Oikawa let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before turning his head back to face the window wall. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go quiet on you."
"It's okay," you responded, your left hand still placed on his shoulder. "Sometimes, silence is all that can be said."
He continued to stare at the Tokyo nightscape, the window now flooded with streams of water dripping down the side of the building. The lights of the skyline were blurred through the glass, the soft patter of the droplets now growing louder as it began to rain harder. You also stared out of the window alongside him in the dimmed end of his condo, watching the entire city light up underneath the small crescent moon peeking through the overcast clouds.
You both awkwardly stood next to each other, not sure what else to say in the moment. The white noise from the heater and the rain against the window filled the silence in between you two, your arms now crossed over your chest with Oikawa's hands still in the front pocket of his jeans. You turned to face him once more, the side of your eyes looking back at his living room behind.
"Hey, I'm really sorry if I was being too intrusive and asking for way too much back there. We don't have to talk about it anymore if you feel uncomfortable." You rubbed your left arm with your right hand, ashamedly looking towards the dimly lit kitchen lights.
"You know one thing no one ever asks me about?" Oikawa continued to stare at the window, observing the passing cars from down below on the expressway bridge. He didn't turn to look at you, keeping the same monotonous expression on his face.
"What is it?" You stepped one inch closer to him, your body now parallel to the window.
He didn't respond as he turned to look at the living room, his hands still tucked within his front pockets. You didn't notice it before, but underneath the side of his jaw rested a small scar, a faint one that blended in with the rest of his skin. It was concealable to most, but up close inches away from his face, it was the only thing you could see that was noticeable.
Oikawa reached his right hand out, hesitantly grabbing onto yours. He grasped the edge of your fingers delicately, the same way he did when he was leading you through the crowd of the second race—almost like he was scared to hurt you again. While turning his head back, he gave you another soft smile. "Let me show you something."
You both took a few steps over to his TV stand which rested a modern turntable with two small box speakers on each side. Underneath resided dozens of records, all stacked vertically throughout the open compartment. Oikawa leaned down on one knee and brushed his fingers along the top of the records, slowly picking through each album sleeve until he pulled a specific one out.
While he slipped it out of the cover sleeve, Oikawa opened up the transparent dust cover of his vinyl player and laid the black record on the platter, holding up the needle to place it on the edge. Within a second as he pressed the play button, the quiet static of the needle shifting through the grooves echoed on the box speakers, slowly transitioning to a piano accompanying a young man singing.
"♫ I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast... ♫"
Oikawa stood back up, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at the record spin in a clockwise motion. The sound of a trumpet started to play softly along with the piano, the quiet strums of the hi-hat cymbals on the drums echoing in the background. It was overall a calm and mellow song, dreamy and lost in a trance with the rain falling softly against the windows.
"For once, I'd like someone to ask me about the normal things I like to do," Oikawa continued to fix his eyes to the album cover resting against the edge of the TV stand, watching the record spin fast on the turntable. "Listening to music and collecting records are a few of them."
The song continued to play, cool jazz now filling the silence within the room. You both stayed quiet, listening intently to the artist perform his trumpet solo along with the relaxing piano in the background. Oikawa started to tap his foot gently along the oak floor, slowly closing his eyes.
"♫ 'Cause I've been fooled in the past... ♫"
He walked over to the white leather couch and sat down, his arms still crossed over his chest. You continued to stare at the turntable, picking up the album cover resting beside it. Chet Baker Sings, labeled in a red font at the top, listing the information about the album and its songs on the back. At the bottom rested a signature from no other than the artist himself.
"My father saw this American jazz artist, Chet Baker, perform live in Tokyo a couple years before I was born. He had this signed record for years until he gave it to me right before my seventeenth birthday." Oikawa explained as you flipped the album cover over, trailing your eyes down the setlist. "This was my favorite song of his, my mother used to play it all the time when I was young."
The sound of a trumpet trilling through notes continued to play, the pitch now residing in your ears. You thought it was interesting how someone like Oikawa, a street racer and former leader of a yakuza gang, would be an avid lover of jazz music. It came to show how you should never assume anything superficially, pondering back on his statement about never relying on other peoples' perception of him.
You looked back at his face, now calm and relaxed; his eyes closed with his head swaying slowly to the music. It appeared like everything that was bothering him earlier subsided, the smooth sound of the young man's voice coupled with the needle feedback brushing against the speakers now easing up his tense stature. He remained still, contemplating through his thoughts—looking like someone whose only wish was to escape the fast paced lifestyle he was living.
Oikawa fluttered his eyes open, resting both of his hands behind his head. "You could tell he was a tortured soul, deeply regretful of all the choices he made throughout his life. Though he didn't let his drug addiction define the entirety of his being, never allowing his own perception of himself be tarnished by his past."
The rain began to fall harder against the window, the violet sky now transforming into a dark grey as thunder boomed amongst the clouds. You placed the album cover back on the stand, turning around and walking over to sit on the other side of his leather couch. Crossing one leg over the other, you rested your right elbow on your knee, watching Oikawa stare at the ceiling with the trumpet solo still playing.
"It's something I try to tell myself often, that I'm not defined by my past. Though it's getting harder and harder every day to convince myself of that." His voice began to grow despondent, a shadow of sorrow overcasting his mood. He released a heavy sigh out through his nose, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling before peering down to look at you once more. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so melancholic."
You forced a smile on the right side of your face, resting your chin on top of your hand. "Hey, it's okay. You shouldn't beat yourself up for what you did in the past, as long as you know you're not going to repeat those same mistakes in the future."
He didn't respond for a moment, still pondering on your words. Oikawa looked back up to the ceiling, his body still relaxed on the other end of the leather couch, listening to Chet Baker sing the last half of the song. Though, it appeared he wasn't unbothered as he seemed, instantly pulling himself forward to lean back on the armrest, facing your direction.
Oikawa lowered his head down, his right arm resting on the back of the cushions. Through his teeth, he muttered in an austere manner that quickly shifted the mood. "Under certain circumstances, I'm afraid I would."
You stared at him in silence again, not a muscle moving in your body. "Why do you think so?"
He tsked, shaking his head to the side while clicking his tongue. In an irritated tone, he gazed back to you, eyes filled with resentment. "Because I'm a bad person."
In the distance, a small roll of thunder echoed outside, rain falling harder and harder on the living room window wall. The record continued to spin on the platter, the feedback of the needle making jumps between the grooves through the speakers. Silence became prominent to you both, long moments of contemplation between words spoken.
Your lips began to move, stating out your opinion. "Well, I don't think you are."
Oikawa lowered his head, the bangs on his forehead now dangling over his eyes. In a dark and hushed tone, the mutter of his words made you feel uneasy in your seat. "Well, you don't know me, you just know my name."
Dismayed by his remark, you tried to remain unfazed; pursing your lips to the left while clasping your hands together on your lap. You recognized a complete change of himself within a span of a few hours, around others and alone, seeing bits of the glass wall he surrounded himself in start to crack—yet, it was still vaguely fogged over, unable for you to completely make an instinctual conclusion.
Taking a deep breath in, you scooted yourself closer to his side, stopping at a point where there was only an arm's length away between you two. "I can say the same thing about you. You don't really know me either, only what Hajime has said about me."
Oikawa raised his head back up, his eyes parted open minimally. No response came from him as another blank stare rested on his face, silencing himself from admitting you had a point. He grasped the back of the couch with his right hand firmly, his fingers clenching down on the leather cushion.
You grimaced, noticing he was quite disconcerted with your retort, possibly on the brim of irritation. Not wanting to upset him any further, you placed your left hand on top of his fingers resting back on the couch cushion, catching his gaze. "Look, I know I don't really know you, but I genuinely mean it when I say I don't think you're a bad person. Like I said before, I believe you're just someone who exhibits kindness."
Oikawa slightly moved his index finger from under your hand, gently caressing the tip of his digit just above your knuckles. He took a deep inhale and closed his eyes once more, his tense temperament slowly subsiding by your reassurance. Though, some doubts still resided within his mind. "Just because you believe I'm kind, doesn't mean I'm a good person. I've done things that can't be forgiven."
"There's no saint without a past. Every one has done things that can't be forgiven." You flipped your left hand over, gently grabbing onto his fingers—the same way he did with yours earlier, in a sense, afraid to hurt him any further. Clasping your right hand on top of his, the tips of your thumbs stroked the tender skin on the spaces in between each knuckle. "But I don't think that inherently makes you a bad person either."
You gave him a soothing smile, one that could melt away any of his uncertainties. Oikawa stared at you in awe, contemplating on your own insight—realizing he never looked at his own issues through the perspective of another. Somehow, without him ever revealing what he did in his past, you were able to see eye to eye without any predisposed prejudice.
Though you didn't explicitly say you condoned or condemned any of his actions from the past, albeit he never disclosed any of them in the first place—Oikawa figured you were still able to recognize that he shouldn't essentialize himself on what he had done or any of the mistakes he had made. It forced him to realize that it didn't reduce him down to who he truly was as a person, to what he had been perceiving himself out to be for years.
It was a refreshing outlook on the nihilistic output he had on his own morality, reassuring he was indeed a normal person who dwelled on their regrets—regardless if he felt like he would be capable of doing it again. Unbeknownst, you unintentionally reinforced the malevolence within himself, as Oikawa had committed crimes more severe than what you had initially thought.
The needle on the turntable skipped on the edge of the vinyl, the feedback loop reverbing on the speakers. The song had ended, causing Oikawa to get up from the couch in order to turn off the record player. You followed behind him, walking up to the stand beneath the flat screen TV and crouching down below, placing a finger on top of his record collection.
"May I?" You looked up to him, alternating your fingers through the album covers. He nodded below, lifting up the dust cover of the turntable to grab the Chet Baker Sings record off the platter.
While he placed it back into the album sleeve, you continued to search through each album one by one, noticing a range of genres from classics to contemporary, rock to jazz, hip hop to R&B. Amazed at how much he collected, you grazed your fingertips along the frayed edges of the covers, sifting down the long line of records. Though one caught your attention, stopping at a pink colored album with a woman on the front, black angel wings attached on her back.
You slowly pulled it out from the corner, noticing it was in brand new condition. The lamination of the cover reflected against the blue neon lights from the city skyline, noticing the title was in Spanish. From what you could make out, it read Sin Miedo at the bottom.
"What's this?" You turned the album over to Oikawa, showing the front of the baby pink colored cover to him.
"It was a gift from a friend in the United States." He reached out to grab it from you, inspecting the setlist on the back. "I haven't really listened to it yet, so I don't know what it sounds like."
"Well let's find out." You placed your hand on the oak floor to hoist yourself up, dusting your hand on the edge of your black dress. "You should play it."
Oikawa slipped out the record from the album cover, removing the paper sleeve to reveal the shine of the black vinyl. He set it down on the platter, hovering the needle arm against the edge, pressing play on the side of the turntable. He closed the dust cover and walked back a few steps, listening to the beginning crackle of the grooves through the speaker.
The record started off with a woman speaking in Spanish, followed by the sound of a harmonica in the background. Then, the strum of a guitar, coupled with a soft beat from the hand drums began to play quietly throughout his living room. The second the woman began to sing, Oikawa brought his head up to look at you, eyes flushed with allure.
You gazed back up into his eyes, noticing the slight glimmer in the corner, reflective of the lights outside the window. Between bodies, another perpetual silence crept among you two—this time, alleviating any sort of fears or boundaries situated in the midst. Only growing passion remained, a desire to reach out for one another observed in the social cues.
For a moment, all you both could do was stare at each other—nothing could interfere surrounding you two, leaving only what was left in the comfortability of one's gaze.
"♫ Vive la luna enamorada... ♫"
Oikawa took a step closer to you, gently grasping your fingers, bringing your hand up near his face. With his left hand, he rested it behind your waist—pulling your body closer to his, chests pressed up against each other. While intertwining his fingers with yours, he leaned in near your face, whispering into your ear.
"Dance with me."
You gazed into his eyes again as you both swayed back and forth, holding on to one other closely. Resting your left hand behind his neck, you caressed the head of his dragon tattoo, tickling his skin before touching the side of his face. He brushed his right thigh against yours, moving to the beat of the song as your bodies yearned for something more.
As you both slowly danced in the middle of his living room, he took one step forward and dipped your body back, causing you to hold onto his hand tightly. He held you up by placing his hand in between your shoulder blades, making sure you were secured in his arms. Once he pulled you back in, your lips were centimeters away from his as you let out a soft breath, looking deep into his eyes.
He whispered gently, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. "You're so beautiful."
Swaying back and forth again, you rested your hand along the back of his neck, letting his forehead touch yours. You ended up following his lead, moving one step at a time as your toes hovered on the cold wooden floor. Regardless of skill, the dancing initiated the growth of intimacy between you two, eagerly longing for the closeness between each step.
He rested his hand down to your waist again, touching your figure through your dress, nerves creeping underneath your skin and down your back. Your legs stepped forward to the beat again while your waist swayed from side to side, gazing deep into his eyes once more. While burying your head into the crook of his neck, you held onto his tight embrace while moving slowly to the beat, bringing your clasped hands closer to the heart.
"♫ Que vive en ti... ♫"
You pressed your forehead against his one last time, completely closing your eyes and leaving yourself vulnerable to his control. Both of your hands moved up to his cheeks, cradling his face in between your grasp. Oikawa caressed down your body, hands aligning at the base of your hips; fingers clutching along the seam of your dress, careful enough not to let himself hurt you.
As the last strum of the guitar faded from the speakers, he leaned in, pressing his lips into yours.