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He’d ended up as part of the Spirits and Such group. He wasn’t officially working there like MobHe’d ended up as part of the Spirits and Such group. He wasn’t officially working there like Mob had or how Tome had started, but the office was a nice place to hang out with friendly faces who understood him. Even when Mob got busy and didn’t come around, Reigen and Serizawa were willing to treat him to ramen occasionally.
And he’d been invited over to their flats, too. Reigen apparently had a similar collection of beloved low-quality movies, and he was better than Teru wished to admit about reading the boy’s dread at going back to an empty apartment.
It’s so frustrating, the urge he has to tell people they are saying his name wrong. That’s not exactly true, but it feels right. There was just something in the way they said it (a patronizing tone?) that felt off, too feminine. They didn’t even have to say anything else, just a squint at his long hair and slacks and the delicate purse of their lips as the syllables slipped through. Usually, it was shopkeeps and teachers he didn’t know well in the halls. His time at Spirits and Such didn’t involve customer interactions. As such, he didn’t know how to react when one pinched the badge on his shirt and read his chosen name out, staring down at him like he was two feet tall.
The badge was from a volunteer event he and Mob had gone to; he’d forgotten to take it off. It had been a little community cleanup, but the people involved thought it would be more fun if they managed professional badges and stickers- they’d made Teru smile, if nothing else.
Reigen Arataka wouldn’t let that be. Lies flowing from him like a waterfall, he turned to the customer with a gentle smile on only the lower half of his face, asking if they had reason to take fault with his son’s name.
“Are you sure that thing is a boy?” their face pulled into a trapezoidal sneer, visible for the room to see.
“You are going to leave my establishment and never return. Under no circumstances will I allow comments and behavior like yours.” There was some plea about ‘customers coming first’ that Teru’s ears couldn’t digest, then Reigen nodded at Serizawa to escort them out the door.
Reigen’s hand was warm against his forehead as he lifted Teru’s bangs to see the crushed boy beneath. His lip was wobbling.
“Reigen Teruki.” He was still adjusting to the new name, so it took a moment to settle in his brain that his teacher was talking to him. With a hand hooked on his elbow, he half-raised his hand, nodding when the teacher acknowledged him.
Back then, moments away from tears, Reigen didn’t have more words for him. Instead, his vision was invaded by a pink tie as he was pressed into the longest embrace he’d had since the day his parents had left. They had been too soft not to hurt him too, and in parting, they’d held each other for hours. Reigen wasn’t leaving, though. He was too new to care about the danger of Teru’s life; he was too stupid to back away when people challenged a kid he’d only begun to know.
A month later, Reigen insisted he come over after the work day, wringing his hands. The request itself was familiar; having the same taste in movies meant they’d spent a lot of time laughing on Reigen’s ratty couch. But Reigen Arataka never looked nervous, even when he was petrified.
And like that, they were family. Not just the metaphorical kind, but legally, too. Teru’s brain froze until three in the morning. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but he’d exploded with the news and couldn’t collect all of his brain again. Reigen Teruki suited him better than anything else.