Author's Note: Apologies for the delay on this chapter. I've been hard at work trying to get more stories ready for publishing once TDoH wraps up here in a few more chapters. I hope you guys enjoy this one! The Free! fic that I talked about before probably won't be started until the second season concludes. In the meantime please enjoy this chapter and thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews you left for the last one!


til all my sleeves are stained red

from all the truth that i've said

twenty eight

Each footstep is painstakingly slow, as though his legs weigh too much for him to lift them any higher. He's dragging his feet against the ground. The whole walk toward school has been spent with him staring down at the concrete beneath him as he gradually passes it by. His head is full of thoughts of Tomoe. Is she actually talking properly to Kiyoshi?

It pisses him off.

How can she say that he is the one she likes if she can confide in Kiyoshi and not him? His grip tightens on his book bag, his knuckles going white.

While he's preoccupied sulking, he doesn't realize at first that his cellphone is going off in his pocket. When he finally does recognize the sound of his own ringtone, he hastily fishes it out and flips it open—albeit not before getting a glance at the screen and seeing that it is Kiyoshi. He mutters a few obscenities under his breath, and no doubt the person on the other line catches the tail-end of them.

"So? What?"

"She wouldn't really say much to me," Kiyoshi admits in a reluctant tone. "She only told me that she didn't want to go back home because she 'doesn't deserve to.' But she wouldn't tell me what she meant by that."

Hanamiya freezes in his tracks."Wait, where is she now? She didn't leave?"

"She did. I thought she was going to school since she was wearing her uniform."

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. What a complete moron—of course she was wearing her uniform. Didn't he notice how wrinkled it was? There's no way she intends to come to school. "Forget it," he hisses before abruptly hanging up. He stuffs his phone into his pocket as he whips around and heads back the way he came.

It was a long, quiet walk all the way back toward her house. And now that she's here, Tomoe just gazes emptily at the front gate, which has been left ajar. It's as though Michiko has intentionally left it open—hoping that she would come back home.

Tomoe absently wonders if Michiko was ever told about her past in-depth. She wonders if the adoption agency ever even knew itself. A part of her suspects that they must have, because the person who wrote that letter to her was the very man who called himself her father. Since he was the one who put her up for adoption, he should have told them ahead of time exactly what kind of person she is.

But if Michiko does know, and never said a word, that bothers Tomoe. She rather hopes that Michiko doesn't know. It would be easier to think she was accepted into their family out of pity for her background, not ever fully understanding it. To think that they purposefully adopted her knowing what she did would be... Who would do that? Why would anyone do that?

Rather than loiter out here wondering, it would be faster to go inside and see if Michiko is at home. Then she could ask her directly. But for some reason, Tomoe cannot bring herself to move forward. Her feet are frozen in place, rooted where they are. She can't get closer to the house.

A hand suddenly clamps down on her shoulder, and she nearly jumps through the air as she whirls around to meet the culprit. The oxygen floods from her lungs as she gasps. "H-Hanamiya?" One of the last people she expected to see around here.

He seems to want to respond, but instead he bends forever, expelling a sigh of relief. His breathing is labored, and he seems to be struggling to regulate it before he says anything. It takes a few moments before he's able to compose himself. Even then, she can see that there's a sheath of sweat on his forehead. "Why didn't you talk to Kiyoshi?"

Her eyes go round for a moment, then she realizes. "So that's why you called him. You hoped I would spill my guts to him?"

"You didn't," he says accusingly, as though he's mad about it.

"I did tell him why I didn't want to go home. That's what you wanted to know, right?"

Hanamiya stares into her eyes. "That garbage about you not deserving to? Oh, I definitely heard about that. Who are you hoping to fool by saying that? Kiyoshi? Yourself? Don't make me laugh, Kurosawa. What could you have possibly done that you don't deserve to go back?" It doesn't necessarily seem like he's saying that for her benefit. If anything, it feels like he's accusing her of lying.

She looks down at her feet, studying them for a moment before saying, "It's not something I'm going to debate with you about. If you don't believe me, then that's fine."

"It's not about believing you," he argues back in that cocky, condescending tone of his. "It's about the fact that I know you better than anyone else does."

"How can you know something like that?!" She finally snaps and bellows at him, her face red with anger. "I... I'm a murderer." There is a lump in her throat as she finally speaks the truth—what she's been holding back this whole time. Saying it almost seems to make it come true, and her stomach knots up. She feels nauseous.

It's the first time he has witnessed this kind of outburst from her, but Hanamiya is not about to back down. "A murderer?" he echoes back with a hint of derision. "I've known you since we were in junior high. I know what you are, and I know what you are not. If you were a murderer, you would've offed your father. But I was the one who got rid of him for you."

"Do you know why he did that? Do you know why he hated me?!" The tears have already come out, though she feels so angry—not even with Hanamiya, but with herself—that she doesn't even notice they're rolling down her cheeks. She's screaming at him, loud enough to rouse the probing, curious gazes of some neighbors. "Because I—"

Hanamiya's hand suddenly shoots toward her. He grabs her by the hand and yanks her along behind him, interrupting her mid-speech. "Come on, let's go somewhere else. Unless you want to announce your entire personal life to your neighbors."

She's not sure where he's taking her at first, until they arrive at a nearby park. It's empty, of course, because all of the children in the area are in school—as they should be. She wonders at first why he brought her here, of all places. Then she remembers that he found her in a park yesterday. So maybe he realizes that this is a place of refuge for her.

Regardless of the reasons, he pulls her all the way to one of the park benches. It's one of those old, wooden ones that has seen so much sun that it has faded, and parts of it seem to be splintering. Under any other circumstance, she might be apprehensive about taking a seat, but she's not really in the emotional state to be picky.

They sit down beside each other, and there's an awkward silence. Tomoe is surprised that Hanamiya is still maintaining his hold on her hand. She hasn't reciprocated it yet, and part of her is scared that if she does, he'll realize and pull away. So that she doesn't draw attention to it, she peels her gaze away and instead peers up into his eyes.

"Finish what you were saying," he commands. "You were hated by your father because... why?"

She frowns at his audacity. He interrupted her and dragged her all the way here, and now he expects her to spill everything to him? Despite the complaints she'd like to give him, she lets out an unsteady breath before she starts. "I killed my mother." It feels strange to say it, because even she doesn't believe it. But it's not a lie. She really did do it, and she knows it.

Tomoe had always wondered why her brain seemed so foggy in relation to her childhood memories. And she still feels so staggered, now knowing that some of them were nothing more than fabrication. Those memories she has of thunderous footsteps charging to the closet to get her, those were the only ones that were real. But the person coming for her that she was so terrified of wasn't her father. It was her mother.

After a hard swallow, she nervously peers up at Hanamiya's face. She isn't sure what she expects from him, but it certainly isn't the look of disinterest that he's giving her. Part of her starts to feel a little indignant, because she gets the impression that he doesn't believe her.

But then he interrupts her before she can hurl an insult at him. "Why?"

It's a simple question, but it's not one she can easily answer. Tomoe bites her lip. Why did she do it? Because she was scared? Because she wanted to live? There seem to be so many reasons, and at the same time, none at all.

"There, see. It's not something you premeditated."

Her head jerks. "H-huh...?"

"If you have to think about the reason, then it's because you never planned it out. When you did it, you never did it with the intent to kill. Did you?" He challenges her in that typical egotistic way of his, but he isn't using his usual arrogant tone. It almost makes him seem like he's being sincere, although she questions whether that's true or not.

"Long before that, I wished she would disappear. I killed her in my dreams, over and over again. And after she was dead, I felt happy. I think I was smiling. I was glad she was finally gone." She feels numb as she recalls it, and the strangest part about it is she feels like she's talking about someone else's past. It doesn't feel like her past anymore.

Something brushes against her skin just above her right eyebrow. It startles her at first, but then she realizes Hanamiya is tracing a finger across her scar. Her eyes flutter shut. The sensation is strange but not unpleasant.

"She was the one that did this?" he guesses.

Although she can still feel his finger caressing her cheek, she peeks her eyes open. Tomoe nods weakly. "Yeah... it was the same day that I..." She doesn't finish the sentence. Her mouth feels dry—almost like cotton.

"You didn't know this before yesterday," he realizes. "What spurred this on?"

"I got a letter in the mail," she recalls. "It was... from my father. He was released. It said—"

"I can guess what it said," Hanamiya interrupts impatiently. A look of disgust flashes across his face momentarily.

Without realizing it, Tomoe curls her fingers around his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "I... don't know if Michiko-san knows all of this already. If she did, I can't understand how she could ever adopt me."

"Why? What did you do wrong?" Hanamiya demands obstinately.

"Even if you don't blame me—"

"You shouldn't blame you. I bet you just defended yourself, and in the chaos, there was an accident. Let's be honest, Kurosawa. You're not the kind of person who could hurt a fly. You felt guilty about Kiyoshi getting hurt because of your suggestion to me. There's no way some weak-willed, spineless girl like you could premeditate a murder." He seems to choke back a laugh at the very thought.

Although she doesn't feel very flattered at his digs at her character flaws, Tomoe smiles a little bit. The fact that he jumps to her defense so readily is somewhat unexpected.

"As for Michiko-san, ask her. You won't know if you don't ask." Although it's not in his nature to give genuine advice, he does so—albeit with a look of annoyance plastered on his face. And he seems to realize that their hands are linked, because his gaze is suddenly focused in that direction.

She hesitates before loosening her grip, intending to pull her hand away. But that only encourages Hanamiya to tighten his.

"Don't run away," he tells her meaningfully, his eyes searching hers. "If you don't run away, then I won't either." He cocks his head back, frowning.

"What are you running away from?" she asks in surprise.

"You."