(Flower image stand in until I get time to draw my own Cover Image. Sorry~)
It was probably the blood, you thought. It was definitely the cause of the mass hysteria around you and inside of your head.
It was too loud.
Strings of students stood around you, yelling for more blood shed, all leaning in with some kind of morbid fascination at the crumpled form in front of you and the splatters of red. Cheering was going on, even though you felt absolutely no elation at your "win". Your head was no quieter than the echoing voices in the junior high hallways.
You berated yourself. Dragged yourself. How could you have done this after all the promises you made to the people you cared about: about no longer fighting? You had copious amounts of strength and you had declared that you would keep your record clean the couple of months before high schools began sending out letters. Hell, this entire last year you did your best to ignore the goading students around you, the exact ones who were now here chanting your name, so they couldn't get on your nerves. Ignored their name callings in the hall and the obvious attempts to get your fists aimed their way.
Yet you broke your promises.
But how could you not have? Though you berated yourself for letting the, now still, student below you finally make you snap- you couldn't see any other outcome. They deserved the punches and the pain. After what they said about you and the single student who ever called you their friend - saw past your record and glare- they had already condemned themselves to their punishment.
You had just fulfilled it.
The teachers scurried in, the lonesome things looking spindly and terrified at the grotesque cheering over the pale body of a child. Immediately their eyes found you, your name still spilling from the cawing of the public.
When moving the boy, who was just about your age, at least the same year for all you knew, he groaned something pitiful. The old women coo'd over him, worry etched in their already scribbled features. One of them stormed over to you - but this was an old man and you knew him well as the principal.
The principal of your junior high had taken interest in your family. Specifically you, the "troubled" child. Had pushed and prodded you to talk to him. He wanted to give you a voice, instead of only reading the many letters from your prior schools saying how "bad" you were. He pushed you into joining a club. Got you into soccer (football) and even came to support you at many of your games. He had given you a chance and you had taken it. He said he'd write any letter of recommendation to any high school you wanted if you just went the rest of the year not fighting.
You had really done it this time.
It was the worst fight you had ever gotten into.
You could see the deep engraved disappointment in his features when he towered over you. He didn't say a single word, you weren't sure if he could muster any out of his tight frown anyway. All he did was turn and walk off. Knowingly, you followed.
It was chokingly quiet on the way to his office. Kids stared. At you and the pissed principal, but mostly your bruised and bleeding knuckles. They dripped. From your own broken skin or from the kid's, you never were quite sure.
The office was somehow even quieter. It clashed too much with your noisy jumbled thoughts and you almost wished you were back in the midst of the prying eyes of the shouting students.
For, what it felt like, hours you both sat in silence. It was only interrupted by the quiet tick of a clock and the single distant bell to remind students it was time to head back home, if they had not already run out in their excitement.
He began moving then, when he heard that quiet bell, pulling papers and envelopes from his desk. It was something he had prepared a long time ago but had yet to ever find any need to hand them to you. Your head was hung, ready for him to talk. Say anything. The silence was killing you inside. You realized, maybe too late, that the reason was because you honestly saw your principal as more of a parental figure than your real ones.
With the manila folder in hand he gestured for you to leave, still not a single word leaving his white lips. His eyes avoided your own, had since he first locked eyes with you while in the the fighting circle.
You got up and left, your sibling picking you up with a heavy grimace on their face. As soon as they saw the pain in your eyes and the unshed tears of little junior high you, they took you right home - their home - to take care of you. They didn't open the folder until the next day, which you stayed home from, unable to handle having to face any of your peers.
That's when you found out you had been expelled and would not be able to return.
But that was two years ago. Or a year and a couple months. You didn't really care. You tried not to think about it too much, since you had easily moved on from that shitty mistake- one of your worst ones, yet probably not your last one.
Now you were only worrying about packing up your gear and cleaning up after a team who had run out to catch busses and rides before it was too late. You, the lucky few with an older sibling who had a car, took your sweet time. Your sibling never minded you staying just a bit later to clean up. They understood, they used to take care of a team back when they were in high school. They had been the captain, though, and you were only the vice.
You sling your large gym bag over your shoulder, backpack slung over on your other side, and jingle the gym keys as you start heading out. You were thankful for Karasuno being sport revolved enough that they had two gyms that they let stay open pretty late into the day. Though the soccer team usually liked to practice on their field next to baseball, being inside to do some easier rallies and getting out of the was also nice. Plus, you didn't want everyone sweating up a storm in such chilly weather. That just begged for sickness.
Locking up, you start off towards the parking lot, mind drifting as you trudged along.
Karasuno was your first high school. And you had been here for over a year. That was impressive. You jumped junior high to junior high, being expelled from more than five, you're pretty sure. You and your sibling had moved to a different district, but you still saw a familiar face or two from some of your old schools. At first, there was immediate fear, but once they heard what the other oblivious high schoolers said about you in class and on the field, they seemed to believe you had changed.
The ironic thing is... you hadn't.
Yes, you had yet to throw a single fist at a student at Karasuno, but it wasn't because your had changed your ways, but the student body had. These students didn't provoke you, bully you, didn't say things to get under your skill like your old peers. These students could care less about you when you first entered freshman year. Now, some of them willingly approached you to talk. You had made friends. Some people even admired you.
"(Y/n)!" You look up from the ground, eyes catching sight of a familiar car, and in turn, a familiar face. Your sibling laughed when you snapped out of your daze, waving you over with a big grin.
"Hey Tan-tan," You replied once in earshot, using the old childhood nickname three year old you had created. You still used it, partly because your siblings found it too cute that you, the vice-captain and once feared student, could say something so childish so easily, but also because you could see a tiny bit of annoyance every time you used it. You can't remember the last time you used their name. It's an ongoing joke between you two that you'd had forgotten, or never learned, it.
"I went and bought food," They began happily, a little blush on the apples of their cheeks from their own excitement. You rose a brow as you tossed your things into the back seat, climbing into the front.
"Take out?" You interrupted with a note of irritation. They give you a look from the side of their eyes as they pull out of Karasuno.
"Technically, yes, but-"
"No Tan-tan," You all but whine. "We've had take out every day this week."
"Shut up," They snap. There's no animosity in their tone though, and you watch as they pout at the road. "It's not like I can cook or whatever. Plus. Takeout is so good!" You just snort in reply to their excuse for self indulgence. Don't get it wrong, you were always one who liked to opt out of dish duty for a box of Tai food you could chuck out later, but it was too much. The take out started disagreeing with your stomach and you quickly realized you needed actual food that wasn't covered in grease. This is what you get for introducing your sibling to that new restaurant, though. The one which was just a street away and delivered in less than five minutes.
"This is the last night," You finally relent, seeing as how your older siblings pout had yet to recede from their mouth. "Tomorrow we'll try cooking."
"You say that like you can…"
"Shut it. We'll figure it out. We'll just...do it together?" You can't help but even question yourself. You were clueless about cooking, Tan-tan even more lost than you were - and that was really saying something. You could cook small things, like eggs or pasta, but when it came down to dinner food that was in a wide enough variety that Tan-tan nor you would get sick of it… Well, like you said, you'd figure it out.
The drive is quiet. A comfortable quiet that has your fingers finding themselves on the piece of curling leather on your seat. You had accidently ripped it off the first day Tan-tan had gotten their car. They yelled. Loudly. But now you found yourself pulling at the strip whenever you were riding shotgun and you had nothing else to do.
When you both arrive home, the front door is unlocked.
No, not because someone broke in, but because you always forgot to lock it behind you in the mornings. Your mistake.
While you had early morning practices, Tan-tan had a morning shift even earlier over at their friends little cafe.
Tan-tan throws a stained and ruined apron over the singular couch, along with their bag that looked more like a burlap sack. You almost stumble over their shoes they'd thrown off, sending a half hearted glare as you took off your own foot wear.
The house you two had was small. Which was nice. You knew if it was any bigger the empty space, that hadn't been filled for a number of years now, would upset you. To see empty bedrooms with beds unused and drawers unfilled…
No. You definitely couldn't handle that.
The first thing you run into, after stepping out of the front door, was the shelving of books and photos. It was the one thing you had personally organized/created. It, at first, was just a little summer project Tan-tan had given you. You knew it was originally given to you so they didn't have to do anything more with their house. Just a half-hearted idea thrown your way because they were too lazy to finish it themselves.
It had turned into much more.
It held Tan-tan and your favorite books. Some for continuous reading, the kind that you could pick up at any time, and then others that were never meant to be moved. Stale memories that would be locked away in their coating of dust. Near those, were photos. Most were of Tan-tan and you when you both were kids.
There was one of you as just a bundle of blanket and them proudly holding you. Another of them just in their own crib before you were even an idea to be haved. Then there was your first day of elementary. Another of Junior high. Though, there was only one junior high photo even if you had many more than that. Tan-tan said he didn't like any of those other ones.
There were many photos of you, Tan-tan, and then the combined. A true family collage of just the both of you.
You picked up a particular photo. It was an amusingly personal one for you. Those, the ones neither you or Tan-tan were comfortable enough to look at every time you arrived home, could be found hidden away in sock drawers or under mattresses. For instance, you had one of you and the principal of your last junior high standing proud with a soccer trophy clamped in your hands, stuck behind your nightstand. Would've been on the ground if the wires of your lamp hadn't caught it mid fall.
The photo between your dirty, and you noticed slightly bruised, hands currently was one of those uncomfortably revealing trinkets. The only one of its kind, Tan-tan had noted sometime in the past with a grimace twisting their features.
It was old. Yellowing in splotches and corners. You knew that if it wasn't in it's photo case it would've reeked of mildew. This one in a lifetime photo was taken long before you were born. Before Tan-tan was.
This was the day that foreshadowed your life of mistakes; Tan-tan's life of mis grievances; and the day that two kids would live in a house by themselves too early in their growing years.
The day your parents met.
You put the photo back, turning it down on it's face for good measure. The people in the photo, who both were college age, were unfamiliar to you. You couldn't recognize their smiles, or eyes, or postures. They were strangers to you. Only acquaintances to Tan-tan.
Why had he put the photo back up?
"Food's on the table. Still warm!" Tan-tan calls, peeking out from the kitchen. They see where your hand leads to and a frown consumes them. Quickly you snatch your hand away, almost embarrassed, and throw your bags on top of theirs. They scowl playfully. "Watch it, I have important stuff in there!" You roll your eyes.
"Sure. Like what? A broken phone? A shitty looking notebook? All your love notes to your boss?" They throw something at you then, you don't see it because your eyes shut as you start laughing.
"Not funny! There are no love notes!" They yell, a childlike whine entering their tone. "I don't even like them!" They continue, their voice fading as they storm back into the kitchen. You snicker, going to the couch to snake out your phone.
You tap through a couple of messages- most from your team thanking you for staying late to clean - and head to the kitchen.
Though your entire childhood, and maybe a bit before then, was just mistakes after mistakes, you couldn't help but love where you had ended up. You wouldn't go back and correct anything. Never. You were here, now, with your sibling grumbling at the dinner table, chopsticks in hand with a warm meal before you, and a team of friends looking out for you.
No. You've never once regretted any of your choices.