Gone in the night
Nov. 5th, 2016 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unmeiboyGone in the night
Kis-My-Ft2 (gen, except for the minor Miyata/Tamamori)
AU, gen, 5500, R. Mild horror, character death, mild gore
What Nikaido had thought would be a happy school club reunion turns into a messy nightmare when he finds the first of his friends dead.
A/N: Written for JE Trick or Fic 2016, originally posted here.
As he enters the room reserved for their reunion, Nikaido is overwhelmed by the atmosphere in the room. Not the one that his friends create, but the one that the hotel provides. The table is in solid wood, round and large with a marble top, chairs in the same dark wood, with large backrests and deep red thin cushions on the seats. There's a large chandelier above it, with actual candles in it, and Nikaido feels like he has stepped into a whole different part of the world, or possibly a different era.
“Nika!” A familiar voice calls for him, followed by the scraping sound of a heavy chair being moved across the stone floor. The smile Fujigaya is wearing is genuinely happy, it looks gorgeous on him, and although Fujigaya never really used to touch anyone, he wraps his arms around Nikaido in an embrace as he greets him. “It's been so long!”
It really has. When Nikaido looks at each one of them he of course recognizes them, but all of them have grown a lot since high school. He studies them as Fujigaya leads him to his seat; on his right is Senga, who is still one of his closest friends and the only one he has nearly daily contact with. Therefore Senga doesn't catch his attention, he just greets him as he sits down. On Senga's opposite side sits Fujigaya, hair stylish and clothes even more so, far from the delinquent style he used to have. It looks good on him, then again, they were never able to find a style that didn't look good on him. Nikaido remembers the photos they had taken of him, and although they were all amateurs, there were only a few photos that didn't come out great when Fujigaya had modeled.
On Fujigaya's other side is Tamamori, who has grown tall and handsome. The awkwardness is still visible in his smile, but it's far from as prominent as it used to be.
“The main course will be here soon,” Kitayama announces for what seems like no particular reason, but only until he continues. “Get your cameras out and ready!” He's going at the cheerfulness fitting a group date, or maybe a karaoke party, but it's nothing that Nikaido wasn't expecting. When he met him two years ago, he was the same, if anything perhaps more of everything. Kitayama had always been the popular, flirty guy who didn't really belong in the after-school activity club, but had joined and stayed with them either way.
“Did you bring your cameras...?” Miyata asks sheepishly, like he has missed out on information he should have had before arriving, but Kitayama laughs.
“I just brought my phone. Nice photography club, isn't this. I hope our kouhai are doing better.” The response makes Miyata's face lighten into a smile, and Nikaido feels like it wasn't eight years since last time they met. He has matured a lot, looks like a man, not a boy, his hair a nice red-brown color. There's something else about him too, but it's more of an aura, an energy that spreads into the room, and Nikaido has a hard time figuring out what until he hears Senga's question for Tamamori.
“That ring... did you get married?”
Tamamori is trying to hold his grin back, would probably try to stop the blush too if he could. “Just the ceremony. If it ever becomes possible to do it officially, we will. But he proposed last year.” Next to him Miyata is smiling too, ears going red as he holds up his own left hand to show off the ring.
“You mean you didn't know?” Fujigaya asks both him and Nikaido, to which they both shake their hands.
“The internet didn't tell me,” Senga says, then falls into a conversation about the ceremony and where they did it and what they wore and if they will do a new one when same-sex marriage comes to Japan too.
“I don't like the internet...” Nikaido mumbles, at which Fujigaya laughs, but quickly joins the wedding conversation. “Oh, Yokoo, you brought a real camera!
“I assumed no one else would.” Yokoo looks just like he used to, of course a bit older, and his personality seems to be the same. He had always been the most responsible one, even though he had been juggling two clubs at the same time. Nikaido feels glad to see him there, a feeling he knows from back when Yokoo showed up at their club room, even though he's aware that there's no way the baseball club would have a reunion on the same day as they do.
Dinner is delicious, possibly made even better by the sounds Kitayama makes next to him as they eat. It almost surprises him that Kitayama didn't end up writing food columns in a magazine or something, considering how much he loves good food. For Nikaido the focus isn't the food itself, but the exchanges he gets to do with friends he hasn't met for years, the combinations of them that he hasn't seen interacting for just as long if not longer. It's so much fun that he doesn't realize the food is gone until the waiters are taking their plates away and only leaves the glasses refilled with wine.
“I'm so full,” Fujigaya complains with a smile, but still reaches for his glass. Nikaido feels himself copy the motion without giving his body the command, realizes maybe he shouldn't have more wine, but he drinks it nevertheless, eyes on Fujigaya's lips as he drinks (and Senga's knowing smirk is visible in the corner of his eye).
“Anyone coming with me?” Kitayama waves a packet of cigarettes as he stands up; Fujigaya puts his glass down with a nod, and Tamamori pushes his chair backwards to follow them. “We'll be at the balcony if you need us.”
Miyata and Senga are deeply involved in a conversation Nikaido has no idea about, and when they try to drag Yokoo and himself into it he just excuses himself to go join the others on the balcony. Nikaido doesn't smoke all that often, but if he has company, then why not. It's not until he's outside their private room that he realizes he doesn't know where the balcony is, and that this hotel is larger than he first thought it would be. The corridors are dark, lit up with dim lamps, and he wanders about for a little while until a staff member asks him if he's lost.
“I'd like to go to the balcony,” he says, and it turns out he was only one parallel corridor from it. He thanks the staff and heads out the door to find the largest balcony he has seen in real life. It reminds of something straight out of a movie, both the floor and the railing made with stone, large flowers in the next to the double glass doors he just walked through; the balcony is so wide that he can't see the corners from where he's standing. It doesn't strike him that he can't hear any voices, he just takes a few steps forward to search for his friends. No one to the left; he turns his head to the right, and feels himself go cold inside.
On the stone floor is a seemingly lifeless body dressed in a suit. He stares at it for a few seconds, trying to will himself to go there, to help the person regain consciousness (he refuses to believe they're dead). Stepping forward he spots the red on the white shirt, then he sees the face, and the stain of blood on his friend's lower lip. Nikaido moves without thinking, his hand trembling as he reaches out to search for Tamamori's pulse on his wrist, but there's nothing. He's still warm, he notices, forces himself to look for the source of his blood; what he finds is two wounds flooded with blood, one below his right collarbone and one above it, a cut into his neck. He only barely registers the puddle of blood before he hears shoes against stone, looks up to see a shadow disappear in the door along with the sound of the same shoes running over the carpet inside the hotel. Nikaido has to pull back when he looks back down at Tamamori, rush to the stone railing to empty his stomach over it. That he should feel apologetic to the staff and the guests on the lower floors doesn't cross his mind; on shaking legs he leaves the balcony, miraculously makes it to their dining room, and when Kitayama, who is back in the room, tells him he looks like he has seen a ghost, the words tumble out of his mouth.
“Tama is dead.”
“No...” Miyata says slowly, but there's worry in his eyes, worry and denial. “He can't be. He just went smoking.”
“No, really, I saw him, I saw the blood, I...”
Fujigaya stands up, pulls him into his arms again. “Take a deep breath. Tell us what –”
Nikaido wants to ask Fujigaya why he doesn't know, wants to ask Kitayama why they weren't with him, because they were supposed to be, but there's not time for any of those questions, nor does Fujigaya manage to finish his sentence, before a staff member slams the door open.
“I'm here to tell you that there has been an incident at the hotel, and we would like you to stay calm. We have called for our security to search through the hotel, and the police will be here to investigate. Leaving the hotel will be impossible for now, but for those of you that have rooms booked it will be possible to go there once the search is over.” The man is speaking like he's reading off a paper, possibly in a shocked state as well, but it only frustrates Nikaido. He wants to shout at him that he knows, that they know, that it's one of them, but Fujigaya's hand on the back of his head calms him enough to realize that the staff can't do anything about it.
The search finishes without results, and they learn that the investigation will be continuing tomorrow and the following day, and that they will not be allowed to leave until they have been questioned. Relocating to their reserved room is however possible, and Senga keeps talking to Nikaido all the way to their shared room. It isn't easy to sleep that night, but Senga sits next to him, talks to him, gets him a glass of water before he gets into his own bed, still talking, and it's soon after that that he drifts away.
“Nika, Nika, wake up!” Senga's voice wakes him up just before he feels a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “You'll be late!”
“For what?” He blinks his eyes open, looks up at a face much too happy for what happened yesterday. “Questioning?”
“What? No, for dinner, stupid!” He realizes now that Senga is dressed in the same deep blue suit from yesterday, and Nikaido gets his own suit thrown onto the bed as he sits up. “I can't believe you slept all day. When did you even get here?”
The words don't reach Nikaido's brain properly, just kind of float into one ear and out the other while he pulls his suit towards himself. It smells clean.
“I have to shower first...” he mumbles. He still feels uncomfortable after touching Tamamori's dead body.
“Why? You look perfectly fine. Just brush your teeth and get dressed. I'm going downstairs, the others must be waiting already. I'll tell them I gave you five minutes.”
Five minutes is far from enough for a shower, and Senga knows that. Nikaido never agrees, but as he stands in front of the mirror he sees that yes, he does look perfectly fine. Not like he had been panicking last night. Weird. He settles with washing his hands three times, then pulls his dress shirt on, followed by his suit, then leaves for the dining room. He barely remembers the way there, hesitates at a couple turns but gets there eventually. That everything is so calm at the hotel bothers him; the staff greet him with smiles, the guests he passes are talking cheerfully to each other. Like nothing ever happened.
That is not the case, of course, and it hits Nikaido again when he enters the dining room to see the chair next to Miyata empty.
“The main course will be here soon,” Kitayama says, “Get your cameras out and ready!” Nikaido lifts an eyebrow at that, looks questioning at Kitayama, because that's not funny at all, but all he gets back is an equally questioning look, so he sits down between him and Senga just as Senga turns to Miyata; Nikaido turns to Kitayama instead.
“Did they already ask you about yesterday?” Nikaido is surprised by the wondering expression that forms on Kitayama's face at the question.
“What? These guys? Not really, but the past years they did ask about.” Kitayama laughs like Nikaido is joking with him, but his laughter fades away when Nikaido doesn't join in.
“No,” he nearly snaps, because he's getting annoyed now, “the security staff.”
“Nika... what? We just got here, why would they ask about yesterday?”
There's no way Kitayama got so drunk yesterday that he doesn't remember last night. There's no way he would try to joke it away, pretend like it never happened. It's so odd that Nikaido starts questioning himself. Did he dream the whole thing? He does remember arriving at the hotel, going to his and Senga's shared room to leave his suitcase there. Maybe it is like Senga said when he woke him up, that he slept all the way until dinner. The only thing that doesn't fit in with it is that Tamamori is actually not present, and Nikaido doubts he would have foreseen his absence in his dream, but when he tries to ask Kitayama about that, he is interrupted by waiters, plates in their hands, and all Kitayama says is that it looks delicious.
Nikaido tries to focus on the dinner, he really does, but it only feels like the food grows in his mouth, nothing at all like the dinner he had yesterday (or in his dreams), even though it's exactly the same dishes.
“Anyone coming with me?” Kitayama is gesturing towards the door with a packet of cigarettes, and Fujigaya stands up to follow him. In subtle panic Nikaido swallows the piece of steak he has in his mouth so fast he almost chokes on it, but he has to speak up. He has to.
“You shouldn't go,” he warns them, and Fujigaya furrows his eyebrows, then looks like he's about to laugh.
“Nika, you used to smoke too. Did you quit?”
“No, I mean, I... yesterday Tama went too and he didn't survive and –”
“I think you've had too much to drink,” Yokoo cuts him off then tries to calm him, takes his wineglass away from him and replaces it with a glass of water. When he looks back, Fujigaya and Kitayama are already out the door, most likely heading towards the stone balcony.
Nearly five minutes pass until Nikaido can't handle it anymore. He rises up with only the sound of his chair against the floor, and while Senga looks at him as he does, there are no questions, neither then nor when he is about to exit the door. The corridor outside looks just like the one he walked yesterday, and he follows his memories as accurately as he can. Even so the hotel feels like a labyrinth; when he turns the corner that he thinks is the last there is just another long, dimly lit corridor. Nikaido walks down it, and before he gets far he sees a large, dark spot on the floor. He slows down as he gets closer, because he thinks he knows what it is; when he is close enough to see more than a silhouette he recognizes the hair too. It has to be him. Brown and ruffled in the back (he's lying face down), and this time, Nikaido rushes forward.
“Gaya?” he tries, but there is no response, neither physical nor verbal when Nikaido sets his hand on the back of his suit jacket. He feels the unevenness in the fabric when he touches it, but it's not his focus; he listens for breaths, feels for a pulse with his other hand. It's not until he lifts his hand that he notices the sticky feeling on his palm, and he turns it over. It's stained with something dark, something he knows exactly what it is even though the lighting isn't sufficient enough to see it properly. There's blood on his hand. Blood on his hand, and Fujigaya dead on the carpeted corridor floor.
A dull sound against the floor further up the corridor and Nikaido looks up; a shadow is hurrying around a corner and before he knows it, he's chasing the person that must be the killer. He's just behind them, he hears them ahead when he turns around corner after corner, and when it opens up into another long corridor he hears the sound of a door opening. There's a thin line of light shining into the corridor as it's about to close, and Nikaido follows it to the right door. He takes hold of the door handle just before it shuts, opens it to see the back of a man. They're about to turn around, he thinks, feels panic rise inside him as it's not until now he realizes that if this is the one that had murdered both Tamamori and Fujigaya, there's no reason they couldn't do the same to Nikaido.
And as he considers his fleeing options there is a sudden, loud bang, and the world darkens in front of Nikaido's eyes.
Nikaido knows what to expect on the other side of the dark, wooden door. The large, round table, the chandelier, the heavy chairs.
“Nika!” It's Yokoo who greets him, walks up to him and hugs him. Unusual for Yokoo. “It's been so long!” He hugs him back, but it's difficult to be cheerful when the sight that meets him is empty chairs where Tamamori and Fujigaya should be sitting. With a nod and a low greeting towards the other he walks past Miyata, Tamamori's chair, Fujigaya's chair, past Senga, then sits down next to him. Kitayama is starting up a conversation with Yokoo on his left side, and to his right he hears Senga speak up.
“That ring... did you get married?”
Nikaido turns his attention their way quicker than he ever has before. That's what Senga had asked Tamamori.
“I... Yes,” Miyata answers, holds his left hand up with a grin. There's a golden band on his ring finger. “Just the ceremony. We will make it official if it becomes possible. I proposed last year.” It's not the first time he hears this, Nikaido thinks, only now it's from the other partner. From the partner who should be aware that Tamamori is dead, the partner who shouldn't be grinning and talking about an impossible future. It's odd, and suspicious, and Nikaido knows Miyata would never do anything like that, but on the other hand he hasn't met Miyata for a good amount of years. Maybe he changed. The thought frightens him.
He decides while eating. Because he has to find out. Doesn't want it to be Miyata. Or anybody else. The more he thinks of it, the less suspicious he gets of Miyata, and the more of Kitayama. He's the only one that has left the room along with the others. He has been with them. He has even asked them to come with him. It could be him, and the possibility frightens him just as much as it does with Miyata. So he decides to go find the room he ended up in yesterday. The one he only barely remembers the door of, where he almost got to see the murderer.
“Senga,” he mumbles as he taps his friend's shoulder. The waiters are taking the empty plates away, and he knows it will be a while until dessert is coming. “I'm going to go find the room I found yesterday.”
Senga looks at him like he has gone nuts. “Okay...”
“Just... In case I don't show up in time for dessert, will you come find me?”
“Nika, you don't even really like dessert.”
“No, but just come find me okay?” Senga shrugs but agrees, and Nikaido stands up to leave his friends. It doesn't cross his mind that no one else seems about to leave.
Once Nikaido is out in the corridors he starts wondering if they're changing each day. He doesn't find the balcony until someone passes him talking about it with their companion, and when he gets there he starts questioning his own decision because there is no way on earth is he going to find one hotel room out of the hundreds that exist in this hotel. All he knows is that it's on the same floor, because he never went up or down stairs while chasing the person he saw yesterday. In the end he ends up trying every handle on every door that looks somewhat familiar; he ignores the glances he gets from the people passing by him, too focused on finding the cause of his friend's deaths. That someone might call for security doesn't cross his mind until he finds a door that isn't locked, but he opens it even with that in mind. To his disappointment it leads to a restroom with cubicles, one that is awfully silent. Nikaido only takes a quick look around it; sees his own pale face in the mirror, has to stop and study just how stressed out he actually looks. One step further towards the mirror and more of the cubicles behind him come into view. So does the floor, where a strange, dark puddle has formed on the tiles. Looking up, he notices that the door to the cubicle is open, and when he turns around, pokes it open, he feels his stomach turning.
The inside of the cubicle is a mess. The body of a man is shoved into the small space between the toilet and the wall, there's blood on the walls, all over the clothes on the dead person. On the man's hair and face. Hair that is a light shade of brown, close to blond, where the blood hasn't tainted it. Hair that Nikaido recognizes, is very familiar with. This time he doesn't check for signs of the person still being alive, only squats to confirm his fears by looking at the face. The metallic smell of blood gets stronger when he gets closer to it, fills his nose and the moment he can make out the facial features under the red, sticky mess, he stands up and rushes to the sinks. The image of Senga's face won't disappear from the inside of his eyelids, even when tears wash over them as Nikaido empties his stomach until he's only coughing. There's a sour taste in his mouth when he pulls back, and he looks even worse when he spots himself in the mirror. He doesn't keep looking this time, the door to the cubicle is still open and he can see Senga's dead body in the corner of his eye even when he tries not to look.
There had been cuts similar to the ones on Tamamori's body, but on his chest and abdomen, and there had been more of them. On his face too. Nikaido tells himself over and over that the slash on his cheek hadn't been deep, that it hadn't been open all the way, but he had seen the hole and he can't get it out of his mind. He closes his eyes, tries to breath deep but the smell of blood fills his nose, the dirty air fills his lungs, he knows he should be searching for whoever did this but he has to let himself calm down. In the end he figures he has to leave the room and go back to the corridor, and it's when he decides to try that he opens his eyes again and see the blood on the rest of the floor. Shoe prints. Some of them lead to himself; he must have stepped in the pool of blood. Others lead to the door, and those are the ones he follows.
It's difficult to follow the footprints on dark carpet in dim lighting, but Nikaido walks slowly, follows carefully. Twice he has to bend down and touch the floor around a corner to figure out where the prints lead, but eventually he's there. In that corridor. And he knows now that the third door to the left is the one he's looking for.
With a trembling hand he reaches for the door handle, pushes down and meets no resistance; the door is open. As silently as he possibly can he opens it, looks inside. He can't see anyone there. So he takes a step forward, then another, listens for any kind of movement. It's too late when something strikes his head once, twice, and he barely feels himself falling as he collapses on the floor.
As though in a trance Nikaido steps into the room with the round table, met by cheerful voices whose words his brain doesn't register as he sits down next to the empty chair that Senga sat on the past nights. It's not until he greets Kitayama, Yokoo and Miyata, then turns his head back, that he sees a pattern. Tamamori, Fujigaya, Senga. They had been sitting in order of their deaths. Maybe it's a coincidence, but that doesn't change the fact that his heart speeds its beats up considerably when he realizes that he's the next one. He looks up at the remaining three for some kind of support; they are looking at him with worry in their eyes, but he hears the whispers, hears them wondering what's wrong.
“That ring... did you get married?” The words tumble out of his own mouth when he meets Miyata's eyes, even though he can't remember even thinking about the ring on his finger.
“I... Yes.” Miyata lifts his left hand. “Just the ceremony. We will make it official if it becomes possible. I proposed last year.”
Kitayama follows up with questions that Nikaido can't hear, they don't seem coherent to his mind because everything feels like it's spinning and he grabs for his glass of water, gulps the liquid down and reaches for more with an unsteady hand.
“Nika, what's wrong?” Yokoo's worried voice makes it through to Nikaido's mind. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“Mm,” he mumbles into his glass, gulps it down just like the first. “I'm next, they're gone and I'm next and I don't know where the room is...” It's obvious on Yokoo's face that he doesn't understand; Miyata and Kitayama look just the same, as if doubting his sanity. To be fair, Nikaido is starting to doubt himself too.
“I'm sure it'll be okay,” Kitayama smiles, pats him on the shoulder, and Nikaido tries not to shy away from it.
Despite the glances he continues getting, despite the comments on how delicious the food is, Nikaido doesn't eat anything that night. He attempts the salad, but he can't swallow, his throat tightens up and refuses, and he gives up on it. The water is all he gets down, the smell of the red wine makes him nauseous, and even when they ask, he has realized there's no use explaining why he is so anxious.
Tonight, he doesn't try to find the room, or the killer. He doesn't go outside the room, and while Kitayama does go for a smoke, he comes back in time for the dessert Nikaido won't touch with his spoon.
“Nika, really, you were never like this? Has anything happened? Is someone in your family sick?” Yokoo seems genuinely concerned now, but Nikaido just shakes his head. “If you were feeling bad, you didn't have to come, you know. We could have arranged a new thing. We should do this more often anyway, right?” Miyata agrees with him, and Kitayama nods, adds that they're not that many anyway, seven is small for a after-school activity club. Nikaido bites back the words his mind tells him to say, that they're four now, not seven.
“Kitayama,” he decides to ask, “could you come with me to my room?”
Kitayama chuckles. “Are the dark corridors scary?” Nikaido wants to say yes, yes they are, and there's dead people, there's blood, there's someone out in them waiting to kill him tonight, but he doesn't. “Or is there anything in particular you want me to do?”
Kitayama is the same as back in high school, which Nikaido does know, but neither Yokoo nor Miyata do and they laugh at his wink and flirty suggestion.
“Just go with me. Please?”
He shrugs, serious now. “Sure, why not. I think we're on the same floor anyway. Fifth, right?”
But nothing happens. Kitayama is happy and tipsy, follows Nikaido to his room and says goodnight as he closes the door. So it can't be Kitayama, Nikaido assumes. Maybe it is an outsider. It would feel better if that was the case, if it wasn't for the fact that now Nikaido is on his own in a hotel room and that he doesn't feel alone at all. So on shaky legs and with trembling hands he checks under the bed, opens every tiny little door, behind the shower curtain; he only refuses to look in the mirror while he's in the bathroom.
After checking everything over again, he finds that he really is alone, and reluctantly gets into bed. His ears are filled with the sounds around him; people walking by outside his door, a child crying in the room above his, someone showering in the next room. The quieter his surroundings get the more he listens, the more tense he gets, and the more unlikely it feels for him to get to sleep at all.
When Nikaido wakes up the next day, he can't recall falling asleep. As he reaches for his phone he almost expects it to be late afternoon, and he's surprised to find the time displayed to be close to nine in the morning. He vaguely remembers “breakfast until eleven” written on the reunion invitation he had received, assumes at least Yokoo and Miyata must already be downstairs eating. A pair of jeans and a nice-looking t-shirt will have to do, he decides, it's just breakfast after all, and after washing his face (still not looking into the mirror) he makes his way to the same room that they had booked for dinner.
The corridors seem brighter now that the daylight shine in through the windows in the corners of them, lightens Nikaido's mood so much that he starts thinking that maybe he has dreamed the entire thing. Maybe all of his friends will be having breakfast together when he gets there. It's just a small spark of hope, barely there but enough to make his heart sink when he first sees the same three friends from yesterday. It takes him a couple seconds later to notice the back of a fourth head, one with short black hair, and his heart skips a beat when Tamamori turns around with a smile.
“Sleeping in, huh,” he says, and Nikaido nods. Words spin so fast inside his head he can't decide what to say first; for starters he just sits down, eyes still on Tamamori, who looks back at him with empty eyes like he's waiting for him to speak.
“Tama... I survived.” It's all he can think of, and then it hits him that maybe Tamamori is there because Nikaido didn't die. That's why Fujigaya or Senga aren't there. And if no one dies tonight, then Fujigaya will be back. That must be it, and the hope inside him grows.
“What?” Tamamori sounds honest about his question, but it only makes Nikaido go further.
“I didn't die yesterday, like you did, like Gaya and Senga, and you're back, so that's it right? I survived, I'm here.” In the background Nikaido hears Miyata and Yokoo speaking to each other as if completely unaffected by what he's saying; Kitayama is busy eating, but he's looking at the other two as if following their conversation.
“Nika. What are you talking about?” Tamamori shakes his head lightly, leans forward for the butter, and that's when Nikaido notices them. Two dark spots, on each side of his collarbone. The stab wounds Nikaido had found him with, and it's not until he sees them that he realized the others never greeted him as he entered.
Kis-My-Ft2 (gen, except for the minor Miyata/Tamamori)
AU, gen, 5500, R. Mild horror, character death, mild gore
What Nikaido had thought would be a happy school club reunion turns into a messy nightmare when he finds the first of his friends dead.
A/N: Written for JE Trick or Fic 2016, originally posted here.
As he enters the room reserved for their reunion, Nikaido is overwhelmed by the atmosphere in the room. Not the one that his friends create, but the one that the hotel provides. The table is in solid wood, round and large with a marble top, chairs in the same dark wood, with large backrests and deep red thin cushions on the seats. There's a large chandelier above it, with actual candles in it, and Nikaido feels like he has stepped into a whole different part of the world, or possibly a different era.
“Nika!” A familiar voice calls for him, followed by the scraping sound of a heavy chair being moved across the stone floor. The smile Fujigaya is wearing is genuinely happy, it looks gorgeous on him, and although Fujigaya never really used to touch anyone, he wraps his arms around Nikaido in an embrace as he greets him. “It's been so long!”
It really has. When Nikaido looks at each one of them he of course recognizes them, but all of them have grown a lot since high school. He studies them as Fujigaya leads him to his seat; on his right is Senga, who is still one of his closest friends and the only one he has nearly daily contact with. Therefore Senga doesn't catch his attention, he just greets him as he sits down. On Senga's opposite side sits Fujigaya, hair stylish and clothes even more so, far from the delinquent style he used to have. It looks good on him, then again, they were never able to find a style that didn't look good on him. Nikaido remembers the photos they had taken of him, and although they were all amateurs, there were only a few photos that didn't come out great when Fujigaya had modeled.
On Fujigaya's other side is Tamamori, who has grown tall and handsome. The awkwardness is still visible in his smile, but it's far from as prominent as it used to be.
“The main course will be here soon,” Kitayama announces for what seems like no particular reason, but only until he continues. “Get your cameras out and ready!” He's going at the cheerfulness fitting a group date, or maybe a karaoke party, but it's nothing that Nikaido wasn't expecting. When he met him two years ago, he was the same, if anything perhaps more of everything. Kitayama had always been the popular, flirty guy who didn't really belong in the after-school activity club, but had joined and stayed with them either way.
“Did you bring your cameras...?” Miyata asks sheepishly, like he has missed out on information he should have had before arriving, but Kitayama laughs.
“I just brought my phone. Nice photography club, isn't this. I hope our kouhai are doing better.” The response makes Miyata's face lighten into a smile, and Nikaido feels like it wasn't eight years since last time they met. He has matured a lot, looks like a man, not a boy, his hair a nice red-brown color. There's something else about him too, but it's more of an aura, an energy that spreads into the room, and Nikaido has a hard time figuring out what until he hears Senga's question for Tamamori.
“That ring... did you get married?”
Tamamori is trying to hold his grin back, would probably try to stop the blush too if he could. “Just the ceremony. If it ever becomes possible to do it officially, we will. But he proposed last year.” Next to him Miyata is smiling too, ears going red as he holds up his own left hand to show off the ring.
“You mean you didn't know?” Fujigaya asks both him and Nikaido, to which they both shake their hands.
“The internet didn't tell me,” Senga says, then falls into a conversation about the ceremony and where they did it and what they wore and if they will do a new one when same-sex marriage comes to Japan too.
“I don't like the internet...” Nikaido mumbles, at which Fujigaya laughs, but quickly joins the wedding conversation. “Oh, Yokoo, you brought a real camera!
“I assumed no one else would.” Yokoo looks just like he used to, of course a bit older, and his personality seems to be the same. He had always been the most responsible one, even though he had been juggling two clubs at the same time. Nikaido feels glad to see him there, a feeling he knows from back when Yokoo showed up at their club room, even though he's aware that there's no way the baseball club would have a reunion on the same day as they do.
Dinner is delicious, possibly made even better by the sounds Kitayama makes next to him as they eat. It almost surprises him that Kitayama didn't end up writing food columns in a magazine or something, considering how much he loves good food. For Nikaido the focus isn't the food itself, but the exchanges he gets to do with friends he hasn't met for years, the combinations of them that he hasn't seen interacting for just as long if not longer. It's so much fun that he doesn't realize the food is gone until the waiters are taking their plates away and only leaves the glasses refilled with wine.
“I'm so full,” Fujigaya complains with a smile, but still reaches for his glass. Nikaido feels himself copy the motion without giving his body the command, realizes maybe he shouldn't have more wine, but he drinks it nevertheless, eyes on Fujigaya's lips as he drinks (and Senga's knowing smirk is visible in the corner of his eye).
“Anyone coming with me?” Kitayama waves a packet of cigarettes as he stands up; Fujigaya puts his glass down with a nod, and Tamamori pushes his chair backwards to follow them. “We'll be at the balcony if you need us.”
Miyata and Senga are deeply involved in a conversation Nikaido has no idea about, and when they try to drag Yokoo and himself into it he just excuses himself to go join the others on the balcony. Nikaido doesn't smoke all that often, but if he has company, then why not. It's not until he's outside their private room that he realizes he doesn't know where the balcony is, and that this hotel is larger than he first thought it would be. The corridors are dark, lit up with dim lamps, and he wanders about for a little while until a staff member asks him if he's lost.
“I'd like to go to the balcony,” he says, and it turns out he was only one parallel corridor from it. He thanks the staff and heads out the door to find the largest balcony he has seen in real life. It reminds of something straight out of a movie, both the floor and the railing made with stone, large flowers in the next to the double glass doors he just walked through; the balcony is so wide that he can't see the corners from where he's standing. It doesn't strike him that he can't hear any voices, he just takes a few steps forward to search for his friends. No one to the left; he turns his head to the right, and feels himself go cold inside.
On the stone floor is a seemingly lifeless body dressed in a suit. He stares at it for a few seconds, trying to will himself to go there, to help the person regain consciousness (he refuses to believe they're dead). Stepping forward he spots the red on the white shirt, then he sees the face, and the stain of blood on his friend's lower lip. Nikaido moves without thinking, his hand trembling as he reaches out to search for Tamamori's pulse on his wrist, but there's nothing. He's still warm, he notices, forces himself to look for the source of his blood; what he finds is two wounds flooded with blood, one below his right collarbone and one above it, a cut into his neck. He only barely registers the puddle of blood before he hears shoes against stone, looks up to see a shadow disappear in the door along with the sound of the same shoes running over the carpet inside the hotel. Nikaido has to pull back when he looks back down at Tamamori, rush to the stone railing to empty his stomach over it. That he should feel apologetic to the staff and the guests on the lower floors doesn't cross his mind; on shaking legs he leaves the balcony, miraculously makes it to their dining room, and when Kitayama, who is back in the room, tells him he looks like he has seen a ghost, the words tumble out of his mouth.
“Tama is dead.”
“No...” Miyata says slowly, but there's worry in his eyes, worry and denial. “He can't be. He just went smoking.”
“No, really, I saw him, I saw the blood, I...”
Fujigaya stands up, pulls him into his arms again. “Take a deep breath. Tell us what –”
Nikaido wants to ask Fujigaya why he doesn't know, wants to ask Kitayama why they weren't with him, because they were supposed to be, but there's not time for any of those questions, nor does Fujigaya manage to finish his sentence, before a staff member slams the door open.
“I'm here to tell you that there has been an incident at the hotel, and we would like you to stay calm. We have called for our security to search through the hotel, and the police will be here to investigate. Leaving the hotel will be impossible for now, but for those of you that have rooms booked it will be possible to go there once the search is over.” The man is speaking like he's reading off a paper, possibly in a shocked state as well, but it only frustrates Nikaido. He wants to shout at him that he knows, that they know, that it's one of them, but Fujigaya's hand on the back of his head calms him enough to realize that the staff can't do anything about it.
The search finishes without results, and they learn that the investigation will be continuing tomorrow and the following day, and that they will not be allowed to leave until they have been questioned. Relocating to their reserved room is however possible, and Senga keeps talking to Nikaido all the way to their shared room. It isn't easy to sleep that night, but Senga sits next to him, talks to him, gets him a glass of water before he gets into his own bed, still talking, and it's soon after that that he drifts away.
-
“Nika, Nika, wake up!” Senga's voice wakes him up just before he feels a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “You'll be late!”
“For what?” He blinks his eyes open, looks up at a face much too happy for what happened yesterday. “Questioning?”
“What? No, for dinner, stupid!” He realizes now that Senga is dressed in the same deep blue suit from yesterday, and Nikaido gets his own suit thrown onto the bed as he sits up. “I can't believe you slept all day. When did you even get here?”
The words don't reach Nikaido's brain properly, just kind of float into one ear and out the other while he pulls his suit towards himself. It smells clean.
“I have to shower first...” he mumbles. He still feels uncomfortable after touching Tamamori's dead body.
“Why? You look perfectly fine. Just brush your teeth and get dressed. I'm going downstairs, the others must be waiting already. I'll tell them I gave you five minutes.”
Five minutes is far from enough for a shower, and Senga knows that. Nikaido never agrees, but as he stands in front of the mirror he sees that yes, he does look perfectly fine. Not like he had been panicking last night. Weird. He settles with washing his hands three times, then pulls his dress shirt on, followed by his suit, then leaves for the dining room. He barely remembers the way there, hesitates at a couple turns but gets there eventually. That everything is so calm at the hotel bothers him; the staff greet him with smiles, the guests he passes are talking cheerfully to each other. Like nothing ever happened.
That is not the case, of course, and it hits Nikaido again when he enters the dining room to see the chair next to Miyata empty.
“The main course will be here soon,” Kitayama says, “Get your cameras out and ready!” Nikaido lifts an eyebrow at that, looks questioning at Kitayama, because that's not funny at all, but all he gets back is an equally questioning look, so he sits down between him and Senga just as Senga turns to Miyata; Nikaido turns to Kitayama instead.
“Did they already ask you about yesterday?” Nikaido is surprised by the wondering expression that forms on Kitayama's face at the question.
“What? These guys? Not really, but the past years they did ask about.” Kitayama laughs like Nikaido is joking with him, but his laughter fades away when Nikaido doesn't join in.
“No,” he nearly snaps, because he's getting annoyed now, “the security staff.”
“Nika... what? We just got here, why would they ask about yesterday?”
There's no way Kitayama got so drunk yesterday that he doesn't remember last night. There's no way he would try to joke it away, pretend like it never happened. It's so odd that Nikaido starts questioning himself. Did he dream the whole thing? He does remember arriving at the hotel, going to his and Senga's shared room to leave his suitcase there. Maybe it is like Senga said when he woke him up, that he slept all the way until dinner. The only thing that doesn't fit in with it is that Tamamori is actually not present, and Nikaido doubts he would have foreseen his absence in his dream, but when he tries to ask Kitayama about that, he is interrupted by waiters, plates in their hands, and all Kitayama says is that it looks delicious.
Nikaido tries to focus on the dinner, he really does, but it only feels like the food grows in his mouth, nothing at all like the dinner he had yesterday (or in his dreams), even though it's exactly the same dishes.
“Anyone coming with me?” Kitayama is gesturing towards the door with a packet of cigarettes, and Fujigaya stands up to follow him. In subtle panic Nikaido swallows the piece of steak he has in his mouth so fast he almost chokes on it, but he has to speak up. He has to.
“You shouldn't go,” he warns them, and Fujigaya furrows his eyebrows, then looks like he's about to laugh.
“Nika, you used to smoke too. Did you quit?”
“No, I mean, I... yesterday Tama went too and he didn't survive and –”
“I think you've had too much to drink,” Yokoo cuts him off then tries to calm him, takes his wineglass away from him and replaces it with a glass of water. When he looks back, Fujigaya and Kitayama are already out the door, most likely heading towards the stone balcony.
Nearly five minutes pass until Nikaido can't handle it anymore. He rises up with only the sound of his chair against the floor, and while Senga looks at him as he does, there are no questions, neither then nor when he is about to exit the door. The corridor outside looks just like the one he walked yesterday, and he follows his memories as accurately as he can. Even so the hotel feels like a labyrinth; when he turns the corner that he thinks is the last there is just another long, dimly lit corridor. Nikaido walks down it, and before he gets far he sees a large, dark spot on the floor. He slows down as he gets closer, because he thinks he knows what it is; when he is close enough to see more than a silhouette he recognizes the hair too. It has to be him. Brown and ruffled in the back (he's lying face down), and this time, Nikaido rushes forward.
“Gaya?” he tries, but there is no response, neither physical nor verbal when Nikaido sets his hand on the back of his suit jacket. He feels the unevenness in the fabric when he touches it, but it's not his focus; he listens for breaths, feels for a pulse with his other hand. It's not until he lifts his hand that he notices the sticky feeling on his palm, and he turns it over. It's stained with something dark, something he knows exactly what it is even though the lighting isn't sufficient enough to see it properly. There's blood on his hand. Blood on his hand, and Fujigaya dead on the carpeted corridor floor.
A dull sound against the floor further up the corridor and Nikaido looks up; a shadow is hurrying around a corner and before he knows it, he's chasing the person that must be the killer. He's just behind them, he hears them ahead when he turns around corner after corner, and when it opens up into another long corridor he hears the sound of a door opening. There's a thin line of light shining into the corridor as it's about to close, and Nikaido follows it to the right door. He takes hold of the door handle just before it shuts, opens it to see the back of a man. They're about to turn around, he thinks, feels panic rise inside him as it's not until now he realizes that if this is the one that had murdered both Tamamori and Fujigaya, there's no reason they couldn't do the same to Nikaido.
And as he considers his fleeing options there is a sudden, loud bang, and the world darkens in front of Nikaido's eyes.
-
Nikaido knows what to expect on the other side of the dark, wooden door. The large, round table, the chandelier, the heavy chairs.
“Nika!” It's Yokoo who greets him, walks up to him and hugs him. Unusual for Yokoo. “It's been so long!” He hugs him back, but it's difficult to be cheerful when the sight that meets him is empty chairs where Tamamori and Fujigaya should be sitting. With a nod and a low greeting towards the other he walks past Miyata, Tamamori's chair, Fujigaya's chair, past Senga, then sits down next to him. Kitayama is starting up a conversation with Yokoo on his left side, and to his right he hears Senga speak up.
“That ring... did you get married?”
Nikaido turns his attention their way quicker than he ever has before. That's what Senga had asked Tamamori.
“I... Yes,” Miyata answers, holds his left hand up with a grin. There's a golden band on his ring finger. “Just the ceremony. We will make it official if it becomes possible. I proposed last year.” It's not the first time he hears this, Nikaido thinks, only now it's from the other partner. From the partner who should be aware that Tamamori is dead, the partner who shouldn't be grinning and talking about an impossible future. It's odd, and suspicious, and Nikaido knows Miyata would never do anything like that, but on the other hand he hasn't met Miyata for a good amount of years. Maybe he changed. The thought frightens him.
He decides while eating. Because he has to find out. Doesn't want it to be Miyata. Or anybody else. The more he thinks of it, the less suspicious he gets of Miyata, and the more of Kitayama. He's the only one that has left the room along with the others. He has been with them. He has even asked them to come with him. It could be him, and the possibility frightens him just as much as it does with Miyata. So he decides to go find the room he ended up in yesterday. The one he only barely remembers the door of, where he almost got to see the murderer.
“Senga,” he mumbles as he taps his friend's shoulder. The waiters are taking the empty plates away, and he knows it will be a while until dessert is coming. “I'm going to go find the room I found yesterday.”
Senga looks at him like he has gone nuts. “Okay...”
“Just... In case I don't show up in time for dessert, will you come find me?”
“Nika, you don't even really like dessert.”
“No, but just come find me okay?” Senga shrugs but agrees, and Nikaido stands up to leave his friends. It doesn't cross his mind that no one else seems about to leave.
Once Nikaido is out in the corridors he starts wondering if they're changing each day. He doesn't find the balcony until someone passes him talking about it with their companion, and when he gets there he starts questioning his own decision because there is no way on earth is he going to find one hotel room out of the hundreds that exist in this hotel. All he knows is that it's on the same floor, because he never went up or down stairs while chasing the person he saw yesterday. In the end he ends up trying every handle on every door that looks somewhat familiar; he ignores the glances he gets from the people passing by him, too focused on finding the cause of his friend's deaths. That someone might call for security doesn't cross his mind until he finds a door that isn't locked, but he opens it even with that in mind. To his disappointment it leads to a restroom with cubicles, one that is awfully silent. Nikaido only takes a quick look around it; sees his own pale face in the mirror, has to stop and study just how stressed out he actually looks. One step further towards the mirror and more of the cubicles behind him come into view. So does the floor, where a strange, dark puddle has formed on the tiles. Looking up, he notices that the door to the cubicle is open, and when he turns around, pokes it open, he feels his stomach turning.
The inside of the cubicle is a mess. The body of a man is shoved into the small space between the toilet and the wall, there's blood on the walls, all over the clothes on the dead person. On the man's hair and face. Hair that is a light shade of brown, close to blond, where the blood hasn't tainted it. Hair that Nikaido recognizes, is very familiar with. This time he doesn't check for signs of the person still being alive, only squats to confirm his fears by looking at the face. The metallic smell of blood gets stronger when he gets closer to it, fills his nose and the moment he can make out the facial features under the red, sticky mess, he stands up and rushes to the sinks. The image of Senga's face won't disappear from the inside of his eyelids, even when tears wash over them as Nikaido empties his stomach until he's only coughing. There's a sour taste in his mouth when he pulls back, and he looks even worse when he spots himself in the mirror. He doesn't keep looking this time, the door to the cubicle is still open and he can see Senga's dead body in the corner of his eye even when he tries not to look.
There had been cuts similar to the ones on Tamamori's body, but on his chest and abdomen, and there had been more of them. On his face too. Nikaido tells himself over and over that the slash on his cheek hadn't been deep, that it hadn't been open all the way, but he had seen the hole and he can't get it out of his mind. He closes his eyes, tries to breath deep but the smell of blood fills his nose, the dirty air fills his lungs, he knows he should be searching for whoever did this but he has to let himself calm down. In the end he figures he has to leave the room and go back to the corridor, and it's when he decides to try that he opens his eyes again and see the blood on the rest of the floor. Shoe prints. Some of them lead to himself; he must have stepped in the pool of blood. Others lead to the door, and those are the ones he follows.
It's difficult to follow the footprints on dark carpet in dim lighting, but Nikaido walks slowly, follows carefully. Twice he has to bend down and touch the floor around a corner to figure out where the prints lead, but eventually he's there. In that corridor. And he knows now that the third door to the left is the one he's looking for.
With a trembling hand he reaches for the door handle, pushes down and meets no resistance; the door is open. As silently as he possibly can he opens it, looks inside. He can't see anyone there. So he takes a step forward, then another, listens for any kind of movement. It's too late when something strikes his head once, twice, and he barely feels himself falling as he collapses on the floor.
-
As though in a trance Nikaido steps into the room with the round table, met by cheerful voices whose words his brain doesn't register as he sits down next to the empty chair that Senga sat on the past nights. It's not until he greets Kitayama, Yokoo and Miyata, then turns his head back, that he sees a pattern. Tamamori, Fujigaya, Senga. They had been sitting in order of their deaths. Maybe it's a coincidence, but that doesn't change the fact that his heart speeds its beats up considerably when he realizes that he's the next one. He looks up at the remaining three for some kind of support; they are looking at him with worry in their eyes, but he hears the whispers, hears them wondering what's wrong.
“That ring... did you get married?” The words tumble out of his own mouth when he meets Miyata's eyes, even though he can't remember even thinking about the ring on his finger.
“I... Yes.” Miyata lifts his left hand. “Just the ceremony. We will make it official if it becomes possible. I proposed last year.”
Kitayama follows up with questions that Nikaido can't hear, they don't seem coherent to his mind because everything feels like it's spinning and he grabs for his glass of water, gulps the liquid down and reaches for more with an unsteady hand.
“Nika, what's wrong?” Yokoo's worried voice makes it through to Nikaido's mind. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“Mm,” he mumbles into his glass, gulps it down just like the first. “I'm next, they're gone and I'm next and I don't know where the room is...” It's obvious on Yokoo's face that he doesn't understand; Miyata and Kitayama look just the same, as if doubting his sanity. To be fair, Nikaido is starting to doubt himself too.
“I'm sure it'll be okay,” Kitayama smiles, pats him on the shoulder, and Nikaido tries not to shy away from it.
Despite the glances he continues getting, despite the comments on how delicious the food is, Nikaido doesn't eat anything that night. He attempts the salad, but he can't swallow, his throat tightens up and refuses, and he gives up on it. The water is all he gets down, the smell of the red wine makes him nauseous, and even when they ask, he has realized there's no use explaining why he is so anxious.
Tonight, he doesn't try to find the room, or the killer. He doesn't go outside the room, and while Kitayama does go for a smoke, he comes back in time for the dessert Nikaido won't touch with his spoon.
“Nika, really, you were never like this? Has anything happened? Is someone in your family sick?” Yokoo seems genuinely concerned now, but Nikaido just shakes his head. “If you were feeling bad, you didn't have to come, you know. We could have arranged a new thing. We should do this more often anyway, right?” Miyata agrees with him, and Kitayama nods, adds that they're not that many anyway, seven is small for a after-school activity club. Nikaido bites back the words his mind tells him to say, that they're four now, not seven.
“Kitayama,” he decides to ask, “could you come with me to my room?”
Kitayama chuckles. “Are the dark corridors scary?” Nikaido wants to say yes, yes they are, and there's dead people, there's blood, there's someone out in them waiting to kill him tonight, but he doesn't. “Or is there anything in particular you want me to do?”
Kitayama is the same as back in high school, which Nikaido does know, but neither Yokoo nor Miyata do and they laugh at his wink and flirty suggestion.
“Just go with me. Please?”
He shrugs, serious now. “Sure, why not. I think we're on the same floor anyway. Fifth, right?”
But nothing happens. Kitayama is happy and tipsy, follows Nikaido to his room and says goodnight as he closes the door. So it can't be Kitayama, Nikaido assumes. Maybe it is an outsider. It would feel better if that was the case, if it wasn't for the fact that now Nikaido is on his own in a hotel room and that he doesn't feel alone at all. So on shaky legs and with trembling hands he checks under the bed, opens every tiny little door, behind the shower curtain; he only refuses to look in the mirror while he's in the bathroom.
After checking everything over again, he finds that he really is alone, and reluctantly gets into bed. His ears are filled with the sounds around him; people walking by outside his door, a child crying in the room above his, someone showering in the next room. The quieter his surroundings get the more he listens, the more tense he gets, and the more unlikely it feels for him to get to sleep at all.
-
When Nikaido wakes up the next day, he can't recall falling asleep. As he reaches for his phone he almost expects it to be late afternoon, and he's surprised to find the time displayed to be close to nine in the morning. He vaguely remembers “breakfast until eleven” written on the reunion invitation he had received, assumes at least Yokoo and Miyata must already be downstairs eating. A pair of jeans and a nice-looking t-shirt will have to do, he decides, it's just breakfast after all, and after washing his face (still not looking into the mirror) he makes his way to the same room that they had booked for dinner.
The corridors seem brighter now that the daylight shine in through the windows in the corners of them, lightens Nikaido's mood so much that he starts thinking that maybe he has dreamed the entire thing. Maybe all of his friends will be having breakfast together when he gets there. It's just a small spark of hope, barely there but enough to make his heart sink when he first sees the same three friends from yesterday. It takes him a couple seconds later to notice the back of a fourth head, one with short black hair, and his heart skips a beat when Tamamori turns around with a smile.
“Sleeping in, huh,” he says, and Nikaido nods. Words spin so fast inside his head he can't decide what to say first; for starters he just sits down, eyes still on Tamamori, who looks back at him with empty eyes like he's waiting for him to speak.
“Tama... I survived.” It's all he can think of, and then it hits him that maybe Tamamori is there because Nikaido didn't die. That's why Fujigaya or Senga aren't there. And if no one dies tonight, then Fujigaya will be back. That must be it, and the hope inside him grows.
“What?” Tamamori sounds honest about his question, but it only makes Nikaido go further.
“I didn't die yesterday, like you did, like Gaya and Senga, and you're back, so that's it right? I survived, I'm here.” In the background Nikaido hears Miyata and Yokoo speaking to each other as if completely unaffected by what he's saying; Kitayama is busy eating, but he's looking at the other two as if following their conversation.
“Nika. What are you talking about?” Tamamori shakes his head lightly, leans forward for the butter, and that's when Nikaido notices them. Two dark spots, on each side of his collarbone. The stab wounds Nikaido had found him with, and it's not until he sees them that he realized the others never greeted him as he entered.