Chapter Text
Being replaced and overlooked was such a common occurrence in his life that Reigen never gave a second thought about it. Better for them, better for him not to invest too much in it. But one thing he did notice was this — ever since Teru started making more than a guest appearance in Mob’s life, Mob started making only guest appearances at Reigen’s office.
It seemed that Mob only ever came around twice a week now. It only took him five weeks and one incident where he thought he was talking to Mob, but realized that it was just the blurry silhouette of his dying ficus backlit against the window.
As his employer, Reigen was miffed. As his ahem, guardian, he was happy for him. Besides, he didn’t have to pay him if he didn’t turn up for work, so this was a win-win.
Reigen had failed seven college entrance exams, but he was no fool. When you’re a wanted man in 30 of 47 prefectures in the country for petty theft and fraud (equally petty and stupid), you couldn’t afford to be a fool - not when it came to other people’s business.
Teru was the sun— radiant, bright, and utterly transparent in affection, from the way he carried himself around Mob, down the way his voice lost its shattered edges when speaking to him, and only him.
Mob was the moon— scores more understated, a little enigmatic, but all the same, reflecting the very affection Teru bestowed him without knowing it. Yes, reflecting, not just absorbing. Reigen could see it as clear as day.
One day, Teru dropped by Spirits and Such to pick Mob up for dinner, and Reigen was surprised by the tenderness on Mob’s face. It was the same tenderness on his mother’s face when she draped a blanket over his sleeping father, who had pulled another all-nighter marking college papers. The kind he saw on the bride and groom’s face as they recited their vows.
But Mob couldn’t see it on himself. It was a pity.
The next time Mob showed his face, Reigen squared his shoulders and plastered a stern look on his face. Sitting Mob down, he pulled out a calendar, randomly marked with red Xs for credibility, and brought up his constant absence from work. He didn’t mind, really. Between the both of them, it was just another conversation starter, a little bit of parental nagging that had no bearings.
“Mob, I know you work here part-time, but as of late, you’ve been working here part-part-time,” he tched. “It’s a good thing we have Serizawa here to fill in for you.” That was his way of saying I know there’s more to life now than exorcising spirits. Go have fun. And Mob, despite having the emotional acumen of a spinach, understood.
He turned to Serizawa, who was dusting the top shelf and rearranging the Kamen Rider action figures. “Thank you, Serizawa-san.”
On an idle Thursday night, as all Thursdays have been since the beginning of time, Reigen kicked off his oxfords, shed his grey blazer, loosened his tie, dimmed the lights and slumped into his office chair, taking a loud and obnoxious sip of his decaffeinated coffee.
The office was a second home to him, and the only difference was his attire and the lack of a shower. Many a time, he stayed back in the agency watching reruns of B-rated movies. When questioned by his mother, who had waited outside his apartment for three hours with two bento boxes of homemade chicken katsu, he reasoned that the electricity was cheaper in a corporate building.
Tonight, he had Desperate Housewives and Terrace House on the agenda. He sighed contentedly as the buffer icon gave way to the screenplay. He hadn’t bothered with earphones, since the office was empty by now.
Halfway through a rather juicy segment of a Terrace House contestant rigging things for his unfortunate housemate, he felt a breath on his neck.
“Reigen-san. What are you doing?”
Reigen jumped from his seat and screamed, sloshing lukewarm coffee all over the desk and on the floor.
“Serizawa! You gave me a shock! What are you still doing here!” Reigen shook, his hand reaching out to steady the rolling mug on the table. He had forgotten all about Serizawa, for he was so quiet while cleaning that he sometimes blended in with the dull office decor.
“I was just cleaning up, Reigen-san. You hadn’t left the office, and I thought it would be rude of me to leave before you.”
He smelled of aftershave and cologne — of spearmint and cinnamon. A stark contrast to Reigen, who was always aware of the faint cigarette smell suffused in his clothes. They were both sharp scents.
“Oh for fuck’s sake! Of course you can leave before me! I’m staying back to er, do some personal research!” Reigen broke out in cold sweat. What would his employee think of him, watching a dating show in the dark of an office on a Thursday night, when all the bars were having Happy Hour promotions?
“Research?” Serizawa narrowed his eyes, squinting at the monitor. “That’s one of the hottest dating shows right now, isn’t it?”
“Oh don’t you see!” Reigen wheezed indignantly. “I’m just— I’m just doing my job as Mob’s mentor! You know, gathering all that helpful dating advice! I mean, not like I don’t have enough experience myself, but it always helps to broaden the scope!” He laughed nervously, keeping a close eye on Serizawa’s expression.
“I see,” Serizawa said, taken in. “Mob-senpai’s one of my benefactors. Why don’t you let me help you with this?”
“Oh this? This mundane job? Are you sure about that?” Reigen’s face was burning up, like he had just stepped into the hot afternoon sun. He was glad the lights were dimmed.
“Yes, of course,” Serizawa had already pulled up a chair and settled down. “I’m always glad to help in any way I can.”
Reigen couldn’t believe it. He was watching a dating show with Serizawa.
“Okay Serizawa. I’m gonna need you to start taking notes.”
It was a sickeningly hot day, where God had his magnifying glass out to fry them like ants; and if the weather was to be this unkind, some self-love was in order.
Teru was home, still sick from the rash, and Mob made a pit-stop to the bubble tea stand alone, enjoying a peaceful day with his sweet drink under the lovely shade of the trees in the park.
Or, he wished he could say that. Tome caught him at the gates, and when she noticed him counting spare change, mentally calculating if he had enough to add in both puddings and nata de coco, invited herself along.
Being a good, upstanding senior, she offered to pay for Mob and they sat in the luxurious shade, taking a quiet sip of reprieve from the sun.
Tome held up her cup, angling her phone this way and that for a good shot, even stirring so she could catch the way the pearls kicked up and the cream stretched tendrils into the nutty beige of the milk tea. Mob almost felt ashamed for simply drinking without appreciating how beautiful the drink was.
He stared at his taro milk tea with pudding; the golden custard looked like Teru’s hair and tasted like velvet felt— smooth and lightly flavoured. The taro milk tea reminded him of Teru’s uniform. He didn’t really like the taste— it wasn’t sweet enough for him— but it reminded him of Hanazawa-kun, so he smiled.
“What are you thinking about?” Tome chewed her tapioca pearls loudly, not missing the way Mob’s lips quirked into a small, secretive smile.
Mob bit his straw and thought for a bit, then decided to go for it.
“Nothing. It’s just that this reminded me of Hanazawa-kun.” He didn’t blush. He didn’t stare at his feet. From now on, no more hiding your feelings.
Tome was never one to mince her words either. “Oh, so you guys are a thing now, huh.”
A thing.
These two words exploded into images of movie dates, holding hands, stealing kisses at the amusement park, and sharing a single milkshake at the Shake Shack. And the face on the person he shared all these precious moments with was
Tsubomi.
It felt wrong. It felt all wrong. Why?
Mob sputtered. “No. We’re not a thing, Tome-san. There’s already someone I like.”
“But do you know? Do you really know?” she gestured for Mob to switch drinks.
He scratched his head. “No,” he said, only because Tome had a way of making everything seem like a conspiracy. “I don’t know.”
She gave him a meaningful look, the kind that he knew he wasn’t capable of deciphering, with how many years he spent avoiding being looked at.
“Maybe he’s the one you should confess to.”
Mob laughed a hollow laugh. “Don’t be silly, Tome-san.”
He put her words on the back burner, but they boiled and frothed over, and now, his entire mind was deluged by nothing but what she had said.
“Kageyama-kun, you really didn’t have to,” Teru beamed. Mob had dropped by with his favourite bubble tea and a new tube of aloe vera gel.
“I wanted to make it up to you. Besides, you’re sick, so I thought I should drop by, you know,” Mob smiled warmly. Teru waved him off and laughed lightly. “I’m not sick. I just got a rash. Must have brushed against some poisonous plant on my way home one day.”
Teru’s house was always cold, no matter what season it was, Mob noted. That was probably why Teru was always wearing long sleeves.
“I was just cooking lunch when you came,” Teru led him to the kitchen. The rice cooker sang, and Teru popped the lid open. The miso soup smelled heavenly. “I added a lot of clams,” Teru spoke, as if he had read Shigeo’s mind. “Wanna join me for lunch?”
Mob had already had his fill in school, but he was intrigued by Teru’s cooking.
“Yes.”
The fridge door opened itself, and a defrosted mackerel swooped out in a bowl, along with eggs and half a droopy leek. The mackerel bowl dropped itself in the sink, showering and splitting down in half, shaking like a wet dog before it lay itself on the waiting cast iron pan, where Teru sprinkled some salt on.
The rest of the ingredients got into formation, entering the sizzling pan like a ballet. First the garlic and onions Teru had already prepared dropped in, and with a loud crack, the eggs deshelled themselves, acquainting themselves with the soy sauce and pepper.
All togther, they dipped their toes into the pan, just one layer that sizzled into a golden skein, before shreds of leek fell in, and Teru rolled them up, repeating it over and over. In one smooth motion, Teru lay the egg roll onto an awaiting plate. The grill dinged, and Mob realized the mackerel was already browned and crisped.
On a normal day, Teru would have simply cooked like an ordinary person. But with Kageyama-kun watching, he could not resist showing off.
Mob had never seen cooking this way. His mother never asked him to help in the kitchen, and he’d never offered. Teru cooked like a dance, a balance of his telekinesis and his own hands creating a rhythm no one else could replicate.
Teru plated the food, Mob’s eyes following the way the rice scoops itself into the shape of a cartoon frog, the way the miso hops from the pot into the waiting bowl, and finally, the way Teru was staring at him, something like amusement in his eyes.
“A round of applause please?” Teru says, mirth on his face from the way Mob gawked.
Mob didn’t hesitate, clapping his hands stupidly, like those creepy toy monkeys with cymbals.
“I was joking, Kageyama-kun,” Teru said, smiling good-naturedly. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” Mob said, still stunned. “Yes, let’s eat.”
“I didn’t know you could cook,” Shigeo piped up, genuinely impressed.
“I couldn’t. I bought a cookbook last week. It’s just following instructions. Easy.” Teru grinned as he gave the fried rice one last stir before dispensing them onto two plates. Mob felt his face go hot. Was it the kitchen? No, all the stoves were turned off. It was just him. He has those sharp canines. I’ve never noticed them.
However delicious the food was, it couldn’t distract from how large the dining table was, clearly not meant for a 14 year old who lived alone. It had always struck Shigeo as odd, and he wasn’t sure if it was even legal.
“Also, it’s a good skill to impress dates,” Teru winked, and Mob felt a pang in his stomach. The bad kind. “Usually, I bring dates home to watch a movie or play Mariokart. I thought being able to cook would give me an edge.” It was definitely a bad pang.
What’s wrong with you? Shigeo scolded himself. I thought you said you wanted to know more about him! Why are you behaving like this?
But Mob had heard enough about Teru’s dating life. He didn’t want to picture Hanazawa-kun bringing girls home, with his hand draped over their shoulder, trading jokes and flirting obnoxiously.
He needed a change of subject.
“Hanazawa-kun?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you live alone?”
Teru pushed the fried rice around in his bowl, suddenly intent on removing the tiny little fibres from the garlic. Shigeo immediately regretted asking.
All this good food and I put my foot in my mouth instead.
“I-I’m sorry. It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”
Teru put set his chopsticks down. “It’s fine.” He smiled a smile that was too wide, a smile that didn’t reach his ears, a smile that didn’t convey the same message in his eyes.
“They both work overseas. I’m supposed to have a guardian but I told them I would be fine.”
Mob didn’t know what to say, except -
“No Kageyama-kun, stop apologising. It’s not your fault. My parents are just…” he sighed. “My parents just overestimated how independent I could be. Until last week, I could only cook instant noodles.”
Doesn’t it get lonely? Mob wanted to ask, but decided that this, too, was becoming something to painful to hear.
“I mean, I guess it gets lonely sometimes. That’s why I started becoming a serial dater,” he shrugged and forced a laugh. “But nothing can really replace familial warmth, you know. It’s no big deal. I’m used to it.”
Shigeo squeezed his hand, and he looked up, realising there were tears wobbling, teetering on his lower lashline. “Don’t say that,” Mob traced his thumb over Teru’s knuckles. “You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to be ashamed of how you feel.”
Because being with Teru made him stable. Being with Teru felt normal and organic, like an ordinary person. There were so many ways in which Hanazawa-kun had helped him take control of his overwhelming power, all of which he couldn’t find the right words for. But he knew this.
He helped him feel again.
The good, the bad. The happiness, the bashfulness, the shame, the sadness.
Teru turned his hand, palm meeting Mob’s, and laced his fingers between Shigeo’s. “Thanks, Kageyama-kun,” he carefully dabbed his eyes, afraid of spilling a single tear. “I appreciate that.”
And because the table was too wide for them, and Mob didn’t want to let go, he raised himself over to Teru’s side, and held him as he wept.