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13th February 2022, 11.43 p.m.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Keiji mutters to himself.
He looks to the left, the right, one quick glance over the shoulder, and then back towards the roads intersecting in front of him. He’s all alone.
“Ridiculous.”
His hands, wrapped around a small wooden box, tremble as he slowly makes his way to the centre of the crossroads. With each step he takes he hears the faint sound of the contents of the box rattling against each other. But in the dead of night, far away from the turbulent and noisy city life, in the middle of nowhere, with only the calls of the cicadas ringing in his ears, the sound of bones hollowly bumping together appears so much louder than necessary. He pushes the image of himself digging up someone else’s beloved pet from its final resting place away.
He kneels to the ground and carefully sets the box down before he digs a small hole with his bare hands. There’s already so much dirt stuck beneath his fingernails from his previous endeavour that a bit more won’t matter.
(At least not until he is back home, watching the hot water from the shower run over his torso and legs, removing all the grime from his body before pooling at the bottom of his bathtub in a disgusting greenish-brownish colour, reminding him that yes, he really did all that fucked up shit. But maybe, if everything goes according to plan, he will be too cheery to think about that.)
He fishes a crumpled-up photo of himself from his pocket. He has tried not to look at it all day long, but now he catches a glimpse of a much younger Keiji staring right back at him, without glasses and frown, instead smiling from ear to ear with the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium behind him. He can’t remember when the photo was taken. He doesn’t remember the last time there was an occasion to smile that brightly.
He scoffs and unceremoniously shoves the picture into the box, right on top of the graveyard dirt and cat bones, and then seals and buries it. He’s not sure what to do next. Part of him hopes that nothing will happen. That he will get back to his car, drive home, have a glass of wine, maybe two to wash away the guilt of having become a grave robber, and then fall asleep. That one day, years ahead, he will look back on that one time he spent an ungodly (ha, ungodly) amount of time researching the occult and made a fool of himself.
“Akaashi Keiji.”
A shiver runs down his spine.
“Can’t say I’m surprised, although I’m a bit disappointed.”
Keiji slowly lifts his head to stare at the man towering over him. His gaze flies over the worn-out sneakers and dark jeans to the less than seasonally appropriate, not even fully zipped up maroon jacket and finally the black baseball cap hiding the stranger’s face.
“How do you know my name?” Keiji asks, willing himself to keep his voice steady.
Maybe it’s a funny coincidence. Maybe he’s just a passerby. A passerby who has conveniently guessed his full name. ‘No matter how unlikely, it’s not impossible,’ his brain tells him, but his body trembles nonetheless.
“What kind of crossroad demon would I be if I didn’t do thorough background checks on all my clients?”
It’s not a coincidence. He’s not just a passerby. He is a demon. Akaashi Keiji has summoned a demon. A demon. Him. Akaashi Keiji. Avid defender of logic and science who had rolled his eyes so many times that he had had a permanent headache for a week when he first started reading up on supernatural rituals.
The shock must be written all over his face because a vicious grin appears beneath the visor of the baseball cap, replacing the stranger’s previous bored expression.
“Ya need a minute?”
Yes.
Truth be told, Keiji is in desperate need of some time to process the situation and regain his composure. And maybe some water. A shot of tequila. Whatever it takes to calm his nerves. But he knows that he cannot show any signs of weakness. Not with his life already hanging by a thread.
He hastily shakes his head and lifts himself off his knees. He notices that he and the man in front of him are almost at eye level. Keiji gulps, his throat suddenly feeling scorched.
“No,” he awkwardly croaks out, his mouth unusually dry and his tongue heavy as lead. “I just expected something different.”
The stranger finally lifts his head. Keiji catches a quick glimpse of the lazy grin plastered on his lips, but his eyes are immediately drawn to the bloodred irises boring right into his soul. He has never been able to maintain eye contact for a very long time, but somehow, he finds himself unable to tear his gaze from the demon staring him down.
“Something different? Ya mean something scarier, right?”
No matter the asymmetry of their current power dynamic, Keiji can’t help but be slightly annoyed at the teasing tone of his opponent.
“Something a bit more biblically accurate,” he clarifies. “Less human. Less conventionally attractive.”
He bites his tongue as soon as the words have left his mouth. The stranger’s grin turns cocky as he narrows his eyes.
“Flattery won’t get ya very far with demons. Our egos are already well-fed.”
The seriousness hidden behind the playful tone makes Keiji shiver. He takes a deep breath.
“Fine. Let’s cut to the chase, then,” he declares, feigning confidence. “I want a deal.”
The demon huffs out a laugh and takes a few steps toward Keiji.
“Humans are so impatient. I haven’t even introduced myself and ya already want to jump ahead to the end,” he sighs. “Nowadays, there aren’t many people stupid enough to sell their soul anymore, so let me savour this moment a little.”
Keiji feels his blood boil.
“Considering that unlike yours my time is limited, I’m afraid I don’t have a choice but to be impatient,” he defends himself, slightly surprised at his sudden courage and composure. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but as a demon yourself, you hardly have the moral grounds to lecture someone on what to do with their soul.”
The smile on the demon’s face grows wider with each one of Keiji’s words.
“Feisty.”
The backhanded compliment makes his face flush.
“Your name.”
There’s a long pause. If it weren’t for the sound of the wind howling through the trees and the cicadas continuously chirping, Keiji might assume that time is simply standing still. He can feel the demon’s inquisitive eyes on him; he can feel his heartbeat speeding up with each second spent under his watchful gaze; he can feel his hands burning from the cold, yearning for something to warm them up.
“Osamu.”
His heart skips a beat at the name. Well, maybe it’s more because of the unexpected genuine smile that accompanies the name. Or maybe it’s because Osamu has taken yet another step towards him, putting less than an arm’s length of distance between them.
“Now,” he says, tilting his head, his smile still shining brightly in the moonlight, “what deal were ya hoping to make with me?”
Keiji takes a deep breath, his hands nervously clenched into fists.
“I want happiness.”
It’s the first time that he dares to say it out loud. Keiji isn’t happy. He’s not exactly unhappy, either. It’s more of a general indifference towards life, a crushing emptiness deep inside of him that he can neither grasp nor explain. And even though the evidence is clear – his friend’s childhood anecdotes of a different time, photographs of him smiling from ear to ear – he cannot remember ever feeling differently. And the more time passes, the more it weighs on him. The inexplicable, unfathomable feeling that something in his life is amiss.
Osamu raises his eyebrows and his smile fades into scepticism.
“Happiness?”
Keiji nods his head eagerly.
“Ten years of happiness, to be more precise,” he clarifies stern-faced. “In exchange for my soul.”
Osamu laughs dryly as he folds his arms in front of his chest and walks past Keiji.
“Oh, Akaashi.” He shakes his head. “I can give ya one year, maybe.”
Keiji spins around to face Osamu immediately.
“But crossroad demons give ten-year deals.”
He hears Osamu laugh again.
“Someone’s clearly done his research.” He sounds impressed. And as much as Keiji tries to fight it, part of him feels oddly proud for managing to impress him. The feeling vanishes as soon as Osamu turns back to him, his expression almost sorrowful. Keiji’s breath hitches as he watches him lift his right hand and reach for his body.
“Unfortunately,” he begins, his eyes and hand resting on Keiji’s chest, right above his racing heart, “there’s not much here to work with.”
The colour drains from Keiji’s face.
“I don’t have a soul?”
“You have a soul. But it’s corrupted.” There’s a slight frown on Osamu’s face. “Incomplete.”
An indescribable feeling befalls Keiji. It’s a mixture of helplessness and sadness with a hint of burning anger and desperation. He can’t place any of his feelings or who they are directed at. He should have known it. His plan was too good to be true. Of course, the universe had to play one final joke on him just as the solution to all his problems was within reaching distance. His breathing speeds up. He feels his chest heaving beneath Osamu’s warm touch.
“Yer heart is beating awfully fast right now,” Osamu notes, his voice laced with both playfulness and concern. “Ya should go home and rest.”
“No,” Keiji refuses. “I’ll take the deal.”
“Yer kidding, right?”
“One year of happiness. In exchange for whatever is left of my soul,” he manages to breathe out. “Can you do that? Is it possible?”
Osamu sighs.
“It’s possible. But do ya really think it’s worth it?”
One year. One year without looking at himself in the mirror, wondering where he had gone wrong in life. One year without the torture of seeing everyone around him enjoy life while he is stuck questioning his entire existence. One year of limitless, pure happiness.
“I do.”
When Osamu takes his hand off his chest, Keiji feels his heart sink at the sudden absence of warmth. When his hand finds its way to cradle his jaw instead, however, Keiji’s heart drops even further, but this time it’s embarrassment rather than sadness that causes it. And when he feels Osamu put his other hand on his waist, his brain short-circuits entirely.
“Uh. What are you doing?”
Osamu’s signature grin returns.
“All that research and ya didn’t even read up on how the actual deal is struck?”
Keiji’s cheeks heat up upon remembering the rather graphic descriptions of demon deals he had read about. Sure, he had done extensive amounts of research on the supernatural, and yes, he had decided to go ahead and attempt to summon a demon, but he never really thought it would actually work. He had never bothered to think about what would happen if he made it this far.
14th February 2022, 0.01 a.m.
“Second thoughts?”
Keiji shakes his head, unable to speak. His eyes dart toward Osamu’s lips and his stomach flips. He tells himself that it’s just a kiss, that it’s nothing he hasn’t done before, and that there’s no reason to be nervous. But when Osamu slides his hand down his jaw to lift up his chin and Keiji’s body obeys more than readily by leaning into the touch, he feels a distantly familiar tingle deep inside of him, a remnant of a feeling he hasn’t felt in years. His eyelids flutter shut the moment their lips brush against each other. And although Keiji is doing everything in his power to stay in control of his body, his hands find their way to Osamu’s neck, trying to pull him even closer. When he feels Osamu’s grip on his waist fasten, a desperate sigh escapes his lips.
And then, suddenly, just as Keiji is about to part his lips, it’s over. He no longer feels Osamu’s lips on his own, no longer feels his strong hands holding him in place; instead, he is awkwardly reaching for air. An inexplicable ache shoots through his body and when his eyes fly open his suspicions are painfully confirmed. Osamu is gone.
*
It was nothing, he tells himself on the way home.
He got caught up in the moment, he convinces himself once he finally enjoys his well-deserved shower.
It didn’t mean anything, he thinks as he drifts off to sleep.
*
It’s the first time in months that Keiji wakes up before his alarm. When the shrill noise coming from his cell phone starts echoing through his apartment, he is already sitting upright in his bed, wide awake, hugging his pillow, haunted by the memories of the previous night.
He summoned a demon. He sold his soul. And, well…
He traces his lips with his fingers. His heart skips a beat at the thought of Osamu and Keiji buries his head in his pillow, screaming as loud as he can.
*
Keiji isn’t sure what he had expected happiness to feel like. But he is certain that he had imagined it to be different. The neighbour’s dog is just as obnoxious as usual, barking and growling at him as soon as he steps out of his apartment. The train ride to work is as monotonous and tiresome as ever. He slips on a frozen puddle right outside his work building. And when he finally gets to his office, he runs into a glass door at the exact moment when his boss passes him in the hallway.
Maybe he should have asked for luck and not happiness.
“Good morning,” Udai greets him when he enters their shared office.
Keiji carelessly drops his bag on his desk and lets himself fall into his chair.
“Is it really a good morning?” he mutters to himself.
“Someone’s in a mood today,” Udai remarks a little too cheerily for his taste. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more excited? Ecstatic? Over the moon? The first chapter of Zom’bish publishes tomorrow. All your hard work, your research, your patience – it will all finally pay off when it says ‘edited by Akaashi Keiji’ in this really fancy cursive font that I picked out just for you!”
Keiji doesn’t even bother looking up at his colleague.
“It’s only the first chapter,” he reminds him as he pushes his glasses up to rub his eyes.
“We should have a launch party, don’t you think? Invite everyone from the office and tell them to dress up as their favourite characters. Music, food, booze, the whole package. What do you say?”
“It’s only the first chapter,” Keiji repeats. “No one even knows the characters yet.”
His objection falls on deaf ears. He props his head up on his desk with his elbows, watching Udai spin in his chair and gaze off into the distance with glistening eyes and a bright smile. It’s nauseating.
“Fine. Maybe I’m exaggerating a little. But aren’t you happy about this?”
Keiji wants to scream. He’s not the least bit happy.
*
On the way back home, Keiji decides that maybe happiness is simply overrated. Maybe he was trying so hard to solve the case of his meaningless and unhappy existence that he dismissed the most obvious answer. Maybe the reason he isn’t feeling any different after selling his soul for a happy life is because he has always been happy. Maybe his expectations have been too high from the very beginning. Maybe this is exactly what everyone else around him is feeling as well. With the minor exception that everyone else seems to be fine with it.
There’s a second, far better explanation for his current predicament. One involving a questionable deal with a certain red-eyed man who just happens to be one of the supernatural creatures that are known to be the least trustworthy. But Keiji had promised himself to stop thinking about anything involving Osamu.
“Yer home pretty late.”
Unfortunately, not thinking about him turns out to be a bigger problem than expected.
As soon as Keiji enters his apartment, after a long day of working and overthinking every single nuance of the philosophies surrounding happiness, he once again comes face to face with the man that has been living rent-free inside his head for the longest twenty-four hours of his life.
“What are you doing here?”
Keiji doesn’t try to hide his surprise, hoping that the more transparent he is with his emotions, the less satisfaction Osamu might get out of his little games. One cocky grin later, however, Keiji is proven wrong.
“Checking up on a client,” Osamu explains, casually leaning against the kitchen counter behind him. “How was yer day?”
“It was different than expected,” Keiji admits, not even daring to look into Osamu’s eyes as he brushes past him to get himself a glass of water. “I can’t believe I sold my soul for a lesson as useless as ‘You’ve been happy all along; you just didn’t realise that happiness doesn’t feel as good as you had hoped.’”
“That’s not the lesson ya sold yer soul for.”
Osamu’s tone is unexpectedly heavy, with a touch of sadness resonating within it. Keiji almost wishes he would go back to teasing him. And as much as he would love to see Osamu’s expression to get even the tiniest of glimpses into his current feelings, his body refuses to turn around to face him.
“What lesson did I sell my soul for, then?”
Osamu gracefully pushes himself off the counter and walks towards Keiji, still standing by the sink, downing a second glass of water just to occupy his trembling hands. He hears light footsteps making their way across the room to him until he suddenly feels Osamu’s hot breath against his neck.
“Demons aren’t magicians. And even if, I doubt that anyone could grant ya pure happiness with the flick of a wand.”
“You tricked me.” The realisation hits Keiji with full force. “I asked for a life full of happiness and you said you could do it, but you can’t. I sold my soul for nothing.” The betrayal washes over him in slow-motion. He knows that he shouldn’t have expected anything else, but that doesn’t stop the searing pain crushing his entire body. “I barely had much of a soul to begin with. Are you really that greedy?”
Osamu has the audacity to chuckle.
“I’m a lot greedier than ya think, trust me. But yer missing the point,” he explains with his hands finding their way to Keiji’s hips. “A deal is still a deal. I only get yer soul if I hold up my end of the bargain.”
A shiver runs down his spine.
“But you just said that wasn’t possible,” he protests, ignoring the sensation of Osamu running his hands along his hip bone. He feels a sudden weight drop on his shoulder. Against his better judgement, Keiji turns his head just enough to catch Osamu rest his chin on his shoulder. His eyes flash red for a second and Keiji has to fight the urge to lean in and kiss Osamu again.
“There are many different ways to make someone happy. And luckily, I’ve got an entire year to keep trying.”
Keiji can practically feel the blush spread across the bridge of his nose.
*
March 2022
It’s the seventh time Keiji comes home to his apartment cleaned spotless and the seventeenth time that he finds Osamu roaming around the kitchen preparing dinner. He would never admit it from his own volition, but just within a month he had gotten used to the demon’s presence in his life. Introverted by nature and with his social battery constantly running low, Keiji had never been one to feel particularly comfortable around others, and yet somehow things are different with Osamu. Not that he would ever dare attempt to put it into words, but the question of why it hadn’t terrified him the least bit when Osamu had started showing up regularly, invading his living space and trying over and over again to enrich the few months of life Keiji had left keeps crossing his mind at the oddest of times. Well, amongst other things.
“You really think cleaning my apartment every few days is going to make me happy?” he says instead of a proper greeting when he enters the kitchen.
Admittedly, there are worse things than watching Osamu skilfully chop up bell peppers at a pace that makes Keiji wonder whether he is secretly making use of his demonic powers, with his t-shirt hugging his torso tightly enough to reveal the outline of his shoulder blades. But Osamu doesn’t need to know any of that.
“Well, it was filthy.”
Osamu tosses the peppers into the pan and wipes his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder.
“You really think insulting the state of my apartment is going to make me happy?”
Keiji is doing his best not to show how much the sight of Osamu running a hand through his dark hair when he finally turns to face him affects him. He blames the stove for the heat he feels all over his body and the steam coming from the pan for the way his breath hitches.
“Glad to see that yer not having any trouble playing that card.”
“I’m just saying,” Keiji sighs as he walks up to the stove, “if I had wanted a roommate, I would have put an ad online and not gone out of my way to summon a demon.”
Osamu seems almost painfully unbothered by his statement. Instead of replying – or even looking at Keiji – he takes a spoon and starts stirring the ironically heavenly-smelling contents of one of the pots on the stove. After a good two minutes, he finally returns his gaze.
“Sounds like someone’s not quite content with my services.”
“I guess I had pictured something a little more exciting.”
The spoon falls to the floor with a harsh clang.
“Oh, ya want exciting?” The smirk on Osamu’s lips makes the blood in his veins freeze. “I can give ya exciting, alright.”
He reaches for his hand in one swift motion, but Keiji barely gets a chance to relish the feeling of their fingers intertwining and their palms brushing against each other because in the blink of an eye the kitchen around him vanishes from sight.
A gust of cold wind slams against his body and if he weren’t still holding on to Osamu’s hand, he would topple over backward. He manages to make out the sound of water running around him and one look at his feet – ankle-deep engulfed by water – confirms his suspicion.
“Miya, what the fuck did you-“
His sentence is interrupted when a wave twice his height crushes down on him, pushing him toward Osamu. Against his better judgement, he takes a sharp breath, inhaling a bottle’s worth of saltwater. He grabs Osamu’s hips, holding on for dear life, unable to focus on the tenderness with which Osamu pushes the fringe out of Keiju’s burning eyes as a second wave crawls up behind them. He mentally prepares himself to be hit by the cold once more, but the water never comes. Instead, everything around him goes dark.
“What did ya just call me?”
Keiji awkwardly frees himself from Osamu’s grip and gasps for air, careful not to cough his lungs out. His clothes are still dripping wet, but he is no longer surrounded by whatever liquid hellhole Osamu had just dragged him to. As his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, he takes in their new location.
“Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium,” he reads off the gigantic sign on top of the building in front of them. “Why?”
He turns to face Osamu who is just as drenched as Keiji and surprisingly sporting the faintest of blushes on his cheeks. The question hangs in the air between them uncomfortably.
“Took a wrong turn on the way back,” Osamu explains before he reaches for Keiji’s hand once more, teleporting them back to the safety of his apartment.
“What the hell was that?” Keiji shrieks, droplets of water falling from his hair to the kitchen floor.
Osamu shrugs, his smirk looking off.
“Ya wanted exciting. Be careful what ya wish for.”
*
April 2022
“Akaashi, I think you have a visitor.”
Keiji looks up from the pile of illustrations on his desk to find none other than Osamu standing in the door to his office. His brain short-circuits immediately and he is left staring, mouth agape and cheeks burning while both Osamu and Udai look at him expectantly.
“I was waiting for ya to come home, but ya didn’t. So, I decided to come by and bring ya some dinner, at least.”
From the corner of his eye, Keiji sees Udai’s eyes widen as he mouths a confused “Home?” He also doesn’t miss the way his mangaka’s eyes hungrily scan every inch of Osamu’s body. For some inexplicable reason, it makes his blood boil.
“You didn’t have to.”
Osamu sets down two containers of food on his desk, careful not to move the stacks of documents around.
“I wanted to,” he says, his voice low and laced with an overdramatic sweetness that makes Udai awkwardly turn away and pretend to be occupied with something else, unable to catch the hint of teasing in Osamu’s tone. “Anything to make ya happy.”
Keiji spends the rest of the night trying to keep his heart from jumping out of his chest.
*
May 2022
To prevent any more embarrassing mishaps, Keiji decides to shift his daily overtime to his living room. His thought process is simple: If he leaves work on time, Osamu has no reason to show up unexpectedly and Keiji will no longer be the subject of the infamous office gossip.
(He tries not to pay any attention to it, but the story of the unbelievably attractive man stopping by the office to bring the mysterious, reclusive and always tired-looking editor dinner makes the rounds surprisingly fast. And as much as he hates it, his heart does a little flip whenever someone mistakenly refers to Osamu as his boyfriend.)
Unfortunately, there is one small detail he forgot to take into consideration.
“Ya never take a break, do ya?”
Keiji’s entire body tenses up when Osamu suddenly places his hands on his shoulders from behind. He feels his thumbs press into his back with just the right amount of pressure to make him want to lean into the touch and sigh contently. But he doesn’t.
“Ever considered that there’s a link between yer constant workflow and the lack of happiness ya feel?” Osamu murmurs next to him, his lips almost touching Keiji’s ear.
His body stiffens up further.
“What would you know about true happiness? You don’t even have a soul,” Keiji counters.
His remark carries more bite than planned and Osamu’s hands still for a few seconds. Just as Keiji thinks that yes, this is it, this is how he is going to die – by insulting a demon who already has his hands around his neck – the massaging starts anew.
“I used to have a soul. And I sold it just like you did.”
Osamu’s confession is unexpected. Keiji wants to spin around, but strong hands hold him in place.
“What did you sell your soul for?”
It’s a daring question. But after three months of being tormented by Osamu’s constant unannounced presence, Keiji feels he can do a little privacy invasion of his own.
“I traded it for my brother’s life.”
“That’s… noble.”
Osamu huffs out a dry laugh.
“Not really. I got tricked,” he admits. “My brother was in a car accident and I thought selling my soul was the only way I could help him. Little did I know that while I was busy doing that, he had already gotten better on his own.”
Keiji swallows hard, unable to find the right words. He wants to console Osamu, but there is nothing he could say to make him feel better about the situation.
“At least you got to spend your final ten years with your brother.”
Another sad laugh echoes through the living room.
“Asking for someone’s survival is a big wish. It was an instant trip to hell for me.” There’s a heavy pause. “So don’t feel all that bad about only getting one year.”
A sharp pain shoots through Keiji’s body.
‘Don’t try to make me feel better about any of this,’ he wants to scream. ‘Our cases aren’t even tangibly comparable.’
Instead, he drops his head on the backrest of the couch, locking eyes with Osamu whose face hovers right above his.
“I’m sorry.”
A small smile creeps onto Osamu’s lips at Keiji’s sudden display of affection.
“I should be the one apologising.”
Keiji wants to ask what there is to apologise for, but his train of thought is interrupted by the sudden motion of Osamu’s hands gliding down from his shoulders to his chest. His heartbeat picks up the pace immediately.
“I should,” Keiji stammers awkwardly, almost choking on his own saliva. “I should probably finish up my work.”
The smile on Osamu’s face transforms into a grin.
“Of course,” he coos. “Far be it from me to distract ya.”
*
June 2022
He should have known. When Bokuto had called him up and innocently asked him to tag along to celebrate Hinata’s birthday Keiji had allowed himself to be temporarily blinded by his excitement to see old friends again, but he should have known.
“So, a little birdie tells me you started seeing someone.”
Every single conversation at the table dies down immediately. Even Kageyama and Hinata stop their drunken fighting about which one of them is the more valuable volleyball player. All eyes dart to Keiji in unison. Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows as he watches Keiji down a shot of vodka.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, face already flushed.
“Well, you see, last week when I asked you about the party, I couldn’t reach you at first. So, I called your office and one of your co-workers told me that you’re probably out on a lunch date with your new boyfriend.”
Damn it.
“Come on, tell us everything about him!”
Damn Udai.
*
When Keiji wakes up the next morning with a throbbing headache he vaguely remembers being cornered and bombarded with an endless tirade of questions about his supposed love life and his secret boyfriend. He also remembers having one drink after the other.
‘It could have been a lot worse, though,’ he tells himself, hugging the pillow beneath his head even tighter. The pillow that feels awfully warm and human-like. The pillow that rises and falls ever so slightly, accompanied by even breaths.
His eyes fly open within an instant and he topples off the bed at the sight of Osamu’s lazy smirk right in front of his face.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
Keiji jumps off the ground, pointing at Osamu.
“What are you doing here?”
“Ya got pretty drunk last night. I practically had to carry ya to yer bed. And when ya refused to let go of me, I thought it might be easier for me to just stay here,” he explains nonchalantly, propping himself up on his elbow.
“Demons don’t sleep,” Keiji remarks with narrowed eyes, his headache almost forgotten with how the situation in front of him unfolds.
“Don’t worry, I was plenty entertained.”
Keiji wants to bang his head against the door frame on his way out.
“By the way, ya talk in yer sleep!” Osamu calls out after him and Keiji slams the door as hard as possible.
*
July 2022
When Keiji gets home, he is greeted by the sight of a vase full of sunflowers right in the centre of his living room. The petals shine golden beneath the sunlight falling in through the window and an inadvertent smile flashes onto Keiji’s lips. It dampens his mood slightly that Osamu had probably picked out his favourite flower purely by accident, through a lucky guess or – worse – by using his demonic powers to sneak a glance into Keiji’s head, but he appreciates the gesture, nonetheless.
“Do you like them?”
Five months into their arrangement and Keiji still hasn’t gotten used to Osamu appearing out of thin air at any time. He shrugs, embarrassed at the impact of a gesture as small as buying someone flowers.
“They’re fine,” he says, ignoring that Osamu stands close enough for their arms to touch. “Though I expected a little more from a demon than the one flower you can buy at any flower shop.”
Osamu whistles in defeat.
“Ouch.”
The warmth of Osamu’s body next to him vanishes within an instant and Keiji is left wondering whether this time he had taken it too far with his complaints and actually ended up hurting Osamu’s feelings. He doesn’t have to worry for long though, because Osamu reappears just as quickly as he had just vanished.
“Better?” Osamu presents him a long-stemmed flower blooming in a vibrant red. “It’s an amaryllis.”
Keiji recognises the flower immediately.
“I’ve seen some of those at the flower shop down the street, too.”
Osamu rolls his eyes, but his smile remains.
“Do ya know where they got their name?” he asks with raised eyebrows.
Keiji takes the flower from his hands to squish it into the vase with the sunflowers, his mind suddenly preoccupied with an entirely different thought, one that hadn’t crossed his mind in months. He can’t pinpoint what it is exactly, but there’s something about the flower shop down the street that triggers a blurry memory somewhere deep inside of him.
“Enlighten me,” he says without really paying attention, his mind still adrift.
Osamu seems to realise Keiji’s sudden troubles and his smile is replaced by a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
Keiji impatiently taps his fingers against his living room table, trying to coax a long-forgotten memory out of hiding.
“There’s an empty store right next to the flower shop,” he suddenly remembers. “It’s been empty for maybe two years or so. I can’t remember what it used to be before they closed it, but I feel like I should. Odd.”
When Osamu doesn’t react, Keiji turns around to catch him deep in thought, with his eyes fixed on the floor and his arms crossed. He feels that the answer to his question is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t will himself to piece it together. He turns back to the vase, feeling as if the sight of the sunflowers is mocking him.
*
A few days later, during a quiet minute at the office without any disturbances or curious glances directed at him, he looks up the meaning of the name amaryllis and his heart skips a beat.
*
August 2022
“You came! You really came!”
Keiji is crushed by a fierce hug, Bokuto’s strong arms uncomfortably caging him in. He almost rolls his eyes at Bokuto’s surprised expression, but he knows that even the tiniest action could cause his childhood best friend to fall into a deep pit of self-doubt, so instead he puts on his phoniest smile.
“I promised to come watch your first game with the Black Jackals. Did you really think I would stand you up?”
The truth is, he almost did stand him up. Not that Keiji would ever admit it out loud, but he would much rather spend his day off at home with Osamu never leaving his side, caring for him, and finding silly excuses to touch him.
“Shouldn’t you be with your team, though? The game starts any minute.”
Bokuto sighs, his entire body sagging down and collapsing in on itself, like a cartoon character.
“I’m looking for Tsumu. I think we lost him.”
Keiji shoots him a confused look.
“Who?”
“Our setter,” Bokuto explains. “Miya Atsumu. You’ve actually met him before! He was on the team that lost to Karasuno that one time during nationals. And then we ran into their team again when they got lost in the city and we helped them find the way back to the gymnasium!”
Keiji raises his eyebrows sceptically.
“I don’t think I remember any of that.”
There’s a sudden weight dropping down on his shoulders from someone draping their arm around him and moving in way too close to his face.
“Aw, yer hurting my feelings, ‘Kaashi. I was sure our team had left quite the impression on you guys.”
When Keiji turns to face the person who is so rudely barging in on his conversation his heart stops beating immediately and the colour drains from his face.
“There you are!” Bokuto shouts excitedly. “We’ve been looking all over for you, Tsumu!”
Miya Atsumu is the spitting image of Osamu. From the hooded eyes to the pointed nose, sharp jawline and the ever so slightly curved up lips. His heartbeat finds its rhythm again, but now three times faster than before.
“Was just checking out the food stalls, no need to worry. We should hurry back, though.”
It must be a coincidence. He finds himself reaching for Atsumu’s arm, catching him off guard.
“Uhm,” he stammers awkwardly. “Do you… do you have a brother?”
Atsumu’s smug expression is replaced by confusion.
“Nope. Only child.”
He pats Keiji’s shoulder, mentioning something about catching up later as he walks away, but Keiji can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears. He doesn’t have a brother. It is a coincidence. A really strange one, at that.
Bokuto shoots him a worried look.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Keiji lies, his head hurting from all the thoughts scurrying across it at lightning speed. “I was just surprised that Miya is playing for the Black Jackals.”
Bokuto hums in agreement.
“Yeah, who would have thought that he would ever play volleyball again after he was in that car accident two years ago.”
Keiji doesn’t stick around for the game. He rushes home immediately, splashes some cold water in his face and repeats the words over and over again, hoping that he will eventually believe them.
It’s just a coincidence.
*
September 2022
It’s not a coincidence.
With each passing day it becomes more and more painfully obvious that everything about Osamu that Keiji had found so charmingly familiar, he had experienced before. Every single one of his sweet gestures – the cooking, the flowers, the visiting him at work – triggers a memory so blurry and faded that it has him doubting his ability to tell apart reality from wishful thinking.
But the memories must be real. Why else was he drawn to Osamu from the moment he first saw him? Why else is he haunted by the constant craving to have Osamu near him, to feel the warmth of his body and his skin against his own if not to make up for lost time? Why else is he able to predict his every movement and read every single unspoken word hiding behind Osamu’s eyes?
It’s not a coincidence, Keiji is sure of it. Osamu is Miya Atsumu’s brother and in a life that now seems endlessly far away, Keiji and Osamu used to be as close as two people could possibly be.
*
6th October 2022
Keiji is woken up by someone softly stroking his hair. He faintly remembers waiting all day long for Osamu to stop by. He also remembers that the kitchen table had suddenly seemed to be the most comfortable place on earth. The last thing he remembers is his decision to rest his head on the table for just a couple of minutes.
“Yer bed’s no longer comfy enough?”
He opens his eyes to find Osamu kneeling beside him, sporting a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I was waiting for you.”
Keiji groggily lifts his head and stretches his arms, stifling a yawn.
“Why’s that?”
He nods towards the kitchen counter.
“I made you a cake.”
He can’t bring himself to call it a birthday cake, but judging from the way Osamu’s face falls when his eyes land on the misshapen monstrosity he knows. His mouth opens and closes in an attempt to speak, but the words won’t come out.
“You have been going out of your way to make me happy for the past eight months. I thought it was time to return the favour,” Keiji rambles to fill the awkward silence.
When Osamu turns his gaze back towards him, his inquisitive eyes are filled sadness. Yet, he manages to force a tiny smile onto his lips.
“Yer friend from high school, Bokuto, he’s joined the Black Jackals, right?”
Keiji holds his breath. He doesn’t bother replying.
“Have ya met the rest of the team yet?”
“No,” he lies, shaking his head, but he can tell from the look on Osamu’s face that he has already caught on to the truth.
*
5th December 2022
Keiji has always hated his birthday. He can’t remember ever having been too keen on overdramatic congratulations, meaningless gifts and half-hearted hugs from people he wouldn’t even call acquaintances. He spends his day hiding in his office, away from all his colleagues and their embarrassing off-key renditions of various happy birthday songs. He politely declines Udai’s offer to take him out to drinks and he ignores how he wiggles his eyebrows when he cheekily asks: “Oh, so you already have plans with someone?”
He hasn’t mentioned his birthday to Osamu, but the demon’s less-than-covert inquiries about how long he was going to stay at the office were telling enough. And the thought of Osamu waiting for him at his apartment, pulling him into a warm embrace and wishing him a happy birthday makes his heart flutter and gives him the strength to push through the day. The excitement bubbling within him is even strong enough to leave work early for the first time in his life.
(He ignores the pointed look Udai sends his way as he watches him pack up his things and leave thirty minutes before his shift is supposed to end.)
*
“Yer home early!”
Keiji takes the whole picture in, trying to capture every single detail and burn it into his brain to never forget. The birthday cake. The unlit candles. The colourful streamers decorating his entire kitchen. Osamu rushing towards him, flinging his arms around his neck enthusiastically.
“Happy birthday, Keiji.”
He pushes away the memories of countless other times that Osamu had wished him a happy birthday and folds his arm around his waist.
“Thanks.”
He buries his head in the crook of Osamu’s neck, trying to hide the pink blush on his cheeks.
“Come on,” Osamu prompts him as soon as they part. He reaches for Keiji’s hand and pulls him toward the kitchen table, his smile shining brighter than any other time during the last ten months. “Make a wish and blow out the candles.”
“Kiss me.”
The words slip from Keiji’s lips before his brain even has a chance to fully conceptualise the thought. He bites his lip as he watches the shock settle on Osamu’s face. ‘There’s no going back now,’ he tells himself and pulls Osamu back towards him.
“Kiss me,” he repeats, his hands finding their way around Osamu’s shoulders. “It’s my birthday wish.”
Osamu lets out an awkward laugh, trying to avoid Keiji’s gaze.
“Yer not supposed to say those out loud.”
Keiji tilts his head and leans towards Osamu, his eyes closed. Their lips brush against each other for a fraction of a second before he pulls back to put the unbearable distance from before back between them. His eyes flutter open to the sight of Osamu’s face tinted in a dark shade of pink. His breath is shaking as he musters up the courage to say the words that have been flooding his brain for so long.
“I love you.”
He feels Osamu’s grip on his waist tighten and watches his mouth open and close helplessly.
“Don’t,” Keiji warns him as he runs his hand through Osamu’s hair absentmindedly. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay with me.”
“Okay.”
Osamu rests his head against Keiji’s shoulder, his hands now fully wrapped around his waist, carefully gliding up and down his lower back.
Keiji relishes the feeling, refusing to acknowledge how little time they have left.
*
January 2023
He keeps tossing and turning night after night, haunted by a memory that has dug its claws deeper into the remains of his soul than any other. The scene keeps replaying like a videotape being rewound automatically as soon as it has ended. And there is nothing he can do about it. Every night he is forced to watch the same godawful film again and again. It never gets easier watching himself fall to the ground sobbing silently, his frantically shaking head buried in his trembling hands while Osamu walks away from him without looking back.
“Don’t leave me,” he keeps hearing himself beg. “Why are you doing this?”
It’s nauseating.
“I’m sorry, Keiji.” It hurts. “I’m sorry.” It sends a shooting pain right through his heart. “Believe me.” Tearing his soul apart. “I’m so sorry.” And leaving a scar that has yet to start fading.
He wakes up with tears streaming down his face.
It’s not quite what he had imagined his one year of limitless, pure happiness to feel like.
*
14th February 2023
His last day on earth comes sooner than expected. All day long his stomach churns uncomfortably and he mentally slaps himself for never having had the guts to ask Osamu what exactly his descent into hell would look like and whether he was going to be in excruciating pain or not feel anything at all.
He lets out a deep sigh.
One way or another, he would find out soon.
*
Either Osamu is playing it incredibly cool or he is trying to drive Keiji insane. They have been sitting next to each other in the kitchen in utter silence for almost twenty minutes. The clock is ticking – both literally and metaphorically speaking – and somehow Osamu refuses to acknowledge it in the slightest. Eventually, Keiji decides to be the bigger person and take the first step.
“Do you know what day it is today?”
An unexpected blush falls onto Osamu’s face.
“Yes, but…,” he stammers and gets up from his seat while awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “…I didn’t think you’d want me to make a big fuss about Valentine’s Day.”
Keiji’s heart stutters and his face flushes as he watches Osamu pace around the kitchen.
“It’s been a year since I sold my soul to you,” he clarifies.
Osamu’s pacing comes to a crashing halt.
“Oh.”
“What is going to happen now?” Keiji asks quietly, fiddling with his fingers and not daring to look up at Osamu. A few seconds of unbearable silence pass before he feels Osamu wrap his hand around his own to keep them still.
“That depends,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and low, and his face just inches away from Keiji. “Are you happy?”
He doesn’t have the strength to fight the smile appearing on his lips. He shifts his body to fully face Osamu still squatting next to his chair.
“The happiest.”
A smile equally as wide spreads across Osamu’s face.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“There’s one last thing, though,” Keiji whispers, his breath shuddering. “I have a question. And I want you to answer it honestly. Please. Promise you’ll tell me the truth.”
“That sounds an awful lot like another deal to me,” Osamu laughs quietly. “But I’m afraid ya have nothing left to give to me.”
Keiji lifts his head until their faces are merely a few centimetres apart. He brings his right hand up to brush a loose strand of hair out of Osamu’s face, but his fingers keep trembling clumsily. It’s not until Osamu raises his own hand to wrap around Keiji’s again that the shivering stops.
“That’s true. My soul, my body, my heart. It’s already all yours. But you can take whatever is left as well. I’ll happily trade it for just one honest answer.”
Osamu’s eyes flash in a familiar shade of bloodred and the corners of his lips curve into a smile.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Ya got yerself a deal. Now, ask away.”
Keiji tilts his head daringly.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Just like a year ago, Osamu is the one to lean into Keiji and press his lips against his. The oh-so-familiar tingle erupts in Keiji’s stomach, and he feels his heart pound against his chest in an attempt to overcome the distance to Osamu’s heart. He feels a hand brush his cheek and run through his hair as he melts further into the kiss. After a few seconds, however, the warmth of Osamu’s lips threatens to disappear as he pulls away. Keiji immediately reaches his hands out, desperately grabbing the back of Osamu’s head to keep him close. Osamu complies, with his hands settling back on top of Keiji’s waist with a force strong enough to almost drag him off the chair. He parts his lips and when their tongues brush against each other, Keiji feels a shiver run down his spine.
He doesn’t want to pull away. He wants time to freeze, so he would never have to let Osamu go. But there’s still one issue left to untangle.
“We used to know each other, right?” Keiji mumbles against Osamu’s lips. “Before you sold your soul, we knew each other.”
He presses their foreheads together and takes a shaky breath before he continues speaking, unwilling to hear Osamu’s answer just yet.
“You know my favourite food because you used to make it for me all the time. You know my favourite flowers because you used to buy them for me. You know where I work and where I live because you’ve been here before. The mess in the kitchen, the books on my shelves, you have seen it all before. My complaints about work, my drunken ramblings, me telling you-“
Tears well up in his eyes, but he refuses to pay any mind to his vision going blurry.
“Me telling you that I love you. You’ve heard it all before, right?”
He tries to catch his breath, but instead a painful sob escapes his throat.
“And I have heard all your lectures about me working too hard before. I’ve seen your eyes before. And worst of all, just like I will tonight, I watched you leave before. Isn’t that what happened? Right before you decided to sell your soul? You broke up with me.”
He feels Osamu cup his face and wipe his tears away.
“Ya shouldn’t be remembering any of that,” he whispers. “When I sold my soul I asked for my brother to live and for the world to forget about my existence. A two-in-one deal that cost me my life.”
“Why would you do something like that?”
The words come out gurgled and rushed.
“Oh Keiji,” Osamu laughs, his eyes glazed and watery. “I thought leaving ya was the only way to make sure that ya weren’t going to mourn my death. But when I watched yer heart break right in front of my eyes I knew that the only thing I could do to keep ya from suffering was to erase my existence from everyone’s memory altogether.”
Keiji finally finds the strength to look directly into Osamu’s eyes once more.
“You’re the one who damaged my soul.” A hollow laugh bubbles up in his throat. “You took a piece of it with you when you first left me and now you’re going to take the rest of it as well. Great.”
Osamu pulls him into a tight embrace with his arms wrapped around his waist and his face hidden in the crook of his neck. Keiji’s uncontrollable sobs fill the room as he leans into Osamu’s body. His hands press against Osamu’s back, digging into his shirt and trying to push him closer towards him.
“I’m not a crossroad demon.”
The sobbing and crying stops abruptly.
“Ya did the summoning ritual wrong. It was the bone of a black cat that ya were supposed to bury. The one you had was of a white cat,” Osamu explains. “When no crossroad demon showed up I stepped in to keep ya from selling yer soul.”
Keiji frees himself from Osamu’s embrace, his eyes wide in shock. A million different thoughts cross his mind, ranging from ‘Why would he keep this lie up for an entire year?’ to ‘How could I make such a stupid mistake?’ But there is one thought echoing louder and clearer in his head than anything else.
“I’m not going to hell?”
Osamu lets out another laugh, but this time it sounds genuine.
“Yer not going to hell.”
“And you can stay with me?”
“I don’t know.”
Keiji sniffles awkwardly.
“What do you mean? How can you not know?”
The bittersweet smile on Osamu’s lips isn’t the answer Keiji was hoping for. He had spent the past few weeks making his peace with going to hell and never seeing Osamu again, but continuing his everyday life like nothing has happened, stuck with all the memories – old and new – swirling around his head, knowing he will never feel Osamu’s warmth ever again isn’t an option. Not after finding out what it had done to him when he had lost Osamu the first time.
“Keiji,” Osamu interrupts his panicked worrying, “I sold my soul to have everyone forget me, but you remembered me anyhow.”
“I did,” he confirms hastily, not understanding Osamu’s train of thought. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Just think about it,” Osamu whispers as he pulls Keiji closer by the collar of his shirt. “Think about it and come find me.”
He leans in and Keiji expects to feel the familiar warmth of Osamu’s lips on his. His eyes flutter shut, but the touch never comes. And when he opens his eyes up again Miya Osamu is gone.
*
15th February 2023
It takes roughly fourteen hours for Keiji to finally grasp the meaning behind Osamu’s message. After a night of weeping and sobbing, Keiji jumps out of his bed, grabs his keys and races out of his apartment. He doesn’t bother changing from his pyjamas into regular clothes and blocks out the image of his unflatteringly bloated face and red-rimmed eyes staring back at him when he catches his reflection in the mirror.
He rushes down the street and past the flower shop until he comes face to face with the no longer empty and rundown storefront of Onigiri Miya.
He catches a glimpse of a figure inside, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, standing right behind the counter. Their eyes meet and Keiji’s stomach flips. He charges into the shop, panting heavily, and almost topples over. But in the very last second, he is caught by a familiar set of arms.
“I remembered you,” Keiji wheezes, holding onto the person standing in front of him like his life depends on it, not daring to look up in case he had gotten it all wrong. “Your deal fell through because I remembered you. You’re back.”
A hand sneaks up beneath his head, lifting his chin until he is directly staring into the grey eyes that he has been missing for so long. Osamu’s lips curl up into a bright smile.
“Happy?”
Keiji releases a relieved breath.
“The happiest.”