wip amnesty #9
Oct. 24th, 2020 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlishpopprince of tennis, ensemble / multiship (seigaku kids focus, tezuka/fuji), 1893 words. horror-esque/supernatural countryside au, where ryoma moves to a small remote town ft fuji as a malevolent kitsune. i was considering returning to this wip now that i'm back in the fandom, but there's just too much of it that i don't like at all.. so posting some excerpts from it! originally from 2011, last edited in 2016.
[1]
‘Ryoma-kun, this is going to sound really weird, but... there’s something wrong with Fuji-senpai’s shadow,’ Sakuno whispers and she’s obviously keeping herself from looking back, to see the sight she told him to check out. He turns his head just slightly, it feels as if maybe it really wouldn’t be good if Fuji noticed, like maybe, it’d be really bad if Fuji noticed. Ryoma manages to catch a quick glimpse of the older teen’s shadow, and he sees what Sakuno means, but the clouds are heavier now, darker. It looks like it might rain any second now.
‘Let’s go,’ he says, touches Sakuno’s arm almost tentatively, because he has a bad feeling about this and even if Echizen Ryoma doesn’t run away from a challenge, this isn’t just about him. Sakuno bites her bottom-lip.
‘What about Tomo-chan?’ He had forgotten. He had forgotten about the loud and clingy girl, and for some reason all the hairs on his arms stood right up.
‘I can wait for her,’ comes the melodic voice from behind them and they both turn to look at Fuji. He is smiling and it’s beautiful and his voice somehow still ringing and vibrating in the air. Ryoma feels like he wants to trust Fuji to make sure Tomoka gets home safely, but he knows he can’t, somehow he just knows, when Fuji’s blue blue eyes show in tiny slits.
‘We’ll wait,’ he answers and he wishes he could make Sakuno stand behind him without making it obvious. The light chuckles that move Fuji’s shoulders are amused, the sound loud and clear somehow while still so low and the rain starts falling. A light drizzle, still warm from the heat of this late summer, it will probably not soak them but only add unwelcome dampness.
‘Such nice and caring friends you are,’ Fuji says and his eyes are completely hidden again now. ‘We must all be careful now, mustn’t we, with all these horrors happening?’
‘What to you mean “all these”?’
Ryoma has never been to happy for an interruption ever before and he lets out a small breath as Tezuka and Oshitari Yuushi rounds the corner; as Oshitari lets the Kansai dialect fill his voice and he drawled the question and Ryoma doesn’t want to think of what Tomoka had said about that voice. Fuji still smiles, but opens his eyes and looks at Tezuka.
‘Things are going awry, haven’t you heard? It’s written on the walls all over the town, it’s written in the ground we stand on, it’s written in the future before us.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tezuka asks, serious and stern, a comforting presence even when on the other side of Fuji.
‘So charmingly stoic, ne? But what do I mean, what, what do I mean? It’s written, and no, not only metaphorically!’ Fuji laughs — nausea hits, makes him dizzy to the point of vertigo and he grips Sakuno’s arm to stand upright. Her expression is as worried as Fuji’s is interested. He can’t catch the look on anybody else’s face, eyes shut to block out the light and the world is spinning quicker still, it almost feels like falling.
-
Ryoma opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at Oshitari Yuushi. Huh. Seconds later he realises he’s still gripping Sakuno’s arm and lets go quickly, hears her take a light breath of relief.
‘Ryoma-kun!’
‘Tomoka?’ He asks, turns his head and sees Tomoko’s dark-brown eyes. ‘You’re here..?’
‘Of course I’m here, I came out minutes ago! Just in time to see Tezuka-senpai grab Fuji-senpai’s arm as they walked off, Sakuno here almost losing her arm because of your vice-like grip!’
‘I fainted?’ He couldn’t stop himself from wondering, voice distant and well, faint. Yuushi chuckled. Ryoma could feel the movement of his body, understanding that the warmth he felt actually was the older teen.
[2]
‘No god can save you now,’ Fuji says, his tone emotionless even with the smile plastered to his face. Unable to answer, Tezuka merely tries to breathe, the wounds on his throat almost only carrying blood to his lungs, no air. Wheezing, rasping. He can’t even splutter, can do nothing to stop Fuji from leaning close and licking at and along the edges of the wound, his hand weak and just touching Fuji’s arm when they come into contact instead of shoving him away. Tezuka can feel every pulsing heartbeat and time drags for an eternity when it surely must be going much, much faster.
‘You know,’ Fuji begins and licks at the blood that stuck to the corners of his mouth, sitting up and looking down at Tezuka, ‘I never intended for you to die. That’s why I didn’t do this.’
Tezuka wishes for words but can only watch Fuji’s animated face, blue eyes glittering and that perceptual smile in an elegant curve. Always always always. There’s still blood on him, the left corner of his mouth and up on the cheek. Red, like the colour of Fuji’s hakama, a colour that is a reminder of life as much as death.
All Tezuka can taste is blood and the world seems dimmer, Fuji’s kind voice floating in a haze and possibly a long distance away.
‘I could save you, it wouldn’t cost much,’ Fuji whispers and Tezuka could swear it was just in his ear, too close but it still sounded so far away. He finds himself nodding, a yes, accepting the words of a kitsune disguising himself as kind and a saviour even when Tezuka knows better. He always knew better, he thinks and the world is blank.
-
Tezuka has no idea of where he might be when he wakes up and opens his eyes to find a white room. Logically, with a wound like the one he had acquired he should either be dead or in the hospital. Though he can’t actually know for certain, he is sure that this place is neither.
He turns his head just slightly, examines his surroundings. Everything is just white, from the tatami mats on the floor and the rice paper on the walls to the futon he lies on and the sheets covering him and the clothes he wears. All white. There’s a sweet smell hanging in the air, floral. Sakura, he recognises after a second or two or a hundred years.
‘You’re awake?’ Tezuka cranes his head and ignores the pain, sees Fuji actually looking surprised, arms full with branches of sakura. White blooming sakura. Fuji quickly smiles again, Tezuka almost missing the change and maybe he only imagined the other expression. ‘Don’t try to talk just yet, I’m no healer and I can actually not give you any promises that you ever might be able to again. A real number what had been done to you.’
Fuji walks closer and kneels, places the branches in four vases that Tezuka is pretty sure weren’t there moments ago. Arranging the branches and interestedly watching the patterns a few loose petals land on the floor, Fuji says, ‘You probably have a few things you wonder about right now, so I’ll say what I can. We are in my extra room in the house that doesn’t exist, in the mountains. You are my guest, remember that. I’ll try to be a good host.’
Moving closer, Fuji sits on the edge of the futon and Tezuka tries to move to let him sit better. A hand on his arm stops him, Fuji smiling down, fingers trailing up and down in soothing motions. ‘You are alive but need solitude, so I took you here. I’ll care for you.’ Fuji’s eyes are blue lakes reflecting equally blue skies of forever. Blue lakes to drown in. Tezuka wonders if he would mind drowning in them now, when they look kind.
‘What is the payment for me saving your life, you probably wonder.’ Tezuka is glad he doesn’t have to answer, even if Fuji’s mirthful gaze makes him sure that the kitsune knows that he wasn’t thinking about the payment at all. ‘I haven’t decided on it yet. It’s hard to put a price on a life, don’t you think? An eye for an eye, a life for a life?’
‘What do you say, Tezuka, would you take a life for me?’ A laugh hidden behind a small hand. Pale. Matching the whiteness of the room. ‘No. I wouldn’t want you to kill someone, that’s too simple. Meaningless. Try to think of something, so will I do the same.’
Standing up, Fuji brushed pretend-dust off of his kimono and straightened it with quick, careful movements, mindful of his sharp nails. Tezuka couldn’t help but watch, almost mesmerised he would think later, when Fuji walked out the sliding door. Smiling before closing the door, he watches Tezuka‘s face and says ‘I will return with food for you soon, you’re probably hungry.’
[3]
‘He’s a planted memory,’ Eiji whispers in his ear, close and breath warm in the winter air. Ryoma swallows nothing, his mouth completely dry, eyes wide. Fingertips play in hair, a nail running down his cheek in a soft scratch.
‘Who?’ Ryoma whispers back, not quite in Eiji’s ear, more like in the wisps of red hair that tickle his face and neck. Eiji shuffles closer, nuzzles his neck for a couple of seconds, arms tightening around his shoulders. The black fabric of their school uniforms combined with a dark jacket makes Eiji’s skin oddly pale in the withering afternoon light, the darkness of night already creeping up. All shadows in the world are long, twisted figures and beings from another place.
‘Him,’ Eiji says and looks over at Ryoga, points and maybe it’s a trick of light but his nail looks sharp, almost like a claw. Ryoma shudders. ‘But don’t tell him that, might be dan-ge-rous, nya~’
‘What are you saying?’ Ryoma still whispers when he manages to get his dry throat working, manages to ask a question.
‘I know you heard me, Ryoma-kun! Let’s keep it a secret, yeah?’ Eiji winks and then his eyes seem glazed over, before blinking quickly a couple of times and he looks like he’s waking up from a daze, with how he looks at their surroundings and his eyes clearer again. Ryoma closes his eyes, takes a shallow breath and the cold of the winter finds it way deep into his lungs.
‘Let’s continue home, Eiji-senpai.’
‘Chibisuke, what happened to your cheek?’ The question comes as a surprise, freezes Ryoma on spot, chills running up his spine as he feels a hand on his shoulder. Ryoga leans close, watches him with piercing eyes that look so much like his own but darker, runs a cold fingertip down his right cheek.
‘Nya, ochibi! What is that?’
Panicking, not having any idea what they were talking about except maybe, maybe — Ryoma replied, ‘I don’t know, I can’t see it. You tell me.’
Ryoga moves his finger up and then down again over the line of Ryoma’s jaw, not quite at the same place as before and he removes his finger. It’s smeared red, with blood. There shouldn’t be any blood, the skin didn’t break but no. It has, now, he can feel the scratch stretching and it’s pulsing, and maybe the blood is trickling now, slowly.
-
A planted memory? What does that even mean?
[1]
‘Ryoma-kun, this is going to sound really weird, but... there’s something wrong with Fuji-senpai’s shadow,’ Sakuno whispers and she’s obviously keeping herself from looking back, to see the sight she told him to check out. He turns his head just slightly, it feels as if maybe it really wouldn’t be good if Fuji noticed, like maybe, it’d be really bad if Fuji noticed. Ryoma manages to catch a quick glimpse of the older teen’s shadow, and he sees what Sakuno means, but the clouds are heavier now, darker. It looks like it might rain any second now.
‘Let’s go,’ he says, touches Sakuno’s arm almost tentatively, because he has a bad feeling about this and even if Echizen Ryoma doesn’t run away from a challenge, this isn’t just about him. Sakuno bites her bottom-lip.
‘What about Tomo-chan?’ He had forgotten. He had forgotten about the loud and clingy girl, and for some reason all the hairs on his arms stood right up.
‘I can wait for her,’ comes the melodic voice from behind them and they both turn to look at Fuji. He is smiling and it’s beautiful and his voice somehow still ringing and vibrating in the air. Ryoma feels like he wants to trust Fuji to make sure Tomoka gets home safely, but he knows he can’t, somehow he just knows, when Fuji’s blue blue eyes show in tiny slits.
‘We’ll wait,’ he answers and he wishes he could make Sakuno stand behind him without making it obvious. The light chuckles that move Fuji’s shoulders are amused, the sound loud and clear somehow while still so low and the rain starts falling. A light drizzle, still warm from the heat of this late summer, it will probably not soak them but only add unwelcome dampness.
‘Such nice and caring friends you are,’ Fuji says and his eyes are completely hidden again now. ‘We must all be careful now, mustn’t we, with all these horrors happening?’
‘What to you mean “all these”?’
Ryoma has never been to happy for an interruption ever before and he lets out a small breath as Tezuka and Oshitari Yuushi rounds the corner; as Oshitari lets the Kansai dialect fill his voice and he drawled the question and Ryoma doesn’t want to think of what Tomoka had said about that voice. Fuji still smiles, but opens his eyes and looks at Tezuka.
‘Things are going awry, haven’t you heard? It’s written on the walls all over the town, it’s written in the ground we stand on, it’s written in the future before us.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tezuka asks, serious and stern, a comforting presence even when on the other side of Fuji.
‘So charmingly stoic, ne? But what do I mean, what, what do I mean? It’s written, and no, not only metaphorically!’ Fuji laughs — nausea hits, makes him dizzy to the point of vertigo and he grips Sakuno’s arm to stand upright. Her expression is as worried as Fuji’s is interested. He can’t catch the look on anybody else’s face, eyes shut to block out the light and the world is spinning quicker still, it almost feels like falling.
-
Ryoma opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at Oshitari Yuushi. Huh. Seconds later he realises he’s still gripping Sakuno’s arm and lets go quickly, hears her take a light breath of relief.
‘Ryoma-kun!’
‘Tomoka?’ He asks, turns his head and sees Tomoko’s dark-brown eyes. ‘You’re here..?’
‘Of course I’m here, I came out minutes ago! Just in time to see Tezuka-senpai grab Fuji-senpai’s arm as they walked off, Sakuno here almost losing her arm because of your vice-like grip!’
‘I fainted?’ He couldn’t stop himself from wondering, voice distant and well, faint. Yuushi chuckled. Ryoma could feel the movement of his body, understanding that the warmth he felt actually was the older teen.
[2]
‘No god can save you now,’ Fuji says, his tone emotionless even with the smile plastered to his face. Unable to answer, Tezuka merely tries to breathe, the wounds on his throat almost only carrying blood to his lungs, no air. Wheezing, rasping. He can’t even splutter, can do nothing to stop Fuji from leaning close and licking at and along the edges of the wound, his hand weak and just touching Fuji’s arm when they come into contact instead of shoving him away. Tezuka can feel every pulsing heartbeat and time drags for an eternity when it surely must be going much, much faster.
‘You know,’ Fuji begins and licks at the blood that stuck to the corners of his mouth, sitting up and looking down at Tezuka, ‘I never intended for you to die. That’s why I didn’t do this.’
Tezuka wishes for words but can only watch Fuji’s animated face, blue eyes glittering and that perceptual smile in an elegant curve. Always always always. There’s still blood on him, the left corner of his mouth and up on the cheek. Red, like the colour of Fuji’s hakama, a colour that is a reminder of life as much as death.
All Tezuka can taste is blood and the world seems dimmer, Fuji’s kind voice floating in a haze and possibly a long distance away.
‘I could save you, it wouldn’t cost much,’ Fuji whispers and Tezuka could swear it was just in his ear, too close but it still sounded so far away. He finds himself nodding, a yes, accepting the words of a kitsune disguising himself as kind and a saviour even when Tezuka knows better. He always knew better, he thinks and the world is blank.
-
Tezuka has no idea of where he might be when he wakes up and opens his eyes to find a white room. Logically, with a wound like the one he had acquired he should either be dead or in the hospital. Though he can’t actually know for certain, he is sure that this place is neither.
He turns his head just slightly, examines his surroundings. Everything is just white, from the tatami mats on the floor and the rice paper on the walls to the futon he lies on and the sheets covering him and the clothes he wears. All white. There’s a sweet smell hanging in the air, floral. Sakura, he recognises after a second or two or a hundred years.
‘You’re awake?’ Tezuka cranes his head and ignores the pain, sees Fuji actually looking surprised, arms full with branches of sakura. White blooming sakura. Fuji quickly smiles again, Tezuka almost missing the change and maybe he only imagined the other expression. ‘Don’t try to talk just yet, I’m no healer and I can actually not give you any promises that you ever might be able to again. A real number what had been done to you.’
Fuji walks closer and kneels, places the branches in four vases that Tezuka is pretty sure weren’t there moments ago. Arranging the branches and interestedly watching the patterns a few loose petals land on the floor, Fuji says, ‘You probably have a few things you wonder about right now, so I’ll say what I can. We are in my extra room in the house that doesn’t exist, in the mountains. You are my guest, remember that. I’ll try to be a good host.’
Moving closer, Fuji sits on the edge of the futon and Tezuka tries to move to let him sit better. A hand on his arm stops him, Fuji smiling down, fingers trailing up and down in soothing motions. ‘You are alive but need solitude, so I took you here. I’ll care for you.’ Fuji’s eyes are blue lakes reflecting equally blue skies of forever. Blue lakes to drown in. Tezuka wonders if he would mind drowning in them now, when they look kind.
‘What is the payment for me saving your life, you probably wonder.’ Tezuka is glad he doesn’t have to answer, even if Fuji’s mirthful gaze makes him sure that the kitsune knows that he wasn’t thinking about the payment at all. ‘I haven’t decided on it yet. It’s hard to put a price on a life, don’t you think? An eye for an eye, a life for a life?’
‘What do you say, Tezuka, would you take a life for me?’ A laugh hidden behind a small hand. Pale. Matching the whiteness of the room. ‘No. I wouldn’t want you to kill someone, that’s too simple. Meaningless. Try to think of something, so will I do the same.’
Standing up, Fuji brushed pretend-dust off of his kimono and straightened it with quick, careful movements, mindful of his sharp nails. Tezuka couldn’t help but watch, almost mesmerised he would think later, when Fuji walked out the sliding door. Smiling before closing the door, he watches Tezuka‘s face and says ‘I will return with food for you soon, you’re probably hungry.’
[3]
‘He’s a planted memory,’ Eiji whispers in his ear, close and breath warm in the winter air. Ryoma swallows nothing, his mouth completely dry, eyes wide. Fingertips play in hair, a nail running down his cheek in a soft scratch.
‘Who?’ Ryoma whispers back, not quite in Eiji’s ear, more like in the wisps of red hair that tickle his face and neck. Eiji shuffles closer, nuzzles his neck for a couple of seconds, arms tightening around his shoulders. The black fabric of their school uniforms combined with a dark jacket makes Eiji’s skin oddly pale in the withering afternoon light, the darkness of night already creeping up. All shadows in the world are long, twisted figures and beings from another place.
‘Him,’ Eiji says and looks over at Ryoga, points and maybe it’s a trick of light but his nail looks sharp, almost like a claw. Ryoma shudders. ‘But don’t tell him that, might be dan-ge-rous, nya~’
‘What are you saying?’ Ryoma still whispers when he manages to get his dry throat working, manages to ask a question.
‘I know you heard me, Ryoma-kun! Let’s keep it a secret, yeah?’ Eiji winks and then his eyes seem glazed over, before blinking quickly a couple of times and he looks like he’s waking up from a daze, with how he looks at their surroundings and his eyes clearer again. Ryoma closes his eyes, takes a shallow breath and the cold of the winter finds it way deep into his lungs.
‘Let’s continue home, Eiji-senpai.’
‘Chibisuke, what happened to your cheek?’ The question comes as a surprise, freezes Ryoma on spot, chills running up his spine as he feels a hand on his shoulder. Ryoga leans close, watches him with piercing eyes that look so much like his own but darker, runs a cold fingertip down his right cheek.
‘Nya, ochibi! What is that?’
Panicking, not having any idea what they were talking about except maybe, maybe — Ryoma replied, ‘I don’t know, I can’t see it. You tell me.’
Ryoga moves his finger up and then down again over the line of Ryoma’s jaw, not quite at the same place as before and he removes his finger. It’s smeared red, with blood. There shouldn’t be any blood, the skin didn’t break but no. It has, now, he can feel the scratch stretching and it’s pulsing, and maybe the blood is trickling now, slowly.
-
A planted memory? What does that even mean?
