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Keigo died.
Keigo died so long ago that he couldn't remember when he was still alive — couldn't remember the heat of the sun on his skin or the taste of candies on his tongue. He could only guess how cat fur would feel under his fingertips or the smell of freshly baked bread. He couldn't remember the name of the city he died in, couldn't remember the sound of his mother's voice or what his father's name was.
Keigo could only remember how he died — strangled by the same father after one or ten whiskey glasses too many. He died as he desperately tried to fill his small lungs with oxygen, his heart fluttering against his ribcage like a cornered rabbit. He died looking in the blank stare of his father who had never seen him for who he was (his son, Keigo, a child).
Keigo had dreams — or thought he had some, as any child would. So Keigo stayed where he died, trying to remember what he wanted to do with his life (and now with his death).
He stayed in this small and ugly flat, overlooking how his parents dealt with his death. His mother just sighed before trying to chop off his arms and legs and push the rest of his body in a trash bag — his father sleeping soundly on the sofa next to his corpse.
He watched as he killed her a fortnight later, his fists heavy against her pale skin and her red blood (so red) against the ground's grime. She didn't stay with Keigo — he never saw her ghost even while he looked around the neighbourhood. One day she was there (alive), the next she wasn't (dead).
But Keigo stayed and saw how his father didn't last long without his wife and child to deal with his urges (of alcohol, of violence, of sex). One night he didn't come home and Keigo was the only one left in this small flat on the third floor.
Keigo watched other people live, laugh and cry in this apartment — a family of four, then a couple with a dog, one elderly with two grandkids and a small woman who couldn't speak Japanese. He watched as they came and went, never staying long. Most of them would nag the owner about how cold the flat would get at the time, but in the end, they all left and Keigo stayed.
Keigo could do nothing but watch over the people living in the flat — it was difficult to go outside, and he could never go far until he felt a sharp tug in his chest.
So, he stayed and watched.
One day a lanky teen dragged themselves inside, his features blurry by the number of burns on his skin and how dirty he was. He didn't have a bag with him — only the filthy clothes on his back. As soon as he closed the door, he fell asleep against it. It was the first time someone as close to Keigo's age would stay in the flat (he was maybe two or three years older than Keigo).
He tried to touch him but, as usual, his hands phased right through him. Keigo didn't know why he tried, he knew what would happen (what happened every time)(even if sometimes he forgot). His memory was blotchy at best. But as the weeks went by, Keigo remembered the new teen day after day.
Somewhere in the back of his head, Keigo realized that the teen wasn't supposed to be here. He never called the owner (and Keigo hadn't seen the owner since ... a long time. Maybe he was as dead as him?), and usually only left the flat for a short amount of time, in the middle of the night, with a hood over his head and a mask on his face.
Keigo took the time to look over his new tenant. He was much taller than Keigo (wasn't difficult), but nearly as thin as him (which was worrying). He also had white hair that soon turned as black as soot. The burns on his face and hands never disappeared and Keigo learned that they went further under the clothes the one time he tried to look over the teen in the bathroom. Also, the teen had the most beautiful turquoise eyes and had a lot of nightmares, screaming in his sleep and waking up panting. Keigo tried to help, to no avail, his hands as inconsequential as usual.
For the first time, Keigo wanted to be useful and didn't know-how.
He tried everything — touching objects was useless, trying to directly touch the teen as well. Sometimes, when he stood directly on a live wire, electricity would splutter but never for long.
The teen didn't have any radio or television Keigo could try to mess with (he didn't even know if it could work). The only thing that Keigo did that seemed to get a reaction from the teen was touching (phasing) against his burns. After a moment, the teen (more often than not) sighed from relief and, if Keigo stayed too long touching (phasing), he would start shivering.
Time continued on and Keigo felt (somewhat) useful.
The teen got better, his burns healing (but never disappearing) with the occurrence of new shining staples all over his body, clothes less dirty than before. One day he even brought a small blonde girl with pigtails and sharp teeth over.
Keigo hung around Dabi shoulders, the tip of his fingers brushing against his shoulders. He looked at the new arrival with suspicion (and maybe a bit of jealousy).
Keigo moved around, trying to touch the weird thing she did with her hair, when she suddenly jumped, screaming bloody murder.
— Dabi, why is it so cold here? she whined like the kid she was.
Keigo smiled while learning a new tidbit of information (the teen name was Dabi!) while he sunk closer to the young girl who shuddered once again.
— Is it really that cold? Dabi asked.
— Yes it is! she tried to say against her shattering teeth.
— The cold never bothered me anyway.
Dabi shrugged, nonchalant, never lifting himself from the sofa to get closer to the kid. Keigo came closer to the young girl, phasing his hands through hers, trying to follow her erratic moves and never leaving her skin. Soon, he saw some blotching and red spots coming to life, her screech louder than ever.
— Look! Look! I'm getting freeze burns all over my hands!!
— You're way too dramatic.
— Dabi, really, look!
She insisted as she pushed forward her hands under his nose. Keigo followed but decided to lift his ghostly fingertips to brush against Dabi's burns against his collarbone. He felt his dead heart filling up with heat when he heard the small (nearly silent) sigh of the teen as he touched him. However, the small blonde's waving hand quickly diverted his attention.
— Do you want me to kiss your boo-boo away? Dabi asked with an ugly grin, his staples straining his skin.
— Ew no!
She quickly got her hand away from Dabi, before darting a pink tongue against her skin. She grimaced, her small nose scrunched over and her brows pulled in a frown.
— It tastes like frozen meat, not yummy at all.
Keigo wondered why she tried to lick her burns, but his attention was stolen by the laughing huff Dabi produced against his teeth. It was small and nearly silent (like most of the teen's expressions), but Keigo heard it loud and clear.
He wanted to hear more of it.
Every day, all days.
Keigo went back to the young girl to see if any more burns would made Dabi's laugh again. Once again, he touched (phased through) her and after a time, new red spots appeared, the skin pealing from her hand, making her squeal (of fear or joy, Keigo didn't know).
He felt Dabi coming closer, suddenly more interested, so Keigo continued on. As the red intensified and the skin cracked like the plates his mother used to smash against the walls, the blonde started to whine. But Keigo didn't stop, fascinated. Soon her hand took a darker shade, the cells dying under his touch, the skin blackened by the gangrene he created.
Keigo laughed under his breath — nearly drunk on what he could do to her. As he tightened his hold on her wrist, Dabi took her hand away from him.
— Shit, it's not supposed to get that cold here
— Dabi, it hurts.
The blonde whined loudly as Dabi swore under his breath. Keigo didn't understand — why wasn't Dabi laughing like before? Now Dabi was leaving and taking the girl away into the bathroom (where Keigo couldn't follow).
What did he do wrong, Keigo wondered, utterly lost. Anger and sadness crawled against his ribs as he followed them until the door closed on his face. Keigo didn't know if he could go in (something, somewhere, telling him he didn't have access to this room, the echo of a mother's voice).
He could hear their voice (her screech and giggles accompanied by Dabi's low tone) against the bathroom's tiles but didn't know what was said. Keigo stayed in front of the door, his hand barely touching (phasing through) the handle for so long. He didn't realize when they left the room, phasing through him and badly shivering for the blonde, and then leaving the flat altogether.
And then, Keigo forgot.
He came back weeks later, a deep breath on his lips and his eyes wide-opens. He looked over Dabi who seemed ... different, older — sharper. He stayed less in the flat — going somewhere where Keigo couldn't follow, just like with the bathroom. He started to go out by day, and stay outside by night. And Keigo was once again all alone.
Until he wasn't.
Dabi brought back more friends to his flat, friends Keigo didn't like. They were loud and when they were here, Dabi didn't seem to notice the feather-like frozen touch Keigo gave him.
Since the blonde girl visit, he knew Dabi could feel him more precisely. Every brush of his fingertips against Dabi's burns brought sighs, especially after a night of nightmares. Keigo learned to remember how to not startle Dabi and help him relax his shoulders after a really bad night. Keigo learned to notice when he came back to the flat stressed or nearly drunkenly joyous, a sharp smile tugging on his staples and his blue eyes burning.
But today (tonight), Dabi seemed oblivious to any touch Keigo tried to give him — no shivers, no sighs, only cold indifference as he talked to a blonde guy with a huge facial scar and another with white hair and cracked skin (just like how the girl skin had cracked under his fingertips).
— Toga was right, it's cold as hell here.
— You get used to it.
Dabi shrugged, his arms draped against the back of the sofa that came with the flat. An old thing, with light green cushions that looked grey and used in the room's artificial light. A sofa where Keigo remembered sleeping when he was young (and maybe where he died). The blonde guy, half a mask pulled on his face, asked chopped up questions, his hands moving with every sentence, and his eyes following every shadow.
— I don't think I would ever get used to– Why are you living here?
— The rent is cheap.
— There's no rent you mean.
— Yes, thus it's cheap.
Dabi laughed as the other two grumbled under their breath, rubbing their arms quietly. Keigo frowned, looking at the intruders. He got closer, every step making them shudder a bit more, a thin layer of frost slowly crawling on the nearest window.
— Are you sure your AC is not broken?
— Does it look like I have an air conditioning system?
The blonde shrugged before looking over his shoulder right through Keigo. Keigo waved at him before draping his body on his back, his arms against his neck and his breath near his ear. He didn't want him in Dabi's and his flat. He didn't want his friend as well. The blonde shrieked loudly (so loud that Keigo nearly released him) while frantically looking around. Keigo could feel his heart flutters and his lips turning blue, his shoulders and back's skin slowly crackling from his touch. He tried to warn his friends with his shattering teeth and frozen lips,
— Dabi! Cold!
— Yeah, I know my flat is cold, no need to tell me every three seconds.
— No, no, nonononono. It's colder! Way way way way Colder!
Both Dabi and his white-haired guest turned around to look at the panicking blonde, large red blotch appearing around his neck, his whole frame visibly shuddering against the cold. His usual weird speech patterns became more and more troubled and difficult to follow by the minute.
Keigo never left his side, touching as much as he could, feeling simmering energy overflowing his sense. He clung to his back until Dabi and the other forcefully dragged their friend to the bathroom (where Keigo couldn't follow)(once again).
He looked over the three humans as they tried to kickstart the showerhead and undressed the blonde. Keigo rejoiced in the gasps he heard when they looked over the back — blackened and cracked where before there was smooth pale skin. He giggled under his breath, a smile so big that he felt it would tear his face apart.
Keigo, for the first time maybe, felt overjoyed.
Keigo, for the first time maybe, felt the strength of Dabi's eyes on him.
When he looked back, their eyes crossed and Keigo knew that Dabi didn't look through him like before — he knew, he knew, he knew. Something was different. Before Keigo could say something (anything), the white-haired guy asked for Dabi attention. As these turquoise eyes left him, Keigo wanted to curl up into a ball and cry until they all left the flat. He didn't want them here (except Dabi, he always wanted him by his side).
Time passed, and then Keigo forgot.
Keigo came back hours later when he heard the front door closing. He looked up to see Dabi, by himself, taking off his boots in the entryway. He fluttered closer, before stopping as blue (blue) eyes pined him.
— You're there, isn't it?
Keigo startled, looking behind him to see to who Dabi was talking. As he saw nothing but the same old flat (same old sofa, same old kitchenette), Keigo turned back to face Dabi whose eyes never left him. He raised a hand, before waving shyly to the human.
— You can see me?
Keigo asked happily, coming closer to Dabi. He tried to touch one of his burns before the teen forcefully withdraw his arm, brow furrowed and a scowl on his face.
— What are you, he asked still frowning.
— I'm Keigo!
Dabi ignored his answer, his eyes still looking in his general direction, but never directly in Keigo's amber eyes. It was like he could only see the bare silhouette of Keigo, a shadow — a play of light and fog. Keigo tried once again to come closer, and Dabi took a step back, pressing himself against the door.
— Don't touch me. Now, answer me, what are you?
Keigo nearly whined, tears clouding his eyes and his lips shivering. He didn't know what Dabi wanted more from him — he wasn't a what, he was Keigo! And Keigo wanted to touch him, to feel the proximity of their skin and the heat of living coming from Dabi.
— I'm Keigo! I've always been Keigo, he cried loudly. I don't understand, I won't hurt you Dabi! Lemme come closer, please.
Dabi shook his head, raising a hand against his ear, but his eyes never leaving Keigo frozen in the middle of the flat, his breath short and loud gasps escaping his mouth as he tried to get his crying under control. He didn't want Dabi to look at him like that, with a mix of anger and fear hidden behind false bravado. He wanted Dabi to look at him with the soft eyes he sometimes gave a picture hidden in the pocket of his jacket (a picture of four children, with white and red hair and big smiles on their faces). He wanted to go back to the time Dabi didn't know he was there but still accepted his touches and presence.
— I can't understand you, Dabi started to say. I don't. It sounds like gibberish but ... stop crying? if you're crying. I think you are.
Dabi looked away as Keigo tried to stop sobbing, hands wiping his tears from his cheeks. He mumbled a dozen of sorry for Dabi (not that the teen could hear those), as he came closer, crawling. The tip of his thumb and index grabbed the end of Dabi's trousers, frosting the leather immediately.
Dabi crouched in front of him, turquoise eyes trying to focus on something they couldn't really perceive.
— You've been here before, right?
Keigo opened his mouth to answer (always answers with words, Keigo) but changed his mind and only nodded to the teen. Dabi sighed, his hands patting his jacket to find a cig and lighter. As he exhaled the smoke, he looked over the form of Keigo, still curled up on the ground.
— Why are you ... Dabi began to ask before clicking his tongue against his teeth. Only yes or no questions for you. Are you ... Have you hurt Jin and Toga?
Keigo looked fearfully in his eyes, not knowing what answer he should give — what the teen expected from him. His hands twitched nervously as he nodded once again, guessing that Jin was the name of the blonde guy and Toga of the pig-tails girl.
— ... Right ... Can't ask you why. Are you an evil spirit?
Keigo shook his head this time, to get his point across. He wasn't evil (well, he didn't think he was). He hadn't hurt any of his tenants before, and this time it was only because Dabi was special. He was so special that Keigo wanted his attention only on him (and his friends were in the way).
— Will you hurt me?
— No! Keigo shouted as he stood up with a jolt.
Dabi recoiled and Keigo whimpered, afraid that the teen would bolt out of the flat. Dabi stayed, pulling on his smoke to calm his frayed nerves.
— I take this as a no, he whispered.
— I haven't– I won't hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. Dabi! You have to believe me.
Keigo continued on, even if the teen couldn't hear what was said. He couldn't deal with the fact that Dabi thought he could (ever) hurt him. He only wanted to help him (and to be closer). He didn't even know why his touch had this effect on Jin and Toga, only that it never hurt Dabi that way.
— Alright, I think I get it, Dabi tried to placate him.
He finally got up, dragging his body to the sofa in the middle of the room, where he laid like a corpse, his cig still burning between his charred lips. Keigo felt the panic recede, the tears dry and his cheeks hurting. Like a curious sparrow, he hopped on the back of the sofa, looking at Dabi who had put an arm on his eyes and seemed to think deeply (or had fallen asleep)(he could also be dead).
— You're really creepy, you know?
One blue eye peeked from under the arm, pining Keigo like a hundred needles. Keigo frowned, cheeks and wings puffed in indignation.
— I'm not! he childly retorted.
— Whatever you say, can't understand you.
Keigo whined lowly and tried to poke Dabi on his arm with a vengeful finger. The teen startled, getting up from the sofa, with the air of a sudden realization painted on his stapled face.
— It was you.
Keigo trilled from happiness, a big smile on his lips and shiny eyes. He hopped on Dabi, draping himself all over his clothed body. The teen stiffened up at first, his shoulders and neck tense before slowly relaxing, bit by bit. He finished his cig, crushing the burning end against the floor without remorse and sighing loudly, resigning himself.
Everything was good.
Time passed and Keigo got used to Dabi knowing he somewhat existed (even if he could only guess where he was most of the time).
Dabi never brought back his friends to the flat, and Keigo couldn't have been more happier. But Dabi spent even less time with Keigo than before, always outside of the flat, days in and days out. Keigo tried to ask for the teen to stay, but Dabi ignored him (or didn't understand what Keigo wanted).
Then, one night, Dabi brought back someone.
It wasn't one of his friends, Keigo was sure of it because Dabi never kissed them like he kissed the pretty brunette against the door.
Keigo never felt as angry as now — not even when his father killed him, not even when he watched his mother butcher him, not even when his mother decided to go on and leave him utterly alone.
Keigo never felt as hungry as now — his stomach tying into knots and his throat parched. His hands shook as his eyes filled with a desire to ripe — the talons at the end of his fingertips sharper than ever. He could feel the pinprick of his feathers against his back, digging in his inexistent flesh as he tried to breathe calmly through his nose.
Keigo flew at Dabi's companion, screeching so loudly that the teens stopped their make-out session. He phased through Dabi to attack the brunet, his fingers gripping her throat and talons digging under her flesh. Blood sprayed from her wound, hitting Dabi's face and Keigo continued to dig in her carotid with his teeth. Under his lips he could already feel her flesh crack and burn, blood frozen and skin blackened by his hate.
He didn't stop until he felt a hand on his shoulder (he shouldn't feel a hand on his shoulder, he was dead).
Keigo let the body drop onto the floor and turned around to look into the wide (if a bit dazed) turquoise eyes of Dabi.
Keigo felt taller. He also felt more solid — denser, less like a light smoke and more like a heavy fog on a winter day. As he grabbed Dabi by his face Keigo smiled, his mouth full of sharp teeth,
— Mine, he sighed against his lips.
— Wha–
Dabi tried to shook his head, threatened by Keigo's talons digging in his burned cheeks. Keigo felt the life force of his victim slowly disappearing, curling solidly in the back of his stomach, thrumming with vitality.
— You're mine, Dabi, Keigo growled, you've always been and you'll always be. Mine.
And then, everything was good.
And Keigo f o r g o t.