A Parliament of Owls {BokuAkaKuroTsuki/IwaOi}

Eleven

Tsukishima remembered what it felt like to suffocate.

At first there are those desperate coughs, that get stuck in your throat, that try to push whatever's stopping you from breathing, away.

Then there's realization, cold and bitter, when your body finally understands that there's no use fighting. The dizziness sets in, your limbs feel weak and unmoveable. You might be able to think especially clear in that moment, you might realize that this is what it feels like to slowly slip into that space between the living and the dead. Some describe this as seeing your life flash in front of you eyes.

The last time this happened, Tsukishima saw Akaashi sitting on their couch, with his knees tugged against his chest and a soft smile settling on his relaxed features. He saw Bokuto screaming in triumph, with his hands balled into fists and his eyes crinkling as they shut tightly. He saw Kuroo tapping his pencil against the table on which books and papers were spread across messily.

The last time he thought he was dying, he couldn't help thinking about all of the things he had. All of the things he had.

Now the pain in his chest was different.

It was a sharp tug, like a knife being driven into flesh and the ringing in his ears refused to stop.

There was blood spreading over torn fabric and confused eyes looking up to meet his.

Kenmas hand was dripping with red as he tried understanding what just happened. His golden eyes widened in shock when Hiro suddenly started screaming.

That scream was what brought them all back to reality.

Tires shrieked as the car came to a violent halt and without another second of hesitance both Kuroo and Akaashi jumped out of the vehicle, guns already pointing in the direction the shot was supposedly fired from.

Tsukishima could see Oikawa and Iwaizumi dash out of the other car, weapons trained on possible locations the enemy could emerge from.

Bokuto was talking, he was talking to the blonde, but Tsukishima was still in shock, emotionless eyes trained on the young man with the blue hair and the pale, pale skin that now faded to a transparent white as his legs gave out underneath him.

Why wasn't anyone as affected as Tsukishima was? Why did no one care?

Hiro was still screaming.

Everything moved too fast, Akaashis fingers were tingling with sudden burst of energy that set his veins aflame.

He could blend out what was currently happening like that, he could pretend that this was just another job, another routine and nothing else. He could lie to himself, tell himself that the man that was bleeding out behind them was not one of his best friends, could pretend that Kuroos hands didn't shake where they clutched his gun.

Those bastards would pay for what they did, they would have to owe up for every bit of pain they caused Akaashi, and his boyfriends, and all of his friends.

The young man took a deep breath and steadied his grip before he fired the first bullet. Paint and concrete rained down on them from where the roof got damaged but all they received in return was loud laughter ringing from the abandoned building.

They were mocking them, knowing, that Akaashi had so much to lose, assuming, that Kuroos calm demeanor would slowly but surely fall apart, just to leave an anxious mess of anger and guilt behind. The assailants were well aware of how much these young men were hurting, and they enjoyed, and exploited, every bit of it.

"You think this is funny, asshole?" Kuroo screamed up to the strangers and followed it up with another two shots that hit ridiculously close to where Akaashi had hit.