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“It wasn’t you.” Kiyotaka said with conviction, the tears in his eyes teetering over the edge of his eyelids at the mere thought.
The room was deathly silent. Even though it was only the two of them, a quiet atmosphere was completely out of the ordinary. Such loud and unapologetic souls so unused to the harshness of null noise when tied so heavily to each other.
The smell of death did nothing but linger, despite the corpse of a now dead Chihiro being many rooms away by this point. Not through scent, but through sheer force. Despite the passing of a dear classmate, Kiyotaka couldn’t help but feel the soul-crushing guilt of his primary thought being simply, ‘I hope it wasn’t him.’
Mondo could do nothing, frozen in place and rigid with dread. His demeanour just ebbed and flowed with shame. With regret. Sins so clearly etched into the very fabric of his being. Ghosts hanging over his head, taunting him with blame and sorrow. His hands couldn’t help but shake.
“You can’t seriously be asking that, man.” He replied with clenched teeth. It wasn’t fair on Taka, he knew it wasn’t. But what else could he possibly do? He had to lie, to keep up the fog that followed his words for years. To deceive to his own best friend the way he deceived everyone in his motorcycle gang for years.
Daiya didn’t blame him. Mondo knows that. His last words did nothing to convict him or cast any sort of judgement. The exact opposite in fact.
But that just made it worse. Especially now.
He was responsible for Chihiro’s death. When it came to Daiya, he could suspend his belief. But he killed Chihiro, with his own hand. A man much stronger than Mondo would ever be, cut down in his prime just because he was jealous and stricken with a grief so strong that it had to manifest in such senseless violence.
“I…” He couldn’t continue, his words came out all warped and his voice quivered.
It didn’t solve anything. Chihiro was dead, and everything was worse now. Hot daggers of contempt stabbed at him viciously, not allowing him any of the relief that the warmth of revenge provides. Because it wasn’t revenge, Chihiro had done nothing wrong. It tortured him.
They stayed in silence, which didn’t help either, all it did was make Mondo look more guilty. Showcasing how weak he truly was. Blood fully drained from his face and only silence leaving his pitiful mouth. In reality, he was the scared helpless frail person that everyone still perceived Chihiro to be, thanks to his locker room cover up.
“I would never- I mean, dude, I could never kill a powerless girl like that. It’s just sick.” He manages to force out, just doubling down on it now. Another lie, of course. At least there was some form of truth in it though.
It was sick. He was sick. A vile man, a pest even. All he does is poison the other men around him with his own insecurities. Daiya died because of his stupid anxiety about not being man enough to run the gang. Chihiro died because he was man enough and Mondo felt intimidated and judged.
When in reality, Chihiro was terrified of him in his last moments.
Mondo starts crying too now, feeling so utterly disgusting. Like a foul, writhing mess of filth, clinging onto any feeling of comfort or superiority he can. Even killing others in order to do so, like a coward. He just felt so gross.
Especially in the face of such a caring, beautiful man.
“…I know” Kiyotaka whispers, looking down. He couldn’t even look at him, and Mondo visibly winces in response. It felt so wrong to wish he would glance his way, but it felt so right. Still wanting comfort, even after taking a human life. He really was cruel.
“Taka…” Mondo breathes his name. He eats, sleeps and worships it. To burden him with his emotions, it’s too evil. He can’t. He can’t.
Mondo puts his hand on the door, hiding the deep breath he was taking, and holds it open. Before gently assuring, “I didn’t… I promise.”