Chapter Text
For reasons, it’s been a while since my life has been subject to a third party viewing. I’ve lived every day since in peace.
Of course, this is a lie. Every day since then has been just as stressful as before, except no one else knew. So, welcome back.
The past eight or so years have been rather straightforward considering the late teens are a time of great change in most people, whether you’re planning on doing anything with your life or not. It should come as no surprise to hear that, yes , I did plan on doing something with my life, and, yes , I did do something with my life.
After that fateful day where I had been coerced into a “romantic” relationship with Kuboyasu Aren in front of a good chunk of the student body to avoid a life tethered to Teruhashi Kokomi, the perfect pretty girl, or Aiura Mikoto, a friend (and that’s it), the both of us entered an engagement. At the insistence of my mom, Kuboyasu decided to attend Sayftee University alongside me. And Teruhashi. And the many Kokomins who followed her. But she’s not an important part of this story, and neither are all of those simps.
A month later, it was just me. And Teruhashi. And some Kokomins. Kuboyasu had dropped out after a spectacular mental breakdown. Instead of schooling, they came out as nonbinary and picked up a job at a food-warming unit manufacturing plant a little ways away, not that those two things have much to do with eachother. I continued my studies as an economics major, as was expected of me.
Being a good partner was also expected of me. So, every night I would teleport to a coffee shop about 74 meters from Kuboyasu’s one-bedroom apartment and listen via telepathy as they (mentally) waxed on about their progress in life and took note when I was mentioned. Any time it was clear that they had concerns about whether or not I had dropped off a cliff or forgot about them, I would shoot them a text or even grin and bear it to initiate a phone call if they ever “missed hearing my voice” for some reason or another. If they didn’t pick up overtime and I didn’t have any classwork to do (not that I really had any—I just wanted some time to myself every once in a while and it was a nice excuse to have) then the both of us would go out on dates to keep our contrived “romance” fresh.
(Bored of the exposition yet?)
It didn’t matter if I felt (and still don’t feel) an iota of romantic attraction to my then fiance and now partner—keeping up with the engagement, and then the marriage a year later, while in college was no issue for an esper like me. Our fictitious romance was nearly perfect, and some might even say I was the perfect partner. Kuboyasu sure did.
With the help of my economics degree, I now fill a generic financial position in the Human Resources department of a company I have no need to disclose to the readers because this is about my life being happily, voluntarily, married, not about the common struggles of the completely average man going about his day working a job that no one but my boss really cares about the details of. Kuboyasu has since moved onto an apprenticeship as an electrician after getting their pinkie chopped off in an accident at the factory two years ago.
Both of us are living together in an out-dated apartment, where we pay our bills on time and still occasionally go out on the weekends in our eyesore 1996 Dodge B-Series van to waste time at junk shops and flea markets, but mostly we spend our time doing the kinds of domestic things most single people drool over: Nothing at all. But being married while we do it.
The best part is, since most of our highschool friends have lives of their own, we can live in relative peace. Heck, I haven’t even seen some nuisances since we’ve graduated!
Yes, this is the life. Or, it was .
Because Toritsuka Reita.
27 years old.
Drops his bags on my doorstep.
He picks some lint off his sleeve then checks if his breath smells like hot garbage or not.
And knocks.
It’s a little before 5:30 and I have since strong-armed Toritsuka off the doorstep and onto the walkway at the base of the stairs. Kuboyasu should be getting here soon with this week’s groceries and I don’t want them to see what I’m about to do to this germ.
“Wait! Saiki! Please!” He begs, his grubby hands grasping at my clean shirt. “It’s just for a little while until I get my feet on the ground, I swear! You wouldn’t throw me out on the street like some kind of mon—some kind of wonderful guy that is super powerful and could kill me in an instant but please! Have some compassion!”
He snivels, not unlike the nephew of the main antagonist of the 1993 television series about a certain blue hedgehog. Pathetic. I can’t believe this is happening to me. After I had carefully manipulated most factors in my life to put all of this garbage (and this garbage person) behind me.
I gently kick Toritsuka down the walkway, where he rolls across the alley and into a fence in a daze. This does little to deter him, since he comes crawling back to me, as he always has.
Some people have no shame.
He still isn’t off his knees—he looks rather natural in that position, actually. I wonder what he’s been doing these past nine years. I’ve been doing my best to ignore him but now I’m kinda curious. However it is not the time because it looks like he’s about to offer me an ultimatum.
“Ok, ok, I understand,” he says, with a goofy look on his face. “It’s not a good look. Some rando from your past shows up on your doorstep begging to move in even though he doesn’t have a job or a car or a house or a future. I get that. But.” He shuffles on his knees even closer to me. “I come with perks.”
“One.” He puts a finger up. “I can cook.”
It’s like you forget I can read minds, so I know you’re lying. Besides, I’ve got someone for that.
‘Oh yeah. Been a while.’ Sure has. A nice while. “But I can clean!”
Now you’re just lying to yourself.
He growls at my knowing silence. “Damnit, Saiki. You’re not making this easy!”
I shouldn’t have to . You’re a grown man. I’m not your mommy. Besides, it’s not up to me.
He must hear it as well. Without the accompanying chitter-chatter brought to me in part by telepathy, of course, but the screaming of a motorcycle ripping down the alley is rather hard to ignore. Even without my cue, his head whips around to see just who’s making such a racket.
‘Wow, sick bike,’ he thinks. ‘Kinda familiar.’
He rises to his feet. ‘L-leather…’ His jaw drops. ‘What a babe! Who would have thought Saiki Kusuo of all people—’
Keep my name out of your mouth.
He cheers, “Hellooooo, Mrs. Saiki!”
If this wasn’t so funny I would have killed him by now.
“Actually,” Kuboyasu Aren’s husky voice calls out as they remove their helmet and shake their hair out, letting it fall messily around their scarred face, “We have different last names. Common mistake.”
They skillfully slide off their bike, kick out the stand, hang the helmet on the handlebars, and claim a few bags of groceries before confidently slinking over to the thorn in my side standing on the walkway.
‘S-she’s a—’
They?
Wearing the heels they change into after work, Kuboyasu is towering over where Toritsuka crouches. Toritsuka shoots to his feet like a rocket, bringing the two face to face. He watches silently as Kuboyasu passes the bags to me, and he isn’t given a chance to stutter out a response as Kuboyasu strikes out and seizes him by the wrinkled collar of his shirt. They force him to his knees with a forceful yank and lean over the fool, leering dangerously before lowering their shades with their free hand and locking eyes. “I think I remember you. You’re that guy.”
“What?” ‘I don’t remember you though?’
“Yeah! You were that weirdo monk kid that harassed all the girls at school and blew me off on my first day!” They give the mortified (presumably former) monk a nice little shake to ensure his participation in the chat. “Well, listen here, shithead. I don’t know what you’re doing here after we parted ways in highschool. But I don’t appreciate you propositioning my husband right in front of the house where everyone is watching. You best keep your hands off of Kusuo or we’re gonna have some problems. Now state your business.”
“I…” Toritsuka trails off oddly, his hand hovering around his stomach area in a way that makes me feel… weird.
My roommate's face is stony as they regard the silent Toritsuka, images of a younger and hungrier Kuboyasu learning to drink water and swallow air when there wasn’t anything to eat at age six flashing through their mind’s eye. They take in the poor condition of Toritsuka’s clothes, the paleness of his skin, the way he shakes in their hand, things I had admittedly not noticed, then swiftly hoists Toritsuka up by the grip they have on his shirt.
They jam their hands in their pockets. “Let’s take this discussion inside. Lots of ears around here.” They snap behind themself to summon him as they trudge up to the stairs. “C’mon.”
Toritsuka looks at me with those inexplicably pure eyes of his and I instantly feel like an asshole. Great.
You heard them. I wave him into action.
“Right!” He breathes, then is off like a shot, tailing Kuboyasu like a shadow.
Dinner was a quiet affair, “quiet” meaning lack of conversation, not lack of noise. Toritsuka slurped and burped his way through three servings of curry rice, complementary gibberish and bits of food falling off his lips and onto the table in the process.
‘Shit, dude, just eat ,’ Kuboyasu thinks.
Finally. FINALLY. Toritsuka stops making an ass of himself and a mess of the table. Kuboyasu proceeds to gather the dishes off the table and dump them in the sink. They quickly, quietly, and violently wash them. I dry them, keeping my eyes on Toritsuka the entire time to get him good and on edge for the interrogation.
He squirms in the way I always remembered. I missed this.
Kuboyasu dries their hands, then plops down by the table, landing half-crouched not unlike a Yakuza lord or the head of a gang. Wonder why. “Alright, Toritsuka, you’ve got your food and you’re out of the wind.” They smile. “So, you gonna spill, then? I’m not trying to be an ass, it’s just—we’ve got things to do tonight.”
Toritsuka shakes his head, sending his greasy hair into a flurry as he re-enters reality. “Well, where do I start?” His hopeful smile slips off his face, expression darkening. “ Where the hell do I start… ”
“You’re looking for a place to crash, right?” Kuboyasu interrupts, surprisingly tactful.
“Huh—oh. Yeah. It’s… been a little rough, not gonna lie.”
I feel a story coming on.
“Right after graduation I was kicked out of the temple and I thought I would be able to room with Shinoda but he didn’t tell me that he had found a roommate already so I bunked with Takahashi but I hate that guy and ended up bunking with my girlfriend at the time but then we broke up and she left and I found another roommate but this guy was a total wingnut and we got evicted so we moved in with the bassist for his band but—”
But I didn’t ask for your life story. There’s a reason we didn’t keep in touch.
Blah blah blah angst caused by poor life decisions. I’m alone in rational thought, however; it looks like Kuboyasu is gonna cry. ‘This guy has had a real shitty run, huh?’ Damnit, you’re supposed to be on my side. Till death do us part and all of that jazz.
“—so even though I promised not to bother you unless I really really really really really needed your help, but I really really really really really need your help, Saiki! I’ve been homeless more times than I can count. I haven’t had my own bed in years! Usually I’d just share with whoever I was sleeping with that night if you know what I mean.”
Kuboyasu’s face and thoughts are my own. ‘Eughh.’
You’re losing them, pervert.
“What? Oh!” Toritsuka falters in his story, then rushes the rest of his delivery in fear of already wearing out his welcome. “Not that I’ve just been sleeping around or anything. I’m not a pervert, I’m just a man with needs.”
Try again.
“Errr, wait, I mean it was an accident!”
You fool .
“I-I’m filthy!” he cries, then cries. And cries. Yeah, he’s crying.
“Ew… why is he—” Kuboyasu catches themself in a moment of low empathy before frantically throwing a rag at Toritsuka’s red face. “Stop crying! You can stay! Geez, man.” They strengthen their resolve with a calming breath. “But you’re not gonna be freeloading off of us or you’re gone, got it?”
Instead of stopping like I thought he would, Toritsuka keeps crying. Wow. Those must be real tears then. Makes me wonder if his story leading up to today was kinda traumatic for the guy or something. Maybe I should be a little less mean-spirited—
‘Aw man, Saiki’s gonna make me his slave for sure!’ He lets out a loud sob at the thought. ‘Might even make me wear a french maid costume or something even more humiliating like licking his shoes!’
As I continue to grow more annoyed, Kuboyasu becomes more uncomfortable at this pathetic display and attempts to talk over Toritsuka’s dramatics. Someone better step in really quick before I do something I know I personally won’t regret but I might get some raised eyebrows.
“A third of the rent and a third of the chores, good night.” Kuboyasu, having 1) told the crying man to stop crying, 2) giving the crying man something to fix himself with, and 3) having said all that they needed to say, got up and went into the bathroom, slamming the door in their desperation to hide their discomfort. I mean, same, but this does make this part much easier.
I stare Toritsuka down again, for old time’s sake. And because this has shifted from a discussion of terms between the germ and my partner to an interrogation where I shall relentlessly grill Toritsuka for answers I already know. Thankfully, his tears are starting to dry up so this should be easier than if he were to cry like a baby through the whole process.
We sit. Silent and awkward.
He sniffles a little bit. I stare.
He looks over at the sparse pictures hanging on the walls. I stare.
He scratches the back of his neck. I stare.
He plays with his hair. Goddamn it.
I sigh. Are you done?
“Uh, yeah,” he sniffs. “I’m good.”
Did you get all of that?
He nods. “Yeah. Third of rent and chores. Makes sense.”
We sit again.
We’ll get our start in the morning.
“Oh thank GOD .”
Good on Toritsuka that he doesn’t have telepathy and sleep in bed with Kuboyasu Aren.
Their racing thoughts are so excessive at night that I’ve taken to wearing a germanium ring I acquired off of a door-to-door salesman the night after our honeymoon to avoid the onslaught of stupid shower thoughts and vivid nightmare fuel. Of course, this former thug is sometimes prone to venting their racing thoughts when they truly do get to be too much for one person, which would be understandable if I didn’t already hear the thoughts of everyone around me in a 200 kilometer radius nonstop without this tacky ring, but I suppose their ignorance can be forgiven. Lay it on me, Kuboyasu.
They roll over to face me. “What do you think about Toritsuka? Like, I know he kinda hung around you in school, but were you close? Friends? I mean, I didn’t think you guys kept in touch and it definitely sounded like that was the case when he was giving his spiel, so I’m pretty sure you didn’t but why’s that? Is it the pervert thing? You think he grew outta that? He was kinda getting weird when he was talking about his girlfriends for a while there. You don’t think that he’s gonna pull anything weird while he’s here, do you? He’s not gonna invite someone over or fuck someone all over our apartment, right? He doesn’t seem like a really clean person, but I know it ain’t easy living on the streets and keeping clean so that’s understandable.”
Kuboyasu rolls onto their back again, their arms coming to rest behind their head. “Sorry. This is stupid. I mean, it’s been like ten years already! He’s probably changed like I did. Once he gets a job then he won’t be home alone and it will all work itself out. I’m just. Stupid. Sorry, babe.”
I roll my eyes. You’re no use to anyone when you’re tired.
They laugh, “Yeah, now that I’m thinking, I won’t stop! Haha, nothing unusual there, though. Goodnight!”
Goodnight.
Geez, they weren’t kidding. Even if they hadn’t said anything, I probably could have smelled the smoke coming out of their ears and drew my own conclusions. It’s nights like these that I find myself indebted to tacky germanium jewelry of all things. I close my eyes.
“But wasn’t there that incident where he stole those girls’ gym clothes?”
I whack them with a pillow.
“Aye aye, captain.”
I would say that Kuboyasu woke up sore and cranky but that implies that they actually went to bed after I had shut them up. As usual, I didn’t hear them get up since they get up at 5 am and I… do not, and that’s the way I like it. By the time 7:30 am rolls around, I am up, dressed, fed, and refreshed.
Now’s a good time as ever to get that lazy ex-monk out of bed. I thought monks got up early to do monk stuff but I suppose even if that’s the case, it has been almost a decade since Toritsuka had needed to do anything relatively monkish. Of course, I don’t think this logic should extend to his knowledge (or lack thereof) of performing basic household chores, but what do I know besides almost everything?
Telekinesis makes waking up unwanted house guests easy.
“Hey, what the hell— Saiki!!! ”
I force him into the shower because he is disgusting. He is very thankful and doesn’t at all curse my lineage as I do so.
Once he is clean and dry and dressed, I throw an apron at him. He looks at me like I am crazy. He wonders, ‘Is this guy nuts?’ He asks me, “Are you out of your mind???”
Chores commence. Unfortunately, so do the results, some of which I am forced to restore. If I was a weaker person, I would have cried at the mess. But I’m not. I’m as strong as they come. But it was still a struggle.
Well, it’s clear based on his domestic incompetence, that where ever Tortisuka had been hanging his hat for the past nine years must not have been very hygienic. The man has no pride for the home. He burns water, he’s scared of the vacuum cleaner, he gets lost in the sheets when he attempts to fold them. This man is truly incompetent.
Toritsuka kneels before me with praying hands. “So what do you say, Teacher?”
I say you better get a job because a hobo wouldn’t make you their maid.
Those pure eyes of his sing out, reflecting the little bit of his soul not lost to carnal desire.
“May I stay?” He pleads once more.
I didn’t say no. I just said get a job.
“Are you sure that that there—w-wait. Oh, Yes!” He screams like a pornstar and I finally find something that turns me off, impressive considering nothing turns me on. He latches onto my legs. “Thank you, Saiki! You won’t regret it! I’ll have a job by next week I swear I won’t let you down I swear it, Saiki—you gotta believe me—!”
Get off before I change my mind.
“O-oh, of course, master!”
Knock it off.
“Right!”
Good grief. I regret this already. Good thing it will be no challenge for me to keep an eye on the housing market. This? Is definitely not going to be a permanent living situation.
If you think I’m going to let such poor cleaning performance slip from my attention, then you’re even further gone than I thought, which is just really sad.
‘O-oh?’ “And what does that mean?”
It means that I’m gonna make a man good roommate out of you yet, even if it takes a whole damn chapter, or even this whole damn story. I jab him in the face, without touching him of course or otherwise I might be charged with accidental homicide. It would be an embarrassment to set you out into the real world the way you are now: helpless like a little kid. You’ll dust and mop and sweep and scrub and polish and bargain until you can put the Immortal Dragon to shame.
“Wait, do you want me to clean, or do you want me to kill people?”
Whatever I tell you to do.
“Like your slave or something?” Oh look, he’s getting righteously indignant. “You can’t do that!”
A beat.
“So, yeah, you can, but I’m not going to like it.”
Good. That makes both of us.