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Chapter Text

And the thrush perched like a flag in unknown soil

Atop the tortoise’s steady shell.

“Do you dream of the sky?” Sang the thrush

“It must seem so far away from your home

Of rock and mud and dust.

Do you envy me, those who greet the clouds like family?”

The tortoise —

“ Shit .” A hiss drew from Serizawa’s teeth as he hastily tried to right the water cup he’d knocked over with his elbow. He tried to snatch his paper off the table and set it on the floor, quickly blotting the water with his sleeve before it could spread to the still-wet ink drying on the page, but he was too late. His sleeve was stained black with ink, and the letters he’d written smeared and smudged until they were no longer legible. Serizawa sighed, letting his head tilt back and his eyes slide closed as he mourned the loss of a half-hour’s work. “You stupid, clumsy man,” he whispered under his breath.

Cleaning up was a resigned affair, with Serizawa’s throat tight and shoulders drooped. But it was quick, and Serizawa would be ready to start again after a break. Rising to his feet, he added wood to the smouldering hearth next to his desk, hovering his cold hands by the growing flame. Beyond the walls of his home it was almost the middle of winter, and the thick blankets Serizawa wrapped around himself were still not enough to fully keep the chill from his bones.

Serizawa stretched his tired muscles as best he could without dropping the blankets, and idly wondered what he'd be eating for lunch. His only way of telling time was a pocket watch he had stored away in a keepsake drawer, but judging by the position of light through the window and the growling of his stomach, it was safe to say he should have eaten an hour ago. He was about to pad his way to his modest kitchen, musing about making stew or heating leftovers, when he stopped in his tracks at the sound of… something .

This was significant, because Serizawa rarely heard noises he himself didn't make.

Keeping very still, Serizawa tilted his ear to the ceiling, straining to hear the sound again. After a moment it came again, familiar yet confusing. It was the found of thick snow being crushed underfoot, which wouldn't be out of place if not for the timing and volume of the sound. It couldn't have been made by a small animal, but bears were supposed to be hibernating this time of year, and a deer couldn't have made steps that loud. A mountain lion, maybe?

Serizawa creeped toward his southern wall, taking care not to creak the floorboards. The sound was getting louder now, and there was something else, something like breath and animal sound. He closed his eyes as he focused on it. Maybe he would crack the door open, try to see what was making such odd noises.

“Hello?”

With a start, Serizawa's eyes snapped open and stared at the door. That was most certainly not an animal sound. Holding his breath, Serizawa didn’t dare move until he was sure he had heard correctly.

“Is anyone there? I could really use some help right about now!”

Slowly, like moving through water, Serizawa reached out and undid the latch on the door. The cold air bit his skin as he slid open the door, and he squinted against the light hitting the snow as he fit his face in the open slit.

A man stood calf-deep in the snow beyond his home, jacket-clad arms tucked as close to his chest as possible. All Serizawa could make out from his face was a bright red nose poking out from behind a thick scarf and hat. The man stepped forward at the sight of Serizawa, and when he tilted his head up Serizawa could see a wide, relieved grin. “Thank god, I thought I was going to freeze to death for a second there, but then I saw the smoke from your house. Would you mind terribly if I came inside?”

There was a long second where Serizawa just blinked, until the weight of the man’s words hit him all at once. “Of-of course! Oh, god, yes, please come in. I’ll get you some blankets!” The man didn’t hesitate to follow Serizawa’s request, and quickly trotted inside before Serizawa snapped the door shut behind them.

The extra blankets were kept in a closet down the hall, and Serizawa wasted no time piling the thickest ones he could find into his arms. His brain was going a mile a minute, trying to desperately figure out what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. He was supposed to offer tea, right? That seemed safe, but the man would probably want more than tea, in which case he’d have to make more lunch than he was prepared to. What if the man didn’t like his food? What if he was already sick from the cold? What if he was here to rob him?

The man’s teeth were audibly chattering when Serizawa returned, but he still smiled gratefully at Serizawa’s offering. His hat had been taken off, and Serizawa could now see kind eyes beneath strands of light brown hair. One by one his snow-covered clothes were removed and hung up beside Serizawa’s shoes, and he was only slightly shivering by the time he slung one of Serizawa’s blankets around his shoulders. “I can’t thank you enough, you’re really a life saver.”

“I-it’s nothing, really. It’s not like I’d let you just die in the snow.”

“Still, I appreciate it.” The man had a very handsome smile.

Serizawa swallowed. “What’s your name?”

“Reigen. Reigen Arataka, perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Serizawa’s eyebrows shot up. “No, are you famous?”

Reigen seemed to cringe slightly, and his hands waved rather jerkily in front of him. “Er, not really, I shouldn’t have led with that. I travel a lot, you see, and sometimes word gets around.”

“Oh, I see. My name is Serizawa Katsuya.” Serizawa started to walk towards where his hearth was burning, and he could hear Reigen’s socked feet following behind him.

“You have a lovely home, Serizawa.”

You have a lovely voice , Serizawa wanted to say, and then didn’t. “Thank you, it was built by my grandparents,” he said instead. “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

Reigen settled wordlessly on the floor by the fire, watching Serizawa begin the preparations to make tea. “Must be cozy up here in the mountains. No need to worry so much about monsoons.”

“I suppose,” Serizawa hummed. Practiced hands went through the motions of hanging a kettle of water over the fire, and placing pre-measured tea mixtures in two small cups. “It’s very beautiful in the springtime, but not so much in the winter. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”

“I wouldn't say it's not beautiful, just a little treacherous.” Reigen chuckled as he warmed his hands by the hearth, his fingers glowing a faint and pleasant orange. “It's my fault, really. I should've known better than to travel through snow on foot.”

“Where are you heading?” With a grunt, Serizawa settled on the other side of the fire, looking at Reigen with curious eyes.

With a vague motion to the eastern wall, Reigen replied, “Fishing village on the other side of those foothills. I was supposed to meet my apprentice there, but the snow kind of caught me by surprise. Hopefully he can handle a night by himself; I doubt I'll get there any time soon.”

Serizawa found himself captivated by the way Reigen's hands seemed to have a life of their own, constantly moving and jumping with the beat of his words. “Are you some kind of craftsman?”

“Ah.” There was hesitation in Reigen's voice now as he idly scratched his jaw. “No, I'm. Something of a spiritualist. My apprentice and I, we deal with ghosts, magic, that sort of thing.”

Suddenly Serizawa's mouth seemed very dry. “...Magic, you say?”

“I know it sounds rather silly,” Reigen said, his hands flapping erratically. “But it puts food on the table. We've helped a lot of people over the years.”

“I see,” Serizawa replied, much quieter than he meant to.

“Something wrong?”

Serizawa looked up to find Reigen’s eyebrows drawn together, his smile crooked and his shoulders keyed up. His occupation was a sore subject, evidently. “No, no.” Serizawa shook his head. “No, that’s- that’s interesting, is all. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.”

Relaxing slightly, Reigen waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just a job. You’d be surprised at how boring it gets, sometimes.”

Leaning back on the heels of his palms, Serizawa hummed, staring contentedly at how the embers cast licks of warm color against Reigen’s legs and hands. Company was… easier than he thought it would be. Reigen made it easy, he supposed, with his effortless conversation and open expressions. During lonely nights when Serizawa’s bed had felt a little too big, Serizawa had imagined only the worst. People could be judgemental, he had reasoned. They might sneer at him, or worse, be afraid of him. It was better for him if he remained alone, even if it was painful at times.

Serizawa hadn’t had much of a choice when it came to Reigen.

Then again, Reigen didn’t know about… him. Would he be afraid too, if he knew? Or worse, angry at Serizawa for not telling him he was dangerous? But… Reigen’s job, he wasn’t like the people of the nearby town. He might even be accustomed to things like him, with the supernatural forces of the world. Maybe, if Serizawa allowed himself just a smidgen of hope, Reigen might even be like him.

As Serizawa carefully poured steaming water into the two mugs, he chided himself before he could get his hopes up too high. There was no need to overwhelm his guest, especially when things so far felt so… nice . Talking with Reigen was easy, even if Serizawa had trouble finding words at times. Reigen never seemed to mind, just smiled patiently while Serizawa picked his way through sentences. Before he knew it his cup was empty, and he was in the middle of a story that in itself was more words that he had spoken out loud than in the past year and a half.

It wasn’t long before Serizawa was interrupted by the loud grumbling of both his and Reigen’s stomachs, and Reigen insisted on helping him prepare a meal. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so he figured if he just made a lot it would tide them over until bed. Reigen was skilled with his hands, chopping preserved vegetables with more speed and confidence than Serizawa could imagine. He caught himself staring more than once, and each time he’d yank his focus back to kneading dough with slightly warmer cheeks than before. He misjudged how big of a pot he’d need, as this was more food than he’d ever prepared at once, but in the end the two of them were left with two steaming bowls of noodles in warm, savory broth.

“This is really delicious, Serizawa,” Reigen praised, loudly slurping noodles into his mouth. His eagerness was endearing, and Serizawa smiled warmly.

“Thank you for helping, Reigen. I doubt I could have made it as well without you.”

Visibly pleased with himself, Reigen harrumphed good-naturedly. “Well, they don’t call me the Chopping Champion for nothing. Halter City’s ramen festival blue ribbon winner, three years in a row.” Reigen nearly dropped his bowl as he flashed a hand holding up three proud fingers, and Serizawa chuckled loudly.

“You certainly have a lot of hidden talents, Reigen.”

The winter sun dipped steadily below the foothills far quicker than Serizawa expected, and with a start he realized he must have been talking with Reigen for almost five hours. “Ah, I suppose I should show you your room? It’s nothing especially fancy, but you can keep your things there while they dry. I imagine you’ll want to relax after the day you’ve had.”

“Oh I don’t know, I think it’s been one of the better days I’ve had.” Reigen rose to his feet, gathering his bag and coat before following Serizawa down the hall.

The room Serizawa led him to was mostly empty, with dusty dressers and shelves lined with assorted books and trinkets. A futon and bedding were rolled up in the corner, and after lighting a lamp Serizawa wasted no time setting them up against the far wall. “Thank you very much,” Reigen said gently once Serizawa turned to face him. He placed his bag and coat against one of the dressers, and Serizawa noted the modest size of Reigen’s luggage.

“Did you bring any more clothes?”

Reigen glanced up with a rueful smile. “Ah, no. I was going to buy some at the village.”

“Would you like to borrow some sleep clothes?”

“Oh,” Reigen said, like it hadn’t occurred to him. “I would, thank you. That way I can air these clothes out while I sleep.”

Serizawa nodded, retreating back down the hall and into his own bedroom. As he shuffled through his own clothes, Reigen stood in the doorway. “I like your bedroom.”

With a start, Serizawa became distinctly aware of the piles of stray sheets of paper, books, and ink containers strewn about the floor. “Excuse the mess, I haven’t had anyone else in here for a long time.”

“No, I like it.” Reigen shook his head. “It feels lived-in. Cozy.”

Without much fanfare, Serizawa handed Reigen the smallest clothes he could find, which he accepted with a wide smile and a shallow bow. Serizawa watched him make his way back to change, and he was once again left alone.

Reigen was… unexpected. The abrupt nature of their meeting aside, Serizawa couldn’t recall ever meeting someone quite like him. He was odd in the loveliest sense, his innate charisma contradicting his apparent underlying awkwardness. He was well-travelled, and most of the stories he’d told Serizawa thus far had involved some far-off cities he’d never heard of. Although that wasn’t saying much, since Serizawa hadn’t heard of a good lot of places.

It was all so baffling to someone like Serizawa, who left his house so infrequently his front door had started to stick shut from disuse.

When Reigen emerged from his new room, Serizawa was busying himself with cleaning up the remains of their dinner. Gathering stacked bowls into his hands, he looked up to find Reigen rolling up hopelessly long sleeves. The clothes were comically large on him, but he looked comfortable enough, so Serizawa counted it as a win.

He also was failing to hide his staring.

“Something on my face?” Reigen asked with a small quirk of his lips.

Serizawa opened his mouth, and then closed it. “Have some sake with me,” he blurted, surprised and mortified at his own words. Reigen looked surprised as well, but his expression quickly morphed to gratitude.

“Sure.”

In a walk that could only be described as scurrying, Serizawa took the bowls into the kitchen and exchanged them for a large bottle of spirits he had to shove a few bags of flour and rice aside to get to. He was never much of an alcohol drinker, and this particular bottle was unopened, but it felt somehow like the right thing to do. Hospitable. He could be hospitable.

Reigen was by the hearth when Serizawa returned, looking for all the world like he was in his own home, comfortable and relaxed. Taking a deep breath, Serizawa set the bottle on the floor, and settled next to Reigen with two green wine cups. Always pour for your guest first , that much he remembered, and he was proud of the steadiness of his hands as he poured Reigen’s drink.

“These wine cups are beautiful,” Reigen remarked, turning the cup over in his hands as Serizawa poured his own sake.

“Yes, they were my mother's. My father got them for her as a New Year's gift.” Serizawa tried to school in a grimace as the taste of alcohol met his tongue, but he couldn't quite stop the wrinkle in his nose. Serizawa was comforted by the fact that Reigen didn't respond much better.

“Your mother, is she… gone?”

Serizawa nodded, taking a deeper sip of sake. “She passed away a little less than two years ago.”

A pained look came over Reigen's face. “And you've been here by yourself ever since?”

“Well,” Serizawa grimaced. “Yes. But I've managed. I take trips to the nearest village if I need something I can't make myself.”

“That's not what I'm worried about,” Reigen said, and didn't elaborate. He pointed to Serizawa's desk, and the small stack of papers nestled in the corner. “I noticed those earlier, are you a writer?”

Grateful for the change in subject, Serizawa lifted his chin a bit. “Oh! Um, I write a bit, yes. Keeps me occupied, you know.”

“What kind of things do you write?”

“All sorts of things, really. Poems, journals, stories, letters, plays. I… I like it. It's calming.”

Reigen's eyes glittered in the fire light, and Serizawa felt himself swallow. “That's amazing,” he said softly. “You'll have to let me read them sometime.”

“I'm not sure any of them would interest you.” Serizawa rubbed his neck, slowly but surely feeling the curling warmth of alcohol fill his cheeks. To his surprise Reigen wasn't far behind, and in fact looked even redder despite having drank less than Serizawa.

“Nonsense,” Reigen replied, and now that he was paying attention Serizawa noticed his consonants starting to drag together. “The work of a devoted artisan is never unimportant, especially when he must do it to survive. Your work is a part of you, Serizawa.”

That didn't make much sense, but Reigen seemed to think it did, so Serizawa just nodded sagely in response.

“Do you not like magic, Serizawa?”

Serizawa looked up with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Wh-what makes you say that?”

Reigen's head lolled a bit to the side, like the muscles of his neck couldn't hold the weight of it. “I noticed whenever I bring it up you get kinda tense. You don't have to answer if you don't wanna, I just thought it was odd.”

Staring for a beat at the bottom of his cup, Serizawa swallowed thickly before downing the rest of the sake inside with one gulp. “I'm a magic user,” he said almost triumphantly. “Like the people in your stories. I've. I've never told anyone that before, but there it is.” He didn't want to look at Reigen after he said it, but Serizawa was relieved to not be met with outright hostility.

“Oh,” Reigen said, and the simplicity of it got Serizawa to cautiously meet his eyes. They were smiling. “A spiritualist and a magic user. How funny that we should meet. Quite the conc- the coincin- coincense-”

“Coinc-” Serizawa started, but was too drunk to finish it either, so they both just ended up giggling breathlessly into the space between them.

Clapping his hands, Reigen righted himself with a grin. “Show me some magic, Serizawa! I'd love to see your stuff.”

His smile fading slightly, Serizawa shook his head. “Ah, no, I don't really… I don't like to use my powers that much.”

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Reigen tilted his head. “How come?”

“Sometimes I don't have the best control over them, so… they can be dangerous if I'm not careful. Especially if my emotions are involved.”

“Yeah, but-” Reigen started to say, but a look of comprehension suddenly flashed across his face. “...Oh, Serizawa. That's not why you live out here by yourself, is it?”

Serizawa felt his eyebrows tick downwards, and something hot and sharp twisted in his chest. “Don't pretend like you know me,” Serizawa almost spat, distantly surprised at his own tone. “Please… do not seek to lecture me about things you don't understand.”

Reigen's mouth hung open in the seconds that followed, and as he closed it he looked away with a chastised set of his shoulders. “You're right. I'm sorry.” His voice was quiet, and Serizawa's throat stung at the sound.

A tense silence hung over them as they stared at their own respective hands, before Serizawa cut it with a deep and strained sigh. “It is,” he mumbled, quiet enough he was almost worried Reigen didn't hear it. But Reigen looked up with a question in his eyes, and Serizawa continued.

“Having these powers… it is why I live alone. Here in the mountains I don't have to worry about hurting anyone, or losing control from stress. Trust me, it's better this way.”

Reigen looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he just sighed, and took another drink. “You don't deserve it, you know. Humans aren't meant to be alone.”

Serizawa said nothing, and perhaps against his better judgment, refilled both their cups.

Night fell upon the mountain in a steady curtain of darkness, until the only light was the hearth and the way it reflected off Reigen's eyes as he told story after story, lavishly animating each one with broad sweeps and flicks of his hands. Serizawa listened with his head cradled in one hand, smiling softly and chuckling whenever Reigen recounted a particularly egregious fuck-up. He could listen to Reigen talk for hours, he mused, and he suspected Reigen would be content to talk for just as long. But too soon he felt sleep tugging at his eyelids, and the space between stifled yawns became shorter and shorter. It wasn't until Reigen almost fell over in a daze that Serizawa reluctantly stood up, stretching the kinks from his tired muscles.

“We should be getting to bed soon. You'll have to leave in the morning.”

For a second something melancholy flashed across Reigen's face, but by the time Serizawa blinked it was gone. “You're right. I'm sure I'll sleep well with the sake in me.”

After preparing one lantern for Reigen and one for himself, the two of them parted at the juncture between their rooms with an odd air of finality. “Sleep well, Reigen.”

“Thank you. Sleep well, Serizawa.”

Serizawa's room had never seemed so empty.

Shaking hands pulled his thick winter clothes from his body, leaving Serizawa shivering in only his thin under layers. He opened a drawer, hoping to find something warm to sleep in, when he heard the telltale sound of the door of his bedroom sliding open.

Curious eyes found Reigen, clutching his lantern in one hand and the door in the other. He swayed slightly on drunken legs, but his eyes were sharp with intent that made the hair on the back of Serizawa's neck stand on end.

“Something wrong?” Serizawa near-whispered, and the sound was almost deafening in the quiet house.

Reigen took a step forward, eyes sliding from Serizawa's face to his bare torso. Despite the thin clothes he wore Serizawa had never felt so exposed, naked under Reigen's heavy gaze. By the time Reigen spoke up he was close enough for Serizawa to feel warm breath on his skin.

“Bedroom's too cold,” he muttered. Serizawa jumped at the feeling of a hand coming to rest on his sternum, steady and unassuming.

He could shrug it off, Serizawa realized; Reigen was offering him a way out. He could turn, offer Reigen some extra blankets and escort him back to his room. It might be an awkward exchange, but they could blame it on the alcohol, and Serizawa would likely never see him again after he left the household. But…

But never, not in his thirty years on his lonely mountain, had anyone ever looked at him like Reigen was looking at him.

Serizawa did not turn, nor did not offer Reigen blankets. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on the back of Reigen’s neck, feeling the place where soft brown hair curled into warm skin. His thumb stroked the space behind Reigen’s ear, and the two of them made stark, electric eye contact.

It was impossible to tell who leaned in first, but suddenly Reigen’s lips were on his, and Serizawa couldn’t remember ever having been cold.

Lanterns abandoned by the door, Reigen led Serizawa by the hand to his own futon, the hunger in his eyes never wavering for a second. Serizawa ended up between Reigen’s legs, pressing kiss after kiss to Reigen's mouth, jaw, and throat. Things were going fast, too fast for Serizawa to keep up, and at one point he nestled his face into the crook of Reigen's neck, trying to steady himself in the haze of Reigen's scent. “Everything okay?” Reigen murmured, sliding a comforting hand up Serizawa's naked back.

“I don't… I've never done anything like this before. Don't wanna ruin it. Sorry.”

Somehow, Serizawa could tell Reigen was smiling. “No need to apologize. We can go as slow as you need to. We don't have to do anything at all, if you're not comfortable with it.”

Serizawa huffed against Reigen's skin, and he could feel him shiver in response. The thing was, Serizawa wanted to. He really, really wanted to. But the thought of making a fool of himself in front of someone like Reigen was enough to make him want to squeeze his eyes shut and disappear forever.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Slowly, like every muscle in his body was fighting it, Serizawa raised his head just enough to meet Reigen's eye. Reigen's palm, warm and a little sweaty, came up to cradle the curve of Serizawa's jaw.

“I was inexperienced once, too. I know how it feels. Will you believe me when I tell you I won't think any less of you?”

Who was this man- this strange, absurd, beautiful, wonderful man that had shown up on Serizawa's doorstep?

The kiss that followed seemed to catch Reigen off-guard, but he was quick to return it with just as much enthusiasm. No, Serizawa decided. Reigen would not think less of him. The same, however, could not be said about Serizawa's opinion of himself. But he'd been living with his own judgement for his whole life. What was one more night?

Reigen's clothes (Serizawa's, technically) were removed slower than even Serizawa thought was strictly necessary, but he figured there was no point in rushing things. They had the whole night, after all.

The way Reigen reacted to Serizawa's touch was endlessly fascinating to him, every gasp, moan, and whimper no doubt branded into his mind forever. Of course Serizawa wasn't much better, and in fact caught himself many times making noises he didn't think himself capable of, snapping his mouth closed in embarrassment each time. Reigen would always just laugh, and touch his cheek reassuringly.

Serizawa made love to Reigen like he thought he was going to fall apart at any moment, and Serizawa would once again be left alone in his big house on the mountain. As if reading his mind, Reigen snapped his hips up almost harshly, fingers digging into Serizawa's shoulders. “I'm not made of glass, you know,” he said with a smug glint in his eye. “You can go faster.”

Who was Serizawa to deny such a request?

For a second, Serizawa was almost grateful for his isolated living space. He doubted any neighbors he could have had would be alright with the volume of the noises tumbling from Reigen's mouth. Most of them were words; few of them were intelligible. “Yes”, “shit”, and “ God ” seemed to be among his favorites.

Much to Serizawa's chagrin, the two of them reached climax at almost the same time, Reigen clutching at the mattress below him in response to the brutal pace Serizawa set. While Serizawa clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, Reigen's mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes closed and head thrown back. And then, far sooner than either of them would have liked, it was over.

There was a moment, as Reigen cushioned his head on Serizawa's heaving chest, where time simply ceased to exist. There was only Reigen's slowing pants, the cool air drying the sweat off Serizawa's skin, and Reigen’s soft fingers stroking slow patterns on Serizawa's stomach.

“Thank you,” Serizawa whispered to the ceiling, and he wasn't sure if he was addressing Reigen or God himself.

Cold descended upon them in icy stabs, and Reigen wordlessly pulled up Serizawa's thick blankets and crowded himself against his side. Serizawa returned the embrace heartily, wrapping his arms around him and burying his nose against the crown of Reigen's head. The lanterns still burned, but Serizawa could think of nothing worse than extracting himself from the warm shelter they'd created. Carefully, reluctantly, Serizawa used the smallest amount of magic to extinguish the flames inside. Reigen jolted against him at the sudden darkness, but blessedly did not comment on it.

After a peaceful minute in silence, Serizawa snorted against Reigen's hair. “You must think me pathetic,” he half-joked. “Bedding the first stranger that comes to my door. How deprived.”

Almost imperceptibly, Reigen curled himself closer. “I think you're lonely ,” he replied softly, voice muffled against Serizawa's skin. “But so am I. It's how I know.”

Serizawa considered this, stroking a hand up the length of Reigen's spine. “I don’t feel lonely now.” He could feel the corners of Reigen's lips twitch upwards.

“Funny, neither do I.”

It was there, on that cold winter night in his big, lonely house, in the naked embrace of his bedmate, that Serizawa fell headfirst into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The first thing Serizawa registered upon waking up was that he was cold. The second was that he was alone.

He sat up slowly, squinting at the wall and trying to gauge what time it was by the position of the shadows. It was much later than he normally woke up, that much he was certain. He strained his ears to hear anything besides the muffled chirping of birds beyond the walls of his home, but was met with characteristic silence.

As Serizawa stood, pulling his blankets around his nude body, he caught something fluttering to the ground out of the corner of his eye. A piece of paper sat innocently on the ground, and Serizawa felt something like dread claw up his throat as he picked it up and began to read.

Katsuya

I can’t apologize enough for leaving without saying goodbye in person. You have to know I am at heart a selfish and cowardly person, and waking you seemed far too painful to imagine. I hope you can forgive me.

I would have liked to stay for longer, but there are people in this world that need me, just as there are people in this world that need you. The kindness you have showed me is more than I could have ever asked for. I am forever in your debt.

Our paths may cross again, or they may not. The one thing you can be sure of, dear Katsuya, is I will never, ever forget you.

Reigen Arataka

The floor rushed up to meet Serizawa’s knees, hard. He stared blankly at the letter, eyes wide and unreading. After a moment his hand clenched, wrinkling the fragile paper in his fingers. And on that cold, quiet winter morning, in his big empty house, Serizawa closed his eyes and wept.

Chapter Text

The day after Reigen left, Serizawa got up, and made breakfast. He sat quietly at his writing desk, and held his calligraphy brush in his hand. Then he put it down, and went back to bed.

A week after Reigen left, Serizawa got up, and made breakfast. He hummed a sad-sounding song, and then wrote lyrics to it. He walked to his front door, opened it, and peeked outside. The snow had melted slightly, but he knew another storm would come to pile more on soon. He closed the door, and made some tea.

A month after Reigen left, Serizawa got up, and made breakfast. He walked to his front door, opened it, and stepped outside as far as the snow would allow him. The morning was quite beautiful, the way the sun reflected off the side of the mountain and dipped the forest floor in patchy shade. He admired it for as long as he could stand the cold, then turned around and went back inside. He wrote a short story about a woman that could feel no cold, and used her gift to save some village children from drowning in an iced-over pond.

Some time after a date that seemed less significant the farther it got, Serizawa started to wonder if maybe he had dreamed the whole thing. He opened a drawer in his mother's old room where he kept important things. Next to a brass pocket watch and a clay figurine sat Reigen’s letter, folded carefully and placed in an envelope. He took it out, and read it. Read the last line a second time, and then a third. Felt the paper in his hands, rubbed a thumb over Reigen’s slanted and scratching handwriting. He folded the paper delicately, put it back, and shut the drawer.

Serizawa thought a good lot about his mother as spring warmed the mountain and the snow retreated to valley springs. Emiko Serizawa had been a kind and dependable woman, self-sustainable and endlessly compassionate. Though she did not understand the abilities that so terribly troubled her son, she did everything in her power to make life comfortable for him. Taught him how to make food, cut trees, and sew clothes. Brought him as much paper and ink as he could have ever wanted. Loved him fiercely, wholly, and unconditionally.

He never played with the village children. He never received a formal education, and he would always refuse his mother’s invitations to go into town with her. But for a blissful time, as Serizawa fell gracelessly into adulthood, he would not have hesitated to call himself well and truly content. As long as he had his mother, he reasoned, what else could he need?

Perhaps it was naïveté, or maybe simply denial. Nothing lasts forever, and no one is indestructible. Serizawa learned this through three grueling months of sitting by the hearth, wiping sweat from his mother’s forehead and reading her endless amounts of poetry.

Would she approve of the way he was living now? What would she want him to do? ‘Be happy’ seemed like the obvious answer, but Serizawa was starting to doubt that was even an option. That struck him as absurdly unfair, in a way he'd never really felt before. He could be happy; he was capable of it. He'd been happy before, when Reigen kissed him and made him forget just how unlucky he was. But happiness now seemed like something that happened to him, not something he could reasonably pursue. 

He wasn't angry at Reigen for leaving, he decided. But he was angry.

Anger was not something Serizawa was used to feeling. Anguish and resignation, yes, but never anger. It felt hot and sticky in his chest, and Serizawa found himself at a complete loss as to what to do with it. He poured himself into writing in an attempt to work it away, but reading what he had written kept leaving a sour taste in his mouth. His body felt tight and his house felt small, smaller than he could ever remember it feeling. He found himself preferring the cold of his porch to the claustrophobic warmth of his bedroom, and he often simply stood with his arms crossed, staring out into the forest for progressively longer periods of time.

Much to Serizawa’s dread, the magic that hummed beneath his skin inevitably began to react accordingly. On his best nights his powers would flare at random intervals, hoisting lighter objects into the air and hurling them across the room. He managed to catch them about half the time.

On his worse nights the house would crackle with the smell of ozone, energy leaking out the tips of Serizawa's fingers like a loose faucet. Hunched over his writing desk, he wrote page after page of scribbled notes and tried to ignore the miscellaneous objects orbiting the perimeter of the room. On these nights he went to sleep early, clutching at his hair with eyes and teeth clamped shut.

When the snow became shallow enough to comfortably trudge through, Serizawa occupied himself by setting rabbit traps. His mother had taught him to preserve and store food underground during the winter, but his stockpile was growing smaller, just in time for spring hunting. Shooting a gun was never something he was good at or especially capable of, but setting traps took skill that felt good to have. The chance to move was especially rewarding, and getting his blood pumping cleared Serizawa's mind enough that he didn't feel so much like he would explode at any second.

The traps proved successful, even bountiful at times. But suddenly it was never enough. The consequences of expelling huge amounts of energy wore on Serizawa’s body, and no amount of food could ever satisfy his hunger. His trips outward grew sluggish, and the taste of rabbit grew stale. As the weeks went by Serizawa began to dread getting up in the morning, and in the night he would lie awake and stare at the ceiling. He was deteriorating, and he knew it, but the downward spiral had a firm and insidious grip, cold and unrelenting. 

It was on a crisp morning that Serizawa opened his door to find the forest floor pale and exposed, the last of the remaining snow clinging to the shadows and the bases of trees. Patches of green were starting to appear, and the part of his mind still synchronized with the valley’s patterns knew the mountain honeybees would soon arrive in turn. It was at once gratifying and disappointing that the world around him was completely ambivalent to Serizawa’s inner turmoil. Although his feet and eyelids had grown insurmountably heavy, his stomach pushed him onwards, following his hunger out the door and into the woods.

The first trap he checked was empty. The sweet root bait he had set inside was untouched, and the trap was unused. The second trap he checked was empty. The sweet root bait was gone, and the trap had been deployed, and subsequently broken. A failure on Serizawa’s part. He forced his fists to unclench, and kept moving.

The third trap had successfully caught a rabbit, but before Serizawa even approached he could see the corpse thoroughly scavenged by ravens. The big black birds were hardly startled by his presence, and he didn't bother waving them off. As one met his eye and cocked its head, it spoke, sounding eerily like a human saying the word " caw ".

"Am I dying?" Serizawa asked.

"Caw." Said the raven. 

“I’m scared.”

The raven said nothing.

A sigh, a rush of air, and then Serizawa was on the ground, crouched on his hands and knees in a cruel parody of prayer. The magic inside him did nothing more than churn, as he had no more energy left to fuel it. The thought made him smile ruefully. "Well," he said, like he had the rest of a sentence. But he didn't. All he had was the ground below him, his hands clutching at grass newly freed from the blanket of snow.

It was then that Serizawa noticed something in the corner of his vision, nestled under the shade of a pine tree. It was black and angular, two things that made it stand out from the bit of stark white snow it was buried under. With a grunt, he rose to his haunches, and could just reach it when he leaned and stretched as far as he could go.

The item, he discovered, was a book. The dark leather cover was relatively unmarred, but the pages inside were heavily warped from water damage. With detached interest, Serizawa flipped open to the first page, only to almost drop the book in shock.

He recognized that handwriting.

With shaking hands, he drew what he now realized was a journal closer to his face.

If found return to

Reigen Arataka

Seasoning City Spiritual Consultation

"God hates me," Serizawa muttered. He kept reading.

5/22

A particularly disagreeable client visited the clinic today. The details of the exact circumstances have left me, but the end result remains certain: he made Mob cry. The initial issue itself was easy to address after some exchange of strong words and the swift removal of the client in question, but Mob remained inconsolable to the fact that in the midst of his perfectly natural reaction of a child under stress, he unintentionally caused damage to the storefront. He insisted on cleaning up, which I allowed, but no amount of sweet words could draw him from his gloomy stupor. I don't believe he honestly thinks I blame him for the actions of those powers of his, at least I sorely hope not. But getting him to release blame on himself is a task I have yet to even start to accomplish. 

I got him to smile at least once before sending him home. Count the little victories.

Oddly, the feeling of intrusion never occurred to Serizawa as he thumbed through Reigen's collection of private thoughts. There was a sort of disconnect in his mind, like he was reading the stories of characters in another life as opposed to living, breathing people. Perhaps this was harmfully flawed, but Serizawa pressed on regardless. 

7/19

I have decided magic is a stupid and tedious concept. Mob's apprehension of it gives it entirely too much credit.

7/22

Mob, for reasons unbeknownst to me, has decided to take up physical training along with Musashi, the ambiguously appointed leader of the village boys with nothing to do after finishing fieldwork except run from nothing and lift rocks. The appeal of this to someone like Mob is beyond me, but something about the way he talks about it makes it abundantly clear that it can only be good for him. I gave him the afternoons off, which for the most part I was already doing anyway, and I've never seen the kid so pleased. I can only hope he'll keep smiling like that in the future.

7/30

Letter from mother today. Apparently a village girl has been asking about me. My mother seems to like her, says she'd make a fine bride for her darling son. I'm an only child; who could she possibly be referring to?

The laugh that rumbled from his chest startled Serizawa, but he reveled in the feeling of warmth that came with it. Restless, he flipped to the more recent entries, and the last few paragraphs preceding blank pages.

11/28

Tomorrow I will start the journey home from Malt City. Today’s job was a success, enough so that the client was kind enough to offer lodgings for tonight. While I’m apprehensive about traversing the mountains given the snow, if I stay any longer than a night I’ll give the client more problems than she started out with. I must pray for weather and time to be on my side.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a work excursion without Mob. I keep thinking about the early days of his apprenticeship, when he’d been small and wide-eyed. Back then he’d never stepped foot outside of Seasoning, and those rare trips were his first real glimpses of the world beyond his little city. I felt so honored to be the person to provide him that, even if the notion is a bit self-aggrandizing. We never even went that far.

I asked Mob to stay behind for this job, not just because I thought I could do it by myself, but because I came to the realization that the kid could seriously use a break. He’s growing up faster than I could imagine, and in these past few months he’s been changing. Not in an obvious way, nothing Mob does is ever obvious, but I can tell in the way he speaks. He’s trying his damndest to grow into himself despite his powers setting him apart from the herd. But he’s making friends that see him as he is, and he’s all the better for it. The least I can do is to give him some time to be a kid.

I’m too selfish to release him from his apprenticeship just yet. Call me sentimental, but I want to enjoy this short time together for as long as he’ll stay. But if and when he asks, I’ll send him off into the world with a smile. If I’m lucky maybe he’ll come visit his old master from time to time.

A sigh worked its way past Serizawa’s lips, but it wasn’t warm enough to form fog in front of his face. Instead the sound just rang through the clearing, punctuated by the occasional chitter of the ravens. Serizawa’s shaking fingers traced the last line of short, somewhat messy handwriting as he stared down at the page. 

Serizawa had read and written a lot of stories. He was fluent in the language of storytelling, and knew how to embrace them the same way leaves took in sunlight. Almost ritualistically, he let his eyes fall closed, and let the story in his hands speak to him. A mentor and an apprentice, helping people with no one else to turn to. A man weary with the weight of responsibility, and a boy on the cusp of adulthood, able to look past his own oddities and pursue life on his own terms. It was elegant, it was comforting. It was terrifying.

The sky was blue and endless when Serizawa opened his eyes, wide with the realization that struck him in the chest. The book in his hands was no storybook. The boy and the mentor were not characters. These were lives that were foreign and almost unbelievable, but tangible all the same. Which meant… 

Which meat there was someone out there like him. Someone with friends, and hobbies, and successes. As well as the ability to wield incredible power.

“Caw,” said the raven.

Standing on weary legs, Serizawa absently brushed the dirt from the knees of his pants. “Sorry you had to see that,” he replied, huffing a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Caw, caw.” Clutching the journal close to his chest, Serizawa turned around and went home. 

In something like a trance, he headed straight to his mother’s room and started rifling through a closet that had since remained untouched for the better part of a year. After a moment of searching, Serizawa retrieved a canvas rucksack, stiff and dusty from disuse. After carefully placing the book inside, he moved on to the kitchen, stocking the bag with wrapped leftovers and containers for water. Finally he went to his own room, and added a change of clothes and some coinage stashed in a bedside drawer. Still in his coat and boots, he resolutely slipped the bag over his shoulders, and stepped outside.

The midday sun greeted him with the distant tune of forest songbirds, filling the valley with the unmistakable signature of life. Despite the morning’s work having been unsuccessful, Serizawa felt a stirring in his chest that he hadn’t realized had been missing for quite some time. He was too focused to be afraid of his own ambition, and too determined to let the weight of his own body slow his step.

Without further deliberation, Serizawa stepped out from the shade of his roof, and started walking in the direction of Seasoning City.

When Serizawa was very young, his mother would tote his little body in a carrier strapped to her back, and take the both of them into town. He never cried; just stared with his big dark eyes at the people bustling around them through the narrow village streets. His mother would buy tools and groceries from a man who might have been some distant cousin, and strangers would smile and coo at the little thing attached to her. 

When the carrier got too small for his less-little body, he graduated to holding his mother's hand as he toddled alongside her. Strangers would still coo, and occasionally chastise him for sticking his fingers in his mouth and nose. His hair was a common subject; thick and curly like his father's, which is about as much as Emiko would allow the man to be brought up in casual conversation. 

Sometimes he would volunteer to ease his mother's load, brandishing a roll of tarp or a jug of adhesive in his small hands and waving it around like a token of honor. "Such a strong man!" People would say to him. "What a sweet boy." He never knew what to say to that, so he just smiled nervously and orbited his mother's legs.

At some point he was old enough to break away from his mother's shadow, to explore and play with the village children, but he never did. Even when they'd bump shoulders with him and shake sticks at him and cry for him to join their games and races. Serizawa would just duck his head, flap his hand or make some excuse about being too busy. His mother never forced him to play, but she'd give him a sad look before carding her fingers through his growing curls.

He stopped going into town soon after that, following an incident involving his newly acquired powers and a particularly persistent village boy. It wasn’t something he liked to think about.

The nearest village to the Serizawa household was about six miles eastward, following the valley river towards the sea. The trek was long and broken up by steep climbs and thick mountain undergrowth, but Serizawa didn’t mind too much. Traversing the rugged land kept his mind too busy to overthink what he was doing.

Too soon the thick trees parted like a velvet curtain, thinning and giving way to cultivated fields and small rice paddies. Little cottages dotted the landscape, as well as the distant figures of farmers tending to their crops. Heaving a deep breath, Serizawa joined the main road, ambling over decades of faded hoofprints and wagon treads. His feet still remembered the way, even after all these years, and they carried him dutifully down the beaten path.

The first person he came across was a young man, clothes worn and skin tanned from many years working under the sun. In his right hand he held a rope tied around the neck of a young goat, which trotted playfully beside him, bleating and squealing to its heart's content. In his left hand he held a fruit of some kind, which he bit heartily into and occasionally spat something to the side of the road.

Serizawa avoided eye contact instinctively, but the man faced him head on and seemed more than happy to walk right up and flash a broad grin. "Good afternoon," he greeted warmly. His voice had a bit of a drawl to it, a familiar accent of the region. 

"Good-" Serizawa cut himself off with a quick clear of his throat. He hadn't realized just how raspy his voice would be. "Good afternoon."

"You lost or something?"

"Sorry?" Serizawa blinked.

"Hah, that sounded a bit rude. We don't get many unfamiliar faces 'round here is all. And I think I'd remember seeing someone like you before."

"Oh. Um." The sun kind of shone in his eyes, and Serizawa had to squint a bit to really face the man. "I'm just passing through. I'm headed for Seasoning City."

"Seasoning, huh? That's not too far, then. But it's still a bit of a ways if you're going on foot. Do you need somewhere to rest for a while? My wife and I would be happy to have you."

Maybe at some point Serizawa had known the complex rules of hospitality and etiquette, but years of isolation can do a number on one's social intelligence. Perhaps he should have politely declined, said something like no, I couldn't just impose on a stranger, and the man might have said oh, it's no trouble really, and Serizawa might have said perhaps just for a little while, then I really must be going. As it was Serizawa was cold and tired and ravenously hungry, so all he said was "Yes, please."

On the way back the man introduced himself as Nakamura, son of a wheat farmer from west of town. The goat that lopped along between them was a fresh purchase from the market, newly-weaned and positively talkative. Serizawa said little, but Nakamura was happy to fill the silence with anecdotes about the weather and his wife and life in the village.

The house they came upon was humble, but clearly sturdy and well-made. The woman that came to greet them was bright-eyed and heavily pregnant. Upon seeing her husband her kind face broke into a wide smile, leaning down to pet the goat as far as her belly would allow.

"Chie!" Nakamura proclaimed, like a king calling court to session. "Would you be so kind as to prepare something hot for our guest?"

"Certainly!" Her eyes shone inquisitively as she appraised their guest, before turning and ushering the two men inside. 

While Nakamura went to help his wife, Serizawa was swiftly seated at a small sunken hearth, the quiet smouldering of coals like music to his ears. Heat licked against his bare hands as he presented them to the coals, slowly bringing feeling back into the tips of his fingers. 

"What did you say your name was?" Nakamura asked from some unseen room.

"Oh. S-serizawa. Katsuya."

"Have I heard that name before?" Serizawa heard Chie ask nobody in particular. 

"Where are you from?" Nakamura called, popping his head around the corner. 

"Um." Serizawa made a vague gesture to the west. "A bit of a ways down the river. In- in the mountains."

Nakamura's eyebrows shot up. "So you are related to Emiko, then? That's where she lived, isn't it?"

"She was my mother, yes."

A very loud clatter came from out of sight, followed by hushed swearing and Nakamura disappearing once again. After a moment of whispered muttering, Chie appeared brandishing a large black pot and some tea cups. "Sorry about that. Um, beg your pardon, but I didn't know Emiko had a son."

"I don't go out much." Serizawa almost laughed at his own understatement.

"I think I do remember, actually," said Nakamura, joining the two at the hearth and settling next to his wife. "When I was a kid I think people used to spread rumors about you. Nosy village people with nothing else to do but pick on children." He tutted, as if disappointed at the very concept of gossip. "I never believed them, of course. They made up crazy things like that you had magic powers or something."

"Oh, well, that part's true."

Nakamura laughed. Serizawa smiled awkwardly.

"Didn't you get in a fight with somebody? I mean, that's not particularly virtuous but you were what, nine? I hardly think that's worth social exile."

"I didn't fight anybody," Serizawa muttered, toying with the hem of his sleeve with his head ducked down. "I just didn't want to play with them when they asked." 

"The nerve of some people," Nakamura scoffed, before being interrupted by Chie's dismayed moaning.

"There's a big crack in the pot!" She cried, running her fingers over the scarred ceramic. "It must've broke when I dropped it."

Nakamura tutted, "Hey, hey, let me see." Without thinking much about it, Serizawa thrust a hand out, rather obtrusively, before the pot could transfer from Chie's hands to Nakamura's. The spiderweb crack that sprawled across the bottom glowed a faint pink, flashed once, and then vanished entirely.

Silence barged into the room and settled over the trio, making the occasional click of the embers seem downright boisterous. Chie looked at Serizawa, then the pot, then her husband, who looked back at her, then the pot, and then Serizawa. Serizawa looked somewhere in the middle distance, praying for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

"Hm!" Said Chie eventually, rubbing her fingers slowly over the smooth ceramic. "You… you fixed it."

"I'm so sorry," Serizawa blurted, his hands twitching and jumping in front of him.

"What for?" Nakamura asked. 

Serizawa's hands stilled, and his mouth closed. "I…"

"You fixed the pot, didn't you?"

"I, uh." Serizawa's hands came together, fingers weaved so they couldn't fly on their own. "I should have warned you. I didn't mean to scare you."

Chie scrunched up her nose. "If one of my appliances got fixed every time I got scared, you wouldn't see me complaining." The pot was placed in the hearth, and set about boiling water without further fanfare. 

No one was hurt . The words echoed around his head, mulled over and analyzed like precious stones. No one was hurt. No one was hurt .

Hesitantly, like his face wasn't used to it, Serizawa smiled.

The road to Seasoning City was wide and busy, littered with flower petals from the trees that formed a gentle arch on either side of the path. The wind that stroked the tips of the branches didn’t reach Serizawa, who stuck mostly to the shade and out of the way of the other travelers. These people weren’t as exuberantly friendly as Nakamura, content to offer greetings to people they recognized and nods to people they didn’t. This was just fine to Serizawa. As much as he had appreciated Nakamura’s help, Serizawa felt it would be a while until he would be ready to have another conversation with a stranger.

The dirt roads from the farmlands to the town had proved to be convenient methods of desensitizing Serizawa to the presence of other people, becoming more and more populated the farther he went. It reminded him of the creeks by his home, slowly wading deeper and deeper into the black, frigid water. He could only hope he’d still remember how to swim once he got up to his chin.

To his surprise, Serizawa had found the outskirts of Seasoning City easier to bear than the footpaths of his own hometown. The old fields and weathered rooftops were achingly familiar, yet just changed enough to mock him. He recognized no one, and no one recognized him. At least in Seasoning, paranoia didn't have quite as tight a hold on his stomach.

This wasn't to say he wasn't nervous. Every second spent in the thick of traffic, Serizawa was painfully aware of the energy simmering just above his skin. But he was able to compartmentalize, sequestering the fear to a back corner of his mind, and forcing his focus to more pressing operations. Like finding Reigen's office ( Clinic? Store? ) in a sea of largely identical buildings.

Seasoning city was harder to navigate than he thought it would be, especially when the process of asking for directions usually took him out of commission for a good ten minutes. In his head, Serizawa had imagined some kind of divine intuition, and he would just know in his gut what the right way to go was. Or at the very least some kind of market index.

Repeatedly Serizawa found himself in residential districts, too ashamed to turn back and getting more and more lost. The commercial districts were easier, but many of the buildings were unlabeled, and Serizawa found that mentioning the words "Spiritual Consultation" gave him odd looks from people unfamiliar with it. Those who were familiar only knew vaguely where it was; having passed it, thought it was curious, and forgot about it entirely.

It was while he was standing by a fish stall, working up the nerve to ask someone where the North End was, that he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Behind him was a man with tired eyes, and a string of large beads around his thick neck. He only came up to Serizawa's armpits, and his large stomach hung over the cloth belt that held his tunic closed. "Excuse me," he said, voice just barely audible over the white noise of the market. "Are you in need of spiritual assistance?"

No, thank you , he probably should have said. But if you could direct me to the workplace of the only person I've ever connected with besides my immediate family I would immensely appreciate it. Serizawa said none of this, because he was too occupied with staring wide-eyed at the man in front of him.

"You're glowing," Serizawa said, because he was. Swirling yellow-green patterns gathered around his body like a dense fog, faint and bright at the same time. It was almost tangible, like he was feeling it instead of seeing it. It was deeply disconcerting.

The man smiled, and the creases around his mouth became pleasant valleys in the skin. His face was used to smiling. "So are you, my friend. Your aura is quite lovely."

Horrified, Serizawa glanced down at his hand, realization dawning on him like a kick to the head. The thought that his magic, something his mother had never been able to see, would ever be visible to others, confused and disturbed him.

"I take it you've never met another psychic before?"

Serizawa opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. 

"My name is Shinra Banshomaru. I'm a spiritual consultant."

Eyes bright and intense, Serizawa leaned forward almost conspiratorially. "Do you know Reigen Arataka, by any chance?"

Rolled eyes isn't exactly the reaction Serizawa expected, but it wasn't a no. "We've met a few times, yes. Hard not to. He's not especially inconspicuous."

Finding his heart hammering in his chest, Serizawa reached forward and gripped Shinra's hands in his own. "Please," he said quietly, surprised by his own intensity.  "You must help me find him." 

Shinra's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't pull away. "Is something wrong? Is he not at his office?"

"I don't," Serizawa wheezed. "Know where his office is."

"Oh." A small, hesitant smile crept around the corners of Shinra's mouth. "It's… it's over there." His finger indicated a tall, thin building about a block away. "On the second floor." 

Serizawa couldn't even identify all the emotions that swam around in his chest once he set his eyes on the building, but if he reached out and picked one at random, it would probably be relief. His feet were getting tired.

"Thank you so much," Serizawa said, looking deep into Shinra's dark, tired eyes.

"Really, really not a problem," he replied, smiling good-naturedly. "Tell him I said hello, would you? I haven't heard from him in a while."

"I will. Thank you, again. Thank you." Like the building had its own gravity, Serizawa found himself calling gratitudes over his shoulder as he raced towards it. Shinra merely waved, and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter Text

The second story landing was long and narrow, made of sleek wood paneling and a balcony overlooking the first floor interior. It was very likely the most modern building Serizawa had ever been in, but the thought of stopping to admire the architecture was cast aside in favor of examining the two doors presented to him.

The doors were dark, structured with decorative slats, and identical apart from paper signs on the adjoining walls. The door closest to the stairs proclaimed “ Koga Aiko - Exotic Flowers ”. Swallowing thickly (and breathing heavily from just having sprinted up a flight of stairs), Serizawa took a step forward towards the next door.

“ Seasoning City Spiritual Consultation ”, said the sign in neat, innocuous letters. It was almost comical how plain the setup was, with its professional quarters and quiet, unassuming typeface. Serizawa found himself holding his breath, straining to hear noise behind the door. What he was expecting to hear, he wasn’t particularly certain. Drums, maybe? The wailing cries of tortured souls? There were people inside, he could tell, but conversation was lilting at best. With a shaking hand, Serizawa inched closer, and carefully slid the door open.

The voices he had heard from outside stopped upon his entry, and Serizawa was left to quietly observe the room before him. Candles were strewn about on various surfaces, clustered in groups of two or three, and all of them were unlit. The plain glass window was more than enough to light the little room, illuminating a couple drafting tables and cushioned seating. A single stick of incense burned on one of the desks, giving the room a soft, comfortable presence. 

Motion caught Serizawa’s eye, and he looked over as a young girl sprung up from where she had been seated at the smaller of the two tables. “Welcome to Spirits and Such Consulting Agency! How can we help you this evening?” Her smile was wide and eager, but her eyes held something that could only be described as “tenacity”.

“Tome, you know that’s not what it’s called.” The comment came from a boy still seated in the chair next to hers. He didn’t look bored, but next to the girl’s enthusiasm his polite nature was far less engaging.

“Um. I’m- Is Reigen Arataka around?” Serizawa stuttered, somewhat caught off-guard by the company he found himself in.

“Master is out on a job currently,” the boy said, and the small tilt of his head was the only inclination that he had any feelings at all on the matter.

Master , Serizawa thought with a start. Was this the student Reigen had written about? It was a surreal experience, connecting this ordinary boy to the nuanced experiences Serizawa knew from Reigen’s perspective. It was like watching him shift before his eyes, and suddenly the boy was now Mob , and the vibrant blues and greens that danced over his silhouette spoke of the powerful magic that laid within him.

In his internal revelation, Serizawa almost missed the girl talking once again. “-but I can assure you we are more than able to assist you with any consultation you may need.” The girl’s hands sailed in wide arches to emphasize her speech, and Serizawa couldn’t help but be reminded of the same movement executed by different hands, telling spirited stories by the light of a dying fire. “My name is Tome Kurata,” She said, before gesturing to her companion. “And this is my associate, Shigeo Kageyama. Please, have a seat.”

Dumbly, Serizawa stepped forward and did as he was told, seating himself on a plush armchair in the corner. Tome seated herself in an identical seat opposite him, crossing her legs and lacing her fingers together on her knees. It would have been the epitome of professionalism, had she not been 14, maybe 15. “What kind of tea do you like?” She asked.

Serizawa blinked, marveling quietly. “...Sencha,” he replied, carefully forming each syllable.

Tome nodded, and made a vague gesture to Shigeo. “Mob, if you would?”

Shigeo- Mob , his brain supplied- nodded and silently stood up, before vanishing into a back room.

“Now, what can we help you with today?”

Clearing his throat, Serizawa sat back in the (marvelously comfortable) armchair. "Really, I'm just here to see Reigen. I'm afraid I don't have any spiritual issues. I mean, not that it's a bad thing that I don't have any issues, but. You know. Um." His hands curled together on his lap, mindlessly picking at the skin around his nails. 

Suddenly Tome was a lot closer than she had been, her face jutting into his line of sight. "Not even a little bit?" Serizawa was startled to find her voice taking an almost whining tone. "No sore muscles, bad luck, poor mood? Curses are serious things, you know."

"Um," he said.

"Don't bother, Tome." The voice was Mob's, entering the room with a small tray topped with two steaming mugs. "He's a magic user. And a pretty powerful one, too."

Wide-eyed, Serizawa tried to gauge his host's reaction, only to be met with crossed arms and a disappointed scoff. "Figures," she grumbled, plucking one of the mugs off the tray presented to her. 

"Oh, thank you," Serizawa muttered when the tray came to him, carefully cradling the drink in his hands. The tea smelled rich and pleasant, and the cup warmed fingers he hadn't realized were cold.

"What do you need Master for?" Asked Mob, settling back in his own chair.

"He doesn't owe you money, does he? Because we're supposed to ask you to leave if he does."

That almost startles a laugh out of Serizawa, and he has to cover his smile with one hand. "Not that I know of, no. I, uh. I found something of his, and I wanted to return it."

Tome moaned, throwing her hands over her eyes. "Please tell me it's his dumb cat purse? I swear to God he never shuts up about it. I keep telling him to get a new one but he insists somebody took it."

The smile on Serizawa's face was small and easy, warmed by the knowledge that Reigen had a life outside him. That he had worries, goals and mannerisms that got on the nerves of his protégés .

Serizawa might be in trouble, he realized, but he stuffed down the churning in his chest before he could think too hard about it.

"No, sorry. It's just a journal of his."

"I didn't know Master kept a journal." Mob had his chin cradled in one of his hands, looking at Serizawa like he was a puzzle to be solved. Serizawa wondered if Mob knew just how much Reigen wrote about him, how deeply he cared for his wayward student. He dearly hoped so.

"Do you know when he'll be back?" Serizawa asked.

"He said he'd be back by dinnertime," Tome replied, brusquely kicking her feet up on a little tea table that sat between them. "He's got a job with the city council. Didn't want us kids screwing it up.”

“Oh?” Serizawa’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. “What could the city council need from a psychic?”

“Eh, just some people complaining about noises in the night. It’s just tanukis, and the city set up traps, but the council said the people won’t be satisfied until a psychic proclaims them ghost-free.”

“I see.”

“I like it when the city hires us,” Mob said, looking almost wistful. “They always pay well, and Master takes us out for dinner afterwards.” Something warm and thick pooled in Serizawa’s chest, and he covered his smile by taking a sip of his neglected tea.

And then, a strange kind of melancholy drifted across his mind like an errant breeze, and he looked thoughtfully between the two kids. He remembered the sparse words Reigen had written in his journal, briefly mentioning his financial status. It was never something he expanded on often, but from the small, cluttered office and what Serizawa could remember of his personal stories, it was obvious Reigen was not a rich man. And between frequent traveling and monitoring two young employees, he probably was not unoccupied either.

It was then that a great foolishness washed over him, and his throat felt tight as he lowered his cup to his lap. Just what exactly had he been expecting out of this journey? Did he want Reigen to help him, when he obviously already had so much to handle, like a desperate dog following a stranger at the slightest sign of affection? Or did he just want to see Reigen again, as if his selfish heart could ever be satisfied with a simple greeting, and as if Reigen would not be too kind for his own good, and let Serizawa attach himself like a wayward parasite? And what could Serizawa ever hope to offer in return?

“Uh, sir?”

To his horror, Serizawa looked up to find many of the office's candles and small items drifting into the air, caught in the manifestation of his inner turmoil. "I-I-I," Serizawa stuttered, desperately reigning in his feelings and attempted to put everything back in its place. "I'm so sorry. This happens sometimes. I'm really sorry." 

A few things fell to the floor in Serizawas haste, but Mob, stoic as ever, wordlessly caught them with his own magic and placed them back where they belonged. "Are you alright?" He asked, and his voice was more earnest than Serizawa had ever heard it. 

Swallowing thickly, Serizawa nodded, and stood up. "I s-should really be going. But, ah." Serizawa reached for his bag, pulling out Reigen's journal and placing it on one of the desks. "Tell Reigen I was here. And. That I said thank you." 

Before either teenager could formulate a goodbye, Serizawa was out the door, rushing down the stairs and out into the crisp spring evening. Thoughts rushed and tumbled through his head as he marched down the road, not even stopping when he passed Shinra, who gave him an inquisitive look but didn't speak up to stop him. 

As the cogs of his mind turned, they kept getting stuck on the unfairness of it all. Serizawa wanted to be happy, but he didn't want it to come at the expense of Reigen's time and money. Did he really want to be a functional member of society, or did he just want Reigen? Did he really want Reigen, or did he just want someone who was kind, and treated him like he was more than an unstable freak? 

The movement of his feet kept the frustration from building inside him, and he allowed himself to take in the new scenery around him. The afternoon sun painted the trees a rich gold and green, and the breeze carried the smell of the ocean and spring. It was terrifying, being somewhere new and unknown, but it was rewarding in a way Serizawa hadn't expected. He felt a kind of traveller's pride, like he was pleased with the work he'd put in to get so far from home. It was, after all, the farthest from home he'd ever been.

It was then, walking along the edge of that market street, that Serizawa made a decision. He would go home, and he would rest his tired mind and aching muscles. In the morning he would think, and he would decide what it was he really wanted, and what would really bring him the happiness he so desperately craved. And then he would work, and if that meant reaching out and meeting people, and if that meant looking inwards and facing the powers that lived inside him, then so be it. And then- and this was a thought he barely allowed himself to think- if he worked hard enough, he could become someone new, perhaps someone worthy of Reigen's kindness. Worthy of Reigen.

It could be said that Serizawa left Seasoning City a different man than when he walked in. He still avoided fellow travelers as best he could, keeping a careful radius between him and them when there was enough room for it. But this time he kept his chin up, met the eyes of strangers and returned their smiles and nods with weary confidence. Where before he had seen faceless entities, serving only as obstacles to avoid hurting and being hurt by, Serizawa found himself fascinated by the details that made each person unique. A woman with a solemn face and calloused hands, humming a song so delicate and lovely Serizawa could barely hear it before it was carried away by the breeze. A man with tired eyes and an expensive looking coat, walking like each step was important, and he cared little for what stood between him and his destination.

It was well past dusk by the time Serizawa made it to the countryside, and soon enough he found himself passing the Nakamuras' home. Nakamura himself was still in the yard, tending to his newly purchased goat and singing a quiet song to himself. Upon spotting him, Nakamura smiled and greeted him like they'd known each other for years, and Serizawa felt warm in the chilly night air. Serizawa declined the offer for a place to spend the night, but humbly asked to borrow a lantern for his remaining trek through the woods.

The trip up the mountain was harder than the trip down, especially with only the light of Nakamura's lantern to guide him. The fear that gripped his chest was mostly irrational. His powers could protect him from bears or boars, as well as catch him should he slip and fall down the mountain face. This was a primal fear, which kept him jumpy and paranoid of the things that lurked beyond his sphere of light. He was almost grateful for the fear, for it kept him awake and alert, even when his legs screamed for rest and his brain grew fuzzy from exhaustion. By the time Serizawa saw his little house through the trees he could have cried, had he had the energy for it. With a last burst of speed he rushed inside, slamming the door behind him and shedding his clothes and baggage like they were something putrid. His trembling legs carried his aching body through the house and into his bedroom, and he barely had time to pull the blankets around him before his head hit the pillow. 

He was asleep within seconds.

He was in the woods again.

The lantern glowed, just as it had before, and the trees stood tall and dark on all sides. Distantly, the bubbling rush of spring brooks echoed through the valley, interrupted only by the noises of birds and foxes hunting in the night. Serizawa tread carefully, picking his way across unsteady trails of boulders and gravel. His destination was a mere afterthought, and all that existed to him now was the path ahead of him, and the darkness behind him. 

“Ah, please wait for me.”

Stopping, Serizawa looked over his shoulder, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Just a few paces behind him was a figure he instantly recognized as his mother, hurriedly crossing the rocky terrain to catch up with him. 

“I’m sorry,” Serizawa muttered, reaching out a hand should he need to steady her. “Do you want to walk in front of me?”

His mother smiled, wrapping her hands around his outstretched arm. Serizawa felt the warmth through the fabric, pleasant and solid against the cool night air. “I think walking together would be just fine.”

The corners of Serizawa’s mouth tugged into the ghost of a smile, and the two of them made their way forward into the darkness. Neither of them seemed particularly afraid, and the seconds ticked by as the little sphere of light absorbed the ambient noise of the forest. “I’m so sorry, Katsuya,” his mother said eventually, and Serizawa looked down at her, a question in his eyes and on his lips.

“Things were hard, when I was a girl.” She didn’t meet Serizawa’s eyes as she spoke, her voice as calm and unwavering as he’d always known it to be. “Things were hard, and I ended up losing a lot of myself. I never wanted that for you. I wanted you to have a happy, easy life.” They were standing still now, and she gazed into the darkness like she was searching for something. Serizawa looked too, and found nothing but vacant blackness.

“I guess that was just wishful thinking. I can’t protect you from everything, and if I could, what kind of man would that make you? Sheltered and cowardly, like your father?” Her lips pursed, and her grip tightened fractionally around Serizawa’s arm. “But… seeing you struggle hurts me so much, Katsuya. Even if I can’t help you, I wish I could at least be there for you. But I can’t, and I’m sorry.”

Serizawa found he could no longer make out his mother’s face, as tears began to fill his sight and spill over his cheeks. “Mom,” he croaked, his throat tight and hot. 

“Oh, don’t cry, my darling.” With her sleeve, his mother carefully dried his face, and he felt exactly like he was nine years old, cradled in his mother’s arms that could shut out the rest of the world. The tears fell silently, as he couldn’t bring himself to sob. 

“You will lose so much in this life,” his mother said, soft and soothing. “So much, that sometimes it will feel like that is all you do. But someday you will realize all that you have gained, and you will know in your heart it was worth the suffering.”

“Nothing could be worth losing you,” Serizawa whispered, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Did you lose the food I cooked you? Did you lose the stories you told me? Did you lose thirty years of loving you?” When Serizawa cracked his eyes open, he could barely make out his mother’s kind smile. “Did you really lose me at all?”

Serizawa just stared at her, at the lines in her face and the grey in her hair and the love in her eyes. And he felt immeasurably lonely in an extremely odd way.

"It's time to keep going, Katsuya." With a gentle pat to his cheek, his mother pulled away, and took once again to the rocky mountain path. Serizawa made to join her, and fall into step once again, but before he knew what was happening she was straying close to the edge, in the space where rock became cliff. His mouth opened in an unformed shout, and he watched as her sandals found no traction in the gravel as her small body teetered and stumbled towards the edge. 

Time seemed to grind to a halt in an instant, and Serizawa could only stand and watch as his mother looked over her shoulder. He could see no fear or surprise in her eyes, only sorrow and a deep, endless love. And as she fell Serizawa called upon his magic, the reserve that had lived inside him and tormented him his entire life, only to find himself utterly and cruelly emptied. Instead his hand reached out uselessly as he watched her sink out of view, to be swallowed completely by the all-encompassing darkness.

Consciousness fell upon Serizawa like a slow-acting disease, starting in his twitching hands and ending at his blurry vision. He'd been awoken by something, but his skills of deduction were still somewhere under his pillow, and likely wouldn't wake until he'd gotten up and had something to eat. Luckily he wouldn't have to figure it out himself, because whatever had roused him made itself apparent once more: a loud but muffled sound coming from outside his room. His body managed to coordinate itself well enough to put him on his feet, and he wrapped his thick blanket around himself before stumbling out of his room.

Serizawa followed the noise to his front door, and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize two things:

One, the noise was a voice accompanied by the sound of a fist rapping on wood.

Two, he recognized the voice.

In an instant, Serizawa had already crossed the short distance to the door and threw it open with an almost manic fervor.

" Seri- oh." Reigen was interrupted mid-shout, his fist still raised from where it had been pounding the doorframe. "Hi there."

For a few seconds, Serizawa felt unsure he wasn't still dreaming. But then Reigen put his hands in his pockets, and he realized he'd been staring wide-eyed at him for what was probably an inappropriate amount of time. Serizawa opened his mouth, found he didn't have any words to make with it, and closed it.

Reigen, for all his tact, didn't seem to be fazed by this. "You do look terrible," he said bluntly. "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, Serizawa moved aside, and Reigen walked once again into his home. As he watched Reigen begin to carefully pull off his shoes, Serizawa took a deep breath and closed the door behind them. “What- what are you doing here?”

“Let me answer that question with another question.” After a second of pushing, Reigen’s boot separated from his foot with a soft foomp . “Can you tell me why my students were worried about a magic user that looked lost and half-dead and left my notebook with them only after spacing out and throwing shit around the office?”

As Reigen worked on the other boot, Serizawa ducked his head and pulled his blanket tighter around him. “I didn’t mean to worry them. Or you.” The second boot joined the first, and Serizawa watched socked feet enter his field of vision. 

“Look, Serizawa, I'll be honest with you.” Sheepishly, Serizawa looked up, and was met with a weary smile. “After what the kids told me, I was expecting the worst. Mob had to talk me into waiting until morning to go after you, and I’m lucky I found this place even in broad daylight. I know you didn’t mean it, but… I was really worried. And I’m really glad you’re alright.”

Words took a long time to make it to Serizawa's mouth, and in the meantime he found he could do nothing but stare blankly at the person in front of him. He realized, belatedly, that that was the second time he'd done it that morning. "W-well, I'm fine, as you can see. So, I guess you can go home now."

Reigen scoffed loudly, placing his hands on his hips and fixing Serizawa with A Look. "After 3 hours of hiking? I'm not exactly one to impose, but I feel like a minute to collect myself isn't too much to ask. Besides," taking a step into Serizawa's personal space, Reigen patted him twice on the cheek. "I'd hardly consider you 'fine'. You look like you're about to keel over." 

As if on queue, Serizawa's stomach let out a loud rumble, and Reigen chuckled softly. "Why don't I help you make lunch, yeah?" Taking a deep breath, Serizawa nodded once,  and led the two of them into his pantry.

Serizawa was too tired to come up with anything to say as they prepared a modest meal, and Reigen seemed too focused on his task to fill the silence beyond short instructions and asking for ingredients. As such, by the time they had something they could eat, the atmosphere had grown tense and awkward. In a subversive turn of events, Serizawa was the first to speak as they sat at the hearth, muttering a quick thank-you for the food before tucking into porridge and preserved fruits.

"I just… I don't understand why you're here." 

Seemingly caught off guard, Reigen had to talk around a mouthful of food to respond. "Wha'yu'mean?" 

Although painfully hungry, Serizawa set his bowl down with a pensive frown. "I mean, you seem like a nice person. I just think this is a long way to go for someone you only met once. There were probably ways you could have helped me that wouldn't have required as much effort on your part." Catching the look on Reigen's face, Serizawa quickly threw his hands up. "N-not that I'm not grateful, or that I mind you being here! I'm just confused, is all."

The expression on Reigen’s face shifted faster than Serizawa could keep track of, but it ended up looking something like contrition. Setting his own bowl down, Reigen leaned back with a sigh. “No, you’re right. I can’t say this was an entirely selfless trip, although helping you out is certainly not something I’m opposed to. I, uh.” He rolled his shoulders, and took a sudden burning interest in Serizawa’s ceiling. “I wanted to see you again, alright? I didn’t think I’d get a chance to, after how I left things, so I may have jumped a little too quick at the opportunity. And… I get it if you want me to leave, but I didn't want to go without knowing you'd be okay."

Rocks and butterflies and an intense heat tumbled around in Serizawa's gut, and his hands clenched into fists on his knees. "You were wrong. In your letter."

"How's that?"

A rueful smile twitched the corners of Serizawa's mouth. "You said there were people in this world that need me. You were wrong. If I disappeared tomorrow, not a single person would feel an absence. I am not needed by anyone." Looking up, Serizawa fixed his gaze of Reigen's eyes. "But there are people who need you . I saw them myself. Which is why you shouldn't waste your time on someone like me."

And Reigen's eyes, which Serizawa found himself so taken with, grew soft and endlessly sad. "You don't exist to be useful, Katsuya," he said. "You just exist. And you don't have to repent for it."

Unable to withstand the force of Reigen's gaze, Serizawa ducked his head. "What could someone like you possibly see in me?" He muttered to his lap. He heard the floorboards creak, and then footsteps; first past the hearth, then past his place on the floor. Suddenly he felt a pressure against his back, and something settling behind him. As Reigen breathed, Serizawa realized he was sitting with his back against his. 

"I'm the first person you've met in a long time, let alone the first person to show you kindness ," Reigen said, and Serizawa could feel his voice through his spine. "So I can understand how you could put me on a kind of pedestal. But you have to know that I am just a person. A person who is selfish, and arrogant, and a liar. My good traits don't make me a saint, and your shortcomings don't make you irredeemable." Serizawa felt a push, from what he realized was a silent laugh. "I don't like you because of some mystical quality I see in you, or some kind of act of charity. I like you because I'm a person, and you're a person, and sometimes people just like each other."

The ends of his hair tickled the back of Serizawa's neck when Reigen turned his head. "But, if you must know. What 'someone like me' sees in you is a kind, compassionate soul that works hard and thinks too much for his own good. And I missed you more than I probably should have."

"I'm more trouble than I'm worth," Serizawa muttered.

"I think I'll be the judge of that. And you overestimate how valuable my time is."

"I've never… felt this way about someone before."

"I have. It doesn't get any easier."

"What if I screw it up?"

"What if you do? What if I do? Life moves on. You have to hope it was worth it. And if you put in the effort, it will be."

Silence overtook them, and Serizawa took the time to bask in the warmth of a body against his, warmer than a hundred blankets and unshakably alive. But too soon the warmth left him, and the floorboards creaked once again with the weight of a shifting body. A hand entered Serizawa's field of vision, and he turned to see Reigen standing by his side. Silently, Serizawa took the hand, and was pulled firmly yet gently to his feet. 

For a long moment, time seemed to stand still as they faced each other, air tense and bodies rigid. Serizawa looked into Reigen's eyes, close enough to see the deep brown that barely stood out against the black of his pupils. Very consciously he glanced down at his lips, pink and soft and absolutely terrifying. But they smiled all the same, and Serizawa welcomed them when they crashed against his own, even when his heart felt like it would crack a hole in his ribs at any second. He held fast as Reigen moved against him, hands roaming his back, his chest, his neck. Everywhere Reigen touched felt seared, so much so that Serizawa was afraid he'd start to melt, and Reigen would be left with a puddle of stupid, lovesick man.

Maybe the lack of oxygen was killing Serizawa's brain cells. 

Pulling apart just enough to rest their foreheads together, Serizawa giggled almost deliriously. “As wonderful this is I am actually still very hungry, do you mind if we finish lunch?”

“Only if you’ll finish me off afterwards.”

Maybe there were more things Serizawa would need to grow accustomed to than he previously thought. But being able to listen to Reigen’s snorting laughter, it didn’t seem as daunting of a task as it used to be.