Satoru wears a hoodie under his uniform jacket. The weather's cold enough lately that it won't seem weird. The sleeves fall farther than his jacket sleeves do, covering his wrists neatly and with inches to spare.

Kiyoshi gives him an odd look as Satoru leaves in the morning, but it's not really so different, is it?

"A hoodie?" Kitamoto says the second he sees him. "Are you getting sick or something?"

"I'm allowed to get cold," he replies defensively. "The leaves are so cold they're dying. You want me to die, Acchan?"

The childhood nickname garners a few giggles from a few girls passing them by. Kitamoto's face gets a little pink and he scowls, grabbing for him. Satoru ducks his reach nimbly and rushes up the last few steps, waving a cheerful goodbye at the spot in the hall where they part every morning to go to their respective classes.

He makes it about four more steps before he runs straight into Tanuma. Runs straight into him, and staggers back like he just tried his luck bouncing off a brick wall.

"Jeez, what do you eat?" Satoru mutters, rubbing his face.

"Why are you wearing a hoodie?" Tanuma returns. At the look on Satoru's face—and he probably looks as gobsmacked as he feels—Tanuma adds, "You've complained about being hot in your uniform every day this week, multiple times. Did something happen?"

"No," Satoru says quickly, wondering what the heck he did to get saddled with the most perceptive friends in the world. "I'm just cold today. Ask Acchan."

After a moment, Tanuma's hard expression cracks and reluctant amusement shines through. "'Acchan'?"

"Please call him that when you ask, and please tell me what he looked like the second you did."

Tanuma chuckles as Satoru steps around him, with barely two minutes to get to class on time at this point. He actually literally looks over his shoulder a few times, feeling somewhat hunted, and he's relieved when Taki doesn't pop up from around a corner somewhere and he makes it safely into his classroom.

"Good morning," Natsume greets him, with that crooked smile that only a handful of people ever get to see, that Satoru earned fair and square. A second later, those soft amber eyes sharpen. "Why are you wearing a hoodie?"

"Oh, come on."

But after that, it's okay. They stop bugging him. He even gets out of gym by volunteering to be Tsuji's lackey when a harried teacher pulls the class rep out for some errands. And when he and his group head to the roof to eat, a cool wind greets them, and Tanuma says, "Wow, alright. Maybe I should have worn a hoodie."

"Hah!" Satoru whirls around to jab a finger at Kitamoto. "Hah!"

His friends roll their eyes at him, long-suffering and amused despite themselves, and Satoru waits until they're all occupied with their own lunches to try opening his melon bread with one hand.

It's no big deal, totally not worth worrying about—but his wrist kind of still really hurts.

"So are the two of you free on Sunday?" Taki asks brightly when they're finished eating, lingering behind with Satoru and Tanuma as Kitamoto and Natsume head downstairs. "To come over and look at grandpa's library with me?"

"Sunday's good for me," Tanuma replies easily, and Satoru flashes a left-handed thumb's up.

"See you then," he says cheerfully.

Something outside the window catches his eye as he steps down onto the second floor landing. He's gotten better about not jumping at shadows in the past handful of weeks wearing the circle, so Satoru darts a quick sidelong glance down at the school yard.

And promptly forgets how breathing works, because the yokai from before is standing at the gate.

Okay, Satoru thinks, a little numb with terror, this isn't good.

"—shimura. Nishimura!"

Gravity goes a little bonkers at the same time fire shoots up his right arm, and Satoru only very barely manages not to cry out. And then he looks down and realizes he almost walked straight off the landing and fell down about twenty stairs, safely suspended by Natsume's hand wrapped around his bruised wrist and little else.

"Oh," he manages. "Oops."

"What's gotten into you?" Kitamoto is grinning, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You're been zoning out a lot lately."

Satoru is blinking wetly through the harsh sting as he disentangles himself from Natsume's grip, and prays it isn't entirely obvious that he's wincing as he slides his hand safely back into its pocket.

Preoccupied, he forgets to answer his best friend. He's rescued by Taki, who says, "We're gonna be late for class if we keep dawdling! Let's move it, boys!"

Satoru is stopped by a yank on the back of his jacket. Tanuma and Taki are frowning at him, and Tanuma says, "Meet us after school."

"And we know where you live," Taki adds, mostly teasing, partly serious, "so you better show."

Satoru has visions of the two of them showing up unannounced at his house and unintentionally interrupting Kiyoshi's studying, and his mother's subsequent wrath. Since his friends aren't cowed by monsters or mortal danger, they certainly wouldn't be deterred by Satoru's mom. They would be politely unapologetic the entire time, too, and Satoru's mom would die before she'd give anyone reason to call her a poor host so she'd probably end up inviting them in, and the whole thing would be painfully awkward and awful and Satoru thinks he'd rather deal with the creepy yokai than that whole mess.

"Nooo, guys, come on." Satoru doesn't bother trying to keep the whine out of his voice. "I don't know what you're thinking, but stop thinking it. I just—wasn't paying attention. We've all almost fallen down some stairs before, it's nothing to call the school paper about."

"You forget that we deal with Natsume's deflections on a daily basis," Taki says. "And he's had a lot more practice at keeping his friends in the dark than you have."

There's no argument to make there. Satoru decides retreat is the better part of valor, and scoots a careful step back.

Tanuma sweeps a step closer to match it and all but looms over him. He can't help it usually, he's just that tall—but when he remembers to use that height in an argument, it's pretty convincing. Satoru tries very hard not to think of the last thing that loomed over him and meets Tanuma's eyes as steadily as he can.

"It's that yokai, isn't it? The one from the other day. You followed it."

"I thought it needed help," Satoru says stupidly.

"What happened?" Taki's eyes are bright, like she's about to cry, and Satoru automatically feels terrible for that.

"Nothing! I mean, honestly, nothing. I walked with it to the woods, and it—it touched my hand, and then I left."

Tanuma's dark eyes are heated. "Nishimura, I swear, if that thing did something to you—"

"Hey," Satoru says, waving his hand frantically, "can we keep this conversation audience-friendly for the hallway please? It didn't do anything to me, it's fine."

"Prove it," Tanuma says, and holds out his hand. Taki moves to stand next to him, and they aren't budging.

Satoru curls his bad hand in against his center, feeling hunted again. The stinging hasn't let up since Natsume unwittingly grabbed him. He doesn't want anyone else to touch it.

Whatever he looks like is doing something to his friends' expressions in turn. Their stubborn care and almost-anger is fading into worry, and Taki says, "Nishimura?" very carefully, like she's trying not to spook a scared animal.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Satoru jumps, whirling around. Kitamoto is staring at him like he's never seen him before, and his gaze moves from Satoru to the two behind him.

"What's going on?" he asks slowly. "Nishimura, you okay?"

"I'm good," Satoru replies, too fast. "I also really don't want a detention. So let's all go to class now."

Kitamoto's eyes drop down to the hand Satoru is holding carefully against his chest, and his mouth twists.

But he lets go and steps away. "If you say so. I'll see you after school."

"Um," Satoru sounds weak to his own ears, "I gotta meet up with these two after school. To do a thing. I'll see you later, though!"

Kitamoto hesitates for a moment, eyes moving between his three friends like he's trying to find an answer in the spaces in between them, before he finally musters a smile.

"Yeah, alright."

He looks tired. Satoru is rooted to the spot as his friend walks away.

"This doesn't feel good," Satoru says, to no one in particular.

The circle on his shoulder feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. There's a yokai following him, its mark burning and heavy where it sits on his skin. He's lying to pretty much everybody around him, about everything. He just lied to Kitamoto, of all people, and he knows Kitamoto didn't buy it because Kitamoto never does, but he lied anyway.

He wanted to understand Natsume better, to be there for him, but all he's really doing is drawing a circle around himself and keeping everyone out.

With a sense of looming dread, Satoru wonders if maybe that's a good thing. The things he can see are more and more dangerous the closer they get—he doesn't want them taking a step too far in either direction and snatching up one of these people he loves so much.

He wonders if this is how Natsume feels. If it is, he thinks he understands the other boy a lot better now, after all.

He thinks he can feel those sightless eyes staring at him from the window. There's nothing there when he looks, but he knows better than to trust only what he can see.

Satoru's wrist burns. His heart is heavy.

He's late going back to class. If Tanuma and Taki say goodbye, he doesn't hear them.