Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reigen opened his eyes.

He was greeted by a neat rectangle of sky far above him, the margin between the bordering buildings. The sky was a dusty blue, fragile clouds shifting ever so gently. A bird preened, shuffling its black wings. It was a nice sight—a pleasant surprise, considering he had been fairly sure he had died about seventeen hours ago.

Reigen watched the bird with eyes half-closed. He watched it for a long while, until it bounced into the air and vanished out of sight. He closed his eyes.

Slowly, Reigen pushed himself up. The garbage shifted around him as he moved. He felt very strange—his body wasn’t sending any signals. He couldn’t feel the chill of morning, he couldn’t feel any discomfort or aches from spending the night in a skip. He couldn’t even the blisters on his ankles that had been bothering him for weeks. He held his head in his hands and couldn’t feel his fingers.

Maybe he wasn’t dead?

The doubt wiggled through his subconscious; fuelled not by any evidence, but by the basic feeling that he very much didn’t want to be dead.

Reigen opened his eyes and grimaced. He remembered—…

Well, what he remembered could be summed up very neatly: He remembered dying.

Last night, he had been searching the garbage for an antique he had thrown away before realising how valuable it was. He had taken off his jacket and climbed into the skip, busying himself picking through black bags. At some point he had overheard voices. Two upper-classmen with shaved heads and undersized uniforms had cornered a weak-looking kid with a bowl cut and a voice too quiet to hear. Reigen had ignored them. Maybe he’d intervene if it got violent, but he wasn’t a cop. The next thing he knew, the earth was shaking like an earthquake crashing through, and he looked up to see the bowl-cut kid with shock-white eyes and a wind that whipped around him. The kid floated.

Then, the freaky kid slapped the titanium bat out of one of the thug’s hands—and it hit the skip with the force of a ten tonne truck.

And he...

Reigen ran a hand through his hair, glancing up at the slip of sky above him. He didn’t want to rule out any possibilities. He could still be alive. It could be a miracle, he thought hopefully. It was a nice thought. After all, didn’t he deserve one? His life, as of late, had been a trial. He had been fired, then his business had failed. He had lost contact with most of his old friends. He was nearly thirty and he hadn’t done much with his life—it would be cruel for it to all end now. It couldn’t have.

With that pleasant thought, he pushed himself up, and caught a glimpse of what was below him. He froze.

He stared down into identical, empty brown eyes. He couldn’t break the stare. A coldness spread through him, like he had swallowed ice. Same light, short cut hair. Same tie, same shirt, same—

Reigen regained control all at once and he reeled back, leaping out of the skip and landing unsteadily. The body’s icy white fingers peaked over the side of the metal and he slapped them back inside, leaping up to snatch the roof of the skip, bringing it swinging down. He stared at the closed lid, heart in his throat.

The skip itself was massively warped, the middle of it imploding in a swirl of twisted metal. The door didn’t fit properly any more, hanging over the mangled side. Reigen stared at it. It looked like an evil thing. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. Breathing was a good sign, wasn’t it? And he’d climbed out of the skip, not… floated through it or something.

Reigen picked up his jacket from where he’d left the night before. It had rained the night before so the jacket looked sodden, but he couldn’t feel the water. He couldn’t feel it at all, and had to do it put it on by sight alone.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and walked quickly back to his apartment. He didn’t feel his feet hit the ground. The bone-deep tiredness that had hounded him for months had vanished, his head felt clearer than it had in years.

Reigen reached his apartment and bounded up the stairs. He hadn’t locked it the previous night, since he could see it from the skip, and the door swung open. His leather shoes shone with water but he left no tracks.

Massive neural damage, Reigen’s brain supplied. He’d heard that victims often didn’t realise they were injured until they saw their own injuries. That would explain the lack of feeling, and the body in the skip was a hallucination? Or maybe this was all a death’s rattle—a sudden burst of energy before he collapsed and died for real.

Reigen wasted no time and headed straight for the bathroom.

He came to a complete halt, staring into the mirror. His reflection stared back. From the neck up, he looked passable, but below that, through the jacket… He untucked his shirt and pulled it up. Was he just injured? Could it just be survivable damage? As if moving through molasses, he picked up an old hand mirror and held it under his stomach.

Reigen’s mind stilled and he moved very slowly, drawing the mirror under the wreckage of himself. He trailed a hand through a busted torso he couldn’t feel. Ruins of flesh which didn’t bleed. Peeking slivers of ceramic-white rib cage.

The cardinal sin of a conman was to believe your own lies. It was something Reigen had kept in check all his life.

He let the mirror slip from his grasp. It felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world. He stared, unseeingly, at the violent angle of his stomach, at his own killing blow.

Reigen let the shirt fabric fall. There was something stirring in the depths of his emptiness. Something strong that pushed through the shock and burst into the forefront. He clung to it, every muscle in his body tensing, teeth gritting.

Anger.

Chapter Text

2.

Finding the bowl-cut kid was his next step.

Reigen had pulled on a hoodie over his ruined dress shirt and waited outside Salt Middle for about an hour before closing time. People didn’t pay him much attention, but he didn’t want to ponder whether that was because he didn’t look that note-worthy, or because they couldn’t see him at all.

The bell rang, shrill and muffled by distance, and half a minute later children poured out of the double doors. Reigen peered over the gates, scanning the crowd. They filtered through the gates and split down the walkway on either side, streaming into the city. Reigen noted hairstyle, mentally ticking them off a list.

After the majority of the students had disappeared, Reigen searched the stragglers. He had been sure the kid had been wearing a Salt Middle uniform. He rubbed his chin.

Then—there. The kid walked alone, big, owlish eyes peeking under the ruler-straight fringe. His back was bent, head bowed. As the kid left the gates, Reigen set off after him. The kid walked slowly, and Reigen had to walk even slower, dragging his feet. He didn’t want people to find him creepy, but nobody even glanced his way.

When they had reached a stretch of road that was mostly empty, Reigen put a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

The kid jumped.

“Hey,” Reigen said, “It’s me.”

The kid stared up at him. Eventually, the kid took a step away from him, peering up through his dark fringe, “Uh, hello.”

“Don’t you recognise me?” Reigen asked, incredulously.

The kid shook his head, “Sorry.”

Reigen straightened up, scratching his stubble. This wasn’t really turning out the way he had expected it to.

“Should I know you?” The kid asked.

Reigen screwed his eyes shut and pinched his brow. After a moment of silence, he sighed, “I was there yesterday.”

“Yesterday...” The kid repeated, and then froze as the thought struck him fully.

“Yeah, yesterday,” Reigen said, “when you brought hell on those two thugs.”

The kid seemed to shrink in on himself, “Oh.”

“Honestly, if those kids aren’t dead...” Reigen grumbled.

The kid jerked, as if he had been electrocuted, “They aren’t dead. When I woke up—they were fine. Maybe a bit hurt...”

Reigen gritted his teeth, “When you ‘woke up’? So you don’t even remember it?”

The kid stared up at him, with a wide eyed, deer-caught-in-headlights look. He gripped his bag straps with white knuckles.

Reigen took a step back, scowling. This was a lot. He breathed out a deep sigh and tried to look less threatening.

“Come on,” Reigen said, “This isn’t something we should discuss out in the open.”

*

The kid followed him back to his office. If Reigen had been in a better mood, he might have wondered if the kid’s parents had ever told him not to walk off with strangers. Reigen had already given himself permission to be creepy—he was ghost, so it was to be expected. Or a poltergeist, since he could touch things? Reigen snorted, fishing his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the office door.

The office was dusty and empty. He had worked as a private investigator for a few months, but the business had folded and he had no more clients. Reigen padded inside. The rooms looked strangely gloomy, sunlight streaming through the half open blinds to illuminate dust motes as tiny, glowing stars.

The kid was wavering at the doorway. Reigen stared back at him.

“Uh, should I take my shoes off?” The kid asked, “They’re still a little muddy from the rain...”

Reigen was struck by a powerful urge to laugh, and he cracked a dark grin, “Trust me, kid. It really doesn’t matter.”

The kid wavered for a moment more and slipped off his shoes, tucking them neatly against the wall. He followed Reigen into the small office kitchen and sat down cautiously.

“Do you want some tea or something?” Reigen asked, before being struck with a strange feeling. This was not how he was supposed to be confronting his murderer. “Actually uh… forget it I don’t think I have any.”

The kid watched him with the same intense, owlish expression.

“What is it?” Reigen asked.

“Are you an esper?” The kid asked.

Reigen frowned, “Why do you ask?”

“Well… you don’t have an aura at all,” The kid said, “Everything usually has some kind of aura. People, spirits...”

“I guess I’m kind of an esper,” Reigen said, “I can’t have my aura distracting everyone, so I keep it hidden. Otherwise it’d be like a beacon.”

The kid perked up, “How?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Reigen said and stood up. He folded his arms and padded to a specific part of the kitchen. There was a bowl of salt hidden among the empty beer cans and junk mail.

“I’m Shigeo Kagayama,” the kid prompted, “But… a lot of people call me Mob.”

“What?” Reigen blinked at him, “Oh. I’m Reigen Arataka.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the kid said.

He scowled, “Oh, I’m sure it is.”

Reigen reached behind him—but the moment he touched the salt bowl, pain sliced up his arm like he had dipped his fingers in magma. He recoiled, knocking the bowl from the counter, his whole arm throbbing. Ceramic smashed and salt burst across the floor, hitting Reigen’s legs like tiny bullets.

“Oh!” Mob startled at the noise, jumping up. He knelt by the smashed bowl and collected the pieces, scooping up the salt with his bare hands.

Reigen looked down at him, shifting away. His hand throbbed. Mob dumped the worst of the damage into the bin. Salt floated, glowing with Mob’s technicolor aura, and filtered through the lid.

“Thanks,” Reigen said at last.

“That’s okay,” Mob said.

“I was wondering if you were possessed,” Reigen admitted, “Since you don’t remember attacking those guys.”

Mob sat back down at the table, the wary look returning to his big eyes, “Am I?”

“No, you touched the salt,” Reigen frowned, “That kind of proves there’s no evil spirit. You did all the damage yourself last night.”

Mob said nothing. He glanced around the office, running a finger over the poorly varnished wood. His hand clenched and unclenched. There was an uneasy energy around him, a wideness to his eyes and a tremor in his hands. He looked wary, like a trapped animal.

“Mr Arataka…” Mob shifted in his chair, “You don’t think… I hurt anybody, right?”

For the first time, he realised just how young Mob was. He still had baby fat on his cheeks, a roundness to his chin. His big, dark eyes reflected all the light. He scratched at the table absently, unease in the air.

All the air left Reigen’s chest. His head swam. The anger drained out and he was left with a cold feeling. It felt as if he was suddenly weightless, suspended in the air with nothing to hold on to and nothing to direct himself with.

“No way,” Reigen said, summoning his best confident voice, “You only went wild for, what? Five minutes? It was hardly anything. I’m sure you didn’t hurt anybody.”

The relief in the air was palpable. Mob relaxed, scratching the back of his head, “Oh, good.”

Chapter Text

3.

The office was empty.

Reigen sat in the gloom, trying to work out what to do now. He couldn’t really think of anything that tethered him to the mortal realm any-more—should he find his old friends and talk to them? Should he be making disembodied footsteps and shaking window pains? He wasn’t angry any-more. The kid didn’t deserve haunting, but what was a ghost to do, if it didn’t have anyone to bother? Pass on?

Reigen pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted a cigarette.

He fished through the draws, found a half-empty packet of marlboros and shook one out. He had quit a few months ago—but he could hardly do much damage. He lit it and perched it between his lips.

He breathed in. Nothing happened. The smoke didn’t move, only twirling upwards in fragile streams. Reigen stared down at it. So he wasn’t really breathing, then.

Something caught his attention. He lifted his hand to the sunlight that streamed through the blinds. It pierced his hand too, an indistinct glow. Reigen lifted the flat of his hand to his eye and could see the faint shadows of the blinds through it. He was very slightly transparent.

That was another thing—he was a poltergeist, not a ghost. A strong one, too, strong enough to pass as the living. But Reigen was sure he had no psychic power—he had spent his lonely youth trying anything he could to muster up ESP.

Which meant that it wasn’t his. He stubbed out his cigarette in his stale ash tray and slumped back in his chair. He remembered how the kid changed, how his power had become crazed and erratic and his aura had spiked to the point where Reigen couldn’t just see it, but felt it as static electricity running through the air. Was it possible, then, that some of it… merged with Reigen as he died? Were they still connected somehow?

Reigen held his hand up to the sunlight, watching the glow of light through his skin despite the dimness of the day. He focussed his attention on his body. The thought had barely formed, as quick as he thought of blinking, he began to fade. He watched the light bloom through him, the unbroken beams cascading across the cupboards.

As he faded, Reigen saw holes begin to open in his arm and he stared right through them. Fear sparked in him and he forced it to reverse, the skin darkening and solidifying. In less than a second, his hand let through no light at all.

Reigen stood up.

He inspected his hand closely. If he was totally opaque now, did that mean regular people could see him? He threw on his hoodie and darted out of the door, barely remembering to lock it after himself.

*

When Reigen returned to his office, he was out of breathe and in a thunderously good mood. He had managed to talk to a cashier for a full three minutes before he had winked out of sight. It took a surprising amount of concentration to hold psychical form, but he was confident he could build up his stamina with practice.

He rounded the corner and spotted a figure on the stairs. A customer? But as he started to climb up the stairs, they turned towards him.

“Mob?” Reigen called up to him.

“Mister Reigen!” Mob said, shifting his school bag from over his shoulder. It seemed like he had been standing there for a long time. He looked cold.

“Did you leave something at my office?” Reigen asked when he reached the door. He fished around in his hoodie pocket for the keys.

“Ah, no,” Mob shifted back, awkwardly, “I… wanted to ask a favour.”

Reigen frowned down at him, unlocking the door. He pushed it open, “After you, then.”

Mob shuffled out of his shoes and padded inside.

“Do you want some tea?” Reigen crossed to his kitchen, dropping the plastic bag on the counter. He had bought some fancy brand the cashier had recommended without even looking at the name. He pulled it out and tore open the top of the box.

“Uh, sure,” Mob said, taking a seat at the table.

Reigen filled the kettle with water and set it to boil, “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, well… you’re an esper, right?” Mob said, fiddling with his hands, “And you… have a lot of experience. You must know a lot.”

Reigen shrugged, “I guess I know a thing or two.”

“Even if...” Mob said, “Even if I didn’t hurt anybody back then, I could have. I could’ve hurt someone really badly.”

“Yeah,” Reigen said, turning away to drop teabags into the cups, “I guess so.”

Mob looked up at him, “I don’t know any other espers. I wondered… could you teach me how to control my powers?”

Reigen said nothing. There was a moment of silence, before the kettle clicked and he picked it up, pouring boiling water over the teabags. He settled the kettle back onto its ring and watched the colour leech into the hot water. Steam swirled over his face but he didn’t feel it, even distantly.

“You can say no,” Mob suggested, quietly.

He could, Reigen figured. He could let Mob continue to roam the streets with no control, with no guidance. It wasn't technically his concern if the next poor guy caught in the crossfire wasn't as forgiving as he was... But did owe Mob a little. After all—if it had been a car that hit him rather than ESP, he would hardly be having conversations with cashiers any more. It wasn't like he was busy.

“I accept,” Reigen said, shooting Mob a winning smile.

“You do?” Mob brightened.

“Yes,” Reigen said, dropping the teabags into the sink and setting a steaming cup of green tea in front of Mob, “You may become my esteemed disciple. It might not be easy, it might not be fun… but we’ll master your abilities together.”

Mob nodded, eyes shining, “I’ll do my best.”

Reigen beamed down at him, and only a small part of him was convinced this was a terrible idea.

Chapter Text

4.

Reigen scratched his chin, scrolling past another dozen websites that promised to teach the public how to open their third eye, or how to achieve lucid dreaming. His head was still full of in-depth information about various crystals and spices which promised to bring out latent psychic powers and improve your placement in the universe. It was all crap. He didn’t need to eat or sleep any more, which meant he had a lot more time to do research, not that it seemed to yield any more results.

He scanned through a lengthy post written by a university student who claimed to have unlocked total ESP control, but around halfway through, Reigen saw the mention of how many hallucinogens the kid was taking, and closed the article. He glanced at the large pile of books he had collected from his apartment. There were a few he hadn’t finished, but they were tough going.

“Master,” Mob called from the other room, “Could you put some music on?”

Reigen raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Ah, it’s… a little boring,” Mob shifted so he could look through the doorway. He was sitting on a plush red cushion, a small yellow candle melting gently in the bowl in front of him.

“It’s meditation, Mob,” Reigen said, returning his attention to the screen, “It’s always boring.”

“Oh,” Mob said. He settled back on the cushion.

Reigen closed his laptop with a sigh. If he still had eyes, they would be aching. He pulled one of the books towards himself. He had read them a few years ago, when he wanted to start up his psychic business for the first time.

A benefit of Mob’s visit was that it was pretty clear Reigen’s sudden psychic developments definitely stemmed from the young esper. When Mob had visited, it had suddenly become much, much easier to stay solid. Reigen had spent a few hours building up a tolerance to staying solid by holding long conversations with startled passers-by, and it had left a strain on him, which had been wiped away by Mob’s presence.

The books turned out to be a chore to read. All of them were written very vaguely, and by authors who seemed to be only distantly familiar with actual ESP energy. He had bought them mainly to provide fodder in order to put on a show, and thus he hadn’t really tried to find reputable sources.

Flicking through a book, passing a lengthy essay on the need to develop a kind of psychic sense of smell (which the author referred to as “Clairalience”) in order to “sniff out” possession, Reigen gave up. He had always been a more practical learner anyway. He pushed the books aside and stretched.

“Hey, Mob,” Reigen called, “I’ve been thinking of taking on some more psychic jobs. Do you want to come along, as a kind of apprentice or something?”

There was no reply.

“Mob?” Reigen pushed his chair back and padded into the other room.

Mob was sitting on the meditation cushion, eyes closed and head bowed. Reigen peered at him, worried until he heard soft snores. The boy was snoozing.

Reigen huffed a laughed, picking up the candle and snuffing it out. He let the little psychic sleep.

*

“Shigeo?”

“Oh, sorry,” Mob closed his book quickly. He set it aside, glancing at the steaming pile of curry his mother put in front of him. He scooped up a spoon and started to dig in.

“What is that?” Ritsu asked, “Homework?”

“No,” Mob said, “It’s about mindfulness.”

Ritsu frowned.

“It’s like… being aware of things,” Mob explained, “And meditating a lot.”

Ritsu’s frown deepened.

Their father reached across the table, picking up the book. He peered at the blurb and read: “Mindfulness can help us enjoy life more fully and prevent us from being hung up on the small details and daily trials of modern living… Well, it looks useful. I’m glad you’re reading outside of classwork.” He passed the book back.

Mob accepted it, a small smile gracing his features.

*

Reigen was startled awake by a woman’s scream.

He hadn’t really been asleep, only zoning out, but it still took him a moment to place where he was. His office was dull and lifeless. He bounded for the door, throwing it open and stared around.

A woman stumbled across the pavement below. Her pale hand was pressed over her mouth. She looked nauseous, drained of colour and doubling over, supported by the brick wall. After a moment of stillness, she dug her phone from her purse, hands shaking.

Had she been attacked? Mugged? Reigen scanned the streets, but aside from her they were mostly empty. A kid pushed a tricycle around, tailed by a small yapping dog. It was unlikely the assaliant had escaped—the alley she’d stumbled from was a dead end. Was it something else, then? Was she having an allergy attack or had she—

Reigen stopped dead.

He saw.

In the shadows of the alley, there rested a skip, the metal mutilated and twisted like large force had struck it very hard. With the lid wide open.

Chapter Text

5.

Reigen pulled the hood up over his head, darting up the fire escape to his apartment in order to bypass the lobby. He didn’t know how fast news spread, but he didn’t want to take any chances. The rickety steel stairs shook under him. It was a bitter morning, the sky a harsh white-blue.

He padded up to his apartment door, rummaging in his pockets for the key… when he realised the door was already ajar. He frowned at it. Even though he didn’t really have to worry about personal safety any more, had he really become so careless so quickly?

The moment Reigen crossed over the doorway, he knew something was terribly wrong.

A shiver curled down his spine. It felt like someone had walked over his grave. Spooked, he padded around the apartment warily, ears pricked.

“Hello?” Reigen called out, “Anybody home?”

There was a whimper from his room. Reigen pushed the door open.

A man stood at the foot of Reigen’s bed, dressed in folds and folds of a maroon kimono, a huge, bright white rosary hanging around his neck. The man was bald, and had a weathered, old face, drawn into a look of deep contempt.

“Look, if you’re here to rob me you’ll be disappointed,” Reigen said, folding his arms, “There’s nothing here except...”

His eyes were drawn to a shrouded figure in the corner. She was even older than the man, her dark, curly hair streaked with grey. She peered up at him and with a sharp, cold feeling he recognised her. It was his landlady.

“What’re you doing here?” Reigen asked, panic twinging in him, “Am I late for rent?”

“I understand you might be confused,” The bald man said, taking a step forward, “But you need to move on.”

“I’m not confused, asshole,” Reigen snapped, rounding on him, “I’m a little annoyed that you’re—”

The bald man sprayed him with salt.

It was like being splashed with boiling oil. The pain was immediate and scouring, he reared back, knocking into dresser. Reigen pushed through the confusion and darted back, barely missing another handful.

He bounded into the hallway and fell against the door. But the handle only rattled and rattled in his grasp. Reigen threw himself against the wood, but it refused to open.

“You can’t escape,” Baldy said, following him leisurely into the hallway, “There are spirit barriers on every wall.”

The bald man lashed out, startlingly fast, and nailed Reigen’s shoulder with a spirit tag that felt like a brand. Reigen darted away, slipping past to his room. The land lady squealed and ran out, and Reigen ignored her.

Unhurried, the bald man poured a line of salt over the doorway, to trap him inside. The man pulled the rosary from around his neck and it unravelled, growing longer and longer, like an unnatural snake. In his other hand he brandished more salt.

Reigen leaped onto the cupboard to avoid another spray. He slipped on a notebook, knocking an empty box to the floor. He darted forward, scrambling for the window. It opened with a shove and he leaned over the edge and saw the pavement spinning far below him and hesitated.

Pain burst through his leg, sudden and violent, like a bear trap closing over his calf. He cried out. Reigen tried to catch the windowsill but he was dragged viciously backwards, sending books and pictures scattering. He hit the floor with a thud.

“You’re nothing,” Baldy boomed, “You’ve had your time. Let go. Move on.”

Rosary beads tightened around his leg. Reigen’s hand touched the scattered salt, and it was like touching broken glass. The bald man walked towards him. Reigen snatched at the rosary beads, trying to yank them from around his calf. They scalded his hands. He kicked out.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” The bald man said, looming over him.

Reigen grunted.

The man slapped a spirit tag onto him and Reigen’s vision went white.

*

Mob stumbled and fell. He had been running, when a lance of pain had shot through him. He felt for the place where the stitch would be coming, but it had disappeared just as soon as it had begun.

Musashi Goda jogged back towards him, “Everything alright, Kageyama?”

“Y-yeah,” Mob said, “My chest hurt for a moment.”

Goda reached down and grasped Mob’s hand, pulling him to his feet like he weighed nothing. “You need to take care of yourself,” Goda advised, “That’s why we schedule breaks into our routines. Taking yourself for granted will bite you in the bum in the end, okay?”

“R-right,” Mob said. Goda gave him a final firm pat and set off down the path. Mob kept a hand pressed into his chest. The pain had felt like… something vital to him had been viciously yanked. He shook his head and bumbled back into a jog.

*

Reigen came back to himself in the out-of-service toilets below his apartment.

That amateur psychic had forgotten to put tags on the floor and he had slipped through the gaps in the floorboards. He tried to lift himself, but his spirit disintegrated and he flopped back down. He dragged in useless breaths, gasping and gasping.

Pain swirled and spiked through his whole being. It felt like he was in the bowls of a ship at storm—or a cat in a washing machine on spin. The world pitched forward and Reigen gagged, nausea churning in his being.

He was very weak. He couldn’t see his own hands. He was barely a wisp.

Salt was embedded in his sides, burning and burning. He felt like a wounded animal, a deer with a broken leg, hunted and painfully wary. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to will himself into existence. Reigen pressed what remained of his face into the tiles.

He had been a man once. What was he now?

A painful memory. A parasite on a child’s power.

Reigen gritted his teeth, fatigue eating away at him. The tiles veered sideways like he had been thrown, and his stomach rolled. If he had been alive, he would have started calling for help. He breathed out thinly, ribs like a vice around his smouldering core.

The bald psychic boomed in his head, “You’ve had your time. Let go. Move on!”

Black encroached on his vision as he struggled. Reigen gasped. He forced himself to his elbows, crushed under the weight of his weakness.

Fuck that!

Reigen forced himself to stay awake. He found the last morsel of strength in his spirit and drew it up, dragging himself back to reality. Shaking and shuddering, he made it to his feet. Cold spread through his face and hands where the salt had struck him, worse than the numbness he was familiar with.

Nobody told him when to quit. Reigen grinned to himself. If there was one trait he was most proud of—it was the fact he was the most stubborn bastard to walk the planet.

He grunted like a wounded animal, swaying where he stood. Using the broken sink as a crutch, he shoved himself forward. He fought for every bit of strength that was granted to him, pushing the bathroom door open.

Suddenly without support, Reigen crumpled, knees hitting the floor. With an effort like raising the dead, Reigen brought himself to his feet. His hands slipped over the walls. As he left the shadow of his apartment, a weight was lifted from his chest and he could put one foot in front of the other without almost collapsing.

It felt like a hangover from hell, but he was no longer watching as he faded dizzyingly in and out of existence. He shuffled out of the building and into sunlight that streamed straight through his faded form.

Reigen’s attention was focused entirely on moving forward. It felt like learning to walk again. His feet were clumsy, his brain mushy and slow with heavy fatigue.

Gradually, like pulling teeth, Reigen regained some strength. He walked easier. He kept to the pavement despite the quiet streets. It felt like shackles were being carved away, millimetre by millimetre. The city greeted him with familiar sites, the light on brilliant green leaves, a dog bounding around excitedly, passers-by who almost walked through him.

By the time Reigen had staggered all the way to his destination, he felt a little more real. The fatigue still hung around him like a heavy shroud, his mind still a dulled blade, but he had regained an awareness of his surroundings. And besides, this was hardly the most difficult con he’d undertaken.

He padded behind a tree and breathed deeply. Summoning all the strength he had, he solidified, becoming fully opaque. He stared down at his hands, peering at them to make sure no light passed through them. Satisfied, he pulled out his wallet from his pocket and checked for his ID. Luckily, it had travelled with him well enough.

Reigen breathed in, stepping out from behind the tree and headed into the building.

Salt City Police Station was empty and cavernous this time of day, only a few officers dotted around. Nobody paid him any attention as he limped towards the desk.

“How can I help you, sir?” The pretty receptionist asked, looking up from her desk.

“Hi, my name’s Reigen Arataka,” Reigen slid her his ID, “I heard you found a body in a skip. Poor guy. But you must have identified him wrong, after all, I am, as you can see… very much alive.”

Chapter Text

6.

“Ah, Mob,” Reigen looked up when he heard the door open. His student shuffled in, setting his shoes next to the door.

Mob had a lightness about him, a spring to his step, “Good evening.”

“Yeah, good evening,” Reigen smiled, “You’re in a good mood. I have something for you.”

“Me too,” Mob dug a small book from his school bag and set it on the table.

Reigen raised an eyebrow and picked it up, “You finished it already?”

Mob beamed.

Reigen tucked the little book into his desk. He hadn’t pegged Mob for the studious type, with the amount Reigen ended up helping him with homework, so it was impressive how fast the boy was ripping through his small collection of mindfulness books.

Mob waited expectantly.

“Oh, right,” Reigen lifted a small shopping bag onto the desk, “These are for you.”

Mob picked through the bag curiously. He pulled out a shiny silver diary and a pack of cheap neon colouring pens. The pens were in a spectrum from red to blue.

“It’s a mood diary,” Reigen explained.

Mob frowned.

Reigen took the diary off him and opened to a random page. There was a square for each day of the week. He swept a hand over the small spectrum, “Which colour do you like better, blue or red?”

“Blue,” Mob said.

“Well it works like this,” Reigen picked up a bright blue pen, “On a really good day, you colour it in blue. If you feel a little down, you’d colour it bluey-purple. Then purple, then reddish-purple, and on really bad days it’s red. Does that make sense?”

Mob nodded slowly.

“You said your power’s based on emotion, right?” Reigen said, “This should stop negative emotions building up over time without you knowing about it. It’ll help you keep track of things like that.”

Mob brightened, nodding as a smile burst across his features, “Thank you.”

*

“I’m telling you, it’s proof!” Tome Kurata exclaimed, brandishing her smart phone at Mob, “Look at the photo! It should be impossible!”

“Hmm,” Mob said, peering at his diary. He wanted his mood diary to be complete, but it had already been a long while since the new year and he was struggling to remember how he had felt more than a few weeks ago.

“You didn’t even look!” Kurata huffed in exasperation, “They found a dead body which is an exact replica of someone who’s still alive! There’s no explanation except aliens.”

“Aliens?” Tenga Onigawara frowned, pulling his gym shirt over his head, “Isn’t it more likely it’s a long lost twin or something?”

“Or it could just be a coincidence,” Mameta Inukawa suggested, chewing on a cookie, “I think there’s supposed to be an average of about eight people who are your doppelgängers over the world.”

“You guys aren’t thinking hard enough,” Kurata said, “Those explanations are ridiculous.”

Onigawara’s eyes narrowed, “And why does yours make more sense? What would aliens have to do with it?”

“Obviously they made clones of normal people in order to imitate us and learn our ways,” Kurata said, setting her phone down.

“And they just… dropped the clone off somewhere by accident?” Onigawara frowned, “Foiling their whole operation?”

“Well,” Kurata drummed her fingers on the table, “I mean...”

“Isn’t it more likely this whole thing is faked?” Haruto Kijibayashi interjected, “I mean, the Salt Tribune isn’t that much of a reputable source.”

Kurata huffed melodramatically and picked her phone up again, stabbing at it.

“Kageyama, you need to get changed,” Musashi Goda said, leaning over the table.

Mob jumped, “Sorry. Um, do you know how I was feeling on the 17th?”

“Hmm,” Goda leaned back, crossing his arms, “I think you had a bad result on a class test, but I don’t think you let it get you down too much.”

Mob nodded eagerly, picking up a dark purple pen.

“Is this a mood diary?” Goda peered down at it, “That’s a good endeavour. But you know, a healthy spirit resides in a healthy body.”

“O-of course,” Mob closed the diary, slipping it back into his bag. He pulled on his gym uniform and sprinted after the body builder.

*

The sky was very dark. A kind of soft calm had fallen over Salt City like a heavy, chill blanket. Cars rumbled in the distance. Yellow street-lights glowed like gold coins at the bottom of a deep, dark well.

“What was it you wanted to show me?” Ritsu asked his brother, tucking his hands into his pockets. His breathe came as pale white ghosts over his collar.

Mob smiled, leading him into the gloomy park. The grass was black under their feet, crusted with icy dew. Cold water seeped into his shoes. As they approached the fountain, Mob felt the urge to break into a jog.

Ritsu followed him.

When they both stood at the fountain’s edge, Mob bit the inside of his cheek. His excitement was mixed with a tinge of fear—he hadn’t done anything like it for months and months. He checked and rechecked the park for other people. Eventually he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, stretching out a hand.

A glistening orb of icy water formed like a bubble at the surface of the fountain and broke free. It was shining like crystalline glass. It rose steadily until it moonlight burst through it, split through with pale white, glowing through the shifting surface.

Mob opened his eyes.

Ritsu’s mouth hung open. Mob waited for him to say something, but nothing happened. A fear wormed through Mob’s gut and he released the water, sending it splattering back into the fountain. There was a beat of silence.

Ritsu swallowed, “It’s been so long… I thought I imagined it.”

Mob stared at him, watching his brother very closely.

“It’s amazing,” Ritsu gushed, cheeks flushing pink, “It’s so crazy—I can’t believe it’s real. You’re incredible!”

Mob hugged him. Ritsu hugged back.

When they returned home, Mob darted up to his room. He pulled his diary from his school bag and fumbled through to that week’s page. He coloured that day’s square a vibrant, beautiful blue.

Chapter Text

7.

Reigen walked back to his office, mind far away with distant thoughts, when he noticed, silhouetted against the dusk sky, a figure outside his office door.

The night was gathering in orange stains across the city sky, the buildings indistinct black shapes. A bird shuffled its feathers on a windowsill. The person outside his office door was shrouded in shadows, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.

He was too far away to tell who it was. Was it a client? The working hours were posted on a very gaudy, hard-to-miss sign that hung outside the office door. Perhaps it was something desperate, then? It was far too late to call Mob out again, so it would have to wait.

Although… perhaps it was more sinister than that. Was it that bald psychic again? Could he have come back to finish the job?

Reigen paused, hidden behind the corner of the building, sneaking a glance at his visitor. The figure shifted into the light, and he saw the corner of a plain dress that came down to the person’s ankles. Probably not the psychic again, in that case.

It was a slightly overweight, middle-aged woman, with a heavy shopping back and a broad-brimmed hat that obscured her face. Orange-brown hair fell in dull sheets down her back.

Reigen stepped around the corner, taking the stairs two at a time, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

The woman spun towards her, eyes wide. She stared down at him, big brown eyes shining with un-shed tears. Her chin wobbled.

“Mo—… Himawari?” Reigen asked.

She dropped her shopping and launched herself at him. She caught him around the middle, gripping him tightly to her.

“My baby boy,” Himawari sobbed into his shirt, “I can’t believe it—it’s a damn miracle!”

Reigen remembered to wrap his arms around her. He patted her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. It had been years and years since he had seen his mother, and she seemed shorter, but he had probably just grown. A weird, almost uncomfortable feeling stirred in his chest.

“They called me up, to—to identify the body,” Himawari gasped. Her grip around her son was vice-tight.

Reigen hugged her back in earnest, “I’m sorry. I forgot you were an emergency contact.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Himawari released him, scrubbing at her face with the back of her hand, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Reigen said, the weird feeling coiling in his gut, “Do you want to come in?”

Himawari nodded, still sniffing.

Reigen unlocked his office door and flipped on the light. He had stopped going back to his apartment—he had almost got to the end of his lease anyway and he didn’t really trust the landlady any-more. Besides, he didn’t need to eat or sleep any-more, so an apartment was a little unnecessary.

“I wish I had thought to call,” Himawari said, setting the shopping bag on the table, “Would have saved me a lot of heart-ache, but I couldn’t have even guessed. The poor guy really looked like you, you know?”

“It’s hard to believe, but salt city is a crazy place,” Reigen cleared his throat, “Do you want some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” Himawari pulled out a cheesecake from her shopping bag, along with a pack of paper plates which she started to open.

Reigen shuffled through the cupboards and set down the only two mugs he had next to the kettle, dropping tea bags in them. He felt strange. The quiet had an edge to it. It felt tense, as if he expected something bad to happen. Reigen felt very aware of his mother’s presence.

“I just...” Himawari dabbed at the corner of her eyes, “I just wanted to apologise. I would hate it if I never apologised.”

“For what?” Reigen asked without looking at her.

“You know what,” Himawari said.

Reigen said nothing, filling the kettle with water and setting it on the ring.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Himawari said, “You were too young. It was just—I could never handle you. You were far too much, sometimes.”

Reigen bristled quietly.

“I shouldn’t have,” Himawari repeated, “A mother should never… abandon her child, not like that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Reigen said, voice carefully even, “Striking out on my own helped me. I’m stronger because of it.”

“You didn’t strike out on your own,” Himawari said, sharply, “I kicked you out! And I shouldn’t have—But it seemed fair at the time.”

Reigen breathed deeply, “I’m more independent now. I was ready for it.”

“You were sixteen!” Himawari said, “I shouldn’t—”

“What do you want me to say?” Reigen snapped.

Himawari fell silent.

“You want me to say that I’m still upset about it? That I’m ready to forgive you now? It was over a decade ago, Himawari. It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

The kettle clicked off. Reigen picked up the kettle and poured boiling water into the mugs. He set the kettle down and stared into the twin circles of water, watching colour stain the water as it brewed. Warm air clouded his face.

He picked out the teabags with a spoon and dropped them into the sink, bringing the mugs to the table. He set one in front of Himawari, who wrapped her hands around it.

“Thank you,” Himawari said, voice soft.

Reigen said nothing, wrapping his hands around his own mug.

“I’m sorry,” Himawari said, “I’m sorry I—Well, I’m sorry that sorry isn’t enough.”

Reigen smiled, sadly, “That’s alright.”

Himawari cracked open the cheesecake container, knife in hand. She cut two generous slices, setting them onto the paper plates and pushed one towards Reigen.

“Thank you,” Reigen said.

“It was on special offer,” Himawari said, “I had coupons saved. You know, I divorced your father.”

“You did?” Reigen asked, startled.

“Yes,” Himawari said, somewhat proudly, “He was, well… I didn’t mention it in any of the phone calls we have had because I didn’t know how to approach the topic. But that was a couple of years ago, now.”

“That must have taken a lot,” Reigen said.

“He’s not really a bad man,” Himawari said, “What was it my mother would say, ‘a good man, but a bad husband’? It was like that. I don’t blame him for my choices, but in order to make better ones we needed to be apart.”

Reigen smiled, “That’s good to hear.”

“There was a lot I couldn’t say over the telephone,” Himawari said, “I should have visited a long time ago. In a way, I’m glad this has happened—I needed a push to come and see you again. You’ve made a really good life for yourself—an entrepreneur, a thriving business… You’ve grown up really handsome, too.”

Reigen felt a rousing in his chest, a nervous, happy feeling. He couldn’t banish a small smile.

“I’ve opened a small business of my own,” Himawari said, “It’s nothing much—a bookshop that I’m running with my landlady. If you want, you could come and visit it sometime?”

“Yeah, I...” Reigen swallowed, “I would like that.”

Himawari smiled, taking a sip of her tea. She watched steam curl up in the still office air. The silence was long and companionable. She picked up a fork and cut into the cheesecake. Between bites she said, “You should try the cheesecake. It’s nice.”

“I...” Reigen stared.

It felt like he had been doused in icy water. He tensed and untensed his hand. His chest was cold. The feeling was so sudden and awful, he could hardly speak.

“I’m...” Reigen stared at the table, “I’m not hungry.”

Chapter Text

8.

“—and then Ritsu said that he didn’t remember ever… Boss, are you listening?” Mob asked, leaning over the desk.

Reigen jolted back into reality, “Sorry, Mob. It’s been a long day.”

“Are you tired?” Mob asked, setting his fork down.

“I guess, yeah.”

“You should get a minimum of seven hour’s sleep,” Mob said, picking his fork up again and cutting off a section of pale cheesecake, “It’s essential for mood control.”

Reigen nodded, attention returning to the bookshelf that sat to the left of him. Before he could think better of it, he stretched out an arm, spreading his fingers and… pulled.

A blue, thin book was yanked up from the shelf as if hooked by an invisible line. Reigen had to concentrate to control it, the power was awkward and kept slipping away from him, like trying to ice-skate for the first time. As the book came closer, it was harder to direct. He frowned deeply, twisting his wrist awkwardly to keep it coming closer. He had an urge to start pantomiming pulling a rope to keep it coming forward.

The book dropped onto the corner of the desk and immediately slipped off. He only saved it by slapping it as it fell, pinning it against the wood.

Reigen turned to Mob, “Good, right?”

Mob watched him curiously, “It would probably be easier to control if you move your arm instead of your wrist. Then you have more range of moment.”

Reigen scratched his chin, “I’ll take that under consideration. Do you have any other advice?”

“Yeah...” Mob frowned at him, “But you’ve had your powers longer than I’ve had mine.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Reigen said, “I was only granted my powers recently.”

“You weren’t born with them? I’ve never heard of gaining them after puberty…”

“No,” Reigen said, “The world is a vast and mysterious place. There’s a lot you won’t have heard of.”

That seemed to satisfy Mob and his frown eased, “Well… It’s easier to imagine yourself doing something rather than focusing on how you’re going to do something. If you want to move the book, then just imagine yourself doing it, rather than focusing on how to pick it up and how to move it, and where it’s going to land. It’s based on instinct.”

“Hmm,” Reigen said. With a flick of his wrist, the book yanked up into the air. Reigen spun it around, sending it shooting across the room.

Reigen whiled away a good hour or so tossing books around the room with gestures that were far more exaggerated than necessary. Mob finished his cheesecake and pushed the empty plate away and took out his homework.

Then, suddenly, Reigen stood up, letting the book drop back to earth.

Mob looked up, expectantly.

“I just remembered,” Reigen said, “We’ve got a client booked in half an hour.”

“I’ve never exorcised anyone before,” Mob said, hesitantly.

“It’s easy,” Reigen said, straightening his tie, “Throw some salt around and some spirit tags, then just—vamoosh.”

Mob followed him out of the door, trying not to wonder what ‘vamoosh’ entailed.

*

The haunted apartment wasn’t quite in the bad part of town, but it wasn’t exactly well-loved either. Paint peeled in long strips along the apartment complex outside, and the doors were speckled with dots of rust. Reigen rode the elevator up to the first floor. The carpets smelled of dust.

Mob followed, wide-eyed, as they walked through the hallways. The apartment was dingy and poorly lid, but relatively inoffensive. It was strangely quiet.

“Ah, you must be Reigen Arataka, the psychic?” An unwell looking man appeared in the hallway. He wore loose fitting clothing, and his hair was wispy and grey.

“Yes,” Reigen grasped his hand, “You’re Sugai?”

Sugai nodded, and lead them both to the end of the hallway, “I knew it was haunted about two months ago, so I set some uh… ‘booby traps’. I’ve had some experience with spiritual problems, so I had the apartment fitted with traps for them. I just need someone to come in and finish the job.”

“Ah, kind of takes the excitement out of the job doesn’t it, eh Mob?” Reigen glanced at Mob. Mob looked back at him blankly.

Sugai bounded ahead and opened the apartment door.

The first thing he saw was the spirit, trapped in the middle of the room in the centre of a glowing spiral of a magic circle. It was in the form of yellow smoke, solidifying enough to punch the walls of the circle, spinning around its prison agitatedly.

The apartment was dark, all kind of supernatural paraphernalia pasted against the walls and hung from chains across the ceiling. The land lord may as well have put up a neon sign. For a spirit to have been caught in any trap, they would have to have been stupid.

Reigen stepped over the threshold realising, belatedly, that he was a bit of a hypocrite. He took another step, over the ugly carpet—and it was like his foot had hit a cement wall. He stumbled back and glanced at Sugai.

“Oh, you must be pretty sensitive to have noticed it,” Sugai said, brightly, “It’s a salt line under the carpet. I didn’t want another spirit to come and break the first one out—that’s happened to me a few times.”

“Y-yes,” Reigen said, straightening up, “It’s clear to me you know a lot about the psychic trade. I would have advised you to do the same thing. Well, the spirit looks pretty weak, Mob you can take this one.”

Mob watched him, his big dark eyes seeming to score right into Reigen’s soul.

“Mob?” Reigen asked, “Are you alright?”

Mob didn’t answer, but his gaze swung elsewhere. He stretched out an arm, almost lazily, and snapped the spirit out of existence.

Reigen stared.

“Wow,” Sugai breathed, “That was impressive. Glad I’m not on the receiving end of that.”

Reigen gathered himself again, “Yes, that’s the spirits and such method. Fast and effective.”

Sugai nodded, running a hand over his head.

The door moved and Reigen realised Mob had already left. There was something tense in the air. Barely managing to remind Sugai he’d send an invoice tomorrow, Reigen bounded after his protégé. He found Mob already down a flight of stairs, and walking through the foyer.

“Mob?” Reigen asked, bounding after him.

Mob ignored him, pushing the door open and escaping into the outside world. Reigen bounded after him.

“Mob, are you alright?” Reigen asked, “Was exorcising difficult? You don’t have to if you...”

Mob turned towards him. The wind was cold and ruffled his hair. Tears swam in his eyes. “Are you...” Mob swallowed thickly.

“Am I what?” Reigen asked.

Mob gasped, pressing the back of his hand into his eye.

“Look, Mob, whatever it is, let’s just forget about it,” Reigen rested a hand on Mob’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Mob made a motion as if to punch him in the stomach and a blast of wind hit Reigen straight on. His jacket tore open.

Mob froze.

Reigen stumbled back, jacket ripped and hanging open. His wound open, under the torn shirt. The frozen blood. The twisted flesh.

Mob stared at him. His eyes were fixed on what remained of his stomach. The sharp twist of flesh, the jut of exposed bone. The killing blow.

Reigen took another step back, “Mob it’s not—I’m not… I don’t blame you.”

Mob started to shake. His shoulders shivered and he folded at the middle, bowing his head into his hands. He was starting to come apart.

Reigen looked on helplessly, “Mob, you’ve got to calm down.”

“Shut up,” Mob choked out. He was shaking violently, eyes shining brightly. Wind picked up, whipping through the empty courtyard, snatching at Mob’s hair and yanking his clothing. His neat bob was shuffling, hair raising.

Reigen felt the air tighten around him. All instincts were screaming at him to run but he managed to stay still, toes curling with effort.

Mob fell further, crouching with his head in his hands. His hair was a thick, swirling cloud now, his aura pulsating around him. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“M-mob,” Reigen yelped, “Can you hear me?!”

Mob’s aura swelled and expanded, a blinding burst of iridescence. It shot out in spikes as the boy’s shaking he straightened up. He was no longer shaking. His eyes were two white stars.

Reigen’s instincts were screaming at him, but he forced himself to step forward, “Mob, you need to listen to me! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

Mob stood as if held up by strings, feet relaxed and toes barely brushing the ground. His white eyes fixed on Reigen.

His aura exploded.

Reigen barely had time to react. He dashed to one side—but not fast enough—a white hot blast of energy crashing through his shoulder. The whole right side of his torso was obliterated.

Heart thumping, Reigen stared in horror at the hole in his body. The edges of himself were singed and smoking energy. He wouldn’t survive another blow like that.

Mob’s eyes were still fixed on him.

Reigen waved an arm, “Mob! You don’t have to do this! You don’t want to do this!”

Mob didn’t seem to register his voice. His aura span and spat, gathering like a rising tide around him. The very air seemed to pop and crackle.

Reigen avoided another loud blast, but only barely, diving to one side. Time was running out. He couldn’t dodge forever, and Mob would never run out of power. He grasped at his empty shoulder, at the gap in himself.

He gritted his teeth. He would have to do something drastic. Luckily, he didn’t have much to lose.

Mob turned his sightless eyes back on Reigen, arm still raised, fingers curled into claws. His aura flashed dizzyingly bright, a gleaming kaleidoscope of colours overlapping and falling into each other.

Reigen focused on him and—pulled!

Power flowed into Reigen. It was thick and molten hot. His arm and shoulder reformed and it felt as if he was being lifted up, buoyed by something immense.

Mob’s eyes widened and narrowed, whatever was controlling him sent an eruption of energy his way—but this time Reigen stepped into the blast. Reigen forced himself to accept it, the energy submerging him and drowning him.

Mob cut the blast short, white eyes still narrowed, but it was too late.

Reigen had his teeth sunk into the power and he wasn’t letting go. It took him a moment of fumbling, but he managed to pull the power closer to him and it flowed around him as a powerful, dense aura. The feeling was overwhelming. Reigen stumbled towards Mob, head spinning.

Mob threw up a barrier, his power blazing, but Reigen summoned the same power the barrier folded away. Mob shot a blast at him but Reigen absorbed it.

Finally, Reigen was close enough to grab Mob’s shoulders and yanked the remains of his power from him.

The full enormity of the power hit Reigen all at once. It was cripplingly heavy, like the weight of the world on his shoulder. It was electrifying and deadly frightening at the same time. It felt like his blood had been replaced with gasoline, he felt like he could run for years, he felt like he could level a city with a blink of his eye. His knees almost buckled.

Mob’s feet hit the floor suddenly and he almost fell, but Reigen managed to catch him in time. The boy was stunned, barely dried tears streaking his face. He stared up at Reigen with wide eyes.

The power was so overwhelming it was like his jaw had been wired shut. Reigen worked his muscles until he managed to prize them open.

“I’ve—got you,” Reigen managed, chest feeling like it was on fire, “You can—you can let it all out. I’ve got your power under control. You’re—not gonna hurt… anyone.”

Mob stared at him for a moment, before he stared to shake again. Reigen gathered him up, holding him tightly.

Reigen kept a tight grip on the power. It was exhausting and difficult, like trying to keep every muscle tensed, but he managed it. Mob sobbed into his cold chest. Power receded and surged, as if it was battering at his defences. It was like holding back a wild animal, scratching and scratching and scratching.

Eventually, the storm passed.

The power quietened, still heavy and overbearing, but less demanding. Reigen allowed himself to relax a little, but kept a close eye on the aura that swirled and squirmed around him.

Mob’s arms were tight around him. His crying had abated a little, his shakes had died down. Reigen slipped an arm around his middle and lifted him into his arms. The power swelled around him and Mob’s weight felt like nothing at all.

Mob tucked his head under Reigen’s chin. Reigen hummed a little.

Reigen carried him into town. Luckily it was late and the people he did see were busy with their own problems. Night was falling across the city and it came as a balm, the cool colours and chill shadows a comfort.

Mob was quiet as Reigen carried him into a small, empty milkshake bar. It had a nice, rustic feel, the wood of the tables and counter smooth but uneven. Music rattled indistinctly from the speakers. The waitress half listened as Reigen ordered two large milkshakes.

Reigen set Mob down as the waitress disappeared into the kitchen. Mob sat down at a booth by the window, expression glum.

Reigen’s jacket buttons were so torn that he immediately gave up on fixing them, instead he pulled off his tie and used it as a makeshift belt around his chest to tie the jacket shut. It was hardly a fashion statement, but it would keep the waitress from fainting when she came back with their order. He slipped into the seat opposite Mob.

Mob stared down at the table.

Reigen wanted to say something, but didn’t know if he should, or what he would even say. He ran a hand over the knots in the table, tracing the faults of the wood.

“You said...” Mob’s eyes were dark and unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheek, “You said I shouldn’t use my psychic powers against others. You said it was bad.”

Reigen said nothing. He nodded.

“Do hate me?” Mob asked quietly, voice brushing inaudible. His eyes were fixed on the table.

“No,” Reigen said, “I don’t think I ever did.”

Mob frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His eyes swam.

Reigen scratched the back of his neck, “Look: if you’d done it deliberately, that would be a different thing, but it was just an accident. If I hadn’t been in that alley, there’s a chance I would have been hit by a car on the free-way, or attacked by a dog with rabies or died in a house fire in the same evening. I was just… unlucky. Fact of life. Wrong place, wrong time.”

The poltergeist thought hard for a moment and sighed, “We all like to believe that we’ll die happy and fulfilled as an old man surrounded by loving relatives but… it’s not like that, most of the time. Everyone dies with things left unfinished. If I held that against you, I wouldn’t be any better than the spirits we psychics exorcise.”

Mob’s eyes flicked up from the table and met Reigen’s. They swam, threatening tears again.

“Your drinks,” The waitress appeared, setting down a tray with two towering vanilla milkshakes.

Reigen dug around in his jacket, retrieving a battered wallet. He extracted enough money and passed it to her, “Here, keep the change.”

The waitress beamed, tucking the money into her apron pocket and walked off.

“Here,” Reigen pushed the milkshake towards Mob, “You should drink this.”

Mob accepted the drink mutely. His eyes returned to the table and his hands shook slightly. He curled his hands around the sides of the glass.

“It’s alright, Mob,” Reigen said, gently, “I’ve already forgiven you.”

Mob shook his head, expression tightening, “You—you can’t just—...”

“Ah!” Reigen waggled a finger, “I think I just did, actually.”

Mob’s eyebrows drew together, “I don’t think I can be… forgiven.”

“That’s for me to decide,” Reigen said, “Don’t you think?”

Mob was silent for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly. He drew the milkshake closer and started to drink.

Reigen leaned back in his chair, satisfied. He turned to one side and stared out of the window. Rain had started to speckle the glass, smearing the colours of the streets. Street-lights glowed through the water.

“How did you stop me?” Mob asked.

“Hmm?” Reigen glanced back at him, “Well, we’re connected. Your power flows through the both of us. Usually you’ve got most of it, but sometimes I can pull all of it away from you. It’s like… a game of tug and war, I guess.”

Mob slurped some more milkshake. A little colour was returning to his ashen cheeks, “Can you do it at other times?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…” Mob squinted, “If I… lose control again. Can you stop me?”

“Well,” Reigen scratched the back of his neck, “Of course I can.”

Mob nodded, turning back to his milkshake. The lapse in conversation seemed a little easier. Pop music rattled through the speakers above them. The waitress returned and explained that it was closing time and poured the remainder of the milkshakes into two take away cups.

The pair of them stepped into the cold evening of the city. Cars slipped past like sleek beetles. Black water sloshed through the gutters, shining white.

“We’re not too far from your house,” Reigen said, “I’ll walk you.”

Mob raised one of the milkshake cups, offering it to him.

Reigen took it, “Thanks Mob, but I can’t—”

Mob used his free hand to grab Reigen’s hand, squeezing it tight.

Reigen was speechless for a moment, before squeezing his hand back.

The pair walked through the city night, rain peppering them with cold. Distantly, Reigen wondered if Mob’s parents were woried. It was only around nine, but it was still longer than he had thought the job was going to take. Mob didn’t have a phone, but his parents should have his number. Although his phone had been in his pants pocket and… it was definitely a little worse for wear now.

As they approached the Kageyama house, Mob stopped, glancing up at Reigen. He waited a beat, as if looking for the words to say.

“You aren’t going to disappear, are you?” Mob asked.

“Disappear?” Reigen scoffed, “When my business is finally taking off? Whatever would I do that for?”

Mob actually managed a small smile. He squeezed Reigen’s hand again before letting go, “Good. Because I’m coming in tomorrow,” Mob started to walk towards the house, “And the next day! And the day after that, and the day after that too!”

“Good!” Reigen called after him, “That’s what I expect from such a model employee.”

Mob watched him all the way up to the house, pausing on the steps to his house, “I’ll see you, then, boss.”

“Yeah, see ya, Mob,” Reigen nodded.

Mob waited a beat, before finally opening his front door and slipping inside.

Reigen watched the closed door for a moment, lulled by the stillness of the street and the steady roll of the rain. The dark was calming. He breathed deeply with non-existent lungs, pulling air and pushing it out, unused.

As he turned, he realised with a jolt that he still had Mob’s full milkshake. He debated running after Mob to return it, but on balance he wasn’t exactly in a position to be introducing himself to Mob’s family—sodden and bloody and only a tie knot away from a rather horrifying discovery. Besides, if any of them were Espers, he’d be found out immediately.

Reigen was about to toss it in the dumpster when he had an idea.

Mob’s powers were truly incredible. Maybe…

Reigen brought the milkshake to his lips. He hesitated for a moment, before tipping the cup back. Milkshake filled his mouth. It was a strange sensation—he couldn’t feel the chill or the taste, so only knew it was there by the weight of the liquid, the way it swirled around his tongue.

He swallowed.

The liquid slipped down his throat and he stopped feeling it. Reigen waited expectantly for something to happen, but nothing did.

Satisfied, Reigen brought the milkshake to his lips for another sip—when he heard a splatter of liquid. A dark patch was spreading over his jacket, milkshake dribbling onto the pavement. Reigen tossed the drink away.

“Drat,” Reigen mopped up the worst of the spill up with his jacket, “I really have the worst luck...”

Far above him, the moon peaked from behind the thick clouds, a hangnail of pure white. And the world rained on and on.

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END