Chapter Text
School is weird, mostly on account of how normal it all feels. Yoshiki can’t help but be on edge for the first few hours, stiff and panicked as he does his best to keep an eye on—on Hinata the whole time. The teacher calls him out a few times for his wandering attention, but he can’t find the extra energy to be embarrassed about the way his classmates giggle and jeer. Any focus not on Hinata is going towards trying to make sure the nerves roiling around in his stomach don’t end with him spewing all over his desk. Hinata smiles every time he catches Yoshiki stealing glances, and it feels like teeth pressed to his throat, sharp and prickling against his hammering pulse.
Yoshiki feels like there’s a blade hanging over his head, just waiting for someone to notice something’s weird or for Hinata to slip up and start melting again. There’s a moment, early in the day, when Asako looks confused by something he says, frowning, shaking her head a little like a dog with water stuck in its ear. Yoshiki’s sure everything is about to go to hell, but after a moment, she seemingly shrugs it off and Yoshiki’s heart stops trying to climb out of his chest through his throat. The moment just solidifies his certainty that something is going to go very wrong, and every second Hinata spends outside his line of sight, the anxious certainty that this will be the moment someone starts screaming grows stronger.
As morning slips towards afternoon, though, Yoshiki slowly begins to wonder if their mind-melting first meeting was some kind of fluke. No matter how many people the monster-turned-boy talks to or what he does, there never seem to be any cracks in the facade. He settles into Hikaru’s life like he’s always belonged there, filling a role that’s never been empty, unneeded and yet unnoticed, like piling grave dirt atop the mountain’s peak to elevate it just one centimeter more. It’s unsettling—frightening, even—to watch Hinata smile at their classmates and friends, call them by name and laugh along to shared memories and inside jokes like he’s been here all along. It makes Yoshiki wonder if he’d have been just as willing to brush off the feeling of wrongness about him, if the real Hikaru hadn’t been right there in front of him to compare.
It’s not a pleasant thought.
He doesn’t think he’d like the answer.
.
I can’t believe you’re making me deal with him alone, Yoshiki texts as he walks to the cafeteria. Hinata had been called to stay back and talk with the teacher about why he (or rather, the real Hikaru) hadn’t turned in his math assignment last Friday. Yoshiki’s a little relieved that he doesn’t have to come up with an excuse not to walk with him.
It’s not that Hinata’s done anything wrong, exactly. It’s just that Yoshiki can’t shake the feeling of discomfort he gets every time he senses the double staring at him. Which seems to be constantly, now that Yoshiki’s more or less decided he can be trusted not to ruin Hikaru’s life the second he takes his eye off him by becoming a big, goopy, shrimp-colors monster in the middle of class. It might be a little hypocritical, considering he’s spent most of the day staring at him and his human guise, but now that the tables have turned, Yoshiki wishes he’d stop.
The sensation has to be supernatural, because even the constant rumor mill and the gazes of nosy villagers feel nothing like this. Hinata’s attention isn’t just an unsettling feeling or the creeping paranoia of being watched—it’s something physical. It drags claws across his skin, tugs at his clothes like a child begging for his attention, and buzzes across his scalp before settling itself at the corners of his lips. He can taste it, like blood and mud and something cloyingly sweet filling his mouth and dripping down his throat until he chokes on it. It might not be fair to blame Hinata for something he probably can’t control, but Yoshiki also can’t deny that he’s relieved to get a break from the stomach-churning sensation.
His phone vibrates in his hand, three quick little jolts. He’d set it up like that years ago, thinking that it fit Hikaru better than the default vibration pattern that all his other contacts get.
hara? whys he on ur ass today?
No, stupid. Your clone.
Seconds later, the screen lights up with a call, an extremely unflattering photo of Hikaru snorting milk out his nose filling the screen. He’d whined for a week when he found out that Yoshiki had set that as his contact picture, but never demanded he change it. Yoshiki wonders if it’s because it makes them both laugh every time they see it.
It’s weird, though. Hikaru almost never calls.
Yoshiki stops walking right in the middle of the crowded hallway, heart hammering against his ribcage as he frowns down at his buzzing phone, frozen in place until another student brushes past and jostles him from his stupor. Eyes sweeping the hall and its many occupants, Yoshiki winds his way towards an empty classroom, mumbling halfhearted apologies to each person he bumps into as he moves against the flow of the crowd.
Despite the way his heart is doing its best to break free of his ribs, and the fact that he feels a little bit like he might puke as soon as he opens his mouth, he does his best to keep his voice steady when he answers the call.
“I’m already takin’ notes for you,” he says in lieu of a greeting, secretly proud that he doesn’t gag. “But if you fail Thursday’s test, it’ll be your own fault for skippin’ classes.”
“Huh? I’m not skippin’, I’m sick. How come you’re always extra mean to me when I’m already feelin’ like crap, huh?!”
Despite the playful lilt to his words, he really does sound awful—his voice is all scratchy and tight, like he’s holding back a coughing fit by stubborn will alone. Yoshiki will have to stop by old lady Mitsuki’s shop after school to pick up a few things for him. Hikaru goes through cough drops like candy when he’s sick.
“Is that why you sent your lookalike to school?”
It makes sense, in a way. For someone so laid back about homework, Yoshiki can count on one hand the number of days of school Hikaru’s missed in the last four years. Maybe he’s hoping Hinata can osmosis the knowledge into his brain or something.
“I didn’t,” Hikaru rasps, a hint of subtle desperation laced through his voice, like he’s begging Yoshiki to understand something he can’t find the words for. “I just told him I was sick and wasn’t gonna go today. That’s all.”
Despite the sweat beading at his temples, a chill sweeps over him at those words. It makes him think of dark nights and bare trees and freezing rain soaking through his clothes. The blue light of his computer screen and the dozens of articles about mimics and doppelgängers flash through his mind again. Yoshiki’s suddenly weirdly aware of how dry his lips are.
He wets them, fingers curling tighter around the edges of his phone. It’s hot against his cheek and ear and he says, “He told me you’d said to go, ‘cause he was annoyin’ you with questions about what it’s like.”
There’s a pause, where all Yoshiki can hear is his own shuddering breaths and the crackle of the shoddy connection. Then, a low groan that’s cut off halfway through by a nasty coughing fit. It sounds gross and painful, each hack deep and wet and rough, and Yoshiki cringes with sympathy as he waits for it to end. Hikaru doesn’t get sick too often, but when he does, it always seems to be with something extra nasty. Maybe he needs to bully Hikaru into letting his mama take him to the hospital to get checked for pneumonia or something. Nearly dying on a mountain probably wasn’t very good for his immune system.
“You alright?” he asks once the coughs have been replaced by haggard breathing.
Hikaru wheezes out an affirmative, and Yoshiki hears the crumpling of a package being opened, and the nearly inaudible clink of something hard against teeth. Yep, he’ll definitely need to grab more cough drops for him. Probably tissues, too. And maybe he should get him something to eat?
Thinking about how to help feels better than focusing on the suffocating fear that he’s let a monster trick him into leading it right to the school, so he passes the seconds waiting for Hikaru to catch his breath again by trying to remember if any of the shops on the way home carry soup or porridge, or if he’ll have to go out of his way for it. He’d make it himself, but mom handles most of the cooking at home and he doesn’t want to risk giving his best friend food poisoning when he’s probably already about to keel over from tuberculosis or whatever.
“What I was tryin’ to say,” Hikaru begins in a weirdly accusatory tone, like he’s blaming Yoshiki for causing him to cough, “—is that I did tell him I’d let him go to school some day. I didn’t mean he could go today, though!”
Yoshiki doesn’t want to acknowledge the rush of relief those words bring. It feels like a betrayal to his best friend somehow, but he really does want to believe that the monster who’s stolen Hikaru’s face means well. There are so many misunderstood creatures in the world—is it so bad that he hopes the being from the mountain is one of them? After all, how could anything that smiles like Hinata does have cruel intentions?
“Guess he misunderstood,” Yoshiki mumbles, eyes trained on the classroom door. The hallways beyond have gone mostly quiet. He wonders if Hinata has made it to the cafeteria yet, or if he’s still stuck trying to make up an excuse for his missing assignment. The thought of him standing in the cafeteria entryway, looking like a lost puppy as he searches for Yoshiki’s face amongst the crowd of students, flashes unbidden through his mind. It’s not like the real Hikaru would be hurting for friends to sit with, but would Hinata be okay on his own? He grimaces, a little pang of guilt twisting inside his belly. Maybe he should have waited for him, after all….
“Dunno,” Hikaru mumbles, and the line buzzes with static. He sounds tinny and strange, and it’s hard to tell if the tension in his tone is genuine or just a trick of the bad connection. The service in this area sucks.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Yoshiki promises, solemn as any oath. Whether that’ll entail keeping his best friend’s doppelgänger from causing trouble or protecting him from it, is yet to be seen.
Hikaru doesn’t answer for a long while. His wheezy breaths and choked back coughs crackle between them, the only indication that the call hasn’t dropped entirely.
Outside the classroom windows, the trees sway in the gentle spring breeze, sending shadows rippling across the neat rows of desks. The darkness they cast laps at the toes of his shoes, hungry like something ancient and alive. Yoshiki takes a small step backwards, out of range, and clears his throat.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Hikaru says after another few seconds of silence. “Just… thinkin’ about something my daddy told me once.”
Yoshiki frowns, a little thrown by the sudden change in topics. Talk of Hikaru’s daddy isn’t off-limits or anything like that. Nobody starts bawling or yelling if he’s brought up, and the Indo family as a whole always seem to be perfectly content to reminisce about him on the few occasions that people from around the village bring up old memories. It’s just that Hikaru hardly ever talks about him, so Yoshiki doesn’t, either.
“What’d he say?” Yoshiki prompts after another long minute of nobody talking.
“It’s just an old wives’ tale. Some superstitious story his daddy’d told him, and his daddy before him, and so on,” comes the mumbled reply. He sounds tired, which is reason enough for Yoshiki to worry that this reminiscing is the product of a high fever more than anything else. He clears his throat.
“Okay, well, if that’s all then you should probably get back to nappin’. You sound like you’re feelin’ real shitty.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“I’ll stop by after school to check up on ya, okay?”
The way that gets him to perk up makes something bubbly and bright rise up inside Yoshiki’s chest, a smile twitching at his lips as Hikaru says, “Yeah…. Yeah, okay! That’d be nice. Bring me kopiko!”
“No way! Cold things’ll just make your throat hurt worse!”
Hikaru whines, so sad that it almost makes Yoshiki cave and promise to bring him all the ice cream in town right there on the spot. He grits his teeth and does his best to stay strong.
“I’ll bring you soup.”
The groan that gets him sounds a little less sad, and a little more accepting. His lips twist into a smile, fondness for Hikaru nearly overwhelming him. He wants to say something stupid, something that will get him in trouble, the same dangerous words that always fill his mind when Hikaru’s around bumping up against the backs of his teeth, threatening to froth past his lips like something rabid and mindless. Those words could ruin everything, so he swallows them down and ignores how it makes something in his chest twinge, an ache opening like a pit right where his heart should be.
He keeps smiling as he says, “If you get me sick, I’ll hold it against you ‘til we graduate, got it? So you better feel better before I get there.”
Another soft, croaking little laugh. Yoshiki wonders how much warmth can fit inside his chest, even with the yawning pit of filthy want inside of him.
“Alright, alright,” Hikaru groans, and the whumph of fabric scraping over the phone speakers tells Yoshiki that he’s settling himself more comfortably into bed. “You better bring me the good stuff, though.”
“You’ll be lucky if I bring you anything at all,” he lies, already planning his route over. The line crackles between them, picking up the soft huffs of Hikaru’s breathing.
“Hey… Yoshiki?”
“Yeah?”
“Just….” A hesitation, a shuddering breath. “Don’t go anywhere alone with him, okay?”
There’s a strange weight to the words, and it takes a few seconds for Yoshiki to even register who the “him” Hikaru’s referring to might be. His brow furrows.
“What’re you talkin’ about? Is there somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me?”
“Just thinkin’ about… No. No, it’s nothin’. It’ll just make me feel better. So will ya promise me?”
He asks like he doesn’t already know that Yoshiki’d do anything for him, whether he understands or not.
“Yeah, alright. I promise,” Yoshiki murmurs, eyes trained unseeingly at the fluttering shadows. They’re creeping closer, like waves licking the shore or hungry tongues hoping to sneak a taste of their next meal. Hinata exists, so does that mean other monsters do, too?
From outside the classroom door, he can hear footsteps echoing through the empty halls. Lunch is nearly over.
“I’ll see ya after school,” Hikaru says, a promise tied up in the words. Yoshiki hums, and promises the same.