Archive of Our Own ^beta

someone, somewhere

Half a year ago, Indou Hikaru went to the mountains and something else came back. 

It was the shape of Hikaru, standing at 169 centimeters with one sandal on, socks pulled to his ankle and back slouched as his eyes trailed red dragonflies into the distance. It sounded like Hikaru, his accented voice the right timbre, halfway between an outburst and a song. And if Yoshiki were to close his eyes, it felt like Hikaru, shining with light and warm pressed against his side.

Yet, from the tightness of his chest and the hollowness of his stomach, Yoshiki knew that this something was not Hikaru. Because Hikaru was dead. 

He’d been dead before this ‘something’ had found him, chest heaving its last exhale on the bottom of the forest floor. This ‘something’, who had previously felt nothing for thousands of years, slid over the cracked brown leaves, entered a dying boy, and breathed its first breath.

“It was as if I was alive for the first time,” it says incredulously, examining its hands.

Yoshiki wants to vomit. 

When the real Hikaru was alive, he and Yoshiki had their familiar haunts as young boys did: there was the riverbed near the North Pass laden with frogs in the summer, the flat patch of grass near the shrine for two-man soccer, and the hilltop far from town where they’d watch the night sky, no light pollution to steal away the glory of the stars. 

The countryside was nothing like Tokyo, where Yoshiki’s mother was from and where she hoped he would return to after completing high school. In the city, she’d always said, you were told what to do, with activity centers littered throughout the streets and students pipelined down the same path of life. 

However, in the small village that Yoshiki and Hikaru lived, they’d have to write their own stories in nature. A rock wasn’t just a rock; it could be skipped over a river, painted into a friend, or a projectile through the air which to fight with. The shadows cast by the afternoon sun were not to be ignored, but manipulated into puppet shows and referenced for chalk sketches.

As a child, Yoshiki was far from the imaginative type; a rock was a rock, the shadows of his parents fighting were to be ignored for a good night’s sleep. He wasn’t even sure if he believed in the gods his parents told him to light incense for, or even anything outside the realm of what existed in front of him.

Then, he met Hikaru, and it was as if he’d opened his eyes to the light for the first time.

Indou Hikaru entered his life as nothing short of a whirlwind sweeping over a lifeless garden, stirring up the weeds and kicking up the dust. He was everything that Yoshiki’s parents told him to never be, rowdy and graceless with red-purple scrapes over his knees and voice honed by years of being born and raised in the rural countryside… he was, for lack of better words, the ‘countryside bumpkin’ in the flesh. But he was so alive, and that liveliness made Yoshiki yearn to see the world as beautifully as Hikaru described it to him.

They were the only two elementary-aged children near each others’ ages in the entire village. So as far as Yoshiki remembers, they were always a duo, completely unalike but together in a way that he thought of as ‘inseparable.’

They would be together as much as togetherness would allow; Hikaru always said so, though he dreaded the day that Yoshiki would eventually go back to his mother’s home city of Tokyo and become a whole new person. With a girlfriend! Hikaru would add sharply, and Yoshiki would chide him, saying he’d rather live alone and wasn’t the sort of person to date. 

“But Yoshiki,” Hikaru would say, turning over on the tatami mat with an all-too-knowing expression in his deep green eyes and soft, snaggle-toothed grin. “We both know you hate being lonely.”

Goosebumps would run up Yoshiki’s arms whenever Hikaru would read him like that. How did he know ? Yoshiki would ask himself, sure that he’d kept his innermost thoughts well, innermost. 

They would lay on their mats, spaced six inches apart but sometimes, it felt as if those six inches were a courtesy and not a convention. Hikaru always felt as if he was right by Yoshiki’s side, each word whispered into his ear, every feeling shared and belonging to their world. Loneliness was what brought them together, and Yoshiki thought that only death could ever tear that bond apart.

Two summers ago before Hikaru died, Yoshiki slid his pinky finger through the gap in Hikaru’s sleeping hand, linked them together, and said a silent prayer that they would stay together for all of eternity.

And every time Yoshiki sees this something, not-Hikaru, ‘Hikaru’, moving around in his friends’ body and parroting poor imitations of their shared words, he feels as if it had torn that eternity away from him. Even though it tells him, Hikaru was taking his last breath when I found him .  Hikaru was dead, no more. Ripped away from the world and replaced, leaving no absence behind for Yoshiki’s grief to take hold of. 

When it cries, Yoshiki feels like Hikaru is crying. When it’s hurt from his actions, Yoshiki feels like he’s hurt Hikaru, which had been previously unthinkable. This is a game that was never meant to be won, or a story that would ever end happily. 

“You see it already, right? Nothing good will come of staying together.”

He knows. He’s known long before its true body had seeped out of the crevices of Hikaru’s body, an unfathomable horror that could only be described as decay, worms, filth, and the entirety of Hell leaking out into the Earth. The old lady calls it Unuki-sama, Lord Brainsnatcher , who’s taken Hikaru and is causing the mysterious deaths around the village. Kurebayashi-san had warned him, saying she’d experienced such a distortion in the form of her husband, leaving her family and son scarred in its wake.

Yoshiki knows that someone wiser and stronger than him would walk away. It loves him, so it’d listen, as painful as it might be. He could manipulate it, knowing full well it loved him, no matter how messed up their situation had become. Or, he could keep his sanity and walk away, before all hell would take over.

Yet, all Yoshiki can think about was the promise he’d made to Hikaru when the starlight haired boy was asleep, that they would be together forever, no matter what the definition of ‘together’ meant. 

Either way, Hikaru is already gone… so even if it’s fake, I still want him to be with me. No matter who you are, no matter what’s happened between us… having you gone from my side would be too much—that, would be hell. 

So, Yoshiki plays this game of make-believe. This is Hikaru, and he loves you, and even if you’re utterly fucked up enough to delude yourself into believing this is all okay, maybe you’ll come to learn how to love this Hikaru too. Even in hell, there’s a semblance of heaven. Even in bloodshed, there’s sweetness in the metal. Anything but choosing loneliness.  

does love make us human?

All I could sense was that I'd always been roamin' in the mountains... I just know it's been like that for me, since forever, not feelin' anything... as if I were just a machine, doomed to wander the forest and keep all of the spirits there in check. And then when Hikaru died, that's when I woke up for the first time and saw what happened. It was as if  the whole world had opened up to me. You understand, right, Yoshiki? It was like seeing the light for the first time. 

Along with Hikaru’s body, it had access to all of his memories, too. 

A human’s memories were not stitched together as a linear timeline as it was commonly perceived, but as fractals of emotions and images and experienced as such. To touch one memory was to cause a ripple effect of emotions and images, and to come into Hikaru’s body was to take all of these memories in at once. At least, that was how it experienced ‘being Hikaru.’

These memories were clearer than the centuries they’d spent feelingless in the mountains. The moment that they’d become Hikaru, it felt that it had been Hikaru its entire life, complete with sensations that were so uniquely human.

The feeling of an ice-popsicle sticking to your taste buds, the dread of wondering whether you were going to rip your entire tongue out of your mouth for being impatient. Having a place to go to after school, friends to have conversations with, and lastly, something more foreign altogether that it felt so strongly, that it felt as if they’d burst if he didn’t feel the same way back. 

Love. 

An emotion that it had never felt before, something that was equal parts wonderful and terrible. It thought that love was truly the most wonderful experience a human could have, the passing minutes he was by Yoshiki’s side and he was so happy that he could burst into song, or tear apart his ribs and let the swarm of butterflies out for his love to see. (And he did, that one time in the backroom of the gym.) To feel Yoshiki’s touch and a fraction of his kindness was the most beautiful experience that being human had granted it , to the point it was no longer sure if these feelings were Hikaru’s or its own. He wanted nothing more than to be with Yoshiki forever, watching over him and ingesting any of the lesser curses that tried to lay a hand on him.

Yoshiki, you’re mine. Mine. Even if I can’t take you back with me, or if you’ll never accept me as Hikaru. I was born to find this body to be by your side, it felt so wholeheartedly, that this emotion caused his body great pain. Because as wonderful as this adolescent love was, this feeling introduced the greatest pain it had ever experienced, because…

Yoshiki didn’t like him. The boy who had been so sweet in Hikaru’s memories was unimaginably cold, distant, and hid behind rigid walls, as if to block out the fake light in its entirety. And while it may have been a ‘fake’ Hikaru, its feelings were not only real, but amplified. Yoshiki’s rejection was glass shattering over skin, swallowing a sharpened knife, and breaking bones in all the wrong places. It hurt unbearably—the disgust, the distance, the acrid distaste for his presence that was the furthest from sweetness. 

All of that was wrapped up in this emotion called ‘love’, too. For a while, it wondered if the solution was to kill Yoshiki, only to find he could never bring himself to do anything close to it.

The Yoshiki that Hikaru knew was warm—though he was abrupt with his words, there was an unmistakable kindness in those slate-gray eyes. Indeed, the subject of Hikaru’s most potent memories was held in such high regard and tenderness, that it was apparent that this was Hikaru’s special person, and the fondness was returned back then, but not now.

The real Hikaru had remembered where every mole was on Yoshiki’s face, arms and neck. There was a star in the night sky that Yoshiki would always point at, and Hikaru had remembered its precise location because it’d been the tip of the dog Sirius’s nose, and he’d saved up money to buy telescope parts so that Yoshiki would be able to see his favorite star. There were two constellations in Hikaru’s sky: the Canis Major and the moles that dotted Yoshiki’s body. Follow them, and you’d find home.

Before he died, Hikaru’s greatest fear, apart from the dark and horror movies, was that anything would ever happen to Yoshiki. His Yoshiki. There was a lot of fear there, associated with Yoshiki that came out as fragmented questions throughout Hikaru’s life, such as— is it right that I like him? I can’t like him, not with what Dad said… Oh god, why does it have to be like this? If I like him, Unuki-sama is going to take him to the mountains. I can’t let it happen… I can’t let it happen. It was this fear of something happening to this boy that had taken Hikaru to the mountains to face his death, where his life would end and its life would begin.

It was an intrusion. It was a spitting reminder that Hikaru had died six months ago, with a true form that was incomprehensible to humans. How could it expect to be loved by that boy, Yoshiki? It had just been born, but it was steadily learning to hate itself, because no matter what, it could not help its feelings. 

“I like you,” it says, and the pain is so great, it can barely see out of Hikaru’s clouded eyes. “I like you so damn much.”

“Then… don’t piss off like that again.”

If loneliness was what brought Yoshiki and Hikaru together, loneliness was the force that kept it by Yoshiki’s side, even if the dark-haired boy acted as if an impenetrable veil was lifted between them. Though it’d been clear that nothing would be the same again, it wondered if it could play the role of ‘Hikaru’ convincingly enough to keep Yoshiki by its side.

Though… I’d really hoped that you would have liked my true form, too.

But, it’s learned over time not to ask too much of Yoshiki. There was so much that boy didn’t know, especially when it came to what lived on the mountains and the dangers surrounding their entire village (no wonder the real Hikaru had always been worried sick!) He’d done a good job of keeping Yoshiki away from the mountains, that’s for sure. Because the moment this boy steps foot in the forest path, he gathers apparitions the way sugar-water attracts wasps. And it does the agonizing task of siphoning all of that evil into its body, and those spirits break Hikaru’s bones the way down, thrashing violently.

“Yoshiki, don’t look at anything else but me when we’re near the mountains. Or else they’ll latch onto you, okay?” it says reassuringly, in the manner that Hikaru would speak, tightening its hands on the boy’s shoulders. And no one else is allowed to have you, except me , it doesn’t add, as to not scare him away.

Yoshiki will listen to him when faced with the unknown. He’s so obedient, so good like that, in a way that makes its insides churn with violent emotions that might consume them both whole. If human-Hikaru desired togetherness with this boy, it wants togetherness as not an oath, but a guarantee. 

Yoshiki, mine. My one and only.  The more time he spends with Yoshiki, the more it desires to be him. To be Hikaru, and the only Hikaru that Yoshiki will ever love. 

Back together in Yoshiki’s room, their classmates long gone, ‘Hikaru’ sniffs the air as if something putrid had contaminated the room, red irises on the alert with animosity and face contorted, with a sort of furiousness to it. It’d been careless as to let another apparition leave traces on Yoshiki, and the thought coaxes a new emotion out of him, some kind of anger. 

“Ah Hikaru,” it’s not long before Yoshiki notices, and it doesn’t help that whenever its emotions flare, the cicadas in the summer evening stop singing and the fireflies hide their lights. “Is something the matter?”

‘Hikaru’ purses its lips together, unable to suppress the steely glare settling over his normally cherubic features, grabbing his nose with his fingertips. “Yeah. You kind of smell,” he answers, watching Yoshiki immediately search around for the offensive smell with his own nose.

“Really? Hm… I thought I showered after we’d gotten back. Maybe I should change my clothes—” Yoshiki starts, getting up to rummage for clean clothes, when ‘Hikaru’ catches his wrist, a strange look in his eye.

“Wait,” it says, grabbing the front of Yoshiki’s shirt and staring hard. “‘Scuse me while I just…”

With one hand on the front of Yoshiki’s shirt and the other gripping his chin, ‘Hikaru’ leans forward, meeting Yoshiki’s half-parted mouth with its lips, closing its eyes as it draws him in deeper, for a gesture it knows not the name of, but feels as natural as breathing. Yoshiki’s mother and sister are fussing over dinner in the kitchen, the rustle of pots and pans letting him know that no one was going to walk in on them, doing whatever this was, something that felt forbidden, but right. 

“Hik—” Yoshiki tries to move his lips, but ‘Hikaru’ leans deeper into it, as if to seal them together, to share the same emotion, the same air, that no other force in the world can taint, gently licking into the kiss for a brief moment, to impart a piece of itself to live in him, forever. “—aru.”

They break away, almost as fast as they had come together, Yoshiki falling back with his face flushed with a red that ‘Hikaru’ had never seen on him, not even in memories, and Hikaru licking his lip with a satisfied smile.

“That should do it. I uh… took a bit of myself,” it says, gesturing at where the miasma had seeped out of its eyes days before, “And put some of myself in you. Now, no one’s gonna want to touch something that has a piece of me in them! Eh, Yoshiki?”

‘Hikaru’ notices that the color in Yoshiki’s face—a vivid pink only seconds ago—was draining away, as if it had dawned on him what they had just done. He’s still touching his lips, unsure of what to make of the mess of emotions that just unraveled between them.

“Yoshiki, what’s wrong?”

“Hikaru—don’t just go around kissing people like that.”

“Huh? That was a kiss!? Damn, I hadn’t experienced that before.”

“...neither had I.”

“Damn it, well…” At least it was with me. Hikaru can’t… no, I can’t bear the thought of you having it with anyone else. “Sorry about stealing your first kiss, Yoshiki.”

“It’s fine.”

The rest of the night goes peacefully. As far as Yoshiki’s mother is concerned, Hikaru joins them for dinner as always, laughs too loudly, and eats everyone else’s leftover portions. When asked if he’d like to go home, Hikaru opts to play more games with Yoshiki, until it’s so late that he has no choice but to stay over, giving his mother a cursory call to let him know that he’s overstaying his welcome at the Tsujinakas’ house again, and Yoshiki knows this means that his parents won’t fight tonight, not at least if Hikaru’s over.

When they lie down beside each other, six inches apart but an entire dimension, acres of forest, and centuries between them, Yoshiki is the first to fall asleep like an angel, overgrown dark bangs falling over his eyes when his body finally relaxes, for what feels like the first time in years.

‘Hikaru’ doesn’t sleep. It doesn’t really need sleep in the first place, only doing so to give Yoshiki a sense of calm, to convince him that it’s more human than it actually is. But when Yoshiki sleeps, it watches, and when his hand lolls to the side, it takes it, links its pinky fingers with his, uttering a promise. 

“You will be mine, as I am yours. And none of us will know what loneliness feels like ever again, and in this life, you’ll love me like you loved Hikaru.”

Six months ago, a boy laid on the forest floor, his stark-white hair matted with blood and bright green eyes rolled back. He had been there for hours and the restless fauna didn't wait—flies buzzed over his wounds, ants picked away at the flesh stretched over his exposed bone, and the last thing he would ever see was a growing shadow looming over the canopy of trees.

“I'm sorry, Dad. I've let our family down. It seems as if our family's duties end with my generation. I'm such a fool. I lost my footing and before I knew it... all my bones are broken. My phone isn't any better. Just my luck right? I never imagined dying like this... this way... I knew I should've said something to him. Who would've thought that'd be the last time. Oh God, I really don't want to die. It’s so dark, but at least the pain is finally going away.”

His words would reach no one but the shadows. The shadow above his head began to swell up, as if to prepare to engulf him completely. 

“God, is that you? Oh. This is... Unuki-sama. Hah, I guess this really is the end. I guess... I guess I'll settle for it. So... Unuki-sama. If you're gonna have me... can you... t-th... can you tell Yoshiki...

...that... I... like him.”

With one final breath, the light died and the shadow took its place. Opened its eyes for the first time, drew its first breath, and was overcome with new emotions—fear, love, and a sense of urgency that took precedence over everything else.

Find him… find Yoshiki.

The end (?)