i wanna fucking
destroy myself

CHAPTER 7

kuroo hater has changed their username nickname to bad bitch

bad bitch

bro i rlly thought i was gonna get suspended

chickin

omfg what did you do now you Dummie

bad bitch

punched this bitch in the nose like BULLSEYE! mf did not see it coming and nor did i

chickin

YOU SWORE OFF VIOLENCE AFTER UR SENTENCE HEARING. WTF

bad bitch

I KNOW

BUT SHE WAS SO PUNCHABLE I JUST HAD TO DO IT

chickin

I NEED MORE DETAILS

PLEASE :3

bad bitch

:3

bad bitch

her names like takara?

pretty sure her grandma is at nerima

AND

SHE WANTED ME TO TAKE HER AS MY PLUS ONE

TO THE ITACHIYAMA THINGY TMR

chickin

WTF IM UR PLUS ONE

BABABABABA PLS TELL ME YOU SAID NO

bad bitch

i did lmao

I'm such a nice person u can Venmo me later

chickin

Smh

Ok how did u wiggle ur way out of suspension??

you Worm

bad bitch

Don't call me a worm

or i will have punched TWO people 2day

chickin

AGAJKAH OK

SO I DON'T PROVOKE U ANY FURTHER

talk about Yourself

i know u love doing that

bad bitch

YESSS

But yh that takara girl is more insane than me

she didnt get me in trouble tho

if no one got me Ice Cream Sub got me

chickin

ok

bad bitch

ok

chickin

WAIT NO COME BACK ILY

bad bitch

Cant

im on babysitting duty

chickin

HELP Yall so rude for that like r they not elderly ppl

bad bitch

AND?? They wear diapers

So do babies

chickin

So smart besty

Seen

———

The only thing that can come close to being humiliated by Grandma Nao's bingo skills is that time you tried to do a backflip at Chichi's birthday party and broke one of your ribs. At least then you could have hid your embarrassment by pretending to be dead.

You figure if you drop to the floor in a fake heart attack you might accidentally give one of the grannies a real one.

And oh my god, if you have to explain to Arisu-san that then—uh, you pray she twists your head off like a top and gives you a painless death.

You watch Grandma Nao slide her bingo card forward, a neat line cutting through 5 consecutive numbers. She's smiling from ear to ear and you've got the urge to peel off her wrinkles. Ah sorry, sore loser.

"[First Name] better keep a lid on that temper of yours. You're about to explode! Who needs to go see Mount Fuji when you have it right here!"

Grandma Kyo can't slap her thigh less it rubs off on her like a chemical peel gone wrong. So she slaps yours instead and laughs.

"Tch."

It is a Saturday afternoon and even though you can feel your legs, cross-legged on an uncomfortable, wooden chair, your eyes are faraway. You stare at the wall in the nursing home, a grainy and shallow white. Spilled bleach in the shape of four corners. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You rub your eyes. Your thumb gently holds the lower sphere of your eyes, betrayed by the lids. The tip of your finger pads the inward corner by the bridge of your nose. Numbness split you down like a watered, hollow bone. You pinch, a blunt pain floods through. The feeling is like an unscratchable itch, a constant death-rebirth; frustration writhes across your mind like a snake.

You think about the glint in Hibiki-sensei's eyes when she spoke in the principal's office. The way the words slipped coolly off her tongue, fluid yet rehearsed. It mirrors you, the old you. The you that stood in front of the jury and pleaded guilty, that left a hole in the courtroom wall and cried yourself to sleep that night.

You don't recognise yourself anymore.

(But did that really have to be a bad thing?)

You're running away all over again and it feels like you're being chased, being cornered. The only time you felt like you could breathe all week was that one moment where the air in your lungs suddenly evaporated when Kuroo caught you. You know, when you were stumbling like a loser in that rollerskating rink?

Tatsuya prods you with his rolling pin, which for some bizarre reason he had brought with him to the bingo game. Such an action draws you back to the bleak reality that was you, the Three G's (Grandma Nao, Rin and Kyo), and him, all huddled around the dining table in the back room of the home.

"Moving on from Nao's win, [L/n], how's school?"

You cringe, "Wow, mom."

Tatsuya returns the expression, scrunching up his face and sticking his tongue out. He could not be more than five years older than you. Tatsuya's many things: a dick-swinging college dropout, definitely a pot dealer, a loser through and through—okay, where was this going? A parent—no, never. The only thing you like about him anyway was that he doesn't usually interrogate you much like the cheek-pinching elderly around here.

"Actually, yes I'm your mom now. Picture this, Tatsuya the Best Mom ever. Anyway, answer my question. You're the only one I can relate to here."

More like, Tatsuya the Shithead but alas, you will not let that quip loose in front of the grandmas, whose hearing is so bad they have not clocked the conversation yet. And touché, because he is the only one you can relate to. How can you tell a 86 year-old grandma that your friends' random message is the only thing that can possibly move you to tears because of how stupid it was?

You inhale and then let out a long sigh, perhaps too long because now you look like a deflated balloon on the floor of a rich kids' birthday party. "My grades are so shit that I have to be tutored. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore..."

Tatsuya snorts, his lips flying into a smile, "Go easy on the poor nerd that has to deal with you. The next time you flip the lid on your temper, you won't be here losing like shit at bingo."

"Yeah, yeah," Change of topic, you roll your eyes in dismissal. "Anyway—" You swivel your attention to Grandma Nao, "Y'know, your bitch granddaughter—(your grandbitch!)—wants me to take her to a party tonight."

Tatsuya remarks wryly, "Grandbitch?"

Grandma Nao gasps, perking up instantly, "Tch! Takara, that wench! She was a damn mistake, I tell ya—!"

"Alright, alright, no more sake tonight," Tatsuya does damage control while you lazily stretch your legs on the couch. He clears up the dining table by dumping whatever was on it onto another surface. Arisu-san's gonna love what you guys did to the place (not).

Tomio-sensei bursts the bubble on cue.

"[L/n]!" He calls out, shoulders slouched. "Can ya settle in two new residents today? I got a doctor appointment right now."

Of course. Trust Tomio-sensei to slack off again.

"Keep giving me your responsibilities and I'll make sure you see the doctor, alright?" You narrow your eyes rather callously. Everyone already knows how hot-headed you are so the image of you beating Tomio to a pulp is not hard to imagine at all for the Nerima Care Home Crew.

Tomio-sensei has one of those faces where you just know they're up to no good. Like one of those sleazy, taut faces that always look so smug it's downright triggering for people with anger management issues. He gives you this eerily pleading look.

"I really, really can't—"

"You really, really can," You fold your arms.

Tomio drops to the floor.

"[F/n]! I'll do anything."

Someone just turned on the lightbulb in your head.

You can't help but break into a smile and now you feel like that evil lady from The Glory.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

———

"Is that normal behaviour around here?"

The two new residents of Nerima, who were basically the equivalent of introducing new characters on a TV show with 10+ running seasons, happened to be [drumroll]...

Kuroo's grandparents.

Well, that explains why he swung around a week back.

But now you have to explain to them the disastrous antics of the care home. The first being the question of why a middle-aged man was sobbing intensely to himself while on the floor with a bunch of old cleaning products.

The answer is, of course, that it was your turn this month to clean the bathrooms of the en-suite residents. Bathrooms that belonged to the residents with the worst hygiene and stomach problems. A.K.A Diarrhoea Day. Grandma Kyo is lactose-intolerant and you swear you saw her drinking a glass of milk this morning.

There is no way you're dealing with that.

Hence—

"Tomio's just a sensitive guy. Real moved by, uh, old people."

They buy that lie pretty easily.

"Aww, what a filial young man."

Didn't he get removed from his parents' will?

———

Itachiyama is the shit. Put enough rich kids to fill an Airbus in one place at the result is some of the best house parties known to man.

They're not your kind of crowd but they're definitely on your radar.

"I love taking advantage of rich kids," Chichi exhales happily. You don't know why she's so chipper when it's so cold you think whatever is in your pants is gonna freeze and fall off.

"That—is controversial wording," Your lighter's out. "Gimme."

She wordlessly hands you hers without taking her eyes off a handsome guy standing outside the house. "Whose party is this again?"

"This volleyball player, Motoya Komori. He's not gonna bite you."

Chichi laughs, "How do you know him?"

"He was at my birthday party last year. I almost got matching tattoos with him when we were drunk—" You start to ramble about yourself like you're unwinding a seriously knotted thread of problems or a tightly bound clandestine inferiority complex. "I think they're celebrating 'cuz of some tournament."

You take a long drag of your cigarette.

Chichi looks up from her phone, "Kaz just texted. He's in the garden."

"'Kay, you wanna join him?" You look around absentmindedly. There was already a lot of people outside. You'd probably head in once you finish your smoke.

Chichi shrugs, "I probably have time to smoke one before I look for him."

You had a response ready for Chichi's words. It just didn't quite get worded. Not when you're suddenly staring into the eyes of one Kuroo Tetsurou.

One moment you were looking past a gaggle of teen boys and at the pasture behind them, and the next you couldn't help but focus on one of the boys' ruffled hair that stood out massively. And then the olive skin. The grey eyes. Pinched smile.

Kuroo returns the gaze.

"Holy fuck," You gasp.

He starts to walk over.

You take Chichi's wrist and perch the lit cigarette between her fingers. "Chi—" You turn to briefly look at where Kuroo was standing. He was gone. "Finish this for me."

"Fuck yeah, why not," She has the perfect response to a free cig.

You shuffle away to the hood of a black car that definitely didn't belong to anyone here. It's only when you sit down comfortably that Kuroo greets you. "Fancy seeing you here," He says.

"I could honestly say the same, nerd."

He laughs at your peckish confidence.

You bite back the surprise, fingers nervously fidgety. "I thought you didn't go to stuff like this."

"I know how to have fun," It's a sarcastic voice, suavely lined. Kuroo smiles; a debonair smile, worldly, refined. "Besides, my weekend suddenly cleared up. Blowing me off?"

Maybe it was because you just had a nicotine rush but it was actually annoying that Kuroo was so handsome. You can feel butterflies in your stomach, idling the black hair that frames his head. It's odd how much attention you pay to him. 

Your eyes wander like driftwood at sea, chasing each feature, trying to think. The street lamp illumes his tan skin, sharpening his jawline as he tilts laconically, narrow eyes amused. It would be better to think of him as some corporate telemarketer. Then he would have no heart and care for you.

"[F/n]," He says, quietly almost. A barely lined whisper. You see the smallest up-turn at the corner of his lips, something that gives the vaguest suggestion of a smile but it feels like it's lacking something. One of his annoying quick, fleeting grins that make no sense. It is and it isn't a question. He's testing the word, getting a feel for them, the shape of your name.

He's thinking.

"I didn't blow you off," You sigh. You have to remind yourself cynically to stay safely in your comfort zone. "I work on the weekends."

Kuroo couldn't deny it, that the things you do or say are curious. You're a change of pace. He really doesn't get it. How on earth are you here of all places? What God did you piss off? Inadvertently, of course. He can't see you doing it deliberately. (That's where he gets you wrong.)

"At the care home?"

You nod.

This was getting into dangerous "friendship-worthy" territory. People like to talk to you the same way they look down at others. Break open that mask of yours like a glass window, look inside and laugh at the echoes. Run away when your blood gets on their hands. You are, in some a way, a form of entertainment for these people. Everyone loves eating up sappy shit like trauma. But this isn't the medieval era where you'd pretty fucking happy with the role of the court's jester ('cuz then you can make fun of rich pompous people all day).

Kuroo's not smiling—his eyes are almost half-lidded but not quite, and kind of satisfied-looking. Like he found something he wanted. An opening to the conversation, one you haven't yet shut down. "I think my grandparents are moving in there. It's getting harder to look after them."

"I know," You reply in a hopefully uncaring manner. Now would be the best time to take a drag of a cigarette. Keeps your hands occupied. "They moved in today."

"So you've met them?" He quirks an eyebrow.

Jesus Christ, he's relentless. You know if you lowered your guard you would only perish from his stronger existence, taint the musing of his soul, whatever perfectly adequate person he is beneath all of that. The iridescent gleam in his eyes makes your lips twitch.

All you can worry is that once you turn your head slightly, blink too slow, settle your limbs awkwardly, under the pale moonlight of another lumined night, your skin would betray you with the shallow of something incurable, hiding the different person beneath you. The complicated system of nerves that had built a cell around your mind.

"Yep," You pop the 'p', "I know all about you. . . Tetsucles."

Tetsucles being the preteen portmanteau of the century: a mash-up of Tetsurou and Testicles. Kuroo's superhero name from when he was seven.

Okay, okay? Look, you have to have the last laugh! Besides, Grandma and Grandpa Kuroo were quite chatty.

"Someone's done their research," Kuroo coons, cocking his head back. "You should read The Life of The Awesome Kuroo Tetsurou for more."

"I was expecting you to add like 'if you can read' to the end of that sentence," You add after a moment's silence.

Kuroo frowns. "Why would I assume you can't read?"

"Half these fuckers seem to think that," You faff your hands around, bored.

"I don't really read either."

You lift an eyebrow in terse surprise, "Really? I kinda took you for the nerd type."

"Think ya mean geek."

"Same thing," One might have thought your voice carried a certain tease. Or perhaps you were being snide.

"You might like it, I think," He says gently. With the blast of city pop music and rap, the sincerity of his words is lost entirely. "Quotes and stuff."

Maybe just to get a rise out of him, you'll burn every book in existence.

Kuroo meets your gaze. He's polite, "I'm gonna go find my friends. It was nice seeing you."

Kuroo watches your expression turn unreadable. He swears it was a sour pinch tugging at your lips, something cold belting your eyes as if your pupils are rocks submerged in ice.

"We're not friends," You remark, "You just tutor me."

Apologies are trite and you hate them, so Kuroo simply smiles. "Thanks for the practice paper. I'll give it back to you next week."

You watch him walk away with a sense of nausea that only ever came from your trivial anxiety. The feeling in your chest that expands, aching, feels like vomit. It's so awkward to do that—feel proud of a person that you don't put much effort into maintaining.

"Fucker," You mutter under your breath.

You hope you black out tonight.

———

It's 1AM and eight vodka shots later, you still haven't hit your head and conked out.

You're sitting on a sofa that someone definitely had sex on in the pool garden. Kaz is making out with a guy you briefly saw at the ice-skating rink. Chichi's smoking a bit of weed in the back. And Kuroo—(not that you're like, keeping track of him, or whatever)—is nowhere to be seen. 

Every now and then you've been smiling at Motoya since it was his party and he was having a pretty chill time in the pool.

But then you must be tripping balls—dreaming. . . right? Because that's Nakamoto Yoshiko.

You'd recognise her anywhere and there she was, half a dozen metres away with a solo cup in hand. She looks different to when you saw her last—teary-eyed, quiet and tired but then again it was in a courtroom where your dad was on trial for killing her dad so yeah, quite the predicament. She's grown, but so have you. Youth fell away and things are less naïve than back then. Even if the world halts in the middle of a teenage party full of washed-up dreams, narcissistic nihilism and shitty music, you find that there is still a sense of emotional maturity present, or at least, when you make eye contact with her. You've never been awkward about this stuff; it's easier to do things as a confrontationist because you never have to look behind at the carnage you leave.

So you absent-minded stare—at her—just remembering how she changed. You remember the tension in the room, when your mom nudged your elbow and pointed at her as if to say She's your age! like that would make things any better? It just made you feel more humiliated if anything because technically you lost the Dad showdown. At least she can put on the part of the sad victim, the weeping girl, which she did for a long, long time, and everyone will ignore the actual power and give it to the tragedy-lovers. People who crave attention but not in the same way as you. People who find it difficult to be neutral because they always need to take a side to look good.

You know it's a lot more convenient for you to hate her at the expense of hating yourself. It's also easier.

It was very strange to not be fifteen anyway and wearing stupid combat boots and denim jackets. To see Yoshiko in a mini-skirt but still be faintly and stupidly guilty about the person that could have been you in a different world and different time. Maybe her dad could have killed yours. But that would make no difference, you think. To others, maybe. But people never seem to think like you.

"You're pretty now."

Your eyes are still on Yoshiko and you realise those words had come from her and her sparkly lips.

"That's a strange way to say hello," You comment, putting down your drink. God knows how long you had been it holding up for. It was now almost empty and you swear Kazumi had sloshed in half the bottle for you, a couple hours earlier.

Yoshiko remains standing. You thought she would blend into the crowd behind her and you'd lose sight of the things that made up today: permed black hair and black eyeliner and a neon skirt that even an alien on Mars would see. And the strange, straight-forward expression she was wearing, almost mirroring your own. You wonder what had happened to make her this way.

"Well, hello," She says softly. She is very forward with you, which you like.

People are always so messy with their words and it takes ages for you to understand what they mean behind literally a bunch of syllables.

"Long time no see," you note, "You're at Fukurodani, right?"

She nods, her hair moves gently when she does it, unlike the frizzy sweat that gathers on everyone else, it's not greasy or rough. "I am. It's just a surprise seeing you, s'all."

You lean forward, "Are you sexually frustrated? I know a guy that can meet your needs but he's also my astrologer so I gotta have time for him to give me my weekly prognosis, right?"

This week it was the foreboding threat of a Scorpio disturbing your circadian rhythm.

Hm, you stroke your chin, better find out if she's a Scorpio before I take this further.

Yoshiko laughs which confuses you, "You're actually really funny. From the way you were sitting earlier I would have thought to take you as a brooding emo with a pinch of salt."

"You didn't answer my question," You frown, a little hurt by her description of you. It sounds like something Kuroo would say.

"Wow."

"Are you a Scorpio?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes?!" You splutter.

Her expression remains unwavering, carrying a tease that makes you grimace. "We were never that close to our parents, I guess."

This—this had to be some insane step in a grief recovery program.

You think she's drunk but you're not sure. Because what she is saying is very silly. Besides, you hate it but there was a time where you thought your parents were actually your parents and not just two adults in your house. There was a point where you thought you held together your family, but you ended up driving it apart.

Still, you do not blurt that out. Instead, you pick up the glass groggily and with groan, lift it to your lips, "What you want is really funny and honestly if I was deranged, maybe I'd even say yes!"

Being drunk is such a cop out. You feel like you're floating. Maybe that's why you could run your mouth so easily.

"—but I hated you, Yoshiko."

You're somewhere between feeling angry and tired, curling your words. It's hard to keep the hazy peripherals of your vision on one person when the fluorescent lights were dopily atomic, splashed out like flowers and there was a strange sensation that kept your limbs wobbly and throat flooded with a croak.

The can of beer is brought to your lips. Yoshiko is drunk. Maybe a bit less than you.

You, on the other hand, are loud, whiny, and probably blacked out. The taste of beer still lingers on the inside of your mouth, hot and salivated. You are afraid that your loneliness will turn this moment intimate. Or that the orbital black hole that is Nakamoto Yoshiko will consume you in a fixed blight. Let her tongue wash over you like hot ash.

"I hated you for years. I still hate you," Any passerby watching your voice crack in between grunts can conclude you are irrevocably beyond the realm of sobering up. Also that you are quite clearly the drinker, unbothered by your own ditsy delirium. "And I hate anything that reminds me of what happened three years ago. So like, sorry about your really cute skirt or whatever, but you're lumped in with everything else."

Yoshiko doesn't look at you the way you expect her to.

Hurt. Guilty. Annoyed. Scared.

Most people explode like a volcano at your bluntness. There is never a filter on your thoughts and it irks them because they will never get to hear what they want to hear when talking with you. They tell you that you're self-centred but surely it's the other way around? Although you do love yourself a lot... sometimes...

"Can I sit down?" She asks.

It's not like you own the sofa so you say nothing in response.

She does so. You watch her settle and she turns to look at you.

"You know, you're like the only person in the world who can get what I'm feeling."

"You're projecting," You say dismissingly.

Yoshiko chides, "I have a pass for that."

You write uncomfortably, "You don't get it. We're different." For the first time in a long time, you're now feeling awkward at a party. You wipe down your outfit as if trying to brush off the feeling.

Saints have long since forgotten about you, but Death seems like a much closer friend. You dance with self-harm like a candle flame to wax. Your world is snakeskin and desolates—turning into a cunning beast in a human's skin is a smooth feat when you grow up in a bottomless pit of shit parents and even shittier self-esteem. Yoshiko is the victim. A martyr for the utter inevitability that all things good are corroded by the necessity of evil's existence. For her, she can be allowed to grieve and cry because there is nothing more sympathetic than a murder's consequence. The room left in the garden for hope to grow.

You carry a different future.

Survival is a delicate thing to uphold, you know. Desire and hope do not have a place there, and determination is a necessity you cannot overlook. No room for mistakes. No room for weaknesses. Just sharp teeth and venom on your tongue. Yet when you look into the sea, a stinging longing consumes you.

Truth is, under the cruel smile and malicious intentions, you're tired. But you're trudging through and you'd rather set yourself on fire and burn out in some quiet, shameful glory. You've been tired for some time now, but the salvation of self-inflicted punishment gives you a careless thrill to be kept awake at night. With blood rushing through your veins and a spiteful grin on your lips, you will always promise yourself another round. The relishes of taunts and goads and fistfights.

"How so?" Yoshiko purrs.

"Because you shouldn't want to be me. Even if I'm like way better than you in some aspects."

Trust your narcissism to kick in just in time.

Maybe it was the heat of the bonfire smoking passionately in front of you. Or alcohol-induced sweating. But you feel warm with a sickness only murder gives. Viscera draping your skin and somewhere in between the fucked-up image you have of yourself, you're drilling holes in your head and heart.

He should have known the consequences. He should have known ambition and pride ends only in pain. But greed is a sin like no other. It gnaws at pieces of you until the only way to satisfy it is to feed it what it wants. There's nothing more circular and self-inflicting than turning into the person you least wanted to. Like father, like child. Maybe your father did know all along what a monster he really was. And it was better to embrace it than turn away.

You can't tell your rights from your wrongs anymore. Nothing seemed to matter—not in a ridiculously, chaffed, nihilistic manner. But in a way that was going to delude you into freedom. A person's greed is a sword in the gut. You have yet to determine that all you do is twist that blade more and more in the wedges of your ribs like a key trying to pry open a locked door.

"You deserve to grieve too."

Yoshiko was edging into dangerous territory much like the waters Kuroo had intentionally submerged himself in earlier. She slowly slides her hand onto your thigh. There were a lot of things ravaging your mind. Words slur, tongue dries.

"Yoshiko—"

"Yeah?"

A scar remains a scar, no matter how much it fades.

"Just shut up and kiss me."

———

kazoo, chickin and bad bitch

kazoo

Heklj

T

EAM

JLSSD

WHERE ARE YOU

WH

SLUT

Im in th

Kitchen

chickin

YALL

EVRTIN ID MOVIN SUPER SLOW

FVKIN CRYING RN

O

COMIN

TO KICHEN

[Y/N] WYA

chickin

O k am in kitchen

Kazzzzzz

kazoo

R OU MAKIN OUT W YOSHIKO WTF

[Y/N]

NOW UR KISSING MOTOYA

chickin

AGAGAJSH WTF

LETS GO HOM R E

kazoo

bokuto

Just broke a Houseplant

whoops

chickin

Lmaooo that guy from Volleblal

jusT fell ovr in the Kitchen

yaku>?

bad bitch

Damn

CNt wait for tmrs hangover

kazoo has changed bad bitch's nickname to slut

slut

SLUT???

FUCK OFF

kazoo

bitch your such a whore

you made out with YOSHIKO

?????????????

slut

fuck Off i did not

HKDFd

can be Uber bac plz

kazoo

i Swear on MY LIFE

ok wherr r

You

EHERE

STE

ARE

YOU

?

chickin

Hot gitl jut mad out w me

OM

NOW HOT PERSON

chickin

sw

Wait

it was [Y/N]

#jg

omg

slut

Yea ur a shi t kisser

kazoo

Omfg

ordering th Uber

Co e to front Dppr

DOOR

Seen

———

tetsu

Hey srry i didnt text earlier

yaku and i r making sure lev doesnt drink

where r u

ayame <3

garden! saved u a spot

tetsu

Coming :)

ayame <3

see ya in a bit

im w mirai n takara

btw

Seen

A/N: the start of y/n's mental decline :3 did u know this book hasnt been updated since the end of 2021