Work Text:
Mob's powers filtered through the walls, probing and poking, feeling around for clues and insight. The insulation was fine, the duct work was in top shape... he wasn't looking for a spirit-- the only spirits in the vicinity were benevolent and skittered away from him whenever he got near.
He placed a hand on the wall, focusing his aura through where he thought the problem might be. Ah. There it was. A pipe had disconnected behind the wall in the bathroom.
He stood up and faced his clients.
"The pipe is just disconnected. I should be able to fix it without a problem."
The couple let go of their breaths, relief overcoming their countenance.
"Oh thank goodness. Is there any water damage?"
Mob shook his head. "No, it's fine." He turned back to the wall, replacing his hand. "Now, if you'll give me a moment Mr. and Mrs. Jirou..."
"Of course, we'll be in the kitchen."
"Thanks, kiddo!"
And with that they were gone.
Mob let out a breath, tendrils of energy seeping through the wall, twisting and turning the pipes until they were good as new. He tested the sink, letting it run for a few seconds until he turned it off. Another job well done. Another happy customer. Mob couldn't help the self-satisfied smile on his lips as he gathered his things and made his way to where his clients were waiting for him.
Snippets of their conversation snuck through the walls. Despite himself, he paused to listen in the hallway.
"...He's just such a darling, don't you think?" Mrs. Jirou said. Mr. Jirou hummed in agreement.
"I do wish he'd let us pay him more. I hate feeling like I'm taking advantage of his naiveté..."
Mob furrowed his eyebrows. Naiveté? He'd never considered himself naive...
"He's so gentle and soft spoken, it's a wonder how he even got into this business in the first place!" She continued.
Mob stared at his hand. Gentle? He supposed he was careful... but only to avoid danger and pain. He felt the opposite of gentle. He was a sharpened knife. Had always been a sharpened knife. Knives weren't gentle at all.
"His husband must've helped him some," Mr. Jirou said. "Getting started and getting connected with people, ya know?"
"Ah, probably. Bless his soul, that Musashi is a saint. They do make such a cute couple. Hm. Makes you wonder..."
Mob gritted his teeth, shuffling down the hall in such a way that they could hear him coming. Their voices quickly died down. His jaw unclenched, putting on a kind smile as he came into view. Even if he didn't understand their perception of him, he tried his hardest to not feel angry or disturbed by them and their opinions.
They paid him for his work and he made a hasty retreat to the truck, dodging questions and accepting the small box of berries from their latest crops.
The ride home was short and the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon as he parked the truck in the driveway. He sat there, keys still in the ignition.
It wasn't like he'd never heard people's words about him before. He knew the general consensus was that he was a softie, a quiet person, a not-quite-like-the-others person. He supposed that was better than being considered a jerk... but it didn't really sit right with him. Did they not know the danger inside of him? Could they not see the way animals and spirits shied away and drew closer to him, a tide of fear and curiosity? How could they not feel the way the air seemed to come undone around him, or the way his cold fingers prickled when he shook someone's hand? How could these people be so blind? He only acted gentle because not doing so could result in the destruction of god knows how many people, towns, cities. He was directing the knife, making tiny, precise cuts instead of large, imprecise gashes.
Mob stared at his hand, frown deepening.
Even after all these years, he still couldn't get a clue.
Mob startled out of his thoughts when there was a knock on the car door window, Musashi smiling at him from the other side. Mob smiled back, opening the door and getting out, promptly giving him a hug. Musashi's soft laugh rumbled through his chest and Mob held on tighter.
"Welcome home! How was work today?" Musashi said after Mob loosened his grip and looked up at him.
Mob shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He wasn't really sure how to bring up his thoughts, confused by the tangle of social interactions he'd had during the day.
Musashi gave him a mildly concerned look, still smiling though as they walked back to the house together. "Everything alright?"
Mob sighed. "I don't know. I overheard Mr. and Mrs. Jirou talking about me."
They came to a sudden halt on the porch, Musashi looking back at him.
"What did they say?"
"They... seem to think that I'm naive. And gentle? I don't know." After a moment he added, "It doesn't feel right. I'm not naive. I know that people do terrible things, I've seen terrible people do terrible things, and I've seen bad people change for the better. I know that nobody is perfect... I know I sell myself short. I just want to... help people. I don't care about the money, I don't--" he cut himself off, a small strangled noise in his throat. His powers were pulsing with his blood, anger and confusion and psychic energy building up within him.
Mob stared at his feet, fists clenched in his pockets. Emotions were rising and he needed to reign them in. He took a couple deep breaths. A moment later and he felt a little better, enough to look up at Musashi.
Oh.
He looked sad.
Musashi placed a hand on Mob's shoulder, making eye contact with him.
"What they say doesn't matter, Shigeo. It hurts, yes... but I think that as long as you know the truth you'll be okay? Does that make sense?"
Mob gave him a small smile. "I think so. Thanks, Sashi."
Musashi's smile widened, eyelids creasing with genuine care. He placed a kiss on Mob's forehead and the two went inside.
---
They were getting dinner ready together when Musashi spoke up.
"You know," he began, voice soft, "...for a long time people always assumed I was a thug. They treated me like I was some sort of delinquent until I proved that I was a pacifist... to a fault. Heh, it's silly, now that I think about it."
Mob stopped setting the table for a moment, looking up suddenly.
"Really?"
Musashi chuckled, stirring the pot quietly. "Don't act so surprised, it's not really anyone's fault. I've always come across as... intense. It runs in the family."
Mob moved over to him, leaning on the counter and looking up at him with curiosity and concern.
"But it's not a bad thing, being 'intense.' You're friendly and kind."
Musashi looked at him with a grin, pointing the spoon at him with a little too much gusto. "And so are you! Ah, sorry!" some of their dinner had flown off the spoon, landing on Mob's shirt. In one swift movement there was suddenly a towel in Mob's hand. Amused, Mob cleaned the offending stain.
"Er, my point still stands," Musashi said, returning to tend to their dinner. "We don't have a lot of power over what people think about us. We just have to be the best person we can be. You know?"
Everything froze.
The words struck at Mob's heart, familiar yet new, reminding him of a not so distant childhood. Reminding him of himself and his mentor and all the friends he'd made throughout his life. How people changed and strived to be good.
He smiled, taking Musashi's hand and squeezing it.
"Thank you, Sashi. That... really means a lot to me."
"Heh, yeah, I thought it would."
(That night Mob was reminded of who he was and how he fit into this life of his, how he was a precise, kind person and how he was loved and cared for by friends and family. He tried not to dwell on the Jirou's words, intending to be himself despite how others considered him. He knew that his life might not be an easy one... but it was an honest one. And that was all he cared about that night.)