Category: Uncategorized

Daichi comes to an end on the Friday after his graduation. Everything is set up to be a nice and relaxed night. He would have preferred getting food and drinks over karaoke, sure, but Asahi and Kuroo are looking like they’re having far too much fun with their version of Fantastic Baby (including dance performance, Christ; Daichi did not need to know that Asahi’s hips could move like that).

And how he ended up crammed into a tiny karaoke room with the other former third-years from Seijouh and Nekoma, well, Daichi doesn’t know. Dammit, let him enjoy the night and Suga’s hand on his arm in peace. It’s such a nice hand. Suga has the most beautiful fingers. Not that Daichi has ever told him, not even now that his head is sitting comfortably on Suga’s shoulder, and they could almost be holding hands.

Then the song changes, and Suga twitches by his side. “I love that song!” 

“Mhm?” Daichi glances up at him. “’s that so.” Shit, he’s so unfairly pretty. The first thing Suga did after graduation was to get his ear shell pierced. Daichi is very gay, and happily so.

“C’mon, let’s dance!”

“I don’t dance,” Daichi says.

Something glints in Suga’s eyes. He tilts his head, flashes a grin. “I know you can,” he sing-songs.

Before Daichi realizes the trap, his lips move. “Not a chance, no,” his mouth sings back.

The silence afterwards is stunning. Daichi prays to everyone that nobody’s heard them, but there’s not a chance (Oh god. Fucking. Damnit.) that Suga didn’t catch that he just referenced to Chad’s and Ryan’s courtship song.

“Daichi.” 

“I, well – “

A hand grabs his arm, and Suga is pulling him outside. Daichi barely catches a glimpse of a very drunk Kuroo taking a stand against Oikawa with something that suspiciously sounds like I Will Survive.

Then they’re outside and Suga is laughing. His dimples are perfect, his mouth is perfect, and Daichi feels numb and burning from the inside all at once. His head is dizzy. Suga’s fingers are in his, thumb tracing Daichi’s sweaty knuckles.

“First off, I know for a fact that every guy who knows the words to that song from High School Musical two has some kind of rhythm. And second – what other dark musical secrets have you been hiding from me?”

“Uhm.” Daichi swallows. It’s very hard to think when Suga steps even closer, and then Daichi’s hands somehow finds a way to Suga’s cheek. “I… like anything where characters sing about what they’re doing?”

Suga smiles, wide and soft. “How about we go to my place then, you don’t laugh at me for liking musicals almost as much as I like you, and then you… you could tell me about it, stud.”

Daichi’s throat is dry. He manages to nod, too many times and too hard, but Suga doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers squeeze Daichi’s. “Okay. That’s convenient, because,” Daichi clears his throat and starts walking, dramatically gesturing at the empty street ahead. “My place is just a jump to the left.”

Then Suga is laughing even more, his forehead falling against Daichi’s neck, and they make it home in each other’s arms. Daichi doesn’t really remember how much of Grease they end up watching, but when he wakes up the next morning, his and Suga’s clothes stink of sweat and night air and a tiny bit like each other, from falling asleep in a tangle of limbs and with Daichi’s hand in Suga’s soft, familiar hair.

let. me. in. || teen wolf.

It’s kind of sad that Stiles doesn’t even startle anymore when something slams against his window in the middle of the night. Get yourself a friend who’s a werewolf, a side order of grumpy broodwolf who’s supposed to teach him the ways of the fur and fangs, and you got yourself four hours of sleep a night at max. Seriously, how is he supposed to graduate like that? But this once, it seems to be more than just a casual visit of something half wolf half man in his room at night. Mostly because, well.

“Did you hear that?” Scott whispers. Yeah, that. Because Scott is staying over at his place. Ergo, he can’t be the one who knocked. Which leaves either a monster or – 

“Yeah. C’mon, ‘s not like I wanted to sleep or something.” Stiles slips out of his bed, reaches for his lacrosse stick that has somehow ended up on the floor by his nightstand after a night of him and Scott pretending to do homework while actually talking about – well, what teenage boys talk about, don’t judge, blabla.

“Stiles,” Scott says. He’s up on his feet, yellow flashing around his pupils. “Look.”

“Fuck.” Blood. There’s blood on the window, and behind it, a dark figure that’s so definitely Derek because a), blue eyes alright, and b), Stiles would know that sour expression anywhere. But why would he – oh right. Blood, fuck, fuck. 

Scott is the one who opens the window. For some reason, his claws are out. Not good. He’s supposed to control it, but really, Stiles gets it. People have been acting weird and they both know it’s something supernatural. What else would leave ten finger-deep holes along dead people’s collarbones? 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles inches closer to the window, lacrosse stick sinking low. Derek doesn’t say anything. His shirt is full of blood, his eyes are solid blue, and he’s silent. Scott winces next to Stiles, fingers twitching. Stiles squints. Something doesn’t feel right. Full moon? Not yet. “You gonna reply or-”

“Let me in,” Derek says.

Stiles blinks. “Uh, sure, you can just-”

“No.” And suddenly Scott is in front of him, ears going pointy, a low roar tingling in his throat. “Dude?” Stiles whispers, “What the hell, I know he’s a dick sometimes but he’s kinda bleeding out on my windowsill, I don’t really like that.”

“Let me in.” A drop of blood falls from Derek’s chin. “Let me in.”

“Fuck,” Scott says. “Shit.” 

The realization hits Stiles like a werewolf’s punch. “Oh no. That – that is really not good, that is the opposite of good. I should have known, oh my god.” He takes a deep breath. Alright then. Scott lowers his stance, face wolfed out, fangs trembling in a growl. Stiles moves to his side, lifts the lacrosse stick.

“Listen, monster. Whatever the fuck you are, I don’t care how you got into him, but I’m pretty sure you’ve killed enough people already. You should know something. That guy you’re possessing? Yeah, he doesn’t really ask to be let in. He just kind of pops up like a mushroom.” 

Scott pulls his mouth into a vicious, dark snarl. Stiles swallows. He manages a grin. The thing inside Derek watches, tilts Derek’s head to the side. The collar of his jacket slides down to reveal five splotches of blood on one side. 

“Let. Me.” The thing licks Derek’s lips with Derek’s tongue. “Innnnside.”

“Not a chance.” Scott’s legs twitch, and Stiles carefully inches aside. “You know, asshole, we do this our way. And that is outside and in the forest. Scott, let’s go.”

A growl shatters through Stiles’s bedroom. He’s glad that his father isn’t home, because he sure as hell would have heard the crash of two bodies in his garden, and Stiles chasing down the stairs to join Scott as he drags the beast to the forest. Graduation and enough sleep are overrated anyways.

But as life and death began to separate from where they had been one since before darkness itself, they wondered if something was missing. And just then, a touch quivered between them. Life and death had wished for a child, not knowing that it had always slumbered to rise as they finally split into two.
Their child, time, opened its eyes. From then on, it became messenger and ruler, and forevermore its endless song echoes from one parent to another, the only moment where life and death can meet as time turns to start over new.

Moami

“Get your big thing out of the way, Iwaizumi.”

“My instrument is perfectly reasonable-sized, thank you very much.”

“And yet you just play the grumbly low background tune.”

“Oh? Jealous that you’re just one of many in your rows? Size complex much?”

“Just move aside.” Kuroo’s grin almost splits from one ear to another, and he bumps his fist against Hajime’s shoulder when pushing past him. It’s tradition by now: before every practice, they banter and insult each other a bit to let off steam. Violins and cellos are bound to have a bit of a rivalry, so the teasing never stops. Hajime doesn’t mind. This is the first orchestra he’s playing in since graduation, and even though it’s not yet the Berlin Philharmonic’s yet, but he’s getting there. 

“How ‘bout we grab some food after work?” Hajime adjusts a peg on his cello when the others start tuning next to him. “I’ll treat you,” he adds, only half listening to the notes humming in the background. His fingers work automatically, the strings of his cello trembling slightly as he touches the bow to it. 

“Sure,” Kuroo says. “I’ll bring Akaashi, if you don’t mind, and Bokuto – “

“Everyone, please take a seat, we’re getting started.” The orchestra falls quiet, all remaining chatter dies out in an instant. Their conductor approaches, her dark hair looking as silky as ever and really, if Hajime wasn’t as straight as the scroll on his beloved cello, he’d be swooning throughout every practice. But Kiyoko’s eyes are glinting like she knows a secret nobody else does. That means she’s up to something. It means serious business.

A moment later, Hajime understands why.

“Listen, please. I have someone to introduce to you. This is Tooru Oikawa.”

Hajime thinks that he can feel a string snap inside his chest. The man that walks up to Kiyoko’s side is simply gorgeous, in a way that has Hajime’s jaw drop all stupid and stunned. Breathing is unnecessary. The guy has soft brown hair that tickles along his cheekbones (god, who even has that much in the genetic lottery, Hajime is going to file a complaint), and he lifts a hand to wave.

“Hello. I’m sure we’ll get along well, sweethearts.”

Shit. Hajime forces his mouth shut and tries not to blink too much when staring at the guy’s face. Is it just his imagination or did that guy just wink? And – at him?

“What do you play?” Someone asks. All eyes are on Hajime, including Kiyoko and that too-beautiful-to-be-real (oh yeah, Tooru is his name, Hajime memorizes in a newly named “to tap list” in his brain) are staring at him. Oh no, did he really just ask that? 

Tooru is the first to recover. He laughs, teeth too fucking white to be real or fair, and pulls the black bag that Hajime just now notices down from his shoulder. “See for yourself, big guy. But don’t worry, I’ll be in your line of sight, in case you wanna burn me with your eyes some more.”

Five minutes later, Hajime knows better.

Of course it’s the flute. Of any instruments that exists in this goddamn wonderful orchestra (and there are lots), it’s the silver artwork of intricate keys that Tooru puts his long fingertips on. His nails are short, just a sliver of white at the tip. Hajime may or may not be in love with how his lips push against the mouthpiece, and it seems like Tooru kisses every single note that leaves his flute.

It’s only after ten minutes into practice that Hajime gets elbowed by Sawamura next to him, whispering “focus! Our part is coming up” that Hajime can shake off his fascination. The music pulls him in as it always does, tunes of copper and quicksilver mingling into the sympony they’ll be playing two months from now. Practice blends into a blur of music and Kiyoko’s voice working them through the first part, into criticism and nods and short remarks while everyone’s fingers change between scribbling notes into the sheet music and flying across their instruments.

They work overtime, again. Nobody complains, and yet there is a collective exhale when Kiyoko nods and calls it a day. Hajime makes sure that everyone with a string instrument is getting their stuff cleaned up. He’s so occupied that it takes two taps on his shoulder to make him turn around.

“Tooru,” he says, and fuck, he’s even more overwhelming up close. “If you have questions, you should maybe consult Tobio. He’s responsible for the wind instr-”

“You know, I never believed my old music teacher.” The smile that stretches across Tooru’s lips makes Hajime’s heart bolt against his ribs. The flute is still in Tooru’s hand, silver reflecting the light and shining it on Tooru’s arm. 

“Excuse me?” Breathe, Hajime tells himself, but he ends up licking his lips.

“Oh, just. The cello really is the most erotic instrument. We should get dinner sometime, Iwai- no, Hajime. Don’t you think?” And if there’s a brush of pale, warm fingers against Hajime’s elbow before Tooru passes by, humming the tune of Hajime’s cello part, well then those looks Tooru threw him during practice not just mere imagination.

But he’s still wrong, Hajime grins while packing up. A few hours ago, he would have agreed with Tooru’s music teacher in all instances. Now, there’s a certain soft mouth pressing to humming metal that rivals even Hajime’s finger skills.

It’s been three days since Will has allowed Nico to leave the infirmary again, so Nico should really tend to his own business and get a few things in order. Emphasis on should. He’s been wondering whether Will is secretly a child of Hecate, because that thing he does to Nico’s heart whenever he appears across the camp, carrying medical equipment, smiling brightly as if he loved nothing more than wiping away blood all day? That’s not normal for Apollo’s son. It can’t be. And yet, Nico admits to himself, he can’t just keep on pining. 

Maybe there’s a tiny, infinitesimal chance. A chance of Will Solace being as insane (and gorgeous and – okay, whatever) as he seems to be and finding something in Nico that’s worthy of a bit of affection.

So he tries. The first day, he shows up on the threshold of the infirmary with a potted plant. Will barely has a chance to beam at him before Nico thrusts it into his arms, squawks “it can seal bad wounds” and swirls around to vanish in the shadows. (He’s pretty sure that Will yells something like “don’t you dare travel again!” after him, but he doesn’t really care. It just makes him grin.)
Turns out the plant hates being watered.
Turns out that it likes to strangle people when so much as a drop of wetness touches its leaves. 
The Demeter kids help to tame the wild beast that looks more like a venus flytrap now, but Nico doesn’t dare to show his face for another two days. 

Someone tells him that Will is looking for him. So Nico doesn’t deliver his next gift in person. He leaves it on the windowsill that belongs to Will’s bed, of which he shouldn’t know the location, but Annabeth has dropped a hint with a grin playing around her lips. Nico had ducked his head and whirled around to get to work.
The muffins look good at first. It’s only the day after that he overhears an Ares kid laughing his ass off with a few friends about how that Apollo boy from the infirmary was apparently suffering from a severe allergic reaction to cinnamon.

Nico tries one last time. He gets the silver with Hazel’s help, asks her to locate it but not pull it from the earth so that it won’t carry the curse. She teases him a tiny bit while he’s crafting the piece of jewelry, but she’s his sister, so he lets her be and kisses her cheek before going for the Apollo cabin once more.

This time, Will opens before Nico can even knock. It goes a bit downhill, then.

“I’m so sorry,” Nico says. His cheeks are burning already, like fire spreading over his skin. He reaches for Will’s hand, his own trembling, and presses the pendant into it. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m really not good at this and I promise, I’m not gonna do it again. This is – just. Sorry. You probably wouldn’t want – “

“You really, really need to shut up for once.” 

Then Will’s arms are around his hips. Nico forgets how to breathe. The ground underneath trembles a bit. “Please don’t call a skeleton,” Will laughs into his ear. “I’d rather have you put the pendant on me and then we could talk a bit.”

Nico closes his eyes. Will’s hands are careful, sitting on his lower back, not clinging to him but just… they’re there, warm and voluntary. Nico turns his head a bit and whispers into Will’s neck, his fingers daring to hook into the loops of Will’s belt.

“I think I’d like that.”

“You know, why are we still wearing those friendship bracelets?”

“Huh?” Hajime looks up from his plate.

He almost didn’t understand what Tooru said over the loud conversation of their friends. It was a good idea to invite everyone over for equinox, or midsummer’s night or whatever Tooru had called it when enthusiastically preparing the barbecue and decorating the long table outside with wildflowers. Sometimes Hajime can’t believe that he’s really this lucky. Even Hanamaki’s here, all the way from France, kissing some salad dressing from Matsukawa’s cheek.

Hajime has stopped counting the number of guests after the entire former team of Karasuno has started to swarm into their garden.
Theirs. His and Tooru’s, the wild and unruly jungle of flowers and trees behind their house.

Hajime swallows the last bite of his meat, tilting his head at Tooru. “What do you mean? Don’t you like them anymore?” He reaches for his own neck, touches the leather necklace. Their bracelets hadn’t fit anymore after middle school and so Tooru had turned them into long leather necklaces to wear below their team shirts.

It kind of hurts to even imagine going without them. Hajime frowns. “Don’t you want to – what do you mean?” They had even added simple pearls to it; after their first kiss, after graduation, when they’d moved in together after college.

Does Tooru not – he doesn’t –

“I think it’s time for something new. Something else.” Tooru takes a deep breath, gives Hajime a bright smile before standing up. He’s gorgeous, hair a bit longer, eyes warm and twinkling.

Hajime barely notices that everyone else has fallen silent. A soft summer breeze whirls through his hair, toying with the sleeves of Tooru’s shirt.

“I think,” Tooru says and he reaches into his pocket, bringing out a small black box, “that we change our necklaces for something simpler that’s going to last longer than leather.”

Hajime forgets how to breathe. Tooru smiles, smiles, looks at him like he’s the pulse of the earth, like he’s the last of Tooru’s dream come true, and the box clicks open.

“If you agree, I think that platinum in the form of a ring will suit us much better.”

“For the sake of your health, I really hope you have a damn good reason for calling me at four thirty in the morning, Stiles.”

“Dude, relax, don’t go all grumpy right away! Maybe I’m here to deliver a good message, eh? Maybe you should be happy to hear my voice!”

“I’m going to hang up now. For the record, I hate you.”

“Wait! And no, you don’t. I’m adorable.”

“Goodbye.”

“Just a second! Please. C’mon, all I want you to do is give me a teeny-tiny answer to a really important question. Scott wants to know, too.”

“Don’t drag me into this. I told you this is a bad idea.”

“Why is he there. …Stiles, did you put me on speaker.”

“You didn’t object to it.”

“I didn’t get a chance to – okay, you know what. Go the fuck to sleep. Both of you. Don’t you have school tomorrow or something, why the heck is Scott even with you – “

“I’m wondering the same thing, believe me.”

“Well, technically we were finishing a school project, but then we watched a movie. Okay, back to my question. So, we were watching World War Z, right.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I told you he wouldn’t wanna answer. He’s not that cool.”

“Shut up, dude. But I guess you’re right… ‘s not like he’d wanna hear about my super awesome and totally werewolf-relevant theory.”

“Please tell me you didn’t call me in the middle of the night to ask me about zombies. Because if you did, I’m going to – “

“ – rip our throats out, yeah yeah, but here’s the real question. Hypothetically, if we had a zombie virus outbreak – “

“Oh my God. This is not happening.”

“I told you he would be mad.”

“Scott, shut up. If – let’s just assume this for a second – there were zombies, okay. Would you become like, a werewolf zombie, or would you be immune and all werewolves in the world would form this super awesome Slay the Dead and Be Rad alliance where you, ah, what’s the word, rip their throats out with your teeth? Are zombie-wolves a thing? Oh my God. What about alpha zombies – ?!”

“Nah man, I’ve seen Resident Evil, animal-stuff and the undead are not a good mix, believe me. Also, are we talking slow or fast zombies here?”

“Scott, that’s why you’re my man. So Derek, c’mon, feed us some input here.”

“I’m going to feed you your own spine tomorrow morning. After I slept. After both of you went back to bed and only call me when there’s an actual emergency.”

“Zombies are serious business, Derek. You don’t want them with a wolf in their belly, do you? Oh my God, I’m hilarious. That was so good.”

“Stiles, I think he hung up.”

“Damnit! Eh, I’ll ask him tomorrow. Also, why the hell did you act like you didn’t wanna know? You’re all into zombies and shit! I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.”

“And I’m tired. Good night, Stiles.”

“Fiiine. Night, Scott.”

The crime scene is an abstract artwork of leaves and blood. It’s difficult for the inspector to nagivate her way through the mess all over the forest ground, and she tries not to breathe too much into the stench of moss, wet earth and copper. There are five bodies, a policeman walking by her side informs her while they carefully round the scene, and they only know that because they counted – she chokes a bit when hearing that – the remains of what must have been human heads just a few hours ago.

If she hadn’t been told on the way here that people had been torn apart by some wild animal here, she wouldn’t have been sure what or who had died on the clearing in the middle of the forest.

“There are no traces leading away,” the policeman says then, flipping a page on his notepad, “seems the victims were campers, died about three hours ago. A jogger found them.”

“Of course.” The inspector sighs. Who else would find a body in a forest, if not a damn jogger. “Where is he?”

“Being questioned right now,” another voice says behind her. It’s one of the forensic guys, clad in white from head to toes, waving a gloved hand at her. “We got a survivor, though. A little kid. Looked pretty horrified, splattered with blood.”

The inspector nods and opens her mouth to ask some more questions, but – 

A wail echoes through the forest. Everyone jolts, weapons are drawn, the inspector’s hand twitching to her own belt, “come out slowly-!”

It’s a man. He stumbles out from behind a tree, eyes wide and snowy-white. Blood has dried on his face and then he falls, body crashing down, the stump of his left leg hitting the ground with a horrible thud. A few seconds pass.

Then, they’re all at his side, turning him around, “ambulance!” someone yells. The inspector’s on her knees, barks a few orders. 

“It,” the man whimpers. His mouth is full of dried blood. “It. Where. Are they.”

“It’s okay,” the inspector says. Her voice is calm now, she moves to let a policeman push on the stump where the man’s pants are tied to hold the bleeding. “Don’t move now. Where’s the ambulance, did they drive off with the kid already?”

A hand claws at her arm. “Hey!” Someone yells, but she lifts her hand, carefully pulls the man’s fingers away. “What is it? Stay down. Breathe.”

The man’s eyes are filling with blood. “No kid. There was no kid.”

“What?”

“Inspector,” a policeman yells behind her, “we have a call, the ambulance – “

“It,” the man sighs. A wave of blood and saliva gurgles out of his mouth. “It came, we, we didn’t know, they screamed and its fangs were there and it bit – ”

Everything goes quiet. The inspector stares at the man’s face. The last blink of light fades from his pupils. “It was so hungry.”