Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Serizawa woke up to the sound of dripping.

At first, he didn’t notice it.
It blended too neatly into the sounds of his small apartment, the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, the wheeze of the ancient heater he’d forgotten to turn off overnight.
For a while, he lays still under the covers, eyes on the ceiling, waiting for his heart to settle from whatever dream he’d just pulled himself out of.
The dreams weren’t usually bad anymore, just… strange.
Vivid, slow-motion memories that blurred into half-imagined places.
He couldn’t remember if this one had been about the office, or about the ocean.
He’d been underwater, maybe.

The drip came again.

Then again.

…It didn’t belong to the dream.

He sat up.

It was still early.
The sun hadn’t quite reached the window yet, leaving the apartment steeped in the blue-grey haze of a spring morning.
He rubbed his eyes, shuffled out of the futon, and padded across the floor to the kitchen.
The kettle had finished boiling, so he poured water into a mug with a chipped handle, the same one he always used, and added a tea bag.
Steam curled up and softened the cold air around him.
He held the mug in both hands and stood there for a long moment, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

There it was again.
Definitely not the sink.
Not the kettle either.

Curious, and already uneasy, he followed the sound down the narrow hallway, past the bathroom and the tiny utility closet with the broken vacuum he still meant to fix.
His socks made a soft squelch against the floor.

He stopped walking.

There, near the far wall of the hallway, was a shallow puddle of water, dark, silent, slowly spreading across the wooden floorboards.
His eyes followed the trail upward, where a line of moisture shimmered down the wall.
The wallpaper, pale cream, patterned with little faded green leaves, had begun to peel back from the edges.
Just above the seam, a small blister had formed on the surface.
Another drop fell from the ceiling, struck the wood, and disappeared into the growing puddle.

Serizawa stared at it for a while.

Not with panic.
Not even surprise.
Just… resignation.

He set the mug down on the floor beside him and went to get a towel.

The building manager said someone would “come by next week.”

That was the phrase they used.
Not a date, not a time.
Just “next week,” in the vague, dismissive way of people who didn’t know or care how much this mattered.
Serizawa, as always, said thank you, and I’m sorry, and yes, of course, that’s fine.
When he hung up, he spent a full minute just staring at his phone.

The leak got worse overnight.

By morning, the wallpaper had bubbled like old paint, and the ceiling wore a long, dark stain that hadn’t been there the day before.
There was a sour, earthy smell hanging in the air– faint but growing.
He opened all the windows despite the cold, hoping it would help.

It didn’t.

A day later, the inspection team arrived.
Two men in overalls and heavy boots walked through the hallway, one holding a clipboard, the other shining a flashlight into corners.
Serizawa trailed behind them like a nervous intern.
They didn’t ask many questions.
Just clicked their tongues and murmured to each other.

The taller one turned and said, “Honestly, with this much moisture, you’re gonna start seeing mold any day now. If it’s not already in the walls.”
Serizawa blinked.
“Oh.”
“You probably shouldn’t sleep here. Especially not in that room.”
“…Oh.”
“Do you have asthma or allergies?”
“...No. I don’t think so.”
He hesitated.
“Is it… dangerous?”

The man shrugged.
“Could be. Depends how sensitive you are. Mold’s no joke.”

Serizawa nodded, then did it again, faster, to show he understood.
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll… I’ll figure something out.”

They left shortly after.
One of them gave him a paper towel without explanation.



That evening, Serizawa sat on the edge of his unrolled futon, staring up at the patch of ceiling that was slowly blooming into a dusky black.
The apartment felt smaller now, thick with damp air and a low sense of pressure, like a room holding its breath.

He’d already packed a bag, just in case.

Just one duffel.
A change of clothes.
Toothbrush.
Phone charger.
Two books he hadn’t finished reading.
He didn’t want to over prepare, it felt presumptuous, like he was assuming someone would offer him space.
He’d looked up some hotels in the area, but they were all too expensive or too far.
And there were capsule hotels, of course, but…

The thought of trying to sleep like that, with people coming and going all night, doors clicking, strangers breathing inches away– it made his skin tighten with something close to panic.

He needed to ask someone.
Someone he knew.
Just temporarily.
Just until his place was safe again.

His fingers hovered over his phone.

Mob was too young.
Same as Ritsu.
And the other kids… no.
Definitely not.
That felt inappropriate somehow.

The only real adult he could ask– someone who might not mind too much, someone who might already be used to his presence– was…

Reigen.

Serizawa stared at the contact name on the screen for nearly a full minute.
He had never called his boss outside of work hours.
Not once.
Not unless prompted.
The idea made his chest twist with unease, but he was running out of options, and the mold was real, and the ceiling was still leaking, and–

He pressed the call button.

It rang twice.

Then Reigen picked up, his voice casual and breezy as always.
“Yo, Serizawa? That’s rare. What’s up?”

There was a pause.

Serizawa swallowed.
He shifted the phone from one hand to the other and looked down at the bag sitting by the door.

“Uhm,” he started.
“Sorry. I… didn’t mean to bother. It’s just– well. Do you know any cheap places to stay around here? For a few nights, maybe. My place is… uhm. Moldy.”

Another pause.

Reigen made a noise that sounded like he dropped something.
“Moldy?? Wait, seriously? Like, bad?”
“…I think so. A guy came and looked at it. He said I shouldn’t sleep here.”
“...When did he tell you this?”
“Today, some, uh, hours ago?”

Another pause.

“Shit.”
Reigen sounded more awake now.
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“I... didn’t want to make it a big deal. I thought... maybe it’d go away.”
“That’s… not how mold works, man.”
“...I know. I’m sorry.”

Reigen sighed, and for a second, Serizawa braced himself for a polite excuse– some reason this was all too much, that he should call someone else.
But instead, he heard:

“Look, just come here.”

Serizawa blinked.
“...What?”
“My place. I’ve got a spare futon, probably. Or we can figure something out. It’s not the best maybe, but it’s better than mold poisoning.”
“I– I couldn’t impose–”
“You’re not. Just pack your stuff. I’ll text you the address again. You still have it?”
“…Yes.”
“Cool. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

The line clicked off.

Serizawa stood there, still holding the phone to his ear, the dial tone echoing in his head.
Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the window.
The leak was dripping again, steady and indifferent.

He exhaled.

Then, slowly, he picked up his bag and started moving.

Reigen had about five minutes of peace after hanging up the call before the existential panic kicked in.

He stared at the ceiling of his small, cluttered living room like it might give him the answers.

It didn’t.

Instead, it gave him a view of the half-unpacked cardboard box he’d never dealt with from two months ago and the broken ceiling fan he kept meaning to get fixed.
He ran both hands through his hair.

“Okay,” he muttered.
“Not a big deal. Totally normal. Coworker needs a place to stay. Just a few days. Could happen to anyone. I am a mature adult who helps people.”

Pause.

“...Fuck.”

He stood up too fast, knocking over a stack of old receipts and magazines he’d been pretending weren’t there.
He caught them, barely, shoved them into a drawer, and turned a slow circle in the room like he was seeing it for the first time.

The place wasn’t filthy, exactly.
Just... lived in.
Lived in by a man who mostly lived in his office and survived off convenience store bento.
A man who owned exactly one fork that wasn’t bent and one towel that wasn’t somehow slightly damp at all times.

And now, into this realm of barely-contained chaos, he was inviting Serizawa Katsuya.
Serizawa, who took his shoes off with military precision.
Who folded his coat before hanging it up.
Who probably vacuumed under his furniture and, since he started working for him, had never left a dirty dish in the sink overnight.

Reigen pressed both hands to his face.

“What the hell was I thinking.”

He moved like a man possessed.
Shoving clutter into closets.
Shoving closet contents into other closets.
He unearthed a futon from the hall storage and dragged it out into the living room with all the grace of a drunken goat.
He wiped down surfaces with paper towels and vague desperation.
He lit a candle that smelled like “fresh rain” but mostly just smelled like artificial cucumber.

He tried, okay?

By the time the knock came at the door, Reigen had worked himself into a state of fragile, nervous stillness.
He opened it quickly, before he could talk himself out of it.

There stood Serizawa, in his long coat, hair slightly windblown, duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
He looked, as always, like someone who had triple-checked every decision he’d ever made on the way there.
His expression was mild, cautious, polite to a fault.

“Hey,” Reigen said, casually.
Too casually.
“Welcome to Casa de Reigen.”
“…Thank you,” Serizawa said, bowing faintly at the doorway like he was arriving for a formal interview and not crashing at his boss’ apartment.

“Come on in,” Reigen added, stepping aside.
“Shoes wherever. Or, uh. Neatly to the left, if that’s better.”

Serizawa looked briefly conflicted, then placed his shoes precisely to the left of the entryway.

Reigen resisted the urge to salute him.

The duffel was set down with gentle finality.
Serizawa stood for a moment in the entry hall, eyes quietly scanning the room– not judging, but very, very aware.
Reigen felt a bead of sweat trail down the back of his neck.

“It’s… really clean in here,” Serizawa said after a long pause.
“Ha!” Reigen barked out a laugh that sounded like it had tripped over itself.
“Yeah. Totally. Always like this.”

Serizawa looked at him.
Not suspiciously.
Just… unconvinced.

Reigen cleared his throat.
“Anyway. Uh. Futon’s over there. Feel free to move it wherever. I’ve got some spare sheets, somewhere. And a blanket. I think. Might still smell like closet, but you know. Vintage. Retro. All that.”

“Thank you,” Serizawa said, and bowed again.
“This really means a lot.”
“Don’t mention it,” Reigen said quickly, turning toward the kitchen before Serizawa could say something earnest and guilt-inducing.
“You hungry? I’ve got, uh… leftover curry. And some instant stuff. Not poisoned. As far as I know.”
“I already ate, but… thank you.”
“Right. Cool. Great.”

A beat passed.
Serizawa bent down to start unzipping his bag, folding some things out in methodical, tidy rows.
Pajamas.
A toothbrush in a case.
A book with creased corners and a receipt tucked like a bookmark.
The very sight of it made Reigen feel like he should apologize for the haphazard pile of clean laundry still sitting on the couch behind him.

They stood in that lopsided silence for a moment– Reigen pretending to look busy with tea, Serizawa pretending not to notice the unspoken question hanging between them:
how do two people who have never spent more than a few work hours together actually live in the same space..?

“Uhm,” Serizawa said at last.
“Should I… keep to this area? I don’t want to take up too much room.”

Reigen blinked.
“Dude. It’s your space too while you’re here. Sit wherever, use whatever. I mean, I’d draw the line at, like, using my toothbrush, but otherwise– you’re good.”

Serizawa nodded slowly.
Like he was cataloguing that for future use.
“Okay. Thank you.”

Another pause.

“You sure you’re okay?” Reigen asked, quieter now.
“With the whole leak thing. That sounds like a huge pain.”

Serizawa hesitated.
“It’s… inconvenient. But I’ll manage.”
“Anyone else you could’ve stayed with?”

The look Serizawa gave him was almost blank.
Not offended, just confused by the premise.

“No,” he said simply.

Reigen opened his mouth, then shut it.

Right.

He watched as Serizawa folded his coat over the back of a chair with ridiculous care, then sat with his hands resting on his knees like he was in a waiting room and not a shared apartment.

The silence started to stretch again.
Uncomfortable.
Fragile.

Then Reigen, without really thinking about it, said, “Wanna watch something?”

Serizawa blinked.
“Something?”
“TV. Show. Movie. Mindless garbage. Or weird documentaries about haunted castles, I’ve got everything.”
“Oh. Uhm. Sure.”

That was how they ended up sitting on opposite ends of the couch, one throw pillow of polite distance between them, watching a ridiculous reality show about amateur chefs failing to make soufflés.
Reigen made sarcastic commentary under his breath.
Serizawa laughed exactly twice, and tried to hide it both times.

By the time midnight rolled around, they’d finished two episodes, half a box of senbei, and a full kettle of tea.
Serizawa stood, quietly, and began arranging the futon with solemn, almost ritual precision.

Reigen watched him from the hallway, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said, voice soft.
“I mean it.”
Serizawa looked up.
“I will. Thank you. Again.”

Reigen gave him a crooked little smile.
“Don’t get mold poisoning on my watch, alright?”
“I’ll try not to.”

He turned the lights out.

Reigen woke up to the sound of someone scrubbing something.

At first, in the hazy half-awareness of morning, he thought it might be a dream.
Maybe a weird metaphor for his subconscious trying to “clean up his act” or whatever that book Mob gave him for New Year’s was going on about.

But no.
It was real.
Sharp and rhythmic and definitely coming from the kitchen.

He groaned into his pillow, peeled himself out of the covers, and shuffled down the hallway in socks and a shirt that probably shouldn’t count as sleepwear anymore.

In the kitchen, Serizawa was crouched in front of the stove.
He was scrubbing at the burners like they had personally wronged him.

Reigen blinked.
“Did we… get robbed by a very tidy thief?”

Serizawa slightly startled, sat back on his heels.
His sleeves were rolled up.
He had dish soap on one hand and a scouring pad in the other, and looked as if he’d been mid–deep apology to the stovetop itself.
“Oh– sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, voice lower than usual, like guilt had a sound.
“You didn’t, I was already up,” Reigen lied.

Serizawa stood, wiping his hands quickly on a dish towel he must’ve folded earlier that morning, because it was square and neat in a way Reigen’s laundry never was.
“I noticed the stove had some buildup, so I figured, since I’m staying here, I should at least help out–”
“You don’t have to–” Reigen started, then stopped.

He looked around.

The sink was empty.
Drying rack full of clean dishes.
Trash taken out.
Floors swept.
A faint lemony smell hung in the air like evidence of a cleaning product Reigen hadn’t even realized he owned.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked instead.
Serizawa gave it too much thought.
“...Four-thirty?”
“AM?”
“Yes. I couldn’t sleep.”

Reigen pressed a palm over his face.

“Okay. Listen. I appreciate the whole… model houseguest thing. I really do. But you don’t have to run yourself into the ground trying to repay me. It’s not like I’m charging rent.”
“I know,” Serizawa said quietly.
“But I don’t want to take advantage.”
“You’re not.”

Serizawa gave him a polite, uncomfortable little smile, and Reigen recognized the look: thank you for saying that, but I will continue behaving exactly the same way anyway.

He sighed.
“Alright. I’m gonna make coffee. You want?”
“Oh, I already made some.”

Of course he had.

Reigen found a fresh pot, steam still curling up from it, and two mugs already set out beside it like this was a morning routine they’d had for years.
One had his name on it in fading gold letters.
The other had a little cat on it.
He didn’t even own a cat mug.

“Where did this come from?”
“I brought it. Just in case.”

Reigen had no words for that, so he drank his coffee in silence while Serizawa stood very still in the corner, looking like he was waiting for an assignment.

Eventually, Reigen said, “You know the couch folds out, right?”

Serizawa nodded.

“You could sleep there. The futon’s gotta be murder on your back.”
“It’s fine.”
Reigen frowned.
“Is it comfortable?”
“It’s fine.”
“Serizawa. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage by your own guilt.”

That got a tiny, embarrassed chuckle out of him.

Reigen felt a weird warmth bloom behind his ribs.
The kind that came with doing something right without meaning to.

He set his mug down.
“Look, man. I get it. You’re wired to feel like a burden no matter what. I’ve seen you try to apologize to a vending machine before.”
“It ate my money…”
“Still. Point stands. You’re not an intrusion. You’re… honestly, you’re kinda saving me. I haven’t eaten this well in a week, and the stove’s so clean it’s spiritually unsettling.”

Serizawa blinked at him, like no one had ever said that to him before and he didn’t quite know how to hold it.

“I’m serious,” Reigen added.
“You’re allowed to take up space. Sleep on the couch. Leave your toothbrush in the bathroom. Hell, mess something up, for once. I can take it.”
Serizawa looked down at his hands.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
Reigen softened.
“That’s all I’m asking.”

They stood there for a moment in the hush of early morning, the city still gray and quiet outside the windows.
It was the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward, for once.
Just calm.

Then Serizawa, earnest and fumbling, said:
“...Do you need your laundry done?”

Reigen let his head fall back against the cabinet with a thunk.

It was the toothbrush situation that really drove it home.

Reigen had always thought of himself as relatively adaptable.
He could deal with crisis, keep his cool under pressure, smooth-talk angry clients and small-time con artists.
But nothing had prepared him for brushing his teeth next to Serizawa in a bathroom barely wide enough for one person to turn around.

They’d managed to settle into a rhythm, sort of.
Serizawa’s bags had been tucked neatly in a corner of the living room, his shoes always aligned in a perfect row by the door.
Reigen had insisted on the couch, and Serizawa had insisted on the futon, and now they’d stopped insisting and just quietly accepted the arrangement like it had always been that way.

In the mornings, Serizawa rose early, painfully early– and moved through the apartment like a ghost trying not to haunt it too loudly.
Reigen would wake up later, bleary-eyed and disoriented, to the smell of tea steeping, maybe toast if Serizawa was feeling bold.
There would be a mug on the table with a napkin under it.
Always the cat mug for Serizawa, always the chipped black one for Reigen.

He still didn’t know how Serizawa had memorized which was which after one day.
He still hadn’t said thank you out loud- or well, not seriously.

They started brushing their teeth at the same time completely by accident.

Reigen opened the bathroom door to find Serizawa already there, bent over the sink, hair still damp from his shower, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself as compact as possible.
He looked up, eyes wide in the mirror, and froze like a deer caught mid-apology.

“Oh– sorry, I could've wait–” Serizawa began, already straightening up, toothbrush halfway out of his mouth.
“Nah, it’s fine,” Reigen said, waving a hand.
“This isn’t a five-star hotel. You don’t need to schedule bathroom shifts.”

He stepped in and reached for his own toothbrush.
Their elbows bumped.
The sink creaked ominously as they both leaned forward at slightly mismatched angles.

Silence, except for the sound of synchronized brushing.

The mirror was fogged slightly around the edges.
Reigen’s hair was a mess.
Serizawa, he noticed, combed his hair before brushing his teeth.
Psychotic behavior.
Who did that?

But there he was.
Perfectly groomed.
Not a wrinkle in his shirt.
The man must have ironed it before bed.
Or while Reigen was asleep.

Reigen spat, rinsed, leaned back, tried not to bump Serizawa again.

“You use the mint kind?” he asked around the water in his mouth.
Serizawa nodded.
“...I noticed that it’s the only one that doesn’t make my gums feel weird.”
“Fascinating. You should write a memoir.”
Serizawa smiled, lopsided and quiet.
“You could help by writing the foreword, then.”
“Deal.”

It wasn’t just the brushing teeth.
It was everything.

Reigen liked to get dressed last-minute.
Shirt pulled on with one hand while grabbing his phone with the other, tie thrown over his shoulder, socks never matching.
Serizawa got dressed like it was a ceremony.
Clothes laid out the night before.
Buttoned and straight and tucked with military precision.

Reigen skipped breakfast half the time, inhaled toast in the doorway the other half.
Serizawa sat down.
Ate quietly.
Washed the plate immediately after.
Even folded the napkin.

There was a moment, one evening, where Reigen walked into the kitchen and caught Serizawa making tea– the real kind, not just a teabag in a mug– and he stopped in the doorway, arms crossed.

“You ever sit down and just do nothing?” he asked.
Serizawa tilted his head, confused.
“...This is nothing.”
“No, this is a tea ceremony disguised as a Tuesday.”

But Reigen found himself drinking it anyway.
Every time.
Even if he complained.
Even if he told Serizawa he could just relax, he didn’t mean him to stop, not really.

There was something calming about it.
Something grounding.

Serizawa made the world quieter.
Reigen wasn’t sure how to say that without sounding like an idiot.

And then there were the nights.

Not full conversations.
Just small sounds.
Serizawa folding the futon with painstaking care.
The electric kettle boiling.
The soft click of a light switch.

And Reigen in the other room, lying awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for the exact moment the apartment stilled.

One night, Reigen walked into the kitchen late, he couldn’t sleep, and found Serizawa sitting at the table in silence, mug in hand, tea steaming gently in the low light.

He didn’t look surprised to see him.

“I made enough for two,” he said.

Reigen sat down without answering.

They drank quietly.
Didn’t say much.
Just shared space.



And those little things.
Reigen didn’t mean to notice them, really.

It just sort of happened, the way the act of noticing always is.
In the same way you noticed the weather when it changed, or how the air smelled after it rained.
He wasn’t trying to watch Serizawa.
He wasn’t paying attention.

Until suddenly, he was.

It started with the humming.

He’d been half-asleep on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs, when he heard it– a low, tuneless hum from the kitchen, gentle and unselfconscious.
Reigen didn’t recognize the melody, if it even was one.
It just was.
The sound of someone who was comfortable enough not to notice they were making a sound at all.

He peeked over the armrest.

Serizawa stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up neatly, steam curling upward from the pot in front of him.
He stirred with one hand, the other resting on the counter, and hummed quietly to himself like he was somewhere far away.
Or maybe not far at all.
Maybe somewhere close, for once.

Reigen blinked.
Something weird twisted behind his ribs.
He rolled over and stared at the ceiling instead.

Then there was the knocking.

Every time.
Without fail.
Even if the door was open.
Even if Reigen had just stepped into the room a second before.
Serizawa would pause, raise a hand, knock softly against the frame.

Once, Reigen was brushing his hair and said, “It’s your bathroom too, you know. You don’t have to ask permission like I’m the lord of the manor.”

But Serizawa just smiled.

“It’s polite.”

Reigen hadn’t been able to argue with that.
It was, in fact, polite.
It was... kind.

It felt like Serizawa was always waiting to be invited into things.
Rooms.
Conversations.
Lives.

And then, gradually, he started to stop waiting.

It was subtle.
Reigen didn’t even catch it until it had already happened.
The way Serizawa started laughing a little easier.
Not the nervous, apologetic kind from the first few days, but the real kind.
Soft and sudden and close to the chest.
The kind that made Reigen feel like he’d done something right without knowing what it was.

Or how Serizawa stopped folding the futon quite so obsessively every morning.
He still did it, but slower now, with less urgency.
Like he didn’t think it would be held against him if he left a wrinkle.

He left his book out on the table one night.
Didn’t apologize for it.
Reigen didn’t move it.

He started using the couch for naps– not overnight, not yet, but he’d sit there sometimes after dinner, arms crossed, eyes closed, the television playing softly in the background.
Not collapsed into himself, like before.
Just... there.
Breathing.
Resting.

And Reigen realized, with a slow, dawning warmth that scared him more than it should have:

Serizawa was relaxing.

Not just pretending to.

Not politely tolerating the space around him like he was afraid it would disappear.

He felt safe.
He was safe.

It wasn’t something either of them talked about, not out loud.
But Reigen saw it in the little things.

Like how Serizawa’s shoulders weren’t always up by his ears anymore.

Like how he started suggesting things, instead of just nodding along.
“Do you want tea?”
“Can I pick up groceries?”
“Maybe we should get more miso paste.”

Like how he stopped apologizing every time he took up a little space.

Reigen didn’t know- not with an adult, at least- how to deal with that:
with being the reason someone felt safe.
That kind of responsibility had never sat comfortably on his shoulders, neither with Mob.
But he didn’t hate it, either.

He found himself doing weird things, too.

He started cooking more.
Just to give Serizawa a break, he told himself.
Just to prove he could.
But he’d find himself thinking, Serizawa likes the green onions chopped smaller, or don’t forget the soy sauce– he always remembers but acts like he doesn’t mind when you forget, too.

He bought more tea.
The kind Serizawa liked.

He bought laundry softener without thinking about it.
The one Serizawa used.

He changed the sheets.

He made sure there were always clean towels.

He caught himself staring at Serizawa’s hands while he folded paper cranes out of receipts and paused halfway through.
His fingers moved so gently, like he thought the paper might flinch.

“Do you do that a lot?” Reigen asked one night, watching him set a tiny crane next to the salt shaker.
Serizawa looked up.
“What?”
“The origami thing.”
“Oh. I guess. I don’t really think about it.”
“Should we name them?” Reigen asked, poking one of the cranes with a chopstick.

Serizawa laughed.
“You can. I’m not very good at names.”

Reigen smiled, quietly to himself.

“I’ll come up with something stupid.”
“I figured.”

Silence.
Comfortable.

The apartment felt smaller, somehow.
Not cramped, just... full.
Not of clutter, not even of noise.
Just full of someone else’s presence.
And Reigen realized he didn’t mind.
Not even a little.

In fact, sometimes he caught himself hoping it wouldn’t end too soon.

Then, something came up.

It started with a sniffle.

Nothing dramatic.
Just a low, annoyed exhale from Reigen as he rubs at his nose for the third time in five minutes and mutters something about “damn spring allergies.”

Serizawa glances up from the newspaper with a polite hum, the way he always does when Reigen makes declarations about things he can’t actually control.

Then Reigen sneezes.
Loud, messy, three times in a row.

“Bless you,” Serizawa says, already standing.
“Do you want tea?”
Reigen waves him off.
“M’fine.”

He is not fine.

By that evening, he’s curled sideways on the couch, bundled in a fleece blanket like a regretful burrito, surrounded by a graveyard of used tissues.
His nose is red.
His eyes are watery.
His hair is a disaster.
He’s drinking instant miso soup like it’s the last thing tethering him to the mortal plane.

Serizawa doesn’t say I told you so, because he’s Serizawa.
He just brings another glass of water and a cool hand towel.

“You have a fever,” he says gently, pressing the cloth to Reigen’s forehead.
“Ugh, I’m not a child,” Reigen mumbles, even as he leans into the touch like it’s the best thing he’s felt all day.
“Don’t start fussing over me.”
“I’m not fussing,” Serizawa says, impossibly calm.
“I’m looking after you.”

He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
Like it’s obvious.
Like it’s not a loaded phrase that makes Reigen’s chest ache, unexpectedly.

Because when’s the last time someone did that, looked after him, with no strings attached?
No expectations?
No performance?

Maybe never.

He tries to sit up.
Serizawa gently pushes him back down.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he says.
“Just stay still. I’m going to check your temperature properly.”

Reigen scoffs, congested and half-sleepy.
“You gonna break out a thermometer like a school nurse?”
“No. Just hold still.”

Then Serizawa leans in.

His palm brushes lightly across Reigen’s forehead again, but this time, more deliberate.
Searching for heat.
And then his other hand comes up too, warm and steady, gently cupping the side of Reigen’s face.
And for a long moment, he just stays there.

Their foreheads almost touch.
Almost.
Close enough that Reigen can count every faint line in Serizawa’s face, every flicker of worry in his eyes.
He can feel the steadiness of Serizawa’s breath, the quiet restraint in his hands, like he’s terrified of pushing too far, or not far enough.

Reigen forgets how to breathe.

It’s just a fever.
He’s just sick.
That’s all this is.
Right?

Except his whole body is lit up like an electrical panel.
Except his heart is pounding like an idiot.
Except Serizawa’s eyes flicker down to his mouth for a second too long before he blinks and pulls back, gentle, careful, like handling glass.

“Still warm,” Serizawa says quietly, like his voice might shatter something.
Reigen laughs, hoarse and cracked.
“You think?”
“I’ll make you more tea.”

Serizawa vanishes into the kitchen before Reigen can respond.

Left alone, Reigen groans and covers his face with the blanket.

What the hell was that.

Because he’s pretty sure he hallucinated the tension.
Pretty sure his brain, fried on light medicines, and the fever, and the sheer chaos of living with Serizawa, invented the moment out of nothing.

But…

He hadn’t imagined the way Serizawa had looked at him.
Or how gentle his hands were.
Or how being taken care of– so carefully, so easily– had made something tight inside Reigen’s chest that started to come undone.
Slowly.

More than a week passed.
Work at Serizawa’s house was delayed too.
Reigen wasn’t annoyed by that though.
At all.

One day, the apartment was silent, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional groan of old pipes settling into sleep.
It was late– that indistinct hour between night and morning where time feels softer, like everything’s a little less real.

Reigen’s stretched out on the couch, a blanket draped over his lap, half-listening to some late-night infomercial he’s not actually watching.
Serizawa sits on a floor cushion nearby, tea cooling in his hands.

Neither of them says anything for a while.

It’s peaceful.
A little awkward.
But, again, not uncomfortable.

Then Serizawa speaks.

“...Do you ever feel like you missed your window?” he asks, voice soft and a little distant.
Reigen glances down at him.
“Huh?”
“For… I don’t know. Becoming who you were supposed to be.”
Serizawa stares into his tea like it might answer him.
“Like, maybe you took too long. And now you’re just… patching things together. Trying not to fall apart.”

Reigen blinks.
The question slices through the quiet like a knife.
He makes a sound in his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“Jesus. That’s a bit heavy for 2AM, isn’t it?”

Serizawa smiles faintly, but doesn’t take it back.
“I’m serious.”

Of course he is.
Serizawa’s always serious, even when he tries not to be.

Reigen leans his head back against the couch cushion, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he says eventually.
“I’ve felt like that.”

Silence.

Then, gently:
“When?”

Reigen pauses.
The honest answer comes too fast:
when I realized I wasn’t really helping anyone, just pretending I was.
And he swallows it down.

Instead, he shrugs.
“Off and on. Like… every Thursday.”

Serizawa huffs a laugh.

Reigen closes his eyes.
“Sorry. That’s the best you’re gonna get from me right now.”
“No, it’s okay.”
Serizawa sips his tea.
“I get it. It’s hard to talk about stuff like that.”

He sounds almost disappointed, though.
Not in a cruel way, more like he’s used to people pulling back right when it starts to matter.

Reigen shifts, uncomfortable.
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“You asked the question. You must’ve been thinking about it.”

Serizawa hesitates.
Then, quietly:
“I spent most of my life being scared of myself. Still am, sometimes.”

The words hang in the air, unvarnished.

Reigen doesn’t answer right away.
He’s not used to people handing him that kind of truth so plainly.
No buildup.
No baiting.
Just laid out on the table, like a cracked-open chest.

He panics.
Default mode.

“Well,” he says, tone overly casual, “at least you’ve got excellent hair. That’s gotta count for something.”

Serizawa snorts.

“Seriously,” Reigen continues.
“If I had a yen for every guy who destroyed a building but still had that kind of volume–”
“You’re really bad at this, huh?” Serizawa interrupts, smiling around his teacup.
Reigen stiffens.
“At what?”
“Letting people be honest.”

Reigen opens his mouth.
Closes it.
For once, no quip comes to the rescue.

“I’m trying,” he mutters, not looking at him.
“I know.”
Serizawa’s voice is gentle, not accusing.
“I’m not great at it either.”

The quiet stretches again, but now it’s softer.
Warmer.

Their tea’s gone cold.
The TV flickers on mute.
Neither of them moves to break the moment.

Serizawa didn't press him, not directly.
He just nodded a little, then got quiet, finishing his tea in small, meditative sips.
Reigen could feel the shift in the air a bit more dense somehow.
Like they’re standing too close to a threshold and neither of them wants to admit it’s there.

Eventually Serizawa rises, murmurs something about brushing his teeth, and pads off to the bathroom.

Reigen exhales.

His heart’s beating a little too fast.
It’s stupid.
They didn’t even say that much.
Just… feelings.
Ghosts of things they’ve carried too long.
But something about it hits him wrong– too close to the bone, too true.

By the time Serizawa returns, towel slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up, his hair damp from the sink, Reigen’s already halfway to deflection mode again.

“Look at you,” Reigen says, gesturing loosely.
“You’re like a domestic cryptid. Next thing I know, you’ll be floating around folding socks in your sleep.”

Serizawa blinks at him.
There’s no smile this time.

“You… asked me to answer my own question, in a real way,” he says, softly.
“And I answered.”

Reigen’s grin flickers.
“Yeah, and I– I acknowledged it. I laughed. That’s what people do, right? When things get– heavy.”

Serizawa doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not– I don’t do the whole spill your guts and cry into a pillow thing,” Reigen adds, voice sharpening just a little.
“I… I wasn’t asking you to.”
“Ha, good,” Reigen says too quickly.
“Because it’s weird.”

Serizawa nods once, slowly.

“Right.”

There’s that pause again.
Except now it’s jagged.
Hollow.
Like a door just closed between them.

Reigen doesn’t mean to hurt him, he never means to, but he sees it anyway: the faint stiffening in Serizawa’s posture, the way he politely turns away, as if apologizing for taking up too much space again.

“Good night,” Serizawa says, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Reigen mutters.
“Night.”

The futon rustles in the other room.
Reigen sits in the dim light of the living room, face in his hands, suddenly very aware of how loud the silence feels now that it’s turned cold.

The next morning, Reigen wakes up feeling like an idiot.

He doesn’t even know what he said, not exactly.
Just that whatever it was, it landed wrong.
And now Serizawa’s walking on eggshells again, back to cleaning everything too carefully, smiling too politely, like he’s afraid to stay.

Reigen hates it.

He thinks about apologizing.
Really apologizing.
I was a jerk.
You were vulnerable and I made fun of it because I don’t know how to deal with real things.
I’m sorry.

But every time he opens his mouth, the words shrivel up and die.

So instead, he makes lunch.

Nothing fancy– just tamagoyaki, miso soup, and rice with furikake– but he takes his time with it.
Uses the little fish-shaped soy sauce bottles even though he knows Serizawa wouldn’t care.
Arranges everything neatly on trays.
Double checks that there’s enough pickled vegetables.

When he brings it over, Serizawa looks surprised.
Like he wasn’t expecting to be fed.
Like maybe part of him thought he’d outstayed his welcome.

“I– uh, made too much,” Reigen says, scratching the back of his neck.
“Eat it or it’ll go to waste.”

Serizawa blinks.
Then bows his head slightly.
“Thank you.”

They eat in silence for a while.
It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s not hostile either.
Just… tentative.

Afterward, Reigen stands, plates in hand, and throws a casual glance over his shoulder.

“You wanna pick the movie tonight?”

Serizawa looks up.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Your turn.”

A beat.

Then:
“Can we watch that one with the cat that turns into a bus?”
Reigen snorts.
“Totoro? That’s your pick?”
Serizawa shrugs, faintly sheepish.
“It’s calming.”
Reigen rolls his eyes, but there’s no bite to it.
“Fine. But you’re explaining the soot spirits to me again. I still think they’re just tiny vacuum demons.”

Later, they watch the movie in silence, shoulders almost brushing on the couch, the glow of the screen soft and flickering.
Reigen doesn’t say sorry.
But he passes Serizawa the last piece of senbei without being asked, and lets him adjust the blanket so it covers both of them.

And Serizawa– the quiet, perceptive Serizawa– understands.

Some apologies don’t need words, after all.

Monday.

It’s a slow afternoon in the office.

Outside, the rain is steady, casting a soft gray over the city, muting the world.
Reigen’s at his desk, tapping at his laptop with the practiced flair of someone who looks busy while actually doing nothing of substance.
Serizawa is at the side table, sorting client forms into neat piles, brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

The kettle hisses softly.
The office smells faintly of tea and warm dust.

Mob is sitting cross-legged on the floor with a stack of spirit exorcism reports, dutifully reviewing them like Reigen asked– not because he has to, but because Shigeo, being Shigeo, likes helping.
Likes being useful.

Reigen, still typing, reaches for his tea without looking.
Serizawa, already on his way to the kettle, slides the mug into his hand before he can knock it over.

“Thanks,” Reigen mutters.

Serizawa just nods, already placing a coaster under it.

Mob glances up at the easy rhythm of it all.
How Reigen grumbles under his breath about a client flaking, and Serizawa gently reminds him he moved the appointment.
How Reigen pulls a blanket from under the desk and tosses it onto Mob’s shoulders, then grumbles about “damn cold offices in April” again.
How Serizawa wordlessly adds more hot water to the teapot.

Mob watches all this for a long moment, quiet.

Then, completely earnest, he says:  
“You two are like an old married couple!”

The silence that follows is instant and stunning.

Reigen’s hands freeze above his keyboard.
Serizawa stops mid-step, still holding the teapot.
The clock ticks on the wall.
Somewhere outside, a truck honks distantly, unaware of the emotional detonation that’s just occurred inside a tiny third-floor office.

Mob blinks.
“Was that– Did I say something wrong?”
“Yes,” Reigen says too quickly.
“No,” Serizawa says at the exact same time.

They both glance at each other.
Serizawa’s face is flushed a deep red, ears pink to the tips.
Reigen looks like someone just pulled a rug out from under him and he’s still trying to act like it’s fine.

Mob watches them, head tilted.

“I just meant,” Mob clarifies gently, “you work really well together. And you help each other a lot. Like how my parents do."
The young boy smiles.
"My mom always hands my dad his glasses when he forgets, and he always remembers what day she waters the plants. That kind of thing.”

“Ah,” Serizawa says, still not meeting Reigen’s eyes.
“Right,” Reigen mutters.
“That kind.”

Mob nods and goes back to his reports.

Reigen takes a sip of his tea.
It burns his tongue, but he doesn't flinch.

The quiet stretches on.
Serizawa returns to sorting papers, noticeably more careful now.
Reigen keeps typing, though he can’t remember what the hell he was pretending to write in the first place.

The air between them has changed again– just subtly, like the scent of rain shifting direction, but enough to feel it in the space where their elbows almost touch.

Neither says a word about it.

But when Reigen reaches for a pen and Serizawa quietly places one in his hand without looking up, they both hesitate, just for a second too long.

The kind of pause that says:  
We heard it.
We’re pretending we didn’t.
But we heard it.

And then, since Mob’s comment– dropped innocently and with zero awareness of the slow-burn chaos it unleashed– the atmosphere in the office has been... complicated.

Not uncomfortable, just slightly different.

Or maybe it is uncomfortable, but only because both Reigen and Serizawa are trying so hard to pretend it isn’t.

The office is always a little too chilly, which leads to the inevitable: Serizawa, in a cozy zip-up hoodie– that his boss, after some sighs, agreed he could wear on top of his uniform– Reigen, in his usual dress shirt and a scowl, and the both of them trying not to notice each other noticing things.

Were their minds going crazy because of the cold?

It happened that Reigen brushed past Serizawa on the way to the supply cabinet– barely a touch, just the brush of his shoulder against Serizawa’s back– and Serizawa stiffened like a live wire.
His face heats instantly, eyes wide, and he mutters something like “sorry” even though he wasn’t in the way.

Reigen doesn’t even notice at first.
He just grabs the printer paper and walks off.

But then halfway back to his desk, it clicks.

He turns, just slightly, and sees Serizawa pointedly reorganizing the tape dispensers, his ears flushed red.

“…You good?” Reigen asks, carefully neutral.
“Fine,” Serizawa says.
“Just. Tidying.”
“Uh-huh.”

Later, something else happens again, this time with words.

Reigen is in the middle of a story, gesturing with too much enthusiasm as always, and says, “Anyway, Katsu–”
He stops.
Stumbles.

“...Serizawa.”

Serizawa glances up from his tea, clearly startled.

“...You called me–”
“No, I didn’t,” Reigen says too fast.
“You… did.”
“I– It’s just… shorter. You know. Efficient.”

Serizawa doesn't say anything.
Just looks down at his mug, smiling softly like he's trying not to.
“Okay.”

Reigen turns back to his desk and mutters under his breath, “Goddammit.”

The tension builds in small, absurd ways.
Every shared glance lasts just a beat too long.
Every touch– accidental or otherwise– is charged like static.
Serizawa starts knocking before entering Reigen’s office, even when the door is already open.
Reigen starts overthinking every “Good morning,” and begins stockpiling jokes he never ends up telling.

One afternoon, Serizawa leans over to pass Reigen a stapler and their hands touch, not in a dramatic way or something, just fingers brushing, but Serizawa’s breath catches.
He snatches his hand back like it burned him.

Reigen looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Serizawa says, mortified.
“I– I shocked myself. Static.”
“...You shocked yourself?”
“Yeah. Happens a lot.”

He clutches the stapler like a lifeline.

“...Dry air.”
“…Okay, man.”

They don’t talk about it.

Yet, even Mob notices a lot.
He comes in, politely files some papers, reminds Reigen to eat lunch, and leaves just as serenely as he arrived.

But the quiet between Reigen and Serizawa lingers longer every time.
The kind that hums with potential.
The kind that feels like standing too close to a flame without ever quite touching it.

At one point, Reigen watches Serizawa laugh at something on his phone– a soft, real kind of laugh, one that pulls his shoulders down and lights up his face– and thinks:
This is getting dangerous.

But instead of pulling back, he finds himself saying, “Hey, Katsu– Serizawa.”

Serizawa looks up, expectant.

Reigen loses his nerve.
“Never mind. Just– can you grab some more printer paper?”
Serizawa nods, still smiling faintly.
“Sure.”

The moment passes, and Reigen exhales like he’s just avoided an explosion.

“Good work today. Go home, get some rest Mob.”
“Yes, thank you master. I'll get going then.”

And then the door of the office closes with a small cracking and annoying noise.

The walk home of the two men is quiet, rain misting the city in a kind of silver hush.
Reigen unlocks the apartment door with Serizawa just behind him, close enough that he feels the shift in air.

Serizawa’s hair is damp from the drizzle.
Apparently, he was too tired and a bit sleepy to use powers to “protect” himself from the rain.
And the men both forgot to bring an umbrella.

Reigen tosses him a towel as they kick off their shoes.
“Thanks,” Serizawa murmurs, catching it.
His voice is low with the end-of-day quiet.
“Want some tea?”
“Yeah, sure,” Reigen says, half-aware of how habitual it’s become:

Serizawa offers tea, Reigen never saying no.

He loosens his tie as he sinks onto the couch, rubbing his neck.
“God, my back is killing me. I think that office chair is slowly assassinating me.”
Serizawa chuckles from the kitchen.
“You should get one with actual lumbar support.”
“Oh, look at you. Fancy words.”

Serizawa returns a few minutes later with two mugs, steam curling upward in lazy spirals.
He hands one to Reigen, careful not to touch his fingers.

Reigen watches him sit, one cushion away.

They sip in sync, in silence.
The TV’s on, playing some late-night special, one of those quietly narrated travel shows with sweeping shots of ancient towns and soft piano music.
Neither of them’s really watching.

“I used to think I’d never live with someone,” Reigen says suddenly.

Serizawa turns to look at him.

“Not like–” Reigen waves his hand vaguely.
“Just in general. Always figured I’d be terrible at it. The whole ‘sharing a fridge,’ ‘seeing each other every day’ thing. I don’t know.”
“You’re not terrible,” Serizawa says, and he says it like he means it.

“You’re... You’ve been very kind.”

Reigen snorts softly.
“That’s generous.”

They lapse into silence again.
The kind that doesn’t feel awkward anymore.
The kind that feels like breathing in sync with someone without realizing you started.

Reigen slouches deeper into the couch, letting the warmth of the tea settle in his chest.
He glances sideways and catches Serizawa mid-blink, slower than usual.
His head dips forward a little, then jerks back up.
Reigen watches, a half-smile forming.

“You can go to bed, you know,” he says, voice lower now.
Serizawa blinks again.
“I’m okay,” he mumbles.
“Just... resting my eyes.”
Reigen huffs a quiet laugh.
“Sure you are.”

It only takes a few more minutes.

One moment, Serizawa is upright, nodding along to something Reigen said.
The next, his head tilts gently to the side and rests against the couch cushion.
His breathing slows.
His shoulders slacken.
Oh.
He’s out.

Reigen doesn’t move.

He watches the steady rise and fall of Serizawa’s chest.
Listens to the soft sound of his breath.
The travel show hums on in the background, narrating a peaceful riverside temple in Seasoning City.

The couch suddenly feels too warm, too still.

Reigen could get up.
Turn the lights off.
Cover Serizawa with a blanket, maybe.

But he doesn’t.

He just sits there, mug cooling in his hands, and watches this strange, quiet man sleep next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The seconds stretch long.

And then minutes.

Serizawa doesn’t stir.

And that’s when it hits him again.
Like a trapdoor opening under his ribcage.
What the hell am I doing.

Reigen’s heart ticks faster, too fast for someone who’s barely moved.
He’s still staring– still watching Serizawa’s face, the soft line of his jaw slack with sleep, the furrow in his brow almost gone.
His hand twitches slightly, as if he’s dreaming something gentle.

He’s my employee.
Sort of.
Ish.  
My roommate.
Temporarily.  
My friend.

Oh.

Reigen swallows hard, trying to locate the line in his mind, the one that used to be so clear.
But it’s smudged now, blurred at the edges like a pencil left out in the rain.

What is this?

He shifts in his seat and immediately regrets it when Serizawa exhales a little, adjusting in his sleep like he might wake.
Reigen freezes, guilt blooming stupidly in his chest.

Get a grip..!

He tears his eyes away, looks down at the mug in his hands.
His reflection swims in the half-inch of cold tea.
He looks… tired.
Confused.
Maybe a little desperate.

He rubs a hand down his face.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Like he’s afraid even his thoughts might wake Serizawa.

“This is ridiculous,” he whispers to no one, mouth barely moving.

And yet.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t leave.

He glances back at Serizawa again.
The guy hasn’t changed position, still curled in that loose, awkward angle on the couch, like he doesn’t want to take up too much space even in sleep.

Reigen sighs.
Soft.
Almost fond.
And then–

“…You’re really messing me up here, man,” he mutters.

Serizawa doesn’t respond.

Of course he doesn’t.

It’s late by the time Serizawa wakes up.

The sky outside the window’s already gone deep blue, just a hint of city haze glowing behind the buildings.
The living room is dim, lit only by the kitchen light.
Reigen’s at the counter, poking at leftover curry with the kind of idle frustration that means he’s already eaten half of it straight from the pan.

Serizawa blinks awake slowly, confused by how soft the couch is and how warm his side feels.
He sits up before he really registers he fell asleep there.
His hair’s mussed and his back aches a little.

Reigen glances over.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty returns.”
“Sorry,” Serizawa says immediately, rubbing his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to– uh, take up the couch. I was just–”
“You were tired.”
Reigen shrugs, casual.
Maybe a bit too much.
“Happens to the best of us.”
“Right.”
Serizawa looks down at his hands.
“Still. I should’ve gone to the futon. Didn’t mean to hog your space.”
“You didn’t hog anything. Relax.”

But Serizawa doesn’t.
Not really.

He stands, moves to straighten the couch cushions, folds the blanket even though it wasn’t unfolded, like he needs something to do.
Reigen watches him for a second, then turns back to the curry.

“I can make you a plate,” Reigen says after a beat.
“It’s still warm.”

Serizawa hesitates, then shakes his head.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll get something later. Don’t want to–” he pauses, and the end of the sentence hangs too long in the air.

“Don’t want to be a burden.”

That makes Reigen stop.

He sets the spoon down with a soft clink.
Turns halfway to face him.

“You’re not.”

Serizawa gives a small, practiced smile.
“I know. You’ve said it already. But I’ve been here a good while now, my place is still being checked apparently, and I just– I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. I can start looking for a short-term place. Or I could stay at a capsule hotel for a while, just until the repairs are done.”

Reigen blinks.
“What? No, you don’t have to–”
“I just thought maybe,” Serizawa continues, like he didn’t hear him, “maybe I’ve been too comfortable. I’ve stayed too long. It wasn’t supposed to be this– this long, right? You didn’t sign up for that.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice.
Just something quieter.
Embarrassment, maybe.

Reigen stares at him.
Something unsettles in his chest.

“I don’t mind,” he says, slower now.
“You’ve been helpful. You clean everything. You keep my tea shelf weirdly organized. You put up with me.”

Serizawa looks down, half-smiling again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s not the same as being wanted around,” he says, voice too light for the words.

There’s a long pause.

Reigen feels something twist in his stomach;
the echo of the moment earlier, when he was watching Serizawa sleep and panicking about what was that situation, and now here it is.
The consequence.
Serizawa pulling away before Reigen even figured out what he wanted.

He says, quieter this time, “I never said I didn’t want you around.”

Serizawa flinches like the words hit something soft.
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he busies himself picking up his cup from the coffee table.
Carries it to the sink.
Reigen watches his back, the way his shoulders hunch slightly.
The air in the room feels off now, like they slipped out of sync without meaning to.

“Hey,” Reigen tries again, softer.
“Don’t– don’t do that thing where you vanish quietly. Just because I’m weird about stuff.”

Serizawa doesn’t turn around.
He runs water into the cup.
“I wasn’t going to vanish. Just… make things easier. Simpler.”
“It’s not simpler,” Reigen says.

“It’s just lonelier.”

That finally makes Serizawa glance over his shoulder.

There’s something unsure in his eyes, like he’s trying not to hope.
“Are… are you saying that for me, or for you?”

Reigen opens his mouth, then closes it.
Then shrugs, because he doesn’t know what to say that won’t sound stupid.

“…Both,” he admits.

That’s the closest either of them gets to a resolution.
The room stays quiet a little longer, and the curry starts to cool on the stove.

The night winds down awkwardly.
They eat separately, not talking much.
Serizawa quietly washes both sets of dishes even though he only used a single bowl.
Reigen doesn’t stop him.

He stays at the table long after his own food’s gone cold, picking at the edges of his plate.
His thoughts feel heavy and useless.

Serizawa eventually disappears into the hallway, muttering something about turning in early.
The futon unfolds with a soft shuffle of fabric.
Lights go off one by one.

Reigen ends up standing in the middle of the living room in the dark, staring at nothing, a glass of water in his hand he doesn’t remember pouring.

He hears Serizawa move once.
The quiet rustle of a blanket.
Then nothing.

He doesn’t sleep well.

When the sun filters in early the next morning, Reigen’s still in his room, lying on his side and staring at the ceiling.
He hears the faint clatter of the kitchen again.
Of course it was Serizawa, being careful not to wake him, failing anyway.
The kettle whistles.

The scent of miso soup and rice drifts in.

Reigen forces himself out of bed eventually.
Shuffles out in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair wild, eyes bleary.
He sees Serizawa at the counter, dressed and upright, already showered and fully present like he’s trying to make himself less visible by being more efficient.

“I made breakfast,” Serizawa says without turning around.
“I’ll head out after. Let you have the place to yourself for a bit.”

Reigen stops in the doorway.
“You're not going to the office today?”
His voice was calm, not with evil intent– even the usually nervous Serizawa figured that out.

“...Just for the day. I found a place nearby doing month-to-month rentals. I thought I’d check it out.”
He sounds like he practiced that line in his head.
“It might be easier for both of us if I–”
“Don’t,” Reigen says, sharper than he means to.
He steps further into the kitchen.

“Don’t check it out.”

Serizawa glances over, now startled.
“What?”

Reigen swallows.
His throat dry.
The words stick there like glue.
“Don’t go. Just– stay here.”

Silence stretches between them.

Serizawa sets down the ladle with deliberate care.
He turns fully now, looking at Reigen like he’s trying to read fine print on an old receipt.

“…You– you don’t have to say that,” he says softly.
“Just because I’ve been helpful, or because it’s inconvenient for me to leave.”

“It’s not–” Reigen stops, drags a hand through his hair.
“It’s not about that. I mean, yeah, you’ve been helpful, but that’s not– God, I’m bad at this.”

Serizawa waits.

Reigen sighs.
He grips the edge of the counter like it’s a lifeline.

“...I don’t want you to go,” he says again.
“I just don’t. I don’t know how to explain it better than that.”
“Why?” Serizawa asks quietly.
“I don’t know.”
The words come out fast.
“I really don’t. I don’t know what this is, okay? You’re my friend..? My coworker? My– I don’t know. But the thought of you not being here anymore makes me feel–”

He stops.
Can’t say it.

“Wrong,” he finishes instead.
“It feels wrong.”

Serizawa stares at him for a long moment.

Then he exhales, slow and even, and it’s not quite relief, not quite sadness, but something else entirely– like something loosens in his chest that he didn’t realize was clenched.

“…Okay,” he says.
“I won’t go.”
Reigen looks up.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Serizawa gives him a small, uneven smile.
“But, uhm… you’re still really bad at this.”
Reigen laughs once, short and embarrassed.
“Yeah,” he says.

“I know.”

They eat breakfast at the counter, next to each other.
Their knees brush once.
Neither of them pulls away.

And then Reigen picks up his phone, looks around the already saved contacts, and tells Shigeo to stay relaxed because he would not go to work.
In fact, he decided they didn't need to go into the office that day.
Serizawa side eyed him.
The excuse was vague, some mumbling about needing to reorganize a backlog of receipts, take stock of client files, “handle the spiritual backlog,” whatever that means– but really, neither of them wants to break the silence.

They clean up around a bit.
Do laundry.
Reigen half-heartedly tries to fix the sliding closet door that’s been sticking for months, while Serizawa folds shirts nearby on the low table.

It’s peaceful, mostly.
A little too quiet.

The radio plays low in the background.
Some nostalgic 80s pop.
The kind of stuff Reigen used to mock, but doesn’t anymore.

Around mid-afternoon, they end up sitting on the floor across from each other, idly snacking on senbei and staring out the window at nothing.

The quiet starts to feel heavier.
Like it's waiting.

Serizawa breaks it with a half-laugh, kind of soft.
“I don’t think I’ve ever lived like this before.”

Reigen glances over.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
He shrugs, fiddles with the plastic wrapper in his hands.
“Like...normally?”

Reigen snorts.
“There’s nothing normal about me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Serizawa smiles faintly.
“I meant… the way it feels. Having someone around. Making breakfast for more than one person. Talking. Not talking. Just... being in the same place.”

Reigen doesn’t know what to say to that.
His throat feels thick.

Serizawa looks down.
“Sorry, that’s kind of weird to say.”
“No,” Reigen says quickly.
“It’s not. I mean. Yeah, it is, but... it’s also not.”

A beat.

He exhales, long and slow, then leans back on his hands, squinting up at the ceiling like it has answers.

“I don’t really get what this is supposed to be,” he says eventually, voice a little hoarse.
“You and me. This. Any of it.”

Serizawa looks over at him, quiet.

“I mean,” Reigen says, sitting up straighter, clearing his throat, hands waving a bit like he’s trying to physically catch the thought, “I know you’ve been through a lot. And I’m– well, I’m me. But this whole thing is feeling so… I don’t know. Good? But also like I’m walking around in a shirt that doesn’t fit yet. Comfortable but still not quite real. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Serizawa says gently.

“And I’ve been trying not to overthink it– which is impossible, by the way– and I’m probably saying all this wrong, but...”
Reigen rubs the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“I don’t hate it. I think I might even want... more? Whatever that means.”

Serizawa’s eyebrows go up slightly.
He doesn’t speak right away.

“I don’t mean–” Reigen starts, flustered.
“Not like, more more. I don’t know if it’s a thing. I just– I like this. I like you. Being here. The way you hum when you cook and how you’re way too polite about everything and how you somehow manage to fold my shirts better than I do, which is honestly kind of insulting.”

Serizawa laughs quietly.

“...You’re really bad at this.”
Reigen groans.
“Stop saying that for the love of God, I know.”
“No, I mean it in a good way,” Serizawa says, voice warm now.
“You’re actually trying. That matters.”

Reigen’s mouth twitches, almost a smile.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t either,” Serizawa says.

They sit with that for a bit.
The kind of silence that feels safe.

Eventually, Reigen nudges the last rice cracker toward him.
“Want it?”

Serizawa hesitates, then breaks it in half and gives Reigen the bigger piece.

Their hands touch for a second too long.

Neither of them comments about it.

They don’t go back to the conversation for a while. 

Maybe they’re both afraid of breaking something delicate by naming it too soon.

Dinner is simple– reheated curry from the freezer, some pickled vegetables Serizawa brought back from the market.
Reigen keeps up a steady stream of nonsense commentary through it all, half to fill the air, half to keep himself from thinking too hard.

Serizawa listens.
Smiles sometimes.
He’s quieter than usual.

Later, they’re back on the couch.
The dishes are done.
The lights are low.
A forgettable documentary plays on the TV– something about sea creatures or weather patterns.
Neither of them is really watching it.

Their shoulders are just barely touching.

Reigen hasn’t moved since he sat down.
He’s aware of every breath Serizawa takes beside him, like it shifts the entire air in the room.

Then, softly:

“I’m thinking,” Serizawa says.

Reigen blinks.
“What?”

“What you said earlier.”
Serizawa shifts a little, like he’s trying to sit with less tension in his spine but not managing it.
“I mean... I feel the same.”

Reigen’s heart does something strange.
“The same like... you want to cook me breakfast for the rest of time, or the same like this is nice, but maybe you should start paying rent?”

Serizawa huffs a quiet laugh, then turns a little to face him.
“I didn’t think I could ever want anything like this.”

Reigen looks at him– like– really looks at him.
His face in the soft lamp light, hair still a little damp from his post-dinner shower, expression so open it almost hurts to look at.

“But I do,” Serizawa says.
“I want to stay.”

There’s a long silence.

Reigen’s breath catches.
“Okay,” he says.
Then again, a little surer.
“Yeah. Okay.”

They don’t move.

Maybe this is when people kiss, Reigen thinks distantly.
Maybe this is that moment.
Maybe that would make sense.
Maybe that would ruin everything.

But Serizawa doesn’t lean in.
He just stays still.
Waiting, maybe.
Or maybe that was the kiss already, just in words.

So instead, Reigen lets his shoulder lean just slightly more against Serizawa’s.
A fraction of weight.
A deliberate thing.

They both exhale, at the same time.

It feels like a decision.

The documentary rolls on, unnoticed.

Outside, the wind picks up.

Inside, everything is still.

Yes, it’s not like they ever made a decision.

No boxes were packed neatly.
No keys exchanged.
No declarations, no big moment where one turned to the other and said “Damn, I live here now.”

It just… happened.

Right.
At first, Serizawa kept saying, “I’ll move out once my place is ready.”

And Reigen kept shrugging and saying, “No rush.”

But the repairs dragged on.
Then the landlord stopped answering calls too.
Then Serizawa forgot what the place even looked like.

Eventually, when the lease officially ended, Serizawa held the final notice in his hand and looked at it like a strange photograph from another life.
He didn’t say anything.
Just set it quietly on the table, and Reigen, who noticed things more than he let on, looked at it, then looked at Serizawa, and said:

“You want me to help you throw that out?”

Serizawa nodded.
And that was it.

Their mornings don’t look romantic either.
They’re not picturesque.

Reigen is perpetually grumpy before coffee.
His hair is flattened on one side– sticking up on the other– or completely messed up, and he shuffles into the kitchen in a shirt he probably slept in.

Serizawa, by contrast, is up early, showers, and halfway through folding the laundry by the time Reigen grumbles his way into the light.

“...You’re a menace,” Reigen mumbles, grabbing the half-finished cup on the counter and adding two scoops of sugar.

Serizawa looks up from the basket.
“Good morning.”
“No it’s not. The sun’s too bright. Also, where’s the green tie?”
Serizawa nods toward the chair.
“Under the cat.”
“What cat?”
Serizawa frowns, stands, walks over, lifts a cushion, and pulls out a wrinkled brown tie.
“Oh. Thought it was a cat.”
“...The heck? You need glasses.”
“...You have worse eyesight than I do.”
“ Hey, don’t make this about me,” Reigen mutters, already looping the tie around his neck with a yawn.

He fumbles with the knot.

Serizawa steps in without being asked.
“Hold still.”

Their morning ritual: quiet, awkward proximity.
Serizawa adjusting the knot with careful hands.
Reigen trying not to react to the closeness, pretending this is a normal roommate thing.
Serizawa brushing lint off his shoulder, totally unaware of the soft little implosions happening in Reigen’s chest.

They don’t talk about it.

They keep working together, of course.
Spirits don’t exorcise themselves, and business, however chaotic, goes on.

They still commute to the office together sometimes, though Serizawa often walks on his own.
“It’s good thinking time,” he says, and Reigen doesn’t press.
He still brings Serizawa a canned coffee on his desk by the time he arrives.

Mob shows up more on Saturdays to help than the other days, still as calm, and kind, and unshakable as ever.

And he surely noticed something.
He noticed that when Reigen rolls up late with things stuck in his hair because of the wind and his tie askew, Serizawa is the one who steps in.

“You didn’t even try this morning,” Serizawa says, smoothing Reigen’s collar.
“You look like you ran into a wind tunnel.”
“A very fashionable wind tunnel,” Reigen mumbles.

Mob catches them like that one morning– Serizawa adjusting Reigen’s tie with an expression of practiced resignation, Reigen smirking like he’s getting away with something.

“Master, I got more salt,” he says, interrupting them, placing a bag on the desk.

“Excellent, excellent,” Reigen says, spinning dramatically in his chair.
“Our greatest weapon. Our most noble ally. Our– …hey, Serizawa, do we have any empty jars?”
“In the cabinet,” Serizawa says, already moving to get them.
He’s halfway to the kitchenette when Reigen calls after him, “Hey, don’t forget to label–”
“I already did,” Serizawa calls back.

Reigen turns back to Mob with a smirk.
“See? This is what efficiency looks like.”

Shigeo, still holding the bag of salt, just looks between them, staring for a long second, deadpan, as if observing the weather.
“...I was right that time. You really are basically married.”
Serizawa turns red immediately.
Reigen chokes on air.
Unlike the jars, they never labeled anything between them.
There’s no boyfriend or partner or us stamped neatly on a shelf.

“Seriously, stop saying that, Mob.”
“Okay.”

Mob walks off to refill the salt shaker like nothing happened.

Reigen clears his throat and scratches his neck.
“...He’s joking,” he mutters.

Serizawa’s ears are bright red.
“Yeah.”

Silence.
They are both thinking something.

Sometimes, it happens that Reigen reaches for Serizawa’s mug instead of his own sometimes.
That Serizawa waits to start the movie until Reigen gets back with snacks.
That they argue about what to have for dinner, then end up making both dishes and splitting them.

“...Should we get separate mugs or something?” Reigen tries, grasping for humor.
“You keep drinking out of mine,” Serizawa says.
“Because it’s blue! Mine is also blue!”
“You took the one with the fish on it. That’s mine, I’m pretty sure.”
“Well– fish are cool.”

Serizawa just turns back to the kitchenette.
Reigen stares at the wall, realizing his hands are sweaty for some reason.

Dinner was takeout from the place Reigen swears has the best gyoza in the prefecture.
They eat while watching some mediocre variety show– one of those with too many sound effects and garish graphics, but it’s funny enough to keep on.

Reigen is halfway through making a snide comment about the host’s hair when he glances over and sees Serizawa, curled up on the couch, eyes closed, breathing soft and even.

Reigen doesn’t move.

He doesn’t reach for the remote.

Doesn’t shift to make more space.

Just… watches.

Once again.

Just like he did that time, days before.

The room is dim, lit only by the TV and the glow from the kitchen.
The remains of dinner are still on the table.
One chopstick has fallen to the floor.

And Serizawa is just… asleep.
Safe.
Calm.

Reigen stares, heart thudding louder than he wants to admit.

He sits there for a long time.
Doesn’t even realize he’s smiling.

They never define anything.

They don’t talk about it when Reigen starts leaving his ties on the back of Serizawa’s chair, or when Serizawa starts adding Reigen’s favorite foods to the shopping list without asking.
They don’t talk about how Serizawa started making two bento boxes every morning, automatically, or how Reigen always picks the same side of the couch now, because that’s where Serizawa’s blanket already is.
Mob keeps making quiet observations.
Teru visits once and raises an eyebrow at the shared laundry hamper, but doesn’t say a word.
Time moves, gently.
Quietly.

And they stay.

Reigen still rolls his eyes when Serizawa insists on doing the dishes, but he stays in the kitchen with him now, talking about nonsense just to keep him company.
Serizawa still startles every time Reigen brushes against him by accident, but doesn’t apologize for it anymore.
They’re not a couple.
They’re not just coworkers.
They are something else entirely.

Something soft,
and shapeless,
and safe.

It fits, just like that.

Chapter Text

The morning light spilled lazily across the tatami mat floor, soft and golden, the kind that makes everything feel less urgent.
The apartment was still, quiet, except for the soft hum of the kettle warming in the kitchen and the distant sounds of traffic several floors below.

Serizawa stood by the window, holding a mug in both hands.

He wasn’t drinking yet.
Just... holding.
Thinking.

The steam curled gently around his face.
It had been weeks since the moss incident.
Since they’d stood shoulder to shoulder in a strange half-light, drenched in the lingering energy of something bigger than both of them.

Since Serizawa had felt the strange peace of being needed, really needed, and not just for his powers.
For once, it had been his voice that had mattered most.
But now... things were normal again.
Even too normal, maybe.
At least, for his standards.

He took a breath and set the mug down.

“Hey, uh... Reigen?” he called, not too loud.
From the other room came the unmistakable rustling of a newspaper being dropped dramatically.
“What’s up?” Reigen’s voice was muffled.

“Is it the kettle again? I swear that thing screams like a banshee every time.”
“No, no. It’s... not the kettle.”

Reigen stepped into the kitchen, disheveled in his usual way, already halfway into his second coffee.
“You’re not about to tell me you accidentally made bottles and other things fly in the bathroom again, are you? Or you started to see other strange spirits hanging all together in the bathtub, right? Because I just paid rent and I’m not getting our deposit stolen by the undead.”
Serizawa gave a nervous laugh.
“No. Nothing like that.”

Reigen raised an eyebrow.
“Then?”

Serizawa scratched the back of his neck.
“I was thinking... I might try applying for a job.”

There was a pause.

“...Like, an exorcism gig?” Reigen asked, more out of reflex than anything.
“Huh? No. Not like that.”
Serizawa cleared his throat.
“I mean a normal job. N-not that I don't like working for you..! I would just like to try something... small. With other people. Part-time. Like a stationery shop or maybe the local community center.”

Reigen blinked, trying not to look as surprised as he felt.
“Oh,” he said.
Then again, softer:

“Oh.”

The silence stretched for a beat.
“That’s... really great, actually,” Reigen said, shifting his weight and rubbing at the back of his neck, unsure if he should say more.
“You sure?”

Serizawa nodded, looking down at his hands.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I just... I want to try being around people again. In a way that doesn’t involve ghosts or psychic disasters.”
“Low bar,” Reigen quipped, but his voice was warmer now.
Encouraging.

Serizawa smiled, shy but steady.
“There’s this small shop near the station,” he continued.
“They sell pens and paper and stuff. I walked by it yesterday. There was a sign in the window– hiring part-time. I thought... maybe.”

Reigen set his coffee down.
“You want help putting together a resume?”

Serizawa blinked.
“I... I haven’t written one. Never, I mean… in my entire life.”
“Yeah, and I bullsh– uh, creatively embellished my way through every job application I’ve ever touched. You’re in good hands.”

Serizawa looked so visibly relieved that Reigen felt something soft twist in his chest.

He watched as the other man relaxed slightly, shoulders dropping, like just saying it aloud had lifted a weight.
“...You think they’ll hire someone like me?”
Serizawa asked.

Reigen tilted his head.
“Someone like you?”
“I mean...” Serizawa looked down again.
“I’m older.”
“You’re just in your early thirties.”
“I’ve got no normal work history.”
“You are working on that with me, though.”
“I– I kind of panic in new situations.”
“...Uh, well–”
“ –And I’m not good at small talk. Or eye contact.”

Reigen crossed his arms.
“...You’re also one of the kindest, hardest-working people I’ve ever met. You care about everything. You’re polite to a fault. You fold my laundry even though I keep telling you I can do it.”
“Sorry, but you don’t do it.”
“That’s beside the point.”

Serizawa smiled, a little more genuinely this time.
“You’re going to be fine,” Reigen said.
“And if anyone gives you trouble, just tell them that your extremely handsome, definitely certified psychic roommate will hex them.”

Serizawa blinked.

“I don’t think that will help.”
“Details.”

They both laughed.



Later that day, they sat side by side on the couch, Serizawa with a notepad in his lap, Reigen typing something half-legibly into his laptop.
“Do I mention my time working for Toichiro?” Serizawa asked, brows furrowed.
Reigen didn’t even look up.
“God, no. Just say you took time off for health reasons. Mental wellness. People like that kind of thing now.”
“Oh. Okay.”

A few moments passed in silence.

“You really think I can do this?” Serizawa asked, softer now, like he was asking more than just about the job.

Reigen finally looked at him.
His expression, for once, was simple.
Not exaggerated.
Just honest.

“I do,” he said.
“You’ve come a long way, Seri.”

Serizawa looked away quickly, but not before Reigen caught the way his ears turned pink.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

He sat back down on the edge of the couch, clutching the notepad in his lap like it might fly away if he let go.
His knee was bouncing, just a little, in that unconscious way it always did when he was overthinking.

Reigen, from the other end of the couch, casually tilted his phone toward him.
“There’s this trick I read about- for interviews,” he said, not looking up.
“If you feel nervous, you’re supposed to pretend the other person is just a character in a sitcom. Helps take the pressure off.”

Serizawa blinked.
“What kind of sitcom?”
“Any kind. Even one where the boss has an evil twin or something. As long as it distracts your brain.”

Serizawa gave a breathy little laugh, but his hands were still wringing the notepad.
“I’m not that nervous about the interview,” he said quietly.
“...No?” Reigen asked, shifting to face him more.

Serizawa shook his head.
“Uhm, not exactly. I mean, you know I’ve worked before. I’ve dealt with way worse than someone asking if I know how to stock shelves. It’s just…”

He hesitated.
Reigen waited.

“It’s the... other stuff. The human part. Talking. Making eye contact. Being in a place where people come in and expect you to smile like it’s nothing.”
He looked down again.
“...It’s not nothing. Not for me.”

Reigen’s mouth pulled into a line.
He set his phone down, leaned forward on his knees, elbows resting loose and casual.

“Yeah,” he said.
“I get that.”
“I don’t want to mess it up,” Serizawa added.
“Not because I can’t do the job. But because someone says good morning to me, and I freeze, or I stutter too much, or they think I’m weird and stop talking to me altogether.”

“Hey.” Reigen’s voice was firm but not unkind.
“You’re not weird.”

Serizawa raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Okay, you are a little weird,” Reigen allowed, lips twitching.
“But so is everyone! People who work in stationery stores are especially weird. I guarantee it.”

Serizawa gave another laugh, nervous and short, but real.
“I’m just afraid I’ll... I don’t know. Get there and realize I’m still not ready.”

There was a silence between them, soft and unhurried.

Reigen leaned back again, letting out a slow breath.
“You know what’s funny?” he said.

Serizawa looked over at him.

“I’ve worked a lot of crap jobs. Like, really crap. Sales gigs. Cleaning. One time I had to dress up like a dog mascot in the summer.”

He made a face.

“I hated every single one of them. Honestly, at first even the Spirits and Such.”
“...What..? Really?”
“Yes, really! But the one thing that made them bearable was finding one person who didn’t make it feel like a chore to exist there.”

Serizawa tilted his head.

“You mean like a friend?”
“...Yeah,” Reigen nodded.
“And you? You’re the kind of guy who makes a place better just by being around. Even if you don’t talk much. Even if you’re awkward.”
Serizawa’s ears started to turn pink again.
“You think so?” he asked softly.
Reigen shrugged, trying to look casual.
“I know so.”

He paused, then glanced over.

“And if you ever forget, I can come in pretending to be an annoying customer just to get kicked out for your amusement.”
Serizawa smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.
“...Please don’t do that.”
“No promises.”

They sat in the quiet for a little while.
The light shifted slightly as the sun climbed higher.
The kettle whined quietly to itself in the background, long since forgotten.

“Do you want to walk by the place again later?” Reigen asked after a bit.
“Just... looking at it. You don’t have to go in.”

Serizawa considered it.

“Yeah,” he said.
“I think I’d like that.”
“Cool,” Reigen said, standing up and stretching.
“We can make it a whole thing. Get lunch. Pretend to be regular people.”

Serizawa smiled faintly.
“Pretend?”
“Okay, okay,” Reigen relented, hands raised.
“Aspire.”

Serizawa stood too, carefully folding his resume and tucking it into a plain folder.
He looked at it one more time, just to be sure it hadn’t suddenly changed on him.

“Hey, Seri?”

Serizawa looked up.

Reigen was looking at him with that quiet, barely-there kind of smile.
The one he sometimes wore when Mob was doing well, or when someone said something kind to him and he wasn’t quite sure how to take it.

“I’m proud of you.”

Serizawa blinked.
The words landed in his chest like a small weight.
Not heavy, just something solid enough to feel real.

“...Thank you,” he said.

The morning sun came in like a lazy cat, stretching golden fingers across the apartment floor.
It lit up the living room in soft golds and yellows, catching on the edge of the tiny coffee table and glinting off Reigen’s half-empty mug.
The kettle had already whistled once.
Serizawa had turned it off.
Reigen had forgotten it existed.

He was elbow-deep in a cluttered drawer, muttering.
“Where the hell did I put the spirit repellent incense? I know I bought a new pack last week. Or did Mob use it when he came here to visit..? God, Mob…”
He paused, looked around the room like the incense might answer him directly, then yanked open the drawer harder.

Meanwhile, Serizawa was standing in front of the hallway mirror, again, smoothing down his hair for the fifth time.

His resume, freshly printed on slightly-too-thick paper, sat neatly on the small table beside him.
So did his ID.
And a folder.
And a backup pen.
And a second resume, just in case the first one folded weirdly.

Behind him, Reigen's voice floated from the kitchen.
“Hey, uh– if a spirit tries to punch you through a washing machine, would that be a poltergeist or just a jerk?”
Serizawa blinked at himself in the mirror.
“Uh... I think poltergeists usually move objects..?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but this one also screamed something about being trapped in a whirlpool, so– uh? Ah-ha!”

Reigen emerged triumphantly holding a slightly crumpled packet of incense like it was a priceless artifact.
“Found it. Crisis averted.”
Serizawa gave a nervous little laugh.
“Good..?”

Reigen finally turned toward him, paused halfway to lighting the incense, and narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve... changed your shirt again.”
Serizawa froze mid-hair-flatten.
“It was too wrinkled.”
“That’s the third one, man.”
“The first one had a spot on the cuff, and the second one was too stiff, like it made me look like I was trying too hard. This one’s fine.”
“It’s light gray. They all looked light gray.”
“They’re different shades.”

Reigen stepped closer, squinting.
“Are they?”
Serizawa looked mildly panicked.
“One’s ash. This is... mist.”
“Sure,” Reigen said, with a snort, “Let’s go with that.”

There was a moment of silence, save for the sound of Reigen striking a match and lighting the incense, the smoke curling lazily upward in delicate spirals.
Serizawa watched it with the distracted intensity of a man searching for inner peace via air particles.

“You’re gonna do fine,” Reigen said, tossing the match into the sink.
“I’m not worried about the job,” Serizawa said, voice low.
“I’m worried about the… you know. Talking. With people.”
“We already had this conversation, Seri.”
“I know… I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
“Mmh,” Reigen replied, walking over to sip his lukewarm coffee.
“Yeah. That’s the job, unfortunately. People tend to be there.”

Serizawa deflated a little.
“What if they think I’m weird?”
“Stop repeating yourself.”
“But–”
“You are weird,” Reigen said immediately, interrupting him, then added, “But like. Quiet, harmless weird. That’s almost trendy now.”
Serizawa stared at him.

Reigen tried to smile around his coffee.
“Look, if they don’t like you, that’s on them. I suck at giving compliments, so I will say this one last time: you’re hardworking, polite, and possibly the most earnest person I’ve ever met. That’s rare. Some people find that comforting.”

“...Do you?”

Reigen choked slightly on his sip, then cleared his throat in a forced-casual way.
“That’s beside the point.”

There was another pause, long enough for the kettle to start heating up again.

Reigen glanced at the time, winced, and downed the rest of his drink.
“Alright. I’ve gotta go banish a cursed hairbrush or something, not far from here. Are you heading out soon?”

Serizawa checked the clock too, nodded stiffly.
“Twenty minutes. I want to be early.”
“Of course you do.”

He reached for his bag, paused at the door, then turned back.
“You’re gonna nail it. And if you don’t, you get to try again tomorrow. That’s how this works.”
Serizawa gave a small nod, lips tight.
“Thanks.”

Reigen hesitated for a second– like he was thinking of saying something else– then just lifted a hand in a lazy half-wave.

“Don’t wear any more shirts. You’ll sweat through that one too.”
“I won’t.”
“You will. Bye.”

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Serizawa exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for an hour.
He sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, stared at his resume folder, then stood up again.
Then sat down again.
Then stood up.
Then went to check his shirt in the mirror one more time.



Reigen hadn’t even finished half of his canned coffee by the time he finished his “job.”
Not that there was a job.

He’d knocked on the client’s door, taken one look at the so-called haunted object (at the end, it wasn't a hairbrush- it was a curling iron that beeped on its own– likely a dying battery), and declared it “spiritually discharged” after waving his hands over it with a few mumbled chants.
It had taken less than ten minutes.

They’d paid him in exact change and a warm sweet potato bun.
He pocketed both.

And now here he was, five blocks later, key in the lock.

But the apartment door was… still open.

Confused, he stepped forward, then a click.

He stopped in the doorway.

The air in the apartment was thick.
Not with tension, but... movement.
Soft, deliberate motion.

The curtain by the kitchen window swayed, even though there was no breeze.
The potted plant next to the bookshelf floated calmly about six inches off the ground, rotating very gently.
And above the coffee table, three coasters were circling each other like they were orbiting a tiny invisible sun.

Reigen blinked once.
Then again.
Then stepped more inside very slowly and closed the door behind him.

“...Huh.”

Another step in, and a pencil lazily spun in the air near the bookshelf.
A stack of sticky notes fluttered upward like they were trying to fly.
One of Serizawa’s shoes was on the floor by the door.
The other floated midair, bobbing gently like it had nowhere better to be.
The salt shaker drifted past him like a lazy fish in an aquarium.

Nothing aggressive in the air.
The energy was low-level.
Peaceful, even.

But still.

…What in the bloody hell is happening?

“Serizawa?” he called, voice neutral.
No answer.

He followed the trail, a path of levitating odds and ends like breadcrumbs: a coaster, a teabag wrapper, one of those fake plants Reigen bought on a whim.
The light from the hallway was different too– bent slightly, hazy in a way that made Reigen think of heat rising off asphalt.

He turned the corner slowly.

And there– still in the apartment, still fully dressed for his interview– was Serizawa.
He stood motionless in the middle of the small spare room they never really used, the one with the extra desk and folded laundry.
His coat was buttoned, the resume still tucked under one arm like he hadn’t moved in a long time.
His face was pale, but his hands were curled into tense fists at his sides.

Around him, the air shimmered.
Small objects floated in orbit: a loose button, a paperclip, the corner of an old receipt caught mid-curl.
One of Reigen’s ties, the yellow one with the soup stain, looped and flapped like it was underwater.

Reigen leaned casually on the doorframe.
“Serizawa. I thought you left already.”

Serizawa startled.

Immediately, everything dropped.
Thunk, thwap, click.
The chair legs hit the floor, the receipt drifted down, the tie slapped onto a laundry basket.
The air cleared like a fog lifted, whatever charge that had been building, diffused into silence.

Serizawa’s shoulders stiffened.
Then slumped.

He blinked rapidly, then turned to him with wide, guilty eyes.

“I– I was going to. I mean– I was ready. I even opened the door–”
He faltered.
Looked at the floor.

Looked anywhere but at Reigen.

Reigen waited.

“I’m not– I didn’t mean to do that,” Serizawa said eventually, voice thin.
“The… floating. I was just standing here, and it started happening. I think it’s just– I got overwhelmed, and– …I didn’t even realize.”

There was a beat.

Reigen crossed the room, crouched to pick up the spinning pencil, gave it an experimental toss in his hand.
“Neat trick,” he said mildly.

Serizawa gave a strangled little laugh, then rubbed the back of his neck, expression drawn.
“It’s not supposed to happen anymore.”
“Says who?”
“I thought–”
He faltered again.
“...I thought I had it under control.”
“You do,” Reigen said.
“You stopped it, didn’t you?”
“That’s not the same.”

Reigen finally looked at him.
Really looked.

His tie was slightly crooked.
He hadn’t moved more than two feet from the door.
A fine sheen of sweat clung to his temple.

“...So, you’re back already?” Reigen asked, hands in his coat pockets.
“Didn’t you say your interview started at ten?”
“It does.”

Reigen glanced at the clock.

It was 10:07.

He looked back at Serizawa.
“…So what’s going on here, exactly?”

A long silence.

Then:

“I couldn’t leave. At all.”

That made something in Reigen’s expression shift.
Not confusion, but concern.
Not panic.
Just that soft furrow between his brows, the kind that only appeared when he wasn’t trying to be anyone else.

“You couldn’t..?”
“I got to the door,” Serizawa said, quiet.
“Had my shoes on. Bag on my shoulder. I even opened it.”
He looked down at his resume.
“And then I couldn’t go through it.”

Reigen didn’t move.
He didn’t say anything yet.

“I wasn’t scared,” Serizawa added quickly.
“Or– I mean, I was. A little. But not the usual kind. It wasn’t panic. I just felt… still. Like if I took even one step forward, I’d fall apart.”

Then, he finally looked up.
Met Reigen’s eyes with an expression somewhere between apology and guilt and... something else.
Something unnameable and heavy.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he added, nodding toward the now-settled furniture.
“I wasn’t trying to make things float. I was just... sitting. I really didn’t even notice at first..!”

Reigen sighed through his nose, slow and quiet, then leaned against the doorway beside him.
“Hey, I guess that’s one way to deal with nerves. Again, cool trick.”
Serizawa huffed out a breath– it might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been embarrassment.
“...Don't say that. Stop. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s not useful, though,” Serizawa said, finally setting the folder down on the desk like it weighed twenty pounds.
“You can’t bring that kind of thing into a stationery shop.”

Reigen made a thoughtful sound.
“Depends. They sell magnets, right? Could be a theme.”

That earned him a tiny smile.
A real one.

Serizawa shook his head.
“I thought I could do it. After everything. After the–”
He gestured vaguely toward the window.
“–you know, the Toichiro thing. Even the moss, if that counts. I thought I was ready for normal.”

Reigen’s voice dropped just a little.
“Maybe you are. Maybe today’s just... a bad morning.”
“It didn’t feel like fear,” Serizawa said again, softer now.
“It felt like... like leaving would make something worse. Like I wasn’t supposed to go.”

That made Reigen go still.
“…Worse how?”

Serizawa swallowed.
“I don’t know. Just… lonely, maybe. Cold. I didn’t want to step into that.”

Reigen nodded once, slowly.
He wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t smirking.
He looked like someone trying very hard to listen properly.

There was a long silence between them, filled only with the distant hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the wall clock.

“Okay,” Reigen said, tone shifting, “what happened? In… detail.”
Serizawa shrugged helplessly.
“I got as far as the threshold and– I just couldn’t leave. I kept thinking, what if I go out there and I mess it up? What if I get there and they look at me and just know I don’t belong? Or I say something wrong, or weird, and they laugh behind my back, or worse, just smile and pretend to be nice until I leave and never call me back.”

He inhaled sharply.

“And then I started thinking, what if I go and it actually goes well? What if they hire me? And then I have to keep doing it– talking, and showing up, and pretending I’m like everyone else, and– and I didn’t know which version scared me more. I just… I froze.”

Reigen took a moment before speaking.
“You weren’t pretending to be like everyone else when you came to work at Spirits and Such.”
“That was different. That was…”
He trailed off.
“You were there.”

Reigen felt something cold and electric flicker up his spine.
He didn’t let it show.

“Well,” he said, with a casualness that was only half-feigned, “I’m here now too. And you’re still wearing your coat, so technically it’s not too late.”
Serizawa laughed again, breathless and short.
“...I can’t go now.”
“Why not?”
“It’s been twenty minutes, I would be too late.”
“And?”
“And I hovered a chair! What if I lose control like that out there?”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”

Reigen looked at him.
“Don’t need to. You were scared, and it happened. You’re not scared right now, and look– gravity’s working fine.”

Serizawa looked down at the stillness.
A small button at his feet.
His tie, laying a bit awkwardly on his chest.

“But… if this is how I get when I’m afraid,” he whispered, “how am I supposed to live like a normal person?”

Reigen stepped closer.
Not quite touching distance, but near enough to lower his voice.

“Do you really think anyone lives like a normal person?”

Serizawa didn’t answer.
Reigen rubbed the back of his neck.
“Everyone’s weird. Some people just hide it better. You’ve got power, sure. But you’ve also got... awareness. Control. A better sense of other people than half the so-called ‘normal’ folks I meet daily.”
“But I–”
“Serizawa.”
Reigen’s voice cut in, quieter now.
“You made tea for us yesterday and didn’t spill a drop. You let Mob ramble about his school projects even when you clearly didn’t understand half of what he said. You reminded me to charge my phone before I left this morning. You’re doing fine.”

There was a long pause.

“…I think I just needed to hear someone say that,” Serizawa admitted.
“Well, too bad,” Reigen said lightly, “because I’m gonna keep saying it until you believe it. You're fine. You're allowed to be scared and still go anyway.”

He glanced around the room– at the mess, the button, the still air.

“Can I say something without it being weird?”
Serizawa gave a lopsided shrug.
“You usually do.”
“Right. Good. So, uh…”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Maybe... maybe you didn’t want to leave because this place– us, or whatever we are– doesn’t feel temporary anymore.”

Serizawa blinked.

Reigen pressed on, awkwardly.
“And maybe that’s terrifying. Because it’s not a job, or a mission, or a deadline. It’s just… waking up and having someone to say good morning to. Or getting home and knowing someone’s here.”
He glanced over.
“I don’t think that’s weakness. I think that’s human.”

Serizawa didn’t answer right away.
His gaze had dropped to the floor again.
But his fingers twitched slightly, like they were trying to hold onto something.

Reigen took a breath.
Then let it out.
“Do you wanna sit down for a bit? I’ve got sweet potato buns. They gave me two.”

Serizawa nodded slowly.
“Yeah. That... sounds nice.”
Serizawa placed the resume on the desk, the gray shirt remained slightly too stiff in the shoulders, and the pens– once floating– stayed in their cup.

They sat on the couch.
One bun was warm.
The other was cold.
They shared both.

Then, Reigen looked back at Serizawa.
“…You still hungry?”
Serizawa blinked.
“...A bit.”
“What about some fried rice? Other than the buns, you didn’t eat anything, did you?”
“No, I– I didn’t have time.”
“Perfect. You can chop the green onions. Consider it your unofficial job for the day.”

Serizawa stared at him, confused.
“…So I’m just not going?”
“You’re not ready right now. Big deal. There are other days. If you want, you can try tomorrow. Or in a month. Or a year. You’ve got the resume. You’ll apply again.”
“...I failed.”
“You froze. That’s different. Besides,” he added, already turning for the kitchen, “hovering furniture is a power move, if you ask me. You’ve got presence.”

Serizawa stood there, frozen again, this time for a different reason.
But eventually, he let out a quiet, half-sigh, half-laugh, and followed.



Morning again, but this time quieter.
The weather hadn’t changed, still that late winter gray, soft and indecisive, but the air inside the apartment was different.
Less static, less still.
More determined.

Serizawa stood in the living room in a clean button-up shirt, fidgeting with the sleeves.
He ironed it twice.
His hair was combed down as neatly as he could manage– though that one strand kept rebelling, lifting like it had a will of its own.

He didn’t notice how much he was wringing his hands until Reigen walked in with two mugs of coffee and said, dryly:
“You nervous or trying to summon rain?”
Serizawa startled, then gave a small, guilty laugh.
“Sorry. I just… I didn’t think I’d be this anxious… again.”
Reigen handed him a mug, then sat on the edge of the couch.
“It’s fine. Nerves mean you care. If you showed up all cocky, I’d be worried.”

Serizawa glanced at him over the rim of the cup.
“…Thanks for calling it in with me yesterday. I think if you hadn’t helped me come up with that excuse, I’d have just given up.”

Reigen waved a hand, sipping from his own mug.
“Please. ‘Personal emergency’ is the most flexible phrase in the world. They don’t need details. Maybe your plants were having a crisis.”
“…I don’t own plants.”
“You could. Maybe you’re just deeply empathetic toward foliage. Plus, you would be a great plant mom.”

Serizawa laughed again, easier this time.

He stared down at the mug, watching the steam curl in little spirals.

“…I know it’s not a big job,” he said after a moment.
“But I really want to try.”
Reigen looked at him, all joking stripped from his face for a second.
“I know you do.”
“It’s just part-time.”
“I know.”
“Stocking shelves, maybe cashier work. Selling stationery.”
“Yeah.”
“...I already told you this.”
“Yep.”
“Sorry.”
“...Hey, you’re not applying for a job at the Prime Minister’s office, Seri,” Reigen said with a little smirk, back to teasing.
“You’ll be selling notebooks.”

Serizawa made a quiet groan, his ears turning a little pink.

“I know. But what if I say the wrong thing?”
“Then say it politely. That’s what I do.”

Serizawa looked at him like that couldn’t possibly be true.

Reigen raised his brows.
“What? You think I’ve never said something dumb in front of a client? Half my charm is about knowing how to walk it back without sounding like I’m backpedaling.”

He stood and stretched his arms above his head, letting his hoodie ride up just enough to show the waistband of his pants before tugging it down again.

Then he stepped over, tilting his head at Serizawa.
“You still want me to come?”

Serizawa hesitated.
“Only if you want to.”
“I’d rather be eating greasy noodles at my desk and pretending to do taxes. But,” he added, nudging Serizawa’s shoulder with the back of his hand, “I’ll go. You sure you’re okay with that?”

Serizawa nodded quickly.
“Yeah. I mean, yes. I want to do this myself. But I think… it’ll help. Just knowing you’re nearby.”

There was a pause.

Reigen’s expression softened in a way that made Serizawa want to look away and not, at the same time.
“Well, if I’m gonna be your emotional support scam artist,” Reigen said lightly, “we better make sure you don’t look like you’re about to pass out.”

He stepped closer.

Serizawa blinked as Reigen set his own coffee down, then reached for Serizawa’s tie, the same deep navy one from yesterday.

“Stand still.”
“What are you–”
“Fixing this. You tied it like you were afraid it would strangle you.”
“I was afraid it would strangle me.”

Reigen huffed a soft laugh under his breath, fingers deftly loosening the knot.
He untied it entirely, then slid it back into place, this time with confident, practiced hands.
Serizawa stood still, breath caught somewhere halfway to his lungs, eyes focused on Reigen’s shoulder– not his face, not his mouth.
The knot tightened, snug but comfortable.

Reigen adjusted it with a little tug, then brushed down the front of Serizawa’s shirt where the fabric had bunched.
One smooth motion.
Casual.
Almost too much.
They were close now.
Close enough that Reigen’s cologne, faint and clean, like cedar soap and aftershave, drifted between them.

Neither of them moved.

“…There,” Reigen said finally, voice lower.
“Now you look like someone who can absolutely sell a very expensive ballpoint pen.”
Serizawa swallowed.
“Thank you.”

Reigen stepped back, clearing his throat.
“You ready?”

Serizawa hesitated for a split second, not from fear this time, but from some deep, quiet current he didn’t want to name.
Then he nodded.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

The streets were quieter than usual that morning.
Not dead quiet, but calm in that way weekday mornings sometimes were.
No rush hour frenzy, no background hum of impatient horns.
Just the occasional clack of a cyclist, the rustle of someone sweeping their storefront, the sharp squawk of a crow overhead.

Reigen glanced up at the sky.
Gray again.
But brighter now.
It might even clear up.

“This is a good omen,” he said as he adjusted his scarf with a casual flick.
“Cloudy weather makes people more relaxed. Scientific fact. Less UV, less aggression. You'll thank the sky when your future boss decides not to notice if you trip on the doormat.”

He realized only later that he said “future boss” in a weird way.
Serizawa, walking half a step behind, managed a crooked smile.

“I hope I don’t trip.”
“I mean, if you do, lean into it. Get up with style. People love an underdog.”

They reached the corner of the street, where the road split toward the station.
Reigen kept walking past it without pause.

“Uh,” Serizawa blinked.
“Isn’t this-”
“We’re walking,” Reigen said breezily, hands in his coat pockets.
“Train’s unreliable lately.”

Serizawa blinked at him again.
“But... yesterday you said the trains were fine. That it’s one of the few dependable things in this city.”
“Did I?” Reigen hummed thoughtfully.
“Well. That was yesterday.”

He didn’t offer anything else.
Just kept walking at a steady, easy pace.

Serizawa followed, quiet for a few paces.
Then, slowly, he let himself fall into step beside him.

The silence between them was awkward at first, heavy in that way early-morning silences could be when nerves sat just beneath the surface.
The sound of their shoes hitting the pavement was oddly loud in comparison to the muted city sounds around them.

Reigen glanced over.
“You’re not gonna hyperventilate on me, are you?”
“I’m breathing normally,” Serizawa said, a little stiffly.
“I’ve seen more natural breathing from a guy pretending to faint in front of my office.”
“…Was he a client?”
“Unfortunately. Thought I’d be able to exorcise his parking tickets.”

Serizawa made a small sound that could almost be a laugh.
Reigen gave a small nod of approval to himself and continued.
“Okay, so listen. You’re gonna walk in, say good morning, introduce yourself, and hand over that resume I made you print three times.”
Serizawa nodded.
“Right.”
“Don’t talk about your psychic powers. Don’t talk about how you once accidentally made the cash register explode at a convenience store. Don’t mention anything about cursed energy, haunted staplers, or exorcisms. You’re a normal guy. They want a normal guy. And hey, guess what?”
“…I’m a normal guy?” Serizawa offered, sounding not entirely convinced.
“Well. You’re a guy. And today, that’s enough.”

Serizawa gave a weak laugh.
“You’re… really bad at pep talks.”
“I’ll have you know I once gave a pep talk to a class of kindergartners that made two of them cry and one of them wrote me a thank-you card. So.”
“What did you say?”
“That monsters live under the bed but only eat mean kids. It was an anti-bullying thing.”
“…That’s… kind of genius, actually.”
“I am kind of genius.”

Another pause.
This one stretched out longer, but it wasn’t tense.
Their footsteps found a rhythm, their shoulders occasionally bumping as the narrow sidewalk guided them along fences and apartment buildings, past shuttered cafes and early-opening laundromats.
A small breeze picked up.

Reigen squinted against it, then glanced at Serizawa out of the corner of his eye.
“You know,” he said, more casually now.
“You’ve got a weird charm to you.”
Serizawa blinked.
“A what?”
“A weird charm. Like– okay, you’re overly polite, you panic easily, and you’re horrendous at lying– like, really bad, it’s actually painful– but…”

He scratched the back of his head, trying to sound flippant.
“You’re sincere. That’s rare. And it counts for something.”
Serizawa turned to look at him.
“...I thought I sounded too repetitive..?”
“Yes. And trust me, you are. What about it? ”
“You... you complimented me again.”

Reigen stopped mid step.
“I did. Yes.”
“...You said you wouldn't do that anymore. ”
“...Yes. ”
“And you said you 'suck at giving compliments'.”

Silence.

“…But... thank you, I think?”
“Jesus- can you just accept my admiration without questioning it?!”
“Okay. Then…”
A pause.
Then softer:
“Thank you.”

Reigen made a dismissive noise, tugging his coat tighter around himself.
“...Don’t mention it. I’ll deny everything later.”

They walked a little more.
This time, it was Serizawa who filled the silence.

“…You know, I never thought I’d be doing this,” he said.
“A normal job. Just… helping at a stationery shop.”
Reigen arched a brow.
“Yeah?”
“I always thought I’d either end up in a mountain shrine, or… I don’t know. Floating objects forever in a locked room somewhere.”
“Mmh,” Reigen hummed.
“I mean, you do have a very floaty object aesthetic.”

Serizawa gave a small laugh.
“But I like the idea of this. Something… small. Ordinary. Just helping people find the right notebook.”
“Stationery is powerful,” Reigen nodded solemnly.
“Wars have started over poor penmanship.”
“Is that true?”
“Nope.”

They passed a park.
A stray cat darted across the path, tail high and flicking.
Reigen watched it go, then gestured with his chin toward the next corner.

“That’s it up there, right? With the yellow awning?”

Serizawa’s stomach twisted.
He nodded.
Reigen glanced at him again, this time more gently.
His voice dropped slightly.
“You’re gonna do fine.”

Serizawa looked down at his shoes.
“Even if I mess up?”
“Especially if you mess up. That’s how people learn. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up.”
“…Okay.”

They slowed to a stop across the street from the shop.
Reigen clapped a hand on Serizawa’s back- firm, grounding.
“I’ll be over at that cafè,” he said, pointing down the block.
“Get through your interview, and I’ll buy you a terrible, overpriced sandwich afterward. Deal?”

Serizawa nodded.
His chest felt tight, not from panic this time, but from something else.
Something heavier, quieter.
“…Deal.”

The place looked small from the outside.
Cozy.
A pale wood frame with a neatly printed sign in soft orange letters: Kobayashi Stationery & Office Supplies.

There were two potted plants by the front entrance, a little uneven, one leaning slightly to the side.
Through the glass, Serizawa could see rows of shelves lined with neatly arranged journals and pen displays.
There was even a little chalkboard by the window with a doodle of a smiling pen drawn on it.
It looked... normal.
Friendly.
Safe.

And yet.

Serizawa didn’t move.

He stood there on the edge of the sidewalk, his resume folder clutched in both hands.
His shoulders were stiff, like he’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
There wasn’t any visible panic in his expression, no trembling or overt signs of dread, but his stillness gave it away.
That subtle, frozen hesitation that Reigen had come to recognize too well.

Reigen slowed beside him, letting the silence stretch a few more seconds.
He watched Serizawa’s eyes flick to the shop, then back to his own feet.
The blond man let out a breath, not quite a sigh, but close.
“…Seriously, you can still bail, you know,” he said, voice softer now, trying not to spook him.
“It’s not a mission. No cursed relic. No ancient yokai hiding behind the counter.”

Serizawa didn’t respond at first.
Reigen studied his face.
There was something weighty behind the stillness.

Not just fear– though that was still there, tangled up under the surface– but something else too.
Something heavier.

The thought surprised Reigen a little– the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely ready either.
It was stupid.
Petty.
He knew it.

But there was a faint twinge in his chest at the thought of Serizawa walking through that door, nailing the interview, and stepping into some clean, quiet new life.
One where someone else would be his boss.
Someone else would see him every morning.
Someone else would witness his quiet movements, his soft apologies, his careful, cautious way of moving through the world.
It was just part-time, but…

He hated that he felt it.
This weird, possessive flicker of attachment that had no real claim to anything.
Still.
It lingered.

He looked away and forced a wry smile.
“…Look. If you don’t wanna do this, we can go back. Pretend we got lost. Tell them the trains were unreliable, and it was fate.”
“No,” Serizawa said, finally.
His voice was quiet, but certain.
“I… I want to try.”

Reigen turned back toward him, eyes flicking over his face.
His jaw was tense, but there was a steadiness behind the nervous energy now.
A little more fire in his conviction.
Reigen felt something twist in his chest again, this time warmer.
He nodded once.
“Then try.”

Serizawa nodded too, a little shaky, but with intention.

And yet… he didn’t move again.
Instead, he looked down, thumb brushing over the edge of his resume folder.
He adjusted the corner, then adjusted it again, then ran his palm down the front of his jacket as if smoothing out invisible wrinkles.
His fingers fidgeted at the hem like they didn’t quite know what to do with themselves.

Reigen watched for a second more.
Then, without much thought, he gave him a small nudge on the shoulder.
A little jab, light and teasing, something to jolt the stiffness out.
Serizawa flinched, but in a sheepish way, eyes darting toward him.

And then,
without meaning to,
or maybe without thinking too hard,
Reigen leaned in.

He didn’t plan it.
He didn’t decide to do it.
It just happened.

His hand brushed lightly against Serizawa’s sleeve, steadying himself, and then his lips pressed to his cheek.
A soft, brief kiss.
But it lingered a second longer than it should have.

Serizawa went absolutely still.
So did Reigen.

The air between them thickened instantly,
charged,
unspoken,
heavy.

Reigen himself pulled back.
Slowly.

And then realized exactly what he’d just done.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first.
His brain raced for some kind of damage control, but everything that came to mind sounded ridiculous or way too serious- or worse– genuine.

“…That was– sorry,” he said, finally.
“That was weird. I don’t know why I did that.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Serizawa’s eyes now.
“It was just– like, a good luck thing, I guess? Spur of the moment. Or something. Oh- Jesus– forget it.”

Serizawa didn’t answer.
Reigen dared a glance toward him.
The man was blushing.
Deeply.
His face looked like it might catch fire from the ears down.

But there was a smile there too.
A small one, surprised, but real.
Soft in the corners, like he couldn’t help it.
Serizawa met his gaze, just briefly.

“…N… no,” he said, voice barely audible.
“It was… nice.”

The words were quiet.
Earnest.
Just a little stunned, like he was still processing the moment, but not rejecting it.

Reigen didn’t know what to say to that.
He nodded slowly, eyes a little wide, and took a step back like he was giving space for something fragile to breathe.

Serizawa took one more breath, steadier now.
Then he turned toward the entrance of the shop, hands still trembling just slightly around the folder.
And he walked inside.
The little bell over the door jingled softly as it closed behind him.

Reigen stood outside, blinking at the door, heart thumping harder than he’d like to admit.
He stayed there a moment longer than necessary, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the glass.
“...What the fuck,” he muttered to no one, and turned to walk down the street.
He didn’t look back.



The air outside the shop had the kind of late-morning chill that couldn’t make up its mind.
Not cold enough for a coat, but enough to make Reigen rub his palms together once and squint up at the pale sky like it had personally inconvenienced him.
He crossed the street and ended up at the small café that sat catty-corner from the stationery place, some little place with cracked black tile and mismatched chairs, just far enough away to pretend he wasn’t loitering.

He wasn’t staring at the door.
He wasn’t waiting, exactly.
But he'd checked his watch twice.
Okay, four times.
…Five?

And he’d just now stepped out of the cafè, a paper cup in one hand and a mild frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The door clicked shut behind him.
He sighed, mostly at himself.
“He’s not even late,” he muttered.
“I’m being ridiculous.”

The thing was… Reigen had expected nerves.
Expected Serizawa to fumble over a few words or maybe stall at the door again.
He’d even braced himself for the possibility that the guy might turn around and call the whole thing off.
What he didn't expected was how much he’d notice the absence.

It’d only been, what, fifteen minutes?
It felt like longer.

He took a sip from the cup and told himself to stop being weird about it.
It was a part-time job interview, not a deployment.
Serizawa wasn’t moving across the country.
He wasn’t abandoning the office or peeling the name off the glass door.
It was just a few shifts a week, a new environment, a little extra structure, something healthy.

Something Reigen had encouraged.

And still, there was this dumb, gnawing thing in his chest.
A kind of ache he didn’t know what to call.
Not jealousy.
That wasn’t the word.
It wasn’t about ownership.

It was more like he didn’t want to stop being the one Serizawa came to when things got overwhelming.
He didn’t want to get used to a version of his life where the man wasn’t always around, lingering by the water dispenser, asking if he could help carry boxes, looking too big for the folding chair by the reception desk.
He took another sip, bitter and lukewarm, and turned his eyes back toward the shop across the street.
Just in time to see the door swing open.

Serizawa stepped out, blinking in the light.

He looked stunned.

Reigen froze where he stood, cup half-raised.
Serizawa spotted him immediately– like he’d been looking– and walked straight toward him, almost too quickly.
His steps were stiff, like he hadn’t fully re-entered his body yet.
Like he was still catching up to the reality of the last fifteen minutes.

Reigen lowered the coffee.
His brows pulled together.
“You okay?” he asked.
“You look like someone told you the pens were cursed.”

Serizawa stopped in front of him.
He was still holding the resume folder, but it hung loosely in one hand now, forgotten.
His tie was a little crooked– Reigen’s doing, not that he’d admit it aloud– and his face had that shell-shocked expression people got after narrowly avoiding disaster or realizing they’d survived something huge.

“...They hired me,” Serizawa said.

Just that.

Reigen blinked.
“…Wait. Seriously?”

Serizawa nodded once, like even he didn’t believe it yet.

“On the spot?” Reigen said.
“That’s either impressive or suspicious.”
“They said they liked how I… how I explained why I wanted to try.”
His voice was quiet, but steady.
“And I was early. And polite. And…”
He looked down at his folder, then back up.
“They said I seemed honest.”
Reigen scoffed lightly.
“Yeah, that'll do it. You’ve got ‘earnest’ written all over you. You couldn’t scam a free napkin.”

Serizawa didn’t laugh, but he smiled.
Wide enough that it creased his face, made his eyes soften.
“I start next week,” he added.
“Just two mornings a week. Stocking, register stuff. They said I could shadow someone until I get used to it.”

There was pride there, barely masked under the layers of disbelief.
Reigen looked at him for a long second.
And that feeling from earlier, that quiet ache, shifted.
Softened.
Because it wasn’t about Serizawa drifting away.
Not really.
It was about watching someone finally, finally trust that they could stand on their own two feet, and realizing that even if they did, it didn’t mean they’d stop coming back to you.

“…That’s great,” Reigen said, voice low.
He meant it.
“Seriously. You did it.”

Serizawa rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the sidewalk like it might give him directions on what to do next.
“I don’t think I would’ve… without you.”
“You would’ve,” Reigen said immediately.
“Eventually. I just made it happen this Wednesday.”

Serizawa smiled again.
It was still stunned, but there was peace to it this time.
A steadiness.
Reigen cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, “wanna celebrate with a really average sandwich? Cafè guy promised me it’s almost not dry.”
Serizawa nodded.
And without thinking, as they turned back toward the shop’s door, Reigen reached out and lightly clapped his shoulder– the same kind of casual, half-disguised gesture they’d passed between them for weeks– months now.
Friendly.
Familiar.
But this time, Reigen’s hand lingered just a fraction longer.

And Serizawa didn’t flinch.

The job, as it turned out, wasn’t all that complicated.

Two mornings a week, Serizawa arrived ten minutes early to a small shop that smelled like paper and dust and those soft gel pens that wrote just a little too smoothly.
He helped unbox stock, restocked notebooks, counted the pastel highlighters.
Sometimes he swept.
Sometimes he stood behind the counter and double-checked the till, even though he still panicked a little whenever the receipt printer jammed.

It was simple, quiet work.
Surprisingly soothing.
People came in, smiled at him.
He smiled back.

They asked for journal recommendations or asked if they could return an unopened pack of ballpoints.
No one yelled.
No one raised their voice.
No one tried to test his limits.
He liked that.

It scared him, too– the quiet pressure of normalcy.
Of being expected to just be.
The rhythm helped.
Routine helped.

But still, Serizawa found himself hesitating before each shift, hovering by the employee entrance with his fingers twitching around the edge of his coat.
Still found himself going over imagined disasters in his head: dropping something, saying the wrong thing, a customer demanding to see someone in charge because he wasn’t doing enough.
He always made it inside.
But he never stopped worrying.

And Reigen… well.
Reigen acted like none of it had ever happened.
No mention of the kiss.
No subtle glances, no meaningful pauses, no “Hey, about that weird moment where I kissed you like we were in some kind of pathetic indie film.”

Instead, Reigen was just… normal.

The same loud commentary about take-out prices, the same unsolicited advice about back stretches, the same dramatic monologues about the ghost reports they hadn’t received in a week and a half.

He never brought it up.

And Serizawa didn’t know how to.
It wasn’t like he wanted some confession.
He didn’t want to corner Reigen into saying something if it had been just a momentary impulse, a weird flash of gratitude or comfort, like a reflex.
But…
He really wanted to know what it meant.

He’d replayed the moment so many times in his head that it had started to blur, like a dream:
The warmth of Reigen’s hand against his shoulder, the brief pressure of lips on his cheek, the way Reigen’s breath had caught after like he didn’t know what had just happened either.
Serizawa wasn’t delusional.
He knew Reigen wasn’t… the most emotionally articulate person alive.
But still.

Sometimes Reigen would drive by and pick him up after a shift, leaning casually on the hood of the car with one hand in his pocket, sipping coffee like he hadn’t been parked there for ten full minutes already.
“Just checking you didn’t explode anything by accident,” he’d say as Serizawa approached.
“You have set fire to a microwave before, and I stand by my caution.”
Serizawa would fumble with his keys, blush a little, mumble something like, “There was tinfoil in that one.”
And Reigen would just open the passenger side door for him without another word.

God, all of this was too normal.



One Wednesday, Serizawa had a rough morning.
He’d spilled a box of planners while trying to reach the shelf.
One of them had fallen on the corner and gotten crumpled.
Not ruined, not destroyed.
Just bent.

The store manager had waved it off without even blinking.
“No biggie,” she’d said.
“We’ll mark it for discount and put it in the front bin.”

Serizawa had apologized five times before she’d gently told him to stop.

But he still carried it like a weight for the rest of the day.

When Reigen came to pick him up, he tried to pretend everything was fine.
Sat stiffly in the passenger seat, folding and unfolding his hands.
Reigen glanced at him once at a red light.
“What’s the damage?” he asked.
“Did you knock over a display of glitter pens or what?”

Serizawa shook his head quickly.
“No. I mean. Sort of..? Just… it was a planner. I bent the cover. I should’ve been more careful.”

Reigen didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then, he pulled the car over to the side of the street and put it in park.

Serizawa blinked at him.
“…We’re not at the office yet.”
“Yeah,” Reigen said.
“But I’m not letting you spiral into an apology hole about a damn notebook.”

Serizawa looked down.
“It wasn’t just the planner.”
“No, it never is,” Reigen said quietly.
“But you’ve gotta stop acting like every tiny mistake means you don’t deserve to take up space.”

Serizawa flinched a little.
His shoulders went tight.

“You don’t have to earn being allowed to exist, Seri.”

The words hung there between them.
Not accusatory.
Not soft, either.
Just… matter-of-fact.
Like Reigen wasn’t trying to soothe him, wasn’t even trying to fix it.
Just telling him something true.

“I–” Serizawa’s voice caught.
He stared out the window.
“I know. It’s just hard to believe it, sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Reigen said.
“I know.”

The car was quiet for a moment.

Then Reigen reached out and lightly tapped the back of Serizawa’s hand.
Not grabbing it, not holding it, just a quiet little gesture, enough to make Serizawa look back.
Reigen’s face was unreadable.
Not smiling, but not distant either.
Like he was still weighing a dozen thoughts in his head and trying to pick the one that wouldn’t come out wrong.

“…You’re doing good,” he said.
“Seriously.”

Serizawa flushed.
He nodded once, quick.
Then again, slower.
“…Thanks for picking me up,” he mumbled.
“Of course,” Reigen said.
“I’ve got a whole afternoon cleared for pretending to do paperwork and ignoring phone calls. I’m not about to miss out on that just because you’re learning how to be a functioning adult.”

Serizawa smiled, and this time, it stayed.
Reigen pulled the car back onto the road, flicking the turn signal with more flair than necessary.
Things weren’t easy.
But they weren’t bad.

It was nearly dusk by the time things started winding down at Spirits & Such.

The office smelled like instant foods and canned coffee, a leftover evidence of a long, slightly chaotic afternoon.
Mob was gently cleaning the glass on a salt jar while Dimple hovered near the ceiling fan, muttering complaints about the heat.
Ritsu, Sho and Teru had ended up in a “fake” debate over whether spirit energy could be channeled through kitchen utensils.
They were mocking Reigen, probably.
Tome sat in Reigen’s chair, legs kicked up on the desk, scrolling through something on her phone and occasionally letting out a laugh that sounded slightly unhinged.
Somehow, despite the noise, it felt… settled.
Lived-in.
Like summer hadn’t quite arrived yet but was close enough to breathe in.

Serizawa was standing by the window, holding his bag, a very light coat already over one arm.
He’d stayed later than planned.

He got caught up helping Shigeo with an inventory list, then distracted organizing a bundle of flyers for upcoming “hot season cleansing discounts.”
He should’ve left by now.
He knew that.
But something had been buzzing in his chest all day.
A nervous, looping thought that refused to sit quietly in the background.

He hadn’t known how to bring it up.
Even now, with the work mostly done and the others busying themselves with side conversations, he hesitated.
Picked at the edge of a brochure.
Checked the clock.
Folded and unfolded the cuff of his sleeve.

Reigen noticed.
Of course he did.
He was leaning against the filing cabinet, flipping through some papers he clearly didn’t plan to read, but his eyes kept flicking over.
Watching.
Waiting.

Eventually, Serizawa stepped closer.
His voice was quiet, just low enough not to carry over the chatter.
“Uhm… Reigen.”
Reigen looked up.
“Yeah?”

Serizawa hesitated.
Thought again about saying nothing.
But the thought of not telling him– of going home and stewing over it alone– felt worse.

“I… today at the shop, they said they’re doing this little thing. Just for the staff. Like a get-together? Uhm. Next weekend. At a cafè, I think. Just tea and cake, not a big thing.”
Reigen blinked, visibly underwhelmed.
“Okay. That’s… good? You guys deserve a treat.”
Serizawa’s shoulders slumped a bit.
“They invited me.”
“Right. You do work there.”
“…Yeah. But I–”

He stopped himself.
Took a breath.

“I’m scared of going.”

Mob’s head poked up from behind a shelf.
“Of going where?”

Serizawa flinched.
“Ah– s-sorry. It’s not really– just–”
“It’s a work party thing,” Reigen said casually, waving a hand.
“His part-time job.”
Sho tilted his head.
“Like a dinner?”
“Nah, more like tea. And small talk. And vague social pressure,” Reigen said.
“Oh, that sounds terrifying,” Teru said, with a sarcastic tone.
Tome snorted.
“Try being in the telepathy club. Everything’s vague social pressure.”
Dimple made a show of yawning midair.
“Wow, you guys need to toughen up.”

Serizawa laughed a little, but it came out thin.
“I know it’s not a big deal,” he said, voice lower now, more to Reigen than the others.
“It’s just some people. I work with them. They’re nice. But when I think about walking in alone, I just–...”
He curled a hand into his jacket sleeve.
“My chest gets tight. My hands feel too big. And I know I’ll mess something up. Or say something wrong. Or get quiet, and weird, and–...”
He trailed off, swallowed hard.
“I feel pathetic even saying it. I’m not a kid. I’m a grown man, and I’m panicking over tea. ”

The room quieted.
It wasn’t heavy, exactly– but a few heads turned.

Mob stepped forward, concern in his face like storm clouds on the horizon.
“You’re not pathetic,” Shigeo said gently.
“Things like those are hard. I know that.”

Serizawa offered him a shaky smile.
“Thanks, Mob. I just…”
Reigen stepped away from the cabinet, slid his papers onto the desk without looking at them.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Serizawa blinked.
“What?”
“To the thing. I’ll come.”
“You… You weren’t invited.”
Reigen shrugged.
“I’ve crashed worse.”

Ritsu raised an eyebrow.
“...Wait, are you serious?”
Teru looked up.
“Isn’t that… unprofessional?”
“Unprofessional,” Reigen echoed, and made a face like the word had personally offended him.
“Listen, if professionalism ever stopped me, we wouldn’t have an office.”

Serizawa’s mouth opened and closed a few times.
“You don’t have to do that. Really. I can– I mean, I should–”
“Seri,” Reigen said, tone cutting through the nervous spiral, but not unkind.
“You just told me that walking into a room alone makes your hands feel wrong. If I can make it easier by standing next to you and pretending I care about cafè table centerpieces, I’m gonna do it.”

There was a pause.

Dimple whistled softly.
“Damn. That’s the closest thing to romance I’ve seen in this dump.”
Mob blinked.
“Romance..?”
“Don’t worry about it, kid.”

Serizawa stared at Reigen for a long second.

Then, quietly:
“…Okay.”
“Okay,” Reigen said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Serizawa still felt anxious.
The idea of showing up to that cafè with Reigen next to him, charismatic and loud and probably– or probably not– overdressed, didn’t magically erase the fear.
But it made it smaller.
Manageable.
He wasn’t walking in alone.
That meant something.
Even if they weren’t talking about that yet.
Not directly.
But that was… okay.

He stood in the middle of the room, still clutching his bag, expression caught somewhere between stunned and uncertain, like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.
His mouth moved again, once, twice, but no sound came out.

Ritsu leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed.
“You know, I think that’s… actually kind of nice.”

He really didn’t want to admit that Reigen was right for once.

“Kind of reckless,” Tome added.
“But nice.”

Reigen stretched, popped his back with an exaggerated grunt.
“Reckless is a brand.”

Mob stepped forward, his expression more thoughtful than usual.
“Serizawa-san… you’re nervous because you care, right?”
Serizawa blinked at him.
“…I guess I am.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Mob said, softly.
A small smile appeared.
“Sometimes I get nervous when I want to do something right, too.”

Ritsu smiled too, especially seeing his brother saying those things.
“That’s actually really relatable. One time I spent two days working up the nerve to go to this cafè just because someone from school that I don’t like worked there and I didn’t want it to be awkward.”
Sho gave him a look.
“Was that the bakery place near the river?”
“…Yes. Shut up.”
Teru just laughed.

Tome rolled her eyes and tossed a half-empty bag of snacks at Sho’s head.
“You guys are so dramatic. Just go. Eat your sad little cakes. It’s not a wedding.”
“...I don’t think I can even eat in front of people when I’m nervous,” Serizawa admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“And it’s not just the event. I have to dress for it, and I don’t even know what people wear to things like this. Smart casual? Business informal? I always end up looking like I’m going to a funeral or a job interview. Or both.”

“Oh!” Mob perked up.
“We can help with that!”
Reigen raised an eyebrow.
“You… can?”
“Of course!” Teru said, already pulling out his phone.
“We’re taking him shopping.”

Serizawa looked mildly alarmed.
“Wait. You don’t have to–”
“Serizawa-san,” Mob said gently but firmly, “you’re always helping around the office and looking out for us. Let us do this, okay?”
“Yeah,” Teru said, grinning.
“Besides, I have taste. You’ll look sharp.”

Mob shot him a sideways look.
“You… made me buy that yellow shirt with the monkeys on it.”
“That was iconic.”
“It was horrifying.”
“You said you liked it!”
“I was being polite.”
“You wore it twice!”
“I had nothing else to wear..!”

Reigen watched this unfold with mild fascination, then turned back to Serizawa and muttered, “Just… make sure you pick the final choice, okay?”
Serizawa half-laughed, half-groaned.
“I’m starting to regret saying anything.”
“You’ll regret it more if you show up to that tea party dressed like a middle-aged magician from a 90s game show,” Dimple said, floating down toward him.
“I… don’t even know what that means.”
“It means don’t wear a vest.”

Mob reached for Serizawa’s sleeve and tugged lightly.
“We can go now, if that’s okay? There’s a nice place near the station.”
Serizawa looked at them all, this odd patchwork of people he somehow belonged to– and felt the familiar tightness in his chest ease a little.
He nodded.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Teru pumped a fist.
“Operation Outfit Rescue begins.”
Tome didn’t get up from the desk.
“Godspeed. And don’t come back with another monkey shirt.”
“Tell that to him, ” Mob muttered.

Reigen leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed as the group shuffled out, Serizawa in the middle of them.
There was a quiet kind of warmth tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey,” he called before they disappeared down the stairs.

Serizawa turned back.
“Yeah?”
“You’ll do fine.”

Serizawa’s smile was small but real.
“Thanks.”

Then he was gone, swallowed into the soft buzz of summer evening.
Reigen stood there for a beat longer.

Dimple floated by his ear.
“You’re not gonna say anything else?”
Reigen exhaled slowly.
“Nope.”
“Even though you clearly–”
“I don’t.”
“Yes you do.”
“I said nope.”
“…Coward.”
“Yep.”



The small group of three ended up wandering through the late-afternoon streets, golden light reflecting off shop windows and glinting on passing cars.
The city had that early summer haze: warm pavement, a breeze with just enough bite, the hum of life rolling by in chatter and footsteps and distant cicadas.

Serizawa kept fidgeting with his sleeves as they walked.
Teru, naturally, walked like he owned the sidewalk:
arms loosely swinging, chin up, eyes already scanning storefronts with a casual but deadly serious fashion-know-it-all gaze.
His phone was in one hand, probably pulling up saved coordinates to half a dozen shops he had mentally bookmarked just for times like these.
Mob walked between them, focused and quiet, but with that ever-present little crease of worry between his brows.
He kept glancing up at Serizawa, clearly aware that the man was trying not to have a public meltdown just from the concept of needing to dress “normal.”

“So,” Teru said, breaking the silence with a kind of brightness that felt deliberately placed, “what are we feeling? Classic, simple, rustic minimalist chic–”
“I just want something… normal,” Serizawa said.
“Not too flashy. Not weird. And no logos. Or patterns. Or vests.”
Mob nodded.
“No monkeys.”
Serizawa turned, alarmed.
“...Why are you always mentioning monkeys..?”
“...Long story,” Mob said gravely.
Teru chuckled and pointed at a shop across the street with a clean, modern display, with button-downs on mannequins, casual pants, simple shoes.
“That one. That’s a good start.”

They crossed at the light, and Serizawa followed them inside, still wringing his hands a little.
The store was quiet, air-conditioned and crisp-smelling, but not too fancy.

Still, Serizawa looked like a giant trying not to knock over a display as he shuffled between racks.
Mob walked beside him, scanning shirts with the focus of someone doing a school assignment.
“This one is nice,” he said, pulling out a white collared shirt with subtle blue lines.
“It’s not boring. But it’s not scary.”

Serizawa examined it like it might explode.

Teru leaned close and murmured, “Trust the boy. He has more fashion instincts than he lets on.”
Mob flushed slightly.
“Not really... I just know what not to do now.”
“I’m proud of you, honestly,” Teru grinned, then tossed a jacket over Serizawa’s arm.
“Try that one too.”

Eventually, Serizawa got pushed into the fitting room with two button-downs, one pair of dark slacks, and a lightweight jacket Teru swore “added cool-points.”
Mob stood guard near the door, occasionally handing in hangers like a quiet assistant, while Teru leaned against the mirror nearby, arms folded, deep in thought.
Something like a smile tugged at his mouth as he stared at the curtain where Serizawa was changing.

This really wasn’t just about clothes.

He’d known that from the second Serizawa had walked into the office with that look on his face.
The man wore his anxiety like a jacket he couldn’t take off.
But now?
He was trying, really trying.
And– even if he didn’t know Serizawa that well, not as much as the others at least– Teru… respected the hell out of that.

He also wasn’t blind.

Reigen hadn’t stopped watching the door the second Serizawa left.
Like he was expecting him to come back in five minutes.
And the way Serizawa said “I’m pathetic” was so obviously parroting something he used to believe, not something he felt deep down anymore.
At least, not entirely.

Teru had seen that kind of fear before.
He’d worn it once, hadn’t he?
Just after fighting Shigeo for the first time.
Before he got a little confidence.
Before he found people who grounded him.

And Reigen?
Reigen clearly didn’t know what to do with the way he cared.
So yeah, maybe Teru had ulterior motives.

He crossed his arms tighter, tapped his chin thoughtfully.
Maybe if he looked just a little more handsome– not “cool” cool, not Teru-level cool, just subtly attractive in the kind of way that made people pause… maybe then Reigen would finally pull his head out of his ass and realize what was in front of him.

The curtain pulled open slightly, and Serizawa peeked out.
“…Is it bad?”
Mob turned first, and blinked.
“No. You look good, Serizawa-san.”
Teru followed with a low whistle.
“Damn. Yeah, that works.”

Serizawa stepped out fully.
The dark slacks had been hemmed just right, the shirt crisp but soft-looking, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
The jacket framed his shoulders well, gave him structure, without making him seem stiff.
He didn’t look like someone pretending to belong.
He just looked… like himself.
But maybe a version that believed he could fit into a room without apologizing for taking up space.

Serizawa blinked.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Mob said sincerely.
“You look like someone I’d want to talk to.”
“That’s the goal,” Teru said.
“You want to give off approachable but mysterious. Like, ‘I know how to fix a printer but also how to fight a demon in a convenience store.’ That kind of vibe.”
“I have never… projected that in my life.”
“Well, now you do. Slightly.”
Serizawa flushed, adjusting his sleeve.
“Thanks. Really. Both of you.”
“No problem,” Mob said with a little smile.

Then, after a pause:
“Do you think Reigen-san will like it?”

Serizawa’s ears turned pink immediately.
“Wh– why would he?? It’s not for him, it’s for the store event..!”
Mob blinked.
“I just meant… he seemed really proud of you today.”
“O-oh,” Serizawa mumbled.
“Yeah. Maybe.”

Teru gave Mob a sidelong look.
He hadn’t meant to say it that directly, but still… sharp kid.
Sometimes oblivious.
Sometimes too perceptive for his own good.

They let Serizawa go back into the fitting room to change back, and as the curtain rustled closed again, Mob looked up at Teru with a thoughtful expression.
“Hey… do you think those two like each other?”
Teru smirked faintly.
“What gave it away?”
Mob shrugged.
“They get quiet around each other. But it’s not… uncomfortable. Just quiet.”
“Yeah,” Teru said.
“That’s how it starts.”

Mob nodded slowly, then tilted his head at Teru.
“Do you like anyone?”
Teru blinked.
Mob was watching him with innocent curiosity, no expectations, just a calm, steady gaze that always seemed to cut through things.
“…Maybe,” Teru said, giving him a lopsided grin.
“Maybe I do. Why?”
Mob shrugged again, but his voice was soft.
“Just wondering.”

There was a small pause.

Teru ruffled Mob’s hair, gently.
“Let’s see them survive this party first,” he said.
“Then we’ll worry about crushes.”
Mob smiled.
“Okay.”

The get-together was in two days.
Just two.
Forty-eight hours.
Which was really just a polite way of saying “an eternity of suffering sandwiched between right now and the moment you’re expected to casually function in society.”

Serizawa sat stiffly on the edge of his futon, hands knotted together in his lap, eyes staring blankly at the wall like it might suddenly reveal the solution to human interaction.

It did not.

It was 7:32 P.M.

He had eaten dinner, sort of.
Mostly stared at a bowl of microwaved rice and then decided his stomach wasn’t cooperating.
He was pretty sure his body was trying to fake food poisoning to get him out of the event.

Reigen wasn’t there with him this time.
Apparently, a client called in urgency.
Or, well, that’s what he understood, since he was in another room when it happened:
Reigen received a phone call, mumbled under his breath– something about “why calling at this hour..?”– called Shigeo mentioning a “probably fake stupid emergency”, and finally, as Serizawa opened the door, he spotted the blond man giving him a little two-finger salute.

So, Serizawa decided to return to his real house for a bit, just to check it out again.
And maybe because, deep down, he kind of missed it.
But…
He didn’t want to leave Reigen alone.
He didn’t want to be alone.

He texted Reigen that he would pass the night there, for once in… two months?
He would've returned in the morning.

He sighed.

The outfit, picked by Mob and Teru, was hanging neatly on the back of his door.
It looked weirdly confident just existing there, all ironed and normal.
Like of course it would belong on a person who went to friendly staff mixers and laughed at jokes without flinching.

He gave it a suspicious look.

“Don’t mock me,” he muttered at it.

It didn’t respond.

He ran a hand down his face, then stood up abruptly and walked to the mirror.
Okay.
Okay, this was fine.
This was practice.
He could do this.

He squared his shoulders.
Smiled.
Winced.

“No, too teethy.”

He tried again.

“Hi. My name is Katsuya Serizawa. I work here now.”
No, that sounded like he was trying to convince them he wasn’t lying.
Even if they knew he worked there.
Why mention it..?

“Hi. I’m… Katsuya. Nice to meet you. This is a fun place, huh?”
Why did that sound like a bad pickup line from the 70's…

He cleared his throat.
Smiled again.
More teeth this time.
Worse.

He sighed.

The room felt too quiet, so he turned on the tiny old radio he kept near the window.
Soft, tinny jazz floated out.
He turned it down low.
Background noise.
Ambiance.
Like a cafè.
He’d read once that ambient sound made people feel more comfortable in conversation.
Not that he’d ever tested the theory.
He mostly just stayed inside when he wasn’t at work.

He took a breath.
Held it.
Exhaled.

“Hey, great weather we’ve been having, huh?”

Silence.

“…Are you enjoying working at the shop?” he asked his reflection.
“Me too. I like… the pencils.”

His own face stared back at him, vaguely alarmed.
He groaned and flopped dramatically onto the futon like someone in a soap opera.

His phone buzzed from where it sat on the floor beside him.
A text.

[Reigen]
remember: bring a pen u like. u’ll feel more in control, trust

Serizawa blinked.

Then stared at it.

A slow, small smile crept onto his face.
That man is absolutely ridiculous, he thought– but he sat up and reached for the pencil case near his bed anyway.

He unzipped it with quiet reverence, picking through each item with near-spiritual care.
A soft-touch pen with blue ink.
The good kind.
The one that made his handwriting look slightly less like someone having a nervous breakdown.
He set it beside the outfit on the door and nodded solemnly.

Progress.

And, later that night, as the sun dipped and the sky dimmed into a humid purple, Serizawa stood by the mirror again.

He didn’t say anything this time.
Just… watched himself.
Still awkward.
Still hunched.
Still all edges and apologies.
But…
He was trying.
He’d gone shopping without panicking.
He’d let Mob offer advice.
He’d let Teru boss him around, too.
He’d even agreed to go to a party with actual humans in it, now.

And Reigen–

Serizawa’s stomach flipped.
Reigen was going with him.

He still didn’t fully understand why– if it was out of pity, or protection, or just Reigen being Reigen– but some part of him, the smaller one that was slowly learning how to take up a little space in his chest, maybe hoped it meant something.

He looked down at his phone.
Hovered over the screen.
Then typed.

[Serizawa]
Thanks again for offering to come. I know you didn’t have to. You’re always looking out for me. I’ll do my best to not be a total disaster.

Then deleted the last sentence.

Then deleted the whole thing.

Rewrote:

[Serizawa]
I’m bringing the good pen.

He sent it.
After a pause, Reigen replied with a single thumbs-up emoji.

Then:

[Reigen]
You’ve got this, Seri.

Serizawa stared at the message for a long time.

Then turned off the radio, clicked off the light, and climbed under the blanket with a nervous little smile still tugging at his mouth.

Maybe it’d be a disaster.
Maybe not.
But he was going.

That’s cool.



By the time Reigen pushed open the door to his apartment, the city outside had settled into that deep, muted hum of late night.
The kind that feels both peaceful and lonely, depending on your state of mind.

He dropped his keys into the little ceramic dish by the door with a dull clatter, the sound echoing louder than it should’ve in the stillness of the room.
One shoe came off easily.
The other had to be kicked a few times before surrendering.

Reigen groaned softly and leaned his back against the doorframe, head tipping back until it thunked against the wood.
“Ugh, of course it was real,” he muttered to himself.

He knew the moment Shigeo stepped into the place.
The kid never panicked unless there was a reason.
He’d sounded calm, even too much, but Reigen could hear the undercurrent in his voice, the thank-God-you-called-me-or-it-could-have-been-over-for-you tone that meant he’d better roll up his sleeves and grab some salt, stat.
Even if it didn’t help.

A stupid old house, long condemned.
A client swearing up and down it was cursed.
Reigen had gone expecting a creaky attic and maybe a squirrel.

Instead, he’d gotten a stubborn spirit stuck in the plumbing and angry about it.
Took Mob, Dimple, and a long-ass purification chant to get the damn thing to pass on.

Now, every muscle in his body felt like it had been kneaded into a pulp.

He shuffled into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and stood there drinking it slowly, looking at absolutely nothing.
The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly.
It needed replacing.
He’d keep forgetting to do that, probably.

He rubbed his face with one hand and sighed through his fingers.
Despite the exhaustion, his brain hadn’t stopped spinning.
Not about the job.

About Serizawa.

He thought of the man’s text earlier that evening.
Short, a bit awkward, very him:

“I’m bringing the good pen.”

It had made Reigen smile at the time.
Still did.

A tired, soft thing that tugged more at his chest than his mouth.

That was the thing about Serizawa.
Reigen had known plenty of people who came into his life in bursts.
Loud, erratic, flashy, intense.
But Serizawa didn’t storm in.
He quietly stayed.
Nervous and unsure, always apologizing like he thought the space he took up was rented and overdue…
But he stayed.

And Reigen had gotten used to that.
Liked it.
Missed it when he wasn’t around, which he was trying very hard not to think too deeply about.

Because thinking about it meant noticing that Serizawa’s seat at the office always had that faint warmth, like he’d just left it.
It meant noticing the way he sometimes looked at Reigen with these stunned, reverent eyes, like he couldn’t believe someone like Reigen was being kind to him.
As if Reigen was anything more than just a barely-functional man doing his best not to emotionally combust before dinner.
It meant noticing that stupid moment outside the cafè, the kiss on the cheek.
An impulse.
Harmless.
Brief.
Right?

It had meant nothing.

…Something?

No, no no no, nothing.
Ha!

Reigen closed his eyes and dropped his head against the fridge with a quiet thunk .
God.

He hadn’t talked to Serizawa about it.
Hadn’t brought it up.
Hadn’t even hinted at it.
Just moved on like a goddamn coward, because what was he going to say?

“Sorry I kissed you. It meant nothing. Or maybe it meant something, which is worse.”
“You’re not just my employee, you’re… you’re this person who makes me want to be better without trying.”
“You make me feel like maybe I deserve to be looked at like that.”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh.
What a joke.
Then sipped his water again.

It was so stupid.
They were grown men, for god’s sake.
Not teenagers nursing crushes behind lockers.

And yet here he was, pressing his forehead against his fridge at 11:47 P.M., trying not to analyze a five-word text about a pen.
His phone buzzed again from the coffee table.
He shuffled over, checked it.

Another text.
It was Serizawa.

[Serizawa]
Do you think people usually eat before these kinds of things? Or do they feed you? Sorry. Just thinking too much again.

Reigen stared at it.

Then replied:

[Reigen]
they probably have snacks. but if they dont, i’ll sneak in a protein bar and pretend it’s a business card

There was a pause, then Serizawa responded:

[Serizawa]
:’) Thank you. Good night.

Reigen smiled again.
It reached his eyes this time.

He set the phone down.
Didn’t reply again.
Just looked at the ceiling for a long moment.

You’ve got this, Seri, he thought, without typing it out again.

Then, finally, he turned off the light, let the quiet fill the space, and let himself sleep.

Chapter Text

It was a little overcast when they left Reigen’s apartment, sky mottled in soft greys like the inside of a seashell.
The kind of day where the weather wasn’t sure what it wanted to do: rain or stay politely moody. 

Serizawa stood by the door like he’d been frozen mid-thought, holding the strap of his bag with both hands.
His outfit was the one Mob and Teru had helped him pick.
Two button-downs, one layered casually over the other like he’d been born knowing how to dress himself this way (he hadn’t), one pair of dark slacks that Teru had absolutely insisted on, and a lightweight jacket that “added cool-points,” according to the teenager's confidently folded arms and furrowed brows in the store. 

And okay.
Okay!
Reigen noticed.

The man had said nothing at first.
Just looked at Serizawa when he stepped out into the hallway and blinked.

Then blinked again.

And finally, tilted his head with a quiet, “Huh.”
Not loud.
Not teasing.
Just… something almost thoughtful behind his eyes.

Now, as they walked together toward the train station, Serizawa was pulling lightly at his sleeves again.

“Uh… so, I think there’ll be ten people total,” Serizawa mumbled, eyes forward.
Reigen tilted his head.
“Ten? As in... ten employees?”
“Yeah.”
“At the little stationery shop?”
“Yeah.”
Reigen slowed a bit.
“Is it secretly a stationery empire?”
“I don’t think so,” Serizawa said.
“I’ve only ever seen two of them, and even then, it’s usually just one. But I overheard them talking about ‘the whole team’ coming.”
“...Maybe they’re counting the pens,” Reigen said.

Serizawa smiled a little at that, but didn’t say anything more.
Just walked beside him in that stiff, awkward way, the kind where you don’t know what to do with your hands, even if they’re already doing something.

Reigen, for his part, was blissfully unaware that Serizawa’s heart was going a mile a minute next to him.

Or maybe not unaware.
Just… deep in the warm, quiet space of denial.

He thought he was doing a good thing.
Just going to a thing, supporting his employee, making sure he didn’t melt down or run into traffic or accidentally exorcise someone who bumped into him too hard.
Normal stuff.

Totally normal.

Also– completely unrelated– Serizawa looked weirdly good in that jacket.
It framed his shoulders.
Gave him structure.
A little bit of confidence.

Reigen had looked once, then twice, then very sternly refused to look a third time, instead checking the cloudy sky like he expected answers to fall out of it.

When they got closer to the cafè, Serizawa’s steps started to slow.
A bit of sweat at his temples.
He let out a breath that sounded too loud for the street.

Reigen glanced over.

“You okay?”
“I’m… fine,” Serizawa said, in that voice people use when they’re absolutely not.
“You look like you’re walking into your own funeral.”
“There are just… a lot of people. For a part-time thing. And don't really know them. What if I say something weird?”
“Then it’ll be weird. And they’ll live,” Reigen said.
“Anyway, you’ve got me.”

Serizawa looked at him.
Which made Reigen pause.
There was something in the way Serizawa looked at him now.
Something uncertain, hopeful, but also… tender.

It unsettled him in a way he wasn’t used to being unsettled.

“Right,” Serizawa said after a second, managing a small smile.
“Right. You’re here.”
“Damn right I am,” Reigen replied, confidently folding his arms and immediately forgetting what to do with them, then unfolding them again.
“And if anyone tries to haze you or whatever, I’ll start a very calm and professional riot.”

Serizawa laughed, nervous, but real.
His shoulders dropped half an inch.

The building came into view.
The lights inside were warm, soft yellow.
There were already a few people visible through the windows: someone in an apron, a guy carrying a tray of drinks, and a short woman stacking small books and journals on a little shelf.
All of them looked… ordinary.
Comfortable.
Like this wasn’t terrifying at all.

Serizawa made a noise.
Not a word– just a soft ghhrmph that conveyed the full breadth of his horror.

Reigen leaned in a little.
“You sure you wanna do this?”

Serizawa didn’t answer immediately.
He stood there, staring at the door.
Specifically, at his reflection in the window– the new outfit, the hair he’d brushed four times, the man-shaped panic trapped behind his own eyes.

Then he nodded.
“Yeah. I want to try this too.”
Reigen grinned.
“Atta boy!”

They stepped up to the door.
Reigen was about to open it when Serizawa hesitated.

"...Do you think I look okay?"
Reigen blinked.
“You look good.”
Serizawa turned his head, surprised.
“Good?”
“I mean,” Reigen backpedaled a little too fast, waving vaguely.
“Yeah. Like. Sharp. You know. Like a guy who knows how to attend semi-mandatory workplace bonding events. The jacket’s a power move.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Serizawa flushed lightly, tugged on the hem of it again.
“Teru said it added ‘cool-points.’”
Reigen chuckled.
“Teru would know.”

They stood there for a moment.
Then, without quite meaning to, Reigen reached forward and opened the door.
Inside, the café had a soft, warm atmosphere that made Serizawa feel even more out of place.

Not because it was unwelcoming, but because it was too pleasant.

The lighting was low and honey-toned, casting everything in a gentle glow.
Hanging plants trailed from little wire baskets near the windows.
The scent of warm sponge cake, roasted coffee beans, and the faintest hint of lavender filled the air.

The staff were gathered at a long table near the back, chatting and laughing in easy little bursts.

Someone waved when Serizawa and Reigen entered, and another raised a hand in a polite half-greeting.
Serizawa flinched a little but didn’t move away.

Reigen leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just for him.
“You’ve got this. And if not, we’ll fake it.”

Serizawa nodded.
Stepped in completely.

Reigen followed right behind, still pretending this was normal, that this didn’t feel like something bigger than it should’ve.

Still pretending it didn’t matter that he noticed how good the jacket looked.
Or how Serizawa kept checking to see if he was still beside him.
Totally normal.
Nothing weird at all.

Reigen leaned in with a low whistle.
“Ten people, huh. Must be some heavy-duty pens.”

Serizawa gave him a look that was half a smile, half a please don’t abandon me.
Reigen gave his shoulder a brief squeeze.
“I’ll get a drink. You go mingle. I’ll be right there.”

That “right there” turned out to be the long counter beside the barista station, where Reigen promptly sat himself down and ordered something with an umbrella in it, just to be difficult.

Serizawa, meanwhile, approached the table like a man approaching an active bear den.

The woman in the cardigan from his Tuesday shifts smiled and waved him over to the empty seat between her and the tall guy who always restocked the washi tape wall.
“Serizawa-kun! You came!”
“Uh. Y-Yeah. Hi.”

He bowed.
He bowed to the table.

“Oh, wow, he really is polite,” someone said.
“Sit down, sit down!” someone else added, nudging a teacup toward him.

He sat, stiff and upright as if his chair had been replaced with a wooden post.
The conversations around him were friendly, overlapping– comments about customers, favorite snacks, the weirdest pencil cases they’d seen.
Serizawa nodded when it seemed appropriate.
Said “Mmh” when someone laughed.
Gripped his teacup too hard. 

But they didn’t seem annoyed by him.
No one acted like he didn’t belong.

In fact, someone was already asking him about his favorite pen brand.

…Why is everyone obsessed with pens these days?

“Uhm. I like the ones with soft grips?” he offered.
“You’re a grip guy?” the tall washi tape guy said, clinking his spoon against his saucer like this was a revelation.
“Grip people are so interesting.”
“I– what?”
“I mean that as a compliment,” he added quickly.

Serizawa blinked.

Across the cafè, Reigen watched all this unfold with his chin propped in one hand and a cocktail he couldn’t pronounce in the other.

He’d meant to order something classy.
Light.
Instead, he got something blue.

The kind of blue you only see in cartoon swimming pools and bad dreams.

He took a sip and grimaced.

“Sir, that one’s got a pretty high alcohol content actually,” the bartender offered helpfully.

Reigen gave him a thin-lipped, already-slightly-blushy smile.
“Yeah. Cool. Love that.”

It was high.
He already felt a little warm.
His shoulders slouched more than usual, and he might’ve been seeing the hanging plant above the bar give him a weird look.
Was he nuts?
His tolerance for alcohol is…

Still, he didn’t leave his spot.
Didn’t walk over to sit next to Serizawa, not yet. 

He told himself it was because Serizawa needed space.
Needed to get through this on his own.

He did not tell himself it was because watching him from afar was a little nice.
Or that he liked seeing Serizawa in that outfit, fitting in just enough, nervous but trying, sipping tea like it might dissolve in his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Reigen spun his straw in slow circles.
Took another dangerous sip.

This is completely normal , he told himself.
This is what friends do. Co-workers. Bosses. Mentors. That kind of thing.

Back at the table, Serizawa was starting to relax.
At least, his shoulders were no longer up near his ears.
Someone complimented his jacket.
He blinked and gave Teru full credit.
Another person said he should work more shifts.
That he had a calming energy.

He blinked again.
Calming?
Him?

When he glanced back toward the counter, he caught Reigen’s gaze, and Reigen, caught off guard mid-sip, did a startled little ghmf into the glass.

Their eyes met for a second.
Reigen, recovering far too quickly, lifted the drink and gave him a thumbs-up with his free hand like some cartoon uncle who’d just gotten pulled into a teen hangout.
Serizawa stared at him, blank-faced, and turned slowly back to the table.

“I don’t know who that guy is,” one of the part-timers said with a raised brow, “but he’s definitely vibing.”

Serizawa hesitated.

“He’s… my friend,” he said, slowly, after a second.
“And also my boss.”
“Oh, the exorcist guy?” the woman in the cardigan asked.
“He seems… interesting.”

Serizawa smiled nervously into his cup.

Across the room, Reigen had tried to go for another sip and realized his glass was empty.
He squinted at it.
Either it was leaking, or it had been smaller than he thought.
Or, well.
He was drunker than expected. 

“...I’ll get you some water,” the bartender offered, already moving with the efficiency of a man who had seen this exact type of guy a hundred times before.
“Bless you,” Reigen muttered, resting his cheek on one hand.

He looked back at the table.
Serizawa had started speaking.
Tentative, careful.
But his coworkers were nodding along.

Reigen watched the soft curve of his mouth as he talked.
The careful movement of his hands.
The way he ducked his head just a little when he got a compliment.

Then Reigen blinked.
Straightened.
And very obviously looked away.

Just tea and cake , he reminded himself.
Just being a good mentor.
Nothing else.

The bartender set the water down.
Reigen drank half in one go.

Maybe if he sobered up fast enough, he could sit down next to Serizawa without accidentally saying something too sincere.
Maybe.

Meanwhile, Serizawa let himself listen more than he talked, nodding when it felt right, sipping his tea slowly like it grounded him.
It helped that two of the colleagues seated across from him were older: a woman with soft lines at the corners of her eyes, and a man with silvered hair combed neatly back, wearing a maroon pullover.
They introduced themselves simply: Aoi and Naoki.
Husband and wife.

“We’ve been married for... mmh, sixteen years now?” Aoi said with a warm smile, looking toward Naoki for confirmation.
“Seventeen in May,” he corrected gently, touching her hand.

They were calm in the way older couples can sometimes be, like weathered stones in a stream.
Aoi told him they were longtime friends of the stationery shop’s manager, and liked helping out when the shop got too busy, mostly mornings and weekends.
“She used to run a little calligraphy school in the back,” Aoi added, stirring her tea.
“She has a soft spot for anyone who takes their time writing something by hand.”

Serizawa smiled at that, watching the way the two of them sat, close but relaxed, quiet in their affection.
He liked it.
It didn’t make him nervous the way some things did.
Maybe because they weren’t loud about it.
Maybe because it was gentle.

Behind him, soft music started to play from the cafè speakers, something instrumental and old-fashioned, maybe even on vinyl.
A slow tune, drifting lightly through the low murmur of voices.
Aoi glanced at her husband.

“Oh, I love this one,” she said, her voice almost too low for anyone but Serizawa to hear.
Naoki raised an eyebrow at her.
“Do you remember it?”
“Of course I do,” she replied, already standing.

She reached for his hand.

He followed with a soft groan like his knees weren’t quite what they used to be, and without fanfare, the two of them stepped away from the table and into the small open space near the windows, between the cafè’s big potted plant and the bookshelf stacked with coffee-themed novels.
Aoi slid one hand into her husband’s back and the other lightly onto his shoulder.
He held her like she was something known and cherished.

They began to sway.

There were no big movements, no flourishes.
Just the two of them, moving slowly in time with the music, eyes half-lidded.
The soft creak of floorboards underneath them.

Serizawa turned his head slightly to watch, lips parted in an gentle smile.

The rest of the table noticed after a few seconds, and a few people quieted down to look.
But no one made a big deal of it.
It was too soft, too nice to interrupt with commentary.

Only Reigen didn’t look.

He was at the bar still, collapsed onto the counter like someone who’d just discovered gravity personally.
One arm cradled his head, the other hung loose over his lap.
His drink was long gone.
The ice cubes were melting into a strangely-colored puddle at the bottom of the glass.

His face was turned slightly away from the group, cheek pressed against the crook of his elbow.
His eyes were open– technically– but it was the kind of open that wasn’t taking in anything.
Like staring without seeing.

The bartender passed by and gently placed another glass of water next to him.

“Mmgh,” Reigen mumbled in acknowledgment.
Then went still again.

His thoughts, if they existed at all, were the mental equivalent of a screensaver bouncing slowly in the dark.
No recognition of music, or dancing, nor Serizawa, or the way the overhead light filtered through the hanging fern above the counter and threw leaf-shadows onto the floor.

Just blank.

Serizawa, meanwhile, turned away from the couple with something complicated behind his eyes.
A kind of longing he didn’t know how to name.
Not jealousy, not quite.
Not romance either.
More like a small ache at the sight of something he wasn’t sure he could ever imagine for himself.

Someone passed him a little cookie with icing on it shaped like a cat.
He thanked them quietly and held it in his palm.

He didn’t look at Reigen yet.
Maybe because it would make him feel something.
Or because he wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t saying much.
Just smiling, nodding, occasionally mumbling something safe and soft.
The others talked easily, about work, the manager’s weird taste in music, a dog someone had seen near the train station who’d been wearing a scarf.
That kind of talk.

Serizawa wasn’t really following most of it.

His eyes finally drifted, flicking toward the front of the cafè.
Reigen was still at the bar.

He'd been there since they arrived, posted up like he belonged, like he always did, elbows on the counter, one hand lazily holding a now completely empty glass of something fizzy and mildly alcoholic.
God only knew what it was.
Reigen had grumbled something to the bartender like “give me something light, like… this one!” , and now he was flushed pink and visibly swaying where he sat.

He hadn’t looked over in a while, just slouched further down like the gravity of his own bad posture was too much.
But suddenly, like his brain flicked a switch on, Reigen lifted his head.
His eyes were glassy and a little unfocused, but he was looking toward the soft music that had started up again, now drifting lazily through the café's low hum of voices.

Near the center of the room, the older couple from Serizawa’s workplace continued slow-dancing.
Nothing flashy.
Just quietly swaying, palms pressed together, smiling with the kind of comfortable familiarity that only came after years of holding each other through everything.

Serizawa glanced that way too, only vaguely aware of them, trying to ignore how warm the inside of his jacket was getting.
It still felt so new on him.
He tugged at one sleeve discreetly.
Mob and Teru had insisted it looked great.
He wasn’t so sure.

Then:

“Yo, Seri,” a voice called out, slurred and too loud, unmistakably familiar.

Serizawa looked up.
His stomach dropped.

Reigen had turned toward him, one arm resting dramatically across the counter.
His hair was a mess, half of it flattened from resting his forehead against the wood, and he looked delightfully gone.
He grinned, lazy and pink-cheeked.

“That could be us!” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the couple dancing.

Serizawa, mid-sip of lukewarm jasmine tea, nearly choked.

The entire table paused.

Some polite chuckles.

One of the coworkers raised an eyebrow.
Another leaned slightly to whisper something behind a teacup.

Serizawa laughed it off, or, well, tried .
He smiled, waved vaguely like “hah, that’s Reigen, always joking,” and ducked his head toward his plate, ears going red.

Reigen, meanwhile, turned toward the bartender with a sudden, passionate intensity.

“I mean look at him!” he said, nodding way too enthusiastically.
“Why’s he look so damn good tonight? Huh? Seriously. That jacket? That– what are those– those slacks?”

The bartender said nothing.
Probably used to this.

Reigen put a hand to his chest as if wounded by the fashion itself.
“Who the hell let him dress like that. I should sue. Look at those rolled-up sleeves. You kidding me?”

He let out a sound like an offended scoff.
“I mean, yeah, sure, I encouraged him to go. But I didn’t know he was gonna pull up looking like– like some kinda– guy who owns his life .”
The bartender, deadpan:
“Another drink?”
Reigen leaned forward.
“You’re not listening. He’s got, like, structure . The jacket gives him structure.”
“Right.”
“He never has structure. He’s always slouching. That’s his thing . What the hell!”

Back at the table, Serizawa was shrinking so deep into his chair he might disappear.
His hands were neatly folded, and he was nodding along to something one of the coworkers was saying, but his eyes were clearly focused on a point far in the distance.
The air around him buzzed faintly with embarrassment. 

No one brought it up directly.
But a few people glanced back toward the bar.
One younger colleague leaned to another and whispered, “Are they… together? ”

The other shrugged.
“Maybe just weird?”

Serizawa pretended not to hear.
He wanted to die a little.



After a couple minutes, the air started to quiet down again.
Serizawa had just started to feel a little more relaxed, too.

His tea was almost gone.
He’d survived Reigen’s earlier outburst.
No one had pressed him with any weird questions– not directly, anyway– and now he was even laughing quietly at a joke the girl beside him had made about her cat having a superiority complex.

Then came the shuffling steps.
He didn’t notice at first.
Just a faint thud-thud-scrape behind him, like someone dragging their feet on purpose.

But then someone bumped lightly into the back of his chair.

Serizawa turned.

Reigen.

He was standing there with the unsteady determination of a man who had either decided to walk in a straight line… or forgot that he couldn’t.
One arm was braced against the nearest chair, his other hand loosely at his side.
His hair was still slightly flattened on one side from the counter.
His eyes were half-lidded, pink around the rims, and his tie had somehow come undone without him noticing.

“ Seri ,” he hummed, and blinked like he was surprised to find him still sitting there.
“There you are.”
Serizawa straightened automatically.
“...Yeah.”
Reigen leaned in a little.
“Why are you sitting so far?”

He looked at the others at the table.
“He’s always doing that,” he said, with a vague gesture.
“Sitting way on the edge like it’s assigned or something.”
“Do you… need something?” Serizawa asked, softly.

Reigen made a small sound.
Not quite a scoff, not quite a laugh.
“Nah. I just…”

He blinked again.

A few people at the table had fallen silent.

Serizawa could feel it.
That growing awareness.
The shift in air pressure when everyone was trying not to look, but very much was .

“Hey,” Reigen said again, quieter now.
“You’re not gonna leave, right?”

Serizawa frowned.
“What?”
“You’re not leaving. Like… leaving leaving. The job. Or whatever.”
Serizawa hesitated.
“I… no..! I would never do that.”
“I know, but–” Reigen leaned against the chair a little more.
He looked like he was having trouble keeping his mouth ahead of his brain.
“But you were talking about jobs. Earlier. Like, a normal job. Which is fine. That’s… you know. That’s fine. People do that…”

Serizawa didn’t say anything.

Reigen looked down.
His voice dropped, the edge of a slur tugging on the words even as he tried to focus.

“I just thought you’d… I dunno. Still stick around.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“You’ve got your routines, right? You come in, like, what? Twice a week? Mornings? I don’t… I can’t remember…”

Serizawa nodded once.
Slowly.

Reigen shrugged.
“So that’s… I don’t know. It’s good. It’s predictable.”

Something in his tone flattened there– defensive, almost.
Like he was trying to say something without the risk of making it sound too real.

“You’ve got your shelf. For your mug,” he said, eyes not quite meeting Serizawa’s.
“The thermos you keep forgetting...”
Serizawa felt something pinch a little in his chest.
“…You noticed that?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Reigen muttered.
Then, as if it were a reflex:
“Shut up.”

Serizawa hadn’t said anything.

Reigen rocked on his heels.
“And I just think you… look nice, is all. Tonight.”

His voice cracked slightly over the words, like even they surprised him coming out.

“The jacket’s dumb, though,” he added quickly, waving a hand at it.
“Too cool. You’re gonna confuse people. Can’t just show up like that.”

Serizawa was too still.
Too quiet.
His throat felt tight.

“You’re not–” Reigen tried again, then cut himself off.

The quiet between them was louder than anything else in the cafè.

Finally, Reigen looked at him.
And, more soberly than Serizawa expected, he asked,

“You’re not gonna leave me there alone… right..?”

That hit.

Even Reigen seemed to realize, too late, what he’d said.
His mouth opened again like he might backpedal, joke it off, slather over it with something ridiculous– but nothing came out.

Serizawa watched him carefully.
The fuzz in his brain, the warmth in his chest.

“I’m not planning on it,” he said gently.

Reigen nodded, eyes still unfocused.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked back toward the bar, bumping a chair on the way.

Serizawa stayed very still.

The table around him buzzed faintly again with resumed chatter, as if trying to act like nothing had happened.
But Serizawa’s fingers had curled slightly on his napkin.

Something about the way Reigen had asked– soft, raw, unguarded – lodged itself deep.

He wasn’t sure if Reigen would remember saying it later.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted him to.
But Serizawa would.
He already did.

And while he was thinking, there was a crash .

A glass tipped sharply off the edge of the counter and hit the floor in a quick, bright shatter.
Not dramatic, just enough to jolt everyone out of the haze of soft jazz and low chatter.

Heads turned.

At the long table near the bar, Reigen blinked down at the shards, brows lifting slowly like they were trying to float away from the rest of his face.
He stared at the wreckage, completely still.
Then, in perfect deadpan:

“Whoa. Glass is fragile? Since when.”

A beat of silence.
Then a handful of polite chuckles.
One of Serizawa’s coworkers actually laughed a little harder than expected, covering their mouth.
Another offered a “don’t worry about it!” as the bartender– clearly used to minor incidents– waved it off with a cloth and a resigned smile.

Reigen gave a half-hearted salute and rested his chin back in his palm, grinning just slightly at the success of his one-liner.
He looked incredibly pleased with himself, like he'd just turned a blunder into stand-up material.

Serizawa’s smile had dropped somewhere around the crash.
It hadn’t been much of a smile to begin with– just a quiet curl of contentment as he listened to his coworkers talk.
Not because he was nervous and shy though, only because he didn’t really know how to talk to them.
But now, something had shifted.
A few eyes were still on Reigen, one of the women at the table nudging Serizawa’s shoulder lightly and whispering, “He’s funny, huh?”

He nodded.
Politely.
But didn’t say anything.

Serizawa had a knack for giving people the benefit of the doubt, and even now, with the laughter at Reigen’s dumb joke still echoing faintly in his head, he didn’t rush to judge.

But something tugged at him.
Tight.

He wasn’t angry.
That wasn’t quite the right word.
Just… deflated.
And maybe, if he let himself sit with it too long, a little small .
The kind of small you felt only when someone else was big without trying.

And Reigen?
Reigen wasn’t trying.
He was just there , and somehow, everyone leaned toward him like a plant toward sunlight.
Even drunk off his ass, elbow on the counter, half-lidded eyes tracing lazy patterns in the air.
He was funny .
Effortlessly.

Serizawa was only funny when Reigen was around.

The thought popped into his head and immediately made him feel stupid for thinking it.
But it was there now, like gum stuck to a shoe– annoying and not quite easy to ignore.

He excused himself from the table quietly, muttered something about checking on his friend.
One of the younger coworkers gave him a thumbs-up like he was doing something heroic.



Outside, the air was cooler.
Not cold, just sharper than the warmth of the cafè, and laced with that early-summer-night smell.
Streetlights hummed in low amber, and the sidewalk was mostly empty– just the occasional buzz of a bike whirring past or the sound of clinking silverware from another cafè up the street.

Reigen followed him out without any protest, unsteady on his feet but cooperative, like someone who’d been scooped out of a nap and didn’t really have the energy to question it.

He leaned against the brick wall just beside the door, staring vaguely into the middle distance like he was trying to find something in the fog of his own thoughts.

Serizawa rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to even start.
His voice came out quieter than he meant it to, but sharp at the edges.

“You didn’t have to come.”

Reigen blinked slowly, turned his head toward him with that drunkenly delayed response time.
“…Huh?”

Serizawa swallowed.
“To this. I didn’t ask you to. I said I was nervous and you… you said you’d come and I didn’t stop you, but–”
“I was helping,” Reigen interrupted, eyes fluttering half-closed.
“I helped.”
“You embarrassed me.”

That got through.
Not fully, maybe, but it landed like a pebble dropped in a puddle– small splash, slow ripples.

Reigen blinked at him, slow and owlish.
“…What?”
“You embarrassed me,” Serizawa repeated, the words gaining weight now that they’d been said out loud.
“I was fine. I was talking with them. I was relaxed. And then you–”
He hesitated.
Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because it all felt petty .
“...You broke a glass and turned it into a joke and suddenly everyone was looking at you like– like you're the one who made the night fun.”
Reigen blinked again.
“…I did make it fun.”
“That’s not the point.”

Reigen furrowed his brow, the confusion starting to give way to a more familiar look: not quite anger, but that defensive edge that usually showed up when he didn’t know how to handle the direction things were going.

“I didn’t mean to steal the damn spotlight,” he said, pushing off the wall to stand a little straighter.
“I’m not trying to make everything about me.”
“But it always is about you!” Serizawa snapped, then instantly looked like he regretted it.
Not because it wasn’t true– at least a little– but because he hadn’t meant to snap.

A car passed by.
Neither of them moved.

“I just wanted one night where I didn’t feel like I was being babysat,” Serizawa continued, softer now.
“Like I wasn’t someone’s charity project.”

Reigen stared at him.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Serizawa said, exasperated, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t know if you even know, at least at this moment.”

Reigen opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.
His face did this little twitch, like he wanted to get indignant, to push back– but then… he didn’t.

Instead, he just sighed.
And for a moment, he looked a lot less drunk.

“Look, I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” he said, voice quieter.
“I didn’t think. I was just–”
He gestured vaguely to himself.
“Drunk. Tired. I didn’t want you to go alone.”

Serizawa didn’t say anything.

Reigen shifted his weight uncomfortably.
“You were nervous, right? Like– really nervous? I didn’t imagine that.”
“I was,” Serizawa admitted, hands tucked into his jacket pockets now.
“But that doesn’t mean I needed you to fix it. I don’t want to be someone you feel like you have to–”
He searched for the right word.
“ –rescue.”

That landed harder than expected.

Reigen let out a breath that felt like he’d been holding it for a while.
His expression wobbled between sheepish and just plain tired .

“…I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Sure.”

They stood there in silence for a minute or two.

Serizawa looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the way Reigen’s shirt collar was a little crooked.
At the soft slouch to his shoulders.
At the way his hands fidgeted with his sleeves, like he wasn’t sure where to keep them.

He sighed again.
“I’m not gonna leave you drunk on the street, by the way.”

Reigen snorted, dry and low.
“Was kinda wondering.”
“...I’m not that mad.”
“Good,” Reigen muttered, leaning against the wall again.
“Because if I had to try and make it home by myself right now, I’d probably end up in the river.”
“You don’t even live near the river.”
“I know,” Reigen mumbled.
“That’s what makes it impressive…”

Serizawa couldn’t help it– he huffed out a quiet, reluctant laugh.

Reigen smiled at the sound.



The cafè door swung closed behind Serizawa with a muted chime.

In fact, Serizawa stepped back inside for a moment to say his goodbyes, bowing slightly as he moved from table to table.
His voice was polite, low, but steady.
He told them Reigen wasn’t feeling well– didn’t get into details.
Just enough to keep the tone friendly and to smooth over the weird energy that had followed his exit.

Someone patted him on the back and said, “Hope he’s okay,” and Serizawa just nodded, thanked them.
He didn’t want to stay long.
He didn’t want to keep thinking about the laughter after the glass broke.
Or how people laughed because Reigen had made them laugh.
Effortless.

He stepped back out into the night, letting the cool air hit his face.
Reigen was slouched against the wall like his spine had given up halfway through a sentence, one knee bent up like he wasn’t planning on standing again anytime soon.
His tie was crooked.
His hair was even worse.
His expression, though, was as smug as ever.

“Are you falling asleep?” Serizawa asked, not looking directly at him.
“Nah,” Reigen said.
“Just reconsidering my whole life. This brick wall gets me.”

Serizawa stared at him, then extended a hand without a word.

Reigen took it, muttering, “My hero,” under his breath.

They started walking.
No words at first.
Just the sound of Reigen’s too-loud steps and Serizawa’s more cautious ones.

Then, like he’d been chewing on it and couldn’t hold it in anymore, Reigen said, “You didn’t have to drag me out, y’know. I was fine, really! We could have returned inside. I get it.”
“No. You broke a glass.”
“So what? People drop glasses. It’s a bar. They probably have a policy for that.”
“Reigen–”
“I made people laugh. What’s the big deal?”

Serizawa slowed his pace, jaw tight.
“Reigen. That’s really not the point.”
“Oh, really? Then what is the point, huh? I came, didn’t I? I showed up for you. Thought that’d count for something.”

Serizawa thought that there were usually "types" of drunk people, who usually had a personality type as soon as they had a bit of alcohol in them.
But no, Reigen was everything.
He was confused, brutally honest, couldn’t remember things, you have to repeat things again and again to him, and sometimes he’s sad, sometimes happy, sometimes… angry.

Serizawa turned to face him fully now, voice cool, controlled.
“I didn’t ask you to show up, I already told you. Let’s just go home.”
Reigen laughed, loud and sharp.
“Oh, I’m sorry, next time I’ll RSVP with a blood sample.”
“...You were drunk. You are drunk. You made it about you.”
“I was helping! ”

Serizawa stopped walking.
“...Were you?”
Reigen blinked.
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You think you help just by inserting yourself into things you don’t understand.”
His voice was calm, but steely now.
“I wasn’t panicking. I was fine. Nervous, yeah. But fine. You walked in and suddenly all anyone saw was you. And I got to be the guy who can’t handle a conversation without a babysitter.”
“Jesus, are you serious?”
“I felt like a joke , Reigen.”

Reigen threw his hands up.
“You always think that. That’s not on me!”

Serizawa flinched at that– just slightly.
But Reigen saw it.

And then his tone dropped, sarcastic and bitter.
“What, you want me to just disappear? Let you spiral and pretend you’re not gonna bolt the first time someone makes eye contact too long?”

Serizawa’s voice dropped.
Cold now.
“I’ve been working on that. You know that. I made progress. A lot.”
“Oh yeah? Didn’t look like it when you were hugging the wall.”
“That’s low.”
“You think I give a shit right now?”

They stared at each other.
Reigen breathing hard through his nose.
Serizawa completely still.

“I’m not Mob,” Serizawa said quietly, but the words landed like a slap.

Reigen’s mouth twitched.
He looked like he wanted to say something and couldn’t figure out how to start.

“You treat me like I’m him,” Serizawa continued.
“Like I’m some delicate case. Like if you don’t hover over me, I’ll break in half.”
“You’re twisting things.”
“No. I’m finally saying them.”

Reigen looked away.
“God, I didn’t sign up for a guilt trip tonight.”
“You didn’t sign up for anything,” Serizawa said, voice razor-sharp now.
“That’s the problem. You act like you’re just doing this out of kindness. Like I should be grateful you give a– give a damn.”
“I do give a damn!”
“Then say it like a person, not a martyr.”

Reigen’s hands clenched at his sides.
“I’ve been looking out for you for– what?– months, Seri. Months. Sorry if I’ve been too fucking present for your taste.”
“That’s not presence. That’s control. I don’t like that.”

Reigen went quiet.
Dead quiet.

Serizawa’s voice dropped even lower.
“You don’t know what you want. That’s fine. But don’t drag me into it and pretend like I’m safe here.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means I don’t know where I stand with you. I feel like I matter, and then I don’t. You’re warm one second, cold the next. You show up, you leave, you protect me, you belittle me. I can’t tell if I’m your friend or your project. ”

Reigen’s laugh was humorless.
“Wow. Great. Cool. Fantastic.”
“Stop mocking me.”
“I’m not mocking you , I’m mocking this– whatever this is.”
He gestured vaguely between them.
“This melodramatic therapy session on the fucking sidewalk.”
“Better than you bottling it all up until you explode at the wrong people.”
“Is that what this is?” Reigen’s eyes narrowed.
“Some intervention? You gonna diagnose me now, Dr. Serizawa?”
“I don’t need to. You’re drunk, and mean, and don’t know how to sit with your own feelings without throwing someone else under the bus.”

Reigen took a step back, breathing slightly heavily.

Serizawa stared at him, jaw tight, eyes sharp.
“You can’t keep pretending to protect people just so you don’t have to look at yourself.”

Reigen didn’t respond to that.
His eyes just got wider.

He didn’t argue.
Didn’t apologize.
He just looked tired.
Exhausted in a way that no amount of laughter could’ve covered.

And Serizawa, after a moment, took a step back too.
Subtle.
Quiet.
But enough to make it clear.

Space.
Distance.

The silence hung heavy between them.
Not that kind of peaceful quiet this time.
No.
This one was full of leftover anger and words that hadn’t figured out how to be said yet.

Reigen ran a hand through his hair, the motion jerky, irritated.
His voice finally broke the silence– hoarse, lower now.
“You think I didn’t screw things up with Mob too?”

Serizawa didn’t answer at first.
He just kept his eyes on Reigen.
Watching.
Listening.
Even though he knew it was that kind of drunken chatter.

Reigen gave a short, bitter laugh.
“I made a mess of that kid’s head. Played the whole mentor thing like I was some kind of goddamn authority. I didn’t even have a plan . I was just trying to keep up. Keep him close so he wouldn’t realize how full of shit I was.”

He looked away.
The neon light from the cafè window flickered off his face in strange patterns.
“And when he did figure something out– because I’m sure that deep down he always knew– he left. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Mob came back,” Serizawa said, quiet.
“Yeah. He came back.” Reigen’s voice cracked, just slightly.
“Not because I deserved it. Because he’s better than me.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Oh, don’t I?” Reigen barked a sharp laugh.
“Kid spends his life trying to be stable, to be kind, to not hurt anyone– and I go and teach him how to fake it . To smile through it! That shit was me , not him.”

Yes, Serizawa was now sure that he was just saying things.
Because he knew that what he was saying was almost not true at all.
Reigen basically only helped Shigeo.
He was just being paranoid right now.

“He forgave you.”
Reigen waved him off.
“Forgiveness doesn’t erase damage.”

Serizawa’s jaw tensed.
“So what are you saying? That you’re toxic, that we should all just run for the hills and leave you to drink yourself stupid in an alley?”
“I’m saying maybe I shouldn’t be part of people’s lives if I can’t stop breaking them!”

Reigen’s voice hit a higher pitch– frustration bleeding into something almost like panic.
“You think I don’t see it..? Every time I try to help someone, it turns into me dragging them down with me. Mob. You. Hell, even Tome looked at me like I was pathetic the last time I walked into the office and forgot it was her damn day off. Tome..! Like I even talk a lot to that kid!”

Serizawa didn’t speak.

Reigen rubbed his face hard, like he could scrub the heat out of his skin.
“I’ve been trying to do better. But it’s like every time I open my mouth, I make shit worse. For everyone.”
“You still care about Mob,” Serizawa said, evenly.
“More than anyone else I’ve seen you care about.”
Reigen laughed again, but it was a hollow sound.
“Yeah. So much I nearly crushed him under the weight of it.”
“He looks up to you.”
“He used to.”
“He still does. But you’re so convinced you’re poison, you won’t even look him in the eye anymore.”

That hit.
Square in the gut.

Reigen opened his mouth to argue– stopped.
His eyes dropped to the ground.

“I know what that guilt feels like,” Serizawa said, softer now.
“I lived in it for years. Still do, sometimes.”

Reigen looked at him again, tired, face pale and sharp under the streetlights.
“I just didn’t want him to be like me.”
“He isn’t.”
“Yeah, but he still followed me. Still copied my stupid moves sometimes. Still made himself small to make me feel big. That wasn’t his fault.”

Serizawa looked at him for a long time, then said quietly, “You think you ruined him.”

Reigen didn’t answer.

“And now you think you’re ruining me too.”

Still no answer.

Serizawa’s voice hardened again, just slightly.
“You can’t protect people if you treat them like they’re made of glass. That’s not love. That’s fear.”

Reigen flinched.
Not dramatically.
Just a small hitch in his breath.
Like the word “love” hit some nerve he didn’t even know was exposed.

Serizawa didn’t notice.
Or maybe he did and pretended not to.
“I’m not Mob. You’re not my mentor. You don’t get to control the pace I move at.”
“You think I want to control you?”
“No. I think you’re scared of what happens if you don’t.”

Reigen finally looked at him, really looked.
“I’m scared of a lot of things.”
Serizawa nodded.
“Me too. But I still showed up tonight.”
“I showed up too,” Reigen said defensively, motioning to himself.
“Drunk and all, but I came.”
“I know. And part of me was glad. But another part… felt like I’d been shoved into a spotlight I didn’t ask for. And all of a sudden, everything I was doing felt fake.”

Reigen opened his mouth, closed it.
He looked cornered, overwhelmed.
Like someone had just dumped his own brain out in front of him and told him to clean it up without gloves.

“I want to trust you,” Serizawa said.
“But I don’t know if you trust me .”
“I do,” Reigen said quickly, too quickly.

Serizawa raised his eyebrows.
Not in a mad or rude way, just in a “I want to clarify this” way.

“Do you?”

A beat.

Then another.

Reigen stared at the pavement.
His mouth opened once, twice, like he was going to say something meaningful, then backed out of it last second.
“I don’t know,” he muttered.
“Fuck. I don’t know anything right now.”
“Yeah,” Serizawa said.
“That’s kind of a problem.”

They stood there in the alley’s dim light, the sound of laughter echoing faintly from the cafè behind them.
Reigen still swayed a little where he stood, like his body was trying to figure out if he should be defensive or collapsed.

Serizawa’s shoulders finally sank a little.
He looked tired too now, the tension wearing off and just leaving weight behind.

“You need to go home,” he said quietly.

Reigen didn’t move.

“I’ll call a taxi. Or… take you myself. Whatever.”

Still, Reigen didn’t speak.

And Serizawa, after a moment, took one slow step back.

Space again.

But this time, it wasn’t angry.

Just necessary.

The cab hummed along the road, engine low and steady, streetlights blinking rhythmically through the windows.
Reigen sat beside him: slouched, arms crossed, head lolling slightly to one side as the alcohol pulled him into silence, or maybe sleep.
Hard to tell.

Serizawa sat stiffly.
Not touching him.
Not looking at him too directly.
Hands in his lap, fingers tangled together in a tight knot.

The fight was over.
Or at least on pause.
But the words were still vibrating somewhere behind his ribs.

His head was full.
Uncomfortably so.

He glanced sideways.

Reigen looked soft in the dim glow of the cab, his mouth slack and jaw loose, but not relaxed.
It was the exhaustion kind of softness.
The kind that only shows up when a person stops holding themselves together for just long enough to breathe.

Serizawa’s chest ached a little.

He turned to the window instead.

What am I even doing?

He’d asked himself that question before.
In different cities, under different skies.
During Claw.
After Claw.
During those long months when he'd barely stepped outside his own apartment.
But this time it felt heavier– more complicated.
Not just about him , now.

He exhaled, tried to slow the rush of thought.

He wasn’t just Reigen’s assistant.
He knew that.
Right?

Then again, sometimes it felt like that’s all he was.

The guy who organized papers.
Picked up the phones.
Swept up after clients who left with salt in their hair and questions still clinging to their shoulders.

An employee.

A helper.

A– what was it Reigen said that one time in front of that group of journalists?
"My trusted Deputy Director."

Serizawa winced.

Was that what this was?
Why did Reigen care so much?
Why he hovered, meddled, got weirdly protective about things that didn’t need protecting?

Because he was a loyal employee?

That didn’t explain the other things.

The little glances that lingered just too long.
The concern in his voice that never quite sounded like it was meant for just a coworker.

The goddamn kiss on the cheek.

Serizawa felt his face warm even now, remembering it.

What the hell was that?

A joke?
A slip-up?
Just another one of Reigen’s weird, showboating, performative antics?

Or– God, what if it wasn’t ?

He hadn’t asked.
He’d just stood there like a fool, blinking at him.
Mouth open.
Brain static.

Why hadn’t he brought it up?

He shifted in his seat, glanced again.
Reigen hadn’t moved.
His mouth was twitching slightly, like he was dreaming something uncomfortable.

Yeah.
Now definitely wasn’t the time to ask.

Still, his chest felt tight with the weight of not knowing.

He breathed out slowly, grounding himself.

He had changed.
He had .
That wasn’t just wishful thinking.

After Claw fell, he didn’t disappear again.
He didn’t go back into hiding.
He found work.
Found people.
Found Reigen.

He joined the agency, started night classes– timid at first, but then surprisingly steady.
He even invited people to study with him sometimes.
People who smiled back.
Who wanted him around.

That still felt strange, sometimes.
But nice.
Normal .

He’d started showing up for things.
Little things. Parties, hangouts, late-night ramen with classmates.
He knew how to hold a conversation now, even if he still tripped over his words sometimes.

He’d stopped saying “sorry” before every single sentence.

He even taught a mini-lecture for Tome– used his powers in front of people, explained psychic phenomena with diagrams he’d stayed up all night drawing.
He invited her to the office.
He asked her to join them.

She respected him.
Looked up to him, even.

Sho too.
That kid was a little hurricane, but he always made time to talk with Serizawa whenever they ran into each other.
Always had a joke.
A sarcastic comment.
Like he saw him as an equal, not a washed-up ex-Claw executive.

Reigen’s birthday party– Serizawa had invited him to that.
Remembered thinking, Reigen might actually be happy to see him.
And he had been.
Or at least, he looked like it.

That whole day, Reigen had hovered around him like he wasn’t quite sure how to stand still.
Like he was glad Serizawa was there but didn’t know how to say it.

It meant something.
…Didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

Serizawa leaned his head lightly against the window.

The glass was cold.

Reigen helped me grow.

That part was undeniable.
Maybe the most important part of it all.

He didn’t just give him a job.
He gave him space to figure himself out.
Gave him encouragement when he needed it, and sometimes even when he didn’t want it.

He listened– sort of.
Reigen-style.
Lots of interruptions, lots of digressions.
But he’d listen.
And when Serizawa doubted himself, Reigen pushed him back toward the world.

He got better because of him.

But now…

Now he wasn’t sure if Reigen still saw that version of him.
Or if he still saw the same fragile guy he met all those months ago– the one who flinched at loud noises and apologized for existing.

He’s not that man anymore.

He had to believe that.

Even if Reigen didn’t act like he noticed.

Even if sometimes Reigen said things that made him feel small again.

Maybe that’s what tonight had been about.
Maybe that was the thing under all the yelling and defensiveness and confusion.

Serizawa didn’t want to be protected.
Not like that.
He didn’t want Reigen to talk over him, or deflect his feelings with sarcasm, or treat him like a glass doll.

He wanted to be seen.

Like all the other kids were.
Like Mob was.

He turned his head slightly to look at Reigen again.
His coat was half-slipped off one shoulder now, and he snored lightly through his nose.
The corners of his mouth tugged down in his sleep, like he was still frowning somewhere in his dreams.

Maybe Reigen was scared.

Maybe he didn’t know what to do with people who didn’t need saving anymore.

And maybe Serizawa needed to finally say something about it.

Even if it was awkward.
Even if it was weird.

Even if he had to bring up that stupid kiss.

He straightened slightly in his seat once again.

Tomorrow.
Or the next day.
When Reigen sobered up.
When they weren’t both tangled up in arguments and guilt and unsaid things.

They needed to talk.

Really talk.

Because Serizawa was tired of being confused.

And tired of pretending that nothing mattered– when clearly, it did.



The cab rolled along in low silence, just the muffled hum of the city outside and the occasional blinker tick echoing in the stillness of the vehicle.
Serizawa sat with his shoulder half-pressed to the door, eyes on the blurred streetlights as they passed, warm orange glow casting long shadows on Reigen’s slack face beside him.

Reigen had slumped into the seat like a sack of wet laundry.
Still half-curled, snoring faintly.
His tie was crooked, his collar unbuttoned, hair all over the place– really, he looked ridiculous.
Stupidly, achingly human.

Serizawa sighed through his nose.
He’d been doing that a lot tonight.
Long, controlled exhales like he was trying to deflate whatever was going on inside of him.

The thoughts were too much.

His own spirals about whether he mattered, whether Reigen saw him as anything more than a walking clipboard with powers.
That weird cheek kiss.
The arguments.
Mob.
The fact that Reigen could be so sharp and clever and infuriating, and then just… this .

The cab was just turning into a quieter street, the kind that wound past old apartment buildings and flickering lamplights, when Reigen stirred.

“Mmmnnnh,” Reigen mumbled, half sitting up and blinking blearily at the window.
“We’re here...”
Serizawa frowned.
“Ah- no, we’re not-”
“We’re here , come on,” Reigen said, a little more urgently this time, grabbing at the door handle.
“You coming up or what?”
“…We’re still five minutes from your place.”
“Nope. Nope. That’s the sign. I know that sign.”
He jabbed his finger toward a neon-lit dry cleaner’s they had definitely not passed before.
“That’s Mr. Kohama’s place. I always see that when I come home. 'S like my landmark.”
“That’s… not Mr. Kohama’s,” Serizawa said gently, a small little smile on his face, glancing toward the driver with a sheepish look.

The cabbie just gave them a look in the mirror like, Not my circus, not my drunk clowns.

Reigen huffed and started actually opening the door .
Serizawa lurched forward to stop him.
“Wait, Reigen..!–”
“I said, come on. I’m not– I’m not doing the lonely stairwell thing tonight. You’re coming up. You promised .”
“I never– what? I never promised anything.”
“You did,” Reigen said stubbornly, grabbing Serizawa’s sleeve like a child yanking someone toward a toy store.
“You promised, like… a minute ago. C’mon. You gotta come with. I can’t do keys right now. Too complicated. My hands’re all… fuzzy.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Your face is drunk.”

Serizawa blinked at him.

Reigen pointed vaguely at the door.
“That’s not what I meant. But I mean it . You gotta come with me. I’m not… I’m not gonna be able to sleep if you leave.”

His voice cracked a little at the end of that sentence.
Barely.
Like he’d tried to say it lighter than it came out.
Serizawa paused, looking at him.
The flushed face, the out-of-focus eyes, the forced grin pulling too wide at the corners.

“…You’ll be fine,” Serizawa said, quieter now, voice dipping into uncertain territory.
“I won’t be fine,” Reigen insisted, louder.
“If you leave me I’m gonna get locked out and then I’m gonna sleep on the stairs and probably get robbed by some damn middle schooler with an attitude .”

Serizawa pinched the bridge of his nose.
“We are not at your place.”
“That hasn’t stopped me before,” Reigen mumbled, slumping a little.
The cabbie cleared his throat.
“You guys want me to pull over or..?”
“No,” Serizawa said quickly, and reached over to drag Reigen back into the seat fully, pushing him.
“Sorry. We’re good. We’re good.”

Reigen made an offended noise.
“Tch. You never let me have my moments.”

Serizawa leaned his elbow against the window, palm over his mouth, trying not to laugh.

It came out anyway– this choked, barely-there snort.
He didn’t even mean to.
But something about Reigen, swaying in his seat like a pouty plant, arms crossed now like he’d been wronged , was just… so stupid.

“You’re the worst drunk,” Serizawa said, eyes closing as he let the laughter out.
“And you’re mean ,” Reigen fired back, slurring through the words.
“I’m trying to be a good host . I’m trying to say, ‘Hey, I value your presence in my fuckin’ home’ and you’re like, ‘Nooo Reigen, I don’t wanna be cherished–’”
“ Cherished ?!”
“You’re breaking my heart , Seri.”
“Oh my god.”
“I gave you a cheek kiss and everything. What more do you want from me?”
“Please stop talking.”

Reigen leaned dramatically against Serizawa’s side and mumbled, “You smell like competence and self-doubt.”

Serizawa sat there, frozen, as Reigen’s head bumped against his shoulder and just stayed there .
The cab trundled on.

He exhaled.
Another long, slow breath.
And then, very softly, he murmured:
“…Don’t fall asleep yet. We really are almost home this time.”

He didn’t push him off.
He was stiff, sure, sitting straight-backed and uncertain, but he let Reigen stay there.
He just… didn’t know what to do with this.
Or himself.
Or his thoughts, which were bouncing all over the place like marbles dumped onto a tile floor.

He was about to say something– maybe about finally being near the apartment, maybe just a vague "Hey, you okay?"– when Reigen mumbled:

“Mob would've come with me too.”

Serizawa blinked.
“What?”
“Shigeo,” Reigen said again, slower this time.
“He always came with me. Even when I said stupid shit. Even when I didn't deserve it.”

The words weren’t sharp.
They weren’t even sad.
They just… were .
Loose thoughts, too sloshed to stay inside.
Dripping out between his teeth like spilled wine.

Serizawa stared forward, lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re not supposed to say that to someone else, you know.”
“I’m not saying it to you. I’m just… thinking out loud.”
“You’re leaning on my shoulder.”
“Then I’m thinking out loud on you,” Reigen mumbled, and didn’t move.

Serizawa didn’t answer.

Reigen snorted softly, like he thought of something funny but couldn’t be bothered to actually laugh.
“I used to think I was good at that. Talking. Knowing what to say. Making people feel better.”
“You are,” Serizawa said, maybe too quickly.
Maybe too automatically.

Reigen shifted, not in a “sitting up” way, but in a “getting heavier against Serizawa” way, like the words made him sink further into whatever space he was curling up in.

“Mob figured me out,” he muttered.
“Even when he was small. He knew . Knew when I was full of shit. Knew when I needed someone to… look at me like I wasn’t.”

Serizawa looked down, slowly.
He could see Reigen’s lashes, low against his cheeks, his frown soft and barely there.
Something tight twisted in his stomach.
He really didn't know how to reply.
He just repeated the things he said earlier.

“You still talk to him,” Serizawa said.
“Yeah.”
“And he still respects you. A lot.”

Reigen didn’t say anything for a while.

Then, after a pause:

“…I screwed him up a little.”

Serizawa turned fully now, brow furrowing.
“Don't say that.”
“I was supposed to teach him to be normal,” Reigen continued, laughing without smiling.
“Teach him to… be okay. But I just turned him into someone who… waits for someone to tell him what to do. Like I did. That was me. My fault.”
“You helped him,” Serizawa said.
His voice was sharper than he meant it to be.
“You gave him a place to be. You gave him you .”
“I gave him my nonsense . All the stupid little rules and fake cases and how to talk and how to hide how you’re feeling. You know who else I did that with?” Reigen poked at Serizawa’s chest with one clumsy finger.
“ You .”

Serizawa’s mouth opened.
No words came out.

“I see it,” Reigen went on, voice thickening.
“You don't do the same things now. You looked around before you talked, you triple-checked before you said anything, you laughed like you were not sure you were allowed to. Sometimes you still do though.”

Serizawa pulled his shoulder away slightly.
Just a fraction.
Reigen noticed.

“But I wanted to– I wanted to help,” Reigen said, tone shifting, softer again.
“I thought I was helping.”
“You did help.”

Reigen’s hand dropped into his lap.
He was staring at nothing now.
“Did I? Or did I just make you… better at hiding again?”

The silence that followed was heavier than the cab.

Serizawa looked down at his lap.
He could feel the beginnings of that old buzz in his chest– anxiety maybe, or anger, or just that dull ache of not knowing what to feel.
It hadn’t hit him like this in a while.
Not for months.

But he didn’t want to talk about hiding.
Not when he’d done so much not to.

“Reigen,” he said, voice steady, “you were there for both of us when we didn’t have anyone. Maybe you didn’t say everything perfectly, but it’s not your job to fix every part of us. Mob’s fine. He’s more than fine. You didn’t mess him up.”

Reigen didn’t respond.
He just rubbed his face with his hand, slow and tired.
Then he whispered:

“…He outgrew me. Just like you’re going to.”

Serizawa’s head turned, fast.
“What?”
“You will,” Reigen said, with a breathy little laugh.
“You’re already doing it. You're out there, making friends, giving lectures, fixing people up– you don’t need me anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re gonna realize you don’t.”

Serizawa sat back in his seat.
Hard.
“I never said I wanted to leave.”
“You don’t have to,” Reigen said, eyes closed now.
“That’s the thing. It always just… happens. Mob moved on. You will, too. And then I’ll be the dumbass in an empty office with too many business cards.”

Serizawa stared at him.
Jaw clenched.
Something flickered in his chest.
Old guilt, new frustration, and something rawer under that, something that didn’t quite have a name.

“You think so little of yourself, it’s actually insulting.”

Reigen’s eyes opened just slightly, unfocused and slow.

Serizawa kept going, voice quiet but sharp.
“I’ve stayed. I’m still here. After everything. I– God, I argue with you, which I never do with anyone. You think I’d waste time fighting with someone I didn’t care about?”

Reigen didn’t answer.

The cab pulled onto Reigen’s street.
The driver glanced back.

“Almost there.”
“Yeah,” Serizawa said under his breath.
“Almost.”

He didn’t know if he meant the ride or the conversation .

Maybe both.

Or… not.

Because, when the cab slowed to a stop in front of Reigen’s apartment complex, tires whispering over the road, the driver shifted in his seat, he said:
“That’ll be–”
Then he stopped.
“...Wait a sec.”
The man squinted at the rearview mirror, eyes flicking between the two men in the back.

Reigen blinked blearily up.
“Huh?”
“You’re that guy,” the driver said, grinning wide.
“The exorcist guy, yeah? From the TV thing a couple years back. What was it– something-something Spirits ?”

Serizawa froze.
Slowly turned his head.

Reigen, slouched deep into the seat like a human puddle, perked up immediately.
“Hah? Ohhh… yeah! That’s me. The one and only Arataka Reigen. Spirits and Such Consulting Office. At your service, buddy.”

He held out his hand like he was about to shake the guy’s from the back seat.

The driver laughed.
“Man, I knew it. My cousin used to send me those clips, the ones with you at that strange show? That was hilarious. You ever do real exorcisms or is it all just showbiz?”
“Oh, I do everything ,” Reigen said, trying to sit up straight and almost tipping over instead.
“Curses, hauntings, spiritual counseling, corporate energy cleansing, post-breakup purifications–”
“He’s done for the night,” Serizawa cut in, voice tight.

He reached into his coat, pulled out his wallet, and handed the driver the fare in neatly counted bills.
“Sorry about him. Long night.”
“Sure, sure. But hey, respect. That guy’s a legend .”
The driver gave a small salute as he hit the receipt button.
“You his assistant?”

Serizawa paused.

Then, quietly:
“…Something like that.”
He took the receipt, nodded a stiff thank you, and started nudging Reigen toward the door.
“Come on.”
“But I wasn’t done,” Reigen mumbled, half-laughing as he leaned heavily on Serizawa.
“You’re never done when the public wants more.”
“The public wants you out of their car,” Serizawa muttered through gritted teeth, wrestling the cab door open and trying not to drop Reigen flat on the sidewalk.

Reigen’s legs tangled under him like cooked noodles as he got out, and Serizawa had to grab him under the arms and lift .
Not entirely dignified.
Definitely not easy.
He could hear the cab driver still chuckling as he pulled away, tires crunching softly on the asphalt.

Once they were out and the door shut behind them, Serizawa exhaled hard and just stared at Reigen.
“Seriously?”

Reigen, half-draped against him and squinting up at his building like it was Mount Everest, just grinned.
“Still got it, huh?”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m iconic.”
“You’re wasted .”
“Eh, just spiritually liberated.”

Serizawa resisted the very strong urge to drop him right there.
“We’re going upstairs.”
“Romantic.”
“Not even close.”

He half-dragged, half-walked Reigen to the entrance, and started up the stairs.
Reigen was muttering things now– none of them coherent, but they had the tone of being important.

“Mob woulda laughed at that cab guy… kid’s got a good sense of humor, y’know… used to laugh at my jokes anyway…”
Serizawa huffed.
“Maybe because you were slightly more functional back then.”

Reigen gave him a look.
“You saying I’m not functional now?”
“I’m saying you just tried to autograph the cab seat with a ketchup packet you randomly found under your own seat.”
“…Artistic vision.”

Serizawa rolled his eyes so hard they almost got stuck.
They reached the landing, and Reigen swayed against the railing.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay up here?” Serizawa asked, scanning him carefully now that they were out of public view.
“You’re not gonna trip over your own feet and crack your head open or something?”

Reigen was quiet for a second.
Then he looked at Serizawa and smiled, tired and soft.

“…You’re always worried about me, huh?”

Serizawa stared.
“Of course I am.”

Reigen’s expression shifted for a moment, unreadable in the half-lit hallway.
“That’s dangerous, y’know.”
“What?”
“Caring too much. It catches up with you. Makes you do dumb things.”

Serizawa’s heart thudded against his ribs.
“Well,” he said carefully, “you taught me that sometimes dumb things are the right ones.”

Reigen laughed, short and low.
“Did I? Hah. Must’ve been one of my rare genius moments.”
“You’re full of those,” Serizawa muttered, and opened the door.

Reigen stumbled inside.

The light clicked on.
The familiar cluttered mess of Reigen’s apartment came into view: old magazines, a few files, a wilting plant Serizawa had watered once out of pity.
The tie Mob gave him still hung near the coat rack.

Reigen stood there in the entrance like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“…Hey, Seri?”

Serizawa looked at him, cautious.

Reigen didn’t meet his eyes.
Just stared at his own shoes.

“Thanks. For accompanying me.”

Serizawa, heart caught somewhere in his throat, just nodded.

He didn’t say anything.
He wasn’t ready to.

He toed off his shoes without thinking, already too used to being here.
He helped Reigen plopping onto the couch like his body gave out on him.
He sank into the cushions and sighed, eyes half-lidded.
Then, giving up, he started to sleep.

Meanwhile, Serizawa started to organize mails, wipe up spilled instant ramen broth, and dig out socks from between couch cushions.
It was… just familiar.



After several minutes, Reigen woke up again.

“God, my head’s spinning,” he muttered.
He still didn't open his eyes.

Serizawa hovered a few feet away.
“Do you need water? Something to eat?”
Reigen waved a hand lazily.
“Nah, just let me die dramatically for a minute.”

Silence fell again.

Serizawa looked around.
Everything was normal.
So why did it feel like the air had changed?

He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them.
"So. That cab ride was… something."
Reigen let out a small huff.
“What, you don’t like being recognized with a celebrity?”
“You’re not a celebrity.”
“Rude.”
“…Do you always pretend like it doesn’t matter? People recognizing you? Talking about what happened that time?”

Reigen cracked an eye open.
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know,” Serizawa said.
“Maybe it should.”

Reigen sat up, hair a mess, shirt slightly wrinkled.
“And maybe it’s easier if I just laugh it off. Would you prefer it if I sat in the cab crying about my life choices?”
“No,” Serizawa said.
“But I’d prefer if you didn’t act like everything’s a joke when it clearly isn’t .”

Reigen blinked.

There it was.
The edge again.

Serizawa stepped forward, fists loose at his sides.
“You pretend you don’t care when people say things about you. You pretend like being that guy from the internet clips doesn’t bother you. But it does. You pretend Mob’s fine, like he didn’t… like you didn’t–”
“Don’t,” Reigen said sharply, sitting forward.

Serizawa’s jaw clenched.

Reigen stood slowly, unsteady, and faced him.
“Mob is a kid. You’re not. I treated him like an adult when he wasn’t one. I– I learned from that. So excuse me for not wanting to make the same mistake again.”
Serizawa looked down.
“So I’m a mistake now?”
“No– fuck. That’s not what I meant.”
Reigen rubbed a hand down his face.
“You’re twisting my words.”
“I’m trying to understand them,” Serizawa said, voice strained.
“But they never make sense. One day I’m just your friend, the next I’m your Deputy Director. Then you kiss my cheek and act like nothing happened. You pull me close, then push me back, over and over again. And I keep letting you.”

The room was quiet.

Reigen was breathing a little heavier.
There was still a drunk haze in his eyes– not like before, sure– yet even that wasn’t enough to dull the emotion creeping into them.

Serizawa continued, softer now:
“You said I’m not a kid. I know I’m not. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. And yeah, you helped with that. But… have you even noticed ?”

Reigen swallowed, eyes flicking away.

“I go to school now,” Serizawa said.
“I made friends. I invited people to the office. I taught Tome how to use her powers. I helped Sho find another place to stay if he feels sad. I speak up more. I don’t hide in closets anymore. I… I’m trying. But all you see is someone you need to protect. Like I can’t handle anything unless you’re holding my hand.”

Reigen looked like he’d been slapped.
“That’s not...”
“Isn’t it?”

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable or thoughtful.
It was shaky , like a floorboard about to crack under pressure.

Finally, Reigen muttered, “You don’t get it.”
“Then help me get it ,” Serizawa snapped.
“You owe me that much.”
“I’m scared, alright?!”

Reigen’s voice rose suddenly, then dropped like a stone.

He stared at Serizawa, eyes wide.

Serizawa blinked.
“…Scared?”

Reigen let out a bitter laugh.
“Yeah. Scared. Of screwing things up again. Of being too much. Of dragging you down with me.”
Serizawa took a half step closer, quiet but firm.
“You’re not dragging me. I chose to be here.”

Reigen rubbed at his temples, suddenly looking tired once again.
“Yeah, well… maybe I didn’t believe that. Maybe I thought if I gave you just enough, you’d stick around.”
“…I’m not Mob,” Serizawa said gently.

Reigen looked up.

“And I’m not going to leave,” Serizawa added.
“Not unless you make me.”

Reigen looked like he wanted to say something, but the words caught.
His shoulders sagged.

Serizawa didn’t move any closer.
Just stood there, letting the silence settle again.
This time it was softer.
Fragile, but not angry.

Reigen finally muttered, “I kissed your cheek because I didn’t know how else to say ‘thank you.’”
“...’Thank you’? Why would you thank me? You were the one to help me .”
“I don’t know..! …It was dumb. I’m dumb.”
“It wasn’t dumb,” Serizawa said.
“It was just… confusing.”

Reigen nodded slowly, lips pressing into a thin line.
“Yeah. I’m good at that.”
Serizawa sighed, then dropped onto the arm of the couch.
“You really are.”

The silence held for another beat, and Serizawa, staring at a framed photo on the shelf– Reigen and Mob, blurry and sun-drenched– finally said, without turning his head:
“Seriously… why would you do that?”

Reigen blinked.
Oh man.
He’s serious about this.

Serizawa looked at him now, steady, quiet.
“It wasn’t you that had to thank me.”

Reigen’s mouth opened, then closed again.
His expression twisted, like he bit into something sour.

“...It was just–” he started, voice rough.
“I don’t know. Heat of the moment. We were talking, and you were saying all those things about how far you’ve come, and… I don’t know, I felt… proud of you, I guess.”
Serizawa tilted his head slightly.
“Proud enough to kiss me.”
Reigen huffed.
“Okay, well, now you’re making it weird.”
“ You made it weird,” Serizawa said, with just the tiniest edge of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Reigen stared at him, frustrated, mouth working like he wanted to say something meaningful but only half-formed sarcasm kept surfacing.

“It’s not like I planned it,” Reigen muttered.
“It just… happened.”
“But it still meant something,” Serizawa said, softer now.
“Didn’t it?”
Reigen looked away.
“I don’t know what the hell anything means lately.”

Serizawa’s voice didn’t raise, but it got firmer.
“You kissed me like it was supposed to mean something. Like it already did .”
Reigen dragged a hand through his hair.
“I’m not good at this shit, alright? I don’t do feelings. I barely understand my own most of the time. And when I do try to say anything real, it comes out all wrong, or not at all.”

Serizawa said nothing.

“And yeah, maybe it wasn’t about thanking you,” Reigen said, slumped now, elbows on knees.
“Maybe it was just– just some stupid impulse. Or maybe I thought if I did something real , maybe I could avoid saying something that actually mattered. Because words screw things up. I screw things up.”
“You didn’t screw it up,” Serizawa said.

Reigen looked at him again, searching.

Serizawa added, voice low, “You’re allowed to feel things. Even if you don’t understand them.”
Reigen gave a half-smile.
“And you’re my therapist now, huh?”
Serizawa shrugged.
“I’m your Deputy Director. Comes with the territory.”

That got a real laugh out of Reigen.
Just a small one, but it broke the tension a little.

But Serizawa wasn’t done.
“You helped me,” he said.
“You didn’t have to. You took a chance on me when no one else would. You gave me a second chance, a job, then a whole new life.”

Reigen started to protest, but Serizawa held up a hand.

“I know, I know. You’re gonna say I did all the work now. That you’re just some con man who happened to be there.”
His voice softened.
“But I needed someone to be there.”

Reigen swallowed hard.

“And now I’m here,” Serizawa said.
“I’m trying to figure out what that means.”

Reigen looked at him for a long moment.

“…I don’t know how to do this,” he said eventually.
Serizawa nodded.
“Me neither.”

They sat there.

Two emotionally constipated men in a too-small apartment, both pretending like nothing mattered when everything did.

Reigen scratched the back of his neck.
“You ever think about Mob? Like, really think about him?”
“Do you like to bring up Mob in a lot of conversations, mh?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory.
Delicate and calm, with a small smile.

Then he added:
“All the time,” Serizawa said.
“I care about him.”

Reigen nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I– same. I think about the stuff I did wrong. The way I pushed him. Wanted him to be better, to be proud, but didn’t stop to think about what he wanted.”
Serizawa looked down.
“You think you’re doing that again?”

Reigen didn’t answer right away.
When he finally did, it was a whisper.

“I don’t know how to care about someone without trying to fix them.”

Serizawa looked at him, something pained behind his eyes.
“Maybe you don’t need to fix anyone. Maybe you just need to let them stay.”
Reigen exhaled, slow and shaky.
“You’re not gonna leave?”
Serizawa’s answer was immediate, steady:
“No.”

No confessions, no declarations.
Just a space between them that didn’t feel quite as sharp anymore.
Still confusing, still delicate.
But a little warmer.

A little more honest.

The next morning, a Monday, Serizawa stood in the small kitchen, hair damp from the shower, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he carefully poured water into the machine like it was a delicate ritual.
He moved slowly, gently, like noise might break something in the air.
Or maybe someone.

Behind him, Reigen stirred from the couch with a sound that could best be described as pained.

“Ugh… God. My head.”

Serizawa didn’t look back.
“Coffee’s almost done.”
“Bless you. You’re a saint. An angel. An ethereal being of light.”

Serizawa turned just enough to raise an eyebrow over his shoulder.

Reigen blinked at him from under the blanket he’d half-dragged over himself in the night.
“What?”
“You’re dramatic when you’re hungover.”
“I’m dramatic always ,” Reigen said, slowly sitting up and immediately regretting it.
“Holy shit . Why does it feel like someone squeezed my brain out like a wet rag?”
“You had, like, six shots of some strange drink,” Serizawa replied, turning back to the coffee.
“And one whiskey.”

Reigen winced.
“Okay. That was a choice.”
“You insisted on saying goodbye to everyone. Twice.”
“…That sounds like me.”
“You also tried to sing karaoke as soon as we entered the cab.”
Reigen groaned.
“No. No, no. Don’t tell me which song.”
“I won’t,” Serizawa said.

A beat.

“...But it was the Evangelion opening.”
“Jesus Christ. ”

Reigen buried his face in his hands.

The coffee beeped.

Serizawa poured a mug and walked it over, setting it gently on the table in front of him.

Reigen peeked through his fingers.
“You’re being awfully kind for someone I may have publicly embarrassed.”
Serizawa shrugged.
“I’m not mad anymore. I’m used to it.”
“Ouch.”

Serizawa sat on the edge of the armchair, holding his own mug between his palms.
“You gonna be okay today?”

Reigen sipped the coffee, made a face like it hurt him– it probably did– then nodded.
“I mean, not okay okay, but alive. Which is more than I deserve.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I just said I'm always dramatic.”

They both went quiet again, sipping.
The morning light came through the curtains all soft and yellow, making the dust hang in the air like little galaxies.
It was peaceful.