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“Mattsun, are you serious about this?”
Hanamaki knew he should have been able to tell by the air around them. Matsukawa was always incredibly calm and collected, the most cool-headed of them all, but there was always a light aura around him in those moments. Now, though, the air felt heavy and thick, pressing in around them both on all sides, even as they sat perched on the roof of one of the castle’s tall spires.
The other demon never looked at him, eyes instead looking out towards where the sun was beginning to peer over the horizon, the warmth of a pink dawn slowly fading away.
“I can’t take it anymore,” came the reply finally. “I can’t be around him anymore. It’s getting harder and harder to trust him. To predict him.”
Hanamaki’s lips pursed into a frown, grey eyes focused on Matsukawa’s face. “He’s our friend,” he protested, disbelief still lacing his tone. “Sure, he’s changed since we first met him, but we’ve all changed. And he needs us. Him and Iwaizumi and you and me… We’re all meant to stick together, now. That’s what we’re doing this for, right? That’s what he’s doing. Making things better for us.”
Another drawn out silence followed, and were it anyone else then Hanamaki might have been worried. As it stood, though, he was used to the lack of words that came from being around only Matsukawa and he was used to waiting for a reply. Even more so when topics began to become more and more serious, like the current one at hand.
“Makki.” The tone of voice sent a shiver down Hanamaki’s spine, but any temptation to look away was pushed when Matsukawa turned and dark brown eyes met grey, holding his gaze in place. “Would you ever give him your name?”
Another shiver travelled down his spine and all the way through to the tip of his tail, goosebumps forming over the surface of his skin. Slowly, Hanamaki broke the eye contact and turned to stare across to the sunrise, their roles now reversed, unable to ignore the feeling of Matsukawa’s eyes boring into him.
Oikawa was his friend. Oikawa was a very good friend. He had taken them both in, a pair of rogue demons with no place to call home, and offered them everything they didn’t have. For years, they had a sanctuary. A place to call home. People to call family and to fight for. They were happy, fighting alongside Oikawa and Iwaizumi; teaching Kindaichi and Kunimi (another pair of younger, less experienced demons) what they knew and showing them how to fight properly. Oikawa had given them their armour, matching with Iwaizumi’s. They’d always been able to rely on him for anything, never had to doubt him about anything (at least, Hanamaki hadn’t; he wasn’t so sure about Matsukawa now).
Apart from the demon he had always been with, Oikawa was the closest thing to a best friend Hanamaki had ever had.
And yet why was it such a hard question to answer? Why did the idea of giving the grand demon king his first name (his true name, a name that could give anyone the power to control him) give him such doubts?
“Mattsun, that’s—“
“Takahiro.” The use of his given name made his entire body tense and his tail curl in around himself almost protectively (he had had far too many bad experiences in the past thanks to that name). “Would you give him your name?”
“Issei…” Hanamaki knew that his friend was using the name to make a point rather than intentionally going against the fact that he didn’t like it being used, but he figured if Matsukawa was going to call him by name, then he could return the favour (not to mention that being this high up where no one would think to look for them and where they couldn’t be easily snuck up on, it was unlikely that anyone would overhear them). “We promised, remember? Only each other, no matter what.”
Not the right answer, Hanamaki realized, eyes glancing to the side to watch Matsukawa’s face. He watched as the other demon’s expression tightened and his lips pulled down into a frown.
“If we didn’t have our promise, would you tell him?” Matsukawa pressed and Hanamaki hesitated, still watching him out of the corner of his eyes before he tugged his gaze away and looked towards the sun again, the first rays appearing over the horizon.
“You’re really going to leave me behind?” he asked instead, voice quiet, almost desperate for his friend to accept the change in topic. “After everything?”
There was a sigh behind him, but eventually Matsukawa gave in and turned his own attention towards the rising sun as well. “I’ll always wait for you. You’ll always be able to find me no matter what, you know that.” A pause. A press of shoulders against shoulders and crooked horns against horns, the sound falling around them as the larger demon turned his head and pressed lips against pale skin. “And if you ever need me… I’ll come back for you.”
Hanamaki shifted, clawed hands lifting and his entire body turning so he could wrap his arms almost desperately around Matsukawa, capturing his lips into a firm kiss. Something warm and wet hit his cheeks but he ignored it (it was easy to ignore tears after years of being told that demons couldn’t cry; had no emotions that would let them cry only to then discover that he could). They stayed like that for a long moment, savouring the physical contact for as long as they could, letting the sky light up around them as the sun rose more and more.
“I love you, Issei,” he murmured when the kiss finally broke and he finally made himself start to pull away. Matsukawa had intended to be gone by daybreak, to receive as little attention from the others as possible, so he would have to be leaving soon.
There was a large hand in his hair, skin calloused from the spear Matsukawa so often fought with, and then a kiss to his forehead.
“I love you, too, Takahiro. No matter how far apart.”.
——
Hanamaki had never been alone. For as long as he could remember (bordering on centuries, at this point), he had always had Matsukawa there alongside him, suffering through the same things he had been through. So the fact that he didn’t have him now made him feel abandoned and lonely, even if there were others around him. He had Iwaizumi and Oikawa, after all, and Kunimi and Kindaichi, and the other demons serving under Oikawa.
There was more to it than just the simple absence of his best friend.
Oikawa’s reaction to the others departure had sent chills down Hanamaki’s spine and, for a brief moment, had had him fearing for his own life. The demon had reacted how one would expect, at first; a sadness at the loss of a friend by their own volition. It had evolved, though, into something much more hurt and angered by the pile of armour left behind in a haphazard pile, abandoned and rejected. The armour had been destroyed in an instant, that had been enough to make Hanamaki freeze up as he watched, but then that gaze had been turned on him and he had found himself wondering who this even was anymore. Those dark, murderous eyes that had been focusing on him, he didn’t know whose eyes they were. They were in Oikawa’s head, of course, but the demon king in that moment had felt like nothing but a stranger.
Iwaizumi had approached him later, in private where no one could overhear, in an attempt to find answers.
Hanamaki had had none, though. None that he was willing to give up to anyone (he knew where Matsukawa had gone, of course, and where he would be travelling towards) and instead he had simply deflected it with a question of his own.“Does he know your true name?” he had asked, unable to meet the knight’s gaze, tail flicking anxiously.
“Of course,” had been the expected answer and from there, Hanamaki had only been able to nod. The human had left with more questions than answers.
The encounter had replayed endlessly in his mind, and repeated, as well, with others serving alongside him. It became almost habit to ask each of the demons around him if the grand king knew their true names, and it became less and less surprising to hear affirmative answers (until he was sure that the only ones who had never given them up were Matsukawa and himself).
It was a thought that replayed in his mind now, as well, as he stumbled backwards from the arrow to his shoulder and collapsed back against a pile of rocks. A thought about demons so willing to fight without a moment’s regard for themselves and focused entirely on the cause of another; or an overlord.
He could hear Kunimi and Kindaichi nearby, prepared to take on their enemy in his stead if he were unable to get up. They were ready to attack and take down the archer, and the tall blond mage behind him who had somehow enchanted the arrows to be able to properly injure a demon.
Hanamaki could hear his own words replaying in his head. He had called for a retreat only minutes before. This wasn’t a battle they would win easily. Oikawa had underestimated the power of the combination of Kageyama with Tsukishima, and yet he was the only one who seemed to be able to see it. His suggestion had been met with defiance and the others had stood their ground.
He’d had no choice but to do the same. It was his team, after all.
And now it had brought him here, unable to even get back onto his feet as pain shocked through his entire body and left his left arm entirely useless and his right grabbing for his weapon he had dropped just out of reach. Every moment simply made the pain worse, but he kept trying to push through. He had to get his halberd and get back on his feet before the arrow that was nocked in Kageyama’s bow could be released.
But the twang of a bow string in the air was unmistakeable.
I’m sorry… Issei…
The inevitable scream of pain came, and Hanamaki had to open his eyes one at a time when he realized that it wasn’t his mouth that the sound had escaped from. He stared in wide eyed wonder at the glowing arrow embedded into Tsukishima’s shoulder, and then to the line of blood down Kageyama’s cheek where the edge of the arrow head had scraped and then to the figure in front of him, watching as the extended hand lowered, gloved fingers gripping tightly around the spear in its hand.
Gray eyes followed the rest of the figure up, and even if he knew that there was only one person who it could be, it still took Hanamaki’s foggy mind a minute or two for it to actually process.
“Matsu… kawa..?” The demon’s voice was just as weak as the rest of his body felt, the last syllables barely audible as his voice creaked and faded with his uneven breaths. There was a glance of dark eyes back over his shoulder, the hard look in them softening just briefly as they made eye contact, but before he could say anything else, they’d pulled away and the figure in front of him was walking away.
“I was worried so I came.” Matsukawa’s voice was calm and even with every purposeful step he took forward. “By the way, the one who hurt Hanamaki…” He lifted his right hand, spear head pointed in the direction of the archer and the mage. “Who was it?”
The action that followed was a blur to Hanamaki’s tired body. He tried to keep up, really; tried to follow the flashes of blond and black and blood and polished metal reflecting the dim light of the gray day, but it was too much for his worn out mind. All he could make out was that Kunimi and Kindaichi and the others had held back, and Matsukawa had the upper hand (he wasn’t worn out form the fight that had preceded them, nor was he holding back with his power, something which gave him the upper hand as many seemed to simply assume that because they served under the grand demon that they weren’t nearly as strong).
There was also a smaller detail the he wasn’t entirely sure of until there was a shadow over him and a king, familiar voice near his ear, coaxing him back into consciousness.
“You’re…” His left hand still immobilized by the enchanted arrow embedded in his shoulder, Hanamaki lifted his right hand to trace over the metal covering Matsukawa’s chest, bloodied fingers dipping into the crest embossed into the centre of the chest plate. “It’s been so long…”
“Makki, are you okay?” The concern in the other demon’s voice went ignored, Hanamaki’s focus entirely on watching his own hand slide upwards to cup Matsukawa’s chin.
“Issei,” he murmured, voice low and weak. “I would never…”
“… Takahiro?”
“My name… I couldn’t… Not to him…” It was so hard for him to get the words out, even after a gloved hand lifted and freed the arrow from his shoulder, giving Hanamaki at least a little bit of movement left. “Only ever you… Issei… take me with you…”
The silence and pause that followed made the demon wonder, for a moment, if maybe he hadn’t been heard (or maybe he hadn’t even said anything and was simply imagining his own voice in his delirium). He was reassured a few seconds later, though, by the larger demon helping him sit up properly so his large hands could set to work with slowly, cautiously, working off his armour. “Are you sure?” was the only vocalized response he received, and Hanamaki could only smile, however weak.
“Doesn’t trust me,” he murmured, shifting his body as best he could to help Matsukawa with removing the metal encasing him. The removal of the chest suddenly made it so much easier to breath than before, and even if his body still ached with pain from his injuries, everything felt a lot lighter. “When you left… thought he was going to kill me… would’ve died here… if he had it… Everyone else…”
“I know, Takahiro,” Matsukawa kept his voice low as he worked off the rest of the other’s armour; kept the conversation muffled and better the two of them. The archer and the mage had made a tactical retreat so they didn’t have to worry about them, and the only concern was the other demons (the ones he knew had an extra power behind them) that had formed a broad circle around them. Given the need, there’d be no problem. Even weakened, Hanamaki would be strong enough to fell whatever few he couldn’t do himself. But he’d rather it not come to that, and instead kept his focus on getting Hanamaki out of his armour so that they could retreat themselves (before another looming presence could get a chance to sneak up on them, considering the distinctive lack of Kunimi’s presence).
The disturbance in the air sent chills down both of their spines as Matsukawa removed the last piece and helped Hanamaki to his feet and replaced his halberd into his hand. The injured demon was in no state to fight, given his lack of armour and his injuries, but it was easier for them both like this. They turned together, Hanamaki using one of the others shoulders to lean his weight against, and faced the pair that had arrived.
It was harder for Hanamaki than it was for Matsukawa to meet Oikawa’s gaze, but he didn’t flinch at the empty laugh around them or the harshness in his eyes or even the way Iwaizumi (standing beside the grand demon king) looked almost disappointed. Even the attack thrown their way by the king and deflected by Mattsun didn’t receive much of a reaction from the injured demon (who regretted not being able to keep up with a good majority of the conversation at hand).
“Are you coming, Iwaizumi?” The conversation seemed to shift suddenly, Matsukawa’s attention bypassing Oikawa entirely to the human beside him. “There’s room for one more.”
“I’m not a traitor,” was the biting response, the knight stepping forward as though antagonized by the very suggestion of joining the pair of demons. “I’ll fight until I die for him.”
Matsukawa hummed, his free arm wrapping around Hanamaki’s back to pull the demon closer into his side. “Naturally,” he said calmly. “But will it be on your own terms? Or because you’re simply another dispensable name?”
The world around them was gone before Iwaizumi could even lift his sword, the pair of demons dematerializing into wisps of shadows.
——
Empires couldn’t be built in a day, but they could certainly be razed that quickly.
It seemed so slow watching everything collapse from the inside out, though, and Iwaizumi found himself, day by day, growing more and more desperate for an answer. The departure of Matsukawa what felt like so long ago now had torn a hole in the fabric of the demon king’s world, and Hanamaki ultimately leaving with him had only torn it wider. It leaked sanity and rationality, and as every day went past, every battle lost, Oikawa grew more and more frantic.
There were moments here and there where things seemed to be getting better. The arrival of Kuroo in the castle, and then Kiyoko and her minions had each brought a more positive air to the kingdom, and some sort of level-headedness to Oikawa’s madness. But it never lasted. A month or two, a few weeks, even a few days, and Iwaizumi was back where he had been before it had happened, wondering what ever happened to the little child his family had protected for all those years from the village they had grown up in. Sure, Oikawa had been a demon even back then, but he’d been just as human-like in his childishness.
And he was just as human-like, now, with tears streaming down his face, fingers clinging desperately to the back of Iwaizumi’s armour, refusing to letting him go.
It was so different to the way he had seen the king reacting to their other friends’ departures, this unrelenting sorrow versus the sheer anger he had watched destroy the armour they had left behind (and, in the case of Hanamaki’s departure, a few weaker demon soldiers who had wandered too close). But the knight’s response was the same. He remained silent and still, a solid wall of a loyal knight, and waited for the king to drain himself of his emotion.
Only when the last of Oikawa’s strength had left his body and the king’s grip had fallen from the armour and he had landed kneeling on the ground did Iwaizumi finally speak.
“You broke our promise, Tooru,” he spoke calmly, never once looking back at him. “You promised you’d never use my name against me. But you did. And everything else you’ve been doing has just been… really pissing me off.” Dark eyes finally glanced back over his shoulder, sharp and narrowed. “You aren’t even fucking Tooru, anymore. There’s no purpose to what you’re doing anymore. It’s just destruction for destructions’ sake. Killing for killings’ sake.” A snort and he dragged his eyes forward again. “You’re just as bad as those mobs back when we were kids. Hunting on a prejudice… You’re no better than them.”
“Hajime—“
“Don’t. Just… don’t.”
Slowly, Iwaizumi stepped away from the body collapsed on the ground, fighting the urge to look back again. If he looked too much, he knew he’d lose his resolve and end up staying. But there was no option anymore. He had to leave.
“I’m taking my armour with me,” he said decisively as his footsteps resumed and he walked resolutely towards the end of the grand throne hall. He only stopped again at the doors as whispers of shadows danced from the darkened wood and formed pools of inky blackness on the ground around his feet.
The blackness rose, forming figures on either side of him, gray eyes glowing in the darkness to his left and darker brown to his right. Finally, Iwaizumi risked the look back over his shoulder towards the throne he had walked away from, eyes taking in the broken and shattered form on his hands and knees on the ground. Took in the tears staining damp trails down cheeks and a mouth desperately opening and closing in an attempt to form words with no sound escaping.
The knight looked away again.
It was too much. Too painful to see his best friend so broken because of him.
“We’ll come back, Tooru. We’ll come back when you fix this.”