Work Text:
Strangely enough, it’s the school bell that wakes Fuma. The tinny strains of Für Elise that cause his eyes to blink open, surrounded by darkness, complete and solid.
What the fuck is going on?
He left school four years ago. And even so, why is it so silent? There is no sound whatsoever, apart from the bell echoing eerily off of empty classroom walls. A tiny light glows from out in the corridor, but that’s all he has to go on.
He’s sitting slumped at one of the desks, head on his arms and limbs strangely uncooperative, as if the sleep that he’s just woken from wasn’t completely natural. It certainly doesn’t feel it, this stiffness in his joints and buzzing at the tips of his fingers as he works to get his blood flowing again.
He’s not one to panic. But it would be hard not to, in this situation.
Fuma has no memories of how he got here. The very last thing that he can recall is climbing onto his bike, the bike that he takes everywhere. For ages, he’s been trying to get a higher paying job, but there are no vacancies at the moment, and so delivery driving is the only thing getting him a pay check. It’s better than nothing, and he’ll take it any day – but that doesn’t explain why he’s suddenly woken up in an empty school in the middle of the night.
His limbs appear to be back in working order now, but as he stands up he stretches them anyway, leaning into his legs to make sure they’re fully back to normal, shaking the haze of this strangely heavy sleep from every corner of his body. There’s a stirring in his chest, something that isn’t quite right.
Now that his eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness somewhat, he’s able to look around him more clearly – he’s in the middle seat at the front of the classroom. Each desk has a small post-it note attached to it, the bright yellow paper glowing dimly. From what he can see, the front left desk is 1, and the back right is 9, moving in rows. A small class, for sure.
He tucks his own post-it, the number 2, into his pocket before moving towards the classroom door. Something tells him that he shouldn’t slide the door back, but there’s a strange curiosity that’s hard to ignore. Besides, what does he gain from waiting in here? He’s always been a practical person. If he wants answers, he will have to go and find them for himself.
The sound of the door sliding open reverberates through the corridor. The emergency exist lights glow a bright green, but cast little light – but one light fixture is half-working, the long rod of light flickering on and off intermittently for a few seconds.
It’s a good thing that he’s tall. He reaches up, fingers scrabbling at the cold plastic fitting for a moment, before the fixture comes loose and he’s left with the flickering rod of light clutched tight in one hand. It makes his breath come just a little easier, being able to see as well as the knowledge that he’s now armed. Something tells him that he’s going to have to prepare himself for a fight, and he’d rather be ready now than caught of guard.
Sure enough, the door to the classroom opposite the one he’s just exited slides open just a fraction with a grating squeal. Fuma moves back instinctively, light fitting held out in a defensive posture, but he’s only met with the reflection of a pair of wide, curious eyes, the fear pooling behind them barely concealed. He lowers his weapon as soon as he realises that this boy is not a threat in the slightest, but he still can’t find it within himself to move forward.
“Where the hell are we?”
His voice rings out, uncomfortably loud despite the fact that he whispered. It feels as if the very walls are listening, here, waiting to pounce.
The door opens a little further, and the boy takes a tentative step outside. He’s slightly taller than Fuma, with soft brown hair that curls around the nape of his neck, dark, innocent eyes and round cheeks that make him appear younger than he probably is.
“I don’t know.” He says carefully, a slight accent catching at his voice. He’s soft spoken, with an air of natural shyness to him that evokes an immediate sense of trust within Fuma. He appears just as clueless as he feels. “I just... woke up, and everything was dark, and I didn’t know where I was.”
Fuma nods to confirm that he experienced the same thing. This whole situation seems to get stranger by the minute, and he can’t fathom for the life of him what’s going on, why they could possibly be here.
“If there’s two of us, who knows how many people there are here? And why we’ve suddenly woken up in an abandoned school?”
The boy chews at his lip. “Maybe it’s some sort of test.”
Test? Why would Fuma be put through a test like this? He’s a delivery driver, not a high school student. Unless he died and this is some extremely fucked-up version of heaven.
“I’m Euijoo, by the way. Byun Euijoo.”
Byun. He’s Korean, then – that explains the accent, but only thickens Fuma’s confusion. “I’m Fuma. I was – I don’t know, I was delivering food orders, and then I just... woke up here.”
“I’m a teacher at a high school, that’s why I thought it might be some sort of test – but then, why would you be here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Fuma shrugs, but before Euijoo can reply, a deathly piercing scream rings out from down the corridor. Something sharp, something inhuman.
They don’t wait around, just bolt in the opposite direction, all ideas of staying quiet completely abandoned. Their feet thud horribly loudly against the cold tiled floor, but it falls on deaf ears - the pounding of adrenaline in Fuma’s head blocks out everything else as his body goes into overdrive, fight or flight kicking in as he’s overcome with the need to get away.
Luckily, he’s in good shape, and running at high speed poses no difficulty for him, but he senses that Euijoo is beginning to slow a little, falling behind gradually. At the moment, they’ve got a better chance of working out where the hell they are if it’s the two of them, and he really doesn’t want to leave the other man behind.
Fuma turns around yet another corner, the adrenaline in his bloods losing just enough for rational thought now. They’ve been running for a few minutes, and the sound hasn’t come again. It’s not unreasonable to assume that whatever had caused it is far behind them by now, and so he skids to a halt outside another classroom door, selecting one completely at random, pulling it wide and falling inside.
A second later, Euijoo is there, and the second the door shuts behind the two of them he collapses to the ground, face flushed right red in the light from Fuma’s hand, breathing deep and rugged. They’ve literally been running for their lives.
Fuma’s guard is still too far up to assume that they’re both safe yet, though, and he holds his light a little higher to allow it to spill throughout the room. It takes his eyes a moment to scan the entire room, lighting on something – no, two figures pressed against the far wall.
He takes a step back, holding the light fixture defensively like a sword, covering himself and Euijoo, still on the floor but steadily regaining the use of his lungs. Fuma’s breath catches just a little, the twinge of anxiety in his chest deepening slightly.
The longer he looks, though, the quicker his worries melt away. Two boys, probably in their late teens, both clinging onto each other in the corner of the room. The pure intensity of the terror in their eyes alone is enough to make Fuma’s heart return to it’s usual pace, because these two aren’t a threat. In fact, they appear more scared by their entrance than Euijoo or Fuma.
“What’s going on?” the one on the right says, his voice trembling. Still, the two of them haven’t let go of each other, clinging tight like it’s the only thing keeping them alive.
Fuma simply shrugs. “I have no idea, but it doesn’t feel good.”
He extends a hand down to help Euijoo to his feet, his breathing mostly returned to normal now, the very tips of his ears still a bright red in the intermittently flashing light.
He seems to spot just how afraid these two are, because he approaches them carefully. Fuma would have no idea on how to dissuade their fear, but Euijoo’s instincts as a teacher seem to kick in. He keeps his voice gentle and moves slowly so as not to startle them further, while Fuma holds his position by the door. Just in case, he thinks.
“What are your names?”
The boy on the right is the one to speak again, by the sound of his voice. “I’m – my name is Taki, this is Harua, we just woke up in the darkness and there was nobody around and then we heard screaming.”
The other boys nods, the light glancing off of the tear tracks carving their way down his cheeks. He still hasn’t let go of Taki, his face buried against the other’s boys shoulder and his hands tight in the fabric of his jumper.
“You woke up in the same room?” Fuma and Euijoo have already discussed the possibility of there being others in the building, but Fuma had assumed that they would all wake up in the same position that he had. Alone in a room with numbered desks.
His assumption is proved correct, however. “No.” Taki says, his voice sounding a little more grounded now that the initial shock of their arrival has worn off. “I was across the corridor, and I saw Harua through the classroom window, so I came in here. He seemed scared, so...”
By this time Euijoo has reached the side of the two boys, and he’s speaking in hushed tones to Harua, even if the words don’t reach Fuma where he stands by the door. He imagines them to be comforting in some way, because sure enough Harua’s fingers unclench from Taki’s jumper and he stands on his own, eyes screwed tight shut.
Euijoo continues to speak, but he raises his voice slightly for Taki to hear as well, and now it carries over to Fuma too. “My name is Euijoo, and this is Fuma. We don’t know what is going on, but we’re all in this together, okay? We’re going to find out why we’re here and then we’re going to get the hell out.”
“Do you promise?”
It’s the first time Harua has spoken and his voice is weak. He sounds so afraid, just like a child, and Fuma is overcome with the need to protect these people – Euijoo included, even though he seems capable of defending himself if need be. There’s something incredibly vulnerable about the two boys against the wall, and he swears to himself that no matter what it takes, they will get out of here.
He and Euijoo both reply at the same time.
“I promise.”
Jo sits at the desk where he woke up, hands tight over his ears as he waits for the school bell to stop ringing, impossibly loud in the total silence that encompasses the rest of the school. It sounds tinny, like it’s lain unused for several years, and now, with the echoing, it’s nothing short of disturbing to listen to.
It takes him a few minutes to move, even once the quiet has been restored and there’s been no more sudden sounds. He’s never minded the dark – quite likes it, actually – but it’s disconcerting, being able to see nothing except the little light that’s being emitted from the emergency exit signs in the corridors, the vibrant green glow that makes everything appear just a little disjointed.
He makes his way tentatively over to where the window should be, in any ordinary classroom. It’s only been a year since he finished school, and he’s still very familiar with classroom setups such as this. The windows should be opposite the wall with the two sliding doors, and the windows out to the corridor. Maybe there will be some moonlight, at least enough to see by.
Luckily, he’s proven right as soon as he draws the curtains back. It’s not much, but a faint silvery glow tinges the whole room, lighting it up just enough to make out exactly where he is. He had woken at one of the desks, but which one, he couldn’t tell – and only now can he see that the one with the chair pushed back has a small number 6 taped onto it. It’s the desk in the middle row, far right column. It seems unusual to have so few desks in a classroom this size, but he doesn’t dwell on that.
The quiet feels too tense. Anticipatory, almost, like something is just waiting to happen.
How the hell did he end up here?
He realises it suddenly, that he has no memory at all of returning to a school, let alone in the middle of the night. The last thing he remembers is sitting in his apartment. He had stayed up until the early hours of the morning working on an art piece for his university project, and everything had looked off. The proportions had seemed skewed, as if viewed through a piece of ice, and nothing had been falling into place. He raises his hands into the moonlight now, and the weak light filtering through the window alights upon the smudges of ink that still stain his fingertips. So, that much had been real. How much time has passed since then? Hours, days? His mind feels like it’s been violently sent through a washing machine, thoughts muddled and obscured, making time perception difficult.
Jo is not one to let fear get the better of him, though, and so he makes his way over to the opposite window that looks out over the corridor. There must be some reason for him being here, at least – maybe it’s like one of those escape room shows, where the contestants have to escape within a certain amount of time. That’s the most logical explanation that he’s got at the moment, and so he moves towards the closest door. If he has to get out, he’d rather do it quickly than hang around in a darkened classroom for hours, and risk hearing that horrible alarm going off again.
He steps out into the corridor, keeping his footsteps light and cautious. He would be lying if he didn’t admit to the quick pattering of his heart, the dead weight of something unpleasant sitting heavy in his stomach. Even if it is just a set-up, something feels...off.
He keeps his right hand against the wall as he walks, the darkness fuller out here, more complete, pressing in on all sides. He purposely keeps his dominant hand free and readily available, just in case. He doesn’t know in case of what, but it feels better to be prepared.
From down the corridor, another loud sound makes him jump once again – the thudding of running feet, panicked and frantic. The feeling of something being wrong intensifies, an instinct that sends him moving backwards simply from the noise. The footsteps are getting louder, presumably heading in his direction, every second getting closer and closer –
Jo suddenly tumbles backwards as another body collides with his, sending him flying back into the wall – no, a door to another classroom, one that slides open under his weight, leaving him sprawled on the floor on the threshold of the door. He scrambles backwards as quickly as he can, every instinct screaming at him to get away from whatever just hit him. His nerves are on a razor-thin edge, goosebumps pricking over his arms as he tries to put as much distance between himself and the doorway.
Whatever was running down the corridor at full speed has fallen into the room as well, sliding the door shut and laying in a heap on the floor, coughing and choking. Despite his original fear, Jo senses that this person is no more of a threat to him than what they were running from, which means that, for now, they’re on the same side. At least, he hopes so.
The other person doesn’t seem to have realised that he’s there, because there’s no sign of acknowledging his presence in the slightest. So instead, Jo has to be the one to let him know that he’s here.
“Um.” He says, voice quiet but still sounding too loud. “Are you alright?”
It’s difficult to see in he darkness, but the coughing sounds coming from the floor stop for a second, and it sounds as if they’re shuffling backwards against the door.
“Who are you? Where am I? What have you done?”
The voice is younger than Jo might have expected, and the speaker can’t be much older than himself, maybe early twenties. Despite the way he gasps as he talks, it’s obvious that this boy is just as terrified. There’s a slight inflection to his speech, a nasal sort of tone that would be endearing if the situation weren’t so dire.
“I swear, I don’t know anything, I just woke up and-”
He cuts his own voice off as another sound reaches his ears, from inside the room this time. Movement. The pair of them both fall silent.
“What the hell?”
It’s a new voice. He can tell it’s not the same nasal voice of the boy by the door, and he doesn’t think it’s his own, but he feels like he might be going slightly crazy anyway.
It’s a lucky thing that he’s already standing beside the window to pull the curtains open, because he’s otherwise frozen to the spot. The starlight pours in, lighting up just enough to make out the situation – as he’d thought, the boy with his back pressed tight to the door, and another unfamiliar figure at one of the classroom tables, in just the same way that Jo had woken up a few minutes ago. This shadow is seated on the front row of desks, on the very left-hand side, which is how the two of them hadn’t already noticed him.
The other stranger gets to his feet, running one hand backwards through long hair that seems to fall perfectly into his face. “What – where the hell is this place, what’s – who are you?”
“We don’t know what’s going on, either.” The one by the door replies. “I woke up down the corridor, in a classroom just like this, at the very middle desk, and there were footsteps outside, so I left, and someone tried to grab me, so I ran. And then I bumped into...” he gestures to Jo, hovering by the window, his mind going a million miles a minute.
“Asakura Jo.” He provides easily, nodding slightly to validate the boy’s story.
“I’m Yuma.” The one that bumped into him provides. They both turn their attention to the last of the three. Now that he’s stood up, it’s clear how tall he is. At least Jo’s height, if not taller.
“Yudai.” He says, ducking his head politely, but the look of confusion doesn’t leave his face. “But people usually call me Kei.”
The tension seems to shift a little. There’s a sort of mutual acknowledgement that they’re pretty much screwed unless the three of them decide to work together. If they want to get out of here, at least.
“So – what do we do now?”
Kei’s voice is interrupted by a scream. It’s distant, echoing from a different section of the school, but loud enough for them all to jump and fall into a slightly stunned silence.
“There’s something very wrong going on.” Yuma shivers. “The thing that grabbed me, I – I don’t think it was entirely human.”
Another wave of goosebumps spring up Jo’s arms. They’re trapped inside an empty school, along with... something, or some things, not human. It’s like something out of a horror anime, except this is horribly, vividly real.
“There are nine desks.” Jo thinks out loud. “We all woke up in different seats, right? And there are nine seats. There’s nine of us, stuck in here.”
“Six more people.” Kei’s voice is low, contemplative. He seems older than both of the others, and yet his fear is displayed far more evidently in the way he holds himself, arms tucked in tight to his sides and shoulders bunched with tension.
“Waiting around in here won’t help. The... things, whatever they are, will just find us here. We’ve got more chance if we can find the others.” Yuma sounds practical, and while Jo knows that it’s the most logical course of action, he still dreads going back out into that pitch-black corridor again, especially with the knew knowledge of what happened to Yuma. But if they want to escape this place, their best bet is finding the other six, surely?
“Alright. Let’s go.”
The door opens with a bang and a body tumbles into the classroom. Nicholas had been seated, his mind still not entirely conscious, but the sound startles him and he jumps up, pushing the chair and desk in front of him to use as a sort of barricade. He steadies himself, head reeling, fists raised for a fight, but the new arrival on the floor doesn’t move any further. Ragged breaths fill the room.
Nicholas doesn’t think that this stranger had noticed him in the commotion, and so he jumps yet again when he speaks.
“There’s something really fucking wrong with this place.”
He sounds relatively sane, even if his every word is laboured from exhaustion. He clambers to his feet, and in the darkness, Nicholas can only make out his outline. Average height, sturdily built, hair cropped short and spiky above his forehead. His voice had carried a steely roughness that might make him intimidating to another person, but Nicholas doesn’t allow himself to be afraid of such things as other people.
Only now does he realise that the stranger had spoken in English. Nicholas has always prided himself on being exceptionally good with languages, speaking four fluently, with English being one of those, and so he finds it no real difficulty at all to switch now.
“Where are we?”
“Some sort of old school. But – there are other here, I’m sure of it, because of the desks. I wanted to find somebody else, and you’re the first one I came across. I heard things, though, from down the corridor – there was like a sort of growling sound. Something’s out there, and it doesn’t like us very much.”
He pretends not to feel the cold thrill of fear that traces icy fingertips down his spine. Everything is happening so suddenly, and he’s barely even looked around himself yet, too distracted by the boy by the door.
“I’m Riki, but usually people call me Maki. Makes more sense.” He shrugs, crossing the room. Nicholas takes his hand in a firm handshake. It’s more than just a polite introduction, he thinks. It’s showing that they’re a team, forming a partnership.
“I’m Yixiang, but usually people call me Nicholas. Or Nicho.” He echoes his words, adding on the part at the end which elicits a small huff of amusement from Maki.
“So, have we – we have to find a way out of this place?”
“I guess so.” Maki runs a hand backwards through his short hair, giving it a small ruffle at the front for good measure.” I don’t know why else we would be here, but – there are nine desks here, right? Nine desks in every room I went into. Therefore, it would make sense that there are seven others of us.”
“It’s better than any plan that I’ve got.”
Before they leave, Nicholas looks around for something, anything to be used as a weapon. If what Maki says is true, then there’s no such thing as being too prepared, and it’s not a risk that he’s going to take. The only issue being that weapons aren’t common in a classroom.
Eventually he settles on the only thing that could easily be used to defend himself – a sharp pair of scissors from inside the teacher’s podium. He would rather not get to the point where he needs to defend himself with stationery, but again, it’s better to be prepared than not. Maki seems to have had the same idea, and he’s now wielding a heavy copy of the dictionary, by the looks of it. Unconventional weapons, for sure, but Maki looks strong enough to be able to deliver a decent blow with the heavy book.
They exit together, the darkness of the corridor making it difficult for Nicholas not to trip on the back of Maki’s heels as they leave. He keeps his scissors raised just in case of attack. Every nerve in his body is tight, on edge, prepared for a fight.
“Can you hear anything?” Maki hisses.
Nicholas shakes his head, before realising that the motion will be lost to the shadows. “No.” He whispers. “Just move, for now.”
They keep one hand on the wall each, and Nicholas rests his other hand on Maki’s shoulder so that they don’t lose each other. The scissors graze against the wall as they walk, pausing every few seconds to listen out for any sounds that could indicate something watching them, or the other people that Maki believes to have ended up here, in the same position as them, but nothing is immediately obvious.
They continue down the corridor in this fashion, Nicholas not liking to admit that he prefers the fact that Maki is walking in front. He doesn’t want to seem afraid, but anybody in their right mind would be.
There’s a sharp intake of breath from in front of him and Maki stops moving. Nicholas only just stops in time to avoid walking into the back of him, but he still feels his blood chill in fear. He bites down on the temptation to ask what it is, because any sound coming from their direction is dangerous, right now. He doesn’t want to bring any attention to the pair of them.
“Is there someone there?”
The voice comes from ahead of them, and it takes a moment for Nicholas to register what’s different – whereas him and Maki have been talking in English, this new voice is in Japanese, with a slight tang that hints at a foreign accent. It sounds completely unintimidating, the tone soft and sweet as honey. For a moment, Nicholas finds his grip on the scissors faltering.
“Two people.” Maki’s voice is clipped with tension.
“Come in, quick.”
When Maki hesitates, Nicholas is the one to move past him in the direction of the voice. Not just because of how naturally trustworthy the man sounds, but because he’s seen something. A light, flashing slightly on and off through the window of the next classroom along. It’s this light that filters slightly into the corridor, casting a shadow against the unknown man ahead of them.
They hurry into the classroom with the light still flickering – it’s one of the emergency evacuation lights that somebody has taken from the ceiling. A smart move.
Maki’s prediction must be correct, because four other people are ranged around the room, visible in the intermittent glow coming from the makeshift light saber of the man guarding the other door. The one that had called them secures this one tight, and only then does something occur to Nicholas.
“Has anyone tried the light switches?”
The silence that follows tells him that no, they have not.
His fingers scrabble around at the stretch of wall immediately inside the door, struggling to find the purchase of a switch – and when he does, and presses down, they’re met with a burst of light. Nicholas instinctively screw his eyes shut, since he’s become accustomed to the pitch-black darkness of the corridor, and to have everything so starkly illuminated is disconcerting.
Only one of the lights set into the ceiling has turned on, even though the tiles show three more, but one is more than enough to look around. Maki is still clutching his dictionary tight in both hands, backed against the door and looking ready to use it at any time; the man beside the other door still holds onto his light fixture, looking slightly less sure of its purpose now that they have light, but holding onto it nevertheless; on the opposite side of the room, two slightly youngers boys are hovering, one on the floor and one beside him both looking equally terrified; which leads him to the final person present, the man that had softly ushered them inside –
Dark brown hair that falls to brush his eyebrows, wide eyes like small dark pearls, pink lips and rounded cheeks and the vague scent of tangerines...
Nicholas has to look away before the blush that has naturally risen to his cheeks betrays him.
Having the light on is a comfort, at least. It’s amazing how much more confident he feels in himself now that his sight has been restored, because he hadn’t realised just how reliant on it he was until he had woken up in the pitch black.
They introduce themselves once again, speaking Japanese this time which, Nicholas is relieved to find, Maki is also fluent in. He hadn’t been sure until now, despite his name, and he hadn’t fancied playing translator for however long they’re stuck here. He learns that the man with the light fitting is Fuma, and the two by the wall are Harua and Taki. The sweet-looking man beside him with the soft accent and tangerine scent is called Euijoo, he discovers. He repeats it like a prayer, and he swears that no word has ever tasted so sweet on his lips.
According to Maki’s prediction, there should still be three more people in the building somewhere, and none of them really fancy leaving this small, light-filled sanctuary where they’ve gathered. It feels far safer in here, with the benefit of their sight and the relative protection of five others, than out in the darkened corridor. Anything could be out there, but they don’t know exactly what – and that’s maybe more terrifying. The others reported hearing screams earlier, which had passed Nicholas by, but then he woke up later than the others, by the sound of it. It seems strange, though, the way that all their stories match up – waking in silence and darkness, and each of them at a different desk out of that set of nine. If there are three more people, then their respective numbers should be 1, 5 and 6.
It feels like the first step to solving a puzzle, a cruel test set by whoever placed them here. If the circumstances weren’t quite so dire, Nicholas would love to contemplate why they have been left here, what the motives and the reasoning could possibly be, but for now, making it out intact is the most pressing issue. And it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be made easy for them.
It doesn’t take long for his suspicion to be confirmed.
Maki is speaking, but he’s suddenly cut off by another sound from the corridor – the pounding of feet, more than one pair, thundering down the darkened corridor as if they’re being chased by the devil himself. Euijoo moves to the door once more, opening it just a crack to peer out, and only just moves back in time.
Three people spill through, the three missing ones that complete that very first puzzle piece. Barely have they made it through than Euijoo is slamming the door tight shut, pressing his back into the wood panelling to stop it opening again.
Two of the newcomers are holding onto one another as they try and regain their breathing, coughing and choking from the exertion, but the third stands slightly to one side, seemingly unaffected. They must have all been running roughly the same amount of time, and yet he hasn’t even broken a sweat, hair still neat and clothes still in order.
“We have to get out of this place.” He says, eyes wide and serious. “There was – I don’t even know what they were, but they were chasing us -”
One of the boys straightens up. He’s pink in the cheeks, but his breathing is a little more under control now, hair wild from running. As he speaks, one of his teeth sticks out over his lip slightly, giving him the look of a rather endearing vampire.
“It’s the same thing that grabbed me. At the start. They looked... They looked like zombies.”