They sit quietly on the green hillside high above the city and watch as their world ends.
Oikawa hadn’t cried, not this time, not like when they were still much too young and everything had felt like it would never be enough. It still hadn’t been enough, but the wind is dry on his face and so are his eyes, burning white and incandescent in the dark, and his head is crowned in the thin yellow brilliance of plasma and neon, electric.
Space is like a halo around them, empty, there are no eyes on them here so high above the valley, and there is only Iwaizumi left by his side to see him into the night.
Another star falls; small, quiet, and then a luminous burst as it drops below the horizon. It had been a young star, slow to burn to fullness, but fierce when it did. Part of a binary system, and Oikawa feels the ache in his chest deepen; there’s a softness there, that the star had lasted so long after its partner had fallen first, a blaze of beautiful white fire spread across the sky.
Oikawa breathes in smoke and flame, feels another painful spark burn against the cage of his ribs; when he lifts a hand to his chest, he feels the roughness there. Ah.
The city continues to burn, and the air smells of ozone and earth. Iwaizumi sits silent in the grass, legs stretched out and head turned toward the sky; the wind has already dried the sweat in his hair to rough spikes, and his armour lies useless and dented in pieces by his feet, a scatter of iron that has never touched the unmoving earth till this late spring evening. His sword was lost a long time ago and his hands are marked by lines, the thick white of badly healed scars, the red of angry bruises and cuts; a map of every blow he took to make his way back to Oikawa’s side.
“Remember when we found our way home by that star," Oikawa says, as it falls, too. They watch as the shadow of black demons rise from the ground and snatch at the light where it trails down low into the green leaf hills of their home. The meteor shower would be beautiful, if not for the city burning, and Iwaizumi quietly puts his hand in his.
"And that'll be Shigeru," Oikawa says lightly, breath held as they watch. Over the hills a binary is burning too quick and hot, bright blue in the dark with only a mad half-demon at his side. "They're in good hands," Iwaizumi says, and when Oikawa sighs, slumps a little with the brightness of the crown he still wears, Iwaizumi lets Oikawa lay his head down in his lap. To help him with the weight of it, he thinks, as the gentle light bleeds into Iwaizumi’s fingers where they’re threaded through the strands of Oikawa’s soft brown hair.
Sparks rise, sparks fall; and they watch as fire draws the line of six constellations in the sky.
FILL: SWAG 2016
implied character death
They sit quietly on the green hillside high above the city and watch as their world ends.
Oikawa hadn’t cried, not this time, not like when they were still much too young and everything had felt like it would never be enough. It still hadn’t been enough, but the wind is dry on his face and so are his eyes, burning white and incandescent in the dark, and his head is crowned in the thin yellow brilliance of plasma and neon, electric.
Space is like a halo around them, empty, there are no eyes on them here so high above the valley, and there is only Iwaizumi left by his side to see him into the night.
Another star falls; small, quiet, and then a luminous burst as it drops below the horizon. It had been a young star, slow to burn to fullness, but fierce when it did. Part of a binary system, and Oikawa feels the ache in his chest deepen; there’s a softness there, that the star had lasted so long after its partner had fallen first, a blaze of beautiful white fire spread across the sky.
Oikawa breathes in smoke and flame, feels another painful spark burn against the cage of his ribs; when he lifts a hand to his chest, he feels the roughness there. Ah.
The city continues to burn, and the air smells of ozone and earth. Iwaizumi sits silent in the grass, legs stretched out and head turned toward the sky; the wind has already dried the sweat in his hair to rough spikes, and his armour lies useless and dented in pieces by his feet, a scatter of iron that has never touched the unmoving earth till this late spring evening. His sword was lost a long time ago and his hands are marked by lines, the thick white of badly healed scars, the red of angry bruises and cuts; a map of every blow he took to make his way back to Oikawa’s side.
“Remember when we found our way home by that star," Oikawa says, as it falls, too. They watch as the shadow of black demons rise from the ground and snatch at the light where it trails down low into the green leaf hills of their home. The meteor shower would be beautiful, if not for the city burning, and Iwaizumi quietly puts his hand in his.
"And that'll be Shigeru," Oikawa says lightly, breath held as they watch. Over the hills a binary is burning too quick and hot, bright blue in the dark with only a mad half-demon at his side. "They're in good hands," Iwaizumi says, and when Oikawa sighs, slumps a little with the brightness of the crown he still wears, Iwaizumi lets Oikawa lay his head down in his lap. To help him with the weight of it, he thinks, as the gentle light bleeds into Iwaizumi’s fingers where they’re threaded through the strands of Oikawa’s soft brown hair.
Sparks rise, sparks fall; and they watch as fire draws the line of six constellations in the sky.