Tomorrow Will Never Know [Oneshot]

[h_itoshi]

Title: Tomorrow Will Never Know
Fandom: Kis-My-Ft2
Pairing: If you squint
Rating: Mild R, maybe?
Wordcount: 5409
Warnings: Fantasy/Sci-fi!AU, very minor character deaths, PV plot-ish

Notes: This is obviously based on the Tonight PV. I haven't written a) Kisumai fic or b) something like this in years, so I'm really out of my comfort zone with this? Idek if it's cool or just... not. But I LOVE the Tonight PV I mean have you SEEN IT. It's epic and hot and I thought it deserved at least some kind of fic because I couldn't find any out there. It felt good writing Kisumai, too. I decided to cut where the PV stops because I heard there was going to be a continuation and it will no doubt ruin my entire AU anyway.

Kitayama never had troubles breathing. Even the days when the carbon monoxides were at their highest levels, he was fine, almost better than fine. The sulfur didn't bother him, even as the soot and particles were whirling in the air, he was never affected.

When he was 4 years old and started doing the easiest work in the quarry, his mother caught him trying to take off his oxygen mask because he thought it was in the way and he couldn't see the pebbles very well with it.

She was furious, hissing threats in his ear while forcing the fastenings back with trembling hands, and Kitayama couldn't understand what he did wrong. He just wanted to help her do her work so she wouldn't be punished. When they came back home, his mother pulled him aside from the others in their dormitory and told him that he could never, on any occasion, take the mask off outside. That if he inhaled out there, he would die. The gases would enter his lungs and poison him from the inside, steal his breath and he wouldn't be here anymore. Couldn't he feel how it got harder to breathe once they were outside?

He promised his mother never to try and take the mask off again. But he didn't understand. Breathing outside was easier than inside.

When he was 12, he was transferred to the mines for harder work, separated from his mother as she was still working in the quarry. And it was then that the accident happened. There was a collapse of a new vault, and Kitayama got away but was wounded, rocks scraping his protective clothing open along his shoulder and arm, exposing his flesh to the poisons outside. A few people were crushed under the stones, but it wasn't his first time seeing someone die.

The workers around him, mostly older teenagers but a few adults too, were quick to cover his wounds with cloth in order to save them from contamination with particles and chemicals from the air. He was sent home after the guards had a look at him and assessed his ability to work too impaired to keep him, and he was told to leave and that he would only get half his food ration until he could come back.

When he returned to the dormitory, his mother had heard, meeting him behind the airlocks with tears streaming down her face and chanting how she thought he'd died. When they returned to their beds, she unwound the cloth around his arm to tend to the wounds, having prepared the cleansing and wondered with shaky voice how much had already gotten into his blood.

But there was nothing. The wounds were several, ragged edges and exposed muscle, but there was no soot, no contamination. Kitayama will never forget the way she looked at him, the horror in her eyes as she really looked at him, before her eyes locked to the oxygen mask lying on the bed next to him. The words she spoke after a deafening silence.

“Mitsu, did you walk back with that? … It's broken.”

He didn't understand what it meant at first. Only that his mother made him swear never to let anyone know that he could breathe out there, that the atmosphere and its poisons didn't affect him. And he never did, until he turned sixteen, and came to meet them.

~*~

Fujigaya is too young to know what it was like before. He's only heard the stories. His father used to tell them to him and his two brothers, quietly and late at night so the guards outside their doors wouldn't hear him. An engineer couldn't risk being heard talking about the past, and Fujigaya's mother always reminded them to think of their father. Never speak of anything he said about this, or they'd all be deported and killed. It was more exciting that way too, a secrets game that only he and his brothers could join. Something other kids didn't know.

His favourite was the one about the invasion. How the queen, the Lady as they call her, came with her army shrouded in black and enslaved everyone living here, taking the sunlight as her hostage and making them all work to build her empire. How the darkness settled, with the sunlight in her power the days never came light and blue anymore. Everything became the smoky red with dark clouds that they have today, that Fujigaya grew up with. He doesn't know what a sunny day looks like. Neither does his father, but he told stories of the sky being blue and the clouds white, the sun yellow and no red in sight, only at sunrise and sunset.

The poisonous air was never intended, it was brought on by the Fire Wielders. Those with the power to control fire, to exude the heat and flame from within their own bodies, and the only ones able to stand up against the Lady's armies. They were extinguished in the invasion, hunted down and murdered along with their children in order to make sure no new ones could be born. But before they disappeared, in one massive joint effort, they set fire to the entire land, ignited the oil streams in the underground and blew it up.

It reduced the Lady's army's numbers greatly, left the remaining without the food and water they needed, and it was a last desperate effort to save the land from her. But she was too powerful, making sure there was a way to live in the poisoned land they'd created.

A lot of the people blamed the Fire Wielders for their ruined world, but Fujigaya was always raised to think of them as heroes. Heroes that tried their hardest and did all in their might to save those they loved, that would even destroy their own land if that's what it took.

Life still works, after all. They live in the mountains and underground, with airlocks sealed tight to keep the air breathable inside, filters working day and night to keep the poisonous gases out. The oxygen masks for those working outside are functional, and even if someone doesn't manage to refill their oxygen tank or a mask breaks, it's not that big of a loss for the guards watching their every move. There are so many of them, the slaves, that losing one or ten or a hundred doesn't make much difference.

Fujigaya didn't work outside. He helped his father in the planning and execution of restoring the buildings the Lady needs, and so he almost never went outside.

Then there was that time.

He'd been out on an errand for his father, handing over sketches and blueprints for the rebuild of a temple, and forgot to turn off the oxygen supply while he was indoors talking to the architect. He realized just as he'd passed outside the airlock and found his meter blinking red in warning for low levels, but the guards wouldn't let him back in to refill. They laughed at him, told him he certainly had a death wish if he forgot to refill his oxygen, and wondered how fast he could run to make it.

The panic was beating in his entire body, his ears buzzing and breath coming quicker even as he knew it would use up the oxygen faster, heart beating like crazy. And he started running, but he knew he would never make it. He wasn't a physical worker, he wasn't trained to run that kind of distance.

Just before halfway back home, the meter started a continuous alarm, counting down the minutes he had left before the tank was completely empty, and Fujigaya resigned to stopping where he was to die. He couldn't run any more anyway. So he sat down on a rock, his entire body shaking and he was ready for when his chest would tighten up, when he would have to fight for air, would black out before he eventually died. He thought about his mother, about how sad she would be, and how he'd disappointed his father.

But the last minute ticked by, his hand shaking so hard he could barely look at the numbers reaching zero, and none of it happened. He could still breathe. Almost easier than before. He stared at the meter, trying to reset it and see if anything was wrong with it. But it still showed zero, the screen darkened as an empty tank's meter would be.

It was stupid, what he did, but he had to know and he was already so prepared to die. He unlocked the mask and took it off. Inhaled the carbon monoxides, arsenic and nitric oxides that he knew very well would kill him, but he'd never felt more alive. Like he could finally breathe properly.

He sat there for long enough that he can't remember how long, the feeling of just breathing so fresh, so energizing that he didn't want to leave. But when he heard sounds, he quickly put the mask on again, deciding to pretend everything was fine. He needed to ask his father what was happening to him.

~*~

Nobody ever believed Tamamori. The kids said he was crazy, the adults that he had a distorted view of reality. He lived with his grandparents after his parents died in a mining accident, and most people blamed that. His grandfather liked to speak of things that were best unspoken, but never too loud and nobody ever took him seriously anyway. But Tamamori did. He loved hearing stories about Fire Wielders, of those that could breathe outside without extra oxygen, of secret temples deep in the underground, so deep that the Lady's armies hadn't found them yet. He believed in it, because his grandfather said it was true. Said that he'd seen a child once who ripped their oxygen mask off and could still breathe outdoors. Could run around and laugh and play without any breathing assistance. Tamamori always wondered about the child, how they could do it.

But he also knew that the child had been taken by the guards, its neck snapped right there on the work shift, and all of its family members had been taken for questioning and execution as a consequence. He learned early not to show off his own breathing abilities.

He could breathe. He said once or twice when he was little, that he liked breathing outside, and everyone called him crazy. But he did. He didn't want to wear the mask, thought it was uncomfortable and the air got so stuffy, but he knew he had to. He didn't want his grandparents taken to execution.

But he enjoyed sneaking away, taking off his gloves to play with the rocks, to feel them lukewarm in his bare hands. When he touched the air and ground with bare skin, he felt more powerful, like he could easily strike down the kids that bullied him if he wanted to. But his grandmother said revenge was wrong, and what the other kids said didn't bother him too much anyway.

He'd told his grandparents about his abilities, but they didn't believe him either, he realized after a while. His grandfather stopped telling those stories after Tamamori claimed to be able to breathe, wondering if he could be a Fire Wielder. Apparently, they thought they'd given Tamamori delusions and that it'd put him in danger, that the guards would take him immediately if he claimed that he was different. The guards never needed any proof.

But when he was 14, there was an accident in their dormitory, a ventilation fan breaking just above their corner of the big hall. It was the middle of the night and they were ripped from their beds as the alarm went off in the hall, everyone trying to evacuate at the same time, and Tamamori saw a small child be accidentally kicked over and stepped on in the panic that ensued. He forgot to bring his blanket to shield his skin from the fumes seeping in, and so left with bare arms and hands, which his grandmother found time to scold him for even as they were fighting to get out, trying to hand him her blanket but he refused.

He wasn't affected anyway, he knew it.

But as they got out into the corridors outside, pressing up against the walls to allow air filtering machines and mechanics in full protective equipment past, Tamamori's grandfather made a sound of panic and practically threw his blanket at him, over his shoulder.

Tamamori tried to protest, saying he needed it more, but the almost wild look in his grandfather's eyes stopped him from it, instead wondered what was wrong.

His grandfather looked around and then pointed at his shoulder, and Tamamori turned to look at his own arm in confusion, wondering what was going on, and he still remembers the way his heart almost stopped at what he saw. An ornate mark that seemed to faintly glow from somewhere underneath his skin.

~*~

There's seven of them. When Tamamori joined them, he was the last one. If there were any more out there, they were never found, and Senga is so grateful he was. He still remembers when he was taken here, with no chance of saying goodbye to his family, just pulled from his bed in the middle of the night and brought into the underground.

The temple remains unknown and safe from the armies, a ground they can't step upon, an air they can't breathe. Senga thought he was dreaming when he was first taken here and saw the fire. He'd never seen fire up close before, and he felt like he could stare forever at the torches on metal stands glowing bright and alive, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Fire was strictly forbidden in the world he came from, told to be dangerous and anyone caught trying to light one was arrested and executed. Senga had only seen fire when something spontaneously combusted somewhere far away on his way to and from work, and was entirely entranced by it once he came to see it up closer. He could have stared at it for hours, but there was so much information to take in that he couldn't focus on anything.

They're Fire Wielders, the last to exist. The only ones able to breathe in the air outside, to touch it with their bare skin. The order belonging to the temple can't. They wear oxygen masks and protective gear, but they know the secrets and training of those who don't need any of that.

They've been told it's because they have it inside them already. The remains of a fire can't hurt the producer of it.

Senga was the first one taken here, only 9 years old and terrified of what had happened to him. He'd burnt someone. There was a kid sleeping on the bed next to his that he used to play with, and then one day, when they'd fought over some petty thing like whose piece of bread it was, suddenly Senga's friend jumped and screamed. Like he'd been burnt.

And he had. There's was a faint pink mark on his arm where Senga's finger just was, and he had no idea what had happened to him or his friend. That night he was taken away.

They told him it was too dangerous to stay up there in the open when his powers had already manifested themselves so clearly.

Senga was alone for a long time, until Nikaido came along. Nikaido, who was too ignorant to realize what he was telling people, about being able to breathe, almost accepting a dare about proving it before his mother had stopped him from killing himself. Nikaido who didn't realize that he would die either way in a bet like that.

At first, Senga thought Nikaido was loud and annoying, but now, he's his everything. His strength, his motivation, his power. They're partners, paired up as a team to work together, synchronized to the point where they almost read each others thoughts. Nikaido has the energy and Senga the care, they're ambition and caution, instinct and reflection, the perfect combination. Miyata and Yokoo are matched up too, but they're not as close as Senga and Nikaido.

The two of them are praised for their teamwork, for their connection, even though it was decided for them who their partner would be. Decided after how their powers took form, what their strengths and weaknesses were.

Miyata and Tamamori would be a better match personality wise, as would Yokoo and Fujigaya. But their powers work differently than their personalities, and it's their maximum capacity that is the goal. Miyata and Yokoo just have to work harder on merging their minds, Fujigaya and Tamamori even more so since Tamamori came in last.

Kitayama is the key. He's their leader, the one to sense all of them, to feel their movements and the swings in their powers, to know what they're all doing and make the decisions.

It surprised all of them when Kitayama stumbled in second last and almost immediately assumed the leader position that had been pending between Yokoo and Fujigaya before. But the order said he was strong, impossible to sway and had the determination and set of mind needed for the leader. There was no arguing with the order.

Senga is happy it's Kitayama. There's something special about him, like he understands all of them, and not only because he's older. He's not the most mature when they're just having fun, but he's very tuned for which situation calls for which side of him. And his fire is amazing.

Blazing red and hot, his eyes illuminated in dark ruby as the capacity to destroy an entire country glows around him.

They've never actually produced a large amount of fire, they can't in the confined space they live in. But the order tells them that what they can do here, so deep in the ground with limited access to air and space, they can do thousandfold on the surface.

Senga's own fire is different, everyone's is different. The components of it, the intensity, light and heat all differ, their own individual variation showing.

Senga's fire shines bright and almost welcoming, lightly dances along where he directs it, but he lacks the power. Lacks the energy, the hot blaze and mass, which is what Nikaido brings. On the other hand, Nikaido doesn't have flawless control over it, can't always direct it where he intends, but Senga is there to balance him. Together, they're perfect.

~*~

Yokoo used to want to be the leader. From the moment he came here and realized what was happening. He always considered himself as someone with stability, stealth and calm, all the qualities a leader needed.

And back then, there was only Nikaido, Senga and Miyata, none of which could step up and take the role of responsibility. Yokoo always took care of them, helped them when they were struggling, let them confide in him when they were fighting. He thought he was the obvious choice.

Then Fujigaya came. Yokoo knew immediately that he would put up a fight, an engineer child used to having what he wanted, who considered himself better than the rest of them.

But he was surprised to find that he didn't mind. There was some kind of attraction to Fujigaya, of wanting to be near him and Yokoo didn't find it in himself to fight about positions when they could be close instead. Fujigaya only wanted to be the leader when there was fighting involved anyway, the care and bonding was left to Yokoo, and they were both happy with that division. Everything worked fine.

Until Kitayama came and turned everything upside down. The boy from the mines who had lived up there knowing what he could do for years, who just had to send Fujigaya a glare to make him shut up and storm out of the room. Who Senga and Miyata came to talk to about things they would normally tell Yokoo. Kitayama, who everyone looked up to because of how powerful he was, but still was considered a brother because of his easygoing attitude. And then there was that serious side to him, when he spoke about the oppression on the surface, of his mother, the way his eyes would burn with anger and Yokoo lost even Fujigaya to him.

When Kitayama was decided to be the leader after just a month with them, Yokoo was furious. He came to the main temple to try and let out his anger with the order for not choosing him, wanted to scream and rage and destroy things. But as he set fire to all the blood red drapes hanging between the ornate stone pillars and arches to keep in the heat, he realized exactly why he was never chosen to be leader. Because he wasn't as stable as he thought he was. He couldn't properly handle failure, and his powers fuelled mostly on outbursts of emotion rather than a continuous source of energy.

It was a rough blow for him to realize, and he sat on the dark wooden floors all night just staring at the fires constantly burning in the temple's centre, questioning himself. But he needed the realization, for all of their sakes, for him to forgive everyone else for choosing Kitayama instead. The morning after, the order deemed him ready for the final level of training, which had been withheld from him for much longer than he wanted to admit.

Now, when they're so close to their goal, he would never want to be the leader.

They've been trained for years. Worked hard on their strengths and even harder on their weaknesses, bonded with their partners and each other, and Kitayama has always had the toughest work trying to find all of them in himself, to find balance.

Fujigaya is just like Yokoo. Scarily powerful, but unstable, the fluctuation in their energy resource too big for them to be able to balance everyone out. That's why they match as persons, but they need a stability to be able to execute their powers in the best way. And so Yokoo's paired with Miyata, and Fujigaya with Tamamori.

It works perfectly these days. It must. They'll only have one chance after all.

Their mission is to take down the Lady, end her reign and take back what was originally theirs. They're the only ones who can do it, they've been told since they came here. The only ones.

Therefore, they have no right to care about themselves, to care about their own values or principles. They're merely tools for the greater good, and they can never afford to hesitate, to wonder if what they're doing is right. They're all trained knowing that they will have one chance, one night. And if they can't do it then, no one can.

And that night is closing in.

~*~

“Tama?” Miyata asks quietly into the silence, leaning his head against Tamamori's thigh. “Do you ever think that maybe this is all just a delusion?”

He knows Tamamori's awake. None of them can sleep tonight.

There's a rustle of fabric and a small sound as Tamamori sits up properly on his bed, a hand reaching out to slowly play with Miyata's hair where he sits on the floor by the bed.

“Sometimes.” Tamamori says after a moment of thinking. “But I don't mind if it is. I believe it anyway. Doesn't that make it real?”

“I suppose.” Miyata agrees with a sigh, because even if he will never fully understand Tamamori, at least his conviction is calming.

Miyata used to feel a little lost before Tamamori came along. Miyata was never the best of them, has always struggled but never quite felt like he reached the level he was supposed to, but Tamamori always told him it was alright. The others are different. They encourage, but don't entirely understand.

“Are you nervous?” Tamamori asks, breaking Miyata out of his own head.

“Yes.” He admits, even though he knows he's not supposed to be.

Tomorrow night, all he can do is his best, and that's it. There's no point in worrying about the future, but he somehow can't help it. He's not as confident as the rest of them.

The order always told them that after they made themselves known, after their attack was launched, there was no tomorrow for them. No matter if they died or not, they shouldn't expect a tomorrow. And they were taught to accept that, to be at peace with the idea of it.

They've all had to meet themselves in their training. Face their fears and doubts and come to terms with them, get closer with each other than with anyone before in their lives. But it's necessary. There can be nothing left hidden between them, or that will be their downfall. All the hours upon hours spent talking to each other, expressing feelings, learning to recognize what the others were thinking. No secrets. Secrets were what brought down the last generation of them.

“You shouldn't be. We'll make it.” Tamamori says softly, and Miyata sighs.

“I guess we will.” He agrees, but he still has to speak what's weighing on his mind right now. “But we haven't been out there for years. What if everything is just a lie. What if they're just keeping us here because we're crazy, what if none of this is actually happening?”

“Would there be a difference if that was the case?” Tamamori asks, twirling fingers enough in Miyata's hair to tilt his head back for their eyes to meet. “This is our reality. We should live in it, right?”

Miyata meets Tamamori's dark warm eyes for a long moment, then takes a deep breath to try and exhale the doubt in his body. “You're right. We should.”

“Good.” Tamamori smiles, and as usual Miyata can't help but smile back. “Now come here and hug me. If Mitsu and Gaya could get along, we can conquer the world together, don't you think?”

Miyata laughs as he gets up from the floor, thinking that it's true. Miracles can occur if enough effort is made.

~*~

Nikaido runs his fingers along fabric, tracing gold and red ornaments on the black clothing. Finally it's time to wear it. He's been waiting half his life for this night. The night of the invasion, only 100 years later. The night when he can finally step on the surface again, when he can breathe in the power of open space and send fire burning across the land. Kill everyone in his way.

He hates the armies. He hates her. There's no forgiving what they did, how they came out of nowhere and took all there was to take. His father died in the mines, and he's far from the only one. All they ever were was slaves, with no value more than an extra number born or dead. Nikaido would do anything to change that back.

His own clothes are mostly black, Senga's mostly gold. The clothes are show pieces, stunning craftsmanship and ready to protect them from physical damage, but light enough to let in air. And they leave their right arm sleeveless in order for their marks to show.

Nikaido remembers finding his own when he was really little and the washing water was so hot he burnt himself. He'd felt something warm on his upper arm too, where he hadn't touched the water at all, and so he'd looked, only to find an odd glowing symbol under his skin. But it was gone so soon he couldn't show it to anyone, and he didn't understand that the burning was what induced it. He didn't understand that the glowing symbol was what had healed his skin from the burn either.

Now he knows perfectly what it does. It's a channel of energy, showing when their powers are active and helps focusing them on the goal they intend. The mark of a Fire Wielder, and their clothes are meant to show what they are.

No one on the surface would wear so light clothes, so few layers in such delicate fabric. Never red and gold.

They're meant to attract attention. The goal is to lure her out after all. The Lady. None of the slaves ever saw her after she came and crowned herself ruler. She stays locked in her underground castle, and the only ones who ever went to see her never returned to tell the story.

But the order knows about her. That she's not entirely human, part shadow, that the only thing that could destroy her is fire. And Nikaido is so ready to do it.

He walks along the line of their clothing, brushing fingertips along all of their pieces, and he almost feels like he can sense their energies radiating from just the fabric. The power, knowledge, control. They're all ready for this, he knows it. All of them are strong, none of them will hesitate when put to the test, all will do everything for the others without blinking. All seven of them will make it to face her, that much he knows.

“You look dangerous in that.” Senga tells him once he slips his arms into the jacket, the last piece, leather covering his chest for protection. Not that he intends to let anyone that close.

“That's what I'm meant to be.” Nikaido says, and he feels it. He can't wait to try out his power for real, finally, to send fire burning through the corridors and leaving guards in sooty corpses in his way.

“I know.” Senga says, but his voice is gentle, and Nikaido knows Senga doesn't want to kill people if he could choose. But there is no choice.

Nikaido steps forward, reaches out a hand to touch Senga's cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin as Senga leans into the touch, warm brown eyes momentarily falling closed.

“We'll be alright.” Nikaido says, assuring, and Senga's eyes open with fresh determination, blowing away any possible doubt.

His voice when he speaks is firm, no trace of softness left in his tone and Nikaido smiles. “I know we will.”

~*~

Freedom, is the only word Kitayama can think of to describe it. Freedom, despite having seen humans burn alive before his eyes, their skin melting away and muscle frying into black remains, despite knowing that innocent people died too. Despite all the death, he's so charged up with the feeling that he feels high on it, wants to feel more.

Freedom to finally breathe again, to feel heat against his skin out in the open, to wear the glowing mark proudly.

They all made it easily, he knows. Knows that Fujigaya and Tamamori sent an entire floor into flames without even crumbling a hair on an innocent child's head, knows that Nikaido and Senga with ease blasted a full battalion in a blazing inferno, leaving no survivors. Knows that Yokoo and Miyata made sure there were enough people left to spread the message. To bring her out.

They've never been out in the open like this. Wind playing with their hair, smoke reaching in under their clothes, ember illuminating their skin. He can feel the power of them all, feels it boiling in his entire body, stronger than ever before, sees the air around himself tremble from the heat he exudes and he knows that together, they could burn everything.

But everything is not what they're after. Only her. And they know where she's been hiding.

The earth roars before them as they stand on the plateau watching a castle rise from its safety under ground, seemingly building itself together from broken to whole as it does, but they all know it's her doing. The glowing flakes and smoke from their efforts are still whirling around in the air, the heavy smell of burnt hair and human flesh mixing into the atmosphere as the only sound is the deafening rumbling of the mountain emerging from the ground.

Kitayama doesn't have to look around before he starts walking towards it, knows that they all understand and will follow him wherever he goes. It's finally time.

Tonight.

~*~