deciphered

my letters to you II

That night, you sorted through the large stack of unopened mail that Mr. Nekomata had retrieved for you. Flipping through the small ads and unpaid bills, you noticed there were several letters from the Tokyo Detention House, dating back all the way back from April. There were five letters, each one corresponding for how many months Oikawa had been in prison.

The letter dating back the earliest trembled in your hands as a foreboding expression rested on your face. You were overjoyed yet apprehensive; not sure if you were prepared for what contained inside the small white envelopes.

Tearing open the side, you slipped out the white folded paper carefully in your left hand as your fingertips brushed against the edge. Flipping open the letter folded in thirds, you read the following:

April 25th
Tokyo Detention House
Inmate #1099

My dearest,

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry that I ever put you through this. I miss you more and more as the days go by. I can't even imagine how much pain I know you're in. I don't know how I'm able to live with myself knowing I left you out there alone.

I'm just grateful you have Leia by your side. Please stick together, as I'm sure she's hurting just as much. I advised DK to also send a letter to her.

My love, you do not know how much you mean to me. You are the only light in my life keeping me sane in the dark abyss of my mind.

I love you so much, please remember to take care of yourself.

Yours,
Tooru

The guard shoved Oikawa down onto the barber seat, the bottom of his shoes slamming against the cold concrete floor. He kicked the man holding him down with his right leg, earning a firm slap to his face from another guard for his aggressive behavior. As Oikawa released a hesitated grunt, the same guard grabbed his cheeks and forcefully turned his head to face the mirror sitting in front of him.

The prison barber turned on the electric razor and started from the bottom of his neck, grazing up his head. Locks of his brown hair flew down his shoulders, his entire body restrained by several men in police uniforms. He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror—it pained him to watch himself become stripped of his dignity, his body defiled and humiliated by the prison guards holding him down.

When the razor grazed against the last spot on his head, Oikawa's hair that he maintained to be pristine and kempt for all these years—now reduced to a dull and empty-feeling buzzcut. It made the dragon tattoo on his neck stand out more, the dark and intricate ink contrasting well with his fair skin.

Oikawa couldn't recognize the person he saw in the mirror. With his left eye busted, a prominent bruise on the right side of his jaw, his hair shaved down to the centimeter—he looked exactly like his younger self several years ago back in Osaka. A shiver ran down his spine, one that dragged him down into the void that erupted from the bottom of his subconscious.

As a single tear formed in the corner of his eye, he looked to his left to see Kuroo in the same position. His spiked up black hair now shaved down to his scalp, the same exact buzzcut Oikawa also had on his head. Both of them sat in the barber chairs alone, blood scathed on their clothes as grime and soot smeared all over their skin.

This was the beginning of their life in prison.

Later that day, the guards handed them both grey jumpsuits to put on, ordering them to hurry up before the start of their daily march. The fabric was stiff yet neatly folded into a rectangle, accompanied with the small booklet of the rules and regulations prisoners were expected to follow in the detention house.