Chapter Text
Katsuya was not prepared for this.
He had only just started going outside with the President’s help. He’s at the stage where he’s proud of himself for using the train, or buying his gunpla directly from the store instead of ordering online. He hasn’t spoken to a single person besides the cashier there, he thinks. It was something that was supposed to come with time.
But then a man in a grey suit was pinned between Katsuya and the wall of people during rush hour on the train, and the awkward jutting of his hip to force space between his own elbow and Katsuya’s umbrella hand must have worked the contents of his pocket out. Katsuya notices because the man does, but the man picks up his keys and clearly did not see the wallet still on the ground.
Katsuya opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. It’s already extremely stressful to be compressed in a space with this many people. He doesn’t even know what to say. ‘You dropped your wallet too’, but should he introduce himself, or say ‘excuse me’, or tap his shoulder? Katsuya isn’t sure he’s ready to tap someone on the shoulder.
The train reaches his stop before he even realizes. The crowd begins shifting, and he snaps the wallet into his hand with his powers. ‘Excuse me’, and holding up the wallet. That should do it.
“E-Excuse…” The crowd flows into the station, and it’s suddenly like he’s talking to everyone at once. His tongue turns to lead in his mouth. No, he should wait until it’s obvious he’s talking to the man in the grey suit. Katsuya keeps his head ducked under his umbrella and follows quietly. It’s sort of like staking out a target for the President. It makes him feel better to think of it like that.
The high flow of people persists. There’s a gap for a few moments on the stairs, but by the time Katsuya rushes forward, there’s a bunch of people again. Oh no. This is terrifying.
The man uses populated streets even above-ground. Katsuya gets more and more anxious as the route ventures off paths he’s walked before, until he has no idea where they are. By the time the man in the grey suit has reached a street where he’s not surrounded by people, they’re completely alone, which is a thousand times more awkward than isolating him in a crowd. Katsuya prays three or four people could turn on the street at a distance so he can go about this casually.
The man turns on a corner, and Katsuya follows quickly at first, but loses speed when he sees another empty residential street. The rush hour is all in the city, of course.
Another street. The peeling pleather of the man’s wallet is making Katsuya’s hand sweat. He keeps his jaw clenched and persists. Can he really say he’s changed if he can’t return a single wallet? This isn’t just a proper thing to do, it’s a measure of his progress as a member of society. He won’t be able to face the President if he can’t do this much.
The man turns on two more blocks, and finally there’s another person so far down the street that it would be unreasonable to believe Katsuya is calling out to them. His heart hammers. All he has to do is get the man’s attention.
He opens his mouth and all that comes out is a croak.
…He doesn’t want to shout down the street. He’ll just get closer.
Katsuya picks up speed, and then man abruptly stops. Oh, he noticed after all. Katsuya slows back down again in relief and clears his throat as meaningfully as he can, but it sort of comes out as a strangled cough. He doesn’t know how the President and Shimazaki do it so easily.
But the man hears it, which is the important thing. He turns to look at Katsuya. He’s more striking than just the lightly bleached hair; his eyes are bold and intense, and he has a narrow, thin slash of a mouth.
Katsuya stops too. His words leave him just as they were beginning to form.
But the man’s face lights up into a brilliant smile. Oh, Katsuya realizes, he’s not just striking. He’s handsome. “Can I help you?”
“Oh. I. Oh.” Katsuya takes a deep breath. He shoves the wallet forward and says a little louder than he meant to, “THIS IS YOURS!”
The man’s dark eyes light up in recognition. He pats his pockets to double-check and curses. “I must have dropped it on the train.”
“Yes! So I picked it up!” Katsuya shoves the wallet even further out and looks away so he doesn’t have to see a stranger approach him.
“And followed me for 8 blocks,” the man continues slowly.
“I’M SORRY!” Katsuya says, again way louder than he meant to, but the panic is setting in, “I’ve never done this before!”
“…Pick something up for somebody?”
Katsuya nods sadly.
The man in the grey suit clears his throat. The sound is controlled, elegant, and crisp, none of the deep rumbling texture of the President, more of a sharp call to attention. Katsuya can hear his dress shoes click meaningfully on the pavement, louder than when he was walking casually. The wallet is tugged gently from his fingers, and Katsuya opens one eye to see that he’s checking through it.
“Looks like it’s all here,” he says with relief. His smile reaches his eyes this time, wide and full enough it accentuates the round of his cheekbones. It’s a different kind of smile, in a good way.
…Katsuya did it. He successfully spoke to a stranger. Helpfully. The president would be so proud. He can’t wait to tell him, and Shou as well, and maybe Shimazaki, if it’s not too boring for him to hear about, and call his mom and tell her as well. She’ll probably be the most proud.
Katsuya returns the smile, fails to think of what to say next, and just nods eagerly to express how happy he is that this interaction was a success.
“…Well. Thanks.” The man spins on his heel and begins walking away, a little faster than before.
Katsuya watches him go, still basking in the glow of his success. It takes him a moment to remember he has somewhere to be, and another moment to realize he has absolutely no idea where he is.
How does he get back? He was so focused on the man he didn’t remember where he turned. He has no map.
Wait. The man obviously knows the area!
Katsuya dashes to catch up with him. He’s turned on a new street already. Katsuya makes to call out, but hesitates at the gut-churning embarrassment of approaching this man a second time. Okay. He did it once. He can do it again. The man knows he’s there now.
They walk an additional two blocks.
The man stops at a tiny office building with two floors. The title ‘Spirits and Such Consultation Office’ is clearly written by hand on the sign outside.
The man makes for the door, and Katsuya realizes he will lose all will to approach the moment the man is indoors.
“EXCUSE ME!” Katsuya shouts, and really did shout on purpose, but it’s so loud it echoes off the street and makes the man leap a foot in the air. Katsuya’s powers shoot up and down the runner of the umbrella in anxious circles.
Again the man turns, and the smile on his face is forced. “…Yes?”
“I’m, uhm. I don’t know where I am,” Katsuya says meekly.
“Don’t you have a phone?”
“Oh, I do, but—“ Katsuya fumbles with his cellphone and opens it to show the man the inside of his brightly coloured StarTAC, the only screen the narrow dot-matrix display for caller ID. It’s the same kind of cellphone he had in middle school, but the president had bought a newer version for him, so it works even better. But, well, no screen to use maps with.
“Now that’s vintage,” the man mutters under his breath. He whips out his own phone and approaches with wide, confident steps as he taps away. “Uh, back to the station?”
“Yes, please,” Katsuya mumbles.
The man is close enough Katsuya can see his lashes, dark as his eyes, perfectly complementing the curve of his lids. The man taps his canines together impatiently while the map loads on the little flip phone screen. The President uses a phone that’s all screen, a big one that comes with a pen that he uses because he prefers not to leave fingerprints.
“Okay, wandered a little more than I thought. Head straight for three blocks, then take a left and keep on,” Reigen says. He holds the phone out to show the dotted line guiding from the GPS location to the station. The man has long, thin fingers and short nails.
“Thank you so much. I’m new to this,” Katsuya croaks.
The man barks a short laugh. “Yeah, you said. How far does ‘this’ go, anyway?”
“People. Maybe.” He repeats three blocks, then a left in his head. “I haven’t been out— around, outside-outside, not until the President came.”
“You have a job?” The man lights up in sudden interest.
Katsuya nods quickly. “It’s only been a year and I’ve been doing really well! I can talk to my coworkers all the time now! I’m really close to regular socializing, I think, maybe.”
“Hmm, mm-hmm, that sounds like good start. But if you’re following people around, you’re not at the point you can proudly call yourself a functional member of society, can you?” The man says.
“I-I can’t?”
“In polite society we call that stalking. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life stalking anyone you want to pull aside for a chat, can you?” The man slaps both hands on Katsuya’s shoulders. They’re warm and tangible in the way only the President has been tangible to him. No one but the President has breeched the shadow of his umbrella just to touch him like this.
“I don’t want to stalk anybody,” Katsuya agrees with horror.
“Right? No well-adjusted person wants to do that. And you’re well-adjusted, I can tell! You just need some experience and some release. I can sense an incredible pressure inside you, sir; your anxiety has given birth to a wellspring of dark energy.” The man speaks with a breathy rasp that draws Katsuya in closer.
“Y-You can tell?”
“Of course! I just so happen to be the 21st Century’s Greatest Psychic! If we can overcome that negative outlook, we can overcome the energy broiling inside you!” The man does so many hand movements that Katsuya can’t even keep track of them all and gestures to himself with a snap of his wrist. “I, Reigen Arataka, can handle your case!”
Katsuya’s jaw drops. “Are you an esper too?”
Reigen Arataka the 21st Century’s Greatest Psychic goes very still. “…’Too’?”
“You can sense my psychic power even when it’s contained…” Katsuya tears up. He didn’t think he’d ever meet someone like him outside the company. “It was always going out of control, and it’s thanks to the President I could go outside like this without hurting anyone…I know I should be grateful that he gave me my control back, but I’m always afraid, and I know I’m being a burden, and…and…”
“W…Worry not.” Reigen clears his throat with that sharp crisp sound again. “Actually…I myself have been training a student with problems not unlike your own! The key, my good sir, is emotional control and moral rigor. If you ever need a consultation—“ He does another set of rapid movements and elegantly slides a card from the inside pocket of his jacket. Reigen Arataka, Spirits and Such Consultation Office is printed on plain cardstock along with a number and address. “Don’t be afraid to drop by to talk. We can discuss rates whenever you’d like.”
Katsuya takes the card reverently. “Really…?”
This man is to another esper what the President is to him. He knows things Katsuya might not want to bother the President with. So many things. He’s so terrified of disappointing the President, and Shimazaki is surely losing patience with him, and he’s still not confident enough to talk to Minegishi or Hatori yet, and Shou is ten years old. This man is offering his services, and he’s got someone Katsuya can talk to.
“Thank you so much,” Katsuya sniffles. It’s an effort to not start bawling on the spot.
Reigen pats Katsuya on the shoulder once, twice. His hands are broad, despite how thin they are. “Don’t even mention it. It’s my job — nay, my duty — to save wayward souls such as yourself. Now start by holding your head up high and look directly at every person you want to speak to!”
“YES!” Katsuya shouts. “THANK YOU, REIGEN-SAN!”
He woodenly marches down the street. Someone passes by, and he looks at them, and it’s just a person going about their day, barely acknowledging him beyond a passing glance. Everyone is just a person. His shoulder tingles where Reigen Arataka had been gripping him.
He helped someone. He talked to them. He asked them for help. He had a whole conversation. He’s socialized more with this stranger than he has with any other stranger in fifteen years. More than even the cashier at the hobby shop.
Suddenly, Katsuya feels like he’s just a person too. He beams at the world.
He’s going to be a person.