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Shigeo’s specialty is seeing auras. He doesn’t know when he first discovered it. The ability to pick a stray esper out of a crowd, or see the pulsing aura of a spirit from far off, just seemed normal for him. The colors shined vibrant and lively before his eyes, on display wherever he looked. Before he began meeting other espers and speaking with them, he thought they all could do it. However, when he asks Ritsu in passing what color his aura is, Ritsu has a tough time explaining it. He doesn’t use colors like Shigeo might. He says that Shigeo’s aura feels solid, and rolls through his body like one might roll a marble in their mouth. It isn’t a thing he sees, necessarily, it’s a feeling. He says he can feel his own, and that he has felt Teruki’s too, but he has never seen them. Shigeo can feel auras too. What is meaningful is that he can see them, even when the esper isn’t using their powers. An aura is like a halo, lighting them up and pointing them out in a mob. Perhaps that is why Shigeo has never been able to see his own. He supposes Reigen would call that irony.
Auras are supposed to tell a lot about a person, just like their eyes, the way they dress, or maybe the way they hold themselves. Shigeo is terrible at reading those things and has never been a person to read a proverbial book by its cover. The aura seems to match its owner though, Shigeo can say that with some certainty at least.
Teruki is the first esper that Shigeo really gets to see in action. His aura flairs bright and blinding, voltaic and sharp. It stands out even as Teruki tries to hide it in his balled fists and striking palms. It shines, not like the sun, but like the reflection off of gold, or in the kaleidoscopic glitter with which Teruki sometimes paints his nails. He creates his own light. He highlights himself in vociferous yellows, neon blues and greens. Shigeo thinks that it compliments him. Teruki has never been one to hide himself, even when he is trying. His idea of stealth is a bright pastel pink sweater and loudly patterned sweatpants. His idea of humility is a bright blond haystack perched high on his head. Teruki wants everyone to see every part of him, disheartened or daring, haughty or humble. Shigeo admires him for it. He is jealous for the vivid, lemon-colored arrows that extend from Teruki’s raised middle fingers and point right back at himself. Shigeo wishes he could command attention like that, but he is content enough to give his own to Teruki.
Ritsu's is the second Shigeo gets the opportunity to study, and it is much more subtle. It is cool, but only on the surface. It shivers under Shigeo’s searching stare, rolls restlessly like there is something bubbling underneath the surface. It isn’t the ocean, more like a pond in the earliest months of Winter or Spring, clear blues and greens, a hint of deep purple spotted with delicate flakes of ice. It makes Shigeo nervous to tread too close for fear of cracking the delicate crystals formed in its flowing swell. When Shigeo finally gets to see it crest, surging around Ritsu’s raised hand, it is reminiscent uncomfortably of broken glass. It glitters in the light and reminds Shigeo of accidents, of stones thrown too hard and damage that can’t be undone. It prompts thoughts of cut fingers trying to pick up the pieces, failed attempts to clean up the mess. It matches Ritsu in all the ways that Shigeo wished it didn’t. The frigid colors and the flecks of frost muting them further. Ritsu always softens himself, even if he is all hard, sharp edges. He does his best to present his best self, to keep others from breaking too deep and discovering the grisly sides of himself he keeps hidden. He tries hardest to keep Shigeo from finding out and hurting. More than that, he makes himself malleable to keep Shigeo from shattering him.
Shou is a welcome contrast. He is, for lack of a better word, hot. Where Ritsu is ice, Shou is fire, but not the soft warmth of a wood stove. He is almost inorganic. His colors are too vibrant, over-saturated to the point where they bleed the color out of the world around him. He is like a caution sign, red and yellow, meant to be seen, but he doesn’t highlight himself, he makes the world around him a little darker to compensate. He is almost electric in his heat, bright and blinding. It is like the stray sparks near a plug building into an inevitable explosion. His aura is as uncontrollable, searching, reaching, licking flames, insatiable in every way. Shigeo doesn’t know Shou that well yet, but he knows well enough. Shou is white hot, like a flash. He is made of sharp smiles and sharp eyes. His aura, like his gaze, stabs without care or forgiveness, mercilessly pointing out everything he sees, highlighting every minuscule detail in stark technicolor. He doesn’t dull himself for anyone. He is unabashed in his play and in his strife. Shigeo thinks they need that kind of boldness. It is refreshing not to be feared, exhilarating to be zapped by Shou’s keen tongue.
Reigen’s aura is the only one Shigeo can’t see. Shigeo is still undecided about whether or not that is because Reigen isn’t an esper, or an impossibly powerful one. He supposes it doesn’t matter, because Shigeo doesn’t have to see Reigen’s aura to know what color it is. He can hear it in Reigen’s voice when he speaks. He feels it in the absent way Reigen pats his head, as if Shigeo is still in primary school. He sees it twirl around active fingers and gesturing hands, in the carefully careless way that Reigen holds himself. It is warm like a scarf wrapped tightly around Shigeo’s neck, a little itchy and tight around the wrists like a sweater he is forced to wear in the cold. Reigen is autumn leaves crunching underfoot, all deep reds, faded yellows, fiery oranges and rich browns spotting the forest floor like a patchy carpet. He is the biting nip of cold at the tips of ears and noses, reminding the unwary that he is just a step behind winter. He can be sharp, snapping like dry wood or a brisk breeze. Despite that, something about his color is cradling and relaxing, a slow winding down, coaxing the world into a sleep that will spark new beginnings. He is warmth in colors, but reminds one of the necessity of harshness. Shigeo makes this judgement on his own, in the fumbling way that Reigen nurtures him. He isn’t a mother and it shows in his stutters and his missteps. Sometimes he is a little too harsh, sometimes he isn’t harsh enough, and sometimes he is too indifferent. He is adaptable and unpredictable, changing like the colors of the leaves as they fall from trees. Maybe that is why Shigeo can never quite get a read on his colors. He endures, though, in every way that matters, through everything that Shigeo throws at him, permanent like the sturdy trunk of a dormant tree. Shigeo can brace himself against it, take refuge under sturdy branches and sturdier words, and still be reminded that the leaves will come and go, and that people can change.