[Vix] Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall... (Part 1)
Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...
PG13; Yara Tomoyuki/Yamamoto Ryota, Tamamori Yuta/Miyata Toshiya (with appearances from various members of Kis-My-Ft2, TheyBudou, Hey! Say! JUMP, Veteran, B.A.D., and other Johnny’s Jr. and Sr.)
13,877 words, written for crazy_otaku911 for jerainbowbridge'11, here. Warning for character death. Much love to bankai_babe, beltenebra, imifumei, amhrancas, and everyone else who listened to me rant and whine and held my hand ♥ Also to MirrorMask and Rent, which I stole inspiration from. Finally, have a link. I usually don’t like fic that comes with music, but this fic wouldn’t have come about without these songs. They're all by D'espairsRay, and if you'd like the full albums, I'll be uploading those later too.
That's how fairytales usually begin, right? They're quick to distance the reader from just about anything that happens within from the start, placing an immeasurable gap of time and distance between the ‘then’ and the ‘now’. This is, of course, because nothing that happens in a fairytale could ever happen in our cosy, modern world. Fairytales are rich and vivid, full of ghouls and goblins and magic and mystery, rivers that run golden and animals that talk. They’re neither cup-half-full nor cup-half-empty, but a cup brimming over, overflowing with the kinds of wonders and terrors that would drive a mortal man crazy.
Fairytales aren’t a part of the real world. They speak of impossible things, things science left behind, things that could only ever happen within the worn, dusty, safe pages of a book.
Except this is not once upon a time, and Yamamoto Ryota does not live in a land far, far away.
And this is not your average fairytale.
Ryota loved to dance. Modern, ballet, tap, street, he’d tried and loved them all without bias. As long as he was moving, as long as he could wrap himself around the music and let his body flow with it, he was on top of the world. He’d dance anywhere he could, and didn’t care who was watching - didn’t care if nobody was watching. He craved the thrill of performing, often coercing Ryu into going out with him to dance for the people on the streets of Tokyo, but there was something to be said for being alone, not having a routine to follow and not having anyone to impress or disappoint.
Dancing was Ryota’s excitement, his happiness, his relaxation, everything all rolled into one. In fact, that’s exactly what it was. Everything.
Flinging himself into a final back handspring, Ryota’s palms pressed down against the floor for the split second it took his momentum to turn him upright again, and he finished with a bounce, light on the balls of his feet. He glanced to his left and saw Ryu mirroring him completely, then shared a grin with his friend. Perfectly timed, as always. Their shoulders even rose and fell with heavy breaths in time with each other, exhilaration shining in their eyes as they headed back to the benches together. The rest of the dancers gradually filtered out until it was just the two of them, cooling down and stretching their muscles out.
Ryu was the only person Ryota knew that loved dancing almost as much as he did, felt the same rush, the same life in it. They’d met during their first dance class together way back when, before they knew what a box or lock step was, before they could complete more than two chainés without getting dizzy, before they’d even heard of the grapevine as anything other than where wine - and gossip - came from. They fell into friendship as naturally as they fell into step with one another, and soon became the best of friends - although Ryu would probably never say it like that out loud.
“Coming over tonight?” Ryota asked, and Ryu shook out his arms and reached for his water bottle, taking a long gulp before shrugging his shoulders.
“Maybe.”
Ryota grinned at Ryu’s reflection and nudged his friend with his shoulder. “Come oonnn, why not?”
Ryu shrugged nonchalantly again, but Ryota caught a hint of a smile around his mouth. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
“No way!” Ryota screeched, and started to dig incessantly at Ryu’s ribs with his elbow, “You wouldn’t be so mean! Pleeeease, come on!”
Ryu shoved at him with a laugh, and Ryota shoved back, knowing he’d won. What he hadn’t planned on was Ryu toppling backwards into the mirrored wall. Before he even had time to gasp, the back of Ryu’s shoulder slammed into the glass and there was a stomach-turning crunch. The glass splintered and split and Ryu dropped like a stone, barely catching himself with his other hand before he hit the floor.
A small, distressed sound fell from Ryota’s lips and he fell to his knees, the jarring shock of bone on wood shooting pain straight up along his back. He started to reach out, wanting to help, but stopped himself touching at the last moment in case he did any more damage, hands hovering awkwardly in midair.
“Are you okay?” He breathed softly, eyes wide and voice shaking as Ryu grunted in pain, brow furrowed tightly. The other man rolled his shoulder carefully once, twice, then winced and tried it a third time before he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think so. It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry!” Ryota panicked, laying his hands on Ryu’s forearm, “I didn’t know you’d fall over! I’m really, really sorry!”
Ryu shook him off and gave him a tight smile, sitting up a little straighter. He reached up to rub at his shoulder with his other hand, and stretched his neck out. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
“I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” Ryota said softly, a pout forming on his lips as the guilt began to settle on his shoulders.
“I know you didn’t,” Ryu replied, and his smile was a little more genuine this time. “Really, it’s fine.”
Ryota’s nod was more of a bow, and he jumped to his feet to help Ryu up. Once he was standing, his friend turned to look at the broken mirror.
“Sensei’s gonna kill us.”
Then it was Ryota’s turn to wince as he took in the damage. The crack wasn’t just deep, it was long, stretching outwards from the centre where Ryu had hit it, down to the floor and up almost to his head. It must have been hit a fair few times before for it to crack so badly like that, Ryota thought, but that probably wouldn’t make their dance choreographer go any easier on them. He stepped closer and watched the way his reflection distorted around the damage, as if the mirror wasn’t merely reflecting what was in front of it anymore, but showing an entirely different version of what surrounded them. Ryota reached out to trace a finger along the split in the glass, then paused.
“...Do you hear that?
Ryu frowned, listening with his face as well as his ears, then pursed his lips. “Hear what?”
Ryota moved closer still, and the sound got louder. It was almost like a draft, the soft, uneven whistling of air through a very small gap, and he jerked his hand away from the crack as he felt something touch it. Holding his palm upwards, the light glinted off a single drop of water.
“Oh, no,” Ryu groaned, “Please don’t tell me we’ve broken a pipe too. If we flood the place we won’t just be in trouble, we’ll be out.”
But Ryota wasn’t listening. It didn’t sound like a broken pipe at all, it sounded like... like... like rain beating against a metal roof, like wind rushing through the trees. He leaned right in, and the sounds got louder as he pressed an ear against the mirror. The glass was cool on the side of his face but freezing around the crack itself. He pressed both hands to the glass to push himself away from the ice-cold wind, but they touched nothing, just kept on going and suddenly there was nothing there.
Instead he was falling, down and down, falling so fast it was almost like flying, hair whipping around his face and stinging his cheeks. He couldn’t find the breath to cry out, everything crushing his lungs by the sheer power of it all, falling, falling and turning round and round until left was right and up was... up was up, because he was flying, higher and higher into the unending darkness that wasn’t so dark once he pried his eyes open against the angry rush of air, wind, a tornado dragging him along with it and what goes up must come down and-
The freezing burn of rain, hailstones, shocked the jumble from Ryota’s head, but he was still flying, sailing through the air on the force of the storm, half terrified and half amazed with no room left for anything else. Suddenly, he dropped, stomach flying up into his throat before another violent gust caught him and lifted him higher again, yanking him about as if he were no more than the smallest, lightest of leaves.
Something flashed, and was followed by the most deafening roar Ryota had ever heard, audible even above the storm, and he was falling again, faster than ever before, could practically see the ground rushing up to meet him. Another rush caught him briefly, but dropped him soon after, then another carried him further before releasing him to the mercy of the hard, unforgiving earth.
“-up, wake up, come on, wake up...”
Ryota groaned and felt his head loll to one side of its own accord, then immediately winced in pain. His neck throbbed angrily, and when he tried to open his eyes, they didn’t seem to be feeling any more cooperative.
“Hey! I think he’s awake!” Hands were on his shoulders, shaking none too gently, and Ryota groaned again in protest.
“Ryu,” he managed to get out around a tongue that felt thick enough to choke him, and even that one syllable seemed to slur, “Ge'off.”
“He’s awake!”
“Try sitting him up!”
“No! Don’t move him too soon, you might make it worse!”
No more talking, no more, please just, just, his head...
“We’ll never know if he just lies there!”
“No, don’t move him. We’ve probably done enough damage bringing him down here already.”
“But-”
“Just get out of the way already.”
Ryota’s temples ached in protest of the noise, and he grumbled softly. “Sh'up.”
There was a soft hissing sound, then a mass of shuffling, until eventually, finally, it was blissfully quiet.
He sighed happily - as happily as he could whilst feeling like he’d done five rounds with a pro boxer and lost, anyway - and relaxed his muscles again, fully prepared to let sleep pull him back under.
But whoever was still lurking was apparently having none of that.
“Don’t go back to sleep again. You could have a concussion, and you might not wake up next time.”
“Urgh,” Ryota said eloquently.
They chuckled, and he heard someone settling down next to his head.
“At least try and open your eyes for me,” they said softly, and something inside him couldn’t refuse. He frowned, brow furrowing as he tried to get his eyes under control, then before he knew it there was a sliver of light peeking between them and the less he tried, just like when he laid in bed at night unable to sleep, the easier it became to pry his stiff eyelids apart.
It wasn’t bright, but there was still enough light to sting, and he immediately flinched away from it. Before he could give up completely there was a hand on his face and he couldn’t resist opening them again, just to see who this person was. It couldn’t be Ryu, because Ryu’s touch would never be so gentle. If it was Ryu it would also mean that the storm that had hauled him around like a puppet was some kind of incredibly realistic dream - and his body certainly didn’t seem to think it had been a dream.
The face that was hovering above him dispelled the last of his doubt - it definitely wasn’t Ryu. Whoever this was was male, but that was definitely where their similarities ended. He had the most piercing eyes Ryota had ever seen, dark and deep and endless, with two tiny creases at the corner of each one, a mouth that looked like it was used to smiling more than it frowned, and dark, dark hair that fell across one side of his face - not enough to obscure, but enough to be mysterious and just a little bit alluring. But it was his skin that really grabbed Ryota’s attention. He blinked a few times in the soft light, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him - concussion after all, he’d said - but no matter how many times he closed them and opened them again, nothing had changed. The smooth, tanned skin of this man's cheeks was marred by tiny, almost tiger-like stripes which crept upwards towards his hairline where they blossomed into a mottled grey-brown pattern before eventually fading and disappearing into the inky black of his hair. It carried on around his jaw down to his neck, where the markings were larger and more prominent, until they vanished to nothing again at the pale skin - even paler than his face - of his collarbones. But even more surprising than this was what Ryota could see peeking out from amongst his hair - two small, brown, triangular-shaped ears atop of his head, tipped with black.
Ryota stared, and the man grinned.
“Hi.”
“... Hi...” Ryota breathed.
“How you feeling?”
“Uh...” Ryota blinked, then really registered the question. “Ow.”
The man laughed again, and the sound alone made Ryota feel a little better.
“You’re lucky we found you when we did, it’s nasty out there.”
Ryota nodded, remembering the way the wind had tossed him around and all the awe-inspiring, terrifying feelings that it had filled him with. He pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, wincing as his back protested. “What was that?”
“The storm?” The man asked, then shrugged. “It’s just how it is here right now. Everyone’s so scared that the tornado and the rain and the hail keeps getting worse. And the more upset they get, the worse the storm gets.”
His ears drooped slightly, and Ryota found himself staring at them.
The man grinned. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Ryota quickly looked away and shook his head, before peeking back up, unable to tear his eyes away for long.
“Whadd’you think?” One of his ears twitched, and Ryota jumped. The man laughed again, but it wasn’t malicious, too full of warmth to ever be anything meant to harm. “Everyone here’s like this, you’ll see.”
Maybe he should feel more surprised, Ryota thought, maybe he should be freaked out. Maybe he wasn’t handing things in the way he was supposed to, but this man... cat... person hadn’t tried to hurt him; seemed to have done the exact opposite, in fact. The panic had come when he was being thrown around in the storm, and this was ten, twenty, a hundred times better than that.
“So tell me,” the man said, nonplussed by the way Ryota wasn’t doing very much talking, his eyes sparkling so brightly that Ryota found he’d already forgotten what had come before, “How did a human end up out there like that?”
Ryota paused. His memory, cloudy and lethargic, was already struggling to keep up. In the end it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t given a chance to respond at all.
“Oi, Yara!” Came a shout, “Is he dead?”
The man - Yara, apparently - turned to frown at someone behind them, and Ryota took a moment to look around. He wasn’t dead, after all.
Wherever this was, it was dark, shadows crowded together in the corners, shivering and shuddering as far away as they could get from the crackling fire in the centre. The light from the flames danced across walls that looked crudely carved, as if whoever had built this place had been in a hurry. Ryota sniffed, and underneath the ash and burnt wood there was a soft, earthy smell, the kind that made him think of rolling around in the grass after the rain. It hadn’t been built, he realised with a start. It had been dug.
“Of course he’s not dead,” Yara was saying, and Ryota peered into the darkness in search of the owner of this new voice.
He jumped again, so violently this time that it made his bruises sing, when a body seemed to materialise out of the wall. The head and torso came first, followed by the arms and legs, and finally, the feet and hands appeared, and the person was complete.
“Don’t scare him like that, Fumi,” Yara admonished, but there was no real irritation in it. He almost sounded a little bit amused.
Fumi ignored him anyway and approached Ryota, who swallowed and tried his best not to shuffle away. This man had a nice enough face, even with the lustrous jade scales that snuck along his cheekbones and protruded from his hair in a wide crest, but appearing out of nowhere was generally a quality that made Ryota nervous.
"Fumi's part chameleon," Yara told him, clearly sensing Ryota's discomfort. "He thinks it's funny, hiding like that. I think he's just funny in the head."
Ryota sniggered, but Fumi just smiled widely.
“Hi!” He said, holding out a hand, “I’m Kawai. How do you like our cave?”
The cave - or caves, as Ryota soon found out - had been carved out centuries before, when the threat of war was imminent. They were joined by a network of tunnels that were more like a maze, designed to confuse anyone who wasn’t familiar with the layout into getting lost - and staying lost. He hadn’t needed to ask why they were hiding down here after his encounter with the angry storm. Yara had explained, incredibly briefly, why the storm was raging - most humans think the weather can influence their emotions, but they don’t realise that it’s really the other way around - which had given Ryota an idea of the torment this place must be in to have caused something so terrifying, and as more of Yara’s companions joined them, he learned more and more about this place, and these people.
The storm wasn’t as horrifying everywhere else as it was near the caves. Many of the citizens had fled to the borders, where the weather was calmer. When Ryota had asked why they had stayed here, and why they hadn’t followed everyone else, they had all turned solemn. A kind-faced creature - who looked more mole than human and called himself Yabu - explained that their king, Koichi, had gone missing, and they were the only ones who had stuck around to try and find him.
They had all shared a sorrowful look at that, and Ryota felt just how lost they all were. He imagined such a thing happening in Japan and knew there would be nationwide panic, but the world would keep on turning and the country would still continue on as normal. It wouldn’t collapse in on itself like this place seemed to have done, losing all will to do anything without a King to watch over them.
He also learned that long, long ago - once upon a time, almost - these two worlds, these strange creatures and the world he called home, had lived together as one.
“They left that out of the history books, huh,” Takaki had laughed. The bright-eyed boy had the most incredible blue-green cheekbones and hair Ryota had ever seen, but the elegance was ruined by his bill-shaped mouth and wide, flat feet, which took away just about any chance of grace he might have had. He’d grinned until a blank-faced man with flickering antennae - who, from certain angles, looked disconcertingly like a cockroach - had elbowed him and accused him of never reading a history book in his whole life.
Yabu just smiled fondly and went on to tell him that the stories said the humans began to be poisoned by their own feelings of self-importance, and the peace had been shattered by rebellion. Unwilling to allow his people to be enslaved by what the humans were becoming, their King had discovered a ritual that could split their world in two, and with the help of some of the more genteel humans, he took his people to safety.
“How did I end up here, then?” Ryota asked, then jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He whirled around to find a man with more feathers than hair standing behind him. They swept back from his face, brown and white and gold swirling together like a waterfall flowing over his head and down his throat. His tiny nose curved down until it was almost one with his mouth, stained black in the center but curled up at the sides in a grin that pulled at his whole face and made his piercing golden eyes shine in the firelight.
“You fell through a crack,” Takki replied.
Tamamori watched the cluster of chatter from a safe distance, torn between the urge to get a better look at the newcomer and wanting to keep far, far away. He didn’t need to see him to know he was human, could already feel the pull like a chain around his throat trying to drag him closer, and he pressed his back firmly against the wall, feet digging into the earth.
No.
He hadn’t felt this way for years, and he wasn’t planning on giving in to it now. Not now, not when he’d come so far. He ran his fingers through the feathers of his hair, smoothing them back from his face, and drew in a long, calming breath, hoping to settle the parasite inside him. It did nothing to help, so instead he clenched his jaw and his fists, digging the beginnings of talons into his palms. He’d been clipping them back, but they'd all had more important things to think about now that the King was missing, and they’d started thickening and sharpening into deadly points again. The pain helped, just a little, and he found he could breathe again.
He was relieved when Miyata broke away from the crowd and came to crouch beside him, the other man’s presence alone settling his nerves. His smile was bright enough that the parasite cowered beneath the force of it, and when he reached out to take Tamamori’s hand, it shrank back to nothing. Miyata uncurled Tamamori’s fists and ran the tips of his fingers across the deep red gauges left there, gently soothing the sting.
“You okay?” He asked gently, and Tamamori nodded.
“Am now. He’s human, isn’t he?”
Miyata nodded. “Certainly looks it. How you holding up?”
“I’ll be fine,” Tamamori promised, and right now, looking up into Miyata’s trusting gaze, he meant it.
Miyata hummed and sat down next to him, shuffling around until they were pressed together from shoulder to foot.
“They’re telling him so much,” Tamamori thought out loud, “We don’t know anything about him, and they’re telling him everything.”
“Not quite everything.” Miyata replied, and Tamamori pursed his lips. “Besides, what does it matter? However he got here, either they called him through and he escaped, or he...”
“You know that’s just a story.” Tamamori scoffed when Miyata paused heavily, but he couldn’t deny that the pull he’d felt was stronger than he ever remembered it being before.
Miyata nodded again resignedly, his long, floppy ears drooping even more than usual, and Tamamori imagined his face if he gave in. He saw the hurt, the betrayal, the disappointment in those warm, round eyes, and his throat tightened so much that his next breath rattled as it left. In his peripheral vision he could see Miyata watching him carefully, and the other man must have seen something he didn’t like because he clambered to his feet and pulled Tamamori with him.
“Come on,” he said, already leading him away by the wrist, “Let’s go somewhere else.”
Over the next few days, Ryota soon discovered that these people looked up to Takki as someone they couldn’t be without. He wasn’t their King by any stretch of the imagination, but for all his smiling and laughing and messing around with them, he commanded a certain authority that they wouldn’t even consider doubting. He wasn’t just a leader to them. He was, Ryota realised as he watched two tiny boys gaze up at Takki with unblinking eyes, a father.
Tatsumi, a tall man with high, white-tufted cheekbones, a shock of red hair and a long, curving fox tail had hummed thoughtfully when Ryota mentioned this to him, then nodded, almost to himself.
“Takki brought us all together,” he said, “In a fashion, anyway. Everyone else ran away from the trouble, but some of us couldn’t just leave like that, not when the King’s-” Tatsumi halted all of a sudden, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t, but quickly moved on. “Missing. And... some of us got left behind.” He motioned towards where the smallest, mouse-like boy, Aoi, was surreptitiously sidling closer to Takki’s legs, “So there wasn’t even a choice. Takki looks after us all.”
Ryota watched as Takki continued talking to Yokoo, whose hair was black but for a long white stripe down the centre, and without showing any sign of distraction, settled a hand on the back of Aoi’s head. The small child huddled against Takki’s legs, and Takki’s thumb began to stroke softly along his shoulder as though it was as natural a thing to do as breathing.
Nostalgia bubbled up thick and heavy in Ryota’s throat, and his stomach twisted and clenched in a way it hadn’t for years. He wasn’t given a chance to dwell on his feelings though, quickly distracted by something distinctly like a war cry as a flash of green and hair shot past him. Nikaido, a dark-haired man with a wide, lopsided grin, whirled around just in time to catch the bundle of person that crashed into him, and they both tumbled to the floor.
“Grnngh,” Nikaido said.
“Nika!” The bundle cried, planting webbed hands covered with brown-green scales on either side of Nikaido’s head, “They’re chasing me!”
Nikaido’s hands had gravitated to the other man’s waist, but he quickly pulled them away and shoved him unceremoniously to the floor. “What the hell, get off me.”
“Nikaaaa,” he whined with a pout, and pushed himself to his feet. Scales dusted his temples and throat too, and where his shirt had ridden up during the scuffle Ryota could see the beginnings of what looked like a mottled brown shell. “Don’t be mean.”
Nikaido rolled his eyes theatrically, but took the other man’s hands when he reached out to pull him up from the floor. He made a show of dusting himself off, reaching around to brush the dirt from his backside and the tiny fluffy tail that poked out from the gap between his jeans and his shirt, then dusted his hands off and flicked his long, white ears back. Then, finally, he spoke.
“What am I supposed to do about it, Senga? You’re always winding them up, so they’re always chasing you.”
Senga’s pout deepened and he huffed, folding his arms across his chest. Nikaido sighed, and Ryota wondered who ‘they’ were.
“Sorry, Kenpi,” Nikaido said, voice a little softer this time, and Ryota wasn’t sure why Nikaido was the one apologising when Senga had knocked him over in the first place. Senga brightened, but just as he looked about ready to throw his arms around Nikaido’s neck, a second flurry of activity burst in, and Senga shoved Nikaido in front of him like a barrier instead.
“Save me!”
Nikaido rolled his eyes a second time and half-heartedly threw his arms out to the sides in protection. His whole body rocked when Senga elbowed him in the back - presumably for not doing it properly - and he grumbled under his breath, but took a better stance anyway. Ryota thought that for all his grouching and protesting, he must secretly enjoy it, at least a little.
“Oi, Senga!” The person at the head of the group yelled, a rough edge to his voice and a glare on his brow that was made all the more threatening by his jet black hair and face, “Get back here! We’re not finished!”
Given how sinister the group looked, Ryota thought the others should at least be slightly more worried about Senga’s well-being, but most of them weren’t even paying attention to the feud that seemed about to break out.
“You guys don’t play fair!” Senga protested from over Nikaido’s shoulder, “Junta cheats!”
“I do not!” Junta shouted, the black and silver pattern on his face shimmering like scales as he moved closer. His hair, also striped with black and silver, stuck up in the center, almost like a dorsal fin, and he had two incredibly long silver whiskers on either side of his chin that floated through the air as he moved.
There was movement behind Senga and Ryota saw Takaki creeping up slowly with a mischievous glint in his eye, using Senga's distraction to his advantage. He got an arm around Senga’s throat just as the others all barrelled into the cave, and Senga yelled, thrashing. The one with the black face went straight for Nikaido, who went down easily and left the rest of them to bear down on Senga, his almost gleeful screeches deafening in their intensity as Junta helped Takaki manhandle him to the floor. Senga kicked his legs, already laughing, until two other boys sat on them and the tickling began.
Senga’s laughter and cries of surrender echoed off the walls, and when he met Yara’s smiling eyes across the heads of the wrestling boys, firelight dancing across his features, Ryota couldn’t stop himself from grinning along too.
Later that night, when the excitement had died down and the fire had been extinguished, everyone had clustered together in the smallest cave for warmth, wrapping their blankets tightly around themselves. Yara had given Ryota one of his, and the two of them huddled together amidst the sea of bodies, sharing as much heat as they could. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to fall asleep, but despite having such an eventful day, Ryota was anything but tired.
"I knew you were one of them right from the start," Yara said softly, suddenly, voice low while those around them slept.
Ryota rolled onto his side, tucking his hands underneath his cheek to face the other man in the darkness, and tried to ignore the hard press of earth beneath him.
"One of who?" He asked, puzzled. He thought it was fairly easy to tell just by looking at him that he wasn't from around here. In comparison to everyone else he'd met, his skin was clear, his hair was a single, boring shade, and he wasn't sprouting any feathers or claws from strange places. "What?"
"A Carrier," Yara said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"...A what?" Ryota said again, and Yara chuckled to himself. The sound made Ryota's skin tingle despite the cold.
"A long time ago," Yara murmured, and it was like the two of them were sharing a secret, "everyone Carried. But you know how things are, some people's blood was less-"
"Blood?" Ryota interrupted, then whined to himself, "Why does there always have to be blood..."
Yara waited for him to finish huffing, then carried on as if he'd never paused, "Some people's blood was less potent than others, and the strains got thinner and thinner over the generations."
Ryota nodded, realised Yara couldn't see him, and hummed quietly instead.
"All animals still Carry a little - dogs are great empaths, and cats," Ryota could hear the smirk in Yara's voice, "can see really well in the dark, but it's all but died out in humans. They aren't as choosy about who they breed with."
"We sound horrible when you say it like that..." Ryota mumbled with a pout, and immediately heard the rustle of Yara shaking his head.
"Humans are amazing. You're so full of feelings and emotions and... no amount of Carrying can ever compare to that. Anyway," he continued before Ryota could really register the compliment past the sentimental touch to Yara's voice, "I was telling a story, before you distracted me."
Ryota knew he was being teased, but he kept obediently quiet anyway.
"The only true Carriers left that we know of are part of our Royal bloodline. It's still pure, still strong, but now the King is the only one left. So unless he can find a female Carrier to continue on the line, it's going to fade out here too."
Ryota was quiet for a moment, before he asked, "How do you know I'm one?"
"We just know," Yara replied. "I can't explain it, just like you can't explain why you make the decisions you do, or why you're drawn to the people you are. But you are, I know it. You've got a talent, haven't you? Something you're better at than everyone around you, something that makes you happier than you can ever remember being?"
Ryota nodded, then murmured, "I like to dance."
"Oi." A third voice piped up from somewhere amongst the maze of bodies curled up in various states of slumber, "Whoever it is whispering. Either go somewhere else and talk, or shut up and go to sleep."
Yara's soft, awkward laugh came more from his nose than his mouth, and he finished his story even more quietly than before.
"There was always talk about human Carriers still existing, but nobody ever really believed it was possible, and... I always thought it was just a story. But you..." He whispered fondly, and Ryota could hear him shifting closer, before there was breath on his earlobe, "You're something else."
That night, Ryota fell asleep with warmth at his side and a smile on his face.
The next morning, they were woken by a shout.
Almost everyone else was already awake and mulling around quietly whilst the final few of them joined the land of the living. It took Ryota a few moments to pry his eyes open, the soft crackling of the new fire they’d started doing its best to lull him back to sleep, but then there was another yell, louder than the last, and he was up.
Tamamori stumbled out of the main tunnel, half-carrying someone who was sagging more than he was walking. Yara was already on his feet and hurried over to help, easing their other arm around his shoulders so that Tamamori wasn't carrying an entire person on his own.
"What happened?" He asked, at the same moment that Ryota saw the blood.
Miyata shook his hair out of his face, but a few stubborn strands stuck to his damp forehead. "They're starving," he ground out. The pain he was in was only too obvious. "So hungry that they're willing to give us a try now too."
“What did that to him?” Ryota asked softly once Miyata's wounded leg had been cleaned. Yokoo and Yabu had settled him on some blankets, piled up in the smaller cave where they'd been storing food and other supplies, and Tamamori had taken a spare blanket in there with him. They'd tried to encourage him out to let Miyata sleep, but Tamamori was stubborn as an ox despite his bird-like appearance, and he'd stayed.
Yara had moved away from everyone else, leading Ryota through the maze of passages until it was quiet, and they sat with their backs pressed against one side of the tunnel. The oil lamp they'd brought sat on the floor by their feet and Yara was moving his feet in front of it so that they cast tall shadows on the walls around them.
"One of them," he said eventually, emphasising it as if the word could be a name. “They used to be like us.”
Ryota listened to Yara’s breathing for a moment, slow and steady, and found himself unconsciously matching the other man’s pace.
“Who are they?” He asked eventually, when Yara didn’t seem to plan on explaining any further without a little encouragement.
“Who?” Yara laughed, the sound cold and humorless, and Ryota fought the need to wrap his arms around himself. “Not who, not anymore. They lost any humanity they might have had a long time ago.”
He was quiet for another long moment, staring up at the shadows on the walls like they could fix everything, like they held all the answers. Eventually, he seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to find whatever it was he was looking for, and let his head fall back against the wall.
“They feed on humans. Human flesh, blood, marrow, the whole nine.”
Ryota gasped and turned his head to face Yara, eyes wide. “What? Why?”
“In the beginning,” Yara said softly, sadly, “Back when our worlds weren’t separated like this, they... They liked it. That’s how it began, generations of families feeding on human flesh because they enjoyed it. They hid it for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, until eventually they couldn’t survive on anything else. That’s when it started getting out of hand, and the humans began to notice their people going missing, or turning up dead.”
“They sound like vampires,” Ryota shuddered, and Yara shrugged.
“All legends have to start somewhere.”
He sighed, and Ryota scooted closer without thinking, tilting his head to rest on Yara’s shoulder. By the time he’d noticed what he’d done, Yara was already leaning on him, and it was too late to move even if he'd wanted to.
“That’s really why they cast us out,” he said. “They couldn’t trust us any more. The King knew he had to make a choice, and instead of starting a war, he chose to save his people. Of course, no race wants to tell its children they were banished, so they left certain parts of the story out when they passed it on.”
“But why would he save them too?” Ryota asked, “The ones that started eati- ...everything.”
Yara shrugged, a loaded gesture that made Ryota’s head bob with the motion of it.
“They looked like any one of us back then, and the King wouldn’t do anything without hard proof. Even if he had it, maybe he couldn’t have left them behind or killed them himself anyway.” Yara lowered his voice even more, although they were already alone, “Some of the stories say he was one of them, which is why he chose to save them all... and why he left the cracks behind. He left them a way to feed.”
on to part two
PG13; Yara Tomoyuki/Yamamoto Ryota, Tamamori Yuta/Miyata Toshiya (with appearances from various members of Kis-My-Ft2, TheyBudou, Hey! Say! JUMP, Veteran, B.A.D., and other Johnny’s Jr. and Sr.)
13,877 words, written for crazy_otaku911 for jerainbowbridge'11, here. Warning for character death. Much love to bankai_babe, beltenebra, imifumei, amhrancas, and everyone else who listened to me rant and whine and held my hand ♥ Also to MirrorMask and Rent, which I stole inspiration from. Finally, have a link. I usually don’t like fic that comes with music, but this fic wouldn’t have come about without these songs. They're all by D'espairsRay, and if you'd like the full albums, I'll be uploading those later too.
That's how fairytales usually begin, right? They're quick to distance the reader from just about anything that happens within from the start, placing an immeasurable gap of time and distance between the ‘then’ and the ‘now’. This is, of course, because nothing that happens in a fairytale could ever happen in our cosy, modern world. Fairytales are rich and vivid, full of ghouls and goblins and magic and mystery, rivers that run golden and animals that talk. They’re neither cup-half-full nor cup-half-empty, but a cup brimming over, overflowing with the kinds of wonders and terrors that would drive a mortal man crazy.
Fairytales aren’t a part of the real world. They speak of impossible things, things science left behind, things that could only ever happen within the worn, dusty, safe pages of a book.
Except this is not once upon a time, and Yamamoto Ryota does not live in a land far, far away.
And this is not your average fairytale.
Ryota loved to dance. Modern, ballet, tap, street, he’d tried and loved them all without bias. As long as he was moving, as long as he could wrap himself around the music and let his body flow with it, he was on top of the world. He’d dance anywhere he could, and didn’t care who was watching - didn’t care if nobody was watching. He craved the thrill of performing, often coercing Ryu into going out with him to dance for the people on the streets of Tokyo, but there was something to be said for being alone, not having a routine to follow and not having anyone to impress or disappoint.
Dancing was Ryota’s excitement, his happiness, his relaxation, everything all rolled into one. In fact, that’s exactly what it was. Everything.
Flinging himself into a final back handspring, Ryota’s palms pressed down against the floor for the split second it took his momentum to turn him upright again, and he finished with a bounce, light on the balls of his feet. He glanced to his left and saw Ryu mirroring him completely, then shared a grin with his friend. Perfectly timed, as always. Their shoulders even rose and fell with heavy breaths in time with each other, exhilaration shining in their eyes as they headed back to the benches together. The rest of the dancers gradually filtered out until it was just the two of them, cooling down and stretching their muscles out.
Ryu was the only person Ryota knew that loved dancing almost as much as he did, felt the same rush, the same life in it. They’d met during their first dance class together way back when, before they knew what a box or lock step was, before they could complete more than two chainés without getting dizzy, before they’d even heard of the grapevine as anything other than where wine - and gossip - came from. They fell into friendship as naturally as they fell into step with one another, and soon became the best of friends - although Ryu would probably never say it like that out loud.
“Coming over tonight?” Ryota asked, and Ryu shook out his arms and reached for his water bottle, taking a long gulp before shrugging his shoulders.
“Maybe.”
Ryota grinned at Ryu’s reflection and nudged his friend with his shoulder. “Come oonnn, why not?”
Ryu shrugged nonchalantly again, but Ryota caught a hint of a smile around his mouth. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
“No way!” Ryota screeched, and started to dig incessantly at Ryu’s ribs with his elbow, “You wouldn’t be so mean! Pleeeease, come on!”
Ryu shoved at him with a laugh, and Ryota shoved back, knowing he’d won. What he hadn’t planned on was Ryu toppling backwards into the mirrored wall. Before he even had time to gasp, the back of Ryu’s shoulder slammed into the glass and there was a stomach-turning crunch. The glass splintered and split and Ryu dropped like a stone, barely catching himself with his other hand before he hit the floor.
A small, distressed sound fell from Ryota’s lips and he fell to his knees, the jarring shock of bone on wood shooting pain straight up along his back. He started to reach out, wanting to help, but stopped himself touching at the last moment in case he did any more damage, hands hovering awkwardly in midair.
“Are you okay?” He breathed softly, eyes wide and voice shaking as Ryu grunted in pain, brow furrowed tightly. The other man rolled his shoulder carefully once, twice, then winced and tried it a third time before he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think so. It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry!” Ryota panicked, laying his hands on Ryu’s forearm, “I didn’t know you’d fall over! I’m really, really sorry!”
Ryu shook him off and gave him a tight smile, sitting up a little straighter. He reached up to rub at his shoulder with his other hand, and stretched his neck out. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
“I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” Ryota said softly, a pout forming on his lips as the guilt began to settle on his shoulders.
“I know you didn’t,” Ryu replied, and his smile was a little more genuine this time. “Really, it’s fine.”
Ryota’s nod was more of a bow, and he jumped to his feet to help Ryu up. Once he was standing, his friend turned to look at the broken mirror.
“Sensei’s gonna kill us.”
Then it was Ryota’s turn to wince as he took in the damage. The crack wasn’t just deep, it was long, stretching outwards from the centre where Ryu had hit it, down to the floor and up almost to his head. It must have been hit a fair few times before for it to crack so badly like that, Ryota thought, but that probably wouldn’t make their dance choreographer go any easier on them. He stepped closer and watched the way his reflection distorted around the damage, as if the mirror wasn’t merely reflecting what was in front of it anymore, but showing an entirely different version of what surrounded them. Ryota reached out to trace a finger along the split in the glass, then paused.
“...Do you hear that?
Ryu frowned, listening with his face as well as his ears, then pursed his lips. “Hear what?”
Ryota moved closer still, and the sound got louder. It was almost like a draft, the soft, uneven whistling of air through a very small gap, and he jerked his hand away from the crack as he felt something touch it. Holding his palm upwards, the light glinted off a single drop of water.
“Oh, no,” Ryu groaned, “Please don’t tell me we’ve broken a pipe too. If we flood the place we won’t just be in trouble, we’ll be out.”
But Ryota wasn’t listening. It didn’t sound like a broken pipe at all, it sounded like... like... like rain beating against a metal roof, like wind rushing through the trees. He leaned right in, and the sounds got louder as he pressed an ear against the mirror. The glass was cool on the side of his face but freezing around the crack itself. He pressed both hands to the glass to push himself away from the ice-cold wind, but they touched nothing, just kept on going and suddenly there was nothing there.
Instead he was falling, down and down, falling so fast it was almost like flying, hair whipping around his face and stinging his cheeks. He couldn’t find the breath to cry out, everything crushing his lungs by the sheer power of it all, falling, falling and turning round and round until left was right and up was... up was up, because he was flying, higher and higher into the unending darkness that wasn’t so dark once he pried his eyes open against the angry rush of air, wind, a tornado dragging him along with it and what goes up must come down and-
The freezing burn of rain, hailstones, shocked the jumble from Ryota’s head, but he was still flying, sailing through the air on the force of the storm, half terrified and half amazed with no room left for anything else. Suddenly, he dropped, stomach flying up into his throat before another violent gust caught him and lifted him higher again, yanking him about as if he were no more than the smallest, lightest of leaves.
Something flashed, and was followed by the most deafening roar Ryota had ever heard, audible even above the storm, and he was falling again, faster than ever before, could practically see the ground rushing up to meet him. Another rush caught him briefly, but dropped him soon after, then another carried him further before releasing him to the mercy of the hard, unforgiving earth.
“-up, wake up, come on, wake up...”
Ryota groaned and felt his head loll to one side of its own accord, then immediately winced in pain. His neck throbbed angrily, and when he tried to open his eyes, they didn’t seem to be feeling any more cooperative.
“Hey! I think he’s awake!” Hands were on his shoulders, shaking none too gently, and Ryota groaned again in protest.
“Ryu,” he managed to get out around a tongue that felt thick enough to choke him, and even that one syllable seemed to slur, “Ge'off.”
“He’s awake!”
“Try sitting him up!”
“No! Don’t move him too soon, you might make it worse!”
No more talking, no more, please just, just, his head...
“We’ll never know if he just lies there!”
“No, don’t move him. We’ve probably done enough damage bringing him down here already.”
“But-”
“Just get out of the way already.”
Ryota’s temples ached in protest of the noise, and he grumbled softly. “Sh'up.”
There was a soft hissing sound, then a mass of shuffling, until eventually, finally, it was blissfully quiet.
He sighed happily - as happily as he could whilst feeling like he’d done five rounds with a pro boxer and lost, anyway - and relaxed his muscles again, fully prepared to let sleep pull him back under.
But whoever was still lurking was apparently having none of that.
“Don’t go back to sleep again. You could have a concussion, and you might not wake up next time.”
“Urgh,” Ryota said eloquently.
They chuckled, and he heard someone settling down next to his head.
“At least try and open your eyes for me,” they said softly, and something inside him couldn’t refuse. He frowned, brow furrowing as he tried to get his eyes under control, then before he knew it there was a sliver of light peeking between them and the less he tried, just like when he laid in bed at night unable to sleep, the easier it became to pry his stiff eyelids apart.
It wasn’t bright, but there was still enough light to sting, and he immediately flinched away from it. Before he could give up completely there was a hand on his face and he couldn’t resist opening them again, just to see who this person was. It couldn’t be Ryu, because Ryu’s touch would never be so gentle. If it was Ryu it would also mean that the storm that had hauled him around like a puppet was some kind of incredibly realistic dream - and his body certainly didn’t seem to think it had been a dream.
The face that was hovering above him dispelled the last of his doubt - it definitely wasn’t Ryu. Whoever this was was male, but that was definitely where their similarities ended. He had the most piercing eyes Ryota had ever seen, dark and deep and endless, with two tiny creases at the corner of each one, a mouth that looked like it was used to smiling more than it frowned, and dark, dark hair that fell across one side of his face - not enough to obscure, but enough to be mysterious and just a little bit alluring. But it was his skin that really grabbed Ryota’s attention. He blinked a few times in the soft light, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him - concussion after all, he’d said - but no matter how many times he closed them and opened them again, nothing had changed. The smooth, tanned skin of this man's cheeks was marred by tiny, almost tiger-like stripes which crept upwards towards his hairline where they blossomed into a mottled grey-brown pattern before eventually fading and disappearing into the inky black of his hair. It carried on around his jaw down to his neck, where the markings were larger and more prominent, until they vanished to nothing again at the pale skin - even paler than his face - of his collarbones. But even more surprising than this was what Ryota could see peeking out from amongst his hair - two small, brown, triangular-shaped ears atop of his head, tipped with black.
Ryota stared, and the man grinned.
“Hi.”
“... Hi...” Ryota breathed.
“How you feeling?”
“Uh...” Ryota blinked, then really registered the question. “Ow.”
The man laughed again, and the sound alone made Ryota feel a little better.
“You’re lucky we found you when we did, it’s nasty out there.”
Ryota nodded, remembering the way the wind had tossed him around and all the awe-inspiring, terrifying feelings that it had filled him with. He pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, wincing as his back protested. “What was that?”
“The storm?” The man asked, then shrugged. “It’s just how it is here right now. Everyone’s so scared that the tornado and the rain and the hail keeps getting worse. And the more upset they get, the worse the storm gets.”
His ears drooped slightly, and Ryota found himself staring at them.
The man grinned. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Ryota quickly looked away and shook his head, before peeking back up, unable to tear his eyes away for long.
“Whadd’you think?” One of his ears twitched, and Ryota jumped. The man laughed again, but it wasn’t malicious, too full of warmth to ever be anything meant to harm. “Everyone here’s like this, you’ll see.”
Maybe he should feel more surprised, Ryota thought, maybe he should be freaked out. Maybe he wasn’t handing things in the way he was supposed to, but this man... cat... person hadn’t tried to hurt him; seemed to have done the exact opposite, in fact. The panic had come when he was being thrown around in the storm, and this was ten, twenty, a hundred times better than that.
“So tell me,” the man said, nonplussed by the way Ryota wasn’t doing very much talking, his eyes sparkling so brightly that Ryota found he’d already forgotten what had come before, “How did a human end up out there like that?”
Ryota paused. His memory, cloudy and lethargic, was already struggling to keep up. In the end it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t given a chance to respond at all.
“Oi, Yara!” Came a shout, “Is he dead?”
The man - Yara, apparently - turned to frown at someone behind them, and Ryota took a moment to look around. He wasn’t dead, after all.
Wherever this was, it was dark, shadows crowded together in the corners, shivering and shuddering as far away as they could get from the crackling fire in the centre. The light from the flames danced across walls that looked crudely carved, as if whoever had built this place had been in a hurry. Ryota sniffed, and underneath the ash and burnt wood there was a soft, earthy smell, the kind that made him think of rolling around in the grass after the rain. It hadn’t been built, he realised with a start. It had been dug.
“Of course he’s not dead,” Yara was saying, and Ryota peered into the darkness in search of the owner of this new voice.
He jumped again, so violently this time that it made his bruises sing, when a body seemed to materialise out of the wall. The head and torso came first, followed by the arms and legs, and finally, the feet and hands appeared, and the person was complete.
“Don’t scare him like that, Fumi,” Yara admonished, but there was no real irritation in it. He almost sounded a little bit amused.
Fumi ignored him anyway and approached Ryota, who swallowed and tried his best not to shuffle away. This man had a nice enough face, even with the lustrous jade scales that snuck along his cheekbones and protruded from his hair in a wide crest, but appearing out of nowhere was generally a quality that made Ryota nervous.
"Fumi's part chameleon," Yara told him, clearly sensing Ryota's discomfort. "He thinks it's funny, hiding like that. I think he's just funny in the head."
Ryota sniggered, but Fumi just smiled widely.
“Hi!” He said, holding out a hand, “I’m Kawai. How do you like our cave?”
The cave - or caves, as Ryota soon found out - had been carved out centuries before, when the threat of war was imminent. They were joined by a network of tunnels that were more like a maze, designed to confuse anyone who wasn’t familiar with the layout into getting lost - and staying lost. He hadn’t needed to ask why they were hiding down here after his encounter with the angry storm. Yara had explained, incredibly briefly, why the storm was raging - most humans think the weather can influence their emotions, but they don’t realise that it’s really the other way around - which had given Ryota an idea of the torment this place must be in to have caused something so terrifying, and as more of Yara’s companions joined them, he learned more and more about this place, and these people.
The storm wasn’t as horrifying everywhere else as it was near the caves. Many of the citizens had fled to the borders, where the weather was calmer. When Ryota had asked why they had stayed here, and why they hadn’t followed everyone else, they had all turned solemn. A kind-faced creature - who looked more mole than human and called himself Yabu - explained that their king, Koichi, had gone missing, and they were the only ones who had stuck around to try and find him.
They had all shared a sorrowful look at that, and Ryota felt just how lost they all were. He imagined such a thing happening in Japan and knew there would be nationwide panic, but the world would keep on turning and the country would still continue on as normal. It wouldn’t collapse in on itself like this place seemed to have done, losing all will to do anything without a King to watch over them.
He also learned that long, long ago - once upon a time, almost - these two worlds, these strange creatures and the world he called home, had lived together as one.
“They left that out of the history books, huh,” Takaki had laughed. The bright-eyed boy had the most incredible blue-green cheekbones and hair Ryota had ever seen, but the elegance was ruined by his bill-shaped mouth and wide, flat feet, which took away just about any chance of grace he might have had. He’d grinned until a blank-faced man with flickering antennae - who, from certain angles, looked disconcertingly like a cockroach - had elbowed him and accused him of never reading a history book in his whole life.
Yabu just smiled fondly and went on to tell him that the stories said the humans began to be poisoned by their own feelings of self-importance, and the peace had been shattered by rebellion. Unwilling to allow his people to be enslaved by what the humans were becoming, their King had discovered a ritual that could split their world in two, and with the help of some of the more genteel humans, he took his people to safety.
“How did I end up here, then?” Ryota asked, then jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He whirled around to find a man with more feathers than hair standing behind him. They swept back from his face, brown and white and gold swirling together like a waterfall flowing over his head and down his throat. His tiny nose curved down until it was almost one with his mouth, stained black in the center but curled up at the sides in a grin that pulled at his whole face and made his piercing golden eyes shine in the firelight.
“You fell through a crack,” Takki replied.
Tamamori watched the cluster of chatter from a safe distance, torn between the urge to get a better look at the newcomer and wanting to keep far, far away. He didn’t need to see him to know he was human, could already feel the pull like a chain around his throat trying to drag him closer, and he pressed his back firmly against the wall, feet digging into the earth.
No.
He hadn’t felt this way for years, and he wasn’t planning on giving in to it now. Not now, not when he’d come so far. He ran his fingers through the feathers of his hair, smoothing them back from his face, and drew in a long, calming breath, hoping to settle the parasite inside him. It did nothing to help, so instead he clenched his jaw and his fists, digging the beginnings of talons into his palms. He’d been clipping them back, but they'd all had more important things to think about now that the King was missing, and they’d started thickening and sharpening into deadly points again. The pain helped, just a little, and he found he could breathe again.
He was relieved when Miyata broke away from the crowd and came to crouch beside him, the other man’s presence alone settling his nerves. His smile was bright enough that the parasite cowered beneath the force of it, and when he reached out to take Tamamori’s hand, it shrank back to nothing. Miyata uncurled Tamamori’s fists and ran the tips of his fingers across the deep red gauges left there, gently soothing the sting.
“You okay?” He asked gently, and Tamamori nodded.
“Am now. He’s human, isn’t he?”
Miyata nodded. “Certainly looks it. How you holding up?”
“I’ll be fine,” Tamamori promised, and right now, looking up into Miyata’s trusting gaze, he meant it.
Miyata hummed and sat down next to him, shuffling around until they were pressed together from shoulder to foot.
“They’re telling him so much,” Tamamori thought out loud, “We don’t know anything about him, and they’re telling him everything.”
“Not quite everything.” Miyata replied, and Tamamori pursed his lips. “Besides, what does it matter? However he got here, either they called him through and he escaped, or he...”
“You know that’s just a story.” Tamamori scoffed when Miyata paused heavily, but he couldn’t deny that the pull he’d felt was stronger than he ever remembered it being before.
Miyata nodded again resignedly, his long, floppy ears drooping even more than usual, and Tamamori imagined his face if he gave in. He saw the hurt, the betrayal, the disappointment in those warm, round eyes, and his throat tightened so much that his next breath rattled as it left. In his peripheral vision he could see Miyata watching him carefully, and the other man must have seen something he didn’t like because he clambered to his feet and pulled Tamamori with him.
“Come on,” he said, already leading him away by the wrist, “Let’s go somewhere else.”
Over the next few days, Ryota soon discovered that these people looked up to Takki as someone they couldn’t be without. He wasn’t their King by any stretch of the imagination, but for all his smiling and laughing and messing around with them, he commanded a certain authority that they wouldn’t even consider doubting. He wasn’t just a leader to them. He was, Ryota realised as he watched two tiny boys gaze up at Takki with unblinking eyes, a father.
Tatsumi, a tall man with high, white-tufted cheekbones, a shock of red hair and a long, curving fox tail had hummed thoughtfully when Ryota mentioned this to him, then nodded, almost to himself.
“Takki brought us all together,” he said, “In a fashion, anyway. Everyone else ran away from the trouble, but some of us couldn’t just leave like that, not when the King’s-” Tatsumi halted all of a sudden, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t, but quickly moved on. “Missing. And... some of us got left behind.” He motioned towards where the smallest, mouse-like boy, Aoi, was surreptitiously sidling closer to Takki’s legs, “So there wasn’t even a choice. Takki looks after us all.”
Ryota watched as Takki continued talking to Yokoo, whose hair was black but for a long white stripe down the centre, and without showing any sign of distraction, settled a hand on the back of Aoi’s head. The small child huddled against Takki’s legs, and Takki’s thumb began to stroke softly along his shoulder as though it was as natural a thing to do as breathing.
Nostalgia bubbled up thick and heavy in Ryota’s throat, and his stomach twisted and clenched in a way it hadn’t for years. He wasn’t given a chance to dwell on his feelings though, quickly distracted by something distinctly like a war cry as a flash of green and hair shot past him. Nikaido, a dark-haired man with a wide, lopsided grin, whirled around just in time to catch the bundle of person that crashed into him, and they both tumbled to the floor.
“Grnngh,” Nikaido said.
“Nika!” The bundle cried, planting webbed hands covered with brown-green scales on either side of Nikaido’s head, “They’re chasing me!”
Nikaido’s hands had gravitated to the other man’s waist, but he quickly pulled them away and shoved him unceremoniously to the floor. “What the hell, get off me.”
“Nikaaaa,” he whined with a pout, and pushed himself to his feet. Scales dusted his temples and throat too, and where his shirt had ridden up during the scuffle Ryota could see the beginnings of what looked like a mottled brown shell. “Don’t be mean.”
Nikaido rolled his eyes theatrically, but took the other man’s hands when he reached out to pull him up from the floor. He made a show of dusting himself off, reaching around to brush the dirt from his backside and the tiny fluffy tail that poked out from the gap between his jeans and his shirt, then dusted his hands off and flicked his long, white ears back. Then, finally, he spoke.
“What am I supposed to do about it, Senga? You’re always winding them up, so they’re always chasing you.”
Senga’s pout deepened and he huffed, folding his arms across his chest. Nikaido sighed, and Ryota wondered who ‘they’ were.
“Sorry, Kenpi,” Nikaido said, voice a little softer this time, and Ryota wasn’t sure why Nikaido was the one apologising when Senga had knocked him over in the first place. Senga brightened, but just as he looked about ready to throw his arms around Nikaido’s neck, a second flurry of activity burst in, and Senga shoved Nikaido in front of him like a barrier instead.
“Save me!”
Nikaido rolled his eyes a second time and half-heartedly threw his arms out to the sides in protection. His whole body rocked when Senga elbowed him in the back - presumably for not doing it properly - and he grumbled under his breath, but took a better stance anyway. Ryota thought that for all his grouching and protesting, he must secretly enjoy it, at least a little.
“Oi, Senga!” The person at the head of the group yelled, a rough edge to his voice and a glare on his brow that was made all the more threatening by his jet black hair and face, “Get back here! We’re not finished!”
Given how sinister the group looked, Ryota thought the others should at least be slightly more worried about Senga’s well-being, but most of them weren’t even paying attention to the feud that seemed about to break out.
“You guys don’t play fair!” Senga protested from over Nikaido’s shoulder, “Junta cheats!”
“I do not!” Junta shouted, the black and silver pattern on his face shimmering like scales as he moved closer. His hair, also striped with black and silver, stuck up in the center, almost like a dorsal fin, and he had two incredibly long silver whiskers on either side of his chin that floated through the air as he moved.
There was movement behind Senga and Ryota saw Takaki creeping up slowly with a mischievous glint in his eye, using Senga's distraction to his advantage. He got an arm around Senga’s throat just as the others all barrelled into the cave, and Senga yelled, thrashing. The one with the black face went straight for Nikaido, who went down easily and left the rest of them to bear down on Senga, his almost gleeful screeches deafening in their intensity as Junta helped Takaki manhandle him to the floor. Senga kicked his legs, already laughing, until two other boys sat on them and the tickling began.
Senga’s laughter and cries of surrender echoed off the walls, and when he met Yara’s smiling eyes across the heads of the wrestling boys, firelight dancing across his features, Ryota couldn’t stop himself from grinning along too.
Later that night, when the excitement had died down and the fire had been extinguished, everyone had clustered together in the smallest cave for warmth, wrapping their blankets tightly around themselves. Yara had given Ryota one of his, and the two of them huddled together amidst the sea of bodies, sharing as much heat as they could. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to fall asleep, but despite having such an eventful day, Ryota was anything but tired.
"I knew you were one of them right from the start," Yara said softly, suddenly, voice low while those around them slept.
Ryota rolled onto his side, tucking his hands underneath his cheek to face the other man in the darkness, and tried to ignore the hard press of earth beneath him.
"One of who?" He asked, puzzled. He thought it was fairly easy to tell just by looking at him that he wasn't from around here. In comparison to everyone else he'd met, his skin was clear, his hair was a single, boring shade, and he wasn't sprouting any feathers or claws from strange places. "What?"
"A Carrier," Yara said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"...A what?" Ryota said again, and Yara chuckled to himself. The sound made Ryota's skin tingle despite the cold.
"A long time ago," Yara murmured, and it was like the two of them were sharing a secret, "everyone Carried. But you know how things are, some people's blood was less-"
"Blood?" Ryota interrupted, then whined to himself, "Why does there always have to be blood..."
Yara waited for him to finish huffing, then carried on as if he'd never paused, "Some people's blood was less potent than others, and the strains got thinner and thinner over the generations."
Ryota nodded, realised Yara couldn't see him, and hummed quietly instead.
"All animals still Carry a little - dogs are great empaths, and cats," Ryota could hear the smirk in Yara's voice, "can see really well in the dark, but it's all but died out in humans. They aren't as choosy about who they breed with."
"We sound horrible when you say it like that..." Ryota mumbled with a pout, and immediately heard the rustle of Yara shaking his head.
"Humans are amazing. You're so full of feelings and emotions and... no amount of Carrying can ever compare to that. Anyway," he continued before Ryota could really register the compliment past the sentimental touch to Yara's voice, "I was telling a story, before you distracted me."
Ryota knew he was being teased, but he kept obediently quiet anyway.
"The only true Carriers left that we know of are part of our Royal bloodline. It's still pure, still strong, but now the King is the only one left. So unless he can find a female Carrier to continue on the line, it's going to fade out here too."
Ryota was quiet for a moment, before he asked, "How do you know I'm one?"
"We just know," Yara replied. "I can't explain it, just like you can't explain why you make the decisions you do, or why you're drawn to the people you are. But you are, I know it. You've got a talent, haven't you? Something you're better at than everyone around you, something that makes you happier than you can ever remember being?"
Ryota nodded, then murmured, "I like to dance."
"Oi." A third voice piped up from somewhere amongst the maze of bodies curled up in various states of slumber, "Whoever it is whispering. Either go somewhere else and talk, or shut up and go to sleep."
Yara's soft, awkward laugh came more from his nose than his mouth, and he finished his story even more quietly than before.
"There was always talk about human Carriers still existing, but nobody ever really believed it was possible, and... I always thought it was just a story. But you..." He whispered fondly, and Ryota could hear him shifting closer, before there was breath on his earlobe, "You're something else."
That night, Ryota fell asleep with warmth at his side and a smile on his face.
The next morning, they were woken by a shout.
Almost everyone else was already awake and mulling around quietly whilst the final few of them joined the land of the living. It took Ryota a few moments to pry his eyes open, the soft crackling of the new fire they’d started doing its best to lull him back to sleep, but then there was another yell, louder than the last, and he was up.
Tamamori stumbled out of the main tunnel, half-carrying someone who was sagging more than he was walking. Yara was already on his feet and hurried over to help, easing their other arm around his shoulders so that Tamamori wasn't carrying an entire person on his own.
"What happened?" He asked, at the same moment that Ryota saw the blood.
Miyata shook his hair out of his face, but a few stubborn strands stuck to his damp forehead. "They're starving," he ground out. The pain he was in was only too obvious. "So hungry that they're willing to give us a try now too."
“What did that to him?” Ryota asked softly once Miyata's wounded leg had been cleaned. Yokoo and Yabu had settled him on some blankets, piled up in the smaller cave where they'd been storing food and other supplies, and Tamamori had taken a spare blanket in there with him. They'd tried to encourage him out to let Miyata sleep, but Tamamori was stubborn as an ox despite his bird-like appearance, and he'd stayed.
Yara had moved away from everyone else, leading Ryota through the maze of passages until it was quiet, and they sat with their backs pressed against one side of the tunnel. The oil lamp they'd brought sat on the floor by their feet and Yara was moving his feet in front of it so that they cast tall shadows on the walls around them.
"One of them," he said eventually, emphasising it as if the word could be a name. “They used to be like us.”
Ryota listened to Yara’s breathing for a moment, slow and steady, and found himself unconsciously matching the other man’s pace.
“Who are they?” He asked eventually, when Yara didn’t seem to plan on explaining any further without a little encouragement.
“Who?” Yara laughed, the sound cold and humorless, and Ryota fought the need to wrap his arms around himself. “Not who, not anymore. They lost any humanity they might have had a long time ago.”
He was quiet for another long moment, staring up at the shadows on the walls like they could fix everything, like they held all the answers. Eventually, he seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to find whatever it was he was looking for, and let his head fall back against the wall.
“They feed on humans. Human flesh, blood, marrow, the whole nine.”
Ryota gasped and turned his head to face Yara, eyes wide. “What? Why?”
“In the beginning,” Yara said softly, sadly, “Back when our worlds weren’t separated like this, they... They liked it. That’s how it began, generations of families feeding on human flesh because they enjoyed it. They hid it for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, until eventually they couldn’t survive on anything else. That’s when it started getting out of hand, and the humans began to notice their people going missing, or turning up dead.”
“They sound like vampires,” Ryota shuddered, and Yara shrugged.
“All legends have to start somewhere.”
He sighed, and Ryota scooted closer without thinking, tilting his head to rest on Yara’s shoulder. By the time he’d noticed what he’d done, Yara was already leaning on him, and it was too late to move even if he'd wanted to.
“That’s really why they cast us out,” he said. “They couldn’t trust us any more. The King knew he had to make a choice, and instead of starting a war, he chose to save his people. Of course, no race wants to tell its children they were banished, so they left certain parts of the story out when they passed it on.”
“But why would he save them too?” Ryota asked, “The ones that started eati- ...everything.”
Yara shrugged, a loaded gesture that made Ryota’s head bob with the motion of it.
“They looked like any one of us back then, and the King wouldn’t do anything without hard proof. Even if he had it, maybe he couldn’t have left them behind or killed them himself anyway.” Yara lowered his voice even more, although they were already alone, “Some of the stories say he was one of them, which is why he chose to save them all... and why he left the cracks behind. He left them a way to feed.”
on to part two