[fic] Coloured Candlelight
Title: Coloured Candlelight
Pairing: Maru/Kame if you squint.
Wordcount: ~2,000
Rating: R for attempted creepiness
Genre/Warning: AU, horror, starts in media res
Summary: Kame burns in Ueda’s eyes
Notes: Can you tell I hang out in je_squickfic? :P Betaed by the lovely kjyr. Also, heavily based on this.
Hold them down our bleeding suspects
(Just because, just 'cause, just who are you?)
Like candle light, burn burn burn, baby
(Burn, burn, whose turn, Who gets a taste today?)
Nothingwrong - Jimmy Eat World
could you kill me?
Kamenashi stares at the figure in front of him. He reaches out, one tentative, shaking hand breaking the cool air. “Ueda?” The name ghosts over his lips; he’s not sure if it’s come out at all.
A hand moves around the flame, almost cupped. The flicking red and yellow illuminates the cuts in the once-perfect palm, jagged black lines through the soft flesh. “Mm?”
“Ueda, come with me.” Kame steps forward now, bending over, knees crumpling below a perfect form. “Come on, Ueda, come with me.”
Practiced, long fingers drive a needle through another wing, silver encased in purple, ruining beauty, creating beauty. “No, I don’t think so,” Ueda replies, the glimmer of a smile flashing across his features before he lowers the creature into the flame.
A wail fills the room, the wings beating desperately three times before falling to ash. Its eyes open, it continues to fight, but the needle’s been shifted now, driven through the middle of its body, forcing it in two.
In mere seconds, the being is erased. Strings attract each other, drawing together through some invisible force, creating memories; red sound, purple vision, grey scent.
“Ueda...” Kame’s voice trails off, shaking, pitch increasing with each second. “Ueda, you’re scaring us.”
The perfect fingers draw out another butterfly from the jar, careful not to touch its wings, careful not to wipe the magic off. “They say when you point, you kill a fairy.”
Here, he lowers the creature into the flame again, wide eyes watching its destruction.
“Ueda.” Kame has nothing else to say, nothing else to beg.
Another creature is threaded on. “When you swear, you kill an angel.”
He lowers it down into the flame once again. This time, it bursts in an explosion of green, of peace.
“When you stop caring, you kill a butterfly.”
if this world was on fire
It flashes across the news one day, infecting his radio. Idol Akanishi Jin missing in the United States.
Kame hits the snooze button on his alarm. The noise stops, annoying commentary silenced. He rolls his legs over the sides of his bed, sheets rustling as he does so, and stretches, yawning.
Groggy eyes match groggy hands, blindly flung out to find his clothes. He tugs an old t-shirt on, which falls over one shoulder, his collarbone prominent against the stained white. A pair of grey tracksuits follow, bare feet hitting cold tiles in the kitchen.
The kettle’s turned on, coffee in the glass, milk following. The water’s boiled; he pours it, raising the brown to his lips.
It’s only after the first two sips slosh into his mouth he’s able to properly function.
“Wait.”
Coffee forgotten, glass set precariously atop a bench, he rushes over, turns the radio back on, dial set to full. Slapping sounds fill the apartment as he tries to find the remote, TV turned to the news, volume up full.
They’re all saying the same thing.
Idol Akanishi Jin missing in the United States.
Honeyed hands run through darker hair, legs pressing against the floor as he sinks down, trying to make sense of it. His phone buzzes on the table; he watches his own hands answer it.
A voice comes out, not his own. “Yeah?”
“Kame, have you heard the news?”
It’s a repeat. “Yeah.”
“Are you - do you know anything about it?”
He blinks, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog lingering around it. “Wait, who’s this?”
The voice is hesitant, tentative. “Kame?” it finally says, asks. “Are you okay?”
He gets up, legs trembling, ears ringing. His finger jabs at the TV, turning it off, before the radio hits the ground and blessed silence fills the room once again. “Yeah? What?”
“We’ll talk at work. Leave now, I’ll meet you there.”
It takes him a few seconds to remember where he works. It’s a soulless figure that gets on the tram that day, each step turning into ash, blown away with nothing more than a flame.
and all that was left, was hope and desire
He wrenches his hand away from the green of the table, coins falling from his palm, leaving the skin forever.
The fingers return to their cards, tapping against them. Kame tries to ignore the nagging feeling at the edge of his brain; another drink ensures his success.
Red travels from card to flesh, meeting blood, worming its way under the skin. He doesn’t notice, playing again, laughing far too loud above the drunken noise.
Kame’s playing with old friends, friends before the Fall, before everything tilted on its side and people began to slide out.
He loses another hand. The cards slip out from where he’s clutching them tightly; a crease runs across the leftmost card. The text JOKER is fractured, curled in on one another.
He motions over for another drink, another cigarette. Soft hands pull on gold edges, glasses hiding his eyes from those he once knew, from the world he’s rapidly forgetting.
the trains are so loud
The announcement is almost lost this time. He’s eating dinner when it comes through, ear buds pressed firmly in his ear.
Rapper Koki Tanaka confirmed to be amongst those missing at the burning of Sendai airport.
The fork drops, spinning silver on the chipped plate. A green pea is amongst the victims impaled on it, turning slowly with the implement.
He blinks. Once, twice. The emotions drain from him, his thoughts slow, calculating. Maru. Koki’s gone. He wasn’t at Sendai. Do you know anything?
The text is sent. The letters burn on his skin, transferring from flickering screen to thumb, calloused thumb to eyeball, branded forever in his sight, on his skin, in his soul.
Do you know anything?
He certainly doesn’t.
The dinner is left untouched from then on. Kame gets up, leg hitting the edge of the table, and walks, five steps, three steps, counting each movement of his body until he finds the bedroom.
The sheets twist around his legs. His fingers knot themselves in the pillowcase, his phone under his head, pressed against his ear.
Water, salty, travels from the corner of his eyelids, wetting the side of his face. Gradually, the level rises, until he can barely breathe from it, travelling up his nose, in his mouth, infecting his brain, his lungs, his heart.
it’s my way, follow me down
Kame wraps two arms around his bare torso, his nipples hardening as a brush of cold ghosts across his chest, digging into the gaps where his ribs protrude, where skin used to be.
“Ueda, you’re scaring us.”
“Who’s us, Kamenashi?” He threads another butterfly onto the needle, passing it through the flame, the small pile of ash growing with destruction, feeding off it.
He chokes on the words. “Me. Me, then.”
Ueda stands up. His ankles have thinned, enough that Kame wonders how they support him. The hair that used to belong to a certain brat - a loveable one, at that - is crushed under light footsteps. “They say nothing matters but yourself.”
Kame swallows, his stomach revolting, twisting, turning. Akanishi’s hair is kicked towards him, the blonde-brown strands hitting his tied legs. He presses his lips together, clenches his jaw, tries to stop the irrational tremors. Tells himself it’s just because of the cold.
Agile fingers hook themselves under a chin, pulling up skin, forcing it closer to the body. “It’s rather a selfish view to hold, don’t you think?”
“Ueda-“
Ueda turns, holding the skin of Akanishi to his torso. Warm fingers grab at empty casing, turning it around, until Kame can see his face, empty eyes leading to nothing but darkness.
Kame screams.
Ueda’s quick, placing a finger against the trembling lips. “Turtles aren’t meant to scream,” he whispers, his own voice shaky. The skin of Akanishi, of Jin, Kames thinks, because there’s no point being distant now, brushes against his shoulder, and he tries to lean over, stomach churning.
Ueda walks back, finger leaving his lips. Kame vomits, feeling it hit his legs, rivulets of bile running over them onto the floor. He vomits again at the feeling, crying and screaming and choking, shutting his eyes, trying to breathe.
It’s all just a nightmare.
A coo, a throaty coo from in front of him. “Open your eyes, Kame.”
He does as Ueda says, knowing it’ll be a bad idea, figuring he’s not got much choice.
A buzzing starts. It’s a razor. Not too bad, Kame tries to convince himself. Not bad, not going to die.
One hand holds his head still, Ueda coming in closer again. Kame can see the collar of his singlet drop, can see down into his chest, sees ribs poking out, sees them under his collarbone, all through his chest.
He fights not to throw up again.
Steel presses against his head, moving, buzzing. Empty scalp is left behind; Kame watches his hair fall to the ground, sticking to the congealing vomit on his trousers.
Butterfly lips press a stagnant kiss to newborn skin.
The tears start falling again. Kame wishes his eyes would go with them, that he’d just die already. His stomach is still churning, he’s still fighting not to vomit, but he’s fucking terrified and it’s hard to do anything when you’re going to die.
A dry sob chokes his throat.
“Why are you crying?” The razor goes to the right side of his head now, cold air brushing at the newly-bald left. “You should be excited.” A lock of hair falls. “You’re going to be with your friends.”
Another sob. He doesn’t think he can form coherent words anymore. Wonders if his voicebox has been cut out.
“Shh.” Air hisses against his left temple, brushing against those deformed lips, causing his skin to burn and curdle and shy away from it. “You’re perfect, Kame, don’t you see? They were just practices.”
“What about Nakamaru?” He thinks the words are covered by falling hair, by flame.
Ueda hums, the razor taking off his final hair. He sits back, knees touching Kame’s, eyes searching for his. “Who says I haven’t got him?”
He gets up, then turns around, fast, excited. “Would you like to see him?” A smile curls at those lips, revealing those perfect teeth, the things Kame used to like to see, they never used to form terror in him, never used to make him vomit.
“No!” Kame pants, trying to breathe, trying to see reason. “No, no, please don’t. I don’t want to see him, no!”
A frown pulls down a rotten face, skin converging in a v shape between eyebrows. “That’s not nice. He’s your friend.” Ueda leans down to the candle, picking up the jar of butterflies. “I suppose you’ll see him soon anyway.”
Kame shuts his eyes again, praying for death by another’s hand.
A knife hooks under his skin, peeling it away from the muscle, from the bone. Kame howls, thrashing against it, fighting. Not going to die perfect, he thinks, screaming at himself. Not dying perfect, he can have a fucked up skin, maybe he’ll let me go.
“Kame, hush. You’re fine, you’ll see you’re fine soon.” Another throaty coo. “I can make this harder if you want, if you won’t go peacefully. Jin didn’t.”
Half formed words burst through Kame’s lips, bleeding into the air, breaking that fucking creepy atmosphere Ueda’s got, the flame on the candle flickering.
Ueda drops the knife. Grabs Kame by the shoulders instead, roughly pulling him to a table. “Fine,” he hisses, and it’s nothing like Kame’s ever seen before, blackened pupils, slitted eyes - he swears there’s a forked tongue darting between those fucking teeth.
Agile fingers tie ropes around him, spreading his arms, his legs, making it impossible for Kame to move. “I told you, you’re mine. You’re perfect.” He takes the knife again; as soon as it’s applied to Kame’s skin, he becomes calm, transforming again. “You’re mine, you’re going to change. Rotten turtle to a perfect butterfly.”
“I’m going to set you free.”
whose turn today?
Ueda pierces another needle through the butterfly, the last one in the jar. He looks back to where Kame’s skin used to hang, where Koki’s is still hanging, drying out for the transformation and sighs, lowering it down into the flame, letting it ride on the smoke, turning it’s physical properties into ash.
He’d always thought Kame’s soul was more pure than the others. It shows, turning the smoke white, a small “pop” as the wings shrivel up and fall into piles of ash.
“I told you, my turtle, you’ll be free.”