"Do you need a reason to not want to lose?"

The memory hits him like a truck, the feeling of him nestled in his older sister’s arms, like a baby bird that has no clue what awaits him in the outside world. He was happy then, wasn’t he? With such simple pleasures, with no worries—yes, he was happy.  Is he any happier now? “Nee-san,” Koutarou says, and he is struck by how young he sounds. He is thirty-one years old, and he should have everything under control, but he does not. From behind him, he hears his older sister take in a shaky breath. “Don’t do this.” It is more plea than command, and when Koutarou speaks, he is not speaking as Bokuto Itsuki’s Head—he is speaking as her baby brother.  “This is goodbye,” Usuri says, grinning down at Koutarou, nodding towards Itsuki. This is it. This is goodbye. “Bokuto Koutarou.” 

Konoha scowls, grabbing Keiji’s shoulders and flinging him against the elevator panel. “You’re too goddamn stubborn as well, when it comes to him. You’ve been breaking yourself down, all this time, just for his amusement. Just because it would please him." “You have no will of your own, Akaashi. Everything you do, you do for anybody else but you. And it’s too late to change anything—there’s nothing of yourself left, is there?” Akaashi Keiji is a pretty porcelain doll, so easily breakable, and hollow inside. If you were to shatter them, you would find nothing of importance within them. They are all empty air inside, no thoughts in their mind except for yes, Bokuto-san, whatever you please. There is nothing left of them. No will of their own.  So there is nothing left for Konoha Akinori or anybody else to try and destroy. There is no will for anyone to break.  And that, of course, means that there is no hope to destroy, either.

He doesn’t expect his little sister to come back soon—he doesn’t expect his little sister to come back ever, if he’s being honest. He wouldn’t blame her. He’s not sure what he would do in his sister’s situation, because he cannot ever imagine a situation where he is not the older brother and where Natsu is not the younger sister. He cannot imagine any other way for their life. Was there any other way for this to end up? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a lot of things, but he knows that when he hears the jingling of his sister’s keys in the lock, he’ll come running. Shouyou nearly trips over his own feet, then nearly runs straight into the doorframe, then he ends up tripping over a chair and ends up falling flat on his face anyway. He yelps, pulling himself up to a crouching position, and lo and behold— “Hey, Shou.”

Hoshiumi, with Shouyou’s own blood smeared onto his face, his bright white hair glowing in the light, a crazed smile splitting his face—he’s certainly a sight to behold. He’s radiant, almost like a star, exactly like his name.  If he is a star, then Shouyou is the sun, and the two of them are one in the same. “You’re not tired yet?” Hoshiumi taunts, shoving his knee into Shouyou’s solar plexus and making Shouyou gasp in the process. “Damn, I definitely underestimated your stamina! Were you holding back on me, all this time?” “Nah,” Shouyou gasps out, slamming his hand on Hoshiumi’s shoulder and shoving him back, pulling in a circle and throwing him against the chainlink fence. “Nah, you’re just—pushing me to my limit.” He’s tired. He’s really tired. But he can’t stop fighting. Not now, not ever. Fight like your life is on the line. Maybe one day, it will be the last time he will ever fight, but that day— That day’s not today. Not even close. I’ll win this fight, and I’ll win the next one, and the next one as well!

Akaashi smiles, gently, and Koutarou stares into his eyes. His eyes are so pretty, as deep and as rich as the sea itself. He could get lost in those eyes for the rest of his life and probably be happy for the rest of his life. And then there’s a subtle widening of Akaashi’s eyes, and then a narrowing, and Koutarou knows, even without turning around, that Anahori has done what they came here to do. Akaashi’s grip on Koutarou’s wrist tightens, infinitesimally, and Koutarou hears the sound of Onaga’s voice thanking the other manager of the store, and he knows—they’ve succeeded.  It is not a glorious victory, there is nobody to shout in triumph or to wave their hands around in success, and it feels so terribly lackluster, but a win is a win.  Koutarou will take whatever wins he can get, at this point. 

“So, you’re saying you don’t believe in god because if he existed, we’d both be dead?” Akaashi is quiet at that. She obviously doesn’t want to say that Koutarou’s evil, but it’s okay, because he knows that he’s evil. Nothing he hasn’t heard before. “Yeah, there’s probably not any god,” Koutarou says, rolling his shoulders back. “What with all of the wars and the murder and the killing that’s been happening all throughout history. And plenty of bad people believed in god, but that never stopped them from doing anything! Hypocrites! All of them! I mean, if there is a god, then he doesn’t give a damn about humanity. We’re just like toys. He uses us when he wants entertainment, and then he throws them away.”  Koutarou thinks for a second, and he thinks about the insurmountable odds that they’re facing right now, and he thinks—well, there’s nothing wrong with believing in something greater than him, every once in a while.  “But—y’know, only a miracle from god could save us now. You believe in god, Akaashi?” Akaashi’s only answer is— “I believe in you, Bokuto-san.”

His teammates don’t exactly know the identity of the person that owns Oikawwa Tooru’s heart, but they know his name, because anybody that knows Oikawa Tooru knows the name of Iwaizumi Hajime. His teammates used to chuckle, used to nickname Iwaizumi as ‘My Best Friend, Iwaizumi Hajime’, just because of how frequently Tooru would bring him up, and how this phrase always kept popping up. They have stopped doing this, but that may be because Tooru has stopped bringing him up. They know the basic details of the man—he’s Japanese, born and bred, same as Tooru, he’s studying sports science at UC Irvine, and he is Oikawa Tooru’s best friend. Well—was, not is, the difference is very important, but Tooru doesn’t think that there are enough words in any language that he knows, not enough in Spanish or Japanese to describe just how vast the difference seems to him.