There were two sorts of attitudes people had about life, when they got as old as Arc was. They either focused on the ends instead of means, cutting out pointless flair and anything deemed purposeless, or they reveled in the drama, the little bits of joy to be had between goals met and major events. 

Arc was, admittedly, more the former instead of the latter, but they had their moments of flair. Leaning on Tetsuya’s kitchen counter in the dark, waiting for the man to get home and turn on the lights, that was more for the drama of it all than anything practical. 

They were old, they could find what little fun they could where it was available, and besides, their old friend had neglected to visit the radio station as promised. They could forgo the courtesy of knocking.

Arc heard him before they saw him. As quietly as Tetsuya moved, there was no hiding that familiar static of his magic still holding a strange frequency of something else. It was enough of a warning to prepare for his potential immediate reaction to be more inclined towards intruders than old friends before the light flicked on and they were face-to-face.

“Are you hiding all of your food, Tetsuya? Your fridge is a wasteland.” No greeting, no prelude. Those would have happened if he had taken the invitation to come see Arc at their place of work, instead of making them track him down.