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"I'm home," Hayato called as soon as he closed the door to his house, not waiting for a reply as he moved straight to his bedroom.
There wasn't going to be one; his mother had left only three days ago, Hayato's sister in tow, for an exorcism in Hakodate, and if he remembered the particulars of the case well enough, that kind of spirit was so stubborn they'd probably be gone for at least a week. His Master was also out, called away the week before to help with a cursed sword somewhere down south.
Hayato had been too distracted at the time with the aftermath of the fight against Shishitoren to pay attention to the specifics, but that meant he was on his own now, probably for the next few days.
He preferred it that way; he didn't want his family and Master to see him struggling for control like this. It was bad enough he had lost control in the middle of the fight with Keel and Sakura had had to bring him back, Hayato didn't want to think about the lecture he'd get from his Master if he found out.
'The little boy is still scared of the Master,' the mocking voice echoed in his brain, and Hayato bit back a groan, throwing his Furin jacket on top of his messy bed and kicking off his shoes before padding to the bathroom.
Of course it decided to chime in now.
"Not as scared as you are," he said out loud, keeping his vice mild and calm. Hayayo placed the eyepatch on top of the sink and stared at his reflection on the mirror, the way his mother had drilled into him all those years ago. "Haven't heard from you in a while."
Since the last time it had tried to take over Hayato, when he'd come back home with scrapped knuckles and a split lip from a fight he had not actually been the one fighting. Before his mother had placed barrier seals around the house and invited the Master to live with them and teach Hayato how to control his emotions to keep the spirit contained.
It had been years, and Hayato couldn't help but be wary of the reason the spirit was pulling on his leash now.
"Don't talk to the spirit in your mind," his mother had said, brows pinched together and voice grave, impressing the seriousness of it on a ten year old Hayato. "Don't acknowledge it at all if you can help it, but if you have to speak to it, do it out loud in your bathroom mirror with the patch off."
It was easier to see it for what it was this way. The person staring back from the mirror was only technically Hayato; it had his height and features, the same brown hair falling over his forehead, the same straight nose and full lips, and the long earrings dangling over his shoulders. The difference were the eyes, one of them reddish brown and soft, the other one yellow with a vertical pupil that was very much not human.
And the deranged expression on his face.
'I had nothing to say to you before, you are the most boring host I've had,' the spirit said, and he sounded so self satisfied that it raised the hairs on the back of Hayato's neck. It was never a good thing when the spirit sounded like this, happy and amused and like he knew something Hayato didn't.
It was a good thing to be a boring host, it meant the seal in the eyepatch and all the training to keep his emotions under control, to not show the spirit a crack where to sink his claws and wrestle the control from Hayato, were working.
"I'm sorry I'm not entertaining enough," Hayato retorted with the same bland smile and tone that he used in class, the one he knew his classmates found mysterious.
'You are now,' the spirit said, the reflection's smile ticking up as well. It was not a nice smile, it made Hayato uneasy to see it on his own face. 'You were angry today, so angry. It felt good, it would have felt better to punch those boys, kick them until they could not stand back up, see their blood on you.'
Hayato gripped the sink until his knuckles were white, keeping his breathing steady just by virtue of his training, the urge to punch the mirror growing with each of the spirit's words.
If he punched it, if Hayato gave in to violence, the spirit would win.
The spirit knew, and it laughed.
'Though I preferred the blood on the other boy,' it continued, and Hayato could feel how much it was enjoying his struggle to keep in control, to keep the lid on his anger. 'Red really suits the boy, he wore it with pride, on his face and on his hands. Such a beautiful colour on him.'
Hayato would not have been able to utter any words even if he'd had the breath for it; the spirit had done it in his place, those words had been in the back of his head when he'd seen Sakura fight against Togame, when he'd seen the joy in his face as they went all out, blood dripping down Sakura's nose, staining his white shirt and covering his raw knuckles.
It had been the first time Hayato had thought Sakura was beautiful, but it had not been the last.
Hearing the spirit talk about Sakura this way made him feel sick, though.
He had forgotten, in the years of silence in his head, that he was never alone and that his thoughts were rarely his own. He'd gotten strong enough that he'd not given in to his anger for years, that he'd not been scratched or bloodied in a long, long time. And with that strength, he's also gotten complacent that the spirit sealed in his eye had become just his go to joke.
A deflection, something funny and teasing and eccentric enough that people stopped asking about his eye, thinking his joke hid some weird disfiguration or accident. Not the truth, never the truth.
He had forgotten that the spirit was no joke.
'Sakura,' it said, smugness dripping from every syllable. Hayato gritted his teeth hard enough his jaw hurt. 'Suck a pretty name for a pretty boy. Do you think he'd like me to cover him in red, little boy? Or will he prefer to cover you in it?'
"If you touch him," he finally said, unsticking his jaw enough to push the words out. "I will find a way to exorcise you for good."
The spirit laughed, and now it didn't look anything like Hayato in the mirror. It looked ancient, insane, and evil. 'Your family has been trying to do that for centuries, and I'm still here.'
He knew, and he also knew he probably wasn't the first one to make this proclamation, but he was stubborn enough that he might be the last.
"I will find a way to get rid of you."
And he would, he wouldn't let the spirit lay a finger on his friends.
Hayato had studied the history of all the curse bearers, had found that those who didn't learn to control themselves usually met their end too early and too bloody, egged on to anger and conflict by the spirit, or controlled by it. He also knew there had been other possessions like his, other spirits sealed before that had been exorcised permanently.
It could be done.
The spirit laughed. 'Will you?' it asked, voice now lower and enticing. 'Why, it's more rewarding to give in. I can help you get the boy, I can give him the kind of fight he craves, violent and bloody and exciting. So different from the craven way your Master taught you, it would be so glorious, so red.'
An image of Sakura, blood dripping down his face and bruises blossoming on his cheeks, staring up at him from the ground with Hayato's foot pressing on his throat, all helpless fury in his defeat, flashed through Hayato's mind.
The pain in his knuckles, sharp and centering, brought Hayato back to the present, the red receding from his vision to show him the results of his failure.
Shit.
"You will not lay a hand on him," Hayato vowed.
'We shall see, little boy,' the spirit said, and the next blink the yellow eye was back to normal and Hayato's reflection looked just like himself, only pale as a sheet and trembling, the cracks in the mirror distorting the image just enough to feel the spirit's presence still around, even when he had retreated to the back of his mind, his taunt delivered, the opening salvo fired.
He took the eyepatch and put it back on, taking slow breaths to steady himself before he left the bathroom and headed to the study.
He had work to do.
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