Work Text:
帰省 Homecoming
A concrete and tile apartment sat at the end of a narrow side street in the Toyonaka district in Osaka, its exterior clean, barely dulled by weather and exhaust. Near the entrance, there were bicycles leaning against the railing out front, always there, accompanied by people coming and going. It was typical, average.
This was Shigeo Kageyama’s apartment, and it was perfectly adequate. Ninth floor. Good natural light, close to the train station. It was quiet and well-maintained, all the things people wanted in a place to live. Shigeo moved there after graduating from University. He’d lived there now four whole years, and yet, it still didn’t look lived in. After all that time, he'd never bothered to decorate or hang anything on the walls.
Now, he stood in an empty living room area amidst boxes. They were labelled in an organized fashion and stacked neatly all around him, with him in the centre of it all, waiting for movers. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window; he stared at the person he was now: 6 ft and change, broad shoulders, and jet black hair swept up and pushed away from his face, unlike the uniform bowl cut he donned in his youth. After all, he was twenty-seven years old now. He was a successful structural engineer. A man who'd built a life exactly in the way he was supposed to.
And none of it mattered.
His phone buzzed. A text from his new supervisor at the Seasoning City branch: Looking forward to having you on the team. Good luck with the move; see you in a couple weeks.
Shigeo's psychic energy prickled beneath his skin, suppressed but still responding to the spike of anticipation. He was better at control now. Years of practice had turned the overwhelming force of his childhood into something he could modulate, tune, and direct with precision. It was always there, humming like electricity through power lines. But he'd learned to live with it, accept it as you did with the sound of your heartbeat; it's only ever present, thumping in your ears when there's a reason. He pressed a now much larger hand against the window, his slightly calloused palm flat against the cold glass.
Reigen.
Thoughts of him came rushing, sensory memories: the smell of cheap tea and even cheaper cologne, the sound of that boisterous voice when he was stringing together elaborate explanations for simple things, that particular way he'd wave his hands around and gesture when he was on a roll. Shigeo had spent six years trying to categorize what Reigen Arataka meant to him. Mentor. Master. Friend.
None of those words.
Not anymore.
Or were they ever?
He felt his heart palpitate, a fluttering fear gripping him for a few seconds.
At 13, he felt admiration and acceptance.
At 18, he felt a feeling for him that he didn’t understand, but he pushed it down. He was good at that.
At 19, he tried dating, curious to see if the feelings that came so easily in theory would match reality. They'd been kind people, interesting enough, but the connection he was seeking didn’t seem to be there.
When he left Seasoning City, he realized that people in Osaka didn’t know “Mob,” but Shigeo. When he realized they saw, in their words, an attractive, shy, intelligent guy, things changed.
At 21, he had his first intimate experience with a particular woman he trusted, and he truly cared for her.
Hitomi Watanabe accepted his shyness, his awkwardness, and, for the most part, his lack of sense of humour. When they made love the first time, and thereafter, it meant something. But she wasn’t the one. He broke it off when he realized he still didn’t fully understand what he wanted from love, and it wasn’t fair to her to keep trying to force the connection.
Ren Saito had been special too. His first boyfriend, if that word even applied. Ren was soft in ways Shigeo wasn’t: feminine, androgynous, gentle without being fragile. With him, Shigeo learned that desire didn’t have to be loud to be real. There had been quiet evenings on rainy days, hands roaming without urgency. It had been safe. Meaningful. And yet... still, incomplete.
He felt his psychic energy fizz at the thought of them, it goosepimpling his skin.
Shigeo kept dating, and each encounter became a quiet study in what he understood about closeness. Sex happened, or what passed for it, and he noted calmly what worked, what didn’t, and why it left him oddly untouched, as if observing from just beyond himself.
He thought often about how, after Tsubomi rejected him, he’d never quite felt the same love for anyone the same way. Probably why most of his relationships were short-lived. He’d broken up with people, and he’d been dumped a fair share too for being “boring” or “emotionally hard to read” and “closed off.” Thinking about all the dates, he could almost smell the flowers. He'd bought so many. The scent was sweet, they were all beautiful, even the ones that ended up in the trash.
Six months ago, drunk on cheap sake at a work dinner, a coworker had asked about his type. Shigeo had opened his mouth to say something generic and instead thought of Reigen.
“Oh.” He thought, with a pang of dread.
He was surprised at himself and confused. Why had he thought of him in this moment? It had to be the slight haze of the liquor... right? But he wasn’t drunk, he never got drunk. Drunk meant not being in control.
The co-worker pressed him: men or women, tall or short, old or young, funny or serious.
As he answered, naming off characteristics, he was thinking of him... again.
Thinking of who he was now. Late-thirties.
The way he'd looked the last time they'd seen each other. Sharp-eyed as ever, lean, silver starting to thread early but carefully through his hair, probably because of how stressed he got.
Shigeo had seen him when he came back to celebrate his 24th birthday. He’d invited his parents, of course, Teru, Serizawa, a friend from University, the good ol' body improvement club, and Reigen to his birthday dinner held at a hole-in-the-wall sushi restaurant. It was small, but intimate, and the food was some of the best in the city.
Reigen showed up in a crisp cream-coloured suit and gold cufflinks, and even though his suit was Armani and his cufflinks were knock-off Gucci, he wore that same damn cheap cologne. Shigeo found himself staring more than he ought to have when Reigen smiled and joked. Reigen sat a few seats down from Shigeo, on the opposite side of the booth. He listened for once. Didn’t talk for Shigeo or over him. He acted like they were friends, not student and mentor, despite the fact that, like many others, he still called him Mob.
“Oh?…” He thought then.
He felt the same unknown feeling in his stomach just then as he did when he was 18, and Reigen came to his high school graduation. He hugged him and patted him on the back, and Shigeo felt a warmth he’d never felt before. He held Reigen tight, and he asked, “Mob...?” You okay, buddy?” He remembered flushing and telling him… “Everything’s fine. Thank you for congratulating me,” He told him, “no problem.” And that was that. He let it go. Another fleeting feeling he didn’t care to understand. After all, he was 18. He’d felt weird things all the time.
The memory swirled in his head as he stared into his drink, surrounded by inebriated fellow workers. Why had Reigen been so top of mind that night?
Since then, the realizations had come in waves. He didn’t want anything back then; it didn’t even cross his mind, but now…
The way his body responded when he imagined Reigen's voice, heart thumping, psychic energy tingling. The dreams that left him restless, for whatever reason aroused, longing and so confused. The want that had nothing to do with admiration or respect and everything to do with the curve of his jaw, the movement of his hands, the way he laughed, the conman exterior that masqueraded who he really was: A kind-hearted man that more often than not genuinely wanted to help.
He’d tried to stop it all, but it was like an ever-present background noise.
He thought back to the times he’d spent, spending hours scrolling Reigen's stupid social pages. Using an unnamed account to follow him so he could see him without judgment, in those goofy business ads he’d post every week, the cheesy selfies with customers with captions like “Another Satisfied Customer.” Sometimes he’d even go on “Instagram Live” and stream, telling people to join if they want "free tips to a successful spirit business." Ever since Tome got him on social media, he’d never looked back: an upgraded conman, “leveraging technology to his advantage,” or however he’d put it. Oddly enough, it worked. Being online in a more intentional way had business flooding in, from the looks of it.
Shigeo stared at his phone, the large screen, all 6.7 inches, illuminated in the blackness like a beacon in his near pitch-dark bedroom. Reigen in sharp, bright 2K resolution. He’d watch him, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He’d think of the brief check-in phone calls they’d shared over the years and how he’d always wanted them to last longer, for Reigen to ask him about his personal life beyond typical pleasantries, but he never did. Probably didn’t want to overstep. Probably why the calls stopped coming.
Shigeo wasn’t stupid. He was, in fact, incredibly intelligent. He pondered many nights since his 24th birthday, what exactly his brain was trying to tell him. He analyzed it and reanalyzed it, over and over again.
He asked himself:
Did he just feel alone? He didn’t think so. He’d met a lot of people; some are acquaintances, and he even has one actual friend, a guy he met in university. His name was Kei Hoshino. He’s an esper too and likes analogue photography and cooking. He’d even taught Shigeo a little about cuisine. Kei never judges him; they let each other exist sometimes in comfortable silence or parallel play. There’s Ritsu and Teru, too. He’d still talk to them all the time, and they’d visit sometimes, too.
Did he yearn for a father figure? That didn’t seem right. His father’s amazing; he became much more attentive after high school, and so supportive and caring.
But still, was he mistaking parents' love for real love, admiration for adoration, and obsession for devotion?
What are these feelings?
He wanted...needed to know. He was scared, and more terrifying than the want itself was the utmost certainty that he had to do something about it.
Hence, the transfer. The whole reason why soon he’d be on his way back to Seasoning City. The reason for the complete upheaval of his carefully constructed normal life.
Shigeo picked up his bag and took one last look at the empty apartment. Somewhere in Seasoning City, Reigen was going about his day, completely unaware that everything was about to change.
When he locked the door behind him, he didn't look back.
- 霊幻 -
Reigen Arataka was having a terrible day.
First, the coffee maker had died. Just gave up, right in the middle of brewing. It sputtered and choked out a pathetic, grainy, tasteless half-cup that tasted like regret. Then a client had tried to haggle his consultation fee down to nothing, as if a decade-plus of experience meant jack shit. Then Serizawa had called to apologize again for leaving the business, even though it had been literally three years since he’d worked there, and Reigen had made clear a hundred times he was happy for him. He’d even met him and his wife for dinner more than once.
"I'm fine," Reigen had told him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You and Tome both. Living your lives. It's great. Really!"
And it was great. Serizawa had a good job now, working with real espers at a legitimate organization. Tome was off doing investigative journalism or UFO hunting or whatever the hell she did these days. They were happy, though. Successful.
Reigen was happy for them.
He was doing pretty well for himself, too, but was also completely alone, partially by choice.
Reigen stared at the empty office… his office, successful and profitable and all his. He felt the silence humming in his ears like a live wire. He could hire someone. Should hire someone, really. The work was steady enough, and he wasn't getting any younger, but every time he interviewed candidates, he found reasons to say no. Too expensive. Too inexperienced. Too something.
His phone rang what seemed like suddenly, breaking his concentration.
"Spirits and Such Consultation, Reigen speaking."
"Reigen." It was a statement, not a question.
Reigen dropped his pen. It clattered against the desk, rolled, and fell to the floor somewhere under his desk.
"...Mob?"
"Hi." That voice, deeper than Reigen remembered but still fundamentally Mob, careful and sincere. "Do you have time to talk?"
"I—yeah. Yes. Of course." Reigen scrambled for the pen but gave up. "What’s up! Where are you? Still in Osaka?"
"I'm in Seasoning City, actually. I transferred. I start at the local city planning branch two weeks from now."
The words were not computing. Reigen's brain tried to process them and failed miserably. "You... transferred? So you moved back?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
A pause came. One long enough that Reigen was just about to ask if the connection had dropped.
"Personal reasons."
"Right. Personal. Makes sense." It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense, actually. "So you're... you're back. In the city."
"I was hoping I could stop by the office. See you. If that's alright."
Reigen looked around at the spruced-up space, ignoring the fact that it had been largely upgraded and instead focusing mostly on the dying plant in the corner, the now busted coffee machine, and then his own reflection in the darkened computer screen, which to him looked haggard and aged, even though he didn’t really at all. In fact, he’d recently had a facial from a highly recommended shop down the street.
"Yeah," he heard himself say. "Yeah, of course. When?"
"I'm actually downstairs."
"What—now? You're here now?"
"If it's not a good time …"
"No! No, it's fine. Great. Come on up." Reigen was already on his feet, looking around wildly. The office was a mess... To him. In his eyes, he was a mess. His shirt was wrinkled, and he hadn't shaved properly in two days, and... Screw it. "I'll buzz you in."
He hung up. Stared at the phone. Then, operating in pure panic, he tried to straighten the papers on his desk hastily, gave up, and then tried to run his fingers through his hair, realized that made it worse, and switched to frantically spraying air freshener when, right in the middle, the door opened.
…Stunned silence from Reigen.
"Reigen."
It was Mob. Those eyes were the same, dark and direct. But everything else...
He'd grown. Taller, or maybe he just didn’t notice before. He saw now that he’s easily 6 ft, broad through the shoulders in a way that made Reigen reassess what he thought constituted "presence." The soft edges of adolescence had been carved away, leaving sharp defined features. His hair was shorter and styled. He wore a dark green turtleneck and dark grey slacks, like he'd come from somewhere sophisticated. They fit him properly, tailored to a frame that suggested purposeful exercise.
Reigen's mouth was dry. "Mob. Wow! You look different." Reigen thought back to the last time he’d seen him, three years ago, at his birthday dinner. They’d all been sitting the entire time, and he wasn’t exactly face-to-face with him in this way.
"It's been three years." Mob stepped fully into the office, and Reigen was suddenly aware of the space between them. How Mob's presence filled the room in a way that felt both familiar and wholly foreign. "You look good. Success suits you."
"Ha, well. You know me. Can't keep a good psychic down!" The old patter felt wrong in his mouth. "Not that I'm actually, well, you know what I mean. Sit, sit! Want tea? I'd offer coffee, but the machine died. Tragic loss. Memorial service pending."
Mob's mouth curved slightly. Almost a smile. He sat in the client chair with a way of movement that spoke to perfect body awareness. "Tea is fine."
Reigen busied himself with the electric kettle, grateful for something to do with his hands.
"So," Reigen said, a little too loudly. "Engineering. Big city job. What made you come back to boring old Seasoning City?"
"It's not boring." Mob accepted the tea with a nod of thanks. "I missed it. The people. The work."
"The excitement of structural analysis, sure." Reigen forced a grin. "Can get that anywhere, I guess."
"I missed you."
The words landed with weight. Reigen laughed, heard it come out strained. "Yeah? Well, missed you too, kid. Place hasn't been the same without you."
He watched Mob's expression shift, barely perceptible, a slight tightening around the eyes. What did he say wrong?
"I'm not a kid anymore."
"Right. No. Obviously." Reigen gestured at all of him, then wished he hadn't. "You're very... grown. Successful engineer. Probably have a girlfriend by now, right? Handsome guy like you?"
Why had he said that? Why did he keep talking?
"I've dated," Mob said evenly. "No one serious."
"Ah. Playing the field. Smart. You're young, you should!" Reigen caught himself. "Not that young. You're twenty-uh-twenty-seven, right? Adult. Fully grown adult person."
Mob was watching him with that steady gaze, and Reigen had the uncomfortable sensation of being looked at by someone with X-ray vision. Analyzed. Seen through in a way that made him want to deflect harder.
"The transfer," Reigen said quickly. "That's a big move. You sure it's the right call? Career-wise?"
"It's the same company. Same position grade. The work is comparable."
"But Osaka's got more opportunities, right? Bigger projects?"
"I wasn't happy there."
Something about the way he said it made Reigen pause. He looked at Mob and saw something beneath the calm exterior. A tension. A purposefulness that set off alarm bells Reigen couldn't name.
"Well," Reigen said carefully. "If you weren't happy, then yeah. Good call. Home is where the heart is, right?"
"Right." Mob sipped his tea. His hands were steady on the cup. Bigger hands than Reigen remembered.
"Your parents must be thrilled," he said. "Ritsu too."
"I haven't told them yet. I wanted to see you first."
"Me? Why?"
Mob was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was measured. "Because you're important to me. What you think matters."
"What I think about the transfer?"
"About me being back."
Reigen felt something twist in his chest. "Mob, of course, I'm happy you're back. You're like, you’re like," He stopped. What was Mob like? A son? No, that wasn't right. A student? Yes, but also no. "You're important to me, too. Obviously."
Mob's eyes searched his face, and Reigen forced himself not to look away, to meet that gaze like he had a thousand times before. Like nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
"I'd like to help out at the office again," Mob said. "If you need the assistance."
"Oh, you don't have to, I mean, you've got a real job now. Engineering pays way better than psychic consultation."
"It's not about the money."
"Right, but—"
"Plus, I can work from home some days." Mob's voice was quiet but absolutely certain. "I want to work with you again."
Reigen's instincts screamed. Can't be like before. Before he was a kid, and now he's…?
Now he was a man. A grown man. With a man's voice and a man's eyes that were looking at Reigen with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.
"Let’s not rush into that! " Reigen heard himself say. "You just got back, focus on settling in first."
"Okay.” He couldn’t help but feel his heart sink. “Let me know if you change your mind." There was a long pause. “I should probably go pick up the keys to my new place.”
"Oh, that’s great, you got a place so soon. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you’ve already lined up a place, so organized.”
Mob stood, and Reigen was suddenly so much more aware of their height difference. He'd been the taller one before. Now Mob had at least two inches on him.
"Thank you for seeing me," Mob said. "I know it was unexpected."
"Hey, my door's always open for you. You know that." Reigen stood too, finding himself having to look up slightly. Hated it. "Stop by whenever. We'll catch up properly. I want to hear about all the engineering stuff. Building codes, stress calculations, all that riveting content."
"I'd like that." Mob moved toward the door, then paused. Turned back. "Reigen?"
"Yeah?"
"It was good to see you."
Before Reigen could formulate a response, Mob was gone.
The office felt impossibly empty.
Reigen sat down slowly. His tea had gone cold. Outside, the city moved through its afternoon rhythms, indifferent to the fact that his world had just tilted on its axis.
"Okay," he said to no one. "Okay. So, Mob's back. That's fine. That's good. He's all grown up and successful, and I don’t need to worry about him, at. All."
He couldn’t help but think about the powerful, traumatized kid who'd needed guidance and got stuck with Reigen's particular brand of bullshit wisdom instead.
The fact that he was twenty-seven now didn't change that fundamental dynamic. Couldn't change it.
Reigen pulled out his phone. Stared at it. Put it down. Picked it up again.
He's just Mob.
Outside, Shigeo Kageyama walked through the streets of his childhood with his hands in his pockets and purpose in his stride. The meeting had gone as expected. Reigen was Reigen, deflecting with humour, hiding behind words. But he'd seen the moment of recognition in Reigen's eyes. The quick assessment, the flash of something before the shutters came down. Reigen had noticed. Had seen him.
That was enough. For now.
Shigeo's psychic energy hummed, warming his skin from the inside. He thought of when Reigen's pupils had dilated. His breathing had quickened. He'd gestured more than usual, talked faster, and filled every silence with deflection.
Shigeo's phone buzzed. His brother: Mom says you're moving back??? Why didn't you tell us???
He typed out a quick response: Wanted to settle in first. Dinner this week?
The reply came immediately: You're buying. And explaining. This is suspicious.
Shigeo smiled despite himself. Ritsu always did see through him.
But not even his brother knew the real reason for the move. How could he explain it? How could he tell anyone that he'd spent seven years building a normal life only to realize that none of it worked, and on top of that, the past three years were the most confusing of his life because he started to see Reigen as… something new. What that something was, he didn’t know.
He couldn't explain. So he wouldn't.
Shigeo stopped at a crosswalk, watching the light change. Across the intersection, Seasoning City sprawled in the afternoon sun, familiar and foreign all at once. Reigen was probably still sitting in his office, probably still trying to convince himself that nothing had changed.
But it’s not the same as it was.
The light changed. Shigeo stepped forward.
Behind him, psychic energy rippled through the air like a hot breeze, and somewhere in Spirits and Such Consultation Office, every lightbulb flickered in sync.