Work Text:
Redolent with skin of unknown
unwary hands, nomadic ghost
levied words from my spiteful throat
understanding where my thoughts go
you'd build a boat out of my bones
I thought I'd reclaim you for the ocean
but i could not cradle you with dirty hands
no star death casketed in palms like these
white knuckles cracking, playing simple maths
Dogmas- by Kississippi
/./././
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“You are late.”
Hikaku blinks against the sun, squinting as he pants, doubled over as he heaves for breath. He lifts one shaking pointer finger in the air, begging for a few seconds with his lungs burning as he greedily sucks in air. Sweat trickles down his face, clinging to his clothes and rendering them damp and uncomfortable in places he dare not think too closely about.
He is seventeen and suffering for such youth already—must this add to it as well?
His lungs feel as though they are on fire, his legs shaking and struggling to hold his own weight.
The summer air is surprisingly hot for such a time of year, burning like a raging fire against Hikaku’s skin.
“Why do you insist on coming here every day? You will not find the answers you seek.”
“Liar,” Hikaku wheezes.
The hot summer sun beats down relentlessly upon him, as though it were trying to burn him alive. The journey up the weathered steps was as brutal as it has always been. The steps were steep and arduous to climb, even on the cooler days, nevermind in the winter.
It had always seemed that there was something trying to get in Hikaku’s way of coming back time and time again- even now. Rainstorms, high winds, unforgiving sun and sometimes, more often than not, blackened skies wrought with icy winds with a bitter bite to them despite his phone proclaiming the exact opposite.
Hikaku often wonders if maybe it had all been a warning of some sort– especially the first time he had found the steps after searching for so long. The cracked and aching soles of his bare feet leaving behind bloodied stains as he desperately made his way up those crumbling steps, overgrown with vines and roots and vegetation that threatened to swallow them from view. If maybe he hadn’t been so stubborn about climbing them, returning to where whispers turn into screams– perhaps things would have been different somehow.
Giving up, Hikaku knew down to his weary bones, wasn’t an option– it never was. Not then, and certainly not now.
His only regret from that day was the poor, unsuspecting bush that he had vomited on halfway up the stairs. Though, hopefully now that enough time has passed, it can find a way to forgive him. He certainly hoped so.
He wonders if someday he would be forgiven for the mistakes he could never recall committing.
Well, in this life anyway- and isn’t that always the question?
The endless screaming of the cicadas did nothing to muffle the desperate way Hikaku fought for breath then and now, lifetimes apart.
Yet, somehow it was a comfort that felt so familiar in the way it tugged at the edges of his memories.
“A liar, am I?”
Hikaku gags for a split second, forcefully reminded of the current problem at hand. His stomach churns.
“I’m warning you right now- do not vomit.”
Hikaku shakes his head and clenches his eyes shut as his vision swims. It's a losing battle. He knew he should have just taken his chances with that bush like he did the first time he had made his way up here.
His skin prickles—feeling stretched far too tight over his muscles and bones, the light dusting of hair all over his body standing on end as his mouth fills with saliva—the taste of stomach acid rising up in the back of his throat and sitting putrid and heavy upon his tongue.
Those stone steps—steep and weathered—are killers.
There’s a soft whisper of sound before the scent of smoke and ash fills his nose and at once, Hikaku reaches out until his hands come into contact with a very familiar object.
He barely has time to whimper a ‘thank you’ before he vomits into the ancient temple pot.
/./././
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Hikaku knows it’s terrible manners to be only half listening as he’s given his lecture of propriety and manners and etiquette, and how it’s rude to vomit into ancient temple relics- but the temple floor is a cool and a soothing balm for his heated skin as he bows as low as he can manage, forehead kissing wood.
He’ll pretend- just this once- that he didn’t feel that ghostly hand rub a gentle circle on his back when Hikaku crumbled to his knees earlier, losing his lunch and his dignity into the cracked pot that glinted spitefully in the sunlight.
In his defense- it was a very hot day and it’s not like he had decided to throw up in it on his own-
Hikaku winces as the back of his head is thwacked.
“Listen when I speak to you, boy.”
Hikaku sneaks a glance at Tobirama’s scowling face and gives him a queasy smile.
Tobirama’s eye twitches and his scowl deepens as he shakes his head and scoffs in disgust- turning away from where Hikaku remains in dogeza.
“Your body is too weak for the journey here, I don’t understand why you insist on coming here like this.”
“Yet, your first words to me were to tell me I was late.” Hikaku’s lips tick up into an indulgent smile. “I know it’s not the usual time, but you needn’t worry about it so much.”
His smile remains, body still glued to the floor even as he watches Tobirama turn his head back to send him a nasty glare before he steps away from him altogether. Feet silent on the old temple wood as he moves to stand at the base of the altar- his black haori swishing around him as he moves.
The swaying edges of the haori always strongly reminded Hikaku of smoke. The fabric inaudible as it almost seemed to sway around Tobirama’s frame even when he remained still. It was as though it were in constant motion. Like a moving distortion that only got worse the longer Hikaku stared at it.
If he had the courage to reach out– would there even be fabric to hold? Or his fingers simply pass through it as though it were an allusion to a memory he could no longer recall?
Will there ever not be a time he looks at it expecting to see a different face entirely wearing such a thing?
Flesh broken and splintered like shattered glass- replaced with gold as it bled onto the forest floor- lips peeling back into a snarl- red eyes boring into Hikaku’s very soul- demanding and consuming like the fires that bellowed from a hearth that once cradled Hikaku’s very body–
“You need to stop this,” Tobirama continues. “I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, your body will not be able to take the strain.”
Hiakau watches Tobirama reach out with practiced hands to light the incense. Hikaku knows without any doubt there is a frown on Tobirama’s face, a furrow in his brow. He can imagine with vivid recollection how his lips would be thinned into a straight line- displeased and worried and angry about it.
Hikaku knows everything about this man, and yet, he knows nothing at all.
“Will you finally tell me what happened?” Hikaku asks, turning his gaze away from Tobirama to rest his forehead once more on the familiar wooden floors. Breathing in deep the scent of a home that he never resided in. At least, not in this life.
“What is there to tell?” Tobirama grunts, ill tempered as always. “You disobeyed my orders to stay as far from this place as possible.”
“I meant before that.”
Hikaku waits in a moment of tense silence before lifting himself onto his knees, sitting with his back straight and his chin raised to stare unwaveringly at Tobirama.
The screams of the summer cicadas continue to drone on beyond the walls of this old, forgotten temple full of secrets and stories Hikaku knows no longer belong to him. The sun continues to shine through the pristine windows of the temple, cheery and oppressive. The world continues to turn and the clock on Hikaku’s wrist continues to tick the seconds away.
Tobirama doesn’t flinch from him- he never had before, but this time there is something hesitant in the way he holds himself- as though fighting against his own better judgement.
“There was nothing before that, stupid boy,” Tobirama spits. “You are not welcome here.”
Hikaku remains unaffected, not even daring to blink.
Tobirama places the incense in their rightful place and keeps his back to Hikaku in terse silence.
“Will you, at last, tell me the name of my Master?” Hikaku asks.
“You have no master.”
“I do,” Hikaku says. “Or at least I did.”
Hikaku fists his hands where they rest on his thighs as he sits with them folded beneath him, his back still straight and his chin still raised. A respectful sort of defiance that he refuses to waver from.
“Won’t you tell this lonely servant of yours, the name of your husband? The name of the one who took me in and sheltered me in this very temple? Who burnt wood of his own hearth to stitch darkness and smoke, to give me a haori of my own from his domain, before you cursed and banished me from my home?”
“This was never your home.”
Hikaku’s teeth grit as anguish laces through from the words of a man who once embraced him and welcomed him in this very home.
/./././
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There are things in this world that tug at Hikaku’s mind at times- things that slice his brain to pieces and render it useless in the face of what is no longer his. Secrets that no longer exist for him- promises and vows that are no longer his to hold.
Growing up, Hikaku had always felt lost and adrift– drowning beneath a melancholy that would bring constant tears to his eyes despite his mother’s best efforts and comforting him. Holding him close and desperately trying to convince him that everything would be alright. That he just needed more time to grow out of this. That these fits of hysteria would be something that could be left behind. Lost to time and misshapen illusions that weren’t real.
His mother always assumed it was his illness that kept him sad- that kept him from smiling and playing like any other boy his age would.
He remembers hospital stays, lying weak and vulnerable in his bed, delirious with fever and begging to be let go- that they needed him- that he needed to go home .
Hikaku hated being told that such delirium would eventually pass and he would live a normal life once this was all over.
Whatever this was.
Empty promises filled to the brim with assurances that it would all fade like the dreams that brought him visions of flesh repaired with gold. That the red eyes that stared back at him from within the darkness that beckoned him closer to a home that he couldn’t remember anymore would fade with time.
Hikaku often threw temper tantrums as his anger spiked his fever and he stood shaking and overheated to the point of convulsions. Screaming that he need to return- that he couldn’t be kept here like this forever-
Worlds and shapes and words morphed into one as the doctors tended to him- holding him down as he thrashed with memories that sometimes he wasn’t sure were even his.
He remembered a dance- taking delicate care to learn the steps over and over again until he performed it flawlessly as he weaved through the air. Intricate fans held in each hand as he celebrated and welcomed lost souls returning home to a hearth that cradled them until they rested in settled ash- ribbons that plucked tendrils of air from the sky to gently blow them to the heavens- some choosing to stay behind to be molded into clay–
He remembered blood that had spilled onto the ground- piercing screams of thousands of souls– a haori made of smoke and black ink- his master’s bride that Hikaku once tended to- a god of splintered skin repaired with gold. Glowing red eyes that only knew to consume. A cool gentle hand settling over his eyes as he bled out onto the temple floor-
Hikaku remembers the day he died–
The second time anyway. Or maybe it was the third? Fourth?
It happened before, Hikaku knew it did- with the splintered remnants of his mind slipping further and further from him at such a rapid decay, Hikaku could never truly be sure of anything.
It happened here–a death, his own once more–years ago. He had stolen away from the hospital and wandered for days- walking barefoot and lost, sticking to alleyways and shadows, avoiding the sunlight and other people alike until he had at last found the stairs. Shaking and weak and desperate, aching for a home that he could only see in his splintered dreams.
His body was too weak to handle the strain of the climb- he knew this, yet it called to him from the day he was born. Hidden deep in the mountains, miles from where the illusion of his caring family lived. There had been a small moment of doubt- just for a moment- but Hikaku refused to give up. Not now. He had hauled his body up each step as the forest around him seemed to scream at him to stop- to keep away . The cicadas, reminiscent of thousands of souls screaming in terror all at once, roaring so loud Hikaku thought his ear drums would burst- feet scraped raw and bloodied as he clawed his way up when his legs failed him at last
But they needed him- he had to get back and warn- the souls needed their guide–
Hikaku remembers vomiting into a bush half way up and the very first time he saw the way Tobirama’s face was twisted in such anguish . The way he muttered I told you to stay away through gritted teeth when Hikaku collapsed at the entrance of the temple as his heart gave out on him.
Hikaku remembers calling Tobirama by name and giving him a smug smile- young and foolish and sweating from the summer’s fevered heat.
He remembers the lecture- the cool, soothing hand upon his brow as his heart stopped- the way Tobirama’s face twisted, lips thinning as Hikaku’s breathing slowed- it hadn’t been the first time Hikaku lay dying at his feet, after all.
There are lives Hikaku lived like this before- faces and memories that had slowly begun to trickle away from him like flowing water. The older he got the more they faded- leaving Hikaku screaming and scrambling to dig his fingers into what remained of them, desperately holding onto them for all he’s worth before they left him altogether.
He’s sure, down to his bones, they had before.
/./././
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“There is no such name.” Tobirama says at last, his voice saturated with finality as dread sinks its way into Hikaku- a desperation bubbling in his stomach and threatening to overflow. “You are not welcome here. Go home, and never return to where you are not wanted.”
“Have you always hated me, so?” Hikaku asks, his skin prickling as stomach acid invades his mouth once more- his stomach churning. “Have you always looked upon me with such contempt- such scorn ?”
“You are simply a boy,” Tobirama cuts in, finally turning to gaze upon Hikaku with an unreadable expression. “Live your life as you should. Grow , wither and die an old man, happy and content with the life you deserve to have. As all mortals do.”
“Such things- you have no right to demand-!” Hikaku’s voice cracks as something that feels bigger than himself claws at his skin- wrapping around his lungs and squeezing. “You’ve kept so much from me! How many lives have I lived? How many times have I made my way back here? Back home , only for you to turn me away?”
“Enough!” Tobirama snaps, his face twisting in anger, his haori bellowing around him, “I have tried to be kind, I have tried to be benevolent- but no more.”
“Kind?” Hikaku spits, “you consider this kindness?”
“Turn and leave this place behind- treat it as it was always meant to be- a distant memory that cannot reach you.” The incense beside Tobirama wafts through the air, invading Hikaku’s senses as his vision blurs at the edges- it, too, feels like home.
“Please-” Hikaku’s voice is shaky with rage- wet with sorrow, “Please don’t do this.”
“Never return here again.” Tobirama speaks, his words sinking into Hikaku- eating up the dread and sorrow- as though it never existed in the first place- “There is nothing left for you here.”
Perhaps he should have listened back then to that scathing voice that awaited him at the top, shrouded in the shadows of the looming temple the first time he hauled his weary body over the last step, only to collapse, foolish and weak in a heap just out of reach of the ghostly hand that reached for him from within the darkness.
A hand, cool as the soothing waters of a lazy river, settles over Hikaku’s eyes. Fire and ash burn his nose, embers embedding into his skin as Hikaku reaches out a desperate hand to curl around a haori made of smoke- pitch black but grey at the edges. Tears spring from Hikaku’s covered eyes as ghostly fingers comb through his mind- plucking from it precious memories that evaporated in wisps of smoke.
“This is the only kindness I have left to give you.”
././././
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The world continues to turn and time continues to pass and through it all, it leaves Hikaku behind like a forgotten memory.
/././
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“You are late.”
Hikaku blinks against the sun, squinting as he pants, doubled over as he heaves for breath. He lifts one shaking pointer finger in the air, begging for a few seconds with his lungs burning as he greedily sucks in air. Sweat trickles down his face, clinging to his clothes and rendering them damp and uncomfortable in places he dare not think too closely about.
He is thirteen and suffering for such youth already- must this add to it as well?
His lungs feel as though they are on fire, his legs shaking and struggling to hold his own weight.
The spring air is surprisingly hot for such a time of year, burning like a raging fire against Hikaku’s skin.
“Why do you insist on coming here every day? You will not find the answers you seek.”
“Liar,” Hikaku wheezes with a smug smile.