gab

She does that sometimes, stuck in a limbo state, half manifested, hazy and staticky and vaporous cold. She rarely manifests the hulking corpse-skin xenomorph form she’s capable of, not unless roused to rage or directly coaxed out by Yuta’s calls for aid, but even half-manifested she… affects the climate directly about her now.

She’s heavier now, in the world.

Yuji can hear Rika humming to herself.

Beside him in the bed, Yuta makes a low noise in the back of his throat—not a distressed noise exactly, but not comfortable either. Yuji feels Yuta toss his head a little, feels him tense up.

“Yuta.” That little girl’s voice again—high, fluting, and concerned. Yuji feels the blankets shift and depress, like there’s a cat climbing over the covers. “Yuta. Are you okaaay?”

Yuji, under the covers, donkey-kicks backwards at Yuta’s thigh and hears the older boy gasp and jerk awake, his breathing going from slow and deep to fast and ragged and then cut off as Yuta slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself screaming because—familiar now or not—there’s a dead thing sitting on his chest with its teeth inches from his face.

Yuji pretends to sleep while Yuta chokes his horror down in whimpering swallows for the better part of ten seconds.

Then, in a voice that shakes, Yuta whispers, “Hi, Rika. I’m fine. I-I’m gonna go back to sleep now. Alright?”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll watch you sleep, Yuta.”

Yuta says nothing to this very upsetting statement for a long moment. Then, very, very softly, he says, “Can you do that from… from the other side? I don’t want anyone to see you. Um… it's a secret. Remember? We’re secret. Some people can see you so…”

She snorts with contempt. “Like him?”

Yuji doesn’t have to guess who she means. Rika’s made it clear in just a few manifestations that she doesn’t think much of Yuji. To Yuta’s credit, he doesn’t rise to the threat in her tone. He just says, “No, Rika. Strangers could see you. Itadori knows about you already.”

Rika, defused on this point, gives a petulant little sigh. “I want to stay though. Can’t I stay with you?” There’s a shifting of fabric, like Rika’s gripping the duvet, a slight ripping as her claws sink in. Almost enough noise to cover the sharp, scared inhalation from Yuta. “You said we’d talk more…”

“We will. I promise. I’m just… I’m trying to sleep right now. Okay?”

There is a long pause. This is a coinflip, whether she fights him on this. Yuji lies there, forcibly limp, his heart rate rising until he’s almost vibrating with indecision and anticipation and—

“Okaaaaay. Good-night, Yuta.”

“Good-night, Rika.”

Eventually, the room warms up. Yuji continues pretending to sleep while Yuta rolls over, curls into a ball at the furthest edge of the futon he can possibly be to distance himself from Yuji. Then he listens to his best friend hyperventilate into his cupped hands for about three minutes. He monitors the ragged, stop-and-start little noises that shake the bedding until exhaustion finally knocks Yuta back into unconsciousness.

After a while, Yuji sits up in the darkness.

He studies the side of Okkotsu’s face—pale, nose slightly rosy from crying, his hands knotted under his chin so Yuji can’t check if he’s clawed his forearms to come down from his panic, but he can see clearly that Yuta is not wearing Rika’s ring. Sometimes, Yuji thinks Rika shows up in the quiet because Yuta touches her talisman in his sleep.

Yuji looks at the ceiling and wonders what it’s like for Rika Orimoto when she’s not manifested physically or even partially like she so often is. He imagines standing on the other side of a screen door, leaning on it so you can feel what’s on the other side.

(“I’ll watch you sleep, Yuta.”)

Yuji imagines, invisibly, that Rika is still hung over the bed. Floating like a body in still water, staring at the object of her affection.

Waiting.

Yuji doesn’t know if he’s just making up bad things, but he’s got this gut feeling that whatever Rika is now, being a ghost can’t be good. It can’t be fun. Yuta says the day she died, her ghost ripped itself from the blood pooling in the gutter, wrapped around his neck, and never let go because, to quote him, “I made a promise. I said we’d be together forever. She took it seriously, I guess…”

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She does that sometimes, stuck in a limbo state, half manifested, hazy and staticky and vaporous cold. She rarely manifests the hulking corpse-skin xenomorph form she’s capable of, not unless roused to rage or directly coaxed out by Yuta’s calls for aid, but even half-manifested she… affects the climate directly about her now.

She’s heavier now, in the world.

Yuji can hear Rika humming to herself.

Beside him in the bed, Yuta makes a low noise in the back of his throat—not a distressed noise exactly, but not comfortable either. Yuji feels Yuta toss his head a little, feels him tense up.

“Yuta.” That little girl’s voice again—high, fluting, and concerned. Yuji feels the blankets shift and depress, like there’s a cat climbing over the covers. “Yuta. Are you okaaay?”

Yuji, under the covers, donkey-kicks backwards at Yuta’s thigh and hears the older boy gasp and jerk awake, his breathing going from slow and deep to fast and ragged and then cut off as Yuta slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself screaming because—familiar now or not—there’s a dead thing sitting on his chest with its teeth inches from his face.

Yuji pretends to sleep while Yuta chokes his horror down in whimpering swallows for the better part of ten seconds.

Then, in a voice that shakes, Yuta whispers, “Hi, Rika. I’m fine. I-I’m gonna go back to sleep now. Alright?”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll watch you sleep, Yuta.”

Yuta says nothing to this very upsetting statement for a long moment. Then, very, very softly, he says, “Can you do that from… from the other side? I don’t want anyone to see you. Um… it's a secret. Remember? We’re secret. Some people can see you so…”

She snorts with contempt. “Like him?”

Yuji doesn’t have to guess who she means. Rika’s made it clear in just a few manifestations that she doesn’t think much of Yuji. To Yuta’s credit, he doesn’t rise to the threat in her tone. He just says, “No, Rika. Strangers could see you. Itadori knows about you already.”

Rika, defused on this point, gives a petulant little sigh. “I want to stay though. Can’t I stay with you?” There’s a shifting of fabric, like Rika’s gripping the duvet, a slight ripping as her claws sink in. Almost enough noise to cover the sharp, scared inhalation from Yuta. “You said we’d talk more…”

“We will. I promise. I’m just… I’m trying to sleep right now. Okay?”

There is a long pause. This is a coinflip, whether she fights him on this. Yuji lies there, forcibly limp, his heart rate rising until he’s almost vibrating with indecision and anticipation and—

“Okaaaaay. Good-night, Yuta.”

“Good-night, Rika.”

Eventually, the room warms up. Yuji continues pretending to sleep while Yuta rolls over, curls into a ball at the furthest edge of the futon he can possibly be to distance himself from Yuji. Then he listens to his best friend hyperventilate into his cupped hands for about three minutes. He monitors the ragged, stop-and-start little noises that shake the bedding until exhaustion finally knocks Yuta back into unconsciousness.

After a while, Yuji sits up in the darkness.

He studies the side of Okkotsu’s face—pale, nose slightly rosy from crying, his hands knotted under his chin so Yuji can’t check if he’s clawed his forearms to come down from his panic, but he can see clearly that Yuta is not wearing Rika’s ring. Sometimes, Yuji thinks Rika shows up in the quiet because Yuta touches her talisman in his sleep.

Yuji looks at the ceiling and wonders what it’s like for Rika Orimoto when she’s not manifested physically or even partially like she so often is. He imagines standing on the other side of a screen door, leaning on it so you can feel what’s on the other side.

(“I’ll watch you sleep, Yuta.”)

Yuji imagines, invisibly, that Rika is still hung over the bed. Floating like a body in still water, staring at the object of her affection.

Waiting.

Yuji doesn’t know if he’s just making up bad things, but he’s got this gut feeling that whatever Rika is now, being a ghost can’t be good. It can’t be fun. Yuta says the day she died, her ghost ripped itself from the blood pooling in the gutter, wrapped around his neck, and never let go because, to quote him, “I made a promise. I said we’d be together forever. She took it seriously, I guess…”

continue on AO3>>