Work Text:
Broken; the word that's fixated on his mind and stuck in his heart. Broken, like the clouds that are peeling into multiple hues of orange and pink. Broken, like Mob, a boy with a black bowl cut, and an obsidian uniform. Who's strolling his hollowed neighborhood and recalling memories as wind fills the emptiness. That is its only goal, to tug on him relentlessly; to yank his weak gakuran and his pants. Telling him to look back. Look back behind and confront what he's done…
Everything is quiet, like everyone has died. The world never felt so vacant before, because clearly the houses, the frolic bushes, mailboxes, prospering fences, every normal neighborly thing you can name is still there and standing strong. But with a memory where it wasn't, it curses this serene sight. Turning into this nothingness, this loud drone, deepening to a thick feeling called confusion. This made him realize…how could anyone have forgiven him? He can barely even himself…barely keep moving. Yet his house isn't that far away, only one more block forward.
But he's trembling; it was just so bad that day….
Mob takes a stop for a moment. Train himself to be still and ready. Ironically, today is the day where he should be happiest and most gentle towards himself. Because today is Mob's birthday; May 12th. Ever since what happened, Mob has felt more free than ever before. That gigantic burden on his shoulders has dissipated, so now, Mob could express joy. He could laugh without danger. Sob without instability. Be a damn kid for once. But worry---there's always worry—has been following him around like a parasite. It's like the hell raising winds right now, telling him to not go to his own home, his own birthday. To wither into utter shame. So the freedom...feels wasted.
And what's freedom if it's wasted?
Mob has stood here at this moment for infinite times. The same chained fence is there with the bumpy sidewalk. Same solar panels tethered on the many rooftops. Glaring at the same pale hand. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking….til it consumes. And before he knows it, red is pouring down his hands again. The city is demolished again and this is the end for everything he knows. Sometimes, before all the time, he ponders what would've happened if nobody ever stopped him? Where will he be now? Alive or dead?
If he was alive, would he prefer it to just be dead? Would being gone disturb him that much? After everything at least…should it even?
But this leads to the next question; What about his loved ones?
Well, with that thought, a pinch of gratitude flooded his heart. And it was enough to get Mob snapped out of this hopelessness and continue forward. Because just like the worry, the heavy winds, this gratitude followed him everywhere too. Permanently reminding him of the people on that same day who saved him. Made him feel like he didn't need to go away. So now Mob's marching passionately, determined just to see what holds further. Determined to leave that fence behind, along with his worries. Mob just wants to know what's up ahead. Good or bad. What does the future have for a broken person like him?
Certainly…something unexpected.
"I'm home." Mob oddly announced. Slipping off his white shoes and settling down his blue school bag. What he met was usual darkness. But blackness with an unusual warm presence.
Before he could blurt anything else, before any action, any doubt, or any suffocating thought; lights flashed him and suddenly cannons convulsed as everyone in unison cheered, "Surprise! Happy Birthday, Mob!"
Which wasn't actually the most perfect unison. There were Shigeos, Kageyamas, one Nii-san, and even a shadow leader that replaced that last word. But still, it doesn't taint or ruin this emotional sight…The fact that this proves the emptiness that used to be everywhere, at every corner and step Mob could take or see…was fake. A lie. Because it's abruptly full now; full of every smiling friend and family he loved dearly. No, not any less world-shattering because after everything that's happened….they still.
They still.
"Happy birthday, Nii-san! How do you feel?"
Ritsu, his younger brother, stared him right in the eyes while holding his vanilla decorated cake. Fifteen, was the navy blue number sticking out from the middle.
"How do I feel…?"
Well. How exactly? How simply?
Confetti still coiled in his hair. Balloons still slowly glided in his direction, even with the door being shut. As if some force is pulling them in, like the aura of Mob's own powers is beckoning for him to answer as well. It wants to be let out along with all the bouncing emotion; his entire being right now is longing for the freedom standing before him. Though it's not like Mob wants to suppress them, he knows the consequences of that well enough. He, for once, just doesn't know how to describe it. When he lets go, the feeling isn't naturally building up on his face. Sculpting his face to a wrinkled mess and then self-expression becomes everything normal like how Mob used to be as a kid.
This time, on his birthday, he's stuck. The worst timing. Even when the appropriate emotion is obvious for once. And everyone is there and waiting to see those dimples form. Happy, happiness; smile Shigeo.
But…Shigeo is just utterly shocked. He's simply beyond words and expression. There was nothing to explain it or put into words. Nothing to sculpt and nothing for anything to be formed. Nothing to express, no dimples or any spoken word could convey a bit. He learned a big lesson today that with expressing your emotions, sometimes your face won't truly portray the incomprehensible amount of joy you have. It won't do that either with relief mixed with outright sorrow. It definitely won't do anything for that specific feeling of pure hatred—blossoming into 1000% self-acceptance. Self-love. It can't convey a single fraction of all these overwhelming emotions. And that's perfectly fine on Mob's end. Because for once, it doesn't hurt, no it feels gratifying.
He stood in silence—the balloons and confetti held keenly still—before bursting out into laughter. Chaotic laughter; the laughter that makes it hard to breathe but you don't care anyway as it just feels that accepting in a way. Mob grabbed his stomach with both hands, letting the previous guilt—the burden—burn with every chuckle. Exorcizing those memories, the thought that he is…. Altogether now, as Mob cackled, he began crying, and everything was vanquished. All the agony became teardrops. Teardrops cluttered his face. Teardrops created a choking within his already harsh and raucous laughter.
The balloons and confetti convulsed in all rampant directions. Eventually popping or scattering to places no one can perceive. A newfound sense of freedom—nobody cared about this ruckus, nobody minded about where the pieces slammed, and the helium felt ecstatic to escape. To become like the air encasing the whole room; Mob's aura started doing the same not long after. It was dipping its toes…making sure this is actually okay? It was all like silent peace, the pieces, the cyan, and Mob. So the answer to all of this; Mob is free none the same. He's not broken, no, no he's not. It's something that needs to be repeated over and over for him to follow. But regardless how many times he's retracted his steps or even stopped right in his progress. Mob will never not be grateful for having this moment—having these people to embody his eternal gratitude.
This is the utmost happiest Mob had been in awhile.
Everyone still had a smidgen of concern however. Espers were startled by Mob's aura suddenly consuming the whole room. And non-espers were caught off guard by Mob's sudden display of raw emotion. It was nice to hear the boy's cackle, but the sobbing confused them.
"Whhoaaaa there, you feelin alright Mob?" His Master Reigen stepped forward, pressing his right hand on Mob's shoulder.
Mutters rose on top rapidly, as people shuffled, changed positions, or turned to each other. Shrouding themselves to become this big chatty blob. Then almost instantly as if gossip never happened; everyone turned back at Mob. Awaiting for a coherent answer.
Still nobody has a clue. The environment was just confusion against chaos.
Mob held Reigen temporarily to catch himself; could've easily done the most out-of-place faceplant there. When arose, he bawled, "I feel great! Thank you so much, everyone! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
Tears still trickling.
"Well, I'm glad! Got me worried there for a second.."
Reigen's anxiety, along with everyone else's, softened while they all watched Mob beam brighter, growing more. The worry wasn't completely gone, definitely not. But seeing Mob gleam, soothed everyone, and feel pure gratitude.
Mob flared his brightest when Ritsu swooped in and scooped him with a hug. Followed first gradually by his mother and then his father.
"I'm so glad you're okay.." Ritsu whispered to only himself. But he didn't mind if Mob or his parents heard. He only enjoyed this rare, lovingly, strong embrace.
But then quickly…his mother raced. "Pictures, pictures, everybody, let's all take the group picture!...Hurry now."
So now everybody's scrambling, moving like a wave, to get into the right corner, and the right position for the picture. Peoples' wondering who's gonna take the photo? Friends are wondering if gifts will be opened after this or maybe the cake will be eaten? Dimple's wondering if he could snag a slice or two for himself and if it'll even be good for a spirit. Reigen's wondering if his gift is good enough—and of course it is. He briskly got himself together to bring the big smile for the photo. Muashi was wondering if Mob would like a good lap around the neighborhood; or this vague wanky concept of a birthday exercise he had replayed in his mind would be good? Tome was wondering if she added a small string to her gift, tied it to a stick, hid it in her sleeve, and wafted it towards Mob if it'll look stupid…or sweet? Would psychics like a non-psychic pulling a fake out magic trick? Tome settled, it'll be cool to try anyway. Teru's wondering how he should tell Kageyama...about his special gift for him? However, Ritsu's wondering when Mob will stop crying? He swipes it away, sniffs up all the snot, but it always seems to come back. Especially when he's standing in the center and close to everyone he loves. Squeezed.
Well everyone is squished too, but Mob for some reason feels the most. His dad, taking the photo, wanted to capture Shigeo out of everyone, so he was given extra inches of space. Mob tried one last time to not seem like a crying mess on his 15th, while his cake was in his own hands shivering. But he couldn't help it. It never stopped. It should be balanced out though, because Mob also never stopped laughing. And his pure smile might've been the most hopeful one there, out of the many faces and heads leaning on his very shoulders. Yes, from afar; the first thing you would see is a boy's bright smile centered around the people he loved most.