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The office is steeped in a rare moment of calm and quiet, and Serizawa takes in the scene around him, revelling in the peaceful atmosphere. Across the room Reigen squints at his desktop, brow furrowed in deep thought, or perhaps he’s playing online solitaire again. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him highlights the red and brown tones in his hair a vibrant gold. Kageyama is curled on one of the sofas with his legs tucked beneath him and his homework neglected in his schoolbag; his attention is instead dedicated wholly to the comic book in his hands.
Serizawa taps the end of his pen absently against the pages in front of him, his thoughts wandering far from the task at hand, choosing instead to settle comfortably somewhere in the middle distance. There hadn’t been any clients for a few hours now, and the sun pouring through from outside leaves the small room drenched in a thick heat. He notes the air around them feels frozen in time — precariously balanced, as though the smallest interruption would shatter their peace.
There are few points in his life that Serizawa can remember feeling so at home, not just in a place, but in his own skin. The kind of easy silence he can share with the people he’s found here is not the sort of thing he would have considered valuable in the past, but now that he has it, now that feels this kind of acceptance around others, it has become the most important thing in the world.
The tranquil mood seems to have infected even the dust motes which hang, suspended, lazy in the afternoon light. That is, until they decide the time is right to trigger his allergies, and a sneeze rips like a bullet through the finely spun silence.
Oh no.
Normal people sneeze, he reminds himself quickly, as Reigen jumps so violently it’s a miracle he doesn’t end up on the floor. It’s not the end of the world, he tells himself, as he feels heat rush to his cheeks, racing shame to be the first visible on his face.
No, what’s embarrassing is when your psychic sneeze causes three teacups to spin into the air and shatter against the thin carpet. What’s embarrassing is that it’s the third time this week that Kageyama has had to lift a hand and seamlessly mend the cups, before setting them lightly back on the desk and returning to his book without a word. What’s embarrassing is seeing Reigen scramble to right the chair that had nearly tipped, then place a hand against his chest to soothe a racing heart. Even worse, they both carry on, business as usual, as though smashing ceramics from ten feet away is perfectly natural.
He squeaks out a “Sorry,” sinking in his chair a little before returning to his paperwork with vigour. There’s no response, only a chuckle from behind Reigen’s computer. He looks up to see him grinning at the screen, chin in one hand and a hint of colour in his cheeks.
He must be humiliated on my behalf… How embarrassing.
*
It happens again at the end of the week. Friday evenings in the local pub have become routine for the two of them, and this one is no different. They sit, crowded into one another’s space in their usual small booth, and talk. Serizawa feels the pint and a half in his system, lending a pleasant airiness to his thoughts and allowing conversation to tumble out a little easier, a little freer than normal. Watching people is a common activity on nights like these: Seasoning City seems to have an endless supply of strange characters and stranger fashion choices, so to have Reigen fling an arm around him and whisper conspiratorially “Don’t look now but totally look at that guy over there,” shouldn’t feel as significant as it does.
But it does. Reigen is close enough that Serizawa can feel his breath on his skin, and his stomach performs some kind of acrobatic stunt entirely independent to the alcohol. He doesn’t have the time to analyse this, though, before he spots the man Reigen was ever so subtly pointing out. Something about that number of neon colours clustered onto one article of clothing, and combined with that hair… It’s too much for him, and Serizawa barely has time to clap a hand over his mouth before breaking into peals of laughter. Reigen slaps his back as he does, and he only notices the rattling of every glass on every table in their vicinity when they start getting looks. He stops as suddenly as he had started, and has to make a conscious effort to bring his glass back down from its new spot where it levitates two inches above the table. Neon man scowls in their direction and snatches his drink out of the air.
When he regains control, he notices Reigen is still shaking with quiet laughter. It’s a snorting, half stifled, drunken kind of laugh, and it would be far more endearing if he didn’t know it was at his expense. He knew there had been a reason he didn’t like to drink before. Reigen eventually seems to regain some semblance of composure and peers at him, elbow still perched on his shoulder, and the smile hasn’t yet left his face. Something glimmers in those eyes, and Serizawa finds that even when he tries to move on, pointing out the next eccentric stranger, Reigen seems to have trouble looking anywhere other than at him.
He must find it funny, how useless I am — how after all this time I still can’t keep my powers in check. How embarrassing.
In time, the evening returns to normal. Well, normal enough. Reigen’s tie is loose and one arm is still thrown lazily over Serizawa’s shoulder, but the position slowly settles into familiarity, and he’s almost comfortable by the time they decide to call it a night. He had always thought himself a lightweight, but that was before he met Reigen, who, even after failing to finish his second drink, stumbles a little as they leave the bar. They pay up, walk out, and the brisk evening air hits them full force.
“Shit it’s cold,” Reigen blinks hard and rubs his hands together, jolliness not lost even to the chill. Even in his coat and scarf, he looks almost too fragile to be out in the cold, nose and ears already rosy. Serizawa considers, in an impulsive flash, wrapping his arms around the scrawny man — how much warmer they both would be — but instead he buries his hands in his own pockets and bids his boss goodnight. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Reigen’s smile fall, just a little, and decides for sure that the last few hours had been an act. Reigen had been humouring him after seeing he still didn’t have the slightest bit of control over his powers, and could finally relax now that they’re parting ways. His cheeks flush in spite of the cold, and the pleasant lightness of the evening now settles into cold anxiety, weighing in the pit of his stomach.
*
The following weeks pass without event, (besides the typical supernatural encounters and ghostly near misses that constitute daily life for the team at Spirits and Such), and Serizawa has spent the time only slightly dwelling on his previous psychic wobbles. Hardly any moping. Barely noticeable. He’ll get over it.
The sun sinks slowly over the city, dragging its feet en route to kiss the horizon, and Reigen is closing up the office. Serizawa watches as he stands, craning his neck forwards and rotating his shoulders, stiff from sitting behind the desk these last few hours. The action momentarily ages him ten years, and Serizawa smiles to himself, picturing Reigen as an old man with the same eccentric body language and mouth-running tendencies as the con artist before him.
Eventually he pops his back, lets out a sigh, and turns towards Serizawa.
“Can you believe that client though? Haunted wristwatch my ass, what she needed was directions to a pawn shop.” He pauses. “And maybe a therapist.” Reigen pushes his chair under the desk and moves to inspect the pile of coins atop it. “And did she have to pay us in change?”
Serizawa smiles; this is a conversation they’ve had twice today already, but bemoaning ill-mannered clients seems to bring Reigen endless joy, so he plays along once more.
“Maybe she and her dodgy watch don’t want a paper trail,” he offers.
Reigen snaps his fingers at that, not looking up from where he’s rapidly sorting coins into two piles. “You know I think you’re right — who knows what she was up to?”
“Why, surely the 21st century’s greatest psychic, no?” Serizawa’s grin could, possibly, maybe, perhaps be described by some as shit-eating.
That gets his attention. Reigen looks at him quizzically, as though shocked by the sarcasm, (Serizawa would say he learnt from the best), then scoffs and slips into his client persona for effect. “Oh, naturally, but these spirits and curses can be awfully misleading you know. You can never be too careful!” He punctuates this with a handful of rapid gesticulations, ending with a finger in the air and a fistful of coins held out dramatically in Serizawa’s direction.
Their smiles now mirror each other, wide and mischievous, and it’s only when the change falls into his own hand that he realises how close Reigen had moved during his speech. He pockets it with an absent thanks, and it registers somewhere deep at the back of his mind that he’s planted firmly between Reigen and the door. He can’t find it in himself to move, though. The space between them seems all at once too little and too much — both suffocating and vast — and his gut once again seems to have taken up parkour without his permission.
Reigen steps closer, and Serizawa can’t tell if the nervous energy coursing through his body wants him to close the gap or bolt. One of those options evaporates into the air when a gentle hand is placed, almost gingerly, on his shoulder. His heart stops in place. The contact sparks through his chest and reverberates throughout his entire being, scattering any logical thoughts to the far corners of his consciousness and, at the same time, the heavy wooden desk across the room tips over onto its side with a tremendous boom. Both men leap about a foot in the air and Reigen clings to the front of Serizawa’s jacket like a lifeline. Serizawa’s arms instinctively wrap around him in their moment of panic, clutching him tight and taking on a protective stance.
They realise at the same time what the sound had been, and hastily disentangle from one another. Serizawa can only cover his face with his hands to hide his new shade of red; he doesn’t even know what it was he’s just ruined. Stupid stupid stupid. He hears a grunt, and realises Reigen is struggling to lift the desk back into place himself. Struggling and failing, he notes, rushing over to catch a corner before it can land squarely on the other’s foot. Together they heft it upright and Serizawa frantically gathers up papers while Reigen grapples with the computer, thankfully in one piece, but still on the floor.
“I am — so sorry,” he gets out, before Reigen interrupts him.
“Don’t! Don’t be, I’m sorry I scared you, I uh,” He gestures halfheartedly, “I was just trying to get to the door…”
There’s no malice in the statement, but whatever fragile moment had existed before is long gone now.
“Sorry,” He says again, though he’s not sure exactly what he’s apologising for this time. Reigen claps him on the shoulder on his way past and flashes a smile before dashing out.
Alone in the office, Serizawa slumps back against a wall and closes his eyes. His mind is spinning faster than he can keep up with, so he breathes deeply, as Reigen had instructed that one time, focussing on the smell of incense and herbal tea that clings to this room like a vengeful spirit.
What was happening back there? Was I just in his way? What the hell made me push the desk?
He eventually pulls himself together, picks up his bag and switches the light off, making sure to lock the door behind him as he leaves, and absolutely does not dwell for even a second on the lingering feeling of Reigen wrapped up in his arms.
*
The building is dark and dirty. Grime stains the walls and a persistent stench of damp follows them room to room. From what he’s read online, Serizawa thinks it’s been abandoned for at least the last five years. neglected and crumbling into disrepair. Three teenagers, probably around Kageyama’s age, had booked an appointment this morning, and had piled into the office to explain themselves. They were planning to turn the ground floor into a kind of gallery, a place to show off their art to their friends, but had encountered an evil spirit and couldn’t continue until it was gone. Reigen had jumped at the idea, rejecting their cobbled-together attempt at payment, and asked instead for tickets to the grand opening. Serizawa hadn’t been able to hide his glee at the whole prospect.
“Can you feel anything?” Reigen asks from his safe position, trailing a couple feet behind.
“Just about,” he replies. “I’m having trouble telling where it is though.” By just about, Serizawa means that the whole place is thrumming with psychic energy; they’ve reached the third floor, and whatever resides here hasn’t chosen to show itself yet. It gives off an unpleasant staticky sensation at parts, but he finds he can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. He figures there’s no point in raising the alarm until he has a better idea of where the thing is hiding.
Reigen steps closer. “Well, don’t hesitate to melt it when you find it. This place is giving me the creeps.” A pause. “Do you think there are many bugs here?”
“I’m sure it’s safe, it can’t-“
A horrible scuttling sound fills the room, seeming to come from all sides at once. Ah, that’s why it didn’t seem to come from any one place in particular, he thinks, as thirty or so distinctly bug-shaped spirits erupt from the walls and floor around them. Reigen turns several different shades of green in at an alarming rate, and grips his face, rooted in place. Serizawa wastes no time in targeting the swarm, exorcising each in what must be record time. Flashes of bright purple and white fill the space around them — a spectacular kind of firework display, in a kind of bug-exploding-y way, if he does say so himself. As the luminescence dies down, he turns back to Reigen, slightly out of breath and standing amid psychic goop, only to find he has turned away, and is pointing at something else. Something much bigger.
Whatever this amalgamation is, it looks like something that ought to be haunting a particularly brutal exterminator. The mass of segmented bodies and many, many legs is enough to deeply unnerve Serizawa, and he’s not the one with the phobia here. He swivels to hit it with full force, and although it puts up a frighteningly good fight, he reduces it to another pile of slime within a few blasts.
He shudders and remains on guard, waiting a few beats to ensure it has really, definitely stopped moving this time. He can still feel his heart pounding in his ears when something brushes his back and he yelps, spinning on the spot and preparing another wave of psychic energy. It’s surely a coincidence that at that same moment every window on their floor blows out into the street below. However it’s not another inset monster he finds behind him, but a startled looking Reigen, with both hands up in a placating gesture. Serizawa exhales, dropping his own hands and letting out an anxious chuckle.
“I think I got them,” He says. He glances at the nearest shattered window and at the glass littering the floor.
“Just about.” There’s a teasing tone to Reigen’s voice, and the tension evaporates from the room. The guy may not have psychic powers, but his ability to shift an atmosphere in mere seconds is a trait surely beyond normal humans. There’s a sudden eruption of cheers and whooping from outside, and both men lean out to see the kids below, jumping and applauding.
“Nice showmanship there,” Reigen says, a knowing smile accompanying the gentle jibe. “Just don’t go smashing up any of my clients’ homes, yeah?” He grabs his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly, and Serizawa feels a glowing warmth wrap around his chest. The closeness elicits that same stomach-flipping response he’s tried so hard not to think about. His heart picks up and flutters in a way that’s far more pleasant, far more worrying than the exertion and breathlessness brought about by fighting spirits. He suddenly realises he’s staring, the broken windows all but forgotten.
He ducks his head, sheepishly returning the smile. “I’ll keep it in mind next time I decide to perform an exorcism with flair.”
*
This week has been gruelling. Busy is good, busy means they can splurge on their Friday meals after work. (Serizawa isn’t exactly sure when they had decided to upgrade their evening drinks to a weekly meal together, but he certainly isn’t complaining.) Busy means Kageyama even gets treated to a raise. This week, however, felt endless. Walking out from their fourth job of the day, Serizawa notes that dusk is approaching. Kageyama had gone home before this last one, citing club practice and homework, so the two of them had tackled the last minor haunting across town together. Reigen had spoken soothingly to the quaking client, while Serizawa had walked into the next room and flicked the minuscule but bothersome spirit out of existence. A quick job, and one well done.
The house is on the outskirts of its neighbourhood, and Reigen suggests walking through a nearby field to get back.
“A shortcut,” He says.
It is definitely not a shortcut, but the cool evening breeze and smell of cut grass is inviting after a week spent rushing about the busy city from job to job, so he follows Reigen along the winding path he chooses to walk.
They meander, take their time, and the sky phases into a delicate purple. Reigen walks with his hands in his pockets, chattering amiably in short bursts, but is mostly quiet — subdued somehow — as though very deep in thought. Serizawa wants to ask, but figures if there’s something he needs to say, he’ll say it. Reigen never seems to have had trouble articulating his thoughts in the past.
The first star looks down through thin clouds before he finally turns to him, slightly abrupt, almost clumsily. The jagged nature of the movement is so very Reigen, but the apprehension behind his eyes is so very wrong. Serizawa wants to soothe whatever is troubling him, feels the urge to help however he can.
“Is there—” He starts, at the same time as Reigen’s “Can I—” and they both stop, gesturing for the other to continue instead.
The game of charades continues a moment longer, until Reigen frowns, and reaches out to grip Serizawa’s upper arm in a jerky, fumbling motion. Both men look at the hand, which offers an awkward pat, before resuming its place on his arm. Serizawa is well and truly lost. He’s not sure what it is about the contact that’s making his blood race; Reigen is usually a pretty hands on guy, there’s nothing particularly unusual about this, but nevertheless he wonders if his pulse can be felt through the thick material of his coat. If he looks as panicked as he suddenly feels.
Looking up from the point of contact, he sees Reigen’s eyes are trained on his face. He meets them, and feels all his internal organs swap places. Electricity courses through his bones and all he can do is watch.
“Can I, uh,” Reigen looks pained. It’s a distressing look on him, forehead pinched and nose wrinkled. “Can I, just. Can you…” He huffs, and steps in even closer. Serizawa is too dazed by the proximity to think clearly about anything, let alone begin to comprehend the fact that Reigen, self proclaimed greatest psychic of the 21st century, seems to be at a loss for words. Quite possibly for the first time in his life.
“Look,” Reigen tugs his arms a little, bringing him nearer. “Look don’t make me stand on my toes, okay? That would… That would be really embarrassing.”
Wait.
Reigen tugs again, and Serizawa follows obligingly, leaning down slightly, so close that he can no longer pull individual features into focus.
Wait. Is this really happening-
“Is this okay?” Is said so softly, so close to his face, and Serizawa can only nod, dumbstruck. And then there’s a hand against his cheek, and lips against his own, and a shockwave flies out through the grass, lifting clippings that twirl in the air around them.
Reigen pulls back, and at first Serizawa is positive he’s done something wrong again. He opens his mouth to apologise for disturbing all the grass, it really was an accident, he didn’t mean to, but Reigen is red faced and laughing. It’s open, and it’s joyous, and he can’t help but laugh along. His mind is still spinning, caught up in the giddiness of the last few seconds, and unintentionally causes the wind of pick up, whipping at their clothes and tousling their hair.
“It’s incredible,” Reigen says, still so close and so warm. Serizawa isn’t sure what he’s talking about until he gestures at the whirlwind encompassing the pair. “You, this... You’re incredible.”
Reigen’s expression is open and delighted. The full force of the man’s electric attention is directed at him, and Serizawa’s heart accelerates just at the thought of being the cause, the subject, of such a tender and vulnerable expression. His heart is hammering for a whole number of reasons, really. He shuts his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts, and focus on slowing the wind.
As it finally settles, he turns back to Reigen and takes his hands in his own. “You—” he tries, “I can’t believe— I mean,” He stumbles over the words, “You really—“
“Yes, yeah I’ve been trying to say something for… for weeks but, I kept losing my nerve and…”
“And I kept wrecking shit,” Serizawa says, shaking his head as he reflects on their past few encounters.
“Hey, don’t you dare think I see that as anything other than absolutely charming.” Reigen reprimands, emphasising the words with a gentle squeeze of hands and a small chuckle. “Although, yeah, there maybe was a reason I got you out into the middle of nowhere to kiss you.”
The words alone make Serizawa’s face heat up, but even though he keeps his powers in check, it’s the first time he can recall not resenting them and their desire to interfere. He finally seizes his impulse of the last… he’s not sure how long, and wraps his arms around Reigen to pull him close. They stand there a while, just soaking in one another’s proximity at long last, until Reigen steps back with a small gasp.
“I just remembered — those kids are opening up their art thing tonight! If we get a train now we’ll still catch it.”
Serizawa can’t keep the smile from his face, and Reigen takes his hand, all but dragging him through the field towards then nearest station. And if, at the contact, the trees move a little more in the breeze, and some leaves tumble down to float around them, neither man seems to mind.