#thank you again wayneswife for the idea

[fire-gemron]

Summery: When you move to Japan from your home country, you need to find an apartment cheap and fast. You didn't realize you were moving into the former apartment of a serial killer. And you definitely didn't know something was already living there.

A/N: so, I saw a post by @wayneswife about this idea and could not get it out of my head. I tried to send you an ask to ask permission to use your idea, but your asks were closed. I really hope you won't be too upset with me for this, but if you would prefer I take it down, please just say so and I will, no problem.

Overseas crime cases weren't generally covered where you came from, so you thought you could be forgiven for not knowing who Adami Adashino was. Her name hasn't even been mentioned when you were renting your apartment, it wasn't until you were moving in that you heard some of your neighbors whispering the name. By then, well, it was too far gone to turn back. You were there, you'd already put money into it, and you didn't have enough to find somewhere else.

It was fine, you reassured yourself. It was superstition, ghosts weren't real. Besides, from the articles you looked up, she hadn't even killed anyone in the apartment. It was fine.

It was fine.

You sat on your kitchen table and looked around the little apartment. Every single light was on, it was filled with the things you had brought from home or purchased in your short time there, it was comfortable and cozy. It was your apartment now, not Adami's.

So why couldn't you shake the creepy-crawly feeling of eyes on you? Why did you think you kept seeing things out of the corner of your eye?

You'd probably just freaked yourself out reading that article and it was just your imagination. Yes, that was it. With that thought in mind, you shut your laptop, rose from the kitchen table where you'd been sitting and headed for your bedroom. You hesitated just a second in the doorway, though, your hand hovering over the light switch.

It's fine.

You swallowed hard and flicked the switch. The kitchen was plunged into darkness behind you, and that crawling feeling of being watched wriggled it's way up the back of your neck. You hurried to your room.

You had that same moment of hesitation as you reached for your bedroom light, before forcing yourself to flip it off and practically dove into bed.

For a long moment, you just laid there, the blankets pulled up around you as you looked out into your darkened bedroom. Slowly, you began to relax. You took a breath and let it out slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself try to get to sleep.

But that creepy-crawly feeling was still there. If anything, it was worse than ever. With an irritated huff, you opened your eyes -

And found someone leaning over you.

For a half second, you froze, staring up at the man there. 'Man' was a... choice word. He was thin, his skin grey, his lips stretched into a inhuman smile. Long, long hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes. The only thing you could see underneath was a flush of ruddy color.

You took all that in during the span of a heartbeat before a scream burst from your lungs and you scrabbled away from him. Your back hit the wall, and you shoved yourself up it, using it to get yourself back to your feet. The man hadn't moved. He was kneeling beside your bed, his head cocked to the side, and his smile now turned down into a confused little frown. He chirped something in a language you didn't understand.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in here?" you demanded.

He just looked curiously at you.

He wore what looked like a tattered old kimono, his hair long enough to fall down his body all the way to the floor. He looked like the very picture of a ghost from any number of stories. He sat up a little, his hands in his lap, his shoulders slumped, and his mouth curled into a frown.

He looked so... dejected.

Despite the shock and creepiness of the whole situation, you felt a little bit bad.

He said something again. The phonetics sounded almost like Japanese, but no words you'd ever heard before, but between his look and the lower, sadder pitch of his voice, you could assume that he wasn't exactly happy. He placed a hand on the floor, using it to twist away. With your back pressed against the wall, still too stunned to do anything, you watched as he crawled away and out of your bedroom door. It was only when he was out of sight, that you blinked out of your stupor. You stumbled away from the wall and went to the door, looking out into your apartment.

But there was no sign of him.

After a moment, you whispered to yourself, "What was that?"

~~~

You didn't see the man for days after that, but you were pretty sure he was still around. You could feel eyes on you sometimes. After a few days, when you came to be comfortable with the fact that he wasn't going to hurt you, you found yourself talking to him, even if he never answered you. After a little while, it became almost natural to talk to him, even if it felt more like talking to an imaginary friend.

It took a few days of this before you began to notice him out of the corner of your eye at night. He never loomed over you again, but sometimes he'd be there, in the corner of the room. Sometimes things were moved or picked up. Plates you left on the table had been moved to the sink.

It was... nice.

But things weren't all roses and sunshine. It was difficult living in another country, and you were having a problem connecting with people. You were lonely. Maybe that was why you'd started talking to Mr. Ghost in the first place, but it wasn't really helping all that much.

But that day hit harder than most. It was your birthday.

Your birthday and you'd never felt so alone.

You were sitting on a chair near the window, your legs drawn up to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. You had your cheek on your knees, tears dripping down the curves of your cheeks as you looked out the window. You felt awful, so incredibly homesick and lonely, and you couldn't stop.

The chirp of unfamiliar words pulled you from your thoughts. You lifted your head and glanced over toward the room.

Your resident ghost was sitting there on his knees, not far from you, watching you. Even if you couldn't see his eyes, everything about his expression radiated concern and distress as he looked at you. Planting his hands on the floor, he scooted a little closer to you.

He cared. You didn't know why, but he cared about you somehow.

Slowly, you unfolded your legs, slipped out of your chair, and sank down to the floor on your knees just in front of him. For a second, you two just looked at each other, before, suddenly, he lunged for her. You gasped, but before you could do anything, he'd grabbed you and hauled you close.

You froze, held against his chest, his arms wound around you. He murmured something soft in your ear, but you didn't recognize the words, still. Yet, he was so gentle with you. The tension bled out of your body, and you wrapped your arms around him. Your fingers curled in the worn, soft fabric of his kimono, and you clutched at it tightly, turning your head into the crook of his neck. His long hair fell around you, tickling at your arms. He stroked a hand down your back softly, sweetly. You hiccupped a small sob against his neck. He held you a little tighter and cooed in your ear.

Among the unfamiliar words, you recognized one phrase in Japanese.

"Daijoubu."