Chapter Text
“This is not good,” Hinata says from his perch in Tobio’s hood. “Not good, not good, not good.”
The cart they’re riding in hurdles over a bump, and Tooru is airborne for a moment before colliding with the wooden side. He massages his shoulder, hoping that it won’t bruise. They’re surrounded by a pile of musky, scratchy straw that quivers with each jostle of the cart and muffles the panicked voice of the driver, but Tooru is almost positive that the man is screaming something about the Beast.
“I don’t see anything out there,” Tobio says, pulling his head back into their sanctuary.
Tooru wipes sweat from his hairline; the straw really traps their body heat. “How far off course is he taking us?”
“Enough that I couldn’t tell you where we are anymore,” Hinata says.
The cart hits another bump, the biggest one yet. Perhaps it’s a rock, but the what isn’t so important when Tooru finds himself and the haystack aloft again before dropping so swiftly it leaves his stomach behind. He crashes into the ground, tucking his hands close to his chest in an attempt to save them. Pain scrapes from his cheek down to his knees, and he groans into the strewn hay around him. The cart clatters away down the road.
“Oikawa-san,” he hears Tobio say, “are you all right?”
He rolls over to see Tobio extending a hand, but Tooru doesn’t take it when he stands. Straw sticks to his sweater and pokes him through his hair, and he scowls as he picks it out, pretending to not notice Tobio’s pout.
“Well,” Hinata says, fluttering down from the sky unscathed, “at least we’re not totally in the middle of nowhere.”
Tooru twists around to find a well-worn dirt path parting the trees. It draws his gaze to a fence with a door that is no higher than his breastbone, certainly not big enough for someone to walk upright through. Above it hangs a lantern that casts an emerald glow across the knotty wood. He realizes, as he approaches it, that he can smell wood smoke, and when his fingers brush the door, it swings inward, teasing at a softly-lit garden beyond.
“Maybe someone in there can give us directions,” Hinata says.
Tooru is past caring about soiling his pants, so he drops to his hands and knees and crawls through the doorway. On the other side, he stands, brushing away the dirt as Tobio and Hinata follow him through.
Even though the door hadn’t seemed made for people, the garden and the house it’s attached to definitely are. Paths wind between shrubs and lush chrysanthemums bowing their heavy blooms, dimly lit by golden lanterns. The house itself is a traditional one, and a nice one at that, with darkened shoji doors and a black-tiled roof. It’s been well-kept, but it doesn’t look like anyone is home.
“Oikawa-san, let’s try this way,” Tobio says, pointing to a second garden gate, this one tall enough for even someone like Azumane, and overshadowed still by the buildings beyond it.
They emerge onto a quiet street lined with two-storey buildings. It curves away, forming the perimeter of something much larger. A distant clamor of voices trickles in over the rooftops, and they follow a string of soft, pale lanterns past back doors and waste bins until they find a place where the street is bisected by another. They turn onto it, and then distant clamor bursts into a riot of sound.
“Wow,” Tooru breathes.
They have stepped into a vibrant, extensive market. The streets are lined with small food stalls and proper restaurants and shops full of trinkets, breathing laughter and the warmth of their cooking fires into the night air. Lanterns of every color trail on strings above their heads, and on closer inspection, it seems that their colors come from the flames inside them, not the creamy paper. The smells of ramen broth and grilled meat are thick in Tooru’s nose, making his stomach growl. Tobio’s answers with a gurgle, and they lock eyes. The money Tooru’s sister gave him—before this whole mess happened—sits safely in his pants pocket, and he thinks it’s time to put it to use. He can be a good senpai when he wants to be.
“I don’t like this place,” Hinata says, fluffed up on Tobio’s shoulder. “It smells like predators.”
Tobio frowns. “Can birds smell?”
“I just told you I could, didn’t I?”
Tooru pauses to watch a man frying rice in a wok, the sleeves of his yukata tied out of the way. The top of his balding head shines in the light.
“Looks like normal people to me. Wow, chibi-chan, I thought you weren’t a scaredy cat,” Tooru says, but Hinata just hunches closer to Tobio’s neck, making himself very still. Tooru sighs. “If you’re that scared, then why don’t you wait for us in the garden?”
Hinata rockets into the air. “Oh, thank you, thank you! Make sure you eat and get directions and come straight back! Okay, bye!”
As he disappears over the roofs, Tooru shakes his head and turns back to his kouhai.
“What are you hungry for, Tobio-chan?” he asks, and Tobio lights up.
“Curry with an egg, please!”
“Curry it is, then.”
It only takes them a couple streets to find a stall selling it, not much more than a small counter with four stools standing unoccupied. The stall is manned by a boy with striking gold eyes that do not hide his boredom. When Tooru orders curry for them both, all the boy says is, “Sure,” and shrugs.
Tobio is gaping at the colorful strung-up lanterns and the parade of food stalls and restaurants. Tooru follows his gaze to one on the opposite side of the street, where an ageing man passes yakitori from a vendor to a young girl at his side, and Tobio hugs the volleyball tighter to his chest. Tooru knows, vaguely, that Tobio has a grandfather and a sister—albeit an older one—but he hasn’t seemed to miss them much here in the Unknown that is this strange place. Now, though, Tooru wonders if he just hasn’t been watching closely enough. He fists the hem of his sweater to refrain from giving Tobio a reassuring head pat, instead turning back to the boy manning the stall, who is frying the eggs to top their curry.
“Um, excuse me,” he says, loud enough for Tobio to overhear. “We’re looking for a man named Washijo-san. He’s going to help us get home.”
The boy flips the eggs in the pan. “Sorry, never heard of him.”
“Okay.” Tooru frowns. “Well, is there anyone around here who might have? We kind of need directions.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the boy asks.
Tobio is watching the exchange with his big blue eyes, and Tooru straightens his back more. He needs Tobio to know that he’s doing all he can to get them home.
“What does that have to do with anything? We’re just asking for some help here.”
The boy shrugs, ladling curry into a bowl beside steaming white rice and sliding the eggs on top. “Just curious. Two curries with egg, coming up.” He whirls around and sets the bowls on the counter in front of them.
And his face is gone.
Tooru makes a strangled sound. The boy’s face is gone and there is nothing but smooth, unbroken skin from hairline to chin, like a porcelain doll whose features haven’t yet been painted. Beside Tooru, Tobio begins to back away.
“What’s the matter?” the boy laughs, even though he has no mouth to do so with. “Don’t you want your curry?”
Tooru grabs Tobio’s hand and bolts. Through the street, past stalls where curious people lean out to watch them. The colorful lanterns blur into a dizzy rainbow; he chokes on the smells of cook fires and meats and noodles and soups and sweats. Tooru swears that he can still hear the boy laughing, but at least Tobio is keeping pace, clinging to his hand.
They careen around a corner, slipping on a discarded scrap of paper, and collide with someone solid. A plate of noodles goes flying, splattering on the paving stones with a drip of sauce landing on the person’s foot. Tooru squeaks out an apology and makes to sidestep, but he’s stopped by a grip on his bicep.
“Whoa, whoa, look where yer going’, will ya?” the person says, and Tooru finally looks him in the face.
The boy is around his age with piss-yellow hair and a sharp scowl, shorter than Tooru but with a commanding presence .
“Oikawa-san,” Tobio says, casting panicked glances over his shoulder. The poor kid has gone so pale that his lips blend into his face, and Tooru hopes he doesn’t faint.
“Nah, what’s your rush?” Yellow Hair says. “Ya lost me my dinner.”
“There’s a monster,” Tooru blurts, tugging free from his grip, only to be grabbed from behind by someone else.
“A monster? That ain’t very nice,” the newcomer says—his hair is grey, but he has the same face as Yellow Hair. Tooru hadn’t even noticed him approach.
“No, you don’t get it! He didn’t have a face—”
The twins share a glance and turn matching, toothy grins on Tooru. Their canines shine in the lamplight.
“Oh,” Yellow Hair says, “do ya mean somethin’ like this?”
And then they both pass their hands over their faces and wipe them clean away.
Tobio is nearly hyperventilating, and Tooru lets out a strangled scream. He shouts for help to anyone—the stall keepers, the passers-by—but his cry is met with a chorus of voices—
“Do they look like this?”
—and everyone on the street turns towards them, all the stall keepers leaning out of their stalls, with the same smooth, blank faces.
There is something wet on Tooru’s cheeks. He stumbles back, and then realizes the twins aren’t holding him captive anymore, instead joining the raucous laughter that bounces up to the sky.
Tooru squeezes Tobio’s hand as hard as he can and runs.
They hurtle through a couple of streets, not stopping for anyone they knock into and knock down, until they reach a quieter alley with a familiar gate. Tooru shoulders it open and skids into the garden yelling for Hinata. He can’t wait to see that stupid crow again.
Hinata is nowhere to be in the garden. Instead, they find a young black man in a red yukata, who seems to have just crawled through the outside gate; he jumps at their explosive entrance.
“Hey,” he says, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Tooru’s breath hurts as he pants, eyeing the outside gate. “We just want to leave, okay? We’re very sorry for whatever we did to you all, but we just want to go now.”
The man’s eyes widen. “Did someone hurt ya?”
“Are you going to make your face disappear, too?” Tobio asks quietly.
The man’s lips part, and then he smack his palm against his forehead and heaves a long-suffering sigh.
“Those idiots. Tell me, did a couple of twins have somethin’ to do with this?”
Tobio nods, and Tooru realizes that they haven’t let go of each other. His kouhai is trembling, and his palm is sweating. Tooru squeezes it once.
With another exasperated huff, the man places his hands on their shoulders as a reassuring weight.
“I could do that if I wanted, but ya both seem terrified out of yer minds already. Those twins are actually harmless. It’s just a stupid prank they like to play on outsiders. If you show me where they are, I’ll tell ‘em off for ya, okay?”
He’s smiling at them with the kind of warmth and understanding that lights up his face and that Tooru instinctively wants to trust, like with Utsui. And so, perhaps this is why he finds himself nodding as he wipes the drying tears from his cheeks.
And maybe, he also really wants to get those boys back for what they did.