It was surprising but not unexpected when the thought suddenly entered his mind. He'd thought about it before, passing thoughts that he'd scoff and laugh at when alone and brush off like a feather in the wind when with company. Going about his every day business, doing nothing out of the ordinary, putting all the bad stuff behind him and moving on to something better, something brighter. All the darkness was in the past, gone, unchangeable in its horrifying certainty of existence. It had happened, but it was done.
So why now, was the true darkness settling in? Why now was his mind eating itself from the inside out? Why was he crumbling now?
Kageyama briskly wiped himself down, eager to get into his warm tracksuit and long sleeved shirt he used to sleep in, before he froze in the chilly winter air. Lazy thoughts drifted through his mind, volleyball, sneaking a snack before bed, how annoyingly loud Hinata had been over the phone, that song he could only remember the music to. He could feel it coming on, knew it would be bad day from the moment he woke up with that familiar, unwelcome, tumultuous, heavy presence in his head. He ignored it and shoved his legs through the legs of his tracksuit pants, focusing on the music replaying from start to finish in his head.
Pause. Start.
He frowned as he pulled his shirt towards him.
Pause.. Start.
The churning grew as he tugged his shirt over his head and stood, pulling it out and dropping the hem so it fell to his hips. He stared himself down with irritation through the mirror.
Pause...
Silence
He turned away, mind settled, weighing upon his psyche like a demon ready to consume him whole.
I want to die.
It wasn't the first time he'd thought this, nor would it be the last. But there was something overwhelmingly more abundant in the meaning of the words.
Kageyama stopped, chest seizing for air. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and let the words repeat.
I want to die
Do I want to die?
Yes
That voice again.
The little devil who came with the dark disintegration of his mind. The one the words usually came from.
Not this time though. This time.
The words were solely his own.
I want to die
He wondered back to his room, sat at his desk and pulled his legs up onto he chair with him before resting his forehead on his palms scene after scene of ways to end his own life rushing through his head. Car accident, slit his wrists, smother himself, hang himself, drown himself, drive a kitchen knife through his own chest, 'fall' from a cliff, jump off a high rise. Edges always did fascinate him, one small slip, a slight misstep or clumsy manoeuvre and his life would be in danger. What would it feel like to hit the ground? he wondered.
He smiled, sat straight and leaned back in his swivel chair with a content sigh. He wanted to die. That was ok. He wondered if one day, something would make him want to live.