Work Text:
You stare at it. And stare, and stare. The black ink on the page, mocking you in this specific way which seems to be reserved for due paperwork and due paperwork alone, doesn’t move. Uncooperative numbers form a whole new language of their own. A language which – despite all your sincere efforts – you have not yet been able to master.
And speaking of master.
Shigeo’s shishou, who so graciously bestowed this task upon you to begin with, happens to be just across the room, slouched on the usual office chair which occasionally voices its disapproval at its occupant’s lazy movements with a sad little squeak.
You look down at your papers again. The ink still hasn’t moved. You try one last time to focus all your concentration on the characters, willing them to assemble into some kind of plausible solution. Ultimately, it’s with an irritated huff of defeat that you rise from behind your desk.
Time to consult with the consultant himself.
Snatching your papers from the table, you walk up to his desk and come to stand in front of it.
Reigen doesn’t notice.
Concentration is driving a deep furrow between his brows, eyes sharply focussed on the screen in front of him. Whatever it is he’s so invested in, it has his absolute and full attention.
After carefully setting your papers aside – God beware if you accidentally creased the precious bothersome cargo – you brace one hand on the desk to lean on it and wave your other hand at him, trying to distract said attention with the movement.
Again, Reigen doesn’t notice.
So, in your quest to make your presence known, you lean in even further and not-so-gently poke him in the shoulder.
And this, Reigen does notice.
Oh yes, he notices.
In fact, his surprised shriek when your hand comes in contact with him is so high-pitched and loud the whole building probably notices. And if that’s not enough to wake everybody from their post-lunchtime slumber, the dull thump of two bodies and a chair crashing to the ground in one undignified heap of tangled limbs and – well, chair – most certainly is.
A second of shocked silence ticks by. Then another. Then, finally, your brain manages to make the connection between the currently horizontal position of your body and the soft rise and fall of a chest underneath you. Your almost-but-not-quite boss’ chest. Who is currently somewhat pinned underneath your own weight.
With a sharp inhale, you scramble to get off Reigen and out of the room, maybe out of the building, preferably out of this goddamn universe as a whole thankyouverymuch but you don’t get very far, seeing as your wrist is still tightly wrapped in his mildly sweaty grip.
Reigen himself, face and neck blooming into a somewhat pretty pink blush, slowly trails his wide-eyed stare from your face to your still connected hands, until another soft tug wakes him from his stupor, and he lets go of your wrist in one sudden, flamboyant movement. The gesture sends him wheeling into a passionate rush of words, which you use to your advantage by climbing to your feet and off of him. You manage to pick your screwn-about papers off the ground in the process while also catching a quick glimpse of the almost finished game of Minesweeper on the bright laptop screen.
“A-ah, you probably couldn’t sense it but I – there was a – a spirit, yes, an evil spirit right behind you! Good thing I was there to save you just in time and exorcise the a-angry – yes, very very angry – and dangerous! Dangerous, angry evil spirit. Yes. You are very welcome.”
Every new thought receives the honour of being accentuated by a passionate, but mildly dangerous looking flick of Reigen’s hands. The more words rush out of his mouth, the more the pink tint on the man’s cheeks subsides until he’s back to his normal lazily slouched stance – albeit still sprawled on the floor behind his desk and closely intertwined with his squeaky piece of seating furniture.
The scene is so absolutely ridiculous, you can’t help but play along and bow down deep in mock gratitude which conveniently also serves to hide the silent set of giggles bubbling up in you. When you come back up, Reigen too has seemingly found his own two feet again and stands in a flourish, straightening up in front of you. With the questioning raise of one eyebrow, you tap your finger to his desk where this season’s “menu” of services lays facing the client side.
“Wha-? Oh, you wanna know the price for the exorcism?”
You nod, barely able to suppress your grin.
“Ehhh, don’t worry about it. This one’s on the house. But my generosity has its limits so you should take better care next time!”
With another bow of your head, you thank him for his most gracious mercy on your wallet.
Reigen, now entirely back to his usual, highly professional self, lazily moves to pick up his chair and sit in it, presumably to continue contemplating which of the two remaining flags on his screen hides that treacherous last mine. Before he can fold himself into the piece of furniture, however, you hold out your papers to him, pointing at the problem you’d originally come over for.
“What’s this? You need help with it? Okay, let’s see.”