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In this little village, nestled in the shadow of a mountain, there are more secrets than people. Family secrets kept alive through generations, mountain secrets kept hidden from the most innocent and the youngest. The looming mountain itself whispering its secrets into the winds, hiding a darkness unclaimed, unmastered. It has always fascinated Keith in a strange, morbid way. It is much like having a God, constantly looming over them, watching them. Waiting. It had gobbled up many curious travellers, outsiders and villagers alike, Keith’s mother included. Bringing her up would only make Father look sad and change the subject, so Keith never does - he still offers prayers to her, hoping her soul hears.
He goes to school. He lives his life. He doesn’t think much of the future: it’s a grey mass without any distinguishing features. It’s not like he’s lonely, even though the house he shares with Father is often cold and quiet: Keith does have friends in his class. He goes to the only konbini of the village to buy snacks. He listens to idle gossip, never quite participating. After all, Keith is the only one who is a bit - wrong.
No one knows, of course. They would all shun him. They would chase him out of the village, the only home he has ever known, with its superstitions and secrets and mountain gods. No one can ever know how truly dark his heart is. Not even Shiro - no, especially not Shiro. Shiro is one grade higher than Keith, but they had ended up being friends as toddlers: their fathers had been friends first, often bringing their kids along. Shiro’s parents had long since passed - another thing no one ever mentions - and he had been left in the care of his grandfather. Yet Shiro, a little goofy, a little silly, just a boy after all, had never lost his spark. Like a pathetic little moth, Keith had ended up following.
(And falling)
For some reason, Shiro seems to like Keith: invites him out for walks or bicycle rides, often accompanies him through that creepy path in the forest. It’s easy being with Shiro. Shiro never forces Keith to talk or laments his introverted nature. Shiro seems to like him just as he is. He has shot up like a weed since last year too and now uses the height difference to his full advantage: often ambushing Keith with a hug, tucking Keith under his chin. Cradling him, like he was nothing but a kitten.
What’s a boy to do about that except develop feelings?
Of course, Shiro can’t know. Nothing can or should mar the perfection of that smile or make his stupid jokes stop. Nothing should -
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
It had been the usual routine. Come get Shiro for their ride to school. Talk about nothing and everything. It’s Monday, chilly enough to need a jacket. It rained heavily last week, the ground still squishy under Keith’s boots.
Shiro’s grandpa squints at Keith through thick glasses. “Said he was taking a research trip. You know how he is. Always going. Always rambling. Now off you go, you’re gonna be late for school.”
Keith’s jaw is tight. Shiro would never go without Keith. Shiro would never not tell Keith, right?
“Could you… call Dad at least if you hear anything? He can tell me.” Nobody really bothers with cellphones this far out from the big cities. Just good old landlines.
Shiro’s grandpa’s grip on his cane tightens. “Takashi went up the mountain. You know he is. That boy, that boy - “ he mutters and slides the door closed, right in front of Keith’s nose.
For a few hot seconds, Keith hesitates in between doing as he’s told and demanding an answer. But exhaustion wins - and the eagerness to not hear a scolding from yet another teacher - , so he hops on his bike.
Went up the mountain? For what?
It’s Keith who was interested in what the mountain has. Not Shiro. Certainly Shiro always talked about how he liked to explore, but it was about far-away places, countries, the stars themselves. Shiro liked stories, myths, eagerly listening to the village elders always. Perhaps never quite taking it as seriously as he should have.
X
A day passes. Shiro doesn’t return. Keith waits, waits, waits. He calls Shiro’s house. He goes to Shiro’s house. Grandpa Shirogane shuts the door on his face. Still. A day passes. A day passes. Keith refuses to go to school, despite his Father’s insistence: eats what’s put in front of him and listens to his own heart thud painfully in his chest. Where are you?
On the fifth day of Shiro being gone, Keith goes to the mountain himself. He dresses for the weather, takes a flashlight, knowing full well the darkness can be absolute under the thick canopy of trees. He doesn’t quite believe the same as the rest of the village does: what kind of god leaves his people to rot in paranoia, secrets, fear? What kind of a god takes away a boy’s best friend? Still, Keith holds his tongue as he explores. He shouts for Shiro, flashlight sweeping the trees. He ventures far, too far.
Go back, the wind whispers.
Go home, the mountain rumbles.
In here, there are no birds. There are no deer. Barely an insect buzzing by Keith’s ear. His heart is beating a thunderous rhythm.
“Shiro?” He calls, once more, hoping for shadows to answer. Give him back to me. Please. Please. “Takashi?” The nickname has become so casual, so easy to say that saying Shiro’s first name feels almost too much. Despite the chill in the air, Keith’s cheeks heat up. Restlessness burns his limbs. He wanders far, too far. Fear’s icy grip around his throat. Still he searches.
However he manages to go home, he doesn’t quite know. His limbs shake when he steps through the sliding door to his room. Shiro, Shiro, Shiro, his heart trembles. Where are you?
X
On the seventh day from Shiro’s disappearance, the doorbell to Keith’s house rings. His Father is at work and he is preparing for school: listlessly staring at his bowl of cereal. A block of cement at the bottom of his stomach. When he doesn’t immediately answer, the doorbell rings again. Perhaps his Father forgot his keys. Forgot his lunchbox. None of Keith’s school friends would visit, especially not so early in the morning. So Keith drifts on restless legs to his door, slides it open to -
“Shiro?” Bursts out of him in a shaky exhale. Then a choked off sob. Then an embrace.
Shiro smells like the forest. He laughs, just like Keith’s most precious friend does and hugs him back. “Miss me?” He smiles, as Keith withdraws first from the hug. Then punches Shiro in the chest.
“Where the hell were you?! Everyone was worried sick!” Keith blinks away tears, but doesn’t look away from Shiro, because it is him: still infuriatingly tall, a boy at the cusp of manhood. Eyes as soft and grey as ever. A sliver of white in his dark hair. A scratch on one arm. Still in his short sleeves.
“I’m alright,” Shiro says and tilts his head. “I got very lost. And slipped. Must have lost consciousness for a while.” He grins. “You know me, I don’t always watch where I step!”
“Stupid,” Keith huffs. “Come in, borrow a jacket from me, how did you manage to lose yours? I tried to go looking for you - “ his wrist is snatched before he can pull Shiro inside. The grip much too tight.
Shiro’s eyes have gone dark. “You went up the mountain?”
Keith snatches his wrist free and nudges his friend inside, snapping the door closed. “Shut up. I was worried. I saw nothing weird.” His heart thuds much too hard, the treacherous little bastard. Shiro’s footsteps are so quiet as they follow Keith to his room. He digs out a hoodie - “Oh, that’s where it went,” Shiro laughs - and then a jacket, hoping the bigger size fits Shiro’s broadened shoulders.
“Did you go see your grandpa?” Keith watches with a tight jaw as Shiro dresses. The light catches on the white in his hair. That wasn’t there before. Just a few strands, like someone having painted a part of Shiro’s hair the purest snow-white.
“Yes, yes, I went,” Shiro says and ruffles Keith’s hair then, laughing once more as Keith swats his hand away. “And then straight to here. I really did get very lost. I managed to find berries after I lost my bag too. I had snacks. But I am really hungry.” Shiro’s fingers brush Keith’s cheek, just for a tiny, tiny moment. Lingering for a little too long.
“But you aren’t… hurt? Legs okay?” Keith crosses his arms tighter. “You look exhausted. Maybe I should skip school. Are you sure you’re up for it?” His fingers twitch, curl, nails digging into his sleeves.
Shiro smiles once more. “Keith,” he says.
Only the name and Keith crumbles. His cheeks heat up. “Shut up. I was worried.” He shoves at Shiro’s shoulder and Shiro lets him.
Grabs Keith into a hug. “And I appreciate it,” Shiro says and smacks a kiss on Keith’s forehead, prompting more chest-pushing and squirming from Keith, before he succumbs: hugs Shiro back, lets himself inhale that familiar, comforting scent. Of trees and soil. Of the earth itself. If this is a dream, then may Keith never wake up.
As much as Keith does care for his Father and knows his Father cares for him, as much as he does like his friends - only with Shiro he has ever managed to relax completely. Shiro understands him without words: fills silences with his own if Keith doesn’t feel like. Keith had given Shiro his heart long ago, maybe even the first time they met as kids and pinky swore to always be friends.
So for now, Keith lets himself keep this dream. He skips school for the day and endures his Father’s gentle scolding for it (and endures Shiro’s grandpa’s scolding with him). After all, his Father had always liked Shiro too and thought of him like a second son, so he had even managed a smile after seeing Shiro safe and whole. The boys had spent the day in Keith’s room, playing videogames on Keith’s ancient console. Talking. Doing homework.
“I must have missed a lot,” Shiro remarks only once. “Any good gossip? Any important tests coming up?” Playfully, he nudges Keith with his elbow.
Keith, always turned towards Shiro like a sunflower towards the sun, tells him: Yuki from his class is dating Takeda from Shiro’s class. One teacher is apparently pregnant. No new tests just yet. A new bread at the tiny school cafeteria that Keith figures Shiro would like. That seems to be enough for Shiro.
Slowly, slowly, the happiness of seeing his friend again seeps out of Keith. He watches Shiro out of the corner of his eye - not like he usually does, finding him in every room- but carefully, curiously. With growing dread.
They go back to school and Shiro is welcomed back with relief and joy and hugs, each one that Shiro meets with equal enthusiasm. Constantly, Keith keeps watch: Shiro looks the same, except for that little scratch on his arm (now bandaged) and the white strands in his hair. Shiro smiles the same. Laughs the same. Keith’s stomach still fills with butterflies when Shiro looks at him.
Yet.
What is it? Why did Shiro go up the mountain? Why did it take him a week to come back: without his bag, without his jacket? Why does no one except Keith seem to notice? Shiro has always been popular: he is easy to like, helpful to old ladies and kind to girls. Of course he is popular. Of course people are blinded by his boyishly handsome face and good manners. Of course people don’t question why Grandpa Shirogane is treated with such reverence, the same sort of reverence expanding to the grandson.
Why does no one else seem to notice?
An awful, sour taste sticks to Keith’s tongue as he and Shiro depart the school. As much as Keith tries to focus on Shiro’s chatter, that terrible premonition refuses to leave him: that this is not -
They get their ice creams from mrs. Kaneda’s store and pay with their coins. It’s probably too early yet for ice cream, summer barely in its full swing. But it’s their thing: vanilla for Shiro and chocolate for Keith. They sit by the store’s entrance and eat. Keith stares ahead and listens as his heart begins to race harder. This isn’t right. He can’t go back to his daily life like nothing had happened. The ice cream tastes like ash.
“Keith?” Shiro’s tender warmth right next to him. A smudge of vanilla on Shiro’s lip, swiftly licked away. Concern in that familiar gaze. Yet.
Keith lets his half-eaten cone drop.
“You’re not Shiro, are you?” Somewhere, the mountain rumbles, holding its secrets tight against its stone. Somewhere, the air itself is heavy with the force of evil. Right here, right now, Keith trembles. He is just a boy, his heart aching from the pain of first love. He meets Shiro’s eyes and bites back a horrified gasp.
A tear has run down Shiro’s cheek, but it’s a tear pulsating with horrid light. Shiro’s pupils flicker, tendrils of something creeping from them over the whites of his eyes.
“Shit,” Shiro says. His smile is very small, very sad. So Shiro, that Keith almost takes his words back.
“Oh, Keith,” the creature says, speaking in Shiro’s voice.