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A pair of eyes welcomes him as soon as his lids open, shining in the dark, viciously staring at him wit the intensity of a thousand stares. He remembers the story of the poisons of poisons and wonders if those aren’t the eyes of the eyes, those who can see through walls and peek behind the curtains of the mind, those who ignore the skull entirely.
He’s too used to them to be scared of them anymore, so he gets up and running for the day, dressing up as the red irises still dissect his anatomy from where they stand, shrouded in the darkness of the corners of the bedroom.
It always feels cold, his skin shivering, hair dressed on his arms and legs before he puts on a jacket and decide to ignore the chills. The eyes don’t leave their prey, the shine of a fang piercing through the shadows like a claw tearing through a curtain, but that’s to be expected. There’s still a hinge of fear in the back of his mind, the non-null risk that he could get eaten alive, but he shouldn’t let that phase him. He’s not a prey worth the effort anyway.
He exits the unfamiliar room, ready for the day, leaving the creature in the shadows as the day finally shines upon this country again, sunlight bathing the corridors through the windows. It’s soothing, somewhat.
The faces around him ignore his presence entirely. Far away, his brother, his beloved older brother, glaring at him, surrounded by people whose language he suddenly doesn’t understand anymore, whose alphabet reads like drawings on old stone walls. He’s lost and getting scared, the place changing constantly, and he’ll never get used to how the colours and noises keep transforming each time he tries to focus on one sound or object.
His forehead hurts from how many things his brain analyses at once, trying to give sense to the nonsensical maze of sensations swirling around him. He feels smothered, wrapped by a snake that doesn’t exist, head like a nebula who cannot settle for one star and instead decides to confuse him even further. He’s in the eye of a tornado, watching its curves surrounding him with nothing but confusion and a headache.
He manages to peek through the wind curtains, handing his hand outside as to try and catch his brother’s attention, yelling but never hearing his own voice doing so. His brother’s name is missing from his boggled memories, those trying to claw at his wounded throat during this moment of vulnerability, so he calls out in vague manners, words running away from his mind. And yet, despite the dread, despite the panic and despite the horror, it feels like a déjà vu.
He’s been here before, he realizes, as he notices the patterns the walls’ changing forms adopt. They switch in cycles, colours succeeding each other in disharmony, unsynchronized among themselves to create a nauseating vertigo, whose dazzling lights blinded his eyes used to the darkness, rendering him dizzy. And, even then, he can still notice the cycles and how they function, using what’s left available of his brain to clear his way out of the mess.
His brother glares at him from the outside, defying him with a smirk to get out of the tornado. Closing his eyes as not to enforce his migraine, he steps blindly forward, hands trembling and eager to find a wall to find some new failsafe support. His fingertips don’t quite touch anything of note, brushing against the temperature-shifting air he breathes. He continues on anyway, now aware this is a place he knows, a corridor that makes sense if he stops seeing it.
He needs to exit this place, this is all that comes to his mind. The creature will soon get used to the dizzying sparks of the outside. The storm will let down only once he’ll have found a room of calm and serenity. He’s used to it, he knows where he should be heading: the dark blue door, the one decorated with starry-like white dots that reminds him of the night sky. He remembers it so clearly.
He trips on a misplaced carpet and scratches both knees and palms in his attempt at stopping his falls. It stings, but he’s used to such small pains, and he continues walking as the wooden floor under his feet starts catching on fire behind his back. It smells like ash and smoke, going into his nose and down his trachea, making him cough as he tries to still breathe. His sense of smell is neutralized, with his earing and touch all he has left to guide himself. It’s fine, he’ll manage: sensory deprivation isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.
Around him resonate double, echoing laughter. He doesn’t recognize the voices enough to tell who they belong to, yet they’re familiar: they sound like former friends who turned his back on him once upon a time, people he’s wanted to forget the faces and names of, who’ve only stared at him with vengeful eyes since then. Some sound more common than the rest, others are more recent and he can swear he hears accents in some of the whispers thrown his ways. It’s fine, he’ll manage: being told he’s useless and getting threatened for being ineffective isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.
He falls again, but this time, his eyes open. Before him is the bloodied hand of his brother and blue irises staring right into his, daggers planting themselves in his flesh as wooden shards search for a way to pierce through his legs’ skin. It hurts, he thinks he may have sprained his wrists and ankles in his fall. The hand is unwelcoming, the smoke invades his vision, makes his eyes tear up and blurry, water running down his cheeks. He still takes the offer nonetheless and tries rising to his feet, only to fall back down as he gets thrown backwards.
His brother sneers, words unintelligible, but hurtful anyway; and, in a moment of solace, he witnesses his own past self get engulfed by the snake who slithers in the dark of his bedroom, until the fangs throw themselves at him and he stops feeling anything.
It’s fine because he’s used to the acid inside this deadly jaw, it’s fine because he’ll wake up in a sweat, just like he does every time. It’s a loop he’s not found the hole to yet, but this time, he finds back the hope spot before he can—
Not unlike every other night before, Hikaru wakes up in a bolt, drenched in sweat, light hurting his eyes from how suddenly they’ve snapped open. His vision is blurry at first, but then clarifies, and he notices something strange right from the get-go: he isn’t alone.
Hanging right over his is the face of Endou, looking right at him. By sweeping across the room with his glance, he recognizes other faces: Nosaka, Hiura, Mikado, Asuto, Nishikage in the distance. It’s not his bedroom either: it looks like they’re near the pitch instead, if he can trust his sole vision of the ceiling and vague patch of green on his left.
“Ichihoshi, can you hear me?” Endou asks, looking somewhat concerned.
He tries smiling as an answer (that’s kind of a weird reflex to have), but chooses to also add a weak “yes” to his reply.
“Thank goodness!” Asuto sounds relieved. “We were so scared when you just collapsed like that!”
Ah, he’s forgotten to wonder how he even ended in this situation. On the other hand, is there really a point in asking himself questions he can’t find a reply to? His head is a mess.
He feels something cold and wet being put on his forehead. He tries to put a hand on it to identify that, but his wrist won’t move, and he wonders if he’s not sprained it. Of course, it’s not possible: that was in his dream. He’s wide awake now, as he can tell from the lack of eyes trying to peek into his mind’s stained secrets.
“Take some rest,” Endou continues speaking, this expression not leaving his face.
“W-wait… What happened…?” He manages to ask.
Endou’s face gets pushed aside by Nosaka’s, whose eyebrows are frowning and usual smirk has made a hundred-eighty. He looks less than pleased.
“Like Asuto just said, you suddenly collapsed during our usual training regimen. Technically, you merely fell asleep, so we were relieved until you started thrashing in your sleep.”
“Ah, yeah,” Asuto chimes in, “that was scary! Are you sure you’re okay?”
Good question.
“I guess…?”
“I wouldn’t say so,” Nosaka comments, arms crossed.
“You have a fever,” Mikado ends the sentence.
That makes sense, he supposes… It’s just weird that he has no recollection of ever getting this fever in the first place, even if it doesn’t sound too out-of-place for a thing like this to cause his memory to
“I’ll fetch Sekiya,” she adds before leaving.
Despite the tension and the concern, these stares are comfortable, and he surprises himself to catch his eyelids closing on their own again. While this isn’t foreign, it’s been years since he’s felt this way. Strange and yet soothing, his brain doesn’t know what to make of it.
“You’re sure you’re fine?” Asuto asks, insistent. “You really looked in pain when you were asleep!”
Hikaru sits up, now that his body finally responds, making sure the cloth doesn’t fall off from his forehead. He still feels hands in his back, most likely Endou’s.
“It’s fine… I’m used to it.”
“Used to it?!”
Both Asuto and Endou look horrified. Well, he should have seen it coming that others wouldn’t find it that usual, but it’s not worth this sudden appal.
“That makes it even less okay!” The former yells, drilling a hole through his already thumbing skull.
“I agree with Asuto,” Endou adds. “You should have talked to us about these. These absolutely can’t be good!”
“I know, but really, I’ll be fine…” He doesn’t like all the fuss, especially when he considers what he’s once done to them. “They’ve gotten better with time too.”
“For how long have they lasted?” Nosaka then asks again, not letting himself display the same kind of horror as their other teammates.
“I don’t really remember… I think they started when I joined Orion, but I forgot when exactly. They come in and out…”
Everyone still looks appalled.
“What are those about?” Endou eventually speaks out.
“I don’t really know… They’re about my times at Orion, I’m sure of that, but they’re usually so abstract that it’s hard to tell. I think that’s why there’s always eyes glaring at me whenever I have those nightmares…”
He giggles at himself, “today was just worse than usual. It’s calmed down considerably since joining the team and… that’s why I’m convinced they’ll go away, eventually.”
“You’re still overexerted,” Nosaka comments, not without reason. “Even if we’re fighting Orion, you shouldn’t do that again. Having you collapse during a match would be a disaster.”
“I’m with Nosaka,” Endou adds. “You need rest, or else you won’t be able to do anything on the field!”
“B-but… If I’m not playing, are you going to…” Abandon him? No, he can’t say that out loud, not after what he’s done… Instead, he goes silent. He just can’t say that.
“Don’t worry for us, we have your back!” Asuto sounds as confident and happy as ever, even if he can tell his teammate is worried.
He laughs again, softly, to himself. “Thank you…”
To his numbed surprise, Hikaru falls back asleep almost immediately, energy dragged down the well of the thoughts and wrapped in warmth again. Passing out like this in full daylight is but a weird experience he isn’t used to, but that’s fine: change needs to happen and, for once, he isn’t scared about losing something if he goes unconscious for a couple hours.
May the nightmares stop, now that he feels safe and sound.