He sincerely regrets dying.
Because dying is like sleeping. Dreamless sleep in which one feels nothing. Or perhaps it’s best described as an infinite dream. One which whoever is dead can never wake up from and therefore can’t remember having been dreaming.
Perhaps it’s neither.
Perhaps not everyone is allowed the luxury, the privilege of death- of a dreamless sleep- of any sleep at all. Perhaps they are confined to an eternity of not existing in their rotting flesh.
Or at least, that was how he remembers death to be.
“Drop the gun.” Nothing happens.
“Drop it or I blow pretty boy’s brains out.” Something clatters to the ground and the new person steps into the light. Tooru stops himself from gasping by biting so hard on his lip he tastes blood.
“Let him go.” Hajime raises his hands in a placating gesture but the man just laughs.
“No. I think I quite like him like this. Oikawa Tooru, leader of Aoba Jousai, under my foot.”
The first time Bokuto sees him he's not entirely sure what hes looking at. It's cold, he's cold, but he finds himself unable to move. Transfixed by the perfect grace this person possesses. By the time he finally looks away, he's freezing. But he doesn't care, because all he can think is that he wants to find this man, and kiss him.