Chapter Text
With empty eyes, Kageyama searched for something unknown behind those semitranslucent curtains. He swayed gently from side to side in an almost rhythmic way. A floral pattern spread across the curtains; some petals seemed to be falling down, while the vines of the flowers grew in unity. The embroidered flowers would probably throw a gentle shadow on his face – if he were alive and a physical being, that is. Instead, it fell right through him, and mingled together with dust particles in the air.
The old grandfather's clock kept ticking in the background, its golden pendulum leading the rhythm. Kageyama kept searching, waiting, hoping for something to finally happen, while he was stuck behind invisible barriers.
Time truly was one of the most merciless things in the world. Ruthlessly, it keeps moving forward, letting everyone else who can't keep up behind. The world keeps spinning, and people go through their lives without caring too much about it. Everything and everyone is always in constant movement. And in all this motion, Kageyama felt like the only thing frozen in time.
He wasn't even able to recall just how many years he had been stuck here already. Everything was ablur, and with each passing day, more and more of his memories seemed to fade away. Though that wasn't quite it, either, because he could still feel their presence. The memories were simply unreadable. They had become a big mass of things, looming over his back, the weight growing more with each passing day and slowly pushing him on the edge of his sanity.
Every day was a battle against himself. Though he couldn't even say if he wanted to forget or not. Whether it might be best for him to let go and be able to breathe again. Or if he should hold on to them, and continue to carry the weight of something unreachable. Something, that will only keep growing as the years come and go.
Kageyama shook his head ever so slightly, forehead in wrinkles. No time for that, he thought to himself. Drowning in self-pity over his “existence” would only ruin his mood. Especially since today was supposed to be rather special, and something exciting.
He turned back to watching the outside emptiness, as the most “exciting” event that day had been a fat cat chasing a bird. Its enthusiasm had almost made Kageyama smile. But just almost, and he couldn't say whether or not it wasn't mainly out of pity.
Though boredom hadn't conquered him enough to make him stand in front of the window for absolutely no reason – not this time, no – but because a new family was to move in. At least he assumed it to be a family, as the names “Shouyou” and “Natsu” had been dropped here and there quite a few times.
How many families did that make again?
With another soft sigh, Kageyama glanced to the left and let his eyes wander across a blood red cabinet. It almost reached the ceiling in height, with two pieces of glass forged into the front cover. Odd carvings decorated the sides of it, but it was still of poor quality. Parts of the varnish was already peeling off at some places, revealing a much lighter shade of brown beneath it. Varying scratches followed the lower edge or the cabinet, though Kageyama had never quite noticed those until now. The past inhabitants had bought it and replaced most of the furniture. Even his favourite lamp, one that had been there for as long as he could remember, was gone now; exchanged by some weird looking construction.
But on top of replacing so many things dear to him, the family didn't have any taste for interior design. Not that it changed much about the fact that he wouldn't forgive them for throwing out the few things that had managed to survive over the years. It just made things a little worse.
The sofa didn't fit together with anything in the living room, and the curtains could be older than he himself – at least style-wise. They had owned a dog, and he would have been happy about it if it hadn't hated him. Always barking at him for no reason and making the family think it was possessed or crazy. Or both, who knew. Luckily, it couldn't harm him, but Kageyama would still find it annoying how he wasn't able do anything without that thing getting in his way, and apparently finding it to be its job to hunt Kageyama down. The attempts were futile, though.
At some point they gave the dog away, probably too unsettled by the fact that it would always bark at air or start sprinting through the entire house for no reason. Even though Kageyama couldn't quite recall its name, he did remember that it was a weird one. One you'd only use to haunt your children for the rest of their lives.
And even if the family had been a little odd, he couldn't stay bitter about them getting rid of the last pieces of his home, or haunting him with their dog for months. After all, he didn't know how they were doing at the moment, or if they were even still alive. A shudder shook through him from top to bottom. No, it didn't feel right to stay mad over something so vain. He pushed those thoughts aside and rested his head on his palm.
Exactly what was his connection to this house? And why couldn't he leave?
Everything seemed so distant, and by now, he couldn't keep reality and imagination apart anymore. Were the chopped-off bits and pieces of images actual memories of his, or not? How was he supposed to tell? And if he couldn't even trust his own mind, exactly what could he trust in?
There were so few left, that by the time next year, he wasn't sure if he would remember anything at all. Or would they slowly be replaced by new ones? Though, if he were to forget it all, just what would he become? If he didn't even have the slightest of anchor that he did in fact live at some point, would he just become some force floating around in this house? For all eternity? Without a purpose or closure on anything?
Kageyama gulped, and began to mindlessly play with the bundled strands of thread at the bottom of the curtains. Though his “playing” was more of a “slowly whooshing your hand through the fabric and only feeling a slight resistance”. This entire experience had made him realize just how wrong TV was in the matter of ghosts. Not quite a shocker, of course, but still.
A ghost wasn't some weird thing floating around in the world humans lived in, while maintaining a defined body and yet still not be hindered by its surroundings. Of course, most things were still a mystery even to him, and he could only talk from his own experience. But as far as he could tell, he was more of a “bundle of energy”. He didn't quite exist in the world the humans interacted and lived in, but something... “in between”. Where that “other” place was, he couldn't say. Religious people might consider it to be the after life or some sort, but no one would ever really know.
He assumed it to be the reason he wasn't seen or heard by humans. Maybe it was some weird “other dimension” stuff, or maybe he was completely off and the answer was actually much simpler. But it didn't matter – all he had to know was that it sucked, and that he could barely even make out his own body. Because, as already mentioned, he didn't exactly have one. The edges were really blurry and rough, though he still “knew” which part was what. However, this also meant that he had no reflection in mirrors. And with each passing day, he would continue to forget his own looks.
Also, he could still “feel”, it was just a completely different sensation. He could feel a resistance against himself – for example when he placed his “hand” on his “arm” – but not when he interacted with other objects. So his sense of touch was rather limited.
Kageyama lowered his gaze. There were still a lot of things he couldn't comprehend, and maybe never would. Though, for now, it would probably be better to think about the new coming family again. At least that was a bit more cheerful.
After all, what would the kids be like? As far as he was able to tell, they could be a complete nuisance. The kind that made a constant mess in the house, were loud, and annoying every person in a radius of 100 meters. Of course, this might be entertaining at first, but only in some cases. He had gained more than enough experience with such kids.
Still, he had a sliver of hope left. Which, in itself, was quite surprising. Though the parents had seemed so kind and caring, the children had to be at least similar to them, right?
What would they look like? What ages could they be? Which sibling would look more like their father or mother? Would one of them leave for college soon? Will they be getting themselves a pet, and this time hopefully not such a bloodthirsty one? Kageyama chewed on his lower lip and let his hand drop, the curtain moving only in the slightest.
Shouyou. The name sent an odd sensation through him, but it passed too quickly for Kageyama to grasp it properly. Then, he tried whispering it as quietly as possible, even though he was completely alone. That feeling appeared again, like a heartbeat pulsating in his chest. But it vanished together with the end of the word.
How strange. It felt oddly familiar. But how? Did a past family have someone named Shouyou? It wouldn't be surprising if that were the case, and that he simply forgot by now, though that also didn't feel quite right. He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
It was no use thinking about it. “Shouyou” could just be a popular name, after all.
He thought back to the first visit of the couple. To how wide their eyes had become, and the way they kept talking about how pretty some of the furniture was, or all the things they could do. Throw birthday parties, playing hide-and-go-seek, celebrating Christmas with a proper Christmas tree – all those things. However, the most endearing part was the conversation between them about their children, theorizing which sibling would want to have which room.
Kageyama sighed and let his head rest on top of his palm, even if that sensation was still a little strange to him. He couldn't quite explain why his mood had suddenly turned so... dull. He raised his gaze back up again, but didn't particularly focus on anything. Why had the excitement from just a few moments ago vanished? And exactly what was this feeling? It wasn't quite sadness, nor anger. Maybe irritation, but that didn't seem quite fitting, either. It almost felt... bitter, or regretful. But it only left him confused.
Kageyama let himself fall back, though never hit the ground. This whole “floating” thing was really the only good part about being a ghost. However, after all these years, it was nothing special anymore. He doesn't shoot through the hallways, doing loopings in the air here and there like he did at the beginning. Like an over-excited child playing with their new toy.
Because by now, he would rather be able to touch things. To feel their texture beneath his fingertips, to be connected to this world. He couldn't even remember how that felt – how a fluffy blanket would feel like if you ran your hands across it, or the roughness of an old tree bark. Kageyama could only see and identify them, but couldn't feel them, nor imagine how they would. As if his senses had dulled down. Though, in a way, they really had.
He wished he wouldn't just be some floating thing. Not quite gone, but not quite here, either. Just... there.
Kageyama crossed his arms beneath his head and let his eyes wander across the wooden planks at the ceiling, providing support. Tiny holes had already spread across most of the surface, and the planks even seemed to give in a bit at some places. No one had bothered enough to renew the house, and Kageyama was unsure whether he was happy about that or not. Because for one, it meant it had stayed the same. That it was something that survived the battle of time, sort of an anchor for him. But on the other hand, it was as though he had to watch something precious to him rot away, neglected.
The ticking of the clock only seemed to push its way through the static noise in Kageyama's mind, always a constant reminder just how slowly time crawled by. To him, ever tick seemed so far apart, seemingly coming to a full stop. Did humans experience time faster than he did? Probably. Because as mortals, time was precious to them, and passed in an instant. Before you knew it, you'd be an adult, or maybe a parent. If you don't lose your fragile life, that is, and then continue to grow old before you die.
Kageyama's eyes fluttered closed, and tried his best in shutting out all sounds. But right as he did, the sound of a car steadily coming closer was carried through the air. The engine was rumbling and seemed to be on the verge of giving out, as though the car was decades old. Kageyama sat up and zoomed to the window again. With wide eyes and held breath he scanned the area to get the first glimpse of anything – be it the car or someone inside.
Maybe this was a little silly. Maybe he shouldn't be pressed against the window like this, as if this was the first inhabitant ever. But maybe that also didn't matter at all, because he had been alone in this house for too long already.
The yellow car came to a halt in front of the house, the tires squeaking against the asphalt. The mother jumped out of the car after it had barely stopped, a big smile curving up on her face. A boy with bright orange hair sat on the back seat, surrounded by luggages and boxes. He held onto his sister – who was basically a younger clone of himself, with the same wild and curly orange hair – though it was the boy's expression that almost made Kageyama snort. It was the perfect mixture between “on the verge of falling asleep again” and “struggling to stay awake with all might”.
Maybe this family really wouldn't be so bad, Kageyama thought, the faintest of smiles pushing its way to his face. Maybe, just maybe, this might even turn out to be some fun. He couldn't say why he felt that way, and where it came from, but he did.
“All right everyone, there's no time to waste!” the mother exclaimed in a chipper voice, louder than one might expect from her looks. She pushed a few strands of her shining hair behind her ear, though it barely reached the edge of her chin. It wasn't as curly as the childrens', but definitely as lively, if hair could even be described like that.
“We need to get allll these things in the house as fast as possible; I'm starving!”, she added as she made her way to the trunk, her husband soon following. She mumbled something under her breath, though Kageyama couldn't quite pick it up anymore.
The boy turned his head in Kageyama's direction, and even if he didn't have an actual heart anymore, it still almost leaped out of his chest. For the fraction of a second it had felt as though they had made eye-contact.
But he had to be imagining that. There was no way that could be true. No way.