Hello~ I'm happy to share this OS. It is focused on Hiroto's feeling! It takes place in the Orion timeline but somehow is mixed with the events of the OG ;) I really hope you'll like it! English isn't my mothertongue so please don't hesitate to correct if needed, and also to let me your opinion about this OS :3
Please enjoy!
"Fubuki Atsuya. He's an additional player for Inazuma Japan."
While the first match of the first group of the FFI approached for the Inazuma Japan players, the coach had gathered all the members of the team to announce the arrival of a new teammate, a few days before their match against Spain. With a smile on his face, Atsuya let out a few words about the usefulness of his presence, as his brother's face lit up. Everyone seemed excited and reassured, even happy, that the team now had a new member.
Everyone except Hiroto who was just looking at him, his brow furrowed.
"Who is it?" he asked, more to himself than to Tatsuya who was at his side and turned his head at these words.
"Fubuki Atsuya, Fubuki Shirou's younger brother. You should know him, Hiroto, he participated in the Football Frontier..."
The striker kept silent and did not even bother to consider Tatsuya. His pink eyes remained focused on Atsuya, around whom everyone had gathered. Yet he could not feel the slightest sense of tranquillity, compared to them. On the contrary, an unpleasant sensation knotted his stomach, without him understanding why. This name echoed again and again in his mind, so much so that it seemed familiar to him. Just like that face, that voice, that gray-green look; everything in this stranger reminded him of a feeling of both familiarity and insecurity at the same time.
"Football Frontier, you say..." he murmured without even realize that Tatsuya had left his side to go greet their new teammate.
He remained there, alone, a few meters away from them. That strange feeling could not come only from the Football Frontier, that was certain. It seemed to be something much more intimate, much more visceral, and yet much more irrational. However, Hiroto just shook his head, as if to put his ideas back in place. He was thinking nonsense, there was no other possibility; he did not even know this guy and had not even seen him play before.
He was about to join the crowd when his eyes met this gray-green at the origin of his discomfort, while Atsuya turned his head to consider him, frowning.
If this feeling he had only judged of "strange" had seemed unpleasant to him, it was terribly derisory compared to the one who seized his being to this vision. The sensation of literally feeling his stomach turning over invaded him, so much so that he started to retch. His vision was becoming foggy and confused, as nausea became more and more invasive, stifling, asphyxiating
"Hiroto?" Asuto inquired as they approached him, with Tatsuya. "You okay?"
The silence had just fallen in the room, while the striker had become the limelight. Surprisingly, and without Hiroto being able to notice it, Atsuya's face had adopted the same pale shade than his from the moment their eyes met, which had not escaped anyone.
Everything seemed to be idling around Hiroto, so much so that the voices of his teammates did not reach him anymore. A pressure was made on his shoulder and allowed the warmth of a hand to spread and yet, when he became aware of Tatsuya's presence, it was like the drop of too much.
The curly-haired player only had time to leave by running to the bathroom and let his torment leave his body, as his lunch did. Or at least that was what he hoped.
But that weight was still there. Clinging to his soul and unwilling to leave, it weighed almost as much as a lead screed would. Slightly staggering, Hiroto left the toilet, which he had eagerly joined, to roam the corridors to his room. Pushing the door seemed painful to him in view of how much his hands were shaking, but when his bed penetrated his field of vision, he felt relief overcoming all other emotions.
Sleep.
He just wanted to sleep.
Time did not matter, and he did not care about the fact that he still had not eaten yet. Outside, the sun had already begun its descent on the horizon and its orange rays tickled the landscape and crossed the window, sign that mealtime was soon to go.
But he did not even have time to realize that already Morpheus had snatched him from reality.
The wind was blowing more and more strongly over the city of Tokyo. The darkness of the sky suggested the storm that seemed to be preparing; yet nothing was happening.
Seconds were passing by, lightnings were piercing the nebulosity from a side to another, the violence of the air was carrying everything in its path; but nothing was happening.
Hiroto remained motionless, alone, confused in front of the entrance doors to Raimon; and nothing was happening.
The rain was not coming. The storm did not make fly a single strand of his curly hair. The air did not slip on his bare arms. This impression of feeling the storm was present, but it was only visual. In reality, no physical sensation reached him.
"What am I doing here..." he murmured, noting that he was even more alone than he thought. "Oï, I have a match to play against Spain, in Russia, why am I in Tokyo?!" he yelled.
His voice, yet strong enough to reach anyone could have been a few hundred meters from him, died in the air without anyone ever hearing it. The situation escaped him completely, yet he did not seem to be fully aware of it. With a determined step and his hands in his pockets, he began to approach the main building, before a crowd drew his attention, far away. Familiar hair appeared through his field of vision, among which he recognized Endou, Gouenji, Kidou, Kazemaru and Fubuki, wearing Raimon's uniform, on the college's football field, as well as other strangers.
Frowning, the striker did not hesitate long before approaching. Yet even before he had time to join their sides to ask any questions, a thick black fog crept into his field of vision, up to his knees.
"Is it... Epsilon?!"
"They're coming!" Kidou said, looking at this mass of black mist growing thicker.
Soon, eleven silhouettes were cut through the fog, while Hiroto was now beside the football field. His eyes narrowed naturally to allow him to distinguish who it could be, even though no one seemed to have noticed his presence.
"Oï, what are you doing?" he asked.
But no one turned his head in his direction, no voice came to answer him. As he was about to reiterate the question, the strange fog disappeared to let them see familiar silhouettes.
Too familiar silhouettes.
Tatsuya was standing in front of him a few feet ahead of the team that had just appeared, his familiar red hair strangely up over his head. He was dressed in a strange white and black outfit – which he had never imagined he could wear –, relatively tight, white gloves and high socks of the same color. His left arm was wearing a blue captain's banner, which left Hiroto all the more perplexed.
"Hiroto...?" Endou whispered to Tatsuya, as misunderstanding became more and more obvious on his face.
"Ah? What?" Hiroto called as he approached him, just as confused as he was.
But again, it was as if nobody had realized his presence with them. Or almost nobody. As if time had suddenly stopped, everyone remained motionless around him, except Tatsuya, who was advancing towards him. A slow, proud and confident step that could not be his; he seemed to be the only one to have noticed Hiroto.
"Tatsuya, what are you doing?" Hiroto asked as he stepped forward to gain his side faster.
A slight smile appeared at the corner of Tatsuya's lips, who was now facing him. But this smile was not warm, unlike those he knew of him. On the contrary, he seemed charged with an insolence which he had never suspected, with an arrogance of which he himself would not have dared to show. And no doubt that impression was accentuated by that strange hair of his which he had never seen before. If he did not know Tatsuya by heart, Hiroto might have thought it was someone else. But there was no doubt about his identity.
Boldness flew over the surface of these green eyes, which Hiroto now knew by heart. These green eyes he had so long imagined as full ofcontempt and hate, before realizing he could no longer detach himself from them. These eyes that he wanted on him, now.
"Oh... So you managed to come here?" Tatsuya asked, sketching a smile again.
But that voice was not sweet, reassuring or compassionate. This tone was simply provocative, and perhaps a bit too bold.
"So you can see me? Why the others can't? And where the hell are we?
"You ask a lot of questions, Hi-ro-to."
The slowness with which he pronounced his name was enough to make Hiroto swallow. The beating of his heart accelerates despite himself, without him really understanding what could provoke such a reaction. But the situation itself was so strange that he did not even question about it.
At least until Tatsuya came to catch his jaw with his right hand. His fingers slipped on the skin of his cheeks – which started to ignite at this unexpected contact – before coming to grab his chin and force him to lift his head. Their closeness was such that Hiroto unconsciously bit his lip, as all sorts of questions ran through his mind. This contact and this intimacy were not displeasing to him, but it was not the case of that glimmer of confidence that danced in these green eyes, of that provocative look from which he could not detach himself.
"Tatsuya, what are you doing?"
"I'm not Tatsuya, I'm Gran. But for you, it will be Hiroto."
"Ah? What are you saying? I am Hiroto!"
"Exactly, that's the reason I'm saying that. You don't understand?"
Hiroto wrinkled his forehead at such vague words. Tatsuya was going completely crazy, talking totally nonsense, there was no other explanation. But he could not understand why the time had stopped around them, or why no one had seemed to be aware of his presence.
Tatsuya's pale, cold fingers moved to caress the burning skin of his cheeks with a playful look, as if he enjoyed reading the torment on that face he held firmly. It was not delicate, it was not affectionate, and it was not pleasant; yet it was soft, and it made Hiroto's heart race.
"No, I don't understand," he said, realizing he was waiting for an answer.
"No one can see you because you're dead, Hiroto."
The words slammed into the air to whip Hiroto's soul with unheard-of violence. Everything suddenly seemed to fall down around him, to become blurry and hazy, according to his vision which was more and more disturbed. Only Tatsuya's face, close to his, still appeared to him clearly, while this provocative smile did not leave his lips.
But it was not Tatsuya. It could not be Tatsuya, after all.
The nausea he had felt when his eyes had crossed Atsuya's came back brutally, so much so that he had to put a hand to his mouth, ignored that his fingers were now touching Gran's. It was as if his stomach was trying its best to fight alongside his mind against the torment that was going through his being.
"What are you talking about? I'm not dead, I'm here."
"It's a shame, isn't it? But don't worry, father loves me enough so that I can fill your absence. He doesn't need you anymore."
Even before the words had time to fit in his mind, everything fell down to completely disappear around them. The silhouettes of the two teams, the football field, the building behind them, and then Tatsuya; everything vanished from his field of vision until there was nothing anymore, while he remained motionless, breathless.
Hiroto suddenly opened his eyes and jumped up. A feeble dim light lit up the room on the side of the other bed of the room. He gasped, his hands shaking, still uncertain as to what had happened.
A nightmare?
It was just a nightmare.
Only a nightmare.
So why wasn't he able to find a normal breathing, to stop the tremors that took his whole body? And why were drops falling one after the other on the open palms of his hands? He had no idea if it was sweat or tears, and he did not want to know.
"Oï, what you doing?" a voice said not far from him.
Hiroto looked up to let his eyes rest on his roommate. Surprisingly, while he was often irritated by his presence, to see Haizaki facing him at this very moment helped him to regain his composure, and even to reassure him.
"What time is it?"
"No idea, around three in the morning, I guess."
Hiroto could not know if these words had the merit of appeasing him or making him even more anxious. It was night, everyone had gone to bed, while he had just thrown up and went to sleep without eating.
He did not understand. He had felt bad when he had seen their new teammate, and now a nightmare that did not want to leave his mind disturbed his nights, though usually so calm. And this unpleasant sensation of knowing Atsuya from he-did-not-know-where continued to grip his chest.
When his eyes lifted to land again on Haizaki, who had not moved a bit, he realized he was standing in front of the door, actually ready to leave.
"You were about to go out?" he asked, letting himself fall to lie on his back.
"Not really."
"Mh?" he mumbled, noting the uneasy tone of his roommate.
The silence came to answer him for long seconds, before Haizaki decided to speak. "I don't know, I couldn't wake you up. You moved so much in your sleep, you screamed and breathed oddly calling Kiyama, so I was going to find him."
Hearing Tatsuya's name, the face of this Gran instantly came back in his mind. Unconsciously, his hands shifted slightly, so much so that he had to firmly grip the blankets.
Haizaki remained motionless, standing in front of the entrance. The feeble bedside light he had left lit up allowed him to see the scared face of his roommate and the furrows his tears had traced on his cheeks. Those distress calls he had let slip into his sleep still echoed in his mind, but there was no way he could say a single word about it.
Although Hiroto was now awake, him wanting to go and find Kiyama remained present. After all, they had known each other well before the FFI, if he had understood correctly. And it was probably not insignificant if it was his name that Hiroto had been constantly repeating, as he turned in all directions in his bed, sometimes coupling his calls for help with some « I'm not dead ».
In another situation, Haizaki would have preferred to let things go. He was far from feeling concerned about Hiroto's moods. But his behavior and his escape, earlier in the evening, had caught all players' attention. Especially with the fact that Atsuya had also felt bad. They had all thought about a virus or something like that, but tonight Haizaki was certain that something was bothering Hiroto to the point of making him sick.
And if Hiroto did not talk about it himself, he certainly would not be the one to take the first step by asking all kinds of silly questions, after all.
"I'm going to get Kiyama," he finally said before turning to put a hand on the door handle
"No way!"
"Ah?"
"Tatsuya mustn't know anything about it. So don't you dare talking about that to him!"
This curly head, which belonged to the face from which this unbearable voice escaped, seemed suddenly much more irritating than it had ever been. Why did he worry?
"So what, you just repeat his name while sleeping because you miss him?" Brute, sharp. His voice was probably harsher and spiteful than he would have wanted it to be, but he could not help it. If Hiroto had just decided to spoil his night, then he had succeeded.
However, despite the exasperation that grew deep inside him, Haizaki could not stand by the blank look that had suddenly taken place on his face. He was not sure because of the faint light in the room, but it seemed that his cheeks had begun to get red, as his hand passed mechanically over his jaw, as if to retrace a path that escaped him.
"Let me sleep," Hiroto said simply, turning to face the wall.
Haizaki slammed his tongue against his palate at these words. How could anxiety have made its way to him?
Hiroto had not waited for the first rays of the sun to seep through the windows of the room to leave it. He had not been able to sleep after waking up from this hectic nightmare, and even Haizaki's whispered swearing and complaints had not been enough to rock him. Then, at dawn, he had slipped away to satisfy his finally hungry stomach, before joining the training field.
For hours, now, he was running after the ball. Each shot allowed him, in a certain way, to get rid of that strange weight that was on his heart, but which returned each time as the ball did. Hiroto was exhausted, both physically and morally, and yet he continued. There was no way he would return to the building and take the risk of bumping into other players: he needed to be alone.
However, when he turned to stand ready to shoot, his face went pale, as if he had just seen a ghost. Fubuki Atsuya was walking towards him on the field, hands in the pockets of his tracksuit. Despite his sure step, the expression of his face betrayed his lack of assurance, which did not escape Hiroto.
What if he wasn't the only one to feel this discomfort, this oppressive weight, at the simple vision of these gray-green eyes?
"Do I know you?" Atsuya suddenly asked, as he was almost reaching his side.
Hiroto frowned at the fact that this voice seemed actually more assured than he imagined. "Don't know. Why?"
Without bothering to answer, Atsuya stepped forward again. He picked up one of the balls that was lying on the ground before sending it sharply to Hiroto, who caught it up naturally. As hard as he could, as if he were trying to exteriorize all those feelings that gnawed at him from the inside, the curly-haired teen sent the ball back to his new opponent.
There was no need to utter a single word, a single question. Shooting in the ball was far more than enough to bring out the discomfort that enveloped them both, to dispel this disgust, this impression of stifling and fainting.
They did not know each other, it was finally obvious to Hiroto. It was silly of him to have imagined he-did-not-know-what, to the point of making him sick.
"Hiroto! Where were you? I was looking for you this morning, I almost started to worry," Tatsuya said as soon as he crossed his path in the corridors of the main building.
"Almost, huh?" Sharp. His voice was harsher than he would have wanted it to be, which did not escape to Tatsuya. "I was training," he added, seeing his friend swallow while remaining silent. "Let me pass Tatsuya, I'd like to go shower."
"What happened yesterday?" Hiroto frowned. "We haven't seen you yesterday, after you ran away without even greeting Atsuya."
"I was tired, I just wanted to sleep," Hiroto lied.
"Hiroto, why are you—"
"Tatsuya. What are you playing at?" Hiroto cut him off as he saw his foot move at each of his own movements to prevent him from passing.
Despite himself, his eyes could not risk fixing anything else than those sneakers which obstructed his way. For nothing in the world, he would cross the emerald eyes he knew so much now. For nothing in the world, he would risk looking at this compassionate face, always so delicate.
For nothing in the world, he would want to associate the image of this Gran with that of Tatsuya.
In front of Hiroto's lack of cooperation, Tatsuya surrendered. He shifted to let him pass and could only sigh when him going ahead without a word to disappear at the end of the corridor. Since the day before, when Hiroto had escaped, he could not deny that he had been worried. At mealtime, he had even gone up to the second floor to pick him up and knock on the door of his room, but had not received an answer.
After long hesitation, he finally opened the door to find Hiroto asleep, so he had retired without a word. The match against Spain was approaching, and sleep was needed if they wanted to be fit and able to play this decisive match.
But then, why had Hiroto refused to meet his eyes, in this particular face to face in the hallway?
It was not because Hiroto had spent a little part of the morning with Atsuya, that his presence was not unpleasant to him anymore. Yet this feeling of familiarity was beginning to become bearable. It was almost warm, as if these aggressive passes they had exchanged had had a reassuring side. As if not being alone, if it was to be with Atsuya, was not that bad.
It was strange, as a feeling. And exhausting, he had to admit it...
The places were deserted. The sun was shining in the sky, yet no heat came to caress Hiroto's bare arms. An empty football field was visible, in front of the building of a college that was obviously not Eisei nor Raimon. There, a silhouette that was not unknown to him appeared in his field of vision: Fubuki Shirou.
While observing the places he absolutely did not know, Hiroto rushed after him through the open door he had just passed, to find that he had joined the washbasins and was pouring water on his face.
"What are you doing here?" Hiroto said as he walked to the washbasins too. "Where are we?"
Only the silence came to answer his questions, making him slam his tongue against his palace of annoyance. As if he had not heard him, Fubuki poured water on his face again, before looking at his own reflection in the mirror in front of him.
"I know," he said suddenly, without taking his eyes off of his reflection. "I'll shoot in the next game. Atsuya, it's that a good idea?"
Atsuya?
Hearing this name, Hiroto swallowed, as he felt his stomach turning and anxiety making its way to him. He turned his head to look around him, looking for Atsuya, but the places were deserted. There were only two of them.
"Fubuki," he said, coming closer.
"I'll be the one to score. I have to. I have to be good at both offense and defense. I'll be… perfect, I won't need Atsuya."
He doesn't hear me?
"You're still here," a voice came up behind him.
This calm, cold, unpleasantly familiar tone made Hiroto jump. For a brief moment, his throat felt so dry that he had to swallow several times, without daring to turn around.
"The dead must stay where they are."
It was too much. Regardless of the owner of that voice, Hiroto could not stand a word more about it. He abruptly turned to face this Gran, not without frowning.
This playful, amused and provocative face that sketched his features, the first time he had seen it, was not here anymore. He sweated no emotion, except indifference. Impassive, cold.
And Hiroto had to do the same.
"What you talking about? I already told you that I'm not dead."
A grin appeared on Gran's lips, as he was approaching with a slow and provocative step. True to himself. "Don't you feel a strange oppression, seeing him like that?" he questioned pointing at Fubuki. "Or rather, seeing them like that."
"What do you mean, Tatsuya…"
Gran sighed.
"I already told you that I'm not Tatsuya. For you, it's Hiroto."
In a way, there was at least a part of this that sounded true: it was not Tatsuya. It could not be Tatsuya, it was impossible.
"Atsuya..." Fubuki whispered, catching the attention to both of them. "They want you, not me."
"Oi, Fubuki," Hiroto said as he was coming to him. "What happened?"
But Shirou stayed silent, not even bothering to turn in his direction. His empty gaze remained anchored on his reflection, through the mirror, as if he were alone.
And he was alone.
"You're wasting your time," Gran said as he stepped forward. "Neither Shirou nor Atsuya can hear us. We are not really here."
"So where are we?"
Gran kept silence for long seconds, without turning his gaze away from Hiroto. Frowning, he however lost this expression of superiority that Hiroto had attributed to him as a characteristic. His face became less severe, almost compassionate, which left Hiroto perplexed.
"And why are you talking about Atsuya? He's not there."
"You really don't understand Hiroto, don't you?"
Against all odds, his voice had been tuned with the sudden softness of his face. His step was no more provocative, as he walked to reach his side. And for Hiroto, it was all the more disturbing that this delicacy was much more characteristic of Tatsuya than the attitude he had previously displayed.
But it could not be Tatsuya.
"Atsuya is dead. Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?"
At these words, the image of Ichihoshi crept into Hiroto's mind. Of course, he had already heard about it, since he had even been confronted with it before.
"Fubuki knew this after the death of his brother. It's sad to see how people can't accept death, isn't it?"
"And how do you know all that?"
"I don't. It's only because we're in your dream that I can tell you that."
"In my dream?"
Everything suddenly started to become less and less clear around them. The walls seemed to dance, so much that Hiroto was starting to have a headache. Fubuki disappeared little by little from his field of vision without him being able to do anything else, and soon there was nothing left but him and Gran, in a place empty of everything. Empty of life, empty of matter, empty of color.
Black. Everything was black.
At least until silhouettes were visible.
"Hiroto!" a voice rose around them.
"I am Hiroto Kiyama."
"Hiroto..."
"Hiroto?"
Different voices mixed, even before Hiroto had time to react to each of them. Images began to scroll, faces penetrated his field of vision to allow him to see each time that it was not to him that they were addressed.
It was to Tatsuya.
Tatsuya responded to the name "Hiroto" and introduced himself as such. Tatsuya called Hitomiko "sister".
Seijirou Kira called Tatsuya "Hiroto".
As if he did not exist. As if he were nobody.
As if he were dead.
When Hiroto opened his eyelids, the blinding light of the room crashed against his retina. He stood up abruptly to find himself sitting, panting. His throat felt hot, dry, painful as he tried to swallow several times to ease it.
He felt the tears slide on his cheeks and the collar of his shirt was wet – a sign that they had rolled up to his neck – and yet he remained motionless.
A nightmare, again.
This nightmare, again.
This nightmare in which he was dead.
"It's becoming a habit. Nightmare at least in silence, stop prevent me from sleeping."
At these words, Hiroto raised his head to consider Haizaki. Sitting on his bed, his back against the wall and a manga in his hands, his red eyes remained fixed on him, with that annoying look he often wore. Yet, despite how much that voice and words irritated him, the curly-haired one stayed silent.
Although he was now awake, Gran's words still echoed cruelly in his mind. Everything was confused, and everything still seemed so real that he could not really dissociate what was a dream or not.
Was he at least alive?
Nothing told him that was the case.
His breathing became all the more irregular as the flow of his thoughts became painful and foggy. His head hurt, so hard it felt like it was going to explode. His eyelids, too heavy for him, gradually closed, before he felt himself falling forward.
Maybe he would be fine with death, after all. Or maybe he was already. Gran might have been right. Surely.
« The dead must stay where they are. »
If he had understood correctly, Atsuya was also dead. If Gran had not, at first glance, appeared to be reliable, he was not sure anymore. This calm and compassionate tone he had shown had let him think that he was concerned about the situation. He could not lie.
So they were dead. No doubt that this strange feeling that gnawed at his guts at his mere sight came from there. This feeling of familiarity when he thought he had never seen him, everything became clear.
"Oï!"
This distant voice did not seem to belong to anyone. Yet Hiroto knew it too well. This annoying tone, typical of Haizaki, reached him more and more clearly, until he managed to open his eyes again.
"What's with you!" Haizaki said, standing next to him to help him sit down in bed, seeing that his roommate had regained consciousness.
"Atsuya is dead?"
"Ah? Of course not, what you talking about?"
"And I? am I dead?"
"Unfortunately for me, no, you're alive."
« You're alive. »
He was alive? Impossible.
"But Tatsuya told me that—"
"I don't know what's happening to you, but no one's dead," Haizaki said. "You've been acting weird for two days, so if you want to talk just go find someone to talk with, instead of keeping me awake by turning around in bed, crying in your sleep and calling Kiyama."
These words, pronounced with harshness, had the merit of putting his ideas back in place. Despite his head still hurting him, Hiroto took the time to analyze what each of these words implied.
"And don't think I'm worried."
Haizaki was really annoying. But finally, he had managed to accommodate himself to his presence. However, as he wanted to smile at the lack of honesty his roommate was showing, this feeling of being consumed by his own emotions took him back.
What a horrible sensation. He felt himself in a totally changeable mood, taken by the urge to sleep and the anxiety of being taken into a nightmare again. The cold began to numb his limbs, so he grabbed the blanket to cover himself, in front of Haizaki's questioning gaze.
"Before you ask, it's only 11pm."
"Do you have another good new?" Hiroto sighed. It was way too early to get up.
It was as if these words had had a soporific effect on him. The mere realization that the night was only just beginning was enough to make him feel heavy, tired, so much so that he let himself fall on the back, to have his head received by his pillow. He did not have time to think about anything that already his body was not responding anymore, much too exhausted.
An ambulance. A crowd. Shouts, tears, a siren, a hubbub to give a headache to anyone who dares to approach this crowd. And Hiroto did not escape.
"The body has been identified, it's Kira Hiroto," raised a voice around him.
"What happened?"
"We don't know anything yet, it seems that it'd be an accident."
"Kira Hiroto, heir of Kira group, is dead?"
"He was so young..."
The voices clashed, echoed everywhere around Hiroto. It was as if all these people, all these passersby, these strangers, were staring at him, even though they could not see him. Their eyes seemed heavy, insistent, oppressive.
"I'm dead? Kira Hiroto is dead?"
"Yes."
Hiroto jumped of surprise at this voice, before turning to face Gran. He was no longer surprised, now. He could almost say that a familiar face, in the midst of this misunderstanding, was reassuring.
"Why are you always here?"
"Because I'm the one who wanted to show you this"
"But I don't want to die! Why are you showing me this? It's not the reality, isn't it?!"
Gran frowned and approached him. So many emotions seemed to fly on the surface of this emerald look that Hiroto was left unable to move. The distance between them was now tiny, yet they remained motionless, looking at each other. Always this glow of provocation. Always this feeling of superiority, this intimidating boldness. However, today, Hiroto also detected some sadness.
Gran seemed disturbed by something. And despite all the emotions that went through him, Hiroto could not help but feel a certain compassion. How was that even possible?
"You're not alone, Hiroto."
The end of his sentence was difficult to hear, because of his silhouette that would die slowly in the air. The siren of the ambulance could no longer be heard, the passersby had disappeared. Everything was now empty, around him. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, to the point Hiroto felt his ears whistle unpleasantly.
"Hiroto!" Hiroto looked around, searching for the owner of this voice, but there was no one there. Yet it was far too familiar to have any doubts about its identity. "Hiroto! Wake up!"
"Tatsuya..."
He slowly closed his eyes, as if to try to catch the origin of that voice, but nothing helped. It was everywhere around him. However, when his eyelids opened again, he was no longer in the dark. The familiar walls and ceiling of his room were outlined in his field of vision, as his fingers slid over the blanket he knew well.
The curly locks on his neck seemed wet, and it took him a few long seconds to realize that tears were sliding down his cheeks to take refuge there.
"Hiroto..."
His eyes widened when he recognized that voice and he jumped up. "Gran...," he murmured.
Tatsuya wrinkled his forehead at that name he had never heard, and which was visibly addressed to him. "Gran?" he repeated. "What does it mean, Hiroto?"
"I told you, he's talking nonsense," Haizaki said, standing in the middle of the room.
These two voices had the merit of reconnecting Hiroto once and for all to reality. He needed seconds to analyze the room and it took him some time to realize that it was Tatsuya who was sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at him, his eyes half worried and half reassured.
"Tatsuya... What are you doing here?"
The silence fell for a few seconds in the room, before Tatsuya decided to answer. "I heard you from my room, through the wall."
Not without having considered his words, Hiroto lifted his head to observe Haizaki, standing behind him, and it did not take him long to understand – especially through his fleeting glance – that he was the one who had gone to get Tatsuya.
That bastard...
"What happened, Hiroto?"
"That's the reality here, isn't it?"
Tears no longer ran down his cheeks, yet his eyes were burned. His breath was no longer jerky, and yet his throat was knotted. Which one was the real Hiroto?
"Of course it's the reality. You had a nightmare, but it's fine now."
"I dreamed... of a world where you were all without me. I was dead, Atsuya Fubuki too, and you were using my name. And sometimes you called yourself Gran. I understood nothing, it was so real, I couldn't distinguish between this dream and reality... And you were wearing very weird clothes, you had your hair up, and you acted quite—"
He stopped short in his soliloquy, feeling his face begin to feel hot when he remembered his meeting with Gran. This boldness, this provocative side; there was no way he could talk to Tatsuya about it.
Against all odds, Tatsuya wrapped his arms around his back before pulling him into a hug, unable to remain insensitive to the distress he was reading on Hiroto's face. The curly-haired one slightly widened his eyes, surprised by such a gesture, such spontaneity. Yet he did not move.
The heat of this body he felt against his spread to him and was surprisingly reassuring. He did not care about Haizaki's presence by their side, he could well say and think what he wanted, nothing but that embrace mattered at that moment.
Because it was real. It was reality, he was now sure about it.
"It's fine, Hiroto" Tatsuya murmured while letting his hand slide on Hiroto's back to caress it. "You're alive, and Atsuya also is. My name is Tatsuya Kiyama, not Hiroto, and I'm here."
If this was « being alive », then it was sweet and soothing. Delicate and pleasant. And it was worth it.
Gran was only a mirage, an illusion created by his conscience and which had never existed. He just could not exist.
Tatsuya was much better.
And Atsuya was just as alive as he was.
That was all that mattered.
I hope you enjoyed, even though it was quite long :3 don't hesistate to let a review, it would mean a lot :D