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hongherbac · 25 days ago

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[Shimazaki-Centric] A Narcissus in Summer - Chapter 2

Read it on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandom: Mob Psycho 100 Relationship: No Romantic Relationship(s), Shimazaki Ryou & Hatori Nozomu & Minegishi Toshiki Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Personal Growth, Plot, Immature Shimazaki, But He's Learning

Chapters: 2/6 Words: 2,958/17k

CW: mild violence

Summary: Shimizaki's ordinary workdays—but not so ordinary. After all, it was Shimazaki.

Chapter 2

　　"A man just fell from the sky today."

　　"Yeah?"

　　Bzzz. A faint static crackled through the earpiece, indicating some kind of electronic activity on the other end. Hatori appeared to be operating a computer, retrieving police records. His voice came through the hidden earpiece.

　　"The only witness was a homeless. The police thought he was too drunk, so they didn't take his testimony seriously."

　　Shimazaki wiped the slick fresh blood off his hands with a tablecloth.

　　No, he didn't kill anyone. He didn't even cause any serious injuries—just broke the nose of someone. It wasn’t his fault they tried to fight back, right? Besides, everything he did was perfectly legal. It was the government’s order for him to "take care of" the cadres of a psychic crime organization. (The government called it an "arrest," but Shimazaki sees them as synonymous.)

　　Half an hour ago, Shimazaki had been waiting in an alley as planned, wearing his earpiece to stay in contact with Hatori. Hatori was remotely controlling pre-set cameras and bugs while keeping tabs on all the mission targets’ movements. It was a banquet lunch for the organization's cadres. They arrived one by one in cars at a grand mansion, located on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by thick, meticulously cultivated hedges. As soon as the last car passed, the imposing electric gate closed automatically and locked itself. Unnoticed, the cadres gathered in the dining room, relaxing and enjoying the food. And then Hatori gave Shimazaki the nod.

　　In an instant, their pleasant evening turned into a chaotic battlefield.

　　The battle didn't last long. Within minutes, the chaos subsided. The dining room, however, was utterly destroyed. The ceiling was covered with scorch marks from lightning, dozens of kitchen knives were sticking out of the walls, and the beautiful wallpaper was blackened by flames. Anything in the room that could be thrown—lamps, porcelain, plates, pendants, crystal ornaments—lay shattered as if in an explosion. Tables and chairs tumbled to the floor, and sofa cushions were ripped open, sending cotton fluff flying everywhere.

　　Several human bodies lay motionless on the ground, still showing signs of life, but completely unconscious, and each suffering injuries ranging from concussions to psychological trauma.

　　Wiped out—except for one. The only survivor. Shimazaki could hear him hiding in a closet, his breathing heavy with fear.

　　"That guy’s lucky. He fell right into a pond in the park. The police fished him out before he drowned, and they found out he was a fugitive wanted for years. It turned out he was a professional killer." Hatori continued with interest, "Hey, tell me honestly, does this have anything to do with you?"

　　Shimazaki smiled, "Well, who knows?"

　　"Ha! That’s what I thought. I'm surprised you didn't dump him in the front square this time. You're in a good mood today."

　　"I'm blind. Don't expect me to have a good aim."

　　His shoes crunched over the scattered shards of glass. Shimazaki deliberately passed in front of the closet, and felt the survivor's breath drop away. The closet could only block the view, but it couldn't hide the frantic energies leaking out of the esper, churning wildly from sheer terror.

　　Hatori spoke again, "Joseph hasn't noticed yet."

　　"Oh?"

　　"How long do you think it will take him to realize? He can be weirdly sharp sometimes… He once even called me out for tampering with the files. Jesus Christ, those were files from fifty years ago. Who cares about that except some history teachers?"

　　Shimazaki smiled without saying anything.

　　"I can delete the relevant case information for you, but you owe me dinner. How's that?"

　　"Or—I know you're going to delete the information for me, because if Joseph does find out, I’ll come over and kick your ass. How’s that?"

　　"Asshole. At least buy me a cup of coffee."

　　He shrugged, "Well, that'll do."

　　"You better remember. You’re reporting to the office tomorrow, right? Bring it with you on the way. Otherwise, if Joseph finds out what you've done, you know he'll be nagging you to death."

　　Shimazaki suddenly felt a twinge of irritation. If it were Suzuki, he wouldn't make such a fuss.

　　Luckily, he knew how to have fun for himself.

　　He moved in a flash, teleported to the front of the closet, and yanked the door open without warning. The survivor, who had been cowering inside, screamed and scrambled backward but almost tripping, knocking down a couple of high-class suits as he clumsily steadied himself. The survivor gasped in horror, his eyes went wide, and he intuitively raised his arms to shield his head. (That won't stop anything, of course; human instincts can be so stupid sometimes.) In the earpiece, Hatori let out a surprised "Ah."

　　Shimazaki smiled at the survivor. The man shivered and stammered for a long time, but was unable to form a single word of plea; meanwhile, Shimazaki smiled and nodded, as if he were listening to some captivating story.

　　"Please, please let me go..." The survivor finally squeezed out a few weak words.

　　It was the second time Shimazaki had heard that line today. Hmm, maybe it was some kind of lucky charm.

　　"Okay."

　　"... W-what?"

　　"Your fate has nothing to do with me anyway. But this is a bit tricky. You’ve committed crimes, you see, and crimes come with consequences." Shimazaki’s grin widened ominously, "How about this? I'll give you five minutes."

　　He stepped aside from the closet door and made a graceful gesture, as if respectfully inviting a guest to leave.

　　"Please try your best to run. Don’t bore me now."

　　The man realized instantly. Though his body was weak and limp, he forced himself to stumble forward, nearly falling out of the wardrobe. He clumsily scrambled to his feet and staggered through the wrecked room, rushing toward the broken front door of the mansion, whose hinges were already rickety. Just before leaving, the man glanced back one last time—only to see Shimazaki wasn't even paying attention to him, but browsing through the closet carelessly instead. Then, he bolted.

　　Shimazaki listened as the footsteps faded into the distance. He ran his fingers over the delicate fabrics of several suits, recognizing the distinctly feminine cuts and decided he wasn’t interested. Turning to search the overturned dining table, he noticed a bottle of red wine had fallen under the tablecloth. The bottle was lying on its side, its contents staining the carpet a deep crimson.

　　"Hatori, time me."

　　"Already did." Hatori said irritably. Through the earpiece came the sound of aggressive typing on the keyboard, "I really don't want to sound like Minegishi—but can you stop making my job harder?"

　　Bzzz. Bzzz. A slight static crackled through again. Hatori slammed the keyboard.

　　"The target’s moving north toward the shopping district."

　　Shimazaki picked up the bottle of red wine and sniffed near the opening. There were only a few centimeters of liquid left in the bottle. Having been open for so long, plus having once fallen to the ground and agitated with the air, its aroma had turned somewhat sour and astringent, with sediment floating in the liquid. Still, it might be barely acceptable. He tilted his head back and took a sip directly from the bottle—oh no, it was worse than he thought. The taste was awful.

　　"Oh, that's nice. I wish I could drink on the job too." Hatori said.

　　"Too bad you don't work in the field."

　　"You mean, running around all day, either punching people or getting punched? Uh, thanks. I'd rather be in the office playing on my computer."

　　"You're only worrying about this because you're too weak."

　　"I'm not weak, you idiot. I'm just not good at fighting. There are too many fighters already, they don't need someone like me. What they really lack are skilled intel and logistics experts. Hmph, they'd better know who to call" Hatori said, "Oh, by the way, I’m stopping by the flower shop tomorrow to bug Minegishi. Want to come?"

　　"Well, we'll see."

　　"Suit yourself. We won’t wait for you. Anyway—five minutes are up."

　　Shimazaki slid his hands into his pockets.

　　"The target’s at XX Avenue and OO Street."

　　"Roger that."

　　Smiling, he turned towards the direction Hatori indicated. A mansion’s window lay directly in front of him, its curtains torn down and scattered across the floor, scorched and riddled with holes from the battle. With a light step, Shimazaki jumped onto the windowsill like an agile black cat, ready to teleport as he leapt down—

　　Then he suddenly stopped.

　　Shimazaki froze. He lifted his head, sniffing the air. A faint breeze brushed his cheek, carrying a certain unpleasant sensation.

　　A distant voice came through the earpiece, "What's he doing?" It was Joseph, Shimazaki and Hatori's current direct superior, the leader of one of the teams in the government’s psychic crime department. Joseph's voice was coming closer to the microphone, as if he were moving closer to Hatori, and must have seen the surveillance footage on Hatori’s screen, "Why is there still a guy running?"

　　"You know, just the usual Shimazaki style." Hatori said flatly. Shimazaki could picture the small guy shrugging at their boss. "Let the prey go, then catch them again later, like a cat playing with a mouse. No big dea—Oh! Hey!"

　　Hatori’s voice suddenly faded, replaced by Joseph’s clear voice.

　　"Shimazaki, what are you doing?"

　　"Nothing." Shimazaki smiled, "I’m being good, sticking to the rules, sir."

　　"Stop messing around. Just go take care of that guy already. Do whatever you need to, but don’t cause a public panic. The facility is fully prepared to take in the suspects. Bring them all back whenever you’re ready.

　　Shimazaki neither spoke nor moved, sensing the air around him thoughtfully.

　　"You hear me? Shimazaki—"

　　"It's going to rain." he said.

　　He was right. The moment Shimazaki’s words left his mouth, the first drop of rain fell from the sky, hitting the ground like a soft torpedo, leaving a wet, dark-colored dot. Then came the second drop, the third... The raindrops began to fall faster and faster. Within seconds, they could no longer be counted. Countless thick, heavy droplets poured down in torrents, like a waterfall crashing onto the entire city, coloring everything in stifling dampness.

　　Thunder roared through the sky—BOOM!—rattling the very buildings in its wake.

　　It was a summer afternoon thunderstorm that came sudden and furious. The intense downpour caused a thick mist, turning the air into a blurry, white haze. Outside, it seemed as though the entire world was shrouded in a thick curtain of rushing water, and anyone who dared to venture through it would surely have to pay a price.

　　The cool rain drifted through the air, dampening Shimazaki's cheeks. He stepped back from the window.

　　"I don't want to get wet. I'll leave that guy to you."

　　"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Joseph raised his voice, " Your mission isn’t over yet! You need to bring all of them back. That is your responsibility—"　　

　　"I'll give you my head if you can yell him into action." Hatori's voice was distant and slurred, grumbling inanely, "Now, if you return my headphones, I could get Miguel to handle this for you. I know he's free today. Or you can do it yourself if you want. That guy's weak, not much of a threat."

　　"Still stronger than you." Shimazaki said.

　　"Yeah, that's right. Shut up."

　　Joseph cursed and, judging by the loud clack, probably slammed the headset onto the table. Hatori let out a pained wail. After Joseph stormed off, Hatori picked up the headset and put it back on. His voice came through clearly again:

　　"Seriously, you can't keep doing this all the time. I can't help you every time. There's always a limit to their patience."

　　Shimazaki fiddled with the threads on the hem of his jacket, then yanked it off with a sharp tug.

　　"Goodbye, Hatori."

　　"Uh, wait, you haven't brought in the suspects—" Hatori stopped mid-sentence, as if remembering the words he'd just said not too long ago. "Fuck you, Shimazaki, that wouldn’t even take you two minutes." He sighed heavily, "I want a caramel cappuccino, venti, extra ice and foam. See you tomorrow."

　　Shimazaki took off the hidden earpiece.

* * * * *

　　It's pouring rain. It was as if the sky had sprung a leak, endlessly dumping water onto the city. The entire city was soaked, and even the air felt incredibly humid, with each breath heavy with moisture. The thick humidity clung to everyone like a heavy blanket, making the already overheated weather even more unbearable. No matter who you were, your skin always felt sticky and clammy. It was hard to tell if it came from sweat or the saturated, condensed rain in the air.

　　Ding Dong.

　　The automatic door of a convenience store slid open, releasing a brief puff of refreshing air conditioning. As the glass door slowly closed again, the world was once again mercilessly left to the endless summer heat. Shimazaki tore open a package, taking out a popsicle wrapped around a wooden stick, and began licking it slowly.

　　He stood under the eaves, casually observing his surroundings as usual. His extrasensory perception depicted the shapes of the nearby buildings. Inside the convenience store, there were a few clerks and customers moving about, and their weak indistinct auras marking them as non-espers.. But beyond the narrow shelter of the eaves, where water gathered and dripped from the edge of the roof like a tiny stream, the scene dissolved into a fast-moving blur.

　　Countless, countless raindrops fell at high speeds, like dazzling blinding colors, obscuring anything else. Shimazaki could faintly perceive a few pedestrians, some umbrellas floating along the road, but their movements were fragmented and fleeting, like butterflies darting in and out constantly. The low rumbling of cars mixed with the sounds of thunder, rain, and the ever-present city noise. The air was hot and stuffy, filled with the smell of dampness and humidity, so heavy that even the passing pedestrians stirred no breeze as they hurried by Shimazaki. And he...

　　He didn’t like it.

　　No, it wasn’t some dramatic "Aha! Shimazaki's weakness is the rain! Lure him into the rain and he's done for!" scenario. He just really, really, really didn’t like the rain. The world felt much narrower, and it became harder to discern everything clearly. He guessed it was probably a similar feeling to how Hatori must feel without his glasses.

　　"... Excuse me."

　　A voice suddenly called out and cut through the rain. It belonged to an elderly woman, carrying something on her back.

　　"Would you mind if I took that?"

　　It seems that she was a frugal old lady who had spotted something, and mistakenly thought that Shimazaki was its owner. Shimazaki smiled kindly, "No, I don't need it. Feel free to take it if you like."

　　"Thank you, then I'll come and take it tonight."

　　The old woman murmured her thanks, then slowly shuffled away, her figure disappearing into the downpour.

　　Shimazaki quickened his pace eating the popsicle in his hand. The heat melted the sugary treat quickly, dripping down and making the wooden stick sticky and messy. After finishing the last bite, he touched the sticky stick and recognized the embossed letters on his fingertips. It read, "Congratulations! You win another one!"

　　......

　　A few minutes later, Shimazaki appeared in the backyard of a flower shop.

　　Under a wide awning, the air was filled with the pungent scent of damp soil. It was a semi-open workspace, with metal shelves lining the walls, cluttered with dusty, cobwebbed gardening equipment. Several other shelves were covered with plastic sheeting, under which warm lights illuminated rows of tiny, delicate seedlings. Beyond the awning, there was a lush, overgrown garden, where all kinds of plants were growing vigorously, and at the moment, they were trembling and drooping from the rain. It was hard to tell whether they were rejoicing or lamenting the downpour. The plants gave off a distinct fresh smell, like a tangible breath of life unfolding vibrantly.

　　There was a blurry figure moving through the garden in the rain. Clad in a heavy plastic raincoat, Minegishi was forcefully snipping a sick branch and tossing it casually onto the soil in the corner of the garden. He hurried toward the awning, cast a cold look at Shimazaki, but said nothing. Minegishi took off his raincoat under the awning, his body radiating steamy heat, his cheeks dripping with sweat and rainwater. He hung the raincoat back by the work shelf, then wiped his soaked face and hair with a towel. After a long moment, he finally spoke.

　　"... What do you want?"

　　Shimazaki as he handed over the popsicle, "Just visiting. Won it in a raffle. It's quite hot today, isn't it?"

　　"Oh." Minegishi stared at him like a snake, "Thanks."

　　Minegishi took the popsicle, ripped open the wrapper from the opposite end of the stick, and instead of taking out the whole dessert, he just pushed the tip of the half-melted treat out of the plastic package and nibbled on it, as if he was eating a burger or something. Shimazaki found it amusing—who ate a popsicle like that? Minegishi did. Minegishi was always very weird.

　　Thunder rumbled across the sky. Minegishi nibbled on the popsicle, leaning against the work desk while flipping through a tattered, dirt- and water-stained plant illustration, but before long, he raised his head to look back at the garden. Shimazaki could sense his super-powered aura to be more calm and peaceful than usual, quietly watching the rain pour down over the plants.

　　"The world feels quiet in the rain." Minegishi said.

　　"… Is that so?"

　　Shimazaki smiled. He didn't say that, everything sounded deafening to him.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #super 5 #ultimate 5 #shimazaki ryou #hatori nozomu #mp100 joseph #minegishi toshiki

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truly-morgan · 1 year ago

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[Pre-slash, prison routine]

JoseTou | Mob Psycho 100 30-12-2022

Slow and maybe just implied JoseTou where Toichiro slowly notices the way a routine is taking place now that he's stuck in prison after his failed attack.

Sometimes it's hard telling how much time has gone by when he has no reference for it in his repetitive and bland days

He can tell one week has gone by when his wife comes to see him on the visitation time he's allowed (which he earned for being nice and not causing problems). She comes every week and she talks about how things are going out there for her. Tell him how Shou's is doing when he tries to get some news about his son. He'd like to see him and try to be a better dad, but he has to be patient and let Shou come to him if he wishes to.

He can tell a month has gone by when Serizawa comes to see him (which he has to be honest, he is surprised the man is allowed to do so). But it's nice seeing a rather familiar face, even if the familiar face has to be the man he took advantage of. although it is good to hear about all the progress the man is doing in his studies and how he has been doing better socially since he started working with that strange blonde man and works to use his power to help people properly.

Maybe his cell doesn't have a window to the outside, so he cannot really tell how much time is passing in a day. But he slowly starts to be able to find out around when it is when he's being brought his food, although it is only vague guessing.

Then it's when Joseph comes to visit him, be it because he's the one stuck to somehow bring his food or because he has work for him to do.

But slowly the man starts to visit him more often, always at the same time.

Every two days at around 7 pm, Joseph comes to see him ("because I'm bored") the first couple of times they only talk about work and such, since Toichiro isn't really sure why the man comes to see him outside of what is needed.

But then they slowly get more comfortable around each other. He wouldn't say he's friends with the man, but it's nice company to have compared to the cold four walls of his cell and a far more entertaining pass time than doing exercise and reading the handful of books he's allowed to keep in his room.

Sometimes they only talk and get on each other's nerves, other times Joseph brings a pack of cards and they play whatever seems more interesting at the moment.

Then one Monday morning a new part of the routine adds to this, where Joseph is the one coming with the shaving tools (since he's not allowed to do it himself). It's bothersome to be chained down to make sure "he doesn't try anything", but he'll give that if it means he can get rid of his annoying small beard (feels weird to keep when he was always well shaved before).

And slowly the visit comes more regularly, and he finds himself expecting the man. He surprises himself with how disappointed he feels when Joseph doesn't come to visit him at the usual time because he has work to do. He wouldn't have thought he'd expect those visits so much.

okay, I have to admit I'm not sure where I'm going with this. Just like the idea of a routine setting in Toichiro's sad life in prison and Joseph slowly becoming a very important part of it. Where he's nearly more disappointed not to see the man when he would usually come than when his wife doesn't visit him for one week because of reasons. Where he slowly grows more attached to the man as he's very slowly allowed to see some facet of the man through those times in his cell or when they are both away on a work he's been assigned to.

Also, I dunno why, this all nearly started with that shaving part. But the intimacy of the moment, both quiet as Toichiro let him shave him, somehow trusting that he won't nick him or just try to harm him when he's basically unable to do much about it

maybe sitting on something lower than Joseph does, head tilted upward as he closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of hands working on his skin, maybe the realisation that he's grown a little starved for touches. He was never one to necessarily seek for it, but it's different from before where he still could get some contact if he wanted to, where now he's all by himself most of the time and no one touches him either. So having Joseph so openly touch him is nice, not commenting on the way fingers linger on his skin for longer than needed caressing the freshly shaved jaw and cheeks of the man.

Original

#my writing #tweet archive #short story #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #josetou #toichiro suzuki #mp100 joseph #pre-slash #prison #0k - 1k words

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