Chapter Text
Shigeo has never been this acutely aware of his body before.
He’s aware of every step, of how the cement feels beneath his shoes, of how his shirt feels against his skin, of how his skin feels against his spirit, how his spirit feels against his mind and soul and heart. The presence of his power has never been stronger, and he feels it within him as a tangible thing, flowing through his veins and cycling in and out of the marrow of his bones, pulsing beneath the beat of his heart. His mind is flooded with radio static and white noise. Overwhelming.
Shigeo reaches the front door of his home.
The lights are on. That never happened in Mogami's world.
The doorknob is cold underneath his steady fingers, and he swings it wide and steps inside.
“I’m home,” he calls into the house with a voice barely audible, tugging off his shoes and pulling the door shut behind him. Dad's shoes are parked in their usual spot, in between Mom's and Ritsu's. The same lights that were a relief a moment ago are suddenly too bright. Shigeo takes a long, even breath and steps from the genkan into the hall.
He can smell Mom's cooking, hear the bustle of pots and pans from the living room. Dad would have gotten off work hours ago. And Ritsu is in here somewhere, too. His aura is bright, maybe a little antsy from school.
His family is home.
“Welcome back, Shige!” Mom calls from the kitchen. “You sure are late. What kept you?”
It's comforting, the smell of her cooking, but it also makes him sick to his stomach.
“Work went long,” Shigeo answers quietly. It isn’t a lie, it isn’t, but guilt nestles in his gut like a dead weight and stays there. “I’m sorry, I’ll make sure to get home on time from here on.”
“Don’t worry about it, Shige, just be sure to let me know where you are next time, alright? You had us worried there.”
No one worried about him in Mogami's world.
“I will," says Shigeo.
He takes step after step down the hallway towards the living room. His overshirt feels too heavy, too hot, but he can’t summon the energy to take it off. The thought of actually eating anything sends his stomach into a frizzy. There’s bile in his throat. He feels faint.
Ritsu and Dad are in the living room, by the eating table. Ritsu setting the table and Dad already seated, reading the newspaper. Both their heads lift at the sound of Shigeo’s footsteps. The welcoming smiles are traded in for concern the moment they lay eyes on him, and Shigeo has to wonder what exactly he looks like given how he feels.
“Nii-san?” Ritsu reaches him first, but Dad isn’t too far behind. “You look sick, are you okay? What happened?”
Shigeo doesn’t know how to say it. He feels sick. “I-I’m okay, nothing happened, I just—”
Dad’s palm presses to his forehead, brows creased in concern. Shigeo holds his breath until Dad lowers his arm.
“Well, you don’t have a fever,” says Dad. “But you're looking pretty pale, there."
“What’s wrong?” Mom rounds the corner, still drying her hands on her apron. Her eyes widen at the sight of him. “Oh my—”
“I’m okay,” Shigeo insists. The more he says it, the less honest it feels. “I’m just tired, and-and kind of dizzy. I promise I’m okay.”
Ritsu’s hand finds his shoulder. “Do you wanna sit down?”
“I-I—”
“There’s no shame in it if you need to rest a while, Shigeo,” Dad says, and his hand comes to rest on Shigeo’s head, gently but grounding. “You do look pretty out of it, though.”
“You don’t have to eat dinner right now if you don’t feel like it,” Mom joins in, voice soft but firm. “I can always save it for you for whenever you get hungry.”
He appreciates it. He appreciates it, a lot. Dad’s hand in his hair, Ritsu’s hand on his shoulder, Mom’s presence close by. It’s more than he could ask for. It’s more kindness than he's known in six months.
Six months. Was it really that long?
He can't believe his family is here.
But it's too much. It's equal parts overwhelming and not enough. He nods, shaking, eyes burning against his will.
“Okay," he says. "I'll… I think I should just go get ready for bed. I'm sorry.”
Dad drops his hand again, a hearty smile on his face. “Don't apologize, kiddo. Get some rest.”
“And give us a holler if you need anything,” Mom adds with a smile of her own. “If you take a shower, be careful not to faint.”
Ritsu's nod echoes their sentiments. Shigeo manages a weak but genuine smile.
“Thank you.”
With an oversized shirt and a pair of sweats in his arms, Shigeo heads into the hall bathroom, pausing only for a moment to listen for the sound of chopsticks on platters and quiet murmur of dinner conversation. Shigeo leaves the moment he picks up his name in the chatter, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door before he turns on the light.
He turns to face the mirror, and all the fuss and concern suddenly makes a lot more sense. His complexion has always been on the pale side--something he’s been told by numerous people on numerous occasions--but now that’s been cranked up to an eleven, and it’s not even a pale so much as it is a sickly, pasty white. He feels sweat roll down the back of his neck and wonders if maybe he does actually have a fever and Dad just didn’t notice. He certainly feels like he could.
Shigeo draws a shuddering breath, tells himself that he’s okay, that he’s home, and shrugs off his overshirt, then pulls his actual shirt up and over his head. It clings uncomfortably for a moment and his arms aren’t as moveable as they should be, but he manages and the clothing hits the floor.
That’s when he sees it.
It’s subtle, but as he looks himself over in the mirror one last time, he notices something splotchy and red, just behind his bangs. He frowns to himself, wonders what might’ve happened, and moves his hair out of the way to see it better.
It’s a scar.
Red, jagged, pink on the edges, like a small but chaotic burst of lightning. Except far more unnatural. Hand-crafted. With the intention of hurting him.
He… remembers this. Vaguely. It happened early on, so early that he’d almost forgotten. Someone had “accidentally” shoved him, and a shelf came down on his head. At the time he’d wondered why it didn’t kill him, but in hindsight he knows it’s just because the world wasn’t a physical one.
But that wound, as a scar, is on his body. Red, angry, fresh, like it’d healed over improperly and is now terribly infected.
He takes a measured breath, starts the bath water, throws up, and takes what is probably the longest, coldest shower of his life.
The door of his room creaks open, and the hall light casts a bright ribbon across the floor of Shigeo’s room, striking him in the face. He keeps its eyes closed until he hears it click shut once again, and then peers into the darkness as Ritsu makes his way over quietly, carrying a tray.
He kneels down, setting it off to the side. “Nii-san?”
“I’m awake,” Shigeo says, sitting up. The blanket slips from around his shoulders. He can’t decide whether he feels better or worse without it. “Sorry I didn’t eat dinner with everyone tonight.”
“That’s okay. You shouldn’t force yourself if you aren’t feeling well, you’ll just end up feeling worse.” Ritsu pulls his feet out from under him and sits with his legs criss-crossed. “How are you feeling? Any better?”
“A little, I think,” Shigeo says. Whether or not that’s an honest answer is anyone’s guess. “I… think I might be sick, though.”
“Sick, how?”
“Dizzy. Nauseous.”
Ritsu’s hand reaches out and touches Shigeo’s temple with the back of his hand. His fingers are cool. “Well, I don’t think you have a fever,” he says, sitting back, "but Mom wanted me to bring this to you.”
Turning towards the tray, Ritsu lifts a bottle of liquid medicine with a label that Shigeo can’t make out in the dark. It’d been sitting beside a steaming mug of what smells like ginger tea.
Ritsu studies the dosage for a while before pouring one out and handing the spoon to Shigeo. “Careful, it’s kind of full.”
“Thanks, Ritsu.” Shigeo swallows it down in a single gulp. It doesn’t taste as bad as he remembered, but then again, he hasn’t taken it since he was little. He hands the spoon to Ritsu, who replaces it with the mug of tea.
“Don’t mention it. Mom said the tea will help, too. She’ll be up here soon, but she wanted to talk with Dad first.”
Shigeo nods, taking a small sip. It tastes like home. The second sip brings tears to his eyes again, but he doesn’t let them fall.
“Ritsu, I… I’m really glad you’re my brother.”
Ritsu blinks. “O… kay? I mean, me too, but what brought that on?”
“Nothing.” His fingers close tighter around the mug, until the heat becomes uncomfortable. And then unbearable. He doesn’t let go. “I’ve been thinking about it lately is all. I couldn’t ask for a better brother, I really couldn’t. You’re so smart and amazing and cool and—I’m just glad you’re here.”
Ritsu looks dumbfounded. Shigeo really can’t blame him. “I’m glad you’re here too, Nii-san. Are you sure something isn’t the matter? Is there anything you want to tell me?”
It feels like a loaded question. Shigeo doesn’t have a single answer for his little brother.
“I’m fine,” Shigeo says. It’s more to convince himself than Ritsu, now. “I’m just… I don’t know.”
Ritsu scoots a little closer, until his knee bumps Shigeo’s. “I can sit with you for a while, if you want. At least until you fall asleep again.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you if you have other things to do.”
“It's okay. I already did most of my homework earlier, and besides, tomorrow’s Saturday. I have time.”
“Are you—”
“Absolutely.” Ritsu’s smile carries concern, but there’s no denying its honesty. “I promise I’m sure, Nii-san. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Nowhere?"
"Well, maybe, but only if I could take you with me. Hey, don't laugh. I'm being serious."
“I know, I know, Ritsu. Thank you.” Something springs into his throat. It isn’t quite a sob, but it's dangerously close to becoming one. “I feel the same way about you.”
Ritsu's smile reaches his eyes. A moment later, it falters. “Why do you have gauze on your head? It wasn’t there earlier.”
Shigeo’s mouth goes dry. "Oh, um." He touches the wad with his fingertips. “A... shelf fell at the office earlier. I couldn't catch it in time, and, I cut my head on the corner.”
Ritsu’s brow furrows. “Really?"
And that one was a lie. He's lying to Ritsu now. "Sorry. I'll be more careful next time."
Ritsu sighs. "Well, just use your psychic powers to catch it next time or something. I know you don't want to rely on them, but you could've gotten really hurt."
Oh.
That's right.
He's a psychic again.
Six months, in or out of a place where time passes quickly, is a long time to be without his powers.
For now, though, “I'll try," says Shigeo.
“I get it," says Ritsu. There’s a part of Shigeo that wishes Ritsu didn’t, that he’d press more, but the rest of him is glad to be off the topic. “Either way, don’t be afraid to tell me if you need help. You won’t get any better if you keep pushing yourself.”
“You’re right,” Shigeo says, and he doesn’t know how he manages but he smiles, too. “Thank you, Ritsu.”
“You can thank me by getting a good night’s sleep,” Ritsu says. He takes the blanket by the corner and swings it around Shigeo’s shoulders. “Now go to sleep.”
The night is a strange one. Mom comes up later, wakes him gently, takes his temperature just in case, but it all feels like a befuddled blur. He can’t be sure what’s happening, or even if it’s happening. She’s pleased with the reading on the monitor but concerned for his overall state. He hears her ask Ritsu about the gauze on his head; he quotes the answer Shigeo gave him, almost word for word; she leaves it be and Shigeo drops into sleep again.
On another occasion that night, Mom and Dad are chatting quietly but he can’t make out their words. Ritsu’s voice isn’t among theirs. Neither attempt to wake him or seem to know he’s awake at all. He falls asleep again.
And then he dreams.
He remembers.
The little white cat that he’d come to love so much, playing with a string as he dangles it over her head. Her big eyes are so round and so blue and so innocent, so gentle, so calm.
She stops moving. Empty sockets stare into Shigeo’s. Her fur is matted and red.
And Shigeo wakes up, alone, breathing hard, holding his mouth with one hand and his stomach with the other, tears trickling over his fingers and breath stuttering in his throat. He’d had enough subconscious sense to not scream or cry out, but even if he didn’t he probably wouldn’t have the air to execute it.
He breathes around his hand a while longer, clutches his stomach tighter, swallows back the bile in his throat. When he finally trusts himself to pull his hand away from his mouth, he sees them. Angry red against his pale, clammy skin, but stripes this time, slashed across his fingers and palm. Anywhere unprotected by the cat’s tiny but sharp claws.
Exactly how he does it stays a mystery to him, but he makes it into the bathroom without waking the whole house or blacking out, and as soon as his fingers have been individually wrapped and he’s tied it off at the palm, he makes sure there’s no evidence and heads back into his bedroom.
He doesn’t sleep again.
“Still no fever, huh?”
Shigeo shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Dad sets the thermometer aside. “Thermometer says you don’t, and your skin isn’t any warmer than usual.” For good measure, Dad feels his forehead again. He sighs. “Think you might’ve picked something up from school? Any bug goin’ around over there?”
“Not that I know of.” It isn’t a lie, but he doesn’t actually tell the truth, either. The thought expands the void in his stomach.
“Mm.” Dad holds a hand to his chin for just a moment, pondering. “I’d say food poisoning next, but you only threw up once, right?”
Shigeo nods stiffly.
“Wellp, we’ll keep an eye on you, then. The clinic is closed ‘till Monday, if you’re still feeling cruddy then we’ll have someone take a look at you. Sound good?”
Shigeo nods again. He keeps his hands under the blankets. Dad makes a bit of a fuss about tucking them around him properly, even though it isn’t necessary, but he isn’t complaining. The concern is nice. Being home again is nice. Having his family back is nice.
Dad is just getting to his feet when Shigeo manages a small, “Thank you,” to which Dad responds with a gentle but warm smile and a ruffle of his hair. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to, and once he’s made Shigeo promise (for the upteenth time) that he’ll send for someone if he needs anything, he heads off, leaving the door cracked behind him.
Shigeo lies there for a long moment after, breathing.
“... Can you stop hovering over me? You’re making me nervous.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
Shigeo swallows hard, tugging the blanket up closer to his face and burrowing down into it. “Were you… here yesterday?”
“Nah,” Dimple answers, “I was tailing Reigen most of last night. Idiot went off and almost got himself possessed. I swear, he’s gonna get himself killed one of these days.”
“I can’t go into work today.”
“I wasn’t trying to make ya. Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. Can’t say I was expecting you to be okay, but I wasn’t expecting this.”
Shigeo bites his lip. “What did you expect? I’m sick.”
“You sure as hell ain't sick. Your aura is all over the place. And what’s with the bandages?”
“I’m going to exorcise you.”
“No you aren’t.”
Shigeo swallows. There’s an uncomfortable something in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Shi—”
“I can’t talk about this, Dimple.”
He’s expecting another retort. There isn’t one.
“Yeah, I… I get it. But bottling it up isn’t going to solve anything, and it certainly isn’t going to help you cope. It’s gonna come to light sooner or later, no matter how hard you try.”
Shigeo curls in further on himself and doesn't say anything. Dimple's presence remains hovered nearby.
“Want me to pass on the message to Reigen?”
“No, I'll call him. Thanks. Make sure he doesn't do anything dangerous without me.”
“Well, I'll try, but I can't promise much. Try to get some rest, yeah? Take your time.”
“Thank you, Dimple.”
Dimple's presence disappears, and after a while longer spent thinking, stalling, he does up slowly and reaches for his phone. Once it's in his hand, he rethinks it. Wonders if he should do it. If maybe he should just wait and hope Dimple fills Reigen in instead.
But then, he dials with shaking fingers and presses the phone to his ear. His skin itches beneath his bandaged fingers.
There are three things--plenty of time for him to talk himself in and out of the situation several times--before there’s a click on the other line. He sits twice as straight, fingers clenching around the phone.
“Yo, Mob, perfect timing, I was just getting ready to call you!”
Shigeo’s heart sinks right into his stomach, then lower than that. “I… y-you were?” His family wouldn’t let him leave even if he tried, but the knowledge that Reigen needs him on a job is enough to make him nauseous with guilt. “What for?”
“Nothing really, just wanted to let you know that I’m giving you the weekend off.”
Shigeo blinks. “Wh… What?”
“Yep, you heard me right! I know yesterday’s job was pretty rough, and it went a lot later than I meant for it to. So if you wanna take the next couple of days off, that’s alright with me. Actually, I encourage it.”
“Really?”
“Of course! So just enjoy your weekend, alright? I’ll see you on Monday.”
“S… See you.”
Reigen hangs up before he has to, and Shigeo stares at the phone, blinking, for a long time afterward. At first it strikes him as odd, but the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. There’s a chance Reigen is still sifting through police interrogations and paperwork; what happened at the Asagiri Estate was enough to spark more than a little fear in society. He wonders when it’ll blow over. Or even if it’ll blow over at all.
The rest of the weekend goes uneventfully. He stays in bed for the most part, primarily due to his parents and Ritsu watching over him like a hawk, but he doesn’t dislike it. He was the only person who felt the full duration of those six months in hell, but he’d lived alone for its entirety. Having his family here, not only with him, but always closeby, is huge.
Saturday ends and Sunday begins. Ritsu helps catch him up on some homework when he feels up to it, Reigen doesn’t call, Dimple checks in for half a second but leaves before Ritsu has the chance to notice him. Which is probably for the best.
And then Monday rolls around.
“Are you really sure you should be going to school today, Shige?” Mom asks, eyeing him carefully as he slips on his shoes by the door. “If you aren’t feeling well, you should stay home.”
“I’m alright,” Shigeo answers, offering her a small smile over his shoulder. “I feel a lot better than before, I’ll be fine.”
She isn’t convinced, and he can’t blame her at all, but she gives way with a sigh. “Alright. But if you start feeling sick again, go straight to the nurse, got it? We’ll come pick you up.”
“I will.” He says it without thinking. Whether or not he actually means it is up for debate. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”
She bids him goodbye and he sets off down the sidewalk, taking care to make sure the cuffs of his pants are tucked well over his ankles. He knows keeping track of it all won’t do him much good, but that hasn’t kept him from it; one on his head, seven on his left hand, twelve on his right, eight on the left arm, ten on his right, four on each ankle. The scars don’t bother him as much as the memories do. He should stop counting.
He walks the route alone, with Ritsu having left earlier to attend the student council meeting, and he can’t help but run through each scenario over and over in his mind, like a broken record. He’s walked to school alone many times before, but this is the first time it’s struck him so deeply.
Somehow he makes it there. Now he just has to make it through.