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I just reupholstered that couch.
That’s the first thought that pops into Reigen’s head. He’d like to think he’s pretty good at improvising on the spot — it’s in the job description, after all. Right now, however, Reigen’s mind is carefully blank. Zen-like. A modern-day Buddha: Reigen Arataka. No appropriate responses are coming up, because Reigen is very carefully curating his calm, placid, and relaxed state of mind.
“What’s going on here?” Reigen settles on, after a long, horrible moment. His voice comes out curiously neutral, as if commenting on some peculiar weather phenomenon.
In all respects, it’s a pretty stupid question. As if it isn’t obvious exactly what’s going on here; there’s even a thin line of saliva still connecting Mob’s lips to his brother’s. Hmm. Reigen doesn’t like to look at it, so instead he directs his attention, with the same zen-like grace, towards inspecting his real fake leather upholstery.
Nobody says anything. At any moment, someone is going to peel back the walls of Reigen’s office as if it’s the scenery of a high-school play and shout you just got pranked! and then the whole thing will be revealed to be an elaborate prank show at Reigen’s expense.
Perhaps Mob was choking, and Ritsu was, in his panic, giving Mob CPR.
Perhaps Mob has awakened a newfound appreciation for acting, and Ritsu, graciously, has volunteered to play the part of Mob’s co-star.
“Sorry, Shishou,” Mob says, apologetic. “I didn’t ask to come in your office today.”
“That’s alright,” Reigen replies faintly. Reigen doesn’t particularly like to do anything ‘faintly’ — generally, when he’s doing something, he likes to be confident about it, or at least act the part.
More silence. Ritsu is the first to move. He stands up suddenly, glaring at Reigen. “What are you doing here?”
“I pay the rent for here. I gave your older brother the key for here. So my question is: what are you doing here?”
“Are you going to tell our parents?”
‘Our’ parents. Nice. Reigen thinks about it for a second.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama, I caught your two sons making out on my couch.’
‘With who?’
‘Oh, you know. Each other.’
Reigen’s been through his office burning to the ground. Hell, he’s even been an impromptu marriage counselor once or twice, attempted to save the dying scraps of a family torn apart. The idea of watching the Kageyama family burn is equally unappealing. “Well, that depends on how good your explanation is.”
Reigen takes a seat on the opposite couch. Bile is unhelpfully rising in his throat, so he swallows it back down. Mob, perhaps sensing Reigen’s unhappiness about the situation, gets up and goes to make some tea. Reigen stares at Ritsu until, still glaring at Reigen, he sits back down.
“What’s there to explain?” Ritsu sets his jaw defiantly.
This really isn’t Reigen’s job. He should pawn these two off on their parents, go home and drink a beer or ten, and attempt to induce retroactive short-term memory loss.
It’s not a conversation Reigen is looking forward to having with the Kageyamas, though; this is, remarkably, the lesser of two evils.
“Well,” Reigen starts, searching for the right words, “you could start with — why were you two making out on my couch?”
“...I was possessed by a spirit.”
Reigen looks at him. “Yeah? Good thing that cleared up as soon as I walked into the room.”
Ritsu, to his credit, seems to realize the explanation is as stupid as it sounds. “Our parents were home, and we knew you’d be gone today.”
“I don’t really care how you got here.” God, Reigen sounds like his father. “I want to know why. ”
Ritsu doesn’t say anything, just glares at his shoes. Nobody prepared Reigen for this; there’s a reason he never had kids. He drags in a breath, holds it for a bit, lets it out, and feels only marginally better. He wishes he had a cig, something to occupy his mouth. Meanwhile, Mob comes back with the tea and sets it on the table, sitting next to Ritsu.
“...Look. I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I’m just trying to understand.” Better. Reigen still sounds like somebody’s father, but at least it isn’t his. He reaches over and takes his teacup from the table. Smiles at Mob in thanks. Then he takes a sip, burns his mouth, and tries to pretend he didn’t.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Ritsu says bitterly.
Right out of the teenage handbook. Mob never said shit like this to Reigen, but then again, Mob was never really a typical teenager anyways. Shame Ritsu chose now to start coloring inside the lines, and not before he started sucking face with his brother.
“You’re right, I really don’t. That’s why I’m asking you to explain it to me.”
It’s surprisingly easy to keep his voice calm. Reigen’s horrified, sure. Repulsed — definitely. But he’s not angry. How could he be? They’re just kids, which means something has gone horribly wrong somewhere in their lives. Some adult has failed them, maybe. Maybe it’s Reigen’s fault for not sitting Mob down and explaining to him, just in case, that incestous relationships with siblings are generally inadvisable. He just assumed that most kids pick up on that pretty early in life.
Mob seems to find his voice. “I love Ritsu,” he says carefully. “I love Ritsu, so I think this is… it’s fine. This is just what we do.” He looks to Ritsu for reassurance, faltering at Reigen’s expression.
Reigen doesn’t like the sound of that at all; it makes the contents of his stomach roil threateningly. More than anything, he wants to take Mob aside and question him privately, but he doesn’t think Ritsu would stand for it. He makes a mental note to talk to Mob later.
“...Do you do this with other people in your family, too?” Reigen’s met the Kageyama parents a few times. They seem like good people: down to earth, sensible. He likes to think he’s a pretty good judge of character, but—
“No!” Ritsu bursts out. “We’re — we’re not being groomed .” He hisses that last part under his breath, but judging by Mob’s expression, Mob doesn’t seem to know what the word entails. Reigen can practically read his thoughts: he’s probably thinking of a dog getting brushed, something like that. The idea of it helps keep Reigen from simply climbing out the window of his office.
“You just… you wouldn’t get it! It’s like — it’s like psychic powers,” Ritsu says resolutely. “Society doesn’t understand. They think it’s strange but maybe if they stopped to think about it —”
“Psychic powers,” Reigen repeats, cutting Ritsu off. Ritsu takes a deep, shuddering breath; looks like he’s caught between bursting into tears and shouting.
“That’s right. They don’t understand it; they don’t understand the kind of love we have, so they call it disgusting. What makes this so wrong? We’re not hurting anyone!”
Ritsu’s sentence starts wobbling at the end as it gets louder. Mob grabs Ritsu’s hand and squeezes it tight. In the interest of self-preservation, Reigen doesn’t think about the gesture, doesn’t read into it more than he has to.
To be frank, Reigen’s not interested in debating the societal ramifactions of incest with a — what, fourteen? — year old boy. He doesn’t derive any particular satisfaction from chasing down the point; besides, he doubts Ritsu will be swayed by any argument he puts forth. It would probably be a more apt use of Reigen’s time to debate the morality of incest with the potted plant he has in the corner of the office, the one Reigen is staring at very intensely because if he wasn’t looking at it, he’d be looking at Mob and Ritsu.
“It’s wrong because I said so.” Again, it’s another thing his father would have said; Reigen hated hearing it then and he hates it now. He reels the words in before they come tumbling out. Instead, he takes a deep breath, pushes all the things he wants to say down.
“Incest isn’t like psychic powers,” Reigen says, matter-of-factly, and takes the time to make sure he doesn’t stumble over the word ‘incest’. He’s opened this can of worms already; might as well go all the way in. Taking another sip of tea, Reigen drags his eyes back up to Ritsu and Mob. “It’s —...” It’s what? It’s not like Reigen ever took the time to think about it, didn’t think he’d ever have to.
“It’s not normal,” Mob supplies helpfully, with great weight behind this revelation. “But lots of people have parts of them that aren’t normal. Like how Shishou can finish a jumbo-sized bowl of shoyu ramen in under two minutes.”
Reigen stares at Mob. Ritsu stares at Reigen.
“Can you really?” Ritsu asks.
“Yes. Anyways, that’s not the point. This — this relationship you two have, it’s not healthy.”
“Neither is eating a jumbo-sized bowl of ramen in under two minutes,” Ritsu says.
“Okay, but the difference between that and this is that I can hit the gym for a few months and I’ll be good, but you only get one brother. If something happens — you two fall out, realize the whole thing isn’t working — you don’t get a second chance. You’re stuck with each other.”
Reigen sits back, confident his point has been made adequately. Mob’s face clears in understanding, which is a good sign. At least —
“That won’t happen,” Mob states, smiling with relief. “I could never fight with Ritsu.” There’s a pause; Mob seems to come to a sudden realization. “Oh, but sometimes he kisses me after he’s had natto, and I have to go tell him to brush his teeth. Also, sometimes he pushes me off the bed when he’s sleeping. But I don’t think he means to do that, so it’s alright.”
Reigen stares at Mob, wrong-footed. Mob has missed the point: he’s missed it so hard that he’s ended up on another planet. In another galaxy. In another universe.
“Sorry, Nii-san,” Ritsu says softly, “I didn’t realize I was pushing you off the bed. You can push me off too, if you want to.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind. The floor of your room is very clean,” Mob assures him, glowing with pride in his little brother’s cleanliness.
Okay — okay. Reigen pulls a mental U-turn, swerves in the opposite direction. It’s clear that convincing Mob that he’ll eventually encounter a dispute with his little brother is not going to be a productive use of time; it might, in fact, stress Mob out more. Ritsu, he suspects, has a better grasp on that reality — he just doesn’t seem to care, at least not enough to stop him from kissing his brother.
“What if you fall in love with some girl in the future? What then? You’ll have to break up,” Reigen points out. “Like Tsubomi-chan. What would you do if she came back and told you she liked you, Mob?”
This seems to give Mob pause; Ritsu scowls. “If Nii-san falls in love with someone else, then he should date her. If Takane-san — if she told Nii-san she was in love with him, then — then they should date.”
Mob’s looking at the floor. He’s still turning this idea over in his head. “I don’t think Tsubomi-chan would do that,” he ventures. “She told me she didn’t like me. Romantically. I don’t think she would do that.” His face is a little red, presumably from imagining the scenario.
“And if Ritsu fell in love with a girl?” Reigen prompts insistently, and Ritsu’s scowl turns murderous.
“Ritsu is popular with a lot of girls,” Mob informs him, bright with pride. “Sometimes I have to help carry all of his love letters back home. And he gets a lot of chocolate on Valentine’s Day.”
“Yes,” Ritsu admits. “But — but Nii-san, I’m not interested in any of them. I turn them all down. I just want to be with you.”
“You might be interested in one of them,” Mob insists, predictably. “You might be, and then you’ll get married, and have little babies. You might, Ritsu.”
“It would be hard to get a girlfriend if you were da—… busy with your brother,” Reigen adds sagely, as if he himself has first-hand experience.
“I don’t want a girlfriend,” Ritsu insists back.
“But so many girls like you.” Mob looks bewildered by the idea of Ritsu not wanting a girlfriend. “That’s why we’re practicing now. So you can have a nice girlfriend and have nice babies who are smart and talented like you, Ritsu.”
Practicing. Shit. Reigen thinks he’s got a good idea of what’s going on.
“I don’t want a girlfriend right now. ” Ritsu amends placatingly, eyes darting to Reigen and back again. “I might — later. But that’s later , Nii-san. So it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Mob agrees reluctantly, clearly still preoccupied with the idea of smart and talented Ritsu and his equally smart and talented babies.
“And what if you regret this relationship with your brother ever happening?” Reigen presses.
“Every relationship can turn out badly. That doesn’t mean you should never get involved with anyone,” Ritsu retorts. It makes sense; it would make sense, at least, if the context wasn’t so batshit insane.
“Yeah, but I don’t have to see my exes at every family gathering I’ll ever have.”
“Nii-san will never be my ex, ” Ritsu says derisively. “What we have is something you’ll never understand.”
Ah, to be fourteen again; to have such unshakable confidence. If Ritsu said this in any other context, Reigen would just chuckle and wave it off as embarrassing teenage romance. In some alternate universe where something didn’t crack in this kid’s head, Reigen would be laughing and shooing them out of his office jovially.
“So you’re going to hide your relationship forever. You’re going to live like this for the rest of your life? Really? Never getting married? Never getting tired of each other?”
“Yes,” Ritsu says, with such unwavering surety that Reigen can practically feel the aneurysm developing in his own brain. “You think it’s wrong because we can’t get married? Because society thinks we’re disgusting? I bet you think gay people are disgusting, too, right, Reigen-san?” Ritsu continues, remembering to add the pretense of politeness so laughably late Reigen almost scoffs.
Reigen feels him getting under his skin. He likes to think that he’s rather even-tempered, so he ignores it. “I bet I’m mandated to report to some government agency about this,” he grumbles, and knows instantly it was the wrong thing to say.
“Is it the same agency you report overworked and underpaid child laborers to?” Ritsu shoots back.
“This and that aren’t even in the same fucking ballpark,” Reigen snaps, suddenly seething. Mob’s hands clench; his posture stiffens, eyes shadowed by his bangs. He knows Ritsu notices it too; Reigen takes a deep breath — takes several for good measure, and reins his anger in. Keeping an internal tally of how many times he’s done something his father would do isn’t healthy: any shrink worth their salt would psychoanalyze the shit out of Reigen. Good thing he’s not the one lying on the metaphorical therapist’s bench.
“Look,” he says, softer. “This doesn’t have anything to do with being gay, or being societally unacceptable. I don’t get it — being gay, that is” — oh yes he does — “but I don’t judge. What you and your brother have going on is unhealthy. ”
“You don't know anything about us,” Ritsu snaps back, huddling closer to Mob, defensive. This is why anger is never the solution; he hadn’t expected to get through to Ritsu, at least not right away, but if he had just made Mob rethink the whole thing...
They’re just children, Reigen tells himself, and takes another calming breath. This would be easier if he didn’t know these two at all; it wouldn’t be his circus or his incestuous monkeys. He cares too fucking much.
“You’re right,” Reigen concedes. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
Ritsu doesn’t buy it; Reigen wouldn’t either, if he were Ritsu.
“I’m not your parents. I have no horse in this race. I could march you right to your folks and watch as all hell breaks loose.”
“They wouldn’t believe you,” Ritsu tells him.
“I have a security camera in here,” Reigen informs him. “I had it installed after a client punched Serizawa in the face. I could show them the footage.” It’s not a lie; Reigen does have a security camera installed, hidden in one of the cabinets — he just stopped turning it on because it was eating too much of his bandwidth, making this a bluff and not, technically, a lie. Ritsu stares at him, as if debating whether to call him on it or not.
“So? Why don’t you?”
“I won’t,” Reigen says, “because I give a damn about you, and I want you two to understand what you’re doing before I go and fuck up your lives.”
Mob looks up; his expression is still inscrutable, but Reigen thinks his posture has relaxed, just slightly. “Is Serizawa-san alright?”
“What?” Oh. “Yeah, he’s fine. I sent the client packing after that.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Ritsu says. “I know—…” He swallows, takes a moment to gather himself. “I know what it looks like. But I don’t care,” he bursts out abruptly, voice wobbly. “You can tell our parents. I don’t care, ” he repeats.
Reigen can spot false bravado from a mile away. He can also spot tears incoming; when they start streaming down Ritsu’s face, he starts fumbling for the tissues.
“Ritsu, don’t cry,” Mob pleads, panicked, and pulls Ritsu towards him so that Ritsu can bury his face in Mob’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Reigen-shishou understands. He knows it’s okay.”
As Reigen hands a fistful of tissues to Ritsu and takes a gulp of his lukewarm tea, he thinks Reigen-shishou really doesn’t understand. What else is he going to do? March over to the Kageyamas? He can already picture them flickering from feverish denial, to horror, to disgust; what would they do? Send them to separate schools? Scream at them? Get them therapy, Reigen would like to hope — but he doesn’t know, does he? Would it be better or worse for Reigen to just leave them be?
Maybe he does understand, he thinks, looking away and pretending he can’t hear Ritsu’s muffled, staccato sobs. Not — not the part about being in love with his brother, of course, he doesn’t have a brother and even if he did the idea of swapping spit with his hypothetical brother would not appeal.
But… most people have fallen for someone they shouldn’t, right? And if that person who he shouldn’t have fallen for happened to be his brother… it wouldn’t be his fault. He’d never act on it, of course, but if he was younger… No, he still wouldn’t act on it. If he was in love with… his cousin, twice-removed, maybe; then Reigen could see it, visualize this forbidden love. And if this cousin was incredibly attractive and not Mob, who has the sex appeal of a Lego brick, then…
In some distant way, Reigen thinks, if he thought about it, he could understand where Ritsu is coming from. He looks back at Ritsu, whose tears are being kissed away by his brother, and then he very quickly looks at the blank TV, which reflects the sight of Ritsu being kissed by his brother back to Reigen, so then he just settles on looking at the ceiling, which does not. He’s glad his new office doesn’t have a popcorn ceiling; it’s unattractive, and, frankly, a pain in the ass for him to scrape off.
Just like his old office burning down, maybe this event is actually a blessing in disguise. Maybe Reigen will look back at this and laugh.
“I won’t tell your parents,” Reigen says, after the sound of Ritsu’s sobs has reduced to whimpers. Reigen has broken the incestuous monkeys out of the circus; now they’re on the run and Reigen is an accomplice. “I promise,” he adds, just for good measure, and forces himself to look at the two of them.
Ritsu doesn’t say anything. It’s Mob that eventually speaks: “Thank you, Reigen-shishou.” He whispers something to Ritsu that sounds like “I told you Shishou would understand,” which he might as well have shouted for the room to hear, given how terrible Mob is at whispering.
“You’re welcome.” The words catch in Reigen’s throat going up; he manages to force them out with some effort. “You should know that this isn’t me encouraging or condoning this, by the way.”
“We don’t need your blessing,” Ritsu tells him, withdrawing from Mob’s shoulder and dutifully pretending he wasn’t crying at all. Reigen knows Ritsu needs his pride; he plays along.
The boys (brothers) get up to leave. Their hands are entwined. Reigen pointedly does not look, and does not get up to show them to the door.
“Oh, Mob,” Reigen says casually, right as they’re about to leave. I really think you should reconsider. “Just make sure to ask me the next time you need to… use the office, okay?”
“Okay.” Reigen knows Mob probably bows obediently; he can’t see it because he’s switched the TV on, staring very hard at it and not watching the two of them leave the room.
After he hears the click of the door closing, he keeps watching the TV. ‘Watching’ is a bit of a strong word; his eyes, ostensibly, are directed towards the TV, but he’s not processing any of it. The volume is turned up so loud he can’t hear anything else, and he knows the tenant above him is going to come down and yell at him.
He spends a long time just looking at the TV. Sometimes he has moments where he imagines himself outside of his body, observing his own life from the perspective of a nature documentary. Look at this; observe the unwitting fraud of a psychic as he becomes an accessory to incestuous crimes.
“A new baby panda has been born at Warishita Zoo,” the announcer says very loudly at Reigen, along with an accompanying image. Very cute; it would be cuter if Reigen was on his fifth can of beer. It takes some doing to get himself off the couch and shuffle out the door of his apartment. He doesn’t lock the door behind him. If someone wants to break in and steal his real fake leather couch — well, so be it.
The cashier at the convenience store gives him a sympathetic look as he rings up seven cans of beer. “Rough day?” he asks, clicking his tongue with pity.
“Yeah,” Reigen replies after a moment, carefully thinking about nothing at all: the picture of zen. “You could say that.”