DICK RIDING OLYMPIC CHAMPION TOMOYA NAGASE (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hontontoko) wrote2016-12-07 02:21 pm
hontontoko) wrote2016-12-07 02:21 pm
Entry tags:
[FIC] Pine (Mabo/Nagase)
Title: Pine (6005 words)
Pairing: Masahiro Matsuoka/Tomoya Nagase
Genre: Horror, drama, unsettling things, monsters, not as much porn as before
Summary: NSFW. Set after this fic. The village takes them back.
A/N: I'm having some depressive episode again, so I wrote instead.
I was sort of lying when I said I wanted to look for you.
I mean, I actually tried to.
But you know... you know what they said?
They said you were missing.
I... I didn't know what to do. So I kept my mouth shut...
This is, sadly, the cleanest that Tomoya's felt in the past couple of days.
He's dripping wet, sitting outside of the hotel room and staring out. They couldn't very well make it to the village in the same day, but they're not too far. Hell, he's sure if he pushed it, he could probably walk there, but...
He's dreading what he'll find out. Just what's wrong with him, why is he like this...?
If he's dead, why is he here?
Somehow, though, he... thinks about Masahiro. He's been trying not to. Tomoya can't make everything about him make sense. There's a lot he doesn't know, honestly; he remembers, distinctly, about Masahiro driving into the lake, and the brief mention of his dead brother. Something happened with him, specifically, that made Masahiro make that suicidal choice, but was it really just his death?
It's... it's not really Tomoya's business, but he isn't enjoying the wall between them.
Not that they're particularly close, in a mental nature. Physically, they have no problem.
Even Tomoya's beginning to find he can't help himself. Is that what it's like for Masahiro? It's... disconcerting that he's letting his body's desires do the talking; it's like Tomoya can't even think for himself sometimes...
He sighs and leans his head back, staring out.
The balcony provides him cover from the rain outside. It's pouring, and it feels appropriate enough. It doesn't feel as suffocating as ashes or snow, so Tomoya can't complain, really. The grayish nature, however, does make it... bleak.
He already misses the sun.
There's a loud thud as a car passes by on the road; Tomoya winces sympathetically as he sees a pigeon get hit. It slams into the mud and tries to move, not yet immediately dead. It gives pathetic noises, trying to drag itself along.
He swallows, and he finds himself moving again.
(Oh god not again)
Stiffly, Tomoya approaches the bird; he can't really help himself, and he still doesn't understand why that is. He's reaching down, grabbing the bird. It chirps at him, struggling against his grip, and he brings it to his mouth (stop it, STOP IT) and bites down hard at the stomach, tearing out guts and chewing away at the hot insides. It practically screeches at him before going still, and he's still biting away (stop stop stop).
"Tomoya."
He stills, and slowly turns to peer at Masahiro, knowing he has blood dripping down his lips and chin. The rain does little to wash it away. He feels horridly ashamed for doing this, but he can't help himself. He's lifting the bird, starting to shove it in his mouth.
"Spit it out," Masahiro says, all too calmly. "Tomoya."
He wants to gag. He doesn't. His teeth clench a moment, enough that he feels blood seeping into his mouth from the dead bird's body. The taste is revolting, but he's swallowing instinctively--and eventually, he spits out the bird, letting its body crumple into the mud.
"Get over here."
Tomoya doesn't waste a moment; it doesn't feel like he's completely got control of himself yet, but he's just glad to not... not be eating that poor pigeon anymore. He can still taste the blood, though (shit he's licking his lips).
He's soaked, all the way through, and it's easy to be cold this way.
He shivers.
He stays very still as Masahiro begins to undress him, letting the pieces of clothing drop to the floor in a loud thud, soaking the carpet. It's that unfair part, where he's dripping wet and naked and he lets Masahiro do it anyway, who's dressed and dry and clean and it's really quite ironic.
There's silence between them; there's something on the other man's mind, as Masahiro is glancing around, scowling about something. It's strange, since he didn't seem to care much when Tomoya was raiding his fridge or when he ate that snake.
Masahiro reaches up, grabbing him suddenly by the arm; in a way, he feels dull, staring at the older man as he's pulled down. As Masahiro sits, he twists Tomoya around so that he's bent facedown over the other man's knees; Masahiro hooks a leg between Tomoya's, and pins his arms behind his back.
Tomoya finds, really quickly, that he doesn't like this position at all. As much as he finds he can't ever say no to Masahiro, this is a little more... dominant then he cares for.
"Masahiro..."
"Stop eating like this." Masahiro sounds so... damned normal it's kind of eerie. A little annoyed, and that's about it. "I don't know what's going on with you, but--"
"I don't know, either!" Tomoya doesn't mean to snap at him, but. God, does Masahiro think that...? "I don't do it because I want to! It... it just happens--"
It happens before he knows it. There's a loud slap in the air, and he feels stinging on his rear.
Did... did Masahiro just...?! What the hell--
"Don't," Masahiro says, way too easily, as if Tomoya can control himself. "There's something wrong with you."
"Thanks for noticing," Tomoya replies, a little more wryly than he means to sound. He winces at another slap. "Ow--damn it, sorry. I don't know, I--"
"Something wrong with you. Like... it's not always you."
Not always him? Tomoya tries to rethink that. There are times when he doesn't feel like he's completely in control of himself, like when he... was eating the reed or the snake. Or when, sometimes, he lets Masahiro fuck him and touch him however the hell he wants. He isn't sure what it is, really--
"Masahiro!" Tomoya yelps, jerking at the next slap on his backside. "For crying out loud--stop it!"
Honestly... he's sure that if he struggled enough, he could writhe out of the grip from the other man, but Tomoya doesn't. He gives his vocal displeasure, and it does little; whatever entices Masahiro to... to slap him, it stays, and he shifts under the hand hitting him. His ass stings and...
God damn it, no, no he is not getting aroused by... by this.
He can't hide it well. Though he hangs his head and hates how flushed he feels (though he's still shivering), he's panting and-- shit, he didn't mean to rub up against the other man's leg.
Masahiro is still for a moment, wordless.
The hand removes itself from his backside, and fingers are pressing against Tomoya's lips instead. It doesn't take much to get the meaning; he's groaning a little and taking the digits into his mouth, sucking on them.
It's far too satisfying to hear Masahiro breathe a little faster, something... different than how disturbingly calm and still he's been.
A hand is still pinning his wrists behind his back, but Tomoya cares less about his sore muscles; he's still sucking on the fingers, as many as Masahiro can press into his mouth. He doesn't care about his teeth biting a little or the way it sounds like he's slurping.
Slowly, the fingers pull away; Tomoya licks his lips.
This is a bit different than usual. The past few times, they've had far more appropriate lubrication, and it doesn't seem like saliva is enough, and partially it really isn't. This is rougher, and it hurts a little more, but he doesn't really mind--he's still kind of slick inside, anyway, since he hasn't... exactly bathed properly since their last bout of intimacy.
Tomoya groans and his body shivers against Masahiro. Just the fingers pressing inside, slowly, curling into him and dragging out--that's all, and it's. It's still a lot. The older man is being amazingly gentle at the moment, completely in contrast with what he was doing before.
He quivers and he tries to readjust his position to be a bit more accommodating, but there isn't much Tomoya can do about it. He lifts his hips as much as he can manage to, groaning and trembling as the fingers slide in. It begins with one, but it increases easily to five.
It's still terribly gentle, and he can't help but appreciate that much more than the both of them being so damned rough with one another.
(something is wrong with him, not always there, it's not always Tomoya)
He doesn't hold himself back, though he thinks he should because he's not sure if the rooms next door are vacant--but Tomoya lets himself scream senselessly when fingers are too gently probing at the horridly sensitive spot in his body. He can't help but squirm now--not to get away, but because his body doesn't know what to do with this sensation that's overwhelming him.
Tomoya groans and yelps, his hips shaking as Masahiro takes his time.
Why does it always come down to this?
(Can't ever say no.)
When he comes, even that feels too gentle. He moans and shakes against the other man's lap, arching his body a little. Tomoya is panting, but Masahiro is pulling away his fingers and tugging the him up for a brief kiss.
In a way, it almost feels like an establishment of ownership.
Tomoya hates the idea and throws it away; he's thinking too much about this.
"You should probably shower," Masahiro mutters against him.
Tomoya nods quietly.
He agrees; he's been feeling filthy for too long.
"I... thank you for your time. You must be Higashiyama?"
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"I'm... well, maybe. I was actually looking for someone. I, uh... This is probably a jump--you might not even know him--but I was looking for this guy. Matsuoka?"
"Matsuoka?"
"Yeah. I mean, I think he's from Kanagawa, right--?"
"You've seen my boy?"
"I. Um."
The shower's the first normal thing that Tomoya's done, he expects. Between... this dead thing, Masahiro, Fukushima, and eating random things, the shower's so damned nice and calming and hot and he's glad for it. It's enough that it burns him a little and he doesn't care, because he hates being cold.
Getting too cold lately. What's wrong with him?
Tomoya eventually turns off the shower and dries off, giving a little sigh of relief.
This is probably... the last time that he'll feel even remotely clean, he's sure. They're still going to the village, and Masahiro won't even turn back.
Nothing to lose, but what's he got to gain?
Tomoya glances around the bathroom for his clothes. Sopping wet as they are, they're the... they're the only things he has now, but they look like they're missing. He isn't too sure about just stepping out from the bathroom without notice. Fine, Masahiro has seen him enough that nudity shouldn't be a problem by now, but still.
Hesitantly, he steps out, and he already starts to feel cold. He hisses a little to himself before he turns.
Masahiro is sitting on the bed, hunched over and thinking. About what, Tomoya knows he'll never likely find out.
"Uh." Tomoya feels awkward like this, standing without any clothes on. At all. "Where...?"
"I hung them up. They're wet," Masahiro tells him, all without looking up.
For a moment, Tomoya glances around until he spots them by the sink, slung over some bars next to the small closet. They'll probably be wet until morning, but at least... well, at least Masahiro thought to hang them. It was oddly thoughtful of him to do that.
"Come on," Masahiro calls for him.
Tomoya turns slowly, looking at him. "But. Uh."
He isn't terribly sure why lacking any clothing at all in front of Masahiro bothers him. It might have something to do with the fact that, up until this point, at least Tomoya's been able to keep some kind of layer of clothing on between them, that it somehow has been able to protect him.
Not that he feels like he has much to fear from Masahiro, but he's increasingly feeling more and more vulnerable, even though he was able to walk away from being hit by a car.
Eventually, he does approach. When Masahiro grabs his wrist, it's then that Tomoya notices just how cold he feels, because the other man's hand feels incredibly warm. Tomoya grits his teeth a little, but he allows himself to be pulled into bed.
There's nothing comforting about the way Masahiro wraps his arms around Tomoya; the positioning is to be sure that they're not facing each other. It's completely personal without being... well, personal. There are, at least, no roaming hands this time--not that he could ever refuse Masahiro of that, either.
Tomoya lets out a sigh before his eyes close.
Maybe hours pass. Maybe minutes. It's hard to tell, sleepless as he is without being able to tell the time. There's hot breath on the back of his neck and eventually a word is murmured as ani in passing. Tomoya doesn't wince.
He isn't sure if he can sleep.
And in the distance, he's sure he can hear bells, church bells...
Dreams are, typically, out of his range of reach; although Masahiro is completely aware that he has them, normally he can't recall them. Mostly, it's due to that fact that he doesn't care to, of course, but also that they feel far away, tucked away into a far corner of his mind that he doesn't dare to open.
In some ways, he knows, he scares himself. That "corner" is forbidden.
Whatever he's dreamed--something thoroughly unpleasant, he knows that much--Masahiro shoves it away and finds himself awakening.
The first thing he notices (something fairly stupid, he admits to himself) is that there is no one to hold onto. The bed is unfortunately empty. It's only been two days, and he's finding himself already getting used to Tomoya's presence, albeit he should not. Getting close physically isn't a problem, it's.
It's the emotional part that Masahiro would rather not nudge towards. That's dangerous.
The second matter is the smell. A very familiar one that he'd become acquainted with some years ago in Fukushima. The scent of rot and rust and blood and ash, clogging his senses and making his mind dizzy. He remembers it well, and it makes him jerk out of bed immediately, barely finding the balance to his feet.
Tomoya catches him by the shoulders, silent, his gaze elsewhere. He's clothed, dry, and looking terribly normal for a dead man who seems to have caught the habit of eating incredibly strange things. Neat and perfectly average looking.
The room is not so much, by comparison. The walls are stained with something black, in a crude design of some sort of symbol that Masahiro doesn't recognize at all. The windows are grimy and stained, the floors rotten and the ceiling a rusted mess as the fan slowly but surely turns for no good reason. They never turned the fan on last night.
"We're not far from there," Tomoya comments quietly, gently letting go of the other man.
"No," Masahiro agrees, voice stilted. He was expecting to go to the village, yes, but.
This way, it looks more like the village has been waiting for them, clawing for them.
He's moving away, finding his clothes and getting dressed; Tomoya is approaching the window, wiping away dust and grime to stare outside. Already the he looks tired at the very prospect of wandering into that place again. Admittedly, Masahiro isn't exactly looking forward on seeing the village again, either.
He wonders, faintly, what Tomoya's experience was like.
Even as Masahiro starts for the door, he hears the other man blurt out from behind him, "I'm sorry. I... you're really dragged into this now."
Masahiro gives Tomoya a look over the shoulder, then shrugs. "I told you. It was my decision to come here. It's not like you made me do anything I didn't want."
In fact, it's been the total opposite. Every little thing, Tomoya has given him. Masahiro has taken what he's wanted from the other man, and yet still Tomoya has some sort of obligation to apologise and feel at fault. Even when they first met, Tomoya looked sorrowful that he couldn't help Masahiro, like he was responsible for everything, but damn it no.
And all for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tomoya hasn't done a single damned thing wrong from what Masahiro can tell. The man's got to be a saint or something--which doesn't justify Tomoya's rather unfortunate and unusual situation.
Masahiro steps outside, and it's just about what he expects. It's foggy as hell, and the air is a bit thick. Something doesn't taste or smell right, but that's about to be expected. The entire lot is abandoned, not another soul in sight.
It's just Masahiro and Tomoya now.
In all serious, he's certain there should be panic rising in him, or something--but he feels numb, at best. He glances around a moment before turning to go find his car in the parking lot, unlocking the trunk.
"You came prepared?" Tomoya sounds mystified at that.
Masahiro doesn't blame him. He shrugs. "Not really. I don't have much of anything, but I figured we should take what we can get. Here."
It's a wheeljack; it's not much in the face of some monsters and guns are more comfort, but honestly a part of Masahiro is sort of counting on the idea that if Tomoya can get hit by a car and still walk that maybe monsters will have a similar effect on him. It's selfish thinking, but really Masahiro has no other way to work.
He hasn't for ages.
There's a revolver in a box, locked up, but Masahiro has the key on him.
Never know. He just wishes he had more bullets to go with it.
"Oh no," Tomoya mutters, sounding more disappointed than anything else.
Masahiro glances at him, confused, but he finds out why when he watches a snowflake settle onto his hand. It's late into summer, it's still hot and humid, and it's snowing.
This didn't happen to him when he was here last.
"It figures," Tomoya says, probably more to himself than to Masahiro, sighing and glancing away. "I don't suppose you have a radio in there?"
"I didn't think I'd ever come back here," Masahiro replies, shaking his head. "And before you can say it--you don't have to apologise, Tomoya. I came here on my own."
It's not hard to tell; the man takes every little mistake to himself, every large one. Getting caught before it can be spoken actually causes the younger man to flush a little in embarrassment and nod, looking awkward as hell.
(He hates to think to himself, not a bad expression, but not the time for this right now, damn it.)
There's the familiar sensation of seclusion as they explore down the road. It was like this on his first trip, and now it feels as though history is repeating itself, in a manner. Here they both are, men familiar with the village, only to return to it, looking for answers. Tomoya has better questions than Masahiro, but he knows he's looking for something, too.
Masahiro seriously doubts he'll find it. But it's worth a shot.
To be honest, they can't be far from town at all if the place has already transformed itself; just awhile until they get there. Where to go from there, of course, is another thing entirely.
"Did you have a place in mind?" Masahiro asks, tone flat as ever as they walk towards that damned place.
Tomoya frowns a little, then nods. "I was thinking that... maybe I should revisit a few places. If we can get there. I honestly don't know what'll happen, though--or if I'll get the answers I need. But the elementary school is where I want to start."
"Why there?" Come to think of it, Masahiro doesn't even know why or how Tomoya was here before.
"It's... a really long story," Tomoya says softly. "But when I was here before, that was one of the first places I went to. If we start from there, I'm pretty sure we'll find some clues."
"Right. A school is going to tell you why you're a zombie," Masahiro mutters under his breath.
It causes Tomoya to shoot him a look, scowling at him. "I'm not a--for crying out loud, Masahiro."
"I didn't mean it," he responds, shrugging. Truthfully, he's not really sure what he means. It was just a passing comment, and really he feels sort of indifferent to Tomoya's reaction.
Even by just walking down the street in this godforsaken town, Masahiro isn't doing this for Tomoya. He's doing this for himself.
"It was the strangest thing. A few years ago, Yamaguchi was sick, with something real awful. What did they call it..."
This man. Higashiyama. At first, he seemed a little odd, Tomoya admitted, but after mentioning Matsuoka, he was in a hurry to drag the author inside and discuss matters.
Tomoya was on the couch; Higashiyama was fixing coffee, in spite of the fact that Tomoya had politely declined at the offer.
"Yamaguchi?" Tomoya asked.
"Tatsuya. Matsuoka called him 'ani'." That was a name hard for Tomoya to forget. "Matsuoka was head over heels for him. When he got sick, something in Matsuoka died, too." Higashiyama held up the mug. "How do you take it?"
"As it is, please," Tomoya responded quietly. "So he was ill."
"For three years. He wasn't getting any better, and the hospital let him go home. A little after that, the pair of them disappeared." Higashiyama shook his head. "No word, not a thing."
"They disappeared... when exactly?"
"Had to have been four years ago now," Higashiyama replied. "I know I'm foolish for holding out, but I keep hoping they'll turn up here again."
Tomoya felt a knot in his stomach. What happened with Yamaguchi? Why didn't Matsuoka talk to this man who's been caring for them afterwards?
Where the hell was Matsuoka?
"I'm sorry. How exactly did you say you know Matsuoka?" Higashiyama asked suddenly after giving Tomoya the mug.
As soon as it was handed, Tomoya dropped the coffee upon the question.
At first glance, the school looks about the same as it had seventeen years ago. Tomoya certainly can't tell if it's because of his own memories, or if it's because the village just sees no need to change it. Regardless, the sign is there, with the abandoned school bus parked nearby. There's deceptively nothing odd about this place, other than the fog obscuring the distance and snow falling to the ground in the month of August.
Before Tomoya takes a step further, he's sure that he gets this... dreaded feeling, twisting into a knot in his stomach.
"Tomoya?" Masahiro asks, surprisingly observant to his behavior, though his voice remains rather unemotional, not really hinting at concern.
"There's..." Tomoya frowns and turns to face Masahiro. "I feel like something awful is going to happen soon."
Masahiro just raises a brow at him and turns to continue advancing towards the school. "You do know what village we're in, don't you? Something bad is bound to happen."
"I know that," Tomoya grumbles. "I just mean... if we go in there, I just know something really... really messed up is going to happen and we're going to regret it. Something big. Masahiro, maybe we should rethink this a little?"
"In case you hadn't noticed? We're in the littie village in Fukushima," Masahiro tells him, shaking his head. "We don't have much of a choice now. If you think we need to go into the school, then that's where we'll have to go."
"Yeah." Tomoya sighs and gives up. "You're right."
The words really aren't much of a matter of comfort, not that Tomoya things that he should expect that from someone like Masahiro anyway. There's just that... that blockade there. It's always been difficult to know what the other man is thinking or feeling, and in that case it's just impossible to know what choice of action he'll take. Tomoya doesn't know what to expect from Masahiro, and... he hates feeling like he might never know much more about him.
Tomoya doesn't know how to have any expectations of him, other than selfish ones.
(Not that selfish is bad; God knows Tomoya doesn't know how to be, and as much as he's selfless, Tomoya can't ever manage to go to anyone's rescue, he always utterly fails at it.)
The front doors of the school open with a hideous creak, rust grinding against rust; the interior is as broken down as he can recall, the dust in the air and the smell of decay to go with it.
The hallways are lined with doors, most of them being locked or jammed, naturally--such are the expectations of this place. It's typical and frustrating; Tomoya listens to Masahiro sigh in annoyance at every opportunity, sounding impatient. Tomoya can only shake his head in return.
The feeling of dread never quite leaves him, though.
(Something is going to happen. Tomoya knows it.)
Eventually, after a bit of wandering and more locked doors, it's the door to the art classroom that remains unlocked for their finding. Tomoya gives a brief sigh of relief, and they step inside. There isn't much to it, really; old drawings by children on the walls (which gives Tomoya the hollow reminder of Ayu), a teacher's desk split open by force of man or monster, and a few stray desks cluttered in a corner. At one side of the room appears to be a kiln--no doubt for pottery.
Masahiro goes off to explore the remains of the teacher's desk, although Tomoya himself takes interest in the kiln at first, approaching it. It still feels warm, that much he can tell. He leans over to peer inside of it.
There's something in there. ... A key?
Abruptly, the kiln turns on, flames licking at the interior; Tomoya flinches back, startled.
The key--
"What happened?" Masahiro sounds puzzled, turning and looking at the fire.
"It just, um." For a moment, all Tomoya can do is gesture, at a loss for words. "There's something inside of it, and it... turned on by itself, I think." He tilts his head, trying to look around the kiln and see if he can turn it off. However, there doesn't appear to be a way to do that.
He pauses, finding himself looking at his own hand.
"Was it something important?" Masahiro asks. "The thing you saw."
"I'm not sure. It was a key, but I don't know what to," Tomoya admits. "It looked like it belonged to a car or something. I don't know--what I learned from this place is that... is that chances are, if you come across something that's not broken or whatever, you'll probably need it."
"We don't exactly have a way of getting to it," Masahiro remarks. "Tomoya--"
"Just... hang on. I..." Tomoya bites down on his lower lip, as if in thought.
(Go on. Do it.)
He stares at his hand again.
(You can walk away from it. Just like you walked away from the car crash.)
The fire inside the kiln continues to flicker strongly. It's hot as hell, enough to make Tomoya sweat a little.
(The fire. It burns, but it won't stay.)
It's this again. It's his body moving without his say so, without his thinking, like when he was devouring the dead bird, or the snake, or the reeds. Tomoya grits his teeth and he tries to stop himself, but he moves anyway, plunging his arm into the kiln. He can't stop himself from yelling out in pain.
"Tomoya!" It raises emotion in Masahiro' voice, or at least shock; the older man is grabbing onto him by the shoulder, trying to pull him away, but Tomoya is groping around inside of the kiln for the key, in spite of the pain.
God, the fire--he can feel the flesh of his arm burning and it smells. It's fucking agonising, his skin crackling; his teeth keep grinding together so hard that he's afraid they'll break at the strain, but he's shocked at himself for not screaming more, although he shakes and whimpers at the pain.
He finds the key, surprisingly not melted; it burns his hand as he grabs it.
Finally, his arm pulls away from the kiln, trembling and suddenly all of the pain sinks in and settles to his brain; Tomoya gasps and struggles not to shriek at the sensation, his nerves screaming at him, but he doesn't quite manage to stop himself. He quivers, staring at his arm, the way flesh has been scorched and blisters bubbled to the surface, and he swears it hurts enough that he thinks his arm just might fall off.
Masahiro is grabbing him by the front of his jacket, shaking him enough that it hurts, too; he's angry, yelling at him. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"
Tomoya cringes. He doesn't have an answer besides I wasn't, it just happened, and he glances at his arm.
Flesh starts to thread back together, blisters shriveling away, and the whole thing just regenerates itself back to perfection. Back to being completely fucking normal, like nothing happened and his sleeve is merely missing.
The other man releases him, probably only on the base of reasoning that he's just as surprised to have seen the way Tomoya just healed up like that. He stares intently at Tomoya.
He winces, feeling like a freak in a cage. He doesn't say anything at the moment, just... just pocketing the key and turning away from the other man.
Eventually, he mutters, "Let's just keep moving."
"Tomoya..." Masahiro doesn't say more than that.
But Tomoya understands what he wants to say, and he turns to snap, "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me. But..." He sighs and holds his forehead. "God. I'm not crazy, Masahiro. I'm not."
"That part I can believe," Masahiro replies quietly.
Tomoya stares at him, frowning, not sure what to make of that. But they don't speak much more.
They're both just eager to leave the classroom, no doubt.
(He gets the feeling something bad is going to--)
Even after they exit the door, Tomoya is looking around, that feeling gnawing at the edges of his nerves. What is it that's bothering him so much? Just... the sensation that something is around the corner, waiting for them. Honestly, the fact that they haven't come across any unusual creatures is strange enough as it is.
So what exactly is going on here?
(something bad)
"Tomoya?" Masahiro has a hand on his shoulder.
It's about then that it rings out, pounding inside of his skull. The sound of church bells, metal slamming against metal. It sounds so damned close, enough to be in Tomoya's head. He yelps out, clutching his forehead and trembling down to his knees--
"Tomoya?!" The way Masahiro is reacting, it's like he doesn't feel it at all.
Tomoya watches, dreading, horrified; the walls are rotting away, worse than usual. Paint peels, rust bubbles to the surface, and everything is getting so damned dark, and his head hurts so much that he almost feels like passing out.
It gets too damned dark to see. The ringing doesn't go away at first, but eventually, it starts to fade off.
He isn't sure if he's awake or not, at least not until Masahiro is shaking his shoulder again.
The air is heavier. It smells worse, God he doesn't even know how to describe it--if something could... die ten times in a row while still rotting, that's about how he'd call this stench. The sight isn't much better when Masahiro turns on his flashlight.
"What the hell just happened?" Masahiro mutters, baffled. "Those bells--"
"You did hear them?" Tomoya turns to face him after he slowly gets back onto his feet, brushing himself off.
Masahiro nods. "Yeah, but you just... you were in pain, weren't you?"
Tomoya has to bite his lip to keep from saying Like it even matters if I am. Honestly, his arm is like new after sticking it into the kiln... "A headache got me pretty hard. I don't know what's going on, though. But when I first visited this place, this... sort of thing only happened after I heard some kind of air raid siren. The church bells are something new."
"So's that," Masahiro says wryly, turning the flashlight over down the hallway.
Tomoya starts to question what he means, but he immediately sees what Masahiro means. From one wall to another, there are gaping holes, like something rammed its way through and tunneled into the floor through the boys' bathroom.
Strange sight, and... it's starting to give Tomoya a bit of a headache.
He takes a step back. "Masahiro, I... let's not go this way. I don't know if..."
"There's something down there." Masahiro turns to look at Tomoya. "Isn't there?"
"What? Are you going to jump down without a care?" Tomoya asks, baffled. "Don't be crazy."
"Because sticking your arm into a fire wasn't nuts at all," Masahiro mutters under his breath, not at all bothering to hide his words.
He flinches faintly, turning his head away. "That... I couldn't help it. I..."
There's the echoing sound of gurgling coming from the depths of the gaping hole. Tomoya finds it to be a smarter idea to back up, but Masahiro just looks puzzled, peering down.
(getting closer getting closer)
"Masahiro--" Tomoya starts to say, suddenly feeling stiff with fear. He can hear a noise, something rapidly crawling up the tunnel.
Fast. Heavy. Big.
(closer)
He grabs onto Masahiro' arm, yanking him away from the hole in the floor. It's just in time, to get away from what suddenly wriggles out from there: a large... worm thing, slimy as hell. The head splits open, snarling, dripping what Tomoya hopes is just drool. It... seems to have a blonde mane running down its back, several rather human-looking arms protruding from its sides, holding itself up from the hole.
What the fuck--
It wavers around, and instinctively, Tomoya finds himself standing in front of Masahiro. Masahiro actually starts to give argument, but it doesn't last; the worm creature swings down quickly, far faster than Tomoya would expect from such a thick-looking monster.
Teeth are clamping down onto his shoulder, and the worm wriggles, pulling Tomoya into the air. He lets out a surprised shout, trying to pull himself out of the grip of its jaws, but it just bites down harder. He hears gunshots, probably coming from Masahiro, but he can't see.
And everything moves so fast, so damned fast, when the worm suddenly drags Tomoya down the hole with it.
"Tomoya!"
Tomoya left Kanagawa, shaking his head a little. What was he hoping to do, anyway? To find that... somehow, Matsuoka was magically okay after everything? What would he even say to him?
Deep down, he knew. He wasn't expecting to see him.
He sighed. Going back home didn't sit right off with him.
There was a bar on the way to the highway. Some hole in the wall, some place that could have used some serious renovations, but he couldn't find himself caring too much.
He couldn't help but wince when the barkeep spoke to him, trying for conversation.
"You look like you're lookin' for someone."
Tomoya, in all of his... friendliness, his generosity, honestly wished he could be left alone. "Yeah. Someone I met before. Thought I could just catch up with him, or something." Honestly, he didn't know what he was trying to find. "Does someone named Matsuoka stop by here?"
"Oh. Yeah, sure, all the time."
Tomoya looked up, almost hopeful.
"Um. Shigeru Matsuoka?"
"No." Tomoya sighed. "Thanks anyway."
Wherever the hell he was, Tomoya would probably never see his face again--if he was still alive.
"His name was Masahiro."
matsu
pine
oka
hill
Pairing: Masahiro Matsuoka/Tomoya Nagase
Genre: Horror, drama, unsettling things, monsters, not as much porn as before
Summary: NSFW. Set after this fic. The village takes them back.
A/N: I'm having some depressive episode again, so I wrote instead.
I was sort of lying when I said I wanted to look for you.
I mean, I actually tried to.
But you know... you know what they said?
They said you were missing.
I... I didn't know what to do. So I kept my mouth shut...
This is, sadly, the cleanest that Tomoya's felt in the past couple of days.
He's dripping wet, sitting outside of the hotel room and staring out. They couldn't very well make it to the village in the same day, but they're not too far. Hell, he's sure if he pushed it, he could probably walk there, but...
He's dreading what he'll find out. Just what's wrong with him, why is he like this...?
If he's dead, why is he here?
Somehow, though, he... thinks about Masahiro. He's been trying not to. Tomoya can't make everything about him make sense. There's a lot he doesn't know, honestly; he remembers, distinctly, about Masahiro driving into the lake, and the brief mention of his dead brother. Something happened with him, specifically, that made Masahiro make that suicidal choice, but was it really just his death?
It's... it's not really Tomoya's business, but he isn't enjoying the wall between them.
Not that they're particularly close, in a mental nature. Physically, they have no problem.
Even Tomoya's beginning to find he can't help himself. Is that what it's like for Masahiro? It's... disconcerting that he's letting his body's desires do the talking; it's like Tomoya can't even think for himself sometimes...
He sighs and leans his head back, staring out.
The balcony provides him cover from the rain outside. It's pouring, and it feels appropriate enough. It doesn't feel as suffocating as ashes or snow, so Tomoya can't complain, really. The grayish nature, however, does make it... bleak.
He already misses the sun.
There's a loud thud as a car passes by on the road; Tomoya winces sympathetically as he sees a pigeon get hit. It slams into the mud and tries to move, not yet immediately dead. It gives pathetic noises, trying to drag itself along.
He swallows, and he finds himself moving again.
(Oh god not again)
Stiffly, Tomoya approaches the bird; he can't really help himself, and he still doesn't understand why that is. He's reaching down, grabbing the bird. It chirps at him, struggling against his grip, and he brings it to his mouth (stop it, STOP IT) and bites down hard at the stomach, tearing out guts and chewing away at the hot insides. It practically screeches at him before going still, and he's still biting away (stop stop stop).
"Tomoya."
He stills, and slowly turns to peer at Masahiro, knowing he has blood dripping down his lips and chin. The rain does little to wash it away. He feels horridly ashamed for doing this, but he can't help himself. He's lifting the bird, starting to shove it in his mouth.
"Spit it out," Masahiro says, all too calmly. "Tomoya."
He wants to gag. He doesn't. His teeth clench a moment, enough that he feels blood seeping into his mouth from the dead bird's body. The taste is revolting, but he's swallowing instinctively--and eventually, he spits out the bird, letting its body crumple into the mud.
"Get over here."
Tomoya doesn't waste a moment; it doesn't feel like he's completely got control of himself yet, but he's just glad to not... not be eating that poor pigeon anymore. He can still taste the blood, though (shit he's licking his lips).
He's soaked, all the way through, and it's easy to be cold this way.
He shivers.
He stays very still as Masahiro begins to undress him, letting the pieces of clothing drop to the floor in a loud thud, soaking the carpet. It's that unfair part, where he's dripping wet and naked and he lets Masahiro do it anyway, who's dressed and dry and clean and it's really quite ironic.
There's silence between them; there's something on the other man's mind, as Masahiro is glancing around, scowling about something. It's strange, since he didn't seem to care much when Tomoya was raiding his fridge or when he ate that snake.
Masahiro reaches up, grabbing him suddenly by the arm; in a way, he feels dull, staring at the older man as he's pulled down. As Masahiro sits, he twists Tomoya around so that he's bent facedown over the other man's knees; Masahiro hooks a leg between Tomoya's, and pins his arms behind his back.
Tomoya finds, really quickly, that he doesn't like this position at all. As much as he finds he can't ever say no to Masahiro, this is a little more... dominant then he cares for.
"Masahiro..."
"Stop eating like this." Masahiro sounds so... damned normal it's kind of eerie. A little annoyed, and that's about it. "I don't know what's going on with you, but--"
"I don't know, either!" Tomoya doesn't mean to snap at him, but. God, does Masahiro think that...? "I don't do it because I want to! It... it just happens--"
It happens before he knows it. There's a loud slap in the air, and he feels stinging on his rear.
Did... did Masahiro just...?! What the hell--
"Don't," Masahiro says, way too easily, as if Tomoya can control himself. "There's something wrong with you."
"Thanks for noticing," Tomoya replies, a little more wryly than he means to sound. He winces at another slap. "Ow--damn it, sorry. I don't know, I--"
"Something wrong with you. Like... it's not always you."
Not always him? Tomoya tries to rethink that. There are times when he doesn't feel like he's completely in control of himself, like when he... was eating the reed or the snake. Or when, sometimes, he lets Masahiro fuck him and touch him however the hell he wants. He isn't sure what it is, really--
"Masahiro!" Tomoya yelps, jerking at the next slap on his backside. "For crying out loud--stop it!"
Honestly... he's sure that if he struggled enough, he could writhe out of the grip from the other man, but Tomoya doesn't. He gives his vocal displeasure, and it does little; whatever entices Masahiro to... to slap him, it stays, and he shifts under the hand hitting him. His ass stings and...
God damn it, no, no he is not getting aroused by... by this.
He can't hide it well. Though he hangs his head and hates how flushed he feels (though he's still shivering), he's panting and-- shit, he didn't mean to rub up against the other man's leg.
Masahiro is still for a moment, wordless.
The hand removes itself from his backside, and fingers are pressing against Tomoya's lips instead. It doesn't take much to get the meaning; he's groaning a little and taking the digits into his mouth, sucking on them.
It's far too satisfying to hear Masahiro breathe a little faster, something... different than how disturbingly calm and still he's been.
A hand is still pinning his wrists behind his back, but Tomoya cares less about his sore muscles; he's still sucking on the fingers, as many as Masahiro can press into his mouth. He doesn't care about his teeth biting a little or the way it sounds like he's slurping.
Slowly, the fingers pull away; Tomoya licks his lips.
This is a bit different than usual. The past few times, they've had far more appropriate lubrication, and it doesn't seem like saliva is enough, and partially it really isn't. This is rougher, and it hurts a little more, but he doesn't really mind--he's still kind of slick inside, anyway, since he hasn't... exactly bathed properly since their last bout of intimacy.
Tomoya groans and his body shivers against Masahiro. Just the fingers pressing inside, slowly, curling into him and dragging out--that's all, and it's. It's still a lot. The older man is being amazingly gentle at the moment, completely in contrast with what he was doing before.
He quivers and he tries to readjust his position to be a bit more accommodating, but there isn't much Tomoya can do about it. He lifts his hips as much as he can manage to, groaning and trembling as the fingers slide in. It begins with one, but it increases easily to five.
It's still terribly gentle, and he can't help but appreciate that much more than the both of them being so damned rough with one another.
(something is wrong with him, not always there, it's not always Tomoya)
He doesn't hold himself back, though he thinks he should because he's not sure if the rooms next door are vacant--but Tomoya lets himself scream senselessly when fingers are too gently probing at the horridly sensitive spot in his body. He can't help but squirm now--not to get away, but because his body doesn't know what to do with this sensation that's overwhelming him.
Tomoya groans and yelps, his hips shaking as Masahiro takes his time.
Why does it always come down to this?
(Can't ever say no.)
When he comes, even that feels too gentle. He moans and shakes against the other man's lap, arching his body a little. Tomoya is panting, but Masahiro is pulling away his fingers and tugging the him up for a brief kiss.
In a way, it almost feels like an establishment of ownership.
Tomoya hates the idea and throws it away; he's thinking too much about this.
"You should probably shower," Masahiro mutters against him.
Tomoya nods quietly.
He agrees; he's been feeling filthy for too long.
"I... thank you for your time. You must be Higashiyama?"
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"I'm... well, maybe. I was actually looking for someone. I, uh... This is probably a jump--you might not even know him--but I was looking for this guy. Matsuoka?"
"Matsuoka?"
"Yeah. I mean, I think he's from Kanagawa, right--?"
"You've seen my boy?"
"I. Um."
The shower's the first normal thing that Tomoya's done, he expects. Between... this dead thing, Masahiro, Fukushima, and eating random things, the shower's so damned nice and calming and hot and he's glad for it. It's enough that it burns him a little and he doesn't care, because he hates being cold.
Getting too cold lately. What's wrong with him?
Tomoya eventually turns off the shower and dries off, giving a little sigh of relief.
This is probably... the last time that he'll feel even remotely clean, he's sure. They're still going to the village, and Masahiro won't even turn back.
Nothing to lose, but what's he got to gain?
Tomoya glances around the bathroom for his clothes. Sopping wet as they are, they're the... they're the only things he has now, but they look like they're missing. He isn't too sure about just stepping out from the bathroom without notice. Fine, Masahiro has seen him enough that nudity shouldn't be a problem by now, but still.
Hesitantly, he steps out, and he already starts to feel cold. He hisses a little to himself before he turns.
Masahiro is sitting on the bed, hunched over and thinking. About what, Tomoya knows he'll never likely find out.
"Uh." Tomoya feels awkward like this, standing without any clothes on. At all. "Where...?"
"I hung them up. They're wet," Masahiro tells him, all without looking up.
For a moment, Tomoya glances around until he spots them by the sink, slung over some bars next to the small closet. They'll probably be wet until morning, but at least... well, at least Masahiro thought to hang them. It was oddly thoughtful of him to do that.
"Come on," Masahiro calls for him.
Tomoya turns slowly, looking at him. "But. Uh."
He isn't terribly sure why lacking any clothing at all in front of Masahiro bothers him. It might have something to do with the fact that, up until this point, at least Tomoya's been able to keep some kind of layer of clothing on between them, that it somehow has been able to protect him.
Not that he feels like he has much to fear from Masahiro, but he's increasingly feeling more and more vulnerable, even though he was able to walk away from being hit by a car.
Eventually, he does approach. When Masahiro grabs his wrist, it's then that Tomoya notices just how cold he feels, because the other man's hand feels incredibly warm. Tomoya grits his teeth a little, but he allows himself to be pulled into bed.
There's nothing comforting about the way Masahiro wraps his arms around Tomoya; the positioning is to be sure that they're not facing each other. It's completely personal without being... well, personal. There are, at least, no roaming hands this time--not that he could ever refuse Masahiro of that, either.
Tomoya lets out a sigh before his eyes close.
Maybe hours pass. Maybe minutes. It's hard to tell, sleepless as he is without being able to tell the time. There's hot breath on the back of his neck and eventually a word is murmured as ani in passing. Tomoya doesn't wince.
He isn't sure if he can sleep.
And in the distance, he's sure he can hear bells, church bells...
Dreams are, typically, out of his range of reach; although Masahiro is completely aware that he has them, normally he can't recall them. Mostly, it's due to that fact that he doesn't care to, of course, but also that they feel far away, tucked away into a far corner of his mind that he doesn't dare to open.
In some ways, he knows, he scares himself. That "corner" is forbidden.
Whatever he's dreamed--something thoroughly unpleasant, he knows that much--Masahiro shoves it away and finds himself awakening.
The first thing he notices (something fairly stupid, he admits to himself) is that there is no one to hold onto. The bed is unfortunately empty. It's only been two days, and he's finding himself already getting used to Tomoya's presence, albeit he should not. Getting close physically isn't a problem, it's.
It's the emotional part that Masahiro would rather not nudge towards. That's dangerous.
The second matter is the smell. A very familiar one that he'd become acquainted with some years ago in Fukushima. The scent of rot and rust and blood and ash, clogging his senses and making his mind dizzy. He remembers it well, and it makes him jerk out of bed immediately, barely finding the balance to his feet.
Tomoya catches him by the shoulders, silent, his gaze elsewhere. He's clothed, dry, and looking terribly normal for a dead man who seems to have caught the habit of eating incredibly strange things. Neat and perfectly average looking.
The room is not so much, by comparison. The walls are stained with something black, in a crude design of some sort of symbol that Masahiro doesn't recognize at all. The windows are grimy and stained, the floors rotten and the ceiling a rusted mess as the fan slowly but surely turns for no good reason. They never turned the fan on last night.
"We're not far from there," Tomoya comments quietly, gently letting go of the other man.
"No," Masahiro agrees, voice stilted. He was expecting to go to the village, yes, but.
This way, it looks more like the village has been waiting for them, clawing for them.
He's moving away, finding his clothes and getting dressed; Tomoya is approaching the window, wiping away dust and grime to stare outside. Already the he looks tired at the very prospect of wandering into that place again. Admittedly, Masahiro isn't exactly looking forward on seeing the village again, either.
He wonders, faintly, what Tomoya's experience was like.
Even as Masahiro starts for the door, he hears the other man blurt out from behind him, "I'm sorry. I... you're really dragged into this now."
Masahiro gives Tomoya a look over the shoulder, then shrugs. "I told you. It was my decision to come here. It's not like you made me do anything I didn't want."
In fact, it's been the total opposite. Every little thing, Tomoya has given him. Masahiro has taken what he's wanted from the other man, and yet still Tomoya has some sort of obligation to apologise and feel at fault. Even when they first met, Tomoya looked sorrowful that he couldn't help Masahiro, like he was responsible for everything, but damn it no.
And all for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tomoya hasn't done a single damned thing wrong from what Masahiro can tell. The man's got to be a saint or something--which doesn't justify Tomoya's rather unfortunate and unusual situation.
Masahiro steps outside, and it's just about what he expects. It's foggy as hell, and the air is a bit thick. Something doesn't taste or smell right, but that's about to be expected. The entire lot is abandoned, not another soul in sight.
It's just Masahiro and Tomoya now.
In all serious, he's certain there should be panic rising in him, or something--but he feels numb, at best. He glances around a moment before turning to go find his car in the parking lot, unlocking the trunk.
"You came prepared?" Tomoya sounds mystified at that.
Masahiro doesn't blame him. He shrugs. "Not really. I don't have much of anything, but I figured we should take what we can get. Here."
It's a wheeljack; it's not much in the face of some monsters and guns are more comfort, but honestly a part of Masahiro is sort of counting on the idea that if Tomoya can get hit by a car and still walk that maybe monsters will have a similar effect on him. It's selfish thinking, but really Masahiro has no other way to work.
He hasn't for ages.
There's a revolver in a box, locked up, but Masahiro has the key on him.
Never know. He just wishes he had more bullets to go with it.
"Oh no," Tomoya mutters, sounding more disappointed than anything else.
Masahiro glances at him, confused, but he finds out why when he watches a snowflake settle onto his hand. It's late into summer, it's still hot and humid, and it's snowing.
This didn't happen to him when he was here last.
"It figures," Tomoya says, probably more to himself than to Masahiro, sighing and glancing away. "I don't suppose you have a radio in there?"
"I didn't think I'd ever come back here," Masahiro replies, shaking his head. "And before you can say it--you don't have to apologise, Tomoya. I came here on my own."
It's not hard to tell; the man takes every little mistake to himself, every large one. Getting caught before it can be spoken actually causes the younger man to flush a little in embarrassment and nod, looking awkward as hell.
(He hates to think to himself, not a bad expression, but not the time for this right now, damn it.)
There's the familiar sensation of seclusion as they explore down the road. It was like this on his first trip, and now it feels as though history is repeating itself, in a manner. Here they both are, men familiar with the village, only to return to it, looking for answers. Tomoya has better questions than Masahiro, but he knows he's looking for something, too.
Masahiro seriously doubts he'll find it. But it's worth a shot.
To be honest, they can't be far from town at all if the place has already transformed itself; just awhile until they get there. Where to go from there, of course, is another thing entirely.
"Did you have a place in mind?" Masahiro asks, tone flat as ever as they walk towards that damned place.
Tomoya frowns a little, then nods. "I was thinking that... maybe I should revisit a few places. If we can get there. I honestly don't know what'll happen, though--or if I'll get the answers I need. But the elementary school is where I want to start."
"Why there?" Come to think of it, Masahiro doesn't even know why or how Tomoya was here before.
"It's... a really long story," Tomoya says softly. "But when I was here before, that was one of the first places I went to. If we start from there, I'm pretty sure we'll find some clues."
"Right. A school is going to tell you why you're a zombie," Masahiro mutters under his breath.
It causes Tomoya to shoot him a look, scowling at him. "I'm not a--for crying out loud, Masahiro."
"I didn't mean it," he responds, shrugging. Truthfully, he's not really sure what he means. It was just a passing comment, and really he feels sort of indifferent to Tomoya's reaction.
Even by just walking down the street in this godforsaken town, Masahiro isn't doing this for Tomoya. He's doing this for himself.
"It was the strangest thing. A few years ago, Yamaguchi was sick, with something real awful. What did they call it..."
This man. Higashiyama. At first, he seemed a little odd, Tomoya admitted, but after mentioning Matsuoka, he was in a hurry to drag the author inside and discuss matters.
Tomoya was on the couch; Higashiyama was fixing coffee, in spite of the fact that Tomoya had politely declined at the offer.
"Yamaguchi?" Tomoya asked.
"Tatsuya. Matsuoka called him 'ani'." That was a name hard for Tomoya to forget. "Matsuoka was head over heels for him. When he got sick, something in Matsuoka died, too." Higashiyama held up the mug. "How do you take it?"
"As it is, please," Tomoya responded quietly. "So he was ill."
"For three years. He wasn't getting any better, and the hospital let him go home. A little after that, the pair of them disappeared." Higashiyama shook his head. "No word, not a thing."
"They disappeared... when exactly?"
"Had to have been four years ago now," Higashiyama replied. "I know I'm foolish for holding out, but I keep hoping they'll turn up here again."
Tomoya felt a knot in his stomach. What happened with Yamaguchi? Why didn't Matsuoka talk to this man who's been caring for them afterwards?
Where the hell was Matsuoka?
"I'm sorry. How exactly did you say you know Matsuoka?" Higashiyama asked suddenly after giving Tomoya the mug.
As soon as it was handed, Tomoya dropped the coffee upon the question.
At first glance, the school looks about the same as it had seventeen years ago. Tomoya certainly can't tell if it's because of his own memories, or if it's because the village just sees no need to change it. Regardless, the sign is there, with the abandoned school bus parked nearby. There's deceptively nothing odd about this place, other than the fog obscuring the distance and snow falling to the ground in the month of August.
Before Tomoya takes a step further, he's sure that he gets this... dreaded feeling, twisting into a knot in his stomach.
"Tomoya?" Masahiro asks, surprisingly observant to his behavior, though his voice remains rather unemotional, not really hinting at concern.
"There's..." Tomoya frowns and turns to face Masahiro. "I feel like something awful is going to happen soon."
Masahiro just raises a brow at him and turns to continue advancing towards the school. "You do know what village we're in, don't you? Something bad is bound to happen."
"I know that," Tomoya grumbles. "I just mean... if we go in there, I just know something really... really messed up is going to happen and we're going to regret it. Something big. Masahiro, maybe we should rethink this a little?"
"In case you hadn't noticed? We're in the littie village in Fukushima," Masahiro tells him, shaking his head. "We don't have much of a choice now. If you think we need to go into the school, then that's where we'll have to go."
"Yeah." Tomoya sighs and gives up. "You're right."
The words really aren't much of a matter of comfort, not that Tomoya things that he should expect that from someone like Masahiro anyway. There's just that... that blockade there. It's always been difficult to know what the other man is thinking or feeling, and in that case it's just impossible to know what choice of action he'll take. Tomoya doesn't know what to expect from Masahiro, and... he hates feeling like he might never know much more about him.
Tomoya doesn't know how to have any expectations of him, other than selfish ones.
(Not that selfish is bad; God knows Tomoya doesn't know how to be, and as much as he's selfless, Tomoya can't ever manage to go to anyone's rescue, he always utterly fails at it.)
The front doors of the school open with a hideous creak, rust grinding against rust; the interior is as broken down as he can recall, the dust in the air and the smell of decay to go with it.
The hallways are lined with doors, most of them being locked or jammed, naturally--such are the expectations of this place. It's typical and frustrating; Tomoya listens to Masahiro sigh in annoyance at every opportunity, sounding impatient. Tomoya can only shake his head in return.
The feeling of dread never quite leaves him, though.
(Something is going to happen. Tomoya knows it.)
Eventually, after a bit of wandering and more locked doors, it's the door to the art classroom that remains unlocked for their finding. Tomoya gives a brief sigh of relief, and they step inside. There isn't much to it, really; old drawings by children on the walls (which gives Tomoya the hollow reminder of Ayu), a teacher's desk split open by force of man or monster, and a few stray desks cluttered in a corner. At one side of the room appears to be a kiln--no doubt for pottery.
Masahiro goes off to explore the remains of the teacher's desk, although Tomoya himself takes interest in the kiln at first, approaching it. It still feels warm, that much he can tell. He leans over to peer inside of it.
There's something in there. ... A key?
Abruptly, the kiln turns on, flames licking at the interior; Tomoya flinches back, startled.
The key--
"What happened?" Masahiro sounds puzzled, turning and looking at the fire.
"It just, um." For a moment, all Tomoya can do is gesture, at a loss for words. "There's something inside of it, and it... turned on by itself, I think." He tilts his head, trying to look around the kiln and see if he can turn it off. However, there doesn't appear to be a way to do that.
He pauses, finding himself looking at his own hand.
"Was it something important?" Masahiro asks. "The thing you saw."
"I'm not sure. It was a key, but I don't know what to," Tomoya admits. "It looked like it belonged to a car or something. I don't know--what I learned from this place is that... is that chances are, if you come across something that's not broken or whatever, you'll probably need it."
"We don't exactly have a way of getting to it," Masahiro remarks. "Tomoya--"
"Just... hang on. I..." Tomoya bites down on his lower lip, as if in thought.
(Go on. Do it.)
He stares at his hand again.
(You can walk away from it. Just like you walked away from the car crash.)
The fire inside the kiln continues to flicker strongly. It's hot as hell, enough to make Tomoya sweat a little.
(The fire. It burns, but it won't stay.)
It's this again. It's his body moving without his say so, without his thinking, like when he was devouring the dead bird, or the snake, or the reeds. Tomoya grits his teeth and he tries to stop himself, but he moves anyway, plunging his arm into the kiln. He can't stop himself from yelling out in pain.
"Tomoya!" It raises emotion in Masahiro' voice, or at least shock; the older man is grabbing onto him by the shoulder, trying to pull him away, but Tomoya is groping around inside of the kiln for the key, in spite of the pain.
God, the fire--he can feel the flesh of his arm burning and it smells. It's fucking agonising, his skin crackling; his teeth keep grinding together so hard that he's afraid they'll break at the strain, but he's shocked at himself for not screaming more, although he shakes and whimpers at the pain.
He finds the key, surprisingly not melted; it burns his hand as he grabs it.
Finally, his arm pulls away from the kiln, trembling and suddenly all of the pain sinks in and settles to his brain; Tomoya gasps and struggles not to shriek at the sensation, his nerves screaming at him, but he doesn't quite manage to stop himself. He quivers, staring at his arm, the way flesh has been scorched and blisters bubbled to the surface, and he swears it hurts enough that he thinks his arm just might fall off.
Masahiro is grabbing him by the front of his jacket, shaking him enough that it hurts, too; he's angry, yelling at him. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"
Tomoya cringes. He doesn't have an answer besides I wasn't, it just happened, and he glances at his arm.
Flesh starts to thread back together, blisters shriveling away, and the whole thing just regenerates itself back to perfection. Back to being completely fucking normal, like nothing happened and his sleeve is merely missing.
The other man releases him, probably only on the base of reasoning that he's just as surprised to have seen the way Tomoya just healed up like that. He stares intently at Tomoya.
He winces, feeling like a freak in a cage. He doesn't say anything at the moment, just... just pocketing the key and turning away from the other man.
Eventually, he mutters, "Let's just keep moving."
"Tomoya..." Masahiro doesn't say more than that.
But Tomoya understands what he wants to say, and he turns to snap, "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me. But..." He sighs and holds his forehead. "God. I'm not crazy, Masahiro. I'm not."
"That part I can believe," Masahiro replies quietly.
Tomoya stares at him, frowning, not sure what to make of that. But they don't speak much more.
They're both just eager to leave the classroom, no doubt.
(He gets the feeling something bad is going to--)
Even after they exit the door, Tomoya is looking around, that feeling gnawing at the edges of his nerves. What is it that's bothering him so much? Just... the sensation that something is around the corner, waiting for them. Honestly, the fact that they haven't come across any unusual creatures is strange enough as it is.
So what exactly is going on here?
(something bad)
"Tomoya?" Masahiro has a hand on his shoulder.
It's about then that it rings out, pounding inside of his skull. The sound of church bells, metal slamming against metal. It sounds so damned close, enough to be in Tomoya's head. He yelps out, clutching his forehead and trembling down to his knees--
"Tomoya?!" The way Masahiro is reacting, it's like he doesn't feel it at all.
Tomoya watches, dreading, horrified; the walls are rotting away, worse than usual. Paint peels, rust bubbles to the surface, and everything is getting so damned dark, and his head hurts so much that he almost feels like passing out.
It gets too damned dark to see. The ringing doesn't go away at first, but eventually, it starts to fade off.
He isn't sure if he's awake or not, at least not until Masahiro is shaking his shoulder again.
The air is heavier. It smells worse, God he doesn't even know how to describe it--if something could... die ten times in a row while still rotting, that's about how he'd call this stench. The sight isn't much better when Masahiro turns on his flashlight.
"What the hell just happened?" Masahiro mutters, baffled. "Those bells--"
"You did hear them?" Tomoya turns to face him after he slowly gets back onto his feet, brushing himself off.
Masahiro nods. "Yeah, but you just... you were in pain, weren't you?"
Tomoya has to bite his lip to keep from saying Like it even matters if I am. Honestly, his arm is like new after sticking it into the kiln... "A headache got me pretty hard. I don't know what's going on, though. But when I first visited this place, this... sort of thing only happened after I heard some kind of air raid siren. The church bells are something new."
"So's that," Masahiro says wryly, turning the flashlight over down the hallway.
Tomoya starts to question what he means, but he immediately sees what Masahiro means. From one wall to another, there are gaping holes, like something rammed its way through and tunneled into the floor through the boys' bathroom.
Strange sight, and... it's starting to give Tomoya a bit of a headache.
He takes a step back. "Masahiro, I... let's not go this way. I don't know if..."
"There's something down there." Masahiro turns to look at Tomoya. "Isn't there?"
"What? Are you going to jump down without a care?" Tomoya asks, baffled. "Don't be crazy."
"Because sticking your arm into a fire wasn't nuts at all," Masahiro mutters under his breath, not at all bothering to hide his words.
He flinches faintly, turning his head away. "That... I couldn't help it. I..."
There's the echoing sound of gurgling coming from the depths of the gaping hole. Tomoya finds it to be a smarter idea to back up, but Masahiro just looks puzzled, peering down.
(getting closer getting closer)
"Masahiro--" Tomoya starts to say, suddenly feeling stiff with fear. He can hear a noise, something rapidly crawling up the tunnel.
Fast. Heavy. Big.
(closer)
He grabs onto Masahiro' arm, yanking him away from the hole in the floor. It's just in time, to get away from what suddenly wriggles out from there: a large... worm thing, slimy as hell. The head splits open, snarling, dripping what Tomoya hopes is just drool. It... seems to have a blonde mane running down its back, several rather human-looking arms protruding from its sides, holding itself up from the hole.
What the fuck--
It wavers around, and instinctively, Tomoya finds himself standing in front of Masahiro. Masahiro actually starts to give argument, but it doesn't last; the worm creature swings down quickly, far faster than Tomoya would expect from such a thick-looking monster.
Teeth are clamping down onto his shoulder, and the worm wriggles, pulling Tomoya into the air. He lets out a surprised shout, trying to pull himself out of the grip of its jaws, but it just bites down harder. He hears gunshots, probably coming from Masahiro, but he can't see.
And everything moves so fast, so damned fast, when the worm suddenly drags Tomoya down the hole with it.
"Tomoya!"
Tomoya left Kanagawa, shaking his head a little. What was he hoping to do, anyway? To find that... somehow, Matsuoka was magically okay after everything? What would he even say to him?
Deep down, he knew. He wasn't expecting to see him.
He sighed. Going back home didn't sit right off with him.
There was a bar on the way to the highway. Some hole in the wall, some place that could have used some serious renovations, but he couldn't find himself caring too much.
He couldn't help but wince when the barkeep spoke to him, trying for conversation.
"You look like you're lookin' for someone."
Tomoya, in all of his... friendliness, his generosity, honestly wished he could be left alone. "Yeah. Someone I met before. Thought I could just catch up with him, or something." Honestly, he didn't know what he was trying to find. "Does someone named Matsuoka stop by here?"
"Oh. Yeah, sure, all the time."
Tomoya looked up, almost hopeful.
"Um. Shigeru Matsuoka?"
"No." Tomoya sighed. "Thanks anyway."
Wherever the hell he was, Tomoya would probably never see his face again--if he was still alive.
"His name was Masahiro."
matsu
pine
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hill
no subject
Take that as a plus to your writing I guess xD
:O now he's been dragged away what even
no subject
Take that as a plus to your writing I guess xD
:O now he's been dragged away what even