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You watch him, lip curled. A certain sense of nausea washing over you as he just... sits there. Casually chatting away with Kazutoshi. Your Kazutoshi. His shoulders raise, tense, the longer you glare at his back.
The cerulean haired boy blinks, sensing the sudden tenseness.
“Sorry, man. Is the TV stuff, uh, personal?”
Hasegawa- the fake one, the real one, the one you’re stuck cucking the life of -blinks right back, surprised.
“Huh- no, sorry, it’s- I just do quiz shows.” He messes up the line, and you snicker. He hunches up his shoulders further, face going pink. “Sorry.”
Kamimura exhales with his nose, smile looking slightly baffled. “You don’t have to apologize, dude? But wow- you must do that a lot to have a suit that nice.”
Hasegawa shrugs with one shoulder. The smallest, shyest grin on his face. An underdog, that smile of his. An eyesore, if you ask yourself. The right side of your face aches.
“I guess so, yeah. I also go on talkshows sometimes. I-If I’m invited.”
“Maybe you should try just breaking onto the set.” You pipe in, watching him bite down on his lip.
Kamimura, oblivious, does a low whistle and crosses his arms. “Damn. We have three famous people in here then, huh?”
“I wonder if Okazaki could be considered famous. The Phantom Thief of Nagoya is quite the title.” You say just to watch Hasegawa’s face twist. You don’t like saying her name either, but you like tormenting yourself. It’s your favorite hobby.
It’s your only hobby nowadays.
“I think Okazaki mentioned being well known where she’s from.” Hasegawa says, eyes on the floor. Teeth grit.
His strange and unlikeable behavior is, of course, picked up on.
“You got a problem with her, or something?”
You honestly can’t tell what tone he’s going for when he says it. He looks pretty intense, though. Staring at Hasegawa like that. You smirk a bit.
“Not- Uh...” Hasegawa’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. His whole body getting smaller as he squishes himself together, muscles pulled tight. It’s like watching someone manually close a bear trap. “I just- I have a thing, I guess. It’s not-”
You walk over until you’re standing behind Kamimura. Kamimura who is oh-so kindly sitting at the edge of the table. You lean over him. Prop your elbows on his shoulders and knit your fingers together so you can adequately stare down Hasegawa.
He looks up at you. Embarrassed and horrified.
Kamimura whips his body around.
“Who the-” But he doesn’t see anything. Doesn’t see you, the ghost. “...hell? Did you?”
Hasegawa continues to stare at you.
What the fuck are you doing? He mouths.
“I swear to god someone was-” Kamimura turns back around, squinting at Hasegawa. The pathetic whelp takes too long to look away from you to meet his eyes.
“What the fuck just happened?” Kamimura grips the table edge, knuckles white. Voice dripping with a certain amount of suspicion.
You smile.
“What’s your excuse this loop, Hasegawa?”
Hasegawa looks at you with so much contempt. It sends a shiver through you.
“Do you believe in demons?” He asks, jaw clenched tight like a muzzle. You glare at him.
“Oh, so I don’t get to be a ghost anymore?”
His mouth twitches.
Kamimura glares. “Did Hama set you up to this?”
Hasegawa flounders, as he’s won’t to do. “N-No! I... I don’t think I’ve even talked to him, really?”
You’ve gotten so tired of this game. The one where you play the ghost. Intangible, unacknowledged, while your inferior replica gets to stumble through a rom-com.
You run your hand through Kamimura’s hair. Because you’ve missed it. You miss Kazutoshi. The strands flow through your fingers as easily as sand. He flinches away from your touch.
“Stop fucking touching him.” Hasegawa growls, pupils turned to pinpricks.
“Oh my god.” Kamimura whispers, eyes darting. He lands on you a couple of times, but it doesn’t stick. “Oh my god?”
“Tell him that I miss him.” You ask, voice small.
“I’m not saying that.”
Kamimura whips his head around.
“So there’s- can you see it? And- hear it???”
You scoff.
Hasegawa’s eyes sparkle. “You believe me?”
“The fuck else am I gonna do?!” He spreads out his arms. “There’s- I mean I don’t see anyone else in here. And I’m literally fuckin’ looking at you every time it happens.”
“Sorry.” Hasegawa chuckles a bit, smiling softly. “I- he kind of sucks.”
“Only as much as you do.” You scoff.
“And he’s very mean.” He says pointedly.
“I feel like I should be more freaked out about this.” Kamimura admits, slightly dazed sounding. “I think the kidnapping and the talking rabbit have kind of- I dunno.”
“Raised the bar for what can be considered normal?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He scratches at his neck, brows furrowed. “Like. I feel like I should be making you do tests to prove it, or something. Or really grilling you for a story.”
“I-I mean, you can? If you want to?”
Kamimura laughs. “Dude, it’s who knows how late. Maybe in the morning.” He shakes his head, seeming fond. “Maybe that’s it. This shit still feels like a dream.”
Hasegawa hums.
“So... does it, like. Have a name?” Kamimura asks. He really is taking this better than you expected him to.
“I-” Hasegawa purses his lips, and meets your eye. Kamimura follows his gaze. Your breath hitches. “Do you... have something you want me to call you?”
You grab at your wrist and twist it. Nails digging in and leaving white lines.
“You could call me Ken.”
Hasegawa scowls.
“You don’t get to be Ken. I’m Ken.”
Kamimura cackles.
“Ken sounds too good on you, anyways.” He says it far to casually. You know that something inside both of your chests squeeze. He gets the unearned privilege of warmth, while you get to watch who steals it from you.
“Y-Yeah?”
Kamimura snorts. “Yeah, dork. You got a solid name.”
“W-Well. Um. Kazutoshi is pretty good too...?” He speaks with the appropriate amount of hesitance.
Kamimura nods his head ever so slightly. “Thanks. Picked it myself.”
You have no idea how he did it. How are you supposed to pick something like that? A name is a label they give to you. Something that proves people know you, care about you. That someone wanted you around enough that they invented something to call you.
How do you pick that? How do you assign meaning to yourself? Everything that ‘you’ are has been stollen by a reflection. What are you supposed to do when the mirror steals from you? Plucking your sense of self and running off with it.
It makes sense, you guess. ‘Ken’ gets to be a person, because he didn’t exist long enough to die. The ghost of Hasegawa Ken lingered around him long enough that he remains whole. You lost him a long time ago. For the better, for the worse. He left you, whatever ‘he’ was.
You swallow. It’s awful, not actually being a ghost. Just being invisible. A useless curse, a worthless superpower.
You have to pick something, though. You know that this isn’t going to be a one loop moniker. Ken has been desperate for a way to separate you from himself. You’ll die as Hasegawa Ken one last time once you pick a name.
It’s a bit nerve wracking, put like that.
You stare at Kazutoshi. Engaged with some sort of conversation with your clone- the details tuned out by your haze of apathy. You want a name that you’d be happy to hear him call you. Something that will make you feel warm, when he mentions it.
...You also know yourself. You want something meaningful. Something relevant. If you’re discarding your identity, your new one better have some substance to it.
Substance. What a strange thing to think. You’ve felt so empty, all this time. Lightless. You swallow, and remember all those ugly lines you drew when the lights went out.
“Luciferin.” You blurt out, watching Ken stumble and stop mid sentence.
Kazutoshi raises an eyebrow.
“Um- Did you- was that you picking a name?” Ken questions you, looking stupid and confused.
“Tell him to call me Luciferin.” You repeat, twisting your other wrist and glaring at the floor.
“Um... Okay.” Ken glances at Kazutoshi. “H-He wants to be called Luciferin, I guess?”
You hear Kazutoshi go huh and glance up just to see his expression. There’s something thoughtful there. Something slightly impressed.
“Is he into chemistry or something?”
“S-... Something like that, I think.”
He hums, seeming pleased.
“Never met a demon that likes chemistry before.” Kazutoshi says with a sly grin, and you and Ken both snort.
“Yeah, he’s... something else.”
“So can your demon buddy break us outta here, or?”
Ken shifts, uncomfortable looking. You wait for him to insult you. Say that you can’t. Say that you could, but you’re too evil or lazy. Say that you trapped them all here.
“He’s been trying.”
It’s said so softly, and yet the words crush the air from your lungs.
“Oh.” Kazutoshi’s voice is gentle, too. You hate it. You hate Ken for doing that. “Well-” Kazutoshi glances in your direction. “Thanks, I guess? Maybe you’ll have luck faster than Chiba does.”
What a horrible thing. That kindness. That hope. You want Ken to die. You want to watch him die over and over again. You strangle your forearm and claw the flesh until it’s an angry red.
Ken hums, noncomital. “I guess we’ll see.”
“I mean, it’s fine, right? Apparently this place is fuckin’ crawling with famous people. The police’ll bust down the doors in no time to save you guys. And then, like. Halfheartedly let the rest of us leave, too.”
Ken laughs.
“I-I don’t think they’d be that apathetic...”
“Yeah, they’d probably tell the rabbit to keep us.” Kazutoshi nods his head, acting wise. “Like- ‘Nobody called us about an ugly guy with shitty blue hair, so you can keep that one. We’re just here for the nerdy guy and the vtuber and the famous child actress.’”
Ken shoves him lightly on the shoulder, you tense, but Kazutoshi allows it. “You are not ugly and your hair is not shitty.”
“Trust me, it’s shitty. When we get out of here and you see me redye it, you’ll see that I did a bad job.”
“When we get out of here, huh?” Ken’s voice is pinched. You want to slap him, tell him to not be so pessimistic where Kazutoshi can see him.
“Yeah, dude. I’m gonna wanna hang after this. Like I said, you’re one of the only normal people here.” Kazutoshi pauses, considering. “Well. Normal with some paranormal benefits, apparently. Bring Luciferin. We’ll make a day of it.”
Your body tenses as warmth pulses through you. How strange that it hurts to be acknowledged. How peculiar that you hunger for more. Selfish, selfish, selfish.
Ken laughs.
“I wouldn’t mind that.”
You don’t say anything. You don’t even allow yourself to imagine how the day would go. You don’t dare to picture Kazutoshi complaining in the store while the three of you pick out hair dye. You refuse to visualize going back to Kazutoshi’s apartment, helping him rebleach it. You refrain from envisioning his smile, warm and happy and slightly smug as he shows off afterwards.
You don’t let yourself you don’t let yourself you don’t you don’t you don’t
“Good. ‘Cause we’re making it happen.” Kazutoshi buries a yawn behind his palm, jaw cracking from the force of it. “Fuck. Now I’m tired. How about you?”
“I could probably sleep.” Ken lies.
Kazutoshi smiles, accepting it. “Cool. We can talk more tomorrow, alright? I’ll fuckin... quiz you on your pet demon-friend.”
You choke at the wording. Ken laughs, startled.
“UM?? S-Sure???”
Kazutoshi stands, wobbling slightly.
“Walk me back, who knows if fuckin’... Wada is awake. Crawlin’ around. Ready to jump on people’s backs.”
Ken snorts, getting up as well. “You make him sound like a spider.”
“He could be a spider. Anything could be true at this point.”
You follow them, silent.
Ken leads Kazutoshi to his room. Practiced. Muscle memory.
“Well... Try not to let any Wada’s bite you in your sleep, okay?”
Kazutoshi smirks as he unlocks his door. “I’ll do my fuckin’ best, Ken.” He pauses as the doorknob clicks. “You too, alright? Sleep well. You and Luciferin both. If... demons sleep, even.”
Ken blinks.
“Um. Yeah. Th-...Thank you.”
The door clicks shut.
It’s just the two of you, now.
You feel like you should say something. A sly remark, a painful jab, a reminder that Ken is a failure even now. That’s your role, isn’t it? You’re here to supply the antagonism in this neverending play. But whatever words you feel compelled to say are trapped. Something stuck in your throat. Tight and uncomfortable.
“I guess... Let’s see how this one goes.” Ken breathes out. “C’mon. We should sleep while we can.”
He begins walking back to his room without turning to check on you. You know from experience that he won’t wait for you. You won’t be keeping him up if you slip away now. Fruitlessly attempting to secure some form of escape.
You follow. Dog on a leash. Shadow clinging in the presence of harsh light.
Maybe you’ll be up to sisyphean tasks in the morning.