Work Text:
Pop!
The marble shoots through the top of the ramune bottle like nothing, the soft fizzing of the marble coming into contact with the carbonated liquid trapped below the base of its neck filling the apartment with an almost crackly sound. And as you bring the glass bottle to your lips, you hear footsteps approaching from your right followed by a familiar voice breaking through the silence with an exhilarated chirpiness, a dip in the couch cushion beside you manifesting as another presence joins your own, “Man, I haven’t had those things in years! You’ll have to tell me how it tastes.”
You giggle, briefly pulling the bottle from your lips to quip back. “But of course, Reigen-san~,” you tease lightly in a sing-song voice. “After all, it wouldn’t be very polite of a house guest not to show appreciation to the host in some way, right?”
All jokes aside, though, he’s the one who went out of his way to buy a pack of peach ramune bottles for you in the first place. You didn’t even expect him to really remember that one-off conversation you had with him last New Years, about how you’re not particularly fond of drinking alcohol yourself and prefer to drink anything but that, and yet there he was the second you showed up at his place to hang out, a pack of ramune bottles in hand, smiling like he hadn’t been sitting on that information for months on end.
I guess that explains why he asked me about ramune earlier, you think.
Nevertheless, it’s a kind gesture from him that you greatly appreciate, so you figure letting him know if it’s any good or not is the least you can do to thank him for going the extra mile of being so mindful of your preferences. Besides, you find it especially cute to know that Reigen’s a very enthusiastic ramune-enjoyer himself, even if it’s been, “years,” since he last had one.
So, without waiting a moment longer, as the sounds of Reigen cracking open a can of his own drink– a lemon sour beer– rings through the air, you take a sip of your ramune, its sweet scent rushing to meet your nostrils first before the soft drink hits your taste buds and practically melts over your tongue in a blissful swirl of flavor.
It tastes almost like candy in a way, sweet but not too overbearingly so, soft and pleasant like those little peach gummies Reigen let you try once at the office when client activity was at an all time low. You wish it was something you could chew to make the taste in your mouth last longer, the gummy flavor is so palatable, so irresistible.
It’s clear by the look Reigen’s giving you that he knows and is happy you enjoyed it, but if that isn’t enough to convince you, his lighthearted chuckle certainly does. “That good, huh?” he asks, smiling in such a way that his eyes crinkle at the corners.
You pause before smiling back, gently bumping your shoulder against his. “I could ask you the same thing, mister,” you reply, looking pointedly down at the drink in his hand that lay completely untouched despite him going through the motions to open it previously. “You haven’t even drank yours yet.”
“Oh, yeah?” he says, raising a playful brow. “And why is that so important to you all of the sudden, hm~? Last time I checked, you didn’t like drinking.”
You shrug, matter-of-factly. “I don’t,” you assure. Your eyes gleam mischievously, a coy smile curling along your lips as you rest your cheek in the open palm of your hand, elbow resting on your knee. “But that doesn’t mean I still don’t want to know how you like yours, too. I can’t be the only one enjoying myself here, you know.”
His once lively demeanor soon turns surprisingly sheepish. One hand rubs at the nape of his neck while the other taps an index finger against the curve of the can, gripped tight between long, thick digits in an almost nervous manner. If there’s something he’s not telling you, now’s the time for him to say it– and he does, albeit a little quieter than usual for his loud and animated self.
“Well, I mean… I wouldn’t want to–” He cuts himself off for a split second, as if he hasn’t quite decided on what he plans to say before he opens his mouth to say it, before continuing in a slower, more calculated tone, “– … I guess I didn’t want to get drunk without knowing if you were okay first; that’s all.”
Puzzled, you gently press him for a more distinct answer, “Okay? In what way?”
Reigen’s eyes noticeably widen at the question; it’s pretty obvious he wasn’t expecting you to pick the thought back up after he left the statement hanging for a bit, but it’s not like it’s something that causes him any discomfort to hear either. He merely readjusts himself on the couch, trying to get himself more comfortable but somehow seemingly failing miserably at even that, as he settles and remains just as shy as before in his mannerisms, in his speech patterns.
Try as he might not to look your way during this new ordeal he’s dug himself into, Reigen spares a glance your way anyways, and once he does he can’t keep those dark brown eyes off you, though he makes a point of only occasionally letting his gaze flicker to meet your own as he speaks, “It’s, uh…” He gives a halfhearted chuckle. He shakes his head, defeated. “It’s a little silly, I’ll admit; even for me.”
Reigen raises his hand a little from its place on his thigh in a show of mock defense. “I know, I know– hard to believe, but bear with me on this for a second, okay?”
You stare back at him expectantly.
Maybe it’s like your eyes are boring into his skin, because even that small bit of eye contact becomes lost to the void as he carries on, desperate to fill the silence in any way he can, “... I just wanted to make sure you’re still having fun without feeling pressured to drink just because I am. I’m sure you know by now that this kind of thing– hanging out with someone, grabbing a few drinks here and there, getting drunk and just enjoying each other’s company– isn’t something I’ve done in a while. A long while, actually.”
He glances down at his can, his eyes clouding over; somber, contemplative. His upper body bends forward until his elbows are anchored on his legs for balance, his grasp on the can appearing to relax, though the slight tremble jolting down his arm says otherwise. The tension building in his shoulders only further proves anything but the more he remains hunched over like that, lost in a world that feels far away from your own.
You’re not sure what the right thing to do in this situation is, but you attempt to lend him your ear for however long he needs it, lightly bumping the ball of your knee against his, letting him know in a quiet, subtle way that you’re still here, that you’re still listening.
It seems like that helps lessen the stiffness in his body, if only a little. A small smile graces his lips, but the light that would normally flood that smile doesn’t meet his eyes.
“The only fun I’ve ever had was when I drank with people,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper as the weight of his words falls heavy on his shoulders. “Otherwise, I’ve never really had a proper hangout with someone while both of us were sober; it just never really worked out that way I guess.”
“But it’s not like it’s sad or anything.” Yet, in spite of him saying that, it sounds like even Reigen can’t convince himself of his own lie. Not by a longshot.
He sighs. “Okay, well, maybe it sounds sad, but what I mean is… it wasn’t all bad, y’know? Most of the time, anyway. I only went out drinking with my coworkers once, and I’m sure it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why that is.”
Reigen turns the can in both his hands, absentmindedly, watching the glimmer of the overhead light shimmer across its aluminum surface. “But that single night out? It stuck with me, and I can’t even tell you why, except that the last place I remember going to with those guys before being taken home was that same bar I took you to last year for New Years.”
“I may not have cared for going out drinking with my coworkers, but the people at Happy Trails at least weren’t too bad in retrospect. Compared to those loud mouths using getting drunk off their asses as an excuse to be annoying little shits to the people around them, the people that frequented that bar when I was there were decent.”
He scoffs, more so at himself than at the words that follow after. “That’s as far as it went, though. Their company was just decent. Not that that was the worst thing in the world or anything, but after a while,” he sits up, hands in his lap, loosely holding onto the can between his fingers as his gaze swivels up to the ceiling, a heavy exhalation leaving his body, “I got a little too comfortable being around people like me… and eventually, I had to stop going there altogether.”
“Whether that was because I realized it was bad for me to be surrounded by that kind of energy or not, I can’t really say. There’s a part of me that feels like I didn’t really realize how much of a toll it was taking on my self-improvement until after I– … after things happened between Mob and I–”
Reigen didn’t dare vocalize it, but you already knew about the fallout those two had last November– at least the gist of it. You knew enough to discover that they made up on Reigen’s birthday that year; he may not have given you all the details about it, but you could definitely tell by the day after alone that the blond felt more invigorated, more alive than you’d seen him be in almost a month, and that was enough to make you happy for him– for both of them.
“– but regardless, once I left, I never looked back.” His eyes move from the ceiling, at long last meeting your gaze for the first time in what feels like years. “And honestly, I think I’m happier for it.”
A question now burns in your mind, and as silence permeates the air, signaling that Reigen’s finished speaking, you take this opportunity to say something yourself, asking as sensitively as you can, “But… if that place was so bad for you, then why…?” You trail off, unsure of how to go about approaching this without worrying that it might bring forth the return of that sad, distant look in his eye.
You couldn’t stand to see him that sad, if only because the agonizing tug at your heartstrings would have certainly led to you leaning in to give him a tight hug, and that wasn’t exactly appropriate behavior between an employee and their boss. But then, neither was coming over to your boss’ place so late in the evening; but you digress.
Thankfully, you didn’t have to say anything more, because Reigen understands where you’re going with this and shocks you with a low, rumbly chuckle under his breath. As he speaks, there’s an evident warmth in his tone that’s next to impossible to miss, “Is it sad to say I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go for drinks?”
An unexpected but welcome laugh bubbles to the surface of your throat as you shield your wiggly smile behind a hand, not wanting to offend him by accident from the sudden outburst; although, your laughter probably does, rendering the extra precaution null. He’s so cute, you think, failing to dwell on the importance of that thought (given your current relationship dynamic with him) as you coyly remark, “Oh my god , Reigen-san~! Were you that drunk?”
Your laughter is infectious, because Reigen can’t help but succumb to laughter too, his shoulders wracked with gleeful chortles. “H- hey now,” he manages to protest lightly between snickers, “in my defense, I never had alcohol up until that point. I’m completely innocent in all this–!”
“Uh huh. Sure you are~. Greatest psychic of the 21st century my ass; can’t even remember the bars he went to before he got drunk. Tsk, tsk, tsk. For shame, Reigen-san, for shaaaame~. ”
“I have half a mind to deduct a few digits from your pay for that smart mouth of yours~.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Mm…~. You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
Leaning in, Reigen taps the rim of your ramune bottle and flashes you a cheeky grin, eyebrows wiggling deviously. “But maybe I’ll count that ramune as next week’s pay, hm~? What do you think about that?”
You pull your ramune bottle out of reach, rolling your eyes in such an exaggerated manner that there’s no doubt you mean it light-heartedly. “I’m sure you would,” you retort, choking down the giggles threatening to resurface as your eyes shine brilliantly, glimmering with merriment. “And then what? You’d make me keep them all to myself?”
“I never said that. ”
“But it’s basically implied, right? After all, mister killjoy over here,” you turn the tip of your ramune bottle towards him, “hasn’t had one of these babies in years because his pants are on too tight~.”
Now that seems to offend Reigen, as almost immediately after the, “accusation,” leaves your lips you hear him cry back, “TH- THEY ARE NOT! ”
“Are too~.”
“Are not!”
“Are too-ooo~.”
“Are n–!”
“Then prove it.”
“... Eh?”
“If you're not really a stick in the mud like you claim you aren’t,” you start, “then show me.”
For a moment, Reigen appears confused by the demand, completely and utterly dumbfounded as to how to respond. Then, after several blinks and a tilt of the head ensues, he asks, “Do you… want me to leave the room to get one or…?”
You shake your head, clanking your ramune against his beer. “You want to know how it tastes, right? I have a freshly popped one right here. Give it a try and see for yourself.”
You nearly choke on your own spit seeing Reigen’s brain processing that information in real time. You’re almost sure he short circuits on the spot, considering how his expression warps between astonishment, puzzlement, disbelief, until finally settling on a deep shade of red flooding his features, the brilliant hue so overwhelming that it even colors the tips of his ears with its fiery touch.
His body jolts, his back arches, and his hands all but drop his beer entirely to the floor below as the frantic appendages shake violently around the can, so much so that he has no other choice but to set the drink to the side, lest he slosh the beer all over the place– or himself. It’s a truly comical sight, but you’re determined to keep a straight face while he tries to salvage any ounce of composure he has left to speak.
You don’t have to wait for long, as Reigen stutters in a squeaky voice that makes him wince, “I- I- I can’t just–! Y- you already– Can you even hear yourself right now…? That’s– That’s–”
“”That’s”…?” you prompt, feigning innocence as he struggles to even breathe.
Swallowing hard, Reigen manages to slip out a shaky, “... D- don’t you think that’s… a little too, uh, personal…?”
Your brows furrow, perplexed. Personal? “What do you mean? I’m just going to pour it into the cap and–”
The realization hits you like a semi-truck.
… Oh.
Looks like Reigen’s not the only one feeling a little flustered now, as within seconds of your brain fully registering the implications of what he must have assumed you were saying, your face scorches hot, your heart thrashing violently against your chest. Your mind is running in a hurried frenzy, frantic for an explanation, something, anything to get you out of this awkward predicament you’ve landed yourself into, but to no avail.
And to make matters worse, Reigen’s not giving you the chance to come up with anything that might get you off the hook, as he appears to grow calmer by the minute in spite of how hot his face and ears are still burning.
You nearly yelp and jump back on reflex at the close proximity you find yourself in with him, scrambling for words, fumbling with your ramune bottle as the space between the two of you begins to slowly wither away more and more. No matter how hard you try, your brain is perpetually fried; you can’t come up with anything to say, not for the life of you, and that makes it all the more flustering when Reigen somehow manages to regain his ability to form coherent sentences before you do.
His fingers wrapping gingerly around the neck of your ramune, dark, warm, enamoring brown eyes locking firmly with yours, Reigen murmurs in a voice low enough for your ears only to cling to, the pleasant blush coloring his cheeks swimming in your vision, “Is that how you want me to try it?”
Stunned into silence, the most you’re able to do is run his words through your mind over and over like a broken record before hesitantly (and timidly) shaking your head.
Eyes half-lidded, Reigen hums, the knuckles of his fingers only barely brushing your own as he continues, “Then… how would you like me to try it? I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
Your ears are ringing. Your heart is about to implode. All around you, the interior of the apartment fades into the background, leaving only the two of you existing in this foggy, fuzzy, sweltering limbo of your own making. You’re not sure if you’re breathing, and at this point you can’t find it in yourself to care.
You already know the answer to that question he’s posing, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Not yet.
This feels more like a dream than reality, something that has been nudging at the back of your mind for god knows how long but was always pushed aside, buried away in the darkest recesses of your mind, unwilling to acknowledge the very thing you knew was happening between you but never fully being able to push away the warm, fuzzy feelings, the quiet thoughts you’ve harbored for the man sitting before you.
Deep down, you knew how you felt about Reigen, but were ready to confront that reality, right here in this very apartment, without even knowing how he feels about you?
You can’t think.
So, you decide to act instead.
Though it feels like the world rushing around you is moving in slow motion, you know your lips make contact when you feel the heat, the comfort, the fullness of his lips pressing into yours, the spark that ignites between your lips electrifying; dazzling. It’s so much harder than you ever thought it would be to pull away from that chaste kiss, to refuse to allow yourself to linger any longer than you had to because there’s no telling what will happen if you do, but when you inevitably and hastily do, you wonder briefly if you only imagined the pressure of his lips pushing against yours, as if he didn’t want you to pull away so soon either.
Your breathing never quite goes back to normal, even long after you’ve dragged yourself back in an effort to regroup, to collect yourself from such a thrilling experience. Your lips still tingle from the feeling of his lips against yours, a tingle that, no matter how hard you bite the inside of your cheek to get rid of it, never leaves.
But that’s nothing compared to the starry-eyed look that never leaves Reigen’s eyes. Not even as the world starts to settle itself around you, springing back into existence like it’s never left, does that shine diminish from his gaze.
You tuck your hair behind your ear and clear your throat, returning the ramune to your lips to distract yourself from the raging blush coating your cheeks. “Th- there… Now you know.”
Seeing as how you don’t want to discuss the events that transpired, Reigen abides by your wishes and follows suit, nodding slowly and, at long last, taking a small sip of his lemon sour, occasionally letting his eyes flicker in your direction before looking away just as fast when you go to catch his eye.
However, the silence is more deafening than what you feel equipped to deal with right now; it’s practically suffocating. So, summoning your courage, you muster the nerve to ask in as nonchalant of a way as you can, “... How was it? Th- the taste, I mean.”
A few heartbeats pass. Reigen looks deep in thought, lowering his lemon sour, his line of sight something you can’t quite follow as his face flushes from the alcohol flowing through his system. Then, with a quick yet subtle lick of the lips, a thoughtful murmur emerges from the depths of his drunken stupor, a thoughtful murmur that sends your heart rate skyrocketing, “It’s… sweet. It tastes sweet.”
The fond smile that spreads across his lips amid the pink scattered across his cheeks, brimming with tenderness, is enough to make you feel as though you’re floating on air, as he raises his can to take another sip.
“I think I found a new favorite.”