Archive of Our Own ^beta

From day one Serizawa's eyes have been on Reigen but never making actual contact. Nerves and a healthy dose of autism make eye contact difficult, especially because Reigen's gaze is always intense and focused, and so he's opted for periphery instead, where Reigen has remained since Serizawa shoved him out of the way of Suzuki in that tower.

But as hard as meeting his eyes is, Serizawa has been finding increasingly often that looking anywhere except his eyes is presenting more trouble than he bargained for.

It starts his first day on the job. Reigen's cutting his hair. His sleeves are rolled up and he's sat behind him, holding his head steady with one surprisingly gentle hand while the other buzzes down his unkempt curls. It's already a strangely intimate encounter, so maybe that's why Serizawa's heart does a funny little dip into his stomach at the sight of Reigen's thumb coming to rest over the ridge of his cheek out of the corner of his eye.

He can't look too long for fear of strain, but there it is, pale and warm and a little sweaty, the fingertip dusted pink, the nail a little rough and unmanaged.

Reigen moves to tilt Serizawa's head, and the glimpse is gone.

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The next time it happens is a month later. Mob's not in for work today, it's just the two of them. They've fallen into a routine, taking a lunch break from noon to one. Reigen's work had cut into this break today, however, and while dealing with a client he'd sent Serizawa on an errand to acquire a meal for the two of them. He returns roughly a half an hour later, and catches Reigen standing by the open window, staring down into the street.

There's a cigarette between his lips, for a moment. Then his hand obscures his mouth, cigarette notched between his first and second knuckles, and brings it away to grind it into an ashtray on his desk, twisting behind and below himself to reach, smoke curling from his nostrils and lips as he goes, a sultry exhale.

And then his deep brown eyes flick up toward Serizawa under his eyelashes, and Serizawa startles.

"Got lunch, s-sorry for the wait, they were a little backed up…"

Reigen's hands are waving, and the lingering smoke twirls through his thin fingers. "Ah, perfect timing, Serizawa, no need for apologies. Our next client had to delay so we still have an hour. Sit, I'll get us drinks."

Serizawa can't focus on his food. He's thinking about the hint of tongue between those lips, obscured by smoke.

(9%)

It happens again two weeks later. Reigen sidles past him in the storage closet, chest to chest (this already flusters him to no end), and his shirt pulls against Serizawa's. Long neck muscles slip under his collar and connect to a prominent clavicle, perhaps too prominent to be healthy, but distracting nonetheless. His first button is undone and his tie is loose, and if Serizawa followed the line of his neck down just a little farther–

The soft slope of his chest presses against his own. And then Reigen's made his way past, waving an apology, flinging lightheartedly a "You're a big guy, Serizawa, good to see you so healthy!" 

Serizawa stares after him, packet of antibacterial wipes slipping out of his hands to the floor. Reigen doesn't notice, he's rambling some extension of what he just said, his back to his coworker. His sandy hair bounces with his movements, just brushing the shell of his ears, and are they turning red, or is that his imagination? 

Serizawa picks the wipes back up, and goes to clean the bathroom. 

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He tries not to pay attention after that, especially as he adjusts more to Reigen, and to the world around himself. It gets a little easier, but there are things here and there. The cuff of his pants riding up as he crosses his legs, revealing comically patterned socks and just a sliver of skin. His suit jacket unbuttoned, the vents flipped behind his forearms as his hands rest high on his hips, narrow, bony fingers furrowing his shirt and splaying over his abdomen. His dress shirt stuck to his back with rain just before he shimmies out of it and Serizawa has to look away, the surprising broadness of his shoulders and water-darkened hair plastered to his glistening neck and torso-spanning scar only just visible through the translucency of the soaked cotton all seared into his mind like a brand.

The tears in that same shirt, lined with brown bloodstains, untucked from his equally mangled pants, shoeless, hair wild and dirty and crusty with blood, his eyes happy but deeply haunted. Serizawa doesn't let this image carry him away as he had the others. Reigen is hurt and worn and this version of him isn't weirdly alluring at all, just… very, very worrying. 

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They don't talk about it. Serizawa would like to, but he never knows what to say, and Reigen wants to keep it under lock and key. But for once Serizawa makes eye contact with him, and his eyes are bloodshot, lids flushed and puffy, lashes clumped together with moisture, and he decides to pay closer attention to him again. 

Normalcy returns to the office about the same time the need for AC does, because city cleanup takes a long time, and Reigen has to heal, and adjust to no longer working with Mob. And with this normalcy comes more clients, and more clients inevitably means more massages, and more massages means more assisting with massages .

Often, a massage is just that, but sometimes the agitation to the muscles brings a curse to the surface, and Serizawa must complete the job by exorcising it. And sometimes, rarely, Reigen will get an unsavory customer, perhaps ill-mannered, perhaps rowdy, perhaps seeking certain hands-on services that Reigen is neither licensed for nor willing to provide, and Serizawa must act upon his bodyguard duties and escort the offender off the premises by any means necessary.

And sometimes , Reigen wants to teach Serizawa.

It's one of these times that Serizawa thinks he'll die for real.

They have a regular client in today, and she's already set up the way Reigen wants her, in their dark massage room with incense and soy candles burning all around them, scented massage oil popped open and smeared wetly onto slender, elegant hands.

Serizawa does not look at his hands. Perhaps his shoulders are safer? No, his tie is flipped over one of them, and he can't help but follow its path, to where it's loosened around undone buttons that do little to hide his graceful neck, and then he's looking at Reigen's face–fatal mistake. He's illuminated from underneath by a nearby candle, a gentle orange glow flickering on the soft curve of his jaw, and the cute ( cute?! ) nub of his nose, and the swell of his upper lip, and the southern hemispheres of his eyes, reflecting crisply across his pupils and irises while he has his gaze angled downward. The rest of his body is largely cast in warm purple shadow, turned almost pink by the ambient light of his many candles.

God, angelic wouldn't even be the right word. That would convey perfection and by extension, danger. Suzuki had looked angelic. Wide, unblinking eyes colored a striking blue, a stiff and trim suit, square palms and strong fingers unmarred by blemishes, a commanding and resonating voice chanting mantras of be not afraid, be not afraid through teeth that were too straight and too white and too many. Suzuki had been beautiful the way death is beautiful, Suzuki had been Lovecraftian, Suzuki had been biblical. 

But Reigen is a man. Reigen is a vignette of the everyday, of soft edges and quiet moments and the smell of orange rinds and black pepper and frankincense. Reigen's beauty is in the mundane, the welcoming presence he projects.

He has no powers, but Serizawa figures being as steady and reliable and personable as Reigen is must count.

His throat is dry. Reigen's voice, usually loud and spectacular, is soft in a way he only gets during these massages–he sounds like butter on a hot plate, he sounds like bundling yourself up in plush blankets, he sounds like falling asleep. And his hands, typically just as loud as his voice, gesticulating in grand arcs, are moving slowly, gently, but firmly, and no Serizawa needs to stop looking at his hands. He needs to stop looking at Reigen as a whole, but it's hard when he's also being instructed by him.

Speaking of, he hasn't exactly been listening, or even fully hearing for that matter, and Reigen must have picked up on it, because his elbow knocks against Serizawa's exposed forearm. He starts at the skin to skin contact–he'd forgotten they'd both rolled their sleeves up for this. "Hey," Reigen whispers, and Serizawa watches how his tongue rests on the back of his lower incisors between his lips. "I'm losing you. Somethin' on your mind?"

Serizawa swallows. Reigen doesn't look particularly upset, just pleasant, warm, comfortable, maybe a little worried with how his eyebrows crease his eyelids. "Uh–" Serizawa's tongue sticks to the back of his throat, the roof of his mouth. "Ah, n-no, sorry. School's just… been busy. It's got me a little out of it."

Understanding softens Reigen's eyes, and really it's not a lie, because that has in fact been occurring, but Serizawa still feels like he's wronging Reigen, somehow, even though he very much cannot say what's going on, especially with a client well within earshot. "I see. You wanna step back and let me handle this today?"

Serizawa shakes his head, which is strange, because he could've sworn he'd meant to say yes, and then he tells Reigen, "No, it's important for me to learn, I'll do my best," when he definitely meant to thank Reigen for the opportunity and then stand back and watch.

Perhaps Reigen really does possess psychic ability, presenting as the power of suggestion. 

Reigen taps the back of Serizawa's right hand with the back of his left, soft, warm, lighter and smaller and less hairy than his own. "Hey," he's saying, under his breath, closer than Serizawa remembers him being, "hold out your hands for a sec, yeah?"

Yeah. Serizawa will do that. Reigen sounds like he's smiling, but Serizawa can't bear to look, so he'll just have to cooperate.

He holds out his hands, and Reigen nudges them with his knuckles. "Cup them." Serizawa does. There's a wet click, of a bottle cap being flicked open, and then oil is poured into his hands. He doesn't need to read the bottle to recognize the smell: geranium. 

There are a lot of conflicting scents here, but Serizawa finds that they don't necessarily combine into something bad, they just add to the soothing atmosphere. Reigen's Aroma Runaway Express™ lives up to its moniker.

(And gives Serizawa a headache, but he's too polite to bring that up right now.)

Reigen laughs, softly, airily, near his ear. "You're letting it drip through your fingers. Rub your hands together."

Yes. He can do that. Once his hands are thoroughly slicked with oil, he hovers them over their client's back, and glances at Reigen for direction.

Reigen smiles back, genuinely, softly, just barely dimpling his cheeks and crinkling up his lower eyelids. There are scars there on his face, from a nasty exorcism Serizawa had not yet been around for, from the attack on Suzuki, from Mob's storm in the middle of the city, some fresh enough that they're still pink.

Paying more attention to Reigen has largely been a mistake, Serizawa thinks.

"Just knead your palms into her back, gently, like you're kneading dough."

Somehow Serizawa has mind enough to reply coherently. "Ah, I've never, um. Kneaded dough before."

"Really." A quirk of a shapely, perfectly groomed eyebrow. He doesn't sound skeptical or upset, only mildly surprised. "Well, allow me to show you then."

Then he's reaching across and grabbing Serizawa's much larger hands and pressing into the backs of them so they roll into their client's muscle. Serizawa stares– it's always the hands it's always the hands.

It's the size that always gets Serizawa off the bat. Narrower than his, shorter than his. Deft, slim fingers that, aligned so that the bases of each are touching, reach only to the beginning of Serizawa's first digit. His nails are smaller and thinner across as well, giving the impression that they're longer when really Reigen keeps them clipped quite short. They're paler, pinker, faintly dusted with brown freckles and light hair, nicked with fine scars–Serizawa can't imagine what he may have done to create those, but he has a good right hook (deceptively so–his arms are soft with lack of exercise, but his work as a masseur gives him a hidden strength), so he wouldn't be surprised if it had come from one of his fistfights. The tendons are quite prominent, and the pads well formed, from years and years of handiwork, and they lead Serizawa's eyes up to his sharp wrists, and further still to the rumpled and rolled cuffs of his sleeves, pulled just tight enough that there's a delicate give to the flesh approaching his elbows. 

His slender fingers slip between Serizawa's, and he's directing him, but Serizawa cannot hear, blood roaring in his ears and heart hammering in his chest. Muffled encouragement. Warmth shared where their bodies align. Oil between Reigen's palms and Serizawa's knuckles, slicking up their skin, allowing Reigen's soft hands to move fluidly against his own.

Then, Reigen is swearing, under his breath, and moving Serizawa's right arm, and ducking underneath it, so that he's–fuck.

His hair tickles Serizawa's chin and throat. Serizawa goes rigid. Between his arms, Reigen is still guiding his hands, shoulder blades brushing Serizawa's chest, his back hunched and flexing as he kneads, his ass–

(59%)

Serizawa can't take it. Several candles extinguish and one of Reigen's oil bottles crumples in on itself, squirting eucalyptus into a narrow arc through the air and onto the counter. The sight certainly doesn't help Serizawa's train of thought. Reigen startles but doesn't make a sound, and their client doesn't react, so Serizawa thinks he can make a stealthy getaway, until Reigen's facing him, and gazing up at him with concern, warm brown eyes scanning him closely.

"Serizawa," Reigen whispers, and Serizawa can feel the moisture of his breath on his chin, on his lips, on his neck–he smells like mint–and he can just barely see the uneven cutting edges of his top incisors underneath the bow of his upper lip, "hey, you sure you're okay?"

Reigen's hips are flush against his own. Serizawa realizes he's still boxing him in, but can barely bring himself to back away. Somehow there's no hard evidence of his predicament, thankfully, and the room is dark enough that it'd hide the deep flush in his cheeks and neck and ears.

And yet Reigen's not stupid. He has to know. School stress isn't strong enough a reason to make him react the way he had, and Reigen's stare boring into him is heavy enough that there's no way he doesn't know.

A gentle touch on Serizawa's neck, then, against his jugular, with the edge and heel of Reigen's citrus oil palm, wetting the hot, stubbly flesh there. "Need to take a break?" 

Serizawa makes the mistake of making and holding eye contact. Reigen's eyes are dark, lidded, and when Serizawa doesn't immediately look away, one corner of his mouth quirks slightly upward.

He knows .

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Serizawa swallows. It pulls against Reigen's hand, still on his throat. "Yeah, I need a break."

Washing his hands and splashing his face with cold water in the bathroom has never felt so good.

He forgets about the orange oil still on his skin until he gets home and catches a whiff of it as he removes his jacket. It goes straight below the belt. Embarrassing, but certainly not as much as it would have been in the massage room with a client present.

Oh well, he's alone, now, and he has a rather pressing matter to attend to.

(He finishes in two minutes, arching against his bed, throbbing and not even fully out of his pants.)

And just like with many things, they don't talk about it. Reigen invites him in to watch, to learn, to make sure his clients aren't unruly, but never mentions the oil incident, nor does he make to physically guide Serizawa again.

It's a devastating loss, but perhaps also a mercy. Serizawa supposes Reigen understands the atmosphere of a massage can make one… more excited than usual, though, because he doesn't act uncomfortable or cagey around him, just normal. Friendly. Affectionate enough that Serizawa knows they're on good terms but withdrawn enough that he still worries. 

They get another lawyer in again, in the middle of summer, when temperatures and tempers run high, and Reigen does not quite have the wherewithal for tact. Serizawa wavers at his desk, watching closely. He has a purpose for his attentiveness this time, beyond his earlier vague reasoning of keeping an eye on Reigen. This time the situation at hand is greatly troubling, because if Reigen loses his rapidly dwindling cool and Serizawa can't smooth the situation over with a cleverly executed flaunting of his powers, they're going to court.

A bead of sweat rolls down Reigen's neck. He's long since lost his customer service smile, giving terse excuses through a petulant frown, chin dimpled with the weight of it. His brows are low and furrowed, one eye twitching minutely as he glares up at the attorney, who is listing out mountains of evidence against his business and its practices. His arms are folded over his chest, and his left hand white-knuckles his right sleeve, veins beginning to bulge up over the back of his hand.

He's pissed.

Serizawa's noticed over the months he's been at Spirits and Such that Reigen saves his vitriol for an adult-only audience, carefully tempering it down into simmering diplomacy and curt passive-aggression in the presence of his various adolescent charges, rendering his righteous anger something of a rare phenomenon. And when he and Serizawa are the only employees on duty and Reigen's upset?

He gets bitchy. It's the only way to describe the venom in his words and the sneer on his face. Is it immature? Perhaps. Serizawa finds it rather charming in its own way, but that may be a result of his unfortunately unbreakable attachment to Reigen. No matter how he views it, though, Reigen being a bitch won't win him any favors when faced with the law, and Serizawa's cautiously watching for his boiling point so he can escort their new friend out the door.

The lawyer says something about taxes. Somehow Reigen's frown deepens into something truly sour. He's sweating more. His foot is bouncing underneath his desk.

And then the AC unit shudders and clanks, before failing with a cathartic groan.

That would be Serizawa's cue. 

He ushers the lawyer through the door before Reigen can start yelling, gracefully executing the whole song and dance of tripping him up and consequently saving him with his powers and leaving him off on an uncanny threat before warily reentering the office. Reigen is slumped over the desk, head cradled in his biceps while his forearms hook back around his skull and his fingers knot in his hair. His foot is still bouncing, rapidly, bonking the desk occasionally.

Serizawa wordlessly reaches into their little mini fridge to retrieve a bottle of lemonade and pours him a glass, and sets it on the desk near his elbow. Reigen doesn't seem to realize he's even there, still taking deep breaths and vibrating from the motion of his leg. Serizawa hesitates, tracing the tense angle of his shoulder to his elbow to his wrist to his knuckles. His biceps are flexed under his suit jacket, stretching the fabric tight and pulling it away from his sharp, pale wrists. They're dusted faintly with freckles.

Serizawa touches the exposed skin of his forearm with the backs of his knuckles, gently. "Reigen." 

Reigen deflates as the word leaves Serizawa's mouth, and he sort of rolls onto his left side, using his extended left arm as a pillow. "Are we good now?"

"I am. I'm not so sure about you."

"Tch." His eyes roll away from Serizawa, gazing at nothing. His face is squished so that his cheek bunches up against his nose and mouth. It's boyish. Endearing. "You know how I am with lawyers."

As if that answers anything.

And yet, Serizawa does know.

He pushes the lemonade closer. "I got you a drink."

"Oh." Reigen sits up, hair mussed and frizzing out of place, face slack with mild surprise. "Thank you." 

There's a silence as he sips on it, pausing to loosen his tie and shrug his jacket off. He's still sweating. It slides down his slender neck and into his shirt

Serizawa suddenly realizes how hot it is in the room.

"Sorry about… all that," Reigen sighs, hands loose but still around his glass. No gesturing, no movement. His lips are pressed thin, eyes guarded and staring into his drink. "Suppose we gotta get that unit fixed."

"Do we have room in the budget for that?" A poorly timed question–Reigen's eyes crinkle up slightly and the corner of his mouth tightens, as do his hands around the cup. 

"No, but I have my hands and my tools," Reigen grumbles. "Why hire someone else to do it when you can fix it yourself?"

"Oh," Serizawa says lamely. Reigen's frustration is making his palms sticky. "I didn't… know you could."

Reigen shrugs–forced levity. "Lotta things you don't know about me, Serizawa." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach as far as it could.

Serizawa doesn't like it. "Maybe not, but there's a lot I do know about you too."

Reigen raises his eyebrows, alarmed. "Yeah?" Apprehension. "Like what?"

Serizawa swallows, realizing he's picked up a lot about Reigen one can only pick up by staring. And Reigen's smart enough to figure that out–all the things Serizawa could say he knows are inherently incriminating.

But he can either retract the claim and look like a fool, or he can press onward and deal with whatever consequences of his staring befall him.

"You've been in a lot of scrapes," is what he starts with, and Reigen's eyes widen for a split second before narrowing. His jaw works like he's going to ask for elaboration–Serizawa cuts him off. "You have a lot of scars. Mostly little ones, on your hands, but…" Serizawa touches his own right cheek, and gestures behind the corresponding shoulder, and Reigen cringes and hunches more over the desk. "Those two worry me."

"They're healed now, no big deal." His voice is light, but strained.

"And yet you're uncomfortable."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your hands are gripping the glass really hard and you're not looking directly at me." Serizawa pulls up a chair and sits. "You pick at your left thumbnail when you're anxious–you're sort of doing it where your thumbs are touching. And you bounce your right leg too, which you're also doing right now."

Reigen sits up straighter, staring at him with a complete look of perplexed shock. "Serizawa–"

"You favor your right hand for most things but your left for massages and for holding your drink, so you can talk with your right hand." Serizawa watches as Reigen inspects that hand. "You don't like coffee unless it's mostly creamer and syrup. You take your tea with two sugars. You like a lot of meat in your ramen but not too much spice. You have a stash of choco-pies in the closet. You like the room to be exactly sixty-five degrees. You don't like cologne but you rub peppermint essential oil onto your wrists and behind your ears."

Reigen wrings his hands, laughing nervously. "You do a lot of staring or what?"

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Serizawa rubs the back of his neck, prickling with hot shame. "I don't mean to," he murmurs, "I just… like picking up on patterns and learning about people. I can't help it." 

Someone moves a chair in the cafe upstairs, resulting in a muffled screech of wood on tile. Reigen's forehead drops into his palm, soft hair bunching between his fingers and drifting over his brow. "You seem to watch my hands a lot."

"I–you just have very expressive hands. I'm not trying to focus on them. They're just–they're just easy to pay attention to." Reigen's left thumb and forefinger roll a discarded straw wrapper between the flushed pads absently– dammit, the hands again. "Is… would you like me not to?" 

Reigen shrugs. "You can't stop doing something you're a natural at." He huffs and leans back in his chair, swinging his feet up onto the desk and crossing his arms behind his head– hiding the hands. A sardonic little smile twists his gentle features bitterly. "I'm a natural liar, Serizawa, so there's an example. Surely you've picked up on that too, yeah?"

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Serizawa furrows his brows, sitting up a little straighter, because he has, but that's not exactly the direction he thought Reigen would take this conversation, nor the vehicle in which he'd take it. "I–well, yeah," he answers, honestly, "but… but you only ever outright lie about how you're feeling. And… having powers, but that's different. You're not using that lie for anything actually bad, it's just what some people need to believe about you. But when you lie about how you're feeling it only makes it worse for yourself. You get that, right?"

It seems this isn't the direction Reigen thought it would go, either, as he goes back to sitting normally and looks incredibly uncomfortable, eyebrows knitted and arms folded. "I don't see how that's anything you have to concern yourself with, Serizawa," he says, sternly. "I lie about it because it feels inappropriate to share at the workplace."

"I've asked you about it over dinner. Over drinks."

"And what do my hands tell you then, hm?"

"Too much, and it's all unnecessary," Serizawa asserts, beginning to get frustrated. "You overcompensate with them, like if you wave them around enough I'll get distracted and forget what I asked you. And you dodge my questions."

"That's not really lying though, is it?"

"It is, by omission. You also deflect and redirect a lot. You're doing it now."

Reigen's shoulders are hunched. He's sweating harder. "Why do you care?" It's sharp, like a cat backed into a corner with nowhere to run. 

"You're–" Serizawa flounders. Words have never come easy to him, tact even less so. "Reigen–I've… I have forty-five years worth of memories in me. Fourteen of them are Shigeo's. And four of them feature you more than anything else. In those memories I am Shigeo. I see you through his eyes, I feel what he felt. I personally could hate you, I could not want anything to do with you, but I have four years of unconditional love for you from Mob that I can't ignore. I care because Shigeo cares and I care because you're my friend."

I love you I love you I love you (79% 80% 81%)

Reigen stares. His eyes look wet. His left hand is clenched in his shirt again. "What… do you mean? How do you have Mob's memories?"

"He gave them to me when we first met, to show he understood me." Serizawa wipes his clammy palms on his thighs. "He–he sees you as the most important person in his life. He thinks of you like a big brother. I've… I've seen all the ways you've hurt him or messed up with him somehow, and… and every time he forgives you because he loves you and he knows you're still growing." He makes to shrug off his own coat, but glances at the time and realizes how close he is to needing to leave for class, and rests his hands back in his lap. "He's seen you at your lowest. I… understand if you're not comfortable enough with me yet to do that, and you don't even owe me honesty about it, but… I do know when you're lying. I'm not that uncaring or unaware."

When Reigen next speaks his voice sounds wrecked, pained. "I wasn't–I didn't mean it like that," he feebly points out, but there's nothing really to back it up.

"People worry about you. I worry about you." Reigen sniffs harshly, nodding, but looking to his left, trying to hide his eyes from Serizawa. "That's… also why I keep an eye on you."

Reigen swallows, the muscle of his clenched jaw flexing, eyes flushed red. His hands–or the one Serizawa can see, anyway–are paler than normal, look a little sweaty. The left thumb is slightly bloodied along the cuticle from where he'd been picking at it earlier.

"You're–" His voice breaks. "–You're gonna be late to school."

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Serizawa sighs, but it's clear Reigen's done with this conversation, and he's right–he will be late if he dawdles any longer.

But still… 

"Do you want me to dump the rest of your lemonade?"

Reigen looks at it, eyes widening a fraction as if he'd forgotten it was there. "Oh. Uh, no." He finally unfurls, and takes it into his hands. There are red indents of his shirt on his right hand and forearm. "... Thanks, again. Makes the AC breaking, uh. A little more bearable." 

Serizawa puts his chair back in place, and bends to pick up his bags. "I look forward to seeing how well you fix it."

Reigen laughs, then, and it lightens the mood a little bit. Serizawa hadn't meant to get serious, or upset him, but he's learning time and time again that conversations are often unpredictable and don't necessarily stick to the patterns he's used to, especially when they involve Reigen and all his very Reigen complexities.

"Watch your sass, big guy. Or else you'll be the one fixing it." 

Serizawa smiles, privately, back turned to Reigen. "You threaten me with that, but as soon as I start working on it you'll jump in and do it your way. You don't really want me to fix it."

"That another thing you've noticed about me?" It's still teasing, but more… uncertain. Serizawa turns to give him as calming a smile as he can offer.

"Yes. Which is why I handle the problems you can't fix. Like our continual stream of lawyers."

Reigen relaxes, eyes still guarded and lined with red, but his hands are moving again, waving up and down at his sides as he laughs. "Get out of here, Serizawa. I'll see you tomorrow."

Serizawa just nods, and heads out.

He gets a call from Reigen fifteen minutes before class ends. Unusual, because the office should be closed by now, and Reigen tends to text him rather than call him, but Serizawa supposes it can wait–class is almost over, it won't be too long. He sneakily taps out a text to Reigen in turn: Hey, class is almost out. I'll call you back in a few.

His phone buzzes two minutes later. A quick glance at it reveals a text back from Reigen: its ok sorry. dont worry about it.

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His stomach twists, because now he is worried. Reigen's texts are usually pretty casual sounding, complete with typos and grammatical errors despite his affinity for eloquence, but he rarely ever punctuates his messages. The harsh end of the sentence only enhances the concern inherently raised by the phrase, "don't worry about it." 

He raises his hand, and is thankfully excused early, as he rushes to gather his things and go stand in the hallway to call Reigen. It rings four times before Reigen picks up, and he laughs, but it's dry, weak.

"Thought you were still in class."

"You weren't doing a good job of lying to me," Serizawa states flatly. "I'm worried. What's wrong?"

A prolonged silence, and then a heavy sigh–sounds like it's through his nose. "Last job tonight was a dud," he wavers. "I–I thought it was just gonna be an easy sink repair."

"Was it actually a spirit? Reigen–"

"No, no, it's… there was no spirit." A pause. "I'm not lying to you about that either. I just… think I'm having a problem I need your help fixing. I can handle it on my own though, if you're not available, it's no big deal, really, I've done this–"

"Are you at the office?"

Reigen's mouth smacks, like he's just swallowed, and when he talks again his voice sounds small. "Yeah. 'M at the office."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Reigen releases a long and shaky breath. "Okay."

A pause. Serizawa doesn't quite know how to say goodbye, beyond "see you," which sounds rather out of place here, but Reigen speaks before he has a chance to.

"Thank you, Serizawa."

And then he hangs up, an it's no problem on Serizawa's tongue. 

The hallway is silent beyond the muffled movement and chatter of his class wrapping up for the night. The distant hum of traffic diffused by a light summer rain tries to squeeze in through the closed windows, but it's dampened by the glass in between it and Serizawa's ears.

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He heads for the stairs. 

Serizawa Katsuya is normally a scholar of the mundane, a master at the art of sitting in silence and observing the world around him until time begins to lose meaning. It's both a way to learn more about his surroundings and a way to make his commutes feel shorter and less of a drag.

But this bus has three passengers, including himself, and his two co-travellers are seated nowhere near him in deafening silence. No chatter to ambiently and lazily pick up the pieces of, no kineticism to draw his eye like a splash of bright orange on a blue monochrome painting. There's only the buzz of the overhead lights, bathing him in white static, and rain splattering against the windows. The breathy screech of brakes, the rubber squeal of worn out windshield wipers, the flashes of neon in the dark blue of the night, dappled through the droplets on the panes. Even if this were his commute home, Serizawa would find himself hurting for something to space out about.

But he's not headed home, he's headed back to work, back to a Reigen that has openly requested his aid, and he's distracted, painfully present and aware of the passage of time, of each dreadful second that changes the digital clock's minute counter on the overhead. 

The journey feels like it lasts an hour.

(93%)

The door is unlocked when he gets there, and he rushes inside, not sure what to expect–mental crisis he's woefully unqualified for, perhaps, or maybe a curse that Reigen can't handle, despite his claims to the contrary. 

What he gets is Reigen laid out on their consultation couch, suit jacket and tie discarded on his desk, feet kicked over one arm while his head rests on the other. He's got his right forearm over his eyes, and his left hooks over his abdomen. His shirt's rumpled and untucked, and, when Serizawa flicks the light on, spotted with blood.

(94% 95% 96%)

Reigen moves his right arm, revealing a bloody brow and nose, giving him a weak smile through split lips. His knuckles, too, are banged up, raw and red, and as he rolls his head more to look at him, he catches a thin scrape on his jaw.

"Jesus, you look murderous," Reigen croaks, obviously trying to deescalate the situation. "Already had enough people gimme that look today, I don't need more."

Serizawa abandons his things to the floor and shrugs off his damp jacket, tossing it somewhere behind himself, eyes locked onto Reigen, whose own gaze in turn rakes up his body. "What happened."

Reigen laughs, feebly. "Straight to business." He shifts, and winces. "You're nothing if not single-minded, Serizawa."

Serizawa sits on the coffee table and gently grabs his wrists to inspect the damage to his hands. Purple and green bruises stain his knuckles underneath ragged scabs, marring the softness of his peaceful hands, clashing against the gentleness Serizawa is used to from them. "Reigen," he says to him, serious, leveling him with his best attempt at eye contact, "What happened. "

Reigen turns his head away. There's some blood smeared across his cheek. "It was a setup," he grumbles. "Apparently some previous clients from a rougher background weren't happy when they figured out I hadn't actually exorcised anything and instead just fixed their plumbing."

Serizawa brushes his hair away from his forehead. There's a small, scabbed-over wound that looks like an engraving of some sort stamped into the skin right beneath his hairline–maybe from a ring? "Were they trying to kill you?"

Reigen laughs, too hard, and cringes. "No, of course not." It's shakily confident, like he doesn't want to entertain the possibility that they might have wanted him dead for such a minor deception. "I think they just wanted to teach me a lesson. Luckily I knew something was up as soon as I got there. It could've… been worse."

"Why didn't you call?"

Reigen shrugs. "There wasn't a lot of time for that." The wounds on his lips reopen with every movement, and he idly flicks his tongue over them to clean away the blood (it stains his uneven teeth when his tongue re-enters his mouth). "I had a bad feeling and then they jumped me. Unfortunately for them I'm faster and punch harder."

"Please, Reigen, please tell me you called the cops."

Reigen nods. "First thing I did as soon as I put distance between them and me. Then… I came back here. And called you."

"I could have come and gotten you if you called me before coming back."

"How? You were in class. You don't have a car."

"Wouldn't you have felt safer?" Serizawa stares at him. "Wouldn't you have wanted me there?"

Reigen's jaw works for a moment, and then he swallows, turning his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

"... Yeah." It's weak, a little broken. "But that'd be interrupting your learning. I'd be holding you back."

It's one of the most honest things he's said, and completely untrue.

"Arataka."

Reigen jumps, a little, quickly looking at him again, eyes wide, and almost afraid. His first name is awkward on Serizawa's tongue, but he can't afford to be flustered by using it now, especially now that he has Reigen's attention.

"You know I'd drop anything to come help, right?" Reigen's eyes are still frightened, in the same way a deer in headlights would be, but they narrow a little as he begins to catch up. Serizawa doesn't afford him a chance to derail or obfuscate. "You don't seem to understand that I mean everything I say to you. Do you not trust me?"

Reigen's brows come lower, and his eyes harden. "That's not fair, Serizawa," he frowns, "I try to open up and you deny me?"

"That's not it at all," Serizawa retorts, trying not to sound… emotional. His skin prickles with static electricity.

(97%)

"You're just–you keep deciding how everyone else feels about you even if they tell you otherwise. You don't know what I'm thinking. You don't know just how important you are to me. You never truly will because I can't make you see that." Reigen's eyes flick back and forth over Serizawa's face, and he tries to pull his injured hands back. "You don't get to make those choices for people. Is this you trying to stay in control? If you decide that no one actually cares like they say they do, will you be less disappointed when they leave? Is that what you tell yourself?"

Reigen tugs his hands away and covers his face. "Where is this even coming from?" he groans, rough, despairing."You won't get off my case today."

"Because you think being in a medical emergency isn't enough for me to come help." A pause. "You called me once and when I couldn't pick up you gave up and told me it was fine. Did you plan on fixing this yourself? Would that have made you feel better somehow because I wouldn't be able to see you vulnerable?"

Reigen's chest shudders on inhalation, watery under the cave of his hands.

Shirt rumpled and untucked and bloody, and he's about to cry. It's like when he walked back from his confrontation with Mob.

They hadn't talked about it. But Serizawa has turned it over in his head for months, trying to pick up on clues from Reigen's movements and mannerisms. And now's as good a time as any, because Reigen's carefully manufactured walls have formed a crack, and Serizawa's taking a crowbar to the breach and is tearing brick and mortar away. 

"Why'd you take off your shoes?"

Reigen goes still. "Serizawa?"

"You came back to me that day without your shoes," Serizawa tells him. "Missing a good chunk of your ensemble, really. Why?"

Reigen's arms go slack, and he rolls onto his side away from Serizawa. "That doesn't matter." Muffled, rough. "I called you here because I need help cleaning up but all you're doing is interrogating me."

Serizawa gives him a heavy sigh, and stands, heading back into the closet to look for their first aid kit before returning to Reigen and touching his shoulder. "You're right, I should tend to the immediate stuff first. But I'd like to know what happened. I'd like to know who you are underneath all your posturing and gesturing. I want to know what you're afraid of."

Reigen doesn't move. "Why?"

"Like it or not I care about you beyond you being my boss. I've even come to consider you my best friend." Reigen's shoulders tighten in on himself more, and Serizawa realizes, then. "But… it's starting to be clear to me that I'm not that to you. Or at least you don't want me to be."

Reigen makes a sound, then, that may have been a choked sob, if Serizawa could see his front, and his hands come up to knot in his own hair. "That's not it," he croaks, "that's not it. I–I don't want you to think I don't value you. I'm–" A silence, and then his tongue clicks, like it's gotten stuck to the roof of his mouth. "I'm really, really bad at these things."

Serizawa stands, and goes to get a rag damp with warm water. "I know. You always have been. I've seen how you've handled these sorts of situations with Shigeo."

"Then you know how badly I fucked that up."

"And you still blame yourself?"

"How can I not?!" He sounds ragged. "He tells me it's okay and that I'm a good person but every single day I remember it and I remember what I said to him and I feel… I know there are people worse than me, but I can't shake the feeling that one day I'm gonna fuck up bad enough that not even Mob will stick around."

(98%)

Serizawa sits once more, and reaches over to retrieve one of Reigen's hands and start dabbing at the scabs. His hand is cold, sticky. His fingers are thin and strong. "I probably got people killed," Serizawa admits. "I hurt people. Not a day goes by that I don't regret it. But I can't keep living in that regret and letting it control me. There's nothing I can do to change that it happened, I can only fix myself, and I need help for that. You helped me. You gave me the motivation to use my second chance."

"That's–I do some good things but there's so much I've done that I haven't told you or Mob or anyone about, so much that's a secret version of myself only for me that I feel so guilty not sharing," Reigen babbles. It's a little incoherent, like he's trying to admit to too many things at once. "I feel guilty for the other shit I've done and I know I can never tell anyone about it even though I work myself up about it every night."

"Why can't you?"

"It's–it's not like me not being an esper," a jagged inhale, almost a sob, "it's different. It makes me look terrible for doing those things and it makes me look even worse for hiding it the longer I go about it and I just can't… no matter how much you or Mob or anyone tells me they'd just appreciate the truth I'm… too scared."

Serizawa understands, to an extent. There are certain things he tells certain people and there are certain things he'd never ever share with anyone no matter how much they weigh on him. But Reigen's built up so many fronts and facets to show other people, slightly different personalities for each person because he's a people pleaser and he doesn't seem to know who he really is.

Beyond the clear picture he's painting for Serizawa and trying to pass off as accurate, that is: a liar and a coward. 

"You can't force yourself to tell people things. I feel like everyone is entitled to some kind of secrecy."

"Not me. I feel like I owe it to everyone to try and stop lying and hiding things from people all the time and if I can't–" His voice breaks, fully and finally, and his shoulders begin to shake. "–if I can't I'm not worth anything."

(99%)

"Reigen–"

"That's why I left my shoes behind, okay?! Are you happy?! If I tell the truth once I have to make up for it with another lie. I can't stop. I can't stop being something I'm not and I can't stop disappointing people and I can't stop not being enough for other people. I don't expect you to come and help me because I know deep down you'll realize how full of shit I am and that I'm not all I'm cracked up to be and you'll leave. You should leave. You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me."

(100%...)

Serizawa's explosion isn't quite an explosion, but the room crackles with purple energy and the lights in the ceiling pop, plunging them into darkness once more, and without any conscious control Serizawa's aura has wrapped around Reigen and sat him upright on the couch to face him. Serizawa can feel his hair floating, can see various office odds and ends orbiting him a distance above his head in a broad, wobbling halo. And across from him, tied up in glowing bonds, is Reigen, eyes wide and red and wet with tears, his own hair floating and rippling off of his forehead. 

Now, Serizawa can get a good look at him. Now Serizawa doesn't have to study the minute movements of his wrists, the subtle tightening of his jaw. Now Serizawa isn't afraid to take him in in full, because he's angry , on Reigen's behalf.

"Seri–"

" You don't get to decide how anyone feels about you, " Serizawa tells him, sternly. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and you don't even care enough about yourself to entertain the idea that maybe you mean something to me. Did you want to die out there?!"

Reigen flinches, face screwing up like he's trying not to openly cry. "I–I didn't–I just thought–"

"Do you know how scared I was when I found them? Your shoes? Do you know how scared I was when you came back tattered and covered in blood?"

Reigen chews on his lip, eyes welling up again, and he squirms in Serizawa's hold. "God, fine, okay? I get it, you care, it's just–"

"You don't get it." It's not up for debate, and Serizawa doesn't like holding Reigen hostage like this, but it needs to be done. "I… Reigen… you're everything to me. I don't care what you've done or what you'll never tell me." Serizawa deflates, running a glowing hand through his hair. His aura relaxes, and tendrils of it curl up to cradle Reigen's face and wipe his tears. "I don't wanna leave. I already know you're exactly as good as Shigeo says you are, no matter how differently you may feel."

The halo of sundries around his head begins to slow, and Reigen's staring at him, sniffling, dark brown eyes turned vibrant violet in Serizawa's glow.

"I already know how I feel about you, Reigen."

Reigen swallows hard, breaking free of Serizawa's aura. "B-but–Serizawa, you–this was only meant to be temporary, right? You were gonna move on, you were gonna do great things, it was never–"

"I love you."

(100% Dedication)

Reigen freezes, and then slowly, like a clump of brown sugar coming apart in a bowl, he crumbles, leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees and the heels of his palms are against his eyes, and his back rounds up around his shoulders and into his neck as the angle and space between his torso and thighs decreases, and he trembles, and he gasps, sobs, chokes. He's still bloody, still a mess, the salt from his tears is probably irritating his facial wounds, and maybe Serizawa feels responsible, but it's plainly the truth, and Reigen needed to hear it.

Serizawa watches him, for a long moment, and then slides off the table to the floor and gently tugs Reigen's hands away by the wrists and cups his cheek in his palm. Reigen looks at him through squinted eyelids and clumped lashes, tears continually spilling out over the edge, his mouth twisted downward in a wrecked grimace as he begins to need to breathe more and more through his mouth than his stuffy, running nose. 

"Why?"

"Because there's no reason for me not to," Serizawa tells him, truthfully. "I'm happy where I am. I'm happy with you." 

Reigen hiccups, hard. "But I–"

"You don't have to question it. You just have to trust me. Can you do that?"

Reigen takes a shuddering breath, and reaches, still in Serizawa's hold, for the tissues on the table behind him; Serizawa floats them over to him, and lets go of Reigen to let him blow his nose. "I… I think I can do that." He sounds miserable, but… not as miserable. Exhausted might be a better word. His eyes are puffy and tired and blood mingles with stringy snot as he pulls the tissue away. "God."

"Yeah?"

"I'm… sorry. For all of this."

"You don't need to apologize." 

"It makes me feel better."

Serizawa laughs, then, and strokes Reigen's face. "Should I actually clean you up now?"

Reigen melts into the touch and sighs. "Yeah… please." 

It's a slow thing. A warm rag against his cheek, feeling the soft curve of Reigen's jaw in Serizawa's hands. Reigen's eyes are closed, lashes thick and heavy, sweat beading at his forehead every time a scab catches on the fabric. His lips are chapped and split, and he keeps flexing them absently to crack the scabs and then flicking his tongue out to lap up the blood. Serizawa would tell him to stop if he didn't know Reigen would immediately forget he was doing it and go right back to it.

Serizawa is gentle, and meticulous. Slowness, steadiness, reliability–that's what makes him who he is. He can be fast, scarily fast, Reigen says, but only when he really needs to be. Serizawa is nothing if not patient, observant, years and years of studying other people and building models and watching his boss' backs. He can't afford to get antsy.

But Reigen is always moving, always a blur, always impatient even if he hides it well. And now, to see him sluggish and quiet, practically oozing in Serizawa's grasp, it's truly jarring. His breathing is slow, he doesn't gesticulate, he just hunkers over himself on the counter like he's falling asleep.

He really looks pretty. Even bloodied up like this.

"Reigen."

"Mm?"

His eyes are still closed. Serizawa drops his hand to his neck, thumbs over the curve of his throat. "Still with me?"

"Y-yeah, sorry." He makes to rub at an eye with the bony heel of his palm, but thinks better of it, likely realizing his hands probably aren't very clean. "I'm… I'm really tired," he admits. "Today took a lot out of me."

Serizawa leans past him for some rubbing alcohol and bandaids. "Stay awake a little longer for me, so I can get this done."

Reigen nods, and hisses through his teeth as isopropyl-soaked cotton makes contact with his wounds. He reflexively reaches to grip at Serizawa's shirt and knots his fists in it, and Serizawa swallows and applies a bandaid across his brow.

They're close. Serizawa is in between his legs. Reigen is almost face first in his chest, mouth hung open slightly, eyelids fluttering with the movement of his eyes underneath.

"Serizawa…"

"Yessir." It's easy to reinstate the formalities when he's startled, and Reigen smiles gently enough to not even dimple his cheeks in response.

"Please… can you come home with me? I don't… I don't know if I can be on my own tonight."

Serizawa's hands still, before he smooths another bandaid over Reigen's cheek. "I can do that. Anything for you."

Reigen laughs, then, exhaustedly, and presses first his cheek and then, more nervously, his lips, into the palm of Serizawa's hand, cradling it in his own. "Keep talking like that." 

Serizawa's stomach twists, and he stares at the contact point between his hand and Reigen's mouth–cracked, pink, not-quite-plush lips squished against the flesh of Serizawa's palm, both sharp, with scabs, and soft, with their gentle give, like everything about Reigen. Sharp where he needs to be and soft where he needs to be. Bony yet supple. Rude yet kind.

Reigen, yet Arataka.

Serizawa wants him very much, suddenly. But Reigen is hurting, and tired, and they're definitely not there yet.

"I'll be fast. And then we need to get you home so you can sleep."

Reigen makes a noise, halfway a laugh, halfway a hum, and nuzzles his cheek further into Serizawa's hand. "After all that you won't let me be sappy?"

Serizawa swallows, rubbing a thumb over the slope of his cheek, feeling his soft skin pull against the knuckle. "I want you to be sappy when you're in your right mind."

"And who's to say I'm not?"

"You're delirious. Sleepy." A pause, his tongue heavy and clumsy in his mouth, pallet tacky with drying saliva. He swallows again. "I know you, Reigen. I know you're out of it. It's past midnight." 

Reigen sighs, again into Serizawa's palm. "Finish taking care of me."

It's the truth, but Serizawa still doesn't know why he murmurs, "I don't think I'll ever be finished taking care of you." He catches himself at the end and bites his tongue, and Reigen laughs, breathily.

"I'm starting to realize everyone needs someone who will do that for them." He seems to be contemplating something as Serizawa applies more bandaids to his wounds. "I just… I just think I need more of those people than most."

Mob, Hanazawa, Tome… Serizawa. Hell, even Dimple. All of them are very close to Reigen, and all take care of him in their own ways, as if he's deficient in many factors that would otherwise make him independent, and yet he often refuses to acknowledge the aid he's given. The fact that he's even admitting to it is a sign to Serizawa that he's not in his right mind.

"It's okay to need a lot of people, Reigen," Serizawa whispers, after a beat. "Your circle of people you need and mine are the same. It's just… main difference is I'm not one of the people I need. You are."

Reigen's face tightens, almost imperceptibly, a pull to the corners of his eyes. "After everything I still… have a hard time believing you need me. You're–"

"Reigen, don't. I'm not letting that train leave the station again tonight. I need you, and you don't have to believe it immediately, but you will at some point, no matter what I have to do to get it into your head."

Reigen laughs dryly, and leans against Serizawa's chest. "Okay. Fine." A heavy pause. "Take me home, big guy."

Serizawa awakens to slats of warm, orange morning light through the blinds, a gentle weight bowing the cushions under him, a soft puff of breath (suspiciously minty), and his name, blurry at first, but then clearly reaching his ears.

"Serizawa."

Reigen.

Serizawa cracks open an eye. Reigen's leaning over him, face too close, wearing a button down altogether too big for him… is that Serizawa's? The buttons are partially done in the wrong holes, and it's open for the first few, draping down from his neck to reveal his chest underneath. Serizawa's cheeks heat up as he follows the soft lines of his pale chest and belly to the waistband of his boxers– boxers!! –slightly obscured by the pudge that edges over it. Serizawa's eyes snap back up to Reigen's, tired and half lidded, but with something heavy within.

Serizawa recognizes this. He's seen it on him before. Over drinks, after a particularly physical exorcism, in the sun on the beach… after that disastrous massage when he'd asked if Serizawa needed a break.

Serizawa's sinuses feel suddenly pressurized, hot blood expanding through his veins to turn his cheeks and ears red. That same heat shoots between his legs, which he abortively tries to squeeze together. His heart is pounding, and it must visibly pulse at his neck, because Reigen tilts his head in vague, sleepy curiosity, angling his gaze so that it lands somewhere near Serizawa's jugular. 

"Katsuya," he says, thick with the kind of warmth Serizawa always imagined waking up next to someone you love would bring, eyes widening just a little more as he begins to gain more consciousness, a smile gently tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he's just now fully realizing who he's talking to, who's here on his couch. "Katsuya, I have a question."

Serizawa swallows carefully. Against his own will his eyes flick back to the opening in Reigen's (his?) shirt before yanking them back to Reigen's beautiful, worn, bandaged and bruised face, blonde hair mussed and drifting in front of his soft brown eyes. "Y-yeah?"

"You told me you loved me, last night." Serizawa nods dumbly, suddenly realizing what direction this is probably taking and that he needs his brain to catch up and process it. "How did you mean it?" 

Serizawa stammers, for a moment, sweating and squirming his hand behind his head nervously. He thought this had been made perfectly clear last night, but he supposes he's never been great with words, and Reigen seems to possess the same inability he does to understand comments like that without explicit context and clarity. "Uh, w-well, more than, um, anything," Serizawa fumbles, "or anyone." He doesn't dare look into Reigen's face, and swears to himself. "I'm in love with you."

Reigen laughs, and for a terrifying second Serizawa wonders if he's greatly and irreversibly misunderstood everything, and also considers how effective faking his death would be at fleeing the consequences of such a blunder, but then Reigen's weight is shifting onto one arm, and his laughter gets more high pitched and airy, and something wet hits Serizawa's undershirt (repurposed as pajamas, due to Reigen's lack of shirts that would fit him), and Serizawa looks up at him and he's wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm, laughing and crying at the same time, smile turned wobbly. Serizawa's chest tightens, and he reaches up to gently support Reigen's waist. 

"I thought so," Reigen sniffles, "I thought so, but then I over-thought it and made myself worried. God, that's a relief." 

Serizawa frowns, drawing Reigen closer. "Why would you be worried?"

Reigen laughs again, and takes Serizawa's face in his hands, fully relaxing against his chest. "Cause then maybe I'd be wrong for this." And then he kisses him.

Serizawa stiffens, and then wraps his arms tight around Reigen's waist as Reigen tilts his head to press deeper into Serizawa's mouth. It's kind of at an awkward angle, what with Reigen haphazardly draped over him, but it numbs his brain nonetheless, Reigen's tongue flicking out experimentally against his teeth. He opens his mouth more with a low groan, and Reigen shoves his tongue in farther, and, yep, extremely minty. Had he gotten up and brushed his teeth first just for this?

Serizawa doesn't have much time to ruminate, because Reigen's pulling back just enough to no longer be trying to exploring the edges of his teeth with his tongue, but still pressing his lips against Serizawa's. He kisses his top lip, and then the corner of his mouth, nose squishing against Serizawa's cheek, and he whines, just for a moment. "Want you," he breathes onto Serizawa's lips, and oh god, if that doesn't wake him up the rest of the way. Serizawa knots his fists in Reigen's shirt and bends to kiss at his neck, because instinct tells him to and logic is afraid of his scruffy unshaven face irritating Reigen's injuries. Reigen huffs out a high pitched little noise, breathy, and angles his chin away to allow Serizawa more access, gripping his shoulders so that his blunt, finely managed fingernails dig into the muscle. His pulse thrums against Serizawa's mouth, hot and vital, and something inside him clicks.

Reigen is very alive.

Reigen, covered in bandages and bruises and scrapes and scars. Reigen, who throws himself headlong into danger, stupidly, recklessly, selflessly. Reigen, who has a hard time loving and a hard time being loved in turn.

Reigen, who cried in his arms the night before because he couldn't believe that after everything Serizawa still loved him, still wanted him.

Serizawa grazes his teeth over Reigen's frantic artery, earning a whine from the man in question, and kisses up the length of it to the hinge of his jaw, and then nuzzles at his ear.

(For all the time he spent studying Reigen with his eyes, he now decides to do the same with his hands and mouth. His hands have learned that Reigen is a little bony in some places and pudgy in others, and his mouth has learned that his skin is soft and warm and prickles with gooseflesh at the slightest touch.)

"Arataka," Serizawa breathes, and Reigen twitches in his grasp, shuddering at the warm air on his neck. "I want you too."

Reigen whimpers and shivers again. "Ka–Katsuya, I–"

"I mean it." Another nip at Reigen's jugular, which seems to render him boneless, collapsing into Serizawa's chest and squirming. "I want you. I want all of you."

Reigen weakly smacks the side of Serizawa's head a couple times, making a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. "N-no, I get–mnn–I get that, a-and it's very hot to hear you say it, but–" He shudders again , panting. "Y-you gotta give my neck a break. I feel like I'm gonna die."

Serizawa pulls off him and observes his face. He's red into his ears and down his neck, pupils blown wide, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and stick a couple strands of hair to it. He seems to be trying to catch his breath.

"My neck is, um." He averts his gaze. "It's really sensitive. It makes my whole back tighten up when you touch it."

Serizawa smiles and brushes some of Reigen's hair back. "Off limits then?"

The urgency with which Reigen shakes his head is almost comical, and Serizawa can't help but snort. "No, no, keep doing that, just–just give it a rest every now and then." 

With that, he sits up, straddling Serizawa's hips, slender fingers teasing at his waistband. Serizawa wonders if there had indeed been some kind of strategy to Reigen lending him his grey sweatpants the night before, especially now as he not-so-subtly eyes the outline of Serizawa's half-chub through the fabric. 

And then, he slides off Serizawa's lap to stand on the other side of the coffee table, facing his bed. Serizawa endures a brief moment of confusion laced with anxiety– did he change his mind? Did Serizawa do something wrong? –before… oh. Ohhhh good lord.

Serizawa's breath feels trapped in his throat and lungs as he watches Reigen slowly and fluidly slide the shirt off, giving Serizawa an increasingly full view of his graceful back. He shoots Serizawa a downright scandalous look over his shapely shoulder, tantalizing him with the absolute lack of hurry he's employing to remove one beautiful, soft, narrow arm from its corresponding sleeve.

It's a goddamn strip tease. 

"You like to stare, Katsuya," Reigen murmurs. "I wonder what you'll observe about this, hm?"

Fuck him. Yes, actually, fuck him . It's the most succinct plan Serizawa thinks he's ever come up with.

He doesn't bother to step around the table. Being born with psychic powers allows him to shove it aside without lifting a finger, and his aura starts tangling itself around Reigen as Serizawa presses into his back and grips at the sleeves to shove the shirt off and reveal the rest of Reigen's torso. Reigen makes a soft noise, maybe a gasp, in surprise, and Serizawa tosses the shirt aside in favor of kissing the back of his neck and wrapping his arms around him to finally find purchase in all the parts of Reigen he could only catch glimpses of. One hand gripping at Reigen's pudgy belly, another dragging up his torso and flicking over a nipple, and Reigen squirms and makes soft little moans as he leans back into Serizawa's chest. Serizawa angles to bite at his throat again–"A-ah, below the collar, Katsuya," answered with, "You're already bruised, though, love, it won't stand out"–and with one particularly gentle nuzzle at the shell of his ear, Reigen shudders and arches his back, pressing his ass directly into Serizawa's rapidly hardening cock.

Reigen must sense him tensing up, or maybe he heard that embarrassing little noise at the back of his throat, but he makes a sound like a laugh and intensifies the arch, grinding his soft (and, Serizawa has to lovingly admit, in all other circumstances, thoroughly unremarkable) little ass against the tent in his pants.

Serizawa groans, and Reigen tilts his head back to mouth at his cheek and ear and jaw, one bandaged hand coming to cradle his head while the other reaches behind and gropes at Serizawa's bulge. Serizawa's eyes feel like they're going to roll back into his skull– narrow hands slender fingers strong grip orange oil dripping off of his palms onto Serizawa's own cigarette in his fingers trimmer in his hand unkempt nails in between manicures hands waving fingers laced fingers scarred fingers bruised fingers bloodied–

"Take me like this, Katsuya," Reigen breathes, teasing. "Hold me in your lap and fuck me from behind."

His voice, while confident, sounds wrecked already, and that, combined with words Serizawa only ever daydreamed about coming out of his mouth, drives him to grip Reigen impossibly closer and rut against the shallow curve of his ass. Reigen releases a moan purely for the sake of it, because how could he derive any actual pleasure from that, and Serizawa pants. "I don't–I don't wanna make your injuries worse… "

Reigen grabs one of Serizawa's hands and slides it down to his boxers (god, those hands again. Something about them being banged up and wrapped drives him crazy), cooing softly, "I want you to fuck the pain out of me. I want you to make me forget that I'm sore. Don't go easy on me, but don't be rough either." That hand coaxes Serizawa's into his underwear, and Reigen bends a leg weirdly, like a spasm. "Fuck me like how you talked to me last night. If that makes sense." 

Serizawa's head is spinning, pressure building up in his cheeks and behind his eyes. He thinks he gets it. Reigen wants something raw and genuine. Reigen wants him to make them the only thing that matters. His fingers pinch and rub at a bit of paunch, in the area just under his navel and just above his crotch. He's warm and squishy there, lightly fuzzed, and he squirms at the sensation. Serizawa reaches further, and is for a moment blearily surprised at the lack of a dick before remembering, at some point down the line, during one of Reigen's rare moments of vulnerability, that he'd mentioned he's trans.

Serizawa's certainly no sex expert (sexpert? No, no, don't entertain that thought, that's a Reigen thing to say), having been far more well acquainted with both hands and the occasional silicone pussy than with any actual human due to fifteen years of isolation and three years of working in a stiflingly non-sexual terrorist environment, but he's no uneducated prude, either. His bedroom, while a prison, was also a good place to sit and learn, and when learning about sex with amab genitalia began to lack in new information, Serizawa had started his rabbit hole dive into sex with afab genitalia. At the time he'd had some sardonic complex about it, like he was punishing himself by way of learning these things because when would he ever get the chance to leave the room and become sexually active with a real person, but now he thanks his younger self for being so curious (even if he had felt like a pervert).

His fingers smooth over soft hair, and along a swollen and hot nub he recognizes as Reigen's dick. Reigen takes a shuddering breath and digs his nails into Serizawa's forearm. "Oh, god, Katsuya, please–"

"Do you have protection?" Serizawa rumbles against Reigen's ear. It sounds whiny and needy, more than Serizawa would have liked, but no backsies, he supposes.

Reigen huffs, horny and impatient. "I–I don't," he gasps, "b-but I'm clean, and I have–I have an implant, and I know this is your first time, Tsuya." The nickname twists Serizawa's insides up like a whisk in heavy cream, and he ruts against Reigen's ass again. "I'm not worried. I just want you inside me." 

That does it. Serizawa tugs off his own shirt and pulls Reigen with him to the bed, using his powers to shuck them both out of their pants and underwear and toss it all… somewhere. He doesn't pay attention to where, only to Reigen's scarred, bruised, slender back arching into the soft fat of Serizawa's own torso, and Reigen's breath hitching in his chest.

"Oh, wow," Reigen swallows, looking down at Serizawa's cock sticking out from between both their sets of legs and nudging against Reigen's clit. "You're a big boy."

Serizawa laughs, a little anxiously–he'd never had reason to compare it, and now knowing Reigen thinks it's sizable makes him both embarrassed and proud. "I, um, didn't realize."

Reigen nods frantically. "You're very big, Katsuya. God, when you're recharged later I want this in my mouth."

Serizawa's brain fizzles out at the mere notion of Reigen's lips wrapped around his cock, and it twitches, dripping precum. Reigen giggles, the bastard.

"Oh, you like the sound of that, don't you?" 

Serizawa whines and grips Reigen's hips, fat bunching up on either side of his hands, before lifting him up slightly, aided by his powers–earning a surprised "Hup–?" from Reigen, which is cute–and pulling him back down onto his cock, groaning as he slowly pushes into his pussy.

Reigen throws his head back as he sinks down, scrabbling backward for purchase on Serizawa's arms, mouth open in a silent moan and eyes squeezed shut under furrowed brows. He's hot and wet, and so much softer than Serizawa ever could've imagined, and if he were a weaker man he could easily see himself cumming at the moment of insertion. He bottoms out, Reigen sliding satisfyingly into place like a puzzle piece, and presses his forehead against the nape of Reigen's neck to take a moment and ground himself.

Reigen's chest is already heaving, and his skin is almost scalding. "Fuck , " he pants, " fuck. This is– fuck. You're so big."

The uncharacteristically inarticulate choice of words is both endearing and arousing, and Serizawa feels himself throb inside Reigen, who must feel it too because he makes a soft noise and tries to move his hips. Serizawa wraps one arm firmly but tenderly around his belly, and slides the opposite hand down to rest his fingers on either side of Reigen's dick.

And then, he moves. 

The angle is a bit weird, especially for someone like Serizawa whose sedentary lifestyle for fifteen out of his thirty-one years of existence created a distinct lack of muscle buildup and instead made him rather overweight (he's not self conscious, if anything he's proud of it, moreso now that he knows Reigen thinks he's hot), but fortunately Serizawa is an esper, and so he gives himself a little bit of a boost with his aura as he fucks up into Reigen. He's not going particularly fast, but he is trying to press into Reigen as deep as possible, and that seems to be working well, since Reigen throws his head back farther to lean it against Serizawa's shoulder.

Serizawa takes this opportunity to observe him, gazing down the slender line of his neck to his chest and belly and crotch. He's flushed a pretty pink past his nipples, beads of sweat rolling down his warm skin, hips rocking hypnotically with every thrust. His shoulder is bruised, and the far left side of his ribs as well, and Serizawa loves it, not the implications behind it, but the color, the blood painting purple and green under his skin, to prove that he's real and he's alive and he can break and heal like everyone else.

Reigen chokes out a ragged noise and tries to lift his head, leaning it against Serizawa's own. "Kacchan," he burbles, gasping, "I need… to tell you…" Serizawa's rhythm falters and his cock slides out wetly, slapping against Reigen's thigh, drawing a weak whine out of him. Serizawa pants and adjusts his angle to press back into him, securing a better hold on him with his powers and speeding up slightly, if only to hear how loud Reigen's pussy is against the movement of his shaft. 

"What, Taka?" he mouths against Reigen's neck, "What is it?"

"Nnng… god… when you tossed your coat off, last night, after seeing how beat up I was…" Reigen leans forward and starts coming down on Serizawa's cock in time to his thrusts, forcing him to whimper. "The look on your face… I wanted to suck you off right there. You're so sexy when you're serious like that."

Serizawa's eyes roll into his head with pleasure and he grinds down into Reigen, against his g-spot, and the latter man cries out and squirms. "I–I was scared, Arataka, and mad! "

Reigen moans openly, arching his beautiful back. "God, yeah, you were," he whines, "and it made me so horny. Fuck. Big strong gorgeous man coming to– ah –to protect me."

"'M not very strong."

"Strong enough for me." Reigen swivels his hips, thigh muscles rolling over Serizawa's. "It–it made me feel like I–" He releases a punched-out, high pitched gasp. "Like I was valuable to you. 'N I know now–I know now that I am, but, fuck, that made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered to you."

Serizawa groans. The pit of his stomach is growing steadily hotter. "I–"

"You also looked like when you're wrangling a really ornery spirit," Reigen laughs, breathlessly, "you always look so tough and sexy when you do that." 

Serizawa takes this moment to start jacking at Reigen's clit, and his walls clench around him (soft, velvety, warmer than anything he's ever felt) as Reigen shudders and shouts. "You get off to me doing exorcisms?"

"Ohhhhh fuck, oh fuck, god–" Reigen makes a sound like a sob, and Serizawa moans and grits his teeth, trying to hold off. "Yes, yes, sometimes, a lotta times–please, please, Tsuya, please –"

Serizawa, aided by his aura, stands them both up and braces them against the wall, still bent over Reigen, still rocking heavily into his pussy, still jacking at his dick. "What– hah –what's so hot about that?"

" Mm, " Reigen answers articulately, " mmnf. "

"C'mon, Taka, I–I wanna know."

Reigen's legs are trembling, and a drop of his own slick splats on the floor. "It's–you look so sure of yourself, so strong, so in-charge," Reigen whimpers. "It makes– fuck –it makes my knees weak." A heavy moan. "It makes me want you to take care of me."

Serizawa kisses the knobby vertebrae where his neck connects to his spine, kisses the beginning of that wicked scar that separates his back in half, kisses the sweat beading up on his shoulders. "I will take care of you," he breathes, "I love you."

Reigen's fists clench where they're bracing himself on the wall, the bandages creaking a little with the grip he's exerting on them. " God , I will too, I love you too, fuck, Katsuya, you're so fucking good for me, you're too good." His babbling gets more high pitched, more frantic. "Kacchan, Kacchan, please please please –touch me more–"

Serizawa does, obediently, rolling his clit between his fingers, and Reigen jolts.

" Fuck!! Again, please–"

Two more rough tugs couple with the deepest thrusts Serizawa can manage, and Reigen's lurching forward, back arching, sobbing a litany of praises (including a handful of Good Boys that send Serizawa to the absolute knife's edge of his own climax) and clenching hard around his cock. Serizawa grits his teeth and fucks him through it, and then a little more, Reigen whimpering in time with him as the thrusts become more and more erratic.

And then, finally–"Cum for me, Katsuya, fill me up."

Serizawa's vision goes white and he spills into the very depth of Reigen's hole. 

They take a minute to catch their breaths, and then Serizawa is slowly dislodging from Reigen's pussy, stumbling backward while Reigen gingerly and shakily tries to use the wall to hold himself up, cum leaking out of him and down the inside of his thigh. Serizawa uses the last of his wherewithal to wrap Reigen in his aura and deposit him back onto the bed, before flopping down hard onto it himself.

He feels completely drained, but in a satisfying way, and he can feel Reigen's eyes on him. When he looks, Reigen is beaming at him like the sun, eyes soft, expression more tender and intimate than anything Serizawa's ever seen.

Serizawa swallows. This time he's looking right back at him. This time Reigen's not relegated to his periphery. This time Reigen's smiling at him, and Serizawa is smiling back.

"Hey," he whispers.

Reigen's smile grows impossibly happier, and he bonelessly rises up onto his elbows to crawl over to Serizawa, before collapsing right up against his naked chest. His sweaty forehead has rendered several of his bandaids useless, and they flop limply from his skin, revealing scabs that look somewhat better than they had the night previous. Serizawa weakly picks them off and tosses them on the floor.

"You good?"

"More than good," Reigen murmurs. "You don't know how long I've wanted that. Wanted you."

Serizawa feels choked up, suddenly, and he wraps his arms around Reigen. "I could say the same."

"Mm."

A long moment passes.

"We should probably shower soon," Serizawa offers.

"Probably. You still smell good though."

"Are you kidding? I can't believe you can actually stand it right now."

Reigen limply waves a hand. "It's your musk or whatever. Smells nice."

"Ew."

But he's smiling, and Reigen's laughing, and kissing his jaw, and he figures he can cut him some slack.