Sweet Dreams, Hot Scenes [kagehina]

Chapter 2: Scenery

His mother was dead.

Kageyama's mood was somber as he approached the apartment building he had lived in as a teenager. He still couldn't believe it. One day he was talking to her on the phone, and the next she was dead. They'd said it was an aneurism, that it was quick and painless, that there was nothing anyone could have done. But fuck, he should have been able to do something. He should have taken better care of her, kept her safe. He should have been more adamant about her leaving this place and coming to live with him in Tokyo. Maybe if she'd taken it easy, let herself be pampered, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe he'd have been there when it happened and would have been able to call for help. Maybe... Fuck, he would maybe himself to death and it still wouldn't change the fact that his mother was gone.

Kageyama physically tried to shake off the thoughts as he took in the surroundings. They hadn't changed much such he left for college six years ago. The same bakery, Sweet Dreams, and Ukai's convenience store remained on the ground level. The building still looked a little shabby, still the same gray paint that had been there when he left. Looking toward the corner, there was still, Kageyama noted grimly pulling his mouth into a line, an element in this neighborhood that made him uneasy. Along with the hard-working, middle class families, some of the residents of this neighborhood were of more questionable character. He could tell by the very suspicious-looking young men who loitered by the corner with their hands stuffed into their pockets.

There had always been some sketchy people in this area. Some who had grown up in less than model households, some who simply lacked supervision because of a single or working mother. There were those always trying to feel better about themselves by putting others down. He and Enji, his best friend through his teens, had some skirmishes with those types, yes and some outright fights, but he had learned how to take care of himself when the need arose, and how to avoid situations when he knew he couldn't win. And he had learned, quite tragically, that some people just were not able to rise above their own circumstances. That was when Enji, son of a drunken bastard of a father, drank himself to oblivion and drove himself into a tree at the tender age of 17. On that day, Kageyama had resolved that Enji's fate, and the fate of those like him, would not be his own. He was smart, he would go to college, and that would be his ticket out. He would have a better life than his mother, and his children would have a better life than he had. He'd sworn it to himself, he had sworn to his mother. And he'd done it.

She'd helped put him through college, worked two jobs plus picked up extra money sewing. She'd given everything to him, but when he was finally able to give something back, she'd refused to take it from him. She'd refused to leave this neighborhood, refused to take his money. "I'm not young anymore, Tobio, what do I need with a big house and fancy clothes? Just more to take care of. I have my friends and my life here. I'm fine right where I am." The thought angered him, that he was off living in Tokyo in relative luxury, and she was stuck in this old neighborhood. But what could he do? She'd made her decision, and she was his mother. That didn't stop him from periodically trying to change her mind, but it never worked. She was a stubborn woman, damn her. And now she was gone, and would never have that argument with her again.

Kageyama coughed a little to clear his throat of the knot forming there. He was here for a reason. He now had the unenviable task of cleaning out her apartment. The one they had lived in after his father passed away. The one with all the memories.

He paused in front of the big front door leading to the apartments. He didn't want to go in there, didn't want to deal with what awaited him in the small, two bedroom apartment on the second floor. He took a deep breath and mentally steeled himself for the experience. Maybe he shouldn't be doing this alone, he told himself again as he unlocked the exterior door and moved slowly up the stairs to the interior door that led to the apartment. How many times had he run up the stairs and through that door, slammed it open, either with excitement or anger? How many times had she greeted him on the other side, either ready to share in his good news or scold him for his poor manners? How many times had she stood at this door and hugged him and told him she loved him as he left? For college, for his new job, for his own house?