This is a collaboration with Feyren. Our styles are so alike that we thought we should start this, and this is an attempt to get her off my back about publishing here. She and I will be alternating between Fuji's point of view and Tezuka's point of view if we continue. There will be other pairings too (she is an utter Dirty Pair fan), but later, not now.
In a small shop, all the way to the side of Tokyo, the side nobody remembers or thinks to visit, there is a room. In that room, there are mirrors. An infinite amount of mirrors, mirrors as far as the eye can see. And it's strange, for though the shop is small, the room is large. One could walk for miles and not reach the other end. Only select humans can visit the room—chosen by demons themselves.
That's not to say the room is ever empty. The room has mirrors, and the mirrors each contain another room. The rooms contain demons, beautiful, handsome, delicate demons, trained to woo since the moment they were born—pardon, since the moment they were created, for they aren't just demons.
They're succubae.
Succubus: A demon who takes the form of a highly attractive being to seduce men, to take their souls and capture them, torture them for their own entertainment.
What a dark definition. Although, he did define it himself.
Fuji Syusuke smiles to himself. It is a Monday morning, just another Monday morning. He can barely remember how many years it has been at this point, but he doesn't mind. He likes Monday mornings. They're fresh starts, a new week—in this case, the start of a new era.
He sits alone in a room, arms folded, leaning toward the mirror. The room is empty, the shop is empty, but Fuji knows it won't be that way for long. A blue haired male emerges from quiet shadows, silent shadows, shadows that know better than to speak. He smiles an eerily familiar smile: It is familiar, perhaps, because it was taken from Fuji himself.
"You're very pleasant this morning," Yukimura Seiichi murmurs, moving to stand beside him. "Is there an occasion today?"
Fuji widens his smile, a perfect Cheshire cat grin, perfected from decades, from centuries of practice. "You could say so."
"What's the pretty boy so happy about?" another boy demands, and folds his arms.
"You're a pretty boy yourself," Fuji replies easily. "Good morning, Gakuto. Where's Shishido this morning?"
"Being bitchy," Gakuto replies calmly. "Being very, very bitchy. I think he's upset cause that boy toy of his didn't show up yesterday."
"The mirror shop was closed," Fuji pointed out.
"The boy's got a temper," Kirihara responds, coming out of nowhere and plopping down next to them.
"You're younger than him," Yukimura reprimands, but strokes his hair fondly. "Be polite."
"Don't wanna."
Yukimura chuckles at the stubbornness. "Akaya, Akaya. What shall we do with you?" He frowns to everyone else. "It's almost the new year. I'm afraid of what'll happen to him—he's still young, you know. It's unfair that he should be subjected to something so crude."
A younger boy, one with a brilliant set of golden eyes and a permanent smirk, approaches them. "Why are you all gathered around the mirror? What are you talking about?"
Fuji envelops him in a hug. "Ryo-chan," he coos, and Ryoma shoves him off awkwardly.
"Stop it, Fuji-nii," he protests. "Yuuta-nii will be back soon, so hold off your brotherly urges for two hours, won't you?"
"Yuuta," Fuji sighs. "He will have to suffer the same fate, eventually." Niou appears, now, and murmurs agreement. Fuji isn't surprised by his sudden appearance, but casts him a rapid smile over his shoulder.
"What are you talking about?" Kirihara demands.
The older boys glance at one another—it isn't an uneasy glance, just a glance, but at this point, Kirihara, and Ryoma have learned to read such looks. "They're worried about the new year," Ryoma realized. "Kiri-nii, you're going to be old enough next year."
Kirihara pales. "I am."
Yukimura pulls him into a fierce embrace. "They won't hurt you," he promises. "We've taught you well. We deal the damage. Just remember to never get emotionally attached to any of them, and you'll be fine."
"I know," he says, but his voice wavers considerably.
The familiar sound of a bell rings in their ears, and they approach the mirror to see who has entered. Fuji stands closest, making sure to keep himself invisible, as do the rest of the succubae.
We're succubae, all of us, Fuji thinks, and casts a brief glance toward those around him. He feels unnaturally proud of them, even the brats of the group: He loves them all alike.
A boy with a handsome face, dark blonde hair, and oval glasses enters the shop. The store owner is a shady man, always dressed in black. He is the only one aware of the presence of demons, but he doesn't mind.
He created them, after all, did he not?
"Good morning, young man," the store owner greets. "Can I help you today?"
"I need to buy a mirror," the boy says carefully. He searches for his wallet, then looks up, startled. "I—I'm sorry, I'm afraid I left my wallet in my locker."
"Take the mirror," the store owner insists. "It's fine. You seem like the type of boy who keeps his promises." There's a hint of menace in the way he says it, but it's so faint that Fuji doubts the boy notices it.
"No, I'll get the money first," the boy says firmly.
"Then we'll have the mirror ready for you when you return from school," the store owner says cheerfully. "Go on. What's your name, lad?"
The boy hesitates, and for a quick moment, his eyes are fixated on the mirror, that special mirror, the one Fuji and Yukimura and Mukahi and everybody else is trapped in. For a moment, he thinks he can see a tint of cerulean, the faint color of brown, a petite, venomous smile, but he blinks and it is gone. "My name…" He falters. "My name is Tezuka Kunimitsu," he says at last. He bows for good measure, and leaves quickly.
Yukimura is the only one to notice Fuji's dark smile. "It seems you have a new toy," he breaths, and Fuji nods slowly.
"It seems I do," he replies. He smiles fondly at Kirihara and Ryoma, and says, "I will set a good example for you two, and for Yuuta." His smile widens, faintly revealing white, sharp teeth. "This one seems like fun."
Tezuka is unable to think clearly. He knows, he knows he saw a face in that mirror, he swears he did. It was a beautiful face, ethereally beautiful. It couldn't have been his own, and it wasn't the shop keeper's. The eyes, they stared at him, a wonderfully mesmerizing ashy blue. Periwinkle, cerulean, turquoise, robin's egg—none of those colors could match that shade, that strange, exotic shade. It ought to have been a color in itself.
He is unable to think clearly, and all he wants to do is run back to the shop, stare at that mirror, stare it into infinity if it means he'll be carted off to an insane asylum.
What's gotten into me? he wonders.
The teacher asks him a question, and he finds himself unable to answer. Sanada and Oshitari each cast him a surprised glance. He ignores them.
The first half of the school day passes much too slowly. He sits on a park bench, relieved to be away from prying eyes—prying eyes that weren't a strange, exotic shade of blue—and then Sanada and Oshitari approach him, each frowning seriously.
"What's gotten into you?" Oshitari says first, echoing Tezuka's own thoughts, though he couldn't possible have known. "That was a ridiculously easy question, especially for you."
Sanada says nothing but his lips are downturned. He folds his arms, and Tezuka notes absentmindedly that it's difficult to take him seriously when he's wearing a cap.
Atobe Keigo pushes them both aside. "What's this ore-sama hears, Tezuka?" he asks, voice haughty. His eyes are blue, a grayish blue, but they're not that strange mix of robin's egg, turquoise, periwinkle, cerulean. "Have you been slacking off in class?"
Tezuka stands, thoroughly irritated though unwilling to show it. "I haven't. Is it not possible to have an off-day?"
"Not for you."
"It would appear that it is possible for you," Tezuka replies calmly. "You may have noticed that your layers are uneven today."
His words achieve the desired effect and instantly Atobe panics, searching for a mirror in his designer bag. He checks frantically and finally notes that one of the flippy, upturned sides of his hair is higher than the other. He pulls out a comb and sets to work. Sanada gives him an exasperated glance. Oshitari doesn't bother.
The rest of the day passes even more slowly. There are a few more missed questions, a considerable increase in questioning glances, and a considerable amount of questions, mostly from Atobe himself. Tezuka would have found it amusing that half of the questions had to do with his hair, but he is thinking about returning to the mirror shop, and is thus apathetic toward everything else.
He doesn't even drop off his things when he rushes to the shop, only to find that it is empty, and the shopkeeper has disappeared.
But the door is unlocked.
Ought he to enter?
Through the glass doors, he can swear he sees those strange blue eyes. Just a glance, he tells himself. I can't afford to be distracted. I have college, work, my internship—I mustn't be distracted, and this will quell any curiosity I have.
He opens the doors, and enters the room, all the way in the back. The room that seems strangely full, yet oddly empty. It is a paradox, but he doesn't move.
The mirror looks old. Its frame is a tarnished silver, and the mirror seems dusty, about to crack at any moment. He is afraid to touch it, and hopes he won't have to. He doesn't know what he'd do if it were to break. Something tells him it's dangerous, to be so attached to something he isn't sure is existent, but in that moment, his sanity runs away with his logic, and he chooses to stay.
He peers into the mirror, searching for blue, just a hint of blue. He sees nothing but shadows.
"Boo."
Tezuka does not scream or shout, but he does take a startled step back.
The face, the eyes, the hair—it's all there. In the mirror, there is a boy. He has a wraithlike beauty to him, an otherworldly quality in his eyes. His face is pale but his lips are red, and his eyes are open, wide open. "Have I frightened you, Tezuka-sama?" His voice is gentle, is delicate and sweet like a thousand roses, a thousand doves, and does not match the atmosphere of the shop.
Tezuka does not speak, for he knows he will stammer. Once he is certain he has regained his voice, he replies, slowly, steadily, "Who are you?"
"My, so rude." The figure puts a hand to his lips in a mocking gesture of shock. "And you seemed like such a darling boy when I first saw you."
"I wish to know who you are," he says, trying to keep his voice from cracking. What's happening? Who is this? What…?
"Are you enamored with me already, Tezuka-sama?" The figure looks up at him eagerly. He stretches out a hand, and to Tezuka's amazement, it goes past the glass. It's a pale, white hand, and it's three dimensional, stretching out from the mirror. It's tangible, palpable, and he wants to reach out to it, but he doesn't.
The shopkeeper enters the store, then. "Young man? Is that you?"
Tezuka backs away from the mirror and approaches the shopkeeper. "I'm sorry," he begins. "I was…"
The shopkeeper shrugs it off. "It's okay," he says, his voice still bright, too bright compared to the dark mood of the shop, but Tezuka doesn't think about it, doesn't notice it.
Is the shop haunted?
It seems like the only possibility, but it can't be, because the boy didn't seem like a ghost. No, that was the wrong way to put it… He seemed supernatural, seemed wraithlike, but not dead. He didn't seem dead, for how could anyone with such eyes ever seem dead?
"Do you want your mirror?" the shopkeeper asks, holding out a small mirror. "This is the one you were looking for, right?"
"It's perfect," he says politely, and gives him the money.
The store owner laughs and hands it back. "Keep it! It's on the house," he says. "You seem like a special kid."
"I couldn't," he starts, and turns away for a quick moment to put the mirror in his school bag. When he turns around to hand the money back, the store owner is gone.
Do I leave the money on his desk? What if someone steals it? I…
"Keep the money," a voice breathes in his ear. It is the sound of roses, the sound of doves, the sound of danger. "We have a much more efficient means of payment."
Tezuka throws the money onto the counter and runs out of the shop.