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pearlsephoni · 8 months

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At the End of the Sun, Ch 17: The Journey Begins

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: Chapter: T; Whole Work: E

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Kagehina (Kageyama/Hinata); background Arankita (Aran/Kita)

Characters: Shoyo Hinata, Atsumu Miya, Osamu Miya, Aran Ojiro, Kita Shinsuke, Keiji Akaashi

Word Count: Chapter: 5.8k; Whole Work: 160k

Summary: A journey of 1000 miles must begin with one step.

A/N: Originally published on AO3 on May 26th, and beta'd by @/r0mantic-era. Further author's notes can be found on AO3.

☾

Shoyo was well-acquainted with roughing it on the road. He knew how to hunt for his own food, light a fire, even make his own shelter when he couldn’t bring a tent with him. In the smallest silver lining in the world, the weather had warmed enough that the combination of his hanten and physical exertion could keep him from feeling cold.

What he wasn’t used to was the loneliness. It was easier to ignore during the day, when he was distracted by the exhausting work of trudging through forests or hiking up hills that swelled in his path. He could even ignore it at night as he set up his campsite.

But then he would wait for some meat to cook, and he would spend too long staring into the flames before he was struck by the sheer…silence surrounding him. All he could hear was his own breath, the crackle of the fire and cooking meat, and the mysterious rustles of the nature surrounding him. Talking to himself didn’t work—it just made him imagine Tobio’s responses to his rambles, and then he couldn’t bring himself to speak around the lump that always lodged itself in his throat.

It worsened when he laid down to sleep, burrowing under his hanten and the blanket he brought and trying to calm his shivers. He missed the futon, the warmth of the yogi, the comforting quiet of the house instead of the unnerving sounds of the woods.

But more than anything, he missed Tobio. He missed the sound of his soft breaths, the feeling of them ruffling his hair and of a close, tender embrace. He missed drifting away in the middle of sleepy kisses, staying awake just long enough to hear Tobio whisper one last sweet taunt. He missed his subdued laughter, his grumpy arguments and shy confessions, his vulnerability, his teasing fingers and gentle hands.

The memories of everything he’d shared with Tobio and everything they meant to each other only solidified Shoyo’s determination to see this impossible quest through.

Those same memories left him falling asleep every night with tears on his cheeks and a shudder in his lungs.

☾

He’d known from the start that heading off on a quest with only “at the end of the sun” serving as a guide would be difficult, if not completely futile. That was never going to stop him, not with Tobio’s life on the line.

But when he crested another hill, and was greeted by another forest, and could see a mountain range looming on the horizon, promising to be an impossible obstacle in the near future, Shoyo could feel his body get flooded by the urge to collapse where he stood, dig out his blanket, and sleep. His mother had been right—this was a journey that could easily last months, if not years.

He’d already lost count of how many days it had been since he’d left home. However long it had been, he was now surrounded by flora that he could only recognize from his mother’s books, and the birdsong that greeted him each morning was strange to his ears.

Most unnerving of all was the lack of any human presence. All he had seen was the occasional home set up on a stretch of farmland, or tiny, run-down towns that didn’t look like they could support their own residents, much less a traveler. He only ever lingered long enough to trade away any hides and cleaned bones he'd accumulated for coins and supplies, before leaving to be on his own yet again. Suddenly, he had spent weeks sleeping in the wilderness, and the ache of his muscles became a perpetual guest in his body.

Still, he pushed on. A single roll of the blue stone between his fingers was enough to give him a burst of energy for the next few hours of trekking. His legs strengthened, his ears became sharper, and his movements grew ever quieter in his attempts to blend into the natural rustling of the forests he slipped through.

He was quieter, but not silent. The difference became chillingly clear after what might have been about a month. The days were continuing to lengthen, and he liked to take advantage of the extra hours of twilight. He knew other creatures liked to take advantage of those hours as well but he managed to avoid them until one evening, when he froze at the sound of a wolf howl.

It was a sound he still wasn’t acquainted with. For all of Tobio’s huffs, growls, whimpers and croons, he’d only ever howled a handful of times, and each time had sent a chill down Shoyo’s spine. He felt that chill now, but it wasn’t from awe. Now, it was from fear.

Quietly, he slid his dagger out of its sheath, keeping it clenched in his fingers like an anchor. He didn’t want to use Tobio’s bow—it felt wrong, somehow, to use it for this. It was one thing to use it for hunting, or even self-defense. But against a wolf…it felt too close to the act that had led to the curse.

So he relied on the dagger, thumbing at the familiar stitched patterns on the hilt to steady himself. After the howl, it felt like every passing sound in the underbrush was a threat somehow. Wolves moved quickly and with unnerving quiet. Who knew how close the howling wolf could be?

He tried to tell himself that he was being paranoid, but it was an empty reassurance. He knew better than anyone that the danger was very, very real.

His heart leapt to his throat when, after what felt like only minutes, his ears picked up the sound of a slow, deliberate, heavy tread trailing him. His breathing sped up just as a low growl rumbled from behind him, and his fingers nearly slipped on his dagger.

The growl and steps fell away, plunging Shoyo into a heavy silence that he recognized: it was the stillness that came before he loosed an arrow.

He spun around, dagger held at his chest, and felt his stomach sink when, sure enough, he saw a wolf crouching mere feet from him, body quivering in preparation to leap.

Objectively, the wolf didn’t look much like Tobio at all: its fur was a mix of grays and browns, and its eyes were a bright gold. More than that, the way it stared at him, all wild intent and curled lips, couldn’t have been more different from Tobio’s quiet adoration.

Yet Shoyo‘s breaths still shuddered in his chest at the thought of fighting the creature. It wasn’t like Tobio…but it was close enough. His body no longer trembled from fear. No, it trembled with revulsion at the thought of his dagger getting anywhere near that mottled fur.

“Please…,” he whispered, irrational in his desperation, “please don’t.”

The last thing he heard was a low growl. The last thing he saw was a blur of brown fur and sharp teeth.

Shoyo’s reflexes were the only reason he survived the wolf’s attack. He couldn’t brace himself against the wolf knocking him to his back, but he managed to throw his arm up before its slobbering teeth could meet his throat.

A scream tore out of Shoyo as the wolf’s powerful jaws closed around his forearm. The sharp, metallic smell of his blood mixed nauseatingly with the stench of the wolf’s breath. Adrenaline helped him hold strong, bracing his arm above him despite the pain lancing through him from the wolf’s bite.

“No!” he choked out, pain and panic sealing his throat. He still held onto his dagger with his other hand, but he didn’t wield it. He tried everything else to get the wolf off of him: shoving with his other arm, kicking at its hips, even an attempt to roll it over. But all his fighting only resulted in the wolf’s jaws slowly tightening around his arm, forcing more blood to seep out around its teeth, until he could feel the pressure on his bones. If he didn’t end it, he would be left with a broken arm, if not worse.

And so, with a shout somewhere between a sob and a scream, Shoyo plunged his dagger into the wolf’s throat.

Blood spurted from the stab, splashing over the dirt and Shoyo’s face. For a moment, the wolf’s jaws seemed to tighten, forcing him to land a second stab. With another gush of blood, the jaws finally loosened, slowly gaping open until Shoyo could jerk his arm out of its mouth with a pained gasp and shove the weakening body away before it could collapse on top of him.

The moment he was free of its weight, he scrambled upright, smearing away the already-drying splashes of blood and trying to staunch the blood still leaking out of his arm. Water…water, clean the wound, staunch the bleeding, wrap it tight.

His urgency kept him from giving in to the panic and grief pressing at his throat, and pushed him to his feet to stumble in the direction of the sound of running water. With every step he took, he could feel himself growing hazier with blood loss, but he kept pushing forward, his training as a samurai and lifelong lessons from his mother keeping him focused.

The moment he reached the small river flowing through the forest, he collapsed to his knees and stuck his bloodied arm into the ice-cold running water, a pained grunt pressing out of his throat at the shock. He moved automatically once he pulled his arm out: he quickly dried the wound, smeared on some ointment from his mother, and wrapped it tight with some cloth torn from the bottom of his hanten. He could feel the blood flow finally stop beneath the pressure of the tight wrap, letting him curl into himself now that the immediate danger was gone.

He was not new to death. One didn’t hunt nor work as a samurai without becoming well-acquainted with it. But he’d never killed a person, and even though the wolf had proven to be a real animal and not a cursed human, the encounter still made him feel sick to his stomach. He’d spent so much time with Tobio in his wolf form, and now, killing a wolf felt too close to killing a loved one.

Shoyo was 22 years old and could barely stomach the thought of killing an animal that reminded him of someone he loved. Tobio had been 16 when he’d shot a wolf and realized he’d shot a man. What kind of horror had he felt at his mistake? What kind of guilt, self-loathing? When Oikawa cursed him, did he try to fight back, or did he simply let it happen, fully believing that he deserved to be separated from his family, his home, everything he knew, even his own humanity? How could he begin to forgive himself when the only other person he had was his sister?

Six years. He’d lived with the curse for six years. And Shoyo had ruined his chance at freedom.

Tears burned in his eyes as he washed as much of the wolf’s blood off of himself as he could. The cold river water left his skin clean, but nothing could get the blood off of his robes. Staring down at himself, at the lingering reminder of the kill, Shoyo felt both a lump and bile rise in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into empty air, “I’m so sorry. I can’t…I didn’t…”

All of his training demanded that he go back to body and harvest what he could from it: fur, meat, even some bones and teeth. But his stomach turned at the thought of facing the body, much less carving it open. It was too much. He just…he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He had to.

He scooped water up to his face, scrubbing his frozen fingers against his stinging eyes and the drying blood pulling at his skin. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, he straightened out his things (the bow and arrows had escaped miraculously unscathed) and began finding his way back to the wolf’s body.

It was easy to trace his steps—he’d left a trail of blood in his rush to the river, and with every step he took back, he became increasingly surprised at how far he’d gotten. In a strange way, he’d gotten lucky. If the river had been much further, he may not have been able to staunch his bleeding before it was too late.

The wolf’s body was fresh when he found it again—it hadn’t been so long since he’d killed it—but the sight of it still made bile rise in Shoyo’s throat. He had to take slow, deep breaths to keep himself from going dizzy as he knelt next to the body, pressed his hands to the ground, and lowered his head to them.

“Please forgive me,” he whispered into the blood-stained soil. “Your life will keep me fed and warm, and I will honor the gifts you have provided.”

With shaky hands, he unsheathed his dagger and set about the familiar work of carving the body. It was slow and painstaking, and he felt none of the usual comfort that he felt in the process. By the time he had the fur and meat next to him and buried the rest of the body, his eyes stung and the lump in his throat nearly suffocated him.

As soon as he was done, he gathered up his carvings and made the short trek to a small clearing, where he set up camp, stretched the skin out to salt and dry overnight, and made a haphazard meal from the meat. It was tough and gamey, as all predators’ meat was, but he ate as much as he could, as though it were the finest cuts of pig.

The moon was high as he set the rest of the meat to dry over the embers of the fire, and when he fell asleep, the last thing he saw were the leaves turning silvery in the moonlight, looking like stars floating down from the night sky.

☾

For all his exhaustion and aches, his body was adapting. The wolf pelt kept him warm as he trekked closer to the westward mountains, his hasty jerky kept him somewhat energized, and his legs didn’t protest as much at the steadily-increasing incline he climbed. Still, when he realized he would have to brave the mountains in a matter of days, dread settled cold in his bones. The only thing that melted it away was the sight of a path through the rocky forest. It was a small comfort in the face of the challenge facing him, but a comfort that nearly made him weep from relief.

The comfort didn’t last long.

“Eat dust, slowpoke!”

The shout and the sound of hooves were all the warning Shoyo had. He barely managed to throw himself to the side of the road before a beautiful black horse thundered past him, carrying someone with blonde hair and the most obnoxious cackle Shoyo had heard since Tsukishima saw his first attempt at tying his kimono.

“Tsumu, ya bastard!!”

Shoyo had begun to push himself to his feet, only to fall back over when another horse galloped past. This one was a palomino, all pale, creamy coloring, with a gray-haired man shouting on it.

They were gone as suddenly as they’d appeared, leaving Shoyo stunned on the ground. His adrenaline slowly sapped out of him, until he was falling back on his elbows, then his back. “What the fuck?” he whispered into the still forest air.

The words had barely left his lips when, as though summoned, the pale horse galloped back up, coming to a stop in front of Shoyo. He watched, wide-eyed, as the gray-haired man leapt off the horse’s back and stared down at Shoyo with matching shock. “O-oi, Tsumu!”

“What’re ya bein’ such a sore loser for?”

“Forget yer stupid race, idiot.” The gray-haired man glared up at his companion as he rode back up. In the blur of confusion and surprise, Shoyo distantly noted that the men were identical, apart from their hair. “Ya nearly killed someone!”

“What? No, I didn’t! Think I’d notice if—” The blonde man—Tsumu?—abruptly fell silent when he stopped his horse by his brother’s and finally saw Shoyo. “Oh…fuck.”

“‘Oh fuck’,” the other twin mockingly parroted. The brothers glared at each other for another second before the gray-haired one looked back at Shoyo. “Pardon the idiot, he doesn’t actually have anything in his head.”

“Oi!”

“You alright? Ya didn’t get hit by his horse or anything, right?”

Shoyo blinked out of his confused daze. “Uh…yeah. Yes, yeah, I got out of the way!”

“Where’d the blood come from?”

He looked down at the dried stain that still covered his right side. “It’s not mine. It’s from before, I’m okay.”

“Oh…well, good. Right then, if yer alright, we’ll just be on our way—”

“Hold on.” The gray-haired man had already stood up, and his crouching place in front of Shoyo was quickly filled by his twin. “Look at that katana…only samurai get to carry a beauty like that. What’s a big important soldier like you doing all the way out here?”

“I…I’m meeting someone,” Shoyo blurted out before he could think of a more elaborate lie.

“And that someone turned down the chance to meet you on your daimyo’s palace grounds?”

“They’re, ah…they’re stuck at home. Can’t leave.” He’d always been bad at lying, but it felt like he’d somehow gotten worse.

“Hm.” Disbelief lined Tsumu’s eyes, at odds with the charming smile on his lips. “Well, I just feel awful about nearly runnin’ you over,” he sighed, sounding distinctly guiltless. “How about I make it up to ya? Samu and I were just going to an izakaya, let me buy you a drink.”

“Just a drink,” his twin cut in. “We don’t have time for you to pick up another pet.”

Tsumu didn’t bother acknowledging his brother beyond a crude gesture over his shoulder. His eyes and smile stayed fixed on Shoyo. “Well? How about it?”

Shoyo had no interest in drinking with strangers, much less a stranger who had nearly flattened him with his horse and apparently had a habit of making “pets” out of people. But the thought of a warm izakaya after weeks of trekking was too tempting for him to refuse, and nothing said he couldn’t ask for a bite to eat instead of a drink. “…Alright,” he agreed.

In a matter of minutes, he was seated behind the blonde on his horse and holding on as they slowed from a gallop to a trot at the edge of a tiny town. Shoyo could practically hear his captain scolding him for agreeing to ride a horse with a stranger, but even Ukai wouldn’t have turned it down after traveling by foot for so long.

Strangely, despite its small size, the town was in remarkable condition, and would have even looked brand new if it weren’t for the carefully tended gardens by the houses and old posters on the town bulletins. It spoke of wealth to Shoyo, but he couldn’t understand why such wealthy people would choose to live in such a small town.

“Here we are!” Tsumu came to a stop in front of what looked to be a proper izakaya, with rice wine tastings accompanied by snacks and even some meals in the evenings. A freshly-painted sign announced that it was owned by “Kita and Ojiro,” and Shoyo could hear the murmur of patrons through the sturdy doors. He slid off of the horse, only to blink in confusion when Tsumu slid off after him. “It’s Samu’s turn to take ‘em to the stables,” he explained with a smug grin. “Loser’s punishment.”

Samu didn’t dignify him with a response as he took the horse’s reins from his twin, though Shoyo thought he heard a muttered curse as he rode towards the stables with Tsumu’s horse in tow. Tsumu either didn’t hear or didn’t care, smile unwavering as he lifted the izayaka’s entry curtain and beckoned for Shoyo to follow him.

“Ah, Atsumu, you’re back.”

“Who’s that? Picked up another stray?”

“Aran-kun, yer so mean! Can’t ya be nice like Kita-san?”

Three thoughts scattered through Shoyo’s mind at once:

1) “Atsumu”? Was he thinking of him by his nickname the whole time? 2) He seemed popular, though Shoyo wasn’t sure that was entirely positive. 3) Was that a tail?

The last question lingered, growing in urgency the longer Shoyo stared at Atsumu. Not only was that a tail…he was seeing two tails, a perfect match for Atsumu’s golden hair, which now sported two fox ears. When Shoyo finally dragged his eyes from his new companion to the rest of the izakaya, he was stunned to see that he wasn’t the only kitsune there, nor were kitsune the only storybook creature he was seeing. There were oni, tengu, youkai with names that Shoyo couldn’t remember, all glancing over at him and Atsumu with curious, unnaturally-colored eyes.

His eyes eventually drifted to the two men—no, kitsune—who were manning the bar. They were both tall, like the twins, though one was a bit shorter than the other. He had white hair with black tips, matching fox ears, light brown eyes that looked more sharp than warm, and a sense of perception that belied his blank features.

The taller man was remarkably handsome, with short-cropped black hair, fluffy black fox ears, smooth brown skin, and plush lips that were curled in a grin perfectly matching the playfulness in his thick, raised brow and glittering gray eyes. “If you think that Shin’s bein’ nice, ya still don’t know him that well.”

“Careful, Aran,” Kita hummed, one white ear flicking in a way that reminded Shoyo of the wolf, “I still have a few secrets I’d like to keep from Atsumu.” That pulled a hearty laugh from the handsome man, loud enough to overpower Atsumu’s whine.

“Kita-san! Right when I brought you a new patron!” Atsumu turned his pout to Shoyo, only to falter when he met his wide eyes. “Samurai-kun? What’s up with you?”

Try as Shoyo might, he couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering from Kita and Aran’s ears back to Atsumu’s ears. Under his gaze, those golden ears tilted back just a bit, before Atsumu’s fingers brushed at them. “Somethin’ in my hair?”

“E-ears…”

“Huh?” His hand landed more firmly against one of his ears. “Oh…oh! Oh shit, you can see them?” The hand on his head pointed at the men behind the bar. “What about theirs?”

Shoyo mutely nodded.

“Oh, man! Since when?”

“He’s only seen us for a single minute, and he hasn’t said anythin’ about your ears until you two stepped in here,” Aran sighed, setting down the glass he was drying to lean against the counter and rest his other hand on his hip. “I think yer grand idea to go easy on the shrouding magic in here is finally backfiring. Whoever could’ve seen that comin’?”

“Oh, come on! You agreed to it!”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Kita quietly piped up, looking at Aran. “You got exhausted whenever ya put the shroud up at full strength.”

“It was worth it for the safety—”

“—which has only become a problem today, and how long have we run this place?”

Aran frowned, clearly ready to argue, when Atsumu cut him off with, “Hold on, other humans have come in here without seeing anything. I don’t think it’s the shroud that’s the problem.” His goldenrod eyes scanned over Shoyo, his scrutiny making him fidget and cross his arms over his chest. The movement drew Atsumu’s eyes to his wrist, and the bracelets Shoyo wore. “What’re those?”

Shoyo followed his eyeline, dread swooping low in his stomach at the sight of Oikawa’s stone resting just under Natsu’s gift and his father’s bracelet. “Um…gifts?”

“Really?” Atsumu caught Shoyo’s wrist and brought it up to his eyes, despite Shoyo’s struggles against his hold. “Since when has Oikawa given out ‘gifts’?”

The swoop of dread turned into a rock, dropping a heavy weight right in Shoyo’s gut. As though he sensed it, Atsumu’s eyes flickered up from Shoyo’s wrist with a smirk that looked more like a sneer. “Yer a sneaky one, aren’tcha? Thought I could sense some of Oikawa’s magic somehow, and it was on you all along.” His fingers tightened around his wrist. “Now you’ve seen our true forms. What should we do about that, hm?”

“I…I didn’t…”

“Oi, Tsumu, Suna fuckin’ raised the prices—”

“Welcome back, Osamu,” Kita interrupted, “your brother has just introduced us to the first human who can see our true forms.”

All sounds of movement behind Shoyo fell silent, before a low voice muttered, “Tsumu.”

“Samu?”

“Please tell me Kita-san’s sense of humor has gotten worse.”

“…Would you believe me if I did?”

“The human’s got an amulet from Oikawa,” Aran said before Osamu could say anything, “and it’s still got enough magic for him to see through the shroud.”

“Oikawa’s still around? And since when does he give gifts to humans?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Atsumu looked down at Shoyo with eyes that seemed to glow. “How about that drink, hm? Aran-kun distills some of the best sake around.”

Oh…those eyes didn’t look like they were glowing. They were glowing, as were the two tails swaying behind Atsumu. Shoyo had grown up hearing stories of kitsune’s wily charms and short tempers, but all the stories in the world couldn’t have prepared him for the terror of witnessing it himself.

And yet, despite his fear, Shoyo still found his voice and murmured, “Could…could I have some food instead of a drink?”

A surprised laugh barked from behind him, before he finally saw Osamu emerge to join Aran and Kita behind the bar. “I’ll make the onigiri,” he told Atsumu, “and you get the truth from him.”

“With pleasure,” Atsumu agreed with that dangerous grin. With the hold he still had on Shoyo’s wrist, he tugged him along to the raised floor just past the bar, where several pairs of curious eyes were watching them. A single sweeping glance from Atsumu redirected all attention back to the sake and conversation at each table.

They were sitting as close to the bar as possible, so that Shoyo’s explanation of everything could be easily heard by the three working kitsune. “Now then,” Atsumu began as soon as they had both settled on the edge of the raised area, “what on earth would Oikawa want with a little samurai like you?”

Little samurai. The same disdainful nickname Oikawa had given to him. It was strange to him that such powerful sorcerers and beings would focus so much on his size, as if that was what mattered out of everything he’d achieved.

He ignored the taunt, though his voice was low with frustration when he said, “He cursed someone I love. When we couldn’t break the curse, he took him away to his palace to serve him. I’m trying to track them down, find the palace, and convince him to let me bring that person back home.”

As he spoke, Osamu finished the onigiri and brought them over to Shoyo and Atsumu, settling down next to his brother and listening with a small frown. “Spirits,” he muttered, “I’m surprised Iwaizumi let him get away with that.”

To Shoyo’s credit, he nearly didn’t give anything away: his knuckles didn’t tighten, his onigiri didn’t crumble in his hand, and his gaze didn’t waver from the twins. All he did was swallow before he’d taken a bite or sip. It wasn’t his fault that that was all a kitsune needed to notice.

“Hold on,” Osamu muttered, “You didn’t mention Iwaizumi.”

Shoyo had never heard that name before, but the connection to Oikawa was enough for him to guess that he was the man Tobio had killed. “He…he passed away.”

The twins’ eyes widened like complementary plates. “Shit,” Osamu breathed, sitting back on his hands.

As his brother leaned back, Atsumu leaned forward, eyes narrowed and piercing on Shoyo. “Oikawa can be a bitch,” he hummed, taking in every flicker of movement on Shoyo’s face, “but he’s not cruel. Not unless somethin’ or someone he loves is in danger. So why would he curse someone you love, hm?”

Perhaps Shoyo didn’t need to explain the entire sordid affair. Maybe he could’ve just said that Tobio had killed Iwaizumi by accident and left it there. But he needed the kitsune to understand that Tobio wasn’t a killer, that he would never raise an arrow nor hand nor anything against another person. As he told the long story, Aran brought over a tray with a bottle of sake and four cups, serving out the drinks and settled down without letting his attention waver from Shoyo.

Silence fell over the group once Shoyo finished the story with, “That’s why I need to find them and rescue Tobio. It was a mistake, a serious mistake, yeah, but one that he’s already paid for with six years of his life. He can’t pay for it with the rest of his life, too. It isn’t fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Aran hummed. His gray eyes were as perceptive as Osamu’s, but there was a kindness there that warmed them, that made Shoyo think of soft ash instead of the sharp edge of a knife. “But you wouldn’t go on a big rescue mission like this if ya didn’t love him, too.”

Shoyo fiddled with his sake cup, ducking his head to watch the last drop swirl around the clay. “No…no, I wouldn’t.”

“All the love in the world’s not gonna let ya find Oikawa’s palace,” Atsumu scoffed. He knocked back the rest of his sake, missing the annoyed glare Aran shot him.

Shoyo was too startled by the mention of the palace to let himself feel frustrated. “You know where his palace is?!”

“Sure,” Atsumu said with an exaggerated sigh of happiness, setting his cup down. “All of us do. Doesn’t mean we’ve been. He does a better job shrouding that huge palace than we could shroud this tiny place.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry, Aran-kuuuun!”

“Where is it?” Shoyo asked. All pretense of careful apathy was gone, swept away by the prospect of finally having another hint of where to go. “Is it really at the end of the sun? Can you tell me how to get there?”

Atsumu looked startled by Shoyo’s eagerness, though his surprise only lasted a breath before it was replaced by slow, calculated glee. “And why would I do that?”

Just like that, Shoyo’s hope popped like a bubble. “…What?”

“Why would I do that?” Atsumu repeated with a lazy smirk. “Oikawa’s a scary man. If he finds out I told a mortal where his palace is, much less the lover of his lover’s killer, well…who knows what he’d do? I can’t take that risk, not unless I got somethin’ in return. So what’ll it be?”

Shoyo’s gut told him to just ask what Atsumu wanted, but he managed to catch himself before he could. Asking a kitsune what they wanted, especially under the pretense of a deal, was probably the most foolish thing he could do.

His fingers fidgeted in his lap, tracing the seams of his hanten as he thought. That’s when they bumped into the hilt of his dagger, and an idea came to him. “Do you like fighting?”

An eyebrow raised. “Sure.”

“Ever fought a samurai?”

The eyebrow lowered as the corner of Atsumu’s lips raised. “Not in a long time.”

“Then that’s what I’ll offer. The chance to fight a samurai, one-on-one, in a duel.”

A cruel laugh barked out of Atsumu. “Beggin’ yer pardon,” he snickered, “but you don’t look like you’ve had a good night’s rest nor any proper training in months.”

“Not a lot!”

“Still! Why on earth would I expect to get a worthy fight out of you?”

“Who says it has to be tonight?” Aran countered. “Let him get some actual sleep and rest tonight, and you can have yer big duel tomorrow. I’m sure Bokuto's place has some vacancies.”

“Aran-kun!” Atsumu whined. “Are you on his side or mine?”

“Your side is rarely a good side to be on. And besides”—he stood, taking the tray with the empty sake bottle and dirty cups with him—“maybe I just want to see true love prevail. Call me a romantic.” He winked at Kita as he returned to the bar, earning nothing more than pink cheeks and thin lips in response.

“Fine,” Atsumu sighed, slouching in his seat. “You take him, Samu.”

“What? Why?”

“Those owl tengu creep me out. And that quiet one likes you better! I can tell!”

“Can’t imagine why,” Osamu muttered under his breath. “Fine. D’ya have money, samurai-kun?”

“Wait.” Kita held a soot-black feather out to Osamu. “Akaashi owes me a favor.”

“Kita-san—”

“It’s my pleasure,” Kita interrupted Shoyo’s protest with a small smile. “Call me a romantic, too.”

“Th-thank you!” Shoyo stammered, dipping into a deep bow with warm cheeks. “Thank you so much!”

As he followed Osamu out, the kitsune murmured, “You oughta thank Aran later.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm. Kita-san doesn’t usually care to do any favors for patrons, ‘specially new ones. He musta given you the feather because he saw how much Aran and Atsumu like you.”

“Atsumu-san likes me?!”

That earned him his first laugh from Osamu. “Sure does. He wouldn’t have given ya the time of day if he didn’t. He’s just a bitch to everyone he knows.”

“O-oh.” Well. Shoyo didn’t know what to say. Agreeing would be rude, but trying to deny it would be a lie, and he was awful at lying.

Thankfully he didn’t need to decide, because the inn was just across the road. A gold-adorned sign named it “The Owl’s Nest,” and sure enough, when they stepped inside, they were greeted by a pretty, dark-haired owl tengu with brown wings tucked close to his body and black feathers blending from the edge of his face into his hair. Osamu simply had to hold up the feather from Kita for the tengu to take it from him with a tiny smile. “Kita truly never forgets, hm?” he hummed. “And who will we be hosting?”

“Careful, Akaashi-kun, he’s a samurai.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened as they flickered over Shoyo’s weapons and blood-stained clothes. “Ah. So he is. Alright, samurai-san, let’s get you settled in, shall we?”

Like the rest of the town, the inn was one of the nicer ones Shoyo had visited, despite being so small. He got to take a long soak in the onsen, washing off all the grime of being outdoors for weeks on end, and when he crawled into his futon, he was out the moment his head hit his pillow.

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pearlsephoni · 8 months

Text

At the End of the Sun, Ch 18: Of Katana and Shuriken

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: Chapter: M; Whole Work: E

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Kagehina (Kageyama/Hinata); background Arankita (Aran/Kita)

Characters: Shoyo Hinata, Atsumu Miya, Osamu Miya, Aran Ojiro, Kita Shinsuke, Keiji Akaashi

Word Count: Chapter: 4.9k; Whole Work: 160k

Summary: The only thing standing between Shoyo and rescuing the love of his life...is a life-threatening duel.

A/N: Originally published on AO3 on June 20th, and beta'd by @/r0mantic-era. C/W for some blood and violence. Further author's notes can be found on AO3.

☾

For the first time since leaving home, Shoyo had a dreamless night’s rest. And for the first time, he came close to tears from how badly he wished he had dreamed. It was the only thing keeping his aching loneliness from consuming his heart. He didn’t care that it wasn’t real. The warmth of Tobio’s arms felt real enough when he dreamed.

He tried to swallow down the ache in his throat as he got ready to face the day—he didn’t need to be seen almost crying on the morning of a duel. And yet, when he crossed through the main room to leave for breakfast at the izakaya, he was stopped by a soft, “Are you alright?”

He jumped and looked around to see Akaashi watching him from the fire pit, where a kettle was hanging over flickering flames. “Oh, hello, um…Akashi-san?”

“It’s Akaashi,” the owl tengu corrected him, face impassive apart from his observant sea-green eyes. “I don’t believe I learned your name last night. I apologize, that was terribly rude of me.”

“Oh, that’s…it’s okay!” Shoyo stammered. “I’m Hinata!”

“Hinata,” Akaashi echoed, as though he were testing the weight of his name on his tongue. “Did you sleep well, Hinata-san?”

“Ah, just Hinata is okay. And yes, I did. Thank you for having me. And for washing my clothes! You didn’t have to do that.”

For the first time, he saw a smile tug at the corner of Akaashi’s lips. “Perhaps not. But I wanted to. That’s why we’re here, after all.” Akaashi pushed himself to his feet and brushed off invisible dust from his yukata before asking, “Would you like breakfast? Don’t tell Osamu-san I said so, but I believe our breakfast is a bit more filling than what they serve with Ojiro-san’s sake.”

Shoyo felt his own lips curve to match Akaashi’s small smile as gratitude spread warm through his body. “That sounds great. Thank you!”

The awaiting duel loomed over him as he ate, but Akaashi’s quiet company and careful questions kept Shoyo feeling settled. The questions weren’t too nosy, and Shoyo was able to answer without divulging all of the details of the curse and deal and year together. None of that mattered as much as emphasizing how much he loved Tobio and how determined he was to rescue him.

What he couldn't keep secret, much to his own surprise, were his dreams. One question from Akaashi about his soft cries in the middle of the night found Shoyo telling him about his nightly chases after his father, only to find a shadowy creature…a shadowy creature that turned into the wolf when their year together began, and then into a featureless man as they slowly fell in love.

"The dreams stopped for a little while," Shoyo murmured, "but then he was taken, and I started dreaming of him again. I know they're not real, I know he's not really with me, but the dreams keep me from feeling so lonely. Last night I didn’t dream, I didn’t see him, and it scares me, Akaashi-san. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if something happened to him, and that’s why I didn’t see him, or—”

His words hiccuped on a sob, and he found himself holding tight to the hand covering his. “I think,” Akaashi murmured gently, “that you have been through incredible hardships, especially for a samurai as young as you, and your mind is trying to help you cope. You put so much pressure on yourself to fill the shoes your father left behind, until you met someone that let you put that weight down…only for him to be taken as well.”

"But what if it means something? What if…what if Oikawa-san is controlling my dreams, and making sure I can't even see him then?"

"Don't," Akaashi ordered with a quiet that didn't take away from how firm the word was. "Don't say that. Oikawa is a powerful sorcerer, it's true. And it's true that your dreams come from a place of fear. But they also come from a place of love, and that's something that not even Oikawa-san can control. Don't give him that power, Hinata."

Shoyo sucked in a shaky breath as he nodded, holding Akaashi's gaze until the owl tengu seemed satisfied with what he saw. Once his eyes softened, Shoyo risked asking, "Do you…know Oikawa-san?"

Akaashi froze, and his fingers tightened around Shoyo's before he abruptly let go. "Not…not well," he murmured. "Bokuto-san was always better acquainted with him. But I was…familiar with him and Iwaizumi." A sad smile flickered over his slender lips. "They reminded me of Bokuto-san and I, in some ways. Oikawa-san was always grand, eye-catching, magnetic in his charms. Iwaizumi-san seemed like the only person who wouldn't be pulled in by his charisma…so of course they loved each other more than anyone."

With a soft sigh, Akaashi began to slowly collect the dishes. "Oikawa-san was charismatic, but he also held an ambition that clashed dangerously with his sense of inadequacy. Iwaizumi-san could pull him out of his own head and bring him back down to earth, remind him of the simple facts of their love and Oikawa's skill as a sorcerer.

"When he died, well…we only saw Oikawa-san one more time before he isolated himself on his island. The shadow of his grief swept him under until he was a shell of himself, with only bitter anger left behind where his ambition and passion had been. Losing someone you love so much and who keeps you settled that way…it doesn't excuse Oikawa's curse, but…I can understand him." His eyes were sharp on Shoyo, but not unkind. "I think you can understand him yourself, now."

A life without Tobio…it had only been a year, and Shoyo already couldn't fathom it.

An ill-fitting guilt made his skin feel too tight on his bones, but he didn't get a chance to vocalize it before Akaashi stood with the dishes and a gentle smile. “It’s a shame Bokuto-san isn’t here. Nothing captures his attention quite like a good story, and you’re a very good storyteller.”

Shoyo’s cheeks warmed. “T-thank you! Um…is Bokuto-san your…your…?”

Akaashi’s smile widened, fondness softening the sharp intelligence that lined his pretty features. “My partner, yes. I suppose you could say that he’s the one I would embark on a quest for, and he would do the same for me.” His smile tilted a little amused when Shoyo’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry, he’s not off on a quest. Just a routine trip.”

“Oh! Oh…good.”

“Yes. I hope you can enjoy a similarly comfortable life with your love.”

Shoyo’s cheeks warmed as he fiddled with the hem of his kosode. “Yeah…me, too.”

With another gentle, understanding smile, Akaashi left to take the dishes to the kitchen. In the time that he was gone, Shoyo packed the rest of his things, and by the time Akaashi returned, he was waiting by the entrance, ready to leave after bidding farewell.

“May I offer you a last bit of advice?” the tengu asked as Shoyo straightened from his bow.

“Of course!”

“Try not to be…swept up by Atsumu’s bluster.” Akaashi looked strangely somber, with none of the subdued fondness he’d had when speaking with Osamu the night before. “He is fiercely loyal to those he cares about, but he can be petty, vain, and even…a bit cruel, sometimes, to people he doesn’t know. He has an especially bad habit of seeing humans as playthings. Try not to become one yourself.”

Fear ran cold through his body and hot in his cheeks. “I’ll try,” he murmured with another bow. “Thank you for everything, Akaashi-san.”

“It was my pleasure. Take care on your journey. May it bring you the happy ending you deserve.”

☾

The izakaya made a stark contrast with Akaashi’s quiet inn. When Shoyo stepped over the threshold, it felt like he had walked into a wall of noise, even though the sun was barely rising over the horizon.

“There ya are!”

Atsumu’s call made silence fall like a rock over the patrons as all eyes, human and supernatural, turned towards Shoyo. His stomach turned, but he pressed the feeling down, meeting Atsumu’s eyes with a raised chin. “Good morning, Atsumu-san.”

“Good morning,” Aran answered for Atsumu, flashing a smile that was much warmer than the sneer Atsumu wore. “How’re ya feeling? Wouldja like anything to eat?”

“Ah, no, thank you,” Shoyo answered with a bow. “Akaashi-san gave me some breakfast.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. He never did approve of our breakfast offerings.” Aran’s voice carried a quiet laugh, as though he were sharing an inside joke instead of mild criticism. “Didja sleep well? Looks like yer clothes are clean now.”

Shoyo’s eyes didn’t leave Aran’s, but his hand still fiddled with the edge of his hanten. “Yes, Akaashi-san took good care of me.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I hope that means yer ready for this duel,” Atsumu cut in. His smile did nothing to hide the mild annoyance glinting in his eye.

“I am!” Shoyo shot back, not bothering to hide the furrow in his brow. “Where will we be dueling?”

“Oh good. Yer eager, too. Follow me.”

Shoyo’s gaze flickered to Aran, who gave him a small nod. It was enough to bolster him, and he followed Atsumu out the back of the izakaya.

There was a stretch of flat earth separating the izakaya from sprawling paddy fields. If Shoyo squinted, he thought he could see a splash of white moving through the rows of rice, making its way to a squat house at the back of the fields. I wonder if Aran-san lives with Kita-san, Shoyo mused. He looked away from the fields just in time to keep himself from colliding into Atsumu, who had suddenly stopped in the middle of the clear area.

“Distracted already?” Atsumu scoffed. “That’s no good, samurai-kun!”

“M’not distracted,” Shoyo muttered, sounding an awful lot like Tobio. He wasn’t sure what it said about Atsumu, that he was able to bring that side out of him. Nothing good, surely.

“Right, then.” Atsumu turned and gave Shoyo a small shove at his shoulder, just enough to make him move back a few steps. “Have ya dueled before?”

“Of course I have!”

“Now now, don’t get testy. S’not my fault most of you samurai don’t see much action these days.”

Shoyo had heard rumors of other daimyo and their samurai: whispers about the elite soldiers turning into little more than lazy housepets and tax collectors. But not the samurai of the Kageyama clan. They had worked hard to earn their katana, had made sure to stay sharp and keep their training fresh. The feudal wars were still too fresh in the domain's memory to risk anything less.

There was no point in arguing with the kitsune. Shoyo already knew that well after less than 24 hours of knowing him. But the spike of anger stabbing through his chest was too sharp for him to really hold his tongue. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

He winced at how whiny he sounded and at the slow smirk creeping across Atsumu's face. "Well…here's your chance to prove me wrong. Right then, in the deeply unlikely event that you defeat me, what will your reward be?"

"Information," Shoyo answered instantly. "You'll tell me where Oikawa's palace is, and give me a way to get there."

"Transport, too? That's a bit more than just information, samurai-kun."

"Those are my terms." The firm words felt strange on his tongue, but he pushed forward. "And yours?"

"Your bracelet." Atsumu smirked at Shoyo's surprised blink. "I've always wanted to try Oikawa's magic on for size. This is my best chance for that."

The bracelet…Shoyo's instinct was to refuse. Something about having the bracelet made the whole endeavor feel a little less futile. Maybe it would tell him when he was getting close. Maybe it would allow him to pass on Oikawa's land. More than anything, it was a reassurance, a tangible connection of some sort to Tobio. If he didn't have the bracelet, the journey forward would become unimaginably more difficult.

But so would the journey without any extra information. And this was his best chance at learning more about where on earth he was going.

"Alright," he agreed before he could change his mind. "If I lose, you'll get the bracelet."

"Great! Now, how d’ya wanna do this? To the death?”

Ice flooded Shoyo’s veins and bile burned at his throat, but he swallowed it down, fully prepared to agree.

“Nah,” Atsumu snickered before he could speak, waving his hand as though he were dismissing a bad answer in class and not the prospect of death. “You humans can’t kill me, and you’re too interesting fer me ta kill.” The easy charm of his smile sharpened into something cunning, dangerous, something that reminded Shoyo of the cautionary stories he’d heard growing up. “You can try ta land a killing blow, though. I’ve always wanted ta feel one of those.”

“Then how do we end this?” Shoyo bit out, fighting to keep his voice steady. “First blood?”

The kitsune’s brows shot up his forehead, and again his smile morphed, this time filled with childlike delight. “Awfully optimistic of ya,” he laughed, “but sure. First blood.”

"What about seconds?"

"Seconds? Of what? Ya want another duel?"

"He means your right-hand man, dipshit," Osamu sighed from where he stood at the front of the spectators. "I'll be yours."

"And I'll be the other," Aran offered, flashing a reassuring smile at Shoyo. Relief eased the tight grip his anxiety had on his stomach—if he was going to depend on anyone here, he was glad it was Aran.

"Right. Good. Anythin' else ta get in order?"

They'd decided the terms, the rewards, the seconds… "What about weapons?"

"Awww, let's keep some element of surprise," Atsumu simpered with a pout. "What's the fun in knowing all that?"

Fine. If he wanted a surprise, Shoyo would give him a surprise. He could feel the reassuring weight of his dagger hanging just behind his katana. "Okay. Then let's do this."

With a final smirk from Atsumu, the duelists took their places 10 paces from each other, before turning and bowing.

Breathe. Let them make the first move. Don’t reveal your hand.

He’d trained his whole life for fights like this. Never mind the fact that his opponent was a kitsune. He’d faced opponents with…unusual weapons before.

He slid into his starting position and took hold of his hilt. This was good, almost comfortable. He quickly took in everything he could see of the kitsune: his deep red robes, the black swath of his obi across his waist, the sandals that added to his already-impressive height…and the hand tucking itself between the folds of his kimono. There wasn’t a katana to be seen, no bow, nothing. But anything could be tucked inside a kitsune’s robes.

Atsumu made the first move: a simple step to the side, fingering whatever was hidden away. Shoyo mirrored his step, keeping the same distance between them. He didn’t want to step any closer, not when he didn’t know what kind of reach Atsumu had.

He was prepared for anything. So when the first shuriken flew at him, he dodged it easily, careful to keep his katana sheathed. Now he knew Atsumu’s reach, while keeping his own concealed.

“Very good,” the kitsune crooned. “Let’s keep you dancing, hm?”

With that, he threw another shuriken, and another, and another, staying fixed in one spot while forcing Shoyo to move. Shoyo didn’t care—his stamina wouldn’t fail him. All he focused on was watching the shuriken and making sure he moved from side-to-side, keeping himself from drifting closer to Atsumu.

A pause finally came when Atsumu reached into his robes and came up empty-handed. “Ah.”

That was his chance. Shoyo lunged towards Atsumu—

—and dropped to the ground with a shout.

Up fast, up fast! He shot back up to his feet with the smell of burned hair filling his nose, and when he chanced a look over his shoulder, he saw a burnt streak in the earth. “What…?”

“Oh, you are good,” Atsumu laughed with childlike delight. “I underestimated ya, little samurai, I thought that was just a fancy title fer nothing!” A feather of fire danced across the backs of his fingers, juggled as casually as a marble. “Come on, eyes on me. It’s no fun, kickin’ ya while you’re down. Or, well…,” he shot a blithe smile, eyes glowing an unnatural gold, “burnin’ ya.”

Shoyo’s fingers trembled around his hilt as he found his position again. He took deep, shaking breaths, trying to ground himself beneath the amused gaze of the kitsune. His shoulders lowered with his first steady breath. With his second, he was dodging another burst of fire.

This was what he was good at, what he’d become known for within the army: his ability to dodge his opponent, no matter how long the duel lasted, and only draw his katana for the last blow. His months without a real sparring partner hadn’t changed how nimble and quick-footed he was.

His agility made him a formidable opponent against a human. Against a kitsune, though, it kept him alive. Atsumu was quick and effortless, flicking feathers of flame at him with the casual air of someone waving away insects. Shoyo could barely see the ghostly outlines of two fox tails whenever Atsumu shot fire at him, though he was too busy trying to flit around quickly enough to avoid the fire. Despite his best efforts, he could still smell the unmistakable scent of burning threads.

“What’s wrong, little samurai?” Atsumu called. Shoyo didn’t spare a look at his face, and he didn’t need to. His voice conveyed his laughter well enough. “Scared ta make your move? Is that katana just there fer decoration?”

Shoyo’s jaw clenched against the mockery. Let him talk, he told himself, let him be his own distraction.

As he zipped and dodged around the field, he let the fingers at his sword hilt drift back to grasp at his dagger. With every dodge, he was getting closer to Atsumu, which he could tell the kitsune was becoming aware of as well. He watched a small frown of awareness crack at his arrogant features, waiting for the moment when he planned his next move.

“I’m getting bored, little samurai.” The deepening frown on Atsumu’s face belied the playful tone of his voice. “You’re only alive because yer more fun that way.”

His words were punctuated with a blur of bright blue shooting towards Shoyo. His free hand shot up to shield his face as he dodged to the side, and even with his arm in the way, he could feel the terrifying heat of the blue fire. “Holy shit,” he gasped, before he was dodging the next shot.

With the added heat of the blue flames, he had to readjust the rhythm of dodging he’d fallen into. But he kept his fingers firmly around his dagger, and he kept up his slow approach.

Now.

Shoyo dove beneath the next lick of flame whipped at him and flew towards Atsumu, throwing his dagger at the same time. He didn’t stop charging forward, taking hold of his hilt the moment the dagger left his fingers.

“That’s more like it!” Atsumu jeered, easily knocking aside the dagger. “Now what—?”

His words choked off into a surprised silence. No one moved—not Atsumu, not his twin, not any of the other spectators.

The only movement in the field came from Shoyo. He straightened out of his charging lunge, flicking blood from the tip of his katana. The first droplets fell off of the metal just as Atsumu collapsed to the ground, his parted lips stained by the blood splashing from his slit throat.

“TSUMU!” The scream broke the spell over the ring. Shoyo turned towards his fallen opponent just as Osamu dove to his side, knees covered with dirt and blood as he rolled him over and took in the gruesome sight of his slit throat and belly. “You…you bastard,” he growled, eyes flashing silver and the outline of two tails appearing behind him when he glared up at Shoyo.

“He’ll be fine,” Shoyo reassured him in a quiet voice that felt strange on his tongue. “It’s like he said: humans can’t kill kitsune.”

Sure enough, before Osamu could land his own killing blow, Atsumu was jerking upright with a rattling gasp. “Holy— fuck,” he choked, spitting out a clot of blood. The dripping at his neck was already slowing as the gash stitched itself together before Shoyo’s eyes. “Spirits, samurai-kun,” he groaned after a few more ragged coughs, “didn’t think you’d take the ‘killing blow’ thing so seriously.”

It didn’t matter, it shouldn’t have mattered, but Shoyo still felt a jolt of satisfaction at the lack of “little.” “Be careful what you wish for, Atsumu-san.”

That earned him a bark of laughter and the blessed easing of Osamu’s glare. “Right, then.” A look at his brother was all Atsumu needed to ask Osamu to drape his arm over his shoulders and help him to his feet. “I don’t believe I caught yer name.”

“You didn’t ask,” Shoyo answered stiffly.

A now-familiar smirk curved Atsumu’s lips. “Aw, that’s right, I didn’t. Well then, Shoyo-kun”—his smirk broadened at Shoyo’s wide eyes—“who was it you were looking for again? A damsel in distress?”

Oh, Tobio would hate being called that. A slow smile spread across Shoyo’s face. “Sort of.”

☾

"Right," Atsumu declared as they gathered on the raised floor of the izakaya. An onigiri sat forgotten in Shoyo's hand, his attention completely taken by the map spread in the middle of their small, messy circle. Kita had brought it from the house after Aran had delivered the news of the duel to him, and its condition suited the diligence of the older kitsune: despite the yellowed edges of the thin paper, there were no tears nor folds, and the lines of the mountain range stretching to the sea were still crisp and clear.

Atsumu was gesturing over it as he began to speak, but even he was careful to keep his finger hovering over the old paper rather than risk marring its pristine state. "Ya want ta get to Oikawa? That'll be near impossible, I'm not gonna lie. But let's getcha close." His fingertip circled a cluster of squares and dashed lines outside of the shadowy forest. "This is us. And Oikawa's big bad lair is here." He traced a line in the air from the village, past the shoreline, to a crooked oval barely visible at the edge of the large map. "Ya've still a lot of travelin' ahead of ya, Shoyo-kun. If you'd like, Samu can lendja his horse, and—"

"Nah nah nah, you made this deal, you offer your horse."

Atsumu glowered at his twin. "Fine. I can lendja my horse, because I'm selfless and generous, unlike some people." He didn't get a response outside of a sigh and rolled eyes, which he correctly took as his cue to turn his attention back to Shoyo. "She's a little feisty, but surely nothin' a samurai can't handle. She's smart, too—as long as ya give her a reward and tell her she's free to go home, she'll make her back to us, no problem!"

The idea of a creature with a personality that even Atsumu would call "feisty" made Shoyo a little nervous, but the tilt of the kitsune's mouth told him that was exactly what Atsumu wanted to see from him. So he shoved down his nerves, lifted his chin, and declared, "That'd be great, thank you!"

Atsumu's smirk widened into a proper grin as he looked back down at the map. "She's going to take you to the docks right around here. You should get there in three or four days, maybe five or six if you get caught in some bad weather." His finger circled at part of the shoreline that had a small patch of buildings drawn right at the slip of land between the forest and the beach. "There'll be some docks there, and a small boat. That's gonna be your way to the island."

"Atsumu-san," Shoyo began carefully, "I don't want to sound ungrateful, but…will a small boat really get me through a magic storm?"

For the first time, Atsumu looked truly abashed. “It’s…not ideal. But it’s all we’ve got, and it’ll be better than a bigger human-built boat.” He chewed on his lip as he stared at the drawn shoreline, before his eyes suddenly lit up and snapped to his twin. “Samu! The wind!”

Osamu’s brows lowered as soon as Atsumu looked at him, but after a moment, his entire face brightened with realization. “Oh…oh! Huh. Ya really think that’ll work?”

“Worth a try! Or would it be too hard for ya?” Atsumu flashed a teasing grin and earned a glower in response.

“Fuck off, I was already gonna do it, jackass.”

“Do what?”

The twins’ eyes snapped to Shoyo at the same time. “...Right,” Osamu said with a soft laugh. “Sorry. This jerk is always moving too fast.”

“Oi!”

“Atsumu controls fire. I control the wind. And that includes—” He withdrew an empty, deep red silk pouch from his robes and, with a flourish of his hand and gust of wind in the izakaya, the pouch ballooned around seemingly nothing. Osamu tied it shut before more than a puff of air could escape and ruffle his hair. “—bottling it.”

“That’s a bag.”

“And yer on thin ice,” he shot back at Atsumu, before flashing a smile at Shoyo. “This’ll keep ya movin’ in the direction ya want, no matter what other forces might be pushin’ atcha. With any luck, it’ll getcha through any barriers Oikawa’s set up, since it’s magically manipulated, but no promises there.”

He held the bag out to Shoyo, but just as Shoyo’s fingertips brushed the silk, it was being jerked out of his reach. “Be careful,” Osamu warned him, suddenly looking the most serious Shoyo had seen him, including in the bloody aftermath of the duel. “When I say this’ll keep ya movin’, I mean it. Ya hafta keep a firm hold on it, and point it in the right direction before you open it. And don’t waste it. It’ll take ya far, but it’s still finite. Be sure ta close the bag as soon as you don’t need the wind, alright?”

“Alright,” Shoyo agreed. The pouch felt heavier than it looked when Osamu placed it in his hand, like a physical reminder of the burden it could become. But Shoyo only felt gratitude as he bowed deeply to the twins, and then to Aran and Kita. “Thank you all, so much. I don’t know how much further I would’ve been able to go if you hadn’t brought me here.”

“Don’t be so thankful,” Atsumu chuckled, his smile looking unusually soft on his sly features. “We didn’t exactly do it outta the kindness of our hearts.”

“Speak fer yerself,” Aran snorted. He waved off Shoyo’s dogeza and treated him to a kind smile when he lifted his forehead from the floor. “Those two usually bring trouble wherever they go, so you were a pleasant surprise, Hinata-kun. It’s an honor to help ya on this journey.”

“When you’ve returned home, send us a letter,” Kita quietly chimed in. “We’ll want ta hear about yer happy ending.”

He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, as if it were the obvious outcome for the whole harebrained journey. Shoyo’s heart felt too big for his chest from all the gratitude swelling inside. “Of course,” he said, unashamed of the tremble in his voice. “That would be the least I could do.”

"Aww, Sho-kun, don't get all soft on us!" Atsumu slung an arm around Shoyo's shoulders with a grin. Shoyo wasn't sure what to make of his shortening of his given name. Maybe kitsune were allowed to be more casual with humans. Or maybe Atsumu was just…like that. "Now, where'd ya leave yer things? I'll bring Haru over so you can head out."

When Shoyo stopped by the inn to grab his things, he was greeted by Akaashi, who wore a small, almost melancholy smile. "Did you get the information you needed?"

"Yes, Akaashi-san."

"Good." He handed over Shoyo's pack and weapons, before running fingers through his own wings. "Ah, here we are." He held a creamy white feather between his graceful fingers. "There's not much I can do to assist on your journey, but I do have acquaintances in the area. If you or a loved one are ever in need of a favor, this can help."

Shoyo took the feather in a gentle grasp, tucking it carefully into the pouch hanging off of his obi. "Thank you! For this and for…everything."

"Of course. It was my pleasure." Akaashi looked up at the sound of hoofbeats approaching before giving Shoyo another quiet smile. "Take care of yourself, Hinata. I wish you every happiness that you seek."

Shoyo knew that time was of the essence, especially with a risky sea voyage ahead of him. But as he swung himself into the saddle Atsumu's horse and rode out of the village, he couldn't help pausing to look over his shoulder. The sight of everyone who had helped him lingering on the main road to see him off made gratitude well up in his chest, turned bittersweet with the knowledge that he may never see them again.

Ah, well. He would just have to remember them through stories, and make sure that their help didn't amount to nothing.

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