rheology (n.): the study of the deformation and flow of matter.

Mob's routine goes like this:

Wake up at dawn. Appreciate the sunrise from his little window. Prepare for work. Arrive at Café Arabelle's a good two hours before anybody else. Take a minute to tidy up and arrange everything (with the store's curtains drawn so floating objects and eerie glows aren't visible to the busy street outside).

All this is done so he can focus on trying new recipes and improving old ones. His bosses let him have free rein of the kitchen, and the five wait staff are unquestioning of, and grateful for, their ease in labor.

Mob pours boiling water onto the butterfly pea flowers he picked and dried from the vines growing wild by his boarding house. A curl of childish delight suffuses him, like the blue essence that tinges the water almost immediately. The videos on the internet weren't enough to prepare him for how beautiful it is to behold, especially in this tender morning light. Much as he'd love to perch his face in his hands and watch this, he still has a chiffon batter to mix. He plans to use some of the butterfly pea water as a natural food dye in the chiffon roll, and the rest will go to making simple teas and juices. He's excited to see people's faces when they squeeze lemon into their beverages and find them turned magenta from the chemical reaction. And to hear that they like how everything tastes, of course.

Arabelle-san loves to jest that he's surpassed her completely, but he knows that's not true. She's matchless in age, talent, and determination; to have come here from the Philippines as a domestic worker, and yet finding time and saving up for licenses to get her own place. She also loves to jest that had Sumire-san not met her and fallen madly in love, this café would've never existed. But Mob also knows that's not true.

He hopes that Sumire-san can stop by today and eat what he's concocted. After she has some of Arabelle-san's own cooking, of course.

Mob does his best to not use his powers when baking, unless there's a rushed catering order that he can volunteer for as long as he gets the kitchen to himself. The concentration calms him as much as a nice afternoon jog does, as the café patrons' positive feedback on something he made with his own honed skills. Sumire-san, being the numbers cruncher, keeps trying to give him a raise for all his work and overtime, but he doesn't accept it, because you don't deserve it, you don't deserve this job, you'd have never even passed college if not for cheating with your powers at the slightest sign of trouble, you're worthless without powers and you hide it from everyone here because you like that they can look at you and not see all your stupid dangerous mistakes—

Mob's exhale trembles out of him. He paces the kitchen floor, debating if it would be weird to drop to the floor and do push-ups until he can't hear himself think, when his phone pings. It's a text from Tsubomi.

'hey, mob-kun! what u up to?'

'Good morning, Tsubomi-chan. Experimenting with chiffon cake.'

'omg you're at work already?'

'Yeah, but we don't open til 11. I just get here early.'

'haha ok ok'

'Why do you ask?'

She doesn't reply. Mob puzzles over this conversation that's been struck up out of nowhere. He and Tsubomi haven't called or texted each other in months. The last time they even saw each other in person was some time after Mob's graduation ceremony, for a belated celebration. Both she and Hanazawa have been quite busy these past two years, and not even Tome knows what they're doing when they're not at work or with her and Arataka.

Distracted enough by this new development, Mob's about to turn back to his batter mixing when his phone pings again.

'hey, check your entrance.'

Excited anticipation builds in his gut as he hurries to the shopfront, and sure enough Tsubomi stands there. There's a wide streak of dark green in her hair, and a roundness to her cheeks and body, but Mob could recognize her even blindfolded. Her aura pulses brighter than ever.

"Tsubomi-chan!" he can't help exclaiming, gathering her into a hug that actually lifts her off her feet. She bursts into delighting laughter, trying to return the embrace.

"My goodness, Mob-kun! You're a lot bulkier than I remember, and taller too. You can give Musashi-san a run for his money now. I bet droves of people fawn over you."

Mob did indeed get a very belated growth spurt that he's still…processing, mentally. He still remembers how flustered he was when Arabelle-san pointed out that half their customers come over for him more than the pastries. He's getting flustered again right now, and Tsubomi giggles when his cheeks go pink. "Ahh, but that right there, that's the Mob I know."

With a shrug and a sheepish grin, Mob acquiesces. "You look different too. You look good."

Tsubomi utters a dry, near-weary chuckle. "That's a kind way of saying I gained a few kilos."

"It doesn't have to be kind or anything," Mob says, firm and gentle. "You do look good. And as long as you're okay, it's always okay."

Tsubomi's mood picks up again. "Thank you, Mob-kun."

Mob gets her to sit at a table by the window closest to the park outside. He draws some curtains so Tsubomi can view the seaside murals painted on the walls, the beached-themed décor that toes the line between tasteful and tacky. "This place is a bit small but it's so homey. I'm so glad you like it here, Mob-kun," she calls out as he gets her a sakura cupcake from the display refrigerator by the counter.

"Me too," he says, coming back with the cupcake and the butterfly pea tea. He grins when Tsubomi is wowed by the chemical reaction with lemons and snaps a quick picture. "How have you been?"

They chat about the slog of Tsubomi's HR job that she somehow landed despite having a history degree; Hanazawa teaching at one of the private schools back home; Tsubomi's father getting counseling to be better for her and her mother. Mob has little to tell, though Tsubomi is elated to know that a middle-aged lesbian couple has taken him under their wing. The years apart slough off of them until it's inconsequential. They even take to telepathic conversations again, whenever Tsubomi's having bites or sips of her meal and still wants to keep talking.

However, Mob can't help but notice— you're avoiding bringing up tome-san.

well. she and reigen-kun are quitting their jobs.

The sting of talking about Reigen isn't as bad as it used to be six years ago. It helps that they haven't contacted each other in a while now. But it still aches like a phantom limb, like shrapnel in Mob's bones. Tsubomi reads his thoughts, he can tell by how her mouth twists, but she gracefully doesn't dwell on it. She continues, they've saved up enough and taken out loans. they wanna run their own business.

really? what business?

paranormal consultants, is their working title. i told them they should be more specific, hehe.

oh, they're still…

yeah.

Mob can understand why Tome would still be so invested in supernatural affairs, given how her unwavering passion for aliens was validated by their expedition up the mountain. But for Reigen, who's already dealt with so much, with you, he's had to deal with you, your fucking mess of a headspace, and paid the price in blood and sweat and tears and scars, all your fault, you worthless—

"Mob-kun," Tsubomi says aloud, slicing into his mind with two searing bursts. Then, softer: "Mob-kun, please, it's okay…"

After staring at the wood of their tabletop and exhaling in measured, thoughtless moments, Mob lifts his head to look Tsubomi in the eye. "I know. Please tell them I'm glad they're doing something they want," he says, and means it.

Tsubomi pauses, then gives a slow nod. "I know you are. They'll be glad to hear this but. There's something." She sighs, and some invisible weight lands onto her shoulders, making her hang her head. She speaks into Mob's mind. teru and i have been…hiding this from you, mob-kun. even tome doesn't have the whole picture, and reigen-kun doesn't know anything at all.

She leans in and meets Mob's eyes. there's a group called Claw. a cult, a terrorist cell, i don't know what to call them. but they're espers. we didn't take them seriously at first… we thought they were just some crackpot group of ten to twenty. but more and more of them turn up each year. all over the country, more kids get abducted, more people disappear. they're definitely up to no good. Her hands come up to dig the palms into her eye sockets, and Mob notes with alarm that they're trembling.

ever since we graduated teru and i have been trying to get to the bottom of this. that's why i'm here in buffet city, following a lead—aside from seeing you, of course. but we can't find the snake's head, no matter how hard we try. this person is very good at maintaining their fictive state, none of the underlings have a name, or even an alias for them. and keeping watch is… there's so much more evil in the world that just finds its way to me, mob-kun…

A barrage of images flicker: a mother creeping into her young son's bed at night, a politician stealing billions from his employees, a teenager putting tacks into the food of their neighbors' cat — it stops when Tsubomi gasps and steels herself. "Oh, I—I'm so sorry, Mob-kub, you shouldn't have had to see—I'm sorry."

"Please don't be," Mob says, unnerved himself, but more worried for his friend. Tsubomi must be so overwhelmed from having to do this for so long. Hanazawa may be supportive and reassuring, but she faces all these terrors down firsthand, alone. Again, she senses Mob's sentiments, and she manages a grateful smile, thin as rice paper.

"Well. Now that you know all this." Tsubomi hesitates, then straightens in her seat. "We'd like to ask you to come home, to Seasoning City. If you can."

Earlier this month, Mob's mother had asked him the same thing. Ritsu misses you so much, she'd said on the phone, and with your experience anyone here would be lucky to hire you. With this added threat of a shadow organization, Mob now has more reasons to do so. Except. Reigen. Wrenching open every door that's been nailed shut, knowing full well he may never be welcome.

"I. I don't know," is what he says instead. "I'll have to think about it. I'm sorry."

"It was a request, not a demand, Mob-kun," Tsubomi reminds him, reassuring. "Of course it's okay to say no. Just be careful. Be on the lookout in this city, then tell me and Teru if anything happens so we can help you. You won't have to do it alone."

"And you won't have to either. I'm glad to help. You could've told me all this sooner."

Once again, Tsubomi's words dance around eggshells. "You weren't in a good place a few years ago. You're better now, but… I know you've been avoiding using your powers around others, and I get why."

Long after Tsubomi leaves, Mob ponders on what he wants. He wants to rebuild ties with Ritsu, who he only sees a few times a year. He wants people he doesn't have to hold at arm's length for both their sake and his own. He wants to protect his family, his friends. He has a life waiting for him.

It doesn't have to have Reigen in it.

Progress towards Mob's Explosion: ?%

Because the café is closed tomorrow, as it is every Sunday, Mob decides to walk instead of taking the train. It's going dark out, the sky bruised, stars emerging carefully, random and cold. He's been studying them so intently he almost misses his phone going off in his pocket. There's a text from an unfamiliar number. He nearly drops the phone down the sewer beside him when he reads it.

'Hey mob-kun. Arataka here, got ur number from tome. May I call u?'

Mob presses his fingers to his eyes until everything blossoms red-black, tries to breathe. Perhaps the conversation with Tsubomi had unmoored him, and this is the finishing blow. He's lost his safe harbor and he's back where he was six years ago, drifting on a vast ocean with no compass to point him north. How odd that what he felt when he lost Reigen rings just the same as when Reigen's drifting back to him.

After stewing for a minute or two, Mob calls the number himself. It rings for a few endless moments and he loses his nerve. He's about to hang up when there's a click, some shuffling and coughing and muttering, and then:

"Mob?"

Reigen's voice is rougher than Mob remembers, buried way down in the graveyard of his throat. Caught off guard like he hadn't expected Mob to reply, much less initiate a call. "Hello." Mob manages to say, using formal address.

"Jeez, quit that. Uh. How are you."

"I'm. Doing okay."

"Good! That's good. Really good." This conversation is moving like there's snapped pieces of wood where its bones used to be, where they used to talk for hours without stopping, mostly on Reigen's end. Their honeyed past superimposed over this harrowing present, and Mob can't separate the two because whose fucking fault is it that this is all that's left—

Reigen speaks into the silence, swatting Mob's invasive thoughts away. "Takane-chan told you about the business Tome-san and I are starting?"

Mob replies, a little too quickly, too eagerly, "Yes! Yes. I think it's a good idea, if it's what you want to do."

"It is." Reigen seems more relaxed now that there's a topic to exhaust, thawing out and easing in. "With my business degree and Tome-san's computer programming, I think we can get by. All we need is an actual esper."

Mob can't resist quipping, "Ah yes, that might be necessary if you're gonna deal with supernatural stuff."

Reigen barks a laugh, surprised and. Pleased. "Is. Was that a joke? Did you just crack an actual joke?"

"Oh yep. Had to take an elective on it for my last semester."

Reigen laughs again, short gunburst that's so different from the raucous cackles he used to utter as he'd slap his knee and what makes you think he'd ever laugh like that again around you, because of you, what makes you think you deserve it—

"Hey, you still there? The signal not good? Can't hear—"

Mob realizes the phone has drifted from his ear, as his arm and other extremities grow limp, far away. He hastily tucks it back. "I'm still here." The words are too weighted, precarious on these brittle balancing scales that they're on.

"Okay." Reigen pauses again, and Mob knows by instinct that he's fixing to say something. "Your mom wants you to come back."

"H-how did you know?" Mob blurts out, too surprised for tact.

Reigen huffs, static crackling through the receiver. "She…ah. I guess she didn't tell you, not that I blame her. We see each other now and then. She mothers me a lot, probably as substitution for you. She mentioned how she's asked you to come home, and that you were still thinking about it." He breathes out again, like the words are concrete blocks on his lungs. "I just wanna say, if you want to come back, but you think I'm— Well. I'm telling you it's okay."

Mob really wishes that there was a bench nearby so he could sit. Reigen keeps throwing a wrench into his internal machine, and Mob doesn't know if he's breaking or winching together again. "You. You're doing it again, Arataka-kun," he somehow says. "Compromising. For me. Even if it's not what you want."

For an unbearably long moment, Reigen is silent. Then: "And who says I don't want you home?"

"Oh." The sidewalk blurs under his feet and Mob realizes his eyes and his voice are heavy with tears.

"Yeah. I'd like to be able to talk in person. Just…think about it, Shigeo." A fierce aching lance drives itself through Mob's ribs at the use of his first name. There's a scuffle on the other line, then Reigen says, gentle like they're kids in a sleepover again, "Goodnight."

Mob makes his way back to his boarding house on autopilot. He's dimly aware of the ground rumbling beneath his feet, the lamplights swaying drunk on their posts, buildings cowering. Wildflowers growing within seconds between cracks in the pavement. In fits and bursts, like a crescendo that never peaks. Mob doesn't know what's going on inside of him right now.

It's better once he's safe in his room, where he can sit on the floor and meditate and breathe.

Mob knows he should take a few more days to decide, but deep down he already knows what he wants. He wants to begin anew.

Even if he knows he doesn't deserve it.

Progress towards Mob's Explosion: ?%

Mob gets home just before Ritsu returns from school. Ritsu's eyes widen almost comically when he closes the front door and sees Mob emerge into the foyer. Mob's glad their parents kept silent about his arrival to better surprise Ritsu. He's ready to swing his little brother around, as he always does whenever he's back for holidays and Ritsu takes a running dive into his arms.

Today, however, Ritsu doesn't do that, perhaps because he's trying to be more mature. He walks at a controlled pace towards Mob, then faster like he can't help it anymore. When they embrace Ritsu almost comes up to Mob's chest now.

"Hi, Nii-san," Ritsu speaks into Mob's chest. Mob chuckles and stoops a bit to nuzzle his face against Ritsu's head, the tufts of hair sticking out every which unruly way tickling his nose.

Their parents beam at both of them from the kitchen where they're preparing an unreasonable amount of dishes, as they always do whenever Mob is here. "Go get changed for dinner, boys," their mother calls.

As they go up the stairs, the two chat about Ritsu's time at school: stellar as always, both at grades and sports. Mob is hit with an unbearably large rush of pride. "I'm just in time for your birthday next week," he tells Ritsu. "I can't believe you're turning ten already. Mom and I will bake anything you want!"

Ritsu grins wide, bouncing on the balls of his feet, probably thinking up every kind of American sweet treat. He spots the luggage sitting in their hallway. "All your things are here… are you moving back?" He's so perceptive, so smart.

"Yeah, for now while I look for an apartment."

"Oh." Ritsu deflates, eyes downcast, picking at the hem of his T-shirt. "Then you'll leave. Again."

It's one of the worst things Mob's ever done, disappointing Ritsu. When he first left for college Ritsu had screamed bloody murder at the train station, and was inconsolable for weeks after. It didn't help that Mob was in a depressive numbing haze that took years to recover, that convinced him his family was better off without him. Even now an insidious voice whispers, you could hurt him just like you hurt Arataka, worse than you hurt Arataka, you don't deserve to be near him you need to keep him safe you need to stay away you need to die—

Mob falters, forms one hand into a careful fist to center himself. Each time he's left and then come back to visit, his little brother keeps on growing. Mob still catches himself looking for the stuffed toy fox that Ritsu used to bring everywhere, or moving to help Ritsu wash his hands in the sink, tie his shoes. He's already missed out on so much of Ritsu's life. He won't miss any more.

"I'll do my best to live really close, and visit every day," he says, focusing on Ritsu again. "It won't be fair on Mom and Dad for me to stay here, okay?"

"I know," Ritsu mumbles. His shoulders lift and he meets Mob's gaze, smile returning. "You can just use telekinesis to get here really fast!"

"And how do you know about that?"

"Hanazawa-san showed me. And Takane-san can read minds! You should use your powers like that more too."

Mob can't mask the dismay that hits him like a steamroller, and Ritsu frowns. "What, Nii-san?"

Not wanting to be overheard, not wanting to shame your parents, Mob nudges Ritsu into the younger brother's bedroom, shuts the door. "Please listen to me, Ritsu," he says. He hates the imploring tremor in his voice. He hates that he has to do this. But Ritsu's old enough that he should let go of his childish ideation of psychic powers. He has to know the truth.

"Do. Do you know why your Reigen-san doesn't come around as much anymore? Even when we're home for holidays or vacations?"

"Mom told me you fought."

"It's because I hurt him." His throat clogs but he keeps going. "More than once."

To his perplexity, Ritsu chews on these words then asks, "Did he hurt you first? Did he do something bad?"

"Eh?" Mob's fraught confession is derailed a bit now by this new concern. "Why would you say that you should just hurt someone if they do something bad?"

"My friends say so."

"That's. Those aren't good words to live by, Ritsu." Ritsu merely hikes a matter-of-fact shoulder up, and Mob sighs. "Nobody hurt me. I'm the one who's hurt people. I h-hurt your Reigen-san more than once." It feels like rolling a boulder uphill but he forces his voice steady, his eyes clear. "I didn't mean to. But it doesn't change the fact that I did. My powers are dangerous, Ritsu. I have better control now but… You need to take this seriously."

"You're just trying to scare me," Ritsu laughs after a fraught pause, but doubt already clouds his features.

"I'm not." Mob's conviction drains, and he makes to leave. He gets as far as closing the door shut behind him when he sighs, "Please remember that I won't ever try to hurt you."

Ritsu barely says two words during dinner, and then escapes to his room without bidding anyone goodnight. Mob doesn't blame him. They both have a lot to think about.

Progress towards Mob's Explosion: ?%

Mob follows the directions that Tome gave him, and ends up in a somewhat lackluster neighborhood, abandoned buildings sticking out like cavities between blocks of businesses and shops and apartments.

He's fortifying himself to face Reigen, has been ever since the phone call, his train ride home, his walk all the way here. His inner shirt is drenched in a manner that has nothing to do with the early-summer dusk, like he's fourteen again and wheezing through a hundred-meter dash. The panic and anxiety have thrummed so high for so long that he can't even parse his thoughts anymore. Just the odd sensation of his innards shuttling in and out of existence.

The building he finds is a nondescript two-story. He walks up the stairs past the car parts store and finds the door waiting at the end of the little hallway already sat ajar. Boxes hold it open, but he still knocks before peeking his head in.

There are some bare desks and couches pushed into one corner, more boxes, and Tome, standing amidst the controlled chaos. She's all angles and sharp planes, gone starker by the crisp cut of her business suit, hair long enough that it's in a bun. She looks more grown up than Mob will ever feel his whole hoodie-and-jeans life. "Mob-kun," she says, not greeting so much as judging, eyes skinny little slits of analysis.

Mob withers under that gaze. He knows that Tome is rather cold towards him, has always been ever since college in the aftermath of you fucking up.

Tome snorts. "Get in here, you lug." Mob does so, and lets her scrutinize him a bit more. In no time at all she diffuses the tension with a quick one-armed hug and a sincerely delivered "Nice to see you again."

"You too, Tome-san," Mob replies, his relief immense.

Then she reminds him of his harsh, imminent future by saying, "He's on the roof. Go get that conversation out of the way so I can decide whether to be nicer to you." Her smile errs on the side of too many teeth.

From the outside looking in, Mob is the lamb and Tome is the slaughter. But he knows that underneath the aggression is a true fear of the hand grenade that is Mob's powers. She fears for herself, for Reigen, for this entire city. Understandably so.

Mob understands but it doesn't lessen the gaping wound it wrests back open in him, splitting the seams of old scar tissue.

The door to the building's roof is also left ajar, and Mob wonders with no small amount of paranoia if it's a defense mechanism on everyone's part, so they can hear him approach. Nonetheless, his own skittish feelings bring him to tread as light as possible on the stairs. He smells the smoke, before anything else. And through the thin sliver to the outside he sees Reigen in person for the first time in nearly six years.

Reigen's also in a business suit, like Tome, but more bedraggled, jacket on his arm and tie loosened and shirt untucked. He looks every bit the tired, average salaryman Mob could bump into on the street, except nothing else about him is average at all. Reigen's speaking English in a polished-enough accent to someone on the phone. Mob gets snatches of the simpler words, mom and no and please rest and call later. Reigen hangs up and draws a long breath from his cigarette. Mob feels like some odd voyeur, a lump growing in his throat as Reigen tilts his head back for a smoke ring or two. He's about to retreat and wait downstairs when he hears, unmistakably addressed to no one but him, "Hey, get up here."

Of course Reigen sensed Mob's presence. He's always been too observant; nosy, according to Tome or Hanazawa. Mob has no choice but to surface under this innocuous sky. He keeps his eyes down, not ready to face Reigen head on yet. In his periphery, Reigen snuffs out the cigarette stub against the safety railing he's leaned on, cherry embers flecking off.

"Hey," Reigen says, addressing Mob's feet.

"H-hi," Mob tells the space by Reigen's hip. This is worse than talking on the phone, when the silences have no point to them. But his curiosity and concern win over, and he says, as neutral as possible, "You're smoking."

"Sure am."

"Didn't you used to hate—"

"Eh, I used to hate a lot of things." Reigen starts walking towards him, and Mob can't help looking up into Reigen's face. He finds Reigen looking right back, giving him a brief once-over as he comes to a stop. "Gods you're taller than me," he says after a pause, amusement coloring his tone.

Mob tests a cellophane-thin smile. Leave it to Reigen to be dismayed about that, first and foremost. "Your height might've something to do with these." He motions to the cigarette pack sticking out of Reigen's pocket, already half-empty.

Reigen shrugs. "Maybe. I'm already cutting back, anyways. For Tome-san."

Mob doesn't know what happens. It might be the setting sun tinting Reigen's hair, the wearily broken lines of his shoulders. His jaded, false grin, putting on a brave face in front of the person who's hurt him too many times. Mob starts trembling too much to stay upright. He falls to his knees, uncaring of the biting impact of concrete, and he curls forward, not a respecting bow so much as a grovel. His voice a piece of raw, bloody meat lodged in his mouth as he starts to say, "Arataka—"

"For fuck's sake, get up, Mob." Reigen sounds shell-shocked, horrified, panicked. Not quite how Mob was expecting him to react. "Please get up, stop that right now."

Mob does, slowly, eventually. He takes to dusting off his pants so he doesn't have to look at Reigen's face again. He's still trembling. So are his words when he finally gets to the core of what he needs to say: "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Mob's too unsteady to be taken aback by how flippant Reigen is. "Everything. All of it. I'm so so—"

"If you say 'sorry' word one more time I'm gonna get seriously pissed off, man." Mob blinks away the dew in his eyes from how surprised he is, and he dares a peek at Reigen. The other man is rubbing his temples like a migraine is brewing. "I don't want you groveling," he sighs, the heat in his voice gone. "I don't need that."

Mob doesn't know what to say. This isn't how he expected this would go. Reigen seems to be in the same boat, walking back until he can grasp the safety railing again, looking out at their city. With his back turned, Reigen starts talking, and it's both easier and worse on Mob, not seeing his face.

"I used to blame myself, more than I blamed you." Mob wants to interrupt, protest, but Reigen doesn't give any chance to. "Because all the bad stuff that ever happened, I tried not to pin them on you. I didn't want to accept that you were the one who did it, tried to think of you other personality as a fluke. But I was wrong, it was you. A part of you still suffering. And because nobody accepted it, you tried to hide again. So I blamed myself, because maybe if I were a better friend I'd have realized this sooner and tried to help you cope so what you did to me would've never happened. But I didn't."

It's almost too much, Reigen's low, empty voice describing the lengths to which he makes excuses for Mob. But he continues, "So maybe my only fault was in being a bad friend. But even so, I still didn't deserve what happened to me. I know enough to know that. I know that it's not my fault either."

"Of course, Arataka-kun, I'm s—" Mob sputters, crushes his futile apology under his tongue like a bitter pill. "I know. That's why I want to take responsibility for my actions. Any punishment you want to go along with, I'll agree with it."

"Punish—hah." Reigen regards Mob over his shoulder, inscrutable slice of his eyes and nose. "This conversation alone seems to be punishment enough. You." He swallows thickly, something creeping around his words. "You didn't have to come here if you didn't want to see me at all."

"No. I did want to." Mob forces his eyes shut so no tears can form there, but it wracks his whole body all the same. "I missed—I miss you."

"Me too," Reigen sort-of laughs, saturated with years of emotion, and Mob doesn't want to open his eyes. "Me too, so much. But you hurt me."

There it is. The outright admission, the brand on Mob's back for all to see. "I know," he says. It hurts to speak, to breathe, but he deserves it. "I have to live with it for the rest of my life. I won't ever forget it."

For minutes, eons, there's nothing but the wind around them, the jackhammer of Mob's pulse in his ears, the frost in his hands. Then Reigen says, clear and resolute as a lighthouse in a hurricane, "Look at me, Shigeo." Mob stands no chance when Reigen uses this voice, uses his name.

When his vision returns, blurred as it is, Reigen's face is centimeters away from his, gazing up at him as he says, "We can't forget it. But we can forgive. I've already forgiven you. Why not forgive yourself?"

Mob can feel his eyes widen and his mouth go slack. The sun has gone down at last but it doesn't matter. Reigen is lit up enough for the both of them. The tears standing in Mob's eyes spill over, scalding purifying fire. Reigen's no better, wiping at his nose with his sleeve as his shoulders shake with both chuckles and sobs.

"I'm d-doing my best to change," Mob says when he can trust his lungs again. "Tsubomi-chan and Hanazawa-kun help so much. I want to be better."

"I know. And I. I had to change too." Reigen tries to smirk when Mob blinks at him in surprise. "We both had to learn how to exist without needing each other. It. Wasn't healthy, just the two of us alone for so long. For more than half of our lives. I guess that's why you got all. Um. Kissing me and all that?"

Ah. Mob's never thought of that before, and he wonders if Reigen could be right. It's a neat explanation, wrapped up their problems in a bow, but it still doesn't explain what's taken root in the monstrously black soil of Mob's heart and refused to die even after years of drought. All the same, he sighs, "Yeah, I should've at least asked you properly first and talked about it… But what's done is done. That's in the past now."

Reigen's expression folds on itself for a second before he nods. "Yep. No going back." A ghostly yet genuine grin surfaces as he asks, "Say… If you don't have work yet, we have the position of 'backup psychic' open."

It's an odd segue in the conversation but Mob rolls with it, comforted by the gently bantering tone Reigen's taken on. "Is the pay any good?"

"Pretty good for a startup, yeah."

"Would part-time be okay?"

"Hmm, I'd have to ask the business partner. Get back to us in two weeks."

Mob huffs a laugh, too loud for the occasion, destructive-sounding like a thousand wine glasses breaking at once. He's back in Reigen's life, and he's not wasting this second chance. He'll be whatever Reigen needs him to be, a soldier worthy of demons, a friend, a brother.

Mob's motivations are different now, heavier than the pastel infatuation of six years ago. Not quite desire, or love; he's known both with a few people who have crossed his path. But this, he's never shared. This devotion.

The world could be falling apart all around him and everyone would think he's drowning in darkness because they don't see what he sees. Arataka, shining so bright that Mob is blinded to everything but him. His soul finds comfort in that light. He wants to make sure that light never fades. It's almost religious, extraordinary.

You smile when you should be crying.

Yes. Exactly.

Progress towards Mob's Explosion: ?%