Work Text:
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Like fingers tapping against the glass, rain continues to strike the window much as it had done for the past three days. Or had it been four? At this point, Reigen can’t remember. That’s been happening a lot, lately. The not remembering. Missed slips and calls and clients. Minutes blur into days. But no matter; he’s got Mob. He’s got Serizawa. As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, he has Dimple. Hanazawa. Tome. Hell, even his clients.
For how much longer?
With a sigh, Reigen closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the beginnings of a blooming headache. Or maybe it’s the middle. It’s certainly not the end. Irritated, he lets his fingers spread to his temples instead. All it does is block the light. At least it’s something.
Plink.
He wishes the rain would stop.
“Shishou?” Mob pipes up from his sorry state of a desk. Really, what had Reigen been thinking? Mob deserves a better desk. A better job. A better–
“What is it, Mob?” Both his head and his mouth raise. No use in worrying the kid, after all. Although the thought has him stopping short; is there a reason to be worried? Shaking it off like a wet dog, he points his pen in Mob's direction. "Do you have a question for your—" He cuts himself off. Right. He's nobody's master. Never had been. Old habits die hard. Plink. The pen drops to the desk. "Oi, I told you that you don't have to call me that anymore."
Mob tilts his head, frowning faintly. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have done anything but stare. What progress in such a short time. "Sorry, shishou," he says. The corner of his mouth quirks upward.
What a little shit. Reigen sighs again and slumps forward, but he doesn’t lose the mechanical grin. A puppet unto himself. “What is it?”
The trace of a smile disappears as quickly as it had come. “Are you okay?”
Reigen stills. Then he tosses himself dramatically back in his seat. “Kid, I’ve never been better. The epitome of okay.” Of course, as soon as he does that, the pain in his head sharpens considerably, a knife to the eye, and he barely refrains from wincing.
“He’s lying,” Tome intones from where she’s sprawled on the couch.
Plink. The glass cracks. Shatters inward. Reigen’s eyes burn. How odd. “Oh, please.”
As though the world isn’t already trying to drown him, the office door opens; Serizawa steps inside and places his umbrella in the holder. “It’s really coming down,” he comments idly. He looks up and pauses. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Reigen snaps at the same time the kids say, “He’s hiding something.”
Serizawa’s attention shifts solely to Reigen. “Oh?”
He can’t do this. Why must they bully him, damn it? Without meaning to, he meets Serizawa’s eyes. The clouds press down on his shoulders; the waves tug insistently at his hands. He isn’t lying to anybody. He’s simply withholding information. He’s well aware of the hypocrisy. Not impossible to teach an old dog new tricks, but damn is it close. And yet he already knows he’s lost the hand. He can fool himself when it comes to the kids, telling himself that they don’t need to deal with adult bullshittery, but he has no excuses with Serizawa. Even if Serizawa doesn’t alway…act his age.
Act his age… Reigen goes cold all at once, as though doused in ice water. Ah. He thinks he can see the bigger picture now.
Unfortunately for him, there’s no more sweeping it under the rug, no more pretending it doesn’t exist. For all his façades, letting go had never been one of his strong suits. Especially when in his head, a small hand tugs at his sleeve. Attention! Barely biting back a grimace, he waves Serizawa over and ignores the two pairs of eyes boring into the back of his skull as he spins his chair to face the wall. A third pair joins them, but Serizawa says nothing as he approaches the desk and leans down to listen to what Reigen has to say. Well, bully to him. Reigen whips out his phone and begins tapping furiously away. As long as Tome doesn’t try snooping over his shoulder, it’s fine.
I feel. Backspace. I’m. Delete. Reigen’s jaw twitches. The pounding in his head laps at the edges of his thoughts, fuzzing them over. Hypocrite. Just say it. Just say it. I seem to be having a little problem, if you catch my drift.
Serizawa doesn’t respond, sending Reigen’s heart thumping sporadically in his chest. What did he expect? Help? Answers? Relief? He’s about to delete the letters once more, replace them with a just kidding! or a don’t worry about it, but then Serizawa straightens up and squeezes his shoulder before saying something to the kids. Reigen doesn’t even hear what he tells them; no, his head had become a sieve with the realization. It’s taking far too much effort to keep himself from crumbling through the tentative grasp he has on himself. A gentle goodbye; a click of a door. It takes Serizawa bringing his coat over for him to realize the kids had gone and the open sign had been flipped to closed. Just how far gone is he? This is ridiculous.
“Give me that,” he mutters, snagging the coat from Serizawa’s hands. Thankfully, he still has enough control over his faculties to tug it on himself just fine. Years of masking always does the trick. Or so he tells himself. He leaves the coat unzipped; he doesn’t want to tip the boat. He’s wet and sad enough as it is.
However, it doesn’t mean he’s going to be stupid about it. Without fanfare or comment, he passes over the car keys. Serizawa wouldn’t have asked, but Reigen figures it’s easier this way. No need to take ten years off the man’s life just because he’s being stubborn. Or a hypocrite.
Like the kids’ departure, Reigen doesn’t remember much of the drive home. One second he’s staring out at the freeway and the next Serizawa is ushering him inside his own flat, helping him with his coat and shoes and guiding him to sit on the unmade bed in the corner. Behind closed doors, breathing comes a little easier. The headache eases, just enough for the usual brat to poke his head out of hiding. Serizawa’s in the middle of taking off his own sweatshirt when Reigen grips the sleeve. Serizawa ducks his head out of the shirt and gives him a questioning look.
“Gimme,” Reigen says. Impossible to say no to at the best of times (at least where Serizawa is concerned), right now, when he feels like shit, when he feels oh so small, to say no would to be to bring about the end of the world. And they’d dealt with near brushes with that enough times, thank you very much.
At first, Serizawa doesn’t understand. His brows scrunch together, eyes trailing from Reigen’s face to the iron fist on his sleeve. Then he lights up in realization. “You want to wear my hoodie?”
Reigen nods. His courage hasn’t failed him yet, even though the smile he receives sends everything in a fuzzy haze. Serizawa slips the sweatshirt the rest of the way off. While Reigen had meant to put it on himself—he isn’t incapable, damn it—Serizawa knocks the wind right out of his sails. “Arms up.” Heat rushes to Reigen’s cheeks before he can even think to stop it, but he isn’t in a place to kick up a fuss. So, reluctantly, he does as he’s told. It slides on easily, just a shade large enough to hang off him in gentle folds. He bunches up the ends of the sleeves and squeezes.
“There we go,” Serizawa says, voice soft. There’s a tremor there, too, but Reigen doesn’t have the heart to call him on it. Not when he’s feeling so off-balanced himself. Straightening out the hood of the sweatshirt, Serizawa adds, “Nice and cozy.”
The worst part is, he’s right. Reigen can already feel the smaller knots of unease slinking away, cowed by the comfort of warmth. Of safety. He would never admit it in words, but Serizawa’s sweatshirt has become somewhat of an anchor for him. Embarrassing. It hadn’t been so scary just a moment ago.
So he does the only logical thing. He flips the hood up and yanks the strings tight so nothing but the tip of his nose can be seen. From inside his cocoon, he hears a startled laugh. Great. Now he’s just made a bigger fool of himself. The heat rising into his cheeks turns the comforting warmth just a shade too hot, but he refuses to come out now. He’s gone. Vanished. Let him disappear.
“You look like a turtle.” Laughter still fills Serizawa’s voice, but it’s gentler now, and Reigen’s fingers stop twitching at the strings. A turtle, huh? He always had liked turtles. A distant memory of a beloved pet drifts to the surface, but like the bubble most of his memories are, it bursts as he tries to reach for it. Well, phooey on it, then. It probably wasn’t that great of a turtle anyway. At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself to soothe the sting.
Slow, indignant, he loosens the hood just enough for his eyes and mouth to become visible. And, like when in steadier waters, Reigen’s mouth moves before he thinks. But this time, no words come out. No, instead, he simply opens and closes it, much like a turtle would do. Just to see how Serizawa would react, of course. And much to his delight, Serizawa laughs again. A rich, full sound that wraps itself around Reigen until the storm in his head grows that much quieter. So he does it again just for good measure.
This time, Serizawa is ready. This time, Serizawa is a sneaky bastard. Reigen just didn’t know what he was planning until suddenly, a pacifier is popped into his mouth.
Reigen’s brain fuzzes over into static for a brief moment before giving way to indignation. Not fair! Why does he get to play dirty? And yet while he sputters, his mouth has betrayed him for a second time, latching firmly onto the teat as though Serizawa would change his mind and take it away again.
“There we go,” Serizawa repeats the sentiment from before, a gentle smile playing about his face. He lifts his hand and presses it against Reigen’s cheek. “Isn’t that better?”
Reluctant, he nods. Any frustration is already draining away like rainwater in the gutter. The boat steadies a bit against the storm. No capsizing yet.
But the boat rocks again just a moment later. A quiet whine crawls unbidden out of his throat when Serizawa pulls his hand back, stands. Where’s he going? He’s not going to leave, is he? As though he could read Reigen’s mind—as though he can voice anything right now—Serizawa drops his hand to rest on his head. “I’m going to get you a drink and I’ll be right back, okay?”
With a quiet huff, Reigen slumps back on the bed, but it doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it. To make his feelings known, he pointedly turns his face towards the window where—you guessed it—the rain still comes down in waves. This time, though, he listens. Muffled footsteps, fading the further away they go (not that far at all, really). The sound of water running. The hiss of a kettle. Is that humming?
He isn’t gone for more than five minutes. The second Reigen sees what’s in Serizawa’s hand, he reacts accordingly by diving under the blanket. Sure, Reigen had bought it, and Serizawa has seen it before, but it’s no less embarrassing.
“Oh?” Serizawa’s voice remains soft, but now there’s a twinge of uncertainty. “Do you not want it?” The floor creaks as he returns to the bedside. The glass of a bottle clinks on the wooden nightstand.
Shoot. Reigen has to think fast: whose feelings to spare? Of course, he already knows what the answer is. He might be a baby, and a liar, but he’s not a monster. Reluctantly, he peeks out from under the blanket. But he refuses to remove the pacifier, so his words come out garbled. “Wan’ i’. Embarrassin’.”
Blinking in surprise, Serizawa’s face breaks out into a relieved smile. “Is that all? There isn’t a thing to be embarrassed about.”
“Easy for you to say,” Reigen mumbles. The blanket is still half-covering his face, so he shoves it down and grudgingly sits up. He holds out his hands and flexes his fingers. “Gimme.”
If he wasn't already uneasy, unsteady, drenched in a heavy fog and internal rain, he would have been impressed by the shit-eating grin. “What’s the magic word, kiddo?”
His jaw drops, as does the pacifier. Then he pouts. “‘M tellin’ Mob you’re being mean.” He expects a frantic backtracking. He expects to be smug. He expects to find dry ground instead of another puddle. But Serizawa just laughs and sits next to him.
“It’s okay.” An arm loops around Reigen’s shoulders, and before he can comprehend the sudden downpour in his head, he finds himself tucked up against Serizawa’s chest. He wants to protest, to push back; he’s a liar and a con, undeserving. But he’s caught fully in the rain now, and there’s no use in fighting. It doesn’t stop him from whining thinly. Serizawa hushes him; now that he knows what the problem is, he isn’t nearly as skittish. In fact, one could argue that he’s the one in charge right now. At least, it certainly seems to be the case as Reigen finds his head guided to rest against the other man’s chest.
Huh. This is new. Normally, Reigen is left to his own devices when it comes to bottle-time, mostly by his own design. Letting the others into this part of himself was hard enough. Letting them know how he handled it? Insurmountable. In fact, it had been a complete accident the first time someone stumbled across the baby bag. Damn Dimple.
Although…it’s nice. Someone else taking charge. He’d been alone for so long. Releasing a sigh, Reigen slowly relaxes against his friend. He’s warm in a way the blanket could never be. The gentle rise and fall of each breath and the gentle thrum of a heart under his ear slink over Reigen and nudges him a little further under. Nudges him a little away from the rain, under an umbrella. He thinks he might fall asleep like this, where the rain can’t find him.
Soon. He has a bottle to drink first. And besides, he wants to watch the rain with Serizawa for as long as he can.