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 comedy— the deadpan, boring fourteen year old with unfathomable powers, the student of a man who could’ve been anything but decided, of all things, to become a professional conman. Maybe it was, in some ways; he wouldn’t doubt it. It certainly felt that way enough times, even if he’s never said it; perhaps he’d 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 he’s 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. ‘You are the protagonist of your own life’, he’s said, but sometimes he looks over, and wonders if he’s nothing more than just a supporting character for a story that’s bigger than anything he could even imagine. That one day he won’t be needed, and that his chapter, his participation, in all of this, will one day come to an end, and he’ll go back to what he was before he was the master of the esper named Kageyama Shigeo.
(It’s not so much of a wonder, as it is a when.)
But he doesn’t worry about it, not really, because Regien isn’t the type to worry about the future nor the past; the present is what he’s in, after all, the present and its bills and spirits and clients, and quite frankly he doesn’t have the time for thinking about something too far away. There are clients to satisfy, spirits to exorcise— it’s 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 hasn’t seen Mob in a while, when he’s wondering where he could be, how he’s been, if he was fairing alright—
when he suddenly sees the boy’s back, just a couple feet ahead of him.
He knows it’s him, immediately, unquestionably. It is a back he’s seen often enough, that dull, bob cut hair and even duller school uniform; but backs have never been all that appealing. Can’t 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. He’d show his face, and they’d 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.
“ … Mob,” 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; it’s nice to see you, he almost wants to say; it’s been a while, hasn’t it? But some part of him hesitates, and he doesn’t know why, not really. Perhaps it’s this new place, throwing him off his usual game— that sounds about right. The nervousness of this all; there hasn’t been a passing day, back home in Seasoning, where they haven’t seen each other. It’s been a couple here, for him, and heaven knows how many for Mob; maybe it wasn’t that long, not really, but for Reigen Arataka and his apprentice, it could’ve been an eternity.
(Perhaps he’s 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. “So you’re here too, huh?”
