A child. A student. His student. His friend.
That was the essence of their relationship, for the past three years of their lives, ever since they converged that one day, all that time ago. It was almost something out of some kind of comedyā the deadpan, boring fourteen year old with unfathomable powers, the student of a man who couldāve been anything but decided, of all things, to become a professional conman. Maybe it was, in some ways; he wouldnāt doubt it. It certainly felt that way enough times, even if heās never said it; perhaps heād claim aloud it was more of a drama, with him at the helm of protagonist, though there are times he looks over at the boy and wonders if heās got it all wrong.
He is a bit of a hypocrite. Maybe Mob was assisting him, in that department, but there are times where he questions his own (admittedly bullshitted most of the time) advice. āYou are the protagonist of your own lifeā, heās said, but sometimes he looks over, and wonders if heās nothing more than just a supporting character for a story thatās bigger than anything he could even imagine. That one day he wonāt be needed, and that his chapter, his participation, in all of this, will one day come to an end, and heāll go back to what he was before he was the master of the esper named Kageyama Shigeo.
(Itās not so much of a wonder, as it is a when.)
But he doesnāt worry about it, not really, because Regien isnāt the type to worry about the future nor the past; the present is what heās in, after all, the present and its bills and spirits and clients, and quite frankly he doesnāt have the time for thinking about something too far away. There are clients to satisfy, spirits to exorciseā itās not the time to be wondering about his own dumb life advice.
But he does, sometimes, especially on the day Mob left, the day he was caught, the day he almost collapsed into a pit crafted of and for his own demise. Maybe that was a while ago, perhaps, with the world collapsing not too long after, but Reigen still thinks about it, sometimes. Like today, when he hasnāt seen Mob in a while, when heās wondering where he could be, how heās been, if he was fairing alrightā
when he suddenly sees the boyās back, just a couple feet ahead of him.
He knows itās him, immediately, unquestionably. It is a back heās seen often enough, that dull, bob cut hair and even duller school uniform; but backs have never been all that appealing. Canāt see the face. Faces were nicer. You could see the eyes, the expression (or lack thereof), read them a little better; it was how he dealt with clients, after all. It was a mutual thing. Heād show his face, and theyād show theirs. Backs showed distrust. Which meant no money. Among other things, of course.
So it was almost offensive, even, when you think about it, though he knows Mob in particular never meant anything by it; it was simply fact that Reigen found him here, like this. But the thoughts are still there, like they always are, and so he pushes them away a little to the side before deciding to speak up.
ā ā¦ Mob,ā Reigen says, finally, hovering almost a little uncertainly just a couple of footsteps behind the younger boy, hand in not too different of a position; itās nice to see you, he almost wants to say; itās been a while, hasnāt it? But some part of him hesitates, and he doesnāt know why, not really. Perhaps itās this new place, throwing him off his usual gameā that sounds about right. The nervousness of this all; there hasnāt been a passing day, back home in Seasoning, where they havenāt seen each other. Itās been a couple here, for him, and heaven knows how many for Mob; maybe it wasnāt that long, not really, but for Reigen Arataka and his apprentice, it couldāve been an eternity.
(Perhaps heās just glad he sees a familiar face, for once, but some part of him pounds in that phantom pain worry that it was like last time, the first time, Mob was absent for more than a couple of days.)
He clears his throat, instead. Pulls away his hand into a fist at his lips in an attempt to make it look useful, before pocketing it away, right hip teetering to the side dangerously as he keeps his face utterly neutral, looking over at his student with his head just slightly tilted, an eyebrow just a tad raised. āSo youāre here too, huh?ā
