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It starts small, like all things do.
Reigen wakes up in his apartment with a warmth in his fingertips. He opens his eyes and there he is, Ekubo nested in the palm of his hand like standing a little too close to an open flame.
All he can do is stare. Forming a fist encounters no resistance. Ekubo stirs.
Reigen finds he can't recall the last time he woke up beside another person. He rolls over and curls up into the foetal position.
The warmth recedes. He accepts whatever happens next.
Ekubo drifts over, stretching lazily. He eyes Reigen up and down.
"Hey. Uh. What are you doing?"
Reigen's teeth chatter and he covers his eyes. "Bad dreams." Or waking nightmare.
He grimaces and thinks back to his time on television. This time he imagines a game show. Bright lights, audience rabid, teleprompter shorting out. He flicks his wrist and wipes sweat from his brow. The host is staring at him with the force of a thousand suns, and a question blazes on the screens.
WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU’RE DEAD AND INCORPOREAL?
No answer presents itself.
He uncovers his eyes and looks Ekubo in the face.
"Do you have to sleep in my room?" He feigns displeasure, something like possession curling in his chest.
Not that he'd know.
"Shigeo kicked me out, and I kinda get why." he shrugs. "You know teenagers and personal space."
"A courtesy not extended to me, I gather."
"Why would I be courteous towards you of all people?" Ekubo settles on the pillow next to his face. "You want courtesy? Your alarm didn't go off and you're 20 minutes late."
Any complicated feelings are swiftly replaced with the morning rush.
"Oh. OH. Fuck me."
Reigen throws a rice ball into his bag, toast into the toaster, and starts hunting around his apartment for a pair of socks the same length. Ekubo watches with a degree of amusement.
Every so often he catches his eye, and every so often he pointedly looks away.
Socks are located. His tie is crooked. The toast remains in the toaster, burnt.
It doesn't strike him as domesticity until he's halfway down the block, Ekubo narrating the morning news as he runs.
Their first client is a man approaching middle age, unpleasant, slightly more arrogant than Reigen cares to cater for. He's good with people, or at least he'd like to think so, but his days of bootlicking come less and less naturally to him.
Unfortunately for Reigen, this man expected a bootlicker. He sits in the designated client chair, tea spilling as he crosses his arms, and clears his throat.
Ekubo hovers over his head, looking a little pissed off.
"I think I deserve a discount." The man spits into his mug. "You're late."
"Ah," Reigen grits his teeth and waves a hand. "A psychic is never late, or early, only precisely on time."
The man looks at him weird. "Are you citing 'Mob of the Rings' at me, eh?"
He can feel sweat bead on his temple. He flicks hair out of his eyes with a gesture. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir."
Ekubo sniffs the man's shirt collar. "Reigen, are you really sucking up to this sicko?"
He scowls and rolls his eyes. The man in the chair blanches with anger.
"What's that look for, eh? I'm the customer, I'm doing you a favour!"
Shit. He always forgets, how Ekubo is only visible to him and psychics. He's got explaining to do.
"Ah, never fear, sir! I was simply consorting with the evil spirit you have on your shoulder." Reigen presses two fingers to his forehead and waves his other hand convincingly. Ekubo rolls his eyes and shuffles off the man, instead settling next to the tea pot.
"Good grief..." The spirit cocks an eyebrow. "I'll show you consorting, if you're not careful."
Reigen shoots him a Look.
"Ugh. Whatever, I guess. I came here to ask for a..." Oh, Reigen hates the gestures that he produces at the words. "'Love' spell, not about any evil spirits in my life." He grins toothily. "I'm perfectly content as I am."
That does it. He's not had breakfast, his socks are falling down inside his shoes, and for once he was telling the absolute truth about the spirits in the world around them. This guy is the worst. Tsk.
"We categorically don't do 'love' spells, nor do they exist. That's a crime."
Reigen is angry and tired. He tries out his most bone-chilling voice. "You pathetic, wet creep of a man. I wish there were a dozen evil spirits on your shoulders."
"There are," Ekubo supplies helpfully. "I think he'll die within a decade."
Reigen turns to his friend, clenching and unclenching a fist. "Is it inhumane to leave him like that? Ignorance is bliss, but even the worst scum of the earth doesn't deserve death..."
"How dare you, what are you even on about-"
Ekubo shrugs. "I could eat the fatal one. The rest are his own fault and will dissolve with time if he were to repent for his past actions."
"-is this any way to treat your clients? You fraud. Hey, freak! I'm talking to you!"
Ekubo and Reigen turn to face the man in synch, disgust blazing. He only sees one set of disapproving eyes.
"...Leave them all. Wheel of fortune has to keep on spinning, or there'll be no karmic justice in the world."
"Sounds about right." The spirit settles on Reigen's shoulder, heat radiating like comfort.
The man gets tossed to the curb with a special move worthy of a deuteragonist of a popular manga series. Or at least, that's what Reigen used to imagine as a kid.
The rest of the day is fairly easy-going. Reigen spring cleans, scrubbing the windows with a little vinegar - "clearing out the bad vibe", as he would say. Ekubo nestles around the teapot, keeping it a pleasant enough drinking temperature.
They chat about the weather, the latest radiodrama they've been listening to in the evening hours, whatever happened to the host of the early morning cooking show (Ekubo suggests botched plastic surgery; Reigen is more on the side of body doubles).
Afternoon comes around, and so does Mob, content to do his homework at the desk while Reigen scouts the internet for odd jobs and random haunted eBay listings.
"Shigeo, do you know much about buying things online?" The spirit hovers next to him, peering over his shoulder. Mob shrugs.
"I don't feel the need to, really. Also, it's expensive."
Ekubo stares down Reigen across the room. "You should really pay him more, you know."
"Shh." He waves his hands, clicking the mouse frantically. "I'm bidding."
Mob perks up. "Are you winning?"
It's a 50-50. Reigen grits his teeth and gestures as such. "Someone here is price gouging. But I'm within budget."
"What do you need a haunted object for, anyway?" Ekubo curls around Mob's pencil.
"Thought it'd spice up the place. Get clients interested. Take it out of civilian hands."
"That's weak. I can do just about the same."
Reigen scowls. "Not that'd you'd offer."
Ekubo plucks the pencil from Mob's hand and grins. The pencil dances around the room, glowing a faint green.
Mob extends a hand, and it comes back to him.
"Sorry, Shigeo."
"It's okay. Let me finish what I'm writing first, though."
Reigen pulls a face and waves the spirit over. "Stop bothering him and come help me win instead."
"Help how? Disrupt their internet connections? Cheerlead?"
"A little moral support goes a long way," Reigen mutters under his breath.
He loses the auction, but takes them out for ramen anyway.
He opens his eyes to sudden darkness; the room cool and dim before sunrise. Swiping blearily at his alarm, he finds out it’s 5am; twenty seconds later, he finds out it’s 5am and he is awake for good.
Reigen pulls his sheets up over his head childishly, hiding under the covers from the day ahead. He sighs.
He sits up. Everything is bathed in predawn light, the famed blue hour before the light changes. Long, dark shadows crawl across his bed, his floors, the walls around him.
Reigen shivers. Someone has just walked over his grave.
The light in the room shifts again as Ekubo apparates.
"Oh. Hey. You're up early."
Reigen nods, cracking his knuckles.
"Yeah." A wistful feeling curls in his chest. "Hah. I haven't seen the sunrise in forever."
"That why you're up?" The spirit settles in front of the clock. The digital display is faintly visible through him still.
"Hm. I don't think so." He pulls the covers a little closer to his chest. Something had jolted him. Maybe bad dreams. "I can't remember."
"Who can these days." He waves a hand. "Go back to bed or get up and stop... Whatever this is."
Reigen shoots him a look, but the same feeling of unchecked loneliness and nostalgia chokes him as he does. Ekubo raises an eyebrow. "I know you better than you think."
And that's just it, really.
Reigen doesn't want to know what that means.
He makes tea as the first golden rays of day skim the rooftops around them.
They settle into their own peculiar rhythm. Some mornings Reigen wakes up to Ekubo curled up next to him like it's the most natural thing in the world; some days he barely sees him, if at all, the spirit accompanying Mob or off running his own ghostly errands.
Mornings without him are rushed, quiet. He brushes his teeth in the shower and draws heart shapes on the glass. Opens the office, brews tea, answers spam emails. Writes an email to his mother, if he's feeling charitable… At least she's stopped trying to sell him into MLM schemes, he supposes.
Although what's the harm in a little MLM every now and again...
Jobs come and go, some easier than others. Mob accompanies him for the “real” ones. Ekubo tags along whenever he feels like it, which is often.
A simple enough life. Enjoyable enough. TV dinners and taking the train home every evening, alone in the rush-hour sea.
Reigen doesn't know how to explain how heavy he feels in his chest, or when the feeling even started.
His alarm sounds, and he realises a second too late that it's a holiday. No point opening the office if no one is going to come by; he deserves a day off, too.
An arm's length from his face is a familiar sight.
"Morning." Reigen yawns.
"Hey."
He stretches. "Been here long?"
"Yeah, because watching you sleep is so interesting." He grins as Reigen blusters. "Relax. I'm kidding."
"Obviously." He drags a hand over his reddening face.
He could ask, why he's here or why he chooses to haunt his bedroom (and oh, it's been dead long enough for haunting) part-time like some divorced father taking weekends but asking is too transparent for Reigen.
Instead, he reaches across and rests his hand a hair's breadth away from Ekubo. He jumps.
"Wuh. What's that for?"
"I dunno." His fingers twitch. "Felt like it."
"Unfeel it, then." He doesn't move. If anything, the spirit glides a little closer.
"Hm. I'm too lazy today. It's my holiday too, you know."
“Tell someone who cares.” Ekubo rolls his eyes. Then clears his throat. “So uh. What’s the plan for the day?”
Daylight filters through the blinds in the window, golden and perfect. Reigen stares at the ceiling. He watches the light. He doesn’t move his hand.
“Not sure.” He squints. “What do you want to do?”
There’s a silence between them, as soft as warm laundry, or something equally mundane, equally comforting.
The spirit sighs. The sound is unnatural.
“I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that. Not in this lifetime.”
Reigen huffs, surprised. A little sad. Touched. “Well, I’m asking.”
“Huh.” Ekubo considers. “I like doing what we usually do, I think.”
Reigen cocks an eyebrow. A sly smile spreads across his face.
“So.” He turns to lie on his side. “We have a routine?”
“Shut up. Let’s go get breakfast.”
They find themselves at a market. They’ve never been before, Reigen muses, as it operates solely within his business hours. He loves markets. He loves turning fruit over in his hands, checking for soft spots, the perfect ripeness, haggling with the vendors. The way real tomatoes smell, the vine-scent like perfume clinging to his wrist. It’s nothing like the plastic of the supermarket. He should take Mob here sometime, he considers.
Ekubo floats by his side, drifting behind stalls and following stranger’s conversations. He dutifully narrates the gossip back to Reigen.
Reigen turns another tomato in his hands.
“I wish I wasn’t such a lousy cook. Not enough time in the day to learn, anyway.”
Ekubo shrugs. “It’s practice. Or developing better reading comprehension skills, in your case.”
“Oi. I can read just fine.”
“Whatever you say.” The spirit smirks. “Sure.”
They wander the streets bickering, the sky clear and the weather oh-so-unfairly lovely. Reigen rummages in his tote bag, pulling out items to show off.
Those perfumed tomatoes. Fresh eggs. Something green to prove his parents wrong about him surviving adulthood, thank you very much.
“What’s your plan with those?” Ekubo is unusually keen, eyes darting whenever Reigen gesticulates or moves too close.
“Hm.”
He’s not really one for planning. His entire life so far has been one big whim. He tries to frame it like he’s proud of it.
“If you. Khm. If you’d like,” Ekubo is shivering like a leaf in the wind. “I have an idea.”
“Oh?” Reigen perks up. “Do tell.”
He’s not quite sure how to take it.
Yes, he’s seen other people possessed. Espers, mostly. Willingly or unwillingly, the latter staying with him more than he’d care to admit.
It just feels so- frivolous? To let an evil spirit possess him to make salad?
He can make salad. Reigen shakes his head affirmatively. He’s pretty sure salad is a tasteless health scam, but whatever.
It gives him the heebie-jeebies, is what it is. Or at least, that’s the easiest explanation for why his heart is beating so fast.
“Look.” Ekubo wrings his hands. He floats at eye level. “Sorry. Bad suggestion.”
Reigen tsk’s, and finds he has to look away. “You’re fine.”
“But you said it yourself. It’s a holiday. You’re feeling lazy. You could let me take the wheel and not even think about it.”
He considers. It’s all about trust, isn’t it? Putting it in other people and hoping they don’t screw you over.
“Could be... Interesting. Try everything once, was the saying back when I was in high school.” He smiles shakily and waves a hand. “Pretty sure they meant drugs, but it’s sound advice.”
“Same difference.” The spirit too is smiling again, but it’s less self-assured, more open.
“Alright,” He concedes. “Ground rules, though.” Reigen points at his friend. “We stop when I say stop.”
“Obviously. That goes without saying.”
“And, uh. Question.”
An eyebrow raise.
Reigen continues. “How does this work, exactly?”
TOMATO NO OHITASHI (TOMATOES WITH SAVORY SAUCE)
The thought rings loud and clear in his head.
It’s like sleepwalking. He can feel the movement of his own limbs, the wooden boards under his feet, see his hands as they cradle the tomatoes in the sink and feel the water wash over them.
Wherever he resides in his own body, he can feel Ekubo sitting right beside him. Passenger, driver; their roles fluid, passing the steering wheel between themselves.
His (not-his, never-his) hands open a cupboard and long, slender fingers wrap around the necks of bottles (soy sauce, mirin). Water boils for dashi stock.
What are we making?
You’ll see.
Reigen can feel it, the curl of fondness in his chest not-quite-his but expanding. We.
He reaches to touch his face. He’s smiling.
It happens more often, after that.
He’ll wake up next to Ekubo and reach out a hand. His fingertips are warm. Ekubo looks on with a pained expression, something like longing warring across his face.
Reigen brushes his teeth. The radio plays songs from his teenage angst years. They listen to the news. They leave in step, or Reigen leaves, and Ekubo follows like a trail of smoke does a housefire.
The idea of possession, in the spiritual and literal sense, crosses Reigen’s mind more than he’d like to admit.
It’s an intimacy. It’s fragility. He craves it. He can’t ask for it. He needs it. He doesn’t feel worthy of it.
He grits his teeth.
Ekubo watches him and wonders if he’s ever listened to his own advice before.
The last client of the day arrives just after he’s sent Mob home, wishing him a fun weekend with friends. Mob had nodded and wished him the same.
Reigen discretely looks the woman up and down. Ekubo settles on his shoulder.
“This one’s real, unfortunately. And a bad one, at that.”
“Damn.” He’s not going to call Mob back. He promised to be better about using his time and powers.
Ekubo watches him scowl. The woman looks at the floor, embarrassed enough as it is to be darkening their doorstep.
“Do you- “ Reigen hisses under his breath, feigning finishing up paperwork. “Do you think we can handle this?”
Ekubo considers. “I think we have no choice.”
Reigen nods. Right. He can do this. He’s not alone. He looks up from his paperwork.
“Come in,” He smiles pleasantly and gestures at the chair. “Make yourself comfortable.”
It isn’t every day Reigen gets body-slammed into a wall, but it is today.
His first thought is that he’s getting too old for this. His next is to roll over and dodge the lamp the poltergeist throws at his head.
Ekubo hovers, as always, just out of touch, just out of reach. Reigen spits blood and nods at his friend.
The poltergeist opens some cupboards.
“Shit.” Reigen clambers to his feet. “Is that the cutlery drawer?”
“Girl, stop talking and move faster.” He pulls a face of genuine concern. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan,” Reigen grabs a tea tray and shields his torso. The poltergeist has started flinging forks. “The plan fell out of the window with those stupid herbs I bought online.”
The poltergeist had tried to throw him out at the time, but it certainly didn’t hurt it to dispose of those instead.
“Oh, great. And now it’s angry.”
“Can you talk to it?”
“A poltergeist isn’t sentient.” Ekubo peeks over his shoulder as another fork near-misses. “It’s pure base emotion, at this point. Malicious.”
“And we can’t leave it like this, not when it’s so… active.” He spits again, resigned.
The client had begged them for help, in a quiet, determined tone that shook him to the bone at the time. Even without Ekubo’s confirmation, he could tell it was a reality.
Dreams in waking life.
More cupboards rattle, and the furniture begins to shake. It’s different to telekinesis, he notes; there is no softness, no static. Instead, a feeling like magnetic resonance pulls him sideways and the tea tray is wrenched out of his arms.
It’s knives, this time. He doesn’t quite have time to duck.
He blinks.
Oh. Hello again.
Green light spills from his (not-his, never-his) hands, and suddenly it’s all a lot more manageable. The knife drops. The glass shatters.
Sorry about this.
It’s okay. It’s you. I should be thanking you.
And he should be, really, but he can’t phrase it anyway different than you have my life, I trust you with it, keep it safe.
He’s sleepwalking again. He can step back and someone else will take the lead.
Maybe he was thrown against that wall harder than he thought, after all.
I’ve got you. Let me.
Reigen comes to leaning propped against the garden fence. His jacket is ripped across the shoulder. The scar on his back aches forebodingly.
He doesn’t have to turn around to know that the poltergeist has been sorted. It’s like a ringing in his ears that has suddenly stopped.
The sun is rising. He’s been here before. The déjà vu hits him like a headache.
Ekubo materialises by his side.
“C’mon.” Reigen lifts himself up and shakes off dirt. He reaches out a hand, despite himself. “Let’s report a job well done. And get breakfast.”
For a second, it looks like the spirit is about to reach out and take it.
Every morning is the same, and with each alarm comes an anxiety he can only associate with waiting for something to give.
Maybe one day it will.
Maybe it’ll be easier than living in limbo.
It’s past midnight, and he’s standing in front of the bathroom sink staring at himself in the mirror. Nightmares again. He’s nearly thirty. There are lines in his face he doesn’t remember forming. His roots are coming through, Reigen notes; time to redye his hair. Or maybe not. But if he doesn’t, he won’t look the way he does on all his posters, and the printing was already so expensive…
To live is to haunt. Reigen turns a tap and water drips. Get busy living.
Ekubo takes shape behind him, the same shade and flicker as the fluorescent bathroom light. He drifts through him, ending up in front of the same mirror.
The spirit passing through sends an involuntary shiver down his spine. His teeth chatter. Reigen catches the edge of the sink; his hands are clammy, and he can’t help but pull his face into a smile.
“That was kind of creepy.”
“Hah.” Ekubo glows in the dark. “I know.”
He puffs up his chest and gesticulates to his own reflection. Ekubo quirks an eyebrow.
The tap spits.
“The good, the bad, and the ugly, huh.”
Reigen snorts. “I’m not exactly complaining, all things considered.” He wipes his face. He inspects it closer again in the mirror.
“I seem to remember quite the opposite, actually.”
He smirks. His features soften as he looks past his own reflection at the spirit beside him.
“Come here for a second.”
“Here- Where?”
“Here. You know.” Reigen grips the sink edge a little tighter.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific, Reigen.” He drifts a little closer. “You know how this works.”
A sigh. He does. “I do.”
The man looks his own reflection in the eye and exhales. He turns the dripping tap off.
When he blinks, he sees double. And then he sees his face smile back at him.
Hey.
Hey. What did you want me here for?
He feels the pull of gravity as his head tilts, inspecting himself closer. Vertigo. He blinks again and twin spots burn heat into his cheeks, red as embers.
Reigen feels the soft pull of control ebb and flow, and reaches for it. The body is his.
I’ll show you.
He leans forward just a little more, just a little further. His knees knock against the sink mount.
Breath steams against the mirror. Reigen can feel a flavour of surprise rise from Ekubo; he hasn’t seen his breath steam in so long, hasn’t had the luxury of breathing.
He presses his lips to the mirror. There is no warmth. There is only the cool of the glass, the slide of a frictionless surface. His nose is at an awkward angle, and he’s thrown back to memories of hurried first kisses, only kisses back in high school.
It’s different, though. He can feel his co-pilot beside him reeling in shock at the action, raw emotion bleeding through the veil. He makes eye contact with himself (not-himself) in the mirror as he does so, and the change on his face…
Well. He’s not in charge of that: the expression of desperation, of longing, the sweetest smile that not-his lips quirk into.
What are you playing at, Arataka?
Ekubo using his first name jars him for a second, but only a second. The guy’s literally in his body. It shouldn’t be making him blush. He pulls away from the glass.
Did- did you feel that?
I felt the same thing that you did. It’s glass. It’s just your reflection.
Embarrassment shoots through him now. He miscalculated, as always. Only a man possessed does something as stupid as this.
He catches his eye again in the mirror and is confused by his expression. It’s softer, somehow; compassionate in a way he’s rarely treated himself.
I said, I felt the same thing you did. His (not-his) hand cups the side of his face.
Reigen reels a little. He witnesses the circles not-his thumb swipes across his cheek.
“I thought you didn’t really like… me.”
His vision blurs, and Ekubo is floating next to him again. Reigen drops his hand from his face.
“I’m an evil spirit. I don’t like anyone.” He huffs, eyes darting. “But I appreciate the whole, y’know, grift you’ve got going on.”
“Grift.” Reigen repeats. “Right.”
Of course. What else.
He sleepwalks back into bed, and into the next morning.
Ekubo doesn’t show up for a few days in a row, and Reigen feels something in him twist. Staying in the house just makes him feel worse.
He throws himself into the night.
He’s an adult, he reminds himself, not the paper-thin teenager with a fake ID that he was back in the day. He doesn’t darken the doorstep of Happy Trails. He heads into town, taking the subway enough stops to put some distance between this life and the next.
The siren song of nightlife still lures him.
Maybe there’s something better for him out there, too.
Some hours later, he finds himself bent over the barstool of a takeaway place. He’s eyeing up his half mug of beer with the determination of someone proving a point.
The chef gives him a once over from behind the bar and shakes her head. Lost cause.
“We’re closing.”
“Ah,” He waves a hand. “I’ll be on my way.”
Reigen pushes the mug away from him and rises shakily.
“Did you want a glass of water?” She tilts her head. “To take with you.”
The gesture almost brings tears to his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”
Fluorescent light casts weird shadows and makes for uncanny reflections. It jars him, this stranger kindness.
Maybe it’s home time, after all.
Reigen falls into bed like a man drowned. His shoes knock against the bedframe; his shirt creases like marking pages in a book.
He wakes up in his apartment with a warmth in his fingertips. He opens his eyes and there he is, Ekubo nested in the palm of his hand like standing a little too close to an open flame.
“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles it into his pillow, half-asleep still.
“That’s a first,” comes the retort.
He twists and buries his face deeper into the bedspread. “First I’ve admitted it, yeah.”
Reigen gently pulls his hand back under the covers, curling into himself. Ekubo settles next to his alarm clock.
“Hm.”
“Sorry. It was stupid.” He feels shame heat up his cheeks and expand in his chest. Really, Arataka, he thinks, why spend so long building your deck if you’re not going to play your cards close to your chest?
Might as well spill your entire sob story, while you’re at it. Overexplaining prevents being misunderstood, at least. Leaves no room for interpretation.
“It wasn’t.” Ekubo interrupts his train of thought.
“I’m drunk. Or I was.”
“You’re a lightweight. You’ll be okay.”
“Will I ever be?” He rolls over dramatically, ending up eye level with the spirit. “When does ‘okay’ begin?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy.” Ekubo shrugs. “Hey. Are you crying?”
He lifts a hand to his face, and it comes away wet. He hadn’t realised. “Oh. Yeah. Think so.”
He can’t recall the last time he cried on purpose. It just happens to him sometimes. He’ll wash his hands and catch a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror; he’ll be in a store picking up laundry detergent and wipe at his face. On the train home looking out of the window.
What a concept.
“Uh.” Ekubo hovers, as always. “Do you want me to go?”
“You can if you want.” He buries his face back into his pillow. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“You’re not, I mean. Keeping me, that is.”
They stay that way a little while listening to the sound of the city around them, Reigen submerged under the covers and Ekubo by his side, unwavering.
“Still here, huh.”
“Every so often.” The spirit shrugs, but it’s gentle.
He knocks his feet together and realises his shoes are still on. He can’t be bothered to lean down and get them.
“I’m so tired.” He says it as natural as water, meaning a hundred different things by it.
It’s left unspoken.
He stops crying.
Things get a little more careless, more sloppy.
Client after client, day after day. Reigen’s sense of self-preservation has never been very good.
He’s kept in line by Mob when they’re on a job together. His dedication and outright love for the kid would rather kill him than let anything bad happen to him.
Even so, Mob asks him if there’s something wrong. He doesn’t know how to answer, so he shrugs him off with a hand wave and a tight smile.
Maybe he is a grifter, after all.
Maybe that is the only likeable trait he has left.
His muscles ache. He buys Mob extra toppings for his ramen and feels even guiltier for it.
Another weekend passes, grey and thoroughly unremarkable. Reigen does his laundry. He cleans the kitchen and bathroom, cursing the state he’s let everything get to. He gets some groceries from the shop downstairs.
Disintegration. Chaos. The city man’s tolerance for mould and damp, four corners and half a window for the sun to get in.
Reigen sighs. He opens his kitchen drawers and starts rummaging until he finds what he’s looking for: the last box of cigarettes he’d let himself buy before he tried quitting.
He’d been successful so far.
He side-eyes the smoke alarm in the middle of the room and sidles up to the aforementioned window. Cracking it open takes a little more effort than he remembers; it’s been a while.
He doesn’t even have a lighter anymore. Or a gas stove. Shit.
Maybe there’s some matches somewhere. He sticks a cigarette between his teeth and goes back to rifling. Old batteries, cables, paperclips – but no matches.
“What are you looking for?”
Ekubo appears behind him. Reigen sighs again.
“Something to use as a lighter. Hm. Would an iron work?”
“Oi, give it here.” The spirit curls around him, aura turning to heat. “Before you set your house on fire.”
The spirit clicks his fingers and the tip of the cigarette begins to glow.
“Didn’t know you could do that.” He inhales and almost immediately starts coughing.
Ekubo jeers. “Hah. A thank you would be nice.”
“Urgh.” After a good second, he straightens up and flicks ash out through the window crack. “Shut up. Thanks.”
A twist of the wrist, and he plays nonchalance like no other.
Inhale. Exhale.
The sun is setting, casting rays across the countertops and pooling golden reflections in his eyes.
Reigen sighs.
“Do you think I’m unlikable?”
Ekubo pauses from where he’s been watching the street below. “What are you asking me for?”
“You see me when no one else does.” Smoke drifts from his cigarette. Reigen takes another drag. “You see me when I’d rather be invisible.”
“The privilege of the dead is the burden of the living.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry. I’m not obsessed with you enough to care about you, really.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. And I know that’s not true.” He does. He’s lived it. He’s felt Ekubo’s concern the last time, every time they were working together on a nasty haunting.
“Why do you care what’s true or not?” A smirk. It’s a dig, and it hurts.
“I do care, actually.”
“Yeah.” He softens. “I know you do.”
Reigen scowls. “Eesh. Forget it. I don’t know what came over me to be asking you this stuff.”
Another drag. Ash drifts away in the wind.
A pause. The sun is only getting lower in the sky. It’ll be twilight soon. Another day of his life over.
Ekubo drifts a little closer. “Can I have some?”
“You want to smoke? Aren’t you like… made of smoke?”
“Yeah. Move over.”
Reigen shrugs, leaning up against the window. The next drag he takes is intercepted.
Thanks.
Don’t mention it. He’s curious. What does it feel like?
What, smoking?
No. Breathing.
Oh.
A bubble of confusion rises in not-his chest. Reigen feels his lips twist into a smile.
You’re still the one doing it. I’m just the passenger.
It’s a lot of effort, isn’t it. Transport.
It feels worth it. A cold shiver passes through Reigen. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Is that a threat? Or a promise?
His hand is resting against his face, balancing the last breath, the stub. He can feel the twitch in his fingertips like static electricity, betraying his control.
Not-his fingers come to rest against his lips. They trace the shape, savouring the motion.
Hey. Do you still want to know if I think you’re unlikeable?
Mhm. Maybe I don’t. Maybe some things are better left alone.
His lips part, and fingertips brush against his teeth. The pad of his (not-his) thumb presses hard against canine.
He growls.
The cigarette burns out.
Reigen wakes up in his apartment with a warmth in his fingertips. He opens his eyes and there he is, Ekubo nested in the palm of his hand.
“Morning.” He grimaces.
“Morning,” Ekubo agrees. “What’s the plan for the day?”
“Clients today. You wanna try the new tea I got before work?”
The spirit flashes him a grin. “Only if I get to stay for breakfast, too.”
Reigen stretches. His shoulder joint clicks. “Knock yourself out.”
It’s almost enough.
It’s almost like he’s never been lonely.