Voices In The Dark.
The awakening was slow, wrapped in a white light that filtered through the sheer curtains of the room. Yuzu opened her eyes calmly, her body still heavy from a short night. Her muscles, slightly sore — not just because of the high heels, nor the hours spent standing.
It was that vibration beneath the skin.
An echo left behind.
Hard to define.
On the nightstand, the phone vibrated softly.
A message. Airi.
A. I didn't sleep.
A. When I got home, my place was a mess. The kitchen window was open, the dust on the floor looked disturbed. But nothing was stolen.
Yuzu sat up in bed.
Her brows slightly furrowed.
Bare feet on the cold parquet.
She typed quickly.
Y. Did you call anyone? Police? The landlord?
A. Yes, they came. They say maybe it was the wind. But I hadn't left any window open.
Silence.
Three dots. Then the last message.
A. I swear, Yuzu, I had the feeling someone was watching me.
Yuzu remained still.
The phone in her hands.
Her heart beat just a bit faster.
It wasn't fear.
Just a shift in the air.
A small, invisible ripple.
---At school…---
Shortly after, in the classroom, everything seemed in its place.
Yuzu entered with her usual composure.
Ivory blouse, light gray cigarette trousers, hair perfectly straight, tied in a low ponytail that fell down to her hips. Pearl earrings, discreet lipstick, impeccable posture.
No one noticed the tension in her shoulders.
No one—except maybe those who looked a little too long.
Only her pen — that, yes — tapped with more force than usual on the notebook as she took attendance.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A nervous, composed symphony. Invisible to most.
During the practical activity, as every week, she walked among the easels with a calm step and a clear gaze.
Haru and Kenta were there, at the back. Focused. Silent.
But something had changed.
Yuzu approached Haru's easel silently.
She stopped.
Stood straight, arms clasped behind her back.
The painting — a female face bathed in sharp light — had changed.
Different from how she remembered it just two days ago.
Too dark.
The brushstrokes were dense, agitated.
The figure more tilted.
The eyes — once clear, almost spiritual — now seemed empty.
Holes in the color.
As if something had eaten them away.
But Haru was gone.
The easel still in place.
The brushes still dirty.
A chair pushed slightly back.
But no one around.
Yuzu remained silent.
She observed the canvas for a few more seconds.
Then looked up.
There was something in the air.
That feeling again.
Light, almost imperceptible.
But present.
Like a breath that wasn't hers.
She turned toward Kenta.
His painting too — a mother with a child in her arms — had changed.
Not drastically.
But altered, in a subtle and unsettling way.
The child was now looking at the viewer.
Dark eyes, wide, too glossy.
Yuzu didn't remember that gaze.
She didn't even remember it being so central.
"Kenta…?" she asked calmly, leaning in slightly. "Have you touched up the canvas since Wednesday?"
The boy looked up, uncertain.
"No, Yuzu-sensei. Not yet. We were just supposed to start the second layer today…"
She nodded, but not entirely convinced.
She was about to turn away when she noticed a detail that didn't match.
On the lower edge of the canvas, just above the wooden frame, there was a signature.
Black. Nervous.
Drawn unevenly, almost carved in with the tip of a dry brush.
It wasn't Kenta's handwriting.
And more importantly… it hadn't been there on Wednesday.
Yuzu said nothing.
Just a brief silence, a held note before resuming.
She kept moving among the easels with the same calm voice as always, technical advice, measured praise.
But her eyes… her eyes kept darting from one detail to another.
Lines that seemed darker.
Shadows she didn't remember seeing.
Something in the paintings was shifting — and it wasn't just paint.
Once the classroom door was closed, she took refuge in the teachers' lounge.
She grabbed a cup. Warm tea in her hands.
Fingers curled around the ceramic, as if seeking stability.
Her gaze fixed outside the window.
The sky was flat, milky, cloudless.
But the air…
That feeling again.
That stillness.
As if the entire building were holding its breath.
Her phone vibrated.
A: Can we meet after school? I don't want to be alone tonight.
Yuzu replied immediately.
Y.: I'll come by. I'll bring something warm.
Then she placed the phone on the table.
Closed her eyes for a moment.
She thought of Gojo.
Since that night, no messages.
No after-hours jokes.
No unexpected notifications.
And the silence...
wasn't the relief she had expected.
It was too wide a space.
Too empty.
That's when she heard it.
A soft sound.
A laugh.
Subtle, theatrical, bold.
Not a recording.
Not a prank.
Alive. Just beyond the door.
Yuzu stood up.
Turned the handle slowly.
Opened it.
The hallway was perfectly empty.
Only the slow hum of the fluorescent lights.
Only the beating of her heart.
***
The sky was fading into shades of pink and orange when Yuzu arrived at the small third-floor apartment where Airi lived.
The front door was ajar. No sound from the landing.
As if it had been waiting for her.
She climbed the steps with a firm stride, both hands wrapped around a still-warm bag: hot ramen, tightly sealed. And a box of vanilla mochi. An unnecessary detail, maybe. But with Airi, details mattered.
The door opened almost immediately.
Airi was in pajamas, hair tied in a messy bun, her face tired.
But as soon as she saw Yuzu, her eyes softened.
"You're an angel…" she murmured, pulling her into a slow hug.
"Not yet…" Yuzu replied, hinting at a smile. "But if you give me time to change, I might get there."
They laughed quietly. No need to pretend.
The living room was wrapped in a gentle half-light. Blankets over their legs, steaming bowls in hand, voices low — as if it were later than it really was.
Airi spoke.
Scattered pieces. The fridge making strange noises. A hallway light turning on by itself. A glass found broken in the sink, but no noise during the night.
Small things. But together, they added up.
"I slept on the couch with all the lights on."
Airi ran a hand through her hair, her fingers catching in the strands.
"And no one actually came in?" Yuzu asked.
Airi shook her head, slowly.
"I don't think so. But I don't know. That's the thing. I don't know what I believe anymore."
Yuzu stayed silent.
A sip from her glass. A breath.
Then she picked up her phone.
She knew she was about to do something she never did lightly.
She opened the chat.
She typed.
Y.: Is there a way to tell if a house is… disturbed?
Three seconds.
Reply.
Gojo: Do you need an exorcist or a caring boyfriend?
Yuzu held back a smile.
Consistence to the core.
Y.: Someone who doesn't joke when there's a smell of something burning.
Gojo: Burning? What do you mean?
Y.: Airi had a bit of an energetic mess at home. Nothing serious. But weird.
Pause. Then:
Gojo: I'll be there in 12 minutes. Not 10. Not 15. Style matters.
Yuzu sighed, but her lips still curled up.
She glanced up at the ceiling.
As if even that might answer her.
Then she turned to Airi, who was watching her over her bowl.
"You called him…?"
Her voice was somewhere between surprise and relief.
Yuzu nodded.
…
The doorbell rang twice. Brief. Precise.
Airi jumped, clutching the blanket like a shield.
"Is it them?" she whispered. "Tell me it's them."
Yuzu stood up calmly, smoothing the hem of her pajama shorts.
"Easy. Breathe."
Inhale. Exhale. Airi followed her lead.
Then she opened the door.
On the landing, bathed in the flickering neon light of the stairwell, stood Gojo and Geto.
Gojo leaned against the railing with the ease of someone who turns every entrance into a scene. Black coat open, white blindfold, half a smile already playing on his lips.
"Friendship assistance service — emergency call!" he announced, raising a hand like an off-duty rescuer. "Did someone say haunted house or reheated dinner? Because either way, I came hungry."
Geto, behind him, gave a small nod.
"Good evening. Sorry we're late." (They were exactly on time.)
Airi peeked out through the door.
Her gaze tired, but relieved.
"Thank you… sorry… it's just that… I don't know if I'm imagining things."
Gojo was the first to step inside.
Naturally. But he slowed just enough not to seem intrusive. He took off his shoes in one fluid motion and pointed at the floor.
"Matching mats. Sign of civilization. I already like this place."
"Come in," Yuzu said, guiding them to the living room.
The coffee table was still cluttered with empty bowls. Yuzu moved them discreetly.
"Tea?" she asked.
" If it's green tea: yes. Matcha: double yes. If it's some mysterious powder… Geto, you go first."
Geto didn't laugh, but his lips twitched slightly.
He sat properly, coat folded neatly over his knees.
His gaze already sweeping the room: the lock, the baseboards, the window, the outlet. No hurry. No distraction.
Gojo sat with a bit too much gusto, fingers laced behind his neck.
"So…" he began, in the tone of an impromptu press conference. "Window open, things moved, broken glass. Right?"
Airi nodded.
"And the kitchen light… it turned on by itself. I swear."
"Timer? Sensor?" Geto asked, as if it were just idle curiosity.
"No. It's a normal switch. Old."
"Noisy neighbors? Flying cats?" Gojo added.
Airi shook her head.
"An elderly couple. But no animals."
"Spare keys?"
Geto was direct.
"One... to the landlord. My mother has the others, but she lives far away."
"Noticed any scratches? Dust displaced by the window?"
Gojo was already up—no asking, no fuss.
He crossed the room, walking slowly, fingertips barely grazing the furniture.
He bent down, touched the window sill, inhaled the air.
"Smells like… sauce? No. Hot metal."
Airi swallowed.
"I felt something. Like something burned. But I didn't use the stove."
Yuzu watched him.
Those movements were too precise to be mere curiosity.
Every time Gojo brushed an object, he touched exactly the right spot: corners, seams, crevices.
Meanwhile, Geto lifted a picture frame from the sideboard.
On the back, the dust was marked by a thin line, like an oblique swipe.
From the inside out.
"Did you dust this yesterday?" he asked.
"No… not for weeks."
"Hm."
He replaced the frame with millimeter precision.
Then the kitchen light flickered.
A single blink.
Subtle, but real.
Airi stepped back on instinct.
"Old wiring," Gojo said at once, beaming. "Or the microwave's wounded pride. But I'd say the wires."
Yuzu stared at him.
"You sure?"
Gojo placed a hand on his chest.
"Me? Sure? Never. But calm enough to tell you that you can sleep. At worst, I'll wake you at three to ask for oil-painting advice."
"Don't," she replied, deadpan. A finger pointing at him.
"Or I'll make you correct all my Gothic calligraphy homework." She smiled.
"Threat accepted."
---A little later…---
"Should I stay?" Yuzu asked Airi quietly. "Or would you rather sleep and talk to us tomorrow?"
Airi turned to the three of them. Eyes misty, but a light laugh.
"If you stay ten more minutes… I'll feel ridiculous. But better."
"You're not ridiculous," said Geto. Calm, quietly. "Empty houses make noise. Some more than others."
Gojo nodded.
"We'll stay for a tea. And leave a secret talisman."
He paused, correcting himself as if remembering non-initiates were present.
"I mean… a trick to see if anyone comes by while you sleep. A practical person's hack."
"What kind of trick?" Yuzu asked, narrowing her eyes.
Gojo snapped his fingers.
A tiny folded slip of paper appeared between his thumb and forefinger. Hard to tell when he'd prepared it. He slipped it casually between the door and the frame.
"If it's fallen by tomorrow morning with no drafts…" He smiled, tilting his head. "Someone's been in."
"Old university dorm technique," Geto added, as if that summed it up.
***
No sounds.
The night passed without incident.
No flickering lights.
No cracked glass.
No windows banging in the silence.
Yuzu slept on the futon laid out beside Airi's couch.
They talked in low voices until late, like back in their university days — when all it took was a soft light to feel safe.
Then exhaustion took over.
At dawn, they slid open the shōji and checked the door.
The small slip of paper Gojo had placed was still there. Untouched. Unmoved.
"See?" Yuzu said, folding it carefully. "Just wind and nerves."
"And too much sake," Airi added — but this time, she was truly smiling.
On the phone, a silent message from 2:14 AM that Yuzu hadn't heard.
Gojo: All clear. If you smell burning again, text me. (Were you snoring? Asking for data purposes.)
Yuzu deleted the last sentence before showing the message to Airi.
Not out of censorship — but out of kindness.
They talked a little more, but without saying much. Some nights don't need explanations.
Just to have happened.
Yuzu finished her tea in a slow sip, then stood up, slipped on her jacket, and adjusted the bag on her shoulder.
"I'll text you as soon as I get to the school."
Airi nodded, her eyes bright but calm.
"Thank you for staying."
"Always."
She opened the door gently.
The cool morning air drifted into the room, soft.
Outside, the day had begun.