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Reigen isn’t as good at gift-giving as he thinks he is. That isn’t to say he doesn’t try; he has many vices but laziness wasn’t one of them. He is a self-indulgent bastard at the best of times, an insufferable prick at the worst. He gives 110% into cutting corners and taking shortcuts to get what he wants. Swindling and cheating are his forte, his bread and butter. He’s a confident liar and has no remorse — well, had no remorse. Until that fateful day Shigeo, timid like a field mouse and full of untainted innocence, opened the door to his office and asked how he can be a good person. Him. Reigen Arataka. The self-proclaimed ‘Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century’, as if that is something anyone could actually be. But this kid looked at him for the answers he was so desperate to hear. So, with great reluctance, he did what he does best: bullshiting. Half-hearted generic advice that you could easily pull off the internet gave the kid stars for eyes, then he, the perpetual dumbass that he is, scalded his entire tongue on tea hot enough to give anyone third-degree burns and nearly spilled all over this elementary school kid. But the kid caught it — with psychic powers. A light-bulb moment for anyone, but especially for the Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century, and his newly hired pupil and assistant, paid an extremely reasonable wage of 300 Yen an hour.
And now he’s here. A man annoyingly trying to think of a good gift for you, because now he cares about that sort of thing. A year-ago, hell, six-months ago he would’ve gotten you a heart-shaped box of chocolates from the discount aisle and that would’ve been it. He would tell you that he went to great lengths to get this very special brand, that they are rare and highly sought after and that you should feel lucky you have such a caring boyfriend. You would’ve seen right through it, though. You always did, much to his irritation and your amusement.
He met you when you were working at your bakery, flour covering your apron and hands sticky with chocolate. You gave him and Mob a dazzling smile that made the ungentlemanly part of him grin mischievously and he wondered if he could swindle a free pastry outta you by the end of the transaction. He was too distracted in his own schemes he didn’t notice your eyes flick above their heads to where most everyone saw nothing, but you saw a green floating cloud with a face. You took their orders and gave Mob an extra éclair because the shy kid made your heart melt, or something, Reigen didn’t know he was too focused on setting up a classic slip-and-fall scam.
They were walking away when Reigen let out a cry and fell hard onto his ass, bruising his tailbone (and later his ego), Mob immediately asked if he was okay, but Reigen laid on the floor, moaning. You ran around the counter with an adorably shocked look on your face, and tried to help him stand. He tried to sit up but cried out, “I think something’s broken! I-I didn’t see the wet floor sign and I slipped — ugh! This is not going to be good for my slipped disc. Do you — do you have liability insurance?”
Okay he was hamming it up a bit, but he wanted that croissant. You started to stutter your apologies and offered to call an ambulance, but then Dimple, that moron, started cackling above them. “You really think that’s gonna work? The floor’s not even wet, you asshole.” Your stuttering stopped, in fact you stopped speaking entirely. You were glaring up at Dimple now, as if you heard what he said. Dimple even, blanched at your hot stare and Mob spoke up.
“Dimple, I think she heard you.”
You heard him, alright. You glared down at Reigen who held his knee despite saying his back is injured, and you nearly spat fire at him. “You’re trying to con me? Nice try, shithead. Next time, tell your ghost-pal to can it so he doesn’t blow up your plan.” You stalked back to your kitchen where a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls were baking, Mob bowing deeply to apologize and Reigen, still on the floor and completely gob smacked, watching you walk away.
He went back to your bakery everyday for the rest of that week, hoping to see you there. And he did, an angry glare still on your face as you sold him the stalest and oldest pastries you had in your display. And he would go back to his office and go about his work; helping a woman who thought she was cursed because she has a cluster of warts in the shape of a pentagram (“This potion is made from the rarest mushrooms you can only find on the third full moon of the year. Very rare, very valuable. I’m afraid it may cost you a pretty penny, but it will cure you of your wart-curse.”) and a man who was fearful of his newborn daughter’s soul because there was an evil entity in a picture of her (It was the man’s thumb, not an evil entity. He put his thumb over the flash. Reigen charged him extra for flashing light at a newborn.)
He would eat these stale baked goods with you on his mind, much to his annoyance. You saw through his scam, no thanks to Dimple, so why was he so fixated on you? You’ve only been hostile towards him since. Maybe there’s a way to fix this, maybe he can get Dimple to haunt you so you’d have to see out his services and then he can show you what a good guy he actually is. Perfect.
After one half-hearted attempt to get you to believe your apartment was haunted, you stood in his office, wearing your signature scowl. “Why are you having this spirit bother me? He keeps slamming my cabinet doors in the middle of the night and stealing my underwear.”
He made his face look shocked, offended at the assumption. “I’ve done no such thing! Slamming cabinet and missing underwear…hmm, seems like a clear cut case of a poltergeist. Luckily for you, I happen to be the Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century 21st and I will help you! At a discounted rate, of course.”
You just stared at him. The confident air he exudes started to falter and the tension in the air thickened. You sighed heavily before saying, “I’m pretty sure that kid you have following you around is the psychic and not you.”
“I-I don’t — h-how did you…He’s my student! I’m teaching him!”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. Okay, sure. Listen, I’m no psychic. I don’t have any psychic powers like I’m sure that kid does, all I can do is see spirits. I’ve been able to my whole life.”
Dimple snickered above them, “So how do you know about Shigeo’s powers then?”
“Because he exudes such an extreme level of power that you can’t help but notice it. I bet anyone with the most basic ESP can feel that about him. Also — give me back my underwear, you pervert!”
Mob walked in at that moment, still in his school uniform. “Oh, it’s the bakery lady. Nice to see you again, miss.”
“Nice to see you too, uh…”
He startled, as if surprised you were wanting to know his name.
“K-Kageyama. Shigeo Kageyama.”
You smiled at Mob, and an ugly feel reared its head in Reigen’s heart. You locked eyes with Reigen and he felt that traitorous heart stutter.
“I’ll let you get back to work…whatever that is, exactly.” And then you left. Reigen moped the rest of the day, though he would never admit it. Even when Dimple pointed out that he was, in fact, skulking behind his desk, he vehemently denied it.
Reigen still went by your bakery everyday, though. He was your number one customer, he was sure of it. You kept selling him the previous day's leftovers, the slightly overcooked rolls or over stuffed pastries, hoping the filling would leak out onto that pink tie he always wore (It did.) Until one day, you didn’t glare at him when he walked in. You sold him a fresh croissant with a pleasantly neutral expression and he had never felt more confused in his life. Did…did you not hate him anymore? It made him nervous, for some reason. What changed? Did something happen? Maybe you were actually possessed.
It wasn’t until a month went by that you came by his office again. He nearly toppled over in his chair when you walked in, burning himself with his cigarette. He was a stuttering mess in front of you, floundering his words, but you just watched him squirm with an amused look on your pretty face.
“I brought you and Shigeo some macarons and cream puffs. He’s a good kid. You work him too hard.”
Reigen, for the first time in his life, was speechless. And he was positive you were possessed by an evil spirit. So he jumped out of his seat and violently started throwing salt at you. You started yelling at him to stop and he continued to yell at the spirit that was not, in fact, possessing you. He finally stopped when you threw a cream puff in his face, the sugary filling splattering the both of you.
Breathing heavily, you wiped the salt and cream from your face. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m trying to be nice and you attack me?”
Uh oh. Once again, he fucked up when it came to you. So, he fell back to his default way of doing things: lying.
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to attack you, but t-the evil spirit that was following you! You must’ve not seen it following you. Yes, that is it. That is why I decided to use my Salt Splash, to protect you, a helpless damsel.”
You stared at him again. And you kept staring.
Oh. Oh right.
You could…see spirits. Right.
He feared that any goodwill between the two of you quickly evaporated, but you just sighed wearily and sat down on his couch, opening the bag of macarons.
“Shigeo and his brother came by my bakery a few weeks ago,” you began nibbling on a pistachio flavored macaron. “They told me that you are actually a pretty good guy despite…well, this.” You waved a hand, gesturing to his office that is now covered in salt and cream.
“H-he did?”
You nodded. “He told me everything about how you two met and, even though you have no psychic powers, he wouldn’t be where he is now without your help. That you helped him grow and learn how to express his emotions.”
Reigen felt his heart squeeze at your words. He cared for Mob, he really did. Much to his detriment. How can he be swindling no-good bastard when Mob makes him an introspective person with morals? He always had principles that he stood for, mind you, but if it got in the way of convincing some moronic middle-aged man to give him a part of his inheritance, he could stand to let some of those ‘principles’ slide to the wayside.
After that, you started coming by a few times a week, a bag of goodies in hand. You would stay and chat with him, Mob, and Serizawa before he went to night school. You were a welcome presence in the office and they all looked forward to seeing you and the delicacies you brought. You even baked Mob a birthday cake — chocolate with white buttercream, and for added measure, you decorated it with a picture of an extremely tall and muscular Mob out of colorful frosting. When you flicked off the lights and lit the birthday candles, Reigen couldn’t stop staring at your face and how it looked in the warm candle light. While everyone was singing for Mob, you met his gaze over the cake and smiled at him. A genuine smile.
Mob, the poor boy, nearly melted from embarrassment and gratitude, he only took a small piece, hoping to share the rest with his family and friends at school.
Something changed after that and Reigen couldn’t figure out what it was or why. Instead of a few times a week, you came by every day, sometimes even after work hours. The sun would be setting behind the tall building of Seasoning City and it would only be Reigen behind his computer, but you would just sit with him, chatting or reading. He liked having you there, don’t get him wrong, he just couldn’t figure out why he liked having you there. Your friendship with him was perplexing, to say the least. He would watch you, eyes narrowed, as you tuck your hair behind an ear, tap a pen on your lips as you solved that day's crossword puzzle. You’d look up at him, eyes bright, and ask him in a voice oh-so sweet for a seven-letter word for something or another (He wasn’t listening.) and he would stutter out the wrong answer. You’d quietly chuckle and look back down, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones.
He couldn’t get you out of his head, and it was driving him up the walls. Mob even took notice of his strange behaviors. He would smoke more, eat less food and instead drink his fill of coffee and then some. He was spiraling, he knew it. And then, one night, you said you wanted to go to this restaurant for dinner and you asked him to tag along. It was a bit odd, he thought. You were dressed in a nice dress, a bit fancier than business casual, he supposed. And at dinner, the expensive food and white tablecloth only confused him even more.
You were looking down at your menu, bottom lip between your teeth and a crease between your brows, and his heart was going ballistic in his chest. Every time he looked at you, his palms started to sweat and would get antsy in his seat. When you looked up at him, over the candlelight and asked him if he preferred red or white wine, his mind went blank. You tilted your head and furrowed your brows, asking if he was okay.
And then it hit him. He shot up out of his chair, knocking it to the ground and startling the waiter at the nearby table. Pointing his finger at you, he loudly declared, “I like you and I want to take you on a date!” He said it like he was trying to banish a spirit, thunderous and authoritative.
You blanched, staring up at him over a candlelit dinner, like he had gone mad.
Reigen was never very smart.
Or very smooth.
He spent a lot of time with you in the past few weeks, noting each and every smile you gave him, the crinkles by your eyes. Desserts that you told him you baked with him in mind and your eyes would glisten with delight as he devoured them. He would catch you looking at him, glancing his way with flushed cheeks and quickly looking away with a smile. He saw all these things not realizing that you were slowly falling for him, just like he had that day he fell on his ass trying to scam you out of a free pastry.
“Reigen, we are on a date, you moron! Do you think I usually go to expensive restaurants and offer to pay for everything?"
His face was still red when he left the restaurant with you, though it was less from embarrassment and more the way your hand felt in his. Not much changed between the two of you over the following weeks. He still came to your bakery everyday, and you gave him the freshest baked treat you had set aside specifically for him. You came by everyday, sometimes staying for hours where you visited with Mob and Serizawa, nagged at Dimple to return the rest of your underwear, and then Reigen would walk you to your bus stop.
One clear night he was walking with you, one hand in yours, the other nursing a cigarette. You were talking and he wasn’t listening. Instead he watched the way your mouth moved. How it curved and slanted when you spoke, the way the glossy surface glimmered in the streetlight, and how it smiled at him gently when you asked him if he was listening to what you were saying. Of course he was, he told you. He always listens to you. You just laughed and smacked his arm playfully. You knew he was lying, you always knew. The breaks of your bus squealed as it came to a stop. You had a disappointed slant to your mouth, but it quirked when you asked him if it was okay if you kissed him.
Something must’ve short circuited in his ape brain because he thought he heard you ask if you could kiss him. He supposes his dumbfounded, beat red face was funny because you started to giggle before leaning up and pecking him on his flushed cheek. You flashed a sweet smile at him before turning on your heel and leaving staring after you. He lifted his cigarette to his lips before realizing it had fallen to the ground when you decided to try and stop his heart.
He laid awake that night, tossing and turning in his futon and growing more and more angry. At himself, mostly. But also at you. He was damned near thirty years old, yet you had reduced him to a bumbling mess, no better than a hormonal teenager that was eager to have his first kiss. He was Reigen Arataka, the Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century. He was there at the 7th Branch when the very ground beneath their feet trembled from his (Mob’s) awesome power, leveling the entire division to rubble. He’s been kicked to the side and forgotten (Mob skipped work to meet up with friends), his reputation destroyed (Rightfully so, he knows now), office torched (That actually did happen). He helped destroy the Divine Tree and then, most importantly, he saved Mob from himself.
But it was you that made him falter. You made him a flustered mess of a man, putty in your hands to toy and play with. But you didn’t play with his feelings — you never made him feel lesser, you never truly tried to hurt his feelings and ego. You laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny, you listened to him, you cared for Mob and Serizawa (and Dimple, but you won’t admit it) and you cared for him. He buried his face in his pillow because he knows he does the same for you. He laughs at your jokes, he listens (most of the time) to your stories and complaints, and aside from trying to swindle you when you first met and then throwing a bunch of salt in your face, he’s never hurt you or toyed with your feelings. He’s just…an idiot.
He sat up in bed, suddenly determined. He quickly dressed himself, not realizing his shirt is inside-out and shoes are mismatched, sprayed on his best cologne and dashed out the door. He drove like a madman to your apartment and sprinted up the stairs to your door. He banged on it loudly, no doubt waking everyone in the block. He was there for a few awkward minutes, determined to not let his nerves get the better of him.
You opened the door in a daze, hair mused and dried drool on your cheek.
You’ve never looked more beautiful.
“Reigen, wha — hmmp!” He was kissing you, cutting off whatever you were about to say.
It wasn’t the best kiss, he knows. Your teeth clanged against his painfully and his lips were too dry and your breath wasn’t great, but in that moment, it was perfect.
He pulled back, looking you in the eye and for once, you were the flustered mess. Your eyes were doe-like and glossy, cheeks flushed and hot between his palms. Both of you were breathing heavily, chests heaving.
You pulled him back down to your lips and he melted into your embrace, kissing you hard. This kiss made the first one seem like nothing more than a childish peck. He breathes adoration into your lungs and you kiss him like he’s the only other person in the universe, which at that moment, standing on the threshold of your apartment, you were. Your mouths fit perfectly together and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat, your hands gripping his hastily thrown on clothes and you were suddenly pulling him backwards into your apartment.
He doesn’t know who shut your door, but you had him pressed up against the wood and he tilted your head to the side, letting his tongue glide over your bottom lip. Your hands are heavy on his neck and your fingers knot into his hair. Heat blazes through him and he wraps one of his arms around your back, pressing you hard against him and you pull him even closer. Everything is warm and he’s sweating through his clothes. You start to walk backwards with him still clinging to you and you to him. He doesn’t know where you’re going, but he trusts you to know the way.
Bang!
“Shit,” you mumble against his lips. You knocked over a shelf of knickknacks as the two of you stumbled blindly to your bedroom, neither of you wanting to part from the other. You fall onto your bed and he falls on top of you, knocking the air from your lungs. You bite his bottom lips and he groans into your mouth. He breaks for air and you trail hot kisses down his neck. He’s panting heavily, cursing under his breath. You look up at him questioningly with bruised lips and eyes full of desire.
“I think I double parked.”
He’s never been more defeated in his entire life. You don’t want for much, you’re happy enough to simply spend time with him. You enjoy your work and the simple things in life. So Reigen decided on something that fit all those things. He’s been in your kitchen for hours trying to bake you the perfect chocolate cake — delicate fluffy sponge with chocolate buttercream frosting and fresh strawberries as toppings. He even woke up early to go to the farmer’s market to buy the best looking bunch. But now he’s here, covered in cocoa powder, in front of a burnt hockey puck of a cake.
You open the front door to your apartment and find him there, nearing tears, and he hunches over in shame, feeling like a failure. You look over the mess of your kitchen, eyes wide. You turn to him and see how pitiful he looks and your heart melts. You place a hand on his cheek, lifting his eyes to yours and smile at him. You lean up and kiss him softly.
“I tried to bake you something,” he mumbles against your lips.
You giggle. “Yeah, I can see that. I guess ‘baker’ is something we can cross off your list of skills, huh?”
He kisses you again and you sigh into his embrace. You break away and look up at him, hand still on his cheek. “Thank you, Reigen. This is the best gift I could ask for.”
Reigen snorts be relishes in the feeling of your thumb grazing his cheekbone. “A burnt cake and a messy kitchen is the best gift?”
You just smile at him. “I get to boss you around and have you clean my kitchen? Yeah, that’s all a girl could want.” His head falls on your shoulder in defeat and you bury your fingers in his hair, your gleeful laughter filling your ruined kitchen.
Maybe he’s not as bad at gift-giving as he initially thought.