A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the enormous delay. Couldn't access the Internet (read: general life problems & confiscation of laptop) Here's chapter 9 though. Please enjoy!
A piece of classical waltzes through the apartment. Canon in D, Kageyama identifies. It is one of his all-time favourites. Consciousness creeps back slowly to him and he takes it gently, still rather disoriented. There is the feeling of smooth leather under his palm. He is lying on the couch, then.
How did I get here? He blinks open his eyes.
"Oh, you're awake?" a pleasant voice calls out to his right.
Definitely not Hinata, then.
The source of the voice draws closer- he hears the rustling of fabric- and then an angel- correction, a man- peers down at him. He has never seen this person before, he would have remembered if he did.
"Erm-"
A familiar shout of 'KAGEYAMA!' cuts him off and a dazzle of orange suddenly obstructs his vision. Hinata, with what he determines as a severe lack of grace and gentleness, screams with near hysteria.
"Kageyama you're awake thank god I thought you were seriously gonna die what even was that-"
"Wait, what was what?"
And Hinata gives him a pointed look and he remembers.
"Well, looks like my work here is done," Sugawara comments, "I'll be leaving now, Hinata."
Hinata sends the man to the door, "Thanks again, I promise I'll explain the situation to you soon." Despite Hinata being unable to tell him about their predicament, Sugawara still came around to help the other out, inspire of his curiosity, and Hinata is determined to give him the truth he deserves.
Just… not yet. He still has to sort out his own feelings.
The sound of the door closing brings Kageyama back to the harsh present. The fact that he's been left alone with Hinata registers. He closes his eyes, curling up on the couch, letting the soft sound of piano and violin blanket him.
Hinata's footsteps, almost inaudible on his floor, is agonisingly deafening. It rivals the furious beating of his heart, but only barely.
"Kageyama, are you feeling better?" Hinata asks, concerned. The other still looks rather pale, but he appears to be much calmer than before. A noncommitted hum is directed his way, but the pain is poorly disguised. It hangs in the air like a heavy fog.
Hinata takes a seat on the floor, resting his head on the edge of the couch, where he knows Kageyama can observe him without being observed himself. There is a faint feeling of nervousness, but he knows this will make Kageyama more comfortable with talking. The tension is already starting to diffuse.
"Do you want to talk?"
A beat of silence, followed by a faint voice, "...Sorry."
Hinata can feel a bundle of anxiety behind him, which, despite the situation, he finds absolutely endearing. "I forgive you," he says, the side of his mouth lifting a little.
A shark intake of breath sounds behind him, somewhere to the right.
"I remember trampling on your feelings, and making you cry, and trying to- to kill…" Kageyama's voice hangs at the edge of a break down.
"Are you sure you want to forgive me so easily?"
The question hangs heavy in the air until Hinata says, "Do I look like someone who holds a grudge? Besides, I know you're sincere."
Silence washes over them again, but this time, the ambience is much less tense. Hinata is patient when it comes to dealing with issues of the heart. Kageyama is grateful.
"Hey," he begins, "Can I... can I tell you about my first murder?"
Hinata remembers himself from four years ago, clutching to Sugawara like a pitiful lost child, clinging to his soothing voice as though it was a light to guide him through the dark. The murder was told, then retold, then retold a thousand times more. It tasted of death, but he had to relieve himself of the memory, or it would have consumed him alive.
Hinata imagines how Kageyama must had to handle it alone, with no one to go to, with no one to trust.
His heart aches.
"Of course," Hinata tells the other.
Movements behind him, then Kageyama slides down the edge of the couch, a cushion in his arms. He makes himself comfortable beside Hinata.
Canon in D ends and one of Mozart's follows after a short pause. The sweet melody calms his heart.
Kageyama starts, "Let's see... I suppose I should start from the very beginning..."
When Kageyama turned seventeen, he decided to buy a new laptop.
Every year his parents gave him money, as though he needed any more of it. Oikawa graced him with a tie, but it's not like he would be going anywhere fancy.
Sheltered as he may be, Kageyama knew that the laptop would give him a chance to reconnect with his passion, even if it's only through the cold screen of pixels.
Oikawa's estate offered excellent Wi-Fi and he found the password taped carelessly to the side of the fridge.
Of course, the first thing Kageyama did was to look for volleyball.
Volleyball matches were as intense as he remembered them to be. His hands ached for the feeling of a toss leaving his hand, arching through the air with grace and expertise. It would be just as he remembered- it would be perfect.
Wonder how much longer I have to wait, Kageyama pondered. Surely he'd studied enough already? Oikawa, as infuriating as it may be to have to admit, is a rather good teacher.
Fingers crossed, he sourced for the syllabus outline. The first search result was exactly what he needed. "Should have done this earlier," he mumbled, clicking expectantly on the link.
He read it. Then re-read it. Then re-read it again.
Something's wrong.
Oikawa heard the teen before he saw him.
"I'm three years ahead of people my age, I've studied more than enough, why aren't you letting me back to a public school?" Kageyama all but shouts at him.
Two years had passed, and yet their relationship was still as bitter as before. Perhaps even more so, despite a grudging respect that existed between them.
Oikawa had eyes like a snake, cold, calculating. They didn't scare Kageyama as much as his words did.
"But Tobio," his tutor grinned, "you were doing so well in your studies, it'd be a shame to stop them now. Besides, you've all grown up now, don't waste such a good brain on volleyball."
And the familiar taste of despair washed down Kageyama's throat, as bitter and scorching as he remembered it to be.
He felt a faint fear of drowning.
"I see," he grits out. Oikawa continued to watch him.
Watched as he gave a small bow with eyes downcast. Watched as he carried on with perfect mannerism, walking with grace back down the corridor. Watched as he turned the corner and disappear from sight.
They look but they do not see. They never do.
And Kageyama found himself blinded by red, a brilliant red of sorts, so bright and searing he couldn't bear to scream.
And the red gave way and he looked and he saw. He saw the neglect, he saw the shame, he saw the cruelty of those in his life. He saw everything for what they truly were.
A kind of rage burned in him, it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt before. More than his isolation, more than the deceit, it consumed him to the core.
"My, what a turn of events," he heard his voice speak. The cord in his hand trembled.
Oikawa's bathroom was extravagant, lavishly decorated, with an enormous marble bathtub surrounded by various exotic curtains and draperies. The smell of perfume hung in the air, prepared dutifully by a maid who had long since left for other chores. The water was warm, almost hot.
Kageyama hid behind one of the more discreet decorations. He heard Oikawa enter.
A rustling of fabric coupled with the faint hum of a tune, then the unmistakeable splash of water.
Oikawa took at least an hour each day to bathe. It gave Kageyama plenty of time to carry out his plan.
He gave the man time to wash up, to enter the bathtub, to close his eyes and relax. And then he made his move.
Kageyama slid across the marble floor, footsteps light as feathers. And closer and closer and closer-
Oikawa, still unsuspecting, still relaxed-
The cord in his hand made a sound as he neared-
Oikawa, making an abrupt turn-
His face, alarmed-
Mouth opening-
And then-
The cord touches the water-
The circuit is complete.
Kageyama watched as the man convulsed, body folding spasmodically. The whites of his eyes flashed. A moment or two passed. He collapsed, still twitching, and then the room was silent, save for the splash of water and Kageyama's laboured breaths.
He waited until the water was still again, then left the cord, still connected to the hair dryer, beside the bath. The plug was removed and transferred back into its usual place.
Kageyama felt immense relief.
Oikawa's body was discovered by a maid. The court ruled it as an accident. Kageyama's parents handled things swiftly and quietly. After all, no one was to know about Kageyama's existence.
The funeral was simple and plain. Rushed, even. If Oikawa were to see this, he'd have a fit.
"He was a nice man," Kageyama's mother sniffed into her handkerchief.
"He took care of the kid well," her husband added.
They looked at Kageyama. "I think I would like to try living alone," he told them.
His mother smiled. "Of course, darling, whatever you want." Her relief was thinly veiled.
His father offered to pay for his living expenses, as Kageyama predicted he would. The coward wouldn't want Kageyama to have to find a job, to provide personal information- be they real or forged- that would risk his wife's affair being found out.
Oikawa's various lovers were harder to handle, but all things will eventually settle with time. And a little bit of money, of course.
Love is such a fickle thing, Kageyama thought. But it wasn't as though that realisation mattered to him. He was more than satisfied with living alone.
The red haunted him. With Oikawa's blood on his hands, Kageyama fluctuated between suffocating guilt and deranged high.
Kill, he heard. The voice was his and it flowed in his sluggish head like sweet honey. Sweet, sweet, sweet honey.
Sweet kill.
His second homicide was quick and precise, the way he liked things to be.
Kageyama waited in the alley for her. A prostitute. She had blonde hair, faded from years of neglect, but her beauty was unmistakeable. Perhaps artificial, but still glaringly hard to miss.
He approached her. Her eyes reflected the beauty of the city lights, but she herself was the reflection of an ugly underbelly of the city. Heavy, sickening sweet perfume hung in the air. The skin-tight leather articles on her looked worn-out and uncomfortable. The prostitute's ruby lips parted, ready to deliver a greeting, but she was cut off.
Kageyama held a knife in his right hand. He stuck it in her throat, moving it left, then right, then left again.
There was a lot of red. He felt it dripping down his cheeks, felt his hand becoming drenched in it, tasted metal in the air.
His chapped lips were wet and warm. Kageyama licked them, then the red was inside him. It held the taste of salt and iron and a life that used to be.
He took another life.
Kageyama exhaled slowly. His clothes were stained. There was so much blood on him, but he could only see white. His mind was a peaceful sheet of blank.
Picking up his cloak from the ground, Kageyama slid into it carefully. Every single button was utilised.
Next, a heavy cloud of deodorant. Better than the stench of blood, he thought with a frown. An overpowering smell invaded his nose and he almost retched in disgust.
The walk home was uneventful.
Next day, Kageyama's daily newspaper showed that his victim had a baby at home. Sold her body for the money to feed him. The kid would be an orphan now.
Guilt was like a wall, and he crashed head-first into in, the air knocked out of him.
Wrong choice, the red whispered to him, malicious. It creeped back into his mind. His vision wavered. Rage- this time, directed at himself- burned.
He suffocated in a sea of his mistakes.
"I don't want to feel like this," Kageyama choked on the words, think and sluggish and heavy. An impulse of violence took over and he found a broken mirror on the floor when he regained control.
This cannot go on. He had to do something.
For his third murder, Kageyama decided to pick someone whose homicide he can justify.
What started out as a coping mechanism, became an addiction, became an obsession, became a career, became art.
"I've never had anyone I couldn't kill before," Kageyama says, eyes betraying the faintest signs of wetness.
He feels a tad numb. The numb is not physical.
A pause, to gather his thoughts, then words again, softer, "I could have killed you. I wanted to."
"But you didn't," Hinata replies, "I'm still here."
"Yeah."
Hinata continues, "I could have killed you too, but I didn't, and you're still here."
The two lapse back into quiet, heart deeply bothered by the thought that they could have lost the other today.
Fingers intertwine Kageyama's own ones. "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're with me. I'm so glad we're alive and together and well," Hinata blurts out, breathless.
"Sorry I've fallen for you, but that would change with time, so please don't push me away. I know you're probably weirded out and all, but..." He trails off, unsure.
Hinata is afraid.
"You are my best friend," Kageyama says with all the conviction he can muster, because it is all he can ever give.
That alone is more than enough. Hinata understands.
"I know," he assures the other, "and you're mine too. I'll stay with you, you don't have to be alone anymore."
Kageyama's eyes are a thousand miles away. His jaws, set, tremble slightly. A hand clenches and unclenches, embedding deep half-moons in his palm.
"I'm a murderer, a monster-"
"Kageyama, look at me," Hinata urges.
Squeezing their hands slightly, reassuringly, the teen continues, "Look at our hands. These are not the hands of righteous men. They've fought, they've killed."
"But I don't care about that. I mean, I do- people lost their lives and all- but I care about you as well. I want you to be happy. I want to be there for you."
The music comes to a gradual stop, and they are left in the silence once more. Another squeeze of his hand, a gentle kind of prompting. It is unlike what Kageyama had ever experienced before. He thinks hard about their future.
"Will you still be here, even if I lose myself again?"
Hinata gives a nod.
"Even though I've taken lives of the innocent? Even though I can't promise that I will ever stop?"
His voice is laced with fear. The hidden question doesn't go unnoticed by Hinata.
Will you still be here?
"I'll still be here," he says, because it's the truth.
"Even with these hands stained red."
A/N: Bonus Chapter coming.