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Honestly, a part of your brain regrets ever having shown Mr. Crawling the collections of capsule machines that appear outside of high-traffic buildings.
It took quite a while to be able to understand his insistent, constant begs of “∎∎∎∎! Me want ∎∎∎∎!” But, after many charades, you’ve come to learn that it was… something like object . The word’s meaning itself was vague, as you’ve heard him use it on nearly every item in your household, but the particular tone he used as he pointed and jabbed a long, gray finger at your matching keychains was something you began to think was whining .
That was strange. You’ve always viewed your ghost as an obedient, mild type of person who seemed happy enough to just follow you around, but maybe the dragging, repetitive actions that came with daily mortal life had its way of making even the undead want a change in pace.
Which… yeah. That honestly makes sense. While the other world had a definite amount of hallways, there was probably always something to break the boredom– like maybe a new person falling into the world just as you did, or a fight, or just generally fearing for your life as you navigated where the dangerous ghosts were.
Yeah, ok. You could feel the guilt already creeping up on you.
“Ok, ok, you want keychain ?” You sigh, bent down to be at eye level with Mr. Crawling.
Mr. Crawling brightened up, grin stretched from ear to ear. “Yes! Me want object!”
Well, that was that.
The trip was done at dawn, similar to the first simply because of how empty the streets were. You’ve had some sort of confirmation that he’s either unsee-able for most people or hard to notice in general (with the exception of young kids that bawl the second their eyes catch a glimpse of the two of you.) Thankfully, they were kids, and adults rarely took supernatural claims from them seriously.
And if they did…
Well, you weren’t quite sure what you would do. Something unusual itches in your chest at the thought, and the one thing you’re certain about is the fact that you treasure your new companion far more than a stranger or their child.
You absolutely will not lose him by some sort of random exorcism performed by someone who had no right of getting near you or your home.
Mr. Crawling, oblivious to your inner monologue, was somewhat giddy as he personally led the way towards the familiar capsule machines you two had passed a few days ago. He checked back, pausing and twisting his neck to ensure you were following, but you were always there, 2 steps behind with a pleasant smile.
As you got closer, you saw that your suspicions from earlier were confirmed. You weren’t aware of the strength Mr. Crawling had, but the original food-themed capsule machine was broken, blocked off with some tape and a paper explaining its current state.
Mr. Crawling paused at the sight, peeling and picking as the tape.
“Object… damaged,” You say, pointing at the sign. “Broken. It’s broken.”
Mr. Crawling’s smile dropped into a frown. “Damaged? ∎∎∎?”
You shrug, not wanting to dampen his mood by saying it was him who broke it. You noticed that he’s rather… paranoid of harming things in this world. Your plates, chopsticks, spoons– even the sturdier objects like your floor table or sink (which, now that you’re thinking about it, having a broken sink is definitely a possibility judging by the state of the capsule machine’s handle) are treated with a sense of fragility you hadn’t noticed he ever used in his own world.
Well, apart from yourself. You were top of the list, and you’re certainly glad about that. You’re not as easily fixable nor replaceable, and you better be further up on his list of importance than any household objects he had taken a liking to.
You watched as he peered at the other options, going through each of the machines before he looked up to you like some sort of lost puppy.
You didn’t even need to understand his next words to know that he wanted your opinion.
You crouch down, examining each one yourself before your eyes settle on one themed after cats. You pointed at it and said, “ Cute,” knowing that this single word was enough to sway him.
He bounced up, looking at it with a smile. “Me can ∎∎∎?”
You nod, fishing out your freshly filled coin pouch, already prepared for this scenario. You hand him a decent amount of coins, watching as he inserted the coins and twisted the nobs much more gently, far more used to using less strength in this world compared to a few days ago.
One by one, you watch him drain the coins and pop open capsules, not looking entirely content with each cat chain he pulls out.
What in the world was he doing?
White, calico, black, tuxedo– he was getting nearly every color, even some duplicates, steadily supplied with coins from your uncertain hand and trembling coin pouch.
You had withdrawn 2,000 yen worth of coins so that he could either grab a decent selection or find some new machines to save for the next trip– not for his brand new and… not well received new cat chain collection.
“Mr. Crawling, why– you.. Ugh, how do I say ‘why’ in your language…” You muttered, watching him nearly empty the capsule machine, arms filled with empty capsules.
Eventually, though, his smile pops back to life as he cracked open a container and pulled out the rarer, limited edition chain of a sparkly siamese cat. He holds it up, grinning, “Cute! Cute much!”
Your jaw drops. What the– did you accidentally invoke some sort of gambling of collecting addiction in him? He was so happy the last time with just getting whatever!
“You– you..” You say, unsure of how to express whatever cluster-fuck of emotions you were currently feeling.
“Me give object you!” He cheered, pressing the -now very expensive- chain into a spare finger that wasn’t holding on to empty capsules.
“I–...” You stuttered, gripping onto it the best you could before it could fall. “Why?!” You ask, hoping that the way that you gawked or had your mouth open, flabbergasted, would convey the meaning to him effectively.
And, the smart, smart Mr. Crawling that he is did end up understanding, saying with glee “You speak cute! This object cute!”
Did you?! You most certainly did not– you had simply…
Oh.
You watched him poke at the machine, right over the limited edition cat, and presumably right where you had pointed your finger at before you declared it to be cute.
Shit. This was your fault.
Mr. Crawling looked as sweet as ever, collecting his mini pile of cat chains and packing them all into his mouth, one by one.
You sighed, dumping all the empty capsules and plastic wraps into the recycling bin right next to the machines as you waited for him to finish stuffing his cheeks like some sort of chipmunk or squirrel.
You were about to offer to carry it for him but…
Yeah, no. Not anymore. He has it covered now.
You kept your own chain out, wrapping and twirling it around your fingers until he looked ready to go, and began your hike back to your apartment, briefly wondering if ghosts showed up on cameras or if the flashing light would scare him into either breaking, dropping, or swallowing his brand new collection.
With how light your coin pouch felt, you decided it wasn’t worth it.
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Once home, you quickly gave the new chains a wash in the sink, laying them all out on the towel before presenting it back to Mr. Crawling, who took much enjoyment in the next hours arranging them in various, close to the ground nooks and crannies, making sure each was visible from the open.
When you walk out from the shower, freshened up and back to normal brain-function, you blankly stared at the 20-something chains in your field of vision, cluttering shoe racks and bottom shelves, and Mr. Crawling looking proud as he chirped “Hello!” and swiftly crawled over to wrap your glittering chain around your wrist, holding it in place.
… Well, it was a good thing you never invited your friends over.