Rating: M [slash]

Pairings: MasakixKichijouji, a.k.a. Ichijou/Cardinal George

Disclaimer: "The Irregular at Magic High School" is the property of Satou Tsutomu. The fanfic author is not making any money from this story.

Author's Note: Although the English anime subtitles call Kichijouji Shinkuro "George," I'll be using "Kichijouji," like the light novel. In Japanese, Masaki calls him "Jouji," so I will have Masaki do that in my stories, too. Obviously, "Jouji" is a nickname from Kichijouji, but "Jouji" is also the Japanese version of "George." (Satou is being clever.)

Name Order: I prefer to render Japanese names as they truly are—surname first—even when writing in English.

Chapter 1

Kichijouji and Masaki arrived at the Wentworth Mansion late Friday evening: Friday the 13th. In October. The mansion in question had been built in 1889 by a British merchant who had set up a booming jewelry business once the Japanese borders had been opened, and it was now a center of tourism and a spot for retreats.

Kichijouji stepped out of the commuter and then hauled out his overnight suitcase, Masaki following suit. They were only staying the weekend. It was a magic retreat—one that Third Year students from all nine magic high schools had been able to apply for. The competition had been stiff, but Masaki and Kichijouji, along with one female classmate, were there to represent Third High. Shiba Miyuki had applied and been accepted, only to have to withdraw due to family business.

Kichijouji couldn't have been happier to have her be absent, although Masaki was bummed out.

"Looks like a decent mansion for a Halloween movie," Kichijouji said with no small irony. The truth was that seven horror films had used the Wentworth Mansion. "It even could be haunted—if I believed in such stuff." And he didn't.

Still, the mansion was a creep-fest. A twelve-foot-high brownstone wall surrounded the property, and cast iron gates normally barred the entry. The mansion was brownstone as well, with tall, narrow windows, huge double doors, and a widow's walk. Gargoyles decorated the front porch and the roof corners, all of the finely wrought so their demonic faces were easy to see.

Even as Kichijouji watched, a light flickered on and off repeatedly in the attic window.

Kichijouji peered up at Masaki and smirked. "Looks like one of the other students is already having fun pranking everyone."

"Or a servant is lighting lamps," Masaki said. He grimaced. "I don't believe they even have electricity. And that means no wi-fi." He nodded at the attic. "For all we know, that's where some of us are going to have to stay. Sometimes these old mansions have really small rooms on the inside."

"Surely they have electricity by now," Kichijouji protested. He headed up the walkway to the front doors. "Well, if they don't, we can use the hotspot from one of our phones." Kichijouji did not go anywhere without his tablet. The only possible exception was the beach.

When they reached the front porch, the doors creaked opened on their own.

"See, they have electricity," Kichijouji said, heading inside. "They have automatic doors." He paused inside the foyer and glanced around, Masaki coming to stand beside him. The doors closed behind them with more creaks of protest.

"Dreary," Kichijouji sighed. The entire foyer and hallway beyond it were done in dark wood. The woodwork extended halfway up the walls, topping off with a chair rail. The staircase was off to the left, the banister and stairs also dark wood. Kichijouji guessed it was maple stained dark cherry. The rest of the walls and the ceiling were plain white, and there were no windows except a small round one at the landing of the staircase. A dim chandelier hung overhead, its old bulbs emitting little light. "They might as well not have electricity," he quipped, wondering where the event staff member was. Wasn't someone supposed to be on hand to greet them when they arrived?

"This place hasn't been renovated since the1990s. I guarantee it," Masaki said. He grinned. "I'll bet you our next takeout bill I'm right." He glanced around and pouted. "I'm glad Miyuki-san isn't here after all. I can't imagine a clan princess being happy to stay in surroundings like this."

Since Masaki wasn't looking, Kichijouji frowned. The topic of Miyuki irritated him at this point. Masaki had gotten nothing but heartache out of this venture, and by now it was obvious to Kichijouji that Miyuki had been in love with her own brother all this time. Forget her, Masaki. There is only pain here. He looked away. Besides, there is someone already here with you who knows you—all of you—and loves you unconditionally.

A thunder of footsteps descended the staircase. An elderly man who looked shockingly like a stereotype of a British butler scurried into the foyer. If not for the slant to his eyes, Kichijouji would have assumed he was fully Caucasian.

"M-my apologies for the wait," the man said, bowing. He wore a black suit and white shirt, and his grey-white hair was parted to the side, revealing a bald spot. A fine sheen of sweat shone on his forehead and his scalp. "A-all the other staff members are gone for the evening. It is only me."

Kichijouji and Masaki bowed in return. Kichijouji wondered why the man was so nervous.

"I am Wentworth Daiichi," the man said, whisking over to the side table in the foyer and picking up a tablet. "Welcome to m-my home. And you are?"

Kichijouji and Masaki introduced themselves, and Wentworth checked them off on the tablet's roster. Then Wentworth led them up to the third floor, where their room was.

"A buffet-style supper has been laid out in the dining room." Wentworth stopped by the door and handed them little brochures with a map of the mansion and historical information—the same brochures given for tours. "It's a come-and-go meal, not a scheduled one. Please h-help yourselves." He bowed and vanished.

Kichijouji stepped in and looked around the bedroom. There were two standard-sized beds, a tall chest of drawers, a fireplace, a sofa, and a coffee table—all of them Victorian. All the woodwork was dark, and striped green wallpaper with oversized roses covered the walls. Another dim chandelier hung overhead. "Well . . . at least it's period-appropriate."

Masaki laughed. "Halloween's come early. This is fantastic – it's almost too much to believe. At first I thought that Wentworth-sama was genuine, but his final stutter was feigned, wasn't it? This place is just unreal." He set his suitcase in the corner and tested the mattress of one of the beds with his hand. "It feels like a feather mattress."

"As in lumpy? Or comfortable?" Kichijouji wrinkled his nose. "I hope no one has bird allergies." He had allergies, but not to bird dander. He walked over and tested a pillow. It was definitely a feather pillow—lumpy and misshapen. "At least it's only two nights." He picked a corner and set his suitcase on the floor, opening it and picking through it.

The unmistakable sound of a harpsichord floated up from one of the floors below.

"Now I really feel like I'm on a movie set," Kichijouji said. The song sounded like a dirge. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Masaki.

Masaki was staring at the open doorway. A black cat slipped into the room and trilled.

Kichijouji had to laugh at this point. "And it's even black!" He watched as the cat made a beeline for Masaki and rubbed his legs. "Figures you wouldn't last even five minutes in a house without magically summoning any and all cats present." The Ichijou had five pet cats living in their mansion, and Masaki adored them all.

Masaki bent down and let the cat sniff his fingers. After he scratched its chin and behind its ears, it even let him pick it up. "You're sweet, aren't you, nyan-chan?" He held the cat against his shoulder. It sniffed his ear and then started grooming it. He squirmed a bit. "You're not haunted or creepy in the least." The cat purred in response. "Well, at least we have one ally against the Evils of the Spooky House."

The cat abruptly twisted, and Masaki let go. The cat jumped down, landed squarely on four paws, and then ran out of the room.

"Wild hair moment," Masaki commented. "Typical."

They heard the scrambling of claws and paws against the hardwood floor in the hall, and then nothing.

Kichijouji chuckled. "Yes. Typical." He unpacked his tablet and surge protector and then plugged them into a perfectly ancient-looking electrical socket. "Wow. That must be from the 1930s." He stood and joined Masaki. The harpsichord music abruptly stopped mid-measure. "I'm glad the player got bored," he said. "That song was getting depressing." He tilted his head. "Let's go downstairs and eat, yeah?"

Masaki nodded, and they headed back down the staircase. A burst of shrieks erupted from the second floor as they passed it—some male and some female.

"Must be telling ghost stories," Kichijouji said. "But isn't it a little early for that? They could at least wait until dark."

Masaki grinned. "With an atmosphere like this, who needs to wait? I bet they were debating how many people have been murdered here for real. I already heard rumors that people died while filming some of the movies that were shot here. I don't believe it for a minute, since I couldn't find any proof on the internet it ever happened, but that's what people say."

A wicked grin lit Kichijouji's face. "I read that the original Wentworth-sama had one son and five daughters, and the youngest daughter went insane and killed three of her sisters in their sleep one night. Stabbed them with a butcher knife. Then the family took one of the attic rooms and converted it into a psychiatric hospital room with barred windows and a locked door. Supposedly the daughter, Henrietta, roams all over the mansion harassing both guests and staff. Meanwhile, the three sisters haunt their own rooms." He had always loved Halloween and scary stories. He was less into horror movies, but he would watch them in October.

Masaki chuckled. "Maybe we should have a vigil in each of the sister's rooms and see if we get touched or spoken to or something. Or we could try to take pictures with our phones and see if we catch anything spooky, like shadows or lights."

"Sure! Maybe we're even in one of the haunted rooms. I'll check our room against the map after supper." Kichijouji stepped into the dining room with Masaki and halted. "Uh . . ."

Upon first glance, the room didn't seem to be any different than the rest of the mansion: dark woodwork, matching dark furniture, and a tall, narrow window. But the normalcy died quickly. The dining room table chairs were stacked on the table, arranged like a house of cards. Forks and knives randomly stuck out of the walls as though someone had hurled them in self-defense.

Kichijouji frowned. "That's not funny. I get the whole Halloween scheme and all, but that wallpaper is original to the house. Fixing it is impossible, and replacing it will ruin the originality. We should use magic and fix it ourselves."

Masaki nodded. "I'm offended, too. We're guests here."

They spent the next five minutes using their magic to reverse all the damage and get the chairs back around the table.

The other students began trickling in and out for dinner, and Masaki and Kichijouji carefully questioned them. Everyone protested innocence and claimed they'd seen nothing.

Masaki sighed as a pair of Fourth High students departed the dining room. "Forget it."

"Yeah. No one's going to admit it doing it." Kichijouji headed with Masaki back to their room, his mind on a shower. There was only one bathroom per floor, so ten boys would be sharing the bathroom on their floor. Ten girls were staying on the second floor, as it turned out. All nine schools were represented by at least two students a piece.

Kichijouji dug through his suitcase for his bathing supplies. "I'll take an early shower. Or bath. Or whatever they have. That way I can beat the rush." Through the walls, he could hear male voices engaged in conversation, although he couldn't make out the words. He hoped everyone was too busy talking to charge the bathroom.

"Good idea." Masaki opened his suitcase and began unpacking it into the tall chest of drawers.

"Oh, yeah. Our room." Kichijouji sat on his heels and pulled the map out of his coat pocket. He unfolded it as he spoke. "Let's see. We're in Polly's room." He checked it and then shot a grin at Masaki. "We're in luck! Polly was the second to eldest daughter, and she was one of the murder victims. Let's take some recordings. You know, do that thing where you ask questions and record the silence and hope you got something? The equipment at work will be powerful enough to analyze it." As an employee, Kichijouji was allowed to access any and all of the equipment at the Kanawaza Magic Research Institute.

Masaki smiled. "Sure." He just liked to see Kichijouji excited about something. The way Kichijouji's eyes gleamed and the way his energy spiked was deeply appealing to Masaki. "If nothing else, we'll get noises that will creep out the other students. We can stir them up and torture them a bit."

Kichijouji laughed. "Good point!" He stowed the map and then shed all the layers of his uniform except the white shirt and pants. He tucked a t-shirt and PJ pants under his arm, grabbed his bag of bathing supplies, and padded away.

The bathroom was not quite what he had expected. Fortunately, the toilet was in a separate room, thus allowing everyone else access while ten boys took a bath. A white porcelain, claw-foot bathtub awaited him, and a pipe with a shower head had been tacked on at some point. A free-standing sink was by a tiny, round, stain-glass window. A mirror so old it had black spots hung over the sink; it was clearly original to the mansion.

A white shower curtain hung on a circular rod, providing a barrier in 360 degrees.

"It really is like an old movie," Kichijouji murmured. He stripped off and got set up. A fancy wire rack held rolled up towels and rags. Kichijouji availed himself of the supplies and then waited five minutes—or what felt like five minutes—for the water to warm up.

"Old plumbing," he groaned to himself when he finally got into the shower.

Ten minutes into the hottest shower Kichijouji could manage, he heard a shrill metallic grating sound. He frowned to himself and pulled aside the shower curtain, peering around the room. The old, porcelain doorknob was turning, but of course the door was locked.

"It's occupied," Kichijouji snapped, wondering how the boy on the other side of the door couldn't hear the shower running.

The knob turned back and forth.

Kichijouji sighed and shut the curtain. "Whatever. He'll figure it out." He finished washing and then just let the hot water beat down on his tight neck. Long rides always made his neck tight.

A cold draft snapped through the room.

"What the hell?" Kichijouji jerked the curtain back.

The door was wide open.

That was locked. Kichijouji narrowed his eyes. Some jerk just used magic to open the door. Why? Because he thought I was taking too long? It's only been fifteen minutes or so.

Kichijouji waved his hand at the door. It wasn't like he needed his CAD for a spell this simple.

The door slammed shut.

"Asshole," Kichijouji muttered. He set to work drying himself off before some other jerk could open the door on him.

Meanwhile, back in their room, Masaki set up Kichijouji's laptop that he'd gotten through the Institute. The laptop was, of course, state of the art. Kichijouji sometimes joked he could control a satellite with it because it was so powerful.

As soon as he finished, Masaki plopped down on his bed and shifted until he got relatively comfortable. A faint musty smell came from somewhere around him. He sighed. The smell itself didn't bother him, but his dust allergies might take offense.

Kichijouji padded into the room, the black cat entering with him. It jumped onto Masaki's bed and sniffed Masaki's face.

"Some asshole opened the bathroom door on me," Kichijouji said, stowing his bag of bathing supplies and his used clothing. "Apparently fifteen minutes is too long for a shower around here."

Maski snorted and sat up. The cat crawled all over his lap, rubbing and pawing. He petted it. "Did you tell him off?"

"Didn't get the chance. He was already gone." Kichijouji relocated to the loveseat, noticing that Masaki had left the laptop on the coffee table. It was slim but had a seventeen-inch screen, making it four times larger than Kichijouji's tablet. More to the point, it was four times more powerful. "He better hope I don't figure out who he is, though." He pulled up the recording program. "Well, want to run our experiment?" He peered out the window; night had fallen. "It's the perfect time."

Masaki grinned. "Yeah." He rubbed the cat under its chin. "Want me to start asking questions? Or should we take turns?"

"You can start." Kichijouji hit record and then leaned over, turning out the floor lamp by the sofa. The only remaining light was from the laptop screen. "Okay. Go for it."

"What is your name?" Masaki asked. After an appropriate pause, he asked, "When did you die?"

The cat's eyes had been closed, but now they snapped open, and it stopped purring.

"Come on, don't you like séances? You're a black cat," Masaki teased. "Or should I say scaredy-cat?"

Kichijouji watched the cat carefully. Although he didn't believe in ghosts, he was well aware that people claimed animals could see them. "If you are Polly, is it true your sister Henrietta killed you?" He paused and gave time for an answer. "I'm sorry we can't hear you with our human ears. But because we can't, I have to ask another question. Does Henrietta still bother you?" Goosebumps raced over Kichijouji's arm, and he frowned. Nothing was happening, but he suddenly felt chilled. The heat from the shower is wearing off. I might have to put on my jacket.

The cat let out a low, warning growl and swished its tail, which was suddenly fluffed up like a toilet brush. Masaki gingerly petted its head. It jerked away and leapt off his lap. "You'd think we were doing something dangerous," Masaki remarked.

The cat hid under his bed.

Masaki rubbed his arms. "Now it's cold in here. I guess I should have expected that now that the sun's gone down. This place wouldn't have any central heating. It's too expensive to put in, and would ruin a lot of the original architecture."

"True." Kichijouji stood and headed to his suitcase, pulling out the jacket. It was actually the lightweight jacket from his gym uniform—soft cotton and well broken in.

He returned to the loveseat and pulled his feet up onto the seat, tucking his legs. "One last question, and then we'll leave you in peace. If there was one thing you wanted everyone to know—everyone who visits here or everyone in the city—what would it be?"

Goosebumps flashed over Kichijouji's arms again. The lamp beside the sofa suddenly fell over, the Victorian shade with its long fringe bouncing against the floor.

"Shit!" Kichijouji jumped up and stared at it. "I didn't do that!"

Masaki jumped up as well. "I bet the cat knocked into it. Don't panic." He righted the lamp and adjusted the shade on it. "It doesn't do any good if we get spooked ourselves. We're the skeptical scientists, remember?"

Kichijouji relaxed. "Right." He reached down and shut off the recording function. "The cat is the only logical explanation." He shut the laptop lid, leaving them in darkness. The moonlight seeped through the window, and after a moment, Kichijouji's eyes adjusted until he could see. "Well, we better let her out. Or him." He walked over to the door and opened it.

A black streak shot pass Kichijouji's feet and into the hallway. Cat. Right. No big deal. He shut the door and turned back toward Masaki, who was still standing by the lamp.

Beyond Masaki, by the fireplace, hung a blue orb.

Kichijouji snapped his arm up and pointed. "Masaki!"

Masaki turned and looked. "Whoa. A spirit. Well, ancient magic and spirits aren't my strong suit. I'm surprised I can see it at all. Do you see a color or shape, Jouji?"

"Blue," Kichijouji said. "And it's just an orb from my point of view. Do you think we have an ancient magic user here messing with everyone? I mean, summoning a nature spirit or a phantom of some kind could possibly mimic a ghost haunting."

Masaki nodded with a frown. "I'd guarantee it. What do you want to bet it's Yoshida Mikihiko from First High?" They'd seen him at supper. Masaki drew his CAD. "Yoshida doesn't seem like much of a prankster, but his friends could have put him up to it."

Kichijouji punched a code into his wrist CAD. "Right." He was still sore over his loss to Mikihiko, given he'd been electrocuted and had spent three days light sensitive and tormented with a headache—even after he'd been worked on by the healers. He wasn't genetically engineered, after all. He couldn't get hit by a car or thrown off a motorcycle and simply feel achy.

Taking aim, Kichijouji fired a warning shot just to the side of the spirit. Since he didn't know what it was, he didn't want to hit it. He also didn't want to damage the fireplace, so he used a simple flash spell. "Go on, now. Go bother whoever summoned you."

The blue orb zipped through the wall.

Ten seconds later a chorus of male shrieks rent the air.

Kichijouji sighed and lowered his hand. "Well, I hope the spirit took my suggestion, because if so, the people who got that spirit deserved the scare."

Masaki laughed. "Yeah. Instant karma, I guess. Or nearly instant."

Kichijouji smiled. He smiled just to hear Masaki laugh.

"Well, enough of that. I want sleep." Kichijouji headed to the door, locking it, and then climbed into his bed. He didn't want to admit it, but their little experiment had unsettled him slightly, even if he didn't believe in ghosts. He did believe in spirits, after all. He had to. Every magician knew ancient magic users could summon nature spirits and phantoms. An angry nature spirit could do a lot of damage, and phantoms were summoned for the express purpose of doing damage.

But Masaki was there. And that was another thing Kichijouji wouldn't admit aloud: just having Masaki there made him feel safer. He and Masaki had been friends for five years. More than that, Kichijouji had been in love with Masaki for five years. And the first thing Masaki had done when they'd met was help save Kichijouji's life.

Kichijouji sat up in bed a moment, his legs tucked under the covers. "Hey, Masaki. Do you think it's safe to go to sleep?"

Masaki nodded. "We sent them a message. I doubt they're going to try anything again tonight. It's just schoolyard ribbing, after all, even if we're all magicians and play around with forces civilians would faint at. In the morning, they'll make snide comments, and we'll just pretend we don't know what they're talking about." He changed into his pajamas, turned down the covers, and climbed in. Privately, he wondered what lengths the other students might go to for a good Halloween scare, but he told himself he was here, and he and Kichijouji would figure something out. Besides, when this was all over, he'd report the pranking to school officials, and then the students in question would get disciplined. This wasn't a competition, after all; it was a cooperative retreat.

"Okay." Kichijouji scooted down the bed and lay down, pulling the covers up to his chin. He stared at the ornate ceiling, a design having been laid into the plaster. It'll be fine. It was probably just a low-level water spirit or something, although I'm not sure why I could see it. That's not exactly my area. Perhaps it was a low-level phantom instead. Or genjutsu, maybe?

The self-reassurances weren't fully confident ones, but despite that, Kichijouji allowed himself to go to sleep.

Shortly after 3 AM, Kichijouji awakened and had to use the bathroom. Typical, he thought, sliding out of bed. I only get awakened in the night like this when I'm on trips. He zipped up his jacket, slipped out of the room as quietly as possible, and hugged his arms to his chest as he padded down the hallway. Just as Masaki had predicted, it was cold in the mansion. Ridiculously cold, Kichijouji thought as he reached the bathroom. It's a wonder I can't see my breath.

He ended up washing his hands with cold water when he was done, and he opened the door with every intention of half-running back to his warm bed. But when he stepped into the hallway, he came face-to-face with a woman.

"Sorry!" he whispered, having nearly run into her. In the second it took him to apologize, his brain caught up with the sheer horror of what he was seeing.

He could see right through the woman.

And she looked like his mother.

Kichijouji stared, struck mute. Unlike Japanese folklore, the spirit was fully formed, with legs and feet. She looked just like he remembered her: shiny, black hair that hung in a curtain down to her chin; a rounded face like his own; large, crimson eyes like his own; and a pale complexion like his own. She wore one of her typical work suits: pale grey with dark grey pinstripes. And she smiled at him with a familiar warm smile.

This is too much! Kichijouji's inner self screamed. If this is a prank, I'm going to kill whoever did it!

The spirit stepped a fraction closer. "Shinkuro, sweetheart."

It was his mother's voice, to the best of Kichijouji's memory. That part was fading from his mind, and all their family video footage had been destroyed in the invasion. But having heard her voice again, it sounded right. Kichijouji backed up a step, tears stinging his eyes. "Please. Don't play with me this way. It's too cruel."

A concerned look washed over the spirit's face, furrowing her brow. "I'm not playing with you, Shinkuro. I can come see you here. This mansion is on a ley-line, and many séances have taken place here. It's a power sink now."

Kichijouji utterly panicked. He shot past the spirit, sprinting to his room and throwing the door open. "Masaki!"

Masaki awakened instantly at Kichijouji's shout and leapt out of bed with CAD in hand. He'd kept it under his pillow. "Jouji!" He flew to Kichijouji's side and tackled Kichijouji one-armed, twisting Kichijouji behind him and pointing his CAD down the hall. He saw a high level phantom and snapped into battle mode. "Shit!" This has to be an ancient magic user's doing.

Kichijouji didn't even aim to be dignified about this. He felt like someone had lit a fire inside his lungs—or perhaps poured acid on his heart. Years of healing seemed to be ripped out of him in an instant, and his grief surged up fresh and bitter. "It spoke," he gasped, clutching Masaki's shirt with both hands and pressing up against his back. "It even sounds like her!" He wasn't sure his sentence made sense, but then again, Masaki had seen a few pictures of his mother.

The spirit floated into the bedroom doorway and held out both hands. "Don't be upset, Shinkuro. This is a good chance for us. Most people don't get a chance to speak like this, and I died so abruptly." She folded her hands against her chest. "I love you, sweetheart. And your dad sends his love, too."

"Masaki," Kichijouji whimpered, near tears by this point.

"Go to hell!" Masaki couldn't see the phantom as anything other than a featureless, glowing blue-white humanoid with malicious glowing eyes, but the words he heard and Kichijouji's panic clued him in. "Where's your summoner?" Without waiting for an answer, he blasted the phantom, temporarily scattering it, and ran down the hall, pulling Kichijouji behind him. "Who summoned the phantom?" he yelled. His voice echoed down the hallway. "You're committing a crime! This is a peaceful retreat."

After the initial sprint, Kichijouji ended up holding Masaki's hand as they ran. They thundered down the stairs and ended up in the foyer. "We have to find Wentworth-sama."

From upstairs came the sound of scrambling footsteps and voices as some of the other students got up.

The spirit reformed in the middle of the foyer.

Kichijouji pressed up against Masaki's side, holding his hand so tightly it could have bruised.

The spirit pressed both hands to her chest. "Why are you running away, Shinkuro? Don't you want to speak with your mother?"

"Prove you're my mother," Kichijouji snapped. "Tell me what kind of birthday cake you made me when I was four years old."

The spirit lowered her arms. Then a smirk formed on her lips. "Oh, that game, huh?" Her face faded away until it was skeletal, and she opened her mouth unnaturally wide, displaying fangs. "Fine! Don't believe I'm your mother!" And then she shrieked so loudly Kichijouji's ears hurt.

Masaki blasted the phantom away again.

A dozen students raced down the stairs. At least three spells went off. The sudden glow of magic in the darkness left Kichijouji temporarily blinded.

The spirit turned on the newcomers and shrieked at them. Four pictures fell off the wall. The foyer table scooted across the floor.

Mikihiko came to the landing of the staircase, held up three cards with sutra, and cast a spell. He threw the cards at the spirit.

The spirit clawed the air with bony fingers and vanished, still shrieking.

By this point, Wentworth had arrived and turned on the foyer lights.

Kichijouji stared up at the white-faced Mikihiko and knew right away he hadn't summoned the spirit. In fact, he looked more like he was going to pass out.

"I'm so sorry," Wentworth said, bowing deeply. "We haven't had a haunting in some time. I was hoping the spirits would remain dormant during your stay." He straightened. "You may leave first thing in the morning if you don't wish to remain here. We'll refund you your money."

Kichijouji frowned. I'm totally leaving. As soon as the sun is up. I never want to see anything like that ever again. He peered up at Masaki. "Let's go back to our room," he whispered. He'd released Masaki's hand when the other students had arrived, but it had cost him. He felt jittery without the physical contact.

Masaki stared at Mikihiko. Their eyes met. Until Kichijouji spoke, Masaki had been frozen. He nodded slightly. Then he walked up to Mikihiko and bowed. "Thank you. May I ask you the favor of keeping an eye out for the source of the spirits and doing your best to combat them? You're likely the strongest ancient magic user here. Maybe the only one; I don't know. But I need to protect my best friend, and I can't do that by myself."

Mikihiko returned the bow. "Of course. That was a particularly powerful entity. I'll use everything I know and call with my family as well."

Kichijouji offered Mikihiko a bow also, and then he and Masaki retreated to their room.

As soon as the door was closed and locked, Kichijouji turned to Masaki. He realized this was probably his only chance to get a hug from the person he loved most in the world, and he was also deeply shaken by his experience. He stepped up to Masaki, his head bowed and a blush stinging his cheeks, and slipped his arms around Masaki's waist. "Thank you," he whispered. "That was . . . really bad."

Masaki was stunned for a split second. Then he wrapped Kichijouji in his arms and held Kichijouji against him tightly. He never thought he'd get a chance to act this way with Kichijouji. He'd never wanted Kichijouji to feel embarrassed or belittled. Friends ought to be equals, and he'd always tried to make Kichijouji understand they were. His protective instincts worried him in their potential to be misunderstood. "I'm furious. I can't believe someone would dare to mess with you that way. Who would – Who would even – After seeing how everyone reacted, I know it can't be another student. At least, not an ordinary student. Either we've been infiltrated, or someone laid a trap for us students knowing we'd be away from our families and schools. Someone wants something out of this. We can't let them win."

Masaki found himself cupping Kichijouji's head with one hand. "We won't let them win."

Kichijouji relaxed against Masaki's chest. Nothing could make up for being tormented by a spirit, but at least with Masaki holding him so tightly, Kichijouji felt less raw. The way Masaki cupped his head made warmth swirl through Kichijouji's body. "I can't imagine what they'd want." The adrenaline began draining out of his body, and quickly. "Or why they'd target me in particular. But I want to leave in the morning. If I have to see my 'dad' on top of my 'mom' . . ." He left the sentence unfinished; he didn't need to say anything more. He just squeezed Masaki's waist and rested his head against Masaki's shoulder.

Masaki was horrified at the idea. "You're right. We're leaving as soon as possible. I won't let that happen. I'll do anything to keep that from happening. Your grief is enough without having to see them. Whoever's shoving your loss in your face is inhuman." He hugged Kichijouji as tightly as he could. "Look . . . you can sleep in my bed with me tonight if you want to. I-I'm not trying to emasculate you or anything. I just want you to know – " He flushed.

Kichijouji's entire body tingled for a second. Although nothing could make up for being tormented by a spirit, Masaki was getting as close as someone could get. "I—I know. You wouldn't ever do—do something like that." He felt the blush in his cheeks. "But this is a really weird situation. And a bad one." As though I would ever say no to such an offer, regardless of the reason! "So, yes. Thank you." He didn't dare look up at Masaki. He figured his hot blush would give his feelings away in an instant.

Masaki sighed with relief. "Good." He didn't dare acknowledge that he wanted to snuggle up with Kichijouji for its own sake. "Then let's go back to bed, yeah?"

"Yeah," Kichijouji whispered, letting go of Masaki temporarily. He was so warm by this point he had to discard his jacket on the foot of his bed. He had a moment in which he wondered if he were dreaming all of this.

Kichijouji let Masaki climb into bed first, trying to get a clue of how they'd be arranged. Masaki settled on his back, paused, and then spread out one arm in invitation.

In that moment, Kichijouji realized they were skirting around the edges of something more than "friendly." Masaki . . . do you have these feelings for me, too? Do I dare even hope you could?

Without a word, Kichijouji climbed in and lay down at Masaki's side, using Masaki's shoulder as a pillow and wrapping an arm around his waist. He rested one leg over Masaki's. Oh my god. This is perfect. I've had a thousand daydreams that went like this.

Masaki was embarrassed by how good it felt to have Kichijouji lie on him this way. He pulled the sheet up around them and tucked them both in without dislodging Kichijouji. Then he squeezed Kichijouji's waist. "I hope you'll be able to get some sleep," he whispered. "I'm sorry this turned into such a disaster, Jouji. We wanted to have fun."

"It's okay." Kichijouji let his eyes drift shut. Masaki's warmth was soothing, and Masaki's unique smell—a mixture of shampoo and cologne and aftershave—filled his nose. It was wonderful. "I'll be able to sleep." He willed himself to say it: "You're here, after all." A renewed blush burned his cheeks, but he just snuggled in, taking from this moment all he could. It'll be fine. We'll get through the night and go home first thing in the morning. And then I'll have this amazing memory of sleeping beside you.

Masaki held Kichijouji closely, touched beyond words and filled with the most wonderful feeling. He realized that Kichijouji had just verbally accepted his protection for the first time. Kichijouji had actually said it. "Yes. I'm here." He rested his head against Kichijouji's. "Always."

Kichijouji felt as though he fell in love with Masaki all over again.

A/N: For the readers of "Just a Kiss," don't worry. I haven't dropped the story. The last two months of my life are tied in second place as the most stressful of my entire life. I just needed a break from serious themes. I needed to write something fun, and I love Halloween stories.