Lens

He’s never been this acutely aware of his body before.

He’s aware of every step, of how the cement feels beneath his shoes, of how his shirt feels against his skin, of how his skin feels against his spirit, how his spirit feels against his mind and soul and heart. The presence of his power has never been stronger, and he feels it very tangibly within him, flowing through his veins, in the marrow of his bones, in the beat of his heart. It feels like nothing and everything at once. His mind is full of radio static and white noise, both at the same time, neither particularly loud but still somehow overwhelming.

Shigeo reaches the front door.

The doorknob is cold underneath his steady fingers, and he swings it wide and steps inside.

“I’m home,” he calls into the house with a voice barely audible, kicking off his shoes and pulling the door shut behind him. The house lights that are usually a welcome relief after a long day are suddenly too bright, too much, but he takes a long, even breath and steps from the porch into the hall.

“Welcome back, Shige!” Mom calls from a bit further in. He can smell her cooking from here, but it only makes him sick to his stomach. “You sure are late. What kept you?”

“Work went long,” Shigeo answers quietly, and it isn’t a lie, it isn’t, but guilt nestles in his gut like a dead weight and stays there. “I’m sorry, I’ll make sure to get home on time from here on.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, “just be sure to let me know where you are, alright? Let me know the next time you’ll be home late.”

“I will.”

He takes step after step down the hallway towards the living room. His overshirt feels too heavy, too hot, but he can’t find it in him to take it off. The thought of actually eating anything sends his stomach into a frizzy. There’s bile in his throat. He feels faint.

Ritsu and Dad are in the living room, Ritsu setting the table and Dad already seated, reading the newspaper. Both their heads lift at Shigeo’s heavy footsteps, and the welcoming gestures are traded in for concern the moment they lay eyes on him.

“Nii-san?” Ritsu reaches him first, but Dad isn’t too far behind. “You look sick, are you okay? What happened?”

“I—” Shigeo doesn’t know how to say it. He feels sick. “I-I’m okay, nothing happened, I just—”

Dad’s palm presses to his forehead, brows creased in concern. Shigeo holds his breath until his arm lowers back down to his side.

“Well, you don’t have a fever,” is the verdict, “but you look awfully pale…”

“What’s wrong?” Mom rounds the corner, still drying her hands on her apron. Shigeo turns toward her just in time to watch her eyes widen. “Oh my—”

“I’m okay,” Shigeo insists, but the more he says it, the less honest it feels. “I’m just tired, I promise I’m okay. And—k-kind of dizzy.”

Ritsu’s hand finds his shoulder. “Do you wanna sit down, or—?”

“I-I—”

“There’s no shame in it if you need to rest a while, Shigeo,” Dad says, and his hand comes to rest on Shigeo’s head, gently but grounding. “You do look pretty out of it, though.”

“You don’t have to eat dinner right now if you don’t feel like it,” Mom joins in, voice soft but firm. “I can always save it for you for whenever you get hungry.”

He appreciates it. He appreciates it, a lot. Dad’s hand in his hair, Ritsu’s hand on his shoulder, Mom’s presence close by. It’s more than he could ask for. It’s more than what he’s had in six months.

But it's almost too much now. It's equally overwhelming and not enough. But he nods shakily, eyes burning against his will.

“Okay, I'll… I think I should just go get ready for bed. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize, kiddo,” Dad says, lowering his hand again, only this time there's a small smile on his face. “Just get some rest, okay?”

“And give us a holler if you need anything,” Mom adds with a smile of her own. “If you take a shower, be careful not to faint.”

Ritsu nods without saying anything, and Shigeo manages a weak but genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

With an oversized shirt and a pair of sweats in his arms, Shigeo heads into the hall bathroom, pausing only for a moment to hear the sound of chopsticks on platters and the quiet murmur of the dinner conversation. Shigeo leaves the moment he picks up his name in the chatter, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door before turning on the light.

He turns to face the mirror, and all the fuss and concern suddenly makes a lot more sense. His complexion has always been on the pale side--something he’s been told by numerous people on numerous occasions--but now that’s been cranked up to an eleven, and it’s not even a pale so much as it is a sickly, pasty white. He feels sweat roll down the back of his neck and wonders if maybe he does actually have a fever and Dad just didn’t notice. He certainly feels like he could.

Shigeo draws a shuddering breath, tells himself that he’s okay, that he’s home, and shrugs off his overshirt, then pulls his actual shirt up and over his head. It clings uncomfortably for a moment and his arms aren’t as moveable as they should be, but he manages and the clothing hits the floor.

That’s when he sees it.

It’s subtle, but as he looks himself over in the mirror one last time, he notices something splotchy and red, just behind his bangs. He frowns to himself, wonders what might’ve happened, and moves his hair out of the way to see it better.

It’s a scar.

Red, jagged, pink on the edges, like a small but chaotic burst of lightning. Except far more unnatural. Hand-crafted. With the intention of hurting him.

He… remembers this. Vaguely. It happened early on, so early that he’d almost forgotten. Someone had “accidentally” shoved him, and a shelf came down on his head. At the time he’d wondered why it didn’t kill him, but in hindsight he knows it’s just because the world wasn’t a physical one.

But that wound, as a scar, is on his body. Red, angry, fresh, like it’d healed over improperly and is now terribly infected.

He takes a measured breath, starts the bath water, throws up, and takes what is probably the longest, coldest shower of his life.

The door of his room creaks open, and the hall light casts a bright ribbon across the floor of Shigeo’s room, striking him in the face. He keeps its eyes closed until he hears it click shut once again, and then peers into the darkness as Ritsu makes his way over quietly, carrying a tray.

He kneels down, setting it off to the side. “Nii-san?”

“I’m awake,” Shigeo says, sitting up. The blanket slips from around his shoulders, but he can’t decide whether he feels better or worse without it. “Sorry I didn’t eat dinner with you all tonight.”

“That’s okay,” Ritsu says, offering a smile. “You shouldn’t force yourself if you aren’t feeling well, you’ll just end up feeling worse. Actually--” He pulls his feet out from under him and sits with his legs criss-crossed. “--How are you feeling? Any better?”

“A little, I think,” Shigeo answers. Whether or not that’s an honest answer is anyone’s guess. “I… think I might be sick, though.”

“Like… sick, how?”

“Dizzy. Nauseous.”

Ritsu’s hand reaches out and touches Shigeo’s temple with the back of his hand. His fingers are cool. “Well, I don’t think you have a fever,” he says, sitting back, “but Mom wanted me to bring this to you--”

Turning towards the tray, Ritsu lifts a bottle of liquid medicine with a label that Shigeo can’t make out in the dark. It’d been sitting beside a steaming mug of what smells like ginger tea.

Ritsu studies the dosage for a while before pouring one out and handing the spoon to Shigeo. “Careful, it’s kind of full.”

“Thanks, Ritsu.” Shigeo swallows it down in a single gulp. It doesn’t taste as bad as he remembered, but then again, he hasn’t taken it since he was little. He hands the spoon to Ritsu, who replaces it with the mug of tea.

“Don’t mention it. Mom said the tea will help, too. She’ll be up here soon, but she wanted to talk with Dad first.”

Shigeo nods, taking a small sip. It tastes like home. The second sip brings tears to his eyes again, but he doesn’t let them fall.

“Ritsu, I… I’m really glad you’re my brother.”

Ritsu blinks. “O… kay…? I mean, me too, I just--what brought that on?”

“Nothing.” His fingers close tighter around the mug, until the heat becomes uncomfortable. And then unbearable. He doesn’t let go. “I’ve been thinking about it lately is all. I couldn’t ask for a better brother, I really couldn’t. You’re so smart and amazing and cool and--I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I--” Ritsu looks dumbfounded, and Shigeo really can’t blame him. “I’m glad you’re here too, Nii-san I--are you… are you sure something isn’t the matter? Is there anything you want to tell me?”

It feels like a loaded question. Shigeo doesn’t have an answer for any of them.

“... No, I’m fine,” Shigeo says, but it’s more to convince himself. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, you’re sick.” Ritsu scoots a little closer, until his knee bumps Shigeo’s. “I can sit with you for a while, if you’d like. At least until you fall asleep again.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you if you have other things to do--”

“No, I’m fine. I already did most of my homework earlier, and besides, tomorrow’s Saturday. I have time.”

“Are you--”

“Absolutely.” Ritsu’s smile carries concern, but there’s no denying its honesty. “I promise I’m sure, Nii-san. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“What about somewhere really cool?”

“Wouldn’t be all that cool if you weren’t there.”

Shigeo snorts. Ritsu shoves him.  

“Hey, don’t laugh at me, I’m being serious.”

“I know, I know, Ritsu. Thank you. I--” Something springs into his throat. It isn’t quite a sob, but it could easily become one. “I feel the same way about you.”

Ritsu smiles again. “Oh, also, I was going to ask you--” His hand moves, fingers pulling Shigeo’s bangs to the side. “Why do you have gauze on your head? It wasn’t there earlier.”

“Oh.” Shigeo’s mouth goes dry. He touches the wad moments after Ritsu lowers his hand. “Yeah, I bumped my head on the shelf. I didn’t mean to.”

Ritsu’s brows furrow and he hisses through his teeth. “Jeez. This is why you’ve gotta be careful. Couldn’t you have just stopped yourself with psychic powers or something?”

Oh. He needs to. Remember he can do that. Six months, in or out of a place where time passes quickly, is a long time to be without his powers.

For now, though, “Yeah, I could’ve, I just didn’t think about it until it was too late. Dizzyspells.”

“Ah, I get it.” There’s a part of him that wishes Ritsu didn’t, that he’d press more, but the rest of him is glad to be off the topic. “Well, either way, don’t be afraid to let one of us know if you need help. You won’t get any better if you keep pushing yourself.”

“You’re right,” Shigeo says, and he doesn’t know how he manages but he smiles, too. “Thanks again, Ritsu.”

“You can thank me by getting a good night’s sleep,” Ritsu quips back with an equally vibrant smile, and he takes the blanket by the corner and swings it around Shigeo’s shoulders again. “Now go to bed.”

Shigeo doesn’t stall any longer.

The night is a strange one. Mom comes up later, wakes him gently, takes his temperature just in case, but it all feels like a befuddled blur. He can’t be sure what’s happening, or even if it’s happening. She’s pleased with the reading on the monitor but concerned for his overall state. He hears her ask Ritsu about the gauze on his head; he quotes the answer Shigeo gave him, almost word for word; she leaves it be and Shigeo drops into sleep again.

On another occasion that night, Mom and Dad are chatting quietly but he can’t make out their words. Ritsu’s voice isn’t among theirs. Neither attempt to wake him or seem to know he’s awake at all. He falls asleep again.

And then he dreams.

He remembers.

The little white cat that he’d come to love so much, playing with a string as he dangles it over her head. Her big eyes are so round and so blue and so innocent, so gentle, so calm.

She stops moving. Empty sockets stare into Shigeo’s. Her fur is matted and red.

And Shigeo wakes up, alone, breathing hard, holding his mouth with one hand and his stomach with the other, tears trickling over his fingers and breath stuttering in his throat. He’d had enough subconscious sense to not scream or cry out, but even if he didn’t he probably wouldn’t have the air to execute it.

He breathes around his hand a while longer, clutches his stomach tighter, swallows back the bile in his throat. When he finally trusts himself to pull his hand away from his mouth, he sees them. Angry red against his pale, clammy skin, but stripes this time, slashed across his fingers and palm. Anywhere unprotected by the cat’s tiny but sharp claws.

Exactly how he does it stays a mystery to him, but he makes it into the bathroom without waking the whole house or blacking out, and as soon as his fingers have been individually wrapped and he’s tied it off at the palm, he makes sure there’s no evidence and heads back into his bedroom.

He doesn’t sleep again.

“Still no fever, huh?”

Shigeo shrugs, unbiased and unconcerned, as Dad sets the thermometer aside. “I don’t know.”

“Thermometer says you don’t, and your skin isn’t any warmer than usual.” For good measure, Dad feels his forehead again, but sighs in disappointment. “Think you might’ve picked something up from school? Any bug goin’ around over there?”

Shigeo shakes his head. “Not that I know of.” It isn’t a lie, but he doesn’t actually tell the truth, either. The thought expands the void in his stomach.

“Mm.” Dad holds a hand to his chin for just a moment, pondering. “I’d say food poisoning next, but you only threw up once, right?”

Shigeo nods stiffly.

“Wellp, we’ll keep an eye on you, then. The clinic is closed ‘till Monday, if you’re still feeling cruddy then we’ll have someone take a look at you. Sound good?”

Shigeo nods again. He keeps his hands under the blankets. Dad makes a bit of a fuss about tucking them around him properly, even though it isn’t necessary, but he isn’t complaining. The concern is nice. Being home again is nice. Having his family back is nice.

Dad is just getting to his feet when Shigeo manages a small, “Thank you,” to which Dad responds with a gentle but warm smile and a ruffle of his hair. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to, and once he’s made Shigeo promise (for the upteenth time) that he’ll send for someone if he needs anything, he heads off, leaving the door cracked behind him.

Shigeo lies there for a long moment after, breathing.

“... Can you stop hovering over me? You’re making me nervous.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Shigeo swallows hard, tugging the blanket up closer to his face and burrowing down into it. “Were you… here yesterday?”

“Nah,” Dimple answers, “I was tailing Reigen most of last night. Idiot went off and almost got himself possessed. I swear, he’s gonna get himself killed one of these days.”

“I can’t go into work today.”

“Yeah, I know, I wasn’t trying to make ya. Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. I can’t say I was expecting you to be okay, but I… wasn’t expecting this.”

Shigeo bites his lip. “What did you expect? I’m sick.”

“You aren’t sick, Shigeo, you’re stressed and overwhelmed. Your aura is all over the place. And what’s with those bandages on your face? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“I’m going to exorcise you.”

“No you aren’t.”

Shigeo swallows. There’s an uncomfortable something in the back of his throat. “I… I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Shi--”

“I can’t talk about this, Dimple.”

He’s expecting another retort. There isn’t one.

“Yeah, I… I get it. Believe me, I do. But bottling it up isn’t going to solve anything, and it certainly isn’t going to help you cope. It’s gonna come to light sooner or later, no matter how hard you try.”

Shigeo curls in further on himself and doesn't say anything. Dimple's presence remains hovered nearby.

“... Want me to pass on the message to him?”

“No, I'll call him. Thanks. Make sure he doesn't do anything dangerous without me.”

“Well, I'll try, but I can't promise much. Try to get some rest, yeah? Take your time.”

“Thank you, Dimple.”

Dimple's presence disappears, and after a while longer spent thinking, stalling, he does up slowly and reaches for his phone. Once it's in his hand, he rethinks it. Wonders if he should do it. If maybe he should just wait and hope Dimple fills Reigen in instead.

But then, he dials with shaking fingers and presses the phone to his ear. His skin itches beneath his bandaged fingers.

There are three things--plenty of time for him to talk himself in and out of the situation several times--before there’s a click on the other line. He sits twice as straight, fingers clenching around the phone.

“Yo, Mob, perfect timing, I was just getting ready to call you!”

Shigeo’s heart sinks right into his stomach, then lower than that. “I… y-you were?” His family wouldn’t let him leave even if he tried, but the knowledge that Reigen needs him on a job is enough to make him nauseous with guilt. “What for?”

“Nothing really, just wanted to let you know that I’m giving you the weekend off.”

Shigeo blinks. “Wh… What?”

“Yep, you heard me right! I know yesterday’s job was pretty rough, and it went a lot later than I meant for it to. So if you wanna take the next couple of days off, that’s alright with me. Actually, I encourage it.”

“Really?”

“Of course! So just enjoy your weekend, alright? I’ll see you on Monday.”

“S… See you.”

Reigen hangs up before he has to, and Shigeo stares at the phone, blinking, for a long time afterward. At first it strikes him as odd, but the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. There’s a chance Reigen is still sifting through police interrogations and paperwork; what happened at the Asagiri Estate was enough to spark more than a little fear in society. He wonders when it’ll blow over. Or even if it’ll blow over at all.

The rest of the weekend goes uneventfully. He stays in bed for the most part, primarily due to his parents and Ritsu watching over him like a hawk, but he doesn’t dislike it. He was the only person who felt the full duration of those six months in hell, but he’d lived alone for its entirety. Having his family here, not only with him, but always closeby, is huge.

Saturday ends and Sunday begins. Ritsu helps catch him up on some homework when he feels up to it, Reigen doesn’t call, Dimple checks in for half a second but leaves before Ritsu has the chance to notice him. Which is probably for the best.

And then Monday rolls around.

“Are you really sure you should be going to school today, Shige?” Mom asks, eyeing him carefully as he slips on his shoes by the door. “If you aren’t feeling well, you should stay home.”

“I’m alright,” Shigeo answers, offering her a small smile over his shoulder. “I feel a lot better than before, I’ll be fine.”

She isn’t convinced, and he can’t blame her at all, but she gives way with a sigh. “Alright. But if you start feeling sick again, go straight to the nurse, got it? We’ll come pick you up.”

“I will.” He says it without thinking. Whether or not he actually means it is up for debate. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

She bids him goodbye and he sets off down the sidewalk, taking care to make sure the cuffs of his pants are tucked well over his ankles. He knows keeping track of it all won’t do him much good, but that hasn’t kept him from it; one on his head, seven on his left hand, twelve on his right, eight on the left arm, ten on his right, four on each ankle. The scars don’t bother him as much as the memories do. He should stop counting.

He walks the route alone, with Ritsu having left earlier to attend the student council meeting, and he can’t help but run through each scenario over and over in his mind, like a broken record. He’s walked to school alone many times before, but this is the first time it’s struck him so deeply.

Somehow he makes it there. Now he just has to make it through.

The familiar hallway is unfamiliarly long. 

Each door stands too tall. His steps are too small. The students moving with and around him clutter his senses—chatting, laughing, loitering, not even paying attention. Clammer. The hall is too long and the noise is too much. 

"T̨hę ͝wor̴ld̢ ̴loo̢ks d͘if̸f͘ęre͢ńt̡ fr͢o͜m ̴anothe͞ŗ ̨pe͞rsp͏e͘ćt̷iv͠e͘, ͞doȩs͏n't͠ i̸t̀?"͏

Shigeo makes it to his classroom, makes a beeline for his desk and realizes that he hadn't thought this through at all. 

In his head it seemed easy enough. He'd go to class, keep his head down and not attract any attention to himself. School normally went that way for him anyway, whether or not he meant to. 

But he's only in the middle of his first class when he remembers that things like PE and club activities exist. He has no idea how he’s going to get through those without someone asking about the gauze.

The first class of the day goes well enough. No one asks questions. No one notices. The instant it's over, he gathers up his things and tries to blend in with the rest of his classmates as they leave.

“Kageyama! Hey! You got a sec?” 

Mezato springs up to him as he looks over his shoulder. She’s smiling widely, with her camera on its usual strap around her neck, ready to go. 

Shigeo’s heart drops first to his stomach, then to his shoes. He wishes he could sink into the floor and stay there. 

“Hi Mezato.” 

“Heya! Listen,” she cuts to the chase, brandishing her camera, ”could meet me on the roof for lunch? I’ve got an idea for a story, and—” 

She halts, though, and blinks at him as though seeing him for the first time. 

“What is it?” Shigeo asks, trying to sound indifferent. 

“I dunno, you just seem kinda off,” she says, studying him. “Or, more off than usual, I guess. Are You good?” 

She’s the kind of person who’d recognize a flat-out lie. He has to work around that.

“I’m better now than I have been,” he decides, and the guilt eats away at him a little more, but the honest truth isn’t going to get him through today. Just standing here with a straight face is hard enough. “But I was sick a little while ago.” 

“Ah, is that so?” She backs off, dropping her camera. “Man, that sucks. I’m glad you’re doing better, but you might wanna take it easy for the rest of the day. You look pretty out of it.” 

He nods stiffly. “Thank you, I’ll do my best. About meeting you on the roof—” 

“You don’t gotta today,” Mezato says. He heaves a mental sigh of gratitude. “There’ll be another time for me to pitch my brilliant scheme at ya!” 

“This is about the cult, isn’t it.” 

“It isn’t technically a cult!” 

“That isn’t any better.”

She grins and whacks him on the shoulder. For half a second it shocks him into Mogami’s world, but her touch was still friendly, even if it stung. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and hear my awesome idea some other time,” she says. “Who knows, you might like it!”

“I doubt that, but thank you.” 

Mezato rolls her eyes. Her smile falters when she looks at him twice, and her brows pinch together. “Hey, did you do something to your head?” she asks, raising a hand toward the gauze. He shrinks back.

“Bumped it,” he says, hoping it’s convincing enough to satisfy her. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry.” 

She drops her hand. “Alright, but be careful, Kageyama. Let me know if you get into trouble!”

Mogami’s stain on his heart hisses that it’s because she’d want to take pictures for the paper, write an article--but no. She’s his friend. Even if that would partially be her motive, it wouldn’t be all of it. 

“Sure thing. I’ll see you later.” 

Mezato beams and heads down the hall without him. 

She can be overbearing at times, but Shigeo doesn’t dislike her. He enjoys her company, depending on just what exactly she wants to talk about. She usually does most of the talking between them, but it’s never bothered him before. He’s always been more of a listener, anyway. 

"Don'͡t ͡i͘g͡no͠re ̕me͟, K̀ag͘eyam̵a Shigeo̡.̨ I͢ k͝n͝ow͠ you'͜r͢e̡ liste̕n͜i͝n͞g.͢"

His breath gets stuck in his throat. A hand snaps up to cover his mouth. The classroom is empty. He’s alone. As it’s been many times before. He’s no stranger to being left behind. He’s never been bothered by it. 

But the room feels too big, and he’s never felt so small.

At lunch, he sits alone. PE and club activities have drawn closer already, but he’s no closer to figuring out how to deal with them, and it’s eating away at him more than he’s eating lunch. Actually, he hasn’t eaten anything. The thought of putting anything in his stomach leaves him a combination of scared and uneasy, though mostly scared. He has to get through today without being sent home early no matter what. He’d promised Reigen he’d be at work today and that isn’t a promise he wants to break, no matter the circumstances. 

Besides, if he doesn’t show up today Reigen would know something is wrong, and that’s the last thing he wants. 

So he sits there, alone, doesn’t even bother taking out his lunch, and stays there for some time. He’s in the middle of wondering how to get around PE and club activities without having to be sent home when footsteps catch his ears over the roaring din of the cafeteria. 

At first he doesn’t think twice. He ponders and panics over PE a while longer. Wonders how he’d tell the rest of the club that he was skipping a day, without giving a real, worrying reason. 

The footsteps are louder, now, and it isn’t until Tome swings herself into the seat across from him that he realizes, oh. He should have thought about that sooner. 

Her tray hits the table with a clatter, and his knees snap up so quickly that they almost hit the table, too. She frowns at him deeply, though more out of exasperation than concern. That’s good. 

“You can lighten up a little, y’know,” Tome says, snapping her chopsticks and picking at her food. “You’re making the rest of us nervous.” 

“Sorry,” Shigeo says, shaking his head feverishly. He looks down, bites his lip, and manages, “I don’t know what’s gotten into me today.” 

Tome shrugs, indifferent. “Happens to the best of us. Don’t worry about it. Though, you should go to the nurse if something’s wrong.” 

"Go ̨aḩead, ͜ta̡ke̕ i̸t ̀to̡ ̡t͝h͢e ̵n̴urse̸.͘ ͝Śee ̡i͜f̴ ̶s̶he ̛car͡e̶s̛. ̀No ͏on҉e ͢wi͘l̨l̕ be͘li̶ęv͝e ̛yơu.͟”

“I—” Shigeo blinks twice. “—What?” 

Tome points her chopsticks at him. “You heard me. Something’s up with you. You should go to the nurse.” 

Shigeo swallows thickly, shifting a little in his seat. The bandages beneath his uniform rub at his skin like sandpaper. “Did Mezato put you up to this?” 

“Your brother, actually,” Tome says, leaning back, “but I would’ve asked anyway. You’re a hard person to read, Kageyama, but you aren’t as stone-faced as people say. Well.” She drums a finger against the table. “You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve exactly, either, but—ugh, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.” 

She groans and slumps back, jabbing her chopsticks at him again without looking. “I mean,” she says, “we know something’s wrong with you, but nobody knows what.”

“Ah.” 

She jabs the chopsticks at him again. “So.” 

“So?”   

“So—” She sits straight again, finally meeting his eyes, “maybe go to the nurse? Or, I dunno, go home for the day or something. Whatever’s eating at you isn’t gonna go away unless you deal with it up front, plain and simple.” 

He kind of hates it, but there's nothing to deny. He tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. “You’re right.” 

“Yes I am.” Tome scoops up a bite of rice and doesn’t wait to finish chewing before going on. “So, you gonna tell someone or what? You don’t have to, but I really think you should. We all do.” 

"Tell tḩèm.҉ ̶G͟o ah͡e̴a̴d ̶and͡ ̶t҉ell ͠t̶h͟em͏. W̧hen̛ hav̨e̛ t͠he̵y ̸e̷ver ͟lįste̛ne͠d̴ ͘tơ ̶you?"

"͏Do ̕yo̴u ́rea͠ll̢y̧ think ͡an̕yơne͞'̸s go̸ǹna͝ ͝car͠e wh̵at͢ w͝é ̵do̷ ̕to ͞yo͢u̷?"̴ 

"̀They̡'͡ve nev҉e̶r c̡ar̨ed̶ be͏fore.̀ ͟What͡ ma̧kes̸ ̢you͢ ̴thi̧n̵k th̨ey'r̛e̸ ͘go̶nna s͡ta͏rt ͞ca҉ri̵ng ҉n̵o͜w̡?"́

He feels sick again. Only this time, it hits him much worse. He gets to his feet, hands slick with sweat, throat tight and lungs burning. 

“Whoa, okay.” Tome is on her feet, too, chopsticks forgotten and eyes wide. She holds her hands out, like she wants to grab him but doesn’t know whether or not she should. “Uh, Kageyama—” 

“I’ll be right back,” he says, without intention of doing so, but she doesn’t stop him and he somehow manages to make it to the hall bathroom before throwing up. There’s a new scar at his shoulder, burning. But it’s under his sleeve and no one can see it. That’s all that matters. 

He’s late to his next class. And who cares. 

“... Go to the nurse.” 

“I’ll go later.” 

“Ka—” 

“I’ll go later.” 

Maybe it was his tone. Maybe it was something else. Tome falls back and leaves him be. 

That doesn’t stop her from keeping a sharp eye on him through the duration of the next class, but she doesn’t confront him again. He gets the feeling she’s orchestrating something behind the scenes. She’s probably told Ritsu about his getaway at lunch, although she still has yet to know the reason for it. There’s a chance someone’s already been informed and Mom and Dad are on their way now. 

But class ends without their showing up, and he takes it as a green light and leaves class before the rest of them, leaving Tome and whoever else might be onto him behind and forgotten (for now). 

And now comes PE, and he knows he’s in for it. The bandages on his arms are bad enough, but his ankles and forelegs are bandaged, too. He still has that patch of gauze taped to his head, hidden mostly by his bangs, but not hidden well enough. Mezato noticed. His fingers have band-aids over them now instead of the bandages, which is discreet enough to not draw too much attention, but they’re still there. Someone even asks about it (“I had a run-in with a stray cat. It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry.”).

PE is upon him now, and the dread leaves him dizzy. Bandaids he can explain. Even the patch of gauze on his head isn’t too far a stretch. But there are bandages on his forearms now. Bandages on his calves and ankles. 

He hangs back for as long as he can. There’s a part of him that wonders if he could get away with hiding in the bathroom again like he did during lunch. Would the backlash be worth it? Should he just do it? Why is the room spinning?

He follows his classmates down in the direction of the locker room, heart in his throat and vision swimming. The aimless chatter of the class reaches him like static. The walls are too tall and the hall is too long, but still somehow not long enough. They’ll be at the locker room soon. He should do something. He should run. He should hide. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to. He’d gotten good at hiding. 

c l i c k 

"Ka͢ge҉y̧aaaaa̧m͠a̛aaaa!͟ ͘W͘h͜at̶ a̕re͡ ̵y̢ou ҉sca͏re̸d͞ o͞f̧, ̢huh̨?̴ Co̸m̶e ̷o͡n̕ ͞o̵ut!"

His legs don’t feel like they belong to him. The floor under his feet feels like nothing. The walls stretch.

c l i c k

"Įt wo͢n͜'t be̡ ͏as̡ ͞ba͜d ̶if̸ y̴o͜ų come ͠o̕ùt ǹo͏w͘! ̡C͠ome͠ ̴o͡n͡!"̨

The air grows thick as smoke. He tries to breathe but his lungs don’t move. The chatter fades in and out. 

c l i c k 

"͠Y͏o̷u'̕d͏ b̷et͢t͝e͞r ̢hop̧e I ͠do͡n̸'͘t͢ find͠ y͠ou ͜f́i̵r̛s̴t.̧..̶"

The world spins. Sprals. Leaps. Lurches. He takes one more step, and then—

c l i c k

"Oh͠."

“Hey, Kageyama, you good? You kind of look like you’re gonna—”

"̴T͠h͠e͢re͘ yo̴ú are͠.̴"̧

c l i c kclick clickclickclick—

The world tilts. Someone shouts. Someone else grabs him. 

He wakes up in bed. It takes him a while to remember how to breathe. It takes him three times as long to notice the IV in his wrist, the white blankets and ceilings that characterize the nurse’s office. All the bandages are still where they were earlier. His uniform is untouched. His head aches, but that isn’t new. 

He passed out. It might just be the best thing that's happened to him all day. 

Dehydration and low blood sugar, apparently. Considering his reputation of fainting on school campus, no one really thinks twice. His parents are contacted, but only to tell them what happened. He's still walking home at the end of the day. 

Except, 

“I thought you had a meeting with the school council.”

“I told them I'd be skipping today,” Ritsu says, changing from his inside shoes into his regular ones. “Besides, if they can't survive a day without me, I think we need to hold another election.” 

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I know.” He smiles, but that only makes Shigeo feel worse. 

They walk home together. Ritsu points out shapes in the clouds for lack of a better thing to do, and Shigeo listens, following his finger when he points. It's simple, and there's a part of him still guilty for worrying him, but he's glad he isn't alone. 

“You should probably try and get to bed early tonight.” 

“I will,” Shigeo says, “but I’m going out on a job with Reigen first. I promised I would.” 

“Are you serious?” Ritsu seems caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “You’re seriously doing that tonight?” 

“I told him I’d be there,” Shigeo says. “He’s expecting me, and I’m going to keep my word.” 

Ritsu pulls a face. “Really? I mean, if he still wants you to come in after you fainted —” 

“He doesn’t know. And I’m fine, anyway. You know me, Ritsu, this happens all the time.” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“I'll be fine, Ritsu. It won't take long.”

Ritsu tugs the strap of his bag further over his shoulder, turned away. Shigeo leaves him alone until eventually, he gets a response. 

“Fine. But hurry home afterwards.”

“I will,” he promises. “Thank you, Ritsu.”

“You don't have to thank me,” Ritsu sighs, shoulders slumped. “It's fine.”

They arrive at the family house, and as soon as Shigeo’s had a chance to change out of his uniform and into his favorite hoodie and a pair of jeans, he says goodbye to Ritsu and sets out for Spirits and Such. 

Reigen is cursing out a piece of paperwork when Shigeo gets there. 

He doesn’t even notice Shigeo over all the spiteful scribbling, probably ruining the entire thing, mumbling swears under his breath words that Shigeo can only imagine. It isn’t hard. Even so, there’s something familiar and welcoming about the office. For as strange as it is, and for as strange as Reigen can be, it really does feel like home. 

As far as his mentality is concerned, this is the first time he’s been here in six months. It’s the first time he’s seen Reigen in six months. 

Reigen still hasn’t noticed him. Either he really is that angry with the paperwork, or Shigeo’s entrance was quieter than he’d realized. He shuffles forward, and when Reigen still fails to notice him,

“Hi.” 

Reigen shrieks, flailing so hard he nearly topples out of his chair. Shigeo winces inwardly and hopes he can hide it well enough. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

Reigen is looking at him like there’s some horrible creature looming over his shoulder. “Mob! How long have you been there!?” 

“Not very long, maybe a minute.” 

Reigen drags in a long, deep breath that Shigeo can’t decide is exaggerated or genuine. “Don’t do that,” he says, putting his hands on the desk and shaking his head. “Jeez, you almost gave me a heart attack. You couldn’t’ve, I dunno, said something when you came in?” 

“I’m not very loud to begin with,” Shigeo says. “And you usually hear me.” 

It occurs to him why now is different—he’s learned to be quiet, to go unnoticed, to not be heard— but he doesn’t say anything, and Reigen doesn’t either. He just shakes his head again and tries dragging the scattered papers back into a pile. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” Reigen says, rising to his feet. “Let’s not keep our client any longer. We’ve got a ways to go.” 

Shigeo doesn’t hesitate, even though there’s a part of him that wishes Reigen would see through it, ask if he’s okay. But it’s a feeling only somewhat weaker than his fear of telling him the truth about what’d happened, and he nods.

“Where to?” 

“Some guy’s traveling amusement park,” Reigen answers, flipping out his phone as he goes and doublechecking the message. He moves out behind the desk and starts toward the door, and Shigeo trails along after him. “Says it’s haunted.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” 

“Cliche as hell,” Reigen stuffs his phone in his back pocket and reaches for the door handle, stopping only once his fingers have curled around the knob. Then he pauses and turns, eyes meeting Shigeo’s, and Shigeo suddenly feels intimidated. 

“What’s with the hoodie? It’s hot outside, you’ll get overheated.” 

“O-Oh—” He’s internally screaming and sighing in relief, somehow both at the same time. “N-No, I’m fine. I’ve always run a little on the cold side, anyway, I’ll take it off if I need to.” 

It’s a lie, and there’s no way Reigen doesn’t know that it is, but he says nothing else. When he swings wide the door and heads outside, Shigeo moves in his wake. The heat hits him harder after being in the air conditioned office, but he pretends it doesn’t bother him and heads on. 

“Did the client say anything about what kind of spirit it is, or the kind of things that are going on?” 

Reigen shakes his head with a long, drawn-out sigh. The train cars rattle around them, and Shigeo watches the city zoom by from his window seat. 

“He didn’t say much of anything about the actual hauntings,” Reigen says, arms crossed over his chest and one leg kicked up over the other. “Just spewed some sob-story about his life is all. I think he wanted a discount.” 

The words hit him like darts, and he doesn’t know why. “You shouldn’t be so cynical,” he says, without thinking it through at all. “Maybe he was, but we can’t assume anything until after we’ve met him.” 

The second he’s through speaking, he wonders if he’d messed up, if he should apologize, but Reigen slumps his shoulders. 

“You’re right. Sorry. But, yeah, not much information on the actual haunting…” 

Reigen keeps talking, and Shigeo drowns it out until it’s little more than background noise. All he’d done was spoken his mind. He hadn’t been rude. He hadn’t been harsh. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And he knows Reigen would never hurt him. 

The relief he’d felt when Reigen wasn’t angry bothers him. 

The train speeds on and he watches the city whizz past through the window. Whether or not the client is genuine on his story, Shigeo hopes they’ll be able to help him, somehow. In the end, that’s all he really cares about. 

"͢I'd̵ ͟wac͡h̕ yo̕u͜r̸ ̶b͠a͟ck̨ i̶f ̨I ̛w̷ére ̛y͜o҉u͟,͜ ̵K̛a̕g҉e͞y͟a̵m͠a S̡h̷ig͢eo."

There’s a bird perched in the windowsill of the ticket booth. 

The place looks run-down and abandoned, with dust and cobwebs everywhere and no lights to be seen, even though the sun is setting and it’s becoming dark very quickly. The ticket booth is empty and lifeless, and the attractions that lie behind its gate are even more so, silhouetted by the sunset and in no way warm or inviting like amusement parks should be.

Shigeo stares at it for longer than he should while Reigen rings the bell over and over in rapid session, before heaving what is probably the biggest groan known to mankind and throwing up his hands. 

“I swear, if this was some kind of elaborate prank...” Reigen starts, but never finishes, swearing under his breath and running a hand through his hair instead. “And to think I was so optimistic about being here on time and everything...” 

The bird is preening its wing. Its feathers are black and its eyes are big and beady, like tiny crystal balls. Shigeo stares. 

“Well, in the end at least we did our part. We’ll wait another, say, five minutes. If he doesn’t show by then, we’ll call it a day. How does that sound, Mob?” 

The bird notices him staring and stares back. 

“... Mob.” 

There’s something in his head, reverberating through his skull like a thousand whispers, each talking at once and simultaneously louder and quieter than each other, though he can never make out a single word. White noise, radio static. It feels like everything and nothing at the same time. The bird hasn’t stopped staring. He hasn’t stopped staring, either. The noise rises to a crescendo, then higher, until it replaces his thoughts with void. 

Reigen cuffs him on the back of the head. 

It doesn’t hurt, not at all. It’s just enough of an anchor to yank the static from his mind, and he barely even flinches once it’s gone. The bird is still there, but it’s returned to its wings now, completely ignoring him. 

“What’s with you today?” Reigen asks, and Shigeo can’t really decide what to call the emotion behind the words. Concern, confusion, maybe a little bit of exasperation. He isn’t sure about that last one. “I called you four times.” 

“Sorry,” Shigeo says, looking down at his shoes. He wishes he hadn’t brought the hoodie. His bandages feel like scotch tape against his skin. “I… haven’t been myself today.” 

“It’s fine. We all have off-days.” 

Shigeo doesn’t say anything. He hears Reigen’s footsteps and feels his presence at his side a moment later, but doesn’t trust himself to look up. 

“Are you scared of birds?” Reigen asks.

Shigeo shakes his head. “No, I like birds,” he says, and wonders afterwards if that's even true anymore. “I’m just… like I said. Not myself.” 

Reigen nods and falls silent for a time. “... You can go home if you need to.” 

Is he really that transparent? 

“No, I’m fine,” Shigeo promises, nodding both to Reigen, and to try and convince himself. “I really am fine, honest. I’ve just been kind of out of it today.” 

It’s an excuse he’d borrowed from Mezato. He doesn’t care where he took it from so long as Reigen buys it. 

And he never knows whether or not Reigen does, because that’s exactly when footsteps sound from behind them, followed by the voice of their client.

“Hey! You made it!” 

“Yep!” Reigen spins around to greet him, walking that way. “Good to see you, we were starting to think you wouldn’t show.” 

Shigeo gives the bird one long, final look before turning with him to face the client. He’s still on his way over, walking like he has all the time in the world. His posture is loose and relaxed, and there are more frown lines on his face than should be possible. He doesn’t seem nervous or scared at all, or even slightly put off. If there are spirits here, the client is definitely no indication. 

Shigeo moves to stand beside Reigen and the client lumbers over the rest of the way, with a crooked look on his face and squinty eyes. Shigeo can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to look rude, or if his face is just like that. He doesn’t ask. 

“Nice of you to show up,” the client says, with a voice not nearly gruff enough to match his demeanor. His voice is low, sharp around the edges, but not exactly unpleasant or rude. “I’m telling ya, you’re the first psychics ‘round here who actually took my claim seriously. Everyone else just told me to be more advertiser friendly, said there weren’t any spirits involved at all.” 

“Oh, you hear stuff like that all the time.” Reigen waves a hand idly. “It’s a shame, really. Just when you think people can’t get any lazier, am I right?” 

There isn’t any spiritual activity. 

Ever since stepping foot here, Shigeo hasn’t felt a single thing. He’s felt something in the air, like a looming threat, but nothing strong enough to cause havoc.

Shigeo swallows hard and hopes that Reigen handles it on his own, because he really doesn’t like this at all, but that’s precisely when Reigen turns to him and asks, “What do you think, Mob?” 

Shigeo thinks that he’d really like to sink into the ground and never come up right about now, but he doesn’t say that. Actually, he doesn’t get the chance to say anything. The client turns to look at him as though seeing him for the first time, and his twisted expression grows even more so. Except, it isn’t just a matter of if his resting face is like that. He’s actually snarling. 

“Y’brought your damn kid with you?” 

"Àww͞w,͡ w̸h́at ͘a ̵c̨r҉y͞ba͘by̵.̶ ̧Save ͘t́h̨e ͜tears ͠f̕or͝ ̕so҉meo̸n͞e ̷w̢h͞o ̷car̵e̴s.̸" 

It doesn’t bother Shigeo, not really, but Reigen’s air shifts. 

“My apprentice, actually.” Reigen squares his shoulders, straightens his posture. “This is Mob. He might not look like much at first, but I’d trust him to handle any exorcism.” 

He hadn’t expected Reigen to be so upset by it, but the answer is enough to have the man’s attention shift back to him. Reigen is nearly twice his height, and while he’s usually bouncy and loose and approachable, he’s intimidating when he means to be. And Shigeo is glad he’s here. He’d missed him. 

The client drops the snarl, but Shigeo swears he hears him click his tongue as he turns away. “A’ight, I get it. C’mon, I’ll show you around.” 

He starts off without waiting for them to follow him, and Reigen waits until he’s a distance away before making a move. 

“What a guy,” Reigen mutters. When Shigeo doesn’t answer, “You good?” 

“Just fine,” Shigeo says, but he doesn’t know for sure. He isn’t really sure of anything at all. He hasn’t been able to pin down how he’s felt in a very long time. “It doesn’t bother me, it’s okay.” 

Reigen exhales through his nose sharply. “Alright. But say the word and we’ll leave.” 

He starts after the client and Shigeo falls in step beside him, taking three footfalls for each one of Reigen’s. He swears he can hear the bird laughing at him. 

The client leads them through the gates, hands trembling as he undoes the locks. He shuts it behind them but doesn’t lock it, stuffing the keys back in the pockets of his sweatpants. He starts off again and they follow him. 

“I’ve been traveling ‘round with my crew for a good year now,” he explains as they walk down abandoned trails, past still attractions and around blind curves that Shigeo doesn’t like one bit. “We started off strong, y’know? Had a good amount of people try us out. But business has been gettin’ worse lately, not better. You’d think, with word of mouth and all that, it’d be the opposite.” 

“Right.” Reigen nods, and Shigeo inches a little closer to his side. “So it’s not so much that people don’t know about it, it’s just that no one’s coming.” 

“Exactly,” the client grumbles, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. Shigeo is expecting him to say something else, but he doesn’t. They keep walking. 

Then, abruptly, the client comes to a halt and turns to face them. He doesn’t even look at Shigeo, and his glare goes straight to Reigen. 

“Aren’t you gonna say something?” the client demands. “Some kind of verdict?” His voice is sharp, sharper than what it should be. “Weren’t you listening?” 

“I was listening,” Reigen says cooly. “Just waiting for you to get to the part where you found out this was a spirit problem.” 

“What else could it be!?” he snaps, irritated. Shigeo wants to flinch but can’t. “You tellin’ me that there isn’t any spiritual activity ‘round here!? What else explains the lack of customers, huh!?” 

“You hired us for an exorcism,” Reigen says, disarmingly calm. “Is there anything in particular that led you to believe this was caused by spirits?” 

“The customers!” he roars, and Shigeo doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like anything about this. The atmosphere, the looming attractions, the crow’s beady eyes on the backs of his lids when he blinks. The man’s voice, the deranged look in his eyes. “They all complain about ‘bad atmosphere’! What else could that be if not evil spirits!?” 

"Wh͜a͏t͝ ár͢e y͜o͝u̕ hi̧d̡in̨g ̷fr̷om̕, Sh̕ige-çh̶a͢n? W͟e̕ j͡us̕t ̷w̴a̡nt̀ ͞t͘o ̸pl͝a͟y͢.̶" 

"We'͜l̷l̴ be̕ ̕n͝ice i̴f ̷yo͠u ͟do̶n'҉t ̀r̢ưn!̛"͘ 

"Thi͜s ̶is ̨the ͝la̧śt͘ ti͏m̛e͟ w̨e͟'̧re̸ ̢a̡sk͠iǹg ̡n̕i͝c͘èl̡y̷,̡ Shi͜ge.̛.̷.͏" 

“There could be a number of things wrong,” Reigen says, snapping Shigeo from it. “We need to examine all our options before we go blaming it on spirits.” 

“It’s definitely spirits!” 

"You ͏w͘an͏t it ̶t͡o ͝s̴t̛op͞,͏ don'̵t y̸ou͟?"

Spit flies with the man’s words, belted out like they’re the last things he’ll ever speak and he needs everyone within earshot to hear him. 

“I hired you because I thought you’d be able to help me, but if you aren’t going to do that, then you might as well get lost!” 

"͡.͟.̛. ̷Yo҉u͢ c͏a͏n̸ m͟a̷k͢e̶ it͠ stop,̸ S͜h͘i͡ge̷o͜..͠.̷"

"҉G̢o҉ ahe͢a̴d̴... ̨make͝ ҉i͏t s̛to̸p̛.͘.."҉ ͜

"It'd̢ ͡b̷e̡ ͟e̡aşy̸,͏ ͡w̸ou͢l̷dn'͏t͡ i͢t? ́You'̨ḑ ͡ba̸r̸el҉y ̢h͞a̡ve͘ ̢t͞o͘ ̕l̸if̵t a fi̧ǹg͜er.͝"̴

"You want to ̢do i͞t,̶ d͜o͜n'̛t you?̛"

"No͟t̛h̸ing ̷c̸a̷n ̡ho͢ld͡ ͘you͟ ba͠ck̨."

“It isn’t spirits.” 

Reigen and the client stop arguing. Shigeo feels Reigen’s eyes bear into him, can only imagine the look on his face, but he meets the client’s bloodshot, maddened eyes and doesn’t let it stop him. 

“There isn’t spiritual activity here,” Shigeo goes on. His palms are sweaty. The band-aids around his fingers cling to him like wet paper. “At first I thought maybe I just wasn’t sensing it, or that maybe there was more to it than that, but now I know.” 

The client’s brows clench and his jaw tightens. Reigen speaks Shigeo’s name (nickname, rather), but it goes ignored. Shigeo doesn’t think he’d be able to stop talking even if he tried. 

“It’s you,” he says, louder than he’d meant to be. “It’s you that’s driving everyone away, not spirits. Your negativity and your abrasiveness scares them. No one’s coming because nobody wants to deal with whatever you throw at them. Word of mouth is working against you, because you’ve done it to yourself.” 

“Mob, I can handle this, it’s okay—” 

“And pretty soon—” Shigeo can’t stop, he wants to, he should, he needs to, but he can’t, he can’t— “Pretty soon it’ll consume you. There aren’t any spirits now, but there will be. They’ll feed on your negativity and become stronger and stronger.”

Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopst op—

“It’s not just about them, either. You’re going to destroy yourself, too.” 

He sees it coming. He knows it’s coming. The client’s face contorts into something that shouldn’t be physically possible, a look so stricken and angered and furious that it’s like Shigeo feels the blow before it happens. 

“You damn brat, what the hell makes you think you can talk to me like that—!” 

Shigeo sees his raised fist. It’s the only thing he can see. His vision is a tunnel, edges black and raised fist in the forefront, quick and sharp and clenched so tightly that it’s trembling. 

"D̶o͝n't l͜oo͟k s̡o ̧su̴rprised. You ͞b̧ro̡u̕g͡h̵t͠ ̢th҉i̵s̛ ͝o̧n͠ ͞yo̕u̵rself̀, ̨Shige͜-ch̕an͞!̨"

"Ýou͡ ҉d̵e̶s͞erv̧e it̶. ҉Fre̸a̛k.̛" 

"̛Y͜o͏u c̸an'͠t͜ ́e̛v̨en st̷a͜n̕d͝ up for͡ ͜you͏ŗs͜elf,͏ ça̸ņ ҉yo̷u͠!̨ W͞h̶at͜ ͝a̸ c͜oward͟.҉" 

Reigen’s fingers snap around the client’s wrist. 

The tunnel vision cuts and Shigeo’s breath gets stuck in his throat. The client had been bringing his fist down, but now his wrist is caught in Reigen’s grip, and Reigen is between them like a shield. The client’s eyes are blown wide and full of what Shigeo can only call horror. He can’t see Reigen’s face. 

“Did you honestly think I’d let you get away with that?” Reigen’s voice is steady. And that’s somehow scarier. “That wasn’t a trick question. I want an answer. Now.”

The client’s fist isn’t balled anymore, but Reigen doesn’t let go. “I didn’t ask you to bring the damn kid with you in the first place!” he snarls, still somehow confident, though not nearly as confident as he’d been. “He spoke out of turn—” 

“Skip to the part where you explain yourself.” 

Reigen’s voice cuts through the thick air, sharp like a knife. Shigeo’s heart gives a lurch, and before he knows what he’s doing, he finds his voice. 

“R-Reigen, it’s okay.” He looks up, tries meeting his eyes, but Reigen doesn’t turn. “I-It’s okay, I—” His mind scrambles for purchase, for something, anything. “It’s not worth it, just—let him go, please.”  

The client regrets it. Shigeo feels it in the atmosphere. He doesn’t know what he regrets, or why he regrets it. But Shigeo doesn’t like this. It’s a side of Reigen that he’s never seen before and he doesn’t like it. 

“L-Listen, I wasn’t thinking,” the client stammers, wide-eyed. The snarl is gone. He looks more disheveled than ever. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking, I swear I wasn’t, I wasn’t going to actually hit the kid.”

“Glad to hear it.” Reigen’s voice is poisonous. He doesn’t let go. “We’re going now. Don’t come asking for our help ever again.”

He releases the client’s wrist with reluctance, and the man reels back, clutching at his hand and drawing in heaving gasps of air. Shigeo opens his mouth to say something, but Reigen takes him by the shoulder and spins him around. He leaves his hand there. 

“We’re leaving. Come on.” 

Reigen starts walking, and Shigeo doesn’t look back.

His chest is too tight. 

His heart feels like it’s crawling up his throat, bringing his stomach with it, strangling his lungs on the way. He tries to steady his breathing, but his breaths are either too short, too shallow, or too few. The hoodie adds to it. He feels lightheaded. He wants to go home, he wants to see Ritsu and Mom and Dad, he wants to forget about this, he wants to breathe. 

“Are you okay?” 

They’re on the train again, heading back into the city. Reigen has the window seat this time, and is leaning his elbow against the sill and studying him. He looks caught between guilty and worried, and Shigeo doesn’t like either one. (Although, he’s glad Reigen isn’t angry anymore, at least not outwardly.)

“I-I’m okay,” Shigeo says with breath he doesn’t have. He feels like something’s choking him. His chest is full of knots. “Don’t worry, I’m—”

He yanks himself to a stop before the words used to it have the chance to tumble out. He pretends he’d meant to leave the sentence there, doesn’t say anything else, focuses on the center aisle instead of Reigen’s face, and eventually Reigen sighs. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wouldn’t have dragged you along if I knew the client would flip out at you like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Shigeo says tightly. He doesn’t know why, but tears burn behind his eyes and in the back of his throat. He can’t tell if he wants to throw up or cry. “Th—Thank you. For stopping him.” 

“Yeah. Of course.”

The plan is to drop by the office and then try hitting a ramen shop before they close. The sun had set a while ago and it’s dark, now, but the city is alive with artificial lights and cars zooming by on busy-but-not-too-busy streets. Shigeo watches them, tries to distract himself, but he still can’t breathe. He blinks and sees the man’s fist. He blinks again and sees the crow’s beady eyes. He blinks again and sees both. 

One more blink and it’s a white cat with a twisted neck and blood splattered across her fur.

Reigen’s keys unlock the office door and he swings it inward, opposite hand lifting from Shigeo’s shoulder. Shigeo blinks thrice, feeling like he’d just missed a step on a too-steep staircase. 

“You can come in if you want,” Reigen says when he doesn’t move. “I’m just checking off some paperwork before I forget, it won’t take long.” 

Shigeo nods and follows him inside. Reigen leaves the sign turned to closed and doesn’t bother with the blinds. He does flick on the overhead light, and Shigeo finds himself ghosting in his footsteps with no real aim or thought. 

He doesn’t remember getting here. He doesn’t even remember the station. His chest isn’t any looser. There are hot bands wound around his lungs, strangling him, and there are more around his throat. The bandages are too thick. His hoodie is too tight. 

There's a boxcutter on Reigen's desk. 

Reigen digs through the filing boxes in the corner, mumbling to himself under his breath. Occasionally, Shigeo hears his name amidst it, and Reigen asks him a question or two, but none of it makes sense and he isn’t sure of anything.

He isn't sure of whether or not he's here at all.

"Give me a second." Reigen's voice is swallowed up by the ringing in his ears, but it's still too loud. His lungs have coiled themselves in his chest and his heart throbs against them. "God, where’d I put…?” 

There's a boxcutter on Reigen's desk. Shigeo's eyes shoot toward it again as Reigen swipes a few papers out of the way. His elbow bumps the coffee mug on the edge of the desk. It happens too fast. He swears, barks at Shigeo not to move, and it hits the floor and shatters. 

The noise hits him like a firework. The glass splinters and scatters with a crack and a rain of shards. 

"̵͡L҉҉͟oǫ̛k̛͘͡ ̸͠wh̸̢a̸̴t ͠y̵̸͠o̴̡u ͡d͜i̷̴d̀, ̨͝Sh̨̨͠i͞g̡͢e-̡͝c̴̸͡h̷a̴͜ņ̶̛.͜ ̶͡Y̷ò͠u̵͏ ̧b̸҉r͠o̶ke͡ ̨it҉̕͟.̧͝"͝ ̴

A twisting spiral of darkness overtakes his sight. His lungs get caught in his throat. His heart slams into his ribs with every throbbing pound. He tries to inhale but there’s nothing for him to breathe. He’s in an ocean, he can’t breathe, he can’t see, and he’s drowning. 

"҉I̵̕f̸̢ ̛̛͜y͟ò̡u̡̨ ̵w̨e̕͞r̵͢en't̵̸ ̡s͘ó͟͠ ̢̛͟u҉͏ś̵͟e҉l̕e͏s͏s͜,͘ ̧m̵a͠ỳ̧b͜é̷͘ ̨th́͜is̨̀ ̷̧̕w҉͟͝o͏u̢͜ld̨͜n͡'̀͘͢ţ҉͢ ̢ha͝ve҉ ͝h̛̀a͏͜p͝p͠҉͢e̶̷néd̷̨.̶͠" ̷̀͜

A warmth swims into his sight, but it’s so warm that it burns him. Asagiri stoops to lift a shard of the broken vase, holding it close to his face. 

"̸́B͢út͢ ̢w̛͜e͢͠ ̀͠à̧͜l͟l͜ ̨ḱ͡n̷͞ǫw t҉ḩ̴a͏̵t́͟͡'̸̴s̕ al͞l͘ ̶y̸̧o̸̢҉u'̧͟r͘͠é̡͝ ͏́g͡o̢͢ǫd̨ ͝͠͠a̸̛t̢, ̴Sh͏i͘͢҉g̀e͏̶̧-͜͡cha̧҉̧ǹ͏̨.̧"͞

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I can fix it, please, I’m sorry—”  

“Mob.” 

His eyes snap open. Asagiri is gone. Reigen’s eyes bear into his. 

They’re on the floor. Shigeo’s hands are in his hair, fingers curled around locks and pulling too hard. Reigen’s hands are on his shoulders. He’s kneeling. Shigeo is sitting, knees tucked against his chest. There’s broken glass around them. 

Shigeo opens his mouth, but can’t speak. His lungs are empty and his throat is full. He can’t force out a sound or a breath. The edges of his sight are tinted with looming shadows ready to swallow him whole. 

Reigen’s fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Hey, Mob, it’s not a big deal. Yeah? It’s fine.” 

He isn’t. He can’t breathe. He’s pulling his hair but he can’t feel it. He’s suffocating but there’s no end to it. He tries to breathe and gets nothing. 

“Re—Reigen, I— can’t—”  

“You can.” Reigen’s voice is steady. “It feels like you can’t because you’re panicking, but you can. Just—breathe in, count to four, breathe out, count to four, ‘kay?” 

Counting. Counting. He. He can do that. 

Reigen counts with him, first. It’s the longest eight seconds of his life. His breath hitches on the way in and hitches even worse on the way out. Four, in, four, out. Reigen’s hands don’t leave his shoulders. Shigeo’s chest doesn’t stop burning, but after the second or third try, some of the tightness around his lungs begins to ebb. Reigen fades out and Shigeo counts to himself on his own—breathe in count to four, breathe out count to four. In four, out four, and he’s breathing. 

“See? Nothing to it. You’re fine.” 

Shigeo opens his eyes, not even realizing that he’d squeezed them shut. Reigen meets his gaze with what Shigeo can only call exhaustion and relief, but the smile he offers is genuine and Shigeo wishes he could return it. 

“Here.” Reigen lifts his hands from Shigeo’s shoulders, and Shigeo feels like he’d just let go of a liferaft in an ocean, but then Reigen’s fingers curl around his wrists, and he's okay. “Let go, alright? You’re gonna hurt yourself, c’mon.”

At first, he can’t. His fingers are clenched so tightly that his joints have locked, and his knees are tucked against his chest, too, tight like a bowstring and burning like coils. He’s lightheaded again, with the corners of his sight tinted a black that’s just a little too dark. 

But Reigen tugs at his wrists again, gently but firmly, and Shigeo’s fingers loosen from his hair, and Reigen pulls his hands down to his sides and doesn’t let go. It’s grounding, it keeps him anchored, even though lightheadedness and dark. 

“There we g—Mob, breathe.” 

Four in, four out, Shigeo launches back into it and realizes, startlingly, that he’d forgotten. He gives himself a chance to catch up with it, to get back into the habit of breathing. He’s never been so aware of the movement of his lungs, or the smelting iron bands in his chest. 

Reigen’s hands are resting over the bandages on his wrists, and Shigeo realizes this, but doesn’t acknowledge it, too preoccupied. Reigen goes from kneeling to sitting, without releasing his hands and without moving an inch away. 

Shigeo’s throat isn’t trying to strangle him, anymore, and he doesn’t know how he does it, but he manages to croak out a single, pathetic, “I-I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Reigen’s voice is light enough, and he’s smiling, but he knows. He knows exactly what’d happened. He’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. “It was my fault, anyway, I was in a hurry and got careless. It’s just a mug, right? No big deal.”

That isn’t what Shigeo was apologizing for, and Reigen probably knows that. 

“Breathe, Shigeo.” 

Shigeo. Has Reigen ever called him that before? Shigeo must’ve really freaked him out if he’s calling him by his first name.

Reigen’s hand finds his shoulder again, squeezing. “You good?” 

It isn’t a question Shigeo knows how to answer, but he can breathe, and that’s more than he’d been able to do. He nods, and Reigen finally releases him and sits back. 

“Alright. Stay down for a sec, I’ll clean up the gla—” Reigen stops abruptly, looking twice. Shigeo feels like he’s being dissected. “Did you get cut?” 

His heart tumbles up into his throat. “Where?” 

“On your neck, there, it looks like—” 

Shigeo’s hand snaps and clamps over the spot, just as Reigen reaches out. He keeps his head down, because he can’t stand to look at Reigen’s face, and he knows that if he tries, he’ll definitely shatter. 

He doesn’t see it, but he hears a rustle as Reigen rises to his feet. “I’ll get the first aid kit.” 

And just like that, he’s gone, and Shigeo bites the inside of his cheek and feels nothing. And it’s stupid. Reigen didn’t do anything wrong. He shouldn’t have to pick up his pieces like this. It’s not his responsibility. It’s not his fault. He shouldn’t have to deal with him. He shouldn’t have to put up with this. And it isn’t until after Reigen has given him the first aid kit and cleaned up the glass that he remembers he could have mended it with his psychic powers.

There’s a boxcutter on Reigen’s desk. 

They’re on the train for the third time today, and Reigen has the windowseat again.

Shigeo keeps his sleeves pulled all the way up to his thumbs, but he doesn’t know why he bothers anymore. Reigen saw the bandages. He knows something is wrong. The bandaid he’d put over the scar on his neck only brought more attention to the bandaids on his fingers. The patch of gauze is still taped to his head. 

Reigen doesn’t know everything, but he isn’t stupid. He knows something. Shigeo had fallen apart in front of the person he could hide the least from, and his nausea has nothing to do with his shortness of breath. 

(Or, maybe it does, in part. But he tries to pretend.) 

Shigeo twiddles with his fingers in his lap, just to avoid Reigen’s gaze. He can breathe again, naturally, almost automatically, but the tightness hasn’t completely left his chest. He wants to cry. 

“You need to talk to someone, Shigeo.” 

Shigeo’s breath staggers in his throat, and suddenly he can’t. “I—Reigen, I—” 

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Reigen cuts in before he can spiral any further. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But you need to talk to someone—someone you trust, your parents, your brother, your friends, someone. You have to tell somebody.” 

Shigeo’s chest is closing in on him again. 

“I… I-I don’t think—I—”

That’s all he can force out. It’s all he can manage before he has to clench his teeth and curl in on himself to keep from breaking again. 

In his heart, aching and shattering, he knows Reigen is right. And it’s not like people aren’t already onto him; Tome, Mezato, Ritsu, they all know something is the matter. Even Mom and Dad know something is wrong (even if they misdiagnose it). 

But he still doesn’t think Reigen knows what he’s asking him to do. It isn’t that simple. Six months. A dreamscape created for the sole purpose of breaking his psyche. And it did. Mogami got what he wanted out of him, even if for a short time. He’d lashed out. He’d hurt them. He’d made that choice. 

He’d wanted to kill them. And it would have been easy.

Reigen doesn’t speak again. Shigeo can’t bring himself to. The train is too big. The darkness outside is too overwhelming. His own mind is too overwhelming. 

An arm winds around his shoulders, tentatively at first. He stiffens, but doesn’t pull away or flinch back, and Reigen draws him into an awkward sort of side-hug that doesn’t feel all that awkward at all. 

He still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask any questions. Doesn’t make him talk. And Shigeo has always, always appreciated that about him. Reigen never forces anything out of him. He doesn’t make him talk when he doesn’t want to, like some of the adults at school do. Right now, he couldn’t talk even if he tried. 

He swallows and lets himself lean into Reigen’s side, shutting his eyes. It’s darker this way, but the arm around his shoulders keeps him from drowning. 

“Hey. Kid.” His shoulder is nudged. “We’re at your stop, wake up.” 

Shigeo wakes up slowly, straightening up and blinking feverishly to clear the sleep from his sight. The light of the station burns into his eyelids, and it worsens a headache he didn’t know he had, but he squints until his eyes adjust and pretend nothing hurts at all. 

He turns to Reigen. “I… I thought your stop was before mine.” 

“Not this time.” 

“Oh…” Shigeo turns away, looking down at the bandaids wrapped around his fingers. “I…” 

He trails off, and when he doesn’t pick himself up again, Reigen says,  “You want me to walk you home?” 

“N-No, I’m fine.” Shigeo shakes his head. “I-It’s not far from here, just down the block.”

Reigen nods, but he doesn’t seem fully convinced. “Shoot me a text when you get there, ‘kay?” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Reigen waves it off with a hand and a smile, and Shigeo doesn’t manage to return it but hopes Reigen understands how much it means. He rises to his feet, makes sure his sleeves are pulled around his wrists, and steps off the train and into the station. 

There’s a bird on the first lamp post he sees. 

67%

He’s walked home alone before, many times. Both in this and in Mogami’s spirit world. It isn’t completely dark yet, but it’s nearly there, and he hopes to be able to get home before the sun fades entirely. He keeps his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, but only so he doesn’t have to see the bandaids. 

72% 

There are lights on in the house, he sees them through the window, and the door is unlocked. He steps through it with heavy footfalls, shuts the door behind him silently, and pulls off his shoes in like manner. He leaves his hoodie on, though, and tries to bundle the hood around the bandaid on his neck, which Ritsu would definitely notice. 

He heads toward the living room. The house is eerily quiet. There are picture frames on the walls, pictures of him and Ritsu and Mom and Dad through the years, but the house is too empty. It’s too quiet. 

He shuffles further down the hallway and peers into the living room. The lights are on, but no one is there. It’s empty. It shouldn’t be empty. 

75%  

The air fills his lungs like smoke. The house shouldn’t be empty. It was empty before, it’d been empty for six months but it shouldn’t be empty now. He’s home now. It shouldn’t be empty. 

“Ritsu?” 

It’s desperate, and his voice cracks near the end, and at first there’s no response, there’s no reaction, and his heart pounds against his ribs like an animal in a cage, but—

“Oh, Nii-san, you’re back!”

Shigeo spins around as Ritsu turns the corner from the kitchen into the living room. A breath escapes him and it takes twice as long as it should before he gets it back.  

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” Ritsu says, approaching. “Mom and Dad went downtown to grab something for dinner, but they said we could make snacks if we want. You want anything?” 

It’s… normal. And it feels wrong. 

“I…” The thought of eating something is about as appealing to him as drinking straight cooking oil, but he hadn’t eaten dinner yesterday, he’d barely eaten breakfast this morning, lunch didn’t exist, and since then he’s thrown up twice. Thinking it through, he’s surprised he’s still standing. 

He nods, because he can’t stand the hopeful look in Ritsu’s face, and Ritsu beams at him once more before spinning around and swinging himself back into the kitchen. Shigeo watches him go but doesn’t dare follow. 

He takes a seat on the very edge of the couch, hugging himself. It’s airconditioned in here, and it helps the nausea some, but the hoodie still weighs him down, and the bandages are too tight around his skin, itchy and uncomfortable. But he doesn’t dare take it off, not with Ritsu around. He doesn’t know what would be worse; Ritsu seeing the bandages, or Ritsu seeing the scars. He doesn’t want either. 

There’s a clatter and bang from the kitchen, and Shigeo’s knees snap up and he flinches back, but Ritsu’s voice hollers “Sorry, I’ll fix it!” and Shigeo relaxes. Honestly, the racket is welcome. Makes it feel like home instead of just a building. 

He sits there a while longer on his own, wondering whether or not he should go help, but that’s exactly when Ritsu returns, carrying two mugs of hot cocoa and a bag of chips under his arm. 

“Didn’t know if you wanted one, so I just made you some anyway,” Ritsu says, depositing the chips onto the coffee table and pressing one of the mugs into Shigeo’s cold, stiff hands. His eyes linger on the bandaids, but he doesn’t ask and sits down next to him instead. “Hot cocoa’s nice sometimes.” 

Shigeo stares down into the mug, then glances at the bag of chips as Ritsu reaches to open it. He still doesn’t want to eat, but he can do this. It’s light enough and besides, Ritsu even went as far as to make him hot cocoa, and he doesn’t do that often. 

He picks at the chips and sips on the hot cocoa while Ritsu chatters on about school, and makes sure to keep his sleeves well up over his wrists.

He remembers to text Reigen barely a minute later, and Reigen responds with a thumbs up and orders to rest and not come back until he’s ready. For some reason, it leaves him with an even deeper chasm in his stomach. 

78%  

The ramen shouldn’t scare him. 

It’s stupid. He eats it all the time. He goes out with Reigen several times a week, Mom and Dad prepare it often, they go out together on weekends and the ramen shop is one of their favorite places.

But his chopsticks feel like lead between his fingers, and try as he might, he can’t bring himself to move. 

“Still not feeling a hundred percent, Shige?” 

“What?” Shigeo lifts his head from the bowl and looks across the table at Dad. Mom and Ritsu have stopped eating and are watching him, too. “O-Oh, yeah, I—” He hopes they don’t notice how badly his hand is shaking, “sorry, I’m just—tired.” 

It’s a cop-out. It’s a lie. He isn’t tired. It isn’t a problem like that. It isn’t something he can fix with rest. It’s taking more out of him than he has left to give and now it’s gnawing at whatever’s left and he can’t. 

He isn’t tired. He’s empty. 

"Ge̸t ͜th̕e͢ ̷h̨e͜ll ̛aw͡a̧y͝ fróm me,̕ ͝fre̶ak͡!̶"

"̸Wh͝a̡t͘ ̛a̛re̸ ̕y͝o̡u͢!?"

"͡Mo̶n̛ste͘r̢!̕"͢

“What don’t you do with knives, Mob?”

“Point them at people?” 

“Exactly.” 

80%  

Something in his chest snaps.

His chopsticks clatter to the table and he barely manages to freeze before he can clutch his chest. His family’s already scared. He doesn’t have to scare them more by freaking out. Even if he can’t breathe, even if his lungs are clogged, even if his chest is full of hot coal and knives. 

“What’s wrong, Shige?” 

He doesn’t know who says it. It could be any of them. All he knows is that he needs to go and he needs to go now, before he can’t hold himself together. 

(In, count to four, out, count to four.)

“S-Sorry,” he manages, pushing back his chair and rising to a stand, “I-I need to go—”

He doesn’t look at them, doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and walks as quickly as he can without running, heart throbbing and chest stabbing with every footfall. 

That changes once he’s out of eyeshot. Then, his walk turns into a run until he swings himself into the bathroom at the end of the hall, barely remembering not to slam the door and close it gently instead. He flicks on the lights. It burns. 

He yanks his hoodie up and over his head, first. The bandages stick out like snow, but against his skin, they aren’t much whiter. He’s always been pale but never like this. 

He doesn’t dwell on it for more than a second and pulls his t-shirt off next, until he’s standing in front of the mirror and staring at his bare chest. 

There’s a scar, there. Just like he knew there would be. Just below his heart, red and bright, sealed but scorching, the color of blood. It stands out, too, but for another reason than the bandages. 

He chokes back a sob and his shoulder blades hit the wall behind him, hands clapped over his mouth, sinking till he hits the tiled floor. The bandages feel like cords, tight and constricting. The bandaids are tight against the movement of his fingers, curling into fists against his mouth, and he can’t.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Shige?” 

His eyes snap open, and the tears running over his fingers come to a halt. 

“Shige, can I come in? Please?” 

Shigeo doesn’t hesitate. He snatches his hoodie to him and yanks it over his head, shakily calling out “Yes” as he struggles to pull the sleeves down over his wrists far enough. He reaches to get the door, but it’s already unlocked, and Mom’s already turning the knob and stepping inside. 

He thinks about standing up, about wiping the rest of his tears away, but he’s spent, he’s so spent, wrung out and drained and disoriented. Mom finds him on the floor within no time at all and moves to sit in front of him, criss-crossed. He tugs his knees to his chest and hugs them there. 

“Shige…” 

He meets her eyes, sees fear and worry, and quickly snaps his gaze away again. That’s his fault. He did that. He scared her. He scared all of them. 

She feels his temple with the back of her hand and of course finds nothing. He isn’t sick, he isn’t tired. There’s nothing to find. 

“Do you still feel sick?” she asks, voice gentle and patient, and it disarms him in a way he didn’t think it could. He doesn’t want to lie to her, but she wouldn’t understand. There’s so much here. There’s too much. 

He shakes his head, because the sick he’s feeling isn’t the kind of sick she means. She brushes his hair away from his eyes. 

“Did something happen at school?” 

He shakes his head. 

“At work?” 

He shakes his head again. 

“Did you get into a fight with someone? Did someone hurt you?” 

Not in the way she means. He shakes his head. 

“Is it something you did?” 

He… 

He looks at her, finally, and she holds his gaze with her own. She hasn’t retracted her hand. She’s still moving his hair out of his face. Still waiting patiently. Still gentle and concerned. 

“I…” 

“You need to tell someone, Shigeo.”

He uncurls a little from his defensive state, mirroring her position. “Some-Something… s-something bad. Happened.” 

“What happened?” 

“I-I—” He struggles, fiddles with his sleeves. “It’s—i-it’s just a lot t-to—exp-plain. I’ll… I-I mean, I—”   

83%

She nods, though, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Does it have anything to do with your psychic powers?” 

He nods. “A-And—That’s why it’s—it’s just hard, to—t-to explain, I—” 

“It’s okay.” She strokes his hair back, inching closer. “It’s okay, you can tell me later. For now, let’s just get you to bed, okay?” 

He doesn’t know how she does it. How anyone in his family does it, really. He’s difficult, he’s out of the loop, he’s distant with everyone but they always make an effort to try reading him, reaching him. And usually they can. 

He nods, and after kissing the crown of his head, she helps him to his feet and flicks off the light on their way out of the bathroom. 

(In, four, out, four.)

84%

Mom tells him that she’s calling in tomorrow, both to her workplace and his school. Dad is staying home tomorrow, too; the company is slow and there isn’t much for him to do this week, so staying home makes the most sense. From his room, he hears Ritsu asking Mom if he can stay home, too, that the counsel doesn’t need him and that he’s ahead on his studies enough to miss a day. He doesn’t hear her answer. 

Shigeo waits until they’ve left the hall in front of his room before he gets to his feet and heads into his bathroom. He doesn’t turn on the lights. He doesn’t want to see any better than he already can. 

86%  

“It doesn’t have to be me. But you need to talk to someone.” 

Shigeo rolls up his sleeves and begins pulling off the bandages on his arms. From his wrists, to his elbow, to right below his shoulder. He unwinds them quickly, getting tangled more than once, desperate to get it over with before he can back out. 

88%  

He throws the bandages away and sits on the closed toilet seat, rolling up his pants legs to his knees. He does the same process again, pulling off his socks first and unwinding the bandages he’d wrapped around his ankles, around his calves, below his knee. It’s too dark to see the scars, but he knows they’re there, and that’s just as bad. 

He stuffs those bandages in the trashcan too and moves onto the final ones. The wad of gauze taped to his temple; the bandaids on his fingers; the bandaid on his neck from Reigen’s office; and all of it is thrown in the garbage, and his breath is stuck in his lungs, and he has to remind himself in, four, out, four just to breathe. 

He rolls down his pant legs and gets his feet underneath him. He feels unsteady. The trek back to his futon takes hours. He curls in on himself beneath thick blankets and brings his fist up against his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and ignoring the looming tears behind his eyelids. 

91%  

It a relief to let his skin breathe again. But the promise he’d made to himself in doing it, the promise that tomorrow, he’ll tell them the truth, isn’t one that sits well with him. He feels sick again, but knows he couldn’t throw up if he tried. The most he’s eaten the past several days has been the chips and hot cocoa that Ritsu made, and that’s it. 

94%  

He sinks his teeth into his knuckle, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that it hurts. His chest is strangling him again. His aura flickers behind it, lashing and hurt. And he can’t stamp it down anymore. 

96%  

Not now. 

A plea, broken and desperate and pointless, and tears run over his fingers. 

Not now, not now, I can’t. 

I can’t. 

Not now. 

Please not now. 

97%

Please not now, please not now, please, please, please—

The bedroom door swings open, and a streak of light hits his closed eyelids. He forces himself to relax, pretends he’s asleep, tries loosening his fist. The door shuts, but soft footsteps reach his ears. They’re too quiet to be Mom’s or Dad’s. They’re getting closer. They’re—

Ritsu dumps an armful of blankets on top of him. 

Shigeo shoots upright, blankets tumbling and unfolding all around him and the futon. Ritsu stands nearby, a silhouette in the darkness, but Shigeo can feel it, like it’s something he can reach out and tough. 

“Ritsu, why.” 

“I’m staying here with you tonight,” Ritsu says simply. He’s already kneeling, grabbing the blankets again and shaking them out. “You don’t have any blankets in here so I brought some from my room.” 

By the looks of it, he brought more than ‘some,’ and Shigeo blinks dumbly out into space. 

“I… why?” 

“Because you’re not okay,” Ritsu says, like he’s asking him to pass the salt. “And I know how you are, Nii-san. And, I get it, but even if you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, I’m still gonna be here for you one way or another.” 

Shigeo blinks at him again. “I… y-you don’t—” 

Ritsu clocks him in the face with a blanket. “I know, okay? I’m doing it because I want to. Now.” He shoves Shigeo’s shoulder. “Lay down. You looked like you were gonna faint earlier.” 

Shigeo doesn’t argue and Ritsu settles in next to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. There are definitely too many blankets, and Ritsu’s added bodyheat adds to it, but it’s a different warmth than earlier. 

Before, he’d felt like he was drowning. Now, he feels like he’s home. 

Ritsu winds his arms around his waist and hugs him tightly, and it takes a moment—another, too-long second of internal warring and uncertainty—before he trusts himself enough to return it. He feels choked again. There’s no ‘maybe’ about it now, he’s going to cry. 

“R-Ritsu, I…” Words have never come easily to him, and they most certainly don’t now, but he forces them out. “Th-Thank you.” 

Ritsu squeezes him tighter, wordlessly, and Shigeo shuts his eyes with a weary sigh. 

97%  

Ritsu's weight beside him keeps him from drifting back into his nightmares. 

Shigeo’s dreams are made of darkness and liminal space and the bottomless feeling of being alone. Deep pain in his chest pulls him in and out of sleep throughout the night, stealing more strength than he has left to lose. Tiny pinpricks light up on his skin as his nightmares echo haunting words from his most visceral memories.

He’s at the part where Asagiri drives the box cutter into his chest when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes snap open, his body goes rigid, and the nightmares dart off like a gaggle of spooked cats.

“Nii-san?” Ritsu murmurs, his hand blindly hooked in Shigeo’s sleeve. “Are… you okay?”

He forgot about Ritsu. How could he have forgotten about Ritsu? Ritsu’s been by his side all night, they’ve been sharing the futon again like they haven’t done since they were little kids and Shigeo was so grateful, how could he have forgotten?

He makes himself sit up. The room spins—his poor blood sugar, Mom is really going to freak out when she hears how little he’s been eating—but he manages to keep it together. “S’Sorry,” Shigeo says, scrubbing his face as an excuse not to meet Ritsu’s eyes. Shame seeps into his heart. “Just a little restless, I, I think. I’m going to go get some water.”

Ritsu’s grip tightens around his sleeve as he sits up, also rubbing his face. “Let me get it,” Ritsu says, already throwing back the blankets. “You’re still a little sick, aren’t you?”

Shame twists into guilt. He does want water, but really it was an excuse to get out of bed. “I-It’s okay, Ritsu, I’ll get it.”

“Don’t worry,” Ritsu says as he gets to his feet. “Just settle down and try to rest, okay? Do you want anything else while I’m up?”

“N-No, it’s okay.”

“Really? How’s your head?”

“It…” It hurts, but…

Ritsu’s smile is warm. “I’ll get one of the gel packs,” he says. “Lay down, Shige.”

Shigeo thanks him, his heart wobbling, and Ritsu’s gone and back in no time at all. The water is soothing, room-temperature veering on cool. Ritsu attaches one of the sticky gel packs to Shigeo’s forehead under his bangs.

“That’ll help,” Ritsu says. He sits back, legs tucked under himself. “It’s okay to let us help you, Nii-san.” 

Shigeo missed his little brother so much. “… Ritsu—I, I need to tell you about—about what happened.”

“Really? As in now, really?”

“Now really.” 

He can’t bear to see what kind of look is on Ritsu’s face. It isn’t fair that he’s made Ritsu worry for him this much. 

“You don’t have to tell me yet if you aren’t ready,” Ritsu says. “We could do it tomorrow, too, if you’re tired…”

“But I want to tell you,” Shigeo forces. It’s true. “I want you to know. You deserve to know. It’s… I’m sorry if, that I’ve worried you.”

“I’ve worried you plenty, too,” Ritsu says, “and it’s not the last time it’ll be like this for us. If you wanna share, then I want to listen.”

Shigeo nods. “Um… th, this might be easier if—if I showed you. But I don’t know where to start explaining.”

“I’m not going to think differently about you, Nii-san, no matter what it is.”

He hopes that’s really true. “I… I was out on a job with Reigen,” Ritsu’s expression sours, but Shigeo moves past it. “Our client’s daughter, Asagiri, she was possessed by an evil spirit. He had a lot of money, so, he hired every psychic in the area but no one could help her. When it was my turn to try, I couldn’t help her, either. The spirit had such a strong hold on her that—that he could only be exorcised from the inside out.”

“From the inside out,” Ritsu repeats. “Is… Is that possible?”

“It was,” Shigeo says quietly. “The evil spirit used to be a man named Mogami, he was a famous psychic who turned himself into an evil spirit once he died. I figured out a way to get into Asagiri’s head by removing my spirit from my own body. But Mogami was stronger and angrier than I was expecting, and, he trapped me there. He kept me trapped there.”

Ritsu’s expression is tight, a pinch between his eyes. He has questions and Shigeo can almost see each of them, but the only one Ritsu asks is, “What happened next?”

Shigeo tightens his jaw until he can feel his heartbeat in his temples. “Promise me you won’t be upset. Or try to find a way to go after him, or Asagiri, or anyone else I talk about.”

It isn’t fair to ask. He’d lose his mind if Ritsu were in his place, scared and trapped and hurt for six months with no reprieve. Ritsu bites his lip.

“I’m probably gonna be upset,” Ritsu admits. “But I’ll listen until you’ve finished explaining. I won’t do anything impulsive, I—I just want to know what happened.”

No turning back.

Shigeo lets his aura seep through the skin of his hands, and his fingers glow a kaleidoscope of wiry purple shapes. It illuminates the lines in Ritsu’s face and the scars on Shigeo’s wrists.

Ritsu’s expression widens. He keeps his promise, though, and doesn’t say anything.

“U-Um,” Shigeo says, “Mogami trapped me in this alternate reality. But it wasn’t really an alternate reality, because the people there—they were themselves. Projections of who they were in real life. Asagiri, um, she wasn’t—she wasn’t a nice person, and neither were her friends. They… hurt me. Every day. While I was there.”

“What? Every—how long were you there?”

“Thirty minutes in our time,” Shigeo says, “but in Asagiri’s head it, it was longer.” He can’t say how long, not to Ritsu. That’s one thing he will keep from him for now. “Asagiri’s trying to change for the better now, but all of the, um, injuries that I got while I was trapped have been—showing up.” He looks at Ritsu’s expression again and thinks that he would rather be anywhere else but here. “On my body.” 

“Wait—you mean,” and Ritsu stops, and stares at him like he’s been smacked, and, “all of these—is that what you were hiding with the bandages?”

He did notice the bandages. Of course Ritsu noticed. “Yeah.”

Ritsu’s hand snakes out to grab Shigeo’s. He pushes up his sleeves. Shigeo lets him. The scars look worse between dancing shadows and unnatural light. Ritsu runs his thumb over one of them, carefully.

“Nii-san, I—how…?”

“A teacher hit me,” Shigeo says. “For—For not speaking up enough. I hit a desk trying to catch myself.”

Ritsu moves to another scar. “So, this…?”

“That’s just from a cat,” Shigeo says. He doesn’t have to tell Ritsu what happened to the cat, either. “The one here, though—um, it was a lighter. This one was a plastic knife,” Shigeo continues, quietly, pointing to the stripe of a scar on the back of his hand. “And this one was my fault, I tripped on my way to school.” That’s easy enough. “Um… th, this was from when one of the students threw a book at me. And,” his breath catches, and he reaches for his sleeve to tug it up further, “o-one of my classmates found a box cutter, and she—” 

Ritsu tackles him. 

He wasn’t expecting it, and it’s—it’s been a long time since Ritsu hugged him like this. Shigeo’s arms instinctively wrap around Ritsu’s shoulders.

“Nii-san.” Ritsu’s voice shakes. “I’m—I’m sorry. But you’re back now, and, and we’d never let anyone hurt you like that, not again. I’d never—we— none of us.”

He feels Ritsu’s aura snap at the air like cornered wolves. Shigeo’s aura loosens out of its chains a little, just enough to reach him. His fingers tighten in the back of Ritsu’s shirt. His chest seizes up.

92%

“I’m glad you told me,” Ritsu says. He’s choked up and Shigeo feels guilty, but the catharsis is overwhelming. He buries his face in his brother’s shoulder. “You could have told me sooner,” Ritsu says.

“I know,” Shigeo gasps, “I know. Thank you, Ritsu, I…” 

98%

Shigeo tries to pull away. Ritsu holds fast. “Ritsu—”

“It’s okay,” Ritsu says, holding tighter. A barrier wraps around them, shimmering like ocean waves. Ritsu’s barrier. “You… aren’t upset, right? As long as you aren’t upset, then I think it’s okay.” 

But that isn’t fair. Ritsu is afraid of him; they’re moving forward, but childhood-long traumas aren’t so easily resolved. “Ritsu—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ritsu says. He feels tense, shoulders tight, but he holds Shigeo and doesn’t let go. “After everything you told me, how could I—I—I can’t leave you when you need me, Nii-san.”

100%

Relief and gratitude choke the words out of Shigeo’s lungs. He sobs into Ritsu’s shoulder until he can’t cry anymore.

The barrier protected Shigeo’s bedroom from psychic anti-gravity, but the burst wasn’t violent. When it’s over, they’re intact, and Ritsu drops the barrier but doesn’t let go of his brother, and Shigeo feels his tears in the collar of his hoodie. They sit together that way until they run out of tears.

Shigeo’s futon is small, but if they can both fit just fine if they lie close enough. Facing each other, eyes adjusted, Shigeo can just make out Ritsu’s face in the darkness and his brother has a similar kind of worn-out look to him. Shigeo’s head hurts and his eyes are sticky, but the weight in his heart has relaxed into something salvageable, and he feels a little like himself again. They’ve both been awake for too long, but even after Shigeo calmed down neither of them have been able to sleep. He likes being close to his brother like this. The last time they did this was back when they were kids, before… 

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Ritsu says.

Shigeo nods. “I was thinking the same thing”

Ritsu snorts, his smile soft. “Yeah… guess we’re brothers after all.” It wrestles a smile out of Shigeo, too. Ritsu’s always had a way of doing that. After a moment, Ritsu sombers up, biting his lip. “I’m glad you told me,” Ritsu says. “I’m sorry if I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I know it’s a lot.”

“More for you. Have you talked to anyone else about this?” 

“You’re the first,” Shigeo says. “I… I want to tell Reigen, too, and maybe Teru… Mom and Dad should know, but with them I don’t even know where to start explaining.”

Ritsu nods. “They already know something’s wrong. If you want, I can help you come up with something they could understand.”

Shigeo thinks about it. “I’ll— I’ll let you know. Thank you, Ritsu.” 

Ritsu hums. 

Mom and Dad would both freak out the instant ‘bullied’ was brought up, but without an active threat there's nothing they can do, and he doesn’t know if he could ever help them understand how outside of their world it is. They won’t get it, and that’s okay with him, but it would never be okay with them.

He doesn’t want them to blame Reigen for it, either, because that’s the only practical thing they could push all their anger and worry towards.

He still has to tell Reigen.

“You said some stuff the other night, Nii-san.”

Shigeo inhales, exhales. “What stuff?” 

Ritsu taps his finger against the futon. Sheepish is not a word that describes his brother, yet it describes him now. “About how happy you are that I’m your brother.” 

“Oh.” Shigeo nods. He doesn’t have to think about it. “I am.” 

“And how cool I am.” 

“You are.”

Ritsu exhales through his nose. He never believes Shigeo when he says it, but that’s fine—Shigeo doesn’t mind repeating it as many times as it takes.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said for a while,” Ritsu goes on, “and—” He pauses just a moment, long enough for Shigeo to breathe and count to four. “You know I feel the same way, right? About you?”

Shigeo opens his mouth, but Ritsu plunges on before he can say anything. 

“You’re always going on about how smart I am,” Ritsu continues, “and how brave you think I am, and how much you want to be like me, but I look up to you too, Nii-san, more than I say. And I know you’ve said that you envy me, sometimes, in the past, and—I don’t know. There's a lot I envy about you too.

Shigeo’s throat is tight again. “I— why?” 

Ritsu glances up at the ceiling. “You’re generally nicer than me,” Ritsu says. “More patient than me, too. And kind.”

“But I think you’re all of those things just fine, Ritsu.”

“Kind of,” Ritsu says. He looks sheepish again—uncertain, maybe even ashamed. “I force a lot of it.”

“I think that still counts,” Shigeo says. “Maybe it counts more, if you’re actively choosing to put effort toward it.”

“But I do admire that it comes naturally to you,” Ritsu says. “I wish it came naturally to me.”

Shigeo doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay if you don’t know how to react,” Ritsu says quietly. “I just wanted you to know. I’m happy that you’re my brother, Nii-san.”

If Shigeo hadn’t already used up all his tears, he would use all of them up now.

“And,” Ritsu grabs the hem of Shigeo’s sleeve, “if anyone hurts you like this again—”

“I’ll tell you,” Shigeo promises. Ritsu’s stunned blink makes him smile. “You’ll be the first to know, Ritsu.”

The crease between Ritsu’s brows relaxes, and he sinks back with a calm smile. “Okay.”

The silence that next falls between them is warm.

“... Do you wanna go make hot cocoa?” Ritsu asks.

“Shh, you’ll wake them!”

A blanket is drawn over Shigeo’s shoulders. He’s too exhausted and too comfortable to move and the blanket isn’t making things easier. Mom’s half-whispered voice is familiar. He presses closer to Ritsu and settles. The hot cocoa was a good idea, but it also meant they’d settled on the couch, and they must’ve fallen asleep on the couch after that.

“They have school soon, don’t they?” Dad’s voice. 

“Not if Shige’s sick they don’t. And you know how Ritsu is, I won’t have him pushing himself and coming down ill himself. It’s that time of year, you know?”

They sound far away enough. Shigeo cracks an eye open; Mom and Dad are talking in the kitchen, facing away. He tilts his gaze up at Ritsu and Ritsu glances back down at him, also through one eye. He smiles and Shigeo smiles back.

“Well, I’m sure it won’t hurt for them to take today off…”

Shigeo snuggles into his brother’s warmth and Ritsu curls in close. 

Shigeo’s poor grades realistically can’t afford the day off, but Mom won’t let him go to school sick and Ritsu seems more than happy to play hooky with him, even if that technically isn’t what they’re doing. Mom orders rest for the both of them (“You push yourself too hard, Ritsu, this isn’t just for Shige!”) and makes Shigeo’s favorite meal for lunch, and Ritsu’s favorite for dinner.

Ritsu beats him at UNO, then Mom beats the whole family at Monopoly. It’s nice.

He made a promise to himself last night when he unraveled all of his bandages, tore off the band-aids and stuffed everything into the bathroom trash can. He started making good on that promise last night with Ritsu, and it felt good—but Mom and Dad are worried, and he pulls his hoodie sleeves down over his hands. The scar on his neck and on his forehead aren’t noticeable enough on their own, but they have to know, and he’d prefer to tell them before they asked.

“Mom?”

She’s washing dishes when he approaches her. The tap is cut and she wipes her hands. “Hey, Shige,” she says over her shoulder, “what’s up? How are you feeling?”

He’s sick to his stomach, but not for the reason she thinks. “Um, I’m—... can I talk to you and Dad about something?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” She must have been expecting this at least a little, because she doesn’t seem surprised and doesn’t press for more. If this caught her off-guard she would have more questions for him. “Is the living room okay?”

He nods. She settles a hand on his shoulder the way there. Dad and Ritsu sit on opposite ends of the couch when they get there. Ritsu takes one look at Shigeo and Shigeo’s expression must be telling enough, because he gets to his feet, waits for Shigeo to nod and then makes an excuse about leaving his phone charger in the other room. He leaves down the hall and doesn’t come back.

Shigeo tells Dad the same thing he told Mom, and then all three of them are on the couch. 

“Um,” Shigeo says, relieved he can’t see their faces, “so, I—I haven’t been feeling well the past couple of days because something went wrong with my psychic powers. I-I didn’t hurt anyone,” because that’s what they would think, and he can’t blame them for going there, “but someone—s-someone hurt me, and, it’s…”

He trails off, trying to think. There's only so many ways he can simplify this.

“Or, it didn’t happen to me,” Shigeo says. “I was helping someone who was possessed by an evil spirit and the evil spirit figured out how to do things to my spirit.” He’s not explaining it well, but he doesn’t know where to start with his parents and spirits on a normal day. “S-So I have all of these memories of things that didn’t really happen but happened to my spirit, and—” He pulls his sleeves off his hands, careful not to go past his wrist, “—and some of the things the spirit did to me are showing up here, and I don’t know why, and, there's nothing you can do about it and there's no one left to, to pin the blame on, but—but, I… I st, still wanted you to know.”

That was a—that was a disaster.

“I’m sorry,” Shigeo whimpers, “I, I don’t know how to explain it, but, but I’m okay, and the evil spirit isn’t hurting me anymore, it’s, just—” 

Dad’s big arms wrap around him. A hand cups the back of his head, pressing him closer. 

“Is there anything to be done?” Mom says. She’s angry, like Ritsu, but with thinly honed restraint. Her hand against his back is steady. “Can’t we call the police? You said it was an evil spirit, but that means it used to be a person, doesn’t it? There has to be something that can be done.”

“H-He’s already gone,” Shigeo says. Even if he wasn’t, Mogami can’t be restrained in a way that would last. “He, He isn’t going to hurt me again, but—” 

But it wasn’t just Mogami, was it? Mogami might’ve put him there, but it wasn’t Mogami who bullied him, or carved words into his skin with box cutters, or slammed a blade into his chest—

It still hurts. But that’s a part of the story he doesn’t know if his parents can reconcile, so… maybe he’ll tell them someday, but for now he keeps it to himself. Asagiri wants to change. Her friends, classmates and everyone else around her can change, too. Maybe she’ll show them the way, like he did for her. He doesn’t want to drag their names through the mud. Even if a part of him does want to drag their names through the mud and make them pay.

Dad’s arms are strong but careful, and Mom’s presence is warm. “Thank you for telling us, Shige,” Dad says. “This—This is pretty beyond us, but we wanna help if we can.” 

“Of course,” Mom doubles down. Her hand slips up into his hair. “Is there anything we can do right now, Shige?”

Shigeo shakes his head. “T-This is good. Thank you.”

Mom’s arms come around him and Dad squeezes her into his embrace. When Ritsu finally returns from ‘getting his phone charger’, Dad yanks him into it, too.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Ritsu asks him, not for the first time. Shigeo’s slipping his shoes on by the door, and Ritsu’s catching up on homework with his legs propped on the arm of the couch. “I wouldn’t mind taking a break.”

“That’s okay,” Shigeo says, standing once his shoes are tied. “Thank you, Ritsu. It’s just to the store and back, I’ll be fine.”

“We don’t mind driving you, either, Shige,” Mom reminds him. He can’t see her, since she’s in the kitchen, but her voice rings clear and he can imagine the pinch of concern on her face. “Are you sure a walk is what you need right now?”

“I’m sure,” Shigeo says. His assurances might be a little unconvincing right now, but sincere. He appreciates their concern. Ached for it. “I think a nice walk and some fresh air will be good for me. I’ll call you if I decide I want to be picked up.”

It convinces her and convinces Ritsu, so he grabs his phone, waves goodbye to his family and sets off into their neighborhood. 

It isn’t a long walk to the marketplace. Ritsu asked for pockey, so he heads through the automatic doors and finds the snack aisle. Ritsu didn’t mention liking a particular flavor, but green tea is always a safe choice. He chooses a box and flips it over in his hands.

“Kageyama?” It’s Tome, grappling with an armload of junk food. She looks surprised, and kind of relieved, too. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Oh, Tome,” Shigeo greets once his brain has caught up. He’s feeling better, but his thoughts and how they relate to action is a little sticky. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d shake it up a little.” She hikes her snacks closer when one of them slips. Looking for telepaths in the same old spot every day gets boring. What are you doing here? I thought you were sick.”

“I am, sort of…” He for sure can’t explain it to her. “I’m not contagious, but my mom wanted me and Ritsu to stay home from school. I decided to take a walk and get some air.”

“Well, you didn’t miss anything special at school in case you were wondering. Algebra sucks, but you already know that. Are you feeling better from the other day, though? You were acting super off.”

Shigeo nods. “I am feeling better. I’m… sorry, about that day.” 

She blows him off. “Nah, something was definitely wrong with you,” she says. “Like, in a really obvious way. You’re never that short with people, I’d be a jerk and kind of an idiot if I took it personally.”

Shigeo hums, non-committal. The guilt stays, but mitigated. “Something went wrong on a job,” he says. “Coming back from it hasn’t been easy.”

“Is that what all the scars are from?”

Shigeo nods. “There's no good way to explain. But it’s over now, though.”

Tome nods. She doesn’t push for an explanation like she normally would, and he’s thankful. “Damn. I think I get it enough, you and your psychic mumbo-jumbo or whatever the heck. Who the hell would hurt you, though? You’re the least threatening person on this planet.”

Shigeo seriously doubts that.

“Are any of them still around?” Tome says. She jabs a thumb at herself. “I know someone who could beat the crap out of them.”

“It’s okay,” Shigeo says. “But thank you. You’re a good friend, Tome.”

She sputters tremendously. It reminds him a little of Reigen.

“H-Hey, you said you came out for a walk, didn’t you?” Tome says, changing the subject. “Do you wanna head into town and look for telepaths with me? I was gonna go alone, but the more eyes the better!”

He didn’t realize how much he missed her. “That would be fun.”

He texts Ritsu to let him know he’ll be back later than anticipated, and he and Tome break into the pokey while they walk. He’ll grab another box for Ritsu on the way home. She rabbles on about this-and-that, complains about what some guy said about her ‘hopeless telepathic endeavor’, conspires how she’s going to prove to the world that aliens exist. Her energy is overstimulating after such a quiet weekend, but he’s glad he came along with her.

“Is that guy a telepath?” She points to someone on the sidewalk across from them, walking a tiny white dog.

“I don’t think so. The dog might be, though.”

“What, really!?”

“Probably not.”

She groans and pushes him. It’s a friendly push, not like the ways he was shoved around in Mogami’s world. 

“Okay, smarty,” she says, “what about that one?”

“No, I don’t think so. I would tell you if I actually saw a telepath, though, Tome.”

She wriggles her hand at him. “You’re as dense as a brick, I’m gonna keep pointing people out. Whoa, that guy’s dog looks like a cat. … Is it a cat? If that’s a cat then it’s a weird looking cat. Telepath?”

“No, but if it was, it would probably be sad that a random stranger insulted it.”

“Okay, okay, no more making fun of weird looking cats. … Holy crap, I think it’s actually a dog.”

“That would explain why it made for such a strange looking cat.”

Gradually, the surrounding neighborhood moves into marketplaces and long walkways and plazas. It isn’t bustling, but there's more people than he would expect. The weather is fair, Tome’s voice is constant and known. The plaza fountain bubbles and kids flick pennies into the water while making wishes. It’s--

He makes eye contact with a gangly teenager with brown-to-orange hair and an off-green highschool blazer. Shigeo doesn’t recognize the school, but he recognizes the student. His friend matches his gaze, finds Shigeo’s eyes for half a second before tearing away, gripping his pal by the arm and speeding along. The first guy’s eye contact lingers. Then they dip out of sight.

Shigeo feels hollow. The last time he saw those two-- actually saw those two--was when Dimple and Ritsu and the Body Improvement Club stood up to them when they caught him on his way home from school. The most recent time he saw those two was in Mogami’s dream world, and they’d beat him until he couldn’t move and they laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Whoa, that guy looks like Rick Astley. That’s surreal. —Hey, Kageyama, did you hear me? You’re looking spacey.”

85%

“That guy,” Shigeo says, feeling inescapably small, “he—he tried to steal money from me once while I was walking home from school, and—”

“What?” He should’ve known she’d take that personally. “Which one? Where? I’ll give him what for.”

“I-It’s fine, he… he won’t try it again,” Shigeo says. But would he? Asagiri was told off again and again and aga— no, no, it’s different. This is different. And Asagiri, too, she’s different. Or at least she wants to be. “It’s—”

Splitting pain breaks open over his forearm. Dread unspools in his gut like spiders. 

“I don’t care if he’s a repeat offender, someone’s gotta teach him a lesson.” 

Shigeo shoves his sleeve up to his elbow, turning away from her. ‘FREAK’ is carved jaggedly across his forearm, the color and shape of worms. The city skyline tips sideways and his stomach crawls.

He has to get out of here.

88%

He has to get out of here now. 

“You good?” Tome grabs his shoulder. He jerks out of it. “Hey.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shigeo gasps, alarmingly out of breath. “I—I have to go.”

“Go? Go where?” She grabs his shoulder again and this time she doesn’t let go. “You’re back to acting weird, what’s wrong this time?”

92%

“Let me go,” Shigeo pleads, his aura hot between his fingertips. “Please, I—I’ll explain, sometime, but, I can’t—please let me go, Tome, please.”

93%

With a twisted-up look of denial and confliction, Tome lets him go.

Shigeo bolts. His feet pound asphalt, lungs buckling under the strain. Spots dance in his eyes before he’s up to speed. The spots turn into stars. 

94%

Tome hadn’t done anything wrong. No one had done anything wrong. But it made him think of— and he still thinks ‘of’, the plastic knives and the quarter-moon smiles. Eyes full of glee. Lacking humanity.

95%

His breaths hurt to take in, urchins in his throat. He couldn’t scrub the blood out of the hem of his sleeve, but it was the only uniform he had that was still intact and so that was the uniform he continued to wear. Continued to wear. Blood in the sleeve, new blood in his hair.

Pavement below him. Then gravel. Then dirt. His knees burn. He’s out of the plaza, farther and farther away from the neighborhood, from home, tearing forward through an empty space he doesn’t recognize. He feels no life. He’s alone. It’s a good thing. It’s the worst thing. 

100%

Shigeo screams into the wind until his voice is gone.

He comes back to himself in golden fields of knee-high hare barley. The sunset turned the sky orange and made the clouds blue. He forces himself to sit up. His head hurts. His knees hurt. He must’ve fallen because there's a tear in the ankle of his jeans that wasn’t there before, and scuffs on his hoodie where threads were uprooted. His nerves are on fire and the world buzzes around him, the sounds of the city abruptly far away.

He has no idea where he is.

Trembling, he gets ahold of his phone. A massive crack splits the middle of the screen, but it turns on. He’s missed two calls from Tome and has a new voicemail. A text warns him that if she doesn’t hear from him soon she’ll get Ritsu involved. 

He calls the first person he can think of.

“Mob! Pretty out of character for you to call me first, what’s up?”

“Reigen,” Shigeo gasps. His voice feels wrong. “I—I don’t know where I am.”

“Oh—what? What does that mean?” 

“I—” His throat closes up. He swallows hard and makes himself go on. “I started running, but, then I got lost, and—” He doesn’t remember what happened. “Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, uh—yeah, I can do that but you’re gonna have to give me more to go off of.” There's movement behind Reigen’s voice. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I ran,” Shigeo says. “I—I don’t think I’m hurt.”

“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

“I’m sure.” 

“Okay. Which way did you go? Was it into the city or away from the city?”

“Away from, I—I think.”

“Got any landmarks for me?”

“It’s a barley field.”

“Got any more specific landmarks for me?”

Shigeo looks around. “Um—it’s on the side of town near the courthouse, I—I think.” 

He thinks he hears a car. Maybe several cars. “Wait, can’t you text me a location pin? That’s a thing, isn’t it?”

Oh. “I can try.” He pulls back long enough to send one, barley making his hands tingle as the wind pushes them around. The text goes through.

“Got it,” Reigen says. “... What the hell are you doing out th—? Okay, uh. We’ll talk about this, later, just stay put.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just, don’t hang up.” 

He doesn’t have anything else to say, but not hanging up is something he can do. He says so and stays on the line.

Shigeo has only ever seen Reigen run away from something, not toward it. He’s running toward him now. Shigeo lifts his head, ends the phone call and rises on wobbling legs. 

“Mob!” Reigen gasps. He catches up, out of breath, but before Shigeo can think or speak Reigen’s hands clamp down on his shoulders. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here?” Reigen says. He doesn’t sound mad, exactly—inconvenienced, worried, threading into something intense in the base of his voice. “What the hell? Are you hurt?”

“N-No,” Shigeo says, “I, I’m not—I’m not hurt.”

“Is someone looking for you? Is that why you ran?”

He shakes his head. “I-I just—I had to—” No reason is good enough. He couldn’t control himself, got freaked out and ran until he lost his way. Reigen’s gaze spearheads his own and Shigeo can’t tear his eyes away. “I’m sorry,” he says.

All at once, Reigen’s grip softens. So does his face. He lets Shigeo go and stands back.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“I-I don’t know how to get back.”

“I do. Come on.”

“How do you even go missing on yourself like that?” Reigen’s saying as they walk. He’s just talking to fill the silence, but Shigeo still feels a pressure on himself to answer.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just ran.”

“Well, don’t do it again. Or tell somebody before you do.” 

“... Okay.”

He thought that maybe Reigen would be upset with him, but that wasn’t it. Stressed, yes, and concerned, because who wouldn’t be after a call like Shigeo’s, but not upset. They’re walking, and Shigeo’s not sure exactly where they’re going. He falls in step beside Reigen, teetering. The ground feels like it’s moving. 

“... Mob,” Reigen says, “is… everything okay? At home?” 

Shigeo frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, what are your parents like? Do you get along with them?”

It’s sort of out of nowhere, but Reigen doesn’t ask empty questions. “They’re a lot different than me,” Shigeo says, “but they’re really patient and understanding, even though I’m difficult. They do what they can.”

Reigen nods. Shigeo doesn’t think he said anything wrong, but Reigen doesn’t seem reassured. He rubs the back of his neck and Shigeo waits for him to respond.

“Are you and Ritsu safe?” Reigen finally says. “You aren’t being hurt, are you?”

Oh. 

Oh, no—

“W-Wait,” Shigeo says, stopping. Reigen stops half a step in front of him and turns back. He didn’t tell Reigen about Mogami and now Reigen thinks— no. “My parents would never hurt me or Ritsu,” Shigeo says. He’s probably not very convincing, but he doesn’t know how else to react. He feels sick. “Th-They’re really good people, they’ve always been, and, they love us, they’d never—they wouldn’t.” 

Reigen’s expression is complicated. “Are you sure?”

“I promise,” Shigeo urges. “Th-These injuries are—they’re from someone else, I… they didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Okay.” Reigen’s shoulders slump with a massive sigh. “Sorry, Mob, I wasn’t trying to insult your family. I believe you. But someone is hurting you, aren’t they?” 

It’s a trick question, but Reigen gives him space to answer. He was planning to tell Reigen about Mogami’s mirror-reality anyway, but not like this. “Yeah,” Shigeo says softly, “they… they stopped now, but for a while…” 

He looks away to avoid Reigen’s face. There's a familiar sign pointing down a one-way alley, smattered with an assortment of pop-art stickers. 

He knows that sign. He’s never walked this road in his body before but he knows that sign.

Mogami’s hellscape was a contorted mirror of this world, twisted and warped into something grotesque, but a mirror even still. Whatever existed in that world has to exist, in some part, in this world. 

This road—with the stickers on the street sign, and the skewed drainpipe, and the brick that juts out when it shouldn’t. If this world really is like Mogami’s, then, that would mean… this street is the same, too, isn’t it? This street—

Shigeo turns and runs down the alleyway. 

“What th—hey, Mob, wait! Where are you going? Mob!” 

Shigeo doesn’t listen, heart pounding from his ribs into his ears and his temples, turning corner after corner. He hears Reigen’s footsteps behind him for a while, but soon tunes them out until all he can hear is his heart roaring in his ears. He turns one corner, runs down an alley, turns another corner, and his chest hurts and his lungs kind of feel like they’re disintegrating but it’s probably fine, and— 

There’s the cat, sitting in a patch of sunlight, white fur and blue eyes.

“Mob!” Reigen catches up. “Damn it, don’t take off like that again! Where did you—… Mob?”

Shigeo’s knees hit the asphalt.

The cat—Shigeo never gave her a name in the six months he spent in that nightmare—but the cat, she’s… alive, and she nuzzles his hand when he offers it, and then she purrs and he knows better, because she’s a stray, but he hugs her, feels her tiny heart pound against his ribs and—

“Mob—”

“She’s alive,” Shigeo gasps. Reigen sounds confused and a little worried, and Shigeo does feel bad for running off, but the volume of his relief is so suffocating that he can’t apologize yet. “She’s alive, she—she’s okay.”

The cat’s confused, too, bumping her head under his chin. He sobs. 

“Of course,” Reigen says. Still confused; more worried. “Cats are pretty hearty. Nine lives and all.”

“N-No, I know, it’s, just, I was really attached to it—in, in Mogami’s world, and Asagiri knew that, so, she followed me around the city one day and killed it.”

“What?”

Shigeo can’t say it twice. “And then she stabbed me with a box cutter. But that was a little in self defense, I—I think.”

He can’t remember if that happened before or after he threatened them. The brick was more clearly self defense. Probably. Maybe not so clear.

“How long did Mogami keep you trapped in that place?”

Reigen’s voice is a color Shigeo isn’t familiar with. It sounds an awful lot like he’s being strangled, but Shigeo knows what that actually sounds like thanks to Mogami and it’s not quite the same.

“To me it was six months,” Shigeo says hoarsely. 

The cat presses its face into the side of Shigeo’s neck with a loud purr. He squeezes her, tries not to cry again. Reigen hasn’t said anything. Shigeo doesn’t know whether he wants Reigen to say anything or not. The cat keeps purring. Shigeo keeps breathing. 

Footsteps draw closer to him and then he feels a hand settled carefully between his shoulders. 

“... Do you wanna take her back to the office?” Reigen murmurs. “We can dig around and find a good shelter.”

Shigeo nods.

It's easier to say a third time. Or maybe Reigen is easier to talk to. 

The cat helps, relaxed and purring while Shigeo strokes her fur and tries to wrap his head around the words. Reigen sits across from him and the sun sets through the window, orange light and shadoes filling the office. Reigen says nothing while Shigeo starts from the beginning and works his way through. Listens. Shigeo doesn’t know if he’d be able to start again if Reigen stopped him.

When it's over, Shigeo squeezes the cat and stares pointedly at his and Reigen's shoes.

“... You went through all that?” Reigen breathes when the silence has overstayed. Shigeo doesn’t look at him—he doesn’t want to see the kind of expression associated with that kind of voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think I should,” Shigeo says quietly. “It—I thought if I could just believe it wasn’t real, then I wouldn’t have to. But—” The scars stand out on his hands, and those aren’t even the worst of them. ‘Freak’ rings in his ears. Reigen is waiting for him to elaborate but he doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Shigeo whispers.

“Mob—” 

“I’m sorry.” He could place the shame and the guilt after telling Ritsu, but he doesn’t know what kind of emotion swells in him now. His shoulders curl forward. He clutches the cat against his stomach and bites the inside of his cheek when a sob crawls into the back of his throat. “I’m sorry.” 

He hears Reigen’s chair scoot backwards. Footsteps.

Then Reigen hugs him.

It’s clumsy. It’s too tight. It makes him wonder if Reigen’s ever hugged someone before, and then he feels bad for wondering.

“Mob.” Reigen sounds angry. He sounds sad. “This is not your fault.” 

Shigeo can’t breathe.

It catches up with him. 

He doesn’t have any tears left, nor does he have the energy to cry, but the sharp ache in his chest remains and he gasps into Reigen’s shoulder, gripping the back of his suit. He’s so tired and his head is too heavy, but he’s said it, and— and it isn’t his fault. And Reigen knows. He doesn’t have to hide the scars anymore, he doesn’t have to pretend that things are okay when they aren’t, he doesn’t have to lie that he’s sick or that he slept poorly or that he’ll be better tomorrow.

He lets Reigen hug him.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” Reigen asks.

Shigeo nods into Reigen’s shoulder. He’s not ready to let go and he’s glad that Reigen doesn’t make him. “I-I told Ritsu. And my parents. But I wanted you to know too.”

Reigen goes quiet again. The arms around Shigeo’s shoulders tighten.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice,” Reigen says. “I never should’ve taken you on that damn job. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I-It’s okay. I, I’m glad I was there, Asagiri would’ve—” 

Reigen steps back, but only to grip Shigeo’s shoulders. Shigeo sucks in a breath. Reigen… he doesn’t know what expression this is. It’s torn up, angry around the edges. Serious. Guilty. 

“Mob,” Reigen says, “you’re allowed to be selfish.”

“What?”

“Check that, this isn’t selfish—you’re allowed to acknowledge something was awful without trying to put a bandaid on it, alright? You have to acknowledge it. It’s okay to prioritize yourself sometimes. You should, actually.”

Shigeo thinks of the bandages. He thinks of when Reigen knocked that mug off his desk, and Shigeo couldn’t catch it, and the memory of shattered glass revealed itself in a scar on the side of his neck. Reigen had given him a bandaid then. That probably isn’t what Reigen is referring to, but Shigeo thinks of it. 

“It’s okay to wish you hadn’t been there,” Reigen says. “I… damn it. I don’t know what you’re feeling, but you’ve got a habit of thinking about everyone else before yourself. That’s why it took you so long to tell anybody, isn’t it?”

The cat presses her head into Shigeo’s stomach. Shigeo’s arms are too heavy to pet her, but he can feel her purring.

He nods, stiff, his chest wound in knots. Reigen squeezes his shoulders.

“But you did tell people. That’s the first step, alright? Might be the most important step. It’s gonna be okay, Mob.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Shigeo echoes. He doesn’t have the air to say it with conviction, but he means it with his whole heart.

He looks up as Reigen stands, just in time to see a smile. “Yeah.”

Shigeo goes to school the next day. Reconnects with the Body Improvement Club, the disbanded Telepathy club, Mizato. He assures Tome for the -nth time that he's alright, or at least getting there. She makes him promise to tell her if that changes and he means to keep that promise.

His teachers go easy on him, calling on other students and leaving him alone. His English teacher pulls him aside after class to ask how he's doing, that he heard he was sick. He says he's glad to see Shigeo back in class and it sounds genuine.

Reigen told him he could take today off, but the normalcy is good, so he heads to Spirits and Such after school.

The cat, very much not at a shelter, is waltzing across Reigen’s desk. 

“Ah, there you are, Mob!” Reigen says, chipper. He’s steeping tea. 

“Why is the cat still here?” Shigeo says. 

“Well, you see—ack, don’t do that!” The cat dives off the desk to hide underneath it, and Reigen dives after her. “Again with the… you’re gonna have to stop scratching the carpet— anyway, anyway, Mob, it’s actually genius when you think about it.” It doesn’t look genius, crouched hands-and-knees on the carpet under the desk scrounging for a wiry cat. 

“How so?” Shigeo asks.

“Haven’t you heard? Cats can see spirits. She’s gonna be a little evil-spirit radar, keep things in check at the office while we’re out.”

“We’re exploiting cats now?”

Reigen hits his head on the underside of the desk. He smooths over it after an unflattering noise, placing the scruffed cat down on the desk. “It’s not exploiting! See, she’s already starting to make herself at home here!” The cat jumps off the desk. She trots over to investigate Shigeo’s shoelaces, nuzzling into his hand when he lifts her into his arms. 

“It’s just until I find a good shelter,” Reigen says. “Animal abuse allegations, lackluster environmental enrichment, etcetera. There's too many cheap-shot shelters around here.”

Shigeo decides not to comment on the office. “Is it really okay that she stays here?”

“I don’t see why not. Why? Something up?”

“Not really. I just thought it was strange, since you don’t like cats.”

“I don’t crawl under the desk for just anyone, Mob. I’m simply of the opinion that dogs are superior.”

Shigeo thinks privately that Reigen wouldn’t let a cat in the office for just anyone, either. “If you say so.”

“Hey,” and now he’s changing the subject, which means he was caught red-handed, “what happened to that scar on your neck?”

“What?” Shigeo reaches up to touch. His skin feels smooth. “Oh. I don’t know.”

“You definitely had a scar there, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

Reigen squints, but he can’t find anything and neither can Shigeo. He turns back to his tea, surely oversteeped. “Maybe it faded a little.”

“Maybe.”

Faded.

Shigeo shakes his sleeve over his wrist and looks down. The cat tries to bite his fingers, but he’s too distracted to pull his hand out of the line of fire. The scars along his fingers and on his wrist and the back of his hand are there, but Reigen picked a good word for it. Faded.

He met up with Tome during lunch yesterday to talk and to apologize. She hadn’t mentioned the scars, just said that she understood he was going through a lot and assured him she took none of it personally. 

The Body Improvement Club stressed the importance of bodily maintenance, especially when experiencing hardship—food and water, going for a walk if you can muster it. 

Ritsu stands closer to Shigeo when they’re home. He leaves his bedroom door cracked. 

Mom and Dad have never been overtly touchy with him, but they hugged him individually before he set out this morning. 

He has plans with Teruki this evening. Boba and a movie.

Reigen always treats him to ramen after a job.

“Tea or no tea, Mob?” Reigen offers.

Shigeo drops his hand and steps up. “I’ll have some tea.”

He plops the cat onto Reigen’s desk and grabs himself a mug.