A/N: This is the sequel to These Hands Stained Red. Might wanna read that first, lest you get confused about stuff.
(In the end I couldn't resist the temptation to write and so... yeah...)
Updates are probably going to be irregular, but here you go, the long-awaited (who am I even kidding) sequel!
The sun crawls down the horizon like a wounded animal. Night, oppressive, swallows the sky in its absence. A stray dog howls, the lone sound chilling to the ear.
There is a corpse on the floor.
"Hey, Tanaka, come take a look," chief officer Iwaizumi calls out, motioning the man to come closer.
Giving the window one last glance– that was probably how the murderer broke in, Tanaka steps over to Iwaizumi.
"Look at this, what'd you reckon?"
Tanaka inspects the woman. Her hair, snipped off, lays neatly on the floor as small braids. He glances up to her eyes. Two hollow sockets stare back at him. Her eyeballs, having long since been gouged out, rest docile on the table. The eyes fix their unwavering gaze on the corpse.
This type of presentation is unmistakable– this is the work of Sire Noble.
An infamous serial killer, Sire Noble had been on the run ever since a year and a half ago.
(Or, that's what the police tells the public– he's on the run– but in truth, other than a few clues here and there, they aren't any closer to the murderer than they were a year before.)
"Any background information about the victim?" Tanaka asks. Context is very important when it comes to this particular killer.
"Yeah, we found a photo album open on her desk. Some officers have already identified and contacted the man on the picture.
It seems that the lady left her husband when he became a cancer patient.
You're bald, you're ugly, I deserve someone better, her ex-husband quoted her parting words.
Iwaizumi moves to the other side of the victim. "What's this?"
On her left cheek, striking against the cold, dead flesh, is a delicate carving of a single cursive 'C'. There is another small 'x' inside the 'C'. Tanaka recognizes this symbol.
The C stands for Crows. Crows Corporation.
Hitman organization.
He used to work there as security. Not hitman material, but it wasn't as though he would ever be interested in killing for money. Now Tanaka supplies inside information from the police to the various agents there, when the need arises.
"What do you think this sign is?" Iwaizumi asks, scrutinizing it carefully. He has seen this symbol before multiple times, on walls, on victims, on scraps of paper left by killers.
The police determined that it was some sort of identification for an organisation, but now that it's appeared on the victim of a killer that- presumably– works alone, Iwaizumi isn't so sure anymore.
"Don't know, maybe he joined a group?" Tanaka answered, shrugging non-committedly. He's heard from Hinata that the newest addition to Crows Corps is the Sire Noble himself.
I should pay a visit to Hinata, Tanaka decides. It has been a long time, and he's curious about the Sire Noble predicament. Some time ago, the ginger came to him, asking for details about the Sire killings. He was sure that the other's target was the serial killer, but then recently, word has that Hinata was the one who recommended Sire to Crows Corp.
Muttering sounds adjacent to him, soft against the background noises of other officers.
Tanaka casts a glance at Iwaizumi. The head of his division since the promotion a few months ago, this man is a down-to-earth kind of a person, with excellent physical and mental strength. Hardworking, loyal, just– all the qualities a good police officer needs to have. The creme de la creme, it's no wonder he'd be promoted.
"Hey, concentrate," Iwaizumi says, cutting off his train of thoughts.
Tanaka grins back at him, "Sure thing, boss."
He got reprimanded again for his lack of seriousness at crime scenes.
The door to an empty apartment swings open. Iwaizumi feels for the switch and watches in satisfaction as the lights flicker on with a faint buzz.
Stepping inside, he closes the door firmly behind him. A grumbling sounds from his stomach.
"Hello, pizza delivery? I'd like a Hawaiian, thanks."
He recalls his address and leaves a name for the guy on the other side. Kenma, if he remembers correctly. Recently work has been tough and all he has time for is pizza. Rather unhealthy, but Iwaizumi is usually too tired to care.
After a long day of work with a serial killer still on the loose– although the number of homicides have dropped significantly– all he wants to do is to relax.
With a flicker of his hand, he turns on the radio. News reports from a faceless voice rise from static as he sinks into his couch. Something about a recent election somewhere, it doesn't matter to him.
A yawn escapes. Iwaizumi feels his eyelids getting heavier, his consciousness slowly slipping... tethering on the edge...
A loud buzz jolts him back to the present. "Pizza delivery," a muffled voice sounds from outside the apartment.
Iwaizumi opens the door to find a familiar face in front of him.
"Hi again, sir," the delivery boy says. Iwaizumi knows he must been eating way too much pizza for the boy to be able recognise him.
"Hey, Hinata. Here you go." He hands the payment over to the other dutifully, along with some tip.
Before Iwaizumi was about to close the door, Hinata stopped him.
"...You seem quite stressed recently, take care, okay?"
"Sure, thanks for the concern," the man nods. If even Hinata can tell, then I must really be under a lot of pressure.
His sensitivity to matters of psychology- like his own feelings- have never been good.
The pizza fills his stomach nicely. It is the only full meal he's eaten for the day. Washing up takes up the rest of his strength. Housework will have to wait until tomorrow, then.
As Iwaizumi climbed into his bed, the frames creaking in protest, he thought about Oikawa.
It's been a year or so since he'd last heard from the other man. "You were never able to last a week without contacting me," Iwaizumi mutters, "Where are you now?"
Oikawa Tooru is his childhood friend. Rather annoying, rather rich and very clingy, but his closest friend nonetheless. The man disappeared about a year ago.
When he asked Oikawa's various lovers and servants, or, at least those that he could still find, they told him that the man went on a long trip around the world.
It would have been believable if Iwaizumi hadn't gone to his place and checked his belongings. It seemed as though Oikawa had no plans to leave– nothing was packed.
Plus, the Oikawa he knows would never have left without his watch. It was a present from Iwaizumi, after all. He treasures it to an extent that is almost ridiculous.
Sometimes, people don't recognise the treasures they have until it's too late. Iwaizumi feels a sense of detachment from his life. As much as he tries to deny it, the truth is as clear as the light of the day– he misses Oikawa way too much.
"You never told me what job you had," Iwaizumi grumbles, "Rich bastard, at least leave me a message or something."
He falls asleep, as he does every day, in the vague yet suffocating feeling that he'll never get to see the other again.
Mornings give an air of tranquility, but for one of the more spacious apartments in a row of flats, that is far from the case.
"Hinata!" A flustered Kageyama screams.
"Sorry!" An equally flustered Hinata screams back, the bathroom door slamming behind him.
He is so not used to a flatmate.
"I can't help that I'm forgetful!" Hinata laments to himself, face red with embarrassment.
This is the fifth time he's walked in on Kageyama in the restroom, not counting all those other times the other remembered to lock the door.
It's been two weeks or so since they moved in together. Kageyama, whose mother is the wife of a millionaire, insisted on paying for the apartment. Hinata thought he meant the rent.
He got the shock of his life when the documents announced that the flat had been bought and paid for in full.
Seriously, how rich is this guy even?
"Oi, Hinata, your turn." Kageyama emerges from the restroom, looking much fresher than before.
The taller of the two watches as Hinata mumbles a thanks that evolved into a yawn, trudging past him to the bathroom.
Kageyama never thought he'd get used to another's presence living with him, but life is full of surprises, isn't it?
He steps into the kitchen. "Let's see..." Kageyama mumbles to himself, trying to remember what Hinata had taught him. He can fry eggs properly now, so that is out of the way soon enough. Next, five tablespoons of cocoa powder in each large cup while the water is heated, then pour hot water into each cup and stir.
He is placing the food on their dining table when fond memories of the first time they met strike him.
Kageyama pauses, a hand on the cup handle.
If they hadn't collided that day, then Hinata wouldn't have dropped his wallet, and he wouldn't have tried to return it, and he wouldn't have been offered this very drink, and then they wouldn't be here, together, anymore.
Life is full of surprises, he wonders to himself.
Kageyama supposes he could get used to it.
Iwaizumi revisits Oikawa's estate one Sunday morning, taking the longer path for old time's sake.
"Iwa-chan, let's walk this way!"
"No, that's a longer route."
"But I want to spend more time with you, stupid Iwa-chan."
"You're the stupid one, Trashkawa."
"Please?"
"...Fine."
The memory of that conversation resurfaces. Oikawa liked to take long walks with him, despite his insistence that 'solitary walks' are called 'solitary' for a reason.
It's not like he minded much, though.
A small breeze dances with the leaves on the ground. Spring is here, colours are starting to paint themselves on the greens around him. Iwaizumi breathes deeply.
He emerges from the small path minutes later and reaches the gate. The rust and peeling paint stirs up a somber feeling in him. The gate groans when he pushes it, the sound solitary and weighted. A fountain that had long dried up meets his eyes.
"Iwa-chan, watch out!" A pair of hands pushed him into the water.
Iwaizumi swore loudly, stumbling into the fountain with a loud splash. Droplets exploded into the air, shining under the sun like a myriad of cascading diamonds.
"Oikawa-"
Before he could finish the sentence, he was drenched again by yet another splash to his right. Obnoxious laughter fills his ears.
"The water feels amazing! I was almost sure that I'll be fried," Oikawa said, and Iwaizumi agreed begrudgingly. The heat was searing that afternoon.
Still, he couldn't help but scold, "Rich people like you should have better conduct."
Iwaizumi steps around the fountain, where dust has settled into the carvings on its crumbling stones, and arrives at the mansion. The building, majestic, stands tall like the first day he laid his eyes on it.
It feels as though the essence of his best friend is embedded in the structure itself.
Nostalgia wets his eyes.
The hallways are dusty and small clouds start at his feet as he walks. Light from the glass-panel windows casts shadows on the walls. Fragments of the past haunt Iwaizumi.
"Oikawa, where are you?"
The sense of loss feels surreal, but it claws its way into his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. He cannot stop here.
Iwaizumi takes a turn up the stairs. There is a place Oikawa had instructed him not to go, no matter what happens. He didn't step foot in there a year ago, despite his maddening and desperate search for answers.
But Oikawa isn't coming back- his gut feeling is never wrong- and the bastard owes him that much for disappearing just like that.
The stairs lead to a foreign hallway. There are rooms, some empty, some containing things, but they give off a different vibe as compared to the rest of the estate. Oikawa's presence is lacking here.
The hallway is neither grand nor luxurious, but an air of elegance surrounds the simple layout of the place. Plain, yes, but not of bad taste.
Iwaizumi reaches the last room, door closed, unlike the other ones he had passed. Gripping the doorknob, he suddenly feels a pang of anxiety.
What should I be expecting behind this door?
Jaws set, Iwaizumi turns the doorknob. The room is large. Partially bare and partially cluttered, a strange combination. There are books and papers scattered inside. Overall, it looks like a study.
But Oikawa's study is a few rooms down his bedroom, is it not? Iwaizumi's been there plenty of times.
So whose room, exactly, is this?
A trained police officer, Iwaizumi slips into professional mode. Hawk-like eyes survey the area for any form of identification.
He finds the name 'Kageyama Tobio', written in neat handwriting, on one of the papers. Worksheets, it seems.
Who is Kageyama Tobio? What is the relationship between Oikawa Tooru and Kageyama Tobio?
There are writings on some of the books. Familiar, elegant, it practically screams Oikawa. These are notes and corrections, so Oikawa must have been teaching this person, whoever he is. Did Oikawa take up a job as a private tutor? Why didn't he tell me about this, then?
So many questions, so little answers.
Iwaizumi sees signs that Kageyama had packed and gone. Clothes are missing from the hangers, personal belongings and necessities are gone, and there are no shoes in sight.
He notes the name down. Perhaps this is a valuable clue to unveiling the truth.
Iwaizumi takes a little more time surveying the room. This is the place Oikawa told him to never enter, but he did, and he had discovered ghosts of Oikawa he never knew existed.
"I swear I'll get to the bottom of this," Iwaizumi's voice, clear, hard, reverberated throughout the room.
If not for his friend, then for himself, for a peace of heart that had always been out of his reach.
Stepping down the steps of the forbidden staircase, Iwaizumi's feet take him to the ballroom.
"Hey, Iwa-chan, dance with me," Oikawa requested, a hand outstretched.
The atmosphere was serious. The trademark grin was off his face, and in its place is a rare smile, mature, gentle. Iwaizumi didn't know what to say.
"I... I can't dance," he blurted out.
Oikawa's eyes widened by a fraction, "But Iwa-chan, all true gentlemen dance!"
Embarrassed, Iwaizumi averted his eyes. His family was unlike Oikawa's. They had neither power nor affluence. From an average household, it was expected that ballroom dancing was not one of his skills.
Oikawa, still unlike himself, said, "Then, Iwa-chan, I'll teach you how to dance."
"I'll take the female part. First, place you feet here. Are you ready? It goes like this: One, two, three. One, two, three..."
It was awkward at the beginning- Iwaizumi felt wooden, his limbs moved against his will, his steps were jerky. But Oikawa guided him, unusually patient, unusually focused.
Soon he got used to the twirls, the turns, the rhythm of their feet.
And under the crystalline chandelier, amidst the melody from a vinyl record, in the dead of the night, they danced.
That was so long ago. Now, Iwaizumi stands in the bleak and bare ballroom, touched by a faint smell of decay, with only the rays of the sun as lonely company. He is more than aware of how much he misses Oikawa. It is frightening.
There is a grand piano at the corner of the ballroom. Iwaizumi approaches it, and as he does a small black chair at the side of the piano comes into view.
He used to sit on the chair, some distance away from the piano, and listen to Oikawa play.
Oikawa had deft and nimble fingers, like a masterpiece molded by a careful potter. They were the fingers of a composer, a musician.
His favourite instrument was the grand piano.
"The piano is steady, while the violin is fickle. Reliable, unlike the whimsical strumming of the guitar. It might not seem like much, but the grand piano feels like a cornerstone to me."
"Kinda reminds me of you, Iwa-chan," Oikawa added as an afterthought.
Iwaizumi uncovers the piano lid. Black and white stare back at him. Long ago, Oikawa had taught him a melody, a slow, easy song.
His fingers are callused. Years of being a policeman had stripped away his youth, leaving behind a man who is weary of the world and burdened in his heart.
The keys are cool to the touch. Iwaizumi sits on the bench, one foot above the pedal. He recalls the melody.
A light but steady tune, nothing fancy, nothing comparable to the flurry of notes that erupt everytime Oikawa performs, but he holds it close to his heart.
The sound, an art, that his best friend left him. In a way, Oikawa is still with him, still living through the imprints he had left on Iwaizumi.
He spends the rest of the afternoon playing the tune over and over again, immersing himself in a sea of what used to be before.
"Kageyama, shove over," Hinata whines, a pillow in hand.
Kageyama grumbles back, " Go back to your own room."
"But you have a king-sized bed! Not that I don't, but it's lonely sleeping alone."
Looking up, Kageyama mulls over his words. "...Alright. I guess you can sleep here."
Hinata's face immediately lights up like a thousand-watt bulb. With a yell of triumph, he throws himself beside Kageyama, bouncing slightly on the springy mattress.
"Hey," Kageyama immediately supplies, "Don't you dare spoil the bed, dumbass."
The boy beside him simply grins back, seemingly elated. "I'll sleep here every night!"
Wait, what?
He props himself up in alarm, "Hinata-"
"Oops, I've fallen asleep! Snore..."
A groan of frustration sounds from Kageyama, who collapses back onto the bed. The room is silent save for Hinata's- very obviously fake, may he add- snoring.
"...What should we do with your room, then?"
In the end, it seems that Kageyama has given up all hopes of ever reclaiming his bed.
Satisfied, Hinata rolls over to face the other. "What about a guest room?"
"As if we'd be having guests."
"What about another study?"
"What's the point if you're not going to use it?"
"Who says I'm not! But anyways, what about a mini gym?"
"Are you stupid?"
"I– Hey!"
"Maybe we should just leave it empty. It'll be easier to clean," Kageyama decides. They would be doing the household chores by themselves. There's no point having to work extra hard to clean a room that has no use.
Hinata sighs, "I guess you have a point."
They lie on the bed, side by side. Kageyama feels the heat radiating from beside him, hears the faint breathing in the silence of the night, and he finds himself suddenly nervous.
A hand drapes itself over his arm.
"Hey, relax," Hinata says softly, "It's not the first time we've fallen asleep together."
"I know, I just–"
Just what? Why am I nervous?
"This is different from before. We're different from before," Kageyama sighs, "Just give me some time to get used to it."
Previously, he didn't know that the other had a crush on him, and he thought that if Hinata didn't feel weird sleeping by another guy, then he wouldn't mind either.
But now? Kageyama finds himself looking out for Hinata, being meticulously careful as to not hurt him emotionally.
Is this alright for him? Does he want more from me? Does he expect anything?
(He still remembers that one time Oikawa broke up with that lady who didn't handle the news well. A catastrophe, if he says so himself.)
But of course, this is Hinata we're talking about.
"Oh? So Kageyama is actually a shy boy?" the ginger sniggers, snuggling closer to Kageyama.
"Stop talking rubbish and go to sleep already!" came the flustered reply.
Seems like he hadn't needed to worry after all.