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It’s obscene—the humid sound his sword makes as it slips out of another felled, faceless body.
It doesn’t matter, however. It immediately dissolves amid the fray, as thousands of feet crunch the melting snow while they advance, leaving no standing enemy behind.
His eyes scan the exposed tops of the trees once more, and worry continues to bloom inside his chest like a poisonous bud.
‘I have faith you’ll come back. Winter will protect us until then.’
His lips thin into a straight line, a contention barrier for all the concern that wants to spill out in the form of harsh, anguished roars. As reported, there’s been no sign of Tobio in the battle lines since they’ve approached the inside gates, something unimaginable for Karasuno’s King-to-Be.
Kageyama Tobio, second son of the dreaded Black King, would never abandon his people to their fate, no matter the lies neighboring kingdoms may spread to justify their attacks.
His absence is therefore terrifying.
Ushijima has made a promise, but it seems he may have been too late in fulfilling it.
“Wakatoshi, I believe he won’t get any deader than this.”
The words, paired with a familiar, gauntleted hand that settles on his shoulder soon after, immediately stop Ushijima from piercing the fallen body before him for a fourth time.
He steps back, panting. Clouds of breath form in front of his eyes as he surveys their current tableau, before turning to the man who’s always been his right hand. The King of Shiratorizawa finds understanding and compassion staring back at him.
“Do not despair yet, my friend,” Satori whispers for his ears only.
Ushijima lets his head fall forward for a brief moment, nodding as he tries to settle his irregular breaths. His fingers clench painfully around the pommel of his sword. In the meantime, another man approaches them from the right, easily leaving a path of corpses in his wake.
“Listen to your man, Ushijima. I’ve known Kageyama since he was a fierce little thing, barely reaching my knees. Even then, he would bite and scream and kick up a storm before giving up any fight—he wouldn’t surrender while the walls of this castle are still standing,” the King of Aoba Johsai states with clear confidence as he comes to a halt beside Satori, his green eyes critically surveying the clash of bodies before them.
In the fray, purple and turquoise work together to open up the way to the inner walls of Karasuno’s main fortress, and they are advancing easily enough. It’s obvious their enemies have been facing Karasuno’s famed winter for too long, faces and bodies emaciated beneath their rusting armor, weakened limbs barely managing to counter their blows.
Ushijima grits his teeth. They never should have gotten this close to the inner walls.
“Your faith in my brother brought us this far, Ushijima.”
The new voice draws his attention to the tall figure now standing silently to his left. Ushijima never registered his approach, which doesn’t surprise him—Oikawa Tooru is known for his deathly stealth in battle, after all.
When their eyes meet, Oikawa adds softly, “Don’t let it falter now.”
Not like mine once did, say the fierce flint in his dark eyes and the slant of his tight lips. Ushijima does not know the content of Tobio’s letter to his older brother—hadn’t dared open it and breach his intended’s trust in the almost two months it took him to find the missive’s true recipient—but he recognizes regret when he sees it.
‘My brother carries no fondness for me, and I don’t blame him,’ Tobio had said once, eyes staring vacantly at the flames burning inside their hearth at the time. ‘He watched our father take on a mistress and cast his mother aside like garbage, after all. Then he was sent away to marry into a kingdom on the other side of our world, losing his birthright to Karasuno’s throne in the process. No matter how much he’s always loved Hajime—I don’t believe that love is enough to erase the hatred he has nurtured for me from the moment I was born. I was allowed to stay when he wasn’t.’
He had raised his blue eyes then, to stare at Ushijima with a small smile limned by deep sorrow.
‘He has no reason to believe Father hated me just as much and took every chance to prove it to me. My brother would never believe that my being betrothed to Shiratorizawa was an act of spite by the Black King—that my father expected our strongest neighbor and oldest rival to humiliate me in the worst possible way, ruining my reputation for all the kingdoms to see before casting me aside, just like he had done to Tooru’s mother and mine as well.’
When Ushijima had reached for his hand then, Tobio had not only accepted but clenched his fingers around it hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
‘My father saw everything through the lens of his hate and paranoia, which is why he never accounted for your love for me, Wakatoshi.’ His expression turned soft for a moment, before falling again. ‘And now your love is Karasuno’s only salvation since Father made enemies of all our neighbors before dying.’
That beautiful resolve, which had made Ushijima fall in love from the moment his fourteen-year-old self first laid eyes on his future intended, burned behind sapphire-like eyes again as Tobio gazed back at him.
‘Tooru may hate me or distrust Shiratorizawa, but I have faith his love for Karasuno remains. My brother is, above all, a smart man, and he shall listen to an advantageous business proposition if nothing else.’
It seems Tobio’s appraisal had been entirely correct, for regret has burdened Oikawa Tooru’s shoulders from the moment he laid eyes on Tobio’s words, whichever they may have been. That regret wars, however, with the man’s steel determination as he appraises the battlefield—Aoba Johsai’s King Consort is clearly on a mission, and he will not be dissuaded.
Ushijima’s anguish is partially relieved by the presence of these strong men, even if it will truly rest only when Tobio stands before him in the flesh, safe and sound.
Until then—
He lifts his sword and straightens his back.
“Let’s finish this.”
They reach the last line of defense, and the gates are unguarded—doors already wide-open and splintered like a gaping mouth, obviously burst through by brute force. The snow is even thinner here.
Too close, too close, the insidious whispers slither down Ushijima’s brain, sending phantom chills along his limbs as his men march through, never stopping, slicing away at any type of resistance they may encounter. There, for the first time, they see the first black-clad knights since stepping foot on this mountain—Karasuno’s last remaining defenders, Ushijima suspects, but some of their best.
He recognizes a few faces, and he’s glad to find Sawamura among them, still fighting fiercely and apparently in good health, even if burdened by obvious fatigue. When their eyes meet across the courtyard filled with brawling men, his brown eyes come alight, and his movements grow more ferocious, easily breaking away from the three men surrounding him.
“You are a welcome sight, sire,” is what Karasuno’s First Knight manages to gasp as their backs come in contact, never daring to take his eyes off the enemies encircling them like blood-thirsty vultures.
“I’m glad to find you well, Sawamura,” Ushijima grunts as he fends off a heavy blow. He hopes the other man grasps his true regret and sincerity when he adds, “I’m sorry it took us this long.”
“Worry not, sire, we were prepared. And now that you’re here, we can finally put an end to this,” Sawamura states with confidence, and some of the tension along Ushijima’s back finally starts to disappear.
Once they have killed the six men surrounding them, Ushijima and Sawamura take a brief moment of respite to come face to face and rest one hand on each other’s shoulder, both in greeting and gratitude, and also to assure themselves of each other’s health.
Ushijima takes a deep breath before finally uttering the dreaded question.
“Where—?”
“Go straight ahead and, once you’re inside, don’t stop until you reach the stairs to the highest tower,” Sawamura interrupts with unshakeable certainty. “Worry about nothing else, we can deal with this now that we know you’re here. Those inside don’t, and I’m sure they could use the help.”
Ushijima looks around, taking in the deserted courtyard except for the fighting men. There’s been no sign of life since they reached Karasuno’s outer walls.
“Everyone is safe.” His eyes are drawn back to Sawamura, who’s already turning away from him, but not before tightening his hold on Ushijima’s shoulder one last time. “Go, my lord. They need you.”
With one last nod, Ushijima moves ahead and they part ways.
With a mere glance, he manages to summon Satori back to his side, who disposes of four men on his way with deadly ease. As they start moving to the main doors, it doesn’t take long for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to rejoin them, leaving their own trail of dead bodies. A smaller group of Shiratorizawa and Aoba Johsai fighters detach themselves from the combat and form a protective circle around them.
They move as one, with mortal precision and efficiency. The deeper they go inside the castle, the easier it becomes to exterminate the invaders, aided by Karasuno’s increasing numbers as they move forward. The black-clad knights quickly recognize Shiratorizawa’s and Aoba Johsai’s colors and adapt their defense accordingly, incorporating the newcomers into their protective fold without hesitation.
At some point, Ushijima loses sight of Satori and Iwaizumi in a crowded hallway, with too many bodies clashing violently and little light to lead the way, but Oikawa is a steady and unflinching presence beside him, always spurring him forward.
They finally reach the entrance to the stairs Sawamura had mentioned, easily recognizable by the sheer number of Karasuno knights crowding around it in protective formation, heavily armed and with the promise of death carved into their expressions for any who dare to trespass. There’s barely any reaction from the group as Oikawa and Ushijima halt before them, but some men stir and move enough to open up a small passage, wide enough for one man to go through at a time.
Ushijima is already moving to cede passage to Oikawa when he realizes the Aoba Johsai King had been quicker—his back is already turned to Ushijima, and he faces the approaching invaders with his long sword extended by his side, ready to strike, just like the Karasuno knights. Clad in white and turquoise, he stands like a beacon of light amid all the darkness and grit of this enclosed and humid hallway.
“Oikawa—”
“I believe you have earned the right to see my brother first, Ushijima,” the other man interrupts, and when he glances over his shoulder at the Shiratorizawa King, there’s a surprising glint of humor in his eyes. “Go on ahead. In the meantime, we’ll make sure this is all finished, once and for all.”
Ushijima doesn’t hesitate—they don’t have time for it. With a brief but grateful nod, he turns on his heels and rushes forward, noticing how the path behind him closes up again as soon as he’s through. When all of this is over, Ushijima will be sure to take some time to congratulate Sawamura on the fierce and efficient training of his men, as well as thank each of these knights for their deep and abiding loyalty to their chosen king.
With each step, his certainty grows. This unwavering human wall would never allow anything to happen to his intended.
The stairs are winding and narrow—made narrower by the presence of a Karasuno knight every few steps carrying one or two weapons. However, they immediately step aside as soon as they recognize his face and armor, bending their head with respect as they make way for the King of Shiratorizawa.
By the time his feet reach the top of the stairs, his heart jackrabbits with a desperate need. However, Ushijima comes to an abrupt halt when he recognizes the man standing before him even in the low light provided by the dying torch on the wall. His breath leaves him in one long gust, and then he’s moving again until his right hand can cradle that familiar face.
“Kenjirou,” he whispers in relief.
Against all odds, one of his oldest friends stands hale and safe in his armor before him, after four long months of anxious waiting and troubled days. The last line of defense for Karasuno’s King-to-Be, given to one of Shiratorizawa’s deadliest knights—the fact fills Ushijima’s heart with pride.
“Took you long enough, Wakatoshi,” the blond answers, and he sounds surprisingly good-humored. So different from the tempestuous rage Ushijima had been faced with when Shirabu learned he wouldn’t march with them to the deep south.
Ushijima had always been aware of Shirabu’s conspicuous dislike for Tobio, which had probably made the leaving behind feel like salt rubbed into a fresh wound. However, he also knew his old friend would never let anything happen to those loved by the Shiratorizawa King, and it was no secret Ushijima cherished Tobio above everything and everyone. And so, with a heavy heart, he had accepted he would spend the next few years working for Shirabu’s forgiveness and left him in charge of Tobio’s safety anyway. After all, very few were able to face Shirabu’s blades and live to brag about it.
His trust, as he expected, had been well placed. However—
“Are you well?” he asks with quiet urgency.
His fingers gently trace a path along Kenjirou’s cheek, following the long scar that cuts across the left side of his face in a vertical slash. It goes from his forehead down to his chin, cutting through his left eye, which is hooded but surprisingly open and functional. The wound looks fresh but well-cared for, with no signs of infection, at least.
“I’m fine,” Kenjirou replies, sounding almost bored.
“What happened?” He touches the corner of Kenjirou’s hurt eye with gentle fingers. “You could have—”
“I didn’t,” he states firmly, one hand coming up to cover Ushijima’s. Their eyes meet. “Thanks to your betrothed.”
With a short intake of breath, Ushijima steps even closer, now cradling Kenjirou’s face with both hands.
“Tobio?” he gasps.
“I guess you could say I’m starting to understand what you see in him.” His lips curl up with reluctant humor, and there’s no sign of the sardonic tone with which he has always referred to Karasuno’s future king. “I do owe him an eye, after all.”
With a sigh, Ushijima lets his forehead rest against his friend’s, allowing himself to truly breathe for the first time in a long while. Kenjirou stays quiet, giving him time before his hand eventually tightens around Ushijima’s right shoulder.
“Come. This is no time to be dramatic. I’m sure you want to see him.”
With a grateful nod, Ushijima steps back, feeling steadier as they both turn to the only door that occupies the narrow landing of the stairs.
The rapid-fire sequence of short knocks is a familiar, long-established one between them, and he’s glad to see it used for the sake of Tobio’s safety. At ease, it spells. No threats ahead. Sure enough, the heavy door opens, creaking on its hinges, revealing red hair and suspicious eyes. Eyes that immediately widen with shock as the small man—small but oh so fierce, a true force to be reckoned with where Tobio is concerned—immediately recognizes the face right behind Shirabu’s shoulder.
Hinata lets out a small squeak—something one wouldn’t expect to come from one of Karasuno’s most loyal and dangerous knights—and Ushijima’s lips twitch, but he manages to keep the small tendril of amusement locked in. It is a welcome thing though, after never-ending days of darkness and worry. The knight immediately widens the gap and steps aside, letting them through the door.
Everything about the barren, almost claustrophobic room screams improvisation—the two small windows are covered by dark and ragged-looking sheets, and the dying light outside lets Ushijima see the silhouette of the bars through them. Inside, only one table and two chairs are still standing, all of them close to the hearth, where a small fire valiantly fights to keep off the chill the stone walls emit. That, and a few melting candles, are the only things illuminating the enclosed space, leaving shadows to creep around the corners.
Before the hearth, there’s a heap of sheets, cushions, and duvets probably serving as an impromptu bed, besides which calmly sits another familiar figure. Sugawara is already staring back at him when Ushijima’s gaze moves from their surroundings to appraise the room’s other two occupants. Unlike Hinata, however, Sugawara’s reaction is merely a small, relieved smile, which Ushijima reciprocates as soon as he deems it safe to relax his stance.
Sugawara leans down to whisper directly into the ear of the person who is resting their head on his lap. As they stir awake, Sugawara’s long fingers sift through familiar tendrils of dark hair, causing Ushijima’s breath to catch in his chest. For the first time in days, his shoulders truly relax, and the grip on the pommel of his sword loosens.
By the time Ushijima allows Shirabu and Hinata to take his gauntlets and all the deadly weapons he currently carries and turns back once more, both men are already standing, their backs turned to the hearth, their shapes illuminated by the flickering flames. Yet, even in the dim light, encountering Tobio’s blue gaze after months of absence and anxious worry is both shattering and healing.
His chest heaves, and his feet are moving before his head even registers it.
Tobio approaches him on silent feet, eyes wide and glimmering, and unlike all of the fierce knights who have created a defensive and almost impenetrable wall around him, he wears no armor—something just as surprising as the fact that he’s not fighting beside his men on the frontlines. He wears dark, heavy robes and a long black cape that has seen better days but looks sturdy enough to fight off the cold.
Only Tobio’s face and pale hands are exposed, and up close he looks fatigued and thin, cheekbones more pronounced than usual. Still, he’s unfailingly beautiful, especially when a cherished smile curls up the corner of his lips. Their hands are reaching for each other before the space between them is bridged.
“Wakatoshi,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with disuse, but heavy with relief and unspoken emotion.
When their hands finally tangle together, Ushijima bows and brings them up until his forehead touches Tobio’s warm knuckles with reverence. His breath shudders as it escapes through his lips.
“Tobio,” he whispers, his throat clogged by barely contained tears. “Dear Heart.”
Silence settles over them, only interrupted by the crackle of the burning logs inside the fireplace.
“It’s a blessing to have you here again and in good health, Your Majesty,” Sugawara’s smooth voice reaches his ears, forcing Ushijima to finally unbend his spine and once more become aware of his surroundings and his manners.
It takes effort to let his eyes slip away from Tobio’s figure, even for a brief moment, but he meets the earnest gaze of his intended’s closest guardian with a grateful one of his own.
“You as well, Sugawara.” His eyes briefly flicker to Tobio, whose eyes have never strayed from him, watching Ushijima as intently as an owl, and fondness makes the corners of his lips twitch up. “Thank you for never leaving Tobio’s side.”
“Of course,” Sugawara nods, offering a short but elegant bow. When he straightens up, there’s mischief in the glint of his hazel eyes. “Not that he made it easy.”
Behind him, there’s a short huff of amused agreement from Shirabu, and Tobio scowls at them for ganging up on him, although there’s no hiding the obvious fondness for both knights in his gaze. Ushijima once again marvels at the changes in the relationship between his intended and one of his closest knights and friends.
He can’t wait to hear their stories of what happened while he’s been away.
For now, however, there are more urgent matters.
“I was so worried,” he murmurs, hands cradling Tobio’s face and easily drawing his attention back to him. “When I heard the reports that you weren’t seen in battle anymore, I thought… I’m so sorry, Tobio, but I expected the worst.”
“Ah, I’m afraid the guilt lies with us,” Sugawara intervenes softly, though he doesn’t sound very apologetic about it.
Shirabu snorts. “It took him too damn long to listen to reason.”
Tobio sighs but doesn’t deny the accusation. His hands come up to cover Ushijima’s cold fingers where they cradle his thin cheeks.
“I’m sorry for worrying you, Wakatoshi, but as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Not exactly,” Hinata is the one who chimes in this time, drawing their attention to him. “He needs to eat more.”
There are murmurs of agreement from the other two, while Tobio merely rolls his eyes at them. Ushijima, however, frowns in confusion.
“So, you weren’t sick or hurt in battle?”
Earnest blue eyes turn back to stare into him with almost disconcerting intensity.
“Not exactly,” Tobio hedges, and his obvious hesitation deeply unsettles Ushijima, who takes a step closer to him.
“You’re hiding something from me,” he states firmly, muscles starting to tense up again, and he notices how the three knights shift where they stand, though they don’t move from their current positions.
On the other hand, Tobio merely lets out a tired sigh before taking a step back, and Ushijima wants to protest when his intended slips from his hold. However, before he can say anything, the black-haired man is already pushing at the opening of his heavy coat, until one side is thrown over his shoulder.
His front is left partially exposed, revealing the floor-length black tunic he wears beneath. Ushijima blinks in confusion since the dark folds of fabric and poor lighting barely let him see anything, and he’s afraid Tobio is about to show him some hidden wound left untreated due to his current living conditions.
But then one pale hand slips down his front until Tobio cradles his lower belly. His swollen lower belly—because, even if it’s not pronounced, especially when hidden by the dark clothes, there’s an undeniable bump around which Tobio’s fingers are curling protectively.
“It wasn’t just my life on the line anymore, Wakatoshi,” Tobio says softly when the silence drags on and Ushijima gapes at him. “Also, I’m afraid not even Tanaka’s best work as a blacksmith could make this fit into an armor. Not anymore.”
Ushijima’s eyes snap up at those words.
“You still fought? Like this?” His voice comes out strangled by shock and terror at the mere idea. “Tobio, what—”
Another snort from Shirabu, but the Shiratorizawa knight sounds almost vicious when he mutters, “Not for long, once we found out what was going on.”
Sugawara looks distressingly calm when he adds, “I thought you knew you were to marry a very stubborn man, Your Majesty.”
Ushijima meets his betrothed’s unapologetic gaze and reality crashes down on him like a violent wave, almost tearing him away from the here and now as he realizes the magnitude of his actions and all their possible outcomes.
“You let me leave? Knowing you were with child?” he asks hoarsely, hands clenching into fists.
Tobio’s stance softens immediately, and he approaches him once again, one hand coming up to gently cup his tense jaw.
“Of course not, Wakatoshi,” he utters softly, and there’s no deception behind his blue eyes. “When the first signs appeared, you had already been gone for over a month. I was probably close to three months along by the time I finally accepted what was happening to me. Suga-san found out not long after.”
“And I can assure you, the only fight since then has been to keep down what little food he eats,” the silver-haired knight adds in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Not very successfully,” Hinata grumbles, but it goes mostly unnoticed.
Relief runs so intensely through Ushijima’s veins that it releases the last of his tightly coiled muscles, leaving him almost untethered. With little regard for all the eyes currently watching them, Shiratorizawa’s King has no qualms about falling to his knees as if the strings keeping him upright have suddenly been cut, and his hands come up to cradle the gentle swell of Tobio’s belly with quiet reverence.
His head falls forward until his forehead touches the fabric of Tobio’s tunic, and as his intended’s fingers gently card through his hair, Ushijima allows himself to do something he hasn’t been able to since he was a fourteen-year-old.
He cries.
Ushijima is not sure how long they have been like this by the time he registers a small commotion outside the door. He lifts his head from Tobio’s knees, where it’s been resting since they moved to one of the few chairs available in the room.
Only then he realizes Shirabu has already gone back to his post, while Hinata and Sugawara have moved closer to the door to offer them an illusion of privacy. There are voices outside, rising in pitch, and Tobio’s fingers stop their soothing sweep through Ushijima’s hair as they all turn their attention to the entrance, as if they can somehow see through the battered wood.
It doesn’t take long for the familiar knocks to resonate through the room, and then Shirabu himself opens the door, slipping his head through the gap and wearing a wry expression.
“There’s a very loud fellow here insisting on talking to you, Your Majesty,” he informs with a bored tone, and Ushijima is startled by the realization that he’s addressing Tobio, who lets slip a quiet snort of laughter beside him.
‘—heard that, Iwa-chan? The audacity!’
The affronted tone is very familiar, as is the deeper one that answers with a disgruntled, ‘Well, you are annoying.’
Shirabu merely rolls his eyes, while Sugawara’s lips twitch with suppressed amusement. Hinata tries to peek over Shirabu’s shoulders with obvious curiosity. Still, it proves unnecessary, since the door is suddenly being pushed open without warning, and two tall men stride in. Clad in their bright colors, they look regal and commanding even with the grime of battle clinging to their armor. Ushijima and Tobio soon stand up to meet them.
“I should demand compensation for having to deal with Shiratorizawa’s people for so long. Honestly, and you call me annoying,” Oikawa grumbles, pausing to throw a disdainful look over his shoulder at Shirabu. “I could have you hanged for this.”
Shirabu snorts, clearly unconcerned. “I’d love to see you try, little king.”
Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi looking both appalled and insulted.
“Iwa-chan!”
“Don’t drag me into your petty fights, Tooru. I’m your husband, not your caretaker,” Iwaizumi answers with the dull tone of a man who has seen this all play out before and has no interest in taking part in it.
A low chuckle attracts the attention of everyone inside the room, and they find Tobio with his head bent forward, fingers loosely curled over his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle his sniggering. With all eyes turned to him, the man swiftly tucks his hand beneath his clothing, like a child hiding away a stolen cookie.
“I wouldn’t make an enemy out of Kenjirou, Your Majesty,” Sugawara suddenly intervenes, drawing the spotlight away from Tobio, whose shoulders sag with relief. “It’s not a very rewarding experience. Your brother can attest to that.”
Ushijima is the one who has to stifle his laughter this time, seeing Shirabu’s disgruntled glower.
“Sugawara. It’s been a long time,” Oikawa comments in a mostly neutral tone.
“Oikawa-sama.” The man offers a short but respectful bow. “I’m glad to see you in good health after so long.”
There’s nothing overtly wrong about the interaction, but, after mingling with Tobio’s circle of friends for so many years, it’s easy enough to notice the lack of warmth in Sugawara’s cordial tone. It catches Ushijima by surprise, as the other man has always been Tobio’s closest and most affectionate guardian.
Oikawa is certainly smart enough to notice it too, judging by his considering gaze as he appraises the silver-haired knight. Ushijima wonders how well they knew each other before Oikawa was forced to leave Karasuno behind. Sugawara accepts the scrutiny with unwavering calm, a face carved in stone.
“I’ll take that into consideration,” Oikawa eventually says, breaking the tension as he throws another disgruntled look in Shirabu’s direction, who continues to look bored at the entire thing.
“Suga-san.”
Tobio’s soft call immediately draws all eyes back to him, and Ushijima can see how his intended forces himself to stand firm and not waver under the attention of the Aoba Johsai regents, blue eyes not straying from his guardian.
“I know you are worried about Daichi-san. Please, if you need to go, don’t stay on my account. I’m sure Shouyou, Kenjirou, and Wakatoshi won’t leave my side.”
Hinata nods gravely, while Shirabu adds, “Tendou is also right outside, only a few steps down.”
Sugawara’s cool countenance melts entirely, and the difference couldn’t be starker—in the confidence with which he detaches himself from the wall and moves to stand before Tobio; in his warmth as he cups his chosen king’s cheek; in the gentleness he instills into his words as he answers to the generous offer. One which had also been an obvious opportunity for the knight to escape Oikawa and the increasingly stifling atmosphere the man’s presence creates.
“Thank you, little bird,” he says softly, and his affectionate tone is clear for anyone to hear. Ushijima doesn’t miss the way Oikawa’s hands twitch out of the corner of his eye. “But I’m still a bit nervous, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather keep you in my sight for a while longer.”
Tobio nods, the corner of his lips twitching into a fleeting but earnest smile, one which Sugawara reciprocates before moving aside to stand behind the newly reunited couple. It allows them to face the new visitors once more.
“I’m very glad to see you again, Tobio, and in good health too,” Iwaizumi murmurs when blue eyes land on him, and a sincere smile curls the Aoba Johsai King’s lips.
If Tobio is surprised by the intimacy of the address, he doesn’t show it. Not for the first time, Ushijima wonders at those three and their childhood together.
“You too, Hajime,” Tobio answers, and his returning smile is equally affectionate.
Then, blue meets brown and everything goes still.
The brothers stand face to face, each taking the measure of the other after years of estrangement. Ushijima senses no open hostility or distrust between them, merely curiosity and, in Oikawa’s case, a wisp of longing around the eyes. It’s only detectable after so many days spent together on the road, observing the man in his moments of solitude, when he thought no one was watching.
“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa is the first to break the silence, his tone neutral enough. Ushijima suspects he doesn’t quite know what to say.
“Oikawa-san.” Tobio, however, is the first to drop his gaze—once again missing the way his brother’s hands spasm at the formal address. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” the King Consort answers, head tilted to the side as he frowns at his brother.
“I believe I owe you something.”
Tobio’s pale hands resurface as they slowly come up to reach for something around his neck, hidden beneath his dark clothing. His fingers gently pull on a thin chain until a middle-sized pendant is revealed—the King’s seal. The edges are worn smooth from years of use, but the crest of a dark crow is easily recognizable.
When Tobio reaches for his hand, Ushijima offers it automatically, only realizing his intent when the man is already halfway to his knees, using him for support. The hand holding the seal curls protectively around Tobio’s midsection as he lowers himself to the ground, inevitably drawing the attention of the Aoba Johsai regents to the gentle swell of his belly—hidden until now beneath swaths of dark fabric.
While Iwaizumi’s eyes widen subtly, a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion crosses Oikawa’s face—only to vanish in the blink of an eye.
By the time the Karasuno regent kneels on the stone floor, an uneasy stir runs through the room’s other occupants. Though Kageyama’s guardians and friends remain silent, their displeasure is plain on their faces, and even Ushijima must resist the urge to wrap an arm protectively around Tobio’s waist and help him to his feet.
With his impassive mask in place, Tobio eventually lifts his gaze to meet Oikawa’s perturbed frown, his arm extended in a silent offer—the King’s seal resting on his open palm.
“When I wrote you that letter, I’ll admit I hoped against hope that you would answer my call, Oikawa-san. Even though you hold no affection for me…” Tobio’s words falter for a brief moment, but he presses on, “I’ve always known that few people in this country love Karasuno as much as you and I do. That is why I made you a promise—if you came to our aid and Karasuno prevailed, it would be yours to rule as you saw fit.”
Tobio takes a quivering breath, but his hand remains steady as it hovers mid-air, waiting for the offered seal to be accepted.
“This is me keeping that promise.”
His last words are only a murmur, but they hit each person inside that room differently.
Ushijima has an unhindered view of the open disgust on Shirabu’s face, but even so, his friend has his fingers wrapped so tightly around Hinata’s shoulder that his knuckles turn white. The redhead’s expression has become thunderous, and it’s clear he was about to step forward and possibly throttle the Aoba Johsai regents if not for Shirabu’s quick thinking.
Before him, Iwaizumi stands in shock and so obviously speechless that it would almost be comical—if Ushijima himself didn’t feel as if he had been struck by lightning. However, it confirms his suspicions that Oikawa had never shared the contents of the letter, not even with his husband.
From where Sugawara stands hidden from view, a soft, hurt keen reaches Ushijima’s ears, and he can only wonder what is going through the knight’s head—or what Sawamura would have to say to that shocking offer. The Shiratorizawa King suspects the entire Karasuno High Guard would rebel at the mere idea of following another man, after witnessing so many years of Tobio’s silent suffering under the Black King’s thumb and facing long, hard-fought battles to ensure their chosen king’s right to rule this land.
Ushijima marvels, though, at Oikawa’s reaction. Such a proud, self-sufficient man—he would expect the Aoba Johsai King Consort to rejoice at such a proposal, vindicated after long years of exile from the country that was his to rule by birthright. It’s a shock, however, when the older brother’s face contorts into a mask of what can only be described as grief.
Oikawa takes a step forward, and his gloved hand—his gauntlets must have been left behind before he came into the room—comes up to cup Tobio’s naked one. He doesn’t touch the seal though, merely curling his fingers around pale knuckles. With his left hand, he gently closes Tobio’s fingers around the pendant, keeping his brother’s hand cradled between both of his.
“Did you know, Tobio-chan,” he starts gently, “that when you were born, I was right there beside your mother’s bed?”
It’s obvious how startled Tobio is by the non sequitur, blue eyes jolting up to meet brown in bewilderment. Oikawa only nods, his smile tiny but soft.
“I managed to slip free from my nanny’s grip and found my way into Yuki’s bedroom before anyone could catch me. Unlike you, the nannies always hated looking after me. I enjoyed making them furious.”
“Hasn’t changed much, then,” Iwaizumi suddenly chimes in, making his husband chuckle before he continues.
“Anyway, your mother—who is still one of the gentlest people I’ve ever met—was kind enough to let me stay once she saw me. And when you were born—a tiny, shriveled thing, screaming your lungs out—I was the one Yuki chose to hold you first.”
From how Tobio blinks repeatedly in shock, it becomes obvious this is news to the younger man, who looks up at Oikawa with wonder. Oikawa’s expression is gentle as he tightens his hold on Tobio’s hand.
“Yes. Not Father, not the nannies or the midwives. I was the one to hold you before anyone else.” Ushijima easily recognizes the pride written across the other man’s face. “I had you in my arms then, and I remember looking down at you and feeling so much love.”
Tobio’s lips fall open, but he doesn’t emit a single sound, and Oikawa’s attention is entirely centered on him.
“It was incomprehensible. I’d never known I could feel love like that, and for someone I had never seen before, but there you were. Proving me wrong from the very moment you were born.”
“Oikawa-san…” Tobio tries, but he sounds breathless.
The Aoba Johsai regent shakes his head, and Tobio goes mute as his older brother comes closer and suddenly kneels right before him, still holding tight to his hand. There’s a collective intake of breath from those watching the scene unfold.
Oikawa’s intense gaze never strays from Tobio.
“When I read your letter—when I understood you were offering to give up everything you love and cherish, to put it all on a platter just to make sure I would come to Karasuno’s aid, I felt… disgusted.” His lips thin into a tight line before he adds: “With myself.”
Tobio’s eyes widen.
“I wondered, what had I done? How could I let that horrible man make me think all the love I held for you was a figment of dreams? When did I start believing that it never existed, to the point my brother would ever think I wouldn’t come to his aid in his time of greatest need?”
From this close, kneeling beside both brothers, it’s easy for Ushijima to see the gathering tears in Oikawa’s eyes.
“And then I realized I was letting myself become our father,” he concludes in a dark tone.
Those words rip a gasp from Tobio’s lips, and the younger brother is already shaking his head in frantic denial, but Oikawa stops him by cradling one of his cheeks. Though there’s no smile on his lips anymore, his eyes are kind as they take in his brother’s kneeling figure.
“I can’t let that happen, Tobio-chan. That man is dead, and so is the curse he cast on Karasuno. I won’t let him dictate my actions anymore.” His thumb caresses Tobio’s cheek, wiping away the first falling tear. “You’re good. You’re so good. And I’m sorry I ever let you believe otherwise.”
Tobio’s head falls forward, a fringe of dark hair covering his eyes, shielding him from view. Oikawa doesn’t accept it, though—he cradles his younger brother’s face with both hands now, until their gazes are locked.
“You’re my brother. You’re smart and hard-headed and fierce, and you can become a nightmare when the people and the things you love are threatened. I know you’ll make a wonderful father, and you’re already Karasuno’s rightful king.”
The new smile that emerges on Oikawa’s face is watery and shaky, but heart-achingly honest.
“I’m so proud of you.”
Like a capsizing ship, Tobio tumbles into his brother’s chest, uncaring of the hard metal and grime of his armor. The movement is abrupt and startles even Oikawa, who scrambles to grab hold of the younger man in his arms. Despite his surprise, the King Consort’s hands are sure and gentle as they cradle the nape of Tobio’s neck and sweep down his back.
When a sob escapes the tight control Kageyama tries to keep on his emotions, Oikawa merely pulls him closer, Tobio’s face pressed into the curve of his neck while his nose sinks into raven-dark hair, hiding both of them away from prying eyes.
“You know…” Oikawa starts gently when it seems his brother has calmed down again. “On the way here, through all these days of traveling, the one thing I kept thinking of was that I should’ve been here to hold you when Father also had your mother killed.”
“You’re here now,” Tobio answers, as if that is enough, arms wrapping tighter around him. Maybe, for the younger brother, it is—though Ushijima can see, from Oikawa’s expression, how it will take longer for the older one to believe it himself. “I missed you, Tooru.”
That, it seems, is what breaks the camel's back—for Oikawa reciprocates his brother’s tight embrace and finally lets his tears flow.
“I missed you too, Tobio.”
“Have you chosen a name yet?”
They have settled down for the night, choosing to stay in Tobio’s improvised room—there is too much disarray in the castle for anything to be done after sunset, and too many bodies to dispose of. Karasuno, Shiratorizawa, and Aoba Johsai knights have split into shifts to ensure no sudden attack catches them off guard. In the morning, preparations will begin to restore order to the country and bring Karasuno’s people back from the tunnels, where they have been hiding for the past month.
In the meantime, there’s only rest, and they all clearly need it.
Even Tobio had been drooping by the time the Aoba Johsai regents retired for the night—with obvious reluctance to part on both brothers' sides. After one last tight embrace and reassurances from both Iwaizumi and Oikawa that they would make do when Tobio tried to apologize for the lack of more hospitable accommodations, the pair left under the watchful gaze of all those present.
Once they were gone, there was an audible and collective sigh, and Tobio blinked in confusion when Sugawara suddenly appeared before him to cup his face with both hands, wearing an exasperated expression.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” the silver-haired knight warned, though his tone was still fond.
“What—” There was so much bewilderment written across Tobio’s face that Ushijima couldn’t help but sympathize with Sugawara—it’s impossible to feel anything but fondness for this oblivious but well-intentioned man.
“He means, Bakayama, that you’re our king. Don’t you dare try to back out on us now,” Hinata growled, arms crossed in annoyance.
“You’re not my king, and even I’m pissed that you tried to pull that stunt,” Shirabu shook his head disapprovingly at Tobio, who pouted at the Shiratorizawa knight.
“It worked, didn’t it?” the pregnant man shot back.
Shirabu sighed. “You’re going to be a nightmare for Shiratorizawa, I can already see it.”
Tobio had turned his frown at Ushijima then, still pouting, and raised an accusing finger to point at the blond knight.
“You can take him back. I don’t like him.”
With a tired ‘you’re going to be the death of me,’ Sugawara halted the quarrel before it could truly begin, ordering Tobio to rest while he went in search of food and drink for both regents from the castle’s scarce rations.
Their improvised meal was brought by Sawamura, who was clearly anxious to check on his king. The man had already been informed of all the happenings by Sugawara, going by the silver-haired man’s mischievous smile as Tobio was once again reprimanded for his rash offer to Oikawa without consulting any of them.
In the end, the First Knight was appeased by the fact that Tobio nodded dutifully at all the right moments, made no attempt to defend himself, and promised not to do it again—sealing his oath with a hug that immediately took the wind out of Sawamura’s sails. With a sigh, the man abandoned his lecture and simply hugged him back, throwing a glare over Tobio’s shoulder that very loudly said ‘shut up’ when he caught Ushijima’s and Sugawara’s amused gazes fixed on him.
While Tobio attempted to improve his makeshift bed to accommodate two adults instead of just one, with help from Hinata and Shirabu, who went scavenging for more blankets, Ushijima made a cold and solitary trek to a nearby, mostly frozen stream to wash off the grime of battle. He had borne it with as much dignity as he could—and it had helped to see the shared misery in Iwaizumi’s face when their paths crossed on his way back, the other king obviously steeling himself for the cold torture that awaited him.
And now—finally—here they lie, wrapped in their small cocoon of blankets, trying to keep warm in front of the little fire crackling in the hearth. With his head lying mostly on Tobio’s chest, Ushijima has pushed aside his intended’s loose tunic so his hand can rest atop the small mound that now grows where hard muscle once was.
The proof is right there beneath his touch, yet he still struggles to believe that life is growing under his fingers. A strange, shivery feeling blooms beneath his ribcage, threatening to consume him—and he only wants more of it.
In the stretch of silence that follows his question, he wonders if Tobio has already fallen asleep, but then the other man takes a deep breath, exhaling in one lengthy, lazy gust of air. Long fingers wrap around the nape of Ushijima’s neck, pressing down and carding through the short hair there.
“Not really,” he intones softly, his voice deep and hoarse as he teeters on the edge of sleep. “But maybe, if it’s a girl… what do you think of Umi?”
There’s something almost shy about the hesitant question, and Ushijima immediately caresses the swollen belly in a soothing motion, lifting his gaze to meet Tobio’s eyes with a reassuring smile.
“It’s a beautiful name,” he states truthfully and is rewarded with the upward curl of Tobio’s lips. “If you don’t mind me asking, why the ocean?”
It’s hard to determine in the flickering light of the dying candles, but Ushijima thinks there’s a soft dusting of pink along Tobio’s nose.
“I remember you saying that the ocean is one of the things you love most about Shiratorizawa.”
Sometimes, Ushijima is sure his fondness for this man will burn him from the inside out until there is nothing but ashes left. Still, he would welcome it with open arms.
He slowly lifts himself, being careful about the placement of his arms and hands, until he hovers over Tobio, their faces level with each other, eyes locked together.
“I love it.” One hand comes up to cradle Tobio’s jaw, and he leans down to kiss him softly. I love you. “Dear Heart.”
The pink has deepened into a definite blush, spreading over the crest of Tobio’s cheekbones.
“I love you, Wakatoshi,” he answers, eyes earnest and soft smile intact despite his coyness.
Ushijima kisses the small stretch of skin between his eyebrows. “And if it’s a boy?”
Blue eyes shift to the side pensively.
“I don’t know yet,” Tobio admits, biting on the corner of a lip. Ushijima gently places a thumb there so he won’t hurt himself.
“I like the name Touma,” Ushijima confesses softly, letting it become a small secret in this temporary, enclosed bubble of intimacy they have created for themselves.
He finds himself the focus of Tobio’s shrewd gaze once again, and it glints with both affection and humor.
“True winter?” he simply asks, one eyebrow arched.
Ushijima shrugs as much as he can in his current position. “It’s only fair. I’ve grown to love Karasuno’s winters just as much as Shiratorizawa’s seas.”
Tobio watches him in silence for a moment, and Ushijima tries not to feel put on the spot as he waits patiently. He knows Tobio would never judge him for being truthful about his feelings.
“You’ve thought about this before,” his intended eventually concludes.
“Yes. I’ve loved you since I was fourteen, after all.”
The way those eyes contemplate him makes Ushijima certain that the burning affection currently residing inside his chest is entirely reciprocated, and it sends tingles down his spine.
“Someday, you’ll have to tell me about all the names you’ve thought of, Wakatoshi.”
Ushijima smiles softly.
“Of course.” He arranges himself until they are lying side by side, bringing Tobio into the circle of his arms. The other man easily accepts it, shifting until they are molded together, the swell of his belly a warm comfort against Ushijima’s side. “We have time.”
Tobio’s quiet sigh is the soothing sound of the lifting away—the announcement of burdens finally being laid to rest, and the presage of good things to come.
“We do.”