Archive of Our Own

One. 

There’s a ghost in Kaoru’s new-old house. 

He doesn’t know how, or why, or what the hell he’s going to do about it but it’s there, wandering through Kaoru’s kitchen, leaving wet muddy footprints in his foyer when it rains despite the fact that he’s incorporeal and should not be able to do that, and startling the hell out of him when he passes behind Kaoru when he’s in front of a mirror. 

“This must be a breach of something in the contract,” Kaoru says to himself the third morning in a row that Kojiro has wandered through Kaoru’s wall and made him spill his morning tea everywhere. He’d be more irritated about the tea on the hardwood if the floors didn’t already need to be redone.

Carla meows and puffs up like an angry raccoon as she darts from her spot curled up at Kaoru’s feet, clearly offended that Kaoru has the gall to spill tea anywhere near her. 

Kojiro stretches his arms over his head, translucent muscles shifting in a way that would be very appealing to Kaoru if he wasn’t a ghost who is haunting him. 

“I did not buy this place with the intent of having a noncorporeal roommate,” Kaoru says. He had bought this place because it was quiet and surrounded by shady trees, and there was a large garden that reminded him of the one his aunt had kept when he was young, and because, admittedly, there had been a specific sort of feeling when he’d first seen it that made him go ‘yes, this one.’ There had been absolutely nothing about a ghost. 

“In my defense, I didn’t intend to get stuck here,” Kojiro says, shrugging as he attempts to open Kaoru’s fridge. His hand passes straight through the handle and Kaoru feels deeply vindicated by his struggle. 

“You get no defense. You’re. Haunting. Me.” 

“Trust me princess, I would rather be haunting literally anyone else.” Kojiro says and Kaoru ignores the urge to shove his face into his own freezer and scream at the unfairness of life. 

So, yes, there’s a ghost in Kaoru’s house. But the real problem here is that the ghost is hot and insufferable. 

“There’s a ghost in my new house,” Kaoru tells Ainosuke, because if he doesn’t complain about this to someone he thinks he might die and Ainosuke owes him. 

“I told you not to buy such an old house,” Ainosuke says, his focus on his work phone more than it’s on the brunch that he’s supposed to be having with his dear, dear friend Kaoru. “There’s always some issue the previous owner left that you have to deal with. You could have gotten something new and not in the boonies, you know?”  

“No, I don’t mean like, broken windows or shoddy electrical work, though that’s there too. I mean an actual, literal ghost.” 

“What the fuck,” Ainosuke says, finally raising his eyes from his phone and looking at Kaoru. 

“I know.” 

“What the fuck,” Ainosuke says again, and then, “We have to go get Tadashi and then you’re showing me your ghost.” 

“What the fuck,” Ainosuke says later, when they’ve made it into Kaoru’s house and Ainosuke is staring down Kojiro in Kaoru’s living room. The radiator’s making a knocking noise in the background and Kaoru makes a mental noise to work on fixing that. “And he’s not like, poltergeisting you or anything?” 

Tadashi is tapping away at his phone, seemingly unfazed by the madness that is happening. Which is fair. Marrying Ainosuke should leave someone with the inability to be surprised by literally anything, even a hot, friendly, annoying ghost. 

“What am I, a museum display?” Kojiro asks, glancing towards the ceiling like he’s asking for help from a higher power. Tough luck pal, if they cared Kaoru wouldn’t be dealing with this shit right now. 

“You’re haunting my house, so if I say you are then yeah.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Ainosuke stage whispers to Kojiro, “It’s always been his dream to have someone stuck with him 24/7.” 

“Fuck you,” Kaoru hisses at Ainosuke, who has the gall to not even look affected.  

“You’ll have to ask Tadashi first,” Ainosuke says, batting his eyelashes like an idiot. 

“We’ve discussed this, I don’t share,” Tadashi says, not even deigning to glance up from his phone. Kaoru glares at the phone, twitches his fingers and feels satisfied for all of two seconds when the phone gives Tadashi a small shock. 

Tadashi ignores it and keeps texting, the asshole. 

“Since when are you allowed to have opinions?” Kaoru snaps, because he is understandably very stressed by the fact that the house he just bought has an actual, real life ghost and his friends are being the exact opposite of sympathetic. 

“I get to have them once a week, as a treat,” Tadashi says, seemingly unbothered. Which is annoying. Also, probably good, in the grand scheme of things. Theoretically, Kaoru doesn’t want to hurt his friends, and practically, Tadashi would make his life hell if he did. But still, annoying . 

“Only when you’re good,” Ainosuke says and leers at Tadashi who finally looks up from his phone to give Ainosuke an appraising look and a little hm. 

“No. Absolutely not. None of your weird sex stuff is allowed in my house. I’m making it a rule,” Kaoru says, jabbing an accusing finger at the both of them. “Go. Get the fuck out. Take the ghost with you.” 

“No can do. I’m bound to the property,” Kojiro says, then frowns, cocking his head to the side slightly in a way that most definitely does not make him look like an adorable, confused puppy. Fuck. “At least, I think I am? I can’t leave, so I must be.” 

“This was supposed to be a nice, quiet fixer upper, far enough out of the city that I could practice my craft in peace,” Kaoru says to nobody, because at this point no one is really listening to him or his suffering. 

“Sakurayashiki-sensei, there’s a man floating in your kitchen,” Langa says and for one brief, shining moment he nearly forgets there’s an actual ghost in his house and assumes that Langa is trying to get out of the tutoring that Kaoru is very graciously supplying. 

And then he remembers. 

“That’s Kojiro. He’s haunting me,” He says and then jabs at the worksheet in front of Langa, “Focus on your work.” 

“Wait. Haunting you. You have a ghost?” Reki asks, throwing his homework down and leaning around Langa to stare into the kitchen. 

Kaoru wonders, not for the first time since he moved in, how offering a local kid a little bit of money to help him fix up the house he’d bought has led to having teenagers in his living room on a semi-regular basis. 

“Oh my god you have a ghost!” Reki says, scrabbling up until he’s half over Langa, hands braced on the other boy’s shoulders, staring. Langa’s cheeks turn a light pink and Kaoru decides that he’s not touching whatever teenage nonsense is going on there with a ten meter pole. “Cool. We had a unit on ghosts in school but I haven’t seen one in real life.” 

“Yo,” Kojiro says, gives a wave, and floats through the wall. 

“You have a ghost,” Reki says, slumping down against Langa. 

“You have a ghost,” Langa repeats, patting at Reki’s head where it’s now on his shoulder. 

“I have a ghost,” Kaoru says with a sigh, hit with the sudden knowledge that these children will really never leave him alone now . 

So, Kaoru has a ghost. A tall, muscular, unfairly attractive, kind of annoying ghost. It’s fine. This is fine. He’s totally fine with this. 

Two. 

“I was a chef,” Kojiro says into the silence one night, and Kaoru grunts from where he’s hunched over a painting, attempting to finish this commission, eyes starting to get bleary behind his glasses. Kojiro seems to take it as an acknowledgement, because he continues. “That's why the kitchen’s so nice.” 

“The entire house is a trash heap,” Kaoru says, because he knows this, he’s been attempting to fix the thing up at great cost and also way too much time. Real estate is a sound investment, his ass.  

“Why the kitchen was so nice,” Kojiro corrects, floating into the spot next to Kaoru and making Carla meow her displeasure at the invasion of her space. He leans over Kaoru’s shoulder to peer at what he’s working on as though personal space is not a concept ghosts have ever heard of, his chin passing through Kaoru’s shoulder in a cold, deeply unpleasant way. “Before, you know, I died.” 

“Yes, yes, you died. It was very tragic. I’m sure that’s very hard for you.” Kaoru says, waving a hand vaguely at Kojiro. “Now get your chin out of my shoulder, it's cold.” 

“You’re kind of a bitch. Did you know that?” Kojiro asks and it sounds- Kaoru doesn’t want to say fond, because that would ruin the whole dynamic they have going for them so far, but, well, it sounds something close. Kaoru would certainly hesitate to call it mean, at the very least. 

“No. Really? Most people think I’m so warm and welcoming,” Kaoru says, dry as the desert, wearing his meanest smile. 

Kojiro snorts, and then somehow it dissolves into a full belly laugh, the gorilla of a man tipping over, attempting to lean on Kaoru for support and passing straight through him with a feeling like a bucket of ice water. 

“You’re cold,” Kaoru complains again, maybe just a little bit whiney if he’s honest with himself. Which he isn’t. 

“Sorry my incorporeal form displeases you, princess,” Kojiro says, though he shifts away until they’re no longer touching.  

Kaoru bundles himself in the blanket off the back of the couch, caccooning himself in the worn fabric because apparently having a dead guy literally pass through your body is fucking freezing. He can’t say he’s a fan. Zero out of ten, do not recommend. 

“Don’t do that again,” He says, jabbing a demanding finger at Kojiro from between the folds of his blanket burrito.  

“Sorry.” Kojiro’s hands raise in surrender,  expression a little guilty. 

Kaoru really should feel a lot more satisfied about getting a genuine apology about this kind of thing than he actually is. 

Kaoru isn’t going to dwell on why he suddenly makes the kitchen his priority. The entire house needs repairs and he knew that when he bought it, but the kitchen had been perfectly serviceable (at least in Kaoru’s opinion) until now, and it isn’t like Kaoru is much of a cook (the understatement of the century,) and he avoids any magic that requires potions like it’s the plague, so it’s been relatively low on his to-do list, far behind things like leaky pipes and patching holes and the small animals that had taken up residence in the crawlspace.

Kojiro sits- floats- just above the countertop while Kaoru installs new cabinet doors and fumbles his way through rewiring the outlet that keeps blowing out every time he tries to use his electric kettle. 

“Do you know what you’re doing, princess?” Kojiro asks, floating closer while Kaoru squints at his work and shoves his glasses higher up his nose. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I’m not an idiot, idiot.” Kaoru snaps, “I built actual working robots in highschool. From scratch! This should be nothing.” 

 Kojiro lights up like Kaoru just gave him a new, juicy piece of information and Kaoru regrets sharing it almost immediately. 

“Oh, so you are a nerd. I knew it! Do you have any of the robots still? I want to see.” Kaoru opens his mouth to lie but Kojiro keeps going before he can get a word in edgewise. “You do! I can tell you do. Show me your robots Kaoru. Let me see your secret past nerd life.” 

“It’s not even a secret,” Kaoru mutters, rubbing at his temples even as he pauses what he’s doing and leads Kojiro out of the kitchen and into the spare bedroom that will hopefully one day be his studio and is for now just storage for boxes he has yet to unpack. 

He has to move a few around until he finds one marked “HIGH SCHOOL” and drags it out of it’s corner. He tosses the skateboard at the top aside, digs past trophies and medals and random artifacts of the various phases of his past, until he can pull out the blocky old robot he built in robotics club. 

“This is Carla 1.0,” Kaoru says, holding the robot up. He doesn’t say anything embarrassing like ‘When Ainosuke and Tadashi ditched me to go to America she was my only friend,’ even if it’s maybe, possibly, a little true. 

Eventually his familiar had wandered into his life and blinked at him with big eyes, determined to get her bright white fur on everything Kaoru owns, and he hadn’t been alone after that. But. Well . It’d been a whole thing before that. 

“Oh wow, you really are the biggest nerd,” Kojiro says, eyes bright and seemingly thrilled by all of this. “You named your cat after your robot , you fucking dweeb.” 

“One, Carla is my familiar. And two, you’re the worst. I’m going to figure out how to exorcise you,” Kaoru threatens, dumps Carla 1.0 back into the box of high school relics and stalks out of the room straight through where Kojiro is hovering, relishing the startled noise from the ghost even as he suffers through the icy cold feeling of it all and has to go take a long hot bath to recover. 

“What did you cook?” Kaoru takes a chance and asks, a week or so later.

“Everything,” Kojiro says, and then, when Kaoru levels him with a look, “We served Italian at the restaurant.” 

“Italian?” 

“Yeah,” Kojiro says, shrugging and floating closer to where Kaoru is fiddling with his incredibly old, beat up rice maker, trying to get it to work properly. He needs to buy a new one. No repair charms in the world are seeming to help it these days. He doesn’t want to buy a new one, however. This one was bought at a second hand store in college and it has sentimental value that Kaoru will never admit to even upon pain of death. “I studied in Italy for a while, and I really loved the food, so when I came back home to Okinawa it just made sense.” 

“Do you miss it?” Kaoru’s not sure what pushes him to ask, just that he suddenly wants- needs- to know. 

“Yeah,” Kojiro says. “Fuck. Yeah. Of course I do. Like I miss breathing.” 

Sia La Luce is clearly closed and has been for a long time. The Italian flag painted on the fence is faded from the sun, and the plants that were probably once well kept are dead in their pots and crowded with weeds. 

(Kauro doesn’t know what exactly makes him pause and spend several minutes ripping weeds out, what makes him press his hands into the dirt in the pots, to funnel magic through the soil and into withered roots until they bloom back to life, but he does. It won’t matter. They’ll die again soon enough without anyone to care for them. But it settles something in him to do it anyway.)

Kaoru hasn’t broken into anywhere since he was a teenager, getting into trouble with Ainosuke and doing things they absolutely should not have been doing. It’s a little like riding a bike though, to wiggle his nose until the window slides open then to scramble up through it and drop safely down inside, light on the balls of his feet. 

He kicks up dust when he lands, sneezing as he takes in the warm wood and brick walls that make up the place. An old abandoned restaurant shouldn’t remind him of Kojiro, but it does somehow. He thinks he can see bits and pieces of his unwanted housemate in the warmth of the place. 

He throws his hands out, lets little orbs of light fling from his fingers and bob around the room, then blows more dust off the bar, watching it swirl through the light for a moment before he takes a seat and leans his chin against his palm, his elbow against the bar. 

Kaoru imagines, for a second, what it would be like if Kojiro was alive, if he sat here and ordered food or drinks and Kojiro brought it to him. Would they be friends? Would he sit there for hours, griping about Kojiro’s stupid shirts and terrible muscles and general personality and demanding food that’s not on the menu while Kojiro indulged him? Because Kojiro would indulge him. He knows enough about the man already to know that much.

It’s a stupid thought. 

Kojiro is dead. He’s dead, and stuck haunting the house Kaoru bought. He’ll never get to cook for Kaoru, or for anyone else for that matter. 

He’s not sure when that thought started making something in his chest ache. 

Three.

“Teach me how to cook something,” Kaoru says one day, mid summer, when he’s feeling restless and it’s too hot to do any work on the house, even his strongest cooling charms refusing to curb the relentless heat. 

“You’ll have to go shopping first. I’ve seen your fridge. It’s like you’ve never met a vegetable in your life,” Kojiro says, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. Kaoru’s cheeks feel warm. He’s tempted to walk right through him just to help with the heat. “It’ll have to be something basic too. I’ve seen you set off the fire alarm trying to boil water for ramen, princess.” 

“You’re over exaggerating, you ridiculous gorilla. I can boil water just fine.” 

“I think I’m under exaggerating actually,” Kojiro says and sits on one of the bar stools Kaoru had dragged in and refinished recently. Kaoru’s not quite sure how someone incorporeal has managed to figure out sitting in chairs, but he’s not about to keep himself up at night spiraling about it when he has so many other things to spiral about.  

“You’re an ass,” Kaoru says and grabs a notepad and a pen, “Now, give me the damn list for the store.” 

The ingredients in front of him are few in number and Kaoru narrows his eyes at Kojiro suspiciously. “You’re sure this is all I need?” 

“Yep. It’s just carbonara, dude.” 

“Just my ass,” Kaoru mutters as he glares suspiciously at the assortment in front of him. Eggs and cheese, spaghetti and pancetta. He’s not sure how this is supposed to come together into something that actually tastes good, especially not by his own hand. It gives him the distinct feeling that standing in front of the stove, attempting to learn potions from his aunt had always given him as a child. The feeling that comprehension is stubbornly just out of reach, no matter how hard Kaoru tries. “We should have started with something easier. Pizza, maybe?” 

“Cute that you think pizza is easy. My recipe uses a sourdough starter and I just don’t think you’re ready for that level of commitment yet, sweetheart.” 

“The commitment to have a science experiment hanging around my fridge? Yeah, no thanks, I’ll pass,” Kaoru says and turns and jabs a finger towards Kojiro’s chest, valiantly not making a face when it goes straight through the man and sends a bone chilling cold all the way up his arm. “Now show me how to make this, you great gorilla.” 

“So impatient,” Kojiro tsks, “Okay, first- and stay with me here princess, this might be too complicated for you- you’re going to fill a pot with water and set it to boil.” 

“The condescension isn’t attractive, you know,” Kaoru says, though he pulls his hair up, scooping it up off his shoulders and neck and into a messy bun, then finds his biggest pot and fills it with water nonetheless. This was his own idea after all. A terrible, no good, very bad idea, but his. He can’t just back down now . He has the feeling Kojiro will never let him live it down if he does. 

“I make up for it with all of this,” Kojiro says, gesturing at himself, and most importantly, his chest. 

“Ah, yes, lugheaded, incorporeal, and haunting my home. Just what everyone dreams of in a hot date.” 

“You’re such an asshole,” Kojiro tells him, but he sounds like he’s fighting laughter, so Kaoru doesn’t take it too personally. 

“Yes, yes, I know. What next?” 

“You need to chop the pancetta, and also think about your life choices in getting pancetta instead of guanciale.” 

“Excuse me for not wanting to spend all day hunting down fancy bacon,” Kaoru says, dripping sarcasm, before pointedly moving on, “How does it need to be cut?” 

“Thin squares, about a quarter inch thick,” Kojiro instructs, hovering next to Kaoru while he grabs a knife. “What the fuck? No, not that knife.” 

“What the hell is wrong with my knife?” Kaoru demands, jabbing his knife at Kojiro. If he was real, Kaoru might consider the possible danger inherent in stabbing him, but he’s already dead so it’s not like Kaoru can hurt the idiot. 

“It’s a fucking steak knife.” Kojiro sounds outraged. Kaoru files this information away to possibly torture Kojiro with later. He’ll need to research what knives should be used on what just so that he can drive Kojiro insane using the wrong ones. “Where do you keep your knives? Show them to me.” 

Kaoru huffs a sigh, but pulls open the drawer where he keeps his knives regardless and rolls his eyes at Kojiro’s exaggerated horrified noise. “Not everyone’s a fucking chef, calm down.” 

“There’s a difference between not being a chef and chopping your fingers off because you’re using a dull fucking knife,” Kojiro mutters, then jabs a finger at the biggest knife in Kaoru’s sad little knife drawer. The one that Kaoru doesn’t use because it’s huge and extremely sharp and he’ll never admit it but it kind of terrifies him. Tadashi bought it for him a couple years ago and Kaoru’s never been quite sure if it was meant as a threat or not. “That one. Use that one.” 

“Fine,” Kaoru says and then waves the knife at Kojiro again, “But this better be amazing.” 

It is, unfortunately, very good. The pancetta is a little burnt, and the noodles are a little overcooked, but he didn’t end up with scrambled eggs which is a miracle, which means it’s overall the biggest win Kaoru’s had for a food that isn’t instant ramen. 

Kojiro sits watching him the entire time he eats, hands on his knees and gaze sharp and watchful. It’s unnerving. 

“Stop staring at me, weirdo,” Kaoru hisses. 

“Do you like it?” Kojiro asks, glancing towards the food. There’s a certain note of unsurity there that makes Kaoru soften just a little. A tiny bit. A very small, totally reasonable, absolutely understandable amount. 

“Yes, yes, it’s very good. And I’m sure if you, or someone else qualified, had made it, it would be better.” 

“That almost sounds like a compliment, Kaoru,” Kojiro says, mouth turning up into a grin. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kaoru says, flicking a piece of food at Kojiro, where it flies straight through him and lands on Kaoru’s kitchen floor as Kojiro laughs, loud and bright in Kaoru’s kitchen. Ridiculous. 

Even more ridiculous is the smile Kaoru has to tuck away, into the bowl of pasta in his hands, so that it’s not discovered. 

It’s all for naught. He can feel the heat creeping up his face, the embarrassment as Kojiro is still watching him, grinning like an asshole. 

Kaoru looks away. “Idiot.” 

Kaoru has managed to somehow convince his little troop of accidentally acquired teenagers that clearing out his garden is excellent practice in the cultivation of their craft. 

“He has you doing menial labor?” Kojiro asks, floating above the garden beds with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing the three teens who are digging out dead plants and overgrown weeds. 

 “Getting in touch with nature is an important part of cultivating one’s craft,” Kaoru says from his lounge chair, repeating the same thing he’d told Reki, Langa, and Miya that morning.

“And that’s why you’re not getting your hands dirty with this then, huh princess?”  

“I’m already more than proficient at my craft,” Kaoru says, tipping his nose up just slightly and not at all feeling pleased when Kojiro laughs. Kojiro’s fond amusement in no way affects Kaoru’s traitorous heart and if it did then it wouldn’t matter, because Kojiro is a ghost who is haunting Kaoru’s house. There is nothing to be done with a ghost who is haunting one’s house. There’s just not.   

“Our own mother is tricking us,” Miya says dramatically, though, notably, he keeps tugging weeds with grubby hands. 

“A tragedy,” Reki agrees. 

“The worst,” Langa says, solemnly. 

Four.

“What happened to you?” Kaoru asks one day, finally. He’s been curious since the beginning, but the words have been stuck behind his teeth, like he’s afraid to ask- afraid to know. 

Kojiro frowns a little from where he’s sprawled out on Kaoru’s living room floor. 

He’d claimed it was hot. Kaoru claimed it was a physical impossibility for a non corporeal spirit to be able to feel the temperature. Neither had come to an agreement, and it hadn’t changed the fact that Kojiro had stripped out of his ridiculous shirt (Where does his clothing go? Where does it come from? Kaoru wants to know,) and draped himself about like he was an overly large work of finely sculpted art in Kaoru’s living room. 

“I don’t know,” Kojiro says finally, and Kaoru frowns, tipping himself off his couch until he’s landing in a heap next to Kojiro on the ground, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at him. 

“What do you mean you don’t know? You died. How do you forget how you died?” 

“I don’t know sweetheart, maybe the whole dying thing was a little traumatic and I blocked it out.” He’s his normal self, but there’s something there. Some sort of warning. Like he doesn’t want to be talking about this. Like Kaoru is pressing on a bruise he shouldn’t be, getting too close to something he shouldn’t. 

“Don’t be condescending,” Kaoru says and backs away from whatever the bruise may be, kicking at Kojiro, almost used to the cold that radiates up his leg when his foot goes straight through. 

“You’re literally the most condescending person I know.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m the only person you know. Considering you’re dead,” Kaoru points out, helpfully.

“Hey now, that’s not true. I know those kids you adopted.” 

“I didn’t adopt them! They just won’t leave me alone!”  

Kojiro stares at him for a long moment, eyes strangely sharp in a way that makes Kaoru feel like he’s looking through him. Kaoru would like to state, for the record, that he’s not a fan of that look. 

“It’s okay to like people, you know?” And yes, Kaoru was right, that look hadn’t boded well for him here because it pre-empted stupid questions. 

“Shut up,” Kaoru says and grabs a pillow off the couch to whack Kojiro straight through the face. 

Kojiro makes a dramatic ‘oof’ noise, like Kaoru actually hurt him, even though he knows he didn’t, and then fixes his gaze back on Kaoru. 

“You know, it’s okay to like people, right?” He asks again, and this time, Kaoru is sure, somehow, that he’s not talking about the kids. Ridiculous. He can’t believe he backed away from the earlier conversation like a decent person only for Kojiro to go and do this. 

“What, are you talking about you?” Kaoru asks, and it’s so much less sharp than he wants it to be. He blames it on Kojiro, how he’s somehow gotten closer without Kojiro realizing it, close enough that Kaoru would barely have to reach out to brush his fingertips over Kojiro’s skin- through Kojiro. 

“Should I be?” Kojiro asks, one hand raising as though he’s going to brush his fingertips along Kaoru’s face. Kauro kind of hopes he will. Kaoru wishes, for a desperate moment, that he’ll do more than that.

He holds his breath for half a second, and then the moment slides sideways as he pushes to his feet. “Don’t,” He says, grabbing the pillow he’d thrown at Kojiro and shoving it back on the couch. “Whatever you were just thinking about in that pea brain of yours is a terrible idea.” 

“Kaoru.” 

“Don’t,” Kaoru says again and disappears ( flees) into his bedroom, swinging the door shut behind him with bang.  

Kaoru types ‘ghosts’ into his search engine and scrolls through several pages of results, skimming past articles on The World’s Ten Most Famous Ghosts and ads proclaiming Ghost Removal Services! The Best In The Biz! Buy One Exorcism Get Two Free!

He makes a frustrated noise and types ‘how to bring back a ghost’ like that will turn up anything.  

He types in ‘necromancy,’ and whispers “What the fuck are you thinking, Kaoru?” into the dark of his bedroom and closes the tab. He erases his browser history for good measure, then flops back into his bed, buries his head in his pillow and screams.  

Carla, sitting on the pillows next to him, looks on judgmentally. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Kaoru tells his familiar sullenly. 

Carla meows, still judgemental. 

“You ever, like, raised the dead?” Kaoru asks Ainosuke while staring at the large blank wall the man wants a piece made for. It happens every once in a while that Ainosuke throws a large sum of money at Kaoru and asks for art. He’s pretty sure it’s some misguided attempt to make up for ditching Kaoru for America and then being a total dick for years after he got back. 

Kaoru should probably let him know it’s not necessary. He never does. Partially because Ainosuke will deny doing such a thing, and partially because their friendship works frighteningly well the way it is actually. 

“No?” Ainosuke says, looking at Kaoru like he’s the one who’s weird. “Does that seem like the kind of thing I would do?” 

“Absolutely,” Tadashi says as he breezes through behind them, tapping away on his phone. 

“Yeah, potentially immoral and incredibly unethical magic seems kinda up your alley,” Kaoru agrees. 

“Well, I haven’t,” Ainosuke says, and then, “Who would I bring back, anyway? My father?” 

Which. Yeah . Point taken. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but Mr. Shindo was a dick. 

“Why the line of questioning? You trying to figure out a way to get your hot ghost boyfriend a little more corporeal? I can see how the current situation might be interfering with you getting railed.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kaoru snaps, turning on his heel to glare at Ainosuke. 

“Ooooh touchy,” Ainosuke practically croons, absolutely delighted by Kaoru’s misery, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” 

“Even if I was interested,” Kaoru says, “Which I’m not- You can’t exactly date a ghost.” 

“I was told I couldn’t date the staff, and look at me! I married them!”  

“Somehow I think class barriers might be a little less of an obstruction than literal actual death.” Unfortunately for Kaoru, judging by the gleam in Ainosuke’s eye, admitting any of this is paramount to a proclamation that he wants Kojiro to throw him over his well toned shoulders and carry him off into the sunset. It’s terrible. Kaoru needs better friends. Ones that aren’t Ainosuke, married to Ainosuke, already dead, or teenagers. There’s an angry florist in town who seems like he’s not the worst. Maybe Kaoru will make him his new best friend. 

Ainosuke rubs his greedy little paws together like a fucking gremlin who’s ready to fully torture the one and only friend he’s ever had who willingly held his hair back while he puked up cheap booze at parties they weren’t even supposed to be at in highschool. “I’ll do some looking into it. See if I can’t find a way to fix your little star crossed lovers issue.” 

“Don’t. Please. Never talk to me again, actually. I’m moving to Antarctica.” 

Two days later Ainosuke texts him the words ‘True Love’s Kiss’ followed by 16 separate text messages all containing one single crying laughing emoji and Kaoru throws his cell phone at the wall. 

It doesn’t break, and Kaoru isn’t sure if that’s fortunate or unfortunate. Even without a phone Ainosuke would probably find a way to get a hold of him. He’d figure out a spell to speak through birds, or Kaoru’s fucking tv, or something. 

“You having a meltdown, princess?” Kojiro asks, floating through the wall of Kaoru’s living room. 

“Use a goddamn door,” Kaoru snarls, because yes, he is maybe, in fact, having a slight meltdown here. 

Kojiro raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and steps closer, feet on the floor instead of floating, like he’s attempting to be a little less ghost-like in an effort to soothe Kaoru. “Hey, Kaoru, I’m serious this time. Are you okay?” 

“I’m killing Aonosuke,” Kaoru says, instead of answering the question. 

Kojiro seems to relax though, his shoulders sagging as he plops down on Kaoru’s couch. (The level to which Kojiro can and can’t interact with objects is going to one day drive Kaoru insane, he can feel it.) “Oh good, I hate that guy.” 

“You’ve met him like twice.” 

“Don’t need to meet him more than that to know,” Kojiro says, leaning back, arms crossed behind his head. It does something interesting to his chest that Kaoru is not distracted by. “It’s about the vibe, dude.” 

“The vibe,” Kaoru says flatly. 

“Yep. The vibe. C’mon, you’re a witch aren’t you? Aren’t you guys supposed to be all into the vibes and wavelengths and stuff.” 

“Magic isn’t vibes, you musclebrained meathead, ” Kaoru says, bristling as he glares at Kojiro. Kojiro, much to Kaoru’s dismay, seems to brighten at this, grinning at Kaoru as he sinks further into his couch. 

“Oh good, you are back to normal. I was worried there for a second.”  

“Normal is you insulting my craft and me debating exorcising you?” 

“Maybe not that exact scenario, but more or less, yeah. Anyway, what’s magic if it’s not vibes?” 

“ t’s not vibes!” 

“I dunno, I kinda think it’s vibes.” 

The thing is: Ainosuke is joking ( probably,) but there was a moment, however brief, where Kaoru had thought maybe. Where he had slipped, just a little and thought possibly. 

He isn’t in love with Kojiro though. 

He’s not. And even if he was, Kojiro isn’t in love with him. 

Besides, True Love’s Kiss doesn’t work on people who are actually dead. Someone’s only mostly dead? Sure. Cursed into a coma? Absolutely. Turned into a frog? Works every fucking time. But dead dead? There’s not a lot that fixes dead dead. 

He’d thought about it though. He keeps thinking about it. As he works on the painting for Ainosuke, making broad vivid strokes with his brush, weaving magic into the paint so that it shifts later, an abstract piece, ever changing, as mercurial as the man who commissioned it. As he works on patching a hole in the roof that was only exposed by a recent surprise rain shower. As he lets Kojiro guide him patiently through making slightly over salted spaghetti bolognese and under kneaded bread and a dressing he never quite gets to emulsify but that still tastes fine on the awkwardly chopped salad regardless. 

“You’re getting better at this,” Kojiro says, poking at Kauro’s misshapen bread loaf. He’s getting better at touching things. There’s a brief moment where the bread sort of dents and then Kojiro’s hand passes through. 

“You can only say that because you can’t taste it. Because you’re dead.” Kaoru says, attempting to feed Carla a piece of lettuce so that there’s less salad for Kojiro to bitch at him about not eating. 

“Thanks for the reminder princess, I’d almost forgotten.” 

“It’s what I’m here for,” Kauro says with his sweetest, fakest smile. 

“Cute,” Kojiro says with a roll of his eyes. He thinks that maybe… it’s fond, somehow. 

He thinks, for a second, about trying it. About kissing Kojiro. Just to see. It couldn’t hurt anything. 

Except for whatever weird friendship he’s developed with the ghost haunting his house. 

Except for everything. 

It must show, because Kojiro attempts to nudge Kaoru with his shoulder, the brief give of flesh before he passes through, soaking Kaoru’s shoulder in cold. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“How you clearly traded all your brains for muscles,” Kaoru snaps, though it lacks the bite he’d like it to have. 

“So you think about my muscles, huh?” Kojiro asks, his grin broad and bright. 

“Ugh,” Kaoru says, shoving a hand at Kojiro’s face as the man dodges, “I’m exorcising you, I swear.” 

“Promises, promises.”

Five. 

Kojiro’s getting more solid is the thing. 

He scratches Carla’s ears one morning, a soft sort of awed look on his face as his fingers ruffle her long white fur. 

He tosses Kaoru a screwdriver once and Kauro’s so surprised by it that he falls off the ladder he’s been standing on and once Kojiro’s sure he’s okay the ghost laughs so long and loud that the sound is still ringing in Kaoru’s ears when he goes to bed that night. 

He punches Kaoru in the arm when Kaoru insults him while they’re watching a movie on Kauro’s couch, and instead of passing straight through, flesh meets flesh with a thwap. 

It doesn’t really hurt, not really, but Kauro makes a shocked, outraged noise and Kojiro looks at him with a shocked, slightly guilty look. 

“Shit.” 

Kaoru tries to hit him right back and his fist passes straight through, sending him tumbling to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs. 

“Exorcism!” Kaoru threatens for the millionth time and Kojiro tips his head back and laughs. 

Kaoru watches the long line of his throat, the crinkle of his eyes, the way he laughs like it’s easy and thinks, a little bit desperately, about kissing him and kissing him and kissing him . 

Kaoru throws his slipper at Kojiro instead, smug when Kojiro makes a wounded noise as it sails right through him. 

The seasons change, and with it comes Kaoru’s semiannual cold. 

He cancels any appointments, texts the teenage idiots not to show up, and holes up on his couch with tissues and a stupid drama that has a seemingly endless amount of episodes so he doesn’t have to do the hard work of deciding on a new one when it ends and endless amounts of instant noodles. 

Kojiro frowns at him and his noodles- who Kaoru would like to state for the record, are his only friends right now. Noodles are good. Kojiro doesn’t understand the joy that noodles bring his sniffly, dying self. 

“Those aren’t going to help you get better,” Kojiro says, sounding frustrated, which is kind of rude actually. Kaoru is in no control of his immune system’s ridiculous reaction to changing weather. 

 “Oh I’m sorry dad, I’ll just drag my dying body into the kitchen and whip up a five course meal.” 

“I’m pretty sure the dying body bit was insensitive somehow, seeing as I’m already dead and all,” Kojiro says and Kaoru exerts an immense amount of energy just to lift a hand and flip him off. 

“I’m hot,” Kaoru complains, setting his empty noodle bowl on the low table next to the couch and curling up on his side. Kojiro mumbles something and Kaoru narrows his eyes at him. “What was that? Don’t mumble, it’s rude.” 

“I said you’re probably running a fever,” Kojiro says and lifts a hand to Kaoru’s forehead like a mother-hen checking their child’s temperature. 

“How are you going to tell like that, you’re- Wait, no, actually, keep doing that,” Kaoru says, leaning into it just a little. Kojiro’s freakishly cold hands are actually useful right now when Kaoru’s brain feels like hot soup. He considers, for a moment, the possibility of getting Kojiro to spread out on top of him like a weird floating ghost blanket, but then discards the idea on the basis of ‘ fuck no, I am not asking that.’ 

“Glad to be of service, my liege,” Kojiro grumbles, but Kauro would like to point out that he doesn’t move. He keeps his hand there as Kaoru stretches a little and closes his eyes, going boneless under the not-quite touch. 

Kaoru thinks Kojiro might say something else, but he’s out like a light before he can properly parse it out. 

The next time Kaoru wakes up there’s children in his house. 

“What.” 

“Sakurayashiki-sensei! Hi!” Reki says, giving a little wave, “Your ghost called. My mom sent soup.” 

“Kojiro can make phone calls?” Kaoru asks, still at least 75% asleep, the world fuzzy around the edges. 

Kojiro shrugs and wiggles his hand back and forth in a ‘Eh, kinda,’ gesture. 

“He said you’re sick,” Miya says, pushing through Langa and Reki, “Do you have the plague? Are you gonna die and haunt this place with Kojiro? Can we have the house if you do?” 

“What? No. It’s a cold.” Kaoru does not feel great about the vaguely disappointed look on Miya’s face at that. Kaoru does not feel great about having three teenagers in his house while he’s dying of the plague either though. 

“Oh. Woulda been cool to know two ghosts.” Miya says, shrugging. 

“Yeah,” Langa agrees. “Having a haunted house would be cool.” 

“Here’s your soup,” Reki says, shoving it into Kaoru’s hands. “There’s more food in the fridge. My mom sent a ton! We’ll feed Carla and check on the garden before we go.” 

And then, before Kaoru can mumble much more than a begrudging thank you while he spoons hot broth and vegetables in his mouth, Reki has dragged Langa and Miya out of his living room. 

The soup is good, comforting, and so is (though Kaoru would never admit this) Kojiro’s hovering presence. 

“Eat and go back to sleep,” Kojiro says, and Kaoru would argue, he really would, but he is tired, incredibly so, so for once he only puts up a cursory struggle and eats his soup and mumbles something about Kojiro not being his mom before he passes out again.

The second time he wakes up it’s to the feeling of something soft and cold brushing over his forehead. He blinks his eyes open and Kojiro’s face is suddenly very, very close. 

“Kojiro?” He asks, sleep soft and fuzzy around the edges, not quite sure if he’s fully awake or partially dreaming because the face in front of him isn’t quite right. It looks sort of solid… and tanned. 

“Holy shit,” Kojiro says, lurching back and staring down at his hands. “ Holy shit.” 

Kaoru flails a hand out in an attempt to stop Kojiro from continuing on with whatever crisis he’s going through so that he can go back to sleep and meets…. solid flesh? 

That’s not right. 

He scrabbles around for his glasses only for Kojiro to slide them right on his face (That’s also not right) then sits up and stares . 

“What. The. Fuck.” Kaoru says, and then, “Oh god, your shirts are even worse in full color. You cannot have that terrible of taste. It shouldn’t be possible.” 

“I become corporeal again and your first reaction is to complain about my taste in shirts? I can’t believe I’m in love with you.” 

“Wait- What-” Kaoru slaps a hand to his forehead as he processes what the feeling had been and then, possibly, though he will never admit it, gapes at Kojiro like a deranged fish for a solid fifteen seconds. “ A FOREHEAD KISS IS NOT TRUE LOVE’S KISS.” 

“I’m in love, and I kissed you. Those are literally the only requirements, princess,” Kojiro says like it’s that easy. Ridiculous! Insane! This idiot! 

“One, you cannot tell me you love me and condescendingly call me princess in the same sentence. I am too sick to process how to feel about that. And two, you were dead! It doesn’t work on the dead!” Kaoru feels a little shrill, but like, Kojiro isn’t shrill enough about this in his opinion so he’s making up for it. 

“Eh, mostly dead, but mostly just cursed to be inbetween. It was as good as dead, but not quite.”

“How the hell did you end up cursed? What did you do?” Kaoru asks because he needs to focus on that instead of basically anything else. 

“Why do you assume it’s something I did?!” Oh good, now Kojiro’s shrill too. That’s better. 

“Because I’ve met you.” 

“Fuck you,” Kojiro says, and then, because Kaoru is right dammit, “There was a woman. I mean, there were a lot of women, but the curse was just one specific woman.” 

“Mh, of course.” Kaoru nods, waving his hand in a go on gesture. 

“A witch.” 

“Obviously.” 

“And, I would like to clarify here, I never led her on.” 

“Of course not.” 

“Aaaand she cursed me. Said I’d never break it if I didn’t learn to love someone, blah blah blah, the usual curse stuff.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Kaoru says, one hand raised to keep Kojiro from interrupting, “This was all because you were a giant slut?” 

“Don’t say it like that!” 

“Well how should I say it then? A harlot? A tramp? A man of ill repute?” 

“I hate you so much,” Kojiro says, dragging a hand down his face, sounding like Kaoru is truly the most difficult person he’s dealt with in either his life or his unlife. Good. 

“Considering kissing me broke a curse that made you essentially dead for years I would say that’s a lie.” 

“It was barely even a kiss!” 

“True,” Kaoru says, tapping a fingertip against his lip, pretending to think, “We could always fix that.” 

“What.” 

“Oh yes, we should definitely fix that,” Kaoru says, and gets his hands on Kojiro’s truly stupid shirt so that he can tug him in for an actual kiss. 

Six. 

Kaoru’s kitchen is bathed in soft morning light when he stumbles into it, yawning into his shoulder as he attempts to finagle his hair into a bun. 

He stops where he’s at, leaning against the doorframe to watch the sight in front of him, the stretch of Kojiro’s tan shoulders under the tank top he’d worn to bed, and the easy way he moves, plucking spices from the truly preposterous collection that’s consumed Kaoru’s kitchen and stirring whatever it is he’s making for breakfast this morning. 

It’s become as familiar a sight in the last few months as the sight of Kojiro as a ghost ever had. Maybe more so, because this Kojiro is solid and so alive it hurts to look at him too closely sometimes and when he notices Kaoru watching he drags him in close and kisses him, hands curled into the shirt Kaoru stole from him. It’s a very comfortable shirt, actually. Kaoru might never buy pajamas again. 

“Your breath is terrible,” Kojiro tells him, though it doesn’t stop him from kissing Kaoru again. 

“Fuck you, I just woke up,” Kaoru says, shoving at Kojiro’s shoulder. And then, because he’s apparently weak, especially for freshly cooked breakfast, “What are you cooking?” 

“Oyakodon.” 

“I wanted pancakes,” Kaoru says, mostly just to be an asshole. 

“And I wanted a boyfriend who would wake up to freshly cooked breakfast and thank me instead of complaining.” Kojiro says, sighing a long suffering sigh. Kaoru knows better. Kaoru’s onto his tricks. This idiot loves him. 

“Liar,” Kaoru says, plastering himself against Kojiro’s back when he turns back to their breakfast, “You’d be bored if you had that.” 

Kojiro grunts something that could mean maybe, or you don’t know that, or yes Kaoru my beloved, you are incredibly correct instead of deigning to answer . 

“Go sit down. I’ll bring you breakfast when it’s ready.” 

Kaoru hums agreeably and starts the regrettable process of unplastering himself from Kojiro’s ridiculously muscled back and starting towards the kitchen table, pausing at the sight of Carla’s food bowl, filled with finely chopped chicken and egg, and cooling on the counter. 

“Carla’s?” 

“Mhm,” Kojiro confirms, and then, “Don’t feed her on the table.” 

“Too late,” Kaoru says, setting the bowl in Carla’s place at the table as she hops primly on it and sniffs her food suspiciously before deigning to eat it. 

“She’s a cat,” Kojiro says, like Kaoru doesn’t know. “I refuse to eat at a table with a cat.” 

“First off, she’s a familiar, you giant ape, and second, she was here first. She eats at the table. She has her own spot.” 

“She wasn’t here first! I was here first! This was my house!” 

“You were mostly dead, so it doesn’t count.” 

Kojiro turns back to his cooking, grumbling under his breath, but it’s noticeably halfhearted. Kaoru has learned how to read the idiot, first without realizing it, and then more intentionally after the whole True Love’s Kiss thing, and his shoulders are loose, and no kitchen items are being slammed around, a thing that definitely happens when he’s actually mad, banging pots and pans with his shoulders up around his ears. 

There’s so much to slam these days, too. Kaoru’s kitchen has so much stuff in it now. Pots and pans of every size, and a giant fucking espresso machine, and something Kojiro insists is for sous vide but that Kaoru refers to as a glorified fish tank filter just because it pisses Kojiro off. 

“I like you in my shirts,” Kojiro says when he joins Kaoru at the table, setting a bowl of food and a mug of tea in front of Kaoru, smoothing his fingers over the collar of Kaoru’s stolen shirt before he turns to his own mug of half drank coffee. 

“Well that’s good, because I intend to steal all of the ones I like and burn the ones I don’t. You don’t know how to wear clothes properly anyway.” 

“I swear to god Kaoru, if you burn my shit I’ll-” 

Kaoru cuts him off by leaning in and Kojiro meets him halfway, kissing him long and slow over their breakfast. 

When he pulls back, Kaoru can feel the smile spread across his own face, the stupid look he apparently gets when he looks at Kojiro. The frequency of it has seemed to increase roughly with the increase of Kojiro’s items cluttering up Kaoru’s home, the giant idiot toting in boxes and claiming ‘It was my house before it was your house, princess.’ 

It’s ridiculous. Kaoru would trade anything to keep it. 

“Hey,” Kojiro says dumbly, smiling back. 

“Hi.” Kaoru says, just as stupidly. 

“Have I told you I’m glad you bought this house?”