Chapter Text
'SODA PICANTE - Extra Hot'.
Seiji couldn't keep the grin from his face as he read the label on the can once again. At first glance, his latest discovery appeared perfectly innocuous - just another run-of-the-mill, novelty beverage - but further inspection revealed its contents to be something much less benign in nature.
It was liquid fire; a throat burning, tongue scorching torture device derived from the nastiest kinds of chemical warfare. A napalm taste bomb. A truly inspired, diabolical creation, concocted during a moment of misanthropic ennui by a particularly cruel and bloody minded food scientist with a big vendetta against taste buds - or more broadly, humanity's innate need to hydrate as a whole.
One low ranking thug from the Family offices (with the simple misfortune of being otherwise unoccupied) had been its first victim - unknowingly recruited with an all too innocent smile into being Seiji's brain-dead little guinea pig.
The fool naively accepted his offer of a free drink, not even sparing the can a second glance before he had knocked it back, and with a delicious three second delay, doubled over with a hand clutched to his throat and tears streaming down his face from the agonising heat of what he had originally expected to be nothing more than just a nice, cool can of lemonade.
Seiji had always figured him for a lightweight, so now he was rather eager to see what effect it might have on someone made of sterner stuff.
...Not that he was just looking for an excuse to see him.
...Though yes, that might have been something of a factor.
Alright, so maybe it wasn't the nicest 'gift' in the world - kind of mean-spirited, if he was being perfectly honest.
And whilst it wasn't necessarily intended to be a 'punishment', Seiji needed to vent his frustrations somehow.
It had already been two weeks since they had concluded all that unpleasant business surrounding Ami's disappearance - with the ghosts, and the spirits, and all those dangerous, late night rendezvous - and dammit, why the hell hadn't Akira made a move on him yet!?
He hadn't just imagined it, right? That final night outside of Moon Tower, after their rooftop battle against a horrifying amalgamation of burnt flesh and chain; backs to the wall and facing the possibility of obliteration side by side-
He was positive that he had caught Akira gazing at him with newfound appreciation; a multitude of subtle signs hinting that he might have had an interest in moving their relationship beyond the status quo, and finally, at long last, giving it a much needed push out of the platonic rut of the past decade or so.
'Something' was there. Something between them. And he was at least ninety-nine percent certain that it wasn't just some dumb, ghost-allergy induced delusion. Besides, weren't life or death situations supposed to bring people closer together? If ever there was a time for the 'Suspension Bridge effect' to work its magic, high-stakes ghost games with their lives on the line surely must have been it.
Yet despite all that, they still seemed to be stuck in the same old, same old - only now, with so many new tortures making his life a living hell.
Like those looks that lasted just a few seconds too long. And touches and close contact that lingered more than should have been appropriate.
The possessive squeeze of hand around his waist - casually, like it was the most natural thing in the whole damn world.
Maybe Akira just needed time to figure out his feelings. Things had been pretty crazy, so him needing a week or two to decompress wasn't to be totally unexpected.
And that was fine and all, it was just... Ten years had already worn Seiji's patience kind of thin, you know?
But whatever. He had waited this long. He could stand to wait a little longer.
Even if he was one more caress away from a sexually frustrated aneurysm.
Arriving at the Black Rabbit, he paused to grab a quick glimpse of himself in the reflection of the windows. That annoying flick of hair aside (the piece which refused to stay put no matter how much product he tried smothering it under), he honestly had to congratulate himself on just how good he looked.
Of course, he always looked good.
Not that it had ever made any kind of difference. Still, it was nice knowing that his ongoing failure to make any progress in his love life had nothing to do with how well he presented himself.
Strolling in through the door - the tinkle of that bell stopping dead his self-absorbed excuses - Seiji very quickly became aware that something was amiss.
It was dark; that was the first thing he registered. Despite the last rays of daylight having long since faded, the lights inside the bar still hadn't been switched on. Definitely strange, seeing as the door was unlocked and open. Was there an issue with the electrics? Or had Akira simply decided that he preferred his 'mood lighting' on the 'no lighting at all' side of things?
He was even more confused when he noticed Hazuki and that mysterious, mature woman (the one with the 'come-hither' smile hiding some serious secrets behind it) standing there, for all appearances just shooting the breeze, as if there was absolutely nothing weird about this whole situation.
Ah yes. Rosé Mulan. They were barely acquainted, but even in passing Seiji had recognised something of a kindred spirit in the way that she carried herself. In that way, you could say she was exactly his 'type'.
...Meaning that he trusted her just about as far as he could throw her.
The two of them stopped mid-conversation the moment that he entered, and from the looks on their faces and strange, permeating tension hanging in the air, Seiji's assessment on the state of things quickly went from 'amiss' to 'very, very wrong'.
Especially when he noticed Akira's incredibly conspicuous absence.
"...Why are you ladies just standing here in the dark?" he frowned, then folded his arms and added, "Where's Akira?"
A meaningful look was exchanged between the two of them before Hazuki flashed him a bright grin and held up both her hands in a nervous, placating gesture.
"Amanome, don’t freak out, ok?"
Well that immediately put him on edge - a slew of worst-case scenarios sent stampeding through his head.
Fears of Akira having been caught up in some accident or disaster - or maybe yet another crisis of the supernatural variety.
Covering his panic with an even harder frown, he dug his nails into his arms and pressed:
"Freak out about what?"
"...No..Me..."
The low growl sounded like it might have been an imitation of his name, accompanied by a chilling, slithering sound that sent an icy shiver shooting straight down Seiji's spine. Slowly, stiffly, without moving a muscle, his eyes shifted to the darkest corner of the room where they met two, glowing red lights - what he quickly realised were another pair of eyes - staring straight back at him.
He could only watch in horror, goosebumps rising all across his skin, as the ominous, shadow wreathed entity took a heavy step forward.
Emerging from the darkness, it was as if the gloom was clinging to the creature like cobwebs, black energy coiling from off its humanoid body and a thick appendage writhing where its right arm should be; a seething mass of smoke and shade, with the acrid smell of blood and burning leather hitting Seiji's nostrils with stomach churning, eye watering pungency.
A month ago, he might have been inclined to reason what he was seeing away, but with everything that had happened recently, he had no doubt at all about what it was that he was looking at:
A spirit. A spirit was standing there, right in the middle of the Black Rabbit.
Seiji could have died from fright on the spot.
"Shit!" he shouted, nearly falling over backwards as he scrambled to duck for cover.
"Amanome, wait!" he heard Hazuki call after him, "You don't need to be afraid! It's Kijima! The spirit is Kijima!"
"...Akira?" Seiji gulped, peeking up from over the counter, "Th... That's Akira!?"
Looking closely... Oh god. It was. It was Akira. It was impossible to tell at first glance - his face and body concealed by that umbral, otherworldly pall - but it was him, no doubt about it.
Seiji was struck by a million questions all at once, but in the end, the only one he was able to actually vocalise was simply:
"...How?"
Smiling all the while, Rosé replied, "Kijima was having a little trouble with his powers. And seeing as I couldn't possibly ignore a cute, young man in distress, I simply leant him what you might call a... 'helping hand'."
Seiji's instinctive reaction was to go for the throat, but years of practice meant that he was just about able to hold it back.
So instead of slamming a fist against the counter and snarling at her to cut the crap, he calmly re-folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow in her direction.
"Please, elaborate."
"Mon cher," Rosé winked, pressing a finger furtively to her curling lips, "A magician never reveals her secrets."
Oh, she was good; a consummate femme fatale who exuded the kind of graceful, lady-like confidence that paired perfectly to a playful evasiveness which would have easily had a lesser man eating right out of the palm of her hand.
But unfortunately for her, Seiji didn't have an appetite.
"...Excuse me?" he countered, his mouth spasming from the effort of maintaining that gentlemanly persona, "This isn't some damn parlour trick or slight of hand that we're talking about here - if I'm to understand correctly, you've turned my friend into a spirit. Do you not find that slightly problematic? I mean, is he even still alive?"
"Well..." Rosé hummed with an infuriating lack of urgency - as if she were pondering what she wanted to eat for dinner rather than the specifics of a deeply fraught life and death situation, "Yes and no."
"Yes and no?" Seiji's nails were scratching raw against his skin, "Hey- just give it to me straight, will you? Is he alive or not?"
Apparently sensing that her teasing and light-hearted frivolities were beginning to outstay their welcome (or maybe out of pity, seeing as the cracks in Seiji's composure were growing more and more evident by the second) Rosé softened her smile and answered, "Right now, I would say that he exists between worlds. But you needn't look so worried, darling. He can be returned to how he was."
At hearing that, the vice in his chest released; a crushing weight lifted instantly from off his shoulders.
"Great. So? What's keeping you?" he glanced uneasily at where Akira was still glowering at him from across the room, "Wh-Why haven't you reversed whatever the hell this is already?"
"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple..."
"Ms Rosé was just explaining that we need to put a seal on his powers," Hazuki interjected, "But because of the stress on his body and soul, it'd be too dangerous to do it so soon after he's already been transformed. That's why we have to wait a couple of days, so that-"
There was probably something resembling a logical explanation in all the inane chattering that followed, but Seiji couldn't hear it - her voice was fading into background noise the moment his eyes locked with Akira's and a low, unsettling hum started buzzing through his head.
That sanguine stare hadn't left him once since the beast had stepped out from the shadows; it was like a dark hand reaching out to engulf him, squeezing him - pulling his nerves as taut and tense as a drawn bowstring.
Was he being sized up as a potential victim? There's no other reason a spirit would be so interested in him, surely? Even if it was Akira.
And just what the was the deal with that weird, wriggly tentacle arm?
"Wh... Why is he staring at me like that?" he asked through gritted teeth.
With a soft 'hm?' as she glanced back and forth between them, Rosé chuckled, "Well. It seems to me that you've caught his attention."
"Aw, he likes you!" Hazuki offered cheerfully.
Seiji was not convinced - nor did he appreciate the fact that no one else in the room appeared to be treating the situation with the same level of seriousness that it very clearly warranted.
It was all beginning to make him to feel like the only sane man in a madhouse.
"Urgh. Whatever," he grimaced, "The sooner you can turn him back to normal the better."
"But he is pretty cute like this," Hazuki beamed and pressed her hands together, "Look..."
Inhaling softly, she began to hum then sing one of her pretty little pop songs, and as that sweet sounding melody resounded lightly throughout the room, the dark energy coiling off Akira began to calm and recede like the extinguishing of a flame.
"...Zu..Ki..." he mumbled, leaning gently in her direction.
"Oh? 'Music soothes the savage beast', is it?" Seiji commented with a sardonic sort admiration - admittedly a little irked at seeing Akira mollified so easily at someone else's hand.
"I wish I could take him home," Hazuki sighed, "I wonder if my agency would let me bend the 'no boys allowed' rule since he's a spirit."
"I expect the press would have one hell of a field day," Seiji smirked whilst subtly edging to use the counter as a barricade, "Especially after the discovery of your gruesome, blood splattered corpse."
Hazuki's doll-like face went round with outrage, to the point that she resembled some manner of porcelain pufferfish.
"How could you say that?" she pouted, "He wouldn't hurt me! Would you, Kijima?"
Akira didn't reply, simply staring into the distance with a sleepy, idle expression.
"...See?"
"That's an awful lot of faith you're placing in non-committal silence."
---
Upon her arrival, Ms Natsumi had taken the news of Akira's 'transformation' with characteristic calm and dauntlessness.
Oh she had been surprised, certainly, but after the initial shock had faded she had listened closely, asked a few carefully considered questions, and in the end agreed that it would be best if he stayed with her and Ami until such a time that it was possible for him to be returned to normal.
Whether that strong stomach of hers was a side effect from those many years spent penning ghastly horror stories, or simply the enduring love of a mother for her wayward son (familial conventions being as they were), Seiji was perpetually impressed by the sheer amount grit that woman could possess in the face of such adversity.
Perhaps it was a 'Kijima' thing.
In any case, relieved though he was that Akira could be left in good hands, this new development was far from being in his favour.
They were supposed to be spending more time together, not less. How the hell was he supposed to encourage Akira's burgeoning sexual interest in him when the guy had been turned into something that Seiji couldn't stand in close proximity to without breaking out in a cold sweat and shakes?
When that Rosé woman had been explaining everything to Ms Natsumi, she had made it sound as though a temporary transformation had been a legitimate last resort - an extreme but necessary measure to prevent his psychic powers from going completely out of control. If that truly had been the case, then he couldn't be too upset; Akira's health was a priority, and if sparing him any lasting damage meant that he had to spend a few days stuck as a spirit, of all things, then that was something he was just going to have to deal with.
Could he really trust her, though? Naturally, he had done his research, but like Ban before her, it seemed that Madame Mulan had some experience in keeping herself from off the radar. What little he could find out stemmed almost entirely from her (alleged) career as a stage magician, and that in itself was enough to rouse suspicion; people generally didn't take that much care in covering their tracks unless they had something specific that they wanted to hide.
From the sparse snippets that Akira had shared with him, she certainly sounded capable enough, and perfectly dependable in the right situation. But 'reliable' didn't necessarily make for 'trustworthy', and behind that alluring woman of mystery act that she had going on, Seiji had sniffed out a hint of danger that unnerved him in a way which wouldn't have made sense for someone simply hailing from the shadier parts of society's dark underbelly.
He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about that woman was off, and somehow, her turning Akira into a spirit felt like it might only just be scratching the surface of something much, much bigger.
He groaned and slumped back in his chair.
Regardless of whether he trusted her or not, it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. Not unless he wanted to start studying the 'mystic' arts himself, anyway.
And like hell that was going to happen.
So at this stage, he had little option but to let things run their course. That meant that he would just have to put a pin in it, suspend all Akira related plans until further notice, and get on with the homework laying half-finished on his desk.
But damn, if he wasn't finding it difficult to concentrate. Leaning forward again, Seiji glared down at the textbook sat in front of him, flicking his pencil restlessly against the pages in a rapid, see-sawing motion.
Just when he thought they could be done with all of that occult nonsense and put the many stresses of the past month behind them, Akira had to go and get turned into some freakish, otherworldly abomination.
The very thing, despite his best efforts, that Seiji remained absolutely terrified of.
It was difficult to process. Akira had never scared him. Ever. Even at his most ferocious and unpredictable, Seiji knew that he could count on him to be able to tell friend from foe, recognise him as the former, and limit any potential damage to a light bruising at the most.
As he was now, however-
Bang.
Seiji startled, blinking to attention.
Brought back to the then and there, he suddenly became very much aware of the way his teeth were worrying at his bottom lip, crossed legs squeezed together in the suppression of a familiar, fidgety heat pooling between his-
No, wait- more importantly, didn't he just hear something?
He listened closely, and sure enough, after few seconds of silence, it came again: Bang, bang - a dull, thudding noise, knocking against his bedroom window.
Turning to look over at his drawn curtains, Seiji frowned and went to stand.
Who the hell was disturbing him at home at this time of night? The grounds surrounding his house should have been perfectly secure, so either it was some visiting subordinate making what they were about to learn was a real big mistake, or his father playing another one of his ridiculous practical jokes.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Or maybe it was a bat, or a confused bird or something, smacking up against the glass.
There were plenty of reasonable explanations for what he was hearing.
...So why were the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end?
Seiji swallowed down a lump of fear and edged closer, practically tip-toeing his way over to the window.
There was no way someone could be out there, banging on the glass.
Something laying in wait, just on the other side...
Gripping tightly at the hanging drapery, he drew in a deep breath, holding it a moment to steel his nerves, before exhaling hard, yanking the curtains aside-
And coming face to face with a pair of beastly, red eyes, fixed on him through the darkness.
---
The events that followed had all happened rather quickly.
Upon hearing his shrill, ear-splitting scream, his father and three visiting members of the Family had practically kicked down the door to his bedroom. They had found Seiji stood there, curtains drawn to, wearing his smoothest, most nonchalant smile as he casually explained to them that what had sounded like a cry of terror was actually one of frustration - a minor outburst prompted by a phone call that he had just received with some bad news regarding one of his many ongoing side schemes.
Thankfully, his father hadn't asked to check his phone to corroborate that little lie, and after making certain that he was definitely safe (accompanied by a sore smack upside the head for making him worry unnecessarily) left with his entourage in tow and Seiji wincing, white teeth ground together, as he listened to the sound of their retreating foot steps disappearing off back down the hallway.
Just as soon as the coast was clear, he took another lungful of air and turned to re-open the curtains.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, glowering at where Akira was somehow crouched on the thin ledge outside of his bedroom window.
Akira's expression - one of vague stoicism not unlike his every day appearance - didn't change. He just sat there, ominously, with his face practically pressed up against the glass.
Watching.
Waiting.
"Go home," Seiji tried in the sort of tone normally reserved for underlings and dogs who wouldn't do what they were told - as if his thundering heart wasn't threatening to leap straight out from his vice-tight chest.
Akira laid his gloved hand upon the pane, but otherwise stayed perfectly still.
Eeriness aside, it was giving Seiji some serious mixed feelings to see him now, as he was, up close. Whatever this entity might be, it still looked like Akira.
Same face, familiar features... He would have known those eyes anywhere, discoloured though they were.
And somehow, reluctant as he was to believe it, he was certain that he could see a hint of anguish hidden there, deep in the dark of them.
As if they were entreating him; a cry for help, tinged with guilt.
He always had been weak against those eyes. Weak against Akira as a general rule, really.
Case in point, he was pretty sure that he had had zero intentions on letting him inside, so what the hell was his hand doing on the latch like he was thinking of pushing it open?
Dammit. Was he really going to do this?
What if it was a trick? It wasn't totally beyond the realm of possibility that this thing was using his feelings for Akira to manipulate him, to dupe him into letting it inside, then after gaining entry, slaughtering him where he stood.
And deservedly so, for being so damn naive.
But then... If Akira needed his help...
Casting all common sense aside, Seiji threw open the window then immediately leapt back.
Akira entered the room; swift and sudden, but not in any way that could be called violent. It was as though he were made of liquid smoke, pouring and spilling in over the ledge with his writhing arm coiling until he landed there, beast-like, in a kneeling crouch on Seiji's bedroom floor.
The very moment he crossed the threshold, the lighting around them began to flicker - dimming, then brightening, before cutting off entirely with a sharp, glassy 'tink'.
And as the room plunged abruptly into darkness, Seiji instantly regretted his decision.
"Uh... hey?"
He hadn't meant for his voice to creep up an octave at the end, but it was unavoidable with the way Akira's eyes were boring into him. He had always had moments of startling intensity - most notably that superhuman focus he switched to when dead in the heat of battle.
There was nothing human about this look, though, super or otherwise. It was the kind of look that left him feeling like he was being flayed open - exposed and laid down bare before him.
But not in a 'fun, sexy' kind of way.
(Or at least, he was pretty sure not).
"...D-Does Ms. Natsumi know you're here?" he asked in an attempt to quash his fear and refocus on the more immediate question of what Akira - or rather, the spirit that had been Akira - was doing in his damn bedroom.
As if on cue, there was a buzzing from his desk. Seiji's eyes darted over to it before swivelling back to Akira; a drop of cold sweat making him shiver as it trickled tickly down the length of his neck.
Slowly, making no sudden movements, he shuffled his way over to pick up his phone and press it to his ear.
"...Hello?"
"Ah, Seiji?" came the familiar voice of a mature, well-mannered lady.
"Ms Natsumi?" Seiji answered, not taking his eyes off Akira for even a second. His free hand reached back behind him, fumbling for his letter opener. It was the closest thing he had to a weapon right now, and man, he really hoped he wasn't going need it.
"I'm sorry, I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," she continued, "But I didn't know who else to call-"
"Please, Ms Natsumi, you know that you can call me any time at all," Seiji replied - smooth and easy and entirely on auto-pilot, "What is it that I can do for you?"
"It's Akira," she continued, clearly quite distressed, "He was sitting with Ami, and I don't know if something startled him, or triggered some sort of instinct... It-It all happened so suddenly-"
Seiji felt the blood drain from his face, mind racing three steps ahead in morbid anticipation; looking down at Akira's demonic visage, illuminated only by the red glow of his eyes and dim gleam from the street lights outside, there was no way his thoughts wouldn't gravitate to the worst of worst case scenarios.
The look of 'guilt' he was sure that he had glimpsed... It couldn't have been-
"-I think perhaps he was trying to get outside? I was able to keep Ami out of the way before anything more serious could happen, but Akira... he managed to escape. Ami tried to chase after him, but she slipped and took a little tumble down the apartment stairs, and in all the chaos we completely lost sight of him. It's like he just simply... vanished."
"Ahh, I see," Seiji sighed, relaxing the white knuckle grip that he had held around the blade, "Well, I'm happy to report that you can rest easy. Akira is here with me. He turned up just a short while ago."
"He is?" it seemed Ms Natsumi was just as relieved, her own sigh crackling softly against the receiver, "Oh, thank goodness..."
"Is Ami okay?" Seiji ventured as he started to form a picture in his head. He was pretty sure he got the 'how', but the 'why' was taking some effort.
Was it possible that Akira's disappearing act had been an attempt to mitigate some risk? And if so, did that mean he was aware enough that he considered himself a danger to those around him?
But then, if that were the case, why come to him?
"She's a little shaken, as I'm sure you can imagine, but it's just a few bumps and bruises. Really, I'm sure it's nothing serious..." she sounded as though she was trying to convince herself of something, that much was clear. Evidentially, it must have been obvious to her too, as there was a long pause before she went on, "Oh dear- Honestly, I'm probably over reacting, and you know I would hate to impose, but..."
Seiji already knew what was coming next, and as the weight of resignation cheerfully clapped a hand down upon his shoulder, he also knew full well what his answer was going to have to be.
"I really ought to get her to a hospital, just to make sure. I don't suppose, if it's not too much trouble..."
"Of course. I'm more than happy for Akira to spend the night," Seiji smiled brightly, hoping it would make the enthusiasm in his voice somehow sound more convincing.
"Thank you, Seiji. I knew I could count on you to be there for him."
If by 'him' she meant Akira, then yes; he would have been there for him until the end of the world and beyond.
But this... thing, looking back up at him through the waves of unnatural darkness swirling all around it...
Could it really be called Akira?
---
As chance (or misfortune) would have it, Seiji's father had been due to leave on a three day 'business' trip that very night.
When the time came for him to finally depart, Seiji had seriously considered falling to his knees and begging him to stay. It would have been unseemly, though, especially at his age, and highly suspicious after his earlier outburst.
So he had little choice but to let him go; to put on a brave face, and to wave and smile and wish him a pleasant journey as he had stepped out of the door.
On the inside, he was far less composed. Being stuck at home, all alone, with the literal embodiment of one his greatest fears - one that, until just recently, he had at least the comfort of being able to decry as fiction - left him feeling like a scared little five year old wanting nothing more than to just cling to his father for comfort.
And it pissed him off, to be quite honest.
Sitting there on his bed, his knees drawn in, he clutched a pillow to his chest as though it could shield him from the sinister, supernatural presence staring at him from where it was huddled over in the far corner of his bedroom.
The lack of light was also very much an issue. He had tried replacing the lightbulb, only for it to immediately blow again, and so resorted to clusters of gently flickering tealights dotted strategically about the room. A fire hazard, for sure, but it was infinitely more preferable to the alternative.
Still, despite his current situation having all the trappings of a horror story, he supposed, in way, he should have been touched that Akira had sought him out; the idea that Seiji would be there for him apparently so ingrained that he had instinctually come to him even as he was right now.
And Seiji was touched.
Incredibly so.
...But he was also scared shitless.
"So if you're gonna be staying here, we had best lay out some rules," he started hoarsely, "First, no murdering. Or maiming, for that matter. Are we clear on that?"
Akira didn't reply, though he looked to be hanging on Seiji's every word, so he continued.
"Second, no messed up, spirit stuff. That goes double for things like leaving mud everywhere, or stringing up headless dogs," he paused, blanching, then added, "Just... ngh... nothing you know will freak me out, okay?"
Recalling the gauntlet of spirits that they had faced over the course of the previous month, he could quickly feel a stress headache coming on. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to massage his temples, before he glanced back over at Akira and the faintly glazed look on his face, and realised, dimly, that his nervous rambling might ultimately be pointless.
"...Can you even understand me?" he asked weakly.
Akira tilted his head - a picture perfect imitation of the 'I'm a puzzled dog' look. It might have been cute if he wasn't... well, the way he was.
The futility of it made Seiji sigh. He vaguely felt like he was in one of those flicks he could remember watching when he was a kid. They all tended to follow the same sort of plot, where a child befriended a monster or an alien; a creature that they had to keep concealed from everyone else. Inevitably that would result in all sorts of hi-jinks, before some heart-warming finale where everything got neatly wrapped up in a tidy little package.
Only in this case, the creature in question was his best friend.
His best friend, who he was secretly in love with.
And based on what he (begrudgingly) knew about spirits, any hi-jinks involved would most likely require a discrete but sizeable clean-up crew, and a few hefty payouts to get the police to look the other way.
"No..Me..."
Seiji nearly jumped out of his skin, suddenly aware that Akira had at some point made his way over to the side of his bed where he was now sat, watching him expectantly.
He swallowed, scooting away.
"Wh-What?"
Wordlessly, Akira rested his chin onto the mattress and stared up at him with a steely, inscrutable frown.
Who could possibly know what was going on behind those eyes? Blood red against black sclera; a penetrating gaze, staring deep into his soul. He was a mystery, an enigma borne of another world entirely - his motivations obscure and inexplicable, truths that could only be glimpsed from beyond the grave, within the whispers of shade rolling off of his deathly pallor like a faint licks of Stygian flame-
Or at least, until his stomach rumbled.
Seiji blinked.
"...You're hungry?"
Well, that was easy enough to fix. Although there was one, minor issue.
That being the simple fact, Seiji couldn't cook.
Didn't cook, he would have been quick to clarify. It wasn't that he was inept or anything. After all, he was so talented, he had little doubt that he would have handily excelled in the culinary arts if he had ever taken the time to try.
He just... Never had the need to.
Cautiously, he shuffled his way off the opposite side of his bed and went to reach for his wallet. His first thought would have been to ask his father to whip him something up, but his absence scuppered that plan. Really, that only left one other option.
"I'll go grab you something from the stor- Guh-!?" the words were squeezed from his body along with all the air in his lungs as the tentacle coiled suddenly around his waist.
"-Nome," Akira growled.
Panic. Panic, and fear, and a frantic stream of 'oh god oh god oh god' congesting the synapses of his brain. It was on him. A spirit. Oh fuck. Oh god. This was it. He was gonna die. He knew he shouldn't have let him in. This is what he got for letting his heart rule his head instead relying on cold, hard dependable logic-
"B-Buddy? You're gonna have to let go of me," Seiji was shaking like a leaf, attempting to disentangle himself from the appendage with the same level of care and trepidation as a man trying to disarm a bomb, "Uh, if you want to eat, I need to go and buy you food. Do you understand?"
From the way Akira was scowling, his upper lip curling into an aggressive snarl, Seiji figured: Maybe not.
Though now that thought on it, did spirits really need sustenance? He could faintly remember Hazuki once mentioning that they fed off fear - but whether that was a literal or metaphorical feeding he didn't think (or care) to ask.
Supposing it were literal, then it would make sense for Akira to be so fixated on him; if fear was food, Seiji was probably looking like an all-you-could-eat buffet right about now.
"H-Help me out here, man," Seiji grinned, no doubt strained from the tremor he could hear wavering in his voice, "Come on - what is it you want?"
Akira grumbled - a throaty sort of 'mrr' vocalisation - and tried to tug Seiji back away from the bedroom door. Seiji released a frightened whimper in response, just waiting for the snap of spine or crack of ribs-
But to his immense relief, none of that happened; uncomfortable and frankly terrifying as his current predicament was, it didn't appear that any of it was actually intended to be an attempt on his life.
...Could it be that he was he just trying to keep him from leaving?
"Look, I... I'll be right back?" he offered, not sure what he could say to save himself from being snapped in two, "But, uh... You've got to let go of me. Yeah?"
Akira's reply came by way of another vague, growly sound - one which Seiji quickly gave up on trying to parse (the best he could come up with was 'concern', but given the fraught state of things, perhaps that was just wishful thinking.)
Whatever it meant, the main issue seemed to be that Akira didn't want to let him to go.
Maybe he just didn't want to be left alone? In whatever capacity a spirit could feel 'alone', anyway.
Dryly, Seiji wondered whether or not a spirit's whole existence could be considered one big case of separation anxiety.
(From this mortal coil, that was).
"I'll come straight home as soon as I'm done," he tried with more certainty this time, and gave the tentacle a tentative squeeze in the hopes of maybe reassuring its owner, "I promise... alright?"
Rumbling gently, the ebbing of his black aura somehow brightening the dim shadows still surrounding them, Akira released a long, hissing sigh and unwound the misshapen limb from where it was coiled around his body.
And if Seiji's legs hadn't been locked in place, they might have given out right from underneath him.
"Good," he breathed - silently thanking God the simple fact that he was still alive, "Now... behave yourself whilst I'm gone."
He wasted no time in making a break for it - bitterly conscious of the fact that he was (for the first time ever) actually glad to be getting away from the guy that he had long had designs on spending the rest of his life with.
So much for lovey-dovey aspirations and the hopes of actually getting laid any time soon.
Locking the front door behind him, he took a few steps forward before wearily casting a glance back up over his shoulder at his darkened bedroom window.
There 'he' was; those creepy specks of crimson coloured light glinting down at him from behind the pitch-black glass - nightmarish laser sights with him as the target.
With a shiver, Seiji hastily stuffed his key into his pocket, did his best to pretend that he had seen nothing, and continued his expeditious egress.
Never mind any ambitions that had previously been laid upon the table;
At this point, he would be satisfied with just being able to survive the night.