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‘[W]e think of love as this, you know, thing that is accompanied by strings and it's a force for good, and if something bad happens then that's not love. And the therapeutic tradition that I come from — I used to work in therapy — you know, also says that it's not love if it feels bad. I don't know so much about that. I don't know that the Greeks weren't right. I think they were — that love can eat a path through everything — that it will destroy a lot of things on the way to its own objective, which is just its expression of itself, you know.’
— John Darnielle, in interview with NPR
Thick, overgrown foliage drapes itself over the trail. Branches push into the empty air, waiting to scratch bare arms. Fallen leaves, rocks and roots litter the path, lying half-sunk into the mud, still fresh from the recent rain. Sunlight doesn’t break through the boughs; ten metres down the path, it becomes too dark to see anything. The only thing that looks like it’s been tended to recently is the sign hanging above the trail entrance, reading Forbidden Zone – KEEP OUT! Authorised Personnel Only. There is no birdsong; the only sound is the faint rustling of leaves in the almost-still breeze. The entrance to Mount Nisayama’s trail stares at Yoshiki like a gaping hole cut out of thin air.
“Alright!” Hikaru cheers, hands on his hips as he stands beside Yoshiki. “Time to conquer this thing!”
Hikaru’s grin is bright, beaming, perfect despite his recently lost tooth; he’s smiling so hard he’s squinting. Yoshiki shifts slightly, fidgeting, and glances back at the trail. There’s a nasty taste at the back of his throat, and his stomach feels heavy, churning — almost like something in him is poisonous. Bad. Slowly, he swallows.
Like most of their adventures, the idea had been Hikaru’s to begin with. Restless and bored at home, unable to decide on a video game to play, Hikaru had turned to Yoshiki with a troublesome gleam in his eye and a decidedly foxish look to his snaggletoothed grin.
“We should go an’ climb Mount Nisayama,” he had said, like the thought had been on his mind for a while. “Jus’ to see if we can.”
“Won’t we get into trouble?” Yoshiki asked, voice hushed even though Yuki was in the kitchen. “I mean… Ain’t it dangerous? Even my dad told me not to go up there.”
Hikaru had huffed, crossing his arms and scowling at Yoshiki. “My daddy went up there once,” he replied. “For a whole day! I swear he did. An’ he came back alright, didn’t he? So it can’t be that dangerous. An’ I bet there’s all sorts of weird things up there that ya’d like!”
The thought of getting into trouble had never bothered Hikaru as much as it did Yoshiki — especially not when he was in this sort of mood, all restless and stir-crazy. There was every chance that if Yoshiki refused, Hikaru would just sneak off by himself anyway, and just leave Yoshiki behind, worrying. At least if Yoshiki went with him, he could make sure that Hikaru wasn’t getting into too much trouble. Plus, if what he was saying about Kouhei climbing Nisayama before was right, it couldn’t be that bad, could it?
Besides, the idea of finding so-called ‘weird things’ did make a sort of giddy thrill rush through Yoshiki, even if it was buried underneath all the squirming badness in his gut.
“…sure,” he agreed quietly.
Seeing the grin on Hikaru’s face was always greater than any real reward, in Yoshiki’s opinion.
Slipping their shoes on in the genkan, Hikaru told Yuki they were going to the shed, the lie falling easily from his tongue as it made Yoshiki cringe. But Yuki didn’t question her son or Yoshiki, merely laughing and telling them to be safe and come back in time for dinner, and soon the pair of them were on their way to Mount Nisayama.
Despite the cool breeze, sunshine warmed their backs as they made their way up dirt paths, surrounded by lush, dark greenery. The walk itself wasn’t short, but time slipped away from Yoshiki easily, with Hikaru chattering away about this and that, about how his daddy was meant to be home from work soon and how cute Reina-chan in their class was, especially when she wore her hair in plaits. As the mountain grew closer, a sort of giddiness seemed to overtake them both, and Hikaru burst out into a run, breathless, laughing, calling for Yoshiki to keep up. It was almost enough to ease Yoshiki’s nagging anxiety, his and Hikaru’s laughter bubbling up and tangling together in the air as he chased his best friend towards the Mountain.
But here, now, staring at the decrepit, overgrown entrance of Mount Nisayama, all Yoshiki can feel is a deep, certain bone-rooted sense of wrongness.
“I ain’t sure ‘bout this,” Yoshiki says, tearing his eyes away from the path to look at Hikaru. “We should have asked yer daddy to take us. What if we get lost? Or hurt?”
“We’ll be fine!” Hikaru says, all brash and bravado. “We climbed Mount Tenban alright, didn’t we?”
“That was with our teachers an’ our whole class,” Yoshiki points out. He doesn’t bother to mention he had lagged behind most of their group the entire time too, because his chest had hurt and it had felt like he couldn’t get his breathing right. Mom thinks his chest might be bad like his stomach is, because she used to have a bad chest and Kaoru gets wheezy too. Grampa just thinks Yoshiki should spend more time outdoors and running around. Dad doesn’t have an opinion one way or the other.
“Yeah, but they didn’t carry us or anything!” Hikaru huffs, his face twisting into a scowl. “Don’t be such a wimp, Yoshiki.”
Strong words coming from Hikaru, who got nightmares from watching last week’s Pokémen episode, just because it had lots of Ghost types in.
“I ain’t no wimp,” Yoshiki snaps, but the churning in his gut doesn’t ease, and there's this weird prickling feeling in his sweating palms. He wipes his hands against his shorts, but it doesn’t help. “Jus’… What if somethin’ gets us? Like a bear? Or somethin’ worse? Ain’t it best if we go back now? Before someone gets worried ‘bout us?”
Hikaru makes a noise of irritation. “Geez… it ain’t gonna be that bad. Nothin’s gonna try an’ get ya. But if yer really that scared, just hold my hand.”
And Hikaru holds out his hand, almost expectedly, like it was only natural for Yoshiki to take it. Yoshiki blinks at the outstretched offer, then looks back up at Hikaru.
“I thought ya said holding hands were fer girls.”
That’s what he said at school last week, anyway, quite loudly, when Hisakawa-sensei told everyone to hold hands with their line partner.
“Yeah, well…” Hikaru shifts slightly where he stands, huffing again, his cheeks going red, but he doesn’t look Yoshiki in the face. He doesn't drop his hand either. “There ain’t anyone around who can see us. So it’s fine. ‘Cause no one’s gonna see.”
The logic doesn’t exactly ring true to Yoshiki, but he’s not about to argue with it. Not when he knows that something about holding Hikaru’s hand makes him feel warm and safe inside, like it could only ever be the right choice to make. Not when it feels like he could do anything, so long as Hikaru is there, right by his side, like he always is. With a small nod, he reaches out for Hikaru.
“YOSHIKI! HIKARU!” The yell cracks through the air, startling both of them as they jump away from each other. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?”
Yoshiki turns. There, a good distance away, face thunderous and red, is Kouhei, still in his work clothes, charging towards them. Even from where Yoshiki stands, he can see Kouhei’s chest heaving, like he’s run all the way here.
“YOSHIKI!” Kouhei bellows, and Yoshiki flinches. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouhei yell like this before. “HIKARU! GET BACK HERE NOW!”
“Shoot!” Hikaru grabs Yoshiki’s hand, and tugs. “C’mon! Quick!”
Yoshiki doesn’t get the chance to think. One moment, he’s standing still, staring at Kouhei’s approach; the next, he’s running, pulled along by Hikaru, away from Kouhei, and up the trail of Mount Nisayama, the foliage and darkness swallowing them both whole.
Breathless, heart hammering away rabbit-fast against his ribs, blood rushing through his ears, Yoshiki runs. Eyes forward, ignoring how branches reach for him, ignoring how dense and heavy the air is, like something is watching from the bushes, ignoring Kouhei’s cursing and yells to slow down, barely audible over the thud of their footsteps. The world narrows; the only thing for Yoshiki is Hikaru in front of him. Hikaru’s back as he runs, steady and sure, his laughter, buoyant and free, rising in the forest air, and the weight of his hand, fierce and warm, clasped around Yoshiki’s own. It’s the only reason Yoshiki’s able to keep running like this, as far and as fast as he can; if either of them let go, he’d just fall down.
Not that Hikaru would let go. Not that Yoshiki wants to let go. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind chasing Hikaru’s back forever.
“Shouldn’t we stop?” he calls, half-excited and half-scared, though of what, he’s not sure.
“No way!” Hikaru laughs. “Ain’t nothin’s gonna stop —”
Hikaru’s foot slips in the mud, and both of them go tumbling apart.
Lying face-down on the path, the first thing Yoshiki registers is the loss of Hikaru’s hand in his. Next, the sharp, stinging pain coming from his knee and the strange, hollow tautness to his chest, like all his breath has been knocked out of him. Lastly, distantly, the hot, familiar dampness on his cheeks. Gingerly, arms shaking, Yoshiki pushes himself over, turning onto his back so that he’s staring up at the dark canopy of leaves above him. He sucks in a deep breath, then pushes himself up, until he’s sitting up and looking around for Hikaru. Only a few metres away from Yoshiki, Hikaru is lying, flat on his front, up to his ears in mud. For a few heart-pounding moments, he doesn’t move, and just for a moment, Yoshiki’s sure that Hikaru won’t ever get up, but then he groans, softly, and pushes himself up.
“Aw, man…” Hikaru complains. “Now I’m all muddy an’ stuff. Mama’s gonna kill me…”
“An’ ya’d be lucky if that’s all she does,” Kouhei cuts in, tone sharp. He’s standing over them, frowning, arms crossed. Slowly, he considers each of them in turn; first his son, scowling and covered in mud, then Yoshiki, with his bloody knee and burgeoning tears. Slowly, he shakes his head. “Both of you are in so much trouble.”
The words pierce Yoshiki, a knife to the chest, Kouhei’s disappointment poison on the blade. He’s hot all over, too warm to be comfortable. Everything hurts — his knee, all scratched up, his lungs, struggling to catch his breath, and his head and heart, both pounding like they’re about to burst.
It’s all too much.
Yoshiki bursts into tears.
Hot, fat, wet drops run down his cheeks, sobs clogging his throat, threatening to choke him as he tries to stutter out an apology. He’s not even sure if the noises he’s making are human. Kouhei looks taken aback, his stony expression faltering as he blinks. For a moment, he just stares at Yoshiki, then lowers his head, sighing deeply.
“Right,” he says, tugging his cap down. “Right. Let’s get you boys back home. Don’tcha worry about yer knee, Yoshiki. I’ll carry ya.”
He still takes the time to wipe Yoshiki’s tears away with his handkerchief first, as though Yoshiki is something that deserves to be handled with care. Maybe he just doesn’t want his shoulder to get sodden with snot and tears.
Either way, Yoshiki clings to Kouhei’s back the entire walk back, the breeze nipping at his bare arms and making him shiver, pressing his head against Kouhei’s warm shoulders. At eight — nearly nine — piggyback rides are a rarity, and there’s a part of him that thinks maybe he is getting too big for them, but if Kouhei is still willing to indulge him this, Yoshiki won’t complain. Especially when Kouhei’s stone-faced and silent otherwise, his hold on Hikaru’s hand looking painfully tight as he tugs his mud-soaked son along.
“It weren’t Yoshiki’s fault,” Hikaru tells Kouhei. “It were my idea. Don’t get mad at him.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” is all that he gets in reply, and neither Kouhei nor Hikaru say anything the rest of the way back.
When they reach the Indou household, Yuki stands in the doorway, looking distinctly unimpressed, her mouth a cold, thin line. She takes one look at Hikaru, sighs, then hauls him off to be scrubbed down, the sounds of her scolding fading as they disappear down the hall. Carefully, Kouhei deposits Yoshiki down on the step of the temple before disappearing into the house. When he returns, first-aid kit in hand, any sternness he carried is gone, replaced by his familiar soft smile. He sets the first aid kit down next to himself as he kneels down in front of Yoshiki, then examines the boy's scraped knee.
“Hmm…” Kouhei rubs his chin as he pretends to think. “I dunno, kiddo. Looks pretty bad. We might have to amputate it an’ you’ll have to hop everywhere.”
It’s a joke Yoshiki’s heard Kouhei make countless times over the years. Hikaru’s probably heard it more. Normally, Yoshiki squeals and begs to keep whatever limb Kouhei’s threatening, but now he just ducks his head down, fringe falling in front of his eyes, shame prickling in his stomach and palms.
“… am I still in trouble?”
Kouhei chuckles as he shakes his head. “Nah. I think this,” he taps Yoshiki’s scraped knee, “is punishment enough. Ya ain’t going to do it again, are ya?”
Yoshiki shakes his head miserably.
“See?” Kouhei chuckles again, opening the first-aid box with a gentle click and pulling out an antiseptic wipe. “Yer still breathing. Yer still alive. It ain’t that bad. Now, be brave fer me, Yoshiki. It’s gonna sting.”
It does, but it’s nothing compared to the burning sense of guilt Yoshiki still feels at being in trouble. Kouhei cleans Yoshiki’s knee and pats it dry before sticking a plaster over it. It’s not even a fun plaster – it’s just a big, white, boring square. Most of the plasters Yoshiki gets these days are the boring ones.
“Now,” Kouhei says, tidying up the first-aid kit. “Help me try to understand somethin’ here, Yoshiki. Why’d you two even try to climb Mount Nisayama in the first place? Ya both know it ain’t allowed.”
“It was Hikaru’s idea,” Yoshiki says. “He thought it’d be fun. He said you’ve been up there an’ all.”
Yoshiki didn’t mean it as an accusation, but the words clearly land as one. Kouhei isn’t a good enough actor to hide it. He freezes, solid as stone, just for a moment, his eyes widening. Then, slowly, he relaxes, breathing out in one, long exhale.
“That’s…” Kouhei clucks his tongue, clearly considering his next words. “That’s different, kiddo. Don’tcha worry about that. ‘Sides,” he adds, turning back to look at Yoshiki with an easy smile, “ya know ya don’t hafta do everythin’ Hikaru asks ya to do, right? Yer the older one. Hell, if he’d been born even two weeks later, he’d be callin’ ya senpai.”
Yoshiki wrinkles his nose. “That’d be weird. I don’t want Hikaru calling me that.”
Kouhei just sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “That ain’t my point, Yoshiki,” he says. “Ya can say no to him sometimes. Put some sense into him. Ya don’t have to follow him everywhere. Just ‘cause he wants to jump off a bridge doesn’t mean you jump after him.”
“‘Course I do,” Yoshiki says simply. “It’s Hikaru. He’s my best friend.”
If Yoshiki didn’t follow him everywhere, who else would? Who else would be there to make sure Hikaru’s safe?
But Kouhei frowns at Yoshiki’s response. He stares, his clear grey eyes fixed on Yoshiki’s own. There’s something flickering in them that Yoshiki can’t recognise. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Kouhei looks like Hikaru does when he gets spooked by something, but doesn’t want to say it yet. He looks scared.
Which is stupid. It’s Kouhei. He can’t ever get scared.
“Yoshiki,” Kouhei says quietly. “Do you know why nobody’s allowed up Nisayama?”
Yoshiki blinks. Kouhei’s voice has shifted, into something deeper, hushed, steady despite the urgency lacing his tone. There’s a seriousness to him that Yoshiki doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.
“…’cause it's dangerous?” Yoshiki guesses. “It’s easy to get lost up there. An’ there’s bears too.”
Kouhei huffs, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t think a bear’s been spotted ‘round here for twenty years,” he muses. “Nah. It’s ‘cause there’s a spirit living on the mountain.”
It’s Yoshiki’s turn to stare at Kouhei. “A spirit?”
“Yeah,” Kouhei nods. “It’s real lonely, so it likes to steal people away for company. That’s why you can’t go up there. You’ll get taken.”
A memory stirs at the back of his mind, Vaguely, Yoshiki can recall his dad telling him something like that back during the summer festival, back when he was six, or maybe even five, before their attention was drawn away by Hikaru and Kouhei. Except he said something about a mountain god, didn’t he? Even at the time, it had struck Yoshiki as odd, because Dad was normally too dull to talk about anything like that. Sometimes he’d read Yoshiki folktales, but any spiritual inclinations he held stopped and ended there.
Then again, Yoshiki never thought of Kouhei as being particularly superstitious either. The whole thing feels surreal — Kouhei doesn’t act like this. Part of Yoshiki wonders if he’s dreaming. If he ought to pinch himself until he’s bruised, and see if he wakes up.
Yoshiki pushes that thought to the side for now, caught on another of Kouhei’s words. “If it’s just lonely, can’t we be friends with it?” he asks.
Kouhei’s smile twists into something bitter — sad, almost. “‘Cause it doesn’t understand.”
That’s not good enough. It’s the excuse people always give in monster movies for trying to kill it, and it never sits right with Yoshiki. He huffs slightly, frowning.
“So why don’t we help it understand?”
Kouhei laughs, and ruffles Yoshiki’s hair. “If anyone could get that spirit to understand, it’d be you, Yoshiki,” he says, but then his smile fades. “But it ain’t like us. It ain’t capable of even thinkin’ like us. People say it grants wishes, but they always come with a heavy price to pay.”
“Like what?”
Yoshiki asks it quietly, but the question makes Kouhei wince, shifting uneasily as he looks away.
“Ah… yer too young to hear ‘bout that, Yoshiki,” Kouhei chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s a gesture Yoshiki recognises; Hikaru does it all the time. “I’m a grown man an’ it gives me the heebie-jeebies jus’ thinking about it. Ya don’t want that keepin’ ya up at night.”
Wrongness squirms in Yoshiki’s gut as he stares. Kouhei doesn’t keep things from Yoshiki. Not like this. Not ever.
Slowly, Kouhei looks back at Yoshiki, squarely in the face, his smile nowhere to be seen as his eyes lock onto Yoshiki’s own. He puts his hands on Yoshiki’s shoulders, leaning in slightly, the firm weight a familiar sensation that does nothing to ease the strangeness of everything. Yoshiki wants to look away from Kouhei’s gaze, but he doesn’t. He’s not even sure if he can.
“So don’t ya dare go up that mountain again, you hear me?” Kouhei asks. He squeezes Yoshiki’s shoulders. Normally, it’s comforting. Now, it just makes Yoshiki’s stomach churn. “Not ever. ‘Cause that spirit would definitely steal you away.”
That look in his eyes again. The one that Yoshiki just can’t understand. It looks almost like fear, but that can’t be right. Why would Kouhei be afraid of anything?
Why does it feel like Kouhei is afraid for Yoshiki?
“Ya hear me?” Kouhei asks, urgently. His grip on Yoshiki’s shoulders tightens again, almost as though he wants to shake Yoshiki.
Slowly, despite the churning of his gut — despite the sour taste in his mouth — despite everything feeling wrong — Yoshiki nods. Kouhei exhales into a chuckle, his easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Yer a good kid, Yoshiki.” Another squeeze of Yoshiki’s shoulders, but this one feels lighter, somehow, easing the tension in Yoshiki’s body. Kouhei draws back, but there’s still a moment where he stares at Yoshiki, clearly considering him. “An’ promise me one other thing? Don’t tell Hikaru I told ya ‘bout this. Best not to worry him.”
Yoshiki can’t imagine not telling Hikaru anything. There’s never been any secrets between them before, and he doesn’t think there ever will be. He’s not really sure if he even believes in the spirit. But this is Kouhei — strong, steady, dependable Kouhei. Surely, if he thinks not telling Hikaru is for the best, then it is.
Besides. Telling Hikaru all of this would only scare him.
Yoshiki nods, offering Kouhei a small smile as he does so, quiet and affirmative. Kouhei grins back, wide and bright, his snaggletooth smile a vision of what Hikaru’s would look like when he’s all grown-up.
“Yer a good kid,” Kouhei repeats, ruffling Yoshiki’s hair, laughing as Yoshiki starts to giggle.
“Yosh’ki!”
Hikaru is running up to him as Yoshiki looks up, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and shorts, looking still a little damp from Yuki scrubbing him down, his cheeks bright and ruddy. He stops in front of Yoshiki, just next to Kouhei, and grins wide.
“Wanna go look fer ants?” Hikaru asks, a little breathless as he rocks back and forth on his feet. He’s stopped short by Kouhei’s hand coming down on the top of his head.
“An’ what makes ya think either of ya are goin’ anywhere after that stunt?” Kouhei asks, tousling Hikaru’s hair for a moment, before pushing himself up so he’s standing, groaning, using his son to support himself, ignoring Hikaru’s noises of complaints. He smiles down at Yoshiki, and winks.
Gone is any trace of seriousness or sternness — he’s back to familiar, safe Kouhei. It's like their conversation about spirits never happened. It’s a little weird how quickly Kouhei’s mood switched. This whole afternoon has been a little weird in Yoshiki’s opinion.
Hikaru definitely doesn’t notice anything’s off though.
“Aww… but Daddy…” he starts to whine.
“But nothing,” Kouhei cuts in, but he doesn’t sound half as stern as he did on Mount Nisayama. “Yoshiki, yer staying here ‘til your momma comes an’ picks ya up, you hear me?” Yoshiki nods, and Kouhei eyes his son. “An’ that means neither of you two boys are leavin’ this house ‘till Satoko comes. Ya got that, Hikaru?”
“Got it,” Hikaru replies, somewhat sulkily, but he shakes it off quickly, turning back to Yoshiki with eagerness gleaming in his eyes. “Wanna play hide an’ seek instead?”
“… nah. Not really,” Yoshiki says. He swings his legs a little, pleased to find his knee doesn’t hurt as much now. “Ya always find me way too quickly for it to be fun.”
“Then you be the seeker first!” Hikaru begs. He reaches out and grabs Yoshiki’s wrist, tugging at it as he pouts. “C’mon, Yoshiki. Please?”
Hikaru says it like he doesn’t also cheat when it’s his turn to hide — he runs away and hides again whenever Yoshiki’s about to find him. And really, all Yoshiki wants to do is watch Pokémen or Kamen Rider until his mom arrives to pick him up. His head hurts from all the crying he did earlier, and he still feels a little out of sorts from everything Kouhei said. Is this what he meant earlier? About saying no to Hikaru sometimes?
But it’s only hide and seek. It doesn’t mean anything.
“…sure,” Yoshiki says, smiling at Hikaru. “But no cheatin’, okay? If I find ya, that’s it.”
“Yes!” Hikaru cheers, beaming. “Yer the best, Yoshiki! Daddy, you hide too! Okay, start countin’ now!”
As Yoshiki covers his eyes and starts counting down from one hundred, listening to Hikaru’s footsteps as he runs away again, he can feel Kouhei’s gaze lingering on him. It almost burns. But then he hears Kouhei’s footsteps as he leaves to go hide, so Yoshiki pushes it from his mind, finishes counting to zero, and runs off to find Hikaru, just like he always does.
That summer was the last time Hikaru and Yoshiki held hands. Not that either of them knew it at the time. It was only later that the thought occurred to Yoshiki. Sometimes, he would try to recall the ghost of the sensation, the warmth of Hikaru’s hand in his, but the feeling would always just elude him.
Three years later, when Yoshiki is eleven and Hikaru is ten, Kouhei goes and climbs Mount Nisayama himself. Hikaru complains about it all day, about how his daddy can go but he can’t, about being left behind and how bored he is, but Yoshiki doesn’t miss his agitation — how Hikaru keeps glancing away, out of the window, up at the mountain. It’s as though he knows about the spirit too, but Yoshiki knows that can’t be the truth. So he doesn’t say anything when Kouhei returns that evening, even though all he wants to do is pull Kouhei aside and ask why.
Why did Kouhei climb up the mountain? Why didn’t the spirit steal him away? Why can’t Yoshiki say anything about it to Hikaru?
But he never gets the chance to ask.
Just days later, Kouhei dies in an accident at the sawmill. Swallowing his own grief down, Yoshiki watches Hikaru’s mourning from the side. Watches how Hikaru takes all his rage and despair, all of his tears, and stuffs them inside of himself, as though it were possible to stop it all from seeping out at the seams. Watches how the grief abates but never leaves, even as they grow older, and the time between life with Kouhei and life without Kouhei stretches further and further apart.
And as Yoshiki grows older, he gradually forgets the questions that burnt at his tongue, since there’s no one left to ask who can answer them.
“So, ‘bout this weekend…”
“Ahh… this weekend’s no good for me. I’m goin’ to the mountains.”
“The mountains? Why?”
“Well, thing is… it’s a seekweht!”
Hypocrite. Yoshiki’s nothing but a rotten hypocrite.
Hikaru’s allowed to have secrets. Goodness knows Yoshiki has his own. Innumerable in how many he keeps, and never that far from his mind; he can feel the weight of them, hanging heavy over himself, his relationships, his time spent with Hikaru, like a boulder ready to crush him. Some days, he’s sure they’ll kill him. Rotting him from inside out, slow poison seeping through his veins, trickling into his lungs. Consuming him. Choking him.
It’s so damn hard to breathe.
Maybe — maybe it would be better if he just stopped. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Especially about all of this. After all, he's got no right to feel as awful as he does, curled up in bed and listening to the harsh rainfall and wind lash against the roof and his window, dread pooling heavily in the pit of his stomach. Not when he’s safe and warm at home while Hikaru is out there, getting sodden with rain, wind chilled to the bone and caked with mud. Maybe getting lost.
Maybe getting hurt.
The rain is coming down harder than it should.
It’s just that no matter how hard Yoshiki tries, he can’t shake the image of Hikaru from his mind. He’s known Hikaru since before he knew himself; he can’t think of any other time Hikaru looked like that. His face, awkward and pinched despite his almost-easy smile. His laugh, shaking and faltering. The way his hand, rubbing his neck, had squeezed as he spoke, just for a moment, as if just by telling Yoshiki he was going to the mountains, he had already said too much.
In a way, he had. As used as Hikaru is to lying to everyone else, he hardly ever does to Yoshiki. It’s almost as though he can’t. If Hikaru was just going to Matsuyama, where his granddad grew shiitake mushrooms on the farm, he would have said. Maybe he would have even invited Yoshiki along, though with the muted understanding that he’d probably decline. Same for if he wanted to hike up Kasayama or Futakasayama. He would have made a token offer for Yoshiki to join, and truthfully, Yoshiki probably would have accepted. He’s been getting itchy lately. Restless. The way he feels when he knows he shouldn’t be alone.
(He isn’t alone. Even if his parents are out, Kaoru’s downstairs, in the living room. He isn't alone, so he can’t do anything stupid, because he can’t do that to her.)
So Hikaru must have gone to Mount Nisayama. But why?
It’s forbidden. Everyone knows it’s forbidden.
The only time Yoshiki can remember Kouhei getting angry with the pair of them was when they tried sneaking off to climb Mount Nisayama. Not that they got that far. Wouldn’t he get angry now with Hikaru for going up there? Hikaru gets precious over Kouhei’s memory, especially this time of year, so close to the anniversary. Tetchy, almost. The only serious fight he ever got in was because some upperclassman made the mistake of implying Kouhei didn’t raise Hikaru properly.
Not that anyone blamed Hikaru for that. Especially not Yoshiki, who helped wipe away the blood from Hikaru’s face and clean the cuts on his knuckles.
A roll of thunder reverberates throughout the room, discordant to the peal of rain.
Yoshiki sighs, pushing himself to sit up. He leans forward, bringing his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them loosely as he bows his head down.
The lightning wasn’t meant to start until later…
He’s not being fair, doing this. Trying to work out Hikaru’s secrets. If someone worked out Yoshiki’s own, he’d probably opt to gut himself. Let all his entrails spill onto the floor, show everyone what a mess he is both inside and out.
As if he could ever risk that.
What he should do is text Hikaru. Maybe even try calling him. But he’s already texted twice today, asking Hikaru to let Yoshiki know when he’s back safe. Any more attempts, even a missed call, and Hikaru would start joking about how Yoshiki’s clingier than any girlfriend could be. It’s exactly the sort of crap Hikaru would say. Yoshiki can’t even look at him for too long these days without getting stupid jokes about staring at his handsome face. Never mind where else Yoshiki avoids looking at.
Lucky that no else ever notices him.
Another flash of lightning. Yoshiki manages to count up to fifteen before the corresponding thunder sounds. Five kilometres away then. It’s a bad storm out there — even from inside his bedroom, he can hear the screech of the wind outside, the relentless drum of rain against the window plane. It hasn’t let up all day. Historic, the weatherman had called it earlier. Typical winter storm, Mom had scoffed.
But it still wasn’t meant to be this bad this soon.
And Hikaru’s dumb enough to go climb a mountain in this weather.
It just — doesn’t sit right with Yoshiki.
Why would Hikaru do that? Why would he even climb Mount Nisayama at all? Did some jerk on the soccer team dare him? It’s the only explanation that makes even the smallest amount of sense, but still, it doesn’t quite fit.
Even then, does it really matter?
Hikaru’s out there. No matter what the reason is — if there’s a reason at all — he’s out there, in the storm, getting soaked and frozen. Wondering aimlessly up there, without even a flashlight to help him see the way forward. Knowing him, he probably lost the path ages ago. Knowing him, he probably’s already slipped in the mud. Knowing him, he’s probably —
Fear stops Yoshiki’s heart stone-dead.
What if Hikaru is already hurt up there? Or worse? What if he’s already —
No. No.
Hikaru can’t be dead. He can’t be. Not as easily as that.
But now the thought is there, Yoshiki can’t shake it. Can’t shake the images from his mind, of Hikaru’s corpse, motionless, lying on the forest floor, half-hidden by the plants. Of blood, seeping from his mouth and head, unable to be washed away by rain. Of his soft grey eyes, staring up at the sky, unseeing.
Afterwards too. Finding his corpse, half-claimed by decay and carrion beetles. Everyone from their class, grieving at the funeral. Their friends, standing around the Indou grave as they pray. Yuki, left alone in the empty Indou house. And Yoshiki?
A world without Hikaru is a world without a place for Yoshiki. It’s not a world he wants to live to see.
(Yoshiki’s meant to be the one who leaves. Not Hikaru. Never Hikaru.)
That settles it then.
Yoshiki will go after Hikaru. And he’ll bring him home too, safe and sound.
Quietly, he leaves his bedroom. He casts his eye over it once, just to check that it’s tidy, before he shuts the door with a firm click, and heads down to the genkan. Trying to keep his breathing steady, he pulls on his raincoat, then sits down to start pulling on his boots.
“Yoshiki.”
Startled, heart pounding, Yoshiki twists around to look behind him. There, in the entrance to the living room, stands Kaoru, pressing herself half-hidden against the doorframe. In the low light, her eyes gleam.
“Where ya goin’?” she asks, hushed. She blinks slowly, steady, her mouth a thin, straight line.
Yoshiki turns back around. “I’m gonna check something out a sec,” he says, tugging his rain boot up his leg.
“Liar.” There’s a quiet firmness to her voice, a steady conviction that surprises Yoshiki to hear it. Kaoru can be blunt, but rarely like this. “Yer goin’ somewhere. Somewhere ya ain’t supposed to.”
Yoshiki turns around, only to find that Kaoru has crept closer. Slowly, she kneels down next to him, never taking her eyes off Yoshiki, her fluffy roomwear dress swallowing her whole. She’s shaking, Yoshiki realises. Trembling, almost.
“The storm’s come in quicker than expected,” he tells her quietly. “An’ Hikaru’s out there. I’m going to make sure he’s okay an’ bring him back.”
Surprisingly, Kaoru shakes her head. “You should stay here an’ wait fer the grown-ups,” she says, something insistent to her tone. “It ain’t safe. An’ he ain’t yer responsibility.”
“No. But he’s my best friend.” And as good as your brother, he doesn’t say. “There might not be time if we wait. I’d do the same fer you, if it were you out there.”
And Yoshiki would. A thousand times over, he would.
Inexplicably, he’s struck by the urge to reach out and pull her close. To cradle her tight against his chest and hold her, just for a moment. He’s not sure why; they’re not the most tactile of households. Hugs tend to be reserved for special occasions, like birthdays and New Years. He’s not quite sure of the last time he hugged her, outside of those.
Quietly, he sets that urge aside. Instead, he reaches out and ruffles her hair, gently mussing up the soft strands. Her dark grey eyes are wet and glossy, even as she blinks up at him, her bottom lip trembling.
“Don’t tell Mom, okay?” Yoshiki asks. “Let’s not worry her with this.”
There’s a moment where Yoshiki’s sure Kaoru will say no. That she’ll insist on Yoshiki staying back, grabbing his arm to force him to stay, or even on following him out there. But then she swallows, the bob of her throat just barely visible in the low light, and she nods, just once. Relieved, Yoshiki smiles at her.
“Good girl,” he says. He pats her hair once more, smoothing down stray strands, then pulls his hand away. “I’ll be home soon. I promise. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”
Kaoru stares at Yoshiki as he stands, pulling his hood up so he’ll stay dry. He pushes open the front door, wincing as the frigid wind hits him. As he leaves, he just scarcely catches what she says.
“…you better.”
If she says anything else, it’s lost to the wind.
Outside, it’s almost too dark to see, even with his flashlight. The wind is blowing so hard the rain is almost coming down horizontally. It pushes back against Yoshiki as he sets off for Mount Nisayama, as though it’s trying to force him back. But that doesn’t matter. Yoshiki doesn’t care.
Hikaru’s out there, somewhere. Waiting for him.
And Yoshiki won’t be back until he can bring him home.
Cool, wet raindrops. Icy, biting wind. Warm, sticky blood.
When Yoshiki was eight, there was a time where he stopped being able to sleep. It was shortly after Crowley died, as though the young, dead crow chick had made Yoshiki, for the first time, startlingly aware of his own mortality. Crushed by the certainty only a child could have, he would lay awake at night, heart beating fast in his chest, breathing shallowly, convinced that if he fell asleep, he wouldn’t wake up again. It got to the point where he was struggling to stay awake at school – to where even Hikaru noticed how tired Yoshiki was. Mom, ever sensitive to changes in his health due to his stomach issues, tried giving him camomile tea and putting lavender underneath his pillow in between hauling him off to doctors’ appointments. Eventually, she sat him down, and it all came spilling out of him.
“I don’t wanna die,” he can remember sobbing. “I don’t want to be nothing. I don’t want it to hurt.”
Mom had laughed, but not unkindly. “Oh, Yoshiki,” she said, pulling him into a hug. He had still been young enough and small enough for her to rest her chin on the top of his head. “It’s okay. You won’t die for a very, very long time. You’re too young for that. It’s all okay.”
“But what if I wake up dead?” he asked, hot tears still seeping down his face.
“You wouldn’t be aware of it,” Mom assured him. “I promise you, Yoshiki, when you do die, a long, long time from now, you won’t even feel it.” And she had wiped away his tears and smiled at him, like the only thing Yoshiki could do was trust her to be right.
She was wrong.
At this moment, Yoshiki is very, very aware that he is dying.
It’s a curious mixture of pain and numbness. Present, yet distant, as though his body, even in its last moments, is still trying to protect his mind. Several of his bones are broken; he knows that if he could look, he would see his limbs laid out in inhuman ways. But there’s no strength to raise his head. Thick redness obscures his vision. The pain at the back of his skull refuses to stop. His chest hurts. Maybe his lung is punctured.
It’s getting hard to breathe.
He thinks, maybe, his palm is all scratched up, from where the branch broke as he grabbed it. Such a stupid thing to happen. Such a stupid way to die. The moment itself is choppy, slow motion. Slipping in the mud, stumbling, flailing, listing forwards, like he was a lamb taking its first steps. Grabbing onto the tree branch with clumsy hands, pulling himself towards it, trying to upright himself. Teetering for just that brief moment, suspended, as though the whole universe was holding its breath for him. Then the sharp snap! of the branch breaking under his hand, and that sensation of falling, falling again, backwards this time, down the mountainside. Coming to that abrupt stop, head, ribs, bones cracking into starbursts of pain. Lying there, finally still, like a discarded doll.
If he saw it in a film, he’d probably laugh.
Stupid. If I just let myself fall forwards…
He would be muddy. He would be winded. But he wouldn’t be here, dying alone and bleeding on a cold mountainside like some sort of wild animal. Maybe he would have even found Hikaru by now.
Rain drips onto his face and runs down his cheek.
What was he even thinking? Trying to play the hero? As if it would change anything. As if it would make Hikaru look at him any differently. As if Yoshiki had any hope in hell of that happening. He should have just called search and rescue. Let them deal with it. Hikaru’s probably home already, safe and warm. Drinking tea and laughing at Yoshiki’s desperate text messages.
Yer so stupid, Yoshiki…
His breath stutters in his chest.
Back when he couldn’t fall asleep for fear of dying, Mom would kneel by his bed and hold his hand. Tracing patterns across the palm of his hand with her thumb to soothe him, she’d brush back his hair, murmur soft nothings, and wait until he had fallen asleep before slipping away. Once, he woke up in the dark of night, only to find her still there, sitting beside his bed, fast asleep, her head resting in the crook of her elbow. Still holding his hand in hers.
Mom hasn’t held his hand in years. Mom… Mom won’t ever hold his hand again.
He really should have given Kaoru that hug.
It ain’t fair. None of it is fair…
It’s not as though death is an unfamiliar thought to him. The grip it had held over his terrified eight-year-old self had faded over time, until something akin to comfort attached itself to the idea. Idly, it would occur to him, lingering at the back of his mind. Walking to school, Hikaru by his side, contemplating a car hitting him. Sitting in Biology class, watching the teacher dissect a pig’s heart, wondering how it would feel to turn the scalpel on himself. Staring at roadkill, left rotting in the heat of summer, wishing that it was him. Sometimes, he can admit, it was harder to imagine himself as an adult than it was to picture himself dead. Turning twenty had always felt more distant than a coffin ever did. Yet it had never pervaded his thoughts to extent he felt comfortable calling himself suicidal.
He wasn’t going to do anything about it, after all.
But now that’s it here — now he has no other choice — maybe. Maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe it’ll be okay. At least his secrets will die with him, here, cold and broken on a lonely mountainside. At least it won’t hurt anymore. At least he’ll get to rest. Maybe leaving isn’t so bad.
‘Cause dying’s just another form of leaving, ain’t it?
Doesn’t matter that he won’t ever go to Tokyo to study. Doesn’t matter that he’ll be stuck in this stupid, shitty town. Doesn’t matter that he’ll be nothing but ashes in a family grave. He won’t be here. Not really.
Even so… even so…
I really don’t want to leave them.
Through the pain that comes with every breath, images of afterwards start to stir in his mind.
The small, quiet funeral. His family, silent in their solitude as they drop his bones into the urn. The still emptiness of home upon their return. Mom, tenuously holding it together because no one else will. Dad, swallowing his grief and his words down until there is nothing left to him. Kaoru, shutting down and shutting out the world, not even leaving her room, left adrift and drowning.
And Hikaru.
Hikaru.
Hikaru, with his gleaming eyes and foxish, snaggletoothed grin. His strong and steady nature, bright and shining in all the ways Yoshiki could not. His presence in almost all of Yoshiki’s memories. Hikaru. The only person Yoshiki knows better than himself. Hikaru. The only reason Yoshiki has made it as far as he has. Hikaru. His best friend. The only person he’d ever…
(No. He can’t speak it. Not even now, at his end.)
Hikaru, Hikaru… Hey, Hikaru? Why can’t ya come and find me?
It’s very hard to breathe.
It ain’t fair. How’s Hikaru meant to survive this?
Even though he’s stronger than Yoshiki. Even though he’s a better person than Yoshiki will ever get to be. Yoshiki knows. Hikaru won’t survive this. Not without losing himself. Not without closing himself off to everyone around him. After all, he's already lost his daddy. It ain’t fair if he loses Yoshiki too. Not when he’s never known life without him.
It’d be nice if this didn’t have to hurt him. If this didn’t hurt anyone.
It’d be nice if no one made a fuss over this. It’d be nice if no one got upset. If this could pass quietly. If things could still be kept tidy for everyone else, the way he’s always tried to keep his life tidy. If he wasn’t leaving Hikaru all alone.
It’d be nice if someone could be there for Hikaru…
Even if it isn’t him.
Yoshiki is so very, very tired.
Maybe he should let himself rest. Even if he can’t quite close his eyes. Even if every breath is harder than the last.
Something slides into his fading vision. Distorted static, mixed with the murky iridescence of an oil slick. Flowing through the air, like ink in water. Unearthly beautiful as it leans over Yoshiki, curling about as though dancing. It doesn’t seem quite real. He thinks, maybe, it’s making a noise. But he isn’t quite sure.
Some part of Yoshiki is glad it’s the last thing he’ll see. Some part of him finds the strength to reach out to it, hand grasping at empty space, wondering what it feels like. If it’ll slip through his fingers, escaping like his last breaths into the air. Unbidden, a memory stirs at the back of his mind. Eight years old, a scraped knee, and Kouhei…
That’s right… Hikaru’s daddy told me… there’s a spirit on this mountain. Is this it? Can’t it grant wishes? Ain’t it lonely too? Maybe it can…
“…stay with him…”
The something reaches back. It curls around his hand and slips down his wrist. It feels… familiar.
“… look after him…”
It’s cold. It’s aching. It’s empty. It feels like the part of himself Yoshiki has always run away from.
“…take my place…”
It feels like loneliness.
“…please…”
Yoshiki breathes out.
One week later, something else breathes in.