metal, mettle
1. yararanger said she's skipping her turn so here I go~
2. ...Well, my vocabulary has definitely expanded in the attempt to find an interesting word on which to end.
3. Also I learned that Yuya used to be an Egyptian courtier and is now a mummy who has had his tomb robbed.
:D/
~
"Yuya," said Yuto.
Takaki, absorbed in the script he was reading, didn't respond immediately. He remained sitting in his negligent position, one leg crossed over the other, a foot jiggling, leaning back with an elbow at the edge of the makeup table. It was a pose, artful and perfect; Yuto laughed silently to himself, recounting all of his friend's little vanities and idiosyncrasies.
Yuto opened his mouth to call him again, got as far as to form his lips around the tight little sound of the first syllable, when something-some small, infinitesimal, wordless intuition-made him pause and reconsider.
He began again.
"Takaki," said Yuto.
Called for the second time, Takaki's head came up. He blinked rapidly as he looked around for a moment, re-adjusting himself to the world outside his script, before his gaze landed on Yuto and his eyes warmed with the hint of a smile.
There it was again, the niggling feeling that Yuto couldn't put words to. It was the look in Takaki's eyes, perhaps, when he glanced around the room, or the perfect grace with which he arranged his long limbs. Or like yesterday, when he'd eaten the parsley in his bento without a murmur, or the day before when his fingers hadn't flirted with the grip of his microphone like they usually did.
Yuto's mind wandered back - how long had it been since these subtle differences had been in place? A week? A month? Two months? It couldn't have been more than half a year, because Yuto remembered dancing next to Yuya at the Johnnys Countdown this year, remembered the way Yuya's lips had been pursed in concentration and how his feet had missed their step once.
"Takaki-kun," said Yuto, feeling compelled to add the honorific.
"So polite," laughed Takaki, the corners of his lips quirking up into the inscrutable little smile he usually reserved for the cameras. "Then should I call you Nakajima-kun?"
"N-No..." Yuto hesitated.
"What is it, Yuto?"
Yamada and Daiki were fooling around in a corner of the dressing room still, and Keito was practicing his guitar, so Yuto pointed to the door with a jerk of his chin. "Come get a drink with me from the vending machine?"
"You'll buy me one, right?" It was Yuya's usual line, followed by a sheepish "I left my wallet at home again," and it left Yuto furrowing his brows in doubt. What if he was wrong? He'd been watching closely for the past few days, and he was almost, almost certain. He'd done his research, too. But if he was wrong... If he was wrong, it'd be a good thing, wouldn't it?
Drinks in hand, Takaki turned to go back, but Yuto pulled him back with a hand placed suddenly on his shoulder. The texture under his palm felt strangely stiff for a moment, before Takaki relaxed and turned back. But that split second was enough for Yuto to be sure.
"I read something interested on the Internet yesterday," he said. "Apparently, someone is developing these things called Mannequins." Yuto's words were slow and cautious, and he watched Takaki's face closely for a reaction. "Made to order-just exactly in the image of the person who commissions one."
There was no change in Takaki's expression. "Oh? How interesting."
"Isn't it, Takaki-kun?"
Suddenly Takaki laughed, the sound a perfect replica of Yuya's laugh. "You mean to say that you think I'm one, Nakajima-kun?"
Yuto ignored this, though not without a slight narrowing of his eyes, and continued. "People are attracted to these Mannequins because they think they can buy a... a substitute for themselves. They're too tired or too sad to face the world, so they send the Mannequins out in their place. But then the Mannequins get used to living. They don't want to go back into their boxes. So they take over. They put their owners out of the way and grab at the world."
"And I've done this?" Takaki laughed again, only this time the sound was thin and high and felt like cold metal against Yuto's skin. "And I've done this!"
"Where's Yuya?" There was no hint of fear in Yuto's voice, though he took an involuntary step backwards at Takaki's sudden exclamation. "What have you done with Yuya?"
"Oh he's at home," said Takaki, all charm and slick urbanity. "You worry too much, Yuto! I can't let anything happen to him or else what would happen to me?"
The one step Yuto had taken backwards had been beneficial. The heel of his foot had hit against the steel leg of a chair, half hidden behind the side of the vending machine, and as Takaki talked Yuto groped behind him to find and get a good grip on the chair back. He found it, and without warning swung the chair around to crash into the side of Takaki's head.
It fell in on itself, with a crisp, horrible sound like an aluminum can getting crushed. Yuto brought the chair swinging back again and again, crashing into the torso, the knees, the groin of the Mannequin. "You worry too much, Yuto!" it was still saying, "Let's just go back to practice, Nakajima-kun!" Skin crawling, Yuto drove a leg of the chair through the throat of the Mannequin once, twice, thrice, over and over, until there were coppery cogs rolling on the linoleum floor and optical fiber cables hanging out of the big rubbery skin lying in a crumpled pile on the ground.
Yuto's chest was heaving when, after seemingly forever, he finally set the chair back down. There were people now-a crowd-spilled out from the dressing rooms down the hall and all talking in loud, shocked voices; and Yuto's heart was pounding away like a drum. Yet all he could hear was the sound of metal crashing into metal ringing in his ears, a joyful tintinnabulation.
2. ...Well, my vocabulary has definitely expanded in the attempt to find an interesting word on which to end.
3. Also I learned that Yuya used to be an Egyptian courtier and is now a mummy who has had his tomb robbed.
:D/
~
"Yuya," said Yuto.
Takaki, absorbed in the script he was reading, didn't respond immediately. He remained sitting in his negligent position, one leg crossed over the other, a foot jiggling, leaning back with an elbow at the edge of the makeup table. It was a pose, artful and perfect; Yuto laughed silently to himself, recounting all of his friend's little vanities and idiosyncrasies.
Yuto opened his mouth to call him again, got as far as to form his lips around the tight little sound of the first syllable, when something-some small, infinitesimal, wordless intuition-made him pause and reconsider.
He began again.
"Takaki," said Yuto.
Called for the second time, Takaki's head came up. He blinked rapidly as he looked around for a moment, re-adjusting himself to the world outside his script, before his gaze landed on Yuto and his eyes warmed with the hint of a smile.
There it was again, the niggling feeling that Yuto couldn't put words to. It was the look in Takaki's eyes, perhaps, when he glanced around the room, or the perfect grace with which he arranged his long limbs. Or like yesterday, when he'd eaten the parsley in his bento without a murmur, or the day before when his fingers hadn't flirted with the grip of his microphone like they usually did.
Yuto's mind wandered back - how long had it been since these subtle differences had been in place? A week? A month? Two months? It couldn't have been more than half a year, because Yuto remembered dancing next to Yuya at the Johnnys Countdown this year, remembered the way Yuya's lips had been pursed in concentration and how his feet had missed their step once.
"Takaki-kun," said Yuto, feeling compelled to add the honorific.
"So polite," laughed Takaki, the corners of his lips quirking up into the inscrutable little smile he usually reserved for the cameras. "Then should I call you Nakajima-kun?"
"N-No..." Yuto hesitated.
"What is it, Yuto?"
Yamada and Daiki were fooling around in a corner of the dressing room still, and Keito was practicing his guitar, so Yuto pointed to the door with a jerk of his chin. "Come get a drink with me from the vending machine?"
"You'll buy me one, right?" It was Yuya's usual line, followed by a sheepish "I left my wallet at home again," and it left Yuto furrowing his brows in doubt. What if he was wrong? He'd been watching closely for the past few days, and he was almost, almost certain. He'd done his research, too. But if he was wrong... If he was wrong, it'd be a good thing, wouldn't it?
Drinks in hand, Takaki turned to go back, but Yuto pulled him back with a hand placed suddenly on his shoulder. The texture under his palm felt strangely stiff for a moment, before Takaki relaxed and turned back. But that split second was enough for Yuto to be sure.
"I read something interested on the Internet yesterday," he said. "Apparently, someone is developing these things called Mannequins." Yuto's words were slow and cautious, and he watched Takaki's face closely for a reaction. "Made to order-just exactly in the image of the person who commissions one."
There was no change in Takaki's expression. "Oh? How interesting."
"Isn't it, Takaki-kun?"
Suddenly Takaki laughed, the sound a perfect replica of Yuya's laugh. "You mean to say that you think I'm one, Nakajima-kun?"
Yuto ignored this, though not without a slight narrowing of his eyes, and continued. "People are attracted to these Mannequins because they think they can buy a... a substitute for themselves. They're too tired or too sad to face the world, so they send the Mannequins out in their place. But then the Mannequins get used to living. They don't want to go back into their boxes. So they take over. They put their owners out of the way and grab at the world."
"And I've done this?" Takaki laughed again, only this time the sound was thin and high and felt like cold metal against Yuto's skin. "And I've done this!"
"Where's Yuya?" There was no hint of fear in Yuto's voice, though he took an involuntary step backwards at Takaki's sudden exclamation. "What have you done with Yuya?"
"Oh he's at home," said Takaki, all charm and slick urbanity. "You worry too much, Yuto! I can't let anything happen to him or else what would happen to me?"
The one step Yuto had taken backwards had been beneficial. The heel of his foot had hit against the steel leg of a chair, half hidden behind the side of the vending machine, and as Takaki talked Yuto groped behind him to find and get a good grip on the chair back. He found it, and without warning swung the chair around to crash into the side of Takaki's head.
It fell in on itself, with a crisp, horrible sound like an aluminum can getting crushed. Yuto brought the chair swinging back again and again, crashing into the torso, the knees, the groin of the Mannequin. "You worry too much, Yuto!" it was still saying, "Let's just go back to practice, Nakajima-kun!" Skin crawling, Yuto drove a leg of the chair through the throat of the Mannequin once, twice, thrice, over and over, until there were coppery cogs rolling on the linoleum floor and optical fiber cables hanging out of the big rubbery skin lying in a crumpled pile on the ground.
Yuto's chest was heaving when, after seemingly forever, he finally set the chair back down. There were people now-a crowd-spilled out from the dressing rooms down the hall and all talking in loud, shocked voices; and Yuto's heart was pounding away like a drum. Yet all he could hear was the sound of metal crashing into metal ringing in his ears, a joyful tintinnabulation.