laugh. “Yeah. A tragic little trio.”

But they didn’t pull away.

They held on.

Just for tonight.

Because sometimes, even if fate had been cruel, especially when fate had been cruel, the only thing you could do was find warmth where you could, and hold it tight.

And maybe one day, they’d have their own song to dance to.

But for now, this would do.

This would be enough.

 

---

 

The bass inside Club Manticore, once distant and muffled like a heartbeat through a thick chest, grew louder, sharper. A deeper thrum began to vibrate through the floor beneath them. Pre-programmed tracks slipped seamlessly into the club’s live rotation. Red lights bled across the pavement outside as the main floor above flickered to life, and all at once, the stillness cracked.

Doors slammed. Footsteps echoed. Staff filtered in through the side and back entrances, dancers with sharp eyeliner and glitter covered bodies, barbacks hauling crates of liquor, security alphas nodding grimly to one another as they took position along the interior halls.

By 9:00 PM, the first patrons began to arrive, dripping with cologne and ego, laughter echoing too loud in the entryway. Inside, the fog machines hissed, and the lights began their slow dance; rotating in lazy, sultry circles that painted the hazy floor in multicolored streaks.

Down in the basement, the shift was seamless.

Osamu prepared his rifle, ready for his signal to leave the safety of the club. 

Kuroo slipped his mask on, burying himself in his persona, muscles coiled tight ready to spring.

Bokuto cracked his knuckles, golden eyes sharp and calculating as he prepared for a fight.

Oikawa straightened in his chair, the familiar click of buttons echoing in the quiet control room. The low hum of the monitors turned into a staccato rhythm as cameras locked into place. 

Iwaizumi, all steel and instinct, moved behind him without a word and began syncing the live feeds with backup storage.

“Ten o’clock,” Oikawa murmured. His voice, though soft, was all business now. “The mission is officially live.”

The words seemed to hum through the air, caught in the rhythm of pulsing bass and flickering lights. Somewhere above them, fog curled like smoke across the floor as the first wave of bodies spilled into the dance space, swaying in time with a pulse that echoed like a heartbeat. Heat and sound and scent flooded every inch of Club Manticore.

For exactly nine minutes, there was nothing but the drone of the music, the static of anticipation. Screens flickered. Cameras swept. Operatives held their breath behind half-closed doors and darkened rooftops, waiting for the moment the enemy would show its face.

And then—

“There they are,” Oikawa murmured, eyes narrowing. “Karasuno spotted on the outer perimeter. Owl, Kitsune, you’re good to go.”

His voice was smooth but sharp, echoing clearly through the comms. Iwaizumi, stationed just behind him, didn’t move from his guard post, but his hand subtly dropped to grip his holstered weapon, ready to draw and fire at a moments notice

“Copy that,” Bokuto replied easily, nodding at Osamu as they walked out of different exits. 

Bokuto adjusted the gray hoodie he was wearing, covering the Kevlar and secretly stashed blades. His face was bare, but his hood hung low. The smile that curved his lips was bright and disarming; the same easy going grin that had fooled hundreds before.

A figure darted across the alley up ahead, and Bokuto recognized the vibrant orange hair immediately.

Hinata.

The omega from Karasuno, a combat specialist. One they had flagged.

Bokuto continued to walk casually, blending into the crowd of people. The omega darted between a couple and straight into Bokuto’s chest.

Bokuto gave a fake jolt, “Whoa.” He said, voice loud enough to be heard but gentle enough not to startle. “Careful there, wouldn’t want you to get hurt now.” He gave Hinata a bright smile.

Hinata blinked, startled but polite. “Ah, thanks, sorry!” He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t see you there.”

“No harm done,” Bokuto said with a laugh, patting Hinata on the back. In the blink of an eye, a nearly imperceptible movement he slipped a sleek, near-microscopic tracker onto the inside hem of the omega’s jacket. “Have fun tonight.”

Hinata gave a friendly nod and jogged off. Bokuto's smile didn’t fade until the boy was out of sight, replaced with a glint of cold focus in his eyes.

“Tracker’s in place,” he whispered into the comms. “Update Kitsune.” He requested.

Osamu gave a hum into the comms, “Sniper in position, Apartment complex roof, north-east side,” he said low into his comm. “No backup near him.”

“Good,” Oikawa responded. “Stay on him. If he moves, you follow.”

The omega stood atop an opposing building, cloaked in darkness, wearing a matte-black half mask that obscured his face from the nose down. From a rooftop above he stared at Karasuno’s sniper, lying prone with his rifle half-assembled beside him.

The alpha was patient, calculating, watching through a modified scope down into the club’s rear alley. He’d have to make sure to stay one step ahead or he could risk a serious injury.

But Osamu didn’t make himself known, just crouched low behind the HVAC system on the roof, watching.

“He has an angle of the back exit, but it only stretches to mid alley, stay on the far right and he won’t be able to take a shot.” He informed his teammates, catching sight of Bokuto moving towards the building Karasuno’s surveillance team had claimed. He disappeared into the building’s front entrance and Osamu made sure the sniper hadn’t seen him.

Bokuto made his way up the maintenance staircase in the crumbling office building opposite Club Manticore, feet silent over old concrete, body hunched low as he climbed. Paint peeled along the walls like molted feathers, and rust ticked under his gloved hand as he eased the rooftop access door open just an inch, no more.

From the crack in the frame, the night spilled in.

There they were.

Tanaka Ryunosuke stood just above the Fifth landing of the fire escape across the alley behind Club Manticore, posture alert, eyes scanning the club's perimeter like a hound scenting blood. His stance was wide, solid, weighted like a man prepared for a fight. Bokuto had seen him before, had come across him with two other operatives several years back, he was a loud alpha, but not careless. 

Crouched beside him was someone else.

Smaller. Slimmer. Clad in black from head to toe, hood pulled low, face mostly shadowed beneath the amber spill of a distant streetlight. The figure didn’t move much; no fidgeting, no restless shifts or nervous tics. Just stillness. Tense, deliberate stillness.

Bokuto’s brows furrowed beneath his hood.

He didn’t recognize them. And that was a problem.

Karasuno didn’t usually send unknowns on recon unless they were reinforcements… or bait.

He leaned in a little closer, studying the way the figure balanced on the balls of their feet. Precise. Quiet. Calculated. Like they were used to watching others. Not being watched.

He tapped his comm softly, voice low. “Two operatives. Fifth floor of the back office building. One I recognize as Tanaka. Don’t recognize the other. Might be someone new. No tags on visible gear. They’re talking low, but it’s not tactical. Might be informal.”

A second passed. Then Oikawa’s voice came through, clipped and controlled: “Copy. Do not engage. We wait for Siren’s extraction. Keep visual.”

“On it.”

Bokuto leaned back into the shadows, the rooftop’s wind curling at the edges of his hoodie. His breathing slowed. He became still, an owl nesting in the rafters of a city that didn’t sleep. He kept his eyes on the pair across the roof, but his thoughts ticked forward, preparing for everything and nothing at once.

Time slid by. A beat. A breath.

The club pulsed to life.

Music throbbed against the bricks, bass shaking dust loose from the rafters. Through the smeared skylight behind him, flashes of red and violet cut across the hazy dance floor. More patrons had spilled in; drunk, perfumed, electric with weekend adrenaline.

As time passed, Bokuto counted three more Karasuno shadows moving back and forth between vantage points.

10:30 PM.

Exactly thirty minutes past the scheduled drop.

The club lights flared again. Someone laughed too loudly outside.

From his vantage, Bokuto felt it like static in the air, the way unease began to build across the rooftops. Like storm pressure.

Karasuno was getting antsy.

He could see it in the way Tanaka kept checking his watch, the way the hooded figure had risen to a slight crouch, head tilted toward the street like they were listening for engines.

Like they were ready to move.

Bokuto narrowed his eyes.

One misstep. One flicker of panic. One wrong move, and everything Seijoh had worked to stage tonight would unravel like thread through open hands.

He exhaled, slow and quiet, watching it all.

Waiting for his leader's signal.

Inside the basement control room, Oikawa leaned over the monitors, his fingers tightening over the mic switch. He could see Karasuno’s silhouettes, static on one rooftop, twitching on another, fingers tapping, eyes scanning. Restless. Suspicious.

It was time.

He clicked the comm.

“Panther. Siren. You’re up.”

 

---

 

Upstairs in the plush velvet lounge room just behind the main stage, Kuroo and Yamaguchi stood in the low blue light. Yamaguchi was adjusting the straps of his outfit to show off every fake bite, bruise, and hickey that had been carefully applied to his skin. His hair was messy and tangled, ruby red lipstick smudged, a dark blue collar snug around his throat. The picture of an omega freshly “used.”

Kuroo gave him a once-over, jaw tense beneath his mask. Then he reached forward and pulled him into a hug.

The hug was tight, conveying protection and apologies.

“Sorry in advance for what I’m about to say out there,” Kuroo murmured against Yamaguchi’s temple, voice roughened with guilt.

Yamaguchi snorted, a bit of nervousness cracking through his practiced smirk. “You better not go soft on me now. It’s all an act, remember?” He winked. “I’ll be offended if you don’t make it convincing.”

Kuroo huffed a laugh, brief but real, and pulled back just enough to grab his mask from the side table. Matte black. Full face. Feline eyes gleaming.

He slid it into place. The transformation was immediate. Gone was the gentle alpha who’d hugged his friend like an apology.

The man who rose from the velvet chair was a predator. Dangerous and silent.

Yamaguchi tugged at the collar, tilting his head to expose the bruises more clearly. He tousled his hair again with practiced flair and kicked off his shoes to match the image of a half-dressed omega dragged from the shadows.

“You’re not gonna hold back, are you?” he asked, voice high and teasing, but there was steel under it.

“Of course not.” Kuroo said with a fake sort of ease.

They made their way to the back of the club, unnoticed by the patrons.

Kuroo threw open the back door with a sharp, echoing crack. The noise cut across the quiet night like a gunshot. He stalked forward, one gloved hand gripping Yamaguchi’s upper arm as he half-dragged him out into the dingy ally.

“We have visual,” Bokuto murmured through the comm. “Panther and Siren, you have Karasuno’s attention.”

“Karasuno’s locked in.” Osamu added calmly, “Sniper’s got his scope on the back lounge exit. Don’t verge too far left or you’ll be open to fire.”

Kuroo registered the comment and made sure to avoid the left side of the alley.

Oikawa’s voice filtered through their earpieces, steady as steel. “Let’s give them a show.”

With a loud crack Kuroo slammed Yamaguchi against the alley wall with brutal force, his hand fisted into the omega’s top, dragging it up just enough to expose more of the bruises littered across his ribs and collarbone. His mask glinted under the weak neon, expression unreadable, but his body language was nothing short of lethal.

“You useless little omega!” Kuroo snarled, voice raw, harsh, animalistic, the voice modulator in his mask making it sound angrier. “What did I say about running your fucking mouth?! Huh?! Did you think you’d just shake your ass on that stage and no one would notice you sneaking glances at them?!”

Yamaguchi flinched expertly. His breath caught in a soft hitch, his whole body trembling as he let his back slide lower against the brick, legs giving out as if in sheer terror. He whimpered, eyes wide and glassy, scent spiking hard with chemical fear.

It was a perfect act. Not a single flaw.

And gods help him, Yamaguchi was this close to cracking up.

He stifled laughter as he looked at the expressionless mask.

“P-please—” he gasped, voice warbling, and buried his face into his hands to keep from grinning. “I-I didn’t mean— I didn’t—!”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Kuroo roared. He slapped the wall beside Yamaguchi’s head with a deafening slam, making sure the sound carried, because he knew the operatives on the rooftop were watching, two heads peaking over the edge of the building.

“You think just because Seijoh bought you, that makes you special?! You think they care?! You’re a fuckin’ toy, and I own you now.”

Kuroo leaned down sharply, close enough that his mask brushed Yamaguchi’s cheek. His voice dropped to a venomous snarl.

“You so much as blink wrong in there, and I’ll make you wish you’d never been born, omega.”

Yamaguchi shook beneath him, whole body heaving with breathless, hiccupping sobs.

Only, they weren’t real sobs.

He was laughing . Internally. Barely holding it together. His scent may have read as terror, but his brain was screaming: holy shit, Kuroo is the worst fake asshole I’ve ever seen, he sounds like he’s doing bad porn acting, oh my god don’t laugh, you will ruin everything—

“Y-you said you wouldn’t hurt me—” Yamaguchi whimpered, voice pitch-perfect for a terrified omega. “I-I thought—”

Kuroo grabbed his face roughly, gripping his jaw. “I lied.”

And for a moment, just beneath the mask, Kuroo’s eyes softened. A flash of guilt that couldn’t be seen. Sorry, Yams.

He didn’t let it linger. He yanked Yamaguchi upright by the back of his collar and threw him into the side of a dumpster with a resounding clang, making the omega crumple into a pathetic heap. No  real injury, just choreographed chaos.

Yamaguchi let out a broken sob and curled in on himself.

Kuroo paced like a beast, kicking a can aside and breathing heavy through his nose, the mask amplifying every exhale like a growl. Then, under his breath, so quiet only Yamaguchi could hear it—

“Doing okay?”

Yamaguchi hiccupped, then hissed under his breath behind a shaky hand: “I swear to god, if you make me laugh—if I laugh and ruin this—Oikawa will kill me—”

Kuroo barely grunted in acknowledgment, but his shoulders seemed to ease. The tension that he’d carried all day seemed to vanish at the confirmation that Yamaguchi, his friend, wouldn’t be scared of him.

Bokuto’s voice buzzed through Kuroo’s earpiece, “Karasuno is tense. The operatives seem to be arguing about what to do. 

“Keep it up,” Oikawa’s voice followed. “I want them to think Panther’s a loose cannon.”

Kuroo kicked the wall hard again, making Yamaguchi scream on cue. The omega writhed and sobbed, nails clawing at the pavement as he cried, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please—!”

Another slam. Another shout.

Kuroo dropped to his knees beside him, grabbed a fistful of Yamaguchi’s hair, and yanked his head back with a sharp snarl .

“Say you’re mine.”

Yamaguchi stared up, eyes glassy, pupils blown. “I—I’m yours,” he whispered. “Yours, Panther, please—just let me-”

“Louder.”

“I’M YOURS!” he screamed.

Tsukishima gagged over their comms, “Disgusting.” he muttered.

Yamaguchi hiccupped and rasped out, “I deserve a fuckin’ Oscar for this.”

Kuroo smirked behind the mask. “I’ll personally steal one for you.”

Then he stood and dragged the omega to his feet, one arm clamped hard around Yamaguchi’s waist as he guided him back toward the service entrance of the club; limping, shaking, and humiliated.

Every action was bait.

And Karasuno took it hook, line, and sinker.

The alley echoed with the sound of snarled curses and panicked breath. Kuroo slammed Yamaguchi against the grimy brick wall for the third time when Yamaguchi made a show of trying to run. The omega flinched on cue, trembling like a leaf in the wind, his scent blooming with a sickeningly convincing cocktail of fear, humiliation, and submission.

“You worthless little slut,” Kuroo growled, voice roughened to a guttural rasp. The modulator inside his Panther mask added distortion, making him sound almost inhuman. “You think disobeying me is funny? Think I won’t rip that pretty throat of yours open in front of the whole damn club?!”

Yamaguchi whimpered, fake tears starting to roll down his cheeks, shoulders trembling and head ducked. His voice quivered, perfectly broken. “I–I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—! Please, I’ll be good—!”

Behind the mask, Kuroo’s jaw clenched. His stomach churned, act or not, he hated this. He hated every second of it.

Kuroo yanked Yamaguchi forward and shoved him back again, just hard enough to make it believable. The omega let out a cracked sob.

“You’re lucky Seijoh paid good money for your ass,” Kuroo snarled. “If it were up to me, I’d string you up and let the dogs tear you to shreds!” Kuroo raised his hand.

It hung there in the air for a split second too long, like a glitch in time, his body frozen, breath stuck in his throat.

Yamaguchi’s face was tilted just right, cheek bared in anticipation, posture wilted and perfect. The bruises painted across his collarbone made the omega look heartbreakingly real. Small and breakable.

Kuroo’s hand trembled.

Hit him. Just hit him. You’ve done worse in the field. You’ve broken bones before. You tortured and killed people. You can fake one slap.

But it wasn’t just a slap.

It was Yamaguchi.

It was his family, someone who trusted Kuroo enough to be afraid only on the surface.

He inhaled sharply trying to regain his composure, but his nose caught a sudden, strange scent—

Cinnamon apples.

Sharp, warm, delicate. So familiar it carved into Kuroo like a blade, and for a second, the world narrowed.

It flooded his lungs like memory, too intimate. Too warm. Too soft. Too gone .

Ken-

He didn’t finish the thought.

Because that’s when Bokuto’s voice; urgent, sharp, and far too late; crackled in his ear, “Panther! MOVE — ”

The gunshot cracked through the alley like lightning.

Agony bloomed through Kuroo’s upper arm with a sudden, nauseating heat.

“ Fuck! ”

His body spun with the force, stumbling back and slamming into the ground. His mask knocked hard against the edge, the modulator giving a sharp electric whine as he caught himself before crumpling completely.

Yamaguchi startled so hard he nearly broke character, mouth falling open in horror.

“Shit, Kuroo?!”

His comms exploded with noise: Bokuto shouting, Oikawa demanding a report, Iwaizumi swearing—

And someone else, Tsukishima maybe?, yelling, “ Get him out! Move now! ”

Before Yamaguchi could break his cover and help, a flash of orange darted into the alley.

Hinata.

The Karasuno omega sprinted into view, eyes wide with alarm, and grabbed Yamaguchi by the wrist. “Come on! We gotta GO!”

Yamaguchi faltered, eyes flicking toward Kuroo, whose mask had slipped slightly with the impact. His blood was darkening his suit, dripping onto the pavement.

“Wait, I—!”

Hinata yanked him again, harder. “NOW!”

Kuroo’s vision blurred. He clutched his bleeding arm, hissing between gritted teeth. The pain radiated through his arm like a fire alarm, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise in his own head.

Cinnamon apples.

That wasn’t real. That wasn’t him.

His nose, damn thing, was still unreliable. Still broken from the fire. It had gone haywire earlier in the week picking up phantom scents in the compound cafeteria. This was the same thing.

It had to be.

Because otherwise—

No.

He can’t think about this. Not right now. Not when everything was riding on this. Not him .

A second shot rang out, and Kuroo’s body jerked like he’d been hit again.

Kuroo blearily watched as Yamaguchi was dragged away by his arm.

He didn’t resist. He didn’t even glance back. His legs were shaky, face pale, performance flawless.

Kuroo sagged down the wall, sliding to the ground in a half-collapse as he pressed his good hand against the bleeding wound.

Oikawa’s voice cut through like a blade. “Kuroo, report. Are you compromised? What’s your status?”

Kuroo’s head thunked back against the wall.

“I’m… fine,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure anyone believed him. He adjusted the modulator just enough to make it sound like a groan, then let his body sag further; arms loose, vision tilting sideways as blood gushed out of the wound.

He was slightly worried it had nicked an artery, but logically he knew he'd already be dead if that was the case.

But it wasn't just pain.

It wasn’t even all the lost blood.

It was the scent. That fucking phantom scent.

He told himself again, firmly: It wasn’t him. My nose is still fried. It wasn’t—

He wasn’t sure if he blacked out.

One second, the alley was spinning, the scent still clogging his senses like smoke, and the next boots were slamming down near him and a familiar voice, low and panicked, snapped him back to reality.

“Panther, are you okay?!”

Bokuto.

Kuroo blinked sluggishly, vision stuttering as he tried to focus. He must have gone limp for real, because his arms were being looped over someone’s and hauled up in short, rough movements.

“I’m good,” he slurred, even though he very much wasn’t. But the lie slipped out easy, automatic, almost comforting.

He didn’t register Bokuto’s reply, his mind replaying the events again and again.

 

---

 

Bokuto had seen the glint of metal from the rooftop.

His heart had stuttered in his chest as the shape formed; gun, raised, aimed, and for a split second he couldn’t breathe.

Kuroo was directly below. 

They were aiming for Kuroo.

“Panther! MOVE—!”

His shout came too late.

The crack of the gunshot rang out like thunder, echoing across the skyline. Bokuto’s hands twitched, his instincts screaming to move, but the comms exploded in chaos before he could do anything else.

“Where’d the shot come from?!” someone barked.

“One of the operatives here shot it!” Bokuto snapped, voice clipped, already rising from his crouch. “They startled, I don’t think they hit where they were aiming.”

“Focus on Kuroo!” Oikawa barked in his ear. “Get him out of there. Yahaba and Kyoutani will trail Karasuno in the van.”

Bokuto didn’t hesitate.

He was already running, boots slamming against the roof. Ahead, he could see the two figures still hunched near the ledge. Both of them tensed when Bokuto sprinted toward them, shoulders squaring to fight.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t draw his weapon. Didn’t even look at them long.

He vaulted the roof’s edge in one clean leap, catching the fire escape railing and swinging down like a goddamn wrecking ball. The clang shot through the night, louder than the gun, probably too loud, but subtlety was never his thing anyway.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he was sprinting again.

Kuroo was slumped against the alley wall, suit blooming red at the shoulder, mask knocked slightly askew, but it was still covering his identity. Blood painted the pavement beneath him.

“Panther, are you okay?!” Bokuto asked again, this time more urgently as he knelt beside his best friend.

“I’m good,” came the hoarse reply. Barely above a whisper. A lie if Bokuto had ever heard one.

“Bullshit,” Bokuto muttered, looping an arm under his partner and hoisting him to his feet.

He didn’t wait. The door was still cracked open from earlier, he saw Karasuno’s retreating figures vanishing into the shadows beyond. Bokuto got Kuroo inside before it slammed shut behind them.

They were back in the pulsing dark of the club, lights strobing overhead, music thudding low like a heartbeat in the walls. Bokuto pushed forward, half-carrying Kuroo through a side hallway, moving quickly toward the hidden stairwell near the supply crates.

The second he reached the reinforced back room, the door opened with a hiss and Iwaizumi was already waiting, eyes hard and focused.

“Down,” he ordered.

Kuroo grunted, staggering toward the makeshift med cot, blood soaking through the tactical mesh. Iwaizumi shoved gear off Kuroo, ripping open his jacket and Kevlar suit.

“Did it go through?” Bokuto asked, breath still sharp from the run.

“No.” Iwaizumi said, not looking up as he worked on stabilizing Kuroo. “I have to dig it out.”

Kuroo hissed, but didn’t argue.

Bokuto backed off just enough to not get in the way, but his eyes stayed locked on Kuroo’s face, watching the twitch of his jaw, the way his pupils dilated unevenly.

His partner wasn’t just hurting.

He was rattled.

Bad.

And Bokuto had a sinking feeling it wasn’t just from the bullet.

He filed the thought away, jaw tight, and listened as Iwaizumi barked for antiseptic and gloves. The mission had gone to hell in an instant.

And something told Bokuto, this was just the start.

 

---

 

The shot cracked through the sky like a whip, sharp and sickening.

Osamu flinched where he crouched near the northwest rooftop, low behind a cluster of ventilation units. His ears rang. The air shifted, vibrated, and for a second, time dragged, syrup-thick and tense.

Then came the shouting. Bokuto. Oikawa. Static-laced panic cutting through his earpiece. The words barely registered because his instincts were already screaming.

Move.

Something shifted below him: light, fast footsteps. Not retreating like Karasuno had done, not controlled like his allies’ steps. 

Running.

Osamu rose in a smooth, predatory motion, eyes narrowing toward the far end of the rooftop. Movement. The sniper’s silhouette peeling away from the ledge, trying to vanish.

His muscles coiled before his brain caught up. In a flash, the omega was after them, yanking his mask higher to cover more of his face, boots pounding over the gravel-coated rooftop with deadly intent. The figure bolted faster, long legs cutting through the darkness. Tall. Lean. Alpha, definitely. Their scent was muted by a scent patch, but the smell of petrichor faint but distinct  clung to the air, trailing like a wire Osamu was determined to follow.

“You better pray I don’t catch you,” Osamu growled under his breath as he chased after the alpha.

The sniper vaulted a ventilation pipe and aimed for the next ledge, but Osamu was already there; faster, sharper, and pissed off. He launched himself from the rooftop.

They hit the new building’s edge in a blur of limbs and impact. Osamu tackled the alpha mid-stride, slamming them both onto the gravel roof with a dull, heavy thud. Dust rose. The sniper grunted, trying to twist out of his grip, but Osamu was already on top, knee pressing into their sternum, hand wrenching the rifle from their grasp and flinging it out of reach.

“Where do you think you’re going, asshole?” he snarled.

The alpha struggled beneath him. His face was hidden behind a partial mask, hightech goggles and a hood, but when Osamu yanked it down, ready to press a blade against his throat, his breath caught.

Not because the guy looked dangerous.

But because—

He knew this face.

Not from Seijoh intelligence briefings. Not from some training video or old recon photo.

From somewhere deep.

Something ancient. Something before .

Before the trafficking ring that took everything from him.

A sharp inhale. The blur of jade green eyes, familiar and disarming. A smile he knew like the back of his hand, a laugh that made him swoon.

A boy, younger, standing in the sun, looking out into a field. Green eyes bright with love and a stitched-up knee Osamu had cleaned in secret when no one was watching.

The memory was like a knife to the skull, too fast to be complete, too slow to be ignored.

“Wait—” Osamu faltered, the weight of the moment catching him off guard. “You…”

The sniper’s knee slammed into Osamu’s side.

Pain exploded through his ribs, snapping him out of it. Osamu hissed and staggered, just barely managing to twist away before the alpha could land another blow.

The guy scrambled for his rifle, but Osamu kicked it across the rooftop again, this time drawing his sidearm and leveling it at the alpha’s chest.

“Don’t move,” he growled. “Or I’ll put you down.”

The alpha froze, chest heaving.

Osamu’s hands shook, not from fear. From rage . From recognition he couldn’t explain. From the crackling void in his memory that had just whispered a name he couldn’t quite hear.

He took a step forward.

Then Oikawa’s voice roared through the comms. “Kitsune! Stand down. You hear me? LEAVE IT. We have what we need. Return to base.”

Osamu’s jaw flexed.

His gaze didn’t waver. “You’re lucky,” he said, voice low with rage. He didn’t hesitate to fire a shot that buried itself into the concrete wall right next to the alpha’s head

He backed off, slow and controlled.

The sniper didn’t move again, just stood there, chest rising and falling fast, goggles still askew. Osamu turned, sprinting across the rooftop towards the edge.

Like Bokuto, he vaulted off the roof, caught the rusted fire escape, and dropped down toward the alley below, heart still thudding hard, not from the exertion.

But from a memory.

The one he wasn’t supposed to have.

The one that had long since disappeared.

He looked back once, seeing the alpha retrieve his gun and run off into the night, presumably back to Karasuno.

He shook his head violently and pushed into the hidden entrance like a storm, shoving open the side panel and slipping back into the pulsing underbelly of the club. Music and light clawed at his skin as he barreled through the crowd.

By the time he hit the reinforced hallway, sweat beading on his brow, the stench of antiseptic was already filling the air.

He entered just in time to hear Kuroo grunt in pain, jaw clenched around a scream as Iwaizumi dug into his shoulder.

“Hold still, or I’ll tie you down,” Iwaizumi muttered through gritted teeth.

Blood coated his gloves. A scalpel gleamed under the stark overhead light. Kuroo’s suit was peeled back, his black mesh shirt cut to the collar. The bullet hadn’t passed through. It was still inside, buried deep in muscle.

Osamu paused at the edge of the room, panting quietly.

Bokuto stood nearby, arms crossed tight, pacing just behind Iwaizumi.

“You should’ve seen the shot,” Bokuto said, voice low. “It wasn’t a kill strike. Whoever pulled the trigger flinched. Could’ve been nerves or—”

“Or remorse,” Osamu cut in, tone sharper than he intended.

Iwaizumi didn’t look up. “Or they were aiming for something else.”

Silence bloomed for a beat, heavy and too aware.

Osamu’s eyes lingered on Kuroo.

The alpha was still pale, face drawn tight with pain, but conscious.

“Kuroo?” he asked.

Kuroo’s lips twitched. “I’m alright,” he rasped.

Liar.

Osamu looked away, jaw still tight, mind still a mess of blurred memories and green eyes. He shoved the image down. Locked it away.

Not now.

Not when this mission was already going to hell.

Not when the sniper had a face that didn’t belong to a stranger.

Not when, for the first time in years, something inside him remembered what it felt like to care about someone he thought had been erased forever.

Osamu is yanked from his thoughts when he hears Kuroo muffle a shout.

He looks over to see the bullet finally dropped into the metal tray, slick with blood. Iwaizumi muttered something low under his breath, reaching for gauze, then the suture needle.

Kuroo hissed, his body jerking slightly before Bokuto’s hand pressed down hard on his leg, keeping him grounded.

“You’re lucky,” Iwaizumi grunted, stitching fast and brutal. “A few centimeters to the left, and you’d have bled out in a matter of minutes.”

Kuroo didn’t flinch this time. He just let out a shuddering breath, head tipped back against the cold wall behind him, sweat slicking the sharp lines of his jaw. 

“Might’ve made for a cooler scar.” He said gruffly.

Bokuto let out a breathy laugh that held zero humor. “You’ve got enough cool scars. Leave some for the rest of us.”

“Yeah, and you’ve done enough reckless stunts,” Iwaizumi snapped, yanking off the latex gloves and tossing them into the bin. “You move that arm too much and I will strap you down to a hospital bed, you hear me?”

Kuroo gave a sluggish nod, eyes glassy with lingering pain but alert.

When Iwaizumi finally stepped back, Osamu walked closer. The blood had already started to dry around the wound, the bandage tight against Kuroo’s shoulder.

Osamu finally spoke, voice rough. “Kuroo… What happened?”

Kuroo, still pale, turned his head slowly to look at him.

Osamu raised an eyebrow. “You don’t make mistakes. Not in the field. That shot should’ve never landed.”

Kuroo’s gaze dropped to the tiled floor, flexing his fingers experimentally and wincing at the pain that shot through his arm.

Then, quietly he spoke. “My nose just decided to fritz out at the worst time.”

Osamu blinked. “What?”

“I thought I smelled…” Kuroo hesitated. “Something familiar. A scent I haven’t caught in a long time. My instincts went haywire, I dropped my guard for a second.”

Bokuto frowned. “Wait—you smelled…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kuroo said quickly, the words sharp, almost too sharp. He shook his head. “It wasn’t real. Just a phantom scent. Must’ve been the chaos throwing me off.”

Silence again.

But Osamu watched him closely.

And though Kuroo’s body language screamed ‘drop it,’ Osamu knew that look in his eyes. Haunted and shaken.

He sat down next to Kuroo’s good side with a grunt, shoulder to shoulder, letting the silence stretch for a long moment.

He leaned his head on Kuroo’s shoulder, softly murmuring, “I saw a ghost too.”

Kuroo turned his head.

Osamu didn’t look at him. He stared straight ahead, voice distant. “The sniper I chased down. He got sloppy. Let me get close. I pulled his mask and… I knew him.”

Bokuto’s brows furrowed. “Knew him how?”

“Not from a mission. Not from intel. I mean…” Osamu swallowed. “I knew him before. ”

Iwaizumi froze, lifting his head slowly.

“There was a flash, just a second.” Osamu’s voice dropped. “A memory. Jade eyes. A laugh. Someone I bandaged up behind a barn and never told anyone about. And it felt real . Like I’d been there. Like I’d cared for him.”

Kuroo’s throat worked. “You think he was from your suppressed past?”

“Could be,” Osamu muttered. “Or I’m just getting nostalgic. Whatever it was, I didn’t pull the trigger when I should have.”

He turned and looked at Kuroo finally, meeting his eyes.

“Guess we both met skeletons tonight.”

Kuroo’s lip quirked faintly, but the smile was a wry one. “Yeah.”

Bokuto sighed and clapped a hand on both their shoulders making Kuroo hiss in pain. “Oh shit, my bad.” He said sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as Kuroo half heartedly glared at him. 

The room was still. Quiet.

Just the distant thump of bass from the club overhead. The sterile hum of lights. The muffled hiss of the air filter.

Several soft beeps broke the silence.

A message in morse code that had Tsukishima shooting upright.

‘I-M- O-K- M-I-S-S-I-O-N- S-U-C-C-E-S-S’

Tsukishima sagged back into his chair with a sharp exhale. Relief flooded the room in slow, creeping waves.

“Thank god,” Bokuto mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I was worried we’d lost him for a second because of the chaos.”

From the surveillance hub in the corner, Oikawa gave a strained groan and collapsed into his chair, one hand bracing his lower back, the other protectively curled over his bump.

Iwaizumi was at his side in seconds.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching down.

“I’m fine,” Oikawa muttered, but his hand didn’t move. “Just tired. Kid’s kicking like they want out early.”

“Not happening,” Iwaizumi said, rubbing slow circles into his thigh. “You’re on lockdown until we get home.”

“Asshole,” Oikawa muttered, leaning into the touch anyway.

From the corner, Bokuto grunted. “I don’t know about you all, but I am done . Can we go home now? My legs are cramping, my ears are ringing, and I need a long relaxing shower after this mess.”

“Home sounds good,” Iwaizumi murmured.

Oikawa nodded faintly, eyes closed now, breath evening out.

The club’s pulse still throbbed faintly in the background, muffled by the reinforced doors. Outside, the city stirred, unaware of the close calls that had just passed like ghosts through its veins.

Inside, the Seijoh team began to regroup battered, bruised, but intact.

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies!

Gods I'm tired! I pulled an all nighter to get this posted. I think I need to change my posting schedule to Wednesdays and Fridays!

That being said I hope you enjoyed the story and if you want to have regular updates, chat with me, or just find a community that likes my story come follow me on instagram! (My username for insta is the same as the one here!)

I don't have any posts up yet, but I use my story to update everyone on what's going on. I will be posting the character designs over there when I get the chance.

That being said, I need a nap!

I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, and I'll see you on Friday <3

Chapter 37: Shots in the Dark

Summary:

Karasuno's perspective of the Seijoh Mission

The manor was unusually quiet for 11 a.m. No sparring in the courtyard. No laughter echoing from the east wing kitchen. Just the sound of soft footsteps and the occasional metallic click of a gun being cleaned. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, it felt coiled, like a viper ready to strike.

Karasuno never took a mission lightly, but this was different. The sheer weight of it all pressed against the walls, pressing down on every shoulder in the room. A quiet concentration that made the common room feel like a funeral procession.

“Are you worried?” Suga asked his mate, voice soft as he adjusted the final strap of an extra first aid kit, double-checking its contents with practiced fingers. His eyes flicked toward the operatives gathered across the room, their hands moving in near silence as they prepped supplies, like the briefest mistake could shatter the calm.

“I am,” Daichi admitted from behind him, his voice low and grim. The alpha’s spice cake scent hung thick in the air, comforting yet heavy, like a weighted blanket during a thunderstorm. He leaned forward, resting a firm hand on the small of his mate’s back. “But I trust them. They know what they’re doing.”

Suga nodded, but didn’t answer. Instead he simply leaned into the alpha’s touch, drawing steady strength from it as his gaze swept over the room again.

Everyone was tense. Every breath felt measured. A cloud of anxiety clung to the walls, stifling any attempt at casual conversation. There was no teasing. No last-minute jokes. Just the rustle of gear, the whisper of zippers, the shuffle of boots across hardwood.

Around the main operations table, bags were being checked, double-checked, zipped, and reshuffled. Rows of weapons glinted under the overhead light: polished blades, compact handguns, smoke grenades. Comm units were tested one by one, each soft click adding to the growing list of things that could go wrong. Trauma kits were overflowing, stuffed to the brim with gauze, blood coagulators, auto-injectors, suppressants, and anything else they would possibly need.

Just in case.

Because this was Seijoh.

Not some back-alley dealer or petty rogue syndicate. This is the most dangerous syndicate in the country. The apex predator. Swift, precise, and unrelenting. Their reputation wasn’t just earned, it was soaked in the blood of thousands.

Their very name was a harbinger of death.

“Has anyone seen my blade oil?” Hinata called out, perched on a stool by the weapons table. His orange hair was pushed back by a black headband, and his small hands moved quickly, threading throwing blades into their leather straps with practiced ease. 

Kageyama appeared beside him without a word, the bottle already in hand. His eyes scanned Hinata once, quickly and thoroughly, before adjusting the shoulder sheath on his jacket with careful, practiced fingers.

“You’re lopsided,” he muttered, tugging one strap tighter and smoothing the collar of the omega’s jacket. “If you shift too fast, the weight will pull you off your axis.”

Hinata stilled under his touch, gaze lowering, and simply allowing his mate's dark chocolate scent to curl around him protectively. His usual energy had dulled to something quieter. Not fear, never that. But the kind of anxiety that sank into your skin and stayed there. He didn’t speak, just watched Kageyama’s hands, his small chest rising and falling too fast.

“Be careful,” Kageyama murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Hinata leaned up and kissed his cheek, quick as lightning, warm as flame. No words. Just a simple promise, before slipping from his stool again, vanishing into motion like a spark dancing on kindling.

At the opposite end of the room, Akaashi was methodically organizing wires into his pack: comms, trackers, camera interceptors, signal scramblers. Every item had its place, every coil had to be wrapped just so. His fingers trembled slightly as he snapped a small toolkit shut with more force than necessary. White jasmine curled faintly into the air around him, sharp and clean, but with an edge of tension that clung to his clothes like static.

He wore all black, nothing flashy; slim-fitting, tactical, and silent in motion. The way he always dressed when he needed to disappear. His expression was calm, lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes gave him away. Alert, but not steady. Flickering with too many thoughts, the what ifs running rampant in his mind.

A shadow passed behind him.

“First recon since the Kitagawa mission, huh?” Suna’s voice was low and lazy, but there was a subtle sharpness underneath it, like a blade sheathed in silk. He adjusted the strap of the rifle bag slung across his back, the scent of petrichor rolling off him; fresh, earthy, and charged like the moment just before lightning hits. “You sure you’re up for it?”

Akaashi glanced up, one brow raising with tired precision. “I wouldn’t be going if I wasn’t.”

Suna gave him a faint smile, not mocking, not disbelieving. Just… familiar. “Didn’t say you weren’t,” he said, and nudged the omega’s elbow gently. “Just don’t get heroic. Stay in the van. You’re too pretty to be scraped off the pavement, Akaashi.”

Akaashi snorted under his breath. “Sniping from an unstable rooftop is the risky part, Suna. I’ll take my wires and cramped bench seat over that any day.”

Their banter was soft, low-volume, but comforting in the quiet that blanketed the room. It was a rhythm of clipped sarcasm and dry wit, it was their routine, it was safe. It had taken years, but they’d built this strange, solid camaraderie. They trusted each other in the field, and even more in silence.

Hinata had teased them once, wiggling his eyebrows while elbowing Akaashi during a late-night planning session. “You two are so synced it’s kind of suspicious,” he’d laughed. “Are you sure it’s just a partnership?”

Akaashi had only rolled his eyes, too pragmatic for romance. But Suna… Suna had gone still. He’d smiled this sad sort of smile, a far off look in his eyes. There was something in it, something hollow, something Akaashi had seen pass on Kenma’s face thousands of times.

“I’ve got my heart set on another omega,” Suna had said, and that was that.

Akaashi didn’t press. He never would. But the confession had settled the lingering unease Akaashi felt around the alpha. It was easier knowing Suna’s heart was already elsewhere. There was a sense of relief Akaashi had felt knowing he didn’t need to worry about catching the alpha’s eye.

“Alright,” Akaashi said now, glancing at the time. “We’re at minus twenty-five. Final gear check.”

Suna nodded and moved on, calling for Tanaka as he slung his rifle up again. Akaashi stood alone a moment longer, adjusting the frequency dials on his comm units, then snapping his pack shut.

Near the east windows, Asahi was crouched in front of Nishinoya, fingers deftly tugging at buckles, adjusting thigh holsters, checking the weight distribution on the omega’s knives.

“Your ankle blade’s loose,” he murmured, testing the strap again. “Tighten it or it’ll slide mid-run.”

Noya scowled playfully, lifting his foot. “It’s fine, I adjusted it earlier.”

“There’s too much slack in the sheath.” Asahi’s voice was gentle but firm. “You won’t feel it until it’s too late.”

“Ugh, fine.” Noya pouted, but let his mate fix it, watching the alpha’s hands as they moved. He fidgeted slightly as Asahi rose to his full height and adjusted the clips on his vest.

Their scents were tangled, like always. Pine, lemons, and lavender. It clung to their skin and clothes, worn like armor. After all the years together; the raids, the nightmares, the nights spent side by side, it was nearly impossible to tell where one scent ended and the other began.

“Did you pack your first aid kit?” Asahi asked, voice hushed.

“Three of ‘em,” Noya said, flashing him a smile. “You act like this is my first rodeo.”

“It’s not,” Asahi said, leaning in, their foreheads pressed together, “but I like knowing you’ll be here for the next one.”

Noya tapped Asahi’s chest twice, a signal only they used. “You’re fussing.”

“You’re twitchy,” Asahi countered, deadpan.

“Because it’s Seijoh, Asahi. Because this mission could go sideways fast . ” Noya’s voice pitched up, his nerves spiking. “You’ve seen the reports. You’ve seen what they do to people. And this is just recon. What happens when it’s not?”

Asahi didn’t answer right away. He took a slow breath, grounding himself before reaching over and adjusting the comm bead in Noya’s ear.

“Then we adapt,” he said simply. “Like always. You’ve got eyes like a hawk and reflexes better than most operatives I know. And I’m right behind you.”

That calmed Noya a bit. Just a little.

“…You better be,” he said, quieter this time. “Because you’d be a pretty shitty mate if you just let me die in vain.”

Asahi snorted, “We wouldn’t want that,” Asahi said, leaning down to press his forehead to Noya’s. “Don’t worry, I’d slaughter anyone that hurt you.”

“Aww, my gentle giant, killing people for me,” Noya murmured. “How romantic.”

Asahi smiled softly. “Always.” Noya hummed in response, leaning into his mate and tilting his head to softly kiss the alpha.

From the corner, Kenma opened his laptop with the precise, detached movements of someone too tired to feel, yet too wired to stop. He hadn’t spoken much since he’d arrived at the common room a few hours prior. Just packed everything with mechanical efficiency, shouldered his bag, and now sat silently on a rocking chair near the back of the room. The blue glow of his screen lit the sharp hollows of his face, casting light on the shadows beneath his eyes that hadn’t faded in weeks.

He tried to drown out the gnawing in his chest with code, line after line of syntax rattled out under his fingertips: scripts for surveillance loops, firewall bypasses, emergency blackout triggers, but none of it could quiet the anxious churn in his gut. His thoughts were spiraling, conjuring endless contingency plans: what to do if the comms went out, if Manticore’s security was tripled unexpectedly, if Seijoh didn’t make a move tonight, if this was a trap, if, if, if—

“You’ll be stationed on the rooftop with Tanaka,” Akaashi said, voice low and unobtrusive as he approached. “You’ll have a good angle of the club’s back entrance. I’ll keep your comm line clean, no need to worry about interference.”

Kenma didn’t look up. He just hummed faintly in response, fingers still flying, eyes flicking across code like he was reading a story only he could see. He was already halfway through bypassing Manticore’s security logs, firewalls bowing under his rapid intrusion.

Akaashi crouched beside him, eyeing the neatly arranged gear beside the omega; the slimline drone set, two modified EMP darts, an encrypted virus, and a sharp-edged USB drive labeled with nothing but a simple black cat sticker.

“Are you sure about this loadout?” Akaashi asked. His tone was gentle, nonjudgmental. “We’re basically going in blind, there could be some heavy hitters at Club Manticore.”

Kenma paused briefly, the keys falling silent beneath his fingertips. He wasn’t naïve. He knew the risks. They all did. But he also knew that chances like this; getting this close to Panther, to Seijoh’s core, didn’t come twice.

And more than anything, they couldn’t afford another delay.

“Panther’s the biggest threat,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen. “If he’s there, he’ll be the first to respond if they catch on.”

His voice was flat, clinical. Detached in a way that only someone trying to ignore the ache behind the words could be. From the files Kenma had been able to scrap together Panther was their leading combat specialist. He alone had tripled Seijoh’s known kill count within four years, and the numbers continued to steadily rise. He’d even been spotted in different countries, executing hits like a choreographed dance. 

He knew that if this mission went wrong, it wouldn’t end with a warning shot. It would end with bodies.

Kenma finally glanced up, meeting Akaashi’s gaze. “We won’t get another shot like this. We can’t afford to hesitate.”

Akaashi’s expression softened, his gunmetal blue eyes were lined with quiet understanding. He nodded. “Alright. Just don’t do anything reckless.”

Kenma exhaled something between a huff and a laugh, barely audible. “I’m not the reckless one. That’s Hinata.”

“Who’s reckless?” Hinata’s bright voice cut in, his timing impeccable.

He bounded over, twirling one of his blade sheaths in a practiced arc around his fingers. Despite the casual hoodie and slouchy jeans, Kenma could see the outline of body armor underneath; fitted snug beneath his clothing, customized to Hinata’s lightweight, quick-movement style. The sharp scent of tangerine followed him, bright and charged, cutting through the anxiety like sunshine through smoke.

“Kags said if I don’t come back in one piece, he’ll kill me himself.” Hinata grinned, rocking on his heels. “So, no pressure or anything.”

Kenma blinked, unamused. “You say that every time.”

“And I always come back,” Hinata chirped. “Mostly.”

Akaashi didn’t miss a beat. “You came back with three cracked ribs and a concussion last time.”

“Still counts,” Hinata said proudly, and Kenma’s lips twitched before a sound slipped out; small, tired, but genuine.

A laugh.

Soft, breathless, and real .

Hinata froze for a split second, wide-eyed as the sound echoed between them like a ripple in still water. Then his whole face lit up, eyes crinkling with unrestrained delight, like he’d just been handed the sun. That laugh had been hard-earned.

It had been months since they’d watched Kenma unravel in real time, months since the night that destroyed everything. The lie, cruel and necessary, had come down like a blade. Akaashi and Hinata had both agreed: protect Kenma from false hope. Let the memory of Kuroo rest in peace, even if the man Hinata and Kageyama had seen could’ve been him. 

They told him it wasn’t Kuroo.

Because the alternative meant risking everything. Meant chasing ghosts. And they thought if they didn’t anchor him, Kenma would run into the fire again and this time, not come back out.

But instead of grounding Kenma, the lie shattered him.

Hinata still remembered the way Kenma folded inward. Quiet, bone-deep despair. Not an explosion, but a slow implosion that left him hollow. He stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. Barely spoke. Weeks passed before he even opened the door to his room. Even longer before he could look any of them in the eye without flinching.

It was like they’d broken something sacred.

And now, even as the old Kenma started peeking through again; sharp wit in his eyes, a twitch of amusement at something snarky Hinata said, it still felt like walking a tightrope. One wrong word and he could spiral again. He didn’t wear Kuroo’s jacket anymore. Didn’t keep the photo near his bed. He hadn’t whispered his mate’s name in weeks.

But that laugh?

It cracked something open. A fragile bloom in frost.

Hinata tried to play it cool, tapping his fingers against the sheath looped over his shoulder before reaching into his pocket and offering Kenma a protein bar. “Don’t forget to eat,” he said, voice quieter now, steady but warm. “We need you sharp tonight.”

Kenma blinked at the bar like it was a foreign object, then took it without a word.

Akaashi and Hinata exchanged a glance. Neither said what they were thinking.

That this was progress.

That no matter what the night brought, blood or fire or Panther himself, they were going in as a team.

 

---

 

By noon, the Karasuno manor courtyard thrummed with restrained energy, dominated by the sleek black van idling in the drive. Its tinted windows reflected the towering estate behind them, casting back a distorted image of the home they might not return to. The engine purred low, like a beast waiting to be let loose.

Though the sun had begun its slow climb toward the apex of the sky, the air remained cool; crisp with the lingering edge of morning dew. Yet despite the weather’s calm, tension hung heavy, threading itself into every glance, every breath, every quiet touch. It was the kind of silence that only came before something terrible.

Final goodbyes formed in hushed pockets around the van. Noya launched himself at Asahi in a flying tackle, limbs wrapped tightly around the taller alpha’s shoulders, grinning like a boy but holding on like a man afraid to let go. Asahi caught him with a soft grunt, hands settling against Noya’s back as if trying to memorize the shape of him.

Nearby, Akaashi exchanged a firm, quiet handshake with Suga, no words needed. Jasmine and strawberries mingled briefly between them. Suga nodded once, eyes sharp with unspoken pride as they separated.

Kageyama wrapped his arms around Hinata and didn’t let go even after the hug should’ve ended. His face remained impassive, but the twitch in his jaw and the way his hands lingered spoke louder than anything he could say. Hinata let him stay that way, leaning into the touch, soaking up the affection greedily.

Even Ennoshita, usually so composed, cupped Tanaka’s cheek and kissed him in full view of everyone. It was quick, but nothing about it was casual. He murmured something low in Tanaka’s ear, and whatever he said made the other alpha blink rapidly, nod once, and tuck the promise deep into his chest like armor.

Daichi stepped onto the front stoop just as the van gave a rumble, the low growl of readiness. His voice rang out across the courtyard, clipped and firm. “You all know the plan.”

Heads turned and several pairs of eyes met his.

“You’ve trained for this. You’re ready. If anything feels off, if anything at all feels wrong, you pull out. We’re not losing anyone today. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” The response was sharp, a unified chorus laced with grit and fear, and something fiercer underneath: loyalty.

Kenma didn’t speak. He just opened the passenger side door and climbed in silently, slipping into his seat with a practiced ease that belied the twist in his gut. As the van pulled out of the compound gates, his gaze stayed fixed on the forest beyond, watching as the tall pines blurred into streaks of green and shadow. Somewhere beneath the trees, the manor disappeared behind them, but Kenma didn’t look back.

No one said it aloud, but the truth clung to every breath.

If Seijoh really was the monster hiding behind its reputation, then today might be the last time any of them saw home.

The van hummed steadily as it reached the highway, the Miyagi skyline shrinking behind them as gray, misty stretches of suburban road unfolded. Inside, silence pulsed, low and charged, like a breath held too long.

Akaashi drove with surgical precision, his eyes darting occasionally to the mirrors, fingers tapping in silent rhythm against the steering wheel. His scent, jasmine covered by a low grade scent patch, faintly filled the front of the van. Controlled and focused. Just this side of brittle.

Kenma sat still beside him, tablet balanced on his lap, its black screen reflecting his blank expression. He kept one hand lightly curled against it, not typing yet, just… steadying himself. He was tracking movement already, pinging the GPS that had caught Karasuno’s targets flitting around downtown Tokyo. 

The middle row held more energy.

Hinata couldn’t keep still, his boots tapping against the floor as his legs bounced anxiously. His eyes kept flitting between his teammates and the windows, always scanning, like he expected someone to leap at them from the highway shoulder.

Beside him, Noya had one foot propped up on the seat and was chewing mint gum with the fervor of a man trying to mask nerves with bravado. He spun a butterfly knife in his fingers absentmindedly, the clicking metal filling the silence like a metronome.

In the back row, Tanaka was reviewing the building blueprints Kenma had managed to scrounge up after hours of searching, tracing lines with his finger while mumbling under his breath.

Suna lounged beside him, one boot up on the back of Noya’s seat, hood pulled low. A notepad rested on his knee, a stubby pencil between his teeth. He was sketching rough rooftop layouts and noting sniper lines, eyes occasionally lifting to glance toward the others. 

Everyone had their job. Everyone knew what they were walking into.

And still, the silence pressed in, loud with the unspoken what-ifs. What if they were wrong about Seijoh? What if they were right?

What if they didn’t all come back?

“ETA: 2 PM,” Akaashi said, breaking the silence. “No traffic delays so far.”

“Good,” Tanaka murmured. “That’ll give us time to ask around for any extra intel before we have to take up positions.”

Akaashi hummed, “Let’s go over our tasks one more time.” He glanced at everyone in the rearview  mirror before continuing, “Kenma is the team lead since he knows Seijoh's systems best. He’s going to coordinate movements and check-ins.” 

Kenma let out a small sound of affirmation.

“I’ll handle the technical end as well, try to get into their network.” He added, trying to give a reassuring smile to his friends, but it came out more like a grimace.

He looked down at his tablet. He’d have a lot to go through. Camera feeds. Frequencies. Cyber stats. Clean any data trails he leaves behind.

“We’ll run isolated signals only,” Kenma said, glancing briefly at Akaashi who gave him a nod, urging his friend to continue. “Localized echo mapping from city traffic should give us a good base to go off of.”

“I’ll be positioned with Tanaka on the rooftop of an office building directly behind Club Manticore. We will monitor any suspicious movements.” 

Tanaka shifts forward in his seat. “The rooftop has a straight line to the back entrance, I’ll be acting as lead for extraction fallback if shit hits the fan.”

The car swayed as Akaashi made a turn onto a new freeway. The city began creeping back in, low buildings and neon signs, a steady haze settling across rooftops.

Hinata turned to Kenma. “Are you sure about the rooftop position? What if we need to make a quick get away?”

Kenma glanced at him, slow and tired, like he'd been underwater. “It’s the best visual overlap between Seijoh’s internal feeds and our network access points. From there, I can patch into relay towers and traffic loops with less interference. Besides, both of us will be armed and prepared to run if that time comes.”

“Okay, just stay safe.” Hinata said, resting a hand on Kenma’s shoulder before moving on. “I’ll be at ground level with Noya. I’ll be circling and changing outfits to blend in with the clubbers. I’m also on pattern recognition, see who lingers, who loops too often, and if there’s anyone suspicious.” 

“I’ll make my rounds through the crowd, see if I can pick up any suspicious chatter and be ready to fight if the time comes.” Noya added with a grin.

“Perfect. Noya can I also entrust you to cause a distraction if need be?” Kenma asked, turning to face the omega. Nishinoya gave him a salute.

“Sure can, I packed a few flash bangs and smoke bombs if need be!”

Kenma gave him a nod and then looked at their final member.

“I’ll be on the apartment complex across the street.” Suna began, running a hand through his hair. “It’s got a wide-angle view of the front and side entrances. If they’re moving anything in or out, I’ll see it.”

“Don’t shoot unless you’re given the go-ahead,” Akaashi said, glancing back as he crossed into a new lane.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He said, leaning back and resting a hand on his duffle bag, containing his rifle. 

Nishinoya turned in his seat, stretching over the head rest to poke at Suna with the handle of his knife. “Hey, sniper boy, be sure to keep us alive.”

Suna rolled his eyes before smirking. “If you stop wearing that bright-ass jacket, I might not have to work so hard.”

“It’s lemon yellow. It’s thematic.”

“It’s fluorescent.”

Tanaka laughed from the back. “C’mon, Noya. Maybe try not getting spotted for once?”

“You wound me,” Noya replied dramatically, throwing himself back into the seat. “Besides, I wore it one time.”

“And got shot at fifteen separate times.” Tanaka added, making Noya roll his eyes.

“Some best friend you are.”

Akaashi's voice cut through the chatter with calm clarity. “Once we arrive we’ll split up to try and get some intel from the locals. Make sure you phrase your questions innocently, we don’t want to draw attention and risk people alerting Seijoh of someone poking around.”

There was a slew of agreeing noises before Hinata reached into the front and grabbed the aux chord. “I think we all need to relax.” He said turning on some music.

The van filled with soft beats, a mellow rhythm weaving through the hum of the engine and nerves. No one spoke for a moment. It wasn’t silence, not really, just a mutual agreement to collect themselves; to breathe, recalibrate, and settle into the weight of what came next.

Outside, the city rolled by in flickers of neon and halogen, familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

Kenma’s eyes stayed on his tablet, but his fingers slowed. Noya tapped out a rhythm on his knee. Suna closed his eyes for a heartbeat, letting his mind go blank.

By the time they neared the club, everyone had shifted; internally realigned, masks sliding into place like armor. Their mission personas settling into their bones.

They split up without much fanfare, each team member peeling off like clockwork, a quiet rhythm honed through months of training and years of instinct.

Noya took off first, slinging a casual arm around Hinata’s shoulders as they melted into the dense crowd along the sidewalk, adopting the easy swagger of two bored omegas killing time before clubbing. They laughed too loud and walked too slow. A practiced show of nonchalance.

Tanaka peeled off next, his path looping around the far block. There was a bounce in his step that might’ve read as carefree, but those who knew him would’ve seen it for what it was: stored nerves, wound tight and hidden behind that crooked grin. He blended into the swarm of salarymen and random tourists, eyes never really leaving the building’s roofline.

Suna vanished half a beat later, sliding into the corner of a run-down café that offered a slanted view of Manticore’s side alley. A black coffee sat untouched in front of him, steam rising in lazy spirals while his gaze tracked shadows and movement through cracked glass.

Kenma lingered near a grimy bus stop just across the street, hoodie drawn low, posture loose and unassuming. Headphones hung around his neck, silent. He didn’t need music. The ambient noise was enough: the thrum of conversation, the occasional hiss of tires on pavement, the low bass spilling from Manticore’s outer walls. One hand hovered near his tablet, the other clenched loosely in his lap.

Akaashi remained close to the parked van, back against a lamppost, long fingers tapping across his phone’s screen as he accessed traffic feeds, security cams, and audio. His eyes flicked constantly moving from feed to feed, then up, over the tops of his glasses, to confirm his surroundings with his own eyes. Each breath was measured. Each shift, calculated.

Karasuno had set out to get extra intel and their covers were simple, yet effective.

But even the best positioning couldn’t fix one critical problem. 

The locals didn’t want to talk.

At first, they tried subtlety. Quick, casual questions about the club’s popularity, who owned it, how long it had been operating under Seijoh’s control. Just enough to feel out where the walls were.

They didn’t get far.

Most people brushed them off entirely, ignoring their presence like a bad draft. Some scowled as they passed, eyes sharp with distrust and something colder; protectiveness, maybe, but not the comforting kind. The kind that flared like a warning.

Others snapped quickly.

One beta bartender, older, with a thick scar tracing down his cheekbone and tired eyes, bristled the moment Noya leaned against the bar and asked if Manticore ever had “trouble” with ownership changes.

“Seijoh keeps this block safer than the cops ever did,” the man said flatly, scrubbing at the bar like he wanted to scrub Noya out with the grime. “We don’t talk about them. We thank them.”

Noya didn’t push. He didn’t have to, he got the message loud and clear.

Hinata didn’t fare much better. His usual sunny grin, the kind that softened even the coldest hearts, faltered the second he crossed into the outer ring of Club Manticore’s influence. He pressed in anyway, pushing through the crowded bar that housed several of Manticore’s workers, bouncing slightly on the balls of his toes, trying to look curious but harmless. His approach had worked before.

But not here.

A dancer intercepted him, tall and unapologetically radiant in gold sequins. Her hips moved like smoke, but her eyes were granite. She shoulder-checked him, sharp and deliberate, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she said, smiling like a threat. Her voice was honey-drenched steel. “And no amount of satisfaction will bring you back.”

Hinata stumbled back, blinking, spine stiffening under the weight of her warning.

Across the street, Tanaka tried his luck at the corner convenience store, elbow propped on the counter as he flashed a lazy grin at the cashier, a young omega with dyed blue streaks in her half-shaved hair and a lollipop tucked in her cheek.

“Long day, huh?” he asked. “Does the club always draw this much attention?”

Her eyes didn’t meet his. She moved like her skin didn’t quite fit right, a twitch in her jaw as she slid his gum and change across the counter.

“It is.” She said flatly. 

“Do you ever resent it?” Tanaka prodded and her sleepy eyes seemed to shutter

“Seijoh took care of things.”

Tanaka tilted his head. “Took care of—?”

“Made it safe to go outside,” she finished, cutting him off. Then she pushed a plastic bag across the counter without another word, retreating a full step from the register. Ignoring Tanaka’s very existence as she idly counted money in the register.

There was no fear in her movements, only stubborn loyalty.

Above, Kenma crouched low behind the lip of a rooftop across the street, scanning his tablet. His usual sweeps; the passive data sweeps he sent crawling through city infrastructure, came back with nothing. No business filings. No tax records. No outstanding utility permits.

Club Manticore was immaculate.

It wasn’t clean by coincidence, it had been completely sanitized. 

Every data point dissolved. Every trail scrubbed. Not even a parking ticket existed. It was like Seijoh was a figment of their imaginations.

“Any movement on the northeast corner?” he asked quietly into his mic.

“Nothing but drunks and some guy selling loose cigarettes,” Noya replied, bored but tense, tucked behind a neon sign on a lower balcony.

“We’re losing daylight,” Tanaka muttered from where he wandered the streets, eyes scanning the surrounding windows. “Half of the city's windows are blacked out. Seijoh could have a dozen people behind those panes and we’d never know.”

“It’s too clean,” Suna added from his vantage in the coffee shop. “No garbage, no alley squatters. No beggars or dealers hanging around. This isn’t what Tokyo looks like after dark.”

“They scrubbed the whole block,” Akaashi confirmed. His voice was low and clipped, watching from inside the van. “No visible guards, no obvious pattern, but they’re watching. You can feel it.”

“They’ve got the locals in on it too,” Noya said with a dry laugh. “I asked a fruit vendor about Seijoh, he nearly broke my jaw with a pineapple.”

“A woman running the bodega near 7th street said Seijoh saved her daughter’s life,” Hinata added, softer now, almost reluctant. “But when I asked how… she just shut the door in my face.”

“We’re getting stonewalled," Akashi said. “It seems like loyalty runs deep in this neighborhood. Looks like Seijoh didn’t just take over, they improved lives. This isn’t their territory in name only.”

“They built trust,” Hinata mumbled, tone unsure. “That’s… suspicious, right?”

Tanaka scoffed. “It's a strategy. Play the hero, keep the people grateful and quiet.”

“They’re not just mafia,” Akaashi countered. “They’re embedded. They provide security, jobs, maybe even protection from worse players. It’s a smart way to retain loyalty. If people honor them as benevolent gods there’s less likely to be a rebellion.”

“Which makes them harder to challenge,” Suna snapped, voice tight with frustration. “No one wants to turn in their savior.”

Silence lingered across the comms for a moment.

Then Kenma’s voice slid in, quiet and absolute.

“We’re not going to get anything else off the street.”

The line stilled. Even the ambient buzz of traffic seemed to fall away.

“If we keep pressing, they’ll shut down completely. Or worse, tip off Seijoh that someone’s poking around.”

Suna exhaled. “So we wait for them to come out?”

“No, we’ll focus on the original plan, reconnaissance of Manticore.” Kenma said firmly. “Go about your day like a civilian, we’ll meet at the van in an hour to debrief and initiate the original plan.”

 

---

 

Akaashi let out a long sigh and leaned back in the front seat of their parked car, eyes glued to the tablet balanced across his thighs. Static jumped before clearing into grainy street footage, twelve different camera feeds blinking in dull, grayscale light. All quietly hacked into from corners of buildings, traffic poles, and backlot dumpsters. Most feeds offered little more than pedestrian flow and commonplace conversation. 

It was all utterly useless.

He adjusted the antenna boost, quietly muttering, “Signal drift five degrees… come on, just give me something.”

Akaashi’s tablet abruptly buzzed with a motion alert making him jump slightly. He quickly pulled up the image and adjusted the camera feeds.

The camera was pointed right at Club Manticore's back door, into the alleyway right next to the dumpsters.

Akaashi tuned out the other voices in his ear as he watched the footage, seeing a figure, then another.

He pulled up an overlay software he’d developed with Kenma. The application added color and sharpened the low-light grain giving him a better visual that the street camera quality. 

The first figure moved fluidly, shoulders back, posture unnaturally poised. He had a full face mask, a full black kevlar suit, and combat boots. Even through the screen he exuded a dangerous air.

Akaashi had no issues identifying the man as Panther, the very combat specialist he’d been desperately hoping to avoid. 

The second figure was harder to track at first, a few inches shorter, but he had a strong build. He had gray hair, seemingly dyed, and tan skin. But it was the litany scars that made Akaashi’s breath hitch. Old blade tracks. Dozens of them, slashing diagonals across every inch of exposed skin, disappearing under his clothing. They were bright against his tan skin. 

The man’s posture and actions made Akaashi unconsciously label the unknown man as an omega.

And that omega was grinning up at Panther. 

Akaashi worked fast trying to pull up audio, but the distance made the words sound garbled, only allowing Akaashi to catch every third word. 

It was obvious the omega was teasing Panther with the arch of his brow and the roll of his shoulder as he stepped into the alpha’s space.

“Guys… we might have something,” Akaashi said into his comm. “Panther’s in the alley behind the club.”

“You’re sure it’s Panther?” Tanaka asked, a grimace in his voice.

“Same frame. Same gait. It’s him.”

“What’s he doing?” Kenma asked, his voice low like he was around civilians and couldn’t blow his cover.

“Holding an omega,” Akaashi said, zooming into the image as much as possible. “The omega initiated. Hands on Panther’s chest. They’re close. Like… close close .”

Suna’s voice came over comms, his tone neutral. “Do you think they're mates?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m watching Panther relax into the touch. They are definitely familiar with one another.”

“Can we get a description?” Hinata asked and Akaashi hummed as he focused on the omega.

“Tall, strong build, carrying a gun, covered in scars,” Akaashi answered quickly. “The scars were made by blades or whips. He has gray hair and tan skin, I don’t have a clear enough image to identify any other defining features. He’s confident, his posture and stature show off a kind of fluidity that comes with years in the combat field.”

“Is Panther unmasked?” Tanaka asked and Akaashi shook his head no, before realizing no one would see him.

“No, he’s covered in gear from head to toe. Wait…. Panther just touched the omega’s waist, they are getting closer and it looks like they’re…. Scenting each other?”

“Scenting?” Noya asked, confusion laced into his tone.

“It’s not forced,” Akaashi said, eyes narrowing. “It’s… gentle. Like reassurance.”

“Are they kissing?” Hinata asked.

“No. But it’s intimate. He just took his hand. They're heading inside now, Panther’s leading, the omega’s following.”

“So, Panther might have a mate.” Kenma said offhandedly, “We can use that to our advantage if worse comes to pass.”

“Agreed,” Akaashi said, sitting back. “It’s a good thing knowing that Panther has a vulnerability.”

“Alright I suppose this visit hasn’t been for nothing, everyone head to the van, it’s time to get suited up.” Kenma announced.

Akaashi glanced once more at the feed as Panther and the omega disappeared behind the thick black doors of Club Manticore. He couldn’t shake the image, Panther's hand resting so gently against the curve of that omega’s hip. Almost protective.

Whatever was going on behind those walls… they weren’t walking into a den of wolves.

They were walking into a home.

And when someone had something precious to lose.

Well… that made them infinitely more dangerous.

 

---

 

By 9:58 PM, Club Manticore was alive.

Heat pulsed from its open doors like a living thing; sultry, humid, laced with smoke and sex and artificial fog that coiled across the floor like mist over graves. The bass thudded with the heartbeat of something ancient and hungry. Outside, the air buzzed with sound: laughter, clicking heels, the occasional pop of a lighter, and the low rumble of engines idling along cracked pavement.

Karasuno’s units were in place, watching like hawks.

“I’ve got eyes on the club,” came Akaashi’s voice from the comm line. The omega’s voice was calm, composed, but beneath it hummed anticipation. Multiple feeds flickered across the screens in front of him, camera signals jacked from the club’s network, their permissions spoofed and rerouted through a VPN Kenma had set up hours earlier. “No sign of interference yet. Keep your eyes clear, comms clean. We don’t have backup if we blow this.”

On the rooftop of the adjacent office building, Kenma crouched low, half-curled behind an HVAC unit next to the edge of the roof. The cold concrete under his knees contrasted harshly with the warm weight of his Kevlar vest. His fingers flew over the keyboard balanced on his thighs: silent, precise strokes that danced like spider legs across the keys.

Tanaka crouched next to Kenma, just out of sight, watching the club’s back entrance with narrowed eyes and a hand resting on his concealed firearm.

Kenma muttered under his breath, voice barely audible as lines of code flickered across his screen. “Firewall’s shifting again... someone’s watching me.”

He tapped a key. Tried a backdoor.

It slammed shut.

Again.

Another route. A slow crawl.

Blocked.

Kenma narrowed his eyes. Whoever was behind Seijoh’s cyber network was good. Not just prepped, but actively fighting Kenma. Traps were being sprung the moment he tried to peek. Honeypots laced with silent IP alarms. Someone inside Seijoh knew their tech, and they were defending their turf like it was sacred ground.

He could feel them, another hacker’s presence like static behind the screen. Cold, precise, and patient. It was like playing chess against someone who was one step away from checkmate.

“Someone’s countering me,” Kenma murmured into the mic, tone clipped. “I’m not risking exposure. Going dark on network entries for now.”

“Copy,” Akaashi said immediately, tone unchanged. “Maintain surveillance."

Kenma minimized the window and leaned back against the vent shaft, letting the metal dig into his spine. His fingers itched to try again. But it wasn’t just his safety he’d be risking. He could jeopardize all of his friends. And Kenma wouldn’t put those he cared about in the blast zone just to feed his pride.

From across the way, in a prone position atop a nearby apartment complex, Suna adjusted the long barrel of his rifle. His cheek pressed against the stock, eyes narrowed behind the scope. The silencer was sleek and carbon-black. A deadly beauty.

“I’ve got a visual on the entrance,” Suna muttered. “Two exits. The crowd keeps growing.”

On the street below, Noya and Hinata melted into the crowds. Noya wore torn jeans and a mesh shirt, makeup thick under his eyes, and a bored, careless strut in his step. Hinata wore a battered bomber jacket and ducked his head like a nervous civilian, weaving between groups of loud clubgoers. Their acting was perfect, using their friendly nature to strike up conversations with other omegas and betas waiting to get into the club.

“Ten o’clock,” Akaashi’s voice came through everyone’s comms at once, calm but firm. “Mission is live. Stay sharp.”

And for nine full minutes… nothing happened.

The crowd swelled. Music pulsed. The sidewalk buzzed with life; laughter, heels clicking, drunk betas hollering at taxis, and a few omegas lingering near the club entrance trying to catch the bouncer’s eye. The artificial haze that curled from Club Manticore’s rooftop vents added a low-lying fog to the heat of the streetlamps. Karasuno stayed in position, every one of them still as stone but tracking everything.

Kenma’s gaze never left the club’s back door. He shifted only to roll his shoulder beneath his tactical gear, fingers restless at his sides. Akaashi kept scanning traffic feeds, bouncing between cameras with quiet intensity. Suna hadn’t moved an inch from his perch. Tanaka walked back and forth on the roof, tension bunching in his shoulders with each pass. Noya laughed too loud at a joke a beta had made that wasn’t funny and Hinata kept weaving through the crowd.

Kenma had finally gotten a visual on Manticore's interior through a live stream on the social media account of one of the clubbers. They saw fog crawl along the club floor, smoke machines blending with the flickering strobe lights. They watched shadows pass over hallway doorframes and behind tinted glass. Bodies moving. Dancers spinning. Flashing limbs. But nothing incriminating. No crates, no guards, no trucks or marked vans. No signal that a shipment of omega trafficking victims was being moved into Club Manticore.

10:10.

10:11.

10:12…

Tension began to build. Static electricity in their bones.

On the ground, Hinata ducked out of a small knot of betas pre-gaming vodka shots off each other’s necks. and pushed into a group of college kids dressed like they’d been plucked from a fashion magazine: designer shoes, oversized jackets, and reeking of privilege and cheap alcohol.

He squeezed past two laughing girls when—

Wham.

Hinata’s body jolted. His chest hitting something hard, warm, and unmoving. He let out a gasp instinctively, and yelped “Oh shit—!” before he could stop himself.

He’d collided with an alpha.

Hinata’s heart stuttered. His feet stumbled backward on instinct, muscles tightening like a coil. For a heartbeat, he froze in place, blinking up at the broad chest he’d walked directly into. Alphas, especially those outside Karasuno, rarely reacted kindly to omega clumsiness. Especially not in crowded nightlife districts where egos ran as high as blood alcohol levels. It wouldn’t be the first time an alpha took offense by an accidental brush and tried to start something.

And Hinata couldn’t risk that, not here. Not now. Not when he was supposed to be playing the role of a naive, curious omega poking around the scene. He braced himself for a glare, for sharp words, for dominant posturing.

Instead, large hands caught him gently by the elbows, steadying him like he was made of porcelain.

“Whoa,” a warm voice said. “Careful there. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt!”

Hinata blinked. The voice wasn’t gruff or condescending. It was… sincere, bright in a way Hinata had never heard.

He looked up.

The alpha was tall, taller than most people on the street. Muscular, with a strong jawline and soft gold eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His hoodie was light gray, the hood pulled up but not hiding his face. He smelled like petrichor, fresh earth after rain, like clean skies and the hush of a storm’s aftermath. The scent was similar to Suna’s, the only difference was that Suna smelled like the air just before the rain, while this man had a more earthy quality to his scent.

It calmed Hinata’s nerves almost immediately, the scent familiar and grounding.

The alpha wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t asserting himself. He was just… being kind.

Hinata’s shoulders relaxed before his brain caught up. “Ah, thanks, sorry!” he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t see you there.”

“No harm done,” the alpha replied cheerfully, giving a light pat to Hinata’s shoulder before stepping around him. “Have fun tonight!” he added over his shoulder, already walking into the crowd, hoodie blending into the blur of bodies.

Hinata turned to watch him go.

There was something weirdly soothing about that voice… something in the cadence. In the way his smile didn’t feel like it came with strings. But Hinata shook the thought off. He had a mission. No time to focus on kind strangers who smelled like storms and didn’t treat him like a second-class citizen.

Still…

“You okay, Hinata?” Kenma’s voice crackled gently in his ear, concern etched into the words.

Hinata cleared his throat, realizing his hand had lingered at his arms, right where the alpha had touched him. He dropped it quickly. “Yeah,” he said, forcing the smile back into his voice. “I’m all good.”

But the thought lingered longer than it should have.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath before melting back into the crowd.

The buzz of nightlife swallowed him again; bright lights, flashing signs, pounding music from passing cars and street performers alike. It should’ve been comforting, familiar even, but every shadow felt like it held too much weight. Every laugh was a bit too sharp. The press of people didn’t blur the mission from his mind, not the way it used to. His steps were careful now, calculated. He kept his head down, comms active, gaze sweeping windows and doorways for any hint of suspicious activity.

The others were still circling the perimeter, working diligently and Hinata couldn’t fall behind.

But the longer the silence stretched… the heavier everything became.

Time crept forward.

At first, it was just impatience. A vague sense of delay. Then doubt started to settle into the cracks between messages, dragging suspicion behind it like fog.

The clock ticked on, until it passed 10:30.

And the longer nothing happened, the worse everyone’s anxiety became.

“Almost thirty minutes,” Tanaka muttered over the comms, voice low. “No one’s brought in any shipments. No vans. No suspicious behavior. Nothing.”

“It could be happening somewhere else,” Akaashi murmured, eyes flicking between drone feed loops. “The message might’ve been a decoy. Or they moved the delivery early.”

Kenma’s fingers tapped against the inside of his sleeve. “Or someone’s watching us and waiting.”

“We’re not that obvious,” Noya said, but the protest was automatic, not confident.

“No, we’re not,” Suna agreed from his rooftop, “but that doesn’t mean they didn’t catch wind of us poking around.”

“They might’ve known we were coming and this is all a set up,” Hinata said, shifting near the club’s west alley, eyes scanning every shadow. “Or maybe they’re waiting for us to give up and leave.”

Silence crackled over the line for a second.

“Do we abort?” Tanaka asked, hesitant. “Head back to Karasuno? Report what we’ve got and regroup?”

“We haven’t seen proof of trafficking,” Akaashi pointed out. “Just speculation. If we leave now—”

“They win,” Noya snapped, frustrated. “We don’t get any new intel and they stay the heroes.”

Kenma tapped his fingers against the cold concrete before sighing, “Give it ten more minutes.”

“Kenma—”

“Ten,” he said, sharper. “Just ten minutes. Then we reassess.” His order was firm, and no one protested.

The minutes seemed to drag on for ages.

Each second stretched like thread soaked in molasses, thin and taut and painfully slow. Kenma kept his breathing even, eyes scanning the building from his vantage point. A slight tremor had started in his fingers. Not fear, not exactly. Anticipation maybe. Or dread. It was getting hard to tell them apart.

Beneath him, the street remained unnervingly calm. There were no cars in the alleyway. No foot traffic. Just the glowing pulse of neon light from Club Manticore’s sign, strobing against the dark brick like a heartbeat that refused to speed up.

"Five minutes left," Kenma said softly into comms.

Akaashi’s drone feed looped again. Nothing new. A stray cat darted past the east side alley and vanished into shadow. A flicker of motion, but not the kind that helped. Not the kind they needed.

“I don’t like this,” Noya muttered, voice clipped. “It feels like we’re sitting ducks.”

“It’s too quiet,” Suna agreed, low and sharp. “If this place were trafficking omegas, even if the shipment was delayed, someone should be doing something. The building hasn’t breathed since we got here.”

Hinata whispered, “I think someone just looked at me from a window.”

Everyone froze.

“Which window?” Kenma asked immediately, his voice going flat.

“I, west side, second floor. I only caught a glimpse. It could’ve been glass reflection, I don’t know, I don’t know—”

“Stay where you are, and don’t break character.” Akaashi instructed. “I’ll try to enhance the feed on that quadrant now.”

Tanaka swore under his breath. “I don’t like this. I say we pull back and rethink this from a safer distance. If this is a trap, we’re already in it.”

“And if it’s not?” Noya shot back. “We walk away from this with nothing . No leads, no footage, no names.”

Suna let out a short, humorless breath. “No casualties either, which I’d personally call a win.”

“Focus,” Kenma said, sharper than usual. “No one moves until the ten minutes are up. Not unless it’s to duck or dodge.”

On the other end of the line, Akaashi inhaled sharply. “Kenma, I’ve got something. There’s a new blind spot. Someone cut the signal from one of the rear alley cameras.”

The words were like static in Kenma’s ear.

“How long ago?”

“Checking logs now. Roughly four minutes.”

“Someone must be behind the building," Hinata whispered.

Tanaka’s hand tightened around his sidearm. “I’ve had eyes on the alley all night. No one’s gone in or out.”

“They didn’t have to,” Kenma murmured, the weight in his chest suddenly heavier. “They cut the camera off remotely."

A beat of silence stretched across the comms, the kind that made everyone feel like they were listening to their own heartbeats.

“I don’t like this,” Noya repeated.

And just like that, ten minutes was up.

Kenma opened his mouth to speak, to have everyone pull back and reconvene at the car only to be cut off by a thunderous crack.

The sound jolted through the night like a gunshot: sharp, violent, and unexpected. Everyone on Karasuno’s comms flinched at once.

“Shit, eyes on the back,” Tanaka muttered from the rooftop edge. “The back door was thrown open.”

All thoughts of retreat vanished.

“Suna do you have a clear view of the individuals?” Kenma asked quickly as he took in a deep breath to steady his racing heart.

“No, they’re just outside my range but I’ll stay poised in case they move over further.” The alpha answered quickly.

Kenma bit his lip and peaked his head over the side of the building. “It looks like Panther and…”

He paused.

“What the hell—”

There was a figure being dragged out of the club. He was shorter than Panther, barefoot, and wore a skimpy outfit of mesh and straps. He had dark green hair and Kenma could see freckles dotting the man’s body. He was an omega and he was trembling. Bruises littered his disheveled form and Kenma could smell the sharp tang of fear on the omega.

Akaashi’s voice crackled in. “I no longer have a visual of the back alley, someone cut the second camera.” There was a new edge to his tone now. One laced with anxiety.

Kenma nodded and got to work quickly, taking out his phone to give Akaashi eyes on the situation.

“There’s an omega, he looks pretty beat up.” Tanaka supplied as Kenma worked.

Through the phone screen Kenma could see clearer.

Panther was towering over the omega. He had a sleek matte black mask on and was holding the omega’s arm in a bruising grip. The omega’s ribs and collarbone were streaked with bruises, and the way he moved, barely staying upright as he violently trembled, made something coil in Kenma’s gut.

“I have visual.” Akaashi confirmed as he received the transmission from Kenma.

“...He smells like pomegranate,” Kenma said quietly, watching the scene from beside Tanaka.

“What?” Akaashi asked, confused. 

Kenma didn’t look away from the scope of his camera. “Panther. He smells like pomegranate. Like he’s drenched in the scent.”

Tanaka’s expression darkened. “You think it’s him? That omega we saw earlier?”

“Has to be,” Noya added over comms. “I can smell him from the side of the building, he’s practically soaked in it. Like he’s been pressed up against him for hours.”

“Possessive alpha shit,” Suna spat from the rooftop. “Fucking disgusting.”

“Can you smell the injured omega?” Hinata asked, concern evident in his tone.

“Yeah, it’s floral but the scent is so sour with fear I can’t narrow it down.” Tanaka replied.

Kenma handed his phone over to Tanaka to keep Akaashi linked in as he grabbed his laptop, trying to find any records of this new omega.

Kenma’s attention was quickly torn back to the scene when a loud crack rang out as the omega was slammed into the alley wall. 

“Fuck, he’s going to kill him.” Tanaka said, anger radiating in his voice. Kenma looked over the edge to see Panther grab the omega’s top and drag it up, revealing more bruises and cuts.

“You useless little omega!” Panther’s voice snarled.

Kenma noted the voice modulator built into the Alpha’s mask, making the man’s voice sound like a mix of machinery and gravel. 

“What did I say about running your fucking mouth?! Huh?! Did you think you’d just shake your ass on that stage and no one would notice you sneaking glances at them?!”

Kenma suppressed a growl as he watched the omega’s legs give out under him. Soft whimpers reached their ears as the omega began to plead, trying to appease the alpha.

“P-please—” he gasped, voice teetering. “I-I didn’t mean— I didn’t—!”

Tanaka let out a sharp exhale of air, hand tightening around Kenma’s phone. “Permission to move—”

“ No. ” Akaashi’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “Hold your positions. This could still be a distraction, stay vigilant." he ordered, but Kenma could hear the barely audible tremble in his friend's voice, no doubt reliving his own trauma as he watched the scene unfold.

“Don’t you lie to me!” The alpha roared as he punched the wall beside the omega’s head with a deafening slam. The sound carried through the alley, loud and violent.

“You think just because Seijoh bought you, that makes you special?! You think they care?! You’re a fuckin’ toy, and I own you now.” Panther was snarling, standing over the omega. “You so much as blink wrong in there, and I’ll make you wish you’d never been born, omega.”

The omega shook beneath him, whole body heaving with breathless, hiccupping sobs.

Kenma was finding it increasingly harder to keep a level head.

Noya growled under his breath. “I’m going over there.”

“Noya, don’t.” Akaashi sounded pained, but firm. “Panther is one of the most dangerous men in Seijoh, we can’t move unless we absolutely have to.”

“Y-you said you wouldn’t hurt me—” The omega whimpered, voice pitched up with terror. “I-I thought—”

“He’s terrified, I can’t just let him get hurt!” Noya protested.

Panther grabbed the omega’s face roughly, gripping his jaw. “I lied.” He growled and Kenma had to grab Tanaka’s arm to stop him from jumping off the roof and attacking the pathetic excuse for an alpha.

Stop it. Kenma thought, pleading internally for the alpha to stop hurting this innocent person.

But no amount of internal pleading would change the situation.

He yanked the omega upright by the back of his collar and threw him into the side of a dumpster with a resounding clang, making the omega crumple into a pathetic heap. 

Kenma had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the snarl he let out as he heard the omega’s broken sob. Kenma was forced to watch in horror as the omega curled in on himself.

Panther paced like a beast, kicking a can aside and letting out several deep growls. 

“We need to do something.” Hinata said over the comms and Kenma took in a breath.

“I agree.” Kenma answered.

“But the mission-” Akaashi began, only for Kenma to cut him off.

“Is over. We need to help this omega.”

“Hinata and I’ll go take Panther down!” Noya said and Kenma let out a hissed no .

“This is Panther, we need to be smart about it.”

“Cause a distraction?” Suna asked and Tanaka hummed.

“Exactly,” The alpha answer. “Everyone, start packing up your gear. Once we launch the retrieval we’ll have minimal time to escape.”

Their attention was drawn back to the ground when Panther kicked the wall hard again, making the omega scream. He writhed and sobbed, nails clawing at the pavement as he cried, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please—!”

Another slam. Another shout.

Panther dropped to his knees beside him and grabbed a fistful of the omega’s hair, and yanked his head back with a sharp snarl .

“Say you’re mine.”

Tanaka growled. “I’m gonna throw him off a fucking building.”

“Patience.” Kenma ordered as he stuffed the last of his gear into his bag.

“I—I’m yours,” The omega whispered. “Yours, Panther, please—just let me-”

“Louder.”

“I’M YOURS!” he screamed.

“Everyone get ready to run.” Kenma gritted out as he watched the scene below.

“Suna, cover us if we’re pursued. Akaashi get the van closer to our location. Hinata get ready to run and grab the omega. Noya cover him if necessary. Tanaka and I will cause the distraction.” Kenma quietly barked out orders.

Panther stood and dragged the omega to his feet, one arm clamped hard around his waist as he guided him back toward the service entrance of the club; limping, shaking, and humiliated.

They watched as the omega tried to break free and run, Kenma flinched as he was slammed into the grimy brick for the third time. He trembled like a leaf in the wind, his scent blooming with a sickening cocktail of fear, humiliation, and submission.

“Tanaka, gun.” Kenma ordered, “We’ll shoot next to them, we can’t risk injuring the omega.”

“You worthless little slut,” Panther growled in a guttural rasp. The modulator inside Panther’s mask made the man sound almost inhuman. “You think disobeying me is funny? Think I won’t rip that pretty throat of yours open in front of the whole damn club?!”

The omega whimpered, tears starting to roll down his cheeks, shoulders trembling and head ducked. His voice quivered, broken and terrified. “I–I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—! Please, I’ll be good—!”

Panther yanked him forward and shoved him back again, making the omega let out a cracked sob.

“You’re lucky Seijoh paid good money for your ass,” He snarled. “If it were up to me, I’d string you up and let the dogs tear you to shreds!” 

Kenma and Tanaka’s hands moved in perfect sync, fingers curling around the grips of their weapons. The second the alpha’s arm lifted; ominous and heavy, terrifying like a loaded gun raised in slow motion, Tanaka sucked in a sharp breath, his movements faltering.

“He’s going to hit him,” Tanaka muttered, voice tight with fury, disgust curdling each word as he finally broke out of his frozen state.

Kenma’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t hesitate. A nod was all Tanaka got before Kenma drew his gun, leveling it carefully, finger brushing the trigger. His aim locked just beside the looming alpha’s frame, just close enough to startle the alpha, giving Hinata enough time to grab the omega. But if the alpha so much as twitched that hand toward the trembling omega’s face, Kenma wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger early.

Suddenly a voice rang out from behind them, it was sharp and urgent, “Panther! MOVE — ”

Instinct overrode strategy. Kenma flinched from the sound, and the gun fired, a sharp crack that sliced through the air.

“Fuck!” someone shouted from the alley below.

Kenma’s eyes snapped down, heart pounding as he searched for where the shot had landed. Relief rushed through his chest when he saw the alpha hit the ground hard, clutching his arm tight, but the omega was untouched, still standing, eyes wide in terror.

He watched as a flash of orange darted into the alley, grabbing the omega by the wrist and yanking him forward. The omega stumbled, resisting and casting a look back toward Panther who was now slumped against the wall, a smear of blood trailing down his arm.

“Come on! We gotta GO!” Hinata shouted, urgency slicing through the night air.

“Wait, I—!” the omega choked out, lips pale and quivering.

Hinata didn’t let him finish. “NOW!” he barked, and this time the omega stumbled after him, feet barely keeping pace.

Kenma exhaled sharply, the knot in his chest loosening. It had worked. It had actually worked.

But the relief didn’t last.

The heavy sound of boots slamming into the rooftop echoed behind them; aggressive and fast.

Kenma spun. An alpha was charging, silent and focused, barreling toward them like a freight train. He wasn’t drawing a weapon, but the gleam of a blade on his thigh was enough to confirm the danger.

Tanaka reacted first. His gun was already up, tracking the alpha as he came closer. Kenma crouched, ready for an altercation.

But the man didn’t stop, instead he easily vaulted over the roof’s edge in one clean leap. 

The man’s gloved hands caught the fire escape’s railing, and in one brutal swing, he dropped like a wrecking ball; metal shrieked and clanged beneath his weight as he ricocheted down, landing hard in the alley with a metallic thud.

He didn’t pause. He didn’t even check for danger. He simply sprinted straight towards Panther’s crumpled form.

“Panther! Are you okay?!” he shouted, skidding beside the downed alpha. His voice cracked with fear as he knelt beside him, checking for more injuries.

Kenma couldn’t hear the reply as Tanaka yanked his arm.

“We need to go. Now.” His tone was urgent, eyes already on the exit.

Kenma nodded once and they ran, boots hammering against concrete as they flew down the stairwell, taking two, sometimes three steps at a time. Wind and adrenaline blurred the descent into something dizzying.

Tanaka hit the door first, slamming it open.

The street greeted them with cold air and headlights.

Akaashi was already there, back door of the van thrown wide open, red light glowing dimly from the dashboard inside. The crimson hue painted the scene in harsh, eerie tones. Hinata and Noya were already crouched in the back row, shadows flickering across their worried faces.

“Go, go!” Akaashi shouted from the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel but voice tight.

Kenma stumbled as he leapt in, one hand catching the metal edge of the van’s door to stop himself from falling. Tanaka was close behind, throwing himself in and slamming the door shut.

Kenma’s sharp eyes instantly caught sight of the omega Hinata and Noya had pulled from the alleyway and his heart clenched.

He was curled into himself on the seat between Hinata and Noya, unconscious, limbs trembling even in sleep. His chest rose and fell in jerky, uneven breaths, too fast and too shallow.

Up close, the damage was undeniable: his throat was a dark canvas of  hickeys and finger shaped bruises, arms marred by deep, defensive cuts and older scars that hadn’t had the luxury of healing right. There were scratches on his cheeks, fresh bruising over one cheekbone, and several bite marks were littered across his collarbone and shoulder.

But the worst part was his scent gland.

Kenma’s stomach twisted when he saw the ghost of an old mating bond, faded but not fully healed, as if recently torn open. It left the skin around it red and inflamed

Hinata was crouched near the omega’s side, legs tucked under him, voice soft and shaking. “He passed out the second we got into the van,” he whispered. “Just collapsed. I think… I think he was holding out as long as he could.”

Kenma dropped into the seat in front of Hinata, heart still thudding.

“He needs medical attention,” he murmured, eyes scanning the omega’s injuries clinically, a grim set to his jaw. “But… I don’t think he’s in immediate danger. No major bleeding or signs of severe physical damage.”

Still, his voice faltered. Because this was bad. Really bad.

He looked at the stranger and wondered just how long he’d been living like this. How long he'd been waiting for someone to pull him out of hell.

“I already altered Daichi,” Noya whispered, his usual high energy muted. “He said he’ll have Asahi waiting.”

Tanaka was still panting from the run, eyes locked on the omega as he muttered, “He’s had it rough.”

Akaashi drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, head on a swivel as he watched for enemies. “Suna, status?” he asked over comms.

There was a beat of silence before harsh panting came over the comms.

“Held up,” Suna panted, the sound of feet hitting pavement echoing faintly in the background. “Got caught by one of Seijoh’s operatives, he was ordered to retreat. I’m on foot, two blocks south. I’ll meet you at the original rendezvous point in five.”

“Are you injured?” Kenma asked, listening closely to see if he could hear any sign of pain.

“I’m fine,” Suna gritted out. “Just a few scraps, could’ve been a lot worse.”

Kenma pursed his lip. “You better get here in one piece .”

“Always do.”

Akaashi glanced into the rearview mirror, voice sharp with tension that hadn't broken since the first gunshot. “Everyone buckle in. We’re not staying here a second longer than necessary.”

No one argued. Seatbelts clicked in rapid succession, and Kenma reached back to grab a med kit with shaking fingers before Noya wordlessly took it from him. The faint sound of sirens echoed somewhere far off, maybe a bluff, maybe real, but none of them wanted to find out which.

Akaashi floored it.

The car shot forward, tires screeching as it veered around a corner. Neon lights bled across the windshield in distorted streaks as they wove through back alleys and tight roads toward their sniper. The city around them was alive with color and noise, but in the car it was quiet, suffocatingly so. 

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, praying that they got to Suna before anyone else.

 

---

 

The shot cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and unmistakable.

Suna didn’t flinch. His pulse jumped, sure, anyone’s would, but his hands didn’t so much as twitch. His breath caught, then evened out on a slow exhale as he realigned the rifle against his shoulder. The sound echoed, swallowed by the open sky and the city’s hum, but it still rang in his bones like an alarm.

He shifted slightly on the rooftop, concrete rough beneath his knees, and peered through the scope again. Down below, Hinata and Noya sprinted from the alley, dragging a stumbling figure with them. Omega, male, unfamiliar profile. The air around them thrummed with urgency.

Suna’s gaze darted between the rooftops and alleys across the street, watching for movement, for anyone giving chase. Nothing yet.

Still, he didn’t let his guard drop.

He counted ten full seconds after they cleared the block, then moved.

With practiced precision, Suna disengaged the rifle’s stand and slung the weapon across his back, before backing away from the ledge. His footfalls were near silent on the gravel rooftop. A flicker of motion caught his eye, just the wind pulling at a laundry line, but it made his muscles tense all the same.

He turned, sprinting toward the opposite side of the building. His path had already been mapped out hours ago: jump, ledge, pipe, rooftop, ladder, ground.

He launched himself off the first ledge with fluid grace, landing on the next building’s rooftop with a roll that sent sharp grit scraping through his gloves. He let out a hissed breath, but continued on. There was no time to feel.

He straightened and ran.

But he wasn’t alone.

A blur of motion slammed into his side like a freight train.

Suna hit the ground hard, shoulder grinding against broken stone and old rusted nails as the impact knocked the air from his lungs. He grunted, half-rolled, half-struggled, but the other body was already on top of him, the weight pinning him down with brutal, animal efficiency.

Not a civilian.

Not a club enforcer either.

Too fast and much too skilled.

This was a professional.

Suna bared his teeth, twisting violently under the pressure, hands clawing for his gun or a knife, anything, but the figure struck again. A sharp elbow slammed into his ribs, crushing the air from his lungs with brutal efficiency.

His vision blurred with pain as his back slammed against the rooftop, the sky spun above him. His attacker was a blur of motion, a glint of metal, then a sharp weight crashed into his sternum, pinning him with bone-deep pressure. A knee ground into his chest as hands clamped around his wrists like iron chains.

His ribs shrieked. Suna kicked out hard, desperate, but his boot only grazed the other man’s side.

His rifle was wrenched from his grasp, the strap snapping painfully against his arm before it was sent skittering across the rooftop with a metallic clatter.

“Where do you think you’re going, asshole?” a low voice growled above him.

Suna’s vision cleared just enough to register the figure pinning him.

Male. Tall. Clad in head-to-toe black tactical gear. Gray-dyed hair peeked from beneath a hood. A partial mask obscured the lower half of his face, but sharp blue-gray eyes locked onto him with unwavering focus.

It took Suna a stunned second to realize the man was an omega.

He gritted his teeth, twisting beneath the weight, trying to dislodge him with brute force, but the omega was like stone; solid and trained, not phased by Suna’s flailing resistance. Whoever he was, this wasn’t his first rooftop fight.

The scent of warm spices hit him, something close to cinnamon or cloves, but not quiet. It was layered over the slight chemical smell of scent blockers, meaning this wasn’t the omega’s own scent, probably the scent of a mate.

Suna’s breath hitched as the weight on his chest shifted. He reached for his thigh holster, trying to grab his backup blade, his fingers just brushing the hilt.

But the omega was faster. A firm hand intercepted his wrist and twisted hard, disarming him in one practiced motion. The blade was sent skidding into the dark alongside his rifle.

Shit . He thought, trying to desperately think of a way to get out of the omega’s pin.

The omega leaned in closer, eyes set in a glare, breath just slightly audible through the mask. His free hand reached for Suna’s goggles and mask, yanking them halfway up his face in one swift jerk.

The omega’s glare faltered, his eyebrows scrunching up.

“Wait—” the stranger said, voice suddenly uneven. “You…”

Suna felt the omega’s grip loosen and his weight shift. And those gray eyes seemed to go hazy for a moment before looking at Suna with…

Confusion?

Suna didn’t waste the moment.

He snapped his knee up in a brutal jab, landing a hit to the man’s side. A strangled growl tore out of the stranger’s throat as he reeled back, pain lacing the sound.

The alpha surged up, trying to drive another punch into the omega’s jaw, but the man twisted away before Suna could make contact and his fist sliced through empty air.

Suna vaguely registered the pain in his shoulder from the impact against the gravel rooftop. Grit was buried in the wound, blood slick down his arm. He dove for his rifle, but a boot intercepted it, kicking the weapon just out of reach again.

When Suna looked up, the omega was already above him, handgun drawn.

The barrel pointed square at his chest.

Suna froze.

His breath was ragged, blood trailing in lazy rivulets down his arm. The omega’s eyes were hidden beneath a furrowed brow, his stance coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He was steady, but his hands… trembled. Just slightly. Enough that Suna could see it.

From adrenaline? Rage? Or something else?

“Don’t move,” the omega ordered, voice low and sharp. “Or I’ll put you down.”

Suna didn’t dare breathe too deeply. The tension was electric, razor-fine, the moment stretched tight like a trigger ready to be pulled.

His eyes scanned his options. The edge of the roof. His rifle. Nothing he could reach in time.

What the hell do you want? Suna thought, glaring back at the omega. 

The stranger took a slow step forward, gun still raised. His shoulders were tense, jaw tight.

Then a voice exploded in the stranger’s comms, so loud even Suna could hear the distorted bark: “Kitsune! Stand down. You hear me? LEAVE IT.” The rest of the message was lost to static and the omega let out an annoyed huff.

The man’s expression twisted behind the mask. He hesitated, seemingly at war with himself and the commands he was given.

“You’re lucky,” he hissed finally, but he didn’t put his gun down. Instead he shifted his aim slightly and fired. 

Suna didn’t even flinch when the bullet struck the concrete wall inches from his head. He’d stared down closer calls. But the intent behind it was personal, angry. Like this guy had something to prove.

Or something to remember.

The omega held his gaze a beat longer. Then, step by step, he began to retreat, still aiming, eyes hard with something unreadable. Something that felt just shy of recognition.

Then.

He turned.

And like a ghost, he was gone, launching himself off the rooftop in a blur of motion. His boots barely made a sound as he vanished into the dark.

Suna stared at the edge of the roof, trying to catch his breath. His shoulder throbbed in time with his pulse, hot blood soaking the side of his suit.

He didn’t waste another second.

Darting forward and snatching his rifle off the ground, gripping it tight, needing the weight in his hands. Needing a sense of familiarity and security.

He took one last steadying breath and ran. 

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of his own boots thudding against the tarred surface. The night air cut cold across his skin, catching on the blood soaking through his sleeve. His shoulder burned, but he shoved the pain aside, he couldn’t afford to slow down just in case.

He vaulted over a low ledge, clearing a rooftop ventilation shaft, and sprinted for the fire escape at the edge of a library.

He was three stories up, but it didn’t matter, he was used to heights, used to death defying tasks on skyscrapers and tree branches.

His boots clanged against the rusted metal, hands gripping and releasing the rails in practiced succession as he half-jumped, half-slid down the structure. At the bottom, he skipped the last rung and dropped straight into a crouch, the scent of the dingy alley barraged his nose with the sour tang of trash and motor oil.

He darted from the alley and onto the dimly lit street, sticking close to the shadows casted by streetlamps. His legs ached, lungs starting to burn as he pushed into a full sprint, weaving between dumpsters, parked cars, and piles of discarded crates. He could still feel the phantom weight of the stranger’s body, see the brief flash of recognition spark in his eyes. 

The comm in his ear crackled to life, cutting through his thoughts.

“Suna, status?” Akaashi’s voice came through low but sharp, followed by a soft beat of finger-tapping against what Suna assumed was the van’s steering wheel.

Suna raised a hand, flicking his comm line on as he ran. 

“Held up,” he finally panted, breath rattling. “Got caught by one of Seijoh’s operatives. He was ordered to retreat. I’m on foot, two blocks south. I’ll meet you at the original rendezvous point in five.”

“Are you injured?” Kenma’s voice cut in, even but faintly strained. Probably trying to gauge if he needed to redirect resources.

“I’m fine,” Suna gritted out. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his rifle as he jumped over a low chain-link fence. “Just a few scrapes. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Kenma’s voice crackled softly in Suna’s ear, low and laced with unmistakable worry. “You better get here in one piece.”

A huff of a laugh escaped Suna, dry and faintly amused. “Always do,” he muttered, then clicked the comm off with a soft beep. No more chatter. No distractions. Just escape.

The night air was sharp in his lungs, adrenaline still biting at the edges of his awareness. His steps echoed faintly on the uneven pavement as he cut into a narrow alleyway, eyes constantly moving. Every shadow felt like it could be more. Every corner could house an enemy.

There was no movement ahead, nothing but the hum of the city, far-off traffic, and the neon glow bleeding down graffiti-tagged walls from the main road. A red light flickered above him, casting everything in washed-out crimson. His pulse thudded in his throat as he spotted the rendezvous point, just across the lot behind a sagging liquor store with half its letters burned out.

He ducked lower, instinct sharpening. Then ran.

Gravel kicked underfoot as he bolted across the lot, skidding to a crouch behind a battered dumpster. The metal reeked of sour beer and rot, but it was cover. He pressed his back against it, rifle tucked against his side, and finally allowed himself to breathe.

One minute.

Two.

His heart slowed just a fraction as he closed his eyes, tuning into the night. The distant thump of music. The rustle of wind. No footsteps. No orders barked through comms. Maybe he’d actually gotten out clean.

Then he heard it.

Tires on gravel and the low, steady growl of an engine.

Suna’s body tensed, head swiveling toward the sound. He edged around the dumpster slowly, not raising his weapon, but not letting down his guard.

Headlights cut through the dark like a knife. The vehicle eased into view, sleek and matte black.. Suna’s shoulders dropped a little as he recognized it as Karasuno's car.

The passenger window was already lowered. Akaashi sat behind the wheel, expression unreadable, calm as ever, except for the way his gaze roved the shadows like a wolf scenting blood. His eyes locked on Suna in the gloom.

He arched his brow, voice dry. “Are you always this dramatic?”

Suna exhaled a breathless laugh and pushed himself up onto his feet, wincing as his leg protested. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you come pick me up bridal style,” he drawled, limping the last few steps.

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “Get in.”

Suna hauled open the door, sliding into the passenger seat with a grunt. The warmth inside the van hit him like a wall, and he sank into it with a groan as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Akaashi didn’t wait, simply threw the van into gear and peeled away from the alley without hesitation, one hand on the wheel, the other checking the rearview.

“Anyone follow you?” he asked, eyes sharp.

“No,” Suna said, still catching his breath. “Seijoh pulled their operative. I heard the recall order come through the guy’s comm just before he bailed.”

“That’s unlike them,” Akaashi muttered, frowning as he turned onto the main road.

Suna gave a half-shrug, glancing down at his arm. Blood had dried in a rough streak over the torn fabric of his sleeve, the scrape angry but superficial. “Yeah, well… Tell that to the bullet he fired two inches from my skull.”

Akaashi’s grip tightened on the wheels, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, “Glad you’re okay.”

Suna smirked at that, tilting his head to glance over. “Aww, you care about me.”

Akaashi didn’t dignify that with a response, though the corners of his mouth twitched up.

Suna turned his head toward the back of the van, where the others sat close together in the dim light. Hinata was holding the unconscious stranger steady while Noya wrapped a blanket around their trembling frame. Kenma had his hood pulled up, hands folded in his lap, eyes watching Suna with barely veiled concern.

“Everyone okay?” Suna asked, voice lower now, fatigue catching up to him all at once.

“We’re all thankfully in one piece,” Kenma murmured, his voice soft but steady. Relief rippled through it like the tail-end of a storm.

Suna nodded slowly, offering a tired smile in return. Then he faced forward, letting his body finally sag into the seat.

The tension didn’t leave him fully, not yet. But his shoulders had dropped and his breathing eased.

The city lights blurred past the windows, cold and distant. Behind them, Club Manticore faded into shadow, swallowed by the alleys and violence and cruelty of Seijoh’s streets.

It had been a long, brutal night.

Now, finally, it was time to rest.

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies!!!

Fucking Finally this chapter is posted!!!

Gods, I think this was the hardest chapter for me to write. I legit had to rewrite it five times because I hated the way I was writing it. I really don't know what was wrong with me, but here we go! This chapter is almost 14,000 words so please don't be angry with me!

I am going to try and post another chapter before Tuesday because I will be going on vacation for a week, but if my writers block persists who freaking knows.

Honestly, this chapter still isn't my favorite, but I couldn't deprive you all any long.

Thank you for being patient and sticking with me!

I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day, and I'll (hopefully) see you soon <3

Chapter 38: Make A New Excuse, Another Stupid Reason

Summary:

Infiltration time with Yamaguchi

The van hummed beneath them, a low, steady vibration that Yamaguchi let himself sink into as he remained still; limp, head tilted ever so slightly toward the window, body slack between two warm figures. His eyes were shut, his breathing measured just enough to sound faint and exhausted. Not too slow, not too shallow. Just right for someone who had passed out in the arms of two strangers.

Everything else, though, was acutely awake.

He kept his scent sharp, sour with fear, tainted with just the right edge of panic. His normal magnolia scent was still there, of course, sweet and gentle at its core, but now bitter with anxiety, as if it had been steeped in weeks of terror. 

There wasn’t a single flaw in his act, no hair out of place, or a section of skin unblemished.

Trauma was a language, and Yamaguchi was fluent.

The scent of tangerines clung to the orange haired omega seated directly to his right. That was Hinata, if Yamaguchi recalled correctly from Seijoh's files. The omega was kind and naive, innocently stroking Yamaguchi’s hair. His voice had been the most constant since they got into the van, soft words of reassurances and hushed stage whispers to the others in the vehicle, the soft murmur of, “You’re safe now,” repeating like a mantra.

On Yamaguchi’s left, was the other omega they’d seen in the videos Hanamaki had pulled. His scent was a mix of lavender and lemons; cool, sharp, and fresh like the beginning of summer. Hinata had called the omega ‘Noya’. Yamaguchi didn’t have a proper file on him, but he could deduce the omega was a combat soldier, specializing in bladed weapons if the assortment of knives hidden on his person were any indication. 

Up front, behind the wheel, the driver hadn’t said much at all. His voice was calm and collected when it did come, a smooth silk ribbon that held authority in the vehicle. He had a clipped tone, giving directions and ordering check-ins. The driver was an omega with a floral scent, but he was still wearing his scent patches so Yamaguchi couldn’t figure out what flower it was. 

That being said, he dare not attempt to discretely look at the omega. The single glimpse he’d gotten before feigning unconsciousness had revealed intelligent gunmetal blue eyes that seemed to analyze everything around them. The omega had been striking, in that strange hollowed-out way beautiful things often were. Pale skin, pitch black hair, and a black cloth mask that did little to hide the omega’s beauty.

Yamaguchi didn’t know his name. But from the elegance in his posture, the authority in his voice, and the way the others deferred to him, he was clearly more than just a driver.

To his right, the passenger seat held someone unfamiliar. He’d jumped into the car panting and immediately started bickering with the omega. He was an alpha, definitely, and most likely a sniper considering he’d been carrying a rifle. The scent was unmistakable, petrichor, but not as earthy as Bokuto’s scent. Bo had this after-the-storm clarity, the kind of scent that grounded you. This alpha’s was sharper, like the air just before it began to pour, thunder still rumbling on the horizon. This alpha exuded danger. His green eyes had been scanning the horizon earlier, sharp and alert, and his brown hair flicked out at the sides, giving him an almost foxlike quality. There was a dark X-shaped scar cut into his jaw and lip, and the snakebite piercings shimmered faintly when the streetlights caught them.

Yamaguchi let out a tiny broken whine, making Hinata’s hands freeze before resuming his stroking. 

In the middle row were the final two. One was easy to ID, Tanaka Ryunosuke. He matched the file Seijoh had perfectly. Broad, shaved head, solid stance even while seated, his alpha scent was potent, mahogany and something slightly smoky lied underneath. He was talking to the person next to him in a low voice, half-laughing at something, though the sound was dulled by the engine and the hum of the road.

Yamaguchi couldn't see the person next to Tanaka well from his position, but the scent drifting from that seat was a curl of cinnamon apples, soft and grounded. He was an omega, too. Long hair fell over his shoulder, grown-out blonde dye leaving brown roots exposed. Gold eyes had flicked over to Yamaguchi once, they were calculating and unreadable. This one hadn’t spoken much, but Yamaguchi could feel it, there was sharp intelligence coiled beneath his silence. He was too smart for his own good. 

Yamaguchi would need to keep an eye on him.

The van was mostly quiet now, the hum of the engine joined only by the soft hiss of air-conditioning and the occasional skip of music filtering from the speakers. Some kind of lo-fi track, it was instrumental and mellow. It pulsed gently through the tension like a thread holding everything together.

Yamaguchi remained motionless, eyes shut, head tipped just enough to keep his face from falling slack. He was aware of every inch of the van, the curve of Hinata’s thigh beneath his head, the rhythm of Noya’s tapping against his calf, the brief buzz of a comm being checked from the front seat. 

He analyzed everything intently. Each vibration. Each word. Every last movement was noted and catalogued in Yamaguchi's mind.

“…Suga’s going to be pissed we didn’t get the shipment,” Tanaka muttered after a long silence.

“It was the right call,” said the soft, even voice of the driver. “We couldn’t leave him there.”

Him. So they were talking about Yamaguchi now.

“We’ll just have to report it to Daichi and hope he doesn’t tear us all a new one,” the driver added.

Huh? That little tidbit seemed to confirm the brutality of Karasuno’s leader.

Yamaguchi filed away the intel quickly and began rolling each word over in his mind.

This van was filled with operatives trusted enough to make decisions in the field without direct orders. Some of those operatives happen to be omegas.

How… interesting.

Hinata murmured, “I think he’s still asleep. He looks really pale.”

Noya’s voice joined in, softer than before. “Poor guy. He was trembling so hard when we found him. I could feel it.”

Yamaguchi twitched subtly, just enough to sell the illusion, a small, unconscious reaction to the words. He’d observed hundreds of unconscious people during his tenure as medic for Seijoh; they were never completely still, unless they were on their death bed. 

It was easy to emulate those mannerisms, almost second nature.

Silence stretched through the car. The music changed to another slow instrumental. No one reached for the volume.

“Daichi’s going to hate this,” The long-haired omega said, his voice finally breaking through the silence.

Yamaguchi had to will himself not to tense. 

If the alpha was as bad as Seijoh thought, he’d be in for a painful few months. He wasn’t a stranger to enduring an angry alpha’s wrath, but he didn’t enjoy it. 

The silence returned, without anyone protesting the declaration. Yamaguchi took this as confirmation that the alpha wasn’t a particularly kind individual.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi would accept people with open arms, albeit from afar to keep the omega’s identity a secret. They never hesitated to spread their influence and power in order to help those in need. 

It’s why Yamaguchi followed them in the first place, he’d been saved by them. Trusted with Oikawa’s identity and given a home. 

So he’d endure the pain and hurt that was sure to come, make sure to play the role of an innocent victim perfectly so they’d never suspect him.

He’d keep his family safe.

They drove on through the dark, winding roads, no city lights to guide them now, only the dim glow of the dashboard and the pale wash of headlights.

He could feel the shift in the van’s direction, off the main highway, then deeper, trees pressing close on both sides. Remote and secluded.

The further they went, the deeper Yamaguchi let himself sink into his role. Limp limbs. Shallow breath. Fear-laced scent. Everything they needed him to be.

Yamaguchi tilted forward as the van began to slow, Hinata was quick to place a gentle hand on his chest to keep Yamaguchi from rolling off the seat. 

He was sweet.

Yamaguchi would make sure to take Hinata with him when he escaped, maybe he’d like a place in Seijoh?

He was obviously qualified enough, not to mention Bokuto and Atsumu would probably adore him.

Yamaguchi had to suppress the small grin that threatened to form on his lips as he thought about his hyper friends. 

The air seemed to shift, it was subtle but Yamaguchi picked it up quickly, refocusing on his objective. 

“Almost there” The driver murmured.

Tires crunched over gravel, the engine no longer a roar of speed.

Beyond his closed lids, the light shifted. The trees must have parted; moonlight filtering into the car, the light was soft, no longer the stark shifts of streetlamps or high-rise shadows. A pair of voices crackled faintly over a radio as the van came to a full stop. Footsteps crunched outside, circling the car. 

A gruff voice called: “ID check confirmed. Open the gates.”

A metallic groan followed, heavy and mechanical. Iron gates parting like the red sea.

Karasuno’s base.

The scent of pine hit him first; sharp, fresh, and earthy, tinged with something colder, like damp moss and old stone. Hinata’s fingers twitched against Yamaguchi’s temple. “We’re home,” he whispered, though his voice trembled faintly with emotion.

That was an interesting reaction ‘home’.

The van pulled forward again, but it didn’t go far. The car simply glided over gravel until it hit the smooth drive of pavement or dirt, then pulled to a stop, engine flicking off in a smooth motion.

The door to his right slid open and the sticky summer air rushed in. There was rustling in the middle seats before the seats clicked, seemingly lowered so the back row could exit. 

Yamaguchi’s body was shifted as Noya crawled out, then warm arms were slipping beneath his back and knees. 

“Got him,” a deep unfamiliar voice murmured, he had a broad chest and some type of wood scent that seemed to mix with something sweet, maybe some sort of chocolate? A mate, or courting partner most likely. 

He was lifted easily, held bridal style in the alpha’s arms. He made sure to stay loose, head lolled slightly against the alpha’s chest, breathing shallow and uneven.

The alpha began to walk and Yamaguchi cracked his eyes open, just a sliver, to analyze his surroundings.

The base was… nothing like he’d expected.

Seijoh’s base was modern and hidden in plain sight, a luxury high-rise nestled among Tokyo’s skyline. Clean, sleek lines. Crafted with glass and steel, technology woven into every fiber of its structure. Security was embedded in walls, in the floors, the lights, the seemingly harmless vending machines in the lobby. Everything was intentional. Everything was masked as a high end apartment complex, hiding Seijoh’s operations and secrets from outsiders.

Karasuno was not masked. 

The manor before him was sprawling and tall, weathered wood stretching into the sky, sloped rooftops covered in dark shingles. Golden light poured from wide-paned windows. It looked like a piece of the past, tucked away in the forest, surrounded by looming trees. The path was cobblestone, flanked by worn lantern posts and a carved wooden gate covered in ivy.

It seemed traditional, but not cold.

The deeper they went, the warmer it became.

Wooden floors creaked under boots. Warm lights flickered against old photographs on the walls. There were soft rugs underfoot, mismatched, and clearly collected over the years. The scent of tea and old paper filled the building. It was nothing like the clean antiseptic smell of Seijoh’s slick tile halls. The inner syndicate had a much more homey environment, sure, but the difference was stark.

Where Seijoh was precision and control, Karasuno was legacy and presence.

Yamaguchi organized his thoughts into a neat list as the man carried him further inside. They walked down a long hall, then took a left turn into a clean smelling room.

Yamaguchi was intimately familiar with the smell. Antiseptic and bleach.

A medical wing.

The walls here were lined with cabinets, some filled with various medical supplies, others with vials and sealed kits. A lab coat hung haphazardly on a hook by the doorway.

It was smaller than Seijoh’s, but more intimate. Not cold and clinical, but warm with softly humming machines and a faint whiff of herbs. A beta woman brushed past and helped settle Yamaguchi on the bed, murmuring things about malnutrition and dehydration. 

Yamaguchi stayed still as a needle slid into his arm.

An IV bag swayed above him. Clear and properly hung. He subtly tracked the tubing with his eyes. It was clean, sterile, and functional. The equipment was well-maintained, not the newest, but efficient nonetheless. 

Someone clearly took their job seriously.

Stillness began to return. The medical team and those from the car began to filter out, Hinata lingered the longest, until a gentle voice from the door pulled him away. The door clicked shut behind him and finally, Yamaguchi was alone.

The moment the last voice disappeared from the hallway, he opened his eyes and began to properly scan the room. There was nothing suspicious, everything seemed to have a proper place and nothing seemed to be in disarray. 

Yamaguchi caught sight of a computer and grinned, silently he made his way over to the desk, being sure to keep his arm stretched out so as to not disturb the IV line. 

He logged into the computer quickly, fingers flying over the keys as he overrode simple firewalls and dug into the machine. “See, Tsuki,” he murmured under his breath, lips quirking up into a small grin, “I do listen to your hacking lessons.”

For a moment his adrenaline spiked, he was in their system, so close to intel. But as he scrolled through the data, his shoulders fell slightly. The pathways didn’t lead anywhere critical; only displaying surface level information.

It quickly became glaringly obvious that the computer wasn’t connected to Karasuno’s main network. 

A dead end with no real intel anywhere.

It was a smart move, he’ll give them that, but still a pain in the ass. He’d have to wait until he had access to an internal system to retrieve anything of worth. 

His lips pursed into a pout as he shut everything down carefully, wiping down the keys in order to leave behind no fingerprints that could be traced back to him. He padded back to the bed, easing onto the mattress with slow precision, inch by inch. He guided himself down exactly into the same indent he’d been laid in, careful not to crease the sheets in any new way, making sure not to disturb the neatness of the nurse’s work.

He sighed and reached beneath the hem of his spandex shorts, just beneath his waistband, where a thin square of black tech was secured to his skin. It looked like a nicotine patch, something completely inconspicuous. 

He clicked it once.

A small light at the corner blinked red.

He tapped it with a single finger, slow and precise.

Two short taps, a pause, two long clicks, a pause, three long clicks.

Slowly but surely he spelled out, “I - M - O - K- M - I - S - S - I - O - N - S - U - C - C - E - S - S”.

He repeated the action a second time to make sure everything went through clearly. He waited, watching the red light intently. 

It flickered green in acknowledgment, then went dark.

He smiled at the small device before grabbing a nearby scalpel, carefully slicing in the mattress next to the seam before tucking the gadget into the lining of the mattress, where he knew no routine scan or bedding change would catch it. It was thin enough to go unnoticed under the fabric, the perfect communication tool his mate had personally developed.

Finally he wiped the scalpel down to make sure no fibers were stuck to it before placing it back in its exact position on the tray next to his bed. Then, with the same delicate care, he let his body relax into the mattress again, settling into stillness, as if he had never moved at all.

 

---

 

The briefing room was quiet. A tense silence that made everyone nervous.

Kenma sat with his hands folded in his lap, eyes cast down on the polished table that reflected dim amber light from the old chandelier overhead. The others were scattered in the seats around him, Hinata perched at the edge of his chair, restless; Suna leaning back, head tipped lazily against the wall as if he hadn’t just fought for his life on a rooftop; Tanaka drumming his fingers against the armrest; Noya tapping his heel against the leg of the table with jittery energy.

Across from them, Daichi’s arms were crossed, expression stern as stone. Suga stood just beside him, softer but no less watchful, eyes flicking across the team like he could read every thought they refused to voice.

Kenma didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of Daichi’s disapproval like a heavy blanket over the room.

“The mission was a bust.” Suna finally said out loud, his voice low, rough around the edges. He didn’t sound apologetic. Just… tired. “Seijoh wasn’t moving anything tonight. Either we got bad intel, or they changed the date.”

Daichi’s jaw tightened, anger lacing his tone as he spoke. “And instead of pulling out and coming home, you disobeyed my orders not to get involved with Seijoh and brought back an unknown omega.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Hinata straightened, voice sharp but earnest: “We couldn’t just leave him! Panther had him cornered, Daichi. He was- he was going to kill him. Or worse. We couldn’t just walk away!”

Noya slammed his palm down on the table, glaring up at their leader. “Exactly! The guy was already injured, barely standing, and Panther had that look, you know the one. He wasn’t going to let him leave unscathed!”

“And you saw this… look?” Suga asked gently, every bit of intel they had on Panther claimed he was always masked. Noya looked a bit sheepish at the question.

“It was in his body language… And he was saying all these disgusting things!” He defended and Tanaka straightened up.

“You can watch the video Kenma was livestreaming to Akaashi, you’ll see it for yourself.” he said, holding his ground against the mates across from them

Daichi’s gaze shifted between them, hard and unwavering. “Do you understand the risk you’ve taken just by bringing him here? He could be bait. He could be wired. He could be exactly what Seijoh wanted you to take.”

The silence that followed made Kenma’s chest constrict. His throat felt dry, his palms clammy. He pressed his fingers harder together beneath the table.

There was a small sigh and Suga spoke, calm and steady, his voice cutting through the tension. “Or he could be exactly what we need for proper intel. Someone Seijoh didn’t care to protect. Someone who might know their habits and who their people are. Someone who deserves safety, regardless of what we can get from him .”

Kenma glances up briefly. Suga’s gaze was firm but kind, staring at his mate, it was the kind of expression that softened the edges of Daichi’s sharp commands.

The mates seemed to stare down one another, before Daichi finally sighed and nodded. Suga smiled gently and kissed his cheek before turning back to the team. 

“We’ll need to greet him properly,” Suga continued, “make sure he knows he isn’t in danger here. Hinata, Akaashi, and Kenma; you three were there. You should be the ones to greet him when he wakes up.”

Kenma froze. The words landed like a weight in his chest. His throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, he shook his head. “I… I wouldn’t be any help.”

Suga’s eyes softened, understanding flickering through them before Kenma could even explain. Everyone seemed to grow sad by the revelation, seven pairs of eyes looking at him like he was some sort of broken porcelain doll. His fingers clenched against his knee. He hated when they looked at him like that.

But he wasn’t in a place to help someone else emotionally. Sure he’d gotten better since the mission to Hakone, but he was still numb. Too blunt and unkind even when he wasn’t trying to be. He hated when he said something wrong, or snapped at someone for nothing. He hated that he wasn’t able to trust himself to say the right things.

No one pressed him or asked for more, and for that Kenma was grateful.

Suga nodded, finally breaking the stillness. “That’s fine, Kenma. Hinata and Akaashi can handle it.” His voice was gentle, warm enough that the knot in Kenma’s chest loosened just a fraction.

Daichi sighed, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. “Fine. But we keep our guard up, Hinata and Akaashi will analyze him, make sure he isn’t a threat. Until we know who he is, that omega doesn’t take one step outside the med bay.”

The meeting dissolved after that. Chairs scraped. Boots thudded against the wooden floors. One by one, the others filtered out into the halls of the old manor.

Kenma rose slowly, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched. He followed Hinata and Akaashi down the corridor, the three of them moving quietly through the dimly lit hall. The smell of tea and polished wood lingered faintly, the manor’s old bones creaking under their weight.

When they reached the med bay door, Hinata stopped abruptly and spun towards him. Before Kenma could react, Hinata had him wrapped in a fierce hug, warm and unyielding.

“You’re stronger than you think,” Hinata said, voice muffled against his shoulder. “Even when you don’t feel like it.”

Kenma’s throat tightened, but before he could answer, Akaashi stepped in. His embrace was softer, brief but grounding, his hand pressing lightly between Kenma’s shoulder blades. “Rest,” he said simply, voice low and steady. “You’ve carried enough tonight.”

Kenma blinked, caught between wanting to scoff and wanting to crumble. In the end, he just nodded, pulling back with a muttered, “Goodnight.”

Hinata’s grin was bright, even in the dim light. “Goodnight, Kenma!”

Akaashi gave him a small smile, something quieter but no less sincere.

Kenma turned and walked down the hall, the sound of his footsteps soft against the worn rugs. He didn’t look back, didn’t have to. He knew they were watching until he disappeared around the corner.

Behind him, the med bay door creaked open, hinges sighing. Hinata and Akaashi slipped inside, leaving Kenma alone with his thoughts as he retreated deeper into the manor’s darkened halls.

 

---

 

Yamaguchi lay still on the cot, the soft scent of antiseptic clinging to the sheets. He could hear muffled voices outside the med bay door. His pulse quickened, but he forced his expression slack, tilting his head just so against the pillow. The hinges squeaked, and footsteps padded in.

Time to play his part.

He let his lashes flutter as if pulling himself reluctantly from sleep, lips parting on a groggy whisper. “...what… happened?” His voice rasped just the right amount, cracked with feigned fear.

Two figures approached. The first was Hinata, eyes wide and earnest; the other had been the driver, his eyes were sharper, steady but kind. Yamaguchi shot up, pushing himself back against the headboard, letting his hands tremble slightly, as though he was certain they were going to harm him.

“It’s okay,” Hinata said quickly, offering both palms forward in reassurance. “You’re safe now.”

The taller one nodded, his voice smoother. “I’m Akaashi. This is Hinata. We’re not here to hurt you. You’re at Karasuno Manor. No one here will touch you.”

So the omega’s name was Akaashi, Yamaguchi thought. He didn’t offer a first name, he must be keeping his distance. What a smart omega.

Yamaguchi blinked at them, chewing his bottom lip. Slowly, as if gathering courage, he whispered, “...Yamaguchi. That’s… my name.” He paused just long enough for his shoulders to hunch, as if ashamed. “I… don’t have a first name.” 

The words slipped out with a delicate tremor. He didn’t miss the way both men’s faces softened, Hinata’s mouth falling open with shock and Akaashi’s brows pulling together with quiet pity.

Good. They were buying it.

Akaashi seemed to recover first, slowly sitting down on the bed next to Yamaguchi, making sure to give the omega time to reject the closeness. Yamaguchi stayed silent, letting his eyes scan over the other omega, openly analyzing him.

“Could you tell us about your family?” Akaashi asked.

Yamaguchi looked down at his hands like he was about to cry. 

“My parents…” He said shakily, adding tremors into his voice and letting his fingers curl into the blanket. “They never loved me, they said I was a mistake. They… sold me off when I was 16.” He said softly, and let his voice break with synthesized emotion. “I was never worth a name to them.”

Hinata sucked in a shaky breath, stepping closer, but careful not to crowd him. “That’s horrible…” His voice cracked, heavy with outrage on Yamaguchi’s behalf. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Akaashi spoke more gently. “You deserve better than all of that. You will not be treated that way here.”

Yamaguchi let his eyes glisten faintly, blinking fast acting as if he was desperately trying not to cry. Slowly he nodded, voice trembling. “Seijoh bought me when I was twenty… I’ve been with them ever since. About four years.” His throat bobbed, a rehearsed pause that made the next lie sink deeper. “They… made me strip. Work their clubs. I didn’t have a choice.”

Hinata’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, anger bright on his face, but not at Yamaguchi. Akaashi reached out halfway, then stopped, respecting the space between them.

“You’re safe here,” Akaashi repeated, his tone solemn. “We won’t push you. Just know you’re free now. No one here will use you like that ever again.”

Yamaguchi lowered his gaze, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the slight curve of satisfaction that wanted to form. They were eating up every word. Still, he kept his body small, posture brittle and hunched, just a terrified omega who’d known nothing but cages.

Hinata’s voice softened again. “We’re glad you’re here, Yamaguchi. Whatever you need, we’ll help you.”

Yamaguchi swallowed, letting his voice waver. “...thank you.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Yamaguchi began to act nervous, fidgeting and looking up at them while biting the insides of his cheeks. 

Hinata had a kind smile on his face only about three feet away from Yamaguchi. Akaashi no longer had the cloth mask on, and his eyes were soft and open. He was analyzing the wounds on Yamaguchi's body, eyes trailing from his arms, to his legs, up to his throat, where they paused, becoming darker as he stared, unblinking.

Yamaguchi raised a hand to his throat hesitantly, “What?” He asked with a soft voice.

That seemed to snap Akaashi out of whatever trance he was in, his eyes looking up into Yamaguchi’s. He hesitated for a moment before speaking up.

His voice was low, the kind meant to soothe without smothering, but there was an edge of cold anger to it. “If you’d like, we can have our medics begin the process of removing the bond mark on your scent gland. I imagine it isn’t from someone you want to be tied to anymore, given what you’ve been through.”

The words make Yamaguchi’s hand instinctively fly off his throat and down to his scent gland. His fingertips brush the slightly raised scar of the mark Tsukishima had given him when they were twelve, he bit him in a desperate attempt to keep his loved one safe. His breath catches, too sharp and too loud, before he can stop himself Yamaguchi is quickly shaking his head, eyes wide. “No,” he blurts out, after a beat of silence he adds in a softer tone, “No… not that one.”

Hinata blinks in confusion, but Akaashi tilts his head, studying the reaction.

Yamaguchi quickly goes over his own actions in his mind, how does he spin the story? How can he fix what he just said?

Ah, a bit of truth sprinkled into the story would be beneficial, he supposes. 

Yamaguchi starts speaking, his voice quiet but threaded with a rawness he usually wouldn’t ever allow in this situation. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. That mark, it’s the only good thing I’ve ever had.” His lips tug into something between a smile and a grimace. “It was from my alpha. My everything. I was still free at the time, not yet a broken shell. He gave me the bond when I still had hope for a future.”

Hinata’s chest aches at the way Yamaguchi says my alpha , like it’s both a prayer and a memory. “You loved him,” Hinata whispers.

Yamaguchi swallows thickly, eyes stinging. He tells himself he should shut up, stick to the script, but he missed Tsuki. It had been less than a day since they parted, but if he talked about Tsuki now, he’d be able to talk about the alpha even more down the line, and hopefully it would deter any other alphas from trying to approach him. 

“More than anything.” He said, a plan finally forming in his mind. “He was tall, sharp-tongued… but he always looked at me like I was the most beautiful person in the world. Like I wasn’t just some… disposable thing.” His throat tightens, and his voice grows small. “I haven’t seen him since I was sixteen,” He lies easily, letting a few tears roll down his cheeks to emphasize the point, “and it feels like… like a part of me is lost with no hope of returning.”

For a fleeting moment, his walls crack entirely, and he lets the longing he feels for his mate bleed through. He squeezes his eyes shut, and rubs at them like he’s angry to be crying.

Hinata reaches forward impulsively, his hand brushing Yamaguchi’s forearm. “Hey… it’s okay to miss him. Whoever he is, it sounds like he loved you too.”

Yamaguchi’s chest twists painfully. This really didn’t seem like the type of place that sold omegas. But it could all be an act, just like him they could be pretending so he let his guard down. They could be trying to make him feel safe so he wouldn’t run.

“After him, it was all downhill.” He continued, trying to get more sympathy from the duo “I was sold, traded, stripped down to nothing until Seijoh bought me.” His voice cracks at just the right places, letting fake anguish creep into his voice. “They kept me working in the clubs. Told me if I ran, they’d hurt me, make me take on worse clients. So I stayed.”

Akaashi’s expression hardens slightly, though not at Yamaguchi, at the thought of someone using an omega’s fear against them. “That’s cruel.”

“It’s survival,” Yamaguchi answers hollowly. He lets his gaze fall, lashes damp. “I told myself the bond mark was poison, that remembering him was a venom that was killing me slowly, but… it’s all I had left. The only proof that once upon a time, someone wanted me. Not for a quick fuck, but for who I am as a person.”

Hinata’s hand squeezes his arm gently. “Then hold onto that proof. You’re not alone anymore. You have us now too.”

Yamaguchi forces a tremulous smile, “You’re so kind. I wish I could be as bright as you.” He says softly, and Hinata looks so sad.

Bingo.

He walked closer and sat down next to Yamaguchi, perching on the edge of the chair nearest to his bed, leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his knees, his open expression radiating genuine warmth, like he trusted Yamaguchi’s story completely. Akaashi remained more reserved, seated with a straight-back, his sharp gaze never leaving Yamaguchi.

“Thank you, but I didn’t always used to be like this,” Hinata said softly, his tone carrying that brightness that always seemed to shine through no matter how dark the subject. “I know what it’s like to feel like no one’s ever going to help you, like you're trapped with nowhere to go.”

Yamaguchi tilted his head, feigning nervous curiosity, his fingers toying with the blanket. “You do?”

Hinata nodded, and before Akaashi could intervene, he started talking. His voice low and heavy with sincerity.

“I grew up in a small town. I had a wonderful family. My parents and my little sister Natsu. She was only three when everything changed.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “When I was ten, our parents… they were killed. It was a mugging gone wrong, the man wanted money but my parents didn’t have any, it got ugly fast and suddenly it was just me and her.”

Yamaguchi made his eyes widen slightly, murmuring, “That’s… horrible.” Inside, though, he tucked the details away: Hinata has a little sister. Natsu. Leverage if needed, a weak spot.

Hinata rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish habit, but his words didn’t lose their weight. “I tried to take care of her, but… nobody in their right mind hires a ten-year-old. We lost everything. Ended up living on the streets. I had to steal just to keep her fed. I got good at running, fast enough to keep ahead of angry shopkeepers, or police officers that almost caught me.” He gave a tiny laugh, though it was hollow.

Yamaguchi’s expression softened, if the story was true and not falsified then he felt for Hinata. He was just like his family at Seijoh, broken but alive. He spoke softly, letting his care and worry show. “You did all that for her? At ten?”

Hinata nodded, but this time there was no smile. His hands twisted together, knuckles turning white from his grip. “When I was thirteen, I made a spot in an old tree that was hidden away for Natsu. Somewhere safe, or so I thought. One night, this alpha came by, he was strung out, out of his mind on some type of drug. He found her. He wanted… he wanted to hurt her.” Hinata’s voice cracked, his eyes glistening. “I didn’t think. I just picked up the closest rock and… and I killed him.”

For a brief moment, the room was heavy with silence. Akaashi’s eyes flicked sharply towards Hinata, a warning flashing in them.

Yamaguchi pretended to flinch, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. The story was fucked up, but he’d heard and seen so many stories about trauma that he wasn’t surprised by the darkness in humanity. 

“You… you killed someone?” he whispered, making his voice tremble. 

He couldn’t help but take stock of the situation: Hinata’s first kill at thirteen. Protecting his sister. Emotionally tied to guilt. Use his empathy, play the victim. He’ll latch onto me.

Hinata nodded miserably. “I had to. For her.”

Before he could say more, Akaashi cut him off smoothly, his voice firm but gentle. “That’s enough for now, Hinata. No need to overwhelm him.” His dark eyes shifted toward Yamaguchi with subtle caution. “You’ve both been through too much already. No more details tonight.”

Hinata opened his mouth as if to protest, but then he caught himself, ducking his head. “Sorry. I just… wanted him to know he’s not alone.”

Yamaguchi blinked up at them, deliberately letting tears brim in his eyes before swiping them away quickly as if choked up by the revelation. “Thank you. Really. I… I don’t even remember what it’s like to have someone care about me.” His voice was tiny, almost like he was scared that Hinata was lying, painting the perfect picture of a shattered, innocent omega clinging to scraps of kindness.

Hinata’s chest ached at the sight. “Well, you do now. We’ll take care of you. I promise.”

Akaashi, though calmer, still offered a quiet nod. “You’ll have a new home here.”

Yamaguchi ducked his head, once again muttering a fragile “Thanks.” Behind the trembling act, though, his heart thudded with purpose. Every detail was being filed away neatly: names, stories, weaknesses, relationships. They thought they were peeling back his layers, but in truth, he was the one dissecting them.

Akaashi’s voice was calm and measured, the same way he’d interrogate someone with soft hands instead of threats. He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, his sharp eyes fixed on Yamaguchi. “Is it okay if we talk about Seijoh for a moment?”

He gave the other omega a hesitant nod, letting himself look anxious.

“You said you weren’t high up in the hierarchy, but you must have seen things.” Akaashi began, and offered Yamaguchi a soft smile, “Is there anything you can share that could help us understand Seijoh’s secrets?”

Yamaguchi tucked his knees up under his chin, curling tighter into himself as if the blankets on the cot could shield him from the weight of Akaashi’s stare. He gave a tiny, hesitant nod, letting his voice catch just enough to sound fragile. “I… I don’t know much. They don’t tell people like me things. But…” He hesitated, fingers picking at a loose thread in the sheet. “There was Panther… He’s the guy that you guys saved me from.”

At the name, both Hinata and Akaashi stilled. 

“What about him?” Akaashi asked quietly.

Yamaguchi swallowed, forcing his voice lower, shakier. “He always wore a mask. I never saw his face. Not once. You couldn’t mistake him though, he carried himself… differently. A terrifying and cold aura surrounded him. Like he wasn’t even human.”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Terrifying? Cold? Please. 

That man cried watching dumb movies and carried snacks in his jacket for people who forgot to eat. There was only one person Yamaguchi knew of that could beat Kuroo’s kindness, and that would be their resident golden retriever, Bokuto. 

Still, he hunched further into his knees, letting his shoulders shake. “If you were in the same room with him, you couldn’t breathe right. He’s dangerous.”

Hinata shivered. “Sounds like a monster.”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi murmured, eyes darting down so they couldn’t see the flicker of amusement threatening to give him away. 

A monster who makes the worst cat puns you’ve ever heard, sure .

Akaashi studied him for a long moment, then shifted. “And Oni? Do you know anything about him?”

Yamaguchi let out a slow, calculated breath. “He’s an old Alpha, and he has a lot of scars, old battle wounds I guess.” Hinata nodded leaning forward, a silent ask for more details. “He’s… cruel. Likes to remind people how disposable they are. It didn’t matter who you were, he’d cut you down if you made a single mistake. Everyone was afraid of him.”

That lie was harder to say with a straight face. The truth was that Oni was a dramatic, snarky omega with a smile sharp enough to cut glass but a heart of gold, who'd give you the shirt off his back if you only asked. Yamaguchi let his voice crack just slightly, as though remembering was painful. “You… you don’t cross Oni. Ever.”

Hinata’s fists clenched. “That bastard—”

Akaashi lifted a hand, cutting him off. His eyes narrowed in concentration. “And Panther? You said he always wore a mask. Do you know anything about his personal life? Any weaknesses?”

Yamaguchi blinked, letting his face go carefully blank. “Weaknesses?” He gave a tiny shake of his head. “He doesn’t… I mean, he had omegas. But he rotates them around, if they don’t… you know, keep up, he’d get rid of them.”

He said it with a soft, sick tone, like it disgusted him. Inside, though, he was screaming, rolling with laughter. 

Rotated through omegas?! Please! If Kuroo heard that, he’d actually kill him. He’s the most loyal bastard Yamaguchi knew. I mean it’s been seven years and he’s still searching for his omega.

Hinata made a noise of outrage, shifting uncomfortably.

Akaashi, still calm, pressed further. “We saw him with an omega, was he one of Panthers?”

Yamaguchi cocked his head to the side slightly. “Can you describe them to me?” He asked and Akaashi nodded.

“It was a male, he had gray hair, tan skin, and a lot of scars.”

Yamaguchi’s breath caught; oh, he knew exactly who they meant. 

Osamu. 

Deadpan, sarcastic, I don’t need an alpha Osamu who couldn’t stand being mistaken for anyone’s anything. He fought the grin twitching at his lips and forced himself to look solemn. “Yes,” he whispered, dropping his gaze. “That’s his favorite. He goes by Kitsune, I don’t know his real name.”

Yamaguchi was going to die, he was going to break character if he didn’t stop talking about this now. The mere thought of Osamu and Kuroo being a couple? Ha! They would rather throw themselves down an elevator shaft.

Hinata leaned forward into Yamaguchi’s space. “Kitsune? He’s Panther’s mate?”

Yamaguchi nodded miserably, letting a sad sort of sigh fall out of him. “Yeah. Kitsune is his favorite. Don’t cross him or Panther will come after you."

That wasn’t really a lie per say. Kuroo would go after anyone that hurt his family, and he wasn’t very kind to those he caught. 

Yamaguchi sprinkled in more lies as Akaashi prodded him gently, weaving half-truths with invented horrors. Talk of brutal punishments. Of strange rituals. Of faceless guards who disappeared if you asked too many questions. He kept his voice small, fragile, as though confessing too much might shatter him.

The whole time, he tucked away the sparks of disbelief or sympathy that flickered across Hinata’s and Akaashi’s faces, cataloguing everything: what they reacted to, what they asked about, what topics they didn’t push. 

When the questions finally slowed, Yamaguchi leaned back against the cot, wrapping his arms around his torso. “That’s all I know,” he murmured, his voice cracking with false defeat. “I don’t… I don’t want to remember anything else. Please.” He added making his voice crack at the end.

Hinata reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Akaashi looked slightly guilty at the prospect of pushing Yamaguchi too far, and gave the omega a nod, confirming they were done for the night.

Yamaguchi felt victorious, all of the fabricated intel would keep Karasuno away from the truth, keep them chasing after ghosts.

His thoughts were interrupted when Hinata let out a loud yawn, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand, his orange locks falling messily into his face. Akaashi glanced at his friend, and then looked over to the clock on the wall.

“It’s almost three in the morning,” He said, his tone still calm but laced with quiet insistence. He rose from his chair, smoothing the creases in his shirt. “I think we’ve taken enough of your time for tonight.”

Hinata shot up after him, bouncing a little on his toes even as exhaustion weighed his movements down. “Yeah, sorry we kept you up so late! But thanks for, ya know, talking to us, Yamaguchi. Every last bit of information helps.”

Yamaguchi forced a small smile, trying to play up the part of the uncertain, grateful omega they thought they’d rescued. “It’s fine… I wanted to repay my saviors somehow” His voice was softer, the kind that made others instinctively want to keep him safe.

Akaashi gave a small nod. “We’ll have breakfast ready for you in the morning. If you have any food allergies, we should know now.”

Yamaguchi shook his head quickly. “No… nothing like that.”

“Good,” Akaashi replied, his sharp eyes softening at the edges. He turned towards the door, herding Hinata out of the room. “Rest for tonight, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Yamaguchi!” Hinata called, flashing him a smile before vanishing into the hall.

When the door clicked shut behind them the room was swallowed by silence once more. Yamaguchi sank back against the pillows, allowing himself to relax slightly. 

His mind was racing, carefully filing away every detail from their conversation: Hinata’s tragic story, the flicker of emotion in Akaashi’s eyes when Seijoh had been mentioned, the small slip about how their leader acts. All of it was tucked neatly into his memories to be relayed back to Oikawa when the time came. 

That was his role here: to gather, to mislead, to protect.

He let his eyes drift shut, the carefully constructed walls of the act cracking as his thoughts strayed.

Kuroo, his friend and family. The image of him taking that bullet in the alleyway replayed in his mind again and again, making his chest aching with guilt and worry. 

It hadn’t been a fatal wound, in fact Kuroo had suffered much worse injuries and lived, he reminded himself. 

Besides Iwaizumi was there, and if anyone could patch him up, it was him. Still… Kuroo had looked so pale as Bokuto dragged him back into Club Manticore. Yamaguchi swallowed hard, forcing down the rising panic.

Everything was fine.

He took a few calming breaths and forced his mind to turn to Tsukishima. His alpha. His mate.

The steady pulse of their bond was both a comforting and a painful reminder of his mate. They hadn’t been apart for even a full day and already he felt untethered, the absence gnawing at him like a rat. He took a deep breath, whispering into the stillness as though Tsuki could hear him from wherever he was.

“Goodnight, Kei… sleep well. I’ll see you soon.”

The words lingered in the darkness, a fragile promise. With that, Yamaguchi finally let exhaustion pull him under, his breathing evening out as he drifted into uneasy sleep, caught between vigilance and fatigue.

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies!!

The title comes from Good Luck Babe by Chappell Roan, which I was listening to on repeat as I wrote and edited this chapter.

Important note for future chapters, Kuroo stopped referring to Kenma by name after 2 years of being apart and mainly called him my mate or omega to most people, the exceptions being Osamu, Bokuto, and IwaOi.

Was this chapter super exciting? Not particularly, but it does set up a lot for the next few chapters so it's important, but I do hope you still enjoyed it.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I really need to go to bed lol.

I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day, and I'll see you in the next chapter <3

Chapter 39: I Noticed You Don't Like Me No More

Summary:

Yamaguchi gets to meet Kenma

Warning for references to violence and trafficking!

The title comes from the song 'Someday I'll Get It" by Alek Olsen. Which I was listening to religiously as I wrote this chapter.

A week.

It had been a full week since Yamaguchi had slipped beneath Karasuno’s roof, tucked carefully into the sanctuary of their infirmary as though he were something fragile and breakable. 

The room itself was comfortable, but not homey. Whitewashed walls, a neat wooden floor that creaked softly when people came and went, and an old iron-framed bed layered with fresh sheets that still smelled faintly of sun and soap. A small window overlooked one of the manor’s side gardens, and in the evenings he sometimes cracked it open just enough to hear the cicadas buzzing in the summer air. 

It was far from a cell, but it wasn’t home.

His home was snarky words and soft cuddles. His home was a modern pinnacle of steel and glass. His home was a swirl of scents and loud voices. It was sitting in the living room laughing at the chaotic actions of his family. It was treating each injury with care, and reprimanding them for their stupidity. It was his pack, messy and broken, but oh so loving.

Still, Hinata and Akaashi visited him every day, trying their best to make the place seem friendly and hospitable. 

Yamaguchi found himself almost believing their kindness. Hinata would bound into the room first, usually carrying something tucked under his arm; a pack of chips, a stack of well-worn manga volumes, or a deck of cards. Akaashi trailed behind him, much calmer with his hands occupied with something practical like folded clothes or a small box of antiseptic and bandages. They made a strange pair together: one all sunshine and boundless chatter, the other a steady anchor.

Akaashi had taken it upon himself to clean Yamaguchi’s cuts and scrapes, informing Yamaguchi that their head medic was an alpha, but had personally trained Akaashi. 

He was methodical about it, the brush of cotton against his skin was gentle but precise. “This might sting,” he would warn before dabbing antiseptic across a healing line. He always worked with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up neatly, movements efficient, voice low enough to never spook. He’d also been the one to assure him, firmly, that no alphas would be entering the room while he stayed there. “You don’t have to worry about that,” Akaashi had said once, his gray-blue eyes meeting Yamaguchi’s with quiet certainty. “You’re safe here.”

Safe. 

The word still tasted strange on Yamaguchi’s tongue. He’d smile weakly in response, ducking his head, but inside he filed it away, the same way he sorted and categorized everything deep in his mind.

In contrast, Hinata was warm. 

He always sat close: sometimes on the edge of the bed, sometimes cross-legged on the floor with snacks spread out between them. More often than not he would find a way to touch Yamaguchi, a hand on the shoulder there, a cuddle here, and he spoke like Yamaguchi had always been part of the circle. “You’ve got to read this one,” he’d say, shoving a manga volume into Yamaguchi’s hands. “It’s about this kid who thinks he’s weak but actually, he’s crazy over-powered when he gets serious.” His enthusiasm was infectious, and Yamaguchi found himself letting out small, hesitant laughs, the kind that looked genuine without giving away how carefully crafted they were.

His act was carefully crafted to earn their trust, and he’d succeeded so far. Both omegas treated him like a close friend. They had slowly relaxed, speaking more freely and asking about Yamaguchi instead of Seijoh. 

The phone had been an offering of sorts. Brand new and sleek. “You’ll be able to make calls, text, look up whatever,” Akaashi had explained with a soft smile, “Hinata and my phone numbers are already in there. If you need anything don’t hesitate to text or call us. Hopefully it’ll help you feel more secure here.”

Yamaguchi had given them a teary smile and hugged them, murmuring thank yous and letting Hinata teach him how to access the internet and a streaming service so he could watch videos.

That night Yamaguchi had tried to look into Karasuno’s network, only to find that just like the laptop, the phone was on a separate system, which was disappointing, but not surprising. 

He had moved onto analyzing the phone. It had taken a few hours for the omega to go through every system and security on the phone to make sure it wasn’t bugged, which to his surprise it was completely free of spyware. 

Yamaguchi would have installed bugs and failsafes.

It’s what he did do.

Kuroo had received a bugged phone when he was strong enough to walk on his own. After a year of nothing suspicious Yamaguchi had guiltily explained that the phone had been bugged to make sure Kuroo was on their side and not going to reveal their secrets. The alpha, thankfully, had just grinned and ruffled Yamaguchi’s hair, reassuring him that it made sense and he was glad that Yamaguchi could trust him now.

The memories of his friends and family often lingered, warm and sharp all at once, before Yamaguchi forced himself to release them. Remembrance of the past wouldn’t help him now, not when every second in Karasuno’s care was both a gift and a risk.

Yamaguchi had quickly noticed that despite the daily visits, constant chatter, shared snacks, and attempts to make him smile, he hadn’t gleaned much information from the duo of omegas. They were careful not to spill secrets, never speaking openly about Karasuno’s business in front of him. At most, he caught slivers of data: Hinata mentioning training sessions, Akaashi muttering about patrol shifts. Nothing concrete. 

Nothing useful he could hand over to Oikawa yet.

It was frustrating. And yet, watching them laugh, watching Hinata’s eyes crinkle with sincerity or the way Akaashi instinctively checked if Yamaguchi was comfortable before settling down himself, it had made a treacherous thought take root.

He made a note to himself: when the time came to return to Seijoh, he would take these two with him. Whether they were genuinely this sweet or whether they were playing a part just like him, he couldn’t quite tell yet. But Hinata and Akaashi were different. They didn’t carry the sharp edges of hardened mafia operatives, and they didn’t look at him like he was a tool to be used and discarded. They treated him like a human being, someone who deserved kindness.

He liked to imagine what it would be like to introduce the duo to his family. He could picture Hinata’s bright energy pairing well with Bokuto or Akaashi’s quiet steadiness helping Oikawa take a few (needed) days off. He could see how both omegas would make perfect additions to Seijoh. See that they would fold into the mix perfectly, expand their little family.

Still, he forced himself to stay suspicious. 

Were the omegas truly oblivious to his act, or was all of this a carefully laid plan, designed to lower his guard before the knife slid in? Every smile, every kind gesture, he weighed in his mind. He couldn’t afford to trust them fully. Not when a single mistake could result in death.

So he continued to play his role. The skittish, recovering omega, slowly easing into their kindness. Wide eyes, nervous laughs, small slips of gratitude. The mask fit well, and they seemed content with the omega they knew.

But every night, when the manor settled into silence and he was left alone in the infirmary, Yamaguchi reminded himself of the truth: he was still in enemy territory, still one wrong move away from discovery. And no matter how gentle they seemed, Hinata and Akaashi were Karasuno operatives.

And he was Seijoh’s loyal spy.

Yamaguchi sat cross-legged on the infirmary bed turning the new phone over in his left hand. He had already taken the small black device Tsukishima had crafted for him out of its hiding place in the bed and held it carefully in his other hand.

A quick press along the seam revealed a hidden compartment, no bigger than his thumbnail. From it, he slid out the wafer-thin chip, matte black with threads of gold circuitry buried deep within. Layers of encryption wrapped in it like armor, probably one of Tsukishima’s proudest tech innovations. 

The chip was designed so it wouldn’t show up on call records. Layers upon layers of encryptions, buried under false signals, ghost-pings that made it impossible to track or find from the outside. The device was constantly rewriting its code; learning and developing until no one could hack it.

Carefully, Yamaguchi popped open the phone’s SIM slot and slid the chip inside. The device rebooted with a faint flicker, and when it came back, it hummed with Seijoh’s secret signature.

Relief curled in his chest as he saw the small leaf design.

He timed the call with precision, early enough that the manor was still and quiet. His fingers hovered for a moment over the screen before pressing the sequence that would connect him back home, one tap, three quick taps, a two second pause, then hold the screen. The line clicked on automatically, ringing once, twice—

“...Yama-chan?” Oikawa’s voice came through the speaker, light but tinted with exhaustion. Even without seeing him, Yamaguchi could picture it, the faint bags under the omegas eyes, the way his hand rested protectively over the swell of his belly, probably still seated at his desk despite the early hour.

Relief cracked through his chest, raw and sharp. “Hey ‘Kawa,” he murmured, “it’s good to hear your voice. How are you? How’s the baby, are you resting enough?” He asked, voice taking on a stern edge as he questioned the omega. 

A lilting chuckle answered him, warm and dismissive. “I’m fine, Yama-chan. Don’t fuss over me, really. Iwa-Chan won’t let me do anything reckless.”

Yamaguchi sighed, forcing himself to relax. “Good, you’re pretty reckless when I’m not around to chide you.”

Oikawa huffed and Yamaguchi could practically hear the omega roll his eyes, “For your information, I am perfectly healthy and my pup will be perfect when he or she is born.” He said matter of factly.

Yamaguchi couldn’t help the fond smile that graced his lips, “Yes they will be.” He confirmed because as stubborn as Oikawa was, he would never intentionally do anything that would jeopardize his pups health and safety.

There was a long moment of silence before Oikawa broke it, “And you… Are you… Are you okay?” Anxiety and fear was bleeding into his tone and Yamaguchi’s heart ached for his friend.

“I’m alright. Unharmed physically, mentally, and emotionally. Though I am going a bit stir-crazy.” he added with a huff, falling back onto his bed. “I’ve been confined to an infirmary room, thankfully it doesn’t have any cameras, but unluckily, there isn’t anything of value in here. I haven’t risked wandering the halls yet, I caught sight of several cameras when I was carried in here.” He reported, the soft tap of keys echoed from the phone.

“I’m glad you haven’t been harmed. Have you met anyone? Got any intel for me?” He asked, voice turning more professional as he typed away. 

Yamaguchi hummed, “Not much of value. I met two omegas named Hinata and Akaashi, they didn’t share their first names, but we already have a file on Hinata Shoyo, I don’t know Akaashi’s first name though.” He said looking at his finger nails as he relayed the information. “Hinata has a tangerine scent and Akaashi has a white jasmine scent. Apparently Hinata’s parents were killed when he was young and he had to take care of his younger sister, executed his first kill at thirteen, he seems to have some guilt or lingering trauma regarding the incident, also the younger sister could be a weakness. I haven't gotten much intel from Akaashi. He’s wicked brilliant, we’ve played several card games together and he is hard to beat, like he has everything mapped out before you make a move. It’s a bit unnerving.” He says and the typing stops.

“Card games?” Oikawa asks and Yamaguchi lets out a sound of agreement.

“Yes, they come around my room several times a day, sometimes with food or games, they gave me a phone, which is what I’m using right now, don’t worry I made sure everything was clean.”

“Do you think they’re a threat?” Oikawa asks, his typing resuming.

“They could be, but they’ve been kind to me so far. It could still all be a ploy, I haven’t ruled that out yet, but they seem fairly genuine. If they’re good people… I would like your permission to bring them to Seijoh.” He murmurs quietly. 

Silence stretched for a few moments and Yamaguchi could almost hear the thoughts running through Oikawa’s head, but eventually he spoke up, tone firm. “I’ll trust your judgement, just make sure not to give away your trust too easily.’ The omega warns and Yamaguchi smiles.

“I won’t.” After a moment he adds, “Thanks Kawa.”

“No problem. Do you have anything else for me?” He asks and Yamaguchi grins.

“They asked about Seijoh. Specifically about Panther and you.”

“Oh yeah? And what did they ask about?”

“Well they wanted to know about Panther and if he has an omega. Apparently they saw him and Kitsune together.” Oikawa lets out a full body laugh at that revelation.

“Oh that’s rich. I might make them play into that angle, which could give us a bit of leeway. What did you tell them?” He asks through the giggles.

“I said he has a few omegas he goes through, that he’s dangerous, a monster that isn’t human,  and Kitsune is his favorite. I really laid it on thick that Panther wasn’t someone to mess with.”

“I see, and what about me?” Oikawa asked and Yamaguchi could hear the sly grin in his tone.

“Well I told them Oni is an old alpha that’s covered head to toe in scars. I let them know he was cruel and will kill someone for a single mistake. They bought every word.” 

Oikawa hummed, “Smart, though I hate being known as a gross old alpha. Yuck.”

Yamaguchi rolled his eyes, “Yeah well, would you rather I tell them you're an adonis of an omega?”

“Actually yes, I think everyone should know about my beauty.” He said, voice gleaming with pride. “That’s good for now, keep doing what you're doing, I trust you.” Yamaguchi smiled, but before he could answer he heard the familiar creak of a door from the other side of the phone. “Finally, I thought you’d never get here.” Oikawa said to the newcomer.

Yamaguchi’s heart stuttered when he heard the familiar voice of his mate mutter an apology. “Tsukki?” He asked eagerly.

“Tadashi.” The voice came closer to the phone, like he’d stolen it from Oikawa. The familiar cadence tugged at his heart.

“Kei.” He said a bit breathless. “I miss you.” He murmured, tears welling up in his eyes. It had been a long time since he was separated from Tsukishima, the weight of their stretched bond seemed to pull and twist his thoughts making Yamaguchi crave his mates familiar presence.

“I miss you too.” The earnest voice of his mate replied, “Are you safe? Have they hurt you?” He asked, concern bleeding into his words and Yamaguchi let out a soft watery laugh.

“No, no, I’m okay.” He said a bit breathlessly, “And you? Are you sleeping? Eating?” He asked equally as concerned.

“I’m fine Tadashi, don’t worry about me.” The alpha answered back, “I’m just worried about you.” he says truthfully and Yamaguchi smiles, a tear rolling down his cheek. It was probably the lack of sleep making him overly emotional he rationalized as he wiped away the stray tear.

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be okay.” He answered and the alpha hummed.

“I’ll stop worrying when you're home.”

Home.

Gods he missed home.

His chest tightened. “Soon,” he breathed, softer now, the edges of his guard slipping away. 

There was the faintest exhale on the line, as if Tsukki had closed his eyes. “Don’t overdo it. Report what you can, but don’t push past your limits. I want you to stay safe.”

“I’ll be careful.” Yamaguchi hesitated, biting down on his lip before finally whispering, “I love you. I’ll be safe, I promise. ”

“I love you too.” The reply was quiet, weighted with sincerity that made his throat tighten.

They were silent for a minute, just listening to one another breathe. Neither wanted to hang up the phone, neither seemed to have the strength.

“I should probably let you get some sleep.” Tsukishima said, breaking the silence. Yamaguchi frowned but couldn’t disagree.

“Yeah, it’s late.” He answered, but no one made a move to hang up. “I love you.” Yamaguchi said once more, receiving a soft chuckle from his mate.

“I love you too.” He said in a voice full of warmth and yearning. “Stay safe.”

“I will.” Yamaguchi murmured, then with more effort than a good bye should take he added, “Goodnight Kei.”

“Good night Tadashi.” The alpha murmured.

It took another minute of silence before the call ended with a soft click, leaving the infirmary in silence once more.

Yamaguchi set the device aside, pulling up the fluffy blanket Hinata had gifted him and settling into the bed. The soft cadence of his mate's voice echoed in his mind, and Yamaguchi let himself smile as he thought about the love of his life.

So far away, yet always so close to his heart.

The silence pressed down around him, heavier than it had been prior to the phone call. The omega lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the air conditioner kicking on filled the room. His chest ached in that dull, restless way that only distance from a mate could cause.

It had been years since they’d spent more than a few days apart, and the absence gnawed at him. The stretched thread of their bond tugged against his chest, fraying him at the edges. Yamaguchi exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax against the stiff infirmary cot.

He let his eyes close and exhaustion slowly pulled him under, allowing him to replay old memories of his family, of days gone by, laughter and love shared again and again.

Time passed like that. Suspended in memories, right on the cusp of sleep.

The sudden creak of the infirmary door snapped Yamaguchi to attention. 

“Good morning!” Hinata’s voice burst into the quiet like a firecracker, bright and impossibly loud for this hour. Yamaguchi jerked upright instinctively, his heart hammering before he caught sight of the small omega bounding into the room.

Trailing after him came Akaashi, far calmer as always, his outfit neat and tidy, that familiar black cloth mask covering half his face. His sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on Yamaguchi, he gave him a small polite nod in greeting, a stark contrast to Hinata’s loud hello.

Hinata made his way over to Yamaguchi, “Sorry for startling you Yamaguchi!” He said brightly, not sounding sorry in the slightest. 

“It’s alright.” He answered easily, reaching out and taking the tray of food Hinata was carrying. “Thank you for breakfast.” He murmured as he opened the lid on the bowl. He smiled softly as he breathed in the scent of miso soup.

Karasuno’s food wasn’t bad, but he’d been spoiled with Osamu’s cooking for years. Even the omega’s experimental dishes always came out delicious. Yamaguchi was really looking forward to his first meal when he got back to Seijoh.

Hinata smiled at him as he brought the bowl to his lips to sip, “We wanted to introduce you to someone.” He said Yamaguchi froze, forcing himself to swallow the soup slowly.

He set the bowl down and blinked, forcing his breath to pick up as he played his part as the timid omega they had been taking care of for the past week. His shoulders rounded, eyes flickered down to his soup, fingers clutching the bowl desperately. He let Hinata and Akaashi think he was warming up to them. But add a new person? Someone who had been hurt and traumatized would be terrified.

“Someone else?” He asked, forcing his voice to become soft, pitching it up with terror.

Akaashi raised his hands like he was calming a wild animal, “Hey it’s okay. He’s another omega and one of our best friends. He's a good person, you don’t need to be scared." 

Hinata sat next to Yamaguchi, rubbing his back. “Don’t worry, we’d never put you in harm's way.”

Yamaguchi bit his lip, “You promise?” He asked, forcing his scent to become sour with anxiety.

Hinata cooed, and began to scent him, coating the omega with his tangerine pheromones, “I promise.” He purred softly, trying to make Yamaguchi relax.

The action made him let out a small smile involuntarily. Hinata was so precious, always trying to make him feel better. “Okay.” He murmured and Hinata gave Akaashi a nod.

Akaashi opened the infirmary door and popped his head outside, “You can come in.” Yamaguchi heard his muffled voice say to someone outside the door.

The male omega who entered was short and pale, with golden strands framing his face. His hair was grown out, showing brown roots, and stopped a little below his shoulder. He had sharp golden eyes that took in everything around him. His eyes were calculating despite their drowsy lidded appearance. They flickered over Yamaguchi briefly before falling to Hinata. Yamaguchi feigned a scared breath in order to take in the scent of cinnamon apples.

Yamaguchi recognized him as the omega that had been sitting in the middle seat with Tanaka on the rid to Karasuno’s base. 

This omega walked silently, carrying himself like he’d rather be unobserved, tucked into a large black sweatshirt.

“Yamaguchi, this is Kenma.” Hinata introduced the omega with a smile. “He was with us when we saved you from Panther!” He added cheerfully, making Yamaguchi flinch at the sudden loud voice in his ear.

“O-Oh.” He stuttered, “Hi… I’m Yamaguchi.” He said softly, turning his head down, looking up at Kenma through his eye lashes.

“Kenma.” the new omega said, reintroducing himself. “Welcome to Karasuno.” His voice wasn’t cold per se, just… a bit monotone.

Yamaguchi thought over the name. 

Kenma. 

The name scratched at something faintly familiar in his memory, but he couldn’t place the name. He knew he hadn’t seen the face before this mission, and he knew he hadn’t seen him on any of the Karasuno files they had pulled. But still, it tugged at the edge of Yamaguchi's recognition.

This was going to drive him crazy.

Outwardly, Yamaguchi feigned unease, curling closer to Hinata. He let himself sag into the other omega, biting his lips as if bracing for an interrogation. 

Akaashi moved closer, settling next to Kenma with his usual smooth confidence. “It’s alright.” he said softly, voice even and careful like he was worried he’d startle Yamaguchi, “Kenma isn’t here to hurt or question you. We just thought you’d like to meet a new face after being cooped up in here for a week.”

Yamaguchi nodded hesitantly, keeping up the act, even as he analyzed the newcomer for any clue as to where he knew that name.

Hinata, always eager to break the tension, clapped his hands together suddenly. “Oh! Kenma’s great at games! Why don’t we play something together? That way you don’t have to just sit around and feel awkward.”

Yamaguchi blinked, his lips parting just slightly as if surprised, but inwardly, he was pleased with the suggestion. Games would be a good way to test how Kenma thought and reacted. And maybe, if he was lucky, a way to get him talking. “Games?” he asked softly.

“Yeah!” Hinata grinned, already digging into a small box he’d brought tucked under his arm. He pulled out a deck of worn cards, shuffling with familiar ease. “We usually play when we’re bored or stuck inside. It’s fun. Don’t worry, I’ll help you out if you’re nervous.”

They all made their way to the floor sitting in a loose circle. Hinata scooted right up against Yamaguchi's side, practically shoulder to shoulder. Akaashi moved to Yamaguchi’s other side, while Kenma sat across from them, completing their circle.

“Alright,” Hinata chirped, dealing out cards with quick hands. “We’ll play a game called Hearts, it's a bit confusing at first, but you’ll pick it up fast.”

“The goal of the game is to score as few points as possible, while avoiding taking tricks.” Akaashi began to explain. Yamaguchi nodded along, following the instructions.

He’d actually played Hearts several times with Tsukishima, Oikawa, and Yahaba but it was easy enough to act like he had no clue what was going on.

Yamaguchi let himself hunch over, clutching the cards close to his chest like a skittish omega hiding behind a shield. At times, he leaned into Hinata’s side as if searching for reassurance, letting his gaze flick nervously toward Kenma before darting away. But his mind was sharp, cataloguing the smallest details: the way Kenma didn’t bother to hide his intelligence, the quiet calculation in golden eyes, the way his fingers tapped the cards in idle patterns.

They played through a few rounds, Hinata chattering cheerfully the entire time, Akaashi’s voice occasionally smoothing over explanations, and Kenma tossing in quiet but precise comments that proved he was, indeed, frighteningly good at strategy. Yamaguchi deliberately lost several rounds, letting his nervous act shine through, but eventually won a round, feigning surprise at his own luck. Hinata beamed, cheering as Yamaguchi laid down a winning hand.

Conversation began to flow through them, the subject shifting between various topics seamlessly. Hinata, never one to hide his heart, started talking about the various people in Karasuno. “You know,” he said, plopping his cards down dramatically, “the alphas in Karasuno are kind of scary sometimes. But most of them are good people.”

“Most of them?” Akaashi asked dryly, arching a brow.

Hinata grinned, scratching his cheek. “Okay, okay, all of them are good people. Just… some are more intense than others.”

Yamaguchi hesitated, “Why are you telling me this?” He asked quietly, and Hinata grinned.

“Well, I was hoping if we talked about the others you’d be up to meet them when you get the all clear.” he explained eagerly.

Yamaguchi tilted his head, feigning curiosity even as he sharpened inwardly. “Oh? Who would I be meeting?” he asked quietly, fidgeting with the edge of a card like he was embarrassed to pry.

Hinata puffed up with delight, his voice lowering conspiratorially like he was letting Yamaguchi in on a secret. “Plenty of people! But if you want to know who to be prepared for I’d say.” He thought for a moment, squirting his eyes at the ceiling, “Well, Daichi’s the scariest, probably. He’s a super strong alpha, but don’t worry he’s a good guy. He takes care of everyone. Feels more like a dad sometimes than a boss, y’know?”

“Oh?” He said, acting like he didn’t have the slightest clue who Daichi was. Internally he snarled at the name. Karasuno’s leader, the very person who was engaging in the omega trade.

But all the intel he had on Daichi wasn’t lining up with this new information. Feels like a dad? What was that about?

It was very possible that Hinata was referring to an act Sawamura put on to keep the people he needed docile. Hinata could also be lying, and this was another way to get Yamaguchi to let his guard down and walk right into a trap.

“Who is he?” He asked after a few seconds of deliberation. “Is he your friend?” He asked feigning ignorance easily.

“Nah, he’s Karasuno’s leader. Oh! I don’t know if we ever actually told you that Karasuno is a Yakuza syndicate!” Hinata announced like he was talking about the weather.

Yamaguchi allowed his shock to read through, because umm Hinata, who the fuck just tells someone they are a member of the mafia?

“I’m sorry, what!?” Yamaguchi asked, pitching his voice up in surprise before whipping his head to look at Akaashi and Kenma. Both of them just shrugged and nodded.

“Don’t worry, we’re nothing like Seijoh.” Hinata said with a nod to himself, “We protect people.” He said proudly and Yamaguchi gave him a slow nod.

Well that’s one way to get intel he supposed.

Except, who the hell just comes right out and says something like that? Certainly not a real mafia syndicate that was actually not harboring any bad intentions. 

“Okay.” Yamaguchi said, drawing out the last syllables. Hinata looked a bit sheepish.

“Sorry, that was abrupt. We can talk about it more later!” He said, trying to redirect the subject back to the original topic. “Oh, um… Where was I?” He asked, looking at Akaashi and Kenma.

Kenma sighed, “The alpha members that are a bit over the top.” He said smoothly and Hinata brightened.

“Yes! Okay, so then there’s Tanaka…”

Yamaguchi tuned him out for a moment thinking over the conversation. They must be getting ready to move him from the infirmary room if they were so willing to talk when they had been tight lipped all week. Now the question was where were they moving him?

It’s possible they were going to move him to a secondary location, but it was more likely he was going to be moved to another part of the building, probably deeper with little cell reception. He’d need to confirm his location with Seijoh.

Yamaguchi snapped back into reality abruptly. Glancing around he saw the concerned look on each of the omega’s faces. He forced a wry smile onto his face.

“Sorry, they umm… seem strong.” He said weakly, making his scent waver faintly to emphasize his anxiety. “I don’t know if I’ll fit in here.” Yamaguchi ducked his head, feigning a sad smile and leaning into Hinata’s side to gain more sympathy from the omegas.

It worked like a charm.

Akaashi hummed and ran a hand up and down Yamaguchi’s back in reassurance. “Don’t worry you’ll fit right in.” He said easily, lines bloomed at the corner of his eyes as he smiled underneath the mask.

“Yeah!” Hinata added, nodding his head quickly, his bright orange hair bobbing, “You’ll be just fine! Besides, you’ve got us.” he added beaming as he jabbed a thumb into his chest. “And if anyone tries anything, I’ll fight them.”

The declaration earned a small noise from Kenma; a faint huff, like a partial laugh that was trying to be muffled. Hinata blinked at him in surprise but then grinned wider.

Yamaguchi watched them quietly, observing the dynamic between the two omegas. It was comfortable and familiar. Almost familial, like him and the inner circle of Seijoh. It was nice to see that Hinata, who had been so kind to him, even if it was an act, had people that cared deeply for him.

With all the conversation, the card game had wound down, almost entirely forgotten. Comfortable chatter began to flow through the room easily. It was a kind of rhythm Yamaguchi had been a part of thousands of times in Seijoh; friends talking, teasing, easing into laughter. Only here, he was the outsider playing at being meek. He had to remind himself that he had a job to do, and couldn’t get carried away.

Yamaguchi's gaze flickered to the base of Hinata’s throat where his shirt had gone askew, showing the edge of a mating bond. He fought to keep the surprise off his face. After a week he hadn’t noticed the bond mark, though to be fair Hinata often wore hoodies that covered his scent glands.  

The mark wasn’t very old, not like his and Tsukki’s. Maybe a year or two old, it looked healthy, not messy like a forced bond would be. 

Yamaguchi tilted his head slightly, letting curiosity filter into his expression. “Hey,” he mumbled, his voice tentative as though he feared overstepping, “I didn’t know you had a mate.”

Hinata blinked, then his face went scarlet. His hand flying up to his throat like a kid caught stealing candy. “Ah! Y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice pitching high with embarrassment.

Kenma’s mouth curved faintly at the corner, sharp golden eyes flickering from Hinata to Yamaguchi. “You’d think they’d have just bonded from his reaction,” he said in his usual flat tone, which somehow still managed to carry amusement.

Akaashi’s brows lifted and there was a sly grin on his lips behind his mask. “Hinata is normally gushing about Kageyama, I’m honestly shocked he hasn’t told you yet.” He said, resting his elbow on his leg and leaning his chin to rest on his hand.

“I don’t gush!” Hinata squeaked, only to immediately do exactly that. His hands dropped, and though his face was still red, his chest puffed with pride. “Kageyama is my mate of almost two years now!” He declared with a grin. “He’s… amazing. Totally the best. You’ll see.”

Yamaguchi forced his lips into a curious smile, but inside his gut twisted. He had confirmed that Kageyama Tobio, the alpha who had shoved Hinata off a rooftop, was the bright omega’s mate. With that confirmation Yamaguchi was able to form a story in his head.

Hinata was tricked into loving the alpha, probably using the same tactics narcissistic people used to break down their significant others so they truly believed their relationship was healthy and happy. These tactics of manipulations often led the victim to believe they were indebted to their significant other, or that their significant other could do no wrong and they were the problem. 

If that was the case, then it was most likely Kageyama that was involved with the omega trade, and Hinata genuinely thought he was just helping others. It made sense, Hinata was too kind to actually be working for a disgusting disgrace of an alpha.

“And he’s good to you?” Yamaguchi asked quietly, resting a supportive hand on Hinata’s shoulder. The omega looks a bit confused then some sort of realization that Yamaguchi doesn’t understand dawns on his face. 

“Oh yeah, he’s like, my best friend.” he said easily, giving Yamaguchi a smile. “We can get a bit.. rowdy, but we don’t actually hurt each other.” he says, placatingly.

Yamaguchi cocks his head to the side, showing his confused horror at the words, “Hurt?”

“No! We don’t hurt each other.” He says frantically, shaking his head as his tangerine scent sours as the omega becomes increasingly anxious, making Yamaguchi’s theory seem more likely with each passing second. Yamaguchi’s thoughts are broken when Akaashi rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Hinata’s just warning you before you meet Kageyama that they play fight a lot. It looks worse than it is, I promise.” He says and Yamaguchi can see the reassurance shining in Akaashi’s eyes.

“Yeah, a lot of people misunderstand them. They fight constantly. Quarrels, dares, ridiculous stunts that end with a trip to the med bay.” Kenma adds with an amused smile, his own cinnamon apple scent spreading through the room filled with mirth. “They’ve been like that since I met them. One of them pushes, the other pushes back harder. It’s pretty normal.”

“Normal,” Yamaguchi echoed softly, as if testing the word. His eyes flicked between them, uncertain. That’s not normal, he thought, the suspicion curling in his stomach. But outwardly, he ducked his head, chewing his lip nervously. “If you say so.”

Hinata softened, leaning close enough that their shoulders brushed. “I do say so,” he murmured, voice firm but full sincerity. “Kageyama’s my mate. He’s rough, yeah, but he’d never let anyone else lay a hand on me. He’s mine, and I’m his. That’s just… who we are.” His cheeks flush and he moves a hand to rest on his bond mark with a kind smile.

Kenma’s eyes lingered on Hinata’s expression, and then he glanced at Yamaguchi. “You’ll meet him later,” he said simply. “When you’re more settled. Just don’t be surprised if he… stares.”

“Stares?” Yamaguchi asked, confused at the words. Was he like.. Predatory? Perverted?

Maybe he liked to make omegas uncomfortable, looked at them like a piece of meat and it was just normal to everyone here.

Akaashi nodded, adjusting his mask with a faint huff of amusement. “He can be difficult. Social skills of a rock, really.” he explained making Yamaguchi let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, “But he isn’t a bad man.” 

Yamaguchi hugged his arms to his chest, fidgeting like the timid omega he was supposed to be. “If you say he’s safe…” he trailed off, voice hesitant, as though still uncertain.

Hinata reached over and squeezed his hand, smile blinding. “You’ll see for yourself. Promise.”

Yamaguchi nodded slowly, feigning trust. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll believe you.”

Deciding it would be more useful to play along than to act suspicious, Yamaguchi leaned his chin against his hand, letting his expression soften with a far-off sort of wistfulness. “I miss my mate.” he said with a nostalgic smile.

Hinata frowned a bit and leaned closer to comfort Yamaguchi. The omega smiled at him, “Oh don’t worry about me. It’s just nice to think about him, ya know? It’s what kept me going when things started to get bad.” 

“Why don’t you tell us about him.” Akaashi said, offering the olive branch that Yamaguchi had been hoping for.

He looked down and blushed, “My alpha…” he murmured, voice hesitant, almost like he was going to give them a confession. “Well, he’s everything to me. He’s held my heart since we were children. It probably sounds silly, but I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Hinata lit up, practically bouncing as he believed Yamaguchi to be finally opening up to them. “It’s not silly at all! I’m the same way with Kageyama. You should hear me when I’m alone with Kenma, I never shut up.” He giggled, nudging Yamaguchi’s shoulder.

Yamaguchi glanced over at Kenma who nodded, “It’s true, he can’t go five minutes without bringing him up.” he said, rolling his eyes fondly.

Hinata puffed out his cheeks in mock offense, but seemed to ignore the remark in favor of eagerly turning back to Yamaguchi. “Go on, give us the details! What’s he like?”

Yamaguchi let himself blush faintly, ducking his head. “He’s tall and quiet. Most people think he’s cold and snarky, but he’s just… careful." He allows a real smile to grace his features as he talks about Tsukishima, “He acts like he hates everything, but really he’s a big baby. He cares deeply for those he deems family and friends, and would do anything for them.”

Yamaguchi thought back to all the times Tsukishima had relentlessly teased and taunted everyone in Seijoh. He loved mocking and bullying the inner family. But he showed his true colors whenever a problem arose. 

There was a time when Atsumu had gotten hurt on a mission. An alpha had captured him and tried to livestream his torture on the dark web only to be met with a barrage of cyber attacks. Within ten minutes the system overload was so intense that the computer had blown up, maiming the alpha in the process. The man had been left alive for a week after Bokuto had recovered Atsumu. Tsukishima had personally requested to deal with the man. Within that week the alpha had lost every penny in his bank account, had been mailed three different bombs, and had been hit by a black unmarked car. He was drowned in the river by Matsukawa exactly a week after kidnapping Atsumu, as Tsukishima stood next to the bank livestreaming the man's final moments.

His mate had come home, walked into the infirmary, and given Atsumu a hug murmuring “It’s done” into his ear before kissing Yamaguchi on he cheek and then he left to take a shower like nothing had happened.

Hinata leans in closer, seemingly enamored by the information. “He was so overprotective. He used to look at me like I’m something worth keeping safe and whenever I was with him, it felt like I was home.” Yamaguchi’s chest tightened at the truth in his own words, and he quickly looked away, feigning shyness.

Hinata let out a dreamy sigh, resting his chin on his palms. “That’s the best feeling.”

Yamaguchi had already said too much about his very real, very secretive mate, so he quickly decided to change the subject. He looked at Akaashi.

“What about you?” He asked and Akaashi’s gunmetal blue eyes widened in surprise.

“Me?” he asked in a voice full of confusion, “What about me?”

“You’re beautiful.” Yamaguchi said, like that, explained anything and everything. “Is there any alpha in your life?”

Akaashi leaned back on his hands, and for a split second, something flickered in Akaashi’s eyes only to vanish before Yamaguchi could place it. 

He reached a hand up to adjust his cloth mask before answering a simple, “No.”

“None?” Yamaguchi asked, confused because, while Akaashi normally wore masks, he was gorgeous. Dark blue eyes, pale clear skin, black hair with a tint of blue, and curves Yamaguchi found himself slightly jealous of.

“Nope,” Akaashi said flatly, his tone gaining an edge. “Most alphas are the same. Overbearing, unsavory, controlling, prideful, pigheaded.” He listed the traits off like weapons, sharp and definitive.

Yamaguchi frowned and was about to speak again before Hinata leaned closer to him and let out an exaggerated stage whisper, “I think there is someone, but ‘Kaashi is too stubborn to admit it.” 

Akaashi’s eyes narrowed, “Hinata.” he said in a warning tone.

“What?” He asked with mock confusion, “You and Suna are always hanging out now. And you're always so quick to defend him. And don’t think I don’t see how you-”

“Enough,” Akaashi interrupted smoothly, though his sigh portrayed annoyance more than anger. “Suna and I are friends. Nothing more. Stop thinking like that.”

Hinata pouted, muttering under his breath, but didn’t push further. Yamaguchi kept his expression carefully confused, tilting his head like he didn’t understand the reference, though inside he filed the name away immediately.

Suna had been the name of the alpha in the passenger seat. He’d been the last one to enter the van panting and carrying a rifle, obviously a sniper.

“Hinata likes to make up stories about Suna and I, but both of us are just friends.” Akaashi explains, turning to look at Yamaguchi. “We work well in the field together, and he’s tolerable. I have no interest in anyone romantically." He said, stressing the ‘anyone’ as he made pointed eye contact with Hinata, who pouted.

Yamaguchi shifted, letting his voice soften. “You know… there was one alpha I met back in Seijoh who was nothing like the alphas you described.”

That caught their attention. Kenma’s eyes lifted from the card pile, sharp despite their half-lidded appearance. Akaashi tilted his head slightly, listening.

Yamaguchi smiled faintly, as if recalling something bittersweet. “We called him Kou. He was… different. He presented early and was sold by his parents. He was forced into a gladiator pit as a child, made to fight for the entertainment of the rich. He only survived because he was strong. Everyone expected him to be cruel, a hardened monster thirsty for blood. But he wasn’t.” He shook his head, his tone carrying gentle conviction.

Hinata’s eyes widened. “He was nice? After all that.”

“Nice,” Yamaguchi echoed. “doesn’t even begin to cover Kou. He’s chaotic, loud, and so sweet. He’ll bare his teeth if an alpha comes close, but acts like a scolded child if an omega yells at him, all pouty and sulking.” He let himself chuckle softly, as though warmed by the memory. “But he’s loyal. Once he decides you’re one of his people, he’ll burn the world before letting anyone harm you. He’s nothing like a traditional alpha.”

Yamaguchi could see the outline of Akaashi’s lips pressed together, unreadable behind the mask. His eyes had narrowed the slightest bit, like he was weighing Yamaguchi’s words.

“And he’s in Seijoh?” Hinata asked, leaning forward into Yamaguchi’s space.

Yamaguchi nodded. “He was still there last I saw him. I always thought… if I ever found an omega who was smart and down to earth, someone who could keep him steady without dimming his light… he’d finally be happy. He deserves to be happy.” His eyes flicked; casual and full of false innocence, toward Akaashi before looking down again.

Hinata noticed. Of course he did. The orange haired omega’s smile grew sly, and he glanced at Akaashi. “Sounds like someone I might know…”

Akaashi exhaled through his nose, visibly restraining an eyeroll. “Don’t start.”

Yamaguchi ducked his head again, biting back a smile. Outwardly, he looked nervous, and vulnerable. Inwardly, though, he was already connecting lines. Kou deserved someone that would love him for him. Maybe, Akaashi could be that person. It was worth a shot. 

Yamaguchi let his fingers drift idly through the edge of a playing card, his mind already building on the thread he’d started. He wasn’t sure why he kept going, maybe it was because their faces softened when he spoke about Kou, maybe it was because Akaashi’s icy mask had faltered, just slightly. Either way, it felt right to keep weaving the false narrative out of true stories.

“You know,” Yamaguchi began carefully, tone pitched like he was simply reminiscing, “there were several times Kou helped me.” 

Everyone seemed to straighten up, listening intently.

“When I was 19 I was hurt. Not badly enough to die, as you can see.” He said, gesturing to himself. “But it was bad enough that I couldn’t move, couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t even keep food down.” He shrugged, eyes downcast, scent souring as he remembered the bitter memory. “No one offered me treatment, I was all alone and defenseless.”

Most of this was true, except for the fact it had happened during a mission gone wrong. Bokuto and him had gotten caught up in an unexpected bomb blast, where Yamaguchi had gotten launched into a concrete wall, giving him a severe concussion. All of their supplies had been destroyed in the impact. Bokuto had gotten injured as well, but Yamaguchi hadn’t noticed through the haze. Kou had gotten a few deep cuts on his back while trying to keep Yamaguchi safe. It had taken three days for help to arrive, three days where Yamaguchi and Bokuto had been locked in cell by enemy operatives ready to torture them.

Kenma’s brows pinched with sympathy. “That sounds awful.” He said, the calculated tone he’d had since arriving easing into an empathetic tone. 

Yamaguchi nodded, but gave the omega a faint smile. “It was. But Kou stayed with me. He gave me the clothes off his back so I could have as much comfort as possible. He’d lay beside me just to keep my heartbeat and nerves steady, he’d calm me down when I woke up and panicked. He wasn’t… possessive about it, like some alphas would’ve been. He was steady and safe. Like a protective big brother, really.”

Kenma tilted his head, curiosity flickering faintly in his golden eyes. “Not what you’d expect from a pit fighter,” he murmured.

“Exactly.” Yamaguchi gave him a small smile. “Whenever any omega went into heat, he’d stand guard at the door. He’d make sure no clients or handlers could take advantage of anyone in that state. He never once crossed a line. Not once.” His voice warmed with sincerity, because everything was true.

He’d cuddle the Miya twins whenever they went into heat. Scenting them and just holding them until they felt better. He’d constantly chide them into eating and drinking, and he’d stand guard when they got jumpy, having flashbacks to heats spent imprisoned in the trafficking rings where they were never safe. 

There had been one time when Tsukishima was away for a mission that Yamaguchi had gone into an unexpected heat due to stress. Bokuto had made sure Yamaguchi had everything he needed. He’d tacked down nesting materials, going as far as to break into Oikawa’s bedroom to grab a specific blanket that Yamaguchi had craved. He understood that Yamaguchi didn’t want to be touched since he was mated, and simply stood outside the door making sure that no one came near the room. 

The alpha was a strange blend of chaotic and kind, he was the type of person that left behind an imprint that couldn’t be faked. He was loyal to an almost detrimental degree, and Yamaguchi would personally torture any omega that tried to take advantage of his kindness. 

Akaashi had gone very still, hands folded neatly over his knees. His eyes hadn’t left Yamaguchi’s face since he started speaking. When he finally spoke up, his tone was quiet, edged with something Yamaguchi couldn’t name. “He sounds… different.”

Yamaguchi allowed himself a light laugh. “He is. Most alphas think protecting an omega is about locking them away. Kou never saw it that way. He just wants to make the world less frightening. Even if only a little bit at a time.”

And that simple fact was probably why Yamaguchi trusted Bokuto so much. He genuinely just wanted to keep people safe, even if it meant getting his hands dirty. He’d told Yamaguchi a long time ago that he didn't like being a killer, but if he didn’t take those vicious men and women off the streets, then no one would. The alpha had come to terms with the seemingly endless slaughter, and now he viewed his job as something more positive. By taking out the bad guys, he had saved hundreds of thousands of lives. And that is why he kept fighting, even when it seemed like the darkness of humanity was endless, he kept going. A constant light in the dark.

For a moment, Akaashi’s gaze dipped to the ground, a thoughtful expression falling on his face. Then, softly, he said, “Maybe I’d like to meet him.”

Yamaguchi hid his satisfaction behind a gentle smile. Inside, though, he was humming with victory. If Akaashi wasn’t acting, he’d be perfect for Kou. Yamaguchi was so tired of seeing Bokuto depressed over a date that went wrong, each time the alpha would simply grin and say they just weren’t the right one, but Yamaguchi could see how it was slowly but surely twisting his thoughts, making him feel less than, inferior to other alphas. Akaashi would be perfect for the alpha; he was grounded, steady, but sharp witted. Maybe he’d be able to understand Kou, opposites do attract after all.

Hinata, oblivious to the undercurrent, brightened immediately. “We totally need to go rescue him! I think he’d be perfect for you Keiji-”

“Hinata.” Akaashi’s tone was warning, though the heat in it wasn’t harsh. Hinata stuck his tongue out but leaned back, conceding.

Yamaguchi couldn’t stop the smile that spread on his lips. He now had Akaashi’s first name and possibly a match for Bokuto. Today was a good day!

He turned his attention towards Kenma, who was watching his friends with a fond little smile, his posture relaxed and open. “Hey Kenma?” He asked, catching the omega’s attention.

Golden eyes looked at him questioningly, “Yes?”

“Do you have a mate or courting partner?” Yamaguchi asked with a friendly smile.

Kenma’s expression changed so quickly it startled Yamaguchi.

One moment it was amused and fond, the next it was completely blank. His bright curious eyes seemed to dull drastically. 

“I had a mate,” Kenma said flatly. His tone was cold, clipped. “But he’s gone now.”

Yamaguchi stiffened, “Gone.” He repeated quietly.

“Dead.” Kenma said, his voice was detached, almost like he was just stating a simple fact, and not that his mate was six feet under.

The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Hinata’s face crumpled with sympathy. Yamaguchi blinked, caught off guard by the sudden mood change. “Oh… I-I’m sorry.”

Kenma’s eyes flicked up, sharp for just a moment. “Don’t be. You didn’t know.” His voice was too calm, the kind of tone people used when they’d locked away all feeling until it no longer existed. “It happened a long time ago, besides, it’s not like it matters anymore.

Yamaguchi flinched back at the tone. The finality in the words was chilling.

But how could it not matter? If Tsukishima died, he’d be destroyed. Yamaguchi would never recover, how could anyone just move on? Unless Kenma didn’t really love his mate and it was a good thing he was dead?

Yamaguchi swallowed and nodded. Hinata fidgeted next to Yamaguchi, clearly wanting to say something but keeping quiet. 

Yamaguchi couldn’t help but push, “Did you not get along?” He asked hesitantly and Kenma turned his attention to the card pile in the middle of their little circle.

“His death is irrelevant. It happened, he’s gone. That’s it.” His voice was measured, sounding almost bored and Yamaguchi could help the rage that was beginning to bubble up inside his chest.

How could anyone just say something like that? He couldn’t imagine anyone in Seijoh ever speaking that way about their mate. 

Yamaguchi fiddled with the corner of one of his cards, taking a breath to force the anger down. “Kenma?” He asked, filling the uncomfortable silence that had bloomed between them. “Did you love him?”

Kenma visibly stiffened. He was still for several moments, just staring at the ground. Then he shrugged.

Shrugged.

The air was suffocating, but Yamaguchi kept pushing despite the silent looks Akaashi and Hinata were giving him. Unless they spoke up, he’d keep pressing.

“Did you move on?” 

For a split second Kenma looked startled, like a deer in headlights. But then it was gone, the expression smoothed over into a detached look.

“Not yet, but I might one day.” He said it so casually that it made Yamaguchi sick.

His stomach twisted violently. The answer felt foreign.

If Tsukishima were gone. If his mate, the one person that made him feel whole, was ripped away Yamaguchi would never just move on. Not in a hundred years. He’d carry that grief with him until he died.

“Was he important to you?” He asked, maybe a bit harsher than he meant to. Akaashi’s hand grabbed his forearm and he shook his head, telling Yamaguchi to drop the subject.

Kenma stared Yamaguchi dead in the eyes as he answered. “I knew him my whole life, he was my childhood friend.” He said like he was talking about the weather. “So I guess he used to be important. But that no longer matters.”

Yamaguchi’s heart dropped and he stared at the other omega with wide eyes.

He would’ve had some sort of understanding if Kenma had only known him for a little while. If he’d been mated for a short amount of time. But he couldn’t understand this.

It didn’t add up, it couldn’t. How could someone that had been part of your life since childhood not matter? How could you just block them out?

Yamaguchi would rather die than forget about Tsukishima. Hell if Kei died, he’d probably follow him. What was the point if his other half was gone?

“I’m sorry,” Yamaguchi said with forced guilt as he shoved his emotions away, regaining his composure. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Kenma finally glanced up, his gaze flat but edged with something harder to name. “I’m sorry, too,” he said evenly. “I kind of ruined the mood.” His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile before he stood from the floor. “Excuse me.”

And like a ghost, Kenma slipped out of the room silently.

Yamaguchi sat there for a moment, just staring at the door.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset him.” Yamaguchi said, tearing his gaze away from the door to look at Hinata and Akaashi, “I became too nosey.” 

Hinata gave him a forced smile, “It’s alright. You don’t need to worry about it. Kenma… it’s complicated.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll go make sure he’s alright. See you later Yamaguchi.” He added as he quickly stood up.

Yamaguchi winced. He really hadn’t meant to go overboard, he just hadn’t been able to help himself. 

He gave a belated wave to Hinata as the omega ran out of the room, his tangerine scent tainted with worry and anxiety.

Yamaguchi turned to Akaashi. The omega’s eyes were distant as he thought. “I’m really sorry.” The green haired omega murmured, forcing tears to well up in his eyes.

The action seemed to snap Akaashi out of his contemplation. “Oh! Don’t cry, it's just a shitty situation.” he said and Yamaguchi forced himself not to react to Akaashi’s use of language, he hadn’t really thought the stern omega was even able to curse.

Akaashi let out a small sigh. “Kenma has had a rough few months. But he did truly love his mate. More than anything.”

Yamaguchi gave the omega a small nod, even though he didn’t entirely believe him. 

Akaashi gave him a smile under the mask, “I’m going to go check on him with Hinata. Do you need anything before I go?” He asked and Yamaguchi shook his head.

“No, I’m fine. Go check on Kenma.” He said and then added with a voice filled to the brim with fake remorse, “Please let him know I’m sorry and it won’t happen again. And if he’d allow it I’d still like for us to be friends.” He added a small bow at the end to emphasize his remorseful act.

Akaashi nodded, “Don’t worry, Kenma doesn’t hold grudges.” 

Yamaguchi gave him a hopeful smile and the omega bade him goodnight before leaving to check on Kenma, leaving him alone in the infirmary once more.

His gaze lingered on the door for a few seconds before turning to flop onto his bed. Yamaguchi stared at the ceiling, replaying the events in his mind.

Akaashi had said Kenma truly loved his mate, but if that were true, why did Kenma sound like he was talking about a stranger? Why hadn’t there been the hint of grief in his voice. He knew people grieved in many ways, and he didn’t know how long Kenma’s mate had been dead, but still.

The thoughts unsettled Yamaguchi. He couldn’t imagine ever being that detached. Couldn't fathom ever dismissing Tsukishima’s importance in his life like that. He knew for a fact Oikawa would be the same. If Iwaizumi was gone, Oikawa would probably avenge him, then join the alpha in the afterlife.

If their alpha’s were gone they’d never stop loving them, not even for a second.

He frowned, turning the words over and over in his head until sleep finally dragged him under, the questions still gnawing at him.

How could someone who supposedly loved their mate, act like their death was a mild inconvenience instead of a life altering event? 

It just made no sense.

Notes:

Hello My Lovelies!

I hope you are all doing wonderfully. I am doing okay. College has absolutely killed me these past few weeks, so I haven't had a lot of time to write. But I got this chapter up so yay!!!

For updates go look at my insta, chronic_writers_block, I post updates on my chapters there. I want to get another chapter out around next Wednesday-Friday, but we'll see how classes go.

Anyways, I hope you all have a wonderful rest of you day and I'll see you in the next chapter <3

Notes:

Hello everyone.

You may know me from Wattpad I have a Haikyuu Oneshot book that I wrote many stories in. My account is @Shipper_4life those stories were written when I was in high school and I have grown as a writer I will be taking those stories and updating them here in my new writing style.

If you are from Wattpad, hello my lovelies I missed you all!

I love comments and suggestions so please go ahead and write them in if you can any. Goodbye!!!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Haikyuu Yakuza