The world seemed to swirl, then stop. Freeze. Pause. Silence. And then -
WHOOSH!
Hinata had ripped off a poster and had darted through the crowd, catching up with those two men he had overheard earlier, one in a black cloak, the other in purple, they weren’t hard to spot -
‘Good sirs!!!!!! If you please!’
They almost jumped out of their skin.
The one in the black cloak was tall and thin, the other, short and podgy, both had unkind faces and were losing hair.
‘Could you explain this poster to me!’
‘Explain this poster to you?’ the tall on eyed Hinata suspiciously, ‘well where -’
‘It’s by order of the king. He hates wolves!’
‘HECTOR!’ the tall one snapped, ‘what did I tell you -’
‘So if anyone kills a wolf, they will get a place at the palace?’ Hinata looked up at them.
‘Any wolf!’ The tall man laughed like a villain, ‘no my boy! Have you been sleeping throughout this famine? Have you not heard? The Wolf of the West has been spotted in Cistren! Even in that very forest or so they say! And it is rumoured - that the Wolf crept through these streets at night and managed its way into the castle’s walls, into the King’s larder! It was outnumbered by soldiers and got shot at its side and fled but these posters were issued the next day - do you not know, boy? Where are you from?’
‘Thank you!’ Hinata bowed, ‘That was all I needed to know!’
And he ran like the wind, ran like lightning, ran like a wolf fueled by meat -
Back at the cottage, Oikawa had been pacing in the small patch of space between the fireplace and the front door, with a face full of worry.
Grandma had been watching, half-amused, half full of concern herself, after both her and Oikawa had woken to find Hinata gone.
‘You should put those legs to good use. Other than wearing down the rug. Perhaps go and get some wood or water from the forest.’
But Grandma’s suggestion fell on deaf ears.
‘I told you. It’s early morning. He probably went to try and hunt.’ Granda tried again.
‘His bed wasn’t warm when I touched it; he’s been gone for a while.’
Oikawa, who continued to pace, completely missed the stunned look on Grandma’s face at his sentence.
Grandma had advised Oikawa not to go out and look for Hinata and, that knowing the little redhead, he'd been desperate to hunt after yesterday's massive argument and would be back soon.
Oikawa had taken Grandma's words into consideration - and regretted it.
His instinct was now to go after Shoyo, whatever the weather but he also understood - if he left now, and was going through the forest, in human form in daylight, he could miss the moment that Hinata came back to the cottage another route.
Still.
Standing still, doing nothing wasn't -
BANG!
The door burst open.
Oikawa, as sharp as a razor, heartpounding, looked up to see a panting, heaving, puffing boy in the door frame, in a red cloak, face red, clutching a paper tightly in his palm, a blazing gleam of triumph in his eyes.
Before Grandma could stand up, Hinata ran in, boots still on -
'I found it I found a way out of this Oikawa - Grandma - we'll be able to survive the winter - we'll be able to survive!'
Hinata slammed the crumpled paper in his fist down onto the table and smoothed it out.
Grandma stood up from her rocking chair, slower than ever before, and shuffled to the table.
And as Oikawa's eyes registered that familiar sight, his heart sank like a stone dropping to the bottom of the ocean.
'The Wolf of the West! He's here! Somewhere near Cistren! He was spotted in our forest not long ago! The King of Cistren wants him dead! And if we kill the wolf and bring it back we will live in the palace!!! We will have food, we will survive! We can do this, together, can't we Oikawa? We can find the Wolf of the West!'
Silence.
A careful silence, full of unspoken words. Grandma peered at the poster and said nothing. And, although Oikawa couldn't read much, it was clear to anyone, even one as uneducated as him, what the poster meant.
He brought his eyes up to meet Shoyo's, to meet the host of Dreams and Excitement, the Future, Hope.
'It's the only way!! This is our chance. Surely if we were to catch it and kill it - the King would honor us! With your hunting skills and my bow, we stand a chance!'
Hinata looked from Grandma to Oikawa and then back again to Grandma, whose eyes were still studying the poster as if it were a page in a book, and not a simple page of basic illustrations and had remained silent. Hinata searched Oikawa's eyes - as beautiful and unreadable as ever.
'Why -'
'OK.' Oikawa smiled. 'We will hunt for the wolf.'
The expression of sheer delight on Hinata's face made Oikawa weak at the knees. Hinata’s whole face had lit up in awe and wonder, up at Oikawa, who wanted to kiss him there and then.
But the moment was broken by Grandma and a coughing fit; she let go of the poster and covered her mouth with her hands as the cough shook her whole body and made her wheeze.
‘Has she taken her medicine today?’ Hinata asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Oikawa responded, eying Grandma up. ‘We had only just woken up.’
Oikawa pulled up a seat for Grandma and ran to get some pillows for her back, as Hinata took off his shoes by the door and ran back to get the pot and poured the remainder of the water in his waterskin that he’d been carrying, and placed the pot through the metal rack, above the large fireplace to get it boiling. Hinata then added three teaspoons of the medicine his mother had sent into the pot and busied himself getting her cup ready and taking off his red cloak.
No one spoke.
They were down to their last scraps of food. Not much but pickled onion and carrots in brine stored in jars. Sweet preserves of strawberries sealed up with honey, the last of the sweetness in this cottage. And two jars of goose confit, no doubt the most valuable thing in the entire house, and the only form of meat - Oikawa had to keep reminding himself as his brain kept whispering: but you have two whole live\carcasses of meat right in front of you…
Grains and wheat had all been eaten. No more fresh bread.
Everyone was skinnier than they had been months ago; Grandma’s homely plumpness was gone, the meat on Hinata’s bones had shrank, and Oikawa too felt like he was the weakest he had ever been in his life - his face had lost weight and he felt lighter, perhaps having lost what bare fat he had and some of the mass from his muscles too.
Regardless.
Hinata was still a sight to behold. In Oikawa’s eyes, it made no sense. Logic would determine that Hinata looked healthier several months ago when they had first met and yet now - if Hinata was in the vicinity, Oikawa’s eyes could not help but be drawn to him, his brain could not help but be curious of what Hinata was doing, how he was feeling, what the redhead was thinking. Was Hinata too warm or too cold? Did dreams still dance in those glorious eyes or had the cold, bitter winter snuffed them out? Grandma too - even having lost fat that was good enough to eat, never had Oikawa been in the presence of such a beautiful soul. Even in her sickness, her increased coughing, her nightly wheezing, her voice which was hoarser these days, those amber eyes sparkled, the corners of them crinkled into magic, her smile was a warm-bodied hug.
How long had he lived, outcast, downtrodden, feared, shunned, like the despicable creature he was? Why was it that only now, during a life-claiming famine, did he meet people who made him feel like he wanted to live forever?
When Grandma dished out portions of food, Oikawa was pleased to see that Hinata was always given that tiny bit more than Oikawa. But Oikawa was not happy that still the person who had the least on their plate was Grandma.
Food dwindled. Everyone was weaker. They slept earlier and for longer. Conversation waned.
But there was only one thing that kept getting stronger -
Hinata’s determination to capture The Big Bad Wolf.
Morning lookouts, afternoon lookouts - Hinata had even drawn a map of the forest and had liaised with Grandma on her opinion while Oikawa watched in awe at a skill he didn’t have. Hinata packed food for them, and Grandma gave every shearling item of clothing she had including that previously owned by her late husband, to Hinata and Oikawa. Hinata sharpened his arrows and strengthened his bow. Every night when they lay down to sleep, Hinata spoke of shooting the wolf through its heart, Oikawa severing its head, and both of them carrying its dead carcass up to Cistren.
The more food decreased, the more hopeless the situation, the more Hinata became consumed with the capturing of the wolf.
Yet it was the hours they spent waiting in silence in different parts of the forest that were the hardest for Oikawa. Scenarios played out in Oikawa’s mind: of holding Hinata’s hand and how the boy would react, of biting Hinata just to get some energy from the sweetness of that blood, of pushing Hinata down and kissing him, touching him (this thought made Oikawa’s heart race and sickened him at the same time), of confessing - coming clean of who he was.
But Grandma’s coughing turned to retching; she begun throwing up after she’d eaten as well as continuing to cough, and Hinata had taken to practically getting Grandma to eat the medicinal herbs dry.
And Grandma complied.
Stomachs growled. Grandma could barely rock on her rocking chair but had enough strength to chew chew chew to make Hinata happy.
Hinata.
His voice like cascading diamonds in a treasure cave speaking of faraway dreams. The Wolf. The Wolf. A sweet lullaby like a children’s story, he talked and kept talking, into the silence. Eyes closed, empty food-less grasps, we’ll catch the Wolf, we’ll catch it like a prayer. A mercy, really, that Oikawa got to be proved wrong about the human race. A pity that it came at such a time as this.
‘Can…’ Grandma breathed, breathy, eyes tightly shut, hands weakly gripping the arms of her rocking chair, as she sat there, immovable, ‘you sing me a song, Shoyo? Sing to us.’
Oikawa faced the fire - blazing, glorious, unstoppable - so did not see but heard the soft, sweet sound that Hinata made behind him. A slow, gentle, soothing tune, about a blackbird that flew away but still, still came back one day. How pretty. How quaint. The final steady note descended into the silence of the roaring fire. The drop that escaped and ran down Oikawa’s cheek was quickly brushed away. A subtle sniff covered by the crackling flames.
‘Thank you,’ Grandma whispered. ‘Shoyo.’
That evening Oikawa felt the weight of every splinter of wood in the beams of the cottage, of every meal they hadn’t eaten, every unsuccessful trip and heavy tread back.
‘I’m thinking… we hunt at night, Toru, what do you think?’
Rumble.
Oikawa’s stomach.
Oikawa’s heart.
Oikawa’s conscience.
‘We lay some traps, like how you caught some of the fowl, spill some of our blood if we have to, and wait in the trees? Toru?’
Oikawa and Hinata lay on their sides, facing each other, less than an arm length’s apart, Hinata closer to the fire as usual, his hair as cruel as flame.
‘Toru?
‘This,’ Oikawa whispered, unblinking, his stare penetrating, like the gnarly bark of trees, ‘is surely too much… for anyone.’
‘T-?’
The word tripped on the end of Hinata’s tongue as one of Oikawa’s large soft palms, rested at the base of Hinata’s neck.
Like thunder above reckless waves, Hinata’s heart pounded against the curve of Oikawa’s little finger. He inhaled a shaky breath, his eyes wide, barely able to blink. Oikawa had not looked away, a determination in those pretty features.
‘If I…’ Oikawa’s eyes roved down Hinata’s face, his lips, his neck, ‘could only taste -’
Oikawa’s hand moved slightly up. He felt that fragile, beating pulse beneath his fingers. How easy… it would be…
‘T-T-Toru?’
Why was fear so thrilling? Why was seeing it caused in someone else’s eyes such a buzz?
The taste of Hinata’s fresh, young skin, the salt in his sweat, the sweetness of his skin…
Unconciously Oikawa had moved forward, transfixed by the sharp angle of Hinata’s jaw, that faster rhythm of his blood. How comforting, the feel of Hinata’s skin…
‘If I…’ Oikawa’s hand grazed up, the touch as searing as hot embers, to cup Hinata’s cheek, ‘could only feel more…’
Hinata panted. His chest heaved. He swallowed from the saliva building in his mouth. Feelings like a bud in bloom grew in Shoyo’s chest. This beautiful face was right before him, eyes like a spell, skin like pearls, mouth like sweet berries…
‘Toru,’ Hinata breathed, like an exertion into the night.
Oikawa’s eyes closed. He frowned as he swallowed, trying to steady his riotous mind.
‘This was always going to be hard,’ the older boy murmured, ‘but you know what you want more -’
Before Hinata could ask, those magnificent eyes snapped open and it made Hinata gasp.
‘Even so. May I,’ Oikawa whispered, ‘taste your skin?’
Hinata’s eyes grew to the size of pies. His skin, his body, between his legs - everything tingled.
‘Or at the very least… smell your skin some more?’
The fire sizzled. Hinata was sure that his cheeks were aflame. He was sweating so much he was sure that his clothes were now drenched.
‘Just your wrist. And maybe your neck.’
Hinata’s heartbeat was deafening in his ears. He was starting to feel like his body was out of control. But Oikawa’s hand was still on his face, and those eyes were still waiting in want, and Hinata felt like surely he and the fire had become one -
‘O - OK,’ he stuttered.
Oikawa’s hand left his cheek and peeled off one of Shoyo’s arms that was resting on his side. Delicately, Oikawa pushed up Hinata’s sleeve to expose more skin before drinking in the young boy’s scent at his inner wrist. It sent goosebumps along Shoyo’s arm. Oikawa closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply and Hinata brought his knees up, closer to his chest, to hide his own reactions…
‘Mmm,’ Oikawa hummed, as if Hinata’s scent were that of a rose or cake.
Oikawa opened his eyes and his gaze met Shoyo’s, still with his nose latched onto Hinata’s wrist. Something devilish in those brown eyes sent a jolt through Hinata’s veins -
Suddenly Oikawa pulled the boy to him, provoking another sharp suction of air as Hinata felt another hand dig and loop around his waist, skin on skin, as his shirt rode up -
Oikawa dove -
GASP -!
And tucked his mouth and nose under Hinata’s jaw, breathing in.
Hinata felt like he’d burst into a thousand tiny butterflies. His hand shot to Oikawa’s shoulder, his thumb grazing skin at the clavicle, as he held on tightly, exhaling nervous breaths. His own skin felt hot like a branding iron. Each breath he puffed was a strain of control, his body like a tightly wound piece of metal.
Oikawa’s lips moved and kissed Hinata’s neck.
Flutter.
Whoosh! -
That tiny hand gripped the tufts of Oikawa’s hair like clutching the body of a flapping bird, and Hinata felt the vibrations of a chuckle against his skin. Oikawa’s hot breath against his jaw. Warm fingers on his waist.
‘How did I last for so long -’
What could only be Oikawa’s tongue, firm and wet, dragged under Hinata’s jaw, in one long lapping lick.
‘You taste better than I imagined.’
Hinata’s eyes were now tightly shut, his heart trying to escape its ribbed cage, this hard tension crying out for some form of a release.
But then -
Coldness.
Cool air.
A dramatic rustle.
Padded rushed footsteps on the ground.
The creak of wood.
Hinata opened his eyes to see -
Oikawa in the rocking chair, facing him, as still as a ghost, hair dark, eyes dark, except for the mad spitfire sheen from their only light source.
Oikawa smiled a tooth-filled grin.
‘Control is how we survive. Control is how we function. It’s what separates us from pure animals, see? To engage with one another, to be civilised, to maintain goodness between humans, one must always have self-control.’
Hinata peered at this strange version of Oikawa and noticed -
White knuckles gripping the arms of the rocking chair.
‘To live just on instinct is foolishness; it is folly. Desire is fleeting. Insatiable. Once one has what they desire, it’s only a matter of time until they start to desire something else -’
Hinata frowned, confused at Oikawa’s soft babbling. But his body was like a coil, and his bones were weary, and his stomach was empty, and the warmth of the hearth called to his tired, steady state, and Oikawa’s voice was like aural nectar for his ears…
Oikawa watched, pushing himself to talk and focus on what he was saying, as that innocent desirable boy wafted into dreamland. Until Oikawa’s pounding heart, screaming taste buds, thirsty nose and trapped blood calmed, he did not leave from the rocking chair.
The fire blazed. That precious sleeping boy on the hearth breathed gently through his nose. From the four-posted bed on the other side of the cottage with its curtains down, long dragging soft drawls came from within, and an exhalation that was laboured, wheezy, and tore holes in Toru’s heart.
As per usual, as per every night, a hiccup of a cough began, crescendoing into a wheezing fit -
It made Oikawa’s heart curl in on itself, curl into a little tiny ball to try and protect itself, to try and stop hearing that sound, to deny its existence -
His eyes darted to the sleeping beauty on the floor; how blessed that child was for being able to sleep through anything. But Oikawa’s ears were too sharp for his own good - how pleasurable it was to hear Hinata’s hearbeat quicken yet how devastating it was to hear this abominable cough -
‘Oikawa -’
Every single hair on Oikawa’s body stood on end.
Had she -?
Had he imagined it?
‘ - kawa -’
Oikawa was over there in less than a heartbeat, pouring water into a cup, helping her sit up, as her weak hand clasped his arm, guiding the drink to her lips.
She coughed and spluttered water all over his hand as she drank while he sat on the bed by her side.
‘What else do you need?’ he whispered. ‘Shall I make you the medicine? Boil some water?’
She shook her head slowly before launching into a coughing fit once again, burying her mouth against her forearm, her eyes red, bulging.
If only mud tasted sweet, if only leaves were digestible -
Oikawa placed his hand on her forehead -
She was freezing cold.
‘Let me -’ he made to get up, to heat something metal and wrap it in cotton and bring it to her, but her hand snatched his arm, frail, but protesting.
He turned to her, still sat on the bed, as she held onto him.
‘I want -’ Cough. ‘ - to speak to you.’
Oikawa felt all the blood drain out of his face.
Oh no.
Had she been awake? Had she heard what had just happened between him and Shoyo? He was deluded. Oikawa had decided. The lack of food gave a lack of intelligence to his brain, and he also questioned his own behaviour - he would repent and claim delusion, because he knew his behaviour was completely self-indulgent -
‘About Shoyo.’
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Was someone hammering his heart into his ears? Oikawa froze like a deer made of ice.
Even with her tired, sore red eyes, somewhere under all this ill health, that spirited, active, astute woman was there, ever watching, ever knowing.
‘About you and Shoyo.’
Oikawa snapped his hand away guilt-ridden, his gaze dropped to her lap, and when he spoke he could not help the tremble in his voice -
‘M-my apologies, Grandma. I’m - I’m sorry -’
‘Whatever for?’
Oikawa’s gaze shot up.
Grandma’s knowing eyes softened. ‘You fed us a deer. We ate because of you. You chopped down trees. We’re warm because of you. Great company and in turn, great spirit, came from you to enliven Shoyo - something which my old bones couldn’t do. Do you think his hope would last if you were not here beside him?’
Oikawa wavered. ‘I - you credit me too much, Grandma.’ He dropped his gaze again, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. ‘I am but a stranger that you took in, an outsider who, without even knowing me, you - you showed great kindness to -’
Oikawa felt his throat tighten. He squeezed his eyes shut to regain control.
‘A-and this hope of Shoyo’s, I fear… I fear -’
‘My child what are we,’ Grandma whispered, ‘without hope?’
Oikawa opened his eyes and found hers once again.
‘I’ve seen the way you look at him -’
Oikawa blanched, cringed, wanting to curl into himself like a ball -
‘I-I’m,’ he stuttered, ‘I’m sorry -’
‘There you go again. Whatever for?’
He peered at her, incredulous.
‘Do you think that I don’t know? Do you think that I can’t tell, the way one person looks at another, with such ache of feeling - do you think I’d miss it? I’ve lived five times over the amount you have my boy, and I was not a prude.’
Oikawa gaped at her and had the sudden urge to burst out laughing.
‘I was also,’ Grandma said, ‘in love.’
Oikawa felt the heat rise full throttle to his cheeks but didn’t dare blink or move or look away; any form of reaction would be an absolute giveaway.
‘And it is not something one can easily hide,’ she continued. ‘Or admit.’
Oikawa swallowed and hoped his Adam’s apple hadn’t bobbed under the cover of night.
‘I know not your life before this - I know not your crimes, your sins, your punishments or persecutions - I do not know if you have been good or have been bad but I do know this: life has not been kind to you and yet… you have been kind to Shoyo. You have looked after him, gone after him, hunted with him, and taken care of us more than I can possibly have hoped. To call yourself a stranger is an insult to my judgment -’ Cough. ‘You -’ Cough cough. ‘Are also my grandson. Have you not done everything a family member would do and more?’
It was way, way too much. Much too much than what Oikawa was used to. Much more than he’d ever received.
A single tear traversed his cheek but Oikawa could not stop looking into that warm, accepting gaze.
‘I -’ Oikawa’s voice cracked, ‘do not deserve -’
‘You deserve every bit of my love,’ Grandma placed a hand over Oikawa’s. Her eyes watered, ‘and every bit of Shoyo’s love too.’
Both were crying now. So much for control.
Cough. More coughs. Oikawa gripped her hand tightly, another hand went to her shoulder to steady her, and to hold more of this old woman who had become his family, who had become dearer than he’d ever intended, dearer than his own hunger. She coughed - a harrowing sound - struggling to breathe, almost convulsing forward, one arm across her stomach to aid her.
She panted for air and Oikawa wished he could give her one of his lungs.
‘Promise me, Toru,’ a weathered hand went to his wet cheek, and this was the most familial affection he had ever received in his life, ‘that you will look after Shoyo. No matter what. No matter what happens. I - I trust you.’
Oikawa briefly closed his eyes as the tears flowed freely now, loose and liberated from all control, cascading over Grandma’s hand.
‘You’re a good boy, a good man, and I only wish - we had more time -’
A sound like the guttural whine of a wounded animal came from Oikawa’s heart and out of his mouth. He clutched Grandma’s hand against his cheek and sobbed, his tears blinding him.
‘There, there,’ Grandma choked, her other hand stroking Oikawa’s hair gently. ‘I am grateful for the time we’ve had together. I’m happy you’re here, Toru. What would this situation be like without you?’
‘Please,’ Oikawa heard his own voice begging, ‘please -’
But Grandma leaned back into the pillows of her bed, her hand fumbling for as far as it could stretch, and Oikawa quickly returned his hand to hers.
She closed her eyes, content with his human touch. ‘I never finished teaching you how to write.’
Her voice felt thin like paper. She breathed heavily through her nose.
‘Forgive me,’ she murmured.
Her breathing was laboured, constricted somehow, a coarseness with every exhalation.
‘But I’ll be home soon.’
Her hand felt weaker, limp.
‘Just a little bit longer.’
A breath like spirit rising above her.
‘Dewi. I told you. They survived. I told you they would. Didn’t I?’
Oikawa stayed, tired, weak, awake, numb, watching and listening the fading mumbling, holding onto that warm hand for hours, hours until it grew cold, even hours after the mumbling stopped. Tears rolled in a steady procession, cloaked in night, slow, respectful, unstoppable. Crying turned to heaving turned to sobbing and back to weeping once again. Shaking, breaking, Oikawa held onto that cold hand as those last moments entrenched themselves deep into the soul of Oikawa’s heart.
He kissed the back of her hand.
‘I promise.’