Work Text:
Watch-Night
The snow is coming down hard as he turns the corner and sees the old sign, huge white flakes as silent as moths. They sting his bare skin, what little of it is showing, where they land so he keeps his head down and hurries to the office building. The door is wheezy on its hinges as he winches it open and slips inside, relieved to get out of the cold. He shakes his head, dislodging the thin crust of snow in his hair, and unwinds his scarf as he heads up the narrow staircase to the office. His palms prickle with the familiar sense of nervousness he gets whenever he comes back, pausing outside the door for a tick or two to gather himself together. He can't wait to see him but it's not as easy as it used to be. Seeing him every day was something he took for granted, something he wishes he could get back.
He takes a breath and pushes open the door. Light spills into the dark hallway and the smell of incense overwhelms him. He steps inside, looking for him, unbuttoning his coat. The office looks the same as usual, exactly as he remembers.
“Shishou?”
“Mob?” Reigen appears from beneath the desk. “I told you to stop calling me that, you brat.”
“Sorry,” Mob mumbles. He lets his hands fall from his coat, watching Reigen as he emerges fully from beneath the desk and dusts himself off. He looks the same as always, too, grey and pink and gold. It feels like it's been a century since he's seen him, held him close. “I-I mean... Arataka.”
Reigen comes around the desk, grinning. “That's better. How long's it been, Mob?”
“Too long.” Mob comes to him, gathers him into his arms, holds him tight. He smells of incense and tobacco and cheap aftershave, as always. Mob buries his face against his shoulder and squeezes. “I'm sorry.”
Reigen presses his cheek to his fine black hair. “It's okay,” he says softly. “You're an adult now, I can't expect you to come here every day after work – especially since you don't even live here anymore.”
“I didn't want to move to Tokyo,” Mob mutters. “The company made me. I told you.”
“I know, I wasn't...” Reigen pats him on the head, perhaps a little hard. “I get it, okay? I've done the soulless corporate thing myself. As long as the money's good, right?”
“It's okay. Ritsu and I share an apartment so the rent is split, at least.”
“Is he home for New Year, too?”
“Yeah.” Mob leans back. “He went straight home. I... wanted to come here first.”
Reigen smiles. “I appreciate it. Make sure you get home soon, though. I'm sure your parents want to see you.”
“Yeah, I will, I will.” Mob finally lets go of him, lets him step back. “Why were you under the desk?”
“Oh, the internet's not working.” Reigen looks towards the window. “Must be the storm.”
“Must be.” Mob shrugs his coat and scarf off and hangs them up. He feels a little awkward. He knows Reigen is happy to see him but it always feels a little bit like he's... intruding, sort of. “...Have you seen Dimple lately?”
“Oh, he comes and goes. He's pretty lucky, don't you think? He can just fly anywhere he wants to. Must be nice.” Reigen goes to the window and parts the blinds with his fingers, watching the blizzard. “Looks pretty bad out there.”
“It is.” Mob comes to his side. He towers over him but that doesn't surprise him – he's grown taller than almost everyone, Ritsu included.
“Oi, when are you going to stop growing?” Reigen asks, prodding him.
“Maybe you're just shrinking,” Mob replies.
Reigen snorts. “Please. I'm not that old.”
“Aren't you like forty or something?”
“I can't believe you came all this way just to be rude to me.” Reigen squints at him. “How old are you, anyway? I lose track.”
“Twenty-four.”
“Then I can't be forty, can I?” Reigen shoves him. “So there.”
“No,” Mob sighs, gazing at the snow. “Guess not.”
“I want a big party when I'm forty, okay? Big cake, lots of expensive presents, the works. You'll come back for that, right?”
“...Of course I will. I... I'd come back now if I could.”
Reigen rolls his eyes. “Don't go throwing away a decent job for me.”
“You threw away a decent job to open this business.”
“Yeah, that's because I'm stupid. Still, if I hadn't, I'd never have met you.”
“Yeah.” Mob exhales. “You'd...”
“Have had a very boring life,” Reigen finishes. “...It's not something you'd consider, is it? This, ah, line of work–”
“No,” Mob interrupts. “Never.”
Reigen shrugs. “Suit yourself. Seems like a waste of natural talent, is all.”
“Arataka,” Mob says sharply. He means it as a warning but Reigen rises to it, turning towards him.
“Yes, Shigeo?”
Mob exhales, backing down. “Nothing,” he mumbles. “I just... miss you at lot.”
Reigen's expression softens. “I miss you, too. But... you know, even if you came back here, it wouldn't be the same as it was.”
“Yeah,” Mob says. He reaches out and takes Reigen's hand, squeezing it. “But things... already aren't the same as they were back then.”
Reigen looks away, embarrassed. “W-well, no, but–”
“Can we just have tonight?” Mob pleads, drawing close. “Please?”
“Okay,” Reigen says weakly. “Just promise me you'll go home afterwards.”
Mob smiles. “With any luck, I'll get snowed in.”
He kisses him. Reigen is amicable about it, not fussing or fighting, but clearly he still wants to talk because he doesn't let him do it for long before pushing him off.
“Surely,” he says, a little breathless, “that wouldn't be a problem for somebody with exceptional psychic powers?”
“I don't really use them anymore,” Mob says, easily lifting Reigen onto the desk. “I don't need them.”
They kiss again, longer, deeper, Mob undoing the single button on his jacket to slip his hands around his waist. Reigen lets him, arching into his touch, wrapping his arms around his neck. He's quivery, they both are, nervous and impatient. It's been a good few months since he's been able to get back here, the end of the summer, and he's dreamed of him every night. Not always like this, of course, sometimes he dreams of other things, the days they cannot go back to, but he's always there, the same shape, the same space in the universe that he takes up. Feeling him solid in his arms now is unreal, like he'll blink and wake up looking at the ceiling of his apartment, Ritsu rattling around in the kitchen, calling him for breakfast. He doesn't want to think about that right now, the grey tones of his life outside this office. He wants to make this last as long as he can.
He unknots Reigen's tie and slips it loose, dropping it onto the desk. He used to rely on his powers a lot for this sort of thing, unbuttoning and unzipping without hands, but now he prefers to do it manually, take his time. Reigen arches his throat for him as his pops his collar and opens his shirt, breathing hard when Mob kisses his way down the lines of him, over his neck and collarbone and chest. Mob savours it, drinking him in, drowning in him so that he'll remember it for days to come, wash up on the shores of him over and over. He used to wonder how he would feel and sound and taste; recalls the first few fumbling times, red in the face, too embarrassed to even look at him. He's over that now, more than confident enough to take what he wants – and Reigen is at last relaxed enough to let him, mouthing kisses over the crown of Mob's head as he goes lower. Mob pulls his hands down over his thighs and shins as he goes to his knees, beginning to unlace Reigen's shoes. They're always shiny, beautifully-polished despite being cheap, and he's reminded not of his own but of Ritsu's. He knows he ought to take a little more pride in his own appearance, the company is one with a formidable reputation, but he's just a little cog and he can't bring himself to care. He eases Reigen's shoes off one by one, letting them drop beneath the desk, and he plans to slip off his socks too but Reigen has other ideas. He plants one foot against Mob's chest and pushes him hard enough to overbalance him. Mob lands on his ass against the swivel chair, bemused, looking at up Reigen. It's been a very long time since he's had to look up at him.
“What was that for?” he grumbles, lifting himself up. He sinks into Reigen's chair, meeting his gaze.
Reigen slides off the desk. “Just thought you were getting a bit pushy, is all. I thought I taught you better than that, Mob.”
He starts to move past him, around the edge of the desk, a swift escape, and Mob is having none of it. He grabs him around the waist and hauls him into his lap.
“Mob!” Reigen writhes and kicks in his grasp. “Let go!”
Mob doesn't reply, certainly not letting go. He lets him struggle for a while until he realises he can't get away, tugging at his shirt collar to suckle at his neck.
“Nn... you're a cheeky... little bastard,” Reigen hisses, arching against him. “You should... treat me with the... r-respect I deserve!”
“Oh,” Mob replies flatly against his skin, “I will.”
He spreads his palm and runs it down his body, over the heaving warmth of his chest and under the still-fastened buttons of his shirt. He feels Reigen exhale deeply into the crook of his jaw, knows that he's enjoying it. Reigen is about the only person he ever learnt to read well. He uses his other hand to pull his belt undone, slip his button through. It's tricky with one hand, it'd be easier to use his powers, but he doesn't let them surface, doesn't let them taint this moment. It doesn't matter that they would never have met if he didn't have them. None of that matters now. He slips his hand into the tight space between Reigen's zip and boxers, folds his fingers around him, squeezes just hard enough to make him buck and throw himself back against him and give a stifled yell.
“Mob... oh, fuck fuck...!” He draws a ragged breath, his legs trembling. “S-sorry for the language... fucking hell!”
“It's fine,” Mob whispers. “I want to hear it.”
Reigen grips the arms of the chair, his hips moving with Mob as he strokes him. His back is as arched as a bow, one foot pressed against the edge of the desk, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “M-Mob, stop... stop...” he says weakly with no real conviction.
“In a minute,” Mob says. He's not going to send him over the edge, he knows how much he can take, but he likes feeling him so powerless. It's hard to wrestle him into submission, he's much too quick and clever to be caught easily, so he enjoys it when he does. He rocks with him, listening to him whisper fuck fuck fuck like he's completely let go of himself, forgotten how they used to be.
“M-Mob,” Reigen pants, “I... I'm–”
“Mmm.” Mob lets go, sliding his hand out. Reigen relaxes with a groan, sinking back against him, and Mob catches his breath. He's hard, bulging against his jeans, and Reigen's warm weight does nothing to help him. He takes him under the arms and pushes him up, standing with him, nudging him forward a step or two to the desk. Reigen is pretty limp, letting him, but he starts to protest when Mob pushes him down against the desk.
“No, Mob, wait...” He hisses as Mob grinds himself against him, rutting his arousal into the curve of his ass. “N-not here...”
Mob leans down over him, whispering close to his ear. “Not here? Where... where else can we go?”
“I-I mean...” Reigen pushes back against him. “Not the... the fucking desk...!”
Mob sighs, withdraws. “Okay,” he mumbles. He knows he was being over-eager, thinking with his body instead of his brain. He moves back enough to let Reigen push up and turn over.
“I'm not scolding you,” Reigen says gently. “It's just... I want to look at you, not the damn desk.”
Mob nods, breathing deeply. That's what he wants, too, really. He kisses him but Reigen lets him for only a moment before pulling back and getting onto the desk, moving swiftly over it before Mob can catch him. Now he's on the other side, the old wood between them, beckoning him with his shirt undone to his navel and his belt jingling. Mob comes around the desk, at last throwing off his sweatshirt, letting it drop to the floor as he catches Reigen up. He's overzealous, perhaps, or Reigen is too small to take his full weight but they go down, hitting the floor in a tangled heap. Mob doesn't care, pressing the entire length of his body against him, immersing himself in the feel of him, solid and real. Reigen doesn't mind, putting his arms around him, laughing gently against his ear.
“You're eager,” he murmurs.
“I miss you so much,” Mob replies tightly. “Please, please...”
“Yeah.” Reigen nuzzles against him. “It's okay. You're here now.”
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I w-wish I could–”
“Mob.” Reigen takes his face, squeezes his cheeks. “It's okay, I promise.”
He presses up, kissing him, and Mob is grateful, losing himself in it. Nobody can calm him the way he does, knows what sets his soul at ease.
He pulls back, kisses his way down Reigen's neck, gets the last of his shirt buttons undone; then he eases down his zip, takes his slacks by the belt loops and pulls them down. His legs never see the sun so they're pale as candle wax, just like his own. He shimmies them off and tosses them to the side, leaving his underwear. He can barely concentrate as it is. He begins to wrestle with his own belt but his fingers fumble and slip. His powers are beginning to gnaw at him like a starved rat, making him anxious, and he's relieved when Reigen's cool hand settles on top of his.
“Let me.”
Mob swallows, nods, lets his hands drop to his sides. He sucks in a breath and holds it as he watches Reigen's deft fingers unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans, feeling the pressure ease a little as the zip draws down. He bends down towards him, hoping he'll take them down, touch him, something, but instead Reigen slides his hands upwards, slipping under his black T-shirt.
“I always knew you'd grow up big and handsome,” Reigen teases, pushing his hands firmly up over his belly and chest. “You couldn't stay a scrawny little weed forever.”
“You'd... uh, n-never have said that... ah, at the t-time...” Mob lets out a breath, enjoying his exploration.
“Of course not, you'd have lost your motivation.” Reigen presses his thumbs against his pecs. “These things take time.”
Mob takes the hem of his T-shirt and pulls it off over his head, shaking the static out of his hair. Reigen is still pawing at him and he takes his wrists, squeezing. Reigen smirks at him.
“Am I making you embarrassed?”
“More like impatient,” Mob replies thickly.
Reigen pulls him down. “Stop fussing, then.”
“F-fine,” Mob retorts, trying to sound cross. He's still not very good at injecting much emotion into his voice, not unless... well. He really feels it. He certainly doesn't genuinely feel annoyed at Reigen, who is lying beneath him so patiently, so kindly, waiting for him to be ready. He takes his jeans and shorts and shucks them in one motion, hissing at the hit of cold air. Reigen reaches up, loops one arm over his back, holds his close – and Mob feels the fingertips of his other hand gently skim over the crests and dips of him, his clavicle, his navel, the very tip of his cock. Mob whines, aching for him, scrambling with slippery fingers to hook the elastic of his boxers and get them down. Reigen helps him, bending his knees so he can get them off, and Mob realises he never did manage to get his socks off. Still, he's half-dressed himself, his jeans only pushed to his knees, but he can't wait any longer. He leans over Reigen, one elbow at the side of his head, the other hand under the arch of his back. Reigen seems pretty serene, looping his arms around him once more, anchoring them both against one another.
“Mob,” he sighs against him, “it's okay, it's okay...”
Mob enters him. It's always easier than he thinks it will be, than he remembers. He hears him sigh, feels him arch against him, their flesh teasing and sticking, their mouths meeting. Mob holds him, begins to move, holding him tight so that he rocks with him. Reigen is still supple, flexible, it's like trying to hold onto a piece of silk, always like he'll slip out of his grasp at any second. Mob hangs on tight, doesn't let him. He wants to hold him forever and ever, to fill the empty rooms in his head with being close to him.
Reigen doesn't make very much noise. He hangs onto Mob tightly, stroking his hair, whispering close to his ear. He doesn't moan or sob, holding himself together. Mob doesn't know if this is for his sake or his own, wishes he was more easily undone. He buries his face against his neck.
“I-I feel terrible,” he pants. “D-didn't... even take y-you... for dinner first...”
“Mm.” Reigen kisses his hair. “It's alright.”
Mob gets his hands under him and rolls them over. Now he's the one with his spine pressed to the floor, the hardness of the boards through the thin carpet making him ache. He doesn't care, holding Reigen around the waist, pushing him up. Reigen does what he wants, sitting back on him, riding. He puts his hands on top of Mob's, catching them up, lacing their fingers together. The sensation of his cool palm against his own sends him spiralling back years to the day that Reigen saved him – back before any of this, when he was too young to understand. He tries to pull his hands away but Reigen holds tight.
“Don't,” he says softly. “It's okay.”
“I-it's not okay.” Mob swallows, squeezes his eyes shut. “I n-need you and... and... you're not there...!”
“I'm here now,” Reigen says gently. “So are you. That's all that matters.”
“I need you,” Mob says again, half-sobbing. “I-I'm sorry I didn't... I c-couldn't...”
“Mob, it's okay,” Reigen whispers. He raises Mob's hand to his mouth, kisses his knuckles, and Mob opens his eyes and gazes up at him, glorious as stained glass with the snow falling behind him.
“I promise it'll be okay,” Reigen says again, his lips against Mob's skin. “I forgive you.”
Mob is alone on the floor of the office when the door opens. It's dark but the light comes in from the window, bouncing off the thick crust of snow that has settled. He turns his head to see Ritsu, his thick scarf wound three times around his neck.
“I thought I'd find you up here,” Ritsu says. He doesn't step over the threshold. “Please come home.”
Mob sits up, looking around the empty office. It's gutted, empty for four years. Nobody else has wanted to rent it, given the side of town it's on. Even Reigen only took it because it was so cheap.
Dimple appears from behind Ritsu, floating over. “Shigeo,” he says. “Come on.”
“He was here,” Mob says absently. He can still feel his warmth, smell his scent, hear his voice.
“Yeah.” Dimple nods his entire body. “I can sense it. But he's gone now.”
Mob looks straight at Dimple. “Why isn't he like you?” he asks. “You don't... fade in and out, you're not tied to one place.”
“I don't know,” Dimple says. “Some people don't become ghosts at all. I'm not sure why or how any of it happens as it does.” He pauses. “...Grief is a powerful thing, Shigeo.”
Mob says nothing to this, getting up. His body is sore and his clothes are dusty. He shakes himself off, goes to get his coat and scarf from the hook. He meets Ritsu's eyes as he does so.
“Sorry if I worried you,” he says.
Ritsu smiles weakly. “It's okay, nii-san,” he says gently. “I know it's... hard for you, coming back to Spice City.”
“It is what it is,” Mob sighs, stepping past him. “Let's go home.”
They leave the old building and start out into the street. The storm has passed, the snow falling gently onto untouched crystal-white drifts. They leave footprints, twin trails in tandem, Dimple floating in between them without leaving a mark on the world.
“We can... go to his grave on New Year's Day,” Ritsu says. Perhaps he means for it to be a whisper but the streets are empty and it carries like the peals of a bell. “I-if you want.”
“Yeah,” Mob says absently. He pauses, looks back at the building. The window is dark and empty.
He feels Ritsu's hand on his shoulder. “Nii-san,” he says. He takes a breath. “I know we all... say this a lot but... it wasn't your fault. It was an accident.”
“Yeah,” Mob says again. “I know.”
He looks at Ritsu. He never speaks of the nights he lies awake and turns it over in his mind, if only he'd been quicker, paying more attention, taking the job more seriously, Reigen would still be alive. It had just been the two of them that day, not long after Mob's twentieth birthday, and they were in love and in the silly honeymoon phase of their relationship and not giving their work the respect it warranted. Mob had been thinking about how he looked when he undressed, couldn't wait to go back to his apartment later, hadn't had his mind on the task at all. Half a minute later and everything was different. The spirit had been powerful, more dangerous than he'd expected, and Reigen – of course – was a fraud. He hadn't stood a chance.
“Let's get home,” Ritsu says. “Dinner is waiting.”
Mob nods. There's nothing else he can do tonight. Reigen's presence in this world is weak, he drifts in and out, at his strongest when Mob is with him – but even then, he can't maintain it forever. They have to take whatever stolen moments they can find.
Ritsu puts his hands in his coat pockets and starts off, Dimple bobbing after him like a balloon. Mob hesitates a moment longer, looking back at the office just once more.
There's a light, a soft subtle glow, and he sees Reigen through the glass. He's very pale, his outline faded like a frost, but he's there. He smiles, waves down at him. Mob feels a shudder go through him, a burning need to get back to him, to hold him again, and he takes a step forward–
“Shigeo.”
He stops dead. He closes his eyes, breathes out, turns to look at Dimple. “What?”
“We're going home.” Dimple goes after Ritsu again. “Come on.”
Mob looks up. Reigen is gone. The stone inside him sinks again and he crunches after them. He knows Dimple saw him, too, but there doesn't seem much point in saying so. Dimple knows more about being a spirit, after all. He wonders how he died. It's something he's never asked, seems too personal, too painful.
Reigen doesn't like to talk about it, either.