Futari De Ikou!

27 percent

*sorry for the weird indentations. It didn't fully transfer my edits :/*

I can't quite say when I was last bothered by Reigen's behavior. I can't quite believe I ever was. To be completely honest, the faux psychic, namely my boss, was nothing but a charming albeit deceptive con man who had too much on his plate while simultaneously having nothing. It was like being offered a thick dumpling only to stab into it and realize there's no filling.
Reigen Arataka has no one to blame except for himself, however, as he knew what he was doing getting into this business- er - fraudulence. He knew that he could offer the clients nothing but a drabble of delusive reassurances and promises that he was the one to free them from the ghastly ball and chain around their ankles. He has absolutely only himself to blame.
Okay. Maybe I have some influence on how he conjectures. Am I a muse of some sorts? Sure. If a muse offers  oversized slacks and too deep eyebags.
I also can't quite say when the last time we had an actual client was; furthermore, a client willing to hear the endless parley that Reigen presses them fervently with.
"HA!"
I jolt out of my stupor, my fingers still twiddling with the minute silver spoon dipped into my- previously- scolding coffee. My hand clenches around the handle of my mug at the sudden torrent. I press my lips thinly together as a few drops of sable liquid beads itself into my pale blouse. 
    Reigen, the culprit of the aforementioned outburst, clicks his phone back into its receiver with an air of vigor, and juts his hip out as he crooks his head towards me. A smug leer paints his lips, eyebrows twitched up. "I told you," he starts.
    My eyes involuntarily roll as I push my chair back, pressing my fingers into the damp spread on my top. It will stain, definitely, and my jaw tightens with vexation. I grab a few tissues from Reigen's desk, and pat futilely at my shirt.
    Reigen begins again, walking haughtily before stopping just in front of me, a palm on his desk, the other on his hip. "I told you that I'm the real thing," he pauses, with a grimace, as I quip my perturbed expression onto his. "At least... to our clients."
    My lips thin once more. I continue to dab at the spreading stain on my shirt, an exasperated sigh filtering through my nose. That's right. I'm Reigen's subordinate, and quite frankly, I'm as guilty as him. I've tried fruitlessly before, when I had just begun working under him, to believe that I was just doing the job for money. I wouldn't outright ever lie to a client. Of course, that went down the drain quickly when I realized (though I had ample suspicion) that Reigen was not a psychic. He wasn't even a shaman, a mage, or a preacher. No, he was just a conman.
   
In all honesty, I can't even recollect fully how I came to work under Reigen. Sure, I've known him for years now, working under him, but how did I become his subordinate?

Reigen and I met when I was in my final year of high school. He was a few years my senior, the boyish shape of his jaw and unruly hair curling around his ears and onto the nape of his neck were all the more noticeable in contrast to the sleek suit he wore. It was slightly mottled around the elbows and knees, surely a few sizes too big, and he probably bought it from a secondhand shop. An early sign of his conman tendencies, I suppose; pretending to be a homely business man while being the exact opposite. 
I, on the other hand, was tantalized with bruises and scrapes, a totem of the countless fights I'd partake in throughout my high school career.
    I remember a tawny haired Reigen taking me under his wing, pitied by my scraped temples and swollen knuckles. He'd taken me to the nearest convenience store, blabbing on about how he was a new, hot-shot psychic that was here to garner the trust and sanctity of the people. Too focused on the throbbing pain of my aching joints, I just nodded along, shooting him sidelong glances and furrowed brows.
Reigen paused midway through his rambling, holding a hand out, gesturing for me to wait outside. I contemplated turning on my heel and walking away, but my legs refused to move. I found a nearby bench and settled on it, and restlessly fiddled with my fingers. The chill of spring air made my skin prickle, and I rubbed a hand up my arm. My spring uniform for school was not enough to satiate the temperature drop following dusk. I tilted my head up at the sky, my thoughts racing. Maybe it was the awkward charm that emitted from the obviously fake psychic, or maybe it was the undeniable intrigue I felt towards said fake psychic.
Reigen only took a few minutes in the store. He had bought a pack of bandages along with a sleeve of cookies tucked idly in his pocket. He clumsily opened the band aid package and handed me one.
I muttered a hesitant 'thank you.' It was polka dotted, and I let out a soft breath of amusement.
He watched me for a moment before nodding and tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "You got a name?"
I stiffened at the sudden question, and fumbled with my fingers. "...Yosuda Kiyoko." I mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Reigen Arataka," he responded, and I finally looked up, meeting his gaze. He drew a hand out of his pocket and offered it to me.
I gazed at it for a moment, before hesitantly meeting it with my own, shaking it. I hum a quiet 'nice to meet you,' and withdrew my hand, folding it beneath my legs.
    I remember him gazing at me for a second, as a question lingered on his tongue. My fingers working the bandaid paused, and I tilted my head. He blinked once, before he tucked a knuckle under his chin.
"How'd you get all beaten up, anyways?" His eyes raked across the bruises on my fingers and the scabs on my cheek. "Not that it's my business, but if I'm gonna start working here, I'd like to know if a maestro guy like me will be deemed a threat." His eyes were alight with amusement, a notion that he was trying to mitigate the mood.
My lips twitched up slightly as I finished bandaging my cuts, offering him a shrug. "Dunno." Was all I could manage. Afterall, how could I explain to a guy I had just met that I was being bullied at school? I didn't continue, and instead averted my eyes onto the pavement below my shoes.
In response to my silence, he nodded once before taking out the package of cookies he'd tucked into his pocket. He opened it, and I watched his fingers work as he grabbed two chocolate vanilla rounds, holding them out to me. He offered me a grin, and I hesitated before taking them from him. I bit into one, and watched as he grabbed one for himself.
A beat of stillness passes between us before he wipes the crumbs off his mouth, setting the package of cookies beside me.
Reigen frowned for a moment, jaw taut before flicking a finger gun at me. "Tell ya what. I'll offer you a job as my subordinate. Ya don't have to do much, just little things here and there."
He had clearly seen through me, and for a stomach dropping moment, I thought he was an actual psychic. "You don't have to say yes, but.."
I don't know why or how I answered as quickly as I did.
I took the package of cookies he laid next to me and folded it between my hands, which I settled on my lap.
My mouth moved before my brain worked to form a proper thought. "Yes."