Kominato Ryousuke/Kuramochi Youichi , Daiya no Ace
word count: 894
Warning: Fire and fire related injuries
it will make sense. or will it?
An old ceiling that oozes a dubious substance that may or may not be sewer water looks over rusty metal rails leading to pitch black darkness. The air is saturated with the smell of mold and humidity, dust clings to Kuramochi's throat when he inhales. He coughs in his sleeve, as silently as possible, mouthing curses. Further down the tunnel to his right comes the sound of rats scurrying away with mildly distressed squeaking noises, swift feet kicking down pebbles that ricochet on the walls.
At first glance, it looks exactly like one would expect an abandoned subway station to look like.
But, the air around is clogged with energy, a strong, powerful kind of energy, intangible in nature that still raises the hair on Kuramochi's arms as if to physically attest of what he's sensing. The skin on his back that has been tingling since he ran away now downright burns and he has to repress a pained moan. Stupid back. Stupid power.
If he finds the one he has been looking for, none of it will matter. That's what he tells himself with gritted teeth as he jumps down on the tracks.
Kuramochi follows the rails into the darkness to his left, all senses in alert for an indication of a human presence.
He knows that man is supposed to be down here. All the signs point to him and to this place. His fire even provided him with clues, dammit! Someone who controls flames at will, a renegade who ran away two years ago, avoiding both the fighting arenas and jail. An urban legend in that part of the city.
Someone who will be able to help him taming the flames persisting in sketching the future in burning ashes on his back like he's some kind of fire proof canvas at the mercy of these hell sent predictions.
He's sweating, his damp t-shirt sticking to his skin adding to his growing discomfort. He takes it off hastily once he realizes this probably means he has at most a few more minutes before his power acts up. No point in ruining a perfectly good shirt.
Bearing prophetic fire has a lot of downsides, lots of pain for very approximate results with maximum collateral damage. A literal blast.
The flame of his torch, the only light he has to guide himself with as he progresses further in the inky tunnel, etches coiling shadows on the walls, depicting the exact same scene he saw on his back a few days ago.
*
It comes like a wave.
His chest feels constricted, sparks are dancing in front of his eyes and he can feel his conscience slowly drifting away as the pain in his back intensifies. He's out of breath, hears nothing but his own ragged breathing and the rapid beating of his heart.
He only manages a couple more steps before collapsing to the ground, his torch rolling in gravel before going out. The last thing he's aware of is the intense heat engulfing him whole.
He doesn't feel the flames unfurling between his shoulder blades and licking at his skin, doesn't see them stretching high enough to skim at the ceiling, doesn't sense them reverting to scorching embers and carving delicate patterns on his back, a mysterious composition hidden for now but one the ashes will reveal once the fire dies out completely.
A small masculine figure steps out of the shadows, smoke spiraling around his ankles like it parts for him. He takes in the whole scene before approaching and crouching down next to Kuramochi, placing his hand a few centimeters above his back. The smoke vanishes and the fire dies down with a hissing sound, as if swallowed by the hand hovering above it.
Without a second glance for his ash-covered fingers, the figure leans over Kuramochi's back, observing the design imprinted on skin by the cinders of the prophetic fire.
"Interesting."
*
The first thing Kuramochi realizes when he wakes up is that he's cold. The second is that he's not alone.
His eyes, now accustomed to obscurity can make out the silhouette of a man to his left, sitting with his back to the wall. He straightens himself up in a sitting position in a heartbeat.
He hears a chuckle and the man lights up a match in front of his face, revealing elegant features framed by pink hair. "Good evening."
Entranced, Kuramochi realizes the match isn't burning, its flame static, as if stopped in time. "Who...are you?"
It's him, his heart whispers, he's the one who will help you out.
He's rewarded with another chuckle. "Pretty rude of you to ask without introducing yourself first."
His voice is silky smooth, yet barely covers the knife-like undertones of his words. Kuramochi eyes widen and he flushes. Before he manages to get a coherent answer out of his mouth, the man goes on, a thin smile appearing on his lips. "Ryousuke. And you are?"
If Kuramochi wasn't convinced before, now he's sure of it. Half lidded eyes are staring straight at him, a glimpse of a dark sea hiding behind eyelids, troubled waters over a serene ocean, the calm before a storm.
It is said that still water runs deep.
Kuramochi is no stranger to playing with fire. He finds himself grinning.
FILL: TEAM MIYUKI KAZUYA/SAWAMURA EIJUN, T
word count: 894
Warning: Fire and fire related injuries
it will make sense. or will it?
An old ceiling that oozes a dubious substance that may or may not be sewer water looks over rusty metal rails leading to pitch black darkness. The air is saturated with the smell of mold and humidity, dust clings to Kuramochi's throat when he inhales. He coughs in his sleeve, as silently as possible, mouthing curses. Further down the tunnel to his right comes the sound of rats scurrying away with mildly distressed squeaking noises, swift feet kicking down pebbles that ricochet on the walls.
At first glance, it looks exactly like one would expect an abandoned subway station to look like.
But, the air around is clogged with energy, a strong, powerful kind of energy, intangible in nature that still raises the hair on Kuramochi's arms as if to physically attest of what he's sensing. The skin on his back that has been tingling since he ran away now downright burns and he has to repress a pained moan. Stupid back. Stupid power.
If he finds the one he has been looking for, none of it will matter. That's what he tells himself with gritted teeth as he jumps down on the tracks.
Kuramochi follows the rails into the darkness to his left, all senses in alert for an indication of a human presence.
He knows that man is supposed to be down here. All the signs point to him and to this place. His fire even provided him with clues, dammit! Someone who controls flames at will, a renegade who ran away two years ago, avoiding both the fighting arenas and jail. An urban legend in that part of the city.
Someone who will be able to help him taming the flames persisting in sketching the future in burning ashes on his back like he's some kind of fire proof canvas at the mercy of these hell sent predictions.
He's sweating, his damp t-shirt sticking to his skin adding to his growing discomfort. He takes it off hastily once he realizes this probably means he has at most a few more minutes before his power acts up. No point in ruining a perfectly good shirt.
Bearing prophetic fire has a lot of downsides, lots of pain for very approximate results with maximum collateral damage. A literal blast.
The flame of his torch, the only light he has to guide himself with as he progresses further in the inky tunnel, etches coiling shadows on the walls, depicting the exact same scene he saw on his back a few days ago.
*
It comes like a wave.
His chest feels constricted, sparks are dancing in front of his eyes and he can feel his conscience slowly drifting away as the pain in his back intensifies. He's out of breath, hears nothing but his own ragged breathing and the rapid beating of his heart.
He only manages a couple more steps before collapsing to the ground, his torch rolling in gravel before going out. The last thing he's aware of is the intense heat engulfing him whole.
He doesn't feel the flames unfurling between his shoulder blades and licking at his skin, doesn't see them stretching high enough to skim at the ceiling, doesn't sense them reverting to scorching embers and carving delicate patterns on his back, a mysterious composition hidden for now but one the ashes will reveal once the fire dies out completely.
A small masculine figure steps out of the shadows, smoke spiraling around his ankles like it parts for him. He takes in the whole scene before approaching and crouching down next to Kuramochi, placing his hand a few centimeters above his back. The smoke vanishes and the fire dies down with a hissing sound, as if swallowed by the hand hovering above it.
Without a second glance for his ash-covered fingers, the figure leans over Kuramochi's back, observing the design imprinted on skin by the cinders of the prophetic fire.
"Interesting."
*
The first thing Kuramochi realizes when he wakes up is that he's cold. The second is that he's not alone.
His eyes, now accustomed to obscurity can make out the silhouette of a man to his left, sitting with his back to the wall. He straightens himself up in a sitting position in a heartbeat.
He hears a chuckle and the man lights up a match in front of his face, revealing elegant features framed by pink hair. "Good evening."
Entranced, Kuramochi realizes the match isn't burning, its flame static, as if stopped in time. "Who...are you?"
It's him, his heart whispers, he's the one who will help you out.
He's rewarded with another chuckle. "Pretty rude of you to ask without introducing yourself first."
His voice is silky smooth, yet barely covers the knife-like undertones of his words. Kuramochi eyes widen and he flushes. Before he manages to get a coherent answer out of his mouth, the man goes on, a thin smile appearing on his lips. "Ryousuke. And you are?"
If Kuramochi wasn't convinced before, now he's sure of it. Half lidded eyes are staring straight at him, a glimpse of a dark sea hiding behind eyelids, troubled waters over a serene ocean, the calm before a storm.
It is said that still water runs deep.
Kuramochi is no stranger to playing with fire. He finds himself grinning.
"Kuramochi. I was looking for you."