Notes

Koutaro Bokuto, the name of one of many who's made their name. Though, it wasn't with his own effort. Bokuto was previously satisfied with his volleyball accomplishments. He was satisfied with his friend circle within volleyball teams. Naturally it would make up the majority of his connection. However, his accomplishments reached many networks out of his volleyball culture. Accomplishments, combined with looks, peaked Bokuto's reputation. He found it funny until he was brought into many networks. It wasn't a rise of fame, but rather a rise of the amount of friends. Thereafter, he entered a new culture of parties, events, and content he couldn't identify. He made sure to minimize amount of parties he went to, due to volleyball. The mere effort of clutching into his own sanity, never changed what was the contents consumption at the parties. Bokuto learned the hard way, how the rock bottom of bad cultures ended up with.

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The party scene was decorated in neon lights, strobes, smoke machines, a personsal bartender who was a friend, and music. It was the mere standard of parties Bokuto was invited to. Each time, he was well-dressed in white to contrast the darkness. His involvement with people varied each party, depending on hosts and guests. As for now, he enjoyed being in the middle. He wasn't ignored or invincible, and he wasn't the center of the party. He downed shots, chugs, and sipped cocktails until his palette was satisfied. Everything was normal for a party, until 9 pm, in which additional guests made their entrance. Bokuto didn't know them. He was drunk enough to pretend like he knew them. Only, it would be his biggest mistake of the night.

Bokuto's warm welcomes and positive energy absolutely came to their attention. The new group was very happy to talk to him, and decided to adopt him for a night. They named the group for a clan, as a joke. However, they did manage to convince drunks at the party that their clan was real. Bokuto's memories already started to jumble, as he happily accepted their gifts of liquor and items. He couldn't pay attention to the mild earache buzzing beside his head. He remembered the sounds of glasses clinking, and his new clan friends pouring things into it. It was the first gift he accepted. It didn't taste good, but Bokuto remembered downing it to make them happy. Only, it would be his second biggest mistake of the night.

His senses seemed to jumble only less than an hour later. His memories ended at that moment. His first perceptions were walls having traits other than being still. Bokuto remembered feeling disconnected from the world, and hearing jumbled up words. He saw figures talk to him, only he couldn't find the meaning of the words. Thus, he let out sounds that meant to be responses. He couldn't feel his legs, he remembered floating or flying between figures. Bokuto felt something was wrong on the first floor. His first tears formed when the staircase was dusted in green, the walls kept moving and steaming hot air. He could only feel worse, and worse. He couldn't talk coherently, even if he tried. He kept holding on to the railing, wall, but felt as if he was levitating upstairs. The air kept steaming off the walls. The walls had holes which let out hot air. Bokuto could see the colors as if the rainbow spewed colors. Bokuto felt his legs and hands shake, only he wasn't aware. Bokuto breathed heavily. His breath felt like fire, as if he could breathe fire. Therefore, Bokuto purposely breathed heavily to exhale fire. Only it caused his body to heat up. The wall spewed hot air, and his mouth exhaled fire. On the last step, Bokuto saw cuts on his knees.

The injuries were enough to cause him to tear up, because he didn't feel it. Bokuto didn't understand where it came from. Yet, he could levitate. With his energy, he could fly and breathe fire on the way upstairs. Bokuto's anxiety took him from behind, with prickling feet being mistaken for being weightless. The door opened by itself, maybe due to his hot breath. Bokuto found his hand on the handle. The handle that was moving. He dragged it every direction, until it opened. Maybe it opened by itself. He didn't know which room it was. He saw a bed. He connected the bed with safety. Only, the bed was levitating as well as him.

The cuts on his knees remained inexplicable, though he was delighted to lay down. Only he looked down on his bare upper body a second later. His shirt laid beside him, but he was alone. He had taken his shirt off. The four walls in the bedroom exhaled heat. Which caused his body to heat up, only he couldn't cool down. He couldn't feel cold. No air outside, he could see the air move away from him. The window reflected buildings that moved away. He breathed through it, tried to calm down. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Something was wrong, was all he knew. His memory of these moments could never be accessed. The reality of that night was gone. After being shirtless, he felt the bed rise to his body. He could rest his body on the bed. He had hot breath into the bed, that changed color sometimes. He could close his eyes, and saw things that weren't there. It was a second world when he closed his eyes. Bokuto turned around to face the ceiling, to feel the ceiling exhale hot air on him too. It had a fan, and maybe it did it on purpose. Bokuto stretched his chest out in desperation, and tried to yell for the room to stop.

He couldn't speak, he couldn't remeber or focus to think of language. Even he felt liquid heat cover his cheeks and lips, suffocating liquid that forcefully covered his face. Bokuto felt liquid all over his body. Something was oozing. Something liquidy was going on, in the air. Something followed him. The air, a presence was following him. Kuroo?

He could feel a presence in the room, only he didn't know who or what. He heard sentences. He replied to them. He could hear "Hey?". He didn't know where. Bokuto wanted to die, with delusions every corner. He felt a rock sit on his body, but didn't know what he looked like externally. He needed to die for it to stop. Closed eyes trip. Bokuto tried to speak and say he needed something. He heard a light voice respond. Or maybe it was a dark voice. He could see colors. Bokuto could find his hands to reach his pants. His legs weren't affected. He didn't use legs to levitate. He needed cold air. "Help," was the word he tried to speak. His voice would come off as deep. He cried for help. He thought he did. His pupils weren't his. Bokuto didn't know anymore. He felt his body heat up once again, though cold circles from the television reached his legs. Bokuto felt satisfied with cold circles surrounding his feet and legs. Sometimes he felt cold circles against his chest. He didn't feel anything below. Cold air. He could feel somewhat enjoyment of the cold air, but the colors got stronger. Colors would get intense, he didn't identify them at the time. He could close his eyes and enjoy feeling anything but warm. The walls were still exhaling air.

Bokuto couldn't fall asleep. His heart pumping out. He felt better than paranoid. He felt cold sandals, or circles. He couldn't see anything. He had his eyes closed. It was everything he remembered. Other than pink dye beside him. He could feel his throat. Bokuto could see rainbow on the floor moments later. He felt weaker, but energized. His head. He couldn't see. He could see colors. He could hear sounds and voices. He couldn't pinpoint where the sounds came from, he couldn't look at it.

Help.