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"You look awful."
Normally, Mob lets it brush by. It's a typical thing for people to say to him, either spurred by concern for his deadpan state or a jeer from peers who don't like how odd he tends to be, and Mob is used to such words. You look awful. Folk tend to take his somber nature and dark eyes as something painful or traumatic, when that's just how he tends to be. It's not a lack of sleep, a lack of food or a lack of entertainment, he's not injured or worried, he's just...Mob. He's Mob and he feels, but his face does not and he's alright with that.
It's different when Reigen says it. Reiegn is his Master, his mentor, the supposed greatest physic of the 21st century though Mob knows that to be a facade, has for years, and the man knows him in and out. He tells him he's fine as he is, he's fine to act the way he does and listen the way he does and speak the way he does, and there is never any scorn from the man when it comes to his peculiar personality. If Reiegn has picked up on his newfound habit, charged with fear and a desire to protect, then Mob must truly look awful.
He doesn't know what to say as the man glances over him, hand on his shoulder, narrowed eyes and a nervous twinge of his lips. On a good day, Mob doesn't even know how to continue a conversation he didn't start, but on a day like this, heavy with exhaustion and blinking wearily, vision swarmed as his muscles ache with lack of rest and the trudge up to work, mind boggled with school and and fear, there is nothing on his tongue to argue against it. No mimicked words, no script, and no prepped questions to dissuade the man.
So, he just doesn't speak.
"Have you been sleeping?" Reigen inquires, and guilt is thick in Mob's belly when he feels the worry from his tone seep through his ears. He hates to worry people. Maybe he should have napped at school before coming in. "You looked exhausted."
"I've been sleeping." Mob assures, because it isn't a lie. He has been sleeping every once in a while, a few hours at a time, but not enough to keep his eyes from crossing and Reigen's mop of dirty blond hair and tilted eyes from meshing into two, and that's on purpose. Enough sleep to keep him moving, enough rest to keep his eyes open and eating, finishing homework and chores, but no more than that. He's keeping it simple and short, because when he's exhausted, even though it hurts, he's too tired to feel much.
It came to him after an all-nighter, studying for a test that was cramping his brain and he had been awake longer than 24 hours. He noticed as he padded into class with lidded eyes and many yawns on his tongue, that his feelings were muted and soft and hardly noticeable. They withered, yes, upset at being smothered, but he was just too tired to really work with it. It was an idea then, a good one, he felt, to help keep his emotion that he always struggled with under wraps.
Mob knows he's dangerous, he's the edge of being a monster and he lives with something evil that he wants rid of, even if Reigen says that he is fine the way he is and no less than anyone else, and he tries his best to keep the world safe from his powers that he feels he has been burdened with. If a lack of sleep means the world is safe, if exhaustion and failed test scores means people won't get hurt because of him and he'll never boil over and turn into something horrible and unrecognizable, than so be it.
"I know you, Mob." Reigen says, and panic squirms in Mob's chest. "You're lying."
He wants to argue. He does. But he can't think of anything to say. What do normal people say in response to something like that? Do they fight and shout? Laugh? Brush it off with a question or ignore it entirely?
The lack of sleep, what he thought would be his saving grace, has turned into a doubled edged sword, his silence damning him, because he is lying. He's lying to a professional liar and he didn't even consider what Reigen might be able to do to crack his shield.
"Why aren't you sleeping, kid? What's going on?"
Mob shakes his head, biting his lip. He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to be scolded or told he's being dumb. He knows it, but what else can he do? What else can he do to protect the world from himself? How else can he deprive the world of Shigeo, a boy with horror in his blood?
Reigen speaks again, but Mob cant really hear it, tears prickling his eyes. He hates this. It all sucks, and the warmth of Reigen's hand, touching his cheek and on his back, leading him towards the couch with muted footsteps makes the feelings overlayed with exhaustion weep.