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Although Kageyama Shigeo is one of the most powerful espers in the world, nearly destroyed Spice City before reuniting his fractured personality, and at sixteen, has come out of his shell and is soon due to apply for college, Reigen still sees him as a kid.
A kid he no longer employs, yet whose every sporting event he goes to see, usually with Serizawa in tow.
“There he is!” Serizawa is practically vibrating next to Reigen where they’re sitting on the Salt High School bleachers, his eyebrows raised as he stares intently at the high school track that loops around in a wide arc. Mob isn’t the best runner, but he’s definitely improved.
And really, all things considered, he was a better runner than Reigen as a scrawny fourteen-year-old, much less now. It’s not like Reigen can judge.
Nonetheless, Mob’s star quality is his determination; not physical prowess. Besides, if Reigen hears right, his little brother is clocking record times these days, good enough to go to nationals.
Reigen squints at the field, too, glancing over the gaggle of nearly identical high school boys; he finally spots Mob chugging a bottle of water, hair plastered to his forehead.
“There he is,” Reigen says, pointing as he shades his eyes. “He looks… sweaty.”
It’s unseasonably warm in Spice City for Salt High School’s spring track meet, and Reigen can see Mob’s hair sticking to his face. He still has the bowl cut, but he’s grown into it; it’s uncanny how these kids are starting to look like actual adults.
In fact, a client asked Tome out on a date just the other day. A client way too old for her—according to Reigen.
Who gave these kids permission to grow up? Reigen certainly didn’t.
“So, what does he need to do to win?” Serizawa asks, glancing over curiously. He smiles sheepishly with a shrug. “I had that tutoring session last night so I didn’t have time to look at the rules of track meets.”
Reigen can’t help the way he smiles back; its so comfortable, it’s almost disconcerting.
“I don’t think he wins. It’s a team thing,” Reigen hazards, clearing his throat and straightening his tie. “I think, whoever gets the most points triumphs. Which means physical prowess is key!” He nods firmly, even though he has absolutely no idea how track and field competitions work, if there is actually a winner, or how points are tallied.
“Okay, Arataka,” Serizawa deadpans, turning his attention back to the field with a skeptical expression.
But it’s the way he reaches out and taps Reigen’s shoulder that takes the sting out of it—makes it a playful jibe instead of mockery—like they know each other well enough to joke about Reigen’s lame attempts at proclaiming expertise he doesn’t have.
And the truth is, they do.
Reigen nudges back on principle. “Hey, Katsuya.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter who wins anyway.” Reigen clucks his tongue reproachfully. “It’s all about sportsmanship.”
Serizawa laughs quietly. It’s a sound that’s contained in his throat—a private sound that Reigen, in his more indulgent moments, would like to think is reserved for him alone.
“Now that’s true,” Serizawa agrees.
“Winners or losers, we all know what really matters is spirit,” Reigen starts his speech, if only to amuse Serizawa since the sun is getting a little intense and he’s starting to sweat himself, and even though Serizawa has completely removed his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his shirt, Reigen feels like keeping his own suit on. “It’s like the classics say—”
“They’re lining up!” Serizawa exclaims, interrupting Reigen’s overture. He pats Reigen’s upper arm wildly, as if he hasn’t taken enough note of this fact, and Reigen just gives up and squints into the distance again.
There’s a tense silence as the high school boys track team take their positions. The crowd shuffles nervously, Serizawa inhales and holds his breath; and then, there’s a shot, and they’re off.
The crowd explodes into cheers and encouraging shouts, and Reigen is startled as he hears Serizawa’s voice carry through the crowd as he stands up to applaud, “Go, Shigeo! You can do it!”
Reigen claps, too, looking up to meet Serizawa’s eyes uncertainly; but when Serizawa enthusiastically smiles down at him, he simply smiles back encouragingly.
But once Mob starts to fall behind everyone else, save two other runners—an improvement, in Reigen’s opinion—Serizawa is seated and looks like death warmed over.
“He’s going to be so disappointed,” he says as everyone finally reaches their goals, and the next runners line up.
Reigen snorts a little, tapping Serizawa’s shoulder playfully. “But at least he didn’t pass out this time.” He shrugs. “He tried his best, and he did pretty well.”
He looks out onto the field again, searching for where the runners are exiting so they can meet Mob, until he realizes he didn’t get the playful tap back that he’s expecting.
“Is that what you think of people that can’t keep up?”
The words are sudden and shockingly chilly on such a warm day, and Reigen jerks his head around to look at Serizawa.
“What?” he asks in surprise. He knows he missed something; he knows it’s big, too.
And then it clicks.
“No,” he says quietly, turning bodily to face Serizawa, “I just meant…” Reigen sighs, shaking his head. “A few years ago, he passed out in the middle of a marathon. But he tried his best, and that’s what mattered.” Reigen cocks his head at Serizawa who looks a bit dejected and frowns. “That’s all I meant. I should have explained better.”
“I’m sorry,” Serizawa replies, forcing a smile and a shrug, trying to make light of it.
“Katsuya,” Reigen murmurs, reaching out to rest his hand on Serizawa’s shoulder, “you’ve helped him so much, running with him every weekend.” He snorts. “I didn’t last long when he was training for the Body Improvement Club in middle school.”
That earns a genuinely amused expression; it’s easy to forget that Serizawa still has his moments of bad memories and associations. He’s resilient that way, more optimistic than just about anyone Reigen knows, save Mob; and they’re eerily similar at times, despite the difference in age.
“Hey,” he adds, squeezing Serizawa’s shoulder, “I have some really terrible stories about how inept I was at sports in high school. You can laugh at me over dinner tonight, okay?”
Serizawa opens his mouth to say something, but then Reigen finishes up his little speech with an unexpected conclusion.
He smiles, leans forward, and then casually brushes his lips over Serizawa’s, quick and soft.
When he pulls away, horror growing exponentially as he realizes what he just did, he finds Serizawa’s eyes are wide and dark, mouth hanging open, and he’s completely frozen in place.
Suddenly, the sun is too hot and bright, sweat drips down the back of Reigen’s neck, the noise of the crowd fades away, his tie is too tight, and he feels like he’s suffocating.
He realizes: he just kissed Serizawa. He liked it, craved it, and now wants more.
Serizawa—the one person his own age who’s stuck around, the one human friendship he’s tried so carefully not to fuck up, the one companion who knows his worst qualities and still puts up with him.
“Um,” Serizawa grunts, and the hot, hellish world lurches back into motion all too quickly.
It’s so fast and so sudden, Reigen feels like he’s going to be sick, until he hears a familiar voice.
“Shishou! Serizawa!” Mob’s voice is as placid as ever, but he’s smiling a little as he looks back and forth between them, having jogged up the bleachers. “You came!”
Reigen clears his throat, jumping up to stand and grin, running a hand through his hair and nodding. “Of course!” He doesn’t look over as he hears the slow creak of the bleachers as Serizawa stands, too.
“You ran really fast,” Serizawa says, his voice so earnest, Reigen feels affection well in him; but then he shoves it away, ashamed of the emotion now. He’s revealed his hand—a hand he’s known about for a while, but never planned to own up to—and now he’s ruined one of the best things in his life with a single stupid, unplanned action.
“Not fast enough,” Mob replies glumly, but then he looks up at both of them. “Maybe next time.”
“You did great!” Reigen exclaims. “Compared to last time? You completed the entire course!”
Mob assesses for a moment with that trademark long stare, until shrugging. “This is high school, shishou. It’s like starting at the beginning.”
“I know,” Reigen offers, “I was terrible at sports, too.”
“I’m not terrible at sports.”
Reigen clears his throat. “No, you’re not. Of course not!” The truth is, he’s really not; he’s not good at sports, but he’s also not as hopeless as Reigen was at his age.
There’s a short silence, until finally, Reigen reaches out to ruffle Mob’s hair affectionately. “Come by the office more often, huh? Tome says she misses alien hunters her own age. She calls me an old man.”
Mob’s mouth curls into a slight smile; but it’s a different expression than before. It’s whole, like he really means it.
“Want to go for ramen?” Reigen offers, immediately basking in comfortable familiarity since he could use a little normalcy right now. “For old times’ sake?”
“Oh,” Mob starts, looking regretful as he glances to the side, “I would, but Ritsu and my parents are here, and…”
Reigen holds up his hands, laughing hollowly. He hates the way his voice sounds. “Of course! Some other time.”
There’s a short silence as Mob tilts his head, and then to Reigen’s surprise, looks over at Serizawa. Reigen can’t bear to look in that direction, given that he just made a total fool of himself with the only other person who knows him well, but he doesn’t question it. They’ve always understood each other better.
“I’ll stop by next week.” Mob’s statement is firm and resolute; and Reigen believes it. “Thanks for coming.”
And then, he’s gone, just like that.
“Arataka…” Serizawa’s voice is strangely soft, and Reigen turns away, laughing as he reaches for a cigarette. It’s a banner day for fucking things up.
“You’ve probably got somewhere to be, too,” he says with a little shrug, turning away. “It’s okay. I’ll get takeout.”
He’s not expecting to be grabbed by the shoulder and turned around, for Serizawa to lean down the small distance between them and kiss him.
He kisses back, not minding whether anyone is around or not, relaxing against Serizawa without even thinking about it.
A hand slides up into his hair, stroking through the strands no doubt lank from sweat (very sexy), but then holds onto him loosely.
“You kissed me.” The statement is blunt, and he can tell Serizawa is pushing himself to breach this conversation. “Did you really want to?”
“Yeah.” The word is whispered, almost pitifully quiet, and Reigen turns his head to the side slightly to rest it on Serizawa’s shoulder.
“Do you want to go for ramen still?”
“Yeah.” Reigen closes his eyes.
“There’s a price.”
“What?”
“I get to hear about how terrible you are at running.”
Reigen lets out a choked laugh, and he finally relaxes.
And then, he’s being kissed again, Serizawa’s lips warm and confident as they move against his mouth, and Reigen kisses back without reservation.
“Um,” he says quietly as they part, unable to meet Serizawa’s eyes, “really, though, if you have something to do…”
“I want to go with you for ramen,” Serizawa replies, but his voice is gentle. Somehow, it reminds Reigen of the way he spoke to Serizawa early on, when he’d had a bad day—maybe it rained and he didn’t like umbrellas, or he was late because the train was too crowded, or he was too nervous to answer the phone the first few times it rang.
It’s that same tone—that voice reserved for when someone is scared or upset. Only now, it’s for Reigen.
Before he can ponder it more, though, there are two strong hands cupping his face. “This has been a really nice day, Arataka, even though it’s too hot outside.”
His chin is nudged, and Reigen allows their eyes to meet.
But when he sees Serizawa’s expression—familiar, warm, honest—he relaxes.
“Yeah,” he agrees, reaching out to touch Serizawa’s shoulder and letting his hand rest there, “better than most.”
Serizawa smiles a little, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and replies quietly, “Let’s go get some ramen.”