Chapter Text
If you itemized all the jagged pieces that made up Touichirou’s daily life, any close coworker or relative might worry you’d gotten the wrong name.
Touichirou Suzuki worked in the library of Fuchu Penitentiary, making 80 yen an hour that went straight into his commissary. His duty was itemization; other inmates weren’t so meticulous when it came to putting books back in their places. Every now and then a donation shipment would come in, and Touichirou was tasked with sorting them.
Those were good days.
Touichirou Suzuki was paid monthly visits by his son, Shou. They didn’t care much for talking, so Touichirou brought a cheap pack of cards with him when they met. They played gin rummy, and if Touichirou was lucky, Shou might idly offer a quip from school that week while he played his cards. Once a week, Touichirou was given a slot for a phone call, and he alternated between curt, logistical discussions with his wife or lawyer and tedious check-ins with a Mr. Arataka Reigen. He wasn’t sure why they kept up contact--but it was something of a comfort now, hearing the man ask his same list of questions every call.
How much money do you have in your commissary?
Are you eating?
Are you sick?
Are you getting on reasonably with the other inmates?
“My student has insisted upon this,” Reigen said once, during their second phone call, “and I will not let him speak with you directly. So it seems like we’ll be hearing a lot of each other until further notice.”
That was a strange, unspoken relationship to uphold, Shigeo Kageyama. Touichirou had this strange feeling they were unique in their weak semblance of a camaraderie, having duly terrorized and saved one another’s lives to the point that they were (mostly) even.
“How’s Serizawa?” Touichirou asked at the end of every call. Shou always shrugged at the question; no use asking somebody who paid so little attention. Reigen wasn’t much better.
“Very well. Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Suzuki.”
That was it. That was all he got.
A year had passed. Shou was integrating into the public school system with the Kageyamas, Reigen had taken on a new employee, Mrs. Suzuki was seeing somebody new, and Serizawa was… very well. Always very well.
“Suzuki.”
Touichirou looked up from the library catalogue lying open before him.
“You have a visitor. Come with me.”
Touichirou cocked his brow at the stiff young man. “It’s Monday. My son was just in this weekend. You sure they’re here for me?”
The guard nodded.
Resignedly, Touichirou shrugged. One of the folks from Claw? Those that hadn’t been arrested dropped quickly out of contact. It couldn’t be Reigen, not at this hour; he’d be at the office.
Touichirou was ushered into one of the prison’s private visitation rooms, blank and pale in the autumn light filtering through barred windows. His visitor sat with hands tightly clasped, eyes fixed on Touichirou from the moment the door opened. Eye contact; that was new.
“Serizawa,” Touichirou greeted the larger man, not bothering to hide his surprise. “What an unexpected pleasure.” They shook hands curtly; Touichirou felt the current of power flowing temperately through his old employee. Far less frantic, well-controlled.
“Suzuki.”
Touichirou raised his brows. “No longer Mr. President, I see.”
“Why would I call you that?” Serizawa rumbled evenly. “What are you the president of?”
Touichirou considered him. Curly hair clipped short, jaw clean-shaven, dressed up smartly in an unfamiliar cream suit and black tie.
“Penitentiary library?” Touichirou cracked. Serizawa did not laugh. “No, of course you wouldn’t call me Mr. President nowadays. Somehow I expected us to slip into old habits, is all.” He looked around the room, peeked under the table to eye its legs. “Suppose they had you check the umbrella with Security.”
Serizawa scoffed. “It’s not raining. I haven’t got one.”
Touichirou stared for a few seconds too long. He let his eyes fall to the silver chain draped between his cuffed wrists, nodded. “I see. I haven’t stepped outside today.”
Silence. Serizawa never broke his stare--he couldn’t have grown so cold in a year, least of all a year spent with the likes of Kageyama, Reigen, the spirit the latter often offhandedly mentioned. What was his name? Pimple, or Ankle, or Nipple. Something stupid. Probably not Nipple. He couldn’t recall.
“What’s on the docket for the rest of your day?”
“A few exorcism jobs. We didn’t have anything this morning, so…” he gestured around condescendingly.
“So here you are,” Touichirou smiled. “Do you like working with Reigen?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a good boss?”
“A good boss and a good friend.”
Touichirou nodded sagely. If that was a jab at him (it definitely was a jab at him), he was happy to let it sail over his head. “And your coworkers? Kageyama must be busy with entrance exams. Does he still swing by?”
“Every now and then. Reigen hired one of his old classmates in the meantime. She’s a good kid.” In a very strange moment of unfamiliarity, Serizawa’s eyes flickered aside. “Complete pest when she wants to be, but… good.”
Shocked, Touichirou laughed. He couldn’t have imagined Serizawa’s face changing entirely just then, could he? The twitches in his brow, the little sneer--completely new mannerisms, picked up from God-knows-where. Reigen had his sour, sarcastic moments, but Touichirou didn’t think they’d be so contagious.
“How are you, Katsuya?” Touichirou finally ventured, leaning in minutely closer. Serizawa gave him a disgusted scowl.
“Better if you didn’t call me that.”
“Serizawa. My apologies.”
Serizawa nodded, thumbs twiddling slowly over one another. “I’m fine. I’m happy.” He took a deep, slow breath, eyes shut--as if he were running through an entire conversation in his mind, preparing himself. “Adjusting to society hasn’t been as difficult as you led me to believe, Suzuki.”
“Is that so?”
“There are unkind people. But for the most part, everyone is very forgiving. They meet you where you stand. Give you directions, teach you how to buy train tickets at the kiosk, tell you which cuts of meat to buy--” he paused to chuckle incredulously. “I don’t know why I assumed no one would be willing to help me if I re-entered the outside world. Did you know there are people who you can hire specifically to help you file your taxes? O-or--classes in schools where you learn how to cook and sew? I didn’t. I didn’t know any of that.”
Touichirou gazed at his old muscle very calmly. Here were glimpses of the man he once knew--filled with wonder and gratitude for whomever could spare a helping hand. Touichirou hadn’t deserved that admiration at all, had he?
“I didn’t, either,” Touichirou lied. “That’s good to hear. When I’m out of this place, I hope--I hope folks are as welcoming to me as they were to you.”
Serizawa looked away. It was all so much more complicated than that; they both knew.
“And they’re forgiving,” Touichirou wondered aloud. “Do you think I’m past help in that sense?”
Serizawa eyed him.
“I’m genuinely asking. I want to know.”
“Maybe. Maybe for some of us,” Serizawa muttered. “You’ll have to live with what you did, Touichirou. And even if you can’t amend it, your purpose in living will be to do everything you can to contradict who you once were. Prove you’ve changed.”
Touichirou narrowed his eyes.
“Serizawa, are you feeling quite yourself today?”
The larger man’s cheeks were suddenly very flushed in this greyscale light. “Getting over a fever. But I mean that, Suzuki. Don’t derail me.”
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
Touichirou’s words hung heavy as lead in the air between them.
“I’m sorry.” Once more. Much softer. All-encompassing, and for a second, Touichirou pushed himself to be truly transparent. It was paralyzing. “For everything. For using you. For not telling you what the world was really like. I--I didn’t know it myself, not back then. And I won’t ask you to forgive me. I’ve given up on anything like that,” Touichirou chuckled weakly. “Just… believe that I know how wrong I was.”
Serizawa stared at Touichirou, then his hands.
“I do believe you.”
He stood a few silent moments later, gave Touichirou a curt nod before making for the door, the guard standing by.
“You’ve changed,” Touichirou said, still in his chair.
Serizawa turned to look at him, eyes glinting strangely. His lips split in a tiny grin. “I would hope so.”
-
Serizawa’s heart was thumping so hard by the time he made it back out to the parking lot that he had to sit down and breathe on the curbside. Hands hugging his knees tight against his body, head slowly shaking side to side, mouth pulled taut to hold back tears.
“I-I thought I could--I thought I could handle it,” he whispered into the cool fall air. “But I look at him, and I feel like I’m--nothing. Back under the goddamn umbrella.”
That’s why I’m here, Katsuya. You did well.
Serizawa hid his face in his knees. From within, he felt delicate pulses of reassuring warmth spreading from his chest and out into his limbs. “Thank you for coming with me.”
Of course , Dimple said. Just wish I’d gotten the chance to thank him for fucking drop-kicking me when we last saw each other.
Brushing a wrist over his eyes, Serizawa laughed. “And blown our cover?”
I doubt he even remembers I exist! We exchanged, what, four words before he sent me flying? I’d have made a fool of you, if anything.
“I appreciate your restraint.”
Serizawa sat and recovered himself for a bit longer before standing laboriously, pulling out his phone to call for a cab. He and Dimple clambered in when the yellow car pulled up, rested against the window and watched the chilly morning pass them by.