Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sometimes I just start really craving curry. Not even something fancy. Just the cheap boxed stuff,” Aira tilted her head, gaze drawn off to the wayside. “I used to hate curry. Now I eat it at least once a week.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Momo said before continuing to chomp on bits of carrot and potato. Tonight was hot pot. Their ever-growing group of comrades huddled around the short table in the warm glow of good food and conversation. Sure, life threatening paranormal showdowns enhanced the food’s flavor, but they were all glad nothing so serious had prompted this gathering at the Ayase household.

“Yes,” Aira agreed, swirling the broth in her soup with her chopsticks. “I used to really like sweet stuff, too. Now I prefer salty things.”

“Well, I really like this hot pot!” Jiji declared through another mouthful of beef and vegetables. “Super delish, Granny!” He gave the house matriarch an enthusiastic thumbs up, who returned the gesture with stoic gusto.

“Eat up, Jiji. You’re still growing. I expect you to be over 215 centimeters by next year.” The older woman turned back to the porch to exhale a puff of smoke. At least she was considerate enough to not give a bunch of children lung cancer.

“Yes, ma’am!” He saluted.

“What about you, Takakura?” Aira asked airily, eyelashes fluttering a bit.

“You got somethin’ in your eye?” Momo snipped.

Said boy jolted a bit at having his name called, trying not to choke on a piece of daikon. Okarun cleared his throat. “What about me?” His glasses were foggy from the steam.

“Did your tastes change after getting cursed?”

“Huh?” He paused in thought for a second. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh…” Aira seemed to deflate a bit, turning away with wistful grace.

Momo scoffed into her bowl. “Hah. I’m calling BS on that.”

Okarun’s face turned from genuine curiosity to guarded skepticism. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Means I don’t believe you, and,” Momo placed her bowl on the table with moderate force, not too much to spill the broth, “I have proof!”

“Oh? Do tell,” Okarun huffed. It was impossible to tell if the pink in his cheeks was from the heat or embarrassment.

“Okay, I don’t know what you liked before. However, you and Turbo Granny eat the exact same brand and flavor of chips.”

“I- wha- we do?” He sputtered.

“Yep. You both eat yakisoba buns a lot, too.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. They sell those a lot at the cafeteria.”

“Oh!” Jiji raised his hand abruptly.

“Yes, you there,” Momo called on him, pointing her chopsticks like a teacher with a yardstick.

“Okay, now you’re just messing around,” Okarun muttered, he reached over to nab another piece of burdock.

“Sensei, I noticed they’re the only two eating burdock root,” Jiji announced.

“Oh, nice one, Jiji. Five hundred points.”

“That’s the best part, shitheel!” The small cat doll screeched at Momo’s side, before returning to chowing down in her tiny bowl while Jiji gave a hearty fist pump.

“Whatever. Let’s talk about something else,” Okarun said, trying to shake off the teasing. Obviously, they were just messing around, but his anxious personality could only take so much. He caught Momo’s eye, and she gave him a small smile. It wasn’t apologetic in the slightest, but it didn’t have that devious angle to it, either. She was just amused, and that made him feel even more flustered.

Ayase let it go easily, but Shiratori wasn’t so willing. Her eyes were alight with a fervent passion at having her theory validated. It tended to happen when she was enthusing about topics like justice and saving the world and other affirmations of her main character status. “You know, people who get organ transplants sometimes say their tastes change. It’s like that. I think that woman really liked curry.”

“We already knew Turbo Granny likes potato chips,” Momo answered nonchalantly. Takakura decided to chew on his udon noodles and let her talk. Ayase was good at that.

Aira huffed, irritated at Okarun’s lack of response. She turned to Jiji, “what about the Evil Eye, then?”

“He’s not picky,” Jiji said casually, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as much as chopsticks could allow. “You can really just give him whatever and he’ll probably like it.”

“He seems to like Pompy. I bet he’d get a kick out of ramune,” Momo laughed. “I used to think the marbles were, like, magical.”

“Ooh. Heck yes,” Jiji agreed. “They are magic, by the way. How else do they get that thing in there?”

Turbo Granny put her empty bowl on the table. Despite her special fluffy cushion and the shortness of the table legs, it was still a bit of a reach for her stubby paws. “Momo. I want one. Get that for me.”

“Hah? Get yer own, y’ole bitty.”

“Keh,” the maneki-neko scoffed derisively. Somehow, she could make single syllables sound antagonistic. The doll squinted, then turned sharply to Okarun. “You. Get me a ramune.”

“What, right now?”

“Ignore that mooch, Okarun.”

“Now,” Turbo Granny stated, ignoring Momo with the serenity of Buddha. She stood up and dusted herself off. “No time like the present.”

Okarun looked at the squinting cat doll, then at Ayase. Her mouth was a thin, straight line of begrudging disapproval. She tolerated the evil spirit, but she was no pushover and she hated enabling her. He glanced at Shiratori and Jiji, and they looked back at him with blasé shrugs.

“Um, we can go,” Okarun, king of finding middle grounds, declared, “after we’re finished with dinner.”

Turbo Granny gave him a dull glare, like she couldn’t even bother mustering up the energy to be pissed off. “You son of a bitch.”

“I’m saying yes!?” 

“Why don’t we all go?” Aira brightened. “After we clean up here, let’s go to the konbini.”

Everyone seemed amenable to the idea, unwilling to let the night end merely at dinner. It was a good excuse to drag their hang-out session into the wee hours of the night. Since it was Friday, they didn’t have school the next day anyways. Despite Momo’s griping about it, her sense of FOMO won out, and she eagerly joined the trio (plus Turbo Granny) on their escapade to the nearest convenience store. 

That was how Takakura found himself staring at a wall of colorful little glass bottles, each with their own bright paper wrappers displaying various fruit flavors. Staring at it all for too long was making everything blend together in a dizzying rainbow swirl.

“Which one do you want?” He asked Turbo Granny, who was perched on top of his head and using his curls both as a nest and a foothold. To the average passerby, she would just look like an adorable stuffed animal that he decided to wear as a hat.

“Hm. Why’s there a clear one? No way they make water flavor.”

Takakura managed to catch the laugh in his throat, but he couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice. “No, that’s just the original flavor. They don’t put food coloring in it.”

“The hell? How’s ‘original’ a flavor?” Turbo Granny grumbled. “That's ridiculous. They have no marketing skills. They oughta go outta business.”

“Yeah. Someone should write a strongly-worded letter,” Takakura agreed. 

“What’s it taste like?”

“I- I actually don’t know. I’ve never had one,” Takakura admitted. “I think it’s supposed to taste like citrus?”

“You disappointing no-good turd. Get me one that tastes like melon.”

Takakura rolled his eyes as he opened the glass door that guarded the drinks. Luckily, they did have melon flavor in acidic green. He also grabbed one of the originals for Jiji. The glass bottles were a bit difficult to juggle, but he managed to get a hold of them as he walked back to where Shiratori and Ayase were perusing the chips.

“Find anything?” He asked the girls. He glanced around to check where Jiji had run off to, but it was difficult to turn his head with Turbo Granny hitching a ride.

“Meh,” Ayase replied. “I’m not really craving anything after that hot pot. Maybe I’ll just get a GariGarikun or something.” She smirked and spread her fingers in a V sign around her lips, “I bet I’d get a winner.”

“Y-yeah,” Takakura’s brain fumbled. Sometimes, for absolutely no reason, whenever Ayase gave him her full attention his brain would malfunction.

He turned his focus back on the rows of chip bags, each advertising their unique flavor. The longer he stared, the more he could feel a muted hunger scratching at his insides. Each bag was so bright and shiny, with a multitude of food images that gave the observer a false sense of hope that a single chip could be packed with all the flavor of a roasted ham or giant prawn. There was no way he was actually still hungry, though. Then again, going all out tended to burn right through all his energy reserves. Plus, Takakura was what anyone would call a string bean of a human being. Anyways, it was the packaging’s fault for looking so damn tasty, in the first place.

“I fucking told you so!” Ayase crowed, pointing at him. It snapped his attention from the snacks. “See, Aira, I was right.” She elbowed the other girl, who glared at her with annoyance.

“What? Right about what?” Takakura scrambled. Something was crinkling in his arms. Because he was holding a bunch of chip bags. How did this happen.

“It’s the same. Literally the same!” Ayase pointed and laughed. “You like the exact same stuff! That’s too funny.” She smacked Shiratori’s shoulder playfully.

“Wha- I- that’s-,” Takakura continued to stutter. He desperately searched for some excuse, trying to disprove something. He didn’t completely know what exactly he was trying to disprove. “She just asked me to get these!”

“Oh? Is that why you have two of the same flavor of ramune? Two for Granny?” Ayase cackled.

Takakura looked at his hands. One original flavor in one hand. Two melon flavors in the other. What the fuck?

“That haunting cackle could only be Momo,” Jiji said, right behind Takakura. Awesome. As if he needed to make this a bigger spectacle. “What are we all laughing about?”

“It’s really not that funny. She’s just insane,” Shiratori said.

“I’m a psychic genius. Never doubt my ESP, Jiji,” Momo pointed at Takakura again. “See. The same.”

Takakura felt like he ought to just melt into a puddle on the floor. Jiji tilted his head. However, instead of the ridicule he was expecting from the other boy, he just smiled and gave a soft chuckle. Jiji could be like that sometimes. Takakura had half a mind to believe it was also some convoluted bit in the ever-cycling comedy routine he called his life. Even the absence of absurdity enhanced it.

“Momo, what’s the weather tomorrow?”

The girl sobered easily. “Hmm,” she contemplated seriously. “Wicked sunny and shit.”

“Wow. Amazing,” Shiratori deadpanned. She plucked a bag of pretzels from the shelf. “Let’s go now.”

“Wait! Let me go get my popsicle, damn,” Ayase quickly strode away to grab a GariGarikun from the freezer section.

“Oh, right,” Takakura held out one of the ramune bottles to Jiji, “I didn’t know which one to pick for you.”

“Okarun! So sweet!” Jiji made a ridiculous kissy face as he took the bottle. He was careful to grab it by the wrapper, avoiding the condensation. “He’s gonna be so stoked.”

“You’re welcome,” Takakura said, carefully neutral. Turbo Granny released a dramatic sigh and adjusted her position on his head, pulling at his hair with her tiny feet.

“Do you have enough money to pay for all of that?” Shiratori asked kindly. “I could-”

“Uh!” Takakura interrupted, brain working a mile a minute. The very last thing he ever wanted to do was make another person go out of their way on his behalf. He would quite literally rather fall upon a rusty sword. “Well! I wasn’t really gonna get all this.” He tried to put the chips back.

Tried to being the key words. However, he just couldn’t force himself to drop any of them. It was like trying to wrestle a chew toy away from a large hyperactive dog. There was something in the back of his mind that was clamped down on it, and whenever Takakura tried to resist it, it would give a violent shake that reminded him there was something foreign and weighty there. All this mental struggling was giving him a slight headache. He looked at his friends, who stared back without judgement.

RIght, they were cursed just like him. Jiji understood it, and so did Shiratori. Thank God Ayase was still messing around somewhere away from him, otherwise he would have legitimately cried. “I- I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Shiratori asked, head tilted with curiosity.

“I feel like I can’t put it back,” Takakura admitted. “Help.”

“Dude, I’ll just help you pay,” Jiji said. “Why try to fight it? If you want it, you want it.”

Takakura made a conflicted noise in the back of his throat. “But I don’t want to force you…”

“Just think of it as us paying you back,” Jiji waved it off with a laugh. Shiratori nodded.

Now he was seriously going to cry. His emotions were feeling all out of whack recently. Having friends was so nice, it made him feel an overwhelming amount of warm-fuzzies at the littlest things.

“Yes, good children,” the evil spirit on his head purred. “Give me more offerings of potato chips and candy.”

“They’re not for you, you wretched creature,” Shiratori sneered.

“Heh. We’ll see about that, bitch.”

“Okay! Yes, I’ll share! Let's go now!” Takakura marched over to where he spotted Ayase near the cashier’s counter. He could already foresee Shiratori wrapping the cat doll up in a cocoon of hair, and would rather not be caught in the crossfire.

“Goddammit,” Momo growled, throwing her popsicle stick onto the dirt road with extreme prejudice. “What a scam.”

“No winner?” Okarun inquired lightly, looking very goofy as he balanced Turbo Granny on his head and carried grocery bags in both hands.

“Not at all! Shit’s rigged!” Momo exclaimed into the night air. The walk back to her house was almost always barren of other passersby, so she wasn’t making a complete fool of herself.

“Yer always a winner to me, Momo!” Jiji shot her with a finger gun.

“Thanks, Jiji. You’re the only person who cares about me,” Momo slumped pathetically, trying and failing to squeeze crocodile tears out of her eyes. Okarun looked at her, then turned away. The thick circular lenses of his glasses caught the light of a nearby light post, revealing nothing. She allowed herself a millisecond longer to stare, then focused back on the road in front of her.

Chapter Text

Takakura felt restless.

The entire school day, he couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing. Taking notes was a monumental exercise in focus. He could practically feel the particles in his hands vibrating. As the teacher droned on at the front of the class, he stuck to scratching his pencil back and forth, dragging the rough graphite across the pages mindlessly.

He didn’t know why he felt so wired in the first place. There hadn’t been hide nor hair of a supernatural phenomenon for the past week. It was the most normal seven days Takakura- and by extension his friends- had had for quite some time. Takakura hadn’t needed to go all out, or even so much as transform once in that time frame. It should have been a blessing, like a relaxing vacation of sorts. Instead, it was making him all jittery.

Takakura continued to tap his foot and fidget. His hand turned the up-and-down scribbling into tight looping spirals across the notebook paper. The rhythm of it felt right, a precise and continuous arc connecting one side of the page to the next in a single cord. He glanced at the clock, watching as the seconds hand ticked, marching its circuit across the numbers and lines monotonously. The circular motion of it was entrancing. The boy could feel cold sweat building on the back of his neck, his heart was beating hard enough that he could feel the pulse in his ears. When he thought about it, didn’t blood also pump in a constant loop? Didn’t his ears capture sound through spirals?

Outside the classroom window, he could see the running track- a large reddish-orange banded polyurethane loop where kids from other classes were either jogging or goofing off. It made Takakura think about running, the feeling of leaning into a full-tilt sprint that made his muscles burn and bones ache. At the thought, he could feel something stretch out across his brain. There was the sensation of grinding, long and slow, and a growling hum like a motor.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough. As soon as the bell chimed, Takakura was out of his seat and striding down the hall. If he had to spend one more second sitting down, he was going to spontaneously combust.

“Okarun~!” Ayase and Jiji called in tandem. He had to force himself to pause for them as the two picked through the gathering crowd of hungry students in the hallway.

“Where should we eat?”Ayase asked, tapping her bento box against her leg. “I feel like we go up to the roof all the time.”

“The track,” Takakura blurted. “I mean- we could- it shouldn’t be too crowded out there.” He unbuttoned the top of his gakuran. The halls were getting really crowded and it was making him feel claustrophobic. 

Ayase looked at him. “‘Kay.” She turned to Jiji, having to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. “I’ll meet you guys there.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Takakura said, turning on his heel. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll catch up with ya!” Jiji saluted. Momo waved him off to the cafeteria, then followed Okarun as he strode down the halls. She watched his back as he practically shoved his way through throngs of students, weaving through whatever path he was blazing. Momo had to lengthen her stride from leisurely to slightly effortful to match pace.

Takakura cut through the crowds and sharp corners of the halls with single-minded precision. He unbuttoned his gakuran the rest of the way and shrugged it off, then untucked his dress shirt and undid that, too. The layers were just too suffocating, just the plain t-shirt he wore underneath was plenty enough by itself. It was often more convenient to just wear his gym shirt under his uniform; Takakura sent a mental thank-you to his past self from that morning for doing that.

The cool breeze made Takakura realize just how flushed he already was, and it was an immense relief. The fresh scent of grass, the clear blue sky, and the open field rapidly emptying of students lifted a weight from his shoulders. It wasn’t enough, though. He needed to keep moving. He needed to, or else- what? Something would happen. Something unpleasant that unsettled his soul. Yeah. That made total sense.

“Are you sure you don’t- want to- hey,” Momo kept trying to catch his attention as he paced back and forth in front of the bleachers where she sat. “Can you stay still for two seconds!?”

“Yes? What? What is it?” Okarun forced his legs to stop so he could face her. Though even then, his eyes wandered away from her face. His breaths were coming in deep, like he couldn’t get enough air in each inhale. He had the desperate urge to start stimming, but his deathly aversion to embarrassment stopped him from doing it in front of Ayase.

“Are you on crack?”

“No???”

“Then come sit your ass down,” she patted the bench next to her.

“No- that’s uh. That’s okay.” Takakura rubbed at the fabric of his shirt, feeling the threads against the grooves of his fingertips. He put his jacket and button-up on the bench as a substitute.

“You don’t want to eat with me?” The girl asked with mock-hurt and a heavy sigh. She turned her head with a pout, letting her earrings jingle sadly. She began unboxing her homemade meal.

“It’s not that! I just-“

“I HAVE RETURNED!” Jiji exclaimed, appearing from nowhere. “What’s up, guy and gal?”

“Okarun hates me,” Momo whined, shoving a lump of rice into her mouth with her plastic chopsticks.

“That’s not true and you know it,” Okarun protested.

“Where’s your food, my guy?” Momo asked the taller boy, chewing on a tiny sausage.

“I eated it all.” Jiji patted his stomach. “Oh, except this,” he produced a plastic-wrapped yakisoba bun and tossed it to Okarun, “here ya go.”

Takakura fumbled with it for a second. “Ah- thanks. Um. You really didn’t have to.” He set it on top of his jacket. His brain was so preoccupied with other stuff, he couldn’t even feel hungry at the moment.

“Nah, but I wanted to.” Jiji smiled. He made it sound so simple and easy, as if anything's intricacies could be untangled just like that. Then, he turned to gaze out at the now-empty running track, and he lit up even more.  When he looked back at Okarun, he had an almost wild, bright glint in his eyes. “Takakura, race me!”

Takakura, who was about to start another round of pacing like some kind of crazy person, felt his neck strain with how fast it whipped around at those words. The thing in the back of his mind purred, the roar of an engine kickstarting to life. He felt his back straighten, and his heartbeat ramped up its tempo. “Right now?” He tried not to sound too eager.

“Sure, why not?” Jiji shrugged off his school jacket and loosened his tie. “On one condition!” His gaze grew serious for a moment and he pointed an accusatory finger at his friend. “No transforming!”

Okarun was barely listening at this point. He was just itching to run . “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Your shoes are gonna get fuuucked uuup ,” Momo called after them lazily, continuing to chow down on her own bento. At least she’d get some entertainment with her meal. Seeing the way Jiji and Okarun got along was a personal delight for her. Kinda like sticking a Golden Retriever with an Italian Greyhound and letting them run around the dog park.

“Ready… Set… Go!”

There was always that feeling during that first push off as his muscles tensed, that he felt a knot of anxiety lodge in his brain. His mind would stretch out into future time and he would plot the distance within that millisecond. Could he endure it? Takakura imagined it was a lot like how Mr. Shrimp had to walk along the fine line of exertion and restraint, finding the balance to where you didn’t rip your own body to shreds.

Takakura was expecting the feeling of strain, but it wasn’t there. There wasn’t even the phantom of pain. His body moved instinctively, arms pumping and legs striding and breaths coming in long and even. It felt right. It felt good .

He wasn’t in any hurry, so he kept a fairly light pace. Takakura would’ve been content going on for hours, school be damned. He didn’t even care about Jiji anymore. There was only the path ahead of him and the repeated cyclical motion of his arms and legs, curving into a perpetual loop, around and around and around. The longer he ran, the more it felt like his mind was spiraling down into a smaller and smaller space. It was akin to watching a movie, like he was observing everything through a screen. His body was running on its own as if it was a wind-up toy that didn’t need a crank.

Typically, whenever he ran while using Turbo Granny’s power it was hard to feel anything at all. It was an exercise in getting himself motivated enough to even move, unless prompted by immediate danger when it became pure reflex. Now, though, he could feel it; the desire to keep going and feel like he was actually alive. Every stride, every exhale, every turn felt like he was only gaining more momentum, and he didn’t want to stop.

Something was swallowing him, a set of jaws wrapping it’s jagged teeth around his mind and biting down with agonizing slowness. Takakura’s brain matter was getting chewed up like a wad of gum. His awareness dimmed, but there was a roaring in his ears that only grew louder. 

It all came crashing to a sudden halt. Like hitting a brick wall at full force, he was violently slammed back into reality and his own body. There was the bright blue sky and the freshly cut grass and the sun’s heat. His breathing was heavy and his muscles were burning and sweat was practically pouring over his entire body. He kicked out and only swung through empty air.

“Okay, that’s enough. Break’s almost over,” someone said. Takakura craned his neck to see who it was, and realized he wasn’t touching the ground. It induced a strange sense of vertigo that made his stomach do a flip. It felt like a pair of large hands were squeezing him. “We gotta get back to class,” Ayase was saying.

Oh right, he was running with Jiji. Okarun turned the other way and saw his tall friend splayed out on the track, panting from exhaustion. He looked back at Ayase, noting how she held up her hands the way she often did while using her telekinesis. 

His lack of response seemed to displease her. She frowned, “I’m gonna put you down now.”

“...Okay,” he said between breaths. Slowly, he was lowered back to the ground, which was dizzying in itself, too. His legs were shaking minutely. The feeling of being squeezed diminished as he regained his balance.

“Dude- how the- hell are you- not tired yet?” Jiji puffed, still trying to catch his breath. “I lost you- after- like- twelve laps, bro.”

“I feel fine,” Takakura stated. He glanced down at his shoes, noting the new scuff marks and how thin the soles felt. He really couldn’t afford to keep replacing them like this. He also couldn’t bring himself to care about it right then. “I can keep going.” Twelve laps was nothing, barely even five kilometers.

“Did you not hear me, you dum-dum? We need to get to class!” Momo snapped. Not her greatest insult, but whatever. Okarun turned and gave her a look, a very strange look. Almost like he couldn’t understand what she meant, or maybe just didn’t care.

“I feel like I can keep going,” he restated, running a hand through his dampened curls to push his bangs from his forehead. He turned to look back at the field, like he was yearning to keep running.

Jiji finally sat up. “That’s just the runner’s high talking. You’ll regret it later. Trust me,” he groaned.

Momo put her hands on her hips impatiently, “what’s with you? Let’s go before the teacher yells at me.” It wouldn’t be the first time that happened. She and her friends were often reprimanded for chatting or leaving makeup on their desks or any other number of things that came with the job title of being gyaru. She wasn’t really in the mood to deal with it again.

“But if I keep going… It feels right,” Okarun said.

“Dude. What.”

“No, see,” he adjusted his glasses, desperate to explain. “It goes around and around, like a circle.” He drew a circle in the air with his finger. “Around and around.”

“Uh…huh…” Ayase looked at him blankly. Then, she and Jiji also shared a glance.

“It’s a spiral.”

“Right. Of course.”

Takakura wanted to explain it to her. He wanted her to understand it, too. Usually, people didn’t even give him the time of day, let alone hear anything about his interests. Not Ayase, she always listened to him, and asked about his thoughts and opinions. She genuinely cared. She didn’t really look it, but she was exceptionally kind. Ayase was the best. She had to understand.

“It’s a circle! A circle!” Okarun traced a spiral in the air more emphatically, repeating the clockwise motion over and over. “Don’t you get it?”

Ayase held up her hands in faux-surrender, then placed them gently to rest on his shoulders. It gave Okarun pause, unsure about whatever she was doing. “Stop. Take a deep breath, okay?”

Okarun did as she said. He relaxed incrementally.

“Great.” Increasingly, he could only focus on the pressure of her fingers on his collarbones, and the intense look she was giving him. Okarun tried to look anywhere but her eyes- her nose, her chin, her bangs, her lips. It was not helping anything. It felt like his hair was standing on end, and a prickly sensation was crawling its way up his spinal column. His skin felt prickly, like when he walked through the Ayase household’s torii gate boundary.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Okarun stammered, suddenly uneasy. It wasn’t that he distrusted Ayase; rather, she tended to do things brusquely, and in her own way without explaining what the hell was going on first.

“Nothing,” the psychic said, as if her grip wasn’t becoming more vice-like.

“It’s definitely something!” Takakura grabbed at her wrists, stopping short of physically pushing her away. Because that would be very rude. “I can feel it!”

At this point, Jiji had already gotten up and walked over to the bleachers to grab Okarun’s things. As he walked back, his eyes were darting nervously between his two friends. He wasn’t often a witness to them “fighting”, which did look very much like actually fighting to the outside observer. It made it difficult to butt in with a gag, poorly timed or not. “Uh.”

“I’m just checking something, calm down!” Momo snapped, before returning to her state of total concentration. Okarun also did as he was told and quieted. They were locked in a half-hearted stalemate. The boy sighed, resigned to the sensation of bugs crawling under his skin.

Momo’s face scrunched up as she stared at the middle distance between them- the metaphysical distance beyond them both. If looks could kill, Okarun’s soul would’ve probably evaporated like a drop of water in a hot skillet by now. Nevertheless, she was looking at something that he could not see, could only feel or be felt by. There was the sensation of a hand brushing against him, running fingers across his nape and caressing that vulnerable spot along his neck. A cool palm against his forehead, stroking back into his hair like a cool breeze. While it felt creepy, it also was quite refreshing. It made Takakura jolt, tightening his grip on Ayase’s wrists until she winced.

“Shi- sorry!” Okarun squeaked, letting her go as she did the same. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” Momo flexed her wrist experimentally. “You should try chi practice sometime,” she mentioned off-handedly, “would probably help.”

“With what?” He asked. Momo shrugged mysteriously and started walking back to the main building.

“Ooh! Me! I can help!” Jiji raised his hand emphatically. “Let’s do it, Okarun! Let’s train ‘til we die!”

Okarun accepted his button-up, jacket, and bun from his friend with a healthy degree of hesitation. ““...Does that not defeat the purpose of training?” Okarun asked warily, before opening the package. Now that he had fulfilled whatever need he had to dash around a race track, he did feel pretty hungry.

“Move it, ya slowpokes!” Ayase hollered ahead of them, right as the class bell tolled out its droning chime of tardiness.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the chi practice was not actually “to the death”, as Jiji had enthusiastically described. It involved a lot of sitting still and concentrating, things that Takakura was increasingly finding to be a problem. Distantly, he knew exactly why that was, but was unable- or just unwilling- to actually acknowledge it. He could look at its shadow, but not the thing itself.

“I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to be doing,” Takakura stated, hoping they could sense his antsy desperation to just receive a solution already. 

Jiji, who was great at not being serious and terrible at not being not serious, tried to explain once more. “Let your chi pool in your core,” he placed his hands before his pelvis, palms facing the ground, “then shoot it out the top of your head!” The brunette raised his arms up like he was diving into a streamline position.

Takakura performed the rarely-executed and desperately-avoided action of lifting up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He loved Jiji, he really did appreciate him so very much as a beloved friend, but he could not explain things for shit. “That’s the problem. I do not understand what that means.”

It was at this moment that Jiji also decided to throw in the towel, and turned to his side. “ Momo heeeeelp ,” he whined.

“You’re both hopeless,” Momo huffed, hands on her hips as she sat cross-legged. The three of them were gathered in a loose circle on the tatami mats of one of the (fairly) empty rooms in the Ayase house. Momo had cleared away whatever they’d been storing in here, citing that it was all junk anyways. The objectivity of that statement was debatable, but her grandma had not yet come home to dispute it.

“Okarun, don’t listen to Jiji. Close your eyes. Focus on the energy inside you.” Okarun tried to follow her instructions.

“What’s it even supposed to feel like?” He grumbled. To be entirely honest, he still didn’t understand the spiritualistic aspect of his current life. It was a tangent to his typical interests in the paranormal, so Okarun tended to gloss over it. Telekinesis? Sure. Yokai? Of course. Auras and prayers and gods? Not so much.

Ayase hummed in thought. “Well, I guess it feels like energy circulating through your body. Like if you could feel your blood, maybe? I wouldn’t say it’s electric , exactly… Just try meditating for a sec.”

“O- kaaaay ?” Takakura closed his eyes, taking deep and even breaths. He relaxed and focused on his own heartbeat. 

“Now, focus on that part you use to transform. It always changes when you do that,” Ayase instructed. “But, like, don’t actually transform. Just feel it.”

Initially, Takakura had focused on a certain emotion first, using it like a lure to draw out that source of power. Over time, it became a bit easier to lean into. Rather than the uncomfortable strain and shift, it was more like shrugging on a thick winter jacket. Though now, it was presenting the opposite problem, where he had to peer into it without falling in. It was taking all his concentration to not do that.

Turbo Granny’s spiritual energy was like a dark cyclone, hungrily drawing things into it. In the storm’s eye, when he let the curse flow over his body, it was almost calming. It made Takakura feel confidently at-ease, like every doubt and worry was so far below him they were nonexistent. The mental block acted like a shield. The incomprehensible horrors stayed incomprehensible if he just refused to comprehend them. Not to mention, it gave him the strength and will to protect his friends. For that reason, he couldn’t entirely dislike it.

“What did I just say,” Momo droned, entirely nonplussed.

Okarun opened his eyes and looked down at his lengthened hands. He could feel the curse’s energy humming low in his core. “Sorry,” he said apathetically, drooping like a wilted flower.

“Whatever. This works, too.” Momo exhaled, then sat up straight again. “Feel your own aura. Should be somewhere in your chest, I guess.” She squinted a bit, “it kinda looks like a dark ball of fire right now.”

“Sure,” Takakura acquiesced. He put a hand on his chest. “It feels like it's buzzing. Reminds me of a lawnmower.” Both Jiji and Momo snickered at that; he didn’t get why that was so funny. Okarun considered the curse’s thrumming pulse, feeling the way it coated something deeper in a viscous layer of aura in blackened swirls. That must’ve been what Momo was referring to. Extinguishing the curse was much easier without Turbo Granny possessing him. It was like relaxing a tensed muscle, but that didn’t mean he never hit any snags. If his adrenaline continued to run high, it was hard to turn it off.

As he eased out of the heightened state, he tried to maintain concentration on his own aura and the way it mixed with the curse. Surely, it didn’t just appear and disappear out of nowhere, right? It was still somewhere dwelling inside him. “Mo- Ayase, can you tell where the curse goes when I’m not transformed anymore?”

The psychic tilted her head curiously. She wasn’t wearing her usual disc earrings now, just tiny pearl studs that lacked the characteristic jingle that he was so accustomed to. “I guess it just dies down? It looks like it dissolves, and your aura turns blue again.” She tilted her head to the other side, “but it’s still there, and I can see it. More like your aura just bottles it up.”

“Like turning a sock inside out,” Jiji supplied helpfully. 

“Huh.” Okarun tried to grasp it, but it continued feeling like a gossamer-thin outline of a concept. It was too incorporeal. It made him think of a non-Newtonian fluid– solid when encountering force, yet liquid when released. 

“S’okay if you don’t get it yet. You’re like a little baby chicken right now,” Momo assuaged his doubts. It still felt like she was teasing him. “It definitely took me a while to get the hang of it.”

“Break through your egg, Okarun!” Jiji cheered, fist clenched in determination. “We believe in you!”

And so Takakura was relegated to silent meditation, sitting cross-legged and purposefully relaxed while his friends quietly did the same nearby. For the past however many minutes, Okarun was honed in on the feeling of his aura. As far as he could tell, it was an intangible thing, so it lacked physical properties. Any descriptor his friends used was not literal , it was metaphorical . The colors it released reflected no visible light, the weight it carried lacked genuine heft. It was similar to the “power of words” that Momo had mentioned before— the faith and belief itself brought it into reality. Heck, he believed in aliens for a long time without ever getting real proof of them.

With that in mind, Takakura could more readily accept its intrinsic existence. It revealed itself as the ghost of a flame, as if he passed his hand across cool fire. He grabbed onto that, gently so as not to disturb it. As his aura took shape within him, he couldn’t help but notice the dense cloying thing ensconced within it. That must’ve been the residual curse, curling quietly in a dark swirl as if dozing. It felt the same as the thing that crawled and growled and gnawed in his head sometimes, which wasn’t really a surprise. It didn’t make it any less intimidating, though.

The more time he spent introspecting, the harder it was to continue to do so. His physical body was uncomfortably stiff, almost atrophied, like he needed to stretch out and keep moving or else it would get stuck. Distant pangs of hunger and thirst tapped at his organs. Desire was a lithe animal slinking its way up and down his spine, pacing from brain to body and back again, and the darkness continued to swirl.

Takakura’s concentration broke. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “How on earth are you guys doing this?”

Momo and Jiji both gave a shrug. “Practice?”

“If I sit any longer I’ll explode.”

“What? Dude It’s only been, like, ten minutes,” Momo smiled, then leaned back on her elbows casually. “Did it help, though?”

Okarun mirrored her prior shrug, “I have no clue.”

Jiji was still meditating. His eyes were closed, but one could tell that his eyes were moving beneath their lids as if he were in a deep sleep. Occasionally, his face would twitch or he’d mouth a few words. Okarun and Momo silently agreed to leave him be.

“So can you sense auras now?” Momo asked. She crossed her legs at the ankle, and Okarun couldn’t help but trace their length with his eyes. She joked that she had chicken legs, but her roundhouses told a different story. “Can you see mine?” When she tilted her head, her cinnamon hair fell in a glossy cascade.

“I can try?” Okarun told himself to focus, shifting into a more comfortable position. 

He took a deep, even breath and closed his eyes. Again, he could feel his own aura thrumming in his chest. Then, he attempted to extend his perception outwards, hunting for the same bright sensation elsewhere. In his mind, he pictured where Ayase sat and mapped her outline. There, beneath physical layers, something turquoise glowed. From mere observation, he could recognize it as her . Even the intensity with which it burned was distinctly Momo.

It was… really beautiful. It reminded Takakura of rare, expensive colored glass and polished gemstones. Her soul was multifaceted and sharp, refined with her training and skill like a chef’s honed knife. It reached out to meet him halfway, a phantom of touch brushed at his own aura. As they converged, his own turned pliable and soft. Through her eyes, it changed properties. It made Takakura recall photons and light waves and superpositions, theories and conjecture made real all by the girl he had hopelessly fallen for. The incredulity took his breath away.

“Wow,” he whispered.

Momo just laughed.

Once he had seen it, he could not unsee it.

That was the burden of knowledge. Just like how he couldn’t not be aware of ghosts and aliens existing this whole time. Now, Takakura could (very faintly and with a high degree of unreliability) sense auras. It was long overdue, Miss Sekio had said once she found out. Turbo Granny had scoffed, said that he could do a lot more with her power than just that. Shiratori seemed like the only person who was genuinely impressed. When he told her, she glowed with wonderment and espoused compliments. Okarun wasn’t trying to lead her on, but praise was praise dammit, and he would bask in it.

There was a bit of an issue that had shoved itself to the forefront of Takakura’s attention, however. He was learning that sensing auras was really… distracting .

Sure, he could tamp down his conscious awareness of them, but it didn’t mean the sense went away. Similar to how one can stop focusing on their sense of smell, but always retain it. The so-called training that Ayase and her grandmother and Jiji had cajoled him into participating in had backfired in that singular way. Okarun grew better at negotiating the boundaries of the curse, but it was conversely strengthening his connection to it, alongside his sixth sense. 

They really were everywhere, in every person he walked passed and every rock and blade of grass, in the trees and dirt and sometimes on a breeze. There was an unseen energy flowing through everything. Sometimes, it was entirely overwhelming, and he had to focus on picking at the seams of his shirt, or close his eyes, plug his ears, and hum whatever anime song he could first think of. Other times, it felt like it was causing something ominous to burgeon in his soul.

It was hunger, an oppressive desire that ebbed and flowed randomly whenever it pleased. The desire- the need - to take that energy into his own was extremely enticing, like craving a drink of water on a sweltering day. Whenever Takakura had the curse burning hot, the aftermath left him drained mentally, physically, and spiritually. That was most often when it would dig its claws into him. He tried to distract himself, mostly. He went on runs until he could hardly stand, he tried the occasional meditation, he lingered around his friends whenever they hung out. Despite it all, it had latched onto Takakura like a miniscule leech, slowly draining away his resistance and wearing him down.

He knew that the feelings of hunger and thirst weren’t inherently bad. As Miss Seiko said, a nourished body meant a nourished soul, and she was more than happy to supply him with second helpings at the dinner table. However, it didn’t feel exactly normal to want this , specifically. To take something’s chi away and consume it, wasn’t that like… killing it?

“ Ugh , I am beat ,” Ayase moaned, walking like a zombie past the school gate. “Let’s get boba.”

Okarun tilted his head. “You’re tired, but you want boba.”

“Don’t deny a girl her treats,” she hissed. “Come with me. Uh- if you want to.” The girl tacked on, turning away to fiddle with her bangs.

“Oh, okay,” Okarun agreed, simply pleased to spend more time with her. Then he realized that he had never had bubble tea before, and didn’t know what he would order. He’d spend too long looking at the menu that she would get irritated, and that would ruin everything. That would make him look so stupid in front of Ayase. Plus, did masculine guy even drink bubble tea? She preferred super tough guys with an air of stoic mystery, right? Shit. Was it too late to bail now?

“Actually, I-,”

“I'm coming with you,” a voice resounded from a few steps away. Shiratori strutted her way over to the pair, then sidled up to Takakura’s unoccupied side, her aura a vibrant, sugary magenta. At their unimpressed stares, the pink-haired girl huffed. “You two would get into all kinds of trouble. I ought to accompany you to prevent any casualties.”

“Sure,” Momo rolled her eyes. The group kept walking, with her leading the charge. “Hey, Aira, what flavor are you getting?”

“Trying to discover my weaknesses?” Shiratori cocked an eyebrow haughtily.

“How is your boba order a weakness?”

“Bribery does not work on me, anyways,” the girl scoffed.

“Ah,” Okarun interjected, “I’m kind of curious!” He needed to sleuth out some context clues to form a baseline Normal Bubble Tea Order.

“Royal milk tea with coffee jelly and egg pudding,” Shiratori said immediately.

“Girl… Whatever,” Momo let it go. Trying to rationalize Aira was like trying to run directly into a brick wall.

Ayase led them down a side street, cutting a detour to a nearby strip mall. It didn’t seem like the very flashy, popular place like Okarun was expecting. It looked more like a small convenience store squished between two other businesses. It didn’t even have a sliding door, rather it was made of glass. When Momo opened it, it gave a little jingle from the bell at the top.

“Welcome in!” One of the employees greeted. There was a golden maneki-neko on the counter that Okarun could swear was looking at them as it rocked its upturned paw back and forth. It didn’t seem haunted, but you never knew…

“Whatcha want?” Ayase turned and asked him as they got in line. There were only a few people before them, so they had at least a few minutes. 

“Um… Uh…” Takakura stared at the large menu posted on the wall. There were way too many options, most of which he didn’t understand in the first place. What the heck was ‘Thai’ flavor? He could try sticking to something manly? Maybe just a black coffee, or something? If he copied Shiratori’s order verbatim, it would totally cause a weird vibe. What did he want, anyways? 

Okarun sighed heavily in defeat, “I don’t know. I’ve never had bubble tea before,” he admitted.

“ What? ” Momo gawked, jaw slack with surprise. Did she have to be so dramatic? “Unbelievable! Good thing I dragged you along!”

You didn’t drag me, I wanted to come , Okarun did not say.

“I know this menu back to front, I’ll help you out,” Ayase smiled, painfully genuine. “Actually, I’ll just order for you!”

“Hey! Let him decide! How dare you treat him like your thrall,” Aira accused.

“I’m just- just trying to help,” Ayase refuted, a faint, embarrassed blush coloring her cheeks. Her aura sizzled and fizzed like lemon-lime soda. She looked Okarun in the eye, face set with grim determination. “Do you trust me?”

Always , he didn’t say. “Sure. I guess.”

“Takakura,” the other girl interjected, “what do you want, really?” Shiratori’s eyes were sparkling with a persistent cognizance, like she knew something and was trying to get him to understand it, too. She placed a gentle hand on his bicep, leaning closer, staring.

“Oh, look. It’s our turn to order. Why don’t you start, Aira? We’re still looking at the menu!” Momo volunteered loudly. She used one of her ghost hands to lightly push the pink-haired girl forward. Shiratori gave her one sharp glare, then turned on the charm for the young employee at the counter.

“You have five seconds, or I’m choosing for you,” Ayase stated.

“Uh? Um? I really don’t know,” Okarun panicked.

“What flavors do you like? Fruit? Coffee? Matcha?”

“I don’t know.”

“Strawberry? Taro? Mango?” Momo looked increasingly flabbergasted. “Do you drink tea? Oolong? Chai? Jasmine?”

“ I don’t knowww ,” Takakura put his face in his hands, feeling mortified. Did he have a favorite anything? What did he like to drink? What were his preferences?

“Okay. Okay. Wow. This is kinda insane to me,” Ayase waved off his anxieties with one hand. She put on a deeply contemplative pose, staring at the menu then back to him. The brunette gave him a wolfish grin. “You know what? I do think it’s best to let you figure it out, actually,” she said. It sounded more like she wanted to derive entertainment from watching him flounder.

“Gee, thanks,” Okarun said with as much sarcasm as humanly possible. He turned to the employee at the register, who gave him a perfectly polite customer service smile.

“Hi! What would you like?”

“Can I get a… milk tea?”

“What size?”

“Um… Regular size.”

“What flavor?”

Takakura looked at Ayase, who was leaning against the counter like she owned the place, then at the menu, then to the employee, and back at the menu again. “Uh…” He decided to just screw it, and pick the first thing he saw. “Wintermelon,” he decided.

“ Oooh ,” Momo said, “interesting.”

“Tapioca pearls?” The employee asked.

“Sure?” Takakura looked at the small lettering on the wall menu, throwing his gaze like a dart on a dartboard. “Actually, can I get red beans?”

“ Ooooooh ,” Momo said again, and it sounded like approval.

“How sweet?”

“Just… regular sweet.” Momo gave him a thumbs up. “Yeah. Yep.”

“Okay! Anything else?”

“My turn!” Ayase stepped up and rattled off her order. “Peach fruit tea with watermelon popping bubbles and aloe vera jelly.”

“Okay!”

“What on earth?” Okarun couldn’t help but ask. He was somewhat glad she hadn’t picked something so random for him. Dodged a bullet, there. 

Ayase had the wherewithal to look a little embarrassed. “It’s not that weird,” she puffed. “ Anyways , yay, you did it! Good job!” Ayase gave him a playful shove with her elbow. Shiratori also nodded with approval. It was probably embarrassing to feel so proud of something seemingly small, but at that point Okarun didn’t care. He felt accomplished, somehow.

They all left the shop sipping on their respective drinks, making random conversation about school and aliens and yokai. Their lives had all become so strange, but they also wouldn’t have it any other way. Aira was the first to tag out, turning off to one of the more bougie residential areas where her house was.

“I knew she was loaded, but damn,” Ayase chewed on her straw as the two of them continued. “How’s your tea?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Takakura mumbled.

“ Wrong !” The psychic snapped, pointing a finger at her companion, “is it good or bad ?”

“It’s good!?” He said, startled. Once you’ve seen Momo Ayase throw an entire fire engine, you develop a healthy fear of her. At his response, she nodded decisively. “How’s yours?”

“Awesome!” She answered, continuing to suck down chunks of pure sugar.

“Forgive me if I doubt that aloe vera tastes good,” Okarun snidely ribbed her. When it was just the two of them, he felt more comfortable teasing her. Plus, she deserved it. “Next, you’re going to tell me you like pineapple on pizza.”

“No comment…”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore, Ayase,” Takakura lamented. “It was nice knowing you.” He mock-turned as if to walk down a random side road.

“Woah, hey!” Momo exclaimed. She looked genuinely flustered, which was cute. So cute . “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” She shoved her drink at him. All at once, the gears in Okarun’s brain stopped turning.

“…what?” He inquired weakly.

“I said, try it!” She defiantly shook her plastic cup at him again, letting the ice rattle around in the pink-orange liquid.

Holy shit. Be cool, Ken , He willed himself to not do something stupid like jump and scream. It didn’t stop the heat from rising to his face. “O-okay,” Takakura said. “Um- only- only if you try mine,” he offered his own to the girl.

Ayase stared at him, looking equally flustered. “Fine,” she accepted. They swapped cups, each taking a careful sip, trying and failing to think about how each other’s lips touch the same straws. Thinking about how this was totally an indirect kiss. Knowing that when they swapped back, it would still faintly be there.

Okarun carefully swallowed, letting the combined fruit flavors burst in his mouth. The jelly was surprisingly sweet and cool. It was actually quite refreshing. “This is pretty good, honestly.”

“Yeah,” Momo concurred. “Yours is really vanilla-y. I’m surprised the red beans actually work with this.”

“You’ve never had it before? I thought you knew that menu back to front.” 

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes. They traded drinks again. “That’s what’s fun about getting random things. You find new stuff to like. I’m definitely getting that one next time.”

Unable to speak, Okarun adjusted his glasses and turned away to hide his blush. It made something light and fuzzy build in the middle of his chest, reaching his brain to make him almost giddy. She actually liked it. She liked… him? “I might- I might try yours next time, too,” Takakura said quietly.

“Thank you, by the way,” he added softly. “I never had the chance to try something like this before. I never would have even thought to…” Whenever he was with Momo, she always seemed to pull him out of his shell and into a bright world full of light and color. He peaked at the shining fire of her aura, its gleaming teal hue was so vibrant, so full of life. So sweet and cool and refreshing.

He imagined it tasted just like that jelly, if he rolled it between his teeth. With just a slight pressure, maybe it would just pop , releasing its flavor on his tongue. Or maybe it was like biting into the flesh of a peach, scraping his incisors against the hard pit of it. Takakura ground his jaw back and forth, chewing on the straw that Momo had put her lips on not five seconds prior. The drink he’d gotten tasted utterly bland in comparison now. He could feel it, that dark thing pooling heat into his core, making its wrongness known. It felt like his heart was getting compressed in a vice.

“Sorry, this is my stop,” he stated, trying not to sound like his lungs were getting squeezed. “Gotta go.”

“Oh. Okay,” Ayase replied with slight bemusement. Okarun desperately hoped she didn’t notice anything. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Yup. Bye,” the boy strained, then turned and left her. Takakura tried not to hunch over like some pathetic bug, but it truly felt like his guts were tying into thousands of knots. He felt bad for ditching her, felt bad for his curt replies. Most of all, he felt bad for even thinking about wanting… wanting to… do that .

He would apologize tomorrow. He would be honest with her. Tonight, however, he needed to go on a very long run to forget all about his problems.