Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Revenge isn’t good for the soul.

Is what Takemichi Hanagaki repeated to himself, as he laid face down in the dirt, bleeding out. This is the last and least logical conclusion he’d come to after loops of failure, but if it works out, then everything will be fine! Hina will be fine . 

And if it doesn’t? Well, the ball is no longer in Takemichi’s court.

Or so he thought. He should’ve- no- what should’ve happened is that he passes away. He should be frolicking around in the afterlife (if there is even one). But no, Time and Fate (and aren’t they the same thing? Two sides of a coin. They go hand in hand. In due time, Takemichi will meet his fate.) Had such a hard on for the man that they still didn’t want to pry their greedy, grubby hands off of him even in the afterlife.

From afar, Takemichi watched his funeral go on. Hollow. Dull. Takemichi would already cry, just watching his friends and his girlfriend sob over his grave, but there’s nothing. A hollow feeling in his chest.

As if someone carved everything out of the blonde that made him, him. Leaving nothing else behind but an empty husk to roam the world. Has the world ever been this dull before? Gritty? Or perhaps, when he was alive, he subconsciously ignored all the bad in the world, but now that he’s dead, Takemichi sees it in full effect.

After everyone leaves, Draken stays back for a moment just to leave a single flower. Takemichi would’ve snorted if he could. How considerate of him, considering he didn’t know Takemichi for no longer than the time he laid bleeding out in the dirt.

( Arm pinned down underneath him. Knife in his ribs. The warm, sticky, red, and familiar metallic smell of blood trickled out of him.)

But Takemichi knows him. Much, much better than most people. He’s seen the good and bad side of Draken. The side that ended up in death row. The side who had a bike shop in the future.

Hanagaki’s footsteps are silent as he walks closer to his grave and stands above it. It’s adorned with flowers and some of his favorite shit his friends must’ve left. 

Friends. Right. He doesn’t have time (but all he has is time. but it’s never enough.) to stand around and mope at his grave. What he needs is allies and information.

This time, if it doesn’t work out, then he’s done. There’s nothing he can do to help Hina and Toman.

( Time and Fate's face splits into a pearly white teeth smile. Their all-seeing eyes staring down at one lone boy. One lone man. They whisper amongst themselves, sniveling in disconjointed laughter. He’ll keep trying. Trying, trying, and trying. Only to fail, fail, and fail again.)

Being a ghost is… (world shattering and emotional, mental, and spiritual breakdown worthy) a new experience . Much different from any other time loops he’s been in, of course.

Takemichi wonders if he fails again, would time just loop back? Would he be alive? Or will he still be dead? Stuck in this translucent form. A shadow of his former self? Or maybe, hopefully, everything will. just. Stop.

“You guys are walking a pretty thin line, don’t you think?”

There was something of amusement fluttering up in his chest as the two blondes in front of him pause and slowly turn around. With both hands in his pocket, Takemichi’s lips curled into a slight smile. “What’s with the looks on your faces?” He chuckles, “You act like you’ve never seen a ghost before!”

The blood has drained from the two blonde’s faces and they seem to be in too much of a shock to even think about fighting.

“You- I- you're supposed to be dead. ” Draken strangled out.

“Well,” Takemichi brushes off the invisible dirt on his sleeves. “It apparently seems to be the case. After all, you went to my funeral. Beautiful flowers you left.”

“Then what are you? A ghost? Coming back for revenge?”

Takemichi lets out a sigh before crossing his arms across his chest. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’d think you would remember someone’s last words. R evenge isn’t good for the soul. ”

This time, it’s Mikey that speaks. “You're the boy that saved Ken-chin.”

“The one and only!” The ghost chirps.

“What’re you here for?”

Takemichi blinks. “I guess I have some unfinished business.”

Befriending had come as easily to Takemichi as breathing- er, lack of breathing. He couldn’t be around 24/7. Too busy doing other things. Planning things. Getting one step ahead.

“Y’know, a young lady like you shouldn’t be walking home by yourself.” Takemichi Hanagaki had made his next step. Standing in front of a cram school building meant for middle schoolers. He watched the blonde-haired girl lift her eyes from her phone and meet his.

Warm-colored browns meeting dull blues.

Multitudes of emotions flashes across her face. A boy she watched die right in front of with a smile on his face is now standing in front of her. Certainly looking Not Alive- but he’s there . 

“Oh hell no, I’m literally getting goosebumps right now.” She rubbed her arms while Takemichi laughed.

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Don’t laugh!” She hissed, “just,” her hands flailed around in the air as she tried to search for words. “Just...how??”

“Well, when Time and Fate gets attached to a being,” Takemichi begins, fully preparing to talk about absolutely nothing, but it sounds philosophical and smart enough to sound like he is talking about the way he Is .

Takemichi watches Yamagishi's eyes roll into the back of his head and then his body slowly careening backwards. Thankfully, Makoto and Takuya caught him before the teen joined the afterlife with Takemichi.

All four of them are pale as a white sheet of paper and, respectfully, Takemichi gives them a second as his entire existence folds their thoughts on reality into a paper plane and sends it off into the atmosphere.

Then, disrespectfully, Takemichi opens up his mouth. “Can you guys do me a favor?”

( “You want us to join Toman?” Astushi questions, staring at his dead-alive-or-as-alive-as-he-could-be, best friend. “Why?

Takemichi was sitting down next to Astushi, still as a statue. Honestly, the only reason why Astushi could tell the teen was even listening was by the way his eyes moved. Staring at the cracks in the ground as if it was the most interesting thing on planet Earth.

“It’s my last chance.”

Takemichi flickers before Astushi eyes, his ghastly form looking like a dripping oil painting. The boy smiles. A smile that’s too big for his face, a smile that’s filled with teeth, a smile that’s a little too deranged. “My last chance to get at Kisaki.”)

“Personally, I think Valhalla sucks, and you should go back to Toman.”

Baji, who had declared his resignation of being a Toman member and joined Valhalla, has been plagued with an annoying roach that just won’t leave him alone.

No matter how many times he attacked the kid, his hits never landed. And he always. Always. Keep coming back, without fail.

“How long are you going to keep hovering over me?”

The blonde-haired boy trailed behind him with his hands shoved in his pants pocket. “Until you decide to go back to Toman.”

“God, you're so fucking persistent-”

“Live.” Takemichi cuts in. “Just, live. For Mikey and Kazutora’s sake. Chifuyu as well.”

The blonde’s face was serious. Yet, he could see the anxiety through the creases of his expression. But, his eyes are ablaze with determination.

Takemichi rubs at his ear. “I go to go, someone’s calling me. Just remember what I said, live . If not, I'll make you seriously regret it.”

Then the boy disappears, leaving a silent Baji with something akin to dread pooling in his stomach.

Takemichi Watches.

He Listens.

He Whispers.

Then He Plans.

Chapter Text

Having a dead friend that is and isn’t alive is not something that most people can say out loud. Not if they want to get a concerning amount of looks and special trip to a certain hospital with grippy socks and robbed of all your shoestrings.

Draken wasn’t sure how to think of a dead friend. Especially a friend who died protecting him, whether it was all a part of that sick-in-the-head blonde’s idea or not (everything Takemichi does is calculated in ways Draken can’t begin to comprehend) Takemichi doesn’t want him to feel guilty for it.

That night still haunts him. 

The smile .

It was genuine… genuine relief? Bliss? It was a certain type of happiness Draken didn’t want to discern for his own sake. A smile as one bled out, knife stuck in his ribs and his arm pinned underneath him.

He refused Draken to flip him on his back.

Refused his help.

Draken’s gaze drifted to the blonde who sat in the booth's corner. Shoulders hunched and back slouched, almost as if he was trying to make himself small.

He would never say that he has the blonde figured out. Draken doesn’t think the blonde has his own self figured out. But there’s something off about this kid.

Ignoring the glaring problem that the kid was a ghost- he didn’t necessarily act like a kid, a teenager. Sure, he plays and jokes around with the Toman members but there're times when Takemichi gets real quiet and somber, his presence is already hard enough to detect but when he likes this, you constantly have to look at him or else you’ll forget entirely he’s there.

He doesn’t act like a kid. He acts as if he’s seen everything, as if he personally experienced hell himself.

A small dark thought tendrils in his head, it whispers with a wide smile, yellow-stained and chipped teeth. It hisses, cackles, and it’s all wet-sounding. It’s gravely, but the word is said anyway, omniscient.

“You're staring.” 

Draken blinks and calmly sucks in a breath. Wherever his thoughts were heading- it didn’t need to continue. Takemichi stares at him with those bright, knowing eyes. He always knows , but he doesn’t judge. Never.

Mikey makes a noise as he devours his second chili cheese dog. The chili cheese dog that belonged to Takemichi and sometimes, hear him out, they forget that ghosts can’t enjoy human food. Well, more like Takemichi can’t enjoy human food. Or any food for that matter.

He just has a good way of making himself seem human. But also an impeccable way of never forgetting he’s dead.

“And you're thinking.” Takemichi says with a smile, then shifts his eyes to the side. “Or inner monologuing. Whatever you call it.”

Mikey continues to devour the chili cheese dog, but he’s staring as well, flickering his eyes between Takemichi and him. Mikey is Mikey, but he isn’t dumb.

Draken doesn’t say anything. He can’t find anything to say, so he opts for drinking the too-thick milkshake as a way to scramble for some answers. Draken doesn’t think. He’s about as impulsive as Mikey is, and yeah, maybe he does have an idea that floats through his head like a bloated fruit loop.

“I can’t help but think,” he gets a snort from Mikey and suddenly shoving his milkshake straw between the blonde’s eyes doesn’t sound too bad. “Are you like.. omniscient or something?”

Takemichi eyes go wide and blinks comedically at Draken before laughing. And he swears he can hear the sound of bells jingling somewhere.

Mikey slurps up his soda and scrunches his face. “Omniscient? I didn’t even know you knew such big words,  Ken-chin.”

“Now, now…” Takemichi placatingly said, clearly seeing Draken seconds away from reaching over the table and swinging Mikey around by the shirt like a ragdoll.

“But wouldn’t omniscient be too much of a stretch? He’s just a ghost- not a future-seer-”

“Prophet?”

Mikey waved his hand. “Prophet. Whatever.”

A stretch? Draken didn’t believe it and he knew Mikey didn’t, no matter if he said it or not. From what Draken sees- they’ve both seen, Takemichi knows so much more than he tells them. And he doesn’t tell them much. 

He reflects back onto the time where Baji was saved, but in his stead Chifuyu suffered. Takemichi was obviously distraught and that had taken a blow to the blonde.

“I’m not omniscient. If I was, I think I wouldn’t have to do the stuff I do.”

If it wasn’t omniscient, then what was it? An unknown feeling crawled up from his stomach and then up to his lungs, spreading all over until Draken could taste the feeling with each breath. It coats his mouth and leaves an unsavory taste behind.

Takemichi doesn’t say anything but stares at him and gives him a knowing smile.

Chapter Text

Takemichi watches Manjirou walk closer to him. 

Drip..

Drip..

Blood drips from his broken nose.

He… he never did try to do anything different? Did he?

Manjirou gets closer.

Takemichi straightens up. He’s been through the scenario. Kiyomasa’s beating far, far, too many times that the pain doesn’t even affect him anymore.

Manjirou is right in front of him. This is where Takemichi falls over. But he doesn’t instead

Takemichi opens up his mouth-

Takemichi opens up his mouth-

Takemichi opens up his mouth-

Takemichi opens up his mouth-

Takemichi opens up his mouth-

Takemichi opens up his mouth-

"̶̧̼̍͝Y̴̹̣̓͊ŏ̷̡͈̩̚ư̴̬͉ ̷͓͔̖͊͋d̸̨̒ŏ̶̧͔̥́̌n̸͔̔͘̚'̷̳̪̙͊̓͂t̶͍̻͈́ ̶̨̟̟̇͛h̵̛͕̊ḁ̸̬̐̿v̶̩̦̎ę̸̨͎̄ ̷̪͙͕̅t̵̩͔̬̎͒̓h̷̼̹͎̋͐́e̶̠̱̎ ̸͍͍͠A̷̟͕̥͐u̴̩̬͐̈̓t̶̩̰̊͋ͅh̷̻̮̤͋ọ̴͈͐͘ŕ̷͔̰͚̓ȉ̸͇t̸̻̩̏̇͠y̵̡̛̻̏́ ̶̢͖̇͘͜t̶͚͇͛͌̈́ö̵̬́̃̐ ̵͙̑̈́d̶͔̉o̴̜͐̒ ̶̜̙̾ţ̵̞̓̒ḧ̵͙́̒͜ạ̸̭̀̚t̸̬̪̎̐"̶̨͘  

The voice is a melancholy of different pitch. Some low and high.

Harmonizing together.

Synchronizing.

It’s similar to Time’s.

Oh, Takemichi realizes.

He gets it now.

Fate.

He has only one choice.

To fall over and let Manjiro take hold of the conversation.

He has only one choice.

Don’t save-

Don’t save-

Don’t save-

Don’t save-

‘Fuck that shit,’ Takemichi thinks

Takemichi opens up his mouth. “Fuck you, Manjirou-”

The loop starts over again. Kiyomasa breaking Takemichi’s nose with a single punch.

He gets it now. Takemichi truly does. The loop. It’s happening because he Can save everyone but the Universe doesn’t want him to. The loop. It’s happening because he’s trying to save people too early.

Takemichi will pay for it. The price to save everyone.

If there’s a Will, there’s a Way .

And there’s certainly a Way.

Takemichi’s head cock back from Kiyomasa punch, breaking his nose.

Every restart, Takemichi ends up back on the day where he met Manjirou. It always starts with Kiyomasa breaking his nose. Always .

It’s an instantaneous thing, Takemichi thought. 

The Authority.

He doesn’t have the ability or option to change. To change things that are supposed to happen, need to happen in order for the World to spin.

Takemichi, once again, says fuck all of that noise.

So, he focuses.

If there’s a Will, there’s a Way.

A second.

It’s only a second before Takemichi gets his nose broken.

He’s only got a second to rewire the entire Universe.

If

Takemichi gets his nose broken. It takes too long, too long for him to orient himself after transgressing. Even though he's been through it tens of times it's still an unsettling feeling.

Manjirou comes down the steps and Takemichi cusses him out. The loop starting over.

There’s

Blood drip from his nose. Not fast enough.

A

He gets punched in the teeth. He almost swallows said tooth. It’s an improvement in his book.

Will

Broken nose. Manjirou stands before him. Takemichi opens up his mouth-

There’s

He moved. But it wasn’t enough. His nose is still broken but Kiyomasa almost missed. Almost .

A

This close. He swore he was.

Way.

It wasn’t the side step Takemichi had been thinking about, but more of throwing himself out the way. Kiyomasa’s fists meet air, while Takemichi gets a mouthful of gravel.

Takemichi scurries away from Kiyomasa, unaware of his next move-

The blonde stops.

No, the blonde thinks, everyone else has too.

Everything has stopped .

The crowd, their faces frozen in different expressions. 

Kiyomasa, his face twisted to muster up the strength in his punch, he’s still in his stance.

Manjirou and Draken who stood at the steps of the courtyard.

The breeze even stopped.

It’s an odd feeling. The quiet. It’s so loud yet there’s Nothing.

A second pass.

A second that stretches for eternity. A second so short, blink and you’ll miss it.

"̸͕̝̣͆̈́̔́̐ͅD̷̰͈̈́̎̓͊o̶͍̝͚͂̈́̄͐̊ ̴̧̠͈͌̎̋̓͝ý̷̨̙̫̎̏̿̚ó̴͍̝̖̇́u̷͓̍ͅ ̸̪̔̏͗͘r̷̟̺͈̔̽e̴̲̻͗̐̉̈́́a̵̙͐͜l̵̼̜̪̎̌̑͝ͅl̸͕̼͋̾͜ÿ̶̳͈͚̙̰ ̵̡͉̀w̴͓̺̠̠̲̋̽̀i̷̡̺̇͜s̸̢̜̅̇̈́h̷̥̘̫̙͑ ̴̡̣̯̦̃̎ť̶͍̉͒̏͜͝ͅo̶͔͉͐̎͝ ̸͖̘͖̭̏̿̉̕s̶̪͖͓̫͂̾̀̐͘a̵̛̠̝̖͔̓̾̈̍v̷̻͚̞͙̆̒̄͒ḙ̶͔̀͛͐ ̵̤̤̀̔̂t̸̤͙̞͑͋͆ͅḣ̴̭̍͝ĕ̸̬͓̭̼͛͊͋ͅm̵̘̎ ̴̛̖̦̖s̷͇̼̏͋͂ͅö̶̤̪́͜ ̵͍͖̰̙̆̌̀̔͜b̴̻͔̐͂̋a̷̮̯̅̅̂͋d̴̺͘͜?̴̡̛̖͎̬̓̈͂͒ ̸̻̳̬̂̈́̔̈Å̷̬̠̎̓̿ ̶̢͚͑̇ğ̶̳̐̕͠i̷̗̒͑̃r̴̖̘̱̲̯̋͒͑ḷ̸̊ ̵̬̪͓̫̈́̃̈́̂̚a̴̢̔̈́͘͜͝n̸̛̯͖͙̙̍͜ḑ̴̳̬̞̺͐ ̶̛͓͔̈á̷̢̱͔̍ ̵̨̯̎̌b̴̺͖̋͆̿̾̓ͅu̵̗͙͎̼̿n̵̟̈̔͗̉́c̵̛̰̞ͅĥ̸̟̯̈́ ̶̠̗͕̠̓̄͝o̸̡̗̝̯̔̿f̸̛͖͌̆̑ ̷̱̯̺̠̗͗́͝K̶̯͚̠̼̥̕i̵̳̼̯̟͐͗̂̓̌ḏ̶̉̒̍̓s̵̙̖͈͈̹͑?̵̭̬͂̚͝"̶̭̩̘̪̠̂

It’s a familiar voice. A voice that sounds like a grandfather clock. A voice that sounds like a coin dropping and spinning, it sounds like Time.

“Of course,” Takemichi says with no hesitation. He stands up from the ground.

"̴̖̙̭͙͔̓̈́̃͊Y̷̨̘̎̄̋̌o̸͇̤̊̏͋͆͘ủ̴͉͎r̶̟͉̲͊ ̶̡̮̐̾͗̂D̶̫͓̮͛̏̿̇̕ȃ̸̞̭̘̇̆͘m̸̤̣͉͂m̸͚͉̤̲̈̔͑̋i̶̼̞̓n̸̰̙̦͕̔͊͑̿̃g̸͙̰͓̞̏́̀͗ ̶̟̤̮̉͊̒̿͝t̵̞̔̀̽̕ḩ̶̉͐ì̷̛̛̖̹̞͙̬̅̎ş̷̨̭̙̳̍ ̸̼̮̼̃̂̎̏͜Ű̷̧͍̅̓͘ṉ̸̘̏͑̆͛̆i̵͍̭͐v̷̧̛̭̯͈̈̈́̅͝ê̶̢̻͌r̶̮̈́̽̏̎͝s̷̫̫̍͗͛ȇ̴̗̦̪͓̪͆.̶͖̇́̾̕͝"̸̡̲͕̖͚̃̓̿

This time, it was Fate that spoke.

Something stirs inside of Takemichi. It travels up to his lungs as he breathes. He feels like he’s breathing in embers of flame. It burns his tongue as he stays quiet.

Anger.

So hot, it feels like it's burning Takemichi inside and out.

“Do I wish to save them?”

He was a Hero. A crybaby one at that, but a hero nonetheless. He’s a Hero named Hanagaki Takemichi. A boy who cared nothing for the rules. A hero that never gives up no matter how much they get beaten.

(But the hero is just a boy.

Aren’t they all?)

Takemichi can feel the smoldering embers of Anger light up as he speaks. “If saving my friends, who are only kids, ” The blonde’s voice cracks. “Is damning this Universe, then this Universe has been damned from the beginning.” He stares. Stares past Kiyomasa. Past Manjirou and Draken.

Takemichi stares at the fabric of Reality.

It’s quiet. Once again. So loud. But Quiet.

Then it’s broken by Time and Fate laughing.

It sounds like the snort and giggle Hina makes whenever Takemichi makes a bad pun.

It sounds like him and Mizo, messing around. Climbing fences.

It sounds like Chifuyu, who slings his arm around Takemichi’s shoulder and takes him out for Peyoung Yakisoba.

It sounds like Manjirou soft voice as he teaches Takemichi how to drive a motorcycle.

It sounds like Kids who grew up far too fast, being Children.

It sounds like the noise Takemichi’s hand makes when his fist connects with Kiyomasa’s jaw, time resuming back to what it was, and knocking the teen out flat.

Takemichi Hanagaki, has made Change.

Chapter Text

Kisaki would rather eat his glasses than to ever admit.. He’s being haunted by all things. He’d rather say he’s going crazy. Insane would be a better word. But who’s to say he hasn’t already.

It started only a couple days after that Toman meeting. After coming face to face with Takemichi Hanagaki, he felt something sharp fizzle out his brain- as if it was the last cell of chorency blipping out of existence as he stared at a boy that should be dead.

A boy that is dead.

At first, things were going missing or appearing in places that Kisaki hadn’t left them in. His slippers by the bed disappeared for a whole day before finding them in his basement. The glass of water he turned his back to for just a moment ended up from the kitchen all the way to his room.

Then it got worse.

Lights start flickering. Kisaki couldn’t place a finger on it no matter how many times he checked the bulbs, and he was never late paying the light bills- so what the fuck?

The smoke detector beeps constantly no matter how much he replaces the batteries, he’s come to accept it as a new background white noise to the humming of the refrigerator, the odd creaking of the stove and pipes.

There were random cold spots in his house. He could be walking through the hallway when goosebumps break out against his skin and he shudders , whipping around fast enough his eyes vibrating right in the sockets and the world is nothing but a smear for a brief second, there is no one behind him. 

Just a long empty hallway. Quiet, except for his heavy breathing.

(Sometimes it gets so cold it feels like someone hollowed Kisaki all the way out and left nothing behind. Or like a block of ice in his chest that was seeping into his veins and freeing them. A cold so deep it seems to emit from inside of him and creep out. Turning the heat on blast and huddling under blankets upon blankets doesn’t help much either. He expects his breaths to turn into puffs of cloud.

It never does.

It’s all in his head.)

Everything comes to a whirling head when Kisaki is brushing his teeth. A normal daily activity- it’s just when he dips his head down to wash the toothpaste from his mouth and comes back up, Takemichi Hanagaki stares back at him.

Kisaki jerks away as if just the image of him burns and almost falls on a slippery tile. He grabs the curtains to regain his footing. His breathing seems to rattle in his chest and he almost doesn't want to look in the mirror.

Even in death the slimy bastard still gets in his ways.

(When he finally does look- his reflection just stares back at him. The expression of fear makes something bitter grow in his stomach and rise to his throat, almost like bile.)

He’s quick to leave the house after that.

Or at least tries too.

He fumbles with throwing some clothes on, a spare hoodie and Hanma’s godforsaken sandals. Kisaki can't fucking stay here.

The doorknob is cold as ice. Kisaki jerks trying to pull away, but he can't. For some reason, Kisaki can't pull his hand away, like someone just glued his hand to the doorknob or is keeping his hand held there.

Doesn't help that the door is budging either. Unlocked and everything yet it doesn't give an inch.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

Kisaki is panicking. He fucking hates panicking. When he doesn't understand what's going on, (when his control is slipping and he doesn't know what to do-)

There's a presence behind him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck him. 

Goosebumps erupt on the back of neck, chills wrack his body, and Kisaki is entirely aware of that cold bead of sweat dripping down down the side of his face.

Kisaki doesn't want to turn around. Can't turn around- trembling where he stands as the presence of Death gets closer and closer. It’s fingers pressing into his spine, nails catwalking up his back-

Every primal instinct inside of him is saying to run. There's no fight or flight instinct, just run . The primal part of his mind acutely aware that even if he wanted to turn around and fight it would be futile for his mortal existence to even bother fighting.

It takes him a second to realize that his mouth is moving in pleas. Begging for some God or deity above to take the slightest bit of pity on him. 

( please, please, please just let him out of here, he swears to God he’ll never-)

The door clicks open.

Oh, thank God . He was about to swear to something that he didn’t even mean. He’s never been more glad to have a stupid fucking door opens but when he does-

“Woah.” One of his many banes of existence says taken aback as his hand was raised in a fist, presumably to knock his damn door down like always. Hanma’s eyes flicker over Kisaki. “Jesus, you.. You look like shit,” there's a small smirk dancing on the corner of his lips before his eyes flicker over his shoulder, a blink, and then back on Kisaki's (totally not) trembling form. 

And. And Kisaki can’t even question that right now. Doesn’t have the mental capabilities right now, nor the emotional capabilities to be more afraid than he already is. He’s fucking terrified , damnit. Angry too, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s scared or acknowledging the fact that he is.

Hanma tilts his head. “Are you wearing my hoodie?” His eyebrows furrow as he looks down at the too big sandals on his feet. “My sandals too, man?”

Kisaki, still reeling from the events of nearly dying like a cheap side character horror flick, just glowers at Hanma, his trembling lips pulled into a snarl-scowl. “You got big ass feet.” Is the only snarky comment he can manage before pushing past the lanky beanpole.

He resolutely ignores Hanma’s flickering gaze before tentatively following Kisaki. Not that Hanma shows it outwardly, but he can tell with the way his hands are shoved into his pockets and his no spine having ass isn’t slouched forward but rather back. 

“So, you’re not gonna close the door..?”

The door slams shut and the two boys jump their heads whipping to the door. They stare at the glass door in front of the old white wood door for a second or two.

Then Hanma turns to him and just shrugs . “There’s this great ramen shop that we should totally go to.”

“Damn man, what did the noodles ever do to you?”

Kisaki blinks. “What?” 

Hanma points at the bowl of spicy beef ramen before him. “You’re staring at it as if it’s your arch-nemesis.”

His eyebrows furrowed together in that all too familiar scowl, speaking before he could think different. “He’s dead already.” But he’s not really dead. And he wasn't an arch-nemesis to Kisaki. 

Hell, he wasn’t even a love rival. He was, is , nothing to Kisaki. Never was. Never will. The one of many stepping stones to his plan.

(and if he keeps saying that maybe he’ll actually believe it.)

Hanama, apparently, thinks differently with that raised brow. “Mhm. Sure. Because he totally wasn’t at that Toman meeting and decked you across the face.” He says, slurping on the admittedly good noodles. He points his chopsticks at him again. “Eat. Not gonna waste my money and you let the food get cold.”

Kisaki scowl turns into a glower but he does take a bite of the beef. “Fuck you. Cold noodles are perfectly fine, besides you’re just gonna use my money to pay,” he flips the teen off only to take his hand back as Hanma reaches out to break it.

The male looks affronted. “First off. I should’ve known someone like you would like cold noodles. Secondly, the noodles will soak up all the broth, and that’s the best part.” Ugh, he’s counting off on his stupidly long fingers. “Third of all, even more of the reason is why you should eat, don’t wanna waste your money.”

Annoying as always. Kisaki tries to figure out why he hangs out with this idiotic bastard except for the fact he’ll willingly protect and follow Kisaki with ‘own’ version of loyalty.

“You already look like the wind is about to knock you flat on your ass.”

 Kisaki’s lips pressed together in a firm unimpressed and annoyed line. He exhales slowly as he shakes his head but he does eat his noodles, not because Hanma told him too, but because he is hungry as fuck.

All the while he tries to ignore that cold burning gaze on the back of his head.

There’s someone under the streetlight outside his house. It’s dark. Nighttime.

Hanma has gone home already and Kisaki is making the dreadful trek back to his own not (totally) haunted home but pulls up short at seeing the silhouette.

The streetlight is out. But the person.. The shadow just stands there.

And neither of them move.

He can feel them staring back at him. Kisaki feels like he’s going to choke on his tongue as he swallows around it. His breathing picks up and that feeling from earlier today starts to creep up.

Run .

The streetlight flickers on and the silhouette is gone.

Kisaki doesn’t dare relax. He runs those last couple of steps to his home, and he doesn’t even get his hand to the doorknob when it swings open. Fog curls around his feet sending a shudder down his spine.

His heart is threatening to go take a run around the block.

The house is cold . It’s like walking into a freezer.. Kisaki is still on his porch. Feet cemented to where he stands.

He can’t move. 

Kisaki’s legs are trembling too much to move. He doesn’t know where he will go. Inside? Take a chance of spending the night out on the streets?

However, it seems like someone has decided an answer for him as hands, pressing on his shoulder blades, push him into the house. Kisaki stumbles with an aborted gasp, tripping over his actual shoes in the doorway, and sprawling on the hardwood floor.

The door slams shut.

No-

Kisaki practically throws himself at the door, his breathing frantic and panicked, and he’s shaking. Trembling. He can’t help it.

He pushes and pulls. He scrabbles at the door as if he could claw right through it. Bangs on it. Screams.

Yet nothing happens. The door is an immovable object, and there’s nothing for Kisaki to do.

“F-fuck.. Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Kisaki breathes, back against the door while his eyes are wide to the empty and cold house. A desolate house with the scent of ash, fear, and death so prominent, Kisaki can.. can fucking taste it.

It’s pitch black dark. There’s nothing but Kisaki and his terrified breathing. Nothing but Kisaki and the darkness.

His knees are to his chest, fingers digging into his knees, eyes darting as if he could gain night vision and see through the darkness. He feels like a kid all over again. When he was dumb and naive- scared and afraid of the dark.

Where he would weep and cry in the corner of the bed, back pressed to the wall, as the darkness consumes him. He’s by himself. All by himself. He’s always been by himself. His parents were hardly ever home, Nanny only came twice a week before.. Stopping.

He’s always alone. That never changes. 

He’s always scared. Terrified .

Kisaki wished he took Hanma’s invite. For him to come over or Kisaki to come with him. But when Hanma had actually held the slightest bit of.. Compassion . For Kisaki. Worried. It was such a foreign expression that he couldn’t help but be disgusted by it. That he wanted to punch it off Hanma’s face.

Kisaki did not need to be worried about. 

So, of course, he told Hanma once more to fuck off and mind his damn business.

Yet here he is.

He is.. A scared little kid wishing for his parents to come to his room and tell him that everything is okay. That it’s going to be okay. That it will be okay . Because that’s what parents are supposed to do. Supposed to comfort- but Kisaki never got that. He never got anything.

Kisaki is so lost. So lost to everything.. The darkness, his mind, thoughts.. That he doesn’t hear the music. Not at first. He has to quiet his crying to hear it.. It’s soft, barely audible.

It’s coming from upstairs.

He doesn’t want to investigate. He wants to curl up on this floor, by the door, and lay there until Hanma eventually comes a-knocking. 

But his trembling legs stretch out, muscles protest, joints popping, and Kisaki can’t even imagine how long he stayed so tightly curled up. It takes a while for Kisaki to even remember how to move his body, using the door to stand on unsteady feet.

(The door stays closed.)

He wades through the thick darkness. Not even the moonlight or street lamps light illuminate the house like it usually does with its stray rays of light. Nothing from the kitchen or living room. The kitchen light is usually one,  the LED lights from the microwave displaying the 00:00 are gone. It’s thick, almost suffocating. It’s like walking through molasses..

But the music is calling out to him. And he follows like a siren call. His hand fumbles for the railing as he goes to take a step and instead of it landing on a raised platform, it lands on flat ground. Kisaki lurches forward as he blinks and suddenly there’s.. Light.

The hallway light is on. It’s dim and flickers every so often but to Kisaki it’s the equivalent of finding an oasis in the desert

The hallway is long. Longer than normal. The one or two doors on the side are gone and the only left is.. Kisaki’s.

Kisaki’s door is open. The music is from there.. And there’s light. Dim light.. But it’s light nonetheless. Probably from his desk lamp. He lurches forward, stumbling a step and a hand blindly shooting out to place against the wall.

One step at a time..

This time there’s no trick as he walks down the hallway like a newborn baby deer with wobbly and knobby knees. He enters his room where the music is.. The radio is playing the music, right underneath his desk lamp light.

Bedroom door closes behind him with a soft click.

He takes stock of his room. In perfect condition, in the same way Kisaki had left it. Except for the radio and lamp. Kisaki picks up the radio with trembling fingers- he hardly ever uses the thing, a present his parents had thrown at him. Because that’s all they were ever good for.

The radio crackles with static with only a few words being barely legible.

In a fit of rage he slams the radio on the ground. Parts fly off but the music blasting through the static still echoes in the room. He stomps on it. Over and over again- the static, music, it all taunts him.

This fucking haunted house. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid-

“Ki-” there’s a blurt of static. “ -saki!”

It sounds like wail but the final stomp of his foot finally shuts the damn radio up. Crushed to pieces. His breathing rattles in his chest, his own breath harsh and brittle.

It’s dark now.

Silent.

No radio. No desk lamp light.

Kisaki is a kid again. Numbly climbing into his bed with tremors wracking his body and he pulls the cover over his head, bringing his knees up and squeezing his eyes shut. 

He counts his breath.

Counts odd numbers.

1..3..5..7..9

Kisaki isn’t sure how long he stays underneath the covers like a scared child- when there’s nothing to be scared of. There’s nothing in the dark that’s going to come out and grab him by the ankle kicking and screaming into the damn shadow realm.

Except that Ghosts are real, ghosts who defy logic and solely based on emotions- because everyone knows that ghosts are just bodies of emotions. Negative emotions and everything else that makes up stupid fucking ghosts.

And it’s all his fault.

That dumb blonde. None of this would have happened. It's his fault. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t dated Hina. If he hadn’t gotten in the way.. If he just stayed dead .

But no. No. No. He is always getting in the way. Always derailing his plans.

And now what? He wants revenge? Standing at that Toman meeting, hitting him, the hit felt solid. It wasn’t Kisaki who killed him- he wasn’t supposed to die. Not yet anyways. But he did but being a sacrificial fool and taking the blade for Draken.

So. Why is he being tormented?

The birds are chirping.

Kisaki blinks awake in the darkness of his covers and takes a deep shuddering breath. It’s morning.. He made it through the night. He’s alive, unlike others.

With agonizing slowness and muscles burning as he relaxes from his fetal position, Kisaki sits up in his bed, the covers sliding off and pooling at his waist.

Yet it seems like his torment doesn’t have an end in sight apparently. Because he’s there. Sitting at the foot of the bed, staring out the window, the sunrays streaming through his figure making him more transparent than not. A true ghost.

That ridiculous piss yellow coiffe sways lightly in a wind that Kisaki can’t feel.

Just so casually in his room.

“What the fuck.” Kisaki’s voice is so flat he’s even a little surprised at himself by the lack of inflection in his voice.

“Huh. You’re finally awake.. I’ve been watching you the whole time and you sleep like the dead.” The figure at the foot of his bed says, now turning his head to face him. No doubt a line Kisaki would hear in a movie parodying the Sixth Sense.

He’s aware of that pooling dread filling his stomach again making him feel like there’s nothing but a bottomless pit there. Or that maybe he’ll sink through his bed and the world will open up a hole for him to disappear into.

Kisaki is once again met with his brain stalling as he tries to process.. A ghost in his house that’s been haunting him for the past two damn weeks.

There’s a smile on his face. His eyes are wide and dull, but he almost looks Alive.

Kisaki reaches two conclusions:

• god decided to end his suffering, and now he’s seeing ghosts in the afterlife. Or that he’s already became a ghost (his brain instantly rejects this idea right after thinking over it, because if god truly felt pity for his existence, they would not have bothered to let him live past the age of five in the first place)

• His sleep paralysis demons are gaining a sense of Free Will like a pair of Sims characters going rogue after gaining enough self-awareness to realize they’re in a simulation.

Kisaki realizes that Takemichi Hanagaki has been talking this entire time while he was busy reevaluating life and that he didn’t even hear what the boy was saying. Not that he wants to know.

“Yeah, so as I was saying, are you ready to start therapy?”

“What?” Kisaki croaks out. No, he can’t do this. It’s barely 9 in the morning and he’s talking (hell, he isn’t even talking to it) to a ghost saying he’s the one that needs therapy.

Takemichi pulls out a pen and paper, having the audacity to come and sit a little closer on the edge of the bed. “Got any questions before we start?”

Yeah. A whole fuckload.

“What in the hell are you doing?” He grounds out through gritted teeth, balling up the covers with his fist.

Takemichi fixes him with a look. “Uhm. Therapy? Y’know.. Youth these days need that type of stuff, and uhm. Yeah. Getting to know each other.” He waves a hand in the air, pencil tucked between his fingers.

“You. You think you can just haunt me- do.. Do whatever the hell you want and I’m- I’m just going to sit here and go for it?” Kisaki hisses at the boy who merely blinks at him wide eyed.

Takemichi shrugs a shoulder and proceeds to scribble something down in his notepad. “Well. Yes. It’s very good for your mental health, and we all know how much that can definitely help you..”

“Fuck you.”

Kisaki makes the attempt to get out of bed. Because no. He wasn't going to do this today. Not tomorrow and not never ever.

“Kisaki.”

He stops short, nearly stumbling forward.

“I’d advise you to sit down.” He says. “This.. would be beneficial for you.”

And like a puppet Kisaki turns around, walks to his bed and curls into himself, back pressed against the wall and hugging his knees. Far away from Takemichi as humanly possible.

Takemichi, seemingly pleased, bulldozes right along. “Now then. Fear, y’see is actually a great way to know who someone truly is. Why in life and death situations some people do complete one-eighties. People you thought you could trust betrays you. And.. people you thought would be eager to sell you out for less than a french fry becomes some of your greatest allies.” He chuckles to himself. “How amazing is that?”

Kisaki's fingers twitch on his knees. “And what? Yo- you’re saying that you haunted me for two damn weeks.. Just to see who I really am? See my ‘true colors’?” He puts air quotes over his words.

“Well. That’s the thing.” Takemichi pins him with a gaze that makes him feel like he’s being pinned down on a table, flayed alive and flaps of skin pinned down crudely while the blonde digs through his anatomy, picking up organs to examine before putting them back. Dissecting and examining. “I already know everything about you.”

“Like hell you do.” Kisaki immediately calls the bluff, because what could this fool-headed boy know anything about him? Takemichi has personally never met nor seen Kisaki before and he had made sure of that.

Takemichi snorts. “You don’t have to believe me.” And he’s writing something else down. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.” He hums.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

And the question that’s been plaguing his mind for the longest slips past his clenched jaw. “Why are you here?” He asks, eyes narrowing. “Why did you come back? Do you want revenge or something?”

Why? Why can’t you just stay dead? Should have never come back, ghost or not.

The ghost laughs and Kisaki swears he can hear the faint sound of static. “Don’t you know revenge isn’t good for the soul? And besides.. You’re never truly done with life.. even if you are dead. Six feet underground and all.”

Now he can hear the ticking of a clock. It’s very quiet.. But the tickticktick echoes in his head. The noises woven through his head, weaving together-

Kisaki’s head hurts.

“But this isn’t about me,” Takemichi says, his blue eyes agonizingly staring at Kisaki, and he realizing that the ghost boy only blinked once throughout this entire unwanted conversation. “Let’s see,” he flips through the notepad as if searching for something before gasping softly. “Mhm. Right, perfect. Where’s your parents?”

Kisaki’s eyes twitch. “I’m not telling you anything.”

They’re gone. Vacation. Business trip. Whatever, he stopped caring a long time ago.

Takemichi clicks his tongue as if Kisaki is the one being difficult. “This could be a whole lot smoother and easier, if you’d cooperated.”

“And why would I ever do such a thing?”

“..’cause.. It’s therapy?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The bane of his existence makes a face and Kisaki has the distinct feeling that if he was alive he would have been sucking a breath through his teeth. “Potty mouth there, huh? Been hanging around Hanma a little too much.” A twitch in his brow. “Speaking of which, what do you see in that guy?” 

“What?”

Takemichi’s eyes shift to the side for a moment then back to Kisaki. “I mean. The loyalty and all is cool. Ride or die-”

“We are not ride or die-”

“But.. he’s kinda bitch.”

Kisaki’s mouth falls into a flat line. Embarrassing how a ghost can make his blood pressure rise to dizzying amounts. Takemichi rolls his eyes. “Like. He just looks at me.. Kinda weird.. And creepy.”

This time he doesn’t have to wonder if the record scratch is his mind playing tricks on him because he hears it loud and clear. “Hanma can see you?”

Takemichi, finally, blinks at him a second time. “Well. Yeah. Did you not know that?”

No. No, Kisaki did not fucking know that.

“Most people can see me anywho,” Kisaki couldn’t for two weeks. (But he had seen Takemichi at the meeting. The punch definitely felt solid.) “But only if I let them. He’s.. just weird."

He refuses to agree on anything with a ghost so he stays silent again.

But Takemichi is undeterred by his silence. “Back to your parents! You’re like ten-”

“Thirteen.”

“Pretty much a baby-”

“You’re literally fourteen.”

“Which means you need adult supervision.” Takemichi concludes, tapping his pen on his notepad.

Kisaki scowls.

The boy further explains. “That’s why we have all of these hooligans running around, starting and joining gangs, and all sorts of things.”

The question comes before he could think better of it. “You say all of this but where are your parents? Where were they when you were running around and got yourself killed somewhere in a ditch. ” He sneers, lips curling with disdain.

For a moment. A brief moment.. Takemichi glitches. Kisaki doesn’t understand it- he- Takemichi.. He went from a boy, then the smile was gone and-

black hair touching his shoulders, pale and gaunt skin with his cheeks sunken in , a soulless dull blue gaze

In a blink it’s gone leaving Kisaki cold from the inside out, his chest carved and hollowed. His eyes shift across the bed thinking he’ll spot his ribcage, lungs, and heart discarded on the sheets.

“My mom thought she had a.. semi dutiful son. A weak son who wanted to be a wannabe gangster, who often than not don’t sneak out late at night and throws himself in front of a blade.” He shrugs a shoulder, then he tilts his head. 

“Doesn’t really matter anyways. You already had a plan to kill me.”

“You died too early,” Kisaki can’t stop himself from saying. Takemichi wasn’t supposed to die. Draken was. Draken is supposed to be dead, and he’s not. Takemichi is not supposed to be dead and now he’s imitating being alive.

Takemichi smiles just a little. “To you I did. But my death couldn’t have been timed any more perfect.

“You’re crazy. Insane.”

The boy mimics a telephone by his ear. “The call is coming from inside the home.”

Kisaki barks a sharp laugh. Tossing his head back and nearly braining himself against the wall.

He’s not crazy. People just don’t understand him. They can’t see the world in his eyes.

They stare at each other for a moment before Kisaki points at his door. “Get the fuck out.”

Takemichi makes a hurt little noise, a frown pulling on his lips. “C’mon man. We were bonding,” he tries.

Kisaki raises a brow.

Takemichi purses his lips. “Alright. That wraps up our first meeting.”

“Don’t come back here ever again.”

He gives him finger guns. “Same time next week!”

Kisaki makes a face as he watches Takemichi walk through his wall. The temperature in the room is already feeling warmer. There’s not even an indent where he was sitting. But he left the notepad and pen.

He doesn’t like to say he lunged for it, but he does. Fumbling it in his hands and when Kisaki squints at the paper, he has to resist the urge from tearing it up in his hand.

There’s no psychoanalysis of Kisaki. Not that he thought Takemichi had the intelligence to do so but he’s not sure why he expected anything. The small notepad is filled with doodles.

Gotcha

Is scrawled big on one of the pages with a stupid smiling face.

Kisaki throws the notepad at his door with a yell.

Watching it slide down the door isn’t as satisfactory as he thought it would be.

After that.. Kisaki’s home is no longer haunted. Except he’ll catch Takemichi in reflections, but a blink and then he’s gone.

(Yet that exhausted, world weary black haired.. man plagues him. Those terrible empty eyes. Of someone who has given up long ago but is the puppet moving to the whims and desires of others.)

Takemichi Hanagaki. A boy who died too early and too soon.