Chapter Text
All this time, I drank you like the cure…
It’s bright and the clouds are soft and the breeze is so tangible. There’s the sound of birds singing, so high pitched and sweet.
It’s like heaven and Suga can’t breathe because it’s so pure and there.
It reminds him of the good times, the better times.
Of bronzed skin and late nights and running away to the sea. Of escaping from society and quiet kisses pressed to chapped lips.
He inhales he sweetness of nectar like air, fresh air, so unlike the damp poison of Dystopia.
The border that curved around the entire city was invisible, as it had always been.
Another lie hidden from the people.
Only now does Suga notice it. Faint honeycomb like patterns appear when the sun shifts. Electricity practically pulses from the barrier.
The breeze ruffles his hair.
He glances, sideways, at the other three.
Hanamaki has his eyes screwed shut, hands together at his chest, looking as if he were praying. Kageyama’s eyes are misty and he rubs at them with the back of his hand. Lev bites his lips so hard they swell with blood beneath the skin.
Suga clutches their hands, bracing himself.
The ride to the grand manor was long, but it seemed as if time went to fast, leaving them behind.
Utopia was truly beautiful, and Suga can’t believe he had once lived here, once been fed lies as every other child raised here.
Where were his parents? What had become of them when the government was rid of him? Had they been killed? Slaughtered like the thousands of bright children deemed “not worthy” by the standards of a test.
He registers he bit his lips so hard blood dribbled down his chin.
Hanamaki presses a handkerchief to his jaw, matting at the blood.
XXX
The sun.
That was what always got to him.
Such a thing, so bright and full of energy, existed in such a dark world.
It was amazing.
Miraculous.
Beautiful.
Untouchable.
Just like Bokuto.
Up here, it felt like he could do anything. It felt like there was nothing that could stop him, like the world would stop for him, because he held that power.
But this was Utopia. This is what Utopia did to people. Bring them up, then destroy them.
Akaashi knew, he heard stories.
There was that boy, Sugawara something. So famous, so bright. What had he done? Ruined his future, running for a mere boy. He could have had everything, Ushijima had been so entranced, so lured.
But why would he go against the system that ran for him?
Another secret, another lie covered up by the Consortium. What forced Sugawara to do such thing as to go against Shiratorizawa?
Akaashi clutches his hands, wringing his gloves.
The last encounter with Bokuto had been two years ago.
Far too long and far too short. They had barely had time to whisper a ‘hello’ before they were forced to part.
What would happen if they saw each other again?
XXX
Of course the manor was beautiful.
Daichi peers at the castle like structure from the tinted windows of the vehicle.
And it wasn’t even Ushijima’s main house. The man was smarter than that.
He wouldn’t let six of the most notorious criminal groups into his home.
The sky was so lovely, the blue in the corners of the clouds so foreign.
It was laughable how he doesn’t even remember what sunrises look like.
The only glimpse of the sky he remembers was the near dusk, years ago, when he had touched Suga for the first time.
He remembers the breeze, not unlike the breeze at the moment.
They had been out driving; they wanted to go star gazing.
They were lying in the back of his truck.
They had been sixteen.
They had been in love.
He clenches his fists.
He forces himself to breathe.
Don’t think about that. Don’t hurt yourself thinking about those days.
XXX
Oikawa’s heart is pounding when his limo pulls into the circular driveway.
There seems to be hundreds of people arriving, all of whom are dressed to impress.
Then again, wasn’t he too?
He glances back at the other three.
Hinata and Bokuto were literally jumping in excitement.
If their energy could be seen, they would have all been blinded by its intensity.
Kiyoko sits, very prettily, eyeing the people from the tinted window.
Oikawa wonders about her past, as he always has.
Did she have someone up here, too? Did she miss her family? Did she dread the thought of seeing the one, after so long?
Oikawa turns his eyes to the main entrance as they pull up closer to the valets.
His hands are sweating, he realizes, and he can’t help but start to pick at his fingers.
Did his suit just crinkle? Was that a crease? How was his hair? Why were his fingernails so uneven? Who had the audic—?
Hinata grabs his hand, shooting him a pointed look.
Oikawa braces himself, swallowing audibly and straightening his back as the valet opens the door for him.
The last touch of true nobility is the flawless smile that he’s perfected.
XXX
Yamaguchi can feel eyes on him as he walks up the stairs, arms linked with Kuroo and Yahaba.
Terushima struts alone ahead of them, basked in his own spotlight.
Of course they’re being watched—no, assessed. They are the most popular sex artists, after all.
He tilts his head a little higher and puts on a sultry smile, one that’s so familiar to many of the nobles here.
He notices Kuroo adjusting the collar of his shirt, but his face carries an arrogant expression.
Yahaba doesn’t look it, but the tremor of knees and arms echo that of Yamaguchi’s.
Terushima looks, well, like Terushima. Authentically him, in all of this pride and beauty.
Yamaguchi catches gold eyes, for an instant, but it vanishes as quickly as he had seen it.
He knows Tsukishima will be here, he has to.
XXX
The first thing he notices is the vibrantly colored ring on the other blonde’s ring finger.
Kenma’s eyes go over the boy –Shirabu—with little interest, that is, until he recognizes the color scheme of his vest.
Ah, just another one of Ushijima’s henchmen.
Yet, Kenma can’t help but study him, notice him.
What made him so special? Why did Ushijima choose such a timid, well mannered boy to be a part of his rule?
Kenma’s eyes trace the way the boy brushes stray strands of hair out of his eyes.
Sure, he was pretty, but that can’t be enough to get to Ushijima’s front lines unless…
He watches as Shirabu goes over to Ushijima, who was engaged in a conversation with a duchess.
The raven stops everything to turn and speak to the blonde.
Hmm… interesting.
Kenma notices a pair of brown eyes staring at him.
He remembers the feeling of those eyes.
Kuroo.
He tries to force himself to not look over, to look anywhere but the raven.
It doesn’t work, and he finds himself almost face to face with the raven.
There’s a whispered greeting and a fluttering sensation in his chest, but he pushes away.
He doesn’t realize he’s running until he’s out of breath.
The weight in the bottom of his pocket is unbearable.
XXX
Oikawa did look at him.
He walked up close and raised a hand, as if about to hit him, before caressing his cheek and commenting on how lovely he looks now.
Shirabu can’t shake off the feeling of the foreign touch.
Oikawa should have been angry, or aloof. Not friendly and affable.
Not to mention how good he still looks.
It was like they were eighteen still, Oikawa and his beautiful smile and soft hair.
That suit he was wearing was a statement, obviously, and Shirabu can’t fight the admiration he has for the man.
If anyone had been occupied at the time Oikawa walked in, they surely stopped everything just to watch him pass.
Everyone knew him, of course.
Oikawa Tooru was the name associated with betrayal and lust and pride.
But they had all paused and watched grace sweep past them with his sensual curves and long limbs.
Shirabu takes another guest’s coat.
He exchanges glances with Noya, who was hidden in the folds of the dark curtains on the ceiling that fall to the floor.
The smaller boy has a sniper rifle ready in case of any emergencies. His keen eye sight permits him to the job.
Iwaizumi walks by him, with a glance at the ring, and passes him a note between his fingers.
’12:00 at the rose garden. I can open up another perspective for you’
He looks up at the raven.
“Who…?”
Iwaizumi presses his forefinger to his lips to signal silence.
Shirabu is left frowning at his spot.