Forgive him for being dramatic, but
Words couldn't quite convey it—something about that night consumed him. And it wasn't the regular New Year's buzz either. An unfamiliar stillness settled in his mind.
For the first time in years, his ears were clear. The slight crinkling of distant plastic—the shy scraping of leaves. The lightest noises and their subtleties crept beneath the harsh booms. The trickle of water, a wheezing cough stories below. He could hear it all.
The vibrations thrummed through him with the surrounding air. The wind scraped across his skin, and frost seeped through his pores. Bitter, numb cold encased the tips of his fingers and exposed feet. Pins and needles, the loss of finer motor functions. A thin layer of frost where warmth should've been. Nothing good nor bad.
The smell was fuzzy yet harsh. The scent of winter warped his mind.
For a moment, he could pretend. He wasn't a man. He was the space around—the atmosphere, the environment. The background in a painting, blending in with muddled colors.
Conviction echoed through him. It was everything and nothing at once.
He was everything and nothing at once.
Life was going pretty well.
Mob was starting his second year of high school soon. They still saw each other—around once every two weeks, even if it wasn't always through work. Serizawa would be getting his degree soon but didn't seem intent on leaving the office after graduation.
Reigen was proud. Of both of them.
They each had invited him to do something on New Year's, but he said that he was busy.
His mom reached out and asked him "just to see them". She mentioned that his sister and maybe a few relatives would be there as well.
He hadn't been invited to any of their holidays for years.
For a minute or so, he weighed his options and tried to come up with an appropriate reply. He resolved to focus on it later.
By the time he heard the first firework, he realized he never got around to responding.
Reigen couldn't feel his face well and didn't know what expression he was making. A layer of cotton separated his mind from his body.
Of course, this detachment was alright, since he was alone. The best thing about his new apartment was the view.
Which extended to the balcony itself. The space was a decent size, enough for a couple of chairs and a place to stand. His signature tie rested on one of them. A pleasant, gray parapet wrapped the perimeter.
Overall, the design was safe and stable. The ledge was quite sturdy. His feet were cemented on the flat rock. Though nothing was between him and a four story fall, he'd never been calmer than balancing on that edge.
The breeze mussed up his hair but didn't sway him. Decent posture, for once. Any other night, he probably would've already fallen. He could take his time.
Reigen wasn't busy. He had no real plans, so nobody was around, which was entirely alright since silence no longer scared him.
The fireworks continued flashing across the sky. Colored tints decorated the world with their shadows, one at a time. What would it feel like to touch one of their ashes?
Three went off at once and kicked the performance up a notch.
He'd only gotten the apartment a few months ago.
Reigen's goal was to spend as little money on the ordeal as possible—Originally, he was just going to move each box manually. He'd already splurged on the purchase anyway.
Instead, Reigen called Serizawa with less than a day of notice and on a whim. Because who would actually agree to help with something like that? With no compensation? On a Saturday?
Serizawa, apparently.
And he did.
As a surprise to no one, psychic powers were super convenient; a couple hours was all a full day's endeavor took. In any other case, the couch alone would've been a nightmare.
(Would picking up a few moving jobs increase the office's revenue? He'd have to sketch out some numbers later.)
Serizawa didn't even seem to mind, even though he was all big shoulders through narrow doors and crowded hallways. He asked where Reigen would like things moved and complied. Even tried to exchange some small talk from time to time.
Once they were done, they walked to the balcony. There were no chairs yet, so they both stood. The goal was to appreciate the view. Reigen focused on controlling his uneven breath until it was smooth. Serizawa's breath was silent, and his back was straight, so Reigen worked until he was the same.
Of course, it didn't matter. Serizawa wasn't staring at him. His eyes were fixated straight ahead. Reigen did the same since it seemed like the correct thing to do.
The complex was close to a small forest. Tall, thick trees clustered together within a sectioned off part of land. The green leaves contrasted well with the dark brown wood. A finely manicured lawn blended among them well. Winding paths carved through the area and fed into the building itself. Shadows of birdsong and the sharp scent of wood flitted through his mind with an unshakable nostalgia. It would have been a great area to take walks—might've actually been the major draw of the place. Judging by their type, the trees were always green like the grass.
Beneath the balcony, a small road wrapped the building's perimeter before branching off into the city beyond the trees. Though impressive, the section of land was still rather small, and buildings dwarfed the previously impressive scene.
Reigen hadn't noticed any of it before he got the place. The air thickened as he studied the finer details. No matter how closely he looked, all of it seemed the same. Small differences manifested in the twisting of branches or clustering of leaves, but nothing stood out. The grass and paths were worse. He couldn't find a single crack in the pavement or a bit of discoloration in the vegetation.
Was it all artificial? The area was too perfect.
Maybe distance hid the blemishes. Natural smoother, right? Could he make use of something like that?
Cars rumbling across the pavement and the whispering wind registered in the back of his mind, but the world could've been mute for all the difference. No sounds of construction or yelling were anywhere nearby.
To make up for it, his mind kept whirring and buzzing in all of the special ways it refused to shut up. Because everything could almost be perfect.
And somehow, beneath it all, Reigen remembered Serizawa. And even though they weren't talking, it was okay. Was that how companionship was supposed to feel? A slight warmth fluttered in his chest. Hell, maybe Serizawa's presence was even comforting.
As if reading through him, Serizawa lightly, slowly placed a hand on his lower back. The action was steady yet cautious, like he was ready to be shaken off but prepared to stay.
Reigen didn't lean into the touch but didn't flinch away. Instead, he stood entirely still. His breath was shallow and slow as heat radiated from Serizawa's hand.
Reigen didn't realize how cold he was until then.
He looked at Serizawa and finally saw how big he was. Much bigger than him. His head tilted to look down at Reigen, and his shoulders were broad enough to swallow them both. Maybe that was why the other wasn't bothered by the cold.
He didn't look uncomfortable. His eyes creased along the edges, and his mouth had curled into a smile. His stare held a suffocating fondness. When had Serizawa stopped looking forward? When did he start looking at him?
Reigen searched for the awkwardness in his demeanor—the hesitance clinging to his character. He found none.
At some point, he must've grown into himself.
Everything about him was too big because, in comparison, Reigen felt too small.
The hand on his lower back squeezed.
Serizawa really cared for Reigen. Or at least whoever he thought Reigen was.
The silence's tone shifted.
The kindness finally made sense.
Reigen didn't have Serizawa's hand on his back anymore, and the weather had only worsened.
It wasn't like any drastic changes occurred in their dynamic afterwards.
The other was patient. Gentle and calm. Serizawa was willing to let things unfold when both of them were ready.
Reigen was willing to let whatever it was die.
He tried flexing his fingers, but he couldn't feel his hands anymore. Was Serizawa still comfortable at this temperature? He snorted.
Hopefully he was bundled up in a warm, welcoming house beneath a sea of blankets and with all the hot cocoa he could happily consume. Maybe they were watching the same fireworks.
They could've watched them together if Reigen had let him.
Those thoughts didn't make him any lighter.
He didn't know why he had moved into a new apartment.
If any of the kids asked, it was just a sweet upgrade (which it really was). Maybe, if Serizawa asked, finding a cockroach in his old one was what really pushed him over the edge.
On the down low though, it wasn't the cockroach.
He couldn't articulate it well, but something quiet—something subtle told him that he couldn't live in that place anymore. The air was too stale, and falling asleep was difficult. He kept waking up in the middle of the night.
On the other hand, the air in his new apartment was sharp and clean, and he could fall asleep the moment he closed his eyes. The price should've guaranteed at least half of that, but it was still nice.
The only issue was the emptiness. All he could hear over the commotion of his neighbors and the street below was silence. Even his dreams would be skimming across smooth nothing for hours. He'd wake up and find no difference.
He couldn't live in his old apartment before.
Now, something told him that he couldn't live at all.
Reigen asked Mob if he was cursed.
The answer was no.
That was okay. He just needed time to relax. The world would continue, and he'd shake it off. Eventually.
Things had grown quite peaceful, but he wasn't used to the emptiness.
His phone buzzed a couple times in the living room. He didn't care to listen by then.
Reigen was used to anxiety, but it wasn't that.
There was just something. There.
In his chest, he was born with a tight knot of string. All he could do for the longest time was constrict it until he couldn't feel it anymore. Though it occasionally got stuck inside his throat, he could use its energy to keep doing and keep acting and keep lying to people. He could use it to do what was necessary, as long as he didn't linger.
When he settled down enough to look around, everybody else already managed to have unwound theirs.
They were able to grow in bits and pieces. Experience and conviction textured them and piled on until they were built with layers of nuance. He just stayed the same.
He started to pick at his.
Reigen had been doing good the past week or so. He'd been nice.
Really nice.
Because, even though the weather was a bit dismal, the world was all the lighter. He was still tired, but nothing really reached him.
He gave Serizawa a raise.
He texted Mob one hell of a letter of recommendation—not because the kid was about to start working somewhere else or something or because college was really that close—and had received a hug that almost knocked him over.
He smiled at customers and meant it, and had one kind of decent conversation with Dimple. He even gave that blonde pineapple-hair kid some advice.
Reigen was winning. He was doing so good.
Reigen continued working. The coil unwound string by string, layer by layer. The thread unlaced itself until a loose clump remained. Reigen picked at it until it shifted into a straight line.
Nothing remained, and no one was there, and all he had was a ratty, small string that led to nowhere and to nobody. He'd fixed his knot.
He had people he was supposed to care about. His job wasn't in danger. He thought he was happy.
He'd destroyed one of the major things fucking up his life, but hollowness seeped into its place.
Because he was finally calm.
And his brain was quiet.
In a crowded room, he could see past all of the people.
And when he got himself to say "I love you", it tasted like ash on his tongue. Because all of the colors melded together, and everything was buried under the background.
And Serizawa was just another grown ass man on his balcony who didn't really know anything about him. Another stranger putting their hands on him and looking at a person who's not even there.
But nothing ever changes, so life goes on.
The moonlight in the concrete was more mesmerizing than the fireworks. His head craned down.
How long does any of it take, really?
The phone clattered against the coffee table, trembling with stronger vibrations. Someone was calling.
He couldn't pretend for others anymore.
He was tired.
So fucking tired.
He didn't want to die. He wasn't scared to live.
All he wanted was that space in between the sky and the ground.
Because, beyond it all, he was alone and that would never change. He was a sadistic child in an adult's body that forgot how to love. He gave everything to prevent the creation of others like him, but he'd never change.
Being honest for once in his fucking life, he didn't want to.
A light scraping noise came from the hallway. The doorknob to his apartment jostled, since it was locked.
None of it reached him.
He wasn't made to live or to die, and he just wanted a hug.
He wanted warmth, comfort, and someone who'd understand. He needed someone to slowly drag their fingers through his hair and tell him that this wasn't his fault. Someone to tell him that none of it should've happened to him.
But even then, nothing would change.
And he'd probably hate it.
That was okay—for lack of a better term, all of it was okay.
He'd still have his place between the sky and the ground, so he leaned forward and let himself fall.