Chapter Text
Hikaru couldn't see. The clouds had split open and rain cascaded onto him like a tidal wave. And, even though the downpour had been accompanied by a booming thunder, he couldn't hear any of it either, the ringing in his ears drowning out the cacophony.
He wanted to get up from the muddy ground. He wanted to shout for help. He wanted to see Yoshiki. If he could move his facial muscles, the last thought would've made him laugh. It was absurd after all. A stupid thought to have while he was lying in the middle of a cursed mountain, bleeding from his head, and waiting for death to take him.
Hikaru would be first to admit that this predicament was entirely his fault: stumbling into this situation because he had distractedly craned his neck to gawk at a curvacious tree. It was stupid, but he never thought he would die over it. Never thought he would die at all. Not because he was immortal or anything, but it wasn't an idea someone his age had to worry about.
He had his whole life ahead of him. He was going to graduate high school with Yoshiki; He was going to complain over not being able to attend the same university as Yoshiki; He was going to hold his tongue as Yoshiki left Kubitachi; He was going to call every night and distract Yoshiki from his university school work. It was his rightful duty as Yoshiki's best friend, but he wouldn't be able to do any of it.
Hikaru's mind wandered to distract him from his grim reality. He couldn't feel his limbs. Couldn't even be certain they were still attached to his body, but he knew his heart was beating. He could hear it in his ears over the distant ringing. He could always hear it when Yoshiki invaded his thoughts.
Hikaru missed him.
He didn't want to die.
Yoshiki would be left all alone.
He had been fighting the growing weight on his eyelids, but he couldn't resist any further. He blinked. Slowly and deliberately. It was nice not having to face the wrath of the storm head on, but it was a small comfort that came with a grave price. He couldn't open his eyes again.
Despite mustering all the fiber in his body, his eyelids were clasped shut, trapping him in a total darkness.
This couldn't be how he died.
There were too many things left undone.
Too many words left unsaid.
Yoshiki's face flashed before him. A smile on his lips, making the mole under them stretch upward. They reminded Hikaru of sunflower seeds and starry nights. Yoshiki always hated the comparison. The same moles that Yoshiki hated with all his being, Hikaru adored more than anything else in the world.
He felt himself reaching out to the image even though that couldn't have possibly been the case. Stuck in his consciousness, his arm —his "reach"— was formless and invisible, and his imagined body gravitated towards Yoshiki. Closer. And closer.
When Yoshiki was finally within reach, the image bled. It crumbled. Until not even a trace of it was left behind. Reaching from behind the image was an arm. A ghastly pale arm that looked like it could only belong to a ghost.
Hikaru's gut screamed at him to flee. But, where would he go? This was supposed to be his sanctuary. His mind.
How did something —or someone— infiltrate his conscience?
The hand grew larger and larger and larger. But, something about it looked off. Not its deathly paleness. Not the suspicious dirt clinging to its nails.
Belatedly, Hikaru realized the hand wasn't increasing in size but rather inching closer to him, and upon closer inspection, there was an amalgamation of darkness lurking behind it: A pulsating, twitching ball of tendrils, sporadically churning in the hand's shadows. Like an unstable force on the brink of losing all control.
A faint string of whispers followed. So quiet that Hikaru would've surely missed them if he had not been paying attention. He had never heard the voices before, but it began to reverberate all around him, almost as if he was trapped in an echo chamber
"One wish."
"Your life—”
"What is it?"
"Indou Hikaru."
"Tell me."
"What is your wish?"
"Hikaru!" Yoshiki's voice had cut the fervent whispers short. "Are yer okay?" He asked, frantic, exhaling sharply between each word. He held Hikaru's face in his hands, his grip quivering.
Hikaru felt like he was floating on a cloud, which couldn't be farther from the truth, but despite everything, —his bleeding head, the unruly storm, the mysterious voices—he melted in Yoshiki's palms. A boulder of tension rolling off his shoulders.
Yoshiki had found him.
Everything was going to be okay.
If he didn't live to see tomorrow, at least Yoshiki would know what happened to him. That way, he would able to get closure; he would be able to move on and make other friends, ones that didn't dissapear to a forbidden mountain without any warning.
Yoshiki would be fine without him.
That should be enough.
But, Hikaru was never so selfless. So, he pushed, forcing his eyes open despite the wind whipping his face; despite the rain weighing down on his eyelids.
Yoshiki was crying. With bloodshot eyes and a wail straining his throat, he looked unfamiliar. Nothing like the monotone and composed Yoshiki Hikaru had grown to expect.
This Yoshiki was loud and erratic.
"Hold on just a bit longer! Help is coming!"
Snot ran down Yoshiki's nose, mixing with the rainwater pouring down his face. He cheeks looked pudgy, and his eyes were swollen from sobbing. "Promise me you'll hold on, Hikaru. Promise me!"
This Yoshiki was so terribly cute.
At that thought, his vision began to blur, his head feeling like it was going to split into two. He coughed up a pained groan, the sound causing Yoshiki's expression to worsen.
"Hikaru, what's wro—”
Yoshiki’s voice became muffled to Hikaru, unintelligible. It was like he had fallen into the ocean, sinking deeper with every passing second. Everything grew farther and farther away until there was nothing left. No one left.
He blacked out.
Hikaru woke up to the rhythmic beating of a heart monitor.