[50stories] Beneath the Golden Sky - Niya x Sakito - 1/3
Title: Beneath the Golden Sky Theme: 7. Autumn/fall Rating: PG Pairing: Ni~ya x Sakito (Nightmare) Disclaimer: Mine? Oh, how I wish.... Comments: Happy Halloween! :3
“Remind me again why you choose me for this little excursion?” Niya looked skeptical as he stepped away from the door to Sakito’s apartment to let the guitarist past, eliciting a weak laugh from the other man.
“Well…you were the only one home.” Locking the door behind him, Sakito turned and put both hands into the pockets of his nondescript sweatshirt, looking up expectantly as if his vague explanation would offer some understanding.
Though Niya’s eyebrows were almost covered by the black knit hat covering his head, it was obvious they were raised dubiously at his companion, “You know, I’m not very good at this exercise business. I have, like, zero lung capacity.” For emphasis, the bassist pointed at the unlit cigarette waiting for open air held lightly between his lips.
That observation brought forth a more substantial laugh from Sakito, who gave him a little push in the way of encouragement to start moving. “It’s just walking, I think you can manage that for a while. Besides, we could use some fresh air after being stuck on a tour bus forever.”
Niya obliged and stepped forward ahead of Sakito, reaching into his jeans for a lighter as soon as they were met with sunshine and brisk air upon emerging from the dim hallway of the latter’s apartment complex. He inhaled deeply the intoxicating smoke, unwittingly in sync with Sakito, who happened to be doing the same with the air. A tiny cough, stifled politely, reached the bassist’s ears and he shrugged apologetically when he realized the trail of carcinogens must be interfering with his friend’s idea of a healthy stroll. “Sorry, I’ll stop after this one. So where do you want to…er…walk?”
“I usually go down through the park and back, but maybe that’s a little far for today,” Sakito responded, eyeing Niya’s smoldering cigarette and less than enthusiastic posture. Thinking for a moment, he decided on a better route, but couldn’t help adding a little innocent teasing at the bassist’s expense. “How about we just do a few blocks through the older part of town. I haven’t been there in quite a while…and there aren’t any hills.”
“…Thanks,” Niya replied dryly, rolling his eyes. As they began to walk, he hung back a step behind Sakito to finish the cigarette at his own leisure without causing the guitarist too much discomfort by blowing smoke right in his face. By the end of the block it had burned down to the filter, and Niya tossed the remains away, taking several quick steps forward to catch up with his oblivious companion who hadn’t noticed the pause. “Hey, wait up.”
“Need a break already, grandpa?” Inclining his head, Sakito smiled at the sidewalk, but managed to catch Niya’s glance nonetheless. The tilt of those lips suggested playful mischief, partially hidden by a screen of dark hair that feel forward with his shy downward gaze.
“I was just finishing…” Niya trailed off into a short growl. Two could play at this game, he decided, grabbing the hood of Sakito’s sweatshirt and giving it a tug. “Maybe I’m not in the best shape, but I can still toss you around like a rag doll, skinny.”
Turning, Sakito offered him a questioning look, not exactly expecting the bassist to back up his claims, but he was in for a surprise as Niya did exactly that, grabbing him around the waist and slung him over one shoulder. Shocked at his band mate’s utter audacity in presuming that he actually wanted a demonstration of this particular prowess, Sakito let out a yelp of protest. He begged to be put down, but Niya merely grunted with the effort of hoisting him into a less precarious position. “Ok…I admit you’re a little heavier than a feather, but not by much.”
“Can I please get down? All the blood is rushing to my head,” implored the unhappy voice from midway down Niya’s back as the bassist took a few laborious steps forward. Unable to keep up the strongman ruse any longer after two more wavering strides, he stopped and complied with his captive’s request. Unfortunately, getting him back on his feet was much more awkward a task than picking him up, and Niya ended up with the slim body sliding down his own and both of Sakito’s hands clutching at his shoulders. For a brief moment, both felt an unwanted yet all too familiar jolt that always seemed to shoot its way through their bodies at times like these. Each assured himself every time that it was only a fluke, a crossed-signal, and denied that the other could possible being having the same reaction, regardless of how obvious it was. At times, Sakito tried to remember exactly when this strange electric charge started and secretly wondered if there was meaning behind it or not. Often at the same time, Niya was thinking that he knew exactly how long it had been, and trying to convince himself there was not a bit of emotion involved.
The self-conscious silence that followed was broken after what seemed like eternity when Sakito skittered away as far as the next house, pretending to be suddenly interested in its architecture. Niya trailed after him, reluctant to get too close to his band mate, but at the same time unable to help stealing secret glances out of curiosity for what caused his unasked for attraction. While the two weren’t exactly polar opposites, they didn’t qualify as being terribly close either, and the bassist shrugged off his confused musings for the time being. He caught up with Sakito, who had moved down two houses, this time genuinely interested in what lay beyond the ornate, rusty gate that his hands rested on. Stopping next to the guitarist, Niya turned and peered through the bars with him, greeted with a view of a house that looked to be straight out of a grotesque fairy tale. Wood that would have once been a lovely rich brown stood grayed with age and clouded windows peered out from under the crimson ivy leeching off the façade. Thinly forested grounds stretched out acres on all sides, showered in a wave of golden maple leaves that clung desperately against the wind to the moss blanket of the house’s roof. Tucked into a corner of the yard there stood a tiny, weathered guest house, so small and rickety it was more of a shed than a dwelling, save for the cheerful white curtains gracing the spotless windows.
Captivated, Sakito pressed his face against the cold metal of the gate, trying to take in the far corners of the grounds, though the bars prevented him from getting the best view. “Who do you think lived there?” he breathed, standing on tip-toe with blatant fascination in his eyes.
“No one anymore. Not in years.” A crackling chuckle drifted over to the two men, and they both started at the sound. Neither had seen the old man approach, yet he was hobbling toward them from not ten feet away. He was stocky, with a back stooped from what must have been years of hard labor and he leaned heavily on a garden rake, bum foot dragging heavily behind him. Despite his deformities, the old man carried a kind face, and his smile was warm contrary to the cackling laugh Niya and Sakito had first been greeted with. He creaked to a stop near the other side of the fence, resting against his rake and mopping beads of sweat off his crinkled brow. “Whew, I can’t quite keep up with all this work anymore.”
“Are you the groundskeeper?” Niya saw the man pull out a crumpled cigarette with quaking hands and offered him a light through the gate.
“Yep, for the last forty years. Thanks, sir,” he answered, gratefully holding his cigarette to the flame. Rocking back on his heels, the old man put it too his lips and puffed out a cloud of smoke. “And my father was before me. Been livin’ in that shack my whole life.”
Sakito listened with interest from his place beside the bassist. Curiosity was written plainly across his features, and in the end it got the better of him, “Why doesn’t anyone live in the house?”
“Ah, the old place is haunted.”
Raising his eyebrows, Sakito repeated faintly, “Haunted? By what?”
An odd look crossed the old man’s face as he reminisced, taking his time before answering. Smoke from his cigarette curled in tendrils like fingers around his face and he coughed. “The only daughter of the Sakamotos. Jumped headfirst out the attic window one cold December night. She’s been wailing around the house ever since.”
“Suicide?” Niya’s eyebrows arched, and he pulled out his own cigarette, disregarding the guitarist’s previous unspoken request. “Do you know why?”
“I believe so, but who can say for sure? I was a just a kid, but I reckon I remember how it happened pretty good. ‘Round about 1941 Miss Mayuko Sakamoto, I think she was 18 at the time, met a nice boy by the name of Isumu Kobayashi. Now, the Sakamotos were a well to do family, not exactly rich, but certainly better off than most. Young Mr. Kobayashi came from a poor, hardworking family. They fell in love and wanted to get married and such, but then Isumu was pulled into the war. For months they heard nothing, and it stretched into a year. Finally, the Sakamotos received a telegram that he had been killed in action. Miss Mayuko was already pretty distressed, but that piece of news sent her right over the edge. Same night, she jumped. ‘Spect she was trying to follow him, and couldn’t find him after she died. The ghost eventually drove the rest of the family away.” Finishing his story, the old man fell silent, looking past the two listeners with a faraway gaze, appearing to see into another plane with his clouded eyes. His body remained in place, but his soul seemed tens of thousands of miles away, and neither Niya or Sakito could bring themselves to interrupt his thoughts. They turned wide, round eyes on each other briefly, each enthralled with Miss Mayuko and her lost love.
“Well, I best get back to my raking. The trees don’t wait for any man.” Chuckling, the old man broke the silence, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. He waved and turned back the way he had come, calling over his shoulder, “Nice talking to you boys.”
The two younger men waved goodbye to their weathered storyteller, and started back on their way. Not five feet away from the gate, Sakito thought to thank the old man for his time, and returned to the gate, only to be met by an empty scene. The old man was gone.
A chill worked it’s way up Sakito’s spine as he rejoined Niya, choosing not to mention what he had just seen…or rather hadn’t seen. “That was quite a story…”
“Yeah,” the bassist responded thoughtfully, kicking up some crunchy leaves on the sidewalk. Mischief was written all over his face. “We should come back tonight and see about this ghost.
Sputtering, Sakito stopped and stared at his companion in disbelief, “You’re kidding right? Why would we want to do that?”
“What are you chicken? Come on, it’s almost Halloween! It’ll be fun,” Niya coaxed, grinning around his cigarette. “How often do you get to see a real haunted house?”
“Well….”
“I know you’re not doing anything else.”
Sakito frowned delicately and chewed on his lower lip. The idea of going into a supposedly haunted, rickety old house in the middle of the night was not his top choice of Saturday night activities, but Niya did have a point…it would be an adventure he hadn’t ever experienced before. “Alright.”