Growth

The key fits snugly into the lock and you say an internal prayer of thanks as the door to your brother's apartment opens. It'd been so long since you'd last visited, you were worried the locks had changed or that he'd moved apartments altogether.

With a quick flick of the light switch you can see the place is messy. The bed in the corner is sloppily made and stray clothing is strewn across the floor. You wouldn't have it any other way. The scene is familiar, a physical representation of your erratic older brother.

"Arataka?" you call out despite knowing he isn't home. When he doesn't reply, you drop your overnight bag at the door and hip check the lock back into place. You stretch your arms above your head and give a soft moan, twisting your head from side to side in hopes of releasing the knots in your neck. The plane ride had been long, the train even longer. You weren't a fan of traveling, one of the several reasons why you never went home after moving to university.

How long had been since you'd last spoken to your family? To Reigen? Weeks, months, years? You weren't sure, everything seemed to blur together. You haven't seen them in an even longer period of time. It'd just been so much easier to get absorbed into your studies. If you didn't speak with them, you didn't miss them and that made the adjustment that much easier. And after a while and enough missed calls, they stopped trying altogether.

Except for Reigen.

His calls, his emails, and his texts were all sparse, but there was a pattern. Once every month some form of communication was sent your way. You never answered the phone calls, barely responded to the emails, but the texts were easy. Hope you're alright out there , he'd say. A smile was all you needed to send in reply. Not an emoji, but an old fashioned smilie, one with a colon and a parentheses, the only type of image response that would work on an old phone like his.

But then the messages had stopped coming and you began to panic. Was he in trouble? Was he hurt? Or had your brother just moved on? You'd reached out to your mother, something you'd been avoiding - Is Reigen okay? No response and at that you felt the panic lessen. If she didn't feel the need nor want to respond, than surely nothing bad had happened. Even if there was bad blood between the two of you, surely she wouldn't withhold important information like that out of spite?

And so you went back to your studies and now it was winter break in the states and you were here in your brother's empty apartment ... to visit? Apologize? Catch up? You weren't sure. It'd been sometime since the messages had stopped ... maybe he had a girlfriend? It didn't matter. You were here now and you needed to see him, to interact, to say anything, because you weren't feeling real.

University was almost done and then you'd be alone in the real world and suddenly the fear of truly being alone without your housemates or your classes to keep you in some form of routine was overwhelming and you desperately needed the familiarity of Reigen to keep you from spiraling.

You plop down on his bed and breathe in the stale air of the apartment. Your eyes glance around the room and you see familiar shirts, familiar shoes, and other such accessories that remind you of the outfits he used to wear when you lived together. It grounds you, seeing these things, because these items are familiar and from them you know this is real. Reigen is real and you are real and okay and surviving.

And then the door opens. It creaks open slowly, cautiously, and from your angle you can't see who is on the other side.

"...left it open?" a new, soft voices asks and for a moment you're frozen because how could you have done this? How could you have you flown so far without telling him? How could you have entered his apartment and stumbled back into his world without thinking?

The door stops part way. "Hey!" A new voice calls. This one is older and deeper and familiar. "Hey! Whose in there?"

And without thinking you reply, "It's just me."

The door opens the rest of the way quickly and Reigen stands in the doorway, mouth slightly agape, and one hand on the knob, the other in his suit pocket. You can just make out a smaller shape behind him, a child with long black hair that almost covers his eyes.

"Y/N?" Reigen asks and his tone breaks your heart because it's so surprised and uncertain, as if he thinks maybe he's dreaming and you're nothing more than a hallucination.

"Hi," you say as you offer a small wave to your brother and then another to the small boy behind him, "I'm Y/N."

Reigen ignores your introduction and instead asks, "What are you doing here?" You can't tell if the tone is judgmental or irritated or what. It's still soft, slightly awed at your sudden appearance, but also a little frustrated and again you mentally berate yourself for not asking permission first. If places were reversed, he would've never done this to you.

"I don't know," you say slowly, your attention retreating to the floor. "I just wanted to say hi."

"You could've called."

"I know."

"...or texted."

"Yeah."

A silence falls between you and you're not sure what you'd expected. Your relationship with your brother had always been sort of odd. You were a late in life pregnancy. You shared a mother, but had different fathers. Reigen had grown to like you overtime and he'd been a good older brother. He wasn't the bravest or the smartest or the best looking and he certainly did not help you when it came to making friends, but he was always there . And because he was so wild and so unpredictable and so loud, he created all the entertainment a young child may need.

And when shit hit the fan, he was there, sometimes to take the fall, sometimes to explain away a problem and bale you out.

He was constant.

And you were selfish to expect him to continue to always be there without offering anything in return.

"Arataka..."

A sharp winter wind blows in from behind them and the small child makes a squeaks in surprise.

"Ah!" your brother says, "Mob!" He turns to the child and gently pushes him in the doorway, turning to lock the door behind him. The child, you guess a young teen, gives you a once over. His expression isn't defensive, just curious as he glances at your face, your clothes and finally your shoes. When his attention returns to your face, you give a soft smile and he nods in response.

"Your name is Mob?"

He flushes, "Yes. It's a nickname."

"It's interesting, I've never heard it before."

Before Mob can reply, Reigen lets out a heavy sigh. He has finally noticed your duffle and the shoes you'd kicked off and to the side. When he looks back up at you, his expression is strained. You're disappointed, but also unsure of why you'd expected anything different.

I can't, his expression seems to say, I can't deal with you now. The look is pitying, but also certain. She know begging in front of Mob would only make the situation that much worse.

"Right," you say as you stand and brush imaginary dust from your lap, "Sorry."

Mob turns to look at your brother, his expression blank but you can sense the confusion. He could see that there was something wrong, that Reigen was on edge due to your presence. The two had obviously known each for a while.

Reigen gently presses his palm to Mob's back and pushes him toward the small couch. "Go sit," he says, "I'm going to order us some food."

Though he does what Reigen asks, you can see he has questions as his gaze uneasily meets yours. Why is he acting like this? His eyes seem to ask. He's not usually like this. Who are you to him?

You swallow the lump in your throat, apologize again, and move towards the door. Reigen scoots past you towards the small kitchenette, not even stopping to squeeze your shoulder or pat you on the back. You slip on your shoes and grab your duffle, slipping the strap over your shoulder. You have some money in your pocket, a little bit more than enough for a ticket home. You glance back at Reigen whose attention is on a small stack of takeout menus he's pulled from a drawer and then at Mob, whose mouth is slightly parted as he glances between the two of you, desperate to ask a question but too polite to do so.

"What are you in the mood for?" Reigen asks, and when he glances up at Mob you see a soft smile on his lips. In his expression is the familiar look of fondness he'd once reserved for you.

And then it clicks.

This Reigen is new. He is changed, perhaps for the better and you have been replaced. This boy is his new project, his new focus of attention and you finally understand why the texts have stopped coming.

Reigen is tired of waiting, tired of hoping and wishing and wanting.

He wants to change, to move forward, to grow and you're holding him back.

And so you leave without a goodbye, without a hug, without a comforting word from the one person you thought you'd always have in your back pocket.

But perhaps that'd been selfish of you to think that you'd always be his focus ... that he'd never change or grow on his own.

And maybe it's time you stopped relying on outside factors to make you happy and safe and instead took the chance to grow and change yourself.

Because right now Reigen needs Mob to change him and challenge him and make him a better person and that's just something you can't do.