“Hey, Haji. Do you think we’ll be forever?”

A typical Tooru-question, Hajime thinks, but of course he replies. “No. Nothing’s forever, not even the universe we live in. Move your butt, don’t wanna spill food.” He balances a tray full of sandwiches and two protein shakes to the couch table, then slumping down on their old couch just as Tooru pulls his legs out of the way. The window is right in front of them; the meteor shower will begin soon.

“Aw, come on! You’re not fun anymore since you started studying physics.” Tooru pouts, arms crossed over his chest. And then, soft, quiet: “So no forever.”

Hajime thinks that he’s gorgeous in his low sweatpants and baby blue alien shirt. That’s his boyfriend, his lover. Somehow, Hajime’s allowed to adore him, he’s the one who Tooru loves to tease and drive to insanity and kiss, late at night, when he’s done counting stars.

Hajime sighs. “Hey.” Tooru’s dark eyes go wide when Hajime presses a reverent kiss to his jaw, his temple, lips moving until their lips are inches away.

“No, I don’t believe in forever,” Hajime whispers. Tooru trembles below him, fingers catching Hajime’s hair. He sighs, says “…but? Please, Hajime.”

The first meteors fall. Tooru curls against his chest when Hajime promises into the soft skin of his neck:

“But we could be a lifetime.”

The Alchemist of a Thousand Eyes. || iwaoi. fma crossover.

The darkness around him is four weeks old. They give him food and water, pull the chains around his ankles and wrists so tight that his skin bleeds underneath the fur. Every day, a man with yellow eyes visits him. He touches Hajime’s forehead, and a searing pain twitches through his head. He knows what this is, and when a cruel, sharp mind pierces into his own thoughts, he screams for help, begs, promises anything and everything. Help me, God, please.

“He’s still human, in there,” the man says one day. Hajime whimpers. Finally, he’s heard him. The guard standing outside the cell smiles; he’s all ink-black hair that sticks into the shadow above his head in the light of the lantern. Both wear the badge of a state alchemist. They’ll help him, right? The man with the yellow eyes – he looks like a cat, Hajime thinks, licking his mouth in the hope of more water – steps out of his prison cell. He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, he turns to the guard. “Kuroo, we need him. This could be it. Tell him that we got a chimera that’s been made by his old teacher.” And before Hajime can even open his jaws in an attempt to growl out words, the lantern goes out and darkness engulfs him yet again.

In the three hours that pass, he lives through everything all over again. The man luring him into a house in the forest with a promise for food and money; Hajime’s stomach growling, the hunger in his chest, he hadn’t eaten since his village had burnt down in the war. Everyone dead, dead, dead, corpses in the wet, red darkness of the ruins, lingering, watching him. The man had taken him in. And when Hajime woke, he’d been in chains, and his mind had howled at the sight of his body, transformed, bleeding and there were claws, teeth, fur –

“Is that him, sweetheart?” – “Do not call me that. Yes. We think the body’s a bear, the horns seem to be from a bull or something. Excellent nose from a dog. He’s got some humanity left in his head, so we didn’t cut him open to see if – “

“God, he’s… yeah, he’ll do. Let me in.” A soft chuckle. “Finally.”

Hajime barely hears the voices whispering around him. The cell door creaks, light casts over his face. He blinks, chains rattling, a growl in his chest, and then there’s a man standing before him. His eyes are dark, a glint of fire sparking in them as he leans down to touch Hajime’s nose.

“Hello, sweetheart,” the man says. “My, what did this monster do to you, hm? You can tell me later. First, I’ll get you your voice back.” Hajime’s eyes go wide. He roars, struggles against the chains, and the man raises a hand to hold the guards back from storming into the cell.

“Relax. This’ll only hurt a bit. I cannot turn you back into who you were. But we’ll make a deal.” Hajime hears a metallic sound. The man pushes up his sleeves, the state alchemist’s watch dangling on his hip. And then, Hajime sees his skin, and he whimpers in sheer horror. Oh God.

“You see,” the man smiles, smiles, his lean arm flexing in the lantern’s light. His skin is covered in human eyes. Their lids open to stare at Hajime, life pulsing inside them, pupils wide in silent terror. And when a hand grips his throat and the blue light of transmutation twitches through the cell, he hears the man say:

“The man who did this to you is the same who did this to me. I’ll give you back your voice, sweetheart, for a few of my eyes. And in exchange you’ll lend me your nose to find the man who made me the Alchemist of a Thousand Eyes.”

When the blue lightning dies, Hajime’s throat burns like hell. The man stands and turns to leave, pushing his sleeve back down. Hajime gets up and follows him, not paying any attention to Kuroo or the yellow-eyed alchemist.

“Who are you?”

The man looks at him over his shoulder. His collar slides down a bit, and a row of tiny, sad children’s eyes stares at Hajime from the alchemist’s neck. The smile on his lips is dangerous, sharp enough to cut. “I’m Tooru Oikawa. You coming?”

And Hajime follows him.

The last time Hajime had talked to Kageyama had been at his own high school graduation ceremony, and Kageyama had asked him a question, as simple and natural as breathing. “You love Oikawa-san, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hajime had replied. Lying was useless, unneeded. Kageyama’s blue eyes had traced along his face. He hadn’t smiled. “I see. I don’t understand, but I guess I don’t have to.” To that, Hajime had said no, and they’d said goodbye.

It’s five years later and Hajime wants nothing more than to go home from university in this horrible blizzard, but a hand catches his shoulder. When he turns around, there’s Kageyama – but then again, it’s not. The loneliness is gone from his dark eyes, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. And maybe that’s because of the young man clinging to his arm, sunshine-bright hair, eyes wide and warm like sweet honey milk.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama says, and Hajime hugs him simply because it feels right. They chat for a moment, the boyfriend – Hinata, right – making sure to distract Kageyama with touches all the while. And then, Kageyama says:

“You still love him, don’t you?”

Hajime says yes. “We live together, but it’s not like – “

Kageyama shakes his head, and even Hinata looks sad. “I thought you’d find out on your own one day. Iwaizumi-san, he – he’s always loved you.” The snow tastes bittersweet on Hajime’s cold lips. He swallows, shakes his head.

“He does,” Hinata says softly. “Sometimes, he phones Tobio. Believe me when I say that he loves you. Y’know, Tobio’s almost as big of an idiot as him, they both thought they’re never good enough – ow!” Kageyama growls at him, smiles then.

But Hajime doesn’t hear them anymore. He runs, snowflakes catching in his hair, blue-white cold bleeding over his mouth as he pants heavily. Tooru’s at home when he arrives, his bag being thrown in the corner. He’s on the couch and looks up, smiling, then opening his mouth. “Haji – “ is all that he can say.

“Eight years.” Hajime’s face is buried into Tooru’s shoulder, arm around his waist, his cold body strong against Tooru’s chest. “That’s for how long I’ve – God, why didn’t you say something, I thought – I wanted to, but Kageyama told me… ‘s it true? Talk to me. Tooru, talk to me, and don’t lie, don’t lie anymore.”

Tooru doesn’t speak for a long time. Then, his fingers softly cup Hajime’s jaw, trembling, thumb brushing his lips. His eyes are a beautiful darkness, star-lit by a glint of swallowed sadness and something long, long hidden.

“Twelve years.” The warmth of his mouth presses to Hajime’s lips. And Hajime chokes on the sob that roars in his lungs when Tooru whispers: “I was scared. You’re everything, and I was noth- “

Hajime shuts him up with a kiss, a desperate, wild thing lingering between their mouths, and Tooru curls against him like he’s that moon that’s only ever waited for its stars to finally frame the pale grace of its body, and light it up in white.

The day that one of his classmates spits in front of his feet and snarls “you’re fucking disgusting at him” is the day that Iwaizumi learns an important lesson. He learns that being gay and holding hands is still a crime in the eyes of some stupid assholes, and that Tooru’s eyes can go dark as coal within moments.

Iwaizumi learns that he’s not the one people should fear. Oh no – not him, but –

Because Tooru unlaces their fingers before he can say anything, and steps forward to the bully. He gently takes a grip at the guy’s collar, pulling him so close that their foreheads almost touch.

Iwaizumi can’t hear what Tooru says – but he sees the guy go red, then pale as death, and his body begins to quiver as if he’s seen a monster, a beast ready to devour him. The people behind him back a way. Silence falls over the classroom. Tooru’s mouth curls into a soft grin. Then he says, loud and cheerful:

“And if you ever so much as look at him again, I swear, darlin’, that I will make all those pretty things I just told you come true. Oh, and I am sure that a lot of people would love to hear the things that I know about you, your sweet little secrets… So – do you understand me, honey, or do I have to make myself any clearer?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what Tooru has told the guy to make him run away afterwards, choking on tears and shaking from head to toe. But he has learned something very important.

It’s not him that people should be afraid of. It’s that smile, the soft laughter hiding a tongue sharp enough to slice through flesh and bleed someone’s sanity dry.

It’s Tooru.

Tetsurou isn’t quite sure how he ended up in such a position, but then again it’s hard to think when he has a young god like Tooru in his lap and that soft, warm tongue licking into his mouth. Any coherent thought becomes impossible when rough hands drag down his spine, caressing his skin from tailbone to neck, a hot kiss pressed against his shoulder with a harsh drag of teeth. Hajime’s chuckle echoes deep into his bones, and when blunt nails send sparks flying through his nerves, Tooru shifts just a bit to moan softly into Tetsurou’s mouth, just as he’s pulling back from the kiss and whines. Hajime’s body is strong against his back.

God, they are all he’s ever wanted.

“We got you,” Hajime whispers against the shell of his ear, lips wet and burning on Tetsurou’s skin. His fingers keep dancing, worshipping every inch of him, just as Tooru wraps slender legs around Tetsurou’s waist and sucks a dark bruise below his jaw. “Relax,” his voice is playful, even softer than Hajime’s. “We’re not going anywhere, darlin’. We’ll be here all night.”

No, Tetsurou doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve boyfriends like those two. But Hajime and Tooru have chosen him, all his bad things and dark walls and the fear that he’s been swallowing down before confessing that fuck, yes, he loves them more than he could ever put into words. He’s theirs now, and somehow, like a miracle he can’t explain, they are his as well.

And then Tooru grins and lets himself fall back, pulling Tetsurou down on top of himself, his mouth catching the surprised gasp on Tetsurou’s lips with a searing hot kiss. ‘Gorgeous,’ Tetsurou thinks, and then a large hand slides down his back, the rough pad of Hajime’s thumb dragging along his shaking thighs, deliciously slow and teasing and perfect. “F-fuck, please – “ He’s never begged for anyone, but he does so for them, and his heart feels like it’ll melt when Tooru reaches for Hajime’s neck to pull him into a warm kiss, and then Hajime steals another one from Tetsurou’s mouth.

“We’ll be good to you, darlin’, I promise you that.” Tooru’s voice is raw and thick against his ear, and just as Hajime breaks the kiss and Tetsurou tries to gasp for air, Hajime’s fingers slide deeper and press into him, careful, slick and gentle. “God – ah, can’t – ohh.” And he sinks down on Tooru, who runs shivering fingers through his hair and pets him, “yes, jus’ like that, we’ll take care of you,” as Hajime kisses his back and slides his fingers deeper into Tetsurou, sending liquid fire over his skin and right into his chest.

Tetsurou doesn’t know how he deserves this. But when he wakes, later that night, Tooru’s curled against his waist and has Hajime’s arm slung around himself like a makeshift blanket – that’s when Tetsurou smiles, and thinks: Maybe he’s worth more than he’s always been told. At least, he can make them happy. He can love them, more than anything, and that could be enough.

In class, they are a quiet mumble of “Iwaizumi” and a resigned sigh of “Oikawa” as one shuffles closer to make their knees touch underneath their tables.

During practice, they are a cheerful “Iwa-chan” on bouncing feet and a soft, fond groan of “idiot” as a two hands slap together in the air, a new technique perfected.

On the court, they are a shout of “Iwa!” with slender fingers grazing a ball and a yell of “…kawa!” as a yell of victory unites their voices, a fierce hug and bright grins.

At home, in the darkness of blankets and kisses, they are “Hajime” with hearts open and vulnerable, and “Tooru”, as lips graze against skin and fingers slide into one another to melt, join, unite.

Levi has always been better at reading. Writing his own words is strange; the pen is too heavy in his hand, ink dripping on paper resembling that black underground’s blood too much. He doesn’t have stories to write down, anyways.

But Erwin is a scar-lettered myth. He is Levi’s favourite book. His skin is softer than pages of rough paper, and he carries the old paragraphs of his wounds with neutral pride.

Some nights, Levi reads him like a blind man, with fingers tracing his darkness and tongue burying into the heat of his mouth, taking Erwin deep into his own tender warmth.
Levi reads him for centuries.

Erwin closes his eyes, and tells him all his stories.

“Are you homophobic?”

Asahi jolts at the question, whirling around to Noya. “What?” he says, his eyes wide in confusion. Noya stands there at his full height, head tilted back to glare at Asahi with a weird, almost threatening expression. Asahi swallows. “Uhm, no,” he finally says. “I’m not – homophobic, no. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Noya makes a non-committal noise. “Hm. You sure? ‘cause, you know. You always react like you’re scared when I’m trying to flirt with you.” He sighs and his shoulders sink down, confidence bleeding from his posture like rain from he sky. “Y’know, I thought – maybe, maybe I had a chance, but you’re just so – “

“Wait. No. What?” Asahi touches his shoulder. This isn’t real, right? He laughs, hollow, hopeful. “You – you weren’t flirting with me. You like girls, right? And besides, you never did anything that – you don’t like me.“ It hurts, God it does.

Noya blinks. “What the fuck, Asahi. I’ve been kissing your cheek for weeks. Also, ever heard of bisexuality?”

“I thought you were trying to be nice.” Bisexual? “But I’m nothing special?”

“Last week, I kissed you on the mouth. I even asked, for fuck’s sake, how is that unclear or confusing or anything – “

Asahi clenches his fists, licks his lips, and his chest is warm and wonderfully tight. “I thought you were just pitying me! Because I never kissed someone. But you were honestly… flirting? But… why? Why me?”

And then Noya is gripping his collar and pulling him down, almost violent, only to press their mouths into a soft, breathless kiss. “If you ask that again, I’ll make you sit down and listen to one hour of me rambling about how fucking amazing you are and how badly I’m in love with you, and how annoyed Ryuu is that I literally can’t shut up about you. So shut up, and kiss me.”

That’s something that Asahi is very good at, so he obliges – and kisses.

“Stop calling me a hero,” Iwaizumi says as he sets the cup of hot milk with honey down next to Tooru’s bed. Tooru looks up at him from the pile of blankets that hides him up to his nose, and frowns. “But you are,” he says. As soon as Iwaizumi is by his side, he reaches for the milk and hugs the cup with his thin fingers. “You’re my hero. You – the things you do for me – “

Iwaizumi touches their foreheads together. “Heroes save lives. I’m just your boyfriend. Want me to sleep here or in the living room?”

Tooru smiles. “Here.” He starts crying just a minute later, and Iwaizumi doesn’t complain about the milk that drips out of the cup when his fingers shake. He simply takes it and puts it away, before opening his arms – leaving Tooru the choice.

Tonight, he wants to be touched. Tonight, the trauma and memories are weaker than his burning wish to melt into Iwaizumi’s arms, forget about the flashbacks and bitter tears, and feel loved.

Some heroes stay unknown, Tooru thinks when Iwaizumi’s lips kiss his forehead with a reverence as if he’s worthy, sacred, unbroken. Some legends are never told, and some names are never adorned with gold and silver.

Iwaizumi is silent when he fights Tooru’s battles by his side, and his love is wordless and warm-cupreous as it conquers and heals.

Marco’s always had enough feelings and liquid happiness and warm, soft-red love for the both of them.

Maybe that’s why Jean’s mouth is empty of any sound when the titan’s jaw closes around him, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t scream, or cry, or close his eyes.

He’s lost his heart months ago. It’s only now that it does its last beat, and stills.