I hate my muse and how it drags me along. Anyway, this is in the Firesuite universe (Actually, it all goes together. the song is Firesuite by the Doves, on the album Lost souls. Which means I'll have to make another fic with the album as the title :D) Set in the chapter which I didn't know how to name, so I named it Red(?)
If there was anything worse then seeing spirits all day, it was when they followed you home.
His sister Ryoko had gone astray with her latest boyfriend, this one being the rising star of Haze's soccer team. He'd never been one for soccer, too much running and not enough thinking. There was something to be said at pleasant strategic games instead of mulling about like a lumbering, pimply brute, gawking syrupy gazes at the hems of skirts, a stereotype that fit aptly well to most jocks. But Kaga would be lying his vindictive ass off if he said he didn't enjoy a mindless brawl once and a while—the testosterone piling up and ousting him on the brightest of occasions.
But unlike his perpetually dreamy-eyed sister, he had goals in mind.
And this strange enigma was certainly not one of them.
He passed a shrine on his walk home—Kaio, regrettably, wasn't all too far from his house—maundering thoughtlessly yet intensely about his blonde friend. He'd been lying when he had said that Shindou would look better as a blonde, he was thinking more deeply at what color exactly, would look good on him. Because it certainly wasn't the shade of natural black he had been born with. (Tetsuo simply didn't want to be caught staring derisively at another boy for that long a period without a legitimate sounding excuse) He kept thinking of a deep purple, almost plum in coloring.
He shook his head, trying to clear the mist out of his ears.
But it shifted, as if he stood against the wavering lines of clouds, standing in sharp relief of the answer that was clearly between his fingers.
Tetsuo hastened his walk.
He felt a weight over him, shadowing beneath him and pooling at his feet, become clearer and clearer—perhaps only in his mind, and not actually in his peripheral vision—as the sun boiled the sky's passive blue into something deep and bloody, stopping his brisk pace to stare into the gazes of the shrine he had come to stop at, wondering with a rabbit-quick pulse caught in his throat why he had stopped here, why his feet had carried him on this particular pass to his house and not the way he usually went.
The shrine loomed before him, blocking the sun as it seared the edges of the tin roof into a casting of orange that blinded his eyes and made the building look almost ephemeral, the towering hill up to its peak looking like a hard climb. Without hesitation, almost under a daze, he trekked up the rock face.
Kaga doubled the stairs as he climbed, hurriedly, feeling the mossed stone beneath his feet, closer and closer and closer until he realized the obvious answer lurking beneath his shallowed breath—
it had followed him home.
He sputtered for air, sitting forcefully amongst the tangled brambles and shrine statues, widened eyes staring sightlessly at the broken stone stair he had collapsed upon, with moss erupting from its cracks. Cold sweat broke out on his skin, and a droplet ran from his hair line to splatter onto the olden rock.
Tetsuo, for all his life, had known the presence of the otherworldly keenly.
He was five or so when it first happened.
The presence hadn't scared him though—nothing like the acute sorrow he felt now, overwhelming him as he unknowingly channeled this unnatural stirring (be it the look in Shindou's eyes, the memory that he held inside that seemed to have a mind of its own, or an actual, tangible demon that had been possessing the boy), the strange inhuman creature drawn to his spiritual signal that he was remotely aware he had—it was just a light shoulder-brush that made his hair stand on end. A ghost perhaps, reaching out to see if there was one who truly could sense him. Kaga had shaken it off, and had returned to bullying TsuiTsui almost immediately with his elementary school childishness.
He'd met demons before too. Perhaps 'met' was an inaccurate word. It had swarmed his dreams, raging its piercing cry at an inhuman decibel that he could hear for weeks afterward, a wrathful demigod that had given him nightmares for weeks, eventually leading to his purchase of a dream catcher, to keep them away. It was only the realization that demons could only communicate through dreams that had kept his fears at bay.
Spirits too, weren't very harmful. They meandered through life's crossroads, seen to him as strange shaped blurs, translucent but altogether there, unhappy and confused, but certainly not dangerous.
Whatever this was—what he had accidentally channeled from Shindou—it was real, very real, and...
He got up then, so abruptly he near toppled over down the steep hill he had climbed halfway.
Kaga sucked in his breath through his nose, trying not to feel the pressure weighing down on him. His eyes closed, before snapping back open, a frightening look in them, before he raced down the hill. He was quick, always had been, and if he hadn't been such a deep thinker and strategist, maybe he'd be one of those annoying jocks, but this time, he couldn't out run it. It stuck by him, obviously either keeping pace or not tied to him through the physical world.
When Tetsuo reached his house, the sun had dyed until its last embers flickered on the horizon, and his breathing came out harshly from his mouth, coming like whorling, steaming hands of smoke in the cold air.
"Testuo?" Ryoko opened the door quietly, sending a furtive glance to the darkened upstairs. His parents were obviously asleep.
He let himself in, brushing past her, not entirely concerned over her and Tsukasa's latest problematic squabble she was no doubt going to whine about, and she narrowed angry eyes at him as he ignored her. "You could at least say thanks." She hissed to him, following him down the hall to his room. "I lied for you and said you were out late with the Shogi club, and I dropped you off after the game."
He shrugged her off as he entered his room warily, eyes darting about into the shadowed corners. The presence still haunted him, weighing down on him as if it was a towering beast out of folklore legend. Ryoko put her hands on her hips, fiery red hair swinging as she plodded into the room after her brother.
"Where were you, anyway?"
"Ryoko, get out."
Irately, she skewered him with a glare. "What?"
"You need to get out." He said again, rushed this time, eyes darting furiously through his room. It was pressing down more so then ever, turning the brights of his light whiter and the shadows darker, slowly creeping upwards. "Right now."
Her enragement ebbed into confusion, taking another quick glance into her brothers almost frightened eyes. But Tetsuo wasn't scared of anything, not even that time they walked through the graveyard when she was in elementary school to get home in time for dinner, even though they had watched the scariest movie the night before on TV. And even though it was only a slight glimmer in his eyes, that disappeared just as quickly as it had come, Ryoko had been startled.
She shot him a furious gaze anyway, pursing her lips. "Don't think I'm going to stick up for you with that attitude." But it was without heat, tearing up the stairs to her room.
Kaga sat on his bed limply, hoping that perhaps his dream catcher would be of some use, and while he slept, pull the demon in like it was supposed to. Except, he was almost certain now it wasn't a demon. The pressure was intense, and enormous. But not malevolent. In fact it was almost...melancholic?
He collapsed backwards, exhausted, more interested in sleep then figuring out what Shindou had given him that was haunting him.
–
–(some hours prior)
–
"You look tired," Waya commented, as he slapped another stone down with a, pa-chi!
Hikaru shook his hair out with a bit of a shrug. After his game, he had taken a shower and left immediately for the Go parlor he and the other boy visited with Isumi on occasion. The older boy couldn't attend, which left the two young boys to fend for themselves. They certainly weren't complaining, however. Shindou just enjoying the game and Waya beginning to learn more about Shindou's Shuusaku-tinged style.
"Maybe a little," He admitted. But it didn't feel like the aching bones he usually had. Actually, his tiredness didn't seem physical at all.
Waya focused a thoughtful look to the board. "You're not playing as well as usual." Which meant, "You're not dominating me as much as usual."
The two-toned haired boy stared at his hands in his lap, a look of confusion passing his face. Waya noticed that this look seemed to pass through Shindou more often then normally, as if the boy had too much to figure out about himself.
"I feel..." He began, as he lifted his hand to gracefully pick a stone out of the go ke, with as much elegance as a man who had played the game for centuries. "Not all there, I guess."
"What do you mean by that?" Waya asked him, more so to keep the conversation going, as he was concentrating on the game.
Shindou played a well timed pincer, and Waya's cluster of stones that he had been fighting to save lost their life, and the insei wanted to groan. Even when he wasn't on his top game, Shindou could beat him so easily still. He supposed there wasn't much he could do about it, protesting would only be a moot point, and would continue to be until his go became better. At the moment, it hardly measured up to the immeasurable wall that was Shindou, who didn't even seem to try all that hard yet destroyed so easily. The worst part, was that Shindou was a good guy; he wasn't irritating like Touya, who made a scene out of his Go (Waya subconsciously knew the prodigy didn't do it purposefully, yet it still irked him) and was actually easy to get along with.
"I'm not very sure," Shindou looked up then, smiling. Waya noticed his eyes were a murky green. He was sure that they were blue, and blinked for a second, wondering if he had thought wrong. "I feel like," He looked away then, eyes tracing the burning skyline outside of the window. "A part of me has run off, or something." He finished with a wry grin, picking a stone and slapping it down—right into the perfect spot to kill of Waya's group in the center.
Yoshitaka sighed.
"That doesn't make much sense though, does it?" He asked lightly, more to himself then to his now defeated opponent.
"Not much about you does." He answered in resignation and honesty; he doubted he'd ever figure out the mystery that was Shindou, with all his whimsical-eyed looks, strange questions, and intense skill but equally intense lack of determination.
–
–
Kaga awoke with a start, the morning sunshine pouring through his window and speckling his floor in broad stokes of light.
He closed his eyes, still stricken with the pressure he had felt before.
Tetsuo had come to terms with the fact that he was unnaturally gifted (cursed) in being haunted by things that no one else could see, because for some unfathomable reason, he seemed to be some sort of beacon to them.
And he'd just have to get over it, and it wouldn't do to mope about it in his room.
The boy spun in his bed, dropping his feet onto the floor and donning a jacket and some pants. He didn't bother looking in the mirror—if his appearance matched the shitty way he felt, he was better off not—and waltzed out front door. His mother called worriedly to him from the kitchen, cooking breakfast. She asked him something about school that he vaguely heard over the misty noises in his head, and he replied that he was going early. (if he wasn't so preoccupied he'd have peaked in to see the look of surprise on her face, he'd never once gotten up before his alarm clock like he did now) Obviously not, judging from his lack of uniform and school bag.
He toured the city sourly, the presence still as demanding as ever, but turning more into a benign, irritable weight. He wondered what it was. It no doubt came from Shindou, he had felt its spark when he had locked eyes with the stratosphere behind the boy's lids, and it must have recognized on some level that he had the ability to communicate with it that Shindou lacked. Maybe it was Shindou's lost other half of his soul, which had come back to him but couldn't merge. He wasn't even sure what if that was possible, but he had born with the impossible, and didn't really give a damn.
He brushed past a couple people, hands clenching, wondering why this shit happened to him.
There was nothing more that he hated then not having control over himself.
Rain had begun to splatter down from the skies, and he pulled his hood up to keep it out of his hair.
It was why he quit Go, knowing it was beyond his power to ever get better then Touya Akira. It was why he hated his father, who always pressured him to achieve more, be better, become what he wanted and not what the boy himself did. Usually when this anger broiled inside him, he released it in the best anger management he knew of—street fighting. But lately, the morons he usually fought had smartened up and figured out they couldn't win, and had strayed away from him, and he was left without an outlet.
It certainly didn't help he was being officially haunted by something he'd picked off of Shindou.
A pull, and he nearly reeled when his subconscious seemed to be dragged out by his nose. He turned his head abruptly, as a couple people walking behind him crashed into his back with angry cries. A nondescript building lay in front of him. He wondered what was so special about it.
Sixth level, the sign read, "Go Salon".
He blinked.
This thing...this poltergeist, wisp of memory, other-half-of-Shindou, wanted to play Go?
"What the hell?" He said aloud, and walked into the building and out of the rain, digging out some spare change, and hoped it was enough for the fee.
The lady at the counter looked at him weird, as if to say," Shouldn't you be in school?" Instead, she tapped the sign up sheet pleasantly and smiled. "Please write your name here." He did so, and handed her over the money, looking around the clean salon filled with old men. He wrinkled his nose, but decided one of them would have to do. He didn't want this part of Shindou tagging along with him forever. Hopefully, if its true intentions were to use him as a medium, seeing as though its current one was blissfully unaware of the unseen, if he did what it wanted it would leave him alone.
"Wait—" The clerk called to him, even though he was out of ear shot. "Please take your hood off! Salon policy!"
He didn't hear her, but even if he had, he'd never do anything of the sort. She sounded too much like his teachers to do as she requested.
Everyone seemed paired up, playing joyously as if it gave them great satisfaction. Kaga eyed them in disdain, Go, such a meaningless game, Shogi was so much better—the thing seemed to wrench at him, pulling his stomach and making him want to vomit, and he decided to keep that thought to himself.
The thing tugged again, this time, to draw his attention to a lone man in the corner.
He was dressed old, like he came out of one of the long gone periods of Japanese history. Great, thought the scowling redhead, it wants to play with some traditional old man who probably is going to look down on me like most old people do.
With a harrumph and little tact, Kaga flopped into the chair opposite of him
"Are you playing a game?"
The man looked up, almost a bit confused, but not condescending. "No, not at the moment." The stones on the board were most likely a recreating, then.
"Play me, then." He demanded, around him, people began to chatter about in shock at his tactless, cocky attitude, but he didn't care much whether he was making a scene.
All he wanted was for this dumb thing to go away.
"As you wish." The older man with stony-eyes grabbed a handful of white stones, and he, a single black one. The elderly who had crowded around them eventually went back to their seats with curious gazes, direction a glance or two even after the clerk lady had come and shooed them off. "Would you like a handicap?" The man asked pleasantly, and Kaga was sorely reminded of the days he spent playing Touya Akira in their Go classes. A calm sort of voice, as if the beholder was already aware that the game's outcome would be in his favor.
Kaga shook his head with narrowed eyes. "Nah."
The boy closed his eyes, as the old man got white and he, black. He summoned up whatever had been haunting him, wordlessly asking it what it wanted him to do. It replied back with a fiery amount of intensity that he had trouble controlling.
Two hours later and Kaga's hand hurt like hell from grappling stones between his fingers, and his brain hurt even more. Just trying to keep up in the game he was channeling for whatever was haunting him hurt his eyes and made them burn, made his thoughts race, and made his heart beat quicker, for the dead longing that had now arisen for the illustrious board game.
He was genuinely shocked. He knew Shindou was good at go, and he knew that whatever had jumped him from the soccer player was connected to the two tone haired boy somehow, and realized perhaps this thing was the reason for Shindou's prowess at go.
The man he played, too, looked more surprised then he was.
The old man, still in shock over the game he had lost, didn't seem to hear him when he called, "Thank you for the game." before standing up and stuffing his hands into his pockets with more relief then he thought he was capable of. Whatever had been haunting him had left in peace, tamed by the game it had wanted to play.
He turned around and walked out of the salon, suddenly more concerned over a more pressing matter—the fact that the school had a third percent chance of calling his house and informing his mother of his absence—then the fact that he had just beaten the Meijin in Go.
The door slid neatly behind him, as he mulled over Shindou, and what this meant about the go playing, soccer playing, prodigy.
"What?"
The customers quickly clustered around the board, their shocked faces mirroring the Meijin's.
"How could the Meijin lose?!"
"Against an irritable brat like that?"
"Rude or not, he was good—
"Look at this hane he played in the upper left—
"And the Shuusaku diagonal...no one hardly uses that anymore!"
"The shape of his Joseki...it's rather outdated, don't you think, Kitajima-san?"
"How much did the Meijin lose by? I can't even tell."
"Not much, he may have even won, counting Komi."
"Hold on a minute!" Ichikawa pushed past the crowd that had gathered around the awe-struck Meijin, feeling a sudden sense of deja vu in which she clearly remembered an encounter such as this happening before, except with two young elementary school boys,ncertainly not with someone of such skill as the Meijin. "What do you mean, Meijin lost? That's impossible! He was only an arrogant boy—didn't even listen when I told him to take his hood off—not even Ogata-sensei or Kuwabara-sensei can beat the Meijin!"
"It's true." Kitajima grumbled. "Not by much though. It was probably just chance and luck. Meijin-sama probably didn't take the boy seriously, and underestimated him."
The salon patrons seemed to take this as an apt excuse, eventually making their way back to their previous games. The Meijin hadn't looked up once, and not in the depressing aftermath of a defeat, as his son had done when Shindou Hikaru had beaten him, but as if looking in the game with a new light, as if he had learned more then he had in the past many years. It was a pleased face he wore, as if he was excited, not defeated.
"Who was this boy, Ichikawa?" He asked quietly, not making a move to clean the stones up any time soon.
"Eh? Oh—let me check..." She danced over to the clipboard, before a puzzled look came across her face. She walked back the salon owned with it in her hand.
"I—" She began with a flustered look. "I can't even read this! It's absolutely illegible!" On the bracket for the name, a line of pen strokes resembling chicken scratch was in place for a name, and in the skill level, a face with its tongue sticking out.
Touya Meijin gazed over it with sad eyes, but there was hope behind the melancholy. "It doesn't matter, whoever he was, he will show himself to the pros soon enough." The game had reminded him of someone, this mysterious boy who had shown up quite some time ago, and had taken his young son by storm. Even though that certain game barely made it past a few hands, there was a deep similarity, he felt.
Ichikawa gave the board one last skeptical gaze as she headed back. "If you say so, Meijin-sama! If you say so..." The boy looked more suited to be in a juvenile detention center then a the Go Institute.
The Meijin eyed the board with passion, reminded of the pro exams his son was taking at that moment. He will come before the world of the professionals, much sooner then I expect.
–
–
The next time Kaga saw the blonde soccer player, he made sure to hit him in the back of his head, really, really hard.
Shindou yelped as he toppled to the floor. Sweet satisfaction.
The shogi player walked along with a triumphant smirk, even as the blonde sputtered from the floor.
He'd never tell the blonde that it was because of him that Kaga was playing go again.
I'm not sure how spirits and being possessed works, but then, does anyone really know? Thoughts?