#mp100fluffbomb

~~~~~

Mentor and student walk back towards the bus stop with slow, leisurely steps.

“Another job well done, wouldn’t you say Mob?” Though Reigen says it as more of a statement than a question, as if he doesn’t expect his student to reply. They’ve done this routine enough times before that he doesn’t really need an answer. There are plenty of times Mob has remained quiet for lack of better things to say.

Still, Mob replies anyway. “Yes, Shishou. I’m sure the client's sink won’t leak anymore.”

Reigen shoots him one of his notorious grins, showing gleaming white teeth and making his eyes crinkle with a faint hint of crow's feet at the corners. Then, his pace slightly quickens, walking a few steps in front of Mob so he can’t quite see his face. It’s quiet for a moment, with only the sound of birds chirping faintly as dusk descends on Spice City.

“Y’know, I’m always happy to have your support, Mob. Thanks for coming with me today.” His voice is softer, without the sharp sting of a businessman’s sales pitch that permeates his usual speech pattern.

Mob is puzzled. “But I always come with you to exorcisms.”

Reigen’s steps slow a bit for some reason, but quickly resume pace. “True, but that doesn’t make me any less grateful.”

“Ah, I see. You’re welcome, Reigen-shishou.”

That makes his master’s steps falter again. It’s not often that Mob calls him by name, even with the honorific. Mob wonders what prompted him to do so in the first place.

There is silence for a minute before Reigen interrupts it again. “So. You’re going to university tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Mob replies, but his voice comes out more quietly than he wanted, too quiet even for him.

“Are you excited?”

Mob ponders that for a moment. “I’m not sure. It’s… It will be different.”

“Hah. Well, it’ll give you the opportunity to have new experiences at least. Make sure you take advantage of that, Mob. I don’t want to see you getting bored when there’s so many things for you to do.”

“Yes, Shishou.”

There’s silence again, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. Mob appreciates the feeling of a slight breeze drifting alongside them, the sound of birds chirping, the bright oranges and deep purples of the setting sun, the sound of their feet padding against pavement. They walk toward the end of an era.

It’s not long before they reach the bus stop.

Reigen turns abruptly and offers his hand with a lopsided smile. Mob looks at it, then meets his piercing brown eyes, the same eyes that gave him so much comfort when he was scared of himself, too scared of what he could do to think clearly. They were the eyes that always let him know someone was looking out for him.

They’ve known each other for seven years, and this is the last time they’ll be together for a long while. Mob feels the heavy weight of nostalgia and reverence overcome him and, above all, he feels deep gratitude toward his mentor who has watched over him in his own obscure, strange way. So Mob takes his hand firmly, with more confidence than he ever would have otherwise if it weren’t for Reigen giving him that calm, reassuring smile.

The bus rolls up behind him, whining and screeching as it comes to a stop. He turns and recognizes the route advertised on the neon sign as his own, and he knows that it’s time for him to go. Reigen has to take a different route to get back to his apartment on the other side of the city.

“Well. I guess this is goodbye, Mob.” Reigen gives his hand a small squeeze.

“Yes, it is,” Mob observes. For anyone else, they would hear the same monotone he was known for. But for Reigen, Mob knew he picked up the slight stutter in his words, the hint of a solemn smile breaking apart the monotony of his ever-stoic face.

“Thank you. For everything, Reigen-shishou,” Mob says. There it is, Reigen’s name again. Perhaps he’s using it so much because he knows he won’t be able to for a long time.

Reigen’s grin widens, shows teeth, becomes so genuine that it almost hurts Mob to look at it. “Anytime, Mob,” is his reply. But then he tilts his head downward to break eye contact, his mouth pressing into a sad smile. When he looks up again, Reigen’s eyes are flooded with tears. “Kageyama Shigeo.”

He looks so, so proud.

Mob blinks and feels the gentle trickle of a tear falling down his cheek.

“Goodbye, Reigen Arataka. For now.” Without thinking, Mob reaches forward and embraces the man who told him, so many years ago, that he was a human being. That he was just as important as anyone else in the world. That he should accept himself for who he was.

After a millisecond of hesitation (or perhaps shock?), Reigen’s arms wrap around his shoulders with incredible surety in return, his breath hitching slightly as Mob squeezes around his ribs and lets his forehead fall into Reigen’s shoulder. Mob is a little taller than his master now, but Reigen will always seem like a giant to him. After all, Mob had stood on his shoulders and was able to see further. How lucky he was that this man was always there to catch him, guide him to safety, to carry the burden of his powers if just for a little while. Even now, his aura surrounds the two of them, but it’s a blanket rather than a vice. A gentle touch rather than a fierce grip. He hasn’t lost control of himself like he used to for a long, long while. Mob feels safe, and so, so incredibly loved.

The bus has been waiting for a minute too long. The driver must have taken a liking to the two strangers embracing at the first inbound stop of the Shio line. Mentor and student break apart, holding each other at arm’s length. Reigen squeezes a reassuring palm against his shoulder and smiles, bright and true. It tells him that everything will be alright.

Kageyama Shigeo steps back and boards the bus, taking a seat on the left side. He watches his master as the vehicle pulls away, toward his home, toward a new chapter of his life. Each raises a shaking hand in farewell, the same solemn smile softening Mob's face as his master becomes smaller and smaller through the window. He watches until Reigen's form becomes a speck in the distance, his hand still raised when the bus rounds the corner and he disappears completely from view.

Somehow, Mob knows this isn’t really goodbye. Rather, this is a reassurance. A promise.

He'd heard it only once, the day he met the thing that wasn't Nii-san, a not-sound that emanated from it in waves. The waves of not-color that accompanied the not-sound were terrible - stealing the vibrant blue of the sky, and the golden glint of sunlight off the fence, and the splashes of red on the concrete that couldn't be blood because there was too much of it - replacing them all with oppressive greys and blinding whites and dark, terrible blacks. But the not-sound devoured noise from everything it touched, tore the harsh thud of impact and the explosion of rubble from the air as the thing threw the older boys and Ritsu away from it like pebbles in a hurricane, reached into Ritsu's throat and snatched the sound of his pained, terrified breaths and his cries for Nii-san away from him, replacing it all with a void that smothered Ritsu worse than the pain in his head, a void somehow centered about the thing that couldn't be Nii-san.

The not-sound had haunted Ritu's nightmares, waking him before his whimpers could reach Nii-san's ears, forcing him back to the day the thing that wasn't Nii-san took Nii-san's warm rainbow aura and turned it black, cold, a dangerous and terrible thing that had lashed out at the older boys and Ritsu alike without thought, without compassion, without mercy. The not-sound resided in the back of Ritsu's head, cautioning him to take heed of everything he did, everything he said, while in Nii-san's presence, pressing him to make sure Nii-san's needs were met lest he hear it again. The not-sound was all he could think of when he saw Black Vinegar Middle School tear itself to pieces and fling itself into the sky - for what else, save the thing that wasn't Nii-san, could possibly unleash such destructive power?

But despite all this, it was on a different day - the day the world shattered beneath his feet (again), the day Nii-san had to fight with everything he had to save the world from a man mad with power, the day Nii-san let down all the barriers holding back his emotions and his psychic powers - Ritsu knew he had been wrong. Nii-san's laughter - ecstatic, insane, but unmistakably Nii-san's - was far worse than any not-sound that emanated from the thing that wasn't Nii-san.

At least the not-sound didn't come from Nii-san.

To say his hands were clammy would be an understatement.

It was a wonder how the umbrella handle remained so steady and firm in his grip when, in spite of his own wishes, the palms of his hands were coated so thick with sweat, slick and slippery, hot and sticky, that he dreaded the worst as he strolled through the torrential downpour of Seasoning City, the wind in tow and the puddles splashing beneath the soles of his shoes.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before, really; he’d more than earned his fair share of stray observations from random passersby, had stolen fleeting glimpses of silent judgement sinking into a stranger’s assessment of his person but never having heard anyone voice these thoughts aloud. There was no shame in admitting that his salesmen persona, hell, his regular self even, came with a hitch all its own-- clear skin forever riddled with gleaming sweat. Not that that made eyeing and acknowledging other’s scrutiny any easier, but he digressed.

Nevertheless, he’d soon discovered that these sweaty mishaps only seemed to get worse in the presence of others. Or, more specifically--

“Ah, Serizawa! I didn’t think you’d make it out of there so soon. Things going okay?”

Scrambling to a haphazard stop, Serizawa briskly nodded and readjusted the schoolbag now swinging precariously around the crook of his elbow, the raised suit jacket shrouding his head pinned down by the heavy droplets pouring from the skies above. “Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he replied between breathless pants, smiling. “Just an early dismissal.”

Reigen chuckled. “Well, it’s a good thing you came out as fast as you did then. I don’t think I’d have it in me to hold this thing any longer if you stayed in late.”

With a flourish, Reigen brandished the umbrella in the direction of his companion, motioning for the man to step under.

It didn’t take long before Serizawa humbly accepted his offer, ducking beneath the shelter of the umbrella before relinquishing the soaked fabric of his suit jacket from its duties.

As they strolled along side by side through the streets of the city, throwing about playful banter and wordy conversations, Reigen couldn’t help but draw his gaze back to the two opposing hands now mutually interwoven around the umbrella handle, taking in every minimal detail, every curvature, every line and indent, of Serizawa’s much larger hand in comparison to his own.

The pigmentation of Serizawa’s skin was slightly darker than his. Even with the dark clouds that soared overhead, blocking out any strand of sunlight that dared seep its way through the dreary atmosphere, Reigen could tell that Serizawa’s skin would not change tints in different lighting. The faint hairs coursing along the surface of his skin were nothing in stark contrast to the darker, finer hairs twisting and curling over the back of Serizawa’s hand, and for the first time Reigen became intrigued by their differences. How he hadn’t noticed these subtle contrasts before was beyond him.

You think you’d notice those kinds of things by now.

But he didn’t.

The warmth emanating from the other’s hand also became an object of intrigue.

Reigen hadn’t even considered the fact that this particular warmth was something he was all too familiar with. The welcoming tendrils weaving loosely around his wrist, the cautious lapping before the final plunge blanketing his skin-- it was ethereal and chaotic all at once, gentle and rough, soothing and powerful.

It possessed the ability to bend and break the energy around it at will, it relished in its strength and feared no one in its wake, yet refused to act on the abilities harnessed in spite of the surge of power that lay ignited and waiting at the end of its very fingertips.

Power meeting serenity.

Reigen was fully aware of its capabilities. He knew the feeling all too well, knew the kinds of blessings and curses that came along with it, knew how peaceful it could be before the bitter reality sat in and reared its ugly head, leaving destruction and chaos in its wake.

Yet, somehow, the warmth coming from Serizawa always managed to feel different than the type of warmth he’d been accustomed to from Mob.

Reigen almost forgot he was staring until Serizawa’s voice broke through the haze and reminded him to walk with his own two feet.

“--looks pretty nice, even though it’s raining.”

“What?”

“The clouds. They always look nice, even when it’s raining, don’t you think?”

A moment or two passed before Reigen’s mind caught up to the question at hand. “Oh…! Yeah. I guess they do still look pretty interesting when the weather’s shit.”

If his observation gauged a reaction from Serizawa, Reigen didn’t wait long to see. Nervously, almost shyly, he rubbed the nape of his neck before flapping his free hand in the space beside him. “Uh, so, hey! Here’s a crazy idea: how about we hold hands?”

Serizawa’s eyes stretched wide as saucers. “Hold hands?”

Reigen immediately regretted his decision. “N- not like that! I- I mean--!”

Shitshitshit! He could practically feel Serizawa’s eyes burning into his skull.

“Y- y’know, to keep the umbrella steady! You’ve been making it sway around like crazy this whole time.”

Serizawa’s steps seemed to falter at that, as if taking a moment to consider the truthfulness of Reigen’s words, before realizing that the umbrella was indeed swaying, just as Reigen had said, and grew sheepish. “O- oh! Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t even notice--”

Fuck, that was close.

Reigen suppressed his amusement at Serizawa’s awkward fumbling and pat his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s fine; really, it’s okay. I was just messing around, that’s all.”

“O- oh…”

A pause.

The tips of Reigen’s ears began growing hot, and he coughed and spluttered in his hand as a means of distraction from the overwhelming feeling inching its way into his chest. He prayed Serizawa hadn’t noticed.

“A- anyways… It’s easier to carry the umbrella if we have our hands around each others, so if you want to, we can do that to keep it steady. Don’t pressure yourself to do it if you don’t want to, though.”

“O- okay.”

The immediate contact of skin on skin sent shivers down his spine. Within seconds, Serizawa’s hand engulfed his own, and Reigen was suddenly reminded of the sweat coating his palms and squeezed his fingers tighter around the handle in an effort to stave off the moisture threatening to leak through the crevices of his fingers.

If Serizawa could feel the sweat through their clasped hands, he certainly didn’t acknowledge it aloud as he guided Reigen’s attention back to the road that lay ahead with a slight tug on the handle.