Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Haikyuu! tags: wing fic, self harm, blood, crumbling bones imagery 734 words, angels!AU which is a loose combination of Haibane and Good Omens
Hajime catches Tooru tearing off the dark feathers that dot across the white expanse of his wings.
Each removed feather swirls slowly, meeting the floor crumpled and unwanted. They steadily form a sea of black downy, lapping at Tooru’s feet, but their owner doesn’t stop, and his fingers continue to drip red with every complete detachment.
“It’s inevitable, “ he states, calm in the face of his own self-destruction.
“How long do you have left?” Hajime asks, instead of reproaching the other angel, because it’s useless to try break down walls set in resolve.
Here, Tooru pauses, and his eyes flash crimson for a split second when he looks up. It is unnerving. “Want me gone so soon, Iwa-chan?”
Hajime averts his gaze, fists clenching by his side. “Whatever, just tell me the truth.”
“The truth will be ugly.” His companion resumes plucking. “Are you ready to accept it?”
“I’ll try, “ he replies as sincerely as he can while being realistic.
Tooru closes his eyes. Smiles.
“I’m Falling tomorrow.”
*
The thing that hurts Hajime the most isn’t Tooru’s choice of leaving Heaven.
It’s the fact that Tooru hasn’t asked Hajime to come join him.
*
When dawn follows the farewell of night, Hajime jerks awake and reaches out to feel if Tooru’s still beside him on their cot of cumulonimbus.
He isn’t.
Hajime bites his tongue, just barely stopping himself from Swearing at the very beginning of morning, and bounds off in search of the angel— if he’s still one, that is. And he’d better be, because Hajime doesn’t want his last image of Tooru to be a lone figure sitting in a pool of his own blood and ruined feathers.
(At the very least, he wants it to be of his smile, whether it’s sad, happy or broken, he’ll burn it to the back of his mind.)
When he reaches the Pearly Gates, breath heavy with exertion, he finds them already open, and this is it: it’s a race against Time.
The sentries posted there— Hajime registers Matsukawa’s thick eyebrows and Hanamaki’s pinkish-brown hair— wave him through with whispers of hurry, hurry, you’d better hurry, so Hajime does hurry and nearly trips when they clap him on his back as he passes.
He goes through with their well wishes.
*
Hajime finds Tooru at the very tip of the Passage of Eternity and lets a dam inside him break loose.
“Why are you going,” he spits out, “without even the courtesy to say a proper goodbye?”
Tooru whirls around, eyes wide and guilt-stricken, clearly not expecting Hajime to be there at all, and the sight of that ignites a heat welling through the cockles of his heart.
(It burns to not be missed.)
“I didn’t want to say it,” Tooru answers simply, “because you’ll cry.”
“Well, damn that!” Hajime has had enough of keeping to Niceties. “I’d have still cried either way, and I’d rather do it to your face, not to your fading back!”
With that, he surges forward and embraces Tooru tightly. Hajime’s shoulders suddenly feel wet; he sighs as he pulls back to cup his companion’s face, gently wiping Tooru’s tears away.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Iwa-chan!” Tooru sobs. “I didn’t want to make you sad. I thought it was better to go quietly, but--“
He pinches Tooru’s nose, stops him from saying any more. Leans in to whisper a secret into his ear: guess what, you’re not going alone anymore.
And tips the both of them off the edge, down, down, into Damnation.
*
The faster they Fall, the faster the feathers on their wings stream off in dark rushes, sending constant sparks of pain through their changing bodies, and despite that, Tooru’s laughing into Hajime’s mouth, wild and happy.
Tooru unfurls his wings for the very last time— there’s nothing left on them by now, just a frame of protruding bones and growing sins— and flaps them just for the heck of it. Hajime looks up, watching in silent awe as each metacarpus detaches itself, setting off a symphony of raining bones beginning from the basal phalanx all the way to the crumbling ends of both humerus from Tooru’s scapula blade.
(The beat a triple meter: together, together, always together)
“This is forever, Hajime,” reverently Tooru breathes.
They link fingers, leaning their foreheads against each other’s.
“Then, we’d better make it last,” comes Hajime’s hushed answer.
FILL: TEAM IWAIZUMI HAJIME/OIKAWA TOORU, T
tags: wing fic, self harm, blood, crumbling bones imagery
734 words, angels!AU which is a loose combination of Haibane and Good Omens
Hajime catches Tooru tearing off the dark feathers that dot across the white expanse of his wings.
Each removed feather swirls slowly, meeting the floor crumpled and unwanted. They steadily form a sea of black downy, lapping at Tooru’s feet, but their owner doesn’t stop, and his fingers continue to drip red with every complete detachment.
“It’s inevitable, “ he states, calm in the face of his own self-destruction.
“How long do you have left?” Hajime asks, instead of reproaching the other angel, because it’s useless to try break down walls set in resolve.
Here, Tooru pauses, and his eyes flash crimson for a split second when he looks up. It is unnerving. “Want me gone so soon, Iwa-chan?”
Hajime averts his gaze, fists clenching by his side. “Whatever, just tell me the truth.”
“The truth will be ugly.” His companion resumes plucking. “Are you ready to accept it?”
“I’ll try, “ he replies as sincerely as he can while being realistic.
Tooru closes his eyes. Smiles.
“I’m Falling tomorrow.”
*
The thing that hurts Hajime the most isn’t Tooru’s choice of leaving Heaven.
It’s the fact that Tooru hasn’t asked Hajime to come join him.
*
When dawn follows the farewell of night, Hajime jerks awake and reaches out to feel if Tooru’s still beside him on their cot of cumulonimbus.
He isn’t.
Hajime bites his tongue, just barely stopping himself from Swearing at the very beginning of morning, and bounds off in search of the angel— if he’s still one, that is. And he’d better be, because Hajime doesn’t want his last image of Tooru to be a lone figure sitting in a pool of his own blood and ruined feathers.
(At the very least, he wants it to be of his smile, whether it’s sad, happy or broken, he’ll burn it to the back of his mind.)
When he reaches the Pearly Gates, breath heavy with exertion, he finds them already open, and this is it: it’s a race against Time.
The sentries posted there— Hajime registers Matsukawa’s thick eyebrows and Hanamaki’s pinkish-brown hair— wave him through with whispers of hurry, hurry, you’d better hurry, so Hajime does hurry and nearly trips when they clap him on his back as he passes.
He goes through with their well wishes.
*
Hajime finds Tooru at the very tip of the Passage of Eternity and lets a dam inside him break loose.
“Why are you going,” he spits out, “without even the courtesy to say a proper goodbye?”
Tooru whirls around, eyes wide and guilt-stricken, clearly not expecting Hajime to be there at all, and the sight of that ignites a heat welling through the cockles of his heart.
(It burns to not be missed.)
“I didn’t want to say it,” Tooru answers simply, “because you’ll cry.”
“Well, damn that!” Hajime has had enough of keeping to Niceties. “I’d have still cried either way, and I’d rather do it to your face, not to your fading back!”
With that, he surges forward and embraces Tooru tightly. Hajime’s shoulders suddenly feel wet; he sighs as he pulls back to cup his companion’s face, gently wiping Tooru’s tears away.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Iwa-chan!” Tooru sobs. “I didn’t want to make you sad. I thought it was better to go quietly, but--“
He pinches Tooru’s nose, stops him from saying any more. Leans in to whisper a secret into his ear: guess what, you’re not going alone anymore.
And tips the both of them off the edge, down, down, into Damnation.
*
The faster they Fall, the faster the feathers on their wings stream off in dark rushes, sending constant sparks of pain through their changing bodies, and despite that, Tooru’s laughing into Hajime’s mouth, wild and happy.
Tooru unfurls his wings for the very last time— there’s nothing left on them by now, just a frame of protruding bones and growing sins— and flaps them just for the heck of it. Hajime looks up, watching in silent awe as each metacarpus detaches itself, setting off a symphony of raining bones beginning from the basal phalanx all the way to the crumbling ends of both humerus from Tooru’s scapula blade.
(The beat a triple meter: together, together, always together)
“This is forever, Hajime,” reverently Tooru breathes.
They link fingers, leaning their foreheads against each other’s.
“Then, we’d better make it last,” comes Hajime’s hushed answer.