It was a good thing there wasn't anyone else at the café anymore. If there were, then they would think a middle schooler and a business man collapsed on the concrete weird.
Hopefully no one else showed up either, because it didn't seem like they were going to stand anytime soon.
Reigen sat up, holding his hands out in front of him. They were pale, uncalloused; he rubbed the fingertips together, trying to remember the last time his hands felt so soft. Black shirt, black pants, white sneakers, all of which were familiar but shouldn't be on him, let alone fit him in the first place.
He had experience with the supernatural and knew way more psychic children than the average adult male. However, their powers didn't usually affect him directly. Sometimes he floated, but that was manageable. This was so different that he didn't know how to even begin to go about it.
What he did know was sitting in stunned silence was getting him nowhere.
"I'm…." He was caught off-guard again when the syllable was higher than expected. It only helped drive the situation home. "…not in my body."
"Yeah…," came the drawn-out agreement to his right. Reigen knew who he would see there. He took a moment to compose himself before looking.
He looked like Reigen Arataka. In some ways, it could be considered that he was Reigen Arataka, in everything but composure: sitting on his knees, hands folded in his lap, back perfectly straight, dark eyes staring in a half-lidded manner that dashed any intensity, and the only hint of emotion being the perspiration beginning to coat his forehead.
He was too stiff and formal and calm and indescribably Mob and so not right.
On reflex, Reigen shied back. "A-ahh, I'm sorry, Shishou!" Mob stammered at the action, innocently holding his hands up, somehow sitting even straighter than before. "I d-don't think it was my fault, but if it was, then I didn't mean to!"
Even though it sounded a touch different, that voice was still plenty recognizable. Except his confident silver tongue was instead quiet, shaky, and entirely from the head. Not like him at all, Reigen thought. He managed to catch himself before he wrinkled his nose in unease. After all, he was the adult in this situation, even if it wasn't entirely literal at the moment.
"Hey, hey, it's alright," he reassured, waving a hand for emphasis. "I believe you. You're too good with your powers to do something like this on accident, and I doubt you'd want my job enough to resort to body snatching."
A small frown and a furrow in his brow appeared on Mob's stolen—borrowed—face, an expression Reigen often saw when the child was attempting to think through a joke. It was such a Mob thing to do. This would be just another everyday interaction between them if Mob wasn't blond and older and in a suit and him and—
Reigen shook his head and restarted the conversation. "What do you think did happen?"
"Well…," hummed Mob, eyes drifting upward in recollection. "Even though he seemed pretty angry at Dimple, it didn't feel like he was using enough power to exorcise him."
It was too weird. Some kind of morbid curiosity kept him watching, noticing every little movement and having to remind himself that it wasn't a reflection he was seeing. When Mob looked back at him, it became just too much. His stomach turned uncomfortably, and he looked away, down at his hands, as a slight shiver wracked his frame. His hands were still too soft. "He must've been a pretty lame psychic if he couldn't even exorcise one measly wisp of a ghost," Reigen said a touch absently, again intrigued by how his thumbs seemed to glide over the pads of his fingers.
"No, he could have done it," his student assured. How was he so calm right now? Reigen highly doubted this was commonplace, even in the esper community. "Instead, maybe he was just trying to exorcise him from your body. He wouldn't need as much power for that."
"Seems like he caught more than he was fishing for," Reigen mumbled.
"Maybe. Then I remember setting up a barrier, but after his powers hit, I found myself in here." Mob flexed a hand, using the other to fiddle with the cuff of his suit jacket. "It's…odd."
"That's one word for it."
"It's…."
As he searched for the term, Reigen noticed Mob's hand rotated, drawing small circles in the air. Did Mob always do that? The con man decided that no, no he didn't; Mob wasn't expressive in words and definitely not in gestures. "Disconcerting?" Reigen supplied. "Uncomfortable? Perverse? Intrusive?"
"Weightless."
"Oh…eh?"
"My powers always feel heavy, like there's too much. Like that's what's keeping me on the ground. But now, it's not overbearing. There's barely anything." Mob's tone changed at the end, the pitch higher. He smiled.
Barely anything? A quick wave of panic hit Reigen. "Wait, do you have any of your powers? Where did they go?"
The psychic lifted his arm. A familiar kaleidoscope of blues and indigos faded into view and washed over the rest of his body, rustling his suit and hair with its unseen force. The table next to their spot on the ground rattled, and their forgotten beverage cups rolled off its surface, spinning and gliding on the shining air between them. "A little," said Mob. "But it's hard to direct, like I'm learning how to use them. Your body might still be trying to block psychic powers from earlier."
"Ah, yeah, that's a good point. Who knows how much was messed up." Reigen rubbed the back of his neck. Mob's hair felt shorter and silkier than his own. He was tempted to run his hand through the longer bowl cut on top of his head.
"What about you, Shishou?"
He snatched his hand back. "What about me?"
"How are your powers?"
"My powers…?" Reigen mused. Would he be able to use psychic powers in Mob's body? Palm upturned, he tried to recall what he had done back at Claw. It was so intuitive back then for that brief fight that he hadn't realized what had happened at first. So maybe if he tried to imagine the air around his hand becoming solid, sparkling with energy….
A moment passed where nothing changed; just two men sitting on concrete in silence, floating coffee cups between them. Then his palm prickled. It was subtle, but present enough that if he thought too much about it, it would be unbearable to not scratch it. He held his arm still and imagined that marbled ethereal light blanketing his limb.
Slowly, an aura pulsed into view, but it wasn't the one he expected. It was a red-orange, a dull burnt sienna. Slicing up the color, jagged and shifting throughout the air, were thin spikes of light pink and pale gold. It moved, rolling over and around his arm like water.
The dull ache in his bones reminded him of its presence, throbbing more than before, but Reigen was too entranced to notice. He did it. It wasn't quick, and his aura wasn't all that bright, but he did it. And it was so easy. He flipped his hand out to one suspended cup and pictured the color expanding to cover it. Instead, the cup shot away, missing Mob's head and flying into the road. But it was still a result.
The ache was getting uncomfortable. The aura disappeared when he willed it to, and he couldn't help the quiet "Whoa" that escaped with his breath. Is this what it was like for Mob every day?
"Mmm, seems weak, too," Mob observed, which—even though he'd been a real esper for all of fifteen minutes—prompted Reigen to cross his arms defensively.
"Hey, I'm not exactly in the best shape at the moment. This body was already sore when I got here."
"Sore?" asked his student, confused. "I don't think I was that sore. I don't think I'll feel today's workout until tomorrow."
"Oh great," the con man groaned sarcastically. "Then maybe I'm sore from hitting that wall. Although…." He glanced around, noting the significant lack of walls. "Maybe it was your barrier I hit?"
Mob blinked. He shrugged, dipping his head down and looking to the side.
The light tinkling of a bell sounded behind them. "Are you two okay out there?" a café employee asked, poking his head out of the door.
"Yes, we're fine, thanks. Just leaving, actually!" Reigen called back with a wave.
The employee frowned, turning his attention to Mob, the adult male currently somewhat hunched in on himself that he had probably expected to answer instead of the middle schooler. Either way, he nodded and retreated inside, again ringing the bell on the door.
"We should find Dimple," Mob suggested suddenly. "He might know more than us."
"Ah, good point. Then let's try the office first, shall we?" Reigen grinned, out of habit and support more than anything, and pushed himself to his feet.
Everything felt…off. The table seemed a little tall, the surrounding buildings a little too spaced apart. It hit him again: he wasn't in his 179-centimeter-tall proverbial shoes anymore.
Mob was moving to stand, but Reigen interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Wait, wait, just give me a second. Need to adjust."
He paused, half kneeling. Then he rose slowly to his full height. Reigen sighed before looking up at his student. At his fourteen-year-old student stuck in his twenty-seven-year-old body.
Sometimes Reigen Arataka wondered what life would be like if he had a normal job.
Eyebrows raising slightly in realization, Mob looked back, taking in the small pout and narrowed eyes under black bangs, an expression that was almost definitely foreign to the young face. Reigen held their staring contest as if to challenge him to comment. He didn't.
He cautiously lifted a hand, hesitating before dropping it on top of Reigen's head. Neither of them moved. Then Mob gave his hair a light ruffle, and a small smile tugged at his mouth.
Reigen tried to stay defiant, showing his rejection of the demeaning gesture, but it didn't last long. A laugh escaped him, soon dissolving his composure into a bout of snickering. He pushed Mob's hand away and picked up the boy's schoolbag from under the table. "C'mon, Shishou, let's get back to the office."
Wow, Mob is hard to write.
I have two quizzes tomorrow. Er, today. It's 5:30 AM. Four finals, three homework assignments, two job interviews, and a commission to do in twelve days. What am I doing with my life. Writing this, I suppose.
As an engineer, maybe I should regret spending so much time writing, drawing, gaming...
Nah.
