The void was never quite kind to either of them.

Mob would end up there when things got too much - Shigeo was forced to stay until he got shoved into the world, where he would prefer to hurt then pain to be struck upon him.

It was a duet, or at least a rhythm in which the two would fall into: it was always one out and one in, and never the two sharing the same room together. Shigeo grew used to it, after the first few appearances - of course, he had tried to fight it many times, but the force of the mind was much more powerful then a shard of identity. After lost fights and tired outings, Shigeo came to accept that when things went south, he would be shoved into Mobs body to protect what Mob could not.

That didn't mean that he still didn't get frustrated with it, though. As time moved forward and his moments spent in the void became longer and longer, Shigeo began to grow an anger towards Mob. Not at the boy specifically, but more so for the fact that he was forced out when Mob couldn't handle it. It was more anger at Mob being unable to handle the situation at hand then the boy himself, but when Shigeo finally stared down him, he couldn't help but lash out.

Even if they never knew the other existed, at least not to this sentimental state, they always knew what the other was doing. Even if Mob didn't outright say it, Shigeo could see it in his actions when he was out in the body, and it shone clear as day to him.

Mob didn't want his psychic powers.  Mob didn't like the fact that he held onto these powers. Mob didn't like the fact that his powers existed, and by extent, that Shigeo existed.

Mob had said, once, that he didn't want his psychic powers anymore. The message was clear, even after all these years of trying to deny it.

"I don't want you to exist."

For what? Shigeo wanted to sneer. For what did he do to deserve this? Mob was the one who was too weak to handle situations. Mob was the one who always fell on him to cover up his misdoings. Mob was the one who always cried to him when things got too much. Mob was the one who kept on coming back to him, time and time again, even when he still persisted that Shigeo didn't exist.

Mob was the one who started the anger to fester into a universe of rage and fury, not Shigeo. Mob was the one who had pushed him away, again and again and again.

Mob was the one who deserved all the things thrown at him.

Mob was the one who deserved the words Shigeo said to him. He did, after all, deny and deny and deny - and if Mob wasn't going to stop lying to himself, then Shigeo was going to force Mob to see for what things truely were. To see what he truely was.

And, surprisingly, it did work. After a whirlwind of hurt and a heated discussion, Mob had finally listened to Shigeo for once. Had finally heard what he had said. Mob had turned to him and took his hand in his own, and he had offered his hand in acceptance and patience and suddenly, the words that Reigen was echoing outside of their shared void was clear:

"This is the real me."

And Shigeo was the real Shigeo, just as Mob was the real Mob.

Mob had accepted him, after so long of fighting and clawing and screaming for someone to hear him. Mob had accepted him, even if Shigeo was still bitter and angry and violent towards him.

Mob had accepted him.

That made Shigeo happy, if he could even call the relief he felt happiness. Suddenly, the wash of anger that had built up for so long chipped away a bit. Little by little, Shigeo began to feel a bit less angry towards Mob.

Little by little, the void became a place where they met, together. Not one simply out and not one simply in; they shared the same space, together.

Little by little, the void subtly became something the two shared with each other.

Little by little, the void becomes less of a place of emptiness and more of a home.

Little by little, Shigeo began feeling that anger slip away from him until he found himself happy that Mob was here with him.

Little by little, healthiness was achieved.

And little by little, they learned things about each other. Not simply "Mob" and not simply "Shigeo"; no, they learned about each other, from time to time. They were not simply people who shared a head, who disappeared from one's sight before they could even make out their face. They were not simply names anymore.

Mob had said he liked cats, and Shigeo had agreed.

Mob had said he liked milk, and Shigeo had agreed.

Mob had said he liked rain, and Shigeo had disagreed.

Mob had been slightly shocked. He had asked what Shigeo had meant by that, and Shigeo had shrugged.

"I just don't like rain," he had explained. "I don't get why you like it so much. It's just getting yourself wet for no reason. Why would you like that?"

And Mob had argued. They both had. Not a bitter, angry discussion - a lighter one, more filled with a peacefulness then it was hate and malice. They tossed and turned over one another's arguments, throwing soft insults at one another. After it was over and done, they didn't hide away or hate - no, simply, they just laughed.

"Yes," Shigeo had thought, after everything was over and he was once again left alone. "Yes, maybe this is acceptance."

Slowly, bit by bit, the two had learned about each other - what they liked, what they didn't like; what they shared in common, what they didn't. It brought them closer, or at least more closer than before. Before they were simply strangers - now, not so much.

They had learned of each other's hobbies, of their taste in music and other things which they didn't know about before. Slowly, they became more than strangers - they became friends.

Shigeo was happy. Mob was happy.

The stranger in their void, however, was not happy.

When Shigeo had seen them first, he had thought that he might have been dreaming.  After all, a person other than Mob was confusing, and rare, and never heard of before — a sobbing person, on the other hand? Way more concerning.

The person was still bawling their eyes out, rocking slowly back and forth, as he crept closer to them. They looked the same as Mob, except instead of a bowl cut, their hair was spiked and messy. From what Shigeo could see of skin, bruises stuck out on their arms and face. They looked horrible.

As Shigeo snuck closer, he felt worry swirl in his gut. Was this guy okay? Clearly, they weren't - they had goddamn bruises on their arms, and were sobbing uncontrollably - but Shigeo wasn't sure. Who was this? Why did they appear in their void? Why didn't Shigeo know they existed before? Thoughts and questions swarmed in his head, but he shook them off. Right now, those things weren't important — what was important was making sure this guy was okay.

"Hey, are you.. are you okay?" He asked, carefully, reaching to place a hand on the guy's shoulder. The guy immediately stifled his cries, flinched away.

"Ah, s-sorry—" Shigeo took his hand back, feeling a slight ping of guilt in his heart.

"D-Don't—" the boy stuttered out, backing up. "Don't— Don't touch me. Don't. I'm— I-I— I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—"

"You don't need to apologise, you—you didn't do anything wrong."

"I did," they yelled, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Shigeo feels like his head might explode. It's a new sensation, one that makes his head pound and ache with every breath he takes. His hands are shaking, but he's not sure if that's from the cold or the crying or.. or whatever else is going on here.

He didn't even want to be here, existing, today. Not one bit. Sure, the thought had popped into his mind at one point, when he was getting a little bored — but that idea had quickly been shushed away. No, not today. He told himself, looking out into the wide, black plain in front of him. He could be bored if it meant nonexistence.

Even if he didn't have any control over when he came out or not, he at least wanted to pretend he did — that way, maybe it would squish the ball of anxiety into nothing.

Anxiety over what? His brain would question him, curious with how he thought.

Anxiety over existence. Shigeo would reply, unbothered to elaborate any further.

He didn't need to; his brain already knew as much as he did, and Shigeo knew why he didn't like existening. Existence meant hurt, pain, agony over the smallest of things — and Mob could get upset over the smallest of problems, whether that be a scraped knee or a dead cat.

Maybe that was where the line was divided, him and Mob; a coward and a victim.

A victim of what? His mind would query. A coward to what, to whom?

Shigeo sighed. His mind could be so stupid, sometimes — it would backtrack, pester him on questions and topics already ended. It would rethink its past, dig up the last conversation which had Shigeo in a vile, rotten anger towards; whether that was towards the last existence he was in, or whether that was towards Shigeo's view of the world.

It was tiring. Exhausting, if he could even be that right now. He wonders on what he should reply with; he knows doing nothing will just make it ask more questions, and Shigeo's head is too swarmed with static to think clearly.

A victim of what? A coward to whom? It asked, again. Why do you think you are smarter, better, then the one who—

Shut up.

His mind hummed, and fell silent. Shigeo was left, in a gap between the world and the void which engulfed his being. Light glossed over his eyes into burning, blinding white, and suddenly Shigeo was aware of birds. Birds, singing, and the rough wood beneath his fingers.

The feel of clothes on his being, the feel of skin — the feel of muscle, of bone, of organs and matter. It took a few seconds to clear his vision of the white haze that had settled over his eyes like some sort of cover, but when he did, Shigeo was met with a full face off too small hands.

Two small hands that were boney and rigid and wrong — two small hands that were covering his face, obstructing it from the world around him. He pulled them back. His hands were shaking. Shigeo clenched them to try and stop it.

Cold. These hands were cold. Maybe it was where he found himself that made him like that — he was on some bench, outside, in a park. As far as he could see, he was in some running shorts and T-shirt — not exactly the weirdest outfit to pick out, but a bit weird, considering there seemed to be nothing under it, and no jumper in sight.

The air was chilling, clouds of mist lulling out of his mouth with every breath he took. Shigeo hated it. Dammit — why couldn't Mob be in someplace that was warm, like a sane person would, instead of this cold park bench?

He glanced around the area, taking his surroundings in. Trees surrounded him, a pathway splitting in the middle to pathe off somewhere — one spot leading to more trees, the other leading to the main city. The shadows casted on the place made it feel more colder than it was. It wasn't particularly sunny, but it also wasn't cloudy, either — it was, simply, dawn. Or at least a time similar to dawn.

Why was Mob out at dawn? In a park, of all places? What was he doing? Why did Shigeo get dragged out to deal with it? Why..