Ritsu lies there a while longer.

And then he throws back the blankets, pushes Soft onto Shigeo, and tears down the hall into the kitchen. He swings himself around the doorway, hand on the frame, shoulders tense and eyes wide.

Reigen, currently stirring something at the stove, glances over his shoulder. The moment he sees Ritsu, a smile splits his face.

“Oh, you're awake!” he says, much too chipper. “Good to see you up, I was just finishing here.”

Ritsu blinks twice, still computing. Reigen goes back to prep.

“I didn't know what you kids liked,” he starts off, “so I just grabbed some soup from the market. I'd make it myself, but I'm kinda short on groceries at the moment—not to mention I usually only cook for one—that’s not to say I'm complaining, I'm glad you two are here. I'm a little worried about your brother, but I'm sure he'll be up soon. Sometimes you just need a lil rest and recuperation, y’know?”

Reigen is rambling now, grabbing three bowls from the cabinet and setting them on the countertop as he goes. Ritsu watches him, gobsmacked.

“I…”

Reigen turns to him, a small frown crossing his face. “What's wrong?”

That's the thing, there's nothing wrong. Things are actually okay for once. But that's exactly what's so mind-boggling. The “right” that is this entire situation.

“N-Nothing,” Ritsu manages, shaking his head to knock himself from the thought. “I just… thank you.”

It seems like too simple a thing. Not enough. But Reigen smiles and shakes his head.

“Don't mention it. I'm happy the two of you are here. You’ve been through hell and back at least a dozen times, huh.”

He's talking to himself more than anything, but Ritsu still nods.

“Wellp.” Reigen brushes off his hands needlessly after pouring two bowls of soup. “I'll dish up Shigeo's once he's awake. In the meantime, you hungry?”

Ritsu doesn't really know what he is, but whether out of shock, a lack of something better to say, or simply to be polite, he nods.

“Oh, also—let me take a look at your arms. You seemed pretty out of it last night, so I didn't push it, but if you're injured, we need to take care of that too.”

“O-Oh, right. Thank you.”

Reigen smiles and shakes his head. “Like I said, you don't have to thank me,” he says, taking the bowls into each hand, “but you're welcome, kiddo.”

Maybe it's his gentle tone. Maybe it's the nickname. Maybe it's the situation. Or maybe it's a combination of everything. But Ritsu feels like his chest is being wound tight, and for once it isn't out of fear or panic.

He follows Reigen into the living room.

“Look after him, okay? As long as you have each other, you’ll be okay.”

They were surrounded by fire.

Ritsu was behind him, clinging to his shirt and burying his face against his back. The walls and ceiling burned so brightly that they drowned out the feeble light of Shigeo’s barrier. A falling piece of the ceiling slammed into it. Ritsu screamed. Shigeo wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed him closer, hiding his face.

The smoke rose with the flames and consumed the world around them. When Shigeo found his legs again, he took Ritsu, and he ran.

Shigeo shoots upright, breathing hard, both hands clutching at his chest. His lungs burn against the oxygen flowing shakily through them, and his throat feels like he’d just swallowed rocks. His right arm is slinged around his shoulder. He feels bandages shift beneath his t-shirt. They’re on his arms and legs. His head swims and burns.

With half-fuzzy vision and a mind full of cotton, he surveys the room. He’s sitting on a couch with a blanket over his legs. The carpet is loaded with so many stains that it might as well be its own ballistic pattern. The space has a popcorn ceiling an ugly shade of creamy-gray-white, which does nothing to compliment the walls or decor, which are bland and old and tasteless. His and Ritsu’s backpack is on the floor next to the couch, placed near a blue, plastic box, pillbottles, a bottle of water, and several blankets.

There's no sign of Ritsu anywhere.

Shigeo kicks off the blanket and his feet hit the carpet. The room spins and sways and so does he for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for him to regain his footing. He should be able to sense Ritsu, right? Ritsu awakened. He should be able to sense him if he’s close, so why can’t he? Unless he isn’t close—

Shigeo hears footsteps and his heartrate rockets to a dangerous tempo. They’re too heavy to be Ritsu’s. Too spaced. Too far apart.

Which means—

The stranger turns the corner and Shigeo slams him into the carpet.

He’s a tall, gangly kind of guy who doesn’t really look threatening, but Ritsu is gone, Ritsu is missing and for some reason he’s here, and the stranger shrieks on the way down, but it cut short when his back hits the floor with a resounding thump. He moves to prop himself up on his elbows immediately, but Shigeo turns the barrier on him, closes him in that space, and—

“Where’s Ritsu?” His voice is steady, but his outstretched hand trembles. “Where’s my brother? What did you do to him?”

The stranger sits up, palms flat on the ground behind him. He looks… exasperated, almost. Shigeo doesn’t know what to call the emotion on his face.

“Ah, shit, I should’ve—listen, your brother’s fine, he’s in the other room.”

Shigeo’s blood burns. “I don’t believe you.”

The stranger looks helpless, now. That much is plain. “Listen, I seriously don’t know what to tell you. Just—call his name or something, you’ll see—”

“Mrrow?”

“Nii-san!”

From the hall sprints first Soft, chirping and trilling, and second, Ritsu, hot on her toes, beaming brighter than ever before. There are bandages around his head, on his wrists and fingers, probably more hidden by his clothes, but he’s there. He’s there, he’s alive, and he’s okay.

Shigeo goes lightheaded. “Rits—Ritsu—”

Ritsu rounds the couch, skids for a second, then throws himself right at him, bringing his arms around Shigeo’s shoulders and hugging tightly. His arms wind up pinned to his sides, but he still manages to raise his one good arm to wrap around Ritsu’s back. The dizziness creeps in. He closes his eyes. Ritsu is okay. That’s all that matters.

Before he’s ready, Ritsu releases him and steps back, though he holds him by the shoulders. “Are you okay? You were out for a while, I—we were worried.”

It takes Shigeo a moment to realize he doesn’t mean “we” as in himself and Soft.

“Oh, I—” He drops the barrier from around the stranger, and now that the panic is gone and Ritsu is here and he’s safe, guilt is replacing it steadily. “I-I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Don’t apologize, kid, I would’ve done the same thing.” The stranger gets to his feet like he hadn’t just been decked by psychic powers, which… in and of itself is kind of odd. “Glad to see you up, finally. I was starting to think I’d have to take you to a doctor.”

“This is Reigen, Nii-san,” Ritsu introduces eagerly, gesturing with one hand. Reigen waves casually. “He found us at the building, he’s been taking care of us.”

“I—” He really, really feels lightheaded now. “I—I don’t know how to—what to—”

The world tips and tilts. Ritsu’s eyes flood with panic. Reigen is suddenly right beside him, taking him by the shoulders and guiding him down to the couch. He doesn’t feel nearly as faint once he’s sitting, but the nausea doesn’t completely dissipate. Ritsu sits beside him, settles a hand on his shoulder. Reigen still holds the other one.

“Take it easy there, bud,” Reigen says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ve got a pretty serious head injury, don’t push it.”

“Are you okay?” Ritsu asks, brows pinched. “D-Do you think you’re going to pass out again, or…?”

Shigeo shakes his head, stopping short when it increases the dizziness. “N-No, I’m okay,” he says, and his voice trembles a little now. “I-I’m sure my psychic powers will heal it soon. It’s okay.”

It’s actually pretty weird that they haven’t fixed it already. Wounds aren’t usually a big deal. Bandage them, look after them a while, and then good as new (sans the scar they left behind). Ritsu swallows hard, but doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, while you’re up—” Reigen says, and he snatches the pillbottle and water bottle from the floor, handing the water to Shigeo first before popping open the cap and knocking three pills into his hand. He puts two back. “You’re twelve, right?”

Shigeo nods shakily. Ritsu still hasn’t let go of his shoulder.

“Well, go ahead and take this.” Reigen holds the pill out to him, and Shigeo takes it carefully from his palm. His hand is warm. “You’ve gotta swallow it whole.”

“What’s it do?”

“With luck, it’ll bring your fever down.”

Shigeo blinks. “My… fever?”

“You’ve had one for a while,” Ritsu says lowly, carefully. “It hasn’t gone down very much at all.”

“I wanted to give it to you first thing,” Reigen goes on, “but you were unconscious, so, obviously that didn’t work.”

Shigeo studies the pill. The ones they snatch from pharmacies are typically just for kids. They’re chewable, crudely fruit-flavored. He’s never seen a pill like this and that scares him.

But Ritsu isn’t worried. Ritsu seems to trust Reigen. And Reigen doesn’t give off an intimidating, threatening or dangerous aura, psychic or otherwise.

He takes the pill. The water tastes amazing. He hadn’t realized how feverish his body actually felt until he downed it. It’s cool, but not cold. It’s. Great, actually.

He gets through about half of it before realizing and then twists on the cap and returns it to the floor. The ache in his bones hasn’t dissipated, but the nausea and dizziness has some. Maybe he’s dehydrated. He’d be more surprised to hear if he wasn’t.

“Thank you,” he says when he remembers.

Reigen smiles and straightens up, brushing his hands off needlessly. “I made soup earlier, I can heat some up if you’re hungry.” He pauses a moment, studies him. “—On second thought, don’t say anything. I’ll be back.”

He turns on his heel and disappears into the kitchen. Shigeo blinks dazedly at the empty space he’d occupied moments before, only really snapping out of it when Soft yawns and stretches her paws against his leg. It earns a small giggle from Ritsu, who reaches over and scratches her chin. She purrs.

“Reigen bought food for her, too,” he says, voice gentle. “He’s… he’s been really—”

“Kind.” “—Kind.”

They blink at each other. Ritsu cracks a smile and nods, still stroking Soft’s fur with one hand and holding Shigeo’s shoulder with the other.

“Yeah. That.”

“I don’t feel any psychic power from him,” Shigeo says, thinking out loud more than actually discussing. “But I can’t sense you, either.”

Ritsu’s smile turns into a frown. “You can’t sense me? I thought you could.”

“I’ve never been able to sense psychic power from you, before or after you awoke.”

Ritsu’s head tilts and he stares down at the couch, the small space between them. He does so for some time. “That’s… that’s weird. You’ve always been able to sense people’s psychic abilities.”

Shigeo swallows hard, but ultimately shakes his head. Whatever’s wrong, he’ll figure it out eventually. But Ritsu doesn’t need to know how clueless he really is. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe I’m just not used to you having psychic powers.”

Ritsu bites his lip, like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. With a small nod, he lets it go. “I do sense something from you,” he says, changing the topic, “but it’s small. And I’m still kind of figuring out psychic powers, anyway, so that might be it.”

“What about Reigen?”

A clatter and bang from the kitchen, and Shigeo and Ritsu’s heads snap around in that direction. Soft’s head shoots up, and she hops off the couch to go investigate.

“Nothing happened!” comes Reigen’s voice, spoken like someone who’d just witnessed something happening. “Don’t worry, kids, I’ve got it covered! Oh my god—”

“No, I don’t sense anything psychic from him,” Ritsu answers, turning back to him. “And I honestly don’t think he could hurt us if he tried.”

That is true. Even is his weakened, exhausted state, Shigeo was able to pin and immobilize him (something that will most likely sit guiltily in the corner of his heart for the rest of his life). That, and Reigen hadn’t even tried to hurt them. Not once. And he’d helped Ritsu, bandaged what injuries he had, took care of them both. There’s something special in that. Something Shigeo can’t really decipher.

“... Do you think we’re okay, here?”

Shigeo meets Ritsu’s eyes, and Ritsu swallows hard and looks down again, fiddling with the hem of his tattered sweatshirt.

“Claw hasn’t found us yet,” Shigeo says finally, “which I think means we’re safe. For now. When the time comes… we’ll just go back to doing what we’ve always done.”

Ritsu nods wordlessly, but Shigeo can tell he isn’t happy. He can’t blame him. He reaches and squeezes Ritsu’s hand on his shoulder, and Ritsu smiles sadly in response.

Arataka really doesn’t like how quickly the boys tore into their soup.

Ultimately, he’s glad they’re eating. He’ll never be able to shake just how light Shigeo was from his mind, and he knows Ritsu doesn’t fare differently (although, it would seem Shigeo looked after Ritsu more than he did himself, because he’s arguably the better off of the two brothers), and he’s glad they had the appetite.

But it was the way they ate it, like they’d never eaten before, the way they thanked him endlessly, as though he’d just saved their lives, that really, really got to him. It struck him somewhere in the chest, close to his heart, and stayed there until the bowls were scraped clean and all that was left to do was feed the cat.

“Heya, sport, looks like your fever’s gone down some.” He sits beside Shigeo on the couch, touching his cheek briefly with the back of his hand. “How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” Shigeo answers, smiling softly. His skin is much paler than Ritsu’s, even though some color has returned to it. He has more scars. Many, many more scars, each one jagged and deep and white. And Shigeo’s eyes are a vibrant red, too, which is more off-putting than it should be. “Thank you for everything. I… I really can’t say that enough.”

“You can, and you have,” Arataka answers with his own gentle smile, “but you’re welcome anyway. I’m glad you’re here.”

He’s said it before, many times, but he really can’t say that enough, either.

“Soft already ate nearly all the food,” Ritsu says upon his return to the living room. He immediately makes a beeline for the couch and plops beside his brother. “She should be back soon.”

“Ah, good.” Arataka lowers his hand into his lap, checks the time on his phone. “Anyway, it’s getting kinda late. You two should probably start thinking about heading to bed.”

The two had slept on and off the entire day, but the dark rings beneath their eyes are only somewhat lesser. They could definitely do with some more shut-eye.

“But first—”

Arataka gets to his feet and heads across the room, towards a grocery bag on the side table nearby. He feels Shigeo and Ritsu watching him, half-curious (and probably half-cautious, too, not that he blames them), and Arataka snatches up the bag and returns to them.

“I don’t know if anything will fit, but I ran by the thrift store on my way back from the market earlier—figured you two might like some clean clothes. And you’re free to use my shower, too. It’ll probably do you some good. Make you feel a little better.”

“Wait, you—you got clothes for us?” Ritsu’s eyes are wide, just like Shigeo’s, and his voice is startled, with the edge of a gasp to it. They both look completely starstruck. “—And we can use your shower?”

It hurts somewhere deep and close, but Arataka manages a lightweight laugh and nods. “Yes, yes, of course. You can wait ‘till tomorrow, too, if you don’t feel up to it tonight. Either way is fine.”

Ritsu turns to Shigeo, wide-eyed and questioning, and Shigeo cracks a smile and nods. “You can go first, Ritsu.”

Ritsu beams.

Arataka can hear the shower running from the hall bathroom. Soft has long since returned to the living room and is flopped over Shigeo’s lap, and Shigeo pets her gently, lingering especially by her cheeks and ears. She’s purring with such ferocity that it seems to shake the entire couch.  

“How long have you two had her?” Arataka asks, trying to keep his tone as light and bubbly as he can, despite feeling constantly like he’s been punched in the gut.

Shigeo turns to meet his gaze, and there’s something particularly haunting about his eyes that Arataka had tried to ignore before. Something haunting that has nothing to do with the dark, blood-red color of his irises. It’s something dark, something deep. Something that has no right belonging to a child. There’s one scar in particular that catches Arataka’s attention amidst the rest; a scar that cuts straight over his eye, short and clean like it’d been done with a fine knife.

Arataka had always known their situation was hell. He knew it’s been hell. But now that Shigeo is awake, he’s seeing more and more. Sinking deeper into the realization of just how horrible of a hell it’s been.

“You mean Soft?” Shigeo asks, snapping Arataka from his thoughts. It’s a rhetorical question, and when he doesn’t answer, Shigeo goes on; “Not very long. Ritsu found her hanging out by the pharmacy, and, well… he brought her back to our hideout.”

“The abandoned hotel?”

“Is that what it was?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Arataka watches his face for a moment, then the rhythmic, constant stroke of his fingers through Soft’s fur. His other arm is still slinged. There are several small white scars on his hands, fingers, wrists. Everywhere. “... Shigeo… can I ask you something?”

Shigeo’s fingers stiffen for a moment, but it isn’t long before he’s petting Soft’s head again. “Yeah. You have the right to know.”

Arataka takes a breath. “How… how long have you two been running? On your own?”

Shigeo ponders this a moment. But the moment ends too quickly. “About… about six years, now. This year makes seven, I think.”

“Seven?”

Shigeo nods. Arataka can’t breathe.

“Y—What about your parents?” Arataka manages, hardly able to get the words out. “You’ve been alone that long—where are they? H—”

“They’re dead. They’ve been dead for a long time.”

Arataka’s teeth snap together. Shigeo doesn’t look at him. For a time, nothing happens; but then Shigeo drags in a long breath, holds it, and,

“There’s this… organization. Called Claw. They’re—I don’t really know what their plan is, but they’re rounding up kid espers and trying to brainwash them for their cause. They found out about me and attacked our family home. Mom and Dad stalled. I took Ritsu and—” His voice cracks. He draws a shuddering breath. “I ran. I took him and I ran. But Claw could feel my psychic power no matter where we went. They’ve been after us ever since. Trying to kill me and brainwash Ritsu into forgetting.”

There’s something in his tone. Something about the way he said it. He isn’t petting Soft anymore. His fingers have been curled into tight, shaking fists against her fur. Arataka hesitates.

“It wasn’t your fault, Shigeo,” he says at long last. “None of what happened was your fault.”

“I could’ve beaten them.”

“You were six.”

“I could’ve beaten them.”

“No, you couldn’t have.” Arataka doesn’t know if he should, but he scoots a little closer, fingers interlocked tightly in his lap. “If you could have saved them, if there had been a way… you would’ve done it. But in that situation, you did all you could. And Ritsu is alive right now because of you.”

Shigeo’s arms wind around Soft and pull her tight against his chest, burying his face into her fur. Though, not completely. His eyes glisten. Eyes so devoid and dark and deep that Arataka doesn’t know what to make of it. Eyes that shouldn’t belong to a child.

He sits there, wringing his hands together, biting the inside of his cheek. He reaches out once or twice, withdrawing his hand both times, but finally he can’t take it any longer. His palm meets Shigeo’s dark, greasy hair, and stays there.

It doesn’t feel like enough. But it’s all he has to offer, and Shigeo responds by hiding his face in Soft’s fur and clutching her even closer. Arataka doesn’t lift his hand until he hears the shower water shut off.

The bathroom lights are too bright. Shigeo’s head, which has already been hurting considerably ever since he woke up several hours ago, now turns into a full-blown pound that pulses with the beat of his heart. He finds himself gritting his teeth, clutching the edge of the counter and kicking the door shut in case Ritsu or Reigen walk in on him. He definitely doesn’t want Ritsu to see him like this, and if Reigen finds out, then Ritsu is bound to find out, too.

So he breathes until he’s caught his breath, and then he pushes himself upright and stares face-to-face with his reflection in the mirror.

He has to admit, he looks awful. The pallor of his skin has never been more sickly, and the rings under his eyes are almost black, like thick layers of charcoal. The scars look worse now, too, numerous and white and jagged. And his hair is a mess. He's a mess.

He glances to the side, where the bag of clothes from Reigen sits on the closed lid of the toilet. Ritsu had found baggy clothes amongst them, which means Shigeo probably will, too. So he isn't worried. He pulls off his tattered, ratty apparel and steps into the shower.

It takes a frustrating amount of time before he figures out how it works, and the spray hits him so abruptly that he nearly slips.

But he doesn't.

Instead he stands there, stunned, as the water rushes over him. Over his hair, over his shoulders, over the scars and cuts and bruises and whatever bandages he'd forgotten to remove. The filth is dragged down the drain to never be seen again. The water is probably too hot, considering his fever, but he doesn't dare turn it down.

It's warmth. It's clean. It's refreshing. The steam is pleasant to breathe through and the heat of the water sinks through his skin and stays there.

He can't decide whether he wants to laugh or cry. He ends up doing both.

In hindsight, Shigeo probably shouldn’t have left the water that hot for that long, because by the time it’s off and he’s dressed, he’s dizzy and lightheaded all over again. Hopefully he hadn’t upset the fever.

Reigen is tying off a bandage on Ritsu’s arm when Shigeo returns to the living room, with Soft curling around his ankles and mrrowing triumphantly. Reigen and Ritsu’s heads lift to acknowledge him; Ritsu is wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, not unlike what Shigeo is wearing himself. He looks exhausted, but content. He even smiles.

Reigen finishes with the bandage and lifts a hand in greeting. “Welcome back, kid. Howd’you feel?”

Ritsu is waiting for the answer as much as Reigen, so Shigeo says, “I feel okay.”

It must be convincing enough, because the worry smooths from Ritsu’s face, and Reigen gives him an affirming smile.

“Glad to hear it. Now,” he and Ritsu both scoot over; Reigen pats the empty spot beside him before snatching a roll of gauze from the medical kit, “c’mere, let me bandage you up again.”

“I can do it myself,” Shigeo says, and his voice comes out much smaller than he’d meant it to. He swallows. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t,” Reigen answers, and his smile is… gentle. Warm. Like Shigeo’s never seen before. “Now, c’mon. And then you two can get some sleep.”

Shigeo can’t find the words with which to argue, so he takes a seat on the couch beside him and lets Reigen take care of the bandages.

It’s strange. Shigeo has always bandaged his own wounds, usually before Ritsu even knew they existed. He’s always taken care of Ritsu first, and then himself. He’s never had anyone take care of him in this way. And Reigen is such a warm presence, not just to him but to Ritsu, too. He can tell just by looking. By feeling.

Reigen is done before he realizes. The bandages are clean and crisp against his skin, done up with gentle care.

“I think that's it,” Reigen says, sitting back. “How's it feel? Anything too loose? Too tight?”

Shigeo shakes his head, absentmindedly rolling his bandaged wrist to test it. “It's perfect,” he says, lifting his head to meet Reigen's eyes. “Thank you.”

Reigen doesn't say anything this time, just ruffles his hair. The touch makes his chest tight.

“Wellp, I think we're good, then.” Getting to his feet, Reigen snaps the lid back on the medical box and sets it on the floor, petting Soft on the head as he straightens back up. “You kids should probably turn in for the night. It's late.”

There's no arguing with that. With how faint he's feeling, the sooner he can lie down, the better.

Mere hours into the night, Shigeo's fever resurfaces and peaks.

It came out of nowhere when Arataka really should have expected it. He'd noticed the dazed look in Shigeo's eyes as he stumbled back into the living room, but chucked it up to exhaustion and let the boys sleep.

Now himself and Ritsu are awake, and Shigeo is caught somewhere in the middle, still and quiet with minute reactions to Ritsu's gentle, worried voice and the cold rags Arataka settles on his forehead.

Ritsu helps keep the rags in place while Arataka holds a thermometer under Shigeo's tongue. When it beeps, he snatches it close before Ritsu can see it and looks over the reading himself.

A pause.

“H-How bad is it?” Ritsu asks, voice small. “Reigen?”

Arataka bites his lip to keep from hissing. The fever isn't high enough to constitute an immediate trip to the hospital, but…

Shigeo is weak. Very weak. More drained than Ritsu, more injured than Ritsu, even thinner than Ritsu. The fever already got so high so quickly, and if Shigeo doesn't have the strength to fight it off, then--

“He'll be alright, I'm sure,” he half-lies, and hates how easily it comes. “I can give him some medicine the next time be wakes up. He'll pull through it.”

Ritsu nods shakily, petting Soft with one hand and squeezing Shigeo's limp fingers with the other. He murmurs something, a promise to his brother that he'll make it through, that he'll be okay, and Arataka's chest aches.

“You should try and get some sleep for now,” Arataka says, re-wetting the rag for lack of better thing to do. Shigeo twitches and flinches just a little when he returns it. “You need as much rest as you can get.”

But Ritsu shakes his head adamantly, just as Arataka knew he would. “I can help,” he insists, as convincingly as he can manage, which isn’t very convincing at all. “I want to help look after Shige. He's always looking after me.”

“I'm here to look after the both of you, now,” Arataka says, in a voice that leaves very little room for argument. “I'll take care of Shige tonight, ‘kay? Besides, he needs plenty of rest if he's going to get better, and he isn't going to be able to if he knows you've been staying up all night to take care of him.”

Ritsu swallows and bites his lip, head snapping down and gaze falling on his and Shigeo's hands. Soft noses her way into his lap, curling close and purring loudly. Ritsu doesn't smile, but he does run his fingers through her fur before pulling her closer.

Arataka takes a breath.

“Listen, kiddo, you two have… god, you two have been through so much shit. And I know you want to look after him. I know you’ve been struggling for so long on your own. But I want to help, if you'll let me. I want to do whatever I can.”

Ritsu sniffs, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “Y-You… you'll look after him? You'll make sure he's okay?”

“I promise you, I will. I'll stay up all night if I have to, you have my word.”

It's obvious he doesn't want to at first. And of course he doesn't. But somehow, Ritsu nods. A small movement, tentative and unsure, but undeniable all the same.

“Okay, I… I trust you. Th-Thank you.”

He sets his phone off to the side and reaches over Soft to feel Shigeo’s cheek with the back of his hand. He’s still terribly warm and terribly flushed, but he’s asleep enough to not flinch against the touch. Arataka smooths stray, sweat-damp locks of hair out of his face and refreshes the washcloth on his head, before sitting back and letting his hand drift into Soft’s fur again. She nips at his fingers. It doesn’t hurt. When he looks down at her, she lifts her head and meets his eyes with a look he can’t quite put his finger on. He hadn’t many experiences with cats, and Soft is one of a kind.

“You’re worried about them too, huh?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, fingers tracing behind her ears, under her chin. “I’m sure they’ll be alright. They’ve made it too far for it to end here.”

Soft purrs her agreement and gnaws on his fingers again. He lets her without knowing why and returns his attention to Shigeo. Once again, like clockwork, he goes through the mental tasks: check his fever, check his response, check the washcloth. Repeat.

The next time he looks at his phone, it’s nearly three in the morning. Soft’s weight and warmth is almost uncomfortable now, but he can’t find it in him to shoo her off. Nor does he want her to leave.

Except, she does get up and move out of his lap. And that’s how he realizes Shigeo is awake.

His eyes are glassy and fever-bright, staring ahead like he doesn't know where he is. Soft slips under the blanket again and curls close to his chest, but Shigeo doesn't react at all.

Arataka moves closer, barely resisting the temptation to reach out. Instead, he murmurs a gentle, “Hey, Shigeo.”

Shigeo starts hard, as though he'd yelled instead of whispered, and this time Arataka does reach out to touch his shoulder. Shigeo flinches again. Their eyes meet. Arataka holds his gaze.

“It's alright, bud, don't strain yourself. You're alright.”

The panic doesn't fade. Not even a little bit. “R—Ritsu—”

“It's okay, he's here, he's right here, okay? Look.”

Shigeo's eyes fall on Ritsu, curled under the blanket barely five inches away, still fast asleep despite Shigeo's rustling.

Beneath his hand, Arataka feels Shigeo's shoulders slacken. The fear floods from his irises, and his eyes slip shut.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” Arataka assures, squeezing his shoulder. “No, seriously, it's alright. You're sick and exhausted, it's okay.”

“What time is it…?”

Arataka dreads telling him, but doesn't lie. “Late. Or, early, I guess. You should be asleep.”

“Sh-Shouldn't you be asleep too?”

“Nah, it's alright. Don't worry about me, ‘kay? Just rest.”

Shigeo knows why, though. He watches Arataka's face for only a moment longer before he turns away and burrows deeper into the blankets, almost as if he's trying to hide. The next time he speaks, his voice is so small, so quiet, so broken.

“I'm sorry.”

Arataka feels like someone just punched him in the jaw. The words kid, he's just a kid, they're kids flash through his mind's eye, but he pushes them aside for later. He'll deal with his own problems in his own time.

For now,

“Hey, it's okay. Like I said, you're just a little sick right now.” (More than a little, but he doesn't have to know that.) “I wanna look after you, alright?”

“Wouldn't you rather be sleeping?”

“Not really. I've pulled all-nighters before for less important stuff than this. There's nothing else I'd rather do, seriously.”

Shigeo doesn't look at him still. Arataka holds his breath, but in the end, doesn't say anything. He refreshes the washcloth and doesn't miss Shigeo's small, contented sigh of relief when it's returned.

Reigen is right where Ritsu left him last night: seated on the floor at Shigeo's side, eyes somehow wide awake and alert, carrying none of the exhaustion they rightfully should.

Ritsu sits up, blanket slipping from around his shoulders, and Reigen starts for a moment but smiles afterward. His smile is the only exhausted thing about him.

“Mornin’, kiddo.”

“G-Good morning,” Ritsu replies, before brushing some of the sleep from his eyes. “Did—Did you really stay up all night?” He’s only realizing now how selfish that’d been of him, to allow Reigen to do that in his stead. He shouldn’t have made him.

But Reigen doesn’t seem bothered by it. He nods. “‘Course I did,” he says. “I promised I’d look after Shige, didn’t I?”

He still can’t shake it. Memories of Shigeo flood his mind; always staying up later than he should’ve, always carrying dark smudges under his eyes, always exhausted, always pushing himself further than he could go. Ritsu’s hands curl and tremble.

“B-But, I—”

“Hey.” Reigen’s hand reaches his shoulder. He flinches, without meaning to, before settling into it and meeting Reigen’s eyes. Reigen smiles. “I said it’s okay, right? I can handle a few sleepless nights here and there, trust me. But you and your brother really need the rest. Besides, it gave me some time to think.”

Ritsu bites the inside of his cheeks. “You’re… You’re sure?”

“Positive.” And Reigen lets go and sits back, and Ritsu misses the warmth.

“Hi.”

Ritsu and Reigen's heads snap down. Shigeo blinks at them both, tired but awake.

“Hello,” he says again, slightly clearer this time. As though on cue, Soft pokes her head up, too, trilling happily.

“And the gang's all here,” Reigen says, beaming a little brighter. Before Ritsu can even react or ask how Shigeo is feeling, Reigen has reached out and is feeling his forehead. He lets his hand linger for a moment while the silence falls, but withdraws it shortly afterwards. “Well, it’s not much, but I think it definitely went down some. That’s a relief.”

He sits back and Ritsu scoots forward, until his knee nearly touches Shigeo’s shoulder. “How do you feel, Nii-san?”

Shigeo blinks at him a moment before nodding smally and letting his eyes drift shut. “I’m alright. I think—definitely better than last night.”

Ritsu nods wordlessly. A beat passes. Reigen stretches with a groan and hauls himself up to his feet, staggering just a bit before straightening up.

“Well, I’m gonna get breakfast going,” he says, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “Any requests?”

“A-Anything’s fine,” Ritsu says, because he doesn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to make me anything,” Shigeo murmurs. “I’m not hungry.”

“Okay, well, too bad, because I’m making breakfast or all of us. Just eat what you can, alright? It’ll give your body fuel to work through. Help you recover faster. All that stuff.”

And it’d make Ritsu feel better, too. But he doesn’t say that, because he also doesn’t want to guilt Shigeo into eating more than he can handle.

Shigeo doesn’t respond to Reigen’s prompt, but it doesn’t seem to deter Reigen at all. He’s already begun brainstorming under his breath, taking to the kitchen in long strides. Soft actually leaps and bounds after him, meowing and curious.

“She’s funny,” Ritsu says, watching her tail disappear around the corner behind Reigen. “I’m really glad we found her, Shig—”

He turns back to his brother, and realizes that he’d fallen asleep again. And he doesn’t look nearly as bad as he did that one terrible night, when the icy chill pressed against them from all sides and the fact that they even made it through alive was a miracle, but he still has those circles under his eyes, still has that too-white touch to his skin (all except his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, which are flushed a sickly, feverish red).

Ritsu tugs the blankets up and around his shoulders, tucks them securely around him, and lets him sleep.

Reigen manages to get Shigeo awake and up long enough to eat a little something, but then he’s out again with Soft flopped on top of him and Ritsu on the futon nearby, sitting, knees drawn to his chest. His empty bowl of soup rests on the carpet beside the plastic medical box, and beside that are several bottles of water, some full, some half-empty, and some completely empty.

Ritsu draws in a shaky breath and rests his chin on his knees. Shigeo’s fever isn’t nearly as high now as it’d been (or, that’s what Reigen said, and it doesn’t make sense for him to lie, right?), but the amount of time he’s spent asleep is starting to get to him. Of course he’s glad Shigeo is resting, and god knows he has a lot of rest to catch up on, but Ritsu has never seen him out this much. He’s always been awake, always been tugging Ritsu along, always been mapping out their actions and, by extension, their lives.

He isn’t doing that, now. Can’t do that. And Ritsu is glad he can finally sleep like this, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him.

The gentle thump of approaching footsteps makes him jump. “Hey, Ritsu, I—”

Reigen hits an invisible wall and stumbles back with a shout. A blue ripple runs from where he’d hit and stretches in a dome around the futon.

“S-Sorry!” Ritsu yelps immediately, and with a snap of his hand, the barrier is gone. “I-I didn’t even realize…”

Reigen waves one hand at him and holds his face with the other. “Don’t worry don’t worry don’t worry, you’re fine,” he says. He lowers the hand from his face, looks down at his fingers. There’s no blood or injury. “Pretty nifty thing, though. What do you call it?”

“A b-barrier,” Ritsu answers, still guilty, but less guilty now that he knows Reigen isn’t hurt. “I-I’m not very good at them yet, but Shige is.”

“So they’re like force fields?” Ritsu nods and Reigen comes to sit beside him, heaving a sigh once he’s off his feet. “That’s pretty cool.”

“You’re… taking all this really well.”

“Taking what well?”

“The whole…” Ritsu squeezes his knees closer. “The whole ‘psychic powers’ thing. You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s weird as hell. There’s just more important things I’m focused on instead. Psychic powers don’t matter much, really.”

“You’re…” Ritsu doesn’t know what to think, let alone what to say. “Are—Are you serious?”

“Yep. I mean, it’s no different than people who are geniuses, people who are athletes, or people who talk a lot. It’s just another trait to your person, that’s all.”

“So you—you don’t care that we’re psychics? That doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m more bothered by the fact that you’ve been tracked down and attacked by an organization because of it,” Reigen says, tone thick, eyes staring ahead. “Who cares about psychic powers? You’re kids.”

Ritsu looks away, unsure of what to say to that. He’s seen ‘normal kids’ a lot, all the time, whenever he and Shigeo went out for the day. They’ve always seemed carefree enough. He’s tried to put himself in their shoes, to imagine what life would be if he and Shigeo were born slightly different, but he’s never been able to do it.

“I don’t really know what that means,” he admits finally. “The—The whole ‘kid’ thing. I don’t—really understand.”

Reigen watches his face for a moment. Ritsu can’t read the look on his. A second later, Reigen pushes himself to his feet again.

“Wait here just a second.”

“Oh, ok—okay,” Ritsu stammers, and Reigen spins and disappears around the corner into the hallway. He waits in silence, unmoving. He hears Shigeo’s breath, only somewhat raspy, and Soft is still purring as loud as ever. Ritsu can’t help but be anxious. He still doesn’t know what to call that look on Reigen’s face. It hadn’t looked like anything.

A door clicks shut in the hallway and soon after Reigen returns triumphantly, brandishing what looks like a deck of cards, but slightly different.

“Have you ever played UNO?”

Ritsu shakes his head. Reigen puts on a mock-horrified expression, placing one hand against his chest.

“You’ve never experienced the raw, unbridled glory of UNO?”

Ritsu shakes his head again. Reigen sits by him, shuffling the cards.

“Well, you’re in for something real special, then. I’ll teach you how to play.”

Ritsu scoots closer and Reigen begins dealing out the cards—right up until Soft nuzzles her head into his arm. He turns his head.

“Oh good morning again, Shigeo. Feel up to a quick game?”

Shigeo, for his part, looks equally tired and intrigued. He sits up slowly, looks at the deck of cards in Reigen’s hands.

“UNO?” he asks, brows pinched. Reigen nods enthusiastically, shuffling the cards again without the need for it.

“If you aren’t up to it, don’t worry,” he says, “but we’d love it if you played.”

Shigeo turns to Ritsu for just a moment, long enough for Ritsu to see his tired but relieved eyes, and then he scoots closer until the three of them form something like a circle.

“Sure, I’ll play.”

“Alright!” Reigen goes through the cards one last time, taps them against the futon until they’re lined up correctly, then begins dealing them out. “We all start with seven cards, I think—god, it’s been so long since I played—uhhh yeah let’s just go with seven for now. So, you can look at your cards, but don’t let anyone else see them, and the gameplay goes…”

He explains in great depth and detail, with excitement matched only by an over-enthusiastic sports commentator, and Ritsu and Shigeo listen and drink in every single word.

Getting into it, Arataka is certain that with his experience in the field of cards and games and whatnot, he’d be able to win the majority of the games. Besides, he had strategies in mind, and although he wouldn’t be intentionally trying to defeat the boys, he’d thought it was inevitable.

This is not how it goes.

Actually, it goes the exact opposite, and just as soon as Arataka is finished explaining the game and they finally get into it, he soon realizes that it is he who is being schooled.

Shigeo and Ritsu sit just beside each other, but never peer at the other’s cards. Even so, it’s like they always know what cards would best benefit the other.

“Wild Card,” Arataka says as Ritsu plays it. “What color?”

Ritsu looks at Shigeo, who glances back with the same expression. He has one card remaining.

Ritsu says blue, and Shigeo wins the round. They share a small smile and fist-bump while Arataka laments his failure.

“How do you do that!?” he complains, cards thrown on the floor in front of him. “What part of that expression said ‘blue’!?”

“That’s a good question,” Shigeo says, in a tone of voice that dictates clearly how little he cares. Arataka groans one more time and reshuffles the cards for their next round. Soft flops over on the deck as soon as he hands out the cards; he heaves a long, exaggerated groan, but it elicits a giggle from the boys, so he can’t complain.

The same thing happens, only this time with Shigeo and yellow and Ritsu with UNO. The time after that, the +2 cards stack and stack until Arataka ends up drawing eight, and the +4s are the equivalent of a bombshell wreaking havoc on the city that is the playing field. Arataka never winds up with these cards; Shigeo and Ritsu have them unfairly often.

“Are you sure you aren’t using psychic powers to beat me at my own game?” Arataka questions after his fourth loss; if he can blame his failure on something other than himself, he’ll take it.

Shigeo and Ritsu shake their heads, and Arataka goes on to lose for the fifth time in a row. He blames it on a subconscious use of psychic powers. Logic be damned.

By the time they start the seventh game of the evening, Shigeo’s head has lolled to rest on Ritsu’s shoulder. The exhaustion hasn’t faded from his eyes, but he seems peacefully content, and the two of them play on like nothing had changed.

It’s with the final card of the eighth game that Arataka sets down his stack and claps his hands together. “And with that,” he says, “let’s call it a day.”

“Really?” Ritsu asks; Shigeo gives Arataka the remaining two cards of his hand to be added with the rest of the deck. “What time is it?”

“Dunno,” Arataka says, stuffing the cards unceremoniously in their box with little heed to their security, “but we should still take a break. We can play again tomorrow if you want, alright?”

Shigeo and Ritsu share a small something; one of those expressions that Arataka can’t read, but the two of them can read scarily well. It’s Ritsu who nods at him, and Shigeo who closes his eyes.

“Thanks for playing with us,” Ritsu says. “That was… that was nice.”

Shigeo nods his agreement. Arataka’s chest is both tight and warm, and when he can’t find the right words to say, he smiles, stands, ruffles their hair in turn, and leaves to return the cards.

The night passes uneventfully. Arataka watches over Ritsu and Shigeo for the first several hours, but Shigeo’s fever is no longer on the rise, and he can’t keep pulling all-nighters like this. At this rate he’ll end up burning himself out, and with these kids now under his watch, he can’t afford that.

So he checks over them one last time—tucks a second blanket around their shoulders, pets Soft's head—before turning in for the night.

He leaves the door of his bedroom cracked to let him listen out for the boys, and then he takes a seat at his desk first, flipping through a couple papers for work. Forums for that dying psychic business of his, the rent for the apartment, the rent for the office…

Hell, could he even go back to consulting after everything he's seen? After he's seen the hurts these boys have gone through?

He sighs to himself and leans his elbows on the desk, carding both hands through his hair. It’d never really bothered him before, the conman thing. At least, never in a way that was this up in his face. He hated the part of him that was a liar, the part of him that was selfish, but he’d at least accepted that that was just something he’d have to deal with.

Now there are these kids, actual psychics, eleven and twelve year old children, on the run because of their psychic powers, because of an organization that’s been hunting them since before they could read (can they read? It seems like a stupid thought but maybe he should ask anyway).

And then there’s Shigeo’s rollercoaster of a condition, with high-highs and low-lows, and then there’s a reason why the organization hasn’t tried attacking them here, why they haven’t struck again. And Ritsu is a whole other story, someone who doesn’t have nearly as much control of his powers as Shigeo, someone who just took up the psychic mantle within this past week.

Arataka sinks his head deeper into his hands, elbows digging into the wood of his desk.

“God,” he thinks aloud, curling his fingers into his locks, “what am I doing?”

There’s a lot to sift through. He wishes he’d stayed in the living room, because at least then he’d have things to distract himself with and not wind up lost in his own spiraling thoughts. He’s more than glad the kids are here. He’s so glad they found him, so glad he found them, so glad he can do what he can, so glad they’re safe (at least, for now), but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t overwhelming.

What is he supposed to do? What can he do that’s more than what he’s already doing?

“Mrrrrrpmh?”

Soft trots into the room and hops onto the corner of the desk before he can fully realize her presence. When he doesn’t respond right away, she rubs the side of her cheek against his knuckles, and he can’t help but crack a smile and scratch behind her ears gently.

“What’s up, huh?” he murmurs, leaning his cheek against his opposite hand. “Do you need something?”

She doesn’t answer (not that he’d been exactly expecting her to), and instead flops right on top of the papers on his desk without any care to the world. He exhales sharply through his nose with a smile that doesn’t fade and shakes his head.