Level Horizon (Haikyuu!! WingedAU)

Year Four.85; Amelioration & Aspiration

You have escaped the cage, your wings stretched out. So fly. ~Rumi

Part of grief is the loss of innocence, the loss of the certainty that everything will always be as it has been. ~Tanya Lord

~Five Months Later, Early Spring~

Koutarou Bokuto grins at the fiery little ball of a determined redhead as he catches his lip between his teeth in fierce concentration.

They are out on the beach half a league from home where a bend in the coastline sits perfectly for the wind to harshly batter the seaboard and crash against the weathered stone cliff face behind them with a constant velocity. This section of the sand is only available for a few scant hours before the sea swallows it back up as the tides reach again for the rocks, the water already coming back in.

It's brisk today, and Hinata should really probably have another layer on, but Koutarou doubts that he notices. Instead, he works beside him to beat his young black wings twice in tandem for every wave break of the surf near their feet.

Koutarou picked this place specifically for the wind, because it spurred a natural forward motion with the feel of the air rushing beneath their feathers. That, and when spread, they acted like a sail. If Hinata wanted to stay in one place and not be blown backward into the rocks, he had to either push himself forward with those limbs, or close them. And Hinata fiercely desired the sky, so Koutarou knew he'd never cave for the second option. He can't keep it up very long, but he's single mindedly focused, because he knows that Koutarou will cut him off once he falters.

They've come a long way in five months... but Hinata still can't fly.

Granted, they'd spent the first three after Yachi'd loosed his wings waiting for feathers to grow in— really, the kid had been freaking ecstatic when he'd noticed the first one. It was winter, so instead of losing his mind outside, he'd bounced around the house chaotically, his mouth running nonstop the whole day. He'd been such a dynamic mass of energy that Tsukishima had headed into Sheru Bay to see Suga's relatives under the premise that he'd rather put up with actual children over the small spiker.

But even if every tiny step forward had buoyed the redhead, all of those little marks of progress had each been their own battle starting from the moment his wings were freed.

It had taken him at least three days to actually stand without help. And as he'd started to test his movement— even just walking around— he'd pulled stitches... particularly on the side that had ruptured after his tumble in the sand. It couldn't really be helped as the torn edges of skin had been half ragged, the threads not holding that well, but he'd still been scolded by both Kiyoko and Daichi. Bokuto had been unable to help himself.

"Even I never pulled any of Yachi's stitches." He'd cajoled with a grin as the little blond bunting had reset yet another, and the redhead had leveled him with a sincerely unimpressed expression that would have almost been Tsukishima worthy.

"You didn't have even a tenth as many, either. I have two lines going from hip to shoulder. You had a pair of two inch holes."

But that had only been the first obstacle of a mountain of them— many of which he'd discovered simply upon becoming mobile once more.

His back, braced by the long bones of his developing wings to the point of seizing up his spine, had atrophied, all the muscles he hadn't been able to use for over four years pitifully weak. And while he wasn't carrying 'more' weight, the distribution was all wrong from what he'd grown used to. His center of gravity had changed now that his wings weren't compressed under his skin and were instead, trailing behind him once again.