to avenge the sun (haikyuu)

itching closer

How would Hinata look in death?

His wild orange hair coated in sticky blood, eyes that were fiery with passion and dreams unseeing of the skies above; there is no longer warmth in his shadows and breath. His normally flushed cheeks a tint of blue. It is too still and silent.

It is beautiful.

Fujiwara Kenji's foot rhythmically tapped on the wooden floors as he pondered. He was seated in one of the many study rooms in his family home, while his father was in the dining room having breakfast. He just arrived back last night in Japan for the first time after nine years overseas: completing his high school in Korea, attending university in Argentina, being recruited for one of Argentina's top tier volleyball team, and now here, back in Japan.

One of the reasons for his return was the grim reality of his mother's death. Her funeral would be held the next morning, where the dews of previous rain linger and the gathering of respected figures network as his mother's body lay nearby. It was exhausting to be a picture-perfect image of a devastated son, he knew he should feel the miserable spiral of loss. Some would think it is denial.

But he had expected her death, she was old and nearing her time.

She was bound to die soon anyway.

And so he now dreams of Hinata's death, perhaps his mother's own demise was a good reminder of his inner desire. Having spent years overseas due to the sole reason that was enveloped in Hinata's existence and their prior encounter, thoughts of this orange-haired boy definitely did occasionally intrude his mind.

Maybe more so than not.

The main reason for his return was Japan's national volleyball team. He had been recruited for the starting lineup as a middle blocker alongside Hinata and his friend Kageyama. Fate was a tricky little thing; Fujiwara thought the strings were pulled by the devil himself.

And he relished in that.

The very idea of their little reunion next week made his hand slightly shake with excitement. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to calm himself down. The stormy skies outside rumbled threateningly and reflected his own emotions. It was just too perfect. Seeing Hinata again was just-

Perfect.

Nine years was much too long. He's finally back home to breathe the fresh air. To be in the comfort of his domain, to feel more in control, and perhaps to inflict a little pain. Just for fun.

He missed it. Being overseas restricted him from indulging in his hobby. That is not to say he didn't let himself loose once in a while. He was not a fool; he knew the consequences of keeping his tendencies locked. He knew of his bloodlust that can manifest into something insatiable if left alone.

The first time he killed a man was when he arrived in Korea for the first time. His father had been true to his word and flew him out of Japan as soon as he could to ensure the reputation of the family name. Fujiwara Kenji's scandal would have been a dent to that if he didn't leave quickly.

As he settled into his new penthouse, he did not feel at peace. He thought his goodbye with Hinata would help him come to terms with the situation. But instead he felt agitated, angry, and he didn't know how to quench this building thirst. The view of the city below did nothing to faze him, it was pathetic to be here. He felt frustrated.

Yet, when he introduced himself in fluent Korean to his classmates a few days later, he projected an image of composure.

"Hello, my name is Fujiwara Kenji and I'm the new transfer student," he nodded his head slightly and gave a small smile, "please take care of me the next few months."

Fujiwara was sure he even saw a few girls drool over his tall and lean figure. His dark looks were sure to capture their attention.

Pathetic.

A few weeks into his new life: he was on edge and ready to snap. He sometimes wondered if he could erase one of the more annoying classmates from his life with just a snap of his neck, but decided against it. He knew now that he needed to be more discrete.

And so he purposely traveled to the poorer part of the city where the filth lived and where the dark alleys were a looming mess that he was ready to dive in. He was dressed in all black as usual, with a black trench coat that carried his pocketknife. He slipped on his black latex gloves and felt his heart thrumming with anticipation. His mouth watered at the thought of finally relieving himself of the built tension upon his stiff shoulders.

"Oi," a random middle-aged guy called out to him. Fujiwara took in the bloodshot eyes, uneven stubble, oily hair, and a particular days-old stench of piss emitting from him. "Are you lost? It's dangerous around here, you should get out of here."

Fujiwara smiled timidly, as though nervous and scared, "I- I'm so glad I came across someone. I was trying to find the nearest bus stop but somehow ended up here. Could you help me please? I'll buy you a warm meal as a thank you. Please?"

The filthy man scoffed at his repeated please, "no worries kid, I'll help you out. I don't even need the meal, it's just the decent thing to do, you know?"

"I insist," Fujiwara was now smiling widely. His hands were in a tight fist, hidden in his coat.

I insist that you come with me.

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A/N
This fic will be updated every Friday (or every other Friday)!