June 24th, 2018
The daily life of Kuroo Tetsurou was enviable. Recently, he had moved in with his superstar girlfriend in a posh neighborhood. Now, his typical daily routine consisted of heading to work—stopping by the coffee shop for an iced americano before his train left—speaking with several big names in the v-league, and returning home to Oishi for amazing sex. Truly enviable.
But today...
"Sir." A vein throbbed in Kuroo's cheek as he forced a smile at the blue-haired man-child sitting opposite him. "We're going for a more 'family friendly' advertisement. What you've just, ah, described to me... Doesn't really fit the brief." I gave up my Sunday for this? His superior had assigned him to this task last week but if he had known how difficult his clients were, he would have protested.
"What do you mean?" complained b-league star Aomine Daiki.
"Well, sir," Kuroo said through gritted teeth. "Scantily-clad 'bikini babes'," he did air-quotes, "as you've so brilliantly sketched out for me here," a finger tapped on the piece of paper with disproportionately well-endowed stick figures, "unfortunately do not meet our family friendly criteria."
His current project was quite an important one—a collaboration between the v-league and the b-league to draw more fans into the sports. There would be a laid-back exhibition match happening soon where the players would be swapping sports, and Kuroo was in charge of coming up with several promotional billboard designs with the players that would be featuring on the signs.
"If the honkers are the issue," Aomine argued. "I could always pose like this"—he threw his arms out—"and boom! Boobs covered."
"You are not a clown," said Hoshiumi. "You are the entire circus."
With how frustrating Aomine was proving to be, Kuroo had almost forgotten that there were more people sitting at the table with them. Some were even eating fried chicken, taking the opportunity away from their coaches to indulge in junk food.
"What was that, small-fry?!" Aomine glared. "You're, like, the size of my bicep."
"I could take out your kneecaps, you tall freak!"
"No one's taking out anyone's kneecaps," Kuroo placated with a sigh. I don't get paid enough for this. "I'd appreciate it if you gentlemen would refrain from brawling like grade schoolers, thanks." As he said this, he gave the rest of them—Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kiryuu Wakatsu, Kiyoshi Teppei, and Takao Kazunari—a hairy eyeball. Three volleyball players and three basketball players. Each billboard design had to include one player of each sport. "Okay. Let's start small. We should decide who should partner with who in each picture."
"Anyone but him," Hoshiumi and Aomine said at the same time, glaring.
At this rate, Kuroo would have better luck drawing names from a hat. Massaging his temples, Kuroo turned to the silent players. "What about you guys?"
"I don't mind," Ushijima said, unhelpfully.
Kiryuu scratched his cheek, a little shy. "I can work with whoever."
Kiyoshi echoed their sentiments, and Takao said nothing because he had somehow fit a whole chicken drumstick in his mouth.
"Right!" Kuroo clapped his hands together, doing his best not to cry and flip the table over. He'd probably pull a muscle doing so. "Names out of a hat it is, then!"
"Isn't that a bit degrading?" Takao finally swallowed his chicken.
"Yeah," agreed Hoshiumi, crossing his arms. "We're not elementary school kids."
"Really?!" Kuroo's eye twitched. "Because I sure as hell can't tell the difference right now!"
By the time Kuroo had managed to make them do anything productive, half the day was over. It was four in the afternoon when they all went their separate ways with a promise to meet again next week. Naturally, Kuroo had to foot the bill for six famished professional athletes.
He could not wait to get back to his girlfriend.
Then his credit card declined at the counter.
Kuroo groaned, passing one hand through his hair and ruining the effort he had put in to gelling it this morning. His natural bed-hair was hard to tame, goddammit. "Sorry about that," he apologized to the unimpressed cashier. "Um, do you take cash?" He sifted through his wallet. Empty. "Actually, on second thoughts, lemme just run down to the bank quickly—"
"No worries. I got it."
Kuroo whipped around, gawking at the tall woman who was now tapping her card at the machine. The payment went through, the machine spitting out a receipt. "You didn't have to—"
"No, really." She grinned at him, and it was like looking in a mirror. "I wanted to."
Wait... She's...! "Do... Do I call you 'big sis'?" Kuroo asked, lamely.
Kuroo Rina giggled. "Just Rina is fine."
Kuroo hadn't spoken with his big sister since he was about seven or eight. Dad had gotten custody of him, and mom had taken Rina with her. "You were at the trial," Kuroo remembered with no small amount of awe. "You testified against that scumbag!"
They ended up seated at a table with two iced americanos. Apparently, Kuroo's favorite was also Rina's favorite.
"How did you find me here?" Kuroo asked.
"It was coincidence, actually." Rina slurped her drink. "I live around here. Me and the hubby have a nice house down the road."
"You're married?"
"Not for love," Rina felt the need to share, "My hubby's sweet, but he's not really my type. We are married, though, and I did convince him not to sign a prenup... I have basically nothing to my name except a secret savings account, so you can probably tell how divorce will turn out if it comes to that."
"Oh, you are evil."
Was this what his sister was like? He could barely recall anything about her personality as a child, but she seemed downright awful now. Kuroo didn't mind, though, strangely enough. In fact, he found it difficult to imagine her as anything else.
"I'm only evil if we get divorced," Rina said, wisely. "If we don't, then I'm a sweet lil' wifey. So what are you up to, Tetsu-kun? Oh, can I call you that?"
Kuroo waved her concern away. "I don't mind. I'm a junior executive now. I work for the JVA."
"You're in the porn industry?!"
A few judgmental eyes shifted their way.
"Japan Volleyball Association!" Kuroo cried. "Not Japanese Adult Video!"
"Oohhh! That's so cool of you, Tetsu-kun!"
Kuroo turned his nose up. "Right? Aren't I awesome?"
They talked into the evening. It was almost six o'clock when Rina asked, "Do you think we should go see daddy sometime soon?"
"Dad?" Kuroo cocked his head. "Do you want to?" Now that he was a working adult, he didn't see his father as much.
"Yeah! We could go have dinner with him at Tokyo Tower or something." Rina smiled. "I haven't seen daddy since I was a teenager. Well, there was the trial, but that was super wack and totally doesn't count..."
I guess it could be nice to visit dad. Kuroo regarded Rina with caution. Though they were sibling, she was still essentially a stranger to him. Not to mention her shady personality... Rina was exactly what people thought Kuroo was like when they first met him.
Rina sighed, dreamily. "You've grown, Tetsu-kun. You were young back then, but I wasn't. I remember how small and cute you used to be. I can't believe my adorable little brother is now this crook-looking guy."
"Who're you calling a crook?"
There was little harm in giving a family outing a shot. He had no idea what his mom was doing now, but he assumed Rina would be taking care of that matter. Musashi and Kuroo would be able to smell a scam from a mile away, anyway.
"How's daddy?"
"Pretty good. He's not taking the loss too hard. To be honest, I get the feeling that he didn't even want to win in the first place."
Rina was sympathetic. "When your clients are monsters, it's easy to assume that you're one, too, huh?"
"Too easy."
His big sister paid for the coffees between lighthearted promises to certainly have a family reunion sometime soon.
Kuroo Tetsurou—
Yes, his life truly was enviable.
June 25th, 2018
Kageyama walked a few paces behind Hinata, backpack slung over one shoulder. The sleeves of his jacket were rolled up due to the summer heat—it'd been colder this morning, but it was starting to warm up considerably now. There was a lecture today, but he would catch up later online. He craned his neck, peering up at the treatment centre. There wasn't much color to it, though it was more modern than Kageyama would've expected.
Hinata was holding a map of the grounds. "This is it," he said, scrutinizing the building in similar fashion. "Hey, Kageyama?"
"Hm?" Kageyama stopped beside him, glancing down.
"I'm scared," Hinata confessed.
"Dumbass." Kageyama jabbed his knuckle into the crown of Hinata's skull. "What are you so afraid of? She's your sister." And she was alive. Hinata's sister was alive.
"Exactly."
"You're scared of your sister?"
"I'm scared of what I'll find." Hinata faced forward, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. "They said she was getting better... But what if she isn't? What if she relapsed?"
His fears gave Kageyama paused. Hinata was usually so self-assured and outgoing that it was hard to forget that he harbored insecurities just like everyone else. What should I do? Hug? Kiss? Tell him it's okay? Eventually, he said, "You won't know unless you go in."
Hinata squared his shoulders. "You're right. Come on, Kageyama!" He laced his fingers in-between Kageyama's and pulled him toward the building.
Kageyama stood to the side as Hinata spoke with the receptionist. A sheet on a clipboard was brought out from behind the desk, and Kageyama and Hinata both signed their names in the appropriate boxes before being given visitors passes.
The lanyard made the nape of his neck itch. He put up with it, not saying a word as Hinata muttered Natsu's room name over and over again, checking each door carefully. Kageyama spotted it first. "There." He pointed at a door with the sign 3A on it. "That's her room."
"Eep!" What a strange noise Hinata had made. It had almost sounded like the peeping of a baby bird. But Hinata was not a baby. Nor was he a bird. Kageyama chucked him a look. "Oi! Don't make that face at me!" Hinata wiped his hands down his jeans. "I'm just nervous, okay?"
"Then don't be nervous."
"It's not that easy!"
Apprehensively, Hinata raised his fist. Then he tapped on the door. Once. Twice.
"Come in!" a muffled voice, distinctively female, replied.
"Oh my god," Hinata muttered, breaking into cold sweat. "Kageyama, hold my hand."
Kageyama obliged.
With one shaking hand, Hinata pushed down on the door handle. The first thing Kageyama registered was the way the curtains were blowing back, window wide open. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, a figure blurred into view. A head of faded orange—naturally unruly and curling down her back. Facing the window, she was in pajama-like wear, her feet disappearing into fluffy brown slippers.
The girl, all of sixteen years old, turned.
Kageyama blinked.
"Natsu!"
The next thing he knew, Hinata had vanished from his side.
Seeing it was best to allow them some space, Kageyama stood back, lingering at the doorway. I should look away, a part of him thought, but Kageyama couldn't.
"Shouyou!"
It didn't take long for Hinata to start bawling. Natsu wasn't far behind either, but she was doing a better job at holding it together than he was. She lost to herself eventually, sniffling and hiding her face against Hinata's chest like a young child.
Kageyama receded further back, well aware he was intruding on an extremely private and intimate moment. Not sure what to do with himself, Kageyama fiddled with the straps of his backpack, a certain discomfort crawling under his skin.
By all means, it was a happy event. After two years of zero contact, Hinata had finally gotten to see his sister again—and she was no longer unwell. Kageyama had seen some of the drug-addicted kids during his stint in juvenile prison. They'd looked constantly on the verge of death. And Natsu, she—she was the opposite. Cheeks round and glowing under the sun. A little pale, but some time outdoors would fix that.
I should be happy for him.
And he was.
He gripped the fabric of his shirt, over where his heart beat. This has nothing to do with me. So why...? Kageyama closed his eyes, imagining their arms wrapped around him, too. Only they weren't Hinata and Natsu, but rather—
Miwa, mom, and grandpa, too.
Their absence hit him like a truck, tearing him into pieces and grinding what was left of him into the pristine floors of the centre.
I'm...
Kageyama swallowed back the bitter pill.
Hinata was laughing at whatever Natsu had said, one hand ruffling her hair.
I'm so jealous of you, Shouyou.
It felt so wrong.
He didn't want to be jealous.
All he wanted was—
"Why're you just standing there, Bakageyama?!" Hinata waved him over. His tears were dry now. "Come meet my little sister, you big jerk!"
"Eh?" Kageyama flinched. "But I'm not..."
I'm not family.
Sensing his reluctance, Natsu went over to him, the soles of her slippers slapping against the ground. "Hello," she said, smiling warmly at him. "Shouyou was just telling me about you. I'm Natsu, by the way! It's nice to meetcha."
"Ah..." Kageyama glanced down at her, feeling large and out of place. She was so much shorter than him, and thin as a twig to boot. "Nu... nuff... Nice to meet you... I'm... Kageyama... Tobio."
"Knife?" Hinata snickered as he made his way over to where they were standing.
Kageyama's lips puckered sourly. "Shut up, dumbass!"
"Wahaha! Says the one who can't even speak to my teenage sister!"
Natsu let out a loud, belly-deep laugh. "Leave him alone, Shouyou! I can't let you bully my future brother-in-law like that."
"Brother-in-law?" both of them echoed in unison, color rising to their cheeks.
"Oh, please. It's totally obvious." Natsu grinned impishly. "I'm not blind, you two. Tobio-nii," Kageyama nearly choked on his spit, "as long as you treat Shouyou right, we're cool. You can do that, right?"
Hinata flushed even redder. "Natsu—"
"Yes," promised Kageyama. "I can do that."
"Welcome to the family, then, Tobio-nii." Natsu's smile dimmed somewhat as she added, "It's not a very big one. Just the two of us. But," here, her smile brightened once more, "We'd love to have you around! Right, Shouyou?"
Still taken aback by Natsu's straightforwardness, Hinata cleared his throat in an attempt to deepen his voice. "Uh—right."
"Family?" It seemed all Kageyama could do today was repeat words. The notion cycled around his brain before it finally smacked him between the eyes. "Huh. Family."
"If you'll have us," Hinata said. "We'll make you an honorary Hinata."
"I," Kageyama started, stammering. "Yes. Sure."
"Pfft! Relax a little, Bakageyama!"
"Yeah!" chimed Natsu. "Loosen those shoulders!"
Family... Pure, unadulterated joy welled up in his chest. Kageyama didn't bother fighting down a wobbly smile as he tried to let his shoulders sag. "Alright, alright. We're family. But," he tacked on, "I think... I have to make a phone call."
Whether or not the Hinata siblings had accepted him as one of their own—
I still need to do this.
She—
She's family, too.
They let him go without any fuss. Kageyama ducked out the hall, phone already in hand and thumb hovering over the number collecting dust in his contacts. The name he had assigned her was terribly impersonal. Cold, even. His heart pounded, and he regretted ever talking down on Hinata for his earlier anxiety. This must've been what he felt like. He worried his bottom lip.
I can do this.
I can.
I can.
I—
Kageyama pressed down.
The dial tone started up, tapering off at measured intervals.
Time seemed to slow to crawl.
He was beginning to think that she wouldn't answer. Kageyama was about to let his arm fall to the side when a click sounded.
"Hello? Is... Is that you, Tobio?"
Kageyama's mouth went dry. Silently wetting his lips, he nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him.
"Hey, mom."
July 1st, 2018
He panted as he ran, eyes blown wide and coat whipping behind him. He smelled like work—like dust and ashes and smoke. When he'd heard the news, Matsukawa had immediately told his boss of the circumstances and dashed down to the station to catch the next train to Sendai.
It can't end like this.
But the end was near—looming over him like a great shadow.
And nobody would be facing this end except for him and him alone.
Matsukawa arrived at the hospital at record time, wind at his heels.
There were some relatives waiting in hallway outside Hanamaki's room. Matsukawa recognized one of them—the aunt that had taken Hanamaki in when he was twelve and still coping with the death of his mother. There were several more aunts and uncles, most of them unfamiliar to him. He had severe doubts that Hanamaki even knew most of them.
They were silent and solemn, only reacting when he appeared in their peripherals.
"How is he?" Matsukawa demanded. "Makki—Hiro—he—"
"Don't worry. We waited for you," said an aunt.
Am I supposed to be fucking grateful? Matsukawa couldn't calm his racing heart. He supposed he shouldn't have expected anything more from these people. They owed him nothing—he was lucky to even be able to get to see him for the last time before they pulled his life support.
It'd been just a little over two years.
I should write a book, Matsukawa told himself, mind fogged over like he had taken too many painkillers. What should I call it? 'On love and loss'. Something pretentious like that, but not completely out of left field.
"Go," an uncle encouraged, nudging Matsukawa forward.
"Don't touch me," Matsukawa snapped, jerking away from him. "God, just—don't. Please. I—I'm sorry." Without waiting for a response, Matsukawa entered the room, closing the door behind him.
We were always laughing, the two of us.
Matsukawa sat down at Hanamaki's bedside, a numb horror settling over him.
Look's like I get the last laugh after all.
"Hey," said Matsukawa. "Did you know? You were wrong in the end. It wasn't him. It wasn't Iwaizumi." He closed his eyes. "You stupid, stupid fool. You should've seen the trial. I think—I think you would've liked it, even if it meant that you were wrong." Deep down, I know you wanted to be wrong, anyway.
The rise and fall of Hanamaki's chest was barely noticeable. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, obscuring the hollowness of his cheeks. The doctors had shaved his hair—had kept shaving it for the sake of easy maintenance.
He could still remember the call.
"It's been two years already. We can't afford to keep him like this any longer. We don't have the funds, and it's simply cruel to let him exist as a shell."
They'd mentioned the money first.
"It's the first of the month," Matsukawa chatted to Hanamaki, lacing his fingers behind his head. "We get some real freaks coming in. Some mama's boy wanted to snort her ashes. People are fucking weird. We had to keep watch over him during the bone-picking to make sure he wouldn't try anything funny. He kept yelling: 'Mama Michiko! Mama Michiko's lovely bones'! Like I said. Fucking weird. Right?"
No answer.
Only the steady beep of the heart monitor.
Matsukawa drooped. I don't know what the hell I was expecting. Some miracle? He clasped his hands in front of him—so tightly that his knuckles began to balk. Wake up, Hiro. Wake up.
Nothing happened.
"Please," he whispered. "Wake up, Hiro. I'm here. I'll be here if you just open your damn eyes."
How did things come to this?
Logically, Matsukawa knew. Hanamaki had been pushed over the edge by Oikawa's death. From mood swings and depressive episodes, Matsukawa hadn't known what to do with him. But he had always kept him close, even following him to university despite originally having no intention to do tertiary education. How ironic it was, that Matsukawa had completed his university studies when Hanamaki had dropped out. The reason was so ugly and raw that he didn't even want to think it.
Depression and drugs were never a good mix.
He remembered—remembered when Hanamaki had left a trail of forged receipts for the police to follow right to his doorstep. They'd arrested and charged him, and Matsukawa thought that was the moment Hanamaki's life had truly been over. They'd lost contact shortly after that. Sometime later, Hanamaki's relatives had called him and informed him (and a few others) of his condition.
Hanamaki had survived an overdose. Whether he would ever wake up or not was another story, though. The doctors gave it a nigh zero percent chance.
"Even if he did," they'd said. "He'd live as a vegetable for the rest of his life."
Matsukawa rubbed his eyes.
Again, he asked himself, How did things come to this?
Again, logically, he knew.
He just didn't want to accept it.
He couldn't.
I don't want our story to end like this.
But it was coming to a close anyway, and nothing he said or did would change that.
Matsukawa did not cry or scream. He was still and silent—a sullen ghost. I've already seen death many times. What's one more? But, no—this was different. Undeniably different at its core. This was Hanamaki.
He covered his mouth with his hands.
He wanted to vomit.
Hanamaki couldn't die. God, was he an idiot or what? He worked in a funeral home—saw bodies wheeled in and out and turned to ashes every day—and yet he had never considered Hanamaki's mortality.
There was no life after death. This was Matsukawa's belief. Which also meant that this would be the last time he ever saw Hanamaki.
"I'm not ready," Matsukawa said out loud, taking Hanamaki's limp hand in his own. "Makki... Makki! Hiro! Wake up! Wake the fuck up!"
Silence.
Why can't I cry?
Matsukawa palmed his face. His hands were cold and clammy.
He tried to summon tears but they never came.
This—this thing that was building up in his chest—it wouldn't go away.
They hadn't told him how much time he had, had they?
Matsukawa took Hanamaki's hand again, squeezing once before slumping—carefully—over his still form. He was still warm. Alive. Skinny and atrophied but alive. Matsukawa closed his eyes, his cheek pressed against Hanamaki's blanket-covered abdomen. "Goodbye," he croaked, thumb grazing the back of Hanamaki's pale hand. "I should probably say it now, right? But... I don't want to say goodbye yet."
Never in his life had Matsukawa wanted so badly to believe in a god. The existence of a god meant that something existed after death—whether it was heaven or another earth or the same one but with different shoes to walk in.
"I'm going to write a book," Matsukawa told him. "You have to be there. See it get published. Pull me back down to earth when my head gets too big. We all did that for Oikawa, and since he's not here to return the favor, it's up to you."
His hand shook.
"Please."
A strangled sob finally emerged.
"Please don't leave."
Hanamaki's relatives found him hunched across their nephew. They helped him up and out of the room, doing him the only kindness they could by making sure he wouldn't look back as the heart monitor took a sharp but anticlimactic descent into a flat line.
At seven in the evening, Naoko got the text.
[Matsukawa]: He's gone.
Her gut clenched.
[Naoko]: I'm sorry.
A/N: There was a reference to an otome game (Liar! Uncover the Truth) in here somewhere. Also, if you noticed, it gets progressively depressing as the chapter goes down. Lmao.
