"Don't you think the world is so tedious and unfair?"
A boy was laughing and dancing around in circle. His face was blurred to the point he looked like a no-face ghost. The only distinguishable features of him were his snow white hair and a crooked grin.
Annoying.
"Neh, neh, I have this amazing idea. Let's destroy the world together. If you want to, you can do it, right?"
Shut up.
"You hate him. You hate them. You hate, hate, hate, just like me, you're full of hatred." Voice full of malice, laugher full of insanity. "What's the point?"
He tried to block the unwanted noises out of his head. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.
The white-haired boy jumped on a table, humming an unfamiliar melody and swirling on a leg like a ballet dancer.
"The sun is bright today. It's irritating, isn't it?. Let's kill the sun, neh? I drowned the sun yesterday yet it comes back today again. So stubborn, so arrogant! It must be killed!"
A flash of chaotic movement and he startled to find himself fall out of the chair, be hanged in mid-air by a strong clutch on his right upper arm. He could even hear the tell-tale sounds of his bones being dislocated.
" Come on, I'll show you how to kill the sun."
He was pulled forward against his will, by such force of a wild beast. Pain shot through his wrist to the very last hair on this nape. Wobbling legs barely kept him stumbling along. The world faded in and out, filled his eyes with a suffocating dizziness.
The crushing grip suddenly released and he fell down, collapsing on the floor as there was no energy left in him to move. The other boy poked his cheek and pulled him up, forcing his head to the right, where the school's pool was.
"See, the sun died here yesterday."
In the shallow pool, the water was pitch black and terribly stinking. The sun's reflection was, indeed, imprisoned inside the disgusting mixed liquid made from everything nasty and sickening. It was blinded, was robbed of its light, was deformed into an distorting murky circle. It flickered, barely struggled beneath the surface of the nefarious water tank.
"Such a fun game, such a great crime, don't you think so? Ten bottles of black ink, mixed with salt and tar and petroleum, and the sun will be choked in this filthy, smelly abyss. Its skin will be tainted, hissing in pain as the poison gnaws it to the core. Oh, how spectacular!"
Sick.
He felt so sick he could vomit. The headache was stabbing him with thousands needles.
The boy gripped his hair and crashed his head down harshly on the floor. The additional pain made him almost scream out, if not for the immense effort he put in biting his lower lip. The world began to blur even more, even though he was granted a tiny mercy as the cruel hand on his head went away. Trying to blink his foggy eyes open, all he could make out was a figure picking up a bucket filled with dirty red paint and dumping it into the pool.
"Die! Die again! Look, Fushimi, doesn't the sun look like it's bleeding? Tong, tong, tong, blood drops. Dripping red, draining of life. What now? What now? Oh I know. See this? It's an offering to the God of Death, praying for him to kill the sun. Rags, detergents, pesticides, trash wastes, torn stuffed toys, dead insects and dead animals! What a fest!"
The black water tank splashed angrily as the mentioned disgusting bucket was thrown into it. The stranger laughed wholeheartedly while pouring cans and cans of gasoline onto the pool, then dropped some burning matches down. The flame flared up, devouring its so-called offering like a starving demon.
"Ahh... it's still there. So bright...so unfair. But it's okay, I'll kill it tomorrow too. As long as i live and the sun hasn't died, I'll kill it again. Again. And again. And again and again and again... "
He trembled in cold sweat, feeling as if his soul was slowly ripped out of his body.
A soft ring tune yanked him back into the world of consciousness. A familiar one. Swallowing the pain, he fished his PDA out and stared at the caller's name.
Pathetic. It wasn't like he needed to be saved. In this state... No, he didn't even want to be saved. Just go away, let him mind his own business. After all, he had already stepped a foot into an unreturnable territory. There was only one thing he could do to make the ending have the best possible outcome.
It'd be nice if that guy sped thing up.
"Oh? Who could call you at our fun time like this?"
"Shut up. No one."
"Haha, couldn't hurt to hear what it's about, neh?"
The voice calling his name came out the speaker sounded almost concerned. So he instantly blocked the rest of the following words out of his mind. Buzzes and fizzes were what eventually reached his ears, dull as rusty blades, dim as sounds coming from underwater.
"You have people worry for you...? Someone like you? Unfair. It must be a joke, isn't it?"
"A joke."
He felt it again, the burning hot climbing his throat. He laughed out loud to ease it, unaware of how similar it was to the other boy's manic laugh earlier in front of the flame. It seemed like they were similar after all.
"Haha, damn right! Ah man, I forgot to let you join the sun-killing. Well then, get to the main game, shall we? If you can help me destroy this disgusting world... I may finally get what I want."
He felt himself being lifted from the floor by the collar around his nape, like how a baby cat was carried. He hissed to show his murderous irritation, fingers twitching madly.
"Fushimi!"
He thought he imaged someone calling his name. Buzzed noises. He shut his eyes to prevent himself from seeing a picture of a smiling blond man on his abandoned, still connecting cellphone on the ground. His fingers felt a tad of sharp coldness, and he started to lose sight of himself.
The hellish flame was slowly dying down, leaving a dreadful smell in the air.
"That...", Yata blinked at the bland ceiling of his room, "was really fucked up."
Sitting up slowly and scratching his head, Yata tried to recollect himself as calmly as he could. Another piece of Fushimi's memory, it seemed. He recalled the dream vividly this time, even though the blurred vision held him back from seeing the white-haired psychopath's face. He had come to the conclusion that it was probably due to the lack of Fushimi's glasses at that precise time – man, that guy's eyes sure were bad.
Anyway, the fact that Fushimi had been likely to be tortured and eventually killed by someone like that made Yata scowled in bitter anger and pity. He didn't know the reasons lying behind the killer's one hell of a nutty show and Fushimi's hostage (perhaps, or whatever he was forced to do there), but Yata couldn't believe such a thing had happened in real life. It confirmed his assumption that Fushimi was surrounded by bizarre people and was royally screwed by life.
However, the dream was the exact push he needed, to be honest. After receiving Anna's worrisome prophesy, Yata sort of had to step back to rethink about the meaning of the "curiosity kills the cat" phrase. He had asked what would likely be the reason for his death, but the girl had been unable to see anything further than what she already had talked. He had had half a mind to consider if Fushimi would eventually turn evil and killed him or something, but as Anna had poked him in the forehead with deadpan silence he knew it probably wouldn't be the case.
He tiptoed around Fushimi and Homra for three days, talking nonsense and doing mostly nothing, taking sweet time to consider the head and tail of the coin. Which he, admittedly, did a poor job. The ghost and the supernatural club were just so intriguing that he usually forgot every possible bad sequence and enjoyed hanging out with them (even if Fushimi was such a handful sometimes. Kusanagi also warned him to not mention Homra to Fushimi for whatever stupid reasons). At the of the third day, he had nearly fallen back to his usual state of "Fuck it, I'm in and I'll roll all the way", trying to forsake his linger nervousness and waiting for a perfect excuse to kick him into full vigor.
Now that he had another piece of the puzzle, he was excited to meet Fushimi again and charged head first into whatever troubles on his way. Besides, Homra promised to back him up to the best of their ability, and with Mikoto as his supporter nothing should ever go wrong. The Homra's president only asked one thing to return: if Yata saw Totsuka again told him he was a stubborn idiot, which Yata noted as odd but agreed in a heartbeat without a second thought.
"Totsuka – san somehow is even more enigmatic, huh..." Yata mused.
He recalled the photo picture on Fushimi's phone in the dream. It was clear that Totsuka was trying to contact the poor boy. What a tragedy he didn't make it to save him... Though Fushimi's attitude worried Yata a bit – it was almost like he refused to be saved, and as if he had another plan going on.
Oh well, he would get to it eventually anyway.
Yata packed his stuff, ready to go to school, despite the fact that it was Sunday. Who said he was going to study? He had a whole day and many mysteries to work on.
The night before he had wanted to meet Fushimi first, but now he had another destination in mind. He didn't actually have a plan there, he just wished to see scene of the crime through his own eyes, not just through some blurry dreams.
Off to the pool he went.
Warning: No Trespassing.
"Heh, they haven't fixed it even after half a year. Where all the tuition fees go?" Yata stuck his tongue out childishly at the sign. "Clearly not be invested in making student's life easier."
Rubbing his hands like a protagonist going down to business, Yata estimated the height of the barbwire fence and looked for the best area to sneak in. He found a particular easy spot with notable less wires and a convenient tree branch bridging the inside and outside the pool. Yata stepped two meters back, then ran forward full speed and jumped.
The moment his foot touched the fence he twisted his body up even higher and grabbed the branch, using it as a support pillar as he lunged himself over the fence. The tree groaned, bended down under the sudden force, successfully helped Yata landed on the ground in one fluid motion.
"And ~~ 100 points for Yata!" That's why people said good things come in small packages.
...Not that he was small or anything. Duh.
The redhead took a glance to gather his surroundings. To the far left stood a small building, presumed where the changing rooms and storages were. The floor was dirty, the more scorchingly black the closer it was to the edges of the pool. Several Keep out yellow tapes stretched around it, a little worn out due to the damage of weather.
Yata was surprised upon seeing the water inside was not...dark. Sure, it was certainly nowhere near clean, but its current state was just like an usual abandoned pool, not the disgusting jet black he had seen in the dream. It seemed like the school had actually changed the water.
"That's weird." Yata rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If they cleaned it already why it's still out of order?"
True, beside the creepy burnt spots nothing really posed as danger to the level of being under warning signs. What a waste of property.
Or it was on purpose. If Yata's memory served him right, he had overheard a brief rumor somewhere about some students getting serious accidents in swimming class over the last semester. He hadn't put much thought on it that time, but it might or might not be relevant after all.
Walking around for some minutes, Yata quickly got bored. He didn't even know what he should do here. He took his time to find the exact place Fushimi and the white-haired boy had been, hoping to catch sight of Fushimi's PDA, only to meet with empty ground. Of course it would be retrieved...
Yata sighed and sat down at the edge of the pool. So much for an impulsive investigation. Maybe asking Totsuka straight out should be more productive.
As he was about to leave, something shiny in the water suddenly caught his eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, yet it pervaded an irresistible charm, almost calling out for him to take it.
So he did. Reaching his arm out and stepping into the water, Yata felt nothing but the overwhelming desire to reach the temping unknown object. The water was up to his chest, waving softly almost like a lullaby. He was going to grasp the mysterious item when a soft whisper touched his ears.
"Welcome."
And then, suddenly, everything turned pitch dark and painful.
It took three seconds for Yata to realized that he was being drowned. A pair of pale hands were strangling his throat with insane strong grip. He gasped in suffocating agony, and the water poured in his lungs.
In the blink of eyes, on the edge of life and death, what Yata felt on his tongue was beyond this world. A burning sensation, fierily numbness took over his sense. It filled his inside as if he was melting. The water was literally breathtaking, as the most intense spiciness swiftly overflowed his lungs and stomach. No taste of plain water, there was only the taste of Grimm's blade. That deadly spiciness cut him deeply to the very core.
Could it be...I will die here?
So soon?
No! Yata feverously struggled, even though he was getting rapidly weaker. It can't be. I couldn't die yet.
There's still so many things I want to do.
Using all the strength he had, Yata punched forward and bit down the hand on his neck as hard as he could, sinking half of his teeth onto it.
The offensive hands immediately loosed slightly. Yata took the chance to break free and kicked whoever was attacking him, conveniently using the reactive power to emerge to the surface. No time to rest, he swam with all his mind to the edge and clung to it just in time to feel a strong pressure on his ankles pulling him back.
"Fuck off!"
With one last powerful kick, Yata drove the attacker away and crawled out of the pool, coughing water out of his burning throat. Strength had left him and his legs felt numb. He growled, cautiously narrowed his eyes at the water, hoping he had enough energy to either beat the wannabe killer or runaway to save his life.
The water was swirling and darkening in unnatural way, almost like someone was dropping ink on it and stirring slowly. There was some ominous shadows lurked beneath it, wriggling like slimy worms.
Yata waited with bated breath, but no one got out of the pool. The dangerous liquid gradually stopped moving, then eventually changed back to its originally state.
Whatever had just attacked him wasn't human.
"Don't tell me...that crazy summon actually worked?" Yata gasped in shock.
What the... Perfect school my ass. Please put a limit to this madness.
With a heavy sigh, Yata collapsed on the floor the moment he deemed there was no more danger. He didn't even have a choice – his legs were as good as be cut off. Still, presuming the shadows were the summoned so-called God of Death, he must be incredible lucky to escape alive.
It wasn't until the adrenalines ran out that Yata noticed there was something in his left hand. Even in the chaos of being drowned, he unconsciously reached out for the unidentified shiny object and held it tight.
It was a rusty black dagger.
"...Hah?"
Yata huffed in frustration, displeased over the fact that he had just risked his life only to get a stupid old knife. Still, the alluring glow was still there – even stronger, so the redhead couldn't help but examine it closely.
The knife was rather small and thin, possibly the special kind used for throwing. Partially hidden under the rust Yata could see faint blood stain, which was weird considering it was sunk underwater for god knew how long. The handle was a little wobbly, more or less close to falling out. At the pommel there was a small carved "F.S" in curt lines.
"F.S...Fushimi Saruhiko? That makes sense." For the attractive power at least, Yata pondered. "Or not. Not a thing makes a damn sense ever."
As he walked back to the school, Yata played with the dagger and thought about how this piece would fit with everything he had gotten so far. His best theory would be Fushimi used the knife to stab the crazy boy then threw it in the pool by accident. Maybe the psychopath threw it himself after receiving the attack. Either way, it would undoubtedly end bad for Fushimi...
The road was unexpectedly crowed for a Sunday morning. Yata withered slightly at the curious stares people shot him due to his drenched state. He must look like a fool – walking around wet to the toes on a bright day. He didn't want to go back home and change, though. His mother would fuss over him and demand explanation. And he doubted his truthful reason would sound believable to her...
Yata was a few meters away from the school's gate when a young man approached him. Judging his uniform, he must be in the special classes which only students with the best grades could get in.
"Excuse me. Are you Yata Misaki?"
"Yep." The redhead eyed the stranger suspiciously. "What's your problem?"
"I'm Akiyama Himori, a third-year student of Munakata-sensei's classes. I'm about to contact you, actually. It's pretty convenient to meet you here." Akiyama smiled politely, somewhat taken back by Yata's less than friendly attitude.
"What for?"
"Munakata-sensei asked me to deliver you this." Akiyama took an envelope out. "He said please open it at home. That's all."
The same guy who told me not to meddle with his business...Sounds legit. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Being the rash boy he was, Yata tore the envelope right there and then, ignoring Akiyama's startled yelp.
Inside the envelope was a card.
Yata recognized the simple black and white card was that of the most prestigious hospital in the city. On the back of the card was a phone number and a sentence: "Careful of eyes and ears." Yata gulped and slid the card back, deciding to be a good boy for once.
"Eh, may I ask why're you soaked like that?" asked Akiyama with concerned voice. "If you don't mind you can lend you my spare gym uniform. I have it right here."
"...Thank". Better than dripping water all over the school the way the road had suffered.
And that was how Yata walked in the elevator with way oversized clothes, kicking the door loudly as to announce his appearance. As a result, Fushimi groggily rubbed his eyes and gave a bored glance from where he was lying.
Fushimi yawned. "Nice choice of fashion."
Yata pouted. "Shut up."
"Tsk. If you run out of decent clothes to wear, just stay at home." The ghost shrugged. "Don't come here to bug me every day. It's annoying."
"It's fine, isn't it? You don't do anything beside sleeping anyway."
It was actually a sound argument. For the past week Yata discovered that Fushimi didn't just sleep in the morning – he slept all the times (lunch break, afternoon, after school hour, pretty much at any chance Yata could sneak out). Although most of the time he found Fushimi asleep on the floor, it wasn't much of a problem since the guy was a somewhat light sleeper. Normally a loud hello was all it needed to rouse Fushimi up, effective but unfortunately often bonus grumpiness. Waking the ghost up in the morning took a little more effort and double the grouch, as one would expect.
"I've been rather sleepy lately. I must need constant rests after dealing with your stupidity."
"Hey! W-Well, sleeping too much isn't healthy!"
"And losing my brain cells over you are?"
"You ain't even alive."
Fushimi rolled his eyes and mumbled. "Tsk. Still hung up on that huh."
"By the way, Saruhiko!"
"Who say you can call me by my first name?"
"Mah, you mock my first name all the times. Whatever, look!", Yata excitedly drew out the knife he had gotten earlier, "You didn't tell me you could use knives!"
The knife gleamed a sharp spark under the elevator's light, as if it was giving its owner a thrilled greeting. However, Fushimi didn't move an inch to take the dagger, just gawked blankly at it.
"Where did you get it?"
"I...accidently found it. It has your initial name on, so I thought it's yours."
"I recognize it, this is the first knife Totsuka-san gave me. I only draw it out in case of emergency which involves him. Just where did you find it?"
"At the school's pool..." Yata scratched his neck. Guess there's no helping it.
Fushimi looked utterly confused, his eyebrows knitting together as he massaged his forehead. It seemed like he was trying to remember something important.
"Saruhiko?"
"I can't remember. Why did I use it at the pool of all places...? Was Totsuka-san there?"
"Eh? Didn't you use it to attack that psycho?"
The moment Yata's careless words came out of his mouth, Fushimi sprang up with wide terror-stricken eyes. "Why do you know about Colorless?"
So that guy was the Colorless that Kusanagi mentioned before?
"Calm down, Saruhiko. About that...If I tell you I can see into pieces and bits of your memories in my dream, would you believe me?"
"...Hah?"
"Well yeah. That's it. Duh."
"Ah. That actually makes more senses." Fushimi sighed, bumping his head back lightly on the wall. "You're so weird that it shouldn't surprise me anymore."
"What the heck. I don't know why but I think you should be the last person on earth to call me that. What's exactly weird about me anyway?"
"Maybe the fact that you keep standing up for no reason, looking at nothing and talking to yourself? And ignoring me in the process."
Eh?
What.
The transfer student stumbled over his words. "Y-You can't see the living? They come into the elevator and I just try to act like a normal person!"
"The fuck are you talking about? Nobody ever uses this elevator thank to the rumors." said Fushimi, irritated.
"But...But! People really use it all the times! Can't you feel the elevator moving? They often go to the thirteenth floor!"
Fushimi glared coldly at the redhead, talking very slowly as if he was talking to a four year old kid.
"Misaki. The only person who comes here is you. The only times the elevator ever moves is you controlling it. And this building only has twelve floors."
Yata could feel his mind was going to explode, so he shook it violently in hope to throw some stupid thoughts out. "No, no, no fucking way. You just can't see them. That must be it."
"Tsk. Are you sure you're not seeing real ghosts?"
Fushimi's words dropped a bomb onto the other boy's head, making his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to say something, but the door beat him to it by opening so suddenly that he jerked in surprise.
Totsuka was standing outside, smiling.
"T-Totsuka-san!" Yata exclaimed, then turned to the dark haired boy and whispered. "It's Totsuka-san. Can you see him?"
Yata didn't expect the latter to crawl backward until he hit the wall. Fushimi's eyes were those of a dead fish – blank and hollow and haunting. He trembled a bit, muttering so softly it almost inaudible.
"Stop it."
"Saruhiko?"
"Stop." His voice was getting franticly louder. "Don't you dare joking about that. I...Totsuka...Totsuka-san is dead. He's already DEAD. DEAD!"
Yata gasped, swirled around to find the blond man standing next to him with a sad smile on his face . Swallowing hard, he reached out a shaking hand – to touch, to confirm. Anything. Totsuka took the hint and stepped ahead, angling himself to direct the student's hand into his stomach.
A terrifying cold ran through Yata's whole body as his hand went right through Totsuka effortlessly.
"Easy there, Yata. I don't have time to tell you the last time we met, but it seems like you finally notice that I'm dead?"
On the outside, Yata was staring in speechless shocking, but actually a thousand things jumped all over his mind at once. What's the meaning of this? Totsuka was dead – did it mean all of these strangers...?
"You have classes?" Totsuka asked in an oddly surprised voice.
Dark expressions climbed to the Homra members' faces as Mikoto said "He wasn't here anymore."
"Oh? It's rare to see such a young kid here!"
"'Tsk. Still hung up on that huh."
"Being in a place with a strong connection with the dead"
"If you meet Totsuka, tell him he's an idiot."
"Why does it stop at tenth floor...?" The man in suit muttered confusedly.
Anna shook her head. "He is the key point, the only one who is in-between."
"You're pretty unlucky, neh..."
"A kid who claims he's seen Totsuka and Fushimi recently. Yeah, you hear it right."
"Are you sure you're not seeing real ghosts?"
These pieces finally clicked into places.
But then, what was Fushimi?
Yata gazed at the boy in question, who was curling into a protective ball and refusing to meet his eyes. Could it be Fushimi was alive all this time? One touch to find out, thought Yata as he bit his lips in determination.
Mentally preparing himself for everything – freezing feeling warm flesh, transparent going through - Yata closed his eyes and hastily grabbed forward, aiming for Fushimi's shoulder.
"Ouch!"
"WAHH!"
They both hissed, then stared at where they had made the first physical contact.
Yata's hand was half sinking into Fushimi's body.
Not going through, not staying on the surface, but really half disappearing into the flesh, like how one dipped their hands shallow basin of mud. The feeling wasn't cold nor warm, but rather plain as if he was touching a mere lifeless stone.
"Wh-What? Saruhiko, just what are you?"
"Get out."
Fushimi's confusion turned into frustration in fleeting seconds. Yata couldn't even comprehended himself enough when the former gripped his arm and shoved him into the elevator's door. As before, Fushimi's fingers sunk into the redhead's arm but still managed to make him move around. Totsuka silently stepped out of their way, observing with calm eyes.
"Wait! What are you doing?"
"Get out. Go away. Don't ever come back." grunted Fushimi as he slammed the open button.
Losing his balance, Yata fell backward out of the elevator. The rusty knife that he was holding for a while dropped on the floor with a sharp clink. The last thing Yata saw before the door closed was Fushimi's pained expression as he slid down the left wall.
Cursing loudly, Yata jumped onto his feet and pushed the call button. Like hell he would let it end on a cliff hanger like that.
A few anxious moments passed until it finally opened again.
Fushimi was nowhere to be seen. In the inside there was only Totsuka.
"Ah, Yata. What happened just now was very interesting. I believe you and I will have a nice chat, neh? You may like one or two explanations."
