Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mob wakes up first. His alarm, nothing more than a quiet rumble, is enough to open his eyes to streaks of golden hair.

Teru is fast asleep still, and his chest rises and falls gently with each breath.

The mornings are especially captivating. His dusting of freckles, nearly invisible over the bridge of his nose. Light scars that trace over patches of skin. Messy hair stuck to his forehead by night creams used to fade those same scars away. Teru is ethereal— routine polished to a point so sharp he almost feels otherworldly by the time he puts his shoes on. There are days Mob worries he may sprout wings and fly away.
But it’s his own choice to cover his beautifully human imperfections, and Mob doesn’t judge Teru for it. Rather, he savors the mornings where he can drink in the view and remind himself how lucky he is that Teru is here and real beside him. That they’re connected— flaws and all.

Eventually, Mob’s staring becomes troublesome, and his overwhelming affection kicks him into kissing Teru’s forehead, then his temple, then his lips. When he lifts himself up, Teru’s eyes are just blinking open, still half asleep. Mob kisses him one more time, at the corner of his mouth and Teru shoots awake, scrambling up to press his lips to Mob’s like he can’t believe he was asleep for any part of it, and kisses Mob like it’s the first and last time he’ll ever be able to.

All of Teru's kisses are like that— profound and overwhelming. As if he needs to drink up as much of Mob as he can before the rug is pulled from him and he’s never allowed to again. It’s a bit heartbreaking, to think Teru still can’t accept how much he’s wanted— that he doesn’t feel secure enough to know Mob won’t leave despite Mob only ever giving him reasons to think otherwise. Teru adores him. Mob knows it, because he’s never felt affection so strongly from anyone else. Mob has never felt anything as strongly as he does when he’s with Teru. It’s a little terrifying, but more than that, it’s exhilarating. Mob, in all of his strangeness, is lucky enough to have landed in the arms of someone who understands exactly who he is, and who loves all of him with an intensity Mob never thought he’d be on the receiving end of. Someone limitlessly interesting, creative, kind, and warm. Who is like him in all the ways he needs and different in all the ways he loves. Who Mob trusts. Who, despite everything, trusts Mob too.
Maybe it’s greedy. When Teru does finally realize he is here to stay, Mob hopes he’ll still kiss him like he’s going to lose him.

Teru’s alarm goes off then, and he silences it with a groan, sighs, pulls Mob close again to bury his head in his shoulder, and a moment later, breaks their embrace and stands up to start his morning— all of it too fast and over too soon for Mob, who grabs his wrist before he can leave.

Teru smiles, “Either pull me back in, or I’m dragging you into the shower with me.”

Mob weighs his options, and follows Teru to the bathroom.

Mob washes Teru’s hair with the mountain of products placed in his hands and Teru returns the favor when he’s done, hands rubbing soft circles into Mob's scalp. His laugh pours out sweet golden tones as he tries to dry their hair simultaneously with one blow dryer. There’s a scar on the back of his ear. His roots are growing in. His nails are scuffed and dyed purple from an ongoing project.
Mob loves him madly.

The consequence of their slow morning is an on-the-go breakfast as they rush to the train. Teru’s earrings dangle and sway with the motion of it once they board. He’s in a light blue suit with snapdragons embroidered on the lapel and Mob is in blue socks with popsicles on them— worn to indulge Teru’s daily request that they match. It's a request that Mob has never refused. Teru looks up from his phone and smiles at him, deep blue eyes warm and loving as they gaze at Mob. A gentle hand traces a feather touch along the back of Mob’s own.

The train pulls into the station and they part ways, but not without a light kiss goodbye. Teru’s hand slips from Mob’s and he reminds him he’ll be working late tonight, but he’ll see him at lunch and try to make it home before Mob falls asleep. Mob stops him before he can leave and kisses him again. Teru matches it like he's going to war, before waving goodbye.
They’ve been together two years and at this moment Mob thinks, in so many words, that he’d like to live like this for the rest of his life.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you in today, Mob,” Reigen says as Mob sits in his office at lunch. Teru is with him, chatting on the plush chairs with Serizawa. “Well, I’ve got big news. Apparently word’s finally gotten out about our old exploits into the realm of urban legends and…” He flourishes his hand, “The Esper Branch has given us a legendary case. Spirits and Such is going international.”

Mob nods.

“Are you picking up what I’m putting down?”

Mob shakes his head.

“We got a job! In America! Taking down some kind of…” Reigen hunts for a description and gives up just as easily, “Well, whatever it is, it’s about to net us some crazy acclaim.”

“Did I hear America?” Teru pops his head up.

“You sure did,” Reigen says, and throws a hand down on Mob’s shoulder, “I’ll be borrowing your better half for a week next month to get rid of an urban legend there.”

Huh?

“Me?” Mob blinks.

“Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta deal with the thing and Katsuya needs to stay to keep the business running.”

Mob frowns, “... But my practice can close for a week?”

Reigen flinches, then sighs like Mob is the one being ridiculous, “Mob, it’s a lot easier to reschedule appointments than it is to make up for lost walk-ins. Not to mention, this is a great opportunity! Don’t you want to travel?”

“What part of the country?” Teru asks with a curious grin.

Reigen slaps his hand down on Mob’s shoulder again, like it’s all already set in stone, “New Jersey. Eliminating something called the uh,” he flips around and snags a paper to scrutinize from his desk, “Jersey Devil.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s pretty famous and Jersey is close to my old college,” Teru explains, “I’d say you could visit my friends while you’re there but I think they all live on the west coast now. You’d be stuck with my parents in Maine,” he laughs.

“See?! Such knowledge! Mob, this is a perfect opportunity to get to know the world! Think about how un-traveled you are in comparison!”

It clicks for Mob then, “You need an english interpreter.”

Reigen freezes mid-motion.

“The branch won’t provide one?” Mob asks Teru.

“Mmm… there’s probably someone to explain the job once you get there.” Teru's phone buzzes then, and he curses under his breath, “There it is. Sorry guys, I’ve gotta run, I have a training session for a branch out of town.” He stands up, briefcase slung over his shoulder, “Shige, if you want to go, I’ll help you reschedule your appointments. Traveling is fun, you should think about it.”

Mob hesitates, but in the end he’s powerless to Teru’s endless charm, “…I’ll think about it.”

He feels Reigen fist pump behind him.

“Ok,” Teru smiles, “Bye, guys! I’ll see you at home, Shige.”

And like the final light of a setting sun, Teru is gone.

Mob is set on an errand to bring back food and as he sets down hot takoyaki on Reigen's desk, he asks, “Master Reigen, how did you propose to Mr. Serizawa?”

Reigen chokes.

After a short coughing fit and a moment of recovery, Reigen is back in order but no amount more excited to answer Mob’s question. Ah. That’s right. Master Reigen doesn’t do well talking about these kinds of things.
So it’s really no surprise when he says, “You know, I think our next client is outside so I’m just gonna go let them in. Katsuya do you mind—”

Serizawa looks up at his name and Reigen makes some sort of gestural face at him as he exits the office.
Mob's anticipatory gaze makes the half listened-to conversation click.

“Oh,” Serizawa says, “sure, yeah, why don’t you come over here and I’ll tell you about it.”

Reigen gives good advice, but he’s naturally closed off. Mob has always accepted that he wants to hide parts of himself away, even though he’s told Mob not to follow suit many times. Through his tenure at Spirits and Such, Serizawa has helped ease a bit of openness and honesty from Reigen, but he still has a ways to go.
Which is why in matters of the heart, when Mob isn’t looking for advice but rather earnest wisdom, it’s not unusual for Reigen to pawn Mob off on Serizawa. He doesn’t have the hard hitting answers Reigen does, but he is refreshingly honest and helpful in his own way.

“Ah…” Serizawa laughs nervously, “Neither of us really… proposed. You know, we couldn't get married for a long time, and by the time we could, we’d been together for nearly a decade and it felt… gratuitous? Or, I guess we just didn't think much about it.” he gathers his papers, “It was actually my mom who brought it up and suggested we finally tie the knot. So, we got talking and eventually we started setting some concrete plans." Serizawa smiles, "I guess looking back it wasn't all that exciting."

"You had engagement rings.”

“Oh,” Serizawa looks around, face slowly creeping red, “well,” he nods, “we did… have those. I guess we did… propose more traditionally.”

Maybe he’s not good at talking about this kind of thing either. 

“I’m not sure if it really counts since we did it after deciding to get married. But, I’d bought a ring and our anniversary happened to fall about a week after that. At the end of our anniversary dinner I held out the ring box and he was…” Serizawa gestures in a half shrug, like he can’t figure out the exact words, “ Silent . Staring at it. And I thought he must think this is just so ridiculous. A proposal after we already picked a wedding date and had been together so long. But, uh, he dropped the stare eventually. I remember him sighing before he reached into his pocket and held out a ring he’d gotten to propose on the same night.” Serizawa softens at the memory, “I guess I should have seen it coming.”

Mob smiles. Would something like that happen with him and Teru? Probably not. Teru isn’t the kind of person to propose, even if Mob thinks it’s clear he would say yes. He doesn’t like to pressure Mob into anything— rather he waits for Mob to give an inch and then fills every corner of it that he can.

“What’s got you so curious, anyway?” Serizawa asks.

“Mm. Today I thought… I might propose to Teruki.”

“Wow! That’s big.”

Reigen returns then, no client in tow. When he sees them sitting there he quirks an eyebrow, “Still talking about this?”

“Shigeo is—” Serizawa starts and stops, then gestures at Mob to fill the rest of the words in.

“I’m considering proposing to Teruki.”

“Oh?” Reigen grins, “Tying the knot, huh?” Seems it’s easy for him to talk about when he’s not the subject, “Think he’ll say yes?”

Mob opens his mouth to answer, of course, but the words don’t form. 

Of course Teru will say yes. Right? Teru loves him.

But as Mob thinks about it, the further he strays from that confident answer. Teru seems to view their relationship as a gift Mob has given him— a temporary wayside until Mob inevitably moves on. Mob knows his own feelings. He is not with Teru out of the kindness of his heart and he does not see him as a passing phase. He doesn’t need a relationship, but he’s in one with Teru because it’s Teru. He wants to spend his life with him not because he wants marriage, but because he wants Teru. There is no pity or justification. Mob loves him as selfishly as possible.

But even if Mob is confident in his feelings, if he asks for Teru’s hand, what will he think? Will he say ‘I don’t deserve this’? Will he see it as a gesture to appease Teru’s one sided desires?

“I’m not sure,” Mob admits. Is he overthinking this?

“Of course he will,” Reigen pats his shoulder, “I was just messing with you.”

Reigen's advice is good. But he’s not always right.

That night, Teru shows up after Mob has gone to bed but before he falls asleep. The sound of the open door and shoes being kicked off stirs a giddy excitement in Mob’s chest. The same anticipation he gets whenever he’s going to see Teru soon.

He isn’t left in suspense for long— Teru nearly beelines it for their bedroom, a beam of light spilling in as he opens and closes the door. Mob pretends to be asleep. He’s not sure why. Maybe to get a glimpse at Teru without the restraints he puts on himself— willing to let himself kiss Mob’s temple or brush a hand through his hair without questioning if he’d be pushed away for doing so. Teru does these exact things, and it makes Mob wonder.

Why?

Why does he assume Mob would ever reject him?

Mob stirs awake as naturally as he knows how, and his eyes meet Teru’s. Teru’s gaze is warm.

“Hi,” Teru whispers.

Mob smiles, and tugs him down for a kiss that Teru is only too eager to meet.

“Teru,” Mob says when they part, “you know I love you.”

Teru stiffens. “…but?”

It’s so confusing. Trying to figure him out. “No,” Mob explains, “that’s all.”

“Oh,” Teru relaxes, laughs a little, “I love you too,” He says it like he always does— like it’s burning a hole in him. Like he’ll never get to say it again.

Mob doesn't know why. Why Teru would assume he’s unwanted. But he will figure it out. And he will fix it. And then he will ask Teru to be his.

I will make you say yes to me.

The next day, Mob knocks on Ritsu’s office door.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” Ritsu staples a stack of documents together as Mob steps inside.

“Ritsu… Can I ask you something?”

“You want some of my lunch?”

“Ah, uh… no.” Mob sits down in the client chair, “I wanted your opinion on something.”

“Hm?” Ritsu pauses his tasks, “sure.”

“Well,” Mob isn’t sure how to put it, or if he wants to spill too many details about Teru without his permission, “Recently… I haven’t been sure if… Teruki still likes me,” he attempts to circumvent the issue by reversing their roles.

“What?” Ritsu’s face warps in confusion, then he resumes his document fiddling, “You don’t need to worry about that, Shige. The guy’s totally obsessed with you.”

“But, ah—” he could have phrased that better.

“But… what, is he not being affectionate enough?” Ritsu cringes in on himself a little when he says it, “Sorry, Shige, I’m not really the person to ask about this kind of thing.”

Affection. Mob doesn’t think he’s stingy with it, but he’s also painfully aware of his own shortcomings in knowing what is too much and too little. 

So he tests it. He comes home to Teru at his work table, knee deep in fabric and the moment the presser foot is lifted, Mob wraps his arms around Teru’s shoulders and kisses him— lips, jaw, neck— nonstop until Teru parts them with deep breaths and a beet red face.

“Woah,” he smiles, flustered, “what did I do to deserve all this?”

Ah.

“Nothing,” Mob explains. Teru doesn’t need to do anything to deserve his love.

Apparently that isn’t the right answer. Teru’s reply is a silent confusion as his smile slowly drops. His hand, on Mob’s arm, tightens ever so slightly, like he’s worried Mob will slip away from him suddenly. Like his kiss was a final goodbye. Why? Why does he think that?

It’s not a lack of affection. But Mob still has no answer.

He finds himself back at Spirits and Such for the second time that week.

“Master Reigen,” he starts, and he doesn’t risk twisting the story this time, “I think Teruki is under the impression I don’t like him as much as he likes me.”

“Hm?” Reigen has a burger halfway shoved down his throat when Mob speaks up. Serizawa is out on a client call so it’s just the two of them. Reigen swallows, “What makes you say that?”

“Sometimes I feel like… he is restraining himself from getting close or showing affection because he’s afraid of being rejected. Or that I will leave.”

“You given him a reason to think so?”

Mob shakes his head, “not that I know of.”

Reigen takes another bite, and considers his answer as he swallows it, “If it’s not you then it’s probably him. You've been dating for two years, just ask him.”

If Reigen thinks so, then it must be time to try.

“Hey, Teru,” He calls to him that evening.

Teru looks up at Mob with big, deep blue eyes. “What’s up?” He asks, light and curious. His voice… Mob loves his voice. Just on the edge of nasally, and so expressive. Every word he speaks feels like a song. With just those two words he feels it. Mob could listen to him talk all day.

Mob snaps himself from wandering thoughts. “I—” he pauses. How does he ask? Do you feel unwanted? Why do you wait for me to reach out to you, and hesitate when it’s the other way around?
The possibilities feel accusatory. Intrusive. In the end, Mob’s cowardice over his own lack of tact wins and all he says is, “I love you.”

And Teru replies, “I love you too.”

He struggles with this for days, until the answer appears on its own.

Teru finishes a commissioned piece and it brings him to a milestone in sales. He stares as it hangs on his dress form, face flushed with pride, then smiles at Mob, who meets it with his own.

Mob’s smile drops, though, when Teru picks up his phone. Mob doesn’t need to see to know he’s messaging his parents. It’s not an unusual occurrence, as much as Mob dislikes it, and this time too, Teru spends the rest of the evening checking his messages and fidgeting as he waits for a response they both know won’t come. He steps out onto the balcony and watches the city lights. He goes from hopeful to irritable, distracted— flip flopping between anger, and sadness. Mob sees him throw his phone onto their couch from the kitchen. 

When Teru crawls into bed with him at the end of the night, his breath shakes. Mob hopes Teru will press in close and seek out his comfort, but he stays to his side, alone, unwilling to burden Mob with his weakness. So Mob takes the first step, pulls him close, and Teru clings to him desperately in response.

“Sorry,” Teru says, “I shouldn’t put this on you.”

“I want you to.” Mob answers simply. It’s the crux of it all— Teru’s fear to reach out, but the simple truth is that he could come to Mob with the worst of the worst, and as long as he’s there with it, Mob will take all of it happily.

Teru just nods, lost in his own mind.

Mob has found his “Why?” And it’s been replaced with an exceptionally more difficult “How?”

How does Mob undo a lifetime of abandonment? 

“Master Reigen,” Mob says. He’s at Spirits and Such for the 3rd time this week and it’s starting to feel like he’s back in middle school, “I need some advice.”

“Again? Starting to feel like old times, huh?” Reigen replies, psychic in every way but his powers.

Mob values his and Teru’s privacy, but he’s feeling more and more unequipped to tackle this situation by the moment. Teru has always been so good— he makes everything clear, he’s patient and kind. He’s self sufficient, sure, but he’s not an island. They talk— the both of them— about anything and everything. Teru sorts him out on rough days and Mob would like to think he does the same in return.
Which makes this— this nebulous distance so hard. Teru’s fear of rejection, his abandonment issues, they’ve never felt like a problem, because unlike everything else, he’s never brought them up.
It’s clear they are. That they have been since the start. It’s just now that Mob has finally taken notice of it.
But Teru doesn’t want to talk about it— for whatever reasons Mob can only speculate. And he is much too tactful for Mob to weave through and attempt to broach it.

It’s difficult to pose his question to Reigen. Anything too vague feels like a waste of time, but anything too specific feels intrusive.

“What I spoke to you about last time…” Mob begins and stops. He still isn’t sure what to say. Hopefully Reigen understands with just that much.

“Yeah. You figure it out?”

“I’m pretty sure the source of the issue is Teruki’s parents.”

“Figures.”

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You think you can?”

“I’d like to try.”

Reigen thinks on this for a moment, and a flash of an idea seems to cross his mind but rather than stating it outright, he holds for a minute, chewing the inside of his cheek and tapping a pen against his desk.

“So the root of the issue, you said you think it’s…”

“His parents.”

Reigen nods, looking around the room, inconspicuous, “Right. And his parents… where do they live?”

“Maine.”

“Right. And Maine is in…” Reigen raises his eyebrows.

“America.”

“And… is there anyone you know that will be going to this part of the world who just so happens to have an extra plane ticket if one would want to join him…?”

“Master…” 

Reigen waves his hands wildly, “Woah, woah, woah, before you say no just think about it. It’s a pretty good chance to tackle this at the root.”

Mob’s assumed advice had been more along the lines of what to say to Teru rather than his parents, but Reigen’s wisdom has a decent track record, so he doesn’t shoot him down, “Do you think that will help?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Reigen says and it feels closer to honesty than anything else so far, “You could always tell them to get back in contact with him. At least gives him a chance to work it out with them. Plus, you wouldn’t want to send your master alone into the dangerous brush, would you?”

Asking Teru’s parents to communicate with him. It’s not the worst idea Reigen has ever had and surely not the worst advice Mob has ever heard. He’d rather Teru not actually contact them anymore, but he doesn’t get to be the one to decide that. Plus… he trusts Teru. When given the means to work through his problems, he solves them with a nearly mechanical precision. Given the means, he’ll surely work through this too, even if it means just gaining closure.

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of Mob wants to give Teru’s parents a piece of his mind. 

Then, once everything is in order, he’ll ask Teru for his hand.

“I’ll have to ask Teruki if it’s alright with him,” Mob finally says.

Reigen begrudgingly accepts that Mob didn’t outright reject him, and holds out placating hands, “A little nuance when you do, OK? Try not to go guns blazing, that kid’s got a lot of pride.”

Mob stands up to leave, “I know.”

Mob gets home late that night, held up with extra filing to help Ritsu with a recent case. Teru doesn’t notice when he walks in, and Mob withholds himself from calling out when he sees what he’s up to.

He’s got a coat on— just a draft— and stands in front of the mirror fiddling with it. It’s held, buttonless, against his frame and as he turns to see different angles. He grins, does a little pose, and salutes his own reflection with two fingers traced from his forehead. The grin is dropped as soon as the pose is and he fusses with the shoulder seams, pulling down on the sleeves where they sit too short above his hands. One more glance at the mirror and he says, “I’ll have to…” he pulls the sleeve down again, “what is that, like two centimeters?”

Teru is a big talker, even when no one’s listening. A symptom of growing up in an empty apartment, maybe. Where no one else would fill the silence. Not that Mob minds, of course. He loves to listen to him. 

“Um…” Mob finally speaks up and Teru jumps. When he realizes it's just Mob, he lets out a sigh of relief before shuffling to him with giggles pouring from his lips. 

To think he’d get to a point where his guard at home isn’t always up. They’re still doing good, despite it all.

“Oh god, oh no,” he leans into Mob's chest, “how long have you been standing there.”

“Maybe three minutes.”

Teru wails, then laughs. Mob pulls him close.
Flowery language and metaphor are not Mob’s forte, but moments like these make him wish he could describe the comfort of having Teru in his arms. His warmth. His scent. Mob cannot dress them up in beautiful words, but he feels everything in the spaces where those words would go.

Mob murmurs, where his cheek is pressed against Teru’s temple, “I’m thinking of joining Master Reigen on his trip to America.”

Teru pulls back enough to look at him, “Really?” He’s got a light smile on his face— not ecstatic, though if Teru told Mob he were leaving for a week, Mob would probably have the same bittersweet reaction. He separates from Mob to shimmy out of the coat draft and drop it on his sewing table, “That’s great! You should!”

“I don’t think he could do it alone, anyways.”

Teru hums, then glances playfully at Mob, “The people of New Jersey might be upset with you if you get rid of their devil. I think it’s a bit of a tourist attraction.”

“We’ll be gone before they find out.”

Teru fiddles with the collar of the coat as it lays on the table, then asks, “Got anyone to see while you’re out there?”

“You said we could visit your parents, right?”

Teru laughs at that, “You gonna go beat up my dad?”

“I’m thinking a stern talking to.”

Before Mob knows it, Teru is back with him, threading their fingers together and swinging Mob’s hands around, “Did I ever tell you how ugly their house is? It’s in this gated waterfront community in Cape Elizabeth and it’s this hideous beige. Everyone else has these nice brick historical homes or recreations but they remodeled theirs all modern and it’s so ugly .” He grips Mob’s hands tight and leans back, letting Mob support him, “I was so embarrassed when I visited them. A beige house with a plain grass lawn. Next to their neighbor who had a full rose garden. Like, plant some sunflowers. A cute door trim. Anything.”

Mob pulls Teru back in and Teru naturally releases his hands to wrap them around Mob’s neck, prattling on about exterior and landscape design. Mob closes his eyes and lets the sound of Teru’s voice fill his ears. 

All day. He could listen to him all day.

“You want to move to the couch?” Teru says amidst his chatter. Oh. He'd been by the doorway for a while, huh.

Mob nods.

Reigen had told him to be tactful when asking Teru about his parents, but Teru wasn’t put off by Mob’s request at all. In fact, he’s taken it surprisingly well. 

All that’s left now is to reschedule a week’s worth of appointments…

The plane ride is longer than Mob expects. He’s got a suitcase pocket full of talking points, rehearsed between appointments to a level where he’s confident he won’t choke. Reigen can’t back him up, so he’s got to do all the talking himself.

Before getting on the train to the airport, Teru kissed him at their door, long and longing— eyes boring into Mob’s own once they parted. He held his hand, a final tether, then, with a smile said, “text me your hotel address when you get there, OK? I want to send you a postcard.”

“Okay. Though a text is faster.”

“Tome can’t be the only one who appreciates my stationary.”

Mob, overcome with a sudden sadness at his simple statement— missing Teru’s endless charm already, even before stepping out of their apartment, kissed him again, and again, and again, until his phone rang out to leave or miss his flight.

Teru waved goodbye from the balcony. Mob watched his hand and thought absently that soon, it’d have a ring.

So here he is, now, boarding his flight beside his mentor. It’s 7pm. The flight is 13 hours.

Reigen spends the first hour haggling with the flight crew to get free wi-fi, before attempting to ‘hack’ into it himself. This lasts three hours, before Mob pays the $8 to stop his headache inducing key smashing.
After that, Mob spends the next hour rehearsing talking points in his head, then sleeps for a restless seven. The final two hours are spent chatting with Reigen about tourist attractions he’d looked up in the area, and where they’d stay during the week. The Jersey Devil is not brought up once.

His back and legs are sore when he disembarks from the plane, but Mob is here. For the first time in his life. He gazes out the airport window at the pale blue sky and the shocking expanse of open space. 

“Long way from Seasoning, huh?” Reigen says. Mob nods.

There’s a government official at baggage claim to brief them and guide them to their hotel. His Japanese leaves something to be desired, so Mob interprets on their way. It’s about an hour drive to the Pine Barrens area, and Mob catches a glance of Reigen’s phone open to the American cryptids wiki as they drive.

“Did you know the Jersey Devil was supposedly someone’s 13th kid who turned into a devil after being cursed by its mother?” Reigen says after they drop their luggage off in their room. He passes a key card to Mob.

“I know.”

“Well, did you know it lets out a blood curdling human scream before it attacks you?” Reigen smirks like he’s telling a scary story. He opens the door to let Mob out first.

“I know.”

“Wh—” the door clunks shut behind them and they walk to the elevators, “How do you know that?”

“Teruki told me,” Mob presses the down button. They step into the elevator. “He used to be the head of research at the branch before he was reassigned, remember?”

“Right.” Reigen nods, looking pensive. A light travels along the buttons, indicating their descent, “does he think it’s dangerous?”

“Yes.” Mob steps out from the elevator.

Reigen catches up to him with a scurry as they leave the hotel for lunch.

Seasoning City is not packed like other major cities in Japan, but the sight before Mob as he steps out into Toms River, NJ, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

Sprawling. That’s the only word that comes to mind. As if someone had taken a city and spread it out over a country. The hotel parking lot alone could account for the entirety of Mob’s old neighborhood.

They get food at the closest joint on the map which is still farther than Mob has ever had to walk just to get a bite to eat and as they chow down on chain restaurant pancakes Reigen asks, “How dangerous do you think it is?”

“Urban legends get their strength from being believed. How many people do you think fear the dragger?”

“Probably all of Japan. Except you.” Reigen pauses, “Why? You don’t think this is just a state legend?”

Mob had actually asked Teru this same question, as they ate dinner and Teru’s feet tapped along the bridge of his own, “Well, it’s not as famous as Bigfoot,” Teru said, “But it’s up there.”

“I’ve been told most Americans know of it.”

Reigen stares at him for a moment, before rapidly typing something into his phone. He chokes, locks it, and says, despite everything, “You can handle it.”

Mob nods, “Yes I can.”

Their first day is spent wandering the suburbs of the American East and fighting jet lag, but it’s no trouble. Tickets to Maine are for the fourth day of their trip— played cautious just in case.

Laying in his rock-hard hotel queen bed that night, Mob pulls his phone from its charging spot and opens his contacts. He’d texted Teru all his hotel info earlier, as well as a quick message that he’d landed safely, of course. He stares at the glowing light of his phone and considers, with no lack of yearning, calling to tell Teru about the stark differences of this town and Seasoning. About the flight. How much he misses him. But the time zone difference has him face to face with his photo gallery instead— scrolling through memories to avoid bugging Teru in the middle of his work.

Some are recent, and some are very old. Mob has trouble letting any pictures go, sentimental as he is. He pauses on one that’s practically ancient at this point— of himself, Teru, and Ritsu at a theme park. They were fourteen. Serizawa and Reigen had chaperoned. It’s a selfie posed with themed drinks that Teru had taken and sent to him. Mob doesn’t remember this moment, but he remembers the afterward— getting lost with Teru and navigating their way back to the group together. Teru had quelled his worries with a smile and his boundless good humor. Mob flips to the next image, of the view from the top of the observation tower they’d tried. It hadn’t done much good in finding anyone at all, but even now, all these years later, the memory stirs something within Mob.
He flips back to the last picture. Of him and Teru pressed close to fit in frame. Had Teru loved him even back then?

Mob kept him waiting so long— does he even have the right to ask for more years from him? For all of them?

He locks his phone with a sigh, and the room goes dark. Reigen lies in his bed a few feet away. They’ve got a long week ahead of them.

Day two has their noses to the ground. Mob has never been a bad sleeper, so his jet lag is basically gone after one night and it’s a good thing because Reigen is not only deathly tired still, but totally incapable of gathering clues from the local townspeople on the location of their legend.

Mob isn’t particularly good at it though— armed without Reigen’s silver tongue or charisma, his only crutch is a print-out of an ink drawing from the internet. He asks varieties of “have you seen this before?” or “do you know where I can find this?” which either nets him a hardy laugh or a rehearsed show for tourist ghost hunters so piteous and put-upon that even Mob can’t take it seriously.
Reigen commends him, even when they fail, and his encouragement is welcome because without it Mob would have crumbled under the pressure after their first inquiry and given up all together after their first mocking.

“My feet are killing me,” Reigen says as they recoup at a curb. The road is empty and beyond it lies unkempt, green bramble, “feels like we’ve been walking all day and barely talked to anyone.”

That’s putting it lightly. 

“Would it kill this town to get a decent train system? Consistent sidewalks?” Reigen adds, “even just a couple of vending machines. I’m dying of thirst over here.”

No one in this empty expanse of a town but Mob is around to hear Reigen’s plea.

The evening road leads them to a convenience store— an oasis in a concrete desert. Automatic doors usher them in and the sight inside is fluorescent, cheap, and saturated. Employees, a teen girl and a woman who looks well past retirement, stand at the registers chatting quietly to themselves. When Mob walks up, the older woman cuts herself off and the teen silently asks ‘how can I help you’ with a dead stare.

“Um…” Mob begins. Reigen is already missing from his side, captivated by foreign novelty and skipping through the place like a kid in a candy store, “Do you know anything about this?” Mob sets the illustration on the counter.

The workers both peer at it, then up at him, incredulous.

“The Jersey Devil,” Mob adds, pathetically.

“ Mob! ” Reigen calls out from beside the slushie machine, “ look how big these cups are! ”

Mob glances at him, then back. The teen girl is kind enough to throw him a bone and says, “Yeah, we know. It’s just an old urban legend, it’s not actually real.”

“Have you heard any recent rumors about it? Locations of sightings?”

“I just said it’s not real.”

“Ah— even so… the culture surrounding it…”

“Anyone who says they’ve seen it is either crazy or lying.”

“…Anything you’ve heard would be helpful.”

“ Hey, Mob, ” Reigen says, back at his side now with a XL drink in hand. He’s giddy. “ Tell them we’ve got the same store back home but it’s way different. ”

The older woman glances between him and Reigen, “What language is that?”

“Japanese.”

“You’re from Japan and you visited here? ” The teen asks.

“For work.”

She looks incredulous. “In your off time you’ve decided to go cryptid hunting…?”

“ What are they saying, Mob? ”

“Uh, no,” Mob explains, “This is the work. We’ve been hired by the government to take care of this urban legend.” He turns to Reigen, “ I’m explaining why we’re here. ”

The two cashiers revitalize with interest and the girl asks, “Government… Really? Are you with the CIA?”

Mob blinks, “The… CIA?”

“Oh, sorry. The Japanese CIA,” she clarifies.

Mob doesn’t know what it stands for, so he circumvents it as best as he knows how, “I’m just supporting for this job. My mas— uh, Reigen is a representative for the psychic division of the Japanese government.”

“ I heard my name. You’re talking about me? ” 

“ I told them your job title. ” so many conversations going on, “So any information you have about this urban legend is helpful. Especially recent rumors.”

Reigen brandishes two business cards and passes them along. Well, at least his name is written in English.

The two workers accept them despite the sudden randomness and the girl says, “The classic rumor is that it’s over in the Pine Barrens, but my classmates used to try and scare each other by claiming they saw it outside the school.”

“The Pine Barrens are what I’ve always heard too,” the old woman adds, “does all of this mean it’s real?”

Mob hesitates to answer. He doesn’t want to scare anyone and he’s barely grasped the existence of urban legends himself, “It’s—… complicated.”

Withholding information only makes him more mysterious, and curiosity grips the two further. That’s fine. The more they’re willing to talk, the better.

“Is it dangerous?” They ask.

“I’d like to ask you the same.”

They glance at each other and in the space Reigen asks, again, “ What are you talking about now? ”

“I’ve never seen it,” the teen replies, “I don’t know.”

“The papers used to write about livestock attacks, but not really human ones.”

“ Mob. ”

“Ok. Then my last question is— are you afraid of it?”

“I used to be scared of it, when I was a girl,” the older woman answers.

“Yeah, when I’d walk home at night I used to freak out that I’d see it. Everyone in town’s probably been scared of it at some point.”

“And outside of town?”

“I doubt it,” the girl shrugs.

“The rumors don’t mention it much outside of the woods,” the old woman says, “so non-locals don’t have anything to worry about. It’s mostly a novelty and tourist attraction. If you get rid of him we might not get interesting visitors like you anymore!”

“Ah,” Mob remembers Teru’s same words. They might be upset if you get rid of their devil. “… I um—”

“Just kidding,” the woman laughs, “I’m sure some proof would do just the opposite.”

How lucky. This pit-stop has proven to be the most useful of the day. “I see,” Mob answers, “thank you for your time. We’ll leave n—” Reigen stops him as he goes to turn away and brandishes the slushie in his hand, “Um. And this… Please.”

“Hoo! That’s sweet.” Reigen holds out the drink and Mob takes a sip.

It is.

Mob goes over his notes with Reigen as they trek back to their hotel and the sun sets low in the sky. Not much new information has been gleaned through their investigation but the fact that rumors haven’t evolved in the past few decades is a key piece of information in itself. If it wasn’t for Mob’s social shortcomings and Reigen’s language barrier they might have gotten more, but this is enough for now.

Teru would be good to have here , Mob thinks offhand. He’s got the capability and the charm.

With nothing else to do in this suburban desert and most businesses closed before the sun even set, former mentor and student return to their hotel to rest and prep for the upcoming hunt.

“Hello? Shige?”

Mob stands just outside of the hotel the next morning. Reigen is still in their room getting ready— Mob had set his alarm earlier as a time buffer to call Teru, craving his conversation.

“Hi, Teruki. Am I calling too late?”

It’s around midnight in Seasoning.

“No, I’m still awake. How’s Jersey?”

“Empty.”

Teru laughs bright and loud. Mob wants to melt into the speaker of his phone.

“I’m so glad I ended up back in Japan instead of one of those suburbs.”

Mob nods, “How is home?” It’s a basic question, but he'll ask a thousand more just to hear Teru’s voice.

Teru sighs lightly, “It’s fine… I ended up going out with some of my older students after work today and that was fun.”

“Sounds nice. What did you wear?”

There’s a split second pause on the line before Teru says, quiet, “You… want to know my outfit?”

Hm?
“Of course. I always look forward to seeing it.”

The bright unabashed colors and patterns. The love, commitment and thought. Mob had grown up wearing plenty of unorthodox things too— bright colors and mascot tees— though he wouldn’t call himself stylish by comparison. His wardrobe was mostly hand picked by his mom, all the way to college, when he realized he’d have to curate clothes on his own.

It’s just easier to wear plain dark tones. Neutrals. Automatically professional without thinking about it. No worries over looking foolish or standing out. Colors are fine for a child but as an adult they turn heads, and understanding where charming turns to gaudy feels impossible and easy to mess up. He has his socks and that’s as far as Mob will push it.

Teru is different, though. He revels in stares— born to stand out. The bolder, the brighter, the more interesting the better. He is a beacon of color and pattern as he walks down the street. Strangers whisper. Work reprimands him. Clothing may not mean much in Mob’s life, but it means everything to Teru. 

And that passion means everything to Mob. In every way, Teru brings color to his life.

“I changed out of it but it was my denim outfit.”

“Which one?”

“The cropped jacket with the embroidered pockets and pant hems.”

Mob remembers this one fondly. One of the few projects that dragged Teru away from his sewing table to the couch with a hoop and needle in hand, where Mob could hold him close as he worked.

“I thought you had to wear suits to work.”

“Haven’t you heard the term ‘Canadian tuxedo?’ and I put on my bolo tie. It technically flies.”

Mob smiles. Always pushing the boundaries. “And which pair of pajamas now?”

There's a long pause on the line, before Teru quietly says, “None. I’m, uh, in… one of your… sleep shirts.”

…His?
Mob chokes on air. They’ve been together for two years and moments like this still make his brain short circuit.

“Sorry,” Teru adds after Mob fails to say a single word in response, “Are you upset?”

“No.” Mob can feel heat rise to his face. He flounders on the line, wanting to tell Teru just how upset he isn’t , but he hesitates for a myriad of reasons, no small part of it the fact that he lacks tact on the best of days and he’s outside where anyone can hear, so he says, “I like that. I— um. I really like it. I’ll… explain better when I get back.”

A nerve wracking silence passes, and Mob prays Teru can make out the meaning of his nonsense. A sly “Hmm…?” emerges from the line. The grin on Teru’s face is audible, “Well, then I guess I’ll find out once you get home.”

The good news is that Teru definitely understood. The bad news is that now he’s got a loaded piece of ammunition to one-shot Mob the moment he gets back.

“I— ah. Mm. Ok. Yes. Ok.” Mob can feel how red he is.

“Okay,” Teru laughs, then hesitantly says, “Um… Shige, I wanted to tell you—”

“Hey, Mob,”

Mob jumps nearly a foot in the air at Reigen's sudden appearance. 

“Shige…? You ok?” Teru asks through the line.

“Woah, sorry didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, is that Reigen? Tell him I said hi.”

“I, uh—” Mob glances between his phone and Reigen, unsure who to respond to first. 

“I’m calling our cab but you’ve gotta do the talking,” Reigen taps on his phone, “Did you want to get breakfast first?”

“Hey, I’ll let you go,” Teru says. Ah, no, not yet—

“Teru— what were you going to say?”

“Oh, um,” a pause, “It’s just— don’t worry about it. You’ll see and then… we’ll talk when you get back.”

“Okay,” Mob replies. That’s good. Whatever it is, they’ll talk about it.

“Have fun with Reigen. I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Me too. Good night.”

“Love you. Bye.”

“Love you.”

Teru’s contact shows barely visible in the glare of the sun. Mob stares at it, then locks his phone.

Reigen holds out his own phone with the cab number typed out on screen.

“Ready to go?”

Breakfast. One more ineffective hunt for information. Lunch. Then, the woods.

The Pine Barrens are thick. Walled with Evergreens on each side of their starting trail— forest floor blanketed in tangled bramble and ferns. Everything is a bright uniform green, lush with the season. It’s not the most beautiful landscape Mob has ever seen but it beats the gray suburb any day. 

“Should’ve come in fall,” Reigen says, a foot or two in front of Mob. In classic fashion, he’s distracted from their real mission by the nature around them.

“Maybe.” They’re early by a few months. Does he want to see the leaves change color? Mushroom hunt? Mob doesn’t ask.

“Alright,” Reigen stops when they’ve lost sight of the trail entrance. He tosses Mob a bag with a flashlight, a few survival amenities, and his unopened bag of pretzels from the flight, “keep your ears sharp and your eyes open. There’s been plenty of daytime sightings so if we’re lucky, we’ll run into it right away.”

They don’t.

Paths diverge, trails end or wrap back to the start, they climb over fallen logs and through shallow streams until the sun begins to set and the sky turns a nervous orange.
They have to find it today. Their trip up north is tomorrow.

Mob barters with himself— the tickets aren’t for later in the day. But Teru warned him to get to American airports extra early. If they don’t find the devil today then the chance they find it within the few hours tomorrow is—

“Mob. Are you listening?”

Mob blinks at Reigen's snapping fingers in his face, “No.”

“Hahh… well, I said it’s getting dark so you’ve gotta start trusting your ears over your eyes. Got your flashlight?”

Mob nods.

“Good. We’ll find this thing.”

The sun dips further, further, until it’s dangerous to walk off-path, though the two do it anyway. Reigen shines his flashlight at whatever small noises pop up. He’s nervous, and for good reason. There’s probably bears around.

Mob doesn’t like walking in the dark. It feels too easy to trip over something unseen, and the circle of light his flashlight makes is useless against the thick leaves that brush past his calves. An old memory of the body improvement club captain advising him to never jog at night, lest he fall and twist something, rings loudly in his head.

Still, he keeps moving.

Flashlights are thankfully tucked back in bags once the moon rises, coating the forest in silver light and illuminating their way. It's beautiful through the forest canopy.

Reigen has never been afraid to show his dissatisfaction on a job and this one is no exception. He calls out to Mob from a few feet ahead, “I feel like we’re going in circles.”

“We should get back on the trail—”

A sudden cry cuts him off. Not close, but not far. They stiffen.

“Let’s go.”

Mob’s heart beats in his chest— he's not afraid of the legend, but rather of scaring it away or never finding it. He tries to soften the noise of his footsteps, and fails.

It’s a desperate hour of searching. Over here. Did he hear something that way? What was that? Mob’s patience is only so generous, but Reigen’s is nothing in comparison and he’s the first one to suggest something unorthodox.

“Mob, float up and scan the area.”

He'd been considering it himself but, “...It makes me nauseous.”

“Then just float me up,” Reigen sounds exasperated, “I’ll look around.”

Mob floats Reigen up gracelessly to the forest canopy.

There’s no need to ask if he sees anything, Reigen will tell him regardless. Before he does though, the shrill cry heard earlier erupts again. Close. Extremely close. Mob turns around.

Standing there in the moonlight, off the beaten path in a patch of clovers, stands a strange monster. Goat’s head and feet, sharp claws and wings— the Jersey Devil is only a handful of steps away. It’s smaller than Mob imagined, and less grotesque than the drawing he’d seen.

“Mob, spin me around.”

“I see it.”

“Huh?!” 

Mob’s hand pulses with aura. He’ll take care of this quickly and then they can finally leave these woods and the swarm of mosquitos that’s been eating him alive.
But he stops suddenly, fingers curling just slightly when he hears its cry again. It’s much softer this time— quiet and droning. It’s eerily familiar. Human, of course, but far from what Mob expected it to sound like. The devil wanders through the clovers slow and confused. Its horizontal eyes fall on Mob for a split second before moving on. Small sounds pour out as it steps small and unsure through the greens.

“Mob, what are you doing!” Reigen squirms in his psychic grasp, “Melt it before it attacks us!”

Mob makes no attempt. He’s thrown off by some part of this experience. The spirit sees them but makes no move forward. It just treads through the greens, crying in a way Mob can’t place.

And then suddenly he realizes. The cries sound just like a child’s.

It paralyzes him.

He steps forward, just once, but in response, the creature backs one step away. Another step forward. Another back. It looks at Mob, no— it looks through him. Urban legends have always tread an uncanny line between spirit and ‘other’, so things were bound to feel strange, but so far, every one of them has been malicious. This is new territory of which Mob has no base to compare.

“ Can you understand me? ” Mob asks it in english, just in case, but it doesn’t so much as twitch with recognition.

“Why are you talking to it?” Reigen asks, spinning a bit as Mob’s concentration strays.

Another step forward, and it responds the same way.

“When…” His eyes stay on the devil as he speaks to Reigen. He feels his throat going dry as his nerves ramp up, “Was the last time it attacked someone?”

“… Last credible report was almost a century ago. Why? You don’t think it’s dangerous?”

Mob glances at him, “I think—” he watches the devil with intent, “it’s just a baby.”

“…ok…” Reigen grumbles, “then put me down I’m starting to get dizzy...”

He lands at Mob’s side. Mob barely notices.

Known by many, feared by few— Mob can only assume the spirit is stuck between its origin and its end. Ageless, but still somehow a child. A monster, but still somehow a human. If the legend only ever spoke of it as a child and then a devil, then that’s what people know it as— both at once.

“Mob,” Reigen puts a hand on his shoulder, “What’s going on?”

If this is just a legend, then does that mean it’s not real? There never was a real child behind this monster? But if it’s not a real spirit then nothing will ever fix its loneliness. Its very existence is predicated on its own abandonment.

“What do you want to do?”

Mob doesn’t know. His life has always been filled with benign spirits and he’s never felt right exorcizing them like malicious ones. Where does a person go when they die? They become a spirit. Beyond that? Things are even less clear for urban legends. Does this one deserve erasure just for existing? A mercy kill as a final means to ease its suffering? The thought makes Mob nauseous, but without words, destruction is all he has.
He steps forward one final time, crouching down with a hand outstretched like beckoning a stray cat. It doesn’t get close. Mob’s fingers curl as he drops his arm, chest filling with profound guilt. 

There is no real serenity he can grant. No way to dry its tears. Psychic powers, as always, mean nothing when it comes to anything important.

“We don’t have to exorcize it, Mob. We’ll just tell them it got away.”

That’s not the issue.

“Okay,” Mob says.

Maybe, in another hundred years, someone will come along and do what Mob cannot. Maybe someday, someone will come with the gentle touch he lacks.

He calls Teru again. 

“Shige?”

Sounds of life emerge from the speaker. He shouldn’t call Teru at work, but the urge was too great once they’d returned from the woods. He clings to the sound of Teru’s voice.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t interrupt your work,” Mob says. He’ll make due with just this much for now.

“No— hold on.” The speaker is muffled but Mob hears the distant sound of Teru asking someone to watch the room for a minute, then the distinct clack of heels on linoleum and the thump of a shutting door. Silence, and then, “Okay. What’s up? How’s the trip?”

Difficult. “Good. How’s work?”

“Hectic— ah, but not enough that we can’t talk! If I keep the lights off, I don’t think anyone will find me. I’m hiding in the storage closet,” Teru snickers, and it’s such a contrast to the broad silence beyond Mob’s phone speaker, “Why did you call?”

I just wanted to hear your voice. Something happened. I want to be close to you right now. “…Do you remember when we went to Ekuboland as kids?”

“Hm… vaguely?”

Warm night breeze brushes through Mob’s hair. He sits against one of the stucco entrance pillars of the hotel, “We got lost. You flew to search for everyone else, but we couldn’t find them, and then we went up to the observation tower together.”

“Oh… oh yeah. Yeah, I remember that,” Teru’s voice is warm, “we should do it again sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

Mob hears Teru sit down too, and suddenly they’re together. Despite the thousands of miles between them and the hours that separate their day and night, Teru and Mob are beside each other, occupying the same space half a world away.

“You know…back then, when I looked for everyone...” Teru starts, “I saw them. But I didn’t say so because… I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Mob’s heart aches, “I’m glad you didn’t. I had so much fun.”

“It was—” A loud bang. Followed by a deep sigh from Teru, “That’s my queue.” There’s shuffling as he stands, “Today’s been crazy.”

“You have to go?”

“I probably should.”

“Ok.” Mob looks into the dark bramble off in the distance, “Teruki.” Teru’s shuffling pauses, “I love you. I want you to remember that.”

Teru snorts, “You’re gonna make me worry.”

Mob turns his gaze to the waning moon, “I don’t know when I’ll be able to tell you again, so I don’t want you to forget.”

Teru’s breath catches, “…Oh. Well, I love you too, Shige.” His voice goes quiet, “More than you’ll ever know.”

It sounds like a resignation.

When they finally hang up, Mob opens that theme park photo one more time, then locks his phone. He faces his reflection in the glass.

And sighs.

Mob makes a point to be quiet as he heads back to the room, but light slips through the door as he opens it.
His stare is a silent question as he passes Reigen to his own bed.

“You’re not the only one calling home,” Reigen answers, flipping through channels briefly before turning the TV off, “What time do we need to leave tomorrow?”

Their hotel is booked all week, and they’ll be back before their flight departs at Newark, “Not until noon.”

“Great. How’s blondie?”

The nickname makes Mob pause. Reigen must throw it around knowing Mob won’t fling it right back.

“Teru is fine. His work is busy. Is everything fine with you and Serizawa?” It still feels unnatural, to ask Reigen questions outside of Mob’s own needs, to be polite and return the favor of Reigen asking him. He never did it as a kid, but he’s always learning new things expected of adults— and this is one of them.

“Not bad,” Reigen says, “he’s been trying to convince me we should get a cat or a dog but we’re both working all day and with allergies all around it’s not like we can bring an animal to the office—”

Reigen doesn’t need a question— he’ll talk if he wants to. But he seems to enjoy being asked, if only to get the green light that someone wants to listen. Mob used to never rally with him, so it begs its own question of who Reigen talked to back when Mob was young. Maybe Serizawa was the first one to lend an ear. Maybe that’s why they’re married now.

Conversation with Teru is still clunky sometimes— just like it is with everyone— but it’s also easy. There is no pressure either way, to answer or to ask, and words flow freely. It’s effort, it always will be for Mob, but it’s never felt like a struggle or an embarrassment to talk to him. He can listen, he can speak, and no matter what, Teru makes it feel effortless. Maybe it’s just perfect chemistry, but more likely it's Teru's unending kindness, patience, and effort in learning Mob’s language, just as Mob constantly tries to learn his.

Mob lays back in his bed to the sight of the stucco ceiling. He’s far too lucky having someone like Teru, and far too aware of it to let Teru's insecurities steal him away. Tomorrow. He’ll do everything he can tomorrow.

“Train station’s this way,” Reigen says the next morning, prepped and ready with his suitcase in hand.

“We’re not taking a train,” Mob counters. The two stand at the entrance of the hotel, “We’re flying.”

“What?! Why? It’s not like we’re pressed for time! Think of the cost!”

It’s not like he paid for the tickets … “Train tickets were the same price and it was the difference between 7 hours and 3 transfers or one hour.”

“Seven hours…?” Reigen shivers, “This country is way too big.”

“I think it’s more a transit issue,” Mob says, or parrots, rather, from the things Teru has told him, “I’ve already called a cab to take us to the airport.” Maybe Reigen could have saved them a pretty penny by convincing the people who sent them here in the first place to bring a car, but with the language barrier still well intact, Mob opted to save them the headache. He’ll eat the cost.

They arrive at the airport hours early thanks to Mob’s caution. The airline check in counter is analog and unstaffed, but after a brief thirty minutes of panic, someone finally takes their bags.
Mob reviews his talking points during their flight— memorized to a fine point now. The deep memory of choking at the crucial moment of his class presidential run makes its way to the front of his mind. He glances at Reigen, somehow asleep on their hour flight. Teru’s mother speaks Japanese, but his father doesn’t. He won’t be able to rely on Reigen for anything beyond moral support.

They land at the Portland Jetport in the early evening— it’s somehow even smaller than the NJ airport, though that makes getting their bags and a cab notably easier. 

Cape Elizabeth is more dense than Tom’s River, a thankful breath of fresh air for both travelers. It’s still suburban, but it’s not devoid of life, and the local flora and architecture have character that makes them easier on the eyes. Their airbnb, booked at great expense to Mob’s personal funds, is in the back cottage of one of many charming mansions. A middle man for whatever rental company runs the show drops off their key when they arrive as well as a list of house rules. It’s fine. It’s all worth it.

Mob drops his bag on the metal lattice framed bed and Reigen dumps his on the couch.

“This trip has been expensive,” Mob sighs.

Reigen’s got his arms splayed across the back of the couch, content as Mob has ever seen him, “What’d I tell you, Mob? Any decent trip is gonna cost at least a month’s paycheck. Just be glad you dodged the cost of the round trip flight,” he smiles and looks around, “And this place is nice. Beats a sterile hotel any day.”

He can only say that because he’s not paying for it. How did he get out of that, anyway? Mob doesn’t dwell on it. Reigen will always triumph in matters of bargaining and now that Mob’s working full time, he’s made peace with it.

And in the end, it’s good to have him here. No one else has ever had Mob’s back the same way. Mob can pitch in a few extra bucks here and there. Call it a silent thank you.

“Shall we go eat?”

“Sure.”

It feels like a faux pas to eat anything Japanese while traveling abroad, so they skip the abundant catch-of-the-day sushi restaurants and slide into an east coast chain after Reigen convinces Mob they should eat a real American burger while they’re in its home country.

“You prepped for tomorrow?” Reigen asks, downing his shack burger and arnold palmer in record time.

“I think so,” Mob replies. 

“Nervous?”

Mob can only nod. But he’s ready as he’ll ever be.

“You’ll do just fine.”

Yeah. He’ll be fine. 

Mob can be brave for Teru, because Teru has always been brave for him.

“So, where are we headed?” Reigen asks the next day as they eat breakfast in their room.

“Mh—” Mob starts with a mouth half full of pastry, “Teruki said they live in a gated community by the water. Their house stands out, apparently.”

“What’s the address?”

Mob considers it for a moment. In all the fine pointed planning he did, he managed to overlook that detail.

“I didn’t ask.” He does some mental math to see what time it is in Seasoning, “I guess I can call him, but he’s probably asleep…”

“Don’t wake him, I’ll figure it out with what we’ve got,” Reigen replies quickly, whipping out his phone to do a bit of snooping. Well, that’s fine. Reigen is good at this kind of stuff.

Cape Elizabeth is small enough that finding the only waterfront gated community is a minute long endeavor and once the clock hits mid-afternoon, they shove off to their newfound destination.

Fortunately enough, the community is gated off for cars but not pedestrians, and the two enter without issue. The pavement looks and feels brand new and a view of the water lies between the generous space separating every mansion. Teru hadn’t lied— most of them are beautiful historical homes with professionally maintained landscapes in their front yards and meticulously pruned trees by every driveway. 

Reigen whistles. “Money talks, huh. Don’t even know what I’d put in half the house.”

Mob has never owned enough to answer that question either. Maybe Teru would store some of his projects in one. Even then, the mansions are too big to justify.

“It’s that one,” Mob says when he spots it— just as Teru described. There’s a thick metal gate at the front which blocks their way to the front door. They’re forced to ring the doorbell on its edge.

What can only be Teru’s mother’s voice sounds from a small radio.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

“Um,” Mob starts, already off kilter that he can’t talk face to face, “Hello. Could we discuss something with you in person?”

“Sorry, we’re not interested.”

There’s a click on the other end. Mob blinks.

“What happened?” Reigen asks.

“I asked to talk in person and she said they’re not interested.”

“Must think we’re solicitors,” Reigen surmises, “his mom is Japanese, right?”

Mob nods. Reigen rings the doorbell again. And again. And again. And—

“What?” The same clipped voice comes through the speaker.

“ We’re here on behalf of the Japanese government. We’d like to talk to you about your son .”

A long pause, and then the electric buzz of the opening front gate. Mob is eternally grateful Reigen is here to pick up his slack, even if his methods are… questionable.

They step up the sandstone path to the front door where Mrs. Hanazawa is already waiting with a tense posture, her husband visible behind her as Mob reaches the porch.

“Hello,” Mob outstretches a hand that she takes, “I’m Teruki’s fiancé.”

Her hand goes still.

Mob pulls back, “May we come in? I have some things I need to discuss with you.”

Reluctance flashes across her face, then resignation, before she silently shifts out of the way, beckoning the two men to the dining room table. Mob recognizes, in an odd way, the interior of the house from stories Teru has told him about his visit here. He scans the rooms, rewriting his memory of it to match the real thing.

Mrs. Hanazawa takes a seat at the head of the table, diagonal from Mob’s seat beside it. Mr. Hanazawa floats awkwardly by the chairs before a terse gesture from his wife sits him down opposite Mob. 

“Teruki’s… fiancé?" she asks, somewhat dazed. 

Well… not yet his fiancé. But soon enough, if everything goes well today. “Yes,” Mob says.

Her clouded expression melts quickly, replaced with an almost nervous look as it all settles in. With a hand outstretched just an inch, she says, “You know he’s a—”

“An esper,” Mob finishes, “I know. I am one as well.”

Both parents shift in their seats.

Mob reaches for a manila folder from the briefcase he brought and lies it softly on the tabletop. Inside sit printed photos and newspaper articles from three different events which befell Seasoning city.

The city, destroyed not once, not twice, but three times.

“This photo,” Mob says, a hand at the corner of one of the articles from Claw’s infiltration into the city, “Was the first time Seasoning City was destroyed,” he says it matter-of-factly, because that’s what it is. A fact. He slides another picture in after it, “This is Seasoning City two months later.”

The picture is of a pristine city, with buildings all repaired and in their place.

“This is it three months after that,” he presents the next, with the divine tree wreaking havoc on every inch of infrastructure, “it was repaired quickly, and this,” he slides in the final piece, “is Seasoning shortly after.” 

A long crater of destruction— void of buildings and life. Mob’s final hurrah with his repressed power.

Teru’s parents stare at the photos, “Teruki did th—”

“I’m responsible for all of them.”

Their eyes snap up, and suddenly Mob can see Teru’s own past facing him head on. He stays calm in reply.

“I met Teruki back when we were in middle school,” articles and photos go back into their folder, “he was the first person I met with powers like mine. I destroyed his school and almost killed him.” He taps the folder against the table to drop the papers into a uniform line inside, “well, it was more complicated than that,” Mob says, mostly to remind himself, “but it doesn’t change what happened.”

His next talking point is— Ah, wait, he put the photos away too early. He reopens the folder and turns the clippings back towards them, “there are only two espers in the world, myself included,” he considers Serizawa for a moment, “maybe three, who could cause damage like this. Teruki is not one of them. In fact, in all cases he was involved in prevention or repair efforts, not the destruction.”

Mob queues his text talking point, glancing at Reigen. 

“I was once told that psychic powers are like knives. They can be helpful or harmful depending on how you use them. It seems you’re under the impression they’re more like a bomb, which is not true,” …for the most part.

“You don’t understand, Teru is unstable—”

“He really isn’t.” Mob collects the folder again, “He’s capable of harming someone with his psychic powers in the same way you could hurt someone with your fist. His most recent job has been helping psychics control and use their powers in productive ways. I know you haven’t seen how he’s changed and grown over the years, but I have. Your fears are unfounded.”

Mob waits for some kind of response, but they just stare back, dumbfounded. Ah— “he’s using his degree for other projects,” Mob adds. It doesn’t seem to snap them out of it.

They have no response until Mrs. Hanazawa says, somewhat indignant, or understandably in denial, that Mob has so suddenly uprooted the beliefs she held about her own son for the past near three decades, “So you just came to lecture us? I know my son better than anyone and—” 

“I came because I care for Teruki. Your absence from his life has left deep wounds that I’m incapable of healing on my own.” 

Either his words or his demeanor shut her up immediately. It’s hard to assume the core of what he’s said is getting through when both parents look at him like he’s going to loosen the house from its foundations. Well, Mob is only so persuasive. If he was going to make them come to grips with over twenty years of unjustified absence in their son’s life, he’d need at least another day.

“I’m not asking you to come to our wedding,” Mob clarifies, “I’d rather you didn’t, if I’m being honest. But what I want from you is if Teruki calls, or texts, or contacts you in any way, that you respond.”

Teru is the love of his life. Mob has to get this right for him. So to make sure he's understood in both language and meaning, he looks them dead on and asks, 

“Do you understand?”

The manila folder sits heavy in their field of vision. They vigorously nod yes.

Well, if they’re going to be scared, better by him than anyone else. Thanks to the people who matter most, Mob has made peace with being the most dangerous person on earth. He stands up.

“ Oh, we’re going? ” Reigen asks.

“ I’ve said everything I wanted to say. ”

Reigen stands up too and with the Hanazawas glued to their table, Mob pauses at the doorway and says, “If the name Kageyama shows in your contacts, answer the call. I have a strong feeling Teru will be taking my last name. Goodbye.”

And then they’re gone. 

As Mob walks down the pristine cul de sac road, he lets out a deep breath.

A slap on the back, and a grin from Reigen greet him as rewards, “Nice job, Mob! Seems like it went well.”

“I think so.”

“You threaten them at the end there? They looked scared shitless.”

“I just asked if they understood.”

Reigen raises his eyebrows like Mob’s admission holds more than he meant it to, “You don’t know how menacing that sounds, huh?”

Well, it’s fine. His point got across. He replays the confrontation in his mind, dissecting key moments and his own actions. He glances at Reigen, “I’ve picked up your habit for white lies.”

“Cause you know how effective they are,” Reigen replies, “What’d you lie about?”

“I called Teruki my fiancé.”

“Barely a lie.”

Mob nods.

They exit the gated community. Ocean views remain visible from between the lesser mansions that surround it.

“The real question is,” Reigen pries, taking somehow bold yet nonchalant steps down the road, “If Teru knew you were going to America… here, to visit his parents, then why didn’t he send you their address?”

“I forgot to ask,” Mob repeats.

“He knows you’re here, right?”

“I told him right after you and I talked about it.”

Reigen levels at him, “... Why don’t you walk me through the conversation.”

And so Mob recounts it all,
and as he does,
he slowly realizes…

“He had no clue you were going. This is what you get for gaining a sense of humor,” Reigen mock-chides, “I had a suspicion when you told me this morning.”

Mob slides a somber hand down his face. This is the last thing he meant to have happen…

“I still think it’s good you went,” Reigen adds, “You didn’t say anything radical to them, and they needed to hear it,” like he understood a single word of the exchange.

Mob checks his phone. No fixing it now. Teru is dead asleep for sure.

“Don’t call him. You can spill your guts when you get back— he’ll be a hundred times more forgiving in person.”

“I feel…” Mob sighs. Embarrassed. Guilty. Homesick. He’s done enough emotional lifting for a lifetime today. 

“Don’t beat yourself up too bad about it, Mob. This is just who you are.”

Mob’s reflection stares back from the glass of his screen. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The two walk past the line of waterfront houses once their path allows and step down to the beach. Sand crunches underfoot. Mob longs for a coat pocket to stick his hands in, but summer on the east coast is just too hot.

Green, chaotic water churns under a symphony of seagulls and beach goers. It's got all the same parts as home, but somehow the ocean has never felt so foreign.

So Mob sits, then lies down in the sand, arms at his sides. There’s too much to think about— to worry about. Teru. Teru's parents. Proposing. Miscommunication. Self worth. Expenses. Failure. The list goes on. He needs it all to quiet down— to go somewhere far away until he can handle it— so he watches the clouds, and leaves his worries on their breeze.

Reigen lies beside him.

“You OK, Mob?”

If Mob can’t open up to Reigen, then he can't open up to anyone. 

“I’m overwhelmed,” he admits. 

“Yeah,” Reigen starts. Mob expects a long piece of advice, or a logical comfort, which slowly walks him down from the brink back to earth. But instead, all Reigen says is, “You put a lot on your plate. He’ll see that.”

And it’s just what Mob needs to hear.

They fly back to Jersey the next morning. Their return flight to Japan is the following day.

“Can he get a new key card?” Mob asks the desk at their hotel, Reigen having dropped his somewhere between here and a few states away.

“What’s the room?”

“306.”

“Ok…” the desk attendant types into the computer, before raising a thoughtful eyebrow, “306.. I've got mail here as well.”

She passes Reigen both his new key card and a simple envelope sealed with a bunny sticker. Mob lights up at the sight.

Reigen can guess who it’s from and passes the card to Mob without delay as they head up to their room. Mob holds it like a precious heirloom and just the simple feeling of Teru that it contains is enough to rejuvenate him.

What does it say? Mob taps his foot in the elevator anxiously. He’d be happy with just a greeting card. A note from Teru talking about his week. Or maybe it’s a love letter. Mob has always wanted to receive a real one. A love letter from Teru might make him float all the way to the moon.

When the elevator dings, Mob nearly runs to their room to rip it open.

Reigen follows him in as Mob gently peels the bunny sticker from its lip.

The card inside is blue gingham bordered and dressed with paintings of peonies and morning glories. Mob unfolds it. 

Shigeo,

I hope you’re having fun in the USA! Pretty different than home, huh? The sun rarely shined when I was there, but I hope it treats you better than me.

Shigeo, I   You   I’ve been meaning to tell you a lot of things. I’ve started to notice that you’ve started to notice that I’m distant   weird lately   kind of bad at this. Relationship stuff. Even close friendships have always been I don't have a lot of experience with serious ones and even less experience being wanted genuinely. I mean, being with you… it’s been a dream. You’re amazing. Always. But me— there’s just this tar in my chest. I feel like I'm going to mess up and it's all going to end. Like it’s all too good to be true and I’m just waiting for the inevitable drop. I’m scared of how much you mean to me and I’m scared of my own emotions and I just don’t trust myself.   The fact that I get to be with you  What am I even trying to say? One moment I'm all over you and the next all my worries come up and I run. It must be so frustrating. I’m all jumbled up inside. It’s like I know you love me but I can’t accept it. God, I can’t believe I’m writing all of this down. I’ll probably burn this letter and when you get back and ask me about it I’ll say I was too busy to write it or something. I guess if you’ll never see it, I can be honest.

I'm afraid to be forward or ask for your presence because I don’t want to annoy you or push you or cause you trouble and make you leave but the truth is that holding myself back like that kills me. I want to be near you, every moment. I want to kiss you. Touch you. I’m terrified you’ll run away if I get too close but all I want is to run to you. Even now, you’ve been gone for like half a day and I’m writing you this crazy letter. What the hell. It’s beyond obsession, isn’t it? It makes me feel so ugly. But you don’t. You’ve only ever made me feel loved and wanted and that’s why admitting all of this is so hard. None of it’s your fault. You’re perfect. It’s me. It’s just me. 

Even if my fears come true and you leave or decide I’m too much or we fall apart I’ll probably still love you. I’d probably still love you even if I never met you. There’s no way I can send you this letter. I have to burn this before you see how crazy I am. I love you, Shigeo. I just want to tell you that, in case I flip a coin and send this against my better judgment. I probably will, because I’m too much of a coward to say any of this to you in person. You mean the world to me. That's what I want you to take away from this more than anything. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had. The best person I’ve ever known. 

i want to be better   i want to trust you more   you deserve   fuck This is so hard. Even on paper. I wish I had the words to fix all of this and convince you to stay. You probably do. You always know what to say. Maybe I always know what to tell people, but I don’t know what to say. I never know what to say to you. Will you tell me, Shigeo? Tell me the words I need to say to keep you here next to me. 

Forever yours,

Teru

It’s me. It’s just me.

It’s a tear in Mob’s heart. There had been moments of doubt— that Teru's distance was a change of heart for the worse. That it was Mob not seeing something obvious on his end. It’s a relief knowing that’s not the case.

Everything beyond that breaks his heart.
Through his jumbled, scribbled confessions, Mob hears one thing clearly— I want to be close to you, and I'm convinced the closer I get, the further you'll withdraw . 

He's wrong. It's the opposite.
It’s not just Teru, alone in their relationship, in his struggles. He’s creating his own needless isolation. Mob is with him, he always has been. ‘Too good to be true’ does not mean ‘destined to fall apart’.
Mob’s mind races as he rereads it all and he wishes Teru had said everything in person, even if he understands why he didn’t, just so Mob could hold him and tell him all the truths he refuses to believe. Mob just wants to be there.
But should he? What now? What should he do? How does he respond to something like this? Are there really words that will cure a lifetime of abandonment? 

“Master Reigen…” Mob hesitates. Should he share this? Ah, well. “This letter Teru sent… what should I say?” Mob could use some help here and Reigen knows everything. He doesn’t count as telling someone.

Mob passes the letter off and Reigen passes it back with a flick of the wrist when he’s done reading.

“You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

“Oh.”

Reigen bites his thumb nail with a sigh, “Maybe we shouldn’t have talked to his parents.” Mob’s heart twists with guilt, “Actually, no, that was fine. At least you kind of get it now.” Mob’s heart lifts when he changes his mind. Reigen drags both hands down his face and slaps his temples lightly after, “It’s fine, Mob. You’ll talk it out. You’ve known him forever and you both like each other to an annoying degree so. It’s all fine. He’s just going through some stuff. Clearly.”

“What should I do?”

Intimacy is Reigen’s worst subject, but Mob still clings to his wisdom, “Just hold his hand through it.”

Mob can do that.

The following day and the flight back to Japan are somehow both years long and all a momentary blur. Mob vaguely remembers Reigen reporting their Jersey Devil findings to some government official before they left for the airport. What he reported was patently untrue, but Mob's mind was too abuzz to focus on it, much less feel bad about it too. Teru. Teru. Teru. It’s all he can think about.

I have to talk to him.

I want to be near him.

He can't sleep, so he writes a frantic letter in reply on the plane. One draft. Two. Three. Reigen hails him the first cab when they land and with a reassuring hand on Mob’s shoulder says, “Stop freaking out. It’s gonna be fine.”

Reigen is right. It will be fine. But Mob can’t help his anxiety. Everything is culminating and all of it is on the table. Mob's chance is here and he can’t mess it up. He will be someone worthy of Teru's love. 

The cab arrives. Mob’s heart beats as he runs up the stairs to their apartment. After a day and a half of worry and traveling, their door, decorated with a floral wreath for the summer, is a beautiful sight and a horrible barricade all at once.

Mob’s keys are lead but his hands are lightning as they twist the lock.

He finds Teru at the fridge, stick of celery in hand. Mob barely registers throwing his shoes off— closing the door. He only registers the celery again as it lies on the floor, dropped from Teru’s loose hand, as he envelops him in a desperate embrace.

“Shi—” Teru slowly and softly returns the embrace, his touch barely a whisper on Mob’s back, “I guess… you read it.”

“I did.”

“I—” and already, his tone has Mob worried, “Listen, I was so out of it when I wrote that. If you want to ignore it and we—”

“ No .” Mob says it with a little more force than he means, pulling back from the hug but keeping his grip on Teru’s arms, “Sorry. I’ve wanted to talk about this, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. Please,” he squeezes a little tighter, “Don’t run away.”

Teru looks at him, earnest and vulnerable. And worn.

“Okay. Let’s talk.”

Mob holds out a letter of his own. It makes Teru snort. “Ah.” he takes it and looks down at the folded page, “Well, I guess it’s only fair.”

Teruki,

I read your letter.

I am not very good at this, either. Most of my relationships have ended because I’m too dense. I don’t notice things. With you, too, it took me far too long to see everything. I probably didn’t notice because you didn’t tell me, like you do with everything else. I appreciate how you do that. I don’t feel lost with you. Even with this, which was so hard for you to talk about, you found a way with your letter. 

I love you, Teruki. I'm sorry I haven't made it clearer, but I'll try now. 

I want to listen to everything you have to say, so please keep talking to me. I want to be close to you, so please, run to me. If you want me at every moment, I will take every moment you have to give. I am scared of what I feel for you, too, because it is stronger than anything I’ve ever known. It’s not just you. I think we’re both scared. But it’s good that we’re both like this. Because you can hold my hand, and I can hold yours. 

It’s hard to put how you make me feel, but you deserve to know, so I’ll try my best. I think you’re charming. You’re skilled and creative. I look forward to every day I can spend with you. My heart hurts when you’re in pain. I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me. I want you to be pushy and take from me, like I take from you. Don’t run from me anymore.
I don’t know if I would love you if I never met you, but it’s good that I did meet you, because I do. More than anything. 

The real reason I went to America was not just to help Reigen, but to see your family and tell them I’d be taking you and making you part of mine. I know it’s selfish. You’ve been afraid to ask for anything from me but I’ve already decided I want every part of you.

I am a coward in the same way as you, so I’ll ask it here, in this letter. Teruki, will you marry me?

Teru’s mouth is covered with a hand. Tears begin to pour silently from his eyes. The letter shakes in his grasp.
He sobs, once, overwhelmed, before tossing it to the side as he lunges for Mob. He pushes him onto the couch, twists his hands in his lapels and cries into his chest.

“You have no idea… if you tell me this— I’ll take everything from you.”

“I want you to.” Mob hugs him tight, desperate, “Please. I just want to be close to you.”

Teru hugs him back, and Mob can feel tears against his neck, “I know. I'm sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Mob brings him back enough to caress his cheek, “Everyone has a few problems. It’s part of being an average person.”

And like heaven shining down, Teru smiles, he actually smiles at that. As tears continue to pour down his face.

“I— of course you think like that. You're amazing.” He laughs and wipes his still pouring tears, “I’m dramatic as ever.”

“I like that about you,” Mob kisses his temple, “I like everything about you.”

"I like everything about you ."

"Then we’re the same,” Mob looks into his eyes, “I’m— afraid of losing you too. I keep stumbling and making mistakes.”

Too blunt a touch. Too blind to subtlety.

“You won’t. I’d catch you if you fell.”

“You don’t trust me to do the same.”

Teru’s grip tightens. It’s hypocrisy. “I’m just scared.” He says, quietly, face pressed back into Mob’s shoulder. “I’ve never had anything like this before.”

A lover? No. A friend? No. A family?

“A home.” Teru finishes.

A place to belong. In Mob’s arms. In his vision. By his side.

“It’s scary for me too,” Mob admits, “sometimes… I feel like you’re too perfect, and you’ll float away somewhere I can’t reach.”

“Didn’t you just say I’m an average person?” Teru snorts.

“I did.”

Teru laughs again, “You’re not making any sense.”

Mob smiles, and his hands trail up from Teru’s waist to his back and hold him softly, “Sorry. I just can’t explain it.”

They sit like that, recovering from everything, quiet and warm, with Teru’s head buried in Mob’s shoulder as Mob holds him like he’d dreamt of every night he was gone.

That’s all that really matters to Mob now. That Teru is here. That they both want to stay like this. No man is an island. If Teru doesn’t trust him now, his weight in Mob’s arms shows that he’ll get there, or die trying.

“Of course…” Teru breaks their silence with a soft murmur. 

“…Of course?”

Teru lifts his head enough to be heard, “Of course I’ll marry you. Are you kidding? Of course I will.”

Mob hears the words, but they don't register until seconds later. 

Wait—

“Huh? R-really?” Mob’s heart jumps. 

Teru snorts as he looks up to face Mob. His eyes are red from crying, “Why would I ever say no? Shigeo, I love you so much it makes me feel crazy.”

He thought Teru had ignored that part of the letter. Or— that he’d avoided it.

Yes? He’s saying yes?

“I—” Mob doesn’t know what to do with his hands, inches above Teru’s waist now. He gulps. Then suddenly, he closes in, hugging Teru as it all comes rushing to him. He laughs, he really laughs . Short, joyous and loud. He lifts Teru from where he sits on his lap with that laugh and all of the plants in their apartment bloom into color, “Yes!” He doesn’t feel like himself, but at the same time he feels overwhelmingly true. He feels so much. Has something like this ever happened?
Yes, of course it has. But it’s been so long. He didn’t think it was possible anymore. He hasn’t been repressing himself but in this moment the reality of his future is here. Teru wants to be with him. Teru loves him. He loves Teru. They’re beautifully imperfect together and Mob gets to keep that. Gets to keep him. It’s impossible to contain it all.

“Shige—” Teru looks around, wide eyed. They must be floating. “Are you…?”

“You’ll marry me!” Mob laughs again. Everything feels amazing.

Teru looks freaked out, but a moment later, what’s happening clicks and he smiles wide just like Mob. Then he laughs with him, floats a hand beside his head, and quietly says, “Your aura feels so soft.”

“I love you, Teruki,” Mob says, and kisses him, “Teru.” another kiss. How did he manage to wait this long to kiss him? “Teru.” He cups his jaw and presses kiss after kiss to Teru’s lips, his neck, the bridge of his nose and the freckles only he gets to see in the morning. To the scars that tether them. “I love you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Teru holds him close. His hair is fluffy in midair, and he is red to his ears. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because it’s a big commitment.”

Teru buries his head in Mob’s shoulder and mumbles, “Not for me. I’ve always been yours.”

Mob leans against Teru’s head and brushes a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up.”

He finds Teru’s lips and kisses him again, deep and slow. His hands trail from Teru’s cheekbones down his neck. Everything he didn’t or couldn’t say he puts into this kiss. Teru matches his pace and presses in close, saying things unsaid in the same way and Mob, somehow, understands. Somehow, they both do. 

I love you. I like you. I want you. Let’s stay together forever.

Slowly, slowly, Mob eases from his high. He regains himself. They find their way back down to earth.

“That was—” Teru looks flustered, “… you good?”

Mob smiles, “I’m good. I’m happy I’m home.”

Teru’s eyes soften and he looks at him with that same warm gaze Mob has been on the receiving end of too many times to count, “Yeah. I missed you.” His gaze returns to its normal state, both coming down from a high dose of elevated emotions, “So, you… met my parents…?” He sounds half amused and half confused, “I thought you were kidding.”

“I should have been clearer when I told you.” A beat. “I don’t like them.”

Teru snorts, “What happened?”

“I told them to stop ignoring you. And that I’d prefer if they didn’t come to our wedding.”

Teru cracks up at that.

“You’re not mad?”

“That you went?” Teru replies on the tail end of his laughter, “Surprised, maybe. But you did technically tell me, so I can’t be too upset. Plus…” he looks away and says softly, “I’ve never had anyone really… stick up for me before. It’s nice.” He perks up, “But I think if it was anyone but you, I wouldn’t be so forgiving.”

Self sufficient, confident, capable. Highly impatient when it comes to anyone but Mob. Maybe that’s what Teru’s love really is— making him the exception. The only one allowed beyond the concrete walls of his glass heart.

It’s a bit scary. Mob has never had a delicate touch. But he’s learning Teru’s language, and Teru knows his. He’ll make sure not to break anything.

“I'm lucky,” Mob smiles. He lays his head on Teru’s shoulder, nose against his neck. The faint smell of cologne lingers on his skin. Mob could stay like this forever. “I love you,” he murmurs, “I’m not leaving.”

“I know,” Teru says quietly. Fingers grip Mob’s shoulders harder, “I’m going to keep reminding myself.”

“I don’t mind reminding you,” Mob looks up.

Teru softens into that same gaze Mob has seen a thousand times and never gotten sick of, “Okay. I’ll hold you to it.” 

Everything seems to settle in for Teru then too, as suddenly his eyes go wide and a grin creeps up on his face. He shakes his hands through his hair, then pats his red cheeks twice. Mob isn’t sure what he’s thinking, until his gaze wanders to their bookshelf and he says nearly under his breath, “Teruki Kageyama…” he turns back to Mob, “Sorry. I think I just realized that proposal wasn’t a dream. Can we get matching rings?”

Mob is pretty sure that’s standard procedure, but he knows what Teru wants, “Gold and silver?”

Some sort of high noise leaves the back of Teru’s throat as he grabs Mob’s lapels again to bury himself in them, “You’re amazing. Oh my god,” another sound, “I love you so much. This is crazy. We’re sure I’m not dreaming?” He looks up at Mob.

“How many fingers do I have?” Mob holds out both hands.

Teru counts them earnestly, and says with intense relief, “Ten.”

“Then you’re probably fine.”

“Can I make your suit?”

“Sure.”

“Can I invite my overseas friends to the ceremony?”

“I hope you do.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.” Mob says softly and kisses him. Teru kisses back like he's never going to let him go.

Their wedding is in Spring. By the ocean. 

Though missed in the moment, at the bottom of Mob’s letter, his final words read:

You don’t have to say anything to get me to stay. As long as you let me, I’ll be next to you.