deciphered

midnight streets II

In the outskirts of Shinjuku, there was a small apartment complex primarily occupied by the elderly. Once before, your maternal grandparents used to live in one of the units, but after their passing, you inherited their property. It remained as your residence until you ever decide later in life to sell it or pass it on to your own offspring.

The walls harbored a plentiful amount of memories, both positive and negative experiences alike. It kept the deepest of secrets of the people in the framed photos, while also taking a couple of blows from accidental scrapes and scratches against the paint. The walls watched you go through the late night study sessions for your university classes; it even offered solace while you experienced the first night without Oikawa by your side.

The walls of your apartment had been with you through thick and thin—watching every event and scene unveil within the boundaries of your small room. In the early Saturday mornings of the Autumn season, dawn came later in the day, letting the sun's rays hit the horizon around 7AM. The sky began to roll out ribbons of pink and purple hues, indicating the sunrise was near.

You laid asleep within your bed, resting comfortably in a thick white comforter atop a futon. Your alarm was set for 7AM as you visited Iwaizumi in the hospital on Saturday mornings—never missing a day, not even once. It was made unaware to you that both Oikawa and Kuroo had awoken from their stay at the hospital, as Leia didn't want to burden you with any more anxieties of the rescue mission—all she wanted you to do was focus on Iwaizumi as he needed you the most at these times.

Overall it was peaceful with the apartment surrounded by silence, along with a few chirping birds out in the distance. Though, all of it was disturbed once a certain red sports car rolled up next to the building with its engine on a low rumble. Fortunately, the noise wasn't anywhere near loud enough to wake the elderly residents, which Kenma took consideration of.

In the passenger seat sat Oikawa all refreshed and tidied up, courtesy to Kenma's spontaneous act of kindness. Because of prison, Oikawa lost enough weight to fit some of Kenma's clothes, to which he had let him borrow a thin gray hoodie, black chinos and a white t-shirt—something extremely similar to the outfit he stole from the hospital.

The wound in his stomach was rebandaged with gauze and medical tape while the multiple IV insertions sites were cleaned and secured with regular fabric bandages, all scattered among his tattooed arms. Oikawa felt a million times better as his nerves finally calmed down and he was now able to breathe. He slicked back his damp hair, allowing the strands of his bangs to bundle in place behind his ear.

"Thanks for everything, Snake Eyes." Oikawa rested his left hand on the door panel while looking towards Kenma. "I mean it when I say I owe you one."

"No problem, Cypher." Kenma cracked a smile before putting on his black sunglasses again, resting his right hand on top of the wheel. "Just consider it my welcome home gift. I'll see you in a bit, take care."

Oikawa looked back at Kenma while he exited the car, giving him one last smile before he revved the engine and sped away in the distance—this time definitely waking up a few of your elderly neighbors. Once the red Porsche was out of his sight, he grabbed onto the steel railing of the steps and climbed up to your second floor apartment. Surprisingly, Mr. Nekomata was not in his small plastic chair outside his door, assuming he hadn't awakened yet.

Soon, Oikawa stood at the edge of your apartment, inches away from the front door; his silhouette draped in the veiled embrace of the darkness, patiently awaiting the revelation of your presence. The paint was well eroded at the seams, chippings of the primer happening at all four corners. He raised up his right hand to softly knock on your door while keeping his left hand clenched in his hoodie pocket. He knocked once more, this time a little louder, doing it for a couple of times before sighing to himself for his wasted efforts.