Chapter Text
The for sale sign in the neighbouring yard was gone.
Outside the lot was a man.
The man unloaded huge cardboard boxes like they were made of air, draped in a suffocating, black coat that went below his knees. Under the coat he had a plain, white button down, and shorts. His legs were so pale they shone in the sun.
Reigen's own, green shorts were stiff from hang drying. They scraped against his legs as he crept closer.
"Are you going to live here now?" he asked, arm out to point to a house exactly like his own, with less personality. Or more? The unkempt yard added a certain haunted house feeling to the dirty windows and dark rooms.
Cardboard squeaked against cardboard. Both cringed. It was hard to tell what kind of face his new neighbour made, because his bangs ran all the way down to his eyes like a waterfall of tar, but that wasn't a good one. The dullness behind them was replaced with a wariness as they flitted between the boxes.
His lips were pressed to a thin, thin line.
"If I'm lucky," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean? Either you live here or you don't," Reigen laughed, because it didn't make sense and things that didn't make sense were jokes. "You're packing up your stuff so you live here now!"
He nodded, and with that his face softened into a smile that looked like 40 rough years. "You're right. I actually really like it here, it reminds me of where I lived at your age."
'His age' wasn't 30 years ago, though.
The man claimed to only be 26.
"Wow, I thought you were older you kind of look like you could die any second. Are you sure? I'm actually only 11, for reference—"
"I'm sure..."
"—but I'm going to be 12 soon, just wait and see!"
"I'm sure of that too," he agreed.
The conversation seemed to end more often than it started with Kageyama-san. The few words he said conveyed less than his silence.
"Do you need help carrying anything?" Reigen tried.
Kageyama stopped, looking to the sky as if the clouds were his thought bubbles, and he needed to take a good look at them. "That's nice of you. Okay," he handed Reigen a box that was big enough for two of him to fit inside.
"Um, n– no problem!" He was hesitant to take it. Part of him expected to be blown off. If there was furniture in these they had to be heavy which meant that Mob was seriously, grotesque strong, and Reigen was kind of a shrimp even for an elementary schooler.
Trying to get a feel for its weight, he grabbed the sides of it, but Kageyama let go, and it was...
Weightless.
"Leave it just inside the hallway," he instructed as he dug deeper into the moving van.
Weightless weightless. Not empty, but unreasonably light, as if the cardboard itself had no mass, but he could feel it. Its gravitational pull had gone on lunch break, and yet it seemed inclined to move towards the ground if he loosened his grip.
He nodded, even though Kageyama wasn't watching him anymore, waddling up the stone path the best he could. Grass stuck up between the tiles, and the box was so big he couldn't see over it.
He tripped up the stairs and bumped in the doorframe. There, he dropped it with a thud.
"Good job," Kageyama followed with his own load, which looked much smaller in his arms. He was so tall. Giraffe tall, like his proportions were stretched too far. "You can go play now."
Reigen disagreed.
He had put it down smack dab in the middle, in the way, making it hard to step over and awkward to swerve around.
Gripping it again, he pushed, and pulled, and lifted, but this time it wouldn't budge. It weighed like a solid block of lead, but that was toxic and no one would keep that in their rock collection except a museum, or a scientist.
Kageyama didn't look like a scientist. His coat was the opposite colour.
Evil scientist..?
"Huh..." None of this made sense. Evil scientists weren't so mild-mannered but good scientists wouldn't invent boxes that became heavier. He lifted that thing just a second ago.
"Hm?" His suspect climbed the stairs.
"It won't move..."
"Oh. No worries, um..?" Kageyama pushed it with his foot, sliding it all the way into the empty living room. The box tipped over, and so did the man, but only one of them caught themselves. A robe and a white mask fell out. The mask had a smiley face.
Museum, then?
Or magic tricks, for a show.
Who knew how much cool stuff his neighbour collected?
"Oops..." he looked to Reigen.
This was his chance. He had to make a move, establish himself as whatever assistant Kageyama needed, and get in on all the coolness. "Reigen Arataka! I live next door, so you can come by all the time until school starts."
"Ah, you're the Reigens' youngest. Your dad is the politician then, right?"
People said that sometimes, mostly reporters. Mezato counted as bad language in their household. "He decides a lot of things," but only locally, in their municipality and their house.
"I'm sure he does," Kageyama agreed.
Mob was creepy and weird.
That was what his sister said.
She said it like being weird was the worst part, and he figured she had to tell herself that, because the way she glared through his windows was creepy. As if she sensed him in there even with the blinds drawn.
Hypocrisy ran in their blood; Arataka kept an eye on his windows too. And his door. And his mailbox. Totally different.
Mob was his friend now. A friend who didn't go out much, and so forced Reigen's hand.
He made sure to be there whenever it happened.
"Mob!"
An old nickname that Reigen took and ran with, because when he took off his coat he looked like a crowd of one. Forgettable.
But, Reigen didn't forget.
He kept tabs.
Cars stopped on the street to unload more cardboard boxes. Early afternoon he put out a bowl of water for some animal that never showed its face. Late in the evening he pulled on a blue turtleneck, lounging in his backyard as Reigen tossed, suffocating in his bedsheets.
Mob wasn't a morning person.
"Hello, Reigen," Mob greeted him as he crouched, refilling the bowl. It was always empty when Reigen went to school, and empty when he came back. Secretly, he hoped that Mob had pushed his schedule ahead, waiting for him.
Splinters dug into his knees.
Climbing was easy, the fence was just so tall, and vertical. No, actually, it leaned the slightest bit into his own yard because of all the times he clung to it, making it harder every time. Less easier, he meant.
With his palms pressed to the top, he leaned further out until he was halfway into Mob's garden. The state of it had returned to accepted neighbourhood decency, but he hadn't planted anything new.
"Arataka, don't climb the fence," his mom chided. A habit; she neither looked, nor listened. Her hair was up; she was busy.
Kenpo gave him the ability to throw a leg over the ledge. "Do you even have a pet?" His knee scraped all the way up the wood, and he winced. The skin flaked but it didn't bleed. It didn't matter.
"Not yet."
"What do you mean not yet?"
Kenpo was boring. They didn't get to do anything.
"I was hoping a stray would show up if I kept putting out food and water, but they all seem to have owners out here. Someone to miss them. And that's... good."
That was silly. Pets didn't just show up, that only happened in anime, or in cities where the street cats ransacked the garbage cans, but even a scruffy stray wouldn't lose its freedom that easily. Those rascals swerved when he tried to pet them, and his dad scolded him regardless. Ferals carried diseases.
For someone so adult-looking, he was childish. Reigen could list his adult-y habits on one hand.
Mob brought home groceries.
Mob owned a house.
Mob checked the mail.
The lawn was mowed, but he never saw Mob do it, so he was hesitant to give credit.
Adults had jobs, but Mob didn't leave the plot for long enough to get any work done. Then he didn't have one. Unless he worked somewhere between 1 am and 6 am, clocking in as Reigen clocked out for the night even the nights when he tried his hardest to catch him.
Questions got him half-answers and distractions. Mob must have the shittiest night job ever.
First Reigen had assumed he was a salaryman, because salarymen could work from home at a computer. Only flaw was that Mob claimed not to have one.
Filthy rich, then?
The way his dad talked, their neighbourhood didn't sound very affordable.
"You're weird," Reigen laughed.
Arms snaked around his middle, and he was pulled backwards. Shampoo. Hand cream. The smell of home.
"Arataka, you need to stop bothering this gentleman," Mom said, loosening his claws from the wood with one hand as she balanced him on her hip. "He has been very kind to put up with you, and you are going to tear his fence down for that?"
"But, Mom!"
"No buts!"
"He doesn't mind!"
"He says he doesn't mind, because he can't say anything else! He doesn't want to be rude," she explained, and turned to their neighbour. "I am so sorry for my son. I try, but he's determined not to learn any manners I'm afraid. Absolutely say no to him once in a while, it'll do him good."
He hung from her arms like a sack of coal, waiting for Mob to burn him.
The man was tall enough to see over the fence. It stopped at his elbows, and he righted it, mumbling, "But I really don't mind too much."
His mom laughed, but her arms cramped tighter around him. Too tight. Her grasp on his wrist was nails and joints and jewelry. Bracelets. Wedding rings. "You really are too nice to him!"
Adults didn't mean what they said.
The one who was decidedly not an adult turned back to his house, crouching under the doorframe.
No strays had moved in with Mob, but Reigen biked up and down their street like he had no home to go back to.
Browning leaves crunched under the wheels.
His birthday passed by faster than it came, a comet sling shot at the bullseye of his life. New responsibilities. Same restrictions. The freedoms of a teenager looked further away the closer he got.
12 sucked.
For the 12th time, he made a u-turn.
Back to patrolling.
Now that the garbage truck had left, it was only a matter of time.
The front door opened. It had four, square windows, covered from the inside by frosted stickers, shutting out any curious eyes. Mob bumped his head, dropping the big, black plastic bag flung over his shoulder.
"Owie..."
Reigen bit his tongue. Hard.
Picking it back up, he stepped into the light. It looked stuffed to the brim with helium balloons, but it dutifully sunk into the trash can when he dumped it.
Taking the trash out only after the collectors left was weird, because it had to be on purpose. Forgetfulness only excused so much. The truck went up the other side of the street first, noising noisily. Missing it by 1 minute every time was no accident.
"Reigen, what are you doing?" Mob wiped his hands on his pants.
Come to think of it, there never seemed to be anything in Mob's bin when it was emptied. Between being thrown away and picked up, whatever were in those bags vanished, and it was not the fox. The fox drank the water, he caught it once, but it could not process cubic metres of mystery trash.
Reigen was a hair's width away from dumpster diving, but whenever he had time to check, his stomach turned itself upside down.
Working up the nerves to check was one thing, that was a mountain's worth of nerves to fit in one boy, but he could ask.
Not that he'd get a straight answer.
Mob liked the bold moves, the pushing and nosiness. When Reigen climbed the fence he leaned against it. When Reigen baited him to talk about his job, he smiled, and that was rare. That didn't mean he took the bait, though.
"Can I come inside?" he asked instead.
"I don't think your mother would like that." Classic excuse. One of the Big Five, relayed like a revolving door to keep him out.Your mother. Father. Sister. I haven't cleaned. Don't you have homework to do?
This was why Reigen was, like, 80 % sure Mob wasn't out kill and dismember him.
"Okay, can you come outside then?"
"I am outside?"
"I mean—" he stomped on the brakes before he'd pass the lot—"OUTSIDE-outside. Hang out with me, or something?"
Steering it around, he lead the bike up the slope to where Mob stood, taking a peek into the can before the lid was back on. The rubber handlebars kept his palms warm, but his knuckles were dry and flaking.
The sun was about to die for the day, but Mob still squinted. "Okay... A little while. I haven't slept a lot this week."
Whatever he was up to, it happened at night.
Whatever he was up to, it was no use dwelling on it when he needed Mob to pay for something. "Cool, let's go! I'll bike slowly, you'll catch up," he grinned, one foot already on the pedals as he backed up.
"Please, you know I'm not good at running..."
"You said you need to for work!"
Sighing, Mob relented to him, setting off in the direction he knew Reigen was heading. The food stands. Takoyaki was half price for the week out.
With legs like that, he didn't need to run, not really, but going slow required some balance and Mob required some exercise, so Reigen stepped it up. The faster, the more time until Mob got a visitor. The more time until he had to pretend to be hungry for dinner.
Mom wasn't happy with the weight he put on, but Mob liked feeding him.
"Wait, you're too fast!"
Reigen liked to be fed. Tattling was unlikely to get Mob in trouble, but if Mob thought Reigen was in trouble, he might quit.
"Just walk faster?"
One thing about Mob was that he was clueless.
Another thing about Mob was that he had psychic powers.
He must not have expected Reigen to put 2 and 2 together, but someone who couldn't run a block didn't simply carry an industrial washing machine up a flight of stairs.
"The packaging was supposed to be discreet," was his excuse, missing the point by a mile and a half.
His collection of things about Mob grew until they filled a diary, a pink book of secrets he swiped from his sister. She didn't write secrets down, she was too smart for that. If she had a secret, it'd hit the grave before she did. That was why she never got in trouble.
Lying was for adults and pink was for girls, but Mob was timeless, and Nanami was an alien AI clone sent to replace the human race. Reigen worked overtime to make up for the both of them.
Dear diary,
Today Mob used his psychic powers to cool down my food instead of just blowing on it. He said that if I keep burning myself at the rate I'm going, this is the only way he can keep up, and then he just POPPED IT IN MY MOUTH?! Rude.
But, he did lift me back into my own garden when my parents came sooo fast they didn't event realize I had snuck over, so, I forgive him? Until next time...
Love,
Reigen Arataka, Star Detective of the 21st Century ☆
That was totally relevant to the case. 100%
Being suspended mid air sent chills down his spine. The bad and the good kind.
Back in Mob's garden, he made Mob swear an oath of secrecy. Any undignified shrieks were to stay between the two of them, and if anyone asked, that didn't happen. Adventures and misadventures alike were theirs only, never to be shared with anyone.
Other than his glittery book of secrets, of course.
Mob liked that idea.
Middle school was the next big step.
On the way to class, he took the biggest steps he could, or he'd run late.
Oversleeping.
Ever since Mob, he kept doing it, day after day. His body molded itself after the new normal, only it wasn't normal, and his sister was on the student council.
No room for lies.
With a change of schools, it became increasingly clear; Mob was his best friend.
Connections didn't spark for him.
People came, and people went. Interests kindled, and burnt out. His deskmate turned towards the window as he reached the sliding doors of the classroom, half a step before their teacher.
Still, they were dumb tweens. Yoshioka might not have anything to say to him, but he'd lend his pencil, and share the text book. Their reading was perfectly in synch. Neither of them could go a whole paragraph without getting sidetracked, so they never had to turn the page.
Unfortunately, Reigen couldn't even get side tracked without getting sidetracked.
Hissing under his breath, Yoshioka commanded him to shut up, quit squirming, why are you whistling?!
If he knew, he'd answer.
What he lacked in discipline, he made up for in improvisation. Winging It was one of Reigen’s special techniques.
His situationship with cram school might work out differently if he wasn't falling asleep on his books. Studying wasn't hard. Reigen knew the ins and out of research. It was the subject. School work always quit right before things got interesting, so he wasn't interested.
As things were, sleep was still a sacrifice worth making. Whatever Mob was up to, it happened at night, and Reigen made sure to be there for it.
There, in the corner of his window, peeking through the blinds.
Rumours went around the school like the flu, but only one of them was interesting. Allegedly, some shut in senpai might be a psychic. Based on field observations, espers were nocturnal loners with stage fright.
Research was his forte, and it was supposed to break the hypothesis.
Impartial as he was, the finds did not bother him.
First thing he learned: More often than not, Mob didn't spend his nights alone. Cars stopped by. People went inside. It wasn't until he tallied the numbers up that he understood why his guts soured, why he didn't want to call it off for the night on weekends or weekdays. Not everyone came back out.
When they didn't, Mob took out the trash.
Second thing he learned: Before dawn the day after trash day, Mob would fish the black bags back out, and carry them down the street.
From the window, Reigen couldn't see how far he went, or which way he turned at the end of the street. Deeper into the city, or out past the suburbs to the woods. Got feeling said woods. In movies it was always the woods, unless it was the freezer or basement acid bath.
Third thing he learned: Psychic powers were abundant. Pyrokinetics, telekinetics, plant vines that did ones bidding, and that was only what he could see.
Telepathy had to be real.
Reigen had to be careful.
With his observations, it became increasingly clear; Reigen wasn't Mob's best friend.
He felt increasingly ordinary.
"So," dead end conversation after dead end conversation, the shit he threw at the wall became increasingly personal. "About that upperclassman? Serizawa? Do you believe he really has psychic powers?"
"That's kind of silly, even for you," Yoshioka answered, but kept his nose in the worksheet.
Math.
"I'm not saying I believe it, just, do you think do you think people would magically be born that way or would they... do something? Unlock them? Hypothetically speaking."
"Like a divine blessing sort of thing?"
"You believe in gods?"
"Not really."
The shit he threw at the wall became increasingly personal, and yet it didn't stick. Some people weren't built for friendship.
School was a saw trap where your challenge was to hand in a history paper, but you had to write 50% of it yourself, and accept whatever drivel your group partner added onto it. If you failed to reach their standards though, they'd split from the group and take full credit.
The trick was to save up on good graces in advance. If he shut up now, he could avoid death by group project breakup when Yoshioka found out he had written 1 whole sentence—and deleted it—to instead pour all his energy into dying from supernatural, organized crime.
The extraordinary wasn't for everyone.
Reigen desperately wanted it to be for him.
Serial killing psychic neighbours.
The man on screen moved his hands, hiding them in the motion blur. Old tapes didn't have the frame rate to keep up.
Reigen needed to keep up though. Pressing pause manually on the player, he sat too close to the screen, trying to make out the fingers. Three out, thumb tucked in. Play. Pause. Out to the side.
He mimicked the flick of his wrist.
Mogami Keiji.
A legend holding all the answers, unreachable on the other side of the screen, and the grave.
Had he been born in the right generation he could've called in, asked all the right questions that his audience never touched on.
Even if he could, he'd stear clear of breaking the news about Mob. That felt... Dirty. They took an oath. An oath that meant something completely different when it was made, but it hung over him like a warm embrace.
Had things always made this little sense?
Mob was nice, and calm, not cartoonishly evil. Cartoonish was the wrong vibe. He wasn't straight out of a horror novel or criminal drama. Unless he was and Reigen needed glasses. Normal ones, not the rose coloured spectacles glued to his face.
Priority number 1 was getting to the bottom of this mess, with a shovel. He needed to dig.
Priority number 1.5 was reclaiming his best friend.
"Let! Go!" His sister pulled on the remote, but he had one last ace up his sleeve. The batteries. Hidden behind the VHS player, she wouldn't find them for at least 20 minutes, and he only had 10 left of the show.
"Whatever," he let go.
Play.
Mogami helped so many people.
He was truly someone special.
If Arataka learned from him, he'd earn his place in no time. With priority 1.5 out of the way, he'd be able to focus on the first.