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“… Six months?”
He can barely speak the words, and once they’re out he wishes he could snatch them right back. He wishes he could trade them in for something else, anything else, something that might be more encouraging. Something that might be more comforting. Anything.
But the words are out there and Mob shifts a little in his seat, fiddling with his hands in his lap, shoulders rounded and posture tight as a bowstring drawn back too far.
He nods stiffly. And Reigen’s world falls to pieces.
“Mob, I–” The words get stuck in his throat this time, guilt and horror forming a lump there that he can’t swallow down or ignore. Now that he knows, it all makes sense. Why Mob never wanted to talk about what happened when he was inside Asagiri’s head. Why he was so quiet on the train ride back home. Why he’d asked for the day off.
In hindsight, it makes sense. Too much sense, actually.
“Mob, I–why didn’t you tell me befo–” His voice breaks when he doesn’t want it to. He takes a breath, steadies himself. Reminds himself that this isn’t about him. “Mob–I’m–”
Mob gets to his feet unexpectedly, stool scraping the floor as he pushes it back. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice wavering. “I’ve upset you, I–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything, I shouldn’t–I’ll–I-I’ll go now, I’m sorry–”
When it comes to Mob, “subtle” is the norm. But right now, he’s anything but subtle. His hands noticeably shake, there’s no hiding the tremble in his voice or in his shoulders, and he won’t look Reigen in the eyes, not even after he’s bowed stiffly and turned to show himself out.
Turned to show himself–
“Mob, no, don’t.”
Reigen leaps to his feet in a body that doesn’t feel like his own, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s rounded his desk and is across the room. Mob hasn’t moved a step since Reigen called his name, but he doesn’t turn around.
Reigen forces himself to take a breath and lets it out slowly, forcing himself to remain calm. He’ll have time to deal with himself later. Right now, what really matters…
“Mob–Shigeo–please. Look at me.”
Mob doesn’t move for the longest of moments, but then he does, turning slowly to face him without raising his head. When Reigen reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, Mob flinches reflexively, and the lump in his throat begins to choke him.
One day would have been enough. One hour would have been enough. Hell, even one minute would have been enough. Too much.
But six months. Six months.
“Don’t apologize for what happened to you,” Reigen says, squeezing Mob’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize for telling me. I’m not upset with you, I promise. I’m glad you told me, I’m–” There’s that feeling again, that inadequacy. Because he can’t do more. “God, Shigeo, I–”
Mob makes a small, quiet sound in the back of his throat. A choked, strangled something, and that’s the last straw. Reigen tugs him carefully, and when he doesn’t flinch or pull away, he draws Mob to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and holding him close. Mob’s response is immediate, and his arms around Reigen are tight. Desperate Like there’s nothing else that matters more than holding on and never letting go.
Truth be told, Reigen feels the same way.
When Mob begins to cry, Reigen holds him closer and squeezes his eyes shut in a last attempt to compose himself. He can sort through his own jumbled thoughts and feelings later; right now, Mob comes first.