In my mind
Genre : Creepy
Warnings/Disclaimers : Not mine. Feel free to enjoy though!
Fandom : Prince of Tennis
Pairing : AtoJi + Hyotei
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Jirou wakes up to a somewhat different Hyotei
The first raindrop falling on his nose elicited a stir, followed by a slight moan. Others soon followed, splashing on his eyelids, neck and bare arms. Awareness returned in a most unpleasant manner, and he blinked a couple of times as he sat up, trying to shake the sleepiness away. Running a hand through his hair, he realized it was damp, as was his school uniform. Yelping, he bounced to his feet, grabbing his bag as an afterthought, and dashed off towards the nearest building. Why hadn't anybody woken him?
The thought coursed through his mind as he dodged growing puddles of water in which he glimpsed a reflection of the sky above : dark clouds dimmed the light, turning the day into a half-night. But it couldn't be that late, right? Surely it was just past lunch period, and he had missed his first afternoon class at most, and it would be alright if he just hurried up… Thunder rolled in the distance as he slammed the classroom door shut behind him, panting slightly.
Jirou's eyes widened as he realized what had been bugging him ever since he woke up: the entire school grounds were empty. No stray students relaxing between classes, no teachers telling him off for napping yet again, and even the crowd of fangirls stalking Atobe was conspicuously absent. Jirou looked around, his bag all but forgotten as he dropped it to the floor and surveyed the classroom: chairs all properly pushed back against the desks, blackboard cleaned, and everything so neatly put away it felt like he was in a museum. He fancied he saw a fine layer of dust covering everything, but that was probably just his overactive imagination.
He backed out of the classroom, confused, and the lights went out. There was a buzz, a sharp jolt and everything went dark. Jirou jumped back against the nearest corridor wall, his hands tightening into fists. It was just a stupid power cut, he told himself, and nothing more. And maybe if he closed his eyes everything would be fine and he wouldn't be alone in the school and ooh! He just had to find someone, anyone, because surely there would be someone left after normal school hours, like Oshitari for instance, because he knew Hyotei's tensai liked to peruse the extensive school library.
He had a Plan, and somehow it made things seem a lot better, and the shadows weren't so bad anymore. He made it to the library in a record time, running down deserted hallways and peeking in classes from time to time in case someone was there, but was only rewarded with more empty rooms. Pushing open the double doors leading to the library, Jirou glanced tentatively in the huge room that spanned two floors. It seemed even darker than the rest of the school –but that was just the shelves, and he hoped Yuushi wasn't lost in the maze of books and old wood. He called out :
"Oshitari-san? Are you there?"
No answer. Jirou bit down on his lower lip –maybe his teammate had already gone home after all. Just as he was about to give up, he heard a faint whisper coming down from one of the darkened rows of shelves.
"Jirou, is that you?"
The words were so faint he had trouble making them out, but his heart leapt at the mere mention of his name. All fears forgotten, he all but ran in the direction he thought he had heard the voice coming from. He caught himself on a couple of tables and chairs on the way –which were perfectly incongruous in this place, he privately thought. Libraries should come with comfortable sofas and cushions and that thought was making him sleepy when he should be paying attention to his surroundings. He rounded a corner and nearly bumped into a tall figure wearing some sort of lab coat. Belatedly he realized it was Oshitari, but there was definitely something strange, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away.
The bespectacled youth put the volume he was reading back on the shelf, and Jirou gasped : his hands appeared skeletal, flesh drawn tight over tendons and bones. He slowly raised his gaze to meet the other's eyes, and nearly passed out right there and then when he saw the sunken cheeks and the malevolous glint visible through the glasses. Oshitari smiled, and Jirou felt like his skin was going to fall from his bones and run away.
"Jirou-kun, there you are. I was getting worried, you know"
His voice felt like honey laced with cyanide, and it surrounded them like a silky lethal cocoon. Jirou squirmed.
"Eeh, well… no need to worry! I-I was just wondering if you knew where everybody went because I fell asleep and when I woke up it was all dark and are you okay, Oshitari-san? I mean you don't look too good, maybe you should go home too, right?"
He was getting more uncomfortable by the second, and he wondered why Oshitari was wearing a lab coat and why it seemed almost translucent and how he managed to get closer to him without seeming to move, and aaah! Now Oshitari was running a long bony finger down his cheek, and it felt cold, so very cold, but he couldn't move because Oshitari was talking, and his voice was holding him in place…
"Ah yes of course, you were sleeping..Whisked away in your own dreams, weren't you dear Jirou? Do you know," he added, now so close he could feel the cold radiating from him, "you always fascinated me? Your mind is something I would love to…" his voice dropped to a whisper, like the wind blowing on old gravestones:
"..see what's inside that pretty head of yours."
Jirou screamed as he felt a sharp nail biting into his temple, drawing blood. Oshitari was going mad! He jumped back and the nail left a long gouge running down his cheek, and Oshitari started laughing and said something about ripping his brain to tiny shreds, so Jirou did the only thing he could think of : run. He backtracked down the long rows of shelves, feeling Oshitari's laughter at his back, and grabbed a book from one of the closest shelves, throwing it back without looking to see if it hit. He was almost at the door now…
"It's too late, little Jirou. You are mine now"
He heard the words just as he slammed the door behind him. He felt weird and dizzy and nauseous and there was still blood running down his cheek and now it was staining his shirt and even the ground, but he kept running, because the only thing he knew for certain was that he had to get out. He started shivering without realizing it, and it felt like probing fingers were tugging at his mind, conjuring up words, images and sensations. He saw dreams that turned to nightmares coalesce around him, and then the images blurred and the demons haunting his worst dreams bore the faces of his teammates: Shishido and Gakuto were laughing at him, and then Taki appeared but they started devouring him, and Ohtori just smiled with a strange unearthly expression on his face.
He shut his eyes and clenched his palms to his ears, trying to block out the noise, uncertain now whether the screams he heard were coming from the collection of apparitions around him or himself. It didn't seem to matter anymore, the world was upside down and he was the only sane person left –he reflected, in an unprecedented spike of irony, that he would probably not remain so for a very long time, the way things were going steadily downhill-.
Jirou took a shaky breath and tried to break through the encroaching figures: it was like diving in a pool full of cockroaches and it was slimy and he couldn't breathe anymore because they were pressing in on him and he thought he could feel his body rotting and falling to pieces and Oshitari wouldn't be pleased because he couldn't pick at his brain if it was all mouldy, right? With that last thought consciousness deserted him, and he welcomed the darkness, hoping for oblivion.
When he next opened his eyes a figure was standing over him, features shadowed by the sun shining from behind it. It leant forwards towards him, and Jirou yelped, still caught in a fog of semi-consciousness. He sat up and backed away as quickly as he could, stopping only when awry coordination and something solid blocked his path. Whipping his head round, he realized it was in fact a tree, and proceeded to hit his head on one of the knots of the trunk before the information was properly processed. He felt a trickle of blood running down from his temple and his eyes widened as a hand reached out to touch him.
"Noooo! Not my brain!"
The hand stopped in mid-motion, and in a somewhat amused voice, the figure inquired:
"What about your brain, Jirou?"
Jirou blinked. He knew that voice! Discarding doubts and fears, he leapt up, his forehead clumsily impacting the other's shoulder before they ended up in a tangle of limbs.
"Atobe-saaaaaan!"
The latter chuckled, slightly taken aback by the strange reactions of his teammate and friend. He ruffled the other player's hair, and frowned when he saw the messy wound on the side of his face. Jirou just flashed a sheepish grin, and buried himself in Atobe's shirt, glad for the sun and the warmth and the comforting touch of his buchou, who was rubbing small circles on his back –obviously catching on his need for contact-. They stayed like that for a while, oblivious to the stares and the breeze ruffling their clothes and the rest of the world.
"Ne, Atobe-san, you wouldn't eat my brain, right?"
"Hmmm…"
"Atobeeeee!"