Chapter Text
Hinata Shouyou.
He always liked that name, even more the meaning behind it. It’s the name he always goes with whenever he’s on an infiltrating mission and it kind of stuck. They’re not supposed to have an identity beyond the numbers embedded on the back of their left ear, but it can’t hurt to have one, right? Besides, he never did like having to respond to a number.
Not that anyone really cares, though. As long as he carries out his missions and delivers, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.
So he starts embracing that name as his own. He probably had a real one typed in his birth certificate or whatever from a time he couldn’t remember, but screw that, he likes this one.
And apparently, a lot of people do, too.
The syllables of it rolling in their tongues like smooth butter, graced with pleasure and entwined with lust as he gives them the most electrifying, mind-bending experience of their life, offering them the glimpse of what their souls have been missing on, right before leaving them starved and drooling for more when Shouyou has no use for them any longer.
He likes how they beg for him, yearn for him, pine after him, and he has lost count just how many he had toyed with people like mindless, stupid dolls in the palm of his hands. Sometimes, he feels a little sympathy, and can he really blame them? Nothing’s more devastating than to have something and make them believe it was theirs, then claim it right back. But he feels no remorse, no regrets. Because it wasn’t really theirs to own in the first place. He’s not for someone to own.
Until he hears that name spoken in an entirely different way than he’s heard before. It coats it with emotion—true, stirring emotion, and not just desirous ones. He’s heard his name said in annoyance, anger, exasperation, irritation, and each one with very distinct nuances that he can identify. But as cold and harsh those instances are, the warmth of how his name is said in fondness, in adoration, in honest, innocent affection melts all that roughness away. It melts him away.
With his name in Kageyama’s voice, he finds comfort. He finds solace. He finds safety. He finds strength, like there isn’t an impossibility that’s possible. He feels invulnerable. He feels…invincible.
And Shouyou knows, all his charms, his allure, his spell has finally found its match, in every way possible.
He never has to experience a defeat before, but now, sitting alone in this dark, musty, empty storage room, he realizes (and has come to an acceptance) that the very second those steel blue eyes cut through his soul, the first moment that deep, sensual voice wrapped and claimed his entire being, he never had any chances.
The beeping and clicking sound jolts Shouyou from his thoughts. He squints when a bright light filters through the open door, his hand coming up to shield himself—both of them, as he has no choice because of the handcuffs.
Tanaka-san looms on the doorway. He can’t see his face, but he knows it’s not to greet him with his usual boisterous grin and laugh. He approaches Shouyou silently, then attaches something to his cuffs; he pulls, and a string of electricity extends from the cuffs to the other end of the device in Tanaka-san’s hand.
He yanks Shouyou up roughly, but Shouyou makes no fuss; there’s no point, he could get out of this flimsy holding room hours ago if he wanted to. He could easily expose their base right now—the fate of one of the Resistance’s pillars rests on a single call from him back to their base.
But escaping is the least of his priorities right now. None of that is his priority, it’s not anywhere near that list. Not anymore.
“If you try to run, I won’t hesitate to electrocute you,” Tanaka-san says over his shoulders, tugging Shouyou as they walk down the darkened hallway, the metal posts covered in rust, the ceiling open, plumbing exposed, water dripping from the pipes.
“Tanaka-san—”
“Dogs can’t talk so shut your fucking mouth or I will kill you right here. Screw their orders.”
Shouyou presses his lips tightly. He doesn’t care for the threat, he doesn’t care for anything at this point, except for one thing. He needs to be in one piece if he has to carry that through.
And he doesn’t want to give them more reasons to doubt him. Even though he knows that’s something that’s irredeemable.
But he has to try.
Tanaka-san leads him through the winding, grimy corridor until they emerge through the main halls, turning right in the direction of the briefing room.
The rest of the team is in there—although, at this point, he’s not sure if using “team” to refer to them is right for him to do—along with the captains of the other factions.
New faces catch his attention: a tall guy sitting crossed legged in front, clad in an all-white, pristine jumpsuit, the sides and hems accented with teal lining. His brown eyes follow Shouyou as he enters the room, peering through the coffee mug as he sips. To his right is a guy with dark, spiky hair, sharp olive eyes just as cutting with their stare.
Oikawa Tooru, the Resistance leader, and his second-in-command, Iwaizumi Hajime.
He’s pushed down on a chair facing everyone. Silently, Tanaka-san manipulates Shouyou’s chains, and they separate, only for him to attach Shouyou’s wrist on the armchair on both sides, held by electromagnets. An outdated restraining chair—Shouyou can probably free himself in ten seconds, tops.
But he remains motionless, taking in the looks of disgust thrown at him, the sneers and disdain he can practically wade in. A feeling he’s never had to feel before settles and cuts through his gut like a nest of thorns—shame. And regret and guilt. And more than his injuries from the ambush yesterday, he’s hurting as if he’s the one who’s poisoned with the way his chest constricts, sinking in on itself.
Sugawara-san steps forward, face calm, yet Shouyou can feel the animosity, the comforting and assuring aura now gone—or at least, Shouyou’s share of it.
“Tell us your name,” the lieutenant asks, voice even.
“Hinata Shouyou.”
A slight shake in the head from the gray-haired man and then, “Your real name.”
Shouyou sighs. “Special Agent 1021.”
“Your designation.”
“Covert infiltration specialist of the Black Jackals unit.”
There are some murmurs within the spectators but one look from Daichi-san has them all quiet down.
The impassiveness in Sugawara-san's tone doubles, the anger simmering right beneath the calm exterior. “And what is your mission, Special Agent 1021?”
Shouyou tells them all: how he first infiltrated the faction he previously was in, posing as a freelance hitman wanting to join the Resistance, how he dismantled their workings, weakening them before he called in the order for the raid, how he manipulated the captain of that faction, so he’ll recommend him to join Karasuno, his real target.
How his mission is to gather intel and ruin Karasuno from the inside out, to create a hole in the Resistance main attack force.
How he’s been giving them information, from their main structure to their progress in researching for a counter against the Shiro virus. How they succeeded in raiding that stock shipment because of him, how the military allowed them to escape on his orders, to earn the Resistance’s trust and prove his allegiance.
More than half of the room looks ready to kill him after his revelation, and he has no doubt they would’ve, if not for the lieutenant and the captain’s admonition. Not for his protection, no—they’re just not done with them yet.
“The ambush…did you order for that?” Daichi-san asks.
“No,” Shouyou answers in full confidence—because he didn’t. “I haven’t given them anything the past two months.”
“Damn that lie to hell,” Noya-san snarls from behind Sugawara-san, stepping forward, only to be stopped with a hand on his chest and a look by the lieutenant.
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. But, please, trust me on this one thing,” he insists; he can almost taste the desperation in his voice. “Everything I said about Atrocite is true. We need to get that antidote or Kageyama will be dead in two days.”
Sugawara-san snaps his attention back to him, releasing Nishinoya. “We?” he scoffs and Shouyou has never seen him look like this before: pure, utter contempt in his once kind eyes. “There’s no ‘we’ anymore. You’re not one of us.”
Damn. Shouyou didn’t think it’ll cut him to pieces hearing that. He exhales—he has no right to feel pity for himself. “Fine, whatever. But I don’t see any other way you’ll get that antidote without me.”
“Bold of you to assume we’re letting you in on this,” Daichi-san interjects. “And why should we even believe you? Everything that’s been coming out of your mouth has been nothing but lies. Hell, everything about you is one big farce. You don’t even have an actual name.”
“Are we really going to waste time chit-chatting here while Kageyama is on his deathbed?” he reasons. Forget desperation—now he’s frustrated.
“Why do you even care, huh?” Tanaka-san charges, arms gripping both armrests as he looms over Shouyou. No one attempts to remove him. “Isn’t that your goal? You set that ambush up, you fucking dog!”
“I didn't,” Shouyou grits. “I—It wasn’t the plan. I didn’t know the Jackals would be there.”
Daichi-san scoffs, the first real sign of indignation breaking through the face of repose. “More lies—”
“No! I gave them false intel,” he presses, and what do you know, desperation comes knocking back. All his years of mastering and honing his skill as a master manipulator and he’s grasping at straws how to convince them of the truth.
Or maybe that tiny, significant detail makes all the difference—he has gotten so good at weaving lies, painting a false scene, sculpting a fallacy, that being truthful has become his weakness.
But he has to try.
“They—they weren’t supposed to know…” He works around the dryness of his throat, the desperation mixing in with fear—it’s as if he can hear the ticks of every second whittling away, taking with it a piece of Kageyama’s life. “Unless…unless they planted something in me, to monitor my movements—”
Tanaka-san doesn’t let him finish. “How fucking convenient—”
“How is this convenient?! Huh?!” Shouyou barks. He’s done with diplomacy; if they want to be hostile, fine. “I fucking exposed myself, compromised my mission, fucking told you intel that would seal my death sentence, and all for what? Convenience? That’s hilarious.”
“Then why did you?” Sugawara-san asks.
“Because…” he trails, hesitating. The truth, as it turns out, is a lethal self-inflicting weapon, his voice breaking as he murmurs the most honest words he has uttered in his entire life. “Because the only person I’ve ever cared about is dying.”
Tanaka-san grumbles under his breath, “Bullshit.”
Shouyou sighs at that, almost a soundless laugh. “Yeah…yeah it might be bullshit. I don’t even know—” He pauses and swallows the lump forming, ignoring how it grates his dry throat. “Just, please, trust me on this. Kageyama is running out of time unless we give him that antidote. I don’t care what you’ll do to me. Torture me, kill me, I don’t fucking care…just let me save him. Let me…let me do something good, just this once…”
He keeps his head hanging low, eyes squeezing shut. He doesn’t want to see—and if he has the means to, nor hear—the mockery that is sure to follow. Maybe this is why people don’t tell the truth often. It leaves you bare and naked and vulnerable.
The heavy, stretched silence breaks when someone chuckles.
“Wow. I thought I was watching some drama, sheesh.”
The Resistance commander sneers at Shouyou as he stalks towards Shouyou, every step of his combat boots resounding in the silent room.
“I’ve heard about you,” he says, staring down at Shouyou, as if he’s not worth being addressed on eye level. “A vicious red wolf in sheep’s skin. You use seduction and charm to infiltrate, to manipulate others to do your bidding. And I can see how very easily you can do that.”
The punch comes before Shouyou can process it; Oikawa-san’s fist connects with Shouyou’s left jaw and his neck snaps sharply to the opposite direction. Metal floods his mouth and he spits the blood on the floor, hissing as the blow on his face starts to sting, his ears buzzing and his head thumping.
Not even giving him room to reorient himself, Oikawa-san grabs a fistful of his hair, tugging hard as he pulls back, forcing Shouyou to meet the unbridled lividity in those brown eyes, lips curling in disgust as he gnarls at him. “Tell me, dog, why should we believe you? And please, spare me the ‘I’m in love’ bullshit because that’s just too cliché.”
“I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m asking you to trust me,” Shouyou grits, glaring back just as acidly.
“I’m not in the mood to play.” Oikawa-san yanks Shouyou’s hair harder and his scalp stretches, making him wince.
“Your best sniper is fighting for every breath he takes, what proof do you want that he’s fucking poisoned?” he reasons, teeth gritting, both in pain and rage.
“I’m not questioning Tobio’s current state. I’m asking very, very nicely if what you say about this antidote is true.”
“That’s just the risk you’ll have to take,” he says, and with a sneer, he spits, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Traitor.”
It elicits the intended reaction; Oikawa’s smug face dwindles for a second and Shouyou knows he hit it straight at the mark. Then the other man is smirking at him, finally releasing Shouyou’s hair none too gently. “Pot calling kettle black, huh.” He steps back, turning to Daichi-san. “Sawamura-kun, let’s talk.”
Daichi-san shares a look with Sugawara-san, and when the latter gives a slight nod, the captain follows the commander out of the briefing room.
“Sugawara-san, please, you have to believe me,” Shouyou pleads as Sugawara-san detaches his cuffed wrist from the armrests, clinking them back together and reattaching the electric chain. “Kageyama…I care about him…please…”
“You’re asking something next to impossible, Agent 1021,” he answers lowly. He doesn’t look anywhere near Shouyou’s face as he does. “Tanaka, lock him up.”
“Sugawara-san—”
“Shut up. Let’s go,” Tanaka-san grumbles dragging Shouyou up, his numb legs struggling to keep himself upright. He’s determined to make his plea again, but Sugawara-san already has his back on him, giving out orders to the rest of the team.
Their team. Not his anymore.
He keeps his silence as Tanaka-san brings him back the way they came, down again the musty corridor, the sounds of their steps offering the only sound he can hear.
When Tanaka-san pushes him to enter the makeshift holding cell, Shouyou stands his ground. He can take him out, easily, but he doesn’t want to hurt any more of them, his friends—or at least they are to him even if he’s way less than that to them.
Expectedly irritated, Tanaka-san gives him another push. “Get in there, or I will—”
“If you don’t want me to help him, then you do it,” Shouyou cuts off. “The facility’s coordinates are -1.628310, -30.539960. Security is tight, you have to—”
The rest of his words fall on deaf ears as the heavy door closes and he’s bathed in darkness and disappointment.