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[personal profile] isolated_killer
Title: 不安「anxiety」
Pairing: Kame/Kame with very vague hints of Nakame
Rating: PG-15
Warning: Complete and utter mindfuckery.
Summary: There are always an evil twin, and a crazy one somewhere.
Notes: No robot got injured during the writing of this fic. Written for JE Squickfic.
Word count: ~5297

“If this is a joke, I don’t get it”

The room where he’s shown to, is so spacious, in fact, one could play football in it. Not baseball, Kame thinks to himself, his eyes scanning the ridiculously over furnished lodging, but for football just about right. Why this thought seems so important at the moment doesn’t matter. What matters are the tiny cunning wrinkles around his host’s judging eyes and the shadow of an unknown creature sprawled in one enormous gibbous sofa in the corner.

He’s sat into one old, moth-eaten leather chair, the kind where broken springs stick into your ass, and Kame has to squirm subtly to get away from the nasty poking feeling. Without even suggesting it, his host, a tall sinewy man in his sixties, very clean looking with no visible crease on his suit, puts a tiny coffee cup at the table in front of him. Kame gives him an unsure smile, nodding but having no actual desire to drink it; the diva side of his character grumbles and wants to ask for some mineral water instead, while the diplomatic side, the more trained one, makes him take a polite sip. But no ethical manners can stop him from the following wincing and repressed coughing, so strong the bitterness of over roasted coffee is, his tongue on fire.

“So, Mr. Kamenashi, I presume you already know what the purpose of your visit is,” the man’s loud chest voice sounds right above Kame’s shoulder, making him want to turn his head at an awkward angle just to be able to face the strange man, as he continues to hold a little speech. “We’re aware of the risks we’re taking, but if the client is in such a strong need of our aid as your respectful self is, we’re always ready to help. In fact, we were very happy when you contacted us, Mr. Kamenashi. And it only makes us wonder why you took so long.”

Kame can only reply with an amiable smile and a shrug. “Well,” he chuckles, crossing his legs, trying to add nonchalance to his state, “I don’t think this is really such a big deal. My manager told me the agency wanted me to relax more, so they’ve sent me to you… At first I didn’t want to, but… If the agency is ready to pay the bill, I can only approve and go with the flow, right?”

“Oh, but please, do you really think this is not so important?” Kame frowns at the notches of anger he hears in the man’s cold voice, stiffening in his seat. He still feels uncomfortable that the man is standing behind his chair and there is no chance to examine his face. He also notices how the room was brighter lit only a few minutes ago, and now the single bulb that’s actually evaporating some light is dangling right above their heads. Kame slowly stands up. “I suggest you to assume all the possible dangers coming with the services we offer.” The man accentuates his words by pulling on his sleeve in an attempt to make him sit again, but the young man only tears his hand away, turning to look the host in the eyes as frozen as ever. “What kind of possible dangers? I am afraid I’m not getting your point here. What’s going on?”

“What exactly did your manager tell you?” The host scowls, his feigned politeness cast aside. Kame doesn’t back away though, giving the man and room a sombre stare. “Exactly, nothing. You were just said to help me “change my life” in some way. Knowing how my agency simply loves to make a big deal out of everything, I guessed it could only mean an onsen trip, or, at worst, a paid night at a brothel. But I now see I was too quick with my judgments as you’re so studiously putting on an act…”

Kame’s outburst is interrupted by a hoarse chuckle, sounding so ridiculously familiar to his own ears, it actually makes he turn on his heels and squint at the darkened corner. The creature he has first mistaken for a mannequin gives out another giggle, so shamefully loud, obviously finding Kame’s scandalized face amusing. A second later and the man is moving towards the pair, the host and him, his pace unhurried, hands in pockets of a seemingly expensive suit, looking as crease-free as the host’s; the fact that makes Kame suspicious. The forms outlined by the jacket hint that the guy must be a sportsman, so broad his chest is, but at the same time the certain curve of his hips strongly reminds of not very feminine, but a girl nonetheless. The impression of his figure quickly evaporates from Kame’s mind though as the dim lights fall on the man’s face. Kame actually chokes out a cough, so surprised he’s to see how much this guy resembles him. The similarity is frightening; his double smirks.

“Through looking-glass”

“Is that… a professional look-alike?” Kame fights with his dry throat to speak up, but his voice sounds dull in the dead silence so he just stops and stares. He takes a step towards his double, examining his pale complexion, thin lips, perfect eyebrow line, peculiar nose form, sensing an unpleasant feeling rising in the pit of his stomach when he discovers the same tiny mole near the guy’s right eye. Even the way he stands, with his hands in pockets; his posture perfect, chin held high. “A damn well made look-alike”, he whispers to no one in particular, walking behind the guy, gazing over the striking resemblance that is he.

“We call them twins, Mr. Kamenashi. He is your twin,” the host’s clarifying reply interrupts his scanning of the other’s hair and so he frowns at the silent “twin”, whose sole purpose seems just to smile and look pretty. Look like Kamenashi Kazuya. Only that he is not; and Kame can’t really put his finger on what’s exactly off. “But he does have his own name, doesn’t he?”

“No, Mr. Kamenashi, he really doesn’t. But his serial number is KK0601000223,” the host suggests helpfully and watches Kame smile and chuckle nervously; the fact that they both, the host and his “twin” haven’t moved an inch from their places, being as motionless as one could hardly be, creeping his guts out. “Is that a professional joke?” He curses inwardly at the hope that’s almost dripping from his own voice and looks up at the host just to see the other shake his head, not even the tiniest smile on his lips. “I’m afraid that is not. Your twin is not a human. This is a robot. And he was made especially for you to use on daily basis. These are the services we offer.”

Kame splatters at that, thinking that something must be wrong with his ears, or these people, or this room; because he’s obviously being tricked here. So he tries to step away, disturbed by this emotionless pair and a ridiculous piece of information presented with all the seriousness, noticing to his utmost horror how his twin loses the fake smile and catches him by the wrist, gripping it so hard, Kame actually winces. “Wait, wait, I’ve still got to play baseball with this hand today!” The force of the grasp is astonishing and Kame falls on his knees, his eyes watering from the pain; only on the host’s sharp command does the twin let go of his hand, picking him up roughly by the lapel of his jacket. He can’t help but clasp the sore wrist to his chest, staring the twin in the eye, actually frightened by the blackness of his pupils.

“This twin of yours is supposed to switch with you at certain times. When your agency feels the need for him, we send him over. He will do the most trivial job of yours, like photoshoots, magazine interviews that are not valuable. Some performances or running commentary for baseball games, if you feel tired during them.” He makes a pause, as if wishing for information to sink in properly and pinning Kame with his gaze, but the young man and the twin only watch each other carefully, keeping silence. “He will truly help you have more free time, be less tired and healthier. Isn’t he just great? I’m not even mentioning the fact that no one will be able to spot any difference between you two; he’s a very successful replica of you, I should say.” Kame throws a dirty glance towards the host who with his rather dull, then emotive speech reminds him strongly of a shopping channel’s salespeople. There is a whirlpool of thoughts inside his head and the only thing that comes up on the surface is one certain question.

“Why me?”

“You are not the only one with the personal twin. The whole entertainment has been using them for quite a while already. You are kind of late for this so-called party anyways. Honestly speaking, there are people with twins in your agency too. This information is confidential though, so let’s do without any names.” Yamashita, Kame thinks bitterly, distressed. No matter how worried he is for his future as an entertainer or what kind of logical deduction could be made in this situation, if the agency is not happy with his work or if they simply think he’s getting old, nothing can be done about this. This all already feels like a finished case anyways. He doesn’t even try talking back.

“I presume I have no choice but agree on this… Just tell me where to sign the papers so we can deal with it already,” his only wish for now is to leave this dark suffocating place, forget this strange emotionless host and never ever again meet this twin of his; the one who has not failed to give him piercing looks during the whole creepy encounter, boring him with his gaze.

“There is no need for that; Johnny-san has already signed all the papers.”

“I want the time to run faster”

His first reaction is to try and forget the existence of the twin; he’s aware of him, aware of his presence somewhere in the building, knows that they’re hiding him so people won’t confuse the two of them, won’t see them both together in one room. Still, he’s got this nasty nagging feeling that if he loses his guard, if his senses deaden, the twin will take over his place without delay and they will throw him out, not caring about the decade of hard work, litres of sweat, blood, memories behind his back. The robot is better than a human in a sense of breaking its back at work. Robots don’t feel tired, angry about the management, they have no emotions; you don’t even have to feed them, which is already a great thing. And to hell all the comforting messages from his manager,

they just want to help you ~(=^・・^) ヾ(^^ )

Kame feels exhausted from all these thoughts.

So, the first time they contact him and urgently beg to let the twin out, let the twin do his work, is met by a painful struggle inside Kame’s heart. He’s particularly afraid of the group finding out the substitution. He is frightened by the prospect of being fired and, in some sense, stolen of his own face, his own identity. Having decided on blackmailing Yamapi if they really fire him after this day, he reluctantly agrees.

And surprisingly finds himself at home at six pm.

What a luxury, Kame thinks, leaving his things in a heap at the genkan and striding into the flat. He goes over the million options inside his head on what he can possibly do now, with so much free time. There are Perrier bottles in accurate rows inside his fridge, the left-over curry on the stove. But he doesn’t feel like cooking anyways. His wardrobes are crammed with clothes, so even the prospect of shopping seems dull at the moment. The books and magazines are boring. And even if he’s mentally tired, his body used to only three or four hours of sleep still has the energy to work for the whole night. So Kame gets down on the fluffy carpet and just stares at the clock’s rotating hands.

What if, on the contrary, his twin will only spoil everything? There’s a possibility of that. Then everyone will think it is his fault. Everyone will blame him. And his reputation will be forever marred. He will have to drop out of the entertainment world whatsoever. Will he be allowed to retrain for a baseball player? Will he be paid just as much as he’s now? Doubtful

As he silently sits there, his gaze involuntarily falls onto the table in the corner. He’s suddenly not so much concerned with the twin, as much preoccupied with the torn out drawer that is lying on the floor forgotten, with its contents scattered all over the place. He remembers forcefully pulling it out the day he has discovered his agency wants to swap him with an artificial duplicate. He knows better than getting angry again. As he stands up to get the tools from the balcony, his perfectionist mind finally finds peace. Though not for long.

“There is no other option”

People are giving him strange looks, he notices as he walks through the corridors of the agency. They all stare at him, either worriedly or fearfully. They must suspect something. And it has nothing to do with his sunken cheeks or wandering eyes.

He’s feeling anxious now, coming back to work after few consequent days of letting the twin do the job for him. The manager has almost locked him up in his apartment in an attempt to stop him from working. “The agency wants you to rest more, Mr. Kamenashi.” Like hell, they do, he retorts into the slammed door. Having no means to divert himself from the dreary thoughts at home, he has been going into his baseball training full force. The stadium field has become a second home for him since then, as he is purposely driving himself to exhaustion; his trainer now has this certain worried look plastered on his face when he stares at Kame for the umpteenth time this week. Kame prepares himself. “Listen, kid, I do understand your passion for baseball, but you’re clearly overstepping the limits. Have you even been sleeping? How about your work? Aren’t you a singer or something? As your trainer, I say I don’t want to see your face in here till the next week. Understand?” Kame silently complies, afraid of being thrown out of here too if he doesn’t.

His constant uneasiness proves to be not so unfounded a day later, when the group is filming a new episode for the weekly show and he’s allowed to attend it, for a change. He glowers at cheerful Koki, secretly hurt that his so-called best friend can’t spot a substitution. The oblivious guy is approaching him with a familiar wide smile on his face but right now Kame doesn’t feel like talking. Especially to him.

“Hey, Kame, I’ve had a great time yesterday. When’s our next ramble?” He gives him a friendly pat on the back, hugging the frozen guy with one hand; he goes on into a detailed explanation of their yesterday’s outing to one interested Nakamaru Yuichi who whines in mockery and begs to call him with them next time too. But Kame can’t hear this conversation. There’s a strange kind of ringing in his ears as he imagines Koki laughing and hugging with his twin the same way he does now; the scant breakfast he has had two hours ago rises up to his throat. He actually vomits, crouching on the floor. Kame feels soft hands rubbing his back, hears Yuichi’s worried gasps and Koki’s loud questions; they want to know if he is okay, they pull him towards the sofa, someone pinches his cheeks. He feels dead to the world.

“What’s wrong with you, Kame? You’re so pale… Have you possibly gone drinking after we separated? Compared to yesterday, you look like shit.” He opens his eyes to Yuichi’s gaze, full of worry, and Koki’s puzzled expression; he wants to be alone at the moment, feeling like a traitor. They don’t know anything. He is the one to blame for letting the twin into the group. These innocent guys are just victims. He has no right to be the offended one here. “Yeah… I’ve drunk so much yesterday. I don’t remember a thing, I’m sorry, Koki,” he’s relieved to see Tanaka’s lips spreading into another smile, the man reassuring him they will have as much fun next time too while Nakamaru just nags him about being so reckless with his booze.

The duplicate is trying to take over his life.

“There are always a good twin and an evil one…”

Days fly by and the amount of his free time increases, but instead of getting more sleep, food and generally becoming healthier, Kame is now afraid to look at his own reflection. The mental exhaustion caused by the constant nervous state now prevents him from sleeping. He can’t work to occupy the time too. He feels like being in a bad dream. He wants, needs to fight something, a very clever and invincible enemy but he has not enough strength for that. He has not enough strength for anything. He doesn’t clean, cook, buy food or wash his clothes; he doesn’t even take showers anymore. The only thing he has made himself do is drive the dogs to his brother afraid to starve them to death with the new lifestyle of his. Because the only thing that’s hindering him from functioning like a normal human being is an anxiety; the realization of being stolen of his life.

This all was set up, this thought is eating him up, driving him mad. The worse he looks, the more often he’s told to stay put. The more he stays put, the less sane he gets. The less sane he gets, the worse he looks; the greater chance for his twin to take over grows. It’s all summed up and they want him out of the game. They want to destroy him. And Kame decides to act fast, not well thought out.

He is hiding in the group’s dressing room, behind the rack with their stage costumes, dressed in his older brother’s clothes. The enormous hoodie covers just half of his face, while the supposedly skinny pants hang low and ugly at his ass. No one will identify an always perfectly dressed Kamenashi Kazuya in him, he has been sure to prevent any possible misunderstandings and confusions; because he still hopes to come back, he doesn’t need anyone accidently spotting the identical pair together. So he waits, going through his strategy once more. He wants to talk some sense into his duplicate; he needs to threaten him with some dismemberment or a knife in his head. Only then he might come back to his calm and self-disciplined life again. No other choice. He then hears the door opening and stills trying to peek from behind Ueda’s feathery jacket at who has entered the room.

“You could have found a better place to jump me, seriously,” Kame hears the slightly husky voice say and the moment he sees his own pretty face smile indulgently, he kicks the rack away, costumes flying on the floor. “How fierce,” his replica mocks him, noticing his poor choice of clothing, along with an angry pinched face; compared to him, the artificial man seems more like a photoshopped picture, so flawless his looks are. He is relaxed and self-composed, not really sensing the dangerous vibes coming from Kame. He lets the young man approach him, motionless as Kame takes menacing steps towards him. “You will have to go, robot,” he hisses, standing so close to the duplicate, their noses almost touching, piercing eyes on one level. The other just smirks “What’s the point of changing us back if no one notices any difference? Humans can be so blind. But you know what? I love being you. Everyone likes you because you’re pretty and kind and cutely lame; it also works just fine for your loser bandmates.” “What?”

“They’re using you, idiot. They’re using us. We don’t need them to become successful. They’re dragging us down. So if someone does need to go, then that’s your bandmates.”

Kame tries punching the duplicate in the groin in vain; the robot moves so fast, he doesn’t notice how he ends up on the floor, his stomach almost ripping with the pain from the kick. He actually spits out some blood, wincing. “You’re so pathetic. Be happy that I am now representing you. I won’t have anyone interfering in our career from now on; not even you.” And he leaves him lying on the floor doubled up with pain, gasping for air; this is the first time Kame feels like giving up.


“All the pros and cons”

They finally refuse his permission to enter the agency. There is a series of calls, each of them ending up with him throwing the phone against the table. His ex-manager stops answering his emails, having confined to only one crystal-clear reply:

You are on an indefinite leave.

Kamenashi repels. He makes up different plans on how to sneak into the agency, render his duplicate and gain control over the situation back. Be in control of his life and choices again. He decides to keep low-profile for a while as he builds up the wildest schemes possible, his most preposterous ideas now directed not towards the concert organizations or his performances but a way of deliverance from the evil twin. This plotting suddenly becomes a purpose of his whole being. He occasionally leaves his flat, having settled in the living room only which has turned into a little rubbish heap by now with forgotten working tools scattered all over the place. He’s got an investigation going, wanting to approach the twin as imperceptibly as he can, still on the alert that they might dispose of him for good.

There is this one time when he actually succeeds in following the robot; he’s appalled to see him dining out with Nakamaru in their favourite beanery. He’s staring at them from behind the glass case, looking like a private detective in his low-quality suit, black coat and sunglasses at 8pm. He feels his heart bleeding as the duplicate says something funny and Yuichi is laughing, his eyes in chinks, tiny wrinkles quickly gathering around the eyelids; they must be having fun. The twin is giving Nakamaru a strange intent look, his cold emotionless eyes boring into the oblivious guy as he shuffles around in the gurgling hotpot. Kame purses his lips, anger flaring inside his chest; the twin’s soon going to pay for stealing his life.

Upon his return home after a two carefully calculated days absence, he discovers a torn out lock, hanging on tiny chips of wood right under the broken handle of his door. The fact only makes him smirk so spitefully as never before. There is a triumphant glitter in his eyes as he enters the apartment, carelessly stepping onto the broken glass pieces that have once been his mirror; they can’t get him, he’s just too smart for them, knowing all of their steps in advance. That thought makes him crave for a tiny little party of his own, as he’s marching right towards the half empty bar. He has been aware of the shadowing his twin has set up. He has been prepared long ago; because now he is a better investigator than anyone of them. He silently congratulates himself on not losing the ability to carry everything he does to perfection. As he fills his long designer wine glass up to the rims with sake, for once, least of all caring about the looks, he gulps the bitter liquid down, translucent trickles running down his throat wetting the wrinkled dress shirt, ruining the simple necktie he has on like a slipknot.

He’s on his fifth portion when the phone rings.

“Yeah?” His bored empty stare roams over the stained tablecloth. “Kamenashi?” His lips twist into a smile. “I’ve been waiting for your call, you old stinky piece of dog crap,” there are coughs at the other end, and the whole room echoes with Kame’s hoarse giggles. “Kamenashi, are you drunk?” “Did you call just to ask that, Johnny-san?” There is a pause running over the line, they both silent, judging the situation. Then he hears a prolonged sigh and in the rasping senile voice the old man makes up empty excuses. “You understand nothing. This is a security against the risk of losing you. You are too valuable for the agency. What if you suddenly collapse from a heart stroke with all the thousand jobs you’re doing at once? I’ll go bankrupt…” “I’m still alive though, aren’t I? Spill it out, you geezer, you just can’t afford me anymore.” “I didn’t say that.” Kame’s laugh sounds cold sans the tiniest bit of amusement. “How about Yamashita? You didn’t want to pay, he didn’t want to perform for free?” He hears a surprised gasp on the other end of the line, and a horrified voice a second later, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Kame is delighted to give a vague answer to this, twirling the glass with the remains of sake in hand. “You know the actual difference between a human and a robot? The eyes. The artificial eyes can never be as emotional as a human being’s are.”

Suddenly the splinters of glass scattered at the genkan are creaking and Kamenashi elaborates, a faint smile on his lips. “You may not worry about me though. I’m going to solve the problem on my own. But you will have to do something about your greediness. I suggest you to stick it up your ass.” “Wait, what are you…”

Kamenashi hangs up the moment his duplicate appears at the door. He is ready for him and he squeezes his pocket.


“You are going to regret this”

The dim lighting of the kitchenette creates a queer shadow on his twin’s emotionless face and now Kame cannot see the tiniest hint of resemblance between them. His spirits soar at the prospect of a savage reprisal. Finally, he thinks, unsteadily stepping up to the immovable robot, his sake left forgotten on the table. His drunken smile and the strong reek of sweat and alcohol make the artificial man cringe in disgust; he probably can’t believe he is a prototype of this pathetic life form. Kame lets him, anticipating the revenge. “You stole my face, my friends… my life. Anything else you want to take?” He makes a wide welcoming gesture with his hand, almost falling from the dizziness in his head, unfocused eyes trying to find his twin’s piercing stare but only stumbling over the perky red lips shining at the light. They distract him and he craves to touch them, so perfect they look, and so he does, his finger sliding over the fragile synthetic skin.

For once the one scandalized robot flinches away from his hand, roughly grabbing the lapels of his thin jacket and slamming him into the nearest wall as a result of his quick reaction. Kame wails, his head colliding with the cement hard, stars dancing in front of his eyes; he’s pretty sure he is bleeding now. “Get a hold of yourself, human. You look astonishingly awful for a man with such a face.” He grabs semiconscious Kame by the chin to press his dangling head into the wall so their eyes can finally meet. His voice sounds impassive now and makes Kame wonder how much tinge with emotions it can actually get when he is talking to everybody else. This doesn’t matter anymore, though. “You were pretty reckless with your career choices, and now I have to tidy it all up after you. Do not complicate my life even more by putting up a fruitless struggle. One of us really has to go. And that is not me if you get what I mean,” one-handedly he pulls Kame up the wall, while busily getting something small out of his inside pocket, “even though your agency doesn’t want you dead, I do. I’m sure you will turn out to be a huge pain the ass in the near future and I’m planning to stay for long. That is why I need to kill you.”

Kame knows what is squeezed between his duplicate’s fingers yet he can’t help but gasp when the knife’s blade shines under the light and his head feels as if split in half even more from these specks. Half-conscious, he squints his eyes and then whispers, dramatically loud, “I want you to know that I’m not very happy about it either,” and with that he lurches forward, his lips colliding with the shocked robot’s ones; with the bruising force Kame nips at the cold skin, feeling human, but tasting rubber. His hands roam in the frozen duplicate’s soft hair, and he just goes with the flow by sticking his tongue down an icy throat. It feels like drinking a whole bottle of frozen water in one gulp and he soon regrets even trying; but the distraction works just fine and the artificial intelligence loses its guard along with a knife, too flabbergasted by the rush of new unknown impulses sent into its hard drive. And that is when Kamenashi strikes.

He licks the perfect looking but disgustingly tasteless collarbone, the robot just standing there, motionless, trying to comprehend how to react, when there is a sudden forceful stab at the back of its head. The robot’s system goes haywire and Kame watches in amusement how his artificial self falls face down on the floor, his screwdriver sticking out the fuming head. He waits for any major emergencies. He’s glad he has managed to push in the tool smoothly. He was worried about it.

The smoke is slowly disappearing when he carefully turns the injured robot on its side. It blinks, staring at him with its pretty chocolate eyes but not showing any signs of recognition. He smiles at the stupid expression his replica has. Its memory has been destroyed. And now when he closely looks at his artificial “alter ego”, he’s slightly surprised with how much identical the two of them are. Now he’s getting curious if the absolute similarity is applied to the face only. He also wants to know if the robots really have an anatomy of a Ken doll. But before experiencing all the little joys of this wired life, he’s got to do one more important thing. And so he brings an axe.

It’s kind of disturbingly creepy – to watch your own hand being chopped off without reacting to it in any way. Kame would vomit if not for the fact that the robot spills no blood. Only the scraps of multicolored wires and a bunch of screws. He then without delay goes for its right leg, the one with the drive that allows the robot to move, to put an end to its motions forever.


“Stimulation

A day later, the Johnny’s Entertainment agency gets a beautifully wrapped present. There is a wired hand inside, with a note clasped between two fingers: Use wisely.

Somewhere behind a closed door a panting Kamenashi Kazuya moans and begs for KK to work that mouth of his faster.


---

Thank you, [livejournal.com profile] randomicicle, for being my recipient, and even though it is very hard to write for you, because I'm always worried I won't meet your standarts, I'm still happy you've made me put so much effort into this.
I love you.

P.S. [livejournal.com profile] wintersdancer, you are the best. [livejournal.com profile] kicher, you're my biggest sempai, you know that?
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