Later that same night, Oikawa found himself standing at a random street corner as directed by the man who answered the phone. It was all extremely sketchy, to say the least, but even though Oikawa didn’t consider himself desperate by any means, he was at least willing to see what all this was about. He imagined it couldn’t have been much different than one of those game shows where the contestants were made to perform asinine tasks for a cash prize. Maybe this was the casting call for a new series? He couldn’t say he was very against the idea of being on TV, provided that the circumstances weren’t too embarrassing.
Games, sports, competitions—these were all things he excelled at. If it came down to strategy and athleticism, he wouldn’t have any problems seizing his prize and walking away from this with his head held high. He might have been a little out of shape compared to when he was in his prime, but he hadn’t completely let himself go since moving back to Japan. He still found time to keep his body active—morning runs, yoga, practicing with Takeru—and he still upheld a healthy diet. He was confident he could overcome whatever challenges awaited him in this “game”.
A car pulled up to the street corner then and stopped in front of him. Oikawa leaned forward when the passenger window was lowered, jumping slightly at the sight of the masked figure inside.
“Oikawa Tooru?” the figure asked, voice muffled behind their mask that had a white circle painted on it. Oikawa swallowed and nodded. “Password?”
“Red Light, Green Light,” he answered without skipping a beat in spite of his sudden trepidation.
This was…a strange way of collecting participants. Not just strange, but downright dubious. The sliding door of the car opened before him as the masked figure drew up the window again. Oikawa hesitated as he peered inside the dark cabin, catching a glimpse of the other sleeping passengers.
Something in his body screamed at him to turn around and forget about this entire thing, and he almost listened to it, but another part of him, a louder part of him, reminded him that he came out here for a reason. He wouldn’t have even considered something like this if he weren’t in dire need of something to help his family get back on their feet. Still not desperate (no, never that), but needful nonetheless. He climbed into the remaining seat.
“You know…” he began as he settled in, the automatic door sliding shut beside him. “If you people try anything funny, my sister’s a lawyer. A highly reputable one at that. If I find out there’s anything…nefarious…going on, I’ll…”
His words trailed off as the cabin began to fill with some sort of gas. Oikawa only had a few sparing seconds to feel anxiety and fear seize his heart before he fell unconscious in a single instant.
He awoke to the sound of music playing. Old, classical music. Oikawa groaned softly in protest, his eyes twitching with the want to stay closed despite knowing, somehow, that he needed to open them and wake up very quickly. The light in the room was bright, too bright, and he squinted against the assault on his retinas as consciousness gradually returned to him.
He shot upward then, eyes wide and breath picking up speed as his head whipped around to take in his surroundings. He was on a cot atop a very tall stack of bunk beds and good gods he never knew he had a fear of heights until just now. Gripping one of the metal bars that supported the precarious tower of beds, he chanced a look down, feeling nausea swim through his head as he quickly leaned back again to the safety of the middle of the cot with a shuddered breath to try to force down the way his stomach flipped at the sight. He caught a look at his clothes then, though, and found that he had been dressed in some sort of track suit. The colours briefly reminded him of his uniform from high school, albeit inverted, but his mind began piecing together the series of events that had led him to this place as he recalled that he had been talking with Iwaizumi the night prior.
Feeling around his person frantically in search of his phone, Oikawa discovered that he was bereft of all of his belongings. No phone, no wallet, no inhaler, no glasses, no nothing. He glanced around, finally taking note of the apparent hundreds of other people slowly stirring awake in their beds just like his own.
The room was large enough to accommodate all the sleeping arrangements in addition to a wide open space in the centre, as well as a raised level near the entrance of the room backed by two large, metal doors. He couldn’t help but feel his skin prickle at how sterile this entire place felt, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did conjure images of a hospital of sorts, or perhaps a prison. Or an institute—the kind where people were committed for being a danger to themselves or society. Or both. Oikawa could distinctly remember being inside of one himself when he was younger, when his mind was just a little too messed up to be trusted outside of its plain white walls, surrounded by its emotionless staff.
The memory was far from a good one, needless to say. Feeling the tower of beds begin to shake a little, Oikawa gripped both sides of the cot for dear life as he risked another glance downward to find people climbing down to floor level. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself to do the same, swinging his legs over the side to place his foot firmly on the first rung of the ladder and then promptly closing his eyes as he felt his way down. One foot after the other, never letting go of the rung above until he was sure he could place his full weight down on the one below.
He breathed out a sigh of relief when his feet touched the ground. He really hoped he didn’t have to hazard the trip to and fro for however long he was going to be here and that he could choose another bed after the fact. After what fact? He couldn’t know; he didn’t have the slightest clue as to what he was in for. Wasn’t he just supposed to have been taken somewhere to compete in children’s games for a sum of cash? Why all the secrecy? Why did they have to drug him and the others in that car to sleep just to bring them here? And why had that driver been wearing such a strange mask and uniform?
Commotion from the center of the room broke him free of his thoughts, his head snapping in the direction of the noise. He had to weave his way through a few people dressed identically to himself, but he soon came upon the source of all the ruckus.
“Who do ya think you are, ya little brat?” a man snarled down at someone he seemed to have knocked to the ground. Oikawa couldn’t quite make out their faces from where he stood, but he continued to inch closer. “Why don’t ya watch where you’re goin’, huh?!”
Oikawa tried to peer around people’s heads and shoulders to get a better look, but all he could see was the fallen figure slowly gather their feet beneath them again and stand up to dust themself off.
“...I think you’ve got the wrong idea, mister,” they said. Oikawa’s brows twitched together. Why did that voice sound so familiar? “I’m not trying to cause any trouble.” The larger man in front of him snickered cruelly.
“Oh, yeah? Well maybe I am. What’re ya gonna do about it, punk?” he prodded, using both hands to shove at the one in front of him again. This time, the smaller man only stumbled back a couple of steps, but it was enough for Oikawa to get a clear view of his head and face, and in that moment he felt his heart stop.
“I guess that’s just your problem, isn’t it, mister?” shot back none other than the second coming of the Tiny Giant himself, the harbinger of a new dawn for the Karasuno Crows nearly a decade ago, the spunky spitfire who took the world of volleyball by storm the moment he stepped onto the court—
Hinata Shoyo.
“Why you little—”
The man swung his fist out in front of him, aiming for that head of bright orange hair, but Hinata was too quick. He ducked and danced back a few steps, the hint of an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As he came into better view, his eyes swept around, more than likely looking for an escape route, or perhaps a distraction, but instead his gaze landed squarely on Oikawa’s and, for a moment, that childlike spark lit up his face just like the first time Oikawa watched him nail his first spike from Kageyama during their match against Aoba Jōsai all those years ago.
How unfortunate that that face promptly ruined by a hard fist. Oikawa gasped as it happened, watching Hinata’s body smack into the ground with highly unnecessary force. It was then that he forced his feet to move forward again, closing the distance between himself and Hinata’s assailant with haste. He lashed out his hand to snatch the man’s wrist when he went to reach for Hinata again, drawing the prick’s attention to himself instead. Just as the man’s lips curled into an ugly little snarl, though, his free hand rearing back to deliver the same harsh beating to Oikawa now, he was stopped by yet another figure who joined the fray, strong fingers wrapping around his other wrist to halt his movement. The man snapped his head around to look at the fourth and Oikawa’s eyes followed.
“Don’t even think about it, asshole.”
Oikawa’s heart skipped a beat and he was positive that the earth stopped spinning in that moment. Time stood still, the world fell silent, and Oikawa felt like the ground beneath his feet was collapsing right out from under him.
Iwa-chan?
“Why don’t all you bastards mind your own business, huh?!” the man yelled then, yanking free of Oikawa’s grip and whirling around on the well-built, spiky-haired man behind him. That was a mistake. Moving on autopilot, Oikawa’s arms shot out to slip underneath the man’s, wrenching back his shoulders as he captured the man in a deadly headlock. Though he struggled, Oikawa’s technique was flawless, and without missing a beat, Iwaizumi took one step forward and decked the man in the face. Hard.
Only then did Oikawa release him, letting him crumple to the ground at his feet while he spat out curses and threats, though he didn’t seem inclined to follow through on any of them now. Oikawa couldn’t care less about the man after dropping him, his eyes focused on only one person. It was a few seconds before he could force his voice to work.
“Iwa-chan, you—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish before the object of his attention turned and strode away without once meeting his eyes, flexing the hand he had used to deliver that punch. Oikawa felt himself stumble forward, some part of his brain urging him to follow, but he was tugged back into place by one giddy little tangerine. Although, to Hinata’s credit, he had filled out quite a bit over the years.
“Oikawa-san! I can’t believe it’s really you!” he squealed, throwing his arms around Oikawa’s neck and nearly bending him in half in the process.
Oikawa stared after Iwaizumi’s retreating figure for a few more moments before he lost sight of it in the gathered crowd. Blinking as if in a daze, he glanced down at the ginger grinning back up at him.
“What the hell are you doing here?! I didn’t know you were back in Japan!”
“Oh… Yeah—yeah, I got back last year,” he answered dumbly.
“Last year?! And you didn’t tell me?! What gives?!” Hinata scolded, releasing him from his embrace to put his hands on his hips and pout instead. Oikawa slowly straightened up and lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, offering a sheepish half-smile.
“Sorry about that. Life’s been…keeping me kinda busy lately,” he admitted quietly, beginning to shrink under the stares around him. “Besides, I…didn’t wanna bother you while you were out there making a name for yourself.”
“Bother me? Why would you think you’d ever bother me? We’re pals, ya know?” Hinata said, raising one hand curled into a fist to punch his shoulder lightly. Oikawa blinked at him again.
“...Really? Even after all this time? We haven’t spoken in—”
“Years, I know! But that doesn’t change anything,” Hinata interrupted. “Well, I would have appreciated a call every now and again, but I get it! Doesn’t mean we ever stopped being friends.”
His smile was truly as brilliant as it always had been. Oikawa didn’t know what he did to earn such loyalty from someone like Hinata, but it warmed his heart nonetheless. Oikawa gave him a softer, more genuine smile.
“That’s…good to hear, Shoyo-kun,” he said. “But…what are you doing here, anyway? Don’t the Jackals have a game coming up soon? And why…would you end up in a place like…this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely around them. Hinata pursed his lips then, some of that light fading from his feature, but not completely.
“It’s…a long story. Besides, I could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out. Oikawa got the feeling that Hinata probably wanted to talk about his reasons for being here just about as much as Oikawa did. Which was to say, not at all. He nodded in understanding.
“Touche. Hey, earlier, did you see—”
“Iwaizumi-san? That was him, right?” Hinata finished, glancing around as if to try to catch a glimpse of Iwaizumi again. “I thought I recognized him. I wonder why he ran off so quickly…but I bet it’s ‘cause he still feels guilty about—”
Whatever Hinata had been about to say was lost to the sound of the large metal doors at the front of the room opening wide. All heads turned around to see the group of men in red uniforms and black masks walk into the room. Most of them had circles on their masks, but the one who stepped up to the front had a square on it. In the back of his mind, Oikawa wondered about the significance of those shapes. They were also on the business card he’d received, right?
“I would like to extend a heartfelt welcome to you all,” said the man with the square, his voice lacking any sincerity despite his words, or any emotion for that matter. “Everyone here will participate in six different games over the next six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome sum of cash as a reward.”
There was a quiet murmuring throughout the crowd, but all else fell silent once more as one person in particular spoke up in tired monotone that struck yet another cord of familiarity in Oikawa’s mind, but he couldn’t see through the sea of people to put a name to the voice.
“Before we blindly throw ourselves into whatever kind of fun-house this is supposed to be, why don’t you explain why you drugged us all to bring us here and stripped us of our belongings? I had my suspicions of this operation from the beginning, but that just seems a tad bit discreditable, doesn’t it?”
“Your concerns are completely understandable. Those were all measures we reluctantly had to take in order to maintain confidentiality while bringing you all here,” the square mask answered. “We will happily return all of your belongings to you once the games have concluded.”
“So you expect us to believe you abducted us like that and wear those stupid looking masks all for the sake of ‘confidentiality’?” the person inquired, voice dripping with doubt. There was a quiet snort from somewhere behind him. “That’s cute and all, but I fail to see how any of this is supposed to make any of us trust that you’re telling the truth about some big cash prize. Sounds more like we’re being inducted into a trafficking ring if you ask me.”
“Player 196,” the square mask addressed. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
Oikawa’s eyes widened. He craned his neck to try to find the source of the voice that had spoken, but he still couldn’t get a good look. Could that really be the Sakusa Kiyoomi, the same one from the MSBY Black Jackals, Hinata’s team? As if sensing his burning curiosity, Oikawa felt a tug on his arm, and he glanced back to his side to see Hinata peering up at him. The redhead offered him a nod, but no further explanation. Not that he had time to give one as the square mask pressed some sort of button that activated the large screen above the doorway. Glancing up, Oikawa caught just a glimpse of the number blaring from it: 419.
There were 419 people in this room, 419 people who were more than likely approached in a similar manner, if not the exact same way as Oikawa had been by the bus stop, lured in by promises of money in exchange for competing in a few children’s games. Well, didn’t they all just look like utter fools now?
The screen began playing a clipped together video featuring none other than Sakusa himself from a hidden camera on another person’s body, the two of them playing a game of Menko, just as Oikawa had suspected. What he didn’t expect was to watch the person behind the camera slap Sakusa several times over for each subsequent loss. The sight was so jarring that Oikawa actually flinched.
“Age twenty-five. Former ace of Itachiyama Institute’s volleyball club and current outside hitter for the MSBY Black Jackals in the Japan Men’s National Volleyball Team V. League Division One. Six years ago you struck a deal with the Yakuza to work for them in exchange for their forgiveness of your father’s debt to them and now you owe them as well for reneging on your agreement for a total of eleven million yen.”
Oikawa was speechless in the wake of the square mask’s words. Was Sakusa…really involved with the Yakuza? Was his father really involved with them? Why? What could they have sought to gain from people like that? And why would Sakusa dare to renege on a deal with them? What did they make him do?
“Player 102, thirty-nine million in debt. Player 253, 713 million in debt. Player 48, 109.6 million in debt.”
The masked figure kept on like this for a while longer, listing the debts owed by different people in the room. Oikawa glanced around with each number announced, then finally looked down at the patch on his own jacket that read the number 401. Glancing down beside him, he read the number on Hinata’s jacket—110. Oikawa’s curiosity continued to burn within him. How had they all ended up here?
“Every single person standing in this room is living on the brink of financial ruin. You all have debts that you cannot pay off. When we approached each of you, not one of you trusted us, but as you all know, we played a game, and as we promised, we gave you money when you won. Suddenly, you decided to trust us. You called and volunteered to participate in this game of your own free will. So here you are. You will have this one last chance to walk away and return to your depressing lives, constantly on the run from those seeking to collect on the debt that you owe. Or will you stay here and seize this opportunity we are providing you for a chance to turn your lives around for the better, and live in comfort for the rest of your days?”
No one moved. People looked around at each other, feet shuffled, but not a single person made a move to walk out of that room. Not Oikawa, not Hinata, not Sakusa, and not Iwaizumi, wherever he was. No one.
How many people here did he know, Oikawa wondered?
“How much?” came another voice from the back. Oikawa felt a shiver run down his spine as he recognized it. Iwaizumi. He twisted around to try to find him with as much luck as before. “If we win, how much do we get?”
The square mask pressed another button, and there was a sound above them. Everyone’s heads tilted back to watch the ceiling open up overhead, lowering what appeared to be a giant piggy bank of sorts that rained light down upon them in the dark room.
“Your prize money will be accumulated in there after each game,” the square mask said. “We will disclose the amount to everyone after the first game is complete. If you do not wish to participate, please let us know at this time.”
No one spoke.
They were instructed to form several lines in front of the uniformed staff with circles on their masks. Oikawa fell in line behind Hinata, who had effortlessly sought out Sakusa in all the confusion of putting the lines together, but the two of them didn’t seem surprised to see each other in the slightest. Hinata greeted him with his usual cheerful grin and Sakusa responded in kind with a nod of acknowledgement. He met Oikawa’s eyes over the ginger’s shoulder, and though they stared at each other for a long moment, they exchanged no words. There seemed to be a silent understanding between them.
They all had their reasons for being here.
When Oikawa stepped up to the front of the line after Sakusa and Hinata had both provided their signatures to whatever release form they were being asked to sign, he glanced around to find none other than Iwaizumi standing at the front of the line beside him.
“Hey—! Psst, hey!” he hissed, trying to grab the other’s attention to little avail. The only reaction he got was the subtle shift of Iwaizumi’s eyes from the paper he was signing, but as soon as he finished, he turned his back to Oikawa and walked away through the gap in the line opposite the brunet.
Oikawa let out a huff and turned back to the paper in front of him, barely skimming over its contents before haphazardly inking his signature. It didn’t look like much: cannot stop playing, refusal to play results in elimination, termination if majority agrees. That seemed fairly straightforward. He rushed to put the pen down again and swiftly make his way back into the room through the remaining lines in hopes of catching Iwaizumi before he disappeared again.
He nearly managed to catch up to him, too, but before he could break away from the formation everyone was being guided into after signing the form, a staff member—guard?—intercepted him. Oikawa stuttered to a stop, looking the person in red up and down and taking note of the circle on their mask.
“...Sorry, if you could excuse me for just a moment, I really need to talk to…”
He didn’t bother finishing his sentence. The guard stared him down wordlessly without any indication that he gave a single crap about what he was about to say anyway. Oikawa took a deep breath and sighed.
“I’ll just…get back into line then,” he muttered, following the guard into the new line. His eyes never stopped searching for Iwaizumi again, but he didn’t have much luck as more and more people moved around and fell into place. He did have one thing to hold onto, though. Before Iwaizumi had turned away from him, Oikawa managed to get a look at the number on his jacket.
14.
After everyone had finished signing, they were guided outside of the room, for which Oikawa was grateful. He was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic in there in spite of how spacious it was. Outside, the rest of this strange facility was far more…colourful than he had been expecting. The walls were painted pastel pinks and yellows and blues, the stairs leading up to various levels all askew and crafted in such a way that Oikawa thought must have been intentionally disorienting.
They made their way up to a new room with open photo booths, where a robotic voice instructed them all to smile for a camera. Weird, Oikawa thought. Maybe these photos were meant to serve as their victory headshot if they made it to the end? With that thought in mind, Oikawa quickly fixed his hair and, once he was standing in the booth, put on his best, haughty smirk. When he won, and he would win, he wanted everyone to know that he was always going to end up the winner.
…Jeez, maybe not playing volleyball for a couple years left him a little twisted. Oh well.
They filed farther up the stairs—gods, he hated stairs—until they finally came to three sets of doors that opened for them so that they could step out into the daylight. The area they entered was completely flat, the ground padded down into a hard, grainy sand, and it was surrounded on all four sides by walls painted to look like the surrounding nature.
When he glanced up, however, Oikawa could see the clouds moving overhead. With a small smile, he gratefully soaked in the sunlight from above. He really despised being kept indoors for so long, at least when it felt like he was trapped there. This wasn’t exactly a paradise getaway from the other room, but it would do for now.
“Oikawa-san!”
He looked over at the sound of his name, finding Hinata waving him down as he and Sakusa emerged from one of the other doors. Oikawa’s smile widened marginally as he jogged over to meet them.
“Let’s stick together for this game, okay?” Hinata suggested. Sakusa rolled his eyes.
“We don’t even know what we’re playing yet. What makes you think it would be a good idea to stick together?” he asked. “We’ll probably just end up getting in each other’s way.”
“Well you don’t know that either!” Hinata argued, tugging at his bottom eyelid as he stuck out his tongue at Sakusa. Oikawa snorted and tried to hide the sound behind his hand, but Sakusa was already glaring at him halfheartedly.
“He learned that from you, you know.”
“Me? Couldn’t be,” Oikawa said between giggles.
“Yo, Kiyoomi.”
Hinata and Oikawa looked up at the sound of a new voice, but Sakusa barely reacted apart from a deep breath that he inhaled and exhaled along with the slump of his shoulders as a tall blond man appeared behind him, insufferable smirk right where it belonged.
“What are you doing here, you bottom-feeder?” Sakusa asked, though he sounded much too disinterested in the answer. Behind him, Miya Atsumu chuckled.
“Same as you. I’m here for the cash,” he stated, slinging his arm around Sakusa’s shoulders, much to the latter’s displeasure as he promptly plucked up Atsumu’s hand by one finger and flicked it off of him. Atsumu snickered. “Reason don’t matter, right? What matters is we’re all here together. Ain’t that right, Tooru?” The blond leveled Oikawa with a half-lidded gaze and a lop-sided smirk to complete the “sleazy douchebag” look he wore so well. Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to say my name like that,” he said, cold as ice. Atsumu’s grin widened.
“Would you rather I moaned it inst—”
“And that’s my cue to leave. Best of luck, you guys,” Oikawa said with a staged little wave before he spun around on his heel and walked away as quickly as possible. He heard Hinata complaining to Atsumu about running him off like that and he could only chuckle and shake his head. Dorks.
“All players, please stand behind the white line and await further instructions.”
The voice that came over the intercom repeated the directions twice more as the players mulled about to stand behind what looked like a white starting line just a few yards in front of the doors that led them here. Said doors swung closed behind them once everyone had filed out. Oikawa glanced at them over his shoulder, but thought nothing of it for now. No reason to leave them open and let in all the bugs, he guessed.
As he stood at the line, he couldn’t help but peer down the row of people and try to spot a certain pair of stormy grey-green eyes. He didn’t have much luck at that angle, though, so he reluctantly returned his attention in front of him, where he finally took in the sight of the large…doll on the opposite end of the field they had gathered in. Well. If that didn’t look fucking terrifying, he didn’t know what did.
“The first game you will play is Red Light, Green Light,” the intercom announced. The doll suddenly moved, making Oikawa jump a little where he stood as the giant animatronic spun around to face the tree behind it. “You are allowed to move forward when It shouts ‘green light’. Stop moving when It shouts ‘red light’. If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”
Seemed simple enough. A quiet murmur started up amoung the gathered players. Oikawa caught incredulous and baffled sentiments about how they were being asked to play yet another kid’s game, but Oikawa had expected this. It was only natural after how the businessman had approached him to pitch his offer. It was odd, though. He didn’t see any cameras around the walls. There were some panels higher up, but they looked bolted shut, so he couldn’t determine their use.
“All players who cross the red finish line within the five minute play time will pass this round. That being said, let the game begin.”
An electronic billboard on the far wall of the field lit up with a five minute timer. Oikawa lowered himself into a runner’s crouch as he awaited the first order.
“Green light!”
Those closest to the front took the first running start. Oikawa’s sprint took him several paces forward before he brought himself to a halt seconds before he anticipated the next order.
“Red light!”
The animatronic doll turned around, or its head did, at least. His eyes caught two people at the forefront wobbling on their feet, having tried to stop with too much momentum behind them.
“Players 59 and 236—eliminated.”
Oikawa smirked. This was going to be easy.
Two loud bangs fired off one after the other and, in like fashion, the two people who had been caught moving slumped to the ground. Oikawa’s smirk disappeared. What was that noise? What made them drop so suddenly like that?
“Green light!”
People began shuffling forward again, albeit not as enthusiastically as before. Oikawa subconsciously drifted closer to the people who had fallen, craning his neck to try to see what was wrong with them. Another woman made it there before he did, though, and released an ear-piercing scream that froze everyone in their tracks.
“Red light!”
While everyone else did not move from their spots, bolted in place by the woman’s shriek, the woman herself frantically turned right back around and made a run back toward the doors. Another bang and she dropped like a fly. This time, Oikawa didn’t miss the spray of red that burst from her chest. The people in the immediate vicinity reacted exactly the way one might expect—by screaming at the top of their lungs and fleeing in the opposite direction of the doll and its victims thus far.
Five more bangs in rapid succession. Oikawa, through his sudden numbness, looked up when a glint of light caught his eye. Those panels high up on the wall were open now, black barrels sticking out of them and smoking with each shot fired. Yes, shots. Gunshots. These people were being gunned down every time someone was caught moving.
Oikawa, thank his lucky stars, couldn’t move if he wanted to. His feet wouldn’t let him. He was glued to the ground, staring at the bodies that began to drop one after the other. They all swarmed to the doors, crying and pleading to be let out as one shot after another mowed them down where they desperately and futilely clawed and sobbed for freedom from this massacre.
In the deafening silence that followed, Oikawa couldn’t breathe. The doll called green light, but still he didn’t move. Few others did, either, but some shuffled around him, a new sense of dread halting their movements, so that when the doll called red light again, most of them were already standing still once more. Except the man who had walked right past him with a confident stride, unperturbed by the bloodshed around him. That confidence cost him his life in the next moment when Oikawa heard him trip on something, a body maybe, and the gunshot that silenced him was merciless in its aim.
Oikawa’s eyes snapped shut as he felt the splatter against his clothes. Each drop that hit him felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, his feet leaden, his brain little more than a cinder block that nearly drowned out the sound of the doll’s voice when it called green light yet again. He blindly fumbled forward. He knew he had to move. There was a time limit. If this were the punishment for those who were caught moving, he didn’t want to think about what awaited him if he didn’t make it over that red line in time.
In retrospect, he probably would have been better off opening his eyes before he started moving. He stepped on something—thick, round, it felt like an arm—and as he lost his balance, gravity dragging him backward, he couldn’t feel anything. In that moment, he knew he was going to die. He had no feasible way of processing that fact, so instead he shut it all out.
That is, until his back hit a hard surface and the doll’s voice rang out across the field.
“Red light!”
“Don’t. Move.”
Iwa-chan.
Oikawa opened his eyes. Sturdy hands gripped his arms, forcefully holding him in place despite the precarious angle at which he stood. Oikawa became aware of his own breathing once more as he stared into the lifeless eyes of the doll in front of him, its own eyes flicking around in search of more bodies to gun down. When they found none, the doll’s head turned around again.
“Green light!”
“Go.”
That single, whispered command was all it took to shock Oikawa’s body back into action. Iwaizumi pushed him back up on his feet and kept one hand wrapped around his arm as they bolted forward in synchrony, only to come to a sudden stop at the exact same moment. At least four more people were eliminated. The next time, a light jog carried them the rest of the way across the field and over the red line. Once there, Oikawa promptly collapsed on the ground and began hyperventilating.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Iwaizumi muttered, dropping down to his knees beside him. Oikawa reached out to clutch at his shirt as he felt his chest constricting, wide eyes staring unseeingly into the dirt that his free hand clawed at. “Look at me. Hey, look at me. Tooru.”
He looked up. Iwaizumi’s eyes were right in front of him, Iwaizumi was right in front of him. Oikawa felt a hand on the side of his face. Iwaizumi said something, but he didn’t hear the words. He could only focus on his eyes and the sound of his voice, heedless of whatever it said. Iwaizumi pressed their foreheads together, and when he felt that contact, the rest of the world fell quiet and he could hear Iwaizumi clear as day.
“You’re gonna be okay. You made it. You’re okay. I’m with you. I’m here.”
You’re here.
“They’re dead.” He couldn’t even recognize his own voice; he could barely hear it over the dull roar of everything happening behind them. Even if he tried to turn around, to look at all the carnage, he doubted Iwaizumi would let him.
“Don’t,” Iwaizumi whispered, closing his eyes. “Don’t think about it. Just sing with me, okay?”
“Iwa—”
“Just sing,” he repeated. Oikawa slowly closed his mouth to abandon his protests. Iwaizumi took a deep breath, his shoulders slowly rising and falling. Oikawa didn’t let go of his shirt. “Natsuhiboshi, naze akai? Yuube kanashii yume wo mita. Naite hanashita. Akai me yo.”
Oikawa closed his eyes as he listened to the deep hum of Iwaizumi’s voice softly singing the lyrics to the lullaby that had become something of a “trigger” for him in the sense that every time heard it, he knew he needed to calm down and breathe. He carried on the next verse despite the way his voice shook and he wanted nothing more than to jump into a black hole to escape what he knew awaited him the moment he stopped to think about it.
“Natsuhiboshi, naze mayou? Kieta warashi wo sagashiteru. Dakara kanashii yume wo miru.”
They finished the lullaby together, quietly and to themselves, while others broke down around them, tormented by the ghastly sight that no doubt littered the field behind him. However, Oikawa dutifully kept his eyes closed and did not turn around.
There was a sound from above. He felt Iwaizumi slowly lean back so that their foreheads weren’t touching anymore, but even though Oikawa finally allowed himself to open his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to look up until he noticed the field getting darker. Then his head snapped up, matching Iwaizumi’s as they both craned their necks to watch the sky disappear above them, the ceiling closing in on itself like a hanger. Oikawa’s breath threatened to start catching again, but Iwaizumi grabbed him and pulled him forward then, guiding his head down to his shoulder, and Oikawa clutched at his back for dear life.
How was he supposed to walk away from this?