#the girl upstairs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gaoau · 1 year ago

Text

Friday 11th – The Girl Upstairs

The Girl Upstairs note — theres mentions of suicide ahead. also, theres an afterword that id appreciate you read. hold on tightly, cause this is almost 4000 words long. thank you so much for reading! warnings — none. word count — 4.1k

prev. — next.

Akaashi stepped through the metal gates and onto the brick path, appreciating the familiar scenery of his apartment complex. The lights in the main lobby were turned on and shining brightly against the crystal double-doors; an eye-catching contrast against the pure darkness of that moonless night. His long fingers, exhausted from handling and tossing volleyballs for the past days, wrapped loosely around his phone as he scanned through the exchanged words. [Name]'s messages took him back to the previous Saturday.

Nationals had been intense. Bokuto's emo mode stealing the spotlight during their very first match already had shaved ten years off his life. But his team was strong and incredibly capable with or without their simpleton ace — although having their ace working alongside everyone else was pretty satisfying.

Akaashi had, of course, played his best as well, despite the occasional trip here and there. After all, he had wanted to show [Name] just how much fun she could have watching a volleyball game. Sure, she had stayed multiple times during afternoon practice, but the match at the Spring Tournament was her first official match ever. First impressions mattered a lot.

If her messages had told him anything, it was that she had made time among all her school work to drop by and watch them play. Keiji-san, she had written in kanji. You can do it. I'll be watching. He could have sworn that when pointing at Hinata watching on the side, he caught a glimpse of [Name] wearing her teal scarf as she cheered them on from behind a sea of people. Weirdly enough, she hadn't seen — let alone responded to — any of his texts after their match on Saturday.

As he scrolled through the messages left unread, he wondered if [Name] would brew the coffee this time for him. He was pretty tired, what with playing match after match, rally after rally, and then celebrating with his team until that Friday. Maybe she would be willing to boil the water and grind the beans herself for a change. He pressed down on [Name]'s phone number and brought the device to his ear. It rang; once, twice, thrice — voicemail. He shoved his phone into his gym bag.

The lock of the double doors clicked behind Akaashi after he entered the building, the warmth from the internal heating greeted him with a welcoming hug. His eyes traveled instantly to the elevator; he wanted to check on his neighbor before anything else. [Name] was never one to pick up her phone, as he had come to find out, but not replying to his messages made questions and concerns rise. Chances were she had broken her phone during one of her episodes, or perhaps she was opting to ignore everything and actually catch up on school work. He'd have to find out.

Sending a polite nod to the elder receptionist — whose name he still didn't know — he headed for the elevator with steps faster than intended. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of his name being called. "Akaashi-kun, do you have a second?" Akaashi craned his neck backwards and met the grimacing eyes of the old man.

With one hesitant glance to the steel doors of the elevator, he walked over to the reception counter. "Is everything okay, sir?" The man had produced a sealed envelope and a scarf from behind the counter, setting them atop the furniture for Akaashi to see. Akaashi's long fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

A scarf. A woolen scarf. A teal, woolen scarf. Was that [Name]'s scarf?

The man smiled at him; a smile that brimmed with pity and a weak attempt at comfort. "[Name]-san left this for you. I saved it until you came back." Akaashi's throat closed up. He glowered with wavering eyes at the scarf before him. The teal became black as it reached towards him to swallow him into nothingness. "It's such a shame." The receptionist's words bounced off his ears while he glared at his name, written in messy kanji on the back of the white envelope. "Who would've thought she was struggling so much? She was such a nice girl, too, always greeting good morning and wishing good days all around."

Why did he keep speaking in the past tense? Why was [Name]'s scarf trying to choke him? Why was his name written in kanji with [Name]'s handwriting? [Name] hated kanji. "Excuse me." Akaashi finally found the voice to ask his questions. As much as he feared the possible answers, he knew he had to get at least one. His tongue burned. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, did you not receive the news?" The term news made his heart rate pick up, his palms sweat, his fingers twitch, his mouth dry. He managed to shake his head in response. "Oh, dear… Poor [Name]-san took her own life last Saturday."

Blank. Akaashi's head turned blank. The sentence alone took what felt like endless eons to sink in. The previous Saturday, as he played his first match of the Spring Tournament, [Name] commi—impossible. It was impossible, simply impossible. He had seen her; [Name] had been sitting on the bleachers, cheering him and his team on. She had sent text messages of encouragement. She had said she'd be watching — she had been watching. Akaashi knew for a fact [Name] had been there with him.

He hadn't imagined it, had he?

"I— That can't be right. She— [Name], she— [Name]-san messaged me. She wished me luck on my match. What do you mean she's dead…?" Akaashi Keiji, normally cool and collected, stood completely flabbergasted and perplexed, stumbling over his words and spouting his neighbor's name without honorifics, as if they were best friends since diapers. They were nothing, after all; not friends, not acquaintances, not classmates, he wondered if they were even neighbors.

The receptionist's smile softened, but all Akaashi could see with his trembling pupils was a condescending sneer. It called him a useless fool. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Akaashi-kun." The man prodded the sealed envelope closer to his stiff figure. Akaashi wanted nothing more than to rip it to shreds. "Maybe you should read what she had to say to you. The police said this letter was the only one in the room, apart from the money for reparations."

The more the old man spoke, the more his brain tripped over itself. He couldn't understand. He really couldn't understand a thing. [Name] had died after assuring him over and over she had no intentions of taking her own life. Akaashi had found [Name] was surprisingly skilled at lying. However, he had never imagined she would lie about such a bold decision. Such a painful decision. All of his progress, the one he had cradled so proudly in his cupped hands, faded away in the blink of an eye.

Like a fool, he had thought he was helping, when in reality [Name] remained the same fidgety [Name] with dangerous ideas in that complex brain of hers. He bought her lies, her silence, and her evasions without hesitation. Like a fool. Like a fucking fool.

But hearing there was only one letter — apart from whatever a reparations letter meant — and it was addressed to him brought him an indescribable sense of relief. He was confused as he was relieved. Maybe they had been friends after all. Maybe she had trusted him after all. Maybe not all her words had been lies.

"Stay strong, Akaashi-kun," the man spoke again after Akaashi's silent, internal battle. His smile had become tender once more. Akaashi nodded, clumsily grabbed [Name]'s belongings, and marched with heavy footsteps to the elevator.

His attention strayed to the right, to the door beside the elevator. He was quick to decide he would take the stairs.

The number-plate glared into him, mocking him with only three digits. 404. He had come to hate that number. Below the plate, a rectangular sign stuck to the wood. It read Under maintenance. Please, do not enter. Akaashi skimmed over the words before reaching for the doorknob. His brows rose when the door gave way without a fight.

Finally, after three months of knowing [Name], he was at last entering her apartment. The one she had been so adamant on never visiting, the one in which she produced all those loud noises at night, the one she called her home yet felt so unwelcoming.

Apartment 404: [Name]'s apartment.

A merciless gust of freezing air slapped him across the face as soon as he pushed the door open. Akaashi flinched surprised. His hand blindly groped the wall for a light switch, and in an instant the flat was flooded with light. He stepped inside, holding in his breath, fearing a mere puff of air would shatter the entire building in the blink of an eye. The door shut behind him, his bag dropped to the floor, and he glared at the dent in the wood as he was wrapped in a biting cold.

Now he understood why [Name] never wanted him over at her apartment and what reparations meant. Right by the door, lined-up one next to the other, were trash bags full to the top. He frowned at their contents: broken pieces of wood and porcelain. Deep into the room, he could spot the fluttering of black curtains, dancing frantically alongside the Winter wind. The window was clearly closed, yet the cold barged in through the cracked glass, missing pieces leaving a gigantic gap in the crystal. To his side, he found the opened door of the restroom. He peered inside, only to find a shattered mirror and ground-up mirror shards stained with dried blood, scattered over the white tiles.

The connection popped in Akaashi's head in a split second. [Name] had smashed and walked on her mirror, huh? He felt a pitiful grimace twisting his face.

Closing the door gently, as if to keep the frail memory of [Name] breaking down inside the bathroom, Akaashi stepped away from it. He analyzed his surroundings thoroughly; he needed to understand how [Name] spent her days before somberly reading her last words to him. There was no dining table, no chairs, no sofa, no television. Glancing into her kitchen, only a tied-up trash bag sat by itself. Cupboards and pantry completely empty, drawers saving solely a fork, a knife, and metal chopsticks still in their package.

Akaashi sighed. If her apartment was built anything like his, he was missing only one room, which he dreaded the most. The door to [Name]'s dark bedroom was wide open, allowing a full view to her unmade bed. As a pleasant surprise, he was met with a wooden desk. Compared to every other corner in [Name]'s place, her desk actually looked presentable. Her booklets and textbooks were neatly piled up and sitting on a corner. There were cups holding pencils and pens and markers.

He grabbed the chair tucked beneath the desk and settled down on it. The window by [Name]'s bed was wide open, blinds pulled up to open the path to head out onto the balcony. Akaashi gazed at the moonless sky briefly, before his eyes unconsciously traveled to the swaying rope taunting him. He frowned and immediately looked away. It sent chills down his spine.

Filling his lungs with air and courage, Akaashi turned [Name]'s lamp on. His hand trembled as he retrieved the sealed envelope from his pocket. Akaashi Keiji, it said in perfect kanji, although sloppy, as if the hand that had written it wasn't familiar with the characters — which was probably true. He gulped audibly while ripping the envelope open with a pair of scissors.

Two sheets of folded paper came out.

“Akaashi Keiji, this is my third attempt to write this, so bear with me here.” A smile bloomed on his lips and he released a puffed chuckle. Even while writing a suicide note, [Surname] [Name] remained as nonchalant as ever.

“I tried to warn you, but you didn't understand. I'm not sorry, though. I did my best, I know I did, I just couldn't win against your stubbornness. Even now, after I've gone through with my decision, I don't expect you to understand, nor do I want you to. What you'll read in this letter is not only all over the place, 'cause my head is still a mess, but it's also very cold. I suggest you read it with a cup of tea, and, mostly, with an open mind.” Akaashi sighed. There was no time for tea.

“First off, let's get the blame out of the way, shall we? I feel you're that type of selfless dumbass that would blame themself, feeling they should've done more or tried harder, you know what I'm saying? Just to let you know, you did more than enough. In fact, you did something—” the word something had been traced over with a highlighter, “—which I didn't think possible. I wasn't planning on letting you do a single thing when you first talked to me that stupid Monday back in Fall. But you somehow managed and I don't know how; pat yourself on the back for that one. If anything, I should be the one to blame, but that's also bullshit. No one's at fault here, yeah? It is what it is. Let's move on.

I'm fully aware you tried your best to befriend me (which you succeeded in, mind you) and help me out. You wanted me to become one of the warm ones, didn't you? I told you time and time again that it was impossible, not just because I was born like a fool in the cold, but because I never wanted to become warm. It wouldn't have fit me. I never bothered even giving it a thought. Why do you think I moved here to live all on my own? Because after reading so many books and living new experiences every couple of days, I concluded that I didn't want that. I was fourteen and finishing middle-school when I realized that the praise around me was as empty as the hate; when I realized that life is all about compromises; that you give and take, and when you take more than you give you're an asshole, but when you give more than you take you're an idiot.”

"That's such a sad outlook, though." His words fell from his lips in a soft murmur, brows bending in a grimace.

“It sounds very philosophically depressed, doesn't it? But the truth is that I hate having to live through all those pointless trade-offs, when I know I'm just going to die in the end. I'm only accelerating the process. "That's a very sad outlook on life," you'd say—” Akaashi laughed to himself, “—and you might be right. Maybe it is. But it's the one I'm comfortable with, because it makes sense in my head. I realized so many things that I turned into the mess you came to befriend. Anxious, and scared, and weak, and nihilistic. My head's been such an indecisive and hesitant mess ever since I reached all these conclusions that I ended up confusing myself and losing myself. Those were the moments when I most wanted to die and you'd hear me destroy my own apartment. Because everything was a blur and I didn't know what to do, so I just wanted it all to disappear. My goal was to finish high-school, but I didn't want to take my chances and wait until Spring. You couldn't have changed my decision no matter what. Had you asked me to marry you or give a speech to congratulate you on your marriage, I was never meant to live that long. This had all been planned, even before you met me, and I knew I was going to go through with it.

There's something that wasn't in my plans at all, and that's where you come in, Keiji-san. This very note you're hopefully still reading, 'cause I did stay up these past couple nights to write it—” more laughter bubbled in his throat, “—wasn't supposed to exist; I didn't want to write it. I had planned to stay away from my family (I lied, my parents aren't abroad) and take every precaution at Fukuroudani to not make friends. I did everything to avoid people as best as I could to prevent the pain of waking up one day and finding a hand-written note instead of a breathing person. I wanted to soften the blow and cause as little trouble to everyone around me as possible. But then you came around, you talked to me, you forced me to become your friend (thanks!)—” there was a smiling face drawn between the parenthesis. Akaashi mirrored it. “—you reminded me how nice it was to have dinner with company and that I deserved to have a good night's rest somewhere warm and cozy. I'm writing this letter solely because I owe you some closure and I'm not about to leave such a great friend so abruptly without a goodbye. I don't believe in goodbyes either, but I can make an exception this time.

To be completely honest, I'd wanted to tell you about my decision. I'd wanted to tell you not to waste your time on someone that wouldn't make it past Spring. I tried to a couple times, but I guess I was too much of a coward to actually bring myself to say it to your face. In the end, I think it was for the best, you know? I wonder if you would've missed nationals because of me. Hopefully no, but better safe than sorry. That's why I waited until you were gone to do it. I'm still not sure if it was the best decision and I guess I won't ever know. What do you think?”

Akaashi closed his eyes to halt himself from reading further. He gave the idea some thought and whispered, "…I don't know, either." Had he known [Name] was planning on dying after all, would he have done anything? What could he have done anyway? It was too late to ponder over it.

“My original idea was to graduate and then die, but you changed practically everything. We started walking to and from school together, I spent more time over at your apartment than at mine, I saved the team's numbers on my phone, and I even checked out one of your guys' matches before killing myself. Although maybe I pushed my luck too much on that one. I may have never been able to leave and then it would've been too late. This isn't to say I died earlier because of you! Not at all!! In fact, you did more good than bad. If it hadn't been for how annoyingly persistent you were, I would've died consumed by the stupid cold. Thanks to you I saw Bokuto-san shine, Konoha-san tried to take me out on a date, Shirofuku-san and Suzumeda-san taught me about volleyball, and so much more. But I was scared of falling too deep into their warmth and not being able to leave — or to put it simply, I was afraid of getting attached and not being able to commit suicide when Spring came. It's been so fun to be with you guys, so it's not like I didn't care what happened to me. It's just that reality is very flickering and Spring was too far away.”

[Name] had known her way around words and was capable of molding them into beautiful lies he despised. But when she spoke straightforwardly, writing down with her own thoughts the kanji characters for suicide, he wished she would have lied once more. He couldn't stand the sight of verbs being expressed in the past tense when talking about her life.

“It had to be now, because later I would have been all alone in the cold again. That's how it's always been. Thanks to you, Keiji-san, I'm dying without regrets and that stupid self-realization you talked about. I'm glad to have made memories.

There is one thing I'm very sorry about and I would kneel to beg for your forgiveness (knowing full well that you would give it to me without hesitation, right?). I told you countless times how you were too warm and how scared I was of getting burned. You never burned me, Keiji-san. You were the right amount of warm and always shone so brightly, yet quietly. It was so comforting. And I selfishly took full advantage of your softness. I completely disregarded the fact that the cold can also burn. I'm sure I've burned you. I'm really sorry.

Keiji-san, I'm truly sorry.

It's because I'm sorry that I want you to keep my scarf. Winter's at its peak and it's very cold out there, so I don't want you to get burned by anyone or anything ever again, yeah? My scarf always kept me warm, so I think it'll work for you, too. Will you keep it?”

"Of course I will. Thanks, [Name]-san."

“I wonder if you replied. You're welcome.”

Akaashi laughed, huffing through his nose like she liked to do.

“To bring this long-ass essay to an end once and for all, I only want to thank you. Sounds like some sappy shit, I'm aware, but hear me out. Read me out? Sorry, I'm nervous. Thanks. Thank you for being warm and never burning me, for your time and effort, for your friendship and sharing your friends, which I don't dare call mine. Most of all, thank you for letting me indulge in your warmth, for making me actually live these past three months and for allowing me to die without regrets. Thank you so much, Keiji-san. I'll be watching. You can do it.

—[Name] | 2013 / 5 / 1 |”

Monday morning rolled around faster than Akaashi would've liked. He had wanted to rest over the weekend after enjoying a warm cup of comforting coffee, yet he had fallen asleep on [Name]'s desk. Saturday and Sunday were spent pondering, but never searching for where to point his fingers. He understood [Name] would have come back to life to kick him for trying to find where to pin the blame for her suicide.

On his way to school on that Winter morning, he made sure to buy a single white lily, similar to the one he had placed by — what once had been — [Name]'s door. He appreciated the lack of morning practice as he walked through the third-years' hall. Peeking inside the classroom, he narrowed his eyes in pity at the heavy silence among the students. It seemed they all were trying their best to avoid looking at their dead classmate's former desk.

Of course, Akaashi had no clue which desk [Name] used to sit on, but it wasn't hard to distinguish it; the only one decorated with a teal vase of white lilies had to be [Name]'s. Excusing himself, he entered the classroom, turning heads in his direction at the interruption of uncomfortable silence. Shirofuku and Suzumeda smiled weakly at him, nodding in acknowledgement. He placed his flower among the other dozen and promptly left.

A Winter breeze nipped at his cheeks while he marched through the hallway. Akaashi couldn't tell where it came from. Maybe he was just imagining it — imagining the numbing cold that stole all feeling from the tips of his long fingers. He felt the sheer algor trying to drag him like it had dragged [Name]. But he knew better than to let it win and fought against it with the warmth of his teal scarf, wrapping kindly around his neck in a soft embrace.

—あごす (agosu) • 2020

#The Girl Upstairs

10 notes · View notes