Kis-My-Ft2, No Place Like Home

Title: No Place Like Home [Yokoo/Nikaido]
Rating/Warnings: R for violence/scariness, not sex. See below.
Summary: Yokoo moves into a new apartment, and Nikaido starts seeing some disturbing things, but it’s no big deal because even though he can see the ghosts, they’ve never paid any attention to him before. Right?
AN: Written for 2013 Trick or Fic. I really wanted to write something about the fact that Yokoo has mentioned in interviews that he feels spirits, and Nikaido has said something sort of like that too, plus he always refuses to go places alone, like even to the bathroom. I figured, there must be some reason Nikaido is like that, so here you are.

REAL WARNING: Think Asian horror ghost movie like Ring or Shutter or White. Scary stuff happens to people you enjoy! Character death possible! I don’t want to spoil all the spoils, given the nature of it, but ghosts are involved and they are pissed.

It’s not gory, though, not like crazy serial murder fic or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s plotty. So…good luck?

No Place Like Home

Nikaido nearly drops the box in his hands as he fumbles the key into the front door of Yokoo’s new apartment complex. He saves it at the last second, turning pale at the thought of what Yokoo would do to him if he really had dropped it, since it’s neatly labeled “Kitchen Dishes” on top. He’s already made this trip what feels like a thousand times, arms feeling rubbery from effort, but Nikaido grits his teeth and shuffles into the lobby as quickly as he can, before the glass door can slide shut on him.

“Hold it, please!” he calls desperately as the elevator door starts to shut. There’s a pause, during which Nikaido despairs of his whole life, and then the door slides back open again. “Thank you,” he gasps as he struggles inside, desperate to at least lean the box against the wall of the elevator for a second.

The girl inside shrugs and reaches for the buttons, Nikaido opening his mouth to say fifth floor before he sees that’s that floor she presses anyway.

“Thanks,” he repeats. The girl doesn’t say anything, only tucks some of her long, black hair behind her ear. Maybe she’s one of Yokoo’s new neighbors, Nikaido thinks, since she’s getting off at the same floor. She’s wearing her school uniform, the same dark blue blazer that Nikaido’s seen on other students on the train at their station.

When the elevator doors slide open, Nikaido swallows a piteous whine as he hefts the full weight of the box back into his arms. The girl probably thinks he’s a gentleman, since he waits until she gets off first, but the truth is that Nikaido isn’t sure he has it in him to go the last six meters from the elevator to Yokoo’s door. In the end he’s sure he really will drop the box if he lets go with one hand to twist the door knob, so he just leans the box into the door, letting his head thunk forward against it.

“There you are,” Yokoo scolds when he opens the door, and Nikaido nearly goes down in a heap all over their shoes. “I was wondering if you somehow got lost without a chaperone, going the whole back to the car all by yourself.”

“Take it, take it, oh my god,” Nikaido whines, holding out the box with shaking arms. Yokoo rolls his eyes but complies, and Nikaido almost cries with relief when he can finally drop his arms. He stumbles over to Yokoo’s small couch, just pushed up against the wall for now, and flops onto it with a groan.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Yokoo orders, setting the box of dishes down on his kitchen counter. He peels the tape off and starts immediately putting his dishes away neatly in his cabinets, inspecting plates and bowls to make sure they haven’t been chipped en route. “There’s still plenty of work to do.”

“I don’t see what was wrong with your old apartment,” Nikaido says, tilting his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. “Okay, so the hot water was a little erratic, and maybe there were one or two mold spots, big deal.”

“And maybe my concrete-enclosed porch turned the sliding doors into an aquarium during every rainstorm last summer,” Yokoo cut in, shuddering. “And don’t try to tell me that was a cute home date, either. Quit stalling out there and unpack something.”

“Okay, geez.” Nikaido opened his eyes and glances around to try and find the easiest thing possible. A box labeled ‘paperbacks’ is nearby, and Nikaido settles for sliding onto the floor and starting to line them up on the bookcase next to the couch. There’s no way Yokoo won’t come over here and tell him he’s done it all wrong, but Nikaido puts them back in the order Yokoo put them into the box and just hopes for the best.

“Also,” Yokoo speaks up suddenly after a couple minutes of silence, “the old apartment didn’t have enough room.”

“Enough room for what?” Nikaido asks, distracted by trying to hold the books on the shelf up while he reaches into the box for the next couple. It’s not like Yokoo has too much stuff or whatever; Yokoo doesn’t have a lot of patience for clutter or things he has to dust.

“For anybody to live here with me.”

It takes a second to sink in, and then Nikaido jerks his head up and bangs it hard on the shelf. Cursing, he leans back from the shelf, rubbing at his head and blinking back pain tears.

“What did you just say?” he demands.

Yokoo is fussing with a stack of plates with much more attention than can possibly be necessary, eyes glued on them. “I said there’s more room, for…you heard me.”

“Watta!”

Yokoo finally looks up and notices Nikaido still rubbing his scalp and scowling at him. Abandoning his plates, he comes out of his kitchen and over to kneel beside Nikaido, brushing Nikaido’s hands aside to feel for the lump himself.

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly, rubbing gently at the sore spot. “If you aren’t ready. I know I didn’t ask properly before I decided on this place myself. But I thought if you were someday, then–”

Yokoo’s words cut off when Nikaido leans up to kiss him, throwing arms around his neck. His hands might be shaking a little, so he tangles them in Yokoo’s hair and holds on tight.

“Really?” Nikaido asks when the kiss breaks. “It’s really okay? Because sometimes I’m messy, and I kick in my sleep, and I’ve never done my own laundry in my whole life.”

“I know all that,” Yokoo says seriously. “You’re also loud as hell and a total brat, but you’ll be sleeping over here all the time anyway, right? Because it’s so much closer to work.”

“That’s not why.” Nikaido frowns. “Won’t you get sick of me, if you even have to put up with me at home?”

“Won’t know until we try.” Yokoo offers a reassuring smile. “But we’ve spent nearly every day together for eight years, so I think if I were going to get sick of your face, it would have happened already.”

“Okay.” Nikaido takes a deep breath, and when he lets it out, a grin spreads over his face. “Okay, then please take care of me. Now please tell me you know where the box with your sheets in it is so that we can break this place in.”

“Do I know where the sheets are, he asks,” Yokoo scoffs, standing up and dragging Nikaido along with him towards his new bedroom, and Nikaido knows he’s serious because he doesn’t even mention the rest of the unpacking they have to do.

Flopped on his back across Yokoo’s bed, Nikaido thinks of it as their bed for the first time, and the hum of satisfaction he gives has only half to do with Yokoo crawling over top of him and pushing him down into the mattress.

“You’re going to regret that workout tomorrow,” Yokoo says a while later, still half on top of Nikaido. “First day at the theater, too.”

“I’ll say I’m sore from moving,” Nikaido replies. He’s staring at the ceiling, running fingers through Yokoo’s hair, and trying not to think about doing a whole butai run in Aoyama Theater. With Yokoo warm against him, Nikaido can tell himself it’s no big deal. He gives Yokoo’s hair a little tug. “Moving in with my boyfriend.”

“You cannot tell the staff that,” Yokoo scolds, but it’s not very threatening since he’s already half-asleep.

Nikaido has a hard time sleeping in strange places, so it’s no surprise that he wakes up several times in the course of the night. Each time he chalks it up to the noises of the new building, and rolls over closer to Yokoo’s dead weight before dropping off again.

*****

The ghosts make Nikaido uncomfortable, but they don’t seem to notice him so it’s bearable. Especially in a place like Aoyama Theater, where Nikaido has worked so often, he’s almost used to the familiar figures and the spots they hang around, and if they sometimes give him the chills, they don’t startle him anymore.

There’s the girl near the entrance with a yukata and a Koichi uchiwa, as if she’s waiting patiently to be let in for her show, her bright red sleeves not quite long enough to hide the cuts on her wrists. It took Nikaido ages to realize the red of her sleeves wasn’t fabric dye. There’s a guy who rushes past Nikaido when he’s on his way into the men’s bathroom sometimes like he’s going to be sick at any moment, leaving a rush of cold air in his wake. Nikaido assumes he was an actor, since during the one time he was forced to go the bathroom alone, he could hear snatches of someone practicing vocal scales from one of the empty stalls.

There’s one in the meeting room right now, some kind of staff member in a suit at least ten years out of style who looks incredibly harried and takes notes continuously anytime someone in the room is talking, only pausing once in a while to press his hand against his chest with a pained grimace. Sometimes he’s there the whole time, other times he appears while Nikaido is looking at something else, or disappears the same way. If he didn’t make all the hairs on Nikaido’s arms rise, Nikaido would feel bad that the guy has taken notes at probably thousands of meetings and never even gets to sit down.

Beside Nikaido, Yokoo shivers a little.

“You feel him too?” Nikaido asks quietly. Yokoo nods. “But you don’t see him? He’s in the corner, right behind Tama’s chair.”

Yokoo looks up, trying to follow Nikaido’s gaze. He shivers again, but shakes his head. The ghost goes on scribbling, paying no attention to them.

“What?” Tamamori asks, scrunching up his nose at them. He rolls his eyes when both of them grunt that it’s nothing. “And you guys call me a weirdo,” he grumbles. To his right, Fujigaya hisses at him to shut up, then scowls when he gets shushed by his manager. Tamamori jumps a second later, clearly a victim of pinching, and on his other side, Miyata asks with an innocent face if Tamamori wants him to kiss it better.

“If you aren’t interested in the schedule, I can certainly stop,” the staff member leading the meeting informs them icily. In the silence that follows, the ghost stops writing and presses his hand against his chest. Nikaido wonders if the guy dropped dead during one of these meetings or what, and thinks that if he had to spend eternity doing this, he’d kill himself.

Or something.

During the break, Nikaido drags Senga to the bathroom. Senga goes willingly enough, long used to Nikaido’s refusal to go anywhere alone.

“So how’s the new apartment?” Senga asks. Nikaido looks over with a raised eyebrow because he hasn’t told Senga the news yet, but Senga just grins. “You came in together, so you totally spent the night there, right?”

“Yeah,” Nikaido admits. “It’s nice, he’s got a lot more room than his last place.”

“Oho?” Senga asks, leaning in, not at all concentrating on what he’s supposed to be doing in the bathroom.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing!” Nikaido leans away from Senga. “If you splash me, I’m punching you in the face.” He gives his dick a shake and tucks himself back in, edging back out of Senga’s range to wash his hands. “He might have asked me to move in with him.”

Senga hugs him tightly in excitement, making Nikaido squawk for him to wash his hands, ew. Just then, one of the toilets behind them flushes without warning, making Nikaido nearly jump out of his skin.

“Okay, okay, can we get out of here, please?” Nikaido asks, trying to push Senga back enough so that he can breathe at least.

“It’s just the toilet, crybaby,” Senga teases.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Nikaido agrees, studiously keeping his eyes away from the mirror because he isn’t itching to catch a glimpse of anything hanging out behind them. “We’re going to copy his key after work.”

“So exciting.” Senga’s grin is a mile wide, and Nikaido can’t help but smile back. It is exciting, and Nikaido’s really happy. Senga rushes back into the meeting room to tell they others they definitely have to have a house-warming party this week, no members excused. Yokoo makes put-upon faces about having to play host already, but when Nikaido catches his eye across the group, he knows that Yokoo doesn’t mind at all.

*****

It’s two weeks before Yokoo pronounces the apartment ready to receive visitors and Kitayama and Fujigaya have a night where they both get off before midnight.

“That’s pretty good for us,” Senga brags as he helps Nikaido set out bowls for chips. “Only two weeks.”

“What?!” Nikaido demands, because Yokoo is vacuuming the floor for the third time. “Watta!” When he gets no response, Nikaido marches over to the wall outlet and kicks the plug out. When Yokoo looks over his shoulder with narrow eyes, Nikaido crosses his arms. “It’s clean already! Relax, huh? It’s just members, and they wouldn’t care if you never vacuumed.”

“I’d care,” Yokoo retorts, but he doesn’t protest when Nikaido strolls over to toe the button on the vacuum that makes the cord retract. Nikaido leans up to kiss Yokoo’s cheek. “Okay, fine.”

“Damn!” Senga says from the kitchen, making them both look up. “We forgot plastic cups.”

“It’s not like I don’t have cups,” Yokoo points out, busy tucking the vacuum neatly back into its spot in the closet.

“No way, then you spend the whole night trying to wash them when we want to mix different drinks,” Nikaido says. “I’ll run out and grab some, you can finish up on your own, right?”

“Yup!” Senga insists. “Come here and help, Watta, please?”

Nikaido tugs on a hoodie and sticks his feet back in his sneakers without bothering to tie them. When he pulls the door open, Miyata and Tamamori blink at him in surprise, just about to knock, Nikaido giving an ‘eep!’ of surprise before they both laugh.

“Go on in,” Nikaido says, stepping out into the hallway to make room. “Try and keep him from cleaning the place three more times before I get back, okay?”

“No bet,” Miyata says, making Nikaido chuckle as he goes for the elevator.

It’s chilly enough outside that Nikaido is glad he put on the hoodie, and that’s even before he’s holding a big bag of ice on the way back. By the time he’s back in the elevator, his teeth are chattering and he swears he can see his breath. He’s so focused on getting back inside where it’s warm, that when the elevator doors slide open on the fifth floor, Nikaido nearly runs right into the person standing there.

“Sorry!” he apologizes quickly. It’s the girl from before, long hair still hiding most of her face, but the one eye Nikaido can see looks surprised. “Oh, it’s you. I guess we must be neighbors, huh? Here, I’ll get out of your way.”

The girl steps backs with a little bow of her head, and Nikaido shuffles out of the elevator. He turns back to say something else, but the doors are already closing, the girl out of sight. Shrugging, Nikaido shifts the bag of ice to one side so that he can pat down his pocket for his keys. They aren’t in the pocket he usually puts them, or the back one, and by the time Nikaido has fumbled through all of the possible hiding spots and finally turned them up, the elevator dings behind him again.

“Forget something?” Nikaido asks, but it’s actually Kitayama stepping out, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Fuck, it’s freezing in there,” Kitayama curses. He glances at Nikaido’s look of mild surprise. “Of course it’s me, who were you expecting?”

“My neighbor just got in there a second ago, you didn’t see her?” Kitayama shakes his head. “Whatever, hurry up and let’s get inside, my arms are numb from this stupid ice.”

They’re the last two to arrive, and the apartment is warm and bustling when they step inside, easing the chill from Nikaido in no time. Fujigaya has all the booze spread out across the coffee table and is mixing drinks while Tamamori plays backseat bartender, Senga is frying them gyoza, and Miyata is firing up the PS3, waving for Nikaido and Kitayama to hurry up and get over there.

“Don’t you spill that on my couch!” Yokoo warns Fujigaya from the kitchen, and Fujigaya calls back lazily for him to come over to stop him if he wants to so bad, and Senga asks cutely for Yokoo to bring him back a drink, please? Satisfied that Yokoo is being taken care of, Nikaido flops on the floor in between Miyata and Kitayama and demands first turn loudly since it’s his apartment and all.

There’s a moment of silence, because maybe Senga was the only person Nikaido had mentioned that to directly, and then it’s broken by a whoop of congratulations from Fujigaya, followed by the ruckus of everyone else adding their congratulations as well.

A couple hours later, Yokoo is doing the pile of dishes they’ve accumulated when Nikaido comes into the kitchen. He doesn’t even try to stop Yokoo, just slides arms around Yokoo’s waist and leans his cheek against Yokoo’s spine. “Good party, roommate.”

“You say that like it’s over,” Yokoo snorts softly. Both of them watch quietly for a moment as Fujigaya complains that he has a broken X button and Kitayama cackles drunkenly. Senga has taken over as bartender; he and Miyata are discussing in slurred and serious voices what they can mix to make their drinks member colors. Tamamori is out cold, flopped on the couch beside them with his cheek pillowed on Miyata’s thigh. “You really didn’t tell anybody besides Ken-chan?”

“You didn’t either,” Nikaido points out, rubbing his cheek against Yokoo’s back. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. They probably guessed anyway, when you were looking for a new place.”

“Maybe they thought I brought you here just to make sure there weren’t any ghosts hanging around,” Yokoo teases. Nikaido pinches his belly, making Yokoo grunt. “Speaking of that…you haven’t, right?”

“Seen anything?” Nikaido feels uneasy suddenly, Yokoo tense under his arms. “No. Why, have you? Felt anything, I mean.”

“Not really.” Yokoo’s voice is neutral, and if Nikaido weren’t pressed against him to feel that tension, he’d probably believe him. Nikaido pinches him again.

“Don’t lie,” Nikaido says. He can’t keep his eyes from combing the apartment again, but he still sees nothing but members.

“I haven’t felt anything in here,” Yokoo clarifies. “Sometimes out in the hallway…but it isn’t anything, not like at the theater, or like at that last hotel.”

“Ugh, don’t even talk about that.” Nikaido shudders, hugging Yokoo tighter. He’d had nightmares for a week about that maid roaming the hallways, her blank eye sockets staring right at him, a third dark hole right in the middle of her forehead seeming to stare at him too.

Yokoo shuts off the water and turns in Nikaido’s hold, putting some effort into it because Nikaido’s grip is so tight, so that he can hug him back properly. “Don’t worry, I said. You’re safe in here. There’s nothing in here but us.”

A crash sounds behind them, followed by Fujigaya chanting, “Watta’s gonna kill youuuuuu,” like a third grader.

“Plus some idiots,” Yokoo says through gritted teeth.

Eventually all the idiots are shooed out, with the exception of Senga who has taken Tamamori’s place unconscious on the couch. Nikaido takes Yokoo firmly by the wrist when he makes a start towards the kitchen, and drags him directly to the bedroom. Nikaido kicks off his jeans and flops down on his side of the bed, and he’s asleep two seconds after his head hits the pillow.

Sometime later, Nikaido rolls over onto his back, whining at how his head is pounding and his shirt is stuck to him with sweat. It’s a struggle to open his eyes, stuck-together with sleep, but when he does, there’s a blurry figure standing at the end of his bed.

“Kenpi?” Nikaido asks. He reaches up to rub at his head. “Something wrong?” When he pulls his hands away, no one is there, and suddenly the sweat on his skin is making him shiver. He whispers, “Kenpi?” again, but there’s no answer.

Two deep breaths later, he tells himself he’s being stupid and forces himself to put his feet on the floor. Nothing grabs him by the ankles from under the bed, of course, and he stands up and pads out of the bedroom to get a glass of water. Out in the living room, Nikaido’s eyes are adjusted enough to make out Senga sprawled over the couch, blanket mostly kicked off and one leg dangling on the floor. After hesitating a second, Nikaido goes over just to see if Senga is really asleep.

He does seem to be, although when Nikaido goes on hovering, Senga stirs a little. He opens one eye just enough to see Nikaido.

“Go ‘way,” Senga says, then rolls over so that his back is to Nikaido and his face is pressed into the back of the couch. His next words are muffled, but Nikaido’s skin prickles all over when Senga adds, “I already told you, quit wakin’ me up.”

Nikaido can’t scuttle back into bed fast enough, yanking his feet off the floor and the covers over his head, and he presses as close to Yokoo as he can. Yokoo is tangled in the sheet, so it takes a few seconds of flail before Nikaido can get his hand under the right layer to touch Yokoo’s skin.

“Wha?” Yokoo asks in confusion. “Takashi?” Nikaido grunts, pressing his hand against Yokoo’s waist, fingers digging in a little. “Are you sick?”

For a second Nikaido hesitates, then answers, “Yes,” because that’s probably it, he’s probably still a little drunk. Yokoo rolls onto his back fully and flops one arm out, nearly whacking Nikaido in the face before Nikaido scrambles onto it, tucking himself tightly against Yokoo’s side. Yokoo curls his arm to rub Nikaido’s back firmly, the warmth of his hand spreading until Nikaido stops shivering enough to try and sleep.

In the morning Senga doesn’t remember talking to him at all, and Nikaido blames it all on the member-colored drinks.

“Midori does weird shit to me,” he grumbles. He glances up just in time to see Yokoo frowning from the kitchen, but before he can ask anything about it, Yokoo announces that the pancakes are done, distracting all of them.

*****

Nikaido forgets all about it in a couple days, work keeping him busy with practices and meetings and promotions for the show, making it so that he’s too exhausted for anything to wake him up during the hours he has to spare for sleep. When Yokoo asks if Nikaido wants to come out with him and Fujigaya for drinks, Nikaido just stares at him with ringed eyes like he’s crazy.

“Okay, okay.” Yokoo ruffles Nikaido’s hair. “Go home and rest, grandpa. I won’t be too late.”

“I don’t care, I’ll be asleep,” Nikaido snorts, although it’s not exactly true. It’s been less than a month since they moved in together, but Nikaido already has some trouble falling asleep alone, and even when he does, he wakes up hugging pillows if Yokoo isn’t within easy reach.

The train home seems to take forever and a half, one of the lines halted because of an accident. Nikaido glares out the window while he sits and waits, hoping that he spots the ghost of the suicide jumper just so that he can give him or her the finger. When he finally does stumble inside the apartment, he realizes with a groan that plastic recycling is tomorrow morning, and Yokoo’s going to kill him if he forgets to put them out again.

When he’s stomping back into the building, that neighbor girl is standing by the mailboxes, staring at hers forlornly.

“Nothing good, huh?” Nikaido asks. The girl startles a little, then shakes her head, hair hanging mostly in her face as usual. Nikaido glances at his own, no doubt full of junk flyers, and leaves it for Yokoo to deal with in revenge for the recycling trip. “Ah, me either. I’m heading up, are you?”

The girl nods and follows Nikaido over to the elevator. There’s an awkward silence while they wait, Nikaido cursing internally about how he hadn’t put his jacket back on for the quick trip outside. He jams his hands in his pockets and tries not to shiver too obviously.

“So,” Nikaido says when he can’t take the silence anymore. “This is like the third time we’ve met, so maybe we ought to actually introduce ourselves. I’m Nikaido Takashi. And you’ve probably seen my roommate around too, that guy’s Yokoo Wataru.”

There’s a second where nothing happens, but then finally the girl says, “Sato Kiku. Nice to meet you.”

“So you do talk,” Nikaido says, grinning. “I was starting to wonder.” Kiku gives him a tiny smile back, but then the lights in the elevator flicker, and Nikaido’s smile tightens into a grimace. “Oh no, I’ve already been trapped on a train for an hour, if I get stuck in here with you…no offense.”

“It just does that sometimes,” Kiku says. Her voice is soft, like the rustle of fallen leaves, but Nikaido doesn’t have any trouble understanding her. The lights right themselves, and Nikaido breathes a sigh a relief when the elevator opens up to their floor. He doesn’t even care that it’s freezing as always in this dumb hallway.

“See you later, Sato-san,” Nikaido says as he heads for his own door, thoughts only on stripping off his clothes and falling into bed.

“See you,” Kiku says behind him. “Nikaido-kun.”

Nikaido’s face-down on the pillow when he hears the lock click and then the door open, but he can’t be bothered to pick up his head to see what time Yokoo made it home. There’s the soft pad of footsteps crossing the apartment, and Nikaido hopes half-heartedly that Yokoo won’t reek of izakaya smoke before he dozes off again.

When the door opens a second time, Nikaido wakes up more fully, skin goosebumping a little. He waits for a few seconds, but there’s no other sound. “Watta?” he calls.

“I was trying not to wake you,” Yokoo says, voice low. Nikaido rolls onto his side to see Yokoo unbuttoning his shirt. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Welcome home,” Nikaido says, relief rushing cool through his veins. He keeps his eyes firmly on Yokoo until Yokoo gets into bed, and only then tries to close them and go back to sleep.

The next morning, the whole thing is kind of fuzzy, but Nikaido still asks if Yokoo forgot something and went back out, or anything like that.

“No? Why would I?” Yokoo eyes Nikaido over his coffee cup. “By the way, you forgot to lock the door last night. I know you were tired, but be more careful about that, okay?”

Nikaido nods, lips tight and eyes glued to the breakfast that he has no interest in finishing now. He remembers very clearly coming in and turning the lock behind him.

That detail sticks with Nikaido for the next few days, making him jumpy and irritable. He tries to keep it mostly to himself so that it doesn’t tarnish his fun times guy image, but it’s a difficult act to keep up when all he wants to do is curl up in the chair in the dressing room and nap until they can stop showing up at this stupid ghost-invested theater.

“Hey, Nika-chan,” Miyata says, sitting down next to him during break. Nikaido gives Miyata a sharp look, because he chose this empty corner on purpose, but it melts away when he sees the concern on Miyata’s face. “Is everything okay?”

There’s no fooling Miyata’s member radar after all, Nikaido supposes.

“It’s nothing,” Nikaido says glumly. “Some weird things have been happening, but…” Nikaido tries to hold back, because he doesn’t like reinforcing his image as group crybaby, but Miyata’s friendly ear makes it hard to hold back. Nikaido finds himself spilling the whole story.

To his surprise, instead of telling him it’s all in his head, Miyata’s frown is pretty serious by the time Nikaido runs out of words.

“What?” Nikaido asks.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Miyata chews his lower lip a little. “Tama-chan made me promise I wouldn’t.”

“I locked that door,” Nikaido hisses, edging closer and looking around to make sure nobody else is close enough to hear. “I feel like I’m going crazy! What did Tama say to you?”

“When he and Gaya went downstairs to smoke…” Miyata pauses, but then goes on. “You know how your front doors are all glass? Tama said there was a face watching them, from inside.”

“Like a person?” Nikaido asks.

“No.” Miyata stares at the floor, voice even quieter. “Just a face.” The hairs on Nikaido’s arms rise, but it turns out Miyata isn’t finished. “And then when we were leaving, Tama was kind of drunk, you know? But he pointed up, at the windows around your floor and said ‘There it is again!’ and yelled at it to go away. I didn’t see anything, but…I don’t see the stuff that he does, sometimes.”

They stare at each other, Nikaido’s heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears because he can tell that Miyata is absolutely not fucking with him.

“What are you two gossiping about over here?” Fujigaya asks from behind Nikaido, who screams and practically jumps into Miyata’s lap, grabbing his arm hard enough to leave white marks when he lets go.

It’s later in the afternoon by the time Nikaido works enough of his nerve back up to ask Tamamori for the whole story. He corners him by the mirrors, Tamamori fussing with his bangs and barely even noticing when Nikaido sidles up.

“Miyacchi said you saw something weird at me and Watta’s place,” he says.

“That jackass.” Tamamori shoots an annoyed look over his shoulder in Miyacchi’s direction. Miyacchi waves back cheerfully. “Whatever, I was drunk.”

“He said it was a face,” Nikaido pushes on. “What’s that mean?”

Tamamori shrugs like it’s nothing, but the way he’s touching becomes more fidgety. “It just looked like a face, is all. That’s all I saw.”

“Looked like?” Something about what Tamamori is saying makes Nikaido keep probing, even though he has the sinking feeling the answers won’t make him feel any better.

“I mean, if it were a face you’d think there’d be a person attached, right?” Tamamori asks. He brings his hands down to cross them over his chest, hugging himself. “It was more like…” Tamamori gives Nikaido a quick glance, then leans in to breathe on the mirror, fogging it up.

Nikaido frowns when Tamamori presses his face against the glass until his nose is squished. When he pulls away, there’s the vague outline of his face, mostly in negative, empty spots where his eyes and open mouth should be.

“Like that,” Tamamori says quietly. He uses his sleeve to wipe the image away, and Nikaido is glad to see it go.

Nothing in the world could make Nikaido go home by himself today, even when Kitayama asks Yokoo to stay after and work on one of their scenes together. Nikaido curls up on the battered prop couches to nap while he’s waiting, but he only manages to doze on and off. It doesn’t help that when he closes his eyes for too long, he sees Tamamori’s face and its negative mirror image. It’s Kitayama who comes to shake Nikaido’s shoulder eventually.

“What’s going on with you and Wataru?” Kitayama asks without preamble. Nikaido opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Kitayama adds, “And don’t bullshit me.”

“There’s a thing,” Nikaido says, feeling like it’s just too much to explain it again. “You know, like how there’s a thing sometimes.”

“In your apartment?” Kitayama asks, voice sharp.

“I haven’t seen anything inside the apartment,” Nikaido says quickly, which is technically true. Kitayama’s narrow eyes say he isn’t buying it. “And even if I do see something,” Nikaido rushes on, “they never do anything to me besides hang around. They don’t even notice me!”

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Kitayama retorts. “You’re so pale, maybe they just think you’re a ghost too. You guys could spend a couple nights at my place.”

“Until what?” Nikaido pushes himself up until he’s sitting, gritting his teeth at how his head swims a little. “We live there. I’m telling you, it’s nothing.”

“What’s nothing?” Yokoo asks, coming up behind Kitayama, bag on his shoulder, ready to go.

“This guy’s stamina,” Kitayama says breezily, although he gives Nikaido a piercing look that says he isn’t going to forget about this. He stands up and stretches. “Quit keeping this idiot up all night, you dog.”

“Yes, sir,” Yokoo salutes Kitayama. He grins, flashing some fang. “I’ll get him home and into bed right away, sir.”

“Seriously, I’m right here,” Nikaido grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He calls them both jerks, Yokoo calls him cute, and then the staff yell at them to hurry up so they can lock up already.

Outside of their apartment building, Nikaido pauses outside the entrance to look at the glass of the door, then tilts his head back, trying to figure out where Tamamori saw whatever it was that he saw. It looks normal to him, and he jogs a few steps to catch up to Yokoo before the glass doors slide shut.

When they get to their floor, Yokoo heads for their front door, but Nikaido detours to the left to see the same spot from the inside. He can see down to the spot in front of the building, but the angle is steep enough that he has to step right up against the glass and press his forehead nearly flat to it. Looking down from this height makes his stomach twist unpleasantly, the cold glass chilling the skin of his face and his palm where he has it pressed against the glass for balance. For a second he thinks there’s someone down there, looking back up, but it’s too dark to see with the glare from the lobby lights. When Nikaido cups his fingers around his face to block the light, there’s no one there.

When he takes his hands away, there’s a pale face reflected in the glass next to his, and Nikaido’s throat closes up on a shriek.

“Nikaido-kun?”

Nikaido jumps at the sound of the soft voice, nearly falling onto his butt as he scrambles away from the window and turns around. Sato Kiku is there, long hair in her face and dark blue school uniform like usual.

“Did I scare you?” she asks. “I’m sorry.”

“N-no,” Nikaido says quickly. “I was just…” He glances behind him at the fading imprint of his face on the glass, a handprint splayed wide beside it. “Never mind. Are you just coming home? Your cram school must go late, huh.”

“Mm.” Kiku reaches up to brush her hair back behind her ear, and Nikaido sees for the first time that she has a thin, jagged scar running from beside her eye down her cheek. Suddenly her creepy hairstyle makes a lot of sense, and Nikaido forces himself not to stare.

“Takashi?” Yokoo’s voice comes from their doorway. “What are you doing?”

“I’m coming!” Nikaido calls back. He gives Kiku a smile. “Have a good night. Get enough rest, okay? Don’t study too hard.”

“Good night.” Kiku offers a small smile in return, and Nikaido walks past her to go back to his own apartment’s door.

“Hurry up, it’s freezing out here,” Yokoo urges as Nikaido pulls the door shut behind him. He has to admit that even though Yokoo’s just turned the heat back on, it’s still warmer in here than in the hallway. Nikaido flips the lock shut behind him with a loud click before Yokoo can remind him. “Were you talking to somebody?”

“Just a neighbor,” Nikaido says, toeing off his sneakers. Past the kitchen, the rest of the apartment is still dark, and some of the unease of the night before starts creeping back. “Can we watch a movie or something?”

“Weren’t you the one who was so tired?” Yokoo asks. He opens the refrigerator and tsks at the contents. “We should have stopped and gotten breakfast.”

“Yeah, but…” Nikaido thinks for a second what to say that won’t make him sound like as much as a weenie as he feels lately. “When we’re busy, we’re only near each other when we’re asleep. I just want to do something together.”

Yokoo’s expression melts a little. “All right. That sounds nice.”

They both take hot showers and curl up in bed together with Nikaido’s laptop. Yokoo responsibly turns the heater back off before climbing in bed, but with his arm curled tight around Nikaido’s shoulders, it’s warm enough still. They watch a movie that both of them have been meaning to see, and Nikaido finally relaxes enough that he almost doesn’t make it to the end.

“Thanks,” he murmurs when Yokoo closes the laptop and sets it carefully out of harm’s way beside the bed. “Home dates are best, right?”

“Idiot,” Yokoo says with affection. He reaches down to pull the blankets up over Nikaido’s shoulder before settling down himself. “It’s not a home date if we live together.”

“That makes it all a home date,” Nikaido insists. Yokoo kisses him goodnight to shut him up.

It’s the best night’s sleep Nikaido’s had practically since they moved in, and in the morning when the alarm goes off, Nikaido feels like the noise is reaching him through a meter of water. He scrunches deeper into the blankets, eyes firmly shut, thinking I won’t I refuse no no no.

The mattress shifts, and an arm slides over Nikaido’s waist, tugging Nikaido back into a firm embrace. Nikaido melts all the more into his warm blanket nest, because he loves it when Yokoo spoons him from behind like this. He feels safe and comforted, the weight against his back and the soft breath against his shoulder soothing. When he heaves a contented sigh, the grip around him tightens.

“Mmm, feels good,” Nikaido murmurs in appreciation. His eyes flutter open.

Yokoo’s side of the bed is empty.

Nikaido is out of the bed like a shot, not looking behind him as he dashes into the bathroom like he’s on fire. Yokoo is in the shower and Nikaido rushes in without even pausing, thankfully already naked, to wrap arms around Yokoo’s waist and bury his face in Yokoo’s chest.

“Takashi, what’s wrong?” Yokoo asks, Nikaido’s panic making him worry in turn. He sets the shower head back in its holder so that he can wrap his arms around Nikaido’s back.

“Nothing,” Nikaido lies breathlessly. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“You’re shaking all over!” Yokoo’s voice has a note of panic now too, and Nikaido tries without much success to slow his breathing, to calm down. “What happened?”

He can’t explain. Nikaido just shakes his head and clings tighter until Yokoo gives up and urges him out of the shower to dry both of them off before they catch colds.

Senga’s the only one who can pry the story out of Nikaido, hours and hours later. Nikaido stares at the ground, arms wrapped tight around his knees, while he relays that morning’s scare in a flat voice, like he’s reading a weather report.

“Nika, this is serious,” Senga says, sitting close enough that their shoulders are pressed together. “You can’t live in a haunted apartment!”

“It’s not haunted!” Nikaido snaps, much more sharply than he usually speaks to Senga. “I haven’t seen anything, and Watta hasn’t felt anything either!”

“It got in bed with you,” Senga hisses.

“There’s no it! It’s just nightmares or something.” Nikaido’s been repeating that to himself all day like a calming mantra, and by this point it’s starting to sound more and more believable. “It’s from the show, or moving, or I don’t know. But it’s definitely not ghosts because I can see those and they don’t touch me!”

Senga lets it go for the moment, but Nikaido can see he doesn’t believe it. He avoids meeting Senga’s eyes for the rest of the day, and shoves the anxiety Senga’s expression of concern brews in him down deep inside until he can pretend it isn’t even there.

*****

A few days later, things are almost back to normal. Nothing new has happened since that morning in bed, or at least nothing that Nikaido will admit to. If he feels even the slightest cold spot, Nikaido has taken to squeezing his eyes shut and chanting to himself that there is no ghost because he can see those and they don’t touch him, until he’s one hundred percent sure that it’s nothing. Whether because of sheer force of will or because anything haunting the apartment is just sick of hearing him say that phrase over and over, Nikaido doesn’t know and doesn’t care.

Yokoo is less composed.

“Are you sure?” Yokoo asks for the twenty-fifth time. Nikaido doesn’t even bother answering. “I’m calling my brother to cancel.”

“You are not,” Nikaido says. “It’s their anniversary and you promised to baby-sit weeks ago. When was the last time you even saw your niece?”

“I don’t want you here alone,” is Yokoo’s answer to that. His concern is sort of sweet, in a way that makes Nikaido want to wring Yokoo’s neck.

“That’s tough meatbuns, because I live here,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. Throwing a tantrum will not help his case. “Anyway, I’m going over to Kento’s in a while, so just chill out, would you? I’m supposed to be the panicky one, in case you forgot.”

Yokoo heaves a sigh but stops arguing, finally. It’s the kind of fight that Nikaido hates most, the kind where they aren’t exactly fighting and nobody’s actually wrong, and he gets up while Yokoo is hunting around for his keys to hug him goodbye just a little more tightly than necessary.

“Sorry,” Yokoo murmurs, face pressed against the top of Nikaido’s head. It’s good to hear, since Nikaido certainly wasn’t going to say it. “Mail me when you get to Ken-chan’s place, all right?”

“Yeah, okay,” Nikaido agrees easily. While Yokoo’s fretting works under Nikaido’s skin sometimes, it does make Nikaido feel good that he’s something worth fretting over, to Yokoo. “Tell them next time I’ll come help babysit,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood. “Then they won’t ask you again.”

Yokoo laughs, then kisses Nikaido goodbye and says he’s off.

“Come back safely,” Nikaido says, sighing quietly when the door clicks shut behind Yokoo. He hears the clunk of Yokoo re-locking the door, and then testing the handle.

Nikaido lazes around for a while longer, taking his time checking his mails and taking a long shower before getting dressed. There’s no rush to get to Senga’s since he’s spending the night, and it’s nice not to be rushed on his off day. In the end it’s his stomach growling that gets him moving, and he plans to grab something from the corner combini on the way to the train station.

He’s outside the door and halfway to the elevator, when something catches his eye to the left. It’s the door to the apartment next door to theirs; there’s a set of keys dangling from the lock, and the door is slightly ajar. Nikaido pauses, almost just leaving it, but then he thinks about what Yokoo would do to him if he left his keys in the door like that, and decides to take pity on his neighbor.

The key is on an idol keychain, Nikaido notes with amusement as he pulls it free from the door, one of those cheap things you get from a gatcha machine in an unofficial shop. The back side of the plastic is covered with purikura stickers, the faces faded from being touched, but Nikaido can make out the figures of three girls giving cheerful peace signs.

“Hello?” Nikaido calls into the apartment. He nudges the door open just a little more with his foot. “Excuse me, but you left your keys in the door.”

No one answers, and Nikaido hesitates for another couple seconds before deciding to go in and make sure that nobody’s collapsed on the living room floor or anything dramatic like that. He doesn’t want to bother taking his shoes off, so he leans in from the genkan as far as he can, looking straight through to the kitchen, and then off to the right into the living room, but he still doesn’t see anybody.

“Is anyone home?” he tries again. There are some some pictures hung on the wall nearby, and Nikaido recognizes Sato Kiku in several of them. She looks so much happier in the pictures, her smile bright and her hair swept back from her face. There’s no scar on her face either, Nikaido notices. It must have been a recent accident.

Still getting no answer and satisfied it’s not some sort of medical emergency, Nikaido backs out of the apartment and pulls the door firmly shut. He debates leaving things as he found them, but it doesn’t seem safe and he’ll feel terrible if the Satos get robbed or something. He locks the door and takes the key with him downstairs. Not wanting to lock anybody out, Nikaido uses the key to open the Satos’ mailbox and puts it inside. Although he can’t relock the mailbox that way, he figures nobody will know the difference if he pushes the little door shut. If the key’s still there when he comes home, he’ll call the landlord.

Stomach appeased with combini onigiri, Nikaido starts a mail to Yokoo on his way into the station to explain what he did in case the neighbors question Yokoo instead of him about their key and locked door. He’s barely paying attention to where he’s going, moving from habit to the right platform, and so ends up bumping right into a knot of girls at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, sorry!” Nikaido fumbles with his phone, nearly dropping it. “My fault…” He trails off as he notices the familiar dark blue blazers all three girls are wearing. “Hey, my neighbor wears that same uniform, she must go to school with you. Do you know a Sato Kiku?”

All three girls exchange nervous glances. One girl mumbles something about the vending machine and scuttles off, further down the platform. The second girl smooths her expression back to neutral, but the third still looks nervous as she lurks at her friend’s shoulder. Her arm is in a sling, Nikaido notices, the dark blue fabric of it blending in with her uniform.

“We know her,” the neutral girl says. “She was our classmate, but then she was in a car accident.”

“The scar on her face?” Nikaido asks. The two girls nod. “I see. You said she was your classmate? Did she get held back while she was recovering or something?”

The girl opens her mouth to answer, but the announcement that the train is arriving blares over her words so that Nikaido can’t hear what she says. Before he can ask her to repeat herself, there’s a commotion behind him, and he’s just turning to look when one of the girls screams.

The third girl is teetering on the edge of the train platform, the heels of her shoes at the very edge of the concrete. Her eyes are wide and panicked, her arms flailing for balance so that the few bystanders brave enough to try grabbing for her can’t get a grip. Her foot slips off the edge of the platform just as the train rushes into the station, and then everything is the screech of brakes and the screams of the girls, echoing in Nikaido’s head so that he can’t even think.

The two school girls dash towards the accident, but Nikaido backs up, one step, then two, until he’s back at the stairs leading down to the platform. When people start to leave to go back upstairs to switch to other train lines, Nikaido lets them sweep him along. He feels dazed, light-headed, and once upstairs he goes back outside and finds himself in the backseat of a taxi without remembering exactly how he got there.

“Just a station or two over will get you past the stopped train,” the driver says, glancing between his navigation system and the alerts on his phone. “Another suicide, I bet. What a mess.”

Nikaido feels nauseous even thinking about going into another station and onto a train right now. He wills himself not to be sick in the back of the cab and gives the driver Senga’s address instead. Whatever the ridiculous cost of this fare is going to be, Nikaido is hardly in a state to care.

When he gets to Senga’s apartment building, Senga buzzes him in without any questions, so it’s not until he’s opening his door for Nikaido to come inside that he gets a good look at him, still pale as a sheet and skin clammy with nervous sweat.

“What took you so–” Senga cuts off, brown eyes concerned. “Nika, what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?!” Senga hustles him into the apartment, and Nikaido notices with surprise, or as much surprise as he can feel in his state, that Kitayama is sitting on Senga’s couch, hands halted over his laptop’s keyboard.

“I’m not hurt,” Nikaido manages, dropping heavily into the seat next to Kitayama. Senga turns to get a glass of water from his kitchen, and Nikaido finally starts to calm down a little with Kitayama’s shoulder warm against his. He looks over, a little bit of curiosity working its way through everything else. “What are you doing here?”

Kitayama shrugs. “Somebody had to figure out what was going on, since you keep insisting it’s nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Making a big deal about it makes it worse,” Nikaido murmurs, uncomfortable.

“Sticking your head in the sand doesn’t solve anything,” Kitayama retorts. He turns the laptop slightly to the side so that Nikaido can see more easily, although it’s wasted because Nikaido doesn’t have his glasses on and can only squint at the glare. “Turns out your building had a suicide last year.”

“That’s what happened at the train station,” Nikaido blurts out without meaning to. Kitayama blinks at him, and Senga comes back just then, chewing on his bottom lip unhappily.

“A suicide?” he asks. He hands Nikaido the glass of water, and Nikaido takes a sip gratefully.

“A schoolgirl fell in front of the train.” Nikaido has to set the glass on the coffee table because his hands aren’t steady enough to hold onto it without spilling it all over himself. “I was talking to her friends one minute, and the next…”

“She fell?” Senga asks when Nikaido trails off. “So it wasn’t a suicide?”

“And what were you talking to schoolgirls for?” Kitayama asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Because they were wearing the same uniform as my neighbor,” Nikaido explains, although Senga and Kitayama’s faces say that he isn’t explaining anything, really. “I keep running into her in the elevator and stuff, but she has this scar, and then today she left her key in her door, and there was no one in the apartment to give it back to…anyway, I was just curious if they were classmates of hers. Her name’s–”

“Sato,” Kitayama interrupts. “Sato Kiku.”

Nikaido’s jaw dangles for a second before he can get any words out. “How do you know that?”

Kitayama slides the laptop the whole way onto Nikaido’s lap, and Nikaido swallows hard, because the picture in the middle of the article about the suicide in his building, is a picture of Sato Kiku, the same picture that Nikaido had seen in her apartment. There’s something unsettling about how cheerful she looks in the middle of an article about suicide, adding to Nikaido’s sense of unreality.

“That’s…impossible…” Nikaido says weakly. His stomach rolls, and he’s afraid he’s going to be sick.

“It says she was depressed after a car accident left her disfigured,” Kitayama says. “Her parents thought it would be better when she went back to school, but it sounds like she couldn’t fit back in after being out for so long.”

“I’m telling you, it’s impossible!” Nikaido snaps, shoving the laptop back into Kitayama’s hands. He doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to hear anymore. “I’ve talked to her! She talked back to me, there’s no way she could be…it doesn’t work like that!”

“She threw herself down the elevator shaft,” Kitayama continues, voice firm like he can make Nikaido face it by sheer force of will. He shudders. “No wonder it was so cold in that thing.”

“The hallway isn’t heated!” Nikaido shouts, voice shrill. “I’m telling you, I was in her apartment this afternoon!”

“Nika, you couldn’t have been.” Senga is leaning in to read off of the laptop’s screen. “It says her parents couldn’t be reached to comment because they moved out of Tokyo just after the suicide.”

“I’m telling you, I was in there!” Nikaido leaps to his feet, nearly sending both Senga and the laptop toppling to the ground. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he can barely even hear himself shouting. “There’s no way she’s dead! I don’t want to hear anymore!” Senga and Kitayama exchange a glance, both of their faces tight with worry, and suddenly rage washes through Nikaido, a welcome change from the fear and anxiety he’s been feeling for weeks now. “I’m not crazy, dammit! Take me back over there right now, and I’ll prove it!”

“Nika, no!” Senga gasps, horrified.

“Let’s do it,” Kitayama says, standing up as well. Senga’s jaw drops, and he stares up at Kitayama with an expression full of betrayal. “I’ll drive. Kento, stop looking at me like that. It’s not like there’s any other way to resolve this, since avoiding it sure hasn’t worked.” Kitayama gives Nikaido a narrow look, and Nikaido glares right back. “Unless you have a better plan?”

“It’s not safe!” Senga protests. “He said that girl died on the train platform, that she fell! How do you just do that? What if it was her, that girl?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Nikaido insists, already heading for his shoes at the door. “You two don’t know what you’re talking about. This is all some crazy mistake.”

Nikaido stews in the front passenger seat of Kitayama’s car the entire way back to his apartment, repeating over and over to himself that they’re definitely wrong and his neighbor for sure exists. Anxious to get it all over with, he can’t stop tapping his feet or fidgeting with his hands. The moment the car is parked, Nikaido all but bolts from it, jogging up to the door with the key out. He hears Senga call his name behind him, but Nikaido only slows to get his key in the front lock, his hand shaking too much to do it quickly.

Inside, Nikaido opens the neighbors’ mailbox and finds the house key exactly where he left it. Slamming the little door shut again, Nikaido skids around the corner and slaps the button for the elevator.

“Would you hold on a second!” Kitayama is hollering at him, he and Senga coming up from behind. They’re almost caught up to him when door to the elevator opens. Nikaido steps inside, then somehow the doors slide shut quickly enough to cut him off from Senga and Kitayama. “Press open door, you asshole!” Kitayama’s yell is muffled by the heavy door.

Whirling around, Nikaido reaches over and jabs at the button, but nothing happens except that the lights flicker.

It’s nothing, Nikaido tells himself, it’s nothing, it’s nothing. The elevator starts to move, and Nikaido looks over to see the button for his floor is already lit up. The skin on the back of his neck prickles, like somebody’s watching him, but he can see in the vague reflection of the metal doors that there’s nothing behind him. Nikaido concentrates on taking deep, even breaths and looking straight ahead. It’s so cold Nikaido feels like he ought to be able to see his breath

Just after the fourth floor, the lights go out completely.

“Stop that!” Nikaido shouts, maybe a little hysterically, every hair on his body standing on end. The elevator dings that it’s reached the 5th floor and the lights flick back on like nothing happened. Just before they doors slide open, Nikaido catches a glimpse of a second face reflected vaguely by the metal, every bit as pale as his own.

He should wait for Senga and Kitayama, but when Nikaido looks to the right, he sees that the door to the Satos’ apartment is slightly ajar, just like earlier. Looking down at the key in his hand, Nikaido sets his jaw and strides forward, determined to prove that he is not crazy, and that Sato Kiku still lives here. He grabs for the door handle, and throws open the door as wide as he can.

Inside, the apartment is totally bare. There is no furniture and no pictures. The only thing that mars the layer of dust on the bare wood floor is the print of Nikaido’s own sneakers, going up to the edge of the genkan and then back again.

The same fury that filled Nikaido earlier in Senga’s apartment wells up in him again, and he stomps the whole way into the center of the apartment, leaving another set of footprints in the dust and not even noticing when the door slams behind him.

“What do you want?!” he yells at nothing, looking from bare wall to bare wall. “Where are you?!”

Arms slide around Nikaido’s waist from behind, and a soft body presses against his back. Nikaido stiffens like ice water’s been poured over his head, and his stomach heaves with how it feels like the way Yokoo hugs him from behind except it’s all wrong, terribly wrong.

“You came to see me,” a soft voice whispers right in Nikaido’s ear, like rustling leaves. Kiku sounds so pleased, and Nikaido swallows hard against his stomach trying to crawl into his throat. He wants desperately to tell her to let go, but Nikaido can’t make any sound come out of this mouth, throat closed up with panic.

Somehow the bare room melts away in front of his eyes, and Nikaido blinks in the suddenly sunlight of a high school hallway. Students brush by him, males and females both in familiar dark blue blazers, but they don’t seem to notice him. Kiku’s arms are still firm around him, holding him in place.

Down the hallway a few meters, a small group of girls is leaning against the windowsills, gossiping together, tossing their hair when certain boys walk by in their own groups. Nikaido recognizes a few of them as the girls from the train platform.

“They said they were my friends,” Kiku murmurs in Nikaido’s ear, grip digging into his stomach. Her voice is tight with anger. “But they forgot all about me. They never came to visit me. But that’s okay.” Kiku giggles. “I went to visit them instead.”

“Please,” Nikaido manages. “Please let go of me.”

Kiku ignores him. Just then another Kiku comes out of the classroom door, head down and hair in her face, and brushes past Nikaido as she hurries by. Although Nikaido isn’t walking or moving, somehow they follow her anyway, to the staircase at the end of the hall. On the landing halfway down, in between floors, a tall boy is leaning into a girl with her back pressed against the wall. His hair is just a little too long to be neat, uniform just rumpled enough, and Nikaido doesn’t have to be any closer to hear to know the kinds of things he’s whispering to that girl in between kisses.

“He used to bring me to this stairwell,” Kiku hisses, and she isn’t giggling now. He can feel the sharp edges of her fingernails through his shirt. “He told me he liked me, and I let him kiss me. I let him touch me. He said he liked me.”

The other Kiku is trembling with the same anger, ugly hurt all over her face as she stomps down the stairs. When the other girl notices Kiku approaching, sees her expression, she gasps, drawing the boy’s attention over his shoulder, but all he does is give her a dismissive glance before turning away. He only gives Kiku his full attention when the other girl wriggles out of his grip and escapes down the stairs, face pink. Even then, it’s only to call Kiku a couple cruel names.

Now that Nikaido can see the boy’s features clearly, he realizes with unease that the boy’s face bears more than a passing resemblance to his own.

The boy turns to leave, and Kiku’s hand shoots out to grab his forearm. He tries to yank it free, but she hangs on grimly. They tussle for a few seconds before he he can break her grip, but he’s too close to the edge of the stairs, and the momentum of throwing his weight backwards takes him right down them, head hitting the sharp edge of a step with a sickening crack before he lands in a limp heap at the bottom, limbs all at wrong angles.

Kiku stares down in horror for two or three seconds, and then turns to bolt back the way she came, letting her hair swing over her face to hide her tears.

“I ran home,” Kiku says, and Nikaido closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than for her voice to stop, “but my parents weren’t home. They were always at work, they always left me alone. No brothers or sisters, no friends, no boyfriends, always alone. Better off dead.”

“I’m not him,” Nikaido pleads. “Please let me go.”

“You aren’t him,” Kiku agrees, sounding happy. Her biolar swapping of emotions makes Nikaido’s skin crawl. “Nikaido-kun is so much nicer. You always talk nicely to me. You don’t make me do things.”

“Please,” Nikaido all but sobs, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “I just want to go home!”

“Silly~. You are home.”

Nikaido’s eyes pop open, and he’s back in the empty apartment. He runs for the door as fast as his shaking legs will carry him, and slams it shut behind him. His legs give out and he slides to the ground with his back pressed against it, like he’s trying to keep it shut with his weight. When Kitayama and Senga spill out of the stairwell a minute later, gasping for breath, Nikaido is still sitting there, face buried in his hands and hiccuping with little sobs.

“Nika!” Senga shouts, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around Nikaido. Nikaido clutches at Senga’s jacket, pressing desperately against him. Senga is so warm, sweat-damp and alive, and Nikaido irrationally feels that Senga himself can keep Kiku away, just by sheer aliveness.

But when Nikaido looks up, Kiku is sitting in front of his door, cross-legged with her skirt riding up. She winks when she catches Nikaido looking.

“She’s still there,” Nikaido says dully. His terror has faded to a dull throb of panic every few seconds, like he’s just too exhausted to keep feeling it continuously. Kitayama is on the phone, he realizes distantly, telling Yokoo what’s happening and probably getting him all worked up, but Nikaido feels like it doesn’t even matter. It’s not like Yokoo can see Kiku, after all.

“Let’s go back,” Senga says, still hugging Nikaido tightly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nikaido lets his eyes fall shut, not that it blocks out the image of Kiku leaning against his door. His head lies heavily against Senga’s shoulder. “Whether I stay here or there for a night or two, what’s the difference?”

“Nika, stop it!” Senga gives him a shake. “If that thing is still here…” He trails off with a shudder, then starts trying to heave Nikaido to his feet, telling Kitayama to hurry up and get off the phone to help.

“Where else would she go?” Nikaido asks, more to himself than anybody because he doesn’t expect an answer really. He gets one, though, Kiku’s soft laughter following them into the stairwell because Senga point-blank refuses to get in the elevator.

“Come back safely,” she calls after them.

Once they get him back in the car, it’s like Nikaido’s batteries have been completely drained, no energy left for anything. He curls up in the backseat and falls asleep almost immediately, and is slow and cranky to wake up when Senga shakes him awake back at his own apartment building, like an oversized toddler.

“It’s not like I’m going to make a break for it,” he snaps at them when Senga and Kitayama sit on either side of him like guards on Senga’s couch. “You don’t have to be my freaking bodyguards.”

“Quit being such a crank,” Kitayama orders, rolling his eyes. “Normally we couldn’t pay you to be alone for ten seconds. And we did just run into a ghost-infested building for you, asshole.”

“Mitsu,” Senga reproaches. Nikaido stretches out between them like he could care less, except to dig his chin into Senga’s thigh a little too hard and to kick at Kitayama’s thigh ‘accidentally.’

He falls back asleep like that, Senga’s hand rubbing his shoulder back and forth soothingly. Hours later, he wakes up in the dark, disoriented and groggy and with somebody crawling onto the couch with him. He sucks in a breath to yell.

“Shh, it’s me,” Yokoo says, and Nikaido deflates like a balloon. Yokoo somehow fits his skinny frame in between Nikaido and the back of the couch, and Nikaido rolls over to throw an arm over Yokoo’s waist and bury his face in Yokoo’s chest. “Hiromitsu told me everything. What should we do?”

“Dunno.” Nikaido lets his eyes fall shut again, holds Yokoo to him that much more tightly. “Sorry.”

“Idiot, you didn’t do anything.” Yokoo heaves a sigh that seems to come from so deep in his chest that Nikaido feels it in his too.

Nikaido thinks about the face of the boy Kiku had pushed down the stairs and thinks that’s not exactly true, but he doesn’t try to explain.

*****

In the morning when they do go back to the apartment, they can hear from the hallway noises and voices coming from their door, and Nikaido nearly turns right back around.

“Easy, easy,” Yokoo soothes, grabbing Nikaido’s hand and dragging him forward. The uncarpeted floor is too slick for Nikaido to dig his heels in effectively, and Yokoo gets to the door and throws it open before he can kick up a serious fuss.

Both of them blink at the sight of Tamamori and Tamamori’s mother standing in their kitchen.

“Don’t just stare, come in here and help,” Tamamori-san orders. Nikaido and Yokoo obey, Nikaido tugging the door shut behind him when she adds that no wonder they have all sorts of things in here if they stand there with the door hanging open.

“Good morning, Tamamori-san,” Yokoo greets properly, elbowing Nikaido so that he does the same. “How did you get in?”

“Taisuke-kun leant me your spare key. You boys look terrible,” Tamamori-san tsks. “Yuta told me everything. Here.” She puts a bowl of water and a cloth into Yokoo’s hands. “It’s salt water, to purify spirits. Wipe down your doorway. Twice, so you don’t miss anything. You know that entrance is in the northeast corner of your apartment, right? You might as well have a doorway straight to hell.”

“Mom, seriously,” Tamamori grumbles, his own superstition only apparently stretching so far. His eyes keep darting over to the state Nikaido and Yokoo are in, though.

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me, young man,” Tamamori-san says crisply. “Don’t think we aren’t going right over to your apartment after this, I don’t need any more panicky phone calls at one in the morning.”

“No way, you might scare off the tengu that cleans my bathroom,” Tamamori retorts, thumbing over his shoulder. Nikaido looks over to see Miyata standing on a chair, tying a glass wind chime up at their living room window, the other window already hung with one. Miyata taps his nose and winks at Nikaido, making him and Tamamori both snort.

Nikaido’s attention is drawn back to the kitchen when Tamamori-san takes one of his hands and drops several bundles of cinnamon sticks in it. They’re so fresh that their scent stings Nikaido’s nose.

“When Yokoo-kun is done with the salt water, put one of these over each doorway.” Tamamori-san gives the front door another sideways glance. “Maybe two on that one. Do you have anything from that girl? Something that could draw her in here?”

“No, of course n–wait,” Nikaido corrects himself. He reaches in to dig around in the front pocket of his bag and pulls out the house key from the day before. The idol keychain still dangles from it cheerfully, and Nikaido thinks he’s going to get the chills every time he sees that guy now, geez. He hopes they never meet on a music program.

“Uh-huh. Come with me.” Tamamori-san turns Nikaido by the shoulders and marches him out the door, Yokoo squeezing against the wall to let them by. Nikaido gives him a baleful look, but Yokoo doesn’t even try to get in Tamamori-san’s way.

She marches right up to the door next door, Nikaido trailing reluctantly behind, and looks it over critically.

“Put it back exactly as you found it,” she instructs. Nikaido gives her a pleading look, but she just folds her arms and stares back until Nikaido shuffles forward to fit the key back in the lock, keychain twirling a little where it dangles. Tamamori-san bows to the door, claps twice, and bows again. “Please stay in your own apartment, Sato-san. It’s rude to go into others’ homes without being invited.”

“Is that going to work?” Nikaido asks fretfully as Tamamori-san turns to go back like it’s all been settled.

“What did you try, ignoring it?” Tamamori-san asks with a raised eyebrow. Nikaido glances back at the other door over his shoulder.

The key is gone.

The last thing Tamamori’s mother does before they leave is to hang a wreath of fresh rosemary on the inside of the door.

“It has to be fresh,” she instructs, mostly to Yokoo since she’s more than familiar enough with which of them is more dependable. “When the needles start to drop off of it, you’ll have to make a new one.”

“Thank you,” Yokoo says, even as he wrinkles his nose at the idea of dried rosemary needles all over his floor, no matter how good they smell. “Thanks you for all your help.”

Her last words of wisdom are that it wouldn’t hurt to christen the place all over again.

“You know, just to make it feel like home properly,” she says with a wink, before she pulls the door shut firmly. They can still hear Tamamori and Miyata laughing at them through the door, Nikaido’s cheeks burning when Yokoo looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean how well can it work when it can’t even keep those assholes out?!” Nikaido demands, and Yokoo laughs so hard that he has to brace his hands on his knees to keep from toppling over.

“Come on,” he says when he can breathe again, grabbing one of Nikaido’s hands and pulling him along towards their bedroom. He shushes Nikaido when Nikaido starts to protest. “It’s fine, even if you don’t want to fool around. I just want to be in my own bed for a few hours until we have to leave for work.”

Nikaido lets Yokoo shove both of their jeans off and then push him down onto his back. Despite his claims of pure intention, Nikaido isn’t surprised at all when Yokoo crawls onto the bed and over top of him, his weight settling onto Nikaido’s as he leans in for a kiss. Yokoo takes the most comfort from touch, after all, and Nikaido can’t say he’s much different after all.

“Okay?” Yokoo murmurs against Nikaido’s mouth a few minutes later. Nikaido mumbles agreement, feeling safer than he’s felt in days with Yokoo’s warmth and weight pressing him down into the mattress. Yokoo is slow and careful, almost slower than he ever was their first time, and it’s finally Nikaido who demands that Yokoo just touch him already before he fucking does it himself.

Yokoo reaches in between them to palm both of them at the same time, and Nikaido forgets about everything except for arching into Yokoo’s touch, Yokoo’s mouth against his neck, the muscles of Yokoo’s back under his fingers.

Afterwards Yokoo pulls the blankets over both of them, trapping their bodyheat and sprawled half over Nikaido. Nikaido guesses that Tamamori-san must know what she’s talking about after all before he dozes off with his face buried in the curve of Yokoo’s neck.

*****

A week later, things are about as normal as they ever get. Their butai is opening in a few days, and Nikaido is so busy with dress rehearsal and costuming and tech runs that he barely even sees the apartment more than a few hours a night, if that. Yokoo has still been refusing to let Nikaido out of his sight, not that there are that many hours in a day when they could possibly be in different places anyway, but this morning Nikaido ran to the combini for breakfast all by himself and the world didn’t end, so maybe they’re making progress.

“Be grosser,” Senga says when Yokoo settles on the mats to watch casually while Senga and Nikaido spend part of an afternoon break running through one of their pair scenes.

“Jealous much?” Nikaido asks. Senga sticks his tongue out. Nikaido makes a show of looking over Senga’s shoulder. “Ghost choreographer-san says your hiprolls suck.”

Senga’s eyes widen, and he checks over his shoulder, but when he looks back, Nikaido is laughing. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, punching Nikaido in the arm. Nikaido just laughs harder. After what he’s been through, even the guy in the bathroom doesn’t seem that scary any more. Yesterday when he started up with those scales, Nikaido snapped that he was sharp, and that was the end of that.

“There you are,” Fujigaya says, sticking his head in the room. “I’m supposed to tell you that we’re done for the day.”

“What?” Senga and Nikaido stop scuffling, blinking at Fujigaya. “It’s not even five yet. What happened?”

Fujigaya rolls his eyes hugely. “Kitayama’s solo blew out the soundboard again.”

“I told him it was just too hot.” Yokoo shakes his head sadly. “We can’t have fangirls spontaneously combusting.”

“I told you, stop encouraging him!” Fujigaya slaps at Yokoo’s shoulder. “It’s a software glitch! They’re going to have to run a bunch of updates and reset the whole thing, so there’s no point in us hanging around for hours and hours. Ne, Wataru, come out to eat with me? It’ll be ages until we have another day we can do it when normal people do.”

“Taisuke,” Yokoo starts, but Nikaido interrupts.

“He’s going.” Nikaido stares Yokoo down when Yokoo tries to give him the eye. “Kenpi and I are practicing anyway, and you two haven’t been out in ages. You don’t have to worry so much, okay? It’s fine.”

“Please?” Fujigaya begs, making his eyes big and sad. Yokoo sighs and says fine, fine.

“Text me when you’re leaving here,” Yokoo tells Nikaido, in his voice that means no argument is acceptable. “Text me if you stop to get food. Text me if you do anything besides breathe.”

“Got it,” Nikaido agrees, doing his best to look serious and dependable. Senga and Fujigaya make gagging noises at them, but Nikaido doesn’t care. They don’t see the shit he sees, and they haven’t been through what he and Yokoo have.

“Honestly, I’m starting to wonder who the crybaby here is, exactly,” Fujigaya says as he pushes Yokoo out the door with him. Yokoo just tells him to shut his face.

It’s another hour before he and Senga are satisfied with their parts, and they take their time showering and changing into street clothes since there’s no rush to let the staff lock up, for once. Senga suggests ramen, and Nikaido’s growling stomach answers for him, making both of them laugh. Nikaido dutifully texts Yokoo when they’re on the way to the place, when they get to the place, when they order their food, and even sends a picture of his ramen when it arrives.

“He’s really being serious about that?” Senga asks. Nikaido shrugs.

“If I do exactly what he says, he’ll get sick of it sooner, right?” Nikaido points out with a wink. His phone chimes, and Nikaido looks down to see he’s got a message in return. “Says he’s heading home now. Maybe the restaurant kicked him out for eating all their food.”

Senga nearly chokes on his ramen laughing, and Nikaido laughs too, self-satisfied. His own ramen is delicious, warming both his stomach and his soul, and Nikaido is entirely satisfied with life when they finally tug their coats back on and head out. Senga offers to walk Nikaido the whole way to his door like a gentleman, and Nikaido tells him cheerfully to go fuck himself.

His good mood lasts until he gets out of the elevator and sees the shredded mess of the rosemary wreath lying in front of his and Yokoo’s door, needles scattered all over the floor. Ramen turning to a rock in his stomach and adrenaline making his his skin prickle with cold, Nikaido runs for the door and jams his key into the lock as quickly as his fumbling fingers will make it work.

Yokoo is sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor on his back, Kiku sitting on his stomach, pushing his shoulders down against the floor as she looms over him.

“Watta!” Nikaido yells, making both of them turn their heads towards him. Watta’s eyes are so wide that Nikaido can see white nearly the whole way around his irises.

“Welcome back, Nikaido-kun,” Kiku says. Her smile is sharp and her scar stands out, livid against her paper-white skin. “You locked me out. You didn’t come to see me anymore.”

“It’s her, right?” Yokoo asks, voice thin like he can’t get enough air. He still must not be able to see her, and Nikaido shudders at the thought of invisible hands grabbing at him and throwing him to the ground.

“Get away from him,” he orders Kiku. It feels like he’s moving through molasses, his limbs heavy with fear, but Nikaido still manages to take one step forward, then another. “Don’t touch him!”

“All because of this guy,” Kiku says, voice full of disgust. “You want him instead of me. You said you liked me!”

“I did not!” Nikaido shouts, rage momentarily overpowering the fear and pushing him foward, but he stops cold when Kiku puts her fingernails on Yokoo’s chest and Yokoo gasps raggedly.

“If I get rid of him, you’ll like me again,” she insists. She presses down with her fingertips, and Yokoo cries out in pain.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Nikaido roars, charging the last few steps to slam his shoulder into Kiku. He wasn’t even sure it would work, but Kiku is knocked off of Yokoo and into the coffee table. Yokoo curls up on his side, coughing, clutching at his chest.

“Out,” Yokoo gasps, “get out, get out.”

“Shut up,” Nikaido growls, yanking up Yokoo’s shirt to see scratches already oozing blood. There are handprints around Yokoo’s wrists too, he notices, red skin already mottling with bruises. He looks over his shoulder to find Kiku, but she’s gone. “Get out of our house!” he bellows. “Get OUT!”

All the breath whooshes out of his lungs when something grabs his ankle with iron fingers and yanks, so that Nikaido’s legs slip out from under him and his back hits the floor hard. He makes a wild grab for Yokoo’s hand and misses by a mile as the force holding him drags him across the floor so fast everything is a blur, towards their front door. The back of his head cracks on the step down into the genkan and Nikaido yells a curse, stars bursting behind his eyes and sudden dizzyness making everything roll.

Even disoriented, Nikaido figures out where he’s headed as soon as he gets dragged through their doorway and sees the door to the next apartment down wide open. Desperate, he grabs at the only thing nearby and manages to grab the edge of the umbrella holder. He hurls it forward with all his strength, wincing as it clangs across the floor, but the hand holding his ankle abruptly lets go and he slides to a stop.

Nikaido struggles to sit up, ass and shoulders burning from being dragged, head spinning. He reaches up to touch the back of his head, wincing as he feels the warm, slick blood already matting down his hair. There’s a sudden burst of noise from the alarm that makes Nikaido’s ears ring; Yokoo must have hit the panic button on their door intercom.

Through the haze of panic and noise, Nikaido pushes down the way his instincts are screaming at him to flee, because Yokoo’s still in the apartment and Nikaido is not leaving him alone with Kiku. He struggles to his feet, gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea. He tries to go back towards his own door, but it’s like trying to run after spinning around with his head on a bat, and he only manages to stagger a few steps to the side. He stumbles into the edge of the elevator bank, and stands there panting a moment, shoulder against the metal.

“Takashi!” Yokoo calls, voice hoarse, and Nikaido looks up to see Yokoo in the doorway. Little spots of blood are dotting his shirt, but he seems all right otherwise, if shaky. He’s staring at the floor in horror, and Nikaido notices dully the streak of blood that leads across the floor to him, from his head wound.

“Don’t come out here,” Nikaido begs. “I don’t know where she is!”

“I’m right here, Nikaido-kun,” Kiku says in his ear, and those arms wrap around his waist again, cold and strong as iron. “I won’t leave you. We’re going to be together forever.”

“Don’t back up!” Yokoo yells, voice more panicked than Nikaido’s ever heard it before. “The elevator’s right behind you!”

He must not have heard it because of the alarm wailing, but Nikaido feels a draft across his back and realizes that the elevator doors must have opened. Nikaido freezes, afraid to struggle because he isn’t sure which way he’ll tip, the room still spinning crazily.

Yokoo is running towards him, and Nikaido thinks about the girl on the train platform, arms windmilling, trying to grab anybody within reach. He can feel his weight tipping backwards just as Yokoo grabs his hands and yanks forward, hard enough that Nikaido should go sprawling on his face, but Kiku’s weight against his back is so heavy, so much heavier than a high school girl’s weight should be, holding him in place.

“Takashi, please,” Yokoo says desperately, tugging so hard his feet slip forward on the floor, towards the elevator shaft.

“Leave him alone,” Nikaido whispers to Kiku.

“I only want you, Nikaido-kun,” she says, sounding so happy, like she’s hugging a favorite toy.

Nikaido looks into Yokoo’s panicked eyes and gives him the most reassuring smile he can. “It’ll be okay, Watta. This time I’ll take care of you.”

“NO!” Yokoo roars, but it’s already too late, Nikaido letting his hands slip out of Yokoo’s, closing his eyes as he tumbles backwards into the dark, open mouth of the elevator shaft.

*****

Fujigaya sits on Yokoo’s couch, looking him over with a deep frown. Yokoo keeps his eyes fixed squarely on the television, even though he barely remembers what they’re watching.

“Seriously, Wataru,” Fujigaya starts.

“I’m fine,” Yokoo cuts him off, because he’s heard it all before, a hundred times. “Thank you for bringing me dinner. You should stop worrying.”

“How can I stop?” Fujigaya demands. “Forget coming back to work, when was the last time you even left the apartment?”

Yokoo shrugs, noncommittal. There’s no reason to, really. His washing machine is in here. His mother or brothers visit and bring groceries, the others mail him or bring him food sometimes. If they want to see him, they know where he is.

“You’re not fine,” Fujigaya insists, but it’s quieter, more resigned. “We miss Nika too, you know. You’re not the only one!”

“I know that,” Yokoo agrees. It’s not the same, but it’s not worth fighting about either. Fujigaya starts to cry, whether the tears are sad or angry or frustrated, Yokoo doesn’t know. He lets Fujigaya hug him and cry himself out, but Yokoo doesn’t cry with him.

Eventually Fujigaya gets up to leave, and Yokoo thanks him again for visiting.

“It’ll be a while until I can come again,” Fujigaya says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. It doesn’t surprise Yokoo; it’s been weeks since he saw Miyata or Kitayama, and even Senga seems to have given up on him. Tamamori has refused to set foot in Yokoo’s apartment since the accident. “We’re starting up work again. I’m going to have a drama in the spring.”

That makes Yokoo smile a little. “Congratulations. I’ll definitely watch it.”

“Please come back?” Fujigaya asks, trying one more time. “Please just come and see everyone?”

“I’ll try,” Yokoo says. It’s what he always says, and they both know he won’t. The door shuts behind Fujigaya with a soft click, and Yokoo sighs quietly in relief. He flips off the television and sets the remote on the coffee table, then leans back and closes his eyes, listening carefully into the silence of the apartment.

“Are you here?” he asks. There’s a slight pressure against his shoulder, something that might be fingers brushing his uncut hair back from his jaw. Yokoo smiles.

At night, when Yokoo is curled up on his side of the bed, Nikaido crawls down from the end of the bed, where he usually sits, and settles against Yokoo’s back, one arm tight over Yokoo’s waist, rising and falling with his even breath.

“I’m right here,” he tells Yokoo, squeezing him as tightly as he can. Under his arm, Yokoo’s breath hitches. “I won’t leave you. We’re going to be together forever.”