Tooru is seven and holds his mother’s hand tightly. He remembers that it’s an innocent summer day as they walk home from school when the old woman from the house next to theirs hisses “yakuza” as Tooru passes by. He doesn’t know the word. A week later, a new, young woman has moved into the house, and she smiles and gives Tooru candy when his mother takes him home from school. He doesn’t see the old woman again. His father says it was an accident. 

Tooru is seventeen and he smiles a lot. He loves volleyball, his grades are good, and his Sunday are spent in front of Hajime’s tv with video games and playful wrestling matches on his soft bed. One day, Tooru wants to kiss him. One day, he’ll be brave. But he always just goes home without anything more than a hug. Tooru doesn’t invite him over. He doesn’t talk about Hajime, but he dreams. 

He’s worried when he comes home from school today – Hajime’s been sick, has missed practice. And as he enters, he can already hear the faint buzz of voices, the deep authorative growl of his father’s speech. Tooru takes a deep breath. He closes the front door, quiet, slips out of his jacket and shoes. One of his father’s men bows and takes him to the living room. “Your father is waiting, Oikawa-san.”

“There you are,” his father says when Tooru comes in. “Good. I need you to help me decide. Iwaizumi-san refuses to show his gratitude for the favours we’ve been doing his company, so his children are on vacation with us now.” 

Tooru cannot breathe. His throat roars. He swallows. The world halts, hisses. 

He doesn’t know the girl that’s tied to a chair, but he would know the boy’s dark brown eyes in blindness and death. Hajime stares, rigid, and the fear shimmering in the blood dripping from his gagged mouth has Tooru jolt. He’s tied, too, on the ground, a bruise on his cheek. No. God, no. Not him. 

Tooru’s father nods to one of his men. The guy takes out a knife. “I think a present will convince Iwaizumi-san to express his gratitude most generously. But which present… I’d say a finger or two. From the girl or boy, Tooru?” 

“The girl.” He doesn’t hesitate. Hajime’s eyes widen, and he screams against the gag. Tooru flinches when one of the men knocks the end of his gun into his head, and Hajime goes silent. 

Tooru’s father pats his shoulder when he passes by, stalking towards the girl who has started to sob into the cloth between her lips. “Take care of the son, will you? And – good choice. I’m certain that Iwaizumi-san will cooperate now.” 

“Yes, father.” Tooru steps forward, kneels by Hajime’s side. It’s only when the girl starts to scream that Tooru leans in to brush his shaking fingers over Hajime’s forehead. He stays like this until the girl doesn’t cry anymore and his father tucks a small, bloody thing into a plastic bag. 

Then, he whispers: “Forgive me.”