Work Text:
Chapter 1
Morning in Tokyo arrived gently, filtered through thin cream-colored curtains that did little to block the light. The city did not wake all at once. It stirred. Pipes groaned in the walls. A train passed somewhere in the distance. Footsteps shuffled along the sidewalk below.
Ana Amamiya opened her eyes before her alarm rang.
She always did.
There was a weight at the edge of the room — not heavy, not pressing — just present. Like humidity before rain.
She lay still for a moment, listening.
The apartment was small. One main room with a narrow kitchenette along the wall. A sliding door that separated the bathroom. A low table. A futon folded neatly into the closet each morning. The kind of space meant for someone temporary.
She had lived there for two years after graduating from high school. Despite the protests from her Aunt, Ana had decided to get a job instead of going to college. It was more practical for her lifestyle.
The weight shifted closer to the window.
"I didn't mean to wake you," a voice said quietly.
Ana sat up.
Near the balcony door stood an elderly man in a wrinkled gray suit. His outline wavered slightly in the early light. His hands were clasped behind his back as if he were waiting for a train that had long since left.
"It's alright," she said.
Her voice carried no surprise. This had become normal.
She swung her legs over the side of the futon and stood, bare feet cool against the floor. She walked to the kitchenette first, turned on the kettle and measured tea leaves into a cup.
The old man watched her.
"I was looking for my wife," he said after a moment. "I must have taken the wrong stop."
Ana leaned lightly against the counter, watching the kettle slowly come to a boil instead of facing the spectre.
"You didn't take a train."
He frowned, thinking.
Memory came to the dead in fragments. Like glass reflecting light from different angles. They always wandered, trying to act out the last moments of their life, not quite remembering the last moments before slipping away.
Outside, the city brightened.
"You passed away yesterday," she said gently. "In your sleep." It was intrinsic, how the knowledge creeped into her thoughts. A gentle flash of images that told her who a person was and how they died when their spirit came to her. Impressions that she couldn't block out.
The old man stared at her, not afraid, but confused.
She had learned, over the years, that fear made things harder for spirits. He was lucky he had none.
"Your wife passed before you," she continued softly. "She's waiting."
Silence settled between them.
Then the faintest tremor passed through his form.
"Oh," he breathed. It wasn't grief. It was relief. A small wish finally granted.
Ana stepped closer. The air around her warmed, subtly. Not visible light. Not dramatic.
Just presence.
She reached up and placed her hand over his chest.
"Let go," she said.
The energy rose from her palm like a breath on winter glass — thin, golden, steady. It spread across his form, smoothing the distortion at the edges. The confusion drained first. Then the hesitation.
His outline sharpened. Became clearer. Younger.
"Thank you," he whispered.
And then he was gone.
The apartment felt lighter.
Ana poured her tea.
She left for work at eight in the evening. The streets were crowded but not chaotic yet. Office workers in pressed shirts. Students half-awake. Delivery trucks idling in side streets. All perfectly normal and no one looked at her twice.
That was the way she preferred it.
She worked at a small convenience store, a Family Mart close to her apartment, tucked between a laundromat and a narrow alley that smelled faintly of oil and rainwater. It was not glamorous work. She stocked shelves. Ran the register. Restocked cigarettes behind the counter. But it paid enough and it was easy.
Night was easy.
Less noise.
Fewer eyes.
Her manager, Sato, was in his late thirties and perpetually tired. He didn't ask many questions as long as she showed up on time.
"Thanks for covering tonight," he sighed as she walked inside.
"It's no problem." It was technically her day off, but more pay didn't hurt, especially since this was her only job at the moment. Sometimes she worked two jobs, during the height of tourist season to build more of a savings account, but it wasn't too crowded right now. The off season allowed her more time to just relax.
He nodded, already distracted.
Her coworkers rotated often. University students. Part-timers. She had learned not to grow too attached. That was just the life when you worked in the service industry.
Though there was one exception.
Mika worked the afternoon shift three days a week. She had soft brown hair and a habit of leaning her elbows on the counter when she talked. Their schedules often overlapped so the two of them had developed a work relationship. Mika was one of the few people she could consider a friend.
"You don't ever get lonely?" Mika had asked once, months ago.
Ana had considered it.
"I'm not usually alone."
Mika had laughed, assuming it was a joke.
Ana hadn't felt the need to correct her.
Her ability had begun the night her parents died. Before that she was a normal kid, hyperactive, a chatter box, innocent.
She had been eight.
There had been rain, a slick highway and headlights too bright against wet asphalt.
She remembered the hospital more clearly than the accident itself. The sterile smell. The fluorescent lights. Her aunt's trembling hands. She never saw her parent's bodies. Ana didn't understand why then, but as an adult, she knew it was likely because it wasn't a sight a child should see. So she had simply waited with her Aunt, confused and lost.
And then—
She remembered seeing them. Her mother came first, standing near a window and looking at her daughter, stricken. She looked like she did when she last saw them. Coming home from a trip with her father, on their way home to pick her up. But she didn't speak, just stared at her, a heartbroken look in her eyes.
Ana had not understood at the time what it really meant.
"Mom?" she had whispered.
Her aunt had stiffened, assuming grief had fractured something in her niece.
But her mother had smiled. Sad. Apologetic. And then her father appeared behind her, his hand hovering uncertainly near Ana's shoulder.
They had somehow known they were dead, but couldn't understand where they were or what was going on.
Children accepted the impossible more easily.
She had walked to her mother and taken her hand.
"It's okay," she had said.
She didn't know how she knew what to do. She only knew they looked tired. The light had come then — faint and warm — spreading from her small palm into theirs.
They smiled one last time and she saw a few tears in her mother's eyes. Then she faded gently. When she turned around for her father, he was gone as well.
Her aunt had watched, confused, not sure what was going on with her niece, but knowing something had happened. All she could do was close her eyes and cry again.
After that night, the world had never been empty again.
Growing up with her aunt had been quiet. Somber. She knew her aunt cared about her, but there was always a hole between them that neither could fix. While she had lost her parents, her aunt had lost a sister. On top of that, her aunt had a hard time accepting the stories her niece would come to her with. About the people she would point out in the apartment on occasion.
Her aunt did not fully understand what Ana could see, but she believed enough not to dismiss it. Perhaps she had always been a bit superstitious. It was hard to deny the presence of ghosts when even she felt the cold spots and saw faint forms at the edge of her vision.
Incense burned often in their small house. Salt at doorways. Protective charms hung discreetly near windows. In her own way her aunt was trying to protect her and sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. While her aunt couldn't see what she did, that didn't mean she didn't believe.
Ana learned early to keep her voice steady when speaking to what others could not see. To keep her gaze forward when she was in public. How to act normal when she constantly had an extra presence around her.
She learned to guide without spectacle.
But not all spirits were kind.
Some were confused, some angry, and a few—
A few were already slipping into something darker.
She had encountered her first curse at twelve. Not that she knew what it was at the time. She hadn't known about curses or sorcerers until over-hearing a conversation that hadn't been as quiet as the two students dressed in dark clothes thought it was. It was funny what you overheard in a convenience store when people thought you weren't listening.
The curse had not been human-shaped.
It had been swollen with resentment, crouched near a playground where a child had died years earlier. Its form was grotesque, human parts bent and bloated, more resembling a strange amalgamation between goat and human. It had lunged at her with a sound like tearing cloth.
And she panicked. Fell to the ground and crawled as her legs gave out. When it was almost on her and its too-many-teeth were about to tear into her, something shot out as she screamed. A bright gold energy had surged out and engulfed the curse like a raging inferno.
Her energy had protected her on reflex. That was what she called it now. Energy. What else could she call it?
When the light faded and she finally looked at where the curse had been she saw it…writhing. Fighting as it slowly came undone, pieces stripping apart like ribbons and disappearing into nothingness. And in the brief moment before it fully disappeared, the form of a small child had come into being, eyes closed like they were asleep. And then it was gone.
She had realized then that she could affect more than just the dead. That there was something even scarier than the ghosts that lingered around her. Curses formed from emotion left too long without release. That held on too strongly to their regrets and wants.
Spirits were what came before. That was what she knew with every fiber of her being. Somewhere at the point of endless wandering, spirits could either accept death or become so obsessed with their own death that they – transformed. Transformed into something worse.
So she had decided that if she helped enough spirits pass on, there would be less curses to torment the living, like she had experienced.
It became less of a gift and more of a responsibility.
After high school graduation, she had declined university. Her aunt had been worried. She didn't understand why a girl fresh out of high school would limit herself so.
"You're bright," she had said. "You could do anything."
"I know," Ana remembered replying gently. "But this is what I want. For now."
College meant dorms. Crowded spaces. Uncontrolled areas where many people could get hurt. That might look at her too long when she spoke to air. It was easier to not to put herself in that kind of environment.
Her ability had also grown stronger with age. It was easier to draw on the energy, easier to convince spirits to leave the world of the living behind. The energy also seemed to enhance her own strength, making her more durable. So much of her gift was instinctual. When she was put into a fight or flight reflex, the energy just–happened. A burst of speed to escape a fast curse followed by an inhumanly strong kick to gain some distance. These days having to get rid of a curse was more like a workout and not a fight for her life.
But as she was getting stronger, so was the attraction.
Stronger curses had begun drifting closer. It was like the stronger she got, the stronger the curses were that followed her at night. Something about her seemed to draw them in. And it was as annoying as it was helpful. If they came to her, they weren't targeting some innocent who couldn't fight back. And she could handle that.
But it also made her life lonely. It was safer to live alone. Safer to draw danger away from her aunt. She didn't want anyone to get in between a curse and its need to hunt her down.
The small apartment in Tokyo was not ideal, not for the proximity of normal people around her, but it was hers. It was a room with walls and a door that she could exterminate curses behind without prying eyes.
And if something followed her home—
It would not endanger anyone else. Not if she had anything to do with it.
By midnight, the sky was inky black and the city outside had slowed down a bit. It was still alive, still people walking the streets of Tokyo, but the amount had thinned dramatically.
Ana stood behind the register as the night shift settled in.
Near the refrigerated drinks, a woman lingered — mid-thirties, hair tied back, still wearing a train conductor's uniform. Her form flickered at the edges.
"I missed my stop," the woman whispered.
Ana nodded slightly.
"I know."
Outside, somewhere beyond the hum of traffic, something darker stirred. A curse, faint but curious. Drawn. Ana felt it brush the edge of her awareness like a distant ripple. A look out of the corner of her eyes and past the glass of the Family Mart and she instantly clocked the rippled form of a bulbous curse dragging itself over the sidewalk. It seemed confused as it looked for something.
She didn't tense or call for help. She just waited, like she always did. Eventually the curse would pick up her energy trail and follow it as she walked through the dark alleys. The Family Mart kept her safe enough for now. Salt lines she laid herself, and talismans she drew from internet guides, seemed to keep them from sensing her inside the shop. The curse would not find her yet.
And for now—
She went back to work.
Rain had passed through Tokyo earlier that evening, leaving the streets slick and shining beneath the city lights. Water gathered in shallow pools along the curb, reflecting the glow of vending machines and passing headlights in fractured color.
Ana returned home just before midnight.
Her apartment building was narrow and quiet, three stories of aging concrete tucked between taller structures. The hallway smelled faintly of damp fabric and old cooking oil. A flickering fluorescent light buzzed at the far end near the stairs.
She climbed slowly, keys already in hand.
But then there was a shift in the air before she reached her door.
Not inside. Outside. On the landing.
The temperature had dipped a few degrees — not enough for anyone else to notice. But Ana felt it settle against her shoulders like a damp coat. Cold air holding its breath.
She unlocked her door anyway. Routine first. Fear later.
Inside, the apartment felt still. Familiar. The faint scent of green tea from that morning lingered in the kitchenette. The curtains were drawn. The single overhead light cast soft shadows against the walls.
She shut the door behind her and locked it carefully.
The weight remained. Not pressing. Waiting.
She set her bag down near the low table and removed her shoes. Her movements were steady, unhurried. Panic fed things. She had learned that early. Curses were simple things that fed off fear.
Then she heard it. A sound from the hallway, not footsteps, but dragging, wet and slow.
Her gaze lifted toward the door. It had followed her. Not a wandering, new born curse. Not residual resentment. Something stronger. Something that was better at hiding.
She exhaled once, steadying her breath.
There had been signs earlier that week — disturbances further from the store, heavier distortions at the edge of her awareness. She had hoped they would remain distant. Hoped that whatever it was would not notice her presence.
Hope was rarely reliable.
The dragging sound stopped directly outside her door and the air thinned. A heavy stillness settled in the space between.
Her chest tightened faintly. Fear taking root no matter how many times she faced a curse. But it was controlled, put into a corner as she allowed rational thought and experience to take over.
She stepped closer to the entryway. There was no peephole in her door. The building was too old, the design not up to modern standards. It was why she chose it, less people to one building.
The wood creaked softly as something leaned against it from the other side.
The scent reached her then, rot, metallic and thick.
The first time she had encountered a curse this dense, she had been twelve and trembling. Now she simply felt… aware. Aware of her fear, aware of the curse, aware of the coming fight.
A low murmur seeped through the door.
Not words, but emotion. Resentment layered over resentment. Years of it. Fed. Something that had time to grow, that had likely killed people before, that had traveled far on her scent alone.
The wood of the door darkened slowly where something pressed against it. Not burning. Corrupting. Like ink spreading through paper. Shadows growing where there was no light to form them.
Ana stepped back. Her heart beat faster, but her breathing remained even.
"Not here," she said softly. The apartment was too small. Too many things to break. Too many things she'd have to try to explain away to her landlord when questions started coming.
The thing responded immediately.
A shriek split the hallway — high and distorted — and the door bowed inward under a sudden weight. Wood started to crack and splinter. Once, twice, and then the curse pushed through as the lock broke and the door slammed back.
It was not fully humanoid. Its limbs were elongated, joints bending wrong, fingers fused into talon-like masses of blackened flesh. Its torso bulged unevenly, as if too many bodies had tried to exist within the same skin.
Its face—
If it had once been human, that memory was long buried. There was a cavern of teeth with too many eyes. All unfocused until they were bulging, swirling in their sockets before finally focusing on her. It stilled, its form filling the doorway.
Ana did not retreat further into the apartment. Instead, she drew energy inward, letting it fill every inch of her flesh. Her skin prickled as warmth pooled beneath it, spreading along her bones, into her muscles. The air around her shimmered faintly, though no visible light formed.
The curse lunged, faster than the hallway had suggested it could, and crossed the apartment in a single warped motion, claws tearing through the air.
Ana stepped aside at the last second, the movement precise and controlled. Its talons sliced through the low table instead, wood splintering in a violent burst. The amount she would have to spend for a new one settled in the back of her mind like a checklist.
The apartment felt smaller now. Too small. The curses form took up most of the open space. It then turned, shrieking, mass distorting further the closer it came to her. The edges of its form blurred, destabilized — but not enough to collapse it entirely. A fact she found out over time. Curses sought her energy out, but the closer they got, the harder it was to keep their form.
But stronger curses adapted. Struggled harder to hold on to resentment and rot. This one pushed through the resistance and swiped again, fast and hard to escape in the confined room.
This time its claws grazed her shoulder and pain flared. It was sharp and hot, not deep enough to incapacitate her, thanks to the energy, but deep enough for blood to flow freely. The force behind the swipe caused her body to hit the wall hard enough to rattle the frame.
She inhaled through her teeth, steadying herself. Blood soaked into the fabric of her shirt, warm against her skin. The curse paused, watching, learning. It could feel her. Not as cursed energy, not as prey, not as a presence, but as an anomaly. An interference, something wrong, something it had to kill before it disappeared. A siren's call that made it angry.
Ana lifted her right hand and the warmth inside her shifted direction. She didn't think of destruction, but of release. The energy surged outward this time, not as a pulse but as a concentrated flow from her palm. The curse screamed as her hand connected with its torso.
Not because she burned it, but because she was unraveling it.
The resentment that held its form wavered. Threads snapped. Memories she did not want brushed against her mind — flashes of crowded trains, suffocation, betrayal, loneliness amplified until it became hunger.
She clenched her jaw and held steady.
"Let go," she whispered through gritted teeth.
The curse thrashed violently, claws gouging into the wall behind her. For a moment, she thought it might overpower the attempt to release it. To separate the curse energy from the soul beneath. But then something shifted.
Not within the curse. Within her.
Her energy deepened, expanded, and the apartment lights flickered. The curse convulsed, its mass collapsing inward like a structure losing support beams. Its scream dissolved into something almost human.
And then—
It disintegrated.
Not explosively. Not violently. It simply… ceased.
The room fell silent and Ana remained standing for several seconds, hand still outstretched, breathing shallow but controlled. The hallway beyond her ruined door was empty, no lingering residue, no secondary presence, only the faint hum of electricity returning to normal.
Her shoulder throbbed and blood pooled beneath her shirt.
The apartment was damaged — table destroyed, wall gouged, door splintered. All things she would have to pay to get repaired, try to fix before her landlord found out. She was grateful for her room being at the end of the hall and the apartment next to her being empty. Hopefully her downstairs neighbors had slept through most of the sounds of splintered wood.
She lowered her hand slowly.
This had not been random. The curse had tracked her and found her home.
Which meant something in the city was changing. The curse had been intelligent enough to know there was something getting rid of cursed energy. Intelligent enough to want to find it and get rid of it.
She pressed her fingers lightly against her wound, wincing at the sting.
Stronger curses were adapting, growing. And if one could follow her here, others might well follow.
She moved quietly to close what remained of her door.
The night air slipped inside, cool and damp through new cracks in the wood. For the first time in years, a thought surfaced uninvited. Maybe walking alone would not be enough anymore.
Morning came pale and thin through her curtains. Ana had slept little, not fully able to fall asleep and waking up soon after she did.
Not because she was afraid. But because the apartment no longer felt contained. Like it didn't provide the protection it once did.
The door hung crooked in its frame, wood split where the lock had torn free. She had pushed a small bookshelf against it in the early hours of the morning, out of a necessity of some form of enclosure. There was no lingering presence outside now. No distortion in the hallway. Only the faint murmur of a neighbor's television bleeding through thin walls.
The low table lay in fragments across the floor. Dust and splintered wood caught the early light. She would have to clean it up and find a replacement.
She sat on the edge of her futon, pressing a clean cloth against her shoulder. She had wrapped it loosely last night, and this morning she was cleaning it properly. The cut was shallow but long, an angry red line across her collarbone where the curse's claws had grazed her. It burned when she moved her arm. For now all she could do was disinfect it and wrap it in gauze again.
It could have been worse. She had been slower when she was younger. If a curse that strong found her back then…
The kettle whistled softly from the kitchenette.
She rose carefully, the motion measured. Every step reminded her that she was still entirely human. Her body did not regenerate on its own. Her bones did not mend overnight. Pain lingered honestly. She had tried turning her energy to heal her own body last night, and though it seemed to want to mend the flesh, it was slow. It took concentration. Energy she didn't have then. So she had decided to put it off until she was fully rested.
She still wasn't.
She poured hot water into her cup and let the steam rise against her face. The apartment felt lighter. Not quite safe, but clear. No intruding presence.
That was the difference.
She moved through the room slowly, collecting broken pieces of wood and setting them into a small pile. The wall would need patching. The landlord would not be pleased. She rehearsed explanations in her mind—accident, heavy furniture, something clumsy and mundane.
Mundane was always easier.
As she swept the debris into a trash bag, she paused near the doorway. The hallway beyond was empty, but the air still remembered. Echoes reverberated in her mind. She stepped out briefly, barefoot against cool concrete. The corridor light flickered faintly overhead. A faint discoloration marked the floorboards where the curse had dragged itself forward.
No one else had seemed to notice. That was how it had always been. It was easy for people to file away little inconsistencies and make them fit into their own reality. It was a blessing in disguise that most people in Tokyo were so willing to mind their own business.
She returned inside and slid the door closed as best she could.
Her phone buzzed lightly on the counter.
A message from her aunt.
Did you sleep well?
Ana stared at the screen for a moment before replying.
Yes. Work was quiet.
She did not mention the broken door. Or the blood.
Her aunt had aged enough already.
After her parents died, her aunt had become something fragile and determined all at once. Protective in small ways. Extra locks on windows. Salt tucked into corners of rooms. The quiet, unspoken agreement that they would not discuss everything Ana saw—but they both knew it was there.
Living alone has been easier. Safer. She wouldn't put her Aunt through this.
She glanced at the clock.
8:12 a.m.
She had the late shift again.
Plenty of time to clean.
She washed the blood from her shirt carefully in the sink, watching pink water spiral down the drain. Her energy felt slightly depleted—like muscles used too long without rest. She drew a slow breath and let it settle.
There was something different this morning. Not external. Internal. Unease. The curse had adapted. It had not dissolved as easily as the smaller ones. It had resisted longer. Pushed through her attempt to unravel it before finally releasing resentment.
They were learning. Or something was guiding them.
She pressed her palm flat against the counter and closed her eyes briefly.
"I can handle it," she murmured to the empty room.
She had always handled it. When her parents had stood in the hospital light, confused and newly dead. When the playground curse had lunged at her at twelve. When she left her aunt's house with two suitcases and a polite smile, pretending independence was the only reason.
She opened her eyes.
The apartment was still small. Still hers. The broken door leaned slightly inward. Her shoulder throbbed again as she lifted the trash bag. She would call a repair service after work. She would keep night shifts. She would remain careful.
Outside, the city moved as usual. Trains rattled past. Office workers hurried down sidewalks. Somewhere, a child laughed too loudly.
And Ana prepared for another day.
It was close to midnight when the store settled into its familiar rhythm of silence.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a thin mechanical sound that blended with the distant rush of passing cars. Outside, the summer air clung to the pavement, still warm from the day's heat. The glass doors reflected the empty parking lot back at itself, an artificial symmetry broken only by the occasional moth flinging itself against the light.
Ana stood behind the counter with a pricing gun in her hand, relabeling discounted rice balls that would expire by morning. The routine steadied her. Numbers. Dates. Small, ordinary tasks.
Near the magazine rack, a boy in a school uniform stood staring at the floor.
He had been there for nearly twenty minutes.
His tie was loose. One shoe was missing. His outline faint at the edges, as if the world hadn't fully decided to keep him.
"I dropped it somewhere," he murmured again, voice thin and distant. "My phone. I have to call her."
Ana didn't look up immediately. It was easier that way.
"You won't need it," she said softly, pressing another sticker into place.
He shifted. Confused. Not ready yet.
The automatic doors slid open with a gentle chime. And the air changed. Not colder. Not heavier. Just… aware.
Ana lifted her head.
A tall man stepped inside, unhurried. White hair catching the fluorescent light. A black blindfold wrapped neatly across his eyes. He wore dark clothing that should have made him blend into the dim interior, but he did not blend.
He paused just beyond the threshold.
The boy near the magazines went silent.
Ana felt it then — the way space seemed to bend inward toward him. Not oppressive. Not malicious. Just immense. Like standing too close to the ocean at night, unable to see the horizon but knowing it was there.
He tilted his head slightly.
Toward her.
Even with the blindfold, she knew.
He was not looking at the shelves. Not at the exit signs. Not at the rows of drinks humming in their refrigerated cases.
He was looking at her.
Her fingers stilled around the pricing gun.
He walked down the snack aisle without hurry, picking up items without seeming to examine them. Chips. Candy. Something sweet. The casual movements of a man who had never needed to rush for anything in his life. But it was like he was still looking at her, even when his back was turned.
Ana became acutely aware of the space around her body. Of the ghost beside her. Of the way the boy's form seemed to thin the closer the man came. He stopped just beside the counter, carrying his small haul.
"Do you work here often?"
His voice was light. Curious.
She looked up slowly.
"Excuse me?"
He hummed as though amused by her response, face never once moving to look away. His focus was intense and it sent shivers down her spine.
The ghost had drifted closer to her shoulder now, unsettled by something it did not understand.
The man laughed softly and set his items down one by one.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sound felt too loud.
"You don't have cursed energy," he said, conversationally, as though commenting on the weather. Like it was a normal conversation to have with a stranger you've never met.
She met his covered gaze.
"I don't know what that is."
It wasn't entirely a lie. She knew what curses were. She knew what their energy felt like. Sometimes she felt it from a few customers, but they never seemed to notice her.
His smile deepened.
"And yet," he continued softly, leaning his weight against the counter, "there's something more to you. No matter how hard I look, I can't find an end. I didn't notice you until I physically laid my eyes on you." He was still staring at her, she could feel it, even though she couldn't see his eyes. He lifted a hand and tapped the side of his brow with a finger. "What I want to know is how you hid from me for so long."
Her pulse shifted — not racing, but tightening.
Up close, the distortion around him was clearer. Space seemed to hesitate around his shoulders, like fabric pulled too taut. The air vibrated faintly. She became aware of something else too; her own energy stirring. Not in defense, but in response. It vibrated around her as if searching for something to grab on to. She tried not to flinch when she felt his focus intensify, as if he could see the way her energy reached out experimentally.
He straightened slowly and she saw his fingers curl on the counter.
"What's your name?"
"Ana," she said after a moment. "Amamiya."
He repeated it once, testing the shape of it.
"Ana Amamiya."
Almost as if he was committing it to memory.
He paid in cash. Exact change. When he turned toward the door, he paused just slightly.
"I'll be seeing you again."
Not flirtation. Not a threat. But with certainty.
The doors slid open. The bell chimed. The pressure lifted. And then he was gone.
The ghost near her shoulder whispered, "Who was that?"
Ana watched the empty doorway long after he had gone.
"I don't know," she said.
But she had the distinct feeling that something had just begun.
Two nights later, the air carried the scent of rain that never came.
It was earlier this time. Just past ten.
Ana was restocking bottled tea when she felt it again — that subtle tightening of space, like a thread pulled taut across the room.
The doors opened and he stepped inside.
No hurry. No change in expression. As though returning to a place he already owned. A pleased smile on his face.
"Hello again," she said quietly from behind the refrigerator door, not looking at him as she focused on her task.
"Hello Amamiya-chan," he replied lightly. He didn't even bother moving around to grab a few things to buy. He just walked over to where she was stocking the product and leaned against a closed refrigerator door to watch her. She tried to keep her heartbeat steady.
He made her nervous. Glancing at him, she noticed he had his hands in his pockets and a goofy smile on his face. She could still feel him watching her despite the blindfold.
"Did you need help finding something?" He hadn't explained why he was here yet, so she fell back into the routine of her job.
He hummed but didn't answer. And he was still just watching her. Ana's brows furrowed in slight irritation despite her fast heartbeat. Then she saw his eyebrows lift and he laughed.
"Oh! You distracted me so much I forgot to introduce myself!" She didn't understand how she was distracting him, but he put his hand out for a handshake anyway. "Gojo Satoru. But you can just call me Satoru. Better yet, call me Satoru-kun."
Ana glanced down at the hand and then back at him. She had a confused look on her face but didn't want to be rude. She brushed loose brown hair behind her ear before reaching out to grab it. "Nice to meet you…Satoru-kun."
The minute her skin made contact with his own warm, calloused hands, she let out a gasp as he tightened it before tugging her closer. The blindfold on his face stared ominously as he leaned over her. The grin was back and a breathy laugh left him.
"Why is it the longer I look at you, the prettier you get?"
A blush grew on Ana's face and she felt trapped as he tugged at his blindfold to let it sit around his neck. His eyes were a vibrant blue and they seemed to glow as they roamed her face. It was like he was trying to commit every facet of her appearance to memory. They stopped briefly at her lips before rising back up to her own green eyes.
His eyes never left her own as the hand holding hers drifted to her wrist, his thumb brushing against her pulse point.
She had never felt more like prey than in that moment. Even the curses she felt had never made her feel so pinned in place. It felt like her heart was going to race out of her chest.
"S-Satoru-kun–this is, um, inappropriate." The blush wouldn't go away, she could feel its heat traveling up her ears and down her neck. His hand was like a vice around her wrist as his thumb pressed lightly against her pulse point.
His eyes drifted down to her lips again and he murmured, more to himself than her. "Maybe I should just kidnap you."
To her great relief, something stirred across the street.
Ana noticed it before he did — or perhaps he noticed and chose not to react. A distortion along the edge of the sidewalk. Thick. Hungry. Watching. She saw his eyes narrow and turn deadly before sliding over to look out of the glass windows.
A curse.
Stronger than the usual drifting resentment she encountered.
It lingered at the curb. Waiting. Unsure if it wanted to move closer or run away. When Ana tried to tug her arm free, Satoru's gaze shifted back to her. "Let me take care of that for you. I'll be right back, princess."
He let go of her hand and disappeared. When she looked outside to where she felt the air thicken, he was across the street and standing right behind the curse. He looked back at her with his blue eyes and smiled. And then before she could process it, the curse was cleaved in two. It didn't even have a chance to scream before it exploded into a burst of blood.
She blinked and Satoru was back in front of her, a bit of the splatter covering his cheek, red and stark against his pale skin. His blue eyes were still only looking at her. Like a weight holding her down. "Have they been bothering you, Ana-chan?"
He hadn't grabbed her yet, but his presence was too close. Like he wanted to fold himself inside of her.
She was overwhelmed. Curses were one thing, but this man, this–monster of pure presence–made it hard for her to think. She took a steadying breath and stepped back for space. His eyes tracked every movement. But he didn't try to reclaim it. She grabbed the wrist he was holding a few moments ago and held it closer to her body.
His eyes tracked that movement too, lingering on it before dragging up her body and looking back at her face. Satoru closed his eyes and she both saw and heard him take a slow breath. It sounded shaky before steading out. When he opened his eyes again a smile rose on his lips. The dangerous glint in his eyes was gone and the pressure she felt before was lighter.
He lifted the blindfold and settled it over his eyes, leaving one to peak out as he spoke to her. "Don't worry, I'll take care of them all. Have a nice night, princess."
He hesitated as he stared. His one visible eye lowered as he mapped her face again, setting for a second on her lips before he finally lowered the blindfold all the way. His hands slid back into his pockets. "Don't get into trouble while I'm away. Alright? I'll get mad." There was a dramatic pout on his face as he tried to act cute.
Ana opened her mouth, unsure what to say. She closed it again and shook her head. "That's…it's not exactly something I can control."
In her mind she was wishing he would go away. His intense focus filled her with unease. She felt like a mouse cornered in his presence. The less she had to be around him, the better.
He hummed and she thought he'd continue staring at her. But then he pinched his nose and lowered his head. "You're going to be trouble for me." He straightened and walked into her space again, reaching into her apron pocket to grab her phone before she could react. His smile was bright. "Unlock it for me, princess. I'm going to need some way to keep track of you."
The audacity.
She grabbed it and glared at him, but didn't want to find out what he would do if she didn't. "Stop calling me princess." She set her thumb on the scanner and as soon as it unlocked it was taken from her.
"Hey!" Satoru quickly sent a message to his own phone. He paused and then took a picture of her, a giggle building in his throat as he sent that to himself too. "That's–hey!" He ignored her grabbing hands and held the phone at an angle above himself. He then pulled her against his body and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her face flushed red again and she didn't have time to process the move before she felt a pair of lips pressed to her temple and the sound of the camera clicking.
Indignant, Ana tried to remove herself from his hold and reach for her phone at the same time. "Satoruuu!"
He giggled loudly as he sent the new picture to himself with one hand, conveniently still out of her reach. Damn him for being freakishly tall.
"Give me my phone! Or I'll block your number!" That got his attention and he frowned. His blindfold stared back down at her and his frown turned into a pout.
"So mean." But he finally handed her phone back over. His arm was still around her waist. He didn't seem to want to let go.
"Satoru. Let go. I have work to do." He groaned childishly before grabbing Ana with both arms and folding her into his chest. He buried his nose in her neck and she thought she heard him take in a large sniff. His lips were pressed against her skin and Ana shivered when he let out a breathy moan as his arms tightened.
"Satoru…let go."
She could feel his heart pounding and the tenseness in his muscles. She was getting manhandled by a man she hardly knew. Now if only her own heart would stop beating out of her chest.
"No." His arms were like vices and his husky voice felt like a growl against her skin.
"S-Satoru–"
She heard a phone ring and Satoru's hands gripped tighter before he released her with a curse.
"Fuck. What the hell do they want now?" He whipped his phone out of his pocket and answered with a glare. Or what she thought felt like a glare. "What?"
Ana took the chance given to her and made her way back behind the counter. She felt Satoru's eyes follow her as he had a conversion in clipped tones.
"Yeah. Whatever."
"Have someone else do it."
"You're pissing me off."
"Fine."
The call ended and she watched him glare down at his phone as if he could kill it with a look alone. Then his focus was back on her and she glared back, her energy coiling inside her body. He pouted.
"Ana-chan! You're hurting my feelings, looking like you want to kill me!" He paused and then reconsidered. "Actually, it's kind of exciting. On second thought, keep looking at me like that. Your angry face is cute too!"
Ana glared harder. She saw him shiver.
"Yeah." It was breathy. "I need to go. Or I might really kidnap you."
Satoru seemed to mentally shake himself and he waved once before disappearing. The air tightened and then released. When she could no longer sense his presence Ana finally relaxed. Her nerves came back full force and her hands shook.
She was going to have to quit her job. And get a new number. Maybe a new phone. She thought curses were the only monsters she would have to worry about. But it seemed like there was a new one hunting her.
And she didn't know how to fight it.