Chapter Text
Sometimes when you are standing on the cliff or any other high place, you can feel this irrational yet tempting urge to just jump. Jump and let the wind tug your clothes and hair, let the world flash in front of your eyes, let the void embrace you.
Shirabu wondered whether jumping out of the platform would count as a part of the high places phenomenon. It was quite high and it would also end kind of tragically, only instead of the void you would meet a rushing train.
Shirabu shook his head. He raised his hand and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Those probably were more suicidal thoughts than simple craving of adrenaline. Maybe he would worry about himself a little, if only his body was even able to fulfil those ideas.
To be honest, Shirabu was quite surprised he was able to move at all. Today’s rehearsal was an absolute hell. He barely walked, not to mention jumping. He didn’t really want to face the train, he just wanted for it to finally arrive so he could hide inside his room till another sunrise.
He adjusted the bag hanging on his shoulder with a sigh. His bored, tired eyes lazily slide from one passerby to another. Some of them were hurriedly crossing the platform, while the others were patiently waiting for a train that would carry them away, bring them back to the noisy life on the surface.
All the people around were so eager to escape the station, this limbo of the unstopping city. Shirabu would gladly stay here for a minute or two, away from the omnipresent scream of life, freed from the eternal race with time, alone under the ground.
Train stopped on his platform, but it still wasn’t the one that he waited for. His gaze danced between the passengers again, when some voice broke through the hum of the station behind him.
“Kenjirou?”
Shirabu jolted and slowly turned to the source of the voice.
“Shirabu Kenjirou?”
The face of the man standing in front of him looked incredibly familiar. His mind showed him the pictures of the young, ginger boy with limbs too long for his body and mocking grin.
“Kawanishi Taichi.” The name swimmed on the surface of Shirabu’s memory.
Kawanishi snorted. “Woah, you even remember me.”
“Well, you made quite a lasting impression when you left our neighbourhood.”
“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his head, “kinda forgot about that.”
Kawanishi’s eyes fell on Shirabu’s bag. “You still dance?”
Shirabu tightened his grip around the bag’s strap. He nodded awkwardly.
“I thought you also wanted to quit.”
“Yeah, I did, but then dance academies started to get interested in me and… it somehow went.”
“Somehow went,” Kawanishi muttered. “So, what are you doing now?”
“I’m a dancer at the theatre.”
“I’m assuming it’s the one your parents make donations to?”
“Yes.” Shirabu sent him a hard glare, he could easily read between the lines of Kawanishi’s seemingly innocent interest.
“I thought you left the city,” Shirabu said to cut the topic of his parents.
“I left,” Kawanishi nodded with a grin dancing on his lips. “But then I came back.”
“Came back, like completely or…”
“Oh, no, no, no.” He laughed at the slightest idea of returning to his old life. “I just came back to the city. My parents probably don’t even know I’m here.”
“Why? Why did you come back?”
Kawanishi grinned at him. He reached into his backpack and took two pieces of paper out of it, then handed them to Shirabu.
Shirabu frowned. “Circus tickets? You came back to see a circus show?”
Kawanishi smiled wider. “Not exactly. I’ll be on the other side of the railings.”
“The other side of the… No fucking way.” Shirabu widened his eyes in disbelief.
“Yes fucking way.”
Shirabu looked at the tickets again. Sashes of purple and white tangled with each other to create an image of the swan with spread wings. Under it, two words written in fancy font.
“Swan’s Cry?” Shirabu read out loud.
“That’s the name of my troupe.” He tapped the tickets with his finger. “Those are without dates, which means you can use them any day you want. We’ll be in the city for some time, so…” He shrugged.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“It’s a gift in the name of our old friendship.” He winked. “Use it wisely.”
Shirabu eyed him suspiciously. He knew Taichi almost since they were barely newborns, their parents were neighbours and close friends. At first he might look completely unbothered, but under this mask of boredom was hiding a real devil, waiting to bring chaos.
“Trust me, you’ll like it.”
“You’re pretty confident. When did you become this cocky?”
“Excuse you, I always was cocky, you were just blinded by our brother-like relationship.”
“Yeah,” Shirabu snorted.
It’s been years since he last saw and talked with Kawanishi. In some way, he was still the same, yet kind of different. Shirabu just couldn’t lay a finger on this difference.
“Oh, that one’s mine.” Kawanishi pointed at the newly arrived train. “Take care, Kenji. Send regards to my parents if you meet them.”
Shirabu observed as the train disappeared in the tunnel, taking Kawanishi away from him. It was kind of strange seeing his old friend, a mirage of his past life casually walking in the present. Through those years Shirabu somehow managed to forget how much joy this friendship was giving to him. After this ‘scandal’ Taichi made, Shirabu was too afraid to reach out to him, he just wasn’t sure about the source of this fear.
During his train ride Shirabu stared at one of the tickets while the other stayed safely hidden in his bag. His parents tried to teach him to despise those kinds of entertainment: vulgar, shameless, provocative, built on magic abilities.
Inhuman abilities, also known as Gifts, stopped shocking societies long ago. But it didn’t make Gifts generally acceptable. High number of ‘normal’ people treated the gifted ones like outlaws, anomalies, beings of a lower order.
The Gift didn’t give their owner any physical characteristics, so some of them tried to hide it by pushing this part of them deep inside, locking away from the sunlight and judging gazes of the strangers on the street. It was never a good idea. Sooner or later the secret would fly on the surface, exploding during an ordinary day, destroying everything they achieved, turning peaceful life into ashes.
But there also was the other side of this coin: the circus. Circus’ troupes, made only from gifted people, showed their abilities to the world in mind-blowing performances and breathtaking shows. With pride they present what should have been hidden, laughing at the conventions and breaking societies’ norms by throwing their real nature to the face of conservatives.
Members of the ‘upper class’ societies, like the one where both Shirabu and Kawanishi grew up, hated those kinds of events with their whole heart. Mostly because for most of the time they pretended Gifts weren’t even existing. But when they graciously knew the existence of Gifts, the only words that left their lips were insults and hate speech.
Maybe Shirabu would wonder why it looked that way if his father hadn’t let him know about this matter since the very beginning.
“You can never be sure what those filthy misfits will do. They’re unpredictable and dangerous,” he’d kept saying.
And the incident with Taichi a few years ago only put him deeper in those beliefs.
Shirabu raised his head, tearing his gaze from his shoes. Drowned in thoughts, he didn’t even notice when he reached his neighbourhood. He sighed, approaching the front door of one of the pompous residencies built along the street in perfect order. In upper class societies everything was this way: organised, clean, exemplary, spotless. Or at least that was how it seemed. All those smiles were fake, all gestures were empty, all sympathy was forced, all feelings were just acting.
Shirabu entered the house, carefully closing the doors behind. There was only one hindrance between him and his bed, the long-awaited void of his duvet.
“Kenjirou?”
He took a deep breath and put a content smile on his face.
“Yes, father?”
He walked into the living room and as expected, his father was sitting on the couch, watching the evening news. He was still in his suit pants and shirt, but the jacket and tie were long abandoned. A set of honey eyes, in exactly the same shade as his own, scanned him over the backrest.
“You’re quite late today,” Shirabu Koshiro said bluntly, his face carved in stone.
“Yes, sorry.” Kenjirou straightened up unconsciously. “The rehearsals are getting more challenging as the day of the premiere approaches.”
“Challenging,” Koshiro huffed. “Aren’t you exaggerating, son? You’re not even the lead dancer.”
“That’s because it’s his first show.”
Shirabu Yumena joined their conversation. Her face was hidden behind flawless make-up, her hair tied with almost inhuman precision and her clothes smartly highlighted advantages of her petite frame. Along with her came the suffocating fume of her flower perfume.
“Of course they couldn’t put him in the leading role on his first performance.” She put her palm on Kenjirou’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll get the main part next time, right Kenjirou?”
“Yes, of course.” He nodded eagerly. “They need to see how I cope with live performances.”
Koshiro hummed. He pushed himself up from the couch, he stood next to Kenjirou. His father was shorter than him, making his eye level Kenjirou’s chin, but it didn’t change the fact that he always felt small near him. Koshiro’s shoulders were broader, his chest was wider and his arms were bigger.
Even though Kenjirou could literally look down at his father, he felt like a convict attending his last trial whenever he faced him. And the sentence was always adverse.
“I hope,” Koshiro started without looking at his son, “that your lack of experience is the only reason why they didn’t give you the leading role this time.”
He understood the alusion immediately. Father’s worries always come up to this one certain part of Kenjirou’s being.
“You have no reason to worry, father. I can assure you there are no other obstacles than my lack of experience.”
Koshiro nodded and walked away.
“I’ll be in my office,” he informed his family before vanishing in the corridor.
Yumena’s hand slid from his shoulder to his back, patting him encouragingly.
“Oh, don’t worry, Kenjirou. I’m sure you’ll be the main star in your next show.”
Her voice was so filled with enforced optimism that Kenjirou had to restrain an urge to roll his eyes.
“Thank you, mother.”
“Oh, no need to thank me. I’m just telling the truth.”
Yumena was the kind of person that loved the sound of her own voice. She was a highly educated woman with strong beliefs and opinions that she gladly delivered to anyone, no matter whether they asked about it or not.
“Perfect grades both from dancing and normal classes during your high school, outstanding presence in elite dance academy. They must be blind to not notice your shining talent! I’m sure that it’s just a matter of time until… What’s that?”
Kenjirou realised with terror that Yumena’s eyes were focused on the circus ticket he still held in his hand. On his way back home he was so lost in his thoughts he completely forgot to hide it in bag.
Yumena snatched the ticket from him without asking. Her eyes widened in real horror as she took a better look at the flashy purple and white sashes of ink.
“Kenjirou, what is that?” This time her voice lacked this fake cheerful tone.
Kenjirou gulped. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag, his knuckles turned white from the pressure.
“That’s actually something I’d like to talk with you about.” He put all his remaining energy resources into preventing his voice from cracking.
“Where did you get that? No. Why did you get that?”
“Don’t worry, mother.” He raised his free hand. “On my way back home, I ran into Taichi at a station…”
“Taichi?!” she gasped. “You mean Kawanishi Taichi?”
“Yes, I mean Kawanishi Taichi. He told me he’s currently part of the circus troupe and gave me the ticket to one of their shows. I kept it only because I thought you might want to show it to Kawanishi-san. I assume she’d like to know what’s happening to her son.”
Yumena put her palm on her chest, she was a bit pale. Kenjirou was ready to catch her if needed. His mother could be a little dramatic sometimes.
“Oh my…” she muttered under her nose. “Taichi… in a circus troupe! Oh my goodness, thank you for telling me, Kenjirou. You’re right, I need to inform his mother right now.” He waved the ticket in the air and headed to the corridor.
“Unbelievable,” she mumbled on her way through the house. “Taichi in the circus troupe, what a shame! What a disappointment. A boy from such a good family, what happened to him…”
Kenjirou exhaled the breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. He quickly withdrew to his room before any of his parents would like to talk with him about anything else.
He closed the doors and locked them silently. He doubted his parents would burst without knocking, but you can never be too careful.
The bag landed with a loud thug near his bed. He took the remaining ticket from its hideout and sat on the windowsill. On his way home he stared at the piece of paper so long that all the letters, shapes and colours had printed inside his brain.
With a sigh, Kenjirou raised his empty hand. He straightened his elbow and spread his fingers. Soft, pale skin hardened, losing all the tints. Flesh became transparent, the blood disappeared from the veins. Within the blink of an eye Kenjirou’s hand was no longer human, istead there was a diamond sculpture attached to his arm. Perfect copy of the normal person’s palm, made with every detail. Knuckles, wrinkles, veins, even nails, all carved in clear crystal.
The rays of setting sun leaked through the window, brushing his morphed hand. The light bent inside the stone and it looked like the hand was shining on its own. With each movement of his fingers, the army of blood-red sparkles danced on the wall. At some angles the wall was welcome with the shy rainbow, flashing alternately.
Some might say it looked beautiful. Kenjirou would probably agree with this opinion, if only this wasn’t his hand. For him it was no miracle, no gift. It was his private curse, a wry birth-sin.
In this house they didn’t call those abilities ‘Gifts’. They didn’t call them at all. In this house neither the strangers’ Gifts, nor Kenjirou’s own existed.
As quickly as the diamond flew on the surface, it got hidden beneath his skin. Kenjirou’s eyes returned to the ticket.
Taichi was raised in the same beliefs as Kenjirou. So, was he really able to do it?
Was he able to show the world this part of his being that his parents thought him to hate from the very beginning? Was he able to shamelessly show off with his sin? Was he able to be proud of the biggest, unmentioned defect?
And if he was able… How the hell did he do it?
- - -
Miyagi prefecture was known for its beautiful coastline and lush wilderness, famous for its seafood. But the great view and good meals weren’t the only things that attracted tourists. On the outskirts of Sendai City was an infamous place, by the locals called The Freaks’ Plaza. An enormous area filled with nothing but grass. Now, flashy tents were scattered across like blooming flowers growing on the meadow.
Shirabu had made only a few steps into this world of wonders, but he already felt overwhelmed. It was so drastically different from the reality he used to. He was literally drowning in the deafening hum of tourists and smells of snacks selling in the trucks. All the colours and lights whirled in front of his eyes like a kaleidoscope, making him dizzy. It was pure chaos.
But this clamour seemed to summon Kenjirou. He wanted to experience all those pieces of this disarray puzzle, to find out how it can be distressing and calming at the same time. Loud and tranquil, strange and familiar, repulsive and appealing. He wanted to see within his own eyes how all those opposites twisted and morphed together, creating a symbiotic integrity.
Shirabu stood in the queue to the purple and white tent. Surrounded by excited families and couples on the dates, he stared at the big neon, hanging over the entrance. ‘Swan’s Cry’. On his way through The Freaks’ Plaza he read some of the names of the reaminings troupes: The Feast of the Crows, Kitsune’s Blessing, Masters of Owls.
He took a deep breath, his fingers clenching on the ticket. Shirabu spent almost the whole week fighting with his thoughts whether to come here or just forget about the invitation. At last, curiosity won. He wanted to see the new Kawanishi Taichi. Was he still this introverted, snarky boy Kenjirou remembered from childhood? Probably not. During their meeting at the station he had noticed Taichi was a bit different. He wanted to seize this difference and compare the portrait of Taichi printed in his memories to what he was about to see inside this purple and white tent.
When his time came, Shirabu gave the ticket to the security guys sitting at the table by the entrance. The guard raised his brows.
“You’ve got a VIP ticket,” he said.
Shirabu sent him a surprised look. “I do?”
“You got that from someone from the crew, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“If you tell me which one, I’ll let them know that you’re here.”
“Oh, it’s… Kawanishi Taichi.”
“Great, I’ll let him know.” The security guy smiled at him.
“Yeah, uhm… thanks.”
Shirabu quickly entered the tent. He came here to see Taichi, but if he wanted to meet with Taichi was a completely different kind of question.
The main point of the tent was a round, dark stage. Plain seats were placed around it haphazardly like a miniature of the amphitheatre. They were slowly filling up with viewers. As most of them tried to snatch the ones close the stage, Shirabu strategically occupied the place in the middle 一 close enough to clearly see the show, but far enough to remain unnoticed in the sea of faces.
Shirabu was surprisingly calm. After entering the circus’ territory, sitting in the audience, he expected his thoughts to bring absolute havoc to his already shattered soul, to crush his anxious mind. Instead, he felt empty. He just stared mindlessly at the stage, waiting for the final judgement.
“Ah! It’s hot!” Someone beside him shouted. The scream was followed by the burst of laughter.
Shirabu felt a shiver run down his spine. The cry linked with Taichi’s face, bringing back the forbidden memories. Shrieks of anger, shouts of fear, howls of despair coated in summer heat and the smell of burning.
His gaze wandered to the narrow alley between the rows of seats, which he assumed was a passage for the performers. Was Taichi really able to leave it all behind? Could this kind of experience even be left behind?
All the lights black out at the same moment. Some kid started to cry in the back. Shirabu took a deep breath, his palms clenched on his jacket’s fabric. It was happening.
Single spotlight fell on the stage. There was an old man standing in the middle. His black tail-coat was out of fashion for a few decades already. His white hair was styled back, exposing his thick eyebrows and bags under his eyes, visible even in this poor lighting. What hit Shirabu the most was a complete lack of happiness or enthusiasm on his face.
Shirabu winced. If the show was starting with the man who looked like he just dropped by on his way to the funeral, it couldn’t end well.
“Ladies and gentlemen and others.” His voice was dry. “You all gathered here to see some wonders.”
The audience welcomed those words with applause.
“But I’m forced to say that we don’t have any wonders here.”
The old man waited for the outburst of confused hum to end before he continued:
“We don’t have any wonders, because what you’re about to see is just reality. We can no longer speak of wonders and miracles, when almost one third of society is being born with magical talents, with Gifts.” He scanned the crowd with his tough glare.
“So, what we’re going to show is just reality. Reality that you refused to acknowledge. The talents that you want to erase. The people that for some are not even human beings.”
Shirabu couldn’t see his own hands, but he was sure his knuckles turned white from clenching on the jacket.
“What we’re going to show is just a world you don’t want to accept as your own. Brace yourselves since you will see and hear as the swans cry.”
The lights blacked out again. Someone at the audience started clapping hesitantly, the rest of the crowd followed, still a bit agitated. Shirabu also clapped slowly, He wondered how many of them really understood what the old man tried to say.
All those people gathered under white and purple tent had come here to see a ‘show’. They expected a jolly clown that would invite them to a world of wonders, to a performance of magical freaks. Instead, they got a serious man to remind them that all those wonders and freaks were a part of reality just like themselves.
The spotlights lightened up the stage again. There was something laying in the middle, a mass of fair feathers. Music leaked through the speakers, filling the air with dramatic tones of violin. The feathers moved and Shirabu noticed a familiar face.
He raised his brows. Shirabu knew a little about performances. Good and successful show should have a strong opening, satisfactory middle and mind blowing end to make the viewers think it was the best thing they have ever seen in their lives. Putting Kawanishi in an opening number meant his skill gained him some respect among the other circus’ stars. It didn’t really surprise Shirabu, Kawanishi’s Gift might be quite spectacular if used wisely.
Taichi stood up, his body harmonised with the increasing rhythm of the music, synchronising the movements with the beat. The feathers attached to his costume flew behind him, imitating the angel wings.
Shirabu raised his brows. Taichi might have dropped the dance classes, but it was obvious for Shirabu he hadn’t dropped the dancing itself. The ballet foundations shined brightly in his graceful and smooth motions.
Kawanishi started up slowly and calmly, with the speeding of music his body tossed between high and low tones of melody. Just like some invisible force dragged him around the stage, it didn’t let him fully express himself, be himself.
How many times Shirabu had seen it during their childhood? Taichi’s mother dragging him away from anything that could activate his Gift, keeping him close, controlling his every action.
At last, he broke free. Kawanishi jumped in the air, soaring much higher than human could. And when his body hit the ground the scene ablazed.
People in front rows screamed from actual fear as the flames roared merely a few metres from their faces. They lightened up the tent with a yellow glow, heating up the air. Taichi stood in the middle of this hell unfazed, letting the fire devour his angelic wings.
Shirabu smirked. He was probably the only person in the audience that expected it coming only person that knew Kawanishi Taichi was fully fireproof.
Kawanishi made a spin and the fire in the stage calmed down, but the feathers on his costume still burned brightly, turning him into a human torch. Continuing the performance, Taichi danced on the stage and the flames danced on his clothes and skin.
In this part both his movements and music were faster, more wild and chaotic, similar to a bird that finally escaped its cage after long imprisonment.
A shiver ran down Shirabu’s spine again, he struggled to breathe a bit. Memories from the past forced themselves on the present view. Taichi’s grown face, painted with focus and determination, became mixed with a visage of a sixteen years old boy shouting in fury. Only the flames remained the same in both pictures.
Kawanishi twisted and whirled around the stage, letting all his emotions bleed out through his dance. The fire joined him, shooting up to the ceiling along with his jumps and veering with his spins. In the final act, the flames blew up again and Taichi let himself drown in this hellish ocean.
The spotlights turned down, leaving howling flames as the only source of light. They slowly started to fade, letting the darkness swallow the inside of the tent. For a few breaths the whole crowd remained silent, hanging in oblivion of awe. Then, as for the command, all of them burst with uncontrolled applause. Dozens of throats screamed from astonishment, hands clapped in excitement.
Single spotlight brought Kawanishi from the darkness, he humbly bowed to the four sides of the audience. When he straightened up Shirabu noticed pure joy on his face. Joy and pride from himself, the feelings young Taichi probably never have experienced.
Shirabu took a deep breath and raised his shaky hands to join the omnipresent admiration.
- - -
The next performances turned into a blur of lights and incoherent noises. Shirabu watched all of them, he remembered a hurricane of blades, a man turning his body into clouds and smoke, phantom beasts walking around the tent, but none of this matched the impression of Kawanishi’s dance.
Taichi’s appearance hadn’t changed much since high school. He was still tall and bony, and the annoying smirk still appeared on his face. But Shirabu was sure his soul had completely changed. He presented his Gift without shame andkept his head up, feeling confident in his own skin.
This Taichi wasn’t crumbled under the judging eye of upper society, wasn’t tied by strict rules and principles. This Taichi was free. And Shirabu was dying to know how he dropped the chains.
So, Shirabu stayed on his seat, waiting. Waiting for the show’s end, for the standing ovations to fade, for the people unwillingly leaving the tent to finally vanish. The audience was almost empty — only the few viewers lasted, unable to quickly collect their belongings or persuade their kids to leave.
Shirabu was just sitting motionlessly, staring at the narrow alley between the rows of seats and when the mass of ginger hair appeared in his view, he carefully stood up. Kawanishi noticed him immediately. He smiled and fastly approached him, jumping on the seats. He took off his angel costume and put on some casual clothes.
“You came.”
“Why are you surprised?” Shirabu hid his hands in the pocket of his jacket. “You invited me yourself.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.” He put a hand on Shirabu’s shoulder. “Come on.”
“Huh? Where?”
“Backstage, you’ll meet the rest.”
“The rest?” He widened his eyes. “You mean the rest of the cast?” He pointed at the empty stage.
Kawanishi chuckled. “Yes, dumbass.”
“That wasn’t a part of the plan.”
“Maybe it wasn’t part of your plan.” He pushed him towards the alley. “Come on, they don’t bite. Usually.”
Kawanishi led him to a smaller tent, connected with the main one. Inside looked like a maze of boxes and equipment.
“Here.” Kawanishi navigated him in the tangled roads of chests, avoiding wandering staff. They reached another entrance and Kawanishi just pushed him to the other side.
Trailers, painted white or purple, were scattered on the area behind the tents. Some of them Shirabu recognised as mobile homes, some were plain, used to transport equipment.
“A bit different from your previous neighbourhood,” Shirabu said, scanning the surroundings.
Kawanishi snorted. “Yes, a little bit, but it’s way funnier here, trust me.” He gently pushed him ahead again. “Now, let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To drink. You know, today I realised with horror that we’ve never drunk together.”
“We did, once or twice.”
“One beer for two at the beginning of high school doesn’t count.”
Shirabu shaked his head, breathing out a laugh. “Fine, but please remember I still need to get back home.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll drag your drunk ass there myself if needed.”
“Oh, my hero,” Shirabu deadpanned.
Between the trailers someone placed cheap, garden furnitures. Folding and deck chairs stood in the uneven circle, a few blankets and pillows laid on the grass near them. Among them was a single table with a battery lantern on it. Two chairs were occupied. The man with short, bright red hair was practically lying on the chair. His long, slender arms hang inertly on both sides of the seat, his legs stuck out in front of him, hills digging in the grass. He looked like a rag-doll randomly thrown on the chair.
Other man leaned forward, resting his elbows on knees. His ash blond hair with dark tips was dishevelled. The short sleeves of his shirt perfectly exposed tanned arms with lean muscles. His skin was coated with smooth, dark lines, they twisted and entwined with each other, creating miniature figures of the beasts. Shirabu noticed black ink also on his neck under the hem of his shirt.
The blond raised a hand to his mouth, taking a drag of a cigarette.
“Oi, Taichi, whatcha got there?” Rag-doll pointed his lazy eyes at them, piercing Shirabu with his gaze.
Kawanishi dragged Shirabu closer to the sitting men. “This is my childhood friend, Shirabu Kenjirou.”
He gave them a greeting nod.
Rag-doll whistled. “Damn, legendary Shirabu Kenjirou, so you really didn’t make him up.”
The blond snorted. Shirabu noticed two thin, silver circles in his right nostril. Beside that, both men had remains of their show make-ups. Pieces of glitter shone on the face of Rag-doll as he spoke, dark eyeshadow was smudged under the sharp eyes of the blond one.
“I’m deeply hurt that you doubted my honesty, Tendou.” Kawanishi put one hand on Shirabu’s shoulder and the other one on his own chest.
“I didn’t doubt your honesty. I just doubted your sanity.”
The blond threw a burnt cigarette to the empty beer can, standing near his chair. He kicked the Rag-doll’s seat.
“Let him be.” He leaned back on chair and waved at Shirabu. “Semi Eita.”
Rag-doll chuckled and after shooting a short glance at his companion, he introduced himself:
“Tendou Satori, nice to finally meet you, legendary Shirabu Kenjirou.”
Semi kicked his chair again.
Kawanishi sighed. “Where’s the rest?”
Tendou waved his hand, behind his head. “Wakatoshi’s still changing.”
“Hayato went for beers,” Semi added.
“Reon’s on the phone with his dear ‘friend’.” Tendou drew a quotation mark over the last word, grin bent his lips.
“And Goshiki is… somewhere.”
Kawanishi nodded. “Changing, beers, friend, missing. Got it.”
Kawanishi grabbed both of Shirabu’s shoulders and forced him to sit on the chair next to Semi. “Kenjirou’s drinking with us tonight.”
Both men turned intrigued faces towards Shirabu. He tried to keep his expression unchanged. He felt oddly out of place, a stranger among the locals, an intruder.
Taichi sat on his other side. “So, what do you think about the show?”
Shirabu should have expected this question, he should be prepared. He couldn’t say that seeing Taichi’s Gift, fierce and open, left him completely speechless. That the unknown feeling was blooming in his heart. That it made him crave for the forbidden world of Gifts.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I didn’t have an opportunity to see any other circus show before.”
Kawanishi snorted. “Shocker.”
“But I have to say, Taichi, that I was impressed. Positively surprised even.”
Kawanishi gasped and put a hand on his chest. “Oh my God, am I hearing correctly? I, an ordinary mortal, was able to impress Shirabu Kenjirou. I’m truly ecstatic.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, I was talking about your Gift. Your posture is not as good as it used to be, you clearly lack discipline now. The same goes with your kicks. And it’s obvious you struggle to keep the balance with the longer spins.” He smirked. “You rusted, Taichi-kun.”
Tendou burst out with laughter. “Ha, he dragged you to filth!”
Kawanishi shaked his head. “Five years, but you’re still an asshole.”
“Thanks, I’m doing my best.”
“What’s going on?” a new voice spoke up.
They all turned their heads to the newcomer. A guy with an undercut put the box of beers in the middle of their handmade relax zone. The bottom lip, cheeks, nose, ears, it all was pierced. Silver jewellery glimmered shyly with his every movement.
Tendou grinned and motioned with his hand at Shirabu. “Ah, Hayato, we’ve got a visitor. Meet Kawanishi’s childhood friend, Shirabu Kenjirou.”
“Childhood friend, huh?” The brunette muttered. “I’m Yamagata Hayato.”
Shirabu gave him a nod.
Yamagata reached into the box and distributed the beer cans. He handed the first one to Kawanishi, the ginger immediately gave it away to Shirabu. Yamagata glared at him, but wordlessly gave Kawanishi a second can. Even if Kenjirou found it interesting, he didn’t react.
“You came in time, Hayato,” said Tendou, “we’re currently shit-talking Kawanishi.”
Yamagata frowned and Semi kicked Tendou’s chair for the third time.
“So, Mister Perfect Posture, can you show us how it should be done?” Kawanishi raised his brows.
Shirabu snorted and shaked his head. “Oh, no. You invited me here, I’m a guest. Today, I’m only a viewer.”
“And what do you think after seeing the show?” Yamagata asked, Tendou snorted at that.
Shirabu eyed him carefully, trying to recall his face, match him to the performance.
“You’re the one from those flying blades, right?”
Yamagata smirked at him and took a short, simple blade out from the sheath attached to his belt. He threw it in the air. The weapon didn’t come back to his hand, it whirled slowly in the air over his open palm.
“Telekinesis,” he explained. “I’ve decided on the blades for the dramaturgy.”
“It’s also useful in our performances.” Kawanishi nodded at him.
Shirabu snapped his fingers. “I knew your jumps were too high.”
Kawanishi only smiled at that.
Tendou whistled. “Posture, kicks, spins, jumps. What other old truths will you share with us?”
“Kawanishi told us you guys went to dance classes together,” Semi started. “Do you still dance?”
Shirabu was a bit surprised, this was his first interaction with Semi since their introduction, besides kicking Tendou’s chair of course.
“Yes, I do.” Shirabu shot a quick glance at Taichi, but he was fully invested in conversation with Yamagata.
“He talked about me?” he asked, lowering his voice a bit.
“Yeah, that’s why Tendou called you ‘legendary’. You were in his every story from childhood. Tendou started to tease him that you’re just his imaginary friend.”
“Well, I’m alive, unfortunately.”
Semi laughed. “You’re only twenty one, where does this nihilism come from?”
“You know my age?”
“I know Kawanishi’s age.” He pointed with his beer at Taichi.
“Ah, right.” His gaze fell on Semi’s tattooed arms. “You’re the one with ghost beasts, huh?”
He extended his hand, presenting Shirabu visages of inked beasts. Simple, minimalistic miniatures created from elegant lines proudly lounged on his skin, piercing Kenjirou with imagined gaze, hypnotising him with their curves and patterns.
“How many do you have?”
“Almost thirty.”
“Holy shit,” he bulged his eyes. “Don’t you have any problem with them in public?”
Semi smirked at him. “I’ve got my ways to get away with it.”
With time, the rest of the troupe joined them. Shirabu could finally match the names to the faces, now without bizarre costumes, flashy make-ups and tons of glitter. The night flew with the noise of simultaneous conversation and bursts of laughter, with the smell of spilled beers and with the pale faces, lightened only by the dim light of the small battery lantern.
For most of the time, Kawanishi was occupied by his friend from the circus, mostly by Yamagata, but Shirabu didn’t mind it. He found an actually good interlocutor in Semi. They spent an enormous amount of time discussing different genres of music, getting excited about old-school American noir movies, comparing stage experiences.
“I was shit scared before my first show at the circus,” Semi laughed. “Like, you know, everyone on the outside is trying to hide this shit and I what? Am I supposed to go out and just use it? In front of this crowd?” He shaked his head and took a long sip of his beer.
“But I also was just hyped as fuck. I literally couldn’t wait to… to throw my Gift in their faces!” He waved his free hand, trying to gather his thoughts. “To say ‘sup fuckers, I’m here’.” He shaked his head. “Do you get what I mean?”
“Believe me or not, but I do,” Shirabu chuckled. “Thinking about ballet, people always expect perfection and high discipline. It’s so fucking nervewrecking. You’re standing backstage, knowing that this whole crowd wants to see perfection. And you’re telling yourself that one mistake and you are done.”
Shirabu leaned back on his chair, spreading his arms. “But when you come to the stage and fucking nail it, when you give them this perfection… There is not a better feeling in the world.”
“Yeah, it’s like…” Semi waved his hand in the air again. “When you stand on the edge of a cliff or some other insanely tall thing. You look down and you feel this urge to jump.”
“The high place phenomenon.”
Semi frowned at him. “Huh?”
“This feeling that you’re talking about, it has a name. The high place phenomenon.”
Semi stared at him expectantly, waiting for Shirabu to continue the topic.
“When you stand on a high place, your brain realises that you’re in potential danger, you might fall and die,” he explained. “So, it sends some kind of a warning signal, forcing you to back away from the edge. It’s tied with increased heartbeat. Analysing the situation later, we tend to interpret it as some kind of suicidal thoughts.”
“So, it’s not suicidal tendencies,” Semi hummed.
“No, it’s exactly the opposite. It’s your survival instincts.”
“Fuck,” Semi chuckled. “Honestly, now this fits even better. It’s exactly the same. Your survival instincts are telling you to take a step backward, but you’re taking a step forward and jumping off the cliff, entering the stage.”
Even in poor light, Shirabu could see the sparks of excitement in Semi’s eyes.
Semi sent him an intrigued look. “The high place phenomenon, huh?”
Shirabu nodded. “It’s also known as the call of the void.”
Semi chuckled again. “That’s so poetic. I’ll drink to that.” He raised the beer to his mouth and Shirabu followed.
“So, I guess you can say that I responded to the void’s calling,” Semi said.
“Have you ever regretted it?”
“Hell no.” He shaked his head energetically. “There are tough moments, but if I could turn back time, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Shirabu shot a quick glance at Taichi. The ginger threw his head back, laughing at something Goshiki said.
“Hey, I’ve got a question,” Shirabu said, turning his face back to Semi. “Did Taichi tell you guys how our neighbourhood found out he has a Gift?”
Semi raised his brows, surprised by the change of topic. “He said it was some kind of barbeque incident and since we knew his power…” He shrugged. “We just guessed the rest.”
“Barbeque incident,” Shirabu parroted. He turned to Kawanishi and repeated it once again, louder.
“Barbeque incident?”
Kawanishi choked on his beer.
“Dude.” Shirabu spread his arms. “Barbeque incident? That’s how you called this shit for five years?”
“It sums it up pretty well.” Kawanishi whipped the spilled beer from his hands.
“Incident is when you walk into the dressing-room and catch two of your colleagues eating their faces out. Not this shit that you played in my backyard. I had nightmares for a solid three weeks after this.”
“Huh? You saw it?” Kawanishi frowned.
“Of course I saw it. As I said, it happened in my backyard.”
“No, I mean, you weren’t there, you were inside.”
“I was in my room, the windows there are pointed at…”
“At the backyard, yeah.” Kawanishi nodded.
“Don’t want to interrupt this intimate moment.” Tendou was scanning them with his lazy gaze, still lounging on his chair. “But no matter how amusing you two are, we’ve got absolutely no idea what’s going on. And I have to say I’m quite intrigued by the details of this infamous ‘barbeque incident’.”
Kawanishi laughed awkwardly. “No, it’s uhm…” He sighed. “Kenjirou’s father threw a party in their backyard.” He motioned with his hand at Shirabu.
“It was the beginning of summer and it was a barbeque. For the whole day I was arguing with my mother and in the evening I just… broke.” He shrugged.
“I started to shout that I’m not a normal kid and grabbed hot coals from the grille. The one thing I didn’t predict was the fact that my jacket might actually start to burn.” He looked at Shirabu. “Didn’t know you saw it.”
“Yeah, I… I heard the shouts and looked through the window and I saw… you know, that you’re on fire.”
“How old were you again?” Yamagata asked with concern.
Kawanishi leaned back on his chair.
“Sixteen,” he said and took a long sip of his beer.
“Holy fuck,” Yamagata gasped.
“Yep, after that I just… ran away.”
Kawanishi’s face remained blank, like always. But Shirabu was sure this had to move him, touch some strings of his soul. Because how could it not? The literal end of his previous life, of everything familiar and safe, could it really be indifferent to him? That day was one of the worst of Shirabu’s life, so he could only try to imagine how Taichi must have felt about that.
Shirabu immediately regretted bringing those memories back. He opened his mouth to maybe apologise, but didn’t have any time.
“Oi, and what’s your Gift, legendary Shirabu Kenjirou?” Tendou’s eyes were locked on Shirabu’s face now, a slow smile danced wickedly on his lips.
Shirabu cleared his throat. “My skin… No, my entire body can turn into a diamond.”
It was fine, it was just a question. It was fine, all those people gathered around him were also gifted. It was fine.
“Oh, that sounds joyfully amazing,” Tendou cheered. “Can you show us?”
Shirabu bulged his eyes. “What?”
“Can you show us your Gift?”
Shirabu’s hands tightened around the beer can. Cold, invisible fingers closed around his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Those few little worlds rattled inside his brain, wrecking absolute havoc in his thoughts.
Show us your Gift.
“You don’t have to.” He heard Kawanishi’s voice beside him.
Semi raised his foot to kick Tendou’s chair again, but this time the red was prepared. He pushed Semi’s seat with his leg, but using much more force. Semi yelped in surprise as his chair threw backward. In panic he grabbed the nearest thing, which unfortunately happened to be the backrest of Shirabu’s seat. He dragged Shirabu along with him to the ground.
The quasi-tense atmosphere popped out like bubble gum, when everyone started to laugh. Shirabu stared at the starry sky, his feet up and his head down. He rolled over to sitting position and also burst out with laughter. When was the last time he laughed this hard? He couldn’t even recall it.
Semi helped him to get up.
“Fuck,” Semi chuckled. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay.” Shirabu shaked his head. “Actually, the fact that I don’t mind being literally thrown to the ground means it’s time to go home.”
“Well, then, it’s time to fulfil my oath.” Kawanishi put his beer aside and stood up. “I promised to safely take you home.”
Shirabu said his goodbyes and set off with Taichi by his side. As soon as they crossed the gate of The Freaks’ Plaza, they both fell silent. Unstopping city buzzed around them as they walked along the streets. Black asphalt letting go of the heat it accumulated during the sunny day, filling the air with its bitter scent. City lanterns brightened up their way with grim, yellow light.
They entered Shirabu’s district, when he decided to speak.
“Thank you for today, seriously. I don’t remember when was the last time I had such fun.” His gaze was focused on the road in front of him, his hands were shoved into pockets.
“My pleasure,” Kawanishi chuckled.
“Also, I’m sorry for mentioning your… barbeque incident.”
“It’s fine, I came up to terms with it long ago.”
“Did you?”
Kawanishi stopped, so Shirabu did the same.
“No,” Taichi sighed. “But I accepted it. And that’s close enough to move on.”
Kawanishi fished out his phone from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to Shirabu.
“Give me your new number.”
Shirabu raised his brows, taking the mobile. “Why do you think I changed it since high school?”
“‘Cause there’s no way your parents would let you keep your old one after I turned into a human torch in your backyard.”
“Good point,” he chuckled and entered his number in Taichi’s phone.
Kawanishi quickly saved it and sent him a random text. Shirabu’s own mobile buzzed in his pocket.
“Now I know it’s not fake.” He laughed, but the smile fastly died on his lips.
Shirabu followed his gaze, with surprise realising that Taichi was staring at his house. No, not his, the one next to his.
“Hey, uhm…” Kawanishi choked out. “Do you… maybe know how my parents are doing?”
“I only know how your mother is.”
“And what about my father?”
Shirabu shaked his head. “They divorced a year after your getaway and your father moved out. I don’t know where he’s now, sorry.”
“No, it’s… It’s okay.”
Shirabu ran a hand on his face. “And speaking of your parents… My mum found one of the tickets you gave me. I panicked a bit and told her I kept it only so she could give it to your mother. She… knows you’re back here. Sorry.”
Kawanishi patted his back. “Don’t sweat about it. On the station I told you to send them my regards, right? It doesn’t matter if she knows or not.”
They both knew it was a lie, but both of them were also tired and it was late. Shirabu only nodded.
“Well, then, I guess I’ll take my leave,” he said. “See you around, Taichi.”
Kawanishi took a step backward, raising hand with his phone over his head. “Yep, we’ll be in touch.”
He turned around and walked away into the night. Shirabu observed as Kawanishi moved proudly along the same road he ran away desperately five years ago.
Shirabu shaked his head and headed to his house. He thought visiting the circus and meeting with Taichi would throw a crushing weight at his slim shoulders, that old memories would bury him alive like a collapsing building. But honestly, he hadn’t felt this light in a long time.
When Shirabu said he had fun, he really meant it. For the first time in a while he could just chill out, chatting about trivialities, laughing freely. He didn’t have to worry how people saw him, what they were thinking of him. He could pause this upper class life for a bit and just breathe. He hadn’t even realised how badly he needed it.
Shirabu quietly entered the house. His parents thought he was at the outing with his colleagues from the theatre and it needed to stay this way. He went straight to bed, still a little tipsy and fully content.
Next day brought a few surprises. First was the fact that he woke up without any signs of earlier drinking. He didn’t take liquors well, so he always ended up with hangovers and regrets. Second was the lack of interest from his parents. They just asked whether Kenjirou had fun and were fully satisfied with his short, affirmative answer. Third was the first text he got from Taichi in the evening, which shocked him to the core.
From: Dumbass
Semi just asked me about your number. Permission to give it to him?