Work Text:
It was meant to be quick: just checking out some cryptid rumours Okarun had heard about a local construction site. Something about massive claw marks and foundation holes appearing overnight, and the workers swearing it was some kind of giant underground beast.
She had a suspicion it was a wild goose chase, but alone time with Okarun was rare these days, and she was having fun exploring the site as Okarun rattled off cryptid possibilities. For once, it was just the two of them—no aliens, no ghosts, no chaos.
Right up until the earth spirits attacked on sight.
Twenty minutes later, in the midst of fighting vengeful spirits disturbed by broken ground, Momo's vision swam at the edges. The first warning sign she ignored.
“Last one!” Okarun drawled as he shot forward, yokai-enhanced speed leaving afterimages—
A second aura pulsed beneath the ground. Her mouth opened to warn him—
Too late. The spirit erupted upward, claws raking across his chest mid-stride. Even his speed couldn’t dodge what he didn’t see coming. He hit the concrete hard, rolling twice before going still.
“OKARUN!”
A sharp crack echoed through her skull, like bone giving way under pressure. Power flooded through her—raw, scorching, uncontrolled. The spirit didn’t even have time to turn. She obliterated it in a blinding flash of turquoise that seared spots into her vision.
Then silence.
Behind her, a groan. Okarun mumbled something she couldn’t catch. He was okay.
She’d really done it this time. Something in her mind snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far and unable to return to its original shape.
The auras still blazed around her. She tried to let them fade, to release the power like always.
Nothing happened.
The auras burned brighter.
No matter how hard she willed it, the auras would not fade from her vision. Shapes, colours, and outlines layered over the real world until they blurred together. Every edge hummed, every colour throbbed. Time stretched thin and then snapped short, her sense of it warping like heat haze. The air felt heavy on her skin, thick with invisible currents.
She fixed her eyes on the ground, hoping to steady herself.
Beneath their feet, the ground throbbed with life. Ants traced needle-thin lines of gold. Beetles shimmered oily green. A mouse burrowed in deep umber. All of it dissolved into the soil’s deep vibration—millions of grains glowing faintly, a restless sky beneath her.
The air turned metallic on her tongue. Her stomach lurched. Something wet slid from her nose. Only then did she register the slow, pounding ache in her skull.
Time shrank to a single moment. A drop of blood left her, falling heavy and slow, suspended in her sightline. It was still wreathed in her own light.
Crimson red in her normal sight, the drop of blood dark and heavy. Over it, in the same space, her aura vision burned turquoise and flickered like flame. Two realities stacked, refusing to blend, each equally vivid. The strain of reconciling them twisted in her skull until it hurt.
Shutting her eyes, the shapes sank to faint, black-and-white ghosts, but the space around them still seethed with light. Auras pressed in from every side, blooming and fading with the rhythm of her heartbeat.
Calm down.
Breathe.
Remember Granny’s words. Focus your chi.
The overwhelming bloom receded in slow waves. Her jaw unclenched. Her shoulders loosened. The tight pinch of her eyes softened.
“You good, babe?” Okarun’s voice was low and unhurried, closer than before, but there was a tightness under the words.
Her focus snapped. On reflex she turned toward the sound, a smile tugging at her mouth as her eyes opened.
It was a mistake.
The world hit her in a rush—a wall of red flames, steeped in malice, slammed into her senses. The curse, Turbo Granny’s immense power, roared across her vision, freezing and suffocating, thick as smoke in her lungs.
And in the middle, dwarfed by the wildfire, stood Okarun.
The double vision was back. His warm brown eyes burned in the same space as the curse’s piercing red. Rosy tan skin lay beneath a pallid grey mask. Fluffy black hair tangled with threads of whispering white.
All shrouded in a crimson inferno that threatened to swallow him whole.
It was too much.
Her knees buckled and she dropped with a faint, startled sound, eyes shuttering shut once more.
“Momo?” His voice turned urgent, cutting through the roar. She felt rather than saw him take a step toward her.
Okarun. Her mind clung to the sound, desperate for something to hold onto.
“Yo, Momo!” There was an edge to it now, almost a bark. A moment later his hands closed on her shoulders, his long fingers cold even through the fabric.
The red surged in response, the freezing flames closing around her like a tightening coil. The contact seemed to draw in the aura further, its icy malice folding over them both, pressing tighter, colder. Her breath hitched, vision tilting.
Turbo Granny’s power—that’s right. It was a curse.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was fast, urgent, cutting into the haze, but her thoughts were overwhelmed. His grip tightened and she thought it might be the curse holding her, not him.
Wrong. All wrong. The curse was wrong. It was drowning him and she needed to suppress it, to help him, to—
“Are you ok—” he started. He leaned closer and the inferno lunged with the movement.
She lurched forward with a gasp, shoving her power outward. Turquoise light surged from her chest in a deep, thrumming warmth, wrapping around him like a shield and smothering the freezing flames of the curse.
Somewhere close, Okarun made a sharp, startled sound—but it was swallowed by the roar and crackle in her head, lost under the churn of light and cold.
Her mind screamed in protest. Something already stretched too far was being yanked again, all at once. A rubber band about to snap. The back of her throat filled with the taste of copper, bitter and metallic.
But the cold coil around her began to loosen. The ice withdrew in ragged shivers, and air rushed back into her lungs.
The sea of red ebbed away, but the rest of the world still burned too bright behind her closed lids. Shapes flared like afterimages, every outline edged in painful light. Even staying upright was too much. Her strength bled away; her head tilted forward.
“M-Miss Ayase, why did you—?” His voice broke, followed by a sudden, panicked gasp.
Something warm, rough yet soft, cupped the side of her head before it could drop. A palm, calloused and steady, guided her down with painstaking care. Fingers brushed damp, sweat-stuck hair from her face. He was saying something…
“Please, Miss Ayase. What’s wrong?”
He sounded so worried it made her chest ache.
“Pushed my powers too much,” she said, the words thin and strained, catching in her throat. She didn’t want him to worry. “Too bright.”
There was a rustle, Okarun’s outline moving. Something brushed her cheek. It took her a moment to realise he had taken off his gakuran jacket and was wrapping it gently around her head.
It shouldn’t have helped. Fabric was no barrier to her sight. Yet the roaring colours dimmed, muted by nothing more than cloth and the familiar scent of him. Mundane weight against supernatural fire, and it worked.
The jacket’s weight pressed softly against her skin, the scratchy fabric grounding her and a loose thread dragging across her cheek. The scent lingered—astringent detergent undercut with faint notes of ink and graphite that clung to him. Steadying rather than overwhelming.
The tension drained from her, the pulsing migraine ebbing into a dull, manageable throb. But her body still felt weak, as if the strength had been wrung out of her.
“Did that help?” Okarun’s voice was gentle but carried a thread of urgency, like he needed the answer right away.
“Mhm.” She nodded as much as she could manage. Anything more felt impossible—her throat closed up, choked with sudden, overwhelming gratitude that left no room for words.
A breeze stirred the dust around them, carrying away the lingering ozone smell of dissipated spirits.
“I don’t know what else I can do, but Ms. Seiko will.”
Okarun’s voice was steady, decisive. “Let’s get you home. Do you think you can hold onto my back?”
His back?
Her arms felt like jelly.
A weak shake of her head, the motion barely there. But he seemed to read it anyway.
“That’s okay. This might be better anyway.” He bent closer, voice soft, the now muted red of his aura eclipsing most of the painful background noise. “Let me know if you’re uncomfortable or anything, okay?”
He moved closer, sliding one arm carefully under her knees. “I’m going to pick you up now.”
Then she felt herself being lifted. One arm under her knees, another supporting her back. The world tilted and swayed.
“I’m sorry. I can’t transform again, for some reason.” His voice wavered slightly. “Though I think maybe you’d rather I didn’t anyway? From that reaction… But I can get you home like this, I promise.”
She immediately felt better, the certainty of his words settling over her like a blanket. If Okarun said she’d be home soon, then she believed it.
The world swayed with each step. She could still see auras bleeding through the jacket’s darkness, but so much of her vision was just him—contained red drowning out the painful noise of everything else.
When had he gotten so strong? She felt the tremor in his arms, how carefully he shifted her weight with each step. His breathing was deliberately controlled, each exhale timed to his steps.
“Is the jacket helping?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “I read once that pressure and darkness can help with sensory overload. And um, anxiety and stuff. Not that I’m saying you have anxiety or anything but—”
“S’good,” she slurred against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
His hold adjusted as he relaxed.
“Oh. Good. That’s... good.” A pause, then quieter: “You scared me back there.”
She could feel the heat radiating through his shirt where her cheek pressed against him. She was glad. He always ran too cold when he was transformed, but now he was warm again. Human-warm.
“Sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“No, no, don’t apologise. You saved us. You always do.” His voice caught slightly. “I just... wish I could’ve helped more.”
The rhythm of his walk was soothing. Each step created a gentle rocking motion, like being on a very slow boat. Her cheek lay against his shoulder, the vibration of his voice thrumming through him as he spoke.
“I don’t think Ms. Seiko is going to be happy,” he continued, though he didn’t sound particularly worried about it. “We’re going to be late for dinner at this rate. I’m sorry I can’t get you back faster.” A small, nervous laugh. “It’s curry tonight, right? I hope Turbo Granny doesn’t try to...”
His words dissolved into meaningless sound, just the rhythm of his voice washing over her. Steady. Constant. The world was fading at the edges, everything becoming distant and warm.
Safe.
Even with Turbo Granny’s aura flickering red around them both, she felt safe.
“Almost there, Miss Ayase. Just a little further.”
His breathing stayed steady as his hands adjusted one final time, making sure she wouldn’t slip—and then the world faded completely.
She woke to a world that was blessedly dim, though faint traces of light still pulsed at the edges of her vision.
A familiar aura glowed beside her. Red flames, but gentler now, more like embers than wildfire. Downstairs, two other presences flickered—bright silver-green and another touch of crimson, fainter.
Home. She was in bed, her blankets tucked around her.
She opened her eyes slowly.
Okarun shot up from her bean bag, nearly knocking over a glass of water on the floor beside him.
“Miss Ayase!” His voice cracked with relief. “You’re awake!”
She blinked and tried to focus. The room was dark save for her lamp, which was turned to its dimmest setting.
“How long...?”
“Four hours.” He fidgeted, pushing his glasses up. “I, um. I carried you home.”
“You’ve been sitting there for four hours?”
His voice pitched higher. “I wanted to make sure you were okay! You were really out of it, and I didn’t know if...” He paused, then added sheepishly, “And, uh. Ms. Seiko said she wouldn't feed me until you woke up.”
A laugh bubbled up in her chest despite everything.
When she tried to sit up, the world spun dangerously. Firm hands caught her shoulders without hesitation and steadied her.
The double vision was still there: Okarun’s warm brown eyes overlapped with Turbo Granny’s cold red. But this time the two realities didn’t clash. They layered, as if both belonged to him. The crimson that had been so overwhelming before now flickered gently around him, almost protective.
She felt weak, unsteady. She didn’t want Okarun to see her as weak, and yet... there was nothing but soft concern in his expression, his touch careful but not patronising.
“Help me downstairs?”
She hated how fragile she sounded.
“Of course!” He adjusted his position immediately to support her better, one arm sliding around her shoulders. “Take your time.”
It was only then she realised she was in her pyjamas. Her comfiest ones, the worn flannel set with cartoon ghosts on them. Her face heated. Granny must have changed her while she was out.
They made their way slowly down the stairs, Okarun murmuring warnings about each step, his grip never wavering even though she could feel the slight tremor of exertion in his arms. He was still tired from the fight too.
“Finally up?” Granny called from the kitchen without even turning around. The smell of curry filled the air. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
“Sorry, Ms. Seiko,” Okarun said automatically.
Granny just grunted. “Sit. Both of you.”
As Okarun helped her into a chair, Granny set out four bowls. The curry was still steaming hot despite her words. Turbo Granny was already at the table, tapping her tiny paws impatiently.
Momo reached for her spoon, her hand trembling slightly. She caught Okarun watching her closely, looking ready to—what, feed her himself?
He would, she realised. Without hesitation, without making it weird.
But the smell of Granny’s cooking alone was already strengthening her. Her grip steadied as she lifted the spoon, shooting him a grateful smile that made his shoulders relax before he turned to his own bowl.
“Itadakimasu,” she murmured.
The curry was, as always, perfect.