Work Text:
Reigen had hardly returned home before something went wrong. As soon as he stepped through the door, suitcase in tow, he fell onto the couch in exhaustion, prepared for a nap. He was also thirsty, his mouth dry from the cigarettes he smoked on the long walk home from the train station. He sighed, stood up, and walked over to the cupboard to fill a glass full of cold water, hoping to get the taste of more than just nicotine out of his mouth. As soon as he pulled it out from overhead, it slipped from his tired hands, crashing against the edge of the counter and shattering.
“For fucks sake.” He groaned, bending over to pick up pieces, big and small.
He was glad to be home from his parents' house; he hadn’t seen them in a couple of years. Reigen wouldn’t say it was a pleasure, more like an obligation he dreaded, but hey, it was over with now. He didn’t want to think about their words more than he had to. It was over, so he could get back to his regularly scheduled life, go back to work, and try to sleep well at night with the help of melatonin gummies.
On one of the sharper shards of glass, he pricked his finger, watching to see if it bled. It did. So Reigen took care of that too. It was small, almost unnoticeable, and would probably be healed up by this time tomorrow. Just in case, he moped to the bathroom in search of the smallest bandage he could forage to cover it, so it wouldn’t burn when he put on hand sanitizer tomorrow at work.
When he returned from the cramped and dimly illuminated bathroom, he didn’t bother to check for any smaller, unnoticeable shards of glass; instead, he fell to the couch, yearning for it to swallow him up and spit him back out in time for work the next morning.
-
He didn’t remember falling asleep, awoken by the sound of three delicate knocks at the front door.
Who could that be?
Reigen didn’t get guests; in fact, the only one who’d ever set foot in his apartment besides him was Mob. The knock hadn’t come again; he wondered if whoever was standing there had left. Reigen wasn’t eager to answer the door, but propped himself up and trudged to the barrier withholding the outside anyway.
It opened—his student stood there still as a statue.
“Mob, hey. Why are you here?” It was a surprise, and Reigen made a note to straighten out his shirt and hair, clear his grainy throat.
“Master, I knew you got back today, and I wanted to see you.” Mob’s head fell, realizing he came for no real reason at all.
“Miss me that much?” Reigen’s shoulder fell to the threshold. He likely looked like shit right now.
“I guess so.” Mob was working on being more forthright with his feelings—not bottling them up.
“Well, come on in then. This place is kind of a dump right now. I just got back.” Like that was an excuse.
Mob entered, skimming around for a moment before focusing on the conversation. If his shishou’s house were a mess right now, he didn’t want to look around and make him feel bad about it.
“I didn’t expect any visitors. I figured I’d see you at work tomorrow after you got out of school.” Reigen awkwardly scratched at his neck.
He wondered if Mob could tell his behavior was unusual, that he didn’t have the energy to put on the characteristic salesman mask he wore at work.
“How was your trip?” Mob was straightforward—like he suddenly knew all the tells to look for. As if he were the master and Reigen the student. He really was growing up.
“Fine,” Reigen paused, patting the couch cushion next to him, signaling for Mob to get comfortable before he grew even more tense, “I saw my parents.”
“I know, and what about your sister?” Mob inquired, sitting beside him, and Reigen forgot he even knew he had a sister. He didn’t remember telling him.
“No…”
“Ah, so how’d it go?” His disciple looked at him like a spirit they exorcised. Like he had the key to unlock every door of Reigen’s psyche.
“It was okay.” It was, really.
Nothing special happened; he’d received the anticipatory lecture, “Why don’t you ever call? Would it hurt you to visit more? Are you scamming people? Are you getting scammed? You shouldn’t have quit your old job, all those years of college for what?” All from his mother. His father barely said a word; he could hardly see his eyes through the reflection his reading glasses caused, just enough to catch a glimpse of himself in the frames.
As aloof and socially inept as Mob could come across, there was no way he couldn’t read the room, the air suffocating Reigen like smoke as if a fire had consumed his apartment. The man coughed twice, covering his mouth with his fist.
“I need a cigarette.” He swallowed, dry.
“Go smoke.” Mob used to hate that he smoked, but acknowledged it was none of his business. Still, whenever Reigen flickered the lighter and lit the tobacco stick ablaze, taking too deep an inhale, he cringed, contemplating all the damage being done with each breath. Mob advised him to quit once. He didn’t, but at least he knew his opinion on the matter, as meaningless as it was.
“Huh? Mobbu encouraging me to indulge in my bad habit?” Although dulled, his personality hadn’t faded entirely from the days he spent surrounded by his perception of misery.
“Not indulge, but if you have to, it can’t be helped. I don’t think your trip to see your family went fine, like you’re saying it did.” Mob picked at his cuticles, pondering if Shishou would scold him right now, for the habit that drove him up a wall.
“You’re learning. Must be from having friends for once.” A dry yet humorous scoff escaped him, another attempt which fell flat.
“Yeah,” Mob paused, “let’s go then.”
“You want to come?” Shock, unable to hide behind the worn voice, “I’m going to be in my bedroom, I usually smoke out my window.”
“Can I come?” Mob looked up at Reigen, standing tall and ashamed above him.
“I don’t want you to be around the smoke, it’s impolite…” He trailed, thinking of any possibility why Mob would want to be around cigarette smoke. The boy was usually clear that he found it gross—it was, but Reigen had picked up the routine so early that it was second nature now.
“But I want to keep talking to you.”
“Then I’ll hold off until you leave.” Reigen moved to sit back down, but there was practically a barrier preventing him from doing so. His eyebrows furrowed in realisation, gazing around him to see the blueish aura. “Mob, are you using your powers?”
His student released the hold after adjusting his master back to his original stance so he wouldn’t topple over, “Yes, sorry Shishou.”
Mob had never used his powers on him; in fact, the only time he used them on anyone was when he was in danger.
Reigen breathed in, preparing to chastise him, but was cut off.
“Master, let’s go.” Mob rose, glancing around the living area to decipher which door led to his shishou’s bedroom. He’d never been in there.
Reigen didn’t have enough will to bicker, “Alright, ignore the mess.”
Mob wasn’t a little kid anymore, he supposed.
He led him to the correct door, the door Mob figured was the answer, as it was the only one kept closed. The air smelled relatively clean after it was pushed open for the first time in a week. Everything was as he left it, lightly cluttered. Reigen pictured Mob’s room, what it looked like—what type of stuff he kept in there.
“My apartment’s not that impressive,” Reigen spoke apologetically.
“It doesn’t have to be. It keeps you sheltered, right?” Mob asked rhetorically, right corner of his lips flinching up as if he were unsure if he should offer a smile of reassurance as Reigen had done for him so many times.
He spotted the double window, protected from the exterior’s view by green curtains.
“Right.”
Reigen’s knees were on the couch, using both hands to pull apart the curtains and reveal his trusty ashtray sitting on the sill. It felt like he’d just dumped it right before leaving, but the ash still piled up, not a lot, but enough to warrant another disposal. He unlatched the sash locks that held the windows secure and pushed outward, feeling the evening's fresh air hit his face and blow back some of his already scattered bangs.
Mob followed suit, kicking one leg up on the couch as he seated himself all the way back, his other one hanging off the side, not quite touching the floor. He removed his shoes, something he had overlooked upon initial entrance into the apartment, and placed them neatly beside the coffee table. His room wasn’t as messy as it claimed to be, a lot fuller of furniture and knick-knacks than Mob’s room had been. It looked lived in, and he was glad of it.
Only after looking back at Mob had Regien realized his own shoes had still been on this whole time. He carelessly kicked them off onto the floor and climbed atop the backrest of the couch, leaning against the wall. He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his baggy pants pocket, not used to wearing such casual clothes after adorning a suit every day. He wanted Mob at a distance; if he could, he’d dangle his legs out the window to avoid smoke from reaching the boy. But Mob came closer, resting an elbow and propping his chin against the back of the couch while he sat on the armrest.
He looked up at Reigen, as if he wanted to read his soul like scripture, to know every thought behind those dull eyes—eyes that seemed the smallest bit brighter a week prior. Reigen knew, but refused to make a smoke buddy out of his student, even if he was just there for company. Mob admitted to missing him, but Reigen found it impossible, a lie. “I guess so,” were words of placation.
“You might want to stay away.” Reigen tipped out a cigarette from its carton, pulling it out with skilled fingers, and he dug back into his pocket for a lighter.
“I…actually had an idea.” Mob looked outside to avoid any possible negative or disappointed looks he was about to receive.
Reigen didn’t like where this was going. “What?”
Mob could only hold eye contact for a couple of seconds at most, Reigen sighed.
“Can you teach me how to…” He didn’t finish the thought, too worried about how the already escaped words landed with his shishou.
“Mob…” Reigen pinched his temple, groaning out an even bigger sound of dismay, “Why would you even want to try this stuff?”
He held up the unlit cigarette.
“This,” it slotted firm between his thumb and index finger. He couldn’t afford to drop it, “is bad for you. But you already know that, so I don’t know why you asked.”
“I know.” Mob looked down at his lap. He hated when Master was frustrated with him, but it’d been a quiet thought in the back of his mind for a while, a curiosity, perhaps even a want. To taste the cigarettes Shishou smoked and experience what it felt like to be him. He wanted the smoke close, to feel it fill his lungs as Reigen’s words had his heart and mind.
“I want to try new things.” Clarification didn’t help.
Reigen opened his eyes to look at his student in front of him, “It’s good to want to experiment with new things, but this isn’t one of them. Even if you don’t get hooked, the damage will still be done.”
Shishou was always good at explaining things, so clear and non-judgmental. He couldn’t help but wonder where he got it from, or if it was a Reigen-exclusive trait all his peers seemed to lack. Perhaps it stemmed from maturity, a trait only someone over twenty-five could achieve.
“But Shihsou does it.” Mob rebutted, calm.
Reigen tched of course he’d pull that card, “Doesn’t mean it’s right. Plus, it’s me.”
This caught Mob’s attention; his eyebrow quirked under his thick fringe, “So? What is that supposed to mean? That it’s okay for you to do bad things, but I can’t?”
The cigarette twirled less than mindfully in Reigen’s hands as if it were a pencil, and he had time-traveled back to grade school, “Not bad, destructive.”
Mob didn’t like how dismissive and secretive his master was of his feelings.
“I want to try.” He sneakily snatched the cigarette box from his shishou’s lap before he had a chance to protect it.
“Hey!” Reigen tried to reach his arms out to Mob, who kept a tight lock on the fragile box in his hands.
“Why’s it okay for you to smoke but not me?” Mob reworded the same question, as he had to when trying to lever his shishou’s emotions out like a jammed door.
“Because…” Reigen pried Mob’s fingers apart one by one, and his deshi let him, not wanting to steal, if Reigen was that adamant about him not smoking, “You’ll damage your lungs.”
“And you won’t?”
Mob was full of questions today. Reigen was proud of him in a way: that he was comfortable enough to banter. He used to stay quiet, mutter a simple “yes” or “no” when asked questions.
“The damage has already been done, and you have people who are counting on your health and care about you.” Reigen lit the end of the cigarette he placed between his crooked teeth. It took a few tries for the dying spark to stay long enough for the stick of poison to catch flame, but it did.
“People care about you, too.” Mob watched carefully, mesmerised by the fire, the way it brightened at the end of the cigarette when Reigen inhaled, deeper than he should’ve.
“You’re more important, Mob,” Reigen stated blatantly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He exhaled, and smoke poured from behind his lips.
Mob could admit he was a little stunned, “No, I’m not…”
He looked the other direction even though the wind carried the smoke the opposite way, to Reigen’s relief.
Reigen clutched the cigarette, grasping it between two fingers, occasionally flicking the forming ash into the tray below.
“I care about you, Shishou,” Mob glimpsed back at the box, sitting within reach right beside the tray with ash already piling up.
“I know, and I care about you. But no offense, kid, I think you’re the only one.”
The worst part was that he didn’t say it in a deprecating way. The words were venom to his student’s ears; it was as if his shishou had known it all his life, his life that had extended fourteen years prior to Mob’s existence.
“My parents don’t even know where I am.” Mob hoped the words would convey some relatability.
“But if they did—” Reigen drew out, pulling more smoke into his lungs, “I bet they’d disapprove of their son’s desire to smoke cigarettes with someone who’s meant to be his mentor.”
Did he always take such big hits?
Again, Mob studied the smoke pouring from behind his master’s frame.
His parents wordlessly trusted Reigen, didn’t care if he came home late or scraped up from a job. It was a good thing, though Mob told himself—easier that way.
“I don’t have telepathy, but something tells me they wouldn’t care.” It wasn’t a topic Mob wanted to get into. He loved his mom and dad, and they loved him too, and that was enough. Shishou did the rest.
Reigen’s eyes flicked over to Mob’s for the first time, sensing slight unease. Mob didn’t want to get into particulars right now, and neither did he. They’d talk about something else now. With another sigh, hands found the half-empty box on the sill, opening it and pulling another cigarette from its chambers.
Mob’s gaze followed, watching as his master took out another cigarette and passed it to him. He hesitantly took it; maybe he was in over his head. He hadn’t anticipated having his own to finish all by himself, but with Shishou’s guidance, he was sure he’d be okay.
“I wish you wouldn’t, but if you must, it’s best that I’m here for your first time—to supervise.” Reigen cleared his throat and passed him the red lighter.
Mob held the unfamiliar texture between his lips, recalling what his master had done. It was shaky between them and seemed impossible to steady, but he managed to hold it long enough to bring up the light and flick it once—twice—three times with no success. Confidence died on his lips, where the cigarette trembled; he sighed out an “ah”, not even wanting to see his shishou’s face of amusement right now.
Reigen chuckled, flicking more ash into the tray as the cigarette burned by itself.
After a few more clicks, Mob gave up and tried to save the little dignity he had left. Shyly, he brought the lighter down to his side, plucking the cigarette from his lips before apprehensively looking up at his shishou.
Reigen giggled more at his defeated expression, “It’s okay, maybe we should’ve started off sharing to begin with.”
Mob perked up.
The man turned the cigarette in his fingers so the filter faced his disciple, whose eyes were trained on it. “This way, you don’t have to finish an entire one. I knew you wouldn’t anyway, and I’m not a fan of wasting my money.”
Mob couldn’t argue there; he was prepared not to like it at all, in fact, he was sure he hated the act itself, only intrigued by its tie and hold on his master. He nodded, almost going cross-eyed keeping sight of the stick as it moved closer, resting centimeters from his own lips. An indirect kiss.
“Now listen, Mob…” Reigen began instructing him, “You inhale, but not too deep or you’ll cough since it’s your first time. Go until you want to stop, don’t overdo it. Once you’re satisfied, you hold your breath, keep it in until it hits, and then exhale.”
Mob nodded, eyes now exploring his shishou’s serious, tired ones.
“Please don’t do too much.” Reigen pleaded with another sigh; he couldn’t believe he was letting him do this—allowing it to take place. The same little Mob that knocked on his office door that fateful day, barely coming up to Reigen’s waist, now about to puff on his cigarette, wallow in his dirty, disgusting, bad habit with him. Really, what kind of influence was he? Certainly not a good one, never was.
Mob closed his eyes, pressed the filter inside his lips as if he were going in for a kiss. He sucked, gently, obeying his shishou. Don’t do too much, he repeated in his head.
Once he got his fill, lasting about one whole second, he breathed it in, held it there for what appeared to be an even shorter amount of time, and spat it out fast. Mob fell into a fit of coughs as Reigen pulled the cigarette away, setting it into the rim of the ashtray as he patted his student’s back.
“You okay?” He asked, hunching over with him.
“Y-yeah.” Mob choked between coughs.
“Want me to get some water?” Reigen asked, already moving.
“No, stay with me,” Mob demanded, grasping at his sleeve.
Reigen hesitantly nodded, giving his lithe back a few more taps. Mob was so small it felt like he’d break with each hit.
Finally, he regained his breath, and Reigen assumed that was the end of that. There was no way Mob would want to touch another cigarette again.
“Can I try again?”
Reigen forcefully stumbled out of his thoughts. He knew his student wasn’t one to give up, but he internally pleaded for the boy to stay curious and away from the nasty lifestyle forever.
“Mob…” Reigen sighed.
“Shishou…” Mob wiped his mouth of any drool he believed escaped, “I want to know what it feels like.”
“You do.”
“But you don’t cough. I want to know what it’s like for real.”
Reigen analyzed the coffin nail between his fingers, most of it already gone. Could he even smoke it anymore after Mob’s lips had made contact, or did it belong to him now?
“Here, have the rest. It’s not much left anyway.” Reigen begrudgingly handed it to him, hoping he’d “accidentally” drop it several stories down.
Mob accepted, hands firm as ever, not an ounce of carelessness in his presence. He climbed up onto the sill to sit beside Reigen, evening out their height gap as much as possible. Mob still fell short. Reigen wondered how much longer that’d last before the kid sprouted up like a beanstalk.
He copied the way Reigen held it, examining its position betwixt his digits closely to see if he was doing it correctly.
Once he secured the proper holding position, he spoke, “Can we keep sharing? So I can get a break between puffs.” It was a quick excuse.
Reigen’s expression dropped. “Sure.”
Now it was confirmed he’d get a taste of Mob’s spit. He didn’t hate the thought, his lips being where Mob’s once lingered only moments prior. A box of smokes wasn’t the only disgusting thing residing in Reigen’s apartment.
Mob inhaled again, same pace—unchanged. Only a fool would expect different results from the first time, but Mob had always defied odds, a walking miracle. His exhale was smoother, only accompanied by a couple of stray coughs; he was a fast learner. The smoke dusted Reigen’s cheek as it flew past, and he wondered if he could get a hint of Mob’s inner aroma from it, breathe it in so his student would always be a part of him residing in his lungs.
The cigarette was passed back and forth a couple of times. Mob had gotten the hang of it, an uncomfortable realisation for Reigen. What had he done if not taint the boy more? Further entrap him in his claws, so that it’d be harder and harder for his inevitable escape.
Reigen was a piece of shit, a con artist. His intakes grew deeper; he held them longer; if anyone deserved to die early, it was him. Mob didn’t notice, too caught up in the new and exciting experience of smoking with his shishou. If only he knew the heinous thoughts Reigen had late at night, when his melatonin gummies had yet to kick in, and he was lying on his back, drenched in sweat, coated in a sickening layer of sticky shame.
“I want to keep talking.” Mob asserted through the comfortable silence.
Ah, that’s right. He came here to chat for some reason. Reigen assumed it was about his trip, a little catch-up on what he’d missed at the office.
“About what?” Reigen blew the smoke out and passed the cigarette over again, hating it each time.
“About you. I know you don’t want to talk about your trip to see your parents, but you look different.” Mob breathed in another small round of nicotine.
“Everyone’s different away from work.” He feigned a smile, every possible crevice on his face wrinking to make it seem more convincing.
“You don’t talk about them. I think I know why now. I don’t know exactly what happened, but... I want you to know you can talk to me about these things.”
It wasn’t like Reigen had anyone else to talk to, even if he did want to rant about his shitty life. He had already piled all his mess on Mob and depended on him too much. Even after hiring new employees, it was still always Mob, Mob, Mob. He wouldn’t want it any other way. On his next inhale, he swallowed the smoke.
“If I told you about every recurring emotion I’ve had throughout my life, we’d be here for a while. Plus, I don’t want you dealing with my problems; you’ve done enough of that, and I’m sorry. Go be a kid.”
If only he knew he was the only reason Reigen had to get up and go in the morning. That if it weren’t for him, he’d probably have killed himself ages ago, going unnoticed for probably a week until his neighbors complained about a foul odor coming from next door. Or when the downstairs tenants spotted a small, unusual stain on their ceiling from his body, beginning the process of active decay.
“I can still be a kid while supporting you at the same time,” Mob explained. The cigarette was down to the nub, and he passed it back for Reigen to stump out in the tray.
“You shouldn’t have to support me. I should be the one supporting you.” Reigen huffed.
“And you do, so much. I’m comfortable with you, Shishou. I know I can trust you.” Mob turned to face him, and Reigen shriveled more into himself, unwanting perception in case it shifted to judgment.
“There are problems I have that’s impossible for someone your age to get. It goes beyond just my family situation or work.”
Mob hadn’t known what he meant, but he believed him. It was impossible to understand someone's insides completely, like the way an intake of smoke could. He wished he could live and breathe Shishou, be his oxygen after smoking a cigarette out his window on a boring day after work, and in turn know what it’s like to be him, walk a day in his shoes, so that he could better understand and help, have more details so he could love every unseen part of him.
“I understand, but I’m here.”
You won’t be.
Reigen dreaded the thought of Mob being anywhere other than at his side, a sickly feeling he wished remained purely platonic but had never truly been. Mob was an angel cursed onto him, his saving grace. The silent expectation fell upon his supple shoulders, a burden no one, much less a kid, should have to carry. His parents were right, he was a failure—a fraud. There was a good reason he didn’t mention his pupil to them.
Mob wanted to place his own smaller hand over his master’s, but figured it would be too much for the man to handle at the moment. Shishou didn’t need any more conflicting feelings right now, but there was still one last thing he wanted to try that was hypocritical.
“Will you light another one? I want to try something else.” He requested quietly, enjoying the breeze that flew through his hair and past his shishou’s.
Reigen scoffed again, humor painted in the cracks of his fake smile lines, “Again? Haven’t you tried enough new things for one day? At this rate, you’ll be grown up before we know it.”
To grow was a good thing. It’d be good for Reigen’s case, too. It wasn’t like he was attracted to Mob for his age, more so his light. Still, he could use this defense to deny he was a creep left and right, and it’d still mean nothing to a stranger, someone who didn’t know them, know Mob as he did.
“I saw it in a movie once. One person breathes the smoke in and blows it into the other person’s mouth.” Mob’s glimmering eyes shone like the sunset, and Reigen couldn’t help but melt.
“Shotgunning,” Reigen cleared his throat, anxiety pooling in his stomach. Part of him wondered what kind of movies Mob had been watching, and why the hell he’d want to be that close, lips only separated by the push and pull of smoke, “it doesn’t work, you know that, right? The smoke you inhale isn’t going to actually do anything.”
Maybe it was for the best that it didn’t work, and whatever Mob breathed in wouldn’t be as effective as inhaling through the filter. His precious little lungs spared another day.
“It just looks cool. Only if you want to, though.” Mob glanced down to attempt to hide the blush that bloomed over his cheeks. It worked, only due to Reigen’s clouded mind, running wild with possibilities, nervous at the thought he might do something, cross a line that was impossible to backtrack from.
“Um.” Reigen looked to Mob, then decided it was a bad idea to stare at his deshi’s cute face right now; it only made it worse. “That’s usually a thing dumb teenagers do at parties.” Reigen chuckled, breaking out in a cold sweat.
Mob merely looked up, blinking unamused, searching anywhere he could for a solid answer. He knew he shouldn’t have asked when Shishou was this vulnerable, but even he couldn’t help himself, the urge to get closer devouring him.
Looking at his student, Reigen could see the same nervous kid from three years ago. Small as could be, but wanting to shrink even more, so he’d take up as little space as possible. The only difference was that he wasn’t as timid anymore; he felt free, open to speak his mind, and it was something Reigen could only be proud of. For the first time in a little over a week, he smiled for real. Mob was beautiful, and as much as he wanted to keep him all to himself, it would be selfish to hide him away in the dark when he had so much light to spread wherever he went. Reigen should’ve turned him down, but how could he when he was more addictive than every cigarette he’d tasted combined?
“Sure, let’s do it.” Reigen nodded, granted a brief and tranquil moment from shame, “I haven’t done this since high school, so bear with me if I’m rusty.”
The man shifted on his right hip, swinging his legs closer to Mob’s forward ones hanging out the window. Once he settled and got comfortable enough, his student moved too—shifting on his left leg, which was touching his master’s at various sections as he lightly swung them back and forth in joy.
“It’s okay.” Mob closed his eyes again before remembering there was no need to. He wanted to experience this with his master, get closer and closer until their very beings fused together forever. He wanted to be with him, come home to him at the end of the day. Maybe when he gets to college, he can move out of his childhood home and into Reigen Shishou’s apartment, where he goes off to school for the day, and his master goes to the office, reunited again at evening time, when the sunset passes through the open kitchen window and shines over the table where they’re eating dinner.
Reigen took another cig from its box, flashing Mob a look that asked him, “Are you sure?”
The boy nodded in confirmation, and it was all it took for Reigen to relish in the feeling of unfiltered adoration, even if only for as long as the moment delivered.
“You have to get pretty close to catch the smoke, but it's okay to pull away if you want.” Reigen hadn’t planned to teach him to smoke; he didn’t know Mob had been curious about cigarettes at all. He’d prefer Mob never touching one again after today, but if he really wished to, receiving smoke in from his parted lips would suffice.
The cigarette was lit now, only taking a couple of sparks to kindle. Reigen’s hand stuttered fewer times than expected on the path to his lips before he dragged in, holding it in his mouth to not bring it down into his chest and save it for Mob.
His student leaned in, eyes falling closed until their mouths were barely divided. They peeked open, long enough to admire his shishou’s pink lips, thankful his eyes were shut as he began to blow. The smoke passed from one mouth to another, just like in the movie. It was seamless, a gentle blow as Mob breathed it all into his lungs, hoping it’d occupy every crevice just as it had his master’s mouth.
As it happened, Mob’s soul felt as if it floated up above, looking down at Seasoning City, envisioning all the places the smoke had traveled inside Master’s mouth. He wondered if it wrapped around his tongue like a lasso and compelled it to move in enigmatic ways. That sharp tongue, fierce eyes, and knowledgeable mind spoke with certainty and told Mob everything would be okay. He wanted to pry Shishou open like a walnut, explore the depths of his mind until there was nothing left he didn’t know and love.
Reigen was sound, satisfied hearing Mob’s breathy intake, as soft as he imagined his heart to be. Even after the boy exploded, and the entity that was entirely Shigeo in his rawest form destroyed part of the city and took over his being entirely, it was still him; they were never separate. It was all his Mob in the end, and he loved him. Reigen couldn’t bother caring about the destruction or the pushback he received. They were from Mob, who held his hands in a death grip the entire time.
When Mob finished, he exhaled the smoke. It grazed Shishou’s cheek on its voyage into nothingness all the same, and Reigen wouldn’t want it any other way.
Both their eyes cracked open as if they’d just woken up from the most pleasant of dreams. Mob smiled, close-lipped and adorable, Reigen copied, feeling the guilt finally beginning to seep its way back in through the cracks. Mob didn’t pull away, and Reigen wanted to, so he started to until feeling a hand slide up his shoulder.
He let out a hum of surprise, moving to look over at Mob’s hand as it calmly gripped him, “Shishou…”
Reigen didn’t want to turn his head back to where it had been in that compromising position, but he did as it felt good to give in to see a new expression he’d never witnessed on Mob’s face. His cheeks were a dusty pale pink, complementing the rest of his tone, eyes full of what could only be intrigue and desire as they flashed downward to his own lips. Reigen’s pale and probably chapped ones pursed as his stomach dropped. This couldn’t be happening.
Mob wouldn’t let him run, eyes darting around his face for clarification, permission. Reigen’s mouth opened and shut, both falling into a pattern of uncertainty.
Reigen must have known what he wanted, and Mob had to know how bad it would be if he got it.
“I—can I…?” Mob’s head reeled, confidence crumbling with each passing moment. His shishou sat frozen in place by his hand. “You can say no.”
Reigen opened his dry mouth again to give an answer. His mind screamed for him to say no, give the boy a sign—an indication of any kind to tell him no.
But he couldn’t say no, so he didn’t. The cigarette, still lit and smouldering, fell from his faint hold and onto the ground far below them.
Reigen nudged forward, squinting stare concentrated on Mob’s lips a final time before shutting, allowing his deshi to close the gap.
With a shaky exhale, Mob leered forward into his shishou’s touch, connecting their lips for a kiss. It was swift and a little awkward as Reigen tried to open up fast enough for Mob’s tongue to enter just a little until it retreated. His student pulled back, a small smack the only proof that they actually just kissed.
Even after it was over, they remained close. Mob felt on top of the world—like he could conquer any spirit and fight any battle. He tasted every cigarette Shishou smoked today, and it felt like home.
Reigen wanted to savor the moment, but it unraveled at the speed of light, dragging him out of his fantasy as he fought tooth and nail to live in the here and now, knowing how disgusting and perverse he was. He wanted to take Mob away, keep him in a heaven separate from this world forever, and never let the sin of tomorrow touch him. He wanted to live there with him, act as a guard and mentor while indulging in eternal paradise.
Instead, he turned to face the concrete below, “Guess I’m down a cig.”
It wasn’t even close to being finished, only one huff taken—granted it was a big one.
Mob grinned to himself at his master’s endearing language. He looked to him, supposing there was nothing to be said about the kiss; it was as if it was second nature, intuitive—no need to be explained.
The boy’s happy face turned to a delicate concern as he spotted a bandage adorning his shishou’s index finger, “What happened to your finger?”
Mob cradled the wounded hand in his hold, taking the finger in between his own to analyze the area.
“Cut it on a shard from a glass I dropped earlier.” Reigen deadpanned, not seeing it as a reasonable cause for the worry stirred in Mob.
“Ah,” Mob gave it a quick peck that made Reigen’s heart stop in its tracks; shame swirled in with the butterflies in his stomach. “Were you thirsty?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t end up getting any water, just picked up the shards. It’ll heal up and be fine.”
Mob placed his hand down, looking at it in deep thought. “Shishou… will you be okay when I’m not around?”
Reigen looked back, growing some concern of his own, “What, leaving me soon?” He wouldn’t blame him; he should run and not look back.
“No, but when I go off to high school, or college. I need you to be okay. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened or was wrong.” Mob’s furrowed brows confirmed one of two of Reigen’s deepest fears—that he felt it too. The other being that he didn’t.
The panic was clear in his tone, which only provoked more sorrow in Reigen as the influence he held on his deshi dawned on him. Mob hadn’t grown to care about him on his own; he was groomed to by Reigen. All his love was misplaced; what should’ve gone to good, honest people who hadn’t hurt him was wasted on the fraud. The little dependency the boy still had on him was placed there by Reigen, probably during their first-ever outing to exorcise a spirit. Maybe that was where his love was fostered; no matter, it was too late now. Reigen was selfish—pathetic, preaching the importance of being a good person while grooming someone he was supposed to mentor. Making him fall in love with him, akin to Stockholm Syndrome—falling in love with him himself.
He couldn’t just tell Mob, “No, actually, if it weren’t for you, I’d kill myself! If I hadn’t met you, I’d probably be dead already!”
While Mob tensely waited for a response, he tried to shift his thoughts to something else. His master, holding a cigarette between slim fingers, stubbing the soon-to-be butt out on the paler skin of his arm or thigh and leaving a permanent scar to occupy residency there forever, similar to the one forming under Shishou’s small bandage right now, the one that still covered up most of his fingertip. They’d be closer than ever in spirit, and then he’d know what it really felt like to be Reigen Arataka.
When Reigen turned forward to contemplate a response that should have come effortlessly, Mob asked again, “Say you’ll be okay?”
Mob needed to hear it, and Reigen was always there to give him whatever he wanted, to help him. It was Mob’s control in a way, a back-and-forth tug of war between them, giving and wanting, taking and receiving.
“I’ll be okay.”
Reigen smiled and swore that was the last lie he’d ever tell him.