Weever Fish Waltz

by Captor

Summary:

“But you know the school! And you were one of our brightest students!” The principal says, and Reigen hears a hint of frustration in that old, creaking voice. “It has to be you. Please! You’re the only one that can fit in our budget!”

There it is. The real truth. His rates are cheap, even in spite of the travel expenses he will definitely be charging. He takes a breath in, and hates himself for wanting to help.

Notes:

This fic is for Kai.

Flashbacks are not necessarily in chronological order.

Read them tags bitches. Part 14 contains explicit underage noncon.

I

Don’t make me tell your father. The words echo in Reigen’s head as he sits at his desk, packing up slowly. Sliding his notebook into his bag first. Then his pencil. A spare eraser. He glances around at the other students. Pretends to fidget with something in his bag. Pulls his notebook out, and puts his textbook in instead. Then his notebook again, as if it needed to be rearranged to fit.

It’s warm in the class, the heat damp and suffocating with the coming summer storms. It sinks into his skin, swampy and thick.

He doesn’t need tutoring. He could have figured it out on his own. Math is his worst subject, but he didn’t think he was doing that badly in it.

“Don’t make me tell your father,” his mom said.

His hands clench against the smooth wooden desk. His nails are short, clean. His palms are sweaty.

She was stiff, unhappy when Sensei laid out Reigen’s grades.

“Commendable. A perfect student in every other subject. He just needs a little extra help in this one,” came his voice, tinny over the phone.

She turned to Reigen, a glare carving out her soft eyes. “I’ll see about getting him a tutor, then.” Reigen saw what Sensei couldn’t hear. The irritation and worry. They couldn’t afford a tutor or cram school. His dad would be even more unhappy at the news.

“Actually, I thought I would offer my services. I would be happy to provide extra lessons a couple days a week, after school.”

Sensei had simultaneously doomed him and saved him. At least Reigen had a chance to improve his grades before his dad found out. He would have preferred if he didn’t tell his mom at all, but, he supposes teachers have their duties, too.

There are a couple of girls chatting by the door. He turns in his seat, stands. Pulls the straps of his school bag over his shoulders one at a time. He’s sweating a little under his clothes. The girls finally leave, and it’s just Reigen and Sensei, waiting at the front of the room.

“Well, Ara-chan?” Sensei says, a warm smile on his face. Warmer than the summer heat, warmer than the humidity crawling under his skin. He pulls a plastic chair around next to a desk, its feet scraping across the tile with a shrill shriek. “Shall we?”

Moving down the aisle, Reigen takes the desk, mirroring Sensei’s kind smile. It won’t be so bad. Sensei is a good teacher, and at least it means less time at home for a few days a week.

 

II

“Reigen-san, please,” the man says in Reigen’s ear, desperate. Reigen wants to pull the phone away, but he presses it tighter, as if to trap the sound against the side of his head. Mob is watching him from his little desk. Dimple, uninterested, rests on top of his head, a finger buried in his incorporeal nose.

He hopes the soft classical music over the radio drowns out the other side of the conversation.

“I’m not sure I can take this one. It’s a little outside our jurisdiction, if you will.” It’s never stopped him before. Not if the money is right. He would just rather jump into an active volcano than take this particular case. “I know the names of a few nearby exorcists. I think they should be able to help you.”

“Please. We need the help badly. I’ve already had one parent complain that her son was talking about ghosts and seeing things. I can’t have more parents hearing about this, or worse, the school board!” He says the last as if the school board themselves might be lurking nearby, ready to punish the principal for allowing students to spout nonsense about spirits.

Mob tilts his head, and Reigen turns around, facing the window, hiding whatever expression he might be making. The blinds are up, and he has a clear view of the gray office building across the street. He puts a hand in his pocket, to stop from fidgeting, and settles his weight on one leg, to stop the nervous energy from rocking him side to side. His heart slams against his ribs like a trapped animal.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but as I said, you’re a little too far for us to comfortably travel. I can still give you the name of a local exorcist, she’d be perfect for the job.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, for a moment. Outside, a steady trickle of people exit a building, talking to each other, splitting off into smaller groups. He watches them, sweat beading on the back of his neck.

“But you know the school! And you were one of our brightest students!” The principal says, and Reigen hears a hint of frustration in that old, creaking voice. “It has to be you. Please! You’re the only one that can fit in our budget!”

There it is. The real truth. His rates are cheap, even in spite of the travel expenses he will definitely be charging. He takes a breath in, and hates himself for wanting to help.

For wanting to go back.

“Okay, alright. You sure know how to sweet-talk me. Tell me everything you can about what’s been going on at the school. But due to the distance, I’m afraid I’ll have to charge an extra fee.” He’s a master at hiding the dismay in his voice, twisting back around to lean over his desk, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, grabbing notebook and pen. Freezing, with his hand poised on the top line.

“Reigen-san?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m still here. Go on, tell me about the phenomenon the students have been experiencing.” He shifts the pen from his right to his left hand, something he hasn’t had to consciously do since the first few months of opening Spirits and Such, and takes notes.

 

III

He’d packed up in a hurry after their tutoring session. The rain hadn’t let up all day. Heavy, gray clouds that hung low in the sky and dropped a steady deluge over the city.

It was a long walk, and he couldn’t afford the bus—he would just have to hurry home, and hope he wouldn’t get too soaked. If his mom is home, she’ll be angry regardless, asking where his umbrella is, why he’s trying to make them look like bad parents to their neighbors. If she’s not, she’ll just find his soaked clothes in the laundry later. If his father is home, he might be even worse.

Sensei asked on his way out if he had an umbrella, and Reigen hadn’t thought twice about the lie he tossed over his shoulder. “I’ve got one, don’t worry! Bye, Sensei!”

He doesn’t have one. He’d left it this morning with a stray cat trying to find cover from the rain. Propping it up over the scraggly shrubs it was crouched under, but still getting soaked. It’s another thing for mom to be mad about, even if he lies and says he lost it. The truth will just make her angrier.

His bangs stick to his forehead, water dripping into his eyes. He’d run for the first few blocks, until his legs burned and he was forced to slow. The puddles splash up his legs and his shoes squelch with each step as he sets himself to a quick walk, wishing he hadn’t outgrown his yellow raincoat.

Dread for the coming lecture, the imminent punishment, curls in his stomach. He tries not to wonder what it’ll be—if his mom will send him to his room without dinner, if his dad will yell at him for upsetting his mom, if it will be something else altogether worse—and fails. He doesn’t regret leaving the umbrella, though. It’s long gone by the time he passes the ragged bush at the edge of the playground, but that’s okay. Maybe someone had found it and the cat and brought them both home.

An engine rumbles up beside him, and Reigen moves farther over, so the car can pass—but instead it slows with a quiet squeal of brakes. Reigen glances over at the whir of the window rolling down, and blinks in surprise at the familiar face of his Sensei.

“Ara-chan! You said you had an umbrella!” There’s amusement and exasperation in Sensei’s voice.

“I must have lost it,” Reigen says, slowing to a halt. The rain has long since seeped through his shirt—there’s little hope of making it home with any part of him still dry, so no real need to hurry, besides the fact that he’s starting to shiver.

“Well, hop in, I can at least drive you the rest of the way,” Sensei says, and the locks on the door click open.

“That’s okay!” Reigen waves a hand, already stepping away. “I don’t want to get your car wet. That’s rude! Besides, it’s not much farther.” A lie, but just a little one. He still has a ways to go, but he doesn’t want to ruin Sensei’s car.

“Nonsense.” Sensei smiles, turning to reach between the seats. He comes back with a blanket, and drapes it over the seat next to him. “Don’t tell anyone, but I keep this in my car in case I need a nap during lunch. Now you won’t have to worry.”

Reigen can’t stop the smile that blooms over his lips, charmed by the idea of his teacher napping in his car at lunch time, and having a blanket for just that. Before he knows it he’s reaching for the door handle, and dripping all over the blanket as he tries to get in without getting everything else wet.

“Ah, thank you, Sensei,” Reigen says, quietly, and even though he feels bad for inconveniencing his teacher and getting the blanket soaked, he’s glad Sensei stopped for him.

“It’s no trouble at all. Next time, just tell me ahead of time. I don’t mind saving my favorite student from the rain,” Sensei says, and Reigen feels a small, quiet warmth unfurling in his chest.

 

IV

The train rocks from side to side, bearing them past Seasoning City’s limits. It’s only a few hour’s ride by train, but he hasn’t been back in years. Not since he found his first job, as soul-sucking as it had been, and high-tailed it out of there as if the devil were on his heels. It was better than being there. Anything was better than being there.

Except, obviously not, because here they are, barrelling towards a place he never thought he’d return to.

The grass rushing past is new and bright, and the ground beneath the trees is flush with white budding flowers. Above, thin clouds streak across the pale sky like long fingers, grasping at the world. It reminds him of the long, solitary walk to school, avoiding snow melt and stepping on cracks.

They should turn around. As soon as they get to the station, they’ll hop on a train back to Seasoning City. Why is he doing this? He should have been more firm, shouldn’t have let the desperation sway him.

He shouldn’t want to see for himself.

“Shishou?” Mob says, soft and questioning.

Reigen tugs his gaze away from the passing scenery to look at Mob in the seat across from him. “Hm?”

Since his growth spurt at the beginning of high school, Mob’s hours at the body improvement club have truly paid off. He’s not as buff as those guys, but there’s a bulk to him that suits his new height, his blue hoodie clinging to his lightly muscled arms. He’s now well above Reigen’s eye line, but at least when they’re seated, the disparity isn’t as obvious. Only now, Mob’s black gaze is boring directly into Reigen as he says, “What was your school like?”

The question catches Reigen off guard, and he blinks for a moment, mouth open. “It’s like any other school, I guess. A little smaller than yours, since it’s not a very big city.” It’s the truth, but it feels entirely empty of meaning.

“Oh.” Mob nods, as if Reigen had just said something important. “Did you have a lot of friends?”

“Yeah, I had a few.” It’s not a total lie. There had been acquaintances. Kids who tolerated his loud, obnoxious presence during group projects and team sports. But, at the end of the day, he wasn’t the kind of person they invited to hang out with after school.

Usually his parents wanted him home immediately after school anyways, whether they were home or not. If he was home, he wasn’t getting up to mischief, according to his mother. And despite everything, he hadn’t been a very rebellious kid. Sometimes, he really regrets that.

If he’d had more of a spine, maybe—

“What was your favorite subject?”

“Where are all these questions coming from?” Reigen says, light and teasing. His stomach is churning.

Mob holds eye contact like a prize fighter looking for an opponent’s tell. “I was just curious. I realized I don’t know very much about you, even though we’ve known each other so long. And we’re going to your old middle school.”

That’s not true. Mob knows him probably better than anyone else. Maybe not about his family, or his school, or what he does outside of work, but Reigen likes it that way. He doesn’t want everyone to know just how pathetic and boring his life is. Mob knows what matters, and what matters is—

Well. That he’s a liar, sure, but that he’s on Mob’s side. That’s the most important thing. He will always be on Mob’s side.

“I guess so,” Reigen says, pushing his thoughts away. Leaning on the arm rest, his free hand drums his knee, a distraction. “Well, literature was interesting. It was probably my favorite.”

“I’m not very good at literature.” Mob tilts his head to the side slightly, as if thinking. “What about your least favorite subject?”

A cold shadow passes through him. “Math, of course.” The only class he’d ever needed tutoring for. Sometimes he wonders how he passed. He can’t seem to recall a single thing from those lessons. Nothing math-related, anyways.

Nodding sagely, Mob says, “I’m not very good at math, either.”

“I hear you.” Reigen laughs, but it sounds wooden to his own ears.

“What about teachers? Were there any teachers you liked?”

Reigen opens his mouth, and then closes it. He looks out the window again. The trees have been left behind as they crawl by a little town. There are a few kids riding bikes on a street running parallel to the tracks. Their feet pump at the pedals like heavy machinery, fighting to race the train as it bustles through.

“Shishou?”

“I don’t remember.”

He watches the kids, a strange numbness creeping up his spine, curling in the base of his skull. He’s such a liar.

“What are you talking about?” Dimple asks, floating over from the front of the carriage, looking bored out of his little spectral body.

Reigen shrugs, and watches the town going by. “Nothing. Just passing the time.”

Liar.

 

V

They’re allowed to wander as they please through the lush greenery and neatly groomed grounds of the local traditional garden and temple. Students in black school jackets gather in clumps by the little stream that winds through the garden like a snake, scaled with smooth brown and white rocks. It trickles into a pond with larger stepping stones crossing its widest part, and out in the middle is another group of students, threatening to push each other off the rocks and into the spring clear water.

Reigen sticks with the class at first, hanging on at the edges like a loose thread. They point things out to each other, excited by anything and everything, some chasing each other across the trimmed, verdant grass. He doesn’t get tapped on the shoulder for an impromptu game of tag. Doesn’t get taken by the hand and towed across the pond.

No one looks his way, and he itches for something. The day is so nice and he’s bursting with energy. 

On one of the rocks at the edge of the stream, a mantis perches, its little legs fiddling quietly. Reigen nudges the kid next to him, excited. “Look!” He’s not a fan of bugs, but there’s something thrilling about seeing a strange creature in the wild.

The kid looks over, following Reigen’s finger to the bug as it turns around slowly. “Ew,” he says, tugging on his friend’s arm. “Look at this bug, it looks weird.”

“It’s a praying mantis!” Reigen says, brain rushing for the information he learned during their ecology lessons. “This one’s a female. I read that when they mate, the female bites the male’s head off afterwards.”

“What?” the kid says, and his friend laughs. “Nu-uh, that sounds fake. Why are you always making up weird stories?”

“No way, it’s totally true! In fact, I saw it happen!” he says, loudly, waving pointedly at the mantis. He really did read it, but why don’t they believe him? He gets the second highest marks in class in everything except math, and even math he’s improving on with Sensei’s help. “I saw them at the park and she totally bit the other bug’s head off.”

“I bet you’re lying. You didn’t really see it at all, did you?” He turns away, and Reigen falters, struggling for some way to salvage this.

“If we found a male one, you would see!” He looks around, scanning the smooth rocks and the edge of the water.

“Shut up, no one cares.” The boy crosses his arms, pointedly not looking at Reigen.

His hands ball into fists at his side, heat rising. Reigen has the sudden, intense urge to shove the boy into the pond. He turns instead, glaring at the ground, bitter burning rejection rising acrid in his throat. It wouldn’t do anything but make everyone mad at him. Then they really would think he was a delinquent.

It’s partly the hair. Too light, too blonde. The principal pulled him aside at the beginning of the term and told him he looked like a hoodlum, and to stop dying his hair. He brushed it off—he doesn’t dye his hair, it’s natural—but it puts the stares his classmates sometimes give him into perspective.

He tries to be friendly, and outgoing; does his best to make conversation with them. It’s like it doesn’t matter. They’ll be nice to him for a moment, but everytime he reaches the top of the barrier between him and his classmates, something pushes him firmly back down. And yeah, sometimes he fibs a little, but it’s nothing bad! It’s just to make things more interesting and fun. Plus, he wasn’t even lying this time. Well, mostly.

Maybe he’s too loud. Too friendly. Maybe he should just stop talking. Though, his mom says if the day ever comes that he stops talking, she’ll know something is really wrong. He sighs, the anger draining out of him abruptly. He’ll figure it out eventually. There has to be something he’s doing wrong, something to make this easier.

For now though, he’ll just write it off as a loss. He peels off from the group. Away from the mantis and the stream and smooth stepping stones. There are other things to look at. He goes slow past the bushes of hydrangeas, eyeing the pale purple and pink cotton candy blooms. They’re neatly manicured and perfect, a gorgeous summer display, but the easy excitement of being on a class trip is gone.

He leaves them behind, too, heading towards where the sculpted trees hedge the garden. Stepping between their trunks, wandering into the thick of them. It’s cool, shaded, and quiet. He can’t even hear his classmates’ chatter as he steps over roots and trails his hand over the bark.

He comes out on the other side at the edge of a smaller pond. The trees have been trimmed here, allowing sunlight to cascade down into this little clearing. Glittering shapes float in the depths, and when he steps closer, he sees the fat, shining bodies of a couple of koi. They come right to the surface as Reigen’s shadow falls across them, mouths poking at the air.

“Aww, hey,” Reigen says, crouching down, staring past his reflection, into their dark eyes. “You guys are cute.” He sinks down until he’s sitting cross-legged, elbow on knee, cheek in palm. The koi stay in Reigen’s shadow, obviously waiting for food. “Sorry, I don’t have anything for you guys.”

“I’ve got that covered.”

Reigen startles, lifting his head. Sensei stands on the other side of the pond, a plastic cup in hand. He raises it in greeting.

“Hey, Sensei,” Reigen says, serving up a smile that feels like wet dough.

“They gave me a cup of fish food in case anyone was interested in feeding them. You’re the only one that’s found this place so far.” Sensei makes his way around the pond, the light gleaming on his dark brown hair. “You’ve got a keen eye, Ara-chan.”

“I just found it by accident,” Reigen says, but he feels a wash of pride at the compliment.

To his surprise, Sensei folds himself down next to Reigen, their knees touching. “Accidents are the arbiters of fate, you know.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that nothing really happens by accident.” His dark eyes meet Reigen’s, and Sensei smiles softly.

Sitting together like this, Sensei doesn’t look as old as Reigen thought. His square glasses make him seem as old as Reigen’s dad, but he must be a little younger. There are no creases by his eyes when he smiles, and the hand he offers Reigen the cup with is smooth and unspotted by age.

“Sensei, how old are you?”

“What? What kind of question is that?” Sensei says, a laugh in his voice.

Suddenly self-conscious, Reigen takes the cup and looks away. “No reason. I thought you were old, but you’re not really, I guess.” He’s being rude. Ugh, why can’t he get it together today?

“I’m only 29. I’m the youngest teacher at the school, you know.” Sensei sighs softly, his voice losing the quiet amusement. “I think they think I’m too inexperienced. I’ve been here for four years, but they still treat me like a newbie. I don’t mind the advice they give, but sometimes they act like I don’t know what I’m doing. They don’t really listen to me.”

The palmful of fish food Reigen shakes out is dry and flakey. “That doesn’t sound very fair. You’re a better teacher than most of them. They should be coming to you for advice, if anything.” He glances at Sensei, and is rewarded with a beaming smile.

“It means a lot, hearing you say that, Ara-chan.”

Heat boils in his cheeks, and he looks to the pond instead. Their reflections are dark, undefined shapes shimmering with the movements of the water. “Well, it’s true,” he mutters. “You’re better at explaining math than Rumiko-sensei.”

“Ooh, don’t let her hear you say that,” Sensei says, nudging him with an elbow. “She’s got killer aim with the chalk. One-hit KO.”

A laugh bubbles up Reigen’s throat. “Right? She’s so mean! I was late for class one day and she made me stand in the corner with a bucket of water.” It had made him so embarrassed at the time, standing in the corner of the class and watching the other students sneak peeks at him and sniggering during the lesson.

“Yeah, she’s old-fashioned like that.” Sensei opens a hand towards Reigen, and Reigen tips the cup into his palm. Curling his fingers around the food, Sensei holds his hand over the water and sprinkles a little at a time.

Reigen copies him, letting the flakey food fall in small clumps. The two koi lip at the surface eagerly, sucking up each piece like little vacuums. They’re not as cute as dogs, but they’re pretty cool. He wouldn’t mind having a fish—not that his parents would let him have a pet. Too expensive to keep, as his dad always grumbles.

When he’s older, he’ll have a ton of pets to keep him company, and plenty of money to take care of them. They won’t care that he has blonde hair, or talks too much, or tells stories. Maybe he can work at an animal sanctuary, or a zoo.

Sighing softly, his shoulders slump. The exact type of job his dad would say is worthless.

“You know, you’re pretty mature for your age,” Sensei says, and Reigen jumps at the hand that lands on his knee, squeezing. “Sometimes I feel like we’re the same person.”

Reigen’s chest flutters at the words. “What, really?” 

“Yeah. Like, I’m a boat, floating all alone in a vast ocean. But then I found another boat, also floating alone.” Sensei’s hand squeezes again, his thumb sweeping over Reigen’s knee gently. It’s hot through Reigen’s pants. “Is that weird?”

The plastic cup crinkles in Reigen’s suddenly tight grip. On the edge of the pond, they’re just barely in the shade, and Sensei’s face is pale in the shadow, broad and soft. He hadn’t known Sensei felt lonely too—but he must. The other teachers don’t treat him like one of them. Talking down to him, brushing off what he says. It’s just like Reigen. Something sets him apart from the students, too.

“I get what you mean. We’re not alone if we’re together, right?” He feels warm, his skin abuzz.

“That’s exactly it,” Sensei says, voice soft, fond.

Exhilaration swells in Reigen’s chest, up his throat, pressing behind his eyes. No one’s ever talked to him like this before. Made him feel so acknowledged, understood.

He shakes more food into their palms, keeping his head down, cheeks aching with the force of his pleasure. Content beyond measure when Sensei leaves his hand on Reigen’s knee.

 

VI

Nostalgia assaults Reigen from all sides, from the moment they leave the station. A lot has changed since he was last here, but so much remains the same. Old corner stores are gone, replaced by new shops or homes. Trees have fallen down or died, road signs replaced, homes renovated. There are more power lines and telephone poles than before, wires weaving across the sky like a net, as if to keep out the dark clouds rolling over the town.

But the path is the same, once they get on it. A left here where the thin cracks in the street must have been paved over long ago, a slight curve in the road past some apartments. Keep left, then turn right, past the little park with updated equipment and a little sign thanking the local community for donations. The shrubs lining its perimeter are well-kept and flourishing. On and on, retracing the route Reigen used to walk when he was just a kid.

They pass the spot where Sensei had picked him up one rainy afternoon, allowing Reigen to soak his car blanket, and when Reigen slows, staring at the railing he’d walked along and the slope beyond it, Dimple waves a hand in front of his face.

“Earth to Reigen. What, you seeing things now?”

Shaking his head, Reigen picks up the pace, catching up to Mob. “No. No, sorry, just thinking.”

He ignores the look Mob and Dimple share across his shoulders.

Before long, they’ve reached the back of the school, the high, concrete wall hiding it from view. There’s a gate here, but it’s locked tight, and the principal is supposed to meet them at the front. Reigen leads them around the side, only to pause as Dimple and Mob stop short. They’re both staring in the direction of the school, as if they could see through the wall.

“Damn. You sensing that, Shigeo?” Dimple mutters.

Mob nods, face serious. “Yeah. It’s pretty strong. It feels bad.”

“Yeah, it’s all over the place. Hard to tell exactly where it’s coming from.” Glancing over at Reigen, Dimple frowns. “It feels like some bad shit happened here. You should find out from that principal if someone died or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do my job,” Reigen says, waving a hand.

“I’m gonna go check it out.” Without another word, Dimple takes off through the concrete wall and is gone.

“Be careful! Don’t get too close if it’s too powerful!” Reigen calls, though he has no idea if the little snot heard him. “Alright, let’s go.”

They continue on, turning one corner, and then another until the front gates are in sight. A man in a tan suit stands on the other side of them, and his head lifts as well as a hand, giving them a wave. Reigen tries not to let his steps drag as they get closer. The clock on the front of the school looms over them, keeping a silent tally of the years since Reigen left.

The school is closed for spring break—the same reason Mob had come along with him, and not Serizawa. Serizawa is spending the week at home, taking a well-earned vacation, and Mob had agreed to fill in on serious cases, such as this.

Reigen only wishes it had been involving any other school.

The principal wastes no time ushering them in, leaving the gate open behind them, gesturing them to follow. To Reigen’s middle-school self, the principal had always seemed ancient—as if fifty was truly that old. Now he really does seem to be too old to not have retired. He’s broad, but there’s a hunch in his shoulders that makes him seem smaller. His combed hair solidly silver. He’s not slow on his feet, but there’s a tired weight to his voice.

“It’s good to see you again, Reigen-san. I see you’re still refusing to change that ridiculous hair of yours.”

The words don’t sting anymore. Not since he was job-hunting for the first time, and seriously considering dying it black to save himself the rejection when he showed up to interviews. Times have changed, and lighter hair isn’t so frowned upon now—though he supposes to old-timers like this, it hardly matters what current attitudes are.

Putting on his best customer service smile, Reigen says, “It’s good to see you too, Watanabe-sensei. I hope you don’t mind if I cut to the chase. It was a long ride, and I really should get my student here back at a reasonable hour.”

Watanabe nods as he unlocks the school’s front door. “A teacher, huh? Should I be calling you sensei now, Reigen-san?”

A shiver works its way up Reigen’s spine. At his side, Mob gives him a questioning look.

“No, please, I’m not really a teacher,” he says quickly, avoiding Mob’s eye.

The entrance is exactly as Reigen remembers it. The sturdy shoe lockers. The wooden benches. The stairs leading up to the second floor. It’s completely unchanged, and he has to pause, dizziness sweeping over him, as if he’d stood up too fast. He remembers afternoons caught in the rush of students eager to leave or get to their clubs. Listening to the chatter, inserting himself into conversations for just a chance to make some kind of connection. It makes him cringe to think about how desperate he must have seemed.

He covers by looking around slowly, waiting for the sense of vertigo to fade, speaking without really hearing himself. “I sense quite a lot of dark energy about this place. It’s powerful, and dangerous.”

“Yes, it’s very nasty,” Mob says quietly. “It’s around everything, even outside. It’s so thick.”

He wonders what it looks like to Dimple and Mob. Imagining it’s a cloud as dark as his mood, shrouding the halls and seeping into the walls. A sickly smoke being sucked into their nostrils and lungs with each breath in the dead quiet of the school.

“So there is something wrong,” Watanabe says, humming softly. “I didn’t know whether to believe it. Especially coming from you. You always had a penchant for tall tales, Reigen-san.”

Reigen lets out a small, nervous laugh. “Well, I can assure you, this is definitely real. Can you tell me, has anything bad occurred in the school? Deaths, accidents, anything that may have caused a soul to be stuck here? Or anything that could have agitated an existing spirit?”

Watanabe shakes his head, and there’s a small smile on his face. “No, no, nothing bad has ever happened here.” He looks at Reigen with dark, empty eyes. “You should know that, right?”

Right.

 

VII

“Oh! Ara-chan,” Sensei says, surprised, and the hand that jumped behind his back when Reigen initially rounded the corner of the equipment shed falls back to his side. A cigarette hangs, caught between two curved fingers, and the tense line of Sensei’s shoulders relax.

Reigen feels a swell of pride as Sensei lifts the cigarette to his lips, and doesn't try to hide it from him. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Well, it’s not exactly good for you, you know,” Sensei says with a self-deprecating little chuckle. “Shouldn’t you be getting to class? Lunch is about to end.”

“I wasn’t feeling well. The nurse let me go home early,” Reigen says breezily, off-handed. It’s almost the truth. He just hadn’t gone to the nurse, planning to sneak out the back gate to go home. “Does it taste good or something?” Reigen comes to a stop in front of Sensei, nodding at the cigarette. The tightness in his chest easing just a bit at being near him, talking to him. The fingers of his left hand throb where they’re stuffed into his pocket, and he sets his school bag down at his feet.

“Well, the flavored ones do, but this is really just bitter. Kind of tastes like ashes, really.” Despite his words, he takes a deep drag, holding it with his eyes half-lidded behind his square glasses, as if savoring the feeling. His exhale is soft and cloudy, and Reigen watches the smoke hang in front of them.

“Why do you smoke if it tastes bad?”

Sensei makes a soft, thoughtful noise. “Well, inhaling or ingesting tobacco causes the production of serotonin in the brain.”

“So it makes you feel good? That’s it?”

He laughs, reaching out and catching Reigen around the neck, pulling him gently closer. Caught out, Reigen stumbles into him, and heat ratchets up his neck and cheeks as Sensei squeezes him fondly, quickly, and then lets go all at once.

Reigen stands there, sweaty, reeling, embarrassed—pleased.

“No need to be so skeptical,” Sensei says, and then he’s proffering the cigarette in Reigen’s direction. “You want to try?”

He peels his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Didn’t you just say it was bad for you?”

“Ah, got me there.” Sensei lowers the hand, and before Reigen can think, he leans forward and plucks it from those thick fingers.

He mimics Sensei, pursing his lips around the end and inhaling deep. It comes back out immediately, a ragged cough, lungs and throat afire. His eyes burn and he nearly drops the cigarette as his body bends from the force of his hacking. Clutching his chest, his eyes water.

“Sorry, Ara-chan,” Sensei says, a hand patting his back lightly. “I should have warned you. The first time is pretty harsh.”

“No kidding,” Reigen wheezes, straightening slowly. Even as his coughing subsides, he can still feel the smoke in his mouth and nose, coating the inside of his raw throat. He offers the cigarette back, massaging his chest with aching fingers.

“Woah, what happened to your hand?” The question is quiet, concerned, and Reigen’s heart leaps behind his ribs.

He drops it from his chest, sliding it back into his pocket, hiding the bandages circling his swollen fingers. “Nothing. I just fell down the stairs.”

The look Sensei gives him seems to spear Reigen to the spot. Gentle, understanding, and not a trace of belief.

“Guess it must be hard to do work with your hand like that,” he says quietly.

“I’m ambidextrous,” Reigen lies with a shrug.

He’s not, really, despite his dad’s best efforts. He’d gotten careless, is all. At school, he doesn’t bother trying to use his right hand, but at home he’s normally more careful. Except, he’d been alone in his room, doing his homework, and he hates when his work looks messy. It just leaves a worse impression if he turns in work that looks like an elementary schooler wrote.

But Dad was angry about a chore Reigen hadn’t done yet, and came in already swearing. Reigen had been so surprised he didn’t have the chance to drop his pencil, and his dad didn’t believe a word of his protests when he jerked Reigen up from his desk—he was just holding it, he wasn’t writing, he was only checking his work!

He dragged Reigen to the doorway, forcing his fingers flat against the jamb, and slammed the door once, twice, a third time, a fourth.

They hadn’t broken. He was lucky.

“Do your homework at the table from now on.”

“They think I get into fights,” Reigen blurts out, and then drops his gaze, running his good hand through his hair.

“The other students?”

Nodding, Reigen leans against the side of the equipment shed. He heard the conversation from between the cracks of the bathroom stall. Did you see his hand? Looks like he punched someone. We should steer clear of him, you never know when someone like that might snap.

“It’s okay, though. I don’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

He can’t see Sensei’s gaze, but he can feel it, scalding against the crown of his head. A hand dips into sight, and the burning tip of the cigarette glows bright in the shadow of the shed.

He takes it, lifting it to his lips.

“Do it lightly. You won’t cough that way,” Sensei says, and Reigen breathes in smoke and the taste of ash.

 

VIII

“Reigen-sensei, I can’t sense anything. I don’t think there’s anything here.”

“You’re absolutely correct, Mob. This is most likely a case of some neighborhood pranksters. But, we can still do our part to help! A couple of solar-powered, motion activated flood lights should be more than enough to scare them away.”

“Oh. That’s a good idea, Reigen-sensei.”

“It is, isn’t it? Hey, you know… You don’t have to call me sensei.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I mean, it’s fine. But I’m not a sensei, I didn’t go to school for that. It’s kind of disrespectful to doctors and teachers if someone is calling me sensei, isn’t it? I don’t want to give people the wrong idea. What if someone asks if I can teach them, too? Then I’d have to let them down, since I’m really only teaching you, and I’m not looking for other students. Plus, you are no mere student. You are a disciple! A disciple of the greatest psychic of the 21st Century! This is an honor far higher than that of a student and his—sensei.”

“Okay, Reigen-shishou.”

“Oh. Okay.”

 

IX

“Ugh, stupid asshole,” Reigen mutters as he cleans the erasers at the open window, craning his head back to avoid the cloud of chalk exploding from his hands with each hit. “Like playing basketball is so important. I’ve got stuff to do too, you know, but at least I keep my promises.”

He returns the erasers to the front and moves on to the desks, straightening them slowly, one by one. At least his fingers don’t hurt anymore—the bruising is almost gone, and he can bend them again, so it’s not as much trouble shoving desks into place.

It would go a lot easier with help, though. The other student left early, despite Reigen’s insistence that she help out—they were both on duty today, after all. The girl just turned her nose up at him and left without a word, following her other friends down to the gym.

“Need some help?”

Reigen glances up, and finds Sensei leaning in the doorway.

“Nah, I’m almost done anyways. I already got the chalkboard. I just have to sweep and take the trash out after this.” At least nothing’s too messy today. No need to go find the mop.

“I don’t mind,” Sensei says, and Reigen can’t suppress a smile.

He wants to argue—it’s his duty, not Sensei’s, and Sensei has told him how many after school duties the teachers have to deal with—but he likes the easy company. The way Sensei bumps into him on purpose as they come up adjacent rows of desks, and then laughs quietly. The way Reigen can strike up a conversation about something he did during the day, and Sensei makes him feel like the fact that Reigen saw a dog outside the window during class and went to try and find it at lunch is the most interesting thing he’s heard all day.

Sensei is different from other adults. He doesn’t look down on Reigen, doesn’t scoff at him or say he was lying about seeing the dog. He thinks Sensei was right all those weeks ago. They are similar. Sensei gets him.

Reigen sweeps the room and Sensei picks up larger bits of trash, tossing them into the trash can, making jokes about three pointers that have Reigen snorting. When he’s dumped the day’s dust into the bin and tied the bag, ready to finally leave and head home, Sensei calls to him from the front of the room.

“Ara-chan, can you stay a moment? I have something for you.”

Straightening, Reigen lets the bag drop to the floor, excitement sparking in his chest. “What is it?” he asks, moving between the desks.

Sensei pats the teacher’s desk, and Reigen hops up on it easily, legs swinging lightly, heels tapping the metal sides. Like this, he’s almost even with Sensei’s shoulder, who’s giving Reigen a soft smile that makes his insides loose and light, a cloud of balloons trapped in his belly.

“Can you keep a secret?” Sensei asks. His hands are empty at his sides.

Reigen nods eagerly, eyes alight.

Those empty hands find Reigen’s thighs, just above his knees. Sensei leans in, and Reigen’s eyebrows rise, shoulders straightening from their slouch. The lips that touch his are warm, dry, and send an electric shock from scalp to toes. His mouth opens in surprise, and he makes a noise when Sensei does the same, their lips slotting strangely, a wet tongue pushing between his teeth.

He pulls back, and the weight on his thighs increases as Sensei follows, keeping their mouths together, that tongue on his tongue.

He turns his head, gasping as the breath rushes back to his lungs, pushing a hand to Sensei’s chest. He’s never kissed anyone before, he thinks dizzily. Sensei is his first kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Sensei says, breathless, low. He leans forward more, and there’s nowhere for Reigen to go, barely balanced with Sensei’s hands anchoring his legs. But Sensei only pecks at his cheek, damp with saliva. “You make me feel so good. I was thinking of quitting, you know—but you make me want to stay here.”

“You—were going to quit?” Reigen asks, because that’s somehow easier to think about. The kiss is too big, too much for his brain to comprehend. His lips tingle and his thighs burn where Sensei’s hands wrap hot around them.

“Yeah. But not anymore. I want to stay because of you. I don’t want you to be alone.”

The words spear straight through him, to the balloons in his gut. He feels them pop pop popping, the excess helium filling his chest, his lungs, his throat.

Sensei stayed—for him.

When Sensei leans in again, Reigen thinks he should pull away. Instead, he holds himself still, watching those brown eyes behind square glasses slip shut. His lips touch Reigen’s, opening, guiding Reigen’s to yield. He does, following Sensei’s slow tutelage, copying the gentle press of his tongue.

It’s strange. Good. Bad. Too much, and not enough. No one’s ever made him feel like this. No one’s ever wanted this from him, for him. He thinks he likes it, but he’s not sure. He likes Sensei. Sensei likes him. Sensei stayed for him. He doesn’t know. He can’t think with the helium in his head and the mouth sucking his breath away.

They break apart, and this time Sensei wraps his arms around Reigen, drawing him close.

“I have to go. My parents are waiting for me,” Reigen gasps, trying to pull back, unable to.

“Ara-chan,” Sensei says, amused, and doesn’t let go. “You told me they were out of town for the week, remember?”

He forgot. He forgot he told Sensei yesterday, at lunch, when he hung out with Sensei at his car. Bothering him so he couldn’t nap, though Sensei hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Oh,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Sensei says. “We don’t have to do anything else. I just wanted to tell you. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. But we should probably stop hanging out after this.”

He presses a kiss to the top of Reigen’s head, and lightning runs over Reigen’s scalp. He shivers, and his hands find Sensei’s coat, digging in when Sensei finally starts to pull away.

“I—” he says, and nothing else.

“I’m not mad. Sometimes things just don’t work out. I’m used to it.” His voice is quiet, edged in acceptance, disappointment.

Sensei’s eyes are turned away, frowning at the floor. Dismay fills Reigen. He means it. They’ll have to stop hanging out. No more sitting with him at lunch or bugging him at his car. No more sharing a smoke behind the equipment shed or walking out of school together at the end of the day.

It will be Reigen, alone, again, and Sensei, alone as well. Two boats drifting apart, getting lost in the wide, open ocean. Frantic desperation claws at him. He pulls without thought, swallowing around the thick, nervous lump in his throat.

“Sensei.”

Sensei looks at him, the disappointment fading to something else, allowing himself to be tugged down. Their lips meet, again, and Reigen breathes through his nose, and opens up.

 

X

“The weather is messing with my senses. Too much atmospheric pressure in the air. Why don’t you lead the way, Mob?”

“Yes, Shishou.”

They leave the principal behind in the entrance, climbing the stairs to the second floor.

He still hasn’t seen Dimple yet, and he wonders if the little spirit got bored or lost. Or maybe he’s eating up whatever is haunting Reigen’s old school, and by the time they reach him it’ll be over.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

The school is so familiar, and so foreign at the same time. Everything’s so much smaller now. The stairs don’t seem as wide as they used to, as tall. The notices on the walls, advertising events, club activities, and announcements, are below his eye line, meant for kids to look at. When they crest the top step and enter the floor where the second years learn, he’s hit with a dizzying sense of dejavu that leaves him swaying, clutching at the railing.

“Are you okay?” Mob says, and Reigen jumps at the hand that lands on his shoulder. He pulls out from under it, pushing on into the hall, waving a hand rapidly.

“Fine, fine, just surprised is all. It’s hardly changed!” His voice is too loud in the dim quiet of the school. The light streaming in from the windows is gray, and ugly, leaving dark shadows in the corners, reaching across the floor. He doesn’t see a light switch, and with the principal downstairs, they’ll just have to deal with it.

Mob, however, doesn’t look fooled. “Is something the matter?”

“Everything’s fine, Mob, don’t worry about it. Let’s just take care of this spirit.” He gestures for Mob to continue on, but Mob remains where he is, looking at Reigen with that flat expression that seems to see through everything.

“You don’t like this place, do you, Shishou?”

“What? What makes you say that?” He puts force behind his laugh. “It’s my old middle school!”

“Your hands are shaking.”

Reigen lifts his hands, and spots what Mob had already seen. The fine tremor in his fingers, working up his palm and wrists. “It’s just a little cold, you know? I should have worn gloves.”

Maybe a few years ago that would have worked, but Mob knows him too well. He’s seen Reigen lie too many times, to him, to clients. He’s unimpressed with the excuse, frowning slightly at Reigen’s hands, which Reigen stuffs into his pockets.

But he doesn’t ask anymore, and Reigen is pathetically grateful. If anyone could get the truth out of him, it’s Mob, and maybe Mob knows that too. That’s why he’s too good for Reigen. Letting him keep his secrets and lies.

“I think we’ll find it down here,” Mob says, gaze relenting, but it doesn’t ease the cramp in his lungs.

They trek down the corridor, Reigen’s heart gripping the ladder of his spine, scrambling into his throat.

Class 2-C, the little sign says—newer than when Reigen was here, cleaner.

“There’s a lot of bad energy coming from here.”

Reigen wonders if it’s him. If it’s his ghost haunting this school. The part of him that died in this room.

He wants to tell Mob to go in without him. What could lie beyond the door, in this particular classroom? What other reason for the dark cloud, the smothering feeling? He never asked if Sensei still worked here. He didn’t have the guts.

His numb mouth doesn’t move. Mob slides the door open, the track squeaky. Inside, the drab lighting and roiling clouds cast shifting shadows that snake up the walls and suffocate. He steps inside, compelled, incapable of anything else.

The chalkboard on the far wall is a dreary black in the gloom. The teacher’s desk is unchanged in two decades. He remembers the edge digging into the backs of his legs, Sensei’s thighs spreading his, lips sighing against lips. And other days. Dozens. Too many to count. The lights out, their quiet breaths, Sensei’s hurried hands, his clothes peeling off like the skin of rotten fruit.

His stomach heaves. “I’ll be right—” He claps a hand to his mouth, turns, and runs.

 

XI

“Let me give you a ride. We can hang out a little while, and I’ll take you home after.”

“I shouldn’t. I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, come on. It hardly takes any time at all by car. We can just listen to music and hang out, and I’ll have you home by the normal time.”

Reigen forces himself not to shift from foot to foot. Forces his shoulders down, to relax, to pretend like he’s thinking about it. Like he doesn’t want to just say no and walk home.

He knows what Sensei really wants to do.

He doesn’t want Sensei to think he’s being immature. They’ve already done things a few times now. It was weird, and it hurt a little—but he made it feel good, too, so it wasn’t that bad.

But all the same, Reigen feels a heavy stone in his gut when he thinks about it. When Sensei’s hands and teeth are on him, like he wants to bite Reigen into pieces and chew him up. Adults aren’t supposed to do these things with kids. His mom taught him that only bad people do that.

“I really like spending time with you, Ara-chan. We don’t have to do anything else—I’ll drive you straight home, if you want. I just feel lucky getting to be around you.”

His chest squeezes at the words, a shy, delighted pleasure.

Sensei isn’t a bad person though. He really likes Reigen. Maybe it is bad, if it’s others. Kids who don’t know any better, who aren’t as mature as Reigen. He knows what real nasty adults look like—creepy stalkers who lure kids away with candy and do unspeakable things. Sensei isn’t one of them.

He’s the only one Sensei’s ever done this with. That’s important, too—if Sensei were taking advantage of other kids and hurting them, it would be different, but Reigen has made sure it’s not like that. He’s watched Sensei when he didn’t know Reigen was around, paid careful attention to how he talks to other students. Seen him shoo the other kids off after scolding them, or helping them with homework without so much as putting a hand on their shoulder.

What they have is different. It’s special. Sensei doesn’t treat anyone else like Reigen. Isn’t close to anyone else, or friendly. With Reigen, it’s okay, because he really cares.

At least someone does.

“Fine. We can hang out a little while. Play me some more American rock, I liked that band you showed me last time.”

Sensei grins at him, and Reigen’s face heats at the look. “Anything for you, Ara-chan.”

 

XII

He rinses his mouth in the sink, spitting the foul taste against the porcelain, sweat and water dripping down his face and chin. The light in the bathroom is cold and when he checks himself in the mirror, he looks washed out, a piece of plywood in the shape of a human.

He lowers his head, breathing sharply, feeling like something deep in his stomach is clawing its way out of him. Bile, probably.

It lessens as he stands there, braced against the sink. Feeling foolish. An overreaction on his part.

What was he so upset for? He’d wanted it, after all.

He needs to get back to Mob. It’s been a few minutes. Not that Mob needs him to take care of whatever spirit is haunting this school—but he doesn’t want Mob alone. Not here. Not in that classroom. It’s a silly thought, no one else is even here, and yet.

He wipes his face on a handful of paper towels torn from the dispenser. His mouth doesn’t taste too bad now, at least. It’ll be fine. He’s okay, he just needed to get it out, but he’s good now.

The hallway outside is darker than ever—the storm clouds have blotted out the sky and thunder rumbles, low and eerie, a bass undertone to his clattering heart. There’s a little spirit hanging in the hall, too, floating towards class 2-C. He casts a fluorescent green light on the floors and walls as he goes.

“Dimple,” he calls, and Dimple turns, waiting for him to catch up. “You find anything?”

“Haven’t seen the spirit yet, but I can feel it all over the place. It’s creepy as hell.” Dimple gives him a once over, and both his eyebrows rise. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just an upset stomach.” He waves a hand, brushing it aside, and nods towards the door of the classroom. “Found something in here, a high concentration of that bad energy.”

“How would you know?” Dimple snorts.

“Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century, duh,” Reigen says, but there’s no energy to the words.

They’re almost to the open door of the classroom, when Dimple says, “Okay, full offense, but you really do look bad.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious. Just let Shigeo take care of this. I think you actually need to lie down or something.” Dimple floats closer, one eyebrow cocked. Reigen waves again, and Dimple darts out of the way with a scowl.

“I’ll be fine. Mob is waiting, come on,” Reigen says, stepping through the doorway.

Something hooks the inside of Reigen’s chest, pulling hard.

Mob isn’t in the classroom, but someone else is.

It’s clearly not Watanabe-sensei. He’s younger, dark-haired, taller. Facing the chalkboard, as if about to write on it. A teacher being here over the break, he can understand—but standing in the dark, staring at the chalkboard, doing nothing?

His silhouette is uncomfortably familiar—the downward turn of his head, the shadow of an angled, sharp jaw. A shudder rolls through him.

“Excuse me,” he says into the quiet. “Sorry for intruding, but have you seen a teenager? He was in here just a few minutes ago. He’s my… student....” The man turns and Reigen’s voice dies, his heart stopping in his chest.

“Ara-chan,” Sensei says, not a day older than the last time Reigen saw him.

This isn’t real. Reigen’s head jerks around, Dimple’s name on his lips.

The little ghost is gone.

“I’m so glad to see you again. I’ve been wanting to tell you something.” Sensei takes a slow, ponderous step towards the desks.

“Fuck no,” Reigen mutters, and whips around.

The door slams shut with a tired squeal and he hits it face first, bouncing off with a yelp. One hand flies to his nose, throbbing but not bleeding, grabbing the handle with the other. It doesn’t budge, and his movements become frantic, panic seeping through his skin.

“Ara-chan, don’t be rude,” Sensei chastises, and when Reigen glances over, he’s moving between the desks now, the faint light creating an opaque reflection off his square glasses. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time. Won’t you even say hello?”

“Stay away from me,” Reigen says, struggling to keep from screaming the words. “I’ll exorcise you without hesitation!” His voice sounds much stronger than he feels.

Something brushes against his shoulder, and he jerks, but there’s no one there. When he looks back, Sensei is much closer, almost to him.

Sensei smiles, a familiar tilt to his lips that makes Reigen’s stomach twist. “You’re such a little liar, Ara-chan. I know you wouldn’t do that. You’ve missed me too much.”

Hands, unseen, grab his arm. He jerks it away from the invisible grasp, striking out, hitting nothing. His heart hammers against the inside of his skull and his throat locks up on him. He has to get out of here. He has to find Mob.

The door shudders under his heel. He puts a hand on the little shelf against the back wall, to steady himself, lifts his leg, and kicks it as hard as he can. The impact shudders up his leg. He does it again. Again. His breathing is too quick, he’s making horrible noises with each exhale.

He slams his heel harder, rapid. It judders, old but strong, and Reigen doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he can’t get out.

“Ara-chan,” Sensei whispers, and Reigen registers a touch against his shoulder.

The door busts off its track. Reigen lunges forward, the wood cracking, his body weight wrenching it further out of place. He thinks, distractedly, that he’s gonna have to come up with an excuse for that. Then he’s pounding down the hall, the sound of his feet echoing thunderously.

Something is wrong. Everything looks strange. Bigger. He reaches the stairs, scrambling to keep himself on his feet as he dashes into the stairwell, and nearly trips as the steps seem much farther apart than they were just a little while ago.

He can’t think of it. He has to find Mob and Dimple so they can exorcise this spirit. It’s trying to trick him, scare him into thinking it’s someone it’s not. It can’t do anything to him. Not if he can just find those two first.

 

XIII

The nurse’s office is warm, and it’s silent as Sensei turns Reigen’s arm gently in his grip. The nurse is already gone for the day, and the late afternoon sun shining through the windows casts a molten glow over Reigen’s hair and skin. He’s going to be late getting home, even if Sensei gives him a ride, and his shoulders curl at the thought.

But Sensei had insisted, even though Reigen knows how to take care of himself. They’re sitting on the soft cot, Sensei facing him with his leg bent between them. Reigen’s shirt is open and pulled down to bare the pale skin of his upper arm and shoulder. He’s dotted with burns all across the area. The skin swollen and hot around the angry red craters. Each one small, perfectly circular.

The gel Sensei rubs across him with a cotton ball is cool, but he flinches anyways, the pressure against his tight skin almost unbearable.

“I had it taken care of,” he mutters.

“Badly,” Sensei says, but the teasing is somber. There’s no heart in it. “You know,” Sensei says gently. “My father would hit me, when I was young. I got into a lot of trouble at school. I acted out a lot because I was so angry.”

It shocks Reigen, and he blinks down at his lap. Someone used to hurt Sensei? Why? He can’t comprehend it. Can’t imagine Sensei being an angry kid, not when he’s so calm and friendly.

“He always said I was a disappointment to the family. That I was too… Well.” Sensei sighs and his breath fans warm across Reigen’s shoulder. “I just wanted to say, I’m proud of you. You’re smart, you stay out of trouble at school.”

The words burst from between Reigen’s lips like vomit. “He made me hold still while he did it.”

He wishes he could take them back. He’s never told anyone that. Never told anyone what his dad does sometimes. It feels like a lie. It’s different from what happened with Sensei. He doesn’t get hit, he just—gets punished, for things he knows he’s not allowed to do, and does anyways.

It’s silent for a moment, and in the space between them, meaningless, “I’m sorry he did that.” His touch is gentle and painful.

“He said I lied about why I was home late yesterday.” It’s like once the words have come out, he can’t stop them. “I told him I helped an old lady with her groceries, but he could smell the cigarette smoke on me.”

“So don’t lie. Tell him you were with me.”

He laughs, small and unhappy. If it had only been that easy. “He says I lie about a lot of things.”

Talking his dad out of it had been impossible. Despite his arguments that the old lady was the one who smoked, that he had a good reason, his dad made him take his shirt off. Reigen held it in front of his chest, feeling horrifically bare. Terrified of what marks Sensei may have left on him, and whether his dad would notice.

He flinches, hissing, as the cotton ball presses too hard.

“Sorry,” Sensei says, and then, with amusement, “You do, though. You lie to me, too. The other day, you said you couldn’t hang out because your mom was waiting on you at home. But when I dropped you off, her car was gone.”

Something in Reigen’s chest sinks deep into his stomach. “She had to run to the store.”

Sensei just laughs, disbelieving. “You also said you forgot to tell your parents about sports day last year, but you didn’t, did you? You just didn’t want them to come.”

Reigen jerks his arm away, or tries to. Sensei’s grip tightens almost painfully, and Reigen glares down at his lap. “It’s not like it matters, who cares if I told them or not?” He had told them. They both had work.

The cotton ball has stopped moving. Reigen doesn’t want to look up. The thought of forcing himself to smile only makes the tight knot of anger double in size.

“You lied in class the other day, too. You said you didn’t have your homework because a storm blew your papers out the window. You just didn’t do it, did you?”

Reigen’s face burns and he squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts to even think about it. The sharp slap of the wooden spoon against his raised arms, his mom screaming with anger and driving him out the front door with one shoe off, into the storm raging outside. Calling him a filthy liar. Everything inside his school bag had been ruined.

The cot dips next to him, and warm lips touch the corner of his own. Reigen yanks back, eyes flying towards the door.

“You lie about this, too,” Sensei says, chasing Reigen’s mouth, catching it. His hand on Reigen’s arm is a brand. “Always making excuses. But you’re such a little liar. You like it.” Sensei’s other hand slides up the outside of Reigen’s thigh, cupping his hip, brushing the exposed skin.

“Someone could—”

“We’re the only ones here, Ara-chan. It’s okay,” Sensei whispers against his mouth.

He wants to close his shirt and pull away. He wants to go home, curl up on his futon, and watch funny B movies in the dark on the TV his dad had let him have when they bought a new set for the living room.

But his dad took it away after Reigen—after his mom told his dad, and he has to leave the door to his room open now, and he’s not allowed to go anywhere except school and home. He has no one to call, even if he hadn’t been banned from using the phone.

He’s going to be late getting home no matter what he does. And Sensei is right. He likes this. He likes how good it feels. Even if Sensei ignores what he says sometimes. Muffles Reigen’s protests with his mouth, defies Reigen’s hands and draws their bodies together. It feels good to have someone who cares.

The cigarette burns flare bright and painful across his shoulder as he’s guided down onto the cot.

 

XIV

He stumbles back from the nurse’s office, lungs frozen, sweat pouring down his back and running along the curves of his collarbones. He’d forgotten about that. Forgotten a lot of things. Buried it so far down in the sandy beach of the island his little boat had finally crashed against. Staying there, solitary, unfound, a lonely place he’d let no other person make shore on. Letting the tides of growing up and work and life cover it until no place marked where it lay. 

But that’s just the lie he tells himself. That it’s over, it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to dwell on it. On the intimate moments, the shared cigarettes, the shameful secret.

Like the weever fish, it isn’t gone, only hidden. Waiting for any mis-step to pop up and jab its stinger into old scars, to inject the poisonous memories into his veins. Reigen has been so careful with his footing. Letting the shallow waters wash over his feet and ankles as he threads his way painstakingly between them. He’s walked it a hundred thousand times by now—until it’s familiar, it’s easy to pretend there’s nothing waiting below the sand.

He shouldn’t have come back here. It’s knocked him off course, and everywhere he turns he’s being stung again and again, and he can’t even give himself a moment to wrap the wound and put it out of sight.

He pushes off of the wall, panting breaths freezing in his lungs. A voice calls to him, echoing in the stairwell. Any moment he’ll reach the first floor. Reigen takes off down the hall again, pushing his already tired limbs to go faster. Maybe he should reconsider the morning run he keeps telling himself he’ll go on and never does.

Each door he slides open reveals an empty classroom or supply closet, with no sight of his wayward companions. Shouting their names with a shrill in his voice. Maybe, he can hide and wait until Mob and Dimple find him.

The next door he bangs his hip against in his haste to get inside. There’s a horrific moment where the door sticks, and he curses under his breath. He can’t get it closed in time, he can’t—

It slips free of whatever had trapped it, and then he’s alone in the quiet. Putting a hand to his mouth to muffle his panting breaths, he backs away from the door, bumping into something.

He jumps, whirling around.

It’s only a desk. He’s in the staff room. It’s dim, the windows facing the gym building and the equipment shed behind the school. Rows upon rows of desks where the teachers grade assignments and prepare lessons crouch in shadow. There are notices on the walls, reminders, textbooks and reference books on low shelves.

He laughs, quiet and strained, and pulls out his phone. It’s shaking in his hand so badly he has to hold it with both to focus on the screen.

“Ara-chan, are you done running yet?”

Reigen sucks in a sharp breath, blood running cold.

He throws himself at the door without thought. A hand grabs his arm before he can wrench it open, and he’s yanked back, stumbling, until he hits the desk hard. It skids across the floor, sending pencils and notebooks sliding off in a loud clatter.

In front of him, Sensei pushes his glasses up his nose, and says, “You came here for a reason, didn’t you?”

“Shut up!” he roars, and launches himself off the desk, swinging with his left hand, still holding the phone in it.

It does nothing against the spirit impersonating his Sensei. The thing doesn’t even flinch as it bounces off his chest, and Reigen’s knuckles throb as if he’d punched a brick wall. It doesn’t give Reigen another chance, grabbing him by the arms and slamming him backwards, bending him over the desk.

“Mob!” Reigen screams, voice cracking horribly. “Dimple, where the hell are you!”

He drops his head back as Sensei leans in, and then jerks it forward. His skull cracks against the spirit’s, and he realizes too late that was a bad idea. For a moment, Reigen’s vision sparks, and Sensei doubles, wobbles before his eyes. He looks strange. Reigen blinks, gasping, and when his vision clears Sensei has him flat against the desk.

The feeling of being small intensifies, suddenly, violently. Sensei’s soft, brown eyes are so familiar, so kind. The breath catches in his throat. It all rushes back to him, a door bursting open in his mind. Being under him, close to him, held by him. He can almost smell the faint scent of sweat and men’s deodorant, the brand Sensei always wore, that seemed to cling to Reigen’s nose and throat for hours after.

“W-where are they? What did you do to them?” He kicks out, yanking against the hold on his arms.

“What are you talking about?” Sensei—the spirit croons. “You came alone. You’ve been alone this whole time.”

The bottom drops out of Reigen’s stomach.

Wait. What?

“I wasn’t alone!” he says, with more conviction than he feels. He wasn’t, was he? He rode the train with them. He spoke with them. He—he’s not alone.

“You were. I’ve been watching you. Thinking about you. All this time, I could never forget you. I know you felt the same. You wanted to come back, didn't you? I just gave you the push you needed to take that step. Gave you what you thought you needed to return.”

“You’re wrong! You’re wrong!” He slams his feet against Sensei’s shins, panic screaming in his skull. He came all this way alone. Tricked by a spirit, defenceless. How had he not realized? How had he let himself be so fooled? “Like hell I wanted to come back. I never want to see you again!”

“You missed me, Ara-chan.”

“Fuck you-”

The lips that press to his suck the air out of his lungs, and that hooked feeling in his chest pulls, dragging him down.

He’d forgotten how it felt exactly over the years. The memories of these intimate elements blurring together, until if he thought about it hard enough, all he could say for sure was that it had felt nice. But the pressure, the way Sensei’s lips open, drawing Reigen’s open with him, and his tongue finds Reigen’s with practiced ease. How Sensei’s teeth graze Reigen’s lip and his thumb brushes Reigen’s wrist, stroking his hammering pulse.

This is his Sensei. It can’t be anyone or anything else. No one else has ever kissed him, held him, touched him like this. He never tried with anyone else, couldn’t make himself. Who would want to? Who would want him?

Sensei did. Does. It’s hard to think with Sensei’s breaths hot in his mouth, the heat fogging up his eyes and his brain. He pulls away, gasping, and Sensei’s mouth captures him again. He doesn’t want to do this, not here. He—he needs to stop this, but—

Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, tilting his head back. Their lips part, wet and strung together with spit. Sensei’s mouth presses to his bottom lip, his chin, his throat.

Anyone could walk in and find them.

“You feel so good, so sweet,” Sensei husks, sucking on the soft, sensitive skin.

Reigen tries to turn his head, but the hand holds him captive. His eyes dart to the door, still shut, but anyone could come in. Anyone. A teacher, a student looking for help, the maintenance man.

“I—This isn’t—” Reigen grapples for words, but they all just seem to slip away as Sensei rolls his hips and fills him again, he’s inside Reigen, they’re, they’re—

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you, Ara-chan.” He has to bend himself in half to trail kisses down Reigen’s shoulder. “Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

It’s a lot. Too forceful, too much, and Reigen grasps at Sensei’s shoulders, trying to slow him down, to give himself a moment. He just needs a moment, that’s all, he can’t even think. The fear pounding against his rib cage, the thrill through his stomach as Sensei’s hand plays with him, slicked with his own precome.

“You can move in with me, after you graduate,” Sensei says between bites and licks, leaving marks Reigen knows will redden and bruise and he’ll have to hide. “I wanna marry you. You can be my little bride. I’ll take care of you, okay? Let me take care of you.”

The idea flutters through Reigen’s chest on soft wings, taking roost. A future together, where they won’t be lonely. Without his parents, where they can hang out every day. He’s dizzy with the possibilities, with the mouth on his skin, with the cock bearing down on his insides like a torch, lighting him up from within.

The words fumble out of him, high and breathless. “Sensei, I want—I don’t—please, please Sensei.” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for.

“Call me Ichiro, it’s Ichiro,” Sensei says, grinding their hips together, slowing, finally, easing up.

“I-Ichiro, please, Ichicro, I can’t, please, please.”

The feelings welling up from the depths of him are strange, pushing him out of his body, lifting him a millimeter to the left and leaving him there, barely hanging onto his own skin. His hands curl in Sensei’s shirt, drawing him close again. His heel presses against the desk, lifting his hips. His mouth moves and begs. Please, please, please.

“Ara-chan,” Sensei groans. “Yes, Ara-chan. Yes you can, you’re taking me so well, you’re so good for me.”

He’s caught in this halfway space, clinging tightly to it, where it’s less overwhelming. Softer. Quieter. The frantic hummingbird in his chest slows its wings.

Sensei kisses him again, hard, biting. His lip splits and he tastes metallic blood. The violent slap of skin on skin slows and the hand on Reigen quickens. His back arches and he comes, a thin rope of semen that lands across his stomach and rucked up shirt. He barely feels it. He’s weightless and nearly gone.

It’s so easy to just stay there. Feeling, distantly, the aching slide as Sensei pushes up and away. The desk warmed by their bodies, the edge digging a numb line across his thighs, feet dangling. Haloed by cups of pencils, a stapler, skewed papers, books.

Sensei is just a shape in his peripheral. Shuffling feet, slowing breaths. His own lungs feel flat and empty, and it seems to take hours for them to fill with air, for him to realize he’s just been laying on this desk doing nothing and there are fingers between his thighs, digging into him. Scooping the come out into a tissue. Wiping his thighs and ass clean.

“Ichiro?” he says, shyly, staring at the perfectly even ceiling tiles above.

Sensei makes a questioning hum, and the tissue glides over Reigen’s stomach and his bunched up shirt, collecting the sticky semen.

“Can I come home with you tonight?”

There’s silence. The hand on his stomach pauses. A chill passes over Reigen, and he presses his thighs together, wishing that he was clothed.

“That’s not a good idea, Ara-chan.”

He pushes up, and Sensei’s hand slides off of him, hanging at his side. Looking at Reigen apologetically.

“Why not? You want to marry me, right? Let me come home with you. Just for one night, please.”

Sighing, Sensei looks away. He’s already fully dressed. He’d never really gotten naked, just opened his pants. Reigen feels cold and sticky, and he pulls his shirt down, but it’s stained dark at the hem.

“We have to wait until you graduate high school. You know I can’t now.”

He’s not asking for that. He just wants this one thing. It digs into him, boring through his ribs and his lungs. “I just want to go home with you. Please?”

“Sorry, Ara-chan.”

 

XV

His palms create dark blooms of color against the back of his eyelids. He exhales, heavy, heaving, and can’t suck in enough breath before he loses it again. It feels like there are hands on him, a body against his, a voice at his ear.

“Sorry, Ara-chan,” it says, a sentiment echoing across years, hooking into his flesh, dragging him back and back.

He chokes into his hands, teeth clenched so tight his jaw creaks. He wants—wanted—

No, no, it’s a lie. It always was. A lie to keep him pliant, to keep him unquestioning, to keep him close.

Fuck, he misses—

His lips peel back from his teeth, bearing down on them all the harder to hold back the sob in his throat. It’s wrong. It’s wrong, he’s wrong, he doesn’t. He doesn’t, he can’t, he’s not so far gone that he would want that again. He doesn’t miss it.

The companionship. The affection. Someone who lied as much as he did.

He sits there, trying to breathe, trying to unhook himself from memory. He’s not there. It’s not real. He’s at his school, yes, but he’s thirty-two, not twelve, and he needs to do something. Something other than sit here. Where is he sitting? Where is he?

It’s that thought that finally has him dragging his head up, blackness receding from the corners of his vision. It’s the staff room, still shrouded in stormy darkness. The feeling of a hand in his hair doesn’t cease. The body against his isn’t in his imagination. It’s solid, he realizes, turning his head on a rusty swivel.

They’re both sitting on the desk’s edge, and Sensei’s body is a warm line against his shoulder and side. The hand in his hair runs through the soft strands slowly, in a gesture so gentle it threatens to burst his ribcage apart.

It spurs him up. He slams up and back with his elbow, and Sensei makes a surprised noise, hands flying off of Reigen to clutch his face. Kicking at the desk, Reigen wrenches himself away from that body. A flurry of panicked limbs and wordless noise.

“No! Come back!”

Fuck that. He has to get out of here. Preferably before he has another breakdown. The hallway outside is empty, still, so he takes off back the way he came. He touches his pocket, but his phone is gone, he must have dropped it, and there’s no going back for it now. He has to keep going forward. If he can just get out, leave this place, he’ll be okay.

Except—he can’t see the light of the entrance anymore. Where it was, is only a stretch of hallway. Class doors and windows. He rushes to the space opposite the stairwell, feeling along the wall. It’s solid, and when he comes to the first class door, he yanks it open, expecting, hoping, to see the outside.

Standing at the chalkboard is Ichiro. “Ara-chan—”

Reigen slams it, and keeps going. Slinging another open, this time, this time for sure— 

Ichiro reaches out of the door. Stumbling back, Reigen gives a wordless cry, scrambling down the hall. It’s the same with every door he opens, and when he turns the corner to the set of bathrooms tucked away in this recess, Ichiro is waiting at the end. Smiling gently.

“Leave me alone!” Reigen screams, panting, a stitch gathering the muscles in his side tight.

“Stop running from the truth, Ara-chan. Stop lying.”

He turns on his heel and backtracks down the hall at a dead run. Passing doors he’s already opened, passing the nurse’s office and the staff room. Taking a left down a hallway, towards the back of the school, he realizes he’s headed towards the small gymnasium. He can get out through the emergency exit at the back of the gym, and jump the back gate.

Or, he won’t be able to find the exit. Or, he’ll be trapped.

He laughs, short and gasping, at the thought. Another minute in this building sounds like utter hell.

He shoves through the double doors into the gym. The windows high along the wall are black squares, void of light. It’s vast and empty, and the pounding of his shoes across the floor bounces back at him, amplified. The locker rooms are on the other side, and he heads that way, thighs burning with each step. He can’t keep this frantic pace up much longer.

Sweat beads on his brow and drips into his eyes. He blinks it away heavily, and from one blink to the next, he’s no longer alone.

He slams into Ichiro with a startled cry, and before he can fall on his ass, he’s pulled up by his arm. Reigen strikes out, panicked instinct. His hand bounces off of Ichiro’s chest. He slams his heel into the man’s shoe, but it’s like stepping on solid wood. There’s no reaction, and Reigen throws himself back like a dancer being dipped, trying and failing to wrest his arm away. It protests the motion in a blaze of pain down his shoulder blade.

“I’m ready for you now,” Ichiro says, reeling him in. Reigen’s shoes squeak across the polished floor. “I lied to you then, but I’m ready to be with you. Even after you were gone, you were always my favorite.”

Reigen goes still. The blood pumping through his ears is deafening.

My favorite.

His legs feel weak, and his knees threaten to buckle.

There were others. It wasn’t just Reigen. There were others.

The realization blows through him, an explosion devastating everything in its path. He wasn’t the only one. There were other students Ichiro used, after him, and probably before him too. Why else would he have stopped talking to Reigen after he graduated middle school? He got too old. He was out of reach.

How many others? How many, for how long? A hand circles his back, tugging him up on his toes, their arms out like they’re about to waltz, so close they could kiss. He’d been so sure there wasn’t anyone else, he hadn’t even thought of how careful Sensei would have to be, how experienced, to keep what they were doing secret. Not once, in all these years, had it ever occurred to him there might have been others.

“Did you promise to marry them too?” he says acidly. His stomach turns, queasy. He spent all these years in silence. He could have helped them. He could have told anyone other than the one person he chose to talk to.

“What we had was different. It always was. You understood me, you made me—”

Reigen barks a sharp laugh. “Yeah right. I’m sure I was the only middle schooler out of dozens that made you feel anything, huh? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Just stay with me,” Ichiro says, pleading with those kind eyes. “We can be together again. We found each other, two boats. Don’t you remember? It was fate. The others weren’t like you.”

Disgust wells within him—for Sensei, for himself and the thrill that goes through him at those words. “Do you hear what you’re saying? All you are is a predator. I’m too old to buy this shit now.”

“You’re wrong. It was different for us. You and I were meant to be. Weren’t we, Ara-chan?”

Why did he ever think he was special? He hates himself, viciously, savagely, with all the anger he’d ever stuffed into a small locker in his mind and kicked into the black recesses. Because what kind of horrible person would think such a thing? Would want to be someone special to a man like this?

Him, that’s who.

They weren’t meant to be. He was just lied to, manipulated. But even now, after years and years, Reigen still can’t separate the rot from his heart. Still feels the fever pulse of infection and mistakes it for love.

This is his punishment. This is why he came back here. He deserves to know what he failed to prevent, what he helped continue with his silence. If he’d told someone who would have been obligated to check, then he might have saved those children. If he hadn’t so selfishly thought that he was special.

“Yeah,” he says, tongue dry. “You’re right. I guess I do belong here with you. This is my fault, after all. You wouldn’t be here if not for me, right?”

He belongs here. In his personal hell, with Ichiro. He can’t escape. He’s not strong enough. Not in any way that matters. He could run away, sure, and maybe he’d even make it out of this building, but it’s not what he deserves.

“I’m only here for you.”

That sensation of something grabbing at his shoulders is there. He expects it to push him towards Sensei, but to his surprise, it pulls him backwards, away. He turns his head.

Icy hands clap over his cheeks, halting the motion. He rocks back on his heels without Sensei to hold him up, suddenly off-balance.

“Don’t pay it any attention. Stay with me, Ara-chan. We’re going to have fun again.”

Something else is in the room with them. His mind struggles to snag the thought. Something else. Someone else.

“Ara-chan, Ara-chan, just follow me.”

The thought slips away. “Yes, Sensei.”

Something slams into his back, and Reigen bows forward with the force, grabbing the front of Sensei’s suit to stay standing. It presses in through his body, filling him, seeming to move him out of the way in his own skin. His mind clears, a fog he hadn’t even known was there dissipating from his brain. Blinking down at something bright and thin, a silken strand of light stretching from his chest to Sensei. He straightens without being conscious of wanting to, eyes following the strand, and with the doubling sense of not being alone in his own mind.

The being stuffed into the suit in front of him isn’t human. Not anymore. Whatever Ichiro once was is just a shadow on this thing’s face. Skin gray and sloughing off in thick strips of decay. There’s a noose around its neck, trailing down its front like a tie. The glasses are askew on a head that’s bent at the wrong angle. The neatly combed hair is sparse, age and premature baldness taking its toll. The eyes behind Sensei’s glasses are black and glassy.

“Hey, asshole,” Reigen’s mouth says. “Let go of him!”

An incredible pressure rockets past him, smashing Sensei into a crater. It buffets Reigen, and he raises his arms against the force and wind, stumbling back, spinning on his heels. Bigger arms catch him, and his knees finally give out. He slides to the ground, gaping, and Mob follows, lowering him, holding him.

“Mob!” he breathes. “How—you—!” 

Then the doubling sensation in his brain disappears, and Mob is gone. It’s Ichiro holding him instead, looking at him so intensely. Reigen rears back, swinging, shouting, anger filling him. Another fucking lie just to torture him. Like hell he’s going to give in to something that dares to use Mob’s face.

Sensei grabs his wildly swinging fists, saying, “Shishou, please.”

It’s enough to give him pause, and Sensei reaches for his chest. Before he can throw himself away, the hand closes just in front of his sternum, and pulls. He blinks, and there’s that silver thread in his fist, tearing with the motion of his hand. Disconnecting Reigen, and the feeling of a hook tugging at his chest from the inside vanishes.

Reigen looks up, wide-eyed, hardly daring to believe it. Mob looks back at him, the smallest of indents between his brows. “Please don’t run off again. You scared us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dimple huffs, and Reigen’s head whips to him. Sure enough, the green spirit hovers by Reigen’s shoulder, a deep frown pulling at his lips.

“He was scared,” Mob says.

“Hey!”

A grin splits his face, wide and painful and hysterical. He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry from relief, and it must show on his face, because Mob frowns.

“Are you okay, Shishou?”

He’s not even a little bit okay, but he can’t make the lie that springs to his lips actually come out. He drops his head, planting a hand on Mob’s shoulder in lieu of an answer, and hopes that’s enough. He’s so glad Mob is here. That Ichiro lied to him.

“Ara-chan,” Ichiro calls, and despite the horrible, decayed body Reigen had glimpsed, Sensei sounds just the same.

Reigen doesn’t want to look, but he forces himself to. Mob’s powers press the spirit flat, and the crater deepens with a thunderous clap, accompanied by a flash of lightning through the high windows. It illuminates them all in brief starkness. Reigen starts to push himself to his feet, but a green glow blinds him and he rears away from Dimple’s luminescence, Mob’s arms still holding Reigen gently.

“What are you doing?” Reigen asks, trying to get up again. Dimple flies into his face once more, blocking the sight of Ichiro and forcing Reigen to sit back down, as if Reigen couldn’t easily pass right through him.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you were about to let that thing eat your soul,” Dimple snaps, crossing his arms. “You fucking agreed to it!”

Smothering a wince, Reigen does what he does best, and prevaricates. “Well, you see, it wasn’t really what it looked like. I’m sure to you it looked like I was about to throw myself at that thing, but actually, I was, you know, about to come up with a brilliant plan!”

“You don’t have to go with him,” Mob says, as if Reigen hadn’t even spoken. His gaze is intense, watchful, and there’s a small frown to his lips. “I want you to stay with me, and Dimple. We won’t leave you.”

He expects another interjection from Dimple, a denial. But Dimple says nothing, just watches Reigen with a somber expression that’s so out of place on his arrogant face.

Reigen’s chest aches and his smile feels flimsy. “No need to be so dramatic.” He wants to say he wasn't going to do it. That he didn’t mean it. Everyone here knows that’s not the case, though. He settles on, “I’m okay, aren’t I?”

“Ara-chan, don’t listen to them. I understand you better than anyone,” Ichiro says, and Reigen feels the hairs on his arm stand on end. The ground cracks again, trembling beneath them all.

“Let me take care of it, Shishou,” Mob says, but he doesn’t do anything besides tilt his head at Reigen, as if asking for permission.

Swallowing thickly, Reigen nods, and is surprised when Mob pulls Reigen against his broad chest. Dimple stays between him and the spirit of his old Sensei, but Reigen can hear him anyway. The hair on Mob’s head lifts, and the concern turns to something hard, and unforgiving.

“We need each other!” Ichiro shrieks, voice distorting as Mob’s power flows into him.  “I want to be with you again! Forgive me, please, come with me!”

He wants to cover his ears, block it out, but he forces himself to listen. Mob’s arm tightens around him, and he’s stiff against Reigen’s back. The fist extended in front of them closes slowly, methodically, each finger curling in with care.

The screams grow louder, and louder, and Reigen ignores the impulse to tear himself out of Mob’s arms just to see. He listens, as the screaming devolves into an inhuman roar, until it cuts out, leaving only the deafening echo.

 

XVI

The dinner table is set for three, but Reigen is the only one present. He rests his elbows on the table, uncaring how rude it is, because it’s not like anyone is here to tell him off. The reheated katsudon wafts steam into his face. His fingers don’t hurt to pick up the chopsticks anymore, but he uses his right hand anyways. His parents aren’t here, but he needs to practice. If he doesn’t improve, Dad will know he’s using the wrong hand.

It makes him snort as he picks up a piece of pork, and then sigh, setting it down without bringing it anywhere near his mouth. He’s hungry, but the silence around him is loud and lonely. He wishes even one of them were here, to fill the emptiness.

He tries to imagine what having dinner with Sensei would be like. Sensei brings bentos to school, and sometimes shares with Reigen. They’re okay—better than what he can make by himself, anyways. They sit and eat together, if Sensei isn’t napping in his car. Sometimes Sensei naps anyways, and makes Reigen curl up against him in the cramped back seat, under the blanket Reigen once sat on in soaked clothes.

It’s nice, but sometimes Sensei says he can’t get to sleep with Reigen against him. Sometimes they do more than lay under the blanket. Sensei’s hand on his back, tugging Reigen’s shirt out of his pants. The hardness against his stomach.

He doesn’t like doing it there. If anyone walks through the teacher’s parking lot, they might see, and his parents would kill him.

If he’s honest—yeah, haha, honest—he doesn’t like doing it at all. It feels really weird, sours his stomach, leaves him cold and strange. Even when it feels good, when he’s heady with pleasure and barely able to speak, afterwards it’s like being dumped in ice water. Yet somehow they always ended up doing it anyway. Like he’s just along for the ride.

There’s no one around, but Reigen burns bright red all the same. He rubs his forehead against the palm of his hand, staring down at the cooling katsudon. It looks unappetizing. The pork slightly burnt, the egg congealing thickly. He’ll just eat in the morning. His mom and dad always have breakfast with him. Sitting around the table, eating together, filling the space with sound and warmth. That’s the best time to eat. With family.

Maybe, he thinks hesitantly, he could tell his mom.

She would be outraged. He can just see it. The anger on his behalf. The calls to the school, the shouting match she would have with Watanabe-sensei, maybe even with Sensei himself.

He might get fired, though. The thought makes him uneasy. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Sensei. Sensei stayed for him, after all. If it was different, it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe, if he can talk Sensei out of it next time, they could just hang out. Smoke and listen to music.

He gets up, scraping his uneaten food in the trash, wincing at the waste. Grabbing a paper napkin to throw in on top, so his mom won’t see and berate him for throwing away perfectly good food. Then he heads upstairs to his room, to curl up on his futon and watch movies alone in the dark.

 

0

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it had possessed you sooner. There was so much bad energy in here, it was hard for me to tell,” Mob says, turning his head slightly to watch Reigen as they walk.

It’s coming down lightly outside. Despite the dark clouds, it’s just a slow drizzle and the occasional rumble from above. Reigen leads them out of the gymnasium—the floor now repaired, thanks to Mob’s powers—and back into the main body of the school.

“What happened, exactly? I couldn’t find you guys, but I’m guessing that was all part of the possession. How much of it was real?” He shudders lightly as he says it, and ignores the worried frown Mob shoots him.

“When I found you outside the bathroom, we went into that classroom,” Dimple says, floating just over Reigen’s shoulder, opposite of Mob. “Shigeo was in there, but you started acting weird. You couldn’t see or hear either of us, and you acted like you were talking to someone. Then you freaked out and ran off before we could stop you.”

Mob nods, looking grave. “We lost you for a while, but then we heard you in the staff room. When we went in, you were sitting on a desk. You weren’t moving, and you were really upset.”

Grimacing, Reigen keeps his gaze straight ahead. Mob didn’t need to see that. See him having a little freak out. “So that was really you, wasn’t it? When I ran away again.”

“Yeah.”

He should have realized it was Mob. That something was going on. If he’d stopped and thought for a moment, instead of letting his panic control him—

It’s too late to worry about it now. He sighs, shoulders dropping.

“After that,” Dimple continues, “we followed you while you ran around until you went to the gym. That’s when we saw that thing come out of you. Now that was freaky.”

The school halls are dark, except for the light of the entrance, which shines like a beacon when they turn the corner. No walls or classrooms hiding it from him now.

“Yeah, well, it’s over, at least. Let’s just find Watanabe-sensei and get our payment.”

“Uh, actually…” Dimple rubs at his face, grimacing when Reigen turns his gaze on him. “If that’s the guy I think you’re talking about, he was probably possessed too. Forgot to tell you, I saw him wandering away, looking pretty confused.”

Realization dawns on Reigen. “Well, guess I should have seen that coming,” he says with a depreciative laugh. 

So it really had been about dragging him back here after all. That’s the real reason Watanabe-sensei was so insistent, why he wouldn’t accept anyone Reigen could recommend. He’d been talking to Sensei on the phone and hadn’t even realized it.

Sure enough, when they leave the school, there’s no one around, and the front gate is still open. Reigen closes the school behind them, numb lips asking Mob to lock it up for him. He pauses at the top step, staring out at the light rain.

“Too bad we forgot to check the forecast for this place before we came.” They’ll be soaked by the time they get to the station. That thought drives a familiar spike of dread up his spine, and he has to tamp it down.

It’s like all the scars have been ripped anew, leaving open gashes oozing memories. He just has to remember the careful footwork he taught himself over the years. Let the weever fish settle back into the sand, in hiding. Burying the American rock and ashy kisses and the back of a stuffy little Toyota. Out of sight, stingers poised for a misstep, one he won’t make again.

God, he wants a cigarette so bad he can almost taste it, and he wonders if it’s the stress or the memory of Sensei’s lips on his. Wonders if he’s going to be fighting off another round of withdrawal even though he hasn’t touched a cigarette in years.

He inhales, pushing away the thought of a long walk in the rain interrupted by a deceptively kind teacher, and takes the first step down. To his surprise, he doesn’t feel it. He looks up. The sky is still coming down, but it stops short over his head, splashing against nothing.

Mob steps down next to him, giving him an unreadable look, and they all go down the steps together. At the gate, they close it, and Reigen secures the padlock. Then they head back the way they came, retracing their steps, and the path Reigen used to take what seems, now, like not too long ago.

He’s hoping, well, that the conversation about what happened is over. That it was weird and they all know his deep dark secret, but it’s not something anyone needs to talk about.

He’s proven wrong by Dimple, which just figures, because Dimple loves any opportunity to prove Reigen wrong, even opportunities he isn’t aware he’s taking.

“You know that thing was lying, right?” Dimple says, uncharacteristically gentle, turning to look at Reigen as he floats along. “You were a kid.”

Reigen's tongue feels heavy in his mouth. It seems like a monumental effort to pick it up, say, “You, uh, guess you heard all of that, huh?” He hopes Dimple won’t press it more. Wishes like hell he hadn’t fallen for that trick. If he’d been aware of them in the room, he would have kept his mouth shut.

To his left, Mob is looking at him as well, brows pinched but expression otherwise neutral. Worried.

“Yeah. He said some fucked up stuff. But he was lying.”

Looking ahead, Reigen says flippantly, “He lied about a lot of things. I know that.”

Huffing, Dimple flies in his face, halting him. “What I mean, is that you—that guy—” Dimple’s face scrunches in frustration as he struggles for words. “You were a kid. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong. You know that, right?”

He wants to snort, but he holds it back. The little spirit is being genuine for once, and he can feel Mob’s eyes boring into the side of his head. “Sure,” he says, noncommittal, instead. He should set a good example, right?

Dimple crosses his arms, gaze narrow and disbelieving. Reigen doesn’t say anything else. They can believe that, if they want, but Reigen knows his own rotten core.

“Shishou,” Mob says quietly. “I was just wondering, why didn’t you tell anyone? They could have helped, right?”

Trust Mob to strike right at the heart of things without flinching. Reigen forces his shoulders to rise in a shrug. “Well, I did, actually. I told my mom.”

The memory of it creeps up the back of his brain. His mother’s demanding questions as he’d come through the door late one night. The smell of curry wafting heavily from the kitchen, filling the entrance. Reigen, frozen with one shoe off, scrambling to remember the lie he’d prepared.

Abandoning it.

I was with Sensei.

It had come out in a tangled mess. Hacking it up in front of his mom like sludge, spewing the awful truth.

“She didn’t do anything?” Dimple says. Reigen can’t make himself look at him, to see whatever expression Dimple is making.

She’d done something alright. Screamed. Hit him with the wooden spoon, still with hot curry coating the end. Drove him out into the rain.

He raises a hand, running it through his hair, waving his other like he could brush off the past. There’s a tremor in his voice, and he injects some lightheartedness to cover. “She didn’t believe me. Boy who cried wolf and all that. I was a fraud even back then.” He forces an awkward laugh.

“How dare you joke about something so serious. Shut your mouth this instant. I’m sick of your lies.”

For once, for once he hadn’t been lying. What good was the truth, though, when it couldn’t even help him?

Ugh. He’s never told anyone that. It feels like there’s a pressure on his chest, crushing his lungs, his heart. He starts to walk again, trying to outpace the feeling and the silence.

A hand on his shoulder stops him, and he turns. Mob, despite being so much bigger now, is still the same reserved boy Reigen has watched grow up. So it catches him by complete surprise when Mob wraps himself around Reigen, pulling him firmly against his chest. Reigen’s hands come up, grabbing Mob’s hoodie at his sides, and Reigen goes still.

His nose is pressed to Mob’s shoulder, warm breaths ruffling his hair. Mob’s hands flatten across his spine and ribs, large and tender. He hasn’t been hugged in so long. He reaches back into his memories, trying to find when the last time anyone held him like this was.

Something swells within him, pushing back against that crushing pressure. It was his Sensei, he realizes. The last person who hugged him was his Sensei. His dad was never very demonstrative, and after he told his mom, and she, in turn, his dad, the shallow well of parental affection had dried up. But Sensei had hugged him the day he graduated middle school. Right before he’d cut contact entirely.

Reigen’s breath catches in his throat, going ragged. Waiting for Mob to pull back. To end it. Waiting for a crude joke from Dimple to break them apart.

Nothing comes. Mob keeps holding him and Reigen’s shoulders tremble with unspent anticipation. His fingers tighten, minute, and he squeezes with his elbows, a hesitant test. The arms around him return the squeeze, and Mob’s chin dips, touching Reigen’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Shishou. I’m sorry she didn’t believe you.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, fingers curling, eyes burning. Listening to the rain pattering around them. He’s not a very good shishou. Having a breakdown on his student like this. Isn’t this exactly the kind of closeness he’d been afraid of, in the early days of their relationship? Worried about burdening Mob with adult issues, using him as an emotional crutch like Ichiro.

The very thought makes him sick. He’s doing it right now. Leaning on Mob, who’s still only in high school. He grinds his teeth against the surge of bile in his throat. He knows it’s not the same, he’s being dramatic. He would never do that to Mob. But there’s a voice in the back of his head, hissing at him for every parallel he can find between himself and Mob and himself and Ichiro.

He’s not like that. Mob already knows the worst of him, already knows that he’s a lying fraud.

It’s just going to take a while to stuff that voice back into its box in the recesses of his mind.

After too long, he releases his hold, stepping back, and Mob lets him. Reigen’s eyes are hot and aching but dry. He works up a paper thin smile, and meets Mob’s gaze.

“We’ve got a long ride home. We should get going.”

Mob shares a look with Dimple, one that Reigen doesn’t want to analyze, and yet he can’t stop himself. Dimple’s frown and pinched expression, Mob’s raised eyebrows, barely hidden by his bowl cut. When he looks at Reigen again, Mob nods. “Okay. The next train is soon. We’ll have to hurry.”

It’s a relief. Now they can finally let the topic drop. He pretends he’s not turning tail and running away as he takes the lead, cutting through the rain to the station. He just wants to forget this day. Forget the ghost of his sensei calling him, beckoning him back. How much Reigen had wanted it. To go to him.

The walk is quiet, and so is boarding the train, and the ride home. He’s tired. Resting his cheek on his knuckles, the adrenaline rush of the day leaving him exhausted. Sometime during the ride, he pulls out his phone, which Mob had returned to him, and opens a search engine. Types in the school's name and his sensei’s and taps enter.

The title of the first article that comes up reads, Middle School Teacher Found Dead by Suicide in Classroom. The blurb is a little more informative.

...beloved middle school teacher recently accused of sexual misconduct with a student was found today in his homeroom class, dead from apparent suicide. Several former students have come forward in the last few weeks…

He’s startled by a low hum in his ear, and he shuts his phone, glancing over at Dimple, who was obviously reading over his shoulder.

“What?” Reigen says.

“Nothing.”

And that’s the end of it. He doesn’t say anything else, just floats down into the empty seat next to Reigen, forming legs to stretch out in front of him like he’s any other passenger, and stays like that for the rest of the trip.

They leave the rain and the storm clouds behind as they travel back south. The sun is on its way to the horizon by the time they reach Seasoning City. They disembark in a crowd of passengers, and make their way outside into the orange-pink light of sunset.

Somehow, the thought of his little, empty apartment makes his steps heavy. Of going home, and laying on his bed, with nothing to distract him. Staring up into the darkness when he hasn’t had time to let this day bury itself into the sand.

“Thanks for the good work today,” Reigen says, lifting a hand in a wave. “Go home and get some rest. You don’t have to come in tomorrow. I’m predicting a slow day. See ya.” He doesn’t wait for a response, peeling off in the direction of his apartment.

But another set of footsteps keeps pace with him. He stops, and Mob stops too, looking down at him. He’s never going to get used to that.

“You forget something at the office?” Reigen says, lifting an eyebrow.

Mob shakes his head. “If it’s not too much trouble, would it be alright if I stayed with you tonight, Shishou?”

The hairs on the back of Reigen’s neck stand on end. Dimple just shrugs when Reigen’s eyes dart to him for help. “Hey, I’m just following him.” But he’s watching Reigen with as much interest as Mob.

These two. Reigen holds in a sigh. They don’t have to worry, he’s not going to do anything stupid. Just go home and lay in bed even though it’s barely seven.

“No, Mob. You should go home and get some rest, like I said.”

The expression on Mob’s face is nothing short of crestfallen. “I know you probably want to be alone right now, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Mob,” Reigen says, and then nothing else, because his throat is so tight.

He has to admit, at least to himself, that he doesn’t want to be alone. Despite his own brain telling him he should be, he deserves to be, he doesn’t want to sit in his empty apartment with nothing but the day’s events playing in his head.

“We could have dinner,” Reigen says, and even though Mob has already said he doesn’t want to leave Reigen alone, he still feels strangely like he’s getting his hopes up. “Stop by that ramen place on the way. You can stay for a few hours, but not overnight, if you want.”

Instant relief crosses Mob’s face, and even Dimple allows a small smile. “I’d like that, Shishou.” Mob takes the first step forward, tilting his head, waiting for Reigen to lead the way.

Reigen clears his throat, but it doesn’t make the tightness go away as he looks at the two of them.

Later, he knows it will be different. That he’ll have Sensei in his ear, saying how much he missed Reigen, how they belong together, how he was Sensei’s favorite.

Right now, though, he has Mob and Dimple to keep those thoughts at bay, just for a little while longer.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this fic!