My first work in this fandom... please be merciful on me

Reigen Arataka was a man who took pride in being able to talk his way out of every sticky situation he found himself in, no matter how risky.

Which, admittedly, was something that happened far more often to him than it did the average person, but that was not the important part. The important part was that his sharp wit and tongue combined had never failed him before, save a couple of unpleasant run-ins with peers in his high school years that had left him that much smarter about what to say to get people on his side and what to leave out altogether.

(Turns out the truth was not always the thing people wanted to hear.)

And there wasn't a single ounce of Reigen's overblown, acted-up-into-oblivion persona that thought this particular situation would be any different.

It didn't matter that the man in question had a knife, small and with a dark handle like the ones you used to be able to get at pachinko places before it became illegal. It didn't matter that his words seemed to have less effect than they usually did, every gesture of his palms traced by angry, red-rimmed eyes. It didn't matter that the man's breath smelled sour and off, the smell of stale alcohol and hanging over a toilet bowl to puke your guts out after a night you won't properly recall in the morning.

It certainly didn't matter that Mob was right there, just a few paces behind him, clutching at the straps of his book bag anxiously.

"You're gonna fuckin' pay for what you did to me!" the man spat, hand trembling on the pocket knife's handle, blade catching the glint of the light. There wasn't anybody else on the street and not for the first time Reigen regretted situating the office in such a crappy part of town, even if realistically it was all he could afford.

"Language," he muttered, ignoring an uncomfortable trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck. He shrugged his shoulders so Mob wouldn't notice. "What did I do exactly?"

Their eyes were dark, darting from one side of the street to the other, and then over Reigen's shoulder. Reigen moved just a tiny bit, slowly so as to not arouse suspicion, but enough so that he remained squarely in the knife-wielding maniac's attention. And bodily between them and Mob.

They narrowed their eyes at him. "What you didn't do, more like..."

Reigen swallowed. This encounter would probably have been less awkward if he had any recollection of this man as a client - or even the inkling of an idea of what problem had brought them to his office - so that Reigen could grab it now and bend it to his favor. But whatever it was, he had forgotten. Clearly, it had driven them to desperation and the shaking of their hands and tense stance were telltale signs of a dangerous lack of clear thinking.

They probably didn't even have a malicious bone in their body, but sleep deprivation and booze were such a volatile combination it was hard to tell if they would go through with something that had been a spur of the moment outburst slipped dangerously out of hand. More likely they would only need the right approach to be calmed down.

"Look," Reigen told them, tilting his voice just a little deeper hoping it would sound more soothing, sound more in control of the situation. All he really needed was for them to lower the knife. "Exorcisms are a tricky business, sometimes they need an attempt or two to stick. If you'll allow me-" he took a step towards them to put one hand on their shoulder. People were more receptive of suggestions if you got in their personal space, after all. It was persuasive body language 101.

Reigen knew it had been a mistake when he felt something cold press into his stomach.

It didn't hurt – not right away at least. Just the uncomfortable pressure of something foreign breaking through the skin, sinking into the soft tissue of his abdomen. All air left his lungs in one shaky exhale.

The man took a step back, startled by what they had done probably. With the jerking movement came the sharp jolt of pain Reigen had expected to feel, as the blade pulled out again. Distantly, he was aware of reading once that it was better to keep whatever object had stabbed you in place, quell the bleeding, but more acutely he was aware of the sudden and sickening wave of dizziness slamming into him, making him double over automatically. He pressed a hand to the wound instead.

There was a surprised gasp as the knife clattered onto the ground when the man dropped it, followed by their hurried footsteps. Reigen didn't see what happened to them after, too busy trying to keep his balance. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall of a nearby office building, looking down to inspect the damage. There was blood covering his hand and jacket both and for a moment he couldn't help but get angry. This was one of his nicer suits.

"Shishou...?" Mob asked.

Pulling away from the red stain rapidly growing on his shirt, the slickness and warmth blossoming at his fingertips, Reigen looked at Mob.

He remembered back when he met the kid, probably a few years ago now, and thinking that for somebody so young, Mob was surprisingly reserved. Children usually had a hard time keeping their energy contained and honestly, the monotonous quality of Mob's voice and the polite distance he always seemed to maintain with others had weirded Reigen out a little bit, before he had realized the importance of Mob keeping his emotions in check.

Now he was wishing for that neutral expression instead of the concerned one he was faced with instead.

"Mob," He returned calmly, too calmly for the situation at hand. But keeping his voice steady in panic-inducing circumstances was the only thing Reigen had going for him these days – he was an expert at it – so that's what he did, even with the wet feel of blood now seeping down, small splashes against his pants leg. "Mob, I need you to-"

Mob nodded his head, his book bag abandoned on the ground already. Reigen sighed and fell back against the wall a bit more, relieved. Getting stabbed was not his idea of a great afternoon, but maybe he should thank god it happened when the most responsible teen in Seasoning city was with him. Reigen had no doubt Mob would be able to convey the appropriate urgency of their situation to emergency services.

Looking down again, the stain had grown far beyond his hand. He pressed it against the wound more firmly, only hissing slightly at the fresh pain, knowing that slowing down the bleeding was more important.

He was never going to find a steam cleaner who could save this suit.

"They're on their way," Mob said matter-of-factly like he was announcing what they were going to have for dinner tonight, and Reigen didn't want to admit that was a bit comforting.

He hummed in response, not trusting his voice not to break if he spoke again. He was getting dizzier by the minute and he had to concentrate on slow, deep breaths to avoid falling over and making a complete fool of himself. Mob was staring at the blood, at the drops of it that were escaping his clutched fingers and hitting the pavement, so Reigen tapped him on the shoulder with his free hand to distract him. "How are you, Mob?"

The boy looked up at his face but didn't respond. His eyes were dark and unreadable, like they always were. But something about it was making Reigen uneasy this time. Just as he was about to respond, the shrill cry of an ambulance down the street cut through his words. Reigen closed his eyes, which was a bad idea because now he couldn't open them again. He was tired. He realized this was mostly due to blood-loss but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. The sound seemed to grow gradually dimmer despite the ambulance's approach, the entire world narrowing down to the solid press of the wall against his back and the warmth continuing its relentless spread on his shirt.

He could have sworn he heard Mob say his name just before he passed out.

Despite his tendency of getting in trouble, Reigen Arataka had never woken up in a hospital bed before.

The first thing he became aware of was the uncomfortable sensation of the IV in his arm. Needles had never been his forte but the fact he could feel it at the slightest movement made it infinitely worse. He cracked his eyes open and blinked wearily at the too-white walls of the room. The lights were off and the sun setting outside was throwing a filtered hue onto the walls, informing him the day had quietly slipped into evening already.

He wasn't in any pain right now but could tell that was probably the result of the copious amount of painkillers. He lifted the thin hospital blanket with one hand but couldn't see anything besides the godawful gown he had been forced into while unconscious. They probably trashed the shirt, but he hoped they had held onto the tie and jacket at least. That shit was expensive. With bend elbows he forced himself upright, bunching the pillow up against the headboard and noticed Mob sitting in the chair beside the bed, arms crossed and head tilted downward. There was a small trail of drool escaping his half-open mouth.

"Mob?" Reigen shook his shoulder gently and the kid snapped awake surprisingly quickly. Reigen pretended not to notice the short-lived moment of what might be described as panic on Mob's face before their eyes locked.

He didn't mention the look of relief either.

"Shishou?" Mob sat upright, the chair creaking underneath him. It was one of those old wooden once that had screws which would poke you uncomfortably no matter how you sat on it, and the thought that Mob had been sitting on it for hours waiting for him to wake up – had fallen asleep on it even – made Reigen feel guilty.

"Mob, why are you still here? Your parents are going to get angry at me."

It was meant to sound lighthearted but ended up sounding more anxious than he intended. He swallowed around it, around the notion that maybe Mob was still here because he was worried for him.

Reigen hated it when people got worried about him.

Mob smiled, so sincerely it broke his heart a little. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Oh," he breathed it into the air between them. Habitually, he always wanted to shake these kinds of things off, but it was harder when somebody genuinely cared. "I'm fine now, really, you should get home. I'm sorry for scaring you."

Mob paused at that as if maybe he wanted to disagree. He didn't though, but got up of the chair, which creaked some more when released from its burden. He held his book bag in front of his body, the strap slung over one shoulder but hands cradling both sides. He lingered at the end of the bed. "Back there," Mob said, "you asked me how I was..."

Reigen raised an eyebrow. "I did."

"I'm fine now, too."

The grin was more of an involuntary reaction. "I'm glad, Mob. Now go home before your mom kills me."

Mob nodded, letting go of the book bag so it hung by his side again. "I will."

He bowed before leaving the room and Reigen tried to return the sentiment without pulling out any of his stitches.

After all this time, he still didn't get that kid. But given his luck, he probably won't die before he has a chance to figure it out.

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