Chapter Text
Ren glared up at the cat pawing insistently at his bedroom window, a familiar blue envelope clamped between its teeth — the kind that only ever came from the Chancellor.
With a heavy sigh, he slid the window open. The cat hopped inside and landed on his bed with a muffled “nya!” courtesy of the letter in its mouth.
Ren snatched the envelope.
The cat let out an offended “nya,” tail flicking, before darting back out the window. Ren shut it again, locking it this time, and flopped down onto the bed.
He tore open the envelope and skimmed the contents.
Please report to the Chancellor’s office for a mission!
~ Cornelius
“What?!” Ren shot upright, crumpling the letter in his fist.
“That kid is out of his mind!” he yelled, already imagining the nightmare of being sent on a mission — probably alone.
***
Ren dragged himself to the Chancellor’s office, knocking lazily before shoving the door open. His eyes swept the room—then stopped on the white-haired burnout lounging in a chair like he owned the place.
Of course.
Sho Haizono.
The one person who never let Ren disappear into the background in peace. From the moment they got sorted, Sho seemed to make it his personal hobby to ruin his life.
“Seriously? This kid?” Sho groaned the second he noticed him. “He’s so useless.” He leaned back, black boots propped on the Chancellor’s desk, looking like he was settling in for a long, miserable partnership. “Couldn’t you get literally anyone else?”
Ren’s ears burned hot. He wasn’t wrong… but did he have to say it out loud?
“I’m not thrilled either,” Ren muttered as the Chancellor gestured him toward the empty chair beside Sho.
“I understand both of your frustrations,” the Chancellor said, voice unusually chipper. “Mr. Haizono. Mr. Shiranami. But every other ghoul is already assigned. Which leaves the two of you. However!” He marched over and smacked Sho’s boots off the desk. “This is a wonderful opportunity. Mr. Shiranami could benefit from becoming more combative—and perhaps a bit more outgoing.”
“So in other words, you also think I’m useless,” Ren scoffed, sinking into the chair. He wished he could dissolve right then and there.
“I did not say that, Mr. Shiranami,” the Chancellor replied sharply. “In fact, your particular skill set may be crucial in capturing this anomaly.”
Ren’s expression made it clear he doubted every word.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” he mumbled, staring down at his hands as they twisted with anxious energy.
He didn’t want to do this.
And he definitely didn’t want to do it with Sho.
“Now,” the Chancellor continued briskly, “here is the file. Mr. Haizono will lead this mission. Use tonight to brief one another. You leave tomorrow morning. You will return to Darkwick in the evenings, but this is ongoing—we do not yet know how long it will last.”
Ren grimaced. Great. Now he had to worry about missing raid nights on top of everything else. His games couldn’t exactly grind themselves, and an ongoing mission was the last thing his schedule needed.
This was such a bummer.
A cat came bounding into the room at that exact moment, letting out a cheerful “nya~!” The Chancellor nodded as if this was perfectly normal.
“Best be on your way, boys. I have another matter to attend to.” He pointed at the door—meeting over.
Ren shot to his feet and made a beeline for the exit. Sho trailed behind him, far more relaxed, hands stuffed in his pockets with the mission file tucked under one arm.
“Come by the Vagastrom dorms later, around dinner,” Sho said casually, eyeing Ren. “We can go over the file, and I’ll feed you at the same time.”
“…No.” Ren frowned immediately. “Can’t you just send the details on Wickchat? I don’t wanna hike all the way to your dorm.”
After dealing with feeding anomalies for Haru, the last thing he wanted was more walking. He had plans: shower, instant ramen, and that awful B-horror movie he’d been saving for weeks. He just wanted to chill, damn it.
“Nah, just come,” Sho replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “It makes more sense, and typing all that out would be a pain.”
He was already heading off toward his dorms, waving a lazy hand. “Don’t be late.”
Ren scrunched his nose in disgust.
“Fuck you!” he yelled after him.
Sho’s laugh echoed down the hallway just before he disappeared around the corner.
***
Reluctantly, Ren dragged himself across campus to the Vagastrom dorms—only to realize, the second he stepped inside, that he had absolutely no idea where he was supposed to go.
The place was a maze of dim hallways and loud voices, and every pair of eyes that landed on him made him want to self-combust on the spot. He could practically feel the judgment:
What’s the Jabberwock ghoul doing here? Did he get lost? Is he going to cry?
Ren hunched in on himself, fishing his phone out to message Sho on Wickchat. Maybe he could get directions. Maybe he could find a corner to die in. Either option sounded great.
Before he could hit send, a hand hooked the back of his collar and yanked.
“—Hey!”
“This way, nerd,” Sho said, voice dripping with smug amusement as he pulled Ren backward with zero effort.
Ren immediately slapped his hand away and stepped out of reach. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, furiously adjusting his shirt like Sho had done something horrid to it.
Sho only smirked wider, clearly entertained. “Relax. You looked like a lost kitten about to get stepped on.”
“I was not lost,” Ren lied, cheeks warming as he shoved his phone into his pocket.
“Sure.” Sho turned and started walking, hands in his pockets again. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Come on—you’re already late.”
Ren muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I hate you” under his breath, but he followed anyway.
Ren followed Sho down the narrow hallway, doing his best not to make eye contact with any of the loud, rowdy Vagastrom students lounging around. Sho didn’t seem bothered in the slightest—he walked like he owned the place, and honestly, he kind of did.
They stopped in front of a door which Ren assumed was Sho’s. Sho pushed it open with his foot.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward the small kitchenette as he walked inside and tossed the mission file onto the counter.
Ren hovered uncertainly before dropping into the nearest chair, folding his arms like he needed to barricade himself from whatever chaos Sho was about to unleash.
Sho cracked open the fridge and pulled out ingredients with casual confidence. “I’m testing a new dish for the food truck. You’re gonna be my taste tester.”
Ren blinked. “I’ve… never eaten at your truck.”
Sho froze. Slowly turned. And gave him a look so offended Ren genuinely feared for his life.
“You’ve never—? You live on this campus. My truck is, like, right there.” Sho pointed vaguely in the direction of the courtyard. “What do you even eat?”
“Instant ramen,” Ren said honestly.
Sho stared at him like he was witnessing a crime.
“A tragedy,” he declared.
Ren rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not eating your weird experimental food.”
“Oh, you absolutely are.” Sho grinned, grabbing a pan with far too much enthusiasm. “This is your punishment.”
“For what?!”
“For not supporting my art,” Sho said dramatically, flicking his hair out of his eyes like some tortured culinary artiste. “Also for being late. Also for being annoying.”
“I’m not eating anything you make,” Ren insisted, crossing his arms tighter.
Sho lit the stove. “You will.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“I—”
Sho paused mid-stir, looked him dead in the eyes, and said, “Ren. The only way I’ll let you leave this room is if you taste test every dish I put in front of you.”
Ren’s stomach dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
Sho smirked. “Try me.”
Ren wanted to scream. Or disappear. Or both.
But his stomach growled loudly enough to betray him.
Sho’s grin turned triumphant. “Thought so.”
Ren slammed his forehead onto the kitchenette table. “I hate this. I hate you.”
Sho hummed happily as he started cooking. “You complain a lot for someone who’s about to eat the best meal of his tragic little life.”
“You’re insufferable,” Ren muttered into the tabletop, turning his head just enough so he could breathe—but absolutely not enough to dignify Sho with eye contact. He slid his phone out and opened one of his games, already tapping through his dailies like Sho wasn’t even there.
Sho didn’t miss a beat. The knife kept chopping, ingredients hitting the pan with confident, practiced rhythm. “While I cook,” he said, “read the mission file.”
“No,” Ren answered immediately, thumbs still working at his screen.
Sho glanced over his shoulder. “Ren.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re doing pixel chores.”
“They’re important.”
Sho set the spatula down with a loud clack. “Ren. Read. The file.”
Ren groaned dramatically, like he was being asked to lift a car. “I can do it later.”
“The mission is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is later.”
Sho wiped his hands on a dish towel and crossed the room in three long strides. Ren stiffened but refused to look up, determined to die on this hill.
Sho plucked the phone right out of his hands.
“—HEY!” Ren shot up, nearly hitting his head on Sho’s chin. “Give it back!”
Sho held it out of reach with zero effort. “Read the file first.”
Ren stood in his chair, reaching for it like a furious gremlin. “Sho Haizono, I swear to every dead god—”
“Sit your ass down.” Sho pushed him gently but firmly back into the chair. “Read. The. File.”
Ren glared daggers at him, but Sho just stared back, unimpressed.
Finally, Ren snatched the mission folder off the counter with a dramatic huff. “Fine! But if I die on this mission because you interrupted my dailies, it’s your fault.”
Sho set Ren’s phone on the counter—just out of Ren’s reach—and went back to the stove.
“Trust me,” he said, stirring the pan with a smug little hum, “if anyone dies, it won’t be you.”
Ren froze for half a second. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sho shrugged. “Means I’m not letting you screw this one up.”
Ren’s cheeks warmed, irritation flaring for reasons he didn’t want to examine.
“…Shut up and cook,” he muttered, flipping open the file.
Sho smirked. “Yes, dear.”
Ren begrudgingly flipped open the mission file, still shooting suspicious glances at his phone on the counter like it might run off without him.
Sho went back to the stove, tossing ingredients into the pan with movements that were way too confident for someone who claimed to have no respect for authority. The air started to fill with the warm smell of garlic, seared meat, and spices Ren couldn’t even name.
“So,” Sho began, tapping the edge of the pan with the spatula, “your precious dailies can wait. Here’s the rundown.”
Ren narrowed his eyes at the folder. “I can read.”
“Yeah, but you’ll get distracted and start spiraling,” Sho said casually. “I’m saving us time.”
Ren lifted his head just enough to glare. “I don’t spiral.”
“You absolutely do. Anyway—our anomaly.”
Sho flicked his wrist, sending the food sizzling.
Ren read the name aloud under his breath. “Whisperling.”
“Yup,” Sho confirmed. “Little shadow parasite thing. Hops between people, eats nightmares and fears, then amplifies them until the host starts hallucinating.” He tapped the spatula against the edge of the pan. “Harmless at first. Then not so harmless.”
Ren’s eyes widened. “It jumps between people?”
“Mhm. Slips out when the host sleeps. Nasty little bastard.” Sho reached for a bottle of sauce. “We’ve got reports from the town bordering campus. Three students’ nightmares have gone full delulu mode.”
Ren swallowed, flipping the page. “And… they want me because—”
“Because your artifact can cage it,” Sho finished for him. “Shadow likes shadow. Your whole gloom-and-doom aura is finally useful.”
Ren frowned at the paper. “I don’t have an aura.”
“Ren, you walked into my dorm and seven people assumed it was a haunting.”
Ren shut the folder with a sharp thwack. “Whatever.”
Sho smirked without looking. “Point is, you can actually trap the Whisperling. I’ll keep it distracted. You reel it in.”
Ren stared down at the file again, fingers tightening slightly at the description of the anomaly’s habits. “It feeds on fear of failure,” he murmured. “Of disappointing others.”
Sho paused at that. Briefly. Barely. But Ren noticed.
Then Sho resumed stirring, voice lighter. “Yeah. That’s why it hopped from host to host so easily. College kids are overflowing with insecurity. It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Ren felt his chest tighten in a way he didn’t appreciate.
“Why me,” he muttered again.
Sho shrugged. “Because you’re good for this.”
Ren blinked. “You literally called me useless earlier.”
“I said a lot of things earlier.” Sho shot him a look over his shoulder. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just… honest for a half-second. “You’re not useless.”
Ren’s breath caught completely against his will.
Sho turned back to the stove before Ren could respond. “Also—your artifact won’t spook the Whisperling. Everything else we have is too flashy. It’ll run.”
Ren stared at his knuckles, fighting the urge to fidget. “So I’m bait.”
“You’re not bait,” Sho scoffed. “You’re the trap.”
“That doesn’t sound better!”
Sho laughed, shaking his head. “Relax. I’ll handle the dangerous part.”
Ren’s stomach twisted—annoyance, worry, something else he refused to name.
“…Fine,” he muttered, reopening the file. “But if this thing gives me nightmares, I’m suing.”
“You can sue me anytime,” Sho said, voice far too warm for someone sautéing vegetables.
Ren threw another spoon at him.
This time, Sho caught it without looking.
Sho finished plating the food with a flourish that was, frankly, unnecessary. Ren watched with narrowed eyes, pretending he wasn’t curious—not at the dish, not at the smell, definitely not at Sho’s stupidly confident posture.
Sho set one bowl aside for himself, then carried the other toward Ren.
Except… he didn’t set it down.
He stepped right up to Ren’s chair. Too close.
Ren stiffened. “Sho.”
Sho hummed innocently, leaning down so he could place the bowl on the kitchenette table with slow, deliberate care. Ren’s breath caught—not because of the food, but because Sho was suddenly right there, one hand braced on the table beside Ren’s leg, the other setting the bowl down like it was some kind of ritual.
Ren could feel the warmth of him. This was criminal.
“You’re in my space,” Ren said tightly.
Sho didn’t move. “Am I?”
His voice was low. And amused. And way too close to Ren’s ear.
Ren’s heartbeat thudded traitorously.
Sho nudged the bowl a little closer to him. “Eat.”
Ren glared, but the heat crawling up his neck betrayed him. “You could’ve set it down without—” he gestured vaguely at Sho’s body hovering over him, “—all this.”
Sho finally straightened, but only by a few inches. “But then I wouldn’t get to watch you panic.”
“I’m not panicking.”
Sho tilted his head. “Ren, you’re gripping the mission file like it threatened your family.”
Ren immediately let go of the folder and shoved it across the table. “Shut up.”
Sho smirked, finally stepping back—but not before his fingers brushed Ren’s shoulder on the way. Light. Intentional. Infuriating.
Ren froze like he’d been shocked.
Sho walked back to the stove, grabbing his own bowl. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite you.”
Ren swallowed hard. “Didn’t ask.”
Sho sat across from him, but his gaze didn’t leave Ren—not even for a second. “Eat. Don’t make me say it again.”
Ren stared at the food. It smelled incredible. He hated that.
He picked up the spoon reluctantly and took a bite. It was good. He hated that even more.
Sho leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in hand, eyes laser-focused on Ren’s reaction.
Ren chewed.
Sho waited.
Ren swallowed.
Sho raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Ren opened his mouth to speak—then realized Sho was way too close again, studying every micro-expression like Ren was a science experiment.
“…Back up,” Ren muttered.
“Not until you tell me if it’s good.”
Ren wanted to throw the bowl at him. He also wanted another bite. Both instincts were equally strong.
“It’s… fine,” Ren said stiffly.
Sho’s eyes lit up. “Ohhh, it’s good. You’re doing the face.”
“What face?!”
“The face you make when you like something but refuse to admit it.”
“I don’t have a face like that!”
“You do,” Sho said smugly. “And you’re doing it right now.”
Ren gripped his spoon, mortified. “I hate you.”
Sho leaned in even closer, smirk curling. “No you don’t.”
Ren’s stomach flipped so violently he thought he might die on the spot.
He shoveled another spoonful into his mouth just to have something to do.
Sho watched him eat with a warm, satisfied expression—like this was exactly how he wanted the night to go.
Ren was halfway through the bowl before he realized Sho had migrated around the table.
He hadn’t even heard him move.
One second Sho was across from him—smirking, annoying, normal Sho.
The next, the chair beside Ren scraped softly across the tile.
Ren jumped a little. “What—why are you sitting here?”
Sho slid into the seat like it was the most natural thing in the world, knee brushing Ren’s under the table. “Easier to show you the next part.”
“Show me what? I can read—”
Sho reached over him, pulling the mission file closer. His shoulder nearly pressed against Ren’s; the warmth made Ren’s breath stutter.
“Relax,” Sho murmured, flipping to the next page. “This part’s important.”
Ren swallowed, staring very deliberately at the text and definitely not at Sho’s proximity. “You could have stayed over there…”
“Mm,” Sho hummed, leaning closer so they both looked at the page. “But then you wouldn’t pay attention.”
“I am paying attention.”
“No,” Sho said, voice dropping into something low and certain. “You’re pretending to pay attention.”
He tapped a paragraph with his finger. “So pay attention to this.”
Ren hated—hated—the way Sho’s voice sounded when it got quiet like that. Smooth. Focused. Almost… protective.
He pulled himself together. “Fine. What’s so important?”
Sho’s knee bumped his again, not quite accidentally. “The Whisperling picks its target based on emotional instability.”
Ren frowned. “So the hosts…?”
“Have been spiraling for a while,” Sho said softly. “Nightmares, panic episodes, paranoia. This little creature eats that.”
He shifted even closer, lowering his voice like someone might overhear, even though the door was shut. “It’ll try to get in your head too, you know.”
Ren stiffened. “What? Why mine?”
“Because you’re anxious,” Sho said bluntly. “And it’ll sense that.”
Ren bristled, cheeks burning. “I’m not—!”
Sho turned his head slightly. “Ren. You almost passed out when you walked into the Vagastrom dorm lobby.”
Ren’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t argue with that.
Sho nudged the file again. “That’s why you need to stay close to me during the mission. If it tries anything, I can pull you out.”
Ren blinked. “Pull me… out of what?”
Sho’s voice dropped even lower. “Nightmare loops. Hallucinations. Fear feedback. It’s what the Whisperling does.”
A pause. A warm one.
“And I’m not letting you get caught in that.”
Ren’s chest tightened. Hard.
“Why do you care?” Ren whispered before he could stop himself.
Sho’s eyes flicked to him—quiet, unreadable, way too close.
“For the mission,” Sho said first.
Ren waited.
Sho’s gaze softened by a fraction. “And because I don’t want anything messing with your head.”
Ren’s breath stuck. “Oh.”
Sho leaned just a little closer, voice barely above a murmur. “So during the mission… stay close to me.”
Ren’s brain short-circuited for a full two seconds.
“Y-you’re sitting too close right now,” he blurted.
Sho smiled—slow, knowing, infuriating. “That’s practice.”
Ren wished the Whisperling would kill him immediately.