Work Text:
“Uh, Reigen-san.”
Reigen looks up from over his brick of a laptop’s screen to where Serizawa stands stiffly in front of his desk, textbooks clutched tightly to his side and his usual nervousness hanging around him like a fog.
Serizawa has been a part of the Spirits and Such family–comprising of an anxious kid with powers that could probably explode the sun, said kid’s friend who seemed to appear out of nowhere just to steal the chocopies he tries very hard to hide in the back cabinet to no avail, himself, and the occasional ghostly figure that takes the form of a green fart with an unfortunately-shaped nose and concerningly full lips–for quite some time now, and while he’s been learning how to loosen up a little to build back some confidence rather than shrivel up in fear and anxiety at any given moment–Reigen remembers briefly the time Serizawa had to breathe into a paper bag for five consecutive minutes after the first client phone call he’s handled on his own, though luckily they only ended up with a single shattered photo frame and several books knocked off the shelf–it’s… quite a deliberate process. He’s making progress, though, and Reigen recognises that.
There’s also something one might call pride he feels in his chest for his employee.
“Ah, Serizawa.” He flits his eyes to the time provided on his laptop’s toolbar, noticing it’s nearly time for Serizawa’s night school, and then back up at the man. “Already time for you to clock out, huh?” he remarks, trading his disappointment for feigned nonchalance. It almost feels natural.
“Yes,” Serizawa confirms, his fingers doing complicated movements. The fidgeting; that’s another thing to work on.
Reigen gives him a decided nod.
“Right, then.” He flaps a hand in his direction, more instinctual than it is purposeful. “You’re dismissed. Travel safely.”
He watches as Serizawa bows a little too deeply, saying his farewells for the day and proceeding to pack his things. Only when he hears the door click shut as Serizawa leaves does he sigh, rolling his shoulders absently. He returns to his laptop, scrolling through the newest client emails.
Nothing much, he finds. Just the usual junk mail he quickly clears out and messages desperately seeking his help on ‘spiritual’ matters that could simply be reduced to things like broken plumbing or, he reads through one about “seeing a demon in my husband’s face”, the need for a divorce lawyer. Some from previous clients threatening to sue him and his business for alleged fraud.
Well, when he says alleged…
He writes up some responses to those, playing up the politeness and offering them a 20 percent discount for a ‘follow-up’ exorcism to check ‘residual spiritual energy’ to hopefully convince them otherwise. It always works.
When there aren't any other emails he deems necessary to respond to, he clicks off to open the website, writing up a new blog entry for today’s successful case. Well, as successful as throwing salt around and chanting latin words he’s memorised from a cheap exorcism guide book could be. At least he’s switched to purified salt now than the usual store-bought packets. Alas, those were cheaper.
It was a slow day–they barely had to leave the office aside from a walk to some nearby abandoned, and rumoured to be haunted, building. As it stands, the case is just what it is: a rumour. Doesn’t stop him from throwing salt around and chanting latin words, though. He makes up a horrifying spirit in his head as he writes the case, imagining it as green with an unfortunately-shaped nose and concerningly full lips. He notes that it’s one of the ‘weaker spirits’ he’s dealt with.
There were the occasional haunted doll or antiques brought to the office that contained actual weak spirits, but it only took mere seconds for Serizawa to banish them away. After about nearly 20 minutes of Reigen convincing each client to get their most expensive package, of course. Aside from that, just some stiff shoulders and headache complaints. Nothing out of the ordinary.
He spends some time reading over the blog entry, perhaps spending too long on editing and fleshing out some bits, before eventually deciding enough is enough and hovers his cursor over the post button. He clicks it. He refreshes the page several times. It reveals no changes after the ninth refresh, but he catches a typo a little too late and curses at himself.
He checks the time again and realises more time has passed than he originally thought. He already knows there aren’t any more clients booked the rest of the day–and less likely for any walk-ins–but checks his schedule anyway.
Only when he’s got nothing better to do does he finally decide that, well, perhaps it’s best to close shop now.
He turns his head slightly to glance at the window, noticing that it had begun to pour outside. Droplets slide down the fogged up glass, the pitter patter louder now that he’s noticed it. He didn’t realise when that’s started; it must’ve blended into the background with the click clack of his keyboard and the worrying sound their old AC unit makes. He should fix that, probably. Maybe sometime. When he gets the chance, that is. He’s sure he won’t forget.
He hopes Serizawa brought an umbrella. He always does, but Reigen thinks there’s no harm in worrying.
Speaking of which, Serizawa’s been on his mind an awful lot lately.
The laptop closes with a click. He packs his things, shoving some documents he can’t be bothered to finish today into a drawer. The chair groans in relief when he stands up.
It’s at the door, with his hand on the handle, does Reigen realise he’s the one that didn’t bring an umbrella. He pauses at the doorway and considers his choices.
The office doesn’t keep any spare umbrellas. He supposes he can wait until the rain stops, at least to a drizzle, but exhaustion is beginning to creep in and there’s not much to occupy him here. Not that there’s much to occupy him back in his dingy little apartment, but at least then he could change out of his suit and into more comfortable clothes and lay back in his bed.
He supposes he could shield himself using his suit jacket… There’s enough spare pairs he keeps in his closet, after all. There’s also the ones he keeps in the office just in case, and that reminds him to fetch the blood-stained one from their last seance he didn’t get to clean.
And it’s not like he’s carrying anything that’d risk breaking when wet–well, there’s his phone, but it’s survived more than a little rain from cases that involved him walking in sewers or swimming in lakes or trudging through muddy swamps. He’s sure it’ll make it out just fine in the safety of his pocket. There’s even some loose change in there to accompany it. He should probably remember to take them out later before throwing them into the washing machine. Again.
Decision made, Reigen takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He grabs the key to open the office door, steps out down the hallway, down several stair steps, and out to the staircase leading out the building. Immediately the sound of rain hitting the pavement becomes louder.
He unbuttons his suit jacket, swinging it over his shoulder and head, and braces himself.
He runs into the rain, one foot splashing in front of the other, making sure he doesn’t slip.
He’s sure he won’t regret this. Right?
*.~ ◇ ~.*
Reigen absolutely regrets it.
Like most of his problems, this one catches up on him and bites him in the face the way he least expects. Reigen thinks he’s mastered the art of Getting Away With It, clean from consequences, but sometimes Lady Universe has other ideas.
He wakes up that morning with a dry throat and a pounding head. His blankets feel clammy and uncomfortable on his skin, the blaring alarm on his nightstand making him groan. He slaps a hand on it clumsily, not bothering to open his eyes just yet.
He wonders, for a brief moment, if he’s drank last night and is currently suffering the hangover as an aftermath. But he knows for sure he did not, in fact, drink any of his miseries away the night prior, and there isn’t that awful lingering taste in his mouth. There is, however, a different kind of awful feeling in it. The kind you get when you’ve spent the entire day trying to stay away from a coworker who doesn’t know how to not sneeze in his direction.
He presses his eyes in until bright, white spots dance across the edges, gravity weighing down on him more than he thought possible. Lifting his body off the bed feels like he’s carrying the weight of a thousand bricks on his back.
Showering isn’t any better. The cold water feels like shards digging into his heated skin, the movements of his limbs feel heavy and slow. His reflection on the mirror confirms he looks worse for wear, but he quickly puts on some foundation over his eyebags and makes sure his hair looks at least acceptable. There’s the few stubborn strands sticking out, and his roots are showing. He fiddles a little with some grays so they’re concealed under bright blonde and less brightly coloured roots.
Of course, he doesn’t pay any of those symptoms much thought when he goes through the rest of his morning routine, or the commute to the office, or when he settles in his chair behind his office desk as he usually does. He pays no mind to the way he feels more and more sluggish as the day goes on, or the annoying migraine that lingers in his temples, or the constant sneezing, or the increasingly concerned looks Serizawa sends his way and Tome tries not to. Mob isn’t here to witness him, at least. The kid’s been focusing on his studies.
Good for him, Reigen thinks. Because he totally doesn’t miss his presence. And education is important. Spirits and Such is perfectly fine without him! Reigen is perfectly fine without him. He’s got Serizawa and, begrudgingly, Tome. He’s fine with it. Everything’s fine.
Clients walk in and out as they usually do. Reigen tries to put on his best businessman persona, breezing past regulars and new clients alike, but his hand doesn’t flail as grandly and his speech slurs every once in a while. He tries to explain that the sneezing is from allergies, and at least the clients fall for that easily. The rest of his employees–well, an employee and someone who insists she works here–don’t buy it as easily, if the looks they send him are any indication.
When the late afternoon hours roll around and Tome leaves for the day after doing almost nothing but clear out their snack cabinet yet again, he leans back against his–admittedly cheap, judging by the moan it makes against his weight–office chair, further backwards than he intended. One of these days the poor thing might snap in half from how often he bends it.
He lets out a sigh at the ceiling, heavy eyelids drifting shut as the fatigue in his body hits him in full force. He wills himself not to fall asleep, even if the idea is tempting. He’s got a massa– physical exorcism appointment with Mrs. Nakayama in an hour, and he needs to hold on till then.
He feels another sneeze itch his nose, and raises his handkerchief just in time to catch it. He rubs the snot away, stifling an involuntary, pitiful moan into the handkerchief. His eyes burn. So does the rest of his body, it seems.
“Uh,” he hears Serizawa shuffle in his seat, the thump of the uneven legs of his desk staggering back and forth. He’s got to buy a new desk sometime, that old thing can barely hold up any longer. “Reigen-san?”
Reigen blinks his bleary eyes open to meet Serizawa’s nervous ones from across the room. He absolutely dwarfs the small desk that used to occupy Mob.
Yep, definitely need a new desk. It looks a little adorable, however, the way he hunches over.
Focus, Reigen. That’s your coworker. You're his boss for god’s sake.
He makes a questioning hum in the back of his throat, but it comes out nasally.
God, he can barely breathe.
“Pardon me,” he says, cringing at his nasally voice, raising a hand as if to pause Serizawa, and blows his nose into his handkerchief. He is definitely throwing the thing out. Shame. He wipes the excess snot, breathing in air once his stuffed nose is cleared out. He resists the urge to groan.
He clears his throat, binning the handkerchief and returning to his laptop screen. He doesn’t look up to meet Serizawa’s eyes when he says, “You were saying?”
A moment. Then, “It was raining yesterday,” Serizawa says conversationally, which is unusual for him, but Reigen thinks it’s great that he’s getting a hang of the whole socialising thing. He must be making great friends in night school.
He wonders how someone who’s spent most of his life as a shut-in potentially has more friends than he does.
Good for him, Reigen supposes.
“Did you, um, go home safely?” Serizawa continues.
Reigen doesn’t look up from his screen, typing ‘how to wash off blood stains’ in the Mobgle search bar.
“Mm,” he hums in thought, sniffing, trying to process the question as he skims through a short article. “Yes, I did.”
“Did you bring an umbrella?”
Reigen looks up, then. Serizawa’s eyes look attentive, trained on him, and Reigen has to resist the urge to cower away. For someone usually so anxious, Serizawa can look very scary. He holds his ground. “No.”
“Did you get rained on?”
He tries to hide a wince, thinks of a subject diversion. He doesn’t come up with one in time as Serizawa speaks up again.
“I think you may have caught a cold, Reigen-san.”
God, when did he gain all that confidence?
Reigen waves a hand the same manner he means his words; flippant. “Now, now, Serizawa. It’s just some allergies. Don’t worry about it.”
Serizawa looks unsure. He purses his lips in what Reigen reads as doubt.
God, these allergies are making his lies weak, too.
“Listen, if I was sick, which I clearly am not, what kind of boss would I be to face clients in such a state? I’d be posing a horrible example to my employees. And you know I try my best to set a good example, Serizawa. Not to mention, I–” His nose begins to itch. “I– ah, a–”
A sneeze explodes out of him.
The snot flies from his nostrils onto the laptop screen.
His hand shakes as he frantically reaches for some tissues.
He catches Serizawa’s worried and maybe slightly surprised expression, and says, “Allergies!” into the tissues stuffed on his face. Serizawa looks unconvinced. Reigen tries to avoid making eye contact.
“Would you… perhaps consider giving it a rest?” Serizawa suggests, and honestly why does he have to be so patient and gentle? It’s unfair.
It takes a while for Reigen to recover, gathering his bearings. “I have an appointment with Mrs. Nakayama in an hour.”
“The massage client?”
“Physical exorcism,” he corrects, trying to wipe away his laptop screen. It smears around the substance instead. Maybe because he’s using the same tissues he wiped his nose with. Huh.
“Yes, right,” Serizawa nods, “Physical exorcism. I can reschedule it?”
“No,” Reigen says immediately, “Mrs. Nakayama doesn’t like last-minute reschedules. Client satisfaction is priority, Serizawa. Note that down.”
If he were speaking to the Serizawa that’s just arrived in the office and worked for some weeks, the man would have probably jotted it down on a Reigen-dedicated notebook he has ready at all times. The current Serizawa, however, just stares at him with an increasingly concerned expression.
Reigen sniffs. It pulls the sticky stuff down his throat. He swallows it stubbornly.
“I’m fine.”
“Right.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Sure.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Of course.” Serizawa maintains eye contact. “Would it help if I make you tea?”
Reigen reclines in his seat, wrapping his arms in front of him. It’s not petulant. It’s most definitely not. “Yes,” he mutters.
He doesn’t miss the small, private smile Serizawa tries to hide as he goes to boil the kettle.
He looks at the clock. Mrs. Nakayama should arrive soon. He just needs to wait till then. His eyelids feel heavy. He tries to open some client emails and read them over. His eyelids grow heavier. They drift shut every once in a while, which is both annoying and unavoidable as he attempts to read the sentences ‘My toilet keeps exploding, is it posessed??? Please help!!!’ for the however-many-th time.
At some point, he grants himself momentary relief and lets his eyes fall close, immediately taking in the blissful darkness. Which is a mistake. Because next thing he knows, his body is airborne–surrounded by the warm, static, familiar feeling of Serizawa’s aura–and hovering over the couch.
“The massage appointment–” he slurs through a, yet again, blocked nose.
“I thought it was a physical exorcism?”
“Serizawa,” Reigen says warningly.
Serizawa’s voice is soft when he says, “I’ll reschedule it. I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“But–”
And Serizawa actually shushes him. The absolute audacity–
His body lands on the couch. He realises, horrified, how comfortable the seat cushion feels on his back compared to his plastic office chair.
“I’ll be leaving to buy a thermometer and meds. Sorry, Reigen-san, but you’re clearly sick. Please understand.”
He leaves before Reigen gets a word out.
He tries to get up, but god laying down feels heavenly. He can’t move any muscle by an inch even if he tries.
It doesn’t take long to drift into slumber, after that.
*.~ ◇ ~.*
Luckily the next two days are weekends, and Reigen rests much to his chagrin and Serizawa’s relief. He loathes getting sick. His body refuses to cooperate and all he can do is lay on his bed, sweating it out, and sure, he’s used to excessive sweat, but being under the blanket and sweating profusely is not exactly something someone wants or can get used to.
Mrs. Nakayama is pretty disappointed, but she doesn’t do much except question their credibility which Reigen handles by giving her another discount for their next appointment.
It always works.
By Monday, he’s much better. The day flows along as usual, with Tome’s loud retelling of her day and Serizawa’s quieter comments. It's their normal. It’s their average. It’s his idea of a perfect day in the office.
When the day wraps up and it’s time for Reigen to leave, Serizawa having left a few hours prior for night school and Tome hours prior to that, it rains again. He should’ve checked the weather forecast.
But just as his hand lands on the door handle, thinking again of using his suit jacket as a makeshift umbrella, he catches sight of a transparent, actual umbrella standing by the corner. He raises his eyebrows.
He picks it up, tests the weight in his hand. He reaches for his phone and flips it open, opening Serizawa’s contact.
Serizawa, he types, did you forget your umbrella?
The read receipt is immediate, but the reply takes a while as three little dots bob up and down. Reigen imagines Serizawa sneaking his phone under his classroom desk and cautiously typing, one-handed. A smile tugs at his lips.
I must’ve, it says, and when has Serizawa ever been good at lying? And then, But you can use it, Reigen-san.
Reigen considers this.
I’ll return it tomorrow. And after a brief moment of hesitation, Thank you.
This time, the reply is quicker.
Of course :-)