Servamp Secret Santa 2022
YO prompts came to me and I gave my best to meet the wishes of my lovely secret santa this year...
Merry Christmas @yarrayora! I've checked your tumblr and it is hilarious, so you won a follower lol. Also it's been a long time since I've been active in the Servamp fandom and I had great fun writing this even if it's definitely not in the Christmas spirit lmao, so thank you for the opportunity!
And also many thanks to the lovely @animes-trash who organized that event i love you bb
Anyway, see you around in Servamp chaos
Your local Touma stan
Summary of what's below: Touma Taishi has serious anger issues and sometimes it results in murdering someone in the worst place, worst moment. Oops.
The blood merged with the alcohol. It ran along the floorboards, between the chairs, towards the carpet. In a start, Touma pulled the tablecloth off, and pressed it again the floor. In just a few seconds, it was maculate in brownish fluid.
With a grunt, Touma rolled the body over on the tablecloth. It didn’t quite fit.
He glanced at the carpet again.
“A bit decoration always lightens a home!”
He shook his head. No, she would definitely notice if the carpet went missing. She already would definitely notice for the tablecloth. Tsurugi spilt soda over it, Touma would argue. Eyeing at the whisky bottle lying carelessly by the table legs, it came to his mind that Tsurugi could also spilt soda on the carpet, now. He just had to be convinced he did. Not much of an issue.
There he sat, crouching over the already stiff body. Touma clicked his tongue – there was a little too much blood to frame it as a drinking accident. Or the aggressor had been very, very mad at the man. For all Touma knew, many people had many reasons to give that man a harsh beating. He didn’t think he was the first who ever had, but he surely was the last.
That thought lit a slight smile across the youth’s face.
That was it, now. He was freed. He had freed himself. That poor, retarded, pathetic excuse of a man was the last string tying him to his past life. And he, Touma, himself, without nobody’s help, had cut it.
He straightened up, took a deep breath in – repressed a laugh thinking of the body at his feet – then a deep breath out.
A few breathes later, he did no longer want to laugh at all.
He had killed a man in the middle of his living-room. Beside the carpet the girl he was seeing gifted him – the girl he was supposed to be seeing this evening. He looked up at the clock. 4 p.m. and 18 minutes. That loser really had the nerves to show at his apartment in the middle of the day. How much time did he have before Tsurugi came home? Was he coming home today? Touma could call the Tsuyukis and made sure the kid didn’t. And when was she supposed to arrive? She was never on time. Either early, with presents and cheerfulness for the both of them; either late, with even more of both.
So there was no telling. What Touma could tell for sure, however, was that she should never, ever, know about what had happened in this flat.
At that very moment, the doorbell rang.
It rung so distantly, at first, that Touma first though it was his imagination. So he let it ring, once, twice, with more intensity, as if the doorbell itself wanted him to get a grip. On the third time, he got up, careful not to slip into the pond of blood, and walked slowly to the interphone.
He stood, perfectly still, his voice was blank, but calm. Nobody ever rang him. Actually, only two people did, and since one of them could not possibly be that early, it had to be the other one. The annoying one. The one that could see through him. The one that would, if not get it, at least bear with him.
Besides, the body was way too heavy for him. At first, Touma had thought about dragging it on the tablecloth, but that would only spread the blood all around the corridor. Then, he had wondered how large the garbage chute was, considering that it was the only acceptable way for such a man to end – Touma believed he could then retrieve the body from the dump, and toss it wherever it suited him in the sewers. That sounded like a terrible idea, but it was the most creative he had.
Why couldn’t that drunkard just wait for him to come at him?
It wasn’t as if they lived the very next door.
It wasn’t as if they had lived the very next door for six years straight, and that he only decided to remember the existence of his son this week, of all weeks.
This week, Touma was supposed to conclude with the girl. This week, Touma was supposed to graduate and to officially get a job. This week, Touma was supposed to get out of this miserable life. But this week, that man, that man who could have remained just a stinking memory, that man chose not only to reappear, no, he chose to intervene.
“Dirty meddler,” those were his words.
Touma didn’t remember much of what had happened after Tsurugi’s father had said them. Touma had been careful, though. When the man had crossed the border - crossed the tresholf of the flat - Touma knew there was no way back. So he played nice. Offered discussion, offered a chair, offered a drink. And while the man was sitting there, so casually, blattering enormities about how Touma had dared laying his hands on his only son, and how there was no way Touma could even repay him for the wrong he caused him, a poor, innocent, salary-man - while Kamiya was drowning himself into the nonsense he must have been repeating for a while, Touma put on his gloves, chose the heaviest bottle that was left from some drinking evening with his invading so-called friends, and stood behind the man.
Then his head turned empty.
“That’s… Definitely not a good excuse.”
“Since when do I make up excuses?”
“You really don’t but… Somehow, you…”
Seemed rather calm about this? Looked like he had other fucks to give than about some asshole he had beaten to death in his flat? Really just wanted to have a peaceful afternoon because it was the first leave his got in years?
“Look, I just want to get this done before Tsurugi comes back from school.”
The gaze Tooru gave him did not surprise him. The Shirotas always had the same face when confronted to the saddening, yet factual, cruelty of life. Or maybe Tooru didn’t believe him. Maybe he was convinced that Tsurugi was the last of Touma’s concerns, and that he had just messed up, once more.
“And, yes, this was highly unprofessional. However, if you could not report it to the chief inquisitor, I would appreciate it.”
Tooru frowned.
“Anything else?”
“How big is your car trunk?”
Tooru’s car was average, and that was just about what Touma expected of it. Most of all, he was amazed by how convenient it was to have a Shirota around. A costly investment, but he couldn’t say he regretted it. Kamiya, carefully wrapped in black plastic, was as cumbersome as he had been his all life. Luckily, at this time of the year, carrying such a big package could look like getting rid of a Christmas Tree. Shirota had even bothered shaping the bulk like one, which made it even more stupidly difficult to move. But it did make him laugh. And although Touma didn’t, the incongruous smile on Tooru’s face made the situation somewhat funny.
They snuck out of the apartment complex, headed down the parking lot – hid in the garbage dump while neighbors were coming back from fetching their children to school – and finally secured their load in Shirota’s car.
“So, what’s your plan now?”
“You are surprisingly involved in this whole hiding a body case.”
New outraged pout.
“I accepted to lend you my car to hide a man you just slaughtered! You bet I am involved!”
Touma rolled his eyes. Carefully, he searched for his lighter, and lit a cigarette.
“You lend me your car for a while. I’ll get rid of it.”
“The body, right?”
“I can – and should – get rid of the car as well. But since you seem very sentimental about it, I’ll bring it back to you in one piece.”
Tooru looked annoyed. Touma couldn’t tell if it was the cigarette, the alcohol, or Kamiya in the trunk. He bet on the three of them.
“I can’t believe you are actually going to graduate.”
Touma almost dropped his cigarette. He blinked at Tooru.
“What.”
“You’re a menace to society.”
“I’ll remind you I just killed a man, funny guy.”
“Oh, come on. If you’d wanted me dead, you could have done it in a thousand different flavors by now.”
Saying that, he opened up his arms in sign of peace. And this gesture was so humble, so carefree, so soft, that for a moment Touma really wanted to bury his face inside that simpleton’s chest, he really wanted to forget about the murder, and he really wanted to forget about the girl too.
But the cigarette and the alcohol were sour, and he had made his choice.
“I wouldn’t let my guard down, if I were you. The villain is still going to be around for a while.”
“Well, every villain needs a hero to keep them in check!”
Touma chuckled. He offered Tooru a cigarette. He refused.