Archive of Our Own ^beta

 “I’m alright, kiddo.” 

Mob registers a squeeze from the arm wrapped around his shoulders. He can still feel wet tracks on his cheeks. Just a moment ago he’d conjured a hurricane of psychic power, and now he can barely keep his eyes open. The only time he does is to take worried glances up at Reigen, where blood is drying on his forehead. 

 “Are you sure?”

Reigen is the human equivalent of the wilted sunflower in Mob’s hands. Hair disheveled, his clothing in tatters. They both look awful, but Reigen is covered in dust, scrapes, and probably bruises Mob can’t see. His stomach sinks. 

Reigen gives him a weak smile. “Positive.” 

Smoke and debris is everywhere, floating through the sunlight. It takes all of Mob not to fall to his knees when he realizes the extent of the destruction around them, half-demolished buildings and splintered trees dotting his peripheral view. It’s like a cleaver went through the city, the earth is upended in a perfectly straight line. Sirens wail in the distance. 

“Ah. Shit.” Reigen stops midway. 

.3 seconds later and Mob realizes the blood from Reigen’s head hasn’t stemmed. He quickly shifts to better support Reigen’s weight, dropping the flower. 

“You idiot!” Dimple swerves in front of them. “I warned you, and look at what’s happened. For the record, I don’t feel sorry for you.” He brushes a few matted bangs from Reigen’s hairline, where the gash is. “Who do you think is going to run the office when you’re dead? Shigeo?” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Reigen puts a hand to his temple, eyes oddly dilated. His skin is a shade paler than it had been a moment ago. “Just a little hard to see.” 

“That’s—,” not good, but Reigen staggers before Mob can put another word in. 

“Let’s call Serizawa again, how about it.” With a shaky hand he attempts, and fails, to open his flip phone. 

Mob purposefully doesn’t focus on the dirt between Reigen’s chipped nails, instead gently lifting his shishou off the pavement with whatever power post-explosion he can muster. He notices Reigen’s arm on his shoulder isn’t warm, and that makes any semblance of previous exhaustion fizzle out, replaced by growing anxiety, adrenaline creeping up his stomach and pounding fast in his chest. Mob forces his voice to stay level. 

“What’s Serizawa’s number again? I’ll call him for you.” Mob takes the phone and begins nervously pressing through the contact menu. 

No response. “Shishou?”

When he looks up again, Reigen’s muttering, blood pooling in the crease of his mouth. 

Mob can’t say anything, his horrified expression enough to get Reigen to start blinking rapidly, still trying to smirk and reassure. “Been through worse.” His babbling is so quiet Mob has to lean in close to hear. 

“M’just glad you’re safe.” 

The trip to the hospital is a blur. He remembers Dimple rushing to Serizawa, then Serizawa calling an ambulance. 

Five days later, sitting in a waiting area past the AMU, the stench of antiseptic and artificial fragrance is thick, and a consistent beeping from the machinery interspersed throughout the ward rings in Mob’s ears. Reigen had been unconscious when they’d taken him in, and for how much time he and his shishou spend together, when the attendants asked who to call Mob hadn’t known what to answer. Who did Reigen usually…? 

Oh.  

Luckily none of the others were seriously hurt. He still hasn’t spoken with Teru, for the same reason he’s afraid to check the news, and wonders if the boy he’d seen on the street that day is okay, too.

When he’s lead to the hospital room, Mob half-expects to find Reigen asleep, considering his penchant for drifting off at Spirits & Such. Instead, opposite the door when he enters is Shishou, upright and pacing ungracefully in a hospital gown. The nurse who’d shown Mob the way makes a ‘tsk’ and ushers him back to bed. 

“Mob! You got my call.” 

Mob says a soft greeting, not sure what to do with himself. He decides to pull up a chair and sit down. “I got your call.” 

Reigen is looking in his general direction, eyes partially out of focus but smile—real, genuine, the one saved only for Mob—bright as ever. His head is wrapped in bandages. The larger scrapes marking his arms are hidden by the bedsheets. 

‘PTVS’ is what Reigen had said over the phone, some kind of issue with his vision due to the head injury. He’d lost a lot of blood, and a tough enough object had hit the right spot. “Not a big deal. It’s one side-effect of my concussion. Once I do therapy, I’ll be out of here in a few weeks.” Mob had cried to sleep that night. “Seriously, only a few weeks.”

His mental image of Reigen is shiny and sure, a type of person so opposite from himself that Mob is grateful someone like Reigen exists to fill in where he falls short. Now, when that familiar precision in his gaze misses its mark, Mob can’t get used to it being gone. 

Reigen must sense him staring. “Not my finest look.” He says, and points to his head, gestures at his hospital gown. “But the docs said recovery should be quick if I keep on top of everything.” His face creases in a way that Mob can tell he’s embarrassed.

“How are you feeling?” Is what Mob asks. 

“Good! Good.” The whir of air conditioning conveniently fills up the silence. “My parents visited a few days ago. Well- my mom. Who had lots of messages to deliver from my Dad,” he pauses, “Anyway. No reason to talk about that. Your parents with you?”

Mob shakes his head, then deflates when he realizes Reigen probably can’t see it. “No, ah, they said they’d come with me if I wanted.” Ritsu had offered too, but something about others seeing Reigen like this before he could, composure skewed and still finding its footing with his new injuries, didn’t sit right. “I’m sorry, I forgot to bring you a gift.” Buying flowers had been the last thing he wanted to do. 

Reigen waves him off, “I’ve already gotten lots since I was admitted.” Mob looks around the room. There’s nothing from what he can see. “All food, of course. I’ve eaten it already.” Reigen coughs. “Remember, Mob. Don’t be reckless or you may end up having to eat whatever the hospital offers you.” Mob doesn’t think he’ll need to worry about that, so he doesn’t say anything and keeps his hands in his lap. “Were you able to find your way around the hospital okay? How is everyone else?” 

“Serizawa is doing his best at the agency,” Mob says. “I try to help. He’s still really nervous about answering the phone.” Reigen unexpectedly laughs. Mob sputters for a little too long. “Ritsu is looking forward to summer break.” Why is he talking about this, when he can hear Seasoning City reconstruction blaring from outside and patients in the hospital have doubled in the last week? “I found this wing of the hospital fine. I’ve actually been here before,” he says slowly. “A long time ago. But things haven’t changed very much.”  

Mob’s first meltdown sticks like a thorn embedded in his side. He remembers bullies pushing him over, his world going black, only to wake up to see Ritsu lifeless and bleeding. They’d taken him to the hospital for the same reason, his head had cracked open, and now only a faint scar is left to remember it by. Mob wonders if Reigen’s wound will heal the same way. 

The next few visits are much like the first, sometimes Mob is by himself, other times he brings Ritsu or Dimple. On Reigen’s best days, Mob walks with him through hospital hallways dim enough to traverse without Reigen getting a migraine. He helps illustrate scenes directly outside of Reigen’s window by describing them to him. And best of all, Mob whispers to Reigen what cards he has while they play a game of poker against Serizawa, the familiar closeness awakening in Mob a strong desire to go back to his house and throw himself under the futon. 

It’s all so normal. He can’t tell if Reigen’s getting better, but neither of them bring up the person Mob was—wasn’t, at the time of his injury. The damage is erased in a week using ointments on scrapes and ice to bruises. But Mob can’t shake it. While Reigen’s wounds heal, there’s still something itching to be picked at. He doesn’t explode anymore but feels like cracking from the outside in. 

???% soothes: Reigen is different, Reigen is strong, Reigen is caring.

His other half goads: Talk to him, what are you doing, there’s so much left to say but if I do it’ll ruin everything.

There’s a night he can’t get to sleep, tosses and turns with cold-sweat and the possibility that things shouldn’t be ‘okay.’ He remembers his ability to heal and wishes he could hold Reigen in his hands, light everything up from the inside and erase his memory. He decides to visit the next day by himself.

It’s overcast when he gets to the hospital, the murky sky refracting on polished floors and the ward eerily quiet. Reigen’s room doesn’t have the lights on when he walks in. What he sees is Reigen gazing out the window, watching clouds minutes away from unleashing a downpour.  He doesn’t say his usual greeting, but admires Reigen silently from the doorway. 

Reigen’s vision is so bad that he’s oblivious when he turns around to get back into bed. He does, however, hear a shift from Mob’s bag as he sets it on the ground. 

“Hello?” Reigen calls out, face scrunched in confusion, doing his best to make out the unknown intruder by squinting. Mob barely moves a centimeter, and Reigen’s scowl instantly relaxes into familiar recognition. “Mob.” 

“Hi,” Mob murmurs. “How are you feeling?” 

“Hmmm,” is all Reigen says. Instead, he simply pats the side of his bed, “How about I ask you this time? I didn’t know you were coming today.”

Mob is frozen, his tongue tied. For how often he’s been here, he hasn’t imagined sitting at Reigen’s side. 

“Well, I…” Mob starts, sauntering over as thunder bellows from the window. Asking how he feels is a heavy question, asking what he feels is even harder to answer. After Reigen confronted him before confessing to Tsubomi, Mob’s felt all sorts of things lately. He opts for the much easier, less true, less complicated answer. 

“I’m fine.” He sits stiffly on top of the comforter, his hands inches away from the bump of a knee. 

Reigen raises an eyebrow like he’s expecting more, but doesn’t prod. 

Every time Mob has had an outburst, Reigen’s been there to pull him back. Even after his first accident with Ritsu, Mob found him. Finding Reigen, for better or worse, has made pressure trickle out of his heart each and every time he’s broken down. Maybe now it’s even more than that.

“I feel… like I’m learning how to carry on when things don’t work out the way I want,” Mob continues. Tsubomi had thoroughly broken his heart, and it had felt good to cry. “It’s hard to explain.” Before, his emotions were like a pond he kept meticulously still. One small inconvenience acted as a drip, disturbing and rippling the surface. Throw a rock in, and there’d be untempered waves. Not much in his life has changed from an outsider’s perspective, but Mob’s inner voice is different, self-confident. By finding Reigen, Reigen was able to find Mob in return. By Reigen finding him, he’d found himself. 

Reigen smiles. “I get it.” He shifts slightly underneath the sheets, takes one of his hands and ruffles Mob’s hair. Mob’s pulse quickens.

“And it’s all thanks to you,” Mob adds in a fervor. “I actually, um,” he stops himself from completely diving overboard, but tears begin to prick the corners of his eyes anyway. “I know you probably understand already, but I wanted to thank you,” he breathes in, “And say that I’m sorry.” 

It’s been weeks at this point and Mob can still feel Reigen’s hand gripping his own, their fingers interlocked, hard calluses against smoke and ire. “The worst part…” Mob begins in a hushed tone, “is that I felt like I didn’t need anyone,” He shudders when he thinks of that alternative. There’d only been a curling, boiling need for what he’d first set out to do. “I never told you how terrible I could be,” He’s gripping the bedsheets now. “And because of that, you’re…” 

“Stop,” Reigen cuts him off, “First of all, I’m beginning to see much better now, thank you,” he shifts in his bed to lay further into the pillows. “Second, that being said. I could use a refresher,” and he holds one of his hands about a foot’s length away from his face. “I want to see you, but haven’t been able to focus very well until you get about this distance.” 

Mob is silent for another moment. “Sure.” It’s simple and effortless, rain making ambient noise echo through the room as he inches closer. 

Mob watches as deep, brown eyes start to meet his own. “Ah, there you are.” Reigen says warmly, so gently, that Mob feels like he should shut up about the whole thing and dig himself a pit to live in. 

“If it makes you feel better” Reigen holds up a finger, “Anything you’ve done, Mob, I’ve done to you ten-fold. This?” And he waves the finger in front of his face, his eyes following it. “Do you think it means anything? Want to know how many times I haven’t told you the truth?” Reigen shrugs, “We’re both learning as time goes on. I thought I passed that milestone awhile ago, but here we are.” Mob remembers the golden glow, the moment Reigen had opened up to him and admitted the one thing ???% thought he would keep secret. “Like I said, everyone has a different side— it’s unhealthy to keep it locked away somewhere.” He glances away for a moment longer, obviously wanting to say something else and for a split-second Mob thinks he’s hurt him by bringing it up. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Thank you for being here, when you don’t have to be.” 

Mob shakes his head. Whatever happens next, either because the dark of the room or the vicinity of his face or the rain seeming to box them in, Mob barely has time to process ramifications before he takes the blankets in fistfuls, throwing them over himself until he’s swaddled in the sheets next to Reigen, hugging him. “Please don’t be sorry,” is what he says immediately, and he can feel Reigen’s chest hitch slightly as it breathes under where his ear is cupped. “I was scared. And I was worried that I scared you,” the words are rushing out of him now, while he can get them in. 

He’s ready to be thrown off, but Reigen responds by wrapping his arms over Mob, tugging him closer and resting his chin there. “You could never scare me.” He breathes out, and all Mob can feel in that moment is warmth, contentment, and understanding. He hopes it’s like this with Reigen for as long as it can be. 

The storm booms in the distance, and it's softer than the one they’d known only a few weeks ago.