Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The steak tasted like sawdust.

Reo sat perfectly straight, as etiquette demanded, the cold edge of the mahogany table biting into his forearms. The minimalist chandelier above flickered faintly, scattering fractured light over fine porcelain, polished silverware, and three lavishly dressed figures who hadn’t spoken in over ten minutes.

His mother’s knife cut through meat with mechanical precision. Perfectly manicured nails were painted deep red, a stark contrast against the whiteness of her crisp dress. His father, posture rigid, raised his glass of wine with detached movements, untouched by any real appetite.

Stillness suffocated Reo every time he had to endure these performative dinners once a month. A price he willingly paid for being left alone the rest of the time.

“There’s a gathering at the Ryouzen estate. Some international partners will be there. It’s time you start building connections.” His father said, without preamble. “You’ll accompany me.”

Reo’s fingers tightened around his fork. He didn’t lift his eyes.

“I’d rather stab this in my own eye.” He thought. 

What he said was a measured, “Yes.”

Across the table, the serpent moved.

It slithered lazily along the polished wood, leaving a trail of cool air in its wake. No one reacted. His mother didn’t flinch. His father kept eating.

The creature paused, tongue flicking out, then coiled near his father’s plate. Its body brushed against the man’s sleeve, the scaled tail looping gently around his arm. Reo held his breath.

Would it bite him?

No. It just watched with quiet intent, sizing up the source that provoked restlessness in its prey.

Clink.

His mother’s fork tapped the porcelain. A chill prickled across Reo’s skin.

Without incident, the serpent slid back toward him—unnoticed. As if nothing had happened.

The rest of the dinner dragged on in silence, broken only by the muted clash of silver against porcelain and the soft shuffle of ghosts of conversations he wished to forget.

He walked back to his room with heavy steps, tearing open the buttons of his navy blue shirt, hands clammy. The corridor stretched too long, echoes of his footsteps bouncing off walls. This whole house was unnecessarily big for three—scratch that, two—people. 

By the time he stumbled into the ensuite bathroom, his body gave out. The door clicked shut behind him. His knees hit the floor. He doubled over the toilet, stomach twisting violently. He vomited. Not once—twice. Acid scorched his throat, tears blurring his sight. He gripped the toilet’s edges, trying to steady his breath. His heart thundered inside his chest as if trying to break out of its cage.

He despised this. Feeling weak. Emotional.

These dinners had caged him since childhood, but growing older had ripped the veil away. Fake smiles. Hollow conversations. Expectations piled like bricks around his ribs, leaving Reo no choice but to put on a mask and endure.

Until she appeared and made everything weightless. Tolerable.

He rinsed his mouth, catching his reflection. Pale skin. Dark rings under dull eyes. A thin line of something dark at the corner of his lips — was it food? Or just the taste of bile?

He couldn’t care less.

Dragging himself to the king-sized bed, he collapsed on cool sheets, shirt half-undone, an arm draped over his eyes. Tremors lingered in his limbs from the tension, but the numbness settling in was a welcome reprieve. Years ago, he’d have felt like screaming. Broken something. Let the rage pour out.

Now? 

Reo was just tired.

So fucking tired.

From the shadows at the edge of the bed, the snake emerged. Cold golden eyes traced him with predatory calm, mapping every inch like a ritual it knew by heart. Savoring what was yet to come. Icy black scales glided over his stomach, pressed against his feverish skin, offering comfort.

Reo didn’t move.

“Go on,” he rasped. “Do your thing.”

The reptile paused—almost relishing the command. Then its mouth parted, fangs glinting under the soft bedroom light. It sank them in—just below the clavicle. Reo flinched. A breath hitched in his throat.

And then… nothing.

No pain.

No nausea.

No thoughts of his father’s voice echoing in his skull.

He felt light.

Untethered.

Only silence in his head. 

Finally.

The next morning, Reo sat in the back of the limousine. His school uniform was perfectly pressed, tie loosened just enough to hint at rebellion—but never enough to draw comment. The city blurred by in muted smears of gray beyond tinted windows, too small to matter.

For once, his mind wasn’t tearing itself apart. He basked in the afterglow the bite had left him. It was like a dose of drugs, though instead of euphoria it gave him clarity. Everything seemed distant, manageable. Like a calm sea after a storm.

Now, he wasn’t thinking about last night. Not the coldness of the room, not the irritating clink of silverware against china, and certainly not the way he’d crumbled after.

As the car turned into the school entrance, Reo shifted slightly, elbow propped against the door, eyes drifting lazily toward the gates. Just out of habit.

Then he spotted him.

A figure moving with deliberate carelessness: headphones snug over a mess of white hair, shoulders hunched like gravity owed him something.

Nagi Seishiro.

Dragging his feet with the energy of someone who’d snoozed through five alarms and didn’t care one bit. There was an odd poetry in how the boy ignored the world. Blank-faced—but never empty. Everything about him filtered through stubborn indifference.

Reo’s mouth tugged upward. 

From the front seat, Baaya asked in that polite tone she always used. “Did something catch your eye, young master?”

Reo blinked, slowly shifting his gaze. A brush-off would’ve worked. Instead, his head tilted just slightly, still following Nagi’s disappearing form.

"Just a stray," he said, "wandering too close to the gate.”

The corner of his smile lingered a second longer. Baaya hummed as if she hadn’t heard the second part. The car rolled forward, Reo’s reflection trailing behind him in the tinted glass.

Nagi Seishiro wasn’t someone you lost sight of easily. With his 190 cm height and messy white hair, he stood out like a glitch in a well-coded simulation.

And yet, somehow, he’d become impossible to find.

Three days. Three days of turning corners, changing routes, pretending not to look while scanning for any sign of him. But Nagi always vanished before Reo could get close. At first, he thought he was just overthinking it — until Karasu said something while they were studying. Or more like hanging out at a café near the school.

“Isn’t he just avoiding you?” Karasu smirked, tapping Reo with his pen.

“And why would he?” Reo replied, arching a brow. “It’s not like I’ve done anything to him.”

“Yet,” Karasu teased, earning a sharp look from the purple-haired boy before leaning back lazily in his seat. “Easy. I’m just saying, if you could spot him before and now you can’t, that’s the only explanation.”

“By the way, why are you even looking for him?” Yukimiya chimed in, sipping his iced coffee.

Reo shrugged, resting his cheek against his palm. “No reason.”

Yukimiya and Karasu exchanged glances. Now that was new. The school prince — who usually kept everyone at arm’s length — looking for someone on his own volition? Weird. They couldn't understand what was so interesting about that listless guy, though.

But Reo’s taste in everything had always been… peculiar, to say the least.

“And… have you tried going to his classroom?” Yukimiya asked.

Reo avoided his gaze, taking a long sip of his cold brew. Karasu let out a sharp laugh, while Yukimiya raised an eyebrow — disbelief written all over his face. Reo’s fingers drummed against the table in faint annoyance.  

“It's fine.” He thought, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I always get what I want, anyway.”

His reflection in the café window caught the faint glint of gold coiled around his neck, hidden under his collar.

Right after homeroom, he ditched his friends. Reo didn’t even bother with excuses, pacing toward the third floor with newfound purpose. A few girls smiled as he passed; he didn’t return a single one, not in the mood to grace them with his usual business smile.

His steps slowed near the end of the hallway, where Class 3-3 was located. Peeking through the window, he spotted students chatting in groups, others scrolling on their phones or scrambling to finish assignments.

Still no sign of Nagi.

Of course not.

Reo sighed and leaned back against the cool wall. He wasn’t angry. Just… bothered. And maybe a little intrigued at how someone so indifferent could dodge him so consistently. 

He stayed there a few more seconds before turning away.

“Looking for someone?” A sing-song voice pulled him back from his thoughts.

Bachira was standing right behind him, wearing a playful grin and holding a juice box. Reo knew him from the soccer club — before he’d quit — and had often seen him hanging around Nagi, usually with another friend in tow. Perfect timing.

“Nagi.” He replied bluntly. After all, what was the point of dancing around it?  

Bachira nodded.

“Saw him a little while ago. Said he was heading to the staff room.” He tilted his head, mischievous as always. “Better hurry, Reocchi. Nagicchi’s gotten good at pulling vanishing acts lately.”

Without warning, he tossed the juice box. Reo caught it mid-air, barely sparing it a glance.

“Thanks,” he muttered, already moving away. “So he was avoiding me after all.”

The hallway had almost emptied. Reo caught the occasional creak of a door or distant chatter drifting up from a lower floor. He lingered a few meters from the staff room, one hand buried in his pocket, the other idly holding his phone. The snake was there too, coiled lazily on the windowsill — eyes shut. Resting. Or pretending to.

He stayed close enough to see the door clearly, but far enough to appear inconspicuous. When the door finally opened, Reo looked up — and there he was. Their eyes met for the first time that day. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just an unwavering stare. Nagi kept walking.

As he passed, Reo pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him — silent, casual, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. The black being slipped from the window, slithering along next to him.

“I told you to come to the library.” He said.

Nagi glanced at him. “Never said I would go.”

A faint smirk tugged at Reo’s lips. “You’re interesting. Not many people ignore what I say.”

Nagi didn’t answer. His hand crumpled slightly around the printout the English teacher had just given him. They walked like that for a moment — neither one speaking.

Then Reo paused and nodded at a door to the right — an empty classroom.

“Come on.”

Nagi hesitated, then followed him in. The door clicked shut behind them with a soft thud.

Dust drifted in the air, backlit by the pale light streaming through tall windows. Desks stood in uneven rows, chairs tucked in or pushed back as if the room had been abandoned mid-thought. Reo crossed to the far corner without a backward glance, perching on the edge of a desk, one leg propped up, the other dangling loose.

Nagi stayed near the door for a moment before drifting inside, settling against the opposite wall. Not too close. Not too far.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” 

“Not really.”

Reo raised an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Nagi didn’t argue.

Reo studied him more carefully this time. “What I want to know is why.”

Nagi held his gaze but stayed silent. That only intrigued Reo more. After that afternoon on the rooftop, he’d thought they’d clicked — but then Nagi had just vanished.

A heavy sigh escaped Nagi’s lips. His gray eyes dropped to the snake. Its tongue flicked out, slow and deliberate, tasting the tension between them.

“Does she bother you that much? She’s harmless.”

Nagi scoffed. “You don't even know what that is.”

Reo exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching — but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Does it matter that much?”

“That thing is not an animal, Reo. It's not normal for you to have it around you all the time.”

“You think I don't know? I’m not stupid.” Reo snapped.

That caught Nagi off guard. “Then why don’t you get rid of it?”

Reo didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to the snake resting beside him, then drifted back to Nagi. A few slow seconds stretched out, silence settling between them like an uninvited guest. At last, Nagi sat on a desk, scratching the back of his head.

“That's not a snake — it only looks like one. That thing is what we call kaii.” Nagi explained, pointing at the black creature with something close to aversion.

Reo’s eyes narrowed, violet irises sharp like glass about to crack.

“The hell is that?” He spat, voice deceptively calm but thrumming with barely contained annoyance.

Nagi studied him, as if weighing how to put it into words. “They have different names — the most common is kaii, or oddities. Supernatural phenomena that latch onto humans. I’ve seen some before, but it’s rare to find one so attached to a person.”

“And why can you see them?”

Nagi tilted his head with a small shrug. “I just can. Doesn’t matter why. Believe me or not — but in my experience… nothing good ever happens to people they cling to.”

Something inside Reo twisted. Anxiety. Doubt, maybe. Or was it distrust? Nagi’s words echoed in his head — something he’d always turned a blind eye to, because the gain was bigger than the loss. Nothing good ever happens…

“As if I didn’t know that already.”

His fingers drummed restlessly against the wood, grounding him.

“How do you get rid of them? Are you a shaman or something?” Reo asked, skepticism curling in his tone.

“Oh, I can't,” Nagi replied offhandedly, making Reo blink as the tension dissolved.

“After that speech, I thought you'd say you'd help me get rid of it — for a price.” Reo laughed.

Nagi pulled a face. “I can't. But I do know someone who could. And if you say you want my help… well, I guess I could lend you a hand.”

For a moment, Reo just looked at him — weighing the offer, fighting the instinct to scoff and brush him off like he always did when others tried to get closer than he allowed. After all, what were the chances that the new guy in school had the “cure” to his ailment? Life wasn’t as convenient as fiction. But curiosity always won with him. It always did, especially with Nagi and those gray eyes that held no apparent malice.

“Then why don't you give me your number? So you won’t avoid me again.” He slipped his phone from his pocket, faintly amused by the rare flutter of excitement stirring in his chest.

Nagi only blinked at him, expression unreadable, but his fingers moved anyway — slow, deliberate — typing the number in without saying a word.

Too late to back out now.