Guilty Love

I

It was sometime during lunch when his former student called him up. It had only been a day since they last talked on the phone, something they usually did to check on each other's lives. Well, more precisely – because they both had nothing else to do. More frequently than otherwise, it was Mob who kept initiating it - which was reason enough why he'd been unfazed when he saw that the call was, unsurprisingly, from the latter. The name on the screen flickered along to the rhythm of his ringtone; making jumpy, upbeat sounds, which did nothing to calm Reigen's nerves. Mobu, it wrote.

Reigen frowned. Still, he had half-expected it to be from a client.

“Aren't you supposed to be working?” He nibbled on his sandwich absentmindedly, refusing to give any mind to the breadcrumbs as they swiped through his suit, and began to pool at his lap. He held the phone with little care.

“It's lunch time,” the man from the other side of the call spoke. Reigen still found it difficult to believe that that had been Mob's voice. It sounded deep, and so ridiculously manly. If it weren’t for the monotonous effect it had, a trait that Mob possessed by default, Reigen would've thought that his student had completely done a 360 and turned over his life to the brighter side. Of course, Reigen would be nothing short than happy if that were the case.

“Well, sorry. Aren't you supposed to be eating?” Reigen rolled his eyes. Mob couldn't see it, but he'd learned to pick it up from his tone, judging by the small chuckle that escaped his lips.

“I am,” he said, voice airy and light. “And are you?”

“Until you called,” Reigen started typing on his laptop. A client had emailed him a thank-you letter for the ‘effective and affordable service,’ and Reigen felt that he would have to be the most unethical scum to ignore it.

“Who are you typing to?” Reigen wanted to question why he felt that it was his business to pry, but perhaps it was just for the sake of conversation. Still, Mob was rather poor at it.

“A client. Hold on a sec,” Reigen ate the last of his bread, clapping away the crumbs that peppered his palms.

He noticed the line go slack for a full minute as he typed, meticulously searching for the right words which he thought would be effective enough to coerce the client to do come again. He tried to ignore the small breathing on Mob's end, paired by the faded sound of crowds in the background; the subtle clash of metal against porcelain. Later, it was followed by the sound of his student chewing. Is he even at work?

After a while, Reigen concludes his response email with his signature. That should do it. He pressed send.

“Is this your way of telling me that you're starting an ASMR channel?” Reigen joked, picking up his mug to sip on it once. The slightly bitter flavor of the coffee left an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth, but he needed the caffeine.

Mob’s laugh was audible. “Maybe. Want to be my manager?”

“Are you trying to flip the table on me?” Reigen said. It had been a long while since they’d last seen each other in person, so Reigen wasn't sure of what exactly changed in Mob to make him this... responsive. Normally, the kid was humorless.

These days, their small banters have been coming in rather frequent intervals. Mob was cooperative, and Reigen was impressed.

“Well, the question is: do you?”

“I'd rather not. I'd never survive off eating broccoli seeds, Mob - I'll die.” He remarked, causing Mob's response to come out like strangled laughter. They both knew the reference like the back of their hand, and the memory only served to rekindle Reigen's nostalgic fervor.