Chapter Text
“Dimple, you can’t come to school with us anymore.”
The spirit glanced between his interrogators. Almost comically tiny, both dressed in pajamas and matching resolute expressions.
“What?” Dimple spat incredulously, grinning. “Why the hell not? I’m not a bother--”
“You’re definitely a bother.”
“It’s a matter of privacy,” Shigeo stated far more diplomatically, shooting his little brother a glance. “Especially for me. I’ve told Master Reigen not to call me during the school day, and I’m only asking the same of you. School is the one place I can pretend I’m normal, and you don’t do much for the illusion.”
“Spending six hours a day doing math problems in that cramped shithole won’t make you any more normal than you already are,” Dimple muttered, “which is to say, not. ”
Shigeo’s gaze withered into irritation, and Dimple looked pointedly at Ritsu.
“What’s your excuse? Not like I was at your beck and call for a week while you honed your powers.”
“And never once stopped talking throughout,” Ritsu grouched, rolling his eyes.
“I can’t believe this. I’m getting the third degree from the two kids I risked my green ass saving not forty-eight hours ago.” Dimple couldn’t pretend he wasn’t hurt.
“ He saved me.” Ritsu jabbed a thumb at his brother. “And Reigen saved both of us, much as I hate to admit it.”
“How come he gets all the credit just ‘cause I got kidnapped halfway through the coup, huh? Where’s my doting? Nobody worried for even a minute I’d been fuckin’ swallowed like a multivitamin?”
“I’m grateful for your help, Dimple, and we’re both glad you’re safe,” Shigeo offered gently. “But that isn’t the issue here.”
“The issue here is that you two are sick of me,” the spirit moped.
“Yep.”
“Thank you, Ritsu,” Mob sighed. “We’re not sick of you. You can hang around as long as you like. Just… not at school. Please.”
He looked up at Dimple with the closest thing to puppy dog eyes someone with full facial paralysis could muster, and Dimple groaned, slapping a palm over his forehead. “Fine! Whatever! What am I supposed to do all day, then?”
“Get a job,” Ritsu offered callously. “Gotta earn rent money somehow.”
“Ritsu--”
“ Rent money!? ” Dimple spat. “You brats are charging me to sit around your house like a goldfish? This is bullshit!”
“400 yen a week. If you don’t pay up, I’ll exorcise--I mean, evict you.” Ritsu was smiling. Dimple decided that he didn’t much like seeing Ritsu smile. “Due next week.”
Dimple looked helplessly at Shigeo, who only shrugged.
“Might be a good way to keep yourself entertained,” he said.
“I’m a ghost! Not many fine fuckin’ establishments out there looking to hire dead people, I’d wager! There’s only a handful of people on the planet who can see me, and even less who’d pay me to--”
Now Shigeo was smiling, too, and Dimple liked that sight even less.
“Oh, no. No way. Absolutely friggin ’ not.”
“He could use the help while I’m at school,” Shigeo said.
“He pays you less than minimum wage! How the hell do you think I’ll fare? At least he likes you!”
Shigeo cocked his head doubtfully aside. “You’ve spoken, what, twice?”
“And he tried to touch me! He pulls that shit again, I’m filing for workplace assault. I am not working for Reigen.”
Ritsu looked at his brother. “Can’t blame him for that.”
“Then don’t charge me rent,” Dimple hissed.
Ritsu laughed and headed for the door, waving a cheery goodbye to his brother and the spirit. “Night, bro. See you next week, Dimple.”
When the door clicked softly shut, Dimple wilted, staring hopelessly after it. “This is extortion. I can’t believe you’re gonna let your brother exorcise me.”
“I won’t let Ritsu exorcise you,” Shigeo said temperately, unrolling his futon. “Not that he really would. He’s just… like that. I’ll lend you 400 yen to tide him over.”
“I don’t want your pity money,” Dimple snapped. “Fine. I’ll pay your stupid master a visit tomorrow, but I won’t like it. Get myself a sub-minimum wage job and probably end up getting eaten under Reigen’s negligent watch.”
“That’s nice,” Shigeo replied, crawling under his covers. “Would you hit the lights, please?”
“Figured I was done with shitty landlords when I kicked the bucket, but no , purgatory’s taken a special form just for me,” Dimple muttered as he floated over to flick the bedroom’s light switch. “Just you wait, Shigeo; you’ll pay for subjecting me to this. I’ll wreak havoc in this damn house.”
“I’m sure you will. Goodnight, Dimple.”
“Sleep tight,” Dimple grunted.
-
Dimple gazed out the window like a wet cat while Mob and Ritsu walked to school the next morning, making sure he was burning bright enough for them to see, and looking as pathetic as ghostly possible. They only gave him cordial waves, not even pausing their leisurely walk. Little bastards . Dimple sighed and yanked himself away from the glass. Stubbornness seemed to run in the Kageyama bloodline.
Speaking of--Dimple very nearly bumped right into Shigeo’s mother on his way back upstairs. Quick as a wink, he darted out of the way, only to find Mrs. Kageyama pause where she stood.
“Hon, I think we’ve got a draft in the living room threshold.”
“I haven’t noticed one,” her husband called back.
Mrs. Kageyama made a little dissatisfied noise, peered around the doorway for cracks. Dimple carried on his way, feeling mildly shaken. He supposed it wasn’t out of the question for the parents of such powerful espers to have some spiritual sense, and he didn’t mind the idea of his presence being known, not on principle.
But the potential was… different. And when it came to his comfortably detached existence, Dimple didn’t really like different . Being invisible wasn’t pleasant, per se, but it was a state he knew well.
The spirit reminded himself of the matter at hand. Getting a job, keeping busy.
Going to see Reigen.
Dimple grimaced at the thought. He’d been forced to pay the fickle conman a visit the previous day, when Shigeo fainted and couldn’t make it in for his shift--and it wasn’t as if Reigen was unkind to him, or dismissive (not on purpose, anyway). But Dimple didn’t get the guy. So he decided he didn’t like him, either.
Back up in Shigeo’s room, Dimple fluttered about, wondering what he’d say. How could he pitch himself when his only valuable skills included reasoning with (and, more often, consuming) other spirits--and invisibly to the clients, at that? Reigen hardly paid his one employee, he’d not be keen on forking over to another. Fret, fret, fret. Dimple pulled the note papers and old homework sheets from Shigeo’s desk and sorted them, piled them up in two neat stacks. He reset the toppled books on his shelf, flipped the ones whose spines faced in. He really didn’t want to go see Reigen. Leave it to the Kageyama brothers to dismiss the perfect companion for cheating on tests and cutting class.
Dimple started down the hall for Ritsu’s room before remembering that the kid wouldn’t have a dust mite out of place. The kitchen, then; there had to be some dishes that needed putting away.
-
Hisao Kageyama liked to think he’d attained a balance of peace and excitement in his life. It was 40 years coming, anyway; finding a level of tranquility when you had two telekinetic kids hadn’t been the simplest task. But Hisao rolled with the punches--he’d been head-over-heels in love with his boys from the second he first heard each of their tiny heartbeats, and his wife seemed just as keen on taking life as it came (with a bit more authority, mind).
They were a good fit.
Hisao blinked out of his meditative paper-reading as Akane leaned down to plant a peck on his temple.
“I’m heading out. Don’t forget to grab orange juice when you head to the store.”
“Will do, my dear.” Hisao stretched, took Akane’s hand and kissed it quickly as she slung her handbag over her shoulder. “Have a good day.”
Akane let out a sigh. “I’ll certainly try. High application season, and all that. Love you!”
“Love you too, hon.”
And then Akane whisked out the door, ever the punctual busybody. She’d only ever cut back on work when the boys were born, but as soon as the two of them could bottle feed, they were in their father’s hands, destined for daily strolls to the park and zoo and the bakery where you could peer through a window and watch the chefs decorate cakes. It wasn’t until they were well into elementary school that Hisao went back to work, picking up short shifts in the evening and early morning at Seasoning City General. His work in nursing asked of him the utmost calm in moments of stress and tragedy--so it was a good thing he’d lived enough frightening days trying to pull his floating firstborn down from the ceiling that little could phase him.
Walking into the kitchen to find that all the dishes from breakfast had been done, for example. That wasn’t normal. Akane cooked, Hisao cleaned; Akane collected laundry, Hisao folded and redistributed; vice versa. They switched day-to-day, and Akane had made breakfast for the boys this morning.
Guess Akane did ‘em today, Hisao thought, scratching his head.
All the same, Hisao carried on with his morning. The little inconsistencies continued to pile up--a hanging bulb that had been dead for weeks was shining bright and new when he headed down to the basement; Shigeo’s desk had been meticulously organized. Hisao only shrugged them off. Christmas was a good ways off, but if Shigeo and Ritsu had some outlandish wish to start campaigning for--probably a kitten, if Hisao knew his kids--it was never to early to get their good deeds in. Not to mention Shigeo’s sudden interest in drastic self-improvement as of late; all the jogging and whatnot. Hisao wouldn’t have been surprised if picking up more chores than usual were part of his strange little multi-step plan. The kid was methodical as all get out, and if he hadn’t learned that trait from his mother, then Hisao could only think of one other man to thank.
-
“Good moods mean good health; good health means doing my own goddamn cooking for once.” Reigen made a point of tapping the busted bluetooth stuck to his ear. Any stares he met were quickly averted, understanding awash on the strangers’ faces.
Fact of the matter was, Arataka Reigen was... weird. And whether or not he was in public didn’t alleviate this inconvenient truth: his tics didn’t wait ‘till he was in the privacy of his own home to show. But Reigen had his tricks; he knew how to be weird without people saying “oh, that guy’s weird.” The bluetooth was just one of many.
It was a Tuesday morning, the sun was out, the office didn’t open for another hour and a half. After all the weekend’s excitement, Mob seemed in high spirits when they’d last talked, and Mob being in high spirits meant that Reigen was in high spirits. Reigen being in high spirits meant Reigen talking to himself, and so on.
A series of psychological associations had led Reigen to the conclusion that he was going to make ramen tonight: fancy noodles, expensive pork, homemade broth, vegetables sauteed in sesame oil, a boiled egg sliced up in pretty round shingles. He woke up excited about it, and he’d go to bed pleased with himself for taking the time to make a good meal. The September air was bright and fresh. Reigen didn’t think once that he’d like a cigarette just about then.
“Haven’t smoked in at least a month. Am I replacing smoking with overeating? No, no. No, everybody needs to eat. Forgot to eat dinner last night. I should make a checklist. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Check, check, check.” Hands flicking around by his hips, tapping hyperactively over his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. Reigen liked the grocery store a lot more than he probably should have; it made him feel like an adult.
Not that he wasn’t already an adult; he was twenty-eight years old. But adulthood was more about attitude, he’d found.
“Reigen!”
He was weighing his options between brands of shiitakes when he heard his name, blinked and looked down the aisle towards the broccoli. There was a very friendly-looking man coming towards him: curly, dark hair, pinpricks of stubble dotting his jaw, familiar drooping eyes.
“Mr. Kageyama,” Reigen said warmly as the man approached, sticking out his hand to shake. “It’s good to see you.” All the little thought bubbles floating around his head faded into the ether.
“You too. You got Shigeo this afternoon?”
“Once he’s all done with club duties, yeah,” Reigen stuck his hands hands shyly in his pockets. “Real diligent kid, that one.”
“You’re telling me,” Mr. Kageyama agreed. “You know, he’s never been too on top of his chores with all the club stuff and shifts with you, but just this morning…”
It was around that point that Reigen started thinking about his ramen again, and his eyes wandered, mind drifted into a state of considering the cuts of pork he’d have to choose between.
Something very green and very not-meant-to-be-there was floating above Mr. Kageyama’s shoulder. It locked eyes with Reigen, and flushed a deep shade of turquoise.
Unsure of what to say, Reigen pointed up at the spirit with one lazy index finger before realizing his slip.
“Mm?” Mr. Kageyama turned. “What is it?”
“Just, uh…” Reigen frantically squinted at the refrigerators at the end of the aisle. “Orange juice is on sale.”
“Orange juice; that’s what I’d forgotten!” Mr. Kageyama clapped his hand on Reigen’s shoulder, and Reigen felt all at once very small and very pleased with himself. “You’re a lifesaver, Reigen. Hey, I won’t keep you; I’m sure you’ve gotta head back to the office. Swing by for dinner sometime, won’t you? Me and the missus’ll give you a ring. You free later this week?”
“As a bird,” Reigen replied. “I’d be happy to drop by, though I’m sure M--ah, Shigeo won’t be too pleased to have to spend any more time with his boss than is necessary.”
“Nonsense; the kid adores you. You have a good one, Reigen. I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Sure thing,” Reigen twiddled his fingers in a painfully stupid wave as Mr. Kageyama made for the discounted orange juice, then ducked into the next aisle over.
“What do you think you’re doing, kissing Hisao’s ass like that?” Dimple snickered, materializing among the mixed nuts by Reigen’s head.
Reigen turned to shoot the spirit a scowl. “What are you doing following him around like a friggin’ terrier?”
“I asked you first.”
“I asked you second.” When Dimple didn’t yield, Reigen let out a labored sigh. “Can’t have Mob’s mom and pop gettin’ wise to the fact that I’m underpaying their son,” he said, looking up at the blindingly bright supermarket lights.
“Oh, that reminds me!” Dimple exclaimed, flitting around to look Reigen in the eye. “I meant to come track you down today. Lucky coincidence, huh? You got any positions open at that trash heap you call an office?”
“Yeah, actually; we’re in need of a urinal cake. You’re the perfect shade of hyper-sanitary green.”
“Get fucked,” Dimple snapped sourly. “I’m serious. I need money.”
“What? You’re dead. What could you possibly need money for?” Reigen continued down the aisle, remembering to stick the bluetooth back in his ear.
“Hookers n’ blow.”
“Har-har.”
Dimple sighed. “I’m not allowed to follow the brats to school anymore, and if I hang around the Kageyama house all day like a diabetic cat, I’m gonna go bonkers.”
“So that’s why you’re here with Mr. Kageyama,” Reigen muttered. “Wait, they can’t see you, can they?”
“‘Course not,” Dimple replied. “I just, uh… I was curious. Haven’t been to one of these places in a hot second.” He looked around. “Way fewer narcotics in the soda than I remember.”
“Look, you can help out at Spirits & Such all you want. But if you’re actually expecting to get paid for something you do for free--”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t know, eating? ” Reigen scoffed. “If you’re expecting to get paid for that, I can’t help you.”
“I’ll have you know my diet isn’t limited to spirits,” Dimple sneered. “Given the right intentions from its offerers, gods and spirits alike can partake in all the goodies you humans do. Speaking of, swipe me a grape, would you?”
Reigen plucked one of the little purple fruits from its bundle on the rack nearby, and handed it off to Dimple, who popped it into his mouth with a pleased hum.
“Anyways, Ritsu may or may not be extorting me for rent money. Shigeo told me he won’t actually kill me for coming up empty-handed by next week, but I don’t trust him.”
“Join the club,” Reigen chuckled. “Rent, huh? Jeez. How much is he charging?”
“400 yen a week,” Dimple moped.
“God, that’s pathetic; I wish my rent were that low. You can’t just scrounge around the Kageyamas’ couch cushions a while?”
“I work for my keep, thank you,” Dimple sniffed proudly, crossing his little arms over his chest. “Unlike some of us.”
“Just because I make a pocket-sized psychic do my work for me doesn’t mean I don’t still work . Quelling that little brain of his is a full-time job.”
“So go get a degree in psychotherapy,” Dimple appeased.
“Ha! As if I could afford that.” Reigen swiped a box of nori off the shelf and tossed it into his basket. “Anyway, you can come work today’s cases with me. If we end up meeting an actual spirit, and you take care of it, I’ll give you your goddamn 400 yen. Sound fair?”
“Deal. I owe you one, Reigen.”
“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, help me pick out some good mushrooms for ramen.”
-
Reigen may have been a motormouth, and most of his jobs easily solved with massages, but Dimple found he quite liked tailing the conman in all his menial endeavors. What a great many walks of life to observe, not to mention charming tricks of which to take note. Reigen’s customers falling on their knees and worshipping the guy wasn’t a stretch, not with the way they acted after a thirty-minute shoulder rub.
But they didn’t come across any real spirits. The outsourced jobs of the day only led them to noisy neighbors, a nest of rats living above somebody’s kitchen, kids pulling nasty pranks.
“Guess I’m back to job hunting,” Dimple muttered when they returned to the office that afternoon.
“Nonsense,” Reigen replied, pulling out his safe deposit box. “I’ll give you 400 yen and you can go on your merry way. No one deserves Ritsu’s wrath, not even you.”
“I won’t take it,” Dimple sniffed proudly. “I owe you enough as is for giving me the chance. And anyways, we had a deal. No spirits, no dice. I’d sooner turn to petty theft.”
“You listened to me talk all afternoon; doesn’t that count towards something? Emotional labor? Take the stupid money, Dimple; I refuse to acknowledge any part of us spending a perfectly enjoyable work day together without there being something in it for one of us.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow. Snap up some spirits, and you can pay me then.”
Reigen blinked, flipped the safe’s latch back down. “Oh. Really?”
“Well, sure,” Dimple said, shrugging. “It’s not like I’ll be any busier than I might have today.”
“You actually… want to work for me?”
Dimple waved a hand lazily before his frown. “ Want to, not so much. Need to for the sake of my mental wellbeing? Mayhaps.”
Reigen gave a terse little nod, evidently still stunned. “I see. Well, in that case, uh--I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Swing by around ten?”
Ten? That gave Dimple far too much time waiting around the Kageyamas’ house. All the same, he agreed--and, as if on cue, Shigeo walked in the office door.
“Oh,” the boy exclaimed softly. “Hi, Dimple.”
Dimple said nothing, just looked away with a petulant pout.
“School was very boring today, in case you were wondering,” Shigeo continued, heading for the coat rack to hang his bookbag.
“I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
“For God’s sake, you two, can we take it down a couple notches? Mob, come take a look at this request.” Reigen beckoned his student over, and Dimple turned invisible, settled despondently down on a stack of paperwork atop the conman’s desk.
-
Hisao Kageyama and his boys convened in the kitchen while Hisao cooked dinner--yakisoba with red peppers and cabbage--and chatted idly, talking about school, work, clubs, errands.
“Ran into your boss at the grocery store today, Shige,” Hisao said, chewing on a noodle (much too tough). Shigeo had been watching the spirit hovering curiously over his father’s cooking, but now his attention snapped to Hisao himself.
“Oh. He didn’t mention it.” Shigeo answered awkwardly. A few too many worlds had been colliding lately, in his eyes: Ritsu was an esper, Master Reigen had seemingly decided to acknowledge Dimple’s existence, Onigawara was part of the Body Improvement Club. It was all a bit confusing; Reigen consorting with his parents any more than necessary was just another issue to tack onto the list.
“Well, he seemed distracted. Probably had work to get back to. Still, I told him he should drop by for dinner sometime this week.”
“That sounds nice.” Akane stepped in from the front hall, a bit breathless from the brisk walk. “Hi, everybody.”
“Hey, Mom,” Shigeo and Ritsu chorused.
“Hiya, hon.” Hisao leaned in to meet Akane as she kissed his cheek. “Hey, thanks for doing the breakfast dishes this morning.”
Akane blinked. “I didn’t do the dishes this morning.”
Hisao blinked back, and the both of them looked back at their sons.
“If I say I did the dishes, will you add to my allowance?” Ritsu asked.
Akane rolled her eyes. “Shige?”
Shigeo shrugged, shook his head.
The Kageyamas looked around at one another, and then Shigeo and Ritsu looked at Dimple--filing through the containers of spices Hisao had pulled off the rack, and now looking as if he’d been caught insider trading.
“Maybe the house is haunted,” Ritsu suggested, not looking away from the spirit, even as he slunk off the counter and out of the room.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Akane sighed, shaking her head. “Whatever. Maybe I really did do them. Just… blocked out the memory.”
“The traumatic memory of washing, like, two mugs and a bowl.”
“Would you like to be relegated to the task, young man?” Akane smirked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it were a ghost. Seems painfully normal, considering what your father and I have gotten used to.”
Not much later, they’d all sat down to dinner, ghosts and dishes forgotten for the time being.
-
“When you told me you were planning on wreaking havoc on my house, I didn’t realize attempting to drive my parents nuts was in the cards.”
Dimple gaped.
“ Really. You’re really giving me heat for--what, trying to be a decent tenant?”
“What if they’d seen you?”
Dimple held his hands out hopelessly. “Their kids are friggin’ psychics! You think finding out a completely benevolent spirit is doing the housekeeping is really gonna freak their shit out? They certainly don’t seem to pay much mind to all the telekinesis business!”
“Benevolent?”
“When it suits me,” Dimple snapped. “And I’ve got no beef with your parents. I swear on all that is holy, they’re completely safe from my havoc-wreaking.”
Shigeo gave a dissatisfied hum, turning to his desk and stopping short at the sight of its contents in perfected, sorted order.
He turned back to Dimple.
“Yeah, I may have… done that, too.” The spirit coughed into his fist. “I was just biding my time before I had to go visit Reigen, but it, uh… got out of hand. Maybe. There was also this light down in the laundry room--”
“Dimple.”
Feeling a bit flustered, the spirit turned to Shigeo.
“Do whatever housekeeping you need to stay… benevolent. Just keep it to a minimum, please. No creeping out my parents.”
“Okay,” Dimple muttered.
-
Prone to complaining as he was, Dimple had no qualms making the most of a bad situation.
He was fishing around for loppers out in the garage before the sun rose, having breakfasted on one of the pesky insectoid spirits living amongst the grass seed and sidewalk chalk. With the summer finishing off in a dying breath of heat, flowers needed deadheading; annuals pulling, leaves raking. How Dimple knew all of this, he couldn’t have said. It just felt intrinsic to him, and he took great unspoken pleasure in the normalcy of it all. The sounds of birds and traffic, the sunrise--
“This is not what I meant by ‘keeping it to a minimum,’ Dimple.”
Dimple pulled himself from the dahlias he’d been pruning to find Shigeo and Ritsu eyeing him, uniforms and backpacks on.
“Is it already eight?” the spirit asked after their brief staring contest.
The boys nodded.
“Ah. Okay.” Another pause. Dimple glanced down the front path, then gestured awkwardly with his shears. “Well… bye. Have a good day, n’ all that.”
“I feel like maybe you aren’t seeing the issue here,” Ritsu said.
“And that would be?”
Before the boys could reply, Akane headed out the door towards the car, spotting her sons--and Dimple’s shears--standing by the front garden.
“Boys, quit fooling around and get to school. I’ve told you a million times not to levitate the gardening equipment.”
“Has she really?” Dimple whispered. Ritsu tore the shears from his hands.
“Sorry, mom. Have a good day at work.”
Akane saluted, pulling open the driver’s side door. “Get good grades.”
“Give good grades,” Ritsu offered back. That yielded a laugh from Akane before she climbed into the car and pulled out into the road, disappeared around the corner.
“Your mom’s a teacher?” Dimple asked.
“A dean,” Shigeo corrected him, “at Surimi College. We have to go to school, Dimple. Try to behave.”
“Yeah, yeah. Gimme back my fuckin’ pruners.”
Ritsu handed off the shears, and gave Dimple a shadowy glower before turning to walk down the path. “Don’t forget about your rent, Dimple.”
“Considering my life is on the line, I won’t have to try too hard,” the spirit spat after him. “Have fun being a creep at your dumb school.”
“Bye, Dimple,” Shigeo called back.
Alone again but feeling significantly sourer, Dimple returned to the garden. He hadn’t the time to grouch about micromanaging children; there were hedges that needed trimming.