"I will be right over."
Shuuichi has night terrors. Their intensity and frequency have never lessened over the years, even with the knowledge and experience he has gained. He thinks he can convince himself not to worry, but the impact of youkai haunts and criticizing family and society have long since left its mark.
Sometimes it's a simple nightmare that leaves him with a bad mood for the day. Other times he'd be jolted awake in a panicked sweat and doze the rest of the night.
The worst ones are the surreal. Something bothers him in a dream and he'll turn to constructing new seals and talismans. These panicked constructions are never completed, left in a paranoid hurry. It's not like it mattered – the formulas and words never made sense and couldn't be used.
The shiki he employed are concerned at first, keeping an eye on his madness until he passes out. Now they know to pass it off as another human absurdity. There was nothing they could do but make sure their master didn't injure himself.
One night terror causes Shuuichi such delusion that he picks up his phone and calls someone. To him, it's part of the dream. He needs advice on the failed seals he was working on. He doesn't have many colleagues' numbers, and he has sworn to use this person for emergencies.
The shiki watch their master from a distance, his arms trembling and head bowed to the stand. He's extremely fatigued, his head snapping back to stay awake (in this faux dream). They remain nearby and unobtrusive.
"Hello?" comes a drowsy voice from the receiving end of the call.
Shuuichi tries to find his voice – what reason to give, words to say – for this impromptu call. Fatigued, eyes lazily tracing the wall before him, Shuuichi tries, "Seals." A pause, to gather words again, for an explanation. The person waits patiently. "I need help."
"How about at a more convenient time?" suggests the deep-voiced man, releasing a heavy sigh.
"It's not complete. I have to complete it," Shuuichi desperately rushes.
Shuuichi rests his head against the wall as he waits for his colleague's answer.
"Does it need to be completed tonight?" the voice huffs exasperated.
"Yes," the exorcist groans, fingering a pen on the stand before it flings onto the floor and exciting the two shiki. "I have to go now. I can't keep her waiting."
"...Who?" the other man softly questions.
Shuuichi rubs his head into the wall, sighing exasperated. It's not uncommon that Shuuichi did such things during these terrors, but he has never spoken to another human during it. He progressively gets more upset.
"It's not my fault," the sandy-blond man hisses, letting his hips dig into the stand.
"I never said anything of the sort," comes the cool, collected voice. "What happened, Shuuichi?"
Being addressed by his given name brings a small bit of clarity to the situation – more so who he is speaking with. "Nothing," Shuuichi abruptly answers.
The silence that follows is different than before. It's patient, but no longer holds irritation and faux interest.
"...do you still need help?"
Shuuichi sighs, feeling himself wake a bit more from the manifested delusion. He heeds the other's words, tired eyes dragging back to the living room a mess with paper, books, and sharpened wooden sticks. "...yeah," is his defeated reply.
There's no hint of amusement or annoyance from Seiji–
"I will be right over."
–just relief.