Work Text:
Ennoshita isn’t quite sure when he starts to suspect that his house is haunted.
Two weeks after he moves in? Three, four weeks, perhaps? A month? He barely remembers waking up or going to sleep – does he sleep? He must. Probably. It’s impossible for humans to go without sleep (and Ennoshita would know, there are people calling him “doctor” 12 hours a day every day). He certainly doesn’t remember eating, but he must, sometime, somehow – again, the whole “basic human survival function” thing.
That’s probably why it takes him so long to notice that the empty take-out containers he apparently gets from 7-11 are being thrown in the trash. He’s so used to bumping into half-unpacked boxes and stumbling over who-knows-whats scattered about everywhere, shuffling into the kitchen one morning and seeing something where it actually belongs – trash in a trashcan, who could have imagined – has him scratching his head, confused and slightly unsettled.
Did he actually get around to finally tidying up? And… wasn’t that trash can filled with dirty laundry that he also kept meaning to get around to? But Ennoshita doesn’t have time to dwell too much on it. He has back-to-back patients through the afternoon, and there are still some onboarding documents that Dr. Higuchi said have to be completed before the end of the week. And the 89 bus sometimes comes early on Tuesdays, so Ennoshita better get a move on because the next bus won’t come for another 40 minutes –
He remembers to grab a protein bar before he flies out the door, tripping over an umbrella as he leaves.
When he comes home, he makes it through the front door without incident. That’s because the umbrella he tripped over this morning – Ennoshita actually remembers this, because it smacked him in the shin and it really hurt – is hanging on a hook by the shoe closet. Innocent. Neat.
Weird .
It wasn’t him. He knows he wasn’t. He was too busy rushing to catch the bus. Still in the genkan, heart racing a little, Ennoshita gives a quick glance around; nothing else seems to be amiss, but he grabs the umbrella before padding into the living room, just in case.
Everything looks fine. No windows smashed, his TV is still here. Everything is in its proper place – that is, all over the place and exactly where it shouldn’t be, with the exception of new trash in the trash can.
Ennoshita now feels thoroughly unsettled – was his house broken into by the most thoughtful burglar in the world? – but he’s also dead on his feet from exhaustion, much too tired to worry or even care. He manages to fire off a quick email to his landlord before dragging himself to the bedroom.
Within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, he’s fast asleep.
From that day on, things slowly get worse – meaning they get better, because Ennoshita’s house slowly, mysteriously becomes cleaner, less chaotic. The trash gets taken out; coffee-stained mugs are washed and dried; and books are not only shelved but also arranged alphabetically by genre and author. Whoever – or whatever – is doing all this grows so bold (or, Ennoshita suspects, so fed up) that they end up unpacking all of Ennoshita’s remaining boxes, diligent to the point of even breaking them down and stacking them neatly in the hall closet.
He never hears or sees anything. Sometimes he’ll wake up to something having been cleaned or put away, but most of the time, it happens when he’s at work. Every security camera he orders ends up breaking or malfunctioning not even a day after he sets it up, and after the fourth one refuses to work no matter what he does, Ennoshita gives up.
I agree with Ennoshita, is what Narita sends one day in the Karasuno group chat. I think you’re living with a ghost.
A ghost that cleans your house??? LOLOLOL Tanaka replies.
I feel like that’s more plausible than a burglar that cleans your house?
Nothing has ever been stolen, right, Ennoshita?
Right. The only thing this person does is clean haha. They haven’t touched anything else.
And the alarm’s never gone off?
Never.
Chikara!!!! I’ll ask my grandpa, he probably knows a Shinto priest that can get rid of this ghost for you!!! Don’t be scared!!!!!!
More than feeling scared, however, Ennoshita finds that he feels… grateful. And, funnily enough, a little bit guilty, too. Embarrassed , even. Normally a very tidy and exact person – he did get through medical school, after all – he just hasn’t been able to find his footing since he moved here for his new job at the clinic. He’s tired when he wakes up, he’s tired when he comes home, he’s tired of constantly chasing the him from last week, even two weeks ago, seemingly never able to catch up. Nobody’s come to visit him in his new home, not because they don’t want to, but because he won’t let them; there’s no way he can let anyone see him in such a state of undone disaster.
…Until now, it seems, though certainly not by choice. It must be a testament to just how frazzled Ennoshita really is that he wonders what this… entity? Person? Must think of him. It does, after all, know him more intimately than any of his friends or family do by now – certainly more intimately than a lover ever has, an idea that makes him flush hotly in a way he doesn’t understand. It knows what he wears. It’s seen all his photographs, his souvenirs and knick knacks from his travels that he’s accumulated throughout the years. It knows his favorite colors; his favorite food, and his least favorite foods (recently the pile of raw green scallion has disappeared from the sink within a day). It knows his work schedule, and when he’s running late. It must know his favorite TV shows, watches him as he lays on his couch during those rare moments when he doesn’t immediately collapse into sleep, catching up on VLeague games and Western dramas so he can better pretend to understand what his friends and coworkers are talking about.
It knows when he sleeps, which means it must know how he snores.
Does it know what he dreams about?
Does it know how lonely he is?
It’s when Ennoshita finds himself saying “good night” into the darkness before he closes his eyes to sleep that he thinks he should ask Nishinoya about that Shinto priest.
He thinks about it the following day, when he comes home from work and is greeted by sparkling floors and the lingering scent of lemon; the day after that, when the paperwork on his work desk that he swears he’ll get to sorting is sorted; when his pothos plant, a housewarming gift from one of his new co-workers, is one day no longer hanging sad and limp on his windowsill, but instead standing tall and refreshed after a week-long overdue drink, reaching for the sun.
He thinks about it a lot. But he simply can’t bring himself to go through with it.
“I just have to text him,” Ennoshita mutters to himself, phone in hand. His thumb hovers over Nishinoya’s contact. “Just ask. Maybe it’s not even a ghost! And if it is, I can finally get rid of it. All I have to do is ask. Just press it, Ennoshita! You can do this!”
It’s probably his imagination, or perhaps his fatigue, but Ennoshita thinks that his house suddenly gets very cold, like an icy draft is cutting through the room. All his windows are closed and locked tight, however, and warm sunshine spills into the room, making his freshly cleaned floors gleam in the light.
“...I’ll text Noya tomorrow,” mutters Ennoshita with a shiver. That night, he takes out the extra blanket, wrapping it tightly around his body as he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep.
It feels like he’s barely been asleep for any time at all when a loud vrrrrrrrrrrrr sound has him leaping out of bed in a panic. A quick glance at the clock on his nightstand confirms it: It’s 3 am, which means he’s only gotten three hours of sleep. Adrenaline cuts through the lingering fog in his brain, and Ennoshita can only stand there in the dark, his heavy breathing drowned out by the constant drone of vrrrrrrrrrrr.
Is it an alarm? Is the city being attacked? But no – once he’s calmed down somewhat, it occurs to him that the noise is coming from somewhere inside the house. It also sounds… oddly familiar. Like some sort of machine?
The umbrella Ennoshita armed himself with last time is still hanging in its proper place by the shoe closet. Not that it would be helpful at all against a ghost – if there is indeed a ghost. Ennoshita looks around, squinting into the darkness. What on earth does one use to fight a ghost? Thinking back to the horror movies Tanaka used to force them all to watch, Ennoshita vaguely remembers… priests, sometimes nuns, and little girls in nightgowns. There were also a lot of bibles and gold crosses, and sometimes… salt?
Well, Ennoshita doesn’t have any bibles or gold crosses, and the salt is in the kitchen where the ghost potentially could be. He supposes he’ll just have to somehow make do and fight for his life with the best thing he has on hand – his lucky pair of socks.
After digging them out of the laundry hamper, Ennoshita slowly, carefully creeps out of the room and down the hall, Vabo-chan adorned socks clutched against his chest.
The mysterious vrrrrrrrrr grows louder the closer he gets to the living room. The sound is oddly familiar, though Ennoshita just can’t place it. Could it be some kind of too, like a drill? Or a chainsaw?
It’s a vacuum cleaner.
No wonder Ennoshita had such a hard time recognizing the noise; after buying this vacuum cleaner shortly after moving it, Ennoshita left it in a corner in the living room, where it languished unused in its box until the ghost (presumably) took it out and stored it in the hall closet. And here it is now, not only out of the closet but also plugged in, and Ennoshita can only gape as he watches it travel back and forth around the living room, supposedly pushed by nothing.
“The power of Christ compels you! Begone!” Ennoshita cries; he punctuates the last word by flinging his socks at the oncoming vacuum. To his surprise, it works: With a final mechanical whine, the machine powers down, quiet and still in the middle of the room. Ennoshita’s sigh of relief is heavy – and abruptly cut off by his socks being flung right back onto his face.
“What the heck!” he splutters as he reels back in shock. “Those are dirty! ”
“Yes, and that’s entirely your own fault.”
The voice is soft, almost bored-sounding, and coming from thin air. It doesn’t sound like any ghost Ennoshita has ever seen in any horror movie, but what else could it be?
“I’m not the vacuum cleaner, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the disembodied voice drawls, and Ennoshita can’t help but blush, embarrassed at being called out for thinking exactly that. There’s a sigh, and suddenly, somehow, the pale form of what is unmistakably a man shimmers in the air. Ennoshita is half-expecting to see him draped in a raggedy old nightgown, or wearing a white robe at least; the plain T-shirt and what look to be athletic pants is a surprise, as is the way his oddly modern clothes complement his tall, lithe frame.
“Do you even know how to use your washing machine?”The figure before him crosses his transparent arms; and though the features of his face aren’t very distinct, Ennoshita swears he sees the man narrow his eyes and frown. “You haven’t done your own laundry even once; the only reason you have clean clothes to wear to work is because of me.”
“Wha – I –”
“It’s a miracle that you’re able to keep any of your patients. I certainly hope you treat them with better care than you do your own belongings. Do you wash your hands before your appointments? Because you certainly never wash your dishes.”
“Hey, I’m busy! ” splutters Ennoshita, indignation finally rousing him from the state of shock he was in. “I work 80 hours a week, you know!”
“I do know, very well. I’ve been cleaning up after you for nearly four months, after all.”
“It’s – I’m – Moving across the country to a city you’ve never been to is really stressful! ” It’s a bit embarrassing how defensive Ennoshita feels. As if he needs to defend himself to someone who probably hasn’t had a job in years! “And I never asked you to clean or do any of this stuff, anyway; you did it all on your own!”
The ghost gives him an indignant sniff. “Unlike you, I don’t enjoy living in a pigsty. This was my house first.”
“...Sorry,” Ennoshita mutters, and he means it, never having thought of things that way before. He wants to ask how long ago the ghost started living here, but thinks better of it; having never met one before and not knowing what proper ghost decorum is, Ennoshita isn’t sure if asking such questions would be committing some terrible faux pas. This ghost is already irritated enough at him, and he certainly doesn’t want to anger him even more.
“I’ll be better about cleaning up, I promise,” says Ennoshita. When the ghost responds with a quirk of an elegant-looking eyebrow, Ennoshita notes with interest the way his moles, twin dots stacked on top of one another, move along with it. “I will! I’m getting used to my schedule now, and everything’s a lot less overwhelming now that the house is so much cleaner. Thanks to you,” he adds with a shy nod.
“Hmph. We’ll see,” replies the ghost. His already hooded eyes squint even harder, and a blush starts to bloom across Ennoshita’s face.
He takes in the other man’s elegantly angled features – they’re more visible now, the ghost having made himself more opaque – curly hair parted in such a way that it reminds Ennoshita of the male love interest in those historical dramas his mother loves to watch. When the ghost was alive, his hair – and his eyes, probably – must have been a very dark black.
He really is handsome, Ennoshita finds himself thinking.
…For a ghost.
“If I do keep things clean,” he continues, trying to shake these silly 3 am thoughts from his mind, “Does that mean you won’t vacuum in the middle of the night anymore?”
“I only did that because you were planning on exorcizing me.”
“Yeah well, it’s creepy living with someone who watches you all the time! And who touches your stuff when you’re not around!”
“Again, that’s your own fault. I wouldn’t have to touch your possessions – which are in my house , by the way – if you took proper care of them.”
“I bet you’re the reason the previous tenant moved out,” Ennoshita mutters.
“He wasn’t aware of my existence,” replies the ghost.
“I see. He was neat and put together enough for you, then.”
“No. He wasn’t my type.”
The ghost returns Ennoshita’s look of shock with a calm, steady gaze of his own. “I can show you how to work the washing machine tomorrow, if you wipe down the kitchen counters. You can’t afford to get sick right now. And air out your blankets, too. And go to the grocery store this weekend, so I can cook you a proper meal. Whoever heard of a doctor who doesn’t take proper care of his own body?”
It’s all a dream, a very bizarre, unreal dream. It must be. If Ennoshita goes back to bed now, then he’ll realize this when he wakes up in just a few short hours.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Sakusa Kiyoomi. And you, Ennoshita Chikara, should go back to bed. I’ll have coffee waiting for you in the morning.”
It’s just a dream.
“Good night… Sakusa,” Ennoshita calls out softly from his cocoon of blankets.
“Good night, Ennoshita. Sleep well.”