Chapter Text
Rain poured mercilessly onto Yoshiki as he trudged through the forest.
The water droplets blurred his vision, made every one of his senses go haywire and foggy. Yoshiki grit his teeth, making his jaw ache from the strain, but he couldn’t help it. It was the middle of winter and the cold was gnawing at him. He trembled violently as a gust of air blew past him, the water soaking his clothes only made it that much colder.
He clutched Hichi close to his chest, the rough wood was coarse and uninviting.
Still, he kept the…stone-head-thing pressed up against his coat.
It was meant to protect him - meant to ward off spirits that desired some form of life to latch onto. And apparently, this mountain was crawling with things that latched. That’s what his dad had told him at least. So Yoshiki would abide by the superstition, even if he didn’t really believe in monsters, much less things like these fending them off.
Truth be told, his dad hadn’t really believed in them either. Still, he taught Yoshiki of the Tsujinaka ritual, of the obligation the men of his family had been burdened with. The shrine, Hichi, atonement, the Curse God.
It was a persistent, ingrained lesson.
“Listen Yoshiki,” his dad began, tone tinged with a weariness Yoshiki couldn’t have understood back then, “Ikunuon was something this town used to worship. It was known as the Mountain God of Kubitachi. Then later, it became more known as a Curse God.”
Yoshiki was tucked into his mattress, burrowed warmly into his blanket due to the cold of winter. A drumming sound lashed against the windowpanes of his room. It was raining.
“Curse God?”
“Mhm. It used to grant wishes and blessings in exchange for offerings. But one day, a plague hit the village and a woman named Tsujinaka Hichi died.”
“That’s our name.”
“Well, that’s because she was the wife of one of our ancestors. And he was so distraught by her death that in an act of desperation, he brought ‘er severed head to the mountain and begged Ikunon to resurrect ‘er. It granted his wish. But the wish only revived her head, and she died painfully that way.”
Yoshiki frowned, wholly upset on her behalf.
“But the worst part,” his dad continued, voice dropping lower, “was that the wish also caused a sort of distortion. Ya can’t mess around with life like that I suppose. Which caused Ikunuon to unleash death upon the village to establish balance.”
Yoshiki gasped softly, eyes wide and stunned.
“Supposedly, the deaths all involved heads or necks, wiping out a third of the village.” His dad’s gaze fixed on some distant point in the room as he continued, “That’s how it became known as a Curse God. And because the wish of our ancestor was the cause of the massacre, every five years, the men of our family must atone by carrying Hichi’s head to the mountain to satisfy Ikunon.”
“...What happens if we don’t do it?”
His dad turned back to look at him, but he didn't answer immediately. As if weighing his options, he finally sighed and spoke.
“If we don't do it…then Ikunuon won’t seal the impurities on the mountain, so they’d go wanderin’ into Kubitachi. That’d put the whole village in danger.”
Yoshiki could feel his heart racing against his ribcage at the notion of the town's fate relying on their ritual. It's a heavy thing to tell a kid. His dad must've known that as he placed his hand on Yoshiki’s small chest. His palm rose and fell alongside the young boy's frantic breathing.
“But that’s all superstition,” He murmured, voice softer now, “I only still go along with the ritual to satisfy the elders.”
They both stayed silent for a moment.
Yoshiki felt his body relax, easing into his dad’s reassurance. But a pressing question remained on his mind.
“Dad…?”
“Yeah?”
“Will I ever have to do the ritual?”
His dad didn’t speak, eyes full of resolve and some odd harshness. He removed his hand from Yoshiki’s chest and placed it delicately onto his head instead, gently moving Yoshiki’s overly grown bangs out of his eyes.
“Not if I can help it.”
Yoshiki slipped as his foot caught on a knotted root, barely managing to keep his balance intact as one of his hands shot out, finding purchase on a nearby tree. He dug his nails into Hichi involuntarily from the jolt of the slip, sending a horrible scraping sound through the wet, quiet air. Once stable, he stood still, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He rubbed his eyes as rain water streamed down his face, sloppily wiping the bangs sticking to his forehead. They were obscuring his sight, and it was already dark enough as it was.
Yoshiki opened his palms to find Hichi, nearly dry from how close he’d been keeping it to his chest.
He stared at it, disdain churning in him.
He can hardly believe he used to feel pity for this thing.
He can hardly believe he used to somewhat believe in what he was told to begin with. Even when his dad would dismiss what he said afterwards, the pressure - those stupid stories - frightened Yoshiki as a kid. They made him jumpy and afraid of nonsensical things like forests and ghosts.
Still, of course, as time passed, as he became older and more reasonable, the fear naturally dulled, and he became less and less affected by the tales. He figured that he’d wind up leaving the village before any of this ritualistic shit could become his responsibility.
Surely his family would be purified by then.
Surely his dad would figure something out.
But then he up and died.
He went up this forest to perform this very same ritual and came back a corpse, leaving an eleven year old Yoshiki to the mercy of the elders. They swarmed him constantly after his dad’s death, all suffocatingly urging him - begging him - to continue with the Tsujinaka ritual. No wonder his dad did it solely to keep the elders from breathing down his neck. They loved reminding him of what he owed. Of what his family owed.
A bitter laugh escaped Yoshiki.
This is stupid.
His fingers tightened around Hichi.
This is so fucking stupid.
An indignation suddenly surged hot inside him, and before Yoshiki could think twice about it, he hurled Hichi against a tree. A harsh thud echoed from the impact. But Yoshiki could hardly hear it above his own labored breathing. Head bowed and limp.
If only his dad was still alive.
The thought was a familiar one, but this situation only seemed to amplify his grief. Because he’s carrying out the very same ritual his dad died for, and that nauseated him beyond belief. Yoshiki drew in a shaky breath, chest tight as he stared down at the patchy grass in front of him. From the looks of it, Hichi wasn’t damaged, but he couldn’t be sure, not with all the rain. So he took a step forward and -
And the world lurched out from under him.
A sharp gasp was all he could muster as he lost his footing.
And then he was falling - falling back down the steep slope he had just climbed. Rocks slammed into him, hard and unforgiving. Each impact knocked the air from his lungs, sending bursts of pain across his ribs, his shoulders, his back, everywhere. He tried to grab onto something, but his fingers found nothing but mud and water.
And then -
A final, sickening crack reverberated against the back of his skull.
For a moment, all Yoshiki could hear was the patter of rain and his own weakening heartbeat. He tried to get up, but a throbbing pain stopped him from doing so. Slowly, he raised a trembling hand to his head, fingers brushing against his forehead.
It was wet.
Warm.
He pulled back his hand. Even in the dim light he could still distinguish something red, something that looked awfully similar to blood. His pulse began to quicken at the realization that he had just fallen. He had just fallen and now he was bleeding and help wasn’t coming because he was in the middle of nowhere. Yoshiki squeezed eyes shut, the warm blood was already beginning to cool at the exposure to the wind and rain. The water itself kept the blood from drying, causing it to slip down his body and onto the earth below him.
Fuck, there's no way he can get up like this.
Yoshiki curled the fingers of his bloody hand over and over, keeping himself alert in this small way. Even through the effort, he inevitably began to feel sleepier, heavier. It was as if he was slowly drowning in this irresistible tide of exhaustion. The biting cold receded, replaced by a warmth that felt both comforting and unsettling. Yoshiki felt like he was being cradled, welcomed.
Wasn’t death supposed to be scary?
Wasn’t it supposed to hurt more than this?
Colors and visions slowly swirled beneath his eyelids. Voices filtered into his ears, despite no one being around. These must be those flashing memories that are meant to pass by when you’re nearing death. The best are always saved for last, aren't they? The ones you cling to the hardest…
His mom, Kaoru, his dad…
They all pass by in vivid bursts of reminiscence.
His mom’s laughter resounded, smoothing down his hair, brushing off the stray strands from his shirt as she placed down some metal shears. Kaoru’s soft laugh mixes in with his mom’s. He shoves her a bit, resulting in her shoving back. In the midst of the lively bickering, his dad’s voice echoes. He turns to find him, eyes landing on a warm smile etched across his dad’s face. It didn’t hide how tired he looked. But that didn’t make the scene any less pleasant.
Yoshiki wished he could grasp the memory forever, hold it and use it to warm the declining flame of his soul. But it quickly fades like sand through brittle fingers, replaced by an equally endearing memory.
His friends appear.
Their laughter rings softly in his ears, sweet against the encroaching silence.
Asako stood behind Yuuki, arms wrapped around her as they let out hearty, well-earned laughs. Maki joined the chorus, clutching his stomach as amusement poured out of him. Yoshiki could feel body tremble - he was laughing along as well, eyes squinted in a delight that bordered on rare these days. But that didn’t concern him. Not now. Not surrounded in this warmth.
As he continued laughing, Yoshiki began turning to look at the white blur in his peripheral vision. But the memory washed away before he can understand who he was looking for.
And then, in the blink of an eye, he’s sitting on a porch.
The sunlight hitting his face and the watermelon soaking his fingers felt surprisingly vivid. Yoshiki looked down at his legs, and took notice of how short they were before an abrupt call of his name redirected his attention. He turned to look at the culprit.
White hair framing a familiar face, nursing a nearly finished slice of watermelon in hand.
A snaggle tooth.
A smug grin.
Gray eyes.
Hikaru.
Yoshiki’s eyes snapped open as images of Hikaru swam through his vision. The world seared back into focus, and with it, he began to feel cold again, the sensation prickling his skin like tiny needles. Now he’s wide awake. Painfully awake. Despite being on the brink of it, death wouldn’t come easily now. Not when the thought of leaving behind his best friend - his everything - like this clawed at his conscience.
The way he’s dying is too pathetic, too damn ridiculous that it holds a sort of morbid humor to it.
He’d love to laugh about it with Hikaru…
Damnit…
Surely Hikaru would end up feeling lonely. Distraught. His best friend dying wouldn’t be pleasant news. But there’s no way to ensure that the grief doesn’t find its way to Hikaru. There’s nothing Yoshiki can do to soften the blow of his death for anyone. He’s aware that he’ll be missed. He’s aware that the sight of his corpse will devastate certain people.
But…maybe that was for the best.
Because in some messed up way, dying solves a lot of Yoshiki's problems.
He’d always wanted to leave the country, to run away from everything that suffocated him. The most ideal option was the flee to Tokyo, pursue a life there, free from the shrill biases of this small village. He wasn’t hard to please, who cares about where he ended up. As long as it was far from Kubitachi, that was enough.
That was always Yoshiki’s goal - to escape, some way or another.
Maybe the method in which he did that never mattered.
Maybe it was always meant to end this way for him.
After all, what kind of guy harbors feelings for another guy?
The thought alone made Yoshiki’s stomach turn, more so than the sight of his own blood did. Because blood is natural; a life-life even. These feelings are not. These feelings parasitically leech off of his patience - his entire existence.
They cling to him, surface at the worst times.
Whenever Hikaru so much as laughed, when their shoulders brushed, when they sat just a bit too close - Yoshiki would go rigid without meaning to, his breath would catch in his throat and he’d have to force himself to exhale, slow and methodic, like he could breathe the feeling away. It makes Yoshiki feel filthy. Disgusting. And he can’t scrub that feeling clean, because there has never been a single moment that’s passed by in which Yoshiki isn’t hopelessly aware of his longing for Hikaru.
And he despises it.
It didn’t help that they were more attached at the hip these days, always side by side, always within the others reach. There was no room to pretend his feelings weren’t there. But, of course, he did his best to will them away in spite of that. If he waited long enough, ignored how he felt long enough, maybe it’d go away.
Maybe he’d finally be normal.
Maybe he’d finally stop being in love with Hikaru.
But now, as blood continues to pour from him, there's no point in concealing what he is. He’s gay; and somehow, his mind has hardwired it into him. He can’t help it. No matter how hard he tried to force himself to adhere to that desired normalcy, no matter how hard he tried to become something acceptable, something clean, it had never worked.
His feelings refused to cooperate. They refused to break.
And now, they would remain unspoken, buried with him, unacknowledged and unfulfilled. And maybe the uncertainty of never knowing if Hikaru reciprocated was better than the certainty of rejection.
Because that’s all he’d get out of exposing himself, right? Rejection. Ridicule. Disgust.
Yoshiki’s anxiety slowly meshed with an overwhelming melancholy. It settled in his chest and pressed him further into the ground, depriving him of the air he desperately needed to cling to right now.
God…this was unfair.
Of course he doesn’t want to die. Not really. But was there a better alternative? The mess his dad left behind, the constant, gnawing self-hatred that just won’t go away. Watching the one he loves drift toward someone else, smiling at her in a way he wasn’t worthy of. Having to root for that love - because what kind of best friend wouldn’t?
Truly…living would have killed him all the same.
His eyelids fluttered, threatening to close for good this time.
That is, until he hears faint rustling stir the forest, circling him as something draws closer. Yoshiki’s gaze dragged upward, unfocused, until his eyes landed on a meek figure just beyond him. It looked…wrong. Incomprehensible, with a broad frame that seemed to be consistently shifting and deforming, as if It couldn’t decide what It was supposed to be.
At first, Yoshiki chalked it up to the blood loss distorting his surroundings. But as the figure crept closer, only one thing came to mind.
Huh.
That must be…
“Ikunuon…” Yoshiki rasps.
There’s no need to be picky, there's no one else around.
“I…” His voice trembles, barely holding itself together.
Suck it up.
“...I think…I can settle fer you…so…will ya…keep...Hi…company…?”
His arm felt impossibly heavy as he forced it upwards, beckoning the entity. For a moment, It stilled, then, It approached him animatedly. As It neared, everything around Yoshiki began to make less sense. The forest distorted and unraveled. The trees bent at unnatural angles, their outlines smearing into something of a whirlpool. The ground no longer felt solid beneath him either, because now the creature was all too close, mixing with his out-stretched finger.
Its dark matter began to spill over him, then it slowly seeped into him.
He was being consumed.
But it didn’t matter.
Not when his vision began to blur wildly and his lungs drew their last real breath.