Chapter Text
Arataka Reigen was exhausted.
He trudged down his familiar walk home, his hand gripping his briefcase as it tried to drag him to the concrete. His swollen feet ached as they led him mindlessly back to his studio apartment, his mind lost to the world around him.
He wasn’t even thinking of anything, really. Maybe for a second his thoughts would flicker to a leaf tumbling across the sidewalk, or get stuck on the happy couple walking on the other side of the street, but it would fade back into nothing.
The walk went by quicker than he thought it would and he found himself fumbling with his keys in front of his door. He muttered a curse under his breath as his shaking fingers refused to cooperate. The sound of cars passing in the back and a dog barking was a terrible ambiance to his mood, making him feel more and more like the type of character that is designed to be pitied in a movie.
As he shoved the door open with his shoulder, his shoe got caught on the footstep and he stumbled forward, his arms pinwheeling as he tried to grab something to stop his descent. He ended up grabbing onto a jacket he had hung up on his coat hanger, which tore the coat hanger off the wall and jabbed into his back right after Arataka face-planted onto the floor.
He lay on the ground, a heavy sigh falling past his lips while he turned his head so that his cheek was smushed against the cold fake wood. The cool of the outside air still drifted in and Arataka shivered, kicking his feet up before shoving the door shut with his knee. He felt the floor shake beneath him before he dropped his feet and let them bounce against the door.
He blinked slowly, his blurry eyes looking at his shoe rack and studying his house slippers. He should get up and put them on, eat something, take a shower, and then let himself go to sleep. He can’t sleep here on the floor.
With another heavy sigh, Arataka shakily pushed himself off the ground, set the fallen coat rack to the side, and continued with his nightly routine, just at a slower and more halfhearted pace than usual.
After a quick shower (he didn’t have the money to justify taking a longer one) Arataka stumbled over to his bed and landed face-first into his pillow.
It took him a few seconds to get situated, but finally, he was under his warm covers and staring at his ceiling. His brain buzzed as he swallowed, wishing he had thought of putting a glass of water next to his bed to thwart his dry mouth.
But worst of all was the dull throbbing in his chest that was growing harder and harder to ignore.
He felt like someone had taken a knife and cut down his chest, peeling the skin and muscles to the side before carefully extracting the ribs that protected his heart. Like someone had snapped on blue rubber gloves and gingerly pulled out his heart, leaving nothing behind. Just the cold feeling of a cavern in his chest where something should be.
He knows his physical heart is still there, no matter what his body wants him to believe. So it just leaves the question of what is supposed to be there. What piece is he missing that others have?
If he could, he’d look back on his life and try to figure out when that part of him was stolen and piece together what had changed. It’s just that he spent the majority of his nights during middle school trying to stop himself from crying while playing music too loudly in his ears to drown out the words of the jerks at school. He knew that during high school he would stare at the ceiling when he was supposed to be asleep, imagining the dreams that wouldn’t come to him. He knew for a fact he felt this way during college, so no point in reminiscing over that.
He liked to think that he felt whole as a kid. It wasn’t like he had a hard life, just a kind of crappy family. He shouldn’t even feel this way now.
But he does. And he’s spent over ten years trying to fill that hole with whatever he could.
He had really hoped that being the son his parents wanted would be the fix. They wanted him to be a normal boy who would grow up to be a moderately successful man. He was supposed to continue the Reigen name, bringing in another hardworking, quiet, and respectful person to the force.
No matter how he twisted and turned it, no matter how much he tried to crumple that title up and shove it into that cavity in his chest, it never fit. It was too sharp and poked at his flesh, but he continued to wear it. Continued to stuff it in like a child shoving a triangle into a circular hole. It almost fits, but there’s still three pieces that are cold and empty, the uncomfortable shape only emphasizing it more.
He tried to fill up the rest with a soother. He started drinking, but found out that he was too much of a lightweight to ever hit that brief moment of ‘this is great!’ He was blackout drunk by the time he was on his second drink, and to make it even less useful, the crash and hangover afterward were so unbearable that he stopped pretty quickly.
Smoking worked. Unlike the liquid that sloshed out from behind the triangle, the smoke curled around the shape, cushioning it against his insides. It was pretty quickly becoming an expensive habit, but he decided it was worth it to hide the dull ache.
Arataka sighed heavily and turned his head on his pillow, directing his gaze at his blank TV. He swallowed again, his throat dry and itching but his body too heavy to get up and get a drink.
Twenty-four and still trying to please his parents. He let out a puff of amusement before he brought a hand up and dug it into his eyes.
It’s not like his dad actually cares about him. He just cares about the reputation that Arataka gives him. He never provided a loving home, and even now, while Arataka is still doing the things that he wanted him to do, there’s nothing. No ‘how’re things going?’ No ‘it’s good to see you again!’ Not even an ‘I love you, son.’ The only thing he’s gotten is less disapproving looks from his dad when he visits home.
…would it be such a big deal if he stopped visiting home?
It’s not like he actually enjoys getting to go back… his sister wasn’t ever there, and neither of them got along in the first place. His mom is fine, but she’s too busy trying to make his dad happy– an impossible thing to achieve.
Arataka rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, tucking his nose into the corner of his pillow.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he stopped trying to fill the hole with what they wanted.
-
Arataka yawned loudly as he sat down at the DMV. He wasn’t planning on driving anytime soon, but his license needed to be renewed and he needed the I.D..
He looked around the room full of people who looked just about as miserable as he felt, and Arataka for once was thankful about where he worked. He was pretty sure that if he worked here he would’ve died from boredom long ago.
“Twenty-three,” the old man behind the desk called. Arataka watched as a woman sighed in relief and hopped to her feet.
Arataka was number thirty-five.
He let his head fall back and hit the top of his seat, sighing heavily. This wasn’t how he wanted to spend his off day.
“Ain’t that the truth, huh,” the woman next to him sighed, causing Arataka’s eyes to slide over.
She looked to be a little older than his mother, with deep wrinkles etched into her eyes and forehead. Except hers look like they came from smiling too much and spending too many days in the sun.
“I firmly believe that if I was put in charge of the DMV, I would have the people in and out of here in mere moments,” Arataka told her, sitting back up and crossing his legs as he waved a hand in the air.
She smiled, the expression warm enough to surprise him. “My son told me the same thing when he got his license. He spent the whole time fussing about how long he had to stand in line.” She reminisced, shaking her head.
“I can’t blame the kid,” Arataka said with an over-enthusiastic nod. “I should’ve brought something to work on.”
The woman sighed and nodded. “I forgot my knitting needles at home,” she lamented, frowning. “Now the only thing I’ve got to keep me company is my mind.”
Arataka brought a hand to his chest and raised his eyebrows at her. “Wow, ma’am, I could’ve sworn we had just hit it off.”
The woman laughed and Arataka felt a little bit lighter. “Well, in my defense, most young people like you don’t care to talk to some of us older folk.”
Arataka waved the thought away with a twist of his wrist. “My parents raised me better than that.” Except they didn’t. “You can have a conversation anywhere if you try hard enough.”
“Ah, well, if only everyone thought the same as you,” she told him, pursing her lips.
Arataka took her in again, watching as she twisted the aged ring on her finger. “Looks like you’ve got something on your shoulders,” he told her, smiling knowingly. Why not invade her private life? There’s no better place to overshare about your life than the DMV–
“Are you a psychic?” The lady interrupted his thoughts, turning to him with a newfound interest.
Arataka blinked, confused by the change of conversation. “Uhh–”
“I swear there is something on my shoulders,” the woman sighed, bringing a hand up to massage her neck. “Or at least something’s messing with my head. I haven’t been able to sleep properly for days. ”
“Like… an actual ghost?” Arataka asked, somewhat confused. He had spent way too many hours reading books on the occult as a kid, so whenever someone mentioned something along those lines, he’d never been able to tell if they were serious or not. Some people seriously believed that stuff and wrote books about it. Who’s to say she’s not one of them?
The woman looked away, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “I mean, most people think I’m crazy when I admit that I believe in psychics and spirits, but… I don’t really know what else could be causing this.”
…so… she thought it was a spirit.
Though…who is Arataka to tell her no? Besides, maybe this is a little bit of fun he could have. It’s been too long since he’s done something risky. A little bit of adrenaline can go a long way.
He turned in his seat to face her and hummed knowingly, scratching his chin as he looked her up and down. “Well, I like to keep my real identity on the down low, but I guess if you really want to know…” Seriously, what was he doing? This was going to just get him embarrassed and then he’d be stuck sitting next to her for who knows how long—
Her eyes lit up as she gasped softly. “I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed quietly, setting a small spark off in Arataka’s chest. “You know, I went to that sunny psychic organization or whatever and asked for help, but they insisted that nothing was there, but clearly something is wrong,” she said, scooting to the edge of her seat. “I didn’t always feel like this, you know.”
Arataka scoffed, throwing his hand around in the air. “Please, those ‘psychics’ don’t know what they’re talking about.” He did not know what she was talking about. “ I can see clear as day that there’s a little purple gremlin gnawing on the crook of your neck right now,” he told her, pointing at her homemade sweater’s collar.
She looked at her shoulder, probably hoping to see it. “Really?”
Arataka nodded sagely, turning back to look ahead of them and at the cheap PSA posters on the wall. “Since we have the time, how about you tell me when you think this spirit first appeared? Spirits tend to attach to people who are struggling with hard times, guilty feelings, or general discomfort. Has there been an influx of that in your life lately?”
To be frank, Arataka did not believe in psychics or spirits. He believed that all of the self-proclaimed psychics were fake and only wanted to scam scared people out of their money.
But it wasn’t an entirely awful thing, right? Yeah, it was lying, but some ‘psychics’ actually helped people feel better. All of the people’s problems come from something within their mind that makes them feel like there’s a supernatural influence— rather than being able to accept that it’s their actual feelings. A good fake psychic would help them get over the real issue while making them believe it was a spirit.
That didn’t sound bad. That’s why Arataka does the things he does, right? To make his parents, boss, co-workers, and customers feel better, right? He wants to help people, that’s the only thing that makes him feel good. Maybe those fake psychics were onto something.
The woman went on to explain that several months ago, she had gotten into an argument with her son. She didn’t believe that she was in the wrong, but after that fight, they hadn’t spoken, and day after day the ‘spirit’s hold on her’ got worse and worse.
“I don’t understand,” she told him, her shoulders deflating as she shook her head. “I didn’t do anything wrong, it was a conversation that needed to be had…”
Arataka rubbed his chin before throwing his hands out in an impressive display that caused her to jump. He ended it off with a jab of his thumb towards his chest and a brilliant smile. “Don’t worry for a second longer, ma’am. I can solve this problem for you right now,” he told her, shoving his hand into his pockets.
One thing that Arataka had learned long ago was that if you ask for fries from MobDonald’s that are unsalted, they’re fresher since they would have to make more without salt on them. So he carried around salt packets, that way he could salt his fries once he got them.
He pulled out the packets with a flourish and ripped off the top before she could get a good look at the bright yellow M. “Spirits are especially weak to salt,” he explained as he dumped half of the packet onto each of her shoulders. He quickly made a show of massaging it into her sweater before pulling his hands back and dusting them off over the floor.
“Like snails?” She asked as she shook her now itchy sweater.
“Mhm,” he agreed, running a hand through his caramel hair. “It melts them into a pile of sludge— that is, most of the time,” he caught himself with a laugh.
“Most?”
Arataka turned to her quickly, crossing his legs again and pointing at her with an intense look. “This spirit latched onto you for a reason. I can see it now. Even though it writhes in physical pain, it won’t die until its emotional baggage has been lifted.”
“...Emotional baggage—”
“Yes.” Arataka sighed solemnly, touching his heart. “You see, I can tell that this spirit latched on to you because it related to your situation at hand. The spirit was once a young man who got into an argument with his mother,” he lied out of his ass, “and he died before he could ever apologize.”
Her eyes widened and she looked at her shoulder with a nervous frown.
“He doesn’t want to cause any harm, but his desire, the thing that will grant him safe passage into the true afterlife, is for you to make up with your son,” Arataka told her seriously, gingerly reaching over to hold her wrist as he locked eyes with her. “Even if it means that you have to recognize that you did something that hurt him, you have to apologize and make things right. Or else this spirit will cling onto your shoulders for the rest of your life.”
Surprisingly, the woman took his bullshit with so much sincerity that she immediately pulled out her phone to send a text to her son.
Arataka had to resist the urge to burst out laughing— until she pulled out her wallet and forced fifteen hundred yen into Arataka’s hands.
“Wha—”
“You just helped me solve a problem that no one else has been willing to help with,” she told him earnestly, smiling brightly like the non-existent spirit on her shoulder had flown off. “Thank you, truly.”
Her number was called up next and Arataka was left staring at the cash in his palms as his heart beat loudly in his ears.
Arataka had helped her. And she paid him.
When he went to sleep that night, it was the first time in years that the throbbing in his chest was replaced with a living, beating heart.
-
Over that weekend, he dragged out all of his old books on the occult and similar things while pulling others out from the library. He studied things such as the effects of incense on spirits, holy water, candles, spirit tags, and a whole other variety of things that Arataka realized he could easily make work.
Spirits didn’t really exist, which meant that most of these people's problems could be solved by some persuasion, listening, and a customer service voice— which Arataka had mastered years ago.
The excitement of having something new to focus on surged through Arataka, so visibly that his coworkers and boss commented on it. In the weeks after, Arataka sold more of his company's stock than the rest of the office combined.
This is why it was a terrible shock to everyone involved that Arataka Reigen was quitting and becoming self-employed. He knew what he was doing, despite what everyone else had believed. None of them realized that Arataka had spent countless nights dreaming about quitting and starting something on his own.
So there he was. He stood in his brand-new office and inhaled deeply, the smell of moving boxes, stale walls, and incense filling his nostrils. He planted his hands on his hips and looked around, that rush of excitement running through him again.
After spending the whole day setting up his office, he had takeout delivered and plopped down on his new (to him at least) couch, and ate until he was stuffed full. He thought about lighting a cigarette, only to scold himself for even thinking of doing that in a brand-new office like this one.
He stayed up late in the night and put up his website with working hours and the offers for jobs he could do. Back at the DMV, he had caught the lady again and asked for her name and to spread the word about Reigen Arataka, the twenty-first century's greatest psychic, and that his business would open soon. Now there was a website to his name, and potentially her word of mouth could bring someone in.
In hindsight, it was a bit ambitious since he didn’t know if he would actually have started a business, but now that he did, he was thankful. When he woke up the next morning, he found that he already had one appointment and the anticipation burst through him, rejuvenating him more than any cigarette.
When he met with the man, he listened to his problems, accurately identified it as a man who was just overstressed, and ‘exorcized’ his spirit with an overdramatic show. He hit it home with a ‘psychic’s order’ to take a week off of work and spend time nurturing his soul to get it back into a healthy place.
The man thanked him over and over again, leaving a generous tip that Arataka tried to refuse. He promised to help spread the word about him, and Arataka was feeling like he was in business!
Of course, as the years with Spirits and Such went on, there were hard times. Arataka would have people come in just to ridicule him and accuse him of lying. There were slow days which led to slow weeks, and…sometimes there were jobs that he couldn’t help with.
The latter led to an important change in Arataka’s beliefs.
Spirits, psychics, and the general supernatural are very real.
It took one overly confident acceptance of a job for Arataka to realize that.
But surprisingly, it barely phased him. Spirits are real, so what? That means that he’s not entirely a liar! If anything, it made it easier for him to know what jobs to accept. In fact, because of that discovery, he decided that to make up for the now-confirmed true lack of psychic abilities, he would offer more things than he did before, like massages or card readings. Things he could count on being fake.
Eventually, his family did find out about his career change, which led to a horrible call with his father raging on the other end. Arataka tried to pretend like it didn’t bother him since he already knew he was a disappointment to his father. It wasn’t like it was a new revelation… but he still found himself lying in bed that night, the gaping hole in his chest freezing his insides while tears seeped into his pillow.
But aside from those few hiccups, Spirits and Such had turned into a fully-fledged business that Arataka could make a living off of. He even made his way onto a few TV shows after having spent countless nights staying up to defeat a video gamer who was so good at a game that he was deemed a spirit.
Arataka was doing great! The years he spent working at Spirits and Such were the most purposeful years of his in a long time. The cavity in his chest felt like less of a problem when he was helping out as many people as he was able to, doing the best of his abilities to make sure that no one left his office upset. Sure, as the years went on he found himself getting more and more bored with his new life, but he had plans to make sure that it wouldn’t get too dull— or if it did, he had plans for his next big thing!
But then it all came crashing down on him, and Arataka lost the only thing that had begun to fill that hole.
-
Arataka twirled the shower pole in his hand as he made his way home from the store. The night previously, he had slipped in the shower, grabbed the curtain, and sent the whole thing crashing down on him. Not only did he have a bruise on his head, but the pole had dented and was no longer usable. So new shower pole.
He whistled as he walked, taking the bright blue sky above him as a good sign for the rest of his day.
He didn’t work on Sundays a lot of the time, since he found that it was nice to have a break for his own mental health. Sure, he liked Spirits and Such more than any of the other jobs he’s had, but it was still draining.
There were many nights where he’d stumble home and collapse into bed without even having the strength to wash his face, but those nights were much fewer and far between than previous workplaces. Yeah, there were still nights where that emptiness was more prominent, and yeah, the frequency of that was growing stronger, but all he had to do was work a bit longer the next day and it wouldn’t bother him because he’d pass out the moment he’d hit the sheets!
And sure, he’s been lying to everyone who steps foot in his office, but he’s helping them! He’s not actually scamming them out of their money, he’s offering very good prices for resolving issues that no one else will listen to! He just has to say he’s a psychic to get people to listen, it’s not that big of a deal.
He hopped up the stairs to his apartment, nodding to another tenant who was making their way down. He pulled out the correct key on his keyring on the first try and he patted himself on the back before making his way inside.
After kicking off his shoes, Arataka locked the door and twirled the shower pole again, only this time stepping far enough in his apartment for him to spin it around as much as he wanted. He jumped before landing in a fighting stance he learned during his time in Shaolin kung fu and swung the pole through the air, making loud huffing noises like a video game character.
“Die, spirit!” He declared as he twirled around, swinging the pole fast enough to make a whooshing noise.
click click click
Arataka paused, furrowing his eyebrows at the noise. It sounded like a lighter..? He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out his own to see if it had accidentally been triggered, but it hadn’t… so what was—
snap
Arataka’s heart leaped to his throat as he whirled around, excruciating heat bursting around him as flames rushed through his apartment. The red-hot fire crackled and snapped, consuming his belongings and destroying the wallpaper and floor. He stood in shock as it made a perfect circle around him, walls of fire surrounding him and evaporating the sweat off his skin.
His eyes shot up to where the fire alarm was melting off the ceiling, barely able to see it through the fire. Why wasn’t it beeping?!
Arataka twisted around, stumbling back to make sure he was in the center of the circle as he clawed at his tie. He couldn’t even see his door through the flames, he– he had nowhere to go! Was he really going to die at twenty-eight?!
“ HELP!” He screamed, his voice tearing at his throat as he pulled off his tie and stripped his suit jacket, the heat immediately unbearable. “ SOMEONE—”
The flames whooshed behind him and Arataka turned around and watched as a path parted and a person stepped out into his line of sight. “I’m sure someone will come eventually,” the man cackled, joining Arataka in the circle as the path closed behind him. “Just not quick enough for you.”
Arataka took a step back before the heat flared behind him and he yelped, dropping the bathroom pole with a clatter. The suit jacket that he had been clutching touched the fire and flames crawled along the cheap fabric, eagerly racing towards Arataka’s skin. He threw it into the fire and watched as it disintegrated in front of his eyes.
He panted heavily before turning towards the man. “Who— what is going on?!” He shrieked, watching as the guy ran a hand through his long, stuck straight-up hair. “Who are you?!”
“Name’s Miyagawa,” he said with too large of a grin. His sharp eyebrows rose and Arataka’s eyes got stuck on the jagged scar cutting through the blonde hair. “And I’m here to make you join Claw, Twenty-First Century’s Greatest Psychic,” he giggled, the sound coming out like a strange click.
Arataka glanced around as sweat budded and disappeared, his skin dry and his hair growing brittle. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go, it was just– just flames! His apartment, it’s— destroyed! He doesn’t have a lot but he liked what he had!!
“What do you mean, join Claw?” Arataka asked, gritting his teeth as he resisted the urge to unbutton his shirt despite the fabric trapping more heat close to him. “I’m not joining anything that would fucking turn my apartment to ashes!” He roared, throwing a hand in the air. “Claw? What even is that, some fucking cat role-playing group? I’m not joining shit! ”
He was barely able to breathe, and the air he could get in was so hot it was roasting the inside of his lungs. He dropped to the ground and grabbed the shower pole, hissing as it burned his palms. He straightened and brandished it towards Miyagawa, panting loudly.
He had to be psychic. That’s the only explanation for this— but can psychics really control fire?! He guessed so, otherwise there was no other answer but—
The ring of fire closed in and Arataka lurched forward, holding out the sizzling pole to keep Miyagawa at a distance. He was just standing and grinning down at Arataka, the psychotic look in his eyes making Arataka think that he was enjoying this.
“What, do you think you’re going to be able to stop this?” Miyagawa asked, stroking his long chin. “I mean, any step away from me and you’ll be turned to ashes. Your only option is to come with me—”
Arataka surged forward and swung the shower pole with as much force as he could, yelling loudly. It slammed into Miyagawa’s skull and he stumbled, grabbing at his hair as his face twisted.
“OW!” He barked before an even worse look grew in his eyes. “Ohh you asked for it!”
Arataka ducked as the esper shot a bolt of flames above his head and grimaced at the smell of his singed hair. “Let’s talk about this!” He yelped as he twisted in the circle, dodging another blast. “I’m really not the guy you want!!”
“Oh yeah?” Miyagawa tugged the flames in closer and Arataka stood up straight, pulling his arms in close while still clutching the pole. “How come? You look exactly like the psychic that’s been taking over the entire nation.”
Arataka swallowed, ignoring how his tongue got stuck in his mouth, and grinned nervously. “Ah, well, that’s the funny part!” He said with forced laughter. “I’m not actually psychic!”
Miyagawa narrowed his eyes at Arataka, his hands still held up and cupping balls of fire. “Whaddya mean?”
Arataka sucked in burning air and took one hand off of his pole to unbutton his dress shirt, unable to take the sweltering heat much longer. He chose not to look at the blisters on his palm.
“Ahahhaa well, I guess it’s a good testament to my acting skills that I was able to make some group think that I’m a real psychic,” Arataka stumbled through explaining, finding it hard with the devastation going on around him. How long has it been? Someone has to have seen flames by now, so the fire department has to be on their way, right?? He doesn’t live too far from them, just a few minutes down the road! “But really, I’m just a regular ol’ guy!” He said as he tugged off several more buttons down his shirt. The air was still hot, but at least it was able to move. “Just a good– a uh, a good liar!”
Miyagawa looked him up and down, the flames in his hands dying so he could scratch his head. “Really? We’ve all been pretty convinced—”
“I’m flattered that I come across that realistically, seriously! B-But I’m really just a regular dude,” Arataka assured him frantically. “I mean, if I had psychic powers, wouldn’t I have been fighting back by now?”
Miyagawa made a face at the pole in his hands. “I thought you were embedding them into that—”
“Nope, this is just a regular means of self-defense!” Arataka assured him, smiling. “Now, since I’m not the guy you want, mind shutting this off and uh– letting me head over to the insurance company?” He asked, grimacing as he gripped his pole a little bit tighter. He had no clue what he was supposed to do in this situation, but he did not want to be burnt meat.
Miyagawa opened his mouth to respond before the sounds of fire engines burst over the roar of the flames. Arataka didn’t let the sigh of relief out of his chest. There was no way of knowing if he was actually safe.
“If you don’t get out of here soon, they’ll catch you,” Arataka told him, knowing that would be total bullshit. If this guy wanted, he could roast Arataka alive and no one would know he was here. They’d probably sum it up to a gas fire. He crossed an arm over his chest. “Don’t want the government finding out about…Claw.”
Miyagawa’s face twisted into a sharp snarl. “By the way, it is not a cat role-playing group.”
“That’s good to hear, but I still don’t want to join,” Arataka replied, the adrenaline wearing off despite the sirens blaring in the background. He was beginning to feel light-headed and the panic was crawling out of his stomach and spreading to the rest of him. “You—”
The flames around them surged and bellowed and Arataka was pretty sure he heard his bed frame collapse. Miyagawa stalked forward and Arataka backed up as far as he was willing. “You know too much now,” he said, grinning as his strange laugh clicked again. “Now you have to go—”
Arataka heard someone bust down his door and he launched himself forward, slamming his shoulder into the esper’s gut and sending him flying into the flames behind him.
Miyagawa shrieked before the flames around his immediate self disappeared. The sounds of firefighters shouting directions to each other and calling for life made his eyes blow wide. “Fine, Reigen,” he growled, standing up as Arataka stumbled back, falling onto his butt. “But don’t think you're safe.” He grinned and he brought up a finger gun and pointed it straight at Arataka’s face. “You know too much.”
Arataka’s heart skipped a beat and he scrambled to stand. “STOP—“ Miyagawa snapped and a fireball shot from his finger as he dodged, narrowly escaping until the blast latched onto Arataka’s left hand.
It took a moment for his body to react to the fire, but as soon as it did, Arataka screamed. He grabbed his wrist as he collapsed to the floor, his muscles giving out as he shook his flaming hand, agonized yelling tearing through his throat. His vision grew dark and blurry as he watched his skin bubble and boil, rippling muscles charing over bone.
Someone burst through the flames and grabbed hold of Arataka, scooping him off the ground just as he lost consciousness.
-
Arataka lost a lot of things that day.
He lost everything he owned. The place he had been living at since he was eighteen, a childhood stuffed animal, his high school diploma, his mattress, his favorite mug, a stash of cash he kept for emergencies, and the mobility in his left hand.
His skin would never look the same. His flesh had turned pink with strips of dark maroons, all knotted and twisted over his knuckles and nailless fingers. It felt tight and his muscles were taught, barely letting him bend his fingers. Sometimes he can still feel the burning, still smell the roasted flesh. He often hid it behind a glove, that way no one would stare at the mangled mess. And because his hand felt safer that way.
But of all the things he lost, only one thing mattered. He lost the only thing that had ever begun to fill the gaping hole in his chest.
He didn’t understand what had happened. It felt like the blink of an eye and Arataka had more questions that would never be able to be answered.
In the hospital, he tried to find anything he could about the organization Claw, but it was like it didn’t exist. He wondered if it was a small or new cult-like thing, but either way, it wasn’t safe to continue with Spirits and Such. He knew that.
His time as a psychic had gone up in flames, and Arataka valued his life too much to ever think of going back. When he was able to, he canceled all of his appointments and publicly announced he was closing Spirits and Such. Because of his moderate amount of fame within the supernatural world, people wanted answers. He knew that the smartest thing would be to tell them that he wasn’t a psychic, but he couldn't take that much of a blow to his pride. Instead he just blamed the fire incident and said it was a pyromaniac who was unsatisfied with a visit (which is what he told the insurance company) and that he needed time to recover outside of the limelight.
And yet, despite having had his apartment turned to ash and his life threatened because of his lies, he still wanted to keep pretending. He wanted to go back to his office the next day and continue to help his customers because it made him feel better. But he couldn’t. He cared too much about his self preservation.
He thought about the rhyme ‘liar liar pants on fire’ one night, two days after the incident. He ended up crying on the kitchen floor, clutching his bandaged hand close to his chest.
He had to stay with his parents during his recovery period and while he found a new apartment. He was barely able to stand his father’s eyes on the back of his neck while he changed his bandages. Throughout that whole three week stay, they probably said a total of ten words to each other.
The cavern in his chest was growing and he felt all of the excitement of life draining out of him again. He was blowing through packs of cigarettes and finding himself at the bar despite the years of avoiding it. He tried to find excitement in starting a new job, but nothing was promising.
He refused to go back to working for someone else, so instead during the time he was with his parents, he worked his ass off researching to be able to start a private investigator business. He was very thankful that Japan didn’t require a license.
It took a while, but Arataka finally had left behind Spirits and Such and had opened Seasoning P.I.. Not a fun name, he knew, but he didn’t have much fun left in him.
Which he guessed made him perfect for the job, because no one was coming for fun. He brought in as much energy as he could, but the majority of people who came to ask for help were wanting to know if a spouse was cheating, or if someone they loved could really do such a heinous act and were seeking proof.
The answer was almost always yes. Breaking the news was harder than anything Arataka had ever done before. Because he wasn’t in a position to help the people further. He couldn’t blame their problems on a spirit and exorcize it. No, their problems were very real and often betraying.
So here he is. Thirty, and once again lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as the leftover smoke in his lungs swirled around in his empty chest. His burnt hand was resting in a bowl of water that he kept by his bed for when the phantom pain was too strong.
Arataka inhaled deeply and closed his brown eyes, his shaggy caramel hair tickling his nose as it shifted, dusting his eyelashes.
He was exhausted.