Archive of Our Own

Silence rears its head as he opens the door to his studio apartment. He’s greeted by the morning’s mess, and the motivation to clean is lost on him again. Save for him, the apartment had long been devoid of company, the spiders in the corners going generations without seeing another human being.

It is in these moments that Reigen Arataka is hit by his solitude.

Even then, Reigen opens his mouth, blaming it on traditional parenting and not on the unconscious need for a response.

“I’m back.”

He let himself grieve for three heartbeats — one, two, three — before laughing it off. Silly me, he thought, kicking his shoes to the side. What a blunder, he muses, reaching into his fridge for a bottle of happiness, only to come up short.

“How embarrassing,” he mutters with trembling lips, rolling over in his bed to shield himself from the calendar. The red ink makes a mockery of him, just as the several calls to supposed friends remain unanswered.

The blond sits up, reckless energy radiating from him as spite finally takes over. Within minutes he’s showered and made an entirely different mess, searching his closet for that one jacket he bought but never wore.

He was then out of the door, brimming with all the confidence he doesn’t have, ears glinting with silver and lips curled in a grin. I could be sad, he thought, boarding the train. Or I could get absolutely fucked in one way or another.

And he does, hopping from one back to the next, drowning himself in alcohol until the neon lights become stars and the strangers turn into lovers. The lines on the pavement turn into snakes that nip at his heels but he is too far gone to care.

Time hadn’t been your worst enemy until tonight.

For the past twenty odd years of your life, it had always been in your corner, every task in assigned rows and columns for a life you built. Your heart was held in a container and you gave it to only one person for nearly half of those years — wanting nothing in return but love and loyalty.

Tonight, Time decided to collect all the favors it had given you.

It started in the morning, when the telltale sign of your clock remained silent, your body rousing mere minutes before the start of your shift.

Then came dozens of overdue paperwork from an idle intern, and the passive-aggressive knives buried in your back at lunch.

But you were made of steel, and you dared not bend to that. This was normal, this was okay.

You soldiered through, knowing that at the end of the night, your beloved was waiting with a smile, and the promise of a future.

Yet it seemed that you had an appointment with Fate, who took away your beloved with one fell swoop. You watched in horror as their lips sang against the neck of another, hands lifting their shirt over their head before finally meeting your eyes.

Now, here you were, nursing a sports drink inside a convenience store just so your lips can wash down the taste of infidelity off your lips. You tap your wrist — one, two, three — trying in vain to gather your thoughts. 

Silly me, you mused, the bottle finding home at the bottom of the bin. What a blunder, you thought, biting your lips to steady the hitch in your throat.

“What an embarrassment.”

Your head whipped to the side, as a blond figure staggered into the seat beside you, voicing out the very words at the tip of your tongue. You scrunched your nose in disgust, the air sour with the stench of alcohol and misery.

Though, you’re plenty miserable on your own, it might have been you who attracted him in the first place.

The blond begins to ramble, and it wasn’t that you were particularly interested in his tale — he was just very loud. Half of his sentences weren’t even coherent, but by then he was already facing you, eyes hooded as his hands moved every other way.

In between his speech about a salt venture and massage therapy, you gathered that he was alone, and very much not happy about it.

“You and me both,” you commented, sliding back into your seat as you place a hangover cure-all on the table for him to take. Though he cringed at the acrid taste, he made no move to throw up — a giant relief to the wary shopkeep.

“How are you lonely?”

Mirth shakes the drunken man, your eyebrow quirking in confusion.

“You’re like… reaaaally hot!”

The compliment sent a jolt of pleasure to your chest, a bubble of nervous laughter erupting. The blond listened as you recounted your day, the wrinkle on his eyebrow furrowing as you did. “‘S not… right,” he mumbles.

“You deserve, like, ‘z world! ‘S so nice to me, and ‘s so hot too!”

A smile paints your lips as he continues on, his train of thought interrupted with the growl of his stomach.

Time dances by as one karaage stick turns into three and suddenly you’re on the streets, barely upright as the shopkeep throws the two of you out for the night. You learned of his name, and learned that he had been a friend of Silence and Solitude the same way you had thought yourself one of Time.

“‘Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

One.

One phone call from an unknown number and an apologetic mess of a man on the other line. One obscure care package sent to your office with chicken scratch for handwriting. One night in payment for your generosity. 

Two. 

Two years of courtship, weaving through several miles of separation. Two children of supernatural abilities suddenly calling you their parent in the middle of the afternoon. Two nationwide television programs flashing your beloved’s name in bold font. 

Three.

Three taps on Mob’s wrist, as you listen to the front door open, his voice echoing into the spotless apartment. Three thumbs raised in affirmation, a giggle somewhere in the crowd. 

“I’m home!”

One, two, three.

“Happy birthday, Taka!”